"lisping" poems
god pity me whom(god distinctly has)
the weightless svelte drifting ****** feather
of your shall i say body?follows
truly through a dribbling moan of jazz
whose arched occasional stepped youth swallows
curvingly the keeness of my hips;
or,your first twitch of crisp boy flesh dips
my height in a firm fragile stinging weather,
(breathless with sharp necessary lips)kid
female cracksman of the nifty,ruffian-rogue,
laughing body with wise ******* half-grown,
lisping flesh quick to thread the fattish drone
of I Want a Doll,
wispish-agile feet with slid
steps parting the tousle of saxophonic brogue.
8k
poetry readings have to be some of the saddest
****** things ever,
the gathering of the clansmen and clanladies,
week after week, month after month, year
after year,
getting old together,
reading on to tiny gatherings,
still hoping their genius will be
discovered,
making tapes together, discs together,
sweating for applause
they read basically to and for
each other,
they can't find a New York publisher
or one
within miles,
but they read on and on
in the poetry holes of America,
never daunted,
never considering the possibility that
their talent might be
thin, almost invisible,
they read on and on
before their mothers, their sisters, their husbands,
their wives, their friends, the other poets
and the handful of idiots who have wandered
in
from nowhere.
I am ashamed for them,
I am ashamed that they have to bolster each other,
I am ashamed for their lisping egos,
their lack of guts.
if these are our creators,
please, please give me something else:
a drunken plumber at a bowling alley,
a prelim boy in a four rounder,
a **** guiding his horse through along the
rail,
a bartender on last call,
a waitress pouring me a coffee,
a drunk sleeping in a deserted doorway,
a dog munching a dry bone,
an elephant's **** in a circus tent,
a 6 p.m. freeway crush,
the mailman telling a ***** joke
anything
anything
but
these.
7.7k
A noon-time beat plays in the head
Tea-time brawl revisited now.
Lisping out a song later. 'Really?'
The fridge is empty. The late cuckoo
tugs at the heart; Summer sweat
on evening's brow. Deep down
glow, inner lit springs shadowed
in the woods. Cacophony birds
returning home. Cook, cook, cook.
Filling up sink. 'Ah, am I that bad?'
Insecticide can; Make something up:
the noisy fan; Lady in hood, rising
from the lake. 'Could I have....just
done it another way?' Walking by
the bund as the sky slips away
veiled among the blinking stars.
May 24, 2014
May 24, 2014 at 2:30 AM UTC
Stay well, table, inviting me
to sit by your side, sipping tea,
stay warm, books, wrapped warm
in your covers, steeped in Spirit,
stay well, koel, sing the same way
every stuttering morning that
comes lisping in the winds
and the tongues of the swallows
stay well, gulmohar, ever
alive in a glow of blooms
warming bare the summer heart
stay well, pens, ever meditating
this way, conjuring up
all the stories I tell in verse
stay well, my droid phone,
go on, recharge yourself in your
morning asana tied to the mains
stay well, web, where I plug in
and broadcast my thoughts
and receive blessings and grace
Jun 5, 2016
Jun 5, 2016 at 10:32 PM UTC
Make me Silent, that I may eloquently converse with Thee.
I wandered through forests of incessant searchings, and arrived at the mystery door of Thy presence. On the doors of silence I knocked loudly with my persistent blows of faith, and the doors of space opened. There, on the altar of glorious visions, I beheld Thee, resting.
I stood, with restless eyes, waiting for Thee to speak. I heard not Thy creation-making voice. At last the spell of stillness stole upon me, and in whispers taught me the language of angels. With the lisping voice of new-born freedom, I tried to speak, and the lights of Thy temple assumed sudden brilliancy and wrote letters of light.
In my little chamber of quietness, I am always resting: I never speak but with the voice of my silence. Through my silence, eloquently converse with me.
From: Whispers from Eternity
A Book of Answered Prayers
1949 Edition
2.7k
Let lore luster lax,
Lingered love leavens.
Let love loop lilac lei lavishly.
Listen lovelorn lilt, laconic liken
Lisping liturgy, limping litany.
Litmus-leaking longing, languor lengthened.
May 10, 2013
May 10, 2013 at 1:28 AM UTC
Days go with you and bid goodbye
Hours slide down and die
And drape down
The innocence of the Noun!
With the experience of Adverbs
Of place, time and frequency, the Verbs
Replace the endearing use of Nouns
(Slowly moving from lisping sounds )
To the stable use of personal Pronouns!
Individuality stands alone keeping the Subject alone
Sometimes with a defiant adolescent tone
Distractions, doubts in the use of Determiners
A shaky ground for the beginners!
Disagreement with the Subject-Verb agreement begins
Early during this period and lurks within, and at times springs
With the Nouns like mathematics, rhetorics and news
Without any tension to meddle in don’ts and dos!
What I wish to say in a few sentences
Is not enough about life’s infinite time and tenses!
To deconstruct the grammar of growing up is not enough
As adolescence is a diamond in the rough;
It is a living discourse; both simple and tough
Ironical, unpredictable, surprising, puzzling stuff
Needs patience, pardon, perseverance and fun
To handle its substance for every daughter and son!
Aug 20, 2015
Aug 20, 2015 at 1:19 AM UTC
When the dark comes down, oh, the wind is on the sea
With lisping laugh and whimper to the red reef's threnody,
The boats are sailing homeward now across the harbor bar
With many a jest and many a shout from fishing grounds afar.
So furl your sails and take your rest, ye fisher folk so brown,
For task and quest are ended when the dark comes down.
When the dark comes down, oh, the landward valleys fill
Like brimming cups of purple, and on every landward hill
There shines a star of twilight that is watching evermore
The low, dim lighted meadows by the long, dim-lighted shore,
For there, where vagrant daisies weave the grass a silver crown,
The lads and lassies wander when the dark comes down.
When the dark comes down, oh, the children fall asleep,
And mothers in the fisher huts their happy vigils keep;
There's music in the song they sing and music on the sea,
The loving, lingering echoes of the twilight's litany,
For toil has folded hands to dream, and care has ceased to frown,
And every wave's a lyric when the dark comes down.
2.3k
Just past the Rastafarian berry tree
Where bully beef boys tattooed their love’s names
On the tree’s outstretched arms,
A forgotten remnant lay
In relic and rot, its air choked with damp mildew and dust.
Not wishing to join Garvey’s gang
Or bow before Selassie’s seat,
I left Jah’s clenched jig hanging,
Allowed the inkers to indent incessantly,
Going solo into the house of rubble.
What a treasure!
From smudged, stale mascara,
The aged beauty’s heavy, dim eyes
Cast dim shadows on her rough, ***** neck
On which I now trod barefoot.
Her necklace of knackered newspapers
Hollered hoarsely through the overlying cardboard boxes,
Lowly lisping, ”Sovereign shed my lady once was
And shall forever more remain. Look not at her wilted skin –
Consider only this immortal necklace and live forever therein.”
Sep 15, 2016
Sep 15, 2016 at 2:08 AM UTC
Packets of peace cordoned off by fences and barbed
wire, hooded lush in manicured fields.
Endless stream of labour crossing over water pikes:
hear, no see - river in the bush.
Emerges curved a mirror on a pole: three directions,
The three birds, tinier than my forefinger, eating grain.
Lisping away in the wood the warbler and the shrike.
Wild flower, pops out red from a corner
of the cultivated green: and I am...
Jul 30, 2014
Jul 30, 2014 at 11:37 PM UTC
Smoke hanging in the air
The feeling of falling is not fair
Lisping out my empty thoughts
In the form of shots
Poured out one after another
Drunk off of you
I’m intoxicated by your presence
But your love is not present
I once thought I was falling for you
But I was just falling for your lies
I was in love with those eyes
But they were just a disguise
Hiding the real you
You’re the masked bandit
Covered with lies, but all I want is truth
I want to know the real you
I want to really love you
Feeling this mutual feeling
With no mutual ground
My razor kissing my skin
Instead of your lips
I never thought falling in love
Would mean falling out
I never thought kisses
would turn into stitches
I guess thats what happens when
You get love drunk
Nov 2, 2014
Nov 2, 2014 at 7:52 PM UTC
You're mine
Mine. Mine. Mine.
Selfish in every sense if the word
Even your lungs. Your appendix
Your unneeded things.
Your lips. Your lips, your lips.
Slide them into me
A pocket full of mouth
Lisping on my jeans
You're mine.
Even your electric bits
Even your blood
You're mine, all mine. all mine. All mine
You are utterly mine
Especially since I'm yours
Jul 1, 2012
Jul 1, 2012 at 10:43 PM UTC
Smoke hanging in the air
The feeling of falling is not fair
Lisping out my empty thoughts
In the form of shots
Poured out one after another
Drunk off of you
I’m intoxicated by your presence
But your love is not present
I once thought I was falling for you
But I was just falling for your lies
I was in love with those eyes
But they were just a disguise
Hiding the real you
You’re the masked bandit
Covered with lies, but all I want is truth
I want to know the real you
I want to really love you
Feeling this mutual feeling
With no mutual ground
My razor kissing my skin
Instead of your lips
I never thought falling in love
Would mean falling out
I never thought kisses
would turn into stitches
I guess thats what happens when
You get love drunk
Oct 30, 2014
Oct 30, 2014 at 2:54 PM UTC
hip bones under hips, hips to lips, lisping lips, sheer lace slips, butterfly clips,
heated hips to heated hips
bruised hips under bleeding lips, the pink slip, slow dance dips, managing on meager tips, frisky nips,
tired hip to tired hip
sad lips under comatose lips, archaic fingertips, tightening grips, worn baking mits, lips to head/soul to stars
cadaveric hips to a bleeding heart
Jan 8, 2014
Jan 8, 2014 at 5:03 PM UTC
874
They won’t frown always—some sweet Day
When I forget to tease—
They’ll recollect how cold I looked
And how I just said “Please.”
Then They will hasten to the Door
To call the little Girl
Who cannot thank Them for the Ice
That filled the lisping full.
1.4k
Wispy tendrils of your words
wander and wind
lisping love that
swirls
and
fades away
but not before the
mystery
of the lacey pattern
of the
smoke signals
stain and sting
my bloodshot
eyes
Jan 6, 2014
Jan 6, 2014 at 9:20 AM UTC
(Zecheriah, xiii.1)
There is a fountain fill'd with blood,
Drawn from Emmanuel's veins;
And sinners, plunged beneath that flood,
Lose all their guilty stains.
The dying thief rejoiced to see
That fountain in his day;
And there have I, as vile as he,
Wash'd all my sins away.
Dear dying Lamb, Thy precious blood
Shall never lose its power,
Till all the ransom'd church of God
Be saved, to sin no more.
E'er since, by faith, I saw the stream
Thy flowing wounds supply,
Redeeming love has been my theme,
And shall be till I die.
Then in a nobler, sweeter song,
I'll sing Thy power to save;
When this poor lisping stammering tongue
Lies silent in the grave.
Lord, I believe Thou hast prepared
(Unworthy though I be)
For me a blood-bought free reward,
A golden harp for me!
'Tis strung and tuned for endless years,
And form'd by power divine,
To sound in God the Father's ears
No other name but Thine.
1.4k
I stand upon my native hills again,
Broad, round, and green, that in the summer sky
With garniture of waving grass and grain,
Orchards, and beechen forests, basking lie,
While deep the sunless glens are scooped between,
Where brawl o'er shallow beds the streams unseen.
A lisping voice and glancing eyes are near,
And ever restless feet of one, who, now,
Gathers the blossoms of her fourth bright year;
There plays a gladness o'er her fair young brow,
As breaks the varied scene upon her sight,
Upheaved and spread in verdure and in light.
For I have taught her, with delighted eye,
To gaze upon the mountains,--to behold,
With deep affection, the pure ample sky,
And clouds along its blue abysses rolled,--
To love the song of waters, and to hear
The melody of winds with charmed ear.
Here, I have 'scaped the city's stifling heat,
Its horrid sounds, and its polluted air;
And, where the season's milder fervours beat,
And gales, that sweep the forest borders, bear
The song of bird, and sound of running stream,
Am come awhile to wander and to dream.
Ay, flame thy fiercest, sun! thou canst not wake,
In this pure air, the plague that walks unseen.
The maize leaf and the maple bough but take,
From thy strong heats, a deeper, glossier green.
The mountain wind, that faints not in thy ray,
Sweeps the blue steams of pestilence away.
The mountain wind! most spiritual thing of all
The wide earth knows; when, in the sultry time,
He stoops him from his vast cerulean hall,
He seems the breath of a celestial clime!
As if from heaven's wide-open gates did flow
Health and refreshment on the world below.
1.4k
in already @ first streetlamp
the ocean states away
with my broken complacency,
new deserts, mollasses blood
settled in my feet within each footprint
lunar lisping in the night air
augment consolement in me
because i feel empty
eyes swimming in the new view
Jan 15, 2016
Jan 15, 2016 at 2:58 AM UTC
A life on the ocean wave, **
In the olden days of sail
When pirate ships were proud and brave
And their crews were very male.
Captain **** stood upon his bridge
Looking smart and flash;
But below the decks, the orders were
*** and *** and the lash.
First Mate **** went to the **** deck,
His willie at the ready;
Initiation time had come
For trainee pirate Freddy.
"Thtwap him o'er that cannon, ladth!"
Roared the hirsute lisper,
"Gag hith mouth thecurely, ladth,
Thilenth hith evewy whithper."
The pirates did as he had bid -
Refuse and they'd be punished -
And they knew their turn would come
Once First Mate **** had finished.
The lisping brute went up the poor young lad
And soon was pumping away;
Poor little Fred looked rather pained -
As he wasn't really gay.
Then came the turn of the other men
And they joined in with a will;
Little Freddy could not say "no"
Until they'd had their fill.
What a life our pirates had,
Always singing shanties;
When men were men and big and butch
And the skipper wore silk *******
The pirates' frigates ruled the waves -
Good sailors feared them coming;
If captured, they'd be condemned
To a life of seaborne bumming.
Oct 25, 2014
Oct 25, 2014 at 6:01 AM UTC
Cloud-vacant darkened sky,
muffled ears
under woolly coolness
of chocolate-icing water,
choppy,
unsmooth,
iced by an unprofessional
child-chef.
Stretched-out limbs
like a blown-up starfish
floating dumb and mindless
and alone.
Bobbing apples, eyes obscured
temporarily, under cold salt
swishing
swashing
slipping sliding.
Sticky candy-apple lips
pursed tight against
salty smoothness
licking
lapping
lisping loving.
Slow breaths flow freely
through nose,
sticking upright from the water like
ancient uncovered bones
from sand;
Wind whipping off years of hiding
to reveal
the unknown death.
Slowly floating, bobbing
silent, unaware
from the sand: waves washing
gently, nudging
against the starfish boy.
Leading him
away
from shore.
Apr 27, 2014
Apr 27, 2014 at 4:53 AM UTC
Das Fuehrer gefüllt mit Flöte.
Listening 2 yawns,
meditating on medication,
lisping a cry to Das Führer,
I proffer a pray,
im morgen Früh, im morgen Führer,
im morgen nah; hören Sie mich.
Not 4 pleasure yearning 4 unright
Unctuous crimes. Not with U.
Not with boast (yet not with hate 2).
Hating the bath water with the babe
as it bashes Reaper's polemic
hellfire falling out of window;
Still me, in that kindness enters
my home, bowing cuz the doorway is 2 large.
Guiding in black ink,
writing a way
out of loyalties mouth,
out of sclerotic liver,
and contumacious throat.
I tongue an act, a play,
staying guilty in U,
saying guilty in Us.
Lemmings encouraged to revolt,
Offending in U,
Rejoicing only in Us.
Witness our joy, that Xanex protects
against dull moments, forgetting Us,
bland blessings rightly
Surrounded by Yawn's shield.
Feb 15, 2013
Feb 15, 2013 at 9:06 PM UTC
A jump rope lisping
Through loose gravel and rhymes.
Resembling orchestras and rapidly
Scratched-out novels,
Evolution of an indifferent ******
Delicate lacework stitched
Beneath the youthful
And frail. Disintegrating
Like a bird’s nest, once
Air conditioning expires.
Scampering between markets,
Wavering while waiting
In redundant lines, as you
Carelessly caress outerwear that you
Waited in line for yesterday.
Placing yourself professionally
On seats, beside plainly colored
Briefcases. Quivering arms
Tingle, as the blood
Relinquishes.
Wordless entities fill
Empty rooms, as pressure
Builds from the exterior and in.
Tarnished sneakers sink and slip,
Amidst cunning quicksand.
Mangled and thrashed,
Fabrics that used to be
Accustom to merry-go-rounds, and dry
Eyes. Gently laced hemming,
Lacerated at the seams.
Stroll down whimpering sidewalks
That sting for vibrations, fixed
By a stranger’s oblivious feet.
Jerking outerwear closer
As no emotions pass.
Synthetic joy overcomes
You, when droning
Minds think alike.
Wriggling and skulking
To cease the crunching of time.
Jan 30, 2012
Jan 30, 2012 at 12:40 PM UTC
you, soidal
like a wave that comes creeping
under my cages.
covers.
and the hairs in your ear. stand still enough so as not to get caught-
in empathy
under a reaming sleep.
i tricked you into going for a ride while the roads were still wet.
there, nothing left to do.
and i,
the lisping slit filled to a two fingered fist.
front feet dragging
across
the threads of a plastic
waterbottle mouth.
the
bullet passed through.
wetpennies.numb-deep in the lungs
the slippery film of a chewable vitamin still clinging under molars.
socks slipping down into the toes
the air swept aside into a new season, lips flared
a weekday in the back seat
and when i sweat
i check the threat
of thunder storms on my weather app.
and it calls out to us:
have an awesome day and a fabulous weekend
have an awesome day and a fabulous weekend
don'tfuckwithourhearts
don't let me down
hold on to it.
don't go believing in better things
and in and around the ocean, i need a fake friend
now
repeat it back to me.
fix all my mistakes.
**** me at the right time.
kick me in the skin cells
keep me.
itching at the skin
Dec 18, 2015
Dec 18, 2015 at 1:25 AM UTC
And there in a name, yes, I too know the name; I found a cause. Not really what the stars had written on my fate but what fate had determined to be my stars. I figured the virtue had lost it’s novelty, so I explained my caution to the sun, “you were right,” shouted, “my circles finally caught up to me; the past is finally present.”
And how I could run, as though flying – and flying too. As it elapsed I felt subliminal orbit, your eyes rotating my mind. I tried to chase the vision with your lips but got lost in the eclipse.
And the eclipse, too, it was beautiful. The mind-bending awe of sunlight gasping. The last breath of radiance before it masks itself as visual silence. The momentary delay of heat still touches my skin as the sky becomes black and then the sun exhales and aim’s it’s arrow for me.
A parade of commonsense motions; lisping love through our lips as it forms into an ocean and the reflective quality of the water is just enough to make the moon skip backwards and chance an encounter as paradise. Your body is smooth and lips long loved.
Jan 9, 2012
Jan 9, 2012 at 11:20 PM UTC