"rouged" poems
If you're ever on the riverside
where the sun beats your head
you would see the old man
selling hats of palm leaf
but you care not to notice him
having already smelled the sea
and too keen to cross the river
travel southward on the island
till the saline wind scalds your eyes
your skins itch to jump into the waves
yet the man with the palm leaf hats
would not cease to tell you
how burning would be the sun on the sands
and so badly you need to protect the head
by parting bucks that mean nothing to you
but a world to the mouths he feeds
and before you stamp on him a final no
she has one atop her hair
beneath which her eyes flutter like butterflies
her sun rouged cheeks untimely blush
and two born anew lovers
merrily head for the sea
having bought romance
for forty bucks.
Apr 29, 2016
Apr 29, 2016 at 4:56 AM UTC
Filaments fixed on your eyes all night
and the possibility of a chance, of an opportunity,
that I’ll be able to talk to you,
because the club lights are blue
stretched like animal hide across your own hide:
complexion clear cheeks still rouged
though tidal club glow is still blue.
It’s pathetic, worse than any diabetic
with their HumaPen Memoir insulin
length of pen, recording the time
and date
and precise amount of pain
they inject from the last 16 doses.
My pen is my keyboard and records
miserable times
and forgotten dates in cafes
and precise amounts of pain,
though this diabetic is a pathetic poet
and he knows it.
Aug 19, 2013
Aug 19, 2013 at 2:49 PM UTC
Post-azure, cloud splashed sky,
washes with the suns descent,
breaking into melodies of sunset.
Fracturing into a blush,
the richness of the spectrum
makes itself known.
On a tangent of change,
amorphous clouds bleed
amber glow
and bittersweet combinations
of reds and yellows.
Vermillion streaks through,
and a few cloud folk turn titian,
like sumptuous surreal apricots
rotting in the sky,
that seem to augur
encroaching darkness.
Billows on the horizon
leak crimson,
like spilled wine on table cloth,
and pucker out
like blooms of flaming roses.
Fire refracted
coloured cousins of the sun
are dancing all about.
Here is the anthem
of wild transformation.
Here is cause
for quiet celebration.
Here at this fluent juncture.
Here at the closing of day.
The whole of the ocean below,
is the skies tremendous mirror.
It's reflection is variegated,
into variations a thousandfold.
Multitudinous, and ever differentiated,
distortions of above
ride the crests of waves.
Each apex is a new story.
Each new story,
just as soon as it is told,
comes crashing into trough.
Each finale is the ****** of beginning.
The dynamic roar
of the oceans ever-changing topology
is rife with meaning.
Colossal symphonic wonders,
the primordial song,
releasing upon: the uni-
verse continual,
sending the manifest
to move, with the give and strain
of immaculate design.
Here ensconced
between the safety of light
and the mystery of night.
Here at the oceans edge.
Above, shades of catalina-blue, in conversation
with the outer most cosmic-black
dismiss earlier brighter hues.
Tinged by the infinite nature of space,
the jeweled dome darkens.
Overhead, the first stars appear,
sky transparent to beheld blackness.
Luxuriant, pulling horizon, attracts
violet into it's unfolding theatrics.
Bloodied clouds turn purplish, then black,
a darkening rawness allures,
decaying with vivid beauty,
tragedies of a rouged romance
drug down into shadows play,
searingly alive, extraordinarily actual.
And then, the hush of dusk.
Darkness is felled, like silence.
Scintillating stars
strengthen in the nights
surrounding abyss;
giving radiance definition.
Dynamic Beauty
Lives In Transition,
Oppositions
Compliment.
Apr 7, 2014
Apr 7, 2014 at 9:49 PM UTC
Your eyes-
coal black fire
mirrors of my desire
Your mouth-
warm bath of oaths
bespoken for
Your *******
rouged red-bullet tipped
honeysuckled bliss
Those hips-my reins
move you the way
I need you most
and your kiss-
like a hiss from a dip
of a branding iron
burn me with your lips
and make me yours-
ride me into the abyss
-of sighs.
r ~ 9/25/14
Sep 25, 2014
Sep 25, 2014 at 3:09 PM UTC
Reaching out towards
delicately rouged areola
(dusty pink,
supple
like rose petals)
his fingertips blush madly
upon their first caress.
He nestles himself
against her blooming *****
against this garden of a women
where only lovely things--
Star Dust.
Laugher.
Poetry--
may grow.
Jul 24, 2018
Jul 24, 2018 at 2:14 PM UTC
Urdhva Hastasana
Salida del sol.
Her paws are bare
Ablaze against the black stone heat of the morning stroll
Pausing for the last monsoon, whispering
Salut?
There would not exist consequence for a dampened nose of pusillanimity
Carelessly drawn to the astrophysical realm of celestial bodies
Illuminating the chivalry once more.
We'll sing chansons
Oh cabaret!
The circumstance and pomp eliding
Lavishly rouged lips from sterling glances
Exposed by the slow and sultry raise of copper eyes
Premeditated, so that they lift in perfect timing
Beneath dark lashes to seem accidentally mesmeric.
I still lose amethysts
They drop from the back of my ears unexpectedly
Their plunge of contact against the water
Catches my attention but no more
Of a thought should surface except to surface
The stones from the depths pooling around my ankles.
The rain won't drain and hasn't for months
She scratches her hair but the pining never stops.
I rub her ears so she'll display such an ardor
Revealed in company and solitude simultaneously
To be weighed and doubted and accepted and declined
Beneath the stony gaze of the eyes of a god
Swindling a wrinkle in the shower curtain.
Alas what a shame it is
Besitos aren't quite fancied here.
Ne prennent pas garde aux berceaux, Que la main des femmes balance.
Puesta del sol.
Jul 26, 2013
Jul 26, 2013 at 7:52 PM UTC
Your lagoon orbs,
flicker with jaded emeralds,
swallowing me beneath
their sapphire waves.
What once promised me
much has led me to these
abandoned ruins, and
long forgotten shores.
A drifted siren, trapped
between the fleeting seasons
haunting these oceans
in search for Atlantis
within the bones of ships.
Wasted by the fragrance
of your sailed freedom
and plump, luscious
lips rouged by red wine.
I waited for you to
anchor me to this life, not
to sink, to drag down
with me into the depths
of these undercurrents.
Jun 7, 2015
Jun 7, 2015 at 11:38 AM UTC
Nervousness speaks true thought
turning fresh air to gold as it travels
across the pub interior ether from
rough pale lips to your rouged
set, sitting tidy in front of me.
Shaking fingers shake hands with
thoughts and nothing, melding something
of answer to your question you asked
I think twenty-five minutes back,
I know not of Richard Feynman, please explain though.
Come the occasion of a plane crash or
shipwreck, can I sink with your voice
running soft laps around my head?
At least then your intonation's tread
and heel's step of educated well-read
can offset any pain caused by a wing in my thigh
or a timing belt leaving my tongue tied and wrapped.
Oct 4, 2013
Oct 4, 2013 at 8:59 AM UTC
I remember her then:
Pale skin and rouged lips,
Playful whim and pendulous hips.
Oh yes, I remember this.
The fairest of them all,
Midnight-maned with eyes that wish,
that she were born under the rule
of a queen and not a witch.
Who chose this?
It was I who tried assist,
and when the thorn of roses missed,
I knew the witch could not resist.
Sickened magic, poisoned apples,
Made to seem a tasty dish
Made their way onto the table
of my true love's wedding gifts.
Later, in the darkness,
hiding true love's wedding bliss,
I was courted with foreboding
As if this, our only tryst,
would be soiled by the treason
that this hateful witch insists.
I lay there in the dark,
my lover's breath, a ghostly wisp.
Oct 30, 2017
Oct 30, 2017 at 4:08 AM UTC
My soul whispered a secret to my heart,
It spoke of spilled blood upon a rose,
Rouged lips within the garden,
Drops of crimson liquid blush.
[CHORUS]
Nature’s beloved colour is green,
So red speaks of originality,
Blood is a passion,
Scarlet bleeding from thy own,
A claret sun dawning beyond,
Sanguine stained skies.
When the little cardinal sings sweetly,
A doorway opens I never chose,
Visions of a bloodshot key,
A lock rusted with dried blood.
A glimpse through the keyhole,
A pale forest awaits on the other side,
Showers of cherry blossoms,
Falling upon the snow.
Red berries bloom under crystal snow,
Glints of sunlight touch down,
Sparks of fire captured within,
Just beyond this rubicund door.
[CHORUS]
The dreams I am allowed,
Burn and scar my will,
When the door swings open,
Of its own accord.
Damask petals on the wind.
How warm and gentle that spray of blood,
Like a hundred tender kisses,
And the golden keys to Heaven.
I glimpsed the gules of true heraldry,
A suffused spirit at the dawn of memory,
Imprisoned by a cage of vermillion frost,
Warmed by a glass of spiced wine.
[CHORUS]
A roseate palace at the end of a long walk,
Painted titian by my tear drops,
Caress a florid complexion,
Carmine not my own.
Roan stones dusted,
By the fall of Angels light,
Make-believe incarnadine carpet of,
A mirrored auburn dusk.
I settle back into the maroon night,
The darkness flushed by concealed art,
Bay canvas touched-up with unreal imagery,
Indifferent to the passing of my former life.
[CHORUS]
Rubies fall from ruddy clouds,
These gems are not for me,
Reddened glass has come to pass,
The moment of my undoing.
[PAUSE (Epilogue)]
Red is not for me,
Red was not meant to be...
May 24, 2014
May 24, 2014 at 10:32 PM UTC
We let the light behind the bunting
provide the decoration we needed.
The fireworks bled, they're still bleeding,
and we're treading water because the wind
congealed into something cold,
hats nor scarves can curb this temperature's hold;
I'll let you lead us home, under the influence,
under the direction of that wine you had.
Forever, if a measurement of course,
would be an ample amount of time
to walk behind you, dark horse.
Cotton scarf whip,
rouged lips again and
it's ten to ten,
we could go home.
Nov 24, 2013
Nov 24, 2013 at 8:42 AM UTC
There is a certain art,
not the cliché form,
of such dalliance divine,
The forge of opening a woman,
Fully, to see the beautiful creation of Eden
It is not the opening of legs,
nor the parting of thighs,
such is just a middle,
a jumping point,
the truistic beginning
The delicious devouring starts
first at the mouth
where the ****** first builds
in salivating lip smacking nibbles
burning through the veins
opening the gate
breaching the uncertainty
of submitting to that wanting, always,
for someone to know
where to touch
where to lick
where to urge flesh alive
then it inches, in Picasso brushes
along the flesh,
(breast, waist, hips,)
where fingers and tongue find a certain rhythm
causing the body to sing, without thought
the song of origins
As it opens the strained passage, naturally,
wet with strange desire
curious, needing redemption
for all the lonely hours of denial
of wanting someone
to taste, smell, touch the ache away
And you will lick first the wounds;
the hurtful lashing of old lovers,
then you will be surprised
how easily she dissolves
fallen against your mouth
as you lick the silky wings
**** them between your lips
tongue the opening
getting inside enough to taste
the rouged flower, the Van Gogh surprise
bloomimg, simply, magnificently, against the lap of your tongue
only to feel, so wondrously,
her surrender, quivering,
warm against your mouth
And she will lay, breathless, trembling
moaning your name,
so grateful, so thankful
you took time with tongue and patience
to make her feel alive
To make her feel like a woman
To make her feel as if she were just birthed into this world
To be made exclusive by your worship of all she is....
Oct 1, 2012
Oct 1, 2012 at 6:29 AM UTC
Valencia Oranges
A yellow coated dream
Mustard-colored-tiles-are-much-colder-than-they-seem
Swimming in a sweatshirt
Watery-eyed and rosy cheeked
Music playing faintly
Curiosity is peaked
I imagine waking up
To humidity and cream
In my coffee, jingle my loft key
As I walk my way upstream
Sunglasses tint
All the oranges red
Valencia enters my veins
Rouged and widespread
Mar 28, 2017
Mar 28, 2017 at 12:54 AM UTC
A brick house on a cold, dusty lane,
Full of kids drinking to cover their pain,
A sea of crumpled cans drown the wooden floors,
And a cloud of green gas eclipses the orange lamp beside the door,
And she walks over, with her hair tied back,
Her full, rouged lips arched and ready to attack,
But his drunken haze blurs his common sense,
And he lets her pull him outside to the neighbour's fence,
They walk along the lane with muddy socks,
Avoiding the tearful stones and rocks,
Then they stumble blindly into a bush,
Her hands on his belt, not knowing he doesn't want to rush,
She tears off his jeans and kisses him - missing his lips,
He pulls her close and holds her hips,
Not knowing that she only wants his body,
Or that in the morning his childish morals would be beaten ******
Because what he thought was trust,
Ended up just being a night of drunken lust
Apr 22, 2014
Apr 22, 2014 at 2:25 PM UTC
**The fairest hair, peroxide blond
beer shampoo feeding the roots
primped and pinned with paperclips
blown and set as candyfloss sticks.
Hydro-pack cream erasing the pouches
colourful lashes, stuck to the lids
with copyright brows by electrolysis
both almond eyes are now penciled in.
Lines of life filled with putty
trowelled in layers, foundations built
delicate cheeks, powdered, pampered
rouged and shaded, giving them youth.
Clinical lips, Botox injected
tattooed outlines guiding the brush
the budding artist colours by numbers
pouting, she paints in weatherproof gloss.
Turtleneck sweater hiding the wrinkles
genuine paste, drawing the eye
both purl and knit-one inside the jumper
pulled and snagged by glued on nails.
High heel shoes, stretching the sinews
of Lycra clad legs, holding them taut
a girdle of whalebone hugging the figure
gently molding, the form to behold.
With grace we age throughout the years
a time filled life, craves respect
hairs of grey are marks of distinction
an occasional blemish, a beauty spot.
Tiny crow's feet, signs of good humour
experience of life, lines proudly worn
for with laughing eyes and glowing smile
who need wear a plasticine face.**
... ... ...
Apr 30, 2011
Apr 30, 2011 at 12:15 AM UTC
I know a lady who waits
Down on Wall Street,
Snaps her fingers
At brokers
And licks her lips for Madoff.
She adorns her body
With black lace and feathers,
An elaborate facade to lead her men astray.
She whips her hair and
Cackles at passersby,
Opening her rouged mouth wide,
Singing verses without pitch or rhyme.
She yearns for the NASDAQ
To touch her,
Waits ardently for grease ***** to
Work their magic.
She gives willingly,
Unabashedly talks ***** to men in
Tom Ford.
This lady I know asks
For trouble. She is
The ***** of Wall Street,
A slave to modernity,
Snapping her fingers at Cadillacs
And bending over for Madoff.
Jul 7, 2011
Jul 7, 2011 at 9:42 PM UTC
I.
I awoke with different eyes today;
What felt like the eyes of Antares;
A lucid frenzy orbiting
ambrosial crimson dahlias,
Laughing.
You bore witness to the opening of my ribcage
That I have solemnly manifested
for your mind only.
I have opened my rib cage for you, yes,
Like a weeping delicate bloom,
Birthing in the winter desert,
travail.
This is your virginity
Mothered by my violent torn hands;
My bones shudder;
Vibrations of prophecies,
Oracles of each single atom
Bursting within the cosmos, singing—
I prostrate;
Submissive to your fragility.
You colored my skin
With the shade of your rouged lips,
And like the moon,
my branched bones became Spring
By your mouth
Entombed beautifully in the garden of our creed.
Don’t you know that your hands,
Your hands are flooded
With sins?
the sins you have encountered with your victims;
Like me, your victim;
Our veins flow from the rivers
of mother earths chest.
Nymphs with there pale skins;
They bathe in your hidden ocean of blood
That has yet to burst forth
Held behind the enshrined gates of virginity.
I hold you above my head,
I humbly wear you as my crown.
II.
I awoke with different eyes today
Perhaps the eyes of the black cat
Dying her ninth death.
I devise these things,
And I can tell you
The pleasure of feeling
Nothing.
III.
I awoke with different eyes today
Half life, half death.
I have gazed at life
And cried.
I have conversed with death
And laughed;
And by all means
Analogies have never seemed so bona fide
as the affairs of the sun and the moon.
IV
You awoke with new eyes this morning,
A woman.
You are now a woman.
This is the only difference.
forgive me for my words.
-Arizona
Jan 12, 2013
Jan 12, 2013 at 8:30 AM UTC
Dark waters ripple thought.
horse drawn carriage tread
voltaic wires, throbbing brain.
lorn elation until osculation
of lips dreamt nightly.
nectarous skin float
between fingers raptured.
everlasting sand blown
from ashes wrought with
doubt.
paroxysm of senses like electric eels
wreck ties bound by vituperation.
Breath like honeyed vapor,
encased rouged cheeks.
savored time in bottles, minutes
turned to minerals mined.
hours of golden flecks
splashed in synthesized
unison.
New always, love evermore.
Sep 11, 2014
Sep 11, 2014 at 5:33 AM UTC
I am
those rouged lips,---
spring waters,
clear,
yet unknown;
I am
the cicada's sound,
repelled birds,
feathers
and stone;
I am
Laburnums---
lynching leaves
they fall, ---
floating on the air,
I am
the skylark,
Beauty's bridesmaid---
Forgotten
In fever's eyes;
I am
the black python
screeching
open mine stitched lips
bleeding forth
I am---
Done,
Sick of this,
Finished,
Pealing open my wounds
to see what I got left of,
I am,---
Not what I use to be;
Nor not what I want to be,
Thus so,
I am
no one---
Instead I'm here
stringing up a knot
From up these reedy webs
I use to be....
So I am,
I am
myself no more.
Apr 21, 2011
Apr 21, 2011 at 2:53 PM UTC
teenage dreams begin in the backseat.
fantasy and reality colliding among the crumbs pressed into seams.
frantic fingers roam the skin of the angel
who has given up her body for the sake of gratification,
and lips linger in the purple hues that ruin porcelain skin.
the capsule containing the burst of pleasure disappears the deeper they fall,
and eyes glaze over,
windows following suit as the world outside is lost to the fog.
moments of clarity intrude,
letting sounds of joyful times slip through.
intense heat swoops back in to suffocate the joy
and reminds them
rouged cheeks await his lit eyes.
passion follows them through their journey across the sea of the backseat,
guiding them to their final destination of a complete release.
Jan 22, 2018
Jan 22, 2018 at 7:24 PM UTC
Across the room I watch you from afar
So much to see, so much to admire
I can only gawk in awe:
Shimmering softly beneath the party
lights
Delicate as fine porcelain, elegant just
like a China doll
Little Perky ! diminutive little button
of a nose
A sublime protuberance, with a
wonderful angular symmetry;
Like a beautiful ballerina in the centre
of the face
One lonely Cinderella, forever
overlooked and unsung
Neglected, passed over, the great
unmentioned one;
So still and so quiet, mysterious like a
question mark -
"Little Perky, don't you fret, I! Me!
I'll be your poet though a poor poet I
be
I'll hold up your charms for the whole
wide world to see,
I'll be your dashing Prince too, if you
let me".
Finely chiselled, exquisitely sculpted
Better than any Michaelangelo
And I love the little wiggle;
How silently you sit there and how
patient, enduring all
Stuck between the two drama Queens
Eyes all painted up, that flit and dart
Twinkling and fluttering outrageously
like their a class apart,
And a rouged up Mouth's sulky lips,
burning rubber
Busy gabbing away, running off like a
wild piano;
But then there's you Little Perky,
simplicity itself
Shy bulbous beauty, a throwback to
childhoods innocent days:
Like the others, you play the game
You go along but it's not the same,
See you sniff into your little hankie
And know that beneath, you're
probably not all that happy,
You seem to say (to me at least)
" I hoped for more, I dreamt - I dreamt
of other things
And other nights than these".
I see you Little Perky, I see you all
alone in your lonely prison cell
I hear your sniffles, your silent sobs
and sighs.
When pinned in the corner and
assailed from all sides
My eyes, they secretly run to your
quiet hill, that lonely mountain,
Like Heathcliff in Wuthering Heights
I'll wait for you Little One
I'll wait for you there..... my Cathy
(O! lovely wild and spirited Cathy)
I'll wait for you through the wind, the
rain and the snow
I'll wait for you to come
I'll wait for the real 'You' to show,
Beyond all the bravado and the big
bluster notes
Beyond the crowds constraining looks
I'll wait for you, my Love,
We'll laugh again, and dance beneath
the stars
We'll live the dreams that once we had.
Little Perky, sweet alarm bell of the
soul, shiny little bugle that gleams
Go on now, give it one more blow
One huge giant elephantine blast
That'll sweep them all away
And leave only you and me here,
alone at last
Facing each other across this floor
O! Little Perky, my Cinderella, my
Cathy.......my Heart!
May 1, 2018
May 1, 2018 at 6:27 PM UTC
The clay comes from Earth
just as we
clay motion people Wurm
our way up
In a miracle we fool
ourselves
thinking transmogrification
has Calvinized calves
into bronze molded
legs shaped by a wise Maker
Instead of fast steel Forge
industrially heated
within Narcissus' Crucible
Hot from the oven
our Make-over face,
rouged from fused
sand calls
us Beauties silicon
-enhanced
Jul 31, 2015
Jul 31, 2015 at 3:24 PM UTC
I've never been impressed
with a member of
the opposite sex's
Member ever since
I was six years old.
It was just a hunk
of soft skin that I never
liked to keep my hands on
for longer than
ten agonizing seconds
but I had to do it
twice because it wasn't
right the first time.
If he knew
my first love
my first kiss was
My First Cousin
he'd never touch me
Again
And again and again.
Come on, baby, you can do it.
It never ends.
It's cyclical.
I haven't said a word
all day because if I opened
my rouged mouth
I'd moan for
Sorrow and Pleasure.
Those weepy, little ********
go hand in hand,
Don't they?
Feb 10, 2013
Feb 10, 2013 at 11:50 PM UTC
Rainy Day To-Do List
Perch high in your favorite
tree on the perfect branch
Observe the receding lightning’s
final flashes.
Eavesdrop on a robin’s conversation.
Clap Along with the thunder
Go ahead and leave a few bare
footprints in the soft earth.
Ponder the low hanging clouds.
Sing with the birds.
And then…
Disappear inside with the first
rays of sunshine.
Sunny Day To-Do List
Take a moment
and listen in on a yellow grasshopper’s gossip
through the towering blades of grass.
Let the sun kiss your cheeks
till they are pink
and let the warm breeze gently soothe
your rouged face.
Wonder what the ants are up to.
Watch while a leaf falls down.
Compare the sky to a
calm,
blue
ocean
And dare not disturb it with a sound.
Sep 17, 2013
Sep 17, 2013 at 1:42 PM UTC
The first time you caught me,
I let my hair fall
As if no one was watching
I let my clip slip
From my unfastened grasp,
Forever imprinting itself
On the somber soil
I sat patiently
In my overwhelmed chair,
Hoping to see a glimpse
Of your carnal sashay
Even for just a moment,
To capture that exhilarating
Flash of your dimples
Ascending to the clouds
I came to you
Hands and ears unlocked,
With what must have
Looked like amenity,
But it was so much more
My cheeks rouged on purpose,
When your majestic voice
Tried itself on humor
Even when it was not your best
I’d laugh, hoping it
Would attest my devotion
When your eyes would drown
I’d peer up into the heavens,
Silently pray for harmony
To bind you with its wings
Made of stardust feathers
And inspiriting seeds of love
Beck and call became my religion,
All so you would have
Everything you wanted without
A second of the mind’s wonder
I made sure your soul,
Before my own,
Was kept shining like
A golden shower upon
A field of frivolous dandelions
I pulled strings from my heart
With entombed trusts attached,
And infused them into yours
For your sanity
I made it all the more difficult
When in the end,
Betwixt the morning current
Of approaching calescent rays,
And frigid breaths prey
To the nights turmoil
You still chose her
Jul 4, 2013
Jul 4, 2013 at 3:16 PM UTC