Ambition was cinched to our wrists
Responsibility was tightened to our throats
Discipline was buckled at the waist.
Love was tucked in close to the chest.
Anger was draped across our shoulders
Control was zipped into our steps.
Insecurity was wrapped around the feet.
Status was hammered into soles.
Manhood is a tightrope
balancing swagger and surrender.
Locker room bravado and
mirror-shadowed splendor.
Masculinity is a breastplate
earned in boardrooms or squad cars.
burnished by restraint and dented by doubt.
We are defined by either
Diamond cufflinks or steel handcuffs
Never in the calluses of bare hands.
chin resting on his cinched fist
a writer stares with glassy eyes
pondering the white page
All truth be known to the heart that listens
all honors given to the soul that knows
When every creature on earth is perched
then humankind will know its church
Upon this blessed land of given birth,
let Mother nature's womb be cinched.
Al had dated many women from France, Spain, England and such.
you have never dated an Irish lassie though? Asked his brother Dutch.
not yet, he admitted, are they different than the ones I have squired?
Dutch said, ”You would have your hands full, now until you get retired.”
Colleen was an Irish beauty, with ginger hair and a verdant eye stare.
Al tried to look away, but the idea of dating her was more than a dare.
Colleen laughed when he approached, acted like he was a Boston dope.
he was soon spending all his hours washing himself with zesty soap.
he wanted to impress Colleen; she was the best he had ever seen.
she had her brothers look him over, Al to them was not quite keen.
this cinched the deal, and the young couple ran to tie the knot.
with a five-year-old, a four-year-old, a two-year-old; they are still very hot!
The carriage arrived at the ball a few minutes fashionably late.
Which was exactly what Fairy Godmother had hoped for.
However, the carriage was empty.
The door opened and no one appeared.
Where is she? F.G. asked the footman.
He did not talk.
Neither did the driver.
Fairy Godmother was not allowed the luxury of this kind of mistake twice.
Her supervisors appeared from the ether.
First you let Snow White run off with a dwarf,
And now you have lost Cinderella.
What kind of a reenactment are you running here?
At least she got Red Riding Hood home safe, said Pinocchio.
His nose grew a foot in seconds.
That cinched the deal.
They revoked Fairy Godmother’s license.
You came tiptoeing into the fortress that I build,
Broke the shackles that cinched my soul, with your shimmering eyes.
Disintegrated the iron chains that I wore,
with the warmth of your smile and the fondness in your heart.
Liberating caged birdie, which I held on.
Au naturel I am now.
Looking at life yet again with a child like glee.
Buddy, berserk I wish to go,
with the news of your departure.
Wish I could hide you from all,
Keeping you all for myself.
But I have to let you go
To explore new frontiers,
And make new friends.
Fly my friend, fly
I would not hold you back,
though my heart bleeds
And my soul cries.
A space in my crimson hollow you would always have,
Silently, wishing you more smiles,
and more happiness where ever you go.
©Chitra Arun
Nov 2022
I put a saddle on the wind
and rode it through the storm
The bridle placed, the buckle cinched,
the reins, my soul reborn
Inside each stirrup passion spurs,
the present close at hand
Behind whose mane I charge within
—in search of who I am
(Villanova Pennsylvania: April, 2017)
the taught red skin wrapped her wrist like a ribbon;
dim and so trimmed with disease.
all bruised from a blood-let cephalic incision;
she's thinned out and gnashing her teeth.
departed in sin, packing cyst into vision;
the brim is now flavored with grease.
knee waning ceases along with derision;
nodes flare and impair with a seize
the solemn defend what is friend to infliction-
a pick to their interlude fevered condition-
it's pierced with precision all cinched by collision;
efficient it crimps where she bleeds.
a lachrymose feed into feral rescission;
omniscient it pins down the seams
What is fear; something outward or within?
Strangely serene; how darkness holds all still.
Fight or flight? On either, truth will transcend.
Of life, love, and lust; risks rewarded thrill.
A feeling? A thought? Or just a notion?
A primevally hardwired cautiousness?
All and naught. A truly raw emotion.
Too fear, is at the root of consciousness.
Null fear; would there be any joy in love?
The valuation in that lost and gained
makes no difference in the light thereof.
Through fear; life and it’s meaning are sustained.
Fear is rooted alongside the being;
cinched, behold all that’s worthy of seeing.
8-20-2021
Dilated pupil captures a partner with her submission
Above sadness, eyes sea sunk in upset unquenchable
Desperation lodged in lagoon swims to 2021 surface
Air refilling deflated lungs floats a Goldi locked trophy
Drawn from decaying pages of housewife magazines
Overtly womanly hip to waist ratio cinched on display
Empathy white tidal wave, compassion washes angst
Surrogate heart fed off rise fall arousal bursts buttons
Nostalgia learns Stu's language, sucking word marrow
Omens of history trip a mirrored future, path predicted
Sorrow entangled sheet furrows, wrath burrowed deep
Trauma not lost thru lustful aggressor swamp syphon
Welcome fragrant frail pale spurs a sturdy demeanour
Enveloped open emotions compel his chest responds
Lechery leaves detail aside, abides with blind present
Longing to cast away loneliness, romance sails rough
8th February
Dictated by Wharf air (after warfare)
DADA DOES NOST WELL
I can’t put myself out there
Emotionally, you know
The heart is really the most fragile thing
Like a fine china cup
Outside, where it’s cold and windy
And hateful and unwholesome
Spiteful and too bright
I don’t want to be chipped more than I’ve healed
I’m in this cupboard
Safe.
So my heart is Anxious. Anticipating. Angry that no one has come
Calm. Controlled. Cinched in place
I’ve succeeded in keeping hell out
But now heaven can’t come in
I put a saddle on the wind,
and rode it through the storm
The bridle placed, the buckle cinched,
the reins, my horse reborn
Inside each stirrup passion spurs,
the present now in hand
Behind whose mane I charge within
—in search of who I am
(Villanova Pennsylvania: April, 2017)
The echo was unmistakable, her arrival was imminent,
that spike heeled stride through the back alley leading up to my door.
Already a striking beauty, her black patent leather high heels only enhanced her stature. In her khaki trench coat, cinched at the waist, her sage green silk scarf loosely caressed her blonde curls as she blew me a kiss.
Back when McGee was a fireman
A fairly long time in the past
He thought he'd go for a little walk
And feeling quite up to the task
That was until he saw a site
That was cute in a curious way
There he was , that little boy Shawn
Playing as he did everyday
But this time he sat in a wagon Bright Red
With a ladder tied to the side
And a hose he held very tight in his hand
As a dog and a cat pulled his ride
So McGee played along, and said "Hey there, Chief,
That's a fine fire engine for sure
But I notice your team is unevenly yoked
It's Ok though, cause I have the cure
I see that the rope that's tied to the dog
Is cinched to the collar 'round his neck
But the rope's 'round the testicles of the poor cat
The problem is this I suspect"
Then McGee started switching the rope on the cat
To his collar to equal the chore
But Shawn stood up and protested loudly
"So, I won't have a siren no more"
I put a saddle on the wind,
and rode it through the storm
The bridle placed, the buckle cinched,
the reins, my horse reborn
Inside each stirrup passion spurs,
the present now in hand
Behind whose mane I charge within,
—in search of who I am
(Villanova Pennsylvania: April, 2017)
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