"mingled" poems
"I'm a mermaid," she said as she kissed me.
Ah! her kiss made me drunker than wine.
I'd been longing for the ocean in her blue eyes,
it was calling to the diver in mine.
She whispered, "I've got just a little bit of magic
from my home in this big blue lagoon--
join me tonight for a swim in the moonlight,
I'll make some magic for you."
The full moon was rising in Paradise
as I made my way down to the shore.
There I dove right into the water,
I just couldn't stand it anymore.
Here she comes, swimming up to meet me--
wraps her self around me like a glove.
As long as I live I never could tell
the magic of a mermaid in love.
Goddess of the crystal blue ocean,
sharing your mysteries with me.
When I'm with you I can breathe underwater
and swim beside you under the sea.
If I could stay here under the surface,
I would never go back to dry land!
Goddess of the crystal blue ocean,
Meet me here whenever you can.
The spell would be broken by sunrise,
but her "little bit of magic" was no lie.
We soared, freed by love, underwater,
free as two birds in the sky.
All too soon the sky began lightening,
the moon and the stars took their flight.
Our kisses were mingled with tears at the shoreline
where we promised to meet every night.
Goddess of the crystal blue ocean,
sharing your mysteries with me.
When I'm with you I can breathe underwater,
and swim beside you under the sea.
If I could stay here under the surface,
I would never go back to dry land!
Goddess of the crystal blue ocean,
make me a real merman.
Nov 11, 2010
Nov 11, 2010 at 7:13 PM UTC
They call me Ghetto.
They call me
gunfights and drive-bys,
pregnant teens.
They call me Poverty,
and concrete winter walls
splashed with blood-red
graffiti.
They call me
junior-high druggies
and gang-banging muchachos.
They call me Mexico
like it’s a ***** word.
They call me Ghetto.
But haven’t they seen through
the white-washed walls
of the
“American Dream”?
Don’t they know hurt
and suffering,
imperfections
and neglect,
as well?
So call me Mexico;
call me Poverty;
call me Ghetto.
I am
run-down yards
filled with laughing brown children,
small apartments
bursting with the scent
of tamales,
mingled with joy and the chatter of relatives.
I am home-made tortillas
at Thanksgiving
and wrinkled hands pounding masa
at Christmas.
I am friendly smiles
and shouted jokes
followed by roaring
laughter.
I am the lilting syllables
of a beautiful
culture.
I am comfort.
They call me Ghetto
and so I am.
Sep 8, 2014
Sep 8, 2014 at 10:44 PM UTC
My love,
I saw you in the smile of the cheeky Sun,
When we met in the park.
I saw you in the glow of the charismatic moon,
When you asked me out.
I saw you in the twinkle of the dazzling stars,
When you kissed me with passion.
I saw you in the lyrics of our favourite song when we had our first dance.
I saw you in the cocoon of a caterpillar,
When you slept soundly beside me.
I saw you in the huge waves of the ocean,
When we made ecstatic love,
I saw you in the flutter of the butterfly wings,
When you were agitated and worried.
I saw you in the ferocious roar of the lion when you ranted in anger.
I saw you in the tub of my favourite icecream,
Which you did not share.
I saw you in the halo of an angel,
When you showed love and kindness to grandmother.
I saw you in the sweet song of the lark when you mingled happily with my family.
I saw you as a complete packet,
Someone I could spend my life with.
I saw you in a four hearts diamond ring,
When you proposed.
Last I saw you in the marriage vows,
Which you and I took.
For better or worse.
Jun 28, 2018
Jun 28, 2018 at 5:34 AM UTC
Three weeks gone and the combatants gone
returning over the nightmare ground
we found the place again, and found
the soldier sprawling in the sun.
The frowning barrel of his gun
overshadowing. As we came on
that day, he hit my tank with one
like the entry of a demon.
Look. Here in the gunpit spoil
the dishonoured picture of his girl
who has put: Steffi. Vergissmeinnicht.
in a copybook gothic script.
We see him almost with content,
abased, and seeming to have paid
and mocked at by his own equipment
that's hard and good when he's decayed.
But she would weep to see today
how on his skin the swart flies move;
the dust upon the paper eye
and the burst stomach like a cave.
For here the lover and killer are mingled
who had one body and one heart.
And death who had the soldier singled
has done the lover mortal hurt.
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WHEN the jury files in to deliver a verdict after weeks of direct and cross examinations, hot clashes of lawyers and cool decisions of the judge,
There are points of high silence-twiddling of thumbs is at an end-bailiffs near cuspidors take fresh chews of tobacco and wait-and the clock has a chance for its ticking to be heard.
A lawyer for the defense clears his throat and holds himself ready if the word is "Guilty" to enter motion for a new trial, speaking in a soft voice, speaking in a voice slightly colored with bitter wrongs mingled with monumental patience, speaking with mythic Atlas shoulders of many preposterous, unjust circumstances.
7.5k
I watched the fox, rat held firmly in its jaw,
Trot across the street, lithely avoiding the cars,
Ears pricked up.
It slithered under a fence and weaved through the undergrowth,
Not once acknowledging my presence.
Disappearing in the night, it yelped out its echoes in the wood
Licking out worms.
The shadowed moon slung down its light
Like weak silver bristles from the back of a carved out hedgehog
Covered with newly deposited fox saliva.
It had screamed as it was consumed-unable to die!
The crow stabbed at a newly dead rock pigeon
As the stalking cat pounced......
Death mingled!
Joe, who lived near me, waved:
I waved back, wondering why he saw nothing.
Sep 26, 2016
Sep 26, 2016 at 7:32 PM UTC
*Our bodies are facing
The arms of dawn.
Conflicts of our skins
From night's reverie
Floating with fading purple.
Still lost in the depth of
Your starry mouth,
Particles of me
Merging into the universe.
Mingled thoughts
Under mingled fingers
Making galaxies crumbled
Time after time
Inside my closed eyes,
As I'm being washed by your
Warm luminosity.*
Dec 27, 2016
Dec 27, 2016 at 9:40 AM UTC
On the bank of a rushing brook
I sat for hours watching its course.
Peered into the clear gurgling mass
That cascaded down from a mountainous source
Like a slithering snake, it slinks and slips
It babbles downhill night and day
Rolling and gliding through plains and dales
It winds its way to the wider bay.
Dipping my fingers in its icy chill
How my hand got repelled as from a shock!
In its ripples stirred by the kissing breeze,
I saw trees, clouds and the jutting rock-
All floating in queer, fanciful shapes,
Shuddering, trembling and standing still
And the fishes leaving zigzag trails,
Swishing and swimming in the winding rill.
As I quietly watched her speedy flight
With her ***** rising in mournful heaves,
In my ears fell her whispering soft
Orchestrated by the rustle of quivering leaves
I hardly knew the time speeding by
Nor noticed the birds’ homeward flight
Or the Sun moving to the west end side
And the Sky reddening at his sight
As the brook thus continued her headlong ride
To be mingled finally with the ocean wide
I walked, brooding over man’s relentless stride
To be merged eventually with the Cosmic Guide.
May 24, 2017
May 24, 2017 at 9:10 AM UTC
Spines curve as sweetly as drops from a honeysuckle
Notes in a melody fill the void spaces
Gentle rushes stir like the swish of rustling leaves
Flushed as red as the cherry who’s stem is knotted
Time stolen from the hands of a frozen clock-
Still like snow fallen from a winter shower
Senses fully awaken to chase alluring aromas
Repetitive jolts of candied sin trickle throughout the body
Electric flow in the veins sparks an extended invitation
Contagious appetite will mirror aches of desire
Surges of shock in the body join the mind and soul
Accelerating spikes in heart rate kiss private secrets
Boundless longing branded to one another
Yearning indulged by limitless exchanges of energy-
Transfers immune from harm
Pressure from oneness loosens the tremble in pleading breaths
Hands close around each hip to clench their hollows
Credible fingers drenched in admiration coat mingled skin
One is composed by the gravitation of two
Defying moonlight to surrender at an immeasurable ******
Reaching for the highest point to let go
Sharing traces of untamed wind with soaring wings
Collecting innocence altered by ecstasy
Choosing vulnerability to expose what cannot be said
Fantasies traded through the rhythm of touch
Oct 28, 2018
Oct 28, 2018 at 10:21 AM UTC
I look up from my book
to find beams of warm sunlight
touching my face,
the chugging of the train
accompanied by its whistling,
become my aural companions
for the journey,
as I look at scenes that
unfold before my eyes :
I pass by hawkers
trying to sell their wares,
their calls mingled with
joyous voices,
of children
excited about their
first train journey,
of families
on their way,
perhaps, to attend a wedding,
or to celebrate the birth
of a much awaited child.
I see :
village belles toiling away
on fields;
shabby looking buildings
speaking of years of neglect;
temples ringing with the sounds of
bhajans being sung with religious fervour,
bells being tolled, pleading
the gods to look down
from their divine abodes;
roadside stalls filling the air
with aromas of food,
promising hearty meals.
They are all ephemeral sights, and yet,
they have become a part of me -
the smells, the sights -
they shall bring back memories
that will become my companions
in solitude.
Oct 18, 2012
Oct 18, 2012 at 4:17 AM UTC
my smallheaded pearshaped
lady in gluey twilight
moving,suddenly
is three animals. The
minute waist continually
with an African gesture
utters a frivolous intense half of
Girl which(like some
floating snake upon itself always and
slowly which upward certainly is pouring)emits
a pose
:to twitter wickedly
whereas the big and firm legs moving solemnly
like careful and furious and beautiful elephants
(mingled in whispering thickly smooth thighs
thinkingly)
remind me of Woman and
how between
her hips India is.
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Moving amidst my Ramona chapter books,
I make out your movement, M, the moody turns
Of your mounts and valleys, the moniker of
Family names, you marked me like a maternal
Emblem of the generation’s matriarch,
You mingled amid reminiscences of former matrons
Maria Helena from the Midwest,
Who crossed the mountains in a wagon,
Madeleine, a migrant from Marseilles,
Who baked warm loaves in San Francisco,
And her own daughter, my Mimi,
Who muttered merde while she drank martinis.
In my own time, you materialized in
Marjorie, my nana, and Maria, my mom,
The women in which I knew you growing up,
Then Molly, who made dreams out of
Magic and Movies and Marie Antoinette,
You embellished my most favorite things.
In my monogram, you aimed my impulses
in your masts’ diametric directions
Towards competence, towards imagination.
In your middle ‘s mysterious compartment I make snug
With magazines and novels and mugs of hot milk.
You nuzzled me in moments of melancholy, then motivated me
To meander among your fundamental family,
The sumptuous L of melt and mélange,
The meticulous N of man or monk or money.
Even W, which matches your mien in mirror
It warped wicked witch while you
Milled maidens and damsels, so I imagined
The mutilation of those two majuscules formed
My image of womanhood. M, Molly Smithson materialized
From a meek mademoiselle into the mistress of mischief.
May 20, 2014
May 20, 2014 at 10:09 AM UTC
Dark shadows drew us in,
we hid in quiet privacy.
There was no hurry
to forge this perfect
embrace,
we would not rush
our hearts desire.
Somehow this was different.
Chaste hugs of the past
grew into
this moment.
Our feelings developed,
slowly we became
more than friends.
Finally it happened,
our first kiss,
with only the rain
serving as witness.
As the purple city surrounded us,
we gave in.
Our breath mingled,
seemingly time stood still,
and it truly was
magic.
Oct 25, 2014
Oct 25, 2014 at 12:34 PM UTC
A cold rain mingled with the river
at evening, when I entered Wu;
In the clear dawn I bid you farewell,
lonely as Ch'u Mountain.
My kinsfolk in Loyang,
should they ask about me,
Tell them: "My heart is a piece of ice
in a jade cup!"
4.7k
Underneath this myrtle shade,
On flowerly beds supinely laid,
With odorous oils my head o’erflowing,
And around it roses growing,
What should I do but drink away
The heat and troubles of the day?
In this more than kingly state
Love himself on me shall wait.
Fill to me, Love! nay, fill it up!
And mingled cast into the cup
Wit and mirth and noble fires,
Vigorous health and gay desires.
The wheel of life no less will stay
In a smooth than rugged way:
Since it equally doth flee,
Let the motion pleasant be.
Why do we precious ointments shower?—
Nobler wines why do we pour?—
Beauteous flowers why do we spread
Upon the monuments of the dead?
Nothing they but dust can show,
Or bones that hasten to be so.
Crown me with roses while I live,
Now your wines and ointments give:
After death I nothing crave,
Let me alive my pleasures have:
All are Stoics in the grave.
4.6k
I have hungered to be filled,
satiated down to the very fiber of
my being.
Am I crazy to crave food with such
carnal intensity? Expecting chocolate
sugary goodness to satisfy the soul's
hunger underneath my physical craving.
But not everything has to be about God,
does it? Sometimes, I just want to savor
the rich decadence of dark chocolate mingled
the burning fire of a chili pepper.
Am I coveting? Am I being sinful to be too
material and sensual? God **** it! I bet
God loves taking a slow bite of chocolate.
I keep dividing the world into
material and spiritual.
Maybe that's why I'm so hungry?
Apr 2, 2014
Apr 2, 2014 at 2:52 PM UTC
Two lovers by a moss-grown spring:
They leaned soft cheeks together there,
Mingled the dark and sunny hair,
And heard the wooing thrushes sing.
O budding time!
O love's blest prime!
Two wedded from the portal stept:
The bells made happy carolings,
The air was soft as fanning wings,
White petals on the pathway slept.
O pure-eyed bride!
O tender pride!
Two faces o'er a cradle bent:
Two hands above the head were locked:
These pressed each other while they rocked,
Those watched a life that love had sent.
O solemn hour!
O hidden power!
Two parents by the evening fire:
The red light fell about their knees
On heads that rose by slow degrees
Like buds upon the lily spire.
O patient life!
O tender strife!
The two still sat together there,
The red light shone about their knees;
But all the heads by slow degrees
Had gone and left that lonely pair.
O voyage fast!
O vanished past!
The red light shone upon the floor
And made the space between them wide;
They drew their chairs up side by side,
Their pale cheeks joined, and said, "Once more!"
O memories!
O past that is!
4.4k
The oyster. Her oyster,
I've been dying to see the pearl,
the moment I and she,
went to swim together,
our eyes, with intense emotions, half closed.
I'll softly touch her with my long, trembling fingers,
swiftly, when I touch,
it would open like a jewel box,
I'll peer inside at all the treasures,
exotic it would be, never forget,
through obsessive nights,
I thought and kept awake, bleary eyed,
I wanted to tell her this,
but then, froze on my tracks.
The oyster, it glows in mind,
she, too pulsates with excitement,
we'll be together, in this submarine adventure.
In that night, our hearts didn't even wink,
sauntering through the still moon lit terrace,
when, one by one stars
fell in place and adorned the sky's coiffure,
the waves of the sea, softened
moved in languid salaciousness,
then, at that precise moment,
we came face to face.
The rough grains of sand, under our undulating bodies,
sighed sweet, sang a ***** night gull's song,
searing feel of salty wind mingled with blood
oozing from love bruise, bites that hurt,
enhanced the pleasure of frothing blood ,
thirsty mating tongues, twirled and twisted.
*Oyster, her oyster, I remember every moment,
tapering in to gentle whispers,
dissolve and be the light, playing with the humming waves.*
Sep 30, 2012
Sep 30, 2012 at 1:53 AM UTC
The sea
smiles far-off.
Spume-teeth,
sky-lips.
'What do you sell, troubled child,
child with naked breasts?'
'Sir, I sell
salt-waters of the sea.'
'What do you carry, dark child,
mingled with your blood?'
'Sir, I carry
salt-waters of the sea.'
'These tears of brine
where do they come from, mother?'
'Sir, I cry
salt-waters of the sea.'
'Heart, this deep bitterness,
where does it rise from?'
'So bitter, the salt-waters
of the sea!'
The sea
smiles far-off.
Spume-teeth.
Sky-lips.
4.4k
I live, I die, I burn, I drown
I endure at once chill and cold
Life is at once too soft and too hard
I have sore troubles mingled with joys
Suddenly I laugh and at the same time cry
And in pleasure many a grief endure
My happiness wanes and yet it lasts unchanged
All at once I dry up and grow green
Thus I suffer love's inconstancies
And when I think the pain is most intense
Without thinking, it is gone again.
Then when I feel my joys certain
And my hour of greatest delight arrived
I find my pain beginning all over once again.
4.2k
My ornaments are fruits; my garments leaves,
Woven like cloth of gold, and crimson dyed;
I do no boast the harvesting of sheaves,
O’er orchards and o’er vineyards I preside.
Though on the frigid Scorpion I ride,
The dreamy air is full, and overflows
With tender memories of the summer-tide,
And mingled voices of the doves and crows.
4.2k
When I was sophomore in high school I was cut from the volleyball team and I started thinking about what I would do next
I decided to try out for the cheer team for my junior year
When I told people I heard the same two things
But aren’t you in honors classes?
And
But you’re not a *****
my friends I thought would support me were only perplexed by my decision
a friend told me I would be invited to parties
and pressured to date a ****
but they forgot, my best friends forgot
that even though I’d be a cheerleader, I’d still be me
I would still get nervous and talk too much,
I’d still be awkward and angry and sad
I made the team and the next year
In my honors classes people asked “but aren’t you a cheerleader”
When that cute senior invited me to his bedroom that night
I refused and he said “but you’re a cheerleader”
And I did not understand why people could not see past the uniform I wore
I got invited to parties
But I usually went and stayed quiet while everyone else mingled
And sometimes I left early because I felt so alone
I was still awkward and angry and sad
And people still did not understand that even though I was a cheerleader
That I was still me
May 21, 2013
May 21, 2013 at 7:14 PM UTC
Last weekend was “Parent’s” weekend at Yale. A time when parents are formally invited to visit. They have receptions and other events - but no potato-sack races (which is disappointing). My parents couldn’t come, they’ve never come to parent’s weekend, but Leong’s parents came again, from Macao, China, a 16,060-mile round trip.
There was a time when boys could tank my self-confidence with a word. When the male gaze seemed overpowering. I’d felt constantly evaluated - but I’ve evolved - somewhat. We’re going to a party. Lisa, Leong, Sunny, Anna and I - we’ve got our shine on and we’re drawing looks. Well, ok, Lisa’s drawing looks and I’m in the general frame.
Lisa sneezed, “The air quality’s bad tonight,” she announced, wiping her nose with a Kleenex.
“I don’t have any allergies,” I bragged. “Me neither,” Leong added.
“If you can breathe the air in China,” I said, “You’re golden.”
Leong laughed “Tài zhēnshí liǎo,” (Too true!) She agreed.
As we left the more street-lit part of the path, the moon, wandering in and out of the clouds, created moving shadows that peopled the darkness with phantoms. Was that impression the paranoia of fatigue? I haven’t been getting much sleep lately. Or maybe it’s October and Halloween’s just around the corner.
I was walking in the rear, nestled in the mingled scents of my roommates' perfumes that, like rare blossoms, enchanted and excited the child in me. I wasn’t paying attention, and I stubbed my toe on a misaligned sidewalk tile. Don’t you hate the gap between stubbing your toe and feeling the pain?
Oct 11, 2023
Oct 11, 2023 at 8:15 PM UTC
Ticking the days off was exciting
Yet became a living nightmare
She’d had an invitation to the ball
She now worried how to get there.
It was the End of Year Fairies Ball
Where the best of the fairies went.
She’d got her gown, her fairy shoes
And had made her rose petal scent.
She had chosen pale green for her dress
And had sewn buttercups to the hem.
Little golden flowers cascaded down her
With tiny leaves still attached to the stem.
She had a buttercup upside down on her head
With golden thread under her chin
Daisies draped from her arms held tight
By a tiny golden wrist pin.
She looked adorable but so did the others
They all looked like a story from a fairytale
Nerves sometimes got the better of her
So the breathing slowed down, a slow exhale.
The buttercup fairy looked divine as she did
Always and mingled, taking her time
She ate raspberry pips and drank blossom juice
And had her first sample of apple wine.
She sat under an acorn and arranged her wings
A robin provided a pillow for her which was nice
Before he knew it she had fallen to sleep
But was she about to pay the upmost price.
She had missed the best dressed fairy time
When all fairies were judged by the chief elf
Instead this tipsy little fairy fast asleep
And was sitting on a very expensive shelf.
She awoke with the sound of little bells
Announcing the winner of the best dress
She tutted at the robin for not waking her
She as angry because now she was in a mess.
She now wore a face as long as a fiddle
And did not care about anyone or thing
She had prepared for this day since the
Beginning of this year’s spring.
The moral of her story don’t nestle
Next to a naughty little robin with fluffed chest
Otherwise you fall to sleep all afternoon
And then end up seriously depressed.
The buttercup fairy found some comfort
In a super little bar under a mushroom
And smashed her way through too much wine
Which for now ended her doom and gloom.
Staggering her way home in the early hours
Singing over the blackbird’s morning tune
She perched herself under an oak leaf
And slept until the new light of the moon
Sep 30, 2014
Sep 30, 2014 at 3:34 AM UTC