"ropey" poems
Bathed in the shade of
a rubbery rhododendron,
I sway imperceptibly,
Lulled by nature's rhythms,
A silent, sleepy visitor
splayed on a ropey nest,
Serenaded by an aerial orchestra,
Chirps and trills
and throaty warbles
spiral downward,
Atomized in the languid breeze
like a Roman candle,
A staccato riff,
Jack-hammered into a dying birch,
Urges me back from the edge,
Where dream and dreamer part,
A gauzy memory of a melody lost,
Performed for the oblivious,
and a dozing, grateful
audience of one.
Aug 22, 2013
Aug 22, 2013 at 6:14 PM UTC
he is sharp angles
bony elbows
knobby knees
and ribs protruding fiercely from
worn-thin
shirts.
honey blonde locks
plastered against his skull
and sweat
beads on a
translucent
brow.
he braces for the
pain
nails growing
teeth sharpening
body contorting
flesh ripping away from bones.
thick ropey scars criss-cross
over his back
and you could swear
those were
bite marks
along his spine.
he will shake and shudder
teeth clenched
eyes shut tight
against the horrors
but no matter what you ask
he will not answer.
a worn sweater hangs loose
around narrow shoulders
and dark
circles stand out
starkly
against porcelain cheeks.
when the full moon comes
in all it’s horrific glory
he will touch
your cheek
and send you away
with a sigh.
wine-red blood seeps
from claw marks
on a slender limb
and he kisses your worries
away
even as he weeps.
May 7, 2014
May 7, 2014 at 9:47 PM UTC
A smile is knowing
The dark crease of a well-arched spine
The dewy white lotus petals
The sad title of concubine
The blue glass so plainly beautiful
With its cold smooth sides
A blown vase that sits precious
Atop a dead deer's stretched hide
The hallowed slope of a portruding illiac
And the decadent crust of a sweet fruit pie
On a black vinyl stage floor
In a room filled with echoing cries
The reverberance loud and hollow
With ears ringing opened wide
The bends of her young tendons
In her ropey pale limbs
They flex and harshly twitch
How a scared and hooked fish swims
The cyclic orbits of planets and lifetimes
A ballerina's pirouette spins
Now the tarlatan and muslin gets torn to shreds
And the blinding stage lights quickly dim
The wet heat of a hungry tongue
Slaps upon her sweating skin
The audience simply does nothing
Just like the tall plant stalks of the green motel
Or the muddy vines in swamps in Rwanda
Or white wallpaper in the locked rooms of certain hells
The diseases that squirm in tainted waters
Of Liberia's ***** wells
The missing limbs of wartime amputees
Reflected in the golden glint of spent brass shells
Amidst the screams of
NO
STOP
NO
It yells the words
GO
GOD
GO
Through the grinning lips of the manifest destiny
And the arms of Khmer Rouge's killings
Its legs are formed from the many faces of lynch mobs
Its hands are hewn of American prison facilities and county jails
It's dripping deadly doses of fentanyl in local ****** shipments
And ****** dancers
Jul 29, 2017
Jul 29, 2017 at 8:20 PM UTC
A ropey grip,
So I wont fall.
The warm breeze,
His breath, a yawn, a growl.
I swing in and out of his deathly pout.
His tongue a mattress if I should drop,
Hurricane or storm,
cold then hot-
Weather or not,
I’ll still be swinging.
Aug 7, 2011
Aug 7, 2011 at 6:49 AM UTC
The Fanzine said it would be something for the connoisseur a la mode de
glue sniffing Leeds yokels rampaging Bournemouth,
even the away supporters taches already looked ropey,
until the 'Pool headed in the only goal.
The claustrophobic fury was clearly palpable
and this feat would be sealed later
Dec 3, 2012
Dec 3, 2012 at 1:38 PM UTC
Your arm is draped around me.
Your soft snores. Your head is on my shoulder.
You are starting to sweat because you sweat in your sleep.
All you have on is a t shirt and socks.
No boxers.
Its 8:35 am and my world has never been as perfect as this. Sunlight creeps through my window.
You're 6'4 and roughly 215 lbs,
But all I see is a sweet little boy.
Your gauges are 5/8" and black.
You wear vans, black craft cult, and zumiez only.
You have thick brows over green eyes.
Dark hair.
I love your hands, long slender fingers that seem to be twice my size.
I love your legs, long ropey and strong. And hairy.
I love your lips and the way they pucker out when you're asleep and I love ever single one of your teeth.
I love your morning breath and the way you wake up.
I love your choppy, ragged breaths when you're inside me.
I love your nervousness, even though I hate it.
I love you.
Oct 16, 2016
Oct 16, 2016 at 12:47 PM UTC
There is a power
In the slightest smirk
At the dour face
Of the reapers work
A hopeless joy
That can't be crushed
Or ripped apart
By vicious rush
With that seed
In soil- defeat
Sprouts ropey vine,
Humanity.
And so it goes
Until the end
This bitter fight
Of death and men.
Oct 20, 2019
Oct 20, 2019 at 6:42 AM UTC
I don't have a perfect smile
With pearly straight teeth
I don't have volumious hair
That cascades over my shoulders
I don't have long lashes
That naturally bat themselves
I don't have smooth flawless skin
That people can't stop touching
I don't have slender arms
I don't have skinny legs
I don't have soft cheeks
I don't have small fingers.
But I do have a smile
That brightens peoples days.
I do have long blond hair that
Reaches my waist.
I do have eyes that can smile
And pull anyone in with a look
I do have naturally warm skin
That is inviting to people
I do have muscular arms
I have ropey legs
I have warm red cheeks
And small warm hands to match.
I promise to hold you while you sleep
And listen to your favorite songs
I will always run my fingers
Through your hair and
Find a way to make you laugh.
I will love you with every fiber of my
Imperfect being,
If you let me.
Apr 16, 2016
Apr 16, 2016 at 3:50 AM UTC
(20 minute poetry)
Hoodies oh goodie I'm in for a treat,
I shall pull up a chair and put up my feet
the show is about to begin.
In the red corner is ***** he looks a bit ropey, wouldn't trust him with a dog on a lead.
And in the blue corner weighing in at some tonnage from Sandwich in Kent,
is bald headed Bob who looks a bit of a **** with his pink leotard trying hard not to be the **** that he is.
Showbiz Sally's getting really rather pally with my right leg, she'd beg to differ, but something's getting s... Wait.. Ha, a comb in my pocket and I nearly broke it or 'Brock it' as they say up Lancashire way.
St. Paul's just a stop on the way to the bank and Bob's just told Frank of his love.
And the crew is cast out at Holborn, I doubted they'd stay,
for more entertainment one needs the circle line,
I'm on my way.
Dec 3, 2015
Dec 3, 2015 at 4:34 PM UTC
What’s your poison whiskey gin
On either or I am sanguine
Tasteless ***** spirit hit
So, no one near will notice it
*** refreshes empty cups
A brandy fix restores your ups
All in all, the champagne thrills
‘til eyelids droop and temper spills
Come on, come on just one more drink
To bring my head back from the brink
Then lay in bed sleep like a log
Arise red-eyes we’ll walk the hairy dog
By Ropey Rhyme https://lyriclines-lettsy.blogspot.com/2018/12/whats-your-poison.html
Dec 27, 2018
Dec 27, 2018 at 3:07 PM UTC