"percuss" poems
Unpolished weathered wood plays on my palms,
I pull and reach and pull an even beat
Attending algae'd oars aqueous psalm
Altered by the tangled grass I meet,
in counterpoint small waves percuss the prow
Accentuating the pause before I cull,
Mellifluous zephyrs bowing across my brow
Enhance the exposition of the gulls,
Above the hem of heaven's dress the bright
Cerulean bodice trilled with Cirrus lace
Beguiles regard, but maddeningly polite
She smooths her skirt across the score of space
Eclipsing a poet's want to read the ruse,
This lady only lingers to amuse.
Aug 13, 2010
Aug 13, 2010 at 3:32 PM UTC
Laying there stagnant
My fingers percuss
Your ivory spine
Striking tendon strings
With fleshy hammers
Filling your thorax
With the vibrations
Of a thousand wasps
Stinging at your heart
As you stung at mine
Injecting resin
Injecting reason
To stay forever
And I ignite you
You, the Brazen Bull,
Cremating your heart
Still beating “I love you”
In boiling Morse code
But howling His name
In perfumed clouds of
Carbon Monoxide
Insensitively
Sep 24, 2014
Sep 24, 2014 at 11:28 AM UTC
Gentle strides of water balloon my body
in patterned cycles.
You're leading my lungs
while the air dances between us.
Love expands, swelling tides
pull on anchors embedded in my heart.
"I'm still here!" you sweepingly percuss to me.
I feel the water become denser –
your presence is amplified.
My heart sways.
Wind bites like ice where you don't blanket me.
Fragmented rays of light
hit my skin in an array of melodies.
Breathing is easy now.
Quiet now.
The horizon unwrinkles.
Your absence, the stillness of it,
carries a calm disparate from before the storm
Your tides have changed
the water and
me
Apr 12, 2013
Apr 12, 2013 at 11:08 AM UTC
It's late, and lost thoughts, still running,
Litter their station, these big derailed-trains,
That follow no track, but form a blank stave
To the score of night's wake, and the steady refrains
Of a maestros conduction, 'Allegro! Dawn!'
Minutes and hours pass by like still moments
my eyes still awake in their half/conscious torment
On this medium on which I scribble and write,
These words, quick to mind and quicker to leave
Before making it onto a sheet, still white.
As one becomes two and time swiftly moves,
I sit--still in waiting, attempting to soothe,
Aches of the heart and a throbbing like violence,
the remnants of day, they crash and percuss
and remind me of nights spent lost to the silence.
--
At last there is peace, a perfect refrain,
Thoughts come to a standstill, in tireless brain,
as words flow like water, a oneness with pen,
the fray has receded, and harmony found
within the last hour, I have found you -
My zen.
Jun 12, 2017
Jun 12, 2017 at 1:42 PM UTC