"splices" poems
Inside…
Preachers, teachers, sleepers
Ponies, cronies, phonies
Murders, murmurs, lurkers, tearjerkers
Sexes, hexes, Pseudo T-Rex’s
Splices, spices, identity crises
Chasms, spasms, *******
Tongues, songs sung, smoke-filled lungs, décor hung
Confessions, obsessions, strange blessings
Gargoyles, rich spoils, no mortal coil
Rose windows, ruddy elbows, emperor’s clothes-
A place of chaos and a place of hope
Outside…
Jun 29, 2012
Jun 29, 2012 at 3:59 PM UTC
A poem begins as a silent beat in the throat,
Like garments of knots splices you shed in the dark
Embroidering them with the metallic thread.
My pulse is a winding staircase of blood clots
Choking in my own crimson mark.
This dusk will cover the moonlight in red.
It’s written in the stars and stains
The line that never ends…
I will run where the furious winds take me,
I will follow where where ever your heart needs me.
Jun 23, 2015
Jun 23, 2015 at 9:45 PM UTC
The splices of life, cabled webbing -
Had you everything you ever reasonably need,
And before you the ability to facilitate
The creation of artificial imitation
Near indistinguishable from reality,
Would you venture outside the confines
From control to chaos, and knowledge to mystery?
Or would you just enjoy plastic scenery?
May 6, 2024
May 6, 2024 at 11:42 AM UTC
In a photograph
without a subject
you, standing
with your back
to my camera.
I long for a face,
your eyes, a soft smile,
or even just a pair of hands.
I remember us being
so lonely for each other,
and there on the shelf
a girl standing by herself.
Not just the empty cottage
dilapidated, all alone, my love,
you left three months ago
and the old house behind the dunes
now a photographic manipulation.
A wonder of the modern age,
complete with cuts and splices
where you used to sit, an empty
place in the bed, a gaping hole
somewhere above my navel.
Aug 27, 2017
Aug 27, 2017 at 10:56 PM UTC
Its getting about that time
that we all switch pictures
define ourselves in some new way
write plays about the years we didn't pay attention to whilst in them.
She glows.
Shifts in the distance like shifters do
mirrors the parts of me I cling to
splices in the new shade of blue
that some commoners cooked up one summer
I want to move like you do
I want to follow a tune that you grew
up out of that dangerous mouth of yours
I want to slip in unnoticed into your background
I want to leave you in the wake of a spellbound
insomnia silvia nightgown.
I'm a remix of secret decisions
that I would love to let you and your friend in.
Take the tour of the wicked and old sins
that I wrote when I worked for the lived-in.
But she's still staring loudly at the floor.
Forgetting what project I wrote for.
Forgetting what score I produced.
Forgetting why I haven't noosed myself quite yet.
She shifts in the distance like shifters do,
mirrors the parts of me I cling to.
May 8, 2011
May 8, 2011 at 7:50 PM UTC
An hour editing
dashes to comma splices, and back
leaves turn
the red world
sits on apostrophes’ or Atlas’
mote of Earth
choosing
the right word
wet trousers
i rake
frail pages of my novel
after strong wind
Sep 30, 2014
Sep 30, 2014 at 2:31 PM UTC
style; perhaps my frenzy unedited
kind of poetry contrasts with
those whose whims are more whimsical
a four line acbd or my liberal taking of conjunctives
and splices my way
contrasts ;
tell a story is my parody
give a scene make it half real at least give character
with ambiguity, let the reader finish it:
prose a theory argue it halfheartedly
when the theme is never that ,
between lines is much of
the daily things, so in my poetry.
May 28, 2017
May 28, 2017 at 7:18 AM UTC
no matter this dawg gone pup
took numerous took
one after another cat nap
his utterly fatigued
body electric still ragged
as if he went without sleep for a lifetime,
ensnared within a time warp,
espied that aggravating "aw SNAP"
(error code instead of a webpage
indicating Chrome happens to be
experiencing problems loading)
or, simultaneously
caught in a narcoleptic parent trap
thus, while a burst of energy
temporarily doth prevail
(a priori which extreme fatigue
of body, mind and spirit -
more troublesome worse than -
getting crucified
with a rusty nine inch nail
alleviated with deep sleep finds
much more tiredness
than usual quotidian sleepiness
bruiting this male)
being imprisoned (for high
gram matt tick crimes
and misdemeanors) such as: comma, splices,
dangling a modifier, splitting an infinitive,
unnecessary parenthesis (), et cetera
which landed me punctually,
proverbially, and squarely in jail
fed thin gruel with grubs that didst flail
nauseating pluperfect revulsion
each time hide exhale
which, many hours long rests did restore
for a bit of time only for totally tubular
exhaustion to come roar
ring back leaving me tour
charred as if...i fought in every major war.
Mar 29, 2018
Mar 29, 2018 at 9:43 PM UTC
a minor typo found this fanatic spell binding hound to resend a poem dashed off in a huff (past the hour) if nothing else than fur his peace of bot tee, mind. Thus this Norwegian bachelor wannabe (most closely aligned with said status closely attained unmarried state by pledging my Unitarian troth) tilled, sown, and furrowed spirit nsync with the missus sleeping in close proximity.
* * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * *
dog tired this day - march 29th, 2018
no matter this dawg gone pup
took numerous one after another cat nap
his utterly fatigued
body electric still ragged
as if he went without sleep for a lifetime,
ensnared within a time warp,
espied that aggravating "aw SNAP"
(error code instead of a webpage
indicating Chrome happens to be
experiencing problems loading)
or, simultaneously
caught in a narcoleptic parent trap
thus, while a burst of energy
temporarily doth prevail
(a priori which extreme fatigue
of body, mind and spirit -
more troublesome, and worse than -
getting crucified
with a rusty nine inch nail
alleviated with deep sleep finds
much more tiredness
than usual quotidian sleepiness
bruiting this male)
being imprisoned (for high
gram matt tick crimes
and misdemeanors) such as: comma, splices,
dangling a modifier, splitting an infinitive,
unnecessary parenthesis (), et cetera
which landed me punctually,
proverbially, and squarely
in the slaammed shut jail
fed thin gruel with grubs that didst flail
nauseating pluperfect revulsion
each time hide exhale
which, many hours long rests did restore
for a bit of time only for totally tubular
exhaustion to come roar
ring back leaving me tour
charred as if...i fought in every major war.
Mar 29, 2018
Mar 29, 2018 at 10:45 PM UTC
"Want/need/feel/blah"
But our bodies makes noises when we are not around
Are mistranslated
misunderstood
misused
mistreated
Crack of the arctic knuckles crack
-The whip on the horse to make it go faster
-The egg on the bowl to keep your hands clean
-The dawn that splices through skinny windows crack
Blue
I have noticed our Shadows
How they snap on the sidewalk
Like high-heeled claps and click
Went my back when I stretched
And I remember when this first started
And I asked if I could lean on your shoulder sweet spot
And I did for a while
And resting next to your throat was noisy
And we don't do that anymore
And I don't do that anymore
And
There you go, that familiar sound
(that same old sigh, that ticklish taunt, that numb noise - croaky crack)
You would think "Anymore"
Is a blah word
Because that is what my feet said
Blue
You are not around anymore
Our bodies aren't on speaking terms.
May 6, 2017
May 6, 2017 at 1:45 AM UTC
There's a pyre in my chest, silver and gold
tracing the mountains of jewels and silks,
overlooking the cliffs of lost dreams and
broken memories like a woe lost in hymn.
It constantly burns, but like throwing a
flag onto the flames, it changes intensity --
colors green and purple and blue.
Sporadic, bursts and sparks
that threaten to engulf the soul
that stands too close. I'm absent in thought
when another memory splices the embers;
effulgent, phosphorescent, lustrous, scintillating
with a radiance unparalleled and unchallenged.
The burns of your skin on mine clutching
at my throat with such a wraithlike intensity --
I gasp.
The skirts of my soul catching, ablaze and unforgiving.
cowering at the echo of your lips teasing a mere inch
from mine. It does not run, does not leap for the
chilled waters below, just simply lets the fire burn
the smell of your clothes into the air around me --
whimpering all the while.
Mar 9, 2015
Mar 9, 2015 at 10:28 AM UTC
I miss the way you
punctuate my sentences
put purpose in my windswept
words
complete me
make sense of my
heaps of jumbled gibberish
you
hold me when Im
running on
when youre
gone Im
stuck split in splices
and tacky fragments
May 29, 2021
May 29, 2021 at 10:22 AM UTC
Though I may
Though I might
There are so many other things
That I wish on this night
The tide stores splices of onerous flesh...
stashing them out
And bringing them smoothly inside-
the rucks of darkness encloses
Tall frawns taller skirting vines
of turbulent giant bladder kelp
Survival should do one more...
then plenty is each species of human that cares
Grime sedentary shimmied hurriedly amongst hidden foul dusts
Plots spoken wed cloths
damask silken treading
lightly weeds where they don't belong
As we catch up to the cries
Senses to fulfill seniority demure paucity
oh they rinse and ringtones wash the dreams back out
Craft sols dented pride it's sinister
always aiming hollow
shat the one toothed grin
I could not be I if killed certainly jeering
at stimulant cartwheel punches
the crap lit doing wrong
yet by being studied each wave it repeats
a logarithm of ultimate denial
a surface squalor assuring currents champion
Wash away polyhedron pith
the face of pestilence
Personifications attempted
Douse the material frost with fire
from the grand stares glancing at you
Whose to realize the first and last valiant voyage
is tiding as of driest concerned philanthropically beholden logics
Jan 7, 2021
Jan 7, 2021 at 12:58 AM UTC