"swiveled" poems
Brushing lips
Fingertips
Cotton rips
Swiveled hips
Who needs relationships?
Jun 23, 2014
Jun 23, 2014 at 7:34 PM UTC
i
caught
a glimpse
of
your
alluring eyes
but
you
swiveled
them away
with no
sign
of
vigilance
within
and
all
of
a sudden
an
indescribably
pain
grew
in intensity
inside
of
me.
Sep 27, 2014
Sep 27, 2014 at 8:23 AM UTC
A huge crowd thronged the temple premises
Its vicinity, already bursting in color
With people in hundreds streaming in
The young and the old clad in festal attire
With fire in their hearts n' festive sheen in their eyes
Not driven by piety, mostly to enjoy the fanfare
Festoons decorated trees that lined the compound
Colorful lamps blinked everywhere
Sacred bells, chiming intermittent
At the auspicious hour, as devotional songs rent the air
The chief deity was brought out of the shrine
And was placed on the caparisoned elephant
Accompanied by pulsating percussion ensemble
The devotees cheered witnessing the majestic entourage
Within them the fervid spring of joy swelled
Colorful umbrellas were unfurled
Drawing synchronized patterns in the air
Under the glare and noise, the heat and sweat
Amid the tumultuous beat of trumpets
And the rhythmic sounding of cymbals
The crowd swayed in psychedelic lassitude
An army of hawkers had already set up shops
Each made it a time to earn some bucks
Selling knickknacks and goodies to tempt children
From ice creams to popcorn and colorful balloons
Children ran around licking cotton candies
Some enjoyed blowing up soap bubbles
And iridescent orbs landing softly on their hair and dress
With dusk fall, the ceremonious fire work began
The crowd stood aghast at the pyrotechnic display
Scintillating colors and confetti of sparks painted the sky
Shooting spears rose high and fluorescent rainbow colors
Came dancing down, fire wheels swiveled on the ground
Deadening roar of crackers and thunderous blast of *****
Tore the sky announcing the sleepy world;
‘It was once again festival time for the people to rejoice
Apr 24, 2017
Apr 24, 2017 at 9:25 AM UTC
quietly observing the area within sight
surrounded by the stench of the dumpsters
hearing squeaking sounds in the night
its keen eyes swiveled to pinpoint the noise
in the distance it spots its target
climbing over a spilled garbage bag
the ragged mouse was starving yet
working so hard to sniff out anything
edible which could be its next meal
being quick on its feet it realized it
was being watched so it ran so fast
to get away from what it saw as
its enemy the greedy rat
May 14, 2016
May 14, 2016 at 12:34 AM UTC
Saturday morning yoga class for moms.
We go anyways.
Tremors in our wavelength, shaky hands, unsteady heartbeats.
Off the Richter,
Ashes to rain, rainy ashes, acid burns through our umbrellas, ellas, ellas, ellas.
Writing stories about the time we danced on the bar
Another drink tonight
Just one more drag; then I quit.
Then, I need another.
Things you promise I know you can’t keep
Bejeweled picture frames and tiny figurines
Heeby jeeby vibes from the hippie couple that freaks every one out
Guitar chords, strumming of my heart
We breathe smog and fog
Shortened breaths for shortened lives
Strange noises emerge from the next room
We emulate our favorite heroes past.
She changes her name to something androgynous
Because that’s how she feels.
And doesn’t want to get a pixie cut.
She won’t shut up from the next cubicle over.
She craves the attention, the validation from her stories
That she is one of us.
Swing the scissors around again, throw them to me.
Nothing makes sense.
I ordered another beer
Even though I didn’t want another.
Indulgence. Liquid indulgence.
Hailing the Porcelain God later.
Routine.
Soft smile
Swiveled me to the ground
Things are never the way you want them to be
So move away
Go home
Keep moving
If you stand still, you’ll start to feel something
Hum hum hum
Everything is Numb numb numb
Here is where the heartache is--
“If you loved me you would…”
No I wouldn’t.
You don’t know me at all.
Jun 13, 2012
Jun 13, 2012 at 11:39 AM UTC
Practically everyone fell to their knees at the sound of the whistle. Maszar glanced backwards at the iron rod pressed to his spine and the articulated expression of a misty thought-god that held the holographic weapon prisoner. He believed, and the sudden twitch of dendrites and synapses claustrophobicly trapped him inside of his head- - he began screaming, "too small, too small!" like it made a difference and scratched at the walls of his mind as the Queen of Deza Park dosed her way into the debate panel of his mind for an evening special of Into the Mist.
There wasn't much left to debate when she arrived- - the synapses were firing at one another, frightened warriors frantically snapping their own necks in unintentional combat or disillusioned by the unromance of war. Dendrites and neurons began to shoot themselves hard in the temple as the world swiveled into a whirlpool around them, thoughts crashing through the unprotected dam of the cerebral cortex and landing on the war torn beaches of repressed memory. Slowly, the chasm between Maszar's body and mind began to close- - revealing to the war torn gods the implicit unity within each explicit duality, swapping sanity for quick sand and comfort for faded lenses through which scratch marks created a tear in the space-time continuum.
If only.. was his second-to-last thought.
If only there was some way to measure the death erupting within me to see if..
was his last.
Oct 13, 2013
Oct 13, 2013 at 8:22 PM UTC
So, how did the war go?
I was captured and whipped
I collapsed down low,
Tears from my eyes dripped
They were tears of pain,
they were tears of woe
***
I remember:
That evil one was one large ****
He was a helper to the evil king.
He was as ugly as a deformed pug
and he towered almost everything.
He used his weapons. He abused his might
but soon a general came.
They greeted each other. They started to fight.
Both weapons a sword, they entered the game.
Both frightened, and prayed to the very Lord.
They sweated and beamed, it shan’t be the same.
The big baboon gleamed. He sharpened his aim
as swords clanked like a rattling chain.
***
The soldiers died in strife and pain.
***
Back at the duel,
swiveled thoughts of fear.
The good general slashed the brute’s very ear.
They slashed one another.
Blood spilled out.
***
The dying people screamed with a ****** shout.
Launching arrows using bows,
each one struck with a ****** stab.
Stung and torn by the vengeful foes.
The thunder shrieked with gravity.
Many died in depravity.
The corpses dripped crimson gore,
red as the sun on red sand
***
But back at the duel, the king was abed.
The brute was gone. He was pale dead
By the king’s bed, the general gave a grin
and performed his final sin.
And now they shout, the soldiers shout:
Death to the king! Death to the King!
The Tyrant is gone forever!
Yet this war, this dreadful war
will leave us to ponder as well.
Oct 6, 2013
Oct 6, 2013 at 5:59 PM UTC
The effortless leaf fluttered in the wind, its premature disconnection being the cause of sadness for the caterpillar.
The shadow of the old cottonwood had lengthened, and its roots tunneled ceaselessly in the obscured grass.
A bird summoned forth the air, and filtered her back out, having her carry the daily song.
The dog’s ear lifted slightly as the whir of a bike chain became audible for a short time.
Sleep rediscovered him swiftly.
The field slowly absorbed the flooded acequia water.
Ducks discovered a temporary haven.
She sat in the shade, the dog panting by her side. The soft light caressed her exposed skin in the loose summer dress. She squinted up at the blur of a bicyclist, smiling.
The earth swiveled slightly. The leaf had found the ground. The caterpillar had long been pecked by a cheery, singing bird. The shadow of the tree, now extending in the acequia grove, faded with the dying light. The dog now slept inside the old house, abandoning his domain at the fence corner. The ducks found new water, as the field sighed with relief. She walked her dog back to her yard, wishing the bicycle had not been moving quite so fast.
Oct 11, 2011
Oct 11, 2011 at 10:13 PM UTC
My seat upon the balcony in the indoor stadium
Overlooked the stage and playing band.
On my phone, I told my friends where I was
Fishing for jealousy.
(I was an *** then)
She was the only of two replies
"I'm here too!"
Last spring, she told me of her affections,
And my mind fell to wondering if it still was true.
The stick bent, then.
During the intermission period,
I called and asked her to meet me in the lobby.
She obliged, and after running down the stairs,
I considered her in earnest.
The stick was stressed.
I thought about how it would be to hold her hand.
I thought about how it would be to kiss her.
I thought about how she would be.
I reached the landing and jumped down the rest of the flight.
There she was, looking for me.
How long had she been searching for me?
(I was a little conceited then, too)
The stick screamed in pain.
I tapped on her shoulder from behind, and she swiveled on a point.
"Hi" I said dumbly and breathily. She smiled.
The stick snapped. It shattered into a million pieces.
She was the most beautiful thing I'd ever seen.
And we talked about how cool her boyfriend was.
Dec 26, 2012
Dec 26, 2012 at 9:51 AM UTC
It's just a state of mind.
One must approach a lady
In phases;
Expressing the love
In words careful
Of retrieving
And believing.
All in a glance
She answers.
The fight for meaning
Is being swiveled
By love's renaissance.
Jul 9, 2010
Jul 9, 2010 at 4:45 AM UTC
A famous alumnus is visiting the university. I got an invitation several days ago to a small, socially distanced, masked, focus group. It was to be early on a Saturday morning - so, why not? I was excited to see her - I’m a fan.
We were a diverse group of about 20 (covid tested before admittance) students and I was in the back row. Seating was offset so everyone could see everything perfectly. I craned and swiveled, when her entourage came into the room. Then, there she was - I’m sure I was grinning ear to ear (behind my mask), we clapped, excitedly. She wore a navy business suit. A jacket over a black blouse with slacks and black shoes.
She gave a talk, about the challenges America faces. On YouTube, her speech-giving voice always seemed artificial, cold, harsh and brittle. Here, she was low-key, motherly, whip smart, personable and humorous - everything I had hoped for.
Then there was a question and answer session (NOT easy questions - did I mention whip smart?) followed by a no touching reception line. And *** she’s a foot away. She seemed a lacquered and corrected sort of person - professional - I guess you’d say.
Everyone was gently elbow bumping with her, so I did too. You’d say your name and class. “Anais Vionet, freshman,” I said. I wanted to say “I’m a BIG fan” but I thought I might come off as either fawning or even worse someone bent on wasting her time.
We both smiled, me behind my mask and I bobbed a goodbye nod, but as I went to step away she said, “How’s your Grandmother?” I was shocked but I managed to say, “She’s fine, thank you.” To which she replied, “Please tell her I said hello.” I just nodded, “yes” as a sort of “I will,” and stepped away.
I glanced around, there was no handler by her side and she wasn’t wearing an earpiece - how she knew me I have no idea - but now I think she’s considering a run in 2024. My grandmère would be a whale of a donor.
What a bizarre encounter.
Feb 5, 2022
Feb 5, 2022 at 12:25 PM UTC
Me, up on the snow-rock white glacial cliff hedges mountaineering my way in the moments-after-twilight-sweeping-black. Execrable cold, a death-making quiet, Not a seal, not a hare - this Earth of gelid death. I climbed out above the snow Where my expiration left sinuous brandings in the copper light. But the Weddell was siphoning the darkness to the katabatic deep valleys - piceous lees of the brightening umber - cleaving the moon in two like the split eye of a winter lynx. And I saw the penguins: Little specks of black in the limitless white - fifty together - obelisk-still. Their inaudible coo, they sat motionless, nearly mute, With creamsicle feet and amber-eyes, incomparably mum. I proceeded: not one chirped or swiveled its little fur cap. Black silent fragments of a black silent world. I hearkened in the barrens of the desiccate plains. While the wooly bears came from the sea to see of the silence. Slowly edges oozed out of the darkness. Then the moon ivory, porcelain, azure erupted Quietly, and halving to its heart and shot mist, shaking and the ocean opened, crying blue, And the giant mountains lunged-. I stopped Scrambling, as if up from my voice at the mouth of a nightmare, down towards the snow-rock, from their glacial sheaths, And came the penguins. There stood they, still-, silent, in the river of blue light: Creamsicle feet and amber-eyed Thwacking the ice in a grand fête While everywhere was gray and rimy. And still they did not speak above a breath, Not one squeeked or cawed, Their nestled shining beaks dug into the polar rim, Low into the valleys, in the blue shimmering rays - In throngs of the congested cities, living among the years, the faces, May I some day greet my memory in such solemn a world Into the estuaries and the azure-skies, curious wooly bears, Listening as the ice tholes.
Apr 11, 2017
Apr 11, 2017 at 4:40 AM UTC
She sat on the carpet with a bowl of Lucky Charms
on her lap watching Scooby-Doo when she
swiveled and asked, “Why do I have
a cleft palate?” Before I could
respond she sang, “Frosted
Lucky Charms, They’re
Magically Delicious,”
and flipped
to the Flintstones.
Sep 7, 2016
Sep 7, 2016 at 6:33 AM UTC
No ******* just killer heels,
Raincoat covering my gifts.
You loosen your tie and slip off your shoes,
Anticipation all over your face.
Computer chair swiveled towards me,
Grind on you slow,
Your big soldier salutes.
Mounting your desk, swish my hair.
Jackets on the ground now,
My legs spread and in the air,
Your hungry for me Sir,
I will hold all your calls.
Tongue punching my lily,
Slick and ready,
Your starving for me now,
I will cancel your 3 o clock.
Door locked, you are naked bar
the tie and maroon dress socks.
Long day at the office dear,
Gonna have to work overtime.
Pounding me now, your Rolodex fallen
I take the minutes of my moans,
Been wanting this for ages,
CEO was always my favorite position.
Dripping, your package filling my ******
Corporate stress meets carnal greed,
Desk and I taking a pounding,
I now know what goes on underneath your suit.
Braced against the filling cabinet,
"I will get right on that, Boss,"
Your hand on my *** thumb in my mouth,
Always the best at securing raises.
The little secretary that could,
My name in the past,
I take minutes as you nut,
Dictated, but not signed, Lyla
Aug 22, 2017
Aug 22, 2017 at 12:35 AM UTC
Practically everyone fell to their knees at the sound of the whistle. Maszar glanced backwards at the iron rod pressed to his spine and the articulated expression of a misty thought-god that held the holographic weapon prisoner. He believed, and the sudden twitch of dendrites and synapses claustrophobicly trapped him inside of his head- - he began screaming, "too small, too small!" like it made a difference and scratched at the walls of his mind as the Queen of Deza Park dosed her way into the debate panel of his mind for an evening special of Into the Mist.
There wasn't much left to debate when she arrived- - the synapses were firing at one another, frightened warriors frantically snapping their own necks in unintentional combat or disillusioned by the unromance of war. Dendrites and neurons began to shoot themselves hard in the temple as the world swiveled into a whirlpool around them, thoughts crashing through the unprotected dam of the cerebral cortex and landing on the war torn beaches of repressed memory. Slowly, the chasm between Maszar's body and mind began to close- - revealing to the war torn gods the implicit unity within each explicit duality, swapping sanity for quick sand and comfort for faded lenses through which scratch marks created a tear in the space-time continuum.
If only.. was his second-to-last thought.
If only there was some way to measure the death erupting within me to see if..
was his last.
Oct 13, 2013
Oct 13, 2013 at 2:53 AM UTC
Another night awaits
for my limbs to dangle
from that swiveled chair
as mirages pace the halls.
Mirages?
Keeping my office at the brink of 84 degrees
to ensure my brisk, chilled heart
warms for the night.
Icicles form, coaxing my veins of merlot
into the most ultramarine,
before blackening to obsidian.
An obsidian frost
travels my body like highways
and interstates transporting
the most precious cargo from state to state
ensuring this country stays in good health.
My body is a country?
Veins like blackened highways of broken stone
and eyes like stars darkening to night.
Hair that sways in the sultry wind
while auburn tips lick the curve of my back,
like trees dancing in the night
tickling the grass.
Blink a few times,
I'm still in my swiveled chair,
swiveling and swaying,
forever in my swiveled chair
as the walls hum a silent, coaxing lullaby.
Where are the people within the walls?
I have forgotten,
there are no people within the walls.
Jul 3, 2016
Jul 3, 2016 at 6:16 AM UTC
It was the natural swivel of the barstool
When my friend called my name
That swung me so abruptly.
I swiveled for what seemed like seconds
And I looked to where it turned me.
Hands over her head and eyes closed
I saw that she was small
Tilting semi rhythmically to something loud and current.
She didn’t notice me because the bar was always crowded and
Her eyes were always closed.
I felt shaky determination when I offered her the first of many drinks.
I walked back to her with no regard to rhythm
When whiskey is involved I become aware of how I walk
Small, stuttered steps masked by dim bar lighting
Everything was disguised in the translucent haze and I felt better.
I moved closer and she backed away, enough to make me chase her
Speaking and nodding, never hearing, wiping the moisture from our drinks away
The condensation never stopping for three years
Speaking and nodding, we never heard what the other said besides “one more.”
Drinking by each year filtered through the ice in clear, plastic cups.
Aug 2, 2012
Aug 2, 2012 at 12:08 AM UTC
Me, up on the snow-rock white glacial cliff hedges mountaineering my way in the moments-after-twilight-sweeping-black. Execrable cold, a death-making quiet, Not a seal, not a hare - this Earth of gelid death. I climbed out above the snow Where my expiration left sinuous brandings in the copper light. But the Weddell was siphoning the darkness to the katabatic deep valleys - piceous lees of the brightening umber - cleaving the moon in two like the split eye of a winter lynx. And I saw the penguins: Little specks of black in the limitless white - fifty together - obelisk-still. Their inaudible coo, they sat motionless, nearly mute, With creamsicle feet and amber-eyes, incomparably mum. I proceeded: not one chirped or swiveled its little fur cap. Black silent fragments of a black silent world. I hearkened in the barrens of the desiccate plains. While the wooly bears came from the sea to see of the silence. Slowly edges oozed out of the darkness. Then the moon ivory, porcelain, azure erupted Quietly, and halving to its heart and shot mist, shaking and the ocean opened, crying blue, And the giant mountains lunged-. I stopped Scrambling, as if up from my voice at the mouth of a nightmare, down towards the snow-rock, from their glacial sheaths, And came the penguins. There stood they, still-, silent, in the river of blue light: Creamsicle feet and amber-eyed Thwacking the ice in a grand fête While everywhere was gray and rimy. And still they did not speak above a breath, Not one squeeked or cawed, Their nestled shining beaks dug into the polar rim, Low into the valleys, in the blue shimmering rays - In throngs of the congested cities, living among the years, the faces, May I some day greet my memory in such solemn a world Into the estuaries and the azure-skies, curious wooly bears, Listening as the ice tholes.
Apr 11, 2017
Apr 11, 2017 at 4:42 AM UTC
My shallow existence in this beautiful world
I shall now paint you a picture, with powerful words
Words that describe the joys of the birds
How they move threw the sky as if nothing accrues.
Brazing bison that stroll threw the world in powerful herds
As the evolutionary pool is swiveled and swirled
I look into the sun and try to fight its powerful rays
My earth circles round it and brings me age by days
It lights my life, i sleep and wait for its return to light my way
It brings my garden to life to the vital part it dose plays
I walk into the water, it sways me with calm
But without a alarm it can be viscous cause harm
I respect it. Its big and vast my plants weapon of arms
Can take human life no way to disarm
I lie down on the grass. To smell the flowers and bees
I breath in and get the scent of apples and trees
Trees are so green, cool wind of a breeze
Bees wisk round pollen,but no sign of a sneeze
Crisp white snow no foot print of mark
Bright white moon that guides the way threw the dark
It reveals a big brown oak with strong rich staggering bark
My natural beautiful world gives me hope for my hearts.
Jul 9, 2013
Jul 9, 2013 at 1:04 PM UTC
The life inside of you
Slowly shriveled up
Tension was building
And slowly swiveled up
Come watch that empty house
bursting into flames
No need to pay heed to
The insults and the names
Was that not aloud of me
To choose that soul to end?
Mother, aren't you proud of me
Of what i chose to mend?
Don't worry, no one got hurt
The thought will someday leave you
Don't worry, have me no guilt
Someday you'll feel relieved too
His worth was so very faint
Spare me, spare me the complaints
It was for your own good
For mine, for her own good
Now he's in a better place
At least for yours, and my sake
Putting him there in this case
For us wasn't a waste
I deserve no such punishment
Some question what they're seeing
Ending what's no good at all
Doesn't make me a mad being
Now come, see that empty house?
It once bursted into flames
I left my mark right there in blood,
My ever-lasting name. . .
Jun 27, 2013
Jun 27, 2013 at 12:46 PM UTC
part 4 of 5
three years earlier
The Gallows Society
"This, THIS! I'm so tired of all THIS!"
Blurted Giles as Zamira dressed his wrists
Pathetic! (she thought) A dismal attempt
Then left the room concealing contempt
Giles just stared at the
drip
drip
drip
dripping of the morphine
Candle light danced on the walls
The demons sank back into the shadows
Giles returned to the womb
Basking in weightless warmth
Comfortably apathetic
Numb
The drudgery of the next day unfurled
As Giles accepted defeat around noon
Something had to be done about life
That something had better happen soon
He brunched in his office
and so began his search
All that day
and night
that week
That month
Deeper into the cavernous "dark web"
seeking any answer to end his despair
but every search became a cul-de-sac
No doors opened for this millionaire
No doors would open
All remained firmly locked
Sitting in his office chair
Feverishly typing as he rocked
He rocked as he typed
He swiveled as he clicked
Searching for something
That he was less able to predict
But that something found him
And sent him an invitation
Explaining that they had been watching
Seeing his frustration
Understanding his world view
May he could understand theirs
But before he were to be accepted
He must climb down the seven stairs
He
Must
Climb
Down
The
Seven
Stairs
Distant from the blinding light
Cast yourself from the hallows
Embrace darkness embrace night
Take the Noose and the Gallows.
The mouse pointer hovered
over options "Yes" and "No"
His heart beat quickened
But then came the red glow
of two laser beams from directly behind
circling the yes option
From past the windows' opened blind
"Yes" and the two red dots disappeared
The wheels were put in motion
His future was now commandeered
A force that seemed greater than him
Changed the rules and took control
Embers deep inside of him flickered
Re-igniting the coals of his dark soul
The seven steps awaited him...
What ever could they be?
Aug 13, 2014
Aug 13, 2014 at 7:10 PM UTC
you are electric blue,
charged up,
wreaking havoc like there's no tomorrow.
you are fiery red,
up in flames,
resisting change,
can't keep a straight face.
you are blood orange,
smiling through the pain,
a cheshire cat stare.
and you are sunset yellow,
soft and kind - the warm embrace of a lover.
you are a stroke of violet,
taking life as it comes,
slow, unwavering.
you are the pink of cheeks that blush,
a slow dance in the kitchen at midnight.
you are starry night black,
flawed and beautiful and eternal.
you are green swiveled into white,
serene, calm, still.
you are the full spectrum.
so do your dance and paint every empty canvas with your palette a different pattern every time -
this is why you are alive.
Apr 2, 2020
Apr 2, 2020 at 7:17 AM UTC
When the sun arises in the morning above the pristine snow
and the stillness of the silence brings the panting deer ahead
When the heaven laden trees of winter slices heaven's glow
I know for sure that you will be there, in all of my tomorrows
When the train has bridged the miles across the forest glades
and the January snowflakes have swiveled through the air,
like a thousand glistening diamonds, I will venture into safety
with the knowledge that you'll be there, in all of my tomorrows
When winter turns to spring and then to softer June
I will wait inside this garden where all the flowers bloom
with the fragrance of her damask you will know that I was there
and you'll be certain of my presence, in all of your tomorrows,
In all of our tomorrows, we'll be there.
Jan 9, 2023
Jan 9, 2023 at 9:16 PM UTC
My feet wandered into
the serene shoreline
while the strong waves
hushed my cacophonic mind —
I strummed my fingers and gripped
tightly of my conch.
While my lips brushed around
its spiral shell — as I whispered my wishes
and blow through,
suddenly an angel
flew by and swiveled —
his wings burning.
From the heavens, he falls
right through the deserted sea.
My naked feet began to push
its life towards him —
he lies on the sand and his wings burning through.
Silhouettes of him rang on my mind;
gashes of water fell
through my eyes —
and whilst even the silence
grieved for us.
His burning wings calmed the strong winds —
the winter sea began to calm its strident waves
as I let myself lie awake beside him.
I closed my eyes and the replicas
of myself flashed through like a
candescent wind —
and there I saw a woman
lying in the hospital bed.
The sun mirroring the artificial light
through the windowpane;
the man standing beside her
had his wings folded —
and his eyes cold as the winter
and the woman dying in her
tranquil sleep.
The trees had fallen its last leaves,
and the winter is coming at dawn.
The man covered my eyes and I was at the
winter sea again —
“Mona, you will die in winter.”
And I woke up.
It was September.
Sep 19, 2020
Sep 19, 2020 at 3:15 PM UTC