"perking" poems
Let me tell you a story about a busy steet in a busy city in a busy country in a busy world.
Somewhere near the end of this busy street in a busy city in a busy country in a busy world, there was a flowershop.
It was a lovely old place; an elegant building surrounded by beautiful gardens with daisies and daffodils and roses. It had bird baths where the cheery cardinals and bluejays stopped by for an afternoon splash, and even a sprinkler for the young children to run around in while their mommy's and daddy's were picking out pretty flowers.
Now, inside this flowershop, there were rows upon rows of pots filled with any type of plant you could imagine: dragonsnaps, lilies, zinnias, tulips, the whole lot. Baskets of flowers hung from the ceiling, overflowing with bright colours. Every once in a while, petals would rain down and the entire shop would look magical.
Everyday, people of all ages would dash into this flowershop. Men in suits, looking to find the perfect gift for their dates. Ladies in dresses, picking out just a little something to look nice in a vase on their dinner table. And of course, the gardeners, with their overalls and ***** fingers.
So, as I said, busy people on a busy street in a busy city in a busy country in a busy world would dash into this busy flowershop, then dash back out and get on with their busy lives. Always looking for the most ravishing type of flower, the ones that could catch your eye as soon as you entered the shop. Never focusing on anything else.
What no one realized was that there was a small flower placed near the back wall of the shop. It was never moved; always been in the same exact place ever since it arrived at the flowershop years and years ago. The owners had stopped watering it, so the flower was beginning to shrivel up. Most of the petals had fallen off and were now laying in a sad little pile on the ground, and the few that remained had turned the colour of black.
The little flower got sicker and sicker every day, but it never lost hope. Every time the suited man stopped in, or the lady with the dress, or the ***** gardener; the flower would use its last bit of strength to make itself noticed. It stood on its tippy toes, perking up and spreading its wilted petals and frail stem as much as it could.
No one saw.
Then, one day, when the owner was sweeping the floor of the flowershop, he saw something near the back wall. Something broken. Crumpled. Blackened. Ugly. Dead. Something that once was beautiful until it stopped being noticed; stopped being loved.
You see, in a busy flowershop on a busy street in a busy city in a busy country in a busy world, no one's ever going to notice a wallflower until it wilts.
Apr 16, 2013
Apr 16, 2013 at 6:47 PM UTC
Bursting cherries
remind me of
the vibrancy of your
curious lips
Juicy peaches
drippin' down your
chin; a memory
from years
before.
Sour lemons
perking you up,
for the hungry
kiss.
Oranges glisten as
they mimic
sundown in the
city.
Sunsets gleam
orange and yellow,
illuminating crowds of
individuals, morphing
everyone into
no-one.
Alone, you peak through;
standing with
intention and innocence
among the shadows and
empty bodies, admiring
Mother Nature's
harvest.
You stand there
looking as sweet as
a fig; as wild and ripe
as a strawberry,
just waiting
to get
eaten.
Just waiting for
me to
place my lips
so delicately around
the curve of your
ripened
body.
Sep 2, 2018
Sep 2, 2018 at 9:48 PM UTC
In many different tongues, each one love's manifestations,
Some even to me unknown until the very moment,expressed,
I keep talking to you, my divine lover,out of my passion,intense
For you brimming within. Distraught a bit, feeling left in the lurch
On pouring rain and thunder storm; but you know how firm I am!
I stood rooted here, lost all sense of time, queer, ever felt you near.
Then a sharp pain hit weakening my heart ,but couldn't deter me,
I am a cat of nine love lives, a species so stubborn, thrives in trust.
Dead of night it is , I keep vigil, perking up ears, eyeing skywards,
How do I know from, where would my only love, to me speak?
Aug 31, 2017
Aug 31, 2017 at 2:56 PM UTC
The owl
owns silence,
it dawns;
movements
are arrested,
as stillness
comes alive
as owl moments.
The condor,
gravitas,
incarnated,
in relentless search,
circling around
the sky's navel,
in a mystical quest,
a motif that arrests
motions of mind.
An owl sits and sees,
a visible presence
of an invisible absence,
on the cosy notch
hid by foliage
on the tree of loneliness.
Perking up ears
inner silence,
the faithful watch dog,
listens owl's unuttered words,
ever echoing,
deep within the walls
of mind's corridor.
The owl and the condor,
the eloquence of silence,
has two voices speaking
in unison.In the secret center
they reveal the forbidden,
silence rules, the dawn of wisdom
bright and spectacular, awaken
the fog filled landscape.
Jan 10, 2013
Jan 10, 2013 at 11:26 AM UTC
My foggy mouth tries to hide behind rain-smacked glass.
She says goodbye with complacent stares
and with the sudden flash of an umbrella.
The red of her dress doesn't belong in my life.
Each of her strides carry my resentment and weariness,
alongside the melting grey of the Seattle skyline.
So, I don't yell for her or imagine our lives,
as the windshield wipers sweep her image, out of sight, but not out of my head.
I return home, the half I was for decades.
The tread of my shoe mashing bluegrass,
digging up seeds and insect carcass, with every step.
Storm-soaked magazine subscriptions lay on the porch,
and her name is tattooed on every one.
The dog lays on the carpet, ears and eyes perking up at me.
And he knows he's truly alone, because I'll depend on him.
Eggshell kitchen cabinets are jammed with her:
Vermilion, saffron, and burgundy glasses hold
half-empty hangings of golden flat draft,
keeping her day-old, dried saliva smothered on the edges,
like transparent ocean waves dying on a glass coast
and buried in the bottom of the sun-pierced vortex.
What I couldn't realize is that the cup was me:
marked in so many ways,
letting decaying memories burrow and stay.
Jul 5, 2015
Jul 5, 2015 at 12:19 PM UTC
Open myself up to you
Like a gentlemen grabbing the door
This felt so special
Things were perking up
Happy, had something to look forward to
Only to be let down by insecurities
Am I the only one who's strong
Must I carry the weight of my burdens and those around me
Must I guide you down the path, as if you didn't know
Must I answer questions before they are asked
Must I be 20 steps ahead, as if 10 wasn't enough
Must I be held to a standard of perfection
Must I
Apparently I must
My strength is shadowed by your fears
How much evidence is needed to show I'm different
What must I do
Tell me
Explain to me as if I've never heard before
Every detail, so I may tread softly
For I fear your insecurities may trap our growth
Poaching on our happiness
I've shown my selflessness, as if theses words don't paint that picture
I've been down to one knee as if you were royalty
In attempts to prove my loyalty
I need to be shown you feel the same
Blinded by your actions
You've let me down
Broken me down
But help me rebuild
Open your eyes, loosen your jaw and open your ears
Speak to me your ideas to rebuild the rubble at our feet
So we may protect ourselves from the elements of error and fear
Prove this to me
For I can't do this alone
Travel this two lane road with me
So we may reach our destination together
Jan 19, 2013
Jan 19, 2013 at 12:34 PM UTC
Dawn casts her long line for spring
Days linger to catch the angel irises bloom
Enveloped by early chirping chitter-chatter
Lightly crusted sleep argues for lids to remain closed
Black perking wake-me oil makes a strong cups case for compromise
A nudge to join the living
- On negotiated terms -
Somewhere between another dream and lavender bubbles
The contract will begin
Foggy feet shuffle onto the wheel
Spying steps creak tattle-tale floorboards alerting all on the way
Pleading thoughtfulness
You beg for silence as the Ra room comes into view
Brightly checkered yellow-brown mustard window patterns
Cut diagonal boxes across maple hardwood
Stained glass dots of emerald, violet, and red raspberry
Dance on lemon washed walls as they turn and wink for a smile
Your morning chair sets at the edge of the warming sun pond inviting you
Join them
You listen to the ripples of space
Your cushioned dock perfectly positioned for a loving embrace
You sit
And slowly dip legs into the glowing pool
Drenched limbs cocoon in the heavy webbing of golden rays
Bathing
The chickadees celebration is known
Immersed
Lids succumb to the orange haze
The Girl from Ipanema sings
Young and lovely
You feel wonderful
No risk of drowning here...
Only in happiness
One radiating breath
Before the Samba plays again
© 2019 MJL
Mar 26, 2019
Mar 26, 2019 at 2:38 AM UTC
like blood, it drips
the honey from your lips
running along
the gentle curve of your neck
the sharp edge of your collarbone
between the heart and ribs
down and further
pooling on Venus
the water swirls your hair
pearls on your silken skin
the love in your eyes
hooded, dilated
colors bursting from their seams
and hot as cold
violets blossoming in the night
rose buds perking, opening
as does the cave of your mouth
Feb 12, 2020
Feb 12, 2020 at 4:50 AM UTC
Reaching over your shoulder,
A boulder is about to crack.
The giraffes, dinosaurs and pesky bores that glance
see you react.
It’s about language,
posture and poise
Presenting oneself like a broken toy,
One stepped on
broken and junk,
now its neck is whack thanks to that Chunk.
A paroxysm of coughing makes that Adam’s apple show
Somehow this perking out makes one dominant over a ‘poor girl’,
For some reason you think you’re a Hunk
Mystery how that fact of the Forbidden Fruit can paralyze your neck,
also sets back your assurance and confidence
Mar 11, 2016
Mar 11, 2016 at 5:58 PM UTC
*Her peals of laughter, gently rocks, wakes him up
takes away from a midnight dream's warm embrace,
one dream to the other, what she is up to, he feels bit cheated,
like many times before, bit weary of misleading senses,
they are friends of course, distractors too, if unaware of their penchant
Perking his ears he listens, wind whistling in the woods,
rain drops on leaves create sounds of soft laughter.
Every where she is, the nymph, the ethereal presence,
in dreams, in the spirited dance of clouds, in swirl of water
and waves, when the birds play flute from their perches,
in flights that seems meditative trances beyond mind.
She is tranquility incarnate, beauty that grabs mind's eyes
mother who consoles at the time of distress and pain.
The night is silent again, the rain clouds too left to rest
yellow clad moon peeps above the clouds, many gifts we
forget to enjoy, some times without being aware, one leaves*
Jan 4, 2014
Jan 4, 2014 at 2:00 PM UTC
Wind keeps on
reminding the waves
something cryptic,
even the leaves
perking up their ears,
fail to grasp it!
Though wind
repeated it,
again and again,
leaves vacuously
rustled, remained silent.
The waves in a
spectacular pattern,
respond to wind,
desperately trying
to grab the truth.
Sitting on the shore,
between blue sea
and mountain peaks,
observing the grand play enchanting,
he feels excluded,
from this conversation,
that remains obscure;
unconsummated
between the wind and the waves.
"The meaning is right here,
but one hardly
gets it, unless
desire to attain it is overpowering"
in tears, she said
exasperated, not able to go beyond the shore.
"we are like waves and leaves,
give it a miss, get confused,
vision of ultimate truth is the crux,
unless the eyes are opened,
filled with light, one fails, has to repeat"
he replied, like one tasted failure many times.
"you've blindfolded
your eyes, willingly
and complain;
be patient
work on your
inner world,
let the light drive away the night"
the master smiled as he said.
"Roaring wind and waves
fire, earth and space,
the secrets they hold
are within the inner world"
At the end of narrow path
is the placid pond
where water is still:
truth absolute is reflected.
**"Life after life,
one walks round and round
seeking that blue stillness,
where one would
see one's true self reflected,
when the moment arrives."**
Dec 31, 2012
Dec 31, 2012 at 10:32 AM UTC
love is described as:
flowers blooming
sunlight shining
red lips perking
broken hearts mending
and maybe love is all that
but it can also be:
flowers sagging
rain clouds swarming
grey lips drooping
and the newly mended hearts
slowly
unstitching
themselves
Nov 12, 2018
Nov 12, 2018 at 7:36 AM UTC
two upturned corners
crinkling, sparkling, gentle eyes
shoulders perking up
puffed up cheeks lightly pinking
body curled up and stretched out
Nov 10, 2015
Nov 10, 2015 at 11:09 AM UTC
Come my dear take your fill
Fatigue will wait as no one else will
Cause I want you naked
Wet with desire
I want to rise and fall
Like phoenix feathers
Burning in my own ashes
Soft bottom pressed against
My thick throbbing flesh
Breast in hand
Though gently cupped
I barely brush the pink areoles
Perking them up to full pleasure position
Mouth upon thy neck
Tongue gently stroking
And moistening your flesh
Your ecstasy epileptic
As you almost swallow my tongue
I lunge inside to feel your wet warm thighs
And fill the wonderful caverns
Of your womanhood
Oh desire is a wretched beast
For you are far to far away from me
So stroke for stroke I fuel the furnace
Your full form in my mind’s eyes
I shoot high
Clinging to the long pillow
As if it was your warm body
And love you lonely from a long distance
Jul 24, 2015
Jul 24, 2015 at 1:57 PM UTC
Sometimes happy, sometimes sad.
They can be angry, as well as bad.
Love can flow, and hate can too.
A child's eyes, when they look at you.
Mysterious and secretive, in there own way.
What are they thinking, what you wish they could say.
You can look very deep, but you won't find a thing.
Sometimes they'll look up, to the Lord they will sing.
Help me, love me, leave me alone.
They live in the ways, in which they are shown.
A tear may fall, down the cheek it will ride.
Sometimes all they need, is a friend at there side.
They can be happy, love will show the way.
Perking right up, when there asked out to play.
Gentle is what, they ought to be.
But a child's eyes, reflects what it can see.
Love your child, so they know what is true.
Because they all want to grow up, to be just like you.
Treat them good, and teach them wrong from right.
Read them poems, when you wish them good-night.
Oct 31, 2010
Oct 31, 2010 at 9:02 AM UTC
The train sirens fell ill on my skin as the gates of waves descended upon the lowly burrows of 12th street and blew it straight into tomorrow's windy, lamenting unification of loneliness. The plague it drew on the youth only rivaled the great hallow abyss in it's forthcoming nature. To the young it was the rotting, the sinister desecration of our world to come. I am only stunned by the great rivalry that seems to coincide in my generation's thoughts, capricious-now or wiseful-tomorrow. We strain to be in the eyes of our fathers and mothers and aunts and uncles, proving to our grandfather that we alone will carry the family name and legacy towards great and unimaginable heights, without the help of others and without the need for pity. Conger a frightful doe perking it's ears to every other sound it hears, that quiet din, it's last acquaintance before the grand, all-knowing silence takes over and surrounds it's being forever. Love thy harkening sorrow and writhe in heavy screams. All will pass but I see none with the sanctity to carry a soul farther than you have already; the seas spring longer and will soon swallow the world. Too many years will pass by before I can understand this with a sober mind. One day will come before I realize that drunken ravings of my night will see it's critical truth in the day by scholars and priests of common sense.
Dec 3, 2012
Dec 3, 2012 at 2:34 AM UTC
Your hands are posed up in front of your body,
as if you are warding off bad things.
But your face is waiting.
Fingers come up to meet yours,
weaving themselves around you.
They are my own.
Our palms press against each other,
a fire igniting beneath us.
The white blue flames licking our toes.
How can a simple touch
feel so rewarding?
I lean in so the tip of my nose grazes the stubble,
stiff, but I can still feel the softness of skin
below your jaw.
I want to take that skin in between my teeth
and ****
and make you want me more.
But this isent about ***
No, this is so much more.
I inhale that intoxicating scent.
A scent that can't be described as anything but you.
Just a simple smell, so intense
that it wraps its self around my chest
and squeezes, until I release my breath.
Unable to hold on to it any longer.
Your arms move around my waist
and they are pulling me in closer.
But im drifting.
Blackness is consuming you
while my ears are perking,
ajusting to a horrible high pitched noise.
I roll over,
shifting under my stiff cold sheets.
A green 7:00am flashes in the dark
as I embark on another day without you.
Sep 18, 2012
Sep 18, 2012 at 12:21 AM UTC
Keys into the ignition
and fire it up with a rev.
Feed it some gas,
letting it warm-up preshift.
First you've got to put it in reverse
as we back it up to pull out.
Isn't it a pretty thing when she growls,
the way she bites back when you jump the shift?
That's what love is, you see it,
and sometimes it isn't so bad.
The two of you are moving on,
feeling the tires warming up on the road,
and ever so slowly you take it into second from first.
The wheels perking up at the sense of your touch,
knowing you need the trained response,
reciprocated by delicately working into third.
Its a beautiful thing when she growls,
the way she fights back when you jump the shift.
That's what love is, I know you see it,
and sometimes special, it isn't so bad.
Out on the road and gathering steam, in the gathering speed,
that transition from third to fourth can go kind of fast.
The two of you thinking as one, becoming one,
and in this harmony on the fourth you're wed.
Two beasts to one accelerating on,
finding unity and resolution in fifth.
Its a thing of beauty when she growls,
the way she talks back, saying, "Wait for the shift".
That's what love is, that's the way I see it,
and in those moments it's never bad.
The two of you flying solo around the track
the way you were made for each other.
The competition might as well not exist,
each dedicated to the other in perfection,
breeding the future generations to lead,
to pass on these important lessons of love.
Its the most amazing thing when she growls,
her little clips as she corrects the shift.
That's what love is,
and its never bad.
Even after countless laps around the track,
after you're both gone and broken down,
it's enough to stay true to one another
and to reminisce about the good old days.
You're still her guy, and she's still your gal,
from the first time you opened the door, treat her well.
"You know it, you know I will".
If she happens to growl,
if she bites every now and again,
just know that's what love is,
strong through the good and the bad.
Feb 17, 2012
Feb 17, 2012 at 2:59 AM UTC
I'm opening my eyes,
I'm perking up my ears
I'm lifting up my nose,
I'm holding in the tears
I'm opening my hands
I'm reaching out to see
It's getting hard to stand
I've never been so free
Free of you and free of me
Free of this and all I see
I close my eyes slowly
My breath comes in rolling
Lifting my chest slightly
All this contemplating
Is ever so lightly
Reverberating
Slowly down
Deeply close
All this sound
Is so morose
Before I open my eyes
Can you promise me something
That I'll never hear you lie
Can you hear my heart drumming
May I see you for who you are
And not who you put on to be
May you be that thing so far
Away from all it is I see
May I never have to open
My eyes to see you that again
The old house we built is broken
My solitude may never end
It is time to build something new
Something that will stand so true
And hold us both and then you'll see
That you too my friend can be free
I promise you today
That if your tongue will stay
I can show you more
Than you've seen before
And as we continue on this path
Weaving something, hard to graft
I tell you it will last us long
Longer than the endless song
The one I hear when I see you,
Without the talking, just so true
As to show me more than words can say
And carry me somewhere today
Somewhere you have forgotten long
The melody to a drifting song
Coming from a far off place
Losing strength, losing pace
When I reach for you and hold
Your face in my hands I'm sold
But when it is all just up to you
Things start falling deep into
This endless chaos I feel right now
Is more than I can feel somehow
And when I'm happy you aren't here
To see that there is naught to fear
When all there is, is more than enough
Smoothing the face of once a rough
Mountainside made of stone
This sea has washed away the one
The one thing that I may have held
Closely to that drumming heart
May these words just be felt
For not an ending but the start
The start to something real and raw
Something breathing, pounding slowly
All of this, not what I saw
But what lives in me and is now growing
Like a sprout from winters ground
It has taken such a profound
Place in my heart a shining warmth
And never again will you feel torn
Never again will things just blur
When people talk as their words slurr
Just close your eyes and remember
That little sprout from that December
The part of me left cold and lifeless
Is now reaching out and making this
More than gold or something priceless
More than all that was, can be, or is
My eyes elude me as do you
May you both forget this sleuth
Someone who has found the truth
Lifting from all death a youth
You're face is made of frozen clay
Still it's not all I've to say
To be alone is to live
To stay with you is to give
My life for something small and fragile
My strife for someone falling and I'll
Never tell you yes, I say
Especially not today
Now you're gone my mind is free
The calm after a storm you see
Is better than the calm before
And more inviting still for sore
Hearts that float among debri
They may be gone but now they're free
And if it takes my heart to stay
I'll never do it, oh no way
I'll close my eyes and run away
Sep 21, 2011
Sep 21, 2011 at 6:05 PM UTC
When I’m dead like here and now.
Like before and present, as I’ll always be portrayed
wound within the fabric of my birth.
I'll stammer through the phantom beastly of society,
as I always have I will phase
beneath the day's skin,
flower and splatter
amongst the phantom passerbys
and click my blooming tongue
behind your blind ears.
And chant one lasting whisper
against the back bristles of your shivering neck,
my breath pluming against
and within your porous skin.
One lasting, one altering statement or phrase or acknowledgement
I give shackled in the chains of a gift wrapped present
within the corridors of your perking ears
and there to be unpacked.
You as every other soul will misplace my memory,
will forget as a ghost dissipates against the breeze.
I was never anchored here,
indistinguishly as the phantom I am composed of
I may sputter the words farewell,
farewell only to be met with farewell and forget.
Farewell as my pattered steps flutter within the distance,
dead as here and now,
dead as my unlasting memory.
I exist as but a farewell.
Aug 28, 2011
Aug 28, 2011 at 12:06 AM UTC