"humors" poems
knitting with scissors you run with.
will get you there. but you can't buy a house. i'm sorry.
you might, miiiiight get the Edwardian Tudor for a mansion in false claim
but you keep your gaze, your weary gaze ....and slumber not so sweet, my sweet.
knitting with false gods will get you everything
but Not the Other Thing
that gnaws at the substance of your gut
where the heart resides like a lion
addicted to Aesop Fables -
and dry humors that decimate with bounty
flooding the bleak with our windmills !
you and i are regardless.
knitting with shopping carts and dead batteries. washing ashore.
lick your lips at the foam
of our hysterical event. pitch a ******* tent.
and eat more stars than you came in with.
sew the hole
with a hole and
answer the phone sometimes,
****
i ain't got all day but you might take your time
like an aspirin.
Apr 16, 2013
Apr 16, 2013 at 5:00 AM UTC
Constitution pollution:
the constable ruining
the ******* consecration
A soluble solution:
grape sipping blood
letting to fully bless
the humors
Apr 18, 2015
Apr 18, 2015 at 12:55 AM UTC
I will not die for you
Woman fey of flesh and home,
I linger but to see you unfrock
The holy, set rogues to roam.
Why should I thus be consumed
In breath like coldest fire?
Shape of rising waterfalls
That state, I surely do not desire
The downy ******* the runny skin,
Spark of cheek, notes of hair in shower,
The gliding step, the gusty tone,
Fools have died for much less a dower.
The lancing pools, the hemlock mien,
The highland sheen, the dawn-bird voice,
The Safire eye, over step of pyramid
Merlin gave Arthur a safer choice.
I will not drown for you,
Flood of hair, red as the lye
In parted Jordan, that sea, not me,
Shall pine as ever, slowly dying.
Your healing humors, your subtle sovereignty,
Your blood, noble as seven-seas are blue,
Little mirror who paints the sky,
Though nearly, I will not die for you.
Jun 24, 2012
Jun 24, 2012 at 10:28 AM UTC
I cannot spare water or wine,
Tobacco-leaf, or poppy, or rose;
From the earth-poles to the Line,
All between that works or grows,
Every thing is kin of mine.
Give me agates for my meat,
Give me cantharids to eat,
From air and ocean bring me foods,
From all zones and altitudes.
From all natures, sharp and slimy,
Salt and basalt, wild and tame,
Tree, and lichen, ape, sea-lion,
Bird and reptile be my game.
Ivy for my fillet band,
Blinding dogwood in my hand,
Hemlock for my sherbet cull me,
And the prussic juice to lull me,
Swing me in the upas boughs,
Vampire-fanned, when I carouse.
Too long shut in strait and few,
Thinly dieted on dew,
I will use the world, and sift it,
To a thousand humors shift it,
As you spin a cherry.
O doleful ghosts, and goblins merry,
O all you virtues, methods, mights;
Means, appliances, delights;
Reputed wrongs, and braggart rights;
Smug routine, and things allowed;
Minorities, things under cloud!
Hither! take me, use me, fill me,
Vein and artery, though ye **** me;
God! I will not be an owl,
But sun me in the Capitol.
3.2k
I'm that guy
I'm that girl
i'm on the sidelines i see the world
i watch the plays
i sit through days
take in rays and analyze your ways
I am the one asking: how do we survive?
Don't judge the scars, you fake-tanned sheep
I've become this strong-willed Moonchild without you and your magazines
I don't need your weight-loss tips and and 25 new *** positions
So I drowned for awhile.....
we all gotta sink
hit bottom
then we can push off the rocks, break free of the waves and fly
Or maybe we make it to the surface only to float for a time and an aeon
Who will judge us for the time we spend on ourselves?
DO NOT
EVER
Become stagnant
Let your life ebb and flow
NEVER BE LONELY
your strength is within you
reach inside oh my darling reach for you own soul
don't wait for someone else to tie their strings to your beating heart
and tug
do it yourself.
you are only you
your strength and your quick wit
your lightness and love of the darker humors
the gentle touches, soft weeping
the lines of your body
and your eyes brightening when they recognize my face
You are everything you were meant to be at this moment
But in the next
EVOLVE
Apr 22, 2014
Apr 22, 2014 at 5:49 AM UTC
What drives a man to achieve his goals? Motivation of course!
The enthusiastic mindset that if you work hard, you'll achieve.
The unhindered perspective that compels you to think about the end goal and ignore the hardships that attempt to impede your progress towards greatness.
The idea that putting your best foot forward will gain the admiration of a metaphorical Hermes who will then grant you his winged sandals to propel you above the rest of your peers and out of your unsatisfactory situation.
What drives a man to succeed in his ventures? Motivation of course!
A burst of energy that says "I can do it if I believe I can." despite limitations on your strength or your intelligence or your character.
An aura that surrounds you and invigorates your humors, enticing your senses as well as giving you a mask that hides your unsure demeanor.
It's a revelation, that motivation, which enlightens the soul and frees the body from the chains that marked the end of it's abilities.
What drives a man to accomplish milestones for himself? Perhaps it manifests itself in something other than motivation.
It could be the desire to find acceptance, to be wanted, to get that simple thumbs up that sends a message that needs not be spoken. "You did well."
Possibly it would be the wish, the simple wish that a man will have done something worth remembering in the brief existence that he has, something he can look back on and think to himself, "I didn't do half-bad on that, did I?"
Teetering on the self-existential reflecting concepts, it could just be that man wishes to find fulfillment by filling his daily activities with anything. And that the greater the activity, the laborious hours put into completion, here man finds solace in putting meaning into his day to day living. Thus we find that goals are merely tick marks, road signs on the long drive from life's start to inevitable death.
This, this is all motivation. Anything that places reins over a man's mind and hits the spur against his brain, in hopes that this will help him move forward and do what he believes is necessary to do.
Motivation is to place one's self in this self-deprecating position as to be a slave to ambition in order to be satisfied with one's life. And to think that motivation is a blessing that leads to self-improvement.
Motivation is truly the mind's greatest illusion.
Jul 29, 2014
Jul 29, 2014 at 10:11 PM UTC
we were older then. you with your horn-rimmed glasses
sleek as Hermes, resting on your button nose; dazzling.
your eyes were smoldering echoes, far off on a quest for
visions. mine
were nowhere
to be seen.
we poured over volumes of antiquity, blazoned with rich
art. Faustian marvels, leather bound and noble.
we traipsed the gallows of Dry Humors, lording it
over the gremlins of our isolation.
we had not been formally introduced and everything
was formal. we haunted the halls; our school of fish eyes
sparkling; weaving like serpents in the heather on ether.
we roamed the hallowed ground on secret missions
without Love.
then i asked you out. and changed the world.
Jan 16, 2013
Jan 16, 2013 at 1:46 PM UTC
In that age of aged seasons
predating our own's four-square rhyme,
a reasonable jape was hatched
beaked but hairy to a guilt-free Hen
whose humors ran with jaw-slackening
creatures, foul and not at all bird-like.
Soon after its mixed-up cracking,
two prattle-prone Wrens hopped to spread
rumors of an un-chickity chick
and the ungodly origins
of fatherless yowls. Their tittered jeers
found welcome ears, and Mother Hen preened
her babe chased by merciless guffaws.
This Hen was not one to lay
down meekly, and a never stony
tongue rolled out its antidote myth
to a pair of gabby Gulls: "My child
may look not-much, but he's divine
engendered and miraculous born.
Sure he's messy, ah, but you'll see
he'll grow to be, much-much-more than
any feathery tykes your like did bear."
She clucked it so seriously,
who were they to doubt her? The plumed
sniggering ceased. But before another
grateful day could dawn in a hallelujah
glare of right angles, out pecking
up a snack, Mother made eye
contact with an unfortunate Fate
brandishing his lucky-gripped ax.
What of her wonder-why, joke of a boy?
Left alone at straw-pocket home,
waiting for his Hen to return,
he starved then decayed to hollow bones,
and was never thought of again.
Apr 1, 2010
Apr 1, 2010 at 12:43 PM UTC
unbearable ink
shallow needled skin
always commands
my groping eye's ardour
purpleredblueblack procession
passive pleasuring tea drinker
gilded she:
if not my hand so promised
to another's i would
make thee a screaming puddle
coiling ardent fever
scratch fervently at all my humors
so sipping sensual lady
sat in a
coffee house
metal nodes glisten
serene siren calling
May 22, 2010
May 22, 2010 at 12:09 PM UTC
If I couldst show to thee the measure of my love, wouldst thine eyes shine in radiant hues? Smoulder then in deepest lapis blues, that put to shame the very rainbow's best intent.
If I couldst share with thee, the hottest of my humors, wouldst not the boilings in that abyssal pit, pale and mediocre seem, as 'twere mine, in compare? It would melt old Vulcans's anvil, adamantine!
Take for thee, these my softest kisses, which, placed upon lips, seeming to mine own essence, as pillowed angels breath, yet, those godly messengers own sweetest puckerings, as granite, to those of my mistress.
If thou couldst pluck from my chest, a still beating heart, wouldst not the sanguine, boiling streams, scold the unforgiving stones, on which they splash?
The fiery vapours rending air, as heaven bound they rise to paint the sky, incarnadine!
And yet, merely moistening that beloved hand, which holds, the fleshy, ruby prize.
Canst thou now measure, that which knows no measure?
And like heavens starried twinkles, whose beacons point the way, know this, infinite, is the measure of my love for thee, my mistress.
Mar 4, 2013
Mar 4, 2013 at 3:28 PM UTC
before the world ends
begin.
that you may not love
is the haunting.
where your ghost is rain
your mind clouds.
and nothing is foreseen
like the past.
II
in the long watch of this blindness
we are surely rogue begonias
needling the impenetrable nethers
of our low coronas
we jest in the rage of our humors
gilding the uvula
of our golden throats
trilling in the infinite sublime
and gain no quarter
note.
unabridged, we straddle the span
of our chasm.
and there,
we seek to stand apart
from whatever wounds
we fathom.
Dec 12, 2013
Dec 12, 2013 at 12:47 AM UTC
Everything is just an act-thing.
A game piece, a character.
Essence of the game,
the play, the poem, the joke
is the ego.
Our genetics together
create consciousness,
The ego.
Every code, every instruction,
every message from the genes
is not in selfishness,
but in selflessness,
in laughter.
Witty humors they possess,
They know you need
an uncertain situation,
to be called attention to,
to be reminded that
it's all just a joke in the end,
and not one has a bad sense of humor.
There is the dark, poor-me, my-life-is-miserable jokes
to the bright
oprah's-monkeys-shit-shit,
one-day-i-was-tripping jokes
because the Spiral Source Polarity Is.
The yin and yang do not swim after one another,
there is neither tail nor head.
They flow as river-wind.
Fire and water, energy and matter,
Ego and truth are genes'
Set ups
punch lines
laughter.
Set that to infinity
at 98.6 degrees
now, the questions rise
how do I act after realizing all of this?
How can I keep playing this role?
The point is to understand
the answer is to die
as the world knows death.
Your eyes will blink
Your heart will sync with another's beat
Your tongue wil taste
You will die
as the ego knows it.
You will think
You will feel
You will realize
You will die
as You know it.
Why would I waste my time
in a place like this
with people like this
and not
in the warm, bristley buzzing glowing meadow grass
in a tree playing whistling lips to the soaring peer
bubbling out air in the ocean's riptide
treading soft chilled down on montana mountains
being able to meet soaring peer
in source element
and inevitable intimate relations
with earth or sea.
Jun 26, 2010
Jun 26, 2010 at 10:09 AM UTC
I will not die for you
Woman fey of flesh and home,
I linger but to see you unfrock
The holy, set rogues to roam.
Why should I thus be consumed
In breath like coldest fire?
Shape of rising waterfalls
That state, I surely do not desire
The downy ******* the runny skin,
Spark of cheek, notes of hair in shower,
The gliding step, the gusty tone,
Fools have died for much less a dower.
The lancing pools, the hemlock mien,
The highland sheen, the dawn-bird voice,
The Safire eye, over step of pyramid
Merlin gave Arthur a safer choice.
I will not drown for you,
Flood of hair, red as the lye
In parted Jordan, that sea, not me,
Shall pine as ever, slowly dying.
Your healing humors, your subtle sovereignty,
Your blood, noble as seven-seas are blue,
Little mirror who paints the sky,
Though nearly, I will not die for you.
Mar 9, 2013
Mar 9, 2013 at 2:23 PM UTC
a wind blew
from within my body
and tried to blow out
the Sun.
it huffed
and it puffed
but it could not blow
that immense house
down;
that great,
vast,
fiery idol
which stands as a monument to
the immensity of the Universe.
I have no idea why
it wanted the Sun
to go out,
I just know
it is the only way
to save myself
for we all have
our own idols within
ourselves,
bright and brilliantly
conceited flames
that just need to be
blown out
every so often.
this flame burns upon
the chest of the devil,
that evil and most vain lake of desire.
tongues of fire form
islands of
delusional self worth
convince themselves of
their large and grand importance
isolated and
surrounded by a sea
of themselves.
it burns within
the bitter bottle,
releasing its stinging vapors
upon the breaking of the seal.
these humors drift up
and into my nostrils,
coalesce in my lungs and
concentrate
into a fiery wind.
it burns within
my naive soul,
desperately needing a new-grateful
wind
to blow it
out
and quench its thirst
for immensity.
despite the irritation
I needn't have water,
wandering in the desert of myself.
to deny myself
all the comforts of a good life
and to reward myself
all the glories of an elevated mind
is what is most important;
I pinch my fingers
to blot out the Sun,
hiding that horrible light
behind my clasped together
fingers.
I replace it with a new monument,
an idol to
the things that have
shaped me,
given me this
gift of
silent reflection,
to wander in the sands
of introspective madness
until I come out
a prophet
or
a walking death.
Dec 2, 2012
Dec 2, 2012 at 9:52 AM UTC
she solidified the mist around my heart,
froze its vapors, shattered it, freed me. her quiet
green eyes speak loudly the volumes
that her voice feared.
there is deep longing in that greenness, and when i see it, i return it tenfold-- in praise,
lust, our conjoined humors.
dreaming of what could be:
a night at a lake-- mostly still, stirred only by chirps, ribbits, and croaks in dangerous proximity to our heat.
there is a picnic there, under a tree-- evergreen, stable, firm.
food, wine, **** peace.
her beauty and kindness are now light
to me, for me, through me.
Oct 28, 2023
Oct 28, 2023 at 11:40 AM UTC
Brightness approached when I sprinted towards you-
Studies reached its pinnacle when I touched you;
Speech was of holistic turns,
Yet, Relax, relax were the terms.
You were furnished gorgeously, with items to pick
Perceiving you, I sat on my chair just to freak:
To sense myriad hues of creamy scarlet
And the drapes distinguished with it…
Flowers of love, books of romance
And laid-back lives.
Conspicuous memories, silent nights
Unobtrusive paradise, hot windy days,
Contemplations of life, spicy weeks…
Poems, stories and patronage to sense success.
Humors of sarcasm, laughs with irony,
Were all bestowed by you with treasures of worship…
And Me, with all marvels, and encompassing love
To be with you and with all you afford
Seemingly seamless to be -MY ROOM,
You are all for me-
Astronomical longings to the final offerings
MY ROOM TO ME IS ALLL…
Tucked away at the rear side of the stairs,
You are just more than a room
Jan 6, 2013
Jan 6, 2013 at 12:38 AM UTC
What will it take to trend?
In what way do I need to pretend?
To actually be popular again?
I write more and more
Are my words just a bore?
What will it take to get my foot in the door?
So go tell me your price
Humors me give me advice
When will my words suffice?
Is it wrong to want fame?
Am I the one to blame,
For conforming to societies game?
Apr 23, 2014
Apr 23, 2014 at 12:31 PM UTC
you invite
the cut,
you know you do
bloodlet come
dust off those bad humors
that have already won
one
incision
on the inside of inner-thigh,
nicely
neatly: remedies indecision for a wee bit
doesn't it?
confirm that silly string
and pipe cleaners
aren't reeeally your insides
lifely! lifely! qualifies your moves
in this
thing
this
****** sadwhirenoughenough
you jus
Buddha the hurt afterward
but emptiness of being always keeps
a few of your you's and me's around
ricocheting off far unkempt corners
like me, the pigeon
and you, the squirrel
...
look, they've already won, my love;
no,
they -always- have already won
so, plz, don't k?
jus don't
don't assemble upright-me as your
night-n-shiny handle
don't fix me la-la opposite his hard gleam
his trite inky blah bodkin Brahmin to my Bodhisattva
i can't, won't do it anymore,
my core torpid
Luke Skywalker warm
Apr 24, 2015
Apr 24, 2015 at 2:39 PM UTC
The chickens watch us
with their tiny T-Rex eyes,
their funny feather hats shaking
and pulsing
with Heaven only knows.
Collecting warm brown eggs
from haughty hens
is an honor.
That’s what Papa says, at least.
Papa built these coops himself,
I tell all the chickens.
He made them because he loves you
or maybe just because he wants your eggs.
I’m not sure which,
I say,
but it’s one of those two
or both.
The silkies are doubtful
and pacing
and ready to peck me into a bare corn cob,
but I’ve got an egg carton to fill
and this is the first time I can help
because Grandma isn’t home.
Papa humors my toe-turns
and my untamed joy
the way that only Papa can,
with squinty jokes
and whistle-wheezy laughs.
An almost dropped egg here,
a yellow yolked yelp there,
and my egg carton is full.
Papa wears a sunny-side up smile
and the chickens don’t mind if we sing.
Jan 12, 2017
Jan 12, 2017 at 11:04 AM UTC
.
I will not die for you
Woman fey of flesh and home,
I linger but to see you unfrock
The holy, set rogues to roam.
Why should I thus be consumed
In breath like coldest fire?
Shape of rising waterfalls
That state, I surely do not desire
The downy ******* the runny skin,
Spark of cheek, notes of hair in shower,
The gliding step, the gusty tone,
Fools have died for much less a dower.
The lancing pools, the hemlock mien,
The highland sheen, the dawn-bird voice,
The Safire eye, over step of pyramid
Merlin gave Arthur a safer choice.
I will not drown for you,
Flood of hair, red as the lye
In parted Jordan, that sea, not me,
Shall pine as ever, slowly dying.
Your healing humors, your subtle sovereignty,
Your blood, noble as seven-seas are blue,
Little mirror who paints the sky,
Though nearly, I will not die for you.
Mar 1, 2017
Mar 1, 2017 at 12:11 PM UTC
I will not die for you
Woman fey of flesh and home,
I linger but to see you unfrock
The holy, set rogues to roam.
Why should I thus be consumed
In breath like coldest fire?
Shape of rising waterfalls
That state, I surely do not desire
The downy ******* the runny skin,
Spark of cheek, notes of hair in shower,
The gliding step, the gusty tone,
Fools have died for much less a dower.
The lancing pools, the hemlock mien,
The highland sheen, the dawn-bird voice,
The Safire eye, over step of pyramid
Merlin gave Arthur a safer choice.
I will not drown for you,
Flood of hair, red as the lye
In parted Jordan, that sea, not me,
Shall pine as ever, slowly dying.
Your healing humors, your subtle sovereignty,
Your blood, noble as seven-seas are blue,
Little mirror who paints the sky,
Though nearly, I will not die for you.
Sep 8, 2013
Sep 8, 2013 at 3:02 PM UTC
Don't do those little things
You always do to me; you know
That look, that half-smile, with the closing eyelids
The hint of a smirk, the tilt of the head.
It's unfair, I've got only eyes and ears
Full of you, and you have the whole universe
Of well conceived temptations, to lure me in,
Open-mouthed fish that I am, to be baited by your sly styles.
You offer all the desirable things a woman could lust for,
Lust and never be satisfied, forever in the understanding
That you surely have other smiles and other poses, for other women
In unknown eras, different climates and panoramas.
I can only try to hold onto the parts of you I know,
Recognize it is futile trying to capture all the invisible things
Though doubtless they are all there,
Just beneath your fleeting expressions.
And you are all sophisticate
And I am all trembling schoolgirl
Having forgotten the things I once took for granted.
Now look at me again, this time with a blank look
And let me see it slowly fill in, with the essence of you,
So slowly that I can see every year, wrinkle of growth,
Every change and sign of maturing, like a tree's rings.
I want to know all your weathers,
Want to let the rainbow fill up with your humors;
The world swell shut or empty out on your whim.
I want to be made pregnant
Entirely with the incredible idea of you're existing;
Because the real ecstasy of knowing you, is one that I can almost-
But not quite- touch.
Sep 27, 2010
Sep 27, 2010 at 9:40 PM UTC
I will not die for you
Woman fey of flesh and home,
I linger but to see you unfrock
The holy, set rogues to roam.
Why should I thus be consumed
In breath like coldest fire?
Shape of rising waterfalls
That state, I surely do not desire
The downy ******* the runny skin,
Spark of cheek, notes of hair in shower,
The gliding step, the gusty tone,
Fools have died for much less a dower.
The lancing pools, the hemlock mien,
The highland sheen, the dawn-bird voice,
The Safire eye, over step of pyramid
Merlin gave Arthur a safer choice.
I will not drown for you,
Flood of hair, red as the lye
In parted Jordan, that sea, not me,
Shall pine as ever, slowly dying.
Your healing humors, your subtle sovereignty,
Your blood, noble as seven-seas are blue,
Little mirror who paints the sky,
Though nearly, I will not die for you.
Apr 27, 2013
Apr 27, 2013 at 3:22 PM UTC