"junctures" poems
*She was costly Bordeaux
he was recycled biker leather,
her classic affluent beauty
yearned for motorcycle thrills,
she lifted him up a grade
he brought her down to street level,
they fused at steamy rush hours
under trafficked high ways,
pursuant to reckless merging
reality's intersections accelerated
crashing expedited speed limits,
would never again drive
mid smoothly paved junctures
at the standard rate of normal*
Jul 6, 2015
Jul 6, 2015 at 12:12 PM UTC
*entering arms entwined
a state of grace
offer you body warmth
to burn us together for always
tongue licks your love
the buds of taste blossom yet again
chest beating thrum
celebrates your continued existence
fingers tease you at the junctures
that pleasure reveals the magi's adoration
but
I love you best with
the love of words,
for this is the poet's way,
condense
touch sight sounds smell sensual
into what words he can give that
cost so much, held so dear,
that it is the
cherish
that
is
the
best
of
him*
Oct 24, 2015
Oct 24, 2015 at 7:49 AM UTC
Osprey flood-pathed junctures
in the
middle
of Paradise.
Overexposed and diluted
by the
sounds
of the missing heartbeat
and the
loneliness
of the beakless egret
we all feel.
The expression of
the sunlit
reflective pool,
for the
paradise
we know and sense
and understand.
Not quite at the
end of
earth,
but almost.
While the ball
of fire
exposed and
diminished,
flourishes to the
very end., and
awakens on the beaches
of Casey Key,
toward the dusk of
the beautiful day
in paradise…
I smile
Feb 25, 2011
Feb 25, 2011 at 3:16 AM UTC
Stone Love : A Building Named ‘Linearity’.
Unobserved I lay my hand on your limestone wall and feel the rough surface as my fingertips touch the stone slabs and junctures of your construction…
Gently pressing my cheek against your sunlight- warmed, stony skin.
Veiled in concealment, just you and me, right here….
Being with you, so near to me…
No one else but you and me.
In this very special love affair we share together.
Your comforting presence, so mild and so compassionate….
Gazing at the elegance of your architecture with its majestic interplay of razorsharp outline patterns in a merciless contrast with the soft spindrift twilight clouds in all serenity above us….and I feel so protected….
Staring at your powerful black silhouette as it rises up into the sundown skies….
Mesmerized by the grace of golden sunray reflections stunningly glistening, dazzlingly shimmering in your numerous windowpanes as the sun sets unhurriedly, while the mauve, lavender and scarlet clouds make the perfect composition for our undetected wonderful moment….
Oh, ‘Linearity’,…
Your stone wall feels so warm when I think about the coldness of people.
Oct 16, 2012
Oct 16, 2012 at 7:09 PM UTC
**Felt the pretense behind closed eyes,
composed vibrations of rhetoric
freelancing in executing ignis fatuus
drank the kool-aid of your own grandeur
a punch drunk conviction's onus
in false pretenses of a mislead head trip
a study in contradiction's convulsions
simmered of half past lucid judgement,
junctures of reality submersed
in cloudy formations
impervious to reasoning**
...a saga written upon piqued skies of indifference
Jun 15, 2015
Jun 15, 2015 at 10:42 AM UTC
Finite Fjords ferried then forgotten
junctures Masking mashups
disunion unfound by everyone
slackface mouth agape
tongue in cheek spittle drips
words trapdoored out
vocal vacuum chords
strum silence
heretical heresay
the headlight sped north
Abortion of caged comfort
Abort wars, birth best
invent intentional acts
WILLED UNDEVILED DEEDS
BLEED BREED PLEAD
SERENITY WITHOUT ANY GRANDIOUSITY
Mar 24, 2010
Mar 24, 2010 at 11:25 PM UTC
There fared a time ‘we’ were the vital thing,
yet now the case is fair it’s ye and her.
My role perhaps was harrower of Winter
while she’s the water, seed and sun of Spring.
God forms right plans and sorts His unique tools
as junctures of our lives wed intertwined,
but when they’re o’er we are not undermined
nor forced to feel we’re slyly played as fools.
For Providence has granted precious gifts
which by His grace we learn and grow and flow’r,
and these need ne’er be lost in parting hour
nor poisoned by the bitterness of rifts.
So rise our wings with richer, brighter hue
to soar upon Christ’s love which tarries true.
Feb 24, 2021
Feb 24, 2021 at 5:01 AM UTC
I crest the hill lined with young red delicious
and pass the rows of rotten purple squash.
Barreling into the crooked entrance
my tires spit gravel and huff dust
into the yard.
The golden maple with palm-sized leaves
is my beacon
through unforeseen junctures and the stony pathway.
Lavender tulips genuflect with the wind
their reflections dancing on his polished granite.
Aug 27, 2012
Aug 27, 2012 at 1:20 PM UTC
There is magic in these delicate little beginnings
where half the challenge is reaping the winnings.
Perhaps the choice is not half bad and the troubled waters ahead are nothing to fret about.
I've been thinking of a time when things were so simple; the lapses in time when your body and mine filled the empty space;
this is what carefree moments must resemble..
"What do you mean I'm using you?"
We are all users of something and living is never nothing.
Our conversations always so shallow,
the surface disturbed; everything underneath left hallow.
Your little gestures, gracious and fair.
left behind trailing whispers: "Don't worry. I'm here. I care."
My eyes took in every passing glance,
My feet frolicked through the shrouding wisp
Chasing seductive whistles, gone and past.
You..
I..
We didn't dare the distance over mountaintops caked in snow.
Then came Spring; she bested the seasons when she dressed the naked trees again
Nurtured fertile seeds
Singing mother's lullaby: "Grow, children, grow!"
I couldn't see the face of reason
just receding numbers,
counting down the steps we danced to.
The tune sickened me;
my breath grew short;
my hands did tremble.
The tears were warm but your eyes were not!
"These are not the moments we resemble!"
Was it wrong to tell you those words when things felt rehearsed?
My head to your chest, your heartbeat against my cheek..
The chorus of your voice, cordially versed..
The sight of the slight curve sculpted perfectly with tender lips,
creating a smirk that melted every part of me, from feet to fingertips.
These little junctures in time never come that simple.
We carry on living, but this is the moment I resemble!
"What time is the right one and why and when and how is it ever wrong?"
"In truth, and truth is the sad tune of a song, life always goes on."
I'm sick from misplaced words and those you chose to make your fist;
the impact I felt and the resentment that grew from this;
the regret we've both worn and exchanged through a kiss..
"Words aren't always everything but they can take so much!
They've withered my heart and defiled your touch!"
But those little moments were so simple
When we could bask in the company of each other
and time danced on without disturbing two happy lovers.
These delicate parts I remember them clear,
they've become the memories I hold dear,
Thinking of you now my heart does tremble;
Murmuring a secret for no one to hear:
"These are the moments we resemble."
Sep 12, 2010
Sep 12, 2010 at 9:41 AM UTC
**Old wheelbarrow.
abandoned near woods.
lying on straw and dirt;
rusted and tarnished, used to carry
soil and bricks; colors faded
retired.
resting uneven,
is it only destined to waste away with rolling
years, has it served its purpose?
Rolling snapshots of memories allude to junctures of childhood.
Yelling with glee, we went, my sister and me
as it advanced down the hill!
Sometimes just me with dad,
pushing me in the barrow
around the yard, under the tree in the summer breeze, followed by a hug and an ice tea.
These memories, I cherish; links to
the past. cherished reflections
Faded into obsolescence. a period of easiness,
that implied simplicity; now a simple snapshot of a thought.**
Aug 23, 2016
Aug 23, 2016 at 11:02 AM UTC
leftover clementine peels
and apple cores
in the kitchen sink garbage disposal:
haven
for the rise
of the lord of the fruit flies.
this, my greatest adversary.
i lay vinegar and wine traps, and,
at various junctures,
lead spray sorties where they congregate
with all-purpose cleaner in hand ---
even swat at them
with my other free hand
like King Kong did helicopters,
whilst holding a screaming kicking Ann Darrow
in her small little nighty,
and i
watch,
haughtily
as they fall
before mine
victorious feet.
and i beat my chest.
then i suddenly feel horribly conflicted
in the clutches of such a merciless slaughter.
they never
stood
a chance.
Apr 18, 2016
Apr 18, 2016 at 4:16 PM UTC
Harvest old love letters
Separate timid words like seeds
Save those for Spring planting
Passion's bulk pull out as meat
Provisional muscle is for roasting
Adjectives become good gravy
Stamps and envelopes licked
A dessert of dearest's DNA
This savoring of paper junctures
Recaptured affection, even agonies
Wooers of commodious cursive
Pen pushed to olden days
I relish reading your languid thriving
Though you are long gone
Reacquainting these letters habituates
Deliveries of your love
Nov 24, 2015
Nov 24, 2015 at 8:38 AM UTC
At certain junctures of a journey you feel you connect to certain people, places and situations at a different level, hardly comprehendible, quite different from the hundreds of people you've ever met and many places you've ever been, they leave you with a spirit, their inherited tastes and an obsession that you will go back to it all someday.
Nov 30, 2015
Nov 30, 2015 at 10:53 AM UTC
Peel back the layers
of my rural purgatory.
Figure out
the critical junctures
of where I once stood,
with this one,
now on TV, and this one,
surfing in Hawaii.
I was a **** girl, spreading
my legs for sailors, and
getting crucified for it.
I am guilty
of still imagining
our beautiful possibilities.
Death may yet
claim him, and my ****
are still round
and firm.
Nov 15, 2019
Nov 15, 2019 at 11:02 AM UTC
Certain moments leave us in the room of curiosity where the existing tends to take snail's pace. The clock abandons its race. It looks as if time took a nap. And in such gravity, our body reacts in the most oblivious of ways. It is almost analogous to a body in space. Involuntary and Indecisive in its movements. While we want to say a million things, our gut takes over by muting us. All the feelings that revolve around a hundred thousand thoughts come out in form of a salt water composition. Metaphorically, our eyes do the talk by reflecting a whole gush of diverse sentiments.
The strangest part enters the scene like a temporary protagonist when there comes a choice between happiness or sadness. If we choose the former, there is no way we can avoid the latter. It takes us a while to process the fact that these two emotions are each other's Ying and Yang. They never come alone.
All this befuddlement lands us into a directionless vehicle.
To satisfy oneself is the greatest accomplishment. In a state like this, we never forgo this belief. Our soul tries to console our mind repeatedly. It tries to salvage us from the impossible questions of our own. Such invisible restrictive force is met with either frustration or fascination. There is no chain that binds us, yet we feel grounded. We feel over-ready to imagine but our minds capture us in the box of boggle. Time has such manipulation on us that we're hypnotised to feel it's power. Not in aspects where it proves its presence but in aspects where it threatens us with its nothingness.
Such junctures of timelessness are highly uncertain in their permanency. They exist and then one moment cease to do so. And when they denounce, we come back to our lives of consciousness and mortality.
Jan 18, 2015
Jan 18, 2015 at 2:35 PM UTC
the momentum
of this thing......
is beyond us now.
it has it's own life,
feckless and free.
always rushing foward,
without thought...
to cost or methodology.
is is madness, uncontained
an unbridled and ferocious thing,
racing, raging across the plains of inner sanity,
howling at reality.
running in circles
and raising,
a dust storm,
of desire
and deniability.
this thing,
wants not moss
or memory it wants....
passion and creativity.
the pouring out,
of the still waters,
that come from the
stagnant ponds and lakes,
of unloved corners,
in distant hearts.
this momentous
and puissant, calamity,
desires only,
to live and die briefly,
ever so brightly....
in a conglomeration
of magnificent,
twinkling junctures......
like fireworks set,
on and against
the indigo night skies..
all heat and glory
all colour and bang
all inspiration and reaction.
and then, when
the momentum,
slows and dwindles....
is finally spent.
it will, as always, lie down
and quietly cease to be....
leaving as an aftertaste,
both sweet and acrid bitter...
just a vague feeling
of nostalgic irrationality.
Oct 15, 2014
Oct 15, 2014 at 5:40 PM UTC
are we not owned
by people who need us
like legs
do we not
need them like arms
are marriages
not like towns
populated by
deep foundations and
structures almost immovable
at first
they where beautiful places
rich in florid gardens
with sweet scents
that intoxicate
and paths of communication
where built
then slowly
they became beaten paths
then beaten down paths
then dis-junctures
the flowers faded
and love
became history
and history
turned to dust
like ancient locals
ghost towns
bereft of the fragrant
brittle, parched
like dead sea scrolls
and now there is us
new
like wet drool
sultry
rich in
****** ambitions
the far off future
be dammed
let it be
what it must be
let gravity be gravity
i want you
voluptuous fruit
big bite please
Jul 16, 2016
Jul 16, 2016 at 6:40 AM UTC
Darkest embrace.
Ambient splendor.
Near.
Storm and soothe.
Engaging junctures.
Mar 28, 2014
Mar 28, 2014 at 10:45 AM UTC
There are occasions, junctures,
stages, phases, bad patches,
periods, when my mortal coil
has reached its final spring.
Era’s, ages, epochs, aeons,
days of eternal years when
allotted spans of existence
speak an accent of extinct.
Rhythms, tempo, beating pulses
out of synch, atmospherical
ambience looses cadence.
Chronic Chronophobia.
Dec 1, 2023
Dec 1, 2023 at 8:18 AM UTC
Your eyes were hotels
Keeping me safe at night
At the expense of almost fastened hooks
and marrow in the folds
Something like a Transaction,
A Cartridge for a Sore
Each one of your blinks,
wafting plights through my pipe dreams
And Your lips; counterfeit salvation
Pretty presentations but lacking in procedure
Chewing on contentions before I even spoke
And Just Clear beyond the slope of your truth
Tympanum ****** manufacture phantom lies
Determined to Scoff my psyche in a sitcom
Festering tongue shoving splinters of the former into my nail beds
Where nuzzles are necrosis and
Cloying sighs mutate into Apollyon
A mouth of ivory tacks and culpable rims
***** Eager to siphon drums of poise to empty
And lick them clean to a drought
Coasting on exhaust
You depart from me;
Constricted tiny vessel and a plaque stuffed thought
A Rusted, Sorry Cask, flooded with idle junctures
Oct 18, 2014
Oct 18, 2014 at 12:19 AM UTC
Sited in a dark room my legs folded
Candles lit
Glowing in gold steady staring through the darkness
No incense just the smell of burning wax
My legs are growing numb
All junctures holding them a piece bitter
This is just a flesh of my now… but we measure by time!?
if so when you read this…
Read of my now
Beyond flesh unfolds blood and bone
Beyond flesh unfolds deep waters that run in u
To discern life enough to find the light in u ………..
All I write is to, for, about u
If I die I’ll have to seek a heaven that finds u
If I die I’ll roam from plane to plane cursing fate for concealed mystery
Hearts like this are built in extremes of brick in furnace
On sight of light; hearts like this sail their souls
They choose never to row letting their sails leadeth them forth by whispers of the wind
Afar and lost yet it’s not land they seek ……
In silence I don’t see you
In silence I chew my nails
in silence I hear the wails sound clear
Mar 27, 2016
Mar 27, 2016 at 5:24 AM UTC
Me-
a traumatic disorder in the sky
scintillating every try,
all my junctures, no wonder why?
synthesizing your wicked cry!
from autumn to winter, spring to dry,
my countenance is always sly,
revenge and my destructive plight,
flossing the land beside.
All my forms from water to ice,
reincarnating a treacherous ride…
for all the intentional harms you’ve done tonight,
I still don’t stand aside.
Eventually I relocate from north to south-
wondering what this world’s about?
Respect, responsibility or your silhouette,
arguments, exploitation or another drought?
Me, the reason for all your life,
but you still aren’t ready to change your side.
Aug 22, 2017
Aug 22, 2017 at 1:24 PM UTC
As human beings we pursue happiness when it’s only ephemeral. Abiding to unrelenting woe to attain brief junctures of contentment is mundane and nowhere near rational.
However we wouldn’t know how to enjoy sunlight without nighttime; paradoxical complements.
Mar 23, 2020
Mar 23, 2020 at 1:22 PM UTC