"lateral" poems
Gendering Woman *******
Beautiful, anatomical part // Ugly, anatomical part
Natural, pleasurable // Burdensome, loathsome
Female Symbolic // Femme Symbolic
MALIGNANT HEALTHY
fearful, tearful, wretched // joyful, hopeful, euphoric,
bereft, wept, grieving // embryonic, rapt, relieving
leaving, loss // believing, gain
m a y b e - d e a t h r e - b i r t h
BI-LATERAL
MASTECTOMIES
Operating Theatre
SURGEON ANAESTHETIST
cleaning/ cutting/ knife/ scalpel // doping/ unconscious/ airway
blood / tissue // hypotension
loss/ damage // shock
drains // sinus rhythm
stitches // pain deadening
tight binding // reversal drugs
POST-OPERATIVE
a l i v e a w a k e
draining, bound & stitched draining, bound & stitched
DRAINED
~ UNBOUND
-- UNSTITCHED –
Empty chest Flat Chest
FREEDOM from Disease FREEDOM from Dis-ease
© M.L.Emmett
May 19, 2016
May 19, 2016 at 12:28 PM UTC
Magick 13
My rhymes periglacial slash through foes ****** leavin' corrupted maxillofacial stay laced with the coco
Til my nose blow out nothing but deadly keys makin' monopolies at ease see my desert ease
Could make the devil freeze with the beautiful ephipanies laid though my flow cinematography ain't no fictions here G
My pedigrees been deadly since the age of three
First sips of Hennessy pictured a glare of my enemies stories of me biblically
Born a David killin' Goliath's society defiant
Knock down the orders in the cornered borders
Of the Jesuit I'm the black Pope
Elope to the celestials gods that rope
My mind hanging on to the highs of the ****
Better yet the marijuana sneaky as an anaconda
Once I tighten cells begin biting
Fighting tryna stay alive like Bee Gees
Fiendin' for my lost dynasties kin to Nefertiti since I ****** on *******
As a baby I got a taste of the universe thoughts deeper than a hearse words hurts exciting flirts beating all perks through my vengeful works
My alias an archangel leave the game triangled Titan mentality dribble like Cousy so you might loose me?
Sick with the tracks axe minds like Moses to the red sea knockin' down Rome legacy
Back on top like the greatest plot dimensions traveler like Bishop
Capitalizin' land plots I be the Black Wieshaupt
Aug 27, 2018
Aug 27, 2018 at 9:03 AM UTC
Few days back, returned from a marriage
With my katz-en-jam-mer-ed bud, in a typical Himachli carriage
Half the journey, I was accompanied by
After parting ways at station, we bid each other bye
Continuing thereafter, the journey, I went into a slumber dim
Unaware, that the signal went out from my SIM
Someone, looking about 25, sat into my lateral sight
Looking sober, he asked about a familiar site
Involving his step family, he told me his unfair tale
Hearing upon which, I let pity sail
Somethings do happen for worse, told myself
Nothing remains forever, he added words on my shelf
|AB|
Mar 19, 2015
Mar 19, 2015 at 12:59 AM UTC
if i can't do
what i want to do
then my job is to not
do what i don't want
to do
it's not the same thing
but it's the best i can
do
if i can't have
what i want . . . then
my job is to want
what i've got
and be satisfied
that at least there
is something more to want
since i can't go
where i need
to go . . . then i must . . . go
where the signs point
through always understanding
parallel movement
isn't lateral
when i can't express
what i really feel
i practice feeling
what i can express
and none of it is equal
i know
but that's why mankind
alone among the animals
learns to cry
May 21, 2013
May 21, 2013 at 9:20 AM UTC
Metaphorical suicide.
My feelings are as deep as the valleys running across my wrist: Non existent.
Countless heart breaks from a single girl proved to be a likely deterrent.
Old habits die easy with you, causing my fists to turn a dark red hue.
Empty bottles and cigarettes litter the floor, a noose hanging above being the only door so that I will finally soar.
Or dare I ask, and partake in this task which will surely leave me stripped of my sanity.
Watch me load a revolver with a single casing engraved "True Love" . Look me in the eyes as I place the barrel of the gun made from the broken memories we shared together unto my chest, and watch as I pull the trigger, causing my metaphorical platter splatter into globs of grey matter.
I lay in my bed sleepless, non existent lateral lines running up and down my wrists, non existent, yet I still feel the throbbing and the slow spill of everything I ever felt ,drip down into my sides, surrounding me in a puddle of...
Real tears caused by the fears of letting go, or is what surrounds me are all the mistakes I've made, mutated from being left alone with no where else to go, so they make their way to the surface waiting for me to profess all that I've wronged? No. All that would have been too merciful.
Instead you took all of my feelings, my love, my heart, and melted it down into the shape of a metal bat, ironically engraved "tough luck" and proceeded to beat me in.
Not to bad, or painful. But to the point where I feel it, then the pain quickly recedes, like i am stuck in the sand of a island you marooned me on, The acid waves wash over me for a split second, causing pain into my heart, then it's gone. Causing me to forever constantly.
Oct 29, 2014
Oct 29, 2014 at 11:47 AM UTC
This is a very special day in Bulgaria, my friends. Here - http://www.balkanfolk.com/news.php?id=23 - you can read more on it.
marigolds
marigolds
San Clemente*
and the sun that is
opening
we will lose ourselves
before they find us
in the eternal searching
for ourselves
(and the mind again
steps over us)
did you recognize the happiness
Ahasver**
marigolds
(like an epoch)
San Clemente
and I am bowing
The original:
невени
невени
Сан Клементе
и слънцето, което се
разтваря
ще се загубим
преди да ни намерят
във вечното си търсене
на себе си
(и мисълта отново ни
прекрачва)
позна ли щастието
Ахасфере
невени
(като епоха)
Сан Клементе
и се прекланям
*In one lateral chapel there is a shrine with the tomb of Saint Cyril of the
Saints Cyril and Methodius who created the Glagolitic alphabet and Christianized the Slavs.
**Wandering Jew; the name Ahasver is adapted from Ahasuerus the Persian king in Esther, who was not a Jew, and whose very name among medieval Jews was an exemplum of a fool
/from wikipedia/
Translator Bulgarian-English: Vessislava Savova
rarebird
© bogpan - all rights reserved.
May 23, 2011
May 23, 2011 at 11:34 PM UTC
/ *because such examples have to, have to(!) be perpetuated, reiterated, perpetuated, reiterated... these... "things"... these minor quests of establishing being - against, the authoritarian rule of the democracy of beings.*
you don't shout,
you don't disturb the "social", "peace",
of proverbial english society...
nope...
shouting does not good,
akin to:
silent water eats
away at the shorelines...
what you do...
is akin to what birds do...
you don't gnash your teeth:
i.e. clench them molars...
gnashing means clenching
your molars -
a gnashing a gnarling,
a pestle & mortar scenario...
no...
no shouting...
silent movie era of hollywood
translated...
you... simply... chatter...
you strike incissor teeth against
each other... crafting a lightling storm
like crackling sound,
like corn flakes...
in a bowl of milk...
you... chatter...
inspiration? birds...
bird calls...
you... chatter...
mind you, unlike the english,
looking into my mouth...
the jaw should fit within the confines
of the skull...
the upper set of teeth
should accommodate the jaw's
line of teeth...
but you simply... chatter...
which is embodied by attempting
to take a phantom bite at "something"...
you...
echo:
central incisors against
the lateral incisors...
you subsequently: chatter (χατερ)...
i missed the eta (η): given that i also
missed the excess of tau - in what isn't,
a translation - other than a phonetic
equivalent of putting on sunglasses...
because, when your neighbour,
tells you... that you can't smoke...
in your own home, perched on a windowsill,
out of the window,
implying that the smoke is
vacuumed into his bedroom?
and somehow, the law,
and the air, we share, is somehow his,
and his alone?
and i can't do, what he can,
within the confines of his property?
NOW WE HAVE A PROPER SHITSHOW!
some english are ******* backward
hardly insulting the ****** community,
with some succumbing to prosopagnosia,
while some (notably down syndrome)
actually having a memory capacity...
that curious look and a familiar expression
waiting for a smile...
i basically live next to a mental illness
example, par uno...
and englishman who "thinks"
he's king, rather than a convenient
citizen...
****** won't budge...
guess all i'm equipped with is
my chatter remedy;
and english society still "thinks"
that i'm the "mad" one.
- because it's like...
how can you dictate, what someone can,
or cannot do, on their property?!
like smoking a cigarette,
perched on a windowsill, outside a window,
with the accusation:
the smoke is coming into my bedroom...
oh right...
so...
erm...
you own the dynamic of air
to suggest such a bias?
Jul 22, 2018
Jul 22, 2018 at 11:30 AM UTC
I wanna grow old with You
I am living for You
I am serving You
But Lord, it's all because of Your grace.
Like a tree,
I will be rooted in You
Deeper and deeper
Will fall in love with You
The wind will blow
But surely, I will remain
Standing still
Knowing that You are my God.
I will grow higher
Upwardly, You'll see me
Some of my roots
Will be lateral
Grinding itself to the ground of Yours
To Your promised land.
I will be like Redwood Tree
Interconnected with other roots
We'll have the connection of love
Of great encouragement
To strengthen each other
That none may fall.
I will grow outwardly
That I may bear fruits
That will last forever
Taste my labor oh Lord
May I please You.
I will grow inwardly
There's a hole in me
That only You can fill
Lord, I will love You more
The more empty I am,
The more broken I am,
The more you'll move.
I praise You
And I will rise for You
And flourish the Kingdom of Yours
Help me indeed
Fertilize my soil
Give me the living water
I exalt You!
Jul 20, 2014
Jul 20, 2014 at 11:35 AM UTC
*Mirror! Mirror! On the wall
Though art the cause of many a fall
What with them endless hours adjusting and re-adjusting
Visages to desired perfection mindless of the misgiving.
Wearing masks in a variety of color
In a bid to entice a bachelor
With whose heart she’ll most disconcertingly hold ransom
Anticipating a blossom
Of a methodically engineered relationship
Minding her speech lest a Freudian slip
Nips at the bud
Her good “fortune” exposing her as a fraud.
Perfect imperfections, perfectly mirrored
By an imperfect mirror…*absurd.
Dec 11, 2013
Dec 11, 2013 at 9:11 AM UTC
I wake up at 7 AM, its raining, go figure. I catch the bus by Cohen’s Food Co., soaked, on the bus now, and the windows are down. Lucky me. I brought my big Boss head set because last night the convenient apple iPod ear buds got soaked too. I guess it was karma. But at least these have good bass. Transit bus, not yet to arrive to the station, we travel over a vi doc, the distant fogged *** view? A St Louis skyline. Busy people in and out of the station. Babies. Druggies. Fuglies. The woman in front of me has no teeth. She kept doing a ritual gum technique with her lips. Smacking them inward as if her teeth were actually there. **** I ride for awhile through the town. The plainest Jane land around, at least this Monday morning it was. My feet can’t touch the bus floor when I sit in the back. I like this, it reminds me of trips to California when I was small. The rental car was boring though once we got off the plane, Dad was asleep through the whole desert interstate. And my birthday, and your birthday. I’m at school. This junior college of filth. Free coffee though, I take a high advantage. MATH DRILL. Math. Simplifying the trickiest equations. Ratios and angles. Lateral products and dividing something half way through solving the problem. ***** math. 30 minute break. Smoking section. Nice little ash trays they supply, it would be a total turn off to walk far for a smoke in the wind. More coffee, I hate the taste, but need the caffeine. Second class starts. Writing. I like writing, but the projector smart board was broken, so we covered grammar from a text. We read something about complete sentences in the early 1920’s. In Europe. They would try as little as possible to use add verbs. Re-read this.
Jun 6, 2010
Jun 6, 2010 at 4:29 PM UTC
Take nothing for granted, little kids,
It was library day for our kids,
Lateral epic lit. for the kids,
(The kids' librarian was off her ****
Reading new wave kids' lit.,
Such as "Paddington was ******
Then there was a new book for tots,
Titled "RIP Spot",
And an epic for libraries to fill,
Called, "Bye, Bye, Blinky Bill."....
Now it's story time for tots,
Here's our new one, "RIP Spot',
(Lift the ***** there's the chaps),
RIP Spot, the street dog,
We dehydrated Spot,
(Life the ***** there's the chaps),
Froth, Spot, Froth,
Yes, read along, tots,
Read along, little tots,
We all starved Spot,
He was a street dog,
(Lift the ***** there's good chaps),
Rot, Spot, Rot,
Now we can count his ribs, dear little kids,
(Lift the ***** there's the chaps),
Happy maggots, Spot,
Spot is mort, poor Spot,
He was a street dog,
(Lift the ***** there's the chaps),
Mort, Spot, Mort,
Now Spot's on his way to Heaven,
His ribs were more than seven,
(Lift the ***** there's the chaps),
Have some flies, Spot,
Rot, Spot, rot,
They opened up the Pearly Gates,
Poor Spot wasn't too late,
(Lift the ***** there's the chaps),
Look at Spot's halo,
There's two more books to go,
Spot has sent us a card down here,
"F.U., Society, you didn't care,"
(Lift the ***** there's the chaps),
Rot, Spot, Rot,
You were a street dog,
Ooh, are you all sad?
Two more books in this bag,
Here's "Paddington was ******
(The kids' librarian is off her ****
We'll all read along now, kids,
Paddington was ******
The tots were, by now, totally miffed,
He was their childhood hero,
Now a drunken old dero,
Rolling around in the gutter,
An alcoholic ******
Society didn't care,
He was only a homeless bear,
Now the tots are totally miffed,
Paddington was ******
Now, here's our last epic book,
This one's worth a look,
"Bye, Bye, Blinky Bill,
His mother forgot the pill,
Perched on a tree up the hill,
Blinky Bill ran under a bus,
****** on Eucalyptus,
His mother forgot the pill,
So, Bye, Bye, Blinky Bill.
We took nothing for granted, let's say,
Kids' librarian got the sack that day!
Dec 18, 2015
Dec 18, 2015 at 6:15 PM UTC
Blue is for detachment, the lateral, the second thought
The dragonfly’s wing, that blue, the company of a shadow;
The curtain of dusk, the blue of solitude;
The blue of people, their blue hair;
The abandoned blue of loss;
Astute blue, foreseeing who wakes and who sleeps;
The blue of blue jays, one tear of a fallen angel;
The blue of what is forgotten;
Blue of juniper, blue of sky;
The blue of rivers, the blue of fingertips;
The blue of feathers, their glossed barbs;
Poppy seed blue, recently harvested;
The blue of argon, the arm, the path to refuge;
Blue is for hope, a sanctuary, the final word;
The turtle’s back, that blue, the pulse of veins;
Wind chill, the blue of absence;
The blue of trees, their blue branches;
The paralyzing blue of fear.
Apr 25, 2014
Apr 25, 2014 at 9:22 PM UTC
I hold my cards
close to my chest
on this night that is
oh so close.
No fan
to blow
air into my face,
not that it would
matter anyway.
The air
would just
remind me
that it is hot
this summer night.
I am drinking beers
while the fruit flies
are sharing with me.
No sense
in picking them
out of the cup..
more will arrive.
The woman
who lives upstairs,
how can she ride her bike,
on such a summer night.
I hear her,
it's the sound
of rowing,
a creak-creak-creak.
88 Willow,
the building with eight dwellings.
Through the open window
I hear a dog barking,
maybe two, three blocks away.
This building that I live in,
where the walls
are so thin
you know that
they have ears.
Have ears to hear.
Creak-creak-creak..
the woman is rowing,
her rowing machine rows
out into a great big sea
of imagination,
where there
is every kind
of sea creature
that you can conjure
up in your mind.
And her
boyfriend, a fine
painter and sculpture.
He wants to do the
cover of my next book..
And I think, like that's ever going to happen.
My good friend
was over tonight,
he told me a story about
how he proposed
to his 'maritime' woman.
She cried and she cried
after she saw the ring,
not because it was so small,
but because she was
beside herself
in joyful delight.
I envy what it is they have,
but what they have
requires work, hard work.
They have one tried and true
partnership.
We talked about
reaching out to extended family,
as well as brothers and sisters in blood.
Me, of my own,
my father is turning eighty.
Eight decades and I know him not.
He fought
in the Korean War
and I've yet to ask him
about it.
Not once in my life time
has he even smelled
the wartime memories
that I am sure waft up
on occasion.
Now back to 88 Willow.
There is a drunkard
living in a basement apartment.
His legs are going
from wet brain.
He only calls me when
he is drunk.
He has two drinks and
he starts fumbling worse
than a line backer
intercepting
a foreword lateral pass.
I don't want to move,
though I know I have to,
to keep on keeping on,
I've got to move,
I have to move.
© 2013
Dec 26, 2012
Dec 26, 2012 at 10:37 PM UTC
This is a lateral Christmas, my dears,
The reasons for red-nosed reindeer,
Rudolph was on the ***** my dears,
Santa and Rudolph loved Christmas beers,
You could see it in their faces, dears,
Rudy and Santa were dipsomaniacs,
They drank all the ***** in Santa's sacks,
But worse, Santa's in a stroke unit, we fear,
We knew it was a bit hard,
For gifts, Santa maxed out his credit cards,
Red cheeks meant high blood pressure, we fear,
There's worse, Mrs. Santa was a real *****
She drank all the eggnog with Rudolph and Blitzen,
The drunken elves kept all your gifts for their party,
They drank all your Christmas bevvies, party hearty!
There's worse, Christmas fairies live in fear,
They did ask Santa one year,
"What to do with the trees, Santa dear?"
"Wait and see!!" roared Santa, O dear,
There's a fairy with a tree up her blip here,
Now, Santa's in the Stroke Unit this year,
Folk at the North Pole, too much Christmas cheer,
So, there's no Christmas on Earth, my dears,
This is the lateral Christmas year...........
Dec 18, 2015
Dec 18, 2015 at 6:30 PM UTC
State of union
as we're unified, we're lateral
parallel,
paraphernalia in our religions
to add to this televised broadcast
forecasting short cuts and short comings
Sure—
I'm running out of excuses tongue-loosened painfully,
but who thought,
the chief that is,
invited everyone to our ghost dance
they stand and applaud,
Me at the helm of our podium
they **** and they gawk,
you at my breast plate
the air I drink is futile I cough,
But Is it kosher?
Nova Scotian landscapes supplementing dinner,
The candles on your dessert,
reminds me of our fire,
We once had, We flicker,
Once singular now plural -- yes adulting made us thorough,
through the rigours,
I feel different
YOU'RE TRIGGERED,
them posts traumatic symptoms I remind you of
frequently,
I listen
I sin again, I sin again
Differently,
You take me back,
Religiously,
And say,
meditation is key,
Khalad would be proud
emotionally I'm wolverine --
Untouchable,
But that was yesterday and I'm trynna say,
Sorry
I'm trynna be unguarded
as a point guard off the inbound,
Pointing to your tilted crown — Adjust it to your coils
Flag a waiter down,
Beef is not what I wanted
nor pleasant to your palette
major key — take the salmon
Overall I think we're better now,
I asked my mom about you
and my aunt about your culture
What you really need is closure
Instead of asking for permission,
settled for forgiveness,
you sweep your pride away in the name
the victim,
Treat me like I treated you
Treat me like you're bullet proof,
Treat me like those systematic flaws --
Unforgivable
You left me?
Dec 2, 2016
Dec 2, 2016 at 8:50 AM UTC
Think outside the quadrilateral parallelogram,
Enough of this whinese spam,
I stopped fighting my inner demons,
Now we're on the same side---he mans!
Jan 7, 2017
Jan 7, 2017 at 2:36 PM UTC
I need to go.
I am displacing
here.
Displaced Wednesday,
time to fast, not
for my health, not
for moral justice, not
to slow consumption, only
from dawn to dinner, a
lackluster way not
to restore dopamine, not
to suppress apetite
in some lateral, percussive
hypothalamus injury.
I fast in sync only
with voices and volume, doing
in mind emptiness.
Mar 27, 2013
Mar 27, 2013 at 8:37 AM UTC
I am going to die
Someone tripped my breaker
I swim in the sparks
Thinner lines of longitude
Meet tangentially above
The third eye.
A veil is dropped and I
See the spinning mandala
Colors drip in lateral formations
Each line crosses
Infinitely deep in every direction
Bisecting me
Pay attention now
You are dying
You will tear through the veil
******* in the first breath
Cold air
The buzzing is around you
Warm glowing life forms
They sing songs!
Music of shape and color
Cyan and lilac notes
Fluttering from their bodies
Their songs spark and lightning
Through my body filling me with joysorrowlustpainguiltecstacy
Arcing off of my skin
Leaving long gaseous, crimson-green trails through the buzz of light
Watch me!
Look at this
Do you see what I can do?
Do you see, young one?
The souls gather around me
Whispering the secret of the ******
We laugh together at the simplicity of it all
They show me their playthings shaped
Totem poles of fractal colors impossibly
Spinning on a string of deoxyribonucleic acid
Quadruple helices infinitely intricate strands
Dripping diamonds in hues of color I cannot name
It didn't last long
Knowing the secret of it all
Go back now
To your bed
Back to your dimension
Don't try to remember us
We are multidimensional
Children casting tridemensional
Shadow puppets upon your dimly lit cave walls
Oh Demon! Oh archangel! Oh fairy! Ghost!
You foolish primate
Smearing your cave walls with words
Try to figure us out, shall you?
We are forgotten like a dream
Stop
Stop
Stop
The walls are alien
And the impossible
Shattered bloom on each surface
Sing and vibrate
It feels as If I have been here before. As if it has always been but I am allowed to see behind the curtain
Join the club
Join the club
We vibrate inside plant matter
Inside each atom we dance
Recreate us in your mind's eye dearest vertebrate
Watch us swim in and out of your memories
We have left our fingerprints upon the archaic machinery
Of your central nervous system
We are here
You are here
We are everywhere stop looking
We probe and poke at you
And sometimes we ancient-ones bend down and kiss you on the lips
You strange humans always exclaiming: Déjà vu
Apr 16, 2013
Apr 16, 2013 at 10:23 PM UTC
*Covering the wall of my reality,
hangs the mirror of illusion;*
on its quirky plane,
I see reality's lateral inversion.
Jul 16, 2012
Jul 16, 2012 at 9:43 AM UTC
Guitarra llama a cajón,
Cajón a la voz primera.
Escuchen con atención,
¡aquí está la Marinera...!
La Marinera de Lima
tiene influencia afro-hispana,
la "primera de jarana"
en copla o cuarteta rima.
Inicia el toque la prima
pero es más lindo un bordón.
Aún no entra la canción
porque, como requisito,
antes que el cantor dé un grito
guitarra llama a cajón.
Los que escuchan hacen palmas
y se cuadran las parejas,
por lo general son viejas
-mejor aún si son zambas-.
Tan sólo mueven las gamas
y un poquito la cadera.
Todo esto mientras se espera
pues nadie baila sin canto.
Sigue llamando entretanto
cajón a la voz primera.
El canto inicia el paseo
con un saludo en el cruce,
media vuelta los conduce
a otro cruce y al careo.
Tras lateral contoneo
vuelta y trocar posición...
Como dicha operación
se da al fin de cada estrofa,
en vez de bailar por mofa
escuchen con atención.
Como quien sudor enjuga
un momento se reposa,
prosigue la Resbalosa
y viene después la Fuga:
El bailarín se apechuga,
ella sube la pollera.
Como peruana bandera
blanco y rojo, dos pañuelos
dicen en airosos vuelos
¡aquí está la Marinera...!
1.5k
There are many ways
to break the spine
of a book.
Line the jelly-bean backs
too close to the battered floor,
Hide wedging polygons
between pages and binding,
Or open them and stack the backs
in lateral,
frayed Vs.
Oct 6, 2014
Oct 6, 2014 at 10:19 PM UTC
Forcibly removing wisps from fruit soaked heads.
Curling into melted breakfast.
Willing to line the lateral.
Cracked soup pouring, selfish.
Grinding halt in whole old text.
Pre-youth in use lost in chronos.
Trigger a lament looped put new, lude.
Masses of self-titled separation.
Entangled in sandstone, origin archaic.
Natural disaster of a birth-right in shards.
Trees growing limbs in lungs producing rust.
Forever dystopian dust in rungs of a ladder.
First hurt by ascending sequential first love.
Content with enough abrupt living daylights.
Apex green latex sunrise painting me from inside my blood.
Obtuse.
Sep 12, 2014
Sep 12, 2014 at 10:25 PM UTC
i once read that
there are names for the spaces
in between
body parts,
architectural structures,
musical notes.
names for spaces
as if they are
real
concrete
solid
and not just
gaps
voids
silences
like
buccal vestibule of the maxilla
is a space between the cheek and lateral face
or piscina
is a space in a wall near an altar
and
F A C E are the spaces
in between
the lines of a staff.
spaces with names
because they are part of something.
even if technically they are
"spaces" and not just
hollow
empty
blank
so i think their names suits them well.
because at least you know
what to call them.
but there is also a space
between you and me
it bears no name
and i think
this suits us
just as well.
May 18, 2016
May 18, 2016 at 9:37 AM UTC
ecstatic, lateral / irrational longing
ticktock time bomb waiting for your
slack to tighten, get back to me
whiskey-stung bottom lip under
white sheets and thunder
hollow hands hold out heavy-
drowned secrets from my left lung
make the nights last longer
make the air even against the thought of what you sing when I'm leaving
recount the loudest bouts from which I crumble
worship one thigh at a time, my god
why don't they come with a warning;
the morning put stones on my bowing
another good reason to kiss you
another's lost lover, ocean story
red-wave cravings
I'll pay in great shades of grey & plunder
shave my legs and go
right back under
Apr 25, 2016
Apr 25, 2016 at 6:48 PM UTC
I
Walking à trois on Crosby Sands
He left us talking two to the dozen
and went for paddle
in Wellington boots.
The tide was coming in,
and before we could say,
‘hey, you’ll get wet’,
he’d removed all his clothes
(and the Wellington boots)
and stood buff naked
in the incoming sea.
The water swirled about his legs
caressed the hairs, the golden hairs
that still stood on his still trim calves,
his freckled thighs, and all the way up
to his bottom.
I felt I knew his bottom well,
and well enough to have placed
my hand between its cheeks.
But for Gloria . . .
If she was embarrassed
I’d never have known.
I suppose she’s seen rather
more male bottoms than me.
‘He’s just larking’,
she said, and laughed.
But as the tide came in
he was too far out . . .
to be larking.
II
A Water Polo team
5 Aside
winter training
in the autumn cold
good for the muscle tone
Malcolm threw the ball too far
it’s just a dot in the distance now
floating out to the shipping lane
past the windmills down the Welsh coast
next stop the Irish Sea
III
Oh the seductive tide
rolling across the shallow beach
hiding the creased and puckered sand.
Shadows and reflective light
flowed about him,
a mesmeric display of lateral forms,
as his reflection shimmered black
on the grey, brown, grey-white water.
He’d shaved his head
as if in benediction for the sea’s coming kiss
that would surely embrace him, take him
naked into its cold, cold clasp.
IV
Sketchbook in hand
she willed this standing ****
back into her imagination.
So long ago now
on that distant shore
in the opposite hemisphere,
by a blue blue sea,
And so very aroused
by the thought of that stony
wet nakedness beside her,
let her hand tremble
on the ****** page
as she saw his fingers
stretch out and touch
the incoming tide.
V
I watched him
time and again, time and forever,
too far out for me to touch.
His bold shoulders,
his well-muscled back,
from dawn to dusk
he was ever before me,
letting the water lap and kiss,
fold and flow between his legs;
up, up then over his hips:
to cover his spine, to stroke his neck.
I had to imagine his face of course,
being turned away from my outward gaze.
So I sent him my eyes, my ears,
my nose, my mouth and then
a cry from my heart:
‘I love you so, I love you so.’
Oct 30, 2014
Oct 30, 2014 at 5:33 AM UTC