"zagged" poems
when i want inspiration to write poetry
i watch a heaving tempest of kisses
they have a better flavor
than cooking shows
what's prettier than pretty pretty
in pigtails
shaking her delicious
derriere whipped Soufflé?
i'm kissing butter princess
witchy ****
spread lickity splits
eating her
with a big wide **** eating grin
like an open face dagwood
whats more poetic than that hopeful glaring
of
Adonis's plumper in paradise
filling Cleopatra's slathered meringue?
ga-ga-ga-gag me, daddy
merciless, pa-leazze
fluttered big wet talking eyes
like pools of blue honey
getting it zigged zagged
hard against a redraw mouth
throttling fluted gullet
while eager throat gasps
a symphonic music of the spheres
in relentless staccato chokes
lovin her big devil **** splashing
all gym built wonder-boy
a litter of ****** and tongues
licking pig greedy
rapturous milkshake waterfalls
whimpering
mmmmmm
oooh big daddy
oh my ****** god
pillar of colossus
you Tunisian donut you
pierce me like a spoon
through summer guava
who screams like that eating lunch
but a half ate apricot?
better than a football game
I'd rather take her greek
more fun than math or small talk
preferable to a pat on the back at work
or a ridged procession at a funeral
oh beautiful dark fig
squatting crotch candy
bubbling tapioca ***
queen of
spun sugar ****
all pyrotechnics
and fluttering sinews
if you asked most
do they watch ****
they'd grow smug like a senator
or punch you in the mouth
outwardly high-minded
refusing the blessing of a
video **** parade
of pirouetting vaginas
and glistening areolas
for the glory
of the secret ************ ceremony
the *** moralists
only good for a secret ******
living their lives
with passions submerged
and nothing to confess
except for guilty offerings
as they wander through dreamland shopping malls
wanting to know
Victorias ***** little secret
seduced
but not caressed
by
a mouthpiece for castrated dreams
Jun 5, 2018
Jun 5, 2018 at 4:05 PM UTC
Zinging the zen-zone I was in
A zany request zig-zagged my way.
Princess Zinnia from the Zuider-Zee
Required a zippy line or two
To paint the zeitgeist of our times.
With the strength of a Zamboni-
With the power of a Zeus-
And an uncommon zeal I set out
To zap the doubt that slowed me.
With the flair of a Florenz Ziegfeld
And his zoftig choir of beauties,
I morphed into a zealot
Gamboling in the zephyrs
That wafted in from Zurich and Zaire,
Not to mention Zanzibar.
I felt like a Zacharias
When my zealous work went bust.
The writing turned into a zonk-
The accolades were zilch.
I felt like I’d been zippered up
Like a zebra in a zoo.
I lost my zest for going on
And slopped around in old Zoris,
Listening to zydeco’s beat
And feeling like a zit.
But then the Zodiac-
My zinging-singing sign
Came to my rescue
And I was marching off to Zion.
I was one wowie-zowie-zucchini
As I zipped across the pages
And zoomed from one idea
To an even zippier one.
So here, Sunprincess, is your verse
I’ve used up every letter zee
And gone from very bad to worse
But of this challenge, I am free.
ljm
Mar 5, 2017
Mar 5, 2017 at 12:58 AM UTC
Count-entious . . .
Five-Seven-Five, or
Is it Seven-Five-Seven?
Dyslexic Haiku!
High Coo-Coo . . .
Words like scrambled eggs
Malapropos slip off the tongs
Lysdexics UNTIE!
In Swummary . . .
I never flip turned
I zagged; everyone else zigged
Oh, how I was schooled
Jun 13, 2015
Jun 13, 2015 at 8:24 PM UTC
I used to love the sound of rain
The way it pittered on a windows pain;
The way it patterned on a cobbled lane
I used to love the rain.
You pealed across my sky like thunder
While I, like lightning, zigged and zagged in blunder;
On darkened night you aimed to plunder
But this golden heart had been torn asunder.
I can't account for the ways I've healed
Or which battles on wounded knee I've kneeled;
It's seen on every battle field
The way I've fought, yelled, whispered, & keeled.
Sep 11, 2015
Sep 11, 2015 at 1:41 PM UTC
woke up with a throbbing head
felt around but you're nowhere in my bed
i guess i must be dreaming
stood up on a spinning floor
i zigged and zagged on my way to the door
i know it can't be but i know this feeling
i feel like last night was the best night ever
maybe i danced but i can't remember
last night was a blur no matter what i do
i've never had liquor but i think i'm drunk on you
Aug 5, 2014
Aug 5, 2014 at 8:10 PM UTC
Cold days and snowy nights
dissolve into the glow
when we come home from the sweater weather.
In from the cozy autumn day.
In from a day in which sunlight
dappled the tree's bark
like the zig-zagged icing
and french dough.
A day of mittens so only your thumbs protrude.
A day like kittens which tumble in
happiness and innocence.
Into the oak, with the window
in which tear drops
chase themselves away
down the pane and
the cool air is made hot
with cocoa frothy cream
and pumpkin.
We smoke on curled cinnamon sticks
which splinter like burnt logs
on an fire of embers.
The silhouettes of our shadows
catch on the horizon
as we watch the spectrum
scatter from the warm
cream to the dusty
pumpkin to cocoa.
Apr 22, 2014
Apr 22, 2014 at 2:06 PM UTC
“i wonder what she looks like naked” he thought
it was 11pm
he had been in the shower for 10 minutes now
letting the water get hot
turning his face and skin red
he had sat down
he stared at the blue rags in the corner of the shower
one was used to wash his back
the other to wipe his *** when he ran out of toilet paper
another to scrub his face
Now they've grown mold
They've almost grown together into one big rag
He stared at the hairs on his legs
He stared at his ***** hairs
he closed his eyes and let the hot water cleanse him
He felt good
Looking through the Showers obscured glass
he was able to see the toilet
it was Blotched
zig zagged
smudged by the glass's perception
He felt good in here
he understood things looking through the showers glass
He understood that things were there
but are in many forms all at once
and that perception
is the most beautiful thing
standing up he grabbed a plastic cheap blue razor
sat back down
avoiding the molded rags
and shaved his face
Chin
Left cheek
Right cheek
Above the lip
Neck
He Felt Clean
He felt like a boy
a newborn baby
Unsure of the things around him
but understanding
the unsure was nothing to be afraid of
nothing to worry over
That the unsure was good
It meant you were still curious
He stood up
turned the water off
stepped out
stared at his naked hairy body in the mirror
looked at his face
it was clean and smooth
The things outside of the shower glass window were smooth and cleanly perceived
But the understanding
was the same as a man, naked with bright blue eyes
looking through his warped shower glass window
wondering what her ******* and legs look like.
Mar 25, 2013
Mar 25, 2013 at 1:12 AM UTC
Polka dotted up and down,
Polka dotted from head to toe.
Zigged and Zagged, swirled and twirled,
Every part of the dress is covered with polka dots.
From pink to green, yellow to blue,
The dots are perfectly spotted on every part.
Zipped up from the back, laced up frilly sleeves,
It twirls a parade when spinning around.
It's not right for the winter, not right for the fall,
But it fits just right when summer comes around.
It shows off your legs, it makes a V neck,
It catches your figure every point.
It acts like a parachute and works like a blanket,
It's your armor.
This cotton wear may be all that it is,
But never underestimate what a polka-dotted dress can do for a girl.
Feb 1, 2014
Feb 1, 2014 at 8:40 PM UTC
I spent my nights
on the sharpest edges,
imbibed supernatural fixes
to break ice,
make things seem better,
feel all nice.
On Kashmiri-tempo,
I looked for a cowgirl
in the sand with every day
one of intense celebration.
Bad to the bone was
the motto of logical songs.
Dust in the wind
& free birds never lied,
I cried in the cane break,
zig zagged through ghostland,
lived in
the twilight zone,
a young Turk
in love with radar,
alone on
Heaven's stairway.
Feb 6, 2014
Feb 6, 2014 at 10:10 PM UTC
in the deadest waters
of your cruel swamp
we heard your voice
sliding on the surface
like a perfectly sailed skiff
avoiding the murky depths
…for an illusive while
reaching our ears softly
lulling us to sleep
on your shell shocked shores
we had no need
to awake
while you sank,
a leviathan in red white and blue,
making only impotent cries
and cyber ripples
before your bloated belly
zagged and zigged
to the black bottom
while we slept
under the spell
of your lost incantations
and spoke in dreamlike verse
of once great nations
Nov 20, 2012
Nov 20, 2012 at 12:13 AM UTC
The day I turned nine, I hiked up
my honeysuckle tutu, and raced
to find you –
there, sprawled out on the hissing
asphalt driveway, with precise strokes of neon
sidewalk chalk, you were writing the words
“I love you.”
We dotted our names with lop-
sided stars and scribbled
stick-figured versions of ourselves years and years
in the future. And when the first zig-
zagged bolt crossed the sky, we screamed
and then laughed, loud
barking laughs at the heavy raindrops.
The night I turned twenty, I cried
myself to sleep, and tucked the paper under
my crocheted blanket. With eyes
closed, I counted the colors behind my lids –
three, four, a kaleidoscope.
Your name still appeared though
– inky, blurring into the foreground,
along with that childhood chalk.
Mar 7, 2012
Mar 7, 2012 at 10:19 AM UTC
Why is it always so funny when someone trips
When they lose balance as they take steps progressing through life,
Reminiscent of those infantile days when you were first learning how to walk
When each step was carefully counted, an achievement
When your furthest destination was your parents arms,
Stretched out like a warm blanket ready to be wrapped
around your shoulders after a great fight.
But when you have walked miles and worn out many soles,
made flat strides like zig zagged dust stamps
or tried to balance on thin pivots that make you look like
a graceful ballerina in a music box
blanacing your life on the tips of your toes
trying to look above the shoulders
of the ones who got in line before you,
Why is there a rush of blood to the gut when you fall?
When you trip like a switch on a day with low electricity,
When the power is too much to withstand your energy.
Like a continuous circuit
a race of electrons.
It suddenly stops
This world is always running,
And we are running out of breath
To say what is on our mind
so instead
We mime our anger through relentless acts -
It feels so much better
Stepping over the line
Trying to hold on to time
Is it because our breath is just meant to live through our noses?
That are held high up in the air
That we forget to look down and see where we are going,
To look out for the small crevices that life has carved in the pavement
Through which small five petal flowers peek through
An organic life from within the concrete
Because if you think about it,
life is made of many twists and turns,
free flowing
always growing
There is so much more beyond you and me
Just dare to see
I know it’s easy to forget the world’s size
when your world becomes the size of your mind
where there is only space for thoughts of yourself,
your life and strife
But your eyes are made to be outside your head
so your mind could be entwined with what else lies ahead.
Mar 14, 2013
Mar 14, 2013 at 8:40 AM UTC
walking zig-
zagged
like a contradiction
back and
fourth
stumbling drunk
like whiskey
breath
small
talk
it’s like an addiction
people pills
wash ‘em
down
up up and away
Nov 2, 2011
Nov 2, 2011 at 3:00 PM UTC
I said I would zig
And right then I zagged
I tip toes into the vault
Found the cold box
Numbered 5545
And slid it out
The treasure trove
Of what you never wanted me to see
Oh but I'm coy
Confounding
Slippery and seruptitous
Admonished and allay
Of any blame
Cause you left the key
On my ring
And the doormen know my name
Who needs a Nixon mask
When you can walk right in
With fling flongs and a parrot hat
I came for what's in the back
And when the sword was unsheathed
The container cracked open
The glow of your hidden life
Shone upon
What is now my bug bitten face
But the the glow of horror
A man can stand only so long
And the chest
And it's keepsakes
Crashed onto the tile dropped
But just before I faint
I loose my liquid lunch
May 31, 2013
May 31, 2013 at 2:01 AM UTC
her parents would have nothing to do with the z,
naming her Elisa Beth
which few got right in her 65 seasons, for their habit
molded an EliZabeth every time
we presume it mattered not to Elisa, Elisa Beth, because she was
born blind and deaf
her record of birth got it right, but her social
security card did not,
the checks were cashed by caretakers, who cared not
whether the letter snaked or zagged
her parents' obits also claimed they were survived by
an only daughter, EliZabeth
when she "met her reward," some two years past
there was no legacy in print
save a death certificate, which again blasphemed
her appellation with the alphabet's final figure
but on her gravestone, curiously, she was Elisabeth once more,
though what flat, mute slab could even such a score?
Oct 19, 2016
Oct 19, 2016 at 4:01 PM UTC
Curious about
the way
you built this
solid ground
==============================================================================
so strong, so strong, so strong, so strong, so strong, so strong, so strong, so strong, so strong, so fast
===============================================================================
Won't deny that
It is so much easier to walk, think, smile, laugh
live
There is no crumbling world around my ears
there is no pouring salt water
flowing freely from fallen faces
HOWEVER
????????????????????????????????????????????????????????????????????????????????????????????????????????????????????????
questions questions questions uncertain uncertain uncertain doubtful doubtful doubtful real real real
????????????????????????????????????????????????????????????????????????????????????????????????????????????????????????
I can see that rose is red
I can see it grows
I can see it bend
I can see it snap
It looks like a **** to me
A **** that makes your fingers drip
Rose seeds
so red
it all depends on how tight you hold the stem
##################################################################################
I boarded a train, it zig zagged--quick, unstoppable uncontrolled. It was nice. It was, steel
###################################################################################
peered through the window
of this train
(slightly fogged, slightly blurred)
But I managed to make out the image of
this girl
(this woman?)
whose back rested against the cushion, eyes wide, face open, shoes tied
she mirrored
impressionism
I noticed
the small details
her coat was covered
her hands were covered
~ with red rose seeds~
Jan 20, 2012
Jan 20, 2012 at 3:12 PM UTC
Watching TV, out of the corner of my eye
From under the table a huge spider I did spy
I looked at him and he stared directly back at me
My heart beat fast, coming towards me I could see
I really screeched and quickly jumped off of the chair
He was gaining fast, his legs spiked with hair
The horror I felt as I started now to run
I zig-zagged, he zig -zagged...increasingly not fun
I circled down the hall, he turned the corner too
Screaming as I dashed, I looked back and swear he grew
Hid myself by the fridge my heart now in my throat
Cried for my dad, he got up, put down the remote
Pop wondered what the fuss was, came to my rescue
I had held my breath 'til I started turning blue
When the spider saw my daddy he stopped and froze
Arachnid looked him up and down, knows how it goes
Spidy seemed confused, settled to run for the door
My dad, his big boots, bravely squished him on the floor
Mommy came into the kitchen, her eyes opened wide
Calmed my nerves, cleaned the mess, gross I must confide
Nov 22, 2013
Nov 22, 2013 at 12:03 AM UTC
Your name crossed my mind the other day and I spit, like that would allow your remembrance to leave me
The dock is never long enough, and soon I must turn around on my journey
I meet a man with similar eyebrows as I and I ask him the time, although I know full well that it is an hour past when the chicken crows
He senses my dark past and throws his coat into the water
I smile and tell him thank you
His pride has turned black and his teeth show with a tint more yellow than white
A tear slides down my cheek and I cringe at its salty chemical makeup
Chemistry was a breeze but balancing equations haunts me to this day
That and the look on Bryan's face when I told him I already had plans Tuesday night
I tell lies top comfort my conscience
A cocoon of warmth surrounds me when I see my old piano teacher
I never learned how to play my chromatic scale but I learned how to love
My priorities are zig-zagged bullet leaving the gun in slow motion
I always forget to pull the trigger
Nov 14, 2013
Nov 14, 2013 at 10:16 AM UTC
__
Alpha
While thunder clapped for an encore,
we put on iron boots
and danced in puddles
that reflected the obsidian
of Raven's crick-craw chorus
between the ripples.
I splashed with rod in hand, and yelled,
"You are the hammer and anvil,
I am the lightning! I am the quickening!"
II
They came from the East.
The ground shook, and cracks spread
from the pounding of their hammer-steps.
Wisakedjaks fled from roosts now pitched askew
by fingers that brushed the tips of pines
with every swing of lumbering limbs.
Lofty mouths inhaled the clouds
and blew out smoke rings on the wind.
III
I charged across the ground—a bolt—towards
the nearest Cyclops.
Like a sparking pinball, I zig-zagged
up the giant's shins,
past his thighs, and higher still,
then struck him in the eye.
And we became one—euphoria!
Omega
The Wisakedjaks repaired their nests,
and have less space in the minds of those
who found a scapegoat for mythologies
preached in smoke-filled rooms
where followers choke on the want to be saved.
Words were curved into a staff
that false Hermes uses to shepherd his flock:
people who pocket gold coins for Charon,
having surrendered the kingdom within—dead, though their bodies continue to pulse with life.
May 13, 2018
May 13, 2018 at 7:31 PM UTC
You are clean cotton doused in Windex
the OCD mom
the sam's club size bottles of hand sanitizer
the peace
the calm
I am the glass window smeared with fingerprints
industrial sharpie zig-zagged across a white wall
I am battle cries across an open field
I am the instant regret of a slammed door
If you love me you can love the valley of flowers between my thighs but you can't be afraid of the blood and gore
Sometimes I wonder if my skin is one solid calloused mass
or layers of paint peeling away off of a house
I wonder if as the paint on my shins chips away
you can see the bruises from bike pedals
I wonder if you can hear my painful shouts
I wonder if you grab a hold of the layer covering my penal gland
you can read a hardcover novel about my worry and doubt
I wonder if you can see the jagged scars along my spine
from every time I got friendly with somebody's knife
I wonder if you can see the way I smiled through the spite
shook hands with the same people
who drove daggers through my spirits
laughed when the rain fell the hardest
and always hardest it might
I know that you can love my best dressed persona
my freshly brushed teeth
But with my good hair days
come the days I nearly rip it from my scalp
Then there are days when I am completely in love with me
I am a disproportional mess of history
a collection of experiences that have begun to shape my existence
I am not made of stone
I am flesh and bone
I am a heartbeat and lungs of persistence.
I am clay in your hands, and I am at your fingers demand.
There is music when you strum a guitar
but it still holds importance when it is silent in it's stand
Don't mistake my quiet for doubt
I am trying my very best
when I'm a river try being my drought
Pull me closer
don't shut me out
You said our love could be a garden
maybe we need is just a little more rain
We've got the love part down
Our kisses are roses
touches are carnations
There could be a petal for every ounce of our pain
Our garden has been planted we just need some patience
Sep 17, 2014
Sep 17, 2014 at 1:19 PM UTC
Lightning zig-zagged through my body
as I looked upon your face.
I cry out for a vision hoping you’ll
tell me what to do.
I float through life destined to walk
the earth forever blind without you.
He takes the first coup and you gaze upon
me with reluctance in your eyes.
With an alkaline face I stare back at
nothing, why did you leave?
Stars wheeled in my head as I was
pelted with icy rain.
A patch of sky missing as if it felt
like I feel, you are the missing piece.
A raven sits perched high up in the trees his
head unmoving, his stare piercing.
My long lost love still dwells inside me.
Feb 2, 2012
Feb 2, 2012 at 7:58 AM UTC
when i asked my best friend to punch me in the face
i was serious.
i knew he never would
but i wanted him to
bless me with a fist,
put knuckles to my skin
and hit me like he meant it.
there’s some crimson catharsis
in watching veins split,
in oxidizing spit,
old penny drip through broken teeth.
metallic sweet,
bleeding
is healing.
im drunk, still drinking
and i want him to hurt me.
not because it’s him
or because i think i deserve it
i won’t remember in the morning
but right now, i need a feeling
i need connection loudly,
want to have every synapse shouting
YOU’RE HERE!!!!
YOU’RE HERE!!!!!!!!
YOU’RE HERE!!!!!!!!!!!!
___________________________________________________________
when i asked my best friend to punch me in the face
i meant it.
two rounds of king’s cup in,
our other friend’s head in the toilet
and cloudy chance surrounding harlem
he slipped on boxing gloves
curled leather around his thumbs,
put his dukes up
and connected with empty air.
“im on my mcgregor ****
tequila drip and ***** spit,
he was laughing.
i wished that i’d been hit.
a quick split lip to remember it
because come morning i wouldn't
recall him walking me to the train
as i zig-zagged in the rain
like it was my first day on brand new legs.
he held an umbrella over my head
his favorite coat was dripping wet, yet
he insisted i needed it more.
“let me know when you make it home”
but it sounded more
like a warning.
time square’s so empty at 2 in the morning.
down 42nd street with keys between knuckles
but i refused to look over my shoulder,
sometimes adrenaline
is adrenaline
is adrenaline.
Apr 29, 2018
Apr 29, 2018 at 7:28 PM UTC
I remember why I left this place.
It smells like frustration.
So oppressive that breathing hardly seems worth it.
I remember why I left this place, and I can’t believe I came back here.
A stew of anxiety, worry, pain and heightened alarm with big chunks of fear.
So much responsibility here that one mis-step will cause the world to stop turning on its axis.
If only you’d zigged instead of zagged.
If only you’d been better balanced.
If only you’d been better.
My mouth holds the aftertaste of this wretched place.
That won't leave until I am around the corner from this visit.
Its hooks left tender little marks.
I will keep praying that I can turn back around if I find myself on the path here again.
I wish God would take some places off the map.
Feb 2, 2013
Feb 2, 2013 at 5:51 PM UTC
Yellow napkins
Chrystal glasses,
The walls bled golden flakes into a
fountain
ground that zig-zagged
a misleading pattern.
The wallpaper
and aroma
turned me off.
It was something of a tacky
reminiscence of the 20s,
Reaching in inaudible desperation
towards the ***** man
in his black tuxedo,
Pressing his black baby grand piano.
The waitress came,
(All-too rehearsed)
she was pudgy in her complexion but slender in build.
She crooned to me, a question.
"To drink?"
I didn't answer,
Just stayed, fixated on the yellow rose slowly growing towards its death on the table.
Everything seemed to be yellow.
And even in the azure daylight
kneading its way through the windows,
I still saw death's hoofed shoulders
crying through every object.
I ordered a water.
Apr 13, 2015
Apr 13, 2015 at 8:51 PM UTC