"reverses" poems
Lily pollens glow
rain of tears drops though it rained
petals glow
lily gleam and glow through it reverses time
night crickets chitter in joy
clock hand reverse twelve
midnight bell rings
willow leaves raddle like reindeer bells
pasture sound chitters and shallow
river flow down the stream fast
the wind made tree leaves raddle
so quick time stopped beneath my feet.
May 15, 2019
May 15, 2019 at 1:36 AM UTC
born in illusory chains
gnarled metal
encrusted in my broken skin
the copper colored dust
of rusted steel
infectiously envelopes
shaving off antiquated layers
of fundamentalist religion
encrusted for generations
unpeeled until raw
an unsophisticated method
unveiling
ancient lodged glass shards
colored with deceit
brought before their court
interrogated
unfathomably skewered
an eerie salem witch trial
in modern times
barbarically they shun me
banished
i wander aimlessly
smelling the rotten decay of deceased community
as splinters pierce my feet
from the crooked wooden plank
i walk alone now
an unfathomable inner ache
kindled a residue within
igniting a wildfire from the darkest shadows
uncontainably erupting
i dance savagely
naked in the orange moonlight
and in every shaded edge
lit my soul ablaze
i am a nomad sheep
‘tho not one of their color
no pasture to contain me
no shepherd i can follow
theological safety nets
no longer there to catch me
bohemian-like
i plunge
free falling
plummeting
stripped wide open
magically
fearlessness
reverses gravitation
floating
untethered
i soar amongst
apricot tinged clouds
my skin still wet from rebirth
and rise with the flaming coral sun
you cannot destroy me
i twisted in your decrepit pencil sharpener
and with fresh mettle
cut through the chains that bound
you can have my ego
but you cannot have my soul
dismantling domestication
transcending limitation
wildly untamed
i fly
©2016janetaylor
Jun 2, 2016
Jun 2, 2016 at 6:40 AM UTC
914
I cannot be ashamed
Because I cannot see
The love you offer—
Magnitude
Reverses Modesty
And I cannot be proud
Because a Height so high
Involves Alpine
Requirements
And Services of Snow.
3.9k
So many years,
These hands, now old,
Have worked at the table,
kneading and rolling dough,
Testing texture,
Adding raisins,
Walnuts,
Sugar,
Sprinkling cinnamon.
Warming the oven,
Waiting for the dough
To rise,
Sliding trays onto hot racks,
Marking time....
She sits on her walker's chair
Looks up into the camera
"Oh, don't take my picture!"
But how can we not?
Adding these images
To the memories,
To the moment.
The scent of baking bread,
Cinnamon,
Raisins,
Fills the room,
With 40 years' remembering...
Time stops,
Time reverses.
The ones who stopped in...
Dad,
Brother,
Sister,
Gram,
Hired Men,
Grandchildren,
Neighbors passing by...
Some now long gone...
After all, they were
Only stopping in...
"To grab a bite"
On their way to the barn,
On their way by the farm,
On their way to fields,
On their way to the phone,
On their way to town...,
But really to stop
For cinnamon, raisins, walnuts
Twisted into fresh, hot bread,
And a cool glass of milk.
Jul 11, 2014
Jul 11, 2014 at 2:03 PM UTC
My Maypole mind unravels
reverses centrifugal force
its streamer shreds of ribbons
spinning backwards
in one grand and splendid rush.
Mind loosened and snapped
tatters
fluttering free
electric after-images
of me.
© M.L.Emmett
Mar 1, 2016
Mar 1, 2016 at 9:57 AM UTC
Maybe you don't really get it...
.
.
.
.
.
.
I am a ghost moth,
An ugly nothing,
And as I fly up,
I'm called disgusting,
However I know,
They cannot see Me,
Cause I'm a ghost moth,
An ugly nothing.
No one can see me,
They love pretending,
They all grow weary,
Now they are leaving,
There isn't a light,
That won't come stinging,
I'm all alone now...
No news that I see.
I cannot be squished,
Although I do wish,
I've seen my future,
There's nothing to miss,
I always yearn love,
Love does not yearn me,
Not the parent stuff,
More like romancing,
When will I get it,
I've been cursed and stung,
No light in my eyes,
I wish I were done.
You will find someone,
That helps my curse grow,
Like it works backward,
It reverses flow,
Tell me I'm lying,
I'm only crying,
Why can't I wake up,
It's worse than dying.
Now to the ending,
I want apathy,
Drowning my sorrows,
Numb in my sighing,
When the light does fade,
It will then get cold,
Wasted my one wish,
Dead young, I was told.
I do deserve this...
I feel so careless,
The moth that's like me,
Hope that you are bliss...
Oct 9, 2018
Oct 9, 2018 at 10:44 PM UTC
I was born in grave clothes
Raised in grave clothes
Unaware I even bathed in grave clothes
I didn't know the extent of my decay
Like the bones were expose in my face but I didn't have reflective glass to see my flesh
I was on a rotten path
Death would have been the only prize at the end of my race
Strongholds wrestled my thoughts and subdued my brain
Bone marrow deep I was linked to Adam
Lord knows I wasn't Abel
Dna tied to blood imprinted on the ground I had more in common with Cain
It's true a heart beat of sin causes death to course through vains
I wondered how could I be treated
Something was missing something was needed
To my shock it was Jesus
Clear! He got my heart beat right
With that resurrection power
Made my heart see light
He changed my life
I started to realize that the same power that raised Christ from the dead
Was the same power that lived in me
That does more than allow me to breathe .
It brings life back to limbs riddle with rigor mortis
It's reverses decomposition brings back what death has stolen
It's uncontrollable like a lighting storm.
It's unadulterated
Once it hits
It's changes landscape like when a nuclear warhead is detonated
Hoover dam generated power
Turbine engine spending power
Lift the dead out of sin power
Tectonic plate shifting, erecting mountains from plains power
By one name only can we be saved power
Second coming cracking the sky power
All knees shall bow and all tongues shall comply power
Corruptible turned into incorruptible in a instant power
Rebirth repositioned repurposed repented power
Turn what seems to be a lost into a win power
It is finish the precursor to the release of infinite power
I could never be the same because the spirit lives in me gives me power
My arteries are laced with a burning flame
A roaring wind, a groaning earth, a raging sea crashing waves
The impact of several elements crush the chains of a slave
It's the same power that said come forth Christ friend walks out the grave
The same power that moved the stone a borrowed tomb turned to a cave
It's the power of the Resurrection
In a world full of aborted life
It breeds conception
In a world that attempts to abort Christ
The church still cries out in reverence
Changed death for us now it's portal
Changed lives of stop watches into immortal
Resurrection power a glimpse into the eternal
Jun 23, 2016
Jun 23, 2016 at 6:26 AM UTC
I'm going home,
leaving the pack unknown and unsafe
and my eyes strafe, swoon and sigh at the holy display
of the pure 9-to-5,
walking away from her place of pay,
to go home like me tonight.
A swift above carries on home,
food for its young carried between teeth and tongue.
A family walk from the local school,
with song being sung from the cooler two of the sons.
A car reverses nearly knocking and smudging the woman in blue;
a jacket atop a blouse, pristine shop-bought-new.
I remember her sunglasses.
I remember her eyes from behind her sunglasses.
I remember her staring me down through the lenses
melancholy and blue,
knowing that this was a passing
break-through affair.
Jun 2, 2013
Jun 2, 2013 at 1:17 PM UTC
The Tenderness
My hand slow motion falls, with the soft of the gentlest rain,
sensed,
but not disturbing, nay reassuring,
by the quality of the sensation, rolling caresses over
the hillocks of her body, outlined beneath the
Sea of Coverlets
My arm rotates and reverses, back forth, up down,
as if it were a well oiled engine, the hand strokes with
a smooth four cylinder stroke, gentle coating the panorama of
her body on the surface of our Planet-of-the-Bed.
The woman does not stir, meaning the dewey doux
intensity of my touch, there sufficient to please but
not disturb, is a perfect ten, for I intuit, that she attends
to my comforting attentions, with pleasure
by the
absence of objection.
This will not be the first poem I have written on this day,
but though not premiered, the experience is newly born
with each escapade of tenderness delivered, and steel hard
iron of ironies, it please. me as much if not more, for fully
awake and alert, am receiving by the giving and though
she stirs not, my heart does, for the electrical pulses of my
soothing her, soothe me in much the same way.
This is how I make love in the morning.
This is why this Poems is well titled and entitled as
“The Tenderness”
Jul 25, 2023
Jul 25, 2023 at 6:54 AM UTC
Burma-Shave
I remember........
Getting hit in the head with the swing set;
Doctor sewing up my scalp at home,
While setting on the step.
Taking the bus downtown with mom,
Car shopping for dad.
Picked out a Ford with a windshield sun visor.
A two tone black and cream collage
Mom using it to "move the garage".
I remember family vacation:
Driving to Florida before the interstate
Before Disney became a nation
Motels with pools, swimming laps,
And all those tourists traps:
The house that reverses gravity
Burma-Shave signs leading the way
To where the fountain of youth lay
Driving to the lake,
Dad forgetting his hat
At the halfway restaurant cafe
Finding it still there the next year.
Those were special days
Weeks at the lake catching turtles
Cleaning fish guts and scales
Swimming and skiing on glass.
Great fun and no care of details
No telephone at the cabin
Copyright 2014
Richard L. Ratliff
Published in The Indiana Voice Journal
Nov 25, 2016
Nov 25, 2016 at 8:47 PM UTC
Burning pleasure with each swallow
I love the way you taste.
Eradicate the stress.
Numb the pain.
In search for freedom
Steps to intoxication I take
Consumed in reflection
With each swig memories fade.
No matter the quantity internally vacant I remain.
How many more sips
How many more shots
For the remnants to trail away?
Ethanol
My aching addiction
Course through my veins
Life is nil without you.
Unable to remember
Questioning what was said
Passively expelling secrets
Drunkenly fearless I am.
Drowsiness imminent
Slurred speech
Coordination weak
Emotions wavering
Artery pressure low
Heartbeat delayed
Thoughts sway
Respirations slow.
Inhibitions lessen
Concentration impaired
Reflexes diminish
Hangover in the distance
Another day
Another drink
Inevitably it happens.
I succumb again.
Time reverses the inebriated.
If only time could annul the loss in me.
Subdue the recollections.
Until then sobriety is not for me...
Jul 30, 2014
Jul 30, 2014 at 9:49 PM UTC
415
Sunset at Night—is natural—
But Sunset on the Dawn
Reverses Nature—Master—
So Midnight’s—due—at Noon.
Eclipses be—predicted—
And Science bows them in—
But do one face us suddenly—
Jehovah’s Watch—is wrong.
1.1k
Biologically
a composition of
cytoplasmic fragments of melanophores
self-centering
their microtubule polarity
reverses
when severed
outward
from that center
located arm central
implicating
their pigment containing
cells
red white yellow
black
are so much like us.
We are not chameleons,
though,
we need luminescent bacteria
to breed
under our skins,
then-we will all
glow together.
Oct 12, 2014
Oct 12, 2014 at 6:16 PM UTC
Why am I the last straw?
One mistake I make
Pushes you over the edge
I become the target of your revenge.
When their walls come crumbling in
I'm the one who always wins
The title I loathe
The one at fault, I'm betrothed
I didn't build their walls,
Or huff and puff and blow them down.
If anything, I stayed around
When the wicked wolf came-a-howling
But how quickly they forget
When it all comes tumbling
All the good I had done
Dissolves to nothing
Reverses itself to harm
Convicted of a crime I did not commit
Sentenced with no mercy
No good deed goes unpunished
Perhaps it's true
All my good deeds
Have always ended with abuse.
Jan 17, 2013
Jan 17, 2013 at 2:39 AM UTC
Left is as little as right is as much when ability to see is as blind man to touch
For the daft run in circles as smart jump oblique and obsequious wander as clever must seek,
Why a truckers rage mows the worshippers down in a white synagogue in the quiet part of town
And Iranian guns in a mad Houti’s hand guarantees the Saudi’s bomb Yemen’s dry sand.
Why, oh why do whites fear the black? Must the caravan die as Trump turns it back?
Is insanity born or acquired on the way and is there an Ap that reverses the play?
Why in this life is the way of the world as manic, confused as contortion, unfurled?
Left is as little as right is as much when ability to see is as blind man to touch
For daft run in circles as smart jump oblique and obsequious snore as the rest of us weep.
M.
1 November 2018
Oct 31, 2018
Oct 31, 2018 at 5:14 PM UTC
Be mindful of the gap between
the stapler and tape dispenser.
That my boy,
is where evil breeds hate.
Bacteria waiting for the right moment.
A sickly blitzkrieg.
We are alive,
here in the office,
Looking for the next paid holiday.
One that will come too soon.
Forgive me for rambling,
it is what I do best.
Alone in my thoughts
and feeling like I am back home.
The road to ruin.
How can I help you today?
Oh,
I can't really do anything for you.
I do not care.
I respectfully request that you stop.
This poem will ruin your day.
I would feel bad.
Let's forget this ever happened and
get back to what we do best.
Staring into space and hoping it reverses.
Jul 7, 2014
Jul 7, 2014 at 2:15 PM UTC
Silence rarely ends in a whisper
For it is too common that life
And all its accoutrements
Begins with it's rival
...
BANG!
...
Leaving behind all certainty that solitude
Is commonplace in the universe wide
Nay, sound is all around us!
It reverberates in our very molecules
Enticing us to sway and flow
With the motion of space itself
Which is ever expanding like a balloon
In the process of inflation
Continually getting bigger and bigger
Louder and louder
Until critical mass is achieved
With the world we dance upon
Sitting at the very epicenter of tragedy
Whereas all matter reverses course
To crunch with a
...
BANG!
...
Leading to the first whisper of silence
Apr 21, 2017
Apr 21, 2017 at 7:16 PM UTC
I'm sitting here letting my own demons drown me as you freely do as you please. What am I to do? This is my fault, I can almost feel it. The second you turn your back, everything slips and reverses until they're in control. It never used to be this way, you know. You were always there, pulling me up and away from the darkness that lingers in my peripherals. Who's to say that I'm merely crazy and illogical to think that you ever legitimately cared for my well being, and the idea that you might one day prove everyone wrong. Did I drive you away, or did you drive yourself away with your cynical isolation? What this seems to be is your futile attempt to push me over the edge, far past any point of return, for your simple satisfaction and freedom. Am I only dead weight to you, ready to be thrown overboard and long forgotten? Perhaps it's just me and I don't understand a single thing that's been going on, and I would if you would exchange words with me. But alas, I can't. For you keep me in the shadows long enough to question my own sanity, then bait me back into the light you so graciously present to me and me only. I cannot express enough how often my heart throbs of excruciating pain and sorrow every time you retract yourself into your cave of hidden ventures. I will forever be unable to truly describe the intricate cracks and lines you have carved into my being. I can show you, that is, if you're willing to pay enough attention to detail. I wonder if you'll be able to see how and why my scars run deeper than mere cuts and scratches. I wonder if you'll come to terms with what you've done and how much damage you inflicted on my already bruised heart and soul. I pray to whatever unknown existence that lies beyond the barrier of this universe that you will forgive both me and yourself for everything that has happened since our worlds collided. I hope that you soon find the courage and audacity to stay here with me and enjoy all that life has to offer down to our final breaths. I know I'd do it for you.
Feb 22, 2015
Feb 22, 2015 at 12:28 PM UTC
I am nearing seventy,
my woman, has me, surpassed.
that hallmark of difference,
is a race I can’t catch her up,
so always on the lookout for ways,
ways to equalize the difference.
laying in bed on a beautiful
Tuesday, (renamed Twosday)
romantic muse-marveling how
an ordinary weekday came to be
so spectacular, the senses are
keening, preening, as the warm
loving feelings upping with sun,
rising, and my eyes welling tears,
of youthful gratefulness and love
so
I propose we get matching tattoos
to lock in this storied moment historical.
She smiles.
Stealthy moves as if to bed exit,
when with a sudden twist of fate,
reverses with one of the three pillows,
her in-bed-reading-backup-accompanists,
no pretense, she tries to beat me to near-death.
Later.
She inquires.
“What tattoo exactly did I have in mind?”
Till Death Do Us Part
(inside a heart, optional).
She snorts.
“That can be arranged, if you get more deranged!”
*from now on my passing thoughts of loving celebration,
gonna just keep on passing by, except for maybe, just,
tattoos of chocolates, a money saving device, so many
occasions useful, now you understand this poem’s entitlement.*
Ogdiddynash
Jun 16, 2020
Jun 16, 2020 at 10:08 AM UTC
A bird cries out from the rooftops
A leaf falls drifting to the ground
A man stumbles on a cobblestone
A woman's throat makes a quiet sound
A dog chases a grey squirrel
The squirrel flees up a trunk
A man reverses into a cul de sac
His boot is full of junk
A postman whistles to himself
An old lady is baking buns
A child decides to be a philosopher
After wondering at the number of Suns
A light beam glances of a window
A boy stumbles temporarily blind
God on his cloud is smiling,
Look at all the joy you can find.
Mar 2, 2015
Mar 2, 2015 at 8:27 AM UTC
*The grand wind blows as it hums along –
This dark and grey velvet morning - the sun barely risen.
A well dressed classy drunk smears her finger across
The doorman’s lips and whispers, “Please don’t tell anyone.”
She stumbles along while someone in her way curses -
A garbage truck outside stops and reverses -
– beep – beep – beep.
Standing there in her favorite long coat
The desk clerk seems to gloat -
Gloat over every marvelous thing she ever wanted.
In this, the one day when she is thinner -
Outside a siren shrieks repeating the tormented,
Is she a saint or a sinner?
Finally the quiet idles up there eternal
Inside her blessed Penthouse suite.
From her barred window she watches a crosswalk signal
Still standing in her long winter coat.
Across the alley she sees someone on a fire escape,
As they wrap around and disappear down the funnel.
In the serenity of the street below a Cupid like boy
Salutes his mother at the bus stop.
The mother stoops to pat him on his noggin.
Then mommy makes a sculpture of her packages,
As the boy salutes again.
Up there behind her bars the drunk thinks she is different somehow.
Taking off her coat she opens a book entitled “Value”
Finding a written sentence that ends with “come back to me now.”
She gives her legacy a second look
And thinks how absolutely - positively - wondrously dear -
If only she could believe what she had just read -
And then she disappears.*
Jun 3, 2017
Jun 3, 2017 at 9:53 AM UTC
He loves to go out, partying and gets high with his friends
I love to stay inside, read a book and listen to old french
We are like black and white
But along all these reverses he still loves me
Nov 10, 2019
Nov 10, 2019 at 1:16 PM UTC
For Five long years he fought a war
against the mighty English crown.
At times, it seemed, by will alone
He kept our army in the field.
At Valley Forge our ill clad troops
suffered greatly from the cold.
In New York harbor thousands died,
held as prisoners in foul ships’ holds.
The reverses were many, the victories few
until the world turned upside down.
That day at Yorktown when Lord Cornwallis
And all his troops were brought to ground.
Yet, with our independence won,
the victor would not wear a crown.
Like Cincinnatus, the hero of old,
He lay down his arms and went back home.
Washington was that paragon
He refused all kingly robes.
Liberty lives only because
A free man refused to be a Lord.
Remember, if you would stay free,
the price they paid for Liberty.
Remember George who wore no crown.
His sacred honor deserves renown.
Oct 24, 2014
Oct 24, 2014 at 5:43 PM UTC