"intermingled" poems
just came back from a weekend away, down the coast in byron bay, where the lighthouse overlooks the eastern horizon, where we made love on the rocks so long ago, where our selfsame separate memories intermingled, each with the other, where i wandered from shore to shore, and looked to the mirror moon for comfort, and found your arms
Jun 1, 2014
Jun 1, 2014 at 3:50 AM UTC
(from “A Love Song” by William Carlos Williams)
<•>
familiar that apple google and amazon
have me under 24 hour surveillance
e-specially now
as I am in their
geosphere of influence
but sending me a love poem of WCWs that isolates my locale, my intended inebriation status,
and is addressed to me personally (“you”),
that’s just creepy
so charged am I, obligated to oblige,
to counter-compose a love song of mine own,
under the pinot “influence,”
(in a manner of speaking)
which a love taught me to love
what if,
a new love song ecrit,
to an old and loverly land,
a woman-land designed to be desired,
no difference -
kissing a new girl first time,
a wet and unforgettable
compote
when falling
on the neck of your one beloved anew renewed
now I tremble-tread
for the line of great predecessors,
“the land lover scribes”
skilled in natures homaging,
is like a line out the door,
around the corner as if
a new flavor ice cream
has just been isolated and mined and I...
<•>
*I,
but a novitiate
in a far away, wild untamed world
where my nature taken by her nature
cannot deny paying my just due:
selvage
late middle English, from self + edge
how perfect!
“an edge,
woven on a fabric during manufacture,
intended to prevent unraveling”
the pacific coast air
the irregular shoreline - expanding/receding,
god’s own forestry reserve,
the cascades, a goal on the horizon,
country roads where ancient wheat stalks grow wild
all a tonic intermingled, an alcohol to
imbibe through mouth nostrils eyes and skin
all will be my own selvage!
preventing the eastern unraveling disease,
a nearly incurable permafrost low grade
kate spaded infection,
brought along with me for decades,
my loon June companion, now stalling out,
lost from my happy head
a vineyard on every corner,
marijuana growing next door,
rivers that change like children growing up and down,
cheek to jowled property line
live the berries and the hazelnut groves,
god’s hay bales wrapped in plastic
like marshmallows dotting the landscape*
all daring you to say
I could
love
it here
Jun 8, 2018
Jun 8, 2018 at 3:26 PM UTC
Last night I dreamed
My life as a comic book.
An intermingled mess,
Those who have not read
Every single issue,
Cannot begin to know.
A brightly colored spectrum
Of unexpected blows.
Amidst all the villian’s
Unrelenting throws
Of powers no more
Than planting
The seeds of self doubt,
I stood armed to fall.
As each seed landed
Upon my head,
I fell to watch
Each punch line
Read only
“Bam!”
and “Kapow!”.
The plot never thickened
And never came to save me.
In a story
from the villan’s head,
Perpetually trapped
Until the hero returned
to write her portion
of my tale.
As the seeds grew
Into absolute fear,
A twisted feeling
Took hold of my gut.
Who is the antagonist
and who the protagonist?
Mar 31, 2012
Mar 31, 2012 at 2:42 PM UTC
I remember playing the ukulele
A year ago
With you in my living room,
My fingers showing yours
The chords you still had to learn
(A perfect excuse
To hold your hand)
Sunlight pouring,
As the rain does now,
Through the windows
Illuminated
The carefully moving corners
Of your lips
(An imperfect
Yet somehow reasonable excuse
To kiss them).
This morning
As our noses pressed together
And our breathing intermingled
In the bed where I lost my virginity
To the girl
Who taught me those same chords
(To the girl whose lips
Mine found an imperfect excuse to kiss
This afternoon),
I wished that I still had chords
To teach you;
I wished that the sun
Would shine through the rain
Oct 6, 2013
Oct 6, 2013 at 9:06 PM UTC
there was no poem neath my pillow
no poem on my tongue, none from eye envisionaries, no dew gift from my grassy emissaries, parting residue of an unknowable finger touch
nothing stirring, the mother muses mushing their shushing noises,
only breathy quietude, an airy surround sound tissue,
the cadence of intermingled hearts, the mother and the child
two awakenings, one instantaneous, the other restless unhurried slow, but within an impatience to intersect,
the overlap is love stars crossing,
impatience weaponized to make
momma aware her companions refreshed status,
a needy for love’s suckling,
embrace of fresh baked smiles from hot heartedly hearth furnaces
thus a-born a new poem, a welcomed well coming, in words,
the alliance of alliterated words from the interlacing of the mother’s chest heaving and the sniffling joy of a five year old boy reimagining the dreams that crossed from mother to son, and back again, requiring composition and joint authorship of them
*the only and only true authentic authorship,
mother and child, their owned unique
duality of singularity*
Feb 7, 2019
Feb 7, 2019 at 2:30 PM UTC
She was music and he was mathematics- without one, the two would not exist.
He was light and she was love and their energies intertwined and intermingled to form a helix of ecstacy and consciousness...
their combined energies rivaled that of an atomic bomb.
Feminine and masculine,
Right brain and left brain...
Simultaneously hard and soft
smooth and rough
Calming and chaotic.
She was fire to his water, but he never sought to put out her flames.
When they finally came together physically and their eyes met, colors of a psychedelic sort exploded around them
And the universe held its breath in anticipation of their consummation...
and every piece fit more snuggly together than the pieces of an old familiar jigsaw puzzle...
This couldn't have been the first time that they had met...
well, maybe in this lifetime.
~KiCo the Conqueror
#TwinFlame
Feb 20, 2018
Feb 20, 2018 at 8:37 PM UTC
Finally,
It happened.
Laying in bed
I can feel the emotional hangover coming on.
Words play on repeat in my head
Words like "one night stand,"
"Guilt," "Pain," "Solitude."
Over and over
Intermingled with the aftershocks
Of Mom's messages.
An emotional hangover.
Guess it's time to start
Picking up the ******* and broken things
Left over from the night before.
Jul 10, 2015
Jul 10, 2015 at 11:02 AM UTC
A rose of glassblowing transparency...
air-born as the color eyes see
when closed to the sun.
Petals pressed open shatter in place...
as red silk intermingled.
The color of passion and alarm,
that an earth transpires--rose...
occasioned by that transpiration.
Put to amnesiac white wings--
aftershocks of contrast...as blood to
snow, and all its angels.
Nov 2, 2013
Nov 2, 2013 at 12:17 PM UTC
life is a straight line, they say
no bouncing springs of chaos
and impossible conversations
which tear the mass of intermingled blue stitches
apart
no destination
a train with tracks straight through
the barren emptiness of
Antartica
not the hum of your insides
that
what’s that word again
soul
nor the pure anticipation
the twisted gut
of never quite knowing
it is not the fear of reaching
and extending
and finding
nothing
life is a dash
between symbols
it is an inch
representing all of you
which makes
you,
You
strangers will observe
casually
they will never envision your
silhouette against the glare of a Sunday
sun
your breath, coffee-ripe
or the morning news sitting at her
empty space
at the kitchen table
maybe,
if you're lucky
you'll get a brief pause,
a second of consideration,
two-and-a-half-centimeters worth,
before they move on
Dec 13, 2015
Dec 13, 2015 at 6:22 PM UTC
A vision as of crowded city streets,
With human life in endless overflow;
Thunder of thoroughfares; trumpets that blow
To battle; clamor, in obscure retreats,
Of sailors landed from their anchored fleets;
Tolling of bells in turrets, and below
Voices of children, and bright flowers that throw
O’er garden-walls their intermingled sweets!
This vision comes to me when I unfold
The volume of the Poet paramount,
Whom all the Muses loved, not one alone;—
Into his hands they put the lyre of gold,
And, crowned with sacred laurel at their fount,
Placed him as Musagetes on their throne.
1.5k
His hand sweeps underneath my hair
It cups my cheek
Breathe
Five things I see:
Lips
Nose, a beauty mark, dark hair
Crystal blue eyes
His other hand holds the small
Of my back
Four I can touch:
My skin
Soft sleeves, metal watch
His skin
He leans his head in close
I shudder
Three sounds:
His breath, my heartbeat
His heartbeat
He pulls me in close
Two things I smell:
His scent, my scent
Intermingled
He parts his lips
I bite my own
One thing I taste
His kiss
Anxiety erupts
Like butterflies
You keep me grounded
And I love that.
Oct 9, 2015
Oct 9, 2015 at 9:08 PM UTC
Cassie the Cat and Riley the Rat
knew their love could never be
Cassie knew that he was just a plaything
Riley admired how she could climb a tree
Cassie thought he was too cute
and Riley truly loved that mangy cat
They understood the ups and downs
defying the intermingled species trap
One night while Cassie was prowling the fence
with Riley snuggled atop of her soft fur
Billy the Bat ranged overhead
following them silently, undeterred
Watching Cassie and Riley share their love
being born of the night, Billy wanted that
They’d defied the intermingled species trap
He wanted that for himself, but, who’d love a bat?
Angered by his thoughts that bought about self pity
he sought out the Animal Gods
he told them about Cassie and Riley
Horrified, they sent out the Dogs
Damon Dog was their most elite destroyer
His mission was to ensure that Cassie Cat
would be integrated back into her own species
and he was to just dispose of the rat
Damon silently stalked Cassie and Riley
as they lay tucked together, Damon did pounce
as Riley leapt in front of his mangy cat, to protect
Damon, at that moment, his mission he did renounce
Damon had witnessed their love, and sighing he said
*‘It is not possible for you to remain together
Tabby cat, you must return to your own kind and
Rat, you can no longer be with her, EVER!’*
Cassie knew from the start their love was doomed
Riley knew without Cassie he’d never be complete
Cassie sighed and returned to her humans
Riley wept as he went back to his garbage heap
Epilogue:
Billy the bat continues to haunt the night
All morose and bordering on Goth
He interfered in the intermingled species trap
and is now married to a Sloth
Feb 26, 2014
Feb 26, 2014 at 5:40 AM UTC
.
Delicious is a word I save for you.
Chocolate comes close but feeds me only
Famine. Your skin is blest three times,
Once for new redolence. Bay leaved
To the core, you proffer memories
Which chamber the years in round rooms,
Opening freely into rouge galleries
Of spice. Secondly, it is soft as summer
Water. It draws itself toward touch
Like ripples skipping over a sweating pond,
Lapping its way towards the creamy shore.
The third gift of your skin is the colour
Of desired destination, an instrument
Which maps the mirror of a universe,
Because you are deckled with stars so heady,
You are wet smoke from drooling galaxies
And rose white fathoms of sky, they are pooling,
And pulling me with force so fulsome
As to be almost—
Tasteless.
The firm green bread of spring,
The blue blood of heaven and the milky
Sun, these are your flavours all intermingled,
And three piquant senses speak to my tongue;
I smell, I touch, I taste— you are,
Delicious.
.
Jun 13, 2018
Jun 13, 2018 at 3:49 PM UTC
There is a field with tones of brown and gold,
with islands of bark, intermingled with their
stories of old.
As I hike through its grasses, I see signs of the past,
when men and their families walked in tall grass.
They hunted and killed, they built houses with trees.
I could see all of this through the slow falling leaves.
It is time for solace, time to relax, as
I walk through this field and its history filled grass.
They had come by the many to create a new life by this
amazing field that I now hike. Each with a struggle,
each with a path, I can still see them as I
stand in this field of gold grass.
The seasons are changing, the colors now white as I
think of those people, their struggles and plight.
The field now empty and the lakes are like glass
as I stand alone in this field of tall grass.
http://www.charlesdennispoetry.netne.net
© 2009 Charles Dennis
Nov 24, 2009
Nov 24, 2009 at 10:19 AM UTC
Poetry lies intermingled
Tangled recognition, interpretation
Drawn meaning like syringe
Conceptual life,
Intellectual dream.
Walking, swimming, fighting,
Forest branches weaving
Filling air, with wooden breath
Growing standing
Still and strong
Wise beards ferns green
Brown coffee time and maturity
Professor, interpreter
Language ciphening
Hourglass ideas.
Sifting sorting exalting dropping
Sliding through grasps of
Clasps of minds.
Grip and resignation
Trains and tracks
Lay directing paths for feet
That fly and touch not ground nor map
Atmosphere, time, space
Wind, water, sand
Scrunched paper words
Crushed branches pasted ingrained
Elements
Nature is poet
Words in the sky that fills our lungs
Breathing as filtered light –
We become,
Complete.
Apr 22, 2013
Apr 22, 2013 at 12:10 AM UTC
Delicious is a word I save for you.
Chocolate comes close but feeds me only
Famine. Your skin is blest three times,
Once for new redolence. Bay leaved
To the core, you proffer memories
Which chamber the years in round rooms,
Opening freely into rouge galleries
Of spice. Secondly, it is soft as summer
Water. It draws itself toward touch
Like ripples skipping over a sweating pond,
Lapping its way towards the creamy shore.
The third gift of your skin is the colour
Of desired destination, an instrument
Which maps the mirror of a universe,
Because you are deckled with stars so heady,
You are wet smoke from drooling galaxies
And rose white fathoms of sky, they are pooling,
And pulling me with force so fulsome
As to be almost—
Tasteless.
The firm green bread of spring,
The blue blood of heaven and the milky
Sun, these are your flavours all intermingled,
And three piquant senses speak to my tongue;
I smell, I touch, I taste— you are,
Delicious.
Aug 25, 2012
Aug 25, 2012 at 10:18 PM UTC
If "disposable" is one of the words that come to mind when you think of me, even if it's intermingled with "beautiful" and "lovely"
I don't need you in my life
Dec 22, 2014
Dec 22, 2014 at 12:18 AM UTC
No words can share the chaotic precision
Of waves sweeping a sandy shore
Clean of its filth, expired life, footprints
Leaving the ground beneath supple and bare
Find me the words to describe
The confidence of a feisty crest
As it approaches the shore so swiftly
To pound without relent
How the pinnacles raise
A turbulent impasse
Until another frothy height
Follows its thin soapy tier
And stacks its might like ***** keys
Carrying them both to shore
Tell me the poem that captures
The layers and ripples dashing
As countless and intermingled
As the buttery layers of a croissant
I wish I could find the words to hold
This image deep within me
To remember the blur of green and blue
When I am far from their ruling roars
I would enshrine their vivacity
With a razor in my heart
If I could keep their beauty
A keepsake of nature’s art
When the outside world is yelling
I wish I could recall
At will the rumble of undertow
The thunder of admonished land
The crashing sounds that kidnap you
Forcing reality far behind
For no mortal trouble is so large
To ground you by the sea
The only thing to consume a wave
Is the crest rising in its wake
Oct 23, 2020
Oct 23, 2020 at 2:42 PM UTC
A somber family crowds around a frail body;
greying hair, bruised skin, and blue in the face;
Struggling for air as the beeps start to get quiet.
Her favorite music is playing beside her,
intermingled with the choked sobs of her children.
They line the bed along with their dad,
holding onto her limp hands;
playing with the tangles of her hair.
Her husband strokes her head and whispers the words of "their" song ino her ear.
It's quiet, aside from the music and the sniffles.
Amazing grace begins to play,
and her two daughters start to sing to their mother.
It brings tears to mine and everybody's eyes.
Her labored breathing slows somewhat.
As the choir picks up in the end of the song,
a vision floats behind my eyes.
I see this woman dying in front if me, but I see her differently.
*She is standing in a white dress, her hair no longer grey, but instead restored to its fiery red.
The skin isn't pulled tight across her bones;
but full and warm and healthy.
She smiles a smile that floats in her eyes;
and she's singing along with the choir.
God's light surrounding her as she enters into His Kingdom.*
The vision is gone as quickly as it came.
But I smile a little because I know she's not suffering anymore.
After a few more minutes, her heartbeat has come to a stop.
Shouts of "Praise God!" rise into the air.
And I know,
that she is finally home.
Mar 2, 2013
Mar 2, 2013 at 2:52 PM UTC
In brown eyes , flame beckons oxygen from all directions , the vacuum filled by shrieking winds ! Soil receiving the dead , corruption intermingled with Earths biochemistry , perpetual change , continuity , rebirth ! Blistering days , sun shower in the heat of day , thirsting for cool waters , quenched by the marriage of fire and ice , high above naked lovers ! Rapture ! Hope of the flowers that bloom in Spring .. Honeybees spread the chemical cues of life eternal , abundant and constant . In brown eyes on a cool Winters day !
Oct 21, 2015
Oct 21, 2015 at 10:01 PM UTC
Delicious is a word I save for you.
Chocolate comes close but feeds me only
Famine. Your skin is blest three times,
Once for new redolence. Bay leaved
To the core, you proffer memories
Which chamber the years in round rooms,
Opening freely into rouge galleries
Of spice. Secondly, it is soft as summer
Water. It draws itself toward touch
Like ripples skipping over a sweating pond,
Lapping its way towards the creamy shore.
The third gift of your skin is the colour
Of desired destination, an instrument
Which maps the mirror of a universe,
Because you are deckled with stars so heady,
You are wet smoke from drooling galaxies
And rose white fathoms of sky, they are pooling,
And pulling me with force so fulsome
As to be almost—
Tasteless.
The firm green bread of spring,
The blue blood of heaven and the milky
Sun, these are your flavours all intermingled,
And three piquant senses speak to my tongue;
I smell, I touch, I taste— you are,
Delicious.
Feb 18, 2014
Feb 18, 2014 at 1:47 PM UTC
five steps forward nine steps back
sideways motion
moving
direction other
not as planned
but four is lucky
universe multi
many theory
twelve is the divided tribe
plural perhaps
light years away
same distance from the sun
gobekli tepe
smart find recent
dumb place
buried from sight
Baalbek mystery
stronger than ants
relationship status
complicated
unknown
single
attached
to me
thoughts many
wrinkles a-plenty
convoluted memories
two minds
intermingled in thoughts
hearts divided
thinking deeply
shallow breathing
thoughts very distant
looked very close at
remembered seeing
brain in a jar
brain in jar
house of glass
lonely life
mind meld memories
with brain in jar
any thoughts
Aug 29, 2015
Aug 29, 2015 at 2:56 AM UTC
When senses run together, dull in the rack
Of night, it’s Chaos who culls true meaning.
He mocks the light of day in paradox
Sings: ‘we are such stuff as dreams are made on.’
The ****** end, embodies the souls watery
Beginning, and so the beating star is all
Intermingled; until flesh and fibers are done,
Thus: ‘we are such stuff as dreams are made on.’
Though mighty Jove, who beat the antique world
Down, cast poor Agamemnon his fate, it’s
Helen of Troy whose aisling breaks like doom,
All from the strain of Leda and the Swan.
For, ‘we are such stuff as dreams are made on,
And our little life is rounded with a sleep.’
Jun 1, 2012
Jun 1, 2012 at 1:54 PM UTC
Glass bottle memories
Litter my mind
Some green, blue, one is even purple.
But most of them are clear.
Transparent and fragile
And most are broken,
Shards of them intermingled with the others
Indistinguishable from the next.
The worst are unfortunately protected the most
And visited most frequently.
They all have lids to keep them contained
But they do no good because
Everyone knows glass bottles are transparent.
Feb 28, 2014
Feb 28, 2014 at 11:25 AM UTC
it all rings through me like tinnitus.
this is why I don't come home. every
where else hosts a myriad of other w
orlds to become intermingled with - p
laces to lead myself away from the so
ur crystal of my mind. now it's dim a
nd no one expresses love to me. I am a
lone, gazing at the facebook dash like
an approval ***** - unaccepted. loiter
ing around in other peoples lives and th
ey don't really want me. i don't want m
e either. i become afraid to bring it up -
that i enter my room and see your smile
slice through the darkness in recognition
that
these are the same sheets we lay on toget
her. i begin to contemplate your words i
have fallen out of love with you and i de
serve it. i still consider suicide an option as
i think of everything you did to dice my so
ul into smaller portions you could swallow,
digest, and **** out like they all meant noth
ing. i gave you everything, i gave you every
inch of my darkness on a white fine dine ch
ina plate and it was because you were more
than my lover - you were my best friend an
d significant other. i shared it all with you - t
urned over every single rock and illuminated
every nook and cranny only to understand th
e shattering honesty of love. *you hold my ver
y essence to my temple like a pistol and strip e
very inch of me bare but it's only because i let y
ou and it's only because i deserve it and every w
ord you uttered makes me gaze in the mirror wi
th disgust and the thought that silence lies where
silence rides and it's where the ride is over.
Oct 20, 2013
Oct 20, 2013 at 10:22 PM UTC