"saturating" poems
Her flesh
was his canvas
his hands spread over her body
like paint saturating its canvas
emotions surfaced
like oil paintings
her body shivered dying for his strokes
long throws of passion
sliding across her body like
satin brushes over skin
May 26, 2017
May 26, 2017 at 9:57 PM UTC
I stood there,
Tall and proud,
Half yard behind
Death drop,
Vortex form at toes,
Put fish world in spin.
Crush moss trees with
Splashing feet.
One long gaze
Left to right,
Miles of pool and stream
Spelling poetry in cursive
Through eroded landscape.
Zip down,
Junk out.
Open gates of flesh tap
Muscle relax,
Fresh release
Of human nectar.
Light separation
Casting rainbow shimmer,
A dancing upright
Tower of liquid.
Gravity outstretch
Palm grip
And connect
Via web of
Golden pour,
Chaps eye to
Mother earth.
A converging
Of torrents,
Saturating transparent terrain
With saffron and lemon.
The taste in a frog's mouth
Of sweet ammonia.
Clench,
And donation over.
A momentary meld
Of man and nature.
Those few seconds
Putting context into me:
At one with the scenery,
An extension of environment,
A limb of creation.
Sep 20, 2015
Sep 20, 2015 at 8:15 AM UTC
There's an awkward thrill I feel
like wicked-wet rabies –
Oh. Ah. Oh.
To gaze over photos of the woman I created.
With my warped perception,
saturating and cropping everything into delicious
oblivion.
I am the knife as well as the ingredients
that sauteed her together in a camera flash.
She sits hot like heaven.
And I want to
stare at her picture all day until she comes to life.
The woman I created, I hang up like perfected rotisserie
and fall in love with her accidentally every day.
Looking into those precisely underlined
tiger-sex eyes of startling navy. Knowing their true dullness.
Hissing at the free-swinging curls
and the hours behind them. Loving the lie.
The flowy top and sleek trousers gliding down lovely as Niagara
over chaffing chub; all hidden. And thighs; unshaven.
And that topical smile everyone likes to see, waiting to plummet
into suicide like a kite hanging in one tight second.
Her image is my greatest
False accomplishment.
I hang my portrait up on a wall of the internet
for people of the world to migrate to
the photo exhibit, my little show-off room.
They make offers and toss compliments
with their “I like this. I like this." nonsense.
They don't know that the girl in the portrait, she
isn't organic. They seem not to notice
that she is something of a chemical flower.
Her face is my face, only with whiteout poison-paste
smoothed over twice.
And they want to
stare at her picture all day until she comes to life.
Gazing upon her believed-to-be beauty, as I hang my paintbrush,
she bites her body still as a painting,
bruised and needled
into perfect frame. She cries
like Jesus Christ, as she is stared at, but not seen.
I am the artist as well as the object.
And the woman in the portrait is
nothing,
but dot after dot of manipulated color.
And we want to
stare at her picture all day until she comes to life.
Sep 7, 2014
Sep 7, 2014 at 9:52 AM UTC
my intelligence is not defined by a number, nor a letter.
nor should I be graded on a curve
by people
who don’t know me.
What does knowing the pythagorean theorem
have to do with me being a good person?
what will memorizing words on a page
help me with my rage
raging about how education has become
this conveyor belt
chewing up and spitting out
society’s warped up idea
of intelligence.
Throw me in a classroom with twenty-something students
just to tell me I’m better than him
but not as smart as her
teachers saturating our brains
with force fed textbook equations
telling us this is what we have to know to make it
“make it on time”, they say
“Passing it in late is not okay”
but when I am eventually thrown out
of this conveyor belt of education
the realization will be that life does not have
a set schedule.
my life will not change on time, as you ask
I cannot cram my creativity onto a five-paragraph
piece of paper.
I cannot crunch my knowledge
down onto six pages
about who I am
Don’t give me guidelines
my future does not have guidelines
you think you’re teaching us information
but in reality, you’re teaching us around the system
of how to get a passing grade
but not the exceeding knowledge
knowledge about what?
Our history?
what about our future?
We can’t learn about our future by staring at a blackboard
in a dim-lit room
with twenty-something other people
wondering what the hell we’re doing here
but being too scared to stand up
and ask.
Apr 4, 2013
Apr 4, 2013 at 1:47 PM UTC
---
early morning
2AM
here I lie
alone again
water misting
from the eaves
saturating
fallen leaves
i feel my bones
are rearranged
in loneliness
in darkness estranged
soulsurvivor
5/16/2015
May 16, 2015
May 16, 2015 at 5:33 AM UTC
At Bookshop Santa Cruz
I look at a book about the East Bay then and now
One picture strikes me: 1969 Sproul Plaza
Govener Ronald Reagan has the National Guard spray
tear gas on protesters on the steps of this Berkeley Administration Building
People run in black and white
they look like my parents
The helicopter is so close to the ground, like the Vietnam War
I was three
In the backseat of our VW Bug
My mother was driving me to Strawberry Canyon
for a swim
Then she got scared--something on the radio
We turned around
I didn't understand
She had to protect us from tear gas
We lived in a war zone
Everyone was very upset
We were attacked by our own government
Even children were fair game
An innocent frog is placed in water
If the water temperature is raised gradually
the frog will sit there until it dies
In 1980 Ronald Reagan became our President
Much to our dismay
"70% of pollution comes from trees" he had announced
as Governer, he was obviously a man of science
The vice grip clenched, the water temperature raised
as we felt around us the world becoming more
difficult as a middle class
we were supposed to wait for crumbs to fall
from the table of the rich folks
fighting over the bits like starving animals
Budgets were cut
Prices rose, wages fell or disappeared completely
We were at war
1985: I took a class in Economics in college, a UC
I learned that Supply Side Economics was
a silly idea written on a napkin at a fancy restaurant
where the fat ones eat
and the crumbs are thrown away
It was all a sham
An excuse
The vice grip tightened, the world became
more difficult
not the American Dream my parents grew up in
To be middle class was to struggle and struggle and still
not have anything
The frog began to die
Somehow we saw that
Reagan drifted away, but his ghost
remained, a respite in the 90's
Then we were at war again
Not just tear gas, but carpet bombing
Guerilla warfare in the streets of a hot arid country
Oil companies, already saturating our ground and our air with their products
Cashed in
The frog is near death
We struggle, and nothing gets better
Only a respite
At a fancy restaurant
on a napkin someone wrote
a new theory of Economics
that became like Scientology
Outgrew it's ridiculous inception
And became real
Ronald Reagan dropped tear gas
from helicopters on Sproul Plaza
and it drifted to Strawberry Canyon
where children learned to swim
But that is child's play now
the frog is about to die
I want to pull it out.
Jul 21, 2012
Jul 21, 2012 at 5:01 PM UTC
It was more like I was slowly sinking
deeper and deeper each day
You poured your love into me
And it drenched my heart
streamed through my veins
Soaking every single cell of my body
Leaking out of the pores of my skin
And dripping from my fingertips
To bleed into everything I touch
It flooded my chest
And filled up my lungs
Until it spilled out of my mouth
Trickling from my tongue
Saturating every single word I say
It flowed through every part of me
And eventually seeped into my bones
Making all that I am
Crave all that you are
I never fell in love with you
I drowned in it
Jun 14, 2021
Jun 14, 2021 at 3:53 PM UTC
i want you to remind me
how the moon and the stars above
glance and hides how shy they were
whenever your voice soothes the trees and living creatures, reverberating the paradox of joy and sadness in your giggle
i want you to remind me
how the ends will never be the means of loving and that saturating my soul with your presence is more than i could ever receive, a reality unmet with circumstances of chains upon ourselves
i want you to remind me
how long it would take to consume the universe on your palm or the life in one single breath, or the night with a hymn that lights up my way home
i want you to remind me
of remembering goodbyes and hellos
the mellow sound of now and the agonizing tomorrow swifting its way to uncanny sound of laughter and sniffed tears
i want you to remind me
that there are more to life than we ever thought of: death, absence, nothingness
i want you to remind me
that i could always see the mirror of myself in your brushed short hair, chapped lips and past you never left behind, just the like the songs i've made to remind how unusual semblance of people unites hearts and eventually tear them apart
i want you to remind me
of the days where i loved deeply and without hesitation or fear of falling behind or the anxiety of losing what i never had in the first place
i want you to remind me of the days like this
where the smile in my face meant the world, home, and happiness from your single hello or the way you tilt your head and stare and smile and laugh or when your cheeks blush and swims together with the universe in your eyes and the waters deeply engraved in your fingers how the waves strum the music in your spirit and soul
how i want you to remember,
the way i will remind you:
i will remind you of how i love seeing you mess around and make everyone happy, your vain and cuddly smile behind the tint of the sun, along the banquets of academics and artists
i will remind you of how assured i was that you were whom i prayed for to a nonexistent deity of the wind and beauty; how i wished to feel its rush as i roam around, and steep-down the wheels, continuously weighing down unafraid of a valley of morality and questions
i will remind you of the philosophy of the meaninglessness of existence and how life was never the meaning but pain of waiting for death; you made it bearable and the ample grace of your heart is what i'll keep to my future journeys of seeking what i would trade for life itself enduring the morning commutes and cruelty of mischievous eyes
i will remind you of the day i saw you, and how tall you stand as me or how shy i was whenever i was in front of the crowd, but most of the time you give me the strenght to brush off what everyone would say
i will remind you of the day, and the days to come
i will not ask for more or less, it will be enough, and i hope with that, i will be enough, and i, hope you would always remind me #
Mar 21, 2018
Mar 21, 2018 at 3:35 AM UTC
The irreveracable state of falling moral
Piecing together newspaper dooms dayers
Always curious about generalized detachment
Yet unable to see the forest for the trees
Picket lines are home
Raging infernos of injustice and malcontent
Laying stoically at their doorstep
Wrapped messily in insomniac nightmares at yours
Big, BOLD letters voicing the masses
We are, We are
Oppressed, Depressed, Repressed
No longer though
Passing out the hymnals of our revolution
Unsatisfied but spent
I sit back and enjoy the show
Saturating my senses with the smell of burning GMO fields
Apr 6, 2012
Apr 6, 2012 at 10:13 AM UTC
Learning through osmosis,
that's what you desire from me.
Pages and slurs of facts,
saturating the air with verbose greed.
Musing behind dark lids,
so much every night.
Sleep- now reserved for the reckless,
enough night terrors in daylight.
Battered by sharp whistle,
together we must tread.
Eternally catching up,
to the expectations in your head.
Feb 4, 2014
Feb 4, 2014 at 12:37 PM UTC
The children adore it
and wait all year
for the cold winter comfort
and the saturating cheer
They fidget and pace
all through December
making lists of the gifts
That they did not remember.
They climb upon Santa
eyes shining brightly
fingers clutching their lists
ever so tightly.
They stutter and stammer
forget what to say
resigned to waiting
for that magical day.
Xmas eve evening
so full of excitement
they dream of the morning
wondrous delightment.
The parents abhor it
and wait with dread
the upcoming gathering
the breaking of bread.
The family you avoid
the rest of the year
the drinking, the gossip
the pains in your rear.
The endless instruction
batteries galore
the wrapping and hiding
the locked closet door.
The last minute shopping
Black Friday stampede
to grant their wishes
to satiate their need.
Its finally over
the end is nigh
the morning of Christmas
the end of the lie.
The atheist ignores it
as best he can
it is pretty invasive
and he is only a man.
A fat man, a baby
flying moose in the skies
horrible, endless music
but at least there are pies.
It begins in October
the feast for the dead
the next day there's Jesus
in his tiny, wooden bed
A story of divinity
passed through the ages
bastardized and broken
parchment thin pages
Roman gift giving
European "Christmas" trees
A Greek gift giving saint
Shepherds on their knees
Supernova signals
Norseman's Mistletoe
A donkey, a sleigh
Coca Cola's ** ** **
Saturnarian or Pagan
Christian or Jew
Happy Holidays to everyone
From: Atheist, To: You
Dec 18, 2013
Dec 18, 2013 at 12:40 AM UTC
Fissures cut through thick mocha fur, saturating
The forest floor with stark crimson. The deer flails,
Broken, knees buckled, breath shallow and emerging
As vanishing steam in frosty November air.
He falls on a bed of sugar maple leaves, illuminated
In dappled sunlight and fulvous hues.
“Must’ve been the coyotes,” my brother whispers,
As my pocketknife meets the stag’s throat. Gentle
Auburn clouds and freezes time, the body falls still.
My father says, “Sacrifice is a form of worship, but it is only through
Mercy that we may show passion for what we believe.”
Coyote bites prevent carvings from going to Buxton’s General Store,
But what nature produces it also receives.
Ants forage along the split underbelly,
And a red-tailed hawk carries away the entrails.
History defines the antlers of deer as symbols of the Gods,
And men would wear them atop their heads.
I collect only them, still draped with threads of velvet,
Knowing that years from now, nestled inside the perimeter
Of wind-beaten fences around the family farm, beyond
Moss-covered slopes and the Wishing Rock,
Will be the bones of a solitary stag.
Sep 22, 2014
Sep 22, 2014 at 1:50 PM UTC
You hear the vocals of my pores
Calling out for your ecstasy
Baby, will you answer me?
Annihilate my suspire
I'm craving for you to sojourn your lips unto my dermis
Floating in passion, your love takes me higher
With annimalism
Your death grip on my waistline severely quenches my skin
I feel your thunder storming on my frame
Being pounded by my waves
Of this flash flood you made
I NEED YOU
To come and swim deeply into my ocean
Contain my legs from this uncontrollable wavely motion
Surf my waves at each convulsion
Your breath trickles down my spine
You haven't even reached your peak yet
And I have came here
And
Came
4
Times
This visit, I do not regret
I WANT YOU
To make love to me
Like there is a war outdoors
With nature and valley
A war between temptation and flesh
But wait
Not just yet
Because your cinnamon skin
***** my tongue passionately*
Constantly
I melt, into a puddle
Full weight on the floor
That you lick up until no more
I travel my lips up and down your masculine build
You feel my exhaustion
Invading your spine
Interrupting your concentration
At this hour, in this moment
You are mine
And I am yours
Finally tasting those lips I've always adored
My succulent tongues takes a moment and travel down your chest
Leaving my mist dwelling on your buff
Down to the strong man hood you possess...
You grab my neck
As you explore the soft walls
Of my saturating portal
Your head inclines back in full relieve
As I continually, savagely feast
You then explode in great fury
We collapse as if an earthquake violated our terrain
And then we lay....
But,
This is not the end
Welcome, to foreplay
With gratitude, your excitements hardens
And your eyes paint me, you feel extremely lucky
You begin to fill your lips with thanks
But NO
Baby don't thank me
*Just **** me*...
Copy Right 2013
©Patty Ann
Oct 25, 2013
Oct 25, 2013 at 2:37 PM UTC
An intensity of a thought, and the intimacy of feeling produce the sound,
The announcement, immediate and incomplete, but monumental -
The outpour of falling words, running from my mouth like water droplets from the clouds…
A leap towards faith and freedom, towards the excitement of uncertainty -
Experiencing a brief moment of weightless resilience,
Strong, proud and fearless…
Fiercely crashing into their destination without restraint,
Saturating the contents,
Slowly falling, seeping down further –
Layer…
Upon layer…
Hopefully finding welcome,
Hopefully finding reciprocation.
It starts with an intensity of a thought, and the intimacy of feeling to produce the sound...
Mar 7, 2013
Mar 7, 2013 at 1:34 AM UTC
Your words are heard throughout my changing mind
Saturating every part of my senses
Profusely renouncing all of my kind affections
Can you not see me building my shield of defenses
Your exasperation with life itself crushes my resolve
To see this world with you in a better light
As you seem to distrust each one who crosses your path
When I know each dog I see does not bite
All your subtle insinuations, unbendable points of view
Places a shadow on the light here in my heart
Yet, I will not permit you to ever steal my joy
Even if from your presence, I must forever part
I have always been in awe of your judgment and your wisdom
Deeply respected your opinion as your own
However, I will not be forced to think and act as you do
So for now, I will leave you alone
Jun 27, 2010
Jun 27, 2010 at 12:38 PM UTC
When was the last time I came here?
I can't remember the last time I needed this place.
And then all these images, memories, flooded through me.
I remembered everything that had happened in my past
that might have changed who I became.
Every sad, cynical moment,
whether it be a tragedy on TV
or a revelation from my own experience.
And all the incredible beauty I had seen in my short life.
Every time I'd come here last,
I'd come with a sad and lonely, afraid and anxious, numb and brooding mind.
Here I was in the woods, the way they had been for so long,
once-delicate leaves compacted into gray, crunching masses
on the trodden dirt
and rusted, crumpled cans
marking the slow death of the place I'd always treasured.
I sat down hard, saturating my worn black jeans
with the tired old mud of this sad place,
and sifted through the dead leaves
for some of that beauty that was my faintest memory.
There was none.
It was almost as if my mind had created that memory on its own...
And of course that's what had happened.
I'd always been good at imagining and wishing.
How sad to think that now imagining is all I'll be able to do.
Feb 17, 2013
Feb 17, 2013 at 10:22 PM UTC
I’m more afraid of losing you than I am of losing myself
To force one to create;
To turn the gears of the mind by force of will
Ironic;
That the source of creativity has become so artificial,
Like plastic flowers in an outdoors garden,
Not wrong,
Not dangerous,
Unsettling;
One of these things is not like the other.
Something is wrong;
This is too familiar,
I have been here before.
Sometimes I feel like I’ve known you my whole life,
Silence is a spirit which haunts me,
Hold my tongue,
Punching my gut,
Every time brave words bloom in my throat,
This banshee screams reality in my wind-beaten face.
She is subdued by a fraternal bond, a weightless chain,
Silence is tamed by the right company,
The demon exorcised from my body,
I am sanctified in brief lucidity,
Clarity, however fleeting still exists,
Despite the holes in your brain,
The ultimate in body modification.
Every ugly duckling is told they’re a swan,
So they seek their kind,
Unable to set roots,
Assured that there is a kindred spirit,
You just have to find them.
You don’t know what you have until it’s gone,
They ugly duckling becomes more shark-like every day,
Unable to stop, a flower constantly about to wither,
With age comes beauty,
The Rhododendron expels an army of stamens,
Male in essence, coloured neon pink,
******* objects of desire for the hungry bee,
Honey and perfume,
Comfort and poison,
The children of flowers,
Opposing in nature,
Twins in function,
Sweetening, attracting, saturating,
Numbing the tongue,
Burning the nose,
So sweet I could *****
I want more time and you want more attention,
Kind gestures, kind reward,
So sweet that I’m sick.
Dec 19, 2013
Dec 19, 2013 at 8:07 PM UTC
What if it's a matter of faith
You have it and I
Do not.
Perhaps that is the line that you
Refuse to cross
It's a thick deep line
Drawn in the sands
You stay on the shore
Yell to me as I'm pulled out to sea
You think I drown here, in this body of fluid doubt
You're so sturdy, strong, safe upon the shore
Do I need saving?
I'm fine swimming on my own
Though you may see my treading water as
Drowning
I assure you, I'm not
It feels right here
Saturating myself in salty waters
While you sit and hold fast to flowing sands through your fingers
Worrying that I don't know what's out there
Thinking I'm a lost cause
A man of land,
I myself, merely a wave
I kiss the shore only to be pulled back out
Two worlds that collide at the line
I don't need the oxygen that you need to survive
There is no island,
No Oasis
This is all it can be
And so I'll meet you at the line
Begging you dip your toes
Hands
Splash your face
"No" you say
"But please" I beg.
"Don't go."
I promise there is sand at the bottom of the ocean,
Land isn't all there is
There is infinite sky
We can transcend this
Maybe
Sure we could try,
But what's the point?
There is no middle ground
There's a line neither of us will cross
This can't be it.
But it could be.
I can't survive in your world
Nor you in mine
It's a matter of faith
You have it and I
Do not.
It's that line in the sand
We
Refuse to cross.
But I want to.
Just to have you.
I'd sacrifice my life
But not myself
So yell to me from your precious sands
We'll remain like this
Longing like this
Until this dividing line
This insignificantly significant line,
Is washed away by my
Persistent waves
And you're anguished enough
To tread with me.
Oct 21, 2012
Oct 21, 2012 at 11:51 PM UTC
Double glazed prisons
that suffocate us in
Stopping air
dainty pure
saturating chakras
and healing pores
Skewed panes
Isolate and whisper
Lies
keeping us inside
to jeopardize
All destiny
Meant to thrive.
Glass severing
our connection
to the quaint outside
Leaving Nature,
Our spirit guide,
meekly to subside
when seen
through this lens
of poisoned eyes.
Aug 31, 2020
Aug 31, 2020 at 9:49 AM UTC
I opened my eyes and saw fireworks
how silly, I thought
those are street lights
I could’ve sworn they were fireworks
ripples of rhapsody saturating through my skin
holy ****
did you know, you’re my favourite person to kiss?
the sweet-gentle ones and the devoted-amore ones
the quick-teasing ones and the I’ve-gotta-take-a-breath-now ones
the infallible tongue and the soft grazing of lips
your hands lowering all the way down to my hips
we are a tidal wave merging in and out of the ocean
unity
harmony
zeal
I don’t care if we’re in a car, it’s nirvana all the same
heaven and azure
all the particles of my body click into place and everything
fits together
like a bowl of summer fruit
I opened my eyes and remembered
where we were
I opened my eyes and remembered
we existed
Aug 30, 2012
Aug 30, 2012 at 2:49 PM UTC
She drains me of words
Like at the end of a bath,
And I'm left with the stopper
Dry as a prune
Until I can
Once again
Replenish my thoughts,
Come again
Under my shower
But I'm just a mist
Lightly saturating
Her once more
Like the moisturizer after
But she shaves and dries
It all off,
What of it all
Has she absorbed?
I can't be coke
Left to go flat
Crushed soda pop can
In the sun
Unable to redeem myself,
Won't you give me a nickel
For my love?
APAD13 - 131 © okpoet
Aug 2, 2013
Aug 2, 2013 at 1:18 PM UTC
Birthed at the center of my soul
You are my very heart
You are the seed of compassion
And the water with which it blooms
Birthed at the center of my soul
You open the window of joy
And close the doors tinged blue
A teacher of spirits, of freedom
Birthed at the center of my soul
Your kindness bleeds into me
Saturating my casing
Rendering me tender, despite myself
Birthed at the center of my soul
We became...as intended
Entire beings
Flowing between a unified spirit
Connected now as then
Birthed at the center of my soul
Jun 29, 2015
Jun 29, 2015 at 11:34 PM UTC
wait —
saturating under
less-than-flattering
fluorescence.
something good will
come.
Nov 18, 2014
Nov 18, 2014 at 12:52 PM UTC
a cloudburst, penetrated our world
with thrusts as deep as the eye of our
storm, coasting over us in heaved
passion; unleashed with each
dip and sway
bombarding...
our core in showered felicity; tasting
euphoria's longing, titillated to the tips
of our toes; saturating her soft spots,
her rain and I were one curled, pelvis
to hip
sliding in out as hands caressed in rhythm,
wanting to taste her rain once again;
cultivating in her delicacy, nibbling tautness;
remembering moments our lips said hi
besieging me...
as her raindrops seeped, causing our
steam to rise, each drop in hunger;
I'd delve deeper into oblivion,losing
myself in raged deluges of her
rain's cloudburst...
Feb 19, 2013
Feb 19, 2013 at 12:59 PM UTC
Tell her what has been taken
Is being given a better life
Tell her what has gone
Is coming back in a different form
Tell her the tears she was shedding
Won’t go away
It’s saturating new souls
To blossom again in her life
Apr 20, 2015
Apr 20, 2015 at 4:39 PM UTC