"marinating" poems
These words, dripping from my touch
Keyboard struck by a force beyond me
I call you in, into these words
To reach the hearts of the souls you quench for
My heart--
So tender, it's been marinating
In a deep sea of grief
So many months
Lost at sea
This tenderness, a stranger
Im learning to love him
Longing when he's gone
For that sweet, soft pain
Of my wet and tender heart
Jul 5, 2018
Jul 5, 2018 at 4:09 PM UTC
(I mean it Ma,
Click back now
I’d rather not scar you
Or cost us even more money
On therapy)
The first time I had ***
I felt horribly guilty afterwards
I can only guess as to why
Maybe it was because I was the ‘boy’
Of the circumstance
The one thrusting and holding her up
The one that didn’t get to ***
The first go around
The one to wash their fingers clean in the aftermath
While the ‘girl’ wiped up her nether regions
Put her pants back on
And remained in an ‘aftersex’ glow
Maybe it was because I was the ‘boy’
Of the circumstance
That I was the one that ‘took’ something
But whatever the reason
Is irrelevant because within days
This guilt faded
As did any taste of regret
Vaguely reminiscent of the
Taste of her ***
And replacing said guilt
Was love; strong and (now) poignant
Beyond my years
And she is gone; literally so,
Thus replacing said love
Was pain; strong and poignant
Beyond my years
Replacing said pain
Was another type
Quite common of my age
A madly bruised hand
To be exact;
Courtesy of my teenage idiocy
Replacing my physical pain and idiocy
Was another girl
One that could never be ‘her’
I cannot kiss this girl
It’s all so different
All so ******* wrong
I can’t stand her braces
And the taste of sour milk
That is always marinating in her mouth
I can’t stand this girl
But it is not her fault
It’s, to mimic a cliché,
It’s me, not her
And I am, genuinely,
Sorry for her
But I am so, extremely, pathetically
More sorry
For myself
Jan 20, 2013
Jan 20, 2013 at 6:42 PM UTC
Carnitas on the pit
Oranges searing as they hit the grill
Carne asada marinating
Waiting to be sampled
Coronas add lime
A **** shot of jacks
Laughing kids running around
Saturday morning was meant
For memories like this
Searing their own grill marks on our brains
Trampoline backflips into pools
Picking a lemon off the tree
Charcoal growing white
Familiar goodbyes and laters
Maybe another time joy will reach
This house that never seems to smile
Oct 17, 2016
Oct 17, 2016 at 5:52 PM UTC
*The die is cast to die at last
Envision the vast everlasting
We live in the past too fast
Forward-fast future impasse
Intentions to pass and repass
Notwithstanding
Elusive are the ticks of tock
That take place in the mind
Marinating for meaning
And a design to define in art
Whether it be mind or it matter
At an epoch that unlocks where life starts
Present past, future tense
Beginnings and endings
Instantaneous events
The secret of the clock
Is that it can never count
The mystery of the sands
Remains on higher ground
Wait a second, forever and a day
Columns of sand pillars wasting away
With a time well spent in thought
Immortality and perpetuity
Illusion of continuity
Momentary lapses of universal ambiguity*
Nov 28, 2017
Nov 28, 2017 at 2:55 PM UTC
Sublime wildflower
As I lay here awake from juxtaposed sleepless nights of thoughts of you as my own again
I wait..
I wait for a breakthrough through your pearl shaped, intricately carved paths and pink marble stone cover you call a brain
But my love..
I am using a chisel made from cotton candy and dead stars made of designer drugs and fragments of my pale fragile heart
As the chistel works its way through marinating the surface of your "brain" I wait attentively in amusement -
The type of amusement a child wakes up early to on christmas morning anxious to open the largest anonymous present under the tree
But unfortunetly he has not eaten yet, he has not brushed his teeth yet, he has not kissed his mother goodmorning yet or fetched dads newspaper under the mistletoe..
I write dispite of the chapters I have left unwritten to write your chapter (4)
I wait despite of the uncertainty my heart feels - I don't listen to him anymore by the way.
Waiting for you is like waiting for Winter again. I love Winter so I wait but in the process I fall in love with the shades of other seasons and that is the issue
My heart paves way to anything close to the words you spoke, the scriptures you wrote, the spaces you poked
I wait..
in lights of my fragile soul - I don't know if you haven't come to realize this already but it feeds of you, you are its daily grace as the bible is to a nun you are its bible and my soul, the nun
I await to love you again and I love that because you love me too and the love I have for you mutliplys by a thousand with each of the four letter word (love) mentioned in this here stanza including the one in brackets
I still really really love you
I won't pretend that I intend to stop living but I do intend to stay faithful to the love that you have given me.
As the constellations you have built inside my dark matter still shine/burn bright as our future together
-----
Leks
Jan 24, 2014
Jan 24, 2014 at 7:29 PM UTC
Accursed is
the 1:45
outbound express
long distinguished
for its
contentious couples
vomiting babies
drunks marinating
in *****
and miraculous
near misses with
cars careening
around curves in the
no passing lane
Oct 2, 2012
Oct 2, 2012 at 4:46 PM UTC
From atop mountains
Of debt
We tumble, like
The thrill of defeat
Dripping down
The quivering chin
Of blood-stained
America.
To quote a thunderstorm:
"All who question
The efficacy
Of God
Shall crumble
To an infinity
Of indecencies."
To quote a God:
"All who fall
Have not
Been pushed,
Those who rose
Were not all
Pulled.
**** the heathens.
Justified are those
Who avenge the treasons
Committed unto me."
Waves of
Iridescence
Cleanse our pallettes,
And we open wide
For the next forkful
Of fermented
Excrement.
Bloodied are our knees
As we receive
The sacrement,
Trapped like rats
Cast in cement.
To quote a slave:
"Bound by prior
Engagements,
Sacrificed to
Advertisement,
The seeds of men
Wither in the soil.
Blood weeps
From poisoned skies
While YES WE CAN
Opens eyes,
And seals fate
Within fine
Print."
Wolves in
Cheap disguises
Bate their breath
Behind red grins
And finalize
The list of
Who gets in,
While in the cold
Stand the masses,
Marinating
In their own
Molasses.
From atop Parnassus,
A silver-lined horse
Watches the madness,
And snarls and spits
In shamed defiance,
While Apollo
Holds court
To form the alliance
That will interrupt
The defiling of man.
To quote a soldier:
"Cold is the mud
That cradles
The valiant.
Swift is decay
In these
Transient days,
Where passive
Observers rot
In mass graves."
Designed by the rich,
Assembled by slaves,
Our system
Keeps churning,
Rejecting all
Who misbehave.
Reflected in
Concentric waves,
The faces of children
Contemplate age,
And what it means
To be forever
Enraged,
Engaged in endeavors
That are only dreams.
They can't be saved,
And neither can we.
So it seems,
And so it should be.
Jan 4, 2013
Jan 4, 2013 at 10:25 PM UTC
As he goes to the washroom I sit and stare at my palms
I don’t know what to do
I almost pull out my phone to distract me from myself
Stop
I enjoy the silence
I allow the clinking of glass and chatter of folk to calm my restless heart
Something irritating
A laugh
Exploits of the night prior
My temperature rises
I try and drown out the boisterous banter with my thoughts
How can people speak of such trivial things
Why am I plagued with pondering the contradictory nature of everything?
My mind
Wandering to those thoughts I suppressed long ago
Marinating in dreams unfulfilled and forgotten
He returns
I sigh and smile
I wish I could have thought a little longer
He talks
I laugh
My desperate soul carries on
Nov 28, 2011
Nov 28, 2011 at 1:10 AM UTC
i hug you
on tiptoes
with arms around your neck
like “girls do”
but i haven’t been a girl
since i was 7 years old
and i know that how you see me
doesn’t match up with
who i used to be
and the first time i
hugged you like that
i told you
i loved you
smelling like 11.5 hours
marinating in other people’s food
and you said you knew
when i said the day was horrible
and i want you to know
i didn’t mean for this to happen
heart eyes you don’t notice
talking about you like
you’re a new favorite book
pages i never want to stop
running my hands over
papercuts be ******
but i love you
for your long hair
black as ink
and other metaphors
and i wonder if you’d let me
run my fingers through it
like some cheesy romance novel
i love you
for your smile
and how you smile at me
still laughing at my lame jokes
about how queer i am
i love you
for how you said you
just have to
sing along to
in the danger zone and
the wall between us
hid a grin so wide
my cheeks hurt
and i love you
even though i know
this will never go anywhere
because i’m never going to
tell you
just how much i love you
just how much i want to kiss you
just how much i miss you
when you’re gone
and just how much i hope
you might love me back
enough to let me
be yours
Aug 6, 2018
Aug 6, 2018 at 11:42 PM UTC
sadness how could I ever forsake
the sacred?
indeed child sometimes
we seem to forget
where we come from
on our way to where we are
our current plans for tomorrow
i never forgot
i just didn't always remember.
stigmas of the past
social tap dance transgressions
left me aghast; mouth agape
confused marinating
it never mattered,
nothing did.
that was the motto
life long LSD lessons to follow
at times not adequate
others still so hollow
make room for others
and make room for tomorrow
Jan 2, 2012
Jan 2, 2012 at 2:28 PM UTC
Did you get to sleep
Or are you marinating
in chemicals?
The nightcap pulled
you down
dragged you
with your breath
You cut deep
Did you figure your
insides out?
You're inside out
spilling your guts
again
off-balanced
like an unstable
vivisection
Combusting your soul
back to a black hole
Counted off stars
in your eyes
you swore were aligned
Do you know what's behind?
Or will you keep looking?
Out there the truth isn't
it's all a reality
hallucinogen
generation of
self-prescribed nomads
It's about the journey
somewhere there lies
a destination
Lying about it's age again
and you can't touch it
Yet
it was here
the whole time
this very moment
and it's so
*******
beautiful
if you can get out
of your own mind.
Oct 24, 2013
Oct 24, 2013 at 3:04 PM UTC
A symphony of majestic silence in the middle of the night
Marinating in my thoughts of mishaps a warm and intense delight
I washed away the daily sarcasm and lather on the charm
A hint of sexuality to allure his curious arm
I awaken with the subtle tickle, purr in sweet conviction
His touch is a perfect masterpiece and I'm his willing victim
I'm dressed to **** and kiss to haunt him
Pierce his eyes and bite to taunt him
He's satisfied, but keeps on giving a world or gifts of which are never ending
Its passionate and such a whirlwind
But I'm content the fuel is burning
You'd never guess but I never second guess him
He's distant while affectionate but what he gives is nothing less of splendid
Aug 30, 2013
Aug 30, 2013 at 3:45 AM UTC
***he rises early, well before the premature, minutest hints of early dawn,
cradling tenderized words, from a silent marinating mind withdrawn,
some spices harvested from the soil's mortality of daily strife, others,
manna gifts of wild floral tenderness, plucked from Eve's tree of life
neither gardener nor chef, the fruits of his labor, are product of
a mothers mind's silent back labor, emerging with no notice or invitation, spilt from lips unmoving, eyes shuttered, fingers ungloved
ministering a Temple sacrifice of plain psalms authored but un-titled
some spark ignition causes a key reversal, from motionless to motion,
moving with no in-between, words simmering, from seeds unknown,
the dishe's integrity questioned, but it births itself, uncaring, eagerly, willing copied from cavern decorations of rude, wall drawings
almost fully formed, though untasted and undigested, a savant smell
provokes a leap from placid prone, to upright and seated upon the
throne of his writing desk, can one*** divine ***a recipe from odor alone,
thus claiming authorship of an untitled dish, one that can't be recreated?***
sets it down before you uncovered, with a lustrous screen of silk damask,
plated on Royal Worcester fine bone china, yet, without any utensils,
asking you to ken this work,
**eat this poem, with bare hands,
love it as if it was your own first born,
consumed/consuming
a strange but familiar spirit**
Jan 4, 2018
Jan 4, 2018 at 4:06 PM UTC
My fingernails crave your skin
Hard red assassins
My fingernails sweep your skin
Texturizing our love
In every corner of your body
Your breath is twitching
Melodiously
You fill with air
Speak to me in tongues
On a plate like a breaded chicken breast
Marinating in a fine Italian wine and Balsamic Vinaigrette
Sauce craving an open flame
Homemade.
I'm falling asleep
I'm falling asleep
To the digging of a Disco party on a late
Friday night in yellow polyester baby blue You forgot
To pick me up, again but it's okay 'cause I'm
Stayin' Alive.
In a plexiglass life.
See right through it, it's translucent
Then never look at me again.
Sep 13, 2012
Sep 13, 2012 at 1:02 AM UTC
There's
A thick dust
On the horizon
Let's hurry before
They get here
The judges
Of our risky behaviors
Driving too fast
Because we are
Alone in a car
Tracing our veins
Like a road map
With the metal wire
I used to remove your
Prison bond
Smokin' tequila
Marinating our
Organs with some agave
In our new
Beautiful shiny home
While I shower off the dust
I feel your dark protective image
Standing so close like a
Shadow
You say let's go now
And
Do things we've never done
Because once they show
Up
We'll be gone
Feb 21, 2024
Feb 21, 2024 at 9:28 AM UTC
I want to feel
beautiful again.
It's like I couldn't wash away
the **** and **** you said when you left.
Your words have been marinating my life,
trapped inside me like a bad song.
Following me everywhere like a bad tattoo.
But I'm done.
I'm ready for me now--the real me...
The me I couldn't be when I was half of you.
Let me finish my waffles and
I'll find something adventurous to wear.
No. **** it.
I'm getting up.
Let me look for something pre-you.
Orange skirt? Green blouse?
Wait. What is this yellow sundress?
Yes.
Aug 10, 2014
Aug 10, 2014 at 10:53 PM UTC
Dockside and braai
*** and candy on the speaker
Fire crackling merrily
Burgers marinating
*** captivating
Me salivating
Mar 23, 2018
Mar 23, 2018 at 11:20 AM UTC
am i solidly so-so sane
am i slightly in-all insane
a sweet and sour, salty, bitter stanza
anaphora, alliteration, rhyme and meter
spiced-up with macerated metaphors
slant rhymes stirred in a one cup measure
chopped, cut, creamed or cored
i guess i am...
a tablespoon of solidly so-so sane
a teaspoon of slightly in-all insane
a roast with a zest of relished craziness
a marinating mustard mix of uniqueness
i guess i am only simply me
an originally homemade recipe
Jun 24, 2016
Jun 24, 2016 at 11:58 AM UTC
You make my walls crawl,
I move fast in slow motion,
I hear the colors shine so bright
Blinded by the vibration
Walls are closing in
I am still, running far away
I am marinating in your juices
You utterly annihilate my body
While you **** my soul dry
Levitate me, walk me on this hill of air
I can smell your words, my ears see you touching me
Take and ingest my seeds
For you can bear my mind inside you
Birth my memories, my feelings are in labor
Oct 14, 2017
Oct 14, 2017 at 2:05 AM UTC
Skewer a bleak piece of meat, bruising
rhythmic hips bumped up
against Formica while stirring
slow, marinating salty—still angry
about yesterday and lemons.
It’s morning
and you’re sorry, subtly flavored
savory with a Worcestershire bite.
Nibbling juicy,
like lime flesh lolling open
to peel my onion layers
one by one to the floor;
petaled out until
just the rawness remains.
Teasing taste buds
into taut lines, forgiven rows
rolled over
tongue. Delicious.
Peppered red and seedy-sore now,
but satisfied
that we won’t forget our manners
at the dinner table. Folded
tee *** napkins,
folded hands and don’t
touch the silverware. Yet.
Eat it bare or not at all.
Swallow. Whole.
Ask for seconds,
maybe thirds
if you’re vulnerable.
And I think
from the throb in your throat,
(a tender, exposed slope)
that you’re stirring to be.
Sep 8, 2010
Sep 8, 2010 at 2:25 AM UTC
I have been long gone
I kept my memories
in a suitcase
preserved like fossils
in the museum of my room
but I will carry them with me
as I stumble on the
next thing
that falls in front of me
I have had mistakes
that tried to knock
on the walls of my mind
but it's about time
my brain learns
from practice
over and over
not to fall for their emotions
but to know how to cope with them
I have had moments
that tattooed smiles
on every neuron
creating memories
of moments
that I seek sanctuary in
whenever I find the need to
I have had the idea of change
marinating in me
almost forcing me to believe it
to live it, to breathe
then...
I have had you to look
into my eyes
sometime later
telling me to
"stop faking it
it's always
been you"
Dec 1, 2016
Dec 1, 2016 at 11:05 AM UTC
Marinating in pain , losing conscious of my subconscious .
I need a manual to this manipulative mind.
Mind over matter , but I can't seem to gaze into that looking glass, & stay proud of myself.
Somehow , still self confident - I'm really not too fond of y'all help.
I'm trapped in a dark room , surrounded by ovalish lights - all eyes on me.
You see , this room is my mind , and these lights are my thoughts - yet I still can't seem to calculate where the **** is my heart.
I'm dull with a spark - of something unexplainable and cold.
It feels like god made me the only one , who's intrigued with cracking this code .
A smile hides a million tears , tell me something I don't faithfully show.
Im in love with the pain , but often I pretend like I'm not .
Persuading my limbic system that I don't love anyone , so maybe the pain can ease - since I know it won't stop .
It all came crashing - so very swift .
Simultaneously nothing seemed to make the slightest of switch.
Bad choices seem to invade like the most uncomfortable itch .
Itching my soul , to become a better person .
Hopefully these feelings don't cause my coldness to worsen .
Lately the devil has been continuously working .
Like a plague , that keeps spreading - it must die down .
Though happiness is far - I shouldn't frown .
For it will come back, when I stop saving pain from being drowned .
Jan 24, 2018
Jan 24, 2018 at 8:56 PM UTC
There is one time when the body pauses
The dazzling placid late night
Inside a concealed crisp castle
There is a slacked thrown of pose
One trivial light flickers softly
Beside a firm restful coffin
Now I lay me down to sleep
A phrase heard through life
Happens in the reality of this moment
Stripping cloth from the frosted vision
Once again becoming true natural
The chilled air surrounds the body
Seeping in the lowered soul
Laying ever so still on a lush plank
A quicksand of memories as the body sinks
The light now slender
Nothing but the somber knights
They cover a chattered body
Leaving a sense of protection and warmth
Are the eyes open or closed?
A thought lucidly pounding in the brain
The sense of smell is the true friend
At this sudden listless time
Only supple crystals shift the nose
Tingling the starved fragile hairs
Face cannot be wiped
The body is made of oppressed stone
The arms weighted to a pull
Tied down by tickled silk shackles
The legs a block of endless heavy
The body is no more a vital vessel
But an anchored hard shell
Although the fleshy mind stays alert
Thoughts, dreams, emotions
Marinating in a skulled ***
Fusing together to make a dream
An intense deep sleep
In the world of non reality
Jun 15, 2010
Jun 15, 2010 at 6:50 AM UTC
I sat in restless chairs
I breathed stilted air
what feeling compares
with feeling squandered?
I’m not sadfishing,
I was bored at a 5-star hotel.
I’d swum the Atlantic - in the underground pool
and I felt like I was marinating in boredom.
It was as if the loudest thing in our suite was
the sound of my eyelashes flapping up and down.
I wasn’t in solitary confinement,
Lisa was there too - and just-as bored.
She didn’t complain, 'cause she’s ‘New Yorker’ stoic.
So I started complaining for her - for the team.
We’d filtered every boutique,
sampled every eclectic café,
there’s just nothing to do in Geneva.
It is an implacable reality.
Peter (my bf) was at work all day and we were on vacation.
It’s different when he’s around.
He walks into the room and I feel like
a phone that’s been placed on its charger
- the world lights up and I get - charged.
“We should make a list,” I'd announced, “the pros and cons of boredom.”
“No,” Lisa said, “Let’s name fun things.”
“Fruity Pebbles popcorn,” I started.
“Girl panda makeup” Lisa offered,
“Foot massages and bubblegum”
“Cotton candy and sunflowers”
“Holidays and sparkly things!”
- we went on and on and on and -
“kittens” I updogged dreamily, before I switched the subject completely.
“We need to go to Paris!” I pronounced, excitedly.
“Oh yeah?” Lisa asked, with a little side head-bob.
“Actionable intel,” I whispered, “Grandmère wants to see me.”
Lisa gasped, adding, “You’re in TROUBLE,” drawing the last syllable out slowly.
“That would be a first,” I laughed.
“Kisses!” She exclaimed, resuming the game.
I remembered the first time I thought of kissing Peter. The thought was a flash, an emotional Rorschach test and I smiled. It was like a movie kiss, an abstract heaven - not the breathy, ****** kisses of real life.
“Where’d you go?” Lisa asked, grinning.
Some emotions are too thick for words.
.
.
Songs for this:
Good Luck, Babe! by Chappell Roan
Disco Boots by Gavin Turek
Jul 14, 2024
Jul 14, 2024 at 8:49 PM UTC
I Think Ziggy’s playing guitar again.
And walking on the wild side.
I fancy a walk it’s a fine spring evening.
And I’ve kept my self busy with half arsed house cleaning.
Who knows what’s round the corner?
What tattered hymns are being hummed from the leopard skin trolley dollies?
Their kneeling for distraught drunken jockeys
Discussions which inevitably create fraught tension.
That which must be defused
Catch a break brother you’re casting successive **** storms.
Throw on the parker and thus to the shelter.
Thirty six and dour and positively *****
Few dollars in the bank.
Show patience and may receive what I deserve.
I lean and drool, the swagger of Liam Gallagher and clean my shiny Excalibur.
Indulge the kindness of strangers.
The merging of unstable behaviour.
Shake the snow globe and set tasers to stun
I talk to the luscious Lucia. Tell her to skip the small talk and let’s get to marinating the pork
Another dumb quirk, dumb dirt that comes from my cracked beak.
She considerers me flippant and freakish.
I am truly scrooge macduffed
She returns to her posh rugby fan with blonde locks and a chin that could hold six pints.
I lay this dog to die and meet some more familiar faces.
All the venues are familiar.
Avast the putrid fog of masculine sweat, the desperate air of ****** puns that drag and caress us in the arm pit of jacks sick giant.
None of our jokes make any sense and were ducking and diving into primitive offence.
The next few hours are unacceptable and the horror must have me in chained.
If I could describe the rest Charlie Bronson would light my ***
Woke up next day lying on the wing of a Heathrow aeroplane.
Without my trousers.
And several tubes in the near regions.
And now it come to this.
Prison showers and a Glaswegian mans kiss.
Jan 10, 2015
Jan 10, 2015 at 11:03 AM UTC