"puma" poems
I crave your mouth, your voice, your hair.
Silent and starving, I prowl through the streets.
Bread does not nourish me, dawn disrupts me, all day
I hunt for the liquid measure of your steps.
I hunger for your sleek laugh,
your hands the color of a savage harvest,
hunger for the pale stones of your fingernails,
I want to eat your skin like a whole almond.
I want to eat the sunbeam flaring in your lovely body,
the sovereign nose of your arrogant face,
I want to eat the fleeting shade of your lashes,
and I pace around hungry, sniffing the twilight,
hunting for you, for your hot heart,
like a puma in the barrens of Quitratue.
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It was the twilight of the iguana.
From the rainbow-arch of the battlements,
his long tongue like a lance
sank down in the green leaves,
and a swarm of ants, monks with feet chanting,
crawled off into the jungle,
the guanaco, thin as oxygen
in the wide peaks of cloud,
went along, wearing his shoes of gold,
while the llama opened his honest eyes
on the breakable neatness
of a world full of dew.
The monkeys braided a ******
thread that went on and on
along the shores of dawn,
demolishing walls of pollen
and startling the butterflies of Muzo
into flying violets.
It was the night of the alligators,
the pure night, crawling
with snouts emrging from ooze,
and out the sleepy marshes
the confused noise of scaly plates
returned to the ground where they began.
The jaguar brushed the leaves
with a luminous absence,
the puma runs through the branches
like a forest fire,
while the jungle's drunken eyes
burn from inside him.
The badgers scratch the river's
feet, scenting the nest
whost throbbing delicacy
they attack with red teeth.
And deep in the huge waters
the enormous anaconda lies
like the circle around the earth,
covered with ceremonies of mud,
devouring, religious.
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I'm a Tree Huggin', Soy Chuggin',
I won't eat no meat
I'm a vegan of convenience,
Still, there's leather on my feet
I don't believe in lots of things
I'll protest and attack
But you won't find me out in front
'Cause I'll be in the back
I give money to my causes
Save the whales, electric cars
But I'm not one to lead the fight
"Cause I don't like the scars
Bricks get thrown alot you see
And those things ****** hurt
And I'm not a happy camper
When there's blood upon my shirt
I won't eat seeds of any sort
They get stuck in my teeth
My clothes are all from LL Bean
Except what's underneath
Way back in the sixties
I lived communaly
We ate only what the earth gave up
We didn't watch tv
As years passed by, our voices died
Our causes became much rarer
We sounded more like Manilow
Than Phil Ochs or Tom Lehrer
I choose fine wine over wheatgrass juice
I like leather and wear silk
I no longer go and get the goat
So we can have fresh milk
I'm a Tree Huggin', Soy Chuggin',
I won't eat no meat
I'm a vegan of convenience,
Still, there's leather on my feet
I don't believe in lots of things
I'll protest and attack
But you won't find me out in front
'Cause I'll be in the back
I've changed lots since the sixties
I'm a capitalist blood hound
If I said I'm a true vegan
My board would see me drowned
I used to wear just cotton
Hemp and caftans and blue jeans
Leather shoes and belts and jackets
Were just not part of my scene
My friends, well, they grew up
And others stayed in touch
The ones with money see me
The others not so much
I used to go out jogging
Through the park in puma shoes
Now I workout in a private gym
Wearing nikes and with my crew
You see I'm still a vegan
When it suits me, don't you see
My new girlfriend likes organic
And she's only twenty three
There's forty years between us
Though I've done it all before
When my girlfriend is not with me
I am a carnivore
I support all of her causes
Though most things I don't attend
I'll be a vegan of convenience
Until our courtship ends
Who knows, what then will happen
Will I eat Tofu or some chops
I know which way I'm leaning
We'll see how that one drops
Like I said when we first started
I am a vegan, so I am
But instead of eating quinoa
I'll stick to eggs and ham.
I'm a Tree Huggin', Soy Chuggin',
I won't eat no meat
I'm a vegan of convenience,
Still, there's leather on my feet
I don't believe in lots of things
I'll protest and attack
But you won't find me out in front
'Cause I'll be in the back
May 30, 2012
May 30, 2012 at 2:46 PM UTC
Last nite I dreamed of T.S. Eliot
welcoming me to the land of dream
Sofas couches fog in England
Tea in his digs Chelsea rainbows
curtains on his windows, fog seeping in
the chimney but a nice warm house
and an incredibly sweet hooknosed
Eliot he loved me, put me up,
gave me a couch to sleep on,
conversed kindly, took me serious
asked my opinion on Mayakovsky
I read him Corso Creeley Kerouac
advised Burroughs Olson Huncke
the bearded lady in the Zoo, the
intelligent puma in Mexico City
6 chorus boys from Zanzibar
who chanted in wornout polygot
Swahili, and the rippling rythyms
of Ma Rainey and Vachel Lindsay.
On the Isle of the Queen
we had a long evening's conversation
Then he tucked me in my long
red underwear under a silken
blanket by the fire on the sofa
gave me English Hottie
and went off sadly to his bed,
Saying ah Ginsberg I am glad
to have met a fine young man like you.
At last, I woke ashamed of myself.
Is he that good and kind? Am I that great?
What's my motive dreaming his
manna? What English Department
would that impress? What failure
to be perfect prophet's made up here?
I dream of my kindness to T.S. Eliot
wanting to be a historical poet
and share in his finance of Imagery-
overambitious dream of eccentric boy.
God forbid my evil dreams come true.
Last nite I dreamed of Allen Ginsberg.
T.S. Eliot would've been ashamed of me.
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Sinead,
Holy angel kiss.
Knife to your throat,
A spell.
Magical powers,
Wringing out prowess.
Super nova to Spare.
Magical Being,
Sorcerer, Dark One, Witch.
A twirl of her red fingers,
Spells mischief.
Sinead,
Young Witch scorned.
Scolded by mortals,
Mortalities breath.
Magical Witch,
Beautiful and ****** is she.
Prowess,
That of a Puma.
Hiding in the sea.
In the sea of people,
She awaits her turn.
To cause a Nightmare,
To bring fear to burn.
Magical Being,
Sinead Wool.
Spreads her wings,
Tricking the Angels..
Oct 10, 2014
Oct 10, 2014 at 8:41 AM UTC
Im so awkward
Like I catch people
catching people catch me
Staring at them people
And I pretend like I don't hear them
Saying ***
look at his tattoos
and all he ****** does is smoke cigs
And longboard
I see that in their yuppy *** faces
*** we got so rich and cool
And lost all your freedom
**** you and your shrimp platter
and your ****** puma im gonna burns calories on the tredmil
Of every day rich life
My tredmil is living paycheck to paycheck
******* the world
and kissing a girl
cuz really the paychecks pay for our ways to get laid
Mar 2, 2013
Mar 2, 2013 at 2:19 AM UTC
feels liberating
these little first world problems
resolved by unsubscribing
from an annoying mailing list
or deleting an aged account
that is useless, created on a whim
filling in-boxes with spam and junk
killing social media links,
paring back digital presences
all with the idea
of spending less time farting about
more time creating, living, reading
but they **** you back
with 2 for 1 deals, 10% off,
free for a month, look we’ve added
some **** and yeah, it costs more, but
our life will be better with it
so the rest of the night
is filled with creating spam filters
more unsubscribing, more account deletions
until someone recommends you sign up for
the new revolutionary internet saviour
the be all and end all of all your woes
it will make you stronger, faster, more
organised, less likely to drink yourself
to sleep each night, give you the power
of 10 rhinos, and the ****** prowess of
a puma!
probably best to disconnect now
turn off the router, unplug the modem
get your **** the old fashioned way
before they tie your nervous system
to the silicon pathways
and advertise to your dreams
Nov 25, 2011
Nov 25, 2011 at 8:23 AM UTC
As I drift I find myself looking down at a beautiful copper fox coyly staring upward. Head cocked to one side, he is unafraid of my presence. I crunch through the snow to the chain link fence beside where he stands and he does not run. Through the diamond shapes I can see my belongings....a set of car keys, some credentials and my leather covered Bible. I cannot reach them. I look up slightly to see a police woman ranting on about how she found my camp nearby and confiscated my things. I realize I must get to them but how? I am cold. I begin to run and my path turns to a reddish brown. I no longer see the fox or the snow, I am aware that I am completely alone. I feel a panic and begin to imagine a wolf and what I might do in the instance he appears because I am unarmed! So I imagine I would roar like a lion and of course he would run scared. Ahead and to my right there is a tall rock. It is completely grey in color with possibly some greenery. A beautiful grey puma sits atop the rock. Is it possible for a puma to be grey? I do not know but somehow I know this large grey cat is a puma. I am nervous. I begin to jog. My path is soft, I am worried I may fall....the cat jumps from it's perch. I am running now, my heart is beating fast and the cat is gaining speed. He is right behind me now! I can visualize his body much faster, more agile than mine. I turn for just a brief moment and to my fright the cat places his paw to the back of my shoe and gently pulls my shoe down off my heel. He is toying, playfully. Time seems to slow down and I see the picture in slow motion. As he licks my heel I am lost in confusion and fear; my mind tells me he is in for a treat which is me, but somehow his actions seem harmless. I am terrified. Suddenly my heart speeds up as my eyes open! For a moment I am stunned then I breathe out, a sigh of relief.
Jan 8, 2014
Jan 8, 2014 at 12:43 PM UTC
no one reads bedtime stories in
cusco, there is no numb preservation of
old heroes, no myths–
maybe because it was built on older gods and they have died
the air chokes the lungs and it rains in a hapless way
(as if to pass the time)
the days go like this
we wake at 4, eat one free meal
have a few beers
find a line, do a line
do so many lines, get impossibly high
and then peter out sadly and disoriented when there's no more to find.
I'll look back on these three weeks as simpler times
with good friends in a bad city, fighting in a way what
can never be changed.
these gods have died.
dear cusco: stop shaking old bodies, cities should
grow, but you tear yourself up,
trying to find something below:
dig up shards of spent ghosts.
lay them out in a thin white row.
Jun 2, 2013
Jun 2, 2013 at 3:28 PM UTC
Ella y Ello,
Yo y ser o ser y yo,
Saber y Decir,
Los malos o Los Libros mal pensados,
Las palmas o las piernas siluetadas,
Saber Ver o Ver sin saber,
Problema o Mas querer.
Ojos o lagartijas esperándo el sol,
Nervios o espejismos,
Secuencia rota, o inesperada,
Idioma de locos o acciones en estaciones de tren.
Querer o mas bien sanar,
Los mato o un chiste barato,
niñas anunciando o gatos callados,
No lo tomes o date un baño con piedra puma,
Podrías enseñarme o
Lo que te queda.
Jun 29, 2015
Jun 29, 2015 at 8:10 AM UTC
Yo soy el coraquenque ciego
que mira por la lente de una llaga,
y que atado está al Globo,
como a un huaco estupendo que girara.
Yo soy el llama, a quien tan sólo alcanza
la necedad hostil a trasquilar
volutas de clarín,
volutas de clarín brillantes de asco
y bronceadas de un viejo yaraví.
Soy el pichón de cóndor desplumado
por latino arcabuz;
y a flor de humanidad floto en los Andes,
como un perenne Lázaro de luz.
Yo soy la gracia incaica que se roe
en áureos coricanchas bautizados
de fosfatos de error y de cicuta.
A veces en mis piedras se encabritan
los nervios rotos de un extinto puma.
Un fermento de Sol;
levadura de sombra y corazón!
1.1k
Era el crepúsculo de la iguana.
Desde la arcoirisada crestería
su lengua como un dardo
se hundía en la verdura,
el hormiguero monacal pisaba
con melodioso pie la selva,
el guanaco fino como el oxígeno
en las anchas alturas pardas
iba calzando botas de oro,
mientras la llama abría cándidos
ojos en la delicadeza
del mundo lleno de rocío.
Los monos trenzaban un hilo
interminablemente erótico
en las riberas de la aurora,
derribando muros de polen
y espantando el vuelo violeta
de las mariposas de Muzo.
Era la noche de los caimanes,
la noche pura y pululante
de hocicos saliendo del légamo,
y de las ciénagas soñolientas
un ruido opaco de armaduras
volvía al origen terrestre.
El jaguar tocaba las hojas
con su ausencia fosforescente,
el puma corre en el ramaje
como el fuego devorador
mientras arden en él los ojos
alcohólicos de la selva.
Los tejones rascan los pies
del río, husmean el nido
cuya delicia palpitante
atacarán con dientes rojos.
Y en el fondo del agua magna,
como el círculo de la tierra,
está la gigante anaconda
cubierta de barros rituales,
devoradora y religiosa.
1.1k
Palingenesia sits in canopy view,
a spectrum of emerald across convex corneas,
sinking in helicoid spirals...
Come light this match under this petal!
and
Perch atop this mushroom!
and
Shred this leaf down a hydrogen avalanche!
...a puma languidly strolls into lush valley's golden cup,
traversing caverns dusted in soft twilight.
reverberations of sound waves,
echo-y crystal thunder
quakes mountain and sky,
blended like soft clay
through harpsichord fingertips.
May 31, 2014
May 31, 2014 at 10:52 AM UTC
i went to the zoo in central park.
in a cage maybe about 10 ft by 10 ft was a puma
the sign said it could attain a speed up to a 120 mph
i went out into the larger zoo called new york city
as you know where this is going i think i'll stop before we all get sick
Jul 16, 2010
Jul 16, 2010 at 3:13 PM UTC
Now everything is gone with the wind
and frankly I just don't give a ****
just like Scarlet O' Hara
I'm scared but will not show it
I will build myself back up
from rock bottom
I wont be a coward like the lion
I am mighty like the puma
nothing can keep me low for long
this is me, I am strong.
Dec 18, 2012
Dec 18, 2012 at 6:57 PM UTC
i took a slice
of that moon light
a radiant prism
of a butterfly skin.
made some lanterns
hung on each tree
sat back and watched
the wind playing hymns.
the keys were teeth
of a black puma
pulled the chords
a moonlight sonata.
it was a full moon
and i was breathless
music of vibes…
silent strings.
© Malintha Perera 2014
Nov 13, 2014
Nov 13, 2014 at 8:51 PM UTC
there's something disgusting about young love because we're conditioned to desire it
"your time will be up soon"
"you don't want to die alone"
"find someone early and work on them"
"WORK on them"
that's for the birds
i am a puma
a puma doesn't waste time worrying about who will sprint with her or love her in winter
a puma will have her fill until her hunger is sated
two rabbits for lunch and a buck for dinner
"aren't you lonely?"
no, because a good hunt requires solitude
why is it we are so keen to find love early and rush the hunt rather than
wait until we've become seasoned to the task?
i sink my claws into my prey and rejoice in the warmth of my victory as i whisper,
"think of all the time you spent choosing
when you should have been
hunting"
Dec 27, 2017
Dec 27, 2017 at 12:34 PM UTC
Your Arms Around Me
Purple Jacaranda Spilling Thru the Wall
Tumbling Window of Timelessness
Desires Delight
Black Puma Chardonnay
A Thousand Years of Gratitude
Our First Kiss
Circling Madness
Of Fire Within
Silken Pelt of Completion
Stalking This Beginning Touch
Leap!!!!!!
...............
With a Bite
The Bird is Caught
Aug 30, 2016
Aug 30, 2016 at 4:52 PM UTC
You were the anti-glow.
A ball of soot, sunk
in pools of polyester.
You dented the lines of your
encyclopedia - ingested
images of the panther, the puma
and sat somewhere between
black ant and black bear
hibernating under towels of burnt tulle.
You fell off pastel lines
into charcoal smudge,
undersaturated, a pen-test-scribble,
a parachute in negative space
to protect your smoke-wisped skull.
Oct 9, 2018
Oct 9, 2018 at 1:23 PM UTC
you called us the perfect match that one birthday, i felt my bag of seeds fall onto the open sidewalk, the twines ravel into discoid around my feet and make me think your words are water to be sipped from your open mouth, your hand snaked my waist as the roots pulled me farther away from the night you told me you don’t want to bend over backwards for my knees anymore, my Puma’s always gave you cold feet but my inner thighs were still Ghadames enough for you to set up a tent, or perhaps, steal one I thought I had saved for someone special.
you called us the perfect match that one day. i saw you leave that sentence in the fridge and sip them five days later, face wedged somewhere in between the biting humour of my psyche like a power station without a generator and the never ending exploitation of the little blonde girl named weakness who found a place in my fingertips so close to your face, in my wallet, in the place I once used to be able to rest, but these shoulders, opened orifices for black holes, like Falstaffian stars that caved in, that were anything but the empty space we occupied on the benches of basketball courts.
Three days after I started writing this and the urge to your clouds hover over me once again glistens like a poison apple I don’t want to confess to biting, because this pain is biting, and there is only space for one. I don’t want to eat the cake at three am and hope no one notices it again, because they will, they will see it from the icing on my lips and the grime on my fingertips. I miss your smell already thought it sells for 10 dollars at the corner shop. But its you, its you, its just you. Your kisses on my cheek after we fight. It is wrong that I consider this a sweet moment. It stems at you pouring my blood into a kettle and leaving it to cook. But this liquid will not evaporate.
But I know these tears will.
Jun 15, 2018
Jun 15, 2018 at 12:53 PM UTC
rinsing my flask, this late afternoon
and scouring to steal anything from my father's humble tavern: Chilean.
bought on stolen wine, this daze,
pacing itself carefully, as masterful as
a leering puma poised to strike
with a dull blade duller than stab-wound,
nobody heard this primal man cry in the
woods and i'm no dangerous man.
just a shadow that fits the sizable hands
of the world cupped, the afternoon is slain and the hue is its blood:
something the brush of the wind
sensuously brings a roulette of red
blue, lavender, viridian,
plucked out of the vermilion
wading out as a debris forgotten waltzes
with the river underneath the kamagong— an answerless enigma amid all
perplexities,
are we but nothing whilst we live?
Nov 12, 2015
Nov 12, 2015 at 3:35 AM UTC
Thursday nights are one of my favorite times
Ever since I crossed the license lines
For then I get to drive a car
To the house where violin lessons are
Little 07' blue cruiser with only me in it
On pitch dark asphalt, I'm pushing the limit
I call her blue puma because citrus is taken
Three cross-country moves later, and only a little shakin'
She's not really mine, but actually dad's
But with two newer cars, I'm the one at the brake pads
It's a school night, but the radio's blarin'
Playing rock from Green Day to John Lennon
In bell bottom jeans, a tee, a faux leather jacket and sneakers
Windows rolled down, hair blowing in time with the speakers
And under fall moonlight, it just seems
This is the closest I'll get to the American dream
Oct 28, 2017
Oct 28, 2017 at 4:30 PM UTC
siz beni tanımaz
görünen yüzüme bakarsınız
ben havuçları dikim dikim diker
toprak inim inim inlerken
pembe şalvarlı şeftali soyardım
kalın ağaçlarımın gölgesinde
sulu sulu, vıcık vıcık
ne ** gelirdi
tüylerin dudak masajı
bitmesin diye
yemez
porschelen tabağa koyardım
kıymetliydik ikimiz de
unutmadan
türküler
söylediğim de olmuştur
deep purple çaldığımda
asyalı kalça
dalgalansın da, durulsun diye
söylemesi ayıp
İyi şarkı çekerdim phuket sokaklarında
sonra, sarhoşluk mitoz duvara
dayandığında kafası güzel kargalar
ve süzülürken larva kolonisi
şeftali kurt(l)anmaya başladı
yatay geçiş hakkıydı elbet
şans işte
kurtulayım paniğiyle
önce çakal
sonra puma karşıladı
flört hayattı şeftaliye
hep aynı dudak gezinecek
değil a
delilah dinlemeye başladı
escobar kılıklı buluşma noktalarında
bir süre sonra
bitmeliydi bu zül
deryaların
aman bre
yine mi
çamaşır yıkamasıyla
martı çığlıkları karşıladı
bir zamanlar damak zevkimi
narkozlu balık yendi önce
boğazın legal sularında
sahil soğuma kimlik sorunca
kalktılar arelacele
aldılar soluğu
dişçi koltuğunda
apse yoktu bereket
takıldı protez
sabahın ilk ışıklarına..
..
May 22, 2019
May 22, 2019 at 12:03 PM UTC
Quiero escribir, pero me sale espuma,
quiero decir muchísimo y me atollo;
no hay cifra hablada que no sea suma,
no hay pirámide escrita, sin cogollo.
Quiero escribir, pero me siento puma;
quiero laurearme, pero me encebollo.
No hay toz hablada, que no llegue a bruma,
no hay dios ni hijo de dios, sin desarrollo.
Vámonos, pues, por eso, a comer yerba,
carne de llanto, fruta de gemido,
nuestra alma melancólica en conserva.
Vámonos! Vámonos! Estoy herido;
Vámonos a beber lo ya bebido,
vámonos, cuervo, a fecundar tu cuerva.
395
Relevant then hatred,
All at once in a different state
Portals and doors,
Your love for someone
Nobody can duplicate
Assorted adrenaline
Filed up in a contrasted room
Primal theories,
For selections that we may and may not pursue
Planets unite,
Though a few should be kept hidden
They stumble forwards and get installed in a granite,
Enchanting, yet a fearsome tinted enigma
Bolted in the word, "privacy",
And the key was a puma's race
Infidelity democracy,
Saved but aren't erased
Archived courses shall remain
May the forgotten be remembered in drunk mishaps
Only my feelings for you are sustained,
Permanent nor Temporary,
Located in the district called; a file of drafts
Jan 25, 2018
Jan 25, 2018 at 2:55 AM UTC