"serpentines" poems
Displayed in a forever line of serpentines
Stretching over many days and weeks and years,
The dominoes stand upright in the dusk;
Each a careful distance from the next,
All skillfully and artfully arranged.
A prideful eye surveys the intricate design
That wonders at the craftsmanship involved
And blesses luck that gifted steady hands
And a non-ending stack of pieces -
Hoping that an earthquake does not come.
Who will have the honor of the push
That starts the clicking trail of doom
That ends with helter-skelter rubble
On the floor or mortuary slab
As dominoes become a life all lived.
Will it be anger like a piercing knife
Or some organic instrument
That weakens the well organized
Assemblage of a life and makes it fall
Like a domino nudged out of line.
Frustration or depression, which will it be
That starts the tiles to falling
And once moving with no hope to stop.
Will it it be by accident or force of will-
I need to add a few more at the end
I can’t afford to buy another box.
ljm
Feb 13, 2017
Feb 13, 2017 at 11:29 AM UTC
The ghosts of old raindrops
mock and scold.
Their scorn writ large
on these dusty roads and in these dusty throats.
To tote the barge but not lift the bail
ain't no kind of protest.
Spit in the well and
hope the master draws up that bucket-full.
Wishes.
Still, the giver of life
serpentines through this valley
like the Euphrates did
in that one book, but
it does not matter
since the scythe swings
in such wide circles
this time of year.
We can bring in sheaves until dusk
then fish for men in the morning but
our souls are still corrupted.
Our hearts are rotten like old pears.
I'm so thirsty.
Jul 26, 2016
Jul 26, 2016 at 10:28 AM UTC
Weather tight
mist roaming over
ineptitudes follows
waterfalls and serpentines.
All would be good with crampons, boots and fleece,
if prior instructions were followed
but with a misfit Meetup group
half are experienced
the rest are the stuff of strugglers
break or make every one of them
on the Brecon Beacons
Nov 10, 2015
Nov 10, 2015 at 4:03 PM UTC
When they look at my body,
they giggle between their teeth that are crooked but they call them curved. They perceive how curveless I look
and tell me to perform yoga
so that my curves can be defined,
so that I can shape my convexes and concaves.
I smile as bright as I can because probably those are my only visible curves.
I tell them how every time I sit to write
my pen curves on the pages
that are thumbed on the corners
so they seem curved too.
I begin by writing the first letter of the English language
and make slopes and valleys of this alphabet.
I form serpentines and swirling cyclones of my words,
I curve my 'S' to form into an infinity
so that I can hold on to him for as long.
I stretch my 'K' until the end of the earth
and make it look like a single leg shoulder stand.
And as I take all my alphabets,
I turn them from staff position to the plough position.
I make my words turn into Paschimotasna,
and my noun tries to perform Kundali.
My pronouns sit in vajrasana.
My similies stress themselves and flex,
while my metaphors curl into themselves and hide as Marichyasana.
When I am done,
my poems form themselves into Pindasana.
However,
I remain coverless,
as straight and sharp as the pen I use.
I remain 'Arjuna's' bow
so he directs me into my own self,
my own heritage
and I end up killing my Bhishma,
my self-respect.
Hence while my words perform yogasana,
I stand still in tadasana.
Jun 21, 2020
Jun 21, 2020 at 1:24 AM UTC
I fell down a rabbit's hole,
Knocking over cupboards and lamps,
Listening to crows screech of others success,
And landed within the deep pool of tears that Alice left.
I sink.
Beneath the water, serpentines of my energy diffused into my liquid prison.
A spider wiggled through my skin, to where I feared it to search,
And I struggled, trying to brush it before the worst could happen.
I hope I did.
I don’t want the worst to happen.
It did once; I’d show you the scar,
But I keep it well hid.
Feb 22, 2010
Feb 22, 2010 at 6:47 AM UTC
Beyond is a bleak, grey skyline
I barely recognize my vignette
Yet here I am, walking that thin white line
As if I had not met him yet
I barely recognize my vignette
Black swans move like serpentines
As if I had not met him yet
Slow, calculated, but ready to strike at cloud nine
Black swans move like serpentine
He still whispers in my ear, I just cannot forget
Slow, calculated, but ready to strike me at cloud nine
“Pulvis et umbra sumus,” was his epithet
He still whispers in my ear, I just cannot forget
Their banshee bugle wails overcome; I am confined
“Pulvis et umbra sumus,” was his epithet
Like smashed cherries, their eyes were as ****** as port wine
Their banshee bugle wails overcome; I am confined
He wanted to mold to be a useful asset
Like smashed cherries, their eyes were as ****** as port wine
I gladly follow those threats
He wanted to mold me to be a useful asset
What called them on was my mental upset
I gladly follow those threats
There is nothing to regret
What called them on was my mental upset
It is foolish to once think I could outshine
There is nothing to regret
All I have ahead is a relentless battle line
It is foolish to once think I could outshine
I am merely a pathetic statuette
All I have ahead is a relentless battle line
Soon they all will forget
I am merely a pathetic statuette
Onyx swans call me to the brackish streamline
Soon they all will forget
It is there I snipped that innocent white line
Onyx swans call me to the brackish streamline
He influences my mindset
It is there I snipped that innocent white line
Time becomes frigid as I sink into that brine outlet
He influences my mindset
My body is limp in the alkaline
Time becomes frigid as I sink into that brine outlet
It is there I found no lifeline
My body is limp in the alkaline
The onyx swans fly in a v-line sextet
It is there I found no lifeline
He brought me to the finish with no reset
Beyond was a bleak, grey skyline
Yet there I was, walking that thin white line.
Sep 10, 2020
Sep 10, 2020 at 11:06 PM UTC
I am dreaming
About trips with him
To the mountains
Which are tearing the sky
We would walk on those endless serpentines
And I would dream for the sky to cry
Because then the rocks would become slippery
And he would hold my hand.
Sep 8, 2012
Sep 8, 2012 at 1:10 PM UTC
I am busy chasing serpentines,
figures of eight loiter
at first hesitant then alliterated
before a snarl shakes
off the dew from a Renaissance figurine.
The opposite of azure skies
will proclaim Da Vinci's motivation
But his David is no hero
he presides as resolute
as ecclesial stone.
Oct 15, 2012
Oct 15, 2012 at 4:57 PM UTC
Many nights I was cold.
Many, many nights lies remain untold.
If had the strength of a lion
And the uncertain heart of The Zion-
Then maybe I would crush-
The endless incineration of the rush-
One does take in self-destruct.
When thy rose has been plucked-
I cannot give it vital growth again.
Nor can life be regrown through distrain.
Then look to thine scars, unhealed.
I am no Jezebel, fate to be sealed-
And to be preyed upon by Serpentines
And then be hated by Byzantines.
So, hence, I will not speak the truth
For they know not of the lies of youth.
Let me cry like do the lost ones;
That never escape the sound of the blazing guns.
Aug 9, 2018
Aug 9, 2018 at 7:18 PM UTC
The beat pulses.
The rhythm shakes.
And she never breaks eye-contact as she serpentines
around me on the dance floor.
I thank god for that.
Because even after 4 whiskeys
I can tell
I'm an awful dancer.
Oct 10, 2016
Oct 10, 2016 at 4:32 AM UTC
All my paths are serpentines
That lead around in circles.
My destination is so far
I cannot see it in the haze
That eddies in my vision.
I planted hollyhocks and marigolds
In the garden of my dreams.
I had no way to water them;
They withered in the Summer sun.
I haven’t any more to lose.
I’ve given everything I have.
There’s nothing left but hopelessness
And waiting for the final end.
ljm
Jul 8, 2021
Jul 8, 2021 at 1:31 PM UTC