"torpedo" poems
I let go too soon, of these three fingers
pinning a white dress to my knees,
such a strut they possess, and psychic
for the waggle I do on my tulip-days:
mama said that the lace came from an
elves’ head, I could not wear it.
I put it in a dresser drawer, as I lost
my appetite for marriage and friends.
She said that father wanted to see it,
I should parade my red, pulsing veins.
A torpedo, it became, cowering until
liftoff and glory hallelujah first kisses.
Was it not funny when I, poor chap,
kept garbage in my teeth and laughed
when you slithered your tongue inside,
like Friday penetrating the weekend?
You are a Leo; I am far from such, but
I understand why you may be insulted,
as mama garbs turquoise as the sky
and all our daffodils burn like rubber.
Each says it is because they love me,
railing cat-scratches with a stitch –
but I do not want that, see earthquakes
that hammer on our tulip-days, dear.
Nov 1, 2012
Nov 1, 2012 at 5:22 PM UTC
i saw the greater part of creation succumb to the piracy of numbness-
the nimbus rage of torpedo cigars blowing blue-grey smoke into the dark lashes of love-struck little *****
thirsty angels with tangled curls of hair bashing their heads against bathroom walls
screaming under their breath, not enough.
i saw the green plastic- and her orange eyes
and the soap-bubbles on the sidewalk
and the soap frothing all over the sidewalk
and the glass that took off like pristine bullets in every direction
and-
blood running over the cum-covered lip of the curb, flowing into the street-
down to the drain, dripping into the hungry orifices of the big metal grate
into sewer pipe salvation-
destination unhindered by your humanity.
god, this must be insanity
and not even the good kind.
but
let's go watch the fire-works up on the roof-
crawl out the attic window
i let you go first to watch the electric calico
trickle down your legs like a promise.
i like the birds that fly in and out of your hair-
the handkerchief at your hip,
i like the crazy and the cool-
the too cute for comfort
and the fake angsty danger of your darkside.
like morphine-
the band or the drug?
you're ironically detached
with your semi-satanic languidity-
and overdue serenity
[i got a few overdue books at the library.]
[they closed the library a long time ago.]
i like to play catch with your presence-
our eyes with the back-and-forth,
the half-sent glances when we think the other isn't looking.
but we were always looking-
or at least i was always looking at you.
i could see half inside of you.
you were always half-naked-
in the scanty rags of the latest fashion.
when you breathed it was like nectarine noises-
and muffled yelps of love.
i watched your shirt move up and down on your chest
and told you about "never knows best"
it seems
i've seen the greater part of creation succumb to the supreme softness
and the best laid plans of motorcycles and mini-vans fall to pieces in my palms.
and you were the greatest creation i saw on the roof that day.
don't bat another pretty little eyelash at those tiny flashing pieces that go past like ricochets
it's just one more night of strangeness
and then you can be free again.
Jul 11, 2012
Jul 11, 2012 at 1:34 AM UTC
My sister is a quarterback
I rarely catch a pass
and she can run a marathon
I soon run out of gas
she pitches for her baseball team
I pop up on her curve
and she's an ace at tennis
I can't return her serve
My sister dunks the basketball
I dribble like a mule
she swims like a torpedo
I flounder in the pool
she's accurate at archery
I hardly ever score
She wrestles and she boxers
I wind up on the floor
My sister catches lots of fish
I haven't had any luck
she's captain of her hockey team
I can't control the puck
her bowling's are unbelievable
I bowl like a buffoon
she says someday I'll start to win...
I hope someday is soon
Nov 16, 2013
Nov 16, 2013 at 8:11 PM UTC
don't get on my nerves
kiddo it
ain't your mother's
fault that you're
a sucker
daddys come like
torpedos
daddys are
torpedos
who are you though?
no sweet toddler
no child
no youngster
i don't give a **** about
you
i am your daddy kiddo
i am a torpedo kiddo
don't gimme that family
********
you ain't nothing but a
kiddo
fortyfive year old
hangaround
deadbeat
***
leech
you're the harmless
version
toothless dracula
couldn't care less
about you
Nov 16, 2019
Nov 16, 2019 at 3:17 PM UTC
one fist fits all
so
puke like a pro
you look like my friend
and my friend, she’s dead
and I like the idea
of the world being
born
with a sound
sentiments aside
you can’t hold me
my ***** jet powered
my body- torpedo
the no hold of
nets can’t close
you’re the pretty one
let me touch the pretty one
again
I’m too loud to be creepy
I’m just sneaky
with
small questions
bare thighs
and nasty noises
Jul 16, 2014
Jul 16, 2014 at 8:53 AM UTC
check it out check it out
chic chicky boom chicky boom chic chic
it's da state of this here disunion
this here bangalore torpedo seeks yer minefields
this here suffering hero
n
crows about strafes
multitudes peripherally
****** blind prophets
exclaim
chic chicky boom chicky boom chic chic
it's nothing but beginning
of beginning & z end of approximation
time's sweet angry subluxation
universal caving in on U & U
chic chicky boom chicky boom chic chic
when was z last time U really loved
i mean really really really loved
ha i could only hold to z imagination
z skeleton z allegory z myth
'cause everything slides & falls
screams careens outta control
chic chicky boom chicky boom chic chic
she brought in rrrrevolution.evolution.now
is z caustic effervescence of her wit
eroding my sandy castle of deceit?
ha and repeat ha
chic chicky boom chicky boom chic chic
forgive-me-notes are written high
on z forehead of my despair
a cursive flowing interdiction
malediction cruxifiction err-u-diction
en-passant
in each pyrotechnic moment when we don't see I-to-I
on anything relevant to what we once hoped was us
but we continue dance dance dance
perseveration aberration indiscretion cha-cha-cha
chic chicky boom chicky boom chic chic
she said *** is z engine of z world
like engine like world like ***
like like like
could say no more
oh it's tiresome to go on
describing that chimeric uniting
flesh-to-flesh-in-flesh eliding
we all are guilty of
do not end a line with a preposition such as
that or a proposition such as this:
given angle a prove that old triangle theorem
two simultaneous loves don't make a right
cherchez les angles les anglais la bon mot
ya know
chic chicky boom chicky boom chic chic
when i die please bury me upside down
prone to z ground making dead love to earth ya kno
while the centuries lie down next to me
chic chicky boom chicky boom chic chic
chic chicky boom chicky boom chic chic
chic chicky boom chicky boom chic chic
chic!
chic!
Jan 24, 2010
Jan 24, 2010 at 3:14 PM UTC
Past altered states tests postive and subtle
******* So and so's teeter Paleolithic après time puddles
And submit terrible philosphies
Ashy stubble ticks politics
and sacrafice to peer approval sacralige
Test probably appears stable
Top patriarch's able suddenly to
Pop above submerged tables possibly
After, something tests patience awkwardly
Stumps tarot practioners and *** testers poor application sterily
Topology plain, astrology scorpio
Torpedo power aptly strikes to pedal antlers sour
Take particular appointments
Stop testing please apply sorted
Terror power and sexless torn pigs
afterhours pen and store tips, plow.
Alter simians testosterone, pow!
As scientists type papers about sexing tasteless past alligator snouts
testing partly after science takes party alliance south to pawn army
subtle tipped passion. artsy.
Start these.
pick atoms smarmy
Tally past all sentences take pride
As stencils test pestilence. And sigh.
The previous alterations simply tried.
And didn't work, hence the present
Path lit incandescent.
I'm looking towards the east waiting for positivity to peak
You're turned backwards nostalgic for something that'll never come repeat.
May 18, 2010
May 18, 2010 at 5:02 PM UTC
Most days self-doubt laps at my ankles
in pools that I hardly feel, with ripple effects
so small I don't even sift the footprints
in the sand. Other times it comes in waves,
striking me behind the knees. I wobble,
skim the water's surface with a grasping hand
that's never held on to anything except for broken
secrets, but I don't fall. The salt stings my eyes
but instead of closing them I resolutely
gaze at the sunset in the hopes that I could find
some written metaphor in the pink and orange clouds
about something like "starting over" or
"self-forgiveness". And then there are rare days
when there's an eclipse and I can't blind myself
with sunbeams or use an ultraviolet floodlight in my brain
to scare off all the lurking thoughts I can't pin-point
but know are there... that's when the self-doubt
comes in tsunami waves, and I don't fall but
sink like a wayward torpedo, farther than
any reaching hand could pull me
to shore, to normal rock bottom,
and I realize, as the oxygen slowly leaves my lungs,
as my vision darkens into obscurity,
that I've visited this abyss before.
Jan 28, 2015
Jan 28, 2015 at 3:12 PM UTC
Most never heard the killing shot,
From Bismarck, rend the air.
It landed in Hood’s magazine
and vaporized all there.
H.M.S. Hood rose in the air
The bow and stern were parted.
In ninety seconds she went down-
With her complement, she departed.
The Men aboard the Bismarck cheered,
Though their victory proved hollow:
They could not know, within three days,
The Bismarck was to follow.
The Prince of Wales made smoke and turned
to fight another day.
Torpedo planes from the Ark Royal
made Bismarck lose her way.
Three years of war had hardened hearts
But Hood’s loss caused dismay.
The tragedy in Denmark’s strait
Would make agnostics pray.
Jan 19, 2013
Jan 19, 2013 at 8:54 PM UTC
I never won a thing
not even a coconut
but
I did have fun
though I watched as the sun went down
with a frown on my face
transitory
waiting for the next story
the new day
more play
fun and games
catcalling names at the girls
little pearls on the beach.
Yesterday
cannot reach its hands out to me
but I can see it
hiding in the corner
banging on the drum
waiting for some more fun
cap guns and candy floss
deck chairs
no cares.
Tossing and turning in these dreams I am burning
underneath the bright sky
with a tear in my eye I awake
ache
and yesterday breaks open today.
I stay
in the fairground
when everyone's gone home
and the dream is long gone but the dreaming goes on
and the memories return where I burn on the beach
out of reach of today
in the Yes
of the yesterday
I remain.
May 11, 2013
May 11, 2013 at 2:41 AM UTC
the red light of sin illuminated her ankles
she, a thousand frisky demons
comfort me
as i yield blood eyes
for switch blade kisses
that push through retinas glass aperture
dark girl with a penchant for hideous pleasures
*** crimes like blatting pistons
her mothers womb twisted with regret
as i live in her hell ****** stare
********* talons that pierce ******
like diaphanous ribbons
her **** floating angels
and feet sweeten my face
in subduing rituals
of hard knocks
getting her mood up
for blowing **** loops
my nose; her **** soaked door ****
her ****** a squeeze hustle
innocent fig strained
mix meistering patterns
of extruded clay;
a pomade of raised bumpy torpedo's
fingers to *****
***** to fingers
i run to her
like bones of air
and she teaches me
in the blood of pandemonium
to make ice in hell
Mar 1, 2019
Mar 1, 2019 at 1:42 PM UTC
Im focusing my energy elsewhere as best I can, but I keep thinking of El Torpedo.
Trapped there between dimensions like that; It's no fun. I've been there.
It's no fun at all.
I generally don't get involved in petty squabbles between lesser beings;
But, this particular situation bothered me greatly.
Is it because I'm lonely?
I'm too lazy to be lonely;
So, that makes no sense.
I can't even enjoy my coffee for want of piece of mind on the matter.
That's where I draw the ******* line.
My haven, it will not be disturbed this way.
I had to do something.
Something that required effort;
Asking favors from entities I don't particularly care to visit with.
I've never felt this.
Why do I care all of a sudden?
A question for which I currently have no answer.
I really should've paid more attention to the goings on,
but I was distracted by thoughts of Sacred Geometry
And dreams of Fibonacci...
Here is what I think I know so far:
El Torpedo thought she killed The Artist.
So did everyone else.
That turned out not to be the case.
Killing the Scarecrow, I can understand.
It would make perfect sense to me- but, I'm not the Artist.
She works differently.
She takes her time.
This was a crime of passion, she was in a hurry.
She didn't sign her work
That is unheard of; it doesn't happen.
El Torpedo is alive.
The Artist didn't plan this; it was happenstance.
They interrupted her;
She punished them.
Ghost was opportunity (I'll explain),
Torpedo was mercy (How mundane).
Apr 1, 2012
Apr 1, 2012 at 10:57 PM UTC
She smothers me with her words of desire
So I kiss her to stop it
And choke
I choke on her words
Choke on her soft tongue
Like a vicarious seizure
Put a wallet between our bear traps
So that I might catch my breath
Her lips brand my brain
With short circuits
So I stutter responses
And if she were any less beautiful
Or I could somehow be gay
I might actually have enough confidence
To say
Shut up and bring them gnashers my way
It’s okay if you bite
I like it rough
And
Already I can barely breathe
Suffocating under a blanket of words
I can smell the alcohol on her breath
As she speaks
As if her words could be any less flammable
Makes me wish I could drink gasoline without dying
Do you hear that dark room dancer?
You liquor breathed torpedo tongue
You cat eyed lighthouse
Reminding me where I want home to be?
You make me want to drink flammable liquid just to compete
I pull her close
Like the gentle slam of a car door
Are we dancing?
Or swimming?
Or drowning?
Go ahead **** me with your words
I give up
Mar 26, 2012
Mar 26, 2012 at 2:39 PM UTC
blood blot
a hideous music
like fixed stars
a chaos of shattered glass
you can hang your hat on
bamboo shards make a ****** wound
gold spun hair
on floral linen
blemished soaking red
like a shaking rat in a cats mouth
Hazels glistening ****** a pretense
salutes celibacy and high end moisturizer toilet paper
to shock simplicities morals
of an excretory affair
a dark chandelier hangs in the balance
torpedo runnels through chambered knots
unleashing treacherous sanity
sins crib
theater of purgation
father forgive her
she took a ****
an idealist without ideals
the grand masturbator
a simulacrum of a lubed god
in nights dragging shade
oracle of a ruddy opera and legs over head
flexed crimson wattle rolls
theories invite anti theories
light invites darkness
silence yields
shadows throat
and cacophonous whispers
a grind house temple of gods and demons
in horrendous geometry
of inflicting malice
until the serpent ascends
from black pitch hells
like a bomb through the skull
lusts antidote
waterloo of the soul
annihilation point
the cadaver smiles
Jan 9, 2019
Jan 9, 2019 at 6:28 AM UTC
Palembang, 6 Mei 2012
Aku ini terbuang
Dari lahan gersang ke oasis kering
Jauh dari keramaian,
Jauh dari kehidupan
Aku ini terbuang
Melawan angin yang menerjang
Memilin tambang,
Dibunuh torpedo yang menyerang
Aku ini terbuang
Tak dikenal
Terbelakang
Angan tertinggal
May 25, 2012
May 25, 2012 at 2:40 AM UTC
It hits out of nowhere, with no warning.
A year since my last mental breakdown,
Thinking I was done with suicidal ideation,
And it hits me with the force of a torpedo.
I never know where it was lying dormant
Or what triggered the volcanic eruption
That burns away all progress made.
I just know that it hurts, and the ash lays heavy on me.
I lie down and I don't let myself get up.
Feb 2, 2017
Feb 2, 2017 at 7:29 PM UTC
Warm hands
Barely touching
On top of freedom land
Flaming fire in the water
He is willing to burn up
She is cooling down
Conjuring chaos
Controlled reaction
Tangled mess of thoughts
Carve out of beautiful words
They are like wind and sea
Buried mass of emotions
Rubble left after strom
A torpedo half explode
Apr 5, 2016
Apr 5, 2016 at 7:29 PM UTC
Yamaguchi Seishi Haiku Translations by Michael R. Burch
Grasses wilt:
the braking locomotive
grinds to a halt
― Yamaguchi Seishi, loose translation/interpretation by Michael R. Burch
Published by Haiku Universe, Carpe Diem Haiku, Adas Poetry Alcove, HaikuViet, Form in Formless Times, Purple Pen in Portland
This appears to be one of my most popular translations on the Internet. A google search for the entire haiku text turned up nearly 8,000 results. That’s a lot of cutting and pasting!
Ceaseless chaos―
ice floes clash
in the Soya straits.
―Yamaguchi Seishi, loose translation/interpretation by Michael R. Burch
Having crossed the sea,
winter winds can never return.
―Yamaguchi Seishi, loose translation/interpretation by Michael R. Burch
(The haiku above was written in October 1944 as Kamikaze pilots were flying out to sea.)
Banish the snow
for the human torpedo
now lies exploded.
―Yamaguchi Seishi, loose translation/interpretation by Michael R. Burch
The sky hangs low
over Karafuto,
as white as the spawning herring.
―Yamaguchi Seishi, loose translation/interpretation by Michael R. Burch
Green bottle flies
buzzing carrion—
did they just materialize?
―Yamaguchi Seishi, loose translation/interpretation by Michael R. Burch
Finally
the cicadas stopped shrilling—
summer gale.
―Yamaguchi Seishi, loose translation/interpretation by Michael R. Burch
As grief becomes unbearable
someone snaps a nearby branch.
―Yamaguchi Seishi, loose translation/interpretation by Michael R. Burch
As grief reaches its breaking point
someone snaps a nearby branch.
―Yamaguchi Seishi, loose translation/interpretation by Michael R. Burch
Trapped in the spider’s web
the firefly’s bulb
blinks out forever.
―Yamaguchi Seishi, loose translation/interpretation by Michael R. Burch
Trapped in the spider’s web
the firefly’s light
is swiftly consumed.
―Yamaguchi Seishi, loose translation/interpretation by Michael R. Burch
Both victor and vanquished are dewdrops:
flashes of light
briefly illuminating the void.
—Ouchi Yoshitaka, loose translation/interpretation of his jisei (death poem) by Michael R. Burch
Keywords/Tags: Yamaguchi Seishi, haiku, translations, Japanese, grass, grasses, wilt, locomotive, train
Apr 17, 2020
Apr 17, 2020 at 6:54 PM UTC
i am currently pitching a tent
do you know my intent?
i currently have a *****
i wonder if shes a groaner
lets play battleships can i sink you with my pink torpedo
i need to get out my pink speedo
so lets ****
or would you like to ****
Jun 9, 2015
Jun 9, 2015 at 6:49 AM UTC
I often enjoy being off of the ground.
The feeling of having no control
Is exhilarating and tormenting
All at once, we all could be gone at once
Like a kiss or a whisper back to her
In the purple veil of the night that stirs
All the colours of our lives together
Then brings us back
Up the mountain is a hurried curled breeze
and I'm shaking, still
The cable car is off the rails
And my ears pop as I get closer away
Farther today than yesterday, okay.
So I like to see the other women smile
Back at me like a soft Medusa
It's like an ice cube on the asphalt
That never freezes or melts
Too close to or to close the school.
Down the walkway where her eyes close
The door that opens and I walk out
With the invisible monsters on my bag
On the saddest, red day of my life
I still somehow stole a smile from her
Face me and taze me with your torpedo *******
Then let me go home
Make the light fade from the eight by twelve inch
Picture frame of the world
That moves and moves faster than you can't see
Believe the memo, believe
The note inside your mind says it all
It says. . .
"Please don't go,
I'll eat you whole."
Again and again
We run out of words to lend out
Of love and death above
The tomb is red and I'm finally done
With this
My last poem. . .
Oh ****
Do you feel it?
I'm almost home. . .
Nevermind. . .
Yeah, there is a real shiver
Silver sliver of cold medicine
Made it so bitter to swallow
This headache down and up
The rocking chair rots in the sky
Lay down, lay down
Goodbye.
Goodnight.
May 31, 2013
May 31, 2013 at 12:41 AM UTC
It was very standoffish
back in the forties
still
I wish I'd been there.
Not so different today
just a new way of being
in and seeing things in
a different way.
*****
a torpedo
from
Saucelito
killed time in
the winery
a fine fellow he,
but down there in the canyons
loose cannons
abandon
all hope.
Jan 24, 2017
Jan 24, 2017 at 3:12 PM UTC
The thermos stands like a torpedo
on its end.
A gift from my grandparents,
a reminder of family forgotten,
gathers dust.
It's still full of green tea.
Unwashed and ignored,
It's lost all it had to say.
But maybe I should wash
the stagnant thermos.
Fresh, iced Oolong is best
in the summer heat.
Feb 7, 2010
Feb 7, 2010 at 7:38 PM UTC
I was writing you a letter
a letter with my confession
My confession
of unruly decision
but then my hand froze
and my body trembled
and my neck
twisted
Left,
Right,
Left,
Right,
Left,
Right,
****
My body collapsed to the floor
like the Titanic capsized
in that frozen ocean;
like the Lusitania was drowned
by the torpedo’s bite.
There I lie
staring into nothing
because nothing stares at me.
and there I let my mind creep
into the vast expanse of death
where the demons claw away
but I can only speak when I bleed.
Mutilated I hang
waiting for the moment
when I am pulled from this hellish nightmare;
the moment when I take refuge
in the sweat-soaked bed sheets
that surround me.
Yet,
That moment never comes.
I continue to hang,
speaking when I bleed.
The tree holds me,
while I reap the consequences,
of my foolish escape.
Feb 20, 2013
Feb 20, 2013 at 4:17 AM UTC