"tarnishes" poems
for Susan O'Neill Roe
What a thrill ----
My thumb instead of an onion.
The top quite gone
Except for a sort of hinge
Of skin,
A flap like a hat,
Dead white.
Then that red plush.
Little pilgrim,
The Indian's axed your scalp.
Your turkey wattle
Carpet rolls
Straight from the heart.
I step on it,
Clutching my bottle
Of pink fizz. A celebration, this is.
Out of a gap
A million soldiers run,
Redcoats, every one.
Whose side are they one?
O my
Homunculus, I am ill.
I have taken a pill to ****
The thin
Papery feeling.
Saboteur,
Kamikaze man ----
The stain on your
Gauze Ku Klux ****
Babushka
Darkens and tarnishes and when
The balled
Pulp of your heart
Confronts its small
Mill of silence
How you jump ----
Trepanned veteran,
***** girl,
Thumb stump.
23.5k
Now I'd like to tell you of a liquid
And a beverage clearly divine
It matches the holiest spirit
And most blessed communion wine
But it's not to be found at the altar
Of the temple, the mosque or the church
You'll see it in glasses lined up on the bar
Wherever the pensioners perch
Oh Gin, Gin, fabulous Gin
Finest concoction there ever has bin
A knee to the crotch and a kick in the shin
To him that speaks ill of that heavenly Gin
I had a great aunty called Floris
Each morning she'd sternly arise
With a fire in the pit of her stomach
And a merciless scowl in her eyes
But thanks to a magical fluid
By the end she was quite the reverse
And her face was serene and so tranquil
As they bundled her into the hearse
Oh Gin, Gin, glorious Gin
Remover of troubles and varnish and skin
There's many a baby that wouldn't have bin
If not for a bottle of beautiful Gin
Edith was crippled with cramp of the back
And terrible gout of the thighs
Her walk was askew and her bottom had swelled
To a rather astonishing size
But with Gin in the morning, the noon and night
She was right as proverbial rain
She still couldn't walk but now couldn't talk
So no one could hear her complain
Oh Gin, Gin, medicinal Gin
Bracing your face with a permanent grin
Cleans up the silver but tarnishes tin
Joyous the juice of the juniper, Gin
Tis a regular modern elixir
And a kick in the liver to boot
It's companion for many a mixer
To the tonic or blending of fruit
Instilling a mighty contentment
And removing all traces of rage
Though it's mainly imbibed by ladies
Those of a particular age...
Oh Gin, Gin, magnificent Gin
Clean as a whistle and sharp as a pin
Puts hairs on the ears, the chest and chin
Of nannies and grannies all guzzling Gin
Apr 5, 2013
Apr 5, 2013 at 6:14 PM UTC
I am a fool who fell from skies,
caught up in a ride among stars.
I lost myself one summer’s night,
in the blue grey of your eyes.
We lifted off through timeless space,
unaware of friends and places.
Looking for moons beyond our own
and rising to the unknown.
But now my king has lost his shine,
as a knight’s armor tarnishes with tears.
Leaving me to feel
discarded, breathless and numb.
Only now I see, we were both alone,
as we stood in different places;
me loving you
and you loving yourself alone.
Perfection can be deceiving
for a newly christened king.
But your queen neglected
to look inside…
the part that gives life
and love was gone,
the most important part.
P.S. a space and place for your heart.
Aug 20, 2012
Aug 20, 2012 at 8:40 PM UTC
You never looked at me like that...
Together I see you
I try not to stare
That girl do you love her
Or simply not care
Attention focused
On one another
That boy do you love him
Or does it not matter
I don't care and it doesn't matter
Maybe you two will be happy together
For
You never looked at me like that...
Jan 7, 2015
Jan 7, 2015 at 4:28 PM UTC
"Great Scott"
Like Lucas and Nathan
Y'all ain't perfect but you're trying
Relying on something other than your name to take you far...
You're a star
But let you shine diminish as each person you thought you were close to,
Tarnishes what you hold dear
No fear sweetheart,
No fear
Claim what is yours
Speak loudly and proudly
So that the haters hear
Let them know you're here
And that nothing can stop you...
---
Back to the drawing board
Or better yet back to this blank canvas
familiar and inviting and yet I can’t help but wonder
how these words will create an image
I guess there ain’t no better way to find out
but to move onward
---
How ‘bout we search for some meaning
A little substance from the soul
I mean maybe I can’t sing but I bet you gon’ feel this
I’m just tryna be the realest
give my people something relatable
and also a fragment of me
writing about what I see
or what might be
the hopes and dreams
of a child in this restless city
gazing upon the night sky
pondering on his life’s importance
in comparison to the billions of stars that shine bright
could he possibly one day emit light?
give direction to those who might’ve lost sight
could he scheme up a dream as big as Martin did
and if so, would he reach the masses?
because lord knows in the days we live in
we need hope
but how does one cope
when hundreds of thousands of lives are being taken by dope or foots of rope
we’ve lost our way
a country that once proclaimed to be best
now stands on its last legs
and the people we elect to govern us
continue to dig us deeper into this hole
have we nothing left to show?
Sep 1, 2013
Sep 1, 2013 at 9:38 PM UTC
Dysfunction and happiness
Don’t usually go hand in hand
But that describes you and I story
The wise-man n’ Elle, a soldier n Simi
A bad-ass movie in a broken DVD player
More than ever our thoughts burn hateful
And deep in our souls, the will begets cold
Sealing us close and everything left to feel
An illusion of end that tarnishes our peace
Cleaner we walk and little by little we lied
We each run a race to attain the crown
I, the heir of Christopolis: a half man
A king with no kingdom – a danger
And you: heir of feline, an anger
A shy queen with no freedom
With no changes - so I ask myself
Is this a sample of psychological fraud
That people uses sensual relations n’ beliefs
To sway their cause to others; positive or not
Let us redeem your soul n’ gleam thou purpose
Sell me thou beauty for luxury n’ fame, she says
But the boy had his way with words: he opposed
Curiosity is dangerous n' assumption is powerful
Staring within her eyes with an abominable face
He turn n’ stormed away with grace n’ disbelief
Struggling not to outcry in compelling dismay
Twas nice to desire, but hers is not a proper
Piece of human sexuality; a noetic disorder
The lesbians and gays - the political tool
A change in the city, a proactive lie
That errs up as Satan - a musical fool
First he sings: “I bring peace and wealth”
Next they proclaimed: “It is a Human Right”
Another piece of the puzzle of human sexuality
But so the Book quotes – an abomination I hate
“No man shall have intimacy with another man”
Let’s not rearranged n’ be lost – it cost our health
For war is better than the choice of homosexuality
They know they are doom, so they tend to mislead
Some sit in shelters n' compose fraudulent grants
Lies, patriotism n’ tradition to keep society inline
For as long as they can, so afraid to lose control
But wealth and health must go hand in hand
For we are more of a lion than the least
Quite divine and above every beast
Jan 8, 2019
Jan 8, 2019 at 11:56 AM UTC
You come to fetch me from my work to-night
When supper’s on the table, and we’ll see
If I can leave off burying the white
Soft petals fallen from the apple tree
(Soft petals, yes, but not so barren quite,
Mingled with these, smooth bean and wrinkled pea);
And go along with you ere you lose sight
Of what you came for and become like me,
Slave to a Springtime passion for the earth.
How Love burns through the Putting in the Seed
On through the watching for that early birth
When, just as the soil tarnishes with ****
The sturdy seedling with arched body comes
Shouldering its way and shedding the earth crumbs.
1.8k
Forgiveness isn’t that easy,
Especially with wounds so deep.
After all,life is like a daisy,
Its beauty forever can’t keep.
Enemies backbiting innocence,
And even tarnishes your flesh.
But in us is God’s presence;
To forgive is to love also what is trash.
Therefore, I ask of a merciful heart,
That peace can enter to where it belongs.
Then I shall do my part,
Absolve others’ sins to me and love prolongs.
Lord, keep me at bay,
That I may be like you:
To love unconditionally is to stay,
Well,grounded as you do.
Never to see adversaries as pagans,
But as my own neighbor.
This is us,Christians,
Imperfect but we’ll never abhor.
Jul 6, 2014
Jul 6, 2014 at 9:37 PM UTC
When you look up at the ceiling,
As you lay in your bed,
What is it that you see?
Do you see the cracked and peeling paint,
The water damage stains,
The tarnishes of time and neglect?
What is it that you see as you stare upon your ceiling?
It has been days since your gaze left the above.
What are you looking for?
Are you looking for that one little area,
That is still pure in its color?
That is free of spoil and coated in care?
You lay there, motionless, staring.
Searching, in your own creation,
Agonizingly probing your aged canvas,
In fear that that's all you'll ever see.
Ever know.
But you search, and you search,
You scan every inch of that ceiling,
In hopes of a small, blank slate of plaster,
In which to smother yourself in.
In which to call home.
_
'10
Dec 2, 2010
Dec 2, 2010 at 8:02 AM UTC
Thu. Aug 11 2022
7:16 AM
~ for Julia and Joanne~
good neighbors
<>
a renewable habit apparently, again, a first poem of the day
(FPOTD), comes early, this old practice, me-bedded and mugged, with music ear installed drowning the noises of television blah,
iPad rests on left leg, left hand pointer finger ejects capsules
of letters, charmed into existence by the Barber adagio.
the Weather Channel forecasts morning-rain and my window
to trample and shuffle this deteriorating body rapid closes,
and the sun, weak, in concession speech, begs pardon, throws
off a few miscellaneous rays by way of apology, fooling no one,
except for the hopeful, itinerant poets, & the bunnies-neath-the deck.
know now you understand the poems entitlement, as is my wont,
you’ve been invited inside, sharing eyes and senses, you journey
today from a vantage no one else possesses, just you and me. Later,
we will drive to the Parrish Museum, studying modern painters,
each will inquire, a poem for me please, I nod sure, perhaps?
promise little, deliver less, is this your best? A travelogue of the
mundane, the little things, that do not stir your heart, smile tears,
and make you think wish I was there, or this, being
just too-me-boring?
The brain growls, no one making them read this perfunctoriness,
nonetheless, you apologize, pardon the no-angst trivia of daily life.
like the acid reflux bile, swallowed and returned to whence it came.
before it invades, tarnishes the peace of our surroundings and
the pleasure of your company, as I read your writings,
*worth so much,
filled with so much angry pain,
I want to easy-soften the everything,
if this missive, takes you-nearer, to the calmer~closer,
this poem, you transform it from perfunctory, to just, simply*
perfect.
8:18 AM
Shelter Island
Aug 11, 2022
Aug 11, 2022 at 8:37 AM UTC
What does it take to poem
Is doing such, a real verb?
To make words clang or chime
To bring out what in time has always
Been there, but lived a quiet life
in our known world, waiting unseen
As any artist does to live on
Oft not for gold or silver
Which tarnishes with time
But for pure love, rewarded indeed
Very rare, for one's words to match
Another's words, close in space, time
Even rarer, for a ********* of minds
Like many inventions throughout time
Words for worlds, from a mind's time
Laid in neat or no order, posed this way
and all that, to last long in time
Give light to a world, waiting for next
© 2017 Jim Davis
May 5, 2017
May 5, 2017 at 10:18 AM UTC
It leaves its handprints on all that I see,
and tarnishes all I touch with poison
Feeds depression like a maggot, to deepen
this cursed mire that is my place to be
It snatches my thoughts away from all glee,
and I wish I would vanish, be hidden
And alone long for a secret Eden,
for a decade it has tormented me
It told me: ”You will never have a hand
to hold, nor starry eyes to madly love
Alone you'll stay, you're too broken, cautious
Your spirit forever burns with my brand,
there will be no olive branch, no sweet dove”
Thus spoke the cold, dead void called Loneliness
Mar 15, 2021
Mar 15, 2021 at 12:55 PM UTC
She dreams of the ideal man,
but the suitor idolizes death in his soulful slumber.
She takes care of herself,
though she cannot bestow her beauty to impressionists.
She falls in love,
yet her delusional passions seethe her in disarray.
She finds new friends,
but a ********** of overzealous poison tarnishes the relationship.
She cooks for more than one;
ghosts accompany the reserved empty chairs.
She re-models her home,
driven to impress; however, she is the only one impressed.
She longs for attention,
craving for a taste of wanting to be loved.
She is she,
and she is her own canvas.
Oct 20, 2020
Oct 20, 2020 at 8:07 PM UTC
"That Wicked Woman!"
Is a wicked utterance
From a wicked man
Clowning, who plan
To get every possible
& oblivious voter a fan!
A wicked man
Revoltingly believes
Women are wicked
Oblivious he is
Out to slaughter
His mother,sister
,wife and daughter !
What a trash
What a trash
A folly that leads
A great, all-accommodating
And democracy-upholding nation
To a lapse or a deadly crash!
A trash tarnishes image
While Hillary mollifies umbrage!
Nov 8, 2016
Nov 8, 2016 at 5:47 AM UTC
The hands that stretch, the feet that glide. The ability to see, the strength to withhold vision.
I was stuck in shades of dark and filth. I was burning in the passion of the sun. I heard a truth that spoke life. I heard an angel say dive. I took a chance hoping I would fly. I jumped thinking I would bounce. The fall was humanity and life announced.
I fell into an ocean of truce. I found creatures bad and good. It was a war, a fight for power. They were corrupt lifelings looking to be kings. They felt like gods eluded by the ring. The ring that controls all things. The orchestrators of lies that **** **** the freedom of the mind. The orchestrators of a world that enriches so-called kings. Blasphemy is the order of this world. Pain this world brings. A world of treacherous kings but all nothing without the power.
What was the power?
A spoken idea
a woman
a lump of gold?
It was the fear! The fear instilled in souls so to inhibit freewill and limit conduct. The power that tarnishes the human soul. The power that bars the mind and hides the truth that one must face. The truth is his identity, the success of his identity is serving his purpose. The realisation of his purpose is dependant upon his surroundings. Surroundings are walls that limit his will and remind him that all he can be is nothing. The fallacy that man is the illusion and the kings are the truth.
Scaling walls, browsing I saw that they were fighting. Protecting an order. Fighting for a world of lust, confusion and weakness. Where the kings are gods and the weak slaves.
I spoke once and said that I am the vision and the truth I speak to the weak that need healing. I have body armour but no weapons. I have a reason to fight but no weapons. I have weapons but no army. I have an army but the soldiers have tainted minds, no feet and only one arm. An arm that remains stationary, ***** and held together. It was the fist that represented the power to stand. The fist that represents immortality. I found hope, I found belief in the little weaponry that lay in my hands. The invisible truth I protect is the heart of my soul. Embracing I know I am what is real, Embracing I acknowledge the dangers of reel, Embracing the truth I know that I am the power and the power is me.
I opened my eyes and saw the world as the waking of the day when the sun rises. I found relief in knowing that I am no longer hiding for this power is for fighting. Fighting for the will, fighting for man to be free.
I leave the place that was confining, I leave the dust where souls burnt hide in, I scale these walls and glide, I use this power of liberation to display the truth that so many saints have protected. I allow the showers of the night to heal these wounds that leave me infected. I stand in refuge, I am a ghost, I am a soul, I am man, I am the power.
Dec 8, 2013
Dec 8, 2013 at 12:42 PM UTC
I wish to say my heart is made of gold,
but it's silver.
Because the silver has been tarnished by those around me,
trying to bring me down,
make me bitter,
steal some of my sweetness.
But you won't win.
Because deep down beneath the fade
I know that the silver is still here.
And I know that one day someone's love,
like a perfect polish will come
and wipe away my tarnishes.
May 13, 2015
May 13, 2015 at 10:29 AM UTC
Miss Havisham has nothing on my decay
I’ve lived a thousand years in this state
In stasis my hair tarnishes grey
As the eyes behind which I deteriorate
I’ve been trapped by my old ways
Habits die hard and the twists of fate
Have deserted me to go and play
With other mortals who don’t retaliate
In frosted silks and velvet capes
Spiderwebs frame my wrinkling face
And beside me all laid with lace
The remnants of my life wither away
With a forlorn smile I greet the day
The visits lessen as I fall ever more prey
To isolation and the soft sway
Of my mind as it disintegrates
You smile politely and start to say
You had heard I was once rendered great
And good but I am no saint
I am nobody to emulate
I am frozen as a winter’s day
Stiff and still and never to change
My dusty breath will suffocate
And I beg you to turn away
Leave me in this slumbering daze
A relic of another age
Long-passed and tinged with grey
A memory inarticulate
I tired of life one summer’s day
It grew bored of me too in its way
Left me immortal and unchanged
Its cruelty can never be replaced.
Feb 1, 2015
Feb 1, 2015 at 8:12 PM UTC
Mangled, bony fingers, groveling
for lapping water, a dendritic rivulet
ceases its division for no one
I powder the amethysts for sand, for
only the sensation of opulence, anywise
the silver tarnishes in abundance
And what's the worst I'd ever seen
if not our maize sun ashen, drained of its
rise and incentive to foster grass
Dec 10, 2015
Dec 10, 2015 at 9:07 AM UTC
silver tarnishes
in the rain
I almost won I
had one foot over
the line
but when they took you I could not stop them.
Nov 28, 2021
Nov 28, 2021 at 8:12 PM UTC
Get up and grind through time the mind
in and out intwine
the mind ablaze a puff of rays a smoke
I praise Omega, go ahead and poke
Broke, "loc" but just for today, NOT for Alpha
Has guided my ways, these days our family still
Finds a way so we grind till the dollar bills turns to rays.
Vaporized by emotion, commotion
Vaporized by the endless need to consume.
To regrow too, to leave our imprint so they know once we were here, can they hear?
Thoughts in the grind, a trance that it sears like fire and the infernos that touch as I move for the currency harden my skin and thy emotion 'till dreams path cleanse again and I know I awake to God here again.
Guiding my ways so I fear not destruction, cause in fires defeat I learn something, those ways that are shown take me there then taking me home where I learn from my Lord, Omega marching to Heavens door oh' how I adore the days again I praise thy Lord
knows my ways, my ****** BLASPHEMIES ways. Again I march as I pray, take me where I need to be in fires or in ice, freeze, in space where a black hole tarnishes my face, now my mind bleeds and recedes
back to you, Omega I know one day there will be proof, but will that be enough for some minding their truths.
Conquering the dollar.
Conquering the land.
There is truth being brought by you so take my hand.
As I grind through time the, endless march till destruction, picking up my loot as I go praising my Lord in my consumption.
Feb 22, 2016
Feb 22, 2016 at 12:39 PM UTC
So overwhelmingly full of life,
Elegant inside out
And still the highest form of aesthetic
Infinitely pure and untainted
Most resilient, most supple
Redefining every limit, every boundaries set
But running the smallest of errands unkempt
You, the fitting mother, sister, daughter, wife
You, who they worship, and on whom they take jibes
You, they educate, and who they ask to stay quiet
You, they adore, still look at with their ill eyes
You, for who they campaign with respect
You, who is on their tongue in times of distress
You, who stands like a mountain against every fall
But you, who is called weak and is prisoned to four walls
You, who protects life in its most subtle age
You, they say need protection at every stage
You, who has never had the strength to say no
You, who has accepted every challenge in one go
You, whose appalling smile mesmerises even God
You, whose silent tears are not valued at all
You, whose voice takes away all fear
You, whose voice is their greatest fear
Under whose shadow a man grows
And whose image he tarnishes with the abuses he throws.
You, lady.
You, the creator of life, of happiness, of bonding, of humanity
You, the goddess of beauty, of ecstasy, of strength, of feminity
Stay calm, but never stay quiet
Stay warm, but not elastic
Stay humble, but stay in their sight
You, remain undeniably superior
Though unaccepted
Out of sheer shame
Yet, the pretty hearts know
Every giant war for them
is for you
a fulfilling game.
Mar 8, 2017
Mar 8, 2017 at 7:15 AM UTC
I have no patience, worn away by time my resistance to retaliation now spirals into an unannounced era,
That selfish streak we inherited at birth rears its fractured facade, rising high above my shadowed frame
Not just a lifeless machine but an entity of experience , a system of stimulation, the viscosity of the visuals the nectar that soothes
But the light and sound can become just a bit too much, a responsibility this golden gift, bringing at times its own psychological rift
Something you hear, something you spy, burning your retinas, setting fire to your sanity,
But the calm must remain, the steady ebb and flow cannot be turned into a tempest, a beast of broken hearts , as war rages and smoke tarnishes blue skies, the sunset inside shines prolific, the smile of innocence, always so erratic
Apr 24, 2016
Apr 24, 2016 at 1:37 PM UTC