"sashaying" poems
To behold the daybreak!
-Walt Whitman, Song of Myself from Leaves of Grass
In days like this one,
when rain drops so light
& everything dips
into weeping grey
my sanity longs for memories.
My sanity longs
like impulsive recalling
of plummeting sadness
in greying day
sashaying mournful recollects
from sunrise to daybreak.
Remembering vanishes
in the joyful marrow of life.
There, forgetting lives.
Tell me the last time
bliss comforts your soul.
It is a transient tick
too stiff to evoke.
What about the last time
pain feigns your saneness.
Memories turned into bullets
slitting shrapnel
warping into my soul.
Happiness lasts for a second.
Sadness, a lifetime.
Tell me how to get rid
the hurting clout of ache
existing as a blunt fragment
benign yet reminisced.
Daybreak pours so hard
and my sanity like a waning light
crawls back in a miasmatic cave
along the river known
to be a home of a witch
& her cursing narrative
of throwing silver saucers
making her a spotless shadow
through vestal times
never again a thriving spirit.
Forget Blake. Forget Whitman.
Only in daybreak
where everything
churns into life,
my sanity shrinking back
collapsing
into surreal gaps.
Here & there,
my sanity longs for memories.
Dec 9, 2016
Dec 9, 2016 at 10:31 PM UTC
A rip in the door, a tip in the drawr,
Philosophy or trigonometry,
Epic failure,
Filled with pens & paper clips,
Minds to the matter,
Key opening frogs,
Toads totaling mirrors,
Mane of Moroccan Curls,
Sashaying across broad shoulders,
And smooth hips,
Laying on clouds,
Because you can't afford to breath,
On the ground,
Tree topped eye lined,
Eye lids,
Shut.
May 3, 2015
May 3, 2015 at 4:17 PM UTC
No, no, no,
that's not how it happened at all.
Precocious children
have never been afforded that much influence
and Emperors, then as now
are largely unafflicted by shame.
And it's a good thing too
- why, if the story had gone
the way Anderson had it,
neither I nor any of the men of the town
would have our jobs
at the Magic Cloth factory
You do realise
that the trade in Magic Cloth
supports all the world's major economies now,
don't you?
Nor would the aristocracy
look half so stylish,
sashaying hither and thon
in the glorious altogether,
applauded by the taste-makers
and notably contemptuous
of child-like observation.
Mar 2, 2013
Mar 2, 2013 at 2:56 PM UTC
i.
let me entice you to darker pleasures,
let me ****** you with sashaying hips.
and well placed caress.
ii.
flirtation is an awful habit of mine,
but I don't think you mind.
iii.
darling, you're a goner and I've barely begun.
Feb 2, 2015
Feb 2, 2015 at 10:48 PM UTC
silken honey dew essence ,
natural bioluminescence , Aura pulsates in time to the flowing blood veins ,
fingertip lips taste like lightning just before it flicks the ground with his forked tongue -
stomach tingle , heart dip , drop.
lose it all , lose it again -
transfer the same -
enlarge the plane,
feel the vibrations of: never the same , again. Expansive minds roll on ...
~~~*
Escaped moan is free, darkness turns to light.
the whispers,
kept between you and me.
Animal instinct , Divine instinct
slips in.
slips out.
carving chasms and canyons out of skin...a glint of menace and copious amounts of mischief dance in his eyes , like a snake charmer sashaying the imaginary into existence.
the space dew tastes....like raspberry Champagne bubbles...
the energy flows are opening now, to handle the cosmic ******
one must prepare -
an untrained mind , might combust -
or worse yet , attract the dijins for foolish endeavors into treasure map waters...
Sensi bows - game , set , match.
Practice makes Perfect..
Nov 30, 2013
Nov 30, 2013 at 11:55 PM UTC
She stops before the glimmering mirror,
falters and prepares.
Gangly and awkward,
Legs unfolding, leaning forward
she drinks.
A slender skyscraper gallops,
sashaying.
A wet bud uncurls and blooms.
Winding, uncoiling, plucks a leaf.
Enchanting daughter of heights:
Embraced by the clouds,
Smooching the stars.
Towering sky-queen, ossicones her russet crown.
Bronzed cloak, auburn jewels.
From protuberant knees to shadowy lashes,
a lofty leader,
willowy wanderer.
Mar 24, 2015
Mar 24, 2015 at 1:40 PM UTC
She struts into the room.
Sashaying.
A sensual movement of the hips...
Tight clothes, firm but rounded muscles
half-parted lips.
The confidence is like a perfume.
Her fragrance subtle, but backed with the power in her eyes.
She sits.
Strips out of her coat.
Corset with strings,
a tattoo of wings,
sweet little sparrow...
Are you an angel?
Smooth shoulders
as she exposes her neck
while the rest of the room
stares on perplexed
like stopping to see a wreck;
As she strokes her hair,
we silently stroke her ego.
She knows she is something to see
And when we finally remember to breathe
I'm left gasping for air
with a tightness between my legs
I hadn't realized was there.
And she smiles like she knows.
She does but
Then she turns away
Continues on her way
and I'm raking my nails
through my sheets
for days.
Mar 3, 2010
Mar 3, 2010 at 3:54 PM UTC
walking Van Dieman’s Land
Hobart
following footsteps through the park
christmas roses on the arm of campanulas
sashaying in the winter wind
an oxymoronic botanical dance
appropriate given the place
isle of heat to the north
isle of ice to the south
between
this isle of freedom & hope
place of salvation when the centuries turned
18th to 19th
settlement ships sailing south
feeding their human cargo
on dreams
time moves on
21st century now resides in the park
where vertical walls carry your headstones
telling your story
explaining how you stained the earth with your blood
and
why the ether echoes with your tears
so many lives measured not in years
but
in days or months
you are honoured now
finally
very right
Oct 22, 2010
Oct 22, 2010 at 1:36 AM UTC
Center pressure on the tip
Of the glassed pleasure,
Release a million particles,
Watch them rest on the air.
Thousands of master dancers twirling, spinning,
Sashaying their paths to refuge.
Inhale, exhale.
The atoms entice, capture.
Pleasuring senses with alluring influences.
Just like a ballerina, trapezed,
Carefully and gracefully
Leaning her swan-like neck
Away from her poor partner,
Afflicted by the contrast of halitosis.
Another focus of pressure:
The last of inconveniences amended.
Feb 13, 2010
Feb 13, 2010 at 8:44 PM UTC
I may be that girl
you see passing by
a cheeky grin
and a twinkle in her eye
That little smile
is really just for you
she'll gaze into your eyes
so you'll know it's true
Shaking that little *****
'coz everything's alright
greeting you each day
with a wave and a 'Hi!'
She hopes to make you feel great
with her good mood and delight
You may hear her coming
with her dainty sunkissed feet
slipped into flip flops
her painted toes look a treat
Sashaying by
in a floaty summer skirt
she's a 'people person'
not a naughty little flirt
She hopes to see you again
to give a wink and a saucy smile
It's to see you on your way
and remember
you're her favourite by a mile
; )
May 30, 2014
May 30, 2014 at 9:49 AM UTC
i said goodbye to the desert
spit out a few grains of rust and sand
as i sat in the back of my mother's grand marquis
i was bidding farewell to the long plaid skirt i wore to school every day
the school that was mercifully unmarred by bullets
the glitter on the popcorn ceiling of my grandparents' home
the smell of an overwhelming saturday evening
which stank of discarded waste and cigarettes
we were going somewhere special
goodbye nuevo laredo
eight years later
i said goodbye again
to a neat little home
nested tightly amongst the bricks of others
a hilly backyard
bluebonnets sashaying on the side of the highway
mexican restaurants every three blocks
that could never replicate what i once had
stars and stripes holding steady in the shade of a sycamore tree
a glittering city in the distance
i was in love
and i was going somewhere special
i was elated to escape
both of my previous lives
always finding myself awash with uncertainty
adrift as i committed and uncommitted to a series of distractions
from the beastly recesses of my pruned little brain
that snarled about hopelessness
abandonment
a lack of worth
and motivation
maybe i knew i was meant to run
since the moment of implantation
my new neighborhood is impeccably silent at night
no hollers to strain my ears for
no ominous pop-pop-pops
(was that a firework or could it be...)
no jovial music with thundering basses and large round drums
i eat pork drenched in teriyaki sauce
and drink green tea in the evenings
on the train, i gaze at the empty stares of other passengers
my gaze is also unreadable
i practice the strokes of a kanji
one, two, three...
my husband and i meander through temples
heavy and groaning with the weight of a thousand years
of life
benevolent buddhas and Cheshire-grinned demons
i can't help but think of the message of a western God
that my mother recited to me every night in the black of our room
sometimes i shuffle my feet in the square space of my living room
to the tune of cumbia
i used to think that i didn't have an identity
no confinement to a culture conceived by the likes of men
but i am what i am
and i never actually escaped
Nov 29, 2021
Nov 29, 2021 at 5:00 AM UTC
Hot ****** energy
seeping through my pores
sashaying wantonly
I kneel on all fours
He grabs my buttocks
and enters fast
a hard rough ****
fulfills my lust
Withdrawing slowly
he slaps my ***
Oh, what he does to me
I, once again, come
Apr 29, 2013
Apr 29, 2013 at 7:19 PM UTC
A girl at the balcony, writing
A black cat at the hut, resting
A bird, singing
Another bird, shrieking
The whole scenery amazing
The wind moves, gently
The cloud above, remains unseen
The bus, is grumbling
A business man, rushing
A familiar face, walking
A stranger, sashaying
Light, so brightening
The hidden sun, it's morning
Nov 22, 2015
Nov 22, 2015 at 7:40 PM UTC
You are on my mind between metro stops. I think of you shifting gears and slamming your Mustang in that haunted beach town and I’m so far away in this silver box clamoring underground. I’m grabbing the railing to stand and resisting the urge to ***** because having you for only three days is a disease that won’t stop rampaging my body. Sashaying to the clicks of the machine down the aisle I want to kneel into holy water and confess because loving you and losing you meant getting back some of the best parts of myself. I want to carve your words into my heart so I don’t forget how much better I can be. And when this steel animal grinds to a stop and I have to grip the side from sliding I’m reminded of how falling for you was as merciless as gravity. Unyielding and inevitable.
Oct 21, 2013
Oct 21, 2013 at 7:33 PM UTC
Sashaying, down to the black lake
With her toes leaving a trail of blood
Anguish and pain, urging her onward
Never ceasing, she glides forth
Purple and blue mark an otherwise unblemished face
Riotous heart beats on
In perfect rhythm of far away drums
Nearer to the edge, she comes
Catching her white ****** dress on a log
Every stitch coming undone
Slowly, she walks into the black lake
Sinking slowly to relieve her pain, is the Swan Princess
Aug 16, 2015
Aug 16, 2015 at 11:29 AM UTC
*Madrigals of March
echo throughout the Port lake backcountry
with river dancer vibrations , lapping waters ,
sashaying marsh grass along her fertile shore
Uplands of live oak , elm , birch and sycamore
Shadows of raptors and herons alight brown pasture in
evening performances , evergreen seedlings helicopter
into the unknown , bass note bullfrogs , light breezes
chaperone a gaggle of redwing blackbirds bound for
sweet home* ...
Mar 3, 2017
Mar 3, 2017 at 11:29 AM UTC
I sprung out of this polka-dotted haze
rose up into a new exotic phase
a spring of fleurs erupted from my fount
forced
bulb March of mother May I's
forget-me-knotted hair
sashaying Miss American me
Ms. Primrose Promise
sprouting a court of daffodilian dandies
defrosting smiles of delight
tip-toe-Tiny-Tim Tambourine man
faerie of frivolity
waves his wand over
my zone 8
I bloom anew
Mar 14, 2018
Mar 14, 2018 at 11:00 AM UTC
Seclusion leads to wonder
Forgetting the sound of my voice,
As speaking loses purpose
And observation becomes my only drive.
A square with benches surrounded by trees
Pebbles clattering as kids would climb on
The mighty statue of an ancient judge.
A spot I made my own.
Random people passing by, few
Take shelter from chaos and heat,
Absorbed in their own minds
A frantic world seemingly leading to madness.
A ***** smelly sashaying woman seats on a bench,
Places her big black garbage bags next to her
While rambling incomprehensible words of anger.
‘That’s where solitude leads you!’ I presumptuously think.
A slender tall middle-age man, just as ***** and smelly,
Comes up to her shouting she does not care enough
About him. She refuses to talk and walks away.
‘No matter who you are, feelings are always the same!’
A man in his sixties and a young sunny girl
Take their place on the bench, chatting away.
He narrates experiences she enchantedly absorbs,
‘A beautiful father and daughter scene’ I naively assume.
As they smile tenderly, his hand swiftly glides under her skirt,
She approaches him to kiss his ears and neck.
Such warmth, delicacy and joy heat my heart
Wondering what the judge might have to say.
As I take notes of my observations I raise my eyes,
A lonely loud sobbing kid is now sat on the bench.
His mother crossly approaches to scold him,
‘Another disrespectful brat’ I shamefully determine.
Once he finishes beating his feet on the ground
He looks up at the lady seeking an embrace. He gets consolation
For losing a toy, his departed father had carved a little while ago.
‘We all miss our father at some point.’
Those benches have been my parlour for many years,
Random people passing by, absorbed in their own minds
A frantic world seemingly leading to madness,
Until the day I realised I was one of them.
All these people populate my being,
They are the reason why I sense and live
In harmonic peace, feeling the inevitable unity
With a universe inhabited by such extraordinary yet
Fragile creatures.
May 20, 2017
May 20, 2017 at 12:09 PM UTC
It'll be twenty years this spring.
Twenty.
I can still remember those red lockers,
and the cadgy way you took my appraisal.
I was so innocent then,
for all my ennui and dark eyeliner.
So young and untried.
Though we were only a year apart,
you had lived entire lifetimes
in the gap between us.
You offered me a taste,
and I devoured.
A ravenous thing,
I consumed every gleaming,
disjointed moment
in that bright world.
I was an experience ******
and you were my dealer,
my fix,
Doling out paradigms,
in neat white lines.
They called it a hole,
but it never felt like that to me.
Each hit was a journey,
And we travelled everywhere.
I was a glitter bug,
sashaying in platform heels,
you were a fresh faced candy necklace,
in a tank top and wide leg jeans.
Together we ruled the night.
We were fast and irreverent,
Trademarked by our frenetic maneuvering.
Free as the changing wind.
We were raging toward the dawn,
We were getting lit up like Christmas,
We were being kicked out of clubs,
And having dinner with the literature.
We were building blanket forts,
and breaking hearts.
We were breathing sound.
We were discovering the Multiverse,
and burning it
the
****
down!
We were two rarefied souls,
barreling toward oblivion,
laying it bare,
laying waste.
Discovering infinity,
Discovering ourselves.
Those were heady days,
and if I think about them long enough,
I can still get high on the flashback,
The swirl of fog through laser beams,
warm camphorous kisses
from loveable strangers,
Those deep beats...
If I close my eyes long enough,
I am transported
to a dark room somewhere...
A crumpled mess of girl,
you and I sloppily intertwined,
venturing ever elsewhere....
Two desperately seeking souls,
paired adventurers,
finding beauty in chaos,
in the unknown,
in heartache,
in everything.
Knowing that whatever we learned,
we learned in kind,
and that knowledge was ripe for the picking.
That everything is an offer,
an opportunity,
a lesson...
If one can just open herself,
to interpret the vibrations.
Nov 18, 2017
Nov 18, 2017 at 12:20 AM UTC
Sunset
Viking pyres sinking
by degrees from North Manitou
annealing the portside window
on an overnight flight to Dublin
spilling dye downtown high
above the left field bleachers
finger painting suburban skies
of my childhood racing
to beat the streetlights
floating fire on Lake Superior
too many times to count
Malibu two nights one July
sashaying drunk on magenta
going off to pout in the dark
when I called you a show off
you’ve seen me at my worst
I know all your florid secrets
little wonder we’ve grown
to resemble one another
incandescent palettes leached
wicking gunmetal horizons.
Oct 18, 2016
Oct 18, 2016 at 5:00 PM UTC
Kind of the same passion as the last priest hung
by the guts of the last capitalist only a touch less
ruthless & surely with a bare-breasted damsel
waving a black flag so high,
kind of a storming of the Tower by the raging mob
of whom a few have fallen 'neath the clubs & guns
of security but like warrior ants crossing a flowing stream
merely give themselves for the all to gain entrance,
kind of a pillaging of said tower with luxury furnishings
all sashaying upon gaudy, liquid thighs, gold this & gold
that all crowbarred & levered just right on out of there
to turn up all in bits & pieces at the 42nd St. Pawn Store,
kind of loading of the treadmill with those false narrative
propagandists for an old-fashioned milling of the poor
folks flour, grinding of the pulp, & a pounding of the fiber
for a deserved clothing of the cold & fragile,
kind of a revolution of justice, elemental & deeply satisfying,
of an ideal revenge, a reckoning, a pitiless, near merciless settling
of accounts with the poisoners, the exploiters, the fork-tongued
liars, the cheats, the merchants of a slow, silent death,
kind of a joyous, rapturous end-of-the-war drinking & embracing
moment of pure contentment & sense that actually all is well
in the world & that good does eventually overcome & that the
meek shall inherit one day & that come what may in the end
there will be an ecstatic blossoming roar of sweet & ultimate
victory.
Mar 18, 2017
Mar 18, 2017 at 3:13 PM UTC
I went shopping today and bumped into an old friend from school. She’s all grown up now and that slightly-on-the-heavy-side ugly duckling with thick glasses, oily skin and pimples has blossomed into a lithe, olive skinned, sashaying vision of femininity. I asked what she had done and she gave me the usual but glib answer of “sensible food and lots of exercise”. But I know it takes more than that. After all, I was her shoulder to cry on when the pretty people needed someone as a verbal punching bag. After a few cups of coffee she confessed, “I may have changed on the outside, but my confidence still needs firming up. I still feel like a loser on the inside.” I guess we’ve all been there; on the wrong side of the tracks feeling like a steaming heap of something a cow just left behind. But if we only get so many trips around the sun, remember that there’s over 10 billion people in the world and every second you waste on an idiot is one second you could’ve spent making really good friends.
Jul 6, 2014
Jul 6, 2014 at 1:06 PM UTC
daring to be
darling
those sashaying
buds of May
tempt me nearer
dearest
I am looking
for your flower
I will race
when your petals part
and there in your heart
a dance
Apr 7, 2016
Apr 7, 2016 at 7:18 PM UTC