"stiffly" poems
I had over prepared the event,
that much was ominous.
With middle-ageing care
I had laid out just the right books.
I had almost turned down the pages.
Beauty is so rare a thing.
So few drink of my fountain.
So much barren regret,
So many hours wasted!
And now I watch, from the window,
the rain, the wandering busses.
“Their little cosmos is shaken”—
the air is alive with that fact.
In their parts of the city
they are played on by diverse forces.
How do I know?
Oh, I know well enough.
For them there is something afoot.
As for me;
I had over-prepared the event—
Beauty is so rare a thing.
So few drink of my fountain.
Two friends: a breath of the forest…
Friends? Are people less friends
because one has just, at last, found them?
Twice they promised to come.
“Between the night and the morning?”
Beauty would drink of my mind.
Youth would awhile forget
my youth is gone from me.
(Speak up! You have danced so stiffly?
Someone admired your works,
And said so frankly.
“Did you talk like a fool,
The first night?
The second evening?”
“But they promised again:
‘To-morrow at tea-time’.”)
Now the third day is here—
no word from either;
No word from her nor him,
Only another man’s note:
“Dear Pound, I am leaving England.”
5.5k
389
There’s been a Death, in the Opposite House,
As lately as Today—
I know it, by the numb look
Such Houses have—alway—
The Neighbors rustle in and out—
The Doctor—drives away—
A Window opens like a Pod—
Abrupt—mechanically—
Somebody flings a Mattress out—
The Children hurry by—
They wonder if it died—on that—
I used to—when a Boy—
The Minister—goes stiffly in—
As if the House were His—
And He owned all the Mourners—now—
And little Boys—besides—
And then the Milliner—and the Man
Of the Appalling Trade—
To take the measure of the House—
There’ll be that Dark Parade—
Of Tassels—and of Coaches—soon—
It’s easy as a Sign—
The Intuition of the News—
In just a Country Town—
4.2k
*Tis a dead end
I was taken aback
The atmosphere still and mute
I am glowing, afloat by foot.
I paced forward
Backwards and all around
Hopeless to see a glint of light
All I see is pitch black
I am in eternal darkness.
I was released from the chains
Of lies and depression
Sadness, sorrow and rejection
To see one's soul
You must look from with in
The transparent truth
I am falling into an abyss
The sight of reality and justice
Of hideous monsters lurking in masks
All I can do is watch as the spells were casted
If only you can see what I can see
You are mourning for a stone cold body
Dressed white and weeping for thee
The only thought came to mind:
Are those real tears for me?
My gentle touch in thin air
You'll never know I was there.
Thank you for coming
But I still know you don't care
Dressed white linen and satin silk
To cover up the scars
The reminder of anguish
That moment when I breathed my last
Alas! The relief, I was finished.
I lay there stiffly
With flowers all around
The scent of melachonly hovers
Its blending with the fake people around
Surpass the pain, the breaking
Let go of all this misery
So this is what it feels like
To actually, finally be free
I am a wandering soul
Still exploring the unknown
My journey has yet been half through
I m the boss of my own cue
I am dead yet never felt so alive
With the gust of the wind
I was swooned away
Petals of a wilted flower
I am awake yet in deep slumber
My story in this life will fade
My footprints will be covered in dust
My name will soon be forgotten
In the coffin they sealed me in
They will bury
All I hope, in loving memory*
Sep 16, 2014
Sep 16, 2014 at 5:38 PM UTC
or "let's order takeout,"
or "small ineptitudes in the kitchen"
1.
butter
lop
it liberally
silver clinging
scrape it
pan side
sputters and hissing
smoky?
turn the heat
down
crimsoning
elemental
browning the
butter
2.
sizzling whites
diaphanous
stiffly whitened
bubbles surface
spatula stroking
poly—
tetrafluoroethylene
roll the egg
yolk
shattering
yellow
3.
**** the water
nothing—
evaporated
gasping
blue effluvium
windows
fanblades
blackened ***
the bite of a
char upon
it
tea for
tomorrow
Mar 5, 2014
Mar 5, 2014 at 1:28 PM UTC
mind stands solemnly in the middle,
with logic and emotion on either side
like devoted sentinels guarding a queen.
"don't think about it,"
emotion says, batting her long lashes.
"just do what feels right
and follow your heart."
"but sometimes,"
logic interjects with his sharp eyebrow cocked,
"what feels right will
hurt us in the long run."
"do you want to try, and know, and fail?"
emotion asks with suprisingly honest conviction.
"or do you want to spend the rest of your
life wondering what could have been?"
"would you rather open your heart,"
logic counters thoughtfully and quickly,
"and have a part of it stolen?
or would you rather protect it all?"
as mind wavers in the middle,
she feels herself rip in two.
half of herself stands upright,
stiffly held under logic's watchful eye.
the other half melts into emotion's warm embrace.
her heart aches and she feels sick.
the idea of following logic's advice
would mean to ignore emotion's advice--
and to follow emotion's advice would
mean ignoring the advice of logic.
she looks back and forth pleadingly.
logic's cadaverous stare seems to tell
mind that only logic will solve this problem.
but emotion smiles softly, and her eyes say
that this way, though it may cause pain,
will be the most rewarding.
"neither choice is the right one,"
mind says finally,
with a little bit of logic and
a little bit of emotion.
"but i must choose now, for soon i will
not be able to make a choice at all.
"then whose advice will you follow?"
emotion questions carefully.
"will you open your heart to love?"
"or will you listen to me and protect
yourself from unnecessary pain?"
logic asks, eyebrow cocked again.
"perhaps you are correct, logic,
and i would do well to seal off my
heart and never let anybody in."
at these words, logic smirks knowingly,
but mind continues anyway.
"as for me, i think i would rather
feel true, burning love and have to
live with the scars than to be
lonely, bitter, angry, and old
and die without ever knowing
how to love myself and somebody else."
emotion does not gloat;
she simply nods softly,
encouraging mind to continue.
"after all, is life not a journey of risks?
how could we ever find peace and
contentment without enduring a
few bad decisions and learning from them?"
Mar 21, 2012
Mar 21, 2012 at 3:16 AM UTC
Inside your little mouth, a crucifix and a hula hoop plant great capers on the short hash marks on your glossy pinkish lips. Like a boardgame I can't win all by myself or a song without a tune, like the melody that chases strangers, or any words that precede goodbye.
The future is coming quickly now, serfs lining up to set fire to their nostrils, take the cue ball and whet their mass wicks for the apostles. Anecdotal anomaly that J-walk over crosswalks whose life then becomes an apostrophe. Morbid fixture on the substrate, creatures limitlessly nodding. A grape-sized egg fills its own unit and erupts to shape the outlet. Your verb-legs may appear demonstratively while you crowd surf, we should play the music louder while we practice all our dance work.
Sunday morning we wake up stiffly, my jowl hurts from mouthing softwords, the nights' adventurous perversity of thwarting dinosaurs with Cobra Starship. Even the back room closet manager gave us enough bleach to see our eyelids, frothy nictitating flitters drop freshly severed lashes that inspire wishes and sultry playlists.
Consecrated mien market of company meals. Underneath the cable cars the dye blunders sores in my eyes. Said I had to go, said I had to die. Said I had an itch but I couldn't get in front of all of this and unwind. Between all of the bees and buttered flies he made it hard for us all to survive, or service this state of our lives. I recall schoolyards where children paid to their dimes for us to see the spaces in the middle of lines, the circles on the circles we liked, stuck in bubble baths with crayon all on their hands. For the price of staying alive I deliver a bribe to sway eyes from the crimes of street dwelling inner-city sinners with stomach contents' upsetted by the rough ********* of heavy petting. She eats red licorice rope with with my fingers rubbing on her tongue. A pedagogy I use to teach, but pretty much no longer have a use.
Dec 6, 2014
Dec 6, 2014 at 12:28 AM UTC
fragile heart she lay ruptured in my lounge chair
grey faced i mumble a few parting words over her
before i lay out the finest bone china
all the makings of tea and biscuits
all the fixings of ******
with the sounds of the snapping of necks
sharp wet sound fresh on the air
she was here to mourn her lover-boy
gone astray
i was here to see the deed done
i was the grey faced hangman
come to get his pennys
in my song you can hear the rope snap
in my heart you can feel the fall from the gallows
and my hangman's noose swinging in breeze
has its own peculiar creaking sound that sounds
like love to me
i was the grey faced hangman
that knows no sympathy
come now you wicked ones
sing my song with me
grey faced i lead the procession
up the graveyard road
the overgrown and thick summer feel to it
claws at the senses
but i keep walking stiffly
with the sound
of snapping necks ringing in my ears
its my song
he had cried like a child as they carried him to the gallows
he had begged and wailed
but my hangman's noose had claimed him
cold comfort awaits
to the tomb they cried out with joy
to the tomb with the scoundrel
while she lay weeping her lost lover-boy
and while grey faced i cleansed the world
of scoundrels like him
while grey faced i silently mourned
for i had run out of rope
Oct 8, 2014
Oct 8, 2014 at 5:06 PM UTC
This poem was witten by my godfather Hilair Beloc 1870-1953
When I am living in the midlands
That are sodden and unkind
I light my lamp in the evening
My work is left behind
And the great hills of the South Country
Come back into my mind
The great hills of the South Country
They stand along the sea
And its there walking in the high woods
That I could wish to be
And the men that were boys when I was a boy
Walking along with me
The men that live in North England
I saw them for a day
Their hearts are set upon the waste fells
Their skies are fast and grey
From their castle walls a man may see
The mountains far away
The men that live in West England
They see the Severn strong
A rolling on rough water brown
Light aspen leaves along
The have the secret of the rocks
And the oldest kind of song
But the men that live in the South Country
Are the kindest and most wise
They get their laughter from the loud surf
And the faith in their happy eyes
Comes surely from our sister the spring
When over the sea she flies
The violets suddenly bloom at her feet
She blesses us with surprise
I never get between the pines
But I smell the Sussex air
Nor I never come on a belt of sand
But my home is there
And along the skyline of the Downs
So noble and so bare
A lost thing I could never find
Nor a broken thing mend
And I fear I shall be all alone
When I get towards the end
Who will be there to comfort me
Or who will be my friend
I will gather and carefully make my friends
Of the men of the Sussex Weald
They watch the stars from the silent folds
They stiffly plough the fields
By them and the God of the South Country
My poor soul shall be healed
If ever I become a rich man
Or if ever I grow to be old
I will build a house with a deep thatch
To shelter me from the cold
And there shall the Sussex songs be sung
And the story of Sussex told
I will hold my house in the high woods
Within a walk of the sea
And the men that were boys when I was a boy
Shall sit and drink with me
Mar 4, 2014
Mar 4, 2014 at 4:43 PM UTC
We run stiffly,
in tailored suits.
Shiny, but firm,
leather boots.
Never again?
to be free and loose with our feet?
like we did when we were kids?
We run as much as our capacity and tolerance allow..
Swiftly,
but straight.
with restraint .
As to not shake, at our dignity
May 6, 2018
May 6, 2018 at 8:03 AM UTC
you don't see life as a game of skill
playing hopscotch on the
white and black checkers
reaching out to infinity with their
comforting symmetry
and severe geometry
you say you're unobservant
but how can you look down
at your calloused mud-caked feet
and not see the
chessboard that is pressing
just as stiffly against your feet
as you reach down
and root yourself into it
burying your head in
the world of fantasy games
without winner or loser
i envy your blissful ignorance
your hope
however misplaced
do you simply refuse to see
how every pensive move
rook to E7
knight to C5
seems to me not an attack
on the mockingly vulnerable king
but an action of
vicious hostility towards
the most powerful piece on the board
so the queen enacts
her equal and opposite
reaction
to slash the entire cosmos to ribbons
an infinite fury of blind terror
that seeks blood
and scavenges the last flesh
clinging to bone.
Jun 16, 2015
Jun 16, 2015 at 10:58 PM UTC
Cords are becoming loose,
Affections floating the boat
To the island of Disappointment
Oxytocin no longer rushes
Staying stagnant
Until a trigger releases the manacles
Tied stiffly
Assumed there is a chance
But you waived the golden opportunity
Embarked on the journey
Of self-indulgence
Into your picked avenue
Casanova
Betrayer
Narcissist
Hypocritical Not I
But you showed me
I will decry
Jan 18, 2014
Jan 18, 2014 at 1:52 PM UTC
Once more, an embarrassing suit forced on him,
Picked out by the woman he'd loved
More than his mother, more than himself,
Sixty years and a few short months.
Strange how women have power to choose
Public attire for the men they love
As babes, and boys, and grooms, and now....
What is he now, lying so still in his new suit
So stiffly, awkwardly at peace?
A shoe-less traveler tucked into a box
Wearing a suit with an open back,
Hair finally combed the way
She'd pestered him to keep it.
"Oh!" she says,
"He left his wallet by the bed."
Dec 21, 2011
Dec 21, 2011 at 5:19 PM UTC
Tired clot of night
in the moon’s slight of hand
in the moon’s slight—
place to hang my hat....
Winter clouds come tumbling toward
the gray
Raked clean by barren trees
Yard waits with its leaves
tucked in corners by the wind
along hedges, stairways
mingling with renegade trash
Stuffed in layers like elderly keepsakes for—
no one cares...
My yard—a neglect of winter woods
but for towels waving stiffly on the line
and the squealing crackle of my footsteps—
Being there
Stairs sigh differently coming home
Blind search for a key hole
I could die searching!
the frustrations of the blind
the fumblings of “locked out!”
I—
know where to go....
Pretend
in my warm lonely
fling—mittens on the table
Survey the ***** dishes...and
close my eyes
Nov 21, 2016
Nov 21, 2016 at 10:31 PM UTC
It was the mouths fault
smacking together, flicking sticky
reality onto her collarbone.
Squishing perfectly whole beginnings into soggy afterthoughts
It could have left them alone, yet
silence is failure, and success was all it could talk about
Never reach for a door closing if you
can't handle the pain.
Pinched knuckles inflamed with blame,
stiffly folding in quiet fury
Nails are diva's
rallying strikes when ignored, scratching at patience
always needing attention
All active in the community: grabbing and giving, holding and pushing,
killing and mending, building and breaking.
Thing is, fingerprints only matter in crimes
It's losing pressure. Deflating, collapsing.
Rubbing is hopeless, exams are lazy, blinking is irritating. No focus
Look at her-
Can't.
Look her in the eyes-
Won't
No focus, no focus, ......no .....fo....
*{bare shoulders
fingers intertwined
soft...lips..
broken skateboards
midnight bench talk
sun burns
you're it
you're it
you're}*
Not.
Reading makes it worse, table charts said it would continue deteriorating. Always blurred, always squinting.
So much depending, so much waiting. so much, so much, ......so....muc
*{desire
promises
hope
backseat lounging
hours of music
October coffee
I'm ready
I'm ready
I'm}*
Not.
Never. Stop.
Don't quit, don't go easy.
Committed- following through, following these vines. These promises
Don't underestimate- prove it.
Every day, every day, every.single.day.
*but.
please.
I am,
hurting
I trust
and
I'm failed
I won't let you down
but.
Don't take me for granted
I am strong, I am strong, I am strong
but.
I have moments*
Mouth's lie, hand's reach, eye's fade, heart's ache.
Be more than the weakness
I am only human
but.
I want more
Jun 20, 2012
Jun 20, 2012 at 11:52 PM UTC
Inside your little mouth, a crucifix and a hula hoop plant great capers on the short hash marks on your glossy pinkish lips. Like a boardgame I can't win all by myself or a song without a tune, like the melody that chases strangers, or any words that precede goodbye.
The future is coming quickly now, serfs lining up to set fire to their nostrils, take the cue ball and whet their mass wicks for the apostles. Anecdotal anomaly that J-walk over crosswalks whose life then becomes an apostrophe. Morbid fixture on the substrate, creatures limitlessly nodding. A grape-sized egg fills its own unit and erupts to shape the outlet. Your verb-legs may appear demonstratively while you crowd surf, we should play the music louder while we practice all our dance work.
Sunday morning we wake up stiffly, my jowl hurts from mouthing softwords, the nights' adventurous perversity of thwarting dinosaurs with Cobra Starship. Even the back room closet manager gave us enough bleach to see our eyelids, frothy nictitating flitters drop freshly severed lashes that inspire wishes and sultry playlists.
Consecrated mien market of company meals. Underneath the cable cars the dye blunders sores in my eyes. Said I had to go, said I had to die. Said I had an itch but I couldn't get in front of all of this and unwind. Between all of the bees and buttered flies he made it hard for us all to survive, or service this state of our lives. I recall schoolyards where children paid to their dimes for us to see the spaces in the middle of lines, the circles on the circles we liked, stuck in bubble baths with crayon all on their hands. For the price of staying alive I deliver a bribe to sway eyes from the crimes of street dwelling inner-city sinners with stomach contents' upsetted by the rough ********* of heavy petting. She eats red licorice rope with
Dec 3, 2014
Dec 3, 2014 at 2:00 PM UTC
As zeptoseconds strike
their matchsticks against brick
walls, the pith of this waxy
body gleams.
Stiffly unsound in its granting,
vitally huffing its gangly ghost.
As heavy in sound as the weight
of the world unmoved, trying
the vault of heaven.
Scaring birds across the parables
of clouds, eyefuls are swept away
by closed lids.
Wedged between dreams to ooze honey
fuzzy from the bee's buzz.
Of freshly aired confessions
that pre-box their black, after
violently shaking the perfume from
flowers to place upon.
May 9, 2017
May 9, 2017 at 12:28 PM UTC
. WNTR, o
the earth
is how long
)in you?
crisply perhaps
stiffmuscling die erected
foal trees. Barely skinned
,
.
'
.
,
.
'
.
H
e A
V
y with
light dying
of shadows
)between
o
WNTR
i skip a penny
across
Bu
g e
yed june
(Ag
irl inn
ot enough
clothing
,cuz it was june o lord it was so hot i could feel my sweat across the
palm of each hand go slick like oil across the cool common pinch
of the fuzzed in ***** tinter grass.
i o and uncurling stiffly went like the shoots off of roses: topaz
i went red like the bitten ******
of girl tingling
unchastely
snowless hips
)without WNTR which
soft of hard
and hard of itch
itch
and itch
(in WNTR to please
remove me my health
and barely skin me
a foal tree
untwitching
Jan 26, 2014
Jan 26, 2014 at 6:31 AM UTC
She held him like a dangling participle,
as mothers sometimes do.
Disconnected from her sentence,
he was held on but stiffly confused.
He possesses a birthright to her hard-wiring,
or is it mandatory?
Woman-datory?
Umbilical, precedence will or won't inherit addictive behaviours.
Likability of some traits but not others, wishing he wasn't.
More like her, realisations go awry.
Pattern of outstretched arms dangling that boy.
His diaper is off, and jettison's stream, so caution.
Hiking along the forgotten path, brambling overgrowth blocked his continuing.
He cuts a new path.
She cuts the umbilical.
Jul 5, 2017
Jul 5, 2017 at 9:39 AM UTC
A woman called for you today said Max’s wife.
Oh said Max who was she?
She didn’t say Max’s wife replied.
Well dames that don’t leave names
Aren’t worth worrying over Max said
Lighting up a cigarette and sitting
In a chair by the window.
She seemed to know you Max’s wife stated stiffly
Seemed quite put out when I told her I was your wife.
Dames are always put out over something or other
Max said noticing his wife’s beauty spot
And how it moved as she spoke.
She was a brunette.
Ah a brunette huh?
Yes a brunette his wife said.
Well? She said after a minute’s pause.
New York’s full of brunettes.
This one came to the apartment and rang our bell
And stood at the door asking for Max.
There are plenty of men called Max in New York Honey he said
Comparing in his mind his wife and the brunette
He’d met at a bar the other night.
She seemed your type his wife said sulkily
The type that sways her hips and sticks out their ***
Yes I know the type Max said and sighed
They can never leave me alone.
I tell them I am happily married to the best dame in New York
But they seem not to hear Max said
Watching smoke rise upwards.
Best dame in New York huh? His wife said.
Sure you are he said taking in his wife’s plump ***
Hanging over the side of the chair like melted cheese.
She smiled and said must have been a mistake
On her part coming here and asking for Max.
Sure it was Max said dames sometimes make mistakes
They have no sense of direction.
His wife smiled at him sexily hoping.
Max smiled back and hoped for ********
Jul 18, 2013
Jul 18, 2013 at 3:04 PM UTC
what an unexpected response,
such a normally dreadful hour,
your improvisation was,
strangely pleasant.
i spoke of a companion,
you warmly obliged,
encore; quite unforeseen,
your psyche perplexed me.
we danced in diamond caves,
stiffly skimming,
each others surface,
faintly uttering counterfeit apologies.
the occasion moved along,
awkward glances and grazing,
turned into obscene materials,
something.
booked my ardor,
spontaneity, ambition,
&
those chromatic apertures.
the enigmatic attribute you carry
has
the speaker openly overtly enamored.
Oct 28, 2013
Oct 28, 2013 at 4:02 PM UTC
As with varnish red and glistening
Dripped his hair; his feet looked rigid;
Raised, he settled stiffly sideways:
You could see his hurts were spinal.
He had fallen from an engine,
And been dragged along the metals.
It was hopeless, and they knew it;
So they covered him, and left him.
As he lay, by fits half sentient,
Inarticulately moaning,
With his stockinged soles protruded
Stark and awkward from the blankets,
To his bed there came a woman,
Stood and looked and sighed a little,
And departed without speaking,
As himself a few hours after.
I was told it was his sweetheart.
They were on the eve of marriage.
She was quiet as a statue,
But her lip was grey and writhen.
1.4k
I walked Auntie's dog Dancer
across by the parade grounds
while Auntie did the washing
in the copper
the dog kept near me
as we walked
looking back at me
to make sure I hadn't got behind
we saw Auntie's friend Milly
with her 5 year old daughter Elsie
Dancer stopped and wagged its tail
and licked Milly's hand
and Elsie glared at me
hello Benny
Milly said
hello
I said
say hello to Benny Elsie
Milly said
Elsie stared at her mother
then at me
hello to Benny Elsie
she said stiffly
no you bad girl
say it properly
or I'll slap your backside
Milly said
hello Benny
Elsie said grumpily
hello Elsie
I said politely
as Auntie said I should
what's your auntie doing?
Milly said
she's doing the washing
I said
o I see
well do you want
to come to our place
and have a glass of milk
and a biscuit?
she said
Dancer too?
I said
yes Dancer too
she said
Elsie pulled a face
and we walked back
to Milly's place
the other side
of the parade ground
and we went up
some black metal stairs
and into her flat
Milly went off
to the kitchen
with Dancer following
to get him
a bowl of water
and us some
milk and biscuits
how are you?
I said to Elsie
she stared at me
like I was a bad smell
then said
hope you
don't stay long
I want to play
with my dolls
and don't want you
playing with them
boys don't play with dolls
I looked at her
trying to see
if there was a little bit
of a smile
but there wasn't
just her small lips
shut tight
and her eyes
looking at me
just come for milk
and biscuits
I said
Elsie put her hands
behind her back
and walked off
and sat on
a battered looking sofa
Milly brought us
milk and biscuits
and said to me
sit on the sofa
next to Elsie
and I'll go get
my cup of tea
off she went
and I sat next to Elsie
and she moved
along a bit
from me
and sipped her milk
and clutched her biscuits
in case Dancer came
and ate them
(which he would)
Milly came back
and sat down
in an old chair opposite
near the fireplace
with her cup of tea
well aren't
you two a pair
just like brother
and sister
Milly said smiling
don't want him
as a brother
Elsie said glumly
that's not nice Elsie
what's got into you
Milly said
Dancer came in
and sat opposite me
and wagged his tail
and looked at me
for a biscuit
I broke off a bit
and gave him some
and he took it gently
and it was gone
in the blink of an eye
then looked at Elsie
his head to one side
gazing at her
she broke off a bit
and gave it to me
to give to Dancer
and he took it gently
and then walked off
and sat down
by the fireplace
good dog
Elsie said
Milly talked
about her and Auntie
and about her husband
in Germany
and my uncle
in Korea
I sat a bit nearer
to Elsie as Milly talked
and Elsie looked at me
dark eyed and moody.
Feb 28, 2016
Feb 28, 2016 at 2:37 AM UTC
She...she responds to a soothing bath.
He...he prefers a different path.
They each disrobe from the day's affairs,
the formal restraints they each do share.
Their clothes lay scattered about the floor,
both stand naked at a tiled shore.
She eases herself into this sleeve,
a temperate knitted liquid weave.
He guides the stream from it’s perched spout,
the water finding the perfect route.
His face is wet, his eyes are shut tight.
She prefers ambient candle-light.
She gently sponges her supple skin.
He grips the soap...oh, so masculine.
She contemplates his rugged terrain,
he puts his hands out to feel the rain.
His caress yields a lathery foam,
her fingers begin a downward roam.
He too diverges, or so rather,
deviates from the task to lather.
Much attention in just one region,
cleaning can’t motivate this legion.
His thoughts of her, and her thoughts of him,
nothing stops what’s about to begin.
Tremors start from her head to her toes,
a smile blossoms as she plateaus.
He feels the pressure stiffly increase,
it brings to him an immense release.
She savours the last rippling quiver.
His knees weak from such an endeavour.
They catch their breath, and resume their chores,
have they been remiss in these detours?
Excuse the news they misuse shampoos,
they choose to amuse with such taboos.
One can’t ignore in the aftermath: he takes showers
... and she takes a bath.
Sep 17, 2019
Sep 17, 2019 at 10:34 AM UTC
dragonflies lie in state
amid faded bones of grass
which keen stiffly
to a summer requiem
carried through the low autumn light
on a rattling train of wind.
Oct 9, 2015
Oct 9, 2015 at 4:54 PM UTC
Upon awakening I almost never,
jump right out of bed, as I once did.
Slowly I rise to sit awhile on the edge
of my days desired intentions.
Stiffly I stand and tentatively step away
towards the bathroom to relieve my
most pressing bladder urges.
Those parts of me that do still work,
do now mostly hurt and that's for certain.
Like any other machine, my body's warranty
has long ago mostly expired.
When we old friends now gather,
rather than palavering about our kids,
our golf game, or our **** off Boss at work,
the collective commiserating talk always turns
to our individual deteriorating health matters.
How things once were and no longer are.
Our new hurts and concerns laid out in
vivid detail, what the latest tests revealed
and what the Doctor said or concluded.
These shared aging complaints you see,
seem almost limitless and all consuming.
We become a little like a hapless clergyman,
preaching wishful consoling rhetoric to his choir.
Not one of us knows, or has the answers
to any of life's BIG questions and actually
never did.
Misery you see, does indeed love company,
talking and sharing seems to help I guess,
being the only real tonic offered or taken,
no prescription required or need be written.
Jul 10, 2017
Jul 10, 2017 at 12:36 PM UTC