"recoiling" poems
There was a moment, so unexpected,
When I woke, seeking just ordinary,
Resigned to loneliness, unconnected,
Our encounter—felt imaginary.
Seeking isolation, no need for lust,
Appreciation gone, beauty no more,
Passion burned, with eyes I no longer trust,
You—a seduction I’d not known before.
Pulling back from feeling, and nakedness,
All the beauty, futile, unrequited,
Choosing instead dullness, and wretchedness,
Our spark—an extinguished soul ignited.
Recoiling, fear, cursed sexuality,
Libidinous impulses, uncontrolled,
Bare, on altars of sensuality,
You—inviting love I cannot withhold.
Kiss me, hold me, bring my love in deeper,
Forgive me, embrace me, don’t let me be still,
Touch me, and own me, and be my keeper,
Your look—I resisted, but have lost my will.
Dec 11, 2018
Dec 11, 2018 at 9:45 PM UTC
You choked on chariots raw. Red egg yolk suppers, churned of the milk oceans this morning you kept.
The lintel of stone turned toward dusk. Some great dynasty of submissive spirits catering your morning
Out on a cart of muse, forms of heaven cannot even hear you. You are a soporific knot in the tale of your Old womanhood. In this infinite Tuesday morning your small black eyes, like an oil tanker toppling over The intense azure sea- shipwrecked, and lost.
Departing from your childhood you slurp Coca-Cola from a silver straw. From the corner store and inside Winter yawns. There is no face, only strikingly beautiful black hair. The body under you is at home in all
My hand's fingers have to fill. All the clothes that you could carry for the two-way adventure. There are
Never enough bubbles between your lips and the glass bottle you have. Only the score of the whistleblower. And the poor symphony you had prayed for into the dial-tone phone, the deep Wilderness, that stiff forever-ago budding from your coffee cup. Neurogenesis lifted from your Fingerprints and emblazoned into this lump of human ingenuity. The hopeless octave that cut us all short.
Every short story that was left untold. There are the brief deaths recoiling in your spiritual architecture. The ****** of morphia has bourn me awake. Inside you are often unscathed, vanishing as some of Tonight's parts assemble you, on you blue is a beautiful color. The sweet retreat that gave you life or the bountiful deaths that counted you too cutely by your side. You are the sun in my black coat. Here is my sea, your sea, you'll see.
Apr 26, 2014
Apr 26, 2014 at 5:34 AM UTC
dedicated with hope to all of us
Imagine a Human Family Picnic
where everyone shows -
from every sect and hue and nation -
gathered at a common table.
The Almighty swoops down
to speak the blessing:
known to all from Torah, Q'uran and Gospels
and countless other books of wisdom -
author of our souls' aspirations.
After supper the Holy One
would call us to the sacrificial pyre.
*“Brothers, sisters and cousins,
images of your creator,
every unholy war
desecrates the face of God
and there is no other kind.
Cast your pride into the flames
and live together in peace!”*
Obediently, we'd toss our
pride into the fire,
recoiling from its smoldering stench.
The Lion would lie down to preen the Lamb's fleece
and Universal Love, released from her chains,
would walk free in every land.
August, 2006
Jul 31, 2013
Jul 31, 2013 at 10:26 AM UTC
XXXVII
Pardon, oh, pardon, that my soul should make,
Of all that strong divineness which I know
For thine and thee, an image only so
Formed of the sand, and fit to shift and break.
It is that distant years which did not take
Thy sovranty, recoiling with a blow,
Have forced my swimming brain to undergo
Their doubt and dread, and blindly to forsake
Thy purity of likeness and distort
Thy worthiest love to a worthless counterfeit:
As if a shipwrecked Pagan, safe in port,
His guardian sea-god to commemorate,
Should set a sculptured porpoise, gills a-snort
And vibrant tail, within the temple-gate.
2.7k
I fell in love like the way you fall asleep: like getting hit by a ******* bus that knocks you out of your senses and In that moment I swear we were infinitely in love but ********* you left me on my own. I know love and lust don't always keep the same company but I find great companionship in your eyes and I'm quite hoping you'll stick around. May the odds be ever in our favor of falling in love again in the empty house we once called mine where i'm divergent and I can only be controlled by my fears (of losing you) that send me recoiling in your arms every night; I solemnly swear that I am up to no good and I spend every second wishing you'd love me like I love you.
Jun 7, 2014
Jun 7, 2014 at 12:21 AM UTC
The Culture twists and shrieks, wracked by
violent spasms of regression, recoiling in
pain and terror, contracting inwards
like some giant spider god dying.
Maybe snake oil will
offer a cure.
Perhaps we can
purge the demons
by drilling the right
holes in the right
skulls. We could try
electro-shocking our way
back to 'normal'. We
might even rediscover
the benefits
of leeches.
We're building walls
and burning bridges.
We're forgetting the
lessons we never quite
learned. We're watching
ourselves watching ourselves
watching ourselves on
an endlessly repeating loop
of tiny glowing screens. We
willingly downsize our
worlds until we have to make
ourselves smaller, just
so we can still fit.
The future is closer
than we realise. It's just
not as big as we
thought it would be.
Jan 30, 2017
Jan 30, 2017 at 8:14 AM UTC
They are a herd of wild horses
Trampling across my forehead in a dance
Surrendering themselves to the unknown
In blazes with the touch of a sun ray
Recoiling into quiet
And bursting into frenzy
Tangled like my cluttered mind
Falling out in a discouraged rhtyhm
Tied into a contained presence
But always escaping in the fluttering winds
Feb 10, 2013
Feb 10, 2013 at 12:06 PM UTC
Ethnic Raging in my face
Everywhere I care to look
Coptic Christians, brown and white
Scream intolerance, forsook.
Jew and anti Jew defile
All good laws of rationale,
In raw voraciousness of hate,
In howling shred of faith’s morale.
Blessed are the just for they
Enshrine their plaque of rich noblesque,
Blessed are the weak of will
Who deeply sip from traitor’s breast.
And blessed are the strong who hold
At bay the laws of God’s restraint,
In tandem with the rich who cower,
White, behind their armoured gate.
Ethnic raging everywhere
I watch it through the children’s eyes,
Led to purge the coloured flesh,
To flay a difference ‘till it dies.
Marshalg
Recoiling from it all.
Auckland NZ
11 October 2011
Oct 11, 2011
Oct 11, 2011 at 12:17 AM UTC
Pulsating honor doth corroded hearts impound
A blustery breeze echoes cries from each, preceding battleground
A recurring, eager parade of reporters, gawkers freely roam distant mound
Below, fatigued, tidy mass of steeled infantry; to death's throes bound
Neighing horses conditioned to mayhem the pageantry doth confound
On opposite ridges, mounted turrets prepared hell's fury to expound
On signal, a synchronized, concussive chorus doth its dark melody propound
Scraps of metal shards initiate; commencing another, toilsome round
After lengthy barrage, wits collected a more lethal volley to stound
Familiar, urgent order to charge christens hallowed ground
With youthful ardor a wide-eyed bugler doth the bridled expanse unbound
Shrieking rancor from recoiling rifles; a familiar anthem doth resound
Recurring cacophonous medley, weathered nerves drowned
Once more, a mass of flesh surges into the abyss with mortal hopes crowned
Anon, shattered limbs; gory wounds misery's cache compound
Jul 20, 2012
Jul 20, 2012 at 9:59 AM UTC
The Pearl Pink Petals Of My Heart Are Wilting,
Their Silk Like Skin Is Turing Rough And Rugged,
Recoiling They Abate Under Your Frostbitten Chops,
I've Wished For So Long That Your Flush Pink Lips,
Would Tenderly Kiss This Flower Called, A Soul,
I Handed You This Treasure, Warning You, Softly
That It Was A Million Pieces Just A Short While Ago
But As You Held The Semi-Broken Artifact I Saw,
That Indeed You Had Thrown Caution To The Wind,
That Your Hands Were No Longer A Nest, But A Cage,
You're Eyes Were No Longer Hazel, But Gray,
And The Way You Whisper Goodnight Was Not A
Joy, But A Hate, For I Knew I'd Be Serving You For Another Day...
Aug 3, 2013
Aug 3, 2013 at 7:08 PM UTC
Kick me
Eat me
Laugh me
Impale me
I am dust
And smoke
I am mere fragments of who
She used to be
I have assumed to be
This body which
I am using
And abusing
With my purges
And my urges
Because nothing is perfect
But regret, ah regret
Now that I can feast upon
And Lost faith?
Now that is just a buffet of emotion
That was once good but is now discarded
Thrown away like your empty stomach and your yellowing fingers
AH and the remembrance of HIS fingers.
The way no matter how hard you try,
His touch still lingers
All the way up your thighs.
You can’t escape it; for you didn’t escape it then now did you?
You didn’t even scream!
You LET him make a home in your mind
And pulverize your childhood
With one hand! You LET him give you years of disgrace
And an unrelenting NEED for cleanliness
For purity that can never be found!
So you scrub and you rub
Your hands till their red,
Why not give up and leave your mind
To me instead?
You are not strong
You are not bold
Always doing whatever you’re told!
You think I’m ruining you?
I’m helping you, helping you go exactly
Where you should’ve gone the minute you betrayed yourself
By not helping yourself.
So you see
I’m here because
You can’t face a mirror
You can’t face your own TOUCH
There’s just so much
I can watch without recoiling in disgust
You make me sick!
So ill make you sick.
And now you see,
I am everywhere inside you
Let me invade you
It shouldn’t be so hard
You’ve been stepped on before,
On that day,
And it seems only fair
You should leave this world
In the very same way.
Because your gravestone is marked all
That’s needed is your final date
Don’t try and deny it
You know it’s too late.
You can’t hide your despise
For all you see
Behind the redness of your eyes
IS ME!
Does that scare you?
It should
I’ve done everything
All that I could
To lead you here.
For you hold TOO MUCH fear.
And that’s not acceptable.
That’s what makes you so forgettable.
So you see,
Everyone knows
They know you’re a coward
And they see right through you.
So ill smoke this body
And pop it
And blister it
And cut it
And mutilate
And supply it
Yet never satisfy it
But I will always comply
To my will
And I will purge every ounce of you that is left
Until there’s nothing left.
Ill throw you into the gutter,
Where you will splatter
And eventually...
Yes eventually the whole of you will be reconciled
Flushed down the same way your life went,
Because this is where you belong
It shouldn’t be very long
Your time is up
All hail Mia!
Aug 16, 2013
Aug 16, 2013 at 4:16 AM UTC
I don't promise to drive away your doubts.
I don't promise to drive away your doubts as if
they were shadows and I am the sun rising up out
of your darkness, I cannot erase past lovers or touch
you the way they did because I have never loved someone
beneath the covers, in amber rooms that smell like vanilla and
chicory, I've never took hold of someone and felt there, as
if the moment had been preluded by most everything in my life
we both and breathe and--
I would like to tell you that my love will be outspoken, but it will always be a whisper. A warm breeze that catches the hem of your
shirt and cools the sweat on your back, the soft remnants of a song--
the curious sounds that turn into music in the middle of the night
when the buzz of a hot summer sounds more like a choir, an undulating melody straying through the screen as if it never
meant to find you but it did, love did.
That I will not chase your fears to the absolute ends but approach them
slowly as wounded people, take their arthritic hands and speak softly to them, never recoiling from the faces of your past. Kiss your bruises and lay them out on the porch, every smattering of blue and moss green growing pansies in the garden--
When you tell me your secrets I will wrap them in lace and tell you mine, I will unbutton every layer of every girl i've ever been and show you the list of scars, the tick marks on these ribs where I once was captive in my own body,
I will not pick across your fields and uproot your flaws, I will sit beneath the trees you grew out of sheer anger and coax flowers to grow--Because your mistakes are not things to get rid of, only waxy residue I rub from the leaves with my thumbs, a better part of you that has always been there--that I'll move from the shelves and place on the dining room table, not for me to polish but for you to see--
That you are beautiful. That you refract the daylight just by shifting your head. That even when you are tearing into yourself in vicious rages, you will still be fringed in a splendid brilliance--
I will not take you by force, you are not an expedition, I am not a missionary. I will always ask, always from a distance. So hushed
and subdued,
for you.
Apr 27, 2016
Apr 27, 2016 at 9:29 PM UTC
I met you tonight.
You smelled nice
and I sat next to
you for two hours.
Sure, there was a
fifteen minute break.
But so what? Your
bangs hung straight
across your forehead
and you skirt lay
loosely around your
thighs. Your sweater
clung to you body
and you clung to my
mind. I know your
name and I know
your face but I know
not you.
It was your first time going to a show and you told me you felt like a white crayon.
It was my thirteenth show and I told you white crayons looked very nice on any color paper but white. So why limit yourself?
You had your legs
crossed and your
foot kept touching
my calf and instead
of recoiling I let it
happen. I talked to
you and when I took
my coat off it flailed
in your face and I
said "I'm sorry, sorry."
And you curled your
mouth into a cute
smile and told me it
was really okay, and
then the show was very
good and how many
have I been to. It's funny
how you're cute and I'm
me and you laughed
when I said stupid
things and I let our
legs touch and I even
held the door open for
you and said "Goodnight,
Lady. See you next Monday."
And you said "Goodnight,
Nolan. If fate wills it,
so it shall be." And we
laughed and I begged fate
to will it.
Oct 13, 2012
Oct 13, 2012 at 1:09 AM UTC
Twirl of shyness
Going closer than recoiling back harsher than ever
Leaving the aftermath of a tangled heart
So now you become like this after all that?
Why? ANSWER ME WHY
We twisted and twirled so perfectly together
Delicate tendrils of belonging entwined around us
You cut the tendrils like you would ****
But weeds grow back again
And grow they did.
Sep 16, 2013
Sep 16, 2013 at 6:34 PM UTC
I can’t get the sand out of my shoes
It’s been weeks
And I’ve been hitting them
And shaking them
And knocking them around
But still
I can feel the grit with every step
So I still can’t get the beach
Or you
Off my skin
With you, there was no warning
I went from drifting languidly along in the sunshine
To being tossed against the rocks in a sudden hailstorm
Shocked and battered and lost
Disoriented in the downpour
When I’d had the promise of clear skies
I’m not sure I’ll trust the weatherman again
He’s got your eyes and voice and disarming smile
I’ve been trying to get the salt out of my ponytail
I’ve been trying to get the feel of rock out of my hands
I’ve been trying to get this ****** sand
Out of my shoes
But it’s so sticky
Everything
Is so sticky
And here I am in the biggest mess
With hair and skin and mouth
So full of you
That I don’t know how to escape
My tongue is still recoiling
From the half-truths you spilled
Tinged with sweat and cinnamon
And slime
And here I am still choking on them
Retching
Just to get rid of the taste
Gnawing at my lips
Just to break the skin that knows you
Scrubbing myself raw
Just to keep you from clinging
My ears are buzzing with your nonsense
And I am running from the noise
Bolting with everything that I have
As sand grinds against my feet
And I will be ****** and breathless before I stop
Because I need the distraction
As much as the distance
I can’t keep reliving your kisses
With every stubborn grain
I can’t keep wondering if you’re lying
Every time I turn my back
I can’t keep playing this game
Because we’ve all already lost
So I will not apologize for taking the high road out of here
And leaving you to sulk with your I-didn’t-mean-to’s
And your too-little-too-late revelations
There were a lot of ways this could have ended
But I never once imagined you would have brought storms to my doorstep
I never expected to be trying determinedly to peel my skin off
And I never thought I’d be sitting here wishing to forget your name
May 28, 2014
May 28, 2014 at 10:53 AM UTC
He pulls a feather from her bodice
She laughs and turns a coy cheek.
The boa, all but bare, looks ragged.
Like her smile when she's feeling anxious.
She feels the heat of his eyes, feels his intensity.
Her fears belie her desires. She wishes she could see.
See what he sees. See this thing that he calls beautiful.
He seems to look to look right through her skin.
But all she can focus on is the curves and the scars.
The strange shape of her body. The embarrassment.
The awkward turn of her mouth. The knit in her brow.
Her conflicts with pleasure, her repulsion for needing to submit.
The memories that bite at the back of her moans.
The shadows of abuse crawling out of the seams.
Ugly, twisted devils that sought to steal her innocence.
Returning to feed again, to taint the morrows of adulthood.
All of these things color the love she makes.
Tar and feather it. Blacken it with shame.
He senses her discomfort. Internalizes it. Confuses it.
He shrinks back, recoiling from the slap of rejection.
But it isn't him at all. Him, she craves. Salivates for.
But like the ringing of Pavlov's bell, they've built a deeper path.
Men she never knew; Can't even remember. Faces obscured.
Yet she can trace the footprints they've left on her mind.
Tracks set with iron spikes running through the bedrock,
Through the deepest layers of her psyche. Below the surface.
To where thoughts exist without consciousness, without effort.
The symphony of tragedy continues to play on.
She has no words to express this to him.
She can only hope that he senses it.
Senses the murky bubbles of awakening as they arise.
Senses her need for him. Her need for his patience.
Senses her need for silence, for distance and recollection.
Senses her need for his quiet embrace. For understanding
For her troubled state of mind and damaged sense of self.
For a self that she has barely even begun to understand.
Sep 27, 2015
Sep 27, 2015 at 8:43 AM UTC
It hit the pressure point,
**** shocked electric joints,
Finger flounder, a weapon,
Cold recoiling aggression.
Regretful revenge,
Hmm, still not really cleansed.
The concentrated intents
Odd refractions been bent.
Apr 15, 2013
Apr 15, 2013 at 7:38 AM UTC
I am twisting in your grasp
Reaching, recoiling, breathing
Tasting cigarettes and sweat
Disappearing the second I let go and
I find myself intertwined with sheets
Cool and unfeeling like the sky beyond the window pane
Who was I searching for, my desire?
The name of a faceless man who holds me when I sleep
Whose taste and scent have permeated my core
Until he has become the air itself
Wrapping around my body, softer than the caress of silk
Lingering on my skin. Yet again I wake with empty arms
And the heavy ache of love and lust on my tongue
Pulsating in my fingertips, but why
This love always leaves me hollow, haunting me
With the sweet promise of return as soon as my eyes close
So I keep awake until coaxed with his voice, a lullaby humming in my ear
Bringing me closer and closer still
Only once more, I tell myself then nevermore will
I give in to incubus who softly calls my name each night
Once more and I will become the insomniac who dreams of you while waking
Jan 9, 2011
Jan 9, 2011 at 7:49 AM UTC
Peremptory forbearance, propounded.
Heaven promiscuously recoiling
in Secret, assoiling attainted diffidence;
Perfidiously?
Effusive wanton idolatry forcibly
motivating outwardly,
The cruelest ugliest creation that survives.
The most beautiful creature alive
inwardly putrescent- cascading
relinquishing Evil; turning
away casting, aside Hell.
Eleete j Muir
Nov 20, 2012
Nov 20, 2012 at 8:12 AM UTC
there is a war inside me,
begging for your condemnation,
begging for your ruthless sensation.
a war inside me,
that feeds on anticipation,
an invitation for your belittling generalizations,
or an explanation for my creation,
but no please, stay inside your own nation.
this is my civil war,
though civil is not the word i would use to describe
the words echoed in my mind
about my soul, my love, my kind.
i do not hear pride anymore.
my sense of worth escaped when you disregarded to close the door.
running free like the child i once felt inside my numb bones.
i own
nothing
but the cruel, few centimeters inside my skull.
and even those have been invaded by this cold.
i long for daybreak like hades longing for the return of his soul
but i feel no remorse
for the steady course
by which i have found my way
you say,
sit down be calm and wait for your prince,
but i see no prince
i wait only for the queen inside of me to awaken and find
the dragon that for three years has held captive my mind
is recoiling into the skin that it crawled out of.
this queen has not been praying for a handsome mate on a handsome steed
only the virtues and weapons that she may need
she is off
away
to find a happily ever anything
and perchance on the way she shall meet her "king."
or a crown.
or both.
Jun 16, 2018
Jun 16, 2018 at 7:38 PM UTC
“Music takes us out of the actual and whispers to us dim secrets that startle our wonder as to who we are, and for what, whence, and whereto.”
The witching hours between
Onyx nightmares - and dreams that sparkle at first light
Find me catatonic amongst my secrets and inuendos
Ragged shell
an insinuation of skeletal existence locked
Emotional rigor mortis
Hushed, suspended and supine
Stasis waits, hesitating
For the thrumming drums of life
a message of motion
sensual resurrection
That whispered music
melodic song my confidant
The rush of blood
This exhalation across lifeless lips
Speaks nothing into the void
So I do not breathe
In my skin that crawls beyond darkness
Recoiling from oblivion
I thought you loved me
Yet you are without utterance
And my heart breaks straining
For a note of music
and the silence ringing in my ears
A regretful requiem
Careless undertones
mimic this rumor of survival
Suspended I am
Unsung
TBoehm 022008
© 2008 TL Boehm
Oct 12, 2013
Oct 12, 2013 at 5:56 PM UTC
I wonder asunder
what a whale would wonder
or whether they wander
through waters of wonder.
Above on board bottles
boast "BAM!" faces mottled
but whether bought or dottled
broken beauties cottle.
The window metal rusts
recoiling at her lust
raptous roilings dost
remedy raw must.
and in frustration
and in anger
and in desperation
and in danger
I break.
Leaving convention losing sight of solid ground
sailing Atlantic and crossing canyons hidden
beneath tons of tons of water
I
amidst tons and tons of air
wonder and I wander
and
bottles boast "BAM!"
while
recoiling at her lust.
For this, Beloved, is a Carinval (kar-knee-VAL)
and Carnival, beloved, is a mummers farce.
Apr 25, 2013
Apr 25, 2013 at 11:11 PM UTC
*The Clouds Above Were Gray And Sad,
The Ground Below, Chilled And Dying,
The Soul Of Summer Sunk Slowly Into The Soil,
As The River Cringed With The Presence Of Ice
The Sweet Songs Of The Sparrows Had Retreated,
Replaced By A Silence Which Hung Within The Trees,
And The Leaves Which Once Whispered In The Breeze,
Were Now Brittle And Brown, Recoiling On The Forest Floor
The Sun Stayed Hidden Throughout The Days,
Giving It's Much Needed Warmth To The Stars,
The Only Heat My Body Can Conjure Up,
Is That Of Which Was Generated By My Heart,
But It Too, Is A Victim Of Winter's Frosted Fingers*
Aug 29, 2013
Aug 29, 2013 at 11:54 AM UTC
The waves withdraw
From the shore's warm embrace
Recoiling from the sand
Away from its touch
Yet they come crashing back
Rejoiced by the earth
Only to depart from the ground
Again
May 29, 2013
May 29, 2013 at 1:05 PM UTC
So you want to be immortal, huh?
What? In one of my poems?
Jeez. I've just written you a poem
and now you want another.
Brother. You're insatiable.
I mean, I bet you Shakespeare's missus
didn't say, hey Will, how's about a sonnet
just to sock it to this mortal coil
before we shuffle off, recoiling.
And then, just because she hath her way,
he grabs his quill and says, yair, OK,
now what are the parameters here?
Do ya want some iambic pentameter?
I mean, look. Fair **** of the saveloy,
no, seriously, why do you think us poets
slave away in our word factories,
hammering out rhythms,
breathing sparks into everything,
giving a few bangs on the side
and trying to straighten it all out?
Eh? Words almost fail me!
It's because we're trying
to become immortal ourselves!
That's why. And even if I were
to borrow and to borrow
from the old bard it'd be just like
the plague arisen again with
that Bacon business.
I'd do small good, see? Forever.
So listen. Even if I compare thee with
a summer's day and it fair ****** down with rain,
I'm still the one who has to hack the trail.
Right. So let’s cut a deal here, immediately.
If I, me, this poet can first find immortality,
no worries. You're welcome to the recipe.
Oct 30, 2012
Oct 30, 2012 at 3:46 AM UTC