"swiveling" poems
porch talk, simmering in a Bud light sauce
everyone chair-rocking, even the boxer dog,
in his self-propelled 360 degree swiveling chair
eavesdropping and spy eyeballing the farm for
strangers and any creatures as of yet, unsmelled
get done with weather, the crops,
the neighbors,
the weird, and the truly neighborly,
grandkids escapades, hopes and desires, comparative literature and regional dialects and philosophical dialecticals tickling,
bs’ing and tall tale telling, breathing the windy geography of the air over the land that dictates the how we live,
open another Bud for the buds,
did I forget to mention
farm equipment?
skirt politics cause nobody wants any
nothing-to-be-done-damn-aggravation,
leaves nothing mo’ to ramble on about ‘cept the
absent women
no worries all above board no secrets uncouthed,
but the mood softens as the pale daylight wisps come rarer
as now
nearer to nine pm, obvious saved the best for last,
a very manly-way of ordering things,
big silent pauses in the converso conversation,
guy-sighs many,
as the last essay of the day is being jointly authored,
denotating the generalized listings of
how they drive us crazy,
listing the repetition of ever changing instructions,
which doesn't recognize bi-coastal mannerisms, non-differentiating
just humanism-isms
and the peculiarities of each (a list kept)
in a compare and contrast,
an end of the day summation,
and the boasting-outbesting,
of each of their
specialisms
which is sadly now forgotten and which haven’t been
brain-recorded so cannot be disclosed
other than it’s now ten
and all that’s left is
to sleep, perchance, to dream,
of private things
and bigger and better
John Deere tractors
Jun 9, 2018
Jun 9, 2018 at 2:13 PM UTC
I realized that your area code
Was the same as one of my friends
Did you know her?
Or were you some stranger on the other side of a swiveling bar stool?
Was it abnormally warm in Cincinnati when you ordered the second beer?
I imagine you remarked about how fast the year was drawing to a close
And pulled the knit cap tighter on your head
And loosened your grip on the beer
The cliché draft you order that doesn’t fit your eyeglasses or your astronomy career
It would be nice if beer was cheaper than water
But it isn’t
And you’re still a stranger on the other side of a swiveling barstool
Dec 19, 2018
Dec 19, 2018 at 9:45 PM UTC
stalked by a swiveling neck
dazed by surrounding darkness
black hounds lick your wounds
your sorrow tastes sweet
its the most beautiful blue
Aug 30, 2022
Aug 30, 2022 at 1:01 PM UTC
This is the ladder---your first steps into the height. There are no apples. There are no angels. There is only broken shadow and socket; a rounded house of milk and voltage. Now, as you unscrew the bulb with fingertips, listen for the sand. It is sand from ancestral beaches were all families of glass have been blown. A beach where dinosaurs are continually struck by lightning. Continue swiveling until the blown-out bulb is free from the ceiling. Come down, but do not look down. Use the eye in each shoe to find the lower rungs. Place the old bulb in with the dish of pears. The new carton of bulbs are close by, sleeping. Unwrap a fresh bulb from its onionskin pajamas and ascend the same ladder previous. Using your musical hand, insert the threaded end up into the unthreaded beginning. Turn gently in the direction of sunrise until snug. Pull the chain, for the light of God's echoing equation will now sing. Squint and descend.
Apr 24, 2014
Apr 24, 2014 at 8:13 PM UTC
One of his sick molars
was jarring, crying foul,
the root canal treatment
she did, the first, on him
made it quiet,it touched
exactly the love nerve.
Love sprouted,got rooted between
the curvy dentist and him
in exactly five sittings;
the soil was fertile.
The romantic dentist seized
his pining heart too quick,
the causes and effects of
that pain, she whispered, was similar
to what she felt , when he whimpered
leaning his head on her full *******
No reason he had, not to surmise
she didn't do everything she should,
to make his ailing tooth perfect.
Coochiecooing to her, he even
called her" the tooth fairy's baby girl"
overwhelmed she gifted him a smooch.
Each sitting fallowed
soliciting that rare,tender dental care,
on her cozy swiveling chair,
brought them closer to bouts of necking
and things more adventurous,
(may the medical ethics, pardon the pair!)
Vigorous narratives she breathlessly
reeled off, on the state of his each tooth
brought her more closer to the chair
than what professionally was expected,
her perfumed warm presence
brought aches, not necessarily dental.
A stinging pain on a root repaired
at a time his 'root canal sweet heart' was away
compels him to explore for a new chair.
The horror of horrors, it was revealed
here, a piece of broken iron implement
his sweet heart, has left within the root;
a cover up as she couldn't retrieve it
with her skills inept,
it did aggravate, caused the pain!
Isn't the betrayal of the kids,
in the name of tooth fairy,non existent
far less heinous, than a cheating like this!
could any one blame him for this,
to escape a bad tooth future, he did
the best one could; the comely tooth fairy
that found the fault and mended it
shows him his place in the
swivel chair of her heart these days!
Jan 28, 2016
Jan 28, 2016 at 9:02 AM UTC
Here he is
on the swiveling chair
thinking about someone
who would eventually care
There he is;
concealed by the book cover
seeking refuge
in tales and fables,
the words started to hover
Apr 13, 2014
Apr 13, 2014 at 7:29 AM UTC
*serpent girl dancing
on a red stone cobbled hill
ritual of
Leviathan
trident to the belly
on stained alters bleached
blood and sweat sacrifice
candles burning
from the bottoms up
dipped in tears and pearls
nothing she won't do
swaying her hips
rhythmically
while toothless mouths sobbing
gum her body
a curse of deification
necromancer
*** pact
gorgeous fornicator
walking under water
her heart like a diamond
player of the infernal tarot
creeps daughter down on all fours
eating ***** with her butter *** up
quantum jumping
doing the planetary bunny hop
on vacation in a fire red bikini
and la dolce vita sunglasses
shes a guest of the sage of pyramids
catching solar rays
reading
from the book of doom
and fake dogmas
lips like obsidian fire
that eat bad children
especially ankle biters
scryer of black warped mirrors ranting
singing in the Vatican of the dead living
worm girls kissing muscular arterial shafts
and ***** in a twist
while making vampire paintings
in dark ritual adorations
****
of
oodoo
voodoo
i
do
to
you you
plying your soul
with dreams
of
Hollywood
cinema
and headless swiveling
Bollywood
jitterbug
beating devils gory
with harrowing archfiends
and ****** heels
for
love money *** and combat
gods above
angels to the flanks
north south east and west
seventy-two demons below
a crystal floor of vice gripped cherubim
with steal shewed pentagrams
holding dominion
with golden ring
enclosed in a synagogue of will
she's my hot randy *****
in leopard *******
don't **** with her
she eats souls
like taffy
while posing
as a kitten
outside her window*
May 23, 2017
May 23, 2017 at 8:05 AM UTC
past wavering lights
B. Serrano and Bagong Ilog
love struck us down — sees no votive
clearing of the fog or a word sharper than any blade wrought from frays.
i have a photograph of you
somewhere in the ken of my silence
and on it paints lightsome hue
and sometimes pale when it rains.
KM 24 on a blue alloy and underneath,
a Baguio — some memories we keep
almost left by the last carriage homeward
from too much fire in our hands
only tremors could extinguish both
striking a balance and counterbalance;
the frequency of the electric and the
immense decibel of lions drowning
the disquiet. some places or some
looking back makes you want
to lose yourself in slight wonder and when
a memory comes back with the dreary
weight of its forgetfulness,
we fall asleep traipsing the steeples
of our dreams of each other
all-telling, still dizzy with the pirouette
of some distant longing bracing
the fall, triggering our darkness
and shooting out
ourselves, small,
love striking us down. arraying a triplicate
of hazy trails forking all roads
and we cannot find each other again;
throwing stones rippling
multiplied waves by the sea arriving
at separate mornings beneath
our feet,
bends on the bludgeoned curves
of love and hate ascertaining something
so unsure as a door agape and swiveling
in tense wind, tender is the night
and love continues
to smite us down, locking in, predatory precision,
running away, and away, and away
from the ache of it all.
Nov 3, 2015
Nov 3, 2015 at 7:11 AM UTC
Secure within the mother’s womb.
Sheltered from all storms of life.
Swimming,
Swiveling,
and
Sustained.
The countdown begun-
A wide world awaiting,
Eager faces looking,
Windows opening,
to
Colour,
Scent,
Sound,
Taste and Touch.
But,
Expectations shattered,
Exasperation heightened,
Execution begun,
Excruciation settled,
and
Expulsion confirmed!
Chopped to pieces,
Down to trash.
‘The most unkindest cut of all’!
Betrayal!
Horrid Betrayal!
Through eons,
History repeats.
‘Am I my brother’s keeper’?
The Son of Man –
sold out,
with a kiss.
Et tu, Brute!
Dec 5, 2016
Dec 5, 2016 at 5:57 AM UTC
A
balloon
flimsy and flat
when I blow and I blow it'll grow
and grow
till
balloon
full and fat
fastened by a thread
full of air fat as a cat
balloons
bouncing in the wind dancing like daffodils
bumping one another never cease to thrill
never knowing each other and never will
when I let
a balloon go
it'll float up up far into the air
until I can't see it floating any more
anywhere
I take
another one
and I blow and I blow it'll grow
and grow
as fat as a cat
then I let the air out
and watch it go
like a rocket
swiveling all around
swoosh hiss and shout
and fall on the ground
flimsy and flat
balloons are good at that
Oct 26, 2017
Oct 26, 2017 at 12:15 PM UTC
My words are cutting themselves again;
razoring their loosely-sutured syllables,
deep as white-eyed bone.
The suave dipththongs butchered
to the cadence of bloodletting
in hemorrhagic oppositions.
Stapled-closed sentences, smeared with Iodine,
and subcutaneous sentence diagramming
for the retractable scalpel
swiveling along the edge,
of the well serrated cliche.
Once I pressed my wordy flesh
against the wrong side
of a paring knife, while paying no attention
and suddenly,
and without warning
it gave, like an over ripe peach
to the cleaver-
and after that, I was hooked.
Oct 31, 2011
Oct 31, 2011 at 11:05 PM UTC
there's a place for this- this blood
this place where the skin can be pulled right from the lip
a gun pulled from the glove compartment
in warm December this private affair
traveling with passenger zero
into the title of a love song or
narrowing into the wet corners of the mouths
softened annunciations over an early sixties recording
her song brings shakes to legs and swiveling snakelike movements
this Spanish river goddess I do not even know by name who settles the wars of babes and covers the infinite dust of infinite children
there are places like this:
still and magical and pleasantly mute
where she stares back to me returning
the years of eye mail exchanged between us
as if returning a floral arrangement that lost its scent
or a novel that lost its story
and a passenger writhing with envy
with a back turned she moseys
along the dirt path of the arboretum
a small dance in the bowels of her step
somewhere we blend the stories of each other’s pockets
mending the balance of need
hands surfacing in weathered bluejeans
Dec 14, 2015
Dec 14, 2015 at 12:15 PM UTC
A hush. A fanfare. It begins
As loved ones huddle close
To the marble hearth.
My grandmother’s eye streams
Bitter cold, she says. So is my granda’s
Gravestone – glinting charcoal, that rises
Through a sea of green. An archipelago
Of poinsettias. Words resonate
Off each little island, every city state
With its own legislature. Have you doused
That water on it yet? Have those roses
Seen the end of their days? Quiet, now
First glorious mystery: the resurrection
Of our Lord Jesus Christ. We power on
Standing firm. Forgiveness. Compassion.
Trust; the chant becomes louder
Closer, closer, we cry. I can see Pilate now
Washing his hands. Closer, closer – even louder
They need to make it through. It all depends on us
To light the way. Where are we? Third? Fourth?
Or even further? The beads shimmer as the frenzy
Grows, a pitch higher. Grant it, Lord
Through your mercy, and yours alone:
Bells toll and toll again, seeking the way
It’s time. Anytime now. With just a little push –
Silence. It is finished. A collective sigh
Done for another year. Did all we could
To save those souls; they’ll make it this time around
I’m sure of it. The crowd swells, swiveling the map
Of the yard, inspecting the atlas to no end.
We don’t stay long. Granny’s cold. She’s satisfied
She’s stood for pretty long.
My mate says we sleep till the time; I hope he’s right
I’d rather they rest than run, stay out of sight.
May 13, 2013
May 13, 2013 at 9:51 PM UTC
There once was a man named Elvis
Who had a gyrating pelvis
He moved it every which way
Dynamic was its swiveling display
His pelvic moves sent women into a groove
Apr 6, 2013
Apr 6, 2013 at 10:31 PM UTC
Her name is Daisy
She drives me crazy
She leaps from bed to bed
Just to land inside your head.
It was a Sunday
When I saw her
Melted in my arms
Swiveling her body to mine
Brought her home
To my momma
Right into my life
Now she's looking so mighty
Fi-i-i-ine!
Her name is Daisy
Never fails to amaze me
She looks like a summer day
Swings her head
When she walks and sways.
My darling Daisy
My crazy Daisy
My hazy Daisy
Daisy Days
My Dai-ai-ai-aisy
My Dai-ai-ai-aisy
My Dai-ai-ai-aisy
Daisy Days
Woof woof!
Aug 10, 2015
Aug 10, 2015 at 12:02 PM UTC
Swiveling chair
Clicking mouse
Clattering keyboard
Replaced by the steady glare at the monitor until it is naught but a blank stare,
a blank stare that begets a long pause
You wish could last forever with you lost in it;
Lost in your benevolent and untainted thoughts
Before the abrupt jolt out of your reverie
keeps you yearning for the luxury and solitude of your room…
Times flies and it’s almost the close of business
Yet, your table is in such a mess
On it, lies a pile of work undone
Tons that require your expert attention with little time left to tidy up
You don’t plan to work overtime
'Cause if you gambled that, you won’t make it in time to catch the bus
So you pack your bags and hurry down the stairs in time to catch the bus
Thinking of how to make up for the time lost all through your journey home
You can’t help the thought that taunts as it lingers.
Blaming you for leaving a pile of work undone
Reminding you that if and if only you had concerted for just a minute longer
You could have only left behind papers the cleaners can trash with a toss.
-r3d-
Sep 13, 2012
Sep 13, 2012 at 4:24 AM UTC
Sudden, as a bolt from the blue,
Came down a humming bird, tantalizing
Skimming down and darting up
As an ever revolving top
It reeled round and round
Before it alighted on a shoe flower;
That hung from a drooping branch
In a corner of my front yard garden
It precariously clung on to it
Like a small pendent on a chain
A sight so cool, now so rare
That lighted up my dull spirits!
Once they showed themselves up
On almost every sunny day
Promptly after the monsoon rains
When the plants en mass in resplendent bloom
Oh! How I love this tiny bird
Not larger than a bumble bee
Dressed in a cloak of gold and black
Flitting round on fluttering wings
It literally dances and pirouettes in the air
Before descending down closer to its target
Swirling, gliding n’ moving back and forth
As if unsure of what it should do
Then with a terrific **** and swiveling move
It hovers close to hanging blooms
Balancing itself sans any support
And draws out nectar with its long needle bill
When the zephyrs carry a sweet scent
It flits from flower to flower
And having enjoyed the ambrosial treat
It flies back well satiated like a shooting missile
My eyes fail to capture its lightning move
As it goes whizzing through the lambent air
Quickly disappearing like a mote of soot
Losing itself in the vast expanse of the blue
Being less than an ounce of fat
So light, sleek and well streamlined
It travels faster than the light of speed
In a fleeting dash, moving out of sight
Can any other bird rival it in agility?
Or vie with it in its simple grace?
How cute, this spirit of ‘disembodied joy’
This winged diminutive denizen of the sky!
,
Jul 25, 2016
Jul 25, 2016 at 7:31 AM UTC
*Our yard is sheltered
high board fence with trees..
Only I know and see
this she-deer lying then standing
sheltered on this Easter eve..
Alert as ever with swiveling ears
each of my in-door sounds
is entered in her registry..
So this connection of
mis-trust and rest
makes her life..and ours..
until sometime when
mis-trust finds real rest
that of eternal
already Now...*
Apr 19, 2014
Apr 19, 2014 at 10:33 PM UTC
In a swiveling chair, the black and white images of light to the west, are reflections of mind in a humming machine. Turning a head, there is a closed window, showing an energetically inspired pen the nearing sunset.
Moon swept itching dark
Twilight, sunrises curtain
pink lids - open eyes
With a blink of instaneous awakeness and sleep, the neck turns fast, to look for inspiration.
Dusk - apart painted
eight queued paired mare and foal
foliage lined dark black
Without my sister's presence, the filmed horse's birth is only an image, lost. Indeed, it's the shadows of sunlight that have lit up the southerly tree with darkness!
May 23, 2010
May 23, 2010 at 3:16 PM UTC
In a midnight lamentation,
the soul (suppressed) of reprobation,
wallowed in wasted conspiracies-
unjust (censored) confirmations.
My shoes (foundation) which were half on,
stained the beer (love), which was half gone,
that he camped- (devoted) so entitled,
marvelously, (masculine) so magnificently upon.
Ongoing obstacles, alluring alike,
repressed restraints depicted, despite-
ones that evaded, encompassed our love,
which freshly, faithfully, finally took-flight.
That beer (blazing) tottered so temping-
wrongfully, radiantly, reluctantly-right!
It swiveling-and-spinning, (dangling) around the axis of life,
Makes this, yet another- lamentation in the night.
Jul 2, 2010
Jul 2, 2010 at 2:22 AM UTC
It’s a chill and rainy Saturday night in New Haven - it’s Superbowl eve! My roommates Leong, Anna and Lisa and I were playing a game of Upwards - it’s a scrabble-like word game and we’re all strangely super competitive.
My phone went “dunk!” A happy ‘Water jug’ sound messages make when they're from one of my favorites. The message was from Charles. He was at the front gate with a package that came to the house where Charles and Mrs. Charles live (about 600 yards from the dorm). He passed me the package through the bars at the main gate, “Thanks,” I said, “ga-night,” and he was gone.
Back in my room, I ripped the box open like Christmas morning. The word game could wait - this package was from Paris. The light beige, Jacquemus, ‘Les Ballerines mary-jane pumps’ I’d ordered (forever ago) had arrived and they fit like soft leather gloves.
“Ooo! Glampse!” Lisa pronounced.
“Aren’t they?” I agreed, swiveling my hooves to show them off in the full length mirror.
When I rejoined the Upwards game, talk had shifted to tomorrow's Superbowl.
“I read yesterday that Taylor’s on her way (to the Superbowl)!” Leong declared.
“I like that she likes the NFL now,” I said.
“A lot of people hate her for it,” Anna countered.
“She was on camera twice, for 11 seconds total, in a 3-1/2 hour long game. If that upsets you, you’re bringing a lot of your own baggage to the plot.” I updogged.
Leong wants to order vegan “wings” for the SuperBowl.
“What, exactly, are those?” I asked, apprehensively.
“You’re the girl who talked me into trying buffalo-frog-legs in Paris - ney?” Leong enquired, sarcastically.
“Yeah,” I admitted, guiltily, “but they were delicious,” I said in self defense.
I’m picking the Chiefs 30-20 over the niners.
Feb 10, 2024
Feb 10, 2024 at 11:48 PM UTC
Fall is the most beautiful time of the year for me, with its blushing
Apples and fruitful trees dressed in zesty rubious healthy leaves with
Luminous fruit hanging off its stems, like galas, granny smiths, and fuji
Leaves of multi colored sunburnt shades of yellow, gold and brown
Inside the orchard, ladders, bushels, straw hats and farmer pant- grins
No better place to be then underneath an Autumn tree when every
Golden leaf shimmer-shimmies before swiveling down at your feet
Leaves that dance and shuffle-shake before landing in your hands
Earthing to the ground covering you with giant leafy dry crispy limbs
Arrest the night, stop the moon, hold the stars, its time to listen to the
Voices of the night, the falling leaves have their sorrowful story to tell
Ease into their season with a quiet soul. Help them say goodbye to the
Summer. After all it is the season of Autumn, a time for falling leaves.
September 27, 2021
Sep 30, 2021
Sep 30, 2021 at 9:36 PM UTC
yesterdays like today
expecting what is to come
with the rising of the sun
like a Chinese whisper
passed through time and ancestry
the overall message
is muddied along the way
Maybe there will come a point
a turning point, swiveling on
the axis of my rotations
and I'll hear the whisper
barely audible small and infantile
and I will finally understand
until then the days are transcribed
into tally marks
etched out on the walls of life
Feb 22, 2013
Feb 22, 2013 at 1:19 PM UTC