"lowering" poems
Drunk as drunk on turpentine
From your open kisses,
Your wet body wedged
Between my wet body and the strake
Of our boat that is made of flowers,
Feasted, we guide it - our fingers
Like tallows adorned with yellow metal -
Over the sky's hot rim,
The day's last breath in our sails.
Pinned by the sun between solstice
And equinox, drowsy and tangled together
We drifted for months and woke
With the bitter taste of land on our lips,
Eyelids all sticky, and we longed for lime
And the sound of a rope
Lowering a bucket down its well. Then,
We came by night to the Fortunate Isles,
And lay like fish
Under the net of our kisses.
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He watched the moon,
As it became immune
To his galaxy eyes.
Silver liquid flowing,
The night's come to a closing,
As he mixed his 'sky dye.'
At least, that's what the stars said,
As each one rubbed his head
Goodnight.
Colored images glowing,
His eyelids began lowering,
As he, again, was forced to fight-
Dec 20, 2017
Dec 20, 2017 at 12:25 AM UTC
Poverty
Blurred Pigments of Red and blue
Bring to mind the police
Responding to our crises
Aptly and alert
Though upon arrival
It’s pure brutality…
They oppress and beat
Abuse and misuse
Break our spirits
Lowering us deeper into this
Depression…
No… it’s and economic Recession…
In which inequalities are abound
For the rich stay rich
While the poor fall hungry
And We…
The…
People….
Fall beyond Poverty…
Straight Through The misguided…
Rage of the government…
And Deeper than just a simple
Economic Inequality…
We’ve
Reached
The
Poverty Stricken
Greatest Recession….
Known As
A Secondary Great Depression….
Sep 12, 2009
Sep 12, 2009 at 4:12 PM UTC
teacher sent me to the doctor's office
teacher sent me home
teacher sent me to the place
where all the foul things roam
teacher gave me tic-tacs
to swallow when i'm sad
teacher said the chemicals
will make me sorta mad
teacher dries my eyes up
with platitudes enough
to even console all the kids who
are made of smarter stuff
teacher says confusion
is not a cause for shame
i'm not quite sure what teacher means
but i listen all the same
teacher treading tip-toed
lowering the tone:
"i'll help you with the theory here
but you'll practice on your own."
Apr 12, 2018
Apr 12, 2018 at 6:29 AM UTC
You weren’t listening to me
I know it to be true you see
Because you could not hear me
And not be in love with me.
I have told you carefully
What you have here in me
A person of total loyalty
And outrageous personality.
You could not have been listening
Because you were not hearing
The wonderful things I’m telling
And the joys that are here waiting
Waiting patiently and languishing
In the shadow of your evening
As the sun has begun lowering
And the moon has begun rising.
I sit in the shadows and I’m sad
Missing all the good times we had
Knowing something cannot be bad
When it has made me so very glad.
If you only missed me just a tad
I would be a much happier lad.
I fear our love was just a fad
And it’s serving to drive me mad.
I know you weren’t listening to me
Or you couldn’t behave callously.
You would be enchanted totally
And drawn to me quite helplessly.
Is it something else completely?
Some magic spell not from me?
Some disgusting magical sorcery
That drags you away forcefully?
Aug 14, 2015
Aug 14, 2015 at 9:32 PM UTC
Salto Angel dances an Aqua-Skirt
Such Fashion pleased the Tourists below
How else can the Latin earn your Fervour
But surpass your Record of height and snow?
Funny, how her Majesty can suppress
Even more when viewing up from this Point
Like a Crone who often tries to oppress
A Revolt which a Priest failed to Anoint
And lowering my Camera, I see
The many Prizes I did Hit-and-Miss
But she roared with showers raining gently
And, enough! They saw Rainbows turn to bliss.
So I sat on a Rock to watch and live
Hoping my Partner would rise to forgive.
Mar 9, 2013
Mar 9, 2013 at 4:24 PM UTC
The ballerina rises off her feet to stand en pointé.
Sparkles from her white costume shimmering
From the bright lights focused on her.
She elongates her arms into the air, bending her small wrists
And the tips of her delicate fingers lightly touch each other.
She glances at the crowd, looking for him
Even though she knows he is not there.
The long legs of this ballerina are linked, chained together.
And as she hears the music begin to play,
This ballerina slightly tilts her head and turns.
She does not blame him for leaving,
For this ballerina knows she drove him mad.
And onstage she chained her legs tighter and turned faster,
Eyelids fluttered shut, head tilted downward for a brief moment.
Obsession to the point of perfection.
He would never understand, which she always knew.
She had to be perfect.
Her head spinning and facing forward, this ballerina turned faster.
Drunken from Dom Pérignon and love along the coast of La Seine.
Allongé, this ballerina reached further and
Tourné plus vite sur ses pointes.
*Kisses filled with wonder outside the Place des Arts de Montréal,
Yet still she had to be perfect.
Faster with every chaîne tour; never stopping, wishing he could stay.*
She began to slow with every turn
As the ballet dancers flooded the stage.
White sparkles glistening everywhere,
The Prince made his presence known.
The tears she shed one night on the Pont Marie bridge as he walked way.
This ballerina slowed until she no longer turned, slowly lowering her arms,
One hand gently and softly grazing her face.
She stood in front of two rows of ballet dancers, searching for a face
That she knew would not be there.
Allongé, she bent her wrists where the tips of her fingers lightly touched
Before lowering her arms until they were in front of her.
She danced across the stage towards her Prince
Where he waited, arms outstretched, the ballet dancers facing him.
This ballerina turned once more before falling back into the arms of her Prince.
“I’m perfect.”
May 4, 2014
May 4, 2014 at 9:23 PM UTC
Inside of your mind and body
A numbing occurs
You feel shallow
So shallow
Like a lowering tide
As if the oceans will dry up
Forcing you and the fish to choke on air
But at least you'll have something in common
Alysia Marie 2014 ©
Nov 13, 2014
Nov 13, 2014 at 1:08 PM UTC
Pugnacious pundits having parties,
on the left and on the right.
Lowering sanity and lifting madness.
I hear countless words that all seem trite.
Too many fall into their trap.
In happy splendid ignorance,
Clowns perform, and we're all prat.
Such perfectly played incompetence.
Jan 18, 2016
Jan 18, 2016 at 3:26 PM UTC
by Danny Smith
The old man rises from his chair
gently cursing the ache that crept into his bones
when he wasn't looking
His slippered feet scuff the carpet
making a journey they know without him
to the window
He watches down on the cars
as they flash through the rain on an urgent journey
somewhere
Leaning forward to rest his forehead
on the cool damp pane that shields him from it all
his prison wall
The cars seem to softly merge
as fragments like a broken mirror
tease and torment
A lifetime of dreams and tomorrows
that somehow became painful yesterdays
much too fast
Squeezing his eyes tightly closed
he remembers her face and the soft scar on her cheek
a perfect imperfection
The laughter and cries of children
running to him with chocolate smeared mouths
grown now, gone now
All of them to different worlds
ones where he was afraid to travel to
out there
Plenty of time to make it through
but the nights seem to skip the sunshine days
sentenced
he shuffles back to the chair
lowering himself with limbs that can't be his
removes his slippers
Reaches for the polished shoes
years old but hardly worn and still uncreased
laces them
Moves slowly through the house
turning of lights, collecting a wallet
a pack of cigarettes, a photograph
pocketing them
The old man stands at the open door
just a fragment of someone elses memory, as he walks
into the rain
©Danny Smith
Apr 5, 2018
Apr 5, 2018 at 2:01 PM UTC
An empty park picnic table
cooled by the light,
whispering breeze,
spotted by the burning
life-giving sun.
I see us there.
chatting,
laughing,
enjoying each others company
in this never-ending summer.
I see myself
dressing up as the wife,
laying out a picnic basket
and table cloth.
Pouring iced tea
into a chilled glass,
Watching the condensation
slide down your fingertips
as your throat
gulps in the refreshment.
I lay a blanket
on the grass,
inviting you to come sit.
We lay.
And that chuckling breeze
picks up
and lifts the whole of
my 1950s homemaker dress.
You smooth it back down,
lowering your hand on my hip.
The wind has stopped,
but you keep smoothing away…
down my thighs,
across my backside,
up my back,
until my head is
cupped in your hands
nearing closer to your face.
I would not call it a kiss,
because a “kiss” is too
short a word, too precise
and too emotionless
to fit this phenomenon.
You embrace me fully
leaving no passion unaccounted for,
no ounce of me left untouched.
I succumb to your embrace
and we start to make love when…
A car horn beeps.
I blink.
Look around, and remember
that I’m sitting in a
library parking lot
looking at an empty picnic table.
Sep 30, 2010
Sep 30, 2010 at 7:47 AM UTC
Being the only one awake in the back seat, or the only one thinking loudly,
and in the back of your mind, sitting there like living weight, you've got
the giant Citgo sign
(you swear you could fit in the T),
listening to passion pit as the golden sun flings itself on the highway,
a construction worker lowering his pants in front of a dumpster,
hearing the sandlot play downstairs as you stare at the dark ceiling,
pizza you ate in the park the evening before now being had for breakfast,
finding out the **** is pro-choice,
getting your shoulder squeezed on a rollercoaster
by a boy who screams like a girl,
feeling drunk even though you're sober,
running through the dark,
passing trailers with round lanterns lining the tops,
outlining shirtless men and smoking women,
looking in the mirror after swimming with your clothes on
in a hot tub,
and you're not sure if you're
beautiful
or
disgusting.
Yeah, you can sleep now.
May 20, 2015
May 20, 2015 at 7:12 PM UTC
Grasping hold of the glass i watched the night clock off,
Draining the paper held within my fingers,
Slipping down my throat till the tide had long gone out,
Feet tapping along with the throbing of the night.
I sit there observing that figure of male perfection,
Happy and cheerful, dancing this memorable night away,
And I stand, lowering my glass, stumble my way towards him,
Where he notices me finally, I smile, he smiles too.
I sway with him, and the others, always looking into the depths,
Losing my mind, feeling lighter than the balloons that hang freely,
And I think an uncontrolable thought, to reach out to him,
But as the moment passes, I swig another mouthful, and everything fades into nothingness.
Mar 20, 2010
Mar 20, 2010 at 9:01 AM UTC
white clouds swell up
anvil bloom
a lowering gloom
scuds by
stacatto drops
on the windshield
punctuate
powerline sway
radio crackle
sparks
sheets of tenor sax
and blunt
gusts of cool
I lower the window
and steer
into the storm
Tom Spencer © 2018
Jul 8, 2018
Jul 8, 2018 at 8:33 PM UTC
resuming vogon poetry
altering website logos
pretending everyone cares
playing "east hastings"
asphyxiating well-nigh denouement
depicting twitter status
obfuscating coincident deletions
translating from Sḵwx̱wú7mesh
assuring Sḵwx̱wú7mesh exists
painting skwiḵw's mother?
decrying micropolitical maelstrom
imbibing fireball fountain
inundating lexical foofaraw
crafting poetic wonders
desiring other mediums
remaining practically invisible
ending internet-only depression
drafting noetic blunders
requesting astute clique
blazing perilous trail
aging ominous grisaille
depicting kmart realism
seeking darker groups
increasing pre-weekend laughter
appropriating communist symbols
making lone chuckle
offending worldwide communists
colonizing hello poetry
colonizing parallel universe
relaxing e-migration policies
пить чистую водку
photographing abduction scene
¿losing consistent format?
increasing bluebird insignia
avoiding frivolous legalities
striking astraphobic comments
assuming near-universal automation
lowering latent inhibition
traversing oneiric plane
laxwadding afebrile loodies
wallscaping pitchsourced chthonicities
closing one-star conveniences
sharing alien-looking alphabet
writing system downtimes
Sep 13, 2015
Sep 13, 2015 at 7:42 PM UTC
When spring time comes...
couples naturally come
together,
lowering
the stress of
finding someone
to go to the dance with
An exothermic reaction
Releasing energy
into the environment
By forming
bonds
But,
with the help of
events such as
jealous ex's
bad grades
losing teams
The couples are
forced
to break
An endothermic reaction
Energy is added
to
break bonds
...
And
hearts
Oct 2, 2018
Oct 2, 2018 at 7:30 PM UTC
On Fridays, I cannot have you.
Though the faraway look combs through the glances, the heads lowering and longing
On Fridays, I cannot have you.
The icicle street of perturbing yellow parallel lines and molasses traffic that seems to rake the people across pavement into curvatures of avoidance keep me running.
On Fridays, I cannot have you.
I repeat it, a gesturing phrase, recurring, as I watch the transcendent glow, a denouement to a one-sentence story.
On Fridays, I cannot have you.
Could have: (What will save the moment in untickable preservation?)
On Fridays, I cannot have you.
Oct 18, 2013
Oct 18, 2013 at 1:09 PM UTC
It hath yet to clear away
from the skies of the bereaved
hearts: of family and friends,
neighbours and colleagues, church
members and associates--the
sudden pall of smoke of sorrow
that arose a week agone, precisely
on the Lord's Day last--from the
debris of deaths of the Dana plane
accident in Lagos, Nigeria.
When that evil bruit first
on the radio i heard, like lead
sank fast to the very base of
the sea of woe, my heart; and
wailing was i within like a child
that's bereft of breast milk. I
could not my tongue find again, for
words were as sand heavy in my
mouth. All earthly pleasures did de-
part my thoughts at once, losing
all known appetites for ecstasy
For the 153 souls that perished
in the ill-fated plane crash, when
upon a two-story building with its
belly fell; killing 6 more people
besides the number aboard the aircraft
who, like everyone else on that Sunday, were
having a nice day in their various homes.
of whose tale amongst the unfortunate
victims should i tell thee: Is it
of the bright, warm and lovely lady
that came from the US to celebrate
her brother's wedding with her children
and died along with her family whole--
husband, two kids, and a set of
twins, mother, and two cousins? Or is
it of those who had gone to visit their
friends but met their death untimely
in that damaged building? Or is it
of the air hostess that was to get
married next July? Or is it of the very
reverend Cole and his darling wife?
Or is it of the brass hats, professor,
corps member and top civil servants? I can
not exhaust the tragedy's list! It's too
great a tale to be told by me--the
sad loss of precious lives like mine!
And for 3 days in grief hung the country's
flag in a half-flown position, lowering
its high head in ashes of sympathy
as the nation at large did mourn
the dead and condoled with their families.
Jun 10, 2012
Jun 10, 2012 at 1:16 PM UTC
Even before our first date
You make sure we have The Conversation
Heaven forbid I should mistake you for a man of honor
That I should have any expectation....
That you know how to treat me
As a friend .....or a lover
As a woman of substance
A lady not a *****
Your immaturity doesn’t surprise me
But until that moment that you showed your hand
I was willing to suspend my disbelief
To give you the benefit of the doubt
To let you set the bar higher
But you succeeded in lowering my expectations
Even further
Jun 21, 2018
Jun 21, 2018 at 3:53 AM UTC
DAY by day,
Week by week
Taking all your abuse,
Yet turning the other cheek
Continuously Dragging me down,
Lowering my self esteem.
Having No way out,
Is how you make it seem.
I’m never good enough,
You'll never find someone better.
Building up my courage,
To finally write this letter.
Realizing who I am,
And what I’m really worth.
Meant to be respected,
As I walk upon the earth.
I’m finally standing up,
Finally standing my ground.
I deserve so much better,
Tell me how that sounds.
I finally had enough,
You keep me all depressed.
These feelings hidden inside,
It’s time to lay to rest.
I am a beautiful person,
And I’m worthy of so much more.
So make sure you kiss my ***
As I’m walking out the door.
I know this won’t be easy,
But it’s what I have to do.
It’s time I love myself,
Instead off loving you.
Live
Love
Hope
Written By
Richard B Shick
Jul 14, 2018
Jul 14, 2018 at 10:09 PM UTC
It’s difficult to comprehend that
this is the same skin that, a few years ago
frolicked around in bars, carelessly giving out kisses.
No fear.
Every scar carries more
ignorance,
my flesh, less young explains
the former stupidity I carried
Accompanied by confidence.
I was but a child, lost in the woods
unaware what dangerous animals lurk.
Even then, surprised by my own’s existence
Me still being here and
continuously breathing.
I was brave, but not brave enough.
The quick breaths during the
first attack.
I did not know they hit like a hammer, I
a hot blade
They were hardening fear.
Enormous, monstrous fear.
I was powerful and strong, every year
my height lowering, so that my
once clear voice turns into a
trembling
whisper.
An exhalation, kept alive by the ones
close enough to put their ear next to my
tickling lips.
What anger I contain.
How mutely I express it.
It was once powerful.
Erupted from my chest like
living fire,
burning the monsters far, far away from me.
Now it barely sparks when I’m reminded of
the long gone evil men
Mean, mean men who did mean things.
It’s not that I wasn’t fashioned to arrive at this point.
I was.
But the feet pressing onto my clay body did not help.
Now I’m dried and crooked.
My voice quiet, body
exhausted.
As I exhale smoke once more, I get inside
embrace my love and think:
**** it."
Sep 14, 2018
Sep 14, 2018 at 12:13 PM UTC
I go unwilling and unarmed
Recruited by age I lay me down
The medals gleaming on my coat
Mean nothing now, my vessel weak
Hard for my ship to stay afloat
The ocean once sparkling blue
A dingy grey of lowering clouds
Dark and foreboding as a storm
I recall standing proudly on the prow
My crew would not know me now
There are things to accept, things to learn
Time to know my place, take the stern
My orders once barked in strident tone
Now a whisper, not my own
My ship becalmed, canons disarmed
Her flag that once flew with pride
Is still, no wind can stir her, colours bled
I salute and a gust raises her high,
A blood red pennant in a star filled sky
I am not afraid to die
Oct 5, 2021
Oct 5, 2021 at 8:15 AM UTC
I am secluded
by the steps of a brutal mind
Written in black and white
numerals on ***** chalkboards
Was I sleeping passed my childhood lesson?
Please, wake my tired, bloodshot eyes !!
They are weary from
illuminated nightmares
and X rated dreams
The sting of the wooden rule of measure
punished my hands
The welted numbers tattooed
on my swollen palms
Ten Hail Marys are not enough to stop this atrocity
The towering stoic women,
dressed in black habits
I do not dare look away
but I did
Time was broken
when the rulers cracked the desk
Ear deafening sounds
with my frozen tears stuck in pause
I looked up to the heavens
to seek answers from my god
Not one whisper back,
I was screaming vulgarties in silence
Lowering my head to my desk,
I closed my eyes
and counted the numerals
on the ***** chalkboard
Feb 19, 2016
Feb 19, 2016 at 9:03 AM UTC
Breathe the silk impression of this skin pressed into you,
Infuse my dreams with reality.......rose
Strip me, one sense at a time;
Touch me...
Touch me...mould me into your open arms...
Paint me with the trail of your tongue....
I will dance for you,
Slow
Body sways, that beg you heed
My hips whisper of fiery petals, leading you
To temptation's gate...
A savoured decadence,
Your shape shadowing mine,
Lowering into my waiting arms
Skin upon skin...
Run the tip of your tongue along my spine
Ride my pulse higher,
Wash over me
Leave me wet and wanting
And I will devour you with my hungry mouth...
My probing tongue,
Surface scanning your skin,
Delicious...
I will sink beneath your hidden desires
My playground, here inside your sighs...
Envelope my breathy willingness,
Awaken to your addiction in devils thighs...
Sip my liquid gift
And know, I burn....
I burn for you....
My soft glisten, a pout upon swayed surrender,
Melted beneath a ride of skin,
Craving....craving always the singe that
Trembles these silky strands...
Your electric essence,
Painted red... mind hungry,
Where eyegasms impregnate the heart of this woman.................rose
Jan 21, 2013
Jan 21, 2013 at 2:37 PM UTC
After Li Po
While my hair was still cut straight across my forehead
I played at the front gate, pulling flowers.
You came by on bamboo stilts, playing horse,
You walked about my seat, playing with blue plums.
And we went on living in the village of Chokan:
Two small people, without dislike or suspicion.
At fourteen I married My Lord you.
I never laughed, being bashful.
Lowering my head, I looked at the wall.
Called to, a thousand times, I never looked back.
At fifteen I stopped scowling,
I desired my dust to be mingled with yours
Forever and forever and forever.
Why should I climb the lookout?
At sixteen you departed,
You went into far Ku-to-en, by the river of swirling eddies,
And you have been gone five months.
The monkeys make sorrowful noise overhead.
You dragged your feet when you went out,
By the gate now, the moss is grown, the different mosses,
Too deep to clear them away!
The leaves fall early this autumn, in wind.
The paired butterflies are already yellow with August
Over the grass in the West garden;
They hurt me. I grow older.
If you are coming down through the narrows of the river Kiang,
Please let me know beforehand,
And I will come out to meet you
As far as Cho-fu-sa.
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