"intersperse" poems
he said/begged,
make love to me just like a woman!
kiss me toe to head, linger on my neck,
trace my waist, begin at my lips, pause at my hips,
quibbles intersperse, quips and licks on eyelids,
nibble me, near me, close and closer yet
unto the glorious victorious near death experience...
whisper me sweet everythings
before during after and over again,
when you must pause to exhale, blow all their warmth
upon thy fingers and bring that warmth inside
Columbus
me with tongue and eyes,
take me slow then again,
even slower, for thy pleasure,
than execute summary judgement upon me
falsely accept, then deny, deny, deny
my every appeal to
oh my god
for anyone's mercy!
adjudge me then guilty yet again,
and to the tower take me
to drown in mine own lashing lamentations,
thy incontrovertible evidence,
mine own uncensored revelations
execute me twice,
slowly, goodly with lengthy and lovely measures
*she said, and so I shall, eventually,
do what you beseech, what you most excellently seek
but you may recall, somewhat earlier, I called out
shotgun
so you must start my dear by following
all the precise driving instructions you just stated,
and bring your GPS^, and, oh yes,
I'm waiting...*
too wit and sod this!
he gruffingly huffingly, hurrumphingly, replied,
*all hell and damnation,
treat me like a woman just once pity-please!"
*can't can't can't -
she be-witchingly cackled!
then sang to me the lyrical words of a
Nobel Prize winner!*
"***You fake just like a woman
Yes you do, you make love like a woman
Yes you do, and then you ache just like a woman
But you break just like a little boy**"
Sep 27, 2017
Sep 27, 2017 at 6:09 PM UTC
Thrift Shop Confessional
Old carts squeak down re-sale aisles
"One of," "two of,"
Sometimes "three of" items
Tempting treasure-sifting shoppers,
Bargain-needing families,
Women seeking up-brand names at low-brand prices...
Our wives, followed by their husbands,
Acquiescent, but quiescently seeking
Seeking a thrift shop oasis.
A cast-off dining set beckons,
Sturdy enough, if a little battered,
To make us solemnly content to wait
Carted clothing trundling
Off to fitting rooms.
He shuffled up with a foolish grin.
"I think I'll join this convocation of
Waiting gentlemen.
My wife is a shopper...
She'll close the place down."
I moved a chair and gave some space;
Strangers become brothers in this place.
Five minutes on,
I knew he was a vet:
Army, Vietnam Nam...
"I don't like to think about it,"
Cleared his throat,
"Never can forget."
I turned to look at him.
"A little girl came running,
With her hand behind her back.
She only stood this high," he said,
And showed me with his palm her height,
"They carried grenades that way...
All of 'em...couldn't tell which ones...
Sergeant told us, 'Don't ever check...just shoot.'"
The voice trailed off....
I sat sweating in a thrift store,
Captive of my own politeness,
Half a century,
Half a planet,
Transported in his words
into a soldier's Hell.
"So I shot...
Nothing else to do."
Silence then.
A total stranger staggering
under the weight of having
Murdered his Albatross....
Of having carried this thing,
This memory,
Inside him all these years,
Of finding me,
The unsuspecting thrift shop guest
Who'd listen to his lonely tale,
Perhaps so he could earn some rest....
I, his unwitting Confessor,
Uncertain what to say,
Certain something must be said...
Certain nothing could be said...
Sat dumb, but understanding
The wisdom of confessional dividers,
The private comfort of two booths
Where prayerful exchanges
Intersperse uncertain silences,
Present in the overhanging need:
Demanding sorrowful returns,
Impending memories of sorrows...
And lonely trudgings home....
(Connections with Fr. Laurence's "Riddling confession finds but short shrift," in Romeo & Juliet, and Coleridge's "Rime of the Ancient Mariner")
Apr 7, 2013
Apr 7, 2013 at 5:39 PM UTC
Mirrored thought full breach horizon
Yearning drawing bridging cry
Intimate complete attraction
Now the moment true imply
Cast aside mendacious forethought
Resolute round purpose fly
Epiphanic thought emerging
Doubts foul gibbous banish say ....
Insp’ration resolute within here
Bursting forth bright intellect
Loosing dogs full purpose forward
Encroaching far reach treaded path
Resolute’ness biting grasping
Endless boundless seeming lost
Blazing purposeful grasp grimly
Energise strong inner soul
Capa’bil’ity strong purpose
Clear thought con’quering foul
Abandon dissolute mist darkness
Intersperse directive steer
Levelling where once lay mountains
Onward pushing prancing laugh
Voices raised fair joyous chorus
Ethereal reaching hands entwine
Yearning warmth transcending distance
Over hill and Moorland track
Understand where strength in thought lay
Accomplishment find perfect peace
Sep 8, 2010
Sep 8, 2010 at 5:15 AM UTC
I
Sun since discovered, released, now
eclipsed-
-spent shoes & leaves
vanished in
wind
II
It is without shame that I stand tempered
before the fervor
of the sea, sand
beneath my nails/throat heavy
with fog.
..Years become part of the water's process
(this process begins in the center of the Ocean, an unseen thrashing of instruments imitating war, screaming obscured by screaming, cut-
off by itself/bare
intersperse of salts, kelp, monsters without eyes
reside in blackness,
continuously repeating in solitude, where no human heart
can be placed without risk of dissent,
it too, becoming fury)
III
Feral baths
scrape their lyric
into the Dionysian Lid..
Dawns slight flaming fingers/Gökotta/
awake, my features appraise me/an interval now passed for gold
and heliotropes
The Body needs
The World
to hold you
Foreground trumpeting/Impatient Maker
of all which yearns
...now pleading
"Wake from
your underworld and witness
the collapsing of the
night!"
(((metamorphosis/strike)))
Jan 8, 2018
Jan 8, 2018 at 12:42 AM UTC
A most beautiful Rose
In all that beauty, that of a rose
To see, its scent, may I propose
A sonnet or some rambling prose
To compliment it as it grows.
A pink, a yellow, blood red verse
A turn of phrase to intersperse
A sanctuary where I immerse
A once off bloom not to rehearse.
Be great; be graceful in your bloom
Posy soft, petal pantaloom
Life’s union of young bride and groom
So vibrant in their special room.
Such dreamy gentle lines that find
A paint brush, colours intertwined
An *********** for creative mind
Natures gift thus wined and dined
All fifty years, each well walked mile
You still reduce me to this smile
So radiant flawless in your style
Fill fifty more, it’s all worthwhile.
Nov 29, 2010
Nov 29, 2010 at 10:33 AM UTC
What's beneath the cosmos?
Whose heart is within the moon?
And in the intersperse universe
does the sun burn a sky in June?
Is there love on other planets?
Are there creatures with hands to hold?
Do stars glow bright
with love and light
or are their hearts all silver and cold?
You might have never been in this world
if a second had fallen through
and this universe may lay in a cosmic womb
so, I'm glad my own is filled with you
Dec 21, 2013
Dec 21, 2013 at 2:31 PM UTC
Awash
The human spirit defined without a thread to cover their exposed heart loss the keenest revealer
Nobility crowns the vanquished they have been driven to the farthest bounds of reason
Emptiness has scoured the former land of all existence they stand on the pinnacle they have
Reached the zenith of life’s meaning by going to it unspeakable depths every speck of turgid
Normalcy so prized gives way to anticline these rarefied heights know not one profane molecule
Those lost flew to this point and beyond you followed and now you gaze after them your longing
Presents never before known opportunity into this vacuum rushes the budding of purist riches
Your life has lost their human presence but you now start the decent marked by sorrow,
Loneliness, but with these two painful strangers you have become the wealthiest of human kind
Love is the only container that could rightly hold their essence you are given this charge and on
These slopes you just turned from their departure and its glory indefinable crowned you burned
All impurities up and now the pure raging fire has subsided you see the incorruptible seeds you
are now to plant as sure footed as the Doll sheep go now intersperse them among these heights
that predate the dawning of time your fellow man waste away looking at the plains and empty
Horizon these seeds out of time and personnel loss will dazzle give the influx of immortal
Thoughts that will destroy a people’s delusional limited harvest and give them the spring board
Of freedom to achieve dreams that before were believed to be impossible this is what I saw in
Your tear filled eyes not an end but the birth of hope mother and father and the girls didn’t die in
Vain they are the truth shinning as a vision all we have to do is look
Jan 7, 2012
Jan 7, 2012 at 6:37 AM UTC
Imagine the mind as a tree and the brain as a seed.
The mind is made by the brain as the tree is made by the seed.
Imagine routes growing amongst hostile environments,
akin to thoughts that germinate in the mind of another.
A thought formulates from the combination of accepted truths that spirals out of control like the tree and it's roots.
Yet these moments are only revealed when the earth is disturbed,
if not they still grow but remain unheard.
Thoughts forceful through pastures,
it's in the nature of the living to overgrow and expose like an explosions aftermath.
Repressed and unchosen, but even the best storms pass,
give life to the grass and the elements that surround sound.
The seasons change like the reasons to live again.
The bony tree branches shake away the secrets of human beings leaving footprints underneath that intersperse the leaves.
Like a strong breeze.
Imagine a human being as a growing tree,
naked underneath without the leaves;
The leafs fall in time and reveal the skeletons of the human mind forgotten thoughts of friends and enemies both left behind.
Apr 30, 2015
Apr 30, 2015 at 2:45 PM UTC
And then
I held your hand:
where have you been so long?
Our worlds intersperse, but seldom
we meet.
How has life been since you
had gone over? Does the horizon still
shine where you look from ?
A statue have I made of you,
and I sit reminiscing
every morning, sun-kissed.
Do you wear bodies the way we do?
Do thirst and hunger bother you?
I have so many things to ask,
but first, let us
go strolling in the park, years, since
I saw you in the dusk, dust-laden.
May 1, 2015
May 1, 2015 at 1:39 PM UTC
From the Back of the Bus©
The journey to school via that yellow tin can
They call it a bus at least where I come from, man
Long and narrow it transports it’s precious cargo
And delivers daily where we must show to grow
My favorite destination of that vehicle not of choice
Was the back of the bus so I could hide inside and rejoice
Many lessons were learned on the way to school
Observing life from that back of that melting *** pool
One learned about friendship between two friends
The shy kid whose ride was a means to an end
The bully that would run amok
Those were the ones that would have me duck
There were smiles and frowns alike
Most days I would rather ride my bike
Some days were up but most days were down
In the midst of the crowd and the class clown
Intersperse that beautiful girl
And the kids that made you want to hurl
Some were kind and some were tough
Seeing some of both was enough
Not realizing at that young age
This was preparing us for a different life stage
The ride was a daily grind
While I was looking for something else to find
From the back of the bus
Andreas Simic©
Oct 20, 2017
Oct 20, 2017 at 6:48 AM UTC
From the Back of the Bus©
The journey to school via that yellow tin can
They call it a bus at least where I come from, man
Long and narrow it transports it’s precious cargo
And delivers daily where we must show to grow
My favorite destination of that vehicle not of choice
Was the back of the bus so I could hide inside and rejoice
Many lessons were learned on the way to school
Observing life from that back of that melting *** pool
One learned about friendship between two friends
The shy kid whose ride was a means to an end
The bully that would run amok
Those were the ones that would have me duck
There were smiles and frowns alike
Most days I would rather ride my bike
Some days were up but most days were down
In the midst of the crowd and the class clown
Intersperse that beautiful girl
And the kids that made you want to hurl
Some were kind and some were tough
Seeing some of both was enough
Not realizing at that young age
This was preparing us for a different life stage
The ride was a daily grind
While I was looking for something else to find
From the back of the bus
Andreas Simic©
Oct 18, 2017
Oct 18, 2017 at 3:56 PM UTC