"sited" poems
Offshore Oil Exploration
Months of preparatory work,
Permits obtained.
Maps explored, sited,
Ground and beneath scanned,
Each contour drawn, plotted, named.
Equipment assemblage.
Platform designed and towed,
Pre-commencement government inspection
Constant.
We test. Slowly, the loose, easy dirt,
Gives in. No rejoicing yet, premature.
The diverter in place, functions well.
The deeper the bit, the harder the resistance.
The camera's eyes monitor until
We reach depths too deep for their functioning.
The derrickhands order about the junior roustabouts,
Check the mud pumps, check the pH levels,
Do this, do that. The pecking order on board clear.
The kings of the rig, the drillers, in charge.
Then, disaster.
Oil spill.
Worse.
Not only smiling,
She has
Opened her eyes and
Ceased purring.
P.S. This would as is my custom be,
Re-entitled properly:
First Poem of the Day: Offshore Oil Exploration
Jul 5, 2013
Jul 5, 2013 at 7:02 AM UTC
*Miss kindle is one of a kind
With a funny way to unwind
And one hell of a heavenly sense of humor
To add to her emotional ‘accolades’ that sends a tremor
Down my emotional spine
Causing a fuzzy indescribable state
Of emotional affairs, she a soul-stirring land mine
And that quality of hers is innate.
When am home and am sited on the couch
She makes herself feel comfy
On my lap while I take coffee
Mine hands making the much needed ‘approach’
She’s one fluffy bundle of joy
Adorably endowed with an eccentric sense of warmth
She my lifebuoy
Who keeps my spirits afloat when am doing my math.*
Feb 12, 2014
Feb 12, 2014 at 9:40 AM UTC
My initial impression of you
Is that, you are exuberant
One of a kind, brilliant
Beautiful human, it seems
I admired you automatically
Your gentle eyes, my saving grace
The love I felt for you was formed in secrecy
I have no search warrant to uncover how it happen
Fear has infected my mind with hysterically depression
I think an ardent kiss, our lips crushed together
Might break the walls that keeps me in the dark
my love, you're born of the blessings of a good star,
Sited high on your throne, dark-chocolate man,
With ***** short hair, wide shoulders & a festive smile
I worship the trousers, that cling to you, my king
I cannot resist this subconscious cry for affection
Then you smiled, my emotions racing
I swear I dreamed of this moment or a deja vu
You took my breath away, my eyes glisten, happy
As if by chance, the desert flower found a home
We were born for this, happy, sad, unending love
Sep 30, 2017
Sep 30, 2017 at 5:18 AM UTC
*This morning I chanced upon
A holy unholy spectacle.
A fully grown shirtless man
In the broad glaring daylight of day
Sited in a puddle of sewage
Putting his hands to good use
With astounding dexterity
Sprinkling all over himself
The waters of sheer filth.*
Feb 26, 2015
Feb 26, 2015 at 11:57 PM UTC
Thieves, thieves.
Christ are we petty.
Could not have imagined
such a death
Such a short-sited
venomous slip of the mind
such a death-toll...
so unpredicted-ably sad to see
A mighty species
Die.
That's the fate of the fate-less, I guess
Our gods were a faceless
Mass
of derangement
Massive enough to take us to space.
What we've plucked from out of our souls
We can never replace
Such as it is, we have no chance
Put to death.
****** and detached.
That's how it ends
--surrounded.
We write out
these sorrows
that aren't really sorrows
and
Pin the tasteless love to our chests
Oratorical shit-hoarding
Trade-card victims
with no actual dignity left.
How embarrassing..
the glory of man-kind
To face a demise,
so mundane.
Forsaken by lies.
Our souls have been neutered and
Turned into tools for
Violently-popular
Prostitution-alized fools
Love for the luscious
the rush of the snarling
Hysterical rousings of
Tumultuous twerps.
This is the way that history ends.
Resting in our dreams.
Jan 30, 2018
Jan 30, 2018 at 3:14 PM UTC
~~~
I do not have a poem
at the ready,
at my fingertips,
ready, willing and able,
instant provision,
*yet, in the fingertips, yes,
is red ink, warming,*
waiting for the
sounding,
your tap tap tapping calling
of once-more
I do not have a poem
sited upon my lips,
in sweet patient stasis
awaiting
your requesting kiss,
*yet, deep hid within my throat,
are universes of words,*
ready for assembly,
immediate delivery,
needy for the signaling of
your endearing
provocations
I do not have a poem
stored in the heart's ventricles,
in cavitation, ready to bubble upwards,
ready to travel the veins,
provide art to the arteries,
encamping in the capillaries,
*yet, come stoke my steel furnace,
melt molten its contents for the removal of*
the irregularities of,
enduring love,
leave the glowing rawness of
glory passionate and gift abiding,
songs of felicitous contentment
I do not have a poem
upon my person,
easy to come,
easy released,
signaling its lanterned
mode of arrival,
one if by voice,
two if by hand,
*yet, this poem,
is my legal tender for you,
come purchase your poem
from the cells of my tissue*
spend it wisely,
for everything is beautiful
but delimited,
in its own way
when thy body needs to survive,
this body rises to connive,
this body to provide,
words of relief,
of soul solution,
in words precise,
particular,
designed medicine
designated for thy spirit
all you need supply,
the need,
and perhaps,
a bit of editing
Jun 24, 2015
Jun 24, 2015 at 1:58 PM UTC
I needn’t any evidence to prove this
Like lawyers say Res Ipsa Loquitor
To mean facts speak for themselves
Steadily sited on the driving wheel.
And my hands widely open in glorification it was a time boom that had enslaved my feelings
The blast that left my white shirt colored with artistic pictures
In bits of red, pink-scented with lip like marks.
My heart pumped like ‘I dare you for more’.
“Relax and keep calm,” were the words from her lips.
Later………I mean later,
Those around us only saw shadows that fought in a distance
Changing positions like salsa dancers.
And at this time I read her lips.
Theses two chapters seemed like a thousand pages
So short in terms of pages but enjoyable to read trust me when I tell you
A full composition settled into two, all that you know be it French
You can never get bored while you read these pages.
The smiles gave me more comfort to keep going
I wouldn’t mind reading them again and again
And even ask for extras time.
Eyes closed in deep meditation and not to absorb shyness from the surrounding
A little closer was my whisper
For it was an intensified moment.
I think I have something better for you, she claimed.
Oh yes say it before I burn with flameless fire,
Am your chef and so I make the menu
Sit back let me cook a mighty dish for you.
And when she served, my taste buds swore
Bleeding with saliva.
I was completely drowned into her
Shallow as a bottle top but a ladder needed to climb out
I was fed with apples, berries, and nuts
Then she added, belch not before sunrise
I have got extra of what you haven’t tasted.
Jul 2, 2014
Jul 2, 2014 at 9:00 AM UTC
I would
Cite the sources
Of the sights we saw, the
Kites sited on the south sea,
The lights
From the starts which lit
The surroundings of our lives, the
Luster in living
From sea to coast to city
With only the
Sails and
Seals for our company, the
Sensation of being lost
In the surreal hills and
Limitless mountains
Of us,
Were it not that
The source of my sadness now
Was not the very same
Which made
The kites fly higher,
The starts burn brighter, and
The sea seem endless.
Oct 20, 2011
Oct 20, 2011 at 2:19 AM UTC
Dale Koller rots with cancer, Ken Brandt has ills severe
The Wrath of God Almighty, is upon them so austere
-
One thing that MY God HATES, it's a Stinking Lying FARCE
Like Richard Edward Rhoades, with his limp and broken tarse
-
In Unrighteousness he held, the Gospel of God's Grace [1]
He died and went to Hell, his "doctrine" a disgrace
-
He NEVER sited chapter, NEVER sited verse...
For the "gospel" that he preached...upon him is Paul's curse [2]
-
Ken and Dale carry on, for at least a little while
Two of Rhoades's Toads, THE Gospel they defile [3]
-
BarJesus called Elymas, corrupted Holy Writ [4]
Perverted Holy Scripture, so his doctrine it would fit
-
And so did Dusty Rhoades, and so does Ken and Dale
They corrupt the Word of God...Satan they do hail!
[1] Rom 1:18
[2] Gal 1:9
[3] 1st Cor 15: 3&4
[4] Acts 13:8
Mar 28, 2016
Mar 28, 2016 at 4:32 PM UTC
poem by the hour,
no need to shower
us thus
he selfie critiques,
I do, I do,
or else it would be a
Poem~By~The~Minute
look at the banner photo,
see the tablet self composing,
the list of would-be,
coming soon someday,
an arms length long
list of almost finished compositions,
composing me in motion
the tablet on lap resting,
yes, in his semi~famous bus,
see the trees in the upper right,
window reflecting, they too
have come to peek~see poems
writing themselves
by that fluorescent light
dividing thems in progress from
them ones not ready for prime time
don't try to make out the words,
they will be sited soon enough,
in the meantime, a sip of
milky coffee between
poem breathes
Apr 19, 2014
Apr 19, 2014 at 9:01 AM UTC
The agonizing vibration in my heart speaks with a silent note,
Much like the wind at night
Wheezing past my window pane.
"You are well and truly alone"
It hisses. Repeatedly.
I mean, I know I am alone and all
But never like this!
This is beyond solitude!
Beyond lonely!
This is deserving of a single word!
A single letter!;
I
....
So it is,
In time immemorial--
Sited here is a poetic mind--
a mortal soul like yours.
Do remember
the silence... and
I
...
Jul 24, 2016
Jul 24, 2016 at 10:26 PM UTC
Time,
realm that holds everything,
eon’s mobile picture.
In the Time, there are no shapes of human souls.
Only the one from the gear between states of life.
The Universe;
the Been;
and the Time:
Delitescent, ethereal, infinite.
The Time its sited on a bench of the Existence’s Park,
waiting for the life or death passes by,
while reading the Book of Life.
The Time is recumbent, listening to the Destiny,
while this, calmly sings to him.
Jan 19, 2014
Jan 19, 2014 at 5:09 PM UTC
Today, it was the heavenly touch of yours,
Sometimes we experience the extremely
Good and bad things in life,
But today what had happened to me
Changes my reason to survive;
We were together in fronts
But, did nun…….
His eyes were totally shy
When I sited just his nearby;
I hugged him tightly
He wrapped me nicely,
His lips were about to say something
May be my hands were in his stroke,
Happy swallowed his incomplete answer
Back to the bottom of his throat ,
He invested a minute to think of what is going on,
I didn’t reacted what has gone,
The touch he gave to me
was adorable for me,
I cant elaborate that min of time
I just closed his fingers in between of mine;
I was shivering , he was fine,
The presence of our soul we were missing,
We were not in our control
We had left our everything before,
We were not individuals today
We were a soul,
Our breathings were in each other
I didn’t thanked of further;
I was totally engrossed in him
I know we were not doing any sin,
It was our love that we’re on each other
It was our time that we were together
And now I spend a bit of time without him
‘coz yes.. yes.. yes …. I Love Him.
Love you pratik
Mar 17, 2015
Mar 17, 2015 at 4:15 AM UTC
Sited in a dark room my legs folded
Candles lit
Glowing in gold steady staring through the darkness
No incense just the smell of burning wax
My legs are growing numb
All junctures holding them a piece bitter
This is just a flesh of my now… but we measure by time!?
if so when you read this…
Read of my now
Beyond flesh unfolds blood and bone
Beyond flesh unfolds deep waters that run in u
To discern life enough to find the light in u ………..
All I write is to, for, about u
If I die I’ll have to seek a heaven that finds u
If I die I’ll roam from plane to plane cursing fate for concealed mystery
Hearts like this are built in extremes of brick in furnace
On sight of light; hearts like this sail their souls
They choose never to row letting their sails leadeth them forth by whispers of the wind
Afar and lost yet it’s not land they seek ……
In silence I don’t see you
In silence I chew my nails
in silence I hear the wails sound clear
Mar 27, 2016
Mar 27, 2016 at 5:24 AM UTC
I cannot remember a time that was right
in my mind the memories oh so contrite
sited in a orthographic piece off the frontal lobe of my brain
my sadness and happiness turn to shame
I can safely say that in time
the songbirds bring serenity to the depths of the mind
quivering at the sounds of love and remorse
tonight I ride out on a black horse
croaked to a place rendered by hell
consumed only by the wrath of Satan's spell
the words to be known found near and far
can only become a back-draft from a gloomy spar
I'm but one man found all alone at night
deemed to his computer as he writes
with a cold smile found on his face
writing sad words to which he writes at his own pace
I'm a being battling a depression
found within the confounds of nothing but surreal suspension
can only repress nothing but the deepest confessions
of the past he once lived out in repression
The darkness repeats as time goes on
living his days out alone can only bring him so far
as his love is sleeping with another
he lies alone in a cold drunk stupor
In time which will bring another
into his life for a nice midnight slumber
but until the day that seems so far to come
he will right his poetry on the computer to which he loves...
Jul 23, 2017
Jul 23, 2017 at 1:07 AM UTC
a jobless lad sited waiting for a meal,
loud he thinks
''what a living is this;
sort of a disgrace i am,
my grades and past life expectations were these?''
seriously he studied ,hoping a future,
he struggled and went without meals at times,
but to his disbelief in the future he saw as bright,
there was no meal!
he is still seated waiting for his dream to come pass,
perhaps his dish,
and something for the child!
Jul 11, 2021
Jul 11, 2021 at 3:59 PM UTC
Messianic Don found tarnished appeal
trumpeted bluster thwarted
with muted (hip hip hooray) Democratic zeal
played (on microscale) like quashed
ill fated braggadocio big deal
bombast, sans General George Armstrong
Custer's last stand,
viz Little Bighorn, achilles heel,
where Native Americans
showed deadly steel
against cocksure doodling
haughtiness didst conceal
Yankee sited in cross hairs,
who got comeuppance,
whence his notorious
reputation did never heal,
thus markedly high light
ting (albeit in deadly fashion) might
whooped, undermined, and
served just desserts,
when forces of the Lakota, Northern Cheyenne,
and Arapaho tribes did unite
defending their turf against
7th Cavalry Regiment of the
United States, mauled as ****** sight,
which justified comeuppance,
and whipped up white
settlers fury like an inferno doth ignite
combustible material showing
no mercy toward "red men"
unleashing brutal, short
and nasty genocidal spite
long a tragic footnote in history
proves tummy at hefty price
that present swaggering presidential chieftain
more'n halfway thru administration thrice
occasions brought third "shut down"
(the first time in more than 40 years)
during his opprobrious term,
now got meted "no dice"
cuz commander in chief usurped, provoked,
and kickstarted retaliatory actions, I.C.E.
suspect, where staunch stonewalling tactics
unexpectedly found paunchy big boy lice
sensed to shame, name and blame Congress
i.e. as he ****** forward power,
and hood did launch
bully tactics doth evince,
how he does not play "nice"
demanding five billion dollars for
pet project wall barring Mexicans
(and other asylum seekers south
of the border) did not entice
unanimous concurrence thus sets device
sieve ness roundly shows
Trump doth need strong cussed hard advice!
Dec 22, 2018
Dec 22, 2018 at 2:34 PM UTC