"hunch" poems
On a mythical Mumbai weekend,
of no serene start or dubious end,
with imaginary beauties, invisible friends,
I stepped out of a puffing train,
my long unkempt hair a lion's mane,
getting used to my twitching tail,
Posing on the Gateway of India,
the extraordinary explorer pose,
took a boat to Elephanta (sans the hose),
and when my shivering co-passengers
had finished feverishly taking pictures
and started screaming holy mothers and sisters,
I took off from the starboard end,
and became the first man-lion to
cross the polluted Indian channel,
surviving to make the news channels,
my scientific name listed as a brand new mammal,
my mating call recognized as a gushing gargle,
On a mythical Mumbai weekend,
of no serene start or dubious end,
with imaginary beauties, invisible friends,
I devoured deep-kissing lovers for lunch
at Bandstand's low-tide on a hunch,
to the delicious sound of munch! munch!
even as Shah Rukh Khan watched disgusted
from his big big bungalow by the sea,
and as the city sharpshooters came after me,
and later when they brought me down,
from Nariman Point building, like KING KONG,
I tuned a dusty guitar and sang a melancholy song,
on the death of adventure, love and reality,
dangers of delusions, lethargy and self-pity,
repression, horniness and too much TV,
down in a shower of bullets when I went,
sky like the coming of rain, godspeed, godsend,
in a mythical city, where nothing is really meant,
On a mythical Mumbai weekend,
of no serene start or dubious end,
with imaginary beauties, invisible friends...
Jun 4, 2016
Jun 4, 2016 at 11:01 AM UTC
611
I see thee better—in the Dark—
I do not need a Light—
The Love of Thee—a Prism be—
Excelling Violet—
I see thee better for the Years
That hunch themselves between—
The Miner’s Lamp—sufficient be—
To nullify the Mine—
And in the Grave—I see Thee best—
Its little Panels be
Aglow—All ruddy—with the Light
I held so high, for Thee—
What need of Day—
To Those whose Dark—hath so—surpassing Sun—
It deem it be—Continually—
At the Meridian?
12.6k
I look at myself everyday
in the mirror
looking at my body intensely,looking for errors
my teeth
those monstrous pimples
and those cheap glasses
that hunch-back
who am I?
no,who is this? This body of self defeat?
what is my worth ?
what do my errors add up to?
does it deduct my final value?
Like a rusted guitar or a cheap rag doll?
So I look at the reflections of many mirrors
I compare myself to them to the point of exhaustion
some mirrors raised my value
some didn't
some lowered my value
and some destroyed my value entirely
at one point I broke my mirror
because I finally realize
that value didn't matter
since all those mirrors came from the same thing
Jul 2, 2014
Jul 2, 2014 at 5:13 PM UTC
I wanna love you unique
Vibrate your insides when I speak
Open up..Go deep
Together discover our peak
Lost..No I've been found
Tie you up eat you bound
Groans of pleasure love the sound
Tongue tracing all around
Flurry of kisses feel my lips
Up your thigh between your hips
Go ahead give me tips
Instruct me as I do my dips
Deep inside we can feel
Euphoric as our bodies reel
Swallow me like a pill
Eat you like my favorite meal
Writhing from playful munch
Arching backs in a hunch
Round for round feel my punch
Have you ******* in a bunch
Welcome to ******** State
Now it's time to penetrate
Slamming on your pearly gate
Spring a leak start to shake
Hold on tight feel my muscle
Toss you wild as we tussle
As your feathers start to ruffle
We connect complete the puzzle
Adult mindset can't be weak
Words not needed when bodies speak
Forever finding what you seek
Euphoric pleasure one so unique..
Jan 8, 2015
Jan 8, 2015 at 4:47 PM UTC
The vicar's knickers look so fine
As they hang upon the line.
Flapping wildly in the breeze,
They're as sassy as you please.
They used to be a shade of grey,
But on the line, in the light of day,
They sparkle white as they hang about.
Even Mr. Clean would scream and shout.
People in the street stop and stare
As they admire the vicar's underwear.
Hanging there for all to see,
They seem to cry, "Look at me!"
The gathering crowd gives a sigh
When the vicar's knickers seem to fly
As they dance and twist upon the line,
Looking white and clean, and oh so fine.
Inside the house the vicar pleads,
"Dear wife, some underwear I need.
Without my knickers I cannot say
My sermon in the church today."
The vicar's wife has had enough
Of viewing her husband in the buff,
As he searches for another pair
Of sparkling, clean, white underwear.
"I know where to find a pair!
They're on the line, those underwear,"
Says the vicar's wife with a grin.
"I'll just go out and fetch them in."
The poor man waits and says a prayer
And hopes she finds those underwear.
He really wants to finish dressing
And go to church and say the blessing.
She snatches them from off the line
Where they've hung and looked so fine.
The crowd watches her take them down,
Those knickers, the whitest in all the town.
They'll have to come another day
To gawk and watch those knickers play.
The vicar needs that elusive pair
Of sparkling, clean, white underwear.
The vicar's just as pleased as punch
Because he had a sneaking hunch
He'd never see that last clean pair,
And he'd have nothing else to wear.
Now he's dressed and ready for the day,
And he can go to church and kneel and pray
Because he's wearing a lovely pair
Of sparkling, clean, white underwear.
Mar 10, 2012
Mar 10, 2012 at 2:28 PM UTC
I'm underpaid.
If it takes me an hour's pay
To buy my lunch
I have a hunch
I'm underpaid.
Because I'm paid the
Minimum wage.
Why this isn't a cause of rage
Among politicians that their citizens
Are underpaid
On minimum wage
I'm afraid I can't say.
I can't rent my own place,
A problem I can easily trace
Back to my low pay
On the minimum wage.
I hope this is a stage
Because I honearly can't say
How I'd survive if I stay
Underpaid
On minimum wage.
While I can't pay my bills
Billionaires fly around country for thrills
Tax breaks, relax mate,
It's better than giving them to
The underpaid
On minimum wage.
To be able to pay the price
Of things I need would be nice,
But there's no room to play
Living day by day
Underpaid
On minimum wage.
My wages are a joke,
No way I can't be broke
Living this way.
I'd just like higher pay
For minimum wage.
Sep 7, 2013
Sep 7, 2013 at 7:30 PM UTC
from the start
I should've saw your mischievous heart
Like the girl who talked to you when we were eating lunch
"But, you said you had a crush on me." she exclaimed, yet I didn't have a hunch.
you're.. a player.
I should've saw any sign.
but slowly the shards of painful memories pass by that I find
you took two girls to the homecoming dance,
but before that, we had our first romance
why did I trust you to be loyal
maybe because I was blinded with love and was treated royal
there was too many signs...
Like the messages I saw on your phone when I checked the time,
that person calling you the same loving names you wanted me to call you?
her name, "Alaina?"
You convinced me it was just a "role-play" and I didn't see any red flags?
I just wanted to believe you loved me
the girl's name, Alaina
...who is Alaina?
Jul 20, 2018
Jul 20, 2018 at 7:07 PM UTC
Among orange-tile rooftops
and chimney pots
the fen fog slips,
gray as rats,
while on spotted branch
of the sycamore
two black rooks hunch
and darkly glare,
watching for night,
with absinthe eye
cocked on the lone, late,
passer-by.
5.7k
I call you for dinner
at the roast beef you glare
you sulk at the table
and kick at my chair
"I don't want it" you cry
"I hate veggies" you moan
but a young boy can't live on Mcnuggets alone!
You call me a meanie
you say it's not fair
to make you eat green stuff
"I won't eat it, so there!"
You hunch up your shoulders
arms crossed, lips shut tight
your stare is defiant
as you fight for your right
to eat what you want to
and do as you please
my 5 year old rebel
with scabs on both knees
You'll eat it eventually
and I'll secretly laugh
'cause round two is coming
I'm running your bath!
Jun 1, 2014
Jun 1, 2014 at 8:29 AM UTC
I notice the tiny pulse of frustration in the back of his neck
I notice the way that he sighs and slumps over
I notice how his elbows splay out so his face bobs lightly over his desk
A buoy dancing over a wave
I notice the way he glances at his friends before he answers
I notice the way he shapes his mouth into a grin before he speaks
I notice how his eyes squint a little when he laughs
I notice how they dull when he doesn’t want to listen
I notice how his shoulders hunch when refuses to hear
I notice the boredom in the lines of his back as he considers
I notice the way his leg jiggles as he bounces his foot lightly
The ever-present dichotomy of professionalism fighting immaturity
Of a thirst to learn, fighting against ignorance, justice calling
I notice this inner battle of boyish nonchalance and masculine defensiveness
I notice how his eyes dart lightly over his chosen comrades before he writes again
I notice the way he presses his forehead into his hand
As though he could pull ideas out
And read his thoughts printed back on his palm
I notice the consistent rubbing against his face with his fingers
Phalanges to stimulate the thought process
I notice the hesitation before his pen scratches the page
Piercing the paper with words he must call his own
I notice the claim of responsibility and the toll it takes on his physique
I notice the fatigue of struggling to create
To feel, to create, to feel, to feel
I notice, throughout all the time I’ve been noticing him
He has not noticed me once
Oct 24, 2014
Oct 24, 2014 at 3:30 PM UTC
ground may as well be a sponge,
so much rain Saturday, had a hunch,
to build an Ark,
but the strength of an old
promise, made me think twice,
and the small amount
of lumber in the garage, thrice.
"Faith ... would be nice"
I am sure, that voice echoed in my head.
yet today, as I walked and I wondered,
how the air was so sweet and clear,
I saw, the pride of them gathering,
as they prepared to bloom,
the rain had swept the grounds,
of all the ***** germs,
enough rainfall there IT watered the worms,
softening up the dirt,
so the crocus flowers could come out to play.
The leader of the Crocus Band, his name was Stripes
go to instagram, for a view of the leaves behind, spikes,
leaning into his role and a leader, close at hand he,
chooses a humble stance as an example, see?
Be wary of this Crocus,
He may Spring, focused,
Seeing Winter is now bogus,
on the West coast.
His name is Stripes, earning every one.
©DWE032014
Mar 10, 2014
Mar 10, 2014 at 8:59 PM UTC
Ouch. There's a tug somewhere deep in my gut.
Ooh, a pinch almost.
I hunch over, placing one one hand on my stomach.
Squint my eyes and scrunch my nose.
"You okay, ***
"Yeah, ma. Can I just try on these jeans and get home? My tummy hurts."
"You feel like you're gonna puke?"
"No, just a little crampy."
The discomfort continues.
I grab the Levi's. Size 12/14.
Shuffle into the dressing room.
"Uh, mom . . . ?"
"Yeah? Are they too big?"
"Uh, no . . . " Then, in hushed tones. "Can you come here?"
"What?"
"Uh . . . I think maybe. I uh, got my period."
Silence. Anticipation. Waiting for the happy mom, excited squeal, and Welcome-to-Womanhood! hug. A My-Little-Girl's-Growing-Up smile at the very least.
Instead, with a straight face, "Oh, well, we'll have to take care of that. Did the jeans work out?"
Oct 13, 2010
Oct 13, 2010 at 7:53 PM UTC
Every thanksgiving,
My family gets smaller.
Gone to college. Gone traveling. Gone to another woman. Gone to Florida. Gone to prison.
Gone to see the lord.
Funerals are how
I visit the lord. God is drawn to eulogies.
He’s there, a fixture,
almost a cliche,
like a great aunt with a black veil
weeping into a floral
handkerchief.
Today, at this funeral,
a thin layer of snow and ice
has frozen the ground.
Black dress shoes
press ridged footprints into the
snow.
Every funeral I’ve ever
been to has been cold. Dress
clothes and peacoats
aren’t thick enough to keep
me warm during a funeral.
I keep my hands in my pockets and hunch forward,
watching my breath hit the winter wind.
The winter wind is
an evaporated sadness, like god.
During thanksgiving, the gravy boat
on the counter
let off hot, thin steam. While pouring it thick
on my potatoes,
A shadow in the corner of the room caught my eye.
The days after a funeral are
filled with a confused, hopeful mysticism. Every moving shadow,
every unexplained noise
is a visitation.
So I ****** my head towards the corner of the room. Nothing.
Glancing back at the table,
I look at his empty seat, reminded
how much I’m him. I’m quiet, like he was.
I
laugh like he laughed.
My teeth are as bad as his were.
I drink like he did when he was
my age,
days, nights at a time, stumbling home from dark pubs,
watching, with blurred vision,
my whisky breath hit the winter wind,
and evaporate, almost as fast as God.
After the turkey and the pie and the coffee,
I go down to the basement
and I pour myself a stiff
*** and coke.
I drink, in silence, to the gone.
Nov 27, 2014
Nov 27, 2014 at 6:13 PM UTC
Even the best laid plans go wrong,
The unexpected comes along.
Before you know it, suddenly,
You are in new territory.
When that happens what do you do?
Do you give up or see it through?
'Tis a decision you must make...
To give up or a risk to take.
You may decide to take a chance,
To fly by the seat of your pants,
You might stick with it, come what may,
Just let the chips fall where they may.
Or choose to play it safe you may,
Retreat to fight another day,
Decide the risk is just too great
With too much left to chance, to fate.
Perhaps it is a hunch, your gut,
The weighing up of ifs and buts
That helps you reach a decision
That which for you is the right one.
You and you alone have to choose
And whether you win or you lose,
Your reasoning to you is known,
The decision but yours to own.
Aug 3, 2018
Aug 3, 2018 at 10:03 AM UTC
Many speak of love in spring of their lives but I felt the winter deep set in my bones when I was young. A stone cold dessert of bone and ash the pieces of my life irrevocably torn from me before you had found me in my hollowed out hell. You were the first light I could see through the fog. Behind the curtain of our ***** faith we hid our bodies in each other. And all that was ash was suddenly silk and satin.
It was a a failed baptism to be born into this world stuck beneath the surface drowning in a guilt not my own and a shame in my heart. Never before had I felt air like you breathed into me in that book store corner our faces flushed and barley touched.
I am sure I was to be pulled into the drink if not for your love. Your kindness and rawness shown back at me in that fire you carried in your hair and your eyes. At just 16 and now at 28 you have been gone longer then I ever knew you and yet the memories feel longer still. I still see movement behind that veil but you are not behind it and I am haunted by that shadow. I still feel the heat of your fire, but it is the shadow of a forever fading warmth to never truly leave and let me chill and yet to never find the breadth to allow me true comfort. I fear I am to become a wraith in your absence although I walk forever in the sun you showed. Over the hunch of the earth I have traveled now, seeking my comfort. Seeking your fire again and if I am to become a wraith, of ash with only the memory of fire to torment me until my end I will be grateful it was your fire. And when I fade even as a wraith into the cusp of the world and the void takes my memory of you I will find you again in that place. Never have I been so sure that I lost the love of my life. I have returned to winter knowing warmth and am more and less for it.
And I wouldn’t trade it for gold.
I love you. And I always will.
Oct 7, 2022
Oct 7, 2022 at 9:03 PM UTC
I take a deep breath to staunch
That constant clang and clatter
Be still and follow the hunch
Before it’s too late to matter
I need a quiet place
A shift in space, a change in stealth
My next breath can create
Some room to gaze at something else
Soon I must take a break
I can’t settle down or think straight
Wrestling with those demons
I know not the time or the date
Looking back looks so abnormal
Deadly games of Red Rover
Spawning pages from my journals
Replaying over and over
I know not steps to take
On pathways for planting the seed
Peace, her elusive face
Turns away whenever I plead
Time to build that Safe House
Only I have the key to the door
Where peace and bliss abounds
I meet each holy moment and soar
Seek a new vision there
And learn to think more about others
Let go my tormented memories
Seeing All-my Sisters and Brothers
I find that peaceful space
Just to release what I don’t need
Harmony-Beauty-Love
Replaces all my soul has freed
Filling up my Heart Space
As soft as a sweet baby’s kiss
Some name the feeling Grace
I feel a sense of peace and bliss
Mar 23, 2016
Mar 23, 2016 at 4:28 PM UTC
whenever I feel the tremble start to ooze its way
from my compact mind to the tips of my fingers,
I immediately anticipate the fate
that I have always been able to foresee
whenever that familiar first jolt of an anxiety attack sails its way,
like a vessel in a storm
throughout my entire body
heart pounds an intolerable caution
lungs wheeze frigid determination with a rough friction
that lightly scrapes my core with a ticklish flutter
shoulders lift up into a hunch; absolutely automatic
the top tray of teeth lock clenched into the bottom tray’s hold
a fleet of air hisses in and out of two nostrils like a monk’s meditation
capacious eyes flicker from
the lid to the lash to the iris to the pupil to see everything
everyone is staring
everything is too intimidating to look at for longer than two seconds
then, the tunnel
the clearest, acute vision waters into a soft edged frame,
into a pixel mud of a picture, into a black peripheral,
black corners rounding in – a narrow and petty circle
I use it and follow it to wherever my
deepened impulse decides to take me
silently contemplating,
silently speculating,
silently examining
the fears I let my feeble self
get swallowed up in.
Sep 3, 2012
Sep 3, 2012 at 1:42 AM UTC
When I wiggle, wiggle wiggle,
People giggle, giggle, giggle.
In the middle, middle, middle,
I'm not so little, little, little.
When I jump, jump, jump,
My big old **** **** ****
My rear end **** **** ****
Goes bump, bump, bump.
Once skinny as a rail
I’m more like a whale.
Because of what I did
Ever since I was a kid.
Any old kind of candy
To me was simply dandy.
Follow me around and
I’d eat it by the pound.
Mom would bake, bake, bake.
By belly would shake, shake shake.
I couldn’t flounce, flounce, flounce
My gut would bounce, bounce, bounce.
Now I’m round, round, round,
To the ground, ground, ground.
I eat just like a pig, pig, pig,
That’s why I’m so big, big, big.
Once skinny as a rail
I’m more like a whale.
Because of what I did
Ever since I was a kid.
Any old kind of candy
To me was simply dandy.
Follow me around and
I’d eat it by the pound.
When some say diet, diet, diet,
I reply to them quiet, quiet, quiet.
Every time I try it, try it, try it.
My body doesn’t buy it, buy it, buy it.
So i just live for lunch, lunch, lunch.
I love to eat a bunch, bunch, bunch,
And I have a basic hunch, hunch, hunch,
The same will go for brunch, brunch, brunch!
Jan 19, 2017
Jan 19, 2017 at 5:34 PM UTC
the earth will always be there for you.
although sometimes it shakes, for now, it is still and you may sit or stand or lay on it for as long as you'd like. and if you stay there long enough you may feel gravity gently tugging you lower, lower,
lower into the earths core to rot
for we are all simple satellites orbiting the earth; born high in arms and strollers we slowly learn to crawl, walk, run, limp, walk again, hunch over in age -- and no matter how many airplanes we ride high in the sky, everyday we are dragged a little more, sagging a little bit more, into death of the earth and of the bones. gravity is a constant reminder that one day our parents put us down and never picked us up again, and that soon enough the earth will drag our bones into the soil and earth from whence we came.
for it was there, in you, in birth; and soon you will be there, in it, in death.
Apr 12, 2016
Apr 12, 2016 at 1:02 AM UTC
laying your head in my lap
the way you always wanted to
looking up at me
as our eyes meet
for a few moments
dark oak swirling
with words we're
too nervous to
say out loud
seconds pass and
we can't take it
anymore
you roll-over
onto the bed
and i hunch
into myself
we can't stop laughing
making spiderman jokes
sneaking glances through
the night til our hands
intertwine without
meaning to
both wishing
we would
have kissed
i'm living all the way up here now
the mountains trail down to your
old suburban home
you're not here
not in my lap
staring up at me
brown
and blue
against one
another
her eyes
laughing
and twisting
until they've
faded away
i miss you
but the phone
won't even
ring
Mar 7, 2022
Mar 7, 2022 at 11:09 PM UTC
There's two eyes of the Hurricane
both blue
flecked with grey.
Incalculable
forecasting the direction.
Ominous hunch
it is heading
my way.
The stability of shelter
is a lottery
of hope;
defenseless
if caught in its
path.
I'd be squashed
like a paper cup.
At a glance,
she can obliterate you
just like that. (click)
Nov 11, 2014
Nov 11, 2014 at 7:36 PM UTC
my body is simply not conventional
to the clothes I wear
there are dips and hills plastered on my figure
hanes doesn't take into account
my weight or my height
so pulling up the waistband
drills the cotton into my skin
with no room to breathe
but I've gotten comfortable
my body is not conventional
to the clothes I wear
the hunch back of Notre Dame meets
a protruding belly that widens my waist
when I wear shirts
fabric strangles my hips
displaying my grotesque body
but I've gotten comfortable
my body is not conventional
to the clothes I wear
aged binders do their best
pools of skin are dipping out the sides
my ribs ache and it's hard to ignore
when my body wails a cracking chaos
pain and overstimulation have crept into dreams
but I've gotten comfortable
my body is not conventional
to the clothes I wear
my body is not conventional
but it doesn't bring despair
my body is not conventional
and you can't begin to understand it
because it's too crippling to bear
it's staggering to peep into a mirror
seeing my being labeled unpleasant
with the unnerving urge to rip my eyes out
and splatter my blood on the glass
why don't I just break down and sit there
it's heavy to carry my weight and be hyperaware
it's easy to not care and maybe I'd take that route
but I'm not conventional
so I'm taking another way downstairs
Aug 13, 2021
Aug 13, 2021 at 2:53 AM UTC
1.She seized me with one glad eye,
Some cryptic intent lurking behind.
The other eye gestures to me,
To move closer, I couldn't see why.
2.But her overture my system accepted,
Though not fully understood by me.
I couldn't even process the proposal,
But the verdict was out without the judge.
"My system is compromised, no doubt,
She has managed to hack it, I did suspect.
My legs moving towards her in quick time,
Is clearly the evidence for the breach.
Her kohl lined eyes, too played some trick"
On mind's screen, thoughts flashed.
3.She met me half way through,before
It became too evident, the undercurrents
That control the whole episode,unferled.
The smile she flashed was a command,
Didn't I hear a click, somewhere deep inside?
4.Her Kohl lined dark eyes
Concealed a suggestion of magic.
Dramatically she said what sounded,
Like a convoluted password,
My transformation was completed.
As a green parrot, so exotic!
5.Did I ever in my life
Had any hunch, that indeed I was
A parrot in disguise, and my sole aim
Was to meet her, the siren with distinction,
I loved the stupor slowly taking over.
To me it was what was badly needed.
After such magical change to an avian!
That too without even the wave of wand.
6.Gently she lifted me and put,
At a spot on her left shoulder.
Then, as if by some prompt,
I started telling her, things he liked to hear.
This I guess as parrots we learn from nature.
A line of eager admirers she walked past,
They seemed pleased hugely, no doubt,
Because, she is with some one,
She seemed specially care.
7.At home, the enchantress was
In her elements, on a cage hung high,
On a perch, I sat gazing at her.
The prince in daring disguise,
In a bid to meet the enchantress in person,
And lose myself in her radiance.
Her face beams a smile that sugests,
All of this was a trick , she had perfected
In keeping with nature's wish.
Jul 19, 2021
Jul 19, 2021 at 4:35 PM UTC
I get the hunch that the ashes of kindergarten,
Lunchboxes, the national anthem
Are floating from the edge of us
So many sophomore stars from a cigarette’s tip,
Somewhere down the mountain we lost our winter coats
And bicycle summers, and plastic sailboats,
No puddles and rainboots, or slick soft dogs
And paper flowers, captured fish and frogs
We try to jump in puddles, and we float
Deep-bright and hissing in the city chill
Childhood traded for strange soft skin
Grumpy cats and boardgames for mixed drinks and casual ***
And the cicadas gaily chirping fall away like
Fishbowl-helmet astronauts, lost without gravity
Mercury, Venus, Youth,
Maturity, Jupiter, Saturn
We are never kids again,
Nor adults until we die
wait until the phone rings
and the teacher goes inside,
under the slide at Recess:
you can put your lips on mine
Mar 5, 2010
Mar 5, 2010 at 11:28 AM UTC
Alpacas aren't llamas they say
Though they won't give details away
But I've got a hunch
So I'll-pack-a lunch
Head out for field research today
Jul 21, 2018
Jul 21, 2018 at 12:34 AM UTC