"grum" poems
In that twilight when sea-foam skittered sand
on bare wet toes,
as sun-down scuppered need for dour grum,
you took me
and we shackled wonderment for a moment.
All rile was left in a yesterday-mire and just
nothing felt slutchy
to our touch of contentment that little while.
In dark's cove we chawed clandestine risps
of stolen kisses, unrolled
tongues of delight and gloried in fetterment
while gyved together.
Those neckled heaves hankled all the asurn
of heaven and earth.
One summer's eve we two for a pretty time,
wooed an alivenesss,
slaked passion and sated sleaved smeddum
as never before.
Hagseed may take tomorrow but we did what
was waited for.
We pierced a rive into infinity on that azured
shore, you and I.
N.B.
Grum = gloomy, morose
Slutchy = mucky
Asurn = vault
Risp = green-leaf branch
Gyve = handcuffed
Sleaved = raw
Smeddum = energy
Apr 6, 2017
Apr 6, 2017 at 5:27 AM UTC
On such a day when sea-moss skittered sand
on bare wet toes,
as sky-sail scuppered all need for dour grum,
you and I
shackled wonderment for a miniscule while.
All rile was left in a yesterday-mire and just
nothing felt slutchy
to our touch of contentment that afternoon.
On that day we chawed risps of clandestine
pleasure,
talked of delight and gloried in being fettered
together as gyve.
Those stolen moments hankled all the asurn
of heaven and earth.
On such a day we two for a shimmering time,
became gently alive,
bare passion slaked, was sleaved in smeddum
as never before;
hagseed may take tomorrow but we had what
we had waited for.
We pierced a rive in infinity on that azure day
you and I.
N.B.
Grum = gloomy, morose
Slutchy = mucky
Asurn = vault
Risp = green-leaf branch
Gyve = handcuffed
Sleaved = raw
Smeddum = energy
Nov 10, 2016
Nov 10, 2016 at 3:37 PM UTC
I listen as she calls my name,
It slips and falls as soft as mane.
Her voice so sweet and none but tame,
And strong enough to fight all bane.
She steps so light into my space,
And glides her grace into a pace.
Her walk is noble and hard to face,
For she is mightier than even The Dace.
Contorted in worry, her face so glum.
When I am sick, she's none but numb.
My tears are streaks of painful grum,
'Cause if I'm not well, in sadness she dwells.
Love and care is all she gives,
If she's not there, then there's no being.
A greatness that shines through all that lives, she is...my mother.
May 11, 2019
May 11, 2019 at 7:56 AM UTC