"striated" poems
#prairiegrass dreams
*Across the Sandhills
wading into the untamed Niobrara
barebacked.. brown, and beautiful
Within her Misty Mountain dreams
she is heading my way.
Ah, sweet lord God almighty,
look at her go..
Westbound, she is best-found
right there.. on the edge
of these dreams of my own
Oh my lord..
look at that beautiful horsedream go
Will I be able to survive her..
I don't know
. . .
You feel him.. don't you, sweet one..
my beautiful Snickers
on that Gordon, Nebraska hill--
his home, his birthplace..
Until his beautiful spirit
one day.. finally found me
Striated and stoic
he is waiting for you..
To bring, you
the rest of the way home.
North now, into Dakota
as you bleed
with the Lakhóta
on a trail, split
between Pine Ridge..
and Wounded Knee.
Feel your war-torn Spirit
melt in to them
(you will not fall)
As you ride this black-maned dream
just a bit further North..
towards a man, named Paul
Within my own, I can feel you both
Ah hell, babe..
I can feel you all*
#
Sep 30, 2021
Sep 30, 2021 at 9:09 PM UTC
*song shadows
soul and mirrors
will we ever see clearer
sweet life
oh the fragrance
the righteous mind
un-sees the danger
so many soldiers
so many women
are all of our fathers
really little children
move swiftly
into the windy recesses
the mind regresses
all the time
damp and wet
the owl cries
so long tomorrow
farewell goodbye
dunk your head
in liquid splendor
i am tender as the snow
pouring down from heaven’s fiefdom
morning's hunger is dissipated
by moonlight kisses and salty lovers
salves of calendula upon our skin
swim in juicy wonder
listen and dance with thunder
the fireflies swim through burning skies
making arcs and triumphant cries
what a silly blunder
all the noise and all the cover
hiding your heart in violet garments
streams of satin in your slumber
stroke the liberated arrow
weave the gardenia’s shadow
streams of consciousness and beauty
looking into eyes of human strategy
human shadows
start to suffocate us
instruct the timber
plundered
strumming humid arias
looms of butter start to melt
svelte and spelt
slews of wealth
heaven's belt is loosely tied
striated like the mind
grinding hind legs
selves neglect entry fees
sleeves of grass
embrace strands of ice
with a lover or two
on the side*
Apr 30, 2017
Apr 30, 2017 at 9:55 AM UTC
On good nights, I like to send messages to space, outer
or deeper though direction and dimension are lost on me.
I get answers but no translations, no key or stone to this alien
and spacy thought. What? You say you bet you could
rephrase space in a language even I could understand? After all
you passed algebra, walked around school a big shot, finding X
or its equals. I should have paid attention, but mine was fixed
on Linda, Lucinda, Corinna, Corinna where you been so long?
I might have learned the meaning of words from long forgotten
gods, frustrated issuing commandments, ok in their day, but
ignored now, passé. I was absent for those god talks, apocalypse-isms,
missed out on saints with half-moon halos and beatific visions.
I heard only rumors of women, words like smitten, enchanted,
obsessed with love like striated bark on trees, canals on Mars,
rain and that sound that creeps under sod. And so I wait
for an unambiguous, intelligible answer from anyone in space.
Jul 5, 2011
Jul 5, 2011 at 10:22 PM UTC
that Scythe has rent my heart, i'm penetrated
the blade's removed yet its cold steel remains
our spirit's gone, our breaths remain abated
upon us both the crime's been perpetrated
and though the blade is marked with just his stains
that Scythe has rent my heart, i'm penetrated
his essence from my own's been dislocated
my life remains with only his remains
our spirit's gone, our breaths remain abated
my soul's been scraped, upon my thoughts' been grated
his blood powdered, mixed with my tears, i'm stained
that Scythe has rent my heart, i'm penetrated
and as grief's torments whip my heart striated
all joy swirls round and round a filthy drain
our spirit's gone, our breaths remain abated
i frame my memories,they're venerated
as cries repeat in minor key refrains
that Scythe has rent my heart, i'm penetrated
our spirit's gone, our breaths remain abated
(C)2010, Christos Rigakos
Apr 4, 2012
Apr 4, 2012 at 3:06 PM UTC
Eyeballs return their messages
After the dial tone
You find yourself silent
What a milestone
At twenty six
You are still a ******
Useless burdens
Learn to surf
It combines love with gravity
Strategies and striated lines
Fingers align
We incline our spines
And elevate our torsos
Mind the gap
A fabricated rip in time and space
Figuratively awake
We speak from our hearts
Your long time girlfriend
Is now a victim of indecision
Start talking or you’ll lose her
More than ever she needs your strength
Your friendship, your lips and your touch
Control the rush
And give time a chance to unwind
Mindless fingers linger on her legs
Can we beg for more
Or will we get usurped by the corridors
Cartons of milk left in defiance
Send me your elegant negligee
I neglected to beg your pardon
You neglected to say you were sorry
Phone calls reach dial tones
And we remove the stones from our sundials
Calendars are timeless timelines
Wild like waves
We break free of enslaved isotopes
Compose songs and poems
And attempt to drink atomic gold
From fountains of power
Houses are all just boxes
That we store our souls in
Gardens are living visions
Virtues are numberless
Hundreds of spirits join hands
In parks and paintings
We partake in equations of healing
Save me from my longing
For loving too much is a curse
And purses fall like hexes
Placing dents in your dresses
We undress our fences
And select our neighbors
To dance with
Mar 13, 2019
Mar 13, 2019 at 3:25 PM UTC
So that eternal garnishes be exposed
not by being particularly good or worthy
but by sole grace of the radish itself
Carved into petite rose
striated to whimsical
red and white allure
not distant from place pulled
should leaves be present and immaculate
O what crunchy goodness it is
Long time hath happy sulfured
soothing comfort to throat
What wise crisp snap to it
Charmed these root veggies
and in that window box was born amorous
Apr 19, 2016
Apr 19, 2016 at 1:29 AM UTC
ººº
*Beware lest anyone cheat you through philosophy and empty deceit,
according to the tradition of men, according to the basic principles of the world,
and not according to Christ.*
Colossians 2:4-8 (NKJV)
His Nietzschean trip moved from Comic toward Tragic:
Deleuze’s delusions flew out the fenêtre
Airborne and ****** on philosphy’s magic
(the nihilist suicide’s raison d’être…)
Propelled from the window, transcending the Ontic,
his organless body in textual flight,
a schiz-flow beyond on a voyage turned frantic.
His thought – a nomadic adornment for speed,
multiplicitly viewing a thousand plateaux
was a force for unhinging the doorways of light
and a plea for postmodern decoding indeed.
His frame soon encountered pure striated space
in the form of the pavement caressing his face.
He joins other smokers of Gallic tabac,
other esotericians of cognitive frenzy
(those mullahs of madness, those sultans of Whack…)
Sorely missed by his victims, disciples and friends
he is mourned, misinterpreted, copied, dismissed
– but for semioticians he heads up the list.
Another brave Frenchman, some guy named Debord
a bespectacled Marxist (who missed all the marks)
made the mediums’ message a radical bore
dialectically fading the lights into darks.
Indirectly disrupting pop-culture with Punk
and other anarchic phenomena-junk,
he too chose to leave with a nihilist bang –
while we whimper and suffer down here with the gang.
The old situationist’s last situation:
an agit-prop funeral short on elation…
So to French de-constructor-philosopher-ravers
and all who rejoice while society wavers
I offer these lines, like a quick coup-de-grace
and be warned – they’re now viewing the Good Lord en face.
Sep 11, 2015
Sep 11, 2015 at 10:16 PM UTC
I'm helpless to a man with light in his eyes
And a hop to his step with a glimmering smile
Who is good with his words but better with his skin
Making contact as letters fall off his lips
Before I've seen them passing in the street
But never being drawn to me
In hush posh libraries and little coffee shops
Yet someone so bright usually doesn't notice something so lost
Because in reality, I'm an awkward little lady
Full of doubt, depth, and charcoaled sadly shady
I don't know much on how to touch, not well
Someone to teach me how each letter fell
But I won't say a word, not even one
The longing in my eyes should be enough
Pushing the brims of my lonely self to it's extent
Aside everyone as they twirl and mix and vent
Yearning for some light,
I know for certain so,
If I met a man like that,
Surely I would go.
Oct 9, 2013
Oct 9, 2013 at 3:20 PM UTC
I walked down for my daily meal,
probably spinach salad
and yesterdays pork in a soup
and flesh on the brain stopped me
dead in my pace
when I saw this striated sack of bones
a greyhound, kept thin as ribs
by the genes she was bred to express
collapsed on the end of chain, tail-tucked
dead weight where once was thoroughbred speed
built for speed, life on the fast-track
chasing a mechanical sheep
a lure she’ll never catch
kept hungry
for the good chance she’d run faster
winning some beer-belly’s bets
but at least she was given a wage—
a crate, and all the food she’d need
to stay thin. when genes turned her
speed to the slip and sag of age
one ******* was human enough
instead of a quick slug pulling out her brain
through a new hole and pinning it to the dirt
behind the trailers, Beer-bellied *******
let her retire to an old-dog’s crate
plastic walls and one gate
Isn’t she beautiful??
I raise my gaze from the hound’s caramel eye
and find the thing clutching the chain,
grinning like hooks pulling cheeks
far too wide, with too much skin on her thighs,
a squat pile of woman bred on fatty beef and pecan pies
We rescued her, she’s our mascot!
and she hands me a flyer:
EDUCATION INTERNSHIPS
PUT YOUR LIFE ON THE FAST-TRACK!!
Dec 13, 2011
Dec 13, 2011 at 6:41 AM UTC
Hark the Kings of twilight sing
In strong discordant notes so clear
Not strangely, in some harmony,
When tenor tones caress the ear.
Discordant with a resonance
Both deep and bellicose with bass,
A vibrant tremor through the air
Creates sensation’s crest of grace.
And then a silent pause is felt
As soft violas fill the void
And build to carve a melody
Of pulsing rhythm so employed.
A cascade of exotic sound,
A riot fills the senses loud
And smiles of audience grow wide
As wonderment entrances crowd.
With golden light of setting sun
To purple-grey striated sky,
A swelling chorus lifts the song’s
Magnificence to place on high.
A brace of trumpets catch the light
As silver beauty fills the air,
The roll of tymphoni impacts
As plucked mass violin declare…
The cadence hangs in holy light
A breathless expectation nigh,
A soaring riff of brass and string
Brings grand finale to the sky….
A raging beauty fills the soul
The audience as one arise
To drown the theatre with applause
So raucous wild as to surprise!
The orchestra now take the bow
The proud conductor so defers...
For streams of sweat run down his back,
An ice cold beer he now deserves.
Marshalg
At the Auckland Symphonia
4 August 2012
Aug 3, 2012
Aug 3, 2012 at 3:30 PM UTC
Striated thoughts broken
by a life in dappled light
Shadows cool the flame
flickering wildly in exhalation
Stars mimic streetlights
in memories long left behind
Each speck a lifetime
and life seems eternal
Traversing shadows reluctantly
cloaking truth in darkness
A trail of flesh glitters
a path dragged on bended knee
marked by pieces of me I
just couldn't hold onto
Light debrides road-rash
unapologetically
Each transferred piece that replaced
a speck of who i was
slowly leaves a void in the shape
of the very damage the shadows blind
Can you see the truth
The light shines on the perfect pieces
for the world to ogle
as shadows mask the tattered flesh
of a life that tastes like
the muddy shoe that bludgeoned
it unrecognizable
Who are we if not who we were
Who can bear the truth
and still pretend to love the unloveable
Who can see what I cannot show
as fear has stunted joy
in the dappled light
that breaks each thought to pieces
Nov 7, 2017
Nov 7, 2017 at 9:40 AM UTC
My legs are sagging
loose against his table
sitting in the living-room,
The clock chimes in five times
we complain in echoes
that reverberate throughout the old house
the striated oak stretches against
the wind as the clock stops
its banter.
The kitchen light creeps across the entryway
placing itself on the window
and I see a ghost,
flotsam carried on waves of light
and neuroplasticity of course
that is taken in
this sober-minded leap
a way away from this haunting.
My attention is caught
by and by I have been
out of mind he has found me.
Feb 19, 2013
Feb 19, 2013 at 12:33 AM UTC
Let us share
an incantation of the old world
Let us unfurl words like a string of pearls
torn from ocean deep - I battled Krakens
to bring you these words – let me wreathe
the drowning seed of ancient demons
in a modern tale of high rise jewellery
You can wear me at your leisure
for I am a book of poetry - open in your hands
caress my pages - I offer ages of wisdom in sand
strung sorrowful about a stony neck
can you see the mystery of that cloud
striated by the mountains tip carved
deep into the sky in defiance of the wind
unbowed by time yet so vulnerable
to lion and tiger, to the hermit and his tearful rain
did you know that every beach was once a mountain?
so every ocean floor kissed the sky in its youth
let us built these fragments into clamshells
string them on pearlescent pages turned
by curious eyes and ponder how time
makes a mystery or a monster of us all
Let us share
this incantation of the old world
for in words
we can live forever
Nov 21, 2017
Nov 21, 2017 at 10:05 PM UTC
Hello shiny loop of post-shower Rainbow,
you of mosaic-powered striated halo,
and so sages tell, a sign of faith.
You chaste secreter of much potted gold,
crescented magic of arc-perfection
your brilliant mixtures of shaded hues
break raindrops into states
of optic illusion which act as temptation.
Oh consummate sweep of bow-creation,
who can know when and what
day you appear, colourfully naked.
Favour no seekers, oh Rainbow whom
by digging for myth will
selfishly follow roads right to your end.
Make therefore no friends
of illicit searchers for treasure, those
who see you as meant lure
for retrousséd wealth-embellishment.
Rainbow you cover your real blessings
in pseudo-gilt with which
ingratiates have become obsessed.
Sedate then all lucre-lust with a curved
root at each end of your
rain-augmented foot to waylay theft.
Divert and deflect looters with luminous
know-how and curl into
spacial deception before desecration.
Bedazzle all lechers by preventing entry
to any pretentious view
of your sensitive and tremulous end.
You as writhe of kaleidoscope can keep
away crooked schemers
by retaining your varisome irridescence.
Alive with mysterious rays
behave like a ghost loathing the sun, be
as invisible, turn pale, fade,
and disappear to invalidate trespass.
Rainbow hide what is always your own
from blind passers by with
greedy spade-eyes, stay unmolested.
Stretch out your tracery uncontrolled,
a beauteous vision who keeps
her vaulted prism a glorious whole.
Feb 23, 2017
Feb 23, 2017 at 7:51 AM UTC
The earth reveals
Layers of rock
From ages past
Clues of life exposed
Frozen in time
Secrets exclusive for inquisitive
And learned minds.
To others, just rock,
Striated, fused, multi-colored.
Springtime, snow melts,
The months of frozen feelings
Thaw and reveal a blanket
Of hidden emotions nurtured
By fallen leaves.
Layered like rock, they cuddle
In their dampness
As the sun brings life to the months
Of quiet glacial discovery.
The law is a puzzle of the seasons
Mysterious in its ambiguous simplicity
Present, at hand, but always out of grasp
Layered meanings twist the mind
History adds the pressure of precedence
A crutch for lazy minds
Struggle to reassess and delve deeper
Into meanings untapped
A mine waiting to share its ore
A wrapping of leaves concealing
Life unawares, undiscovered.
Time. Energy. Passion.
No secret.
The key to discovery is simple,
Innocent in the palm of your hand
One turn, and a world is unlocked.
Jul 2, 2014
Jul 2, 2014 at 10:23 AM UTC
i have known the taste of violet; it has
stuck in my molars long after i’ve finished
it has been my wine-stained secret
i have known
the striated forearm and clenched fist
the mirror in the ventricles
and the hardiness of them
the measured beat
beat
beat
i have known the scrapes that even cardboard leaves
with a slip of the hand on its way out
i have known better the scars that mouths leave by association
on the shin, on the skin, on the cortex
have i known anything but
violet
i wonder
Feb 23, 2015
Feb 23, 2015 at 10:33 PM UTC
Saturated with midnight's palette
I cloak myself in darkness
Moonlight tells the tale of too many dawns spent wishing for twilight
Every time I close my eyes I can still see your colors
Bourbon honey, the golden burst of your striated iris
Greek god glow, soft skin that reached for mine
Autumn's Burning Bush, our heated mouths, braided gums, eager tongues
Winter is tolerated
Varied other states of "now", avoided
This is the suspension of my grief
You lose a lover due to your choice or theirs
Possibility continues to grow between you
(one never knows until one does)
You lose a heart beat to silence
Hope only continues on for those left behind
(if the broken can piece back together)
That once promising soil now home to a bare spot in my garden
I still water your first phase flower
Knowing that I must preserve sufficiently
Color belongs with you
Shadows, with me
Aug 17, 2015
Aug 17, 2015 at 2:55 PM UTC
*Striated red brick home with a
red tip hedgerow
Songs from the hardwoods
Twinkling grass from burgeoning
dawn , a crown of stippled gray and white
pillows billowing in the morning sun
Bluebirds atop the black farm bell
Stained glass tree trunks and branches against blue
windows , misty clouds in shady dales
Noonday news of Muscogee tales , of thick , brown
rivers , painted turtles , shellcracker , wooden bridges ,
scenic rails , cottonmouth and cottontail , whitetails
and cottondales*...
Feb 17, 2017
Feb 17, 2017 at 10:20 AM UTC
Ukiyo-e
Thin curls coaxed from the grain
released from all claim by the dogged
rooting of the spoon gouge
bone white ribbon
easing itself to the fragrant floor
spiral cherry rivulet lost in the churn
at the feet of the carver, the first
thing I remember. A churlish man
as I recall, the burl of his squint
screening detail and smoke
from his cigarette, blue double
helix rising in mirror image
a lowering ceiling steeping
his head in stormy weather
gimlet eye weighing heavy seas
a tempest lipping
the canted rim of a petal thin
tea cup, striated wave
reaching for the heavens
top lopped clean by sheering wind
the fluter and the veiner alive and biting
in the hands of the carver who cuts me free
at last, rendered in stark relief at
the boiling crest of the surf break.
Nov 15, 2016
Nov 15, 2016 at 3:30 PM UTC
Star Features.
I chased this evening
dusk's fading clouds as sunset's
tin-foil silver ribbony strands tied
granite-grey into lace filigree.
I saw skirts of tinted daytime
wave hazy farewell as billowing
dark's in-coming diamanté display
added pale to moon's rising.
I viewed invasive swathes
pierced with fire-bright sparkles
move sky's face as night's shoulder
pocked holes for star features.
I marked time battling to
win ethereal applause and sighed
as striated breath-taking shades took
central stage before day expired.
Jun 15, 2016
Jun 15, 2016 at 12:30 PM UTC
/o\ __ /o\
The day's dry spell has ended...it's dark,
at last.......comes dusk
the hours are too slow in their flow
all else, is in slow mo
fatigue disrupts the peace...mind and body
silently complain......the regularity
of endless tasks and chores
gobbles one's lifetime...beard grays with ****
the enthusiasm that wakes the soul
before sunrise, has turned to ennui...
in the morning, the coffee urn,
brews with discontent...
a thirst for change,
twinned with fear...seems strange,
excitement and apprehension
cling to the mind...like an infection...
imagination is fecund
temptation fills every second...
this farm, is life striated with difficulties
acres of land, haunted by inherited responsibilities,
how can one be exempted from traditions
and family expectations?
there's just no pleasure
in so much work pressure
impossible, to ignore the enemies of leisure!
it's tempting to surrender...to just loll,
to abandon all...
yet, body and mind struggle...must keep going
every morning...
an intrinsic energy within, dispels whispers at night
it is fiercest, when a candle is bright with light...
.........................................
Sally
© Rosalia Rosario A. Bayan
March 11, 2019
Mar 10, 2019
Mar 10, 2019 at 3:06 PM UTC
A deep red silo
a ruddy
split rail fence
bales of hay
framing a modest
full patch
of healthy buttery corn
a candy apple and
white American
striated
muscular tractor
and a hot warm
breeze the perfect
conveyance for
the distance growl
of a mower and
the wafting aroma
of manure and fertilizer
Jun 11, 2019
Jun 11, 2019 at 7:33 AM UTC
Amid the rubble
Of four dim millennia peeled back
A square of carved steatite lay
Lifted
Gently as a gossamer hope
To reveal
That mythic beast
A single horn curving
From its striated head
Whose fame reached Grecian ears
From Indus bed
Across miles & years
Leaving an inkmark murmur
Sep 4, 2020
Sep 4, 2020 at 6:31 AM UTC
the temple is up, hounded by
sleeplessness--as bodies of dust
move thru one another, and
will not settle.
a rose lie in a space of offering,
pacing her folds--as there is love
to be had.
lapis lazuli twilight, striated with
purple harbingers of lovers afoot.
impassioned in their unrest, they
know there is another in the distance
of the life that lives them.
to enfold with, secure and brace for the
aggressive fade--where this dream's undreamt.
Aug 4, 2019
Aug 4, 2019 at 12:15 PM UTC