"maracas" poems
Went down, slippery cold stairs
Spiraling down, words on walls,
The paper sheets?
Heard the music down there...
Down... Down...
I've heard it before;
Down... Down... Rumble down...
An underground celebration,
So I went - down.
(the cave)
Infants were there, dark rooms,
Bathing in the boiling red wine,
Laughing madly in the fumes,
The ceiling and walls were moist and dripping.
These babies, visages of chimera,
Evil grins cutting their faces,
Evil smiles, gruesome masks
and cigars in their hands, claws...
-Stop!!!
This I will unleash,
One day, whiskey, liqours,
Yeah.
Beers, drinks... rumbling.
Calm dark surface of the lake
At night
And the carnival nearby,
Mile away or so...
you can hear their sounds,
muted slightly;
faint lights of torches,
at the other side of lake.
Weird tribesmen
Praising the summer solstice
With howls, maracas,
Tiny bells, dance,
Fire.
-But listen to me now!
Now, when you hear me,
Look here, look closely.
Put your hand in me,
Can't you feel I'm almost boiling?
I'm no mud, I'm a clear water,
Almost as a spring!
Swift and clear - and hot.
and dark.
Jan 4, 2018
Jan 4, 2018 at 6:43 PM UTC
When I was a kid
I wanted a pet cat.
A disney cat.
Simba or Copa.
Do you remember Copa?
Do you remember the excitement
of your imagination
post movie
when its catchy music
that made want to dance.
A dance made of
skipping and jumping jax
with imaginary pompons and maracas
May 10, 2013
May 10, 2013 at 7:15 PM UTC
A Woman of Many Words
I am a Woman of Many Words
I am drawn to all those places
That words congregate:
Libraries and bookstores
Road signs and billboards
Ticket stubs and subtitles
Nametags and license plates
Each one a journey driving inside me
I am a Woman of Many Words
I love the way the shapes feel in my mouth
The skittle taste of syllables
I am drawn to especially long words
With their phonetic entities stretching out like tentacles to reach new corners of pronunciation
Words like
Bibliophile and flippant-irreverence
Evanescent and Insouciance
Mellifluous and Effervescent
Mondegreen and Labyrinthine
Words like
Onomatopoeia and Tintinnabulation
I appreciate their weight on my tongue
The way my hands appreciate the thickness that is a fat book
I am a Woman of Many Words
I am attracted to their multitude
The space their figures take up on a page
The calligraphic punches
Typed up by keys
The carefully constructed
Brush strokes
Spouting
What is sure to be, nonsense
But I do enjoy the sound of nonsense in the morning
I am a Woman of Many Words
I cling to the lettered skyscrapers wherever I can find them
Because the familiar scent of scribbles across parchment is comfort food for me
I find them
On the backs of cereal boxes
And in Popsicle riddles
In fortune cookies
And alphabet soup
From magnets on my fridge
To junk food logos
And I hold on to them for dear life
For fear that silence should find me
And leave me empty
For fear it will take away the music of maracas
Made by words
Dancing the salsa inside me
I am a Woman of Many Words
because Words
Answer my Questions,
Soothe my fears,
and Humor my Whims
They are not always Right
But they are always Constant
They are not always Honest, in fact,
Mostly
They Lie
But ever so often
They tell such a Beautiful Lie
That you wish it were true
They sing from the rocks
offering Escape from
Terrifying,
Suffocating,
Mind numbing Silence
that echoes off my skeleton
I am afraid that silence will hollow out my insides
and leave me abandoned
with nothing between my Bow and Stern
my Forecastle all torn up
I am afraid of the skeleton inside me
So I am a Woman of Many of Words
For fear of silence
And contempt for truth
Because my words are sirens
And my shipwreck is home here
Nov 10, 2015
Nov 10, 2015 at 5:12 PM UTC
In my office me and Gonzo waited speaking on deep issues
with no true meaning as usual.
Bastardo's heart had been broken for Drew had left him a beaten and
love bitten luchador slash attorney.
Senior Gonzo speaking endlessly to the hat rack had reminded me why
I never dropped acid anymore.
Poor gonzo had just been served with divorce papers to which
his only response was ****** amigo i never knew i was married.
As his attorney i belived a trip to mexico was outta the question for i had just got back do to some well a misunderstanding its legal
jargin you couldnt possibly understand.
His deadline was near and without my solid advise this man wouldnt be able to pull it off so being we had been in the bar for more than
eight hours we decided to make a exit through the mens room window.
Front doors are over rated.
In my legal office slash camper hey eveyone starts somewhere
okay.
I was reminded of my loved hellcat Drew
she had left many items here a satanic bible her boil cream.
how I did mis rubbing her webbed toes.
How was i to work Gonzo was a mess hidding under the table
so the ginger bread people couldnt find him
and return him to there bitter talentless leader
Kate Perry i swear if you stab me one more time senior gonzo
with that fork in my maracas im going to get medevile on your ***
Oh how i missed my tag team partner drew.
i should never have introduced her el man donkey who
resist such a uhh personallity.
But now here I sit with a madman under my table tripping his
***** off insisting I contact Simon Cowell to inform him
man tities are so yesterday.
If only I had gotten the Lindsy Lohan case I would finally have gotten my brake or maybe just a std.
Oh well theres always hope Mel Gibson will need me.
The road warrior was a true classico and he seemed so well
balanced compared to my reallity challenged cilent.
Remember kids if ever you have a chance to trip with senior Gonzo
its probaly best you hide all sharp objects.
adios Bastardo
Jul 15, 2010
Jul 15, 2010 at 8:10 AM UTC
howling idiots (myself) who
spat on store windows ****** & still half-drunk,
leering strangers in cars & stars
creeping from the sky to show teeth in wry grins
while
balancing nimbly on balcony railings
gazing thru heavy curtains to watch russian
girls
********** on cold leather couches
shedding bulbous slavic tears which
ride crests 'f ghostly, high cheekbones &
at th'same time off some
where in drumheller, alberta
skeletons of ancient
kingly lizards rise & rattle like
1000 triassic maracas
recording spanish mariachis in
bloodbath bullrings.
Mar 8, 2012
Mar 8, 2012 at 1:01 PM UTC
His throat opened under stale wind
and screamed sharp sounds like fish fin
pricked and cut soft hand tissue.
The bruise was a pinch because
the eye can only see what was
there before the attack surprise.
He performed dog magic in Prague
under willows but lacked
important mastery techniques.
Turned rock to frog but not back,
simply a half witted magi
ruined like slapped sewn hide leather.
Crisped under hot red sun he
shakes in his boat like maracas
he curves with blue currents to shore.
With a boat in the mud jammed rudder
he stares at clouds hugs himself
and sees a rock kiss a frogs belly.
Oct 4, 2010
Oct 4, 2010 at 9:31 PM UTC
i am sitting on the bridge i grew up on, where it smells like skunks. no one minds. i am listening to four creatures soaring way over head. then there's the crickets, the tree frogs, the breeze through the leaves. the soft brushing of this pen hitting the paper. my breaths through a stuffy nose, leaves interrupting the creek's flow, ever so slightly, a few rocks and branches deciding it's time to change location from the top of the hill, to the bottom, and a comforting whistle i cannot identify. and that one being, maybe a tree frog, that sounds like maracas shaking or a basking tambourine. the footsteps of a stranger, maybe a friend, but the rhythm sounds foreign, heavy. when i close my eyes, it's now Mt. Pocono 1998. i am there. acorns and pine cones introducing themselves to earth. all the spiders in the world building their webs, their homes, the whispery rushed sound. and if you listen long enough, someone mowing their lawn, another driving too fast, always in a hurry, could be anyone. all i know at this point is, it's not me
Sep 11, 2012
Sep 11, 2012 at 11:09 PM UTC
What excuse can I give,
to be let go,
to be let live?
My passion has burned out,
embers of my will burning,
no longer.
Tempt me out of my shell,
why don't you,
why don't you stop?
Remind me of why I failed,
go on,
go on that journey for me.
I'm tired, okay?
Let my weak heart beat to barrens,
and barren to dust.
Let my shards of bones,
rattle like maracas within,
the sleeves of my destitute muscles.
Let the scratching of my,
weary "days gone by" voice,
remind you to avoid my troubles.
Forget about me,
so that not even remembering me,
will rustle my grave.
You stare at me in the restaurant,
when I say all this, plainly,
your mouth gaping open.
My excuses have prepared for me,
a greedy grave; I stand up, bow,
"Excuse me." I walk away.
Feb 2, 2016
Feb 2, 2016 at 2:05 PM UTC
Everyone has a metronome
Sometimes fast and sometimes slow.
We heed their tick where ere we go.
But I have a broken metronome
I start my metronome each day
Maracas of pills, they join the fray.
Life has its peaks, it has its lows
So too, my ticking stops and goes
Jun 8, 2018
Jun 8, 2018 at 5:00 PM UTC
*'Brownleaf Chestnut giants rattle like Spanish dancers , maracas crackle in the changing wind , do perform auburn 'Lover of Autumn' before the plenteous , frosted daughter of Winter , before Sun sprinkled dale , fig , lilac
Atop the red-rock spillway , as the piping martins , the whippoorwill
question , the wild goose direction
Voice of the swallow , of tenderness and regal griffin
Coppering , flint sparked showers upon the grindstone , mesmerizing
twilight orbs , polished gems , starlight Guatemalan priestess* ....
Sep 20, 2016
Sep 20, 2016 at 2:15 PM UTC
There
You stand at my door
Banging on the screen
Same rhythm as your fists
On the front
Two months back
I kept telling you to leave
But you put your phone to the eye
And it said
"This is just a misunderstanding"
I know
I know
It's all just a misunderstanding
It always was
Always will be
I want to pour gasoline and watch it
Drip down the screen
The sound the door makes
When it hesitates to close
Mimicking the rattle of a snake
Or the rainstorm of maracas
My stomach dropping
You tearing through that screen
Reaching for the door ****
I run to the back
But there you are
Behind the glass
In front of me
Reaching for my neck
I clasp my eyes shut
Please dear
Be quick
Jun 5, 2016
Jun 5, 2016 at 10:42 PM UTC
Sling grease into pitch
of doggerel vowel
I'm looking for an "aooga"
sound that diminishes
as if jettisoned by speed of light
whipping sugar cane plantation
slave ghosts' utterances
paean screams doused
How I wish to be one of the first
followers of Obama to Havana
footfall through tic of time
slow gaits toc of eon
a Cold War's metrical decomposition
Aooga Aooga
Rumpapa Rumpapa
Shucka Shucka Shucka
Everyone is free
and so many of us swim
an opposite direction
Gyrate feet, hips, Cuba's beaches
smile, gaze upon maracas
Shucka Shucka Shucka
**** on raw sugar cane
Freely
with great abandonment
and greater ability
Mar 29, 2016
Mar 29, 2016 at 4:46 PM UTC
I swear ,
I have never meant to hurt you,
But my hands are knives
Unsheathed
And I swear it was
Never my intention
To leave you
But my feet started moving
Before my mouth
Could speak up
Because my voice box
Can’t stand up for itself
Because it’s a paraplegic
And shoelaces tied
Or not,
I will still fall every time I look into your eyes.
Jesus Christ,
My knees buckle more then my belt collection,
And my hands shake more then maracas.
Because when I said you were everything I had,
I sold everything for you.
May 20, 2014
May 20, 2014 at 12:06 PM UTC
I roved on a breeze,
Searching for the sounds that snare,
Ah! I’ve reached the seas!
Music of the beach:
In clement climes calypso
Sounds riot, mad, hot.
The kooky notes bounce,
Calling limbs to undulate,
Putting spark in them.
It's celebration,
Worship of life, love, laughter,
Expressed in bold style.
Limbs swing loose, the dance
in zest protests the squat, staid sky,
as bleak as a dirge.
Another music:
Waves crush, crashing over me,
Sounds like maracas.
Churning itself the
Sea has enigmatic sounds
Off the spectrum of
Perception. Our ears,
Too blunted by the loud world,
Hears sea’s beauty not.
Ocean's nocturne lost,
Sea-creature symphonies that
Elude our dulled ears.
Too fine tuned for ads,
telly, society's safe sounds
which cut, sever us
from the raw, primal
sounds of the earth, the sounds which
hide in shells, caves, seas.
Man's sound is sullied
In nature's eyes, we are just
White noise, meaning nil.
Roving home I stop,
Thinking of ways to listen
to her speak her soul.
Nov 22, 2016
Nov 22, 2016 at 8:43 AM UTC
I'd love to erase all the pain he caused
and heal your thin scar of a chest
cause I know no matter how you try,
some things you haven't forgotten yet
When I thought of your soul leaving,
I couldn't stand the ache from not knowing
if your heart was still beating,
I hope you don't take the risk just for fun,
I hope you know you've got someone
I need, I need you
to keep your blood running through your veins,
keep your gloves on
since the heat's gone,
I need, I need you to stay
I know I've been "checking up on you"
for the last week,
but lately I haven't been able to fall asleep,
cause I can't listen to the sound of
my own heart beats
when the only music I can hear
are maracas shaking
and I cry
because those aren't maracas shaking,
those are your prescription pills quaking;
since you've been digesting them,
has your vision shifted from grey?
Because, although it might be
selfish of me to ask,
I want to know if you
thought of me at all today.
May 14, 2017
May 14, 2017 at 10:27 PM UTC
When an earthquake happens, Coffins become underground maracas.
Feb 16, 2022
Feb 16, 2022 at 12:49 PM UTC
The wonger wolves were wise
No match for my marble maracas
Sure they stood still as a sting snake
Quit stalling I have one question
Can a catacolumn create craterflies?
And as all amazing dreams do
It faded as I jumped into my consciousness
Feb 14, 2016
Feb 14, 2016 at 2:36 AM UTC
One is Never too Old
to experience the pure bliss
of a sultry kiss. Warm wind blows her hair
in your face; your arms are wrapped tight
as a python around her waist. You taste milk
and honey from her ******* Your
chest is rising, a hot kernel in a frying pan
that in a second is about to expand. As maracas,
shake, shake. Your toes curl as if they’re striped
ribbon candy that looks as hand blown-glass
from Christmas’s past. The hairs in your ears
tickle. The sound of them rubbing together is
loud as a train whistle. This is joy in its most simplistic
way. This is ecstasy on a rainy day. It’s
fireworks in the snow. It’s a diaphanous, crystal
maze. You’ll shiver; you’ll quake. You’ll
implode. You’ll take to the blood-orange sky
as a raptor and delve in thunderous rapture. And
as you pass out in a luminous field you’ll smell jasmine
and sweet clover at your heels.
Oct 26, 2018
Oct 26, 2018 at 6:15 AM UTC
With a rhythm so steady
almost a heartbeat in time.
A song speaks what
others shy away to say.
A wave of fire is transmitted: through
almost controversial tones.
An undeniable, unattainable, indescribable
force pulls two souls
together and
ultimately apart.
The maracas are the beating heart,
fierce, wild, and strong.
Sensuality explored with
every
plucked
string.
In the songs final sound
what will happen to the two
domesticated souls
on fire for the other
Will two make one? Or
once again come up short
of good and right and pure
for
passionate,
wrong,
unforgettable
and true.
Nov 18, 2014
Nov 18, 2014 at 4:21 AM UTC
we always seem to want or be in want or having something anecdotal, if not witty to say, and we rarely have the opportunity to say it, but more chance to write it, with the allowance of it being by nature synchronised to the least favour of it being said in the first place, and as such not said to the extent it was wished to be communicated; to deal with delaying a saying is the art of aphorism stating, which i'm sure nietzsche greatly borrowed from you: so instead of itemising life for all its empty and emptying poses of the tier tongue filling a righteousness of some sordid familial pedigree given easy sway to decay by modest man's standards defining perversity: speak into the grave, and let us hear the bone rattling ganges incineration maracas shake shake shake urns of defacement: for honour the bleakest of all humours bleaker than scandinavian as that be english, bleakest. i never troubled myself juggling ******* and alcohol problems, i just took to beer, whiskey and coca-cola, so sugar me up dahling... i'm ready to tiger pounce on you and grow a magic fern from my ******** for a bouquet of piñiata of halloween trick-or-anal as the fudge packing inverse **** of a baseball baton lubricated into me: circumcise the flares! i think i see titanic sinking! ha ha! all in all too many maxims were written, many of which are untrue, and if true, then they're never written: you only write truths for people to make mistakes to prove them; you never write truths if they're properly adequate chess of senior pieces moving pawns, you keep such truths ****** prone, ****** for a purpose of dark-ethical cloning in the familial bonds of dynasty.
Jan 15, 2016
Jan 15, 2016 at 9:17 PM UTC
Maracas in the setting sun
Cheche Cheche Cheche
Those special few basking,
standing and relaxing in the starlit rainbow rays
Cheche Cheche Cheche
We party and glee till the daylight dies and opened the night sky's eye
Cheche Cheche Cheche
The sun says as it bleeds across the hot silver sky
Cheche Cheche Cheche
The maroon navy water echoes as it laps up our prints as if we were never here
Cheche Cheche Cheche
As the moon and we reply
We're gonna sing the sky awake as the stars shine their ghosts down to us
Cheche Cheche Cheche
We hear they come and gently lead us back to our place amongst the stars
Cheche Cheche Cheche
Echoes across the empty wake as we fly home the Angels of the night
Feb 4, 2015
Feb 4, 2015 at 9:20 PM UTC
Half moon high
In a deepening sky
The clouds like spider cotton,
Like blue ivory husks betwixt
Umber grey misty fog,
The diablerie of dusk
Dark sky and stars
The streets flooded,
a river of headlights, flashlights,
Sidewalks’ pedestrian traffic,
An Armada of munchkins, crowds
Strolling by Chinatown’s
Crisp neon plazas,
A necropolis bright with
Cartoon sharp signage
Accessorizing restaurants with
Jade And gold, foot spas
And red doors…
Horrors of hangings
Roast ducks and pigs decapitated…
Yet the evening is dressed finely still
All eyes lurking
Shadows floating by
Not to be forgotten tonight
Dias de las Muertos
En espanol…
While down the road
Neighborhood way
Skitters Lilliputian creatures
In shells of Saver’s costumes
As squeals of laughter festoons
Boulevard life with
Tiny tintinnabulations
Like baby rattlers
Against the dark
(Maracas for chupacabras)
Timorous parent folk
Encouragement as company,
They Scurry past
Down dim spatial street
In demand of what is given freely
From each and every door
Treat and sweets
Caries galore
All their tricks cached in grins
Of baby teeth
turn candy corn…
Mischievously the meek milk
All Hallows' Eve For
Hallowed be the glee
Even tho' beneath
The web of grey cloudy sky
Life is precious
To deny
The thirsty as it rains
Misery’s loss deep dismal graves,
We should live in celebration
Childlike everyday
Sing and dance
In the October rain
In this wonder
Like rattlers against the dark
Far from wastes of
Hollow wind and pain,
Chilling cries, bleeding eyes,
Undead the unseen
From this cirque city of sins
Offsprings on the strip
Fearless on the boulevard
Treating & tricking
With ole candied lies…
All done up in bright disguise
Happy Halloween.
Oct 24, 2019
Oct 24, 2019 at 10:29 PM UTC
The guitar was strummed
deftly; fingers moving
carefully yet effortlessly
across the instrument's
smooth, wooden neck,
creating a soft and splendid melody.
We stared at the musician as he
lay on the white-tiled floor, enraptured--
we unknowingly formed a circle around him,
as if he were the sun and we were
the planets revolving incessantly around his pull.
Then the thunder outside joined in,
invisible drums pounded by an invisible drummer,
making our melody louder, stronger.
A downpour followed, drenching the dark night
in streams and puddles; all the while
adding the quickened pace of maracas
to our song.
The makeshift band played in harmony,
the audience watched in dazzled awe--
and suddenly the lightning came,
capturing this incredible moment
with the flash of a camera.
Apr 3, 2016
Apr 3, 2016 at 10:20 PM UTC
The faeries are out today
I can feel then tickling my skin
Riding zephyrs like kites
Dancing on the branches
Rattling leaves like maracas
Crooning like sirens in the alleys
Hear them howl
Fall is on its way
Sep 27, 2016
Sep 27, 2016 at 5:08 PM UTC
"Oh my God- make them like a wheel"
Make them scatter like a gallon of dropped mercury, beading and pooling in their hot slickness.
Let them roll and shine like the diamond dress shaking as maracas shake slithering over Tina Turner's thighs with white knuckled, refracting fingers.
God willing, may you play it in reverse- scratch the film with burning fingers. Make the appearance of lighting emanating from your monochromatic super powered you.
May you be blessed by holding tight to the time of the three F burden. Let them burden you wholly. Those three brothers: Fight, **** and Flee. Do them all at once: **** your urge to Flee and Fight your your own insecurity .
"Oh my God- make them like a wheel"
Sep 27, 2016
Sep 27, 2016 at 2:30 PM UTC