"scissoring" poems
I see a ****** of crows
parting the sky with
a ********** V
it hawks and blecks
down as if to say
good afternoon
to the child wheeling
across federal
on her
pink bicycle—
a travel
that rots and witches
the sweet, grey air
sailing into clouds
of pounding tide—
jewels
colorless
and divorced
drifting
across the
blue-domed
pearl of
missing you
Nov 27, 2017
Nov 27, 2017 at 5:58 PM UTC
It drives me insane when people see me holding a girls hand and ask
“So who’s the guy? You know, who wears the pants?”
I want to scream and say WE ARE LESBIANS. Firstly, neither of us are ever wearing any pants. I want to scream and say WE ARE LESBIANS, and i’m angry because lesbian does not always have to mean woman but where did you get man from? I’m angry because maybe sometimes one of us does identify as a guy. A gay boi with an I. A soft boy. A proud hairy legged 5”4 boy. A drinking pints in the pub with my dad and us both liking that same woman’s tattoo boy. A cries every day boy. A feels cool when drinking beer boy. A boy that had to teach themself to like beer boy. A boy who sometimes does not feel like a boy. A boy. A boy. Oh boy. Boys. You see, this question is confusing for me because when I was fourteen, my boyfriend and I would joke that I was the one wearing the pants, even though at that point I was very much still wearing skirts and hiding behind butt-length hair and also watching the L Word in secret when I got home from school but that’s besides the point. This question is obviously as confusing for you as it is for me because in your mind you see two pairs of **** holding hands on the tube and think: Lesbians. Now, which one’s the man? And I think to myself, there are two ways to answer this: Number 1: So I know lesbian is supposed to mean woman on woman, two vaginas, ********** strap-ons, veganism, art degrees (and a lot of this is true but let’s not stereotype). So I know that to you, although we appear to be two women, two snap-back wearing, sports-bra bearing- I mean I thought about writing ***** tearing here but it just doesn’t seem appropriate- women, the funny thing is that erm, you see, gender and sexuality: as different as my dad to my mum’s other ex-husband. We are not a man and a woman. We are two people and what do pants have to do with it? We are two people and why does one of us always have to be a man? We are two people and the awkward part of the point i’m making is that sometimes I don’t feel like a woman but you wouldn’t know that so let me say: we are not a man and a woman. We did not ask for your confrontation, we are not your designated driver, your answer sheet to an exam you haven’t sat yet, your house party when your parents go away, your girlfriend that you think is obliged to **** your **** even though you will not go anywhere near her **** You are not our three year old son who asks too many inappropriate questions. To you, we are strangers and to answer your question, you seem to think that you’re wearing the pants here. So wear them. By the way, Number 2: **** off.
Jul 18, 2017
Jul 18, 2017 at 12:13 PM UTC
ravenous ....
...i watch..
the caterpillar
.....munch the leaf..
..edge to spine
in a systematic arc....
with a... squirm and
an inching motion...
he moves ......all energy
concentrated ....on ...the...
mouthpiece..... **********
rhythm,....
...cookie cutter.. nibbling...
...green mouthfuls....
...always ...just.. one ..more......
...willful ...energetic...unstoppable....
...obesity... for a cause..
...i wonder... what
wonderfully... beautifully..
..exquisite ..flutterful......
thing .....will this fat
wrinkly thug......become....
i turn to go inside.....
....i have a hankering...
for some.... green grapes..
Mar 29, 2014
Mar 29, 2014 at 9:17 PM UTC
Difficult for unpracticed hands
Valuing it, protecting it, nurturing it.
It should have been all that she needed to carry
She felt sure it was there,
In the dark place
Beneath the joy,
Between this breath
And the next laugh.
I see some echo of it there still.
It shows itself in the negative spaces
And desperately needs the light and air.
She thinks it small and cheap, and well-covered
Beneath the bite of a vinegar voice
In the folds of a silken smile
Muffled by the thick wool of persona.
She keeps her arms folded
Her irises blank.
Idly pulling loosened threads,
And tunes the prototype.
Sometimes there is the terror
Of cutting isolation
Of an icy apartness
In a dense and moving crowd
Of friends and cohorts.
Once she tried to let it free.
Arms spread wide in the street.
Ready to give that gift to herself
From deep within the erected façade
Amid the mass of anonymous humanity,
Amid the ********** legs and cab-hailing arms.
Later, a mirror brings a cold draft
Chilled by the empty spaces.
And then a fear,
Not knowing where it was anymore.
Hidden too deeply?
Lost along the path?
Maybe it was never given to her at all.
Jun 30, 2014
Jun 30, 2014 at 2:43 PM UTC
Cloudless confusion blows through the dead mind's sky
All eyes envying the ever nearing end of time.
This constantly reccuring thread.
This secret sentence meant to reinvent this magic.
It is a morbid mirage.
Murdered marriage
A massacre, unmentionable.
Mesmerizing sobriety,
Majestically marauding science.
Mindless moon born madness.
Inner sinner-inner sanctum.
Sheltering some malevolent Mysterium.
This thoughtless thirst for sanctity.
The shapeless shadow wisps which whisper.
Shock of spewing blood against a backdrop of white.
A keenly edged knife ********** grins into milky skin stretched tight.
The shifty sorrow of quick fading light
Deep down dig of fright
Straining: fighting with the last vestiges vanquished
The swallow of sentience, this last candle scarcely alight.
Burial romance.
This slow turned page.
Slow revelation of cumulative age.
Empty vessel volition withering onstage.
Don't weep this ****** burned
This solace we've earned
Good sense long past spurned.
Sadistic disaster our honey and sugar.
Outlined by the end
The smile of evil men.
Sad string stung, star struck spirit spun.
The voice of Us long undone.
Screaming chorus Kingdom come.
Seance chorus all wanting some.
This cracked Kingdom collapses
Each moment which passes
One last squandered synapse and then all falls quiet... at long last.
My lunar goddess
Lunatic
******
Murderess that got it
Jan 31, 2014
Jan 31, 2014 at 8:51 AM UTC
There's this ********** incoherence...
and obsessive cut and paste of mind.
Whatever pasture made its green bed,
has serial murdered...
painted...with head and heels, a lifetime of
tumbling.
Bipedal...the fallacy of bragging rights since
birth.
There's too much to engender without choice,
involuntary antipodes of mind...variations on
madness pawn their humours at storm-crossed
gates.
Strewn...the scrap metal of such limbs.
Oct 31, 2013
Oct 31, 2013 at 8:35 PM UTC
Fingers
Chew chew chew
Through string flexible cords
Of peached chalked skin,
To the roughen sharped corners of the
Piles, piles pile of papers
Cutting into my head,
********** away to my very own writers tool,
Bite to bite,
Itch, blood and sting to the nails, skin
Aye aye cries the mind,
With the heart and soul echoing along.
Tingles from white aching tingling flesh that knows
No escape from my addicted mouth,
Salvia coated causing pain to durate the hours of sleepless
Nights and un-filled days.
Bite, till my very next appointment
Feb 4, 2012
Feb 4, 2012 at 9:55 PM UTC
silhouette of sails breezed through the twilight hour,
the working man was long aroused from his sleep,
long strips of inked paper billowed out into the dank alley,
infused with the rotten aroma of yesterday.
the paper-thin veil draped over the construction site,
the working men had their silhouettes enslaved to the sheet,
an arrow of shadow shot through the muted screen of the cinema,
a line of laundry zigzagged the sky overhead, ********** pages of blue,
the rickshaw man was crossing stairs,
toeing winding train tracks, children nimbly dashed past danger
a fisherman was dreaming of secret deluges,
he would oar his way through the overflown streets, catching a dim sum box or two
a seagull fixed its hungry gaze on you, chewing stick
you leaned on the cart you have been pushing, facing habour
Jul 27, 2022
Jul 27, 2022 at 2:22 PM UTC
A thousand grasshoppers hop
from blade of grass to blade of grass
in the overgrown countryside
Playing a melodious melody for me
concealed somewhere in the grassland
Chirp, whistle, thrash
From early morning
to the dark of night
The sun’s born in the east
but we watch it die in the west
The spider weaves her web
a silky complex blueprint
that only the imagination of nature can manufacture
Like the spider's design stenciled from one place to another
Everyone is abundantly outfitted in life to be extraordinary
The cicadas hibernate for seventeen years
before emerging from earth
before emerging from split shells
dug into the bark on forest pine
Imagine their terrible twos
spent locked inside the ground
Angst-ridden and ready to greet
and eat the world
in buzzing clouds
blocking out the sky
Earwigs are born from locust husks
I've seen it with my own eyes
Crawling down from a tree
with seeds of sea urchins
falling and littering the ground
The sunlight never reaches the bottom of the ocean
Only the glimmering light of the angular fish
Luring prey into a mouth of awaiting ********** teeth
The effects of nature can be profound
If one only listens to the sound
Nov 6, 2011
Nov 6, 2011 at 10:41 AM UTC
Electronic karma spills unnoticed,
neon in the streets of concrete and oil
only to be dissected by the ********** legs.
I see streams of soil eroding
whereas you live free from worry
because we view time differently and
incur incrementally
indifferent sins
assuredly.
I am
eschewing violence with the slow quiet chewing of cheek
and a slight
leak at the seams
like violet light creeping from the night club,
a signal for the heated rubbing hub of energy
to come from behind the heavy door,
and skin deep what is my steady humming roar.
Mar 19, 2011
Mar 19, 2011 at 11:24 PM UTC
My mind is a tornado,
trash whirls in the attic,
temperaments
change
and
rain
like mercury falling through the cracks.
Little pools of glass
shimmer
and then vibrate madly
in my ears.
Where is that ********** riff,
whimpering up the scales?
where is that glacial voice
that used to break
in my ears?
Feb 26, 2012
Feb 26, 2012 at 11:34 AM UTC
left with
deceit,
kisses,
longings,
experience
I man,
animal,
crude
of
flesh,
easily
offended,
aghast,
burnt,
bent
at such
teasing,
**********
frothing,
fluff,
nothing
gave in,
but
frozen
surrender,
as she
floated
through rings,
juggled orbits,
trajectories,
full to
the brim
now,
stagnant,
unwavering,
a silence
acrid,
algae,
repulsion,
alarm
how
geographically
one can be
aloof, as in
heart
oh, of such
mysteries
are men,
women
shaped
so
farewell,
my habit
leads me
by hand,
yes,
farewell,
how splendid
to blow
this apart,
oh,
farewell,
and thank
you for
thine sweet
heart,
but farewell,
it was a
beautiful time
how water
ebbs, cuts
at the banks..
May 4, 2016
May 4, 2016 at 1:40 PM UTC
These diverging opportunities
Continue to split down the universe's seam,
as we propel ourselves in opposite directions.
Our affectionate thread can no longer pace itself with our ********** anguish,
the ravaging conflict.
My hands,
holding the repelling sides of our worlds together,
attempting to sew ourselves again,
grow weak from the increasing tension.
My muscles bend and flutter under my trauma,
the horror I feel with one picture,
the tears I cry as I sleep,
from the dreams of a patched world,
a needle unable to sustain my love for you,
and your love for me.
Nov 19, 2014
Nov 19, 2014 at 8:44 PM UTC
BABYCHAMS
Here under a large pub table
hidden by its tasselled cloth
in my own private theatre
of self
making my Dinky car
come alive
and run on high grade
imagination.
The chattering of aunts
like a foreign language.
I could never understand
the clatter of the lingo.
When suddenly a pair of female legs
****** themselves under my table.
Then another and another
each ********** into my space
like an iron maiden
of fleshly legs.
All shapes and sizes
stocking...un-stockinged
skirts hitched up beyond
as far as possible
knickered...un-knickered
places scratched
never thought possible.
And I in the one breathing space left
unable to breath.
I was that French cartoon cat
chased by Pepé Le Pew.
"Le pant!"
I gasped
"Le phew!"
Aunts abandoning all their power
returning to being the girls they were.
The Babycham gone
to their heads.
And I forever
putting aside
childish things
and toys
wise as a Solomon
though thoroughly terrified
with this
the newest of knowledge.
Feb 27, 2019
Feb 27, 2019 at 5:41 PM UTC
*displeased to report all my attempts
proven unsuccessful
*the poetry that forms yet mocks, gloriously,
all things that which avoidance was intended,
this stuffing, too tough to swallow, just surfaces ********** me,
appears unMasked, pushing, bullying to the head of the line*
*my will contravened, and now in review, poems suspected,
poetry was a wonderful, grand failure, to wit, escaping to
the fore, were the very words from which I sought relief, they,
didn’t escape my view, so when imprisoned, they were damning*
*words that arose from the gullet gorge, as you can espy verily,
verified words of little value, no truth, these them are the ones
I’ve come to despair + despise, hurtful to my eyes,
my escape not merely in vain, but rocks hurled,* so my escape foiled*
myself,
beneath buried
May 22, 2020
May 22, 2020 at 12:42 PM UTC
the one
precious thought
unfounded possibilities
unimaginable imagined
unassuming figure
crushed perception
beauty hearts desire
with just a glance
deep stare etching
hearts scarred tattoo
touch so gentle
gentleman’s dream
turned upside down
heart falling echoing words
manipulative skill lonely girl
picture left behind
presentation of facts
keeping your secrets
trust yourself
trusting no ******* possess me
till out of sight
among my mind
pirouette effect
leaving me flat footed
starring at the same moon
you gaze upon
********** plots of love
Dec 14, 2018
Dec 14, 2018 at 7:10 PM UTC
*Dandelion head
Against the ********** sshh—
A pixie haircut.*
© 2015 J.S.P.
Nov 17, 2015
Nov 17, 2015 at 1:48 AM UTC
The furniture of complacency comes burdened with
Eyeshadow & Mercurial past-idlings/
I have no theatrics to share with you dear
Eccept the sidewalk for all its smoke,
Accept my heart for all its dust
Nervous flames of a violet under close inspection
Deemed too upset for office countertops!
(I will avail you of the screaming that goes on here)
Machinery of white sleep
Surrounded by freckles & laughing
That makes the headboard shake/there is drunken quarrel on the street
There is pacifying the horror of someone's misgivings ! Everything in its place like a jewelled
Skylight or the hallway aroma of stale cake
& a hundred starving dogs quiver at the sight of you
(the sea decides that it doesn't want to **** anyone again
my shoes are starting to wear down
The ********** mouth of the sea is sorry
Is so sorry for all those it drowned
The lion cloaked in laurel caged at the center of the sea
Is growing old
& sick with innocence)
Bloodied flowers crown her hair and shy roots remember the wars of her thickened heart
The softness behind her ears like spots of April honey
(A veteran of what we are capable of inflicting on each other!)
I know the stench of the sidewalk,
Mirrors do translate the language of thoughts/
Remedies are concocted under invisible snow
(mist & directionless droplets make clear the sky and
The whole temporary palace of
Picketed clouds,
A visual hurdy gurdy)
In darkroom tone-
We, resigned to another daybreak
In seeking the holy flowerbed-
Do smear our kissing words to
Lipless leaves
& mournful faces
Nov 24, 2016
Nov 24, 2016 at 1:07 AM UTC
Hello,
Poetry.
I see the
fangs between your lines
snap shut to disguise
wrinkles revealing
traumatic speeches
scribbled without care
yet shouted so scared.
Words scarred and slashed with
swords of
insecurity,
blue and red bars slice
the tale you tried to
save for me,
bleeding out stories
through the tears in these
ruled pages,
pour them in the cups
of the audience
so they relate with.
I take just one sip.
I’m already drunk,
cut out my favorite lines,
pasting phrases to my life,
********** away my pain,
rejected in recycling,
cycling confessions,
crying on my recollections,
sponge away my sorrow tears
and squeeze it on the stages.
Claps of the people
start evaporation and
the sensation serves me
confidence to condensate
the ink off my dissertation.
Final salutation,
spotlights off and
goodbye,
Poetry.
Dec 19, 2018
Dec 19, 2018 at 10:43 PM UTC
I rush into the middle and sometimes to the end, ********** off any chance of an epilogue
You can predict the preface easily, lack of joy in the soil, sunlight retreating to the enemy, a reversal of virtues
The centre is frantic, usually, wouldn't you say, with its superstitions interwoven with the conventions, a drop or two of irony
But the end- how abrupt
-cj
Aug 5, 2014
Aug 5, 2014 at 1:43 PM UTC
Sacred sepulchre, steeped in sombre silence,
Secret sanctuary, scarcely a sound,
Sisters sleep serenely, secluded and skyless,
Sibilance simmering! Snoring and snoozing,
Sapphic sisters, summoned from slumber…
Sensational ********** Sudden and shuddering!
Shattering silence! Shuttering sanctity!
Squeaking and squealing! Squelching and squeezing!
Seamstresses ********** slotted slits slithering,
Squashing the scripture, smearing and smothering.
Sex-starved ********** Searing and savage!
Shuffling sisters - Seduced and salacious!
Sapphic Salvation - Spit! Salivation!
Submissively spearheading: same-sex spanking,
Summiting sweetly - Spectacular squirting!
Sanctified sisters, sighing suggestively,
Suspecting scripture, surmising sagely,
Sectarian schisms - Shameful and senseless?
Sapphic sermons, signal the Sabbath,
Seraphic sisters, snuggling sweetly,
Sink soothingly into synergy.
Jun 26, 2025
Jun 26, 2025 at 1:51 PM UTC