"sidewinding" poems - Hello Poetry

it was like waking up to all white fume or a long washline — masturbatory, feeling something stiff like a hand gliding over a monsoon of emotions, the affect jazz and the crunch of fragrance forever like sandalwood; on my way to Dumandan, i conjure an inward miasma of thrill, unfurled yesterday, today, or was it before when our eyes were fixated on the passing of things in myriad ways without any relevance to what has died, say wilted, like a flower going away in closing seasons, children in hurtling speeds at twilight, gates welcoming a resounding sound of rusting hinges, slow rise of night, its vertical climb, shadows collapsing on the Hibiscus and the Poinsettia from the Cordillera, dreary men taking out ******* throwing them into metalloid beasts, verdigris painted, grisly caravan of steel and worthless scraps — past neighborhoods thinking about the simmer of onion and the hustle of the feral over rooftops, clinking wine bottles undulating full to empty — both unaware of acumen and only dizzying ourselves mirroring each other eye to eye and bridging this unclose-enough a gap in between, because you need it, and i want it, or simply in reverse, a sidewinding thought through dunes of afterthought. because you have to walk my side of the Earth and I have to meet you somewhere halfway where we can both lounge at each other's steady presence while the flyblown dry air ravishes the piquant morning, all-telling what this distance meant from its peak up to the very last traceable steps where i found you and you found me, trilling in the neighborhood like how void stills itself into all the mood of the Earth: all moony and fretting in the disquiet.

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Nov 15, 2015

Nov 15, 2015 at 2:38 PM UTC

windsor-i-guadalupe-jr

Past Neighborhoods

it was like waking up to all white fume or a long washline — masturbatory, feeling something stiff like a hand gliding over a monsoon of emotions, the affect jazz and the crunch of fragrance forever like sandalwood; on my way to Dumandan, i conjure an inward miasma of thrill, unfurled yesterday, today, or was it before when our eyes were fixated on the passing of things in myriad ways without any relevance to what has died, say wilted, like a flower going away in closing seasons, children in hurtling speeds at twilight, gates welcoming a resounding sound of rusting hinges, slow rise of night, its vertical climb, shadows collapsing on the Hibiscus and the Poinsettia from the Cordillera, dreary men taking out ******* throwing them into metalloid beasts, verdigris painted, grisly caravan of steel and worthless scraps — past neighborhoods thinking about the simmer of onion and the hustle of the feral over rooftops, clinking wine bottles undulating full to empty — both unaware of acumen and only dizzying ourselves mirroring each other eye to eye and bridging this unclose-enough a gap in between, because you need it, and i want it, or simply in reverse, a sidewinding thought through dunes of afterthought. because you have to walk my side of the Earth and I have to meet you somewhere halfway where we can both lounge at each other's steady presence while the flyblown dry air ravishes the piquant morning, all-telling what this distance meant from its peak up to the very last traceable steps where i found you and you found me, trilling in the neighborhood like how void stills itself into all the mood of the Earth: all moony and fretting in the disquiet.

41

Amerikeisha tapping out the drumbeat with her see through plastic mechanical pencil Me sidewinding my way through highschool Dizzy Gillespie's trumpet waking the souls that are buried in the lockers, Chick Corea and I are returning to forever The land where summer is the only season And daisy dukes are greatly appreciated, John Coltrane is helping me realize How beautiful girls in white dresses with blue satin sashes are, I've been dancing to Dave Brubeck since this morning And I can't get Maria out of my head I just picture Maria As this girl Feeling Pretty Oh so pretty I imagine if I saw her in the street I wouldn't double take But Take Five Charlie Parker playing saxophone like It's as easy as brushing his teeth, Nat King Cole Serenading Hispanic women with his soothing tone Robert Glasper experimenting with his music Burning you brain like mentholated cough drops

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Nov 5, 2013

Nov 5, 2013 at 8:57 PM UTC

jack-saintjohn

Human Jazz

Amerikeisha tapping out the drumbeat with her see through plastic mechanical pencil Me sidewinding my way through highschool Dizzy Gillespie's trumpet waking the souls that are buried in the lockers, Chick Corea and I are returning to forever The land where summer is the only season And daisy dukes are greatly appreciated, John Coltrane is helping me realize How beautiful girls in white dresses with blue satin sashes are, I've been dancing to Dave Brubeck since this morning And I can't get Maria out of my head I just picture Maria As this girl Feeling Pretty Oh so pretty I imagine if I saw her in the street I wouldn't double take But Take Five Charlie Parker playing saxophone like It's as easy as brushing his teeth, Nat King Cole Serenading Hispanic women with his soothing tone Robert Glasper experimenting with his music Burning you brain like mentholated cough drops

23

There lies a picture on the mantle of my grandfather, my step-father's father, clad in U.S. Navy fatigues and grinning slightly, almost a smirk. The year is 1960-something as he enlists for Vietnam and is shipped overseas on the USS Corral Sea to load sidewinders into fighter planes that ignite and **** It happens so fast. It happened so fast. Two months of time reduced to blinks and minute-long visits. This house could be cold as Mt. Meru's peak and I would hardly notice. The brain has ways of placing things on autopilot. His life has come to pass and I am left to wonder. I am not sure I ever truly knew the man. I heard stories, his helicopter shot down in Vietnam, his E&E; north of the ** Chi Minh and how he owned a gun shop on Main St. in the town I came to call home before it was my home. I cannot hear his whispering, small wind of existence sidewinding away from me and my youthfulness. In small time I've come to find life is meaningful if you take time to make it so. The day of his funeral is beautiful, sunny and mild and full of breeze. The gas tank of my mother's car is close to empty and I am worried of worldly things, will we make it and when can we fill up again. 21 guns gives my heart a needed beating.

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May 3, 2016

May 3, 2016 at 3:55 PM UTC

christopher-hendrix

Hospice

There lies a picture on the mantle of my grandfather, my step-father's father, clad in U.S. Navy fatigues and grinning slightly, almost a smirk. The year is 1960-something as he enlists for Vietnam and is shipped overseas on the USS Corral Sea to load sidewinders into fighter planes that ignite and **** It happens so fast. It happened so fast. Two months of time reduced to blinks and minute-long visits. This house could be cold as Mt. Meru's peak and I would hardly notice. The brain has ways of placing things on autopilot. His life has come to pass and I am left to wonder. I am not sure I ever truly knew the man. I heard stories, his helicopter shot down in Vietnam, his E&E; north of the ** Chi Minh and how he owned a gun shop on Main St. in the town I came to call home before it was my home. I cannot hear his whispering, small wind of existence sidewinding away from me and my youthfulness. In small time I've come to find life is meaningful if you take time to make it so. The day of his funeral is beautiful, sunny and mild and full of breeze. The gas tank of my mother's car is close to empty and I am worried of worldly things, will we make it and when can we fill up again. 21 guns gives my heart a needed beating.

36

Backstabbing, double-talking Collection of crooks and creeps. Oily tinhorn picks the pockets of The common man while he sleeps. Corkscrewing rhetoric The worst you have ever heard Spoken so that in the end there is No meaning to the words. Sidewinding viper’s nest; No warning rattles on their tails Criminals being paid too much That really should be in a jail. Four-flushing deck-stackers Two friends and a stranger. Dressed in thousand dollar suits All unrecognizable danger. Mean-spirited jerkwads Blather daily on my teevee. Cutpurses and footpads. Mostly all the same to me. Dressed up nice and talking Smooth like a baby’s *** Don’t expect me to vote for you. No thank you, I will pass. Gutter crawling, bile spewing Butter won’t melt in your mouth. Carpetbagging, underhanded Favorite sons of the Old South And some forked tongued Yankees Siding up with traitors and smiling. Glad-handing, baby kissing liars Notoriously, falsely beguiling. In case you find me too subtle With my message to you and your crew. There isn’t a whole lot to recommend Anyone with wisdom to like you. The only positive use for you That one can readily foresee Is to serve as a shining example of What a politician should never be. Brent Kincaid 4/21/2015

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Apr 22, 2015

Apr 22, 2015 at 10:34 AM UTC

brent-kincaid

RESUME'

Backstabbing, double-talking Collection of crooks and creeps. Oily tinhorn picks the pockets of The common man while he sleeps. Corkscrewing rhetoric The worst you have ever heard Spoken so that in the end there is No meaning to the words. Sidewinding viper’s nest; No warning rattles on their tails Criminals being paid too much That really should be in a jail. Four-flushing deck-stackers Two friends and a stranger. Dressed in thousand dollar suits All unrecognizable danger. Mean-spirited jerkwads Blather daily on my teevee. Cutpurses and footpads. Mostly all the same to me. Dressed up nice and talking Smooth like a baby’s *** Don’t expect me to vote for you. No thank you, I will pass. Gutter crawling, bile spewing Butter won’t melt in your mouth. Carpetbagging, underhanded Favorite sons of the Old South And some forked tongued Yankees Siding up with traitors and smiling. Glad-handing, baby kissing liars Notoriously, falsely beguiling. In case you find me too subtle With my message to you and your crew. There isn’t a whole lot to recommend Anyone with wisdom to like you. The only positive use for you That one can readily foresee Is to serve as a shining example of What a politician should never be. Brent Kincaid 4/21/2015

42

When the snake-fog rolls in from the east, It’s unlike any other. It slides, slithers, slinks seaward Like a serpent sidewinding through city streets. It wraps up the wharf with a whisper. Thick. Sinewy. Venomous. This California boa constrictor swallows the city whole, And settles to digest through the night. I hope I might survive its smoggy stomach… So I think I’ll stay.

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Feb 14, 2012

Feb 14, 2012 at 5:19 PM UTC

maria-hale

Spend Some Time In San Francisco

When the snake-fog rolls in from the east, It’s unlike any other. It slides, slithers, slinks seaward Like a serpent sidewinding through city streets. It wraps up the wharf with a whisper. Thick. Sinewy. Venomous. This California boa constrictor swallows the city whole, And settles to digest through the night. I hope I might survive its smoggy stomach… So I think I’ll stay.

10

words breaking free from the cloud of the mind. the clout of the imperative telling: this is the wind blowing from all directions hoping to touch you where you sleep, rests its bone somewhere where no cold shivers the ground, somewhere familiar somewhere where both you and i have found each other two separate birds joining in the morning Magdalene wears these words melancholically hand in glove and earth in the mouth plump and tender like bosoms of full women eyes of men having their fill of imagined sensations in the flesh tingling forever throbbing underneath the white moon -- until then the many loves will read this hoping for a deliverance the bow of my breath aims true but the precision is falsely taken a sidewinding serpent, a riotous guerrilla in the bush, hinging the heartland a poem washed away in the river as women rinse the clothes of men singing songs of despair;

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Oct 6, 2015

Oct 6, 2015 at 8:31 AM UTC

windsor-i-guadalupe-jr

Guerrilla Magdalena

words breaking free from the cloud of the mind. the clout of the imperative telling: this is the wind blowing from all directions hoping to touch you where you sleep, rests its bone somewhere where no cold shivers the ground, somewhere familiar somewhere where both you and i have found each other two separate birds joining in the morning Magdalene wears these words melancholically hand in glove and earth in the mouth plump and tender like bosoms of full women eyes of men having their fill of imagined sensations in the flesh tingling forever throbbing underneath the white moon -- until then the many loves will read this hoping for a deliverance the bow of my breath aims true but the precision is falsely taken a sidewinding serpent, a riotous guerrilla in the bush, hinging the heartland a poem washed away in the river as women rinse the clothes of men singing songs of despair;

32

and i too till my sorrows rather than drown them, of what i drown i leave unto schnauzers chessboarder sidewinding interacted with, and of what i remain i leave into cleaning-up furr ***** of cats drunk and remaining truth-riddled of my mother with clean ingredients used for feast, that i might come with tears of joy with less proof of coming from *et eä'rello, en'do'h're'nn'a(h) utú'lien sinomé m(eh'am)aruwan ar hear (d')ildinyār, tenn amba'r (mēh) hē ('eh) tāh* that is aragorn's crowning song of peace upon the crown if no peace serve the head, of the king, that it might serve for the crown to serve the king rather than the king serve the crown in order to simply posture kingship; as does bob marley's redemption song bring tear a hope of autumn of fallen leaf among the tears that i have enough of to write a poem, and not a novel and not use the pronouns into a lesser lodging of squirrel or bear in what's comfort to suit hibernation with specified characters using up a narrator's strength of character weakness when poets could enter and surprise; then what weaknesses are there in poetry if fiction ought be championed and poetry discarded if the narrator in fiction is stronger than all the characters mentioned - or a character be cheated as a narrator in order to grasp the bias? so dear child, do not try to endear filling in me a worth of beauty as if a worth of will, for my will be a cavity only filled by beauty that claims no innonce as yours thus expressed... and in my will i cannot claim beauty as the innocence you prophesy with falsely - since that flower of your sacred body will be deflaoured by the noon spoken of and in season fade and fading embody brown and wrinkle - then long gone your christ too - unless you be the slave owner membrane oozing priests into existence with thieves.

0

Dec 7, 2015

Dec 7, 2015 at 8:26 PM UTC

removed.polaroid-scrabble

aragorn's song

and i too till my sorrows rather than drown them, of what i drown i leave unto schnauzers chessboarder sidewinding interacted with, and of what i remain i leave into cleaning-up furr ***** of cats drunk and remaining truth-riddled of my mother with clean ingredients used for feast, that i might come with tears of joy with less proof of coming from *et eä'rello, en'do'h're'nn'a(h) utú'lien sinomé m(eh'am)aruwan ar hear (d')ildinyār, tenn amba'r (mēh) hē ('eh) tāh* that is aragorn's crowning song of peace upon the crown if no peace serve the head, of the king, that it might serve for the crown to serve the king rather than the king serve the crown in order to simply posture kingship; as does bob marley's redemption song bring tear a hope of autumn of fallen leaf among the tears that i have enough of to write a poem, and not a novel and not use the pronouns into a lesser lodging of squirrel or bear in what's comfort to suit hibernation with specified characters using up a narrator's strength of character weakness when poets could enter and surprise; then what weaknesses are there in poetry if fiction ought be championed and poetry discarded if the narrator in fiction is stronger than all the characters mentioned - or a character be cheated as a narrator in order to grasp the bias? so dear child, do not try to endear filling in me a worth of beauty as if a worth of will, for my will be a cavity only filled by beauty that claims no innonce as yours thus expressed... and in my will i cannot claim beauty as the innocence you prophesy with falsely - since that flower of your sacred body will be deflaoured by the noon spoken of and in season fade and fading embody brown and wrinkle - then long gone your christ too - unless you be the slave owner membrane oozing priests into existence with thieves.

38

Our wedding license was Just a promissory note; A thing a compulsive Liar once wrote. Something Billy Jack Once said, in short, "Written so you could Get out of it in court." I find myself saying When it's all said and done "What are you, anyway, A secret republican?" I thought it was just political But, you devious little cuss, Your sidewinding ways Have slopped over into us. A one-sided marriage Is what we have now. I put up with it all this time But please don't ask me how. It has been rather like you Don't know what marriage is for So write this down someplace: I'm not gonna take it anymore. One person by himself Simply cannot make a pair. Hey saddest thing of all Is I doubt did you will care. A month or two from now Or maybe further on You might look up and discover That half your team is gone.

0

Oct 20, 2017

Oct 20, 2017 at 11:00 PM UTC

brent-kincaid

BREAKUP CALL

Our wedding license was Just a promissory note; A thing a compulsive Liar once wrote. Something Billy Jack Once said, in short, "Written so you could Get out of it in court." I find myself saying When it's all said and done "What are you, anyway, A secret republican?" I thought it was just political But, you devious little cuss, Your sidewinding ways Have slopped over into us. A one-sided marriage Is what we have now. I put up with it all this time But please don't ask me how. It has been rather like you Don't know what marriage is for So write this down someplace: I'm not gonna take it anymore. One person by himself Simply cannot make a pair. Hey saddest thing of all Is I doubt did you will care. A month or two from now Or maybe further on You might look up and discover That half your team is gone.

32

Now What I... " Produce "... Is... Lyrically Cool.......... TOO Cool For Schools... Where New Age FOOLS... !!! Now Do Their Do... Well I Mean... DO DOO... That STINKS Like Poo... !!!!! Nope NOT The Bear.... !!!!! Produce And WARES.... That Are WEAK And Scared... of Those Who DARE... To Produce What's RARE... !!! Goods That Are GOOD... !!! And HARD Like WOOD... !!! STRONG And STIFF... Like THAT Good Drink... !!!!! That's Smooth And Quick... To... OPEN UP Lips... And SWELL UP ***** !!!!! of Those **** Assed Chicks... Whose PRODUCE Sips... On **** That's RICH... !!!!! Like PRODUCE I Bring... That Has... NO Bling... !!! It's The REALEST Things... !!! That My Produce Links... I Connect The Dots... With Logic Like Spock... So My Produce ROCKS.... These Heads Who TOP... The Charts That LOG... These Producers Songs... That Are WORSE Than WRONG... !!!!! Because They Produce... For... SELL OUT Crews.... !!! Who... Sell Out Shows... And Sell Their Souls... !!! To Get These... " Ho's “... Who Are QUICK To BLOW... !!! Because They're DOPES... Whose... ONLY HOPE... Is Producing A Son... WITHOUT... OB1... !!!!! What They... PRODUCE... Are... Star Wars ****** !!! Whose Only Score... Is Working Towards... Heads Whose FLAWS... Earn Them APPLAUSE... !?!?! THAT LINE Fa’ SURE... !!! WILL ROCK Their Jaws... !!!! Because My Scores... Are DARK Like SPAWN... !!! Lyrically Drawn... To DESTROY The Hoards... of DEVILS Whose Levels... Have... TOO MUCH Treble... !!!!! AFRAID of The BASS... That My Vocals Maintain... !!! And The Lyrical Pace... That My Brain SUSTAINS.... !!! That PRODUCES Waves... WAY BEYOND... " POINT BREAK "... !!! That... RATTLE And SHAKE... ... Sidewinding Snakes... !!! My PRODUCE Is GREAT... !!! Like New Zealand Lakes... !!! Cos I'm A Man Whose Travelled... ... ALL OVER The Place... !!! So What I Produce... Is Inspired By Views... And BEAUTIFUL Hues... !!!!! Like Those That Ensue... From A BEAUTIFUL Moon... !!! So What I PRODUCE... Is ABOVE The Norm... !!! Because It's... Born... From SO MUCH MORE... !!!!’ Than Money Or ****** !!!! It's Built From THOUGHT... And A... SPIRITUAL Source... PURE Like... “ The Force “... !!! Cos' I'm A Knight Of Course... !!! ... UNLIKE ANY OTHER... Whose Been Seen BEFORE... !!!!! That's Right... BIG VIRGE... Is A... " MASTER of Verse “... !!! That's... REAL And TRUE... !!! I've EARNED My Respect... So Now PAY Is OVERDUE... !!!!! For The QUALITY WORKS... That I..... ...... " PRODUCE "......

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Sep 22, 2020

Sep 22, 2020 at 12:56 AM UTC

big-virge

"Produce" ... EXPLICIT Language ! A Poem written by Big Virge 26/3/2017

Now What I... " Produce "... Is... Lyrically Cool.......... TOO Cool For Schools... Where New Age FOOLS... !!! Now Do Their Do... Well I Mean... DO DOO... That STINKS Like Poo... !!!!! Nope NOT The Bear.... !!!!! Produce And WARES.... That Are WEAK And Scared... of Those Who DARE... To Produce What's RARE... !!! Goods That Are GOOD... !!! And HARD Like WOOD... !!! STRONG And STIFF... Like THAT Good Drink... !!!!! That's Smooth And Quick... To... OPEN UP Lips... And SWELL UP ***** !!!!! of Those **** Assed Chicks... Whose PRODUCE Sips... On **** That's RICH... !!!!! Like PRODUCE I Bring... That Has... NO Bling... !!! It's The REALEST Things... !!! That My Produce Links... I Connect The Dots... With Logic Like Spock... So My Produce ROCKS.... These Heads Who TOP... The Charts That LOG... These Producers Songs... That Are WORSE Than WRONG... !!!!! Because They Produce... For... SELL OUT Crews.... !!! Who... Sell Out Shows... And Sell Their Souls... !!! To Get These... " Ho's “... Who Are QUICK To BLOW... !!! Because They're DOPES... Whose... ONLY HOPE... Is Producing A Son... WITHOUT... OB1... !!!!! What They... PRODUCE... Are... Star Wars ****** !!! Whose Only Score... Is Working Towards... Heads Whose FLAWS... Earn Them APPLAUSE... !?!?! THAT LINE Fa’ SURE... !!! WILL ROCK Their Jaws... !!!! Because My Scores... Are DARK Like SPAWN... !!! Lyrically Drawn... To DESTROY The Hoards... of DEVILS Whose Levels... Have... TOO MUCH Treble... !!!!! AFRAID of The BASS... That My Vocals Maintain... !!! And The Lyrical Pace... That My Brain SUSTAINS.... !!! That PRODUCES Waves... WAY BEYOND... " POINT BREAK "... !!! That... RATTLE And SHAKE... ... Sidewinding Snakes... !!! My PRODUCE Is GREAT... !!! Like New Zealand Lakes... !!! Cos I'm A Man Whose Travelled... ... ALL OVER The Place... !!! So What I Produce... Is Inspired By Views... And BEAUTIFUL Hues... !!!!! Like Those That Ensue... From A BEAUTIFUL Moon... !!! So What I PRODUCE... Is ABOVE The Norm... !!! Because It's... Born... From SO MUCH MORE... !!!!’ Than Money Or ****** !!!! It's Built From THOUGHT... And A... SPIRITUAL Source... PURE Like... “ The Force “... !!! Cos' I'm A Knight Of Course... !!! ... UNLIKE ANY OTHER... Whose Been Seen BEFORE... !!!!! That's Right... BIG VIRGE... Is A... " MASTER of Verse “... !!! That's... REAL And TRUE... !!! I've EARNED My Respect... So Now PAY Is OVERDUE... !!!!! For The QUALITY WORKS... That I..... ...... " PRODUCE "......

93

Caducous leaf from the face Of the great oak woods Who’s breadth is our breath, green One moment turns seasons To barren earth, deplete without droplets Tears after deluged prayers Each word a falling leaf Followed by many Caduceus’ White sheep of Scientology, Wealthier by way of grief... Caducous abacus quantifiable belief Rather than mana Dead presidents in the baskets Sidewinding through the pews Cadences of inner truths Suits in caskets... Whispering confessions tenfold Asking for forgiveness, pay the toll, Ulysses, Lee in the Collection till Caducous, go, Atticus Abacus masses, California fires, They believe in another green The falling leaves empires Made it rain, “precious” is on stage. Fall Before reaching spring Steel our heaving Barren winters still Landscape without Breathing Plant your seed Atticus A Caducous Leaf In August Sunlight Moments Afire The length of love Infinite among The stars We mortals In our Dark... Night. Retired Too soon to sleep We falling leaves Whose breath is green...

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Sep 22, 2020

Sep 22, 2020 at 12:53 PM UTC

butch-decatoria

Falling Leaves

Caducous leaf from the face Of the great oak woods Who’s breadth is our breath, green One moment turns seasons To barren earth, deplete without droplets Tears after deluged prayers Each word a falling leaf Followed by many Caduceus’ White sheep of Scientology, Wealthier by way of grief... Caducous abacus quantifiable belief Rather than mana Dead presidents in the baskets Sidewinding through the pews Cadences of inner truths Suits in caskets... Whispering confessions tenfold Asking for forgiveness, pay the toll, Ulysses, Lee in the Collection till Caducous, go, Atticus Abacus masses, California fires, They believe in another green The falling leaves empires Made it rain, “precious” is on stage. Fall Before reaching spring Steel our heaving Barren winters still Landscape without Breathing Plant your seed Atticus A Caducous Leaf In August Sunlight Moments Afire The length of love Infinite among The stars We mortals In our Dark... Night. Retired Too soon to sleep We falling leaves Whose breath is green...

44