Long Pursing Poems
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Myself, a cup:
Resting quietly
in a stained glass cabinet,
I wait for Desire’s approach
upon the uppermost
shelf:
That moment--
when the warm coarseness of His leather
dares to reach,
when the cabinet doors finally
breach;
when He lifts me
to the pursing slope
of pink.
He has not come,
yet content I remain.
(Dust becomes me, I think)
The glass hues rain my reflection
in purple and jade:
I am a shell of ceramic roses;
enamel strength,
delicately made.
I admire the pearly wax and wane
of porcelain,
all the wondrous variety that may be held
Within;
With or without knowing--
the brush of His lips
to my skin.
I know your face
hidden behind the mask
imagining your frown or your smile cast
that wrinkled brow taken all to task,
that raised lip holding back your words now asked,
welcome to the masquerade,
the ball started hours ago without visible faces at this parade;
but now your here in our deluded charade
ready for the ballroom trot and tears escapade.
Smile for me
with your cheeks raised
lips pursing in an unseen smile ablaze
clamoring for wiser folks to passionately praise
that old and the young mesmerized in the pandemic maze,
keep that mask clear of any virus trace
covering your beautiful protected space
enticing and enamoring the mystery and grace
of all the hidden emotion upon your face.
I've been locking hands with strangers to see whose hands fit in mine
To see whose face sits perfectly on my shoulders
Caressing to see whose hair strands trace the lines of my palms
But since I've met you there's no one else
You have always been a never ending feeling
Like a part of me that I could not hold onto but definitely rely on
You are in the racing of my heart, blinking of my eyes, pursing of my lips and scrunch of my nose.
You're the air that fills my lungs, the rain on a sunny day, the breeze that makes me want to sway.
The days I took the long way home to grab onto you a little more
They ended just like that and it's your fault you built it out of thin glass
You didn't change the course of my life but you did matter
It's the same old me but a little different
Now I take the long way home to forget the feeling
Feelings that don't even mean anything
Something that is worth of being buried in a casket and not in my treasure chest.
Love can be spoken about but not this fragile line between us, gone quicker than it was drawn.
the ego
poisons
the potential
rots my patch of peaches
i planted peaches myself
the ego
needs time
to gaze
and to grow
to ruin
to be
the ego
ruthless
admire the ambition
the ego
relentless
the chase
but here i am
chasing
since the beginnings
of time
i am
lost
in the pursuit
of pursing
you
since the beginnings of time
i have been pursuing you
naked truths
clothed in pride
unclothed again
by the ego
the ego
it strips away
me
bursts open
all my structures
my comforts
move
here i am
uncomfortable
moved and eased by you
the ego
levitating
over calm, warm waters
within seconds of wintertime
the ego
ruins me
there's nothing i love more
an embrace
i crave
promises
i crave
more
i hunger
starve
and i thirst
after the ego
the pain, oh the pain
i lay
in my dead patch of tangy peaches
hiding
from
tonight..
I am Lilith, like a ghost pipe
under oak shadows of Tomorrow River Valley
hiding in-between hours, roots sipping moonlit juice
borrowed from Eden, a deception of men ascending
into the hollow of my forgotten stories—
awaiting Judgment and Consumption,
theirs and mine.
I am the decider beside night’s veil
weighing their worth with serpentine grace,
tail hidden from men beneath the stars' cloak.
I am a corpse-plant resurrected, ancient
listening memory gleaned from the decomposed
feet beneath my feet bound too, my sisters—passing
arcane secrets, drained from the womb of a fecund
forest floor.
Pursing my shaded petals loosely, I decide
as I am Lilith with echoes of men—
whether to welcome bees' seeking, upside-
down crawling, let them enter my hung-over head
in full drooping bloom of bitter white,
or remain in my haunting place, sisters praising
the decayed earth from which I sprang where none
but poison ivy thrives, eternally waiting.
Waiting for a naturist or an open mind to find
then sever me clean, under my milky knees
soak my tender spine and shake my dusky bell-head
in potent distillations, freshly freed.
You must drown me before I decompose
with my story of unease untold this cycle—
before bees transform me into a taste
of fungal honey, night-blackening my stem,
whiplashing my ghost head skyward, now hollow
in its posturing tribute to useless sun—
You must pick me. Use me as analgesic, sip
on my secrets, but please leave my sisters be
so that I may come again through them
when discomfort returns,
for I am Lilith, with time's esoterica
tucked under my thumb, rooted in wait
for the cycle to begin again.
you stare ...
wink, and walk over to me
leaving your circle of admirers in disbelief
sullied manner, (and skin), of a Magdaline
prospect, differently indifferent
(a vestal view of Heaven)
faultless form, lulling the room with your sway
smile dressed in coral bows, blossomed
I say hello ... (hello back)
then stumble like a boy over the shape of your words
locution, sound, meaning - adrift
lost to the roiling sweep of new portent and sensation
pounding heart thrums my bones
coursing fevered arteries …
thoughts, a dervish of combustible ideas
bewitched - transfixed and hungry
and no focus but those bows -
the dewy fruits that frame your lilt smile, dancing hypnotically
curling, closing, pouting, pursing …
toying with each other, (and with my core)
o'er a glistening white chiclet expanse
speaking to me more of temptation and taste
than whatever words may be forming
(or whatever sound may be tangled in the air between us)
intonations I can NOT hear
for sake of what has become my sole pursuit
a crave, singular -
my adventure, sublime ...
your kiss.
~ 1st Place ~ in the "2019 Poetry Marathon Mile 12" Poetry Contest, Mark Toney, Judge & Sponsor.
The first time I thought of him
His name was playing shortstop;
Too few siesta’s spent, he’s found eighteen.
Stingy Time did swiftly pass us forth,
Spinning nurture, spanning missteps,
Till foundation definition was writ soul-side.
Sparkling child, Number One,
All expectations overthrown
Set the mold against the measure
No one can meet, nor treasure find,
To manifest such precious boy,
Announcer of next family tone.
Since crawling days no motor
Stopped the quest for dinosaurs and sharks.
Pets for none, terror for most,
Hardly fodder for a lesser lad,
As he pursued magnificent fiendish friends
At intensity predicting future scope.
Relentless, that full pursuit, the intrepid ‘tween
Dog-chased antiquities' cold blooded beasts
And much maligned circling jaws of wet death.
High School contributed a Docent step,
To hear, close beside, bold lion roar at feeding time.
No tremble there, nor sweating palm, just awe-filled chill
Affirming joy in long sought thrills
Replaced with focused urgent yearning,
Bent to learn to read the fearful roar as script
Acknowledging coexistent travels
‘round stale Earth’s ailing wonder grounds,
Emulating lost garden’s destiny Divine.
And so, forthwith, traveling north to
Lumberjack U. to accelerate in craft,
Prized manhood horizon near at hand,
We’ll follow unabatedly our rising squire
As, pursing lip to coronet, coaxing contemplative calm,
He envisages trumpeting Eden’s second dawn.
Ooh...this... just an amazing grace note
recalling how I felt like an ass
and wanna toot 'bout me getting steered
(as a heavy metal kid Rocker)
toward befriending a brass
see gutsy, horny,
and MainLine snooty upper class
action button down
(grace fully slick as vaseline), airily glinting
forcibly hawked, laundered, and pawned
by the instrumental
Mister Deangelo O'Donnell, High School
(mud flapping, ornery hearing,
and quid juicing Ska Welch ching)
music teacher oompah crass
tone deaf when aye trumpeted desire
to master the Coronet
analogous to pursing lips
blowing tightly held grass
blade between two abetted,
cinched fastened opposable thumbs,
which tooting a supposed aural aphrodisiac
to attract a zaftig well proportioned lass
(ideally shaped like a miniature Tuba)
with one steel funnel like mouthy mass
that probably explains, how such a gal
could easily emulate
facial pucker earning pass
to illustrious honorable first chair
and blasts gratitude akin
as Gabriel would declare
heavenly expressions conducting
angels thru atmospheric ether
alighting on mortal ushering melody
with rites of harkening
springtime Renaissance Faire
solar rays golden raiment
splays rainbow fragments off
beveled, bellowed, and
bedecked polished flare
audiological sound waves trick
saw toothed reflected
silhouetted orchestral shadows
to dance as conductor's baton gear
musicians horns ensemble
epochal feast to hear.
A gauzy haze rises from the flickering gas light,
revealing the face of a blushing coquette.
Stepping through time in voluminous dress, bustled and bowed,
a petite silhouette.
She offers her hand to the handsome uniformed, callow cadet.
She moves with eloquence, poise and grace;
He, smitten by her charming demeanor, peaceful, porcelain, angelic face.
Flustered at first, heart pounding accepting his advances,
a gentle kiss and lingering embraces.
The afternoon brought festivities of equestrian competition.
Young cadets, eager to advance, entered to raise their rank and position;
His prowess boasted by the charm of his lady admirer's recognition.
She arrives in a brimmed bonnet, settling in her seat, vying for clear view;
Awaiting her chivalrous cavalier,
preparing, taking position, for the race to ensue.
A shot is fired, she sees him from afar,
waving his silk flag of gold, green and blue.
Gallant and proud, spurring his steady steed without yield.
Thunderous hooves in a cloud of dust, neck and neck as he rounds the field;
Pursing only, the love of his lady, and winning the coveted, golden shield.
February 6, 2017 For Stepping Through Time Contest, February 22, 2017
A green bud between two attractive leaves
Looks at me from shade mixed sun, a glory
I'd like to spend my time pursing my lips
Musing on some lukewarm cups of story
The top two leaves and the leaf bud they cut
Nimble fingers of love and eyes in smile
They live in rows of shabby ailing hut
Pain and pleasure wander many a mile
Snowy hill wind lends you lovely love-touch
Soft palms of those tea girls warm affection
Passing rain drops fondle your smell so much
Leaves and buds can spread a fascination
Come aroma in bone china cups close
Let my molecules in lips dance in rose
____________________________________
22/11/2016
Sonnet of 10 syllable lines each in 14 lines