"paroxysms" poems
When his eyes first fell upon her
She was choosing avocados
In the fruit and vegetable aisle.
And he watched how her thumbs lingered
On the base of the alligator pear
And pressed, maternally.
He feigned interest in the cabbages
Whilst sensing her delicate architecture
Through his peripheral gaze.
He thought that somewhere,
In real or imaginary life,
They would soon bathe together.
And when they did,
They soaked for years in secrets,
Details suffusing through their lips and arms,
Water-hole satisfaction and moonlit deserts
To make them feel they might have transcended cabbages
And be pervading a rhapsodic realm
They forgot their friends watching in greenery,
Subsumed by each-other,
They felt no need
To live in a world of relativity and apples.
Their love-traced sphere tightened around them,
Until it ****** at the edges of their skin
And wailed when they parted.
Tighter it grew, elastic dug into their humid thighs
Contorting their once harmonic bodies
That used to fit like crosswords.
And they each became ugly to the other
As the seconds ingested their perfection
And they bickered like flailing urchins
In a deep sea soiled darkness.
Decisions were made and paroxysms detonated
And they were taken back by their
Fungal friends with tissue offerings
And ethanol.
Time passed, and memories were binned
Periodically on tuesdays
Until neither knew the other
And they would pass in the supermarket
With no more than a quickened gait
And a silent thud in each ribcage.
But neither could buy avocados.
Nov 16, 2011
Nov 16, 2011 at 12:18 PM UTC
Algorithms
Troll farms
Paroxysms
False alarms
Projections
Smokescreens
Elections
Behind the scenes
End of all discussions:
Blame it on the Russians.
Jul 20, 2018
Jul 20, 2018 at 6:38 PM UTC
I’ll lay here and let the sun make love
Penetrate the shielded part of my being
to bear the brightness of its warmth
right to the base of the unmoved core
and when hysteria sizzles time passes
right to the century of the ancient timeline
where women sadness was denied access
only to be healed by a scientific ***** massage
that gentle movement of finger in the pelvic
to bridge the eruption with the explosive paroxysms
where a woman would relive forgetting
all the unattention behaviour bore by their husband
women wombs would be removed so as not to feel
women ****** desire would be numbed so as not to feel
women would be sent into asylums so as not to feel
They are ****** women confiscicated to a domestic gloom
Let them tend to the men and gain no societical standing
until the doctors got tired of it all, with broken hands
those cramped fingers and supportive bandages
tired of motioning and fumigation of the libia
with sweet smelling and relaxing oily lotions
It was as simple as that...... the change of notions
and the innovation of the handheld vibrators
eradicated hysteria in mere 1952........
Oct 13, 2018
Oct 13, 2018 at 5:27 AM UTC
Live
inside the execution chamber
a stocky warden
poker-faced and middle-aged
begins
the medieval ritual
with words of cold indifference
addressed towards
Ted's emotionally dead
terrified head.
A warder
grim-faced
stands to one side
arms folded
as two others
begin to buckle
thick leather straps
around Bundy's ankles
wrists and chest
to the chair.
No cold condolences
the electrodes
on top of his head
a black mask
covering his face
until the signal is given
a raised arm
to the executioner
hooded in black
who pushes a lever.
Bundy's body arches
spasmodically convulses
tensely straining
paroxysms
the neck taut
head stretched back
blood oozing
from the nostrils
then slumps
and is pronounced dead.
The warders
remove the crown
and mask
unbuckle the straps
as the chamber empties
and the executioner
doffs the black hood
to reveal
appropriately
a beautiful woman.
Sep 11, 2014
Sep 11, 2014 at 11:35 PM UTC
Paralyze
Crippled youth decadent edification
Parental units fornicate prior to infantile animation
***** and left at the scene
Premature aged tragedy
Perceptive to the lessons of life
Based on adolescent obsessive observations
Thighs binding in the district of oral cavities
Physique constricted to paroxysms
Epileptic ear-piercing *******
Quivering leg hypothesis
Scream my name
Mechanical erotica
Spasm surrounding bionic limbs
Shrouded desires and ***** hallucination
High-quality with your skull banging into the headboard
Schoolgirl fantasy finished in chrome
Silver stream lined destruction
Nitro *** drive
Touch me
**** me
Use me
Blow me
I hate myself for this
Apr 24, 2011
Apr 24, 2011 at 10:04 AM UTC
Ahmad Jamal and his classic tune Poincianno provided a backdrop
where I could relax and relate the poignant beauty
of the peace and madness back then surrounding
the Kennedy assassination.
Oscar Peterson churns out the notes
in a definitive yet light way
that would qualify as easy listening jazz
to some jazz buff in their weaker moments.
Eroll Gainer with his classic misty
haunts one with his
simple singularity of musical
paroxysms and leads into a fine repertoire.
George Shearing with his liltingness relaxed me
back then when I was recovering from the whole thing
And Camsey Lewis with his lightly penetrating rendition of
"The In Crowd" sustained my sense of humor and
helped me with my appreciation of mainstream jazz.
Cela, jazzmasters all to me
and yes like that light jazz
as opposed to poboy like Miles Davis
except for Charlie Parks
and yet I got into a Goth pianist Jack
then Thelonius Monk who was sorta jazzy
I acquired a mediocre taste for.
Feb 22, 2017
Feb 22, 2017 at 3:22 PM UTC
goodbye poetry
some get none
now to write for a cause and not applause
majoring in alienation
hijack a popular avatar
just for a pyrrhic victory
put everything into the microwave
universal wealth care
***** it all
ensuring that all this isn't for everyone
only the best continue following
gone to get a life
(aka self-inflicted pain experience)
real life just dragged on and on
the same names keep coming back
observing their well-established cliques
like an anthropologist observing chimps
that glorious era
when the streams of consciousness
suffered a drought
maelstrom of ragnarok
took summer off life support
tasty
electoral fraud as a way of life
just shredded all the "yes" votes so nobody would know
looking to buy an extremist audience
and wondering if maybe walmart has one
the carnage has just begun
seething rage into the vault
tabs opened to liveleak videos of beheadings
all that freedom and she says "vanilla, please"
ideas with which everyone agrees
ideas embraced by all
everyone loves megalomania
everyone enjoys violent passion
everyone loves paroxysms
90 percent of you don't actually exist
low intelligence levels in all but four followers
make that five
hail eris hail discord hail chaos
mark all as read
mark all as ******
trapped in a vicious cycle
eating white toasted bread and acting all stable
invisible at last
discovered a way to speak
freely without judgment
discovered a way to avoid
positive feedback
sitting down for lunch with two popes
Sep 20, 2014
Sep 20, 2014 at 11:52 AM UTC
to half brother
a phrase like
intellectual shorthand
is redundant
though half brother
admittedly
is full
of himself
middle sister
she agrees
left
for alive
middle can’t
recall
her sentience
not in front of
this memory
of an army
doll
being named
after mother
but before
father
Feb 21, 2013
Feb 21, 2013 at 3:14 PM UTC
I'm the monster clawing at the walls.
You gave me the taste for your blood and then locked me in here.
Your scent stains every surface in the room;
Tantalising but with no flesh to sink my fangs into.
Rabid dog-type wildness becomes me,
Transforms me into a thing driven by madness and instinct.
You are the prey with footprints but no body.
I am the predator never knowing satiety.
Pacing replaces hunting, I'm starving,
And your constant, elusive presence has me frenzied.
Viscera begin to litter the room.
Yours or mine? I don't know. I'm starving.
Jul 25, 2016
Jul 25, 2016 at 8:24 PM UTC
Paroxysms of the galaxy
Ricochet throughout the universe;
Stars ripple and quake--
Combusting eternally,
Shattering melodically,
Spreading prismatic haloes.
Blindingly, blastingly, beautiful
Is the collapse of creation.
Mar 24, 2014
Mar 24, 2014 at 10:00 PM UTC
Nightly whiskey flow
stains a white-walled childhood home
Parents seem blurry
Love and danger co-occur
Paroxysms of anger
In childhood there’s no room for shades of grey
It’s black or white, confusion sits unused
A place for everything and each in place
And I am in control and thus to blame
Come adulthood to show me I’m confused
So, consequences passed down like a gift
In genes and in behaviours left unchecked
To witness fights, hard falls, deep burns, and pain
The trauma transfer, second-hand ingrained
With love and anger, care and dark neglect
Then later roughly realise there was wrong
The blend of wrong and love is hard to hold
Most often see the child who fails at school
With low self-concept, guilt, hot shame, and fear
But all built strength and power left untold
Compensatory
change for homeostasis
Strong roles adopted
Scars deftly hidden
Chaos-order alchemy
I must be The Responsible One
Parentification at maximum pitch
A list-making, chore-running, stable-housemaster
A self-worth creator from jobs neatly done
All leisure-time wary and leadership-rich
I must be The Adjuster as well
Will follow directions and bounce from extremes
A dime-spinning, change-juggling, fresh puddle-jumper
Surprise and emergency make me excel
More calm at the edges than flat in-betweens
I must be The Calming Placater
Maintaining still waters whatever my price
A vigilant, change sensing, smoothing class helper
To people-please acts as a guilt-shame assuager
All pliable, social, and overly nice
Imperfect but strong
coping mechanisms forged
Power in order
Capable, dependable
Psyche shaped by survival
Nov 22, 2024
Nov 22, 2024 at 10:10 PM UTC
Sidereal gaze enriches casual lays beneath the shimmering firmament
Glorified passions is the indignity of benighted scars and brandished armaments
Scour with the owls proctoring over the night for signs that penetrate the tight
That ooze new light and wage an epigamic fight
Temptress like a mainlined ecstasy enlivening a heightened empathy
Our love towers above suburban muses and urban ruses
It showers with meteoric power and consummate flowers that it chooses
The misfortune of star-crossed affections
Is the serendipity of empowering but inclement afflictions
Impenetrably vast like a cavernous space
To make us tremble in insignificance at the petty rats that race
Our lambent passions erupt with paroxysms immune to an unbuttoned snooze
Oneiromancy glistens with prophetic eternities dreamed awake with inordinate *****
Playful jostles and succulent pretended jilts lionize our blessed fates
We reckon with eternity by adducing modernity at its current rate
We disavow transient objections just like gravity impounds its own weight
Jan 4, 2016
Jan 4, 2016 at 7:47 PM UTC
poetic fractured retractions
gnashing night prayers,
scribbling braille,
written sideways
dipped amid holy water's retention,
compromising statements
of disbelief's proclamation
spinning music the color
of nakedly sick ****** yet
burnished souls keep on ticking
half past total trade-offs
in a spoonful of smoky reflections
sans sugar's acid trip,
anointed of rose red
****** false pretenses
dancing off center
in disillusioned
pirouettes of pseudo redemption,
whirling out of control on
staged tapestry's loftiness
surrendered ballet slippers
in blistered half promises,
as twisted metaphors sprightly
tuned out spun anomalies
below birds on a rusty wire tweeting
admissions of blue's cobalt execution,
rendered inky alterations' inquisitions
'pon pedaled pink fluff profundity,
exhaling paroxysms of engaged poetry
in vehemently enraged deliverance,
naught one is ever as they seem
through pigmented film 'neath
figment's imagined looking glass
of ingratiated grand delusions
Jul 13, 2015
Jul 13, 2015 at 11:17 AM UTC
Smalt sky smelted over running sky: swoop
down for me and switch (very lightly!) your blues.
(No dizzying aches, please, because of too much
hurled change, speeding spirant through my loops.
It would tunnel me, with its head, even more
abhorrently
in two.)
Okay, I’m—great!—upside down now, float splashing
with finned wings in cloud falls and snowy rapids!
Up above, before now I guess, was just a bedlam
like below, and below: just reflection of its head spun.
The running was glinting, mirrored tails shimmering
of wind fish. Believing them, I fed them, then laughed
under wet sun.
I am lying, truthfully. I am inside my house. There was
no sky or sea. Maybe somewhere, but not here. I think
of my love when I sit down. (I don’t really think
much anymore.) And the blues is a saying.
The dizzying aches I do have (It was a joke.)
and the hurled change I am is inside me making
me this.
My loops, me tunneled—that is no joke, that’s the
timelessly wrought result of extruding what hurts
from my sockets and chambers and lobes and pockets
and the given gifts to me I hated, never used, only
wished I could—I can’t—because I can never
pin me down. So they can’t be really
for me.
I am furiously disappearing in obfuscating, invisible,
paralyzed paradoxical paroxysms.
Such as: I am not here I am just here. Lying down
sometime. Today I think. On my bed. Napped or slept
or just wrapped. Barely awoken. And more gone.
Each day awake. Going.
More gone.
Mar 27, 2012
Mar 27, 2012 at 6:14 PM UTC
I'm the monster clawing at the walls.
You gave me the taste for your blood and then locked me in here.
Your scent stains every surface in the room;
Tantalising but with no flesh to sink my fangs into.
Rabid dog-type wildness becomes me,
Transforms me into a thing driven by madness and instinct.
You are the prey with footprints but no body.
I am the predator never knowing satiety.
Pacing replaces hunting, I'm starving,
And your constant, elusive presence has me frenzied.
Viscera begin to litter the room.
Yours or mine? I don't know. I'm starving.
May 7, 2017
May 7, 2017 at 2:47 AM UTC
I still love you, I'm sorry
screamed at the top of breathless lungs
you tear away from me and all i want is to touch you
open the door and in an instant slam it behind you
I recoil in spasms, near madness
so overtaken with emotion that i am shaken
into violent paroxysms
I frightened the hell out of you i think
kicking, slamming my body into the door
through the empty space where only seconds before
you sat
and
I watched you walk away
(I wish i didnt know you went to cry in the bathroom...)
and when you're gone, in silence, after the storm, i still do
I'm sorry, but i still love you
May 14, 2012
May 14, 2012 at 2:14 PM UTC
I rasp when I talk
until
paroxysms shake me to be quiet,
like some impatient ill-tempered,
thing inside my chest where my lungs
were last seen breathing,
now they shake like cans of rusty nails,
and a sneeze,
and a sneeze,
and a sneeze,
till I and Fifi, have to go outside before
one of us wets,
how are you doing you ask and show caring,
not wanting me to be sharing whatever it is I have,
I answer with a muffled sound,
like my nose was dropped and I sat down on it,
"Unwell, hankyou, por assking"
©DWE122013
Dec 28, 2013
Dec 28, 2013 at 11:10 PM UTC
Now I’ve tamed the
Paroxysms
The tidal waves no longer
Roar
The midnight screams are
Cut to whispers
The midday blaze
Reduced to coal
Now the days have fewer
Minutes
The past shall pierce the skin
No more
A sudden bang
A silent seizure
A crippling song
To end them all
Now I’ve tamed the
Colder seasons
The hail, the ice all thawed
And gone
The brilliant lines
The highest treason
I sold my vision
Just to live on
Jan 2, 2017
Jan 2, 2017 at 8:00 PM UTC
There was no plan.
It just happened.
All at once,
Paroxysms of emotion,
Violent,
Uncontrollable emotion.
You never crossed my mind,
Nobody did,
Until it was too late.
Lying in the cool bath water,
Self-medicating,
I told myself that it wouldn’t be long.
The voices on the other side of the door,
Assured me that everything would be the same,
Whether I lived or died.
Then,
Against my will,
My stomach flipped,
And the emotions that I swallowed,
Ended up on the floor.
I gave up,
Cleaned up,
And passed out.
Apr 5, 2018
Apr 5, 2018 at 2:30 PM UTC
Coastal seizures. So sand fills a sun-kissed cheek.
Boasted features, hands lull movement in hips so meek.
Thumbs peel lids to stretch the Sun into clefts that reflexes forget
Two fingers press against throats and ears to breaths.
Palms press ditches in chests to remind hearts of blood to teach.
Lungs keep secrets that tongueless kisses were made to reach.
Salt water rinses cheeks of death and cold stares
Paroxysms exhume life in the form of humid air.
Grief slowed as tides fell.
Teeth locked as cheeks swell.
Water took softly what it had let go
More than shook fondly but it had let grow.
May 16, 2016
May 16, 2016 at 8:12 PM UTC
I'm uttering auditory caresses on a payphone, short changed
baying for blood with clenched fists as though blood has congealed in the palm.
Time passes and the mechanism sets into motion,
beeping sounds, sirens for the sentient beast to be feed.
Coppers flung loosely into the gaping mouth,
slowly realising the distance in the echo of the voicemail.
Terrified due to the subdued paroxysms deciding to undulate,
the robin looks to me, for its prototype as the breast swells.
I'm looking in dreams for an escape,
an alternative phantasm, our oscillating hands through the tulip field;,
But I’m scared as our love is falling into sepia landscapes.
The robin sheds its feathers like deciduous leaves and lapses into clay..
Wake up alone in stained bedding where it seems I was not always in solitude,
it's like the sinews of my dreams were torn and you fell within the corporeal world
as I slumbered, unloosening the rags in which I slept, letting me hold the forms of you
that I wish I held, the ones I lost so long ago, and when I am conscious
I beseech you to stay; I'm losing the fragments of who you were and you're losing words and
I’m losing myself, an appendage wilting, disconnected from the whole.
I'm still here, payphone to payphone, I left my charging device at yours
but I'm too scared to knock on your door like it were my own jaw,
and how many dreams have I opened that door to find you there,
you ******* magnolia beam, you lingering sunlight, you nefarious glow,
opened the door to find you there with your hands yearning for me, talking to me
in a ciphered rhapsody, a fading voice in a crumbling periphery;
the saturation of dreams through reality.
Oct 26, 2016
Oct 26, 2016 at 1:18 AM UTC
Remember remember the fifth of November.
Remember glistening fury and violent light, iridescent agony soaring into black abysses, orange green and blue mixes with stars in a display of panicked serenity.
Gunpowder treason and plot.
Light a fuse and set me ablaze, every fragile thought a shimmering time bomb ready to explode into dancing convulsions, let flames lick at my ribcage and let my heart smoulder. My words commit treason upon my heart. My brain spasms with busts of rainbow paroxysms and my fingers are blistering sparklers.
- Set my entire being afire and watch me implode in a beautiful display
Dec 14, 2017
Dec 14, 2017 at 7:33 AM UTC
Kate ***** and Anthony Bourdain
both beloved affluential cognoscenti,
(took their life via cerebral hypoxia)
neither death can one explain
left family and friends to speculate
without lapsing into speculation
impossible knot
to veer off toward inane,
where fame nor fortune no immunity
against unbeknownst
deathly accursed mental illness
impact their adherents
plus affect large swath
of population in the main
cuz, (strictly my opinion)
the tightly woven
world wide web doth plain
lee meld humanity linkedin
by avast societal reign
forcing the global community to train
energies toward heightened
awareness (yes in vain)
for those who tightened noose around neck
as grief doth wax and wane
no doubt less prominant persons
amidst every walk
of life give admittance
to grim reaper, who doth stalk
every mortal being tempting surrender soul
for eternal peace, where soul asylum
sacrifice forsaken to black hawk
swooping down soundlessly
to ****** priceless human life
subsequently, whence
benumbed onlookers gawk
aware how precarious, riotous, and tenuous
the psyche offers no resistance,
nor doth balk
at absent awareness,
how collective adoration wears
a funereally ghostly, horribly immensely
joylessly knitted veil
eludes measurement, though nonetheless
unanimity that far reaching sadness
weighs heavy on tear filled side of scale
witnessed by grievous next of kin,
who struggle to accept severe de rail
ment of unsuspecting hidden agony im pail
ling corporeal flesh gouging body electric
on par with a nine inch nail
jaggedly renting asunder (an unseen male
strum) pitching one incognito,
no matter she/he appears hearty and hale
leaving a wake of inconsolable paroxysms
causing thee human league to ail!
Jun 8, 2018
Jun 8, 2018 at 9:47 PM UTC
This is the story of an aching love.
A hopeless schoolgirl kind of thing.
He was a basketball star player on
The Monticello Mustangs team,
Not showy, but quiet and a little shy.
He was glorious to look at
through the lenses of my brown eyes.
I had to work to learn his name-
it was Finnish, spelled Laulainen.
I said it lots of different ways until I heard
somebody say it right-
Ed Law lie’ nen
All the bells rang out and bluebirds sang
As I crooned and whispered that magic name
In the quiet of my room.
I never had a class with him-
he was a year ahead.
He wasn’t part of rowdiness
when passing in the halls
from one lesson to the next.
If he walked past I turned into
A pillar of salt dyed crimson
From the blood that burst my heart.
I don’t recall now how I came to have it
But I had a small creased snapshot of him and
I slept with it under my pillow every night.
I touched it and looked at it and imagined
him touching me. The thought of him
kissing me was far beyond my wildest dreams
I suspect my mom knew it was there,
but she never said a word
And I guarded it like my virginity.
And my best friend had no idea.
He never knew I was alive-
he didn’t know my name.
I was one of the nameless girls
That are present but unseen.
One day I was sent to the cafeteria
For something the teacher needed.
Standing by the now closed door
Was God Who Walked The Earth,
Ed Laulainen in the flesh.
The shock of standing next to him
paralyzed my tongue.
I dared not look at him
and finally only said “Is anybody there”.
Did he answer - I don’t know.
I was terrified and in paroxysms
of ecstasy. I was sharing the same air he breathed.
He left Junior High for Senior High and I lost track of him.
But I loved him with ferocious fervor and wishful longing
If desire could have made him mine, Midas would have
been poor by comparison.
OccasionallyI think of him and the plain little girl who worshipped him.
Where did he go - how did he grow - what kind of life did he live.
In ten more years the little girl could have most anyone she wanted
but the crinkled photo stayed in a trinket box for a long,long time before
it washed away on the tides of new loves, real loves, and living.
I wish I could see him once again to tell him the story of
the little girl who chose him to love with all her soul and first flush of emotion.
ljm
Apr 22, 2017
Apr 22, 2017 at 3:21 AM UTC
a soulless blossom, an obdurate posy
yonder aglow heart of abrupt semblance
hidebound mind of a fledgling gal
her whereabouts were far-flung from the paramour
an opaque gloom sealed an exodus of rumination
frayed oddments of oaths atop the merriment
atrophied.. absorbed.. from pristine percipience
dimness of an omitted stipule aloof from his ardor
poised for sum, deflected from the camaraderie forever
bewilderment subdued his contend to anew discovered supposition
neverending paroxysms are intermittent forthwith
without flawness departing from this sphere... to the sphere as a whole
Nov 8, 2017
Nov 8, 2017 at 4:46 PM UTC