"somersaults" poems
A graceful water weaving dolphin
swirls wakes of gentle waves -
a white, silver blue phantom
shimmering in the noonday sun.
Piercing the surface,
she dances an aquatic ballet
of corkscrew pirouettes
and majestic somersaults.
Diving beneath the spray
she churns her engine upward -
soaring through the flaming hoop
to the "oohs" and applause
of a throng of short-sleeved hominids
bleachered beyond the rails.
Plunging into quiet depths,
she lingers for a moment
perhaps to recall the fresh sea air
and the borderless waters
in the golden days before the ships came.
January, 2007
Aug 4, 2013
Aug 4, 2013 at 10:52 PM UTC
Her lips constant at the utterance
Of sweet and serene words filled
With adoration, praising him,
He who made endless hearts
do cartwheels and somersaults
Of multiple, millions nigh and far
their hearts loving
As long as he’s living
Nonetheless, changing courses
Of history was what she excelled
One glance, one encounter turned
Her lips managing
to do none but stutter
To his shielded heart
no one managed to flutter
His deer like eyes observing
With admiration, eyes sparkling
every look, crook, nook
Of her smile that shook
The worlds and heavens
Devout in his heart and mind
His earth's plates shifting
His massive planets orbiting
He witnessed it all in one being
The gravity of the universe on her
Shoulders heavy from responsibility
The heavens challenging her capability
Her hardships conveyed as she blinked
their dilated orbs communicating
language barriers unstoppable
To what her eyes held
He understood his needs
To care, to cherish, to love,
Feeling his heart pumping blood
Faster, quicker than light
Travelling the dark domains
Undiscovered, just like her soul
That he felt the need to explore
As his heart finally fluttered
Jul 15, 2018
Jul 15, 2018 at 2:46 AM UTC
There was a time I saw...
The beckoning stars,
in your eyes, juvenescent.
Like beacons from afar.
There was a time I felt...
The burn of your lips.
The rush of crazed blood
that held in tight grips.
There was a time I inhaled...
your intoxicating scent.
Inciting cardiac somersaults
in a time long spent.
There was a time I thought...
We would last forever
through the last of grains.
Hourglass doomed to shatter.
There was a time I knew...
That nothing could ever alter,
same tune we have hummed,
words we've carved in each other.
There was a time I dreamt...
Of floating in your seas.
Your vast body enveloping,
drowning out my insecurities.
There was a time I worried...
for your dreams of grandeur.
When you spoke of seeking,
the dream of life much better.
There was a time I died...
When you had packed and gone.
Leaving only the broken
promises and empty dawns.
There was a time I hoped...
That sooner you'd be back.
Standing at my door,
beside you, your travel laden sack.
But now you're back...
The pain gnaws in greater bites.
The stars, they twinkle no longer
they were killed by the city lights.
Oct 14, 2014
Oct 14, 2014 at 1:47 PM UTC
The kite gets high, stays aloft-
quite some time displaying
enviable dexterity, for fun
do spectacular somersaults as much times
as it could, climbs up in air with a loud swoosh
then look! how the wind gets *****
with her, if she has something
of a skirt, it goes up, up to an
indecent height, she doesn't have
that balance a player at such
heights should have kept always.
Its absurd, all these acrobatics silly kite
displays before the world at high altitudes
with a unholy interest
to show herself more accomplished
than what she really is, could you
pardon that frivolity, because she
has many more colors than clouds.
He admits abashedly that he too was
once in love with her frivolous attractiveness,
but he never could understand a kite;
in spite of the lightness, that makes
it easier to travel heights, has kite a significance?
After all what is a kite? her merit?
a strange arrangement that defies
common sense, all it can do is aimless flying.
Isn't it a charge serious enough?
even a dry leaf, or a falling feather
can do these acrobatics for a while.
What is the meaning of a kite,
kindly someone notify , if it has any,
meaningless flying is not for anything
of substance, what kind of play
is it, if it is perceived as one, by any one
why the folly of someone take us
for a ride all these years, without
a second thought, he wonders
who might have promoted it, had some
ulterior motive, some point to prove;
wind, mightiest of forces is made to look weak
in everyday life .
He would suspect, in the bargain many
generations too spent their time
in this vein pursuit without any thought.
Any kite display a greed to go up and
stay there, till the time it is possible to float
don't want to be back, when wind is on her side
unless force is applied, what does it signify?
Kite has a hunger to touch wonder with its fingers
he knows, and he can't but appreciate it
and when the occasion arises she fly up to the cloud,
play with him as if he is her secret lover, that hurts
could such a liaisons are to be be tolerated
she knows how a cloud tastes at different times
Yes, sky certainly intoxicates her,
she want to move closer, doesn't it spell danger?
Dec 23, 2013
Dec 23, 2013 at 1:09 PM UTC
1.
Eyes, eager fish, in deep Himalayan blue, splash and swim
the ultramarine sky of the mind, gets color coordinated, in resonance
wind from across the ranges, incessantly chant guttural "Öm"
gently spreads waves, that on ears, vibrate as music,divine
our feet get liberated from mind's control, the trek becomes us.
2.
Eyes now, turn swifts, fly to the valley extending to horizon,
teeming with flowers of every hue, profusion of orchids,
rolling white clouds above,create *tantric patterns
of grace, swirls, swoops,scoops, somersaults,the trek goes on.
3.
Melting ice, fits well on the conical brown mountain tops,
a white bodice, perfect cover for her lovely peaks,
angular mounts gleam in the limitless avalanche
of light, an impulse for benediction is palpable.
4.
Simple folks of village, on the way side
in flowing colorful dresses ***** tall poles
festoons of bright colors, joyous prayer flags flutter in wind
proclaims festive spirit, they vigorously wave.
5.
Now heart overwhelms, sings the paeans of
a sky that changes it's face from blue to white
and sometimes, a hue so bleak, deep gloom,
on red brown earth, sun light prances around.
6.
The grass bed then transforms quick,
mind drinks the dense benediction peace brings
that coils inside the soft blue waves, beating within and out
7.
Himalayan blue has taken us in to it's embrace
bird songs ring along the path of ancient sages,
who went in to the forest abode to contemplate, never returned,
became one with the hum of cosmos, they walk within us.
Mar 25, 2015
Mar 25, 2015 at 6:05 AM UTC
Dear boy on the bus
You had to sit beside me, today of all days
My hair a mess
Bundled up in a black winter jacket
Acne and tired eyes
It had to be today of all days, didn't it
Dear boy on the bus,
From my peripheral vision I saw a golden mop of hair, which I find to be attractive on the male species
I’d call you an angel, but I don’t even know if you were attractive
I’d glance over at you from time to time, only because I was afraid you’d notice
Dear boy on the bus,
I don’t know whether or not to call you a boy or a man,
Because at this age, we’re younger than we look but older than we feel
Dear boy on the bus,
they say age is just a number, but it’s also just a word,
But I’d feel weird if you were younger than me all the same
Dear boy on the bus,
Do you realize how loud your music was playing? Apparently not, since it lulled you to sleep
Even if it was a few decibels lower, heavy metal isn't what comes to mind when I think of ‘lullabies’
I stole glances at you and your sleeping face, praying slightly that the bus would do a wide enough turn so that your head would sort of rest against my shoulder, even though I’m a lot shorter than you
Dear boy on the bus,
You could sit anywhere else after a few stops. I might have been a little hurt if you moved, but it’s normal.
So why didn't you?
Dear boy on the bus,
With bags on my lap, I felt closed in: I was too afraid to move, too afraid to touch you—I felt my arm brush against your sweater through my jacket and my stomach did somersaults
It’s not that I didn't want to touch you, but I didn't want sparks to be sent through my body—my mind was already going wild with the many scenarios playing in my head as we sat there.
Dear boy on the bus,
My heart was shivering as my stop got closer
I didn't want to leave before you did
I imagined you didn't want me to leave either
Dear boy on the bus,
I was thinking of pulling out my phone to text a friend about you, but I was afraid you’d notice.
I was thinking of pulling out my phone to write about you—would you think me a poet? Or a creep?
Dear boy on the bus,
I wish you said something
Dear boy on the bus,
I wish I said something
Dear boy on the bus,
When my stop came and we awkwardly got up, I wonder if you thought my sheepish smile meant something, or anything at all.
Nov 20, 2013
Nov 20, 2013 at 10:57 AM UTC
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Apr 17, 2013
Apr 17, 2013 at 9:01 AM UTC
When I saw you and our eyes met,
Something sort of sparked,
You had me lost, captivated,
Our talking didn't stop,
You took my hand and showed me,
The world in another light,
Held me on the beach,
To keep me warm that night.
The night was over way to fast,
I wish it never stopped,
I lost my heart on Brighton beach,
It's a stone there being washed.
I took a train to see you,
And you made time for me,
I fell for you deeper and you told me you loved me,
My stomach did somersaults,
My heart could of stopped,
You actually took my breath away as you tied my throat in knots.
The magic didn't last though,
Off course it never does,
If you believe in fairy tales,
You're in for a shock.
I saw the way he looked at me,
He passed it into her,
His time for me grew smaller and I knew it was lost.
I asked what was happening,
He lied for a week,
Too coward to break the heart of a girl like me.
He told me I was crazy,
I made the whole thing up,
All the while that ***** was gargling on his ****
I hope to never fall in love,
For my soul mate I've lost,
I don't want to be ripped up again,
For paper I am not.
Jan 12, 2015
Jan 12, 2015 at 9:05 PM UTC
Stomach squeezing
Pulse rate soaring
Free falling through my belly.
My heart, it flips
Ans somersaults.
Legs turn to plates of jelly.
My mind is reeling,
Tummy is tickling,
Reacting over nothing.
Brain is swimming,
Eyes are shining,
I'm coming down with something!
Head is spinning,
Cheeks are blushing,
Blood is pump-pump-pumping.
All this and more
'Cause when I see you
My heart starts bungee jumping!
Nov 30, 2011
Nov 30, 2011 at 7:52 AM UTC
*I see you
And my heart instantaneously
Somersaults in delight.*
Oct 7, 2013
Oct 7, 2013 at 5:36 AM UTC
If you're a writer your main trade is hating yourself and
finding ways to be clever about it.
Smoke cigar and coffee-stained typewriters,
bachelor in the sixties, suicide in the seventies.
I'm just a cliché, raining cats and dogs, beating dead horses and singing
a little song about death
a little song about love
there is nothing new under the sun.
Dylan doesn't understand what you do is better than
accounting, your trade is people
like stock markets-
string them up and watch them fall
I play with hearts, you say like
a girl showing off her somersaults in the backyard.
But no one is listening.
…
…
…
So you burn your eyes out with hot wax in the living room
and swear
your name is Icarus
throw your diploma into the laundry and watch it turn into tissue paper,
taking moonlight walks down the beach and
straight into the bottom
of the ocean.
(you thought she would hit you
when you told her you wanted to write
but she only laughed...
and you were surprised
how much
it hurt.)
Your father's pride, a phone full of contacts,
seeing straight in the ******* morning and the heart
of a girl that was once foolish
enough to love nitroglycerine,
sold for
a bottle of ink and a scrap of paper
and your name in the
obituaries.
...
...
...
Tell yourself it was worth it.
Jan 19, 2019
Jan 19, 2019 at 1:44 AM UTC
Muck bit her ivory nightgown, as if earth hungering
after her...the delicate collapse of a napkin,she.
Hours poured atop her head, her shaggy, silvery
mane suspended--its reluctant bounce captured
at midpoint...as a spiderweb under ultraviolet light.
Desert sands lost in contemplation, reminiscent of
her flesh--divulge her core as she sleeps in a
fetal position.
Her body spasms awkwardly...its will visibly slowed
from initial motion.
As the paralysis experienced by prey amid the astral
annals of nightmares.
She'll rise into that shine, wonder at the nightmare's
symbology...talk to her garden--whilst thinking of her
time to come.
Silkworm breached the parcel
of time, its cocooned inertia
coarsed through the opalescent
eye of God to Godhood.
Of time's ruination redeemed
in a solitary work...cupped
airless the unbridled form of
a trapezist spent itself.
Opened and closed somersaults
atripped a piece of said space...
nothingness regenerated to
move, to take step of itself.
A self-argumentative abstraction
glowed...undid its silken flag--
firmly planted in an undiscovered
region...her time come.
Nov 22, 2011
Nov 22, 2011 at 7:45 PM UTC
there was a little badger he was rather bored
so he booked a trip a holiday abroad
he packed up his case and surf board too
surfing on the waves he just loved to do.
he boarded on a plane looking for some fun
headed for hawaii go surfing in the sun
he reached his destination to begin his holiday
headed for the beach to surf along the bay.
carrying his surf board he headed for the sea
feeling very happy as happy as can be
he began to surf on the waves so high
people stood and watched as they were passing by
doing lots of tricks a clever chap was he
somersaults and turns for everyone to see
people were amazed at the badgers skill
to watch him surf the waves gave them such as thrill
badger he was happy and enjoyed his fun
surfing on the waves in this land of sea and sun.
May 16, 2014
May 16, 2014 at 5:52 PM UTC
~
*Somersaults
In the tall grass
Lutalica girl
In places on the run
Stretched out in her awakening
Removes the dress of her captivity
To introduce herself to those she loves
There's something deeply unknowable
And terrifying in the arrival of her liberty
Sprung forth out of the box
She started from*
~
Jul 29, 2021
Jul 29, 2021 at 6:29 PM UTC
during service
a slight girl
with a weight problem
somersaults
down
the church’s
main.
in choir, her boyfriend
longs
for a dart-gun
so he can stop
slicking
birds.
the school’s
second janitor
crushes a beetle
in the pages
of a hymnal but the beetle
survives.
it’s heard tell
that this
second
janitor
hit puberty
without ever
getting
an ********
because his blood
became sidetracked
by the smallness
of his fingers.
it occurs to me the only place
the janitor
can hold an egg
would need to resemble
a dark
weekday
church
and that
if god
gave beauty
the world he gave
fragility
my first
unborn
son
perfecting an attraction
to nothing.
Oct 15, 2013
Oct 15, 2013 at 2:20 PM UTC
She laughs, he smiles.
The black forest taste he could only taste at the peak of light beams
Her laugh seems similar, quite similar.
Her haha's outcasted the glooms and dooms
Just as the black forest melted on his taste buds when sun rays streaked upon his shoulder blades.
She cracked a joke, he laughs and nods
Intellectual is what they might say
A brainy maniac she is, who could co-host a sitcom
His Friday nights would now only be filled with her wits
Replacing all the beers and stouts for a while
His once bumpy and rocky throat is nil compared to the highly raised cheekbones visible during a good laugh
But one day she cried.
The guilt he carries overshadowed his sympathy.
Her big swollen eyes
Her pinkish and warm face which was covered in dribble
Hadn't he known?
All those time he made somersaults, he was drown deep below
He could breakthrough,
but was too mesmerized by the mermaid's blinking fishtail and scaly skin.
And she saved him
From being turned into a merman
Only then he was back to square one
Where her laughters, her jokes and her sobs are actually his sugar crush, his Gatsby gold
As always, she was after all, his soul saver.
Dec 27, 2013
Dec 27, 2013 at 9:48 AM UTC
hand me a whiskey
Mr Barman
hand me a whiskey
as quick as you can
all the answers
to my life's somersaults
will be found
in its soothing malt
hand me a whiskey
it'll fix everything
hand me a whiskey
it'll fill my bruised skin
I'll be numbed
but that's okay
a shot of whiskey
helps me through the day
hand me a whiskey
Mr Barman
hand me a whiskey
as quick as you can
all the answers
to my life's somersaults
will be found
in its soothing malt
the mountains of worries
I've had will fade
with a glass of whiskey
as my aid
so don't keep me waiting
for that drink
Mr Barman you can
iron out all my chinks
my world is collapsing
in on me
all I want is a little taste
of whiskey
I can't face the day
without a drop
it is my
most important prop
hand me a whiskey
Mr Barman
hand me a whiskey
as quick as you can
Dec 3, 2013
Dec 3, 2013 at 6:55 AM UTC
Love is….
The feeling you get when your stomach suddenly becomes an expert gymnast doing expert somersaults.
The sound of your heart beating a million miles a minute echoing the raindrops in a monsoon.
The sight of beautiful eyes, the eyes of your dreams, wanting yours to meet theirs.
The smell of a man, in all his forms, radiating from his arms wrapped around you.
The taste of the future, the texture of happiness, upon the palet of forever
Jul 16, 2013
Jul 16, 2013 at 10:25 PM UTC
POLAND, France, Judea ran in her veins,
Singing to Paris for bread, singing to Gotham in a fizz at the pop of a bottle's cork.
"Won't you come and play wiz me" she sang ... and "I just can't make my eyes behave."
"Higgeldy-Piggeldy," "Papa's Wife," "Follow Me" were plays.
Did she wash her feet in a tub of milk? Was a strand of pearls sneaked from her trunk? The newspapers asked.
Cigarettes, tulips, pacing horses, took her name.
Twenty years old ... thirty ... forty ...
Forty-five and the doctors fathom nothing, the doctors quarrel, the doctors use silver tubes feeding twenty-four quarts of blood into the veins, the respects of a prize-fighter, a cab driver.
And a little mouth moans: It is easy to die when they are dying so many grand deaths in France.
A voice, a shape, gone.
A baby bundle from Warsaw ... legs, torso, head ... on a hotel bed at The Savoy.
The white chiselings of flesh that flung themselves in somersaults, straddles, for packed houses:
A memory, a stage and footlights out, an electric sign on Broadway dark.
She belonged to somebody, nobody.
No one man owned her, no ten nor a thousand.
She belonged to many thousand men, lovers of the white chiseling of arms and shoulders, the ivory of a laugh, the bells of song.
Railroad brakemen taking trains across Nebraska prairies, lumbermen jaunting in pine and tamarack of the Northwest, stock ranchers in the middle west, mayors of southern cities
Say to their pals and wives now: I see by the papers Anna Held is dead.
2k
THE SNOW piles in dark places are gone.
Pools by the railroad tracks shine clear.
The gravel of all shallow places shines.
A white pigeon reels and somersaults.
Frogs plutter and squdge-and frogs beat the air with a recurring thin steel sliver of melody.
Crows go in fives and tens; they march their black feathers past a blue pool; they celebrate an old festival.
A spider is trying his webs, a pink bug sits on my hand washing his forelegs.
I might ask: Who are these people?
1.9k
1.
i may call it a leaflet
i may call it a handbill
but don’t you notice
a large number of gossips
is natant in the air
do you admit that the fuming heart
that’s glorifying the plate
should be made a must-read
for any seed-bed
the sun tells that to keep-fit
the health of the clouds
the instigation of the perfumed-soap
is required
with that pituitary
some neighing of horses
that is fastened tightly with cork
now see
if you can offer pregnancy
even to the barbie doll
by the by
it should be informed here
if the question of roaming in the woods
is raised
the highly-educated bathroom
feels very helpless
and taking repeated somersaults
in the sunshine
in the rains
the folding umbrella
also have got very much out-of-temper
Oct 5, 2010
Oct 5, 2010 at 5:20 PM UTC
It might be the pungent steam from a ***
steeping herbs meant to bend its sippers'
minds to potent effect, or an unanticipated
digestive reckoning from that mawkishly flavored
brand of store-bought paste they pass as butter.
However the dough arises, their collective
recollection of storied events, lengthwise sliced
and ritually rehearsed, hops facilely on the ****
of a bucking and overtly nonsensical wind.
Tea parties with slippery perspectives
have been shown quite clinically to induce
heightened sensitivity in participants,
so it's prudent to set about tidying the facts:
The hatter, it's become clear, shifted one place
too many and disappeared with a trace -- leaving
behind his hat to nobody's great advantage.
Lacking a wearer, the headgear's reputation for
producing madness has rapidly diminished.
The march hare pulls off his change in a very
separate and seasonal way: the bunny's
bottom half somersaults its top to occupy
both his spot and the hatter's vacated seat.
The dormouse upon its latest arousal
is re-visioned to be small, but not much mouse
at all. He's plush with the long-in-the-ear habit
of a pink stuffed rabbit, which the crusading hare
furiously declares is most curious, casting
doubt on the vermin's commitment to "no room."
Alice remains foremost in tact and is given
a bonus of two spare feet complete with slackened
bootstraps. She keeps them and her other luxury
items well-sheltered behind a stout table leg.
The absentee hatter doesn't dare shame her
with a radio-show call-in decrying
the waste. She's generously agreed to
cover the medical expenses from his firm flop.
May 27, 2010
May 27, 2010 at 2:54 PM UTC
A yellowing leaf,
Meditating on
never ending "AUM",
the boom created by
mountain winds
incessantly blow,
happily hallucinates
a world altogether new
somewhere, not ever known.
Persuasions of a breeze,
with the caressing words of a Guru
makes it gently let go the branch
and bravely claim freedom
from the grief bequeathed for life,
a pain, constant reminder
of transience of life--
From the low hanging branch
of a fig tree on a wintry hill,
the leaf somersaults to a valley below
painted in psychedelic colors,
a territory unknown
It's
falling
falling
falling
to
what it thought
a
sea
of
o b l i v i o n
But
in amazement find, the sea is all-knowing
absolute--------consciousness------------bliss
Nov 8, 2015
Nov 8, 2015 at 11:34 AM UTC
1THE DOWN drop of the blackbird,
The wing catch of arrested flight,
The stop midway and then off: off for triangles, circles, loops of new hieroglyphs-
This is April's way: a woman:
"O yes, I'm here again and your heart
knows I was coming."
2White pigeons rush at the sun,
A marathon of wing feats is on:
"Who most loves danger? Who most loves wings? Who somersaults for God's sake in the name of wing power in the sun and blue on an April Thursday."
So ten winged heads, ten winged feet, race their white forms over Elmhurst.
They go fast: once the ten together were a feather of foam bubble, a chrysanthemum whirl speaking to silver and azure.
3The child is on my shoulders.
In the prairie moonlight the child's legs hang over my shoulders.
She sits on my neck and I hear her calling me a good horse.
She slides down-and into the moon silver of a prairie stream
She throws a stone and laughs at the clug-clug.
1.6k
there was a little dolphin a friendly chap was he
he lived far away in the deep blue sea
he just loved to play underneath the sun
jumping in the air having lots of fun.
doing lots of tricks somersaults and roll
he was very clever a happy little soul
oneday while he was swimming
he heard a little cry somewhere in the water
somewhere near by.
he saw a little turtle he was in distress
caught up in a net he was such a mess
dolphin he was clever and knew what to do
in to the tangled net he began to chew.
till he made a hole so turtle could get through.
turtle he was free to swim again once more
happy and content as he was before
turtle thanked the dolphin for all that he had done
they swam away together underneath the sun
May 20, 2014
May 20, 2014 at 5:58 PM UTC