"plucker" poems
pick a word, let it lead you astray, then (soil)
a poem to exclaim, refracting the sun rays emerging
from the curves of your chested heart, the waggle of
ten fingers conducting your inner song, the baton first
waved swipe to earth pointing, let us commence there:
think of yourself, entirety, as soil, you the potter,
what has been planted by others, nourished by others,
along sides of your ingestions, you the grower, seeded
anew, each word, hybrid edging with existing vocabularies
the sun from without, the sun from within, the rivulets
of water, the arterial pathways, feed the treasure chest,
and you, farmer, planter, grower, picker, plucker of the
produce, serve us, baskets grown on the fruited plain of
poems’ soil consisting of the writings grown in the
unique you,
all of you,
body & soul
Aug 26, 2020
Aug 26, 2020 at 11:01 AM UTC
*it only took the gherkin to take modern into modern via pickle, but the cabbage pickled dome of the albert hall opera was lost to foe foe foo dub step pluck the plucker of twang of drop d uncool; ah wait, gherkin acne pimples roughage missing on the cabbage suckled, with the flush into oyster moisture past the sexed up morbid cupping of the five fingers telling pistons from pistons? i said as much about my ******** as i did about her mouth, just now, and i wash it off and wash it down shaking hands rather than kissing my children goodnight excusing the **** talking sweet chock choke goodnights; well, it's hard to be credited with womanising when only "polygamy" with prostitutes suffices; but i'll just tell you... swan lake was too loud thanks to the ballerinas' stomps... hated ballet... god curse i will be cursed with sisyphus' labours... i rather roll that stone than hear ballerinas dance once more!*
let the male cat roam and lay rampage to the night, the she-cat sleeps in, then on the third call for ginger: quarus! quarus! nothing... quarus! it begins to rain... shamanism without the safety-net of psychiatry for post-colonial nations trying behaviourism without anger, with anger sterilised, and certain french thinking of fascination with death and suicide with suicidal thought censored for no reason other than not worked with... well, that better be wellington thick rubber on the phallus when i ask for my money back guarantee nine months later.
Jan 6, 2016
Jan 6, 2016 at 10:15 PM UTC
In the gutter she sits.
It's raining again.
The drain is calling to the bobbing twig.
The twig that she snapped from the sapling.
She's so bored,mummy's at work again.
Now she's sitting in the rain.
Ripples at the flow with her cheap laced up shoes.
Her shoes all stained with salty water residue.
Kicking at the water.
She truly is her mother's daughter.
Stubborn to the rotten core.
Mother's job is not too pleasant.
She's a pheasant plucker.
She always works on rainy days.
Her daughter knows not what she does.
Mummy says it won't be long.
You know she needs the money.
She oughts go home.
But she'll still be alone.
The owl in the tree at roadside suggests she finds a towel.
Great notion, but little lassie can't speak owl.
The sky's wide open now.
It's pouring frown.
Releasing it's stress.
Wet shoes, wet skirt.
Sodden hair, soggy vest.
Supposes she really should go home.
Her hair's just a dripping mess.
Soggy tresses.
Time to go home little girl.
Mummy may be worried.
(c) Livvi
Aug 18, 2015
Aug 18, 2015 at 5:13 PM UTC
So ****** cold
and yet to hit deep freeze.
We love long Johns,
we love long Johns,
we love foot longs.
Have to use a pair of tweezers
to pull a hair out of
a hot bowl of soup;
when asked 'what are you doing with those,
I answer 'what do you think I'm doing,
they're pluckers,plucker'.
© copyright 2013
All Rights Reserved
Dec 25, 2012
Dec 25, 2012 at 9:34 PM UTC
I WAS LOST,I WAS ALONE
WHEN YOU CAME
LIKE A TWINKLING STAR
INTO MY DARK NIGHTS
AND I FOUND MYSELF
AGAIN INTO MY GOOD
OLD CLONE //
BUT I WAS NOT THAT LUCKY
NOT THAT FORTUNATE
BECAUSE LIFE HAS
ALWAYS BEEN MURKY
AND CRUEL
WITH ME AND MY FATE /
BUT NOW I WILL LIVE FULLY
BECAUSE
YOU TAUGHT ME HOW TO BE
HAPPY
MAYBE I WAS NOT YOURS
OR YOU WERE MINE
STILL I WILL SAY IT AGAIN
YOU CHANGED ME//
ITS YOUR AURA THAT MADE ME
THINK
LIFE IN NEW WAYS AND LOOKS
ITS YOUR THOUGHT MADE MY DAYS THAT IS WHY WHEN I RECOLLECT
YOU
I CAN SEE MY SOUL
THAT SAYS
JUST LET IT HAPPEN
JUST LET IT GO AS SHE WISHES /
IF I AM THAT ROSE YOU ARE
THE PLUCKER
WHO DONT JUST
PLUCK BUT CODDLES THE FLOWER,
MY DEAR MAYBE I AM NOT YOUR
LOVE
AND YOU ARE MY NONE BUT FOR
SURE
WE ARE LIKE SOME MYTHICAL
PIGEON AND DOVE//
I WISH ONE DAY I WILL MEET YOU
AGAIN
WHEN
I WILL BECOME YOUR PAST ,
BUT I WILL ALWAYS,
REMEMBER YOU FOR MUST
THAT DAY IS NOT THAT FAR WHEN
YOU AND
I WILL BE ONE, AS MARRIAGES ARE
MADE IN HEAVEN
NOT HERE ON THIS MUNDANE
EARTH/
PEOPLE SEE LOVE STORIES HERE
AND THERE
BUT OUR BOND IS NOT SOMETHING
ONE WILL FIND EVER IN THIS
WORLD//
IT WAS NOT YOUR FAULT OR MINE
ITS OUR FATE THAT DREW
THAT INDELIBLE LINE
I PROMISE I WILL VISIT YOU
ONE DAY
WHEN YOU MAY NOT BE MINE
BUT OF SOME OTHER MAN
YOU WILL HESITATE ,YOU WILL CRY
BELIEVE ME DEAR, I WILL TRY NOT
TO CRY/
PAIRS ARE MADE ABOVE IN THE SKY
NOT EARTH
ITS NOT OUR FAULT BUT THEIR'S
WHICH KEEPS TELLING THEM
TO KEEP SAFE THEIR
MYTHS AND LIES//
I WISH WE WILL MEET AGAIN
SOMEWHERE ELSE
NOT THIS EARTH
WHERE EXIST NO BARRIERS
AND NO SUCH BARS/
MAYBE WE WILL NOT BECOME ONE
HERE ON THIS EARTH
BUT MY DEAR SURELY
THERE IN SOME AFTERWORLD
IT DOES NOT MATTER BECAUSE YOU
TOLD ME
PAIRS ARE MADE IN HEAVEN
NOT HERE ////
Feb 14, 2021
Feb 14, 2021 at 2:03 AM UTC
She bleeds the fire from her eyes,.
She plucks the stars from her lonely skies,.
Places them in pockets of her soul,.
Forever longing to fill the rust lined holes,.
This systematic destruction of her esteem,.
The end result of the liars' horrible dream,.
She believes her path is lined with coals,.
Burning their mark between her toes,.
Replacements for the stars she takes away,.
That lose their glory the next day,.
Forever seeking out a happy future,.
Ironically pulling out her beautiful sutures,.
Bleeding upon the liars' harvest floor,.
With nothing but hatred and their seed, they return for more,.
She smiles and says it is okay,.
When the one she loves wants her to stay,.
He throws the stars back into the sky,.
As she walks toward the men that lie,.
Once again she will try to believe,.
That she is is all right,.
That these men that take her as a sacrifice,.
And leave her in the bed,.
Sobbing while she looks to the sky,.
And takes down the stars that fill her eyes,...,.,
Aug 15, 2017
Aug 15, 2017 at 10:42 PM UTC
Yanked me from my roots as if I were a ****
he never did know he spilled all my seeds
For I was a flower
and he was a plucker,
I fell to the ground, and into the earth
I shed my former self, this is rebirth.
Dec 11, 2020
Dec 11, 2020 at 10:05 AM UTC