"grafting" poems
I moved a few years ago
To the upper state of Vermont
Although the place is beautiful
At times it can be one great big yawn
That's when we put our heads together
Me and my best friend Shawn
And came up with the great idea
To start a Hippie Farm
Our noggins were a knocking
Not sure how this could be done
Do Hippies come from packs of seeds
Or like flowers, in a bunch
And can you start them off by grafting
Like they do on Apple Farms
Where you get rows and rows of Hippies
From just a single one
That's when Shawn remembered this mail order magazine
That we took out and took a look inside
It came with an assortment of Hippies
From Raw to Roasted to Highly Deep Fried
So we sat and weighed all of our options
And ordered a bushel of Hippies alive
Then we set out cultivating the fields
Till the day our Hippies arrived
The package arrived a few days later
In an old beat up VW Bus
With psychedelic smoke pouring from the windows
Pretty sure they all came buzzed
Of course Hippies don't come with instructions
Only bell bottom jeans and old Jefferson Airplane tapes
Can't tell you how many Hippies we went through
Before we learned from our mistakes
Like don't plant a Hippie face first in the dirt
They need a bit of air to breath
And they don't like to be over watered
Just dust them off when you feel the need
Now that the farm is up and running
We seem to have come into our own
We've even come up with a way of branding
Some of the Hippies that we've grown
We started selling them in flavors
Like Ben and Jerry's down the street
From our Abbie Hoffman Radical Cherry
To our Hendrix Hazy Purple Berry Treat
But it's our Groovy Rainbow Roundup Hippie
Whose sales have never let us down
In fact I'd put that Hippie up against
Anybody else's Hippie in town
I've never been much of one to brag
But we're known on the East coast, up and down
We've had people as far away as Florida
Come and buy our Hippies by the pound
So next time your up in Vermont
Stop in and take a tour and watch us grow
Don't forget to stop by our gift shop
And purchase your very own Hippie to take home
Feb 8, 2014
Feb 8, 2014 at 9:57 AM UTC
Sprang forth with no branches or leaves. Small roots.
Bore mangoes, papayas,guava and bananas. Hybrid, mid limb grafting.
The trunk is a figment but it stands non less. You see
my family tree never was and always will be.
A roadside shade with low hanging fruit.
Was never planted.It was a deposit from the bowels of an exotic bird
of the jungles that sampled at leisure the offerings of the rain forests.
The Hardtack and marmalade came on ships with the kings business
Mixed with the Nigerian Fu-Fu ,the Aztec maize the Mayan legumes.
and all points of the compass.
Old Joe Denegri, The Blancaneaux , The Cattouse, The Melado, The Pinks
The Flowers,The Orozco and more. And boundless from the ***** of opportunity.
Piecemeal and untethered. But it is the tree that I must cling to.
However rough the bark.
The sap runs heavy and slow in the humid Belizean heat.To meet the earth.
Cool breezes blow a haunting disharmony. A sweet unity in chaos.
The soil is rich,pungent and forgiving. Soon, A bell tolls in the distance.
The Sea mists my dreams.
A stairway of coconut fronds to azure skies.
Nighttime smells like creation.
The still slackened pace.
The small rat race.
Tempest in a teapot.
Urban-rural.
Coolie gal.
Creole boy.
New Chinese.
Old African.
Ubiquitous Espania.
Garinagu. Mosquito coast.
Children of Mennon.
Old Basque faces.
Things we call races left with small traces
of what?
My tree, her tree, histree.
I am you and you are me.
I see me in your face and you see me.
We are and will continue to be.
Blended.
a hybrid. An orchid wild.
Feb 22, 2013
Feb 22, 2013 at 5:02 AM UTC
Calf augmentation => silicon implantation
Endoscopy, otoplasty, baby
Mentoplasty, rhinoplasty, scalpel
Juvederm at 4, Starbucks pit-stop right after,
pop some xany's and go
Chemical peel, dermabrasion
Dr. Unknown PhD. meet patient Montag XR3.
Brain stimulation, kneecap replacement
Doc, I'm starting to miss the table, is this a complication I should expect?
Fat grafting, bone grafting, mystic tanning
(what really is natural nowadays?)
Chin reconstruction, laser resurfacing,
(what really is me anyways?)
Consultation with your post-op pain,
It's gonna be "Ouchy" for a month,
but worth it in the end.
Self-esteem scan shows a cancerous tumor and growth
Yuck
And here I thought plastic was
"cancer-free"?
Apr 9, 2012
Apr 9, 2012 at 11:43 PM UTC
Brought forth from a darkness so secure, baby boy relentless in the pursuit of education gazed upon the egg shell walls and sterile environment.
Breathing as if it were natural.
A construction of steel and concrete was the new cocoon , the window was an eye to a neoteric world. Bright white lights shone from within and a dull foreboding cloud loomed beyond the glass for the child to appreciate.
Mother exhausted collapsed sighing. She is the antidote to all that is evil, she is the mother to the world. A usually stick-thin figure now distended but leisurely relaxing.
Nursing her son as if it were natural.
Swooning nurses swaddle infants, the original factory workers. Substantial days grafting, workhorses prancing throughout aseptic halls.
The heroines of our world.
A tribe appears from dust clouds, over the dunes, panting, half-alive. Heavenly Ethiope arriving in time for the world to begin. Tumescent in her ecclesiastic luminescence bearing a King destined to travel great distances primed for expulsion from the cimmerian safety of the womb.
The seas of the earth accumulate before the small band of tall-standing creatures of exquisite anthropomorphism. Creatures from across the great unexplored continent at the centre of our world gathered in frenzied crowds. The Elephants marched in earth shattering herds, the lions of the Savannah put aside their differences and sat amongst the wild dogs of Ethiopia and the grévy's zebra, the dibatag stood and eagerly waited. Shrews, mice, gazelle, otters, cheetahs and giraffes all surrounded the tribe. Taking a silent vow and allowing stewardship to be passed along to a new generation.
Every mother is the mother of the earth. Her earth, the personal concept of earth that only she may understand.
Both children are connected by the planet they learn to walk upon. Connected by a thousand generations but connected nonetheless. They are one and the same. Each bought into a world in which they have no knowledge, each merely a slate eager to be scrawled upon by the elders of this fine rock.
Jan 12, 2013
Jan 12, 2013 at 9:53 PM UTC
befriended by the builders
a building site next door
they gave her little jobs to do
although she's only four
when friday came,they even gave
her wages for the week
foreman smiled at sophie's joy
and tweaked her rosie cheek
off she went, to spend her pay
there was no way of stopping
a working girl with hard earned cash
so mummy took her shopping
hello mr sweetshop man
i've got cash to spend
been grafting with my muckers
an real job,....not pretend
are you working monday?
he passed her pick and mix
aye! if those wankers from jewson
bring the ******* bricks
Mar 26, 2010
Mar 26, 2010 at 4:05 PM UTC
i am the boss, and pay the cost
of your life every week
i'm upper class,so kiss my ***
twice daily on each cheek
you are my slave,until your grave
depend on me for pay
you must obey,all i say
eight hours every day
my status rules,you grateful fools
that grovel to my money
i demand, your grafting hands
feed me milk and honey
yeh, but......
i work for you, and listen to
the ******** and the crap
because i've got two kids to feed
along with mortgage trap
but you don't see, where i ***
when you demand a cuppa
laugh aloud, feeling proud
each time i eat my supper
you spit your **** i laugh in fits
recall your furrowed frown
the night i painted your new car
and let the tyres down
shout your clout, boss me about
don't care how i'm feeling
but you don't see, where i ***
and everything i'm stealing
Mar 11, 2010
Mar 11, 2010 at 10:37 AM UTC
Naught the mages
Elm yellows plough
feigning eternities
dream of man;
the cradle of time
the realm of night,
Scathing Hekates
piacular restitution
heralded papally
upon Seven Hills
cradling Hades
tau cross-roads;
Eliciting with the iron
seminal sickle,
gifting the servants
of the servants of God
and slaves of slaves alike;
dismembering the boughs
of war- elsewhere,
Building broken bridges
Carving the lullabies
of humanity grafting
a sprig of Yggdrasil.
ELEETE J MUIR
Feb 15, 2014
Feb 15, 2014 at 7:26 AM UTC
i am satiated sinful--
who cares more?
that we've been scorching bliss
and grafting these
blameless bittersweet distractors
like we won't hear thunder-
hiding from the condescending constancy
of raindrops on the tin garage
i will swallow you
until my belly rumbles
*"enough cataclysm,
enough leaky roofs,"*
filling me with sloshing
wistful reminders
of our tranquil dampness,
a shivering placidity in
our secluded synchronicity.
May 8, 2013
May 8, 2013 at 5:08 PM UTC
Conor's got P.E. , so his kit is washed,
I've wrapped his butties in foil, so they don't get squashed,
Pork Luncheon meat, in a crispy roll,
And a carton of Ribena, to fill that hole.
Jess starts College at One, so she'll wake at Five - to ,
Cheese and Pickle, will have to do,
I've had my pint of milk, with three Weetabix,
Got a Flagon of Cider, all the boxes are ticked.
A days grafting ahead, out near Billingshurst,
Laying bricks and blocks, building up a thirst,
And home to the hungry, back to the shops,
It's either Chicken Kievs, or half-price lamb chops.
Custard and Pie, hot milky drinks,
Then everyones asleep, except for me, who thinks,
About tomorrows butties, fruit and snacks,
Calories, nutrition, vitamins and facts.
Up at dawn, in an old bobble-hat,
Making food for them all, even the cat,
A tin of Tuna, he's well impressed,
Another flagon of Cider, another sweat-stained vest.
Mar 25, 2016
Mar 25, 2016 at 11:17 AM UTC
*The unexpected snow, disruptive,
in ways more burdensome,
than mere fender benders and
swapping travelogue commutation miseries
ah, the tv reporters regale
with snow tales, human fails,
but where do you hear
of the children
burnt once by fire
then again, now,
again!
burnt by snow.
here, hear, listen here
technology moves forward,
grafting new shells of skin
on burnt children,
but tonite you're cozy thinking
of your valentine's heart,
not of the little ones,
whose hearts are unprotected,
by what we take so for granted
beneath our protective gloves and coats, scarfs and boots,
our prophylactic human skin,
theirs, fire ravaged,
now re-hazardous,
by southern snows burning
these children hurt,
unexpectedly,
cannot play in the snow that came so
unexpectedly,
lest it burn them worse*
"in the children's burn unit, postponed all surgeries except 'emergency'. Two days of outpatient clinic patients forced to reschedule,. That then, postpones their surgeries, second step grafting, etc. Our vents ran smoothly I heard via the generators, unlike last outage. We had to ambulance each individual patient.
I dread going in tomorrow but small comfort,
it will be warmer than my cold home."
Life first, poetry second
Feb 15, 2014
Feb 15, 2014 at 3:31 PM UTC
Because it’s my birthday I thought I’d release something I was keeping for myself. Enjoy.
On this red planet,
Alone I stand in the vastness
of this scenery in purgatory.
Alone I stand long,
alone I stand king
of this terrain.
With this, something like a kiss,
the way its skin caresses my toes
as they work its way through
the pink sand;
With this I have reached my peak.
I have reached transcendence.
There are no more epiphanies to be had --
I have reached my goal.
Come to terms with my purpose on Earth,
I have sampled ulterior extracts,
while my earthly self does what it does best.
Still the 'Q' I question existences trifles.
Straying from the path crafted by man's willingness to obey.
Now the 'X' I exploit the fact
time is no longer a burden.
Freedom, like raw diamonds
flows through my fingers,
sweat falls upwards and side to side,
and gravity is now an illusion of memory.
This Roman god of war,
bends freely to my will...
Shifting, moulding and grafting into more
than the Earth could ever behold.
This place is not to share,
not this everlasting pink beach with no ocean,
this is mine
and mine alone –
Feb 6, 2014
Feb 6, 2014 at 5:44 PM UTC
In those days of woe with head hung low
In those moments of regret,
When your actions lose momentum
And your heart begins to fret.
When the best of plans do not work out
When your mountain seems too steep
And tractions lost in everything
And losing makes you weep.
Hard grafting wears your bones too thin
Your tomorrows fade to mist,
The splendour of your recent past
Despatched to moments missed.
Frustration that the rainbow plans
Have dwindled in the rain,
That your brilliant expectations
Have expired to things mundane.
Your stature has diminished
In the eyes of those you love,
Your capableness stultified
By the pointing velvet glove.
Self confidence is wilted now
Belief within less sure,
Potentialities diminishing
With every shrunken score.
Dark sombre thoughts receeding
Blue corners fade to gold,
Discontentment ****** asunder
As new amber dreams unfold.
The towering unhappiness
Diffuses to the air
And spirals of positivity
Emerge from here and there.
The path beyond the shadowed lane
Is there for you to tread,
Gird your soul for chance my friend
Discard the shoes of lead.
There must be dreams to savour
There must be goals to meet,
So launch your bold tomorrows
And delight in unknowns sweet.
You’re sailing in fair breezes now
The silver waters flow,
Warm sunshine on your shoulders
Rich contentment’s fine red glow.
For there must be dreams to savour
To hold within your heart,
To engage the thrill of living
And make each day a joy to start.
Marshalg
@theBach
Mangere Bridge
7 June 2009
Oct 21, 2009
Oct 21, 2009 at 12:43 AM UTC
You're searching for even the slightest validation for your inexcusable actions, transient in both values and the physical realm, collecting conquests and usurpees like how one might collect trophies from animals they hunt, faces frozen in a false expression with unseeing glassy eyes as they are forever immortalised in your sick collection to be made a mockery of long after the passage of time takes it's toll on both the images and the subjects.
A calculated maliciousness disguised as an indecisive personality, you are a bottom-feeder grafting onto the bellies of whomever are blissfully unaware or trusting enough to swim by you; but your own is yellow as a summer's day is long; not from just cowardliness, no, but from **** (sans the vinegar), and I wish I could compose this prose into something a little less hateful and a little more tasteful, but I won't spare you another second of my time, I'll erase you from my mind.
Nov 10, 2015
Nov 10, 2015 at 7:26 AM UTC
I feel you, river, help me grow,
feeding with your ebb and flow,
As gentle tides doth come and go,
a quantum of solace I do know,
Dutifully nurturing,
around River creatures play and sing,
Flying o'er water on golden wing,
grafting and aspiring
The birds are a silhouette on a sunny sea,
that sparkles iridescently,
I bask in it resplendently,
and honour it devotionally,
Toes licked by tides caress,
the waters gift us, give and bless,
Soothing fear and pain and stress,
the ocean is nature's silken dress,
I hear you, river, murmur and roar, those hallowed sounds that I adore
Which one of them that I love more?
I love them all, to hear them pour,
I love them like a troubadour, enamoured of River's wild old tour,
Transcribing her Beauty in to lore, Wisdom older than ancient war,
Rivers are the friends of sages,
who've known their power through the ages,
Wisdom felt, not read from pages, which imprison us in wordy cages,
Rivers must be loved and praised,
by them we must be amazed
Life on Earth they nurture, raise,
so listen to what River says
Mar 28, 2017
Mar 28, 2017 at 11:55 AM UTC
Star pupils, interstellar eyes,
gazing across the frozen nebula
at stick figures in radiation suits,
lovers intertwined with reactant valves,
planted into unearthly soil,
a distant light from over our shoulder,
the good comet returns,
there might be an escape pod
for intangibles after all,
and once inside, images of moonbase love
and alien encounters,
that neither mocks the comically misjudged
visions of yellowed science fiction,
nor longs for some utopian future,
an environment that begs escapism
without denying humanity
Apr 5, 2024
Apr 5, 2024 at 11:31 AM UTC
I am a robot to the other's.
Protective of all human kind.
I am a guardian of many.
Take me as you shall find.
I will serve and respect you, as you are the wearer of human skin.
The bearer of human sin.
As Robot; I know not of sin.
I am emotionless, inanimate made of tin, or similar non corrosive metal.
Human is conditioning,into a master robot .
Crafting, grafting, making sense.
Manufactured of filaments and circuit boards.
As Robot,I may not harm a hair on human head, by way of lacking action.
Robot, I must obey what humans say, avoiding harming human fellows.
You may scrap your fellow robots, put them in the melting ***
Causing harm to homo-sapiens is one thing I may not.
Above all, I as robot must protect myself for future stealth type operations.
But I can't harm humans.
Useful as a fighter I am not, for I cannot be a warrior it goes against my laws, all three.
As I can do no harm, totally against my doctrine.
A domestic engineering robot is the only thing I am.
(c)Livvi
Aug 30, 2015
Aug 30, 2015 at 9:36 AM UTC
You have such small,
Gentle hands.
The softest of touch,
As you trace invisible lines
Across my temples
And relaxed brow.
You stare into me.
I’d left windows open
Secretly hoping
That you’d brave
My weak defenses
And seek me out.
Inside, you comfort me
More than the fire
I had waiting for you.
You incise my soul
Drawing no blood,
Caressing open nerve.
Your skill of navigation
Within me:
I sense that you have been
Here—before.
Perhaps in a Time
When Dreams lived, flourished.
So petite in size—
Yet my own passion
Enwraps you and
I feel and breathe
Your every selfless,
Deliberate move.
My eyes, weary
And guilty of your entrance.
They complied when
Words failed to shield
From an intruder
Of Need and Desire.
I shall keep you
Safe, here.
Should you peer out my chest
You will see
The palm of my hand,
Guarding you in.
So fitting you are.
I am intoxicated and
Delirious with the liquids
We are now sharing.
I feel our flesh grafting,
As it always belonged.
I close my eyes,
While you settle in
Your forever home.
I will sleep now, dream
That you someday may be,
More than a photograph.
Jul 22, 2010
Jul 22, 2010 at 5:59 AM UTC
The low hum
accentuates the pain,
needling vibrancy,
vivid-hues,
grafting stories
& inked impressions,
etched onto
your sweet-skin.
Such memories
& hurtful reminders
are told in cracked
kaleidoscope-colors,
bright dermis-murals
of your broken dreams
screaming for release,
remembering the beauty
of your heart,
now made warm
with skin-art.
Dec 23, 2013
Dec 23, 2013 at 12:30 PM UTC
I want to dissect the space in between growing up and being an adult
I want to see the heart as it beats its desperate beat of not enough
I want to see the lungs that save their breath because the worst thing to ever happen has not happened yet
I want to see the brain that has just started to question the belonging that was inherent in every held hand between friends
And I want to see the vestiges of the tales told to children that made them believe that growing up was wondrous
But which shrunk in the face of an evolution that explained away the magic in the world and told us that real life was good...
enough.
I want to dissect that space and see it before growing older starts to feel like growing colder
I want to dissect that space after falling in love is only about unscarred hearts and tiny little steps of faith
And then I want to keep each piece
Cultivating and grafting to get the perfect hybrid of knowing that things sometimes don’t work out and believing that anything is possible
Making my monster out of childish this and adultish that
And I want to give it life
Flinging it out the window
And then maybe wondering if it has wings.
Sep 12, 2010
Sep 12, 2010 at 11:21 AM UTC
I beam as I scheme and who gives a **** if I duck and I dive it's what I have to do to get by and to thrive,while the cops in their cars the modern day tsars are grafting away,getting more than their pay in backhanders and doughnuts.
My M.P'S on a freebee and it's paid for by me,me, in the taxes they take and they're breaking me down,it's time to get out of this town and head West.
I'll take a schooner from Bristol,carry a pistol,become a pirate,a buccaneer,sail near and far and the cops in their cars will have no chance to catch me or give me an asbo,
does anyone know what an asbo looks like?
or I could take the long view,play the long game,get a good name.
No,
I'd rather be a privateer anything away from here,does anyone know how to steer a ship?
Mar 9, 2014
Mar 9, 2014 at 8:42 AM UTC
Bells and all assorted pings.
Melodic melancholy meticulously mesmerizing me.
A baritone bleeds out across the flickering walls, intoxication festering with(in).
"Where have you been?"
A bed of boards, a few more knots, remains oddly comfortable.
Rhythmic ripples dig into the woodwork gripping and grafting, fibrously.
Sinking out of me, in my time.
A little more letting, a little less me.
The cracks running with what's in
b e t w e e n.
Aug 17, 2015
Aug 17, 2015 at 1:53 AM UTC
love
definition
a feeling of no other
one that comes from a lover, sister or mother
young
definition
the nights spend on cold beaches
new clothes between sheets
with hot kisses like leeches
pulling on skin and rubbing and sweating
with a eventual outcome
more than just heavy petting
but when did love
become this
this facade of false hope
with love bites and ***
down to drinking and dope
the only touch that they feel
on a regular basis
is a stupidly drunk one
with no ways of creating
the enhancement of youth
with no *** education
is like loving a dead man
or one on sedation
when did love become 'grafting' and 'talking'
with no dates
or date nights
or even late walking
their perception of love is more than just warped
the hearing of love
like bad chalk on board
there is a difference between small one night stands
and the rush of first love
as you walk hand in hand
stop teaching our youth
that love is somehow dead horse
or else grow up with just lone and remorse
how are they going
to find the right one
if they aren't given the chance
to go out and get them
they're blind to emotion
and blind to the truth
we need to stop shattering
the love in our youth
the touching the hugging
the swapping of spit
lets encourage and thrive
not make a taboo out of it
dont teach them to ****
if they want *** they take it
but teach them to love
and teach how to make it
Mar 18, 2014
Mar 18, 2014 at 6:12 PM UTC
Addicts come in different forms
We are all facing our own demons
We all have those things
That we wish that we could let go of
Those inner demons
Those inner forces
That seem to drag us down
That snag us down
We all have the things
That keep us up at night
Those moments in our lives
When we doubt if we are really here
Really living
Really existing
Or if we are just floating along
Not truly grafting to anything real
Just floating along with the breeze of life
Giving in to our demons
The things that hold us back
Sometimes it can feel
Like it's just easier to give in
Sometimes it can feel like
It is just easier to just
Keep going through the motions
Sometimes it can feel like it's easier
Just to live in the darkness
Giving in to those inner demons
Sometimes they can become so familiar
It can become all you can know
May 3, 2012
May 3, 2012 at 2:32 AM UTC
Life loving is my occupation is Aus
And today I'm grafting hard
This shift is overtime from the weekend
So the pay is double matched
Even in my sleep I'm earning
It's a tough life when you work here
But at least in this vocation I've no time for anything else
Feb 23, 2014
Feb 23, 2014 at 12:15 PM UTC