"wigwam" poems
from The Song of Hiawatha
By the shore of Gitchie Gumee,
By the shining Big-Sea-Water,
At the doorway of his wigwam,
In the pleasant Summer morning,
Hiawatha stood and waited.
All the air was full of freshness,
All the earth was bright and joyous,
And before him through the sunshine,
Westward toward the neighboring forest
Passed in golden swarms the Ahmo,
Passed the bees, the honey-makers,
Burning, singing in the sunshine.
Bright above him shown the heavens,
Level spread the lake before him;
From its ***** leaped the sturgeon,
Aparkling, flashing in the sunshine;
On its margin the great forest
Stood reflected in the water,
Every tree-top had its shadow,
Motionless beneath the water.
From the brow of Hiawatha
Gone was every trace of sorrow,
As the fog from off the water,
And the mist from off the meadow.
With a smile of joy and triumph,
With a look of exultation,
As of one who in a vision
Sees what is to be, but is not,
Stood and waited Hiawatha.
5.2k
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Apr 3, 2010
Apr 3, 2010 at 3:32 PM UTC
frozen in time he was quite the spectacle
thick rimmed frames traced rigid lines
projected from kaleidoscope eyes
sharp with the corners of unknown dimensions
caught hot handed
both in expectation and reminisce
so awkwardly present
most nights
he spins fairytales
double-dipping moons in molten watches
skewered with his arms
these wooden poles
stirring the coals buried in ashes
he steps lightly.stomps
dances with the rings of saturn
then rolls like thunder
chasing Zeus's sore words
zig-zagging down to earth
ooohhhh…..
he may not melt hearts with that shoodoop
that bebop
but they break for his habit of
making promises
he who holds time in the cave below his tongue
which now juts left off the reef of his lip
slip into
trip - - - skip
fall.into.this.
go mad for the pitch of his sweat
glaring at the spotlight
Dalí
painting worlds in the moments
between your ears and soul
he is god to their populations
and their hymns excite
rhythms ignite
visions of hard candy
tumbling your teeth smooth as river stones
he does not belong in a gallery
no high tipping wine sipping city slicker big wig
should ever feel comfortable in his blast radius
he makes bombs from tribal instruments
wigwam concoctions
set to test resting souls for pulses
paradiddle defibrillator
triplet stent for arteries
he is tall
and now thin
pressed against the wall as if under interrogation
splitting breath from its carbon
asphyxiated by the frame
he spells his words with motion
I find him
mute
Apr 11, 2013
Apr 11, 2013 at 11:27 PM UTC
Switch-click into gear three and pedal pedal downward from road into grass.
Spruce-oak-pine cave.
The youngest lags behind but push onward to the smell of blue-gills passed!
It is what the land gave.
Spruce-oak-pine cave
builds a wigwam and lean-to fit for dynasty warriors
or home run derby saves.
Dilly-dally down the block a moment for to commence with the chores.
Builds a wigwam and lean-to fit for dynasty warriors
or sand town constructionists
whose rivers of root beer heal yesterday's sores.
Physical, material never missed.
Or sand town constructionists
or lego architects, or kings and queens of rock collections.
No sorrow or fits
only happiness.
Jul 17, 2013
Jul 17, 2013 at 1:20 PM UTC
Underneath a small lee in the park,
she tapered down so small; sapling pine tree.
Furled a wool blanket like a tootsie roll
used as a pillow and rolled into sleep.
Scene-by-scene dreamed of bedroom encounters
enacted on beds of flowers.
Remembered the words of harmonica blowing boys verbatim
as the dream shifted scene for half an hour.
And a small, four-leafed local sage man came at an importune time
and to write her a note.
Succinctly and politely bargaining with her;
"Would you give up lust for pure reason?"
Turning away briskly, she glanced toward a stump
sat down for a ponderous sixty seconds.
Slowly standing, eyes regal and demanding
she wrote back "no, I won't"
Shiver and shake and she's suddenly awake
power walking to a house near the river.
Mar 2, 2014
Mar 2, 2014 at 4:11 PM UTC
We didn't--
Comprehend-his-daemon
Upon a precipice of
Rounded metallic.
They wouldn't mimic
Pixies regurgitating
Amino acids,
For no accord
Of constellation.
We sat--
She sits-
They disturb ontological
Passives first, never thinking.
This girl would watch
At wigwam pace because--
Instead of learning
Who and how...
Our dry hearts, pumped dust.
Sep 20, 2014
Sep 20, 2014 at 11:41 PM UTC
no one dies in a dead heat. they just arrive uncontested.
a slapped cheek, if no one comes first
a slack thirst for comets and bedlam
and new germs.
you send radar to your wigwam and burn churches
you lose some.
trouble is
you love it when
the wyrm
turns.
Oct 29, 2012
Oct 29, 2012 at 1:22 PM UTC
((( • ))
<> ((
\\ )
/\ /\
###
•
Broken ----
the ole freight train
( dreams )
•
Thru the slum town streets of AMERIKKKA
Looking for a girl with money
So I can be - hip - without having to be
Revolutionary
( I'm sure you know what I mean )
We know who the gods are
In this NEW MYTHOLOGY !
( don't we ?)
And how subtly we play the game
/////
Well
If THEY want WWIII
They got it !
We say ------------
•
We just here gettin laid
Callin it love
Lyin thru our teeth !
• •
The ole freight train dreams lie broken
on some side street in some
Slum town of AMERIKKKA
We play with the glass lying there
We cut ourselves and watch ourselves bleed
WOW ! AINT THAT COOL -- we say
//
We run laughing thru the poverty till we fall down dead
•
I guess I didn't find a rich girl
Just you instead
•
We realize too late just how stupid we become
But for sure it's way too late
Sep 18, 2014
Sep 18, 2014 at 9:23 PM UTC
Smoke rings out of your ****
Sitting in a wigwam playing tom toms
What a lovely day; tomtom along
Tambourine jingles while I'm playing this song
Look at all the children dancing; nothing shall be wrong
People always want something but I smell a fishy that's horrid and pongs
Playing tom toms calms me to centre thoughts of the past and the devil's tongue
You use people freely like a troublesome one who will string you like a puppet then simply move on.
Jun 3, 2016
Jun 3, 2016 at 12:05 AM UTC
Netflix tonight!
The man of the house said
She said "Lets watch a chick flick"
But he wasn't having that.
"Let's watch Brando it's a classic"
was his next idea,
Last Tango in Paris!
Have you never seen it my dear?
They sat together watching with smart price popcorn and cheap wine
Then came the scene where the old boy grabbed the butter and suddenly it was all in the gutter
Engrosed and engorged or a mix of the two, he shouted get some butter,
"I'll try that with you"
It looked fun at first till she got to his fridge
She opend the door and no butter could she see.
Smart price lard was all that was there, this wasn't Chester oh what a mess
We have none she said in a voice of relief
And headed for bed without a buttered rear seat
Half an hour later then came the shock
The cook came to bed with dripping on his ****
Naked and ****** and wanting a bunk
She fled the bedroom before he could mount
In a nighty like a wigwam caught in the breeze and her funbags unbridled
Down to her knees
She screamed to the neighbours he's trying to **** me with a lard coverd **** and an oversize belly
The police came quick, just like he did
They couldn't stop laughing at his melted dipstick
Take him away the Sgt said
That's the last Tango in Noctorum
He'll have with her!!
Feb 11, 2017
Feb 11, 2017 at 2:56 PM UTC
In a tragic of despair
that she could espy of something unseen
but what I know now in the nowhereness of triumph is the oblivion that’s long forsaken . My mother, the earth , has loved the truth of my words . My mother of memories, where my intricate roots embedded in her many wombs , with her,
my mother who is the mind to my soul, with her crystal teeth, puncturing the veins of my spirit, I am uncured from the illness of illusion.
with the love that is filled with the sickness of the cerebral ;
that every nerves, they only now yearn to forget, to erase, to delete,
what should never end , will ;
of those forward to ,
is like catching light,
my mother's arms, wrapping my dead body,
for that great freedom that ought demands
but now encountered swords that I see no farther onward impulse stirr'd,
from every dew-drop in this sequestered heart.
it inculpates the soul’s wigwam,
to love , that is unpure
powered of perception ;
for me , do so as what say I
the abyss will never know -- without noise, bad field of unfamiliarity, to create the creation of layers, layers of spectre, phantasm, apparition;
I exorcise & exterminate this being of nothingness, name that is uncelebrated ; & be merrily skipping in their long farewell,
you gave your face , I gave mine
& there shall be a bow of
hypothesis, musings, mirage
I inject, dementia
trying responsibly to digest over
my own ignis fatuus
/
there will be hanging gardens
the commotion of untendered bones
down beneath your cloaks,
knowing sympathy, to bully an empathy
death come, came & in repeat
through the lullaby of Antioch,
sorrow wholly unexpected, in scarcely discernable; but far descried
black winged demon vanished through the chested barrier of feelings, when justice lynchings in the centre of my core,
twixt vows, where from descended upon myself alone, indecent, in deep scrutiny —
May 2, 2019
May 2, 2019 at 10:13 AM UTC
there's a fire in this madhouse of Venus
where unattainable romance gives birth
to cunty darkness and pleading clawish fingers
to obsessions of strange mental constructs
something about blood and tears
birthing black ******* and vampires
with vermillion mouths shaped in circles
that gorge themselves on violent thrusting *****
and ***** resembling mushed faced pugs
just asking for it
a woman's eyes burn like cigarettes
and tongues snake into esophageal
swoon revivals of glorious deliverance
flashing souls flit like street lights
and flames of wraith hair
she begs to be strangled with a black chord
and kissed till her brain blurs fizz
she dances
wigwam wiggle and clutches
like a sliding oyster
licking my *******
**** ***** and ruby *****
gagging repeatedly onto the hilting root
falling into submission
for her dark ******* god Faustian thing
a little doll with mythic eyes
a ******* wraparound mouthy wigged *****
with a baloney-pony disco stick orifice
will you **** me with your **** sir
a dark hunger gnaws deep within
so bleed me merciless
like a gushing artery
make me red dead in love in bed
butter **** and properly spread
pound me like a hell ***** ******
in a burning five alarm
emergency suicide ****
-
i corkscrew her
into a writhing
murderous wreckage
as she dissolves under me
like a sugar cube in hot tea and blood
christened by a magic wand
that forces her round belly
up and down like a toilet plunger
her ***** drools like runny yolks
a deep homework
the shamanic decent
an illusive weighing of the heart
the sweet meat priestess
who resuscitates abandoned legends
making my ***** click like castanets
a Mr. Winkey party
spewing Icelandic yogurt
her teeth rattle
as her brains and one eyeball
hang off my ****
like pig trough slobber
her face smiles
and vomits peaches
there's moon glitter
in your beautiful hair
my darling
God save the kink
Apr 6, 2021
Apr 6, 2021 at 2:35 PM UTC
•
Indian song
tribal glory
Warriors strong upon
The battlefield
Of Right & Wrong
:::
:::
You may see me
If you're not afraid
:;:
Afraid
( like you were --- yesterday )
Sep 14, 2015
Sep 14, 2015 at 4:25 AM UTC
come towards the bed
winged loneliness
her thighs
arches to the garden
a purple mouth flower
with pink steps and tears
for a priestly *****
this crying queen
whispers flimsy secrets that gnaw
that gnaw like malignity's orphan hood
her hips
a wigwam sanctuary
coagulations of crossed paths
fantastwatia - child of Aphrodite
stiff with threads of milk
like vast groaning plumage
and a soft kiss cantata
aborts sorrows
with red **** hammers
and acetylene ejaculations
butter fingered ******
point to heavens
silver eyed wet mouthed harlots
taste pumpkin cake
teeth white marble
gag
*** spit
biting her blood crowded shadows
bikini trim hangs
from timber thighs
***** and mouths
rushing ambulances
for a **** emergency
to orchid ***** aviaries
split grape gape
and sugar red throat tongue dance
with a smiling swallow
drooling mourning flower
and the violence of desire
like leviathan intestines
that drown the sun
Jul 23, 2019
Jul 23, 2019 at 11:07 AM UTC
(
)
(
)
(
)
\/
/\
/ \
+#+ +#+
Hey child
Is your mother there ?
//
We search for something that we can call real
•
Thru tired streets / thru bitter and
Forgotten lives
••
Hey child
Where has your father gone ?
|||||
The wars are here
•
( even such as you must know )
//////
And I was a child once
I'm still a child
I shall always be
••
Hey child
Where has your childhood gone ?
//
For some reason it got sent to school
//
Love is leaping in the ocean waves
In the mountain breezes
And in your eyes
••
In your still heart the world still lives
••
All together / love can yet survive
•
Pretty soon / I guess
We shall decide
Nov 24, 2014
Nov 24, 2014 at 4:19 PM UTC