"purpling" poems
who is this
husky?
shedding luck and fur
down by the horizon.
town tips in snow
& breathy-fog.
the mountain tips and prays
on bowed-knee,
to daughters in pursuit of happiness,
& trees.
she’s out there looking for the best in mother
madness.
a horse’s bangs, sprung
moon to ridge
to purpling autumn-seared fields four days lit.
this ease into living,
carousel,
carnival of lights
& love.
the rolling of a family unit.
the sound and punched beauty of it.
like when we were birds, or kids, or
humming the sun
strummed hills.
[ catch a dream. ]
open your little eyes, bear cub.
see small pools of sulphurous heat
& repeat,
let go the smoke to breathe.
May 19, 2014
May 19, 2014 at 12:14 AM UTC
Orcas in Puget Sound
Along the road, abandoned wild apple trees bend
with their heavy loads, dusty skirts of blackberry bushes
purpling fingers, piercing flesh
mouths ringed with berry juice, vampires all.
Along San Juan Island salmon leap clear
out of the briny water, just yards ahead of their predators,
Orcas, dorsal fins curving shiny black, sluicing and slicing
the surface like sharpened knives
They have bred with one another for 10,000 years
trolled these waters through famine, earthquakes, world wars
through shifting continents, glacial avalanches,
through the extinction of whole civilizations.
Standing on a cliff, my daughter and I
watch the Orcas churning the water - studies in grace
the largest gem on the necklace of a great food chain
and when we sleep we too chase
the great King Salmon of our deepest dreams,
the fathers we lost, the currents that bear along children
Translucent jellyfish, palm sized, breath below
sideways exhale, convulsive inhale
umbrellas opening and closing a thousand years or more
sliding through forests of brown kelp where mollusks cling
We have clung like this to one another, with my body
thrown over hers for protection and her exhaling away from me
If Mama Orca keeps her young close, so will I
If there are salmon to chase and harbor seals to command, so we will
Arcing in the late August sky
slapping and parting the surface, over and over
the whales, lords of the Sound, swim in our brains as we sleep
sparkle against blackening waters
You are of my body from my body cleaving there for 10,000 years
Whatever quarrels there are on land vaporize
In the presence of these creatures,
arcing against all that is temporal, vicious, small,
studies in power and grace
The tide pulls out, skimming across rocks and oysters in their muddy beds
But this need to care for you remains as big as an Orca
your appetite for adventure as voracious
and I watch you, my child, disappearing with summer
into high school, into womanhood, into
the salty, light-dappled ocean
Jul 15, 2012
Jul 15, 2012 at 4:15 PM UTC
ON TURNING ONE DOWN WITH THE PLOUGH, IN APRIL, 1786
Wee, modest, crimson-tipped flow’r,
Thou’s met me in an evil hour;
For I maun crush amang the stoure
Thy slender stem:
To spare thee now is past my pow’r,
Thou bonie gem.
Alas! it’s no thy neebor sweet,
The bonie lark, companion meet,
Bending thee ‘mang the dewy weet,
Wi’ spreckled breast!
When upward-springing, blithe, to greet
The purpling east.
Cauld blew the bitter-biting north
Upon thy early, humble birth;
Yet cheerfully thou glinted forth
Amid the storm,
Scarce reared above the parent-earth
Thy tender form.
The flaunting flow’rs our gardens yield,
High shelt’ring woods and wa’s maun shield;
But thou, beneath the random bield
O’ clod or stane,
Adorns the histie stibble-field,
Unseen, alane.
There, in thy scanty mantle clad,
Thy snawy ***** sunward spread,
Thou lifts thy unassuming head
In humble guise;
But now the share uptears thy bed,
And low thou lies!
Such is the fate of artless Maid,
Sweet flow’ret of the rural shade!
By love’s simplicity betrayed,
And guileless trust,
Till she, like thee, all soiled, is laid
Low i’ the dust.
Such is the fate of simple Bard,
On Life’s rough ocean luckless starred!
Unskilful he to note the card
Of prudent lore,
Till billows rage, and gales blow hard,
And whelm him o’er!
Such fate to suffering worth is giv’n,
Who long with wants and woes has striv’n,
By human pride or cunning driv’n
To mis’ry’s brink,
Till wrenched of ev’ry stay but Heav’n,
He, ruined, sink!
Ev’n thou who mourn’st the Daisy’s fate,
That fate is thine -no distant date;
Stern Ruin’s ploughshare drives, elate,
Full on thy bloom,
Till crushed beneath the furrow’s weight,
Shall be thy doom!
4.3k
Trusting steady for flower petals floating on moonlit beams.
Fractured cracks running into sewn seams of honey-colored threads.
Layering sunlight of emotions,
Rip-tide oceans hold your boulder heart open.
Velvety warm blankets shimmering with lavender energy,
Of a silence unspoken.
A roar within of a constant fiery flame.
A warrior armored with stars and an army of willowy trees.
Song buds upon lip, striking a symphonic flowery melody.
Eyes sparkling, you captivate with an alluring smile.
Flowers intertwined within your raven locks.
Summer night of fireflies and dancing bees,
Forgiveness never a weakling of knees.
Soft spoken heart beats.
Sun-fire but shaded with purpling blues.
Steadying hands even though your lips may frown.
Ever present is the sleepy shadow of a sugared temptation,
That only the befallen will know.
A darkness muddled into the after-hours of dawn.
Self-pity wars that your feet danced into nothing, no more.
You let the colors become vibrant yellows, even greens.
A warrior surrounded by atmospheres of light,
Tinged with the milky blue hue of night.
Oceans come and gone but forever in your heart is song.
May 17, 2014
May 17, 2014 at 11:41 AM UTC
Dreamless sleep - the dusky Eagles
nightlong rush about my head,
man's golden image drowned
in timeless icy tides. On jagged reefs
his purpling body. Dark
echoes sound above the seas.
Stormy sadness' sister, see
our lonely skiff sunk down
by starry skies:
the silent face of night.
2.4k
The glowing jacinth sun was just beginning its descent,
casting long, flittering shadows on horse and rider alike.
Although the horse was young, he walked
with an air of importance,
like a racer entering the track.
As the playful breeze rustled the viridian leaves,
his muscles tensed.
He perked up like a toy soldier,
watching the purpling sky with wary eyes,
the amaranthine clouds reflected in those deep sable orbs.
As he trotted about like a fairy,
his russet coat shone vibrantly in the setting sun,
a body of twinkling rubies set in amber.
The sprite padded softly on the ground
with the delicate nature of a hummingbird,
he had a stride like a river of sweet milk and honey.
The chestnut dreamer skipped across the ground
like notes across a page,
his song light and airy.
he tiptoed and pirouetted,
his three pearly stockings dancing
like the melodious keys of a piano.
Her cinnabar savior bounded over the fences
like a prancing stag,
and his dainty ears pricked forward
as his chocolate-brown eyes fixed on the obstacle ahead.
As he jumped, he lit up with a bravery
that could have been felt all throughout the arena.
Had the two not been alone,
the entrancing sight would have been easily able to charm his way
into the hearts of even the stoniest of onlookers.
With a gleeful snort,
the sunny gelding seemed to fill the air
with good-natured laughter.
The rider reached down to give him a pat,
and he brightened at her touch,
the pet like a kiss on his glossy ginger neck.
And as the last of the daylight filtered away
into the velvety mazarine sky,
his neck stretched down and his walk slowed.
Satisfied with their ride, the two made their way back inside,
surrounding by the growing darkness.
Oct 30, 2013
Oct 30, 2013 at 9:42 AM UTC
Come, let us to the sunways of the west,
Hasten, while crystal dews the rose-cups fill,
Let us dream dreams again in our blithe quest
O'er whispering wold and hill.
Castles of air yon wimpling valleys keep
Where milk-white mist steals from the purpling sea,
They shall be ours in the moon's wizardry,
While the fates, wearied, sleep.
The viewless spirit of the wind will sing
In the soft starshine by the reedy mere,
The elfin harps of hemlock boughs will ring
Fitfully far and near;
The fields will yield their trove of spice and musk,
And balsam from the glens of pine will fall,
Till twilight weaves its tangled shadows all
In one dim web of dusk.
Let us put tears and memories away,
While the fates sleep time stops for revelry;
Let us look, speak, and kiss as if no day
Has been or yet will be;
Let us make friends with laughter 'neath the moon,
With music on the immemorial shore,
Yea, let us dance as lovers danced of yore
The fates will waken soon!
2.1k
Lo, it is dark,
Save for the crystal spark
Of a ****** star o'er the purpling lea,
Or the fine, keen, silvery grace of a young
Moon that is hung
O'er the priest-like firs by the sea;
Lo, it is still,
Save for the wind of the hill,
And the luring, primeval sounds that fill
The moist and scented air
'Tis the truce o' night, away with unrest and care!
Now we may forget
Love's fever and hate's fret,
Forget to-morrow and yesterday;
And the hopes we buried in musky gloom
Will come out of their tomb,
Warm and poignant and gay;
We may wander wide,
With only a wish for a guide,
By heath and pool where the Little Folk bide,
We may share in fairy mirth,
And partake once more in the happy thoughts of earth.
Lo, we may rest
Here on her cradling breast
In the wonderful time of the truce o' night,
And sweet things that happened long ago,
Softly and slow,
Will creep back to us in delight;
And our dreams may be
Compact of young melody,
Just such as under the Eden Tree,
'Mid the seraphim's lullabies,
Eve's might have been ere banished from Paradise.
2.1k
She’s brewing like rich wine
the older she gets
her each added faceline
my eyes satiates.
She’s huing like violets
purpling is her soul
tho older she gets
she's never too ole.
She’s frothing like nectar
honeying in core
feels endless this affair
I’m loving her more.
Jan 5, 2015
Jan 5, 2015 at 8:37 AM UTC
My pulse is slowed by the tide
that sighs twice daily
over the sparkling mud,
a slow scatter of wading birds at its heels.
Inhale and brambles dot the hedgerow,
purpling our mouths -
exhale and the snowdrops are back,
advance guard of a trumpetting spring
as the circling bay holds the circling year
in its silver grey water.
Our house plays host
to dramas and dreams
but they are beautifully small
in the middle of this
and I have never been so at home.
The trees planted themselves decades ago
in preparation for our boys.
The sea rose and fell for shelled and pebbled eons
that there might be the perfect clatter
when Fergus leaps from the rocks and runs
into the waves
and if three cars go by
within an hour
we say, "Christ, it's busy today!"
This, and us, is home.
Feb 16, 2011
Feb 16, 2011 at 2:02 AM UTC
I always wanted to compose symphonies,
But my hands and my head could never agree.
I got the blue curse, because I always feel beats,
But my fingers freeze up when I get to melo-DIEs.
Recede. I want to live the nihilist's dream,
Smoke packs a day to intensify screams.
Maybe if I stare into the middle distance,
After hours I would build up a tolerance to listen.
IN THIS town, there are only 2 kinds of people
Girls who pierce their NOSES and THOSE IN the steeple
Walking down So. Auburn in bare feet and short shorts
Catching the gleam from the street (of course),
With their dreadlocks all up in auburn buns
And their eyes shooting diamonds in the autumn sun.
Bullet-belt vests draped lazily over their shoulders,
With double-zero earrings and squirt-gun holsters.
And the police-dogs and the SWAT cars are all powered by indulgence,
The doctors are up to their elbows in cadavers by self-expulsion
The men are splitting at the seams from over-eating obsessive compulsion
And the shameful deception of upward inflection to change my direction and wind
UP and the inanimate DUCKling with a large crank between its shoulders
In the shape of a black key to the black energy that makes the cold rooms colder
Is a disguise to the spoken word hurricanes brewing inside me.
Set me to zero then make me the hero so physicists can derive me.
If the sum of all forces is equal to mass times acceleration,
Maybe the sum of world problems is equal to vanity times irritation.
Jeans cutting up my legs, purpling due to lack of circulation
Are developing holes, as well as the soles of my shoes, I'm growing impatient.
The production slows to a halt, pouring salt into lacerations,
And as boys grow into drunk daddies, women resort to migration.
This country isn't democracy, just a ghastly and pale imitation,
These people don't have representatives, only half-assed representations.
Feb 17, 2011
Feb 17, 2011 at 7:08 PM UTC
the bow of your back, taut
sweat sticky
opiated and fizzing,the air stirs
and does not settle
the garden caged between your ribs
cracked and sprouting,paint
fumes sputtering out of your
fingertips,wild
unruly kind of-
give and take,sway
bring me to my knees kind of
hurricane
the bow of your mouth, sweet
spit tacky
thunderous and crowing,skin
smelling of smoke and apples
the starstuff wrapped in your fist
aching and bruised,your knuckles
purpling and swollen,wild
unruly kind of-
give and take,sway
bring me to my knees kind of
hurricane
Dec 27, 2015
Dec 27, 2015 at 11:51 PM UTC
These scars
on my arm
remind me
that I am not the person I was before.
Ropy and twisted,
they are scraped across my skin
in memory of all the pains I suffered-
heartache,
betrayal,
torture,
abuse.
They will never leave me,
a permanent discovery of self
that should never be forgotten.
I used to wish I could make them go away,
ashamed of my tainted appearance,
ashamed of my frailty exposed in public.
But, now,
they are like a map to me-
crossroads etched across my skin
in purpling reds and browns;
a timeline that reminds me of how far I have come,
and what I have gone through to get here.
Sometimes, I look at them
and can see where I need to go next-
for each scar has its own story,
and its own lesson.
So, if you see me
on the streets,
arms bared and waving in the wind-
just know that these scars are mine,
my journey,
my burden to bear;
be happy for me-
not sad for the person you think I am-
I know where I've been,
and I know where i'm going.
Jul 1, 2014
Jul 1, 2014 at 1:04 PM UTC
My fists hurt, they sting
From overuse on that
Little ******* who dared
Call you a *****
With all his little *******
Friends, who now lie
With him on the floor
All covered with blood
Bruises already purpling
All over their ******* bodies
I feel my mobile vibrate
I start in surprise
Most people have given up
On my technological habits
By now, they don't bother
A smile overtakes my face
When I see her name
But a car honks and
I barely step out of its
Way. The phone goes inside
My pocket, forgotten again
I wished she'd look me
In the eyes and just hold me
Even if just for the night
Though I can't ever stay
After every run,
I would return to her,
Her arms, her scent,
The sound of her heart
But she never does tell me
Those little worthless boxes
That we call cell phones
Might be revered but
They don't compensate
For the times when she
She's in-front of me, her eyes
Looking straight into mine
Her smile burning, in my vision
If she stood like that,
And just told me
I would run, run, run
But every night, when suspicious
Sounds can be heard outside
I would come in through her window
Take the extra pillow
Accept her heart,
Engulf her within my arms
Simply stay for the night
Just hold her and be still
Protect her, comfort her
If only for that night
I'd pray for subsequent nights
But that would be the only time
The only person, I'd ever, ever
Stay for, if only for a few hours
Every day.
Nov 1, 2012
Nov 1, 2012 at 5:25 AM UTC
On Ohio nights, you've got fireflies.
Out West, we like our rifles.
Never pull your days out from the roots
'til the nights have all been ripened.
City lights are purpling blackened streets
and we can see our way to habits through
these neighborhoods...
Our sentences are carbines.
Order up a few more rounds.
I guess it's almost automatic
when the late reports all sound
like we've got
rain all week.
It's rain all week.
And you're so sick of parades.
You say you want a Summer.
One that never ends.
One that takes you back to Ashland,
brings you
sense of time and feelings for old friends.
I think the party's over.
No streamers on the wall.
Pack your bags, punch a ticket,
bring a
jacket and I'll see you in the Fall.
I'll see you in the Fall.
On Ohio nights, you've got fireflies.
Out here, we've got some mountains?
Never load your words into your clip
'til the shells have all been counted.
City lights rain gold on midnight streets
and we can feel our way familiar through
these neighborhoods.
Our paragraphs are Kevlar.
Knocking down another round.
When the night sky tries to swallow
you, the late reports all sound
like we've got
rain all week.
It's rain all week.
I was so tired of parades.
I'm looking towards the Winter.
Know how that one ends.
It'll take me back to Sheridan,
bring
sense of time and memories of old friends.
I think the party's over.
No streamers on the wall.
Pack your bags, punch a ticket
bring a
jacket and I'll see you in the Fall.
I'll see you in the Fall.
Jul 8, 2016
Jul 8, 2016 at 5:34 PM UTC
My Atlas does not wince
nor does he cower; he hauls
his burden, self-forgotten.
Hour by day, my unwav’ring
tower, with purpling shoulders
and crackling skin, within him
a lambent glow glimpsing through
the faults. My Titan is stout and alt;
I rest in his shadow which feasts on
fearsome things. Some simply hiss
“BEAST,” as he quakes by, but his
eyes are on the sun and his ears are
in the sky, his burden perched upon
his sturdy shoulders high.
Apr 8, 2013
Apr 8, 2013 at 9:44 PM UTC
The golden orb of sunrise as it breaks the horizon....
The new fragile sprouts on my plumeria...
The fuzzy baby peaches growing. ..
The sweltering heat of the day...
I think of you.....
As I shower with water beading off of me...
As I pass places we once were...
Another song on the radio. ..
As I make plans for the day...
I think of you....
The sunlight in my grey eyes...
The wind in my hair....
The untaken path...
The rustle of leaves....
I think of you....
The purpling sky...
The fiery setting sun....
The blackest nights....
Under a smattering of a million sparkling stars...
I think of you....
I share these with you in unspoken thoughts....
I ache for you in everything that I do...
The simplest of joys...
Unable to be....
I think of you.....
E.J.M.
Mar 20, 2015
Mar 20, 2015 at 8:44 AM UTC
antidepressants, that I am not
some war that bereaves you
of your fix, your stark face blots
purpling stains under eyes glued
to the buzzing of insects by your lamp—
a light that catches a reflection of
their veined wings clear; like veins tamped
in brown, the black tar shoved
into your limbs, into my heart
the idleness in your eyes and pace
of your feet dragging, they impart
me of your glass maze chase
of mirrors cracking like teeth, a scrape
against each other, shattering to escape.
Apr 8, 2011
Apr 8, 2011 at 8:22 AM UTC
A flute
a young lover
pleasuring her note,
his misty silhouette
passes through the moor
purpling the whispers of
the love ballad
Mar 8, 2016
Mar 8, 2016 at 8:19 AM UTC
my feet are reluctant
and bare
the snow curdles under my toes
i cannot feel them anymore
i don't know why i am walking
in this direction
towards the cemetery
where your body lies
but resisting is hopeless
sometimes i wish you were ashes
because all i can do is imagine
what is happening underground
alone
your vanilla skin purpling and grey
your plum lips picked too soon
now shriveled lines
ice covering your eyes
that used to reflect your thoughts
and that
there is no one to cradle you through the winter
other things i will not say out loud
but no matter what we try to believe
you are not on this earth anymore
so why bother pretending
it only fills me with grief
Dec 21, 2014
Dec 21, 2014 at 6:28 PM UTC
I red them all, from dawn til dusk
They blue me still with little fuss
Then greying soon we stole away
Until night fell; we oranged all day!
But purpling fervor came too soon
And midnight blackened afternoon
Now all that’s left is what we’ve greened
We’re ever yellowing, or so it seems.
Jan 24, 2017
Jan 24, 2017 at 3:00 AM UTC
Buzz lady mosquito-
aim your black and white
stripes and settle on
my arm but please
sweet blood loving one-
refrain from the ****
restrain your maddened
appetite and rest awhile-
rub your legs against my
little hairs and drink a little
wine coddled sweat and
fly and whine next door
to brighter red.
Vast orange disk we see-
awed- you slip into the
purpling sea-expecting every
eve stupendous hissing and
steam but no- noiseless
our saviour creator and and
great sustainer sinks-
her sky in gorgeous raiment
kimonoed shapeshifting
and irridescent momently-
Dancing into dark.
Past each ear in turn the
swoosh and glide of black
aerobats to pluck insect from
the infinite void of the
flying darkness or hustle
through to feast on fruits
succulent and sweet as nectar.
Blood of bat or snake, of night
crawling, flying, running hunters-
loving the night
to death.
Aug 14, 2016
Aug 14, 2016 at 2:01 AM UTC
persephone
i carry petals beneath my skin / one
for each time he made me weep / they
glisten with decay and melt away as a part of me / i
feel the fragments shift when he leaves / for
weeks at a time i sit lonely in fields / and
watch him with a new bride / they
travel seas and glittering streets / streets
i will never get to see / new
daughters reach for his hands / new
homes wrap their walls around him / and
i keep his petals next to my ribs / their
webbed veins stretching, breaking / purpling
against brittle white bone / because
with each lung inhale / distance
blossoms between us / like
second generation flowers / from
the seeds of my poisoned petals / the
south makes the temperature change / my
seasonal depression swings / but
i never seem to be as happy as i once was / and
flowers never grow in freezing weather / so
i give them all away as he leaves / for
a warmer sky to breathe beneath / and
wonder if he misses the petals i kept / for
myself to carry / a
lovely burden, sweet / and
delicate like the first bite / of
ripe, sticky fruit / but
a wound in my side / all
the same /
Dec 7, 2017
Dec 7, 2017 at 9:12 AM UTC
all is vanity and the mirror seldom lies
where do we leave us lily smiles
truth and our honesty cries
somehow is away just a while
might as well..
where has the passion
gone..
that kept me top of the
chess ladder 11 conseutive
months..
the salt and vinegar of jennifers mouth
how did more become so less
well that´ s life son
dreams gone south..
ii
back from work
she has performed
her summer time special
bringing home a sick and
poorly animal..
it has only a single eye
and a ****** hole
a cat..
difficult to tell
is it petty to
mention the smell..
it has an infection..
but she put it under
the tap..
i know the routine
by now..
the vet yesterday
the vet next week
day 2
it follows her like
a puppy..
this is what she did
with me
lol..
soon it will be happy..
iii
she calls it stinkey
is that a word even
now we are locked in
so she can get away..
we have had nearly thirty
surprised the landlord..too..
i don´t even take drugs or drink
how durable the human..
but not as strong as this little one
wants to come in..it has food
water but it really wants my room
its lost orb purpling..
now there is ***** spots
but it will come on
only a little cat but
a small victory for love..
now it is crying
its fur is wet and matted
but out of that one eye
so much..
iv
it is siesta and i feel guilty
but football call
of the wild..
i will say on stinky..!
v
oh,the hand of catalan!
Jun 30, 2018
Jun 30, 2018 at 9:39 AM UTC