"undulant" poems
a black bat
hangs upside down
digesting a fly
his face almost human
a flying Frankenstein
he excretes
puddles of guano
like miniature buttered popcorn
a dark and wavy goulash
gods gift
to beetles and worms
dizzied overheated men look on
to an uproarious variety hour
of song and a high heeled kicks
inspiring
a tempest of throbbing
whisky drenched
folded ***** and cash
trouser trout fish,
undulant
sexed up
tape worms for love
pulse the night
egging on bunny **** pom poms
devout finger puppets of Eros
for
shimmering ****** lipstick twilled vibratos
sequined tassel spinning areolas
and lavish come **** me dance girls
bring down the house in flames
making hearts apostate
clamoring
and melt men like steaming everglades
the bat
hangs from the chandelier
licks his black lips
and looks on to panorama of hieroglyphics
hearing music
a thunderous nonsense
witnessing visions
of
flies, tasty white winged moths
and the thrill of screams
while biting the head off of another bat
in a claret stained red velvet cabaret
Aug 31, 2017
Aug 31, 2017 at 5:09 PM UTC
Perfect skin….
Fair complexion that glows with a hint of pink
Flawless, perfect skin…
that undulant white skin
What an expensive soft and supple skin
Luxurious ****** and skin treatment…
At expensive spa somewhere...
Her skin so fair…
Worth of a stare…
Jul 12, 2013
Jul 12, 2013 at 9:29 PM UTC
I knew a woman, lovely in her bones,
When small birds sighed, she would sigh back at them;
Ah, when she moved, she moved more ways than one:
The shapes a bright container can contain!
Of her choice virtues only gods should speak,
Or English poets who grew up on Greek
(I'd have them sing in chorus, cheek to cheek.)
How well her wishes went! She stroked my chin,
She taught me Turn, and Counter-turn, and stand;
She taught me Touch, that undulant white skin:
I nibbled meekly from her proffered hand;
She was the sickle; I, poor I, the rake,
Coming behind her for her pretty sake
(But what prodigious mowing did we make.)
Love likes a gander, and adores a goose:
Her full lips pursed, the errant note to seize;
She played it quick, she played it light and loose;
My eyes, they dazzled at her flowing knees;
Her several parts could keep a pure repose,
Or one hip quiver with a mobile nose
(She moved in circles, and those circles moved.)
Let seed be grass, and grass turn into hay:
I'm martyr to a motion not my own;
What's freedom for? To know eternity.
I swear she cast a shadow white as stone.
But who would count eternity in days?
These old bones live to learn her wanton ways:
(I measure time by how a body sways.)
2.4k
Carry me out
Into the wind and the sunshine,
Into the beautiful world.
O, the wonder, the spell of the streets!
The stature and strength of the horses,
The rustle and echo of footfalls,
The flat roar and rattle of wheels!
A swift tram floats huge on us . . .
It's a dream?
The smell of the mud in my nostrils
Blows brave--like a breath of the sea!
As of old,
Ambulant, undulant drapery,
Vaguery and strangely provocative,
Fluttersd and beckons. O, yonder--
Is it?--the gleam of a stocking!
Sudden, a spire
Wedged in the mist! O, the houses,
The long lines of lofty, grey houses,
Cross-hatched with shadow and light!
These are the streets . . .
Each is an avenue leading
Whither I will!
Free . . . !
Dizzy, hysterical, faint,
I sit, and the carriage rolls on with me
Into the wonderful world.
2.3k
Madly-
I am missing you:
As surely as the meadow covets the soft embrace
of morning dew;
as sure as the sky slowly awakens its canvas
to the suns soft stroke of salmon pinks
and crimson reds, light magenta's, oranges,
amber's, and pale silk Persian blues.
In these moments of absence, I am,
in more than one way,
completely enraptured by the thought of you.
Your loveliness, your smile, your kiss,
your magnificently adorned brown bluish green speckled eyes,
undulate in my thoughts brightly like moonlit folds
of surf crashing into the core of me:
slowly soaking through the sandy shores
of my equally undulant, brisk, and fluttering heart.
Then, as an off shore breeze crosses tenderly about
my waist and fingertips, seductively enveloping me,
I am reminded of how closely we laid:
Tangled beneath our blanket of fervor,
side by side, with a mutual breath of passion
as excitement cascaded through our paralleled sensoriums
and quickly translated into a fiery touch of the lips,
as a fervid scratch of the hips,
and finally into a shared exhale of relief
as if to whisper to one another “come closer, be mine.”
Still, even as these grains of memories feather effortlessly
down into my thoughts like the sands of an endless hourglass
encased with the echo of your inviting voice
enchanting me with sweet nothings,
I am left with a yearning for your physical presence.
I want you here.
Time inches along and as I slowly lie my head down to sleep,
hands clasped shut between pillow and ear,
I am, in my thoughts again, reminded of your ubiquity,
of your enamoring effect on me,
of how no matter the distance nor the time between,
baby you are here, captivating my thoughts
-madly.
Jan 16, 2013
Jan 16, 2013 at 11:51 PM UTC
I knew a woman, lovely in her bones,
When small birds sighed, she would sigh back at them;
Ah, when she moved, she moved more ways than one:
The shapes a bright container can contain!
Of her choice virtues only gods should speak,
Or English poets who grew up on Greek
(I’d have them sing in chorus, cheek to cheek).
How well her wishes went! She stroked my chin,
She taught me Turn, and Counter-turn, and Stand;
She taught me Touch, that undulant white skin;
I nibbled meekly from her proffered hand;
She was the sickle; I, poor I, the rake,
Coming behind her for her pretty sake
(But what prodigious mowing we did make).
Jan 22, 2017
Jan 22, 2017 at 3:11 PM UTC
I should’ve had a hedonistic summer, a roundup of long, sun-kissed days and even longer, undulant, kissing nights.
There are no riviera pics this year - set against the blow-out backdrop of Saint Tropez or Heraclee - with their sunlit-deliriums, cracked plaster beach bars, aromatic trailing Jasmine, lavender, umbrella pines and baking Socca.
No nights of dense, optimistic nihilism on neon-painted open-air dancefloors, or gritty, underground raves, in dark, brick-clad, light-strobed basements.
And no timeless, sun-drenched, beachside early mornings, with their moments of stillness, beauty and reprieve.
Summer feels can’t be vicarious - you have to get out there and get ***** hmm, sandy anyway. Are there ethical implications to basking under a climate-crisis sun? Maybe, but if so, do we care?
Let’s wax poetic..
Summertime often sees us jetting off to different places.
*If I could travel anywhere
let it be outer-space
not floating in darkness,
for years and years
let’s find a better way.
I’ve traveled to the moon
- on a little friction -
that isn’t even science fiction.
I’ve traveled simply by turning pages.
It didn’t take fuel and it didn’t take ages.
That was travel at the speed of thought,
but better yet, let’s travel at the speed of sight
- that’s faster than light.*
.
.
Songs for this:
Relationships by HAIM
Summer Sun by Koop
Summer Girl (Bonus Track) by HAIM
Aug 25, 2025
Aug 25, 2025 at 10:57 AM UTC
A vase can be beautiful,
And can be filled with the ephemeral or the immortal.
If I think of you as a vase;
I think art nouveau,
Willowy, beautiful, in a languorous setting,
Among a cast of Greek characters
Staged around a classic reflecting pool,
It’s water stirred slightly by everlasting
Considerations of life.
The vase, tall, green, sinewy,
Can halt anarchy in nature,
As it sits resplendent, monarchical;
That may be enough.
But sleek ceramic fails to define.
Oh, filled with garden beauty, that vase
May win the contest of the day,
But nature vigorously corrodes
And the vase declines.
Yet it can become more radiant, as its soul,
Alive and growing, shows through.
May you, best philosopher for you,
Deny custom that leaves only emptiness.
Let muscle ache from the pull of the oar,
Feel the dog bite,
Taste the chocolate that tightens the throat.
Remember: the leaves of summer will be still;
The undulant song of the cicadas
Will rises and fall, rise and fall,
As swarms of blackbirds wheel to that sound.
These things, and the vase,
Are all we know of life, and are all of life.
Mar 25, 2013
Mar 25, 2013 at 10:54 AM UTC
Sunlit water...angelic morse code--
non local, supercharged.
Where undulant ripple, at an angle,
sun at its angle, flashed sparks of
double exposure.
Frenetically shifting focal points,
suffusing an animated luminosity.
A one dimensional constellation
clustered en mass, optic tempo of
ebb and flow.
Sonogram of amorphous light,
whose: white, yellow, green, blue--
integrated auric stipple seemingly
pulled skyward.
Death neared whilst thee afoot...
at second attention the soul's
wrenched from the animal...
transmission complete.
Oct 31, 2013
Oct 31, 2013 at 9:12 PM UTC
i'm unwinding my head
on
honey moon belly
******* carnivorous lozenges
falling in love with glazed
eye ball devils
hypnotic stare
destination
a tunnel of fiendish odysseys
blood drooling eel
vomits gush white
daddy long leg threads
in honeys wet cage
to wither
writhing spit hot
in fat muscle and bone
headless
head first
like a mindless falcon
after scattered mice
i feel her teeth tearing
syringes of ecstasy
ransacking swollen motion spirals
and ***** like bronz buckaroos
at a fancy pool party
crimson *** macabre
****** roast bon bon fire
licking her lump of desire
a rousing boogyman sermon
speaks in incinerating tongues
swallowing a hideous parfait
**** growl
girl squat
**** ****
mint julip throat
choke symphony
abducting lascivious pollinated gulps
take me in like reckless bull sap
through your red
dada warp land
pit of the brain
undulant flesh landscape
of shapeless ovule spume
mouthing night blows
Incised flagellation's
devour buffet spread maiden derelict
arched and trembling
drunk and drugged
like a buttermilk sky
groaning hysterical
in feral muck stained beds
of puce and slime ochre pigments
stunned umbra
a famished
deep veined jutting peninsula
longing for princess ***** dynasties
with vast thighs radiating inferno hearths
and rolling hill **** hieroglyphics
decipher rug pugilist lap songs
my goddess i long for your
bruised fruit
crawling like the dead of night
on pitch vanta shadows
where love becomes a savage
Aug 23, 2019
Aug 23, 2019 at 1:26 PM UTC
Imagine hot
water music
traipsing down my throat
when you had your sharp tongue
shoved down my throat
with contestations simmering in my sinews,
a few of them scandalous
some true like the sudden fleeting of your crepuscular brow
to two moons paler than the love –
or the long traverse to the treacherous
roads of your skin mapped out in excess
your lecherous debris sprawling everywhere like words
to a book or silence to an early morning commute,
your undulant bursts outmatch the weight of my
steady anchors, imagine this cold wind sinking deep
into the bone at 4 o’clock in the afternoon
drunk in front of faceless crowds
hunting for purpose, discombobulated erudition
in sodden corners and cheap thrills,
imagine the scrumptious twinge of
the Sun that mangles its arms to paint a new
moon for us both and think of this as a consignment to
oblivion when the twists and turns of the road
remember only measures of steps that have no names
and not the passengers, where one wrong forceful
shot at fate could mean the end of all things down
below an ocean of muck or just stale blackness and ravines
of voices bellowing to call out departed ones
where you are just as trivial as
driving in Kennon Rd. at night without maps
and beacons, only far-fetched city buoys,
the frigid wind, the collapsing bannister of the night
cloying the turns sharper than how it was to first see you leave
in the morning, bringing in the fog for the first
light of reality to burn.
Jan 16, 2016
Jan 16, 2016 at 4:26 AM UTC
i watch you inside my head
with eyes like binocular surveillance
spinning bulls
dancing widdershins
in mind erasing rituals,
from witchy book
voodoo tropical itch
that spits a mudslide
and who are you in this poem
maybe a hungry ghost or
just a girl who has a kink
for shadows burn
from midnight suns
algorithms of bleated conundrums
and luminous smiling star eyed teeth
your undulant music
melodically bleeds desire
swelling
aching worm tongued clitori
in teary shredded *******
that bows her head like sinking stones
to touch blood silent puddles
of Pomegranate Martinis encircled by
drunken Pentecostal Lucifer's
better than a kiss could ever be
you would **** to die goat horned
pink as dingo ****
and held down by storming arms
that stop you dead past memories blur
a martyred fruit darker than night
in a leg show
scumbag halo resurrection
under threat
ankles bound
fledged
split wide and trussed
she panted
"I hate pain
but love being forced to take it".
Nov 8, 2020
Nov 8, 2020 at 1:25 PM UTC
Hypnotic
your tongue
slips and skips,
like
the navel
of the sea
salmonswimming
upstream
as it scribes
liquid aums
in
the magnetized silk
of my ****** -
before you
crucify me,
nailing my palms
to undulant dissolution
galaxies
pouring
from my mouth.
© Amber Dawn
Sep 3, 2014
Sep 3, 2014 at 3:38 PM UTC
Twitched strings, the clang of metal, beaten drums; dull, shrill, continuous, disquieting. The stealthy dancer comes undulant with cat-like steps that cling. The smile of evil crept between her painted lids, a smile. Motionless, unintelligible, she twines her fingers into mazy lines, the scarves across her fingers twine the while.
One, two, three, four glide forth, and, to and fro, delicately and imperceptibly.
You could hear the seraphs cry in between the swift dessous topped off with a jeté.
The observers watched every move, they have no idea what the young coryphée has in store.
A crimson blade covered her legs during every hypnotizing glide and sway; a matching blade for every female in the assembly, they wouldn't move from their spots on stage. They formed a pentagram with their swords; they were each so beautiful. So mesmerizing for the crowd to be graced with such pure refinement. The lead dancer gave a gesture and that's when it happened.
The girls twirled, gravitated away from their positions. Blood covers the entire floor like the rain falling; drenching the ground, dark red blood seeps into the nice hardwood floor. A body lays dead and bled out. They compiled a dance of death and evil, every pirouette sliced into the already rotted flesh. Slabs of skin thrown across the platform, horrified viewers didn't speak. Gruesome, yet beautiful. They finished and returned to their previous, assigned places of formation and the only sound is that of the maggots eating away at the rotting flesh, swallowing bites at a time adding more to the foul smell of decay.
The eyes burned onto the stage, heat built up. No one said a word; no one knew what they were suppose to say. Is it all an act? It must be, these things don't just happen, right? A few vomited because of the gut wrenching stench that overwhelmed the room.
The dancers eyes never left the floor, she simply bowed and twirled off stage; Her legs were never visible but you could see the foot prints forming behind her, they were made from blood.
Feb 19, 2016
Feb 19, 2016 at 1:44 PM UTC
The Sun beams down blessing the white curtains with a holy sort of light,
delicate undulant pristine waves of silk,
frame the green leaves that peek out,
gentle and humble,
yet
commanding the eye to gaze upon them,
aware of their beauty,
manage to give vanity allurement.
Dec 1, 2021
Dec 1, 2021 at 12:24 PM UTC
I knew a woman, lovely in her bones,
When small birds sighed, she would sigh back at them;
Ah, when she moved, she moved more ways than one:
The shapes a bright container can contain!
Of her choice virtues only gods should speak,
Or English poets who grew up on Greek
(I’d have them sing in chorus, cheek to cheek).
How well her wishes went! She stroked my chin,
She taught me Turn, and Counter-turn, and Stand;
She taught me Touch, that undulant white skin;
I nibbled meekly from her proffered hand;
She was the sickle; I, poor I, the rake,
Coming behind her for her pretty sake
(But what prodigious mowing we did make).
Love likes a gander, and adores a goose:
Her full lips pursed, the errant note to seize;
She played it quick, she played it light and loose;
My eyes, they dazzled at her flowing knees;
Her several parts could keep a pure repose,
Or one hip quiver with a mobile nose
(She moved in circles, and those circles moved).
Let seed be grass, and grass turn into hay:
I’m martyr to a motion not my own;
What’s freedom for? To know eternity.
I swear she cast a shadow white as stone.
But who would count eternity in days?
These old bones live to learn her wanton ways:
(I measure time by how a body sways).
Nov 29, 2015
Nov 29, 2015 at 3:55 PM UTC
an ant fell in between the page
of the book,
even its own silence it does not understand.
from where to climb it does not know,
all steps carve discourse;
staggering in its littleness, its fragile
mind takes on the mystery of star
and its delicate body swells in the sheen
of words.
as in the night, it trails the moon's slender stem that transfixes
a constellation's ephemerality:
a soldier tumbled over, undulant,
amazed in betweenness of light
and dark when god himself dies
before his fall was born,
o trencherman, deep in the peril
of a word's closing, fusion of
knowledge's breakwater and permutations of bluntness,
the unwelcoming abyss is your kingdom,
unwillingly enduring the taut blow
without purpose — when the book is shut, to what dark do you imagine your
eyes? to what enigma does your senses
wake up to? and to what erudition does
your silence keep flowering?
an ant fell into the book, and in its turning page, it rides each changing wave like
the white in its pale, blue horse,
arriving at different shores, yet all the same, a notable fate: stilled and dizzy
washed and unmoving in the abject night.
Dec 15, 2015
Dec 15, 2015 at 4:55 AM UTC
1996
When news of his would-be death arrived,
his body sterile in white cloth,
serene his was, his finest stupor – clinging on to a drip
of life, his tongue a strawberry his mother recounted,
forcing him into, his senses dulled,
it was 1996: else there was understanding,
there was a hand in a hand that is a latticed rose
of beauty – or unbeauty, the high prayer of it,
they sat in front of the room facing a mute wall
for days weeping or laughing. The rustling of the
daily paper broke silence not news – his dearth was sure.
no more almost was when he went sharply
in a field of grass, his shredded amusement
received by an unfolding – it was his years sideswiping
him later on, his indices of age revealing an undulant postscript
to which there were imaginary sky-portfolios and
a particular representation of a smoothened end of a smoking gun
he held now, years after, years later on
a portion of it his mouth pressed on a lover’s,
and a footnote hidden
deep within his pelvis: come back here when laden
Jun 1, 2016
Jun 1, 2016 at 3:52 AM UTC
These infantile, and awkward
steps to the Countless Embrace.
Reliving sunless suns, the blackened
circles of a karmic dance.
Dizzy as ever, dear Lord...still as ever, dear Lord...
center to circumference, drop to ripple.
Tracing newer and newer boundaries
in your Zen-white.
Self-crossing, and aloft...bliss-born
every moment, a Spark in an undulant veil.
Dec 14, 2015
Dec 14, 2015 at 10:38 AM UTC
"Odoriferous fresh gardenia flowers fragrance was she,
Her beauty will be cultivated forever amongst and beyond,
How does one know if it is love it is more than just a word?
It is a feeling soul bound that fervor’s beneath the skin,
So how do I know it is love if it isn't as the words are procured?
A sense of rising tide a rapid undulant river of a woman,
One cannot be a troglodyte in life when love arrives,
My love has arrived I have felt all the above and much more,
Sheer thoughts of her sends a billow enliven rapture within,
A rush with consternation render’s fervent fracas of piquancy,
I have heeded in life these depictions of the fluttering gusto,
As long as I live this tectonic emotion of this naiad will remain,
Restraints of the days is this prologue to exodus to enclaves,
I turned my back on the capricious sea the euphoria and somber,
Where with a strain and a ****** on the banks of islet sands,
Beauteous day slips in night as the sailing foam drifts afar,
Although I am where I am I will never be perniciously charmed,
Stars will burn for all time as I lament in demanding sadness,
Cursing as a cavalier of false hopes with untethered regret,
For I am not a troglodyte of ages but just an aesthete in love,
Beauty is Culture!”
By Andrew Guzaldo 03/02/2019 ©
Apr 2, 2019
Apr 2, 2019 at 7:29 PM UTC
so you went on to let things go,
to stay away from the people who loved you most.
all because you were looking forward to something
perfectly undulant, so unexpected and so unfortunately right for you.
but what you didn't know
was that you were looking forward
to what would be the declivity of your life.
undulant. unexpected. unfortunate.
Apr 17, 2018
Apr 17, 2018 at 8:30 PM UTC
plenitude steps taken in those
DMs. my hands in the tense wind
are two hounds in a sex-lock.
somnambulate if you may, in the pretense of this
grotesquerie. sing to me, you might, lax in tune
and foreboding by consent.
on the floor now, aslant, like two dogs
waiting in servitude,
the detritus of shedding – outside to no windows,
I perceive an elongated white of moon.
you must have hurt the world
with your darling feet.
carrying the night, deciphered from above,
whose distance is this that switches
to impact?
from the look of your face in the drone
of sleep,
I doubt my presence
but when the radio of dream soon dies
and your breath ****** out of you
like a vacated city,
the undulant breath, a fair warning
and myself simply, an aftermath.
Mar 22, 2016
Mar 22, 2016 at 12:22 AM UTC
Potter’s clay, nymph, plum unplumbed, 1993.
Dahlia, ice, powder, musk and rose.
My source of life emerged in darkness, blackness.
Seashell fragments in the sand that makes glass,
The glass ball of my life,
Cracked inside,
Light reflected off the salt crystal cracks,
Nacre kept those cracks from getting worse.
Young ****** Autosodomized By Her Own Chastity,
Nymph, I didn’t want to give my body,
Torn, ***** ballgown,
To people who wouldn’t understand me,
Piquant.
Outside on the salt flats,
Aphrodite, goddess of beauty, pleasure and fertility and
Asexual Artemis, goddess of animals, and the hunt,
Mistress of nymphs,
Punish with ruthless savagery.
In my bedroom, blue caribou moss covered rocks, pine, and yew trees,
The heartwood writhes as hurricane gales, twisters and whirlwinds
Contort their bark,
Roots strong in the soil.
Orris root dried in the sun, bulbs like wood.
Dahlia runs to baritone soundbath radio waves.
Light has frequencies,
Violet between blue and invisible ultraviolet,
Flame, slate and flint.
Every night is cold.
Torii gates, pain secured as sacred.
An assignation, frost hardy dahlia and a plangent resonant echo.
High frequency sound waves convert to electrical signals,
Breathe from someone I want,
Silt.
Beam, radiate, ensorcel.
I break the bark,
Sap flows and dries,
Resin seals over the tear.
I distill pine,
Resin and oil for turpentine, a solvent.
Quiver, bemired,
I lead sound into my darkness,
Orris butter resin, sweet and warm,
Hot jam drops on snow drops,
Orange ash on smoke,
Balm on lava,
The problem with cotton candy.
Electrical signals give off radiation or light waves,
The narrow frequency range where
The crest of a radio wave and the crest of a light wave overlap,
Infrared.
Glaciers flow, sunlight melts the upper layers of the snow when strong,
A wet snow avalanche,
A torrent, healing.
Brown sugar and whiskey,
Undulant, lavender.
Pine pitch, crystalline, sticky, rich and golden,
And dried pine rosin polishes glass smooth
Like the smell of powdery orris after years.
Softness, flush, worthy/not worthy,
Rich rays thunder,
Intensify my pulse,
Frenzied red,
Violet between blue and invisible ultraviolet.
Babylon—flutter, glow.
Unquenchable cathartic orris.
Jul 5, 2021
Jul 5, 2021 at 5:04 PM UTC
Seattle is where it's okay to bury your head in the clouds,
where it's acceptable to walk beside and among their sad water
Here, the greys of puddled sidewalks
give way to deeper greys that extend beyond the reach of their docks
This is the place where you can get to any level of cold and wet, only to be steps away from any given coffeeshop and the steam from a mug held with two hands
This is where you'll wake up and face the rain sans umbrellas
where you'll gain an aesthetic to the gloom, a poise to the overcast
Shrouded in mist at the far corner of the map, you'll draw your energy
in harmony with the ups and downs of their multi-storied fish markets and undulant streets
Here, you'll find your path through faded daylight and breathe in air embalmed by hundreds of rainy days
You'll exhale the weight you carry within your chest into a healing view of a horizon lined by ferry boats,
there to take you across whatever darkness you're faced with at day's end.
Oct 22, 2018
Oct 22, 2018 at 7:33 AM UTC
the moon-baked meadows
of our
extravagant loss
are fraught with tatters
and ambulant moss; they *****
where the grooves loose the krakens that bark
at buffoons -
and old dust bins that teeter in the
undulant dark -
Of
cul-de-sacs and withered hearts; departed from
some hell, too -
tame
for wicker men with eggs
and rain
that barter when to keep
is
plain,
and
give what
ought be
kept
at bay
as any errant
wave
that may
escape.
may well be kept
a placid
ray
in a pool of night
for days... and days
and days.
Sep 16, 2016
Sep 16, 2016 at 1:44 AM UTC