"twine" poems
my girl’s tall with hard long eyes
as she stands,with her long hard hands keeping
silence on her dress,good for sleeping
is her long hard body filled with surprise
like a white shocking wire, when she smiles
a hard long smile it sometimes makes
gaily go clean through me tickling aches,
and the weak noise of her eyes easily files
my impatience to an edge—my girl’s tall
and taut, with thin legs just like a vine
that’s spent all of its life on a garden-wall,
and is going to die. When we grimly go to bed
with these legs she begins to heave and twine
about me,and to kiss my face and head.
45.6k
for Tascha
deep in the pond of unhappy, swimming,
drowning the next contemporaneous
depression thought quickly swallowed,
desperation in quick glances everywhere,
dawn is no consolation but just another
daily drawing tighter of twine cutting
disillusionment
dear god, commences every thought,
delayed answers have yet to arrive,
**** the deity's non-responsivness,
dare not say out loud lest,
deserved fates be worse, be realized,
didn't know? how can that be?
disguiser par excellent, I am the original
deceiver
But I never think about
death or dying, for that would be
defeat finale, a statute to, a status of none, a
destiny some wick spark, still insists can be
deferred
differed always,
diffidently, but grasping yet at the
double entendre that is my
dark vision of a future already past
May 2015
May 30, 2015
May 30, 2015 at 4:45 PM UTC
#
Each body part
sizzled in pure pleasure
in the blissed wake
of your oral efforts
brought forth the waves
of rapturous delight...
Spurs poetic inspiration
in equal liberation
of desires to please.
Bodies transpose
in fluid motion
as brazen eyes meet.
Savor the voluptuous image before you.
Indulge your eyes in my carnal halo
before they roll to the back of your head.
On all fours
knees between your thighs
tips of swollen breast
caress your chest
tasting fresh honey
upon lips in a kiss.
Ripples of ardor
hover
by wet trails
of sensual kisses
suckling towards
the apex.
Breathe in
the slow motion pace
that pulsates eagerness
to the fore tumescing bulge
leaking with anticipation
of viscous lava.
Tickles of silken hair
against flesh edges closer.
Emerging subtle grumbles
in deep resonance
betray your impatience .
Hands tightly twine
in tangled hair
to maneuver
the treasure hunt.
Licked lips pause
at the sight of fire
burning in
glazed gazes
before engulfing
the throbbing member.
Plump ruby lips
greet velvety texture
in a slow deep dive.
Tongue curls around
the flavor
in a dulcet embrace.
Moans release
as grip tightens
in my hair
settles the
rhythmic pace
to taste in an
oscillating dance.
The masculine aroma of heady musk
lingering there, arouses my appetite.
With my enthusiasm
attuned to
your preferred rhythm
suckling, slurping
surface and dive
in measured unison.
Break of breath
allows tongue
freedom to roam below,
licking, soft kissing
the tender hammock
of testicles.
Tongue and lips escalate higher
to mount another assaulting dive
deeper in the depths
of the cusp in cavity.
Wetted fingers
probe even lower
circling superficially
as gasp escapes
your heavy breath;
flaming eyes lock.
Finger dips in
with expert finesse
gorging hardened growth
within a wrapped hand.
Thighs tighten
with rocking grip.
Head thrusts onward,
drilling forward
in each dive.
Salvia slips
fingers grip
lips dip
Engorged swell, flesh tightens in an intensity
of volcanic eruption ...
HALTS
assault
Pace retracts.
Loosened lips kiss tip.
*“Soon sweetheart, your time will ***
inside me as we surrender to synergy."*
#
Sep 10, 2018
Sep 10, 2018 at 7:51 AM UTC
they’re pouring out of the
woodwork
those pretentious machiavellians
in ailing albino frames
eccentric masked figures
milling about the glow light
like night moths
in a london fog
lunatic gazers
with seeping moles
pinned by frogmen and twine
spider climbers
in hell fire
splitting seams
on the fading
and hideous ink
guards of the perch
stand on hades hand
while monsters and demons
with severed limbs
taunt the condemned
and wanting
souls of the ******
cauldron fire
in blood red sky
silent screams
hack and wheeze
gas lines broken
words unspoken
teetering backwards
in the dark shadows
of a phantom abyss
Oct 28, 2017
Oct 28, 2017 at 2:08 PM UTC
Our roots twist and twine...
His leaves are soft and plush.
Trunks pressed flush, spine to spine,
Whispering acceptance with each gentle touch.
Light against dark, sun-dappled silk and bark;
Here, in his cooling shade, I long to stay-
Differences insignificant, similarities stark;
Love, a simple word, to which we waste away our day.
He brightens the shadows
With such a caring smile...
Even you would lurk in his meadows,
And hope to stay a little while.
Mar 3, 2014
Mar 3, 2014 at 8:35 PM UTC
A sigh in the dark.
Past my jaded lips it rises
like a ghost, and I the host
of thoughts enamoured but unwanted,
unresolved.
Night takes my sight and unleashes vision
I watch (not my decision) the memories bloom to life.
Ethereal and hazy, those lazy summer days
Of hasty plans, promises, platitudes made;
childish to dream it could have stayed
the same.
Polite and awkward we shuffle in the light of day,
you think before you act and mind what you say
and if lucky enough you might get away
without blurting a thought from your head gone astray.
Why do eyes so bright bring such dark thoughts?
Why do we fear to take what we want?
A sigh in the dark.
Across chilled skin it spreads
like fire, this unspoken desire
between whispering sheets. Fingers grasp and twine,
I feel hers, she feels mine, as we search in the dark
together.
This night air we’ll share;
it's vice, and with vigour,
seeking the trigger
to release.
To resolve.
Aug 9, 2013
Aug 9, 2013 at 12:43 PM UTC
The steeples are white in the wild moonlight,
And the trees have a silver glare;
Past the chimneys high see the vampires fly,
And the harpies of upper air,
That flutter and laugh and stare.
For the village dead to the moon outspread
Never shone in the sunset's gleam,
But grew out of the deep that the dead years keep
Where the rivers of madness stream
Down the gulfs to a pit of dream.
A chill wind blows through the rows of sheaves
In the meadows that shimmer pale,
And comes to twine where the headstones shine
And the ghouls of the churchyard wail
For harvests that fly and fail.
Not a breath of the strange grey gods of change
That tore from the past its own
Can quicken this hour, when a spectral power
Spreads sleep o'er the cosmic throne,
And looses the vast unknown.
So here again stretch the vale and plain
That moons long-forgotten saw,
And the dead leap gay in the pallid ray,
Sprung out of the tomb's black maw
To shake all the world with awe.
And all that the morn shall greet forlorn,
The ugliness and the pest
Of rows where thick rise the stones and brick,
Shall some day be with the rest,
And brood with the shades unblest.
Then wild in the dark let the lemurs bark,
And the leprous spires ascend;
For new and old alike in the fold
Of horror and death are penned,
For the hounds of Time to rend.
12k
.
I have seen her playing
With light, edging her hair,
In crescents so fair.
I have watched her fingers
Twirl and twine, beaming gold,
Threshing precious hold.
I have witnessed the taming
Of the sun's rays, captured,
Spinning in rapture.
And I feel for the pale moon
Who offers his frail, vestige light,
While she sleeps at night.
Jul 24, 2012
Jul 24, 2012 at 12:59 PM UTC
Neatly coating the floor in thin white trails, woven into floorboards like cotton twine, sunbeams snake their way across hardwood.
Books scream to be read & my yellowed pages ache to detail my experience as a widowed reader of time.
Magazines pile, while my simple hands grow a day older.
Heat on my neck.
The driver of time exhales grandiose,
tells me to travel while I'm young,
visit regions on this globe that grow green with age,
listen to honest trumpets before I gray,
wade in pools of clear urgency.
He said:
"Find a walking stick out beyond the ether
laugh with veracity, poking fun at Saturn & the Stars."
Nov 18, 2017
Nov 18, 2017 at 1:20 AM UTC
I hung the sunflower
from a piece of twine
in my wardrobe,
some months ago now.
Something once beautiful,
a gift from you to me,
a symbol of us,
together
and the happiness we found
in eachother
as we grew and bloomed
together.
So I hung it in the wardrobe
to preserve it.
To keep it. To admire it.
To cherish it for as long as we could.
And yet despite my attempts,
this sunflower’s petals
fell to the wardrobe floor,
it’s head shrivelling, wilting.
What could I do?
but leave it there
for days and weeks,
suspended amongst the clothes.
But the longer I left it,
unable to face
what I knew I had to do,
the worse this sunflower became.
We cannot restore
life into something
dead
and decayed.
I sharpened my shears and cut both
the thin twine of the sunflower,
and the thin twine holding us
together.
The dead sunflower hanging in my wardrobe
becomes the dead sunflower
lying amongst its own petals
on the wardrobe floor.
I am left to pick up the pieces
of what once was.
It was useless to try to preserve
when all flowers live, then die.
Jan 15, 2019
Jan 15, 2019 at 6:37 PM UTC
O mistress, your gentle eyes were a warm angel’s song.
Your glazed almond skin was soft like a virgin's touch.
Bound me in chains of desire and sin in your love dungeon.
Your euphonic voice calls out to me like a raven’s tweet.
I licked my lips and pleasured my *******
My face flushed like a thorny rose.
I reached out to caress her tendril twine of hair.
She whispered sweet nothings that filled the air.
O mistress! Our love is wrong.
In the heat of this forbidden love
we embrace the eternal night,
sharing a kiss in the moonless delight.
My body’s a canvas, craving her touch
I yearn for her sweet **********
Pain and pleasure whips me to shape.
My love for her will always creep.
O mistress, come close to me.
Print your skin on my pale flesh.
Prepare me for my best nightmare.
Where you invite worship for this time.
You stab me with love like a swordswoman
and make art out of my darkness.
No demon or god can tear us asunder.
There is still beauty in this immoral hunger.
O mistress, I submit every ounce of my soul to you.
For you have your way with me for eternity.
The bellowing echoes of ****** rumors
will never take my love for you away.
May 4, 2024
May 4, 2024 at 10:06 PM UTC
Your words are as sweet as wine
as your arms wrap me in twine
and your soft lips fall on mine
Feb 7, 2018
Feb 7, 2018 at 6:39 AM UTC
SLOWLY the Moon her banderoles of light
Unfurls upon the sky; her fingers drip
Pale, silvery tides; her armoured warriors
Leave Day's bright tents of azure and of gold,
Wherein they hid them, and in silence flock
Upon the solemn battlefield of Night
To try great issues with the blind old king,
The Titan Darkness, who great Pharoah fought
With groping hands, and conquered for a span.
The starry hosts with silver lances *****
The scarlet fringes of the tents of Day,
And turn their crystal shields upon their *******
And point their radiant lances, and so wait
The stirring of the giant in his caves.
The solitary hills send long, sad sighs
As the blind Titan grasps their locks of pine
And trembling larch to drag him toward the sky,
That his wild-seeking hands may clutch the Moon
From her war-chariot, scythed and wheeled with light,
Crush bright-mailed stars, and so, a sightless king,
Reign in black desolation! Low-set vales
Weep under the black hollow of his foot,
While sobs the sea beneath his lashing hair
Of rolling mists, which, strong as iron cords,
Twine round tall masts and drag them to the reefs.
Swifter rolls up Astarte's light-scythed car;
Dense rise the jewelled lances, groves of light;
Red flouts Mars' banner in the voiceless war
(The mightiest combat is the tongueless one);
The silvery dartings of the lances *****
His fingers from the mountains, catch his locks
And toss them in black fragments to the winds,
Pierce the vast hollow of his misty foot,
Level their diamond tips against his breast,
And force him down to lair within his pit
And thro' its chinks ****** down his groping hands
To quicken Hell with horror-for the strength
That is not of the Heavens is of Hell.
8.3k
Day breaks over a sleepy village
Morning absolutions completed
An excited buzz is in the air
Everyone is a buzz with cleaning
Hundreds gather wild flowers in the fertile fields
Many were in charge of raising the fires
Soon the whole town had bright blooms weaved from one end to the next
The horizon alight with smoke and power
Goddess and God rights invoked within circles round
Pulsating, rhythmic energy racing through each dancing body
Gyrating to the cosmic beat of life
Couples jump merrily together over cauldrons ablaze
High hopes rise and give way for dreams of children
Lovers round and round they twine
Maypole ribbons rainbow hued passing through hand to hand
As dusk falls the Queen is crowned
Mead flows freely through the jubilant worshippers
The moon hangs round with fullness above their heads
Lighting the way for love into the night
May 1, 2012
May 1, 2012 at 5:00 PM UTC
She builds a nest, builds a home
Out of twine and twigs and love
Day and night, dawn and gloam,
She works in trees above.
All to prepare for her offspring
To give them the chance to fly
Only the best for her children
These are the words to her cry
A fortnight her eyes are skinned
She is sentinel over her eggs
Come storm, gale, blustering wind
Her treasures safe under her legs
At last she meets her brood
Hungry and unrefined
She tirelessly gathers food
Their lives now intertwined
She kisses the food into their beaks
She cares for their every need
She answers their every screak
To love, to tend, to feed.
She watches them grow new feathers,
And reach out to the beckoning sky
They want to see other weathers
So she teaches them how to fly
They soar higher and higher
She watches from below
It makes her smile and smile
To see her babies go
As they climb and tumble
She makes sure to let them know
They are always welcome to return
To the home built long ago
The love she gave her young ones
Gave them the strength to fly
The strength to build their own nests
High up in the sky.
Aug 17, 2018
Aug 17, 2018 at 7:09 PM UTC
my boy with fig leaves and lightning bugs
tied up in his hair, he kneels with
crimson palms pressed to the unquiet dirt
and hums an abandoned melody.
my boy with sunbeams shining through his skin on the riverbank,
neatly coating the grass in thin white trails, woven into footprints like cotton twine, snaking their way across brown earth,
ankles slick with mud and the dead things that lay just underneath.
my boy with rosewater and stained glass ashes
feels me bless him with blackberries and the softest crush of words,
ice cubed, beneath my lips,
as he wipes the ichor from my chest with callouses
worn down gentle.
the light echoes from his skin
there are no symphonies nor sacraments,
only cicadas singing warmth to shivering willows.
Nov 16, 2018
Nov 16, 2018 at 10:41 PM UTC
84
Her breast is fit for pearls,
But I was not a “Diver”—
Her brow is fit for thrones
But I have not a crest.
Her heart is fit for home—
I—a Sparrow—build there
Sweet of twigs and twine
My perennial nest.
5.9k
I want to be your dreamcatcher
And skim sweet dreams
Off of nightmares black.
Made by the most careful hands
To hang over your bed on the darkest nights.
Twine entwined 'round a circle never ending
And feathers tumbling to the wind
That seeps in through the
Window cracked open.
Night night
and only the sweetest of dreams
to plague your sleep.
Oct 22, 2012
Oct 22, 2012 at 12:59 AM UTC
Sister
****** her
pants
rants and
raves
caves into
lust
must not
whine
twine around her
neck
check how quite
tight it gets
that she's screaming,
dreaming
for him to let her go.
Sep 27, 2011
Sep 27, 2011 at 6:57 AM UTC
143
For every Bird a Nest—
Wherefore in timid quest
Some little Wren goes seeking round—
Wherefore when boughs are free—
Households in every tree—
Pilgrim be found?
Perhaps a home too high—
Ah Aristocracy!
The little Wren desires—
Perhaps of twig so fine—
Of twine e’en superfine,
Her pride aspires—
The Lark is not ashamed
To build upon the ground
Her modest house—
Yet who of all the throng
Dancing around the sun
Does so rejoice?
5.4k
Before sleep I knot a paper tag
to my big toe with baling twine.
Sometimes I think of stapling it -
ritual wants a clean edge.
She tolerates my oddities:
a posterboard of errands above the sink,
tea mug with its brown ring I refuse to clean,
I stand too close when the train arrives,
or climb ladders with one hand full.
Last summer a rogue wave flung me under;
I surfaced broken, collarbone split,
came home wrapped and aching.
She kissed the bruise and laughed,
as if I’d slipped the ocean’s grip,
as if the sea had lost its claim.
I call them accidents to sleep easier,
yet I flood the stove with gas,
strike a match, laugh at the plume,
convinced the fire means I’m alive
even as it scorches my hand.
At night she circles the bed,
tugging at my toe tag
as if it could bind me to her,
carrying me into the cabin,
a weight she won’t release.
Sep 20, 2025
Sep 20, 2025 at 1:44 PM UTC
Distant blue field
further, still the dawn
warmth of day, falls away
disappears into a
fragrant piney forest
a path - twine and twigs, mossy laid
soft steps, of hoof prints made
in tunnels wooded, dimly lit
gray lichen amid the moss
raindrops magnified, gazing through
boletus spongy staining blue
fat berries, salal and thimble red
sparrow rakes his nesting bed
when all the light has gone away
night slips silent into another day.
Sep 13, 2012
Sep 13, 2012 at 11:25 PM UTC
Find me tearing violets, my love,
in a manic daze; I am running out of softness and daylight,
like winter’s cruel hours
“but I will crown your hair with these torn violet tiaras
and your soft throat, twine with woven garlands”
and I will dig into my tongue for the remaining metaphors
beneath the bourbon, until odes drench my lips,
I will stitch my wounds shut and ready for your apricot kisses —
I ache to be kissed away,
to waste away before your sun-speckled eyes
like a tiny fae in your flower basket, I ache to settle
in your dainty hands,
in lithe fingers lost in my wind-blown hair.
My November, my gentlest love,
how I breathe you in like my grandmother’s letters —
how you consume me
in curious ways
and for the first time, I am not afraid of the softness
buried and warm inside my bone marrows.
Tell me, darling, will you stay?
Will we stay
this time
for more than a kiss?
Will we linger longer
than silhouettes in a dream?
Nov 11, 2022
Nov 11, 2022 at 11:28 PM UTC
My blood is a toxin
Toxic like wine
The ink from this pen
Is duly mine
Your name is a drug
My drug and my wine
My body was your temple
Now become a shrine
The harlotry is my venom
The venom is my wine
And for all that I may account
I know I've walked the line
The whisky is my poison
The poison is my wine
And I find it warmer here
Beneath the dying brine
Now my thoughts lay bundled with twine
And here I am, fresh out of wine
Sep 5, 2018
Sep 5, 2018 at 2:26 AM UTC