"ovoid" poems
Plenary veils...infinitely unveiling the bride--
her face will never be seen, ovoid porcelain,
angling candles...upon a UFO altar.
The relentless Hand that pinches and lifts her
veils...has seen her face, and kissed her lips
so many times--that her infinite unveiling...
is love's ****** regress...a deathless imagining
made real.
Oct 11, 2012
Oct 11, 2012 at 9:16 PM UTC
Licking the ***** off the small peaks,
Each dilated eye in ecstasy truly speaks.
The peaks are so natural button-like soft,
Conveying sans the speech the desire oft.
Whenever stiff & excited about to burst,
Titillating the sensuality be with trust.
Jan 16, 2016
Jan 16, 2016 at 11:00 PM UTC
the Nephelaen mediatrix sings
fating an ambrosia synchrony of tones
she volves her telic tepals ripe:
areoles ensorcelled under alate nomes
she heralds petrichoric quench
with nova womb
to subtend violet ray
in stellar bloom, noema web:
sensate fontanels
in spite of dessication's wrench
are concresced atmospheric balms
of evanescent nervure, calyces
displayed to sky-crossed home,
unpillared and ovoid
.
Mar 26, 2014
Mar 26, 2014 at 8:07 AM UTC
Finger soldered brilliant new gold band
proudly circling nuptial sun
orbiting eclipsing the clans
completing a family connexion
with others ovoid chipped but fondly funded
wearing thin on hardened blue veined hands
some waving some proclaiming all belonging.
Oct 17, 2015
Oct 17, 2015 at 6:13 AM UTC
vampiric ***** house
a fearful symmetry
of cleavers for something to love
***** addicted
pearly satin's copulate
a continent of curves
ovoid rectums and raw mouths
in a ritual of sadistic etiquette
drenching phallus tongued spit
like gales of flames
at a masochists invitation
for foot blooded kisses
and heated lopped breast
eager haunches thunder
in a malignant lust
********* utopias **** cyclops
spreading winkling's dribbling
night operas
in a red cathedral of flicker hives
squealing euphoria's hemic arcade
with greased ******* that break backs
fluting throats ***** chromatic fizz
and shrilling wombs flutter like bat wings pandemonium
in the museum of the moon
Mar 9, 2019
Mar 9, 2019 at 1:39 PM UTC
so small
yet with unfolding
possibilities as
a cyprus a redwood..
similarity with storied
chicken and egg..
some say
the vast universe
simply a seed
one more example..
an ovoid shape
with energy flow..
not excluding ourselves
clothed in our
magnetic shell..
might we all
stay at home
seeing all
right here...?
Dec 29, 2012
Dec 29, 2012 at 2:03 PM 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
In Africa the lissome eucalyptus leaves
Sharply ovoid, a washed celadon,
Turn their silvery backs, yield, bend with
The promise of on-coming rain.
You taught me this
Sign, this tree-voiced prediction, long ago, among
The tenderly sloping, densely viridian hills
And heavy, somnolent, rolling fogs of Iowa.
And so, I turn my back. I yield, oh, how I yield.
But, you didn’t foresee, didn’t know
How, much later, my heart would
Flake and flay
How great sheets of myself
Would peel, would fold
Would slough off just like
The bark, the back of those massive whitened eucalyptus trunks, you
Didn’t, couldn’t foretell how this long union
Scars, clings, sinks so deep, tattoos itself so that eucalyptus-like, despite
Repeated rain lashings, leaf bowings, droopings and sun decimated leavings
My heart, my soul sheds, molts, reforms, renews itself and just as those
Sharpened leaves arch and curve and arc and sway
So I bend, I turn, I give in, I give in
To the chafing wind, to the scouring hurt, to
The on-coming African
Rain.
Sep 3, 2014
Sep 3, 2014 at 9:18 AM UTC
He wakes up at her hips
And will reject her lips
Before she is long gone
Because with her he’s done
He paid the wretched queen
And to her he was keen
Fair enough! She is off
To some masculine doll
His lust her skimpy scroll
In the night of the void
Her body ovoid
Circle seized disposed off
To the fancy of those
Who once gave her a rose
Made of a dollar bill
She is of love, ill, ill
Wondering she may not
About her condition
She will insert the coin
Into a random slot
Her marked lone ****
Bearing alienation
Her own ammunition
Longing for salvation
No lover at auction!
December, 3, 2015
Lyon 2 University, France.
Dec 3, 2015
Dec 3, 2015 at 12:50 PM UTC
' ^
' / \
' / \
' /<o>\
' / ___ \
'
I heard there was a secret orb
it's ovoid laid and it’s for the horde
but they don’t really care for vaccines voodoo.
Well it goes like this just close your fist
a minor thrall of the aged list
the muzzled crowd reposing hallelujah
hallelujah hallelujah hallelujah hallelujah
Your mate was wrong so you were aloof
you know she’s scathing about your proof
her baulking of your insight over threw you.
She lied to you which wasn’t fair
she spoke alone and she didn’t care
and sipped more ale her hebrewed hallelujah
hallelujah hallelujah hallelujah hallelujah
You say I look as if in pain
I'm pinched as salt not in a grain
But if I am then silly, what’s it to you.
There’s a craze at night all round the world
to some it matters we’re not a herd
the whole of thee a token hallelujah.
Hallelujah hallelujah hallelujah hallelujah
I beat my breast your out of touch
I will not kneel I will not slouch
I am a sleuth so I cannot let them fool you.
And even if it all goes wrong
I’ll stand before the mighty throng
with nothing in my veins nor hallelujah
Hallelujah hallelujah hallelujah hallelujah
hallelujah hallelujah hallelujah hallelujah.
Ryan O'Leary 17/08/2020.
Aug 17, 2020
Aug 17, 2020 at 6:48 AM UTC
He knew it would take muchos huevos to play,
but his game plan was good, and he’d be okay.
Cause his were as big as the black or the bay
patrolling with tabletop backs that were stacked
with corrupt, hairy pigs who loved to talk smack,
and who bristled with weapons to fend off attack.
And, though the opiners would say it was rash,
he never could stand it to sit on his ***
So, he hurled his armored gelatinous mass
with a splurge of insouciance at all those legs.
The guards slung pejoratives – bent to fillet
his ovoid trajectory into a splay
of malfeasance – but their slashes only caught air
as he flew like a mortar past their stony glare
and that bold lettered sign he had read as a dare:
“Tis Forbidden To Sit On the Wall” -- the King
Apr 6, 2014
Apr 6, 2014 at 10:14 PM UTC
Contrasted
Occlude
Nutation
Turntable
Reclusive
Apathy
Portmanteau
Oedipus
Soliton
Inerrant
Tricorn
Inculcate
Ovoid
Nowhere
:/noun/ käntrəpəˈziSHən; A relationship between two indications when a Thing with affirmation of another are also a negation of the affirmation in the opposition of the other.
Dec 15, 2016
Dec 15, 2016 at 7:31 PM UTC
it was a kiss with coyote’s embouchure, with the river’s casket, with gelified venom, with the apron’s appetite, with compact distortion around portable lip cuffs, with trite lies liquified, with mud clumps in mercury clasps, with spit woven theses, with unwound ovoid wellsprings, with sun-hidden shadows, with the frayed nighttime squish, with closeted hand dice tossed, with chance in the fistfuls, with detuned static and bellyaching bramble, with losing yourself, with entropic dissociation, with fleeting tokens, with sayonara stamps, with honey pumping nozzles, with inside out stratus veins, with the pain of history tucked in the trail fringe, in the pebbles kicked outward, with fried abandon, with seatless balconies, with the touch of an insect unexpected while straddling a brick wall with electric grout, with eyelashes trimed by the wind, with patterns passed, with breathless shapes and shaping dimensions, without the taste of lavender or the mosquito’s lonely thirst, with time passing, with time passing, with time passing, without passing time, with the sky dumping elected dead bodies, with spoonfuls of miracles, with starvation kicking, with moon swells forgetting the fomite sea, with weather inside, with dry mouth drawer memories, with omens and herrings with teeth and tongue.
Feb 26, 2021
Feb 26, 2021 at 12:03 PM UTC
The dinner table.
It is called what it is despite the use for all meals
starts out with breakfast
the kids get their backpacks from the chairs and go to school.
The dinner table.
Come lunchtime, sandwiches
prepared on its rough tired surface
waiting for the children to come home and enjoy them.
The dinner table.
Now comes dinner,
A place of comfort and good thing
where every expressed meal takes place in the American home.
The dinner table.
Wooden, ovoid piece of furniture located in the formal dining room
such a work of art in yet such a pleasant, morsel-resting masterpiece
a family heirloom often overlooked for its uses.
The dining room is where the family can relax at the universal dining counter for mealtime.
The kitchen is where the food is made and prepared. But tonight, we have other meal plans.
The dinner table.
Let us rest our heads upon its surface and say a prayer of thanks
let us praise the Lord for the food he has blessed us with.
Now let’s eat! This takeout looks delicious!
Jan 31, 2025
Jan 31, 2025 at 8:03 PM UTC
Our ovoid showers copper on the fourth of july
Slips fists until bliss razed the grass with red dye
Empty sieve lead hooks to spank through the nights
Our mare’s nest by-passing sparkled like a firefly
Birds & trees vastly sprout young waves of light
Lugged for incredible misbehavior
Until glass rolls & lights up with majestic flavors
Nov 30, 2016
Nov 30, 2016 at 6:55 AM UTC
~ Calm ~
~ Cool ~
~ Oasis ~
… of defeat!
Reflections of what might have been
Dissolving in a rippling grin
Engorged … with round … endeavors
÷ Unknowing ÷
÷ Uncaring ÷
Drawing to your sodden depths
The unripe fruit of duffer’s quest
With naught to mark this ovoid feast
But gentle … jesting … lapping
≠ Wet Nemesis ≠
I curse the void that clings to all that fail to mark your distant shore
And in distain, show no remorse
But Quick!
Return to mocking calm
To lurk beside the verdant way
Until the next unfortunate
Attends your … greedy call
May 18, 2018
May 18, 2018 at 1:15 PM UTC
There is only you and I
One in the same..
We had decided to descend from the sky
To experience this game
To abide by our etheric blueprints
Bound to each others' name, eyes and flame
A reflection so unique
Only you and I can admire
One in the same..
On an evolutionary path
Self discovery is to find
Union with God
But merging,
Et de fusionner avec toi,
IS Union with God
**
|VB|
Aug 24, 2014
Aug 24, 2014 at 3:41 AM UTC
Parable of Torvisco: “branched among the thickets of ignorance, their foliated stems speak of the white blood that has fallen from the souls that resiliently endured the solitude of their limbs and who enjoyed their ruddy bark and the pubescence of the Daphnes that gawked at over them turned into Laurel, she being a spatulate flower of Vernarth, like Apollo elliptically adoring her with the underside, and something fuzzy hiccuping over the teachings of someone who is not loved. Being the Daphniform Torvisco, of appressed retractable sepals that are pronounced on the laurels in Dafnomancia of the pubescent Torvisco on the first ************ of Daphne, leaving the ovoid crusts near the foliate stolon of the grayish spurs on the fins of the Pelecaniformes Petrobusjos, leaving the Malloga the lice. of their plumage that they are eaten by laurels, as a carminative antispasmodic digestive degassing, in the flora of the intestinal Torvisco engulfed by their pride and eagerness of nobility.
Parable of Sacred Bud: “first the animals and the buds that emanated from the inflorescences were venerated, as gods of the occult sprouting from the long-lived saps being miscellaneous family taxonomies that were consecrated to gods trapped by the mists of their foliage, over the colonies of other species with outbreaks of bud expiration in the distant buds of the leaves, towards non-renewable woody plants, for critical tempering to germinate on the dogma of woody herbaceous plants, as sacred shoots of ferns without their cell walls. Here is the tree of evil and good, sprouting one of each but as hyper-sprouting, which deceived the eyes of those who wanted to cut it because of the human snooping in bloom, on the shores of Medea's hands, growing on the shore of a headless river deity, who was not yet poisoned by an Olympian gesture, agreeing to have long fragrant and rosy hair on the pubescent teenagers who dared to call themselves Medea "
(Prócoro redoubling his sinister imagination of the Rosé of the Witches and grotesques, he was still ecstatic at the expectation of the extensions of the Rosary of the Evangelista San Juan simulated in the crowned Torvisco, for purposes of the genetics of the world in the hands of pubescent bodies that were embodied in the bodies and their stolons, like retrograde shoots going towards the spheres of the pelecaniform Petrobus and its little lice that resided in it as vital alarms. Structuring thus, the grazing that ran from its wings with vigorous fine pediculosis, which was abstracted from the scalps Medea decked out in megalomania in the sprouts of the Enchanted Torvisco)
Jan 23, 2021
Jan 23, 2021 at 6:16 PM UTC
We all have secrets
Our insecurities that we feel we must hide
Some hide behind mask of jokes and smiles
Or a pretty face
However many hide behind a screen this screen that we hide behind to where I don’t know your name and you don’t know mine
We refuse to let our lives show the real emotions we all feel at some point because it’s so much easier behind a screen
I’m no exception I wish I could say what I think without second thoughts of what if’s
I hide behind a fake smile and laugh cracking jokes that I use as a defense to ovoid feeling
But behind a screen where I don’t know you and you don’t know me it’s so much easier to say what I think and to think about what I say
I have no face on the internet no meaning yet I feel as words can carry my meaning from my fake laugh and jokes into the real me that can shown all the insecurities
Form me to you my screen
Apr 1, 2018
Apr 1, 2018 at 12:21 AM UTC