"honeycombed" poems
I
Some day I will go to Aarhus
To see his peat-brown head,
The mild pods of his eye-lids,
His pointed skin cap.
In the flat country near by
Where they dug him out,
His last gruel of winter seeds
Caked in his stomach,
Naked except for
The cap, noose and girdle,
I will stand a long time.
Bridegroom to the goddess,
She tightened her torc on him
And opened her fen,
Those dark juices working
Him to a saint's kept body,
Trove of the turfcutters'
Honeycombed workings.
Now his stained face
Reposes at Aarhus.
II
I could risk blasphemy,
Consecrate the cauldron bog
Our holy ground and pray
Him to make germinate
The scattered, ambushed
Flesh of labourers,
Stockinged corpses
Laid out in the farmyards,
Tell-tale skin and teeth
Flecking the sleepers
Of four young brothers, trailed
For miles along the lines.
III
Something of his sad freedom
As he rode the tumbril
Should come to me, driving,
Saying the names
Tollund, Grauballe, Nebelgard,
Watching the pointing hands
Of country people,
Not knowing their tongue.
Out here in Jutland
In the old man-killing parishes
I will feel lost,
Unhappy and at home.
4.5k
In admittance,
In ecstasy,
In guilt and in anxiety,
In the gutters of Yuexiu,
The plains of Tamaulipas,
My precious mountain top
Near Calgary,
Or this flat, honeycombed and
High above Kyoto neon,
I’ve finally lost;
I surrender.
I surrender to –
Wave a white flag in comfort,
In defeat, and a first, when I warm,
Come this newer blanket,
Whilst we dance,
Come a first smile, decades, and
Finally to fathom,
“Embrace,” eternity, this
Hold opposed pierced when –
Swords eventually rust,
But fields forever bloom.
Mar 31, 2016
Mar 31, 2016 at 11:13 PM UTC
I have love for you
Rooted in my jawbone
Your secret perfume
Convection heat in a back seat
I want your thin fingers
Tangled in the web of my ribs
I want to lose you
In the honeycombed purple layers of my heart tissue
I will cradle your head on my sternum
Letting my lungs do the work
If only
Your elbows were not so sharp
Then I would crave the dig of your fingernails
Your pastures of hair
The butterfly tremble of your lips
Speechless- words no longer hold the weight
My tongue on the novel curves of your sigh
Tasting the twenty summers of your growth
Trembling due to lack of oxygen
Trembling at the onset of lust
The kneading want of knuckle bones
Drawing me ever closer to the colors of light
Static in the stereo of the
Cerebral cortex
Bunched nerves
Shocked into submission
By your bleached bone canines
Open and breathe
The quick pinch endocrine valves
Releasing steam
Drape me with your skin
Wrap me up in your pulsing warm veins
I bleed blue
On every day of the week
I am deafened
By the rage of your heartbeat
I am stricken dumb
The symphony of your eyelids
Swelling in my chest a familiar lust
The wind from your eyelashes
Could blow us out of this winter
And right into spring
All the days of the year
I bleed blue
The dedication of your palm
On my cheek
Warms me like a leaf in sunlight
Peel me layer from layer
You will find no lies in between the pages
I am your machine
Waiting to be properly lubricated
I cannot wait for our first day under the sun
I can't wait to get you out of the fluorescent lights
Of the Assembly line
We will journey together to forgotten realms
And sleep beneath the strange constellations
May 10, 2013
May 10, 2013 at 2:00 PM UTC
The red flower centered
between exotic curled lines
evokes the smell of old Jaipur
the Hawa Mahal ~ Palace of the Winds
where the maharaja’s women once peered
from pink honeycombed windows above streets
overflowing with painted elephants, camels, turbaned men.
A river of color, movement, sound
from red-dust shrouded sunrise
to ember scorch at the horizon line
the desert broken only by the organic rise
of dung and mud-bricked houses sheltered
by one denuded tree, a mirage of shade.
A cobalt hurricane spiral or vine’s end
worn smaller than its origins
its story, the shelf on which it sat
perhaps a fragile immigrant, hand-carried
from the old country by someone’s mother’s mother.
Whole and admired for a century before
its demise, told with regret-laden mouths
mother to daughter, daughter to mother
*Oh, I wish we still had that blue bowl
great grandmother dropped
when she heard about Roy*
a circle of memory, come to rest
on this distant curve of beach.
The cream and blue striped shard
could be my grandmother’s coffee cup
rimmed brown and lipstick stamped
sip, then drag on the Raleigh cigarette
always attached to electric-tipped fingers.
The cup was most likely broken in the war
that raged until death parted my grandparents
maybe it sailed harmlessly past my grandfather’s shiny
head and hit a rock near the creek, exploding into pieces
a small token of their shattered marriage
a lifetime of regrets carried to the sea
grievance-scrubbed, muted by the journey
this sliver must be handled with care.
The largest fragment found
tangled in the eelgrass at my feet
delivered on a tide of need
at the ebb of an unexpected storm
a perfect cross, soft edges raised
on a rough slab of terra cotta.
The fragile sun had warmed
the worn shape nesting
in my palm like a missing piece
as my restless fingers traced
down and across, across and down
asking questions, seeking answers.
Dec 22, 2015
Dec 22, 2015 at 11:02 AM UTC
Fast her wild days ran tall as forest foxglove,
long the happy sun of wing full prayers and beating drums
grassy knees ripening green on summer's lawn
honeycombed hideouts of laughing stings and bees
running long through wild meadows
pale of butter's milky cream
a child's face soft as flower petals
so quick to bud into full bloom
blushing in her rosy days
a swan soon flies to the wild unknown
there where an hourglass looks on
Jan 24, 2013
Jan 24, 2013 at 5:52 PM UTC
It happens
more and more rarely
in my ankle
run, run, run
catch the streetcar
named desire
(I cry with you Tennessee)
decanting the hours,
a rush into nowhere
in honeycombed memory
the dregs of days
set my teeth on edge,
deepen the archway
of naked irises
hurled into midnight
It happens
lighter and lighter
in my left shoulder
pierced with sunset
lost in a sparrow
May 1, 2014
May 1, 2014 at 2:39 PM UTC
I propose a toast
to a honeycombed crux
charred black
it wanes but it's no moon.
Molasses streaks the sky
disguised as light
it will not calm the alabaster globes
bobbing in the icebox of her gut.
Stolen
she wanders ghostlike and barren
expectant for the cuckoo's cry
consent to come
unhinged.
An overture in reds and golds -
hardly untruth
the hues bury shame:
eggshell-white and stuffed full of monsters.
Take heed
and never trust the oleander
the fox-eyed traitors
of the flower patch.
Oct 12, 2011
Oct 12, 2011 at 12:24 PM UTC
You came honey in hand
glint in your eye
sticky sweet summer pie
Honeycombed days, we sang
meadow-ed daisy laughter
Bees on blackberries, thorny fingered reaches
blowing sea grass, sandy toed beaches
You were intoxicating
in your honey house hive
piano keyed, golden heart sighs
Musical notes, deeply toned, hallowed we played
on softest wings we flew away.
Jun 5, 2012
Jun 5, 2012 at 10:24 PM UTC
"But I still hitch for you now
even though my skin has honeycombed
and the nectar has dimmed and eaten away at my eyes and lips."
Apr 6, 2014
Apr 6, 2014 at 9:52 AM UTC
long silky filament
curved, reaching for stars
peduncle, sepal and petaled
ovule, jewel - seeds of renewal
encased in velvety red
pollen explosion, pistol potion
anther tipped stamen bled
evening stars now far-off shine
bees drowsily dream
in wax house, honeycombed hives
Feb 10, 2014
Feb 10, 2014 at 1:54 AM UTC
The Edge of the future
The earth accelerates the turbulent speed ever crossing and obliterating moral lines already stressed
And under fire moral standards once foundational the bearing wall of society now honeycombed with
Convincing lies mixed with truth making truth formally a power house now just an easily overcome able
After thought always the tactical measure of the enemy put in a drop of truth first taste will be
Convincing the shallow frivolous never examine anything in depth the rush the very measure of mindless
Crass individuals just like the suspicious smell of a machine slightly burning but not obvious enough to
Get you to take action then the destruction complete our world already has the truth told of what will
Be its end and yet knowing this we charge in filling in the blank spaces instead of slowing or delaying the
Disintegration this must be you have to disallow make inroads into the engine that roars at full speed
Spewing pollution and seismic change at the core of earths balance and equilibrium the word says that
The moon will wobble and the earth will stagger as a drunken man this is from evil tilting the balance at
That level but people take such a casual attitude about their conduct multiply that by the billons that
Inhabit this planet then you can see the problem those who practice evil are not able to be exempt from
It repercussions when an explosion occurs it center sends out ever widening circles of force in the case
Of evil these circles are the most disgusting contaminated lot of filth that sticks to everything and every
One gumming up destroying the smooth hum that did exist hiding holding out won’t work getting
Involved moving the darkness back breaking the line by giving freedom to one in this chain of human
Failure will cause light to do its constructive work no enemy long holds victory when his line is broken
And the wall once thought impregnable has been successfully breached take the dark half naked
Distraught free them entirely mind soul and body truth will make them free now fully clothed fed
Enriched with the bread of life and the new wine which is his own spirit night off set morning ushered in
a basking earth and smiling heaven is so far greater than the reality we now face.
Nov 24, 2011
Nov 24, 2011 at 3:29 PM UTC
I used to believe that love made you beautiful
That you couldn’t help but act upon the world with more grace and instinct faeth
Than was previously thought possible because of it
Now I experience that it does not. I have shrivelled and become less of myself – like my mother will I look upon pictures in the years to come, retrospect and think
“I was ill, then.”
Because with every flicker you remain integral and I used to think that I loved you because you made me feel greater than my frame, made me feel better, desirable, desiring of the world and succulent amongst the leaves and limbs of my arms, hands and feet
But I still hitch for you now even though my skin has honeycombed and the nectar has dimmed and eaten away at my eyes and lips – I was not compelled to love you because you made me feel beautiful, but because you were beautiful and I only felt the afterglow and mistook it for a light that was shone with purpose. I loved you because you were beautiful, and I forgot that I wasn’t.
I love you because you are beautiful, and I recall that I am not.
Mar 27, 2014
Mar 27, 2014 at 4:20 PM UTC
Only those with the wisest minds -the oldest eyes, remember the days of love truly lost.
The woman with the rage speckled iris, the man with the world-heavy curved spine,
Holding aloft thy heads as the wisping breaths of each memory tortures and threatens to crack.
Like mere puppets dangled on a string are they. The heavy ambiguity collapses the lungs,
the heart torn from the cavity from such pure and sheer anguish
that one would think thine eyes had seen many a scorned sky.
But nay.
this is neither scalding storm nor bloodcurling encounter
tis nout but mere consequence
Consequence that comes from tasting the sweet nectar of thy goddess affection;
The honeycombed effect of forged kisses under the stars;
The rippling shudder of the pulses as skin meets skin.
Eyes caressing over mounds and peaks of soft flesh and pray!
My sweet, sweet maria the smell of youngling dew
As one awakens from the deep, soothing slumber that follows
Each blissful frolicking under the devious eye of the tangent sun.
Aye.
Thy beauty is but a hideous monster scarring the vessels of the ventricles as they lay.
But as sure as day and as righteous as the gods are we addicted,
Like fresh salt in a wound after the ****** high.
Pain crashes blindly against the unravelling ribbons of sobriety
Lustfulness takes under like the crash of the star spangled wing on the wave;
And you my wistful lover! My dear maria;
Are the amphetamine to my warped and harrowed heart.
May 26, 2016
May 26, 2016 at 8:31 PM UTC
my favorite girl is honeycombed
a heart of bitter jelly locked
the ants crawl but dissipate
amidst, i blush coquettishly
i am her prince, blue and fond
stranded in abundance of wild grass
somewhere in Texas
my throat is dry and my mouth lingers
on the sunflower seeds i spit aimlessly
into the dirt
Waiting for seedlings to crawl, a spurt of
"this love will grow someday"
i can taste the spit of the tongue
that knows my name by heart
and wouldn't have it any other way
no i wouldn't have it any other way
Jun 13, 2018
Jun 13, 2018 at 6:51 PM UTC
there is, a swarm of
bumble bees
making, a hive of
lucsious, loveliness
in my honeycombed
brain.
they bring, with them,
golden pollens and
nectared ambrosia.
from many places,
exotic and plain
and this,
these, very words.
are the sweet honey,
mumurings,
they produce.
May 3, 2014
May 3, 2014 at 4:51 AM UTC
Deepest darkest chocolate fur
Honeycombed with jasper eyes
On my terms you'll make me purr
Love and calm became your prize.
Through dark days I was here for you.
I'm strong when you were weak
I was around when lost, then found
I shone when times were bleak.
Evermore in your heart I'll be
No thunder, treats, or fireworks wake me
Pain and hurt, of which I'm now free
So now this slumber comes to take me.
Our lives are not forever, friend
And time's up with no choice
I'll visit you in dreams again
I'll recognise your voice.
Dec 13, 2019
Dec 13, 2019 at 12:52 PM UTC
*Floating into this maddening, tumultuous trance,
Mocking my own fatigue wherever found.
Snatching wide the emptiness
Riding abreast against high silvery clouds of harmonious sound.
My shell – an object to be inwardly consumed -
Standing weakened, balanced 'til the convulsive wind awakes.
There thick hung vestal torches gleamed
'Neath my silvery feet, while placid masks
Sear the senses enlightening the heart of all things.
Unwashed joys share my earthly blooms,
Cheek to cheek un-faded in the thought it brings.
My soul linked to this shell like a common galley slave -
With my nature born with all the love to hold the forms I make.
Yet it crumbles me with each breath with the greatest loving caress.
Golden fruit hides the scathing ache
As pleasure un- hides all that once laid hidden;
I gave all I have hoping my ideas took.
The cloud blooms as the winded music fills the air,
Time stands still buried in my reflective look.
Feeling this flush of pleasure that invades my stare;
My soul shakes loose the burden of my flesh.
Then like a gallant kite flinging high
I chide for it is not vanity nor is it fresh;
It borders on brutish within a vaporous tunneling sight.
Nature's cadency dancing to her joy of strength
With harmonious limits of her enlightened might.
I give all of my impulses to these, my un-minded lengths,
Within the melody’s measure my rapid heart tries best to keep.
The winds of my breath making me a cloud with weightless turns,
Devising me deeper into this place that makes my bodiless soul weep.
Within that prodigal overflow of life that love spurns,
Sweet sounds shed from me like white garments with flowery coronals
Making me holy in the pageantry of my fates.
The beautiful sound, a measure of time in circles
Stirring my heart until I can no longer await.
Then when the dizzy tunnel spins again youth falls from me.
And it blooms once again then shrinks back to its original size -
Then come the many smiles with a glow on their honeycombed faces.
Dream- wondering I fade into the skies
Like an unaccustomed ghost stumbling over my own grave.
For my grave is always just 'neath my feet with its placid face -
But with a melded mind I meditate on my love riding life's waves
Giving that death mask a smile within God’s gentle loving embrace.*
Jun 2, 2017
Jun 2, 2017 at 7:15 PM UTC
Bad Thoughts
Bad thoughts in youth:
Energy, gifts given, offered,
Why we suffered…
We knew nothing.
It just was.
‘…wasted on the young’, said Shaw.
This truth endures:
Energies were boundless.
Such a plus and it was us.
But minuses with M, big M,
They were the dross,
The rubbishy behavior of those days
When we paid no mind to the affluence,
All assets.
We were young, un-formed.
But now, formed, social-normed,
What have we for excuse?
Those days diffuse,
We leave those days all honeycombed.
Now we know.
Bad thoughts have nil excuse;
Crave discipline to loosen.
Self-destructive in their essence,
Nuisance to the mind.
Trust this writer: make you blind.
Know thyself, said Socrates.
The phrase that follows - obvious.
Be kind!
You cannot lose.
Bad Thoughts 3.20.2018 I Is Always You Is We, Circling Round Egos; Circling Round Energy; Arlene Corwin
Mar 20, 2018
Mar 20, 2018 at 7:10 AM UTC