Best Cavities Poems
Black Diamond Night (a coal miner’s cemetery)
Where the ebony, we call “NIGHT”,
Old black rocks sit under the twilight
Diamond shape eyes unclear and lonely,
Sinister through hostile spirits only,
I stumble across these stones without a bone
A solitary confinement alone,
From a barren zone the light transcend
Only in time, our minds will mend
Endless valleys and limitless stones
These bones- these bones they sit alone
The abyss, of rotten cavities with no fill,
A system no power can unwell the drill
The blood that passed over without a spill
Peaks collapse into a spellbinding chill
They are trapped! They are trapped!
Another diamond in the rough
Is what they left
Obsessed with the dead without a death
A death that impatiently awaited their last breath
Gushing, into the gems of dead chemistry,
Diamonds holding its own intensity,
These lonely graves, on top of sycamore hill
Coal mining hearts that will never heal
If only shiny eyes could see?
These lonely bones inside of me!
Moving in every direction possible
Flowing in every direction noticeable
Sockets without eyes.
Stones hiding under the cobalt skies.
The mad sparkles, the madness dies.
Throughout this mess, we held in the blasphemous
Intervening lots of gems so miraculous
Into a stone of self-religion,
A black night filled of legions
Acknowledging the soul's capacity of free
Near the frail bones that sit alone,
Alone they sit in a morbid home.
Through a path unclear and all alone,
Troubled by the visions of my own stone
Where the night takes place in the dark
The ebony rides under the diamond bark
Along with the coal miners who never got to see the;
“Diamonds of another day!”
Trying to get myself together,
I book my dentist appointment.
In the waiting room I sit.
Finally, they call me,
I sit on the all familiar dentist chair.
Looking up, the light shines on my eyes,
Giving my headache advancement,
I close my eyes.
Suddenly they speak of cavities.
“Would you like to get fillings today?” they ask.
Sure, I thought aloud.
They numb my mouth,
Nothing I felt, they asked me one more question.
“Would you like the gas to feel more comfortable?”
“Yes please”, I replied.
Next thing you know I am gazing off,
It leads to my mind wondering, I feel strange.
Images of all my emotions pop up,
They start to seem more real.
I am off into a deep sleep,
Me sitting in a chair carrying my son,
He opened his longing eyes,
My heart felt the joy of this dream.
I was rocking him so peacefully,
My little angel came to me in a deep sleep.
I wake from the drilling of my teeth feeling at peace,
The dentist told me of how peaceful I seemed,
Moreover, of how tired I must have been that I fallen asleep.
No idea they had of how restless I was,
Nor that I am a grieving mother who had just lost a piece of her heart.
I did not expect to had left the dentist feeling happy,
I had a vision a created memory that put me at peace.
Crazy you might think but I look forward to my next dentist appointment.
~My son Bael forever in my heart and if I’m lucky in my dreams he will visit me~
Sometimes
I forget his name
there are cavities
in love too
dark gaps
in the cracking heart
where aching
doubt and memories
pulsate.
© Gry W Christensen
fo'c·'sle /'fohksel/ noun deriv: forecastle
1. the forward part of a ship below the deck, traditionally used as the crew's living quarters.
2. historical: a raised deck at the front of a ship.
With the equinox illuminating a fortnight of recovery
On pelts spread like Ionian jars left askew,
My flame-keep sparked alight against the doldrums of
Greed. Stagnant and fetid.
My bark beats out a call stretched
Skin-tight over the sea’s virgin core
And sets trust aflame.
Ashes collected into the collated casks and
Corked with animus, Moon Girl pounded on.
Drumming a dirge on the tanner's own flesh.
Pounding the seed of echoing hope.
Pounding the corpus beat of life anew.
Those echoed my own harmony and emptied my ears.
My tunes would now be true and crisp.
My struggle to syncopate the middle eight
Was like on the saltchuck the time before.
Before we crossed the bar,
Breakers chasing, pounding aft of stern.
Now in the glow of the coal oil lamp
Sat The Dane who came to trade.
He mumbled a Chinookian curse and winced.
He sensed my mariner's cred, how I lit my smoke;
Muscle memory and addiction married in my subconscious.
But His eyes would never sense the venomous flow
Of the seabreak distant,
Like hounds baying to the highway of stars
And up to the dunes ran with phosphorescent faces
Fermenting the blackness.
Hell-hounds bounding.
Lungs pounding.
Driving on.
River may lick Disappointment’s shanks
But Drake’s gold remains unfound.
The cavities carved along the capes
Echo an emptied ethos and sapped spirit
Which salal and sage cannot clense.
Walk with me now Sister Ilchee.
Beat your dirge
Along the pock-marked ports of plunder
Laid before the flattened corpse of
Ebbing freedom found.
Lincoln never imagined
today’s white victim zeitgeist,
pouting persecuted supremacists,
their clenched jaws and fists.
Civil war rages in limbic memory.
Encoded somewhere,
the panic attacks and mirages.
Nobody is qualified because everybody is responsible.
So many whites have graduated from the struggle,
showcasing their diploma from the mill.
Lincoln never imagined
modern virtual vitriol,
merciless memes lashing out at specters,
infusing, inciting depravity among the sleep deprived.
These words are battleships aimed at the reviled.
The unshielded summon civility.
They beckon familiar principles.
But rabid cougars wait in hiding, eager to pounce.
All the feeble markets for platitudes have failed,
as subliminal cavities endure each generation.
Mental lynch mobs, rebel flags, supremacy’s utopia.
Lincoln never imagined
a 21st century cartoon president,
a white nationalist clicking social network epithets,
a whining overgrown tormenter
with a cult of Stalinist believers.
Where are the intelligible?
How is all this animated fury converted?
What is the lesson plan?
Who will bury the code?
How long this agonizing journey into normality?
Lincoln never imagined.
Published Tuck Magazine 04/ 2019
Life, as a pseudonym,
Drags its shadow's shadow, which snarls
Itself around traffic cones and
Streetlamps, tearing at its skin
With deliberate intimacy
To alarm light witnessed
Only through strained peripheral vision.
A lace-stitched veil
Slips through sidewalk cracks,
Unisolated windows,
Cataract smooth eyes.
The flesh of the matter invades
Such as the Red Death
In living color--Vibrant
Cadavers speak the language of Love:
Mortality;
It slides over possessive nouns, sticky
As salivation,
Push and rattle and harbor themselves against
Warm, wet cavities eroded
In the backside of actualities
Sweet Tooth.
Authentic miasma, honest illness.
Any footprints discarded in covers of dust
In which Fear has been recognized
Yield into thoughts by persuasion
Of waves.
three incisor teeth burst through fresh flesh...
opaque as pearls, strong as love, precious
beautiful baby babbles assertively
mesmerized by mishmash sounds
that her astounding mouth can make
prose poetry in its practice
as canines erupt, she moans from the ache
teeter-tottering restless to repress pain
speedily advancing in substantial strength
distracted by oblivious destructiveness
a significant stepping stone approaches
as a capable kindergarten adult
she wiggles loose her first baby tooth
receives a rich reward from a fantasy fairy
more teeth disappear like pressed piano keys
then return acutely out of tune
braces displace awkward half grins
an investment of finances and adolescence
unstoppable with seducing sweets
she sneaks cuddly candy under covers
falling asleep with sugar plum dreams
not counting a few costly cavities
free-spirited, experimental teen
meets Christina on the street
samples compelling quartz crystal
returns for seconds, as someone else disguised
mesmerized by mishmash sounds
that her astounding mouth can make
speedily advancing in substantial strength
she lucently levitates to a loftier place
a magnificent mind babbles assertively
sweeping the streets of pixie dust
no need to eat or sleep
like a firefly in heat, she dances frantically
teeter-tottering restless to repress pain
distracted by oblivious destructiveness
she visualizes voices that vivify the way
to the day's salacious survival guide
prismic vision's shimmers no longer satisfy
cotton candy granules' sweetness subsides
coming down from kaleidoscopic clouds
half-awake, she moans from the ache
shrill shrieks portray poetry's unspoken pain
death's drab projection is her heartless reflection
hocking heirlooms to trade for a transient thrill
a despondent inhabitant of tragedy
creepy crawlers invade every inch of skin
her thin figure balances a skull's shadow
irretrievable, ill-treated teeth crumble
like the city's plundered storefront windows
filthy, for granted, forlorn, fast-fading
...three feeble canine teeth remain
10-8-2023
Dedicated to Robert Lindley
He is a singer of the dark. This dark
made of the blood he shed over a rhyme;
of the hell's cavities that keenly hark
to echo of his words; of space and time
he leads me through - this dark is the enzyme
which a true art grows from, the watermark
of talent, the reality that I’m
calling in Russian [nastay'aschi mrak]*.
Abandon hope all ye who enter here**:
his way of darkness is not for a mere
mortal.
* (rus.) real darkness
** Dante Alighieri, "Hell", canto 3, stanza 3
abab baba ccd
Liquid sunshine,
rushes through my veins,
pumping through my heart,
leaving my body quivering;
passionate fire
carresses my skin,
with every sinful kiss
you grant my ever begging lips;
your eyes, leave my soul,
without a drop of pain,
soothing all fear and,
filling them with perfect drops of rain;
your hands, so soft, so coarse,
touch my skin like addiction,
leaving sweet pearls of creme,
to moisten my lower cavities;
your warm touch,
leaves me wide open,
begging, screaming, wanting, needing,
pleading for more of you;
our tounges dance,
inside, outside,
our touching lips,
warm, wet, salty;
our breaths sing,
over satiny skin,
into our ears,
as sultry whispers;
our hands grip eachothers bodies,
cool, warm, heated skin,
soft, beautiful, clutched hair,
filled with the essence of passion;
our eyes, half closed, half open,
stare, into the sky and sun,
the stars and moon,
the need between eachother;
perfect pearls drip from our skin,
blended into a sweet vanilla, mocha blend,
sweet, salty, warm, cool liquid,
flowing over, flowing from, our mixed skin;
shivering, shaking,
from sheer, natural, naked extacy,
the pulsing between my legs,
begs for his pulsing, strong heat;
my lips would take it,
carress it,
taste it,
love it;
my body would take it,
contract around it,
need it,
love it;
we tighten, and loosen,
we rock and shift,
i look down into his eyes,
and move my sweet tender hips;
i beg him for more,
and tell him when we're done,
we command eachother,
my codeword "more fun";
my body reacts,
to the thought of this,
i swallow my thoughts,
before i break, from needing him;
sweet liquid sunshine,
spills from our pores,
exotic liquid fire,
burns between our bodies warm;
our hearts beating faster,
our breaths comming in fast sips,
moans intermingeling,
between pressed lips...
Poetic Verses Cast On Angel Of My First True Love
Red dust stirring in her footsteps, grace in her shoes
she was a fearful angel, between old world and new
sweetness and joy in her bounty, purple in her blues
singing roads rarely traveled, in rhythms soft and true.
Her music ate into majestic sad and bony marrows,
gypsy of tomorrows, poetess flying upon desperation carols.
Red thorns set to bar her, from nights purely mellow
I her blinded witness, she a rose gleaming bright yellow
we stranded seekers, ignorant of life, its great dangers
lost in cavernous echoes, attended by ghostly strangers.
Her music ate into majestic sad and bony marrows,
gypsy of tomorrows, poetess flying upon desperation carols.
Hope fleeing as wherein her path broken rainbows fell
she innocent victim of Life, its many vicious hells
joining in her journey, a boy dying to be truly free
vows yet unspoken, twixt her soul and heart within me!
Her music ate into majestic sad and bony marrows,
gypsy of tomorrows, poetess flying upon desperation carols.
Red dust stirring in her footsteps, grace in her shoes
she was a fearful angel, between old world and new
sweetness and joy in her bounty, purple in her blues
singing roads rarely traveled, in rhythms soft and true.
Her music ate into majestic sad and bony marrows,
gypsy of tomorrows, poetess flying upon desperation carols.
R.J. Lindley, July 22nd, 1975', 1st edited May 7th, 2020
2nd edit- May 12th, 2020.
Sad Rhyme, ( Under The Blanket Of Memory, Hurt, Pain And Loss )
Note: "marrows"
mar·row1
/'mero/
noun
plural noun: marrows
1.
a soft fatty substance in the cavities of bones, in which blood cells are produced (often taken as typifying strength and vitality).
Note: Only girl that I ever loved that also wrote true and heartfelt poetry...
Left seeking future mysteries, as Life and Hope both our hearts fled...
I Should Have, Pen In Hand, Wet Paper As Before
Mercy, what a sad loss, no ink had stained white page
and rolling stone catches no moss, cries wise old sage.
I should have, pen in hand, wet paper as before
for my vanished bits fled to invisible shores.
I have new computer, paid for with extra cash
ah but, such did nothing to stop the recent crash!
So with this information I will now stack up
wet ink stained pages as my non-digital back up.
Maybe even carve important verse in hard stone
losing precious time, I see, I was not alone.
Add that crash to old poet's other worldly woes
with the other sad troubles we verse writers know!
Fear not friends, lesson learned from digital loss.
Cavities are an ugly bane, so please do floss.
Robert J. Lindley, 10-25-2018
Sonnet, ( Wisdom to be cautious is a gift )
Syllables Per Line: 0 12 12 12 12 12 12 0 12 12 12 12 12 12 0 12 12
Total # Syllables: 168
Total # Words: 128
Note: Now with very little precious time to be on board here, this site's recent crash gained in importance to me. Waking this morn at 2:15 am I logged on to read here and decided to write a bit.
Looking back at it now, I see a valuable lesson learned.
And I'd much rather get hit by a little pebble than a large boulder...
I guess my grandfather's advice applies here. He said, Son look at it this way,
when your world seems too dark and sad troubles are at your door,
remember they come and go and are clear evidence that you are still alive- so be grateful for that..
When I'm away from you, time start to freeze,
I get all cold inside, as if my heart is zero degrees,
I can not concentrate, all i can hear is tick, tock,
Everything gets motionless, even the hands upon the clock,
I try to walk around, but it's like zero gravity,
My soul start to hurt, like i got 10,000 cavities,
I start to lose my mind, like its serious insanity,
All i care about is you, to hell with all of the humanity,
You make my heart fly, lift me miles above the ground,
And you make it shine brighter than the stars that i surround,
Up, Up, Up, you make my head reach the sky's ceiling,
The clocks might stop, but nothing can't stop how I'm feeling.
Bedsprings crochet bones together.
His back is sutured to gripes
stitched to gummy joints.
In the toilet, avoiding the mirror,
humming softly,
shunning conversation with himself -
the ceiling drips a sump of memories.
The park --- Frances revolves confused.
"I don't understand."
A phrase with self-winding words.
A slight miscalculation,
a turning away at the precise moment
she turned towards him;
an error of timing really.
Frances whirs on "I don't understand."
Later he understood she overdosed.
He imagines this lethal power
over her life to be his.
Time whittles cavities with calcifications.
Softly the spine of a storybook breaks -
where one stitch patches a sorrow
a spur prods and rips.
When he listens to the hollows
between the long vertebrae of his life,
he hears a theory crumbling away
under slowly grinding cogs.
No time to worry over cavities
Under these circumstances—
Temptation has surfaced
Caution slips away like weak dentures
Answering desire—
Kindled peanuts
Ensconced in ginger syrup.
I confess I've been known to partake
Straight icing sans chocolate cake
I concede I shall never be lean
Pouring fudge without the ice cream
It's apparent my tool-shed doth grow
Baked cookies? Just gimmie the dough
It is rumored that I often spread
Peanut butter and jam (hold the bread)
From grandma I would often cajole
A sugar rush direct from the bowl
(Rejecting her kit for caboodle
Choosing filling minus the strudel)
I eat healthy! Want some examples?
Pay-Days contain protein that's ample
Orange Slices provide Vitamin C
Milky-Ways furnish Vitamin D
Cavities? My molars are mature
Cholesterol? I concur (THAT'S for sure)
Gotta change before damage is done
Take a walk? Um, later, Honey Bun...