"legging" poems
she wanted my soul
so I cut off a finger,
noting that this little pinky offering,
came from the same hand,
who, who went to the market
to buy her a love poem
all her own, because,
it was from the self same hand
that wrote:
*who, can cut a soul into pieces,
no one!
so one will still ask you,
who!
who will love you
in whole poems,
that are both past and future tensed
composite composted,
from words overly overused,
but still foolishly feeling brand new
when referencing you,
so you can believe with new fool-thinking,
this is your sole composition*
she wanted my heart,
applauded her determination,
gave her one eye to see me instead better,
so the visions she essays, to write,
like when I sit down to write
of women I’ve loved but!
they do not come from my heart pieces,
but from inside insight from of parts
that are blind to everything
but raucous untamable invisible desire
she asked me for all the world’s wisdom,
while standing on one legging,
I simply said, here I am,
telling you I’ll love you the way you requested,
if only to be loved in return
so with one eye and one leg,
you will observe, two is not more
than the sum of the parts of one love,
as I count to ten on my nine fingers
fingers that wrote of love not enough,
no matter how many he gave up
she wanted my brainiac left hemisphere,
said, sure,
the left side of me is where the baby poems
are created, and then angel-released when ready,
when needed, now that I
see you’re needy for pieces,
but still mistaken that pieces can be reconstructed into
a whole with spit and spirit
and an overarching imagination -
no!
the whole comes from only a holy place extracted
from the hole-in-one that is my entirety
give me then your utter essence,
the place of you
I, only I know exists, must exist,
but cannot touch to see
where you keep it hidden
from all the women who love you,
better than you even love yourself
if you want that, then collect it,
for it exists and lives on
in every woman that asked for nothing,
but was rewarded with more
than a thousand poems,
stored in stars, for her,
to be creamed and cleansed,
when she plucked them
from the night in the galaxy where exist
love poems, only
to she-one shone-shine
Jul 15, 2019
Jul 15, 2019 at 1:48 PM UTC
This is a thoroughly post-modern phenomenon.
[Breathe, don't be nervous. It's fine. Wallah, you're not doing anything wrong.]
Digitally arranged meetings with ostensible strangers yet with more familiarity than our ancestors could imagine.
An arranged meeting,
a warm greeting,
a sensing,
a feeling.
“Are you Sami?”
“I am,” as I posture for a hug.
[She’s actually more beautiful than I expected. Her ample curls smell like conditioner and sunshine.]
“So you’re Kuwaiti?"
"Yea, I moved here when I was 18, to Kansas of all places."
"To be honest, I had to look up the emoji flag from your profile. My Muslim WhatsApp group helped me out.”
“Oh, okay. So you’re Muslim?”
“Yea, I was raised Muslim; my mom married a Kuwaiti in the 80s, blah blah blah.”
“What? Your mom lived in Kuwait?”
“Yea, kinda crazy, I know, but it’s a small world.”
[Small worlds make the gaps between souls smaller.
Who knew such a small place could leave such a big impact on so many lives?
Certainly neither of us.
Serendipity?
Allah y3alam.]
“Why do lesbians discriminate against bisexuals? You’d think of all people, they wouldn’t be so judgmental.”
“You’d think, but you’d be wrong. It’s like we have a plague.” Her voice goes on, but my mind drifts off.
[Tortoise-shell glasses, beautiful lashes, manicured eyebrows that frame flickering dark eyes, encased in a forest of curls, legging laced thighs, oh my. ::Deepsigh. Pay attention to what she’s saying! Oh my, she’s my type. This is bad. No, no, hamdilah, this is good.]
“Do you want another round?” the bar keep’s inquiry snaps me back to reality. I interrupt to suggest a change of location. [Perhaps something less commercial, less public, less straight, more private, and more intimate.]
“It’s only a short walk.”
“Yea, let’s do it.”
[By short walk, I mean three doors down from the bar. The perks of suggesting the venue.]
“Shoes off?”
“Yea, it’s habit, if you don’t mind.”
“Of course not.”
She sits, crosses her long legs, and gives me this look. My heart flutters; I remember my manners:
“Can I make you a drink? What’s your poison? Gin or *****
I mix our drinks and think:
[She must like me.
This is good.
I’m glad we did this digital dance to find romance.
What a treasure, finding this post-modern habibi.
Alhamdulilah,
Lucky me.]
Sep 11, 2017
Sep 11, 2017 at 1:36 PM UTC
*My treasure awaits,
Has pearls to uncover,
Locked in lips of flesh,
Rose petals, blushing full
Cheek, eyes of lacing nebula
Exploding in milk of heavens,
This treasure I must hoard,
Climb on to the proud chest
And unlock, spun gold threads,
Sparkles in tresses of crown,
Sovereign pink hands, tendered,
Are freckled in beads of amber,
A brooch of navel, whirlpools,
Commands my ***** greed
Toward singular jewel of her
Thighs, lanyard of legging,
Of toes, whispering ripples
Till the under tides ripped
Agast in so much bounty,
Casked in reams of satin
And flows of wet breaths
Was nary sunk, drunken,
Moony in starry love ring,
Now, by map of dream
I bury my treasure.*
May 18, 2015
May 18, 2015 at 1:35 AM UTC
Hello march
Send me some scorching sunshine
Ice-Cream, Snow cone and crackling soft drinks
Large tees, soft legging and flip-flops! <3
Feb 28, 2015
Feb 28, 2015 at 10:31 AM UTC
Abjure the bones broken in,
The first lift frissoned by
The moving trees slain on the shift,
Rivers and risen flowers cut,
My statuary lurches betide
The nap of bent wing saluting.
My aviary is a fluttering bed,
The scattered head REMs my flight,
My feet in cloud extend for landings
Tings the belled bound legging.
My falconer bows with pride
In the stall bent wings stooping.
My clawed creature glides for only
The pitching sun or shining moon
And my flights execution, the hooded
Head, end trails my falconer.
My days, fowl to the lunar kite,
Assail the winds open wound.
Jul 12, 2012
Jul 12, 2012 at 8:50 PM UTC
I got strange. Tonight I let loneliness get to me.
I left my bed to join others while remaining alone in my thoughts.
No gas. Couldn't drive far.
Otherwise I'd be on the streets.
Trading traffic lights a wave of my hand
for a sea of green.
It's always good to be grateful.
Don't ask why.
Strange, watching from behind a cellophane throat.
My words wrapped like salt water taffies.
Who would want to taste them?
I'd like to think someone would.
I want a stranger to break the seal;
I want a mystic to drink from my mouth
and have visions of the future.
She will be beautiful,
again.
The mask may re-carve itself,
twisting knots into a pure grain with every new model.
But I have always seen her eyes.
They are both ocean and sky,
mercury and velvet,
a torn legging,
windswept petals.
How her lips taste...
Beyond that, I get lost.
I can never remember the rest.
Can't spread myself to thin.
She works in glances.
With too many eyes
on me,
I forget who I am looking for.
I don't even know her name.
Jul 7, 2012
Jul 7, 2012 at 5:58 PM UTC
Abjure the bones broken in,
The first lift frissoned by
The moving trees slain on the shift,
Rivers and risen flowers cut,
My statuary lurches betide
The nap of bent wing saluting.
My aviary is a fluttering bed,
The scattered head REMs my flight,
My feet in cloud extend for landings
Tings the belled bound legging.
My falconer bows with pride
In the stall bent wings stooping.
My clawed creature glides for only
The pitching sun or shining moon
And my flights execution, the hooded
Head, end trails my falconer.
My days, fowl to the lunar kite,
Assail the winds open wound.
Jun 29, 2013
Jun 29, 2013 at 11:41 AM UTC
YOU saw him in a Facebook group:
•U check his Profile picture.
•He Drives A Range Rover Sport 2016.
.He is handsome.
•He inboxes you.
•You reply, all excited.
•You'll want 2 hook up.
•You set a date.
•You dress up that Legging With No underwear.
•Smelling good.
•You put on a makeup - fresh breath and new weave.
•He takes you 4 lunch @ Serena Hotel.
•He Takes you for - Drinks At Java.
•You two have a good time.
•He rubs your hand,
•Makes you laugh,
•Gives you looks and smiles.
•You stupidly fall in love.
•It's like you've known him Forever.
•He takes you to his apartment.
•He makes you feel comfortable and lays u on his bed.
•Kiss you passionately.
•You love his aggression, strength, power and you give in.
•It feels good.
•You know it's wrong, but it feels good.
•You ask for protection, he says it's too late.
•You obey and don't disturb.
•He says he loves you and you don't hesitate to say you love him too. He hits it nice and slow
•After, he goes to the kitchen to get a glass of water.
•He helps you drink it, ooohh man.
•You feel special.
•"He must be the one" you think to yourself.
•You get dressed.
•He takes you to the taxi park.
•He kisses you on the cheeks and says
•"I had a great time,"
•Gives You cash.
•U smile and say.
•"See you tomorrow babe."
• He stays silent.
•Your taxi drives away,
•In the taxi u can't stop smiling.
•You get home and inbox him that you got home safe.
•He is online, but doesn't reply.
•It's unlike him, so you inbox him again.
•He doesn't respond.
•Minutes later you can't find him on ur friend list.
•HE BLOCKED YOU.
•Days, weeks, months passes by.
•You start feeling sick, weak, loose weight, act strange with sores in your mouth.
•You go to the clinic.
•Get tested.
•Minutes later,
•Nurse walks in."I'm sorry. You're *** Positive and Pregnant!"
•".HOW ?"
•You don't understand.
•Reality hits you.
•You walk home.
•Scared.
•Confused.
•You go to the bus stop.
•You lay, hopeless, emotionless.
•You see death coming nearer.
•You look into the sky & mumble a prayer.
That's the end of you.
Aug 2, 2017
Aug 2, 2017 at 8:36 AM UTC
Abjure the bones broken in,
The first lift frissoned by
The moving trees slain on the shift,
Rivers and risen flowers cut,
My statuary lurches betide
The nap of bent wing saluting.
My aviary is a fluttering bed,
The scattered head REMs my flight,
My feet in cloud extend for landings
Tings the belled bound legging.
My falconer bows with pride
In the stall bent wings stooping.
My clawed creature glides for only
The pitching sun or shining moon
And my flights execution, the hooded
Head, end trails my falconer.
My days, fowl to the lunar kite,
Assail the winds open wound.
Nov 27, 2013
Nov 27, 2013 at 7:51 PM UTC
.
My treasure awaits,
Has pearls to uncover,
Locked in lips of flesh,
Rose petals, blushing full
Cheek, eyes of lacing nebula
Exploding in milk of heavens,
This treasure I must hoard,
Climb on to the proud chest
And unlock, spun gold threads,
Sparkles in tresses of crown,
Sovereign pink hands, tendered,
Are freckled in beads of amber,
A brooch of navel, whirlpools,
Commands my ***** greed
Toward singular jewel of her
Thighs, lanyard of legging,
Of toes, whispering ripples
Till the under tides ripped
Agast in so much bounty,
Casked in reams of satin
And flows of wet breaths
Was nary sunk, drunken,
Moony in starry love ring,
Now, by map of dream
I bury my treasure.
Dec 1, 2015
Dec 1, 2015 at 2:51 PM UTC
shed in broad daylight, ablaze
shadows indignantly leaping
onto a reindeer"s freight
all barging for Everest expedition
bounding by degrees
amidst the arena of swans
honourable Prime Minister legging
a doughnut, soaring
then stationing intact at the peak
as needles pricking my conscience
i rise a tempering shriek
while the reindeers bellow laughter
with ****** oxygen,I gurgle
freezing, airy, thicker, fatter
yet another needle ****** my conscience
blasts me on my seemingly calm bed...
Dec 5, 2018
Dec 5, 2018 at 11:39 AM UTC
Abjure the bones broken in,
The first lift frissoned by
The moving trees slain on the shift,
Rivers and risen flowers cut,
My statuary lurches betide
The nap of bent wing saluting.
My aviary is a fluttering bed,
The scattered head REMs my flight,
My feet in cloud extend for landings
Tings the belled bound legging.
My falconer bows with pride
In the stall bent wings stooping.
My clawed creature glides for only
The pitching sun or shining moon
And my flights execution, the hooded
Head, end trails my falconer.
My days, fowl to the lunar kite,
Assail the winds open wound.
Oct 18, 2012
Oct 18, 2012 at 7:19 PM UTC
Abjure the bones broken in,
The first lift frissoned by
The moving trees slain on the shift,
Rivers and risen flowers cut,
My statuary lurches betide
The nap of bent wing saluting.
My aviary is a fluttering bed,
The scattered head REMs my flight,
My feet in cloud extend for landings
Tings the belled bound legging.
My falconer bows with pride
In the stall bent wings stooping.
My clawed creature glides for only
The pitching sun or shining moon
And my flights execution, the hooded
Head, end trails my falconer.
My days, fowl to the lunar kite,
Assail the winds open wound.
Jan 30, 2014
Jan 30, 2014 at 12:42 PM UTC
.
Abjure the bones broken in,
The first lift frissoned by
The moving trees slain on the shift,
Rivers and risen flowers cut,
My statuary lurches betide
The nap of bent wing saluting.
My aviary is a fluttering bed,
The scattered head REMs my flight,
My feet in cloud extend for landings
Tings the belled bound legging.
My falconer bows with pride
In the stall bent wings stooping.
My clawed creature glides for only
The pitching sun or shining moon
And my flights execution, the hooded
Head, end trails my falconer.
My days, fowl to the lunar kite,
Assail the winds open wound.
Mar 23, 2017
Mar 23, 2017 at 10:09 PM UTC
.
My treasure awaits,
Has pearls to uncover,
Locked in lips of flesh,
Rose petals, blushing full
Cheek, eyes of lacing nebula
Exploding in milk of heavens,
This treasure I must hoard,
Climb on to the proud chest
And unlock, spun gold threads,
Sparkles in tresses of crown,
Sovereign pink hands, tendered,
Are freckled in beads of amber,
A brooch of navel, whirlpools,
Commands my ***** greed
Toward singular jewel of her
Thighs, lanyard of legging,
Of toes, whispering ripples
Till the under tides ripped
Agast in so much bounty,
Casked in reams of satin
And flows of wet breaths
Was nary sunk, drunken,
Moony in starry love ring,
Now, by map of dream
I bury my treasure.
.
Feb 24, 2018
Feb 24, 2018 at 1:51 PM UTC
Take this safety pin of pleasure,
And ***** it under the skin,
Feel ugly bliss trickle down your spine,
And the breath of your conjoined twin.
Then chase it once more, twice more,
Like greyhounds legging after a rabbit,
Forever to be outside of an arms reach,
Downright devoid of all energy and wit.
- Jamie F Nugent
Nov 20, 2016
Nov 20, 2016 at 8:11 AM UTC
Abjure the bones broken in,
The first lift frissoned by
The moving trees slain on the shift,
Rivers and risen flowers cut,
My statuary lurches betide
The nap of bent wing saluting.
My aviary is a fluttering bed,
The scattered head REMs my flight,
My feet in cloud extend for landings
Tings the belled bound legging.
My falconer bows with pride
In the stall bent wings stooping.
My clawed creature glides for only
The pitching sun or shining moon
And my flights execution, the hooded
Head, end trails my falconer.
My days, fowl to the lunar kite,
Assail the winds open wound.
Dec 7, 2014
Dec 7, 2014 at 3:46 PM UTC
Undesirable. Taped, shakily, an act - screamed for somebody's lost love. Not for the love lost, but for the dramatics, the way a chest swells with despair and attracts softer knives. Genus of legging wearing, coffee drinking teases, I know. Being there, the one with bags of grain, jars of menstrual blood. Go and gross me out. Hiding under **** stained mattress. How afraid a person can be, facing their sentient selves.
Sep 1, 2015
Sep 1, 2015 at 12:08 PM UTC
Weather for the 1st in a while
Perfect
Warm sun shining I got my fav
Shell shirt on
With my new legging capris
A nice bra birthday posts
My option to do what I like
What I want too
Feeling beautiful and pretty
My best for the 1 and only day of the year
Even tho I can't walk due to my broken ankle
I still pretend that nothing is wrong ]
As if I could jump run skip walk my own way style
Apr 6, 2015
Apr 6, 2015 at 3:04 PM UTC
The first time I had *** I was wearing a pair
of army green stretchy pants.
I accept
that they were probably not made with my body in mind:
The army green legging pattern or design.
But I have rather wide hips and
somewhat larger thighs,
so I had no choice but to go up in a size.
The leggings, of course,
were not on during the process of the act, but
worn at the beginning, as I lifted my back,
allowing for a quick peel
down the unshaven length of my legs, the leggings indeed
fell smoothly away.
At least for a little while anyways.
They got to my ankles then,
the ripples of fabric slowly unfolding, smoothly rolling,
like frosting from a baker’s hand, openly curling.
Then stopped with a peel of bludgeoned laughs
as I lay not vertical, but at some kind of acute angle, hanging nearly
precariously from my small and dainty ankles.
Then I wondered, how many drafts?
How many moments of pondered artifacts that
would eventually come down to a
pair of army green virginity pants.
The anticipation: At last!
It was interrupted by a peel of softly bludgeoned laughs.
I welcome this fact,
taking a moment to pause
and listen to the noise of the fabric’s applause
as it clung to its last moments attached to my thick and heavy rods.
Stretched in spandex I felt them let loose, feeling my feet
curl up snuggly around you.
I came to decide that I love my virginity pride and
the pants that will wrap neatly around my open and gaping
thighs.
To me, it doesn’t even matter that you never said
Goodbye.
Jan 5, 2018
Jan 5, 2018 at 12:33 AM UTC
There are those things that left our bodies when we were younger flying innocently...
Those bridges of pretentious smile that we took to our mother's dimples to collect glories.
Those magic tears that once sliced loneliness off our shouldering lips,
Those bite and bite of unwanted hunger that beat us in the presence of our parents...
There are masquerade of innocent thoughts
Masquerade of shattered dreams at dusk,
Masquerade of fears that tortured us at dawn!
Those desks of forgotten hope in you.
We tried to gather ourselves together to bring the sun home to our flammable insight.
We tried to build the jungle on the palms of our forefathers...
We told our friends that our parents possess a lion at home,
We scared our enemies with the legging empire of our scattered home.
Those were the phases we left drifting into adulthood in pains.
We forgot our tattered thoughts climaxing into an orbiting wants and needs.
We papered the drive to become a better person.
We took our hand bags and put them in the air like nothing would pull it down.
Under the rain, we sang of Africa and the world
We demonstrated the right of humanity and love.
Those bridges burnt down gradually as we traveled
From childhood to adulthood.
As we journey with a thinking umbrella that will protect us from the sun tomorrow.
Those are the things I keep remembering now.
The song we sang under the rain...
The snails we picked in the night with a strange lamp we stole from a neighbour.
The girls we touched their ******* and killed them with shyness.
The boys we sent away from home that never returned!
The fishes we trapped under the small water we made their home.
The blind village beggars we stole their money in the dark...
They are those things we left behind as we walked into adulthood with laughter of hyenas pains.!
©John Chizoba Vincent
From_A_Pen_Refusing_frustration
Apr 21, 2018
Apr 21, 2018 at 5:30 PM UTC