The first weakening of night
picks out telephone lines,
black against sky.
The eyelid of a garage door
lurches laboriously up.
A car coughs blue breath.
With aerosols and plastic scrapers
clandestine delights of frostwebs
are raked to chemical sludge.
Starter motors whine.
Windshields cloud with pain.
Gears grind teeth.
An electric train
gingerly
utters inarticulate from the sheds,
groaning over cold joints.
Thinking grimly
of tunnels ahead,
it flares with ill-humor
crossing the points.
On unworked land beside the track,
a fox is heading home.
Gliding through
beneath the "keep out" sign,
he grins at the engine,
which just judders along,
headlights trained
on parallel lines
which glint ahead,
reflecting lurid signal red,
extending out, but never meeting,
towards the vanishing point.
Alongside me in rain and shine
she walks her life on her own terms,
setting the course on the pathway she likes to pave.
Probing nameless people uncalled, she may descry
break the fence of her protected privacy and pry,
ask incisive questions to slice her persona.
She doesn’t ever care to respond.
In our passionate journey together for so many years
I’ve felt in her heart sunk in the quicksand of time,
emotions rise from the dormant fervor’s cauldron.
The good done to her she can’t acknowledge loud,
but the buds of love blossoming within,
she keeps under protective shroud.
Mellow sensitivity soaks all her inarticulate feelings,
she is overwhelmed beyond measure,
but doesn’t know how to demonstrate.
A deviant introvert, she absorbs pain and joy silently,
content with little and whatever I give as caring gesture.
She hasn’t given me even a flower as a token of love,
but I always adore her as a blooming rose I have.
Massaging me with body oil,
I am now your woman to spoil.
My hair’s become ringlets.
With an arch in the jacuzzi,
I lay back let you taste me.
String pearls and cigarettes.
There is an absence of my voice,
save an inarticulate noise.
The sound of a branding.
Your adept hands apply pressure,
hit that line of pain and pleasure.
My heart’s understanding.
Where do you end and I begin?
My safe word is ‘Separation’.
Manicured nails cut glass.
Mirrors left completely shattered,
lips left soiled and tattered.
Pure lux in sassafras.
He said ‘With relish.’ like a soft light,
erasing the line that never existed.
Pulsating with what was uninhibited,
the phrase exasperated her hunger.
Erasing the line that never existed,
an inarticulate murmur left his lips.
Was it in everything she didn’t say?
Pulsating with what was uninhibited,
she could taste his shallow breathe.
It was coming with such regularity.
The phrase exasperated her hunger
for she could feel what hid behind
the subtle inflection of his delivery.
We spent twenty two long years together
under the same roof, so, I know him better than others,
for he’s my only brother.
On his own terms his life he walks brave,
setting the course on the pathway he likes to pave.
Probing nameless people uncalled, he may descry
break the fence of his protected privacy and pry,
ask incisive questions to slice his persona, they try.
He doesn’t ever care to reply.
In his heart sunk in the quicksand of time weary,
emotions rise from the dormant passion’s debris.
The good done to him he can’t acknowledge loud,
but buds of love blooming within, he keeps under shroud.
Mellow sensitivity absorbs all his feelings inarticulate,
he is overwhelmed, but doesn’t know how to demonstrate.
A deviant introvert, he seldom submits to others’ decree,
until he finally sleeps he’ll do what to do with will free.
He’s content with little, grateful for god’s blessings plenty.
These blatant lives we lead
with our guts hanging out
between pretty words.
I remember (after the failed gastric surgery),
when gore spilled out of my prone body;
that slow unwinding of blank verse,
(the wordless made flesh) - uncoiling
in bold inarticulate sincerity.
An intestinal serpent – seeping,
and I the author of that preconscious serpent
still attempting to fill empty shells
with delusions and other ill-formed proofs
of existence.
Then from out of that open wound,
out from that that visceral self-revealing,
the pulse of my life so starkly exposed
at last, saying something -
true.
the words coagulate, stuck
in the back of my throat, I choke
on the words I cannot seem to
acknowledge, articulate, remember.
aphasia commandeers my body as her vessel
inarticulate and mute
and in so much pain
but she doesn't seem to care.
when it matters all the soliloquies falter
and stumble from my lips, lame
and inadequate
like everything else i touch.
Inarticulate as the morning air when it flows to and there
this cognitive essence of rebirthing, is a true blessing
this knowledge that perhaps didn't come easily
is lodged inside my memory like a rooted flower of old
enabling the gift that keeps on giving
to regenerate, restore, like a swimming soul
Be it a spring day or a golden Autumn afternoon
Be it a winter bejeweled with light or a summer of sun
This time belt of knowledge has provided
and given me, a place to hang my heart
Onward in a journey both as healer and the healed
giving in to rebirth, time and time again
I ventured forth, knowing nothing ever gets lost.
I walk my life on my own terms I set,
create the course on the lone pathway I pave.
I see probing faceless uncalled people pile,
break the barrier of protected privacy and pry,
asking incisive questions piercing my persona,
I don’t answer.
They want their footprints I follow compliant,
abandon what defines me on the wayside,
exist as a formless empty entity impersonated.
Caustic comments they make of me being inflexible,
on the atypical manner I behave, overtly odd to them,
I don’t react.
My heart quivers in the quicksand of harsh times,
emotions struggle to rise from the despondent debris.
Things good done for me I can’t acknowledge loud,
the bud of love for you blooms in me, I adore unexpressed.
Porous sensitivity absorbs all the feelings inarticulate,
I don’t demonstrate.
I will be doing till the end what I do, not being blunt,
even if you call me an obdurate being,
I don't care.
The world seems to be discordant lately
The dawn carries with it something to be cherished ,
The mind buoyant with thoughts decorated ornately
Hidden somewhere in the terrains of my heart, already perished .
My mind's inarticulate cry to be heard
As neglected choices were left unmade,
Delaying them seemed to be a better option, I preferred
As my opinions were left unsaid.
The hesitation in lifting the veil of my creativity
Arousing a storm that might offend Others' belief
In my mind, held all day and night in captivity
I follow my ambitions to replace the grief.
For long my voice was hushed and could not find a way
But pulling me down will only make me become my better self They say .
On my own terms my life I walk brave,
setting the course on the pathway I pave.
Nameless probing people uncalled, I descry
break the fence of protected privacy and pry,
ask incisive questions to slice my persona they try.
I don’t reply.
Their footprints I follow, they want with pride,
abandoning me for what I am on the wayside,
to exist as a mute formless entity dormant.
Caustic comments they make of me being adamant,
my character traits make on them negative impact.
I don’t react.
In my heart sunk in the quicksand of time weary,
emotions struggle to rise from the unfeeling debris.
The good done to me I don’t acknowledge loud,
but buds of their love bloom in me, I keep under shroud,
porous sensitivity absorbs all the feelings inarticulate.
I don’t demonstrate.
I will do what I do at free will until I finally sleep,
even if you all call me a deviant black sheep,
for life for me isn’t to fit in your measurement.
I would be me intransigent.
______________
April 30, 2023
Contest : Character Traits
Sponsored by : Angela Tune
Bondage was good for us.
"Master-me,
you are me taking me.” She was right,
I would lose myself in her.
She’s related to George Washington,
A man of his time.
A black girl for all times.
George is silent.
Mind brings her to me now
as she arranges
the form and flavors of desire,
her flesh a sensual braille for shaping hands,
limbs a binding chimera,
flesh capturing flowing silks -
a choreography of her muted history.
Inarticulate passions lock us together,
we are deep sea divers
pushing against an erotic gravity.
Somewhere in another story,
an aged Washington shoves his shriveled member
into another young black woman.
Should we honor both?
Dark is the page we now turn.
Truth or not, love or maybe.
Once we were most pleased
to burn down the president's mansion
again and again.
External conflict
(versus)
self-disaffection
The first a misdemeanor
(the second)
a higher crime
Inarticulate
powerful yearnings
trapped in between
Inarticulate
powerful yearnings
—of that forever lost
(Dreamsleep: August, 2022)
A bush lark in the Greenwood forest sings.
She sings all day long near the mountain springs.
Is she trilling in notes so plaintive of her missing mate?
Unleashing her heart of its doleful weight?
Or easing the pangs of a heart that starves
For a soul mate yet to come for whom she craves?
Or sending a missive through the aerial route
Sounding in every ear a low melancholy note?
From the covert of dark leaves, her song percolates.
Through the sinews of my heart it permeates,
Striking a cord between two souls equally deprived,
Stirring in me an inarticulate ache, never once divulged.
Placed Eighth
April. 29. 2022
A Brian Strand Premiere Choice Poetry Contest
There is something that's bounding you with nothing,
There is someone speaking with you inside your noggin,
A voice unknown navigating your way towards nowhere,
The principles you've hold is scoffing you from your core,
The frequent frustrations obstructing your ways,
The persona inside you beholding your post regrets,
The community you despise, socializing you with talks ;inarticulate,
The beast inside you wants to unchain from the dungeon you create,
The vibe unleashed from within you wrecking your neurons,
Irregular heart beats blending with the tick of the running clock,
Celebrating the silence with the music you put on,
Loathing oneself and disjoining with the environment you live on,
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