"grooves" poems
He told her she was pottery; a vase with grooves and cracks.
The patterns of the history she hid behind her back.
Within his words he layered in- like thread upon a loom-
The sweetest undercurrent to illuminate that gloom.
In certain cultures, he decreed, when pottery is cracked
They aggrandize them with gleaming gold to bring their splendor back
For they believe, with certainty, once damage has been wrought
Those tiny cracks, now filled with light, hold truths that can't be taught.
Jun 11, 2015
Jun 11, 2015 at 6:32 PM UTC
Wish I could stop time or make it last longer
Feeling on your vibes, emotions getting stronger
The longer I ponder, the more I grow fonder
I can't be around you
There ain't no telling what i might do
I don't know if you can take it
It's too big, I might break it
Little waist tight dress
I can’t take it
Your body shakin
eyes looking at me
like your for my taking
our bodies groove
In our grooves
This kinda love is for the makin
Dancing like we two halves of one making
The moment sacred
Reading your body language
picturing you naked
screamin my name like its your favorite
I make your body do things
So your soul can savor it
Makin love until your ears ring
to our vibe vibrating as we do our thing
you cumin first until it’s past tense
Got a few things on my mind
Baby you are a hottie
Out of everybody
I want your body
Jul 20, 2017
Jul 20, 2017 at 6:07 PM UTC
Soft melodies of the deep sea echo
Moonlight dances on my pretty scales
And icy bubbles whirl under my chest
Through my slippery hair
And down into my lungs to clear the way for overflowing foam
Laughter splashes behind my lips as my anticipation rises
Waiting for a night of twisted fairy-tales and uncalled for surprises.
Shimmering bodies swarm in spirals
Grinding in unison with the waves crashing at the surface
We're anxious for overflowing foam and hidden treasures
Purple light pierces the dark like shards of crystals
Casting a ghostly shade on bulbous faces
Pressure rises as each wave surges
Whirlpools of hot breath suffocate our gills
But the sidelines are shallow
And stragglers float motionless
Hair like seaweed at the nape of his neck
Unbuttoned linen soaked and dripping
Her hollow eyes glow green
Like the jelly orbs of a fish under florescent lights
She’s pressed against a boy who has hooks for fins
Searching for the parts that are edible
Tender, Scale-less, Slippery
Nothing wrong with being the catch of the day
Right?
Bubbles rise and pop as the last melodies drown
Schools of us are begging for shiny hooks and bad decisions
A handsome boy has been smiling all the while
He’s caught in a fisherman’s net
Craving salty lips and the spell to make him a man
But fisherman don't care for little mermaids
With hearts like sea glass and no hidden treasures to steal
Sweaty fins splash and cheer
The fishbowl shatters
Sea glass spills out onto sand
We squirm and flop onto land
Gasping without air to breathe
As our mouths and ***** thoughts dry in the sun
Leaving behind fresh meat without mouths to feed.
Rainbow confetti was stuck in the grooves of my scales
Wet clothes left on the floor of a steamy bathroom
Gasping and moaning into tile
With the face of a handsome stranger
Because this meat shouldn't go to waste
And I'm drunken with desperation
For overflowing foam, jewels, and shiny hooks
But I'm just another fish in the sea
Tumbling in the waves with my rainbow confetti scales.
Oct 15, 2018
Oct 15, 2018 at 6:00 PM UTC
Axels and chains and
Feet and brains
It's the bicycle beats
And the trees and the streets
Join the lines in the sidewalk
As I ride and I talk
To myself,
"Breathe in," &
"Breathe out," --
Burning and churning to the
Grooves and the cracks
Red light's the only chance to relax
Racing the bus and flashing a grin
To the sorry folks trapping themselves therein
Ecstasy building with each revolution
Wiping my sweat away, tasting pollution
Grinding and winding a path on my bike
Where cars and pedestrians hate me alike
Oct 28, 2014
Oct 28, 2014 at 1:25 AM UTC
Its just a fantasy the only regret is permanence,
The life of a modern day gypsy, an unknown destination.
I wake up to new faces from past day's bruises,
A long journey into some town, exploring the unknown.
Green sanctum reflecting the temple top,
Woken up by the gong of the ancient metals.
Treated like a royal guest, offered a lot of the harvest,
Walking down the symmetric coconut grooves.
I see vessels carrying newest of the goods,
But here they still stick to their roots.
True its a gods own country, abundant beauty,
I'm lost amidst the hills sipping the Malabar coffee.
Dec 29, 2014
Dec 29, 2014 at 11:14 AM UTC
Ophelia has
flower petals
growing beneath
her tongue, and
I can taste
honeysuckle
when I kiss her.
There are highways
in the grooves
of her hips.
I like to trace them,
and get lost
somewhere between
intimate whispers and
an unsteady heartbeat.
Ophelia has a
mocking jay stuck
in her throat, and
it sings to me
when she finds
herself stuck in
tangled vines and
dwindling
self-confidence.
She weeps at least
an ocean a day,
and that's more
than my diminutive
hands can catch.
I think I'd like to
spend a few eternities
exploring the peculiar
jungles of Ophelia.
Mar 30, 2014
Mar 30, 2014 at 12:06 AM UTC
#*A passionate dancer , excellent teacher
You possess an innate quality of a master
The one with a discerning nature
You understand the heart of your students
With your dance moves you are prudent
Positive energy flows through the dance floor
when you say one two three four
To the music I can dance
Folk , never took a chance
You taught the moves and grooves
My fear has gone without a trace
And someday will learn some grace
On the dance floor
Like a bright star you shone
Sure , one day you will
Run a Academy of your own*#
Oct 11, 2018
Oct 11, 2018 at 8:02 AM UTC
i.
lovely cigarette
cradled in soft fingers,
inhaled by
smoky lips,
tempting me.
ii.
fingertips grazing
over velvet skin,
traveling with the grooves \
of my body,
electrocuting me.
iii.
darkness engulfs
heaving bodies. '
breath heavy,
hushed moans cut off
by hot kisses,
soothing me.
iv.
one last cigarette,
ending satisfaction.
crooked grins.
smoke swirling above,
embracing me.
Jan 12, 2015
Jan 12, 2015 at 9:06 PM UTC
Let’s go to the docks where the wooden boats rest
With fine-aged grooves that wrinkle their flesh
A quiet and hollow creek to their breath
And in we’ll step
We’ll bring your fishing rods and hooks
Some bait for the fish and I’ll bring some books
Then we’ll paddle on down the river
Just you and I
Let’s row to a place where the water is fresh
In that old wooden boat with grooves in its flesh
A quiet and hollow creak to its breath
And wait for a catch
And while we wait with the water and woods
Once we’ve cast the lines, I’ll read you the books
To see your smile shine across the river
And to the sky
(c) 2015
Mar 23, 2015
Mar 23, 2015 at 10:09 PM UTC
I
Stacked green crates by the futon,
records sealed as buried letters,
each sleeve longing
to be drawn out into daylight
by her small, thoughtful hands.
I just want to play that Nick Cave again
teenager’s resolve in her voice,
she drops the needle on "Tupelo",
traces Peter Murphy with her thumb,
holds Kate Bush to the light
like stained glass.
She laughs
at the ****** box on the speaker.
I tell her it’s never going to happen.
She grins, unbothered,
says she only came for the vinyl.
I watch her tilt each sleeve,
never touching the grooves,
brush the dust,
lay the needle like a secret,
slide the disc back without a wrinkle.
Each time I’m surprised
by her precision.
It’s the third time
she’s dropped by.
She makes mixtapes.
Pressing pause,
pressing record,
stitching songs
into a spine of hiss.
Once, to me, or to herself,
she said her father wanted a tape.
She’d mail it when
he had somewhere to send it.
She follows me across the bridge,
talking about her brother,
an ex-best friend,
mimicking her professor,
how he wags his tongue
when he writes on the chalkboard.
I haul a duffel:
apron, uniform, boots heavy with grease.
She skips in the rain,
strumming cables, humming
the last song played, still in the air.
II
I unlock the door,
steeped in garlic and kitchen sweat,
boots leaving grime on the boards.
She isn’t there-
only the crates, stacked neater,
jackets squared, spines aligned,
as if her care was meant for me.
The room settles with her absence,
yet holds me upright
in its small, thoughtful hands.
Sep 17, 2025
Sep 17, 2025 at 8:11 PM UTC
i am _not alone_ you see?
for everything i see is me
the trees, the mountains
and the moss covered trees
without them i would not exist
nothing in this world persists
without you either... just be still
can’t you feel your cells are eager?
knowing just how much you grew
doing all those things you do
at all the perfect moments too
your energy leaves deep imprints
within the grooves of all existence
the fallen leaves can feel your truth
the sky forms colors pink to blues
just as your heart loves to do
the sun seeks darkness
to shine through
all you bloom
the world is
spinning
all for
you
Aug 12, 2018
Aug 12, 2018 at 2:41 PM UTC
The crash of the waves ,
the Stillness of the sand ,
Life at the Ocean is a contrast grand.
The depth of the sea ,
the high and low tides
The ocean gives positive vibes.
The school of vibrant fish
each with a distinct wave swish .
The bright , shining Sun ,
the cool Breeze over the Ocean.
The vastness of the aquamarine that nestle,
The diminutiveness of the cruising vessels.
Small ,thatched hutments under the tall green coconut grooves,
In tranquility here the day moves.
Smell the sea , feel the sky
A postcard perfect mixture ,
The beauty of the Ocean has a Winsome contrast picture !
© Mrunalini.D.Nimbalkar
Apr 23, 2019
Apr 23, 2019 at 12:49 PM UTC
Cold hard sharpened blades cut deep grooves,
biting forcefully into the icy sheet.
Spinning and sliding and laughing
Pushing one foot ahead, then the other, then the other,
gliding effortlessly over the ice.
A deep cold refreshing breath.
Thrilled and revitalized with the smooth speed.
While nothing lies ahead, a sinuous trail stalks.
A thin film of water created only by the blades pressing firmly
upon the ice, melting and paving the way ahead.
-AM
Jan 13, 2016
Jan 13, 2016 at 1:15 AM UTC
Dreamer dreamer on the wall
Give me dreams that will make me crawl
ones that hold all of the night
one filled with delighten fright
Dreamer dreamer on the wall
Give me your thoughts
Big or small
I want to dwell in dusted drawers
The ones that have been opened once, now no more
Dreamer dreamer on the wall
Give me my lover whom stood by me so tall
Help me collect our ashes that flew
let us leave our rotten memories for the fresh morning dew
Dreamer dreamer on the wall
Tell us your ways not to fall
Whisper the grooves on paths we must bend
Will our minds find galaxies we can comprehend?
Dreamer dreamer on the wall
Can evil be a portrait for anyones hall
do we learn darkness by loosing the light
Or does it come from the lonesomes bitter fight?
Dreamer dreamer on the wall
Oh my dreamer are you there at all?
Apr 22, 2013
Apr 22, 2013 at 3:53 AM UTC
The same song looping over and over…
The same suicidal thoughts torturing my sanity…
Repeats accruing on infinite piles of ruble,
Vigorously fighting these thoughts,
These demons of mentality,
A constant cartwheel of emotion…
Always racing…
Not ceasing for a mere second…
Forcing the pill in my mouth,
And then another,
And another…
The only mental painkiller is death…
I feel numb,
Darkness seeps into my vision…
Blurring reality…
The Pain is going away…
I feel alive as I feel myself die…
Emergency Medical Squads break the door down…
I sit there,
Watching them cycle electricity into my body as I blindly stare,
Eyes not moving,
Weak,
You never came.
I want to tell you I love you until it becomes white noise…
Always knowing I love you,
Never doubting yourself again…
I want to make love until we are one…
My body and yours…
Sharing the night, and day…
Filling senses with pleasure and love…
I want to hold you until you are weightless…
A feather in my arms…
Carry you up to a safe place on a dark night…
I want to love you forever…
I want to love you till stone itself evaporates into the air as it boils underneath the red giant sun…
I want to love you when the Universe rebirths or collapses…
I want to love you when the bell tolls,
The bell does not mark the end,
It will never end,
I will love you always,
Forever,
Not stopping even for a supernova…
No matter how lovely, how vivid, how colorful the painting…
Toxic fumes are given off,
The closer you look the more cracks and flaws you’ll find…
No matter how soft the wood, how elaborate the carving,
You can’t even begin to feel all the splinters…
All the cuts,
The closer you get the deeper the grooves…
This rusty drain has grown clogged of emotion and dust…
Wonderful you say…
But that is just for now,
Today.
My past is dark, dead, rotten,
Who knows if the future will be any different.
Today I have a moment of peace,
You,
A bright blue gem shining in the darkness,
So pure it becomes it’s own light-source,
Echoing beauty throughout the blackness,
Illuminating me,
True Commitment,
Warm and sweet Love,
Unquestionable Trust,
Seraphic Beauty,
Everything I need…
I sit here questioning these words…
Thinking of the purest way to put them,
But emotion is not pure,
It’s ***** rough, and raged,
But when I talk to you that emotion turns into something different,
It turns into satisfying warmth that runs through my body…
The past evaporates into the air,
Dispersing and losing its importance,
You are my future,
Not the past.
Dec 29, 2011
Dec 29, 2011 at 2:03 PM UTC
Time as the healer,
this vinyl waxes merrily
how could we not steal moments listening?
the record plays like a lost friend -
cascading grooves gives choice,
eye contact breaks the reticence
enthralled with our knowledge
enthral to the Elektra.
Nov 4, 2013
Nov 4, 2013 at 5:29 PM UTC
There's a middle aged woman; she's dragging her feet.
She carries baskets of clothes to the laundromat
while the Mexican children kick rocks into the street;
and they laugh in a language I don't understand,
but I love them.
Why do I love them?
So the neighborhood is dimming as I smoke on the porch
and watch the people as they pass, enclosed by their cars;
on their faces just anger or disappointment.
I start wishing there was something I could offer them.
A consolation, what could I offer them?
And they are sad in their suburbs; robots water their lawn
and everything they touch gets dusted spotless,
and so they start to believe they've not touched anything at all
and the cars in the driveway only multiply.
They are lost in their houses.
I have heard them sing in the shower,
making speeches to their sister on the telephone
saying, "You come home.
Woman, you come here."
Don't stay so far away from me.
This weather has me wanting love more tangible.
Something I can hold 'cause it's getting cold.
I say, "Hold up our fists to the flame in the sky.
to block out the light that's reaching for our eyes."
'Cause it... 'cause it would blind us. Yeah, it will blind us.
Well, I've locked my actions in the grooves of routine.
So I may never be free of this apathy,
but I wait for a letter that is coming for me.
She sends me pictures of the ocean in an envelope
so there is still hope.
Yes, I can be healed.
There is someone looking for what I've concealed
in my secret drawer, in my pockets deep.
You will find the reasons I can't sleep and you will still want me.
But will you still want me? Will you still want...?
Well, I say come for the week.
You can sleep in my bed,
and pass through my life like a dream in my head.
It will... it will be easy. I will make it easy.
But all I have for the moment is a song to pass the time;
a melody to keep me from worrying.
Oh, some simple progression to keep my fingers busy,
and words that are sure to come back to me
and they'll be laughing, and they'll be laughing.
My mediocrity.
My mediocrity.
(and they'll be laughing.)
Sep 11, 2012
Sep 11, 2012 at 11:52 PM UTC
I pride myself on differences,
but know at heart we're all one
I tried to do the dishes,
but only two knives made the cut.
Now I wonder if I can
accomplish more than thought possible
judging dull wounds in grunting cans;
feeling pistol grooves and wrist slitters,
I am at home again.
Lying, mining, dying figure heads
make their way to the foot of my bed,
and ask if they may lull me to sleep
with dreams of pneumonia and epilepsy.
I ask them to politely leave,
but they perch on boasting names of society,
reciting to me, too condescendingly,
"surely, we know better than you."
Now all of their heads fit askew.
Save the money and excuse for material attachment.
Keep running through your doll houses.
I pull on my hair to make it grow.
You pull on heart strings to teach a lesson, I suppose
we're in the same sinking boat.
But you are my vital poison.
My body collapses- a muted a noise and-
each time I awake perfectly poised
at your feet and frozen mouth.
How will I ever make you love me now?
Life's a Hawaii postcard
pleading, "go experience the vibrant colors."
There's more to see beyond the rainbow trees,
but they'll still satisfy most cravings.
Every threaded fiber of my being
keeps me pondering
if cells are just too shy to speak,
or if they've always spoken through me,
whispering, "scratch to win the lottery."
I want to write children's books,
and release doves from hidden cages;
watch awe wipe over next generation;
use my candies as their safe haven.
Away this world that have caused them pain-
I Am its new name.
Affection is a mistress of mine.
I still crave her like sunlight.
stare into her eye until I am blind
She's addicting even after she harms you.
I'll keep my heals neck deep
in anxiously wading water.
til I sing it into deep sleep,
its current pulls me under.
and I am at home again.
Sep 13, 2014
Sep 13, 2014 at 9:05 AM UTC
coffee in the night wakes me for the evening,
sipping as I listen to cool tunes
from the lady strummer sooth,
oh the taste of a nice fresh brew,
potent and dark, the caffeine streams
through blood to the brain,
nice quick buzzbuzzbee
in my head.
reprieve from the shop to the abode no one knows,
down the road curved heavy I strode
and sank deep into muses sweet song,
echo ear to ear soul soothsayer,
calm coffee nerves,
trade lines of rhyme
in a compact black
notebook of wonders belonging
none other to d-bake,
spirit of the sun, wandering peace beast
with worthy words and steady grooves.
come midnight go and its time to depart.
come home to dark demons
seeping 'round corridors and corners,
peeking for a sight of frightened prey
to pounce on invisibly,
startled through and through,
spooks steering to insanity, must
seek shelter **** covers with sleepytime tea.
long discussions over late telephone,
with lady of dreams come true,
of one consciousness such that no puzzle piece
stands apart and one love
binds the confines of it all ,
mind shatteringly simple yet
most don’t seem to see
the beauty of all infinitely one.
Dec 26, 2009
Dec 26, 2009 at 10:34 PM UTC
i love/ the water.
gonna set my sights
on a sunny californian day.
thought of you,
oxytocin coursing the grooves of my brain.
and you/ in rising colors.
i love/ that.
that polyeurithmic song of again and again
our bodies.
dark parked cars.
neighborhood bedroom lights, on then off.
we continue/ in tongues.
i love/ the sand and scent
of life. of finding ourselves,
in ourselves.
Mar 28, 2014
Mar 28, 2014 at 1:36 AM UTC
My fantasies turned blonde in ‘seventy-six.
Bjorn, Benny, flickas, sailed from East to West.
Santa Lucia never shone so blessed
as she did in my private Euro-mix.
Perfect pop longs for that feminine fix.
Cassette wheels whirred – branding, then impressing
grooves upon the brain; my thrall confessing
love for Nordic light (in Disco metrics).
The names still strike flames, kindling bright renown:
Frida, Agnetha – your longships linger
Your Viking faces sacked my harbor town.
portaging hope to this shipwrecked singer,
enwreathing smiles to reach our further shore.
I Do… (times five – and will forevermore).
Jan 30, 2016
Jan 30, 2016 at 5:53 PM UTC
I often wonder if I am detached from myself.
Maybe I am too in-tuned to the moon.
I'm the rose that became fully bloomed under the sunlight of noon.
I took my doom and ripped into two.
I shatter my pride but ironically,
my pride told me to put it back with glue.
Who knew that I would walk in these shoes,
blood pumping through my hopeful heart and I'm singing the blues.
The way my soul moves, I swivel in and out of the grooves of the wounds that you can only see in my eyes.
I see the world like you'll see my demise; beautiful immortality saying her softest goodbyes.
When I cry, doves hear me.
I flock with the birds over the clearest water,
and it sees right through me.
Oct 9, 2014
Oct 9, 2014 at 5:57 AM UTC
She laughs as I tell her how
The way she devours her stadium dog
Is so *******
I can’t concentrate
Only we are interrupted by
The crack of gunshot over an open plain
It is followed by a hoorah hurricane
So unison I stop trying to make her laugh
Think about the car ride later
And being stuck in traffic
And sliding gently into home
I want to tell her about years from now
Ninth inning deathbed passion
When my red seems finally begin to burst their cotton
About the splinters living inside of my hands
I was living with them inside of my hands
That’s why I was so rough sometimes
How the scotch guard kept the **** off of my knees
I loved to trace the outline of her ***** diamond
Until there were grooves in there
And my initials in her catchers mound
We are so much hoarse voices
Lost in the noise of ***** hands clapping
How I imagine
As I am sliding into home
In our shower
The soft patter of water on the curtain is stadium applause
Let me run grooves in your shapely pattern
Your laughter is a full circle homerun from heartache
Save me again sweet music
Open plain gunshot buildup
And then a noise so booming it is silence
And us
Ninth inning deathbed lovers
Gently sliding into home
Feb 26, 2012
Feb 26, 2012 at 7:10 PM UTC
Our house is a black box.
We drape every window
but one, a pinhole
to capture the sun.
At night our eyes go dark as ink.
Our memories marbleize at
the edge of the bedroom.
Come morning,
we are nothing
but inverted images
nourished by light.
You tell me to smile
and I braid your hair.
Upstairs, tucked
behind curtains,
the children develop.
I put on another record
and the dark disc spins,
its needle lulled
into grooves the way
you are lulled into me.
We could almost dance together,
but the couple at the window
will not move until
we come into focus.
May 4, 2017
May 4, 2017 at 11:55 AM UTC
White cotton kisses
I pretend you occupy the space of this pillow
I remember your navy sheets
I think they kindly absorbed the blood
it was there, somewhere.
beating or gliding within walls of muscle.
This type of loving has become liquid and electrical.
It is certainly electrical.
spiky pains edging fingertips
Strands of copper threaded into the grooves of your fingerprints
It has a real colour. I don't know what that is.
It's weight fits inside your body.
It is manufactured.
Maybe the ***** triggered it.
Or the serotonin shots when I see your face.
All I have with me now is bone dry fabric and wadding
Jul 20, 2014
Jul 20, 2014 at 3:47 PM UTC