"tinkering" poems
Lush is the quietude
of the late Saturday afternoon,
rich are the silencing sounds,
as variegated as the shades of greens
of a man-seeded, nature-patchworked lawn
rays reveal some bright,
some yellowed spots,
all a potent color palette
resting worry wearied eyes,
untroubled by the gentle fading light's illumination,
that soon will disappear and seal officially,
another week gone by
the lawn,
acting as an ceiling acoustic tile,
absorbing and reflecting
the varied din of disharmonious
natural sounds orchestrated,
an ever present reminder
that true quiet
is not the absence of noise
I hear
the chill in the air,
insects debating vociferously
their Saturday evening plans,
the waves broom-swishing beach debris,
pretending to be young parents
putting away the children's toys for the eve
the birds speak in Babel multitudes of tongues,
chirps, whistles, clicks and clacks,
then going strangely silent as if all were
praying collectively the afternoon sabbath service,
with an intensity of the silent devotion
this moment, i cannot
well enough communicate,
this trump of light absolutes,
and animal maybes,
that are visually and aurally
presented in a living surround sound screen,
Dolby, of course,
all a plot of
ease and gentility,
in toto,
sweet serenity
here to cease,
no more tinkering,
leave well enough,
plenty well enough
Jun 7, 2015
Jun 7, 2015 at 10:39 AM UTC
She fell in love with an astronaut,
their distance lightyears away.
She believes that he fell in love with her, too.
“For the galaxies are beside me, and a vast of possibilities laying
outside the metal surrounding me,
i kept falling back into your pull of gravity.”
And she still does, when she grows old every day, waiting
he stays the same, feels the same, thinks the same.
But she fell in love with an astronaut,
their distance lightyears away.
Everything under her feet moves faster,
And in space - time slows down, Relativity kicks in.
And every day she wishes, that the Earth would stop revolving
the years stop counting, and
she would stay the same, feel the same, think the same.
She hoped, she dreamed, she failed.
She fell in love with an astronaut.
Her nights linger on tinkering on stars
and planets, and space. She wanted to wait,
she grows old, he slows it down, she couldn’t.
He is lightyears away, and time is running out.
She was in love with an astronaut,
and he was meant to be there, not with her,
not ever.
Feb 17, 2015
Feb 17, 2015 at 10:42 AM UTC
A jack of all trades and a master of none
That is what people called him
Always tinkering with a smile on his face
Helping others seemed to be his place
So when the last chance came to say goodbye
Many people wondered why
Had such a man as this
Who touched all walks of life
Have to die
As busy as he was he always had the time
To stop and talk with the town drunk
On the corner where he stood
Often about a wonderful boyhood
Then in his pocket he would reach
Without a judging eye
Give the man some money
Shake his hand and say until next time
So when the last chance came to say goodbye
Many people wondered why
Had such a man as this
Who touched all walks of life
Have to die
Always willing to share his skill
If you had the ear to learn
Teaching how to do a thing or two
He would give that value
With anyone who would listen
He would make it his business
To share his knowledge as if he was a chieftain
So when the last chance came to say goodbye
Many people wondered why
Had such a man as this
Who touched all walks of life
Have to die
A husband and a father
His wife and children miss him the most
He was a hero to them
Through his children his story will never end
Nov 5, 2012
Nov 5, 2012 at 2:03 AM UTC
living can be tiring and decisions regretful, so often we find ourselves
marching to the beat of obligations’ drummer – unnecessary paths are safely untreaded
doing only because the doing is necessary – to keep life at its homeostasis
fixing but not tinkering – the return to normality is the goal
just accepting these ************ days for their lukewarm livability
Jul 12, 2010
Jul 12, 2010 at 11:22 PM UTC
The trellis of oak trees winked,
captured my soul in a spinney,
chalked whispers of free promises
breathy like a silken shawl trailing
Those wise men of old, withered
skin of bark, tall and strong, waving
their introduction. They bowed to me
in free form, in humble escapism.
Sun had stroked their warm palms,
fed them sweet sap. To my left a
stray leaf, rested amid invisibility,
caught the air train, and spiralled free.
Twizzled to the green painted rug
basking under my cotton covered feet.
Reaching out, it blew away,
I chased the freedom fields.
The brook teased it and set
sail under the woody bridge,
green from seasonal tears.
Lost sight as it spun the space
between us. The grass sprung
its beginnings in full Spring, tall in parts,
summer not yet wrapped and
ready to visit us, much less
invited to the summer ball
where shadows are ten a penny,
and sunshine bought on every
street corner. I am among spring
devoured in daffodil eiderdowns,
elbowing out the crocus, snowdrop
chandeliers. I seagull my way,
swaying in step with willow, blossoming
surprising myself, how I let go of
school day shivers, tinkering my brain
into gear for terms talking tightness,
cramming commas, fat full stops.
May 1, 2013
May 1, 2013 at 7:47 AM UTC
I had a dream I smoked some ***** with a Rasta Man
while we jammed in the name of the lord to some tunes
the children of Africa roaming free like wild beast
once the cradle of civilization turned into tombs
by the ungrateful, heathen souls that ran amok
in the name of annihilation and war.
But we are fearful pious men, as we inhaled the herb
the grass is the shepherd that nourish us like Giraffes
the sky is the ceiling that we reach with our blessed hands
the rivers gives us skins like Crocs to be able to survive
harsh whether, the blood-stained desert left behind by men
witnessed by the pale eyes of the torture souls of this land.
And so we inhaled and puffed like chimneys in a North Pole night
we talked about the smiles of our seeds stretching far and wide
how beautiful is a voice when it’s brought to life by a loved one
how the scent of a pure woman can bring the dead back to life
deadlocked, we are dreadlocked like grapevines until Jah lets us
the mental slavery that keeps us chained to the ships of our ancestors.
We never once conversed about the frail indignity of the mortals
the uselessness of hate, the ways material possessions can’t help you
we reached Nirvana without taking our feet off the common ground
we shared a spirit, bonded between long hits made of peace and love
in the freedom of those free thinkers tinkering with words without rest
in the children of Jah, daydreaming at night in a warm bed made of bread.
Jan 14, 2014
Jan 14, 2014 at 12:40 PM UTC
Late night thinking
Unblinking and sinking
Rethinking my choice of words
It's absurd
Everything is so blurred
Fragments shifting through holes
I take on all these roles
What lost souls
Late night thinking
Tinkering with memories
I need remedies
These fragments slash through flesh
Fresh wounds fester
Exposing new memory holes
Late night thinking
Should I have said that
Combat of my mind
Memories become no mans land, blind
Confined within the crevices of my mind
I just want to unwind
Let's leave all this behind
Tomorrow, perhaps, you may find
Some peace of mind.
May 21, 2014
May 21, 2014 at 6:17 PM UTC
The soft edges of femininity,
Round, ******* complements,
Heels, ***** of the feet, sockets,
Soft eyes, soft hearts, soft hands
Tinkering, thanking, crossing, legs.
Girlhood is enclosed in a silver box
With mute pastels and a heavy soundtrack of strings,
Strings which bifurcate, dissect, divulge,
Horrors, bells, instruments and lush melodies.
Girlhood smells of iron, hot animals, heaving,
Converging, pin ****** the sharp alacrity of Knowing.
Eyes are wet, armpits go black , round edges
Protrude into a potbelly, grow and stagnate,
expand and collapse.
Jul 9, 2021
Jul 9, 2021 at 3:06 PM UTC
Can you hear them whispering
There inside my brain
Can you hear them tinkering
Trying to shake lose what is sane
Can you hear them Clamouring
There inside my mind
Can you hear them favouring
With sadness all they find
Can you hear them plotting
There inside my cranium
Can you hear them knotting
All my thoughts till thier alien
Can you hear them screaming
There inside my brain
Can you hear them scheming
They are driving me insane
The voices here inside my skull
Are always chattering, never a lull
They are bent on my destruction
At first it was a sweet seduction
Now it's a roaring wave
Trying my head to cave
I can hear them as plain as day
Can you hear them what they say
Those voices in my head
All them yelling, one thing said
They only want me dead
Jun 6, 2016
Jun 6, 2016 at 1:44 PM UTC
you came in from the cold dressed bold
under a black flag like isis on the road
to baghdad in a red ferrari going all john
le carré defecting with the little drummer
girl laurie in a deadly affair expecting
the honourable school boy when i'm used
to being a most wanted man -
now i'm no naïve and sentimental lover, baby
i'm the perfect spy and this ain't a small town
in germany but ich bin ein berliner, fraulein -
you better make this your last call for the dead
- it was (y)our kind of game playing
tinkering tailoring soldiering spying -
doodling smiley's people on the side
acting like absolute friends with fred
the constant gardener at the russia house
and red the tailor of panama
like a ***** with a straw up your nose
in the looking glass war
but if you do it again -
let me tell you a secret, pilgrim
i'll drop you where you lie -
it'll be a ****** of quality, baby
and that's a delicate truth
- you were our kind of traitor
on the blue mesa.
r ~ 11/14/14
i like john le carré
:)
Nov 14, 2014
Nov 14, 2014 at 8:48 AM UTC
My feet are so cold to lay on yours
Your hands busy chasing my curves
Paddled in cuddles, pebbles carved
Doodles dwindles all over my body
Tinkering hands as they reach a ******
Ripples twisting blossoming bosoms
Rage the sleeping animated power
Break your wings as the rod erects
Alas! The touch disappears in thin air
Feet warmed in the damning chamber
The perpendicular collapses in angle
Sailed to dally in uncensored snores
Mar 10, 2016
Mar 10, 2016 at 4:56 PM UTC
"Remember when they kept saying I was too blind? I think I was just too in love, too naïve and pure." She quietly mutters, her eyes gazing upon the Vanilla Latte, as they sat in their usual sport in the café. Jessica sighs as she remembers those days clearly.
"You still think about it?" He says, glancing at her. She's grown up so much, beauty is still shines on her face, but the innocent vibe changed into a mature one.
"Of course I do… It feels like yesterday" She smiles at the thoughts, her tinkering smile makes his heat beat all over again. «What happened to us?» He asks himself, suddenly forgetting the answer. "I was blind not to see, weak to not accept".
“I would never forget how cute you looked”.
“Kris ―Now isn't the time for you to tell me that”.
“I know I'm wrong, but that’s the truth. If only I could travel back to the past, like in a time machine― change it and make things right for us”.
“But you can’t do that. Face reality Kris, I've grown up, you said you've moved on, there's no point getting in a time machine now” She says as tears threating to fall from her eyes. Shaking his head he feels like his world is slowly breaking. How he missed her a lot during these seven years, her lavender shampoo which lingers, the caramel hair she had is now dark brown giving her a more elegant charm and that smile which made his heat beat faster everytime, but she was changed “ You let go even when I asked you not to, saying goodbye to everything we had.” She sobs. She's right. He’s the only one to blame for everything. It was all his fault he left her for the dream he could never reach, all his fault he let her fall into a arrange marriage into someone she hated and most of all, he was the one to blame for the pain she's still suffering.
“Sica―”
“Forget it, I have to go, someone's waiting for me and I don’t want to keep them waiting " Pushing her seat she quickly walked away.
«Why did this happen to us?» Remembering all the good moments they had, wanting to say those words that never come out before. He went to chase after her, the long forgotten Vanilla Latte. As he saw her, about to reach her, eveything slipped infront of him.
Getting into the car, Jessica left just like that, just as fast as his heart broke. He last saw her leave with some stranger, who she was forced to be with, because of him. Everything was because of him.
Nov 21, 2013
Nov 21, 2013 at 7:35 PM UTC
Dainty feet on the cold wooden floor ,
I shuffle across the boards quietly ,
wrapped in our sheet ,
The pups nails tinkering next to me .
He knows who im looking for .
Down the hallway,
Past our framed faces and memories.
I smell coffee .
I squint ; stepping into the sunlight
That floods our kitchen.
And there he is , like every morning .
Nose in a book, mug of coffee steaming
Next to him.
He smiles and slowly closes his book , grabbing the front of the sheet and pulling me into his lap.
" you're a vision in white " .
Jan 19, 2014
Jan 19, 2014 at 8:14 AM UTC
Silent guitar on the wall
voice of passion and stories of the heart.
You are the tool of my youth,
the path to the hearts
of loves once passed
You know my hands better than I,
every motion, my grace, my limits.
You feel the beating of my heart
and the pain of my growth.
But now the notes have faded and the songs forgotten,
all memories replaced by others.
The sounds have subsided to only
tinkering of frustration.
Leading to you to become
The silent guitar on the wall
Sep 8, 2018
Sep 8, 2018 at 3:47 AM UTC
Such sweet songs
Fall from faces full
Of open
Hearts holding hands.
Generally great groups gather
Quixotic questions,
Ponder personal perceptions,
Emulating ever entranced emotions.
Love loses leaps, leaves
Broad bruises bypassing
Catastrophically closed creations.
What wonder, what wildly whimsical
Rejoice remains?
In individualistic idioms.
As all allowed anatomical
Differences deal dictations,
Juxtaposed jesters join
Monstrous masterminds
Trivially tinkering, tryingly,
Near non-subjective nothingness
Under unusual
Vectors. Vivisecting voracious,
Zeppelin-esque, zygotes,
Xenophobic
Yodels yell,
**** **** kindheartedness!"
Mar 24, 2012
Mar 24, 2012 at 12:20 AM UTC
blushes
tips, brushes and spills and the willingness of physics
dip the quill
blending a full face of colours trippy
tipping my crown, my head,
my thinker becomes creation winning
inks
i wink faithfully lacy into the universe pirouettes and eddies
tinkering
i divide myself couple and quad and oct..
flood my breeding into the cosmos
spoon-feeding peddling out into the mutter
the great relax of the creative meddle
Dec 31, 2022
Dec 31, 2022 at 8:21 PM UTC
Winking, Drinking
Thinking, Slinking
Ripe fruit pinkening
In the cave
It won't behave
Cogs all a-tinkering
9/25/12
Nov 18, 2012
Nov 18, 2012 at 8:24 PM UTC
Alexander K Opicho
(Eldoret, Kenya; [email protected])
On this 23rd day of December, 2013
Mikhail Kalashnikov is lying dead
In the coffin on the pyre
In Moscow the city of Russia
Away from Siberia his child hood home
Waiting to be buried by the people
His invention the Ak 47 and 74
Has not yet killed,
Good bye Mikhail Timofeyevich Kalashnikov
Son of Alexandra as you travel to land
Of the dead where a million of Rwandese in Africa
And million of the Vietnamese are now citizens
After having been shot dead by the AK47 and AK 74
You will not be lonely you glorious son of Russia,
You natural tinkering skills
Gave the world ubiquitous weapon
That has done wonders you looked on
Tell your gods where your poems you wrote are
The world is now free from your vice of the AK
Man can city now in peace and read your poetry
As the fettered politicians have no where
To get the weapons for mass peasant destruction,
Reveal to us the armoury in which you stuffed your poetry
as the gods of peace turn your guns into plowshare
Jan 23, 2014
Jan 23, 2014 at 7:26 AM UTC
Introduction
_____________
some words
chase you around
infiltrating and winking,
in emails and poems to
your attention dispatched
undeniably messaging
a wanting to be
realized, completed,
teasingly speaking
you know
a poem newly birthing
in your left brain,
tender pleading,
love me already,
just write me
like you would
make love to a woman!"
messages from others employ
the self-same word r e p e a t e d l y,
you start to get the hint
very very v i g o r o u s l y
the rumbling,
the back-seat tumbling,
you're driving
bipedal composing,
guitar and piano
gas and brake
pedals to the mettle,
and the speed limit
was 15 mph under
where your brain is fermenting
all tuning you up to
meet the guild's
product quality standards,
yet unlike an automobile,
a poem, like a life,
has a unique DNA,
cannot just be
recalled,
for repair
and additional tinkering,
jes' because
once it is out there,
it has been outed
sure enough in my
my "started but *** file,
a lazy layabout,
overlooked and undercooked,
the poem below,
a dabble and a muddle,
so ignored, so berefted
for so long
it got this
special introduction
by way of an apology....
Incarnate
She is my poem incarnate
She is the carne of my body
She is the innate of my soul
She is my woman incarnate
she is all I need
in form realized and invisible imagined,
angel and thank god,
devil as well...
Jun 26, 2014
Jun 26, 2014 at 11:06 AM UTC
Can you hear them whispering
There inside my brain
Can you hear them tinkering
Trying to shake lose what is sane
Can you hear them Clamouring
There inside my mind
Can you hear them favouring
With sadness all they find
Can you hear them plotting
There inside my cranium
Can you hear them knotting
All my thoughts till thier alien
Can you hear them screaming
There inside my brain
Can you hear them scheming
They are driving me insane
The voices here inside my skull
Are always chattering, never a lull
They are bent on my destruction
At first it was a sweet seduction
Now it's a roaring wave
Trying my head to cave
I can hear them as plain as day
Can you hear them what they say
Those voices in my head
All them yelling, one thing said
They only want me dead
May 2, 2016
May 2, 2016 at 7:57 PM UTC
Swirling notes of earl grey and red
Tinkering bells of vermillion
Voiceless silhouettes of sea green
Silky fountains of chromium
Shining chimes of turquoise
Swirling thoughts of silver
Roars of violet
Shivers of peach
Footsteps of twilight
Shouts of mango
Kisses of the sun.
Mar 25, 2014
Mar 25, 2014 at 5:34 PM UTC
_You ask of which I am most afeart, the rumbling tumblings of the troll beneath the bridge or the tinkering favours of an eccentric fairy godmother. Alas, it is the marzipan crumbs of inspiration leading me down the brambled garden path which most unsettle me; the ink that does not write; the unpainted page with not a gingerbread house...in sight._
Sep 5, 2020
Sep 5, 2020 at 3:33 AM UTC
Dear diary,
all day with sweety
priceless treasure I carry.
Dear diary,
got home lazy
played games with room messy
Dear diary,
imagining myself tinkering
pushing myself but still dreamy
Dear diary,
wanting to do more.
Feeling sleepy, time crazy.
Dear diary,
ended the day disappointed
accomplishments are not meaty
Dear diary,
tomorrow
glass half empty
would it differ finally?
Jun 20, 2015
Jun 20, 2015 at 1:05 PM UTC
Pretty little wind-up doll
wound up in the wrong hands
Was going through the motions
for too long
Years of tinkering
with her gears
she springs out of control
Repairs include
conserving energy and
resting her joints to
revitalize connectivity
She will no longer
be entertaining in your
playpen
You broke her
Jul 3, 2021
Jul 3, 2021 at 5:34 AM UTC