"upraised" poems
And like a bride when all the guests had flown –
Unto her Quarter Master, veil upraised
And corsage strewn atop her lily gown,
The ****** MOON stood humble and unphased
A boon of SUN's light nestled in her tresses,
And HEAVEN's gift, bright star-born chandeliers –
COUTURIER, The Wind, bestowed caresses –
CENTAURUS brought an honour guard of spears
The MOON, her dimples pale, her mood unblemished,
Fell silent as a petal on a flower –
Her slender frame looked ever the more diminished
And wanton as she lay upon her bower
She watched the constellations rearranging
To mark this passing day across the skies,
And full aware that things were ever changing
The MOON laid down her guard and closed her eyes.
Jul 19, 2018
Jul 19, 2018 at 2:18 AM UTC
Oh God
He likes me
Oh Lord
He likes me
I think I like him
I know I like him
First date gone by
Winter formal dance
The words coming from his mouth next
"Looking forward to the next date."
Had my stomach tied in knots
Climbing out of his Mercedes Benz
With the broken radio
And the heat on full blast
A smirk
A smile
A raised eyebrow
A nod of the head
A kiss?
Too soon, perhaps
He a junior, me a sophomore
We could go places
The mall
Photo booth Polaroids
Strung about my room
Shared laughs
Long nights
Tired eyes
Upraised mouths
A relationship?
Maybe
A friend?
Definitely.
Feb 2, 2014
Feb 2, 2014 at 12:49 PM UTC
unwrap my ribs. carefully,
like a present you've been waiting for
since october.
smooth out the wrinkles
along my forehead, sip
the lines from my palms.
write letters to constellations
along my marked calves, and
stain my upraised mouth with
new words that don't
belong to me. sketch
characters inside my
elbows and draw their faces
down my stomach.
take a microscope to the pores
between my vertebrae, set
original sentiments and
grow them carefully. look through
my corneas like window-panes
shattered by heat from
a church fire. clean
the bridge of my nose of
headaches and bottles and bottles
of asprin, vicodin and something
nameless and strong.
snap my tibiae over your knee,
assemble a tired face,
put it over a mask, tie the
words to my lips and send
me out into the world a refreshed,
taken individual.
Nov 16, 2010
Nov 16, 2010 at 11:20 AM UTC
There is this bare stalk in my backyard. With upraised branches, all dried, painted in contrast to the lush greenery all around: sometimes, I feel, like the branches of a swirling bolt fulminating against dark, brooding, boding skies.
I have seen three seasons pass by. This stalk has remained bare. All around, trees have gone from withering to flowering and onward. This one though, stands constantly poignant, almost embodying pathos, endlessly mourning.
Insects - termites? ants? I don't know, but I see they have covered large parts of the stalk. Raised to the skies, like an enigma, a puzzle thrown to the distant stars veiled by the firmament. Yes, I know this slow death that sustains life.
Yes, I can relate to it. It is like this pain that haunts my soul. Like the song of the smudged moon on a misty night, sung to uncaring, asleep worlds. After skies weep out their agony, the music of the last tears dripping off tips of drooping leaves.
May 20, 2013
May 20, 2013 at 12:23 PM UTC
Mist is a kiss,
Upon my bare skin,
In the middle of night in the rain,
A lover's caress,
A joy in each drop,
The love that falls from above.
In darkness I stand,
Each drop and each sound,
The peace of the valley below,
A kiss and a touch,
A whisper and blush,
The rain is my lover and friend.
I dance in the dark,
To a song no one knows,
As my skin is caressed by the rain,
My hips they do sway,
My arms are upraised,
My thanks for the kiss of the rain.
There is no joy,
As complete as mine now,
Out all alone in the rain,
No sound can be heard,
But the ****** of rain,
Here so far from the town.
Each splash of a drop,
A whisper, a touch,
It brings such joy to my soul,
My lover, my friend,
The life giving rain,
The moisture makes love to my skin.
Mist is a kiss,
Upon my bare skin,
In the middle of night in the rain,
A lover's caress,
A joy in each drop,
The love that falls from above.
~The Love That Falls From Above by Bethany Davis, June 7, 2014
Jun 23, 2014
Jun 23, 2014 at 4:32 AM UTC
shot of whiskey
i shot my mouth off at a bible salesman
shot a man with a glass eye on a street corner
he shot me a mean streak
shot out a candy cane window
a king in a powder blue sedan shot down the turnpike
never had a shot with her in a red flannel shirt
shot a broke down dog at a fire hydrant in birmingham
he shot out of a lawn mower
shot towards some handshaking stranger
shot down some train tracks
shadows shot with arms upraised
being shot at by electric trains
i shot a mirror at the stars
they shot back with a voiceless gesture
she shot right through my heart
her hair shot gold to kingdom come
Jan 20, 2014
Jan 20, 2014 at 10:07 PM UTC
I ran my race,I did my best.
I'm not the champion,I'm among the rest.
After twenty six miles I'm scant of breath.
I push myself but there's not much left.
I search the crowds on Boyleston Street.
for the friends That I'm supposed to meet.
I see an upraised friendly sign
that marks my race's finish line.
Then thunder, fire, billowing smoke.
The air is acrid and I am choked.
The starter clock reads Four oh Nine
as I fall across the finish line.
I think of him from ancient times
who ran a race as long as mine
To Athens he sped from Marathon
to bring good news in a troubled time.
My news is evil, I scarce can speak
of what I saw there in the street
A loud report, a second bomb,
A portion of the grandstand gone
A blur of color, the flag brought down
I see the picture but there's no sound.
Apr 15, 2013
Apr 15, 2013 at 8:14 PM UTC
Follow that burning you feel in your bones. That tingle of pure fire running through your veins
Ignite your soul.
there is so much I would love
to see
These trees
wrap their arms around my blossoming soul; my true home found in the purest laughter of the wind
and the dancing call of the creek
I am you and you are me
we are everything
To be anything. Moment. Living present to recieve our presence. You are only ever here. Now. Embrace the breath found in these rolling forests
our glittering banks
Embrace your breath.
We are freedom. Living simply, living peacfully. We are love. Embrace this moment always.
The sun brushes kisses upon my upraised face
bringing warmth to my soul
opening in delicious appreciation of the wonderful heat that he is.
Everyday. bestowing kisses and asking nothing in return.
What can be more beautiful
then that?
Take this body. Release tension. Breath deep. Breathe to remind. You are anything. Everything. Take your body and live in your truth. Imagine if you did, how free you would be!
My soul is expanding, wide open hugging the earth in all her glory. So diverse, so intricate, so simple. She is everywhere. Fingers of wind running through my hair, salty kisses of the ocean, brushing my toes. The burbling laugh of mountain streams hopping rocks in their journey of release.
There is no search. There is only now, and the enjoyment of the chickadee calling goodmorning to the toes of sun running between the cedar trunks. There is only now. Breath.
I am you and you are me.
we are everything
Apr 13, 2017
Apr 13, 2017 at 1:47 AM UTC
Drawn lines amongst the willows dripping,
Shadows of the morning,
Sight set upon the evening star,
He gazes at the solstice moon,
Plots placements of the plinths and altars,
Holds the hearts of sarsens.
Tomorrow all the villagers will come
Expecting messages and blessings.
Tonight he only dances.
Robed arms upraised
Reflect the branches overhead
Now shattered by the starlight,
Recessional of priesthood.
Across the yawning sway of centuries
He smiles.
He knows the fervid moss
A dream much like his own and all those after,
How the generations falling down
Will wonder, touch the giant stones
And breathe
Oct 30, 2013
Oct 30, 2013 at 12:59 PM UTC
There were certain
disturbances:
Skirts high on the thigh,
front-row desks and
that shadow between
the knees;
Questions showing
the definition of the torso
and the upraised arm;
Sojourns to the office
at dusk
to pose shyly–
fingered tress in golden
lamplight between door and frame–
and the door closing;
And of course
learning, passion,
bright eyes and
a vernal splendor
of poetry.
Nov 7, 2011
Nov 7, 2011 at 4:57 PM UTC
Why won’t you hear? Why won’t you see?
I don’t want you to want any but me
My heart is raw, yours is numb
I feel you are deaf and dumb
To me alone, but to all others you gawk
Chasing after them like a hovering hawk
I figure in my mind, I reason away
That you get attention and like it that way
But you know commitment of heart is mine
You hate thinking of being tied down to a line
Even if that cord be anchored deep
And from the surging ocean keep
Safe and sound, forever held
In my arms, our hearts meld
No, the thought of that you can’t stand
So I stand alone with an empty hand
Staring at it upraised, forlorn, I’m thinking
Maybe, it’s best, but with that thought I’m sinking
In darkened void with destructive intent
No, you and me, somehow, it is meant.
Oct 17, 2011
Oct 17, 2011 at 10:19 PM UTC
I.
A beat pulses through the song
rising like a plume of smoke
across the ridge.
The night rolls on.
A love languishes.
I can't help but
self-destruct.
The scattering clouds.
Heart-beats to the head-song.
Do you even exist?
II.
Arms upraised like those of a
tote bag. I surrender. Fold
up, like a gunny sack.
Not this, not this.
Stars flicker mourning my
slow disappearance.
You must, when I ask like this.
Dead man's procession. Every
pot-holed road is a graveyard
of dogs. Dead, unsung.
III.
Milk spreads in the tea cup,
shooting out, widening,
tentacles, like fear.
IV.
Why is your voice this feeble?
My face, flatter than is usual
in this mirror?
You mean, you are me too?
I mean, does that even like
supposed to
mean something?
V.
I'm an Olympic hero. All of us.
Hubbub. Throb, to
the music-plume.
Mysterious plume.
Feb 11, 2013
Feb 11, 2013 at 12:55 PM UTC
the appropriate place
on this exam
to
explain to you the way
that my heart
stuttered in my chest
and my words retreated
when you bent over my desk,
in response to my upraised hand.
Surprised,
I found that suddenly
the only questions I had left
had little to do with History
and
Everything
to do with the way
your ***
looked in your jeans.
Dec 10, 2012
Dec 10, 2012 at 7:42 PM UTC
in my private conversations, so many
emiploy this phrase, arms on chest folded,
a whispery plaint, and I too am folded into
too pieces, as well, my understanding fulsome,
for the struggling is well familiar, I under stand
beneath you, arms upraised, holding your shaking,
throbbing, wistful hearty sighs, constant tumbling,
floor~falling, see rose petals of sighs, all quiet screams,
and
my weak remedy is urging you to express
with the skill, known in you possess, to give
it forth, give it out and let us love your burdens
shared, and thus the be the firmament of our ties…
selfishly, I plead that you stun us with the
insight inside, hopeless hoping you surrender
and share in the only way I know that expiates some,
the grief, some of pained shame, and for a momentary
gasping, allows us grasping you, through you poetry,
the value you can bring forth to others humanity,
helping us to make us a better~both, with written creating
sums far, far greater than the to~us whole…
nml
7:45AM
Sabbath
May 25
2024
Silver Beach, Shelter Island
May 25, 2024
May 25, 2024 at 8:09 AM UTC
There is an entire world
that you do not belong in.
Their dreams seem distant,
their hearts of stone,
their smiles withered;
upon them shines a different sun.
You reach out,
but are unseen.
Did they do so, too?
Why, they did of course,
with upraised words most unbefitting,
they reached out as well
to you.
What good, however?
Between us, a chasm.
And those that,
much to your surprise,
did jump it -
did not jump to treat with you,
but as you,
to linger.
You linger still,
as do your hopes.
You do not in vain
hope for this different world
of peace and understanding
of gaps sutured shut
with meaningful intention.
But your words
are misaligned.
And you are, to all,
foreign,
of malice,
greed
and hatred.
You do not dream in vain,
but for now, you don't belong.
May 14, 2013
May 14, 2013 at 7:58 AM UTC
O Lord, my God and Heavenly King,
my heart continues to rejoice;
for You alone are worthy of praise!
I honor Thee with my poetic voice.
Despite the scars of emotional hurt,
that constantly seek to swallow me up,
I know that You are nearby, having…
sipped from Your sacrificial cup.
Patiently, I wait, shedding anxieties
about my earthly troubles and circumstance.
Joyfully, I petition Thee with prayers,
thankful that You are… Lord of the Dance.
With my heart and upraised hands,
I bask in Your Presence and peace.
Guard my heart and mind with tranquility;
permit my turmoil… to permanently cease.
When I’m focused on whatever is pure,
It’s You - that has my spirit stirring.
Consume my Life with Your essence.
Insure that I… rejoice in everything!
Author Notes:
Loosely based on:
Phil 4:4-9
Learn more about me and my poetry at:
http://www.squidoo.com/book-isbn-1419650513/
By Joseph J. Breunig 3rd, © 2012, All rights reserved.
Sep 27, 2013
Sep 27, 2013 at 8:26 AM UTC
Cradling a handful of Illinois dust,
dry residue of sycamore, deer
and ancient Mississippians,
I splay my fingers like an eagle's claw -
releasing it to the fickle breezes.
A sudden gust of wind
swirls up an ocher cloud -
a cyclone dervish of sand and clay.
My hand, upraised for a shield
ever so briefly vanishes -
veiled by the impatient dust.
May, 2008
Aug 3, 2013
Aug 3, 2013 at 6:18 AM UTC
For whom do I wait for and for whom do I long,
Through ages and times long past?
Whose touch is it that shakes my soul,
With joy and pleasure full?
Across my back a gentle touch,
That tickles as much as thrills.
Along me sides, I rise to meet,
And kisses my naked neck.
Astride my waste, my shoulders rub,
A weight that comforts and warms.
Along my arms, a gentle stroke,
That raises bumps across my skin.
Moving down on my feet to sit,
And rubs my upraised rear.
And down my thighs and my calves,
And my feet never knew such joy.
You role me over, my front exposed,
Your smile that makes me blush.
Up my legs your hands to roam,
And outward up my hips.
Once more you sit across my waist,
And now our eyes do meet.
Leaning down, you kiss my lips,
And from them come a sign.
You kiss my cheeks and then my nose,
And then my waiting neck.
My eyes are closed as your hands them roam,
And move across my *******
I purr, I stretch, I love your touch,
The play of fingers deft.
How is your touch so well known,
Why do I know it so?
For whom do I wait for and for whom do I long,
Through ages and times long past?
Whose touch is it that shakes my soul,
With joy and pleasure full?
Your kisses come, first on my neck,
And then you kiss my chest.
Down between my lovely breast,
Your kisses pull my heart.
Round the bottom up the sides,
Your lips upon my breast.
Soft as snow and warm as fire,
And wet like springtime dew.
My flesh it moves, alive and free,
Delighting in your kiss.
Flesh to flesh, lip to breast,
Ecstatic joyous me.
First one breast and then the other,
Consuming all of me.
I quiver there beneath your hips,
And beneath your steamy breath.
I'm drowning here in ecstatic joy,
Beneath your loving kiss.
A way to die I'd be glad to have,
An ocean of your love.
Then you stop and give me breath,
And let me settle down.
You look at me with loving eyes,
In in them I am lost.
A smile you give, a crooked smile,
That bodes I know not what.
You hands them move, they touch my *******
Then settle at my waist.
You moved down, I know not when,
For I was lost in bliss.
My waist held firm, your hips descend,
Now I'm like a bed.
Your searching kiss my belly finds,
It tickles and delights.
In circles slow with movements fair,
I giggle on my back.
And down you go, you kiss my hips,
One kiss on either side.
You kiss my mound, you move on down,
Your lips that do delight.
Once more I think and wonder why,
I swear I know your touch.
For whom do I wait for and for whom do I long,
Through ages and times long past?
Whose touch is it that shakes my soul,
With joy and pleasure full?
Your lips are soft, your gentle kiss,
Wet and fully there.
Kiss of delights that finds me there,
Kiss at my most hidden place.
A moving tongue, a searching kiss,
A building wave within.
Forever lost in sweet embrace,
A flower in the spring.
Petals part and nectar flows,
Consumed with daring care.
A flower opened for your joy,
And pleasure for myself.
~For Whom Do I Wait by Bethany Davis, June 1, 2014
Jun 2, 2014
Jun 2, 2014 at 5:40 AM UTC
Once fully liberated, she rides her antique, three-speed bike down the small hill from her campsite to the: RESTROOMS – SHOWERS – PAYING CAMPERS ONLY. She dismounts and goes into the well-kept, recreational facilities and takes a hot, 50-cent, seven-minute shower, arching her soapy back against the white tiles, rubbing her soapy front in the same spot, up and down and up, and then, rinsed, she stands, dripping wet in front of the first full-length mirror she's seen in weeks, gyrating her hips, mocking pin-up poses to herself and all god's good-looking men with a sense of the absurd, then she wraps her towel around, tying the knot between her ******* She stands outside in the sweet, Santa Vidian air, finger-drying her hair and imagining, unabashedly imagining, guys in the campsite above, eating fresh-cooked meat and ogling her. Then she takes off down the road, pale green nightgown fluttering against the rear spokes, past Bonnie's trailer where from sundown till 11pm you can hear the best country music: Randi Travis, Willie Nelson, Hank Williams Sr. She pulls up to her sweet “Bleu Belle,” shushes the dogs reflexively, hops off the bicycle, and turns, eyes closed, face upraised into a rare shaft of redwood forest sun.
Jun 3, 2015
Jun 3, 2015 at 1:07 PM UTC
the five fighters push past
at a slow run
their sweating form
a unified theory of motion
their thoughts
a universe of devotions
to the craft of defeat and victory's
they move with concentration through
the steady persistence of rain
as a single
organism of denials of the ability to
surrender to the dull life
as they push past you
pacing the wet pavement with careworn step
you can feel the cheering crowd
you can sense the elation
of the upraised fist of championship
and the eyes of the world upon
as they push past you sense
what it means to be
undefeated
undefeatable
five fighters
at a slow run
in the steady uncaring rain
and as they push past your
broken wheelbarrow existence
they reach out from within to share their strength
for the greatest champion
knows the strength of frailty
Oct 8, 2013
Oct 8, 2013 at 12:31 PM UTC
cannot find true rest,
all the tumult in this world,
writ both large and small,
saps my upraised arms
alternate
flexing angry fists eager to strike hard
my revived new **** enemies,
and gods inexcusable and conspicuous absence in
Barcelona, Finland and my own
Charlottesville,
and
to quiet comfort commiserating, and storing
all the pain of individual souls I've acquired willingly
and the sunset comes quiet,
trying to sooth by adding
a gentling cream of cooling breeze,
the squirrels eye me suspiciously,
sensing the amiss within,
and all perfect sailboats voyaging past,
yet none stopping at the dock
to offer condolences or solaces
my watch ticks louder
each tick,
a worrisome cursed reminder
this real life seems to be endless struggle
interrupted by small comforts of little voices and
promises that escape is inevitable
each tock,
a fresh notification
the week's approach will contain
another visit from
Hamlet's ghost,
warning of warring factions
battlefield clashing
in a chesterfield plain
between two of mine shoulder blades
constantly reminded how lucky I am,
makes me grow quiet and put pen to one side,
and try to balance accounts, using this time,
pencil and erasure
I need a break and some glue
I need reparations and a battle plan
or happily learn to surrender
and accept being a
dumb terminal,
a slave,
that doesn't ask for
peace of mind
and knock off this poet of the
no way
Aug 20, 2017
Aug 20, 2017 at 5:06 PM UTC
With gentle love and kindness, a mother’s hands take care
with strength and understanding a father’s hands are there.
The hands of time move forward and with them we must go.
We bite the hand that feeds us in spite of all we know.
Lend a hand to those we love, the deed will be returned,
let the left hand know the right, sharing secrets they have learned.
Hands O mighty hands beware, your strength is yet unknown,
heal and save with soothing ways and your worth soon will be shown.
Dynamic hands, loving hands and those that read in Braille,
hands that reach and hands that teach and hands that try and fail.
Hands that beg and hands that steal and hands that hold the light,
hands that search and hands that touch, warlike hands that fight.
Hands that point and hands that wave, some folded as they pray
hands that take and those that give in a very special way.
Hands that speak with a gentle grace, for those who hear no sound,
a world of words in fingertips has suddenly been found.
Stretch your arms up to the sky, rejoice with hands upraised
For he who gave us each two hands must surely now be praised.
Feb 15, 2011
Feb 15, 2011 at 11:14 AM UTC
It's dust, mostly
the kind that burrows
deep into the creases
of his forehead
and hides inside
the crinkles
around his eyes
It's forever stuck
to the soles of his boots
and never rinses out
of his denims
in the river,
not entirely
And it finds a way
to roll with beads
of sweat in dripping
lines exposing
parchment skin
but somehow never
penetrates the ring
around his head,
preserved forever
by his stetson's brim
And it's also ashes
from chaparral
and tumbleweeds,
lit up in circles
where he camped
leaving a trail
of where he's been,
like breadcrumbs
swept away in a
restless breeze
It's the creaking sound
of leather in his saddle
and the rhythmic
thud of horseshoes
pounding sunbaked ground
It's the wind in his face
that grits his teeth
and squints his
glassy eyes
It's standing in the stirrups
to fly above the racing plain,
keeping balance
with the whipping mane
It's the endless sky,
and the horizon
that never fades
But mostly,
it's the dust
that he holds
in upraised palms
slipping through
his fingers, disappearing
from his touch
in the wild and still
untamed range
Mar 26, 2014
Mar 26, 2014 at 9:57 PM UTC
tears of sorrow
excoriated
the depths of her soul
a radiant angel
touched
her fathoms
with fingers of solicitude
their light
upraised
her from the depths
of aching despondency
Jul 21, 2014
Jul 21, 2014 at 10:35 PM UTC
"Don't come any closer" she said
pulling a sliver from her heart,
the one she kept on her filament wrist
hand upraised, shaking but sure
a pinprick of light glinting in her fist
matching the spark shining through the hole
once filled with an object sharper than her pain
pull them out so you can forget
so you can remember
what it's like to breathe
what it's like to cast yourself
like the night sky
she lunged, a streak in the dark
everything roiled in a chaotic ink
except a twinkle one could balance
on the tip of a needle
Mar 15, 2016
Mar 15, 2016 at 2:24 PM UTC