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"uncurls" poems
Where the slow river meets the tide, a red swan lifts red wings and darker beak, and underneath the purple down of his soft breast uncurls his coral feet. Through the deep purple of the dying heat of sun and mist, the level ray of sun-beam has caressed the lily with dark breast, and flecked with richer gold its golden crest. Where the slow lifting of the tide, floats into the river and slowly drifts among the reeds, and lifts the yellow flags, he floats where tide and river meet. Ah kingly kiss -- no more regret nor old deep memories to mar the bliss; where the low sedge is thick, the gold day-lily outspreads and rests beneath soft fluttering of red swan wings and the warm quivering of the red swan's breast.
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5.3k
Leda
At top of the hill A fragrant hill Stands the blue windmill. It has bricks of gold from the Cotswolds. It stands lonely, cold and still. No wind to blow here anymore. Blood sweat and many tears once lined the dusty, white floor. Now ivy of green hugs the door. No stones turn no fire burns grounding flour to make a pound. Every hour, each second counted. Hands of the brave that made a mark to engrave their time on the hill where now time stands still. A Raven who calls to the midnight air His wings as blue as the blades His body as deep as the ace of spades. As old as this story has been told new hope is about to unfold. The Raven is about to learn as once more the blue blades turn Through the yellow window a farmer's wife begins her new life. Her golden apron, her new dreams the sparkle in her blue eyes whips up a wind like never before. The generator stirs, the life uncurls like tail from a happy cat. Except this is tale that is about to begin.
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Sep 18, 2014
Sep 18, 2014 at 5:11 AM UTC
The Blue Windmill
I move through the woods in ritual The trees have shed their leaves like Third sons and eldest daughters, They cling bravely until the wind uncurls their hands and bears them away from home. A scavenger, I search them out, hold them between finger and thumb, Their last embrace. Sometimes I will pluck a fading life from a branch, melded amber and crimson, the dregs of sun in their veins, offered in the last vibrance of summer’s heat. At home, I press them between pages, tiny spells of weight and gravity cast to keep their color. I know this magic, Autumn and I are kindred in this, Our eyes are the same soft green and sepia of hiraeth cradles of remembrance, nets always cast back into memory. Like all memories There are a thousand useless, The umber of old blood, trodden underfoot, the seconds that dripped by unmarked. But we hold the fragile, happy few, High upon a shelf the glowing phosphorus of laughter The currant red of a last kiss Returned to and returned to Like an unanswered prayer.
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Oct 9, 2021
Oct 9, 2021 at 7:09 PM UTC
Ritual
2 AM: i'm falling in, and out, and in, and out, of sleep. my mind reaches: arching forwards, slowly uncurls a single finger pinkish joints blossom one-by-one the slightest graze of fingernail and what i think is real bursts into a million, iridescent spinning globules sent skittering down a marble hall, who knows how long? but sometimes there are no marbles-- there are only shooting stars masses of hazy, gaseous yellow pixels, flickering and glitchering in the corners of my eyes, hover at my brow, drop at my feet ah... a sadness devoid of emotion. like androids, dreaming.
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Sep 25, 2018
Sep 25, 2018 at 11:14 PM UTC
interspace
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.
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Mar 24, 2015
Mar 24, 2015 at 1:40 PM UTC
The Giraffe: a gentle giant
I fell for the way the smoke uncurls. The way it unravels and dances in a montage of swirls. I fell for the way the smoke danced off your lips. And the way there was so much more to you than the movement of your hips. I fell for the lipstick you always wore. And the smile I could hear in your voice when I said I was at the store. And I saw the way a garden bloomed in you. The way the buds showed all the colors from pink to blue. And I remember looking at you and feeling yellow. And I remember the way my legs all of a sudden felt like jell-o, simply at the sound of your "hello". And it was you, you were the light that shined so bright. The only detail I care to remember about that night. You were the only shining star in the sky. And I remember thinking, I wouldn't mind being by your side. The girl of my dreams. Had me realizing life wasn't really as it seems. You see, that night I realized just so how hard a person can fall. They say the taller they are, the harder they fall, and I've never been so okay with standing tall. I never was great at talking about the way I feel. Truth be told, there's just too many scars that time is taking too long to heal. I've been searching for the words to say in books and songs I've never heard about. Trying to keep my heart from bursting out. Of my chest yknow? The rose that bloomed every time you smiled. The tulips that flourished every time you laughed. The thorns that pricked my fingers every time you cried. You were a garden that only time could water. The LSD that dropped on the blotters. You were the Lucy that had me feeling wavy. Had me feeling like life was amazing. And thank god for her. Because now I don't feel pain as much as I've been hurt. But I saw a flower bloom. And I think that the love I felt was true.
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Jan 2, 2017
Jan 2, 2017 at 1:58 AM UTC
Beauty in Bloom
I fell for the way the smoke uncurls. The way it unravels and dances in a montage of swirls. I fell for the way the smoke danced off your lips. And the way there was so much more to you than the movement of your hips. I fell for the lipstick you always wore. And the smile I could hear in your voice when I said I was at the store. And I saw the way a garden bloomed in you. The way the buds showed all the colors from pink to blue. And I remember looking at you and feeling yellow. And I remember the way my legs all of a sudden felt like jell-o, simply at the sound of your "hello". And it was you, you were the light that shined so bright. The only detail I care to remember about that night. You were the only shining star in the sky. And I remember thinking, I wouldn't mind being by your side. The girl of my dreams. Had me realizing life wasn't really as it seems. You see, that night I realized just so how hard a person can fall. They say the taller they are, the harder they fall, and I've never been so okay with standing tall. I never was great at talking about the way I feel. Truth be told, there's just too many scars that time is taking too long to heal. I've been searching for the words to say in books and songs I've never heard about. Trying to keep my heart from bursting out. Of my chest yknow? The rose that bloomed every time you smiled. The tulips that flourished every time you laughed. The thorns that pricked my fingers every time you cried. You were a garden that only time could water. The LSD that dropped on the blotters. You were the Lucy that had me feeling wavy. Had me feeling like life was amazing. And thank god for her. Because now I don't feel pain as much as I've been hurt. But I saw a flower bloom. And I think that the love I felt was true.
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7
When Adam ***** Eve And calls out Lilith’s name the slinking Power inside her Opens one sleepy eye And uncurls two glistening fangs Eve wraps her fingers around Adam’s given rib Hands ****** and covered in blood Eve plunges bone into sacred heart Hears him gasp from gospel mouth Mutters her name like prayer, Like truth Winds herself around him in python embrace Swallows the blessed body whole And becomes the Garden he dies in God looks away
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Sep 27, 2018
Sep 27, 2018 at 4:50 PM UTC
serpentine
Wind blows chilling the air Hair whips across bare skin Eyes of sea fill with tears The grass bends to the footsteps His body lays still Sword still grasped in His hand A small body lets loose a scream Others feel the touch of death Lucky the wind spared them Knowing very well next time Could be the last Golden curls spill across the dead One The wind rushes through once more Her body still Hand uncurls a vial drops to the ground The scream becomes the last breath Rushing out They sleep entwined forever Heart Mind Body Soul
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Apr 29, 2010
Apr 29, 2010 at 7:49 PM UTC
Death
For the lady who sees it all, Mahkhon Scribes gather – Words tucked between Laughter and Memories, hidden For them to find and tell. A river fairy she is, Papyrus reeds, her wings. A naiad, watching bubbles, Reading hearts, -- Precious bubbles, a keeper In four years. Seven Years past, The fairy is a Woman, Who Bears keen eyes with ken. Imagine her delight, For each bubble pricked, Truth, love, stories unwrapped. A seer uncurls the scrolls, An oracle whispered to gentle Wind: A dandelion she is Made for the skies, Lift her up --- But kindly change her not.
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May 4, 2016
May 4, 2016 at 7:59 PM UTC
A Song for the Naiad
darkness of the mind fire in the heart my desire is my destruction within the forests of my breasted figure lies a dormant snake sprouting fear in my dreams leaving me empty aside from memories in my wake all of the blue I once knew suddenly bursting into flame it's time to face what I create a pair of emerald eyes unblinking-unthinking another of the deepest mud unrevealing no longer feeling the last most terrifying & candied eyes butterscotch & bloodshot looking upward to the crescent in the sky seeing new colors saying goodbyes six eyes on three heads sprouting from a body made of snow curling crystals jagged and etched along the slender creatures form hunger tries to consume this beast "what is love," the fire asks, "save for a wet & bloodied feast?" the snake uncurls as if ready to latch on to it's prey then soon after bolts away the heartbeat of fire: much too loud in it's calmness to be frightened by hunting snow with intentions to consume such a succulent meat will the snake evaporate in the heat of desire or will the fire be smoking in it's failure to catch the slithering beast? frightened with a calmness death is in the air in the stare of all six sick & wicked eyes the fire muses in it's confusion of what's right or wrong the hunt is no longer a game life and death no longer simply names realities of fortune and lacking just the same the snow and the ice too weak to face this flame predictions of when the snake melts down to nothing but water and bones she'll gather the crusted crystals of desire she so often used to admire used to hold in a heart of stone a different destiny to behold if the snake were to win the burnt paper of her skin would go grey in the wind no more flames no more spark heart grown dark and weary what torture could send the snakes tongue down her throat and lick the flame into an outrage of misplaced words that held nothing save for demands in those hands the blood had stained how much of how little could last no more of the new in the end what is left is all that has passed snake and flame forever in cycle recycling their pain until neither remain
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Jun 19, 2014
Jun 19, 2014 at 12:24 PM UTC
slithering in the heat
darkness of the mind fire in the heart my desire is my destruction within the forests of my breasted figure lies a dormant snake sprouting fear in my dreams leaving me empty aside from memories in my wake all of the blue I once knew suddenly bursting into flame it's time to face what I create a pair of emerald eyes unblinking-unthinking another of the deepest mud unrevealing no longer feeling the last most terrifying & candied eyes butterscotch & bloodshot looking upward to the crescent in the sky seeing new colors saying goodbyes six eyes on three heads sprouting from a body made of snow curling crystals jagged and etched along the slender creatures form hunger tries to consume this beast "what is love," the fire asks, "save for a wet & bloodied feast?" the snake uncurls as if ready to latch on to it's prey then soon after bolts away the heartbeat of fire: much too loud in it's calmness to be frightened by hunting snow with intentions to consume such a succulent meat will the snake evaporate in the heat of desire or will the fire be smoking in it's failure to catch the slithering beast? frightened with a calmness death is in the air in the stare of all six sick & wicked eyes the fire muses in it's confusion of what's right or wrong the hunt is no longer a game life and death no longer simply names realities of fortune and lacking just the same the snow and the ice too weak to face this flame predictions of when the snake melts down to nothing but water and bones she'll gather the crusted crystals of desire she so often used to admire used to hold in a heart of stone a different destiny to behold if the snake were to win the burnt paper of her skin would go grey in the wind no more flames no more spark heart grown dark and weary what torture could send the snakes tongue down her throat and lick the flame into an outrage of misplaced words that held nothing save for demands in those hands the blood had stained how much of how little could last no more of the new in the end what is left is all that has passed snake and flame forever in cycle recycling their pain until neither remain
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109
the *** machine has begun to breathe on her own. father ***** a brown bruise into mother’s half of my cigarette. I could be doing a handstand in a prison yard or watching as my cell is turned upside down. brother uncurls a finger from his made fist so deliberately I know he means it to be a hard-on. I crush my eyes with my eyes and try to remember the name my son gave to the loose tooth we hung together from a doorknob. was my son told me the puppets need our hair.
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Dec 23, 2014
Dec 23, 2014 at 8:01 PM UTC
the visits
Sometimes I feel like there’s a worm inside my mind, I hear it, when it’s nighttime, it has a voice and that voice tells me to turn my body four times so that everyone I love doesn’t leave me. More than that, though, I feel it right at the back of my skull. It nestles deep inside and chokes the blood flow away from rationality, and I clench my fist two times two. And then it uncurls. I think it is wounded but it is really just gorging on the compulsion I have fed it. Again. But the reprieve is glorious for a moment, until its maw opens back up for more. Its body is a spiral, contorting thoughts until I am at its mercy; although it is part of me, I feel as though I am part of it. It’s impossible to run away from an attached body. One day, everyone you love will die and it will be your fault, ballet turn, pivot, dance en pointe my darling, again, walk, walk, walk, walk, there we go, now people are alive. Now you’re a hero, for a second, for two. Here we are in the thick of it. Oh, you didn’t like that, did you?
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Jul 17, 2021
Jul 17, 2021 at 8:46 PM UTC
Worm
a fist broken uncurls tightly (and from in there bursts a whole heart laid o pen)
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Feb 26, 2012
Feb 26, 2012 at 5:21 PM UTC
Untitled
Often, I think back. Grip on the childhood uncurls, slowly. If the muscles don't fail, bones will break. Oh, Did you ever get over your neglect? Comes and goes, Bexis, comes and goes. Too high an expectation, receive your input and your feedback. Grip on my childhood memories loosens, sudden. In your descent, you grow terminal. Your heart beats so hard it might rip through your ribs to fly upward, back to the summit. All your love, it is not lost, I lap you up, still. Is this separation unreal? I can never figure out if I'm naive or cynical, if I'm worthy or worthless. How did you feel, when with me? How did I feel, when with you? If the muscles don't fail, bones will break. If we play with what's at stake, will we ever learn and grow? And if so, is it worth this grinning ghost? We'll make it, either way.
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Jan 14, 2019
Jan 14, 2019 at 10:30 PM UTC
Place of Power: Grinning Ghost
Many moon-less nights festering, tucked with the glass and cloth drawn shut. In confinement a vacuum against the all-consuming hollow of modern. Oh how we scramble, "too busy" to catch me a glimpse so we'll leave it to chance on the Underground circuit. Carts of death, on which we're wheeled like lambs to the end of the line. If our spine uncurls and blessings conveyed fall to bitter silence, let these words embellish our story. For fury may burn holes in the gut, but crumpled parchment and black X'ed out pictures at the eyes long transcend the ideologue. That white speckled hue, the hum of neon boards worn but audible. Somewhere between the dim of Old Street and Whitechaple, the sound of lonely echoed in departed steps. I plead forgiveness, if not claw at the thread that knots a stomach tight and loop it like a noose instead. There are no combinations, no literacy codes to re-write history when actions speak in a universal slur. I'll do it over, scratching memories from the surface of old Polaroid photos, finger balanced like the needle on a buckled vinyl poised to screech one last note. So come now, let us meet on shores our lips spoke the promises of; let us not shallow graves where not a single petal bloom in our name, our egos are too big to return to the dirt.
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Nov 26, 2018
Nov 26, 2018 at 2:31 PM UTC
Polaroid
"Come by, come by"  the shepherd calls To a black and grey dog that's not there. He's minding his own business Which to him is all very fair. A whistle is blown, but on deaf ears The sheep thinks it is all a scream They run wildly all over the field But the dog's done in, out of steam. "Come on lad, round 'em up for me" The shepherd's voice is slightly raised But the dog does not care one little jot He neither cares or is phased. The dog starts a sit-in and makes a sign "Less sheep, more juicy bones" The sheherd laughs, so do the sheep The dog sighs and all afternoon moans. The sheep's wool uncurls, fear looms Another dog springs an attack The shepherd has a smile on his face Watching the first dog creep on back. The sheep dont know what has hit them They are rounded up in the blink of an eye The sheep **** through open gates at speed and did an immediate left towards the pig's sty. Textbook!
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Apr 6, 2014
Apr 6, 2014 at 3:03 AM UTC
The Sheep, The Dog, The Call