"tussled" poems
I'd like to think that she's thinking:
"How far have I fallen?"
As she sits on the corner of her bed,
Listening to the soft buzz of his battery-powered toothbrush.
I imagine her,
Running her fingers through her clumsy, coagulated hair.
Glancing at her chipped, crimson toe nails,
Then looking to her class ring,
Made entirely of imitation ingredients,
Wondering when is the proper time to trash it.
When she was still a friend of mine,
I never saw her wear make up,
I never saw her show off in tight jeans
or low-cut tees.
But as he spews the toothpaste into the sink,
Skinny jeans lay tussled on the floor,
Next to the side door
that leads to his sister's side room.
The make up she wears
is from the night before.
It's skewed and shows evidence of running,
Like a wasted watercolor.
I'd like to think he isn't that handsome,
And that he's obsessed with Paul Walker.
I'd like to think when he re-enters the room,
He's in grey sweatpants,
He's wearing a black tank top,
With a Confederate flag backdrop,
With two barely dressed babes looking ******
in the foreground.
His hair, unwashed and greasy.
He rubs his belly,
And bears an idiot grin
on his face.
Looking like he just learned how to smile
at this pace.
"Did it feel good?"
feel good.
After he asks, he scans her body,
Beginning at those crimson toes,
And Ending at that clumsy hair.
Every second he scans,
He still wears that drawn-on
Idiot grin.
I'd like to think at this point she thinks of me.
Of my warnings and prophesy.
Her eyes start at the chipped toe nails,
Course over her tanning bed-inspired legs.
And finally reach the only thing she has on,
A t-shirt that belongs to his sister.
A t-shirt, when given by him,
It was mentioned, "thanks, mister".
Though she didn't satisfy all his redneck intentions,
During last night's expedition.
He still paid her back with a morning
one-sided session.
"It felt good" she says.
In reference to the ten minute **********
When her body was strummed and plucked,
Underneath his sister's Terri Clark T-shirt.
As she sits in the filth and the ****** fallout,
On a bed that is six days *****
While he is grinning,
Being everything but wordy.
I'd like to think she's thinking:
"How far have I fallen?"
Jun 4, 2010
Jun 4, 2010 at 10:31 PM UTC
The salty breeze
Such a nostalgic smell
As we comb the beach
Looking for shells
As the gulls overhead
Squawk and they cry
We lie in the sun
Not a cloud in the sky
All these unique rocks
As far as can see
And each of them has
Their own story
My hair always tussled
By the breeze
I walk and I smile
And I look out to sea
Apr 4, 2016
Apr 4, 2016 at 8:59 PM UTC
An opaque kiss, crept over his spirit,
Drifted with petal-like grace, spilled warm
In forget-me-not pastels;
He enters The Dream'......
The soft breath of night
Dusts lash-bound eyes with dream;
There,
Night mists wander a lace like solitude,
Lost in euphoric infinity,
Where his blue ripples speak waterfalls
Pooling to silence...
The moon tossed down a shimmering cloth,
Her Midas light, turning his limbs to gold;
A name, echoed softly, like river minutes,
A winding breath, a tingled song of awakening,
Of lullaby in whispers and nuance,
Ghost-kissing the curve of an aching thigh...
Crave induced,
The magic in her hip-sway, crossed
The arch of his dreams;
Where she flowed half-held by darkness;
A garnet flame flickering the
Tussled locks of Autumn stained hair,
Trailing her skin, like eager limbs parting
A dream horizon's shore...
Her impish August skin,
Bathed him in words that woke his willing flesh,
Tracing the haunted subtlety of desire;
Here, amongst the echoes of the pulsing night,
Heart to heart, breath to breath,
Her fingers tenderly caressed delicate dreams on the silken hardness
Of his shadow serenade...
Passion coursed his blood, an esoteric tune
Suckled the sweet sutra;
Her taste,
Burning the star of his mouth,
Tasting the breath of moan,
A song,
Hovering like a silver bauble, drifting in past breaths,
Sinking into chaotic bliss, deepening the eclipse of seductive fusion...
His face, dark, breathed hot upon her psyche,
A captive heart beating against his palm;
"Be Mine" unfolds,
While "Yours" is spread wide, refractive on skin,
A brand, where fingers trace hips, slowly swallowing hidden breath;
His tongue slide, afire with the heat of a thousand suns, and
Rose tinted limbs scream, with eyes closed,
And he watches as she burns.......
Love came quietly as a whispered dream.........
Aug 29, 2012
Aug 29, 2012 at 2:18 PM UTC
Sprinkles of golden dust frame those months.
Your delicate fingers.
Endless, strawberry kissed rainfall.
City lights drowned in a star tinted mist.
Cinnamon secrets.
Freedom soaring beside your wind tussled hair.
Honey flavoured kisses.
Sand powdered clothes and sun bleached love that faded too fast.
But that's just it:
It faded. And now there's nothing left.
May 21, 2014
May 21, 2014 at 3:30 PM UTC
1+1=2
This is what my teacher taught me
As I sat in class with blond pigtails trailing down my back
And dreams as big as the endless sky
Dancing through my child mind.
1+1=1
This is what you taught me
As my hair hung loose and long down my back
And I lost myself in those deep, brown eyes
As the silver moon watched our slow, slow grind.
1+1=3
This is what our son taught me
As my hair lay tussled and messy down my back
And the hospital room filled with newborn cries
As I held his tiny hand in mine.
What will the next lesson be?
Sep 18, 2014
Sep 18, 2014 at 10:58 PM UTC
She spilled lengthy prose,
believing words would
bandage her inadequacies.
Enrapt,
I tussled
loose threads
of her rhetoric
in a feeble attempt at intimacy–
not realizing
Andromeda would love anyone
who had pried her free from the rock.
Oct 10, 2012
Oct 10, 2012 at 6:36 PM UTC
knee high sea of grass
tussled like groomed fur
spry winds lashing
distribution of lifted seeds
life in correspondence
Jun 8, 2022
Jun 8, 2022 at 10:08 AM UTC
Scoffed Pink pigtails nestle on rusted wire.
Captives and their butterflies,
borrow hope till dawn .
Way back they surrendered their dignity.
Hallowed chapters of Collegiate sobriety
tussled wearing a dress like a **** of hay.
How can they un- burden future perception?
I know of the fire storm back home
but the expectancy is forgone
Extended with shame
Pink Rayon complies disparagingly
already moribund.
Nov 19, 2012
Nov 19, 2012 at 3:35 PM UTC
There was a particularly nasty looking garden spider
Crawling up the cracked molding of my window
Not that he looked particularly nasty compared to other spiders
In fact, up close, spiders are one of the wisest looking creatures that exist
But I don't have eight eyes like the garden spider
So I can't see that without the help of a camera lens
So to me, he just looked
Nasty
Buzzing from behind my curtain
A particularly nasty looking yellow jacket
Landed next to the spider
I didn't need a camera lens
Close up or far away
Some things are just
Evil
The spider must have sensed this too
With a leap
He grappled the wasp
And they tumbled
Buzzing
To my uneven hardwood floor
Landing with a small
Distinct plink
And I stood over them
While they tussled
As I have stood over a million things
Watching with glazed indifference
While creatures purer in their existence than I
Fought for their lives
I could see that the spider was doing poorly
The yellow jacket was giving it to him in the abdomen
Jamming his stinger in and pulling it out and jamming it in again
Until the spider started leaking white and green
And started fighting less and less
The yellow jacket
Smugly victorious
Save one crippled wing
Started to putter away
But I brought a rolled up newspaper down on the both of them
Like a pillar falling from the front of some great Roman temple
When the Gauls sacked it
Retracting the paper
They had both been reduced to wet smudges
I felt bad for killing the spider
I wish I could have trapped him in cup with a card over the top
And placed him outside on a leaf in the garden
So he could rule where he was meant to
But I considered it an act of mercy
I couldn't stand to see a noble being end like that
And you should always ***** out evil
If you have an opening
I sat back on my bed
Considering it a wash
A bit of beauty for a bit of order
As it has always been
May 16, 2016
May 16, 2016 at 8:27 PM UTC
Dipped under the current
smoothed pebbles mud-slide
down the creak's entryway
into the lake.
Depositing into the soil
only to be tussled about by our waves.
We swim vigorously
reaching for stability
breathing deeply,
accepting black dirt
filling our mouth
and claiming our lungs.
Striking against my body
was a warrior in pain.
As if healing only meant
pushing others
far away.
Floating down the stream
of confounding affection,
tree branches, and silt
barricade the movement
of my recollection,
of the pebble to the lake,
how far we've swum without
claiming our state.
Looking the other way,
we allowed it.
Further and further out,
knowing we could only swim so far,
we kept our hearts under t
h
e
surface.
And our thoughts stranded at bay.
Jun 29, 2018
Jun 29, 2018 at 12:52 AM UTC
Early this morning,
not quite the shilling,
my hair rustled
like a recent killing
of something black and once alive,
big black
Lucifer
dived at my head.
We tussled for five
in the warmth of my bed,
he pawed my hand like a prize
and his yellow eyes
were electric
and light.
He likes to fight.
His tail beats black against my navel.
He plays under the sheets like an excitable angel.
Sep 8, 2013
Sep 8, 2013 at 12:08 PM UTC
Bovine like he sits
maybe he has to ****
the only reason i can think of
that would warrant the stupid look on his face
speaking with urgency
and an andalucian lisp
he slouches in his chair to lessen his discomfort
And the large african queen'the proud mother gorilla
who shows up late everyday
then doesn't speak spanish
at all
es interesante
cow-boy now gets up
scampering out of class
relief in sight
past the starry eyed portraiture
of the girl reminiscent of the head of a young woman with tussled hair
carrying her emotion in her eyes
or maybe she's just ******
a morning bowl was nice today
the leaves almost at their peak
in terms of chlorophyllic changes at least
Oct 17, 2011
Oct 17, 2011 at 4:10 PM UTC
humid temperance in your tussled hair
you are fair to begin with
a more wholesome lust-
my ***** could pray too.
you give this
gravitas -
while withholding a miracle of aftermaths.
you're spot on.
manifest this for me...
bring out the outcasts of your hinterlands and small tokens.
bring out your fists so that i may comfort them
with too warm kisses.
let me languish in your paradox
swollen with joy
totally into it,
let me love you like like like like daybreak mending.
i'll size you up
on a pedestal
and catch
you
like a lover.
try me.
Oct 29, 2012
Oct 29, 2012 at 11:29 AM UTC
She tussled and fought,
squirmed and wiggled,
the ends of her hairs
oh how they tickled.
She smelled of sugar and spice
like purple haze,
remy martin,
and bubblicious ,
the sins of life...
Everything nice.
Her lips drove me crazy
I could smell the cherry
dying to be burst,
I'm going to save this one
as she fights
I squeeze,
As she bites
I likes,
A woman...
I found a woman
Cuz she won't
just give it up....
How to keep her safe????
thats gonna be hard to explain,
I can see it in her face......
Apr 8, 2013
Apr 8, 2013 at 8:34 AM UTC
Sunkissed skin and tan lines,
Tussled hair and rose petals,
A love story that's never going to be told.
Shaking fingers sliding over satin
Finding little grasps of hope with
Moon light shining through the window,
A glow so sweet and soft settling into the night.
His bleeding love and her torn soul igniting fire with dry eyes and wet slithers of empty happiness.
These old bones rattle together, an urgent meeting of compassion too powerful for a boy and a girl combined with love and moonlight.
If only the sun set hadn't come early, and danger didn't sound so **** and the feel of lathering skin wasn't so appealing, two lonely hearts would still be two hearts, and not a mixture of blood and shattered glass.
Sep 7, 2015
Sep 7, 2015 at 7:12 PM UTC
Igniting my anger
Scarring my skin
Pulling my hair
Making a noose
With the
Strands
You drive me up a
Brick wall
Straight into
Insanity
Boiling blood
Red in the face
Screaming
Spitting
Rage
How can you
Justify our
"Friendship"
How can you
Say it's all been
"Forgotten"
My temperature
Rises
I glare at your
Ragged clothing
You live out of your
Piece-of-shit Jetta
Homeless and
Hopeless
Oh, how I despise you
Ex-lover
Ex-friend
Ex-human being
I shrill out in disgust
*Just admit it
I mean nothing
To you
These days*
That's not true
You retort
Getting off your
Makeshift stool
From fourth grade
Outside your old
Home
Your finger slams into me
Poking my soul
**Just get the ****
Away from me
Already**
Speechless
Full of emotion
Acting without
Thinking
I slapped your
Face
And we tussled
'Til dawn
'Til the problems
Were solved
But
I still despise you
Ex-lover
Of mine
And you still
**** me with
Every line
Oct 11, 2010
Oct 11, 2010 at 12:45 PM UTC
As extended branches test my hunger
I grip the fruit you have become
Ripened as the winds go streaming
Slashing through my tussled hair
Yon branches quickly to defend
Though fight I must if I shall have you
This fruit is tempting, young and pure
Through its flesh my teeth they probe
Delicious as the love of life does grow each spring
Dripping down my chin, the juices
Of every one that has disallowed
Sweeter when the bowl is full, unable to take in much more
I beg, I reach, I grasp, I claw
Your vibrant eyes they look away
These roots are strong, holding tight to every probe
Tighter still I feel the warmth
It covers me in splendor spent
I lie beneath your locks so soft and beautiful as is the dawn
Touch me deep inside my soul
This claim is but a fabled speech
My love to linger till the approaching sun
The fruits of passion fill the senses
Tastier than is the thigh
Forming in the minders fashion
This is why my beating heart cries
Tears of joy as are your lips
Countless times my dreams have fallen well inside
Jun 17, 2014
Jun 17, 2014 at 6:25 PM UTC
They say that in order to truly hate someone
There had to be a lot of love there to begin with
And I think about the times you would sing to me in the car
How we would dance in the kitchen while cooking dinner
All the times I'd fall asleep with your hand stroking my hair
Those moments were tender and felt so real
But how is it love when you scream in my face
When your words drip venom and your fists are clenched
Love is not violent
Love does not breed hate
I don't know how you can separate the tenderness and the poison
How do I wrestle with two realities at the same time
I struggle often with my own guilt
I never wanted to hurt you
How do you sleep at night
With the memory of your hands around my throat
How were they the same hands that tussled my hair at night
The same hands that cupped my sweaty face after birth
The same hands that softly grip our daughter's
In case you're wondering I can't sleep at all
Some say we become obsessed with our abuser
How can we not
Survival mode does crazy things to our minds
I'm tired of the madness
Jul 7, 2022
Jul 7, 2022 at 12:09 AM UTC
Your leaving
Scribbled ripples
In my bedsheets
A tragedy in drapery.
Where between each fold
crashed
sighed sonnets,
and from
every ruffle
poured
our trickled
love notes.
And the swell of your
hips unmade
my bed into tussled art.
And the peach
of your lips
drew a tide of
ache
from mine.
Now I ache
in my reading
the brushstrokes
of your absence.
Apr 10, 2016
Apr 10, 2016 at 3:08 PM UTC
The noise of the seashore.
Screaming summertime children, drown out their decibels.
Those thieving flaming seagulls.
Still they hover over seaside dives.
Humming, squawking on the rob.
Fearless pirates steal from the unwary.
Not mysterious albatross or any sailor boys
These birds,they are true ancient mariners.
Sail not upon the sea, but bathe in harbour lights.
Flying on the warming drift.
Carried on sunshine.
Immense, scary birds.
Just to pinch a pasty.
Cornering a cornet, the eater hath no place to hide.
Tussled and tangled in flowing summer hair.
They want your pasty, you are their victims and they really do not care.
Fearless Herring gulls, not just after shining fish!
(C) Livvi
Apr 5, 2014
Apr 5, 2014 at 10:53 AM UTC
Dandelions thrash to the opening chorus of rattle clank by the chain links
yellow heads bobbing
tussled mops of white ****** back defiantly into the wind
until they lean against one another
exhausted and bald
Foxtails sway
feathered limbs thrumming
raised in the air like they just don't care
drumming to the beat of highway traffic
never alone
but gathered together in tight clusters
wary of outside influence
Thistles nod to smoother tunes
the conservative hemming in the edges
seeming almost out of place
until they throw down with their true colors
sporting mohawks in ever shade of purple
The show ends with deep shades of night
falling like a curtain to quiet the floral concert
Until dawn when the show goes on
Aug 29, 2013
Aug 29, 2013 at 9:58 AM UTC
How do you make your triangular squares,
Spin into yellow circles?
First they were blue,
And, before I knew,
It, they were fading into pinks,
Unglued.
I've tussled with logic,
Inside of my pocket,
Picking you slowly apart.
Now, I've given in,
That's it - You win.
Poetic - Your soul is an art.
Jul 25, 2011
Jul 25, 2011 at 7:34 PM UTC
He passes by,
Sigh,
Brown, yellowy hair,
Jigjag outlines like fallen leaves
Adorn his clothes,
In his eyes autumn blue skies shine,
Tussled hair brushes his face from the wind
And he makes me smile.
He passes by,
A smile on his face,
A ruby red stripe on purple bluish cheeks,
Ebony brown hair and pale blue eyes like the winter sun.
He holds his hands to his face,
Breathing the breathe of life into them,
And he makes me warm.
He passes by,
Thistle green eyes and bruising body,
Coiled like a spring day, come undone, sprung.
Like the fresh flowers along the lane
And adorn the hedges.
And he makes me love.
He passes by,
He smiles at me,
I sit there in the summer sun,
All these years I have loved him,
But Time passes on.
Oh Son of Time,
You are so youthfully beautiful,
But how quickly yet gracefully,
You grow old.
Mar 27, 2010
Mar 27, 2010 at 10:49 AM UTC