"natured" poems
Yea of course,
I,
me,
a woman,
a black woman
a darker black woman to be exact..
have black privilege because thats a thing you know
Its like when I walk into the store and get followed .. yea
or that time i came back to school with my “extensions” and was told my hair grows fast
or maybe its when a white person comes up to me asking if i listen to 21 savage because “black people listen to rap right?”
or my favorite is telling my brother to be safe
as he heads out the door worrying he may be shot for reaching for his wallet
maybe its when i worry about whether or not my brother or cousins or father will be the next Trayvon martin or Eric garner or philando castille even
my black privilege
has allowed me to be labeled as loud and ratchet and sometimes a ***
because that what dark skin black girls are
right ..
yea ….
thats black privilege
its getting told I'm pretty for a black girl
its being told I'm intimidating and mean and ugly natured
but no no i swear its not cause your black
I love black people I'm not racist
Slavery happened years ago
Black people are racist too
im not racist i just don't like black people
yea … I've heard it all.
No !
im not just another “angry black girl”
Im just a black girl
Im not mad don't get me wrong
I just wanted to inform you on my black privilege
I wanted to inform you that it is NOT okay to touch my hair
that is NOT okay to say to mock “black slang”
It is not okay to say “are you speaking english” when i talk
It is not okay to put my people through hundreds of years of slavery and oppression and systemic racism and TELL US TO GET OVER IT!
Im sorry excuse my tone of voice
but can you blame me for getting worked up when I have to worry about whether or not my people will come home at night
yea …
thats MY black privilege
Jul 1, 2018
Jul 1, 2018 at 12:23 AM UTC
Well.. if you must know!
our next door neighbour Mrs. Blue,
she and her husband are like rubber and glue,
So what does she do behind his **** back,
shhh..she dates her oompa loompa butler instead
Oh? tell me more Mrs. Snotnose!
Everyone knows I don't like to gossip!
I am not making this **** up right!
there's a rumour going on about that sneaky Mrs. White
(whisper)..She took some fat off her ****
to hide that ugly mole of a nut!
(giggle) Bejesus!, really?
Of course Mrs. Dullardmost!
Wait till you hear about Mrs. Brown,
she wore a fake necklace to the charity event at Hotel Crown!
but not everyone is elegant and classy like me,
the sweet natured that I am, you know I let people be
Oh Mrs. Snotnose, you are the epitomy of noesis!
*(I would have been on my way,
had it not been for all your delighting prey)*
how is dear Mrs. Red doing after that,
you know, that.. incident in her flat?
Oh dear, who doesn't know about that flat incident!
but you know I dont like to pry!
you couldn't take it out of me even if you would try!
I couldn'tell you what I saw through her window,
but um, well, if you really must know!
Jul 17, 2012
Jul 17, 2012 at 2:53 AM UTC
I gaze into the soul's windows
And what do I see
An abyss of muddy water
But if I look closer I can see
Specks of stolen sunlight
Streaks of the purest gold only
Prospectors can begin to imagine
By just looking I can tell what a
Gracious, warmhearted, good-natured
Person you are
That all the disingenuous individuals
Fathom
Just by looking
Sep 16, 2018
Sep 16, 2018 at 1:31 PM UTC
"Poetry is confession, obsession, reflection.
Empathic minds, valentines, hope divined.
It's a kiss, whispered sweetly" (2)
who needs challenges, commissions.
kicks~in~le butte~
when heaven heaves rains, one downs tall orders in
short shot glass verses, which glossed over at its
first communion(cation,
come back
months later
to subtract - another
poem from where it lay dormant
on the doormat
of my sub~sub~terranes
of my diluted subconscious au natured dry & rugged terrain
a favored poet,
a secretive admirer,
whoa~whose~her truthful name, I've yet to uncover,
but whose one true soul inspires me repeatedly,
ana~lyrically licks me into
dredging from me
un begrudgingly
and yet,
another love poem,
she herself wrote when elixiring (commentating (3))
'pon one of mine,
a long long time ago
Alas! Alack!
unnaturally immodest,
one concedes,
when obviously a Super~Woman!-cedes,
seeds in three verses, what I could never unknot
nor uncover
so I requite & requote with
unlabored pleasure
miz patty m's
primary terse verse,
neither secondary & never tertiary,
her absolut perfect mixed drink
defining, summarizing,
the essences of love
*"(Love) Poetry is confession, obsession, reflection.
Empathic minds, valentines, hope divined.
It's a kiss, whispered sweetly"*
I concede, in deed,
and in writing,
I know nothing,
of writing
of only love poetry
and all the great predecessors,
elsewhere lyricized, named and tabulated,
by yet another women, (1)
I will take my weary words elsewhere,
and if
perhaps,
disguised as a woman,
(Natalie, Natasha, Natali
see note below)
perhaps my verbal herbal insides,
my turgid insights,
will be shorter, sweeter,
but never more completer
than those of,
who can syncopate it
in rhyme
and the naming of my
predilection,
by mid~initial,
will give a measuring
of solace, and
a kiss and hug from my mirrored selfie,
having been unsuccessful at
my one chosen endeavor,
only love poetry,
adieu,
I, due,
utter
Nevermore
M>
Sep 2, 2025
Sep 2, 2025 at 3:38 PM UTC
We are absurd
You and I
Fragments
We have created a fermentative reality,
Where words are symbols of relation
That you and I falsify
And Bingo was his name-o!
Ah!
Oh holy onomatopoeic jargon
What do you mean?
And how shall we bargain?
And mora is but a half step to a whole
Eek gad!
January Febuary March and April
May I introduce you to June and July
August, Sept Oct Nov Dec
Randomly systemized organs organized
Abstract or… dissonant?
But who is in charge?
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12344
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“Why so serious?” said The Riddler
Mellow dramatic
Melodrama
Melancholy
Pantomimes!
Pantomimes EVERYWHERE!
They are able to speak
But alone I mime, “Do you have the time?”
Together we fall!
United I stand.
Backwards
Upside down
Inside out
And grammar
What’s in a name?
Please don’t be lame
Sarcastic and the glamour
Synonymous nonsense
Homophones and nyms
Where are the polysemes?
In the antonyms
In the antonyms!
Repitition
Exclamation
Annunciation
tions…
verbage verbage verbage
syllables and such
meaningless meaning
defining definitions with such
True or False?
Hide and Seek
Ring around the rosy
We all fall down…
We all fall down.
Black hat, white shoes, and I’m red all over.
Salt
Sour
And bitter
And dill
And
And
And
And
And
And
Ampersand
Institutionalized poetry
But I am for rhythmic prose!
No, not you
Listen to the hue
that the colors protrude
red green blue
red green blue
Black is not a color
Chrome is my favorite
I will not believe otherwise
You are an alien.
I have divided by zero
Musical dissonance
*(asterisk)
A beautiful disaster
A shadow without its owner
Wild natured wilderness
And naturally a wildcard.
**** **** **** **** ****
Etcetera.
Sep 15, 2012
Sep 15, 2012 at 7:08 AM UTC
A dancing Bear grotesque and funny
Earned for his master heaps of money,
Gruff yet good-natured, fond of honey,
And cheerful if the day was sunny.
Past hedge and ditch, past pond and wood
He tramped, and on some common stood;
There, cottage children circling gaily,
He in their midmost footed daily.
Pandean pipes and drum and muzzle
Were quite enough his brain to puzzle:
But like a philosophic bear
He let alone extraneous care
And danced contented anywhere.
Still, year on year, and wear and tear,
Age even the gruffest, bluffest bear.
A day came when he scarce could prance,
And when his master looked askance
On dancing Bear who would not dance.
To looks succeeded blows; hard blows
Battered his ears and poor old nose.
From bluff and gruff he waxed curmudgeon;
He danced indeed, but danced in dudgeon,
Capered in fury fast and faster.
Ah, could he once but hug his master
And perish in one joint disaster!
But deafness, blindness, weakness growing,
Not fury's self could keep him going.
One dark day when the snow was snowing
His cup was brimmed to overflowing:
He tottered, toppled on one side,
Growled once, and shook his head, and died.
The master kicked and struck in vain,
The weary drudge had distanced pain
And never now would wince again.
The master growled; he might have howled
Or coaxed,--that slave's last growl was growled.
So gnawed by rancor and chagrin
One thing remained: he sold the skin.
What next the man did is not worth
Your notice or my setting forth,
But hearken what befell at last.
His idle working days gone past,
And not one friend and not one penny
Stored up (if ever he had any
Friends; but his coppers had been many),
All doors stood shut against him but
The workhouse door, which cannot shut.
There he droned on,--a grim old sinner,
Toothless, and grumbling for his dinner,
Unpitied quite, uncared for much
(The rate-payers not favoring such),
Hungry and gaunt, with time to spare;
Perhaps the hungry, gaunt old Bear
Danced back, a haunting memory.
Indeed, I hope so, for you see
If once the hard old heart relented,
The hard old man may have repented.
4.6k
We are absurd
You and I
Fragments
We have created a figmentative reality,
where words are symbols of relation
that you and I falsify
And Bingo was his name-o!
Ah!
Oh holy onomatopoeic jargon
What do you mean?
and how shall we bargain?
And mora is but a half step to a whole
Eek gad!
January Febuary March and April
May I introduce you to June and July
August 28th
Sept Oct Nov Dec
Randomly systemized organs organized
Abstract or… dissonant?
But who is in charge?
12345
12345678
12345
12345678
12344
12344556
12344
12344556
“Why so serious?” said The Riddler
Mellow dramatic
Melodrama
Melancholy
Pantomimes!
Pantomimes EVERYWHERE!
They are able to speak
But alone I mime, “Do you have the time?”
Together we fall!
United I stand.
Backwards
Upside down
Inside out
And grammar
What’s in a name?
Please don’t be lame
Sarcastic and the glamour
Synonymous nonsense
Homophones and nyms
Where are the polysemes?
In the antonyms
In the antonyms!
Repetition
Exclamation
Annunciation
tions…
verbage verbage verbage
syllables and such
meaningless meaning
defining definitions with such
True or False?
Hide and Seek
Ring around the rosy
We all fall down…
We all fall down.
Salt
Sour
And bitter
And dill
And
And
And
And
And
And
Ampersand
Institutionalized poetry
But I am for rhythmic prose!
No, not you
Listen to the hue
that the colors protrude
red green blue
red green blue
Black is not a color
Chrome is my favorite
I will not believe otherwise
You are an alien.
I have divided by zero
Musical dissonance
Asterisk*
A beautiful disaster
A shadow without its owner
Wild natured wilderness
And naturally a wildcard.
**** **** **** **** ****
Etcetera.
Sep 19, 2012
Sep 19, 2012 at 12:26 AM UTC
Extremely sentive
Dual natured
fake? No not me
I like the term "open minded" better
I change my thoughts more than enough
My heart is hurt it can't take it any more
My brain is relentless
May 17, 2013
May 17, 2013 at 3:03 PM UTC
I am the oak bent or' and aged
That once stood brave as natured raged
the lines were drawn the battle staged
and man with time compassion caged
I am the field scarred by each track
that shared the weight of soldiers pack
and too felt pain from shell and flak
and those gone forth no more came back
I am the breeze scented with death
as noxious gas inhaled as breath
sent young men blind without the f
and yet their leaders ears were deaf
I am the rain washed or their blood
and roused the poppies from their bud
to honour all whom fought for good
but died before they ever should
I am the cross the epitaph
the stolen kiss the chance to laugh
when young men walked the broken path
of anguish and the aftermath
I am the note that says beware
tread lightly here with tender care
for fresh eyed boys with features fair
bore arms for you now your weight bare
I am the oak with shrapnel scars
that guides their souls to waiting stars
where commoners prop up the bars
toasting their faith with three hoorars
Dec 3, 2013
Dec 3, 2013 at 9:55 PM UTC
spark the flask—the vitality
of natured *****
and
tears (they fall again)
releasing the bloodied heron from
sleep—
yesterday,
I drew a lead around you
and harnessed your heart
like a dog and (for the first time)
you
were on your own,
schmaltzy from
daddy’s liquor.
this
blindfolded euphoria
creeping in channel 99’s
static—how
I’d drink you whole
until my toes swelled up
rough and one-rooted
Dec 7, 2017
Dec 7, 2017 at 5:42 PM UTC
Better natured today than yesterday,
smelling less like cigarettes and more
like laundry detergent, you sit across
from your therapist at the bar and
ask for one more boilermaker.
You say, How do you desire what you already possess?
And your therapist says, Don't go down that drunk.
That's a bad drunk.
You're in a floral print A-line dress, one
you bought from your sister-in-law.
She's doing one of those multilevel marketing things
and though her Facebook posts make you want
to suicide yourself, she's happy and independent
and at home with her kids. Despite these lukewarm
feelings, you harbor some resentment as you finger
and thumb a seam that's already coming undone.
Sloane. Your husband keeps mentioning a woman
at the office named Sloane. You're at the bar,
almost alone, and promised yourself
you wouldn't think about Sloane. But here you are.
Sloane in a pencil skirt and stockings. Sloane
with a fresh ****** energy, the kind you can't
seem to summon, and you wonder why ***
is such an important thing. It's so brief,
forgettable, full of abject compromise.
*** is an inherently violent act, don't you think?
You say to the therapist.
If your therapist hears you, he doesn't respond.
You don't repeat the question.
You watch yourself broadcast on the TV above the bar.
They're commenting on your hair and your arms
and going on and on about your likability.
Your therapist changes the mood. It's 6:30.
He gives the place a nighttime feel.
He kills a row of lights and turns on the
colored bulbs, the blues and greens.
The TV is turned down. The music is turned up.
This is what you've been waiting for, the lights, the music.
There's an hour before anyone really shows up. You can
close your eyes and drift.
Two or three drinks pass. A couple walks in.
You have your therapist put in for an Uber.
Maybe I've been asking the question the wrong way, you say.
Oh yeah? the therapist says.
Yeah. Maybe the question should be reversed.
Maybe the question should be
how do you remain desirable to the objects you possess?
That seems like a lot of work. Seems like you'd have no
sense of self. You'd always be bending.
I've been a plus one for a long time.
You say bending. But I wouldn't be
doing anything new. I already do all these things.
But I see them as a compromise. I'm just trying
to reframe, you know?
Why? your therapist asks.
You open your mouth and find no words. You smile. You say you've had too much. You're rambling. You're sorry. You better go.
Nov 7, 2016
Nov 7, 2016 at 12:15 PM UTC
By midnight shine of streetlight glow,
On streetlight road fell citrus snow:
The chalky streams and powdered tides;
The tangy shores now come alive:
And to ignite the ember'd brook,
A cloudless clime so tender hook'd.
The night of sweet persimmon air,
Of quiet trees in quiet flare,
Instead of cold, white, winter blaze
My sleepless night soak'd auburn haze;
And sleep made be the dreamy flight,
The streetlight road ran just alike.
And this for me the lunar blue?
Some felon crime of citrine hues:
A nameless joy abstracts the heart,
Serene it is and set apart;
On streetlight road I met a truth:
And seamless be its natured proof.
Feb 7, 2021
Feb 7, 2021 at 5:38 PM UTC
My heart is what it was before,
A house where people come and go;
But it is winter with your love,
The sashes are beset with snow.
I light the lamp and lay the cloth,
I blow the coals to blaze again;
But it is winter with your love,
The frost is thick upon the pane.
I know a winter when it comes:
The leaves are listless on the boughs;
I watched your love a little while,
And brought my plants into the house.
I water them and turn them south,
I snap the dead brown from the stem;
But it is winter with your love,—
I only tend and water them.
There was a time I stood and watched
The small, ill-natured sparrows’ fray;
I loved the beggar that I fed,
I cared for what he had to say,
I stood and watched him out of sight;
Today I reach around the door
And set a bowl upon the step;
My heart is what it was before,
But it is winter with your love;
I scatter crumbs upon the sill,
And close the window,—and the birds
May take or leave them, as they will.
2.3k
the server (waiter) raps
praise upon the sushi,
its integrity,
the harmonic
of its construct,
the curated singularity of
each rice grain
the innate elegance of
the thin sliced,
nearly translucent,
au naturel, organic,
ginger root
the skin smooth paste of
green wasabi,
grown naturally
along stream beds in
mountain river valleys in Japan
genuinely puzzled,
when he,
the old erstwhile poet
unabashedly weeps before all
no hero he,
just an overcome one,
his tears flavoring his food
mourning the
celebrated abuse
of his verbal children,
those natured nurtured babes
the stuff,
the words of his definition
each weird word,
loved for their cultured,
unique quality of their history
grown in languages's
perpetual petri dish
asked if something was a matter,
answered yes,
"this plated performance,
such an extravagant essay
on the beauteous wonder
of life's bounty,
left me wordless"
and she, burst out loud in laughter
Aug 12, 2017
Aug 12, 2017 at 8:03 AM UTC
The glowing jacinth sun was just beginning its descent,
casting long, flittering shadows on horse and rider alike.
Although the horse was young, he walked
with an air of importance,
like a racer entering the track.
As the playful breeze rustled the viridian leaves,
his muscles tensed.
He perked up like a toy soldier,
watching the purpling sky with wary eyes,
the amaranthine clouds reflected in those deep sable orbs.
As he trotted about like a fairy,
his russet coat shone vibrantly in the setting sun,
a body of twinkling rubies set in amber.
The sprite padded softly on the ground
with the delicate nature of a hummingbird,
he had a stride like a river of sweet milk and honey.
The chestnut dreamer skipped across the ground
like notes across a page,
his song light and airy.
he tiptoed and pirouetted,
his three pearly stockings dancing
like the melodious keys of a piano.
Her cinnabar savior bounded over the fences
like a prancing stag,
and his dainty ears pricked forward
as his chocolate-brown eyes fixed on the obstacle ahead.
As he jumped, he lit up with a bravery
that could have been felt all throughout the arena.
Had the two not been alone,
the entrancing sight would have been easily able to charm his way
into the hearts of even the stoniest of onlookers.
With a gleeful snort,
the sunny gelding seemed to fill the air
with good-natured laughter.
The rider reached down to give him a pat,
and he brightened at her touch,
the pet like a kiss on his glossy ginger neck.
And as the last of the daylight filtered away
into the velvety mazarine sky,
his neck stretched down and his walk slowed.
Satisfied with their ride, the two made their way back inside,
surrounding by the growing darkness.
Oct 30, 2013
Oct 30, 2013 at 9:42 AM UTC
(G)
Life as a burden is decent
Treading in hatched up waterways
Swimming in the green brine ebbing tides
Drowned in emotive stances
A being intensified in rapid torrents
Ohh my…fickleness soaked in curiosity
(J)
Decent sounds pretty substantial
I lay acquainted to swampy lowlands
My footsteps have tasted salty waters
Stepped, wadding inside the muddy landscape
Inch by inch, halfway, fully submerged
Overloaded by the tide gasping for oxygen
(G)
Populaces catwalk with intellectual deficit
Footsteps bereft of creativity and eloquence
The grounds lay dry strangling the in-between
The desert begging to lose their sandy dry skin
The forest whispers with a revolt of transformation
The luscious green splash life sparking drones
(J)
Your analogy sways the natured array of trees
The inspiration stings the sun to radiate warmth
All patched in the blueness of bellowing skies
My lungs deflate even on intense inhalation
I tarmac on the passage of time, differently wired
Intermittently cyanosed in faded lived moments
(G)
For poetry and art scaffolds and shapes reality
It sparks life and eliminates the drone mentality
Artists arouse inspiration and boost human nature
It bridges the narrowing ledge of ( human diversity/ instead of/ diverse species)
It drives conversation and deepens basic pleasantries
Rotating notions, promoted to a present and active human
(J)
I object not, for human essence is essential
A foundation of humanity that inspires and frees
A deed that dips in the depth of a lush oasis
Most sunk and waving “a celebration of celebrities”
Falsified lionization, a control of master puppeteer
Amused by insight, the reciprocal contract of empathy
G= Graff1980
J=SassyJ
Jan 18, 2016
Jan 18, 2016 at 7:01 AM UTC
It was a weird hour when the sun towered
To be slick with moonshine
Cozied shirtless in a rope hammock
Belly-down like my six drunk buddies
Living loose and talking sweet
To bottles now empty of *****
So what is there to do?
Nothing, and that’s a cold fact for high noon
In summer, season of mumbly toasting
But when the humble glug-glug-glugging
Is done with, I’ll tell you, you
Have not licked liquor, not done your part
It’s us who got the moonshine start
Today, you turned your back on white whiskey, yes
We did the work and if it should hurt
I apologize we didn’t want to offend
If it’s the alcohol or if it’s the heat I can’t tell
But who knows why blood boils?
I can see that good-natured drinking
Is the drunk man’s toil
But we’re workers at heart, aren’t we?
And not many are better than us
Except for maybe the rice
Slumped over its stalks, fat on moonshine
Cure-all for the sick mind
Friend to all comers on a humid day
The clear sticky juice that burns all the way down
Dec 26, 2010
Dec 26, 2010 at 9:31 PM UTC
self destruction like burning bridges you know full well you'll drown without
being reckless with your rafts and your lifesavers
and feeling the heat of the fire prickle your forehead,
beads of sweat teasing your skin
and making it impossible to ignore the deep water already lapping at your feet,
clearly prepared to completely engulf you in liquid darkness.
self destruction like inhaling the fumes of a hundred toxic promises,
made to you by old would-be lovers;
sugarcoated words and lies roughly covered in white,
feeling the poison seizing up your struggling lungs,
fingertips flicking through dictionaries with cracked spines:
desperate to find a word that isn't even there.
self destruction like breaking hearts that aren't yours for once,
just to hold the power of corruption and allow it to make you bloodthirsty,
much like slaughtering ants beneath magnifying glasses,
watching them struggle and turn to unrecognisable ashes,
whimpering half hearted apologies whilst trying to convince yourself
that you are not a bad person, but simply a broken soul.
Mar 24, 2014
Mar 24, 2014 at 5:58 PM UTC
When I started my MBA
I was looking forward to making new friends
And of course, excelling in academics
And thus redeeming myself
After my Engineering debacle
However, it never occurred to me
That I would fall in love
For the first time in my life
You changed everything
Right from our second meeting
I was drawn towards you
You were very shy
But in a good way
And of course, extremely sweet-natured
The kind of person who wouldn't hurt a fly
Though you didn't know much Tamil
In spite of being a Tamilian
Your English more than made up for that
You didn't speak a lot
However, when you did speak
You were able to articulate your thoughts exceedingly well
And though we never had a detailed conversation
Apart from our debate on the movie "Ra One"
It was always a pleasure to interact with you
And of course, listen to your captivating voice
Last but not the least
Your handwriting was so exquisite
That it had the capability
To transform the dullest subject
Into an extremely fascinating one
Anyway, I truly loved you
But I couldn't muster the courage
To ask you out
However, I don't have any regrets whatsoever
And regardless of where you are currently
I hope you are having the time of your life
Just one last thing
I am utterly gobsmacked
That you knew all along
Something that I could never guess
From the way you spoke to me
Or behaved with me in general
You are indeed an incredible lady
And I hope you remain the way you are
Because the world needs more people like you
Jul 18, 2023
Jul 18, 2023 at 2:44 AM UTC
O peaceful moon, shining gently o'er the fields,
In your soft light I see a tree, a hedge, a glistening pond;
And the soft night sounds of rustling reeds and swaying boughs
Intermingle with the nightly warfare of a million creatures.
But hark! From the new housing estate across the park
There comes a rather different sound. Through an open window
Comes the healthy thwack of flesh on flesh and muffled shrieks of joy
As Isaac and Wendy Bumsenfotze indulge themselves un peu.
Isaac's got his gasmask on, and his rubber flippers too
And (speaking candidly) looks an unattractive proposition
Especially now his skinny chest towers o'er his massive ********
All four mighty manly inches of it from tip to curlies.
Lying trussed up on their bed, atop its needed rubber sheeting,
Lies Sam, their well-trained patient pedigree crossbred donkey,
Upon whose good-natured, hirsute, unsuspecting person
Nameless atrocities have often been performed in Eros' name.
What are they going to do tonight? I bet you'll never guess.
Well, Wendy's strapped her ***** on and intends to use it first
On Ikey's waiting well-lubricated back end
And then it's Sam's turn and ***** the R.S.P.C.A.
And while Sam is getting poked by loving Wendy,
Old Ike will not be idle: camera-phone in one hand
And mail-order sjambok in the other, he'll record
Their motions and lacerate them both simultaneously.
Underneath his gasmask, Isaac gets a bit sweaty and excited,
And once their party's over all three will doze off:
A truly lovely scene. But they will be soon by woken by
The morning sun glittering on Wendy's cast-off legirons.
Dec 24, 2014
Dec 24, 2014 at 11:45 AM UTC
Sitting inside a cloud of shisha--
with subtle hints of strawberry shimmying
through the midnight moonlight,
the incandescent embers
radiate from their core
forming ancient runic shapes
reminding me of a time beyond the concept of before....
when elders spoke with ashes in their words
traveling to worlds within looking through
the windows to each other's souls
where the rhythm of a heartbeat
and the melody of breathing cacophonously echos
through our gray matter canyons.
A time when millennia passed by in milliseconds
as everyone danced like a flame grinding on a candle wick
wailing with ecstasy--
every bead of sweat slithering from head to feet
arousing like a maddening kundalini explosion--
a honey-like nectar glowing throughout our body
pouring out of us brilliantly brighter than any white-hot sun!
I think
this might be a reason for my fascination
when it comes to inhaling fire--
despite my earth-natured tendencies
I'm still hypnotized by the first gift to mankind;
light.
Jul 23, 2013
Jul 23, 2013 at 6:41 AM UTC
From last night's wine
From the bruiser of a woman
Who challenged me
With insecurities so well-packed away
That she actually thinks she is in control!!!!!!
From the unfulfilling patience
Of an unfulfilled love
Of an absent lover
I'm so tired I accidentally left my dog locked outside all day.
(Good thing he's so good-natured.)
I can stand to learn from his forgiving nature.
I think I'll go now.
I have some grumbling to do.
Sep 6, 2012
Sep 6, 2012 at 7:43 PM UTC
Crazy things we didn’t know were there
Without an X to mark its spot,
We shoveled and we dug over our bodies
We pillaged acres of skin, ravished even,
Our flesh fueled by the promise of glowing treasure
Wielding shovels and picks only our better natured angels
Understood, or could call “sweet intentions”
No map we possessed ended in gold
So we drew up our own tracing mountains and streams,
Upturning every rock, wading in every pool,
Our made-up languages became passcodes for secret doors
Our hair and nails became booby-traps
Like poisonous ivy and razor sharp spikes.
Perilous our hunt for heirloom, we would find.
But how could we not look?
Our compass points Northeast from down here
So as I climb towards your chest and you to mine
Our knocking proved there were unhallowed
Cavities under ribbed-caged bodies
And still we dig
Closer and closer to the treasure in our chests.
Oct 4, 2011
Oct 4, 2011 at 8:18 PM UTC
the setting moon
slips close to its watery grave
and she finally appears
walking slow carrying her broken shoes
she says that the night jumped her
and she had gotten lost in the
vast differences between what she hoped
and what the world always left her longing with
tears spread from her still young innocent eyes
i held her to reassure
but as i wait for our fears to subside
i see the lights approach
of thouse who would claim lordship over her wallet
and over her soul
bankers of the material world
doubling as demons from hells coldest corner
no fleeing the version where you need to change batteries
they are dead as the souls who manufacture them
she slips a pair of double a's from her
pocket rocket personal massage device
and plugs her mind back into the need to get on with her day
the moon has reached its last gasp
and she has romanced her way out of her dress
and you out of your noble intents
we all reach this impasse
with our pen and page
having sold off our forward momentum
for a desperado gamble at claiming that elusive perfect written word
we flounder at waters edge
unable to pull ourselfs back
unable to manufacture method to crawl further
we make mad dashes round and round the
proverbial gallows pole
hanging on a single idea or ideal
trying to express it clearly
it need not more clear than it is
in mind's eye
but her face lingers in your soul
urging you you recapitulate your dire love
to craft a better master plan for tearing yourself down
the moon has reached its invisible zenith
on the worlds opposite side
and you have yet to reconcile
your good natured laugh
to her dark predictions
she slips away again to seek
her rightful place in her world view
and you are the captain of your sinking rowboat
once more
sexton in hand
plot your thoughts
and row king james home
the moon will rise soon
and you need to be home
when she comes in need of a hugs
and a shoulder to weep on
Oct 12, 2013
Oct 12, 2013 at 1:25 PM UTC