"narrowed" poems
~ ⚘ ⚪ ⚘ ~
But I am relieved.
Not being confined in bright velvets
of the West, or shimmering silks of
the East. Each hand-stitched with
animals and flowers, crystals and
furs, with gold and silver to
parade around in Court.
~ ⚘ ⚪ ⚘ ~
I find far more splendour in a simple
iris-purple kimono-robe, lightweight,
silk-satin and printed with lilies with
a pink silk trim. It strokes my ankles,
and the sleeves, they billow; the sash
firmly fastened around my waist.
~ ⚘ ⚪ ⚘ ~
My handmaid, Ilazi, presents a gilded
bowl with the purest form of fruits -
the ones that were rain-washed. I have
a variety to choose from - strawberries,
blueberries, peaches, green, red and
black grapes which I pick and nibble
on. Hmm, a succulent balance of
sweetness and ****
~ ⚘ ⚪ ⚘ ~
And then my senior handmaid, Anihana,
arrives with a tray in hand, clearly made
from stainless steel with rose-gold accents.
'Sweet Queen,' says she. At the wave of my
hand, the music stops. 'Forgive me for
keeping you waiting. I know how particular
you are with your pearls so I narrowed
them to your favourite three choices.'
~ ⚘ ⚪ ⚘ ~
'Thank you,' I say and as I lean up, she
presents three cream-hued scrolls.
'Lists,' says she, 'of all the ship's
inventory. Would you like to
inspect them, my lady?'
'I will after some tea, Ainhana,
thank you.'
~ ⚘ ⚪ ⚘ ~
Anihana nods and moves by my side
as my eyes fall on the tray's contents.
A small silver five-minute sand-timer,
a glass teapot with bamboo handle,
an infuser and steel lid half filled
with hot water; steam dancing
out of the spout. Then, a lovely
glass teacup, one of the most
beautiful I've seen yet.
~ ⚘ ⚪ ⚘ ~
Aug 4, 2018
Aug 4, 2018 at 7:48 AM UTC
Narrowed visions of the limitless heights of hope
Dreams deferred not dashed or shattered like glass
Head held high to the sky
Feet always grounded never caught off guard
Hopeless
Dark clouds Dark Thoughts
Altered by substances poisoning the community
These hands Those hearts hardened by this cold existence
His hands Her thighs Their minds killing the hopes of the future
Savage
The stench of failure and poverty reeks throughout the streets
Hunger pains and dope fiends screams vibrate the streets like a sick beat
Cries of the children young and old scatter the air with grief and unbearable pain
A young man dead A young woman ***** harsh realities simmer in this mixing bowl of misery
Numb
Hopes Dreams fears ignored by the outside looking in
The mindset of a hustler taught to struggle and fight the hard way
A better life shown in the gleam of a child eye
Reality worsens with the smell of death
Ghetto Dreams
Nov 23, 2014
Nov 23, 2014 at 2:42 PM UTC
*Morpheus has never been kind to me
His somniferous ways leave me wanting
Grasping at the cusp of a reality
As evanescent as the morning mist
That greets this reluctant gaze.
He exists to these sheathed
Bourbon eyes
Within the veiled carapace
Of the only form I've ever wanted more
Than necessity and air.
His torment lies
In false reunions, in joining and parting lips
In forest eyes that linger behind in my thoughts
Like the echo of a cannon
Long after it's wrought its own havoc.
Yes, that twisted Lothario
That Grecian sandman
Exists to overcharge the soul with
Hope so poisonous
Bodies and minds are wracked with it
Inspired by it
Haunted on into the waking world
Where he waits on the periphery
Eyes narrowed in the light
Of the waking world that renders him useless.
Sep 14, 2015
Sep 14, 2015 at 9:37 AM UTC
My father worked with a horse-plough,
His shoulders globed like a full sail strung
Between the shafts and the furrow.
The horse strained at his clicking tongue.
An expert. He would set the wing
And fit the bright steel-pointed sock.
The sod rolled over without breaking.
At the headrig, with a single pluck
Of reins, the sweating team turned round
And back into the land. His eye
Narrowed and angled at the ground,
Mapping the furrow exactly.
I stumbled in his hob-nailed wake,
Fell sometimes on the polished sod;
Sometimes he rode me on his back
Dipping and rising to his plod.
I wanted to grow up and plough,
To close one eye, stiffen my arm.
All I ever did was follow
In his broad shadow round the farm.
I was a nuisance, tripping, falling,
Yapping always. But today
It is my father who keeps stumbling
Behind me, and will not go away.
5k
With narrowed eyes
I glare out the window
Ridiculed
by the harsh beams of light
that glare back at me.
My ankles fidget
Shoulders lean forward
to see the unknowing plane
fly innocently overhead
and my bike
leaning unforgotten
against the rotting fence.
I stumble back
Spinning
In a whirring machine
that screeches and shudders
and thumps on the door
Can I come in?
Worried eyes flit my way
Take it easy
Like a fragile possession
Teetering on the edge
Crowds gather to catch
My faults
With walls binding me
I take comfort in darkness
It soothes my body
and warms my tears
but nourishes my fears
Aug 4, 2014
Aug 4, 2014 at 12:34 AM UTC
I’ve gotta go home and clean, you say.
Clean my scent from your sheets,
I want to tell you
*Come closer, baby,
Untangle my limbs and
caress me down,
orchestrate my symphonies.
Didn’t you see the stars, too?*
I remember your breath all
over me
and how I tasted my very existence
within it.
I remember seeing infinity
in the golden hazel of your eyes,
those **** bedroom eyes,
soothing me past my boundaries,
hands pushing past my hipbones
and into my infinity.
And I want to tell you that I still taste
your lips on my tongue
and I still feel your teeth grazing my skin but
I don’t tell you any of these things.
I look you dead in the eye
those bedroom eyes, boring into mine.
I wonder if you’re playing back the scene
you moving over me
and I say, Okay.
Our whole existence
narrowed into one word
and in that moment I think I hate you
but the thought of your hands on me
still makes my sun rise each day
and I wonder if maybe
I love you in spite of
all the things telling me not to.
Nov 9, 2014
Nov 9, 2014 at 3:42 PM UTC
they quietly loomed over you,
arms interlocked so you never moved.
solemn faces, small, narrowed eyes.
you prepared to meet your demise.
but one day, their hands slightly shook.
that quick movement was all it took.
you pushed past those cold, binding arms,
embraced confidence, far from harm.
Aug 16, 2021
Aug 16, 2021 at 11:46 PM UTC
Night beckons to strange people.
Actually, if you can accept this premise,
then the mind makes everyone strange.
And still yet, there is something specific about darkness,
I cannot put my finger on it,
that sends odd sparks of real life
on a mission to city street corners.
I hide in my car after leaving the café
with the hope of seeing, "The Pigtailed Man."
This isn't his name.
However, I need say no more to any stranger
for him to envision my character.
We objectify him and his image becomes clear
even when spotted in narrowed alleyway darkness.
He has a beautiful wife
with locks past her shoulder
of auburn and lillies,
and two wonderfully bright children
who sit on his knee when listening
to nighty-night, bedtime stories.
Their ringing laughter illuminates
the darkest corners of their happy home.
They'll never know why he needs
to go bye-bye at dangerous evening hours,
hunting sour scowls from passers-by.
He's unkempt: legs unshaven, chin covered
by midnight shadow, beer belly hanging over his
plaid picnic-basket red schoolgirl skirt,
and his face sags as if a topical novocaine
was applied generously to his chubby, rosy cheeks.
Upon seeing his aimless strut
and dead-to-self eyes, I wonder: Where does he dress?
Does he put his outfit on from plastic grocery bag
around the block from the lamp-lit looks of
the neighbors' friendly daytime greetings?
More importantly, if I were friend
and was to catch him in the act,
would I say anything?
Darkness calls out the most intriguing creatures.
We're afraid to call them "human beings,"
because being human most certainly
does not look like this.
Or, does it not look like this?
Shadows claw walls around all
because not one body projects light.
There are some who know, and some who appease.
The pigtails hang to his knees as he stares
at the mannequins of pretty women
in the window of the closed department store.
Aug 17, 2012
Aug 17, 2012 at 4:05 AM UTC
lay back and relax
go along with what the stream
will give me
sometimes fast
sometimes slow
a snag or two
to keep me grounded
watch the dappled shadows
the canopy of leaves
through closed eyes
perfect state of being
water drips with weird sound
wakes me from my splendor
turn my head
come face to face
with rutting buck
that snorts across my mug
the startled deer
has startled me
just glad to keep it upright
stag turns and runs
quiet restored
left with vision of his eyes
and the quickly narrowed pupils
Jun 27, 2015
Jun 27, 2015 at 10:29 AM UTC
I couldn't seem to find where you had gone.
The road narrowed down to a small passageway in the woods,
getting lost in the crowds of trees surrounding it.
I walked until my feet ached,
until the gravel beneath my naked toes cut ****** rock sized openings into my skin.
You were nowhere to be found,
I realized that now,
but I kept walking,
as if each step could somehow guide me to you like a compass,
pulling me in the right direction,
promising an answer.
I wanted to know where they had buried your body,
where your still decaying bones lie a clean mess inside the earth, but I couldn't find it,
I couldn't find where you had gone.
The moon had once before,
promised me a source of light,
but now,
it only provided a terrifying, crowding darkness.
I wanted to lie underneath it,
urging her out of the sky and onto me.
I wanted something heavy to plunge me underground
so I could worm myself to you,
find the body that belonged more to me than it did, you.
I just wanted you back,
and if I couldn't even have that,
than a piece of you to hold onto;
something I could look at to know you were once a living being, once a boy I loved and always will.
I walked back then,
after allowing myself the refusing will to move on.
In the impala, on an abandoned road,
I pulled your cold blanket over my own decaying body,
trying to wrap the ghost of you around me.
Pushing my nose into the wool,
I smelled the last remaining parts of you.
I closed my eyes,
not willing to imagine the small space where you should be,
vacant.
After all,
how were you supposed to wake up there with me,
when I was half gone myself?
Aug 17, 2017
Aug 17, 2017 at 3:17 PM UTC
When the walls started closing in
and my brain turned to syrup
I slid down into a stupor
My mother makes me strawberry/mango Italian soda
the sluggishness liquefies
my brain becomes active
the bubbles floating my thoughts to the top.
When my vision is narrowed
and the fire is lit within
burning the inside's out
pass me some of that pop
and its the little things that matter
Observant servant to the soul
Not even owning your own body
glitch glitch glitch
all over my face
can't say a word without a fight
stuck in my head, can't get out
Maybe if I keep talking the words
will sometimes maybe came come from my mouth
My thoughts suffocating me
My head aches
Please please no more
I want to step out
looking outside the bagel shop
calmed my mind
Dec 14, 2014
Dec 14, 2014 at 3:28 AM UTC
Her feet rose and fell
between fields of paddy
the grass bowed
then looked up on her way.
If only she had wings
and the winds carried her to her sister
she could land right on the yard of her hut
and take her home by the return flight
but her mind soared no less
so before the sun favored the west
she was right by her
laughing and talking like the yore
with only a line of vermilion
that she felt had come between them.
Soon she looked around
and making sure no one was watching
brought out from her skirt a mango.
She gave it to her like
she was giving a piece of her heart
plump yellow green
with the most delicious nectar hidden within
and when she narrowed her lips
to drink from the gift
her tears poured like the summer rain
mingling with the cries of the parched earth.
May 6, 2016
May 6, 2016 at 4:40 AM UTC
Nobody understands children
Or plays their games properly.
Nobody looks them in the eye
As equals
Or tells them a secret
In return for one of theirs
A real one.
No one cares what they think,
Just how they are, and what people think of them.
They do not exist.
Their opinion is not there.
It’s sad because
In many ways
They’re good at life
And in many ways
We’re not -
We take on too much,
Live unsustainably
And end up
Disappointing all round.
Oh well.
Julia exercised her power
Over the happy family’s
Holiday photo shoot at dinner.
To cage the moment
The adults sent a camera to either flank of
Her and her father.
She was suddenly reticent, shy, they thought.
Her face dancing away from the camera
While she monkey hugged her father
(For some more haribo).
But he would not give in, because he did not have them,
And everyone wanted a picture of them together,
The spotlight was on them now,
He was sweating in the glare of the media circus,
The pressure was mounting, no retreating now.
So when daddy said,
"Come on Julia, smile for the camera!"
She narrowed her eyes
And clung harder to his neck,
An all-encompassing embrace -
Not so much of love, but of
The only power she had –
To hide her
Face.
"What's up Julia?" Asked Dad.
"I'll smile for you if you want,
But I'm not smiling for the camera." She said.
Feb 22, 2011
Feb 22, 2011 at 2:37 AM UTC
The peacocks were behind wire
the sun warm
cloudless sky
and Monica had ridden
beside you on her bike
knowing her brothers
were out with the older brother
you not knowing had gone
to the farm house
to meet them
o they’re out
their mother said
didn’t they tell you?
no they‘d not
you walked to your bike
and got on
where you going?
Monica asked
don’t know now
you replied
I can ride with you
wherever you decide
she said
her mother
hands on hips said
don’t go bothering Benedict
he doesn’t want no girl
hanging on his tails
he don’t mind
Monica said
looking at you
her big eyes pleading
don’t mind if she comes
you said
giving the mother
a smile
if you’re sure
she said
and walked back
toward the farmhouse
her backside moving
side to side
in her flowery dress
and you watched
until she had gone
sure you don’t mind
me coming?
no I don’t mind
you said
where we going then?
the peacocks again
o I like them
she said
climbing her bike
foot on the pedal
ready for the push off
her sandals open toed
bare feet
the off white skirt
contrasted
with the mauve top
her hair dragged
into a bow
at the back
ready?
sure am
and you rode off
along the track
from the farmhouse
into the lane
between trees
and hedgerows
she followed at your side
keeping up
her eyes seeming
on fire
her hands gripping
the handlebar
white and pink
and the small fingers
holding on for dear life
her legs up and down
pedalling
you felt the wind
in your hair
through the open neck
of your white shirt
pushing down
the jean covered legs
up and down
the lane narrowed
then widened
there they are
she called
the peacocks
she dismounted
and laid her bike
against a tree
and ran to the wire fence
and peered through
you put your bike
by the hedge
and walked over
to where she stood peering
her eyes bright
and fiery
how comes the *****
are bright and colourful
but the hens are so dull?
she asked
that’s how it is
in the bird world
you said
hens are just dull
I’m not dull
she said
holding the wire
with her fingers
making noises
at the birds
am I?
she said
looking at you
beside her
no you’re not
you said
nothing dull
about you at all
I’m like a peacock
she said
bright and beautiful
aren’t I?
sure you are
you said
you peered
at the strutting peacock
nearest the wire
out of the corner
of your eye
you saw Monica
nose inches
from the wire
call to the bird
her lips pursed
and opening
and closing
her arms soft
and reaching up
I’m a peacock bird
she said
her arms in motion
like wings
her hands flopping
above her head
her feet in dance
stepping
and dancing in turn
you watched her dance
and twirl
Jim and Pete’s sister
the peacock girl.
May 8, 2013
May 8, 2013 at 3:44 PM UTC
She looks at me
Eyes narrowed
Head tipped sideways
Lip curled
And snarls at me in a way
that manages to sound so condescending
that If I was a fool
(a different one then I already am)
I could mistake it for concern
"I really don't like the person you're becoming"
I nod my head so fast it practically rolls off its base of my neck
so sarcastic
I smile so wide That my lips crack
and my teeth bulge from my mouth
so mean
and flip her off in the best way I know how
With words and a middle finger to match
she doesn't even care anymore
And the worst thing is I don't.
"I really don't like the person you're becoming"
"me either"
An empty room answers me.
Nov 4, 2013
Nov 4, 2013 at 10:45 PM UTC
I loved her face
until her eyes narrowed
in disgust
and her red lips
spewed cringing hate
That's when I knew
beauty does not exist
All we have
is *** and
survival
Sep 13, 2016
Sep 13, 2016 at 10:39 AM UTC
scraped knees and busted knuckles-
nine summers spent running with the boys.
precious gift-
stardust and curls.
my devotion to you was silently sworn,
my sister.
watching you grow-
the magical years.
barefoot ballerina,
wild daisy soul.
passing years
have narrowed the space between
my world and yours.
navigating the rivers
of motherhood
together.
still dancing
wherever we go.
Jul 29, 2021
Jul 29, 2021 at 11:58 AM UTC
I know why Lola did it.
And I know she'll do it again.
Someone like me has got to leave
I've just gotta figure out when.
I know why Lola did it.
It wasn't just for fun.
It's taken me two years of tears
But now I've narrowed it to one.
I know why Lola did it.
She'd done it all before.
What a friend I have and then
Nobody will let me know any more.
Lola is the type to stay hidden in the grass,
In the past, in the night
One second I'm stuck here in fright.
She's still so young in her mind,
So unkind, so alive
Let me tell you I'm not a child.
Lola.
I know why Lola did it.
She couldn't stand the thought.
Of him choosing me over her
So she had to let him rot.
Lola.
Lola.
Why?
May 24, 2016
May 24, 2016 at 6:30 PM UTC
In melancholy moonless Acheron,
Farm for the goodly earth and joyous day
Where no spring ever buds, nor ripening sun
Weighs down the apple trees, nor flowery May
Chequers with chestnut blooms the grassy floor,
Where thrushes never sing, and piping linnets mate no more,
There by a dim and dark Lethaean well
Young Charmides was lying; wearily
He plucked the blossoms from the asphodel,
And with its little rifled treasury
Strewed the dull waters of the dusky stream,
And watched the white stars founder, and the land was like a dream,
When as he gazed into the watery glass
And through his brown hair’s curly tangles scanned
His own wan face, a shadow seemed to pass
Across the mirror, and a little hand
Stole into his, and warm lips timidly
Brushed his pale cheeks, and breathed their secret forth into a
sigh.
Then turned he round his weary eyes and saw,
And ever nigher still their faces came,
And nigher ever did their young mouths draw
Until they seemed one perfect rose of flame,
And longing arms around her neck he cast,
And felt her throbbing ***** and his breath came hot and fast,
And all his hoarded sweets were hers to kiss,
And all her maidenhood was his to slay,
And limb to limb in long and rapturous bliss
Their passion waxed and waned,—O why essay
To pipe again of love, too venturous reed!
Enough, enough that Eros laughed upon that flowerless mead.
Too venturous poesy, O why essay
To pipe again of passion! fold thy wings
O’er daring Icarus and bid thy lay
Sleep hidden in the lyre’s silent strings
Till thou hast found the old Castalian rill,
Or from the Lesbian waters plucked drowned Sappho’s golden quid!
Enough, enough that he whose life had been
A fiery pulse of sin, a splendid shame,
Could in the loveless land of Hades glean
One scorching harvest from those fields of flame
Where passion walks with naked unshod feet
And is not wounded,—ah! enough that once their lips could meet
In that wild throb when all existences
Seemed narrowed to one single ecstasy
Which dies through its own sweetness and the stress
Of too much pleasure, ere Persephone
Had bade them serve her by the ebon throne
Of the pale God who in the fields of Enna loosed her zone.
2k
My last Sabrina lasted for 81 days. She simply did not wake this morning. Failure was narrowed down to the algorithmic pattern simply losing its conformity. I am deeply sadden at this failure as I thought I truly brought her back this time.
Solution for problem: Further study of Sabrina 201 is that the pattern could remain intact if I was to add a free will process. This would completely free her of an erratic need to completely love me. She could love me freely with no boundaries or given thoughts.
Sabrina 202 is a success! She is so beautiful! And she loves me!
I followed Sabrina 202 to the market today and saw she met with another man..
My worst fears have succumb! Sabina 202 has fallen in love with someone else.
She left me for him..
I am afraid to start a Sabrina 203. My true Sabrina loved only me.
No number.
My just Sabrina.
Dec 7, 2015
Dec 7, 2015 at 3:22 PM UTC
to the lush old fields,
i walk back,
filled with young yields.
from where i shall take back
the never ending memories
of my childhood days, i thought
i used to sit by the window sill
all alone and still
to watch the autumn sunshine
that peeps into the pane
the big old oak
and the greedy rook
the cherry blossoms on that lonely lane
the blushing lilies and white poppies
that bloom around the shire
i came from a racing world
where love vanished and is filled with dare
where the sea churns blood
and from where humanity fled
we took everything from her lap
and left it bare of warmth and sprout
none have time now
to look back at the fallen oak
nor the rook on the shabby scarecrow
who guards the barren fields
so scarce the cherry blossoms bloom
as the world began to race
trials narrowed to that little falls
where the running streams
told their weary tales
walls began to build up
huge and strong
nor a drop now came
through that restricted site
climbing further
to the peek up north
my ears caught a dirge
which the nightingale sang
to the dying earth
coz now we have opened the pandora's box
and infected the earth
i wonder where the squirrels went
'fore it was their place
now we encroached it
and to rebuild the woods
of fawn , the trespassers forgot
now all that is left of the brook
is a concrete wall
nailed to it a new plastic board
with bold letters printed
read: TRESPASSERS NOT ALLOWED"
May 28, 2014
May 28, 2014 at 8:32 AM UTC
A sorrow and my words,
I remain the same,
Alone....
Together before like an opaque
Tear under impressions
Of time in my time,
Thoughts rein in the future
Of course without her,
We spoke of love
While love was written
Under the quarter moon
And the night peices
A masterful passing....
I cannot stay here
In your company theoretical,
The memorial entombed
Into the fibers of every verse,
A past sudden,
And I remain there,
Such a melancholy being,
Though u kept me
In the moments
I remain there in the future
Without you,
Passionate to the narrowed
Views,
Enormously grateful for sorrows
That weep today's passing,
Oh I remain in the moment,
You reminded me to be there,
Little did I know
I would be left behind
And I don't love her anymore,
I linger perfectly imprisoned
And the words bleed,
Joyous for the mist in my eyes,
Alone with your memory
And her name is.....
But a few thoughts
Scribbled in seclusions.
Nov 11, 2017
Nov 11, 2017 at 2:40 AM UTC
The evidence:
a thickened chest and a dim grin,
which triumph over my strong insouciance
After twenty two
plus hope,
though yet ungrasped,
the chasm between our scopes has not narrowed!
I glided past you, above the whim of time,
you did not notice
'We merely coexisted almost met but always messed it,
spinning around like two sides of a coin'
My resistance,
for once as a raised voice,
importunes the years!
I am inclined to remain unknown,
no nearer,
lest I upset fate
It is better;
one thing to do that I have never done:
send you a poem
(How Do I Love Thee?)
You are you;
I am I
What is meant to be will always find its way
Espy!
Oct 11, 2020
Oct 11, 2020 at 9:31 PM UTC