"thrummed" poems
lovers are burning.] balsamic ****** gallops from shame
into the overwild wetness of labial volcanoes, caramelized in musk. by love's labor.
laid bare, their bodies origami inhibition...[ lovers are burning. ]
and surrender is victorious !
Eros is speechless. maidens howl into cumulus goose-down, chewing carnal haikus
with swayed backs.... hips wide and wanton. masculine wands plow oyster beds, unmade.
they joust pearls... and [ lovers are burning ]
.... a damp conflagration; tongue stoked and windswept, conspires.
monotony is slain !
puritan harps are plucked and thrummed ! lewd harmonies anoint the perfect pitch
and a chorus moans. the ghost of sylvia plath, straddles Apollo; and he earns his wreath
surging besotted. [ lovers are burning ] and laurels forgotten.
lotharios charge the seldom road; the starfish door to Saturn's parlor.
pumping unbridled, that glistening, cloven moon. her riding crop insists !
his urgency must do.
satyrs sup salaciously and summon staves to dip in brine. they grin and grind
their sutras, stripping karma gears with silk scarves. ankles to a post, well spread...
cushions crush. flowers press... stamen fed.
nymphs clutch their serpent stones
to drain what nectar slips the slit. they ***** and throat.
they peck and pinch their quivers; knock their arrows to the purpose, half spent.
[ lovers are burning ]
eyes ablaze. nostrils fetch randy fumes of consent. mouths seek.
a pouty swamp with Spanish moss.... finds a matador
and a bull, a china shop.
lovers are burning the rough sketch of a lost god
and their angels are voyeurs
with unclean thoughts
for gospels.
Aug 20, 2013
Aug 20, 2013 at 3:14 PM UTC
Plush beads of summer rain gently kiss the windows,
pitter pattering steadily in contrast
to the low hums and stutters
of the red coffee ***
that saves many souls
lost in a daze of former slumber;
a lengthy stretch,
she leans back against the cream,
or maybe more ivory,
sofa couch,
wiggling it up and down her frame
and in its last push
released with a crack through the tips of her toes.
scrumptious smells of eggs and breakfast meats,
brunch is always her
favorite hour,
balancing the crisp texture of toast
against the delightful spritz
of OJ,
sometimes blended with a splash of something
sparkling.
the chords and rhythms that thrummed and purred,
the puttering, the humming, the stuttering,
a baritone chuckle
escaping his smirking mouth,
the moment so inescapably
charming,
how satisfying their ritual felt.
Apr 20, 2014
Apr 20, 2014 at 5:11 PM UTC
cicadas thrummed all day
as the sun searingly shone
their drumming beat abated
when the cool breeze came
Dec 4, 2013
Dec 4, 2013 at 9:07 PM UTC
I was frantic…
Panic thrummed inside me like vibrating strings
I then clutched to my positive side
But My shiver was deep and wide
Just like the ocean
The danger was like the roar of surf in my ears
Cold feelings grew inside me
I felt as though they would eat me alive
I swallowed against the knot of fear that raised in my throat
But I know somehow I couldn’t sink into the swamp of fear..
Because then I’ll never get out…
Jun 18, 2015
Jun 18, 2015 at 4:21 AM UTC
.
*Come swim within this restless silence
the raging river deep within beckons
the cadences we hear
are the heart's untamed waters overflowing ,
eroding this heart's shorelines ,
leaving the thrummed edges wild
prevailing currents swelling ,
no longer able to be contained
within the soul’s boundless margins
impatiently lost and lovely ,
faithfully dangerous
I’ll be your ocean and you my sky--
feel the calming tide
flood in around us ?
I've been swimming in circles ,
treading water
in an eddy of revolving reverie
waiting for the world to turn ;
fighting to release the swirling currents
meandering through
the shadowed places so deep within
how does it feel to be the sky
that bestows ocean's light ?
how does it feel to be constantly on my mind ?
... what a beautiful piece of heartache*
✩ ✩☺ ✩ ✩ ... ©
Aug 23, 2016
Aug 23, 2016 at 7:43 PM UTC
Wood thrush
Voice rush
Ringing in the wilderness;
Your phrases fill the summer calm
With perfect meter throstle thrummed
In timely repetition.
Wood thrush
Voice rush
Ringing in my ears;
Defy interpretation with your metaphoric strains -
Spell still meaning, clearly,
Mere beauty in the wood.
Wood thrush
Voice rush
Ringing in the air;
I've oft' pursued your fleeting lines
Through mired web of brush and fallen trees
In search of some concluding note
And perhaps vision
Of the higher source of song.
Sep 24, 2011
Sep 24, 2011 at 10:03 PM UTC
You touched me on the shoulder
as you ran quickly by on your phone.
I was in such a hurry
to climb those jenga stairs
that I didn't realize it was you,
until I saw that tiny body
and that frenzy of tousled blond hair
swishing in the wind.
I turned around and ran
to you,
as you walked away.
I ran to you
and grabbed your arm.
"Don't touch me," you said.
Diamonds falling from your eyes,
I picked at them with my pinky fingernail,
searching for the loam beneath.
"Where've you been?" I yelled.
"You don't know what's happened to me!" You yelled,
and you lifted your shirt and felt at a pink scar;
a trench in your belly,
a wound that I had infected.
People stared,
but I just wanted to yell,
there was so much yelling inside of me.
I yelled like a lover yells,
yelled with my heart.
The yell sounded like this:
"Can I hold you one last time?
I just want to hold you," I said,
like a loon,
but it was the only thing
I ever wanted.
To hold all of you
in one moment.
And so you came to me,
and let me hold you a while.
but the skin between us
was better for separating,
and I told you
to call me if you needed me,
even though I knew you never would.
And you walked away,
that tiny body of circling movement
and head full of giant clams
with their swirling pink pearls
moving farther and farther.
Until you were in the distance
and invincible.
Cyclists whizzed by,
phones beeped onward,
taxis rode highways of clouds
beneath the bridge,
and I thrummed quietly,
picking at the diamonds in my hands,
searching for the loam
that I could put into the planters,
food for the flowers
I had always wanted you to see.
Mar 1, 2012
Mar 1, 2012 at 9:44 AM UTC
Naked
She stepped inside his soul,
Breathed her scarlet daydreams,
Beyond contours where miracles flourish,
Reaching for him
Unprotected in the naive light,
A soft tangle of subtleties, wrapped in silk...
Silvered moon, reflected her shimmer,
Like a blue-milk river flowing
Through labyrinths
Of love's first tremulous petals,
Held in her hands like a lambskin prayer...
A white mask of incense, spin-drifting
Upon the bridge between;
Rush-lit in the small brave night,
His lips spoke
Butterfly moments against her naked skin,
Planting roses, in the silent fall of breathless...
Blueprints of his sigh, thrummed
Against the soft hush... a fingertip glide,
Seeking the heat of her flame, as a moth hypnotized;
Fluttering across her milk-sea ripples...where
Her pale lips, mouthed silent his name...
She learned to drink the light,
Forget, how the moon appeared in silken secrecy,
A soft veil carried on heart beats, a blue fugue
Balanced by his breath...unspoken dreams.
Folding dew wet love,
Captured under closed lids.................
Jul 28, 2012
Jul 28, 2012 at 4:31 AM UTC
We followed the melody into the forest
Sweet song slowly soaking through
We envied our ears
That danced with the notes
And followed the keys like stones
Laid out into the woods
Speakers formed from the hollows
The earth beneath our feet
Thrummed with the bass
Hummed with the voices
So lost into the forest we go
When the voices formed
Into ethereal dancers
We stared
We were afraid but we saw
Art that swayed and breathed
And glowed
With graceful hands they offered
Gilded cups filled to the brim
Our very own melody
Should we choose to be
Into this forest and never go
For one second we thought
But that was all it took
With parched throats
We followed the melody into the forest
And never looked back
After the very last drop
Sep 14, 2018
Sep 14, 2018 at 9:39 PM UTC
Not much was said
a minimum of words spoken
but within the sparseness of the verbalizations
lay powerful emotions –
after all they were
poets both
whose hearts thrummed
to the same metre!
- Vijayalakshmi Harish
29.12.2012
Copyright © Vijayalakshmi Harish
Dec 28, 2012
Dec 28, 2012 at 11:27 PM UTC
Flight 93
by Michael R. Burch
I held the switch in trembling fingers ... asked
why existence felt so small, so meaningless,
like a minnow squirming feebly in my grasp ...
... vibrations of huge engines thrummed my arms
as, glistening with sweat, I nudged the switch
to OFF ... I heard the klaxon’s shrill alarms
like vultures’ shriekings ... earthward, in a stall ...
we floated ... earthward ... wings outstretched, aghast
like Icarus ... as through the void we fell ...
till nothing was so beautiful, so blue ...
so vivid as that moment ... and I held
an image of your face, and dreamed I flew
into your arms ... the earth rushed up ... I knew
such comfort, in that moment, loving you.
NOTE: This poem imagines the struggle in the cockpit for control of the Flight 93 airplane. The terrorists apparently intended to crash the plane into the White House. The heroic passengers kept that from happening, at the cost of their lives. Keywords/Tags: 9-11, sonnet, Flight 93, terrorists, terrorism, heroes, heroism, courage, bravery, loyalty, patriotism, sacrifice, love
Mar 16, 2020
Mar 16, 2020 at 11:54 PM UTC
before:
my mind was a sanctuary,
decked out in ugly green carpet
with beautiful stained glass windows that
allowed the myriad of multicolored light in
to dance among the wooden pews
and to highlight the swaying dust
that descended as the ***** thrummed
and voices were raised to sing out our hearts
in unison.
I took your hand and drew you in with a smile
and a promise and we felt the warmth of the sunshine
and the peace of mind that accompanied
being with someone you trust.
after:
it's cold and damp and undisturbed
and you can hear water dripping in the distance.
the carpet's faded and it smells of mold
and the pews have long since weakened,
cracked, split, and crumpled to the ground.
the dust no longer sways in rhythm with our breath
and the windows shattered into billions of
glittering, dark, ugly jewels, long faded to dark reminders
of days that once were.
the ***** was partially stolen and
now you only see a few rusted pipes
hovering above the platform from the wall.
your feet leave prints on the swampy mess
that was once the floor the one time you take a peek in.
I trace them with ***** hands after you leave,
unable to believe someone even bothered to enter.
now I'm pulling back
to the tattered place that used to glow
to tuck my quiet misery into its bed.
and I hope (oh, how I hope)
you can find me among the
musty old wood and
once-bronze pipes
and shards of technicolor glass.
I'm hoping you'll come around again
and relieve me of my misery for good.
(or maybe
you'll just help me move on
from the quiet misery that plagues my sleep,
my steps, my speech, my soul,
and find something else--
untouched, shimmering--
leaving some footprints of my own as I move towards
another place just as beautiful as the first
to house my thoughts and dreams anew.)
Jan 10, 2013
Jan 10, 2013 at 4:30 AM UTC
here's the truth:
i don't remember the way your
cologne smelled. i think it was
something sharp and bitter; it smelled
like artificiality, like how water at
mini-golf parks are dyed
aquamarine blue. like how
i always felt when i was
trying so ********* hard
to impress you.
*the way she smiles at you is predatory,
hungry. i can tell that you think it's
wholesome.*
the air around you thrummed with
the tang of sour salt-water, soaked
in unnatural musk. i remember thinking,
as phys ed came to an end,
that you smelled like you had bathed in a
neverland lagoon as the ******* brooding
mermaids soaked in your attention, your
velvety voice.
*she grabbed you and made your
hers.
i felt a quaking sense of relief
in my bones, a whispering that
distance would come easier now;
you could, would, should
never be mine.*
when i pass that smell, your smell,
in the perfume aisle at the macy's i always hated,
i reach out and let the bottle's
glass trap the past in the carefully
chiseled, perfect edges
that reminds me too much of
my aching teenage heart.
once, i wanted to fit the fashion
only if that fashion guaranteed me
you. today, i hope i never
see the eyes matching
that artificial lagoon.
*i cried for a week,
oceans of tears that surely
didn't smell the way you had,
getting the last traces of you
washed from my soul. and then you were
gone, and i thought the world had
stopped spinning on its axis for a month.
and for thirty days,
i had never been more
wrong.*
what would that scent be to me now,
a year later? would it still
stop me dead? would my mind
compensate for the things i've let slip
through my fingers? or would i
remember, would i bite back
a cry and race away,
knowing my past,
knowing my future cannot repeat
the mistakes i once made.
*i remember the first time
i thought the words, wrote them
down on paper, owned them in
my soul.
**i
am
free.***
Jul 3, 2015
Jul 3, 2015 at 3:35 PM UTC
I am parched,
I am starved,
Cried the little leaf,
Steeped in grief.
The branch swayed it to sleep,
Embracing it in a firm grip.
Suddenly the clouds bellowed,
The skies opened,
The trees woke up with a start,
Silver drops of rain drenched the bark,
To the roots they streamed,
The barren land screamed,
As the downpour on it tapdanced,
Soaking the caked earth ,
Filling it with joy and mirth.
The air was rich with sweet petrichor of rain,
The little leaf chuckled again and again,
The green colour surged in its vein.
The landscape beamed,
As the rain strummed and drummed,
Tinkled and thrummed,
While the wind played heavenly symphony.
Dec 19, 2017
Dec 19, 2017 at 5:53 PM UTC
that night
was
a place
adjacent
a shrine
thrummed totem rising
OOOoohhhmm-ing busting sifting
the hard
the oh-so *******
-hard-
mineral
that sits proud beneath my breast
always taking
deflecting
now
taken in
felt
carbon lattice wilt
this will pass
i've been
cared
for
her touch
friend love soul tall all pure
orbit of Oneness arcs above us
my chest
outside my self
reaching out of me
out of my grasp
wanting to be
more toward
the Other
my feat
inside the floor
where the beat is found
the hardness slips
for the first time
i wished to be human
and was
sliver in the diamond
shook loose
the sting of ME
wanting
transgressing
now outside me
the ugly is mine to hold
to observe
it killed me
i died last night
and
from that baseline goop
rose toes first
white-hot light dripping
from starburned furnace melt
Jun 18, 2015
Jun 18, 2015 at 10:46 PM UTC
The wind sighed in the rigging
and the sea murmured deep.
Better get some rest my bully boys
for you’ll get but little sleep.
Wind devils whistled a warning
halyards thrummed in the blast,
better take in sail afore the gale,
came the order at long last.
Up aloft and lively!
reef the main in hard.
claw it in and hold it,
lash it to the yard.
Heed not the winds drear moaning,
nor yet the thundering sea,
but cling to the mast
in the icy blast,
for it hath the strength of a tree.
Take shelter now my hearties,
for there’s little can be done,
the tempest’s force drives us from our course
and we’ll have to turn and run.
As the night grew black and thunder
drowned our weary sighs,
we ran ‘fore the storm and hoped,
for a sight of the mornings skies.
Jun 11, 2014
Jun 11, 2014 at 9:37 AM UTC
I staggered up and stood there in melancholy- gazing aloft at the city laying among the horizon before me. It thrummed vibrations of a steady heartbeat. The lights flickered and it all fell to bleak darkness. The silence had come to grieve alongside me. I began clenching to the warmth condensing through my coat.
The presence of his reassuring touch emerged but not in human form. Closing my eyes I felt him dancing through the sharp breeze. I turned, hoping to catch a glimpse of the man I once loved. There still, sat the raven... his beady eyes ushered in a certain familiarity as his stature resembled that of the Angel of Death, engulfing an almost palpable enigma.
His lingering touch began to fade. The azure sky sunk through the dreary bleach that once dominated the atmosphere. As the raven took flight he projected his deathly caw that rung at my eardrums. The sun shone, a golden globe. All was tranquil for now.
May 27, 2017
May 27, 2017 at 2:36 PM UTC
You were my muse, babe. You made all that poetic **** come running out of my fingers, a waterfall of galaxy eyes and feathery hair and thin fingers and shy lips. A stream of false promises I almost believed in and outer space and the comets in your head, a slow trickle of something a lot like love that slowly thrummed in my heart and the glassy purity about you. You were like a song I could have listened to forever, a beautiful boy with a heartbeat like a hummingbird. It's really too bad you forgot me, because I didn't forget a moment of you.
Aug 17, 2014
Aug 17, 2014 at 1:39 AM UTC
i can’t hear it anymore
the steady
thump thump thump
of the rock in my rib cage
i’ve tried to beat it back to life
with my fists
but it remained unresponsive
i looked at the filter of sunbeams between leaves
and waited for the feather-light touch
of emotion
i waited till dusk
and still it did not come
i knew i was not dead
my veins thrummed
eyes blinked
muscles twitched
but the gaping hole in my chest
remained.
Esther L. Krenzin
Aug 18, 2020
Aug 18, 2020 at 9:13 AM UTC
A harp of a rib cage,
Every second, thrummed
By you.
And my muffled melody plays,
Each note faintly hummed
For you.
Nov 3, 2018
Nov 3, 2018 at 7:19 PM UTC
There was a spotlight on her that night,
Submerging her in a glow that demanded attention.
All else faded to background scenery,
As she performed her unconscious solo piece.
No one had bought tickets,
But they all took their place in the seats,
And waited on baited breath
For what masterpiece she might conceive.
There must have been an orchestra too,
For my heart thrummed harmonies to her every move,
And every voice which spoke
Seemed to be the overture to the entrance of her own.
She conducted herself effortlessly
Composed, with depths hidden just enough
To make all in attendance
Burn to learn the lyrics to her subtle smile.
And when she exited stage right on time,
There was too much awe for ovation.
For no hand among them
Could conceive to thank her with naught but a clap.
But one such hand found solace enough
After such a haunting act.
My own,
Squeezed tightly around hers
As she closed the stage door shut.
Mar 16, 2018
Mar 16, 2018 at 12:23 PM UTC
On nights like tonight
Where the clouds kiss the Earth
Painting my skin in silky sweat
Smothering me
Electricity bristling fine hair
Whipping it around like it whips the leaves of trees
The rumble-grumble of remnant thunder
Bouncing off chrome castles
Echoing the drums that once thrummed
Under my skin
It's nights like tonight...
Like tonight...
That I remember
The tempest that once roared in my veins
And the stillness left in your wake
Sep 28, 2017
Sep 28, 2017 at 10:59 AM UTC
The bulb of a music note dips into my neck to stifle my breath, my heart, my noise
I ****** to a rock song, and tremble in the profound desires of an artist
I don’t know the name of
We keep tempo and revel in songs that amplify the connection between you and I
A vital pleasure; The way you need music is the way I need you
Flashes of past nights when this method of release heightened my grief show me a
beige carpet floor beside a blue-green Walmart bed set
Satisfying sobs thrummed in tune to death wishes and I can’t quite tell if my present
tears represent some revival of that with you
I used to hide between lyrics and click song after song to feel something similar to the graveness in your eyes when I suppress ******* ringing in high key
Proof you dedicate this playlist to me.
I see sound waves disappear into the ceiling with my eyes rolling shut
My soul is almost mourning, until a confessional guitar saturates me once again
A tear might slip as I arch my back to the bridge
But your thoughtfully selected art carries me through to
a blankness very different from the past
Now I’m raw, encircled by warm, oak tones and the Winter breeze that draws me
close to you
Gratitude vibrates outward and I am breathing in the melody of pheromones
You skip songs and whisper about the pulse of Third Eye Blind; I know that
The way you need music is the way I need you
May 31, 2019
May 31, 2019 at 2:54 AM UTC
She was damned
Shattered and frayed, her guilt thrummed like a live wire,
just feeling it all—
the agony and the nothingness,
intertwined like roots of a twisted tree,
growing in soil laced with despair.
He was damned,
caught in the riptide of love,
clinging to the driftwood of someone else’s anguish,
his sin?
This desperate reach,
a lifeline that twisted like vines
suffocating the very breath of his own heart.
She was damned—
a jigsaw of herself,
pieces ripped from her skin,
reassembled to fit the gaps of others,
her hope—
to stand in the light
and finally feel her own shadow.
She was dangerous,
her fragments sharp,
like glass scattered on a forgotten floor,
and every hand that reached out
bore the chance
of slicing through her skin and the tether
to her still-beating heart.
He was dangerous—
each sinkhole of sadness,
his love,
an ocean that swallowed the buoyancy of laughter,
his heart bled onto them,
the crimson tide drenching those
who dared to tread too close.
She was dangerous,
those myriad pieces,
each a path to the divine or
the infernal, a kaleidoscope
of God’s dreams and the devil’s whispers,
and in her longing to be whole,
the lines blurred—
the beauty and the brutality, intertwined.
Dec 6, 2024
Dec 6, 2024 at 3:03 PM UTC