"uncovers" poems
6Am
Exhausted , yet still awake
Why am i up
My head consisting of 50 whirlwinds
Hmm , what lies beneath my mind?
Can it go any deeper?
Whats left to uncover?
So I start to wander
And I see ... The girl next door
Beautiful .. But she hides her beauty behind mountains
Why?
Beauty like that gives life .. Why hide it
Quiet and mysterious
Doesn't say much except Good Morning and Good Night..
Talk to me
She uncovers her veil
And I say .. Good Morning Sunshine
Feb 19, 2015
Feb 19, 2015 at 7:15 PM UTC
Creep in the night
Resists as they might
to their bodies invites
to reap what they like
Prisoners of flesh
until their souls delight
His big black **** between her thighs
Her tight white ***** squeezes and he sighs
He wants to turn her out without a doubt
Teach her what real loving is all about
She screams out loud
he covers her mouth
The climb max raises
as the pressure amounts
Daddy doing it right
laying the pipe so deep
It may never come out
The pleasures out of sight
She’s so wet from being tight
He’s hitting her spots like a spot light
From the look on her face the pleasure is out of sight
He uncovers her mouth and she screams for her life...
Jan 19, 2017
Jan 19, 2017 at 5:53 PM UTC
Lord knocks at the family of four
sensing the needy void
a grace hopes to cure
and fill light to its darkness
that almost devours the other three
for its life-taking shadow
A veil of moonlight uncovers
Lord's worn in tanned and dreads
Together his lady angel
carrying bags of white powder
looking around for space
separated, weighed and fed the void
Led the lord to a room
spacious and humid,
no other stuff but
a static television sound
no moving air
powders remain
let the cure runs thru the house
of juvenile and the lost
Goodbye days are waving
to the lost's relative three
A vast and lonesome emptiness
Hits the face and broke a bridge
Of trust and a second chance
A Lord's fraud grace
put the four
floating in pitch black water
sets the powdered metal
and spark from their eyes
shines through
the soul and life
were almost taken
if the wall didn't catch
the bullet
from the drug lord's blessing.
Apr 26, 2023
Apr 26, 2023 at 2:29 AM UTC
‘I have to go.’
She whispers and sighs into his ear.
Uncovers herself from the sheets
And slips from the bed.
*The clock reads three o’clock
The moon illuminates the bedroom
‘Why, baby?’*
He groans as he sits up
Trying to calm his harsh breathing
Wipes the sweat from his face.
*Shadows dance upon the white walls
Her silhouette moves towards the door
‘I have to return home to him.’*
She replies, her gaze falls to the floor
Reaching for the doorknob,
Filled with so much guilt.
Aug 28, 2010
Aug 28, 2010 at 6:51 PM UTC
pretty words for pretty girls
*courageous caress of a send key pressed,
after practicing
speechless up to the assumed,
up to assured point of perfect,
flawlessness, visible in each invisible breath,
pauses full of poignant stories unspoken
but eye cleared visible for seeing the future*
pretty words for pretty girls
*intuition incorporates superstition,
unending, intending infatuated moon gazing,
but not pagan worshiping, no it is love worshiping
your hiding cave places are moon apertures dark spots,
impenetrable to my eye’s naked telescoping,
but heartbeats spring my unharnessed love poems to you
me and millions whisper in full certainty of our
lost but beloved presences, moon stored for us,
my darling dares the light shine upon my bay,
here to me, our path, a moonlight waving hand
provides on many nights, a clear direction to follow,
pseudo-thrills of continence that my vision uncovers,
but my body knows is but a poor substitute*
pretty words for pretty girls
*my disease has a diagnosis.
your body attacked,
your body reacts,
defeats the infector,
remembering the next time
that disease comes round
how it got beat prior
and how to do it again*
so how come I’m falling love once more?*
Aug 3, 2019
Aug 3, 2019 at 5:20 PM UTC
the words
are beads and gems
and hooks and strings
scattered in a box
somewhere in
the softness behind my breastbone
my palms are up to catch the key
whenever it chooses to land
a pandora poised
to make ornaments
from all she uncovers,
all she unleashes
Mar 5, 2016
Mar 5, 2016 at 1:24 PM UTC
Flavored hukkas are passed around,
Alcohol and paan bring the mehfil alive,
The Ustad ji sits down and flexes his fingers,
He knows he’ll be working all night.
Dha dhin dhin dha, dha dhin dhin dha
Na tin tin ta
Ta dhin dhin dha,
Move the Ustad ji’s fingers on the tabla.
While with a veil on her face,
And feet dipped in and henna-colored,
Lips in cheap red lipstick covered,
She unfalteringly, gracefully enters.
Her steps are matched by the chhan chhan
of the ghungroos tied around her ankles so slender.
Eyes set on her, feast on her youth,
Just right for the taste of all her customers.
Bejeweled hands placed on waist,
She stands at the centre of attention,
She lifts a foot, readies to dance,
And begins the nightly convention.
Skillfully, perfectly, sensuously move
Feet well-trained since childhood days,
Harmonizing with the timbre
That the Ustad ji creates.
Tin tin na dhin na dhin na
On the tabla, experienced fingers beat.
Chhan chhan chhan chhan,
She dances, repeating the rhythm with her feet.
Metal bells strike against one another
And chhan chhan chhan-a chhan she goes,
Making breaths prance and jump,
As she strikes on the ground her heels and toes.
Then suddenly she stops and gasps,
Over disgruntled, impatient groans she tries
to hear the sound that flows in, only to her ears.
Several rooms away, a baby cries.
Naach! A voice booms,
Arey naach! More join in.
A glass of wine is shattered by an irritated one.
But she stands still, clutching her chest, frozen.
One sways up to where she stands,
For the veil covering her face, his hands dive.
He uncovers her, but is blinded by the sight of her beauty
And her tears that fill her kajal-smeared eyes.
She’s shaken back to reality as she looks all around.
Her sparkling pall is off her face.
She sees all those drunk men who’ve paid to watch her dance.
She knows she has to make the sound of the cries fade away.
So she stomps her feet on the ground till it hurts.
Hair flying out of braid, bangles clanging,
Anguish replaces her innocent loveliness,
The music in the air is now shrill, jarring.
Her steps match with the tabla’s rhythm no more.
But she dances, planting her feet so hard they weep.
She silences every sound with the noise of her ghungroos,
Praying that the night will lull her wailing son to sleep.
Jun 22, 2012
Jun 22, 2012 at 1:11 PM UTC
It's two minutes past the deadline
The coffee he spilled has seeped into the wooden table
As if leaving a masterpiece of stains would somehow make it right
The boom caused by the implosion of his future still echoes in his head
As he lifts himself from the shallow puddle of confidence
That has almost dried up whole
The dirt under his fingernails is a reminder
Of the time he spent trying
To get this tree of missed chances and what-ifs
To grow again
His car keys and his passport he uncovers
From under a pile of broken promises
Maybe he can push back time
Following the sun
Sep 2, 2015
Sep 2, 2015 at 9:55 AM UTC
Helicopter in the air
Searching for those on the run
Holding the greenness of shattered glass
A tight embrace of the natural beauty
A rock tied to mine locks
Padlocked as I creep the stairway of life
Evolution of flames and fallacies
A sly that promises no tears
Compelled to paste the puzzle together
A locomotion of pieces to a system
Never to be afraid of who we are
United uniqueness to be the ones of a kind
Are we the loyal dogs who bark by the rivers?
Waiting for the tides to wash us away
Singing as the sun reflects beautiful ways
The tales of a long ago uncovers my soul
May 3, 2016
May 3, 2016 at 10:47 AM UTC
I've been thinking
about
the art of speaking
auditory rhythms
and the like
in my very personal
opinion
these audio utterances
so often used
by the population
have become
somewhat
like pollution
fogging gracelessly
over the small drops
of wisdom
uttered
in near silence
if you actually listen
you'll probably hear them
somewhere
under the blurtations
of the unconsidered
thoughtless thoughts
they're there.
If you listen
the art of quiet
uncovers many surprises
Jan 23, 2011
Jan 23, 2011 at 10:14 AM UTC
My rail tracks seem to have disappeared
Only the red autumn leaves seem to have covered
A cold melancholy in the air hovers
As I look beyond to see what uncovers
But the truth is that it is an endless journey
There’s no special place ahead, no sanctuary
Just the train, and the passing estuary
The destination seems lost, as I realise it was only imaginary.
Now I yearn for meaning.
What is this train journey,
Where is it leading?
Maybe it’s better to just hop off
And enjoy it from the beginning.
Apr 2, 2021
Apr 2, 2021 at 9:23 PM UTC
A first exclamation
Is it an approximation?
Of my imagination
Spoken determination
We are all in delusion
Sinking possibilities
Acting on this activation
A brain improvisation
A flowing dedication
Mounted city destination
Lacking in co-operation
Mounted evaluations
Investing the cognition
Is not the only direction?
Embracing the investigation
My convergence recruitment
Not even words uncovers
The layered entrenchment
Sunken lost in introversion
A day dream of absolution
Mar 13, 2016
Mar 13, 2016 at 12:31 PM UTC
Luminous passion flows quite magnificently
A dance crying out to be heard
Persuading your spirit to honor the motion
So sweetly, as it stirs
A remarkable immersion of inspiring sensation
Uncovers a welcoming glance
Softly held on the face of the persuaded spirit
Who hears the cry of the dance
Gratifying spontaneity demands your attention
Be delighted by the cry that is heard
Inspiring the spirit to gently whirl and spin
To a lovely music without words
Beautiful effortless moves of revealing delight
Are honored without any question
By the spirit who hears the lovely persuading music
Of the dance of spontaneity's suggestion
Aug 19, 2010
Aug 19, 2010 at 7:15 PM UTC
Sometimes I just sit and wonder,
About the meaning of my life.
And about the true purpose of me,
Amidst all of the toil and strife.
And amidst all of the greatness,
The beauty of earth and of space,
And of the vast circle of life,
And what role I have in this place.
And the answers are all very evasive,
So I conjure them all from within,
Relying on simply my learned faith,
And experience of where I have been.
And I read the words of others',
Who have past on well before me,
Who also sought what I now seek,
Yet still left this life, unknowingly.
Could I be the one who uncovers,
The secrets all men hope to find,
Or will I, like the ones before me,
Go out of this world just as blind.
What if there is no true meaning?
And purpose; just a desperate plea?
To add some reason to madness,
What a pointless life that would be.
May 12, 2010
May 12, 2010 at 10:16 AM UTC
This morning a tough cookie showed up
I bit down
Treating it like all the others
It was harder than what vision enticed me to believe
Unchewable
I examined the edges
None
No angles, no cracks, no oozing treacle
No dreamy aftertaste
Just outer candy
Just yesterday's choices, hitting me today
Reality
And a pool of more of the same to tread water in
Forever
I want meaning
I want the dream
Before the too tired to care years
Blanket me in wrinkles
Someone: Meaning is sweat
The guru: Meaning is endurance
Me: Meaning is unavoidable
If you caress the pain
That comes along with it
Sweat uncovers joy
And joy brings meaning
The boy is not meaning
He is a figment past
He is real. But he is past
Keep him there
The girl is real.
She could be meaning
But she is a figment future
Leave her there
Like dancing dandelions on a late summer breeze
Aching to get home
Forgetting they left the attachment to ground
Years ago
The candy coated in a message
The message: Stay right where you are
What is...is more than I already have
My life...is the meaning
Treasure found
It was never lost (what was I thinking)
Yes... I've wasted my passion on a lost Buddha
Many times
Yes...I still backwash my pool on a sunny day craving more
But its meaning
Its NOW
And a call to rise above
Sep 22, 2012
Sep 22, 2012 at 10:07 AM UTC
Stroking
<6:56 Am>
*this petite gesture, glorious in effect,
impervious to aging, speaks volumes
of storied nuance and sun powerful to believers,
inherent messages much refined by its singularity
all that can be, will be, transporting the living,
calming effervescence by simplest of motion implanted,
its sensory powers long lingering, instantly, uncovers
the furtive child in us all, tho well we hide it
stroking my woman’s body when errant dreams,
disturb the early morning scheming, returning a placid,
to her steady breathing, exhaling the disturbing,
erasing the fearful that wanders inside our night boundaries
stroking the cheek, of my six year old granddaughter,
pulling back the hair locks that impede her vision,
the whirlwind passes, her body sedates, and her
totality merges into mine, born, borning a Godlike oneness
these fingers air the words that my chest pervade,
there is power galore in their communicative physicality,
but nothing more powerful than skin upon skin, in motion,
continuous, circular soothing the giver and the receiver equally*
<7:09 AM>
Jun 9, 2023
Jun 9, 2023 at 7:19 AM UTC
CLOSE SHAVE
Always her fascination
with me
shaving.
This her early morning ritual
observing each action
as if it were
holy.
I hide my face
in foam.
“Santa Claus! Santa Claus! ”
she chants
winces with delight
as the razor
(she gulps)
goes over my bump
without slicing it off.
The shaving uncovers the me she knows.
“Soft…soft! ”
“Mr. Daddy Soft Soft! ”
she gurgles
in a lather of laughter.
“Me now…now me! ”
she pleads with me.
I take the brush
coat her reflection with foam.
I shave her
with the tip of my little finger.
Her reflection sniggers &
she sniggers too.
Later, in the early evening
she appears
bearded in fresh cream.
She shaves herself
with a lollipop stick.
“Me... Daddy now...see! ”
I cha cha cha her
on the tips of my toes
as she clings to my
fingertips
dancing around
the living room.
One delighted
half shaved little girl.
One delighted
soft soft Mr. Daddy.
Jul 3, 2018
Jul 3, 2018 at 6:34 PM UTC
a father and son argue outside a small town barbershop in windless ten degree weather. inside the shop, which is closed, the barber’s wife is clipping away at a wig. nearby, and quite by accident, an invisible man uncovers a fainting spell before which some will disrobe. namely, women declaring that the eye is always naked. who are these women?, ask my teeth, which are snow.
Jan 23, 2013
Jan 23, 2013 at 4:37 PM UTC
Strangely induce
By a lovely matron
Instantaneous
Gaiety
While defrayal
Skeptical to various reasons
Which I try to figure
To a woman whom I hardly knew
A smirk that only a whisper can tell
Who is she?
A gracious beauty
Meander misdirection
I pause
Masquerading my persona
She uncovers
Challenges that I arrange with deception
Bewilder
Her magnificent grassroots
How elegantly her friendliness is shrewd?
I am perch
For her liquid perfection
Which cannot be quench
As my throat dries
My language to her will be lost
Dec 7, 2009
Dec 7, 2009 at 1:18 PM UTC
. . . says a twig to a stream, to a river to the sea . . .
“Why do you struggle so very mightily?
The ice grabs you like it’s beholden me.”
B
ut the water gurgles, below, unconcernedly.
“Once I bore a crown so light and green!
Where is it now? Only you have seen!
In the Fall I blazed the brightest red!
Now, in the Winter, I wish you were dead . . .”
The twig remembers that Spring comes again;
its leaves will be born and unfurl then,
“And Fall will give them to you to take from me!”
. . . says the twig to the stream to the river to the far away sea . . .
But the twig’s just a shadow the stream must pass through.
The ocean calls it home, so that’s what it’ll do.
The stream was born of a past Winter’s ice
and the twig’s just a shadow through which it must slice.
And . . . maybe it might bear a leaf or two
but it can’t remember what it might do.
An Ocean rages at the earth and the sky!
Rocks are torn to pebbles and mists flung to fly.
Then one day its water, as rain,
awakes the twig to leaf again.
And a twig looks down at the slice of shade
its leaves, once again, upon the stream, have made.
And forgets, come Fall, what colors there’ll be;
another twig is born of a branch of a tree.
One far Winter the water will freeze,
a cold dire wind will strip branches from trees.
One Old Twig floats down to the sea
and uncovers one thing a twig might be:
bright driftwood cast far ashore
and it’s not now a twig anymore.
A Flame spits embers at the dark, starry sky.
The children of its anger upon the winds do fly.
A tree gives those children a home in its leaves
as an iced over stream groans and grieves;
praying for safe passage through the Shadow of the Twig up above
. . . and so flows the circle of the cycle of the rhythm of Nature’s Love . . .
Time is but a moment that passes you by;
a stream of cold tears that others must cry.
Twigs glare darkly at other streams;
Life’s much bigger . . . and smaller . . . than it seems.
Feb 12, 2014
Feb 12, 2014 at 8:44 AM UTC
Catching a glimmer
Of distant dreams
In a photograph she found
Lying between the pages of
Her favorite book of poems
Through a distant lens
A backward glance
She sees it…
A reflection of her life
In black and white it speaks
And frames for her the picture
Of a life that might have been
Slowly, a tear escapes
As she ponders all it says
This teller of lies
Filtering truths never told
Of a past disguised
A pain so strange
Inside her arose
Holding her transfixed
By this portrait of old
The outward reflections
Of this life-altering moment
She now uncovers
The truths never told
As the lies unfold
Then, in a moment
Her choice is made clear
This flash from the past
Brought her life into focus
Through she may shed a tear
For what might have been
She knows deep within
She would not alter
Her past life’s album
Nor the choices she made
…when
Collaboration between Kelly Rose Saccone and SE Reimer
© February 6, 2014
Feb 6, 2017
Feb 6, 2017 at 9:14 AM UTC
In the kingdom of Toledo,
None burn bright as thy shadow
(From time very long ago)
A tale of first lovers –
(I and D’lorme)
Loved with the love that covers
The bay of a margin sea –
In the alleys of Toledo,
None radiated well as thy shadow
(From time not so long ago)
A tale of two lovers –
(Me and D’lorme)
Claim a star that hovers
Bellow our silent sea.
In the battles of Toledo,
All dim down as thy shadow
(Of a time we know so well, long ago,)
A tale of no lovers –
(‘Who?’ And D’lorme)
Never uncovers
The wound of a sunder sea –
In the welfare of Toledo,
By a dark tinctured shadow
(To a time long so far ago)
A tale of burnt lovers --
With 'her' and D'lorme;
With blood to the clovers
Drown in our golden sea.
In the debris of Toledo,
In the murky ashes of thy shadow
(From time to past o'er ago)
The tales of one lover --
('Gone' and D'lorme)
Whom now rediscover
The loss of his love in a lament sea.
To the angels above Toledo,
None burn bright as their shadow
(Of time given so long ago)
A tale of dead lovers --
(Isbella and D'lorme)
Together soaring then hovers
To the gallant sea.
Jul 13, 2011
Jul 13, 2011 at 11:58 AM UTC
I can’t tell you how I feel
I can’t describe the emotions that build up inside
So I only do what I know is right
The black ink an endless sight
A spell enchanting us all
The anger and sorrow
The joy and elation
It feels like it’s never ending
There’s a beginning, but never an end
A promise of written word
That uncovers the hidden world
The beautiful morning horizons
The moon that slowly rises
The no one knows
And I love you’s
I’ll give you a poem
A rhyme
A letter
I’ll give you my entire life’s story
On a slip of paper
In between the lines of white
Because it’s the only way I know how to speak
My voice is mute
But I’ve found the pen can fix that to
Feb 18, 2014
Feb 18, 2014 at 8:59 PM UTC