"oozed" poems
“I remember the bed just floating there” is how Phil Kaye started his ‘repetition’ poem.
I remember pausing the youtube video after the poem ended.
I remember burying my feelings under 3 blankets and 4 hours of binge watching spoken word poetry.
I do not remember the dreams I could have had.
I remember the set of nightmares that visited religiously like the downstairs neighbor tired of how loud my heart pounds at late evenings.
I remember, very clearly, how they went.
I do not remember if I have written them down.
Dream one: he peels my freckles off my skin; he says he needs them because his coffee is too light. I scream while he calmly adds pints of the cheeks to his cup. He says I can never be as quiet as the girl who managed to sneak into his ribcage and build herself a bedroom.
Dream two: We are standing in the great library of Alexandria. He pulls the sea from underneath my feet and stuffs it into his back pocket. He says he needs it because he is tired of drowning himself in uncertainty. I start to cry and he says: Aries is the god of war, and women born under this sign confuse war for love.
I remember the mole on his left ear growing bigger in my nightmares without me ever watering it.
I remember he smelled of tangerine trees and broken records.
I do not remember if his face looked like the man I almost fell in love with last winter, or my father.
I remember the first time I saw my father after he came back from Ukraine.
I remember his brown leather shoes that oozed of old spice cologne and neat scotch.
I remember his hardly worn pair of glasses and the pieces of me they never cared to read.
I remember the wrinkles that seemed newer than his glasses slowly colonizing his hands... the hands that never held me as tight as the dress I wore to my school prom hoping it would catch my ex’s attention.
I remember that dress.
I remember it had a floral print reminiscent of the season that I was named after hoping maybe it would remind him I’m part him.
I remember realizing he will never remember.
And now, I sit on a carpet of autumnal leafs as crisp as my tied tongue and as dead as my fears, trying to turn my love for him into more than just a memory.
Aug 8, 2018
Aug 8, 2018 at 4:00 PM UTC
From blossoms
released
by the moonlight,
from an
aroma of exasperated
love,
steeped in fragrance,
yellowness
drifted from the lemon tree,
and from its planetarium
lemons descended to the earth.
Tender yield!
The coasts,
the markets glowed
with light, with
unrefined gold;
we opened
two halves
of a miracle,
congealed acid
trickled
from the hemispheres
of a star,
the most intense liqueur
of nature,
unique, vivid,
concentrated,
born of the cool, fresh
lemon,
of its fragrant house,
its acid, secret symmetry.
Knives
sliced a small
cathedral
in the lemon,
the concealed apse, opened,
revealed acid stained glass,
drops
oozed topaz,
altars,
cool architecture.
So, when you hold
the hemisphere
of a cut lemon
above your plate,
you spill
a universe of gold,
a
yellow goblet
of miracles,
a fragrant ******
of the earth's breast,
a ray of light that was made fruit,
the minute fire of a planet.
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The scent of the pollen allured her, hanging in the still air of the morning. She would stop in her travel and visit each flower that she found. The precious nectar oozed from deep within the petals and she would thirstily drink at each one. She would gently land in the scented shade of each blossom and coax the precious nourishment from it. She never gorged, but rather drank from each flower what it was willing to give. Some were full and over ripe and bursting with the honeyed juice. Others had a smaller treasure, but she would drink lovingly of their gift leaving them an offering of pollen as a thanks. Her small, delicate tongue would gently lick and probe the recesses of the flower hunting the sweetness inside. The pollen on her coat would touch with the very deepest innards of the bloom and enter its very core. Her gift, as she suckled each part, was imparted into the scented womb of the softly petaled blossom. Each flower awaited her coming and spread wide it’s scented opening for her to enter. Their swollen pistils would be gorged with the potential for life and their gently glistening stamens would tempt her to feed on their sticky juices. The soft buzzing of her wings caressed the delicate parts of the fragrant blooms with a gentle breeze as she drank her sustenance. She sheltered in the colored shade of petals, hung round her like colored sheets, as she took what each one had to offer. When she was done she would move on to the next, slowly and deliberately milking the juice of life from each one. Every flower needed her and each one did what it could to tempt her in. Some threw heavy fragrance into the air so she could catch their scent while others bared their large and swollen glands so she could see their abundance. She traveled from bloom to bloom, sometimes enticed by the shaded shelter, and other times the sight of glistening pollen. But she fed on each one, large and small, and in each one she left her gift. The pollen that she carried would be imparted on each ***** stamen as she fed. The glistening end of the shaft was soft and sticky and waiting for the pollen that would carry on its life. While she fed each day, there was a gardener who tended to her plants. He took gentle care of them, weeding and pruning and tending to their needs. The flowers that she fed on were his future sustenance and he tended her as well. He would follow her sometimes through his garden and watch as she gently buzzed from plant to plant. She was used to his watchful eyes as he watched her drink from each bloom. He knew that his crop depended on her and he would peer into the bedding of petals as she caressed the sweetness from each one with her tongue. Her long tongue would probe deep into the recesses of the fragrant flower and find every drop of nectar. The gardener watched as she carried on the cycle of life for him and would wait for days to see the swollen fruits of her labor burgeoning from his plants. When she left each flower satisfied with their delicious treat, she would fly off to the next, not knowing that a seed would be swelling in the gorged pistil that she just left. And so it went as the bee buzzed her life away every day. The gardener would be there among his carefully tended crops, watching and waiting as she moved among the flowers. His gaze would follow her as she traveled through the foliage and landed amongst the blooms. Every day he would watch as she coaxed the sweet nectar from each one and left her gift in return.
Jan 17, 2014
Jan 17, 2014 at 2:03 PM UTC
Forlorn as a destitute child,
I wandered to the distant wild;
Through a peculiar lonelier wood,
Like a wave, roving as fast as I could.
Not long, I came by a myrtle river bank
Where early boughs grow wild and rank.
There my eyes kissed upon wild flowers,
All grandly dressed in neon colours,
Rhythmically whispering lullabies,
Ineffably upon velvety indigo skies,
Whilst swaying in a friskier dance,
That could render naked eyes in a trance.
At such a mesmerizing sight,
I drowned in a pool of sweet delight
Hence in wonderment shook my head,
And in a velvety voice whispered:
"Flowers, flowers, flowers, flowers
What brings about thy Ineffable colors?"
**And all flowers smiled and smiled,
And exuberantly all thus replied:**
"At dusk, when fair maidens of the night
Grandly dress in flocks, of burning bright;
And madly smiles about skies above,
Oh! Their opalscent eyes we flowers love:
So, from their pulchritudenous color;
So lies the mysteries of our allure."
At such a mesmerizing reply,
Sweet delight oozed from mine eye
Hence in wonderment shook my head,
And in a velvety voice whispered:
"Flowers, flowers, flowers, flowers
What brings about thy ineffable colors?"
**And all flowers smiled and smiled,
And exuberantly all thus replied:**
"At dawn, when the day's watchman
Doth weareth his novelty crown,
And treads upon yonder skies above,
Oh! His golden crown we flowers love:
So, from his pulchritudenous color;
So lies the mysteries of our allure."
At such a mesmerizing reply,
Sweet delight oozed from mine eye
Hence in wonderment shook my head,
And in a velvety voice whispered:
"Flowers, flowers, flowers, flowers
What brings about thy ineffable colors?"
**And all flowers smiled and smiled,
And exuberantly all thus replied:**
"When envious veils of dusk engulfs day,
Paving the fairest Empress way;
To grandly grace on yonder skies above,
Oh! Her rainbow robes we flowers love:
So, from her pulchritudenous colour;
So lies the mysteries of our allure."
At such a mesmerizing reply,
Sweet delight oozed from mine eye
Hence in wonderment shook my head,
And in a velvety voice whispered:
"Flowers, flowers, flowers, flowers
What brings about thy ineffable colors?"
**'And all,' all flowers smiled and smiled;
I mean, smiled, smiled and smiled,
I say, smiled, smiled and smiled,
And happiness bloomed in the wild.**
#bliss of solitude
©Kikodinho Edward Alexandros
Jumeira, Dubai
6th August 2017
Aug 6, 2017
Aug 6, 2017 at 10:09 AM UTC
Your father was raised in Panama. I can imagine him vividly... The floral silk shirt with velvety red cravat, tan leather loafers, waxed-to-perfection moustache, and a big cigar. It was the late sixties and he was beautiful. I've never seen a photo but I can tell by the way you talked about him. His joi de vivre oozed into your stories and I recognized it: the distilled essence of his elegance was passed to you, and you shared it with me.
We met by our mutual attraction for showing off... I wanted to be treated like a delicate porcelain treasure - you wanted a plastic toy with the price tag of an heirloom. Twenty five years my senior and you still hadn't learned your lesson about girls like me... I may have broken your heart, but you should've known a tryst between the free-spirited edge of seventeen and a businessman with dreams of Panama would burn out in the end, just like your father's cigar.
Jun 9, 2016
Jun 9, 2016 at 8:50 PM UTC
our coolest babysitter lit a long joint and drove us to church
in her well worn '87 oldsmobile with chipped gold paint
a drooping side mirror and a tape player
that smelled like stale london gin mothballs
and a sunset butterfly heart at the same time
it had a deep ocean green calcite mandala
dancing from the windshield mirror
and a steal-your-face tattooed on the back glass
she used to blare brit-pop trying
to make the speakers bleed
that day when they finally oozed she swerved us
left through the other lane and sunday morning fog
to cut a jagged path through thick woods and into an oak tree
with a soundtrack of slow motion oasis and screeching tires
i clammored to the backseat to block the window
glass from your beautiful angelic blonde head as
dew sprayed into the vacancy from the ditch and
when i pulled the seatbelt spiderweb out of your mouth
and lifted you out of the car i was standing
barefoot in a cluster of bright red sumac next to
an ant hill pile of twisted steaming metal
and you were dripping blood from your eye and knees
asking me if we'd be late for sunday school
but you were awake and trying to smile so
we followed the powerlines back to the main road
holding hands dizzy and sweating
worried no one would ever find us
limping while the springtime songbirds
held their tongues for us but
when the hot ringing in my ears finally stopped
the sirens grew loud and close and the
birds too began their wet lipped eulogy
sometimes i think about
missing church that day
when the weather's bad
on nights like last night
sometimes i remember
our babysitter when
the fog rolls in over
the road in the morning
i wonder if she still
gets high on the
good stuff while
she drives or
if she's just
a treehugger
Aug 23, 2015
Aug 23, 2015 at 9:09 AM UTC
But why did I **** him? Why? Why?
In the small, gilded room, near the stair?
My ears rack and throb with his cry,
And his eyes goggle under his hair,
As my fingers sink into the fair
White skin of his throat. It was I!
I killed him! My God! Don't you hear?
I shook him until his red tongue
Hung flapping out through the black, queer,
Swollen lines of his lips. And I clung
With my nails drawing blood, while I flung
The loose, heavy body in fear.
Fear lest he should still not be dead.
I was drunk with the lust of his life.
The blood-drops oozed slow from his head
And dabbled a chair. And our strife
Lasted one reeling second, his knife
Lay and winked in the lights overhead.
And the waltz from the ballroom I heard,
When I called him a low, sneaking cur.
And the wail of the violins stirred
My brute anger with visions of her.
As I throttled his windpipe, the purr
Of his breath with the waltz became blurred.
I have ridden ten miles through the dark,
With that music, an infernal din,
Pounding rhythmic inside me. Just Hark!
One! Two! Three! And my fingers sink in
To his flesh when the violins, thin
And straining with passion, grow stark.
One! Two! Three! Oh, the horror of sound!
While she danced I was crushing his throat.
He had tasted the joy of her, wound
Round her body, and I heard him gloat
On the favour. That instant I smote.
One! Two! Three! How the dancers swirl round!
He is here in the room, in my arm,
His limp body hangs on the spin
Of the waltz we are dancing, a swarm
Of blood-drops is hemming us in!
Round and round! One! Two! Three! And his sin
Is red like his tongue lolling warm.
One! Two! Three! And the drums are his knell.
He is heavy, his feet beat the floor
As I drag him about in the swell
Of the waltz. With a menacing roar,
The trumpets crash in through the door.
One! Two! Three! clangs his funeral bell.
One! Two! Three! In the chaos of space
Rolls the earth to the hideous glee
Of death! And so cramped is this place,
I stifle and pant. One! Two! Three!
Round and round! God! 'Tis he throttles me!
He has covered my mouth with his face!
And his blood has dripped into my heart!
And my heart beats and labours. One! Two!
Three! His dead limbs have coiled every part
Of my body in tentacles. Through
My ears the waltz jangles. Like glue
His dead body holds me athwart.
One! Two! Three! Give me air! Oh! My God!
One! Two! Three! I am drowning in slime!
One! Two! Three! And his corpse, like a clod,
Beats me into a jelly! The chime,
One! Two! Three! And his dead legs keep time.
Air! Give me air! Air! My God!
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My sister boasted to me one night in a Liverpool pub
She had *** with a couple of coppers down the Mersey Tunnel.
'You're nothing bit a fat slapper' I scolded her,
As she examined the selfie I had taken
Just a few moments earlier of me
And her best friend up against the ladies' bog door.
"Good likeness, innit?" I commented and the
She farted stentoriously in surprise and,
The follow-through oozed down her dimpled thigh.
Feb 7, 2016
Feb 7, 2016 at 7:07 PM UTC
One day at a food shop,
I met a man selling cats,
For the money, he wanted to swap,
But I really wanted some bats.
"Got any bats?" asked I.
"For that's how I'll spend my money."
"No bats here!" said the guy.
He seemed to find it quite funny.
"We've got some lovely cakes,
I'll give you a very fine price."
"I'd rather have some snakes."
The man blinked rapidly thrice.
The man seemed exceptionally brainy,
And his manner was strangely amused.
He wasn't what I would call zany,
The great disdain he noticeably oozed.
Like others, he thought I was odd,
Some say I'm a bit beautiful.
Still, he gave me a courteous nod,
As if he thought I was plenty dutiful.
So in search of my goal I departed,
But before the food shop could I leave,
The man came running full-hearted,
"I can help you, I believe."
"Cats, bats, you shall find.
Cakes, snakes, you can get.
You must now open your mind,
And get down to New York Market.
So to New York Market, I decided to go,
In search of the bats, I craved.
The winds it did eerily blow.
But I felt that the day could be saved.
There were stalls selling apples,
Strawberry in many shades.
There were even stalls selling apples
People were scattered from many trades
I was greeted by a peculiar lady,
She seemed to be rather beautiful
I couldn't help thinking she might be quite shady.
I wondered if she was at all dutiful.
Before I could open my mouth,
She shouted, "For you, I have some bats!"
I headed towards her, to the south,
Past some cakes and cats.
"But how did you know?" I asked,
"Do you want them or not?" she did say.
Silently, the bats she passed.
Then vanished before I could pay.
As I walked away I heard a crackle
Or was it, perhaps, a hushed cackle?
Aug 25, 2019
Aug 25, 2019 at 9:56 PM UTC
28
So has a Daisy vanished
From the fields today—
So tiptoed many a slipper
To Paradise away—
Oozed so in crimson bubbles
Day’s departing tide—
Blooming—tripping—flowing
Are ye then with God?
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Shrouded in deep purple fear and billowing clouds of crimson shame,
I sat on the floor, a trembling moth in still air.
I swallowed. The taste of bile remained.
My warmth flowed out of my body into the icy bathroom tiles, escaping rapidly through cracks in my split-open soul.
She sat beside me, quiet, waiting.
After an eternity, I nodded to her with a shaky breath.
She helped me gently off the floor and guided me to her bed, tucking herself behind me to become my tight cocoon.
With my head rested against her chest, I heard her blood pounding through her, but her breaths were slow, controlled.
The fibers of my muscles remained tense, straining to compensate for my spirit - raw, exposed, vulnerable.
Her small, soft fingers ran through my tangled hair,
drips of golden honey appearing as she began to hum.
Her radiant honey oozed from the smooth, full notes of her voice and dripped between sharp fragments of my shattered porcelain.
The clock tutted at us from the wall, approaching the third hour of morning, but she held my shards together tenderly and unhurried.
The fight drained from me as she sang her sweet melody.
A puddle of purple and crimson beneath me. Pieces, tenderly held.
Her pure, glimmering honey meandered through my etched cracks and between my too-prominent ribs to replace my purple and crimson.
She sang the life back to me, held me together with her sturdy grace.
She waited as the liquid gold began to solidify and I began to feel closer to whole once more.
She - who loves me laughing, who loves me dancing - loves me messy, too.
Mar 22, 2022
Mar 22, 2022 at 6:17 PM UTC
I was making my way down
The highway,
Cornfields on both sides of me.
The moon shined even though
It was still day time.
The sky was a light lavender shade
That oozed into a faded blue
Twilight, you could say.
I caught a glimpse of a doe
And her baby
Walking through the endless field.
My mind wandered.
Where did they come from?
Perhaps they came from
Deep in the woods,
Where the birds sang
And the creek bubbles,
The sun seeps through the trees.
Perhaps all the animals got along,
Or maybe,
They came from an open field,
Maybe they had a family,
A buck, a herd,
Possibly even a few more fawns.
Maybe something drove them from there.
Maybe a gun,
Maybe a predator,
Maybe weather.
My mind wandered more,
Where were they going?
Were they looking for somewhere safe?
Or were they only trying to survive?
I wished I could see more of their journey.
I wanted to root them on.
Keep living!
Keep fighting!
Where ever you're off to, keep going!
Then the moment passed,
They were long out of my sight.
I hope they are still alright.
I hope they were alright.
Jul 20, 2018
Jul 20, 2018 at 8:58 PM UTC
Miss Cleves
(she dropped
the Mrs. when
her husband left)
stood by the doorframe
of the lounge,
dressed
in a flowery kimono,
which revealed more
than it concealed.
***** wants some milk,
she said.
Benedict looked around
at her from the sofa.
Percy will oblige
after his drink is drunk,
he said. Chopin’s
concerto no 2 oozed
from the hifi. He drained
his drink and followed her
into her bedroom.
Once Percy had obliged
and ***** been fed,
they lay abed.
She criticizing
his Marxism,
he her Scottish
conservatism;
she talked
of her husband’s betrayal
and ***
with air hostess
trollops,
Benedict half-listened
taking in
the ending
of the Chopin.
She talked of the poor
and the slums saying:
you can take
the poor out
of the slums,
but you can’t always take
the slums out
of the poor.
He raved
about the rich,
she scorned
the poor;
he talked revolution,
he pointed out Stalin
and Mao and the altars
of blood they brought.
Another drink? she asked.
He said yes
and she went off
to pour. He lay naked
on her bed wondering
what the priest would think
of him lying there
**** naked. He heard
the Chopin begin again;
she had thought of that.
Time to prepare, he thought,
once more to feed the cat.
Jun 14, 2013
Jun 14, 2013 at 1:56 AM UTC
Then dark with dripping blood it gave a howl
and cried again: 'Our damaged branches ache!
Your pillage maims me! Can't you feel at all?
We who were men are now this barren brake.
You'd grant us your respect and stay your hand
were we a thicket not of souls but snakes.'
As wood still green starts burning at one end
and from its unlit end the burning stick
drips sap, and hisses with escaping wind,
so from the broken stump there oozed a mix
of words and blood: a frothy babbling gore.
I dropped the branch. My fear had made me sick.
'Poor wounded soul, could he have grasped before,'
my sage replied, 'what now he sees is true,
and blindly trusted in poetic lore,
then he need not have so insulted you.
But as there was no other way to learn
I urged him to a test that grieved me too.
Tell us who you were, that he, in turn,
can set your honor freshly back in style
among those he will teach when he returns.'
The trunk: 'Your speech, by raising hope that I'll
regain repute, makes words arise in me.
I mean to talk, if you will stay a while:
I was the one entrusted with the keys
to Federigo's mind, and it was sweet
to share his thought and guard his strategy
for noble ventures secret in my keep —
so faithfully I filled this glorious post,
I gladly sacrificed my health and sleep...'
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with water color ink
made permanent with a pin
an emerald garden grew
from the surface of her skin
the sight was divine
the branches aligned
& through the cracks
poured sunlight in.
the honeysuckles oozed
the hollyhocks seeped
as chartreuse hummingbirds
dank nectar through their beaks.
by her favorite birthmark
hanging from a tree
was a silver web of silk
gossamer and dazzling.
with each image set,
pressed onto her skin
her flesh turned bright red
like the rosehips near her ribs.
Feb 14, 2017
Feb 14, 2017 at 9:34 PM UTC
*This is BELOVEDz's serenade
A ballad of sorts for LOVERz*
HEER:
*Sing everywhere
Tell everyone our LOVE
This is our story of LOVE
Heer's search for Ranjhaa*
~~~
YOU met me once
And touched me with your LOVE
YOU left your LOVE in my SOUL
And when we left each other
I left a cut-scar of LOVE-mark
On your left fore-arm
Every night in darkness
You come and kiss my fore-head
You come and kiss my toes
You surrender to me and
Melt me to dissolve in YOU
I've been wailing for YOU
I've been lamenting for you
Where are you gone
Leaving me like this in
Pain of your LOVE?
Come and see me....
What all I do to search YOU
To bring YOU back to me...
Like I left a LOVE-scar on your body
Why didn't you leave one on my body?
Why can't I rub the blood on my face
That oozed out of your scars?
I want to make a permanent mark
Of your LOVE on my SOUL
On my heart, chest and breast
As a sign and symbol of
Your LOVE's accession over me
Why can't I carry your LOVE
In my motherly womb?
I dreamZ of you a lot
Because you are not with me physically
Still every night I find
Your LOVE spirit within / besides me
I am letting you know
That this is my LOVE for YOU
No one in the world knows that
I've not allowed the world
To even sense my deep LOVE for YOU
Why we should unnecessary invite and
Influence jealous people's
Evil eye on our PURE TRUE LOVE?
You come and kiss my fore-head
You come and kiss my toes
You surrender to me and
Melt me to dissolve in YOU
*Sing everywhere
Tell everyone our LOVE
This is our story of LOVE
Heer's search for Ranjhaa*
(Read the Notes)
Oct 15, 2018
Oct 15, 2018 at 12:45 AM UTC
We forgot to make love last night,
yet again like many other nights
we remained distant islands separated by
Bermuda's of bed sheet and air.
The body wasn't very happy
Those thousands of red cells inside you
divided and redivided in anger
Ached and oozed and broke free
from your restless
When I woke up this morning,
I found you lying in a pool of blood.
You decided to go to work
After all it was a Friday and
the long weekend was a week away.
You take too many iron supplements
I fear, one day your body will be so full of folic acid
that it will cry.
We have the Smokies lined up for October
and the Cayman Islands in Christmas
Thinking of planned vacations makes me go to work
every day
Even though I ****
so bad
that I'd rather open a book store
and read all day
and sell a book or two.
My life is still all about you
After all these years
I still couldn't kiss that woman who
asked me on a coffee date at 10 pm by the lake.
or the one who found me cute on our album by the dressing table
You would say "Go ahead , we are not married yet".
I would laugh when I am alone,
thinking of the all the things you say
these days.
You say all the good things in life needs planning
marriage, kids,
buying house on mortgage
convertible sport coupes
vacations in South Pacific.
I find it ironic that I met you on a book store
when I cancelled a TGIF party and had this sudden urge
to buy Alice Munro's short stories.
We were sweet, back then.
Now you lie,
about being anemic on your weekly routine checkup
hide,
your biopsy report soon afterwards;
lie again,
on the reason of your sudden cancellation of the planned vacations for the year end
saying it's work.
Then you disappear, terrify me
Only to come back strands of hair gone from your head
still say nothing,
yet finally disappear saying nothing before I could buy us
the last vacation together.
I regret how much we could have done
together
if we made love more often
my body healing yours
resting, soothing,
purging all the enemies.
On the day when we supposed to be married
I visit the Caymans
laughing alone in a crowded beach
thinking about all the things you used to say these days
having Alice Munro's short stories for company.
Aug 24, 2012
Aug 24, 2012 at 4:03 PM UTC
We sat on that old pier,
as the others crab-fished by.
I found my hands beneath me,
in an attempt to keep them dry.
I traced the outline of a mountain range
with my tired, tearful eyes,
and the sun pinned me to the concrete wall,
stripping me of any disguise.
The fresh wounds on my shoulder
still oozed their precious blood,
yet we talked of days still to come
and summers, oh so far ahead.
Yet for a moment I almost believed that
what I’d done had been undone
but you struck me with reality
and my walls came tumbling down.
We looked at each other,
in the wild, unsettling sun,
with the sea-surf sparkling blue
and voices of our distant friends
ringing of the new
and interesting discovery that one crab, no, two,
had broken through the green net -
maybe that was you.
Jan 4, 2015
Jan 4, 2015 at 4:15 PM UTC
I know this landscape is nonexistent
The wind flows out of the sky
Making pitter-patter of rain
In the drumming woods
My kid plays a violin
Snow melts on the distant hill
The rose weeps on the arid land
In the darkroom, the stars faded,
Wars on the screen never cease
My kid plays a violin
Brakes the silvery string
Look！blood has oozed from the wall.
Jul 15, 2013
Jul 15, 2013 at 8:32 PM UTC
It was startling - this pessimistic world,
I opened the window, a storm raged,
attic whipped windy cobwebs,
scurrying spiders slid under debris,
and cracks appeared in her flesh,
where red oozed, yelling its escape,
collar bone protruding, thin layers fading,
wine trickled from blue corners,
knuckles scraped. I heard their drag,
whilst fibres caught up in nails,
burrowing beneath red lacquer,
snagging....scraping their terminus
Nov 5, 2013
Nov 5, 2013 at 7:08 AM UTC
Inana Shlash
How I wish I knew you
I would have melted
And oozed into
Your shoes
lingering many hours
Before you finally
Took a shower
I would have been a blanket
Embracing your back
Nuzzling against the nape
Of your neck
Until you wandered away
To a cool breeze
On the deck
If the gods would have
Smiled on me
I could have been
A billion water droplets
Easing into the hundreds
Of thousands of pores
In your silken skin
Alas
Our missile
Blew you away
And I don't know what to say
Sean Hunt
Windermere, December 6 2015
Dec 5, 2015
Dec 5, 2015 at 9:55 PM UTC
There was a snail (named Dale)
with a very long tail
who ventured off into the world.
He said to himself
(Dale the snail)
I'd love to meet a bootiful goil.
So in a flash from space,
with mucus running down her face,
came an alien creature called Joan,
She saw a silver line
(it was a snail trail)
and followed it to see where it goes.
And far in ...the distance
she saw in an instance
at the end of the snail trail sparkling in the sun-
A slimy and sweet
creature she'd love to meet
with a shell on his back for a home.
She said:"I do declare,
you look dashing and fair"
as bubbles oozed from her eyes.
Dale just blushed,
as his face lit up,
and said: "aw you're just saying that you sassy young blob of an alien gawjus sweet thing with no hair :)"
She looked at this tiny dream of a slobber,
he was in awe at her globber.
But their hearts sank at their difference in size.
She was glandular large
like a bright yellow barge
and he was as small as a splarge.
A stick insect saw -
the tragedy of it all
and came up with a very cunning plan.
He knew a wizard once
who ate snails for lunch,
they could trick him to changing her small...
As he told them the tale,
their faces went pale
but their love was too strong for the fear.
So they slithered and shlozzered
to Joan's flying saucer
to find the castle of Wizzy the ****
The wizard was waiting
with his eyes full of hating
and a knife and a fork in each hand.
There was garlic and salt
that he took from his vault
and he drooled on his beard as he sang:
"Alien Shpeegle
with shnails in shmeegle,
a delightful shurprishe for a man!
Groggy my groach
with shome shlime on my toasht"
and he pranced and danced with his band.
The spacecraft landed,
unexpectant of ambush,
the couple wanderd on in.
Wizzy swung from a rafter
and trapped Dale in a corner,
and said: "My you'll go well with my Shtew!"
Joan got mad
and rolled on to her lad
and ****** the wizard into her goo.
She suddenly felt all tingly
as she turned into a twinky,
there was nothing more she could do.
The Wizard escaped
and poor Dale met his fate,
and was smeared on the twinky sliced in two.
Wizzy gobbled them up
with some glee in his cup,
and then succumbed to food poisoning goo.
So it seemed that it ended
on that dark cold September,
for the lovers who's loving was doomed...
But on a planet far away
at the early break of day
two souls bubbled in primordial stew.
An amoeba named Dale
and an amoeba named Joan
were floating in bubbles of gas,
So deep the attraction
-the magnetized action,
they could now be together at last.
Dec 11, 2010
Dec 11, 2010 at 1:38 AM UTC
It is dark and cramped and this room
But it is private and serene to me.
Beneath my feet the water rushes up and down, up and down
The smell of salt washing the air and calming my nerves
He would tell me this is exactly right, not to worry
The smell of salt wrapping around my shaking legs,
He would understand the way it holds me. The way he does.
The smell of salt holding my trembling hands
He caresses my fingers, plants soft and sweet kisses on them; just like this.
The smell of salt nestling in my windswept hair
He likes the smell of the ocean, he won’t mind it
The smell of salt soothing my brain with its marine tendrils of happiness, of bliss
He is a man of the sea, he’ll know why his bride came here to collect her thoughts
The ship rocks, lurches, rocks
This is nothing compared to the storms I have weathered for him
But no bride truly wants bad weather on her day
At least, no bride whose heart and future is bobbing on the sea.
The smell of salt wraps an arm around my shoulders
He is the one who gave me the words for this feeling.
The smell of salt sweeps my dress around, blowing it all over the place
He would smile if he saw this.
And the smell of salt reminds of those words spoken, years ago,
And the smell of salt tells me who I am:
“Isabella, you are my perfect bride,”
Of course, his hair had oozed the aroma of sea salt as he held me that night
My sweet sailor, always wearing sea salt
And Isabella, his perfect bride.
And the smell of sea salt, ever a guiding light.
Jan 7, 2018
Jan 7, 2018 at 7:25 PM UTC