"incubates" poems
There is a girl
Who always looks like shes waiting
For something or someone
And still to this day,
I take a seat and watch for magic
Perhaps day without night
There has got to be something good
Any normal person would have left already
But the rain pouring down
Tells me she is not to blame
Tells me she has unfinished business
She still belongs to the garden
Giant shiny green plants with teeth
Devour her back into their wrath
Where she incubates
She must prove she is ready
Apr 8, 2017
Apr 8, 2017 at 4:46 AM UTC
what is it that i am looking for
what is that convulses my mind so
i don’t know, I just don’t know
yet I keep on searching for something
something i know not what
it is in the words, i know it is in the words
it demands a recognition,
perhaps it is an illusion of complex
temporal simultaneity that plays
upon my reason but what is it
that delivers a thousand shivers
and colors from everywhere and nowhere
is it the blank spot that enters my consciousness
bringing temporarily bright blackness
the blindness one receives if
engaged in an over prolonged look at the sun
is it the inner workings of my mind
trying to free some irritant that
has intended to punctuate my thinking
without permission
an attempt to perplex
this new apostasy
that incubates within
yet a confusion hangs suspended
Of this blank spot, this nothingness,
this void of inarticulate reality that
exaggerates its intentions to consummate
a separation but never succeeds in its completion
Nov 14, 2012
Nov 14, 2012 at 6:42 PM UTC
By Anonymous
“Go on, summer woman.”
You sing
bitter lies,
ask her for
sweet, sordid music,
like honey or peaches
on her tongue.
In drooling language
she cries out a chant.
Men ask for love
as enormous as the sky.
Never easy, some may show
you life like wind and water,
but some are like rock,
mean as diamonds.
Shake our iron chains,
blow storm but weakly.
I trudge sadly,
avoiding essential trueness,
yet spring rain must flood.
A thousand mad urges
always crush my goddess
as she fluffs elaborate
apparatus,
whispers raw vision behind death,
soars beneath the moment.
Together blood, like sleep,
a rusty beauty,
incubates dreams.
Delicate, language, luscious, cool,
after drunk with need—
I love bare lust,
smooth and frantic.
You here,
a sweaty symphony.
Lick skin only after swimming.
So
eat, scream, shine,
ugly one,
picture a lazy beat
under heavy spray.
Mar 27, 2014
Mar 27, 2014 at 2:19 PM UTC
*a sullen blue monday
can be a lovely green haven
when new profound thoughts sprout
and we know then that heaven is a state
induced by the euphoria and warmth
radiated by the creative hub on the hearth
that incubates our long-suffering dreams
let us go forward then, today a mess of hopes
and tomorrow couch potatoes venture out*
Jan 18, 2016
Jan 18, 2016 at 4:21 PM UTC
Spring grows new life and colors.
Flower's crisp smells pour into the air it incubates.
Feet and body go out side the heat was so warm and hugging.
In the distants the marvelous sounds of lawn mowers turning on.
Birds sing and the sun fills the foliage with energy!
Mar 23, 2017
Mar 23, 2017 at 9:02 AM UTC
Let them see you
Grin, Grin, Grin
Then reach inside your head
Look, behold and see
The new apostate
That incubates within
May 9, 2012
May 9, 2012 at 1:51 PM UTC
3.
Picture:
smog pilfers
away some stars;
some cars
my words
Silence:
like a pinch, a piercer,
a piercing
Little winter:
a pistachio
salty, sweetly
confined a bead
I crack the door open
I eat it up
Clock:
a pistil
in it
time incubates
This lamplight
is like a pineapple
I want to write, write, write
Nov 25, 2022
Nov 25, 2022 at 2:49 AM UTC
The sky is the home of clouds
The dome of the breath of Earth
The window to the sun and moon
So shall it show us its wonders
Coursing the airs with many
For the being's eye to witness
The boundary between Earth and sky
Shall it be written with the laws of nature
Winds caress the trees and storms bellow
Policing the order of all beings
Ceasing the children in the chamber
Leaving them with a skyward gaze
The Earth incubates its offspring
Shielding them from the void
But a prison's life is not adhered
The children want to play beyond
So shall they fight for freedom
And hover like clouds in the sky
Jun 3, 2016
Jun 3, 2016 at 3:24 AM UTC
Our green budgerie
Feels not weary
Sitting on her legs
Inside her clay ***
With the only thought
Of warming her eggs!
Any curious peek
She meets with her beak
Leave her alone
Shows her face
A divine happiness
Strictly her own!
She’s in no mood
To forgo her brood
Not relaxing till hatch
Steeped in motherhood
Eats little food
Her patience has no match!
We cannot do much
Except only watch
So long she incubates
Till one fine morn
Cute chicks are born
She has her new playmates!
Jul 28, 2014
Jul 28, 2014 at 7:52 AM UTC
/*shovels' worth of sparrow songs, hid before me, the praise of morn, I took to ***** and to cushion, that I might sneeze back, with a cajun sentiment of a, "misjudged" joke... mind you... who might care what you don't mind what others feel, when... no one, really cares, what you think? am I wrong to suggest that feeling and thinking are synonymous? both happen almost instantaneously, given a stimulant... is this some sort of pathogen of "wrong-think" sifting process? feelings are delayed patterns of the expression of intellect... thoughts are shallow counterfeits of emotions.... I too wished I was the blabber-mouth of highschool... when thinking cannot become rhetorical, it incubates itself in emotions... but when thinking incubates rhetoric... the emotions attempting to be staged, become, equivalent to, passing a stranger on a street, never giving a two second's worth of mind, worth of notice.*
the pulverising presence
of the elemental man,
lodged within,
the seemingly, unmoveable
tiers of "object";
foolish, seeking fame,
as to quench a familiarity,
in:
overcoming the torrent,
of man "evaluating" water...
riddling his equal...
perpetually undermining
metaphysical novels,
with metaphors-,
and never...
the unsatiable thirst...
*** post annus.
May 18, 2018
May 18, 2018 at 9:33 PM UTC