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Marcus Lane Mar 2011
She slumps in sleep
Paws clasped prayer-like
Dream-dozing eyelids a-simmer

A spasm-triggered flesh flick
An ear-alert to a tremorous tick
Crisp-dry nose with involuntary sniff
Old dog breath brewing brown toothed whiff

With pain weary grunt
She heaves her lumpy bulk
Onto shaky splayed legs
That hobble and limp

Catches my eye
With a puppy-pleased glint

Wags

.... and pees
© Marcus Lane 2010

Dedicated to Pops
(Chasing tennis ***** in Heaven from 19 February 2010)
Marcus Lane Mar 2011
Beech trees like cathedral pillars soar
To vaulted ceilings oozing dapple-green,
Where twinkling sunlight, filtering to the floor
Dilutes the dusky darkness in between.

A concert hall, acoustically tuned
To amplify each tremorous touch of stick
On wood, where silent magic is cocooned,
Responding to the scuffled tap and tick

From scrunching undergrowth, where dusty death
And dried decay seep back to nature’s store,
To resuscitate with pungent earthy breath
The spirit of the leafy forest floor.
© Marcus Lane 2008
Onoma Jan 2024
the vertigo of dwarves--

seven bites into a snowy

apple.

caramelizing dusk.

a full viewing.

her overslept perfection.

her eyelashes flaking off

tremorous go betweens.

her cheeks, rash & unapplied

blush--what's soup to winter.

or what feigns the circulature  

of a latter stir.
Khoisan Sep 2024
The mind wreaks havoc
Richter scale's metallic past
Those tremorous blasts
#PTSD.
Katie Nov 2020
As you see the sun uphold your own gaze,
you can't help but look away.
Keep staring into that
hushed, blinding abyss
and you lose what you had
not but a second before.
Macbeth had the "Milke of human-kindness"
hidden within until he looked unto his wife,
who prominently stripped it from him,
same as Mrs. Dashwood completely swallowed whole
any forgiving sense of charity in Mr. Dashwood
upon "Sense and Sensibility".
Don't look to the sun, nor hold it's tremorous gaze
for these reasons.
Greed makes us think past ourselves
and into a part that you've never recognized.
It bubbles towards fear and turmoil,
yet you can't drive down this greed.
Therefore,
don't hold the gaze of the sun.
I was honestly just comparing some of my favorite literature and noticed a strange similarity
There is a way my essence splits
And two versions of myself emerge,
But the first true version that split is gone—
It cannot outlive my tremorous surge.

Then there's a way the body lingers,
In rhythm, it moves but never leaves.
It's not a possession, or a common release,
Just a tethered echo in hollow needs.

There is a way the world curves wrong,
As if it's not spherical, rather concave.
As if we're not outside but inside the hollow,
As the eye leaves faulted perceptions of shape...

It's there, in the way the retina lies,
And spins existence before observed,
To let us know that we know what we know,
As knowledge itself grows faint to a blurry.

There is a way the hands disobey,
Keep reaching for love that never belongs.
They act as if they're holding puppet strings,
But their motion is that of a borrowed ghost.

There is a way my heart has thoughts,
And also a way my brain can feel.
The way that my body begs—
The way that I always forget to kneel.

There is a way my essence splits
And two versions of myself emerge,
But the first true version that split is gone—
These very moments my reflection turns.

— The End —