All that for its world sensual
Tempted and tickled us
Was dangled a water into;
For naked leg's "ooh, ooh"!
Sounds and sights, furthest woman's
Enticed, excited by!
Friends' hands alone, amusingly
Spun round of, dizzily.
A cool damp spring day
Jonquils shivered
Dandelions danced dizzily
Swaying slowly in a chill wind
Sensually strutting their stuff
Unashamedly celebrating their weedness
Bowing to the jeering crowd
The glow of their sunshine faces
Savoring freedom
While dreaming of a flower vase
I gave her a dandelion
... It wept
A mountain tarn,
a deep-water eye,
high and blackly gleaming.
A scramble down slippery scree
to look within,
then a tingling apprehension
of being too close
to an unbalanced footing,
one that is a lip between
tilting ground
and an entrance to nowhere.
I can't say what I expect to see,
not the bottom of a mountain,
a dazzling sky-window,
or the depth of my soul perhaps.
What I see there,
quickly buries a teetering image
into a fear-fall.
Grains of time,
tumble rootless into my mind,
imbedding themselves
in each drop of sweat.
Dizzily I grapple back up,
the whiskers of my beard
stretching toward a pebble
that was not yet tumbling
into a directionless creation,
or a momentary extinction.
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
Note:
A 'Tarn' is a mere (lake), atop a high mountain. It seemingly has no inlet or outlet. "Sree' is an unstable shale that tends to slip under foot.
Drowsy vertigo thoughts losing their substance
in the spirals of deafening maelstrom black waters,
my letters—my ruins—my Sodom
becoming the cries that
never reach bottom—
—never reach bottom—
never reach bottom—
now becoming both absence and presence,
lurking among their ashen, disintegrating essence.
The stubborn nails doomed in this sinking box
restoring their vileness, those rotten thoughts
somehow find themselves looking up—
looking up—
looking up—
dizzily, dismally, dishearten by the luminance
never again to be reached—
absence and presence and eminence
engulfed.
In time,
Mnemosyne alone
witnesses the damned
parts of me
die.
Drummers are no paradigm you know
Sometimes changing 4 to 2 time
like poet's words, whether free or
rhyme, can make writing a crafty
crime --
drummer's beats
dancer's feets (poet license)
guitar licks
needle holes and pricks,
Take 5 with threads sewn in the
cabaret
in the heat of the moment, coin tossed,
flip-side of a record, hearts can easily, wrongly~
dizzily be played --
Trailing clouds of glory do we come
The magical moments of childhood
When we felt at one with the universe
Spinning dizzily with delight
Or with more of horrible and awful
That even to name is sorrowful
Bound helplessly with flu in bed
Unable from the pillow to raise my head
And wishing the world would just go away
Paralysed by the loss of power to move
Maybe it is not so much
The image to which we should cling
Rather that the images should cling
To us
Providing our distinct identities
The yardstick of our recollections
The holding of our first born close
Those bedtime stories where
The kids cling on to every word
Just before into euphoric sleep they drift
When we slip softly from the room
Switching off the bedroom light
With their minds now deep in dreams bright
Choosing one image is far beyond me
I much prefer the whole family tree.
We see ourselves unimpeded initially
Some are stricken with a view artificially
We are told by others very specifically
There is a ceiling so proceed timidly
We try in vain with no support futilely
As we age blazing the path dizzily
Sometimes we see the results dismally
Eventually we learn to climb skillfully
We began to achieve sufficiently
Eventually finding success brilliantly
Living life with dreams so vividly
Sadly, a haunting voice still speaks flippantly
Reminding us of the ceiling frigidly
We remain in the arena mistily
Each overcautious step taken judicially
We endure the voice shouting viciously
The battle to continue is done willfully
Stones,
Mortar, and brick
Nowhere to turn without feeling sick, stoned
To my stomach
A bottomless pit
Unheard, smothered by a thousand succinct voices' verbose drone
Speaking as they spew toxic, putrid bile in the pit of my stomach
Plummeting, swirling dizzily in circles - a cyclone - cyclically, alone
Booming, the whispering silence of lucidity's susurrate disruption weighs heavily on my thoughts, placidly as it sits
Like boulders, slowly sinking deeper into quicksand - the bottomless pit of my stomach
Swallowed by immovable, inescapable stones,
Mortar, and brick
No machines waiting for me,
Everything is as clean as can be.
For the time being I am sitting happily,
Inhaling indica until I sway dizzily.
Nobody waiting for me,
Everyone already as happy as they can be.
Indeed even if it's without me,
I too can enjoy my own company.
No to-do lists today for me,
Everything is already going accordingly.
For today I will just be free,
Smoking while letting myself just be.
Nobody telling me who to be,
Everyone else can at least tolerate me.
I've got nothing to do at all today, you see,
Then again after all every day I am always free.
the road was morning
fast we stop in the void
interval between beaches
the sun rising from the waves
was twenty years in us
and an endless bottle of champagne
she talked nonsense it was the eighties
'I still don't look like anything I want to be'
'there are days that are as usual but not today'
over the dunes everything seems minimal
light dominates and overshadows the world
a photon
a flash
this is transcendence I screamed in amazement
but she wouldn't understand
was already behind
as spheres collided in the cosmos
wandering comets whirled dizzily
strange stars fled from gravity
I really have this silly need
to disintegrate
in order to be able to compose myself
Anxiously anticipating annual activity
Blissfully bound by bravado
Consuming cold contagious concoction
Dizzily developed devilish desire
Eagerly expecting ego's enlightenment
Feverishly foraged familiar fraternity
Garnished gowns graciously gathered
Hopeful heralded hithered happenstance
Instantly intimated identical ideologies
Jointly jousted jovial juxtaposition
Kaleidoscopic keepsake kept kinetic
Longing languid lustful longitude
Miraculous marvelous momentous movement
Nursing nocturnal natal namesake
Observing others obstinate opinions
Preparing precious paternal post
Quickly quietly questing quarters
Radiant reared remained rambunctious
Stifled stern stayed sturdy
Transmitting tantalizing topical teachings
Understanding umbrage utilizing unity
Vital vibrant visceral visions
Watchful wonderful whimsical wishes
Yonder yearning youthful years
Zanily zigzagged zesty zenith
autumn's champagne light
dizzily dreamy mauve clouds
geese heading warm south
August 12, 2022
Syllables checked by HMS.com
"Nature-themed Haiku" Poetry Contest
Sponsor: Tania Kitchin
See that the merciless spear of time wounds the senses
it's the molecules inside you that stagger dizzily
the ancestral oracle didn't need to warn you
that this distressing moment would one day come
now that it is sublime to be touched by the sunset
eyes look totally happy to disobey you
I had to face it with amazement disguised as tranquility
the sad diminution of the damn sound perception
that gradually transformed my favorite songs
in these whispers that seem like ghostly sighs
see that the emblematic spear of time wounds the senses
it is the flame of life that shone brightly and now dies.
Canopy’s aperture, spilled light’s nuance, tinted,
as my eyes arrested, to attest fall’s saga…
A tree proclivity, had me stalled in Ashland,
watching the leaves succumb, leaving stark limbs barren…
Those with temerity, plunged at high speed, head first
Others spun dizzily, tornado-bewildered…
Few flew in gradients, of sideways-sloped descent:
wishes on air sustained, just a little longer…
Some seemed to ride gentle, invisible, sleep-chutes,
touching down easily, with wizened acceptance…
My marrow slowly chilled, as damping moisture crept
But cheer was soon bubbling, as merry maples fell:
swaying in zigs and zags, frolics of to and fro,
to come to a smooth rest, on the glassy brook’s face
Alighting sans ripples, their fate in water’s hold:
floating on a mirror, reflecting their past life,
ere being swept by currents, to their next journey’s start…
(11/4/18 - Repost of Ashland Autumn for P contest hosted by Constance la France)
over the Hudson River, its heights
my nemesis. I longed to drive
and stay alive. Highland
on the other side. Mid-Hudson
thrill ride for a permitted driver.
my heart would pound
just looking at the gothic steel
and the watergrave - my haunt.
a teenager’s imagination swims
in an encounter with the dead.
i had a friend whose dad dizzily
fell into the dangerous depths.
trepidation removes its guardrails,
tires sliding into the Poughkeepsie abyss.
bridging the gap - my courage.
i live to tell the tale…palpitations stalled.
8/19/2021
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