"nudging" poems
Trees in dark tunics
leaves reflect the pale moonlight.
The silver fur of the moon
extended claws gripping the dark
veins are stretched to a chilled red wine.
Its taste tingles on the tip of my tongue
to lick the white stains of the ambushed sky
to pluck the emblems with my teeth
and howl silently with the moon
nudging the dark space to a blushing white.
©Malintha Perera 2015
Jan 8, 2015
Jan 8, 2015 at 12:59 PM UTC
I bend to scoop the sand into my palm,
clutching tightly,
the tiny grains warm within my grasp.
The ocean is calm,
gently nudging my toes as though reminding me of its presence,
begging to be noticed.
It is persistent.
I look back to my fist,
prompted by the renewed emptiness inside,
capturing a glimpse of the last grains of sand
as they trickle from between my fingers.
They lay to rest at my feet;
before, behind, or beside me - I could not be sure.
I never did find out, nor did I care.
They were never mine to hold.
Dec 12, 2013
Dec 12, 2013 at 1:04 AM UTC
What are we doing out here
In the wild wild west
Are you showing me something
Or are we here to rest
We've traveled a long road
But I'm not ready to settle yet
Spider crawling up my arm one day
Blood on my quilt the next
Blood splot on the bathroom floor
Hair chopped off
Cut my finger
Cut that ****
Third eye minds eye know you can open it
**** nugs nudging you toward it
Chugging fluoride gotta know its blocking it
Depression crippling lazy thinking I'm not getting anywhere anymore
Dated a slick-back sexist slug of a human
He haunts me in my dreams
I'm trying to dream big dream of everything
But his face shows me where I've been
His hands done healing flex ****** veins, stop stealing!
His mom sewing his mistakes back together again, stop helping!
His dad fueling the fire again at home, stop procreating!
Its not the job of a lover to raise your significant other
Its not my job to shower you with everything I have day after ******* day when all I get in return is leftover pizza and a sore ******
-SOME PEOPLE DON'T KNOW HOW TO LOVE
IT IS NOT ON YOU TO SHOW THEM HOW
SOME WILL TRY OUT THE MOTIONS WITH OTHER MOTIVATIONS IN MIND
BUT LOVE IS NOT JUST AN ACTION IT IS TRULY A LIFESTYLE
Without love I would be dead
Fill
With intention
Else you're dead
Living isn't that easy
Same struggles every day
Being healthy isn't that easy
Definitely more expensive that way
Being human isn't that easy
Hunting my own spirit day after day
Not wanting
Feeling bad
Not supporting
But loving
I have something to say god ******
And don't dare tell me its just the drugs
We need to start questioning what love is
The lack of it is ******* stuff up
I'm high right now if you didn't know it
If I was sober would the words still come out
You say you love me but you don't support it
But how can you love if you don't understand it
Love is unconditional
Love is support
How are you loving when you try to change it
There is no fixing my humanity
You don't know what makes me happy
No one can be trusted
Love
Choice
Choosing
To be loved
Oct 18, 2016
Oct 18, 2016 at 4:27 AM UTC
I miss Chicago.
I miss walking everywhere with my best friend.
I wish I had been brave enough to take his hand on those walks.
I miss walking with my puppy to go meet him after class.
I miss the adventures we had, and planning more adventures with him.
I miss splitting pastries and snacks and meals with him.
I miss joking with him, laughing with him, playing videogames with him.
I miss the silly little nudging game we used to play on the couch, on the train, on the bus.
I miss when our stop was near and he would turn back and offer his hand so I wouldn't fall...and he would lead me to the door before letting go.
I remember the first time he held me...I thought I would lose my mind, I thought I would cry, I thought I would die.
When I close my eyes, I can still feel how his hands felt, intertwined with mine.
I miss laying in bed with him, listening to his heartbeat and just breathing him in, his arms around me.
I remember the time he fell asleep, his arms around me, his hands in my hair, his face so close to mine.
I should have kissed him then. Instead, I confessed when he woke...and he listened to me and let me cry for what couldn't be.
I miss when he would take my face in his hands and tell me everything would be alright.
He doesn't love me. Not like that. But dear god I felt loved, oh so loved, those two weeks.
Aug 10, 2015
Aug 10, 2015 at 8:52 PM UTC
her churiyan clashed
submerging in the red, orange and green
of her sharara
as she spun round and round
a blur of striking colors
her laughing face hidden
among those of her cousins
as they danced in a circle
each girl wearing colors of the rainbow
smiles like the sun brightening their faces
their bare feet decorated with mehndi
as they spun on their toes
letting their hair follow them like velvet curtains
the pitter patter of their restless feet
becoming one with the music around them
the elders of the family
throwing rose petals and clapping
watching the new generation
bless the married couple
with laughter, colors & life
the girl with curls in her hair
pulling down the bride-to-be
off the stage and onto the dance floor
her fiancé nudging her and watching his future
twirl with the young girls
as families became from two to one
he looked upon his love with eyes full of wonder
as she pushed back her dark hair and hid her face
refusing to dance
but even the blushing bride couldn't stop the girls
from convincing her to join them
they took her by the hands
and let the music guide them as they threw their arms in the air
swaying to songs about boundless ishq
and the stars which shine upon those who fall in the arms of endless love
the bride's red gharara shimmering under the lights
complimenting the red in her cheeks
the sparkle in her teeka bright
but never brighter than the twinkle in her euphoric eyes
her mother teared watching her baby all grown up
and her father looked at her as his success
seeing his only daughter so full of joy
others onlooked
as the girls embraced their youth
and with the bride created a circle of joy
for that moment,
the love was shared between them all
they forgot all about their heartbreaks
and the everlasting love which never lasted
they forgot all about the boys with pretty eyes and even prettier lies
as they rejoiced over the love of their loved ones
with a little inch of hope in their own hearts
that someday someone would look at them
as the smiling groom did the stunning bride
*passion. surety. serenity.
pyaar*
Dec 26, 2015
Dec 26, 2015 at 9:55 AM UTC
What a clamour,what a fuss.Getting on and off the bus.Pushing Nudging never was there.So much hurry,quick says mother,there is another,father answered,dont be silly. That one goes to sesame street.
Jan 24, 2010
Jan 24, 2010 at 5:35 AM UTC
Carla kept nudging me to learn Italian.
It is the language of lovers and liars she said, life’s two best friends,
Discipline yourself, it will teach you to sing, she offered,
Each phrase a lyric, a seduction,
It will give you an unfair advantage over younger men, she promised,
Tickle her ear with this tongue and she will shiver and unfold,
Her heart, her knees unlocked.
Italian is a calculate of rhythm, Carla suggested,
Every woman understands timing and phase,
Our life is nothing but cycles for god’s sakes,
How have you not understood this?
It is the lingua of fair play, she continued, each syllable an equal citizen,
A dialect with an innate sense of justice,
Women are as intrigued by its possibilities,
As they are by threat and danger,
Either of which you can no longer promise.
Tell a woman you love her in Italian,
Ti amo più respiro, I love you more than breath,
And her ******* will disappear,
She won’t be able to take her eyes off your lips,
And as we all know, your mouth is your hook,
Your irresistible smile, the pout, the persuasion.
You are a poet, a miracle I know,
Your words are narcotic when you put your mind to it,
I’ve heard you quell an unruly crowd;
Your resonant tone could soothe a pack of ravenous jackals.
But with that intricate face of yours,
Your accumulating age, the leather wrinkles,
Believe me, you will soon need to help to ****** even a photograph.
Enlist, become Italian, Carla told me, it is your only hope,
And she tossed the last of her wine onto the sand,
Watched the red stain saturate and fade,
And lay back to face the sun.
Aug 22, 2015
Aug 22, 2015 at 7:08 PM UTC
Skin milky soft against golden brown light nudging you awake.
Hair jet black against a porcelain complexion.
Angular face throwing shadows onto my body as the sun licks it up.
Grumpily turn your back.
I see now, You are a morning flower m'love.
You may not know it,
and you may not like it,
You're quick to bloom,
and soon to wilt,
I'm sorry I plucked you,
I'm sorry I killed you,
I didn't know you were but only a morning flower m'love.
Apr 24, 2014
Apr 24, 2014 at 3:50 PM UTC
What's equality when theirs cops
Beating around the neighbourhood
With a loaded gun nudging guilt
On the wounded sides of the bullied
Spitting on the youth with a blind eye
Turned away from bottles of pills
That we're forced in innocent hands
Because apparently they had a
problem with authority
-tdf
Aug 30, 2013
Aug 30, 2013 at 6:57 AM UTC
I twisted the dollar bill around my finger and then into a bow.
I rolled it up.
I twisted it around my finger once again,
wishing the lady in front of me would order already
instead of asking what EVERY drink was.
I just wanted my latte.
I don't want to have to wait until next Christmas just to order it.
Oh my god, lady! Get out of my way!
Finally, she turned to the man at the other end of the counter, who is waiting for his coffee.
What did you get, Jim?
Caramel Macchiato, Cheryl
She turns back to the cashier, And what's a Caramel Macchiato?
It's an espresso, consisting of milk and two-three shots with caramel syrup, ma'am
Hmm, I guess I'll have that. A small please.
Just as I think she's done, she steps back in front of me.
And a red velvet cookie...you know what, make that two.
The cashier rings her up and I'm slowly nudging her away from the counter.
Hey Abby-ONE CARAMEL LATTE, MEDIUM
I smile, Hello Maddox.
$4.23
I hand him the 5 dollar bill and he stretches behind him and sets my latte in front of me.
Thanks Maddox.
I take my latte and change and walk around to the back, up the back stairs and into the book store.
I sit cross legged in a mustard colored vinyl chair, setting my coffee on the flat arm.
My shoes fall to the floor.
My book falls open to where I marked it last.
I bite the inside of my cheek as I continue to read and taste the cheap caramel in my overpriced latte.
Dec 22, 2013
Dec 22, 2013 at 4:54 PM UTC
*I do write
When I feel
the need to write
Then I don't
when
Don't want to word my thoughts
But then,
My unrelenting thoughts
Keep nudging me
Edging me
Seeking words
Wanting me to write .
Then
Comes my Mind
The repository and Controller
Of all
My senses
Giving a piece of itself to the thoughts
The thoughts bow down
And admit
it was all for fun
Don't get bogged down
You have won
And Then
I am free to decide
As to when to write
***Right to write
Or None***
Jun 15, 2017
Jun 15, 2017 at 2:48 AM UTC
Love is the greatest force of all mankind...
of all cosmos, of all movement
of all that is wild and deranged
held safe in a locket, clandestine,
casually singing reigning from clouds of rain
sonnets of seismic sound sway trees
encouraging sodded fields grow greener than yesterday
yet sprightly and anew
soon
nudging the node
of the naysayers neighing,
bulging out their blue button ups
cramping, beastly belly's brooding to feast
on the blooming young,
the callow of a courageous continuum
trooping along gaily with gallantry
on trails, heralding gnarled roots
but this is rhythm
and rhythm is rhyme
and rhyme reconciles reasoning
"i love you for no other reason
but i love you"
says the tales of two
seeking singularity,
soaking in the sauna of one,
sovereign sun.
Sep 12, 2018
Sep 12, 2018 at 6:24 PM UTC
No wonder I couldn't find her
She was out all night
When I opened the door
My pet cat rushed inside
And looked at me with her
Big round eyes puzzled
As if asking why didn't I
Opened the door sooner?
As if I read her thoughts
As if she understands
I said, "well, you didn't
Tell me you went outside?"
Greysha is a beautiful cat
Doesn't go out with the guys
Obedient passive goes about
Minding her own ways
Wasting time to look prim
Always around the house
And keeps me company
Now purrs lay beside me
Tapping gently her soft paws
On my arm nudging me
To pat her and stroke her
White and geyish fur coat or
I don't know what's going on
In her mind perhaps she's
Just being naughty or maybe
It's her way of saying
"I am sorry."
Sep 2, 2018
Sep 2, 2018 at 7:08 PM UTC
We are nudging out nature, in our selfish interest
Almost trying to outdo nature and create our space
A space devoid of any beauty, mechanical churning
Deafening noise, drowning us in the decibels
Haze from the industries, making our vision blurry
Oblivious to the perils, of where we are heading
Are we leaving or building a safe abode for our progeny?
We can live in denial and continue to march ahead
Trampling many natural dreams in the name of civilization
Or measure success in different parameters
As success can’t be at the cost of defeating the purpose of life
Jul 13, 2014
Jul 13, 2014 at 8:49 AM UTC
Every time I walked into the hills behind my house, I heard it.
The warm breeze gently nudging the tall grass slowly to one side, and then back.
I hear a soft sound emanating from the old telephone pole, which no one notices, behind me.
Peck. Peck. Peck.
As the sky nears darkness.
My curiosity gives me no choice.
I swivel myself around.
Quick as a wink,
whatever making the sound on the pole disappeared.
All six nights prior to this one, I did not try and greet
the new visitor in the neighborhood. Why not now?
I tiptoe over past the telephone pole, and glance up.
I see a small bundle of sticks and a bird.
A woodpecker.
A woodpecker, preparing for a family.
This, I realize, is a sign of new life.
Spring has sprung.
Another chapter in the history of the world.
Nov 1, 2013
Nov 1, 2013 at 1:16 PM UTC
The light
Blessed by its radiant warmth
It wraps it self around my flesh
Lips are as warm as its hue
Yet as soft and the blooming petals
That say good morning
I love you
The light
runs and drips through the scene
Making its way through the seems
Finding its access to room where
I yawn and great its touch with a grunt
My own (caveman language) good morning
I love you
The light
Like the beach reaches the shores of your image
Receding and retreating as you move
Nudging you, trying
Unsuccessful to budge you
We conspire against you (the light and I)
Feel my wet tongue and sticky lips
Trailing from shoulders to your hip.
You up yet? No?
I'll kiss you good morning some more
Open those sleepy eyes for my
"I love you"
-Alexis J Meighan-
Oct 22, 2012
Oct 22, 2012 at 11:24 PM UTC
The moon wore Janus masks last night,
Winking and nudging at our daily shenanigans;
Our wrong turns, the vanity of our foibles,
The apprehension of non-events,
Poking at our comedy of errors.
Our youthful angst.
The other mask keeps an eye closed
To our secrets,
The thoughts we cannot share;
Our furcht of past to future
Since our first fires,
Since someone said, You've said too much,
Or, What business is that of yours?
I've buried my losses beneath that mask,
With all the irreplaceable loves and deaths
Of my real drama.
Sep 22, 2015
Sep 22, 2015 at 8:01 AM UTC
In this place poets care, share, and like
Encouraging each other along.
Lifting hearts up from deep trenches
of Ignorance, ill traditions, misconceptions and lies.
Drawing back curtains, just enough
to quench the masses ceastless wondering,
"There must be something more?!"
Your creative holy work has a great purpose!
Escorting the hopeful aspiriant to the place
Where the shadow dawns into explosive light!
Gently nudging, englightening cognizence of new awareness
As pieces of puzzlement merge into a glorious whole!
Dear Poets, you matter
Nevermore, doubt your place!!!
You are among the Inspiritors of the Earth!
Dec 28, 2021
Dec 28, 2021 at 6:14 PM UTC
it will just end up
being a tale of a drunk looking into a metre
as if it was a kaleidoscope mile
in an l.s.d. fuelled centimetre seance,
conjuring the dead, esp. sergei with his kijé,
and thinking about turning the zoo inside out,
with the birds as fish in the great aerorium
of the missing stars to cook up a fluster with broken beaks
nudging achilles to kneel using his heels.
i mean i’d cage those parrots to seal their colour
into stamps and dutiful ink of borrowed bureaucracy,
but i’d stink of oysters doing so and very little else.
so why did they decide upon petting fish in an aquarium
and said that birds were simply caged chickens easing out
an omelette? if i was keeping goldfish in aquariums
i’d be keeping budgies in aeroriums.
don’t tell me, the glass eases the process for disney's
talking blue fish? no wonder, a caged animal
is reminiscent of a caged man, but put man behind glass
and there's little chance of a narcissist conjured;
hence the necessity of slicing iron of the ribcage innuendo
within the framework of a niqab to peer through
on that whitewashed backdrop some call a canvased sigh of beginning.
Sep 28, 2015
Sep 28, 2015 at 9:00 AM UTC
*
Your melancholic memories come every second
You are invisibly floating all around me
My breathe plays your melody
My heartbeat plays your love-poem
My soul listens to my own LOVE longing
The breeze swirling your scent around me
I walk amidst your fresh jardine
When my eyes are traversed by YOUR eyes
Then the weather drenches me with your colors
And YOU pour all colors of LOVE on me
My numerous sleepless nights
I stand and see you in the stars
I count every sparkle you've left behind
In those million heart beats within
In that nighty silence I wait to hear
Your silence footsteps walking around me
I look up and see the reflection of
YOU nudging & hugging me from behind
In the mirror of that bright BIG moon
Each passing breathe conveys your arrival
The one, who is revered & adored all the time
My heart-beats showers cascades of blossoms
All along the places YOU- my BELOVED exists
And I render the whole world in my BELOVED's colors
*
Aug 20, 2016
Aug 20, 2016 at 1:36 AM UTC
Rebellion smells like apples, cinnamon
and *****
On a gravel road swallowed whole by
a surrounding forest of lush greens
we stood in opposition, revolution
firearms nestled in our hands.
We rebelled against alcoholism.
Drunk, amber soldiers stumbled across
the uneven surface of the log they vacated.
Our bullets shattered them one by one.
The rifle’s kick back slammed against me.
The cracking echo of each gunshot
filled the hollow chiseled in my chest
and tenderized my brain.
Shards of hard cider and hard liquor
spattered the dirt; the bright red
of the Angry Orchards’ labeling
bleeding war into the earth and grit.
We searched for survivors.
The air was perfumed with Cinnamon Apple
and *****
The soft spice of autumn and harvest
wafted gently up my nose
followed by the sharp scent of
disinfectant, hospitals, stainless steel.
It was the smell of ***** my default.
Nudging a dusty bottle neck with my toe
I couldn’t help but think back to
the angry, open-mouthed kisses
I once shared with my bottles
early in the morning until late at night.
A furious thirst surged through me.
I still wanted a drink.
Aug 23, 2014
Aug 23, 2014 at 12:18 PM UTC
I have a most insistent cat
who skulks unseen into my den,
hides until the moment that
I start to write. Precisely then
she figure-eights around my feet,
nudging nose beneath my thigh.
Next jumps upon the desk, competes
for my complete attention by
a feline strut across the keys
with tail furled proudly in the air.
She then descends upon my knees;
her work done, nests without a care.
Just showing me her catty side,
or budding poet? You decide.
Feb 14, 2011
Feb 14, 2011 at 12:37 AM UTC