"perimeters" poems
Parental affiliations shroud the perimeters of sociological desperation. Like a gorgeous eye which cries in Gaelic rainstorms. Feel the texture of bracken, as she scrapes her tangible beauty against your pale and excited skin. But hold your breath, my ever-connected member of covenantal being. Do not let go of the tantric touch of spatial awareness.
Dec 31, 2013
Dec 31, 2013 at 3:59 PM UTC
I always wanted to be that random style of writer
Writing about things which have no connection
In reality but they are connective only by the ingenuity
Of his genuflection; the circumvention of his
Circuitous routing, his plaintive perturbing petulance
Which insists on stacking things of different orders
Flying birds together of different species
If I could write something of the ticking of clocks
Not as though the ticking were of premeditated duration
Embedded in metal tracks around perimeters
Of prevaricated die-cast hours; but as though the ticking
Were only a random fixture of a theoretical day
In which random clocks ticking played a minor role
During the still life of which a poet happened along
And copied it all down dutifully, not caring if
Ticking clocks were related to pitchers of Forsythia
Or falling off of cliffs into the Aegean;
The only task of the poet to capture it all
And let the reader sort it out later
In the random tracks of his circuitous brain:
Whether the pitcher was full of sea
Or the sea was stealing into the pitcher
One blue, serendipitous drop at a time
And where no clocks were keeping time.
Mar 7, 2010
Mar 7, 2010 at 5:36 PM UTC
I am counting twelve pairs of ribs lining the perimeters
of my torso
Boney Me
Asthenia fingers
Wasted knees and knuckles
Pricking the hard chords on my chest-guitar
Misery eyes -- Dashing around in dustbin sockets
My head like a raisin with skull-shaped framing
****** inward
Looking at the dead animals guilting me
Looking at the withering plants begging for water
Evil food.
Attracted to the mirror
I know only this
Only what I see -- And I see a sow.
Lost in this possibly regrettable movement
Towards
Skeletons
Boney Me
Looking at the evil food
I tell it that I hate it and that it will never be me
I tell it I want to be like the flossy ones on magazines
Thin to skinny to boney
Boney me smoking an e-cig
I defeat the evil foods tonight
Surviving on primal back-up spirits
Surviving for the hope of closeness
Maybe
I can waste away all this skin
And finally see my own heart.
Sep 22, 2012
Sep 22, 2012 at 11:32 PM UTC
on a slow night
in march- an
oil slick of a night,
the stars are dying quietly,
and the moon is subtly
watching the show.
there are unloved cats,
that once moved like nylon
and smiled into fireplaces,
crawling the perimeters of my thin
walls, as I sit dead center,
in a room that I cannot
call my own; where
the paint sticks to my
creations
and my words are swallowed
by empty wine bottles
and empty smiles set into
gilded jawbones.
and somewhere, somebody
just dropped dead in their kitchen,
while most people are
sleeping, or
chasing sleep, or
making love to their
plastic wives in a cold bed.
and somewhere, is
nowhere
to me.
i am ******* in air
and hoping for zyklon b,
grasping for keys that once
opened doors, but now,
i cannot cross the threshold,
anyways.
i am tripping over old knives
in the floorboards
and scolding my wide eyes
for their blindness.
i resign myself
to my decisions, because
there is nothing else
nothing else I can do.
i will rise in the morning,
cast aside the sun,
and hope that someday,
sutures will take hold
and i will see the ocean again.
Jun 8, 2012
Jun 8, 2012 at 12:05 AM UTC
Does your trust know any boundaries in this seemingly plausible abode of temporal and eclectic uncertainty? I have just satisfied my appetite, yet suffer ambivalence as I contemplate those who surf the waves of marine predictability. I can only present one suggestion: Go to Tradeston and acquire perishable foods in the name of nostalgic self-indulgence.
The outer limits of our galaxy recognise multi-directional infinity as the bounce of jazz permeates the atmosphere of resigning perimeters. I have decided to ride the atomic beat and to make something tasty in my adolescent innocence, as we lurch into finality.
Nov 17, 2013
Nov 17, 2013 at 10:33 PM UTC
I miss the fields of Andalucía, where the Sierra Nevada can be seen in the East from Costa Del Sol perimeters; and community is something which far surpasses the façade of being in the same room. Sliced onions in the abode of La Villa Rosetta will permeate the Milky Way on Spanish rooftops, as herds of goats amble along mountain roads. But let us forever remember that chorizo is beautiful, as she proudly displays her scent against the turrets of Algeciras. I love a fiesta, because familial chords remain uncut.
Dec 31, 2013
Dec 31, 2013 at 4:01 PM UTC
Our preconceived notions
can’t seem to be left at the door
as we all seem to meet each other
for the first time, hand shake in check
psychiatrist inspecting psychologist
who to take, what to take, can we partake
in this guessing game of assumptions;
all because we are deeply insecure.
Yes, perhaps the writer even the reader
can take heed even implore the words
from abstracts, to ideas set forth to type
font, confront abound the reflective recollections,
as I form sentences and you figure the syntax.
Seeping through the membranes that we have solely
constructed from the libations and gluttony from opposite
heads to tails; phobic forming channels flipping
ratios of eyes on you, and yourself so to be social
concentrates every weekend, only to dissipate.
What has been lacking is simple genuine
conversation of good morning, how are you ?
exchanging information so to know
one another - that is being social.
The microcosms we place ourselves into are nothing more
than are fathom facades we trace as perimeters so to measure
how much we can let people into our already egocentric lives.
Don’t contest that statement, to some level we all have absolved
in our own thoughts everyday, that we lose sight perhaps
what we see with our eyes should be understood logically
with conscious from the back of our minds.
Tip this scale for which we wait, taking to memory
that we heal as we initiate, and take ourselves
into each others weight, so we can carry on.
Nov 10, 2010
Nov 10, 2010 at 9:09 AM UTC
I don't cry about it now.
but when he held me at the waist
I felt paper cuts carve his hands,
saw the broken glass on each side
of my "you look like a girl" hips
slice him open.
He said they looked like wings,
but where are the angels
when I slump over
bathroom floors,
with bent knees and
shattered promises?
Sep 17, 2014
Sep 17, 2014 at 4:29 PM UTC
stalk the perimeters
hide from the sun
sit in the darkness-
see what he's begun?
someone is there
she walks round and round
she creeps unaware
that every night i watch
and i wait
to catch!
and replace!
now it is she who sits on the porch chair
and i creep around
in the dark
quiet air.
Apr 6, 2011
Apr 6, 2011 at 10:20 PM UTC
Tearing through bodies to refresh one...
a raw timetable end to end.
Verily said unto--
sleeper-words activated as
healing agents.
The milky bulbs of elbows
protract, as hands cradle
the back of a head.
The newfangled dreamer
has caught a way.
Somehow has given him/her
someway--an incendiary
stronghold lives to praise this:
one-more-time.
The menagerie of him/her is
rounded up and rounded off...
their flickering numbers profess
animalia half to hell, half to heaven.
A tilt to left or right to actuate
more or less of.
As in so being lorded over by
what passes their perimeters...
hands a hell, a hell--a heaven,
a heaven.
For what's astray passes through
itself in stages...tearing through
bodies to refresh one...a raw timetable
end to end.
Moment of overexposure compounded...
the sleek pulp draped over the
shoulder of night and day.
Feb 21, 2015
Feb 21, 2015 at 11:42 AM UTC
Cross over the current
First sunshine is sweet
Melting the perimeters of the week day's bleak-
Unforeseen boredom
King pin of the worse men
Chess pieces go flying off the overturned board
You are the headless horseman
You the controlled one
Parodoxically manipulating the reigns
Sunshine is gruesome heat
Make it to the shoreline and scrutinize your bludgeoned feet
Condemned carvings of ivory pieces waiting on you to cheat
May 12, 2013
May 12, 2013 at 2:48 AM UTC
Music broadens
Perimeters of the brain
Propels emotion
At times it instigates intelligence
Other times it broadens
The horizons of going insane
Afterall this life is but a walk
On an invisible chain
We sway from side to side
One side secured and mundane
The other side
Wise and insane
It is up to each individual
What he will choose to maintain
Where does your brain sustain?
Nov 27, 2014
Nov 27, 2014 at 11:21 PM UTC
That late afternoon, my first sight,
of the desert, filled me with sighs,
trip was a soul-searching journey, i realized,
not at all scary....the darkened sand dunes
were dimly lighted by the moon
the unembraceable sky was a night show
a million stars and more, joined in the glow,
no known perimeters, souls are free to mull
moments are unpredictable, no longer dull,
such immense space!....minds and eyes
roam.....there are no lows....only highs
no demons, just God...so kind with His rules
gifting His sky, His love, to us, human fools
He heals the holes in our souls so patiently,
through bright paths, He leads us to Eternity
.......................where He wishes us all to be...
Sally
Copyright Rosalia Rosario A. Bayan
November 2018
Dec 15, 2018
Dec 15, 2018 at 4:14 PM UTC
Serpents writhe across sand dunes where Glaswegian slaughter pronounces her vivid descriptions which are not dissociated from sensuality.
There is a certain rhythm to Marrakech vibrancy, and it comes at the price of percussion awareness.
It is cold on this night of sombre reflection, where the North Line Express cascades across sectarian boundaries.
Please offer me a solid definition of socialism, because my loyalty is laid bare before the perimeters of hatred.
Have you ever driven along Bisland Drive?
My alcoholic escapades have firmly embedded in the annals of street history.
Do you offer your consent?
May 17, 2014
May 17, 2014 at 1:29 AM UTC
Her eyes are a pure soft green,
The window into her soul,
Her beauty shines beyond mother nature,
Peering in, brings a feeling of whole.
Each emotion that we embrace,
Are visible as she stands still,
The intensity exceeds all comprehension,
Dazed into ecstasy minus the pill.
Tragedy marks its place upon her,
Wearing away her supple youth,
Her strength devours her pain,
Exiling any hints of the truth.
Though her presence is overwhelming,
She suffers a pain unbearable to all,
She weeps in utter mourning,
As death casts a shadow so tall.
Isolated beyond the perimeters forsaken,
Torn by her desire to be fed with life,
Slowly piece by piece she is taken,
Roughly cut away with a dull knife.
Though she knows hope it is lost to her,
For the facts overpower her silly thoughts,
Cursed with a lack of love for beauty,
For all the wrong things she sought.
Aug 15, 2013
Aug 15, 2013 at 12:33 AM UTC
i am to a tangent function arc of circumference real
the magnitude of the perimeter of my reflecting rays cut through
the diameter of periodically functioning perimeters the sines
crosses over the slope into asymptotes horizontally questions
arise what may be the derivative of the product of two less functional
fuck-ups?
In a piece-wise functional reality might it be weird to ask ?
I fall through the condition no binary operative am I or will allow,
I decipher here, the quantities quality. I coordinate this graph draft it to my reality, cipher the x y
approach thereby a tangent to infinity here now,
then on a point between the average slope, in my defined interval,there is a point where it all is irrelevant
May 25, 2015
May 25, 2015 at 3:21 AM UTC
I rode my bike, fat, bloated 4-inch
Tires un-skating across
Frosted ground.
A degree below
(You know what)
Not ice, or icy,
Exactly, but...
As if some mythical
Dude named...John?
Jorje? (Hore-hay)
Ok, Jack, then - breathed
Almost-frozen breadth
Over much of Downtown
Indianapolis.
The sun was diffuse, low
Easterly, barely a lighted
Presence, as I pedaled through
The little pathway that perimeters the
Zoo, the muffled cries of
The furry and wrinkly-
Skinned high above
And safely ensconced
Past huge limestone walls.
Shutter-flash
Dapples of light struck my
Eyes as I passed leaves who
Stubbornly refused to relinquish
Their stemmed hold onto
Mother and Father tree.
Past the little zooey pathway,
The big bridge leading to the
Downtown canal, ordinarily
Crowded, but only I crowded
This time and place and space.
Where the sun wanted to shine,
But was stubbornly blocked by
Such insubstantial things as
Bridge abutments and pillars;
Shadows outlined the muted
Rays of a bleak post-Christmas
Sun, contrasting
Outlining them in a
Frosty embrace.
All around that little ******
Of ground, the light of day
Melted and softened Jack's
Iron-like grip. But not
That little piece of ground.
Nope.
I stopped the bike and looked
At the squarish rectangle of
Frost that stubbornly refused to
Give up its hold from the
Relentless, though much less
Powerful sun.
The clockwork
Universe ticks and tocks,
And moves and shakes, and
This morning, snug in my many
Layers, I got to ride my bike
On top of a battle
I'd never witnessed before
Today.
Dec 26, 2014
Dec 26, 2014 at 7:14 PM UTC
you are in the middle of things,
insisting importance – you would feel
shivering in the distant blue
of another girdled spark and there,
in the not-so-distant sky,
I reach for damp perimeters
and have your face conclusive
with whiteness, sure of its glare,
crossing the frangipani outside
my home; silence leapt borders
and now an incident. uninterrupted.
resolute. absolved.
although so suddenly moving away
kiting around and perhaps death
will deal its part when love’s done
with its tedious labor – and it will all be
moments of bliss, two people renaming
necessary haunts, laughing
in the dense air, keeping an ear for
the spring of yourself.
Mar 22, 2016
Mar 22, 2016 at 10:33 AM UTC
You know I don't like bright colours
And I know that you like your sandwiches without the crust
That the way you crinkle your nose
Is the kind of thing that inspires feats of creativity
Acts as a catalyst for courage
Drives men to insanity
A siren of the sea
Singing your tantalizing melody
I know that you like to hide behind
Large glasses and the oversized sleeves of your sweater
And you know that I prefer perimeters
To loud centers
I know the ways that your auburn hair tends to blow in the breeze
How you tie it up in messy styles when you read
To keep it from hindering
You diving into the worlds of the unseen
And most of all I know that I love all the things that I know about you
And that that's enough
Apr 5, 2015
Apr 5, 2015 at 8:30 PM UTC
On a hill untrodden
Lay hooves of animals forgotten
Hovering inches above
The tall blades of grass
That guard the crimson soil
From the deadly spoil
Of creatures with a heartbeat.
Neither human nor animal
Is allowed to trample
On the swaying current
Of carbon breathing forests
That sing in unchecked choruses
About a mythical life
That forever strives
For their listless existence
But always fails in the face
Of pure logic.
On the edge we stand
And there we will remain
If not forced to refrain
From ever being in unison
With life that knows no burden
Of the constant need for self-satisfaction
But somehow manages
To breathe without stealing air
From one less sanctioned
In a state unbalanced
Despite existing on a sustainable planet.
Even fairies stir in their leaves
When news arrives
That the hill still survives
Without their manufactured dust
And fake-winged lust
For something more mythical
Than themselves
In a world that revolves
Around their heads
And death is made of flower-covered beds
Of false remembrance.
Still you wonder
Why such splendour
Sits only in our worship and prayers
When it has no power
Over anything that enters its perimeters
Knowing however
That the thought it has inscribed
Into our minds
Will live forever
Even if it does not do so itself.
Nov 30, 2015
Nov 30, 2015 at 6:32 AM UTC
I want to see you in the star-scapes and nightfall
But weaved into my daydreams is all where you reside
Would it be too much to ask, if you were to be my cartographer,
For the guidelines to your heart only seem to perforate my soul
I want to see you in the wilderness, desolate and robust,
I want to see you take me there.
I want to see you, nothing short of happy
Void of all the things that cast you downward
I’d give you the world; I don’t have to see it back,
Only as long as the distance between us is all but time,
For the logical perimeters of restriction would uphold,
It is merely restricting the sublime from resonating within you,
For far too long.
Dec 4, 2014
Dec 4, 2014 at 1:58 AM UTC
Cross winded sleet....
Cutting across like pencil lines.
Droplets turn to a stream...
Down the greyed creased faces.
Mud laced skin......
Cloth absorbs and stains.
White washed lines.....
Defining all perimeters.
Carnage amongst serenity.......
It’s all over.......
Jan 29, 2019
Jan 29, 2019 at 3:13 PM UTC
If you must sing me a song,
make it soft and gentle enough
for a baby's skin.
If you must shut the lights off,
give me a colorful nightlight
to reflect bouncing shades
about the perimeters of my walls.
If I must sleep,
allow me a sweet, sinking feeling
in the center of my everything
as I drop from reality into dreams.
Jun 27, 2019
Jun 27, 2019 at 2:02 PM UTC
One estate at Purfleet for sale
Enquiries to be made by mail.
One male occupant of late
Sense of style, out of date.
Place in need of modernisation
Windows broken, condensation.
Estate contains some twenty acres
Recent reports of troublemakers.
The grounds contain a chapel or church
Surrounded by ash, oak and birch.
Perimeters are newly gated
Grounds inside are consecrated.
Feb 6, 2016
Feb 6, 2016 at 4:13 PM UTC