"truncated" poems
I knew the orange on the orange tree
you had an ache in your shoulders
uncomfortable in an unnatural way
yesterday I passed you talking to flowers
you hadn't moved you hadn't strayed
but hiding in the leaves was a forced disguise
the omens told me something quiet and unceasing
reminding me of a slumbering domesticated cat
dreaming of cutting yourself loose from truncated ease
dropping down from the branch with panther steps
licking fruit lips ripe with revealed acidic petals
riddled with a past you revelled mixing in with zest
shocking chances stepped in for the next dance
sleep taken aback by wings cut from a dark sky
the sidewalk pitted and cracked beneath the pounce
relief escaped the twigs with a spring like waking prey
pressing into night foliage shaken from a nice balance
as I saw you take control with nothing to mask your face
on the surface too smooth for violence
was laughter of glowing gloom to embarrass
and deter such rebellious arrogance
with a twist struggling from a lame curse
its flavours sharp against your sweetened perfume muscle
expecting you to build a limestone shed for tears
rather than take on the night with a mind to wrestle
the outside aches for your physical attraction
gaining courage from the purpose in your eyes
tense as the tightness of your dress' intention
demanding that my hands draw from such lines
the sinuous heat of pulsing flesh's invitation
curved upon seeds not chaste but not quite refined
which I try not loving with some cool disambiguation
you left me the taste of syrup of grenadine
too reputable to ripple vain red tipple eyed
on a table spilt with pink gin and mandarin
sharp teeth tingling a tartness into my hand
sliding slowly at a tilt like drops of sweat on skin
focus dwindling into the clasp of an escaping shade
wrapped carefully under soft rice paper and then
tucked under a heel with a pointed kick like a blade
only to feel you relent and burst open
soft in appeal again and again
Jul 19, 2014
Jul 19, 2014 at 3:28 PM UTC
*rocks don't care
all stubble and stones
a difficult geometry
so if they don't fit
they are hammered
and
crushed to rubble
jammed together to make virile walls
and if stabbed with swords
care not about
torn bellies and broken necks
soaking them crimson rust
or drowned nautilus
beneath the sea
humans
have futility in common with rocks
except that everything
girds and gnaws
at their belligerent sensitivity
all clouded soft towers
bi-pedal mortal spires
with tender flesh
beaten into place
lacerated
truncated amputees
to fit the outer life
of status and statues
a scandal to the inner coves of self
I'm envious of rocks
except for moments of
shifting watery kisses
clamorous for love
we remain
disfigured terrains
hunters of souls balmy unguents
while
fluctious immolating moons
unravel
in a hidden grieving
oh countenance of apathy
only to be more like you
a wilderness of stumps
and
dead rock gods
and our aspiration
indifference
our exit
the path of the renunciate
a penitence
feasting only on futility
and the vagaries of spirit*
Nov 21, 2017
Nov 21, 2017 at 2:36 PM UTC
At the money table, Cain and Abel, Abraham and Isaac,
And neither one cares how you’ll pay as long as it is not a check,
Brassy appendages obversely curl to abruptly angular truncated legs-upon-his-lek,
And the proof of who he represents hangs weightily about his Plouton neck,
See the cotton-wafer stacks shuffled as bricks in rows to the translucent deck,
The waiver now giving its woe whence once wished-for upon the Great Molech?
Mr. crooked hook-nose at his compose will take on any bet,
As Sheol will have it, many lament, being in his debt,
A Canaan cursed and tribal descendant, the relative of Set.
For with misery and suffering well you get what you beget!
Jun 14, 2016
Jun 14, 2016 at 3:42 PM UTC
I am cab ma, please
don’t! Is I, lass, I who brought
scald without such pains.
I am mumbling
coherently a ******
most apparently.
Phospholipids leave
envelope area soon
endoplasmic doom.
Opened neutral taste
I’m sinking in laughing at
something sunken in.
What hell overwhelm
brings ribosome organelle
use geared hither, tell?
Seceded certain
atoms like Democritus
withdrew incursion.
Truncated heavy
organelles under tissue
systems use cycles.
Half polypeptide
accents intergenetic
nuclear spaces.
Dec 11, 2014
Dec 11, 2014 at 8:38 PM UTC
*he says:
I want to hear the sun..
on me*
1.
cover the width of a personal compostela
the yellow-and-black bird
flitting
branch to branch
endless
square patterns of light
half-cut
into shades of green
and slant
oblique
2.
making headway now
companions on the path
passing by
auburn creature with lolling tongue
looks with such kind eyes
glittering diamonds
sun sits on tip of wet nose
he seems to be saying something...
some evanescent message
thoughts are ventilated
tones of silence seep in
wild flowers in amaranthine bloom
sway in nature's perpetual dance
always moving
3.
what happens to arboreal ghosts
when we prove efficiency by cutting the arms of living trees
and with it
extended family of foliage?
monk passes slow
nods in quiet greeting
a bare half-smile
enough to reach
yet just truncated enough
maybe
to prune
is needed /
4.
how many more steps to tread
before the why becomes clear?
trod so far
sought so wide
read so much
travelled so intense
this journey alone
proves so arduous
5.
alone...
struggled with hidden pain he discovered beneath the layers of happiness....
suffered hunger and thirst along the way....
washed in ***** rivers with no soap....
had to clean his **** with dusty leaves in the eve....
and remembering to eat
what to eat...but berries in the dark
and he cried, oh how he cried
from a place no man should see
such a dark place
demented and wicked souls at the doorstep
of hell
would shrink at
but first
in order to do all that
he had to wrestle with himself
and die inside
he could no longer fail to consent
no wistful little prayers
or wide-eyed flower-eyes
nor awe born in luxury
yet
for all that...
6.
in a little while
you will get what you want
if you give enough people
what they want
pray in secret
in the sun
*the boy with the Jesus sandals
walks on
his journey
has
begun*....
S T, (thursday:) 4 July 2013
Jul 4, 2013
Jul 4, 2013 at 6:26 AM UTC
deepest length, a truncated obesity, abruptly gradual: a stem pops gently to present colors damp. a pavilion of ugly columns, the streets a budding promise; akimboing in gross pleasure. and the jostling laughter of serious music says to languor apathy a locomotive steeply belching roses.
. .
?
Dec 15, 2010
Dec 15, 2010 at 11:32 AM UTC
chains rattle and hiss
they slide and slither around my feet
poisonous serpents i cannot escape
twisting my steps into unknown paths
foiling my legs, movements truncated
falling to my knees, they climb
screaming, incoherent rage, wordless struggles
and they whisper
whisper
whisper
WHISPER
of codes and consequences
of right and wrong
breathless i scream in silent wrath
jaw distended, creaking
they wrap up my unsaid words
force their way down my throat
chaining tight my beating heart
beating
beating
beating
bea....
Peace.
Apr 19, 2014
Apr 19, 2014 at 12:30 AM UTC
On the flipcharts and billboards and boardwalks where cash talks and greed stalks the unwary and where the darkness is scary,
huddled underneath moonlight that fades into the long night and holding on tight to their bedrolls along with the soup and the bread rolls and the mission bell tolls for the end of
round one.
'On top of the world ma'
look how far we have come,
and the nanny state looks after its favourite son but as the sun sets on Wapping and the 'mint set' go shopping
for some the world's stopping.
(I want to alight)
The sun sheds some light as the night flicks away and for those who would lay in the doorways of shop fronts,who we think of as stunt men,the cut off,truncated and blunt men another day starts.
And in Whitehall they call for the tea trolley at nine.
A fine time for some and the nanny state looks after its
favourite son.
Jan 16, 2014
Jan 16, 2014 at 2:44 AM UTC
I will cultivate thee,
With my Herculean word spree.
Pour my divine rhyme,
Into your truncated mind.
So profound, so intellectual, how can this be?
Revere me! Revere me!
Apr 1, 2010
Apr 1, 2010 at 11:47 AM UTC
The Acolytes come marching in and out and in, out again
Minds befuddles, rationalities amissing, fully indoctrinated
Pathetic Dogs of Attrition dressed all in white, all in pain
Compulsive obsessives, neurotics primed and oxygenated
Scrappers at the bottom of the barrel wants unlawful gain
By hook or crook is their recourse, to that they are mandated
From rhetorics long gone and ideologies forged in days of rain
Our intrepid Confused and Acolytes are soundly medicated
Just march to left, left, left, left and we will ease all your pain
Recognize that the enemies are those that think and are educated
They all claim domain at the top, with kudos, status and fame
While you languish in closed barrels, your poor lives truncated
Those Bosses are all there because they are all Masonic inclined
Doctors, lawyers and Professionals paid cash for Degrees granted
They did no work or study, rich Daddies just paid so they claim
All those Entrepreneurs are Robbers who bankraid unarrested
Because the Police are all masonic and help/share in all the gain
The Royals are Top Mafiosas, with International links atested
So Dumb Acolytes Know the truths and fall with the wise in line
We must regain Power and march left, left so we're not left in vain
The republic shall live because it's 21 Century and we wake in time
We take all from the Secret Society and cut off all our iron chains
Begin by taunting, tormenting and harassing that ****** Wayne
The ****** Prince is the African Mafia Chief and Exploiter kingpin
Sing with me everybody
Viva la Revolution, viva la Revolution
We are clever, all in our White uniforms
We march to the left left left with our two left feet
We know our brains have left us but we go left left
Viva la Revolution, Viva la Revolution, Viva la Jinbba.
Hey! jinbba, jinbaba, hey! jinbba jinbaba, hey! jinbba jinbba
Sing.........
Sep 12, 2018
Sep 12, 2018 at 5:09 AM UTC
Heart's cover sealed in burgeoning prime
Fading leaves folded in the book of time
Follicles of love blanched on the pages sublime
Billowy blades dulled with eroding sands that modulate and slime
Bleached, seamless threads spliced in the deep recesses of my mind
Glossy words overgrown, strangled with thistle and thyme
Each, dilated syllable devoid of reason and rhyme
Each segment underscored with a stagnating byline
Every, amorous allusion deconstructed; devoid of design
Each, sterile refrain resounds a doleful chime
Remaining, truncated edition a lapsing memory; requited pantomime
Aug 8, 2011
Aug 8, 2011 at 8:00 AM UTC
*I'll swath my cliches
in over verbose decadence
and ask forgiveness in the morning.*
Edging
toeing
the fine line in between
Fighting to live
- or -
living to fight
in champagne surged soirees
of surreptitious allergens
Some ******* ballad
donning metalcore methods
aggressive to a fault
that is to say, earth-shattering
unyielding, unwavering, unapproachable
un-fucking-believable
You, me,
they, we,
truncated
but never forgotten
Had
but never spent
Forgotten
but never lost
Your name is in my autocorrect
with siren songs and call signs
from generational grievances,
Chivalrous misandry,
chorus discord
callous
Chandeliers swing
low like chariots.
Samson told us to keep dancing.
We were only listening,
abreast one another,
clad only in our genres.
We were so much more
until we were
lost,
but never mattered.
May 21, 2014
May 21, 2014 at 10:08 AM UTC
what fragments lay in stone and silent wait
for sunrise creeping stealthily through dark
to back-light marbled forms who knew Petrarch
truncated arms which strain to touch and sate
a cold and calculated yearning carved
in everlasting porous rock compressed
as otherworldly beauty barely dressed
they stand exposed and gorgeous, proud yet starved
to feast on passion's fragments etched inside
by sculptors long since sated, fed and dead
who pounded love with hammer, chisel, sweat
from abstract concept into sanctified
emotion pulsing from unbreathing stone;
stories bled from humankind alone
Feb 24, 2015
Feb 24, 2015 at 4:35 AM UTC
Just take a good look at me;
My frame is attractive!
It does the unsated
appetite of the chauvinist
fuel.
My curves and your fantasies
are mutually inclusive!
Without them, dreams
are truncated.
But I am an ********
symbol.
The self opinionated chauvinist
designs me in his sub-conscious
to serve and be utterly subservient.
I am incarcerated as a chef,
and timeless baby sitter.
A baby machine for a
patriarchal dynasty.
My education is a threat to chauvinist ego.
My ignorance hones his misogynist confidence,
whilst my erudite head
retards his self esteem and worth.
The illiterate ******** symbol is his
ideal and virtuous woman.
The smarter and more professional
is the age-old Jezebel.
My chastity and virginity
are twin virtues of a
mutilated genitalia.
My restrained *** urges are
designed for his unrestrained
proclivities and gratification.
I must be restrained,
for him to be unrestrained,
because, share him I must
with two or three others of
my kind.
But take another good look at me,
and see a versatile womb-man!
Translate each prejudice of yours'
and see my remarkable antonyms.
Oct 14, 2023
Oct 14, 2023 at 3:23 PM UTC
For this tree loves everybody
it is bright, it is lovely, it is … short
truncated yet hopeful
all the colours of the rainbow
This tree does not care who you ****
or what you put in to which hole
This tree has no holes, no cracked old bones
just a spectrum, a bole covered in a gentle bark
no reprimand, no judgement, an open elemental heart
It has no plateau of leaves to offer shelter
but it is here and it loves you whether
you care for the woods, for the rain or not
This tree loves everybody
Its bark is deep, it is cracked, it is flawed
and though it is aged and short, truncated
by fate and the nature of this place
it is unbowed echoing all that we hope
will come to pass, for this tree is yours
it grows all the colours of the rainbow
Let it brighten your grey sky grey day
Let it remind you that things may yet change
Let it smile for you when you can't raise
enough brightness inside to chase away
all that we've lost, all that we fight for
For this tree loves everybody
and so can we all,
so can we all,
so can we all
Feb 20, 2017
Feb 20, 2017 at 3:18 PM UTC
eye of storm
feels good
inanely safe
cloak of unreality
supplanting sense
as trap shuts
butterfly hovers
gently
in silken web
rests stupidly
charmed
while harm beckons
illusions numb
cerebral
space
battle weary
instincts spent
on long haul
gusts of
warning winds
ignored
as incongruent
aberrations
unworthy of note
but sword will drop
mayhem eclipse
former state
past suspension
truncated
exposed
as raw reality
severs dreams
barnacled
to beguiling
specious
notion
Jan 1, 2018
Jan 1, 2018 at 6:46 PM UTC
Truth lies like a truncated branch
blocking the door of a junkyard mouse's flat.
That is a very jarring notion indeed.
Hesitant to staying truth, hesitant to lodge;
the informed call on past gaze and past phase
for their feeding, the new individual
perfecting a new utility belt.
The new individual may be simple and torn.
Torn, because what is considered simple
could be pooled in the gap between the wedges
at the bottom of the Milo milkshake tetrapack
which the straw cannot find no matter how meticulously you jiggle it,
despite its stark authority, and you're undecided on
whether you should throw the packet away.
Simple, because your motor function,
simply put, needs to be less awkward.
Does not make my cluelessness at functioning any less true.
I was struck immobile because I almost got run over by a mouse
(or a rat, I have not googled their difference),
but I admire the schoolishness of that terror,
its being real.
Oct 14, 2018
Oct 14, 2018 at 1:36 PM UTC
You need to use vocals
To spread a message that is hopeful
You need to use vocals
To create a point that is focal
You need them
Like R.E.M.
A message from your heart
That goes through your brain
It can be called quality art
Once it reflects inner pain
That runs deep through your voice
And your lyrical choice
You don't need scientists with beakers
Or super loud speakers
You don't need to make a keynote speech
Or grab for things that are out of reach
You just need a lesson
Taught through confession
There are wonderful things done instrumentally
But I want to focus on someone instead of me
Because thinking through someone else's words
Seems more productive
Rather than repeating myself so nothing is stirred
Which feels somewhat reductive
If you have something to say
Speak up
If you can't find a way
Drink up
Music based on emotion instead of thought
But be careful to not get mindlessly caught
Until you're starving
From culturally carving
Out anything that is strange
Until you have a truncated range
Of empathetic understanding
That's one way of landing
On a lame existence
For plain persistence
Art will always reflect life
They share the same plight
The best way to communicate
Is not to ruminate
But to speak with your mouth
Before your mind goes south
End the depressing deflation
Through simple human relation
Your gift of pain
Becomes my drain
My rhythmic refrain
From ending this game
Please allow me to hear you
So I may no longer fear you
It doesn't matter if you're not local
I'll relate to you through your vocals
Mar 26, 2018
Mar 26, 2018 at 6:23 PM UTC
It hangs off
in the far away distance.
The flag.
We know that its there,
we know that it flies.
Mired
in combustible mixed desire
we hum.
Because the waving of that flag.
We hum.
We travel in cars,
in packs or alone,
the road a private matter.
We ride.
We ride.
It’s out there
or in here that all meaning lies about.
Meaning to be true.
Like the flag.
Blood and both stained
and unstained tears upon our hills and our valleys.
It matters on those hills, a place farther then your own front door.
Beyond what you can see.
Green, grey, tan and camo curtains
shield both sides of the window that brings the breeze.
So that the flag can fly
its meaning, bold.
Where in lies the protector, the guardian the defender of all faith?
Where in lies the end of deceit and tyranny and the un-truncated corruption of our power.
The flags power? The people power? A dreamers right to dream?
Where in lies the protection of souls long ignited by fire and spirits?
Where in lies the answer to questions old as the pyramids and bright as the sun?
Nov 30, 2009
Nov 30, 2009 at 4:17 PM UTC
Feral mood swings give the elastic momentum to soar from the dark dredges,
As it was previously unthinkable.
From the glorious misanthropic lows, to a euphoric revelry or youth.
These golden days are replete with vicious change,
The growth plates of potential prosperity ease close with a snide unforgiving sentiment.
The bright orifices of the sky plunge into obscurity,
Only the imprints leave us dazzled, thinking the dream still holds an office.
But the endless chapters are truncated,
until the only thing left is the devil's **** or his charity.
Bubbling youth to grim compliance.
May 13, 2015
May 13, 2015 at 10:32 PM UTC
.
Grasping to the sky
With ever reaching
Branches, leaves spirit
Themselves to sacred
Airs.
Old tree, a star set
Truncated with sprite earth,
Stolid, touchstone spark,
Place, feeling all waves
Dripping by like clouds.
In some underworld,
Bathing with Gods,
Are immortal roots
Divining water, laid
In ceremonious soil,
Digging out golden,
Unfallowed tombs.
Old tree in the sun,
Great soul barking
Skywards each day,
Joyous arms clench,
Lansing, higher out,
Embracing heavens.
May 17, 2017
May 17, 2017 at 4:49 PM UTC
An Eternal Shrugging of the Shoulders
I am writing this poem in the dark
this is why I apologise to all who will read it
some words might overlap
others
some letters might remain flat
I know my message risks to arrive truncated
to its addressee
for that matter I feel how some lines are liquefying
as if my eye itself flows in them
presumably in the day when light will come back
this page will be a heap of signs
a hill lodged by ants
or even by more evolved beings capable
of praying
however, the drama I have lived
will remain without a voice
the secret I wanted to hand down to you
with this poem
will be an eternal shrugging of the shoulders
Matei Visniec
translated by Manuela Chira
May 20, 2015
May 20, 2015 at 6:12 AM UTC