"twiney" poems
Ginger twine wrapped tightly round his finger.
A slight smile across his even tighter lips.
Wound around his liquid thoughts
His twiney figers grasp the drinking glass
filled to the brim with sweet, sweet ice tea
Its rich brown shade mocking the color of the sky
It is here, in this place, where lemon lovers meet
You easily pinpoint the kind of souls they carry,
Simply by the shade of their sweet iced tea
And they carry that ginger twine, tightly wound
They carry that coil everywhere they go
Many ask if it is a symbol, or subliminally literal?
A invitation, or a silent and quiet warning?
But its just that ginger twine and sweet ice tea
I too, carry them everywhere with me
Golden in the sun, red in the mid-light
Circular and quite rough with deep rouge ridges
they're placebos of purpose simply right, simply true
If you wish to comprehend,shutdown all distraction
Then you will be here now and here you will stay
Humbly accept your ginger twine and ice tea
for that, my friend, is exactly happened to be me
and the way every sip slides down my thought
It tastes of determination, solitude, and hope
Oh how I love that ginger twine and sweet ice tea
Ginger twine wrapped tightly round her finger.
A slight smile across her even tighter lips.
Wound around her liquid thoughts
Her twiney figers grasp the drinking glass
filled to the brim with sweet, sweet ice tea
her rich brown shade mocking the color of the sky
Ginger Twine and Sweet Ice Tea
Wrapped tightly around me
Jun 13, 2012
Jun 13, 2012 at 1:47 PM UTC
Not these nymphs, but you,
I would perpetuate.
Not these boys, but you,
boyish man. (Fresh-faced men like you.)
You hit me with your stubborn clanging fists, and I sit
watching you with my round doe eyes, and you stay
standing.
Your scruff burns me, but you keep
sliding on me. The breeze swirls around your ears, the leaves sweep
itself over your feet, the rain are flutes.
I conduct the ruins of what used to be, into the castle
of now,
I take some wild clovers
and some green vines from here and there;
weaving into the wheat, the wheat sewn into the doors;
the thresholds lined with sugar to keep you here,
lined with salt to keep me here.
You,
my fruitful man, gazing at me from your rocks,
(the rocks by the water, which if followed, would get pulled down deeper and deeper, until you've awash unto his shore)
penetrate me with your stoney eyes;
skyey you are not, limpid you are not,
tangible you are, my innocence you do not wish to keep.
You hold my sugar in a cup,
you drink from the tears of
my callow face.
("Too innocent," you say I am. You say, "I need to violate.")
You string your words on a ribbon of silk, and
your eyes hop from person from book, because they all bore you --
and you lean on your elbow with your chin resting in your palm,
with twiney fingers and veins;
you, my opaque man:
let me get lost in your waves, in your dew, in your fog.
You, my boyish man, my devilish god, I would perpetuate.
Jun 16, 2019
Jun 16, 2019 at 7:57 PM UTC
my cigarette is burning, and then snow is ice,
the world is turning itching with lice.
with a rumble and scurry out go the lights
capturing the days in unyielding nights.
my lungs contract suffering in toxic prayer
wisps of thin vapor make shapes of air;
like a cold touch lifting the flesh from your heart
this apt villain conceals its rending art.
through guise of pleasure this vice ensnares
a feeling laced with pleasure and none compare,
and into death I will follow the twiney smoke
for it pulses my body with a lovers stroke.
May 9, 2015
May 9, 2015 at 12:19 AM UTC