"submergence" poems
swimming under lightning,
lighting our submergence flash allure:
smooth bodies, bright to glimpse and shadow-grin intent
collide and mingle folds of pleasure, firmly
bent to tangle, clasp and spurn the world above,
rely on one another's breath, stored for loving
long in bubbles gasping sweet melodics free
as with imagined merfolk passion-songs of lore, prescient
lapping dance of tidal fruits you loved before they came,
moonray columns stage us in our seashift wombs--again--
within a womb--like instant chrysalises blinking luminescent bursts
i am interred within the waves you ripple into me, blind
carnal pressures built from ancient shores become the sea again
the magnitude entrances on its own, that acrophobic thrill
celestial in our interthreaded eyes, open
to a color deeply in the dark of octopodal ink
a curtain phosphorescent armpit pulse,
caressing thumb and lip, billows, sways the dance anew,
to sonar drumbeat, pulmonary height
the spinal scream a surface ripple for the sky,
symphonic deep to barely whisper into air
Feb 17, 2013
Feb 17, 2013 at 9:06 AM UTC
terror in portals of rapture
twin mirrors reflect possible dolor
untrusting, yet entwined
so amenable.
immediate submergence,
reverence of marred flesh
intelligible infatuation inevitable.
howbeit, efflorescence devotion
find a way through;
transude into pores
inebriated in their fumes.
reverie becomes eternal sleep.
May 30, 2014
May 30, 2014 at 3:39 AM UTC
Paragon of love
The depths;
Dark,
Deep,
Desirous;
To fly beneath
White foamy lines
Yielding tide. guide me;
Inhale
Exhale
Trembling;
This need to reach.
Beloved;
To touch You…
Beyond breathe
Past… the sand.
Water splashes
… caressing toes.
Standing,
Waiting
…along our sandy shore.
Once more…,
Water welcomes
… another sunset.
Faintly, lights awake;
A dance like heartbeats
… to delight the sound;
White tips glisten
… touching darkness.
Stars shimmer
… along the deep.
Above;
Below;
Take my heart
… onto the horizon;
To home;
To you
Your binds reach;
Hearts bellow
A longing to reach
… fills me.
My heart desires
… to reach;
You.
Salty scent;
Eyes close
Cool spray
... tingle my lips
The taste
Your skin
I feel ... the want
The need;
…your pull.
Far beyond,
… the jetty’s hold;
A deepening thirst
Summons.
So deep…
So familiar…
So yielding…
To you; My Love
Just beyond … the horizon’s break
A soft sensation rides.
Guide me;
Beckon my heart. Beloved;
Beckon me
… beyond the waves.
Echoes, echoes,…
Echoes of love;
Call long
To this, tinder spirit
Yours
… left to drift.
I feel you
Reaching.
Your breath Calls;
A sound to entice.
Breathe, breathing
… beyond the sands of time;
Through hazy silence;
Oh, sweet, gentle submergence
Waves clash upon my flesh
To feel…
Your pull
Memories, such memories;
The sweet salty taste
To embrace you;
My love
Yearning;
Yearning;
To yearn…
Your essence touch.
Once more
Waves force me back;
Tides froth
… covers me
Stumbling;
Tumbling;
Tossed
... upon the shore
As an old oyster’s shell.
Love, daylight returns
Once more, our ocean…
Ours;
Keeps us
The deep;
The deep
Is…
Too deep.
So much water
Left only to thirst;
For you.
Beloved; To time and tide…
A pearl.
Jun 23, 2015
Jun 23, 2015 at 2:42 AM UTC
Do you know who I am? Do you understand why I do what I do and think what I do is exactly what should be done? Do you have even the slightest respect for my decisions? For who I am? Do you know who I am?
That’s alright. Neither do I.
If I have said it once, then I best say it over and over and over again until you start listening: I feel like I'm underwater. I am in deep oceans, not blue or pale waters, but a horrible, dark abyss. I am drowning in a strange love for the spin-offs of truth, dignity, and cultural revolution. Now that is situational comedy.
My world is composed of nothing but reruns. Clips of him drowning on repeat. And when I drown, he drowns too.
I pray to find the sun so that I may trade all that I have for its warmth to melt the ocean into sky, and this glass from my skin. I don’t need to keep my heart shatterproof, I am no porcelain. I am an independent. Fill my flooded lungs with fresh smoke. Make the water go. Make the bad go. Go. Going. Gone. The sun is gone. All that I have is my fragile body, my *** I am under sexed, overlooked, and infinitely exhausted of these nonsensical rants. If I could sketch a message into the night sky it would plainly read: I feel like I'm underwater.
So here, in these reefs, will I search for my meaning. But I think it’s best we all come to terms with the plain truth: Submergence is submission. And I refuse to submit to your societal pressures. I will decide what is wrong. I will say what is right. If I wish to empty my lungs of this saltwater, find the sun above the surface, and turn off the abhorrent sitcoms I cannot submit. I can only drown.
“Not another one! Look at him, look at him!” she yells.
His veins are coursing, pulsing, shattering at the edges with blue. He is blue in both his complexion and complex feelings and thoughts and pains. His veins are blue, and he is cold. Can you smell his insatiable mind? Taste the metallic crush of his sanguine? “This world is intolerable, and I must not tolerate,” she reads from his tear stained note. The ripe stench of escape burdens our minds as we watch his soulless body hang. My mind is escaping. Toss the rug over the barbed wire and run. Run. Sanguine with ketamine. Run, ****** run.
Do you know how to drown? That’s alright. Neither do I.
Mar 4, 2012
Mar 4, 2012 at 3:00 AM UTC
flickering amber carousels
about my window
blue sails creep in
drifting lavender soft
& mandarin slow
ivory frolics through darkened light
champagne drifting, closing sight
peaceful dreams
smoldering oak
a submergence of waves
this body to soak
Nov 1, 2013
Nov 1, 2013 at 11:09 AM UTC
Late August 8 o’clock is barefoot, and sunburned in the places that are always sunburned. Worn skin and deck slats hold onto leftover noon. Beneath, swirls the near unknown. Blue-black and edgeless, it’s awake but calmer as the day savors a slow-motion finish. Out of respect for the sunset, those at rudder or wheel embrace a lakewide no wake zone. Our blooms of whistle and sigh fill the dusk hour.
Someone somewhere is lighting a fire. It can be felt in the shoulder blades, when breathing slows. A ripe sense of abundance carries in the peach pink light—a promise that the season won’t fade, that deck children never age, and their waters never freeze. The birch chorus agrees, and this false truth soothes tired limbs that know better, but choose to accept the judgement of the night arriving. Because tender are the day’s dying breaths, and a special care is taken here for every move.
Peeling away layers, hair stands high on the skin with the pines on the hillsides. Bundle your things under the bench, or the winds may take them. There is a silence here with something to say. Toes hug wood’s edge and the muckgrasses nod in tune to a song that is there but not wholly heard. It’s important to watch first; it’s important that you try once again to read the neon pattern in the waves. A familiar laugh through cabin window will interrupt this.
The ladder is better for the evening swim. Submergence is best performed slowly then all at once, with careful attention paid to the detoured bloodflow of sunburned skin. Reflections of the promise unravel as they scatter into sky. Dip your darkness into the horizon and feel the day’s heat collapse inward, easing the blushes of your superficial pain. Let the other foot leave the trust of algaed metal, as the body’s pieces spread suspended. A group of fiery orbs blink aloft in an endless cold.
Our stars are connected only by stories, and here—where the sky is reflected in water—the hair on your hillsides can nod along to the half-heard tune of eternity. This is the end of the dock.
Oct 10, 2014
Oct 10, 2014 at 2:46 PM UTC
think hard . . .
you do know all about this
we've done this often . . . before
indulging midnite dip in sultry solitude
our beautiful selves ready to plunge
two pieces of iridescent light glow
sudden submergence into waiting blue
oh my word, we do it again . . . again
weird has its name planted all over us
chasing sweet pulsation 'neath them waves
where silence lives and welcomes us
riding massive swells of wicked curves
making each throb outlast the rest!
Oct 1, 2013
Oct 1, 2013 at 3:14 PM UTC
beginnings plunged into deep water
cannot overcome such recompense
time’s reserved healing of endless slaughter
cannot believe in such cold evidence
if i could i would i’d know this right away,
until a wave holds me and submerges
my thoughts and hands that hold onto the bay
close to whatever home this really is.
if then yelling ‘the world is too much with us’
(and if i could i would see right through you)
an abysmal submergence in the mess
(then whoever could call this ‘what i’d do’)
whatever this is, in the end it’s something to say:
so yes, in the end, i’d wish it all away
Dec 18, 2013
Dec 18, 2013 at 6:51 PM UTC
*...and there you submerged yourself
a warm bubble'd spot in my heart
against all storm warnings and precautions,
you fancied a challenge or crazy I suppose
this chambered heart is made of titanium
shot down, where once emotion pump'd
running rivers rage of icy futile frigid waters
I'll be the first to admit, still waters run deep
and this placid exterior hides a passionate undertow
although once the levy was broken,
it took all warmblooded survivors
yet, still you linger without a preserver in sight...
perhaps, there's more to this element,
the nature of drowning's decent
gingerly takes another breath*
Oct 16, 2013
Oct 16, 2013 at 6:53 AM UTC
There could be too much inside me
There could not be enough
There could be belief
There could be love
I'm afraid I'll never see
The me I want to be
Is it too much to ask to simply
Be happy?
The scars on my arms
Trigger submergence
Sounding great alarms
And pain in abundance
From the daze and craze
From the stress and mess
From the pressure beyond measure
My heart suffocates
Happiness is an alien concept
Maybe contemptment is sane
But I wonder 'Does any light remain?'
I have a feeling
I keep it locked away
I can only use it once
And I await that special day
Aug 20, 2014
Aug 20, 2014 at 4:29 PM UTC
Power-lines pulse over-head
easy streams by our quiet lives
the unarguable benefactors which
caress each man they touch
soldiers waging war on insurgents
with power-lines along the boarder
In this narcotic drip submergence
we lose our peace in the name of order
the egotists shout with their power-line minds
thoughtless words of each and every kind
At the promise of peace, wise men can see
the greatest peace springs from a tap into thee
Oct 7, 2014
Oct 7, 2014 at 9:13 PM UTC
~
I don't even need water
to feel like am drowning .
I don't even need
broken shards of glasses
to feel that am scarred
~
Nov 9, 2015
Nov 9, 2015 at 2:39 PM UTC
know that I use
that word
in that way
only for you
easy
really
to unpack
the corny lines
leak out a babe
like some throwaway term
rabbit from the hat
oh! know how it's done
not what we're used to
this submergence
into a dream made real
pool of pepper and fizz
sunrise-sky eyes
watermelon-red lips
our version
of four letters
hear it tick
in our blood
the way we
taste our names
Apr 8, 2019
Apr 8, 2019 at 6:20 PM UTC
Noise softens walls of time passed caverns.
Lapsed echoes scathe within its cryptic.
Pensive submergence chants to nothing,
even while it sullenly strums with longing.
This whispering hollow. This versed passage.
Feed me the thoughtless desire I’m amidst,
Such sense brought upon you, one as matter.
Seeming this, just as your name, worthy.
Having been within, some undeniable will.
Aug 20, 2018
Aug 20, 2018 at 3:08 PM UTC
It is in the similarity and in wonder
Facing our absurdity
That we choose the difference
Or if it is not the difference
A reversal of the way
A divergence
Noticing the futility
A sudden glitch of us in the other
Decision taken
Evolve into something that is not similar
With the change comes a certain sense of
Loneliness
The price of difference to be grasped
At the bottom
The abyss of remorse
There must be an essential gap
It spreads
It is contagious
The joy of living
A spacing so that some might be able
To consider our limpidity
Wanting to be worth something
While disappearing
Past the curtains of misfortune
Most of the time it is just a fly pretending
While landing on one of our knees
Notices us or makes us believe to have
Noticed our presence or absence
Then set behind the horizon
Your hair burns in a bright glare
Losing sight of your sight
Going beyond the highest layer
Of the atmosphere
Where no fruit-fly is allowed to tip
The concavity of their net eyes
There is where
We are finally lost
In a collapse of consciousness
A submergence of bitterness
Understand oneself too much
Aware, beware
And then
It is not abandonment nor despair
It is the inconvenience of weariness
The flatness of nothing
No longer really carrying the importance
Of things on ones back
Since it is absolute blasting
The end of life and radiations
Become dull on the wheel
Always rolling all the way down
Heal
From the atrocity of being
At last
Finally dead-alive
Jan 8, 2019
Jan 8, 2019 at 6:48 AM UTC
tassels like little golden angels dancing in pattern without discernible sustainability some it seems fallen skirts blown back, or else kicking high in un-understandable ecstasy, beyond the grasp of my limited recognition of cognition, of understanding fullest being, expressive nonsense..Acceptance that this is not so, or at least only partially so, one being one mind one heart soul eternal there is only peace. Joy. Love. the depths of despair are only a manifestation of too deep a rut, too deep a meshing in the superficial nature of things, reality. Simple truths seen as incomprehensible because they are seen from eyes flipped upside down, backward set them right with the primal pattern which always is and always will be. See from the heart and the mind will settle in peaceful abandon...
Write to recognize the depths of confusion throw it away when one wishes to see the truth beyond limitation...mind not good not bad one with all a recognition of the truth is by no means necessary, only be, the fullest extent of yourself nothing means anything beyond there is nothing beyond self, which is all things...there is only being. Ever-present within without the dynamic expression change is an illusion fostered in the depths of blind submergence...
Sep 3, 2017
Sep 3, 2017 at 10:51 AM UTC
Bodies of water,
Within my grip
No reason to not
Take a dip.
No full submergence,
Just the fingers.
This is learning
Without stingers.
No pain required,
No remorse needed.
Embarrassed and tired,
But not depleted.
On the road
To being needed,
What is owed
Is what I’ll feed this.
5 fingers
Testing waters
Bridging channels
Being modern
Oct 11, 2017
Oct 11, 2017 at 5:27 PM UTC