"habiliments" poems
1465
Before you thought of Spring
Except as a Surmise
You see—God bless his suddenness—
A Fellow in the Skies
Of independent Hues
A little weather worn
Inspiriting habiliments
Of Indigo and Brown—
With specimens of Song
As if for you to choose—
Discretion in the interval
With gay delays he goes
To some superior Tree
Without a single Leaf
And shouts for joy to Nobody
But his seraphic self—
2.3k
you are all of the mind’s dirtiest trick:
a weathered image of Magdalena,
a sleight of hand and a swirl of skin.
defying the laws of inebriation like a culprit
set loose, or the pallor of the moon excreting its habiliments.
the old rancor of the tree from its spurious beating. vestal buds of autumn
frugal hands of drizzle in April, prostitutes pirouetting, pried open,
dissected in faces of the tabloids (their almost acrobatic supremacy on centerfolds)
all mangled like the unclear, yet certain picture of a 1990s havocked
retrospect.
you are all of the mind’s filth: a putrid modal-jazz entrapment
and I am that sad fellow at the elbow room of some dislimned establishment
falling as lithe as poppies in spring
only when my mind starts to sing freely, a clenched, harmonic framework
will my bones start to unloose in the ether, death with its ammoniac perfume,
closes in like an unwanted visitor with a bounty of silence drowning everything.
i imagine you anything but lustrous this evening.
there are certain points in the pressures of your gravity
that levitate to mere intersections of the finer points of ecstasy.
i imagine you all soft and plump as a word of salvage
without the vigor of blandishments when you start with your
own way of moving i imagine you as blunt as a dull knife
plunging into me – i imagine your sidereal satellites fail in their coverage
over impossibly the blackest of skies in February,|
i imagine you anything but clean
and all white and spruced up with the most
drenched light, real to the touch and swiftly moving across the afternoon
like wishing you all but perverse and anomalous
and strikingly beautiful.
Jan 10, 2016
Jan 10, 2016 at 8:27 AM UTC
Qliphoth, Qliphoth,
Qliphoth, Qliphoth
roar the horses hooves
of the apocalyptic Eloah
like a bull of Bashan which
under ye terror unto thee;
unspeakable, the secrets
of truth traducing these
thy habiliments of bread
and wine, creatures, as if
they were apples of *****
the staff of life; cossetting
lambent judgement peril to
the duetoronomy of novice
pyre souls not safe to dwell
where those who venture
fear to tread travelling
the road to Damascus,
pontifical with emerald
honesty venatic of
consenting stars
pealing Dabar-Yahweh
as if a song sung to
the shell of Heaven.
Eleete j muir
Oct 10, 2013
Oct 10, 2013 at 10:57 PM UTC
Even as I close the door
I'm stripping off my clothes
discarding all the fetters
from my head down to my toes.
Throwing off the shackles
of decency prescribed
'cos writing when I'm naked
leaves me no place to hide.
Relieved of every stitch am I
free in heart and mind
all except my spectacles
without them I am blind.
The mirror smirks above me
reflecting all I am
just a little human
born of woman, taught of man.
Cheerful, unencumbered
by the threads of etiquette
a more effective custom
I have not found, as yet.
Though, sometimes in need of character
out come the hats and bows
bare as night beneath a tippet
inspiration flows.
Who cares for mere habiliments
throw your trappings to the floor!
But, oh, where is my dressing gown?
Someone's at the door!
Sep 26, 2013
Sep 26, 2013 at 7:34 AM UTC
I heard a plaintive heave before the cleaving of the air,
then of the flesh – a forceful splitting of a young citrus,
then of the splintering – a crunch that froze the scorch of that afternoon.
Finito! the sound of the fragile spine breaking into hundreds... or is it thousands? of pieces.
And the debris, of the marrow
and the dangling arteries –
of chunks of the hypothalamus,
a part of the left hemisphere –
the tangential stains of blood on modern Golgotha – a cemented clearing deep within the woods
parched and dried by the anger of that afternoon -
which resembles a festive night:
festooned with firecrackers,
with showers of embers and
fountains of fire,
glow sticks of horror,
And the lower part, the detachment:
loose and limp
placid and peaceful.
A fresh sculpture of soft clay in red
plaid polo and punturong –
both saved by the stain of gore,
but not with the stain of nature
on the flipside
the habiliments are covered in dust – modern dust
brought by cement and its slow deterioration
of how friction demolishes it era by era
tick by tock of the giant slothful clock -
and as this same cement
seeps all the fireworks
vegetation thrives –
and the fruit of man, and law, and
capital teeth and eye dangles
through thick sinewy vines.
The land devour the sculpture carved by a single
stroke.
And then another heave is heard
then the cleaving of the air,
the almost splitting of the neck meat,
the forceful pulling of a penchant edge
then the cleaving of the air
the splitting of a young tangerine,
then the splintering of a spine,
the spray of sainthood in scarlet,
then the limping,
the rolling, the creation of a mask.
It was a masterpiece of music,
visual aesthetics and
natural arts.
As the mark of each face
was left in the humid winds
of that
afternoon.
Aug 19, 2019
Aug 19, 2019 at 6:42 AM UTC
No doubt an Eskimo fabulous Asia breeze
feeling in their element with style, elan
while snacking (with Wallace and Grommet)
on crackers and cheese
this spate of bitter cold doth not seem to ease
as Arctic air blast (oh riff you prefer Polar Vortex)
submerged much of the nation
in what feels like absolute zero,
and no matter the appellation,
the outdoors analogous to being in a deep freeze
brings state of emergency (designated as Code Blue
from a drain on bare necessities sans:
energy, food, general habiliments
unable to traverse frozen waterways
obstructing tankers access
to key shipyards, thus imposing
engines of society (Mother Nature decreed
harshly lashed pact with ole man winter)
asper bitter cold temperatures
a gripping sizable chunk of United States,
where one step outside induces chattering class
to shiver from hypothermia,
and a scant number of minutes will witness rigor mortis
evinced by knocked knees
whereat authoritative figures strongly advise
(nee require) every person to stay home
lest (if heedless) within seconds
their body electric will seize
from the unseen large area of low pressure
and cold air surrounds both of Earth's poles
chastising anyone foolish enough
to risk life or limb, thus take a page
from hibernating bears playbook,
and stay under warm covers
collecting countless zs!
Jan 12, 2018
Jan 12, 2018 at 11:00 PM UTC