Fleshed Poems | Examples

perfect storm

from the forest deep she came
      like one jaguar gently prowling
         drawn there by my late-day flame
   typhoon in the distance howling

black hair with a coal-blue sheen
      eyes like ink that shimmered golden
         linen sun dress white and clean
   tawdry tan with charms embolden

white-cap sea foam licked the sun
      softly tasted sweet its brightness
         melting ‘pon that briny tongue
   sav'ring still the fading lightness

there beside those aqua oceans
      palm fronds laid beneath the moon
         with sublime and torrid motions
   we let loose our fleshed typhoon

high above the Perseids streaming
      wept those skies bright tears of fire
         wishes granted - we thus dreaming
   meant for fools to quite inspire

flightless angel birthed of darkness
      wrapped me with her pinions warm
         sacred embers - cold and sparkless
   lost within that summer’s form ...

lost in her - my perfect storm.

* did you notice the change in metre? *

Love is A Cemetery

From the ashes of passion
Blackened love old fashioned 
Turned into broken brittle bones 
Where red fleshed hearts roamed once

The kisses only now from white wind
Remiss to fall into fairytale again
Only to be brutally beaten by reality 
Frail fingers claw digging at loss 

Loss of a thorny rose in heart
Shining once but now so dark
Melodic still singing screaming 
Painting frustrated art dreaming

Embracing ebony eyes of demise
Onyx soul slides into the night
Like a firefly into a flower bed
Graveyard saves bones instead

Cemetery buried disappointments
Where love sins go to end and lament

Conjunctions

We must have
looked through the same window.
Though we had yet to meet
an image developed
a reality fleshed out
an inevitable coincidence
began to move into place.
Until (only yesterday)
the camera
became a second window for us.
There is a real photograph now-
we are looking into the lens
as if we had always known.

Prisoner Of Poetry

Alphabets gather as words unravel
the passing and returning of moans;
lines of phrases inflame the arteries 
of beauty, angst, love interwoven 
by imagination's pining.
Tingle of words… fragrance of vowels… 
caress of verses enter the soul, as if to dive
into the very basin of layered expressions.
On a fresh scroll baring my bones
and rawest of mood,
I enter a daringly new dimension
with a theme that reels my senses
that ink and quill ravage fleshed pages
As poetry makes the eyes hungry.

The Beast

I found the monster in the mirror, fleshed stitched with the fear of guilt, a puppet bound by veins. With whispers of rot beneath each breath. 

I fed it well, fed it lies, fed it fear, greased its tongue with my own deceit. Till the shadows spoke in cadence with my voice and I knew there was nothing left to redeem.

I chewed on my own skin, hoping to purge the beast gnawing from within, each tear a prayer to silence the beast, but all that I tasted was the stench of my own decay. The bitter rot that was me. The truth suffocated me, and in that suffocation i became the beast.

I wanted to taste it

ghoulish woman popped her head out of the lily pond
there were screams from those who had not sensed her
being part Dracula and part ghoul, I knew the macabre was about

another scream;
I noticed what she was holding
a fleshed-off skull, human,
my werewolf side could smell last dollops of blood
I wanted to taste it now

Portrait

I want to paint a portrait of you
I have a brush, but what do I do?
What is the colour of your soul?
Is it really as black as coal

Horse hairs paint your insides out
Your heart is what you’re all about
I see it yellow, red, pink and blue
It’s the warmest part I ever knew

Your eyes are deep velvet brown
You’re wrapped in a devil’s gown
Your hair shapes an angelic face
Your body arches with elegant grace


I discard the brush onto the floor
Out of paint, I don’t need more
Because here you are next to me.
Brushes and paint fleshed reality

David Cox 13/09/23

Words Frozen In Ice

Our conversations;
I sit consumed by your fire,
words frozen in ice;

Waiting just to slip 
as cracks destroy solid ground;
Fall, but you still breathe;

Chilled lake in motion
a circle that does not stop;
Resistance draining;  

Cold, hypothermic;
 Reality is thawing,
innuendo drips;

Lingering soulful kisses 
dance all over goose fleshed skin.

Free Dreams, Expensive Hustles

FREE DREAMS, EXPENSIVE HUSTLES

HUSTLE: the power to hold dreams by the throttle 
And run individual race like a hurdle. 
DREAMS: You see her in abstraction, form-fleshed,
Holds the power to set the real you unleashed. 
HUSTLE: He's your companion to the dreamland, 
It demystifies obscurity & what you can't withstand. 
DREAMS: the currency of the rich and famous, 
the lingual franca of the poor and ignoramus. 
Irrespective of economy, the DREAM is free, 
the HUSTLE is sold separately & answers not to plea. 
DREAM big but spend the HUSTLE currency well enough. 
Big dreams are what big hustles are made of.

Vick Manuel Poetry {VMP} 
Copyright© 28th October, 2022.

A Hill; Shrouded In Cloud

Let's take a stroll. Mindful
Each hilly step
But leads, ever closer
To a saint's rest.
Cloud pillowed; above
Herd's grassed request.

You, I. That world-detached.
If yet fleshed round.
In Heaven; whilst short of
Breathing our last.
There to stay. Til hunger
Catches up fast!

Early Things

When I was born
the light was in other people’s eyes.
warm hands coddled
spills of milky mew-shaped thirsts
dabbed at my whiteboard mind.

I began to wink the world into shapes;
as a new Loosely fleshed presence
I turned listless in the blood-warm bud.

Early things showed up to crowd my eyes,
back-lit beings leaned over a bar of sound,
spoke in warm froth.

Nameless images came and went
red and yellow plastic spheres and beakers
some had mouths to sooth raw and runty wonders,
all as incomprehensible as a wet nose.

Then that light-box of undeveloped things
fell apart only to come together;
I saw the garb of perception
arise from a fitting room floor.

A wind-tossed leaf entered my empty stage
green was no longer a shadow crossing
a white faceless backdrop.

There I was,
an early thing, gathering yeast
for an as yet un-kneaded  brain
watching and sorting visions of returning caregivers, 
and the nameless similitudes
that sometimes cooed, or that passed-by me
latter to be horded, made to be
countable.

-shooting Searing Stars-

The silky searing touch of sappy loving blood is all too much,

Milky stars melting into my murky mind as my body's red mud burns to the touch.

Make my hole riddled skin into astronomy,

Chart something pretty into my mortal flesh that holds too much within to be.

I see stars so let me be them,

Pressure building up into collapse to be the divinity of the friend they saw in him.

Dying, this body knows it to be raspberry meshed true.

Lying, I smile and laugh about the filth fleshed hue.

I wish not to be he who slithers in spite,

I wish not to be he who stares empty at his ceiling fast through the night.

But alas these eyes already a canvass for worlds to build,

Shedding and molding my mucked intent to be suicidally willed.

Alas it at last hurts too much to see,

So rather I pray for you to let me be astronomy.

-end-

Weekends For Dummies

It's Friday night, work's days complete.
But years inform each week's retreat.
Youth 'gives' five days and hopes to 'get'
for two at least (their pace to vet)!
More selfish think all service cursed
and dream the Bible's truth's reversed
(God's blessings earned by 'good' we do
on Sundays sitting in a pew)!

Yes, faith may save, but 'Blind Faith' kills!
Who clothes the golden daffodils?
They stretch toward Sun (do they have thoughts?),
trash pushed aside by juggernauts.
Were Noah's woods what fleshed out ark
or trees (pre-Noah's time) its spark?
To seek true Bliss each servant's right
(All days aren't weekends, friend?) Good night!


Long Tooth
October 16th in 2021

The Spartans

Ancient tales slashed our vineyard, 
We were the bloodshed of love...
Cupid fleshed our hearts. 

Austere eyesights.
Fierce catch upon your mark,
Am your prey in the love arena... 

I escort this frugal lover.
His achillean personality enchants every man,
I am the residue of my manhood... 

Close the cishet doors,
Let the cue tip-off,
You will be my man besides the world.
Two kings for a kingdom.

Summer Romance

Mushroom soft bed hears lines we read aloud
Shapely verse rhythms arc like trailing waves
Goose-fleshed words uttered, pillow talk endowed
Teasing us closer, haze of misbehave

Silver dark night, perishable, shapes love
Rhythmic movement, a glow in your round eyes
A furtive look of courtship, passion's dove
Beguiling smile, pulled harp string of loose sighs

Arms like branches wrap 'round our oasis
To set free the bending tree bark, lonely
Whispered covert charm that shifts our basis
Desire's loyal touch that smites us slowly
To kiss skin cupped about in furrows
Till summer's dawn shakes us on the 'morrow





Sonnet composed: May 19, 2021

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