"swath" poems
Like a moth
blinded by such froth
wished to touch the flame.
Wrapped with swath
Burnt wings dropped the cloth
Time to take the blame...
May 23, 2014
May 23, 2014 at 6:24 PM UTC
Distance traveled time spent's dynamic progressiveness, existentially transcendental's clairaudience clairvoyance. Metaphysical mystique’s evolutionally metamorphic futurity's fatidic incarnate. Due yesterday’s retrospectively retroactive. Protractive analyses' dimensional delineations. Enigma entity’s dexterously tactile acuity and coordinated agility on the identity crisis. Cerebral cortex’s ****** matrix to synaptic syntax semantics. Prospectus perplexity surreally sublime. Quagmire quandary’s poshly plush. Who am I to think I can conception of the infinite supply? Even the syntactics of eclectic synectics pale by compare to the atrociously impetuous impudence in pugnaciously audacious. Impromptu innuendo's juncture. Imagination’s immaturities are psychic clarity’s entelechy to evolutional tenants élan vital. Fiduciary principle's financially responsible fiscal policies. Mercenary mendacity's plenary plenipotentiary. Innocuous noumenal verity, mystic symbiotic’s chicanery dynamism fealties. Proximity parameter’s perimeter peripherals, vicinity victuals to vigilante villain, propinquity habitation’s harbingers of harangued. The question remains on the tribal: how can I stand next to the person I’m standing next to if I’m carrying on right through them. It’s the trajectory extant in spatiotemporal's telemetry tactician. Well graspy greedy on the stingy frugal to mingy minion and paw flaw laws claws on it. Get a glove, objectified manifest’s diminutive minutia iota’s of self-inductive interstitial extrapolation. Detinue perfective. Traveling down this obtusely overt contusion in my vehicular contrivance convection convolution. Nimbus nimiety exorcism’s aura roan to rainbow mare. Unicorn railway nails. Swarthy ******** swath swizzles on the sweaty swelter swerve to verve.
May 28, 2019
May 28, 2019 at 12:10 PM UTC
The blue deepens,
blackens,
turns to night.
The sun sets over the horizon,
the light fades,
day is gone.
the moon rises,
a scythe in the velvet sky,
a swath of stars removed in its brilliant light.
Jul 17, 2014
Jul 17, 2014 at 1:24 AM UTC
Season of mists and mellow fruitfulness,
Close bosom-friend of the maturing sun;
Conspiring with him how to load and bless
With fruit the vines that round the thatch-eaves run;
To bend with apples the mossed cottage-trees,
And fill all fruit with ripeness to the core;
To swell the gourd, and plump the hazel shells
With a sweet kernel; to set budding more,
And still more, later flowers for the bees,
Until they think warm days will never cease,
For Summer has o'er-brimmed their clammy cell.
Who hath not seen thee oft amid thy store?
Sometimes whoever seeks abroad may find
Thee sitting careless on a granary floor,
Thy hair soft-lifted by the winnowing wind;
Or on a half-reaped furrow sound asleep,
Drowsed with the fume of poppies, while thy hook
Spares the next swath and all its twined flowers;
And sometimes like a gleaner thou dost keep
Steady thy laden head across a brook;
Or by a cider-press, with patient look,
Thou watchest the last oozings, hours by hours.
Where are the songs of Spring? Ay, where are they?
Think not of them, thou hast thy music too,---
While barred clouds bloom the soft-dying day,
And touch the stubble-plains with rosy hue;
Then in a wailful choir, the small gnats mourn
Among the river sallows, borne aloft
Or sinking as the light wind lives or dies;
And full-grown lambs loud bleat from hilly bourn;
Hedge-crickets sing; and now with treble soft
The redbreast whistles from a garden-croft,
And gathering swallows twitter in the skies.
2.4k
The frog half fearful jumps across the path,
And little mouse that leaves its hole at eve
Nimbles with timid dread beneath the swath;
My rustling steps awhile their joys deceive,
Till past, and then the cricket sings more strong,
And grasshoppers in merry moods still wear
The short night weary with their fretting song.
Up from behind the molehill jumps the hare,
Cheat of his chosen bed, and from the bank
The yellowhammer flutters in short fears
From off its nest hid in the grasses rank,
And drops again when no more noise it hears.
Thus nature’s human link and endless thrall,
Proud man, still seems the enemy of all.
2.3k
On the other side of the pumpkin patch there lies a narrow path.
Just a dent in the woods it seems, until getting closer you can see
The ground worn smooth by those who know to use it.
A short, dimly lit way through the thick brush opens out
And suddenly you find yourself on the gravelly bank of a railroad track.
The track cuts a swath through the dense forest that leans over it
As if jealous of the ground taken from its midst.
In each direction the track finally loses itself in a tunnel of trees,
Curving out of sight to reach some distant and unknown end.
When the train comes through, robbing the woods of the solace of silence,
I wonder where it’s bound, and how long it will take to get there.
The rhythmic clacking of the wheels, the endless line of boxcars,
The power and speed of the thing arrogantly announces itself to all--
Blind to any purpose or direction other than its own inarticulate need.
As the trains moves out of sight, I look again at the empty track
And wonder about the choices I have made.
Jan 31, 2012
Jan 31, 2012 at 2:09 PM UTC
The pendulum swings
cutting a swath deeper, wider
extreme left and extreme right
frenzied in the struggle.
Right as I am ,
locked in the polarity
I could ****
to make your threat go away.
Sep 24, 2012
Sep 24, 2012 at 9:40 PM UTC
I
Season of mists and mellow fruitfulness,
Close bosom-friend of the maturing sun;
Conspiring with him how to load and bless
With fruit the vines that round the thatch-eves run;
To bend with apples the moss'd cottage-trees,
And fill all fruit with ripeness to the core;
To swell the gourd, and plump the hazel shells
With a sweet kernel; to set budding more,
And still more, later flowers for the bees,
Until they think warm days will never cease,
For Summer has o'er-brimm'd their clammy cells.
II
Who hath not seen thee oft amid thy store?
Sometimes whoever seeks abroad may find
Thee sitting careless on a granary floor,
Thy hair soft-lifted by the winnowing wind;
Or on a half-reap'd furrow sound asleep,
Drows'd with the fume of poppies, while thy hook
Spares the next swath and all its twined flowers:
And sometimes like a gleaner thou dost keep
Steady thy laden head across a brook;
Or by a cyder-press, with patient look,
Thou watchest the last oozings hours by hours.
III
Where are the songs of Spring? Ay, where are they?
Think not of them, thou hast thy music too,--
While barred clouds bloom the soft-dying day,
And touch the stubble-plains with rosy hue;
Then in a wailful choir the small gnats mourn
Among the river sallows, borne aloft
Or sinking as the light wind lives or dies;
And full-grown lambs loud bleat from hilly bourn;
Hedge-crickets sing; and now with treble soft
The red-breast whistles from a garden-croft;
And gathering swallows twitter in the skies.
1.9k
Once, long ago
I gazed upon
the world with
conformity’s eyes
and found it absurd
And I cursed existence
and my fellow man
I built a wall to defend
the tattered remnants
of the sanity I perceived
I still possessed
I built a wall that quickly
became a desolate prison
standing cold in the face
of forgiveness and love
I ignored beauty’s gentle bliss
I insulted love in the name
of an antiquated morality
Oh spirits
Oh demons
Oh harbingers
of what lies
beyond
perception
It was to you
that I entrusted
my salvation
It was to you that
I prayed in expectation
of deliverance
I begged for naught
but a cessation of being
to relieve the nightmare
of existence
In desperation
I grasped the reins
of intolerance
I drew the sword
of superficial righteousness
carving a swath of condemnation
through the ranks of my brothers
for the sake of a disapproving God
I wounded virtue in the name of heaven
I exchanged reason for faith
I threw compassion to the dogs of indifference
What pain has my existence
brought my fellow man?
My path to salvation lies
hidden among the bones
of those I once held dear
Heaven should not
exact such remuneration
for paradise cannot be
purchased with the blood
of hatred and the
tears of martyred tolerance
I will not kneel before
such an altar
Not again
Never again
Sep 7, 2013
Sep 7, 2013 at 10:46 AM UTC
Distance traveled time spent's dynamic progressiveness, existentially transcendental's clairaudience clairvoyance. Metaphysical mystique’s evolutionally metamorphic futurity's fatidic incarnate. Due yesterday’s retrospectively retroactive. Protractive analysis' dimensional delineation. Enigma entity’s dexterously tactile acuity and coordinated agility on the identity crisis. Cerebral cortex’s ****** matrix to synaptic syntax semantics. Prospectus perplexity surreally sublime. Quagmire quandary’s poshly plush. Who am I to think I can conception of the infinite supply? Even the syntactics of eclectic synectics pale by compare to the atrociously impetuous impudence in pugnaciously audacious. Impromptu innuendo's juncture. Imagination’s immaturities are psychic clarity’s entelechy to evolutional tenants élan vital. Fiduciary principle's financially responsible fiscal policies. Mercenary mendacity's plenary plenipotentiary. Innocuous noumenal verity, mystic symbiotic’s chicanery dynamism fealties. Proximity parameter’s perimeter peripherals, vicinity victuals to vigilante villain, propinquity habitation’s harbingers of harangued. The question remains on the tribal: how can I stand next to the person I’m standing next to if I’m carrying on right through them. It’s the trajectory extant in spatiotemporal's telemetry tactician. Well graspy greedy on the stingy frugal to mingy minion and paw flaw laws claws on it. Get a glove, objectified manifest’s diminutive minutia iota’s of self-inductive interstitial extrapolation. Detinue perfective. Traveling down this obtusely overt contusion in my vehicular contrivance convection convolution. Nimbus nimiety exorcism’s aura roan to rainbow mare. Unicorn railway nails. Swarthy swastica swath swizzles on the sweaty swelter swerve to verve.
May 6, 2016
May 6, 2016 at 10:57 PM UTC
Prerogative presumptive judicature, cantankerous cantilever capacity. Paradoxical dichotomy greaves, gauntlets gamut catalyst abstracts, asymmetrical symmetry. Objectified manifest's dimensional delineation, intrinsic endemic innate opaque opulence. Protractive analyses accidence ambience acoustics. Spatiotemporal telemetry tactician's trajectory extant.
Prophylaxis protocol annex annul. Kinesiology kleptomaniac extraversion embezzlement euthanasia extortion, embark embargo extradition. Aura roan's rainbow mare's nimbus nimiety exorcism. Corporeally preternatural's existential exigence exodus. Cerebral cortex's ****** matrix's carousel ceaselessly ceremony chaos character charisma, apex axis crux, exponentially extemporaneous manumission. Categorical imperative hubris, hectic duty deontological probity.
Astral projection's clairaudience clairvoyance. Tenets and principles, maxims and axioms, and doctrinal mandates. Exserted protuberance's edifice ******** Exotically ****** ethereally sublime xylem Xanadu sails. Erotica erectile errantry.
Fulham nuance ***** Formidable foundry of a foyer fracas. Harpy harsh hast, atrium attrition seditious. Oak tree ****** nails swarthy ******** swath swizzles and unicorn railway sails. Anchor pin tachometer troll wood harlotry's root clod rudiments, lightning bow hat pick. Transcendent nimbus nimiety exorcist. Transpicuous translucence alluvium aloof impunity.
Feb 21, 2021
Feb 21, 2021 at 10:07 PM UTC
because
on some dateless dawn
away from the mown swath at the edge of the road,
grass tall in the meadow, gold already and leaning, each piece seeming
to whisper some secret one might hear if close enough
as blades nodded in unison towards scrambled trees at the edge of the clearing
i was a deer there, hiding, feral, eating secrets
for a moment then, free
Jun 14, 2014
Jun 14, 2014 at 10:57 PM UTC
*I'll swath my cliches
in over verbose decadence
and ask forgiveness in the morning.*
Edging
toeing
the fine line in between
Fighting to live
- or -
living to fight
in champagne surged soirees
of surreptitious allergens
Some ******* ballad
donning metalcore methods
aggressive to a fault
that is to say, earth-shattering
unyielding, unwavering, unapproachable
un-fucking-believable
You, me,
they, we,
truncated
but never forgotten
Had
but never spent
Forgotten
but never lost
Your name is in my autocorrect
with siren songs and call signs
from generational grievances,
Chivalrous misandry,
chorus discord
callous
Chandeliers swing
low like chariots.
Samson told us to keep dancing.
We were only listening,
abreast one another,
clad only in our genres.
We were so much more
until we were
lost,
but never mattered.
May 21, 2014
May 21, 2014 at 10:08 AM UTC
The golden hours of the morning met my eyes with favor.
Cherished and tender, the Sun kissed her skin in a swath of freckled light.
I meet her gaze and she fades like waning of my magic.
In her absence, I stumble from then to now, tethered along by the wish of her reality.
She is ethereal, her between moments, unmoored by convention.
She is a freedom, I do no know.
She whispers her truths, words which wage war with profound ambition.
Dusk comes and I succumb, it is time.
Oct 10, 2021
Oct 10, 2021 at 6:33 PM UTC
Am I selling my soul to the corporate world
in a vain pursuit of future financial stability?
Should I have bought my future with what little I had
and spent it growing my skills in music and writing
so that I could know they were not wasted?
Should I give up on this new work-from-home desk job
where I'm paid commission and weekly bonuses
and won't see the residual income from renewals for thirteen months?
Can't I have something stable that doesn't bore me to death,
and something exciting that doesn't turn my anxiety to an 11?
I've never had a balance--every job has been one or the other.
And yet, as I yearn for a career in music, I recall my past
where I majored in songwriting and couldn't handle college
and I sigh and realize that jumping to a music job wouldn't "fix" me.
No matter what I'm doing, I will need to have perseverance,
and patience, yes, but also motivation and drive to improve myself.
These struggles that I face now at this job are the same ones
that I've always struggled with--they're part of me still.
And I've always blamed the job for not being a good fit--
and some of them weren't, true--but that wasn't the root of it.
A job that is worth doing
will take effort and drive
and no worthy income
comes by barely getting by
and doing the bare minimum
in order to escape a scolding.
I need to change my mindset
in order to grow above this--
this swamp of complacency,
this mire of despondent weakness,
this misty swath of ambiguous feelings
that have dictated my actions
for far too long. No.
I'll sit and get to work
knowing that I am securing a future
for myself, my husband, and family
and that one day, I will have time
to create art in any way I want
but right now, I have a lesson to learn
about working hard
and rising to the challenge.
Don't let me forget.
I can't look back now.
Up I go, to new heights
where the fearful me
thought the risks were too great.
Up I go, to climb my mountain
and win this battle, and the next,
until I'm out of the doldrums
and onto the path that advances before me.
Here goes.
May 18, 2021
May 18, 2021 at 3:37 PM UTC
Distilled concourse, the deep black sheep of space itself...
pin-pricked with breathing holes that burst light.
Everything lives inside its head...stars, star as proof
positive of other mentation.
Serenade their indelible station with Unknowing-Knowing...
mantric mothering.
Victors of the immaterial thumbtacking grayest matter.
Unshaken eyes cast for seership...voids swath and drown
in trying to connect them.
There you are...a starry entelechy...revelatory
inky night lo Light, showering your outer eyes instantaneously.
Beaming up an effigy of your earthly clay--encasing you in
the experimental color coursing a bubble greater than
a galaxy.
A supernova radiating your inner eyes.
Feb 23, 2015
Feb 23, 2015 at 2:33 PM UTC
A chilled but passionate solution
Bubbly mix with bracing sensation
Dashes of bittersweet fruit in flute
Sends forth your day in joyous pursuit
An inward touch of coy affection
Close to perfect prime of your generation
Afar I lay on your sinuous path
As frivolous lace of vast green swath
Dec 1, 2014
Dec 1, 2014 at 9:37 AM UTC
The odors of an open landfill rise up from my gaping mouth.
If fifty miles out, you smell it, stinking as it will,
one hundred lie that you must drive before, beyond the fetid
tickle of a foul doubt, your nausea will settle and will die
in shrinking throes. And then another one, and still
another comes and goes. I sense the every stinking swath of bile
and swarming offering tossed into me from such passers-by--
but I feel nothing satisfy (ironically or otherwise)
the open landfill of my gut. A hole no less am I when stuffed.
Oct 5, 2012
Oct 5, 2012 at 11:08 PM UTC
*speckled cityscape compulsion
<>
it is 6:40am.
the ending credits roll on a Hannibal horror film
that I’ve seen many times.
but it’s just an old rerun, familiar deviltry,
slept through it thankfully
the kitchen window gives up a sunrise,
but it’s just an old rerun, familiar deviltry,
a streaking swath of burnt and bright,
so oft described, the color commentary
previously immortalized by better poets
than me, easy found elsewhere.
the speckled cityscape in this pre-awakened urbanity,
it is their moment, these red flashes, all about,
tall buildings chanting “stay away from me”
to you sleepy pilots, looking for a strip to safely land
in a tumbled jungled of obscene density.
still, they highlight against a river of deep, bright oranges,
burning surrounded by the most beauteous array of shades of blue,
compelled against my will to thankful write,
for gifts such as these cannot be so casually dismissed,
cannot be willfully ignored, to do so, denies our genetic commandments.
a hopeless, thankless task to ask of oneself.
the perhaps intrusive. Sunday, maybe the babies
will visit, macaroons, pre-halloween bags of candy bars,
at the ready, pre-opened by small, tall inner children for sensory testing.
Milk Duds, Heath Bars, Whopper malted ***** Hershey white chocolate,
checked by adults for safety and quality control.
all these I see, in realized eyes and whimsical musings,
in perfect silence, for the Sunday city morning
is worshiping the coming day in a church like silence,
where each patron fills in the empty sounds
with hymns of their own making...by moving their lips
in fervent unspokeness
the sky river reflects more modestly in the East River,
for a reflection is always a second best version.
30 minutes later the real and the apparition both,
disappeared, and a palest sheer blue, white streaked sky,
just an old rerun, familiar deviltry.
why is the sun rising
is so worshipped,
for there will never be a full day of
just sunrise colorations,
but the speckled reds still
a true color, still showing,
on perpetual guard duty,
bidding adieu to its
morning lovers,
until tomorrow,
in my city of lips.
sun. oct. 20 2019
Oct 20, 2019
Oct 20, 2019 at 8:21 AM UTC
---
i was sitting out
on the porch
of our old historic
home this morning
the beauty of
the desert all around me
birds were making
their early waking
shower songs
the sun having just
arrived in from
the east
the temperature
is perfect
all is right with
the world
right?
WRONG
i was obsessing
about a relationship
i've just had a
breakup
i was thinking
over and over again
about what HE had done
my parents are ill
i was obsessing about that
i am ill
that took a huge part
of my attention
how many times
have i done this?
burned a wide swath
through my
neuropathways
OBSESSING
not on good things
on the
BAD
we always complain
about the way we
ALWAYS
remember
the bad stuff
is this not
what we
OBSESS OVER
?
OUR
NEUROPATHWAYS
ARE SEARED
BY THE
NEGATIVE!!!
and so often we
take the *positive
FOR GRANTED*
honestly
how much
mental air time
do we give
a glorious sunset
a great time at the beach
a walk in the rain
a lovely flower
A BEAUTIFUL MORNING
?
our brains get
wired
for the
negative
right then and there
i started to
THANK GOD
for the beauty around me
i started to
notice things
a flower that was just opening
the exact color of
the pearleceant sky
(a kind of peachy lavender)
a silly
coyote
his coat
russet and shining
heading down
the alleyways!
IF I'D BEEN
OBSESSING OVER THE PAST
I GUARANTEE
I WOULD NEVER
HAVE
NOTICED
HIM!
i had to smile
and smiling is something
i have not done
**IN A LONG TIME**
♡♥♡
Catherine
May 20, 2015
May 20, 2015 at 9:27 AM UTC
Amid the grace of quiet stones,
a stroll down pebbled path.
There within a forgotten time,
behind an iron latch.
Stands now in aged seclusion,
of monuments to grief.
A countenance in marble cast,
beautiful Angel in soft relief.
Heavenly comfort emanates,
a coronal healing swath.
Winged guardian to souls now passed,
sempiternal keepers of the watch.
Jun 13, 2011
Jun 13, 2011 at 7:42 PM UTC
We're too old now.
Too old to indulge in
partitioned plastic plates
shatter resistant
but molded to hold in
three ounces of fun
per serving.
We've outgrown yesterday's
gaudy voice acting
and crude cartoon lines
washed out, two dimensional
color schemes
and character types, now
redux in high gloss CGI,
300 dpi
1080p
5.1 surrounding
both of our senses.
What's that?
We have three others?
But we've no time
for scented markers
on monochrome pages
Breakfast food no longer
simply sugar and bread
We swath ourselves
with succulent self-importance
tech savvy misanthropy
dolled up in decadent
anonymity
We are too old
to go to a friends house and play.
A list of woes and throes
gives us nothing-
leaves us nowhere
except in thinking
patiently praying
that we may never outgrow
our love for the things
which we've long since outgrown.
Feb 13, 2014
Feb 13, 2014 at 1:35 PM UTC
Laughter reaches new bounds
When you ask/ax me
" do I have pasketti on my face?"
Like a wild aminal you crawl
Over and smear that pasketti
On my cheeks
Like 60's rouge
Never meant to leave the Avon catalog.
cute comf-ta-ble sweaters
Swath lithe body like soft down
Byrds outside singing
Dancing in green foil-age.
Go join them,
Eyes chatoyant and comely.
With pasketti still on your face
You chirp like them byrds,
Such ebullience fits in with the robins.
Mar 27, 2013
Mar 27, 2013 at 6:58 PM UTC
I sit quietly by myself
and let your features drift through my mind,
let the thrill of recollection
stimulate my eyes to wrinkle
in a slow and happy smile.
The warmth of intimacy remembered
causes a searing red response
to my glowing personage.
Drenched with pusating happiness
am I at having shared so much,
in so short a time,
four days of the happiest Easter that I can recall.
My expression fails me
in my urgent need to tell you
of the excruciating love
you cause me so easily.
I am consumed with the most intense feelings
of sensitive , sweet longing.
Christine, this hurts me so beautifully.
My fancy runs to a grassy glade
splashed with deep green shade
and warm April sunshine;
excited children splash amid the stones
of a bubbling creek
and shreik with delight
in their careless fun.
To us, scintillating sights and sounds,
a spiritual bond of unhampered, happy humanity
and a grassy sunlit swath of beauty.
Together we sit and warmly enjoy
the conciousness of each others nearness.
Smile on my man
for you are loved
by one who, in all truth,
deserves a Prince.
Amble off to bed my friend
for you are tired and happy.
Dream of her
and remember when
In a moment of love,
she did softly whisper
“Happy Birthday my Darling”
And, as I recall,
your heart almost burst.
Marshalg
Albury
9th April 1969
Nov 14, 2011
Nov 14, 2011 at 9:10 PM UTC