Best Lidded Poems
A simple scene a nestling seeks the comfort of the night
to lay enthralled, engrossed, in memories of past days,
the nectar drawn from rivulets that run past blackened lash.
A lidded eye roves left, then right, as if it’s been betrayed
a corner tick, a slight knee twitch, odd choices now made.
The blanket once a comforter now twists so very tight.
A falling dream, a horrid scream, yet no land's in sight.
Bloodless body, writhe, heave, callout, nobody's home
your casing calls, umbilicus, umbilicus, reel me down.
A flying lift of breeze ‘neath hips, a lofting, oh so, high,
brings soul to ground with sighing sound within the dream,
entranced, aroused, the coming light, the end of night, wake.
First Published in Sweet Dreams and Night Terrors 2013
Mantis eyes magnetised her sister’s heart
felt its imprisoned glint of gold
willed it to enlarge into a
lotus leaf upon a sea
It floats on a lake of blood before
dawn turning hot burning blue
heat of her own blood
gold of her own heat
‘Let her not drown in
bloodied gold of red
running thick and deep’
So she murmured, so they did
To a shore of soft sand
Heart sailed escorted by
obsidian lidded dragons
gloomy gold unshackling
Guts, throat, tongue
puddle, pond, lake of
blood transmuted to turquoise
gold and blood morphing
Cupids created decoupage dishes
with bloodied dollars gold
called for another stint
to alchemise pentacles cold
_________________
PUBLISHED: Edge of Humanity Magazine
September 26
Night Whispers in my ear, promising sweet
Dreams from another world. My eyes lidded
With wonder of images that aren't complete.
My consciousness blurs, I scrunch up my feet.
Dream realm returns, I enter it timid.
Night whispers in my ear, promising. Sweet
Melodies drift down a rain ridden street.
Colors explode to make the dull gilded.
I wonder of images that aren't complete.
I dream in color that's full of deceit,
My journey confused but benefited
Night. Whispers in my ear, promising sweet
Souls of good fortune. The spell obsolete,
Slips off my mind. The day then comes guilted,
I linger with images that aren't complete.
Startling gold sun begins to reach its peak,
But my mind is in bed, dreaming tinted.
Night whispers in my ear, promising sweet
Wonder of images that now are complete.
I
I am disinfected, sanitised from touch and eyes
Do not hold me. I am Bakelite and you smolder
Sat solid, the wall cold against my spine. A back-rest
To concrete electrocution.
I am distilled from Suburbia and Bohemian at Brandenberg
Rigid and saturnine. Heavy lidded Lichtenstein moons
And ruby lip and cheek.
Dumb-flustered and silent rictus
Nothing changes.
II
She edges closer with ostentatious mute steps. Like a bride
And thrice as white with crimson orb flowing underneath
Her caped wings and paper hat. Tiny dragging movements
As though her legs could snap
This marionette matchstick girl unfurls her bouquet of fingers intertwined
And ruffles from her drapes fragments of paper and a tiny plastic cup
I do not notice her. The bleach sticks heavy to the throat and
She envenoms me to the core stomach
She speaks. It is static heavy and foriegn, black-lipped vowels and dull
Continuations of barely literate sounds.
My words are daggered brutes, any poetry the less of my expectations
Is instantly meaningless, crass, common, nauseous and disgusting
Her flowing prose was illegible on those lips. Sounding almost spat
I could have silenced nine decades to my two and circled her in criticism
She would never understand with her barely-English cold translations of her
Own English mother-tongue.
III
People are fascinating
Occassionally
I find I look at them and linger, I study them and calculate their complex algebras
Undoubtedly we are products of our parents and the less of us by-products
We are strings and apples and figs
The woman with her ghost-white face and dress. Her parents were too strict
You can see it in her face, how if you even turn away her eyes circle with bags
And she feels lost, she could cry a thousand summers and undoubtedly should trade my place.
As of my own parents they probably loved me too much. Sheltered me and then
Stopped abrupt as death and cyanide fizzing
Suddenly trading my lineage into friendship and smiles and no, do silence yourselves
I am a maypole and the strings circle about me
Life and ambition they feed upon me, draining me in complex nervous disorder
I am a living question mark
I can feel it
Eating below my skin.
Sweet scent of magnolia permeated the air
on the cusp of a balmy summer gloaming
Myriads of stars would soon gleam above
My garden was already dappled with light
awash in the luminance of tiny fireflies
Diminutive lanterns had taken wing
in search of a mate or to feast on prey
Dancing in circles while crickets chirped
Not syncopated in rhythm, but all the same...
I was enchanted with their golden glow
Flickering sprites, mystical fairy creatures
They lingered long after the moon had risen
I dared not move in fear of chasing them away
No lidded prison would hold Nature's treasures
flitting in my garden in the aura of dusk
This is my temple
Like a box
Rectangular contained and lidded
Blood and bones and veins consistent
Asking questions
To my flesh...
Molded giftwrapped thus from ashes
In this space live organs dwelling
Shall I hearken
Soul and sirens
...ever melodies of feelings
Hearken to the simple spirit
Like a chamber or a prison is my flesh, this outside box with-in it's space live
organs dwelling
Like a box I have been moved, abused and used, less often gifted
How shall I express when opened?
Null and void
An empty space, sometimes I feel depressed unopened
As a box this is my flesh and giftwrap me with bows and ribbons
To become a splendid rhythm
On your doorstep
Pick me up
Rectangular a joy I'm giving
Open and release my prison
Like a box
Here I am
Molded giftwrapped thus from ashes
Rectangular contained and lidded
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
A penny face-up in the gutter—
Abraham’s copper gaze half-lidded with rain.
I pocket him like a secret,
like the first digit in an equation
no one taught me to how to solve.
The laundromat coughs up dimes~
silver cataracts rolled under dryers,
buried beneath lint and lost socks.
I tally them in my palm,
each one a tiny moon
pulled from the tide of neglect.
My grandmother saved buttons in a jar,
swore they were pirate treasure.
I collect coins instead~
nickels in parking lots,
quarters wedged between bus seats,
their edges bitten with teeth marks.
When the year ends,
I spill them all onto the kitchen table~
a metal harvest, a jingling autopsy.
Enough for a coffee,
a lottery ticket,
or the weight of knowing
that fortune isn’t a mountain
but the slow accumulation
of what everyone else
steps over.
Sometimes I contemplate about my own self-destruction.
I wonder if I am at fault for the way this state has simply become a dreadful inevitability.
I wonder if I am at fault for the way my mind hums with a silence that scratches my soul.
I wonder if I am at fault for the visceral, undeniable pull that tugs at my sternum.
Fatigue.
It’s a conflictive concept.
It’s practical. It’s biological. It’s physical.
But for me, it’s the definition of my existence.
It’s the medical complications that pile up through my fingernails like tangled vines on a hanging tree.
It’s the pocket-sized triggers that push me back into a room with claw marks on the door.
It’s the way that no matter who I am, what I am, or where I am, I will always be a victim of exhaustion.
Not the sleepy, heavy-lidded homesick type.
But the invisible type.
The blood-itching need for evaporation.
The throat-clamping desire for combustion.
The tear-scarred plea for deterioration.
And I wonder if all I am meant to be is a hanging tree;
vexed by the vines of her own making and hung by the carvings of her own captivity.
As the year goes to sleep, all the crisp air is laden with light
The wind has a way of shaping the leaf around its restless form
lining each road and trail with heavy-lidded brilliance
____________
For Andrea's Contest
October Bliss/November Dreams 10/10/14
"Blue Avians and the Poetic State of Mind
post apocalypse
the mother
sought the assistance
of Blue Avians.
when it came to
eggs stolen from a nest
who better than to
seek the assistance
of those ancient
wise creatures.
they had a keen sense
of the poetic.
without speaking,
they intuitively
understand
the misunderstood.
The Blues
shot right through
to the heart
of the matter.
Triangulation.
seated in
lapis lazuli
Merkaba
thrones
they fly
in fierce squadrons
sharp eyes, and minds
surveying the In-Between Place.
extra sensory perception
they lock into targets
reading signals hidden
under the radar
the cloaked
co-ordinates
of the Draconian
the great pretenders,
finding weakness
in the criminals’
fading camouflage.
slippery scales, light weights,
the Draconian
are bird bait;
too shiny,
inherent and inherited
reptilian, lizard minds
unsettling reprobates
in false light armour;
their dangerous enabling
supporting the
underbelly of it all,
their brother,
the venomous
Arachnid army.
The Blue Avians
saw deep inside
the Necromancer’s
deep indigo heart,
the blue heart of true mother.
they were for her
with faith
every time;
for like them, after all,
she also could fly
with the full strength,
the force of will in her mind.
they would fly
by her side. anytime.
they held no fear
of her motives,
her just moment,
her calling mission
for return of her child,
in the fullness of time.
they see
and they feel
the fierce call
of the Necromancer’s
true mind.
post apocalypse
the mother
sought the assistance
of Blue Avians.
when it came to
eggs stolen from a nest
who better than to
seek the assistance
of those ancient
wise creatures,
they possessed a keen sense
of swift justice.
they read
without speaking
truth in
the poetic,
a unifying
undying
poetically alienated
state of mind
(LadyLabyrinth / 2022)
"I am the blue-lidded daughter of Sunset;
I am the naked brilliance of the voluptuous night-sky."
"In the sphere I am everywhere the centre,
as She, the circumference, is nowhere found."
Eye of Horus.
Horus.
Thoth.
Nuit.
The wind
howled ice-cold, clear-sky
lullabies
and awoke the moon,
who gazed, heavy-lidded,
at the stars around her
Leaves and dust
danced sambas and pirouetted
along the desert's river,
who was shivering uncontrollably
while midnight birds
struggled to fly upstream
against the manic,
stinging, musical currents
of turbulence and wonder
Familiar awakenings as when in BEAUTIFUL PARADISE
Might be true if heart feels as such when rusty of exercise
Lyrics of singing nightingale, embalmed LOVE BUG, were never JUST FOR ME
As in rapping of a drum heard everywhere but not for all to see
Memories when everything became so much clear
Empty handed return from a sailing trip and it was ALL SO REAL
To subconscious, what was ALWAYS KNOWN
Tightly lidded lest might tarnish the dream gown
Not a seasoned candidate to stay afloat for another unwelcomed episode in TIME TRAVEL
Missing the nonrefundable emptiness in soul upon loosing the gamble
He was sun-scorched, flame-torched
stood tall, strong as a brick wall
loose-hipped, well equipped
in for the count, without a doubt
expert tracked, surprise packed
spurs jangled, wild mustang wrangled
I should have, could have
but I was lost, dust-bowl tossed; in Trouble!
In a mess, I confess
as he turned, my body burned
fanned my face, acting chaste
he was endearing, God-fearing
a lop-sided smile, immaculate styled
I could have run, fired my gun
but I only choked, when he spoke,
he was ice cool, me more the fool; he's Trouble!
He tipped his hat, steel-grey eyes of a cat
heavy lidded, my heart skidded,
he said, 'Maam?', took my hand
his cornfield hair, his unnerving stare
I might have, right have
high-tail, hit the trail
the preacher grins, there's all my kin
now side-by-side, my downhill slide; into Trouble!
All curtailed, I in veil
'Do you take?, my mistake?
white wedding gown, two hearts pound
next the ring, my clammy skin
my Pa's tears, must squelch my fears
all too late, more my fate
the thrown rice, last minute advice
my Mama's bliss, that sweet kiss; of Trouble!
Blushing bride, our buggy ride
all alone, our log cabin home
white picket fence, it all makes sense
just me and you, the mountain's view
angels singing up above, it must be love
carried past the oven door, need I say more?
a four-poster bed, enough said
'What a Man!', to our life plan; without Trouble!
©25/02/2012
Forgive me Father, for I have sinned,
of thigh-high socks and bobby pins.
Now strewn about, we kiss discreet,
with pounding hearts, our bodies meet!
Our love forbidden; a cold fire - it burns,
within my breast as my stomach turns,
Blasphemy, Sin! Of this I am full.
Guilty! Yet, still at your body I pull.
Convince me now that my sins have worth.
Can I trust you won’t shatter me, cast me aside?
Can I open my heart and have you as my first?
Can I believe you will not twist the knife in my side?
Oh Calamity, damned as I am, right damned.
I sat there crying as the door slammed,
behind you; you're leaving... alone, here I lay.
Left behind, thrown away, your toy for the day.
With a sigh of resignation, I wipe tears from my eyes.
There's no justifying her actions, her lies!
Begone! Get thee behind me you whore!
I stand up and place my hand to the door...
But I never make it, my heart heavy has grown.
I have achieved this destruction all on my own.
"I'll never forget you.." I heard her prose...
as my eyes, heavy lidded... begin to close.
My last breath escapes me into the night.
I feel no elation, no horror, no fright.
A small voice in the dark; a phrase to be heard:
"I'll never forget you, " I echo her words.
forgotten sound
of a father's voice,
only a fond memory of English Leather,
faces of children
not one's remembered,
melancholia captioned,
while snared in long wars
bereft of true glory,
cordite charred, world weary,
heavy hearted,
heavy handed,
heavy lidded,
minutes whip past
like a lash on raw skin,
gilded ages burst like flack,
eons too much when unwelcome
too little too soon,
moments spent like carnival tokens,
spin cycle of life
a kaleidoscope swoon,
awaken to dotage,
snippets of melodies
riffing toe tapped,
younger days, younger legs,
when life was as simple
as a pair of rubber soled shoes,
leg tapped,
tap away.