"streamline" poems
Sleeping on the edge of a cliff
facing Northwest
I moved the sun
Now I can wake to its golden bloon
bathe me in the fresh air of daylight
Caressing the nine minute old streamline
Pulling it closer
Like time does to me
And I become ash
May 14, 2015
May 14, 2015 at 1:35 PM UTC
Alone in spinning hyperspace
Nauseating corner
Men in yellow Hazmat suits
Not a trick or tare to warn her
Spinning up in semi speed
Down through the darkened air
Sick scarlet style leather gloves
Eyes rolling past her hair
Kind words through the ear
Crushing her last soft sense
Siren's song and burnt tongue tea
Hands shaking in suspense
Still alone, the world had stopped
They carried on fast in this demise
For they knew that
Pay checks come, what a surprise
Her with no tears, but dusty eyes
A streamline made for extra time
She watched it slow in semi speed
As love was blood that had been mine
Jul 12, 2014
Jul 12, 2014 at 7:37 PM UTC
was an aperitif to an aphorism,
an apothecary of aphrodisiacs,
an apiary of my ever-buzzing thoughts.
She slipped streamline as maraschinos
into a Manhattan, that strike of sugar
staining the most bitter days a color no chemical dispels.
She was an enigmatic row of beakers
shelved in an ancient pharmacy
at the base of the Janiculum.
Her shape was incense wisps, her
touch a song sung in 1940s noir,
her locking gaze acrophobia itself.
Alliteration ran thick through her blood,
she painted like Debussy composed.
No single organism in the universe could’ve imposed
anything on her – well, maybe.
Maybe she’s just a girl, the way that I’m a boy –
no air of denigration here.
She was intricate, but altogether simple. Empathetic-yet-
tangible, her character was incredible.
It was not the beauty of her face, the body
that held her mind and laughter,
not the dazed sting in my hand as it cupped
in hers – it was her autotelic way and her hope.
And now her imaginings hang,
framed in my house; little landscapes of the heart she left;
retreats that prove I’ve loved and been loved.
Jul 4, 2012
Jul 4, 2012 at 7:59 AM UTC
I want to be a safari woman
I will stand in a regal position with my elephant gun cocked,
Finger resting firmly on the trigger.
Will I dress as an Indian war leader?
Will I choose to look like a gentleman?
Or will my attire consist of camouflage paint and steel toed boots that walk with a purpose?
It may change daily, but I still possess the same desire inside-
To be one with this habitat so intriguing, so mysterious and concealed.
The rivers call my name.
As I paddle my silver bullet canoe into the abyssal waters ebbing and bending around my streamline vessel,
The water calms at my own will in a passive manner much like the coo of a dove
The trees know my presence
-Such a command I boast-
They know to bow at my arrival and whistle their harmonious flutters.
The babies cower at the sight of my polished machete.
The mothers stiffen when I equip it with a cool hand.
I am Simba.
I am ruler.
Africa,
Asia,
India,
I own this land as my own,
And I understand it is needy.
I care for it in sickness,
I check its fever regularly,
I mother every animal, every bush,
And in return they signal their respect.
As the day ends, the sun sings "good night" and the moon chimes in with a "good morning".
I watch as the fish jump from the waters to catch their dinner airborne,
And the bats chirp above me while my campfire crackles in response.
I watch the stars mirror themselves onto the water, yearning to be remembered as something great.
A day of accomplishment achieved.
I am a real woman,
I am a safari woman.
Jan 27, 2014
Jan 27, 2014 at 4:13 PM UTC
There is a more gruesome side of life
Or rather, there is life.
There is an up
And
There is a down.
Like the heaving chest of triathlete
Throbbing up and down
Like the pounding feet against the asphalt
Ticking off mile after mile
Like the steady streamline of a swimmers momentum
Breaking with each stroke
Just like life.
But so often you ride the crest of the wave
And when it begins to break beneath its own weight
Suddenly
You gasp for air.
Like a disappearing commodity
You struggle and contort and persevere
In raging blindness
And instead,
You swallow up a mouth full bitterness hate sorrow and self-pity
And spit it out when the calm returns
Only to find
That the water left when it was spewed away,
But, My Dear,
And it’s a “but” of much dismay,
But My Dear, I do regret
The bitterness, hate, sorrow, and self-pity
You failed to spew.
And now,
Now life is miserable to you.
But, I know how it goes.
We both do.
We both know that after a while
The bitterness and hate and sorrow and self-pity
Will fade from your mouth,
And your lips will curl into the slightest smile
But I fear, and you know all too well
Each time the wave breaks
You become more immune
You become more accustomed
And eventually it will just linger on,
And you and I know
Just how dangerous it is
Because you wont even recognize
That you are infected.
And the bitterness and hate and sorrow and self-pity
Will become the only taste you know
So be careful my dear
Those once sweet lips
Have become bittersweet
And I fear the hour
When all that’s left
Is bitterness.
Sep 21, 2012
Sep 21, 2012 at 12:18 PM UTC
epitomize
and optimize
imitate
and recalibrate
streamline
and recombine
the evolutionary "line"
fireflies
and theorize
circulate
and gyrate
guideline
and divine
the galaxy and the stars
moonrise
and clockwise
death rate
and procreate
sunshine
and lifeline
laws of nature are defined
maximize
and re-size
penetrate
and migrate
bloodline
and decline
the story of our world
allies
and despise
prostate
and dictate
enshrine
and benign
generations throughout time
endings
and beginnings
losing
and winnings
and everything
in between
is what we find
Mar 4, 2010
Mar 4, 2010 at 4:44 PM UTC
"Don't work with the Americans."
"Don't help the Americans."
This is what some of the Afghan interpreters are saying
After their poor treatment by the United States government
The Afghan Interpreters are angry
And they have a right to be
After most U.S. troops have left
Some are stuck hiding in Kabul
The Taliban tell the local people
That they are infidels
The Taliban **** many interpreters
The Afghan Interpreters struggle
Only about 30% get their visa
Some only have enough money
To make it to Greece
They live together
Barely any money
No hot water
Persecuted by the local police
One interpreter saved the life of an American soldier
The soldier helped him put together his visa packet
His visa took three years!!!
This interpreter had fought with them for 7 years
Had saved the lives of five American soldiers
Had been the personal interpreter for 12 U.S. senators
One interpreter
Did not leave on a flight approved by the U.S.
He had to leave on the next flight
Because the Taliban was threatening to **** him
Thankfully the U.S. soldier
Had a place for him to stay
And could give him some money
The soldier promised him
He would help him get resettlement benefits
Even though the U.S. government stated
He was not eligible to receive his benefits
Because he did not arrive on a U.S. approved flight
The Vice Interviewer
Learns from the lawyers working for the interpreters
That there is a massive bureaucracy
The Department of Defense doesn't consider them veterans
The soldier tried to get a bill introduced
That would streamline the process
And increases the number of visas
To help the Afghan Interpreters
No legislation regarding immigration was introduced
Because of bickering among Republican members
The program ran out in September of 2014
So now thousands will be stuck in Afghanistan
One interpreter that was interviewed
Was stuck in Afghanistan
Working as a taxi driver
Fearing for his life
Many of the Taliban prisoners
Have been released
Now he fears for his life
He doesn't know what will happen
6,000 applicants
For 280 available visas
As of July 2014
May God bless the Afghan interpreter
Trying to live his life in peace
May God bless the Afghan people
It seems things never change for them
Feb 26, 2015
Feb 26, 2015 at 12:51 PM UTC
Coagulation in the limbic system
The pineal gland commence emission
Insemination within the vision
Clouded by foreign dubbed derision
Fray the edges, fringe incision
Behold the schism, parabolic business
Subtitles for the learning minions
And it is booming like v twin pistons
Streamline slithering tunnel vision
Between the rock and hard resistance
Living the lie, we're deathly hidden
Not just fire but the end decision
Resulting is the pouring human
A sudden break elastic intrusion
The hour spawned upon confusion
Forever running through illusion
Jul 31, 2013
Jul 31, 2013 at 1:39 PM UTC
Pencil, chalk, charcoal and erasers
Walking hand in hand on a canvas
Stretched and condensed observations
Obstructions as concentration pins
A walk and talk in a dark museum
Stored birds, killed preys, stuffed game
Tall giraffe, the lion, lionized Victorian art
Quirky strokes of eccentric dashes mashes
Staring in glasses to capture emotions
Art resident mumble whilst erupting muscles
The ***** strikes to meet my ****** gaze
Slandered, pasted and matted with prejudice
Mouth flowing with filth like a sewage drain
Don’t we all come from holes, sticks and bones?
Don’t we all come in holes, sticks and bones?
A lost sight of an insight, a skin stratified
Misted and tainted with toned stinky ****
A pigmentation structured in perceptions
A plea to ****** stereotypical resolution
A streamline of vagaries, unsettle the gallery
Jan 14, 2016
Jan 14, 2016 at 5:38 PM UTC
Everyday I'm trying so hard to like my favorite things for reasons having nothing to do with you.
Today when I decided to drive on the meandering border of Walloon Lake,
Wildwood Harbor rd,
The canopied trees
flashing shadows of squirrels peaking through paws
reminded me of every motorcycle ride I accompanied you on.
Holding tight to your chiseled stomach,
hands cupping your belly button through your sweatshirt pockets,
you would maneuver your mobile machinery through every dip and dive,
garnishing curves with streamline, flawless breaking and acceleration.
I would lean into your spine,
imagining the path of your lower back as the map of our road ahead,
each bump and curvature a flawless representation of reality,
the living moment.
Something sensual existed about the way you and I forged a relationship on pavement,
riding the asphalt the same way your bending fingers rode my thighs.
And every time I choose to drive our road with my less than aerodynamic Marquis,
each stomach flip from the unsuspected slopes
transports me to lazy mornings-
Naked and alone in any way imaginable.
Purity and solitude,
truth, the end of it.
So I turned onto M-75
trying to forget every reason that I love Wildwood Harbor for you,
and only remember the reasons I love it for me,
but couldn't find any worthy of space.
You made everything so memorable.
May 28, 2015
May 28, 2015 at 4:37 PM UTC
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Relate Articles:
Nov 5, 2015
Nov 5, 2015 at 7:25 AM UTC
Can you see it like I can,
a boasting child,
a boating child,
an accident
she drowned.
Down,
the bubbles escape,
race like red toy cars
as blood blossoms out ears,
and pressure builds,
and fingers reach upwards
pop
where small fingers are glassed with soapy water
and white and blue frosting.
scribbled over red lettering, "Happy Birthday Meredith."
And cards were presented with pasts and futures,
torn open like a shark attack
and ripping skin,
flapping back like dog ears, as he sticks his head out the window
and howls at the neighbors
for their loud music ways.
Silent crashing waves,
that boom death metal
and ride tidal curls
that bounce off her head.
As she writhes,
a red ribbon in her hair.
Hair of spun gold
like the sun
smothered by the moon.
Darkness eclipses.
And the last of the air is pushed
through her lungs
for light has drifted away,
torn like a suckling pig from its ****
and she is lost.
As her body floats away, pulled down.
Unclasped, she roams free.
groans, "Meeeee. Find mee...eeeee."
And eels slither from her jaw,
agape and brackish blue,
like pirate ship wine
sunken *** and treasure troves,
and streamline red.
Adding to a salty complexity
of tarnished speckled metal
like speckled eggs.
And brown eyes
bore out by hermit *****
that broke their shells after a gluttonous feast.
Unbuttoning her dress
a flower paisley sort of thing,
a useless scrap of sodden material,
for nothing matters,
as she thinks nothing can hold on to her
now and before.
She is aware,
but not really there, because you would miss her
like you did when she stood in the hall,
your eyes passed over,
and so stayed her silent screams.
So she left our world,
or rather hovered and watched
as much as she could without eyes.
She watched you,
and felt nothing over your cries
because she feels nothing
Now.
Apr 17, 2013
Apr 17, 2013 at 12:25 AM UTC
What is a lover, brother?
Other mothers
have tried to define the word
in the most absurd
form.
Reform —
torn
between AK-47 —
streamline railroads point to heaven
in a back alley,
where crossed fingers
pray for lucky number seven.
Chasing paper trails
like Miles Davis
works through manifest scales,
struggling to find
means to define:
what is yours is not mine.
Jazz squeezed a smoke
between sets,
through murmurs of bathroom ***
to the tune of
a show headlined by
the movement,
a movement headlined by
the show.
Marvin to Miles,
Martin to Malcolm,
opposites attract —
that’s how I found them.
Jan 5, 2012
Jan 5, 2012 at 7:55 PM UTC
Crush a drop from a fractured petal,
****** the shimmering tint from delicate peaks,
Vivid gems surround acid green nettles,
From a moon gaze as days twirl into weeks.
Procure an innocent child's shadow,
Seize a diamond- dropped from above,
Glide from falls in a streamline flow,
Catch a kiss from a one true love.
Unite the shades of a rainbow,
Weave the sparks from a fire into stars,
Satisfy a desire to know,
Unlock the soul from rusted bars.
Ask an angel to tune a sweet melody,
Scatter blossom seeds in one pure breath,
Enter a palace of wonders, miles from anybody,
Never will one part until death.
Squeeze out tears to carve a river,
Stalk a tiger for an emerald eye,
Leave a flutterby on a leaf to quiver,
Clutch a newborn's first smile- forbid them to cry.
Poise a tongue for a taste of snow,
The scent of a cracked leather story,
Unique secrets that only one knows,
Ink splatters over pages of glory.
Caress the satin surface of a lake,
Treasure the keys to one's heart,
Seize the moments until dawn break,
Keep Saturn's rings from breaking apart.
Whistle a falsetto refrain,
Catch a feather, as soft as a whisper,
Liquid gold from the beach's grain,
Could this nightingale's lullaby be crisper?
Numerous deeds to complete,
Seek no pain nor strife,
Carpe diem, do not delete,
For these are the reasons of life...
Dec 14, 2013
Dec 14, 2013 at 11:21 AM UTC
Was an aperitif to an aphorism,
An architect of aphrodisia,
An apiary of my ever-buzzing thought.
She slipped into me streamline: Maraschinos
Into a Manhattan. Oh strike of sugar,
Stain the bitterest days a red no chemical dispels.
She was a cryptic gallipot
Shelved in an apothecary
At the Caelian's base.
Her shape was incense wisps, her touch
A song sung in 1940s noir, her locking gaze
Eros himself.
Alliteration ran thick through the blood.
The paintings? Like Debussy composed.
Nothing in the universe could’ve imposed
Anything on her!— Quit it, you idiot...
The admiration, the visions that adorn her:
Subjectively supernatural—
Maybe she’s just a girl, the way that you're a boy—
No air of denigration.
She was intricate, but altogether simple.
I encountered her in stifled confessions.
It was not the beauty of her face, the body
That held her mind and laughter, not the dazed sting
In my hand as it cupped in hers—
It was her autotelism and her hope.
And now her imaginings hang,
Framed in my house; little landscapes of the heart she left;
Retreats that prove I’ve loved and been loved.
Jul 1, 2014
Jul 1, 2014 at 1:41 PM UTC
A battle rife with turns and twists
The soldier's shout is but a sigh
Petrified yet throwing fists
Silence, the dark passenger and I
Misery, His faithful ally
Mercy, a stranger to His hold
But lion fears not the foe's eye
For I am severed if I fold
And though the war is here to stay
I am to turn it in my favor
Sink my teeth into the sorry prey
Permanent victory's sweet flavor
So when the mighty streamline has stopped flowing
When all my trouble is far gone
I will smile, just to myself, knowing
I lived. I fought. I won.
Nov 29, 2014
Nov 29, 2014 at 2:36 PM UTC
_you are_
the nourishment to all you see
the streamline to D i v i n i t y
a miracle of endless growth
_kaleidoscopic-Cosmic hope_
the stars are sifting
through your
thoughts
the
moon
pulls you
toward all
you’ve sought
in you there hums a
Cosmic Truth — with notes
your Soul-Spark always knew
which every moment dances to
_your multidimensional debut_
Jan 31, 2018
Jan 31, 2018 at 9:34 PM UTC
Thick black clouds, stormy winds, heavy rains, torrential downpour,
everything is over
It’s time now to move out .
Step by step, one step at a time
Every step directed towards destination.
Let it run
Let it flow
Let it go along with the flow.
When gushes of water come in between the legs,
let the water run,
let it flow so as to reach it's marked destination.
Never allow the water to remain contained in one place
Never stop the flow, in fact let the rainwater flow on it's own
Let it go away on it's own along with the flow.
Life continues, which means that time does not stop,
since time and tide waits for none.
Try to be a part of the present moment in time
Move ahead, keeping in mind the present moment in time.
The future remains uncertain
At some point of time in the present the future will get ascertained.
The uncertainty with regards to future keeps every thought going on in the mind with regards to the present and future on hold.
Still the present moment in time has always been important
The present moment in time will decide all the responsibilities that need to be handled with caution and care in the present and also in future.
Every effort in present is made to gain excellence
An attempt is always made in the present to ascertain the future as much as possible
The future still remains uncertain
Still in the present moment an individual moves ahead expecting to make more efforts in the time that is yet to come,
all this to gain the desired level of excellence.
Keep moving along with the flow
Never stop the train of thought
Let the thoughts going on in the mind,
keep coming and going on their own.
Streamline them.
One by one each and every thought will get it's priority position
Followed by streamlining of thoughts will be planning and line of action that needs to be taken.
Focus will always matter the most when it comes to moving ahead along with the flow towards the new destination
Till reaching upon the new destination keep going along with the flow.
Nov 12, 2015
Nov 12, 2015 at 5:57 AM UTC
Pressed perfect leaflet papers
printed in black-and-white.
Squares of thin tree bark
scattered on the table.
Your warm, rough hands
fitted in tight gloves.
Your wide smile
teeth like pearls all
clustered nicely and
I can't help but swell
a bit inside
admiring
the twist of your lips
and the flicks of your eyes
with a nose that changes
shape in the light.
But it's not your face
that intrigues but
the ***** in between
the space of skull
called a brain
which you use, delightfully so
expansive and ever expanding.
You have an eager fondness
for learning and retaining information
and it arouses me.
Like the frailty
of those printed papers
my tenderness
for you
envelopes, caressing
your knowledge like
a streamline submarine
diving through dark waters
slippery and unafraid
to get wet.
Jan 24, 2017
Jan 24, 2017 at 1:10 AM UTC
Like laminar flow of a river
Streamline of commitment
To be your darling
I have engraved your name in my heart
The garden of flowers I build
Shall it be us
For good
Like a rock climbing pro
Shall avoid cracks
Because I love you
I shall be as sober as a judge
When creating memories together
I have enormous love for you
Do not know where to begin
It has no end
No, it can not erupt anywhere else
As straight as an arrow
Shall never look else where
Its a language built for us
Nov 4, 2024
Nov 4, 2024 at 5:43 AM UTC
Once a stubborn streamline
through solid eyes of a stone heart
now beaming to the cracked heart of glittering glit
broken china
torrents pump out of unadjusted dreams
once clear and aglow
once for a reason battling
now battered war veterans, each
oh my shattered existence!
oh my evaporated blood!
Those lips of sincerity
which blessed soul is to kiss
and rob the truth away from?
O my wretched flesh! Speak
And tell of the fractured bones
countless nights of moon watching
and sun hugging awaiting his scent
that never arrived.
Burnt burnt throat of mine
and rapturous moments of his.
Aye God! Send justice.
Jul 17, 2018
Jul 17, 2018 at 5:51 PM UTC
Slow pace quickened to keep balance straight
hum of motors masked by the ominous green light
Feel knees buckle slightly under new duress
as the belts grab at shoes and hold on tight
Look ahead along this predetermined path
for book-bags and luggage that block your flight
Do you take steps to make the blur of slow moving sidewalks
appear to be a neon lit sprint in the streamline?
Trudging patiently towards the finish
where yellow paint on the ground mark the line
Or do you stand to the side and let the others pass
as you enjoy the sights and sounds of your effortless ride?
Jan 9, 2012
Jan 9, 2012 at 12:48 AM UTC
Beyond is a bleak, grey skyline
I barely recognize my vignette
Yet here I am, walking that thin white line
As if I had not met him yet
I barely recognize my vignette
Black swans move like serpentines
As if I had not met him yet
Slow, calculated, but ready to strike at cloud nine
Black swans move like serpentine
He still whispers in my ear, I just cannot forget
Slow, calculated, but ready to strike me at cloud nine
“Pulvis et umbra sumus,” was his epithet
He still whispers in my ear, I just cannot forget
Their banshee bugle wails overcome; I am confined
“Pulvis et umbra sumus,” was his epithet
Like smashed cherries, their eyes were as ****** as port wine
Their banshee bugle wails overcome; I am confined
He wanted to mold to be a useful asset
Like smashed cherries, their eyes were as ****** as port wine
I gladly follow those threats
He wanted to mold me to be a useful asset
What called them on was my mental upset
I gladly follow those threats
There is nothing to regret
What called them on was my mental upset
It is foolish to once think I could outshine
There is nothing to regret
All I have ahead is a relentless battle line
It is foolish to once think I could outshine
I am merely a pathetic statuette
All I have ahead is a relentless battle line
Soon they all will forget
I am merely a pathetic statuette
Onyx swans call me to the brackish streamline
Soon they all will forget
It is there I snipped that innocent white line
Onyx swans call me to the brackish streamline
He influences my mindset
It is there I snipped that innocent white line
Time becomes frigid as I sink into that brine outlet
He influences my mindset
My body is limp in the alkaline
Time becomes frigid as I sink into that brine outlet
It is there I found no lifeline
My body is limp in the alkaline
The onyx swans fly in a v-line sextet
It is there I found no lifeline
He brought me to the finish with no reset
Beyond was a bleak, grey skyline
Yet there I was, walking that thin white line.
Sep 10, 2020
Sep 10, 2020 at 11:06 PM UTC
Paddling through images on my phone--
they are the only life boat in sight
a little floating canoe in the middle of a mighty ocean.
The tide is turning, trying to advert some ugly storm that's rising up;
debris fills the whirl pool as it slowly tempts to drag my anchor in.
Smudges appear on the glowing screen of my preoccupation,
as the teary drops blotch out the imagery I cling onto.
Only gaining more wind as it descends to sink this dinky ship.
Cascades of waves streamline their way through my finger tips,
settling into the motion, the shambles of the scooter rip away from me
Trembling as the mind wanders from surface to drowning.
Face down in a public space,
without any buoy to hold onto
These rampant waves will water-board the mind.
The campaign to survive, sunk with final life boat
As the perfect storm was able,
to fatally take my breath away.
Mar 25, 2015
Mar 25, 2015 at 4:53 AM UTC
in the desert, she waits
for what? no one knows
she has sand in her long brown hair
which sparkles on the setting sun’s rays
she wears a necklace of large white shells
and long flowing green robes
over her naked body
opening to show
two pale hairless legs
in the desert she paints
scenes from her brain
full of color and glitter
pouring a bit from the edges
of every person she has ever encountered
with pointed ears and gossamer wings
she wears a crown of sea ****
and ***** sleep at her feet
she listens, alone, as the ocean speaks
its vibrant blue waves a lullaby so sweet
her eyes are two clear crystals
reflecting the light
as sea gulls caw and mosquitoes buzz
she buries her toes in cold sand
and leans against the craggy worn rock
painting, silently, crying salt water tears
as her thin paper wings
lie in a tattered heap
ripped at the shoreline
getting ****** in by the ocean’s strong pull
disappearing into the froth of waves
while the sun’s bald head slips
into streamline
Apr 21, 2016
Apr 21, 2016 at 6:01 PM UTC