"polishing" poems
#
*paint me
with the wet tickle
of your tongue
lingering with affection
savoring my fervent flavor
in bold strokes
of your obsession
color my essence
in heated hues
sending shivers
down my spine
in anticipation
of your warm breath
against my flesh
with every blissful caress
to ensue painted petals
of animation
with your supple lips
gently blur the lines
of my curved hips
softly stroking
the subtle shadows
of warm depth,
blushing
quivering thighs
as I gasp
of breath
plunge in
a primer coated palette
dipping your stiff paintbrush
deep within
the folds of my blanket
manipulating
a trembling image
of your voracious lust.
craze me
again and again
in breathless
****** glow,
your sensual brushstrokes
gently murmuring
layer on layer
in alla prima flow
delve deep
into my eyes
paint splattering
the passion
of my soul
drizzling silken strands
of love
in their entirety,
polishing me whole
and then
in blissful backwash
admire
the tangled limbs
interposed
of your
completed masterpiece
in smiling
sated repose*
#
Jun 25, 2018
Jun 25, 2018 at 8:21 AM UTC
Dancing,
Thrashing,
Cascading
Down the barren stone tower,
Through the craggy, coarse cliffs
Refining, polishing the necessary features
And streaming for the duration of my adventure,
One might wonder: Why?
Why! Oh what a question—
To purify what will soon be soiled in a moment’s time,
And yet, unremittingly,
Over, ad nauseam, again.
I cannot die.
No agony or desolation can destroy me.
Amaranthine, ceaseless, everlasting!
I hold steadfast, staunch, unrelenting.
I am a waterfall.
Nought can destroy me.
I am forever...
Jun 19, 2014
Jun 19, 2014 at 4:13 PM UTC
My lips stroll along sultry soft skin
I close my eyes , and see your curves with my kisses,
fingers caressing your belly in infante swirls as if polishing the porcelain surface of a statue,
You lay entranced beneath my gentle stroking , your tummy stimulating the rest if your senses, ******* yearning for attention ,
Strings of a harp waiting to make music, my canvas , your desirable body,
****** finger painting
I meet your lips with mine , for your stamp of approval, my hands answer the call ,
My warm breath ,
Brushes your neck with the stroking of ****** feathers ,
Intensifying the raging desire within your ***** ,
Remnants saliva painted with my tongue evaporates into more of a magnetism, you open yourself to me,
The weight of my passion envelops you
Our tongues dance to the rhythm of our beating hearts
Blood flows through our veins at an increasing temperature
Ignited only by the meeting of our lips.
Intensified
My hands continue to brush your body ,
Answering all the yearning calls ,
I watch you lose yourself in the heat of the moment,
And I continue to stoke the fire
And with a burning wave of passion,
Enfolded bodies
I simply love you off to sleep .......
Oct 7, 2014
Oct 7, 2014 at 1:22 PM UTC
Drawing images using some words
Telling some stories that are unheard
Stealing the moment, freezing the time
Killing the beast that vultures the mind
Spilling blood, the pen is our knife
Collecting traces from this mysterious life
Connecting dots to create a line
Polishing stones to make it shine
Our words are riddles, a must to decode
Giving multiple key for them to unload
The meaning of some could make readers insane
If wrongly unlock it will conquer their brain
We are a shape-shifter just like the cloud
Painting angels and demons to enlighten the crowd
Hoping they’ll listen to our joy and our pain
Wishing they’ll get the lesson of our every rain
11/03/2015
Mysterious Aries
Nov 3, 2015
Nov 3, 2015 at 8:45 AM UTC
Today I had a bout of acute-you shyness
one where I try to pretend I don't notice
but have you noticed how difficult it is
when outside idles but inside there's a race
to views like you leaning side to side
on the motorcycle ride slot machine
driving my eyes to sly around your slides
taking them wide as when I was eighteen
I'd look for curves at Southend pier's end
give out stares and start to take in scenes
of free amusement at the Fun Bump arcade
around and around the circuit you rode
I was lapping up your every move
sneaking a view through the coin drop
peeping behind the pinball of Dr Who
prying open the photo booth curtain gap
faux testing the mallet with your strength
playing air hockey with my thoughts
were your short chic bangs a wig?
they sit so still I long for the straights
then swing to one side with a leg
tight vibrant jeans in hairpin bends
ironing out where the centre line is damp
polishing the dashing leather saddle
vibrating with wrist twist contempt
loveliness revving up to red line
exploding in my face with daring
this bike crash heart of mine
please forgive not stopping staring
a race course habit never outgrown
I go too fast and of course I fall
in love as bad as deeply madly
but the fact that it's with you.. well
I have to forgive myself this malady
I'm a side-road heading for a spin
on ways to tell you you're beautiful
dangerously close I risk self harm
imagining that colour of pink and pale
the flush u-turn will be a charm
If I can get you climbing off
hot and flustered
I’ll have done my pit stop job
at once a chance encounter
and a fateful winning score
to let you know you've entered
into being my prize draw
I'll walk away but don't be sore
it's up to you to take it further
but just know one thing more
that if you call me to confirm
and tell me that I’m worth it
I would turn around so fast
the world would gearshift
and wait
but not in neutral
for us
Aug 8, 2014
Aug 8, 2014 at 1:30 PM UTC
As a student you hold a pen,
Just so very often.
Hold it carefully and take its care,
For it can get broken.
Threading all the letters beautifully,
Cursive you write so neat.
We complement each other,
That too so well.
You need polishing just a bit more,
I need a lot of it.
Earlier my handwriting used to be worse,
But now it has improved as you have come.
Come and write your name,
Not on paper but on my arm.
Come now and come closer to me,
This feels like a dream materialized.
Now that Both have chosen The Best,
I am just glad that we chose each other.
I look at your handwriting,
It means the world to me dear.
When your heart is so beautiful,
Your handwriting is also gorgeous.
Yeah you saw my handwriting,
It is not like your elegant one.
So I am content that our children'll have beautiful handwritings.
Your handwriting tells me that you're innocent,
It also showcases a beautiful heart which I love.
Capitalize on your boon of good handwriting,
Success beckons you and now you just need to study sincerely.
Sep 5, 2014
Sep 5, 2014 at 9:53 AM UTC
I am the soft silent sight
nestled in a tree gently
holding hands with emotion.
Together like lovers we intimately
sit with an invisible touch.
Our eyes penetrating darkness
we govern like a loving mother
or angelic force like Mother Teresa.
A shiny moon polishing
a silvery heart cooled
by a vast ocean.
I always fly quietly as I bring
a gentleness into darkness.
Tucking the night up with
the softest quilt, through a pane
of glass in a near by wood you
hear me calling.
I give a rod of stability eternal sight
seen it all before will see it again.
As we hang softly like the moon
in the sky or an Owl in the tree.
I lift people through their night
I carry them with my sight a
tractor beam of light.
As you feel my presence like a
million hands that softly
penetrate.
All holding torches you are
lite like a child who's mother
has come back.
Scooping you up your
darkness falls on
entering my Owls sight.
I am the light that always
surrounds the night .
I am the ever expanding vision
the tide that never turns but
just keeps on rising.
I grow with a bursting force
of an ever expanding universe
as I stretch my eyes they keep
on reaching.
I am the ancient eye placed high
above always unstirred but
filled with feeling.
Like the white of an eye surrounding
a pupil I am the army who circles
around the darkness.
I am the reflection of the velvet
moon sitting on the ocean
threading itself throughout
your being.
Those caught within my sight
will feel a thousand tiny bubbles
of bright light.
Gandolf the white explores
your caves holding his
wisdom stick and lantern.
Unlocking your hidden emotion
giving you magic fighting
of your demon.
I will conquer hell fire with
a gentle trickle finding my path
like a mountain stream passing.
But when I open my heart my wings
the devil will shudder because I hold a
power like the pacific ocean.
So much protection we can find
at night within the Owls sight.
Sep 5, 2015
Sep 5, 2015 at 6:28 PM UTC
Crowded lakeside,
more than expected
on a normal day.
Hoping for a quiet
rendezvous in private
she looked aghast,
at such a turn of events,
nevertheless started
to make eyes at him;
patience wasn't her best friend.
Shutting up like a clam
he was a picture of contrast.
Every desire she expressed turned
to a love sick wood duck
soon a flock was billing and cooing
preening and polishing in haste,
making amorous advances
with an aggressiveness suggesting
intolerance to his reticence.
They chased his silence with
irresistible mating calls,
raising hell as if in heat,
making him regret.
Oct 27, 2013
Oct 27, 2013 at 2:30 PM UTC
She gives him his eyes, she found them
Among some rubble, among some beetles
He gives her her skin
He just seemed to pull it down out of the air and lay it over her
She weeps with fearfulness and astonishment
She has found his hands for him, and fitted them freshly at the wrists
They are amazed at themselves, they go feeling all over her
He has assembled her spine, he cleaned each piece carefully
And sets them in perfect order
A superhuman puzzle but he is inspired
She leans back twisting this way and that, using it and laughing
Incredulous
Now she has brought his feet, she is connecting them
So that his whole body lights up
And he has fashioned her new hips
With all fittings complete and with newly wound coils, all shiningly oiled
He is polishing every part, he himself can hardly believe it
They keep taking each other to the sun, they find they can easily
To test each new thing at each new step
And now she smoothes over him the plates of his skull
So that the joints are invisible
And now he connects her throat, her ******* and the pit of her stomach
With a single wire
She gives him his teeth, tying the the roots to the centrepin of his body
He sets the little circlets on her fingertips
She stiches his body here and there with steely purple silk
He oils the delicate cogs of her mouth
She inlays with deep cut scrolls the nape of his neck
He sinks into place the inside of her thighs
So, gasping with joy, with cries of wonderment
Like two gods of mud
Sprawling in the dirt, but with infinite care
They bring each other to perfection.
4k
I sat on the dentist’s chair
With an aching tooth, feeling hell
The dentist seemed quite pleased
As he opened my mouth and surveyed
‘There are holes to be filled
And the plaque to be removed
It needs a few sittings
At the end, you’ll have a set of fine teeth’!
His gentle assurance was so comforting
And I thought my jaws no more have to suffer
The pangs and torments of an aching tooth!
He then, in a narrow syringe
Injected something into my gum
I knew a numbness creeping in
Until at last I felt a hard rock within
Now, like an expert work man
He began his rigorous craft
Loud machines began to boom
The chair got flattened
From 'verticality'
I got changed into 'horizontality'
And the overhead apparatus came down
Like an eagle swooping down on its prey.
With blaring lights blinding my vision,
I lay torpid as if my body was strapped
The doctor took out his steel and hammer
And started tapping and chipping
Drilling and boring
Though numb, I could still feel the pull and tug
The crooked forceps and pliers
Made all the nerves in my head irk
My mouth was filled with saliva
And I felt a sprout of blood inside
He stuffed some gauze and resumed his work
I wanted to yell, ask him to stop
But being gagged, I couldn’t utter a word
My pupils dilated
My lips quivered
My tongue got parched
I gasped for breath
With a mix of cement and sand (?)
He began filling and plastering
Scrubbing and polishing
Helplessly lying on the dentist’s chair,
I wondered
What whips and stings one has to endure
To end the pain and give the teeth a shine!
Jul 24, 2016
Jul 24, 2016 at 7:53 AM UTC
building purist æsthetic
proselytizing solar-powered heliolatry
commemorating historic concert
sensing dark forces
fokken lekker antwoord
pumping sensory overload
featuring high-tech dee-jay
admiring gelato micro-truck
laxing laying lazing
"doing something nasty"
continuing quality content
entering another cathedral
journeying without borders
"exactly one year
since visiting vatican"
appreciating full-time gigasphere
awaiting pyongyang performance
depicting unlikely crowdsurfer
foreseeing exponential improvements
furthering esoteric agenda
sensing profound incompatibility
data-mining people's infidelities
anticipating futuristic caffeine
perfecting invisible propaganda
researching mind-control techniques
polishing psycho-social weaponry
sensing social embargo
flourishing frantic fanfare
admiring longitudinal monument
parodying marketing slogans
cycling through österreich
eyeing dystopian disneyland
streaming crosswords extended-play
herding glass kittens
deleting idiosyncratic fragment
loremipsum-ing laconic loudmouth
receiving ultramodern telegram
eigo-ga wakarimasu ka?
guzzling duck-fat fries
encouraging panic selling
(juxtaposing past incarnations)
getting black-and-white privilege
renewing boutique account
relishing cinema poutine
re-entering hibernation mode
opening old windows
continuing zoo motif
absquatulating excessive excesses
nullifying originality claims
proliferating protean persona
disappearing sidewalk alphabet
shrugging opprobrious moments
enjoying vertical alignment
re-entering cyberpunk paradise
approaching island sun
soaring beyond monoliths
trivializing extraneous argy-bargy
decreasing character limits
dumping generic accounts
uglifying commit message
escaping into idiosyncracy
moonshining great lake
exuding idiosyncratic propaganda
living nineties' dreams
making occidental cuisine
envisioning idiocratic president
expropriating your time
ascending homely helix
singing fat lady
Sep 12, 2015
Sep 12, 2015 at 12:12 PM UTC
I can't quite wrap it around my head
**** polishing hobgoblin
Gobbling hot fudge banana split sundaes
topped with ***** cherry toppings
What I'm looking for
Just on the tip of my tongue
Just the tip
I can almost put my finger in it
*On it
Oops!
A slip of the lips
Verbally retching
Wretched word *****
Armed with an armada of double entendres
Sensationally double penetrating your ear canals!
Jan 17, 2014
Jan 17, 2014 at 7:57 PM UTC
No matter which notes are played on still waters
they weigh heavy on my pain
when they fall.
There are days when I realize
I am spinning 'round
and murmuring,
feeling forced and raw.
It seems that time dwindles down
into its own sea
then wakes the night
asking to be filled with hours.
Everything I do
seems to make time kiss the places
where I spin,
stroking........
as it devours.
I can feel a searing look
from eyes on the sidelines
when I attempt to hold the jewels of darkness
next to me.
Their footsteps
are like the million curses of tears,
stinging..........endlessly.
Before the door closes on my life's journey
I know the moon will rise
in all its angelic innocence
once again.
Until then, I will dream
of polishing those jewels,
spinning round
here......
insane.
Apr 25, 2013
Apr 25, 2013 at 8:18 PM UTC
I should be ecstatic
I should be breathtaking the second I walk
into the room with you
I should be full of effortless perfection and captivating laughter
I should hold you like the rare gem you are
polishing you, weightless by your worth
I should weep with sweet gratefulness over our stunning photos
and memory keepsake moments
I should be a beauty queen rolemodel
exhibiting class and coordination and intelligence
I should be ravishing in your love,
a kaleidescope of pinks and yellows and magic
I should be bathing in the taste of your devoted kiss
and sunning under your Carribean embrace
I should be a blonde hair blue eyed American dream
Instead of a
Miserable maniac that can't even write a ******* poem.
Instead of a terrible daydreamer,
bored by the periods at the end of your sentences. . .
Instead of a tarnished transient seeking foolish adventure
Craving endless oceans, cliche flight humor, and saving
animals I didn't even know existed to begin with
Instead of a jaded view from every set of empty eyes
Instead of an indulgent *******
that wants more than this terribly wonderful life
that you've offered me.
I really should.
Nov 4, 2012
Nov 4, 2012 at 9:51 PM UTC
and now here i am
writing poetry about you
in tim hortons
i've sunk this low
may as well keep going
extend the metaphor
except
we are not symbolic
we are real
or at least my mind thinks we were
and i'm usually right
so
who are you to say i'm wrong?
except you didn't
you just didn't say anything
and that's what makes me think
i should be somewhere else
somewhere other than this table
growing green with moss and envy
bending over time and time again
to pick up that lucky penny
polishing it off and adding it to my pocket
saving up for another drink
so i can buy more time
waiting around
for another chance encounter with you
that i know won't amount to anything
but hey
i can try can't i?
i have that right and i use it
abuse it
and all for what?
here i am sitting at a table for two
and you?
you're somewhere else
like you've always been
never there in front of me
except when passing me by
giving me the eye
or
did i just imagine it?
i think i know what i'm talking about
but my predictions all put me in the same place
sitting here with a cup in front of me
slowly emptying
but never all the way
because i still say i've got time to wait
my watch is wrong
some excuse
to go along with my own stupid games
playing the lottery and losing
but each small compensation lifts me up
i'm so hopeful one day it's gonna **** me
and i'll die here
in tim hortons
with my cold coffee sitting in front of me
saying
i told you so
you should've finished me when you had the time!
and i'll know
i should've finished us when i had the time
maybe then we never would have been like this
skirting around each other
all awkward smiles
cold coffee
warmed up
is never the same as when it's fresh
Oct 11, 2012
Oct 11, 2012 at 12:46 AM UTC
Cursed by my imagination,
teaming with echoes of situations
I do not feel well,
pressed beneath this spell
Polishing my social skills,
with one more drink, and two more pills
I do not feel good,
I thought by now I would
Bound by my own disposition,
the endless hunt to find fruition
I'm insatiable,
even if my cup is full
It's like one thousand paper cuts, soaked in vinegar
It's like a battles within myself, that leaves me insecure
Jun 14, 2014
Jun 14, 2014 at 10:52 PM UTC
There it sits
Waiting
Watching
It's a Yamaha
With a Union-Jack back
The last of it's
Kind
It's been a faithful companion
It came to me
When I was six
Not brand new
But second hand
Through all the tears
All the humiliation
All the pain
All the scoldings
All the belittlings
It stuck through with me
With sweat and blood
Shed on the keys
It didn't complain
When I threw
My tantrums
Banging the keys
Even kicking it once
Or twice
It just waited
And watched me
Till I calmed down
And felt
Stupid
After
I practised
Everyday
And not once
Did it
Complain
It has a really bright
Crystal clear
Sound
With this certain
Energy
And depth
I took great pride
In taking care of it
Polishing it
Every other day
Till it shone
Like a mirror
As time went by
One grade after the other
The practises became
Less and
Less
I didn't care for it
As much as I did
Before
A year passed
Then another
Now I'm fourteen
It's twenty eight
Or more
I've had my share
Of performing
On stage
With all types of pianos
But there was this
One thing
That was different
With my piano
Something it
Lacked
The sound is there
The energy is there
But somehow
When I compare the recordings
My dear piano
Just sounds
Tired...
The touch stickier
The keys start failing
On some days
It sounds
Muted
Always slightly off key
No matter how many times
The piano man comes
This is one patient
The doctor can't treat
Is it possible
That emotions
Can be transferred
To objects?
Has my raging
Over the keyboard
Tired it out
By having to
Express
What I play
And what I
Put
Into the pieces?
It's a piano
Of memories
Of thoughts
Of an inexpressable phenomenon
Called feelings
"Where words fail, music speaks"
I salute you
Dear piano
For allowing me
To express myself
Through the written pieces
You help
Materialize
We have grown together
Walked this long journey together
And with all the memories
Sweat
Blood
Tears
That has made me today
I won't part with
Till the very end,
Dear piano
So shall we continue?
Jul 12, 2013
Jul 12, 2013 at 1:07 AM UTC
Three
The night is young, but the day
is already old for it's age and
I am older by each day and each night,
as they roll over
polishing me like a shattered
clay pigeon in the surf.
Sep 4, 2016
Sep 4, 2016 at 6:54 PM UTC
~
Painting a picture of porcupines playing
Pincushions out in the field
Purple and pink for this playful perception
Plans of their purpose revealed
Painful endeavors of pacified pranksters
Presenting a pie at their place
Pecan or pumpkin, pickle, pineapple
Pieces are smeared on their face
Putting the paint on some powder puff paper
Pleasure in each stroke is plied
Pausing to peer at the porcupines playing
Prancing in pansies they hide
Puzzling problems with pretzels and peanuts
Posturing people to prove
Pistachio perfume in prime presentation
Preaches that peaches will move
Polishing pastels on pre-printed pages
Prized the possessions we seek
Paisley the plumes of a peacocks posterior
Portraits now come take a peek
Pampering piccolos play the piano
Pure as a pelican’s prayer
Picking a parcel of plum flavored pudding
Poetic prose fills the air
Pleats in my pants shout in proud proclamation
Puddle my pores they perspire
Poodles on playgrounds prevent prosecution
Plotting my hearts pure desire
Passion precedes every past tense of parting
Piled with a presence so true
Painting a picture while purposely dreaming
Promising my love to you
Dec 11, 2014
Dec 11, 2014 at 4:21 PM UTC
They're the one that everyone sees as the light,
the one who clears out the darkness
their gentle hands masterfully working
between the twisted gears and wires
But so much time does the mechanic spend
polishing gears and rekindling hope
that those blind eyes pass over, glazed with the false belief
that the mechanic's own fire is still burning strong
Each clock they fix, each machine they clean, enigmas within the mind
they give their own light and their flames die slowly
no longer holding hope for themselves
Still, they gather the pieces around them, shattered, broken, bent and twisted
tweaking and twisting till everything's perfect,
because their work keeps the embers alive, barely aglow
amongst the broken parts within them
It is the last hope they have left
Dec 9, 2015
Dec 9, 2015 at 8:26 PM UTC
a chemical cocktail spills from your lips
your tongue drips pure moonshine
table varnish leaks on the floor
i've been polishing for hours
can't get it clean, can't get clean
i scrub harder until my skin is red
and blood blemishes the rug nearby
my friends are the beams of sun
that show ashes in the air
i don't want to breathe it any more
i feel it scrape inside my lungs
wanting to get out and escape
white powder, lines of dust
and little pills that keep me sedated
my nose scrunches at the smell
of strong ozone and the taste
of metal forming in my mouth
while ironing out radiation particles
wondering where it all went so wrong
Oct 26, 2018
Oct 26, 2018 at 3:41 PM UTC
"The eyes are the windows to the soul"
good thing I have pretty blue eyes?
******** The soul is the window to the soul
peeked into by watching a life.
Where does the self reside?
in a cardboard box body
dimples marketed to be cherished
a full lipped smile, irises to beguile
this image, lottery identity-
Mine?
Am I supposed to feel lucky?
Arbitrary proportions, is my soul a brunette
are its shoes size 9?
Some assembly required- to be human
words writ to describe this shell
this meaningless husk
puppet jesting at life
feverishly polishing itself
until it cracks, breaks
abstract and
lost.
Does the self wear a top hat
and say: "Here's a hundred years to sell out the show"
"Til death do us part,
my perfection and my soul."
I'll lay out the patio so nicely
they'll never even realize
the host is in absencia, has hidden deep inside
I curse myself for the illusion of aesthetic-
Beauty is the greatest lie
Rid me of the irons to
my body
my name
my poise
imprisoned in this wretched skeleton,
the cage of the soul, the self, the someone
in embryo form
dreaming they're awake
but have never even opened their eyes.
May 4, 2012
May 4, 2012 at 9:58 PM UTC
Gentle acceleration secures your every need to lie unbroken
In the midst of the opulence you have found
Prompting the splendor of the arrival of mystical inquiries
Into a tumultuous ocean of feelings unbound
A deluge of fortune revered and proficiently secured
Pours in the radiant warmth of cinder
Polishing the obvious abundance of your need
With moves so unbelievably tender
Unbroken and unbound your intuition refines the spaces
Once only exclusive to a well chosen few
While all knowledge of the mysteries glowing in the cinder
Plunge deeply into the soul of you
You rejoice in the enlightenment of the opulent treasure
Which empowers the depth of the knowing
While watching from the shadows in the back of your mind
Unbroken, unbound and glowing
Jul 1, 2010
Jul 1, 2010 at 7:58 AM UTC