Husks Poems | Examples

golden laughter

golden husks aglow,
laughter pops beneath the sun,
waves applaud the show.

Elon Musk : clerihew

    Elon Musk

rid himself of tusks and husks

millions in bank 

thank dank  stank Hank

Flower Chide II,the bloomquake

They will not honor your fragrant breath
They’ll use it as ode, or veil, or death.
Not love, but lack—will wear your name,
Your petals will ache beneath borrowed fame.”
Lotus's voice now split Nefarys in bloom and bone
A bloomquake of breath from root to stone.
It hummed through husks and whisperseed dark,
Not all bent—but some curved toward the crack.”

They conjured a crown from the tilt of her head
And wore their suspicion like garlands of dread.
Rose's poise now echoed as plotting or pride
As if grace could not bloom without thorns to hide.
She hadn’t crowned herself, nor thorned by decree
But rumor, like ivy, climbed every tree.

Petalring came, and Nefarys stirred in bloom-fire,
Drifting in garlands, in hymns spun from lyre.
Colors rang louder than the lull they concealed,
And praise filled the air, but one name was sealed.

Rose drew near the rim where the chorus ran high,
And Tulip stepped forward, with a glint in her eye.
“You sit on your throne,” said Lily, stiff and clear,
“This isn’t your place, your roots end here.
Rose turned, not defeated, nor eager to flee—
But as one who had grown past the ring’s legacy.

Angry Eyes

Sour mouth breathes life into words like empty husks

Angry eyes beat the object of my obsession until he turns away

Asks, “If I'm ok?”

“I'm fine.” 

leaning towards him as my eyes glare

bodies twisted in my mind

She has no hate in her eyes

I watch you move towards her

You can't see me through the hollow boundaries I've created

Angry eyes keep away any threat of getting hurt

Passing glimpses hold me together

Your eyes make the jagged edge go deeper

I feel ripped apart when you look away

So I can't be with you

I can't be without you

I don't know where to go

I'm sorry

My hellish love

I'm not angry with you

But at myself

For not being someone you love

Thinking about Aladdin Sane

paving the way for our grasp
of the inevitable future
a lad insane or
androgynous 
being true to oneself
we are mere husks 
of emotional ineptitude 
like the celestial tides
they ebb and flow
only checked 
by other’s opinions:
‘Cowboys don’t cry’
an injustice to nature
being in touch with your inner psyche
is a sign 
of emotional security
far more valuable than
intellectual IQ
which some sadly lack
compensating for it
in wild proclamations
citing dubious ‘facts’
if empathy is a female trait
then honour it in all beings
as Starman is accompanied
on his cosmic journey
by strains of Space Oddity
and Life on Mars?
his conceptual songs
that paved the way for us all …

Sea of flowers

Written February 10, 2025

                                        ********************

Bereft of soft flesh, 
That once throbbed within, 
Tribute from heart
To departed soul.  

Living together
For eighty years, 
Snowflakes dissolve.  

Sea silent, 
Seagull speechless, 
Seashells alone.  

Roses and thorns, 
Sand and beach, 
Looks at palm.  

Standing calm on salted sands beside 
the tumult of tides, 
Red remnants of care lie with hollow husks, 
buffeted by breezes beneath darkened skies.   

Blushed by sunset altar of love,  
sea shell songs,  
scent of Rosa rugosa,  
stones smooth as lovers skin; 
sweet love hearts oceanic sensual offerings.

Presidents and Poets

Their names have become
hollowed out husks
blown about the graveyards
of history. Emperors who once
claimed divine favour 
and the imprimatur of the gods 
now seem profane, despotic
caricatures of their age. 
Loud cheers have ossified
to a silence or a curse lodged
in the throat of the citizenry.
Power still seeps its poisons
into the body politic, 
even now into Prime Ministers, 
Premiers and Presidents
of so called united states.

I look for a place to find
a little peace from the crowd
and the howls of an angry world. 
Where once churches held
a sacred quiet, they too
have become loud stadiums 
for opposing forces, 
doctrinal battlegrounds 
between the lost and the saved.
I retreat to that private space
where like souls meet, a room
somewhere, a forest or a beach,
or a corner of one's own garden
and there teach myself to listen.
I hear what has always been there, 
transcending the reign 
of emperors, wealth, privilege 
and the power of the State. 
And so it is, I hold to my chest 
a well worn book of poems
by that saint, Emily Dickinson,
and here - renew my faith
and find a little rest.

The Orange that remembers

I ate a tangy orange today—
its honeyed nectar pulled me back,
to the orchard, where the air danced
with citrus and sunlight.

That tangy, sweet fragrance
brought back a rush of memories:
childhood days of spraying peels,
stinging our eyes, saying, “It’ll make your eyes brighter,”
each sting a playful dare.

I see my mother now,
drying the peels on the windowsill.
What spell was she crafting,
what secret magic lay hidden in those husks?

The orchard is no longer just trees,
but a portal to travel in time.
Its fruit holds the echoes of my memories,
each bite... a step closer to home.

Pathetic Husks

I detest cowards who cower at night's darkness, 
afraid of shadows and their own demons. 
Fear is a thief that steals courage 
and leaves only cowardice in its wake. 
Be a warrior, not a weakling. 
Face your fears, 
and let the darkness fuel your lights fire. 
Weakness is not an option.

Autumn Shadows

August bleeds thoughts of harvest, picking crops
shortly, corn husks, rustling leaves in earth tones
crimson shadows, bustling golden meadows
indigo skies blessed with gushing raindrops
almost tears, flowing, gentlest cries of grace
summer wars with fall in twilight treetops
blessings edge the soul, kindling light and hope
walking roads of joy where doubt never stops
searching for God’s voice as the soft wind moans
bustling golden meadows, crimson shadows
comforting the soul with mourning dewdrops

Sweet Tooth

Grimoire enchantress beguiles vetala invictus, slicka min kisse, hehe just kidding, just a u’i lata spreading sugar, a sweet gift. A snarl like smile crosses my countenance as I manifest into a deity of quintessential grandiloquence on this edifice, casting thy maestra symphony to be or not to be liminal esoteric Mnemosyne velleity, but in fact a vatic edict on tantalizing your most intimate sultry.

Necromantic kissy kissy muah, to the necrobiotic, rictus lambent lament, melodious songbird choir of sempiternal complexity to make sanguinary fervid incipient lachrymose flooding the streets. Cross this lycanthropic malediction for I ventriolic assanina husks empyrean arcana dismal fates under thy hex with the depths psychopomp Yggdrasil.

Careful where you tread mortal, goddess of the nigh is here, witchess gazes through the fenestral, nocturne saucers glimmer as the siren lures you with serenades and her visage, just an itty bitty bite is how it starts, catch a sweet tooth and it will splay you apart. Velvets bear jagged fangs emptying your chest cavity of your heart, delicate if it’s eaten before it stops.

Milkweed and Hydrangeas

The garden you planted is regrowing,
Just like you said it would—
But the desolate husks of last summer’s foliage 
Still stand stark;
Everlasting monuments
Of what once was.

Yet time marches on,
And amongst untouched relics of a time long gone,
Milkweed and hydrangeas
Once again revere—
Flourish
In the warm light of life.

St Elizabeth Jamaica

My day began with mommy 
making beef patties all morning 
I helped cutting the veggies for 
the curry soup while sipping ginger 
beer I remembered the curry for her 
special curry goat we were preparing 
for her sisters to visit from Trench town 
my head spending day dreaming about it
anything other than our family tradition 
the Caribbean bakery we were the 
descendant no if ands or buts about 
granddad made home made gingerbread 
cookies while uncles peeled sugarcane 
the elders brought raw cocoa from the 
Mahogany trees coconut husks hung 
sparingly as we drank coconut milk 
while the storms brewed over the 
shanty town of Kingston the cock 
crowed throughout trench town as my 
cousins played keyboards and guitars in the 
street to the the sweetest sultutry sound of 
St Elizabeth infamous Caribbean beat

In loving memory of Dad
Caribbean Bakery 1539 Howard street 
Chicago Illinois..

coconut vendors

Beneath the cobalt sky, where legends are spun,
Island life unfolds, as traced by the sun.
Amidst the palms, a verdant ballet,
A choreography of chores, in the island's sway.

Fishing boats gently bob, tales in their wake,
Nets entangled with the morning's ocean handshake.
Fishermen, weathered, their hands tell the story,
In salt-stained shirts, a testament to the island's glory.

Coconut vendors wield machetes with pride,
Husks cast away, like secrets to hide.
Sweat beads on brows under the tropical sun,
As the islanders toil, their day just begun.

Children laugh, chasing the tide's embrace,
Building dreams in the sand, a jubilant race.
Their laughter, a melody with seagull cries,
As the day unfolds 'neath endless skies.

In the market square, colors burst and bloom,
Fruits and spices scent the island's room.
Vendors banter, a lively exchange,
Commerce dancing in the island's range.

As dusk descends, shadows embrace the land,
Twilight whispers with a soft command.
Stars emerge, a cosmic display,
Over the island, where dreams hold sway.

Paranoid Eyes

("Untitled", aka "The Crawling Eye", 2018, original encaustic)

Paranoid Eyes

We live in the old part of town
Where the walls have ears 
And the dark, eyes
We have learned to watch
What we say and do
Until mere husks remain
Of former selves

But we are proud
To live in such a world
Where inside is out
And out knows what is in
Where age-old atavistic fears
Have been projected 
Into technological feats

We even like 
That our phones know 
What we want to buy
Before we do
The iron fist of the surveillance state
Now just a velvet glove
On a limp consumer wrist

At least we have our dreams
The place where all lights shine, 
And all eyes turn, on us
The land before time 
Within the prison of our minds
Secure that we, while endlessly watching,
Are at least the only ones

(10/17/23)

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