"tumbles" poems
**** me like the ocean would the moon, Dear Amaranthine.
Teach me as you would any abecedarian, slow with pace.
My pallid arms are spread, and feet are crossed.
Crucify me, like one of your French girls.
Your endless frame arched over mine
a vaulting testament to the heat
of your front against my back.
This scene should have been a chapel.
Through hazed musk I can taste the saline
as it tumbles from your dripping brunette tendrils
forming brooks and lagoons the color of flesh
in the glens and about the islands of my spine.
I wish I could write about you in me
while you dance a contemporary beat
ceaseless, indeterminate, untold are
your feats within and upon my person.
For a split moment, seconds shattered in two,
I am completely and totally permeated by you.
I whine for you to vacillate me, I am ******* begging
to be occupied, satiated, by a rhythm akin to the sway of trees.
Love me fast and kiss me slow, Dear Amaranthine.
My palms are red, and feet bloodied, too. I moan.
Call me your poetaster but don't come on my chest;
There's far too much weight there already, my dear.
Mar 20, 2012
Mar 20, 2012 at 1:30 AM UTC
The artichoke
of delicate heart
*****
in its battle-dress, builds
its minimal cupola;
keeps
stark
in its scallop of
scales.
Around it,
demoniac vegetables
bristle their thicknesses,
devise
tendrils and belfries,
the bulb's agitations;
while under the subsoil
the carrot
sleeps sound in its
rusty mustaches.
Runner and filaments
bleach in the vineyards,
whereon rise the vines.
The sedulous cabbage
arranges its petticoats;
oregano
sweetens a world;
and the artichoke
dulcetly there in a gardenplot,
armed for a skirmish,
goes proud
in its pomegranate
burnishes.
Till, on a day,
each by the other,
the artichoke moves
to its dream
of a market place
in the big willow
hoppers:
a battle formation.
Most warlike
of defilades-
with men
in the market stalls,
white shirts
in the soup-greens,
artichoke field marshals,
close-order conclaves,
commands, detonations,
and voices,
a crashing of crate staves.
And
Maria
come
down
with her hamper
to
make trial
of an artichoke:
she reflects, she examines,
she candles them up to the light like an egg,
never flinching;
she bargains,
she tumbles her prize
in a market bag
among shoes and a
cabbage head,
a bottle
of vinegar; is back
in her kitchen.
The artichoke drowns in a ***
So you have it:
a vegetable, armed,
a profession
(call it an artichoke)
whose end
is millennial.
We taste of that
sweetness,
dismembering scale after scale.
We eat of a halcyon paste:
it is green at the artichoke heart.
16.7k
Stars above,
glistening the sky.
Golden teardrops fall from high.
The weary moon begins to die,
As the city sings a silent lullaby.
The wind blows soft,
the leaves flow far.
The night falls and tumbles hard.
The stars align,
the moon now cries,
As the city sings a silent lullaby.
The sun slowly rises.
The stars slowly die.
The night loses feeling,
the day comes alive.
Morning creeps slowly,
night falls behind.
As the city sings a silent lullaby.
Nov 12, 2019
Nov 12, 2019 at 10:55 AM UTC
Through an open window, I hear
the Big Thompson's steady music
drifting up from the valley below.
May breezes and gentle rains
coax the snow-capped peaks
to surrender their alabaster cloaks
downslope into gathering streams.
Silhouetted by light from the waxing moon,
a cinnamon bear lopes along water’s edge,
pauses for a draught and meanders on.
A bull elk newly coifed with velvet antlers
folds his legs beneath its belly
and kneels into grasses beside a tranquil pond.
while the Big Thompson rushes on.
Spring beauties, calypso orchids and geraniums
shake off their winter's sleep and
dot every vagabond trail and verdant hill
while fresh new leaves adorn the aspen boughs.
The Big Thompson inexorably presses on
bound for rendezvous with time and space
and tumbles into the always patient sea.
© 2017 by Robert Charles Howard
May 28, 2017
May 28, 2017 at 8:57 AM UTC
the little girl just could not sleep
because her thoughts were far too deep
her mind had left her; gone out for a stroll
and fallen down the rabbit hole
this life will never be a wonderland
nothing goes just like it's planned
all the creatures are gathering round
as her broken body tumbles down
but darling, you're too late, I fear
your sanity has already left, my dear
maybe you're too big, or maybe you're too small
but you'll never get to wonderland at all
you're mad as a hatter, and far too late
you'll soon see, but you'll have to wait
this will soon all be a memory,
left only as a darkening dream...
(the girl wakes up to the smiling light of the crescent moon. but the nightmares don't end.)
Feb 16, 2014
Feb 16, 2014 at 7:09 AM UTC
1, for the slumber that tumbles us round,
2, for the remedy, the musics bold sound.
3, for the tree that became your canoe
& 4 for the rain, it's ambiguous blue.
5, to escape, to a world we contrive,
6 for the tricks that I played to survive.
7, because heaven, is supposedly on earth,
& 8 for my mother, and her unknown worth.
9 for the failures, the faults & mistakes,
10 for the fears that keep us awake.
11, for my father, consoles me each night, whispers advice crystal clear, filled with insight- words on courage & kindness, love & delight.
12- when you wake but it's already night.
13 forever, with strength glory and might,
14 with wisdom, discretion, insight-
both numbers together sizing up every fight.
15, for my little sister, and all her turmoil,
15, for her spirit, the last one to spoil,
she and the world but water and oil,
15 for her soul, and like the mighty cobra it's coil,
deadly & graceful defends its home soil.
16 for the evil- the wicked & cruel, the endless hate they spin into fuel.
17, for reason, justice & art,
and all the other virtues life etched on my heart,
18, to redeem, to admit your mistake, to truly move on then perhaps to retake.
19 for that shame, always the same, so familiar it almost comforts my brain. 19, for the suffering, agony & betrayal.
19 true stories retold as mere tales- how they surpass logic and induce other's fails.
20. For my years. For the moment, for now. For to the past I salute, and to the future I bow; All with the hope that next year I'll know how
to do what everyone else can.
Feb 23, 2017
Feb 23, 2017 at 1:32 PM UTC
Slide into me
Tight rigid flesh
Aching breaths hitting
Pulsing lips riding
Crimson cheeks
Lingering wet fingertips
Flayed and primitive
Grazing the surface
Ritual essence denied
Deeper base of purity
Carnal frames clutching
Erupting into form and shape
Becoming essential and visceral
Instinctive undulating
Reaching the orogeny
Cresting over solid embrace
Luscious tumbles
Twisting skin
I slip in you
May 10, 2021
May 10, 2021 at 6:31 PM UTC
I stand on the scale
I look at the number
I'm fat
I way over 140lbs
What am I doing wrong?
I barely eat anything
She steps off the scale
Walks over to the counter
And opens the cupboard
Peanut butter
She untwists the twisty ties
Grabs two pieces of white bread
Places them in the toaster slots
Pulls down the lever
For ten seconds
Pulls it up
Pulls it down
Waits ten more seconds
Pulls it up
Takes it out
Spreads the peanutty butter across the crisp edges
Starts eating it
Nom nom nom
Her dog moves close to the counter
And begs
She walks away
Drops a few crumbs
And the dog eats it up
And follows her into the living room
And looks up
Nom nom nom nom
She just looks at the dog
Puts her bare foot against his nose
Which is cold
And the dog doesn't even move
Sticks his tongue outside his mouth
And breathes quickly
Stupid
She puts her foot back down
And moves it against the rug a few times
Then walks into the kitchen
And opens a bag
Of salt and vinegar chips
Starts eating them
Nom nom nom nom
Dog catches the crumbs and slides against the kitchen floor
She walks back upstairs
And the dog follows her
To her room
She shuts the door
And the dog starts scratching through the bottom
And barks
She just lays in her bed
Eating
The dog barks again
She opens the door
And pushes him
With her right foot
Down the stairs
He tumbles down the stairs and hits the kitchen floor
He races back up
Gets pushed back down
Dog runs away
She walks towards the bathroom
And uses the other scale
And she sees that it says 141 lbs
I've only been eating for a few minutes
Errrr
She closes the bag of chips
And stomps downstairs
And places the bag on the counter
Dog waits in the living room
Right next to the kitchen
His food bowl is empty
No water
Dec 8, 2014
Dec 8, 2014 at 6:49 PM UTC
"So the pen is mightier? who'da'thunk'it."
He said to the bleeding man tied down
to a messed, stained, bed.
The bound man figured,
even though he just got
to an LA plagued
by criminals, killers, and copy-cats,
that he wasn't getting out of here whole,
finally.
Holding a pen knife,
red-faced and sweating,
was his captor.
It had been a struggle
to awake and realize
who stood before him:
Quill.
The exact killer he'd been looking for.
He had heard about him in the Halo Herald,
An LA pun, it's not very popular,
but he liked the funny section.
"Are you just going to stand there?"
The bound man says, eagerly,
"Hey bud, you're the hanged man,
I'll do the talking."
"It's about time!"
"huh?"
"I'd been waiting.
heard you'd be at that
open mic. Knew you liked
the mealy type."
"Shuddup or I'll write you off."
Quill runs his pen knife over the bound man's right cheek.
"Stings a little.
Usually, I start with a rufie
and emotional damage.
But it looks like you
want to cut to the chase.
I'm a man of a similar mind.
spirit.
problem."
"Nobody's like me dude."
The bound man locks eyes with Quill.
"What're your trophies? huh?
I read you like to drain your victims,
cook'em dry.
don't you use their blood and powdered remains as ink?
Short stories or something?"
"Oh, an avid reader?! it's your lucky day:
you get to be part of the collection!"
The lamp nearby tumbles
to the floor as Quill lunges,
ready to ****
"Wait! Don't you want to know who I am!"
"Not really."
"I'm a ser-"
The sentence is finished by
nothing but the sound of blood
and air
gurgling
into places it was never meant to be
as Quill's blade passes through flesh.
"Pfft, what, you think you're special?"
Quill saunters over to the sink.
"I'd hate to waste ink.
but there'll be more.
there's always more.
isn't that right, Celine."
he says to no one
and stands there with a smirk
as if listening to her.
Oct 15, 2022
Oct 15, 2022 at 2:22 AM UTC
She danced across the sidewalk
Her tiny boots splashing the puddles of color
Blue, pink, green, yellow
Her pigtails smudged with paint
Brown, blonde, black, red
She dances through the rainbow rain.
He walks to work, leaden, heavy
His shoes are black, but polished
With red, and orange, and yellow
His hat is dark blue and his coat is green
His smile is coal, traced in red,
His face white, with eternal teardrops
Etched on his face.
The boy and girl, young, shy
Their hands delicately intertwined with strands of purple
Strings of yellow electricity
Jumping from heart to heart
Red raindrops fall up from the sidewalk
Gravitationally drawn to them
Tracing their faces before flying away.
The seagull collides with clouds of orange
His wing tips blue and wispy
His beak green as the sea
Purple fog tints his stomach
As he tumbles through aqua wind
My window only filters mango light
My ceiling the color of honey
The air above the floor is black
The space beneath the ceiling is white
And everything in between covers my body
In rainbow rain.
May 22, 2012
May 22, 2012 at 10:55 AM UTC
On an ebony bed decorated
with coral eagles, sound asleep lies
Nero --- unconscious, quiet, and blissful;
thriving in the vigor of flesh,
and in the splendid power of youth.
But in the alabaster hall that encloses
the ancient shrine of the Aenobarbi
how restive are his Lares.
The little household gods tremble,
and try to hide their insignificant bodies.
For they heard a horrible clamor,
a deathly clamor ascending the stairs,
iron footsteps rattling the stairs.
And now in a faint the miserable Lares,
burrow in the depth of the shrine,
one tumbles and stumbles upon the other,
one little god falls over the other
for they understand what sort of clamor this is,
they are already feeling the footsteps of the Furies.
4.2k
A thousand tumbles takes a bottle in the sea-
a thousand dashes and whirls and swoops.
A million grains of sand takes that bottle in the sea,
to break apart, to come to me
in fragments like a snowflake fractal.
How many mermaid miles till she hands that glass to me?
For I've taken out my very-ness, for you.
- And my crossness.
My judgement and wrath.
I've taken out slight hot breathe
(for you to melt the ice on your whiskers.)
I've taken out my toes when they are reaching for yours in the cavernous blanket world through the forest of our lazy limbs.
I've taken out my righteousness
and my second guessing.
I've taken out for you (a surprise, I was going to surprise you!)
all the times you were going to be wrong to me-
and to wrong me...
taken them out to sea, you see?
In that bottle, pretty bottle. Broken now like too many vows.
I've taken out my knowing best and finding better.
I've taken out the half moon of your thumbnail as well
...I will miss that in my night sky-
(perhaps I'll keep that after all.)
I'll take out the complacency of holding your hand getting out of a chair.
and the mindless strokes
as you explain
my commonplace crazy
to
simpler minds-
I'll take out the very-ness of me, and the we-ness of us.
and fill a bottle with a the brine of a thousand tears from hundred slights not slighted quite yet.
I fill the bottle and gift the sea
with the softness of you and the brashness of me.
A thousand turnabouts it takes to reach you on the beach,
a sea glass diamond ring, engage me you engaging man-
and the tides tickles my feet in anticipation, marry me. marry me.
just a sea glass promise
for a mermaid bride
waiting for the sailor man to sing her sweetly with salt on his lips
Just a sea glass lullaby from the man who loves me so.
Marry me, marry me
And we drink sparkling water from a sea glass flute
and we drink all the us and we drink all the we
for sea glass could never hold a second in,
sea glass is far too vain not to shine in the sun fanning
your invite out in a spectrum of color that
a small child's hand creates when he holds it up to the rays.
Spills out all of my intentions
Spoiled child, loved child,
Spills out all of my intentions carelessly on the sandy floor for the tides to swallow whole.
My sea glass prism chucked unceremoniously back to sea
and me the mermaid bride left at her own alter...
But a seashell to your ear and her my wailing sorrow calls,
'marry me, sailor. marry me.'
sahn 8/5/14
Aug 4, 2014
Aug 4, 2014 at 11:42 PM UTC
You are a compass, and eventually every direction you lead me in takes me back to you. I think I am the north pole. I think I'm confused, or just confusing you; I think we're two of a kind.
I once watched your magnetic heart swell when I touched you: I realized I was hurting you as I loved you all too tenderly; I never thought of that as a possibility.
You quickly made yourself a home in my cerebellum; I can't even sleep anymore. You're always there, tapping, tapping, tapping, sneaking your way through me, pulling strings that don't belong to you. I can't talk about you: you always interfere. My tongue tumbles ineloquently over your name; I've lost control. You are, again, tapping, rapping on my motor controls. Get out of my head, or come back home to my heart.
I am bitter, and I am turning, and I am not sure whose fault it is. In the end I'm sure it's mine, but it's much easier to blame you, and I do. I blame you. Why did I have to love you; why did I have to leave you? What made this all happen, was it the stars, or the moon forcing a change in the tides? Was it some other cliché, or was it just my idiotic decision?
I have lost you again.
Sep 17, 2013
Sep 17, 2013 at 5:33 PM UTC
you came to me in the first dewdrops of spring
with the scent of newleaf lingering on your lips
and the taste of fresh rosebuds and honeysuckle
a mere whisper on my tongue
your kiss the heat of summer sunlight blistering against my skin
and ripping my throat open in a blaze of inferno
heaven knows how you quell the flames
with the same brush of lips against mine
you dance forever in my mind’s eye on dappled autumn leaves
with the swirl of the breeze tousling in your hair
a symphony of red yellow brown and glittering eyes
footsteps going crunch crunch crunch over the carpet of my heart
your goodbye is the wind that whips through my eternal winter
as the snow settles in the silent solstice
i crave crave crave crave the fervent heat once more just once more
REPEAT.
cyclic cyclic cyclic
as i fall in love with you all over again.
(like the mist that rolls in with the first snow that tumbles like waves from the sky/like the budding of the flowers in the garden and the fallen petals beneath your soles/like the gradual melt of ice cream onto sticky fingers and stained flip-flops/like the green fading into a myriad of blossoming colour the facade of beauty disguising slow death)
baby, you break my heart slow
Jan 12, 2014
Jan 12, 2014 at 1:39 AM UTC
But mistress! The bin is intriguing
I'm sorry for all my trouble
and the doors can be oh so deceiving
when they shut I take tumbles
but I go on believing
you'll love me double
when I make my way back inside
Mar 26, 2015
Mar 26, 2015 at 3:47 PM UTC
Swift as nightfall, it closes in
Rolling over sea still as glass
Thicker than smoke, darker than sin
The fog, it tumbles in an impenetrable mass
Blocking out the early light of day
With tiny footsteps it creeps to the dock
Softly stirring secret shadows
Standing quiet, observing, I in my night frock
Some part of me still dreaming of distant meadows
Moving swiftly, it devours the very last of the sun’s rays
I wrap my robe around me
Making my way out of doors
The fog, it deepens, struggling to be free
And like a cat, crawls on all fours
Up and over and past the bay
Frightfully quick now it surges on
Some part of me murmurs that my feelings are wrong
My mind urges, “Do not fall prey to nature’s con!”
Yet the sweet, seductive calling of the fog’s siren song
Sends me dreamwalking into its heavy gray
My spirits start to soar
Engulfed and held by the fog’s thickening grasp
Against my mind’s desire, I want more
And as the fog turns suffocating, I gasp
Falling to my knees in this place I long to stay
The fog, ever enveloping me in its endless cloak
Whispers words of freedom like the loveliest of poem
I close my eyes, tripping, slipping, fumbling, tumbling, giving in to the beauty of the smoke
Knowing deep inside that I am home
And in the fog, forever I lay
Jan 12, 2014
Jan 12, 2014 at 8:56 PM UTC
your soul is
what tumbles
from your old youth;
toothless, mute -
and beautiful.
it disputes the diluted musical
that unfolds you...
proof-less, your lute
is full.
your soul is
where you twist rocks and fell from -
a great height, below your skin suit, dull.
it drew you
with resolute ink, with a needle
and spoon...
etched on the cuticle,
a portrait
of your
skull.
and
you're every
nebulous
moon.
Jun 5, 2013
Jun 5, 2013 at 8:45 AM UTC
She's a boss *** *****
with diamonds in her eyes
and mercury flowing over her skin.
When she walks the world
tumbles, crumbles, easily humbled.
She's got a devil's tongue
with a lick of fire in her veins
and she's all I've ever
dreamt of being.
Nov 27, 2016
Nov 27, 2016 at 4:32 AM UTC
I lost a friend and I lost a tooth,
The tooth had to go; the friend I couldn't lose
It was a wisdom tooth, with some decay,
It was a wise friendship, its strings began to fray,
The tooth couldn't be salvaged; the friendship stood a chance,
I chose to cut loose the tooth; cutting the friendship wasn't my stance
Like my tongue wiggles, at the place the tooth would be,
So mind tumbles, at all things my friend used to be
Nov 15, 2015
Nov 15, 2015 at 7:18 AM UTC
You make me feel pretty,
delicate as fairies, a bit cheekier than usual
in an old faded grey -stretched by the tumbles of the washing machine and dulled by the sunshine- t-shirt and old boxer shorts.
Feb 28, 2015
Feb 28, 2015 at 7:04 AM UTC
A Tribute
A king takes supper on a creaking deathbed. Featureless, winged creatures zoom by the dark condensed windows. Micro parasites build adobe headquarters in his soft tissue. Reaching for a plate, he groans the terabyting howl that’s prescribed with chemotherapy. Qwerty and light from the drugs, he stares at the apple on his tray. Lost in its curves, he finds himself trapped in a safari of memories. A dream devolves upon his downtrodden mind….
The canopy is populated with twittering, angry birds. Pools of social blood attract flies to the googolplex degree. He stumbles through the dell, suspicious forest while a tremulous, fiery fox stalks behind his echoing footfalls. Pixar apes swing from trees chased by grisly, disney men with guns and trucks. A large eye tunes the darkness and blinks red upon an aging mountain lion in shadow’s brush.
The sony rays belight foliage in auspicious, plaid-orange hues. This amazon of experience plugs the wanderer into a hard drive of intelligence – a gateway to an encyclopedia of wikis and browsers, expanse enough for any backdrop rooftop audience to be faux-enthralled and eager. There are grumblings in the distance of another engine tromping the scope in search of something new and useless. A rumorous bat upsets the plagiarizing tide of the Atlantic Pea Sea. A snake slinks out of the blossoms clinging to the vines among a macintosh tree and bites the salty flier of the washboard night; cyber venom invades his veins.
The average, homeless, bounding, warrior awakens to find a cold supper on his lap and another syringe in his arm. His remaining gums support his teeth as they bite into the apple. He swallows, sighs, and rests his balding, crescent, once-handsome head on the white pillow. The green fruit tumbles gently out of bed and mutely rolls to the floor.
With that, Steve Jobs is dead.
Oct 22, 2012
Oct 22, 2012 at 12:03 AM UTC
**** when did waking up get so hard
I feel so dead I think I belong in a graveyard
Drowning in all of my own thoughts I need a lifeguard
I feel like nobody knows the struggle
Like trying to grab sleeping pills, ropes, and guns to juggle
These thoughts that I gotta smuggle
All until my smile cracks and crumbles
Until my very soul snaps and rumbles
Until my drunken body just tumbles
Sitting on the edge of highways watching cars go by
Exhausted from always being the tough guy
Wondering which truck is gonna catch my eye
Don't wanna die but it's my only choice
So tired of screaming I'm losing my voice
Slitting wrists with promises bleeding
Is it just extra love I'm needing?
Maybe not then again I'm already dead
Make sure the note is read
I'm tired of being alone, by Tommrorow I'll be unknown
-Dominguez 2018
Jul 14, 2018
Jul 14, 2018 at 8:56 PM UTC
Upon deceit I've built a kingdom;
A mighty fortress declaring freedom.
She stands up tall; brave as can be
And gazes outward toward the sea.
But when one’s castle’s built on sand,
There is a chance it may not stand.
For secrets hide behind her doors
And crawl through cracks beneath her floors.
Until the light sheds on the lies,
The castle wears her sweet disguise
And secrets linger without a sound
Until the kingdom tumbles down.
Jun 12, 2016
Jun 12, 2016 at 11:53 AM UTC