"spreads" poems
*The surf provides lullabies
as ocean echoes roll.
Too soon, the sunlight glitters
as the dawn turns gray to gold.
I wake and I rub my eyes
beside the sandy beach
My love beside me, languid lips
within an easy reach.
I whisper, sweet good mornings
as your dreams I brush away.
You stretch and yawn, responding to
requests to "come and play".
Lingered memories caress,
of last night's rising moon
with silver waves and ripples,
beyond the dark lagoon.
In shades of colors that mix and smudge
you take your time, no rush
My ******* tingle, at the thought
upon my skin, spreads flush.
In reverie, flutters reminisce,
your wanton body on mine.
Whispered moans in my ear, you ******
"I'm yours", I hear on rewind.*
Oct 12, 2017
Oct 12, 2017 at 12:37 AM UTC
This is the easy time, there is nothing doing.
I have whirled the midwife's extractor,
I have my honey,
Six jars of it,
Six cat's eyes in the wine cellar,
Wintering in a dark without window
At the heart of the house
Next to the last tenant's rancid jam
and the bottles of empty glitters ----
Sir So-and-so's gin.
This is the room I have never been in
This is the room I could never breathe in.
The black bunched in there like a bat,
No light
But the torch and its faint
Chinese yellow on appalling objects ----
Black asininity. Decay.
Possession.
It is they who own me.
Neither cruel nor indifferent,
Only ignorant.
This is the time of hanging on for the bees--the bees
So slow I hardly know them,
Filing like soldiers
To the syrup tin
To make up for the honey I've taken.
Tate and Lyle keeps them going,
The refined snow.
It is Tate and Lyle they live on, instead of flowers.
They take it. The cold sets in.
Now they ball in a mass,
Black
Mind against all that white.
The smile of the snow is white.
It spreads itself out, a mile-long body of Meissen,
Into which, on warm days,
They can only carry their dead.
The bees are all women,
Maids and the long royal lady.
They have got rid of the men,
The blunt, clumsy stumblers, the boors.
Winter is for women ----
The woman, still at her knitting,
At the cradle of Spanis walnut,
Her body a bulb in the cold and too dumb to think.
Will the hive survive, will the gladiolas
Succeed in banking their fires
To enter another year?
What will they taste of, the Christmas roses?
The bees are flying. They taste the spring.
40.8k
#*When all of worldly beauty's lost
When form and face have borne the cost
Of life's sojourn upon this earth
A greater glory then springs forth
When vanity is cast aside
With long-dashed dreams and fallen pride
At last a better hope I see
One anchored in eternity
When no one gives a second glance
Or offers promise of romance
I know the One whose love is true
Who looks beyond what most men do
When wit and charm have fled from thought
And company's no longer sought
There's still One friend who longs to hear
My every word, desire and fear
When awkwardness is more the rule
Than competence and being cool
His words I hear so gently spoken,
"Come, poor in spirit and all who are broken."
When those around me criticize
With disapproval in their eyes
He spreads His arms with full embrace
And wears acceptance on His face
When kindred spirit can't be found
And understanding's wayward bound
The One who knows me best will be
Thinking precious thoughts toward me
When foot is slipping, mind astray
From trying to fix things my own way
He rescues me with hourly grace
And sets me in a spacious place
When all my naught attempts at fame
Lie crushed beneath a weight of shame
I seek the fame of Him instead
Who calls my name and lifts my head
When youth and vigor fade away
And triumph seems an ancient day
My strength can rest in One who brings
Fresh power to soar on eagle's wings
When my last breath some day I take
Death's shadowed crossing, hence, to make
Upon Christ's nail-scarred feet I'll fall
To kiss that One who is my ALL*#
Dec 31, 2015
Dec 31, 2015 at 5:56 PM UTC
I'm transparent like a window
but I'm prone to keeping curtains closed
to cover up my youthful,
aching, naked soul.
I used to be promiscuous;
my essence on my sleeve.
a charming laugh; a crystal glass
from which many a fool drew drink.
A chalice of life;
warm like cinnamon wine,
soft like angel's delight.
Beheld by every eye.
But it never felt right;
I was smoke off a fire,
yet still smouldering coal.
Just a young, beautiful
byproduct of desire.
There's no smoke without fire.
Although, I tried to fan it cool;
the flames ran only wilder.
But as the old wind blows, it seems
a withered tree still grows new leaves.
A dandelion spreads its seeds
but they lie far away from me.
Now, I move transcluently-
ultraviolet invisible ink-
I speak in soothing whispers;
they travel further than you'd think.
Jun 5, 2018
Jun 5, 2018 at 12:26 PM UTC
Are you anorexic?
No,
I'm not anorexic
I've just got a
Stomach bug
I've never heard of
A stomach bug like that...
Yeah,
It's really weird
They just discovered it
See,
It actually spreads
Through your mind
Well, what are the symptoms?
It's simple,
You feel fat
And lazy
And stupid
All the time
And it makes you sick,
And then you don't eat
Sounds anorexic to me...
I'm not anorexic!
Jun 6, 2015
Jun 6, 2015 at 6:53 PM UTC
Iron bench, open sore
dragon rock, three in score
flesh on body, tortured soul
arms high, in hell's hole
Corner bulb, neon light
drake hotel, second flight
jolly pop, rizla plus
open flame, behind the bus
Broken fixtures, tully hat
channel swimmer, at the bat
blind alley, words of cuss
dealer waving, in a fuss
Grim reaper, boys in blue
super bee, armored shrew
****** sips, swollen glands
potpourri, on demand
Black death, huddler's arch
beat the cold, and summer parch
toothless grin, ****** glare
obituary, to be shared
Dead of night, decontrol
cheeva tar, black coal
east central, chinatown
mr. freeze, is coming down
Foot soldier, skidder row
chicken feed, and white blow
silver spoon, casted hand
demons surface, on demand
Frantic sounds, below the glass
poison waiting, to be passed
crack pipes, over coat
bodies flat, begin to float
Gospel sounds, from union square
friends gather, deep in prayer
guardian angels, now deployed
thornton park, without a void
Covenant house, in holy charm
welcomes all, with open arms
salvation spreads, on chapel row
kindness that, cannot be sold
Oct 14, 2017
Oct 14, 2017 at 5:36 PM UTC
What's it take
These days
To write a poem
That makes the world go mad
That brings the crowds to their feet
That spreads like wildfire
Through a dry winter forest
Is it those excessively long words?
The ostentatiously loquacious
Platitudinous ramblings
Of an insecure mind aspiring
To authentic intellect?
Is it perhaps...
the "creativity"
of varied spacing
or... could it be..... the lack
of capitalization
the loathsome little letters
screaming out
hey, look at us!
... or maybe it's
the punctuation marks,
littered, haphazardly
through the text
(whether used correctly)
or, theyre not?!
despite worrds mispeled
and a grammar might is broken
can these gimmicks increase interest
though miswritten or misspoken?
Is the trick alliteration
Whose bite brightly bids us
To center on the snappy sounds?
Although all along
unvoiced underneath
Ideas idle in the isles
(or perhaps the aisles)
Of the mind
To meld and craft and bind
Our thorough thoughts
And worthy words
Into lines
Which
Heard by herds
Raise the
Praise for which we
Privately, desperately
Pray
Maybe it's a magical mix
Of splendid in-your-head rhythm
Marvelous meter that perfectly clicks
Flowing smoothly without schism
Well-spaced stanzas
Well-used time
Well-crafted phrases
Well-thought-out rhymes
Well, maybe not...
those gems are often ignored
cast-aside, unread, even abhorred
Why?
Because the modern world
doesn't need your rules
your restrictions
your regulations
your misguided boundaries
your oppression
your antiquated ideas
of "the right way"
to write
to speak
to act
to live
to (fill in the blank)
No, what the modern world needs
is
Negation!
Contradiction!
Resistance!
Revolt!
And poetry whose words
Say the same thing
Repeat the same meaning
Echo the same lyrics
Rephrase the same thoughts
But in an ever-so-slightly
Different
Varied
Altered
Adjusted
Changed up way
Line
After line
Of synonyms
over
and
over
and
over
again
-----
What's it take
These days
To not give in
To narcissism's spiral?
But more importantly:
What's it take
To make my poem go viral?
Aug 12, 2018
Aug 12, 2018 at 12:17 AM UTC
She is mysterious, as strange as a daytime dream,
So remarkable, I see a
Princess dressed in a kimono covered with cherry blossom leaves,
Floating down river, under a canopy
Of pink and white Sakura trees.
She is so extraordinary, as unique as a double rainbow at sunrise,
So dreamy, as dreamy as a seaside sunset,
Her unconditional love scatters,
Like cherry blossoms in a fresh breeze,
Seen in rippling waves of sunshine.
So fantastical, as fantastic as a pink rose blooming in the desert,
So magical, as magical as our dreams coming true,
Princess Sakura singing, like an Angel,
She spreads her wings and flies away,
Like vanishing Sakura, leaves at the end of spring.
Princess Sakura, you will live forever in my dreams...
© 2014 Ronald J Chapman All Rights Reserved.
Dec 2, 2014
Dec 2, 2014 at 6:45 AM UTC
Stress overwhelms you
Like a fire envelops a piece of wood
It spreads too quickly to stop
And once it's over
There is nothing left
But misshapen remains
Nov 25, 2014
Nov 25, 2014 at 10:04 PM UTC
My Court is a battle
As a Queen, I will endure
so my kingdom thrives
Standing in gardens
My treasure trove of colours
that never fails me
Flowers bow gently
The winds make the tall trees sing
Rivers flow calmly
Scents drift in the light
I hear its sweet melody
As I stand with pride
A Queen now enters
The daughter of Spring and Deer
The tender Queen Fawn
Who smiles so sweetly
Fragrant, soft-spoken and kind
With deer by her side
Another Queen comes
The angel with a kind heat
The gentle Queen Sue
Who has healed her wounds,
broken her chrysalis
And spreads her warm light
Another Queen comes
Wise and soon to be married
Joyful Queen Donna
Who goes with the flow
A talented haikuist
with a flower crown
Another Queen comes
She who is always giving
The giving Queen Kim
Whose crown's a halo
And her words, so spiritual
fragrant and calming
Another Queen comes
Who has birds singing so sweet
The sweet Queen Robin
Who is a true joy
Whose words are just like music
A kindred spirit
And now a King comes
Who is very much like me
The great King Omni
Who is an artist
Who is both seen and unseen
Very much like me
Another King comes
Ever so mischieveous
The playful King Paul
Such a playful tease
He who makes me smile and laugh
And looks out for me
Another King comes
His heart is strong and tender
The wise King Edmund
Who writes for himself
Speaks so well of others and
how vital love is
To these Kings and Queens
Thank you for your melodies
You are golden souls
For now I do see
The true power of my quill
My ink is gold too
I write out my life
My pain, my fears and my loves
And my achievements
I must stay above
I will walk with my head up
and ignore the bad
People will hate me
But I will thicken my skin
to be a true queen
I will empower
And give you all your respects
and never denounce
I am a true Queen
With a Court that is growing
steadily but strong
The reign of Queen Lyn
Who is sensitive and shy
It has just begun
Jul 21, 2018
Jul 21, 2018 at 3:21 PM UTC
She picks sunflower blooms, humming a tune
While dodging drops of rain
Hoping the move will heighten the mood
And bring about a perpetual change
She spreads the petals in the morning meadows
In hopes the rumors are true
With the yellows and greens, mixed in between
She'll release the color of blue
Sep 13, 2014
Sep 13, 2014 at 9:00 AM UTC
Love is the essence
where roses live with thorns
no one rejected
no one hated
and
fragrance spreads everywhere
Apr 5, 2015
Apr 5, 2015 at 11:32 AM UTC
Open is her mind is,
as is her heart.
words spark intense interest
she plays her role, he plays her part.
she begs for his pardon
he spreads her apart.
Her flower opens wide
in the shape of a heart.
the depth of her depths
his length will soon know
Apr 17, 2018
Apr 17, 2018 at 8:10 PM UTC
Over the icy hills you hear a breath;
As this field sinks in the frigid blue
It spreads in the soul a fear of death.
The hope to return still lives in you.
How can you be so blind not to see?
That even your worst foe could be
Your best friend behind these lines.
A scream drowns in the darkness,
Now he is rotting as the moon shines.
There are no heroes in this grey mess.
Is it worth to waste human meat?
What is victory but a lucky defeat?
Jul 20, 2018
Jul 20, 2018 at 4:28 AM UTC
Frost-locked all the winter,
Seeds, and roots, and stones of fruits,
What shall make their sap ascend
That they may put forth shoots?
Tips of tender green,
Leaf, or blade, or sheath;
Telling of the hidden life
That breaks forth underneath,
Life nursed in its grave by Death.
Blows the thaw-wind pleasantly,
Drips the soaking rain,
By fits looks down the waking sun:
Young grass springs on the plain;
Young leaves clothe early hedgerow trees;
Seeds, and roots, and stones of fruits,
Swollen with sap, put forth their shoots;
Curled-headed ferns sprout in the lane;
Birds sing and pair again.
There is no time like Spring,
When life's alive in everything,
Before new nestlings sing,
Before cleft swallows speed their journey back
Along the trackless track,--
God guides their wing,
He spreads their table that they nothing lack,--
Before the daisy grows a common flower,
Before the sun has power
To scorch the world up in his noontide hour.
There is no time like Spring,
Like Spring that passes by;
There is no life like Spring-life born to die,--
Piercing the sod,
Clothing the uncouth clod,
Hatched in the nest,
Fledged on the windy bough,
Strong on the wing:
There is no time like Spring that passes by,
Now newly born, and now
Hastening to die.
14.6k
I’VE BEEN WAITING
ALL YEAR FOR THIS DAY.
ALL THE MUSLIM BROTHERS
STANDING SIDE BY SIDE in anticipation,
EID HAS COME SO LETS UNITE AND SPREADS MESSAGE OF ALLAH
THAT EID HAS COME.
All kids will see the gift for you and me
the feeling is there till night.
30 days of fasting comes to an end
Together with your family and friends
Wonderful feeling the fills the world with joy, peace and happiness.
Hope that all these belessing will there in the door step of your success
Muslims wake up early morn
Have a bath put new dresses.
family freinds come over
on this joyous day.
Eid Mubark to all the muslims in the world!!
Sep 9, 2010
Sep 9, 2010 at 8:13 AM UTC
All strung
out
on
sadness,
empty shells
of needles
that injected
the next defense
to keep me going
splayed upon
the coldness
of metal
somewhere in a place
lower than
the floorboards
of the nether regions
of a private hell,
where no one sees
the truth behind
the doors of
beaten swords
of silken pictures
in frothy shades
of effervescent green
a smiling happy family
in which the
sounds of drowning
can only be
vaguely heard
a faded gurgle
in an ocean of sighs
Somewhere, there,
the pain in my veins
spreads like
a self-administered
drug
only it's not
my prescription, at all
just a parody
from the very
sick doctor
who shares
this house,
meant to
be a home
one who thinks
he knows it all
but knows nothing
In this dreamlike weaving
of staring blankly
into alternative spaces
when all is so heavy
that even breathing is a task
I suddenly remember
who the **** I am
and push my gaze through
the ceiling cracks
to look up at
the stars,
receiving their
shadows
of light
like a blessing
upon my
nettle-stung
tongue
and
rise
Sep 19, 2016
Sep 19, 2016 at 5:27 PM UTC
A sigh in the dark.
Past my jaded lips it rises
like a ghost, and I the host
of thoughts enamoured but unwanted,
unresolved.
Night takes my sight and unleashes vision
I watch (not my decision) the memories bloom to life.
Ethereal and hazy, those lazy summer days
Of hasty plans, promises, platitudes made;
childish to dream it could have stayed
the same.
Polite and awkward we shuffle in the light of day,
you think before you act and mind what you say
and if lucky enough you might get away
without blurting a thought from your head gone astray.
Why do eyes so bright bring such dark thoughts?
Why do we fear to take what we want?
A sigh in the dark.
Across chilled skin it spreads
like fire, this unspoken desire
between whispering sheets. Fingers grasp and twine,
I feel hers, she feels mine, as we search in the dark
together.
This night air we’ll share;
it's vice, and with vigour,
seeking the trigger
to release.
To resolve.
Aug 9, 2013
Aug 9, 2013 at 12:43 PM UTC
Deep love within the heart
Ignite luscious flames aglow.
Spreads vast with just a spark,
Desires down below.
Keenly tantalizing,
Flawless colors and hue;
Unbridle free flying,
Loose reign while dreams come true.
Spreads rapidly, bright blaze,
Gold lighting of hope
Alive, aware, un hypnotize,
Curious Kaliedoscope.
A journey to enjoy
Burning fire devour
Life's burdensome's toy;
Amid a horse named Wildfire.
Jan 26, 2017
Jan 26, 2017 at 12:43 AM UTC
I will tell you a story
In all its glory
Explaining the
****** *****
Creating much more than
The eye can see
Its a story about a vibrant flower
So beautiful it needs to be to attract the buzzing honey bees
The story goes some thing like this
So you can see the flowers multiply through the years
Make two
Four and many more
The bee
flys along and sees so many Beautiful flowers
Longing to devour
But which one
So many colours
Shapes
Sizes
Flowers cascading
Parading
So shameless
Stands still
Wow
Striking
Its a big bright pink one
Circular in shape
Bold
Beautiful
Its the one
Open, with so many soft small petals
Glistening with the rain drops
Shining in the sun
Sparkling with beauty from within
Makes the bee meander to thee
The bee needs to reproduce
Suduced
Stops and fills
Spreads the seeds
Allowed to please
Pollunates
Impregnates
Recreates
What you dont see is the story
Combined with the
True glory
Of the extra ordinary *****
The beauty
Of the buzzing bee
Combined
With the gold assigned
Inside
So free
Flying
Trying
Frantically to find the
The hive
Taking nectar
Making honey, wax, all kind of f
Fascinating lines
Made from hexagon
They divide into the lines
They are full with precious delights
The story continues
The more you learn
The more you yearn
To see a honey bee
Together the bee and the ****** *****
make harmony
The vibrant flower allowed to duplicate
More beauty for all to see
For all to feel
The special honey bee procreate and makes
Wax
creating ambiance
Such a clever bee
A savont; such a worker
Magical tyrant
Buzzing madly yearning to create
the sweetest honey
A honey bee can make
Its like you to me
You're the combination
Make migrations in me
Spreading beauty from within
To others to proceed
And begin
I feel it with you;
Vibrant flower
Honey bee
Coming together
Creating so much sweet honey in me
It's a wonderful story to me
You see
The story of the flower and the honey bee
May 5, 2016
May 5, 2016 at 8:18 PM UTC
The power I get from your personality.
You're a lion, a natural born leader.
King of the jungle, in this barren valley you give me hope.
Hope in a savior, in a presence so uniquely rare and strong.
I want to be like you, I want your charisma.
You make everyone seem so simple.
Far above average, your capable of emancipating glory.
A righteous and kind soul.
Your energy spreads through the beastly sinners and compels their spirit to change into something beautiful.
Jul 19, 2015
Jul 19, 2015 at 3:25 PM UTC
The steeples are white in the wild moonlight,
And the trees have a silver glare;
Past the chimneys high see the vampires fly,
And the harpies of upper air,
That flutter and laugh and stare.
For the village dead to the moon outspread
Never shone in the sunset's gleam,
But grew out of the deep that the dead years keep
Where the rivers of madness stream
Down the gulfs to a pit of dream.
A chill wind blows through the rows of sheaves
In the meadows that shimmer pale,
And comes to twine where the headstones shine
And the ghouls of the churchyard wail
For harvests that fly and fail.
Not a breath of the strange grey gods of change
That tore from the past its own
Can quicken this hour, when a spectral power
Spreads sleep o'er the cosmic throne,
And looses the vast unknown.
So here again stretch the vale and plain
That moons long-forgotten saw,
And the dead leap gay in the pallid ray,
Sprung out of the tomb's black maw
To shake all the world with awe.
And all that the morn shall greet forlorn,
The ugliness and the pest
Of rows where thick rise the stones and brick,
Shall some day be with the rest,
And brood with the shades unblest.
Then wild in the dark let the lemurs bark,
And the leprous spires ascend;
For new and old alike in the fold
Of horror and death are penned,
For the hounds of Time to rend.
12k
She is pyramidon spreads down the pyramid
Led by him up the pyramid that keeps climbing high.
Continues to straighten his straight line but her
curve off the top embraces full is an enduring spiral!
Off the apex of the pyramid the butterfly has slipped out
Still a circle still a cut whatsmore is concealed in the pi?
Future is in now, deathless in death only a pi away!
May 3, 2017
May 3, 2017 at 11:20 AM UTC
Outside of a bar in a North Carolina strip mall, stone cold sober because I am scared to use my fake, I feel drunk as you sit next to me. Perhaps I am. I'd have to be to think maybe, maybe, maybe, when I know, I know, I know.
Your hand brushes against mine, and you're saying the most beautiful words I've ever heard, and the fire in my heart spreads up, down, left, right. But it cannot spread just four inches outside of my body. It cannot set you on fire, too.
We listen to each other and hear two very different things. You are birdsong outside of my window that I am eager to hear; I am traffic outside of your window you've learned to tune out at bedtime.
If there are nine million bicycles in Beijing, then Beijing is my insides and bicycles are your name, because it is written on my insides nine million times. But there are no bicycles on Antarctica. There is no use for them there, just as there's no use for my name to be perched on a straight girl's ribs.
You tell me my weird hobby of listening to French rap music is awesome, that it's so cool that I'm teaching myself three languages, and that you want to be me when you grow up - I laugh, because you're several years older than me. Selfishly I catch every droplet of your praise. I ruminate on it for hours, for days. It means more to me than it should.
My name sounds like a compliment from your mouth. I try not to say yours too often, so you don't grow tired of me being around. If I can't set your insides on fire, I want you to want to be my friend. Even that feels like I ask for too much.
In every scene, I see you in the foreground of the narrative. For me, it would be on honor to be one of your background characters. Narratives are richer with them anyway.
I look at you and you are the Harry Potter movie marathon I wait months for. For you, I am the 2 am infomercial you fell asleep to. But I don't mind half as much as I should. Even white noise has its place in someone's life.
Sep 6, 2018
Sep 6, 2018 at 10:17 PM UTC
son spreads knee blood into ******* &/or
sidewalk chalk.
mixes reds to pinks with head cracking asphalt.
of god & country.
of soggy bread in a lunch-bag; snackpack readied.
he skates.
the concussed ****** of booming youth.
omega he:
to the wolf pack outers.
breathing love of summer, he
is the son drunk on hi-c
& burping.
watching teenaged supersoakers yodel
on a bridge.
florida.
son sneaks out late to rationalize
the city’s features
under strange light & love of nightly people.
boy sculpts body out of beast,
turned dark corners.
arrives swollen.
his father erects a roofed flattop in the backyard slab
with flood light electronics taught to worship
the shred.
mother rattles the blender
on the kitchen outskirts, ***** breathed
& nearing with hugs.
blister-itched.
glossed folds of scar tissue.
those days on summer-beyond when the neighborhood pulsates.
with satellite dishes tuneforking high-frequency vibrations
from outerspace & pigeons explode.
son’s ears bleed, &
the television goes unwatched.
he snaps plank & ankle protein, refurbishing
his legs into iron-rods
or wands of summer anthem.
cold war.
he empties sugar-sweat & toxins
into the storm-drain.
essence of wet heat, skin pinched, & friend
of ghosts.
a three legged dog lay in the shade
leisurely watching the boy skate
on endless.
Apr 1, 2014
Apr 1, 2014 at 1:11 AM UTC