Long Salt lick Poems
Long Salt lick Poems. Below are the most popular long Salt lick by PoetrySoup Members. You can search for long Salt lick poems by poem length and keyword.
He'd glimpse her, the peripheral life of her;
she lived in the corner of his eye.
She passed-by, her face and form - tidal,
a tug on his shore.
Perhaps she was salt for his blood, spice
for nomadic mitochondria
that carried her silks and perfumes,
salts to his earth
when flesh grew dry and dark?
He took a mind journey
within the coiling tendrils
of his pith and fiber.
Capillaries traced her imprints,
neuronal fingers tried to define her.
He'd gladly walk into her marrow,
metabolites clinging to her shifting shapes.
A camel-train of visions travels
his corded spine
bearing incidentals, trappings.
He plants glances among ganglia,
feeds on a returning musk,
until she walks among his thoughts.
She is no longer a fantasy, no longer
a salt lick of moth-threads and rain,
but what she is - he could not say.
I sense her in the phantom light
of a closed eye.
Behind a fallen lid cave shadows dance.
I taste an interiority --- a sap
mingled with a salt-lick of self.
I sense her in the phantom light
of a closed eye.
She is not a totem, not an animal spirit
She is that place where
everything becomes something else;
her shape has its own life.
Shaving in the morning
I scrape chin stubble,
decide to shave thinning hair,
until my head is clean and hard.
She circles my peripheral senses
watchful.
Now I know what she is,
she is the child of my animal nature,
not pure, not ethereal,
but the honed edge of my animus
though strangely female
as all soul entities are.
She keeps me iron-edged
in the keen, and razor sharp daylight.
Divinity’s Pew
The truth stands in contrast
to only itself
Once mentioned eternal
when thought and then felt
It lives in the ether
past fortune or fame
Conscripted by conscience
no praise and no blame
The truth beyond reason
beyond lies or consent
The lucky among us
to follow its scent
Its trail leads to faith
divinity’s pew
Transforming the moment
— you first say I do
(Rosemont College: February, 2024)
Freezing The Moment
Are you the
lead actor
within your own myth
The script
ever changing
the past in its crypt
Can you freeze
the moment
with only one word
The Angel’s
applauding
— the devil unheard
(Rosemont College: February, 2024)
Salt Lick
Politicians
endow a sword
to the few
— to command the many
(Rosemont College: February, 2024)
Modern Education
Learning more
about less and less
Feeling torn
in great duress
Faith attacked
we hide from myths
Real love scorned
— ourselves we kiss
(Rosemont College: February, 2024)
Marx In Hell
Political salvation
the god of failure
Beatifying the collective
— on the devil’s throne
(Rosemont College: February, 2024)
Gnostic Dreams
The brighter the glare
we discover around us
The darker the light
stays hidden within
Secular salvation
a digital failure
God’s imminent nature
— indistinguishable from ours
(Rosemont College: February, 2024)
‘Sage To The Court Jester …’
God’s truth — Man’s truth
bridging the difference
trust in the Muse
(Rosemont College: February, 2024)
Like Silent Laughter
David J Walker
I can still feel the cold water
Cool my tanned skin in the hot summer sun
The above-ground steel tank meant to
Quench the thirst of cattle
The salt lick that became our platform
The young cousins allowed to play
for an afternoon as children
Rare but very aware that
We were the children of the farm
And knew in bilingual blurbs the
Adjectives accenting hard work
But I don’t remember who was aiming
The 8mm movie camera
Capturing the moment that would
Otherwise have been lost forever
Like silent laughter
In the New Mexico Summer Sun
Like Silent Laughter
David J Walker
I can still feel the cold water
Cool my tanned skin usually drenched
in the sweat of a hoe handle and the
hot summer sun
The above ground steel tank filled from
The creaking efforts of a windmill meant to
Quench the thirst of thirsty cattle
The salt lick that became our diving board
A rare moment of splashing laughter
Rarer than rare the occasion of young cousins
allowed to play for an afternoon
as other children play in city park pools
Very aware that
We were the farm kids
And would curse in bilingual blurbs the
Profane adjectives accenting hard work
I don’t remember who was
winding and aiming
The 8mm movie camera
Capturing the moment through a lens
that would
Otherwise have been lost forever
Documenting the silent laughter of
Farm kids having fun the hard way
In the New Mexico Summer sun
The lake surfaces between mammoth bones.
The valley once was a bowl for giant daisies
and the conifer roots of a deepening sky.
Wind-blown ripples feed the open mouths
of minnows, the small waves shuffle them around
like silver clouds,
more billowing swells fill the red gills of the trout
with a silent ecstasy.
The sunlight is rich with the minuscule bones
of long risen memories
they are a salt-lick on the tongue.
Upon the shoreline,
small stones take the form
of great, restless beasts,
dinosaurs that once trod upon these waters
and now lightly thread through
a needle of timeless air.