"umbilicus" poems
Off that landspit of stony mouth-plugs,
Eyes rolled by white sticks,
Ears cupping the sea's incoherences,
You house your unnerving head -- God-ball,
Lens of mercies,
Your stooges
Plying their wild cells in my keel's shadow,
Pushing by like hearts,
Red stigmata at the very center,
Riding the rip tide to the nearest point of
departure,
Dragging their Jesus hair.
Did I escape, I wonder?
My mind winds to you
Old barnacled umbilicus, Atlantic cable,
Keeping itself, it seems, in a state of miraculous
repair.
In any case, you are always there,
Tremulous breath at the end of my line,
Curve of water upleaping
To my water rod, dazzling and grateful,
Touching and *******
I didn't call you.
I didn't call you at all.
Nevertheless, nevertheless
You steamed to me over the sea,
Fat and red, a placenta
Paralyzing the kicking lovers.
Cobra light
Squeezing the breath from the blood bells
Of the fuchsia. I could draw no breath,
Dead and moneyless,
Overexposed, like an X-ray.
Who do you think you are?
A Communion wafer? Blubbery Mary?
I shall take no bite of your body,
Bottle in which I live,
Ghastly Vatican.
I am sick to death of hot salt.
Green as eunuchs, your wishes
Hiss at my sins.
Off, off, eely tentacle!
There is nothing between us.
19.4k
Navel serves any purpose?
she finds my obsession curious;
fifteen versions of her enamoring umbilicus,
in my canvas, give answers.
Feb 2, 2012
Feb 2, 2012 at 7:15 AM UTC
there is love in laughter
and laughter in love
timeless longing in hearts
dreaming of
eons past
when cosmos were new
lost through millennia
still tethered to you
by spiritual umbilicus
feeding the soul
nourishing the heart
while paying a toll
for passing through time
your blood in my veins
unsettled in heartbeats
still calling your name
a name unrecognized
through these earthly ears
for I knew you as many
throughout timeless years
though tied in this body
two souls bound by love
found and completed
through cosmos above
Jun 17, 2014
Jun 17, 2014 at 8:09 PM UTC
thus do learn how to tolerate
the blow of wings
of the most inflammable flesh
after the successful sacrifice of the student-hostel
jumping into the peacock-foams
how dangerously is changing the total travel-route of the nail-polish
in the high tide of the coconut-kernel
that conquers the world
today the water-pigeon gets pain
only by the flute made of palm-leaf
can’t be written the pleasure-trip in boat
of the injured-knee night-queen that is deposited heavily
on the collar of the village-moonlight
even-then the gramophone would be playing on
even-then the courageous pheasant would proceed further
to throw towards the squirrel a dinner-sleep
then all the daughters in disguise of birds certainly
may come out from within the salted mosquito-net
burning open-ground in their eyes
even after
the small boats of the fig leaves
would slip from the chorus song
of the roses
then they are to be pulled forward to the river-bed
of the late afternoon
to make them understand again
that such Xerox-centre which can ignore its metallic-birth
does not grow even now on either side of this muddy road
so look at to see how the epenthesis
of the screwpine-leaf withdraws her beak from the old dome
and pours
all new mathematics
into the compact-disc stitched with the back of the sea-tortoise
if that’s not real
how in the left and right
such evil-company of the oxygen would creep
if the next part of this commentary
resumes from the umbilicus cavity of the x-mass
would the blood-sugar of the water-plankton be rising continuously
look there again
the feather of colour that is in her adolescence
touches the cold magnet of her gamut
to disperse the cherry orchards
now if the doors of this brown triangle be got open
you can see on the screen one by one
the projection of the apex-points of the red-palash
and in the night-texture of the kathakali-kathak
they are supplying continuously
small sun-shines in poly-packs
Sep 13, 2010
Sep 13, 2010 at 5:34 PM UTC
between the umbilicus of limbo,
and the theater of cruelty
the rational world remains a derelict
void
welcome are hallucinations
abolishing reason
that give meaning
to blood shot
gazing walls
beyond the limits
of sanity
where madness can not be opposed
in a world
of tug a war aberrations
a lyric breathed voice
shoots through
nerve membranes
while marching
an infantry of
squat shadows
and false memories
that move like flames
in a vacant lot
of burning violets
she goes hungry
a snake head
eats its tail
in graves
scattered voice
and speechless tongues
arteries pulse vermillion
naked and wanton
waiting to be pierced
for schitzo's release
in a lyric of dreads desire
a tidal force
lifts a dirigible of hell
in a fountain of blood
while Jesus has a cheeseburger
moonstruck in torn *******
a spreading bride
dissolves hoop-armed
around a formless shadow
hallucinating
her beloved killer
foot stones kiss
….
https://www.bing.com/videos/search?q=carl+jung&&view=detail&mid=19CC0D7663DBC03C91B219CC0D7663DBC03C91B2&&FORM=VDRVRV
Jun 19, 2020
Jun 19, 2020 at 7:56 AM UTC
kurukshetra grey
but iridescent with the glory of all dreams combined
some omphalos of lusciousness still pumps
an umbilicus of sates
to broadening skies,
parhelion whims
Apr 2, 2013
Apr 2, 2013 at 11:41 PM UTC
your arousal fantasy
is a catch for me
comes in sound waves
enters my head
from the right ear
but no action required
I say
just observe
so I
pull it up a bit
- the activated tip
in the crypt -
from the line beneath
towards the umbilicus
spread
- the well calculated
as if instantly
phononized insanity
validating
vibrational ascendancy-
along the void
and render
all the whatever
patiently
in less than a moment
lest the mind won’t interfere
amid balancing the belly
I half
the remaining
equally
push one lump towards the zenith
another vis-a-vis the right feet
so it finds a correct exit
while especially the
toe tip
beside the small one is affected to be
the immediate target of delete
I shut personal sensations
of ‘I don’t like it’
so that I can dump
with a pure desire
to return to sender
as is required
as much as earth receives
air insists
for its ascending part
an accuracy of might
a simultaneous rush of flow
a cause of cranial vertigo
lasting less than a moment
on the right
quasi ready to squad
the head
but No - I fight not
fighting means slavery at your side
whereas your side exists not
without that foxy fight
hidden under smarty pants just
a mystified puff-gloom intensifies
but gets shot
in one bite
ready to gobble the pretender
which I am not
and flushes oh the so lonely
oh the so broken hearted
transforms to a flatus-cloud
heads up and up
en route the dark
skies full of angry-clouds
oh my brrrrrrgghhhh
even they take it not
hurriedly move aside
an irregularly contoured
eloquent ******
ethereal space shapes
softly
along the
cotton like subtlety
pliantly tight
so you can pass
while I happily look up
to sing the
Oh Lovey-Dovey
See!
You also have some use
Finally
and Yes!
The sun shines for us
most beautifully
diminishing your blues
through the enchanting
blue of the patchy
Mar 5, 2015
Mar 5, 2015 at 3:19 PM UTC
After the birth,
this blue I feel,
I wear it like a robe
tied around me.
its edges hang beyond
floor length
Trailing behind and around me,
Laid out for your posterity.
I touch the still moist umbilical cord
spiral it,
leave it to dry.
I want to cry when I touch it
I am becoming me again, just me.
Now there is a you and a me
I look at you little one
your perfection
Delicate fingers and toes
Pink complexion, gentle hair
I know you are a miracle,
and I cry.
Your umbilicus fell off today.
Your belly button is your own now.
I witness you unfolding into this time,
limbs filling out into every new now,
My ****** expanded for you
And now it shrinks down everyday.
My ******* a river of milk flowing
To meet your hunger,
I hold you to my heart
And I love you,
Every breath,
Every finger,
Every toe
Every look and sound you make,
Every second-- I pour forth with love for you
How will our time
Be together
Will I listen well,
Will you show me well?--
You still see
the invisible umbilicuses
tracing back through every birth to
the original Mother
To the Great Oneness
Every you, and every me
Connected to the Source
To the Breath of Life
Now---- I can see this blue I wear
As the ocean around me
And I can feel the waves
washing me, washing me, washing me.
Jan 26, 2019
Jan 26, 2019 at 8:45 PM UTC
Ihinabi ko sa bukana ng payong ang ulan.
This is to believe that sheltering may not always be, or simply perhaps an undertaking of weakness. A radical strangeness aspires to be bold. I may not be able to transcend its nakedness.
.
This is to deny the common verity that in the communal of water, shade fails a transliteration. We cannot be forever in hiding. Our smallness reveals our flowers. Our unmentioned stirrings. (A spire of technicolor through the lens of apertures. It starts to rain in Pasay.)
.
I see children swift-bodied in the streets. I hear the sublime song of a defunct tractor. Once in its vitality, Earth was its derelict. How did it come to be that when I peer into the openness, light slouches into form, conjuring an image: your face, hiding amongst the crowd?
.
This is to recognize the potential of dwindles. Its vertigo that it tries to protect. Its height that it tries to conquer. Its fall that it tries to eschew. What if bones are just homes to tiny little currents and that the way our body assumes the stance of jackknife, simply a foreboding?
.
Itinabi ko sa sukal ng araw ang payong.
This is to perceive that all light lifts away from the dark, my heart always falling into its hands. Morning opens your face like delicate streets, pulverizing fog into chamomile. Silence is endemic. *Makati *buoys overseer reconnaissance of obvious beatings. Revealing a long line of ligatures -- umbilicus of wires. Serenades of futility. Our useless meanderings.
.
The depth of Sunlight finally turns primeval stone. That is our defeat -- all our darkness put to trial. I am tense with the finality: she will become parasol and I, the weather past moonlight waxing.
Feb 26, 2016
Feb 26, 2016 at 8:38 PM UTC
quite drunk in this evening tender with rue – there is a gentle hand
that whirls against the bougainvillea.
things remain to be constantly in the tranquil as I am not
yet shaken in my fragile frame –
the leaves rustle in the 19 degree cold moon,
the beer bottles emptied, stacked beside the receptacles.
she and I could be dead, and it took me 3 years to know this:
there is a photograph of her thrown somewhere
behind scraps of metal, caged there, like a jailbird
in a jailhouse, screaming blue against redness.
I had love, and love died.
you neither flinch nor move at the very slight of me,
passing over the porch of your reading.
the thing that once moved now festers
with stillness, and so many vibrant explosions begin in the sky
and there is nothing discernible in her abject eyes.
I remember driving past your home in front of
a little, quaint house and I swore that the even your voice
speaks to me in evenings full with the thought
of never knowing you again.
you are so real like the horse that grazes the field
underneath umbilicus of power-lines,
yet so fake and feigned like the truth that tries
to assess itself , crawling mazy back into my drunken arms
like a child startled speaking a thousand things
I have already no use for.
sometimes the sun is like a house on fire.
sometimes the simmer of onion smells like ******
most of the time, the look on my face, half-drunk and half-believing,
looks like a night distilled and fractured by voices.
I will never ask for your hands to touch,
I will never ask for you body to make heat,
I will never ask for your footsteps to chime in grave music:
I have my own defeats to keep me
that way: toppled and scrounging for light.
let me be.
I have seen many warfares and not a single shot of a rifle
has broken me into the man that I once was.
I drive back to you and it is never the same:
it is banal to say that you have yourself
and I have my own, deep in study.
let us drive back to roads whetted with kisses
and from there, start to disentangle
like leaves from boughs
deep in December.
Dec 18, 2015
Dec 18, 2015 at 7:03 AM UTC
Break me into chasm
then let the love pour in—
flower into deep well—
stem the umbilicus
of what you could say
you knew of me—
the privilege of living
inside your own head—
and me,
something made of sand,
a wink—
something of one
of many lives ago,
though how well
you knew me—
as did he—
how well they saw me—
and maybe no one did.
We were lovers
in a past life.
And now
I am obscure as
lost Atlantis, origin
of the fairy tale—
fragile
as gossamer and
the Holy Grail.
Oct 30, 2019
Oct 30, 2019 at 7:49 PM UTC
*The way we love
is deep ocean rolling
into the depths
parts unknown
quickened
reanimating
as her hips sway in my mind
to a melodious Adagio
and every day,
when we talk
she unravels
like the threads of a scanty dress
more exposed
our souls held
in a steady grip
caressed at first
like nested fledglings
open mouths begging
blood bells weeping
liquefied
swallowing each others souls
like bears
eat up-leaping salmon
pink tongues
frothy saliva
blood
and runny roe sacks
loves hungry mouth
merciless
a ***** head
a brute
storming her *****
sweet fluttering nightingale
singing the high notes
she opened
like queen snake
pierced to the core
royal lady weeping
lost in heaven
and then cut off
we hang up the phone
left longing
for more words
and
butter kisses,
eating
butter kisses
mixed with
whisper cocktails
a sea of fire
that singe and burn
our love
a flaming pink cloud
puff
brains like cheese melts
mouths like powder fizz
our feet and thighs
flexed and scorched
by lurid desire
and if it gets murky
if the fog blinds us
we hold a tender stretch
of vastness
and endless lighted torches
as the lifeline pulls through
a pulsing chord
Umbilicus
binding hearts
by threads of light and crimson plush
fused by cosmic fires white
hollowing parched sockets
pumping out epiphanies
in beaten silken swords
bursting
full of faith
spines like temple columns
i am free to love her
as trees cradle monarchs
both of us
children of the heavens
she
dark lover yielding
in lustful throngs
as we thrill
in the realm of the senses
like dancing flowers
in sprinkles of dew and light
as love blushes
and shimmers up around us
like rhythms of a thousand kissing eyes
undulating
penetrates sinews and the body electric
like winged Venus
when two souls
love each other
unbreakable
yet obstructed
by oceans and continents
a colossal brood of lands
while beneath
shrug tectonic groans
our love
air and fire
while flesh remains
un-thawed by proximities neglect
panes of ice
waiting
waiting
waiting
*
Sep 24, 2016
Sep 24, 2016 at 1:26 PM UTC
Of all the body's
in and outie places
the daffiest part
has got to be
the umbilicus,
how sillycus
to have the mother straw
embedded so very far
from the face's ******* lippicus.
Feb 3, 2011
Feb 3, 2011 at 10:27 AM UTC
who shall then dare
dream the Sun to be a flower
or a new, keen city higher than steeples and umbilicus of wires
disavowed streets and herds of proletariats?
and if so then it shall be a flower
who picks itself from the unmoving Earth then what steady light
will it bring? who will join it in its revelry and who shall be
brave with trembling hands to hold it in hand taut like loves
divined and forever is spring and forever is winter endless with ephemeral whiteness
and bells are a-ringing and clouds are twitching so as to sail where
nobody has ever visited
always it is Spring
and in my hand is the Sun or the florid aureole
burning in my palm and the moon is my love
whose night is carefully a fraction
of flower placing an inch of sleep in my body,
always it is lovely
Jan 11, 2016
Jan 11, 2016 at 7:24 AM UTC
Help me shatter this day. Our bodies make
transitions unbearable. All of us here hiding secrets. By design,
we are silent. It takes me days to fully sing.
We think walls are our doing, bridges our undeniable shame.
There are things following me: the bird soaring, another one flat on
the roof, and the other atrill on umbilicus of powerlines.
This day is composition – let this day atonal. From where I sit,
daily pursuits key in difficulties – eyes closed deep but not aslumber,
are purblind: gauge me in this order: feel the world scabrous like Braille. In a world of continuing
breakage, what is there to hold together.
If not, a debris pattern. A held rigor in suffering – there is that
crisp, sweet taste in the air again like some air winding out of ***
Look at me through dappled windows as reflection of an oncoming storm.
Help me splinter this day. Placate my tremor of, and fasten me dearly
set beyond the grooves of this day. I teach myself a coruscating example – to reach for
and break. To stop you climbing, plodding your way to a conclusion,
waylaid you in your place and summoned your fiddling of chance – the duration is
lined by obeisance towards an endorsed situation issued, not accrued.
We are somewhat conveying this burden to equal our weight. Must we
be afloat, what hoists our rebellion? What must we be
to endure, to witness these wondrous beatings ballast our gravities,
no warning of, and against reliance. Is our being here what we determine.
May 25, 2016
May 25, 2016 at 12:13 AM UTC
you will only look for which road i have
passed, with girth of oceans startled
to hip-curve, bow-legged darling
hiding behind pretense of rose frailty.
when words ripen, they fall.
from vaudeville of fools to silence
in all its exactness, i take my place
amongst people in stations, machines
adorning rotundas, courtyards to a flourish of twilight-bells, the men with retinas spry behind cloaks of smoke—
plain, **** drunkenness assaults
the billion-blooded sea, each line fraught
with inebriation: a god is borrowed with
what light fruits from a slow nature, quick
to burst and torturously maimed in stride.
fated to arrive at one morning —
being in total placeness and making merry
once again, the dreary face waiting at
the portico of days collected.
when these words start to wind-hover,
a string of birds will appear clearer,
mounting umbilicus of lines.
as in hounds shear the metastasizing dark,
going back to chagrined kens,
i make truth out of the tragedy:
trace the source of this stream and find
my trampled body, floating with
the sandalwood. when the still, clenched hand clock-punches,
make real the insignia of my arrival:
words start with limbs to cross
this scalped Earth which moves suddenly naked, leaning in, gropes you
in stillness, resuscitating the moon from
the working of insolvencies we rear
in derelicts of days.
drags it closely to ends — left trundling
in woe's wearisome vessel. and if in
this newly thatched home it screams,
let this voice deftly shred
so i may once more lie straight to your
half-illuminated faces, a call i
only hear.
Dec 4, 2015
Dec 4, 2015 at 10:02 PM UTC
And my love, when do we talk
of wilderness
and daisy blooms?
The snakeskin―
twirls, and I watch the
wriggling night moving away.
I swallow the
empty words. They are not
heavy and no concoction.
The body and desires.
I have let then slip away,
my dreams, my knocks.
Against the dying of
blueberries in your eyes,
I will not wash the stains.
The curve of umbilicus
still remembers the dazzling
fall.
Dec 15, 2016
Dec 15, 2016 at 8:20 PM UTC
i dreamt of you last night
you of little existence
your tiny body moved within me
an umbilicus of desperate hope
a miracle of revelation
i dreamt of you last night
i pray it was a premonition
Oct 15, 2020
Oct 15, 2020 at 2:40 AM UTC
you trace your finger
along my stomach
umbilicus to sternum
but that finger might as well
be a knife
allowing you to open me so you can
carefully pry apart my ribcage
with your demeaning hands
ive let you in
unwillingly
you're seeing parts of me
that God intended for us
to keep hidden from others
your eyes are opened
to what ive kept inside
the knots and
the butterflies and
the cracks and
the broken pieces of me
my ribs are shelves
collecting those knots
and butterflies and cracks
and broken pieces of me
displaying them like antiquities
each separated by empty space
that i prayed you'd fill
but all you do is
stare
unsatisfied
and when you're finished
you sew me back together
with lashes of shame and disgust
all i wanted was to please you
to see you show any type of empathy
or interest in who i really am
but you don't
why would you?
you taught me to truly hate myself
and guided me there with a book
hand written in cursive
illustrated and inspired by that
vicious tongue of yours
ive caged all of my demons
in hopes that ill be good enough
but i never am
i never will be
so i might as well set them free
and see what comes of it
and what comes of you and me
Nov 16, 2014
Nov 16, 2014 at 7:08 PM UTC
Happiness exists between us
Like oxygen
I can’t see it
But it is there
Like an umbilicus
It connects us
Like a circle
It has no beginning
And no end
Happiness exists between us
Without you
I couldn’t be happy
Even the islands
Are surrounded by sea
And the earth joins the sky
And the sky encircles the moon
I could never be happy just on my own
So its you
That I send my happiness to
I couldn’t be happy without you
Nor could I be sad
In fact I couldn’t be human without you
No matter what you do
I will be glad
Jul 28, 2016
Jul 28, 2016 at 4:35 PM UTC
We strive to be first
on land, run off into the end
of our discoveries, then jump.
I am an ascendant. Derived
from none. The wide spaces
between us bleeds
into open waters. Salt has scarred
the umbilicus and feeds
me no more. I breathe
the tides. They recall their dead
and wash them of sins. They
call to me to join them .
May 7, 2017
May 7, 2017 at 9:45 AM UTC
it happened this morning
the air ripe with contention.
the unsustainable weather with its
impertinent grip on the bell-hand,
no light could shed the shadows unbeheld
(umbilicus of steel, remotely the
dense crowd letting each other
go, searching out fringes of moon.)
days and their forlorn bannerets, from farewells wrought
into the world by a steady hand
i say to all:
labyrinths with no hint
of darkness
(stillnesses immensely froth out,
searing the islands of eyes)
the turning wave of the sea
slants into the mountains, so we shrivel
whatever is left of our implacable themes,
i have here, my heart as clear as a rose's
geography, thorns the clarion of trifles.
Jan 1, 2016
Jan 1, 2016 at 3:01 AM UTC