"sunned" poems
Every day you play with the light of the universe.
Subtle visitor, you arrive in the flower and the water,
You are more than this white head that I hold tightly
as a bunch of flowers, every day, between my hands.
You are like nobody since I love you.
Let me spread you out among yellow garlands.
Who writes your name in letters of smoke among the stars of the south?
Oh let me remember you as you were before you existed.
Suddenly the wind howls and bangs at my shut window.
The sky is a net crammed with shadowy fish.
Here all the winds let go sooner or later, all of them.
The rain takes off her clothes.
The birds go by, fleeing.
The wind. The wind.
I alone can contend against the power of men.
The storm whirls dark leaves
and turns loose all the boats that were moored last night to the sky.
You are here. Oh, you do not run away.
You will answer me to the last cry.
Curl round me as though you were frightened.
Even so, a strange shadow once ran through your eyes.
Now, now too, little one, you bring me honeysuckle,
and even your ******* smell of it.
While the sad wind goes slaughtering butterflies
I love you, and my happiness bites the plum of your mouth.
How you must have suffered getting accustomed to me,
my savage, solitary soul, my name that sends them all running.
So many times we have seen the morning star burn, kissing our eyes,
and over our heads the grey light unwinds in turning fans.
My words rained over you, stroking you.
A long time I have loved the sunned mother-of-pearl of your body.
Until I even believe that you own the universe.
I will bring you happy flowers from the mountains, bluebells, dark hazels, and rustic baskets of kisses.
I want to do with you what spring does with the cherry trees.
315.3k
A Robin said: The Spring will never come,
And I shall never care to build again.
A Rosebush said: These frosts are wearisome,
My sap will never stir for sun or rain.
The half Moon said: These nights are fogged and slow,
I neither care to wax nor care to wane.
The Ocean said: I thirst from long ago,
Because earth's rivers cannot fill the main.--
When Springtime came, red Robin built a nest,
And trilled a lover's song in sheer delight.
Grey hoarfrost vanished, and the Rose with might
Clothed her in leaves and buds of crimson core.
The dim Moon brightened. Ocean sunned his crest,
Dimpled his blue, yet thirsted evermore.
25.6k
Faded clothes,
Burnt face,
Sticky hair,
Filthy palms,
Bloodshot eyes,
Sweaty arms.
Dried throat,
Painful thighs,
Sore feet,
Divided crowd,
Pitiful players,
Swollen knuckles.
Torn hope,
Crumpled chance,
Sunned court,
Tumbling scores,
Coughing points,
Silver lining.
Feb 20, 2015
Feb 20, 2015 at 8:58 AM UTC
Brother, our young summers held us in a long chain like the phalanx of bronzed soldiers forward flung,
And the lion was skinned and hung out to dry like the sunned-fur of the beach at Marathon.
Brother, help me to dream again.
Brother, our yellowed days shook us like serried Hoplites of an atomic age,
Shoulder to shoulder, friction rubbed, all ranks split from the fissioned-flanks.
Brother, help me to dream again.
Storm-footed Titans of heat, dust, and irradiated wind pry from a ruptured Tartarus,
The flanks are an open pulse; the scorch-song thirsts for its sea-cooling to stone.
Brother, the lion lives that wears your skull around its mane.
Brother, dream of me again, of Persian arrows and lances,
And my fallen eyes instead of yours pouring in
With a sea of lavender water and mists
And summers of once-were.
Jun 8, 2019
Jun 8, 2019 at 8:59 PM UTC
the child recieves his paper
****** backward by the one in front
flip the three pages flippantly
one : intimidating . . two : boring
the third adorned unexpectedly
a longer -than seems can be usually- grown hair with a clump of green root
sprung out and slaughtered, down across the width; stuck above the questions beneath
how could he not have seen?
a pile so viscous and obscene?
does everyone else have one???
are they holding their disgust beneath?
he looked up at the teacher.
A look of vigilance his face bequeathed.
B ut now it sprung out almost pus like
a faint smile,
a teachers calm reprieve
he then leaned back on his chair in comfort
drooping his head back
his nostrils flared now toward the child
the hairs brustling from inside, all locked up in a ***** days remnants
all foul
and long
and dehydrated
like a swamp now sunned crisp; reeds on a stale bank
drawn in he felt uneasy
unable to cease to stare
incased inside the world that spawned
in the swamp that lay up there
in the cavernous orifices there
then he saw the teachers eyes, his gaze it
stuck on him, the teacher began to grin
further back his head leant
his eyes jaundiced
his teeth tanned
his face pale
his grin outstretched and thin
Oct 17, 2013
Oct 17, 2013 at 6:38 AM UTC
Fiery sun glimmered
From mornig till noon.
Then it drizzled all night
When came watery moon.
Environment was conducive,
Soaked and sunned was mud.
Mystical & magical moment!
Came into bieng tickly bud.
But something went wrong,
Frail being never bloomed.
Scarce water or poor light ?
Bud wilted and was doomed.
Jul 12, 2015
Jul 12, 2015 at 12:51 PM UTC
A sprinkle of beauty,
to deny being pretty?,
Sunned by His grace,
shown in her ways,
A drop of stubbornness,
something I'd care less,
Shy or humble,
Resist what she's able,
To make me rage seeing her diamond tears,
To turn me blue as I see her suffer,
To cure my heartache and my fears,
To stun me as I gaze upon her,
Though I've crestfallened hard enough,
Will she realise what she's made of?
Unsure of what my Lord had created,
A curse...or a blessing which will never sate.
Dec 16, 2017
Dec 16, 2017 at 12:57 AM UTC
I was angry with my friend;
I told my wrath, my wrath did end.
I was angry with my foe:
I told it not, my wrath did grow.
And I waterd it in fears,
Night & morning with my tears:
And I sunned it with smiles,
And with soft deceitful wiles.
And it grew both day and night,
Till it bore an apple bright.
And my foe beheld it shine,
And he knew that it was mine.
And into my garden stole.
When the night had veiled the pole;
In the morning glad I see,
My foe outstretchd beneath the tree.
3.1k
peril is not what i fear, i fear your death at such a scintilla of contentment
how can i love you for such distorted exaltation, if it is love at all
she has sunned only her heart, a weathered inamorata of gangrenous pallor
timid and stark naked in the swirling moonlight, blood viscous and ripe to drink, she speaks at last:
i cannot be your lover.
in retrospect, the affair was a whim; lithe but so bitter
love is not divine will, but tenacious valor
as i have learned
as anything
have i disrupted your cadence?
Apr 5, 2017
Apr 5, 2017 at 5:59 PM UTC
He had to come back.
On a December afternoon
when the sun was more to west,
he landed on the most favorite place of his house,
the roof.
Just as he had imagined
the still winter air was abuzz with life.
Doves were pairing for a home
Green bee-eaters swooped on insects
Two herons kept following the grazing cow
Crows were busy with twigs and wires
High up beyond where paper kites could soar
Storks slow sunned their wings wet from the jhil
The cats warmed their furs before the cold night
The stray puppy gamboled with its mother.
Each piece had perfectly fitted the other
including the silently sleeping house.
He was tempted to walk down once
has she changed any little way?
He smiled to himself
then breezed away from the roof.
Dec 31, 2015
Dec 31, 2015 at 6:19 AM UTC
*when does the sun seem too far
when a few steps and you could be there
yet you see it from the shadow of nightmare.
a few steps and you could be there,
but the sun is moving west
on you the shadows rest
gone is the hand of love and tender care.
your eyes why they gather dewy mist
you were left to be sunned in the east
but when shadows closed in, wind brought a chill,
couldn't shift you to west all your will.
you are stilled now in the sun's shadow zone
a burden to the ones you thought your own
moving at their will, living on alms of care
watching the sun's motion from wheelchair.*
Feb 19, 2014
Feb 19, 2014 at 12:01 PM UTC
I do not feel myself today
Stolen stunned sparkle sunned
Crystallizing adrenaline ***** hypertension maniac
Overwhelming in here. Crowded.
Always willing to be the first to jump
Potent love affairs with rushing wind and endless heights
Break apart.
Come undone.
Let go.
More surreal than tangible
Fading softly into the mist of kilauea
Great fire mother blessing me with the burning
Ablaze, a Phoenix from the flames, rising into the night
Bursting all over the constellations, adhering to the cosmos
Third eye open
Awed.
Amazed.
May 9, 2012
May 9, 2012 at 9:28 PM UTC
After dropping her child at school
the day was a dream only hers
when she could make her own rule
follow it for all those hours.
She would sit on some house terrace
see the busy steps passing by
trying to gauge from their pace
the errands written in their eyes.
She would watch the life of birds
amused how they labored for a nest
and when falling day drew homeward
folded sunned wings into rest.
Spread her eyes beyond the concrete
above the trees far into the haze
where young kites were taught flying feat
by mothers circling the summer blaze.
Everyday all things were renewed
seasons rolled a movie before her
all that even though already viewed
was never bereft of a sense of wonder.
How her hours flew was not known
days turned to years as a rule
her child in no time was grown
no more she needed to go to school.
Mar 16, 2016
Mar 16, 2016 at 1:43 PM UTC
I was angry with my friend,
I told my wrath, my wrath did end.
I was angry with my foe;
I told it not, my wrath did grow.
And I watered it with fears,
Night and morning with my tears;
And I sunned it with smiles,
And with soft deceitful wiles.
And it grew both day and night,
Till it bore an apple bright
And my foe beheld its shine
And he knew it was mine.
And into my garden he stole
When the night had veiled the pole,
In the morning glad I see
My foe outstretched beneath the tree.
()
መርዛማው ዛፍ
በጓደኛዬ ተናድጄ ነበር
ምሬቴን እንደተነፈስኩ፣
ከብስጭት ተገላገልኩ!
በባላንጣዬ ተናድጄ ነበር
ምሬቴን ስለአፈንኩት አፀደቅኩት፣
የፍርሐትን እንባ ያለፋታ
አጠጣሁት ቀንና ማታ
ፍሬ አፈራ ማራኪ ለእይታ!
ጠላቴ የኔ መሖንዋን እያወቀ
በፍሬዋ ተሰረቀ፣
እናም ጨለማን ተገን አርጎ
ገባ ከአትክልት ቦታዬ ሰርጎ፡፡
ጠዋት ተመለከትኩ
በደስታ በአንክሮ፣
ጠላቴ ዛፏ ስር ተዘርሮ!
Jan 11, 2016
Jan 11, 2016 at 10:17 AM UTC
I
here alone apart
I realise
we are marked by the tide’s turn
and that drawing back
long aching inhalations
intakes of more than breath:
the very filling of lungs
with white and various
sounds
of beach
of foreshore
floating
in the heavy air.
Its constantness,
everywhere
together
its everywhere and together
oneness,
though with such difference
scoured into the sand
by weather’s hand
by the wind’s rough play.
II
Shield the eyes
against the glare
against the pressing wind
spinning down and past us
out of the light noon-distant high-sunned
light,
glancing the tips of bejewelled waves,
dancing, only to fall to translucent hollows,
only to rise and follow
the wave before itself,
that, even now and finally,
breaks into a foamed lace,
a fragile flower spreading
across the sand and shore,
a coverlet for this bared flesh of land,
wet glossy shiny sun-lit wet,
yet drying beneath our gaze,
leaving the infinitely-tiny
grains of sand’s
dew to glisten,
to sparkle.
III
No pathways here
after the entrance
of footprints splayed
down the slight dune
through the ammophila
down to the hard sand the littered stone.
Only up and down
across perhaps
to the sea - from the sea.
Otherwise it’s up:
to sunward windward,
out out along the jigged line
of surf meeting sand,
a self-similarity,
a symmetry breaking on the shore.
Jul 2, 2013
Jul 2, 2013 at 3:24 PM UTC
Caribbean waters wrench my gut
with an instinct to sail too far
into the blue plunge
of shark-finned waters
and sharp, yellow coral structures.
Those nature beasts rip wetsuit,
my sleek, stone shade wall from internal chill.
I am, feel, like a tanned fish
on these tire-weathered, cement streets.
Towering above are the heavy looks
down
from windows of sunned glass castles
of plastic and sweat.
They're calling,
pied pipers, to what is steel-stable
and rooted, in unforgiving fashion,
to the death of primal sense.
The urge to rip apart is tied back
around collared neck.
My boat is ashore
as I sea-dream-see of horizons unseen
while clenching an ill-fated
armrest desk of destiny
unexplored.
Aug 12, 2012
Aug 12, 2012 at 12:00 AM UTC
My mouth waters taste buds tickle
When I see a jar of lemon pickle!
On the sunny roof the lemon pickle
It starts a child’s saliva’s trickle!
It still gives his conscience a *****
He played on the old man a trick!
For the old one was sunned on the roof
Jar of lemon pickle what a goof!
The glass jar stayed there all day
But the child just couldn’t stay away!
At midday when they all were asleep
Little feet climbed the stairs steep!
Made sure not an eye was watching
What joy did the sight of pickle bring!
The child such small was his need
He only had to open the jar’s lid!
Pick up one for nothing he could miss
One juicy sweet sour lemon piece!
In his mischief he did go that far
Each ****** piece he put back in the jar!
So that they would never find a trace
Not one piece of lemon would be less!
The poor old man he never knew
The child’s blended saliva in the brew!
The child ****** pickle had his fill
What the old man relished with his meal!
I know this story isn’t worth a nickel
Still I find irresistible the lemon pickle!
Nov 20, 2013
Nov 20, 2013 at 6:04 AM UTC
He had to come back.
On a December afternoon
when the sun was more to west,
he landed on the most favorite place of his house,
the roof.
Just as he had imagined
the still winter air was abuzz with life.
Doves were pairing for a home
Green bee-eaters swooped on insects
Two herons kept following the grazing cow
Crows were busy with twigs and wires
High up beyond where paper kites could soar
Storks slow sunned their wings wet from the jhil
The cats warmed their furs before the cold night
The stray puppy gamboled with its mother.
Each piece had perfectly fitted the other
including the silently sleeping house.
He was tempted to walk down once
has she changed any little way?
He smiled to himself
then breezed away from the roof.
Jan 27, 2025
Jan 27, 2025 at 10:08 AM UTC
Vision...the perpetual resurrection of light,
tipping point whose interstice of darkness
is overcome, spreads the image clear.
Furrowing the brow of space like a great
perennial philosophy--the nexus of
contradistinction and unanimity.
Brilliant point via wave, wave via point lit
manifest...hence, objects to sequence the
speed of light which relents time.
Unerring panorama whose open ended gape
presupposes the conclusive evidence of
poetic salt in all its worthiness.
At the starry behest of a many-sunned
convention, apace with rarefied perception.
Vision...the illusory stasis of light, whose
translation is perception--mines the fusion
of angles, of a three hundred and sixty
degree order.
This plenary dispatch, exalting the sum of its
parts...inbuilt fractal minding, mining parts
which are The Sum.
...Om...
Nov 4, 2014
Nov 4, 2014 at 10:29 AM UTC
You sat for my camera
just the once
in a Mediterranean garden.
It was a haven of green
above a sunned-blue bay.
Unplanned it was.
We’d eaten lunch,
watching butterflies
flicker-perch and hover.
You’d tied your hair with a scarf
to keep the midday heat from your head,
a sun that brought your freckles to the fore
on bare arms, on your golden cheek.
Then, for a little while,
you left your public self elsewhere,
and my zoomed lens travelled close
as a lover’s kiss before waking.
And as you gazed at the daisied grass
a gentleness and grace descended
on your sun-shadowed face.
I took two pictures, only two.
These portraits I’ve not kept
with other ‘snaps’,
but far apart; and possibly
close to the painter’s art
as I will ever get.
The portrait-call goes out.
I hesitate, I’m reticent, afraid
to share them with the public gaze.
They say so much, you see,
of what I know you now to be:
the woman I’m privileged
to touch, to hold dear and close
to this wholly unmanageable heart.
Oct 27, 2013
Oct 27, 2013 at 10:50 AM UTC
If ever you think religious tolerance is at its nadir
Inter-religion integration or world religion a utopia
Stand before the sunned domes of the Christo Mandir
Where the Christ’s name mingles with Hare Krishna!
*Call it anything a temple a church
No different is our walked road
The church’s spire or the temple’s arch
Cannot be God’s encaged abode!*
Christo Mandir the Temple of Jesus
In many veins stand out one leaf
Hollows my perceived faith and class
At its door I cast aside my belief!
Mar 18, 2014
Mar 18, 2014 at 4:30 AM UTC
the wine-singing ceases its crescents as the grasses' leaves' small leaves are blown/
by wind. the wind paused by sunrise. airless and plum-coloured. my fire runs grey-dry. i'm drunk./
and well? doesn't poetry arrive here then? imagine my wordliness!: i know things!/
claiming them on some soft days as if the end of time will not yet have happened yet, grand/
as big children in bell-towered schools and the word that is taught to them there. meaning that/
the affront of the word is not something that should compel a throat opening. my throat opens/
without expectation of an other entering. through. and then what if not surprise when they do?/
and after when my tongue turns sarcophagus?: a song?: singing/
black! like mirrors and black! within it saying how here we go again with how the sun did me/
before i was born. how sturdy and taut this sunned-skin is. how apple-mouthed and coffee-bean. here we go again,/
i watch the cars go by my window with great longings of elsewheres. and fear. the red, white and blue flag-flashes,/
passing by glassily and hologrammed in front of me as the question of when, the question/
with the gun, here,/
horizoned./
click. icarus./
Oct 21, 2018
Oct 21, 2018 at 12:53 AM UTC
Pitt
A Poem by Corset
How could anyone mistake her for a Pitt Bull?
Those soft jowls and square headed wrinkles
Sweet Mana-T,
we are the Walrus Koo Koo ka choo...
Pops with his skin on fire,
a real hair -hell-raiser
we didn't buy that white castle
no moats, no boats
no tight sunned mailman at the door
pony tailed to his ***
what...
I'm old,
... not dead.
makes the Buddha smile
it does...
She went and got herself all
God polished, cartooned
very High and very mighty,
it's the only way to hang
incognito,
Sometimes overcome with joy,
he is writing somewhere,
like a lovers bite to the breast
black and blue
like bruising...like hickies
tickle
it makes him happy.
in return,
it makes me happy
...and weird **** just keeps
...happening...
we should talk.
No, Now I live on top of a garden,
a virtual Gnomes paradise,
the owner of this garden
is a wrinkly Lady Gaga-Gnome
centuries old
thumping up to my door at three A.M.
duct taping the bad news to the dark
of my vacuum-less door.
"You, ma'am- are breaking the rules"
She; who thinks the homeowners
association should KNOW
about my extremely "timid
hide under the bed at the
slightest movement"
This sable mini Shar pei-looking
Pitt Bull-
steel jawed Staffordshire Bull Terrier
trembling at the reflection of
her ferocious self.
Newsflash: This just in...daughter... terror stricken...out shopping for handgun.
Oct 10, 2016
Oct 10, 2016 at 11:12 PM UTC
the antecedent story would be a simpler telling- how it came to be the boy and I and three cows. one can imagine; one must. we celebrated spontaneously in our biddable house and we lost track. sufficient that I was aged and he much less. our argument presented itself like this: magic paper or magic milk? boy he would hold the bucket above the paper and pour. I noted this was an act magnificent and an act personal. I was pulled into the boy initially but pulled back. the milk though went into the paper; abandoned, freed, gone. the boy did this once a day for three until the bucket was empty. I said paper, he said milk. our further experiments left the paper sunned and thus brittle. we then had only our cows which led us to grass and hormones. hormones led to science, grass to god. grass to his mother.
Jul 6, 2012
Jul 6, 2012 at 11:50 AM UTC
It begins as a whisper on the wind
Floats like dandelion fluff
Into an open, waiting ear.
It dances through the canal
Tiptoes to the brain
And leaves behind
The heart of its matter
A seed
A seed, an idea
To be watered by inspiration
And sunned by experience
To grow into a thought
And bear the fruits of action.
To be eaten by the many
And digested by the few.
To come forth as words
Which echo throughout the world
Resonating from cacophony to quietude.
Then as whispers, move on the wind
Floating like dandelion fluff once again.
Dec 13, 2012
Dec 13, 2012 at 9:32 PM UTC