"percolates" poems
When buildings crumble
& return back to dust
& heads turn in disgust.
Faced with lust & deeds
Of mistrust.
When all else fades
& the stars speckle
Like eons of old dust collected
& swept across the sky,
Time will cease to exist.
While some of us ascend
The staircase.
Not all of us will be so fortunate
In a desert of red.
In any case,
No matter which way you go,
Wait for me.
Wait for me at the floodgate
Which passion percolates &
The stars weep for us as we do
For them.
Don’t breathe without me,
Just as I wouldn’t without you.
Humble & unknowing
I don’t know what’s to become of us
But I do know,
I don’t want to be without you.
When buildings crumble
& return back to dust
When all else fades
& the stars speckle
Like eons of old dust collected
& swept across the sky.
Wait for me,
No matter what happens
Aug 10, 2021
Aug 10, 2021 at 11:16 AM UTC
A trilogy of love: bared, shared, pared
Lust's shallow wave: crests, cascades, crashes
Deeper, emotive swells: rise, rumble, release
Conflicting currents form rip tide: tugging, tossing, tearing
Amor's undulating rhythms pulsate
Low tide, latent fantasies surface ego to ingratiate
High tide, a endless churning of desires our longing cannot satiate
Libidinous breakers scour lecherous bottom; a brackish foam doth emanate
In the deeper recesses of our minds, a rational connection percolates
From the depths, a heart-felt ****** rises; a growing bond initiates
Two, constant minds mutually sharing space; each hope, dream resonates
Surface tension increases; two hearts mount each obstacle, common course navigates
Nearing balmy shore, strong winds of indifference blow
Into eroding channels untested lovers unwittingly row
Selfish goals drag the unstable pair into the undertow
Corrosive fears, unmitigated doubts sever trust placing love in escrow
Sep 16, 2011
Sep 16, 2011 at 4:58 AM UTC
A bush lark in the Greenwood forest sings.
She sings all day long near the mountain springs.
Is she trilling in notes so plaintive of her missing mate?
Unleashing her heart of its doleful weight?
Or easing the pangs of a heart that starves
For a soulmate yet to come for whom she craves?
Or sending a missive through the aerial route
Sounding in every ear a low melancholy note?
From the covert of dark leaves, her song percolates.
Through the sinews of my heart it permeates,
Striking a cord between two souls equally deprived,
Stirring in me an inarticulate ache, never once divulged.
Mar 23, 2018
Mar 23, 2018 at 12:17 PM UTC
They snore in turn: a soft antiphony
of hoarse vibrations, left, a dull Darth Vader,
and right, though sometimes slipping off the radar,
a tremolando shudder. Stiff, uneven,
a third threads in a slow polyphony,
divisions on a ground that swell or fade, or
pause, then unexpectedly cascade, a
purred glissando, an epiphany
of coarse cadenzas. Soon an overwhelming
sadness percolates from other realms
where yellow stains an ocean’s perfect white
and who can say how many hours to go
till, rallentando, pianissimo,
the music is dissolved into the night.
Dec 27, 2011
Dec 27, 2011 at 4:21 PM UTC
Hie Yamaha Wegman ****** voyager, voted vonage valuable, unrepentant TIME Magazine subscriber. Spotify sportsman Snapchat smartly. Sleuth slenderman silences Shutterfly schvitzing. Saxby sassy Santander sais sage rues rudimentary router rotorooter.
Royale Rococco rigged remarkably regular referee reefers red reddit reeder recuperating. Reconnaissance recluse really rabid. QVC quotient quoting, quo quoi quivering quite quirky. Quisling quipped. Quintuplets quintessentially quiet. Quids Quicken questions.
Quartermaster qualified quaint quaffing quadrilateral Pythons. Pyrex pylons put purdy purposeful puny punsters punching. Pumpkin pumice publicized prudential protean pros properly pronouncing prolific prodigies.
Proletariats professors' problematic. Pro privileges prioritized. Principle primates prevaricate. Preppy pregnant, praying prattler possibly Porgie. Poseidon pooping poodle ponders poppycock. Plum? Polite poison pods ply pitiful pinterest.
Pinhead Pillsbury pillager Pi. Pigskin pierce petsmart pests permanently. Perdition percolates peppered PennState pedigreed PearlJam Patagonian. Pastor pastes passion passably. Papas' paginated orbitz okayed. Nutty node needs money.
Next netzero nee naugahyde. Nattering nationwide nabob Moxie Molly McGee. Monosodium livingsocial joyus je kickstarter. Identityguard Huffington GMO. Gluten Glutamate footloose fancy free footlocker. Fingerhut fetishistic fabrication Cingular.
Feb 3, 2018
Feb 3, 2018 at 9:47 PM UTC
I wandered in on a world of dead rock. I laid with it. Smelt the essence together with carbon and metallic lifelessness.
To create a place of pretty. A sadness overcame.
I came to feeling. To knowing. Sentient.
A rootless contusion never ending.
A bottomless chasm of void.
The pit follows deeper and deeper it travels,
To the hollows of sorrow contempt I’m born.
I grow to feet from the ground where I lay,
As my body draped the floor sprawling and loose.
Upon these legs I rise, and so rise my eyes.
The hollow void I have lingers yawing in my stomach. Ulcerating my mucosal cavern.
What I see
Before me
On this road
On this desert of the necropolis:
Metropolis mass grave,
A mausoleum for civilization,
Möbius of war.
The reflective glint in my eye was of no mans eyes at all.
The death of hope.
Sea of sky scraping spires.
The dead hollow bones left after a city extinguishes.
Millions of towers with red glowing eyes, where blue life used to flourish, now twinkle in and out of this plane.
These giants graze, on the concrete and sway...with the wind.
Colossus of marble, petrified forever in granite with the internal flora that haunted their bowels.
They now have no agenda...city percolates to extinction.
They will forever amble with no purpose.
Once they housed the hearts and minds of microbes that built them.
The builders of hero worship.
They died in the 20's.
Left are the shells of a dream and a forest of buildings.
New York died circa 1900.
United States crumbles: 1776
Mar 17, 2013
Mar 17, 2013 at 11:38 PM UTC
I have felt no one since I loved you
any sensation
percolates my membrane like juice through a honeycomb
our final moments buoy in the bluebell’s cup –
then I forgot to bite the full moon,
Luna, your mistress for this sixteen hour journey
call her Luna, tell if her craters are similar to my breasts.
I sleep I sleep I sleep
but when I awake I will be forever aroused.
It was that ambivalent phone call, “I miss you and I will
hate you for several seconds if you don’t mind,”
that severed my nerve endings.
Piercing my ear the next week
there was the thought, a novel philosophy, just a tingle
that I was carving out a part of me that still
loved
you. I have felt nothing since, I have
been a statuette like Miss Liberty in the pond:
said she stands just like me, well, what if I got my bow
what if I shot an arrow through
every piece of astronomy you find more worth in than me.
Miss Luna, the Estrellas, even your sol
can feel
me break them but I will not feel any of that from you.
Apr 26, 2013
Apr 26, 2013 at 4:52 PM UTC
every time I think of him; body percolates
to self-masturbate soaking fingers as they
linger in bedewed moisture as if, his fingers
unlocks intimacy
and...
no more thoughts as he sidles beside me
easing one finger at a time in curve of
femininity, teasing bud tenderly; coaxing
mouth to open
I throb...
trembling lips abrades skin as heat erupts
upon his mouth and his eyes entrance as
masculinity gently bemingles in escalating
heat; its fragrant beads, he licks
slowly...
lured into peaked hunger; unspoken words
intoxicate spilling inner sweetness, drizzling
upon invading fingers aroused in affinity
once...twice...orgasmically drenched
Feb 19, 2013
Feb 19, 2013 at 12:47 PM UTC
Cool ripples of water caress her toes,
sand percolates in between--
sunlight and sea dance playfully,
transcendent and serene.
Gliding high on the playful breeze
wings spreading free and wide--
seagulls call and soar together
over the shifting tide.
He knows she is waiting for him alone
there on that distant isle--
in mind's eye she waves to him,
her face lit by a smile.
Yes, eagerly there she waits for him
feeling his love so near--
she lingers awhile by the water’s edge
seeing his face quite clear.
She's dreaming of their togetherness
of the moment she'll hold his hand--
and while she waits, she writes to him
this poem in the sand.
Feb 7, 2011
Feb 7, 2011 at 3:06 PM UTC
In a crowd not standing out
doing up pumps ready for the fray
dancing like a swan on a lake
hearing applause making the day.
no more, just placid memories
blood percolates from ragged pumps
practice, practice, a childhood lost
the last pirouette, was it worth the cost.
Jan 14, 2011
Jan 14, 2011 at 10:37 AM UTC
i knew you were the one when you were just another
pretty girl in my bathroom mirror
thigh gap and eager-to-please smile just a
golden-lipped canary of the serene morning
and now your arms still go limp when i kiss you
your soul still whispers me to sleep
and when i see you so open in the morning
watering the indoor plants you are my
whole world in baggy sweatpants rolled to your knees
as the sun comes up and sprays golden sparks across
the imitation wood floors of the kitchen
and shatters over the mountaintop
just as summer birds sing symphonies
and bees hum at the window
you too were awake fresh and early
like a lily of the valley petal
glowing in 6am sunlight
beautiful flesh tumbling out
of an old plaid workshirt you wear
on sundays because you say it still smells like me
and you say i'm beautiful with funny looking ears
as i watch you make breakfast from across the kitchen
in this intimate environment we are dancing
like a bubble rising out of the dishsoap sink
halo'd in refrigerator light flowing together
as the morning coffee percolates
i am behind you pushing into you
burying my face in your neck and breathing in
and gently biting you on the shoulder
the sky breaks into veins of yellow cloud streaks
and you run screaming onto the porch
pelvis giggling out into the mellow morning
and of course i follow obediently
undershirt flayed open by a knife-like fingernail
the smell of fresh hay in both our noses
we are taking a summer journey
on feet full of the good earth and eyes
intensely warm under the bleached
colors of this april morning sky we're connected
and still dancing with my hands on your stomach
and your gentle fingers raking through my hair
making the giant white muscle bulge and throb
hosiery being shed like old skin off the snake
of your sun-kissed calves yes my fantasy
is finally made of flesh and colliding with the
soft green velvet bedspread underneath and
your feather-point tongue tickles the
outline of my abdomen shining thick and wet
until the record clicks and asks to be flipped.
Apr 7, 2015
Apr 7, 2015 at 9:20 AM UTC
My brain atrophies
And still I wait
As if someone will
Come carriage me off
The curvature of the planet
And bestow upon me gifts
I have no title to.
I walk between the aisles
Quietly admiring the mass of produce
Bared fruits eagerly poised
Waiting to drive home in the back seat
To be manipulated and munched
And hastily shoved into lunchboxes
While the coffee smugly percolates
But the engrossed bins prove
Too bountiful to harvest—
My appetite no longer yearns
For the gifts at its feet.
I swear not only did the price go up
But the loaf got smaller
That’s all dreams turn out to be
An amalgam of juxtapositions
So we stand on both sides of the river
While trying to swim against the current
And we know
It’s much too late to still be awake
Jun 17, 2010
Jun 17, 2010 at 8:51 PM UTC
A stranger stares back through the mirror,
their eyes cold and unwavering cause my unnerving.
The soft skin of my cheeks, looks like gnarled wood
The curvature of my body begins to flatten,
archaic versions of my self rise to the surface of my skin.
Each iteration of my self begins to cycle across my body in the mirror.
The emotions, temperament, thoughts and feelings of past selves,
percolates through my consciousness, leaving traces along the way.
A splash of colorful emotion lingers in my cheeks giving them warmth.
The soft memory of lips on my skin bubbles through me.
My skin tingles as each thought bursts at the edge of my existence.
This is to be expected of ephemeral emotions,
their transient nature becomes clear as the colors they once provided
fade to black.
Oct 2, 2016
Oct 2, 2016 at 12:45 PM UTC
Shimmy on an Amen break
belle époque, rockstar
belly dancer.
Hitched up skirt to
crotch-ripped nets , choke
ziggurat louboutins.
A Stratocaster, glitter Sheba
on Hiroshima shadows pouring
snake-hipped ribald, scriptures
from the swelling of her breast
Kneeling, nylon bound and penitent
in a simony of rapture bought
to wet the rubber stamping of
your cattle-battered soles
Low boneyard serotonin glows a
candle wax communion as your
henna painted carry rose
the rivers of my veins.
Your Aramaic shoe-shine boy
*** bitch-slapped drug Messiah
So Dear Mary, it is over you
that I must prophesy.
As you feed the pigs of my disgrace that
fill your head with meat and seed
I'll sup that broken bottle heat that
percolates between your open thighs....
I will be there in the morning a
renaissance scent of cannabis about
your mirrored ceiling....
Jesus wept,
Sweet Magdalen
The thought of you will
gather storms within me
Jun 7, 2017
Jun 7, 2017 at 10:26 AM UTC
the way it percolates
driving us mad
bringing tears to our eyes
often heavy and sad
my neighbor claims karma
an act of simple fate
laughing i drove off
his words unaware of my morning escapades
an affair with a man
married in state
his wife wears a crown
of the knight that she made
his heart, may be heavy
his head overwhelmed
his pain numb inside
mine a throbbing shell
under the dripping trees
of the Old North State
our lips met
while
our bodies sought fate
tangled were our limbs
no judgment we laid
onlookers know not
their ignorance in spades
my jealousy gripping
like the pulse and the pain
our tongues lapping up
what others disdain
hands clenched together
a night full of waves
guilty some may cry
but please save your rage
i have no time for your misdirected pain
we work and wonder
our daybreaks heavy and claimed
years have gone by
what have we paid
mountains don't move
not like thrashing seas
nor do carolina skies
or the heavy florida heat
where will we be when the clock strikes time
beneath a hammock of oak
or a splintering of vines
tobacco barns in sight
the owl's swift decline
curving roads leading
rabbits fly by
empty nest for one
the other full and spry
moments of sanity
spared by lucidity
medication blurred thoughts
windows to the world
veins pumping heavy
words turned to swords
heal we must
but how do we know
if this is the pain of the stay or the pain of the go
anonymity for one, me, i don't care
i have no shame for my truth
no guilt left to spare
my journey, long, spirited and cold
my hands pumping blood
meant to eventually go
Jun 13, 2018
Jun 13, 2018 at 6:02 PM UTC
Morning coffee percolates
beneath my weary eyelids,
as my flesh angrily screams
for its daily stimulant;
scents of French Vanilla
permeate and freshen
the staleness of my kitchen.
Evaluations of the new day
will have to wait until my cup
has been completely emptied...
of its liquid gold.
Joseph J. Breunig 3rd
September 2012
Learn more about me and my poetry at:
http://www.squidoo.com/book-isbn-1419650513/
By Joseph J. Breunig 3rd, © 2012, All rights reserved.
Oct 3, 2013
Oct 3, 2013 at 9:45 AM UTC
Some scrawl the names of people present and past
Some drench theirs in pearlescent candied nacre
Shapes and hues exact, stencilled down to the last
Pretty copies of individuality
There are those who have it forced upon the face
Growing into it, it feels more natural
To don that dress, to hit the gym and say grace
Becoming the things they are needed to be
The flawless surface ever in flux stirs and returns to slumber.
Still others, indecisive, searchful, hover
From pile to pile, over fractalised discards
Picking out their newest favourite cover
For their brittle blandness blushed by exposure
Mine has grown inwards, claws entrenched beneath skin
Reverse quicksand; raking scars old and fresh
Valour marks in the battle I cannot win
My silence percolates. Outside it accretes
It glows in flickers of luciferous fluoroscence, firefly flashes.
Hope is but another addiction to break
Yet this air hangs heavy, toxic to inhale
A frigid gut burn with every breath I take
Soulful tremor smothered in despair's cocoon.
Fingers roam my jaw. Phantom edges they seek
Futility dawns. It has long disappeared
As have the haunting echoes of devil-speak
I have swallowed it all as it consumed me
It changes, chameleon-like, dissolving pixels on a screen.
Is it me, or am I it? It matters not
Its pulse fills my veins with something close to life
Yet I musn't bleed - the fluid does not clot
It leaks slowly like a punctured memory
Inside nestles the tangle of cobwebbed dreams
Silken sojourns unwittingly petrified
Quavering mutedly to my stifled screams:
You cannot, you shall not, you must not come in!
Jun 6, 2015
Jun 6, 2015 at 11:10 AM UTC
Think nothing of water which percolates,
Liquid evaporates.
Such are the forms trapped within themselves,
Meaningless rotes.
By formlessness corporeal,
But with materiality intangible.
Forlorn immolation;
Condensates re-saturate, only different.
Incongruent crystallization;
And they say there is change!
By factors invariant,
But with sums nonconstant.
A laugh is a laugh, verbalized or written -
It's still the same fundamentally.
Tears are tears, dribbled or scribbled -
It's still the same in essentiality.
By elements unproposed,
But with totalities nonexistent.
May 23, 2025
May 23, 2025 at 2:49 AM UTC
Perfect
is what I'm not
I cry too much
and eat when I'm sad
I crave attention
and tell secrets
that I wasn't meant to tell
I don't study enough
and get a few B's
I'm a few inches too short
a few more pounds too big
I make a bunch of mistakes
I talk too much
and forget to listen closely
and all of this swirls
sticks
percolates
in my brain
making me forget
that not being perfect
doesn't mean I'm not
good
Feb 13, 2013
Feb 13, 2013 at 5:58 PM UTC
Magazines strewn amongst,
mis-matched coffee cups,
white rings on the tabletops,
We are just getting
up
You yawn & look at me,
making your way, groggily,
rub your eyes sleepily
as we exchange, ''good
morning ''
Hair sticking up in the air,
neither one really cares
Noisily pulling out a
chair,
both of us, with feet
bare
Coffee smells
permeate,
as it drips &
percolates,
begging us to take a
taste
Aren't Sunday mornings great?
May 6, 2025
May 6, 2025 at 4:08 PM UTC
Sun swims inside blue sky
Birds mimic sweet air
Day unfolds to celebrate.
Celebrate the phylogeny of a new day.
Summer air percolates in lungs.
Ears drums attune to moment
Time to whisper prayer
Prayer of thanks for gift of day.
Heartbeat pushes cells to dance
Eyes open window of light
Smile mounts upon face
Footsteps cavort upon Mother Earth.
with graceful tango
And graceful Soul expansion meets sacred day.
Aug 8, 2020
Aug 8, 2020 at 8:58 AM UTC
Let fractals grow beneath my fingertips so I can feel them spiral through my veins
as salt water percolates through suppurating wounds.
Let me lie supine in the open air of dysphoric intimacy
So the cold creeps through the subterranean skin of my chest
Let my blood flush my cheeks and spread unrelentingly
excoriating the flesh of my exposed body supplicating itself before the sky.
Oct 29, 2017
Oct 29, 2017 at 8:57 AM UTC
This blitzkrieg of thoughts
Pitch black it becomes
Rain starts dripping
And encumbrance starts to come
Inebriated I, again started to hum
But this time it felt discrete
Cause surmise was not there to ***
The dissolution of karma
That’s become my dharma
I becoming amble, in the grime of this scramble
That is who I want to become
"How I become", this never come in my find
Reverberation of exploring open up my mind
My gait become frolic
And a realization hit my mind
You know there is a way
There is always a way
That is just how lore percolates
A torrent of possibilities
Not a mangled world, but truth to our eyes
We are on this adventure
Maybe come some derails
But we will leave trails
We have to believe
Otherwise the past is just a deceive
We know a lot
We believe a lot
But still I Seek, all day
However I may
This so called Life
Sep 15, 2018
Sep 15, 2018 at 4:17 AM UTC