"lagoons" poems
**** me like the ocean would the moon, Dear Amaranthine.
Teach me as you would any abecedarian, slow with pace.
My pallid arms are spread, and feet are crossed.
Crucify me, like one of your French girls.
Your endless frame arched over mine
a vaulting testament to the heat
of your front against my back.
This scene should have been a chapel.
Through hazed musk I can taste the saline
as it tumbles from your dripping brunette tendrils
forming brooks and lagoons the color of flesh
in the glens and about the islands of my spine.
I wish I could write about you in me
while you dance a contemporary beat
ceaseless, indeterminate, untold are
your feats within and upon my person.
For a split moment, seconds shattered in two,
I am completely and totally permeated by you.
I whine for you to vacillate me, I am ******* begging
to be occupied, satiated, by a rhythm akin to the sway of trees.
Love me fast and kiss me slow, Dear Amaranthine.
My palms are red, and feet bloodied, too. I moan.
Call me your poetaster but don't come on my chest;
There's far too much weight there already, my dear.
Mar 20, 2012
Mar 20, 2012 at 1:30 AM UTC
Willets cull the seawall
snapper on the grill
rock ***** swoon
in shallow lagoons
long boats pass
under quiet
palm shade
Plovers dance and flutter
handrails frayed and torn
graffiti spots
at lovers rock
frigate-birds fall
from a high
noon sun
Thatched roof on a mud wall
fish flags settle score
anchors arch
in front line march
pillar cracks form
under rust brown scars
Elegant tern and grebe
watchmen fall in cue
children play
on crested waves
whimbrels and notchers
perch above Tentaciones
Striped pelícanos
the bandits of the sea!
merchants grow
in steady flow
siblings jostle
in a tide cooled sand
Heerman gull and boobie
durango smoke in yurt
boiler shrimp
and puffer blimp
castle buckets and scrapers
under a dusk light cheroot
Six pulls on a lead line
painted toes in sand
shearwater run
in a rainbow sun
the portly mexicano
flaunts his tacos
and wares
Rooster house for swordfish
bamboo shoots and sails
broken shells
and ocean swells
rise
on the
perfect
La Ropa bay
Apr 14, 2017
Apr 14, 2017 at 2:22 PM UTC
the devil wears puppy-print pajamas and waits outside his vacant house for you to come,
the devil calls you only by the first syllable of your name and tells you your hair is the most attractive thing about you,
the devil gives you water in a coffee cup the first time you sit on his bed and accidentally spills it on you when he tries to kiss you,
the devil has eyes like the murky lagoons he told you he would visit with you,
and a scar the shape of a crescent moon on his forehead.
the devil leans up against the wall and asks, "why are you doing this to me? you're making me feel so guilty."
the devil doesn't pay his phone bill and ignores you when you say you need to talk,
the devil calls once, twice, a few times, once at 12:45 when you swore he wouldn't call, and never again,
the devil moves houses and forgets to warn you that he lost his heart in the process,
the devil doesn't care that they drained the lake near his house,
the devil doesn't notice that they took his ******* heart with it when they did.
Apr 4, 2014
Apr 4, 2014 at 2:49 AM UTC
The boat I'm in
My boat is one that makes you feel small.
One that you can easily hide in:
Small windows, while lots of sun makes it to the deck,
It’s shiny, and white, with bronze banisters.
If you look close, it's all a shade of aged green.
Cedar deck planks shine,
But floorboards below are cracking.
The meals and entertainment never fail to impress;
But the boat staff are ready to walk the plank.
Its motor tries it’s best,
With white sails, wrapped up tight,
dusty from lack of use, unfold into grey billows for backup.
Their thin cotton gets tired easily,
They often rip when the storms blow.
The boat I'm on only passes the beautiful islands,
Close enough to see, but too afraid of the shallow waters.
The boat I'm on passes pirates daily,
Hearing their threats, shouts and banter.
The boat I'm on passes cruise liners,
wishing one day it too could hold so many happy, relaxed people.
The boat I'm on wonders why guests don't stay longer
and come more often.
The boat I’m in is sick of only serving me.
The one who is stuck here aboard,
The one who is so bored of this sad boat;
Although it could show me the world,
It commonly finds itself in little blue lagoons.
Dark waters with low hanging trees
and thick reeds to get caught up on.
Occasionally guests will take me out,
Out to crystal clear, blue waters of the wild ocean,
We enjoy the sunshine and the sounds of the sea.
But me and my boat always seem to float away.
Away from the beautiful blue waters,
closer and closer to the murky banks,
Think mud wanting to swallow the white edges of my smile,
And the sides of my boat.
Nov 16, 2017
Nov 16, 2017 at 10:51 AM UTC
While these groupons cutting coupons I mean and croutons with Grey Poupon with the flight crew on an Islond off Moulin Rouge -- these dudes calling me rude, how I took'em to school. went from second hand shoes to licking silver spoons eating delicious grapes, in luxurious estates, and plush lagoons. Leaving the monkey business to the buffoons. Instead I'm watching CNN news being amused. LeBron making his moves on the tube, setting screens, and running schemes, on the big screen, HD clarity got me taking three, I'm catching charges too. This is the life. I'm just manifesting what they said I couldn't do -- nothing new.
Dec 29, 2014
Dec 29, 2014 at 9:48 PM UTC
of beautiful things
willowy warbler's
wax'n wings
silvery strumming
singing sands
languid lagoons
in luxurious lands
carvings of creosote
cacti create
fulcrum of flame
thru frivolous
fate
volcanic vestibule
vestments and
vestiges
historical hypothesis
harmonious
heritage
melanin melange
mellifuous
mild
woodduck waters
wheeling and
wild
crystal caverns
creating
light
nocturnal nymphs
announcing the
night
sumptuous sunsets
scintillation's
scream
dramatic dawn
drawn
from
a
dream
SoulSurvivor
(C) 12/2/2015
Dec 2, 2015
Dec 2, 2015 at 6:23 PM UTC
Close your eyes,
now imagine yourself on an island
that doesn't need make-up to be beautiful.
Imagine yourself,
walking joyfully through an exquisite flora.
Imagine you and your family
camping in a tropical rain-forest
swimming in cool hidden pools,
great mountain streams,
and magnificent waterfalls.
Imagine yourself on a canoe,
gliding atop blue lagoons.
Or, rather than an evening at a theater,
how about a romantic evening
with your love, by the beach,
with a beautiful sunset glistening
through your eyes,
while nature sings peacefully, to you.
Imagine walking through a tunnel,
that was left behind by the **** in World War II.
Imagine going on an adventurous trip,
through a mysterious archeological ruins,
with immense stone logs,
stacked crisscross to form a wall.
Imagine all of this,
and open your eyes,
and you'll find yourself
on my island - Pohnpei.
Nov 5, 2013
Nov 5, 2013 at 9:24 PM UTC
Crumble
brothels sprout
flesh peddlers collect their fees
selling daughters
in twos and threes
Lopez or Diaz
lazy or defiant
escaped
in polluted lagoons
the virus spreads
Dancing with the dead
priests absolve the devils
in their mist
Pilar sold her virginity
for a few bars of gold
wrapped in an old ladies hatred
she murdered her vows
Mexico is a land of smiles
the knife only glints
in the Aztec sun
as they bury you
after eating your heart
Oct 6, 2018
Oct 6, 2018 at 3:38 AM UTC
Shall we drown together in deep lagoons of forensic cognitions, my seductress of medieval echelons?
As your mouth is already full, I strongly recommend that you masticate that which you initially intended to ingest.
We could become spellbound by the moon. What do you think my Vedic chant of austere arrhythmias?
I suggest that we simply need to interact without reserve amidst this toxicity of inhibition. The sound of the violin is hauntingly beautiful as it conveys literary intensity.
Feb 14, 2014
Feb 14, 2014 at 10:47 PM UTC
Eyes that flash the soul of civilization
And warm the heart in observation.
Love that whispers with a gentle touch
And surrounds with hugs that seem so much.
Cry Beloved!
Water that caresses with a thousand tongues
Sunshine that coos all the birds’ songs
Teachers and vets, pronouns and clowns
Croissants, marmalade, coffee and new lawns.
Cry Beloved!
Breezes and sneezes, walks by the shore
Seashells that capture all the sea’s roar
Powdery sand and laconic lagoons
Daydreams and naps in the afternoons
Cry Beloved!
Smiles, museums, carriages in the park
Salads with friends and chocolates too dark
Rowing among lily pads and turtles and frogs
Hiking and crossing the streams on new logs.
Cry Beloved!
Flowers and bees buzzing in the sun
Hummingbirds hovering, dogs on the run
Children running, giggles and wiggles
Caring, learning, reading and snuggles
Cry Beloved!
Snowy mountains, valleys green
Faith proclaimed, faith unseen
Wonder and ponder, awe and reverence
Invitations from God to join in the dance
Cry beloved!
Hands held together in prayer and in love
Eyes raised to heaven on the wings of a dove
Caring so deep, affection so real
Feel the love and start to heal
Cry My Beloved!
Sep 6, 2010
Sep 6, 2010 at 8:40 PM UTC
Dark and desperate caves fill our destiny,
Continuously moulded by the hands of white horses.
We shall pledge our allegiance here,
And I will finally become one with your forces.
Ships and ships of cargo pass through,
Carrying only our thoughts and queries,
Stopping only for the wise and free spirits,
And starting their journey whence the worries.
Can I meet the blue spirit that lives here?
If to ask for something so simple, so special.
Lagoons lie outside and ****** us with golden sands,
But temptation cannot withhold how we feel.
Will you...
Will you?
Only if to find my weakness,
Only if to be beaten,
And a tie commences which penetrates us.
Like children opening eyes to the new world,
We dance inside and emotions are spilled.
We cry so softly, echoes of joy are heard.
Stepping from these dark and desperate caves,
The moon congratulates our arrival to Earth.
Pacing every step with golden statues surrounding us,
But not millions are as valued as what you're worth.
The sun cannot replace you,
The moon cannot compare.
Without you I can't do,
All I need is you to be near.
Aug 28, 2012
Aug 28, 2012 at 7:41 AM UTC
Water falls into turquoise lagoons
Where softly dusted butterfly wings
Chastely kiss a blue sky mirror
As the sun admires its reflection
Dressed up in cotton white clouds
Vibrant birds fluff out their feathered costumes
Listening as warm winds pass through talking trees
Hidden in a desert of lush green foliage
Enclosed in a ring of bleach white sand
As deep blue water guards the periphery
Of this last of Eden’s islands
Dec 6, 2018
Dec 6, 2018 at 4:48 PM UTC
Mine love, mine lord!
Liberate me from the shackles of myself
Like the free wind let me dwell
Like the fragrance let me flow
******* the nectar of every flower
Soaking the warmth of every ray
Let me be nature, let nature be me
Intertwin'd delicacy
O solitude! mine cater-cousin thou be
Unravelling the secrets of beauty
I see with thy eyes
With thou I make love
On the ice capp'd peaks
In the depth of the seas
Floating in the blue lagoons
Walking on the starry skies
Let me be divine, let divine be me
Intertwin'd delicacy!
Copyright Dr. PRERNA SINGLA, 2015.
Sep 29, 2015
Sep 29, 2015 at 2:57 AM UTC
Sad corners
Dark caves
Fumed pits
Dark lagoons
Dead reflections
Caged souls
Black forests
Breeze turning
chilled whistles
Possibility of life
Bigger possibility of ghosts.
True that it
divides a face
Vertical divisions
First choices
Its stoppage
before the lips.
A small tear -
hideout of an
entire negativity.
Horizontal division
is day to day living.
A perfect rule -
we divide in different ways
we cross paths
for a cancellation.
May 1, 2017
May 1, 2017 at 8:43 AM UTC
I’m an island
On another planet,
I’m so far away I could die.
The earthquake that made me
Comes back around to shake me up
And now and again
I crumble away a little
And the fish nibble at my toes.
I’m an island,
I’m surrounded, swallowed up
By deep blue melancholy,
I have a little melody
That I whisper through my palm trees
When the wind comes whistling ‘round.
I’m an island
And I’m beautiful
For white sands and a volcano,
I’m so beautiful you’d cry
If you could see me,
You’d try to free me
But I’m stuck to the ocean ground.
I’m an island,
I write myself a novel,
Because I’ve got no one else but Word,
And my four peach- colored walls
Become the horizons that I’m dreaming of
And my floor becomes lagoons
That beckon me to drown.
I’m an island
Because I cry,
My tears are my existence,
I’m my own wife and my own husband,
And I am childless and bloodless and I’ll always be around.
He is a rowboat
Of weathered wood,
Made of love and aged by making love
To the elements that define him,
And his wisdom and his readiness
To cross the Seven Seas.
He is a rowboat,
His billowed sails prepare for passion,
His oars anticipate his return home
With two in tow.
He is a rowboat,
The only one who can
And wants to reach his island in distress,
He carries himself
On wings of wind,
He’ll carry us both
When it becomes apparent that I can’t swim,
He’ll row and row and row his boat
To land ashore on the pain within
And he’ll love me all the way to his mainland.
Jul 5, 2014
Jul 5, 2014 at 12:45 PM UTC
Brown eyes,
Soul as she
Trudges through
These Demi-Ichorous lagoons
Of romantic mire.
Suspened tear-shaped vessels
From which sorrow
Bares down on soul's
Amber gated soil;
And memory,
Upon memory,
Upon memory,
Entrenches her feet.
Time immobile,
Despite vague recollection
Of retrospection.
Rain in anguish endured,
Devoured by these russet shoals,
And yet still remains this marsh-like nostalgia.
Branchless wasteland,
A collection of Earthen mounds
In sienna hue -
Barren in sky's womb
But God save the oak tree!
Hope's ne'er forsaken pillar
Kept a constant distance
Absent the stronghold of grasp.
Some circle of brown-eyed hell
I suppose,
Keeps the satisfaction
Of soul's salvation
Just beyond reach.
Aug 15, 2012
Aug 15, 2012 at 6:15 AM UTC
The morning light wanes
out on open plains
my belly debates
croissants have to wait
All the nylon fliers
like crayons palettes
festival of spectacles
So many favorites
Up Up and Away
a hundred balloons
above lagoons and chimneys
below valleys and alleys
In one strong forehand
a spectacular descent
it looks unplanned
a landing on the grandstand!
There was no flaw
only the applause
at dawn, champagnes flow
I stand in awe
Jun 7, 2018
Jun 7, 2018 at 12:09 AM UTC
Even though you could feel it
fathomless than your soul.
We glimmered into each other's lagoons,
and for that finite moment we
swam within the moment of the
past,
future,
present.
That even though you were
bleeding out, we knew that
we were one the blade, you, me
us.....
I didn't pull it out,
as I knew id lose you.
Instead, I shredded my shirt,
collected it around the wound
that was never meant to be.
I was a killer of many dreams,
but you were the reality that
awoke me to the possibility of u and me.
As u bled out we wrote a story of what was,
could have been...
911 was our ring tone of love,
And the ambulance was the church bells
of our blisful joyning.
When the investigation of our meeting was
over.
We were together,
the scars of both united of us,
that we were meant to be.
But love has many sharp edges and we both
had a blade under our pillows..
Sweet dreams were balance on serrated edges
Apr 9, 2021
Apr 9, 2021 at 6:20 PM UTC
My idol walks. Behold her beauty
born of Nicaraguan night
summoning poetic duty:
tremors of volcanic light!
Clouds of ash and lava dropping:
I come back… I going shopping.
Sounding her primeval waters
crater lakes, her green lagoons,
fabulous—this diverse daughter’s
humid palms and storm-tossed moons;
ascending up her jungle mount:
Transfer dinero to my account!
Stone-faced idol, pre-conquista;
rice with beans or sacred maize
labyrinthine Latin vista,
cumbias and sacred lays.
Hurricanes and quaking earth:
****** what’s your dollar worth?*
She who left her quaint dysfunction
reeking of colonial woes
for the multi-culti junction,
holy in her porno-pose;
scowling like exploited nations:
How you say… congratulations!
Gushing like a flow of lava
running down her placid gaze,
ripened flesh; the scent of guava,
passion-fruit in paraphrase…
Monkeys howling, torrents pouring:
Poetry to me is boring…
Rubén Darío’s wonderland:
Flor de Caña the anesthetic.
Marx’s tropic reprimand:
Sandinismo as emetic.
Verses don’t impress this lass:
Please—the car need fill with gas.
Lost in hurricanes of thought,
pounding the roof, God pours, it rains.
What was it, really, that I sought
In her land where the poetry reigns ?
It’s love. At times I long to shoot her:
Why you waste time on that computer?
Apr 20, 2016
Apr 20, 2016 at 3:50 PM UTC
I know this woman well
from the curl of days
each day I write
a love letter to life
I strive to allow anything as
it is unfolds emerges
aliveness deadness blindness
foolishness fright ignite
the gloaming of thought
the expiration date for
the hade of dreams
I welcome every pain with a smile,
white hair and a glass of wine
this kind of love nested
in the voicelessness
of uncanny zoons
hues tunes lagoons
in the silence of soles
when you step so carrefully
not to disturb the unformed truths
pain love, neighbours
in the flow of synonyms
they taught myself to me -
the density of ribs
the depth of skin
the electricity of muscles
the tautology of heart
the logorrhea of thought
the temptation of beauty
moon is to blame
it hid its unforseen tales
inside the blueprints of
songs under the skin
Feb 13, 2023
Feb 13, 2023 at 5:57 PM UTC
(Poet’s Note : This poem is the first of two poems on The Nature of Truth)
Truth came from the purest of pure
smell of pine between toes endure
from crystal streams where trout shimmer
like rainbow dreams
from seagulls on wing, willow whisper then sing
deep down Poseidon takes his blue cue anew
She came from violet centres
floating in a bowl she enters
new-borns **** her milk rippling
down sunburnt throats
never forlorn, sailing a boat
Truth swoops her eagles over the Globe
travelling cyberways to hold her laughter
floating from Galactic Sun
Radiant across every gradient smiling
warmest sweet, tiny perfect teeth
gleaming in a tweet !
She came to stroke, sprinkle justice with
joy, transform lies with tears, lifting hearts from holes with bells on her toes
out of dirt, up the stairs eating mushrooms
with dare
breathe in human hair, listening to rolling
drums with care, ******* sweet nectar
She senses through many lenses
Truth comes to give Grace, sweetbreads
shout-outs, petals, stardust, eggs
across ages and aeons from Mercury
Venus and Mars to give answers in
glasses between shells from lagoons
Her breath smells of grass newly cut
exuberant nasturtium and lily in hug
conflicts melt away
Truth in a barn where couples lie
butternut soup on a winter’s table
where fathers laugh with a terrier
in good health, Siamese
purring on a persian rug
Truth completes a circle, opens up
channels joyously
¥
Sep 9, 2025
Sep 9, 2025 at 6:21 AM UTC
Puddles in black asphalt make for perfect lagoons
murky waters stirring, kissed with light bent from the sun
air conditioners brace the ledge, ready to jump
marlboro in the air, sunday morning is a holy sight
unanswered questions on bus stop benches,
basketball court with boys who have sprouted like weeds,
too fly for high, or too high for fly,
all background music to the thumping of ball on concrete,
Elders on rocking chair thrones atop of stoops,
witness to all that plays out,
from corner store ballets and 3 a.m. shootouts,
The beauty of it all, an orchestra of bodies,
awakening from slumber for yet another day
Sep 15, 2014
Sep 15, 2014 at 11:11 PM UTC
I had questions on death
I had questions on life
I had questions about
poverty
hatred
and strife
I was told I should visit a
particularly peculiar man
who would set me right
who would give me a plan
I ran
I crossed mountains and oceans
and jungles and lagoons
I swam and I hiked and I trekked.
I finally found him in a field
a nondescript field of Indonesia
He sat cross legged within a hut.
A hut not made of mud
A hut not made of sticks
A hut made of hair.
A hut made of his own hair.
Still connected to his head.
He wore no clothes, but his
beard was so long that he
was able to wrap it about
himself as a shawl.
Interspersed throughout
the hair were baubles and
trinkets, folded notes and
photos. Gifts from those
who had visited him before
It was a sight to behold
I was in awe
I had barely a chance
to utter a syllable when
he opened his eyes
and stared at me
and stared through me
as if in a trance
Then he spoke.
The answering of thousands
of questions had clearly taken
a toll on the man's voice, yet
his lilted rasp was somehow
soothing.
"You have questions, my boy?
You wish to know my secrets?
Do you want to know the key
to life?"
Yes. Yes I did.
He smiled
"Young man, I have sat here
for seventy-eight years, focusing
my entire life and all my
conscious thought on that very
thing. My wife supported me
until her death. My sons still
support me. They visit me
often and make sure I stay
healthy and fed. I have
weathered famine and storms,
sickness and droughts searching
for the answer you seek."
He closed his eyes
"I have forgone a life of
passion and comfort and
instead focused within myself
to find this answer. In all
this time I have only found
one thing to be true."
I waited for the answer
"Life is not meant to be
explained. It is meant to
be experienced. There
is no answer, only more
questions. I swore not
to move from this spot
until I had discovered
what life meant. My
hair and beard are
constant reminders
of my foolishness."
He smiled
"Go and live"
and surely I did
______
Acersecomic - n - One whose hair has never been cut
Jul 17, 2012
Jul 17, 2012 at 11:13 PM UTC
***Lagoons slumbered in your eyes
Had to be let loose
Soaking my canvas
In the palette of those pools***
Sep 4, 2014
Sep 4, 2014 at 9:28 PM UTC