"trebled" poems
a (the) woman’s body (pretty pleasing)
is my reciprocal
her waist is my happy place
her neck is my doorway
the rest is
best when she is mirror accessorizing,
preening, **** upon first rising,
tallying the gains and the losses
unaware of my watching,
never satisfied she, tho she is 98% unadmitting contented,
as she shifts her weight,
from knee to knee extended alternating
with slow delicacy
for the pleasure is trebled
for her imagine image reverberates
throughout the house
for ever(y) mirror is pre-positioned,
accidentally angled just so, lol,
her image transported from living room to dining alcove
all the way to the kitchen’s bleacher seats
she doesn’t know and asks why I’m grinning,
answer is
no confessionary, no telling I’m swelling and
sinning
eyes scheming-dreaming of her reciprocity
she smiles and says
“good morning bad boy”
maybe she does know
but you won’t tell her,
we, you and me,
are pretty pleasing
she is 1/me
she is won over me
Aug 19, 2018
Aug 19, 2018 at 8:39 AM UTC
'For myself alone, I would not be
Ambitious in my wish; but, for you,
I would be trebled twenty times myself;
A thousand times more fair,
Ten thousand times more rich.'
3.2k
His old mare cantered into to town
The covered wagon followed
A boy's first trip to town alone
He took it in, and swallowed
Penny candy dreams last night
And sarsparilla floats
The ladies' parasol fineries
The men in pinstriped coats
Perhaps a whiskey, what the hell
Today he was a man!
But first the livery stable for Brownie
For oats and a water can.
The .30-30 saddle gun would come with him, of course.
He also grabbed the belted Colt from the pommel of his horse.
The warped board sidewalks led past stores
His worn boots clopped along
He strapped on the .36 Navy Colt revolver
And fastened down the thong
He clopped down to the first saloon
Laid his rifle on the bar
A sporting girl sat next to him
With the unlikely name of "Star"
"A milk for the lady.
Myself as well,
Barkeep, if you please!"
A cowhand howled out raucous laughter,
Flipping up Ms. Star's dress, to well above her knees
"That little pup, he wants some milk
So Star, give him yer ****
I'll bend him over, spank his ***
And then give YOU a treat!"
The young man's vision doubled, trebled,
The shame clear on his face
As tears welled up in big blue eyes
A witness in every soul in the place
"Aw, the little ***** is bawling! WAH!"
The cowhand bellowed out
And all false mirth left his expression
And he gave the boy a clout
The boy just sat and sobbed and watched
As Ms. Star joined in the joke
But cowhand was already 3 bottles in,
In a flash, her nose was broke
Cowhand reached across the boy
To grab that sweet, sleeved rifle
The boy grabbed cowhand's wrist just then
And twisted it just a trifle
A yelp and howl from cowhand's mouth,
"YOU BROKE MY ****** WRIST!
NOW you're ****** you little sprat"
He took a swing, and missed.
Red faced, clumsy, humiliated
He drew leather on the boy
Dead to rights, he had the kid,
He realized, with grim joy
An explosion, a thump, on warped pine floor
Blue smoke curling in the air
Utter, vapid, vacuum silence
Patrons cemented to their chair
The tears were gone from those blue eyes
Blue steel as his gaze fixed
A hole had grown in cowhand's head
The size was .36
Mar 27, 2016
Mar 27, 2016 at 1:18 AM UTC
Stranger than me, or too much alike
some wrangle upon toilet papers
plastic cups out of place or lost time;
peering past, another wanders on.
Tinkling wires and rainbow faces
hearing, seeing, perchance aurific speaking
the namer among ten-thousand petty things
or squinting upon the verge of time, espy a sequal.
Step by step to round the universe
or being fell-swept away in cubboards
seem or act unseemly, like or dislike
played to the order in the round, circling about.
Why so familiar these drabbed tones of ant trumpets
or wineskins grown old to leak and sputter?
Tis the wish and will, holding like ****** to the ropes
great gales n frothing nothingnes storming on.
But We, blown upon the Aether of the Soul
a great conquest of rousing dignities;
here, under nooks, behind secret doors
or bounding past, lightning speed, relay some wonder.
Shock of waking, or dulcet tones in the Alarm of life
our shadows twist, there on the lintel of private hours
our care, held through the Night kinder endearments
then danced over reeling waves for sweet inspection.
Here unalone a look, a voice and laughter ring the ears
a crying out, or trebled inward sigh, too close to trembling-
Who is this Sojourn Friend?
Perhaps our best of self combined
no more allied to faithless days nor dark an empty smiles-
strange wastes some carelessness invents to wrack the hours.
But We, no stranger to the Sojourner's faith, Are One.
Mar 8, 2012
Mar 8, 2012 at 12:37 PM UTC
ummm!! I'm gonna take his
blindfold off for him to savor
me with his gaze, eyes roam
touchin' me in silent awe; finger
tastin', the unthinkable, straddlin',
squeezin', teasin' and grazin' nips
leavin' wet trails of pleasure upon
briny masculinity; listenin' to his
heart race, ignites lustful tremors
stroked insanity, slippery slit teases;
thoughts throb, as thickness swells,
swollen senses breathe deeply of
soaked scents; flickin' bud betwixt
achin' petals...damn! Oooo!...yes!!
soft, ebony fingers assault and swirl
elicitin' moans and sighs, takin' nips
betwixt teeth again as fingers enter
swollen honeycomb; overflowin' in
sweetness
sweat rolls off our body, bitin' nips
eruptin' sparks of long awaited aches,
dominance partakes its desire, slitherin'
along bouquet thighs, blossomed scents
flow; emanating moans givin' reason to
beg; biting silk sheets, tonguin' his treat
actin' like a freak, lovin' me cheek to
cheek; playin' me like a symphony
strummin' thighs, releasing melodious
sighs, sensual cries in sultry lullabies
in trebled tempo's in and out of wet
tightness, as I blindfold him; complyin'
with his ****** whims...takin' me again and again
Jun 12, 2012
Jun 12, 2012 at 6:35 AM UTC
Trebled arms surround—
Drowned in seabeds by cuttlefish,
Threadbare were my bones.
Nov 8, 2012
Nov 8, 2012 at 9:02 PM UTC
Dear God:
Re Eva Cassidy
Been waiting/wanting to write you for a long time
About Eva Cassidy.
Had to let the anger settle,
Had to find the write words.
Many months have past, perhaps years,
Since I stumbled across the voice of this angel,
Memorial Day, it seems like the write time to
Try once more.
But my anger has not settled, it has trebled,
It has risen and is unquantifiable, irrevocable,
a line crossed, a feud, that can never now be amicably settled.
I have a retinue of good curses, experienced friends,
Looking to meet up with you, who understand that
Blessings and curses, for full effect, should be rarely used,
Especially inside a funereal poem honoring the truly great.
But for Eva, there's no question, you dude,
Got a fleet of F bombs coming your way,
When the children have gone to bed.
When Eva sings "Imagine,"
The purity of voice, miraculous,
I know you were afraid
And so took her young,
Lest her voice raise a generation of questioners.
**Imagine there's no heaven
It's easy if you try
No hell below us
Above us only sky
Imagine all the people
Living for today...
Imagine there's no countries
It isn't hard to do
Nothing to **** or die for
And no religion too
Imagine all the people
Living life in peace...**
You got the power,
You make mistakes,
We all gotta die sometime,
But you better not take the special ones too early,
Or I may stop writing to you, and then,
What ya gonna do? Who will comfort me?
Eva will, that's who,
When we walk together in Fields of Gold...
Shelter Island 5:00pm
May 26
May 26, 2013
May 26, 2013 at 5:25 PM UTC
indecently the night tasted like staccato light
and trebled, bassing the fluxing notes steeping
off the amber pools i crushed deliciously
under foot mounted bracket
a mountain
of love
she shoved unseriously in my face
and my winter blossomed spring tides new heat
it bubbled between every nothing spurting
terribly roughed dancing
and calves pumping bounce
we all moved like stones
jittering motionless suddenly erupting swoon
Jan 11, 2011
Jan 11, 2011 at 4:46 PM UTC
To a man, my
Guides agree - I
Drip with electricity
In certain lights. This
Scrap of flight, of
Gilt and gold on moonless nights
Exceeds all dreams
Or simile:
We've trebled what was meant to be!
Dec 3, 2016
Dec 3, 2016 at 3:42 PM UTC
I take a breath and close my eyes with pride.
His comments seek a lodging in my soul;
The hurt I feel from all he spits, I hide.
He’ll never know he’s found my numb heart’s holes.
“Forever” was his biggest lie to me,
One word, a feeble promise left unkept.
My heart should learn the way his drums beat free.
I’m captive to the trebled tears I’ve wept.
Do you recall when Whitman said “Beat! Beat! Drums!”?
Too bad the drums could always beat, beat us.
At least I got kisses ‘tween rounds of ***
But still, to him, I’d grown superfluous.
I simply craved some adult discussion.
I guess he preferred to play his percussion.
Nov 1, 2018
Nov 1, 2018 at 10:32 PM UTC
My precious Baby
My wonderful child
My headstrong teenager
Gone radically wild.
My breathtaking grownup
My source of delight
My hope that tomorrow
Makes everything right.
The decades have trebled
My efforts have failed
My key cannot open
The place where I’m jailed.
She’s made me a stranger
To the life she’s created
She claims that she loves me
But I sorely debate it.
She married in secret
I’ve not met her groom
I don’t think we’ll ever
Be in the same room
She says I am toxic
All know I am not
Her shrink is the villain
And ought to be shot.
I live on the outside
And only look in
On the life I created-
A game I won’t win.
I’ll swallow my heartbreak
As I’ve always done.
Still reach for redemption
And settle for none.
ljm
Feb 18, 2023
Feb 18, 2023 at 10:27 AM UTC
now hear this! sing this! you constant Cade, you
choral breakneck in a single sum of man,
brackbreaking in the chaos-rinsing rite of ashed religion!—
choke now, for you used me. a tossing stave to ward off sins
of fratting simpletons and their unsyncopated singing.
—all sixteenths through roughshod roads of wrong-be-gone righteousness.
and why? because i vaped some trebled color to the gray.
oh! what is the
madness-misering measure of a middle-aged man
who through the din of dampened doing, of desperate
dancing on two left feet and wrinkled writhe of witlessness in the mid of being been should shuffle off and coil himself into a crimson cross?
you did it why? for friends and for the fissure,
some bald breach of banality beyond the stoic peach—
and for a frosty flame?
what waste of was you were, and still accomplished are;
that god-grappled greed should unhinge your soul's Sophia
and ever the future fraught.
there is not bracker brine than your bishops ex-cathedra,
for all the feast you fête, and friends you turn upon a spit;
you're hungry for a food that's never fed.
poor witless starving pitchless sum; your death is all my make into an angel, as you so quickly from this earth will shred
and songs adduced unto the celebration same.
Mar 17, 2018
Mar 17, 2018 at 11:58 AM UTC
I am a trebled teen;
Living the life of the kids who dare to play their music too loud.
We walk the halls and tickle our snares
While the clarinets whinny
And the flutes whistle a melody out of tune.
We purse our lips
And squeal a note or two:
We play flat and sharp but
We don't care.
My grades aren't the best
And I might hit the reef,
But music is there for me.
We spend Saturdays on a bus
And march in the cold,
Only to watch half a game and then head on home.
But we don't care about any of that
Because it's the music that matters.
It's the music that kept some of them around.
It's the music that lets us be who we are.
I am a trebled teen.
Nov 14, 2017
Nov 14, 2017 at 11:03 AM UTC
A Publisher and A Writer walk into a bar…
They both say “Ouch!”
Please My Omnipotent Publisher;
Please give me a break.
Give my poetry a chance to show,
I'm not second rate.
This book will sell and my words will be heard
And your company and I, will reap the rewards.
Let us start a new duo,
More famous / infamous than Bonnie and Clyde.
I must be published, before I die.
My legacy must be left, so my memory lives on.
I'm sure there are people out there,
Who will like my Poetry in E-Motion.
Please arrange a meeting, so I can discuss with you my work.
Please read my poems and songs, to see if I deserve,
You standing beside me,
When ‘Poetry in E-motion’ begins to sell
And standing in front of me with lawyers,
When they say go to Hell!
This poem is the warm up band, for releasing my novel.
I guarantee the sales of ‘Poetry In E-Motion’,
Will be more than trebled;
By
‘The Life and Times of Stumper Chubble’
And by my following novels,
Poetry, songs and My Own Bible.
So far I've written 600 poems / songs.
All I'm asking you for is to listen to one of them.
If you read another of my poems
And don’t think they are good enough…
Read just one more…
And it could change your world.
If you like one poem, you might like the rest;
Then maybe I can sign a contract with you; if you wish?
And if you like them all…
Well, then I'll write you a thousand more.
(C)2005 Aa Harvey. All Rights Reserved.
Jul 10, 2018
Jul 10, 2018 at 8:05 AM UTC
pre-dawn, the creased ear
throat’s trebled tessellation
feathers, gathered moths
phenome, paired, woven
nests wanting the glaze of dew
wing beats heart’s small drum
the distant echo
of symbiosis rising
in hued, petaled tones
ephemeral, the poured glass
of dawn’s edge in flight
Apr 11, 2021
Apr 11, 2021 at 5:50 AM UTC
God **** you and your beautiful ******* music.
My heaven, now my hell.
Bass drops.
Heart stops.
Trebled tears.
Your soul floats in Slow Motion.
Your face appears in the Midnight Train to Georgia.
You shot Bambi, Paul.
Every day Feels Like Rain.
I Get Overwhelmed.
I'll never again see you in the Morning Light,
Never again in Luckenback, Texas.
If You Keep Leaving Me,
Every melody begins to Grow Old.
Who knows if This Too Shall Last.
He's Never Failed Me Yet.
I'm Not Okay (I Promise).
There's A Tear In My Beer.
How long do I have to Wake Up Alone?
So much Pain.
You might be Gorgeous, but this is Delicate.
Tiny Dancer, you Lady, You Shot Me.
Would you even care If I Die and Slip Away?
All I Could Do Was Cry.
I've Got It Bad And That Ain't Good.
How Can You Mend a Broken Heart?
A Long White Line?
When can I Pass the Vibes?
I want some Real Love, Baby.
Guess I'll get In The Waiting Line.
Maybe you're not my Destiny.
God **** you and your beautiful ******* music.
Apr 1, 2018
Apr 1, 2018 at 11:34 PM UTC