"grooving" poems
who knew that in about
4 years time,
or maybe
10,000 years lost in
10,000 multi hued tears,
id be on the same trip-
dancing to the same
shimmering inner grove as before-
braiding fresh cut
flowers-
delicate genital-hands, unfolding in prayer
into my subconscious mind
or perhaps into my hair-
saving colored prism fragments
of knowledge or nonsense-
digesting intoxicating
incense smoke into the
deep throated green streaked
laughter chasms
that are my lungs-
spinning vinyl, spun mind
unwinding, undulating
through string music-
contemplating the sunset's sweet
immaculate form, reoccuring
and balancing itself right outside my window-
dressing in shells, bones,
and beads; kaleidoscope fabric dripping from
the ******* like mother Kali in a Fellini
flick-
peeping out at heads slinking down
the ****** pavement streets-
my hairy angelic form grooving
intensely, spastic-
body flung, strung out in
hot patterns of
mirrored arms and legs-
brain brew bubbling; wicked, fantastic-
limbs waving and grabbing at
tangible tasty morsels,
smelling strongly of indigo
and patchouli-
the East smiling on me and
my intrepid journey to the ocean city-
head thrown back in
tranquil madness-
pipe smoke curling like
ancient hound howls from the corners
of my lips-
smiles spread like insanity, a wicked disease
lost in the forgotten finger painted
confounds of creamy
****** milk consciousness-
basking in lamplight
of the golden glistening
Now.
Apr 1, 2014
Apr 1, 2014 at 1:26 AM UTC
After the DJ dimmed down the lights
One look at you
I can tell it's gonna be a long night
I don't know if you can take it
It's too big, I might break it
Little waist tight dress
Your body shakin
Eyes Looking at me
like your for the takin
The way our bodies groove
make our bodies move
like love is for the makin
Dancing like we naked
dancin close like its sacred
Reading your body language
Screaming my name
like i’m your favorite
I make your body do things
Making love until your ear rings
Screaming out loud, speaking nonsense
make you *** first until is past tense
Jul 11, 2017
Jul 11, 2017 at 4:45 PM UTC
choreography
is taking off
in rural areas
cows are moving
and grooving
fabulously
on hillsides
and in creek paddocks
you can see cows
shaking
their four legged frames
WOW
WOW
WOW
those cows can dance
their hypnotic steps
put one in a trance
Sep 8, 2013
Sep 8, 2013 at 9:10 PM UTC
Some people work out
to get totally bulked
some people work out
to get totally slim
sometimes one just
never knows which
will result
but when all gets going
the most beautiful part
is to get the body
flowing
getting the body
moving
getting the body
grooving
it is so beautiful
to feel a tug
of ****** movement
never felt
where it was felt
with any strength before.
Keeping the body
beautiful
means keeping up the
motion
movement is beauty
when done with
will and devotion
the body is ageless
when rejecting the
notion
that time is an
enemy like
zero pdf lotion.
Keep working out
how you will
be it lifting
be it dancing
be it running
or groovy prancing
let your self
cry out for more
let yourself
stretch
to reduce being
sore.
Let the body move
so that you sweat
straight from the heart
the more you move
and work it hard
you create
body art.
Sep 19, 2014
Sep 19, 2014 at 4:28 PM UTC
I feel like an empty coloring book.
Just brought out the store, still in the bag
and I require every single crayon in your 64 pack to be filled in.
Completely.
Yet you could never color me properly, never able to see all of me, I know that all of John’s lyrics were just legends
Cause we would, never have been able to adapt in the environment we were set in.
I promise, we were destined...to fail.
But In this moment, at least try to stay in the lines..
maybe squint your eyes .. take a closer look at how damaged my pages already are.
I never asked you to be neat...
I only advised, that you at least try to stay in the lines.
But really, who am I?...
Giving advice, but never take mine..
Living for the moment, when i should take time
I move fast.. like smooth winds, grooving through the motions but
I…move too fast
And I spread myself too thin.
Like, weak things & wheat thins, we could never break even.
Even when I'm looking for happiness in the same place that I lost it.
If you weren't gonna color in this book then why you got it ?
I refuse to be a coloring book kept in the closet
& I'm tired of being patient, so color me in.
Shades of chivalry is not dead yet
Of you making my cheeks red and
Shades of “is the sky black… or blue at night?”
Of “my love goes on for light years”
& I'll be loyal like Woody, If you'll be my Buzz Light year.
Shades of“did you know that violets aren’t really blue?”
Of confusion.
Color me in shades of understanding, and sympathy.
Rose red.
And violet. Purple. Not blue.
Color me in shades of cliché.
Frame me in calming hues.
Jun 18, 2015
Jun 18, 2015 at 10:21 PM UTC
If one pulls
A sheep astray
The flock is sure
To move that way.
To fish in a troubled water
De-constructing history
Thwart we could
The old social fabric of unity
And create we shall
A generation
Suffering a crisis of identity!
*“Ask me not why
They are better than
My peers and I
Also sensitize me not to deny,
What I see with my naked eye!
In attire,grooving,life style ,
Cosmetic application and civilization
They galvanize youth's attention!”*
Come up with a generation
We shall
That does not bat an eye
Our dictates to buy,
A generation that does barter
An age-old culture
With fads,for such a venture
Proves to it an adventure.
To achieve what we terribly sought
If we use somebody of note
Fame that has got
Say an artist or a poet
The mob will not
Fight-shy to drink a lot
From our poison ***
Without a grain of salt
“God doesn't exist "
Could be top on the list!
Alas, we could say “Worship us!"
*"Forget the Key And Lock theory!
Why should you worry?"*
Or social and religious norms
We could rock
With *“A lock could lock a lock
even in a wedlock!”*
Feb 27, 2016
Feb 27, 2016 at 10:05 AM UTC
i am of the light
despite
my shroud
that crowds the villains in the toppled telemetry of my steeds
galloping gallantly from the burning cities of my dreams
i shall gleam from her or he
that which delivers
their truths faithfully to their dreams
open wounds turn invitation
in the pity of hungry thieves
who dared to dream
of peasants king-ed.
as we sing
sing
of desperation
in passionate confessions
of jaded wisdom
passed on through every failure
never to falter
in the betrayals of Walters
lost
in loss-less flac files
i have miles to go
smiles to grow
daggers projectiles
from mild mannered children
freshly ridden
of maniacal miracles
spiritual
but not stupid
we are troopin
this lucid movement
grooving
to the repetition of the drum
the gas blow back of a gun
the bursting bubbles of bubble gum
having fun
i learnt goodly on the run
learned nothing in victory
learned nothing in simplicity
complacently
snickering it all away
bullet by bullet
case by case
and eventually the blade
in my compassionate displays
we shall congregate
and hate ourselves
**** the donks to hell
dwelling on the cellar doors
that darkos teacher adored
in verbal massacre
of the written literature
of cracked brain fixtures
seeping the lines
in cold tingles
down the spines of maniacs
just relax
mix it down on a track
spit the thesis into pieces
through the creases of cracked sneakers, and out the speakers
of trouble seekers.
mistakes make us
deliberate chaos
tossed
upon the fakers
who cry to think
the dream
became a reality
mistake us
for serrated blades that rip the hearts from beasts
sometimes i stop to think
while having a drink
conclusive brinks
of sanity creaks
of my humility
secreting
frivolously
the disposing of my jealousy
of your feelings
hellaciously
i rip a felony
from a face
in appealing agony
antagonizing me
in the frenzied forensics
of my oblique
outlooks
none of us
were ever crooks
speaking to self
while being booked
in hell
Sep 5, 2012
Sep 5, 2012 at 1:36 AM UTC
What happened to dancing?
And I mean grooving
Moving to the beat of the music
not that
back to front, raunchy, distasteful, vertical *** on the dancefloor foolishness
I don't want any of that unclassy bending over
***** pressed up against a stranger, up in my face,
I mean up in my behind business type of dancing.
None of that too-close for comfort, get-a-room type of grind
I want some of that smooth jazzy, hold my hand and spin me around moving, and
I want some of that 80's finger-snappin', and some of those Breakfast Club hip-shaking, arm-gyrating
What I don't get is why
The moves from ***** Dancing seem cleaner than today's so-called dancing.
I want to be able to go to a club
And have enough space for myself and you to be dancing like we're dancing at home,
with the privacy of our rooms
I want to be able to dance, and let us return
and have a much-needed cultural dance revolution where it doesn't have to be something your mama won't be ashamed of.
I want some of that jiving, and more of that 70's finger-pointing, and fast-feet moving
Man, I just want all of us to dance without it suggesting anything more than smooching.
Oct 27, 2011
Oct 27, 2011 at 1:20 AM UTC
hi how high are you?
my body is shaking within my own skin
my grin shows how high my state of mind is
my thoughts lined with pleasant daydreams
theme undecided
nothing guided
only my imagination
with my own narration
long duration
**** hits, never quits
visits from old memories
carries me away
as if a glistening new boat
was swaying me away from shore
I swore my body was moving to the feel of the waves
moving, and grooving
proving I am who I am
through my dreadlocks
and poetry
this is my story
glory, just exquisite
no, not really its ordinary
I'm going to cut to the chase
life is no race, I'm slowing growing
flowing through my deepest emotions
my devotion is enlightenment
brighten my eyes and live in the moment
all thats crucial, with the brutal past
and the frightening future
let my worries
become flurries of snowflakes
laid upon the earth and not my shoulders
weight like a boulder
in the eye of the beholder
I hear sweet tunes of floyd
feel the keys on my fingertips with every motion
smell the stale smoke of cigarettes and marijuana
this high as brought nothing but good thoughts
and positive energy
and talkative vibes
nothing describes the uplifting enjoyment
won't stop drifting
shifting from planet earth
to my own birth of reality
Sep 21, 2014
Sep 21, 2014 at 8:17 PM UTC
He has coffee in his blood,
He dances with brown camels.
White wide paths of knives
Are curved deep among the mountain passes
Of ribs wrapped in soft desert of skin.
A tongue athlet and a sound alchemist,
A reluctant nomad with wheat hair,
Who's driven by his crazy-grooving heart
So rarely though so far.
Sometimes a train, sometimes a net,
Sometimes a piece of paper
Will take him.
But most often he is joining with genies
In their bottles. And spirits take him
To the caves, the deep blood-vessels.
He's silent mostly and his back is bent
Though he is tall.
He walks all cloaked in weary clothes
And idle anger both.
As it dictates him his prideful eagle's nose.
He bears also marks of roots,
Of runes, of flame, of anchors,
Dancers.
His bones look at you in their clutches
From beneath the skin
Of his thin fingers.
He builds the towers shaky,
Weak. And so, they're almost living,
Breathing.
He've found a cat in a banana
And lets it live inside his elbow.
The grey in northern sky is his.
He reached his fine hands
And left it there. He touched the sun
And then again. He put it in his lighter
With his fingertips.
So he occasionally has a light from the sun.
He prays to metal and walks two roads at once.
He tolls the tree from which he hails.
He hangs from a branch.
Or does he just stand
Downwords and his back is lying on
The branch on which he stands?
He buried his gold and digs it out only
For fire and jokes, for bitter and smoke.
A cow of three eyes and a bee on his blazen
Are joing in drawing.
Aug 9, 2018
Aug 9, 2018 at 6:59 AM UTC
“Don’t you give up on me,” was the comment you made when
you looked in my weary brown eyes. I felt you on a whole other
level, that came to fruition because of your truth. I feel something
for you that I’ve never felt before, it’s foreign to me and I want to
learn your native language. I am grooving to the vibes you send
only to me, and my ultimate desire is learning to move, privately to
your passionate embrace.
Melting like dark brown sugar every time I see your face, I find it
quite amazing how you are able to read me, just by feeling my
inward thoughts and my frazzled emotions. I can feel the softness
in your spirit, it drives your intent to make Me your woman and
sealed my fate to bond our heart. You are the King of my heart;
mind, body and soul. My special magician and the only man, who
can pull my heart strings and summon me into your lair.
After we talked about our feelings, I closed my eyes and felt what
you felt. Ripples of emotions flooded through me, raining; spring,
summer, fall and winter. These seasons of change have a rippling
effect, of passionate thoughts and compassionate dreams. I feel
you everywhere inside of me, these vibes we share are pure
electricity. When you told me don’t give up on you, you made me
feel like melted brown sugar. A sweet dark potion that was only for
you, that only you my King, will sample from. We share this intensity
that can be felt across oceans, an intensity that radiates and fills the
gaps, that unlucky fools have thrown away. You make me melt like
honey in tea, that soothes my heart and eases my mind.
Jan 29, 2021
Jan 29, 2021 at 10:43 PM UTC
We are like resonating strings
We crave what resonating brings
Matching our vibrations
With audiovisual sensations
Rapid reverberations
Expand and cross nations
Transmit like radio stations
These vibes deny explanation
We seek community
Where we can truly be
The truest form of “me”
Totally friction free
Grooving to the moving
Jiving to the beat
Dancing to the music
Feeling so complete
We are energy looking for a path
A certain resonance frequency
That could be conveyed with math…
But that would be indecency
Instead we name it differently
We call it personality
But to put it honestly
We are atoms in reality
A pattern, a frequency
A string reverberating
Looking to vibrate freely
Liquid, liberating
So go with your intuition
Follow the beat of your own drum
Find your ideal situation
Your part of the continuum
Jun 24, 2019
Jun 24, 2019 at 11:19 AM UTC
Letters are old school, but I guess so am I.
In a way, I guess that is true,
I sometimes feel like I am an old fool,
Stuck in the Motown groove,
The 21st Century is not for me,
Waiting a minute before I can hear the next song,
And when it eventually comes on it's one filled with hate,
And let’s not even talk about trying to date,
They said to leave a message after a beep,
For my old soul that means a beat,
That brought with it dance and heat,
Words and rhymes and a drumbeat,
See back in my day, a letter meant waiting on the mail man,
And not looking for blue ticks from an app I got from an online store,
It meant post stamps and asking friends to proofread,
It meant punctuating every line so that you knew without you I could not breathe,
Being in love was not just words and play,
It meant dancing in the street; we called it grooving,
Not sweet talking and lying,
The old fool in me is tired of trying,
Am not saying that you are lying,
But you are in no way trying,
To meet me in the street,
Or groove to a Motown beat,
I wish you were sending me flowers,
While you were out there spending time,
With worlds that were not even meant to be real,
My old soul needs more than one-off dines or drinking box wine!
See back in Motown, when a man loved a woman,
He could not keep his mind on anything else,
He did not put a little loving on her, or shelve her
It meant the whole street knew her, and even knew her favorite beat!
I have known only one other of your kind, the sweet-talking guy,
You have me down on my knees wondering when you are going to leave,
That is not love, I don’t know what it is,
Feels like it, but this is something else!
Jun 17, 2019
Jun 17, 2019 at 10:49 AM UTC
Toe-Jam Football
here they all come now
they all come together
holding hands and laughing
being tickled by a feather
dreaming dreams of days gone by
or of children of the future nights
how many times have they reached out
marveling at the splendid lights
give me life send me love
waltz me around in circles small
hold me tight kiss me good night
tell me I am the prince of the ball
even with my imagined flattop
I can still be grooving slowly
reaching to score the final goal
my toe jam football, good looking and roller holy
Gomer LePoet...
Aug 23, 2013
Aug 23, 2013 at 12:30 PM UTC
"Hm", the girl says in your bed.
Red wine and yummy chocolate - what a great mix
Moving and grooving to the beat of the music
Oh, la la.
A pleasant smell in the air, flowing, in and out into me
Colors of your blankets, subtle navy blue, velvet red (you might disagree)
Reeses, what a treat! Something devils would eat
Talking food, one of my pleasures, Ethopian - I want to eat!
Let me speak for Ravenswood, it treats me well and keeps
me toasty!
And Juanita's, Fiesta bag, crispy not too greasy
Crunchy in my mouth, mmm!
An offering of a chip with special sauce, thank you sir!'
Sauce man, confidence
He says he had heart problems
The consequences of the pleasures of food
"I need to end it but I don't know how to"
"It'll come to you"
Your roommate,
Sid
Dec 9, 2013
Dec 9, 2013 at 10:34 PM UTC
My son is now 18 and I can see the change
in his shifting stance, the boldness and
complexity in his presence, deep dark
diction beneath smoky stained clothes,
scattered cigarettes piled up in *****
ashtrays, ghostly fumes filling the
cold air, as he dashes up the stairs to
his bedroom. And as I stand in the
kitchen over the stove steaming a
fresh *** of boiled chicken, salad,
and mashed potatoes, I can hear his
smooth slick words echoing across
the room. The heavy giggles and
sensual thoughts seeping inside his
mind, running game on his main
squeeze like the world was his
majesty, like a crowned creation
falling into submission to his
nation. I step closer to the stairs
and listen to the soft sounds of Joe’s
song, I Wanna Know, playing in the
background, slow rising beats curling
up in the air towards divine enchantment,
hypnotizing harmonies beyond a bed of
thin sleek sheets. And as I breathe in the
soothing melodies, I’m forced to remember
the days when I was young, a rich tasteful girl
full of chemistry and flawless formation. I was
grooving to the spinning jams like it would be
this way forever. I had forgotten how much
time had passed by, how the waves
of his existence was on a new wavelength,
how the stars in his eyes intensified in
immense shapes, how the shimmering
moon was his light inside his kingdom,
the cosmic space taking him into a new
sea of discoveries.
Dec 14, 2018
Dec 14, 2018 at 12:40 PM UTC
The music's best on the dark
side of town, I heard. It seemed miles
from home, after waiting in a long traffic jam
But the lights finally changed
from glamorous shining to dull neon, covered in smoke
drifting up from drifters outside the Black Cat.
By the fluorescent green sign, a cat
was painted, its fur dark
as the alley I stood in, engulfed in smoke.
The cat perched atop Miles
Davis's trumpet. Bums hassled me for change
and a few drummed on buckets, jamming
with a harmonica player, synched as jam
and peanut butter. I stepped into the Black Cat,
and from the facade saw no change.
The lights turned low, the club dark
as the alley outside. A Miles
record hovered through the smoke.
The people chattered like bees, smoking,
waiting for the players to jam.
At last, the bass player laid down a line miles
long, the drummer chinked in, and the cats
began to groove. They chilled my bones with dark
melodies, pounding through spooky chord changes.
Soon sunbeams shone through the storm, they changed
to an upbeat swing tune. The horn smoked,
hitting riffs unheard, astounding the dark
faces gazing on in awe. They jammed
endless as the ocean. The cats
started to play a popular Miles
song. The crowd hollered in Miles'
memory as the horn steered through the changes
with the skill of the legend of the Black Cat.
The band, nearly invisible through the haze of smoke
thick in the air, strawberry jam,
soon faded to dark.
Miles Davis’s ghost flowed through the smoke,
awakened by the chord changes, grooving to the jam.
The hippest cat alive or dead, now he plays in the dark.
Dec 26, 2009
Dec 26, 2009 at 11:06 PM UTC
CAN'T STOP,
WON'T STOP!!!
Keep on CLIMBING
TO THE TOP!!!
KEEP PUSHING, KEEP STRIVING
SUCCESS is hard WORK,
and I AIN'T LYING.
DON'T GIVE UP, keeping on MOVING,
Don't STOP NOW, keep on GROOVING.
You have got THE STRENGTH, THE TENACITY,
and THE COURAGE,
THE WILL, THE POWER,
minus the DISCOURAGE!!!
you got the INDURANCE
You got the DRIVE,
You got the SELF-CONTROL,
To Keep HOPE ALIVE,
YOU KNOW YOU GOT THIS,
THE BALL IS IN YOUR COURT,
CAN'T STOP, WON'T STOP,
NOW, LET'S GET TO WORK!!!!
B.R.
Date: 07/27/2023
Sep 6, 2024
Sep 6, 2024 at 11:49 AM UTC
this grind breathes a fist
of sublime roast allure
as the Nicaraguan Black Bull
surrenders it’s fat cojones
to the blade and the forced steam
fixes me, dilated,
but still only grooving at 70bpm
I feel so very disco
Apr 8, 2015
Apr 8, 2015 at 1:08 PM UTC
I follow your eyes,
As a traveler follows his compass;
Cruising through the tides
Searching for the enormous.
He began the journey,
Thanks to his wanderlust,
Mine, chanced on being scorny…
I count on being the last!
Twists and turns adorned the track,
I scolded them
As my thoughts went scavenging a snack
Right on the hem.
She boasted her 120kmphs,
I could only smile.
Didn’t she see me at all?
Where I was all this while!
They sprang from both sides,
Adoring her fair
How could she even see through,
The symmetry worth a care!
You caught the wind,
As a kite fluttering, does
Eyes closed, lashes twined,
You smile contagious!
Careless you were,
As I asked for the plan,
Grooving in slow motion,
Ignoring even a sun-tan…
Now I wonder if
The windows are open,
My thoughts are shy, they can’t shout
Wanting to collide with yours out!
You went out,
Telling me to imagine,
Since, my pen’s been my spoon…
Even as I went on to dine.
Someday I will drive,
Or just stare at you, driving,
Unless you have your lovelocks
For your face-hiding!
And sing to each other,
Some songs as rhymes,
Check out on the trees afar
If even a single bird thrives.
Eat terrible food,
Feeling them to be tastier,
Laugh quite like insanes,
Hoping to feel hungrier.
Unending roads with us meeting,
Breaking into a jig
Again and again, as
Mirth and joy go on knitting.
Light or dark,
I really don’t care,
Go out with whosoever,
But won’t you stay true to me, dear?
I attempt to quiet my mind,
Caring not to look behind,
I promise, imaginations won’t be a hype
For, you are the roadtrip of my life…
Oct 28, 2015
Oct 28, 2015 at 5:24 AM UTC
He glides across the cold asphalt
this man of indeterminate age,
Hair tinged gray, eyes to match.
Singing and grooving to the music
Of the celestial spheres heard clear as mountain waters.
Collapse into his manhood
He is not like the other men,
a beer and a historical allegory,
He will guide you to a lumberyard,
where he'll record our voice, and photograph your mouth.
Paint the walls passion red, greed green, purest aqua.
When he enters, and the portcullis opens,
Ringing of a bell, there will be noise.
You will open fifteen portals, and swim with your senses.
Outside, an intermittent, pindrop noise and Cold waters, that taste of honey.
the release ... of a night sky of solar energy,
White, red, yellow, and blue lights blazing.
He'll follow the cloth to the seam and memorize each stitch of your skin,
Bend your strings until two hundred silk pillows shower down,
Two bodies buried beneath breathing only each other.
Sep 8, 2012
Sep 8, 2012 at 8:24 AM UTC