"splay" poems
A Close friend said "The Perfect Woman"
is much like a shark.
if I am greeted in this ocean,
by a woman
I will allow her to look at me with all primal intent.
splay my wrist open and watch her
as she smells the little turn of blood
floating now in spirals between us
I'll have done it not for the pain, or shock
but for the honesty.
to watch a creature struggling to hold onto their facade
and the tears that start to bloom in the pink
above their sharp teeth.
Look, I know sharks don't cry.
it's not about the crying,
I crave the visceral emotion.
want to give my body to the indulgence
the electric moment where
I feel them feel conflicted
with my whole body
feel their suffering and internal struggle
in my entire manic smile
tight cheeked
all eyes on them like a paid performer
or Alternatively,
I would give them all this passion,
my body in anticipation of their opening
clenching to their masks,
They Devour me.
Jan 8, 2017
Jan 8, 2017 at 12:27 AM UTC
Nearly home.
The bed
And the slippers grow ever closer.
A memory of things that give comfort seem palatial,
Euphoric in the mind's eye,
Though I do seem to ponder of its romanticized reality
Memories always seem so warm.
In reality,
The things that hold others close are affirming.
Love,
Shared events
Symbiotic empathy,
But given the current state...
The boring,
The mundane,
The trivial and the tedious that makes the most of a lifetime
Are omitted from the mind.
But why not have a memory full of nothing but the nothingness of life?
The train rides?
Waiting for the toaster to splay its insides
So I can feast on its wonderful toasty goodness?
Talking to the tenant who does not understand
That a bouncing leg
And constant time updates are signposts to **** off?
Empty the files of my brain
And fill it with the moments of nothing.
These moments and these alone
Are your true self.
if you are a good person
Is not determined by
How many charities earn your pay
Or how many items stored,
What you are is chosen by the lonely,
The solitary,
The Tigress.
Only when you accept that person,
You are happy
And free.
But don't hold your breath.
Mar 15, 2013
Mar 15, 2013 at 11:29 AM UTC
Puissant piquant and predatory
And observant from afar
He looks down on your slumber
Like a door that's left ajar
Plying with his manly vice
A reckless male visage
A rogue of masculine device
Seeks entrance to your mind
He saunters with a swagger
A macho savvy moxie
To personify virility's incarnate
His dream zone's metier
He sifts your ****** entourage
In search of sprawls recumbence
To tantalize climactic fervor
With lambent photic scenes
Grasping at your revelries
He spies the wanton lust
With swanky strut appealing
Your primal urge to sate
He leaves undone resistance
With innate resilience seized
The lavish wayward implications
Of unrequited livid deeds
Like passion's lurid lecheries
An insatiable torrid sooth
You wrestle with his adamance
Your carnal ecstasies revealed
You pounce on his exsertion
You splay your agile form
wriggling like a supple nymph
You accept his blatant storm
You writhe in your abandon
In a euphoric supplication
His machismo ****** enveloping
Your wildest latent needs
With no regrets or reticence
you awaken from this dream
To find yourself alone again
Like it had never been
May 19, 2018
May 19, 2018 at 9:51 PM UTC
I notice the tiny pulse of frustration in the back of his neck
I notice the way that he sighs and slumps over
I notice how his elbows splay out so his face bobs lightly over his desk
A buoy dancing over a wave
I notice the way he glances at his friends before he answers
I notice the way he shapes his mouth into a grin before he speaks
I notice how his eyes squint a little when he laughs
I notice how they dull when he doesn’t want to listen
I notice how his shoulders hunch when refuses to hear
I notice the boredom in the lines of his back as he considers
I notice the way his leg jiggles as he bounces his foot lightly
The ever-present dichotomy of professionalism fighting immaturity
Of a thirst to learn, fighting against ignorance, justice calling
I notice this inner battle of boyish nonchalance and masculine defensiveness
I notice how his eyes dart lightly over his chosen comrades before he writes again
I notice the way he presses his forehead into his hand
As though he could pull ideas out
And read his thoughts printed back on his palm
I notice the consistent rubbing against his face with his fingers
Phalanges to stimulate the thought process
I notice the hesitation before his pen scratches the page
Piercing the paper with words he must call his own
I notice the claim of responsibility and the toll it takes on his physique
I notice the fatigue of struggling to create
To feel, to create, to feel, to feel
I notice, throughout all the time I’ve been noticing him
He has not noticed me once
Oct 24, 2014
Oct 24, 2014 at 3:30 PM UTC
Gloomy morning attempts,
lazily an abstract,
on the damp canvas
eastern sky extends,
halfheartedly smearing,
dark monsoon clouds
along with some white and grey patches,
then slowly, warms up to a red mood;
as if by a second thought
adds full of flight of birds,
for an effect.
Avian splay, what a display!
The sun visibly gets pale,
upset being just a part of the picture,
unable to dominate, as his usual practice.
Not at all pleased at the emerging picture,
he sulks at the prospect,
of more dull, vain clouds rushing in,
spoiling the composition with their-
chance megalomaniacal dominance.
Jul 30, 2012
Jul 30, 2012 at 1:48 PM UTC
merrily the birds chirped
at the dawn of day
their songs of happiness
drifted in the wind's splay
out on the porch
at first light
listening to them
brings one much delight
their choral sounds
fill the air
with a tune
ever so fair
they make one's heart
lift and sing
as they impart
their cheering chirping
Mar 24, 2013
Mar 24, 2013 at 6:41 PM UTC
something twas awry with the piper's flute
a most inconsistent rhyme it did oft play
twas very much like an out of tune lute
he thought his flute twas cleverly cute
but a listener did detect its disarray
something was awry with the piper's flute
of the tune's sound the listener did mute
as it bought to the ear such dismay
he thought his flute twas cleverly cute
those discordant notes you can refute
they've a rather off putting sort of splay
something twas awry with the piper's flute
at all times hearing must be acute
for the bearer of the instrument may stray
he thought his flute twas cleverly cute
whence tones don't uniformly salute
there's a cacophony in the aural bay
something twas awry with the piper's flute
twas very much like an out of tune lute
Nov 11, 2014
Nov 11, 2014 at 8:23 PM UTC
it,s loose cotton electric ***
copper children
husky sighing t
he
trickle of daughters into the little wet cracks
on Railroad ave. a beggars hand gesticulating empty spans
a river of grins course toward amber
oblivion and jarring rhythms. she's a white idea. a lemon dress *****
her hips are a delicious war of curving apparitions
a dearth of pleasure loaded folds. or else a caustic laceration;
some hernia of capillaries blotting ivory thighs
a
n
d all the children giggle, teeth cleaning pearly cheeks
splay the efforts of their throats all over the cobbles. it,s a night
FRIDAY
yes
Aug 5, 2010
Aug 5, 2010 at 7:36 PM UTC
my brain is a magnet
attracting itself to you
and my heart is a wrench
fixing the toilet
these incantations to raise
you up
these words to make you holy
have me on my knees
with the piss-mucked tiles
but I wouldn’t change
any of it
no
I’d do anything for you
my soul will split
at the rack before
I ever mutter a word
love
how dare I!
I thought I was better
I thought I could look
without touching
speak without breathing
feel without loving
disaster
fortuitous
storm of color
spray me red
splay me naked
for the world to see
my fingers are inspired
to write a friend
in history
in my heart
forever
Jun 21, 2016
Jun 21, 2016 at 6:32 PM UTC
Remember me in spring when blossom's blush
and petals flair a - light in morning mists
that'll haze a rainbow hue - of flowered plush
to portrait mine as every bud untwists.
Upon the birding bath as robins splay
the warbling chirp shall voice as tho' from me
for you my sweet, in springtime bloom of may
shall hear the larking flute of my decree.
The dancing leaves shall tap and Ivy's birth
and Snowdrop's bow as daisy eyes unveils
as fragrant, olive air shall scent of mirth
that once were lost, now shrines as spring prevails.
Vernal rebloom shall stream that pulse of mine
then seek that earthly glow, and there I'll shine.
Sep 27, 2018
Sep 27, 2018 at 3:39 AM UTC
my thoughts, so potent just before--
like fresh-pressed olive drops
that lingered, lipping from the fragrant spout--
now pass, diffuse atop an ocean vast.
i imagine willing it to be a pond,
not for its lesser size alone
but mostly for its calm,
reflective height; yet
these waves are
distort ruthlessness
of liquid dust
by slapping, tower-high
the central ocean rip-whirl tide:
and gone--
as Homer's heroes screaming as they drown,
deaf as oars but for their final gasps
of yearned-for clarity:
of nameless pride's Ithacan king
abrading lustful wrists
restrained to blind a god's son's single eye
by tentacles of twisting, tactful fate.
by threaded loom rethreaded
soon i see my salty self in suit
of sameness, tricking time
by indolence or theft--
from truth, from others' hearths--
the difference winks in bubbles on the cosmic shore...
foam so clean i grin to call it spume,
grin to brace the seabed to my algaed chest
in salinating crush of sand, of blood-sharp shell and rock,
in sungreen warmth of blue and life
in crashing sinus wince
i grit aegean nereids in my sneeze,
splay their formless sexing into pelvic scrapes
of quickened starbursts anciently reborn,
squeezed in pleasure tears and laughing drops--
as all pelagic ***** must
within the pressure of a world,
its breathing darkness spotted with transmuted sun,
expel itself in sensate gusts--
as octopodal spurting flings
in liquid ****** of purpose forth,
(or backwards, sideways, in and out)--
so too i think
and thinking, drown my ink
instead of drowning thinking in my ink
.
Feb 28, 2016
Feb 28, 2016 at 11:11 PM UTC
Flies in the haze morning sputter and splay.
Water drops from leaves rolling with the blown
Blades. The windy whoo of the owls fade,
Blue buried eyes cradled in the hollow
Trees, the swamps seeker is quietly rustled,
Wings of panoply, spangle-speckle the wind,
Over the flames of autumn, talons thistle,
Crown the dominion of the fall, fade in
Sporting meadows colour, till the dive,
Balm of field, marsh, all ignites. Lever pale
Winds finger through the leaves gravely
And rake as you raid, shoulders that burning vale,
Casualties of insect, the lemming song sings
Mouse and vole flash, dark, sparkles the clearing.
Jun 2, 2012
Jun 2, 2012 at 2:31 PM UTC
autumn had been only imagined
lurking in small cracks between days,
paving heaved from fat roots underneath;
its arrival seemed improbable
in summer's heat
vernal green leaves grew only deeper
in generous sun,
promising some future harvest of fruit
far off distant, but sweet,
certainly, when it would come
cool, now, faded mornings break;
the pursuing season
sheds desires wizened,
of pages yellow-brown and finger-worn,
already memorized
as if being is cast aside in a child’s game
of loves me or loves me not,
youth’s clothing otherwise unneeded
they were, maybe, sins of greed
befallen all new living things
seeking moments owed but soon forgotten;
the scent of pink spring blossoms,
or how the peaches blushed in bunches
before we ate lustily from supple branches
how soon this winter comes
a tree’s hard woody bark will bare to needs,
extend dark arms, spindly, old
to splay against a field of gray
declaring stark existence to a callous sky
that stings with wind and cold
Oct 4, 2011
Oct 4, 2011 at 10:01 AM UTC
The waves splay lazily, pushing and pulling back
I am one of many shells decorating the ocean shore
The air is humid
It smells of salt and sea
It smells of solitude
She sells sea shells on the seashore
I am on display on her table
I am glamour and gore
I am quiet and calm
I am an ornament
I am purchased, and then thrown away
I am an empty shell on the seashore
Surrounded by wet sand
Apprehensive of the hand
Outstretched to reach me
To pick me up
To take me from home
I am empty, but you can’t tell
When I smile, laugh, and yell
You’ll think I’m full
My veins have been drained of blood
Of compassion, sympathy, and love
I am dry, running on empty
But you’ll never know that my insides disintegrate
When I hand more to you
There’s a constant throbbing in my heart, with no relief
So I clutch my chest when no one’s looking
No one’s ever looking
But when I look at you
I laugh, I smile
And you look at me and reciprocate
And I wonder,
If you’re empty too.
Sep 6, 2017
Sep 6, 2017 at 2:49 AM UTC
wheels splay mud ruts,
lazy "S" tracks tender turf,
eyes trail to horse barn.
Mar 11, 2011
Mar 11, 2011 at 7:39 PM UTC
The heart beats
The blood pounds
He sees the soft beat at her throat
It beats faster as he touches her neck
Her breath stops
He wonders what she is thinking
His finger tips graze her face
Sliding his thumb across her ruby lips
Her breath rushes out
Then quickly catches again
Her eyes are closed
He watches her emotions splay across her face
He moves forward
Slowly
Patiently
Gently pressing his lips to hers
Brushing them
The kiss deepens
Fire rages through them
He says say it
She looks puzzled
Say it
I am yours she says
He claims her mouth with a heated passion
His lips branding her as His
He smiles
Her pulse is racing in her throat
He knows she belongs to Him
Written by Niyahlove © All rights reserved
Mar 5, 2010
Mar 5, 2010 at 7:28 PM UTC
Spring tepals
sepals ripe with sticky dew ~
only inner calyx thorn
or some star-corymb splay
like sonar-notes across the diver's head
portray the meaning of another's thought
exploration's prescient surge
; the rise and fall of summit senses...
; all perspectives breathe
Oct 17, 2015
Oct 17, 2015 at 3:13 AM UTC
This love burns and drips
an unclean **** knot
******* and *******
at tailgate parties in basements
where everybody is satisfied
except for one...
The sky is painted static:
I can't find the channel.
A frail cherub descends
gossamer threads of maize splay out about its head
brings the sky back with it
and in hues of pink and life,
restores me.
Apr 26, 2011
Apr 26, 2011 at 5:16 AM UTC
It’s just,
when I blink
Coarse fingers fly through the curtains
riding the light.
They splay across me like starfish when my eyes are closed and I part my lips
Jan 27, 2013
Jan 27, 2013 at 10:25 PM UTC
Flies in the haze morning sputter and splay.
Water drops from leaves rolling with the blown
Blades. The windy whoo of the owls fade,
Blue buried eyes cradled in the hollow
Trees, the swamps seeker is quietly rustled,
Wings of panoply, spangle-speckle the wind,
Over the flames of autumn, talons thistle,
Crown the dominion of the fall, fade in
Sporting meadows colour, till the dive,
Balm of field, marsh, all ignites. Lever pale
Winds finger through the leaves gravely
And rake as you raid, shoulders that burning vale,
Casualties of insect, the lemming song sings
Mouse and vole flash, dark, sparkles the clearing.
Dec 14, 2013
Dec 14, 2013 at 1:24 PM UTC
the earth world retains its soiled crust,
more polluted than just a few weeks ago,
meaning me is meaner, an iron irony ironic,
madness and meanness anger me more
than-ever-before turning me sour, an infection
and an self-inflection point, forgive me cause
I no longer easy forgive, starting with me, here.
it is so easy to be easier, but the creeps creep in,
what they possess interdicts the free
flowing blood of what we could be,
maybe, even
what we want to be, for some of us,
so I’ve come to display,
come to splay,
come to say,
nice has
been disposed of, in overflowing corner city garbage can,
spilling onto the street, madness and meanness,
littered and the lies sugarcoat it with veneers of
righteous, cause anyone can claim the moral
high ground, but find me the low places, where
honesty is not defined by an ism, or in only your opinion,
and right and wrong are so oft
so easy distinguishable…
yeah, soured on many things, and what hasn’t changed
cannot be shared, for too many will seek to pollute these few
good things remaining.
and the mirrored reflection of my inflection point
is my soiled infection, red, swollen,
and being this away is…new
8:04am
Sat Oct 21 2023
Oct 21, 2023
Oct 21, 2023 at 8:10 AM UTC
Slipping free from yester's time,
A Feather trapses yond the way,
On wind it floats, a step, sublime,
Dipping and ducking flakes of grey,
Those forged by winter, the sun's decay,
Plates of ivory, why must they hack?
Torn soil, a relic of why you turn away,
Soar away, O Feather, and don't float back.
O Sea, so fair, shimmering as a chime,
As the wind you switch, and you sway,
And your blues shine like a dime,
But if he drifts beyond the bay,
Will waters claim him, as they say?
Or shall he wash back, with the wrack?
To you, O Sea, he mustn't stray,
Soar away, O Feather, and don't float back.
O Mount, your peak, the rigorous climb,
At your summit, scores kneel and pray,
Your caps glow white, with a grass bed of lime,
If you were where the feather must stay,
Shall your perils bring him fray?
Must he lie in caves of black?
Nay, a feather must fly, and outward he must splay,
Soar away, O Feather, and don't float back.
O Feather, O Feather, where will you spend your days?
Here I must halt on the trail of your track,
Seize the wind, O Feather, the world is your prey,
Soar away, O Feather, and don't float back.
May 26, 2021
May 26, 2021 at 6:08 PM UTC
Flies in the haze morning sputter and splay.
Water drops from leaves rolling with the blown
Blades. The windy whoo of the owls fade,
Blue buried eyes cradled in the hollow
Trees, the swamps seeker is quietly rustled,
Wings of panoply, spangle-speckle the wind,
Over the flames of autumn, talons thistle,
Crown the dominion of the fall, fade in
Sporting meadows colour, till the dive,
Balm of field, marsh, all ignites. Lever pale
Winds finger through the leaves gravely
And rake as you raid, shoulders that burning vale,
Casualties of insect, the lemming song sings
Mouse and vole flash, dark, sparkles the clearing.
Aug 23, 2013
Aug 23, 2013 at 1:46 PM UTC
let me love you like a storm,
dark,
dazzling,
domineering,
I can be your very own tempest,
I will sweep you off your feet,
I will take you to oblivion,
and love you like you've never been loved before.
I could break you,
like cracks in fine china, I
could break you,
all of you,
till you are,
nothing,
and you will love me for it,
and you will be broken in the most beautiful of ways.
I could kiss you,
I'll be your greatest pleasure,
my lips will hold yours with the promise of forever,
I will touch you like I am not meant to let go,
my fingers will splay algorithms as they explore the length for your torso,
You will hate me for it,
for make you feel this good,
but take heart my love,
one day you will kiss me,
and you will like it.
I could need you,
like barks need the north star,
I could be your star,
I will shine, and twinkle,
become yours like the careful ********** of promises,
I will never leave,
I will be constant,
consistent,
for as long as we are,
I will need you like the stars need the dark blue sky,
and some day,
when you love me back,
we will write our names in skies that stay blue,
and we will be our own forever,
stripes of dark brown and navy blue.
I can be your light,
your very own sun, wrapped in skin, bones, and tissue,
I can shine for you,
hot and passionate,
like the remnants of our love on the white fabric of our sheets,
I will heat you up,
all the way up,
but you will not tell me to stop because we love the pain,
and we will love, till it kills us, and marks us black and dark blue.
I will love you, like you are worth loving.
Every inch of you, like you are my life,
I will love with my soul,
I can be yours,
let me be yours?
Feb 9, 2015
Feb 9, 2015 at 3:27 PM UTC