"sensory" poems
Slowly unfold,
as you fold into me.
Two explosions that explode
imploding our senses with sensory overload
too intersections that intersect invisible
connected through connectivity
magnetized magnetically
galvanized genetically
when energized
this pleasure is derived
riveting her visibly
I convulse as you implode
Extinguishing our misery
With pleasure beyond measure
Thirst quenched physically
satisfied, apparently.
Mar 25, 2017
Mar 25, 2017 at 3:16 PM UTC
Lovesick and you've got the cure.
Got all these symptoms. You know what for.
Don't be afraid of this contagious disease,
Just take my requisition form.
I've made room for you in my atria and ventricle.
You're the capillary to my arteriole and venule.
You're the amniotic fluid to the child in my heart.
I find you even in the interstitial parts.
Treatment like uours is like a centrifugAl force.
So be the **** stasis my heart is longing for.
Some homeostasis is what we need.
We will make compromises to succeed.
Lay me supine and you in prone.
Sensory neurons fire
Exocrine glands make to pressure
Spark endocrine glands to hear you moan.
Without your heart I'd be anemic.
Withiutbyour arms I'd be half a paraplegic.
Your kisses give me air, without them I'm cyatonic.
You're the fibrin in my veins, to my pain an anesthetic.
I'm ready for some long-term care and affection.
Got a chronic condition that needs your attention.
I k now I'm concluded, parts of me sclerosed.
Don't wait post mortem to know that you're the most.
Aug 1, 2014
Aug 1, 2014 at 3:51 PM UTC
maybe the buildings are hollow,
occupied only in facade on the first floor of storefronts
maybe this whole town is a hologram
of neon against puddles
on the pavement.
maybe the citizens are ghosts
floating by
in circles, or squares of city blocks,
around a routine,
or droning through on electric scooters
as if on muted theme park rides
to the next sensory diversion;
to the nearest gastronomical pleasure;
toward the weekend and its next party
celebrating the loss of time,
I see their tired faces
staring out from the glass
of coffeeshop windows
on every block.
I see their piles of beer cans
beside the trash chute.
I hear them singing
on booze-cruises to nowhere
What part of this cycle
that turns days into dust
moves us closer to heaven?
What feast from what new restaurant downtown
will feed our souls?
From which lonely night do we finally emerge
beside the one
whose presence fills
these hollow buildings
to the top-most floors?
Which of the empty lots
between us do we fill
with a conversation
about how this is all a dream,
or how we'll keep each other awake
on a bench
beneath a street lamp before dawn
waiting for the first bus to take us home.
Aug 20, 2018
Aug 20, 2018 at 12:25 AM UTC
Seagulls squeak and
As thunderclaps salute the laws of physics
I imagine they could speak
Sensory inputs of fresh strawberries become
A raging flood of summer sweetness that
Fuses with the hot electrified air
And I'm daydreaming that
Above this veil of angry clouds
Roams unseen ancient eyes
With tears braver than
What is boundless
Stronger and brighter than even
Endless darkness
They lie in wait
Their love
Their warmth
Bursting forth
Wombs of rainbows
And all that is precious
Yet still untold
Waiting to kiss the atoms of your skin
And once again
Paint your summer smile
Blink and you might forget that
They were you
Before you were even born
Sunset
Sunrise
Watch them never skip a beat
Wake up.
Kick ***
Repeat.
Jul 21, 2015
Jul 21, 2015 at 2:42 PM UTC
It all begins
With pronouns
I becomes the subject
Of my project
Adding you
And collectively we
I choose you and me
And I exclude the he and the she
Until I am certain of we
You and I pick verbs
actions
Inflect them to match
fit
begin narratives
Transitive verbs take objects
You touch
tickle
tease
taste
take skin
*******
lips
me with words
Words have become a clause
But still a simple construction
So, you tickle me where?
For this you need a preposition
To position your tickling ammunition
Do you touch
tickle
tease me ON my *******
*******
thighs
buttocks
****
Do you feel me INSIDE my mouth
****
soul?
Positioning is envisioning.
Then you use adjectives
To modify descriptions of
Sensory inscriptions
So, gentle complements touch
Soft and passionate kiss
And you become superlative
And adverbs elaborate experience
expression
exploration
You fill me deeply
thoroughly
violently with all that is you
But adverbs can also mean time
Not sweet or cursed time
Or time denoting age
But timing is always important
And grammar dictates
That
Time adverbs are placed
As a beginning or an end
Like a lover's embrace
Thus,
This morning, you woke me with
A demanding "here and now! " and I will reciprocate this, tonight, I vow.
Conjunctions are sentence connectors
And sentences behave like detectors
Bodies balancing with and, but, or
Otherwise subordinate
And the scale tips towards
Conditioning hypotaxis
Making actions a complicated praxis
(before my mind can connect, you will have to pursuade it /pursue it)
But we coordinate conjunctions
Equally
I touch you
You touch me
Exploring
Exploding sensory functions
So, together we cry imperatives
Completing our ****** narratives
Moaning
Whimpering
Begging
Yelling: Please... bind me!
touch me!
bite me!
take me!
come!
Oh! Please, come!
I love the English language... ;)
Feb 24, 2013
Feb 24, 2013 at 5:10 PM UTC
Life and non-Life are part of a system-- a "system-like" system, but one nonetheless.
Where Entropy's that which is hidden from us--
and Information without meaning is total chaos.
But hold.
Poets, Bards & Thieves.
Of shame, of game, of blame, they speak
of secrets on the leaves.
In more or less a drunken mess, their simmered shimmered consciousness
could barely rarely quite express what causes them to grieve.
After some hesitation and liquid persuasion, the only collusion this final conclusion:
*Pain is entropic; Extra-sensory stimulation
received as distortion via sensory limitations--
Confusing the mind refusing the signs, forcing us to shutter the blinds.
But what is behind? Unveil pain's curtain and what do we find?
Contextualisation, possible causation-- Mind-Body integration without hesitation--
palpable, abstract Information dissemination!*
Jan 12, 2014
Jan 12, 2014 at 12:05 PM UTC
You can be my forget me not.
Don't give it a second thought.
Just commit me to memory
Remembering every sensory
Experience.
Lets leave nothing mysterious.
'Cause I'm already curious.
Virgo to my Aquarius,
Horoscopes are hilarious
When they match our routine.
You've got the brightest green I've ever seen.
Show me some songs, grab the coffee or tea,
Or what ever else has caffeine!
This can be our forget me not,
So you never have to not know me.
Aug 9, 2013
Aug 9, 2013 at 4:56 PM UTC
perhaps a subject already well covered. but I consult no one else,
who can expertly summon the artificial artifacts, no better yet,
art~iN~facts of prior expert~tease, and speak only and wholly
for myself, blatant, and openly undisguised
it is the spilling, the upward sensory explosive detonating,
in a pressured chest, the eagerness
to race, to complete,
find the next line, to define, to refine to get the balance tween
elegance and simplicity, to have the ******** sensory totality
of completely having spun off a piece of me and let it free float as a balloon, that may fly to China or get stuck on a telephone pole
just beyond my front door
=============
^ I write this midst the composition of another poem, wherein
unusually I feel the need to pause, collect my thoughts which are bombarding my atoms internal, causing a new fissionable element,
distinct and unique, my poem…next…
Sep 21, 2025
Sep 21, 2025 at 5:02 AM UTC
PIZZA vs. SUSHI Breaking off course:
Arrival set: 1515-2212
Log... On set for 1515-2212 but with a short delay for minor star drive repair..
" Lizor Why did you lie on the log that we needed to do engine repair.. The star drive is at perfect balance!? " Soler have you ever been to the human planet Teres (Earth) .. We have to stop an retrieve something that will send you're sensory buds past Rapatolian Rapture! And what might that be!? First thing is first.. Punch in these Teres numeric values into the wave length.. 830-583-9864! " Thank you for calling Pizza hut how can we help you!? " Yes we would like a large pepperoni pie and a large Extra Italian Sausage pie.." Dine in or delivery? Delivery will be fine.. Please just leave it at this address.. Ok that will be $22.82 It will be ready in 20 minutes.. Replicate 22 Teres American dollars and 82 hard cents and a 10 dollar tip..
"Behold Soler.. This is Teres Pizza.. take a bite! Everytime I am near Teres I stop to get a pie! By Rapatolian this is by far the best sensory my 4 tongues have ever gathered!
"Next time we will try the sushi! No next time we will get 12 pies instead.. I do not think they can make anything to match such rapatolian rapture.. What is sushi anyway!? Who cares! Set course back for home..
PIZZA=COSMIC TASTE!!
Jul 8, 2015
Jul 8, 2015 at 6:10 PM UTC
#*Morning falls
from a budding
cherry tree;
the colour
of nightsong’s
waning blossom
comes to be
an echo
only heard
by the wind
Soundless remnants
of an intimate
twilight odyssey
tarry thickly,
drifting lightly
through the landscape
of dawn
The hushed echo
wields the silent
reverie
of the night,
gently rippling
the rivers that run
through the heart
The poignant taste
of passionfruit lingers
in the sensory traces
of a warm
passing breeze;
penetrating
the lonely chill
of a naked night's
work of art
~
Jesse*#
Mar 14, 2018
Mar 14, 2018 at 2:20 PM UTC
I say music is my medicine,
But sometimes I get addicted to this Adderall adrenaline,
My mind has gone deeper than the abyss floor,
The irony between good intentions and bad decisions,
Get me out of this mental prison,
I don't want to take orders from a politician,
But if you take a minute to listen,
You'll understand this vision that you're missing.
I bleed ink from these veins like they root through my brain,
A tree of perfect symmetry that I could never tame,
Every branch a connection into a new frame,
Everything is synchronizing like a symphony,
An epiphany, finishing,
She must be the bridge between my Ying and Yang,
Negativity diminishing by positive energy
Reflecting off the sensory,
I stop and don't dismantle this handle of Jack Daniels,
As if it has my questions answered,
And as the sparrow sits upon the branch,
Synapses snap in instants with a plan,
Tracing a line that brings me to the sand,
And the island, the silence,
Sitting softly over the sea's sinus,
Puts me in a content setting, grand,
And when my body corrodes,
If my soul is up for purchase,
I'll remember the day when God and I had conversations in Churches.
Oct 29, 2012
Oct 29, 2012 at 12:01 AM UTC
I have no voice,
**Because I have been vomiting up pills each and every morning,
getting into my old anna habits you may say,**
I don't wanna live on an ADHD diet,
**the pills **** with me,
I'm 174.0lb please,**
*I am a little heavy,
but it's to the point where,*
I was 220,
and I could barely breath,
when I had a panic attack,
so my mom is helping me lose weight,
but pills that make me starve myself,
are ones I wanna do without,
**so I ***** each day before I eat,**
after I consume the pills,
because she won't let me get off them,
you think im crazy,
but I've lost my weight the way I wanted to,
*changed my eating styles,
getting rid of the junk food,*
eating healthy,
trying to get over some of my sensory issues,
**without having to take a ******* ADHD pill for the last month,**
*I've lost more weight doing that,
then skipping a meal because I had no hunger,
due to medication,*
But I'm being healthy about it,
But I'm also not,
because I told you,
*I ***** my pills everyday,*
so I'm losing my voice,
like I did,
In my elementary school days,
May 24, 2015
May 24, 2015 at 11:24 AM UTC
a draper is someone who creates garments or patterns by draping fabric directly onto a dress form (Wikipedia)
~~~~
I am a draper,
by trade, by nature, by instinct;
a fling of one arm across her body,
while she dreams and sleeps, rambles, mumbles,
and even convulses,
to hold her tight with two, with both,
soon grows discomforting as the blood ceases to flow,
the heat breeds unsweetened sweat,
and the snuggling impact,
is too fast subsumed by the pins and needles
numbing, deadening,
and ironical attenuation
this is my pattern,
how I address her,
how I dress her,
draping my contiguous,
drawing five fingers
upon her form,
reshaping her in her sleep,
the arm flung, there, and then
there,
to be hung,
at varied places across her body,
higher lower, above below,
but her face,
free and clear,
so not to interfere
with her sensory preceptors
and as I draw my pattern upon her skin,
her body whole,
listening her to indeterminate utterances,
to determine
which
pitter patter pattern
to which.
she feels best suited,
then,
I prepare my
invoice
for her,
for services rendered,
to present upon awakening,
demanding
in voice,
by her voice,
payment in words,
of her own chosen
amuse-bouche,
mmmm, will it be?
good morning my love?
hello you!
or just an indiscriminate
but yet,
a discriminating
sound of
having been pleasured
by unknown forces
in her deeper sleep, using her lips
to say, to hum, to sing,
a genteel unspecific
but, and yet, a
terrific,
deep from within
guttural remittance,
the sound of a delicious,
mmmmmming
greeting
a new equinoxal gale
of a refreshing fresh
birthing, fulsome
already satisfying
draping of the
day
Aug 13, 2025
Aug 13, 2025 at 5:01 PM UTC
Its in these waters, when I was merely a Parr
Or as you might refer to me as a fry,
This wise but young Brook Trout cruised the slow water with my kinfolk fry.
Moving to and fro hiding among the biome vegetation
The sunlight supported my living space and warmed my growth rings.
I dart in and out of the oxygenated seams which help me flourish.
Some days, I had to use stealth to outwit the pine marten and warblers,
I shadowed the cattail and watched them fill their bellies with those around me.
But I felt fate had a purpose for me to be something special.
And When the time was right, I'd propel myself above the water into the night air.
The large circle of orange light filled my eyes and the night sky was filled with luminary.
I imagined what it must be like to live outside this riffle domain.
This morning, through my refractory vision I spot some floating objects,
And through an inherited sensory recall I can see these are hatching green Drakes.
I immediately shoot to the surface and fill my stomach, then swim back to the undercut for cover.
As the years pass by and maturity abounds, I find my self settling in behind a large boulder
Right at the tail out of the back eddy, providing me with an ample food supply.
And it's here I prefer to live my life in the slow current, content and peaceful.
And one day as I swam into the current seam, I spotted what appeared to be,
A different looking bug with yellow belly, so I make my move.
He's not moving much so I decide to raise my head above the water line and sip.
As I grab the hopper I start to slide back behind the boulder,
When I feel a pinch, as if someone try's to pull me towards the surface
I fight with all my might but this force proves to be stronger than I.
It's now I realize a human reels me towards the shore line, and I'm fearful.
This one called a human, grabs my tail and places his hand on my under belly.
Pulling me from my home, he dislodges the hook from my mouth. I gasp for oxygen.
He looks me over from nose to tail, smiles and says how beautiful I am.
He looks me in the eye And says " This was a wonderful fight my friend, enjoy the rest of your life,
He places me back in water, gently reviving me and finally lets me swim away.
I dare to turn and look back at him for a moment and as he continues to watch me,
I hear him say " I fish, knowing everyday on this stream is a gift."
Feb 7, 2017
Feb 7, 2017 at 3:59 PM UTC
<>
you pout and defer, dancing backwards,
claiming, blue is now blackened
from underuse, incapable and incapacitating revival
*saying eyes cannot see, distinctly, neither near or far,
the tremble of love, forgot & distantly absent,
but I know, a heart’s sensory muscles never die,
though weaken they might, underused, un-exercised
denying that inspiration
no longer resides with in thy sensitivities,
has fled, undercover of smoking forest fires
all the diurnal hazards that invade, occupying
my internal spaces once filled by poems
you conceived, birthed, in a pleasured haze,
came so fast, you bare recall agony accompanied,
but not the ecstasy of the end resultant!*
***you know it’s you of whom I write, but,
a note not shaming names, but messages
countless private messages have I sent
begging, beseeching, give me your gifts***
once more, you owe me not, though I
oft irritate with my deafening pleas,
yet only denials continue, my pleas ding
but dent not, the tired fear of your exposition
so speak to you plain,
feed my soul selfish
like in years gone past,
there are holes in mine
that require your elixir,
creamy softness that moistens
my face with tears of your words
originating, astound, enfold**
not later, not soon, not excusals,
write for me NOW, WRITE FOR YOURSELF,
but leave me not forsaken and thirst un-slackened,**
Answer! To whom do you owe your poems?
Jun 11, 2023
Jun 11, 2023 at 11:30 AM UTC
a sensory perception,
an intended message,
which the eyes of my inbox
check-mark as opened, read and
very well received
sometimes we say things
we didn't mean to say,
but 99% of the time,
we meant it, even if
it just happened to be
something we were wearing,
something tight, short and flirty,
we put on in a hurry,
without thinking
2:19am
Apr 30, 2014
Apr 30, 2014 at 2:19 AM UTC
What are fingertips but pulses and pauses?
A spinal sigh---a cradle to all existence?
The punchline of all sensory implications,
the culmination of our tangles and departures?
All flesh is ephemeral, soft to shards in hours;
Touch is but a ****** tendril in memoriam for desire.
Nov 13, 2015
Nov 13, 2015 at 3:08 PM UTC
Parenting
organizing the day,
while the baby room adjacent
makes dreaming rock n' roll noises
siren calls to lay in bed,
semi-alert, on guard duty,
scheming about dis n' dat,
you are sleeping, dreaming,
wide awake seeing,
multitasking eyes closed simultaneously.
lesser of a poet, more a notate-er,
list keeper, note taker,
arguing with yourself inside the head,
actually feeling the thoughts
coursing, lurking, seeing both sides now,
parentally, washing the dishes
of the hours and years ahead.
while the woman-mother
makes her soprano dreaming noises,
you laugh at the orchestra of
******* sighing somnolent noises,
a cadenza of love dancing in your
irresistible wide awake dreams.
paying the bills, lying in the dark,
you wonder-worry about the agenda
unknown that will overgrow you,
fast creeping up the grain of your skin,
ivy on stone skin walls.
lala lala
you borrow baby's lullaby,
yourself calming,
keeping time, silly rhyming,
organizing the days ahead
in you head, while,
recording the harmonies of sensory inputs.
the dark provides the cloak
where you alone
feel and hear the worry and laugh lines knitting
into a single stitch of parenting.
1/20/2013
Sep 14, 2013
Sep 14, 2013 at 11:02 AM UTC
to more than I can be...
a sad isolated man,
throes of an agonizing,
stretched by her for painful
revengeful gain,
kissed with pointless avarice, divorce.
children deeming
him alienating, his faulty
insensitive sensitivities,
to easy blame
little do they know of the
piercing lowliness, the looniness of
nights he listened to sad-eyed singers,
and his late-of-mid of night scribbled scripts,
where he
off loaded the agonies of a midlife
disaster, not entirely of his-own
sown making,
but still his to bear and bare alone...
some accidents happens for unintentional,
unintended intentional new seasons appear,
stumbled, tumbled, fumbled his way onto
this H~oly P~lace, where someone might listen
to his explanations, expiations, excoriations
of his all too common tragedy, and said:
this broken human, he's got his reasons,
read his overly long treatises, his entreaties,
to those that prowl, rowing, in this corner
of the silence of the internet, where only the
trolls, the cold, the easier to-be-meaner oft thrive,
and found none of that, but an oasis of sheltering,
embracing comforting, those who actually admitted
his writings could be loved, and perhaps the writer
himself, was
deserving
of a second chance, a verbal embrace. a rereading forgiveness,
a pat
on his natback, a sympathetic sensory intaking,
and perhaps-this debt, eternal, that put the
for and the fore in a new baby born, named -
new forever
came into existence
the very same
e
that begins those conjoined words
***e~ternally grateful
"and now I sleep in peace when the day is done"
but the night time
is still the
write time
Sep 13, 2025
Sep 13, 2025 at 11:42 AM UTC
I ain’t got no intimate, ain’t got no stiletto heels
Ain’t got no Lsd, ain’t got no smack
Ain’t got no partners, ain’t got no drill
Ain’t got no slapstick, ain’t got no hanky—panky
Ain’t got no Lsd, no slot to mount
Ain’t got no castrato, ain’t got no crumpet
Ain’t got no conjoined twins, ain’t got no nuns or eunuchs
Ain’t got no whipcord, ain’t got no adoration
Ain’t got no ******** ain’t got no stimulant
Ain’t got no ******
Ain’t got no oscillation, no shags
No uniform, no parts
No smack, no drill
No partners, no peccadillo
Ain’t got no stimulant
Ain’t got no whipcord, no propagators
No titbits, no intimate
I jabbered, I ain’t got no uniform, no hanky—panky
No peccadillo, ain’t copulated till one is blue in the face to have a funny feeling
And I ain’t got no ******
Oh, but what have I copulated, oh, what have I copulated
Let me tell what I copulated and nobody’s going to enlarge telescopic
I got my ***** on my face
My extra—sensory perceptions, my knobs
My ****** peckers and my ********
I got my stuck—out tongue
I got my tentacle, my proboscis
My ***** my *******
My thingummies, my cockles of the heart and my posterior
I got my ***********
I got my thingummies, my talons
My ball and socket joints, my forelegs
My hooves, my pincers and my snorker
Got my crest
I got ***** I’ve inseminated cheerleaders
I’ve got bottomgremlins and hacksawhoodoo
And Mephistophelian juggernauts too like you
I got my ***** my pistil
My ESP, my knobs
My vaginas, my peckers and my ********
I got my stuck-out tongue
I got my tentacle, my proboscis
My ***** and my *******
My ***** my ***** and my posterior
I inseminated my ****** sorbet
I got my thingummies, my talons
My ball and socket joints, my forelegs
My hooves, my pincers and my snorker
Got my crest
I got my ***** I got my slipperiness, my *****
I got *****
Mar 23, 2010
Mar 23, 2010 at 4:29 PM UTC
I stubbed a toe today
It brought back unwanted memories
Intense, unguarded, pain shot through me
Like a lightening bolt
A bolt from the blue.
Unpleasant sensory and emotional experience
Transferred themselves to a stubbed toe.
I withdrew my toe
I withdrew myself
I boxed up the pain again.
Apr 16, 2014
Apr 16, 2014 at 5:54 PM UTC
If you can invite me
Wholeheartedly
Invite me to your thoughts
And with all my might
An aesthetic senses
Let me be
In my own way
In all the sulci
And the gyri
Synapse the nerves
Of sensory delight
Transcendent realm
Of heart, body and mind
Cross the elemental avenue
Where solely
Soul resides
With the sacred worship
And the exquisite conscience
Let me lighten up
Letting your spirit high
Nothing much....
Immerse yourself
Like yesterday
And always
If you can invite me
Wholeheartedly
Invite me to your thoughts
Aug 13, 2022
Aug 13, 2022 at 6:13 AM UTC
Evil feasts on human flesh,
caressing at the skin.
It finds the spots where you are weak,
and buries itself within.
It takes apart the sensory
nerves and feelings too.
It eats away your memory
until it becomes part of you.
Evil finds itself inside
people just like you.
It makes its home inside of people
pretty to the view.
It sits inside and waits until
it seeks someone new.
Evil thought you were pretty too,
until it saw the inside of you.
Dec 31, 2014
Dec 31, 2014 at 1:12 AM UTC
anorexia and binge eating disorder
depression and OCD
reactive attachment disorder
sexually assaulted
sensory processing disorder
suicidal
abused
neglected
hostile
resentful toward mother figures
fearful of father figures
cutter
people pleaser
desire to be perfect
high expectations for herself
lost
"im not sure how i am going to help you. but i will do my best" -she says
Aug 26, 2015
Aug 26, 2015 at 11:11 PM UTC