"pollinated" poems
Some chemical influences are necessary.
Experimentation is mandatory.
Skim the syllabus and you will see,
MDMA is chapter three.
Hemp is the strongest ****
At least that's what I learned in Botany.
Biology came as quite a shock,
When the plants pulled out their *****
English came as such a breeze,
The Diazepam brought poetry bees.
They pollinated the dopamine receptor,
Which greatly impressed my psychology professor.
When the zombies rose for dead weeks droll,
Adderall and Vyvanse kept us cool.
There's always a place in the Union Bathroom stall
To do a dome some Coke before study hall.
Of all the girls in my dorm floor
Roxy and Molly were just next door.
Art history wasn't the most entertaining,
Until Absinth was my painting water.
Finals were such a stress, so I'll admit
We laced our gin shots with Xanex.
College was an experience, I'll admit,
But Chemistry got me on the DEAn'S list.
Mar 6, 2013
Mar 6, 2013 at 2:20 AM UTC
The pimple faced gernment representative told me
I had to hold my pollinated dreams until
next season.
And in my school house dream
matthew told me his dream
nothing less than Sustainable Planet
And as I started to argue, I realized,
my mouth was full of seasoned nuts
full of warehoused food,
because I could not attend
lunch, at this newly packed cafeteria;
I was on a mission to... I forget now
but in my dream it was **** important!
Now that I'm awake, trying to write a poem
that captures the meaning
all I can tell you, as you read my heart
is that no one can tell you when to start
caring about your dreams.
Get on your moral high ground and shout out to the world
"I'm MAD as HELL and I'm NOT gonna TAKE it ANYMORE!"
And unless you get knocked off your high horse
and unless you find your voice dry, horse,
don't stop yelling until others join you--
because they will join you. We all want freedom
We all want the dream, but will we fight for it
to make it happen? Would you fight for love,
For life?? Would you fight for survival?
This is it, its this or oblivion, its sustain our childish
fever of consumption,
level out our infantile pride or
rest quietly into forever.
They say sustainability is what were after
but what we really mean is sanity;
they say rational policy is what were after
but really what we mean is enlightenment.
I'm asking you to change the wheel of your mind
and your asking me to hold my order until the window!
Can I have fries with that?
Make it a KING sized!
**** your frizzy fries, and your listless orders,
I want none of them, give me liberty or give me DEATH!
Mar 18, 2015
Mar 18, 2015 at 10:14 AM UTC
Hypotonic collusions
Rising in osmotic lesions
An eruptive soul reversion
Emissions of embered logs
Each lightening with a glow
A youthful straw of clemency
Pollinated sandals, handled
Gripping the flesh in vessels
Houses of lost and unreal dreams
Vicarage gardens of suppression
Masticated in delegated abstractions
A surmise of death and redistributions
Each a beat rise, slide on frosty ice
Un-enveloped in seasons of erosion
Delusional commotions sprawled
In the dance of the ecstatic programming
The body waved and led in hypnosis
********** with the intangible essence
To make sense a revised tense,I fence
Straying in lenient lunacy to fields afar
A merry to ferry the phoenix dance
Rattles shaking in transit translations
Drums pause settling in finesse pond
A coitus of dimensional valour and vice
Feb 25, 2016
Feb 25, 2016 at 9:37 AM UTC
plants do not require papers that state from where they came
they are caught and pulled by the bite of birds,
seduced by the between-legs of bees,
seized on the legs of the wind and animals by thistles and burrs
and the blessed are pollinated by the hummingbird
I do not know where I came from (really?) (really.)
or where nature and nurture intertwine within me, precarious balance from discipline and my genes
I twist bunches of grass between my fingers, feeling the good in a strain
racked on top of white bones, pushing sheets of freckled skin
out, spreading cancerous aluminums under my arms because
an artificial flower smells better during *** than human sweat,
what a pity, we are unable to reveal with the bursts of Walt Whitman (!) in
our own organic mechanism's ability to produce salt. The ultimate flavor.
I grin. Inhaling deeply while alone and unwashed, Whitman would've been into it.
Maybe I can find someone into it too. Someone who'll read me Henry Miller.
But instead I'll wear expensive perfume. I grin, again. Sardonically.
And I've been told I have a beautiful smile.
I should,
that smile cost blood and five grand for something cosmetic and quirky,
train-tracks over teeth, I now stain yellow with obsolete cigarettes.
I wait in the tropical heat, languishing while I bake, a freckle factory
and tan--adrift--awash with memories recalled by the smell of green
and the fearful hum of bees.
Why did I start smoking again?
I look at the red hummingbird feeder, and wish I could trade
standing still as a hummingbird, I lie and say I cannot wait.
Jun 23, 2013
Jun 23, 2013 at 5:16 PM UTC
Night flower blossoming
Beneath the summer sky
Petal parasols unfurling
Throughout June and July
She was born under the moon
Nocturnal butterfly
Pollinated by pale moths
To live one day then die
Moonflower blooms in warmth
Her short season’s end nigh
Shriveling once the frost sets in
And conceding to the ice
Moonblossom rich in scent
A true pleasure to stand by
Her short-lived sweet fragrance
Would all surely vivify
Mar 1, 2021
Mar 1, 2021 at 5:43 AM UTC
The time’s may have changed,
days aged our bodies
but you are still wholly
yourself, only more
magnanimously
magical, which says
something, because
your oeuvre was such
already.
An aged wine of light
shining like sacred
grapes made of quartz in
the field’s center.
I remember when
you guided me to
the fox. I can still
remember when you
were sprouting—
sacred knowledge to
me in the back of
the school bus. But now…
dots are connecting,
I’m remembering
my fire ether
name. Your knowledge had
pollinated me—
sure took time
to take root, and ferment,
but now it is
a very good year.
It’s time to uncork!
A party army
awaits, clad in such
an iridescent
armor armed only
with <3 - shaped fire
on torches, ready
to burn down rotten
rickety aged
bridges built of dead
green ink-stained wood, all
converging on a
barren cliff so we
may ignite skies and
shine in darkness.
Feb 19, 2014
Feb 19, 2014 at 4:42 PM UTC
The butterfly and the bee pollinate,
the unknown flower of memory,
then fly off through the gaps,
of the spiders web into the blackness,
of the vast midnight of the mind.
Words shower down into a torrent,
that falls upon a bewildered numbness,
remaining incoherent, they flow on,
into the stream where perhaps a child,
will gather them and weave them into a melody.
Slowly the poet slides away, unnoticed,
into the mist of time and unconsciousness,
Hidden deep within the flower bed of memory.
an unknown flower not yet pollinated,
still waiting in the realm of the midnight darkness.
In the childs mind the sun shines brightly,
as she brushes the words she has taken,
from the stream of life, with the days light,
The poet breathes, renewed and alive.
so it is in the universal garden of life.
Jan 14, 2011
Jan 14, 2011 at 3:17 AM UTC
Crooked, brick teeth behind
a curled, silly smile
Brown, glazed irises swimming in
blood-shot eyes
Smoky hair, thick on top,
more wispy as it descends
but dense as a forest the hair
that hides your sycamore
when you're not using it
to haunt the young.
Betraying your lusts,
you mixed your sycamore
with a full-bloom *****
and brought me to be--
The white skin and purple hues
of my mother
cannot hide that I am
of the monster.
Dare I, half-pansy, half-sycamonster
in my full bloom,
become pollinated by
the quaking aspen,
so we may risk bringing to be
another haunter of child's dreams,
or return to the earth,
never knowing who could be?
Jun 8, 2015
Jun 8, 2015 at 10:05 AM UTC
I'm the worm
On the sidewalk dying
Starving
I crave the *****
Like an apple core
In the trash can
Postmortem
I split my cocoon
Tasting with my tongue
Her Sweet smeared pollinated petal
Eyelashes like monster claws between the closet door crack
Skin pale perfect corpse
A form of higher evolution
Curves geometrically perfect
Dramatacized in black and white
I put up a good fight
Slice me apart with my own strengths
A slip of the tounge against my weakness
She told me
"Never."
She gives no satisfaction
Gone before the streetlights
Turn off
I don't want you
To leave again
Stay awhile
Stick your fingers in my bullet wounds
Whisper in my ear
Your fears
So I can play with them
Evacuate
Her particles slipping through the air vents
Dancing in the silllia of my lungs
The star in her belly
I warm my hands near the flame
Playing her game
Until I'm burnt
May 6, 2013
May 6, 2013 at 3:18 AM UTC
Perpetuate flyers, flowers minding their own business. The armed farmer grows his crops, unnaturally, factory wise. Genetically mutated agriculturally roasted. Mitosis, weeds stem cells. Winding blows back & forth. Back peddle into hardwood flooring. The view is great up here, giant machinery pretending to be trees. Hack the life out of bees, pollinated keepers keep secrets cause they're killers. These two eyes, see through me back to you.
May 18, 2015
May 18, 2015 at 3:01 PM UTC
(I) Love Thy Neighbor As Thy
self
~
*how I would
honor this with
joy effervescent,
this simplest of methodologies
if only I,
could permission myself
to love myself
if only I,
knew
how to love*
~~
(II) redemption: the city of man reinventing himself
*busting bursting, this city,
ceaseless change,
old discardation,
how blind am I,
skyscrapers built in a day
how have I failed to notice
the estate changes
a master plan unknown,
the reasoned limits ever stretched.
in defiance of taste and sense,
obedient to Babel tower's net-result,
the miscegenation of language
but this is a ruse issue,
an example of me/man,
this new born spawn,
a wagging tail of
a man I know,
a failed inventor,
nary a patent
to his name
years on years
he patiently awaits
for one true inspiration
a redefinition, a redemption,
a reinvention, a new cornerstone
to lay upon it a new foundation
just a clue, a single block,
he can clean erase
start over, inaugurate
a recommencement celebration
to begin the same mistakes
here be the rub,
the irritation,
the seed comes implanted
and then
wind spread
can be only repaired, replaced
when cross pollinated
with the love of a foreign body
and his only crime, love poetry,
his crime alone, for unopened
it, and he, both-awaiting the time
when others come impatient
to bulldoze him aside*
~~~
(III) Three
three
*an oddity
an uneven symmetrical imagery*
"only love poetry"
*a three sum,
- three legged stool-
there is nothing new under the sun,
whispers the Psalmist
this I whisper
only, alone, one,
be no such!
only love poetry
until*
~~~~
postscript
***if only I,
knew
how to love***
Nov 6, 2016
Nov 6, 2016 at 10:08 AM UTC
You have been potted in fear
but bloomed in adversity,
spreading seeds of hope.
You cross pollinated with justice
and differentiated
between equity and equality.
Jun 20, 2012
Jun 20, 2012 at 10:24 PM UTC
i'm unwinding my head
on
honey moon belly
******* carnivorous lozenges
falling in love with glazed
eye ball devils
hypnotic stare
destination
a tunnel of fiendish odysseys
blood drooling eel
vomits gush white
daddy long leg threads
in honeys wet cage
to wither
writhing spit hot
in fat muscle and bone
headless
head first
like a mindless falcon
after scattered mice
i feel her teeth tearing
syringes of ecstasy
ransacking swollen motion spirals
and ***** like bronz buckaroos
at a fancy pool party
crimson *** macabre
****** roast bon bon fire
licking her lump of desire
a rousing boogyman sermon
speaks in incinerating tongues
swallowing a hideous parfait
**** growl
girl squat
**** ****
mint julip throat
choke symphony
abducting lascivious pollinated gulps
take me in like reckless bull sap
through your red
dada warp land
pit of the brain
undulant flesh landscape
of shapeless ovule spume
mouthing night blows
Incised flagellation's
devour buffet spread maiden derelict
arched and trembling
drunk and drugged
like a buttermilk sky
groaning hysterical
in feral muck stained beds
of puce and slime ochre pigments
stunned umbra
a famished
deep veined jutting peninsula
longing for princess ***** dynasties
with vast thighs radiating inferno hearths
and rolling hill **** hieroglyphics
decipher rug pugilist lap songs
my goddess i long for your
bruised fruit
crawling like the dead of night
on pitch vanta shadows
where love becomes a savage
Aug 23, 2019
Aug 23, 2019 at 1:26 PM UTC
Hear me two twelves and I've displaced my shirt.
Pollinated four elves with crystallized dirt.
Syllables betray what a symbol is worth.
Twenty metaphors plus five ****** make three kinds of birth.
Crease in a place where no grease can escape.
Forty times corduroy equals one face.
Applied nine seasons to spice up the taste.
Cardboard ate silicone then left in great haste.
I know that these words don't make any sense.
The greater cost of my mind has already been spent.
Somewhere between Easter and the beginning of Lent.
Jesus Christ threw a fit when I couldn't pay rent.
Caved in on the heads of the poor in a mine.
They'll eat it as long as it's in common time.
This line is just filler to set up the last rhyme,
but **** that ****
I'm a nonconformist.
Nov 16, 2014
Nov 16, 2014 at 11:33 PM UTC
The first time I tripped,
It was over the shoe laces
of a boy with hazel eyes
and Venus fly trap lashes.
When he laughed,
I saw a thousand butterflies
leave his mouth
like a confetti explosion.
Captivated by this winged downpour,
I sought to release every single butterfly
from the cages of his ribs;
Until they filled the spaces of grey planes,
which followed every cynic’s footsteps,
and pollinated every flower
of a dying breed.
My world became a kaleidoscope
of time and colour
where I could no longer distinguish
sunrise from sunset.
Careless of the clock’s limit,
I took its hand and spun circles
within the butterfly boy’s garden
foolishly forgetting
that neither butterfly nor boy
were creatures for all seasons.
So when the first red drop of tomorrow
fell from a tree,
The swarm of colours flew south
taking with it, my kaleidoscope lenses
and the boy;
Still, with his shoe laces undone
and his insides
a nest of larvae.
Aug 6, 2015
Aug 6, 2015 at 10:32 PM UTC
In my dreams,
I see a Prince,
His eyes gently glint.
Has his Holiness come?
I cry to him not all is well.
In my loneliness,
passion for life has languish.
Spirit tainted by sinful spell,
I’ve drank the cup of anguish?
Will the heart heal?
His calm silhouette-
caress me with warm zeal.
Heaven and Earth embrace as one.
In pain, I can survive.
Like the radiance of the Sun,
I feel my spirit revive.
With the wind,
the Prince disappears
like pollinated petals.
I implore him to reappear.
I’m a vulnerable child;
afraid to be back in the wild.
His voice whispers
that it is time to awake.
He will not forsake me.
One day when I’ve blossom,
I’m destine to meet him again.
With his holy army,
slanderous shadows will flee.
With the Prince of Peace,
Life’s lamenting will one day cease!
(c) Jo Swan
Nov 17, 2018
Nov 17, 2018 at 5:36 AM UTC
OF ALL THE KISSES IN ALL THE WORLD, SHE HAS TO WALK INTO MINE!
I kissed you in
Islip & Liss.
Then once again in
Syathling, Shipton & Pershore.
Where ever I kissed you
I only ever wanted to
kiss you
more.
I kissed you in
Amberly & Arundel.
Once, I kissed you in
Swale & Sway.
I kissed you all over
in many various places
that I cannot remember
today.
I only remember
the kisses
scattered all over England
refusing to fade away.
***
***
These are all the beautiful names of little towns and villages in southern England. To my English Jan they were just names but to an Irishman unacquainted with them...they were magical sounds that opened the portals to worlds and love unknown. As we toured the area I did indeed kiss her in all these various places...indeed I cannot conceive of a time or a place in which we were not engaged in the art and craft of kissing. The magic of the kisses and the magic of the names cross pollinated and bloomed into the world of this poem. I still love saying this poem as it allows my lips to kiss once again those beautiful sounds and to kiss the lips that I loved to kiss. They refuse to...fade away. My heart held in Swale and Sway...as if it were today.
Dec 25, 2015
Dec 25, 2015 at 5:32 PM UTC
We've been stung so many times black bears drink our pollinated piss. I always wondered if numbness equaled toughness. You, Wrestling your whiskey den and leaving nothing but black turds through out your furry funfettie carpet. How hard working you were before the predawn sunrise of a meaningless morning. Now the blue moon cries sobriety for half a creasant . I guess it isn't easy to change a phase not when somebody already gave out the calendar. Each of us circle holidays just get drunk next to a clock.
May 12, 2015
May 12, 2015 at 12:37 AM UTC
A velvet leaf of clover; green
As vivid grass
Is blowing in an
Apricot breeze
Near a stream
Of pollinated hay.
Luck is long as a drifting current
In the water
And the clover
Is a brooch
Near a felt sky.
©Jack Aylward
Oct 6, 2015
Oct 6, 2015 at 9:20 AM UTC
Old fashioned; you may be
Blossoming; flowers dangling; beauty
Your shape; nature's top breed.
Workers Bee's; pollinated your seed.
Dangling; pillow-shaped hearts.
Shining light; feeds your needs.
Heart-shaped pedals; dance in the breeze.
Spring brings; lacey, pink, and white pedals.
Fall comes; blossoming flowers leave.
Return please; or our lonely hearts will bleed.
May 16, 2014
May 16, 2014 at 5:00 PM UTC
I shred you as cedar
to eat your smell—
a crick of words to ultra face-off
between bone-splitter and bliss
I
am your writer
and my heart’s cavalry
pounds your lips
with sweetness
the
submission of sugar
the
taste of honey
the
number of times
I’ve
had you in comb
buzzing your fuzz-ectomy
into a new mind of flower
to be pollinated
with the lilac breeze
of my going
May 10, 2018
May 10, 2018 at 11:45 AM UTC
They have steadily been building up
Gathering-
Strengthening in numbers.
Each buzz growing louder
Creating a deafening hum.
All of my thoughts are drowned out by the hum.
Save for you.
You are the hum.
I am the tree.
I am the leaves that swing from the branches.
I am the flowers the burst forth
From tiny buds in the spring.
You are the bees.
You are the bees that hum in the tree.
Covering every inch of green that grows
Slowly taking my life.
Like a super swarm of bees
You came to me.
You learned my limbs
As the bee learns branches.
You pollinated the tiny buds
To make them grow.
Tender.
Caring.
With love.
What an exquisite duo the tree and bee.
But now you take
All that I afford
All that I have left.
The droning never stops in my mind.
It is all consuming.
A dark sanity swallowing fog.
The buzz has changed of late.
No longer a loving hum
But a greedy one.
You **** from me my very air
And I can't breathe.
You yield from my branches
All that you once loved.
You take my nectar
And leave me stripped.
Depleted.
Naked.
Alone.
You have taken my sweet nectar.
You have stolen my sweet nature.
Left me bitter
And blue.
When summer comes to an end
And the bees slowly leave the tree
Behind
The memories will begin to fade.
The humming will grow silent.
And the burning
Reds and oranges of my pain
Will seep into my leaves.
And each will fall.
They will call it autumn.
The buzzing will stop.
Each bee compelled toward
New plenty.
You will have flown away.
And I will stand.
Trunk
And limbs.
To suffer through winter
Until the day the bees
Return to my weary
Branches.
Return to my weary branches
And love me.
Jan 22, 2015
Jan 22, 2015 at 2:35 PM UTC
Make me *** and I'll come for you, until they pull me down and make me cough out loud. I'm a street named Chance and I'm awful loud, I read right to left. I hear colors not sounds. I'm a maniac, maniac, for Empire Carpet. I've been hospitalized for being honest, and condescended to for living life on the edge, with a knife in my bed, a pillow under my head. Where I've pollinated my sheets with the easements of sleep, and circumvented my best friends just to shake up the news. I've been used, I've been lied to, I've been amused, I've survived abuse, I've been bruised, I've leaned toward the obtuse, I've leant forward for truth, and I've written down my upsides and foretold my mishaps, I'm a backwards commando for import and export of hazmat, and especially bath mats, CB2 or IKEA, Bed, Bath, and Beyond, or just farther beyond. I remain calm, while the adverbs stack in my palms, it's the trick of word pimping to work verbs into adjectives, articles attached to their nouns, an ellipsis or eroteme, a period or comma. I said I am ******* so now won't you come. I've evolved what I've said into parts of a song. So push back on me and I'll push back in you, I'll take your words and re-dedicate them into consonants and vowels. Hang up your heraldry, and never put down your *** Keep your habits to bedrooms, and your words to never forget.
Jan 21, 2017
Jan 21, 2017 at 12:01 AM UTC
I added
a bit of bitsy liquid sugar
A viscous substance,
Now
dripping from my spoon
like moonlight onto a lake of cereal
Oh that sweet, motherly nectar
That in between petals
flourished
That which with pollen
Bees pollinated
And that from which
They made
Honey
And my bowl of cornflakes
Taste
So sweetly
Nov 18, 2014
Nov 18, 2014 at 4:33 AM UTC