Long Scalded Poems

1—Milieu

Unique construction of body and mind
My niche in human pack not quickly found 
Raw young heart of a curious design
The empty mirrors for my soul abound

Subjectively a bit odd to myself
A jangled, disconnected kind of...

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Here's the scoop, friends...
   This is, as indicated, the 1st HALF of this fairly lengthy poem. The 2nd half had to be posted separately due to Poetry Soup's file-size limitations. No other way...

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Young James Pruitt was an ordinary boy;
he grew up in an ordinary town.
But set a spell, and I’ll tell a tale
of how some not-so-ordinary things went down.

See, James was a good boy; he did his...

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Canny remember this Lass's name,
but fur the poem's sake let's assume she's Jane.
'Jane ' this per wee soul had fingers lighter than a blidy feather,
aw things within her sicht yea had tae tether.

Wartime is no...

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pioneer esprit de corps front tier brisk.
*     *     *     *     *     *   ...

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I can only imagine how n'ice e-z floe...

Tubby in the calving throes
breaking free and clear 
shepherding, milking, and honing 
rambunctious as bovine bris
versus being stymied courtesy 
cow - wordly bull aiming writer's block
for drought of...

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How... Floe N'ice Tubby In The Throes...
(breaking free of writer's block)

Asper this instance,
     when a dearth of ideas 
     like a charred bait oven
   ...

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On a sofa we're lying
My true love and I
She's wiggling and sighing
She thinks I'm touching her thigh
She's getting excited and passionately we kiss
But I am most curious to find out what made her like this
I...

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Aubrey Mc Govern
by Don Johnson ........
Aubrey McGovern and the Deaf & the Deefe
lived down on Cubbie on damper and beef.
The damper was easy McGovern could cook
the beef it was shady  Deaf &  Deefe...

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My eyes linger instantly when you enter my world
They light up bright, like a new lightbulb has been replaced
I blink my heavy eyelashes, and you slowly dissolve into my uncertainty
Your look tortures every fiber of...

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My fingers are vibrant flames
that shoot sincerity one second, hate the next
and ignite with every caress.
You are warm until the heat begins
to eat at the skin and devour your spirit,
while you try to find a...

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Ramblin' Bob Dylan Blues
(For Bob Dylan)



Why does the sun dry up so many scattered tears

slipping down the coarse cheek of a million hushed fears

where no one is scalded though the searing fog clears

while prayers are...

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How often will I turn my head
                            ...

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I do not know if this is true what I see:
I see in some dim, distant, desolate rock-hold
gathering peoples, driven as though by common fear.
A low mournful humming drifts with the breeze
of manhood tread, and...

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Modest swimsuits, bathing boxes
 White-blue flesh ice cold
Scratchy towels, sandy sandwiches
 Pots of tea being sold
Foxford blankets, picnic baskets – 
A donkey ride on the strand
Flowery summer frocks, mischief brimming 
 A practical joke being...

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He never left for long,
his footprints left marks all across my kitchen floor
and I slipped over the waning of November, sometimes,
as my hands scarred themselves, the empty callouses 
the left over burns that scalded the...

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THE HAUNTED HOUSE

While on a tour across the Scottish highland moor
one summer noon I stopped by a Victorian house.
Curious, I entered through the half-closed door,
a dark room filled with antiques I could browse.

In the eerie...

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Appearing from nowhere, a red stain in my colourless 
vision, I found them cold in the whiteness of the first 

snowfall. They lay there in the misty haze, stunned to silence,
smothered in their white blanket;...

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beautiful inspired contrived artifice it’s
sensation subconscious sucked
past excoriation reality
thick gelatin soup top curdled hot skin
strips slipping scalded skin,
shadow of Moloch still in the room
and on the brink of sidewalks,
talk to talk to talk to talk
and...

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While on a tour across the moor of the Scottish highland, 
one summer noon I stopped by a grand Victorian house. 
Curious, I entered silently through the half-closed door, 
in the half-dark room a pile...

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On a tour across the Scottish highland moor, 
one summer noon I stopped by a grand Victorian house. 
Curious, I entered silently through the half-closed door, 
in the semi-dark room a pile of antiques I...

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This is torture,
Everytime he looks into my eyes my heart receives another puncture,
And needs yet another suture,
What an anguishly sweet mixture,
For my heart, the completely broken fixture.

He spoke to me,
And my speech seized,
My heart rapidly...

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The empty swing
swings gently
in the gentle
breeze that wafts
across the empty
playground park.
The dust in the foot-pans 
beneath the swings
lifts up in the breeze,
swirls and curls in
a spiral willy-nilly, willy-willy.
The town has all but died.
A tardy few...

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(after Alfred de Vigny)

He glided through the somber pines, 
a shark in surly ocean. 
In truth, I loved his sleek, low lines, 
the danger in his motion. 

Wild creatures do the best they can 
to...

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Serving the warrant
( By S.Jagathsimhan Nair)

Today I cry to this dry dust
Of these paths that silently merge
With the  scalded mud of these huts.
I cry in the name of all men
Who are not home as...

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