"peninsula" poems
I come to life when you touch me
Fluent & continuous.
You've unzipped my lips and tossed
them to the side.
I've never fallen &
been caught so freely.
I've never paid attention to how
flat the world really was.
A jagged peninsula
Eloped in oceans embrace
Curved in explosion.
Sometimes it feels like I am
Drowning.
I've never paid attention to how
flat the world really is
Chipped off, covered by you
falling deeper into you
Jun 11, 2022
Jun 11, 2022 at 6:38 PM UTC
.
Peninsula
Peninsula Pe
ninsula Penin
sula Peninsula
Peninsula
Peninsula
Peninsula
Peninsula
Peninsula
Peninsula
Peninsula
Peninsula
Peninsula
Peninsula
Peninsula
Peninsula
Peninsula Peninsula
Peninsula Pe ninsula Peni
nsula Penin sula *****
Peninsula Peninsula
May 15, 2015
May 15, 2015 at 12:35 AM UTC
797
By my Window have I for Scenery
Just a Sea—with a Stem—
If the Bird and the Farmer—deem it a “Pine”—
The Opinion will serve—for them—
It has no Port, nor a “Line”—but the Jays—
That split their route to the Sky—
Or a Squirrel, whose giddy Peninsula
May be easier reached—this way—
For Inlands—the Earth is the under side—
And the upper side—is the Sun—
And its Commerce—if Commerce it have—
Of Spice—I infer from the Odors borne—
Of its Voice—to affirm—when the Wind is within—
Can the Dumb—define the Divine?
The Definition of Melody—is—
That Definition is none—
It—suggests to our Faith—
They—suggest to our Sight—
When the latter—is put away
I shall meet with Conviction I somewhere met
That Immortality—
Was the Pine at my Window a “Fellow
Of the Royal” Infinity?
Apprehensions—are God’s introductions—
To be hallowed—accordingly—
11.2k
she is
a very naughty girl
she never follows
policy to the letter
she always
does the wrong thing
she needs some discipline
she's proficient
at defying the law
she knows not how
to get the message
she doesn't
listen intently enough
she fills many charge sheets
with her misconduct
she is a girl
with a streak of wickedness
she has all the hallmarks
of someone who is naughty
I speak of Ursula
in the above list of bad deeds
and there is a hope
that her bad deeds
can be quickly remedied
the hand of an authority figure
will bring her back into line
as she has too often
strayed from that line
whence appropriate corrections
are implemented
all her behavioral problems
shall be circumvented
then and only then
a change will eventuate
and she'll no longer
be showing her bad traits
really naughty girls
such as Ursula
can become more like
a pleasant seaside peninsula
watching her radical transformation
shall be a sight to see
so we'll keep our eyes focused
on what Ursula shall soon be
Nov 29, 2013
Nov 29, 2013 at 6:13 PM UTC
The Japanese attacked
British and Dutch colonies
In southeast Asia
Japanese landed on the southern island of Mindanao
And the west coast of Luzon
On the 24th of December
They landed on the east coast of Luzon
The allied forces withdrew to the Bataan Peninsula
For three months they held the Japanese troops
On the Bataan Peninsula
On the fourth of April
Allied forces were attacked again
Five days later the allied forces surrendered
Of the 12,000 Americans
Captured on Bataan
Only a third survived the war
Mar 4, 2015
Mar 4, 2015 at 7:46 PM UTC
island summer heat
big backyards
shared by three families
with rambunctious kids
sundresses, sandals, swim trunks
a big mango tree and
a merry-go-round with red chipped paint
geckos and mud baths
"boy's got cooties!"
mid-west plains' dry, summer heat
Mr. Sun is our lamp well past 9:00pm
Dow St., a giant hill covered
in uniform houses, filled with the uniformed sacrificial
spinning wheels, acre-wide hide and seek
nintendo and donkey kong, fireflies in jars
front yard mulberry trees
pippy longstocking "lets' go into this 'cave' of vines"
poison-ivy
southern peninsula, humid, summer heat
above ground pools and trampolines
a red brick house; the first home
the first CD collection, Filipino food
THE PARK,
the sandbox lid drowning in the bayou
sleeping in guest rooms, sleepovers a sign of status
pelicans, ducks, fishing,
sleeping in the boat; camping on the beach
Jul 2, 2012
Jul 2, 2012 at 4:18 PM UTC
Pencil - ****** - ***** - Penalize -Pentagram - Pentagon - Pentagonal - Penitentiary -Pensive - Peninsula - P.......
....Plagued. What is it to be plagued? Haunted?
Seiged by an inescapable force?
Haulted?
IMMOVABLE.
ability to move, yet achieving no valuable distance.
A struggle writhing within ones self.
Pen -Pent- Pent up- P...
....Please, no more....
....more miles high.....
Stakes,
In the ground.....
Great stakes.....
High,
So very high.
Unreachable.
Unattainable.
Pen-Pensive-Pacing- to pace back and forth down a narrow stretch of newly carpeted hallway.
A door.
Adoring.....
Adorable....
Sweet.
Innocence left?
May be none left.
Sep 30, 2014
Sep 30, 2014 at 10:30 AM UTC
Banana splits lickedy his spican-and-span throbbing
peninsula clock jar.
The scar from his far faux **** ignited his beating
hexagonal calendar.
Which is used to peruse the jujubees metallic books in the public
libation crazy train station.
His ecstatic adulation exemplifies why diamonds are
a girl gorilla's favorite soap.
His floating cubed boat is on a remote desert
impala growling at the turquoise toilet.
But his spoiled toys are annoyed about the choice between life or
demonstrative sponsored concerts by budweiser.
Woeful razor beaked birds marvel at absurd his Salvador
Daoist Dharma surreal cereal caramel karma flakes.
Mar 28, 2015
Mar 28, 2015 at 4:02 PM UTC
474
They put Us far apart—
As separate as Sea
And Her unsown Peninsula—
We signified “These see”—
They took away our Eyes—
They thwarted Us with Guns—
“I see Thee” each responded straight
Through Telegraphic Signs—
With Dungeons—They devised—
But through their thickest skill—
And their opaquest Adamant—
Our Souls saw—just as well—
They summoned Us to die—
With sweet alacrity
We stood upon our stapled feet—
Condemned—but just—to see—
Permission to recant—
Permission to forget—
We turned our backs upon the Sun
For perjury of that—
Not Either—noticed Death—
Of Paradise—aware—
Each other’s Face—was all the Disc
Each other’s setting—saw—
5.5k
Sterling eyes close the falling red ward
Big Brother has seen it all
He tells me: *there is danger
Terror past the massive, all-protecting Atlantic*
Don’t stray there, the mouth
of stumbling heads say,
They want to take away
Our safety, our ways, our Freedom
Mr. Elected reassures
*Nothing will harm you
Not with me going there
I don’t want you going there*
He speaks like my mom
Warning me of the illicits
I am too vulnerable to experience
It’s death I’ll go to- I’ve been told
Sleepless red monocular
Enlightening the air to a passive blue
It’s opacity beneath and above
Ascending again
Mama and Baba say it’s time to go home
I confront the arid peninsula of Qatar
Lungs accustomed, vitality not frozen
Precariously perceiving the harmful
Sentiments of years past in Jordan,
I wonder why
my kin would ban this place
Rumor on dirt pavement in a draft, ears picking up
*The Atlantic is not to be crossed,
A lack of morals, malintentions
lay beyond the scape.*
Extravagant grenade above,
Falling to the horizon
And no detonation, collapsing behind a curved veil
Skyward lay the remnants
Of heat, frozen in time
The lips in a box on this shoreside
Warn *the zephyrs from the ornery
Reaches towards our home
Be on guard of the deceitful
star at night that rains red*
Tomorrow may not be there
My blood brothers of Lebanon say,
But I wait, field of vision
aligned to the east
Aural stumbles translate, articulating
My brethren begin their search of food
And in too many moments unnoticed,
Black on bottom, red on the low, blue slowly suffocating the obscurity above
Jul 30, 2014
Jul 30, 2014 at 9:27 PM UTC
setting myself down on an anvil pillow. sleep is an anvil pillow. anvil and stone are a suicide dressed in 8 hours of mini-Godheads.. you become a repeat offender in the ever expanding realm of emerging fractal patterns sewn upon the quilt you lay across your sleepy bones like rushing water in an underground cave miles below the Yucatan Peninsula..
by electronic firelight they lay on my leather couch with the scraps of bedding I could afford to share, as if for some reason I can't escape the money analogy and see this, too, as a transaction.. buying.. a transaction.. as transfat is to nutrition.. money is tao.. my hate for money is tao.. I'm a love-and-lost buddhist like every other dreamer before me.
I'm tired of giving myself a *******
All I ever give myself is a *******
I refuse to bend over and at least try to give me a ******* or go to the next level in love and **** myself.
I keep telling me to do it. Keep grabbing my own *** during passionate tongue-twisters but I keep on insisting that I just CAN'T go any further.. rationally I may be right, but irrationally I still get shrieks of jealousy because I see that ******* sneaking out to kiss girls all the ******* time* as if I didn't exist. As if I wasn't always watching.
I stalk myself. It's a terrifying state of affairs. No matter where I go, there I am.
Watching.
One night, I invited me over, and as usual, I gave myself a ******* yet refused to go any further.
This was the straw that cracked the camels back.. and come 4 AM I kissed myself softly on the forehead as I slept and slipped into the night, hailing the first taxi to sail past me on the concrete river.
I awoke slowly the next morning and.. still dazed.. noticed I was nowhere to be found.
A great grief flooded my solar plexus and moved into my hopeless bones.
I had not even left a note. What a ******* I am!
I had not even left a note.
The rest of the day was spent in sordid grievance. I shivered, lonely, under my ever expanding realm of emerging fractal patterns sewn upon the quilt I lay across my sleepy bones like rushing water in an underground cave miles below the Yucatan Peninsula..
Jan 15, 2014
Jan 15, 2014 at 8:37 PM UTC
My fingertips will never let me forget the scent of stale cigarettes.
I was a fool in London. All the friends I made had better accents than me.
I dreamed of Bulgaria and Brazil.
I walked through mud. I waited for French tides.
I trudged in heavy water waders.
My hands built a house with stones older than the country on my passport.
The etching of cement on my boots still reminds me what we carried there.
We drove along tired volcanoes and craggy cliffs in the dark.
I never learned how to drive manual.
We flew further south. I dried out in the sun.
The glands of Spanish streets pulsated
citrus mist into the air, my lungs.
I never did remember the difference between limon and lime.
We stayed in a haunted castel but missed Halloween.
The upper peninsula, where Napoleon dreamed of a better dinner.
We moved to Shangri-La. Even in Eden, people still snore.
But there were cakes laced with flowers. And I was over the moon.
Then, a dreamscape. The closest to the Arctic I’ve ever been.
We ate deer for dinner. I baked Danish pies. I slept supine in a smoke-filled yurt. It was all peace. It was all over.
Jan 26, 2015
Jan 26, 2015 at 3:49 PM UTC
Cold winter camping
Frigorific night huddled around fire
Many coyotes auspiciously howling nearby
"Don't worry, they're across the water"
Still I wait at the ready with coyot-basher
Tents in snow shielded from peninsula
By tarps lashed together with rope and ply
"You'd probably die out here" says Oscar
Here meaning Newfoundland
Here meaning the Northern Pen.
Agreeing monosylabically
Nearly hypothermic thinking
Not so bad
Maybe stay another night (says the voice)
Sneak down to water
And jump in ice fishing hole
Nov 23, 2014
Nov 23, 2014 at 8:47 AM UTC
Mild day in winter, week before Christmas
Turns out the tree in your front yard has been
A holly tree all along, finally showing true colors
As a taxi driver leaves the driveway and
A neighbor in a red shirt crosses the concrete
Sidewalk. The succulents to my side reach like alien
Synapses, your white car looks at me cross-
eyed, cinnabar brick damp with Peninsula fog.
The morning’s cup of coffee still lingers on my
Tongue, my body aches with last night’s indulgences
And repressions. Warmth is relative, hangovers
Are absolute. A pagan zodiac spins inside a
Haze of long-lost memories, a gauntlet of trees.
A gentler repercussion, a less insightful song,
For I am only human, stains on my sleeve,
Sleeping in when I should be producing anything.
I forget what I am, except a shivering flesh vessel.
I cannot remember what I was supposed
To be.
Jan 22, 2014
Jan 22, 2014 at 3:49 PM UTC
1425
The inundation of the Spring
Enlarges every soul—
It sweeps the tenement away
But leaves the Water whole—
In which the soul at first estranged—
Seeks faintly for its shore
But acclimated—pines no more
For that Peninsula—
3.1k
405
It might be lonelier
Without the Loneliness—
I’m so accustomed to my Fate—
Perhaps the Other—Peace—
Would interrupt the Dark—
And crowd the little Room—
Too scant—by Cubits—to contain
The Sacrament—of Him—
I am not used to Hope—
It might intrude upon—
Its sweet parade—blaspheme the place—
Ordained to Suffering—
It might be easier
To fail—with Land in Sight—
Than gain—My Blue Peninsula—
To perish—of Delight—
2.7k
Mysterious Night
Come look on vistas ever sweeping the hills a maiden walks in white she seems to create
Greater light follow her into the night where fire flies is her crown and lights up her curvaceous gown
And the gentle dawn she breaks by her sleepy eyes that causes the heart to be the only sound that is
Heard as it thumps with approval add a touch of dew to her hair if you dare a swaying week kneed man
Isn’t the most attractive sight but what can be when you’re caught in the awe of such loveliness like the
Current of the Seine just turn on the Paris lights stroll the west end the glow from the shop windows
Adds to the flow mix it with jasmine and here the slow expressive violin drift along the empty street
Its heaven coursing stop the carriage driver it is the perfect night for a carriage ride in the park
Somewhere as you listen to the clip clop of the horse’s hooves you are transported to the sea coast
Of ole Monterey out at the point of the peninsula the mighty waves crash over the rocks in the
Moonlight the night does speak with wondrous overtures love is the thrill that covers all the land
Mermaids sing from the hidden mysterious places that they alone know and then all the picturesque
Vivid images end alas it was just a lovely dream if so why do I still smell the Jasmine and a perfume that
is only sold in Paris
Jan 27, 2012
Jan 27, 2012 at 3:42 AM UTC
1775
The earth has many keys,
Where melody is not
Is the unknown peninsula.
Beauty is nature’s fact.
1.9k
My father was born in an outport community of 2000
On the Avalon peninsula of Newfoundland
Around 1950, to a school headmaster and a homemaker
Attended Memorial University of Newfoundland (as did I)
Studied English, and eventually Education
He was a brilliant man, often quiet for long periods of time,
Then viscerally eloquent like Occam's Razor when he spoke
Remember him telling me how "taking their maidenheads"
From Romeo and Juliet act one, was about taking virginity
Always had an answer for my million questions
Rarely lost his temper
Taught me to accept others as they were, and to resist the temptation
To judge
A spiritual man, not religious, always taking care to differentiate the two
Without him I would never have access
To the home library in our den, my muse
Or all the gruesome movies he shouldn't have let me watch
Without my father I wouldn't know that
I like Jack Daniel's on the rocks with afternoon paper or
A Farewell to Arms with Spanish Rioja from earthenware cups,
Like Hemingway drank during the Spanish Civil War
I would not have wallowed with the downtrodden and the vilified
I would not have seen the base human weakness
The fundamental vulnerability that dwells within all of us
Had I not seen it in him first
Some four years ago, my father experienced weakness on one side
While on vacation in Europe
Flew back to Canada, diagnosed quickly with brain cancer
By the time I spoke to him, his mind was already rapidly fading
The spark of brilliance snuffed out like so much wick and wax
Died 6 months later in his sleep
We spread his ashes on his father's grave
And in the Bay St. George
Taught me what and how to believe,
Who to be
For better or for worse
Taught me how to ask the right questions
Showed me the books to read
Let me know it was OK
To be me
Nov 29, 2015
Nov 29, 2015 at 9:56 PM UTC
The rain came down.
I sat on the doorstep,
eating tinned peaches,
and the rain fell.
Walking out, into the city,
life falls in one-two beats;
being nothing and comfortable,
the architecture stows straight lips,
moves on, the rain falls.
Freight rolls, wet tracks northbound,
over-bridges exuding fine china,
two fishermen idle away remaining hours;
concrete bunches the rain into shallows.
How hollow the sea, that home,
the crooked lines of the inland peninsula;
how strange, this routine, in
how so very full of emptiness I have become,
like the rain, having fallen upon ebbing tides.
The rain no longer falls.
Mar 17, 2013
Mar 17, 2013 at 12:16 AM UTC
784
Bereaved of all, I went abroad—
No less bereaved was I
Upon a New Peninsula—
The Grave preceded me—
Obtained my Lodgings, ere myself—
And when I sought my Bed—
The Grave it was reposed upon
The Pillow for my Head—
I waked to find it first awake—
I rose—It followed me—
I tried to drop it in the Crowd—
To lose it in the Sea—
In Cups of artificial Drowse
To steep its shape away—
The Grave—was finished—but the *****
Remained in Memory—
1.8k
VII
As you fold
and crease your words
sheet upon sheet
a running commentary
flows,
ebbs and flows:
your present reading;
that playlist of songs
to sing in solitude;
reflections on ‘proper’ letters
and the lost art of spelling.
Such word-gifts . . .
. . . and you ask if I mind. . .
when what you tell me
fills those empty rooms
I put aside for you:
to live undisturbed
in my imagination house.
VIII
The end in sight,
the samples stitched,
book-bound.
Show me,
and turn the pages
in your silent way,
no comment required,
none given.
The day is closing.
Time parts: for a tired child,
a birthday meal,
and now your mother’s smile.
Whilst at work in her kitchen
you thought-visit
my peninsula home,
pondering a duet
of music and sea-breathing silence,
distance everywhere.
IX
White and Yellow,
the final sheet,
a sign to stop.
With the care and formality
of closure the writing
ends, with just
your name.
How else could it be?
There’s no other word
embossed on
these coloured pages
I pick up, I put down.
My fingers trace the braille
of your pen’s indent.
the pressure and print
of letters formed.
Your very touch now
lies beneath my own.
*Legend has it
that anyone
folding
a thousand cranes
may have their heart’s desire.
For now,
just eight orizuru
with words
of friendship
written on their wings.*
Oct 29, 2012
Oct 29, 2012 at 1:24 AM UTC
I meditate upon shore of thoughts;
washing over my countenance, caressing
my soul.
as he forms verses in syllabic count, fore, his voice
ebbs in tidal waves, teasing with submissions of
cognitive chains of thought; where bated breath
pounds against my peninsula
open to laps in hunger, tasting passions complaisancy;
each rush, mouthed in a sauntering flow; touched
in currents of his thoughts; I absorb bittersweet brine
as there's no lack of verbiage, threatening consumption
of uttered articles of enticement
like driftwood floating; his words glide as tides drag
mind, to and fro with each affluxion, I acquaint
thoughts in odes
his sung ballads brush against me like seaward
breezes and I consume his melody in swelled seas
of delicacy
in harmony and bouyancy of song; I surrender
within his thoughts, relishing serenity; upon his
island of passion, wrapped within his poetry in thought
Feb 19, 2013
Feb 19, 2013 at 12:49 PM UTC
Luke warm bath verse. Can your fingers live on my thumb peninsula forever I hope. You groom me and I'll dump the water over your head. Sit in front of me, I like the way it feels when it pokes your back awkwardly. It's weird to me, only your toes wrinkle. I can be the hot towel and kisses on your eyelids. The morphine calls my veins, while you don't call my name. Ours was unlike anyones. It still is to me and the trailing cries of women who I tried to **** my heart out of your hands. Like shucking emptiness from already emptied containers. I'm living for the day I feel your hands on my face again. Again.
Aug 24, 2015
Aug 24, 2015 at 11:12 AM UTC