"stubbles" poems
They're burning the stubbles of yesteryear's fields
Before ploughing.
Walls of fire around every farm.
Smoke blends with the smell of pig's furtilizing manure,
And whenever my nose wrinkles up
I remember my father's words:
*It's the result of millennia of agricultural tradition.
It's the smell of money.
It's the smell of soil to bread.
It's the smell of something far more important
Than nasal comfort.*
He had me at
-Where he should have said-
Organic.
Apr 26, 2014
Apr 26, 2014 at 10:30 AM UTC
maybe it was just bad timing
maybe 10 years from now,
we'll meet again in one of the most cliché ways.
maybe I'll be sitting on one end of a coffee shop
and you'll be sitting at the other
and I'll be drinking coffee
and you'll be drinking anything that keeps your eyes open.
I'll see you but pretend I didn't,
I'll take the napkin that was once sitting under my coffee and place it in front of me,
I won't write down my number.
I'll write about how my coffee matches your eyes,
dark brown coffee sweetened with a little too much sugar.
I'll write about the last time I saw you,
and how you said you'd never grow any ****** hair
but now you have stubbles resembling cinnamon bun crumbs swept across your face.
Maybe, just maybe, I'll look up from my napkin, and see you looking at me.
Maybe I'll see you looking at me the way Gatsby looked at Daisy.
Or maybe you won't look at me at all.
Maybe I'll just crumple up this napkin and throw it away.
(But I kind of hope I meet you at the garbage can, seeing you throw away a crumpled coffee shop napkin with scribbles all over the back.)
Oct 19, 2014
Oct 19, 2014 at 12:15 PM UTC
Skin
Still sensing
Still sore
From scratches
Still sensitive
To sound
Like shockwaves E D N
S N I G
Repeated
Repeated
******** ******** ******** ********
Sensations of
V I B R A T I O N
H Y D R A T I O N
Tongue torn
Sore
From tickling licking
Skin with sharp
E
D
G
E
D stubbles
Sore *******
Nipples sore from
Hardening
From bites
And from
Fingertips fondling
And sore muscles
Aching from f
l
e
x
i
n
g
Arching
Repeated contraction contraction
X
CONTROL A
M
I
L
of C
Fire
Sore sensitive
Succulents
Sore from oscillation
Provocation
Still soaked
In saps
D R
I
P
P
I
N
G
Devilish desire
The mind's eye
Sore
From mimicking
Mo ve ments
Imprinted
In memory
Driving me
MAD
I want more...
Mar 3, 2013
Mar 3, 2013 at 5:44 AM UTC
i like the smell of aftershave
but i'm not very fond of the hair stubbles that poke me
i like the smell of coffee
but i'm not very fond of drinking it
Jul 9, 2015
Jul 9, 2015 at 4:38 AM UTC
i cant still feel your hair on my hand
the way it glides between my little fingers
short stubbles of your flaxen locks
the way it interlocks with my weary hand as it moves all around
as painful as the grass beneath my naked feet
though i sink to the earth
mellow like the ocean tides
but not a glace afterwards
evermore harsh
evermore loud
but softy as you whisper nothing into my ears
say hello to mute goodbye
Sep 18, 2012
Sep 18, 2012 at 1:21 AM UTC
Everytime I close my eyes,
The picture of you comes to my mind,
Floating in the air,
From everywhere,
Everything around me reminds me of you,
And I lose myself in the memories of you..
The park-bench still fits us perfectly,
And this world has taken 7000 turns, changing everything but me
The stubbles in my face make me look a little older,
I have grown a little taller,
Lost my hair, gained some weight,
And I am losing a little bit of myself everyday but, I am still the same old person you loved back then
Every breath that I take, takes me a little closer to you,
Nothing is certain here, I do not know if you're a million breaths away or two
My friends want me to move on,
To take a step forward every day,
Arms wrapped around my shoulders,
Sometimes, a soft grip- a silent assurance of their presence,
A sweet promise to always be there
And that is just what you did
This love is more than those three words that sick men these days use to capture beauty
And this body is more than blood, muscles and bones,
Death was not powerful enough to **** your soul
You are everywhere, in every thing
With me
We are still strong enough to melt stones
Nov 15, 2015
Nov 15, 2015 at 11:05 PM UTC
Your nickname should be irises
Because I can't stop looking at them
**** those eyes
Tracing the outline on my face
Laying here
On this lucky Bed
God stopped time
Because he wants to see this
Just you and me
Under the moonlight’s love
The look on your eyes
Makes me drawn to your eyes
Our lips hug
Passing secrets about love and passion
Right now
Here with the moon
Casting its spell on us
Telling us to just keep kissing
Because time has stop
Baby we don't need watches
Watching our every moment.
Trying to catch that next moment.
That moment is here
Right now
Under the moonlight
I see your goose bumps
Parading on your body
All you need me to do
is to kiss them all.
I start on your neck
As you giggle
From the fact that my stubbles
Has stumbled on my neck.
I nibble your ear
So I can interfere
With your whispering
That seem to match
With the noise of my kisses.
My lips investigate the beautiful canvas
As you squirm.
Your breath leaves your lungs impatiently
As your sigh crawls down my neck.
I get on your body,
Skin on skin,
The connection of skin
Gives us chills.
Your fingerprints leaves stains
Of goose bumps
That I don't want to leave as you
The pillow sheets
Are strangled by your hands.
After the pillows can't handle anymore stress
You send valleys
Down my back
With your nails
Collecting all of the
Sweet memories
Of this moment.
Of your eyes
Looking at me
The sweat
Crawling down my back.
I say baby
Lets drink some more
Of the moon’s potion
And fall under the moonlight love.
Nov 13, 2014
Nov 13, 2014 at 10:12 PM UTC
I found a home
in rough arms
and delicate touches.
In the smell of cologne
and bright roses.
I found a home
in wide shoulders
and tiny hands
both my asylum
keeping me safe
during the darkest nights.
In sharp stubbles
and blood red lips
marking my skin
as if it was a canvas
painting it in the best work of art
the world has ever seen.
I found a home
in the long locks of an awesome boy
in the short curls of a beautiful girl
tangled between my fingers
as we intertwine our souls.
I found a home
in the intergalactic being
of a lost soul
who heard the call
of my empty one
and decided to make it its own
in the purest, most natural love
that has ever been.
Jun 26, 2017
Jun 26, 2017 at 5:56 PM UTC
I bolted the door
And stepped in, shy
You blocked my way -
With your signature smile.
I was scared, I was anxious
For this would be a long night.
Though the room was dimly lit
My blush stood out bright.
I felt my body tremor,
In my ears when you murmured -
"May this love for my wife
Stay as intense, till I die!"
You pulled me close and held me for a while
Then stooped low, to kiss me in style.
And with each peck I quivered,
Like a candle in the wind - flickered.
The sound of my breathe
Grew on, as you conquered depths...
The warmth of your sweat
Spread slowly, over my *******
And the girl in me, was forever lost -
To your manly grip, on me - soft.
I felt like a woman, though unclad
In love with my guy - like crazy, like mad.
When I woke up later, though all smitten -
Some from stubbles, some were bitten.
To a dawn, turned crimson red -
Painted like the passion, from our never-ending lust!
You were still there beside me
Kissing my forehead.
Singing to my soul,
As you caressed a dark mole.
And I slept again, in your arms,
A sleep - assuring and calm!
Dreaming of days filled with love,
And nights - with moments divine!
Hoping to awaken again -
To my man's broad frame and smile.
Stay with me - true, and take me with you
To that dreamland again. To that dreamland again!
Nov 18, 2011
Nov 18, 2011 at 9:55 AM UTC
Days , weeks?,
gone by -
stubbles,
beards appear
like weeds
in a garden;
the wash undone,
no clean clothes;
***** dishes
suffocating
a small kitchen
space;
plants not watered;
post unanswered;
knocks on the door
ignored.
The poison
must first run
it's course!
Aug 11, 2010
Aug 11, 2010 at 6:52 AM UTC
Translated by Przemyslaw Musialowski 10/8/2019
* * * (A sad September is heading over the tops...)
A sad September is heading over the tops,
through the barren peaks suddenly turned gray.
In his heart hidden luggage of memories he carries,
and only crickets' farewell sails
quietly rustle with wind filled,
rocking to sleep dreams* unfulfilled.
Wieslaw Musialowski 10/27/2002
*moments in the original
Autumnal Hour (Shorter)
Look! - from smoke I plait this poem short:
for fogs over an autumn meadow
with heathers strewn and drowsy,
for stubbles, fields and forests - in honor - of bards!
I? - I know they're hardly rustling
the strophes of simple words... And you? - you weave sorrows!
Wieslaw Musialowski 6/19/2002
Oct 8, 2019
Oct 8, 2019 at 10:48 AM UTC
Translated by Przemyslaw Musialowski 7/20/2018
Look! - white petals, like the first snow,
like a holiday linen tablecloths.
I? - I remember those holidays:
warm shadows of candles, you put on the table,
and the puff of breath in disarray,
entertains with the play of colors, and from feathers... sizzles.
Look! - from smoke I plait this poem short:
for fogs over an autumn meadow
with heathers strewn and drowsy,
for stubbles, fields and forests - in honor - of bards!
I? - I know they're hardly rustling
the strophes of simple words... And you? - you weave sorrows!
Wieslaw Musialowski 6/19/2002
Oct 6, 2019
Oct 6, 2019 at 4:40 AM UTC
Listening to you breathe, your head tilted back
The pillow a blueish tint in the light from the window
It is unclear if the light comes from the moon or from some street light
But it does not matter
The light is blue
And it shines onto the skin of your face, with little stubbles on your chin and the space on your cheeks near your ears
You on your back, my hand draped over your chest
You shift to face me, you slide your leg over mine, and our toes search for empty spaces in the other, then lock into the gap. I lock myself to you.
You are gone.
In a place of nothing, darkness, and light
You do not understand what is happening as I kiss you awake
Your eyebrow my target, I feel the tiny hairs against my lip as your lids flutter open
Like wings on the back of a bird that never lands
You stare at me in awe
Love in your eyes
Outside the cars go by on the highway
Wasting gas
They should turn around, go home to the ones they love.
Loudly they vvvvmmmm past us,
While we,
Sweet and slow moving like molasses
Move our hands up each other from legs to hips to mouth
Then down, and feel for textures
You call me smooth, my skin like a cool stone in a river
You are like a grass covered hill,
Mossy and full of earth
We move together, the light blue from the window shifting from you to me,
And then back to you
The light on your shoulders to the light on my hips
Everything is blue
The love
Your shy smile
My flowing hair
everything is blue.
even
My hands
Moving across you
Like a little sailboat
In the middle of the ocean
Apr 22, 2014
Apr 22, 2014 at 11:48 AM UTC
It was moonlit in the caves
You and I
Couple in the hot springs
Gentle, compassionate and sultry
We kiss
Our tounges danced
As we explore
Each other’s body’s
Which were in the warm water.
I draw your hips close
To mine
And hold your stubbles head
As your smother me
With kisses.
I let out a moan
That reverberates
And echoes
Into the cave.
Jan 29, 2019
Jan 29, 2019 at 5:24 PM UTC
arms broke the water
waves in the ocean
the son and the daughter
and perpetual motion
crept in as bubbles of air
up my cheeks like a fever
kisses on stubbles of hair
i almost didnt believe her
Feb 9, 2019
Feb 9, 2019 at 6:52 PM UTC
Bristled haze...
Eternal stubble...
Framing the upward
curve of Your lips...
Sure and gentle..
Long fingered
Beautiful hands...
Constantly rubbing Your chin...
Is it okay to say that I would love to feel that stubble brush slowly against my shoulder?
Hmmm?
As Your lips go for my neck?
Do i now have to take permission...to express that I want to feel
those fingers splayed on my back?
Do i now need to worry that
You'd make fun of my desire?
Do i need to start using a filter for my words?
I don't know...
And so i hide...
behind peals
Of meaningful laughter...
Trying to protect myself
from your all pervading
Virility....
Unsuccessfully...
While you go on jabbering
About stubbles...contours and
searching for a semblance of masculinity...
If only you knew...
May 22, 2017
May 22, 2017 at 9:03 AM UTC
Flicking through pictures and I come across one of you
I stare for a moment, simmering in hatred and bitterness
But I can’t help but break down in loud sobbing tears
Thinking of the sweet times of before and pretty feelings
Sky blue, lavender, rose pink, sunshine
When I’m alone I feel midnight:
Violet, sage, black with twinkling stars
The blackness overpowering those airy colors of happiness
And again washing over, drowning me in my own thoughts
Rage, rage, against the dying of the light
You were my light and now you’re gone
Naturally, I rebel, but I get nowhere
So I’ve decided I’m ceasing my efforts.
Let’s get coffee and tea and be cute together
(which is my ultimate goal)
Let’s read books and snuggle with each other
Butterfly kisses and fluttering fingertips
Layers of clothing peeled away under layers of blankets
Nibbles on my lips and stubbles poking my cheeks
It’s exactly what I’ve been waiting for.
Nov 4, 2014
Nov 4, 2014 at 6:52 PM UTC