"nautilus" poems
a curved pastry
like a prune danish
in a sway
a weaving kiss
anointed by a melting stick of butter,
pushed and puddled
deep and slow
the shape of a heart
with a hole in the middle
ooow dark fig
stinking rose
a comfort that sweetens with the grace of form
and pops like a trigger releasing a bullet
i covet
with eyes like erections
pants sticky wet
hot glue factory
for you love, my *** angel
red skin girl gaping
with circular yearning set in motion
tarnished petal mix meister
sinful hot house
for quaking tongue and lips,
a wild cherry *** kisser
spiked ***** blushing
lord of ****
solar ******* hero
flexed and oiled
to the rescue
a god send
triumphant and blessed
looks like a fast cigarette boat
hitting the speed bumps hard
she said yes please
dip like
nautilus of the black sea
What?
no loitering
no parking
not a through street
haahaahaa
****
that
****
Aug 21, 2018
Aug 21, 2018 at 1:11 PM UTC
*rocks don't care
all stubble and stones
a difficult geometry
so if they don't fit
they are hammered
and
crushed to rubble
jammed together to make virile walls
and if stabbed with swords
care not about
torn bellies and broken necks
soaking them crimson rust
or drowned nautilus
beneath the sea
humans
have futility in common with rocks
except that everything
girds and gnaws
at their belligerent sensitivity
all clouded soft towers
bi-pedal mortal spires
with tender flesh
beaten into place
lacerated
truncated amputees
to fit the outer life
of status and statues
a scandal to the inner coves of self
I'm envious of rocks
except for moments of
shifting watery kisses
clamorous for love
we remain
disfigured terrains
hunters of souls balmy unguents
while
fluctious immolating moons
unravel
in a hidden grieving
oh countenance of apathy
only to be more like you
a wilderness of stumps
and
dead rock gods
and our aspiration
indifference
our exit
the path of the renunciate
a penitence
feasting only on futility
and the vagaries of spirit*
Nov 21, 2017
Nov 21, 2017 at 2:36 PM UTC
I built a Greek column
A Tuscan column to be precise
It's about three floors in height
I used materials I didn't know I owned
Shimmering and glistening small white oval pebbles
Flat and fat ones
Sand, best of its kind
Limestone with all its magical properties
And Nautilus shells from the beaches of Callao.
I wish I have built it for looks only
But I did it for me
It fits well between my neck and naval line
For when my earthquakes threaten my core
Jun 3, 2019
Jun 3, 2019 at 7:41 PM UTC
i fall and ascend in a sea vantablack
spiral light
fire ghosts and ice
that cut the soul to pieces
like scissors
that split rabbits
industry of a hissing creation
polluted altar of sleeping lakes
and scythe
bludgeon and howitzer
prods of push and pull
in a grindhouse
necropolis of craters
scattering satanic eggs and tumors
i am here born to you thin of bone
mother of catastrophes
on a colossal ball of scab and callous
that moves sonorous dazzling shapes
careening through
ephemera workhorse torches
of doom
you fill me with knots of terror
and desperate dreams of stairway wings
veils and glimmers
resolutions dissolving
petaled apertures of desire
and night whispers
in a spider web of sonic bulls
before undertows gravity
i was vibrant
but then i died into the rock ash of earth
they called it my birthday
my parents with party hats and balloons
blinked fetters
against nights of granite and stone
i got deader still
until i was nothing
but an imagineless gob of mud and breath
an eye looking out
behind red nerve forest fires
and tears shook tambourines
down heavy lashes
cascaded fluttering tassels
i am born to you mother of senile seas
citadel of shattered glass
in a slate cube of cyclones
mute and screaming
my fate deep shock
encased in mausoleums led nautilus
blatting hells jaundiced shriek
Pluto conjunct Saturn
Jun 11, 2019
Jun 11, 2019 at 1:05 PM UTC
Inside my throat expands under water mountain ranges for miles
Sea salt love affairs dance across shell pink lips
Telling all of Poseidon's secrets through drift wood bonfires
I love you
Parts are missing so I gather bits and pieces close
Always in need of more cosmic adheisive to keep you here
Stalwart and worthy your effigy stands carved of whale bone steel
Starry night sky corsets cinching our tied tongues together
We once had a name, a place
Desires and wishes flooded the air between us
Now it's just me constantly rowing against the current
While you glide smoothly ahead riding the trough
I have storm clouds hidden in my sunshine smiles
****** pearled laughter stifled and worn
Too tired to see the nautilus of my thoughts dragging me under
Apr 14, 2012
Apr 14, 2012 at 9:43 PM UTC
1.complete th bridge to the moon started by
Jules Verne and raise the Nautilus..
2.Rebuild the colossus of Rhodes to spec.
3.Take a trip to John Gotti's summer home and split a bottle of Boones
Farm apple wine with him and Emelia.
4. Pull a small sample of bone marrow from Hitlers shriveled corpse for a
Little cloning project that I have been working on.
5.get a head count on all the politicians in the capital who don't consider
Their position a life long free ride with no accountability to the masses..
6. Resurect the cold fusion argument.
7. Run a sub 2 minute mile.
8.kick Tysons but with my right hand tied.
9.mix the perfect martini
10. Start all over again.
Jun 26, 2013
Jun 26, 2013 at 6:19 PM UTC
Down the lonely depths
in her bowels of pressured pitch
brave, his tiger stripes.
Her inner most womb
where amorphous life ignites
closer to one dream
Submarine shelter
In Ocean's love, gravitates:
carnivore protist.
Dec 9, 2015
Dec 9, 2015 at 2:30 AM UTC
I’ve always felt insecure
About my body,
Knowing
That if I’d start talking
About how I feel towards
The bones you could see,
And
The curves you could not,
You’d call me crazy.
I’ve learnt not to be frightened
Anymore.
I’ve learned to say,
“Look, being skinny isn’t always
So much fun either.”
I’ve learnt to be proud and
I am on my way
To love myself.
I’d like to think of
My body
As delicate.
As a form of beauty,
Like the leaves on trees,
Like the water running down in riverbanks,
Like the sunlight cracking through stormy clouds.
// a form of beauty – nautilus poetry
Oct 18, 2018
Oct 18, 2018 at 4:21 PM UTC
There is nothing in the intricate design of the eye that tells us how we are able not only to see the world, but to look back upon it.
Is there a magical element yet unknown, somewhere deep in the vitreous humor, or hidden within the optic nerve that burns with the purpose to seek out beauty in the world?
To capture it in our gaze, to own it for a rich moment or two.
Is there some electrical impulse within this blinking vessel
that projects our delight upon the object of our affection?
We know we love, and yet how can this be so? It does not exist anywhere in our anatomy.
We know that we would risk everything for that enduring answer, seen radiating from another's eyes,
and yet, how can we grasp it and hold it tight, this invisible thread?
Where, in the gray matter and electrical streams and storms of our mind, lies our imagination?
A game of telephone from neuron to neuron sends the fleeting thought
that behind our closet door there may be another world,
where a nautilus is king, and great whales swim the cosmos, feeding on the tails of comets.
But only for a moment do we think, perhaps it is so.
Until we open the solid door, and what we believe,
because we must,
shows us the simple fact of a tidy linen closet.
We believe it, because we must.
For there is nothing in our marvelous jellyfish of a brain that tells us that the world can be
anything
and everything
we want it to be.
And with that, the World, and all the other worlds
here, there, and in between,
smile at us,
the fleeting shimmer of light in an endless sea.
Feb 24, 2013
Feb 24, 2013 at 2:02 AM UTC
angel's can shout through demons
if they have to
here in the valley of time slips and air borne rock
land of meteor splash and ufos
sprit friends
a fantasy gift you give yourself
but if you see some of them
its the worst day of your life
those streaking trajectories
as straight as a pencil path
sending a migration of aliens
weird ovoid's with ****** binocular vision
like Helix pomatia
****** crawlers
while eight legged locomoting moss piglets
that look like a thousand blinking
one eyed gob worms
hurtle in decent
perhaps landing in the Yucatan
barbarian headed asteroids, critter ridden
mixed of spirits and denizens of deep space
from the parametric edges of Bals
glittering kingdom
shoot suns down from the sky
far flinging those crater bashed demons
into predatory gardens
elixir's of war and death
wave screaming reveries
through red cities
of nightingale floors
nautilus agents plummet
into brawling plots of ash
shattering a million spines
of **** ***** monsters
in a bulls eye break neck rodeo
Jun 15, 2019
Jun 15, 2019 at 6:00 PM UTC
when you
so dear to me
do hurt me
a pinpoint *****
is a razor’s slashing edge
make gashing wounds
and bleeding drains me
bound scars to testify
to the hurt
the doer do magnify
i flee my brittle tiny shell
and don the mask of mirth
but fleeing never find
a chambered nautilus
which i would exchange for mine
a twig is bent
a leaf is fallen
a grain of sand is lost
a page is torn
teardrop falls
a lost one calls
when trust has grown
when choice is blind
when reason cannot reason
a little twist
a careless wink
an unintended turnabout
eats up a painful way
to the heart that loves.
May 8, 2015
May 8, 2015 at 7:51 PM UTC
I'd rather
chill in some place
and burn an L
with you,
than let my tongue
get live
in any other
larynx
that never knew your name,
I'd rather
read a bad book
in your name
than a good book
in someone else's,
I know
that I was looking
at a landform
and not a landmass,
a being
more
than a thing,
what I want to know,
is why we leave each other alone
when no one
is an island
and there are no boatless
harbors?
I'd rather capture
your laughs
as I cup my ears,
and your tears
in the stern
of my fears.
I'd rather be
a relic
and possibly
a fuel
rather than
a nautilus
with nothing in its shell
to give.
I've taken the boat out
and the oars
trip up on grass
as I paddle through the bay of the asylum
across lime oceans
contracting scurvy
from too much fertilizer
and not enough fruit.
Feb 13, 2012
Feb 13, 2012 at 8:20 PM UTC
Part Two
A WALK UNDER THE SEA
_____________
BARRIER REEFS
Great Walls dividing
vast cold deeps from shallow seas.
Hail Metropolis!
SEA-HORSE
Pregnant father sways,
rocking-chair to ocean's gait,
champions patience's race
DEEP (BLUE)
How poignant the face,
sunset eye reflect such depth,
I see how you feel.
FLASH-FLOOD
Heat-wave season's rage:
mountains weeping rivers/skies
siroccos will dry.
OCEAN
1.
Undulating thirst
un abiding liquid dunes
not a drop to drink.
2.
Her bright irises
blue Mariana Trenches
cries deep Pacific.
NAUTILUS
1.
Down the lonely depths
in her bowels of pressured pitch
brave, his tiger stripes.
2.
Her inner most womb
where amorphous life ignites
closer to all dreams.
3.
Submarine seashell
in Ocean's wild, gravitates:
carnivore protist.
FATHOM
1.
Dungeness landscapes:
fear an abyss blindly swims,
(but) in my thoughts you glow
2.
A conflagration
in liquid skies where we bathe
minds a light to see
3.
As deeply precious
a breath that remembers you
soaring dark chasms
4.
Dread at failing Love,
I give a drop in the pond
my life for Gaia...
5.
A magic nation:
love for water will not thirst
imagination.
[ In your thoughts I (will) glow. ]
Mar 21, 2016
Mar 21, 2016 at 4:04 PM UTC
Substratum
Beneath the surface there are blocks of time
a keep ticking ticker
investments in soiled identities that are loosing
clots of what never was.
There is treasure too, locked away in a nautilus shell
waiting for the call of the wild key
bits and bobs of let loose and fancy free
Also locked away is my familiar
azure blue and tonic green amiability
The 'cannot' telling is the buzzing round your
sailent (fears) ears,
like unused sails
slapping at thin defeated air strikes called
possibilities...
here
I avoid all contact
(you asked me to)
yet here
you display stagnent reaction
with absent mind
you forget the yesterdays
and how you long to hear
what you ask me not to say
absent now
both of us have decided in secret:
lock out the playful place
slide below the surface (substratum)
(we find) serendipitous angst, common place
cross our fingers behind our backs
as promises
will not fix our fateful syntax
Linaji
Nov 25, 2011
Nov 25, 2011 at 11:42 AM UTC
Bastardized holdings in a new world order
Standardized error retained as a border
Manipulate the idealist into a moral hoarder
Tabulate the results, and encourage disorder
Nov 2, 2014
Nov 2, 2014 at 5:41 PM UTC
Nautilus
The knot in us.
Unknown,
It's grown,
In the darkness
Never seen, till in need.
The Nautilus sleeps.
In times of turmoil,
Of doubt and pain.
That's when the Nautilus,
Earns its name.
When called forth
The Nautilus roars,
It ascends to the fore.
Of courage over fear,
Strength over pain,
The Nautilus breaks clear
The sufferer's aid.
It puts to end,
The chaos, the carnage.
Replaced with,
Experience's wisdom
And the patience of age.
Jul 6, 2015
Jul 6, 2015 at 8:00 AM UTC
I rode again the horse cover
of night, where indiscrete yearnings
cast doubt upon the aerial
flagellate of milk spumed stars.
A jealous denial: their
froth no terrestrial hide.
How strange to imagine the stars want skin,
or kin,
and must think that I touch you
as if without consequence
moving my hands
from peals of belles to petals,
stamen, the flower unfolding
one cupped nautilus
full of a prismatic wanting.
This is how I learned that something larger
than me speaks in echoes
stands at vital distance
a shiver in the vacuum infinity...
Unimaginable. Infinity.
Jan 30, 2012
Jan 30, 2012 at 4:23 PM UTC
When?
And a told rise of climate
Special speed to them, the more we then
The greater the fate...
Whits in unison, time is a reach...
Powers of unction or lucre
Time is a shadow of whether, we insist
Paces of control, and the help of the future...
True...
The watched for inertia, here
Is a fear in total live, and lets share due
Given the age of need, are you redoubt or near?
Patience is such a walking nightmare...
Presence for a friend, is a whole order to tame a thought...
Powers that be, seek a question nobody has forgot, where...
Passion is for a fool's errand, to remember what is not...
The look of callousness...
Turning for simpler silences to deal with
Adding a habit, in gray sources and duly the imagination lest
With a knowing hand, the reasons of valor, to intone is...
Mar 14, 2023
Mar 14, 2023 at 7:48 PM UTC
*Cut me open
Only to find salt water
Drank an ocean
Swallowed the seas
Stole from it’s depths
These washed away dreams*
Mar 1, 2015
Mar 1, 2015 at 11:56 PM UTC
With my growth I leave behind a shell.
A casing of the world I used to thrive in.
The past is no longer inhabitable, but still usable.
I use my memories as a flotation device in the abyss that is recurring.
I rise above my past and transcend into the new crevice that is my present.
I cannot change the past as it is set in bone.
But I can make my future fit me.
I can form my own protection
layer by layer
until all my supplies of DNA paper Mache will no longer stick.
Their glue dried up, exhausted by the length of time I've spent on earth, oppressed by the pressure of the tumulting, black sea.
Waves may break on me.
My knowledge of living my shield against depression, anxiety.
My bone hard shield saves me.
I am the chambered nautilus. I am awake.
But dream I will of times beyond 36.
What lies ahead may only hurt me on the edge because to the core my skeleton is steady.
Its weight growing heavy
Can be lifted with my spirits as if before a feast.
And dragged down to the ocean floor when realized I'm a beast.
No princess in her castle, nor farm boy in his barn
Unique to who I am, and in my niche I fit.
I may blow up.
And fall down.
And spurt salty tears.
You'd never know, my loves, my dreams, my fears.
Upon first glance I am the epitome of my life.
Upon second, as confusing.
Upon third, as painful and funny.
And as irrelevant to others as I am important to myself.
Another rock in the ocean. Another pebble. Another pearl.
Not found
Not searched for
Not hidden.
Aug 19, 2015
Aug 19, 2015 at 2:51 PM UTC
I’ve got five minutes
Then I must leave my verdant patch
On the skirt of a wind-rustled lake
hidden behind Logan's Roadhouse
Five minutes
to mentally finger with the fetal position
In which I awoke this morning,
there as the sun drew long shadows,
I, a diminutive daub of nautilus,
On a California King,
rippled plane of sand,
Sporadic shivers, beneath a chenille blanket
I, the town crier of dawn as
My own dreams ran screaming through the silence
Pointing a finger at
my sanctuary… “Here is your pearl thief!”
Men in hats, briefcases, heel-toe black clicky and shiny shoes
on leashes lugged,
Yanked by noisy hounds passing by
stop, sniff, snarl-toothed ********
then one caught my scent,
“Five minutes more sleep,” I implored
"Find another dreaming fleshy mess of bones!"
And leave me to my pearl.
But it’s a universe that simply will not wait
And suffer fools for sleepers,
not a moment more
Yet for my many sleepless minutes after,
Dusk till dawn, and still beyond,
it’s always,
five
minutes
more
Oct 6, 2014
Oct 6, 2014 at 4:54 PM UTC
what wild dreams
do you have as you
sleep away the days
til rain comes again
and unsticks the glue
around your door
whilst you are curled
up inside your nautilus
door closed to the world
do you dream of lettuce
leafy and green,
or puddles and wet grass
that tickles your foot
what do you dream
all tucked up, tight
with eyes retracted
and stomach slim.
what are the dreams
of the small snail
as he awaits, the rains
Jun 17, 2017
Jun 17, 2017 at 10:20 AM UTC
It's summer number twenty-one
and suburbia is slow roasting,
the days turning dreamily
over the spit, as I try
not to set the sheets on fire.
Each night I drench them with
a viscous sweat, wrapping myself
in the smell of conquering Montmartre,
a rush-hour ride on the no. 3 metro line,
close calls with morning joggers
coming from the Parc Monceau.
Every morning,
lacher is collecting in my damp palms,
and quitter runs in beads down my back.
You must have tasted non plus and
confus beneath my lower lip,
je suis désolé pooling in the dip
of my collarbone, because
You were gone
three days ahead of schedule
in spite of every word held back
in spite of the afternoon drives
and the late night talks, Scott Pilgrim
forgotten on the flat screen, the raspberries
that temporarily stained our fingertips.
Slick truth seeped out somehow, through
their perfect Golden Ratio,
these invincible, nautilus spiral prints
forensically seared to my tongue.
It’s summer number twenty-one.
I will my pores to open up, for floods
of pain jardin lune fleurs printemps
to soak the linen and swallow the words
you left behind, smelling decidedly
American, popped caps of Mexican Coke
and regret.
Apr 20, 2015
Apr 20, 2015 at 8:38 PM UTC
The night is vivid, everyone is here.
My head is spinning like a sphere
My eyes are smiling
my lips are moving
With a grin smile, I found myself.
This atmosphere beckons me.
Brimming with thoughts, my mind is phlegmatic.
Body is so static
In an environment that is so dynamic.
As I sat across the room, mesmerized with beaming interactions;
Relinquished of my fear, my mind requires some actions
The adrenaline quicken to my brain, my thoughts convulse
As I begin to speak, my thoughts fainted as a pulse
And my words start to repulse
Trying to utter my words, felt imposible.
Like a stolen voice in a nautilus shell, I stay in silence;
In this fun and frivolous ambience.
I can only watch and listen, because I am inaudible.
Aug 20, 2018
Aug 20, 2018 at 11:44 AM UTC
In posing as a nautilus
he is a sun; a son, star
the quiet murmurs of ocean
in the darkest part of night –
his chest is a cave in which to sleep
a shelter in which breath tunnels through veins
or wind? He is the tempest,
the hurricane pealing as a bell,
pealing or peeling back landscape
picking apart houses, hillsides,
like the bones of a corpse
and his is the storm, the tide
as it bemoans lost love for the moon –
in his pain, he throws himself
against the Cliffside and he shatters;
in posing as an ocean
he furls, curls like fingers of water
clinging to shore; in reflecting
he is the sun, stars, moon and sky
the wind and whistling through his bones
and breath –
he is the softness with which we sleep
dreams brought to flesh
curled as a nautilus or a shell,
heavy with soft, unspoken words,
hours of quiet murmurs.
May 5, 2012
May 5, 2012 at 11:08 AM UTC