"reclined" poems
I was in a darkness of my own
Within a night I had not known
I chose to stumble in my pace
With all hope of light misplaced
On my course a twinkle caught my eye
A lonely star in the sky above
Getting ever brighter as I drew nigh
Then did I see the truth thereof
It was a myriad in mutiny
A constellation that raided the night
Luminous in its beauty
A radiance which compelled my sight
I was in a darkness of my own
Overcome by a light unknown
That eased my path in grace
And all lost hope replaced
It reclined in the cosmos
Calling out to me
Seeming within reach almost
Then I blurred back to reality
A marvel that pulled my soul
By more than figure of speech
To be part of a whole
My flesh could never reach
How daunting a brilliance
I longed for though farfetched
My heart need travel a distance
Fear served only to stretch
It held my tarrying gaze
For only a moment more
Then left me in a daze
Stealing that which I adore
I again stumble in my pace
Having lost my stars in space
Returned to a state I now bemoan
I am in a darkness of my own.
Dec 28, 2018
Dec 28, 2018 at 5:49 PM UTC
A shaft from the golden sun,
reclined peacefully in my lap.
The amber gleam reflected back,
and gently baked the solemn land.
An ardent whisper furnished the woods
with a viridescent scent that woke up the woods.
Silver songs of sleek streams,
chased the lullabies away;
gently.
Ancient tress cuddled the wind,
their leaves clapped in sheer bliss
The broken winged white eyed bulbul,
warbled hymns to lift the curse.
Scarlet tainted vintage letters resting in the rustic mailbox,
await your tender touch; while they chant for a past long gone.
But lily livered clouds,
they have turned your courage into a yellow illusion.
So now defy the toxic words and the errors you made,
A different person inside your skin, long ago, burned our hearts on the hateful flames.
Jul 31, 2018
Jul 31, 2018 at 6:44 PM UTC
How can my eyes hunger for tormentors bodies
where in my soul can I find desires for sadists
Eves threw on fitted coats of Marquis de Sade
borrowed his manuals and added even more pages
pierced the heart of a Dove defending his nest with lethal pins
And in joyous indignities with devilment aplomp
they reclined and crackled in wanton doltishness
He thinks of and desires us and wants to make amor with us
How can a heart marinated in love truely sincere
a soul ready to die rather than any harm to Eves
Be mother or sister or perchance even a stranger
alas in utter ********** and grotesque situation dire
Come undone with healthy pristine heart ripped to pieces
hung drawn and quartered and sliced in tiny morsels
Like fish baits for mice and minnows or hens clucking
All at the hands of Sirens who worshipped in Satan's cravens
How can a soul with only the spark of Salvation aglow
where it once housed his heart and enduring humanity
With brimful joy and devotions in fitting measures true
as all Eves where to him nowt but sisters and earth angels
Now his burning blood runs cold like rivelets in the Arctic
their words ring hollow and smiles shows rapiers of snakes
Nothing stirs desires for all Eves now seem and look like wicked corpses
Delilahs' wrecking vengeance on Samsons in wickedness supreme
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Aug 23, 2018
Aug 23, 2018 at 4:31 AM UTC
In the divet between mountains
Resides a wooden cabin – ostensibly an amalgamation of the scape
Adroitly - I - quondam female warrior flit
Down massive (ancient) hand-laid, hand-cut carved stone steps
Bounding from contingent step onto the dense pad of turned soil
Tacit compliance between gravity and soil holds footprints bound
A compressed deflating crescendo as pace ignites with bounds
Cadences of protuberant wildflowers and grasses erupt from swollen terra
A winsome chromatic menagerie, dispersed in ecstatic fistfuls
A venerably ancient ritual
My nascent clandestine vocation
Personally meted out - a beatification for my provisional sanctuary
Along glacier-fed stream
Lissome fingers shadow inert stalks –plucking dormant beginnings from their desiccated ligaments
I am austere and unadorned save for a festoon of pyrite flecks trailing my semblance
Residual gilding from my ante-meridian swim taken after requisite gathering of wild blackberries, goose berries, and rhubarb along oft-tamped path
The sun, nestling into its requisite apex endorsed my completion
I reclined into the hassock of soil, feeling the elements settle about with an embossment of my form
Imposing verdure arched subtly as compressed soil beckoned hyperbolic flux
As I lay within the basilica of opulent living columns replete with comestible bounty
Lingering dew honed inflections of sacrosanct petrichor in unison with piquant clover
Wild purple clover buds saccharinely tinted and inundated nestled nerves in mine cribriform plate
Birds pitched and galloped through the frond tips and beyond in the lapis expanse
Frequently snatching damselfly’s and assemblages of midges from their ephemeral drift
Auspicious rays transcended stippled diaphanous gravid clouds
Light inundated ether entered humbly into the cathedral oculus
Pyrite speckled terrain beneath, and my bare gilded form above
Cast a refracted aura about my sanctuary
Precipitously the elusive vaporous embankment distended further
Ashen atmospheric correspondence inaugurated liquescent sustenance to my mountain abode
And I -
Lingered beneath the descending gobbets, curls furled in a puddle
Fresh topsoil cupping my corporal topographic contours
Pressing blackberries into my mouth between smiles
Jan 26, 2014
Jan 26, 2014 at 9:13 PM UTC
Draped in boundless pride
she strolled along the streets,
the town's flamboyant prima ballerina.
Still little did the debaucher know her.
Defenceless she laid
as he spanked and clouted her,
Her vehement howling and wailing couldn't stop
the yanking of clothes.
Motionless, emotionless she laid
while he plundered and mutilated her body.
Vandalised by an uninvited visitor,
Incapable of moving her body
the ravishing ballerina reclined.
The scars he made was not on her body but deep in her soul.
That gloomy night whistled away
for the sun to flare its first ray.
'18 year old violently molested and deceased'.
Hence the prima ballerina became a mere newspaper headline.
Jan 8, 2019
Jan 8, 2019 at 12:50 AM UTC
So full of life and vital things
upon the brink, I spread my wings
and close my eyes and look ahead
at all the things I've never said
at all the things I should have done
of prizes that I've striven for
and hopelessly have never won
of friends I've made
who've come and gone
Of mountains that I should have climbed
instead, on cushions I reclined
and thoughtlessly I drank the wine
of Apathy
So now that clouds have drifted by
and all alone, I lift my eye
and see the way to heaven's door
and know that life's worth fighting for
Next time I see a mountain high
I'll bound right up and touch the sky
I'll seek the prize and win this time
I'm not afraid, I'll take what's mine
won't rest on laurels in the sun
I'll fly to where the work is done
and if it's worth the price I'll give,
of all I have, so we can live
in peace, I'll comfort anyone
who needs my help
to get things done
I'll thank the Lord for what he gave
his sinless life our souls to save
I'll hold my friends much dearer still
I'll share the wine, we'll drink our fill
No Apathy
Nov 4, 2014
Nov 4, 2014 at 4:14 PM UTC
She’s highness, deaf but not muted.
Still dignified, past perfect, but still pushing.
Withering tea addict,
laughs at her own sophisticated and immature jokes.
Farts.
How the highness gracefully descend.
Relaxed, reclined,
hands placed still on abdomen, yet they’re itching.
Noisy breaths lift her sinking body,
till she’s plastered to the bed,
not quite motionless.
Can’t decline.
Sits up. Peering, active, but stunted.
Jan 7, 2019
Jan 7, 2019 at 7:34 PM UTC
within the walls of torrid days
where broken glass of mem’ry lays
on wine red floors by Sol emblazed
reflecting time in shattered rays
the golden house where passion bloomed
and craving raw two lives consumed
each kiss in auric light illumed
with camellia each sigh perfumed
in stucco rooms the heat we bore
through afternoon to evermore
and took no guilt to answer for
with whispered gifts on fevered shore
the salted air from sea reclined
on posted bed with we entwined
who sought the depths of joy refined
through cloudless days of love enshrined
now on cold streets like empty hall
where shadows reign and echoes fall
do sky and sun in grief recall
two souls conjoined two hearts enthralled
there I search for vine wreathed door
where all my life has gone before
for you alone can ere restore
this banished man to summer’s shore
Jul 15, 2023
Jul 15, 2023 at 11:19 PM UTC
’Twas on a lofty vase’s side,
Where China’s gayest art had dyed
The azure flowers that blow,
Demurest of the tabby kind,
The pensive Selima, reclined,
Gazed on the lake below.
Her conscious tail her joy declared;
The fair round face, the snowy beard,
The velvet of her paws,
Her coat, that with the tortoise vies,
Her ears of jet, and emerald eyes,
She saw; and purred applause.
Still had she gazed; but ’midst the tide
Two angel forms were seen to glide,
The genii of the stream:
Their scaly armour’s Tyrian hue
Through richest purple to the view
Betrayed a golden gleam.
The hapless nymph with wonder saw:
A whisker first, and then a claw,
With many an ardent wish,
She stretched, in vain, to reach the prize.
What female heart can gold despise?
What cat’s averse to fish?
Presumptuous maid! with looks intent
Again she stretched, again she bent,
Nor knew the gulf between:
(Malignant Fate sat by, and smiled)
The slippery verge her feet beguiled,
She tumbled headlong in.
Eight times emerging from the flood
She mewed to ev’ry wat’ry god
Some speedy aid to send.
No dolphin came, no nereid stirred;
Nor cruel Tom, nor Susan heard.
A fav’rite has no friend!
From hence, ye beauties undeceived,
Know, one false step is ne’er retrieved,
And be with caution bold.
Not all that tempts your wand’ring eyes
And heedless hearts is lawful prize;
Nor all that glisters, gold.
3.6k
This trail leads to the animal crossing
It fails to accommodate intrepid adventurers,
Bushy tailed explorers, mountain climbers,
Talkers to squirrels and chewers of pine pitch.
The divine medicine denies us the headspace to believe we're really dead,
The reclined estrogen felt good against twenty million years of insecurity
Golden-layered, factually flawed
It lay exposed for decades
Rusting innards and misfiring sparks
None of the heavy equipment does what it says
Robot arms move with intensity
No programmer yet programs tenderness
The limiting factor has always attracted the acting crowd
Always desperate for theatrical work they magically appear
When it's clear that they're needed
But heed the warnings, they're known to be cheaters; the people who say so could also be wife-beaters
No need to wait for a stereotype
Follow the one you haven't lost touch with
May 9, 2013
May 9, 2013 at 4:47 PM UTC
If tires of trees I seek again mankind,
Well I know where to hie me—in the dawn,
To a slope where the cattle keep the lawn.
There amid loggin juniper reclined,
Myself unseen, I see in white defined
Far off the homes of men, and farther still,
The graves of men on an opposing hill,
Living or dead, whichever are to mind.
And if by noon I have too much of these,
I have but to turn on my arm, and lo,
The sun-burned hillside sets my face aglow,
My breathing shakes the bluet like a breeze,
I smell the earth, I smell the bruisèd plant,
I look into the crater of the ant.
3.2k
Bundled up and toasted
Stare to the exorbitant heavens
A dimmed electrifying spirit world
Leaving only one trifling light on
A slight single frozen tear
Rides the broad frigid air
To the glaring reality below
The silky cotton takes time
Flowing through a lingering life
Of chilled floating bliss
It taps the up turned nose
Tiny frozen feet make a stand
An intense tickle flows through the pumping veins
Leaving a feeling of pricking cherub kisses
Nervous life lungs squeeze
Releasing a single reclined breath
Concrete relaxed steam
Rubs the tufted sapped lips
Dissolving into the hazed sky
She has arrived
Mother Winter
Nov 30, 2010
Nov 30, 2010 at 5:09 AM UTC
Lo! where the rosy-bosomed Hours,
Fair Venus’ train, appear,
Disclose the long-expecting flowers,
And wake the purple year!
The Attic warbler pours her throat,
Responsive to the cuckoo’s note,
The untaught harmony of spring:
While, whisp’ring pleasure as they fly,
Cool Zephyrs thro’ the clear blue sky
Their gathered fragrance fling.
Where’er the oak’s thick branches stretch
A broader browner shade,
Where’er the rude and moss-grown beech
O’er-canopies the glade,
Beside some water’s rushy brink
With me the Muse shall sit, and think
(At ease reclined in rustic state)
How vain the ardour of the Crowd,
How low, how little are the Proud,
How indigent the Great!
Still is the toiling hand of Care;
The panting herds repose:
Yet hark, how through the peopled air
The busy murmur glows!
The insect-youth are on the wing,
Eager to taste the honied spring
And float amid the liquid noon:
Some lightly o’er the current skim,
Some show their gayly-gilded trim
Quick-glancing to the sun.
To Contemplation’s sober eye
Such is the race of Man:
And they that creep, and they that fly,
Shall end where they began.
Alike the Busy and the Gay
But flutter thro’ life’s little day,
In Fortune’s varying colours drest:
Brushed by the hand of rough Mischance,
Or chilled by Age, their airy dance
They leave, in dust to rest.
Methinks I hear, in accents low,
The sportive kind reply:
Poor moralist! and what art thou?
A solitary fly!
Thy joys no glittering female meets,
No hive hast thou of hoarded sweets,
No painted plumage to display:
On hasty wings thy youth is flown;
Thy sun is set, thy spring is gone—
We frolic while ’tis May.
3.1k
Take me to the Rookery with its many paths
A tea house selling refreshments in pretty glass
Three striped lollies covered in chocolate beads
Biscuits and sandwich are all that we need.
The garden was set out, in brick oblong beds
Raised from the ground and divided by hedge
Many bush roses, of the older kind, smelling of
Cold cream and sweet camomile.
There was a terrace with steps leading down
To a sunken garden where the roses reclined
Hanging over arbours, pink , white and cream
And other perennials added to the scene.
This place a haven at the top of Streatham hill
Does anybody know it, it might be there still?
My daddy took me often on a Sunday afternoon
To ramble in the sunshine, and play at my will.
Love Mary x
Jun 15, 2018
Jun 15, 2018 at 8:02 AM UTC
TWO ladies to the summit of my mind
Have clomb, to hold an argument of love.
The one has wisdom with her from above,
For every noblest virtue well designed:
The other, beauty's tempting power refined
And the high charm of perfect grace approve:
And I, as my sweet Master's will doth move,
At feet of both their favors am reclined.
Beauty and Duty in my soul keep strife,
At question if the heart such course can take
And 'twixt the two ladies hold its love complete.
The fount of gentle speech yields answer meet,
That Beauty may be loved for gladness sake,
And Duty in the lofty ends of life
2.9k
A man of no age
See this world be his stage
Subservant his number
This badge be his honour
His country to serve
In sacrificed love
These stories be told
A plot to unfold
A hero so British
This tune we still listen
A fighter of evil
His Q for distinguish
Sweet ladies a plenty
On rocks drinks martini
A drive in an Aston
Gadgets to walther
All baddies behind him
A win every time
As sunsets divine
A lady reclined
The music..........his line
The names Bond
James Bond
Oct 5, 2012
Oct 5, 2012 at 11:53 PM UTC
I heard a thousand blended notes,
While in a grove I sate reclined,
In that sweet mood when pleasant thoughts
Bring sad thoughts to the mind.
To her fair works did Nature link
The human soul that through me ran;
And much it grieved my heart to think
What man has made of man.
Through primrose tufts, in that green bower,
The periwinkle trailed its wreaths;
And ’tis my faith that every flower
Enjoys the air it breathes.
The birds around me hopped and played,
Their thoughts I cannot measure:—
But the least motion which they made
It seemed a thrill of pleasure.
The budding twigs spread out their fan,
To catch the breezy air;
And I must think, do all I can,
That there was pleasure there.
If this belief from heaven be sent,
If such be Nature’s holy plan,
Have I not reason to lament
What man has made of man?
2.5k
High ground
I concede to you
in the disproportion of a time allotted to you
for the choice of robe to grace
a glorified cameo around your flesh
like a sheet designated for an overthrowing
in an honorary statue's unveiling
Liturgy is looming in the bathroom
already hot-boxed in the metal waterfall's
mist of moisture and the mountain range of bubbles
I have settled comfortably into in wait
High ground
awaits your hallowed prance
into the concealed languish of your man's
dangling imagination
I salute you with incentive
through a lowering of eyes made necessary
by your towering above my horizontal soak
I'm beseeching you to wield royal sway
over the humility of my reclined posture
with the hidden scepter of your body
fated to dictate the pace of my
anticipated knighting
The gentle thud of fabric on linoleum
incites a turning of my head to take in
the litany of parts available to my
frenetic feels and jumbled focus
Stationary in your naked smile of proximity
you extend to me excessive time to entertain options
as I coat myself in lukewarm opportunities
and rise to meet you for a bathing in my excess wetness
I accelerate my exit to negate the bubbled tribuataries
sliding to the floor to meet the remnants of your mystery
The wall is cold and you protrude
haplessly to meet the rapid chilling of my undried frame
Warmth is of the essence
Fingers split your hair in celebration
of our uniform heights and I feel you slouch
signalling our first hint of friction
and a twitch in my diviner of your cradle of essential warmth
Do you realize you now rescind creative license?
Or have you filled the snare of your intentions?
Now your balance shivers in the mercy
of my curled leg of leverage
and an coiled arm collecting your ambrosial attributes
like an ice cream scoop
Uniform heights allowing eye contact
makes optional the visual acknowledgment
of my elastic hunting in the smooth field of your breast
with a dancing thumb
I connect and latch onto what is now
our binding axis and shuffle eye contact
with the universal rhythm of a pelvic power ballad
Apr 25, 2014
Apr 25, 2014 at 10:54 PM UTC
little pills
to cure your ills
prescription fills
the bottle spills...
not to be catty
you're being bratty
rolling a fatty
and getting chatty...
you are crunchy
getting the munchies
getting chunky
like a monkey!
how's your wallet?
workaholic?
did i call it?
get the gold
you were once bold
now you're old...
don't get huffed
but
have you enough
STUFF???
losing vision
reclined position
TELEVISION
always scheming
never doing
you're pretty boring
there daydreaming...
see her bopping
'til she's dropping
out there shopping
the door is shutting
you're alone
to the bone
while you're cutting
what's YOUR thing?
will it bring
you
everything?
it's SO nice!
any vice
will entice
TAKE MY ADVICE!
don't be idle!
take the BRIDLE!
IT'S AN IDOL!
there's an award
when you've scored
with the LORD!
don't applaud.
we're all sod
HE IS GOD!
SøułSurvivør
(C) 9/2017
Sep 19, 2017
Sep 19, 2017 at 2:02 AM UTC
Winter nomads
Reclined in a Maytag box
One after another, like Legos
Discarded “Hungry, Please Help” signs
Defines this squalor
Young or old, it shows no discriminating
Countless families, countless vets, countless children
Are lost to this
I am afraid to stare on their plight
Afraid of self-fulfilled prophecy
Feb 25, 2015
Feb 25, 2015 at 3:43 PM UTC
2:00am Saturday Morning and his restlessness reclined on his mind
The room was immensely silent but held a forceful amount of chaos
His large feet plummeted to the cold floor; he roamed out of his beguiling room
*
His body was almost bare and every movement echoed through him
The empty foil tins from a takeaway he had eaten at 8:00pm casted a noticeable stare across the kitchen like a coin to a magpie
The fridge was only a couple strides away now; he prematurely stretched his arm ready to grasp the frigid handle
The fridges seal parted and a saintly yellow light radiated in front of him
He stared nonplussed into the fridge for about 3.5 seconds
Celery
Sitting there in the centre of the fridge appearing as tasteless as it would taste
Unappetising.
The light diminished as the door closed.
Dec 20, 2014
Dec 20, 2014 at 5:06 PM UTC
He didn’t respond for five hours on the Fourth of July
It was warm
I was tired
Cell phone rested on my thigh
And I sat
And I waited
Another hour passed by
He was mad
Or maybe his phone was dead
Or he was with that girl,
Autumn,
He said she was giving him the eye
So I picked up my phone
And sent a message that read,
“Hey baby,
I miss you,
So, can you please reply?”
He was my world
My everything
The who made me sigh
As I listened to silly love songs
He made me want to try
To spend each moment
Speaking not from my mind
But from my heart to his
Two more hours went by
His soul with mine
Intertwined
It was dark now
Cool
Into a chair I reclined
And I sent another text
“Hi, hope your day is going well
Text me whenever,
I’m getting by.”
I missed the moment when
My brother managed to embarrass himself
Yet again
And why it was so funny
I’ll never know
Because on the phone remained my eyes
Another mindless hour went by
And finally
The phone’s ringtone chimed
But I didn’t pick it up
Let alone waste my time
With someone who made me feel so confined
I felt the wind brush against me
Smelled fresh, crisp, summer air
And I spent the night
Sitting in the grass
Watching the stars
As they danced and conversed as the fireworks burst
And I realized
I could love myself
Apr 9, 2015
Apr 9, 2015 at 11:47 AM UTC
rickety minutes twitch in wood stained cabinets;
mittens in a bin . birch tones postpone in mauve
twilight... an unfinished diorama.
clandestine. a small glitch in a good rain... cabbages
smitten in mist. a thirst groaning; long bones caw
fully reclined... as timeless Brahmans.
old beams of light stack like gold bricks in a humidor;
mittens in a bin. black birds comb rogue stones then.... [ pause ]
triffids... blemish barnacles.
crystalline. a ball of lint in a storm drain... vanishes -
bitten out of sight. at first, toning old gongs... wind
chimes... earth's most wanted.
Jan 25, 2013
Jan 25, 2013 at 5:05 PM UTC
Pinnated clouds
spread like wisteria
along the horizons
waning axis. Farmland
is smothered
in arbitrary
purple leaflets.
The
humic red fabric
of a fallow field
convulses
on my eye under the
discordant,
astral confetti.
A sombre greyness
reclined and presided
over all: joyous
summer rain-cloud
but for the early years
icy resolve.
Feb 16, 2012
Feb 16, 2012 at 3:36 PM UTC
all faith was lost in a caravan car park with seats reclined,
a family of four, small and contorted, wrapped
around a car for an uncomfortable night of no sleep,
and for the soundtrack:
propeller blades of the port and a grown man weeping.
now we understand and gather and know and grasp the concept of loss,
now it's a:
brother to a younger sister
and now a lost son to forever mother
and a lonely child to a missed father,
insurance-won't-be-done-on-time
because the route-master turned up late.
now loss can never be found so it stays stuck in memory,
now memory is:
reverse the car into the garage and don't stop for the wall,
or bend over double and crawl into the back of a van
duck down because you're tall for your age.
so now you're no longer and when this is realised
i will write this up into a stage play for you
to hide and conceal and disguise the face that will undoubtedly bloom in tears.
Earlier my eyes wandered looking for someone through a window watching the main street in the rain. It's been a year and still you've missed the refrain, we'll try again on the chorus perhaps next year sometime.
Jul 15, 2013
Jul 15, 2013 at 12:38 PM UTC