Long Domiciles Poems

~A Poem That Took A Week Or More To Write~
                         ...

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Here are two versions of this poem. One I wrote today, other one I found later. I am writing poems after almost 10 years. I still don't have the muse as evidenced by the following...

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Solitude breeds malignant nemesis
couched as woe seated heavily
within mine angst
riddled quavering psyche
blinding clairvoyance 
debilitates enthusiastic frequency
wavelengths propagate unfounded
probable future destitution

predicated upon intractable lifetime mired
within groveling penuriousness
"dirt poor" accursed fate
pervaded plentiful not ready 
for prime time...

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(Re tiny box-like homes lining the west side of
South Bundy Drive, north of Nebraska Street, in West LA)

The soiled feeling comes not
From the indignant paradise
Scurrying past their frontal lobes 
It arrived in silence
Borne of being...

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Shards of distress pierce me
when probing memories for
     purpose in mournful
deeds; stingy cords dangle
from teetering curtain rods,
     begging me to pull.

Macaroni starch drips into the
sink in slow drips, marching
     along with pattering
pings in the tin basin, making
my yellow...

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There’s a basement flat at Central Presbyterian.
However, you’ll have to share with two other women.
The followed pattern here is living in harmony.
Living outside fellowship is contradictory.
She replied, “I don’t want to share.  I live...

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HABITAT FOR WILD (Satis Shroff)



The flora and fauna

have a hard time

In winter.



The white mantle

Of snow covers

The branches, buds and barks.



The owl loves winter

As it takes in all

Beings that move,

With its keen sight.



The woodpecker knows

Where the...

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used for thousands of years to
cut down trees & then to chop them up &
then slice and dice them into
everything from mulch to boards used to 
build a plethora of domiciles,
the axe (probably first formed...

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Voyagers, convene thyselves to return, among us...
Caesura, crown nigh clod, a sylph unwept,
elision thy silhouette, meno thy minuet...
Thine late occurence on thee, wake of cerise sand

Thou belief, like a billow, upon your whitish cheek,
'Twas marina...

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Who can account for what we term taste
   and shouldn't it be just an opinion? 
Though then it might be just a tad debased
   ~ not free to take off, like...

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taking the podium &
patting the eyes whilst
whimpering,
the genuine feeling in the air,
which might naturally come from the
massing of individuals together,
gets sucked right out 
like a massive vacuum has come upon the
scene to do the bidding...

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Paltry poetic presidential prattlings on poultry playing
  cockalorums chasing chickens, censured to castigate the cockerals,
   tricky tray turbo turkey tidbits tentanize the titillations;
wild wispy winds whisper worldly wasted wiry winsome wiles 
...

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