"interiors" poems
If love does not exist in this world,
We will make a new world
Furnish it with
Surprisingly vibrant red walls
and flamboyant interiors.
If love will exist in the other world
Love me back
So we can hear
Our voices to resonate
In unity
In clarity
If love will never exist
Let me still love you
Because love exists
Within me.
Mar 7, 2015
Mar 7, 2015 at 3:42 AM UTC
Through the country paths, I lazily loitered,
watching Nature in its changing hue
straying farther into the interiors,
sundry and sublime vistas came into view.
in response to zephyr’s warm embrace,
the silvery leaves joyously fluttered.
the bees busied themselves collecting pollen
and birds on tree tops merrily chattered
it was the *** end of verdant spring.
summer’s sun stood behind my head.
bleat of sheep was heard from far.
‘Good day to you’….. Someone said.
There stood on the hill, a boy around fifteen
obviously he was of tribal breed.
with a beaming smile, he greeted me
but on walking to him, he ran like a steed
I saw him disappear behind the trees
and enter into a hut tiny as a nest
he lived in the lap of Mother Nature,
far from the city and its sooty dust
being coaxed, he hesitantly came out.
my tone of assurance and pleasing smile,
seemed to have won his confidence
as to a friend, he shared his eventful tale.
pointing to the sheep grazing in the slope,
he said, he earned a living caring the flock.
he stayed in the woods all day long,
feeding and tending his master’s sheep.
from dawn to dusk, through woods and meads,
he leads his sheep, calling them by their name.
un vexed, with simple pleasures he is content
and with a nomad’s life, he seems to be tame
he said, at home he has his invalid mother.
bringing her back to health is his mission in life
on referring to his mother, I watched his eyes glitter
nothing other than her illness posed to him a strife
from every utterance, I could sense his filial love.
even in abundance, while shadows line many faces,
on his visage, hope lingered as a dancing flame
to me he seemed above many, rich in other graces!
While parting, I handed him a little money
pausing unbelievably, with moist eyes
he accepted it, when a breeze passed caressing us
as if over a kind gesture, Nature seemed to rejoice!
May 29, 2018
May 29, 2018 at 9:23 AM UTC
Can I explain this to you? Your eyes
are entrances the mouths of caves
I issue from wonderful interiors
upon a blessed sea and a fine day,
from inside these caves I look and dream.
Your hair explicable as a waterfall
in some black liquid cooled by legend
fell across my thought in a moment
became a garment I am naked without
lines drawn across through morning and evening.
And in your body each minute I died
moving your thigh could disinter me
from a grave in a distant city:
your ******* deserted by cloth, clothed in twilight
filled me with tears, sweet cups of flesh.
Yes, to touch two fingers made us worlds
stars, waters, promontories, chaos
swooning in elements without form or time
come down through long seas among sea marvels
embracing like survivors in our islands.
This I think happened to us together
though now no shadow of it flickers in your hands
your eyes look down on ordinary streets
If I talk to you I might be a bird
with a message, a dead man, a photograph.
5.4k
train myself to write anywhere and at any time...
as commissioned by ms. melan
~'~'~'~'~
so I, being a being,
a poet who carries his mind scheming
with him:
drags along his body and soul,
just in case:
that his hands might feel the touch of
beauty, skin and beyond,
the exteriors of his interiors,
to feel, to feel, to feel
every one of his surfaces,
the reality of his peculiar real
his eyes so one can envision the unimaginable,
and thus, never be satisfied,
for all is
always new,
beyond original
that his ugly, ungainly ears,
may never miss the sound of his tripping & falling
head!over!heels with the realization,
he just might be foolishly
in love
the tastes of life's living that
make his pulse race,
crease his smiling face,
causing his blood pressure so high
he pleads to surrender,
just begging to let his tongue
survive
and smells that arouse,
producing & promising
words proud & profound,
that have yet to succeed
in capturing
the fullness
of the
special musk odor
that masks
allure of attraction
no, not a lot to ask for…
5:26am
SunSep13
two zero two five
Sep 14, 2025
Sep 14, 2025 at 5:35 AM UTC
When words fail and the song dies in your soul
The soft cushion weighs heavy, threadbare, when
Dust invites the attic attack to the last memory stroll
A fretful protest march accompanying the wood grained heart
You noticed the space in short supply, with tight breath, the
Expert bargaining skills have begun, bypassing
The weak hearts, those that are still journeying
Their healing held up in tight palms of moistoned skin
And the slide into another day begins, dreadfully
With arched pain barriers drumming their morning
Beat. Occupational hazard was on the rampage
Cracking skull caps from their skinned residence
I shone a light into the acute grey tone of those
Hearts, those whose shapes lost conviction as the light
Shot arrowed tongues from the deaf interiors of wise men
Out on the town of feeble failings, they held nothing as their companion
Mar 2, 2013
Mar 2, 2013 at 7:15 AM UTC
sounds of the engorged worm’s lumbering steps,
they pierce not so stinging as the golden glow of orbs outside your window.
Quietude will find no home here.
neither will that longed-for sense.
what we want,
the ‘soul sleep,’
rests further,
further still, and away from finger tips,
gently rest me in myself,
to sweetly mine the interiors of subterranean caverns,
within which, we held exiled domain for millennia before we were men.
Mar 10, 2013
Mar 10, 2013 at 3:19 PM UTC
1
Her thick dark eyebrows did cast a spell first,
they are stuck there like vampire bats,
they both symbolize a sinister plot, kept secret,
with a 'come hither' prompt, none can resist.
She attracted artists in hordes, crazy moths,
never did they look above her face,the serpents,
lay tangled and acted as if it's smooth coiffure.
Wicked lust,aroused by bitter past,
made her move with keen intent
an invisible net she carried behind her back.
She attacked at opportune moments, pretending
she is a lover, with insatiable lust in boil.
2
All crafted lies, simultaneously,she artfully solicited,
colored moths, in her slow fire, they burned, one by one,
but one remained stuck there for life, fearing rejection every moment.
A crop of heads she reaped , wherever she went,
a kite was ever ready to fly her victim-hood colors higher and higher,
that made admirers **** in their breath and stoop,
before her to her advantage, she had no dearth for volunteers any time.
Burning words made her chants fly like fire works,
her collection of heads turned stones by admiring her
increased, as a huntress she was an ace
stuffed in her cubbyhole of a heart, heads of stone languished.
3
Medusa,you don't have sisters,
I count it the luck of those unborn
how beautiful, you once were I still remember,
though no sun visited the north you spent your childhood.
Run, run my feared beauty, to the sun, before your heart
get charred by the heat of hatred, you bear in the Gothic interiors.
4
I hate Perseus, don't you fear your Nemesis?
Every Athena you wrongly think your foe and fight,
all your hair turned serpents, still I thought, love would work,
without coming upfront, I kept my flame burning,
but all in vein, you could never love anyone, legitimately or otherwise.
Your blood, all of it, has turned venom, you spit it, slowly
its beauty amazes, even the victims on the line next...
Jul 4, 2013
Jul 4, 2013 at 2:33 PM UTC
~
*stationary now
duct tape loves
mouth and hands
inside removable interiors
heliocentric discontinuities:
the racket club
and the backstroke
the rabid club
and the hallucinogenic backchannels
swallowing too many placebos
on his balcony
facing away from the sun
blank diary entry
open on the table
'from despair to where?'
stationary in the trunk now
he says it will all
make sense soon*
~
May 26, 2023
May 26, 2023 at 7:44 PM UTC
The wind speed of thought, is handy vehicle; on it mind flies.
To familiar places, where no map is needed, I journey by foot.
A car, a coach or a train, some times air planes to long hauls.
But nothing takes one far like poetry, to interior landscapes.
Dec 14, 2014
Dec 14, 2014 at 7:25 AM UTC
Headlights, LED's, burning bright
Into my retinas, reflected in rear view
And side mirrors, a radiator grill just
Visible, almost the outline of a person
Behind the wheel, androgynous ghost,
Mad Max or just mad, determined
To drive to wherever, faster than
Anyone else, cocooned in black leather
Heads up display laid out across sweeping
Digital dashboard, vying to pass me;
But what of the queue plainly ahead
Stretching to far horizon, vanishing point,
Perhaps it is supernatural, absorbing traffic
Clearing the way by passing through it,
An alien craft with technology far
Advanced from our slow turning wheels
Selfishly driving alone in our home from
Home interiors, gathering subjects
For an out of this world experience
Or maybe a time machine
Like Back to the Future powered by flux
Capacitor, it will disappear and turn up
Ahead of all of us, or maybe my imagination
Has run riot and it's just another impatient
Idiot.
Jun 29, 2019
Jun 29, 2019 at 6:23 AM UTC
𝄞:♫⋆｡♪₊˚♬ﾟ. °. ⋆༺ ☾ 𖤓 ༻ ⋆. ° 𝄞:♫⋆｡♪₊˚♬ﾟ.
Peacock feathers
perfection.
A baby panther yawning
yawning, sleek and
black, a swan leaning
back
stretching pristine snowy wings.
Petrichor, crisp musk, the feelings we bring
floating river feathers,
mother’s ozone after rain,
all
around
hitting soft
down.
The reddest of roses held to the sky.
The clearest of tears
we have yet to cry.
A silvery plate of oily green olives throwing back the sun,
of which they are , one.
( of which we all are)
so hard,
becoming one with nothing again in each passing breath.
Energy expended.
A thought, by moments.... in emotions
extended.
A child's coffin
The care of casket sheen — soft silken interiors now overflowing with the wet, inky blackness of squirming, over-lit salamanders. Writhing
Erupting.
Effluviant.
Rubbery little salamanders. Hitting the over polished marble floor
falling
yearning for freedom and little more.
Everywhere. So black and shiny .
Overflowing , spilling out they wander
and we
wonder
what is it all about.
all this cascading and spilling out. Bouncing, smacking.
Nature. The nature Of art and beauty.
Understanding, the great misunderstanding
right before our eyes. Right. before. Our eyes.
Rite before our eyes.
Eyes, another’s . What we truly long to see.
The clarity of symbols built over centuries
and lost in a single fire/trend.
Feb 6, 2025
Feb 6, 2025 at 12:23 PM UTC
Nonsense isn’t clear when self-induce becomes derogatory. Switching off claims to promote a zero-questioning start. Only for calamities to raise the bars of victory without circumstance. Pleading you to forget what you saw and repeat after me. Nonsense without structure, is relaxing too much. Does relaxing come after nonsense when zero questioning permits the struggle of structure? I digress for the infinite that is suggesting you relax when it comes to ******* interiors giving no rise to pressure that exceeds balance. Balance in the face of consequence. Consequence in the doubt of honor. Honor in the… WAIT! It’s nonsense, right? ALL OF IT!! EVERYTHING!!! Plain examples of zero switches without direction. Promoting the structure of pleading facts rubbing with calamities. Ruining what shouldn’t have been. Illusions! All of it. Claiming something, which isn’t a benefactor to logic raising circumstances toward rising the bars of victory. Doesn’t make any sense, does it? Any of this ringing a bell people?! Good. Just relax and create your own structure. Even how awfully permitting to other appeals it might seem. Structure is without consequence. Relaxing about regular customs to oneself, permits the desire to act with a calm disposition. Everything being a confused debate of nonsense. Only adding nonsense over something that’s already a relaxing structure. Is structure without relaxation? Enough details… I’m out! Structure your own appeals?!
Oct 7, 2019
Oct 7, 2019 at 12:48 AM UTC
*reflecting on
what drives me
the sensuality
of her willing sacrifice
every inch
a supplicant
feminine vulnerability
a badge of courage
how gorgeous
she is
my little dancer
*** perfect
foot perfect
body flexed
**** drooling tears
vessel of the Goddess
caresses that
turn a pitcher
into
Aladdin's lamp
dream maker
a philosophers stone
Aphrodite's afterbirth
hysterical elasticities
she my savior
let me eat her like Christ
sublime posed flexed
**** open
ready please she whispers
to be impaled
bat thighs like spread wings
inside dark brooding interiors
ready to be engorged
blood like ink
octupussies arms
that **** and pull
that write i love you
in writhing gasmus
Our suns last gasp
tumultuous
igniting soul quakes
eats its own
with
kisses of fire
tremulous
taking all life with it
oh jewel of night
scrambling a thousand moons
swallowed
by hells
shimmering constellations
like starved arterial glistening *****
no mercy
in the glitter of cleavers
yet all
ecstasy
ecstasy
ecstasy*
Aug 6, 2016
Aug 6, 2016 at 1:33 PM UTC
But not on a shell, she starts,
Archaic, for the sea.
But on the first-found ****
She scuds the glitters,
Noiselessly, like one more wave.
She too is discontent
And would have purple stuff upon her arms,
Tired of the salty harbors,
Eager for the brine and bellowing
Of the high interiors of the sea.
The wind speeds her,
Blowing upon her hands
And watery back.
She touches the clouds, where she goes
In the circle of her traverse of the sea.
Yet this is meagre play
In the scurry and water-shine,
As her heels foam--
Not as when the goldener ****
Of a later day
Will go, like the center of sea-green pomp,
In an intenser calm,
Scullion of fate,
Across the ***** torrent, ceaselessly,
Upon her irretrievable way.
1.6k
Enemy is a beautiful concept. You never say he is an enemy,
but you always refer, he is MY ENEMY coz he is a part
of your EGO, coz when he dies, you never be the same person
as before. We spend most of time thinking about our enemies.
That's why its easy to miss your friend but not your enemy
on the road.
If you observe, you treat even beggar as your enemy,
you never see a beggar an eye to eye coz if you, then
he will become you friend and his problem become your problem. Generally, people with whom you grow... brother/cousins/neighbor,
they are the one, who carry a small jealous about you and
your growth. coz they know your capacity and often compare you
and your growth, and they are the one always compete with you.
In Mahabharata, Arjuna refuse to fight against his own cousins
Kauravas, The reason, he knows very well he can
defeat Kauravas and retrieve his kingdom. But what FUN you
have, once, all your are enemies are dead, there is no fun in ruling
the kingdom. We need enemies to move our life, we need people
around us to feel jealous, that's why we buy a big house,
costly interiors, a luxury Cars,.. etc less for us and more for
our Circle. We want every one to feel small when they
enter our house.
The Box office hit movie are successful not because of the Hero
but coz of villain, the most cruel the villain, then, he help the
movie more interesting and also to the success of the film.
In Short, Its your enemy determine your success. The more enemy
you have, the more drive you have towards your success.
Nov 25, 2015
Nov 25, 2015 at 9:03 PM UTC
the very sound of her voice
somewhere between
a warm summer rain
and inside a blue crystal jar
smooth translucent, atmospheric
like soft ****
swelling roses
tender touches
yet separated by oceans
her voice like hot tote
swaying me
feeling the contoured interiors
of soul's ache
a bending ridge pole
hearts break open
pouring
voluptuous milk
like a tapioca
its beads
bulging blood bells
drink **** lick eat
drown if you can
we speak
rocks in the throat
hello, how are you
im choking on desire
fine she says
i want to **** you
we start with a phone kiss
mmmuuuhhhaaaaa
yes, she says
take me open me up
pour me into your mouth
soak yourself in me
show me your raw hunger
i will eat your dark edges
I'm shaking apart
with tenderness
may i touch your ****
yes, she says
her ***** like wet silk
can beauty bring tears
mouths touch tentatively at first
and then mouths eat mouths eat mouths
and tongues become fiends
cherry red pugilists
bites excite
I'm in the mood to bleed for her
eyes smiling radiant
and souls rapture
hearts dissemble
and fuse
at a braking point
from
long hard years
of vibrant abundance
denied
trying to hold together
on broken wheels
now finding warm mud
to go bare foot in
to slide in
up-leaping
between the toes
to love you in
to roll around with you in
like fat little piggies
playing in butter
to fill you with slippery kisses in
and voluptuous caresses
that even our dreams can not apprehend
skin to skin
soul to soul
**** to ****
so eager
fire engine red
tongues licking tears
beautiful ******* to bury my face in
like baby eating cup cakes
making us whole
we continents apart
from each other
having never met
wow wow wow
yet alive again
what a phone call
we say
good night
sleep my love
later
later
tomorrow
oh yes
have to go
love you
more soon
please
yes
oh yes
kiss kiss kiss kiss kiss kiss kiss kiss kiss kiss kiss kiss kiss kiss kiss kiss
then stillness
a cornucopia of emptiness
hollow husk
tomorrow may be we will give each other phone again
and the land will turn fertile green once more
kissing holding
talking ***** ***** *****
happy in loves fire
salvation
and the heart ever resounding
like tintinnabulating bells
Sep 10, 2016
Sep 10, 2016 at 4:20 PM UTC
Water swept softly, caressing the malecon.
Fisherman hung tirelessly to rods unbent,
Lovers perched next to seagulls,
Looking to distant dreams,
Embracing one another, folding arms against freedom,
Denying the waves flirty approaches.
A place where coloured plates were signs of class,
Fumes of gas enveloped rusty car interiors,
Locals spoke of their better selves,
All a show, an act of unity,
Clothes hung loosely, less is more.
Skin soft from the sun's spirit.
Tourists hummed over finely tipped cigars,
Remains of better days memorilised with frames,
Sweets passed as currency for cemetario tours,
Family tombs, shines, the dog at her side,
Saint Amelia listens to gratitude for answered prayers,
Where gomez, Alvarez, gonzales make hay,
Guantalamera sung gently in the bay.
Queues formed on corners, no end to each line,
Rations existing in such plentiful times,
Disregard for professionals,
Hailing of crimes,
Hemingways cocktail maker still pouring in the Floridita,
Murals of Che plastored to the walls,
Architectural past dotted out in each street.
Jan 19, 2015
Jan 19, 2015 at 12:49 AM UTC
Hidden away
From prying eyes
Rooms with a view
Prime real estate
Tropic locale
Lake front property
Mature landscaping
Well lit
24-hour guard
Comfy digs
Classic interiors
Shady when needed
Sunny in its heart
Ideally suited
For family life
Or just hanging
With friends
See agent lizard
For details
To start your life
In Paradise
May 1, 2014
May 1, 2014 at 2:24 PM UTC
In the bloodbath of a dream
I went sleep-walking into Eden-
It was burnt to the ground
I smelled the charcoal, tasted the flames
While in a cloud was a huge forked-tongue
That got me thinking of the letter M…
I hopped around to other worlds
Perceiving the events with a cautious schoolgirl nature
I watched chemicals and stars do their ****** dance
Twirling endlessly into each other-
Creating a carnival of colorful exploding death and rebirth
I felt the ghosts in their fortresses eye up the hourglass-
Wondering when time will be broken and they’ll be set free…
There’s blood on a rainbow down by the waterfall
It stained my soul and put my thoughts to rapture and ridiculousness
How far will they go, the demons of this world,
When a measly human breaks their code,
Smashes their hologram mirror,
And realizes that everyone everywhere has always been alone
Everyone everywhere is their own god-
And everyone else, with their dark interiors,
Is there only to torture the blamed
For a mistake they can’t remember…
Lost in the remnants of a dream
I unlocked the gates to hell
And realized that life on earth is purgatory-
There must be a heaven on another astral plane,
A dimension without pain-
Of all the universes in existence, I hope that one bleeds through
Before I wake up to a world where God is dead
An angels fall like shooting stars that wish to remain unseen-
Extinction.
Nov 19, 2012
Nov 19, 2012 at 1:15 PM UTC
Little girl, big brimmed hat,
alone, with suitcases, travelling to boarding school she sat.
Wanting to be embraced by loving arms,
reassuring tones, peaceful pungent breaths, she calms,
but, the war loomed outside,
and onwards she tried.
The constant Chameleon: hairdresser, interiors, reporter and healer,
now, the season of inner healing to transform into a counsellor.
But, it’s the true counsel she heeds,
to transform from the wounds that bleed.
May she hear from You, Emmanuel; the One who truly heals.
May You lovingly embrace and hold all she feels.
May the little girl grow up into the woman You imagined,
And may she bloom into a lush garden with seeds You've planted.
Jan 30, 2024
Jan 30, 2024 at 8:43 PM UTC
I wake up and it's tour day
Bright shining sunny
The little ones line up and fidget
Go up to the street's side and watch
Some others stream into the museum
Whose insides are covered in papers
And sketched all over with crayons
Depicting a cityscape and palace interiors
The parades are full of balloons and yet empty
Then the parade has a different balloon
It's alive, regenerating, strong
A simple face exuding evil
Suddenly I know; we have to run. Now.
Children are running and crying
My friends and I glance at eachother
Anxious, fearful
I have to dash back and forth
Running, trying to calm the children
Reassuring myself and my friends doing the same
The stenches of fear and pain permeate the air
Somehow I need to get away, to escape
And run
Then two women appear
Cold, sterile, lifeless automotons
Trying to take me away
So I pretend for a bit to follow, buying time
Then I struggle away, and run back
Mad dash
I find two friends and plead help
Wyatt is willing, Max is silent, Rachel isn't there
The women are back and no time remains
After one last plea I jump the wall
Fall, climb, stand, run
Gary appears barely in time, time for what I don't know
He runs along side, pushing, pulling, somehow helping
While saying nothing, too far away to touch
We're running into eternity,
Away from a black swarming wave of putrid evil
I wake up, sweating, gasping
And I'm still running
Nov 27, 2012
Nov 27, 2012 at 7:35 PM UTC
One by one I find out and join the faint dots,
concealed superbly in the interiors of the poetic landscape,
a complex picture of life emerges from it, then
I don't see it there while creating it in a kind of trance
mysterious, I wonder how this could happen.
Every word carries out a mission, delve deep, be aware,
rhythm moves in waves, along the dense water plane,
the poem brims with dreams,we have woven for ages
the world it pictures is a complex microcosm
every image it evokes creates a ripple effect,
sit down, listen in your own voice , mull over
each dot, when joined makes a sense different
this is a healing potion, it's taste exhilarating
in this secret maze, I'll hide, come seek me out.
Dec 8, 2014
Dec 8, 2014 at 8:32 AM UTC
I extolled them as they went about their
Menial tasks in suits of silk;
Sunday bests amidst the concrete, the earth,
The broken shards of
Bamboo splintered skin, hiding interiors
And further, the broken mirrors of
The broken memories of the
Broken histories upon the
Broken backs become names wrought ancient.
Though further from fractured, a family calls,
Beholden to the absolute intent, but one wish –
Eternity amongst the bountiful brethren left behind
Atop tea-brimmed Mountains and a
One malevolent, revered benevolent,
Mao.
One more saga prerequisite this newer dynasty red –
Witness the
Wives huddled plowshares,
The daughter scribbled arithmetic
And sons assumed thrones to legacy.
I scrutinize soiled – smoke amid pear peelings,
The dirtied – unscathed and archaic,
So very fatigued – just one more nail,
For his eternity, with scratch and
Sliver of blood, a sanctity upon chin
Beyond cradled hammer,
Hand hugging thumb,
Thumb beyond nail, iron or the
Heart impaled homesick;
But I and hand asserting tie, freshly pressed,
Almost gleaming with an embezzled prestige –
Born unto Arcadia, a puzzle near complete
Continued to run, with only second’s pause to admire,
So very far from the fields of, “father,” or first blink,
While Sunday’s best weep, work and wither.
This man with joint autographed, “end,” and
Soon to be mound, history wrought dust,
A chipped Henan ceramic
And hours in attempt to breach;
Behold the back of Chen.
The title of this piece was inspired by observing constructions workers wearing suits we'd typically wear for an interview. That being said, my venture in China is near an end - years in the making. What's next? Ecuador? Japan? Morocco? Montana? Either way, I could never thank China enough for all that'd become naked before I and my pilgrimage christened, "world."
Jul 5, 2015
Jul 5, 2015 at 11:08 AM UTC
The gun, gleaming in the darkness of subconscious
a phallus, stiff and red with frustration.
Then, this hallucination suddenly erupts
in the crowded netherworld, dark interiors:
a doubt, whether those thrusting *******
and pouty lips tempt onlookers to make up their minds?
Are there daggers hidden in those eyes, that confront?
Hold back the wanton gun and thought that stray;
be guarded when handling those, demons
breathe deeply, wait a minute, bring sanity back in position,
learn the essentials of gun control, if you want
undisturbed sleep in your bed, all nights
Love thyself, aware of the bindings of love, the light, smiles.
Sep 16, 2014
Sep 16, 2014 at 12:31 AM UTC