Best Collarbone Poems
Your wrists smell of fig sap and October rain
your shoulder blades two furrows turned for seed
your spine the long fence-row the sparrows read
at dusk, each vertebra a sheaf of grain
The vineyard heaves into your windowpane
as roots cleave—slow, below, agreed
and where your collarbone dips, the ripe world feeds
its split apricot, moth-wing, what my palms have gleaned
I turn toward you at the sink, your hair still wet
and lay my ring along the small of your back
the pear boughs laden, the foxes at the run
the creek gone sloe at the farthest bend
what forty years of kneeling cleaves in earnest
one body known, the soul brought into harvest.
======
Passionately we kiss.
True romance,
I scroll,
softly kiss the collarbone.
Grab my lance!
lets dance,
on sheets of satin,
moan for me in Latin.
We both knew this would happen.
I feel you yearning,
body churning.
I'm learning,
your hot spots.
Burning,
feverish,
my swager
tied in love knots.
Palms a little sweaty,
bug-eyed by
your back-shot..
For months we have been ducking each other,
friendly exchanges, flirtatious winks,
and booty slapping
in passing.
Masking,
our true feelings,
lasting impressions, left silent
in our daily dealings.
Evolved finally into
sexual healing..
Dripping,
sweat soaked,
provoked,
under my yoke,
I stroke.....
Jared Pickett
1/19/2010
Asavvy1
How lovely, isn't
It, to have an 'off' switch, shotty wiring
And all,
And a presence lined up to ****?
They are always there
To cauterize the wounds of emotional castration
Without desire to examine
The blood pattern forensics,
Chalking the splatter up
To an affinity towards Jackson Polluck.
Tears are to the meek
As injury is to the bold,
Chastity is to pureness
As promiscuity is to curiosity.
And what
Supplemented activity relates to the character
Defect of an over-eager search for validation?
How surreal a menagerie constructed from
Syringes full of sunshine.
Currency crusted by blood in place of worth,
Hopeful scribbles of the pale and placid carrying
Small flecks of over packed bags under the eye
Can seem when sunlight filters through rose colored lenses;
How frighteningly apparent
Connect-the-dot freckles and
Spasms of the left cheek and
Teddy bear smiles and
Xylophone ribs and
Bits of skin ghosted from lips become
When refracted by a Narcissus pond—
How I m p o r t a n t,
How appropriate these sentiments:
Perfect companions for the rolled-up-carpet's journey
Of finding permanence along river bottom
Set into the silt and framed with waving algae:
A'voir, piggyback consistencies,
Meet oblivion in shreds
Blown out the back end of the skull
In the instant chapped lip worshiper meets collarbone shrine.
Such ready to leech services are no longer
A necessity
In the four hours of chemically enhanced rawness
Stuffed with bile and bruise and suck and lie
Hollowed of meaning,
Save for the proverbial cholesterol of hope clogged in pores.
But I awake in numbness,
Cold and invalid,
With my head pressed on Doubt's chest
And my fingers knotting in its own
Begging to be warm again.
SPLINTERED HEART
like a leg severed, ripped loose:
the phantom limb throbs and aches
knowing yet unwilling, unable to accept
that it's only a ghost playing evil pranks
sitting frozen and paralytic
from the weight, the frightful weight
dragging, forcing down the head
welding chin to collarbone...
heavy, crushing feeling on the chest
punishing pressure on the heart
a heart at the point of imploding...
alarm clock crying, screaming:
time warp between sleep and awake
when not yet aware of where one is
not yet aware of what or who one is
a split-second reprieve until----
(oh, it really did happen
oh, I don’t have a leg now
oh, you have been torn loose
taking pieces of me with you)
it has been proven medically:
people with life threatening seizures
can eventually function normally
with half of their brains removed
not so with a splintered heart
not so with half a heart...
Submitted for: Catie’s Free Verse Extravaganza contest
Theme: Half a Heart
Swept by waves of nostalgia
Afloat on longing tides
I assessed this oyster compound
where my heart could not abide.
Aphrodisiac pulls of Neptune
were as lava cooled to stone
What use were pearls of luster
when one had no collarbone?
Heralded by sea trumpets
kelp banners flying high
Sentinels of sea urchins
with pink coral by their sides
Calamity, with determined madness
shoved sponges from his path
Provoked by clam injustice
Spurred by mollusk wrath.
I searched for an escape exit
from that cruel, moronic clam
This myriad ideology,
naught but an oyster sham.
When a seahorse bobbing aimlessly
moved closer to my side
I unhinged my oyster carapace
and grasped its roughened hide.
I was jolted and I was jostled
as I settled on its back
Calamity watched in amazement
standing frozen in his track
When an agitated octopus
released an ink black kite,
a galaxy of starfish
sank into the brackish night.
I focused my attention
on my lost and nervous steed
We were climbing ever upward
at a most alarming speed
Breaking through the surface
I swallowed back a scream
Afraid of finding Calamity
I found it all had been...a dream.
Trois Par Huit
AAB BB CCC
3,6,9,12,12,9,6,3
Prince of bliss
has risen with the kiss,
you have planted on my collarbone.
Thoughts of things to come whip around like a cyclone
in my mind. No longer alone, our love has grown..
Lets not postpone, I yearn to be yours,
yearn to bathe on your shores,
to explore!!!
Jared Pickett
5/21/2010
Asavvy1
Time seems to stand still,
when laying in our bed.
Is our love real,
or all in my head?
Time seems to stand still,
while looking into your eyes.
In the fields of daffodil,
us together is paradise!
Time seems to stand still,
when we're together alone.
Your kisses are such a thrill,
especially on the collarbone!
Time seems to stand still,
and our love rings true.
These intense emotions I feel,
can only come from you!!
afterward no talk
you came with your cold collarbone
pushing your own barrow
if it's money you want
why not work the streets
cutting corners won't cut it
in the emotive sphere
relationships won't last
where deception rules
cogs click into one another
up a gear and under a cloud
where the angel dust
lingers on your
stiff upper lip
all that remains is
cold sweat and
afterward no talk.
I've been in pain before
But this time I chose in advance
To get a tattoo you see
I wanted to take a chance
It turned out beautiful
I am thinking of my next one
But the pain I felt during the process
Is something I can't wait to have done...again
So I sat there breathing in and out
Again and again the needle hit the bone
My head thrown back so he could reach
I was in the zone
And he wiped, and he swiped
Oh he wiped me clean
Each swipe, he did wipe
Removing extra ink from my skin
And the needle like Morse code
It kept taking me back
It punctured and ruptured
My collarbone now black
And in the end I was relieved
And in the end I was upset
That the high I had during the time
Left nothing, no regret
I have only so much canvas
I can't wait to go back in
I want that feeling of pain that I had
All over my skin
i love the early morning rasp of his voice
the birthmarks and burn scars
midsummer skin
i love the sticky rash of lust
the way a heart ticks until it implodes
the sugar soaked kisses
i do not love the way he smacks my face
the way he pushes too hard
the ways he does not love me kindly
i do not love my swollen cheeks
my bruised hips
my blood
i do not love my blood
i love the touch of innocence in the morning
before i have upset him
when we bask in apologies and ignorance of all our yesterday's
when the whispers are not wasps nests and he grins like greek god
when everything is beautiful except i say stop and he doesn't listen.
everything is beautiful except blood vessels clawing at the surface.
everything is beautiful except trying to scream when you've forgotten how to breathe
"please don't" puts him at ease
"don't touch me" doesn't mean anything
"i love you" tosses the dice
i lick arsenic off collarbone
slice the tongue, gargle blood
say goodnight like it's the last
could be the last
he cracks my bones between boulders
between fists
there is no difference
between matchboxes and kisses
seduction and resistance
him and his father
i feel like the guy that plays the flute
calls the snakes.
he slithers around my body
like intimidation
like he's sizing up the prey
like all those secrets in the wasps nest have been beaten out
swarming
buzzing around my head
like he makes me call him "honey" because he knows i'm drowning in it
and the one stinger i have would change nothing
who strikes first dies first
and i'm feeling courageous
feeling like a death wish
he paints me in blacks and blues.
violent hues.
the canvas colored in control is quite the masterpiece
and she's tired of being sculpted
tired of being the victim at his hands
cold and cracked.
i do not love the aching of nostalgia
the dry empty palms
the fear of hearing his footsteps in the middle of the night
but i love the fresh faced stranger in the mirror
the skin that does not rip itself off
the comfort in silence
in safety
i love sunsets that look like honey and breathing in
knowing i'm not drowning anymore
saying "you will never be a real man"
and knowing
knowing
i have stung him
I feel like the candle flame
As it's about to die...
So... cold...
I shrink in on myself,
A used wick curling up
Blackened and lifeless-
Now suspended in
A haze of my own smoke
Like hallucinations,
I suddenly recall
How it felt to be warm-
Face pressed against
The fire in your chest,
Roar of its beat in my ear;
I tapped its rhythm
On your collarbone
With one finger, delighted
At how fast, how erratically
It sputters at my closeness;
You laughed,
Because you understood...
Now I close my eyes,
And with one finger, I
Tap the rhythm of
Your heartbeat
On my collarbone-
Maybe to recall
How your fire sputtered for me
Will keep me from guttering out
Before you can return to me-
Rekindle me-
Again...
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
Cedar fragrance floats softly in the air
like old ghosts awakening after sleep.
Inside, yellowed envelopes carry
the silent burden of hands
that never delivered their confessions.
A brittle map traces borders
that dissolved with the century's breath.
In the probing moonlight,
tarnished brass hinges moan.
Beneath folded sweaters,
apologies fossilize,
and grief settles like dust
on unworn wedding lace.
A sapphire brooch recalls
the heartbeat under a collarbone
where it pinned courage tight
until surrendering.
Trapped light holds
what daylight wouldn't understand.
Within attic walls
the lid groans echoing
how memory bends
under its own weight.
Secrets don't suffocate here~
they become the wood's grain.
The body becomes the prison
I feel there is reason somewhere
But these lessons seem ill prepared
I’ve taken good advantage of the length of my neck
And now there is steel from collarbone to jaw line
In the tips of fingers
are trills and little fires of anger
I slept with the window open last night
God forbid, the fresh air
And now I muster up all the strength
to close it
and save the rest of my body
I want to dare it; want to turn 180
And burn right where I’m damaged
And then maybe the crick will become cracked
And the stick will go slack
And I can spin again
From my own axis
I’ve been thinking of him
How he rejected the idea of olive oil
On his neck, the healing of holy water
How in three days he was healed
And in three days his healer was risen
The mercy of the breath given to reject
The humble pompous anecdote
Of his foolish mother in law
And so in rebellion I prayed
And turned to feel the pangs of pain
Jesus rose on the third day
Mister was healed just the same
I can’t take two more days
Spiraling and
Vanishing
Crawling on my shoelace
Then gone
I wear a red and black
Crown
In this summer
As plentiful as
Rain drops in a
Thunderstorm
They take
Flight
Tickling my skin
Landing on my collarbone
I am wreathed in them
Covered in more dots
Than they are
One perches on my finger
Then in the blink
Of my eye
Is gone and
I run
Into the tall
Grasses
And spinning
I revel in
Nature's rubies
As they dance and
Sparkle around me.
They form a heavy
Cloud and disperse
And I am left with
One single
Solitary
Ladybug
Flying away
In the summer
Air.
Missing: Pieces of Me
SPLINTERED HEART
like a leg severed, ripped loose:
the phantom limb throbs and aches
knowing yet unwilling, unable to accept
that it's only a ghost playing evil pranks
sitting frozen and paralytic
from the weight, the frightful weight
dragging, forcing down the head
welding chin to collarbone...
heavy, crushing feeling on the chest
punishing pressure on the heart
a heart at the point of imploding...
alarm clock crying, screaming:
time warp between sleep and awake
when not yet aware of where one is
not yet aware of what or who one is
a split-second reprieve until----
(oh, it really did happen
oh, I don’t have a leg now
oh, you have been torn loose
taking pieces of me with you)
it has been proven medically:
people with life threatening seizures
can eventually function normally
with half of their brains removed
not so with a splintered heart
not so with half a heart...
~ How can I forget a gently bold spirit that is Tim
whose poetry brims with verve,
contemporary images, wit, and emotional depth?
While exchanging comments on our posts,
I found out that he stayed in my country during
the war. His anecdotes sparked the beginnings of
a dear friendship that allowed us to connect through
email and facebook. Tim was an erudite poet as
seen through this winning piece in a contest.
~Knowing his health was becoming frail, he would slip
in and out of the site, yet quickly responded to most
of us on social media.
When Tim passed on, I was shocked; his demise ...sudden.
I am grateful to have known him up close and personal,
a man of integrity who wanted to revisit our country with
his daughter a year before he finally rested in peace. Salute, Tim!
Anthony Biaasoc's The Uncontest Contest
6/22/2020