"reversals" poems
Save My Soul, (But First), Rub My Feet
thus a poem auditorialy conceived,
but!
the sexuality of the deceiving dualities,
irritates erogenous, exogenous perceptiveties,
plethora of intensifying variables, a not-serious,
harmless remark yet bring us to myriad of
marauding reversals, add-venturing into harm’s way…
much to discuss, but this
topic bettered by much
trading of traditional bantering
brevity bettering our wordless battering
insinuating, sensational signals bring
us backwards & forwards
to an exploratorium of wide boulevards
back to new unfamiliar venues,
narrowing alleyways & places we were before,
places before we were before where,
no unnecessary commas to separate,
distingué, distinct
tween the instinct of old and new,
an uncommon commonality experiential revisionism
now I understand what you said to me,
a tenderizing of
the sole synapses directing
the brain, the old ooh ‘s, aah’s
reigniting what what lay dormant,
at long last,
by opening doors to alternations,
ven diagram of digressing yet intersecting
old & new pathways,
from the souls of her feet,
to, too, two,
we become diamond
on souls of our heat
May 30, 2023
May 30, 2023 at 4:50 PM UTC
What on earth is given freely
without thought of gain, return
Spirit spins on heaven's wheel we
ride, get off, each in our turn.
Something you've no longer need of
or use daily, either way;
Prayer, poem, words to feed and
bring us succor through the day.
Heads a-whirl with planetary
matters weighing every move,
a spin on Spirit's wheel can carry
motives one turn toward love.
Change is rarely universal;
creeps along, just barely seen,
manifests by our reversals -
loving humans newly being.
Mar 29, 2016
Mar 29, 2016 at 2:44 PM UTC
If love is not will but rather fate,
Than so shall it be that I cannot hate,
For this immortal wound,
The pain I suffered after just one kiss
As your lips plunged with mine in the sweetness of bliss
So that I did not look for wine.
If desire is not but destiny,
Than embrace me within your ecstasy,
Quick before the jealousy sounds,
And tortures us a world apart
Swift reversals of love’s poison dart
the infinite powers dine.
If perfection is but naught the grasps of sand,
Than let me forever hold your hand,
Chance confound.
Before the beginning of years, there came a sudden sigh,
Found us both in pleasures drowning nigh,
Splendors fine.
Jul 7, 2010
Jul 7, 2010 at 7:14 PM UTC
Soft subtle touch
clutches from back to front
About face switched place
in role reversals
Airways are open
Feel a rawer version
of your person
Entrust this thoughtful lust
sought from top to bottom
Moving in sync as your
yearning burns
Deep frictionless sin
lived within bare skin
Born below the belly line
Sing as bells ring
Breathe in the aftermath
This beauty won't last
May 16, 2020
May 16, 2020 at 2:53 PM UTC
*there will be
no more
death*
announced
a wasp
to the lot of us
come to patch
my mother’s
roof-
then a fourth
strange thing
happened
mother covered
with a black cloth
the empty
birdcage
Jul 3, 2012
Jul 3, 2012 at 5:00 PM UTC
From my perch that's high above
I survey the vastness that's below;
The great sprawling urban “utopia”
Tis a jungle with no hint of nature.
I see a maze of concrete and asphalt,
Neons and walls of synthetic colour.
I see a great haze of smoke and dust
Kicked up by them migrating hordes.
Built by and for the human master,
All other species are mere scavengers.
Here we are supreme and defy nature
Now that we are at evolutionary peak.
But then I spot a strange anomaly
On the roof of a derelict structure.
Weeds grow roots into its fissures,
Year by year they go more deeper
Is this a sign, I begin to ponder,
Of greater reversals yet to come,
When “utopian” bubble finally bursts
Under the weight of our arrogance?
Sep 17, 2014
Sep 17, 2014 at 1:27 PM UTC
my excuse is that i was raised by wolves, my dear
and i had my teeth filed into pinpoints
and i had my back hunched over until my spine was a golden arc.
but did you ever run with a pack, my dear?
your food came to you, cooked, prepared, served by a gloved hand.
and everything could be solved with a 'please' and a 'thank you'.
but our differences don't stop there, my dear
there is a distinction between school grounds and hunting grounds
between daisy chains and food chains.
or, if you please, packed lunch and slain lunch
better still: between praying and preying
between what one hears and what one herds.
yet here we are, my deer
and for all notions of civilized behaviour
you are the one baring animal teeth.
Aug 31, 2017
Aug 31, 2017 at 11:53 AM UTC
***A forbidding word rises to our surface
life as turbulent shatters the calm
and the calm may now in back glance
appear as imprisoning..
Surprise and reversals traverse the land
and resistance finds futility..
Seemingly our choices are already made..
We are called to ride the storm
to shape as each might..in each unique way
each momentary outline of
our own creation..underway...***
~CC
Dec 7, 2016
Dec 7, 2016 at 12:32 PM UTC
summer is for holding hands, not smacking skin that's already excessively bruised with metallic rubber bands.
they don't help me shake off the nausea when I look in the mirror when a page becomes an ocean and a kiss hurdles over death to help keep the torch from giving up, from bleeding out and from gasping oxygen one last time and then realizing there's nothing left in the tank.
the woman behind the mirror can see me; we operated on such dependency that I couldn't even see you on days where I needed you the most. i never felt her hand meet my hand, certainly not with desire, at least. i try to hide my scars in discretion, like on the inside of my cheek just past where my top lip meets my bottom lip on both sides, and behind my knees where the tendons connect the big bones.
but when hide and seek was the game, you didn't ever even care to look in the obvious places, like behind the curtains where my ***** white socks were visible from rooms away.
the inside of your cheeks are so beautiful: i think they always will be for as long as we co-exist with the stars that created us. i hardly ever dream, but when i do, i'm singing to you in every pitch i possibly can about our static buzzes, gravity reversals, funeral rehearsals, and only temperature change that scientists can't agree on, which seems to always correlate with my entrance or departure into all the rooms in which I could breathe the same air as you.
empathy should be a plateau to rest on, not a mountain to climb, and so the winter is warmer and the days are shorter.
i'm not holding hands with anyone until I can take back the canvas that you laminated my fingerprints on to when you ripped them away from me without ever asking to do so.
Jun 4, 2016
Jun 4, 2016 at 1:40 PM UTC
1
flumine stretches to the small of her back
as the clock slowly runs off from
twilight to midnight
perfect time for assault but undeclared
say when tugging of hair to expose
the jugular -- that is where you plunge
the message
when biting the lip becomes
predatory, when sweat is the telling
trace putting the clandestine, ******
or easily when hold becomes grip
else it was just estrangement face to face
in the dark, cannot remember features
only textures -- walled up message tongued in all fours as if a crucifix or idle
penitence
2
whoever was steering was just
teaching how to hate, treats as open and
easy target, mapping out what to sequester
and authoring silence as acquiescence.
first trust is given and is thrusting deeper
in hollow grievance. we have no use for it
and so we take it as the first step
out of the door keeping love unharmed
only to be taken in unmindful of its implosion.
3
we then have damage portrayals as if
we have a long divide, or a grueling history,
hit from our blinded sides.
a man from another country could have taken you from this juncture,
but he is somewhere lugging objects
he has no use for in a haul that was meant to
drift him away from sheer possibility
and so we remain here, a promise that things will start to exact relevance, until then
we remain, waiting for our smoke to
dissipate when the last fizz of fire is sounded.
4
you do to me what i do to you
as if polarities are clear reversals
and then back again with hope
so i drink from your mouth what i have
given as your body depletes, your fingers
crenelate as you rebuild your stronghold,
my emptiness a catchbasin of all the
rain growing inside you, your body swollen,
ready to burst and after that
perhaps, forgive.
May 11, 2016
May 11, 2016 at 2:38 AM UTC
Another day goes by
Connected, sharing the same motion
Into reversals we danced
Nonsensical music playing at every turn
Rattles and swerves writihing around me
Waking the day before
Special friends tumbling through the door
Have to keep them moving
Not a day goes by without this global motion
Like a thousand drops of sky
This energy comes
Dancing through doors
Sharing a magic trance
Take my hand
Come along on this mad dance
Mar 11, 2015
Mar 11, 2015 at 8:19 PM UTC
Paul as an antichrist—
Jesus as dead:
The devil's deceptions
Can mess with your head.
Church as the enemy:
Lucifer's light
Makes Babylon blacker
Than Egypt's own night.
But God is outside us:
Externally true—
An anchor; a reference point
Greater than YOU.
Jan 6, 2025
Jan 6, 2025 at 9:12 AM UTC
Try then fail, then try once again. Repeat and alter just slightly from the first time. Become frustrated then break through the problem. Solve one puzzle and discover another. Go back to the beginning, then return to the middle, before deciding that the end is actually the beginning after all. Such is the path of discovery, such is the way of life. Mistakes and reversals, trial and error. This is what makes discovery a journey unto itself.
Jan 5, 2016
Jan 5, 2016 at 2:23 AM UTC
My twin isn't what he seems, we linger
between each other shadows of a silhouette
not always seen, impressions are everything.
But we wonder the realms of possibilities,
he is a night owl, me I'm a cockerel rising
with head held high at the yearning sun.
He wonders the untold stories of a slumbering
visage that others never see. Finding meaning in
the collection of echoes reverberating in footsteps.
We are opposites yet we are a collage of repetitions,
our speculations are façades of the other, silken thoughts
collect the subconscious dew of another's refection.
We have never purposely done wrong, survival is
a trait we have honed. The streets were a kinder-garden
of restless sleeps and haunting dreams.
But when on appearance, when finger caught in the
cookie jar, a reflection of remorse can set you free.
or the fact our finger prints duplicate reversals.
We survived through the trials of life, I became the
other side of me, I was a writer, I was a musician.
We thrived of each others impressions.
We do let the other have extended times, but the
plus side is we each only age when on the outside.
I look at myself and we both have lingering smiles.
May 17, 2017
May 17, 2017 at 11:00 AM UTC