"ruminant" poems
Your words claw out of my eyes,
And fall translucent into the clasped palms
Of my hands.
Listen, listen carefully to the muddled sounds.
Hear the tiger's paws trample the dusted paths of
The vacant streets;
The arcane acres of blotted ink
Sitting beside the ruminant hordes,
Choking on a drawer of silver spoons.
We see through the wall's hole;
A soothing fire raging, yet we cannot touch
It's flame.
STAND IN LINE, take a number
Our turn will be coming soon.
Be the street lamps beneath the redwood's shade
Be the porch swing on the moon's surface.
Be Atlantis, lost and found.
Listen,
listen
carefully...
Sep 8, 2013
Sep 8, 2013 at 12:09 AM UTC
A desperate desperado shivering as the sun sets,
casts it's silky shadows upon the hollows below.
Beneath the cascading denizens of light,
a puff of smoke waltzes across the December sky,
a patient without his insurance with nothing left but
callous empty third-person reassurance,
"everything will be better" as she said.
But better is always easy when your hand isn't writing the letter.
Save your proverbs for an open ear,
this one is half deaf and full of itself,
despite your intent,
your lack of action perpetuates malcontent.
After all we're all just passing moments
gone and forgotten, evicted,
convicted of being a gutless mime,
going through the motions,
minus a true notion.
A confused calculator short circuiting under an oil leak
spitting out numbers, complicating already complicated complexities
subtracting numerals adding funerals
dividing families multiplying tragedies
It's just a numbers game, and we can't participate
we're just the studio audience, recorded live without any life.
Flashing signs tell us when to laugh and when to cry,
pre-determined automated messages contrived to convince.
And I'm stuck spinning in the corner,
with my hands on my head.
Senselessly blurting out: Why?!
But don't mind me, I'm just another lost soul
trapped with my head in the sky.
Feb 15, 2010
Feb 15, 2010 at 11:59 AM UTC
It’s the season of sickness.
The ruminant roars,
disarms me with hunger,
Feeds me
poison, contagious
violence; ****** of my
Control, spiller of
my Secret:
‘I am gross.’
Bathroom lights stare at me,
Toilet flushes betray my ears.
Only Courage,
Hanging on
the edge of a lash, leaking
with every pause of breath,
can save me.
Oct 26, 2016
Oct 26, 2016 at 1:06 PM UTC
In a blanket of breath now pleasantly swathed
Our bodies made broken; prostrate in the fog
Exhumed from the boughs of tree-tops so balmy
On alabaster bones that tremble quite calmly
With thoughts of tomorrow, our miasmic today
That in wistful contemplation is thoroughly dismayed
Like the sullen, windy chimes of a church bell that rings
In the hardened heart of winter, on frost-bitten strings
Which frail, arboreal appendages, with nimble purposes pluck
To indulge the dulcet beds, in which our thoughts are tucked
In a licentious yawn that drifts, from scentless, sleepy shrouds
Like azure ships now sailing, through lofty, lilting clouds
Our pendulous hands still pawning these passionate decrees
With fervent fears to consummate your swiftly slumbered vestige
Atop my flesh, all slick with sweat, and in shadows sorely rapt
The mellifluous hum of reverent sight, through keyholes quickened pass
My heart is estranged from the banal constraint of this stagnant mortal coil
Held aloft in the piercing plea of love’s unbidden toil
All visions captive to the subtle sway of your chest now undulating
Like waves that crash, in rhythms vast; my thoughts, they are invading
Urgency deemed, from unconscious form, in sharp pangs of desire
The crease between your lips, the hand heavy on my hip: the nuances in which I am mired
The idiosyncrasies of you like a poem that is repeatedly folded
And jettisoned into my open mind, where these precious admissions molded
Taking form in tangible caress, to envelop with silken shivers
On the sill of windows wide where lonesome flowers withered
Thus proffered throat, in porcelain quiver, where stilted lungs concealed
In tear-wrought arrows, tempered and true, fly with errant zeal
To pin my ruminant heart upon this ragged, beggar’s sleeve
And chain my weightless body, from where it floats among the eaves
Oct 28, 2011
Oct 28, 2011 at 8:29 PM UTC
**Grazing lush grass
Mulling, chewing
Output dung…
I too perceive, absorb
Ruminate
Output uncertain
Am I
Bovine…?**
Sep 14, 2014
Sep 14, 2014 at 2:00 PM UTC
My element is Fire
Peering in my soul embarks
On a quest to find its passion
An art adorned by sparks
Body licked by Fire’s warmth
Flames cascading dominant
Peering ever deeper in
My thirsty mind spins ruminant
The log seems to be rippling
As if a trunk of fire
I meditate more closely
And the focus takes me higher
Eventually the fire penetrates
The deepest recesses of my mind
It conjures up the Other Realm
Where secret treasures I will find
Nov 29, 2016
Nov 29, 2016 at 2:15 PM UTC
Don't turn the lights out on my life.
So soon.
My rather crazy friend.
I am not your loving wife.
I'm nobody's muppet.
And you're not a puppet.
We're sat on the gate.
Not on the fence.
May the gate re-open if not totally broken.
Sat on the fence.
Not waiting to fall.
Should be dispelling busted hate.
No need for you to hate me mate.
For you're free now.
Though the times we spent together were really great.
I'm no cow.
As a ruminant perhaps.
I chew on the cud.
Regurgitate.
In an awful sad and crazy state.
I'm not crazy at it happens.
The times we spent together were really great.
You and I.
Now relishing precious time on my own.
For I am your puppy and you are my bone.
LOL X
By ladylivvi1
© 2013 ladylivvi1 (All rights reserved)
Dec 1, 2013
Dec 1, 2013 at 8:08 AM UTC
IDLE WILDERNESS
Ancient moorland calls to me.
The wind whistles, as it rustles my hair.
A trickling stream just visible.
A brown cow grazes on patches of grass.
A landscape which; looks as if mange has taken hold.
Appears sparsely coated.
Strangely, it's countryside ruminant colleagues sit beside the wall.
Yet the sky remains cloudless.
They say 'tis a prediction of coming showers or heavier rains.
Not a sign of raindrops.
Perhaps they're hiding from the breeze.
A clump of trees with leaves that rustle a touch.
Invasion from nowhere.
Crashes.
Bangs.
Sparks.
Soaked ground.
Drenched cows.
Glad I remembered my old gabardine mac.
Soaked to the bone.
Tommy came to find me.
Diesel powered pony.
Hopped inside.
Off we both go.
Poor cows, stranded in a soggy field.
I'm soggy still.
I know how they feel.
Poor things.
(c)LIVVI
Apr 15, 2016
Apr 15, 2016 at 5:07 PM UTC
How beautiful it is
how the Shepherd cares of his sheeps
with all his dedication and motivation
look at him...
look at the god **** Shepherd
he never fails to them
rather, he fails to his unknown world
what's a world without a quadrupedal, ruminant mammal ?
Dec 11, 2017
Dec 11, 2017 at 4:48 PM UTC
mama warned me
about becoming attached to ghosts,
about chasing the lights that flicker behind closed eyelids,
trailing their
ruminant symbiology
down labyrinthine tunnels
till you're left, stranded
in a nowhere from where you started
and they fade
away
to nothing.
...
I keep loosing sight in the lag
that hesitant flickering pivoting between footsteps,
those pauses of breath between paragraphs
of the mold in the ceilings dictated speeches,
the decade old dust encrusted spider-webs on the coffers abandoned superstructures, intricate semantic patterns, still present, present, but encapsulating nothing.
(Educations warped my mind
into prescriptive paradigms
drugged up on science fiction
alternate attritions of future presents)
–//
One day,
the ocean promised to swallow the world,
but failed to set a date; just a vague sense of inevitability.
and everyone gets uncomfortable about the liminality,
and there's
a moment of rupturing
unveiling the blanketing
in the process of our mass comatose suicide,
That no ones sure what to do with.
And we collapse into the indecision
of what to make of this wavering present
loosing sight
between barricades of candy bars and cheeseburger pies
while the radio static sighs
'boys only want love if it's torture'
(i find it a bit optimistic)
//–
I keep becoming waylaid in the lag
the hesitant faltering between long warn down footprints
travelling down some path set out by the last
in no way definitive; but, at least, defined
by the haphazard indentations left behind
while sometimes there’s treasure in the depths that we climb
it's never the kind
that explains itself.
(But still time turns and churns and burns
while we frantically mine all the scattered urns.)
–\\
The philosophers and neuroscientists keep working to find the foundations underlying why
we think what we think, why we feel what we feel,
they peel up the carpet and peer into what's beneath, but
they just keep finding
ripped up carpet and musk.
\\–
I keep searching for home in the lag,
the tumbling bind of footfalls enshrined.
but even if there's no way out of here,
there's occasionally a whisper of camaraderie in the air
(you never escape,
no no,
but sometimes
the enclosure unfolds )
...
mama warned me
about becoming attached to ghosts,
about chasing the lights that flicker behind closed eyelids.
but here in the dark,
i'm not sure what else to follow.
May 19, 2015
May 19, 2015 at 4:27 PM UTC
centered, I envision my next flux for the illuminant
deepening each stretch, I angle to the ruminant
breaths breathed deep, I press into a bent round
clearing my mind space, hands grasping at the ground
mornings pass by, entering each one in the same
renewing by imitating nature's avid, sparking flame
rhythm artlessly singing, conflict emptied at the door
consciousness absolved, my bond begins here on the floor
Apr 23, 2021
Apr 23, 2021 at 3:48 AM UTC
Whence a shadow
Ceases to be a shadow,
Love can be seen
In the Light
That hath vanquished
The pain in its iniquity.
Who I am ceases to be
When the
Beneficent Matriarch Mirror
Unfurls the Pandemonium
Ruminant behind the glass.
For this umbra
Is still the darkness
Of a heart
Eclipsed
In its own Dark Orbit.
Until the Dawn
Shines Eden
Upon Flourishing Spirits
Purged of the
Loveless Blight
Existing only in their minds and hearts.
Nov 26, 2017
Nov 26, 2017 at 9:06 PM UTC
Beautiful Whitetail bucks , resplendent in Winter coats , statuesque along the hillside , ever alert in morning fog , complacent in the heavy cover of the Georgia woodlands , courteously striking a pose at Dusk , quite aloof in my own front yard ..
A crown prince of the ruminant kingdom at the edge of suburbia , revealing their breath on cold Winter mornings , leaving their signatures with rub marks and snorts ..
Commanding the fields of Spring and Summer , gorging themselves on brown oats , green grass , blackberry , fig and wild plums ..
Our wondrous native 'Knights of Hill Country' , panning green , picturesque pastures at the close of day , grazing for edibles along quiet country lanes , peacefully bedding beside creekside , Sun warmed hayfield , placid pond and mirrored lake ..Along Moon lit valley's , apple orchards and fire breaks ..
Nov 27, 2015
Nov 27, 2015 at 10:48 AM UTC
Caught on the softest azure cloud
Ruminant noises drifting
Buzzes of no consequence
Call for attention nonetheless
Arrived today on my doorstep
The humming mental spaces found
Lifted in airy somber cloud
It won’t be cruel, I think
this time
No need for alarm
To quake the fabric of this place
These walls don’t move
Fractured boundaries broken still
Past visits from the same blue menace
Fears bottled for future virility
Nightmarish mysteries a veil
Won’t be wary now
To be kept warm by apparitions
Events transpired underwater
When I lived underwater and
Not only ankle-deep
It’s all better now
To compare is to regret
Aug 24, 2016
Aug 24, 2016 at 2:50 AM UTC
Sometimes it's about the peace,
Sometimes it's the need for space,
Sometimes it's a breath of fresh air,
Sometimes it's just the ruminant memoirs
And a dying call of the glittering past……
Jul 19, 2015
Jul 19, 2015 at 5:28 AM UTC