"sickling" poems
This poem is composed by: a Nonet, a Kyrielle Sonnet, a Free verse part, a Terzanelle and another Free verse part:
In a juerga there’s nothing around
But voices, flamenco guitars ,
Dancing bodies in moonlight,
Vibrant gypsy dresses,
Passion, obsessions,
Bullfighter’s blades,
Silk shawls,
Dancers,
Capes.
Old men have faces scorched and cracked,
Flamenco women to attract,
Like barks of olive trees in night.
Shirts dazzle white in the moonlight.
Girls have boot heels and huge roses,
Men clench their teeth , step opposes,
Hands clap and shout in a dance fight,
Shirts dazzle white in the moonlight.
Guitars are beaten at high speeds,
Castanets scratch the music’s seeds,
Rhythmic fingers snap air to bite,
Shirts dazzle white in the moonlight.
Old men have faces scorched and cracked,
Shirts dazzle white in the moonlight.
Hands becoming wings
In their shadows on the wall,
Red becoming black and
Black becoming white,
Motion vibrating the guitar's string,
Cubic movements of colors,
In their dance ,
Shadowy wings becoming scarfs,
Flamenco woman arching her body,
Showing her passion…
From the soul to dissolve
The dancing sounds detach
From the soul to dissolve
When the movement they catch,
They may change all around,
The dancing sounds detach.
Drums and tambourines’ sound,
Exotic wrists and swirls,
They may change all around.
The weightless grace makes girls
Steal treasures from the air,
Exotic wrists and swirls.
With beautiful black hair,
Rise like birds , fall like leaves.
Steal treasures from the air,
Having tricks up their sleeves,
From the soul to dissolve,
Rise like birds ,fall like leaves
From the soul to dissolve.
Spicy slippery steps
Waiting for a clue,
Picking up portions of pink
Of hyper-femininity ,
Overflowing screwy sounds
In heavy red chromesthesia,
Morphing themselves into glamorous ,
Red feminine movements,
Men looking like marble statues being alive,
Seemingly cracking.
Slowly diminishing their dancing rhythm,
Steps sickling sweet sounds
To hear the horn of some lost happiness.
Jun 5, 2012
Jun 5, 2012 at 4:36 PM UTC
parched tongue
please
mister
cola
carmex
these cracked lips
it's time
to hydrate
this carbo
bi-
sickling
through vacant streets
for a cure
my tummy
is like this town
a desiccant cactus
it's 12 a.m.
in stockton
12 amens
spew
from dry desert gums
i sea
liquor store
icee
soda
this is
no mirage
i found
atlantis
at the bottom
of a coke bottle
peddling back home
peddling
peddling
stop
I dropped
My holy grail
He stops
Is he thirsty?
He pulls knife
Like a sleeved playing card
“give me your ****
Poor minus poor
0-0
=0
Or X0
After he cheapshots me
Fist meet face
Face meet fist
obliged
Profit
10 cents
Gym membership
Fuzzy lint *****
But not my soda
Or my sweat
Or my tears
Or my blood
It’s time
To hydrate
Mar 29, 2013
Mar 29, 2013 at 4:43 PM UTC
Hardly any little
darlings come over to us. Of
having seemed to be hurt or maybe they are
dreaming of times so past
that they sound like tiny lullabies.
Have you thought of keeping
me in tight holding arms or lying right beside me
in the pain? But something that
you couldn’t come to relate. Never you’ve
been like that, how I feel that reality comes
into parts. Soft little face, huge brown eyes
uncover the surprise that eyebrows comprise.
Longing to be held so soft but never there. Beating
hand on your heart and the
Affliction of Love to us.
Sickling in the things that tie me in so many
miles closer to you. Open up your wides, pupils
dilating to take in the very first, who came this close to
melt your loving heart.
© 2006
Apr 14, 2013
Apr 14, 2013 at 8:17 PM UTC
I turned on the light to the next door
and it came running in
photons splashing gore!
Straight through the streetlight
like stamps on a ***** and a tricycle
cyc-sickling atop of the poor.
Violence, begotten
the marsh has in store
and the sad watch like
rats watch gold watches and
stop
Grandfather
tells a long time.
Listen to the click!
You may learn a tock
or two in the bush.
zoom swish by
An arrow pierces the heart of time
along the same line as the pools filling with blood.
Tell me, stranger, why don't you look at me?
I see you growing beneath the surface, there...
You're blossoming up like a welt,
a cyst ready to pop!
, but I keep running as
I'm folding life in on itself
Hamburger or hotdog,
either way - I won't let you
see what I wrote inside.
I take it down the hallway and into my bedroom.
I collapse inward, a book's pages eating its own binding,
chewing on hollow spines, and synthetic adhesives.
Tell me, stranger.
Nov 5, 2014
Nov 5, 2014 at 1:13 PM UTC
*Blood.
Its stains the ground.
With a devils sign.
It has no need for a specified shape.
For the evil to be seen.
Just the splatter,
The pool,
The staining drop.
Of its sickling Scarlett hue.
It paints an un-washable picture.
On all colors that shine bright.
That is why the chilling color of black.
Is what I chose.
No evil can be seen,
When contrasted together.
Black is an invincible shade.
To to the devils touch.
For seen as blood.*
Jan 18, 2016
Jan 18, 2016 at 9:41 AM UTC
His hands were like snakes
slivering up my back
his voice was like ice
as cold as it could get
his breath was like a bottle of whiskey
a sickling smell to the air
his eyes pierced into me
like i was his belonging
like i was a library book
like i was his pencil
like i was his girlfriend
i was never his to keep
i was his little puppet
i was his secret,a secret that died with him
Aug 22, 2015
Aug 22, 2015 at 12:59 PM UTC
Depression blue
When I think of you
Depression blue
Is what I think of you
Scarlett red
Shall take me to bed
Scarlett red
Shall make me dead
Dying gray
You did like to play
Dying gray
Making me pray
Hopeless green
Setting the seen
Hopeless green
Backing to my scream
Sickling yellow
You once made me mellow
Sickling yellow
Now your some strange fellow
But depression blue
That...
Is how I'll remember you
Dec 23, 2015
Dec 23, 2015 at 2:57 AM UTC