Salty teeth gushing into a cantaloupe
pirouetting around banana heliotropes ~
Outshining in a sadness so tightly concealed
leaving no sunbursty-sickness to be revealed ~
Beachy days filled with pivoting mangroves
kissing me into a tropical lust of serenity ~
Wrinkling my verses in its sandy paradise,
praising my pearled pen in an oceanic sacrifice ~
A mango muse dancing in an aquamarine lush,
piñacoladas pampered lovingly with blush!
Parakeets squeak me wanderlust stares,
sunburn roasting my cheeks into a fiery flair
Does it bother me? not at all, not a care
I am here, in the now, gyrating above...
into a homesick sweetness of summerness love ~
I have watched the ocean beneath speckled sky;
An infinite expanse that wobbles and turns.
Seen seagulls in gyrating motion flying high,
when in whirling eddies and currents, water churns
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
Midcentury ghost of tinsel past,
you stand so stiff,
so proud, so chrome~
a space-age sapling,
a disco-dome
of pink, gold, and electric blue
gyrating round your branches,
sharp as kitchen knives.
No scent of pine,
no needles found,
just astronauts’ suburban lives.
O artifice! O sleek machine!
spinning in your silver sheen.
Dark velvet curtains hang heavy with hidden
wealth and fear
pearls in jewellery box were stolen at a closed
off sunset near
Muses Silent ! where is my pen as they
wonder what went wrong
will it be ennui or flight as Inspiration crosses
heath field in broken song
childhood, teen, adulthood rolled up in apricot mebos as Time collapses in a heap
Muses curl in darkness sad though summer
seeps
•
gyrating Muses line up before my vision
in an ecstasy of eternal Time precision
their Inspirations transmute ennui and flight
Sweet Muses, I take up pen, with eager might
will it be an anvil, a pearl, a sunset or chiffon
curtains blowing in soft breezy ease, yon ?
•
Electric pulse - it's sharpness
Biting....stinging
Gyrating forms become one
Changes in hue altering the mood
In the night time
You feel the Sparks flight
Resurgence through motion....
Life's Genesis
One moment retained forever
The next quite by chance
Together.... But chaotic
Vision upon vision
They take their stance
To fly or run
Always, forever to dance
Like a gyrating cobra
the leader's entourage
swayed back and forth
before him, behind him
on both sides ~
no one was charmed
Eyelash flashes and soft, sultry, hips
Languid, lascivious, seductions
Hot lust drips from sweet, lump-luscious, lips
Intimate, discriminate, influx-ions
Fast fingertips and slow gyrating hips
A night of lascivious influx-ions
Took one last sweet kiss from the sweetest of lips
Now no more discriminate seductions
The paper sack left on the floor
has come to life. It’s haunted. Look!
It’s growling and gyrating now—
gone wild. It’s time somebody took
control. Aha! I’ve got ya now,
my little kitties in the sack.
I’ll get your lunch now, Pat and Pete.
Okay, I’ll let you ride my back.
Ouch! Watch the claws. They really hurt.
I’ll put thick blankets on my lap.
Then you can be so comfy but
won’t draw blood. Soon we’ll take our nap.
You’re fighting for the bouncy ball.
Sometimes you’re an aggressive pair;
but, after all, you’re little ones.
Sometimes my human kids won’t share!
Don’t climb the curtains, Pat. Oh, Pete,
you’ve overturned the water dish.
I see what y’all are staring at.
You can’t get to the kids’ goldfish!
You’re so much like the kids when they
were small—just into everything.
When they get home from school, we five
will have ourselves a happy fling.
When he was 13 and I was 12,
he sang “Clap your hands
just a little bit louder,”
and I followed his playful commands.
We out there in TV land thrilled to the sound
of his superb, inimitable harmonica playing
on the wildly popular “Ed Sullivan Show.”
Stevie had us gyrating and swaying.
At the time, I didn’t know “Fingertips”
was a Billboard number 1 hit
or that Little Stevie had been deemed a child prodigy.
I just knew his music made me move; I couldn’t sit!
Forever Elvis
The guy with the pelvis
lives on, and on, and on, and on.
in the hearts of his fans he’ll never be gone
He was a guy who knew how to sing
Gyrating his hips was his special thing
When performing on stage
The crowd would rampage
It’s no wonder they call him “the king “
From gospel tunes to rock and roll
Folk and Country, blues and soul
Near fifty years since he’s been gone
But his memory and music still live on
Handsome Hardy Hal haphazardly hung horrid hearts on healthy hedge
Impossible? Impractical? Improbable? Too near the ledge?
Justifiably joyful, joked Jerry’s jolly jubilant jonquils, gyrating
Kansas kittens carried kaleidoscopic kits that clung to the ledge
Legitimizing lovely lively lilies laying in lovable lulls near the hedge
No secret poets are fond
of stars and dreaming --
of gazing and seeming:
using one's mind as a
portal, focusing crystal -- using
the heart, to capture as
a vessel, all that is clean
and unclean -- no flat safe
of a writer is he... daring
pens
wallows in dear slobbers
like bacterized faces of dog
lovers, equally affectionate scratches
he wincingly endures
as his feline shreds
making more opaque the steely
curtains purring deeper into veiled
folds of day and night --
unlike those
who keep the world
firm on proper axis turning,
the poet off tilts
transposes
confounds convention with broader
gyrating mystery, elevates to
novel royalty
that which would
otherwise remain
mere serviceable
far too primary
for his quaking soul
basic impressions of
dark and light --
Charlie Bug on vacation is dancing a jig
Almost got stepped on by a heavy pig
Gyrating and wiggling, he shows his best side.
Here comes that pig again, Charlie, you’d better hide!
They'll be no hop scotch with a broken crotch.
No gyrating like Elvis with a fractured pelvis..
Don't plan on doing the hoot Chie cootch.
Better settle for a smooch.
No leisurely long car rides, not until the pain subsides..
If you are planning to stand, better keep pains meds. at hand.
Just want to sit a bit? It's painful until the bones knit..
Our pelvis supports our bodies weight, if fractured one
must rest and wait.
Two legs are less efficient then four, if there's life after life,
I will need two more..
Ever wondered if angels fall in love
With a divine beau in heaven above
Do angels long for an angelic kiss
Or for to exist in romantic bliss.
Do angels dance upon God's holy stage
To divine music that's seraphic rage
Rotating, gyrating, twisting, twirling
As was done when just a girly earthling.
Would angels play games, such as hide and seek
Or are they simply too mild and too meek
To indulge in those long ago playtimes
Games that they played when they were in their prime.
Do angels wear dresses spun from gold thread
As did princesses in those tales once read
Does it matter to them how they are seen
Or do they dress for the heavenly scene.
Is it true angels watch o'er us in sleep
Singing lullabies to God's precious sheep
Keeping one safe in dreamland overnight
Until moonbeam and starlight fade from sight.
I wonder if angels weep many tears
When they're witnessing war, worries and fears
When all they desire is peace upon earth
That all folk and creatures have equal worth.
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