"tilted" poems
Surrender your body to me.
Bare body pressed against the brick wall
Hands tied overhead
Hair pulled back
Your body so warm and hot
Feel my ice cold kisses on your shoulders
My wet tongue running up your neck
Feel the red imprints of my hands on your ***
Moan for me ever so slightly
Beg me for more
Beg for me to never stop
Shutter at the feeling of my hands on your ********
Bite those full lips at the pleasure of my teeth markings on your body
Surrender yourself to me
Let me toss you on fresh sheets
Spreading your legs apart
Gently placing my hands on your slit
Rubbing slowly against soaked laced *******
Tongue tied in your body
Feed me your taste
Fill me with the flavor of your *****
Grip my head with your legs
Watch me explore your insides
Stare at me with such intense eyes
Stare as I climb up tracing every curve with my velvet tongue
Wrap your glistening legs around my waist
Take me raw till you can no longer go
Grip the sheets, head tilted back
Claw at my body
I'll guide you along the line between pain and pleasure
Surrender yourself to me
Let's explore our pleasures together.
Sep 3, 2017
Sep 3, 2017 at 5:11 AM UTC
Papers, Papers, Papers
Whiter than aching teeth,
Whiter than whites of tilted eyes,
Whiter than funeral wreaths.
My hands shake as I write this,
Filed away myths; Stolen lined sheets
My index finger chained by red tapes,
words mix and ground breaks,
I'm the one the world forsakes
Yellow maize, littered leaves,
all twisted into
black ink and clean sharp white paper blades.
-------"I am in a bit of daze," I tell myself, "look at those flaccid bits;
there lay the logs who use to be the jungle of my childhood dreams."
------"Don't be amazed," I replied, "these leafless branches and twigs are for
your Papier-Mâché degrees."
So I listen to my second self once,
the more logical cynical satirical one,
Treading on the plot of their paper works,
playing crosswords as anxiety uncork
my thoughts turn to the bankable orcs,
just as my career forks
Maybe I should be like my mother,
Marking numbers on a deck of cards-- waltzing with Chance.
Maybe I should be like my father,
Toiling for some rich men's grandson-- seething in Trance.
Maybe I should be like the Other,
Going along with the system-- thanking myself
beneath a cap, a diploma, a piece of paper.
I wore these books like bank notes tuxedoes,
I was promised the world by the credits I borrowed.
Must I go along with the mechanism of their game,
or should I rise up against all odds
Opposing, debating, rebelling against
this bundle, this trouble, funneling me into no-tomorrows
Or must I write it all down,
in my prayers against their lawyers, who need no reminds
Or must I shred, smear, and tear the papers with my own bare hands
But what will I ever be to them, friends?
A papercut, perhaps.
Aug 19, 2018
Aug 19, 2018 at 9:33 PM UTC
The curve of your bottom lip,
The contrast of red on your perfect white teeth,
Under that tilted half smile.
You’re shining at me.
The rough surface of your hands,
And how perfectly mine fits.
The smell of you so sweet,
So different, so perfect and calming.
Your demeanor so charming,
The way I’m pulled to you ,
Matched with the way you never
Ever let me go, never leave me alone.
Never tell me to go.
I’m lost in your big eyes,
Wrapped up in your big arms.
There. Is. No. place. Better. Than. Your. Chest.
Your better than my bed at home.
You are better than all the rest.
And I trust you more than you’ll ever know.
I’ve fallen so far in love, grown so far up,
You have fixed me and you’ll never know
The way your soft skin catches light a
A soft glow.
And I know, better than you know,
That you are everything good.
Love you my handsome man.
Mar 6, 2012
Mar 6, 2012 at 1:38 PM UTC
Every blue patch on the sky keeps an eye,
cherishing clouds dancing, hovering over.
The songs of deep blue ride the heady air,
only to be stunned, all of a sudden,
at the first sight—
sung down on a perfectly placed mural.
The Queen of Sheba tiptoes this way;
King Solomon leans to the ground,
only to find seas of silent blooms
musing, dipping in sun-kissed dews—
on gently tilted roses that will not fall,
not from this picture-perfect, navel-high!
Velvety, the rose rises from the ground;
the forever-green Earth hangs low,
in the dew on the rose that will not fall.
Blossoming, eyeing an acute high,
evermore hopeful to scale upward,
toward the faraway, awaiting heaven's pool.
There, the spotlight does not move—
neither north nor south, nor up nor down—
until Queen Fathima, the Queen of Heaven,
steps on the "as above, so below" slope.
There, the newly resurrected Earth will be primed,
its minted atoms vibrating beyond bounds,
rising, for the first time, atop the navel-high.
Perfectly wrapped, the atom's circle finally turns on—
the stepping stone that holds no pi-decimal hole.
Pure Scientia hangs on the door of Paradise,
awaiting the numerically perfect Queen Fathima to step.
God willing, she will work in beauty:
the most sought-after, perfect works of art—
the lost masterpiece, not in translation,
but hidden within the pi-decimal abyss of Earth's depth.
Lo, the gleaning Sleeping Beauty peeps,
trailing the role model Queen.
Fathima—the first woman to enter Paradise—
walks the walk: perfect, straight, numerically precise.
As if she always knew, back from the Earth,
of the murals ahead, hanging on Paradise’s wall,
mathematically exact!
Mirrors of imagination, new wonders on Heaven’s way,
etched in the murals at the golden section, navel-high.
She zooms past the ever-spinning atom’s perfect span,
cemented at the entrance of Paradise.
Yet leaves no footprint—
for she never did, even on the sublunary Earth.
A new wonder blooms in the classic old eyes:
oh, Pi, still irrational, still pondering,
at the measured, eternal navel-high!
Oct 31, 2018
Oct 31, 2018 at 5:02 PM UTC
Selfies,
I can smell the desperation,
from here.
odors of worry;
rippling anxities of uncertainity.
two dimensional,
instantaneous impressions,
pixelated presentations,
and
Teenage frustrations.
up tilted camera.
held against the light,
Illuminating eyes ,
and eradicating spots.
that looks like a good one.
Vicarious representation;
of how good
one could look,
fallible and hopeful.
big bosomed dame
showcasing blessed cleavage,
pulsating the adolescent
bulges.
delivered to
metal passenger,
thereafter shown
among peers.
networked to unknown.
Friends who'd never
met eye,
or
touched skin,
or
even spoke.
self conscious
cropping of images.
fat and fearful.
wasted hours,
dying for love.
False dream of
captivating the messes with her selfie.
The very ugliness
of impressions.
Oh, how shallow we've became.
The denial
of the impact of aesthetics.
laughable,
torrents of judgement
Skinny,
fat,
ugly,
behold their desperate eyes behind the selfie.
Jul 14, 2014
Jul 14, 2014 at 4:35 PM UTC
***Night came and conquered my ceiling
Head tilted back to inherit it's familiar splendour.
But she isn't there... Left my heart slightly gaping.
O twinkly one, have you seen her?***
*She's mysteriously veiled tonight,
Playfully on her halo, dances gentle light.
Don't give up on her, listless moongazer,
She wants to be conquered, put up a good fight.*
***Persistent skirmish that sets dreams and reality apart,
Eyes don't see what the heart knows so clear,
Clarity eludes when forgotten scars start to smart,
Do you know if she even realises I'm here?***
*She knows, and dreams of your happy eyes,
That only her will hold on their feverish gaze.
Unbroken threads of hope, your yearning to baptize
And her ice cold craters to be set ablaze.*
***Fire in my vessel still burns bright and strong,
Never extinguished behind the facade of my weary husk,
My flame would endure just as the wick is long,
Tell me dear star, will I see her next dusk?***
*When the sun's swords will seize,
slashing the sky in dazzling blue,
When the air will bring a comforting ease,
Her glistening "yes" will welcome you.*
***Your comforting words ring only of truth,
Winking in codes, you might be right .
Darkness had claimed and engulfed all proof,
Will you accompany me through tonight?***
*This piercing question you don't have to ask me,
For even though my light's billion of years away,
Twinkling in your dreams I'll always be,
The night companion, under your moon's ray.*
ryn
Dajena M
Mar 1, 2015
Mar 1, 2015 at 10:29 AM UTC
he pushes me onto my knees
our father who art in heaven
i open my mouth for him
lord, i want to recommit my life, my heart to you
he holds my head in his hands and i take in all of him
you alone are worthy of all honor and praise
his eyes close and his head tilts back
***he will rejoice over you with gladness; he will quiet you
by his love***
i can feel tears running down my cheeks and i look up and capture his eyes
i saw the lord...lofty and exalted
his mouth tilted into a grin
***make your face shine on your servant; save me in your
steadfast love***
he pushes my head back and i come away with drool and tears dripping to the floor
now the works of the flesh are evident
i smile at him and my gaze demands his admiration
for this is the love of god
~
Sep 19, 2018
Sep 19, 2018 at 3:59 AM UTC
Are my eyes just fooling me again
Or is my time Finaly up
Is this a siege on my own head
Or revenge from far and wide
It seems so clear
But yet so far
The panic setting in
I was warned
But not enough
This is the time for fear
And as I stare below me
Crown tilted low upon my head
I could swear the forest's walking
Full of loathing, life and hate
It's pace is quickly speeding up approaching Dunsinane
Now what to do with my own throne
The battles lost
The battles won
And The branches click and whisper
As I look down In fear
But what choice do I have now
These woods will make the end
Jun 9, 2014
Jun 9, 2014 at 12:06 PM UTC
My narrow cave is zero colour
a thousand winds that blow over
only blow kohl yet to see an eye.
The sunrise beams out in the morning's hush
as do the sun basks in the swift uplifting rush.
Ah, only to miss out again like yesterday,
there was a cave it tried to highlight.
Then lost me in the dark found a Moon
heavily tilted yet over a shady turf.
Every star eying upon it knows that
tomorrow again, this will host the sunrise!
Dec 9, 2018
Dec 9, 2018 at 11:40 PM UTC
The snow leopard and the little fox were sound asleep. The leopard curled up around the young fox keeping them both warm in the cold weather. As the sun started to arise the leopard awoke from his slumber. He then softly pat his little young fox apprentice's head, "Wake up little one. A new day awaits us," he said with a smile as he stood on all fours and stretched out his back. The little fox grunted and yawned "It's too early," she whined as she curled up tighter, "The sun isn't even fully up in the sky yet" was her rebuttal to his awakening. The leopard took her by the scruff and softly tossed her into the snow covered field. "Ahhh!~Ooof." The little fox yelled as she tumbled into the snow. "You know what they say, the early bird catches the worm, the early cat catches the bird." The leopard laughed slightly as he spoke, watching the little fox stand up all covered in fresh snow from last nights fall. "Well what's that have to do with me?!?" the fox shouted slightly, being slightly agitated about him tossing her. The leopard smirked as he walked by her and pat her head again, dusting off the snow, "It has everything to do with you, it has everything to do with everyone. It means the sooner you wake the more you can do. The more time you have in the day to do what you want," the leopard exclaimed with pride and excitement in his voice, "Do you ever ask yourself why there is so much left you want to do by the end of the day but just didn't have enough time? Well this helps you get more done. It gives you more time." The little fox tilted her head slightly to he side and looked down a bit, "I guess you are right," she said softly. Not knowing what else to say, she stood up and shook the snow off of herself then rush over to the leopard. "So what lesson will I learn today?" she asked eagerly. The leopard smiled as they started walking, "Didn't you just learn something?" he said as he raised an eyebrow. The little fox giggled softly and started pouncing around him laughing happily and saying "Well yea. But I want to learn more." The leopard laughed and looked to her, "Slow and steady wins the race little one. Slow and steady. we will find something for me to teach you, or for us to learn, as time goes on." he said softly but wisely as they kept walking into the woods, away from the sunrise.
May 11, 2014
May 11, 2014 at 11:12 PM UTC
Roselva says the only thing that doesn't change
is train tracks. She's sure of it.
The train changes, or the weeds that grow up spidery
by the side, but not the tracks.
I've watched one for three years, she says,
and it doesn't curve, doesn't break, doesn't grow.
Peter isn't sure. He saw an abandoned track
near Sabinas, Mexico, and says a track without a train
is a changed track. The metal wasn't shiny anymore.
The wood was split and some of the ties were gone.
Every Tuesday on Morales Street
butchers crack the necks of a hundred hens.
The widow in the tilted house
spices her soup with cinnamon.
Ask her what doesn't change.
Stars explode.
The rose curls up as if there is fire in the petals.
The cat who knew me is buried under the bush.
The train whistle still wails its ancient sound
but when it goes away, shrinking back
from the walls of the brain,
it takes something different with it every time.
Mar 14, 2014
Mar 14, 2014 at 12:39 AM UTC
The ballerina rises off her feet to stand en pointé.
Sparkles from her white costume shimmering
From the bright lights focused on her.
She elongates her arms into the air, bending her small wrists
And the tips of her delicate fingers lightly touch each other.
She glances at the crowd, looking for him
Even though she knows he is not there.
The long legs of this ballerina are linked, chained together.
And as she hears the music begin to play,
This ballerina slightly tilts her head and turns.
She does not blame him for leaving,
For this ballerina knows she drove him mad.
And onstage she chained her legs tighter and turned faster,
Eyelids fluttered shut, head tilted downward for a brief moment.
Obsession to the point of perfection.
He would never understand, which she always knew.
She had to be perfect.
Her head spinning and facing forward, this ballerina turned faster.
Drunken from Dom Pérignon and love along the coast of La Seine.
Allongé, this ballerina reached further and
Tourné plus vite sur ses pointes.
*Kisses filled with wonder outside the Place des Arts de Montréal,
Yet still she had to be perfect.
Faster with every chaîne tour; never stopping, wishing he could stay.*
She began to slow with every turn
As the ballet dancers flooded the stage.
White sparkles glistening everywhere,
The Prince made his presence known.
The tears she shed one night on the Pont Marie bridge as he walked way.
This ballerina slowed until she no longer turned, slowly lowering her arms,
One hand gently and softly grazing her face.
She stood in front of two rows of ballet dancers, searching for a face
That she knew would not be there.
Allongé, she bent her wrists where the tips of her fingers lightly touched
Before lowering her arms until they were in front of her.
She danced across the stage towards her Prince
Where he waited, arms outstretched, the ballet dancers facing him.
This ballerina turned once more before falling back into the arms of her Prince.
“I’m perfect.”
May 4, 2014
May 4, 2014 at 9:23 PM UTC
w*herever I will go
he'll move away
tilted reality
unaware, I am,
he's passing me
changing his paths
so we never meet ever
but we are together
for a second
holding our breath
blinking our eyes
beneath the blue skies*.
May 7, 2018
May 7, 2018 at 6:13 AM UTC
He found her standing before
the large Ocean staring unseeing at
its mysterious frozen surface. She was
shivering. He watched her
doubtfully for a moment.
"The Ocean is too cold and too big."
The Goddess thought out loud.
In reality, The sky was too: cold and too big.
And the
whole world
was: too cold, too big. And even too
cruel.
'Goddess,'
he said to her back, where’s
your coat?'
'Where’s yours?'
He moved to stand beside
her hourglass figure. 'I’m warm.'
She tilted her head to his.
'If
you’re warm and I’m coatless,
there’s only one friendly thing
for you to do.'
'Go back and get your coat for
you?'
She smiled. Reaching out to
him, he pulled her close
against him. Being a gentleman he wrapped
his arms around her,
surprised, and tried to rub
some warmth into her
shivering shoulders and back.
'That’s it exactly,' Goddess said.
'You must keep me warm.' As a gesture to never let her go,
He laughed and held her
tighter with one hand, while drawing a sword at the rest of the world.
Jun 19, 2015
Jun 19, 2015 at 4:34 AM UTC
A satellite is watching its ants,
Broadcasting the pixelated sins of your fathers,
Just
like
snow
Go on sew,
Sew your seams little one,
All this humanism is bound to bust when you all find yourselves-
Eating cotton
Turn on the television,
I am naked,
I need to hide,
Turn off the lights,
I need darkness,
To abide,
And Babylon is seeping through the screens,
Demean us all,
Demean us all,
As long as I can be seen,
Demean me please,
Ease the curse of this vulnerability,
How do I survive on this tilted planet?
What's the use of living,
If I'm not alive?
Was man meant for this?
All these cages,
My job my house my car my body,
Is anybody conscience of this missing bliss of life?
Who can see,
All
the
nakedness
like
me
The world washes over our bodies
The world washes over our bodies
The world washes over our bodies
May 29, 2013
May 29, 2013 at 10:14 PM UTC
I dreamed up a world
Where reality had tilted
And the sky traded places
With the sea
We walked on streets
Of fluffy clouds
Caught stars in fishing nets
While gazing up at celestial waters
Making wishes on flying whales
Jul 9, 2016
Jul 9, 2016 at 10:44 PM UTC
Miscommunication
serendipity, anticipation,
blurred reality -
lost in the dialect
of a dream,
in pursuit
of Love
find callous irony;
subversion of desire
what's it all about?
to know and be known.
Mere seconds
of scrutiny
inferior,
I am shown.
Her appraisal
eviscerating
my warm flesh,
her tilted criteria
supplanting the interior,
voluble with
saccharine neologisms
and preferences
for the exterior.
(not mine)
Ironic was my
attraction to
her brain.
Lines, features
and symmetry,
image - the commodity,
aesthetics, the
currency
in this transaction,
cursory liaison,
incendiary,
collapse of the
insurgent ego -
there was no
us in the
the affair of
nothingness.
Bruised in
abasement,
I'm not the one -
I thought I was.
Hyperbole -
the center
of delusion,
a curious
diversion -
avoid my life.
The allure of
the illusion,
transference,
the ordinary to
the romantic,
the perfect other.
Searching, the
absorbing project -
aquiring wholeness,
did she reject me?
I rejected me.
The escape into
fraudulent
sadness,
to mourn,
is to displace,
the disowned heart
by self is tragic.
Should
I not mourn for
the one I'm
deferring?
Inside of me
It's safe,
to lament
the loss of
identity -
tension is agony
without resolve
sequestered,
in my pain,
self-imposed
familiar terrain,
upon retrieval,
awaking in
renewal,
mystery and destiny
providentially,
I am free.
Feb 14, 2012
Feb 14, 2012 at 8:08 PM UTC
Took the 17 down nicollet
Passed the City Center
Passing time
Passing men on the streets with an open guitar case
Passed the kids with their skateboards
Passed the guys covered in ink playing fight night on the street
Fifth street
Yellow cord
Brake peddle
Bus stop
Sidewalk
The sharks fight the jets
Romeo goes to Juliet
Old men with canes talk on their cell phones
Nicollet and 4th feels a little heavy tonight
11:47 comes my bus
Down 4th ave
Passing time
Passing the former home of the Twins
Passed the cops with their lights on
Passed some kids in their visors
Red light
Doswell street
Yellow cord
Brake peddle
Bus stop
Sidewalk
Out on the street
Street lamps glow fluorescent
New moon fixed in the stars
Tilted, slightly
The tweakers stay in the shack down the block
They’ve got the rocks in their socks
And they’re sleeping on the carpet
Welcome mat turned over
Shades drawn tight
And an icy cold feeling runs in their veins
And they roll back into a dream
Apartment building
Stairwell
Door 10
Living room.
Sep 18, 2012
Sep 18, 2012 at 4:22 PM UTC
We crossed over
into the hinterlands,
burned trails
to unnamed
watering holes,
those dingy places,
where we
lifted our hands
backwards,
tilted our heads upwards
to the gods
& drank copiously.
There was no law,
only disorder, but
nobody ever got in our way,
so we continued with impunity
to play wildly.
In altered states,
we mated
with unknown devils
who ****** us dry,
left us crying as
broken down dogs,
barking at the moon
& swearing oaths,
promises of silence,
what happens
south of the border,
stayed south of the border.
And it did.
Mar 27, 2014
Mar 27, 2014 at 10:02 PM UTC
He motioned for her to take her place on the back.
He braced himself steady as she slid herself onto the rack.
Once she had settled, he handed her his gunny sack,
He told her keep it safe as he tackled the offbeaten track.
The night was quiet, save for the crickets chirping in unison
Hiding behind the clouds, the moon gave out a dim ominous glow.
The tapper finally felt a tiny sliver of trepidation
He wasn't sure of the outcome, that night would eventually show.
The whole time, he was thinking in his busy little head...
He tried to devise ways to thwart this playful, mischievous being.
But those thoughts of his were quickly derailed instead.
For her perfumed presence was very much intoxicating.
Soon they had arrived at the foot of the hill
He hastened his pedalling to meet the uphill slope.
He would have continued slamming on the pedals until...
He felt her hand on his shoulder clench into a tight *****
He tilted his head back towards his beautiful passenger.
In a calm manner he mouthed the words asking, "What's the matter?"
Her voice came right after in a nervous stammer,
"Would you mind slowing down because last night this was where I had fallen over..."
Feb 7, 2015
Feb 7, 2015 at 8:26 AM UTC
dressed in green
and dressed in blue
the center of the world
on tilted axis flew
dressed in red
and dressed in green
lit from behind
my little machine
Aug 22, 2013
Aug 22, 2013 at 12:12 AM UTC
I will tell you what he told me
in the years just after the war
as we then called
the second world war
don't lose your arrogance yet he said
you can do that when you're older
lose it too soon and you may
merely replace it with vanity
just one time he suggested
changing the usual order
of the same words in a line of verse
why point out a thing twice
he suggested I pray to the Muse
get down on my knees and pray
right there in the corner and he
said he meant it literally
it was in the days before the beard
and the drink but he was deep
in tides of his own through which he sailed
chin sideways and head tilted like a tacking sloop
he was far older than the dates allowed for
much older than I was he was in his thirties
he snapped down his nose with an accent
I think he had affected in England
as for publishing he advised me
to paper my wall with rejection slips
his lips and the bones of his long fingers trembled
with the vehemence of his views about poetry
he said the great presence
that permitted everything and transmuted it
in poetry was passion
passion was genius and he praised movement and invention
I had hardly begun to read
I asked how can you ever be sure
that what you write is really
any good at all and he said you can't
you can't you can never be sure
you die without knowing
whether anything you wrote was any good
if you have to be sure don't write
4.7k
I clenched my fist and gritted my teeth as I gulped;
My head tilted upwards and stared at the sky filled with the
blue color that reminds me of your eyes filled with
wonders, trying not to look directly into the windows of your
soul;
I did all these not to suppress my anger, but something even more
difficult;
But no matter what I do, everything is not under my
control and will
never be
For these tears still streamed down my cheeks filled with deep sorrow and melancholy;
Yes, it's hard;
It's making me bleed so much that I feel like I'm dying yet still continuing to
breathe;
It's far more arduous than any predicament that I have encountered in my whole existence;
Yet I still have to do it;
For I cannot continue any longer to hurt you by offering you my heart, my dear;
As you continue to heal and purify all my sins
While all I ever do is
corrupt
your soul and drag you in the the deepest and darkest abyss that I call
home;
Darling, I am now setting you free and breaking the chains that
restrict
you from ascending into the
limitless sky where you truly
belong, so flap you wings
and fly to your
well-being;
Goodbye.
Jul 26, 2018
Jul 26, 2018 at 1:40 PM UTC
Who would have guessed — when I tilted my heart
toward baby lizard, perched on a colored desert stone,
she’d blink one eye at me, turn to smile, it seemed,
and lend a listening ear?
I’d only said in a lizard way
“I love you”.
Who would have thought — when that stone had heard me
loving her, it would, it seem, speak back?
Loving stone too, I was!
Stone, I so admire your villages.
I smile toward your many stone peoples.
I eavesdrop on universal questions posed
around sacred fires carefully tended.
And around one hearth, among
cinder specks scattered – one minute wisp,
one grain of cinder there.
Dare I say I love you too?
For in that cinder grain I hear —
worlds of stars, sweetly singing!
By way of explanation, reader friend,
such is what a practice of
Loving All Beings Equally
has made of me.
A crazy being?
Could be.
But would you nonetheless
accept the possibilities
and likewise go love adventuring?
If you’d prefer, we all could earnestly
and objectivity talk it through.
Or say ~ Love come! Come!
Speak through us.
We are listening.
Oct 1, 2018
Oct 1, 2018 at 2:55 PM UTC