Poke and point and pince and prod
My penniless pockets
And a bra unable to uphold,
A breast to guarantee your rest
Lay in alleys in all your ailing worries
And sloughs of spittle
Splurged and purged b'neath your body.
Hold me, honour me,
Caress the cares entangled within my clumped hair
Harass the proficient proclamations of love,
Laying alongside my broken body.
I dare leer at the lies, leashing my soul to your life
For I do but believe
Boys breed bearded brawlers
And flesh too calloused to caress
And I vacate a vacuum
Of hands vying for the wet of my sex
And the sucking cumbersome succumbing
Salary, siezing a lustful lustre to shine 'pon my sultry gaze
in a night so dark and sea so deep,
on the sandy shore we safely sleep,
yet far out on the rolling wave
fishermen on tiny boat venture out brave
a weather-beaten lantern is shining small
against shadows brooding and tall.
the tumultuous sea rises like a wall
threatening to engulf them all
the full moon above penetrates twilight
and kisses the sea with her silver light.
meanwhile, there are jagged rocks ahead
where the violent black sea portends dread.
there are two streaks of light on the foam
one from the sky, the other far from home.
a fragile shell of wood and twine
is tossed by the constantly churning brine.
nevertheless, they row on against the gale
with trembling hands and cumbersome sail
despite odds against the restless sea's might,
the fishermen battle on as they wait for light.
I am drenched
naked in the rain
letting cumbersome wash away
arms spread wide
nowhere left to up and hide
as the purples seep in from the side
stained glass silhouettes where the sun once shined
looking in through the emeralds
held precious in your eyes
I will bide my time
before the end of a dying day
a future is meant to stay
to slay hope in the catacombs of our dream
I once had a dream
but I don't need to dream
I was born to live
to love
a beating heart sowing up all the seams
with you as the thread
Sometimes I talk into the wind
so the silence of the words can spread out
I'm sick and tired of the scream in my head,
Flagellating myself over gnawing, aged regrets
The unwieldy armor, I've finally let drop;
My arms too weak to carry all of the weight.
Extricate the mind from tightly-knotted strings
And release all the cumbersome burdens...
The vacant sky, the unsqueaking hardwood
No longer requested; relinquish everything!
Dismount from the precipice of knowledge
Where color and light cease to brightly glow,
And find peace well-hidden in the dark,
Devoid of so much as a spark, or a flame...
For in the jet-black, bottomless deep,
The restless world lays down for a slumber,
And in that abyss lies the only truth that exists...
Embrace the void.
i scatter at your feet...
sprinkles of innermost secrets
all my demons laid bare
for your ears alone to absorb
as you unfailingly tuck all i share
into your backpocket;
safe from every soul
you preserve arcanums as keepsakes
so they age
like desiccated leaves
in your care...
this i know!
without misgivings,
i'd s u r r e n d e r
cumbersome burdens of mine
for you to carry,
because you always do.
i'm a crucifix
f
a
l
l
i
n
g
backwards
with hefty encumbrance of faith
on my shoulders
knowing
as sure as mountains
never crumble
your outstretched arms
would cushion me mid-air
i'd do so enough times
to last a lifetime -
and feel as safe as can be -
each time, my beloved.
my trust in you...
blind
A curly corded telephone rings in a distant room,
its black Bakelite bulk vibrates behind closed eyes.
An old-time fire-engine parks its flame and brass chassis
inside a cavernous skull, though no conflagration
sets the dark alight.
It is that shallow pit of night when faceless clocks
expose themselves to be landmines.
A far past is calling; disembodied tongues drum loud
in an echoing ear.
A cumbersome receiver tumbles off its cradle
an accumulated dust of misappropriated yesterday’s
softens its fall.
Nothing has grasped at nothing.
A line is dead and buried; there's no resurrection,
the call however lingers, as a voice dissolve's
deep within the combustible light
of another day.
At some time somewhere where we've been
Our presence is left there, unknown, known
In so so many ways we've left our stay
Unknown, beknown, we've left our say
Being that writer, your thoughts, said
Be it poetry, scribed, blessed and read
Even when we were young, so cumbersome
Skin scraping walls part of growing up fun
Playing sports of sorts, losing and winning
As our characters grow, learning beginnings
From classroom capers to graduating University
Throwing our growing into accepting diversity
At some time, somewhere where we've been
Our presence is left there, seeing sincerity seen.
Annette Kellerman is famous for an event that may have never happened
There is no record of it, but the story is good
She is famous for wearing a one-piece bathing suit in 1907
Nineteen and assertive, she pooh-poohed the dress-pantaloons of the time
Many were outraged,
but this was the beginning of the end of the cumbersome suits
She paved the way for women to wear “Annette Kellermans”
as the one-piece suits were called.
There was a wide rumor that she had been arrested for wearing a one-piece.
Research has provided no basis for this rumor.
Annette was progressive.
In 1919 she was the first women to appear fully nude in a movie.
It was called A Daughter of the Gods
Don’t look for it
No copies exist
She was a professional swimmer, an actress and a writer.
Doing her Australian heritage proud.
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
The year is
cumbersome now~
an awkward
breath held
between
the dark
and
what comes
next.
Trees' black silhouettes
stand out
against the
sky as it
fades.
The sun,
low
and exhausted,
touches
everything
but warms
nothing.
This is the turning~
a gentle hinge
of light,
the world
tilting back
toward
possibility.
Something caught between the eyes of fellowship and the riddle of thought makes any setting unforeseeable. Yet, within the mannerisms of those declawed by the very societies they themselves conceived armed only with a utility belt of miraculous misconceptions springs forth exponential, autonomous growth, promised by the ancestors of preconceived notions.
Most often, the spirits of ideas formed upon the fragile spine of inadequate frequencies press us all into a reliable destination, one mastered only through performances of unseen archetypes, driving this windowless vehicle we insist on calling time.
My augmented delusions, I admit, disassociate from the fermentation of your reasoning, and so taint our deductive search for the emotions we struggle to preserve. The tropes of an enigma’s fragrance intoxicate the cerebral moments of free thought, undermining even the simplest reproductive solutions for advancing communication.
And so, as I tear this parchment, I summon an opportunity. Yet what a cumbersome opportunity it is.
Sun dog, sign.
Belladonna, breaker point, fine wine.
Deign? Design.
Grimace, Guelf, and Ghibelline.
Young? Yes.
Grind gears, golden guess.
Torment?
Foment... Wilt, flower.
Master of Fate!
Fortune, ply pace. Lower the rate.
Petrichor.
Soar, heart within. Love, adore.
Forge? Pore?
Abyss, chasm, gorge.
Ravine.
Stranger, thy mean scene.
Meter? Reader.
Bottle, classic cola, fast cars.
Greeter? Leader.
Out on Mars they counted stars ..
Codex.
Manual, inform.
Quahog.
Quagmire escape, ape.
Tympani, roll.
Backward black, somewhere in time.
Dole? O'er soul?
Cumbersome cucumber, coal.
Storm, reel.
Elysians, feel. Heal.
Night? Sight...
Hurry to do, seal.
The Moomagatta is very heavy.
And being the strongest astronaut around,
I knew, for Earth's sake, I had to be ready.
Not a month later on the powdery surface I touched down.
The Moomagatta and me bounded downward in a spring-like pace
Memories of moving a piano downstairs back on Earth flashed across my mind.
Contrarily the Moomagatta had mass but no weight out here in space.
Like a massive cardboard box it was cumbersome, nix the physical grind.
Now to stake the Moomagatta in at the target location...
Peeking at my lunar map showed me 50 feet away from the designated spot.
Once there I raised the Moomagatta above my head with zero deliberation.
It was then the Moomagatta turned to me and said, "this is not the Mariot!"
Easy to entrance the sycophants watch their helpless dance their back and forth swaying and swooning, in cunnilingual somniloquence.
Droning and drooling with flattering and fawning, turgently swelling, spouting placating pleasantries, a mess of gushing adulation.
Self exultation, craving congratulation by consensus for another conventional sensation, clamouring for congratulation in lurid inflated infatuation.
Curtailing castigation, striving in strides as pedestrian asperation gives rise to typical inspiration, stillted it saunters soulessly, provoking predicable platitudes.
Dreary dedication denoting the humdrum and the ho-hum, tirelessly tiring, offering effortlessly banal bestowments bequeathing a tepid tranquillising testimonial.
Uniform, unchanged, unilateral applause, amplifying abysmal analogies, articulating dearth depictions of derivative denotations.
Cryptic quips collapse carelessly caused by cumbersome correlating contradictions, deviating detrimentally forth fatuous flutterings.
Stale sentiment, sterile superfluous suppositions, garishly guilded in grandure,
Repetitious rudimentary ruminations, repackaged and retold.
Quite a cumbersome ball and chain;
Regrets are best left in the past.
They engender headache and pain.
Quite a cumbersome ball and chain.
Don't keep them; there's nothing to gain.
The sting of regret never lasts.
Quite a cumbersome ball and chain;
Regrets are best left in the past.
marauding foxes
mutilating fruit
minutemen mischief-makers
marching upon us
pick our pockets
laugh at our loss
“No mangoes for sale”
maimed, mangled, mashed
sweetness shamed
to death
ants and gnats feasting
off illicit mango chutney
sly scamps
evade
like Bolt-pace
their intake
of fruit sugars
insufficient for catching
robust diabetes
enfeebling the fiends
abducting limbs, or a pedactyl
soulful eyes stare with jeers
sailing
mimicking
bold breezes
through the trees
as I could never
in the canopy of my Caribbean youth
under mother's God-eye
girls outclimbed me
wearing puffy petticoats
and cumbersome cornrows
to perpetrate petite thefts
of mangoes
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