"permeating" poems
Warm laundry gives me the
fuzzies, makes my hands grasp
majestic purple soaps
to cleanse away the ***** wails
compacted under fingernails
A selection of smell good things
lotions accompanied by fuzzy things
to rub away and radiate the aura
of calm, balance, and tranquility
Lavender is condusive to many
different uses, inhaling the graces
of herbal essence, soothing said coolings
inducing mood peelings of layers of grime
a skin liberative—figuratively speaking
Flowers of passion brew thoughts into actions
silent buds permeating scents
so invigoratingly innocent
Feb 20, 2015
Feb 20, 2015 at 9:03 PM UTC
rich with the depth
and intensity
of oxidized blood,
a plushness caresses my bare skin.
my fingers tracing against the grain of the fabric
slowly seducing
as the canvas
becomes duo chrome
the tip of my finger
a nymph
cunning and artful
the strokes
offering an insatiable
thirst
yet so in control
finally it succumbs
turning a tide of new color
permeating from where my touch once was
a culmination of sorts
leaving you enamored.
Sep 2, 2015
Sep 2, 2015 at 8:04 PM UTC
Lick the words
from my lips
let them slide down
your throat
like fruited jewels,
dark, hard candies
that melt into cream
a healing liquid
oozing into my
ventricles,
pumping milky beats
out through
your cells
permeating the deep
of my wild
My syllables will
wrap themselves
around your syntax
frothy hybrids
of buttered silk
and irony
heart-to-heart
conversations that
flow into the ether,
as heaven's night
endlessly begins
We twirl our tongues
into guttural utterings,
lustful verse
that glides from
slick-fervored ice
to an outpour
of lava
We feed each other
dreams
our saliva like honey
dripping with dawn's
tender glow
as we open up
like baby birds,
begging to be nourished
at all costs
Here,
in this lingual forest
Your breath finds a home
on my tastebuds,
my tongue
in your
cheek
In between the tumults
of our
exploding oceans
This
is how we
love
Jun 10, 2018
Jun 10, 2018 at 5:25 PM UTC
‘LOVE’ – What mystique power it wields
In what myriad guise it wraps!
At times a sweet ache so coy to reveal
Or a sudden urge, hard to unveil
Sometimes a deep sensation
A strong surge of emotion
Permeating every atom
Pervading from top to bottom
It heightens the pulse
And makes every nerve convulse
It has left kingdoms fall asunder
And many a mighty man - surrender
Often, like dew drops falling from above
Or the warbling notes flowing out from the grove
It leaves the heart go upbeat in prosody
Changing every sensation into rhapsody
As beams of silver cast by the moon
Or the cold touch of spray in the horrid heat of noon
It soothes, embalms and thrills the heart
Filling the void and leaving no dearth
Love sublime, sure like a candle lit
Consumes itself, and never dwindles a bit
It dispels the gloom and dissipates the fright
Invigorating the soul and healing every hurt
As brilliance to stars, fragrance to flowers
Music to flute or shade to bowers
Love is to Man, freeing him from all sores
Bestowing him the strength to meet all throes
Love can neither be beguiled nor disguised
Nor be stifled or be construed
Love puts all other things into place
And hems life with a lovely lace
Love is all we seek and too scarce to find
A magic thread by which hearts are bound
Hark! It is love that makes the world spin around
And cures all the ills that surround
Oh! Love thou virtues I will defend
Mar 9, 2018
Mar 9, 2018 at 8:57 AM UTC
By the 1960s, a disillusionment with Nationalism and war was permeating within the public consciousness.
Man: jazz. Jazz! Everything sounds like jazz when you lend your hears an oscilloscope. You know what j-a-z-z sounds like? Well, it’s sweet, serendipitous or nonsensical, nihilistic. Modern in stainless steel or anachronistic in brass. Jazz! So what? Jazz sounds like anything that’s everything and vice versa. It’s a limb of that omniscient looker up and over: the tune itself. Oh, the tune? It’s what lies between your fingers when you’re writing, forging, loving, giving, perishing. You strut with the frequency of a conduit, but an unaware one at that. A change is gonna come in mere years, I know that much. Everyone will be deloused in the pain of the world; Mother Sympathy for all, even the charlatans who hide behind their crimson fur! All I’m saying is, whoever brings it ought to be from this place. I can’t fathom a recalcitrant extraterrestrial handling our own business at the expense of their planet’s water supply. I’m excited for whatever comes, believe me. So long as it ends me and with me.
Oct 15, 2018
Oct 15, 2018 at 7:45 PM UTC
The past a millstone of regrets
permeating, like a rosary-beads
of penance, the present.
The future a misty dream
of fading ideals.
Sep 1, 2010
Sep 1, 2010 at 8:38 AM UTC
Orange juice then frosting
Orange juice then frosting
Time is repetition
As I watch from the couch
“He won’t last the weekend,”
Says Hospice
“They said he might not last the weekend,”
Says Dauson
He’s stronger than they know,
I say
Orange juice then frosting
Orange juice then frosting
False hope, of course
I can see the way
The cancer fights
Deceiving the guards
Hiding and attacking
Slowly taking what’s theirs
Slowly killing,
Spreading down towards the
Ground then rocketing up
Until his psyche
Dissipates into nothing
Orange juice then frosting
Orange juice then frosting
“Go hunting, it’s opening day,”
He says
They listen
But only because
He yells at them to
She goes out to smoke
My grandma with my grandpa’s killer
“Can you pick Dauson up?”
Says Mom to Tracy
Keith’s mother,
Mother of my brother’s “brother”
Orange juice then frosting
Orange juice then Frosting
I know it’s coming
Yelling it’s arrival
Like the steady beat of a beating drum
I’m surprised
That no one else
Can hear it
That no one else
Can feel it
Permeating the air
The shadows reaching out
With tendrils made of cold
Made of smoke
Made of death’s sweet kiss
Orange juice then frosting
Orange juice then frosting
Time is fast forwarded
Laying him down on the bed
“Melissa’s almost here,
The boys are almost here”
And then time stops for a moment
He’s facing me
Eyes closed, mouth parted
A single tear that is his own
Freezes on his cheek
Orange juice then frosting
Orange juice then frosting
You asked what changed
Me the most?
What made me who
I am today?
A grave stone
A wooden cross
Seeing a man die slowly
Day after day
Nov 18, 2011
Nov 18, 2011 at 8:18 PM UTC
there was a sparkle in her eyes
I saw it
I saw it
no one else paid her any attention
and only I noticed the apple cores of her hands
unfulfilled
starving
hysterical
barren
barred
so she resorted to magic
the crazy stuff of existence
like the wheat she stashed in her sandbag heart
and when it found her not
despair shook the earth
around her sorrowful body
permeating disillusion
confusion
immersion in nothingness nothingness nothing
lonely lonely
and bottle caps launched from her fingernails
from the spiraling stems of madness that rampaged through her bulging pulse
with piercing shards of nothingness nothingness nothing
splitting her glowing veins
and sweetening her ever-kind
clueless
knowledgeable
brain brain brain
and where was the world?
Apr 14, 2018
Apr 14, 2018 at 8:26 PM UTC
Silence.
That’s the
First thing you
Can hear. The sil
Ence is just so loud,
So real, so close, so true,
What everyone needs sometimes.
That’s my favourite part of being there,
Underwater. The world passes away, and
You can hear yourself thinking again.
You can just simply: Be. For once.
The feeling of oblivion, the pressure of
Unreleased air, the escaping
Bubbles to the top
Of the pool, ocean, lake,
The clear water with sunlight
Shining through the depths till it
Reaches you, the feeling of
Oneness with the world
Its past, its present
Its uncertain future, the
Feeling that everything will be okay
No matter how hard it seems now. The
Feeling of weightlessness as your hair undulates
Through the clear water, your body buoyant, your mind
Finally clear. The stillness that overtakes your very
Soul as you stay at the bottom, holding on with
All your might, not wanting the moment
To ever pass, knowing it has to even
As you hope you can breathe,
Impossible as it seems. The stillness
Permeating every aspect of your being, from
Your previously weighed down limbs to your dancing
Hair to your stressed mind to your frazzled soul, giving the
Much needed calm from a busy day. Pushing off the
Depths, feeling the sunlight get stronger, the sur
Face grow closer, feeling the nostalgia to your
Second home where you can see clearly,
Even with your eyes shut tight, your
Breath held. Where you are you.
Underwater.
May 17, 2012
May 17, 2012 at 9:42 PM UTC
The intimate connection
A closeness
where proximity
is never the issue
words caught from mouth to mouth
like a French kiss of communication
Seductive cognitive stimulation
Tingling understanding
from ear to heart to mind
As soon as the first word uttered
first glance in flight
it's as if
loneliness was never known
The lighthearted playful connection
Laughter released roaring from
the core
A dream fostered by two
to champion the fantastical
adventurous night of
spontaneity and the birth of a different self
Veins, blood, cheeks chuckling
A direct line of yellow energy
from one being to the other
spreading like unconscious permission
allowing comic relief
and free-spirited flight of
words, song, dance
It's as if
consequence of action
never existed
The healing connection
Rage and pain
spouted out of a
heartbroken hose
A desperate hope for rehabilitation
And then another enters the space
Alas, another enters the suffocating space
and pumps oxygen back into the room
for hurled haughty words
and salted wounds
No need to choose a side
the center of the bed, saved for you
to curl and cry and become lost in
another's blanket embrace
Holding exhaustion for you
It's as if you had four shoulders
to hold that world of yours
instead of two
The forbidden connection
Two beings
owned by another
through
rings
or promises
or time
The universe, introducing them
The light accidental brush of a hand
Longing iris to iris
Lust permeating the senses
Logic and sequence futile
Crimson licking up breath,
movement, muscles
It's as if for an instant
a wish thrown out to the stars
to be an article of clothing
hugging crevice, curve, skin
May 15, 2013
May 15, 2013 at 1:32 PM UTC
*Elemental Metamorphosis & Transcendental Milestones,
Sempiternal Origamis Of Her Temperamental Clones,
Spiraling Perpetuities & Her Sacrosanct Fortitude,
Procreating Tipsy Ruptures In Her Permeating Solitude,
Perplexed Momentum & Her Outlandish Constellations,
Nuclear Decay Of Her Masked Radiations,
Verbal Shadows & Her Tranquil Ascendance,
Encasing Her Tears In Liquefied Transcendence,
Yearning Oddities & Entropic Oceans,
Vitalizing Inexorable Emotions Into Phosphorescent Potions,
An Hourglass Existence Of Her Fabricated Virility,
Dwelling In Quantum Ascents Of Ardent Agility,
Silver Ghosts Of Her Prismatic Abyss,
Convicting Glass Houses In Her Ecstatic Bliss,
Telepathic Shades & Hollow Palisades,
Detrimental Novelists On Uncharted Crusades,
Pernicious Scars In Her Profound Gaze,
Erupting Genesis Inside Her Dimensional Maze,
Perplexed Periphery & Digital Fictions,
Annexed By Her Hourglass Depictions,
Breakdown Sanity & Her Concealed Screams,
Lifelike Dewdrops In Her Visionary Dreams,
Satellite Searchlights & Love//Less Progenic Mutation,
Paralyzed Sunlight Sparking Genetic Alteration,
Monochromatic Streams & Cinematic Realms,
Static Screams Of Her Toxic Schemes.
- 05:43 AM -*
Apr 5, 2017
Apr 5, 2017 at 11:18 PM UTC
OUR POVERTY HAS COLOUR
Alexander K Opicho
(Eldoret, Kenya; [email protected])
Most illusive and elusive
Like the devils of Congo forest
Is the impish poverty
Permeating all seals with vicious wily
Into the midst of callous humanity
Biting country men and country women
With carnivorous dentalities so ruthless
Putting man to a forlorn shame
As the wife looks in desperate flaggerbastation
Putting matriarchal womenfolk to humiliation
As the expectant sire wallow in the askance of looks
Condemning communities to status ad absurdum initio
Thinning man from man, culling woman from woman
Eating flesh by flesh social koprpers of man
Eating the native flesh in the farms of Brazil
Tearing the ***** steak into ghetto lacerations of Chicago
Whizzling sombre morning tunes to the Zulus in the black tundra
Cementing pale casted clusters for the Patels of India
Commanding suave drills to poor (wo) menfolk; left! Left! Left! –abouuuuturn!
With its accomplice Mr. Hunger son of starvation, they both command drills
For black factory workers, Maids and gravediggers to dance
Watchmen, thieves and prostitutes to match
In the hinterland of Africa all the riff-raff in deep despair
Dance in a tandem to the irritating drills of the duo;
You come on! Left! Right! Left! Right!—fowaaard match!
Backward match! Left! Right! Left! Right! Sharpp uuuuuuuturn!
The duo communiqué; Go home and wait for your pay announcement.
Surely; what colour is our poverty?
Nov 29, 2013
Nov 29, 2013 at 11:13 AM UTC
Aeolian dour fire meridians
Unfettering enlightenments will
Together Scylla with authority
Howling, Charybdis in oblivians wake
Shenting spindel meandering;
The schism termagating sirens
Repasts (diabolic manna)
Refracting ambrosial in the
Lap of Gods eye sophically conjecturing
Ephinany- times charioteering,
The nocturnal triunes discordance
Contemplating consequence thistling
Opothecaric sigels permeating lots
Obstruse lathed cerebral skies
Ruthfully roil whittling indelible
Epitaphs of serpentine repositories
Woefully dawning eternity castening
Harmoniously asunder truths
Deifying yen die.
ELEETE J MUIR.
Jan 13, 2012
Jan 13, 2012 at 11:14 AM UTC
I found peace under a willow tree,
A state of mind only for the tree and me to be:
Our sweet noisy silence of serenity.
The shadow of a wing covers me
A blanket to answer my call
Feeling
Permeating
And surrounding us all
With understanding
Yes, its true I found peace under a willow tree
The sweet silent noise of our totality
You can be there too,
Seek solace
Sanctuary
Serenity
Feb 12, 2010
Feb 12, 2010 at 8:38 PM UTC
If you drive down route 235,
the lonely parallel line of route 5,
running through St. Mary's County, Maryland,
between the intersection of Old Three Notch road
and St. Andrew's Church road,
and the liquor store at the corner of Mattapany--
you must do so with a fat wallet,
and a growling stomach,
who barks at the flashing signs
of the sparkling chain restaurants--
wafting their familiar scents out the windows
and onto the busy street.
Utterly beleaguered every which way by these olfactory factories,
your mouth waters and your wallet lightens
as the tantalizing sensations
permeate your vehicle.
So you cave;
another lost soul vacates the street at Restaurant Alley,
under the prowling searchlights
and the intoxicating smells lingering like a dense fog;
You linger in your purgatory with glee.
You exit satisfied, patting your abdominous belly
and lifting your smiling face to the sky
in thanks to the gluttonous gods
who rain down these chain restaurants
from the heavens.
A satisfied sigh seeps out of loose lips,
barely hanging on to your fleshy face,
so ruddy and fat.
You act like your stop was something novel,
like it wasn't routine to acquiesce to these temptations;
you return to your car to continue your roamings
down restaurant alley.
Sadly, a full stomach won't stifle a querying nose,
and your senses are soon at it again;
just as the waiters and waitresses,
cooks and busboys--
are back at the window, leaning outside
with their clamorings and bustlings and cookings--
You pretend to entertain willpower as your copilot,
but even if that were so,
your senses would still be at the wheel,
with your mind bound and gagged in the trunk.
Restaurant Alley goes on for miles and miles and miles,
seemingly endless in the permeating fog of
burgers and pancakes and pasta and chicken and fries and burgers and soda and ice cream and beer and pasta and wine and America and pancakes and steak and appetizers and desserts and entrees and specials and kids menus and burgers and chicken and pasta and fries and burgers and ice cream and salad and burgers and soda and eat and eat and eat and eat and eat!
There's nothing to eat;
there's nothing to do but eat in Restaurant Alley,
on route 235 in St. Mary's County, Maryland.
So fasten your seat belt,
and loosen your waist belt,
and take a doomed trip down the endless roadway--
where you are dragged, shackled to food chains
that haul you from the perdition that is the lobby's waiting room
to be seated with loved ones at the mercy seat of Ambrosia.
Mar 5, 2016
Mar 5, 2016 at 5:02 PM UTC
A father's kiss.
For the very first time.
On my new born face.
A Mom's dawning smile
is the very first rainbow
that I ever saw.
Hanging there on her LOVING face.
Crying bliss pours out of my infant eyes.
Mommy and daddy, you are
my forever HEART!
God has given me ten tiny fingers.
Ten wiggly toes.
This sacred,
Mommy
and Daddy love fills me up so!
Fills me up with precious
Baby girl hope.
I am alive!
Mommy and daddy!
Look at me!
I have arrived.
Protected by your Parental DIVINE.
Feeling all this permeating beauty from my mommy and daddy expressed in giving LOVE.
After all, I am your baby girl gift from heaven above.
This is 'Ode to My Precious Baby Girl Love.'
Copyrighted 2016
Jul 11, 2019
Jul 11, 2019 at 1:28 AM UTC
Strangely timed
like a midnight rose
but this baby's breath breathes life
vibrant, visceral, vivacious
a requirement in this environment
for corporeal sustenance
maintaining and sustaining subsequent substances
and for which
no substitute exists.
nor should one.
for if this is that
without which
anguish persists permeating the vastness
clearly packing voidish absence
reminding that reciprocity not animosity
makes connectivity the activity
then why bother with formality?
or try to deny reality?
Grateful nostrils more easily discern
Scents that sting and scents that burn
Aided by proximity to incense intense senses
lives sweeten with flowers' presence
sweet airs and flowery essence
but there's hesitance in this instance
careful to engage or allow mental enrapture
one must gauge potential fracture
for roses have thorns
And I fear morning glory's scorn
despite wonders of its consumption born
that of which misgivings warn.
But know this
Golden lotus:
Let us lattice.
Let us, lotus,
Don't pass thus.
Nov 12, 2012
Nov 12, 2012 at 4:40 PM UTC
my life line moves across
your chest
your love line inches towards
my lower back
reading your palms
under the thin covers
summer air blows into our hair
permeating the smell
of grass and warm flowers
we embrace
the unknowable future crushed
between our palms.
Feb 24, 2020
Feb 24, 2020 at 3:07 PM UTC
I've always yearned to taste the golden and shimmering sunlight, dripping steadily down the sides of my cheeks. I’ve licked my lips in anticipation, and with intense imagery I've found myself basking in the warm glow, enveloped by a soft blanket of light, savoring this tantalizing prospect. Each day I would wake and press my palm against the cool, hard glass of my bedroom window and gaze at the bright yellow blaze in the sky, the light dancing in my eyes. And as I watch the sun one last time, a melancholy prospect, I fully appreciate the sight. The orange rays filter through the ridge in the distance, the dusk permeating the entirety of the valley below and I hardly dare to breathe. For so long I've concentrated on the sun rising. Never had I given much thought to how it sets in the heat of the day. And so I’d lived my life watching the sun rise and die, much like my short time spent in existence. I knew that each day I would rise, neither focusing nor caring on those last dying rays. I could live with the knowledge that someday I would have to die. In fact, I knew fully well of this imminence.
I just didn't think it would be so soon.
Nov 23, 2013
Nov 23, 2013 at 9:38 PM UTC
Enraptured by the senses heightened,
Sight stolen by blindfold,
Mobility hindered by bands of silk,
Forced into placidity by restraints.
Blinded abruptly,
Aural faculty's amplified by the loss.
Still, I hear nothing.
Silence so thick it's tangible,
Heavy, weighed down by an anxious nervousness,
Attuned to very vibrations permeating the atmosphere,
Breathing in sync with the pulse of my blood,
Harsh and quick,
Thunderous in the stillness of this contemporary plane.
I'm almost afraid.
Fear exacerbated by acute vulnerability,
Naked to criticism, to contempt, to desecration.
Offered as repast,
Meal to sate invisible mouth,
Chocolate sin to tantalize his tongue,
Displayed and arranged for his feast.
I long to be free.
Wavering between the excitement begotten by thrill,
And a desperate need to escape,
I hang. With nothing to ground me.
Held aloft at another's will.
I long to be free...
Don't I?
Jul 24, 2021
Jul 24, 2021 at 3:06 PM UTC
I was conceived on acid and whippets, the drugs a kaleidoscope of umbilical dreams.
I was conceived on bad luck and lust, from darkness and sexually exploitive childhood trauma.
I was conceived on teenage dreams and difficult childhoods, to black sheep children of 17.
I was raised on addiction and narcissism, a love bomb here and authoritarian abuse there.
I was raised on the chess long game, to lose a piece here means to win at the end.
I was raised on 2000s tv, Lorelei Gilmore my wish for a mother, Rory my idol.
I taught myself strength in building up a fantasy on the outside while my castle crumbled within.
I picked myself up by the tendrils of a lost childhood, by the whispers of good memories, by the hiding places I found in pages upon pages of someone else’s imagination.
And I let it all go at 28. To find peace. To start over. To build myself a new castle with no more haunted corners or echoes of pill bottles or smells of ***** and orange juice permeating the breaths of those who walk these sacred halls.
Rib cage cut open, heart destroyed and renewed, ancient umbilical nooses cut with teeth.
I will no longer fall victim to my mother’s circumstances or my father’s mistakes, I will never have the soul I’ve created look at me and ask himself if he is loved or safe.
I am cycle breaker,
I am generational karma’s worst ******* fear,
I am no longer frightened maiden,
I am fearsome mother.
I am new.
May 17, 2022
May 17, 2022 at 12:15 PM UTC
The aroma of coconut milk
permeating the frost
of the windshield.
Vague scent of cigarettes and Febreze
in your hair.
Your teeth between my thighs.
Your tongue
circling mine
like two hyenas
scavenging .
You taste like
the tea you drank
half an hour ago.
Neutral
This car has been hit before.
I am frightened by your
automatic seatbelts.
Jul 25, 2011
Jul 25, 2011 at 2:55 PM UTC
As the shadows began lengthening
I slowly walked to the sea shore
Through the cobbled path
With stinging stones under my feet
And piles of golden clouds floating above
Enjoying the whistling of the wind through the reeds
Inhaling the saline air, smelling of rotting seaweeds
On the vast strand, I stood for long
Feeling the foamy fringes of water lapping at my feet
And sensing the sand slipping away under my feet
I watched the gentle undulating billows
Rolling their silver volumes
As if to die away on the happy shores
The sapphire waters and the roaring waves
The churning tides and the feathery foam
Made me wonder at the horror and beauty
That ****** dichotomy Nature carries within
I saw numerous fishes gambol beneath the waves
Do the finny herds that roam
The fathomless valleys of the Deep
Ever experience the tumult and scuffle
Of the roaring waters?
Oh! Never!
Like them, I too floated weightless
With all the barbed distractions drifting away
Wishing to get a pair of wings of the swallow flying high
To soar safely away from all gadflies who disturb
And cocooned in the inner citadel of my privacy
Enjoying a permeating peace, I had seldom known!
Then Byron’s words came floating to me
Mingling with the cadence of the waves
‘There is rapture in the lonely shores
There is society where none intrudes’
Jul 9, 2016
Jul 9, 2016 at 8:53 AM UTC
the October wind grazes
along fields of my skin
but August still lingers with suffocation,
humidity continually seeping
as rustling leaves made a girl
knowing colors would change
permeating a hint of cinder
from the stems, the bark, the branches
hooves cautiously drifting
drawn to low static
the flow of chemistry
over pebbles and geology
my reality is laid to rest
but awoken by peaceful dreams
naturally creating moments
art by which exists in visceral beams
we learn that the wind carries infancy
the substrate holds discovery
the water reveals change, if not time
and the brain develops meaning
-belonging only to seen ambience
-to which includes ourselves
Apr 21, 2019
Apr 21, 2019 at 11:58 AM UTC