The perception is mine,
though you may get sucked in
here is where I begin
a new expression
dropping sticks
they drip paint onto the canvas
in my own private Idaho
droplets on massive scales
tossed into the abyss
thinner smells its space
Or in a self-contained gateway
when in a walled in feeling, hesitant,
driven by tortuous tones
dispatched onto fabric
soaked into frantic fibers
contrasted construct
From need there are new ways,
when sober, quiet, less erratic
stable in a globular convex
arbitrary? Not at all,
drawn to the natural world
nature’s handyworks
there is order
an emotional splashing
where the eyes do not settle
rhythm spackles not of chaos
but evoking nature scapes
an orchestral overture
no finales,
where the eyes do not settle
I’ve captured summertime
Fall aside,
come one come all,
dance
alongside
Sometimes
humanity
can be vapid
so even if
I was fat
or even if
I had the
body of an
hourglass
other women
on the internet
who do not
like themselves
and always
nitpick other
womens' bodies
for laughs
and fun
would still
find many
shallow reasons
to loudly
judge me
for how
I look
even though
I am often
kind to them,
and that
is why their
praises always
feel hollow.
she was as curvy and convex as a teacher can be
with green eyes that glowed like a Venus moon
Bait for enticement, making students eager for advisement
the males congregated as if she was a new queen to the hive
we females were irritated she had stolen our thunder
I caught a ghostlike glimpse,
of steel breath on blunt mirror,
as my taut brain mulled scars,
from fractal bleak life motif,
zooming across skewed glass,
reflections glum and forlorn,
black ink eye ring capture,
shadow, shade, or shield,
brittle convex, abject cog,
whoa, my frail image riven
Gone pass the windrow of my life,
taken on board over short periods.
Depletion gauged at total length
upon second terrace down.
Convex appears at medial conclave,
therefore turned and complete.
Iconically perceived bipolarities,
like receptive nuts round assertive bolts,
are all so orthodoxically well
Yet not nearly as paradoxically swell
as ironically received dipolarities,
like liberated convex pleasure poles
consummating concave passion holes.
Is there a 'you'
in the middle --- the center?
Reality is always shuffling the center.
in order to seem
it is consistently hard-wired.
Short answer – nothing is happening.
When we look at the convex back
of a silver teaspoon,
the image seems to be more than we can see
through a flat reflection.
When you consider
what the mind is showing you,
you have already lost your place
in the so-called center.
This is yet one more thing
not to think about.
"By the squeaky old gate that tomorrow will find,"
kindness is a necessary handkerchief:
convex lips to meet mine with gentle understanding
words that tenderize as a snarling babe sedated by mother's milk
Please wait for me there
never minding fallen appearances
spider veins spindled in my corporation - bogus skins -
depleted gums, haunted eyes
Extend a posy, a leaf of scripture, a lump of sugar
be impressed at the flounce of this wisteria skirt
and silver-studded circulation stockings
in remembrance of my blush
Life boat totters on the crest of a wave
of turbulence ! Me lone sailor on sea.
To reach destination, propelling brave.
Halcyon horizon not yet to see.
Violent vibrant vortex, rough and tough
Life boat totters on the crest of a wave,
falls unstable sinking at hole of trough.
Up down thrust of waves convex and concave.
Tornado - cyclone hostile to behave.
Indigo hued horizon too far.
Life boat totters on the crest of a wave.
Me desperate to sail, chasing despair.
Valiant, valorous on adventure !
I must vanquish holocaust and save
the vessel from sudden burst and rupture.
Life boat totters on the crest of a wave.
Light blue sky bathed in sunlight
ultraviolet flirting the deep blue sea
strolling shorelines of lazy beaches
feeling the touch, women lying in bikini.
polka dots, some neon green and orange
criss-cross strings on bare almond skin
ripples of desire towering on high waves
waist poised perfect in bikini paper-thin
absorbing curvatures amidst little shells
on slender thighs, staring eyes freeze
convex sand dunes ignite fun in the sun
with scent of beer in pollen-filled breeze.
Bikini blossoms color the tanned silver beach
two pretty pieces reveal an alluring seduction
A tsunami of pleasure, the teeny weeny dress
In the Eden of apples, it's forbidden temptation.
Within the Lines
David J Walker
It’s not the same if coloring within the lines
Other kids are perfect while mine
wander out the window
leaving the carefully planned
Lesson plans
Behind
There
In the park
There are treasures left to find
In convex caves
A flag that waves
And fables come to mind
Of a boy unable to color
Within the lines
Why make everything complex
Complicate, replicate, concave, or convex?
I am a strong proponent of simplifying
If there’s a problem, it’s for rectifying!
written November 29, 2021
Any soulful song
of slow grown Earth
must incarnate roundly replicating
softly supplicating
deftly duplicating
flawlessly fornicating
religiously regenerating
Wealthy win/win climatic waves
of healthy EarthTribe
FatherSun/EarthMother
mountain/valley
pole/hole
convex/concave
Well sung and wellness danced
enlightening/empowering
political/ecological raves.
Soulfully singing
left/right bicameral winging
slow dancing scribes
recircling EarthTribe sacred praise.
Drought Will combine with rainy weather,
what is short will stretch,
near Will be dressed from afar
absence comply
with presence,
straight lines meet
with others before infinity...
Se Will understand everything... !
Impurities coat themselves
with the purities,
the concave fit
sans defect to the convex,
green invade deserts,
the blue Will be gilded with yellow...
Unfortunate will obtain shelter
from the lucky ones....
Minimum, medium and maximum
fit at the pole of the poles,
that way the earth is rounded...
Under the laws that
we haven't conceived yet.... !
The Season of Grieving Color
David J Walker
The day dawns in golden streams
Of pinks and grays
And the frays of things
In moist and curious blues
What color of the pallor
Could be piled upon
the pallet to bring
In the days news
Seasons are soon changing
Rearranging the specter
Of views we’ve become
Used to
There is little heat in yellows & greens
Scenes of desires in
Cool violet fires
That preens in convex mirrors
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