Best Undoes Poems
What should I say to describe this empty feeling,
like I'm missing something I could call Home.
How would I come to deny a thought revealing,
given time and place, I'd invent my own.
A time spent in a state of agonizing pain,
A place of worship I would not forgive.
Only the mind undoes the past through vision gained,
in boundless timeless Love it all but lives.
She is all about appearances, creating the right look
She wears glasses she doesn't need and carries around a book
She's the naughty librarian, her hair tied up in a bun
Don't let her looks fool you, she is definately about the fun
If she calls you to her office, be real thankful to be there
Watch as she undoes her buttons and let's down her silky hair
She says you need to be quiet, as she brings out all her toys
You must listen carefully, if you do you'll know her joy
You look at her gorgeous body, a feast for your lustful eyes
A certain part of your body, begins to increase in size
She asks you to lay on the desk, so that she can have a better look
Then she says to turn over and proceeds to spank you with a book
You try hard to be quiet, still You let out a simple scream
As she starts to turn you over, passions released in a stream
She tells you not to worry, you will have alot more fun
She hands you the Kama Sutra, she says this is lesson one
"My spice box contest"
There was that absolute obsidian in the air,
Not the holy kind -
But the kind you burn,
The dangerous fatal!
I wanted to kneel,
Not to worship -
But to plead with the grace you bled into,
Not to abandon me.
You walked like undone hymns,
A prayer with no mercy,
A pulse with no damnation,
The undoes sanity, dressed in reverence.
A moth that denies its hunger for the blaze,
A dagger veiled in silk,
For I drowned in a gaze -
I was never meant to hold.
You should know
I’m not who I am
The one who you see living an everyday life
Being paid for the job he’s doing
Sometimes with pains in his back
Or in his knees
The triumph of stupidity giving him migraine headaches
He who reads the papers and hears the news
And drinks with his friends or alone
And smokes an old pipe secretly so his wife doesn’t know
He who worries about the lives of kids
And struggles to write the unwritten
I am a man who makes his life far from here
Who explores unknown places in the earth
Who nips in the bud monstrous hurricanes
Who holds a tight leash on flooding rivers and spins energy
To light up the night
Who reveals through the cosmos the history of creation
Who helps find the names for new stars
Who takes protons apart like shelling walnuts
Entering through quarks
To get at matter’s secrets
Who can make the dumb speak and deaf hear
Tuning in to the world’s cacophony
Who appears in the path of barbarian hordes
And crushes them
Who destroys wild dictators
The minute they step away from their thrones
And people wake up smiling
Who finds the roots of medicines for each disease
Who undoes the greenhouse effect
Saving the world from global warming
And in the evening
After conducting a giant orchestra
And a chorus of a million children in the Sahara desert
That he has caused to blossom with olive trees and oranges
Returns to his home
To lie only a little bit tired
Near the quiet breathing of his beloved wife.
Fly in orbit, fly in creep,
Margin on the edge of sleep,
Feast your portion from the best.;
I would bargain blood for rest!
Leave your frantic fantasies bare,
Sculpted onto empty air.
Fly, you have not heard my plea.
You zoom in on my ear, my knee.
Rousing from my noonday haze,
My lassitude becoming rage,
I tell you, fly, cease now this play!
But here you come again my way!
Oh, brother of this feeble flesh,
Darting, dodge this trapping mesh!
'Til once the blow! Swift undoes
The circle into circle, buzz.
Alike with life our end begun,
Histories in speck and thumb.
(with a respectful nod to William Blake)
In total darkness flesh rests
and at first light rises.
Sky blue eyes search
bibles and cookbooks for direction.
Bless cheeks with pink powder blush.
Punch dough down.
Dress fingers in white flour dust.
Invoke a flame.
She commands all the elements,
motions us to stand and watch
at her tall stove-pot.
We peer over the edge
into galaxies of hot oil.
Planets pop and bob into life.
Aroma undoes us and
time floats hellishly slow.
Beneath a parapet of color rich and bright
the shiny sidewalk beckons me to come
closer to his revels closer to his warm caress,
As the rainy afternoon remises light
two mesic hearts begin to drum
in keeping with the rhythm of love's guess
The red umbrella shades us from the world
and keeps the rain at bay while we adhere
devoted to each other we find spark
inside an afternoon of dance and swirl
The old cafe gives witness to our near
as Benjy marks his loyalty with bark
The scent of petrichor feels clean and fresh
as we get lost within our love's embrace
the clasp undoes and we are winded in
pressed soft against each other's flesh
desirously we poise standing face to face,
he tastes like tonic with a splash of gin.
November 4, 2018
Sinful Curves
Sway and twirl thy shape and show me thy curves.
Tilt thy neck, and unfold thy whimsical golden locks.
The sensations thou leave, erect mine wicked dull nerves.
Spin and twirl in a seductive manner; a sight unorthodox.
Reveal to me thine firm and luscious breasts.
Uncover thy splendidly carved legs.
Show thine slim and wholesome waist which tests
Mine craving ego; it humbly begs.
For thee, I befall unto mine pleading knees.
My hugging groin chases thy round and voluptuous behind.
A golden fox you are; a sinful disease.
The sight of you undoes sane men’s wicked pasts; baffles their mimicking mind.
Thou hast left me breathless on the shores of dismay.
For thy sight, I am forever fulfilled, forever gay.
Kavanaugh the Jury’s out, guilty or not guilty... you decide!
Supreme judge divine
or lying swine?
Suspect Diaper
Smelly and crappy
must change nappy!
Phew what’s that smell
Left parting ‘gift’
farted in lift!
Hangover from hell
Too much drink ...
sick in sink
Burning from both ends
Oops, I forgot
chillies are hot!
Vasectomy Clinic Appointment
Undoes his zip –
time for snip!
Goodness Gracious Great Balls of Fire
Driving his car -
dropped his cigar!
Six-word couplet series Encore
Sponsored by Mark Toney
10/7/18
You dont have to be moved,
we are already in a revolution
A different kind, one where futures are decided on couches in front of the television.
One which undoes it all
Implanting the seeds that usurp
men and women; both old and young along with their hot blooded ideals.
I make a imaginery toast to a time when we raised fists in unison.
While I watch in much intrigue and an impending sense of horror,
a tide wiping the minds of the free of all that is red
With the sterility of modern celluloid fiction.
The profane fantasies consisting of comic book superheroes fighting crime.
Morphed, rudimentary ideas of justice.
Just another vulgar display of neo liberal superficiality.
Meanwhile my mind wanders far away
To the remote and torrid jungles of nowhere
My comrade mothers her child
who is to be weaned off of her bossom,
It Blissfully titters at the breathtaking landscape now under seige.
As she cuddles her child, her eyes peer into the vastness.
Her heroes are dead, but not her resilience.
Death’s fair haired blue-eyed boy
Rode his white horse into the West.
Where they stepped the flowers
Trembled in the earth.
A sign? A significant coincidence?
Like meeting death in a bar
Or someone you never knew in a ruined garden?
The night was awash with stars,
Rotating galaxies, black holes.
Alpha and Omega came and went.
Nothing started that had not already begun.
Nothing ended that had not already been done.
The motions of time numberless, though finite,
stalks the horizon and undoes the
Grasp of life bit by bit
And holds the last of it in the knife edge of light
Falling into the very last room but one
Any of us will ever inhabit.
This is the end my friend, the final awful end.
This is no light matter of which I speak.
Passion swallowed us whole like the sea.
But only you came out alive.
Complicated and opaque, you were a star system unto yourself.
And released your spears of dark words like shards of hate at unsuspecting targets.
Evil genius and artful dodger, hell will have frozen over
And pigs will have flown if you found heaven when you died.
In the last nighttime with all the stars spinning your last breath away
Were you afraid
As your life ran out into the dark and cold?
Or did something else take your hand and bring you
Into the great warm night
Where your molecules took
Flight and slid giddily through space seeking
Another life, another face, in some other less inadequate
Universe.
12/31/13
My Santa sack was filled with poop
To many this news ain’t a scoop
I’ve perfected the art
How to write about fart
I've posted about them on soup
I’ll divulge about Aunty Mable
who eats sprouts whenever she’s able
she made some sprout soup -
a vile manky gloop
then farted at the dining table
She eats sprouts for breakfast and tea
Foul gas builds up copiously
Before she lets rip
She undoes her zip
Her flatulence is legendary
The stench of foul farts Uncle’s hating
Aunt Mable he’s daily berating
With the build-up of gas
that’s expelled from her a ss
their duvet’s always levitating
Inspired by a friend who is always bursting with blueberry goodness
01/08/22
Limericks crochetés: What if what he warns’s true sin?
Is he the wrong man said the right thing
Though it’ll be wrong to agree with him
Who know darn well we mean
Such the omen of Djinn
Now it’s just as likely he might win
Thumbs up or thumbs down winds favour him
He can go on saying the same thing
The more he thumps same thing
More the votes he’ll reap in
Better be wise let him badly win
See how and what he does once he’s in
Till he undoes self in the West Wing
There’s no way he can grin
And keep himself within
Right or wrong he must face music’s din
© T. Wignesan – Paris, 2016
Guilt is immortal
Grief can live only in the tender hours,
in the sweet bittersweet tender days -
the days who number some number
unknown to all, felt by each...
If guilt makes its home where
seeds of grief are sown by circumstance,
watered by the downpour tears of the broken,
lit by shadow at the feet of those missing the missing,
will grief ever come to fruit?
No.
If guilt must grow.
(And only if.)
Let it be put off.
A hole in the canopy
letting light find the darkened forest floor.
There where rot rises and decay undoes all doing.
Here in the dappled understory each story comes to rest (at best.)
Here in the dappled understory where the rich soil flowers only in mushroom.
This is the onlywhere where grief can grow.
Grief takes root, takes hold, takes it torn form in only the brief.
Guilt is the mind displacing the work that each heart must do.
The brief needs of grief arise where and when the head might, of habit, of its own twisted comfort, displace the heartneeds with mindwants and revel in guilt.
Grief needs.
This.
Grief needs.
You.
Grief needs.
Now.
Will we not have Grief have its time, in its time?
It’s place, in its place?
In the light of the dark?
-ShhDragon
Six-Word Couplet Series
Lie spy
Innocent victim dies
Novichock poisoner lies
No deal Brexit
Has Theresa May
Had her day?
Donald Trump
He’s a deadbeat -
Read daily tweet!
Is he really the President
Donald is reckless
Ruthless and feckless
Pure indulgence
I devour candy
Whilst drinking brandy
Burning from both ends
Oops, I forgot
chillies are hot!
Vasectomy Clinic Appointment
Undoes his zip –
Time for snip!
Sponsored by Mark Toney
Six-Word Couplet Series Contest
9/22/18