"graft" poems
The Dragon's Blood Tree standing cross the Horn
Shedding its Bark to reveal those Red Tears
Crying for its Content and its Forlorn
Why such Organism left out its Years
Truly a Wonder did this Being adjust
Where Needed Friend Man requested its Juice
The same Crimson Drops whose Benefits must
Recycle to Dye and other Good Use
But as it thought of its Charity gave
Thinking how it could graft a New Best Friend
It remembered its Roots; Thus it re-made
Bearing Bright Flowers would last till the End.
Mama Africa smiles. You made her proud
Despite the Pirate's Threats your Leaves sing loud.
Mar 9, 2013
Mar 9, 2013 at 4:38 PM UTC
*"A working man
that's what you are
a young, dependable
not entirely punctual
working man
and you can do anything
with your working hands
fix a tap, wire a circuit,
build a garden wall
or fell a tree
you can do
whatever you put your hands to
you can be whatever you want to be"*
Something breaks
*"with working hands
I'll try to fix it but
it takes time to learn
it takes time
to be good at something
for me
everything takes time
I'm not bad they say
just learning
in my frustration I wonder
what if I'm at full capacity
when there's more to come?
what if I'm just incapable?
destined to be an idle man
with rough, callused
soon to be soft
and useless
working hands"*
. . .
Well I want tomorrow today
so what good are these
working hands anyway?
I work and work and work away
pay my bills
I'm always late with rent
yes, work is overrated and
my pay doesn't make a dent
can't replace all the time I've spent
working with my hands
Isn't it funny
trading something so precious
for something as trivial as money
my brain works over time
day and night
when I get to work
it's like turning out a light
I think less and do more
it's kind of nice
so I think I'll sit tight
and stay on the tools
reject the office jobs
I can have it all
white finger
back problems
an RSI
bad knees
asbestosis
and arc eye
I can get all of them
so long as I try
work really hard and graft away
working man and all that!
who wants tomorrow today
when you can wear a hard hat?
Jan 25, 2017
Jan 25, 2017 at 2:37 PM UTC
She was made of Pearls
*Her skin a delicate graft
of Sapphire
Soul sophisticated emeralds
A most valuable treasure
in the world
He lit a fire in her heart
Bright flames Burning bright
Enough to burn galaxies
And reduce mountains to ash
A passion so masochistic
A desire so strong
Obsessive
It consumed her
Yet*
She was made of Pearls
*And all he wanted was
To dig treasure
And so he did
Carved the delicate sapphires
from her skin
Where deep Scars remain
Like giant pebbles in a river
Stole the precious emeralds
from her soul
As he broke her heart with his
soft spoken lies
Yet*
She was made of Pearls
*And he got none
He was a red herring
Which soon drifted away
She thrifted in the Pain of love
A black fantasy, a black hole
That punched a void in her chest
And rendered her heart stale
Yet*
She was made of Pearls
*And the pearls fell in her tears
And weaved down all the oceans
Until she was no more
Now he looks for her pearls
In the oysters of the oceans
More valuable than*
Her
May 13, 2017
May 13, 2017 at 4:28 PM UTC
There's a tiny park a short walk from here
where no one ever goes.
Though it's always abandoned,
I like to walk there when it snows
'cuz it seems like
a relative.
Don't complain to me, my friend
if your face is feeling raw;
It gets cold here in Montana,
and December nights get long.
and they have not
failed me yet.
So salt your frigid frown
and lay down bets on warmer times
in five more months, the thaw will come
and we just might quit rolling snake eyes.
Icy air is not your enemy
and neither are this small city
or I.
The same park, it has a baseball field,
leaf-covered, looking old
the dugout's still in good repair,
but the basepaths overgrown
remind me of,
A New Year's alone
Remember one warm night when we thought
we were in the mood
to walk to the convenience store
for some box wine and some food?
we played cards,
locked in my room...
Now we're crying California tears
from laughing all night long.
And you don't really hate Montana,
you're just doing Winter wrong.
So lay your anger down
and hedge your bets 'til nicer days
don't stay inside, 'cuz you don't have to.
Graft my smile over your grimace,
this dull white-out's not the end for us
and neither is the bitter cold
outside.
Oct 1, 2014
Oct 1, 2014 at 4:38 PM UTC
*
*We all are LOVERz in the being of BELOVEDz
I keep your LOVE secrets
Hidden in the depth of my eyes
You place your ears on my heaving *******
Listening to your melodious heart-beats
I can't even share with anyone
The intimacy YOU share with me
NO one ever has dared, except YOU
To be brave to enter my skin pores
YOU courageous! - Even to my surprised
I surrendered to your LOVE
YOU LOVE me so much that
I want to end my life in your warm hug
The way your eyes shower LOVE on me
No one has ever seen me like YOU do
I seriously can't stand so much of LOVE
Just swallow me inside YOUR being
Your presence makes my knees go weak
With goose-humps on my skin
With butterflies in my stomach
I run to the bedroom, waiting for YOU
With your breathe touching my skin
Every time, you try to breach
My personal space and private boundaries
You sown seeds and buds bloom
From every cell of my body
Scenting fragrance all over YOU
Every pore of my body craves for YOU
Your graft branches on my soul-pot
Flowering colorful blossoms on me
YOU tease me much
Showing so much gentleness and respect
In the way you pluck each flower from my being
You turn me blood red with your foreplay
I bleed YOUR tears begging you to LOVE more
I want you to serve me
I want to tear your back with my nails
I want you to make it happen
Release me in a moment from living
From all the struggles life serves me
Where were YOU all these years?
Now you are here, never leave me!
When your breathe intertwines with mine
There is no gap in our sighs and murmurs
Till you are within me, you color me
Nature's creative palettes of LOVE
With joys, smiles and laughters of intimacy
But when you are not there
I become a whimper expressing
Dislike and unhappiness for every thing
When your roots of thoughts and being
Are not holding me firm, deeply
I die in your longing & crave for you helplessly
I want to run and come in your arms
And loose all my EGO, pride and status
I want to surrender my desired inert beauty
For you to worship me forever
Though I do not show my LOVE openly
I want to tell you this:
I will do everything during the day time
YOU ask me to do for YOU
I will do more for you during the night time
Those things we only fantasize about
I will be-witch you with my scent
I will cover you with my hair
I will embrace you like your skin
I will drench you under my showers
I will hide you under my bosoms
I will carry you within my womb
Where no one is / was / will be permitted ever
And I will release you only
When YOU grant me all my secret desires*
*
Sep 10, 2018
Sep 10, 2018 at 11:57 PM UTC
"Tout aux tavernes et aux filles."
Suppose you screeve? or go cheap-jack?
Or fake the broads? or fig a nag?
Or thimble-rig? or knap a yack?
Or pitch a snide? or smash a rag?
Suppose you duff? or nose and lag?
Or get the straight, and land your ***
How do you melt the multy swag?
***** and the blowens cop the lot.
Fiddle, or fence, or mace, or mack;
Or moskeneer, or flash the drag;
Dead-lurk a crib, or do a crack;
Pad with a slang, or chuck a ***
Bonnet, or tout, or mump and gag;
Rattle the tats, or mark the spot;
You can not bank a single stag;
***** and the blowens cop the lot.
Suppose you try a different tack,
And on the square you flash your flag?
At penny-a-lining make your whack,
Or with the mummers mug and gag?
For nix, for nix the dibbs you bag!
At any graft, no matter what,
Your merry goblins soon stravag:
***** and the blowens cop the lot.
THE MORAL
It's up the spout and Charley Wag
With wipes and tickers and what not.
Until the squeezer nips your scrag,
***** and the blowens cop the lot.
2.6k
My daddy wants Republicans
Standing in a line
Then ship them all to Moscow
That would be just fine.
Then after all is said and done
There shouldn't be any fuss
Since that is exactly what
They want to do to us.
They can try graft and corruption
In any foreign war zone;
Dead, like they wish our youth
They'll leave us all alone.
It never seemed a good idea
All this war and death and hate
But Republicans love it all so much
It is their fitting fate.
So Dad wishes all Republicans should
Be put in a big ugly ship.
He's fine with them being gone forever
And wishes them a speedy trip.
So adios all you Republicans
We're sick of all your messing.
Go away and stay away.
You have my father's blessing.
May 11, 2017
May 11, 2017 at 5:38 PM UTC
Two inches was the measure, of young Stevies blunder,
Digging out concrete, not knowing whats under.
He felt a nugget, that wouldn't yield to the Pick,
So he used the Jack-Hammer, until he got that "kick".
Caught fire on the spot, looked at me, shocked,
Died in flames, got a days pay docked.
Cut the main cable, Fifty millimetres, metric,
I know you hate to ask, but Friends aren't Electric.
Dennis stepped back, pleased with his graft,
Fell two hundred foot, down an unguarded shaft.
Been on the Grinder, cutting out steels,
So the Elevator boys could fix , their cogs and their wheels.
Never said a word, no shout or no fuss,
Dennis died like he lived, just one of us.
Me and Baz on a roof, we knew was asbestos,
Brittle like toffee, temperamental as Kate Moss,
Had no crawling boards, so we tip-toed like burglars,
Clinging on tightly, think Ivy on Pergola's.
I heard the crack, leapt to the hip-tile,
Baz clawed and scraped, resistance was futile.
They spread out the sand, where Baz hit the deck,
To mop up the blood, from a broken neck.
Health and safety, if's and but's,
Shoddy workmanship, taking short-cuts.
We have no say, we try our best,
Hard hats, harder boots and high-visibility vests,
Are all that we leave, not Time-Shares or Merc's,
Just daughters in tears, Dads not home from work.
Jan 31, 2016
Jan 31, 2016 at 11:03 AM UTC
but tonight i
felt like a family
that despite the
vine we all wish
to graft onto we
can still laugh.
Sep 2, 2013
Sep 2, 2013 at 12:36 AM UTC
Foster the light nor veil the manshaped moon,
Nor weather winds that blow not down the bone,
But strip the twelve-winded marrow from his circle;
Master the night nor serve the snowman's brain
That shapes each bushy item of the air
Into a polestar pointed on an icicle.
Murmur of spring nor crush the cockerel's eggs,
Nor hammer back a season in the figs,
But graft these four-fruited ridings on your country;
Farmer in time of frost the burning leagues,
By red-eyed orchards sow the seeds of snow,
In your young years the vegetable century.
And father all nor fail the fly-lord's acre,
Nor sprout on owl-seed like a goblin-sucker,
But rail with your wizard's ribs the heart-shaped planet;
Of mortal voices to the ninnies' choir,
High lord esquire, speak up the singing cloud,
And pluck a mandrake music from the marrowroot.
Roll unmanly over this turning tuft,
O ring of seas, nor sorrow as I shift
From all my mortal lovers with a starboard smile;
Nor when my love lies in the cross-boned drift
Naked among the bow-and-arrow birds
Shall you turn cockwise on a tufted axle.
Who gave these seas their colour in a shape,
Shaped my clayfellow, and the heaven's ark
In time at flood filled with his coloured doubles;
O who is glory in the shapeless maps,
Now make the world of me as I have made
A merry manshape of your walking circle.
1.7k
I can smell their cowardly fear
their frantic desperation is palpable
they stink frustration and boiling envy
their lies, scams and foul smears unravelling
coercised crowd seeing them for the scums they are
they garner contempt hidden for fear of not belonging
a lot afraid to tell them they no longer buy into their mischief
behind their wicked backs the immigrants are disgusted and sick
sick of their characters, their indulgences and their empty arrogance
The immigrants know it's all racist hatred
they now know the poor man did nothing wrong
know how pathetic and sick these wanton devils are
know these spoilt ignorant rabbles are souless juveniles saps
laugh at them behind closed doors amongst themselves silently
while pathetic thieves and ****** associates boast of their power
power of cowards and scums and workshy semi-illiterates sad fools
resenting success and hard working people who put in the hard graft
jokers and fantasists too stupid to really see what's happening in light
Jan 20, 2019
Jan 20, 2019 at 10:25 AM UTC
There's always a beginning
There'll always be an end
And no matter how you play your cards
You won't see round the bend.
For tomorrow is another day
The morning sun will shine
And the layer of potentialities
Is arrayed for yours and mine.
In looking back a long time
A little boy in jeans,
Check shirt on a pushbike
Amid the in betweens.
Nothing really mattered,
Each day came and went
and before the realization dawned
The infancy was spent.
Mother died of cancer
The agony in eyes
Just 43 years of age
In alcoholic lies.
The Old Man was likewise
Collapsing in my arms
He passed away at 43.
Evaporated charms.
Adolescence came and went
Forced to join the race
Of madness in the unknown
The world's a violent place.
Decision ****** upon in spades
Cut and ****** in life
It's Papua or Vietnam
Instead, I took a wife .
Disaster in the making
A sidestep in the way
I left the complication there
And coldly strode away.
Changed the whole complexion
Altered how it planned
Ended up with knapsack on
Afresh in New Zealand.
Strangely how it re-aligns
The order falls in place
Confusion dissipates to let
What clear defined, creates.
Somewhere I turned the corner
Took it all in hand
Built an actuality
Of promise in this land.
Pride and hard ambition,
defy the odds and graft.
Visualize a rainbow
From inspiration's craft.
Build it with your own two hands
With sweat upon your brow
And know, within your very depth
You're on the right path now.
Lady luck was with me
Somewhere along the way
I found myself a sweetheart
In chance creation's way
Then ragamuffin boychilds
Scrapping on the rug,
Engendered that which matters
In life's eternal shrug.
You touch upon the beauty
You taste the honeyed wine,
You walk on fields of flowers
In the nectar of your time.
Tenderness and kindness
Essential to the mix
Should you wish to be of value
In the blended world you fix.
Some you win, some you lose
Sometimes you just laugh
For as the years meander
There's humor in the task....
And a gentle satisfaction
In the way it all pans through
And in my eighty year reflection
I'll just throw a smile to you.
[email protected]
Mar 9, 2025
Mar 9, 2025 at 5:00 PM UTC
Alexander K Opicho
(Eldoret, Kenya;[email protected])
My people have seasoned the art of begging
They don’t want to beg when begging is necessary
My leaders have compelled our people to beg
Begging that what they have leeway to graft
Begging is couth only when it’s necessary
But not because there is plethorae
Of willing donors who are not even better
Addiction to begging is a political syndrome,
Africa has to stop temerarious begging
Otherwise the burden of debt will erode
Your sons and daughters away
In to the ocean of facelessness
For the slave master owns controls
Only labour of the slave
But in contrast to the borrowing vice
The debt master controls the soul
Of the borrower.
Jan 18, 2014
Jan 18, 2014 at 8:53 AM UTC
Glass bent is money well spent
Shudders like picture framed mirrors
I'm teething again and I don't understand
The expense I put into fear
Someone wrote me letters
But with no address for the sender
The pile up in my blender
I'm trying not to upset her
Breathe out
The smoke says stay inside today but I wanna run away
I feel the pressure lowering, these times are grueling
Breathe out
I called for a quill and ink, you brought me a wrist
I relive the moments when I gave time to think
Breathe out
Today was the wrong day to fall in love
When push comes to shove
I've left you pieces of me
Follow the tissue flakes
Skin like the desert floor
All chapped and twisted
I'm on a mission
Infinite collision
I want your hair to fall out
I'll build the shrine
This night is mine
Rewind
Breathe out
Sit here until I graft with the trees, she's everything to me
Too many times we left behind, for a ****** drive
Breathe out
You'll listen closely to me, we're one in three
We belong in each other's arms, ******* and breath
Breathe out
Jul 23, 2013
Jul 23, 2013 at 7:03 AM UTC
I dust myself off:
I'm on display today.
Or rather, God is on display
In me: His hard graft,
His craftsmanship,
His patient shaping, refining,
Giving them good reason to stop
And notice His signature style,
So to give honour to our maker.
That makes me stand straighter.
Sep 18, 2025
Sep 18, 2025 at 5:14 PM UTC
Flutter flutter
The wings of my heart,
Making its journey from one person to the next,
Losing a bit of itself each time,
Trying to graft on what doesn't belong,
In the hope that it would be beautiful,
Oh, it wants to be beautiful.
I can hardly recognize it.
We've changed so much.
My body wishes to go one way,
The heart trembles, timidly agrees,
But it is not ready,
Aye, I am too anxious for even my own flesh,
So much do I mistrust myself,
I distrust everyone.
Noe one can bring me solace,
No one can soothe the cries of a weary heart,
I want to start over,
But I only have what I am given,
And I've already messed that up.
Mar 29, 2012
Mar 29, 2012 at 9:51 PM UTC
Funny how a small success
can make a large struggle
seem worthwhile.
The struggle pushes on your body
like the thousands of pounds of air pressure we endure every moment, adapted since birth when we were exposed to the atmosphere for the first time.
We've adapted so much. It feels like nothing at all.
And such is the struggle, a gradual acceptance,
until one accidental success -
a perfectly carved moment of zen designed to seal one crack in our exterior, to smooth an otherwise rough outline of the idea of your person.
One crack we didn't know was there until we look more closely.
And suddenly - we see - !
Are we made up of billions of cracks,
of shattered thoughts and ideas,
dreams and plans and places and bandaids over the wounds that never really healed?
Are we scarred beneath the flattened affect of the I'mFines and the Don'tWorries?
What a shock, then, when you finally discover the one smooth graft in your otherwise undetectably shattered self.
Oh! The elation!
One small, well-placed celebration
The seed of a new foundation
Can you declare a body unfit for inhabitance?
It's time for total renovation.
Sep 11, 2014
Sep 11, 2014 at 2:50 AM UTC
I am going to pluck that illuminated corner of the night sky
and graft it to my palm.
I am sorry, precious sky, that we have been so distant
for so long.
Sep 11, 2023
Sep 11, 2023 at 4:51 AM UTC
I look out the golden window to see the grasslands full fleshed and full breasted ripe trees bearing oversaturated fruit O yes and perhaps It is the fruit beholding the shine and plump perfection that looks of Grand artifice O apples so crimson I could barely touch it and the rich roots and Ra hangin'a'bove, it is a delightful Saci's-cap-red and each apple seems to be aligned in various patterns of crisscrossing and interconnection, bordering on random but almost calculated I look down at the breakfast table I am seated in capped with Irish breakfasts for all O It is the bare Nature herself and her youthful manifestation, strong and deep into the ground, it makes me feel no turning back, no regret from the small passionate days of pleasure, feeling that beautiful girl Marie, like Nature herself toned to the rivers and mystifying like from the clouds to the depths and our lips jamming brushing feeling against mine O I felt guilty I felt I was taking all the sound and the fury for myself I was eating ll the fruits in the garden, fearing a mistake, being caught, not giving chances and only wishing to please my immediate soul; as the great Wilde said, "I confined myself so exclusively to the trees of what seemed to me the sun-lit side of the garden, and shunned the other side for its shadow and its gloom." but yet I feel between us a growing, a yearning that is blessed and twisted; graft of Love, starting roots of naked Love sweet connection, Big Time Sensuality; buds in our hearts--the ****** soil has been sown yes O this new Spring is coming and a rite of passage passing finally we have made it past restriction and now a new Spring has finally come! the foggy marches of April lose track and pace, and my exuberance comes swiftly but my prayers and wishes for a beautiful quiet life come with the best intentions of grace; hopefully, surely, wonderfully. Dieu en aura plus tost de vous mercis.
Aug 25, 2010
Aug 25, 2010 at 7:42 PM UTC
I know this space, and in that knowing, a creature was born, strange and shining. It is yours and it is not yours. It is mine and not mine.
I know these people, the ones who have come and will come, the ones who seek to remember.
You will not find another so easily, for the bow I wield was shaped by violence, cut from the tree, carved deep with courage, survival, longing, seeking, beauty. I have always been the first to raise my hand, the firstborn, first to fail, first to leap toward faith. You will not be able to pick it up, this now, for it was made for my hand alone. Yours is waiting, still.
I know these women. We became girls again, building forts, hiding, finding, cutting trails through the wilds, through our shared heartbreak, picking berries, laughing, crying.
I know this lovely thing which moves and grows, foraging on the unknown. This thing, you do not understand, but there is no need for you to understand, stop trying.
You are the farmer’s hand, worn by time and practice. You bring water, decide where to prune and let wither; decide where to graft and where to plant the next crop.
Do not forget. This is a place of remembering. You need not understand it to feed it, to make way for it, to love it as we do. Do not dismiss it. It will not be diminished by disbelief.
You need not understand to see it’s power and its purpose.
Aug 24, 2018
Aug 24, 2018 at 10:33 AM UTC
Man is no marionette,
though he binds himself in string,
it seems this web is made of metal,
for it is difficult to cut,
his scissors lack an edge,
and his sharpening stone is so neat,
not a nick,
no particle out of place.
He cannot cast stones,
for granite is precious,
and his walls are made of glass,
man would be formidable if he were not a coward,
if only he knew which stones to throw,
selective regression perhaps?
At the least he might cut his cords,
with broken glass scattered at his feet.
Progress is not without sacrifice,
just as muscles tear with growth,
so I say do it,
steal the wild branch from the dove,
graft it to the tree,
for man is one half god,
and one half beast.
Dec 12, 2013
Dec 12, 2013 at 1:08 AM UTC
I delicately tread barefoot
along this tightrope of barbed wire.
Too painful to go on
to deadly to fall off.
Eventually I will just stand still,
balanced, let my wounds scar over,
graft the wire to my feet.
Become a part of the human race.
Dec 26, 2012
Dec 26, 2012 at 6:25 PM UTC
AAAtishoo!
Quick, please pass me a tissue.
Ran out of toilet roll.
Quick, please pass me a tissue.
A wet face dripping as tears drizzle.
Quick, please pass me a tissue.
Make up smudged in need of wiping.
Quick, please pass me a tissue.
Burned skin severely, in need a graft.
Quick, please pass me a tissue.
Human beings made of varying tissues.
Various colours.
Make me some tissues.
Not the ones from a box.
By ladylivvi1
© 2014 ladylivvi1 (All rights reserved)
Jan 30, 2014
Jan 30, 2014 at 4:18 AM UTC
The world will tattoo your secrets
Onto the palms of your hands
To teach you
To sleep with fists closed
And to never show anyone
What you hold in your hands
It is to teach you
Sleight of hand
It is to teach you
How to hide in plain sight.
The world will carve your regrets
Onto the inside of your eyelids
So every time
You close your eyes,
Everything you need
To just forget is
Burning bright and fierce in your face.
It is to teach you
To keep your eyes open
It is to teach you
How to never even blink.
The world will stamp your mistakes
Onto your tongue
To teach you
To keep your mouth shut
And to always think before you speak
It is to teach you
The power of words
It is to teach you
How to choose your words carefully.
The world will write your weaknesses
On the walls of your heart
So every time
You let someone
Steal it and break it,
Your flaws all spill out
On the ground for everyone to see.
It is to teach you
To be coldhearted and cautious
It is to teach you
How to keep your heart safe.
The world will graft wings
Onto your ankles
To teach you
When to run away
And when to stand your ground.
It is to teach you
speed;
It is to teach you
How to escape.
The world will brand road maps
Onto the soles of your feet
So every time
You’re looking for
A way out (or in),
your feet already know the way there.
It is to teach you
direction
It is to teach you
How to navigate the world.
By the time
the world is done with you,
It will have left its marks.
Wear these marks
Not with shame,
But pride,
As I have failed to do.
Apr 30, 2016
Apr 30, 2016 at 2:31 PM UTC
When absurdity is the show,
What else does then remain?
To be branded with the tag,
"Stupid" you are... yeah, stupid I am!
I see the world with clear eyes,
No calling brown black or Tan white.
The moon travels around the sun,
Not the sun travelling across our skies.
I like to call a ***** a *****
"Stupid you are!!" modernity demands more.
Duality... not my way or inclination,
Even if modernity demands it.
Gone are the days of morality and modesty.
****** seems to be the new trend,
Truth and courage relegated to the rear.
Now if games are not played or graft taken,
A label of "Stupid" is then attached.
Then, it seems that "Stupid"is my moniker,
As such, then, I shall wear the name proudly.
Mar 31, 2017
Mar 31, 2017 at 11:30 PM UTC