"pomade" poems
the red light of sin illuminated her ankles
she, a thousand frisky demons
comfort me
as i yield blood eyes
for switch blade kisses
that push through retinas glass aperture
dark girl with a penchant for hideous pleasures
*** crimes like blatting pistons
her mothers womb twisted with regret
as i live in her hell ****** stare
********* talons that pierce ******
like diaphanous ribbons
her **** floating angels
and feet sweeten my face
in subduing rituals
of hard knocks
getting her mood up
for blowing **** loops
my nose; her **** soaked door ****
her ****** a squeeze hustle
innocent fig strained
mix meistering patterns
of extruded clay;
a pomade of raised bumpy torpedo's
fingers to *****
***** to fingers
i run to her
like bones of air
and she teaches me
in the blood of pandemonium
to make ice in hell
Mar 1, 2019
Mar 1, 2019 at 1:42 PM UTC
Seren-dip-me-pity, (she was self-accepting failure, bad luck wannabe, wears black and sniffles)
the ardent opposite
of Seren-dip-i-ty, (she was an accidental discovery, no recovery needed, awe, found objects, in the
moment)
they are part of the
seven sisters Seren,
wherein lies the rub
Saran-wrap, was third (caught up on herself, clean and air tight, fresh as the day, tough like teflon)
in line, (changed the spelling of the family name - to be sooner alphabetically)
Seren-ate, (she sings she dances, she eats, she sings some more, she waits for applause)
does not speak or gesticulate
unless she performs in song.
Seren-ade, used to sing well (jealous, performance orientated, sometime for love, lately for money)
as well but when the other came
along and did it better she got bitter
and moved in to retail sales (lemonADE, pomADE, calvacADE of arcADEs, you get it, everything became a parADE)
And as for the twins who
are always fighting Seren-ity (lacks calmness, lacks peace, wants a piece of you, uneven temper)
Seren-e (more easy to be obscene, like evening air with a heavy chill, not bright).
The seven sisters of Seren,
who were always preparing
for a fight to the right to
the next beau to knock
on the door, but soon they
all stopped calling,
they were
no longer falling,
over one another,
as the Seren-ities
were now old biddies,
no longer remained a
worth-while dowry, befitting
sitting silently as the seven
sisters of Seren squabbled
soiling the solitude of the soul.
Aug 21, 2013
Aug 21, 2013 at 1:44 AM UTC
be honest
when did you last wash your hands
perform bacterial baptisms
to was the nicotine
from your lucky
and pomade
from your hair
and when did you last
think of me at three am
were you in bed
in the sea and the sky
and was it hot in thirty below zero
do you miss me
when youre *****
and craving naivety
and when it gets too hot under fleece pants
are your thighs sweating yet?
Jan 5, 2014
Jan 5, 2014 at 10:29 AM UTC
I liked the way the bourbon on your lips
burned mine stop
I had to keep drinking stop
Sometimes I get drunk enough to
remember the smell of pomade,
the way the muscles in your back flow
across an anatomically perfect skeleton stop
I can hear you breathing through
your mouth, your heart
that always seemed to beat faster,
more sure than mine,
until it
stopped
altogether stop
Everything was
all together
until it
stopped stop
Nov 12, 2014
Nov 12, 2014 at 11:54 PM UTC
to live the life
of pomade and petticoats.
no ajustable waist.
one imagines there will
be no worry, yet the
adjectives will prove difficult
for me,renowned for
few words.
daily checking hips
in slanting mirrors,
reading of heaven over,
which is life on earth
randomly .
gods throwing dice,
rules changing constantly.
i find sadly,
i am not jane austen.
sbm.
Aug 18, 2013
Aug 18, 2013 at 1:31 AM UTC
soul mates
in mud pomade
each one half of the other
a headless body
and a bodiless head
two monsters
severed halves of a snake
the head with no heart
ravaged with criminal ambition
and she; the heart; a pulsing ache, headless
made him nauseous with her ceaseless churning
disjuncture of passed and future
a gnashed twig
shattering time
slamming doors in each other's faces
through a disaster of eternities
on a black ash stair case
they ate the light of the world
a death fascination
yet could not die
and all was night
blind oblong
a brailled egg
in a curse of dreams
shadows desperate for love
they never find
snake wedding
Apr 5, 2019
Apr 5, 2019 at 7:17 AM UTC
coffeee klonopin bagel ecigarette claming nuturing sunny sunny sunny, more coffee what was it I was thinking? Didn't use the cream cheese no shower hair pomade and bruhsed teeth rolling stones did I miss something? Set yet still yearing, stomach full yet still grumbling...
Jan 24, 2015
Jan 24, 2015 at 6:25 PM UTC
The room smelled like the pomade
Grandpa put on his hair
the moment
he got out of the shower.
The vines he used to trim
in the mornings
had crawled
to the grills on the windows
from the rusty gate
where he stood by
as he watched
me and my cousins
play hide-and-seek
along Almond Drive
on Sunday afternoons.
Mama was cleaning out
his medicine box
when I realized
all the containers
had not been emptied out.
Uncle carried
the plump luggage
to the top of the closet
filled with naked hangers.
Grandma could not seem to fold
the blanket on his bed
the way he used to do it-
corner to corner, edge to edge.
Tony Orlando started squeaking
when the CD player played
“Tie A Yellow Ribbon,”
but Grandma listened
and danced with the air
in the same way
she danced with Grandpa
at the wedding reception
of their golden anniversary.
I hold this scarf
that he wrapped himself in
as he sat on his wheelchair
one windy afternoon
when we drove him
to the beach.
Nobody dared to sit
on the rocking chair
in the balcony
where he used to nap
during sunny days
that reminded him, he said,
of the Panglao beaches
where he used to play
when he was young.
But now he’s rested
somewhere peaceful,
where I could no longer
massage his feet
as he rocked himself to sleep.
Dec 23, 2016
Dec 23, 2016 at 11:14 AM UTC
An owed to you, master of the whitewashed office plaster,
Ruler of the water cooler,
Owner of the blue BMW i8 in the parking lot
Employed only to yourself.
In the morning, awake, spread the pomade
You bought at Neimann's just two months ago.
Unplug your car from the wall,
Hero of the Earth,
And get on the oily congested highway, talking on the phone of sales goals
And what office snack will be available today.
Quarter report, possible acquisition?
Lead your men to greener pastures
Where fields of Benjamins await your innovations
Like a modern-day Valhalla.
But it is wise to remember
that if you spend your days
taking calls
Life won’t get past the busy tone.
Feb 26, 2018
Feb 26, 2018 at 11:20 AM UTC
If it's money in the meter
you need to keep ya ticking over
you'd better get ready to meet your maker.
this lot will take ya
for everything you've got
and then they'll put it in
the Westminster plot
and that gobby **** with pomade on his hair
doesn't care, he thinks he's Elizabethan
but he's more like a crustacean.
we're not as poor as some
we can keep the wolf from the door,
but only if we have a door,
the 'some'
the ones on the concrete floor in the concrete streets
with paper for their blankets and cardboard for their sheets
don't have much of a chance
do they?
Nov 24, 2023
Nov 24, 2023 at 6:38 AM UTC