Best Writhed Poems
Down there, on the shell-coarse beach in a furnace of sand
The sea writhed and almost boiled at the shore,
Barefoot we walked, with her hand in my hand
No girl had ever driven me more.
She dry-licked her cherry lips and saltily smiled,
Solar flares bursting there in my chest,
The way she moved always drove me wild,
My eyes entranced by her shape in that dress.
The sun stamped in the sky like a chromium plate,
Dripped the colours of butter and steel,
And she stood there the most, the coolest hot date,
So radiant and still and surreal.
When she threw back her head as she lay on the grass
Liquid eyes burning silver and green,
With the parting of lips she gave me a free pass
And the world dissolved to aquamarine.
When Night Brings Its Stillness, Silence And Tick, Tick, Tick
Collaboration with Robert Lindley
8th March 2019
Town was quiet, its heart barely beating
midnight hour came and went so fast
moon and stars blinked through open window
silence echoed in the town's invisible pulse
Strange how life gives night its powers
its more peaceful and murmuring tones
we that too oft wake to its untimely sounds
feel crushing aches in our despairing souls
Clock watching becomes our pride-less new sport
with tick, tick, tick, its rallying calls
and when that strain promises to explode
we pray dawn's falling rays wakes world's all.
We thought not to wake too soon
yet feared we may not wake at all
and tick, tick, tick, rhythm hypnotised us,
we watched no clock, but listened a while,
until it lulled our weary eyes to sleep;
we woke uninvited, but unknowingly compelled,
tones unheard would not have been peaceful
and nights powers made us beg for our lives;
the town purred with morbid contentment,
moon and stars stroked its back,
between midnight and dawn we writhed,
the quiet town passively cursed us.
When Night Brings Its Stillness, Silence And Tick, Tick, Tick
Town was quiet, its heart barely beating
midnight hour came and went so fast
moon and stars blinked through open window
silence echoed in the town's invisible pulse
Strange how life gives night its powers
its more peaceful and murmuring tones
we that too oft wake to its untimely sounds
feel crushing aches in our despairing souls
Clock watching becomes our pride-less new sport
with tick, tick, tick, its rallying calls
and when that strain promises to explode
we pray dawn's falling rays wakes world's all.
We thought not to wake too soon
yet feared we may not wake at all
and tick, tick, tick, rhythm hypnotised us,
we watched no clock, but listened a while,
until it lulled our weary eyes to sleep;
we woke uninvited, but unknowingly compelled,
tones unheard would not have been peaceful
and nights powers made us beg for our lives;
the town purred with morbid contentment,
moon and stars stroked its back,
between midnight and dawn we writhed,
the quiet town passively cursed us.
A Robert J. Lindley and Lawrence Sharp collaboration
3-08-2019
Note: Yet again you honor me by agreeing to compose poetry with this old and far too oft very tired poet. I knew your verses would be golden and continue this piece wonderfully to its conclusion. Thanks for gifting such magnificent verse to this our newest creation..
I Committed Suicide
I stretched out weary hands.
Melisa, who considered me
like a big brother, quickly ran away from me.
My heart writhed unto me;
I longed for a swig of water.
Noise danced, rumbled inside me in thunder.
But the whirlwind heard
the swoosh of the knife as my eyes blushed.
But why didn’t I die instead?
I placed the knife back
in my rusty pocket.
I recalled she told me,
“No, don’t kill yourself.”
“Stress is like chess;
either you play it, or it plays you.”
Vinegar boiled my blood,
though my bones
were hit by the daily rocks I ate.
My suicidal act was lured with its bait.
But why didn’t I die instead?
Swarms of flies consumed the skin of my throat.
My fleshes were allotted to stresses atop a fire.
My fur was tumbleweed and chaff before the wind blew.
My mouth became a thirsty land.
I turned blue. I cried sandy tears.
My ivory screams were smokes.
But why didn’t I die instead?
“Christo,” I heard as I reconsidered.
“Melisa bloodily committed suicide,”
an old man vociferated.
I fell to my knees.
The blood in my head was a rolling sea.
Reconsideration ebbed away.
I was a zebra running away from a lion’s teeth,
but in the lake, caught by the crocodile’s jaws of death.
My muscles fainted in decay.
My soul ran away from a fowler’s snare.
Wails went higher than an eagle’s wings.
But why didn’t I die instead?
Scarlet and golden etched,
autumn leaves reflect summer's apprehended glory
incised in deep veined images.
Released, they sigh earthward like final breaths.
Sharp pungence ripens , musty tang,
a piquant vaporous mustard milked
from forest loam's black breasts
beneath life's heavy kneading tread.
Sudden, determined winds attack
raping writhed skeletal remains;
stripped spring's green clad darlings.
Feigning innocence,
the gray storm fiend curtains guilt
beneath pure, snow white overlay.
Copyright, August 2, 2014
Faye Lanham Gibson
Examine your surroundings,
most importantly their hue,
for I recall a day when setting sun
hung in the fire of a neon sky
and blazed an orange red.
What imperceptible thread held it
there above our heads like a paradigm of passion
suspended for all time!
Even now, years later,
I draw that moment out and bask in it again. . .
and over again. Also I remember how
that serpent came from nowhere
and slithered terra cotta in the sand around our feet.
I believe he was exponential (in a Biblical sense)
of what we soon would lose - our innocence -
as afternoon slipped into an iridescent dusk.
The colors of that dusk
bursting and sizzling like our steamy summer love,
primarily in nuances of lust,
flowed scarlet over us in the color of a crimson
which was cardinal as sin.
Then to the screams of gulls and to the crash of waves,
I writhed beneath a surge of heat
and his face. . . that glowed with desire.
Only at the beach was I ever to know
such splendor. . . there with my first love
and there with the sun, where it burned out.
I
I knew a time when my sister, tall and fair
with her sage sense of humor, dull and non-existent
Seemed positively,
metallic, blessed with flowing shackles, a gift, extended only to me.
Limiting my growth past 8 years, haunting my dreams until age 21
always advising her younger sis, to teary boredom
“Do as I say”, “whereso’er I may”
Lend me your shoe to prove my superiority.
By night or day,
I am your stone Buzzard and I will pick your bones
II
This I suffered
The rainbow might as well have been between us,
For the roses lost their petals long ago
I can no longer feel their thorns, my toughened skin
Yet lately when I turn to cry for you,
The pain is far greater than I should bear
For (you) seep, from my tear ducts, a bloodless water driblet
Injury that keeps finding its way out
Purging the likes of you
In twin tissues
III
Infuriates me.
Each night from my pillow writhed
Come darkened silhouettes of your pigtails
I inhale one, in each nostril,
just so I can blow you away
Are you a sister of another mister?
My tormenter, my thumb umbrella
Cleanse me from your sticky sight
Allow my legs to find that gentle breeze called freedom
Before the very bone that we share dies
Making us look upon our mirrors
To find the frozen cordial face
As we pretend to plant, a history, of fond remembrance
When we are but plowing, our indignations in the ground
IV
Unbeknownst
I knew a time when my sister, tall and fair,
Sat braiding her curly brown hair
Finding me sleeping, without nary a sound
Wrapped her tight braid, around and around
Laughing as my life was slipped from sight
Dragging me constantly, round that night
So what if I, but a babe in skin
Was found by Dad, in the playpen
Hence, since, even now, my skin, crawls
Afraid of the hair in red overalls
The sun has long receded from the sky,
Pallid gloom invades the wintry air,
Morbid silence hangs over him,
Memory sleeps like hibernating toads.
Trees stand bare with no leaves to array,
The Earth lies shielded in its icy crust,
There is stillness, the stillness of the grave,
Breaking it, a fox is heard howling afar.
Feeling utterly down, discouraged, and weak,
How he longs to overcome the emptiness he feels
Even nature looks dull and devoid of life.
Depression takes hold over him and his soul sighs.
Despondent lies he, in his battered shack,
With a run-out lantern throwing pale light,
It burns sending spouts of fume,
Like the last breath of the dying soul.
Tormented beyond endurance,
In excruciating pain, he writhed.
The tears that flowed from his eyes
Could easily make a swelling sea.
Once mirages of hope danced before his eyes
But he is now devoured by dark clouds of solitude,
Behind a wall of emptiness, he now gropes.
He is in the throes of utter dereliction.
Hungry for affection in a desolate arena
He once fought like a losing gladiator.
Every passing day was like a decade.
Everything was damp, life was mildewed.
Now he seeks redemption from all torments.
Lying in the darkness that has become his life,
He stares into empty nothingness.
He longs for death to come on swift wings.
Deserted by everyone, he awaits the dark space,
To lie unattended six feet underneath.
He wishes to be devoured by the Grim Reaper
Who is no longer his enemy, but a bosom friend.
He listens intently for advancing steps,
Of his long-awaited companion, sure to come,
To deliver him of his baneful state,
To row him away across the frozen seas.
Everything, stolen from her
Every last defense, vanished inside of her
She screams and moans into the rag
But nothing she shrieks can escape the gag
He pinned her down to the wall
He held her there, and took it all
She knew her innocence would never last
But she never thought she would lose it so fast
Her sweat-streaked body slid backwards and forwards
He pushed her and slammed her against the boards
The end drew near, and she writhed in pain
Her tainted body dropped to the ground in shame
Tears twist and wrench themselves from her eyes
Back home and tired, she wishes she had died
She was beaten and used, left alone, raped
She feels unlucky, though she escaped
Now suicide never removes itself from her brain
The feeling of inadequacy drives her insane
Nobody knows, and nobody cares
It always seems like no one is there
She wants relief, but it never comes
She’s stuck down inside her private slums
She was abused and attacked by someone she held dear
She was mistreated and raped, now she’s no longer here
4/12/05
In the depths of despair I sank fathoms down
so deep suffocation filled lungs with defeat;
in the darkest of hours no light cracked the shell,
no matter how much I would plead and entreat.
The world turned to ice and froze me right out,
snaked into the marrow and writhed in the mind;
I dreamed of a time when the final cut
allow me part company with humankind.
When all seemed so hopeless and curtains would fall
a ray pierced the blackness and shone at my soul;
and gradually, achingly found where I live,
lit up my life and eclipsed the black hole.
A meeting by chance, a random encounter
put back the sun and turned me around;
you never can tell who's a guardian angel,
or likewise the source of salvation be found.
In a dreary mood, bent and broken,
With an ailment that crippled my life
I lay bedridden for many a month
With every muscle weakened by arthritis
And every nerve radiating the pain
Dull were the days and sore were the nights,
Time slouched on in mechanical beats,
Mind devoid of any buoyant thoughts,
Senses shut to every cheery throb of life,
I lay awake, day and night staring at the ceiling.
Never a smile lighted up my face,
Nor a gleam of hope brightened up my brain.
Inertia crept over from head to foot.
I had long lost my zest for life.
With my life sap drained out like an empty well,
All I felt was the burn of scalding drought.
Nothing could move my grief laden soul,
None could lift the weight off my back,
Embers of fire sparked from the anvil of my heart,
Heaves of sighs escaped my parched mouth,
I wriggled and writhed in unspeakable pain,
My spirits sank deeper into a slithery marsh,
I saw around only a thick pall of gloom,
Or was it a projection of my own self?
Anguish gnawed my nerves and sinews,
Flames of pain danced within my spine,
I felt my head wobbling and reeling,
And the heavy weight of lead all around my neck.
Felt being pushed down to abysmal depths,
And the octopus tightening its tentacles all around.
“Who on earth will set me free?
What on earth can lift me up?”
With thundering force, the question shook my weary self.
I sprang to my feet and broke the binding chains,
I found I was but in self – exile,
A captive entrapped within boundless space.
I saw the door opening to infinite lengths,
And the arched horizon looming larger than life,
Unbroken, I spread my wings and propelled up,
And darted through the clouds to distant shores.
Who would have thought, my life would change this way!
(Own Story)
(This is an old poem re entered)
In a dreary mood, bent and broken,
With an ailment that crippled my life
I lay bedridden for many a month
With every muscle weakened by arthritis
And every nerve radiating the pain
Dull were the days and sore were the nights,
Time slouched on in mechanical beats,
Mind devoid of any buoyant thoughts,
Senses shut to every cheery throb of life,
I lay awake, day and night staring at the ceiling.
Never a smile lighted up my face,
Nor a gleam of hope brightened up my brain.
Inertia crept over from head to foot.
I had long lost my zest for life.
With my life sap drained out like an empty well,
All I felt was the burn of scalding drought.
Nothing could move my grief laden soul,
None could lift the weight off my back,
Embers of fire sparked from the anvil of my heart,
Heaves of sighs escaped my parched mouth,
I wriggled and writhed in unspeakable pain,
My spirits sank deeper into a slithery marsh,
I saw around only a thick pall of gloom,
Or was it a projection of my own self?
Anguish gnawed my nerves and sinews,
Flames of pain danced within my spine,
I felt my head wobbling and reeling,
And the heavy weight of lead all around my neck.
Felt being pushed down to abysmal depths,
And the octopus tightening its tentacles all around.
“Who on earth will set me free?
What on earth can lift me up?”
With thundering force, the question shook my weary self.
I sprang to my feet and broke the binding chains,
I found I was but in self – exile,
A captive entrapped within boundless space.
I saw the door opening to infinite lengths,
And the arched horizon looming larger than life,
Unbroken, I spread my wings and propelled up,
And darted through the clouds to distant shores.
Who would have thought, my life would change this way!
(Own Story)
When Mother Earth, Anu was young
the gods gifted her sisters;
Fair Brigid with the fiery hair,
blonde Boann of the waters.
Their bodies lay upon the globe
intertwined in rainbows
Brown skinned mountains, fiery skies,
and blonde washed dawns to rouse.
Adore the feminine in all her forms,
or mountains rise and snowslides are born.
Adore the feminine in all her forms.
Most favored by the Northern gods
was Brigid's aurora
How the endless night was blessed
so they all adored her.
The jealous day of blonde Boann
shook, from pale limb to limb,
and water rose to wake Anu
who writhed in earthen skin.
Adore the feminine in all her forms,
or mountains rise and snowslides are born.
Adore the feminine in all her forms.
The Northern lands of ice and snow
so brightened by Brigid
saw brittle glaciers break and fall
avalanches begin.
So to this day all North men pray
to the goddesses three
Earthen Anu, fiery Brigid
and Boann's watery lea.
Adore the feminine in all her forms,
or mountains rise and snowslides are born.
Adore the feminine in all her forms.
I mourn for your passing
for your family
for your friends
for those you held close
but do not mourn for you...
you came to our shores
you came and you lied
lied about your baggage
illegal baggage you bore
within your body...
your baggage was deadly
lethal and contagious...
biological warfare
launched upon our nation
silently exploding...
first target: Lone Star State
close to my home
close to my family
close to my grandchildren
why did you come..
your predecessor: a playboy
who detonated a viral bomb
in a gay bath house
through seduction
why did he come....
he was careless, he was cruel
he was a selfish, silly fool
as were you
as am I
why do I judge...
(I mourn over suffering souls
whose insides turned to mush
a congealed and bloody mush
who writhed in ineffable pain
who mercifully died...)
yes I mourn for your passing
but do not mourn for you...
The gym was dim.
Red and white balloons
glittered in the dusk
while flashing lights writhed
on the dark floor
like enchanted water-snakes
gliding through scented fog.
This was a celebration dance!
Eighth grade done at last,
they stepped, hesitant, into the roiling
teen-age sea,their synchronous, bobbing heads
attuned to the be-bop rhythms of the city (not their city),
and the lusty calls of the hood (not their hood).
Smooth gym walls echoed the dj's mechanical angst
endless, relentless beats, the racing heart of the machine,
artificial sighs, nano-seconds long and gigabytes wide.
The boys, spinning on heads and leaping from hands and
flailing legs, showed an athleticism
never seen in PE,
while the girls huddled in their own dark corner
and planned their move;
their fashion walk,
legs strutting ahead
of swaying hips,
heels clicking the hard, dark floor,
as they stalked right up to the foul line
where boys were spinning and leaping
through throbbing lights
to the tribal, primal beat.
So the girls turned,
hips flung in defiance,
and sashayed back to the wall,
staring hard at the gaping boys
over their swaying shoulders.
(28 May 2009)