Long With impatience Poems
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I Wait With Bated Breath...
(slack jaw froze mine countenance
when eyes blinded with figurative
daggers asper mistakes in original draft,
hence...this flood proof, fire resistant,
and fever reducing error free version.)
(yes...yes...yes, this rhyme
resembles a recent one of mine
from a previous time,
yet appropriating wands zone writing
haint no crime -
at least not yet!)
Okay bull heave me you,
at this moment
alm completely unaware
what the a muse zing
genie of poetic
inspiration will bring
possibly shelving what Calliope
holds in store for me,
meanwhile now
with impatience it ching
visa vis to discover
what this Earthling,
(albeit modest) will be amazingly
graced with pizazz, meanwhile aye fling
haphazardly, indiscriminately,
and jocosely blitz
krieg feebly attempting
to contrive ingeniousness emits
poetic prestidigitation in fits
and starts, sans "FAKE" wits
as this humble
human imperceptibly orbitz
around mister Sun,
(which about bajillion years
from now suddenly quits)
shining foisting misery,
where Nyx knocks
(paddy whack give
my dog a bone...) divinely,
knowingly and spiritedly visits
(believe me you) this trumpeting
stupid moron loser
forever doth taint
after this moment
(no need tubby saint
lee and suppress any quaint
gut wrenching chortle)
at what aint
no farce), nor literary feint
yours truly painfully,
sorrowfully, and verily avers,
he now lacks fire and fury
(as if nettled and docked by burrs)
nonetheless, which ambition
dust hanker mink thinks furs,
and foremost (Tom
morrow i.e. purrs
sues tha owl mighty,
where fame posthumously spurs
me amidst pantheon
of great writers
which dream dashed
into a million,
(no...no...no...not
bajillion this instance,
though good guess) pieces
abysmal silence replacing
(palimpsest like),
mine over active imagination whirs.
Three-Legged Table
As I drove through an old neighborhood, I spotted a garage sale sign.
I pulled off to the side of the street. With impatience, I couldn't get out
of the car quick enough. Right in front of the drive sat a vintage,
small drop-leaf, three-legged, brass lion claw Duncan Phyfe red mahogany table.
The price was outrageously cheap. I could not resist in buying this magnificent well-kept antique table. I managed to put it in the trunk and securely tied
a rope to the trunk lash so, it would slightly close and the table wouldn't fall out while I drove home.
high expectation
valuable old treasures
arouse excitement
In my living room, well-polished table sits. An old fashion crochet doily is used as a coaster for a vintage Fenton Hobnail milk glass with ruffle edge vase, filled with fresh cut gardenias, and a pair of matching candleholders.
antique possessions
constructed with great prudence
ages have long passed
I often sit at red lights
feeling like a voyeur
peering into car windows
playing a guessing game
who are you
where are you going
another Alfie in the world
What's it all about anyhow
and I wonder
Sometimes a driver catches my eye
but quickly looks away
pretending our eyes didn't meet
there's a law against getting personal
with those tethered to a smart phone
horns blow with impatience
ending my reverie
but I wonder
What do the Alfies seek
as they rush from place to place
worried faces without names
moving pieces on a board game
driving SUVs to and fro
which way should I go
and I wonder
Life is not always filled with cloying contentment.
There are taunting trials and things I'd rather not do.
Those tedious tasks that steal my smiles and my time,
but not the joy of life's most endearing moments
found within the confines of my happy home.
It's impossible to leave all my worries outside,
nor can I hide from them each time I enter through
the front door, but my home seems to cradle me
inside its welcoming walls. Each room comforts me
with familiarity, offering safety and solace from storms
of both the physical and emotional kind.
I am at peace in the serenity I find surrounding me,
even when I hear voices in another room, I know they
are my loved ones. My family's laughter assures me
that all is right in my world. There may be furniture
that needs dusting, or floors that have been scuffed,
but memories made in these haven halls are treasured.
Conflicts and controversies, struggles and squabbles
taking place in the world remain outside my refuge.
When my workday is done, I seek my family hearth,
the warmth within its sheltering roof, making it the safe
stronghold that I claim as my citadel. Trepidations
drift away when I walk into my garden and find seclusion
waiting there for me. I find peace and consummate
placidity in the sound of the koi pond's waterfall.
There are no horns blasting with impatience, only a bed of
colorful impatiens blooming in profusion beneath the
sweet scent of white magnolia blooms that soothe
my weary mind, blocking out stress and anxiousness.
I feel as if I'm in an innocuous world inside my fortress gate.
Protected from the chaotic cacophony of worldly woes.
Standing at an open window as night falls, I enjoy the song
of a nightingale as a myriad of stars surround a full moon.
At the end of the day, these moments are appreciated
for the assuasive effects that I need in my life.
This is the anodyne I seek. This is my home.
I’m infatuated with you! You make my heavenly skies blue
You brighten up most my days and make me want to love you in a sexual kind of way
Yes, I’m infatuated with you
And in your love, with each stroke, your body, makes me want more
Oh, I’m infatuated with you
Your soft caress against my chest
Your smooth, black, beautiful skin
This thing between you and I, so good, let’s not be friends
I’m infatuated by your tone, as we talk on the phone
And how someday you are being my man
And how someday our love might begin
I’m infatuated by your big feet, your beautiful white teeth
I’m infatuated by you, you are like my finest treat, as sweet as can be, and super steady like a constant heartbeat
I’m infatuated by the way your lips taste, your warm embrace.
I’m infatuated with you
Your skin though, your skin tone makes my body yearn and moan with impatience and shut in desire, because you are that flame that strikes my fire
I’m infatuated with you
Yes, you brighten up most my days, and show me sexual love in every way
You please me with the way you tease me
When you have stepped away, even for just a day, my body cannot wait
I’m infatuated by you, yes, you
You turn my heavenly skies blue
I’m infatuated with you, you young sexy young thang you
Just Within Reach
What was I able to do compared to you?
I had no clue
I couldn't chew more, at my grasp
My soul clasp to seek for you
The mind refuses to focus
Filled with impatience aimless
ungratifying life
to strife with purpose
A gnawing realization
Soak rain clouds and beaten
My bubble has burst
Slipped out of my fingers cursed without question
The years have passed
Still yearning in the back of my mind steadfast
The wealth of my vision and shout in my ears
will not hear to them unsurpassed
© 4/15/2015
I want to embrace my solitude…
I need the attitude of gratitude
I hope you can see me shine
I wish you were truly divine…
You were mine
Once upon a time
You look fine
Love isn’t a crime
Speaking to the moon beams
My heart thumps and screams
Somewhere out there, I’ve gone bad it seems, it seems…
I’ve gone mad at the seams in my unspoken dreams
Keep in mind of our loving, suffocating…
I keep hearing you, cruelly interpolating…
Injured with impatience…
Fragile in my endurance…
Your arrogance is of ignorance…
Please let me free to be myself
We surrendered to our heavens and hells
You were mine
Once upon a time
You look fine
Love isn’t a crime
Speaking to the moon beams
My heart thumps and screams
Somewhere out there, I’ve gone bad it seems, it seems…
I’ve gone mad at the seams in my unspoken dreams
You were mine
Once upon a time
You look fine
Love isn’t a crime
Speaking to the moon beams
My heart thumps and screams
Somewhere out there, I’ve gone bad it seems, it seems…
I’ve gone mad at the seams in my unspoken dreams
Repeating the bleeding process
Making little progress in this helplessness
Hope can cope with this dangerous…
Inner illumination that darkens in us
I’ve gone bad…
Willing to go oh so good
It’s quite sad…
Miserably misunderstood
I’m so glad…
You were here when I needed you the most
I must’ve been mad
Without you, I’d be empty in Arizona’s coast
The Violet Bird of Violence
The fragile glass stockings are here in the dark room—there would be room
for a few spiders weaving continuously their web of fine silk,
the sumptuous trays rich with white lace are brought—delicate old silk,
breasts in the transparent jars and in the warm and trembling hands
of the most beautiful women—the jellyfish sleep deeply floating in water
as in the quiet crater of the most asleep black stone volcano,
we will be on time for this meeting always awaited with impatience,
we will pass through the dark night as through a box with lit phosphorus.
At this meeting where our long and thin shadows await us
like worn shoes—old boots left on the rain-wet ground,
the delicate butterflies that will touch lightly our warm red blood,
all the forgotten gloves all the eyelids closed in deep sleep
that we liked to kiss with our warm and full lips,
all that we found for eternal memory—the long eternity of time,
the mouths that remained stuck to breasts like shining gold rings,
the green plants that grew on our faces during deep sleep.
The clear water in full glasses—the transparent shining crystal,
the hanged ones with chalk-white hands—their bones hard as stone,
in these black castles the dark evening twilight awaits us
and our chests of warm flesh will rub against its heavy silences,
our chests of soft cotton and dense darkness—the weight of the body,
the box filled with sad music of death breathing slowly awaits us,
the solid wax heads of women we haven't met
yet—always in the future in time that flows ceaselessly forward.
The thick curtains behind which we can hide in deep stillness,
the lost star of a distant morning awaits us shining,
the lucid gaze of sleepwalkers—their open eyes see everything clearly,
we slept so much that we lost the habit of quick and lively movement,
the violet bird of violence pecks us gently with its sharp fine beak,
its rapid flight through our room open toward the vast and great infinite,
and its melodious song resounds—the clear melody that fills the dense air,
in this dark night where everything dies slowly for eternity.
I Wait With Bated Breath...
(yes...yes...yes, this rhyme
resembles a recent one of mine
from a previous time,
yet appropriating wands zone writing
haint no crime -
at least not yet!)
Okay bull heave me you,
at this moment
alm completely unaware
what the a muse zing
genie of poetic
inspiration will bring
possibly shelving what Calliope
holds in store for me,
meanwhile now
with impatience it ching
visa vis to discover
what this Earthling,
(albeit modest) will be amazingly
graced with, meanwhile aye fling
haphazardly, indiscriminately,
and jocosely blitz
krieg feebly attempting
to contrive ingenious emits
poetic prestidigitation in fits
and starts, sans "FAKE" wits
as this humble
human imperceptibly orbitz
around mister Sun,
(which about bajillion years
from now suddenly quits)
shining foisting misery,
where Nyx knocks
(paddy whack give
my dog a bone...) divinely,
knowingly and spiritedly visits
(believe me you) this trumpeting
stupid moron loser
forever doth taint
after this moment
(no need tubby saint
lee and suppress any quaint
gut wrenching chortle)
at what aint
no farce), nor literary feint
yours truly painfully,
sorrowfully, and verily avers,
he now lacks fire and fury
(as if nettled by burrs)
nonetheless, which ambition
dust hanker mink thinks furs,
and foremost (Tom
morrow i.e. purrs
sues tha owl mighty,
where fame posthumously spurs
me amidst pantheon
of great writers
which dream dashed
into a million,
(no...no...no...not
bajillion this instance,
though good guess) pieces
abysmal silence replacing
(palimpsest like),
mine over imagination whirs.
Wailing like the sails of a trouble boat
Upon the sea amidst a storm, like clouds
Silent screams, like the stirred souls we can’t hear
But heaven is my hope
Unsure of T’where, like wood that is afloat
Not it would steer, the current takes about
So many concealed canvases I fear
But heaven gives me hope
Where would this tune that plays so loud, this note
This one that makes us dance like we were touts
I know not where it leads. To life or death?
But heaven is my hope
What would the penny that you save to gloat
Bring you, while your neighbour’s lack avows
With my eyes I watch. I can’t cease your breath
But heaven gives me hope
My hands can’t help! Eyes watch our values die
It’s heart had held a blade, and for so long
Poor kids that to earth come, your timing’s wrong
Let heaven be your hope
Plagued with impatience, greed that make gods cry
Strength filled arms folded oft, and hurtful tongues
We wrongly pride ourselves on what we’ve got
So heaven kept it’s hope
Our fathers had been humanly! We’re vile!
Our mothers helped all things like they were one
I hope that these saintly pasts would return
O heaven hear me hope
Man’s heart had loved and true, in pasts it had
It never told a lie nor nursed illness
Alas, now lastly filled with wickedness
O heaven, where’s our hope?