"uncoiling" poems
I often ask myself why I spend so much time learning another language
Why do I obsess and stress over something by my own will?
What do I have to gain, why do I want to teach and translate this foreign tongue?
Yet every night I force new words into my mind
And it makes me feel so calm and distracted
All my fears and concerns fade away as I take this information into my brain
I see nothing but beauty in every character I write so much so that I often write in the wrong alphabet
To me it's the most perfect and beautiful script
It's like riding a bike for the first time everytime I translate in my mind
The culture and language has found its way into my heart
I've fallen in love with the language like you do a person
Slowly, then all at once
Without understanding at first but slowly uncoiling the wonderful beauty before my eyes
I've found my passion and my saviour all at once
There is power in words which spawn from language
Every new term I learn makes me feel just that much stronger
Enough to feel invincible
Aug 14, 2018
Aug 14, 2018 at 2:05 AM UTC
A calm and cool breeze
Passes through the leaves of the trees,
Persuading the branches to sway,
Like algae in a turbulent sea.
Without a cloud in the pale blue Arizona sky,
The sun radiates down-- hot and glaring.
It reflects off the shiny paint of the cars around me,
Illuminates the brown mountains in the distance.
And magnified through the thick lenses of my glasses,
It blinds my sensitive eyes.
The surrounding sempiternal desert
Is so clear and sharp,
That no one nor nothing can hide
(With the exception of the beings who can blend,
And despite my tiring efforts,
I am not one of them.)
The nearest Creosote bush
Eminates of the smell of water,
As it passes through a hose.
I am instantly transported back home
Where sand is replaced by grass and plants
That require regular watering to survive.
When I close my eyes I can see
The illusion of a waterfall, created by the uncoiling hose
As it ejects tepid water for us to traverse.
But upon unveiling my windows,
I allow the sandy landscape to penetrate into my soul
And I am brought back to the present
Where life subsists, illogically,
Through a dearth of water, and inordinate sun.
Jun 6, 2013
Jun 6, 2013 at 3:27 PM UTC
Warmth, it is the rising steam
Blowing against my lips
In clouds as thick as cream
I down it with timid sips
That numb my throat softly
Because the first cup is always costly
Release, it is the loosening of the soul
Uncoiling like a taught wire
Caught 'round the neck of a young foal
The bitter-sweet taste is a burning, liquid fire
But the feeling is contagious
There's no need to feel courageous
Desire, it's filled to the brim
Like a sea of flowers
Unwilling for their monthly trim
It churns within me, a growing power
That's too subdued to abuse
And too wonderful to refuse
Disappointment, it ends with the final drop
When the cup's tilted vertical
I realize it's time to stop
For my tongue will never reach the final hurtle
That mocks me from the shadowed curve
Making me think that it's too good to deserve
Rejoice, it's a teaspoon of honey
To ease the bitterness of the blessed brew
It clears the clouds and becomes quite sunny
So that I may offer some to you
Take this cup, and I swear you'll smile
For the unmistakable taste of honey-sweetened chamomile
Aug 30, 2013
Aug 30, 2013 at 1:23 PM UTC
Under a stagnant sky,
Gloom out of gloom uncoiling into gloom,
The River, jaded and forlorn,
Welters and wanders wearily--wretchedly--on;
Yet in and out among the ribs
Of the old skeleton bridge, as in the piles
Of some dead lake-built city, full of skulls,
Worm-worn, rat-riddled, mouldy with memories,
Lingers to babble to a broken tune
(Once, O, the unvoiced music of my heart!)
So melancholy a soliloquy
It sounds as it might tell
The secret of the unending grief-in-grain,
The terror of Time and Change and Death,
That wastes this floating, transitory world.
What of the incantation
That forced the huddled shapes on yonder shore
To take and wear the night
Like a material majesty?
That touched the shafts of wavering fire
About this miserable welter and wash--
(River, O River of Journeys, River of Dreams!)--
Into long, shining signals from the panes
Of an enchanted pleasure-house,
Where life and life might live life lost in life
For ever and evermore?
O Death! O Change! O Time!
Without you, O, the insuperable eyes
Of these poor Might-Have-Beens,
These fatuous, ineffectual Yesterdays!
2.3k
From here and there
I hear him speak
His voice, falling in mild whispers
But he always plays hide n’ seek
At times he speaks loud n’ clear
Sometimes so harsh and stern
How he denies my wild longings
With a stubborn ‘Yes’ or ‘No’
What magic and mystery in him stored
I am at a loss to gauge
Amid the shards of my broken sleep
I often struggle to decipher his mysterious codes
I sought after him ever and ever
Down the nights and through the days
Taking him to be one from the dead,
I searched him through avenues dark
Along aisles of the dead lain in rows
And in the hallways of fame
But he eluded me like a mysterious sprite
Prancing around and hiding about
When I give up my search after him
He shouts and whistles amid the din
And I see faint truths suddenly uncoiling
Forming in me a clearer perspective of life
At the end of my incessant search
I chanced to meet him within my own self
Peering into my depths, I saw him, his face veiled
And a balance held obliquely in his hands
Lifting the veil from his countenance
I saw him clear, clear as in a mirror
Someone with such commanding air
And stern with an impassive demeanor
In the still pool of humid silence
I heard him introduce himself
His sound ringing so distinct and clear
Leaving echoes in the hall of stillness
“I am CON- SCI-ENCE,
Your alter ego
Listen to me, you shall not stray’’!
Jun 12, 2017
Jun 12, 2017 at 9:28 AM UTC
Selfless service.
Ego-less existence. Robes
Unwearable to mortal
Men, yet their colours are
Worth adopting onto
One's own everyday
Fatigues. I sit with one eye
Closed wherever I am, wondering
Whether this snake uncoiling
Within me is Kundalini awakening
To tell me that Dio's Stand Up
And Shout is not a mantra,
Or just some sense of knowing
That I have not a single reason to
Smile. Until I
Smile.
Jun 30, 2014
Jun 30, 2014 at 12:19 AM UTC
She stops before the glimmering mirror,
falters and prepares.
Gangly and awkward,
Legs unfolding, leaning forward
she drinks.
A slender skyscraper gallops,
sashaying.
A wet bud uncurls and blooms.
Winding, uncoiling, plucks a leaf.
Enchanting daughter of heights:
Embraced by the clouds,
Smooching the stars.
Towering sky-queen, ossicones her russet crown.
Bronzed cloak, auburn jewels.
From protuberant knees to shadowy lashes,
a lofty leader,
willowy wanderer.
Mar 24, 2015
Mar 24, 2015 at 1:40 PM UTC
Occasionally, I seek Sanctuary
In a place where the Life Force glows.
No rush, no clock faces; with time just a gentle flow in space,
Time to nurture, heal and grow,
In a place where the Life Force glows.
Occasionally, I seek Sanctuary
In a place where I lose my ego.
Listening to make my body loose,
Releasing feelings, space for growth,
Uncoiling my body and energising my core,
Brings awareness to tenseness that serves me no more.
In a community, I seek Sanctuary
Where gentle open people flow,
Authentic, selfless, caring folk with hearts as precious as gold.
Shaking off trauma and sharing universal truths,
Clearing our monkey brains ancestoral wounds.
Vibrationally protected. And intensely connected.
In a place where the Life Force glows.
Oct 30, 2018
Oct 30, 2018 at 1:38 PM UTC
The world is raw
And reeling
You are kneeling
On the cold side of the
Road pulling grass out of her
Downy fur feeling the still-
warm blood soak into the
Knees of your skirt and
You are feeling the hurt of
Intestines that are
Not your own Ropy, Uncoiling,
Stretched like homecoming banners yet
Homeless in the dirt
Your lips are bitten
Raw in the fury of the heartache
And your head is
Reeling drunk and there are mudslides
Rolling from your eyes taking your mascara,
Motherhood with them
And pooling at the bottom of your chin
Dissipating in drips
Her blue eyes rest like
Heavy-lidded sea glass and you
Remember a time when they rolled
Like waves full of new worlds
And you choke on the past
And you choke on her fur
You feel the crush of a
Starched and polished night
Falling fast
And you choke on the headlights as they pass
On down the highway
And you fall asleep holding her hoping
Your body will be enough to bless and
Keep her warm Hoping that your
Breath will be infectious as a cold
Until jarring hands pull you out of
Highway grass and flashing lights
Drive you back down the road
And you lay her body in the yard
On a red blanket
Soft fleece like blood and loose guts
You're alone now and you lay your body in the
Seeds, the pool of blanket
And you fall asleep holding her Whispering
Pleasedon'tbedeadPleasedon'tbedeadPleasedon'tbedead
Like a stuck record
God writes "No." inside your swollen eyelids
With a ( . ) it's final
Pause for breath
Apr 10, 2014
Apr 10, 2014 at 12:28 PM UTC
Five children, a sixth on the way,
the eldest around 7,
the others barely walking.
The Dad looks like a Kevin,
heavy arms bringing his shoulders down
to the top of his daughter’s head,
he feeds and is fed on
nothing but steak, pan fried and
broiled
for succulent juices to run down his shirt
uncoiling and picking up the pace
from face to stomach, a slight overhang
so his belt never sees the light.
The Mum stays quiet,
a Kate or Collette,
but she says nothing,
just stands there carrying his sixth baby
keeping it away from the narrow traffic to the side of her.
Five children, a sixth on the way,
the eldest around 7,
all waiting to start another academic year.
Sep 29, 2013
Sep 29, 2013 at 9:34 AM UTC
it's too boring to be simply up to no good
vanilla skin and ashen lips, shaking hands
sly, slender nostrils that started drip wine again
convinced she's not a person without him
when she laughs that cool laugh
these straight lines that keep her
coiled and uncoiling again
she smells like absolut and lust, cheap perfume
Mar 7, 2016
Mar 7, 2016 at 11:46 PM UTC
My boy...
You were going to grow up strong
in the dust of the village;
you'd nurture the weak wherever they'd lie forlorn;
you'd make life, in your love's belly,
in the soil,
in the lined smiles and creasing eyes
of young through old.
You'd ***** the land, modest, humble;
seeing the light of life for what it is,
taking & giving.
Sometimes you have to take- but you always give.
Life is unfair, but you would've broken your back
heaving the scales into balance...
Except you never will, my boy,
my blood, my name,
pale and silent,
uncoiling from your mother.
I held you in my arms, feeling in them the exhaustion, the gift of fathers, mothers, uncles, brothers, sisters, sons, daughters...
In your death I realised your not-life,
my boy. My love. My son.
Jul 7, 2015
Jul 7, 2015 at 8:24 AM UTC
Thai smoke swirled,
uncoiling snakes
reaching into Heaven,
lungs exploding,
ecstasy released.
Harmony we found,
us herbal warriors,
brilliant,
enlightened smiles,
high-fives all around.
We sped in slow motion
across the emerald sea,
only to be stopped
by a jailbreak
blaring
so loudly
on FM radio.
It was silly,
us on the bridge,
******
bewildered,
looking around
as others drove by
sober.
We laughed till
our buzz blew away
with the fading traffic.
http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=oMFYs3gfgis
Dec 18, 2013
Dec 18, 2013 at 10:28 AM UTC
Eyes wide open,
mind tightly shut,
we play victims to the postman
slotting news and letters
where little light filters through,
only as he sees fit.
Grotesque, gross manufacturers
spewing out page after page after page
of page three scandals -
of rich brats waxing lyrical,
American hip-hop DUIs,
fat cats cat-fighting.
Media
breast-feeds her gullible men
and milks the misfortunes.
We are part of the orchestra -
synchronised puppets looking to our
Master
to tell us
how
to read the notes.
Outside
there are flimsy flyers
advertising freedom
that have morphed into paper-planes,
but are impenetrable of ignorant masses,
flitting around the heads of the blind -
like cartoon characters after
being beaten up by
fists.
It is injustice.
Peel the scales from your eyes
and open the flood-gates, let forth the criticism!
Ask why an American singer's ten minute jail sentence
is more important than an Afghan girl's sentencing to be gang-raped.
Ask who the ten percent of the South African population are that receive sixty percent of our gross national income and how to alter that socio-economic gap.
Ask what is to become of learners who pass with thirty percent and if that is even possible when books aren't being delivered to schools.
Ask where one can find manifestos instead of accusations from each political party.
Do not let them dictate
your truths as
CAPITALISED LETTERS
with no urgency.
Do not let them confine
your insight to the ink on a page.
We are worth more than glossy sensationalism.
We are worthy of urgent honesty, transparency and enlightenment -
herein lies true freedom.
The liberation of the mind.
The uncoiling fist of a freedom fighter revealing the truth held within.
Amandla awethu.
Mar 24, 2016
Mar 24, 2016 at 4:09 PM UTC
Shes next
the one
The Bait dangled in my face
Followed her from Beetle's to Market St.
She stopped at the state liquor agent
Her reflection in the bottles
Strange and obtuse
I trail in her shadow
As she hits the main drag
She's taking potshots from the brown bag
Pitch black dress and a red purse
Looks like she just woke up
In the back of a hearse
Cunning
Taking to the street backs
Like a cat to the fence
Through the ghetto directing traffic with her hips
Her pheromone trail has me licking my lips
In the gaslamps I can make the outlines
Of her unfinished tattoos
The naked torso
the bicep
Weeping willow
I gave her a million chances
But she never answered the phone
Galvanized by a single conversation
Eyes
An itch on the frontal lobe
A fire in my chest her screams act like billows
Steel grip on the nape of porcelain
Anaconda uncoiling from the ****
Naked
I stand above her
Lying all blue lipped against white sheets
Gently
I pose and photograph her
This one's a keeper
They say I hate women
Nothing could be further from the truth
Dec 14, 2015
Dec 14, 2015 at 9:25 AM UTC
*This name
she gave
to that ego
we know
and don't know..
Out of humility
the self ITSELF
declares..
a simple entrance
but never alone..
accompanying is
a serpentine
uncoiling
some large and
some small..
our life chore
is recognition
keeping our Eye
on these our
slithering friends..
and knowing
no matter how
skinny they
don't disappear..
and this more:
their fond wish
merely to grow..*
May 21, 2013
May 21, 2013 at 11:06 PM UTC
which utters coolly out of totally sleep tingling
the unclosing voice of Summer
an enormous prism of kissing waits in sweat
and lakes about the necks
of mountains where the uncoiling bodies are
hard in skin of gold
and nothing hurts
and nothing's old
Feb 9, 2013
Feb 9, 2013 at 4:03 PM UTC
Pour a tragedy into
my hand and allow the
novelty to drench my fingers
and seep my skin. I'm
jealous of my age yesterday
and the person
who I might be tomorrow.
What a baffling existence we lead every
morning after the awe of
the sunrise
has dissipated.
When
the world outside my
window looks like a charcoal smudge
on the back of my fist, I think
of the uncoiling stillness bleeding
in and out of me with each breath. I'm wholeheartedly
in love with
thoughtless first times, but
I'd rather burn a bad first
draft and recklessly risk scorching
my fingers
instead.
I burn my tongue on coffee every
morning and shiver myself to sleep.
But one thing I learned today
is that a colorless existence is normal
for most people
until you have the courage
to spill a little blood
and believe that red is
the most beautiful color.
Jun 10, 2015
Jun 10, 2015 at 9:21 PM UTC
i want to eat the stars up.
munch on the shine, lick the twinkle off my fingers.
no direction now.
unwinding. uncoiling. unraveling.
one centimeter in front is black as coal.
one step and everything evaporates.
one blink and the stars return in haste.
one star giggles towards me with sharp soprano
she leaves. she leaves.
darkness, you old fiend you.
your teeth are far too large,
your eyes far too devious.
you will devour me.
twinkling star, shrill spirit.
sprinkling. spoils solely on all but the unwanted.
wish i knew. wish i knew.
where my mind was.
wish i knew. wish i knew.
what his heart looks like on the inside.
stars, twinkle. twinkle away.
i'll be here. i have nowhere.
i am no one.
Apr 17, 2012
Apr 17, 2012 at 11:23 PM UTC
Carted off to who-hears paths
doubly deep of our weathers.
Keeping armfuls of guts from
spilling, ***** worms uncoiling
for their native soils.
Saying loudly our slippery peaces...
to break with surface light.
To trade ravings hinged on absence,
moistly noodling context in place.
Freakishly conducive to metabolizing
the essence of otherness.
May 3, 2017
May 3, 2017 at 12:35 PM UTC
Your skin itches
as it winds through,
slithering up like a snake uncoiling from sleep
eyes heavy and laden
finding the best path.
Soon every part of you starts to itch,
feeling the need to move,
the need to run,
but there's no way to go.
Constricted,
tight,
you feel bound to your skin,
Every part of you starts to shake
not being able to abandon the feeling,
you sit and wait,
wait until the shaking stops.
And when it does,
there's no satisfaction,
just a shiver,
and the worry of never knowing
when it'll happen again.
Apr 22, 2013
Apr 22, 2013 at 11:40 PM UTC
*delicate springs of sensibility...
wound so tightly
by life's twists and turns
relieved intermittently
by uncoiling poetic release
ticking away periods of peace
...like clockwork*
May 23, 2015
May 23, 2015 at 4:57 AM UTC
coldly biting beautifully night your neat painful skin when with my lip parted softest child meets makes a rapid tinly uncoiling crystal nimbus who catches in the amber poolsof your still naked body's streets
Jan 13, 2012
Jan 13, 2012 at 5:25 AM UTC
This is it:
it’s the slow-fast conversion of my brain matrices in scaffold supporting
the connection between “good” and the scent of your sweat
the swift relay from my skin through my mind back to nerves
ending in your arms; the parts of me you colour rose
it’s the speed variation in the pump of your hips; bone connects bone
shock connects shock, spark connects spark, connects and cascades
the viscous strokes of my hands against your back as you, I
it’s sighing, strikingly loud
it’s enveloping the sound of you
stick and stuck, staring out loud, divine
measures taken to absorb the churning warmth of you
in and out: breathing and stroke
the wire compilation of your hair beneath my fingers
it’s
glazing your gaze until you’ve started falling forward to
capture my sighs/breaths/moans/cries inside your own
vehicle; it’s slow seconds scraping my thoughts while you crawl
the strong strokes you press into my memory
the cusses that slither slickly out my mouth to meet your ears, relay to your
nerves
it’s the excess breath I waste on passing my messages on to you
the feedback loop, in and out
the rhythmic species we become
the invisible lines we draw, remaining afterward for too little time
making love to the sight of you, the sounds of the stereo background
loosening your tension, uncoiling your starched landscapes
the magic of being ethereal in a concrete room
Feb 5, 2015
Feb 5, 2015 at 1:09 AM UTC