"nosing" poems
Tibetan Brimstone butterflies wave wings madly at their paradise valley
In the beginning, before the beginning, and in the beginning
Their shaken snow globe makes them flutter in wild exuberance
As they reveal a mountain, then no mountain, then Kunlun again
Peace, followed by chaos, and then by peace
Mother Luna's kaleidoscope of enlightenment
Protected by the hooded one
Holds all worlds and shakes the four seasons
Nothingness, creation, abiding, destruction
The wheel of time
Moves the wind as it’s blown by vast circles of water
Aqua marine is washed again by golden earth
And in the center, the great opal mountain song of La
Nature's peace
Beyond white leopard snows, icy winds, and empty husks of death
Butterflies are born again
Shambhala’s mindful beat opens passage for light through darkness
Poets squint and ride on wings toward the hidden sunset kingdom
Watching another world's Avalon alive beneath a blue moon
Insulated chrysalis of love for all seasons
A fisherman, a carpenter, a shepherd, a merchant, a caterpillar
Discover a lush, isolated, peach grove
Nosing thickly scented nectar and purple primrose honey
In the jade valley of the kings, queens, and beggars
They meditate under the Bodhi Tree
Deep brown ****** lines are carved into their soft olive skin
Smooth hands are made rough, and then smooth again
Young, then old, and then young once more
Wisdom setting beside Queen Spirit Mother of the West
Sharing a bowl of her rice milk in harmony
Being in the realm between man and nature as Kalachakra turns
For six years the caterpillar eats of fig
And then the wheel breaks for flight one last time
Radiating light as she sheds her glorious wings
Here, the snow globe explodes flying petals of wild exuberance
Revealing a mountain, then no mountain, then Kunlun again
Transcending all, turning tears into the suns joyful rays
As they rise, then set, and then rise again
Nirvana
Beyond our Lost Horizon
© 2019 MJL
Apr 2, 2019
Apr 2, 2019 at 10:01 AM UTC
Overrated ******** cheap bitter whine out of mouths of overworked undereducated individuals searching for achievement
Family nosing into business of other family they don't even speak to but need to know who's better off or worse off so most keep in touch for fake reasons
Friends claiming to be friends even though Bobby slept with Joe's sister Kim when Kim had a baby by Bobby's cousin Jim who's sister beat the *** of that ***** Karley for sharing a photo they were in
In a relationship today because you love to watch the haters hate but make 27 statuses about how ****** ain't **** and how you're 3 months late
Hypocritical comments followed by one hundred twenty seven likes
attached to a photo of a kid that died thirteen years ago twice
but to send a prayer or save a life all you have to do is click
LIKE.
I hardly remember the world before
I wonder what the world will be after
Facebook[.]
May 19, 2014
May 19, 2014 at 3:03 AM UTC
So close to your scent, I feel I should pay rent.
Something you will not know you smell, until a time comes when you go.
And suddenly everything smells like that.
WHAT IS THAT SMELL?
And you calculate the ingredients to the potion of that smell..
A smell you know so well..
But you can not list it's properties
You are it's only property.
A smell you can not tell the smell of.
And when we're back again the smell almost goes, it gets camp set up and lost inside my nose.
You enter the world of this smell, it's warm and it's cozy, it's familiar and almost dusty.
It smells like skin.
Which smells like nothing.
It smells like hair
Which smells like something.
It smells like breath without a particular scent.
It smells like clothes and armpits.
It smells like a sample scent of another world.
Which I am nosing around
It smells like all of your belongings and all the things that you do put into one familiar you.
It smells like sawdust, it smells like dog walking, it smells like toast, it smells like early morning, it smells of the coast, it smells of laptop, it smells of toothpaste, it smells like tents.
It smells of carpets, It smells of washing powder, It smells of your house and your power shower, It smells like Apple shampoo and all the other things that you like to do.
It smells like you.
Aug 25, 2014
Aug 25, 2014 at 5:15 PM UTC
We sit cross-legged in the story corner
Breathing faint ammonia smells.
Table chants and hymns echo through corridor acoustics,
All creatures great and small.
We are wedged in a tangle of podgy thighs,
Grazed knees, scabs and warts.
And Anthony is sitting alone again
Where he can do no harm.
Yet he said he would bring it, and bring it he has.
Its tiny white head is nosing over
The hem of his pocket,
Whiskers a-twitch and
Eyes like tiny blood blisters ripe for popping.
A shudder of shivering whispers and
Nervous heads are half turned:
Yes, Anthony is smiling his special smile.
Mrs Lloyd has found the page,
My lids are squeezed tight
As I urge my mind to follow her away
From here, away from now.
For playtime will be ****** once again.
Mar 21, 2011
Mar 21, 2011 at 3:20 AM UTC
It is true that the rivers went nosing like swine,
Tugging at banks, until they seemed
Bland belly-sounds in somnolent troughs,
That the air was heavy with the breath of these swine,
The breath of turgid summer, and
Heavy with thunder's rattapallax,
That the man who erected this cabin, planted
This field, and tended it awhile,
Knew not the quirks of imagery,
That the hours of his indolent, arid days,
Grotesque with this nosing in banks,
This somnolence and rattapallax,
Seemed to suckle themselves on his arid being,
As the swine-like rivers suckled themselves
While they went seaward to the sea-mouths.
3k
Wake-up with the pill bottle next to me
Other side is the girl that had *** with me
I know she doesn't love me
I just flaunt some of the money
Then they wanna come see
Get out of bed when they start to kick in
So amazed how I got all these prescriptions
Pill caddy because today I'm on a mission
Driver is out front
Time to put on the front
Get to the office, bursts of motivation
See my partner do it-with no medication
But things are fine, no reason to whine
I got it all
But when I define all, it's where I fall
Money, drugs, mansion
And no hugs from a honey or some laughing
Who will I share it with?
My computer I just stare at it
Give my tasks to my secretary
Because, that's why I pay you, Sheree
I'm just the founder
With a bold face to motivate
No more brown nosing
See, now they brown nose me
But as the clock hits four PM
Look at all our profits, yeah I see them
Time for my downers so I can mellow out
All the guilt, time to throw it out
Let's go out, Sheree
She says yes, not to me...but to the money
Yeah I admit it kinda hurts...
But its all in, A Day's Work
Aug 1, 2014
Aug 1, 2014 at 7:21 AM UTC
Bad jokes, strong opinions, attention ****** galore
Brown nosing, over-reacting, annoying and more
Glorifying their actions, they're very self-centered
Extremely sheltered with no sense of adventure
Striving for A's and everyone knows it
But they have a big mouth, and they need to close it
They think there's a big conflict between AP and IB
But they can't just make friends, from what I can se
High school won't determine your life, wake up
One bad grade won't make you start begging from a cup
They think they're always right, and will never agree
But they're bound by ignorance, and will never be free.
70% of them really grind my gears
But I'm only here for one more year.
Apr 16, 2015
Apr 16, 2015 at 9:41 AM UTC
I have needs
and they are needy needs
They paw at my hands as I type
and lay upon the mouse.
The needs say your name to me while I try and spell "confabulated" and make it come out "infatuated" but I don't mind.
I don't mind anything any need any nudge any nosing the crook of my arm to pull it away from its assigned task.
The task is ******** and you are everything.
Aug 26, 2015
Aug 26, 2015 at 2:07 AM UTC
“Looking for a walking buddy”
The invitation looms as I scroll through pages of personal ads
Filled with sensitive insight, too intimate for idle voyeurs browsing.
The computer’s hypnotic glow, dousing my cheeks in pale light, coaxes me to search
To rummage through human advertisements and peruse desperate expositions
Behavior quite unlike the pastimes that others might imagine me participating in
Behavior quite unlike the nightly activities I usually partake in
Such as sleeping
Won’t I give up this useless quest for nothing in particular,
And surrender my body to the ruthless aches creeping into my muscles and joints?
I’ll wait for assurance that my grazing has meaning–
I’ll linger to assign significance to this arbitrary curiosity, even into the early morning
Eventually, I’ll resolve to the conclusion that there is somewhere an assembly of people squinting in thought, trying to justify this same bizarre inquisition
We the people, hunched over luminous monitors, “looking for something more”
We who have specific and lewd requests for the opposite ***
We nosing congregation, mysteriously drawn to the Strictly Platonic section of the personals
Should try our luck with a walking buddy
And wander away.
Dec 5, 2011
Dec 5, 2011 at 3:47 AM UTC
Venus of Willendorf
You seemed so distant
Cool and aloof on slide
Perhaps I was projecting
In the warm dark womb
Of Lecture Hall B
A silent world but for fan racket
From the Kodak Modal 4600
Eager to please on stiff little legs
Nosing toward the screen
Where you teetered
On impossible feet
Fighting a losing battle
With gravity I found
Touching, *******
No one could ignore
A chassis built
As the bluesman said
For comfort not for speed.
I hear Willendorf is nice
This time of year
Hint of fertility in the alpine air
Your crazy braids beckoning
Braille to a blind man.
Sep 20, 2016
Sep 20, 2016 at 7:41 AM UTC
I remember the tops of clouds,
Looking as far as I could see.
I don't know if the Pacific
Is a pretty place,
But at altitude,
At least it's sunny.
Under the cumulus blanket,
Man makes his own clouds,
Thick with metal and smoke,
All black and shrapnel,
And God help you
If one opens up around your wingtips.
I remember nosing down,
Gritted teeth and twisted belly,
Eyes flitting between instruments
And the little ship
Getting fatter and fatter
Through my prop.
You wait till the last second,
Drop your ordinance,
And pull your nose
Up and up and then
You push that little throttle bar
To the limit,
And then the **** black clouds
Start up all around you,
And when your big baby shakes,
You know something's wrong,
And you cry out
"Buck? Buck?"
Like I did.
And then you don't know
If your face is covered in tears
Or blood from you or Buck.
I remember landing on that carrier,
Big and metal and gray,
Like a big tombstone for your friend,
And your plane is the coffin.
**** it, I remember.
Jun 1, 2013
Jun 1, 2013 at 9:11 PM UTC
There was something
about the peasant in her
as she lay there
in the tall grass
the sun shining on her
the white clouds overhead
birds in flight
there was that aspect
of the peasant
in the simplicity
of her manner
the gesture of hands
the look
of the big blue eyes
and the skirt pulled up
nakedness revealed
and he
lying beside her
taking in
her whole aspect
the summery smell
the heat
the almost airlessness
about them
distant train
steam sounds
and she said
you're to tell
no one of this
( she had said that
about the first kiss)
and he said
of course not
whom would I tell?
he lay his head
on her soft big *******
cushion like
as if afloat
she murmuring
more words
he lost
in the softness
of her
the scent
of her mother
(borrowed lavender scent
from the dressing table)
if my mother ever heard
she said
there'd be hell to pay
so say nothing
my lips are sealed
he said
nosing between her *******
muffled words
a rush of birds overhead
her hands on him
resting on his back
he tongued her
breathing her in
you're my first
she said
at doing this
say nothing lad
his inner voice
suggested
words wound
say nowt
he felt her hips
fingers running over
finger tips sensing
smoothness
moving lower
sensed thighs
she breathed harder
words gone
utterings wordless
she spread herself
like a butterfly in flight
he pinned her there
in the tall grass
as he'd seen
butterflies pinned
to a board
in the glass box
at school
he breathed in
she breathed out
he smelt apples of her
mixture of lavender
and apples
and that earthly scent
of bodies in motion
the tall grass
became an ocean
waves moved and sank
she sighed
he uttered wordless sounds
she kissed his shoulder
bit flesh
he kissed her neck
lip bit
****** skin
the summery sky
the birds silent
clouds drifted
she saw them
white over blue
over white
her palms on him
pressing
caressing
he journeying
to a heaven
birds gone
sky above him
unseen
just the ocean moving
a huge expanse
of green.
Sep 4, 2013
Sep 4, 2013 at 5:21 AM UTC
Thought-fox slinks this night
nosing through the days *******
seeking substinance -
she spoke in a staccato
plenty of nouns and no paws.
Jun 5, 2010
Jun 5, 2010 at 2:01 PM UTC
The grumbling piglets of despair
search for mumble truffles everywhere
they scourer the forest with their snouts
this is to them, is what life's all about
Nosing through decaying leaves
underneath the oaken trees
snouts twitching saliva running
with their little stomachs rumbling
The farmer does not have a clue
that his piggies are on the loose
he's in the kitchen having soup
made from little piglets juice
By Christos Andreas Kourtis aka NeonSolaris
Nov 26, 2013
Nov 26, 2013 at 3:52 PM UTC
My heart never knew true love
Only hints of that fairy fantasy
Particles of hope possessed of love’s fury
The temple, frantic with romantic panic
The vestal ****** exploding with desire
To feel love inside, growing
Like a white night
Like a dark light
Like the bitter side
Of sugar
Always forces opposing
Always people nosing
Philosophers of all times
And poets trying to define
But it is not universal
It is elusive and abstract
from one to another
it means different thing
To Shakespeare
It was impulsive
Violent, destructive
To some it is a savior
Vivid and constructive
The livid and insipid may to decline
To think with an open mind
And merely pass in time
But I have never known your love
And you will never know mine
Dec 5, 2014
Dec 5, 2014 at 8:55 AM UTC
2 & 4, we're forested as soil drinking solids our knees benting smell nosing a lolling gaggle of riotous pink dangles a careless droop over spilling pearly
sharps and crunch!y, cr!unchy; crunc!hy."' the minute deaths rankle or the cool common ground's a sun draped bulging acute beige you heave chesting and spit mouthing the gentle corpse of oxygen
Jan 1, 2011
Jan 1, 2011 at 10:48 AM UTC
‘D’you see that?
Right over there?
Tough to see in the young grass.’
‘No, what do you see?’
‘I see
one muscular snake,
nosing cowpies by the post.
cold little *******
‘Well, should I shoot him?’
‘Might as well, I suppose…
Don’t shoot the po-’
Bang—.
Feb 1, 2010
Feb 1, 2010 at 9:17 PM UTC
The time is done I fear,
The time composed of all my years.
Soft paws stalk close to me.
Inevitable is its presence upon me.
I have seen it before,
Looming in full sight,
Oblivious to my terror.
Inevitable presence nosing at me.
I often thought merit given, honors achieved,
Wealth amassed would shield me from this:
Foolish that. Soft paws stalking me.
Inevitable is its presence upon me.
I see well the instruments of its will.
Strange, I find fear of it unfulfilled.
What I ran from now I accept. Let me see,
Inevitable presence, the place you have for me.
Closer still. Hesitate not now.
Soft now. Silence now. Upon your back
I go, gently. Conduct me to whatever is my end,
Merciful presence.
© 2016
Aug 25, 2016
Aug 25, 2016 at 8:12 PM UTC
My heart never knew true love
Only hints of that fairy fantasy
Particles of hope possessed of love’s fury
The temple, frantic with romantic panic
The vestal ****** exploding with desire
To feel love inside, growing
Like a white night
Like a dark light
Like the bitter side
Of sugar
Always forces opposing
Always people nosing
Philosophers of all times
And poets trying to define
But it is not universal
It is elusive and abstract
from one to another
it means different thing
To Shakespeare
It was impulsive
Violent, destructive
To some it is a savior
Vivid and constructive
The livid and insipid made to decline
To think with an open mind
And merely pass in time
But I have never known your love
And you will never know mine
Jan 23, 2017
Jan 23, 2017 at 11:06 PM UTC
everything is arbitrary. we novelists survive on chance encounters and sad books. I move like a stray cat between library bookshelves and keep my head down. no I am not a poet by choice. no I don't like being one. I don't like bleeding. it hurts and so does writing sometimes. sometimes writing hurts less than usual. fate is still pale and thin and twisty, like the tentative whorls of a mushroom's root system. I'm still like a stray cat, nosing around libraries and parks. I'm still hungry. this book still doesn't make sense. I don't feel like I learned much. mostly I feel tired, like the tiredness is pulling down into the pillow. maybe I should sleep. maybe I shouldn't.
Apr 17, 2016
Apr 17, 2016 at 4:34 AM UTC
I cradle in my palm the power of no.
It is small now, in the moist crook of my hand,
But with it, I have the power to throw out the rules
The ones that don't apply to me, that fill me with the false sense of obligation.
I hide my nursling close to the body because my no can't stand on its own yet
Expectations, like hungry wolves, surround my cupped fingers
Nosing, sniffing, clawing curiously at the gaps my no shines through
In its negativity, No is beautiful.
No leaves room for my sanity to creep, unknowning of how missed it is, like a thief into my life
Sanity, lead by the fledgling No, swells my life like a balloon,
Making room, allowing me to grow.
That's all in the future.
Now, I find the strength in myself to push away the cold muzzle of Other's Needs,
Press NO into the fertile soil of me
And watch it grow.
Oct 16, 2014
Oct 16, 2014 at 11:00 PM UTC
Count the pauses… count the ums.
Bankrupt sit county sums.
Budget, a fixture, no more than a talking point
Biased ramblers to appoint
Unintelligible doctrine to spout
Fear mongering to tout
Advertisements pair worth to a nine-year absence
And speak of self-mirroring balance
Public workers left without voice
And an inability to promote their choice
A fountainhead meaning proved invalid
Still chattered on about for the sake of the ballot
A demonic man with cat on lap
Spewing forth a **** load of crap
Chosen stance, in promotion of defense
Bankrupting the nation in a swindlers fence
Bound in decision to a blurred spectrum
Loyally stuck brown-nosing a corrupted ******
Apr 28, 2015
Apr 28, 2015 at 5:24 PM UTC
*box ***** box! no one ever said bare x-rayed knuckle rough up, but my tongue ain't just an oyster, so here's to a champagne flute ***** and an oyster shell tilted for a slurp ultra crescendo, a runaway: writing philosophy lets you explore the many narrators that are impotent creating characters, while fictive narration has many characters and a few dimensions of narrations, like the *** in the city gall said: newspapers are printed, they're not supposed to convey stories, or be the post-modern basis for a skeletal anastrophe of storytelling.*
you will not get any more artists
when you educate blanks
to canvas a Gucci with a brothel
of colours that might be tamed
into the anti-artist vocabulary deciphering
cubism... brothel of colours?
well **** is red, **** is brush,
you get an orchestra of vowels
with hues, pink is for arson,
the other pink is for fish against stream,
they never air-guitar bass rhymes or
solos, it's a shame, bass guitar is more
akin to drums and therefore more memorable
than brown-nosing vocals and lead guitars...
well coral red became gangrene green
when the snorkelling offshoot to finding
the titanic wreckage took off...
i said the titanic rhythms of bass guitar
was more airy than the scandalous
pitch notes of guitar turned soprano
like a michael jackson wannabe...
twist of the ***** / twist off the *****
get a screwdriver, scandinavian ha ha:
am i grey bearded enough to act out a norwegian
version of hamlet? no? gooooood...
that's dracula saying mornin' 'n' evenin'
together; i'm into revising tabloids
by making many references...
culturally explicit ***** crap... big **** elephant
***** wide... i'm all ****** up for it to be the
defining concern of our times.
Feb 20, 2016
Feb 20, 2016 at 8:05 PM UTC
At night I walked in the winter months
By the banks of an old canal,
Where the barges lit their ghostly lamps
Like the wake of a funeral,
They would glide in those silent waters
With their silence like a shroud,
The horse at the end of the towrope
Passed me by, its head unbowed.
They sat so low in the water with
Their tons of pitch black coal,
The coal dust covered their livery
And of course, the paint was old,
A single steersman sat aloft
At the rear, and he looked ahead,
The black cut-out of a silhouette
Of a man that could be dead.
One night ahead of a hump-backed bridge
Where the towpath passed below,
The mist was a thick grey swirling mass
As the horse passed by me, slow,
I saw the glow of the ghostly lamp
And then as the barge appeared,
Just nosing out of the bank of fog
I thought that the bow looked weird.
For glistening under the ghostly lamp
And over the cabin door,
I saw a stream of something damp,
Was it mud, or blood, or gore?
I waited until the barge had passed
With the steersman, in my fright,
And I called out ****** ******
‘You should look to your bow tonight.’
And the steersman muttered ‘Carolyn’,
In a voice both muted, low,
His voice came whispering back to me,
‘She shouldn’t have used me so.’
I saw his cardboard cut-out turn
In the glow of the ghostly lamp,
But then the barge slipped into the mist
Along with its ****** stamp.
I didn’t know where it disappeared
On its voyage into the mist,
Along with its grisly cargo though
Its name was ‘Amethyst’,
But Carolyn lay aboard somewhere
In a pool of her blood as well,
As that barge would nose its way through mist
To enter the gates of hell.
David Lewis Paget
Jun 25, 2017
Jun 25, 2017 at 11:04 AM UTC
L
e
T'sD
oTonight
hard. we'll finger ginger prematurely. immaturely. and
offended glossy cheeks. the fair legs, forever apart, the night's
begging panting heaving & yes let's
oD
2
nite
impossibly posing
prosing nosing (it smells red
and neon). guns are our bones.
sensibly obscure the daft incommensurable
s,m'og O' inside the pooch, the slumping curve
the curbs and dancing, the jostling snort
of brain's panes behind them saying just faces.
unchaste faces. a multitudinous saliva teeming
young wagging hems lifted with my fingers
going under your cotton and right up
to your "'yes'" Y
3
s!
May 17, 2011
May 17, 2011 at 9:25 PM UTC