"vortical" poems
Waiting for the storm
to lower its head and charge
In ozone incense of unstable air
Eons of ions ago
horned and heavy negatives
lock prey within vortical-eye
Angelic flutter of electrons struggling on--
in yellowish friction above...
“...Did I tell you?”
Love is lightning hotter than the sun!
Schism--
resolving in the only way it can
a design that cannot save itself!
Clouds roar away--
For a minute-- I think that I will too
-- along with all these words and rain
*“...and did I tell you...
how thunderstorms remind me
...of love...the way it should be
and the worship after?”*
Jun 18, 2017
Jun 18, 2017 at 7:03 PM UTC
Give me just two of your fingers, it is more frisky;
When excited why act out platonically.
Skin me;
No need to falsify.
Your small hands hold an ocean, then tide me;
Send more white horses to step on my rocky heart;
Of course, sunk already.
Not a submerged foreign object;
Down there I am a reef;
Living for eons, heartily.
You are dear as nature.
I am thirsty, near which slippery cliff is your river.
In the ocean of your hands;
I am fished.
As time passes by, I am more aware of you;
I feel the ocean is not a piece of you;
It is you.
It is like you are offering yourself.
Why is it pellucid?
I can see miles away;
Miles away a dissolving wine.
Your mother calls you;
A crystal big cat emerges from your ocean.
A friend calls you;
You shut your eyes.
Noone comes around.
I notice that I am going to hear a sound;
I hear it, coming from far-flung;
Makes you more chaotic.
Vortical eyes.
Your face is too hot;
It starts to boil;
Rivers come out of your eyes and mouth;
Pouring into your ocean.
No overflow.
What do you represent?
What if you are an atypical?
What do you remind me of?
A bare white-bluish waterfall who offers everything has got?
You have mentioned me in your genome, with a deep shade.
Unclad is an old-hat, we should reveal what we have inside;
By playing with locks.
Suggest me, l will romance you.
Your touch reminds me of the untold.
You freeze, no flow, like it was in the cards.
Your scent, strange.
I should leave to buy.
I hover around you.
My vulnerable bare;
It is up to me to protect you.
I should leave to buy a huge opaque.
I couldn't find my clothing and shoes;
Can I wear yours? Is it weird?
I hear from the neighbouring flat, someone crying in the bath.
You start to tilt and smudge like you were a design on a rug;
I fold it;
Put it in a suitcase;
And leave to exit.
Apr 2, 2018
Apr 2, 2018 at 4:56 AM UTC
*I gaze outwards, hoping to eye
the secret source of my amazement...*
Such a subtle notion to be keenly aware of
my concentration whispering soft to me
like wonder washing over the clear eyes of a child.
Standing in the midst of a wild garden,
lost in thoughts and knee-high daffodils
rising to the occasion,
pacing the breeze in celebration
of concentric release and liberation.
The tone of my attention flows outwards
drifting in the vortical tumble
of wisping moments and spiral smiles
only a kissing kind of nature could spin
so effortlessly across the dusky horizon’s curving finesse.
Propelled into the Painter’s portrait of stars swept canvas
sweeping over my vision with the image
of the wonder-washed child standing in a garden,
gazing outwards from the picture quietly searching
for the secret source of her amazement…
..and I wonder if she sees me gazing back at her?
Feb 26, 2015
Feb 26, 2015 at 4:51 PM UTC
Because he dove feet-first in a dustdevil
The ground beneath him began to give way
Those bigger whirlwinds made their presence known
As names in plastic bags and things cast off, away
Slipped out and through his palms, his own
Voice escaped his teeth, said it would hurt coming down.
She envied the bird who struggled in the wind
And turned herself into a whisp of smoke,
That spun vortical inside his lungs
Somehow, he felt overwhelmed and her
Breath shaped the clay soul they shared;
Something to be hurt, something to be spared.
Not to break apart, they took up their arms
And their peace, and their dream of circles
Over nothing felt complete, so they
Could ask if they would dance or whenever
They would fall but this moment was helpless
To answer, if there was one at all.
Apr 5, 2015
Apr 5, 2015 at 12:13 PM UTC
Fall back into the flow
just let go
of your
Vortical Love
Tumble tuck
Drop kick down
through
the vacuum
Sea of me
Be Free
with our bodies
Sacred Space
In descent naturally
in all four
Aspects of Me.
Perfectly positioned friction
to spark ignition of your
fire spinning crimson
Cosmos Creation.
I will hold you tight always
never to fall too far
from my Embrace.
Then upwards in my arms
you go rising round and round
soaring swiftly up through space
climbing to your Peak of Power
Falling perfectly in Place.
Dec 31, 2014
Dec 31, 2014 at 1:31 PM UTC
Gravity died,
Or so it seemed to us, who were to die,
All loose objects vortical,
Yet static,
car spinning,
side over side, the policeman said,
No one could've survived,
Radial blur
All in the rearview
Thud of impact, Thud of stillness
No screams till the spinning wheel ceased
and then only one,
melting like snow upon asphalt.
Sep 3, 2020
Sep 3, 2020 at 10:01 AM UTC
Isn't it fun excising polarities
just to watch them wiggle back
toward one another?
Their vortical tumble intellectually
hybridized so a "school of thought"
can advertise perverse stimulation.
Imagine if Yin were told when to
kiss Yang, and how deeply...
with no Unifying eye contact to
consummate their vision.
Thought...Now...is dead...not God--
as the parts of their Sum have been
called Home in regard to misidentification.
Oct 21, 2014
Oct 21, 2014 at 12:39 AM UTC