"sensate" poems
What poem will you wear, when first we meet?
How will I recognition-you,
when you transverse my land?
Unknown our faces, our voices,
Only silent words electronic exchanged
Will lantern, it be: one, if by land, two, if by sea?
Will your ID badge, passport stamped and state,
Your chest bear a witness-sign?
The Arrivals Board flashes:
une poétesse est arrivé
eine Dichterin ist angekomme
a poetess has arrived
una poetisa ha llegado
Will there be a haiku in your hair,
A limerick exposed by raucous grin,
Or just ten words
allotted for your entire visit?
**Desperate to locate
Urgent to sensate
Matters I take
Into two cupped hands,
On the shoeshine stand
Climb and recite-shout**
Know me by my words,
Know me by the lilt lyrical
Of my American accented,
Canadian Tongue of my mother
Know me by my words,
Carved by time on my forehead,
Poetry is the blood of this fool's soul,
Hear me, find me, look upon me slamming
Poems are the thorns in my palms,
See me crucified, bleeding stanzas
Upon my shoeshine stand cross
Recitation resuscitation welcoming:
Benedicting Gloria, Gloria, Gloria
But if this should fail your attention to secure,
Or the TSA unappreciate my second coming,
Look for the crowd gathered round,
A man of moderate height, in a tall hat,
Beard scraggly, looking sorrowful
Reciting the Gettysburg Address
Either way,
Should be easy peasy to find me,
Grab your bag, off to short-term parking
This is how an Americana poet meets n' greets
Arriving poetess from a foreign land
Is there any other way?
------------------------------
Postscipt
**Alas, five years on and I know in my heart
that you are not coming...**
Aug 31, 2013
Aug 31, 2013 at 3:17 AM UTC
I am reading poems by Billy Collins:
AIMLESS LOVE, a retrospective,
A sampler, as it were
For the Books and Brew;
Our monthly selection.
Nine manly men
Meeting for monthly meals
And book-talk
And politics
And, of course, good beer.
They like nonfiction,
I like fiction.
Richard Hughes,
British writer of poems, short stories, novels and plays said:
“All nonfiction can do is answer questions;
It is fiction's business to ask them.”
Still, my repertoire has expanded:
Nike shoes.
Civil War.
Institutional racism.
Opioid addiction.
Rafting the Grand Canyon.
Climbing mountains.
With Baron Von Humboldt.
And now this:
Poetry.
Nine manly men
Reading poetry to each other
While sharing a meal,
One lovely poem after another.
You can't read a book of poetry
Like you consume other books,
Fiction or nonfiction.
The table of contents:
The lid of a box of exquisite truffles—
A map of pleasures contained within.
You look at the map,
And make a selection.
The caramel truffle
Is not the coffee truffle.
You look at the map,
Make a selection,
And bite!
The crusty chocolate cracks!
The darkness melts,
Floods your mouth with taste.
Then the rush of caramel!
Flavors, smells sloshing
Swooning with sensate memories.
What? Turn the page and read another?
Reach for the coffee truffle?
No. Linger with caramel;
Luxuriate on aftertaste.
Is that a note of citrus or salt?
I will enjoy my coffee truffle tomorrow.
Apr 2, 2017
Apr 2, 2017 at 12:26 PM UTC
Psst
Hey man
You looking for a boost?
Some bud? Molly? *****
I gotch you
Let's be out
Let's look forward, shifting eyes
Thick blunts, welcome to The Court of Miracles
Where no ones ever dry and everyone's good
The whole place was flooded with music
Pounding, pulsing, entrancing
thump thump thump thump
Laser lights flashing neon colors
Multicolored creatures of night dancing to the whimsical noise
The DJ was young
Attentive to his machine that dispensed exuberant sensate explosions
Rocking back and forth, flipping switches, turning knobs
We are, we can, we will live forever
Then it all went silent and the whole place shot out with a feeling of anticipation
WE ARE IMMORTAL
BOOM BOOM BOOM BOOM
The bass caused everyone of us to vibrate and pick up the vibrations of one another
Hey bro
Take this
Molly
Nerves become fervent
Now meet my other friend
Lucy
Mind is widened
Now you're candy flipping
Hippy tripping
We met a girl
Her dad was a record producer
She was way out there
She was out of her head
We met an artist
He used different types of wood
And carved shapes and patterns in to them
Then painted it with acrylics
Then smashed it with a sledge hammer
People bought it
He was brilliant
He was ******
I was dazzled
She tasted like *****
He tastes like cigarettes
***** devils
Looking for a time
I saw veterans from Iraq letting loose
Thank you
A sea of sweaty smiles going for miles
Under a baroque moon
Sleeveless shirts
Minuscule skirts
Beads, glow sticks
Unity
Altogether
Under one universe
Dedicated to this single moment
And what it means to us
One mind
Joined
For equal freedom
Apr 12, 2014
Apr 12, 2014 at 11:35 PM UTC
the Nephelaen mediatrix sings
fating an ambrosia synchrony of tones
she volves her telic tepals ripe:
areoles ensorcelled under alate nomes
she heralds petrichoric quench
with nova womb
to subtend violet ray
in stellar bloom, noema web:
sensate fontanels
in spite of dessication's wrench
are concresced atmospheric balms
of evanescent nervure, calyces
displayed to sky-crossed home,
unpillared and ovoid
.
Mar 26, 2014
Mar 26, 2014 at 8:07 AM UTC
I am unsure of the geology
of where you’re from.
I expect there exists
shelves and sheaths
pale grey-yellow
like serum in the blood
and rocks resembling
sun-weathered lobster
carapaces.
all of this enclosed by
a festoon of green pine—
its regalia cut sonic
and naked
wrung and wrung again
by august.
on the edge
a cabin is hemmed on
the skirt of ocean—
spikes of molding logs
propped and resting
akimbo.
a wave comes in.
a wave goes out.
a wave stays to shake
your hand.
introduces itself as
sensate verge
and wonderment.
home.
I can only imagine what
it is for you.
Aug 10, 2017
Aug 10, 2017 at 10:47 AM UTC
Your eyes
Make me smile,
Your lips
Want me, I know,
Your hair
Is for being lost,
Your height
Is for me to faint,
Your breath
Is air of true life,
Your arms
Hold me so tight,
Your legs
Are shock, arresting,
Your cheek
Is for giddy kissing,
Your words
Go trancing, unheard,
Your fingers
Are for **********
Thank you m'lord,
For sensate love,
Thank you m'lord,
For shivering flesh,
Thank you m'lord,
For what grows in me,
I am your mistress.
Mar 17, 2016
Mar 17, 2016 at 3:45 AM UTC
So, after reading this Programme with her
And felt the Blood up-river past your brain
She was Smiling. And thus I beg-confirm
How to abdicate this Throneful Pain
Do Tears from your Fans ever sensate you
Even when their Pillars support your Fare
Bitter Notes will tweet; And Pretty Souls too
Just how you Falter these Dictions beware
She was Brave enough to post the Same Event
At Risk to debit their Frustrated Fears
Brother and Sister: Most live Excuse meant
A Funny Welcome to whom they Revere.
Please. This isn't the first Turtle Reflex
Of Four-Digits-Two minus Year-of-Six.
Mar 11, 2013
Mar 11, 2013 at 3:41 AM UTC
slowly carefully
as i might an ancient diary
still full of young dreams
and even perhaps
the salt of young love
it hurts
to carry adolescent obstacles
given my age
and all those hateful skeptics
it hurts how they gleefully profane
yet settled dust is yet dust
i sit willing to love
amid my dust
i sit in ever deeper vasts of love
in existential sacrum wag
kindled crown and fullness breath of all the scents of varied forms of love
lighthouse toes inspire seas ancestors swam
lyric feet to message myth of travels won
my calves and shins knees and thighs
crawling climbing walking running jumping kicking at the start
physiologies of courage ****** ahead
as future unmade moulds invite
caress the bodied length intent provides
singing fingers scale my world in chords of gliding love
tips of arcing sensate dawns
diverse as nightsky suns
my palms divine an ever giving gift
no futures could unveil--
the toucher's touching touched
aligning novel insights wordless as the womb of time:
perhaps a symbol flare could squint
and grant a vision of horizon's end--
another pleasure game
a bonsai love to soften age
another twisting meditation's emptiness in form
as motion stillness spaces words
to perfect pitches tempos sound
though all of which will never meet
and never meeting meet
as one
Sep 22, 2015
Sep 22, 2015 at 12:01 AM UTC
Verse
Ever cruising , in the base ship
Now finding my feet on the ground
Muddy pathways ,
Pebbled alleyways,
River coursing eastwards
Chorus
Give me the revelation
That I need to elevate
Give me the calibration
That I need to stimulate
All aligning, all aligning
Verse
We are divided, in the realities
Now finding sensate zones
Hearts entwining
Minds compassing
Many flowing for the cause
Bridge
And they shall walk on the land
Their feet will sink in the pads
They will smile and trance
Fight then unite,
Recite in their might
All attuned, all aligned
Feb 17, 2016
Feb 17, 2016 at 6:09 AM UTC
You seem to know where you're needed
to whom this command addressed is a crazy me-man,
a street walking big DaVinci ibearded mumbler,
the kind you would cross the street
before the smell is close enough
to sending you running, not just
politely walking fast but a souped up
hi-yo silver away!
this guise no surprise,
you must and do
already know where I’m needed,
sealing the pact with a yellowtine post-it
writ in simple block letters ordered in a brewed cafe,
my latte arrive states my name as**
come see me
come to the time the place and the date
and prepare oneself for twenty and fours
of rigid interoperability as our systems
interface reach the pure state of 100%
ultimate wordless dialogue
communicating
in with by
perfect silence
heaven
you will write a verse,
my reciprocation
is already prepared
this terse repartee
will many spawn poems generational
for your family amazing and extended
an elephnat never forgets,
his servers are a rolling stone
with no direction home,
capacity unknown
every blade sighted retained,
and every sensate glance
a phrase seeded
departure will find me clean shaven,
pressed jeans neat,
and shod in well worn dockers,
cloaking my innate invisibility
when the children ask who was that,
you’ll sage reply
one new who knew where one was needed
Apr 8, 2019
Apr 8, 2019 at 10:18 AM UTC
i might continue on with that trauma
i might subside.
violation carries with it sensate boons of empathy
blue sky overrun with thanks
arched-back breath
you're afraid to ask me
are your tears painful
but i spear your question with a surplus love
shouting joy
as if there weren't a plea
tremulously groaned
share with me
it isn't just release
sweet freedom laughing out of doors
you and she regaled in bursts
iridescent meaning
hung in curve of lock
nape and open palm
Oct 12, 2013
Oct 12, 2013 at 10:00 AM UTC
my thoughts, so potent just before--
like fresh-pressed olive drops
that lingered, lipping from the fragrant spout--
now pass, diffuse atop an ocean vast.
i imagine willing it to be a pond,
not for its lesser size alone
but mostly for its calm,
reflective height; yet
these waves are
distort ruthlessness
of liquid dust
by slapping, tower-high
the central ocean rip-whirl tide:
and gone--
as Homer's heroes screaming as they drown,
deaf as oars but for their final gasps
of yearned-for clarity:
of nameless pride's Ithacan king
abrading lustful wrists
restrained to blind a god's son's single eye
by tentacles of twisting, tactful fate.
by threaded loom rethreaded
soon i see my salty self in suit
of sameness, tricking time
by indolence or theft--
from truth, from others' hearths--
the difference winks in bubbles on the cosmic shore...
foam so clean i grin to call it spume,
grin to brace the seabed to my algaed chest
in salinating crush of sand, of blood-sharp shell and rock,
in sungreen warmth of blue and life
in crashing sinus wince
i grit aegean nereids in my sneeze,
splay their formless sexing into pelvic scrapes
of quickened starbursts anciently reborn,
squeezed in pleasure tears and laughing drops--
as all pelagic ***** must
within the pressure of a world,
its breathing darkness spotted with transmuted sun,
expel itself in sensate gusts--
as octopodal spurting flings
in liquid ****** of purpose forth,
(or backwards, sideways, in and out)--
so too i think
and thinking, drown my ink
instead of drowning thinking in my ink
.
Feb 28, 2016
Feb 28, 2016 at 11:11 PM UTC
Grammy is an Empath, clairsentient old soul
Mommy is an Indigo, not sure if she knows
I was born a Rainbow Bear to make the planet whole
Together we will change the world, at least that is our goal
Grammy plays with honeybees, loves entomology
Mommy is a healer, she gets it naturally
I'm completely fearless, we all are HSP
At least we’re slightly different, on that we can agree
Grammy hears the trees speak, scream when they are down
Mommy sees the unborn babes by using ultrasound
I sensate most creatures before they come around
We hope to stir you deeply so offer this background
I’ll share my involution with you every now and then
Speak with you of changes by taking up a pen
Together we bee wise ones who work for truth again
The world will be lighter, though I can not tell you when...
(Little Bear speaks of Starseed, from "The Book of the Bear")
Sep 28, 2020
Sep 28, 2020 at 12:14 PM UTC
Dante’s dance of death arrives
Sparrows take to air
And massive nimbo-cumulous
Soar to lightnings vivid flare.
The final page is almost read
Incredulous am I
That Lady Luck has touched my soul
Allowing me to cry.
To watch a scarlet sunset sink
Into a sea of green
And feel the chill of evening stroke
My mortal fascade’s sheen.
Cavorting fillies canter
In blue nightfall’s velvet pall
Whilst the crystal tones of crispness
Peal from distant blackbird's call.
The magnificence of feeling
Permeates my very soul
And the factored life impermanence
Magnifies the spirit’s hold.
A sensate wave of gladness
Washes over all I see
And the brilliant joy of being
Lifts the fear of death from me.
Marshalg
Victoria Park Tunnel
21 August 2010
Aug 20, 2010
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Sep 7, 2015
Sep 7, 2015 at 5:44 AM UTC
darkness falls from night
i am still here waiting
after you are gone
azure veined seraphim
i think of you through this long season of my life
like swallowed ivories
you always said you did death best
and haven't made a gasp since
laid out in the field face down
my grey goddess of the wan sinless moon
smiling vacant
mud mandible
while a tempest beats the grass
are you here
shrouded wave
is the wind your voice?
a perfumed music plays
are you a smatter of molecules
a floating eye
sensate
a voluptuous ghost shaken din
in a sea of burning nights
between
sleep and wake
between
the living dead
and the dead living?
i could swear you hover
arches over arches
a continent of form
like heaving clouds
red legs and wafer thin shoulders
dancing ballet in a prismatic wilderness
flaming tongued angelic heads
burn lanterns of lust and gloom
Apr 16, 2019
Apr 16, 2019 at 12:58 PM UTC
He used a nice word for it-
Emulate
"Oh! Look how her imagination glides
From glorious skies to
Eerie depths, no hesitation
Dropping from resounding thunder
To dead silence that shatters asunder
All that is sensate
And that, my friend,
Is what I'm trying to emulate!"
With such shameless eagerness
He shifted styles,
A form-changing, chameleon of a poet
Ever so often devouring a new set of words
Like rich, delicious wine
And fashioning his words into
The poetess' writing style,
And crooning with her tunes
For as long or short a while
As his lecherous dog of a heart pleased,
Then letting himself be afflicted
With yet another poetic disease.
I rolled my eyes, yet silently asked
Him- the Casanova of verse-
*When will you stop falling in love?
When will you stop drowning into
Another woman's words?
Think about me,
Struggling to keep up,
Changing tracks with you,
Climbing up and down
Ballads-Sonnets-Haikus-Epics-and free verse
With you,
Watching you enamoured by her,
Still trying to emulate you
For the most vain of reasons there is-
Hope.*
Jun 4, 2014
Jun 4, 2014 at 4:32 PM UTC
DEAR PENPAL PEOPLE, listen to you when you speak or scream ;not me who said that:)
I wonder I ponder freedom bright
if what people read upon my sights
do they feel me in the ravens
because when I view others' dimes its a haven
even not poems on stones
novels have their power to sensate my bones
sour attachments I prize I pave
something to my heart to a sweetest cinnamon save
------ravenfeels
Jun 5, 2021
Jun 5, 2021 at 4:33 PM UTC
before i even write the title,
i set it to draft
selected as unworthy before it's born
i tell myself i might not want to write about writing
because of something someone said sometime
about mistakes
then if i remember right
i edit my memory:
after editing this poem
i am seeing clearly:
a censored Mnemosyne
raging from her shaded, titanic head
music may be involved.
or film,
or living well
or finding myself unable to speak out against bigotry
or those who'd impose their choice on another's body
the chills.
inseparable sensate emotions.
often they spread over the left side of my back, neck and head
.usually they feel good.
i think they may always feel good
like tears
and the urge to sing alone
or the sharp yearning:
i must tell this someone something soon
like
'the ocean overspills imaginal seas
and yet is less than what i want it to mean'
Oct 7, 2015
Oct 7, 2015 at 4:49 AM UTC
as an earthworm touched
by a twig, a string curling
wildly to refuse the knot.
raw and sensate, dotted
with bits of soil like ellipses
of motion.
the same light's kept on in
the darkened ends of its
tunnel.
as your own.
a pulse in the earth, enriched
by a blackness that contains
immovability.
to surface therefrom, putting
the best of nakedness to shame--
streaming the gravity of
enlightening experiences.
turned continually over, as
if to freefall to the sky.
May 14, 2018
May 14, 2018 at 1:22 PM UTC
<>
the thought is oft on my mind that all the poets here, I hold so dear,
that if we ne’er to meet in flesh & warmth of physical embrace,
that the nuances of our affections should be in someway marked by a lessening, a discoloration, be it be know then that our colors mutuel
will yet be be enhanced by
the colors of divine light,
this real light,
but invisible to the human naked eye’s limited spectrum,
this light fills the “unnamed, unmanned spaces between us;”
although we may not knowingly vision each other,
we may envision-know the
sensate glow from the warmth of each other’s blood coursing
blue in vein and artery,
with the aid of divine light,
trace each others faces with colorizing,
memorizing fingertips,
creating a seared retained memory;
the hues of theses impossible colored, rays that cannot be
optically ascertained, yet, we can understand them, in the same manner we mortals understand the divine presence,
invisible but ever present
in ways more real than, well, as real as any other mundane way
Apr 23, 2023
Apr 23, 2023 at 9:26 PM UTC
soft energy
and warm caress
lips damure and
perfect *******
musical laughter
long brown hair
an angel of sin
with artistic flair
perfume fill me
without a fight
senses tell me
that this is right
happy feelings
mingled with fear
to lose again
when heart does care
pale skin
and blue eyes
yearn to touch
her inner thighs
storm clouds gather
lightning strikes
heated passion
and candle light
she comes to me
through the night
flames spreading
as sparks ignite
once was lost
and then was bound
as she captured me
with hypnotic sounds
ice cream flavours
sensate delight
wet pleasures
throughout the night
my fears inside
are all but drowned
as she touches me
i turn her around
sweat stained pleasure
and sticky sheets
we lay there panting
in the heat
morning comes
dawn escapes
i look for her
my soul mate
i lay back slowly
and realise
the dreams i've had
and visualised
star shines brightly
oceans churn
as she fills my thoughts
my heart does burn.
Mar 8, 2010
Mar 8, 2010 at 6:43 AM UTC
*Pandering to platitudes am I….
Running riotously adrift
To spice my day with pleasures.
Pleasures caste in portraiture so stark
Of thee my love, of thee.
In curvature of smooth refrain
And delving vortex of unimaginably fine dark fur.
Reclined in attitude of ease…
With mischief dancing about thy porcelain, painted lips.
Oh that I could die with this indelible art?
Slip away to this shrill cacophony of sweet,sensate spree?
M.*
Jul 16, 2015
Jul 16, 2015 at 12:49 AM UTC
Where is my schoolboy?
Where is my bomber-jacketed
sensate?
The articulate flyer,
The gray-eyed smiler,
The man of God?
Feb 8, 2014
Feb 8, 2014 at 5:12 PM UTC