Long Saliva Poems
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Snap crackle pop
as i lay my ear down
to the rim of the warm orange bowl,
tiny fireworks shoot into my ears,
like a tiny pebble
skipping on gravel.
Little me slouching in my grandmas rustic wooden chair
I hear birdsong and caws
through the stained glass window, beamed in by the Sunday morning sun.
My favourite part of going to my grandparents
was the mornings.
Grandma making sandwiches to bring to the church.
Papa watching the history channel, sitting on his raggedy brown leather chair,
his iPad and other miscellaneous antique grandparent items
basking on the coffee table in the living room.
As a kid, i was never allowed to eat past the line connecting the dining room to living room.
I would sit on my bright blue booster seat with my chocolate cone dribbling down my tiny, sticky fingers.
On the line of the living room- my papa beside me, turtle ice cream cone in hand.
You could also find me
on the plasticky-feeling, shiny green mat
under the kitchen sink,
while I gazed at my grandma scrubbing dishes, ice cream and saliva covering my rosy face.
My grandparents always told me to not use too much sugar
but
obviously
as a child
we oblige happily to whatever comes to mind.
Put as much sugar in your cereal as you please, smear that ice cream all over your face.
In their tiny mind
there is no life long consequence of a fulfilling sugary breakfast.
Back when the world still had a dewy contrast , to us they were just penniless actions,
not yet aware of the pain
of scraping your raw knee open.
We weren’t thinking about
how maybe our body could change tomorrow,
because of too much sugar in our cereal.
Even if sometimes we did,
that feeling in no way
is put to scale
the feeling of
pure
innocence,
innocence
without
a
consequence.
- Casha b
Standing upon the roof top,
watching her brothers walk to school,
Rekha reminisces about her playground,
full of childhood innocent smiles.
A sole kite decorated in orange and red,
floats in the morning breeze,
Rekha feels her soul tug at her heart strings -
yearning for such freedom to roam.
A martyr to dowry, a casualty of sacrifice.
What Rekha's parents thought
was an escape from poverty,
has made her a prisoner of brutality.
Scolded for too much sugar in chai,
water being too warm,
chapatti not being round.
Cursed and beaten like a stray dog,
for being unable to work fast enough,
because she can't walk nor raise her arms,
after being repeatedly raped last night -
by a man old enough to be her father.
Sickened by flashbacks of how
his saliva dripped on her like rotten fish.
Extreme nausea from his strong touch
felt like cockroaches and beetles
were crawling inside her flesh,
but no one heard her screams.
They just shut their doors, bolted their windows,
as he grabbed her neck with his dirty claws -
she wished he would have choked her!
Suffering in silence, the pain is too much,
her parents cannot rescue her.
Rekha wishes she could sleep forever,
because the bleeding won't stop and
her bruised body is slowly breaking,
like a porcelain doll with cracks,
living in an endless nightmare.
Her mind in a state of arrested development,
questions the purpose of existence.
Rekha stands on the ledge,
waits until her brothers are out of view,
waves the world goodbye,
she is fragile like a kite,
but cannot fly.
Rekha was only twelve..
my flesh is bark.
you, the multifaceted bird,
perching on my vulnerablity
to make deceit-sized openings
throughout every chink in my armor.
you despicable woodpecker.
you ravenous bird,
obstinate on taking actions
which i have labeled forsaken.
most treacherous of all:
polluting my veins with your wretched saliva,
you detestable hummingbird.
i, the irreplaceable organism
with unparalleled benevolence,
can’t seem to escape the rage that ensues
each time i gaze upon your forsaken beauty.
it mirrors me, to every corner of my mind.
like a shadow,
which clings to none other than myself,
incapacitating me with every insult;
nonsensical and baseless conjectures
that somehow strike my roots…
the pleasure of having you so close
yet unreachable.
i wish you would respect my convictions,
because i cannot.
why don’t you understand that?
you ignorant mockingbird.
i wonder if this gravity only exists for me.
you move just fine
as you flap your wings seamlessly
carried by the passion scented wind.
while my leaves may no longer enjoy
the exhilarating rides that the gusts of wind bring.
though, i am not devoid of affection for you.
there were a number or days where i enjoyed
our silent conversations.
when your pecking was not malignant,
but a delicacy of energy i could enjoy
each and every moment.
before the reckoning.
before you unintentionally bared your fangs.
at our end lies a requiem.
as we listen together in our coffins,
i wonder what feelings you render.
is it love?
wistfulness?
betrayal?
sorrow?
goodness,
you take the spotlight in my mind
even as my life flashes before my eyes.
you opportunistic dove. you angelic vulture.
Three faceless Misses
amble amidst vagarious March rains
under parasols / veiled in the anonymity of death/burial
Three / shifting between tangible lives
breathless bellies barely acclimated to first-life
Brown girls who were shadows before second death
Voiceless / ambassadors of disordered paradigms moved
past dangerous minds weaponizing skin/genitals/unlikeness
criminalizing the Creator who made all things well
Unnoticed whispers/ persistently noiseless as in their lifetime
holding umbrellas humbly against the falling judgments
of the colour-blinded masses - Why rains of sticks/stones/saliva
nooses to delete tar bodies
Yet hapless muses stumbled onto canvas
into dance/parlance
where they will become unabandoned
Savage Chronos buries memories in forgetting / turning them disremembered erased
Still / Three impossible princesses forge through moss
gray haze / dark puddles
swallowing uneasily their backbreaking grief over race relations
Daily / silently pissing peppers / hoisting parapluies
raiment raking wet roads
so saturated hems won't slap ankles
Three from carnal cages flew
haunting effigies rambling
seeking their paradise visions
Above Earth’s murky ways / umbrellas rise as masted ships
sailing the slender triumvirate to Elsewhere's ardent sun
cyan skies / immaculate time
when fretful flesh is shed / purified souls will travel in light
Three ancestral sisters became memory/myth/justice
bursting through Chronos’ forgetful fog
Lifeless / yet enduring / Three whispers:
“Justice will rain where it had condemned
the God of Creation is vengeful / He alone who’d seen us in a sightless world
humanity’s cheap lenses / unprofitable paradigms beg amends.”
It is your style
It is your smile
It is the charisma
It is the aroma
The way you talk
The way you walk
The way you touch
The rainbow of my soul
Oh! I love you so much
You know very well that I am not a fool
I am a connoisseur who loves class
Intelligence, beauty, elegance, and style
You fit that profile and you passed
All the tests with a gentle smile.
You make me walk on the air
You cause me to denude, to bare
Everything out from the depth
Of my soul. To me, you are a myth
An alluring angel without wings
A genuine saint without halo and rings
I want to be with you to marry you tonight
I want to love you forever my love, that’s right
You are my sunshine on cloudy days
You are my moonlight when I am dazed
You are my compass, my beacon
You are my darling, my mignonne.
I love absolutely everything about you
You are my beer at night, my honeydew
When it is too hot to breathe, to relax
My red wine after dinner; your style rocks
You are it, the elixir, so to speak
You make me reach my peak
You are without a doubt my moon after dark
And my laser cane in the beautiful park
Of life. I love the way you talk to me
The way you touch me, the way you rock me.
You are my eternal inspiration
The woman of ideas and actions
You are the flowers of spring and summer
You are my honey, my pride and honor
Let me admire you, let me give you an infinite kiss
You are my sunshine, and of course, my eternal bliss
It is the freshness of your saliva
Which thrills and tickles my aorta
It is your style
It is your smile
The way you talk
The way you walk.
Copyright © August 1998, Hébert Logerie, All rights reserved
Hébert Logerie is the author of several collections of poetry.
Sounds of something somewhere sound so absurd
Silence in the section of the unspoken spoken word
Seriously over sensitive a silver screen scene everyday
Study the students social scale to see who actually stays
Separating the subpar scores standardizing who to select
Sensitivity can be sabotage so smile wide to all suspects
Saliva slips sliding out the mouth down to a slippery chin
Second place with so so skills so step it up so you can win
Sounds of something like this sheet still sound so absurd
Silence in this sections stanza of simple unspoken words
bmdavey@11/22/17
Caustic memories dissolve on my tongue
Lingering tastes of battery acid and nicotine
Cause me to choke on putrid saliva.
Staring at melting walls, clocks tick in unison.
Distorted birdsong hums outside of jagged windows
Under the warped sun, an unrepentant landscape blurs.
Freshly budding peonies liquefy;
Veils thin, evaporating the delusion of reality.
Why must I mould to the edges at your bidding,
Contort to the point of my own dysfunction?
For such fleeting worship, this devastation lingers -
Devours and disconnects my inner workings.
I lie highlighted in shadow, a beacon of quiet distress;
A dislodged scapula desperate to be labelled angelic.
Grounded, wingless, and forever out of time -
Wearing the last face you cared for as a comforter.
Neon venom warming twisted arteries,
Sinister patches stitched upon a breaking back.
A narcissist's crown digging into my head
Like rusted nails plunged into worm-infested wood—
Permanent disconnection, frayed cerebral cortex.
Blurred vision obscures insidious figures hiding in hushed corners,
Whispering in Babylonian tongue. Hallucinatory illusions haunt
What was a once-pristine sanctuary,
Now morphing into a surrealistic asylum.
Revelation exists above shadow in temporal machination,
I'm consciousness not yet swept up with sand;
Closed eyes cleanse my corneas - I rest in a balm of clarity.
Your power superficial, a cankerous cataract peeled clean off.
It is you who is bereft, washed up with the shell you created.
All the walls of your empty room fallen flat,
As I unfurl in the mirror beyond the shoreline,
I realise - it was never me you couldn't stomach.
Perilous fall risks
these double-binding thoughts
with feelings still nascently attached
positive and negative,
often complexly ambiguous
Sad and glad
as an old calico sock
become chew toy
Stumbled over in emotive colored sequences
contrasting tasteful language
comparing visions sweet and sour,
bland touch not grand
but better than feeling bitter
qualitative resonant/dissonant scales
of magnificent maleficence
and malicious magnificence
Narrow
overflowing
personally compelling
dispelling private passions
remain within a high and wide inspiration
yet deep and narrow aspiring
respiring multigenerational permaculture
of co-empathic compassion
To heal sacred MaternalEarth
and thereby correlate
all Her multiculturing
divinely languaged
singularly health-hearted
dizzying slip-shod playful business
Positive and negative
universal uniting
and severing
ecopolitically co-invested
ego-recentering emotions
Eco-logically restorative
climate resilient growing
peaceful co-messymanic valleys
of resonant reconnection
As reliable as an old
hand knit pair
of variegated socks
now repurposed
as sacred
savory
scented
salty
smokey
saliva celebrated
chewtoys.
THE NIGHTMARE SLEEPS
saliva drips off perfect white,
gleaming white, false fangs.
blood would fill, his full moon night.
breathless he sleeps,
bone-straight, crossed arms.
deep-brown rings on antique-satin.
his nightmares fly, only by night,
as the living dread his piercing sight.
their feet long to scream and run,
but once his eyes
toy with their browns, blues, grays...
mesmerized - they can’t look away.
young ladies started chopping off their hair,
hiding under hats and masks,
never dressing sultry.
for the beast’s heart would beat hard,
stab against his chest wall,
desirous to take a burgeoning bride,
draped in clinging sheath,
all pulse points exposed.
but for now, in the dark of day,
concealed by close-fitting armor,
underneath a heavy wooden lid,
he stays immobile, staring,
at the undersides of wrinkled lids,
layered with the imaginations of his crime.
a long creak, a twilight peek, exposes his blinding pale skin.
the mallet above the judge’s head, speedily thrusts down,
impaling the vampire’s bloodless chambers.
shriveled flesh turns to bone then to ash
then blows away like dandelion seeds,
vanishes as if by magic incantation.
the small flashlight held by his assistant leads the two heroes
through the stretch of catacombs. a cache of bones
gleaming, not noticed when they concentrated on the map,
given to them by a stranger last night - a pretty blond with
mesmerizing eyes, confident and charming.
she meets them, at the last bend, smiling
“Thank you for taking care of my competition.”
she strikes a match, a fearless creature - her black cape
becomes wings - a phantasmagorical nightmare.
10/30/2017
Brutus, my slavering Rottweiler, growls
He knows he's tougher than pooches with tails
The long pointed studs on his black leather collar
Are matched by his canines which make poodles holler
The drooling saliva that trails from his jaws
As he lumbers about on his four massive paws
Is soaking the ground and his talon like claws
Encouraging folk to keep children indoors
Devil Dog, Satan’s mutt, hellhound and more
All labels my beast has been nick-named before
I feed him on red meat and shin bones of cattle
It’s said he eats tigers but that’s tittle tattle
The park is all ours because other folk run
But wait, there’s a kitten, now this could be fun
Brutus will rip him apart for a lark
And splatter its blood and guts over the park
Hey, kitty kitty, come over to me
Play with my dog, what good friends you could be
But kitten was clever, too clever for me
He hissed and now Brutus is stuck up a tree