"insinuation" poems
To have them shipped across the sea,
sitting like ornamental drops
tinsel strung around your eyes
pocketed the tree
walking down sunset avenue
reeking of bamboo stalks and water chestnuts
looking for a place to submerge your treasure
with a rattling breath do you deflate
And the Oak trunk that grows unimpeded
hanging her branches
caressing the Spaniard shingles
the clay missionary tabs
touching the stucco with a golden blade
of sunlight
cutting a thousand little strips
to hang about the face
moving a thousand miles a second
stopped in place with the quiet repose
of a yoga state
humming and shimmering
yet let me be sweet oak tree.
And I wander through the canyon boulevard
between the rocky cliffs and the endless riff
of surf-rock echoed off skate parks
and riding the PC
highway hair bedraggled and snaked into next week
lingering bonfire on the cotton shirt
plant for plant
*** for tat
seed to breed
Now dance, you and me.
Insinuation
drooling salivary tongue full
bacon
pigging out on burgers
getting red-eyes from vegans
smoking plants
murderers
We squirt,
relish on the act of dying
all things dying
choking life second by second
dying to live.
Staring at neon fins lining the gravel lot
Koi flickering beneath the celestial night
Suspended pondwater
pondering
In surfce tension
the deep mysteries of life
Tracing the snake through the winding streams
we watch atop the rooftop
Gaia
Taking in the burgeoning
Ocean of incandescent tangerine
and Peyote-light
Cacti hidden somewhere between
the quiet slumber of mindless streets
aligned by formless hands
Drinking the mescaline
air
Twisting the nightly moments
as locks of hair
I curled them, slipping, within my fingertips
tracing the long winding road of Tao
along her shoulders
Enraptured by her sensual bliss
When I finally drifted along the clouded memories
of divine rumbling eyes
she disappeared into the sky
blinking along the Jet turbines
Never meant to be mine
for more than a night
Aug 7, 2018
Aug 7, 2018 at 12:25 AM UTC
Please forgive my hesitation
at instigation of flirtation.
Did I ensure my elimination?
My romantic assassination?
I'll gladly partake in any placation,
for any chance of indoctrination
to the centralization of your concentration.
An operation of admiration.
A correlation of inflammation.
Your gravitation brings animation,
exclamation and elongation.
My specialization is duration.
Not to hint at a connotation,
but I feel a certain **********
by an obligation to a certain destination
where your presentation gives me restoration.
Petrification?
Total mind evacuation?
Would clarification bring fascination?
Stimulation!
Salivation!
Gratification!
Insinuation of fornication?
A simple salutation to syncopation.
Would a single bright carnation
be enough of a motivation,
for a two way relocation?
Would poetic recitation
be sufficient lubrication
for collaboration?
A consolidation?
Or an exacerbation of isolation?
Please hold no reservation,
I've only got one aspiration.
To achieve a higher elevation;
by means of inhalation,
or a certain recreation
involving a bit of perspiration
along with physical communication.
Does this seem such a bad situation?
Or are you ready for pure elation?
Feb 18, 2010
Feb 18, 2010 at 12:56 PM UTC
at the first sight of you, my eyes did lie
such a vision aptly defined by
a priceless, timeless, true original
work of fine art but unobtainable
with one simple question
you enslaved my attention
instant gratification
was my only compulsion
led to no insinuation
just an invitation
fueled by a connection
forced us in the direction
that led to a culmination
that never came to fruition
....but...
no real violations
to either one's restrictions
you stuck to convictions
no need for contritions
taking considerations
realized complications
to us as additions
for any continuations
or further desicrations
on sacred institutions
...and...
Feb 7, 2016
Feb 7, 2016 at 11:05 AM UTC
In this modern world of seldom proper and overused punctuation
the smallest of them all seems to leave the biggest connotation
the dot, or period, as some would say under the proper observation
has given text-ers and type-ers of this technology driven generation
and easy way to send a message in a short-hand communication
One dot can signify the end of the certain conversation
and three dots can lead one to believe that there will be continuation
Five dots can relay the writer's growing frustration
as he believes the recipient might not've read his brief annotation
and with growing anger at the recepients subtle procrastination
he can send the word 'hello...' as a sign of quizzical agitation
Three dots can be used to signal a reader to use insinuation
as in 'They went into the bedroom and then...(use your imagination)
Professionals use the multiple dots when invoking exaggeration
by skipping parts in a speech to warp the innocent quotation
such as 'The senator voted against the new... school legislation'
We know that dots after every letter are a definite implication
that the word is an acronym, and there's one for every situation
such as O.H. P.O.O. means Overly Happy People Offer Osculations
Yes, the period can be used so freely, with such adaptation
depending on the context, it can symbolize a sigh of exasperation
It is a punctuation so versatile, it has almost no limitation
and more than one of its forms can be found in every publication
I don't hesitate, as you can see, to submit this postulation
flexibility will always be in the period's reputation...
Jun 29, 2011
Jun 29, 2011 at 7:52 PM UTC
They touch
With a featherlight, brush of the fingertips.
Their prompt is a mere insinuation....
And their influence offered
As the slightest whisp of a wafting breeze.
But the impact made
Can be utterly monumental
And a driving impetus
To the receptive, creative soul
On a mission!
[email protected]
Apr 30, 2025
Apr 30, 2025 at 5:12 AM UTC
We strode together in another age, my love,
You, in your earthen gown and beautiful dark tresses.
I, the wearer of the long plaited, thong and sinew sandal.
You and I, we strode through quiet valleys of tall conifer
Where huge rock falls left monolithic edifices... as monuments to past largess.
Together we walked as one, in a world much simpler than the one we live in now.
In a time, without the inhibition of contrivance or sophistication.
We walked in clarity and drank from clear, clean waters.
We dallied in the honeyed light of a huge, summer moon.
A field of dandy lions in the warm April sunshine, was the byre in which we made love and produced our babies.
A love ... un-harried, unhurried and devoid of any preoccupation other than that of the beautiful desire
We felt for each other.
The love we feel now is the same as the love shared then;
But in this age it is diluted and complicated by the urgencies and imperatives of the day.
Then there was just time...given and taken.
Without cost or penalty, without blame or insinuation, without hurt or harm.
Time in that better age...was a friend.
A friend who augmented the beauty of today into the promise of tomorrow,
A friend who exchanged the serenity of yesterday for the excitement of the new day’s dawn.
This was our time, when the bond of eternity sealed our commitment to each other.
For however many lifetimes we may live in...
We shall be one.
Marshalg
For darling Janet
12 September 2011
Sep 12, 2011
Sep 12, 2011 at 3:14 PM UTC
The allegation I believe did not require consideration
It was a gross exaggeration out of desperation
This fabrication, and every sick insinuation,
A complication of a self explanation
Of your deprivation and justification
For your manipulation to suit your temptation,
infatuation with your impersonation
Contamination
Indignation within your contamination,
An accusation of your relation became your revelation,
It was not your reputation anymore under investigation
Starving for salvation, you fed each sick implication
As if each misrepresentation in vindication were a donation
To trade your damnation for his incarceration
As if creation of a demonstration
Desperation for an explanation
For your infatuation with temptation
Deprivation justification was indignation,
Accusation of impersonation -
Realization of manipulation
Salvation from damnation
Clarification of contamination
Allegation as donation
The Incarceration cancellation
The only explanation
Oct 31, 2015
Oct 31, 2015 at 3:14 PM UTC
My tongue flicks
Absent mindedly
Discovering and rediscovering
The new sensation
Of a missing tooth
Or a kernel of food
wedged in my gums
Or a ****** cheek
Bit ferociously while chewing.
In my same manor
My thoughts stroke
the idea of you,
Feeling for any new details
i may have missed
My first time
across your surface.
a mark, wrinkling
beneath your eye
a small tattoo
above your elbow
a delicate crease
where your head
meets your neck.
Subtleties of self
are everything to me.
you hold your cigarette
between hits,
bent backwards between
thumb and middle finger
as if subconsciously,
you know
you’re damning yourself.
You hold your elbows
When you cross your arms
As though you are afraid,
Should you relax your grip
The contents of your chest
Will spill out before you
Like a toppled canister
Of produce remnants,
Juicy, sloppy, and sopping
But you speak quietly,
like a discarded bag
of shredded documents.
Rustling with partial importance
I try to piece together
your comments
almost as though your words
hang beneath the weight
of your breath
as an afterthought
of your exhalation.
I watch you
watch me,
calmly calculating
baiting conversations
with tactful insinuation
and later,
in deep rumination
they replay.
I select the moments
That fit the narrative
I've created,
rummaging through
until what I want
you to mean
is all I hear you say.
Mar 1, 2017
Mar 1, 2017 at 12:19 AM UTC
.... I’m leaving Neverland, never to return again,
I’m leaving Neverland, for real & forever man,
& this is not an attack, or any other act of aggression,
this is not an insinuation or malicious accusation,
no need for Mesereau to get an acquittal through vindication,
because the fact is, I still love you, Mr. Michael Jackson,
& I’m sorry Ms. Jackson, I am for real,
never meant to make your daughter cry,
I apologize a trillion times,
now I’m Outkast, self banished myself like Lauryn Hill,
so Leave Me Alone, I told you I’m sorry Ms. Jackson,
& if truth be told, I still love you Mr. Jackson,
I still love you Michael Jackson,
& I’ll tell you what I think happened,
I think you were robbed of your childhood when young,
& your whole life you only wished to have one,
so you could feel safe enough to play & have fun,
& the only way to ever have the childhood you never had,
was to create your own sanctum paradise & call it Neverland,
with a ferris wheel carousel fairies trains giraffes & elephants,
your own fairytale so you’d never have to grow up, Peter Pan,
& you were so pure & kind & innocent,
& you really just wanted to play,
but over assumptive suspicious judgmental perverse minds,
made accusations called you strange & put you on display,
there is nothing worse than false accusations,
placed on an innocent man in an abrasive way, ...
∆ Aaron LaLux ∆
an excerpt from poem #27 of
THHT3: The Hollywood Hills Trilogy 3
available on Amazon here:
www.amazon.com/dp/1950780023
and if you've read this far I'd like to show my appreciation by buying you a copy of THHT3 from Amazon myself, seriously, I will give it to you for free. Just send me a Message here or on IG @aaronlaux
∆
Sep 22, 2019
Sep 22, 2019 at 9:42 PM UTC
“Music takes us out of the actual and whispers to us dim secrets that startle our wonder as to who we are, and for what, whence, and whereto.”
The witching hours between
Onyx nightmares - and dreams that sparkle at first light
Find me catatonic amongst my secrets and inuendos
Ragged shell
an insinuation of skeletal existence locked
Emotional rigor mortis
Hushed, suspended and supine
Stasis waits, hesitating
For the thrumming drums of life
a message of motion
sensual resurrection
That whispered music
melodic song my confidant
The rush of blood
This exhalation across lifeless lips
Speaks nothing into the void
So I do not breathe
In my skin that crawls beyond darkness
Recoiling from oblivion
I thought you loved me
Yet you are without utterance
And my heart breaks straining
For a note of music
and the silence ringing in my ears
A regretful requiem
Careless undertones
mimic this rumor of survival
Suspended I am
Unsung
TBoehm 022008
© 2008 TL Boehm
Oct 12, 2013
Oct 12, 2013 at 5:56 PM UTC
Slander wears no muzzle
Fragmentation
Void of couth
Shove born from a nuzzle
Insinuation
Shoddy sleuth
Guilt turns into guzzle
Fermentation
Robbing youth
Scattered jigsaw puzzle
Imagination
Pseudo truth
No lies can bind the hearts of all
No anger heals the scars of all
No ale can hide the shame of all
No eye can see the truth of all
May 3, 2012
May 3, 2012 at 12:15 AM UTC
the bantering of rain
the insinuation it might snow
the mirage of moonglade
the mountain drink
the desert thirst
everything
resolves with flowers
a withered realm
a crestfallen kingdom
their copper queen withdrawing
from the bitter harvest
in the spirit of Persephone
everything
dissolves into flowers
Feb 14, 2020
Feb 14, 2020 at 7:16 PM UTC
Moving with the speed of light,
Towards the cave of thoughts in your mind.
Welcome me with open arms,
I’d love the essence of it.
Be humane and don’t
refrain me from coming
as I plan a renege.
Why won’t you let me find out
from your eyes?
Why would you ruse me?
Make me understand
your idiosyncrasy .
Let me live in your little hut
For it is sanctum to me.
For you are my savior.
My soul ignites.
Scarlet and bright.
And I shall seethe…
Tell me! Oh tell me, you.
Please don’t shudder!
Ah…It’s an insinuation.
Apr 4, 2014
Apr 4, 2014 at 2:44 PM UTC
She didn't tell me what to do, that would have been fine.
She told me what I should do.
Should.
I physically felt my hatred activate, the rebellion set in.
Good intentions erased.
Enemy.
Superiority complex, my least favorite of the complexes.
Insinuation, my least favorite anything.
Nov 8, 2012
Nov 8, 2012 at 4:38 AM UTC
It is the short, hurried gasp
the one where your lungs are already full
but dread's insinuation
jolts your blood and
stretches your eyes
making room for a bit more
Sinking, with bubbles trickling away
the concept of breathing takes its occasional
leading role
meditation is a luxury to those without panic
or maybe that is the answer
either way
I should have practiced more
I do fear death
No denying that
it's too instinctual
and I feel very connected to my body right now
this is where every person turns to God
and o' how humble we can be
apologies and promises
when were you last this genuine
it's only after God saves you
that you degrade again
Aug 1, 2016
Aug 1, 2016 at 4:56 PM UTC
You are my dauntless sword;
Gleaming iridescently in light, and in the absence of it.
Enticing my wistful eyes with your intrepidness,
before chanting, "My hero of sorts."
You feathered my growth with fairy tales and mendacities,
Always winning agaisnt the evil that you made me believe.
You were the tenacious tower who locked me out of peril,
I was the naïve, gullible, stupid damsel who believed all of it.
Dec 28, 2014
Dec 28, 2014 at 12:24 PM UTC
LORD GOD i know it's been a
while since my knock
knees bruised the floor
sweating hands prostrate
still trembling. starving, LORD.
sated, LORD. please, thine
cut-and-dry intimations intimidated
by each opaque insinuation;
JESUS CHRIST Gag Me.
i am tangled razor wire
twisted desire LORD GOD i
know it's been a while.
Oct 3, 2024
Oct 3, 2024 at 9:31 AM UTC
Balanced at this point of time,
Fractious as the case may be
Cautioned as to why we men
Most unctiously, cross women flee.
Brought to heel by subtle stare
Insinuation lingering there,
Caught out short by razored phrase
Abruptly severing…outrage,
Castigated without word
Rendering rebuff absurd.
Yet born to kiss and stroke the brow
But ultimately lost, somehow,
That give and take,(with **** smile)
Demolished slow in time’s worn guile,
Angelic then, in evening light
Extinguished now with tension tight.
Standoff in the cold of dawn
Sees all affection now withdrawn.
Balanced at this point in time
An utter need to kick the dog
Retreat to haven’s dark tool shed
To mutter hurt and swallow grog.
M.
Composed, (with tongue in cheek), for a poor weak ****** who quickly saw his Heaven on Earth become Hell.
23 February 2017
HAMILTON NZ
Feb 22, 2017
Feb 22, 2017 at 11:31 PM UTC
How many times will my name be called within one day?
From the depths of my conscious to the outermost membrane,
It's a situation I cannot just walk away from,
And the insinuation that I'll give up only in my dreams,
Just makes me want to go even more,
For you believe I'm not me,
For you believe that I'm a liar and a manipulator.
If I'm just that fake I might as well go,
Leave my stuff here before I sink further,
And the temptation to bury myself in toxic waters is great,
Nothing you've ever felt will compare to the hurt,
In my chest and in my cords,
So take my hand before I say goodbye.
Before I say goodbye.
Spend some time with me,
Sit with me and laugh out the fears,
The fears that life has no point and I have no purpose,
It must be tonight and If He was real then I'd use that as my pedestal,
I wouldn't care if I was called fake cause if It keeps me awake then so be it,
Spit out your truths; do you believe I will make it in life?
I'm tired of being told I cannot,
That I cannot start this life off or make it with the dreams that I have.
If I'm just that fake I might as well go,
Leave my stuff here before I sink further,
And the temptation to bury myself in toxic waters is great,
Nothing you've ever felt will compare to the hurt,
In my chest and in my cords,
So take my hand before I say goodbye.
Before I say goodbye.
And the poison on my wrist,
Seeps out once again and into the air it dissipates into gas,
Enough for me to inhale and drink,
Drink until the world is fuzzy and grey,
Don't care, Don't care,
It's this pointless verb of dying that won't carry me on,
Don't care, Don't care,
Just believe in me, Just believe in me.
If I'm just that fake I might as well go,
Leave my stuff here before I sink further,
And the temptation to bury myself in toxic waters is great,
Nothing you've ever felt will compare to the hurt,
In my chest and in my cords,
So take my hand before I say goodbye.
Before I say goodbye.
Oh and before I say goodbye,
Place a rose in my hands,
With the name I was given but not the name I received,
***** you if you think I'm not me,
***** you if you think that this is manipulation,
Do you realize how much I drown in your hate?
I want to thrive and I want to strive for more and more,
It's just before I say goodbye,
I'll be watching for a way to survive,
You wrought hope and said I'd be living mediocre,
Did you realize that I don't care?
It's something I need before I say goodbye,
Before I say goodbye.
Before I say goodbye.
Before I say goodbye.
Oct 19, 2018
Oct 19, 2018 at 12:34 PM UTC
*She fell for wonderland
Now that her mind's taking over
she takes a gander and wonders
if she could understand
Minimal hand holding,
she felt a sense of control
beyond her natural limits
and met her inner soul
And it was smiling back;
they had a conversation,
praising the gift and the curse
that come with ruling nations
Corrupt insinuation,
standing ovation to a leader's malfeasance
like a "crowd-pleasing" situation
It told her to breathe
She saw her love and her fire
Her wants were thrown to the flames,
and burning with desire
The air around her was pleasant,
and compared to the toxic and suffocating reality,
a refreshing present
The water's effervescence
felt like diminishing truths,
and every second was shackled
with fear of evanescence
This dream is liberating,
lucid enough to abuse it,
and yet the fear of awaking is very irritating
Is she falling in peace,
or falling to pieces?
She's now feeling the sheets,
but refusing to leave this!
"I am nothing without this,
I'm begging you to wait up!"
(You're terrified without us,
we're getting you to WAKE UP!)
"I'm with the love of my life"
(...but it's only a dream)
"Immune to cuts from my knife"
(...but it's only a dream)
"Dining with those that I've lost"
(...but it's only a dream)
"Willing to pay any cost!"
(...but it's only a dream)
"Heavenly taste of this world"
(...but it's only a dream)
"I'll buy more time with these pearls...!"
(...but it's only a dream)
"I'm satisfied with my looks!"
but it's only a dream!*
You're so lonely, it seems!
**THE WORST WE'VE EVER SEEN!
THE WORST WE'VE EVER SEEN!**
...
*If she could understand,
she'd take a gander and wonder
whether her mind should take over
and fall for wonderland,
but the love of her life
and her family members
surround her hospital bed;
they pray that she remembers...
...that people love her,
and life is gray,
but we give it color.*
Jun 9, 2016
Jun 9, 2016 at 2:54 PM UTC
hypochondira and hyperactivity,
misguiding nouns.
*vinum bonum et suave,
bonis binum, pravis prave,
ave mundana laetitia!*
łyski - whiskey -
łysy... itching to slap a skinhead...
so the question:
what are the ad hoc parameters of
cogito ergo sum?
i so wish to be given an
ad hoc clarity for certain maxims...
in most instances they're bibles,
obscurity riddles them a hymnal status,
and that said: holy.
i wan't to be given the ad hoc
instruction manual for certain
eurekas...
i'm told that the already stated
prefigures subjectivity...
and that the subconscious
isn't merely a bystanders' experience of
puppetteering...
insinuation sphere...
just like i might add third party
inquisitors demanding of me that:
every dream has a hidden meaning behind it.
so many have died trying to
create the uncoscious contraceptive...
this mental *******
this exploitative subconscious insinuation
puppet motivation...
the subconscious only exists
to create the other's drone capitalisation
of fragility...
the synonym of the subconscious
within groundwork of making choices,
acknowledging ethic, is insinuation,
spies and the alphabetical fixation on
subversion, and all other subs- congregate.
and it really does sound like nonsense
once the enemy's tongue is waggling...
some even called it the
omnivore safehaven...
when in fact so much was prioritised
for dietary requirements...
that became bouldered
anorexic grey-areas;
synchronised skeleton army
tugging the chimeras of crimea,
shortened to the word: Krym.
knowing this tongue, i should be apt at
forging any and all ethnic linkage with it
being expressed: i should be gagging
for a forthnight spent in las vegas!
but there's me, dreaming of a tartar steak.
Jan 11, 2017
Jan 11, 2017 at 2:11 PM UTC
Who, I am, is just the following of what,
What, I am, is just a stone away from where,
Where, I am, is just sails away from why,
Why, we are, is a planet away of who.
Who I am is just a person wearing a pretence,
What I am is just a character of what I try to commence.
Where I am, is this visage, carrying the drama in this scene,
Why we are, is where I merely am playing my part, as my actions are already set in the figurine.
It’s not adequately unexpected for the viciousness that is presented in human forms,
Its pretentious validity, in various forms, in vivid and foolproof flaws, as veteran as victim it withholds.
He desert, hides, cloaks or flees. He screams, breaks, vanish, retreats. He hides, shields, masquerade and juggles. All of these patterns that run in circles and hobbles.
We are not disarmed as much by the sword or bullet but rather by our past,
The whispers, the memories, the mistreat that is amassed.
For I too will have vengeance for myself,
For I plan a vendetta that will never be forgotten, and will haunt thyself.
To effectively grow I have to push past the point of my comfort zone and experience inhumane situations,
No expectations of thoughts and feelings, no blank lines or allowance of consultations because I will lose myself and make my own insinuation.
So please let your anger, hate, ********** intimidation,
Your screams, betrayal, pain, instigation
Thy emotions, force, projections and manipulation,
Be my entertainment that only helps my dissimulation.
For who, I am, is just the following of what,
What, I am, is just a stone away from where,
Where, I am, is just sails away from why,
Why, we are, is the vendetta that’s been bought.
Jan 13, 2019
Jan 13, 2019 at 1:27 AM UTC
Oil in the ocean
she is the insinuation
of a poison
both intoxicating
and breath taking
though, without mistake
she is devilishly volatile.
speech becomes slurred and spaced
and her intentions become displaced
as she falls from grace
night after night
this is her fight-
she never stops to question
she might be on the wrong side.
C.e.M. June 14
Aug 11, 2015
Aug 11, 2015 at 12:57 PM UTC