"jigging" poems
you asked me to come:it was raining a little,
and the spring;a clumsy brightness of air
wonderfully stumbled above the square,
little amorous-tadpole people wiggled
battered by stuttering pearl,
leaves jiggled
to the jigging fragrance of newness
—and then. My crazy fingers liked your dress
….your kiss,your kiss was a distinct brittle
flower,and the flesh crisp set
my love-tooth on edge. So until light
each having each we promised to forget—
wherefore is there nothing left to guess:
the cheap intelligent thighs,the electric trite
thighs;the hair stupidly priceless.
19.4k
Dark sea wine,
send me to Brazil
Caracas, Venezuela,
the Coasts of Gold,
strung out on oblivion,
drowning in the sun,
each exhale an eon,
collapsing upon itself
Hail Mary, sweet ****** mother,
salty ginger, stellar space,
answer a beggar's prayer,
somewhere let horses run wild,
and may a lion lie with a lamb's tail
Soaked in jazzy flow,
the white Apogaean tides
crash like a silver blade against bronze,
romance, the death of heroes,
Achille's spear,
penetrating this moment, ripping it bare,
slicing young flesh,
open wounds bleeding blessed red life to the world,
an amber glaze
Thrones pin peace to the wall,
a trophy pelt for all to see
with cool blazing eyes,
yet all look away
while I two step waltz like a jigging liquid light wave,
lithe feet raining down moves like a dog in the woods,
chasing deer through smokey paths hidden from human stained eyes
by thick brush
Stiff whiskey midnight,
gibbous moon hangs mellow yellow like half a wheel of cheese,
canonized in secret watching,
the pretty girl problems
thrown around like trash blown in the park
lovely day, where does this path lead?
the open road forever howls
life, death, birth, infinity
Nov 3, 2014
Nov 3, 2014 at 5:36 PM UTC
HOUR OF THE PEARL
Bluebells droop sleepily
Tired in a pine scented wood
Lemons drip casually
In the groves the best they could.
Orange leaves dance in the breeze
Jigging to the buzz of the bee.
Lapping up the early morning sun
Limes threaten to ripen
Withered branches from the olive
Twisting, turning and entwining.
Almonds spring from everywhere
Grapes glisten, turning sweet
Packed into the vine/
Mellowing, yellowing
To become famous wine.
Sun bakes the land and the bread
Has a secret promise with a sugar top.
Chickens are fed from left overs.
The hour of the pearl, the interval
Between day and night
When time stands still examines itself
And turn to dark, the moon clicks
Clouds stick.
Jun 21, 2013
Jun 21, 2013 at 8:24 AM UTC
To Garryowen upon an ***** ground
Two girls are jigging. Riotously they trip,
With eyes aflame, quick bosoms, hand on hip,
As in the tumult of a witches' round.
Youngsters and youngsters round them prance and bound.
Two solemn babes twirl ponderously, and skip.
The artist's teeth gleam from his bearded lip.
High from the kennel howls a tortured hound.
The music reels and hurtles, and the night
Is full of stinks and cries; a naphtha-light
Flares from a barrow; battered and obtused
With vices, wrinkles, life and work and rags,
Each with her inch of clay, two loitering hags
Look on dispassionate--critical--something 'mused.
***
The gods are dead? Perhaps they are! Who knows?
Living at least in Lempriere undeleted,
The wise, the fair, the awful, the jocose,
Are one and all, I like to think, retreated
In some still land of lilacs and the rose.
Once high they sat, and high o'er earthly shows
With sacrificial dance and song were greeted.
Once . . . long ago. But now, the story goes,
The gods are dead.
It must be true. The world, a world of prose,
Full-crammed with facts, in science swathed and sheeted,
Nods in a stertorous after-dinner doze!
Plangent and sad, in every wind that blows
Who will may hear the sorry words repeated:--
'The Gods are Dead!'
994
Iddy Biddy Bopping Boy
Dancing by age of three.
Dancing for the feel of joy,
What a happy sight to see.
Jigging, jogging, boogywoog
Like folks six times his age.
Iddy Biddy Bopping Boy
He became the local rage.
As soon as music played
His feet began to move
The rest of his tiny body
Bounced with the groove.
He’d get that happy look, then
He’d slip and slide and wiggle
And anyone around him would
Smile and then begin to giggle.
He was so young to do it
To have a style this cool
But nobody ever argued
They’d be a purentee fool.
The Iddy Biddy Bopping Boy
Was cool and smooth and clean.
He was the dude, the man;
The pint-sized dancing machine.
Iddy Biddy Bopping Boy
Dancing by age of three.
Dancing for the feel of joy,
What a happy sight to see.
Jigging, jogging, boogywoog
Like folks six times his age.
Iddy Biddy Bopping Boy
Becoming all the rage.
Jan 24, 2016
Jan 24, 2016 at 11:45 PM UTC
maybe i am here.
would you see me?
the door is open--
you can walk on out.
see all the teenagers
jigging about.
i don't think it's your scene
over here with me.
maybe i am there.
could you hear me?
the capitals are low--
turning sentences inside out.
see all the thoughts
hanging around.
the vision is blurred
over here with me.
maybe i am no longer.
could you sense me?
don't misunderstand--
that's not what this poem is about.
see my blank stare
midnight all around.
the time is all gone
over here with me.
Mar 14, 2019
Mar 14, 2019 at 8:18 PM UTC
HOUR OF THE PEARL
Bluebells droop sleepily
Tired in a pine scented wood
Lemons drip casually
In the groves the best they could.
Orange leaves dance in the breeze
Jigging to the buzz of the bee.
Lapping up the early morning sun
Limes threaten to ripen
Withered branches from the olive
Twisting, turning and entwining.
Almonds spring from everywhere
Grapes glisten, turning sweet
Packed into the vine/
Mellowing, yellowing
To become famous wine.
Sun bakes the land and the bread
Has a secret promise with a sugar top.
Chickens are fed from left overs.
The hour of the pearl, the interval
Between day and night
When time stands still examines itself
And turn to dark, the moon clicks
Clouds stick.
and time moves on.
Mar 9, 2015
Mar 9, 2015 at 7:47 AM UTC
well... just one of those times...
going for a refill of ice-cubes
in my glass...
in the thick of night...
an addict like any (happy to
be one, somehow i'm
able to live with other people),
and so the slow trance...
striding toward the fridge,
in a house clad by night...
dancing... jigging,
whatever the cool kids are saying
(only now, can a 30 year old
sound so out of date as a 70 year old)...
wow! check out my wriggling
up-right...
that *** ****
walking for a refill of ice cubes
grooving to salt n pepa's push it...
must be akin
to something akin to the scenes
under an Aztec temple...
you know, that over-powering
sight of engaging in capital punishment...
oh man,
now i got the moves,
and pet names for pets that don't
exist...
move me to Poland and i can
switch off the "addict" in an instant
and remain free of ***** for 30 days...
i'm actually blaming it on
the environment...
these isles ensured the very few a good.
i got the salt n pepa dance
to the fridge for some ice cubes...
as ever, a party, and finally it's
no longer a frankfurter-fest!
the best one you can have: solo,
and the amphetamine thrid-person
bypass that would require a publisher
and a profit motive for writing on white.
beautiful... absolutely beautiful.
Feb 13, 2017
Feb 13, 2017 at 9:43 PM UTC
Make your way on over
don't need to bring nothin'
apart from your best clothes -
I'll work away your worries,
breathe away your woes.
It wasn't what I confessed,
god looks upon me
but I'm far from being blessed.
My heads in a spin,
fingers jiving and jigging
my mind focusing on your soft chin.
Blue eyed monster,
black hair chasing down your back
body to die for,
my heart beating
like a race-horse on a track.
You're chemical treasure
You're tainted but ****
I'm a Lykos for pleasure
show us your prize
and I'll show you mine.
Blood-red lips, sleek, unmissable
soft pale skin
so smooth, so kissable.
Make your way on over -
I'm a Lykos for pleasure,
a predator for treasure,
and a hungry wolf in full fledged measure.
May 24, 2015
May 24, 2015 at 5:14 PM UTC
I am re-jigging my book... I received my copy and have found a couple of typo's.
I will inform my friends on here when it's done..Early next week will be ready!
Sorry my first attempt x!
Thank you ** Livvi
Jan 15, 2014
Jan 15, 2014 at 5:01 PM UTC
I saw him there, beneath the eaves
Standing with the dark
And although he made no move, nor sound
His presence there was stark
He was much like a wilting pane
His body cloaked in guile
I saw the turning of his face
The weeping in his smile
Entrenched there ‘low the jutting eaves
Ebbing with the wane
He then began towards the door
Jigging as he came
More a seize than jig, I’d say
Though it barely sought a word
A shuddering, a stuttering
But not a sound I heard
That fluxing smile stayed his face
As when he reached the door
And pondered for one awful breath
To motion with his claw
Gone inside and left my sight
I felt I too must go
If just to prove this vision false
To my senses dulled and slow
Inside I heard a shattering,
A shuddering, a blow
A muttering, a jittering
A shriek, but soft and low
I passed the door and by the hearth
Its embers bright and warm
And heard a sound pass in the ground
Like iron bees in swarm
Standing in the living room
He shuddered to and fro
As if the lights were flickering
And I too rapt to know
Upon the floor around the room
The bodies of some few
I shuddered as I took them in
He shuddered with me too
Feb 12, 2025
Feb 12, 2025 at 4:25 PM UTC
I open the window
the mist rolls in off the sea
sweeping like a fluffy blanket
pity hasn't keep the sea warm
there is no horizon, it's the same
just white, misty vision.
The air is biting
so cold it stings my skin
rushing in like an unwelcome visitor
there is no horizon it's the same
just a milky opaque sight.
The beam from the lighthouse
sprays LED sparkles on the waves
it dances with the movement of the sea
jigging, squirting froth forward
ebbing and flowing
coming and going.
There is a distance in the air
a quiet , a silence now.
The atmosphere changes
brightens, clouds are apparent
moving, clearing,
and out comes the sun.
Aug 7, 2017
Aug 7, 2017 at 4:17 AM UTC
Ug and Og the cavemen thought they might have a dance
They didn't know quite what to do, but thought they'd take a chance
They advertised throughout the caves for friends to have a go
and many said “what is a dance,” and Ug said “I don't know”
They called in Lug the village chief, to tell them if he could
And he explained, he saw this once just by the local wood
Many people gathered round, and bounced and jigged all day
With beer and popcorn passed around it really was quite gay
So everybody gathered when the big day came around
Ug and Og had made some beer, and popcorn by the mound
Everyone had dressed their best to show off to the crowd
Even Loo from number nine was looking rather proud
Everything was going well, and jigging up and down
When Luggy Doug got hit by Wert for acting like a clown
He turned around to get away and fell right over Loo
Who happened to be in mid jig, and so bounced of big Su
Su went rolling across the floor, and bowled over Lanky Lang
Who reaching out to save himself, punched LooLoo with a bang
Now Bam loved LooLoo very much, so he thought he should
Come running across the crowded floor, to help her if he could
He slipped on beer that Su had dropped when hit by Luggy Doug
And landed on the pile of popcorn. Freshly made by Ug
The popcorn went up in the air, and scattered all around
Then Og slipped up and all the beer landed on the ground
Widow Grimp came from her cave “Whats the noise” she cried
Then spying all the mess about, went quickly back inside
Now soggy popcorn lay around, and no one wanted more
and so the party ended up with a mess upon the floor
Ug and Og were left alone to clear up all the floor
and they were laughing all time. Bout what had gone before
Window Gimp ran from here house with brush and empty bin
and stuffed it full of dried popcorn and took it all back in
Only Ug and Og were left, they thought the party fair
No one got to do much dancing, that didn't seem to care
Widow Gimp had stocked her larder for the coming days
and the pigs, they had the rest, served up in metal trays
Mar 25, 2020
Mar 25, 2020 at 10:26 AM UTC
In his
plaid sport coat
pulling tissues
from his paper sack head
flinging them
slinging
bathroom jokes
cackling
jigging
a comedic
unknown soldier
known only
to God
Apr 7, 2024
Apr 7, 2024 at 11:02 AM UTC
i still see you
sitting in the sun
holding a pale ale
up in salutation
steel grey hair
flowing
down your back
legs crossed at knee
ankle jigging
up and down
to the beat of
the music
in your head
dressed in "blacks"
with a flash of colour
this time pale lemon
in your hand
a dhurrie, self rolled,
thin and a little bent
smoking gently, the whisp
of it curling in the breeze
today your face is thoughtful
caught up in a memory that brings
the corners of mouth up
into a wry smile.
i still see you
in the periphery
of my mind
yet when i turn
you are gone..
a memory
playing tag
with my heart
Oct 24, 2018
Oct 24, 2018 at 2:22 AM UTC