Long Nostril Poems
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In the polished circumference of refinement
my wild longings dissolve like salt in warm rain.
Everything untamed--
the tremor beneath my ribs when your voice grazes the air,
the way my pulse forgets its manners at the scent of your skin--
quietly erased,
as if refinement were a gentle, merciless hand
wiping fog from a mirror until only the acceptable face remains.
Yet without these invisible walls,
how would desire survive its own blaze?
How would love keep from burning the rooms
we are allowed to share?
I stand three measured steps away,
laughing at the correct jokes,
while my blood writes your name in secret fire across my throat.
The emerald at my nostril catches light and lies--
a small green star pretending composure
while inside me a monsoon waits,
thundering against the cage of decorum.
At night the boundaries soften.
I trace the curve of your absence on cool sheets,
mouth shaping syllables too dangerous for daylight
If only once the circle would fracture--
let the raw, wet ache spill over,
flood the marble floors of restraint--
then perhaps my heart could speak your name aloud
without apology,
without vanishing into the elegant silence
that keeps us both alive
and slowly, exquisitely,
kill us.
Waterfall,
fountain of beauty
and love
Cascading down the walls
of my heart,
dark forests rise
in motion
to salute you
In the creation
of waves,
bowing to your world
A motion
of great grandeur
On the heather
clad hillside
With ragged rocks
among'st the heather,
sweeping out
towards the ocean
A vast wilderness
of water
In a tranquil
peaceful setting,
romancing the very stones
I am the moss clinging
Mystical paradise
Mirror of life
and existence,
dreaming of you
under a hawthorn bush
In the aroma
of blossoms,
kissing the sea
in the parting of lips
Moist in a dream
My nostril flare
within aroma's scent
Sweet as would be the taste,
like my breath exhaling
Rippling winds
passing by,
whispering to me
sweet nothings
Walking along
a primrose path
from the enchanted forest
I make my journey
to you my fairy queen
Speaking to you in
ancient tongues,
through the melody
of the harp
Underneath the fairy tree,
played on each string
attached to my heart
deep inside
plays sweet music
burns you the desire
In a chain
of daisies
Dreaming underneath
the sun,
in the gentle touch
of its beauty
Touching me
with your wand,
the touch
of an owl's feather
Sparkling light
touching beautiful
my dream emotion
Rainbows of color
Loves so vast,
you can be
my fairytale
Walking with you
loving like the breeze
Holding your hands
in my heart
pining on
your return
Dedicated to My Timothy Lee
I love you and it has been said, 'love is blind.'
My beautimous man is my favorite visual treat.
Times staring at him are times I often repeat.
His blond tendrils hang down, outside his do-rag,
and are curls my fingers just have to twirl and grab.
Fierce, piercing blue eyes allow his gaze to melt me,
happens all the time and never do I ever mind.
The rich pay surgeons for cheekbones my man has.
My knuckles sometimes trace each bones span.
He has such a good-looking nose, not big or small,
it’s a nose I frequently kiss on my tip toes.
Perfect lips motivate my own to seek his kiss.
They aren't thick or thin, but ideal sized bliss.
I’m mesmerized by his labor rustled arm muscles
that grow a need for my cheeks to muscle nuzzle.
My beautimous man said my vision needs to be checked
because no features of his do my eyes accurately detect.
He said his curls do hang down, but no hair is on his crown.
He took me to a mirror to see lines under his eyes clearer,
said his cheekbones are no longer sensual but skeletal,
his nose now nostril hair grows and rudely hair shows,
plus, his muscles have aged and are now sad sag designed.
I asked what word bits would he now hurl about his lips -
he pulled me close and said, ‘only kisses are on my lip script.’
Often wondered why we have two nose holes
When one would obviously do
And why does our hair keep growing and growing
Could save thousands if it never grew
Some other things I've been pondering lately
The number of our fingers and toes
Most of us have five on each appendage
Before what our computers disclosed
Okay, one last thing, if we didn't have two legs
We fall on our bums all day long
We'd have to hop along like Hopalong Cassidy
Singing Hopalong Cassidy songs
Often wondered why we have two nose holes
When one would obviously do
Of course whenever we catch a very bad cold
We'd drip from one nostril stead of two
1 / 1
I cannot focus on what they did
My focus is upon family and my kids
Whom-have supported me from day one
I speak now that thy kingdom has come
Where from
The deep debt of a chosen one
To let go of the past from so many some
Tried to come against your royal priest
Some have come and exposed as many thief’s
Why me
Why not
Because the remnant had been called
And oh set apart
Mysterious to some and some may had known
I am grateful for your power
Yes we behold
That were we go favor we are told
No more deceitful oppositions
We know are now apart
That they are fallen back to the dirt mashed down torn apart
For judgement and vindication and death they are cold
Returned the wealth from the wicked they stole
For a time but the moment has exposed
The nose spewed them out of His nostril
Taken back what they had owe
Had to give freely released
Everything they stole is back to my family
... stalactites hung like dystopian snot from a statue
her brain was frozen and formed ice in her mind
a lacuna without inlet or outlet arrested in time
mind’s skates tied up in bundles of snowflakes
gloves off for defeat with all speed set in arrest
not even her black woollen hat showed any signs
of thawing heart-warming emotions for comfort
empty speech bubbles covered her scraped tongue
where a mouth-watering waterfall should pursue
a pick axe with nothing left to dissect or construct
dangled from a callous corpus callosum in pain
unable to connect right left wrong or left to correct
this was not what searching tranquillity had promised
in contrast transcendence wept at chilly flood gates
a voice that had so much to part with in a landscape
of permanent layers of verglas onto vaporous rime
she wished for some slime or yuck glopping goo
but permafrost refused a glimpse of impermanence
a fool thought it funny to stick a carrot in her nostril
helpless she could not leave the vegetative state of affairs
clung to a string of crystal beads at pearly gates of no return
this is a lie I am Pinocchio at the threshold of truth
a metaphor unable to break the spell of apocalypse
unfulfilled amphora and vessel that can’t even leak
incontinence at the pointless orifice of evacuation
without one drop of hope for cataracts to dissolve
a lonely icebreaker with nothing left to crack open
where a firm skull should harbour my residual flow
when a polar bear embraced her unbalanced spectre
shared his white furry coat under a mantle of darkness
shales of introjection floated away from the solar eclipse
which had sheltered her from a charcoaled manic cauldron
touching middle grounds in between scorching euphoria
and lifeless apathy just long enough to remember that she had
not taken her medication and the self-help manual was useless
sometimes catharsis has to wait for one small lucid moment
when a beak meets a beaker and cascades start from a dribble
Out on an early morning stroll,
while people roll in bed, snoring,
encore in dreamy shores, I looked up.
The sun was on a drill, dressing up
clumps of clouds for the day's display.
I needed to nab my share of shade:
a gray, a gold, a subtle purple,
set against a bright blue. I thought
of a rainbow; my heart raced to Noah.
Is beauty for the eye only?
Can't it tickle me in the nostril, too?
I sniffed the air for scented beauty
from dewed flowers, sleepy lawns,
classy hedges—the home-grown pride.
No match!
No match for the sky!
Rising sun blares high, splashing colors;
at dusk, clouds bask in gold before winking
stars lull the earth to sleep.
© 2016 Celestine S. Ikwuamaesi
Written: December 28, 2023
______________________________________
flounder in fictional field
—squeals and squeaks
Whimpers and growls
Sylphic swaying,
of flames spewing,
inwardly throbbing
of my nostril
lobotomized cosmic orbs.
scent of cinnamon
and coral on a rosary
interlaced of aurulent rimes.
Shrouded your burgundy &
coniferous ravines
loop of vitality
& unbearable redemption
in spanning eons,
ineffable wonder cradled
by melodic hums and buzzes
of lazy heat
and whistles of pitches
of endless hymns
echoes of choral chants
sung by soloists.
black ravens croaking,
like peals of doom
dewy allelomorphs
with waft-aloft wings
angels of ethereal whisper
of thunder,
that rang deafeningly
through the crevices,
of anodal motion
scurrilous loci
modeled as diploid.
Hands folded prayer like to beseech thee
to abduct me with no cause to up braid
natural temptation found temptation commanding
from divine dada disobeyed
Earthbound Olympian of love,
now dwells amidst mossy secluded glade
a natural bed of soft earthy, downy
canopied bridal awaiting to lovers to get laid
and maybe nine months later,
a baby will resemble thee dear milkmaid
then whence we return to our Land O’ Lakes chalet
homage will be paid
in which human guise paramour
doles secrets of amorous Lumineers trade
into dreamland such desire does in vade.
Victuals to satiate pleasures of flesh
especially erogenous zones
administered by this imaginary mistress
sin seductive tones
thru this private line, but no other phones
triggering mine little rolling stones
to generate primal sounds vis a vis moans
inducing groin seams of pants extreme groans
toward pocket sixty-nine without lovely bones.
A copious amount of adoration suffuses entire body of this man
her, whose gentle and kind embrace promises to be eternal plan
as made mention in the Bible, Quran, or Torah millennia ago rattan
whose healthy libido will probably outlive me life span.
Royal carpet treatment awaits me each and every day
as the differences between myself and august dweller on high
establish a bounty and glory of compassion to roll in the hay
atop bodacious, delicious, felicitous fantasy asks me to lie
imbibing succulent atmosphere akin to an eternal month o may
taking spirit soaring thousands of miles of feet in the sky.
Upon hearing sweet nothings nobody else can hear
affecting heavy breathing indicated by nostril
that imperceptibly flare
a sheer grin of joy lights up countenance ear to ear
despite impish quarks of this divine being so dear
as journey to inxs of nirvana induced ejaculated whispered clear
from being buck-naked bare.
We're made from stardust, I'm told.
A sparkling constellation of consciousness.
Battling one another, sniffing out the jugular.
Swirling toward the blackest hole.
God is out there. somewhere.
Kneading another star into form.
Tilling black skies, sprinkling seeds.
Watering the sprout so perfectly.
Are we the forgotten ones?
The orb of cannibals and lambs.
Set ablaze in a pond of id and oily greed.
While hope turns its golden head.
Setting fire to silver seas.
Now the stardust is sprinkled in blood.
The scent blasting the nostril of God.
He rises slowly from the potter's wheel.
We've thoroughly reddened the eyes.
He dons a shawl of tiger stripes.
With one grand swipe, separates the lavender of love.
From the chain of gnashing lies.