"unwraps" poems
clouds of lilac blossom
thick in the blue air.
day unwraps in slow
whispers and the wind
is more lonely than am i.
the sky is a broken
vase, little
pathways of the sun,
her strange loads,
her happy voice.
the lilacs were our love song
may swept into our hair and eyes
little pieces of me scattering
like breaking waves.
dipped in the magical ink
of flowers
the garden cries
for its wilderness
its withering of sky
its blossoming of twig
until you can’t see the sky
and it becomes softly an impression,
a fine mist of golds.
no song now,
only the death of the
wind and a new road
that winds from the silver distances
of the moon.
only a harbour where i
rest for a while, a little
boat bobbing where the waves lap,
waiting for you...
May 4, 2015
May 4, 2015 at 11:31 AM UTC
i.
impressionist,
where the grey
clouds and the blue
ice of winter
gather their ghosts,
winter, too cold,
too white, the
woodland hollows
dent,
summer love
discarded in
the frost,
the sky oaken,
the moon’s forget-me-knots
silvery dream.
ii.
clouds like wintery steel,
sunken, in a night pool,
the golds of my heart,
the lodestar gathers
moss and rook,
glimmers in a sky
of woven cloth,
her leaves, the trees
of winter,
her leaves, the dark
breath of the storm.
iii.
winter and quiet stars
brooding emperor
sleeping in the twilight
hour,
winter dreams of
strange ice caverns
where ice ghosts
dance with twisting
hair.
iv.
pond of ice,
snow bear,
snow dream,
sleep unwraps
wide avenues of
trees,
sleep, the dark girl,
the falling tide.
v.
twig breaks under foot,
earth’s thrones
settle in the lizardy light
the moon rises in the sky,
soft centuries of sky.
Jan 3, 2017
Jan 3, 2017 at 1:57 PM UTC
A gift to the world
With a rift to unfurl
A new baby girl
Will give it a whirl
But the water will swirl
Around the innocent pearl
A gift for this land
With the perils of man
And nature at hand
Before she can stand
She faces the brand
Of human demands
A gift for the people
She's a glorious sequel
That must build a steeple
Where everyone's equal
And prosper the meek will
On their own free will
A gift
A treasure
Will shift
Our pleasure
From the initial
Superficial
Towards
More words
With each other
As brothers
With a new sister
Removing blisters
A gift for all
She must answer the call
With a chance she'll fall
Into the ways people stall
To avoid an order too tall
Then just block up the hall
We receive the gift of life
From a man and his wife
That they present to humanity
So she may remove our insanity
Disarming the gun they handed me
She unwraps the gift of standing free
Jul 24, 2018
Jul 24, 2018 at 1:20 PM UTC
outside, the cold air
unwraps my skin.
i’m listening to a friend
tell us a story
that feels rehearsed,
meant to impress
but all i can think about
how sweet my drink is
and the length of that girl’s dress
across the street.
then i see him —
half-familiar, waving.
i don’t remember his name,
but he does me,
goes on about
jobs he’s changed
and the old team.
i’m the only one left.
he asks if life
is treating me well.
i nod.
he asks if i’m happy.
i look down,
searching for the answer
between cigarette ash
and concrete.
“if you need to think about it,”
he says,
“you’re not.”
his words stay with me
for the rest of the night,
then the week,
then the month.
Sep 16, 2025
Sep 16, 2025 at 11:24 AM UTC
A normal couple during the week,
But when the weekend comes,
They cancel all that bores them both,
And to passion they succumb,
She bathes in water full of roses,
Soaking up the essence,
While he chills out,
Afew quick drinks then unwraps his **** present,
Thet meet at home, the kitchen sink,
Their first of many meetings,
Then living room, where he comes first,
Her mouth licks up his greeting,
Theback yard table plays the host to we, hot loving passion,
Where she comes next, then to their room,
She models **** fashion,
They warp themselves around eachother,sweat just makes it better,
They probe their bodies, grinding down,
The scent makes her get wetter,
Before they know it, Monday's here,
And in comes that routine,
They kiss goodbye, head off to work, and crave next Friday,s meeting :)
Nov 25, 2010
Nov 25, 2010 at 4:32 AM UTC
I’ve found her sticky
trail of coincidental
spots, the tasty spit
to lead squishy spells
and piece together
our puzzling
theme of a tree-top
fall to redemption
There when entangled,
the overture hangs,
our forbidding fruit of blue
translucent petals,
and it swirls and swells
to fixture-
cast an eerie glow
that slowly unwraps
And inseminates
us with precious, not-thought of
possibilities
for rebirth.
Nov 13, 2010
Nov 13, 2010 at 6:38 AM UTC
weathered fingertips in sensual crescendo
arouse blitzing keystrokes to commove
wild Js and Zeds, Ks and Is too.
harmony of the king's three-thousand acre jungle
swallowing the stormy orange cyclical stew
and tantamount to its feral cavities
thrushes whet jagged spinal bones to split
news of the no-rhythm, sambas of new religious canter
infiltrates the **** cavernous walls
This inner ear and greater sound
knew to find sanctuary here.
Lends its awesome craft to the next
And next, and next, and next;
beautiful unboxed melodies
new unused sweet single-reeds
threading that 20s centrifuge.
Saxophone. Incantations unfolding
Aloof in its ***** it unwraps
The veil of green, a costume of black coffees
Cigarette stained curtains exhumed to greet
Thick plumes of albicant sinewy smoke
At the heap of its glorious song
Uniting the funnel of eardom to consecrate
Bliss. Intrinsic and purple
An irrational knot of Portuguese drum
Met over by African toms and rattles
A glue imbued into those unmistakable
Chakras of this spell of mourning and reversed
Names of starlight girls and their other'd selves
These are the weapons of our new key strokes.
And upon the cortex it reveals this lift anew
Where death greeted me to intervene a place
Where sound and silence meet, and new strikes
Put my hands in halves. Pear-shaped birds pecking
At the joints, and where bowl-shaped tones bring
Their impeccable limbs to atone with auburn and cerise soils
Beneath the high ridges of doom- the empowering backspace
Does not exist, only new nothingnesses and their hooves
Splashing into each step into the next, and the next, and the next,
And the next.
Nov 6, 2015
Nov 6, 2015 at 7:10 AM UTC
i.
light in lazy pools
patches of shadow
like closing doors.
ii.
i float
like a ghost
open the sky
like a love letter.
iii.
a bird hovers,
shudders to
a sky that
unwraps its
dreams like
inky pools.
iv.
greyer than ghosts
that kiss for my
lips,
that trembling
of my heart
just for you.
Aug 8, 2016
Aug 8, 2016 at 2:10 PM UTC
Bleary-eyed, an old man asks for change,
coins rattling in his hand. A woman
hands him saltine crackers across the aisle.
“God bless you,” he mutters, takes a seat,
and unwraps the plastic with shaking hands.
He smiles at her before she leaves the train.
Tonight, the passengers on the train
are surprisingly quiet for a change.
We are all staring down at our hands.
And then the silence breaks - a woman
cackles aloud to herself in her seat.
Her laughter travels up and down the aisle.
I overhear a conversation across the aisle
between a couple who’ve just entered the train,
and are searching for a pair of empty seats.
They’re muttering “the country is changing”
and they say they are afraid. The woman
sighs, and reaches for her lover’s hand.
I look over at a child holding her mother’s hand.
I meet the little girl’s gaze from across the aisle.
I see myself as a child too, but to her I’m a woman.
I wonder how often the little girl rides the train.
Does she long to see something else for a change -
something other than the back of a seat?
I notice a lady who has started dancing in her seat,
snapping her fingers and waving her hands,
bobbing to a silent beat. I imagine her changing
into a sequined dress and waltzing down the aisle,
giving everyone a performance to watch on the train.
I imagine standing up and dancing with that woman
and then everyone begins to dance with the woman -
we all jump up onto our seats
and suddenly we are in a ballroom, not a train.
We are tapping our feet and clapping our hands
to the music - the little girl across the aisle
is dancing with the old man who asked for change.
The train stops. We’ve arrived at my station. The dancing woman leaves the train. The passengers change and now there are strangers in their seats. I wave my hand goodbye to the little girl as I walk past her down the aisle.
Mar 6, 2021
Mar 6, 2021 at 7:50 PM UTC
To pelt the world in ice and graves.
To feel how quiet this part of town feels
When the lites turn on we will not sleep.
We will not dream of anything tonite
We will run like the chinook salmon runs
To flood the world in rivers alive
With pain the pain of peace.
The pain after loss.
What will come here when the hedges pop
Out like boxing gloves.
Out of me is songs apollo sang.
Out of him and I we dance with
Wounded leggs. And prove
How sweet salt tastes on gashes of death.
How sweet to taste imortality when
The cars speed.
What now is a world full of saints.
To fill markets with fresh fish.
And throw the bottles of whiskey
Where they belong. Where they are warm
Proves how hot my sweater gets when my
Forhead clams up.
My scarf unwraps and we run
With out our cloths down pearl street.
Let there be muse forever on feet and side walk.
We mustnt forget why we break free from
The shakles of eternity.
The horrible shakles of wild life.
Are finally pure gold.
The softest medal to bend.
And we leave the tempting
Medal behind and choose to
Drink the rain drops.
Nov 15, 2013
Nov 15, 2013 at 1:08 AM UTC
wonder if it's real
this place I call home
where the cosmos create
the tides turn and
the moon is in cahoots
with the cat population
wild wolf howl roars
composure unwraps
conscious our conversation
crawlin' round my belly
a quiet coat of fur
heart warming homecoming
the ease of revolution
Oct 28, 2014
Oct 28, 2014 at 12:46 PM UTC
there are echoes of christmas chimes
in the midsummer dreamscape she has
woven on our bedsheets with
her photographs and pencil sketches
there is much to be done and little time to keep
she gently sweeps away such frail notions
and with sparkling wonders
shining in her eyes she unwraps the day
with her girlish laughter's and warm joys
there are christmas chimes in the beautiful light of her eyes
i am there in her afterglows and tender kisses
im there to kiss the bells in her dreadlocks
as stillness once more settles like a ****** snow
soft and silent gently while we slept
im there in her afterglows
with english schoolboys charms
to dazzle and delight
because i live for her smile
because i live for her joys
Jun 16, 2014
Jun 16, 2014 at 11:33 PM UTC
she folds herself into the chair
and carefully takes her purse apart
its ten thousand pieces form fit into neat piles of
randomness on the kitchen table
she places a picture of her old lover on my forehead
a drawing of a photographic rendering
its open face page stares down at me blankly
and rants slowly in dead languages
of its oblique view of the universe from perspective of a blind beggar
with his relief at being free of handbag confines
the grieving young widow wearing her wedding dress
runs into the vestibule and assaults the coat rack
trying to find her husbands face hidden in the pockets
after all the cheating ******* always getting head from every floozie
left traces of himself all over all kinds of women
if lips could get pregnant he'd have a million children
she unwraps a notepad from her covered perch
and scrawls letters to famous dead figures of history as
she lurks in the coffee houses seeking poetic romances
she hangs round women's bathrooms for ***
there are large cracks in her family portrait
and she fills them with silly-putty and bubble gum
the widow is now running thru the wood
naked as a jaybird
she carries her wedding dress in a demon infested box
and she screams things to alienate them from any ideas of escaping
she would rather bear their burden than loose them on the world
she is a **********
and i adore her
and everything about her
i would do anything to help and protect her
i am in love with her too
if you knew her you would love her
she is a wonderful person
nobody else can manufacture a entire universe from a homeless bag lunch
build a castle with its knights in shinning armor out of cigarette packs
find something dumpster diving and walk across town to give it to someone
that would give it a good home
remarkable people like her are always close to my heart
Aug 7, 2013
Aug 7, 2013 at 8:29 PM UTC
Lydia
unwraps her
Kit Kat bar
and breaks off
a finger
and eats it
I watch her
like some pup
hoping she
will break off
a finger
for Benny
it's morning
the sun bright
coming through
the narrow gap
between flats
she bites off
more finger
her small teeth
less white now
want a bit?
she asks me
offering
half finger
that'd be nice
I reply
I take it
and mouth it
and eat it
explosion
of biscuit
chocolate
and sweetness
she eats more
as we walk
through the Square
my sister's
Lydia
informs me
you stole it?
borrowed it
I’ll buy one
just for her
when I can
does she know?
I ask her
not just yet
but I will
I promise
she gives me
a finger
of chocolate
I’m paid off
now she eats
the last piece
******** up
the paper
she puts it
in the small
dress pocket
it's all gone
we the two
partakers
of the crime
lick our lips
and walk on
it was nice
the feeling
the warm taste
chocolate
crisp biscuit
won't she know?
I ask her
not just yet
too busy
in our bed
she tells me
with the Spiv
smart boyfriend
we walk down
the wide slope
from the Square
gazing up
Meadow Row
where the Sun
smiles at us
Sep 17, 2014
Sep 17, 2014 at 2:25 AM UTC
A day in the life of an alley cat, struck dead on the least busy street in the smallest town in Nebraska.
1 am: Druggy, *** you money, ****** don't deserve love, not easy to tell mom. I think of you. Your lungs are begging for my scold. Control is the word you use when no other fits the sentence. You occupy my mind when I am restless, testing the limits of kindness and low voices.
4 am: Your smile, the warmest hot chocolate of your eyes, your knuckles, the baby fat that melted from you, it haunts me. It's like I caught of a glimpse of the wrong angel, the half rotten, beyond gone, but still glowing angel. I killed you with a .45 and a gallon of mouthwash. You dripped into the Earth as a puddle beneath my toes. Gracious Lord, do not forgive me. I know I don't.
8 am: Insomnia without poetry. Tired without body. Maggots without mouths. Catholic priest, without sympathy. God without mercy. Drug abuse, without the realization of undignified addiction. Suicide without the comfort of killing, certainty.
3 pm: Sentiment, true and real, above annoyance and protectiveness. I am now a ghost above a body, finally weightless, finally free of His hands.
6 pm: Joy breaks open like a candy, soft center.
10 pm: Life tears my fingers open, unwraps the flesh from bone like Christmas. I feel my tongue fall out. Dusty antique radios are cleaned, losing authenticity. Their songs scream, sounding a lot like Billy Joel, after the catgut snaps. I feel my mind crawl out of the china cabinet.
11 pm: Nothing. There's really nothing to say at all.
Aug 18, 2016
Aug 18, 2016 at 11:44 PM UTC
it starts to grow cold
night unwraps stars
and amber moons,
the stream sings
with its silver-throated joys
and dreams of the skies
with their beautiful
dark
sorrows.
Oct 7, 2015
Oct 7, 2015 at 1:38 PM UTC
the moon, shrunken, faint
as pencil, as if the wild nettles
of night carried her loads.
her glazes the raptures of
dancing stars.
her stencil mark a white crescent
leant on cloud.
the trees shudder in the
wind, break their promises,
forgive no one.
the tide listens to her rhythms,
traps them in water, distils
her victories, unwraps the dark,
stretches it out.
Oct 12, 2024
Oct 12, 2024 at 10:41 AM UTC
her moist candy lips decorate my eyes
with thick intentions **** sweet
she moves across the room like a liquid smooth and wet
her hot skin sends chills up my spine
as she unwraps herself and melts fluently into my arms
like my body is a second language to her
moist candy lips taste so good
her dreadlocks scented with roses
entwined with beads
she swallows me down to my heart and soul
hours later in the kitchen
visions of better pancakes
make her inspect the lumpy batter
with narrowed eyed suspicions
cluck the tongue and
natter natter natter the bakers pie
neener neener neener shes got my weener
you spoon out the day
like it was ice creams
flavours of the mind a rainbow of reasons to love
she hovers over your stove puts a pipe in your hat
and talks over your carefully chosen words
with her own reasons for her lumpy mind
poor girl never really got her batter really stirred by somebody
we laugh the day away
this is how life should be
Jan 30, 2014
Jan 30, 2014 at 2:29 PM UTC
drunk on fire
a firefly ignites black sheet
mystery unwraps
Sep 25, 2012
Sep 25, 2012 at 3:35 AM UTC
A lion that cannot roar,
A mouse's voice that booms across a tiny horizon
in a box pushed up against the window
shuffling about in the night
aimlessly pacing forgetting what was just back there
but knowing that he unwraps the fabric of time
spinning it back, onto A spindle-y future
BLIND BLIND BLIND
a mouse gone blind now thrice
what can't I see
What can can i see
what if you don't see too
well then i must be
MADMADMADMAN
there is something blurry off there in the distance
i can cannot tell if my window is *****
or the thing is simply a vague example of poor resolution
My voice booms
is it is louder than it isn't is it
SHOW ME SHOW WE SHOW US US US US
if you brought your nocs
what is it you see
CAN IT BE
that poorly resolved distant figurine behind the ***** glass of the cardboard prison is it could it be
ME
Mar 23, 2012
Mar 23, 2012 at 1:36 AM UTC
streams of the stars
golden leaves
sinking in the fading light
dappled shadows
where the light drowns
its stones and unwraps
the sweetness of the night.
Sep 12, 2015
Sep 12, 2015 at 1:26 PM UTC
You were
the most
colorful
but your
flavour
was short
lived
"unwraps another"
Nov 8, 2018
Nov 8, 2018 at 4:31 AM UTC
my kindness is wrapped
in sandpaper,
my sorrow is bundled
in rage,
the solace that I find
write now,
are these words
I’ve placed on
the page.
you might not want
these gifts I bear,
but really they’re
all I’ve got.
what I need,
I’ll take from you,
with too few words
of thanks.
I’m sorry that
I move through
life with the grace
of an explosion;
a tank.
but, know that I
am grateful for how
much you’ve given
me,
it means more
than you
will ever see.
so, as you gather
your resolve,
strengthening your
nerve,
know that I do
the same, because
you are more than
I deserve.
blessed be you
who unwraps
razors,
I’ve poisoned them
with love.
I’ve put them in this
envelope,
the corners sealed
with blood.
***
-JBClaywell
© P&ZPublications
Nov 16, 2016
Nov 16, 2016 at 5:00 PM UTC
She drinks every night until the last drop hits her tongue
this is where she leaves out that door
As I run towards her I trip and fall scraping my knee on the wooden floor
She runs after me picking me up and carrying me to her room placing me on the bed quickly running after the rubbing alcohol and the band aids with the pretty pink princesses
I hold my knees together not wanting to be touched
she shouts
"suelta" (Let go) and pulls my arms apart,
her hands are as soft as cotton
"Esto no va doler" (This won't hurt)
I cry from the top of my lungs
she lied
It hurts
She unwraps the pink princess then wipes the tears running down my cheeks
She tells me
"Mirame" (look at me)
I can hardly see her pass the water gushing from my eyes
She says "Vas a estar bien mija"
(You're going to be okay my daughter)
Her eyes are swollen
burning red
Her complexion is pale
she has not slept
Her hands placed over my legs are as cold as
ice
She's wearing the same clothes from yesterday evening
She wraps her arms around my waist
Slowly leaning over
She says,
"Te Amo"
I love you
I can smell the red wine
Mar 10, 2016
Mar 10, 2016 at 8:24 AM UTC