"interposed" poems
#
*paint me
with the wet tickle
of your tongue
lingering with affection
savoring my fervent flavor
in bold strokes
of your obsession
color my essence
in heated hues
sending shivers
down my spine
in anticipation
of your warm breath
against my flesh
with every blissful caress
to ensue painted petals
of animation
with your supple lips
gently blur the lines
of my curved hips
softly stroking
the subtle shadows
of warm depth,
blushing
quivering thighs
as I gasp
of breath
plunge in
a primer coated palette
dipping your stiff paintbrush
deep within
the folds of my blanket
manipulating
a trembling image
of your voracious lust.
craze me
again and again
in breathless
****** glow,
your sensual brushstrokes
gently murmuring
layer on layer
in alla prima flow
delve deep
into my eyes
paint splattering
the passion
of my soul
drizzling silken strands
of love
in their entirety,
polishing me whole
and then
in blissful backwash
admire
the tangled limbs
interposed
of your
completed masterpiece
in smiling
sated repose*
#
Jun 25, 2018
Jun 25, 2018 at 8:21 AM UTC
465
I heard a Fly buzz—when I died—
The Stillness in the Room
Was like the Stillness in the Air—
Between the Heaves of Storm—
The Eyes around—had wrung them dry—
And Breaths were gathering firm
For that last Onset—when the King
Be witnessed—in the Room—
I willed my Keepsakes—Signed away
What portion of me be
Assignable—and then it was
There interposed a Fly—
With Blue—uncertain stumbling Buzz—
Between the light—and me—
And then the Windows failed—and then
I could not see to see—
12.1k
You were forever finding some new play.
So when I saw you down on hands and knees
I the meadow, busy with the new-cut hay,
Trying, I thought, to set it up on end,
I went to show you how to make it stay,
If that was your idea, against the breeze,
And, if you asked me, even help pretend
To make it root again and grow afresh.
But ’twas no make-believe with you today,
Nor was the grass itself your real concern,
Though I found your hand full of wilted fern,
Steel-bright June-grass, and blackening heads of clovers.
’Twas a nest full of young birds on the ground
The cutter-bar had just gone champing over
(Miraculously without tasking flesh)
And left defenseless to the heat and light.
You wanted to restore them to their right
Of something interposed between their sight
And too much world at once—could means be found.
The way the nest-full every time we stirred
Stood up to us as to a mother-bird
Whose coming home has been too long deferred,
Made me ask would the mother-bird return
And care for them in such a change of scene
And might out meddling make her more afraid.
That was a thing we could not wait to learn.
We saw the risk we took in doing good,
But dared not spare to do the best we could
Though harm should come of it; so built the screen
You had begun, and gave them back their shade.
All this to prove we cared. Why is there then
No more to tell? We turned to other things.
I haven’t any memory—have you?—
Of ever coming to the place again
To see if the birds lived the first night through,
And so at last to learn to use their wings.
5.4k
Spanish
Su idilio fue una larga sonrisa a cuatro labios…
En el regazo cálido de rubia primavera
Amáronse talmente que entre sus dedos sabios
Palpitó la divina forma de la Quimera.
En los palacios fúlgidos de las tardes en calma
Hablábanse un lenguaje sentido como un lloro,
Y se besaban hondo hasta morderse el alma!…
Las horas deshojáronse como flores de oro,
Y el Destino interpuso sus dos manos heladas…
Ah! los cuerpos cedieron, mas las almas trenzadas
Son el más intrincado nudo que nunca fue…
En lucha con sus locos enredos sobrehumanos
Las Furias de la vida se rompieron las manos
Y fatigó sus dedos supremos Ananké…
English
Their idyll was a smile of four lips…
In the warm lap of blond spring
They loved such that between their wise fingers
the divine form of Chimera trembled.
In the glimmering palaces of quiet afternoons
They spoke in a language heartfelt as weeping,
And they kissed each other deeply, biting the soul!
The hours fluttered away like petals of gold,
Then Fate interposed its two icy hands…
Ah! the bodies yielded, but tangled souls
Are the most intricate knot that never unfolds…
In strife with its mad superhuman entanglements,
Life’s Furies rent their coupled hands
And wearied your powerful fingers, Ananké*…
*Ananké: Goddess (Greek) of Unalterable Necessity
3k
One glossy raven perched, stately,
atop a snowy hill, Unearthly Long flowing wings, hanging down the slope, framing the hill
on the face of which,
were interposed two glacial ponds of blue.
Between these pools ran a simple strip of sloped marble,
But at the base of this was the most gentle depression in the snow.
In disbelief I observed two rows of strawberries, blossoming,
heavy laden with the richest red.
Each gentle bite of these more delicious than the last.
I continued my survey,
down to a long narrow hill of the freshest snow.
Here I came upon a wide expanse, a plain,
two long, slender berms extended at opposite sides.
But this was no true plain, and all the better for that,
For two equal mounds of snow enchanted the landscape.
The setting sun cast a pink light at the peak of each pale globe,
So beautiful I wept.
As I passed between their valley the snowy distance continued.
I observed an infinitesimal sloping on the Western and Eastern edges.
This expanse, perfect of any true blemish, was punctuated by the shallowest little empty pond at its narrowest width; which only served to enhance the beauty.
The length of this snowed plain was far greater than its width, the edges slowly creeping into the narrowest part before flaring out to a wide expanse.
And there in the lowlands was The Delta,
to the side of which extended two of the longest and most shapely tapering ridges I had ever observed;
each ending with graceful peaks.
But that Delta!
Though snowy, the darkest , shortest scrub had capped its mound.
At the apex of The Delta was a precipice,
on its face a cavern, pink walls glistening with wetness,
at the caverns base, a cave.
Its tunnel, with walls ribbed, was warm and humid despite the landscape of snow.
This is the landscape I cherish most.
May 28, 2018
May 28, 2018 at 9:50 PM UTC
Looking out
Around
There is a generation
Not the one with angelheaded hipsters
That were laid infamously famous
But truly a generation that is its own
Cold, calculating, as they, we, must
Be now that there is everything
There is everything here but right now
As we are surrounded by the everything that
Makes up our filled lives, we concentrate on
The nothing.
So we, they, them, I all must be cold, calculating
Networking, meeting, greeting, cheering,
Pleading for work in the everything that is
Nothing.
And as I look out, through the window
Into our generation, my generation
There is a warmness
A kindness once
unfamiliar to coldness and calculating
Where despite distance, time, values, reasons
Nothing
everything
Bonds are made
Is it this cold networking, greeting, meeting that
Allows for the kindness that kindles the fire
That keeps our cheeks warm and glowing
A soft pink in the dead of night
As we stand by kegs, cups, tables, cops, cars, bars,
By girls vomiting on their own volition or not
By boys raising hell as their families admonish but
Their cultures praise
We, Them, I, They, Us, can not know
What we, them, I, They Us are doing
Just as others didn’t know what they
Were doing, and meaning and becoming maryters for
On a clear fall day, when there wasn’t a cloud in the sky
Yet turbulence filled the air, the nation and the world.
They, We, I, Us, Them, do not even
Consider their meaning as they ponder
Fake lives on interposed mediums
Or if they are Jackies,
Or Marilyns or
Audreys
Or if laying down somewhere
just as warm as it is cold
As they touch souls with others
Means anything more than nothing
If they can hold on as they try to let go
When an entire world begs them not to
But the teenage desire to rebel is strong
And the pull of the vast of emotions is stronger
And as we seem to be losing
In clusters
The We.
I.
Us.
They. Them
The fire never dims, and the warm pink glow never flickers
Off our cheeks
And the mix of cold calculations and
Pleasant beatitudes
Combine, like a nights plans
In a gin bucket
And the thought of importance, rarely is thought
Of aside from the few
The brave
Maybe a Marine, but mostly
Those who wish to cure things, change other things
Create things, build things, code things
Things Things Things Things.
T-H-I-N-G-S
For a future of nothing and everything
Everything and nothing
May 12, 2013
May 12, 2013 at 9:35 PM UTC
I saw my last sunset
spun out of control
darkness knocking at my door
no longer could I hide
stillness in my life
the bells were ringing
Darkness crossing over
dimming the glowing light of my soul
helplessness befell upon me
it interposed my life
and well being
Running in circles - I was falling
Reborn into a world of evil
shinning with the others in the name of our savior
caught my fall
open your door with open arms
no fear - only light
I will not stop for death
running with the light not hiding from the dark
now I rule my world
I saw my first sunrise
Dec 2, 2013
Dec 2, 2013 at 12:43 AM UTC
The gardener from thee-
a meager seed and humble need
a leaf within his reach
The spell enclosed,
apricot and peach.
Pineapple in bloom
No rose
No jessamine
Symbols of all interposed
With a flower so sweet,
like a blue eye
the gardener sighs.
"this Plant, is not mine."
Dec 26, 2019
Dec 26, 2019 at 12:22 AM UTC
You are the Dove,
My thing with clipped wings,
I cannot soothe you from confines
That are interposed around you and I,
I surrender and crumble at your feet,
Under love and love's weight,
This avalanche falling into place,
Creature that can't leave -
You are the Swan,
Fleshy feather-breasted thing,
My crept-up companion,
Tired and ridiculous,
That badly mistook my nature,
That chewed me to the bone,
And stopped when I became bitter,
Creature I left -
You are the Hummingbird,
Gorgeous and fragile,
My unfamiliar hand when yours gripped,
Graciously showed me up the staircase,
At the foot, we stood on the flight,
And subsided to where we'd not be seen,
I could quite touch you from where you where,
Creature perched atop this heart -
-Jamie F. Nugent
Jun 13, 2016
Jun 13, 2016 at 4:20 PM UTC
You were unwonted to me
And I held you in high regards
How I felt about you was indubitable
I wanted you to make me yours
And your eyes
They shined with summer
Your heart
It glared with winter
And you starved me of your attention
You denuded me and refused to clothe me in your warmth
You left me in this destitute condition
But still my magnanimous feelings clung to you
Although you always drew a partition
That interposed me and you
Making us impossible
Jul 5, 2014
Jul 5, 2014 at 11:32 PM UTC
Mercury asked Venus
'Where's Earth?'
The Moon interposed
Saying, ' There!'
Mercury went,' Ah!...
So that is the CENTRE of
Attraction!'
Mars and Jupiter
Did their own thing,
Hung there
Without a string.
Saturn,
Was distracted,
Mesmerized by the fleeting, burning
Asteroids
Giving Saturn a cosmic wink!
Uranus
And
Neptune
Drank it all in,
The
Universe,
And
got
Pluto/'d!
The Sun!
Humankind exclaimed!
WELL..She,
Kept herself warm
By the fire.
The Universe!
Well
HAD
The Universe,
But
The Universe,
'The Universe' does not Desire!
IT,
Like All Creation,
WANTS?
May 8, 2016
May 8, 2016 at 6:36 PM UTC
I am the lonely man
in the gelid abyss
immersed in my tragic isolation
Transient moments of light enter
my only confidant being myself
existing but not living
The silence of life
interposed by the whir of a heart at work
reminding me
Slowly, the cycle revolves
I am still right here
you are still right there
Ad infinitum
I am the lonely man
Jan 12, 2014
Jan 12, 2014 at 8:49 PM UTC
I do not write to spare anyone else's feelings,
but to save my own
It is the only time when I can be as honest as I please,
when I can speak what's on my mind in more eloquent ways than my stumbling and stuttering sentences
I have not the gift of the musical language the way Ravel does,
nor that of Tesla and the natural sciences
I cannot explain away why in fact the limit does not exist nor Pythagorus' innate ramblings,
but I can understand why Poe
was oh-so-miserable
and accept his love for beautiful dead women
I share Whitman's love of birds and their tales of woe for long lost lovers
Dickinson - hides herself -
the way I do - in her writings
and the ****** fly interposed itself in my light as well
Emerson and Melville tell tales of self reliance,
with Major Molineaux and Bartleby taking life by its reigns
but even Dante seeks Virgil's aid in finding hell
I am by far no writer of substantial merit
and have much to learn,
but that is exactly why I love what I do
I write to understand that which happens to and around me
I write in often vain efforts to find solid ground beneath my tired feet,
But most of the time,
I end up with paper scattered around me, full of words that I have yet to know
I write when I don't know what else to do,
even when I don't mean to find myself locked away,
scribbling meaningless words onto paper
I write to learn more of the errors of my ways,
maybe if I can gather my thoughts into one coherent phrase,
then I can finally accept my wrongdoings,
then I can grow
There is a sad realization that knocks me down with every ripple of its wave each and every time that my words cause grief or hurt
It is never my intention,
but even that is hard to believe
To say that i am sorry for them is pointless
I am not and never will be
How could I betray myself in such a way?
I write to escape
to understand
to create
to learn
to stand
on my own two feet
I write to be honest
among other things,
but most of all,
I write because it is all I know
Dec 3, 2015
Dec 3, 2015 at 1:07 AM UTC
in fairest spring,I,
standing
interposed
twixt
lightanddarkness
feel
Raw
fragile
invulnerable
May 13, 2012
May 13, 2012 at 4:47 PM UTC
Splashing water upon my face
in the early morning’s rise,
A mirror’s espy laps into gaze.
Gurgling down the drain, spent cleaning and awakenings
Left me not wise, but shortly exposed.
Looking into the mirror, Reflective wonts return the perceived,
I just, just supposed.
Now awakened flesh and soul
(eclispe) bright heart trumps dark hope,
Thoughts transformed into welkin roar.
Furnaced lit splendor raze sullen dreams and blacken thoughts
sunder lope light’s birth disclosed.
Beaming from the mirror, the torch igniting the sleepy,
Now dawn light transposed.
Towel freeing face-flung water
Cotton flailing clouds not veiled
lifted faith emancipated by kind hopes
so longingly gleaned. Morning struck its anvil - Awake!
A morning’s blessing not failed, and soundly reposed
Soft cloth quells the torch, mirror signing a start
Night rightly interposed.
Feb 24, 2017
Feb 24, 2017 at 7:50 PM UTC
She danced and receded, dancing.
She reached imploringly, and when he did not go to her she receded,
And sometimes people interposed themselves,
And sometimes a burgeoning forest,
And sometimes a swirling fog,
And sometimes only distance.
His feet would not move.
He was dumb.
He wanted to compress his love into a gesture, but his arms were stone.
Stronger than his will, other forces drew her away.
Sometimes she was laughing, running toward him through the brilliant winter,
but when he reached to hold her, she was gone.
Sometimes her face filled his world, weeping, entreating, her mouth helpless with passion…
And sometimes she was leading a child away from him, and no matter how desperately he called, layers of time passed between them.
And in the end, he was left alone with silence.
Feb 18, 2021
Feb 18, 2021 at 11:45 PM UTC