Matted Poems | Examples

old pleasures remembered

The Pleasure Remembered.
I saw her in a cafe yesterday; years had not been kind to her
her hair was matted, her skin was dry, and her lips were a sullen grimace,
not quite hiding her miss- coloured teeth.
Once, we slept entwined. I kissed the body and often burrowed
my head in her honey pot and drank her love juice like divine nectar.
She was sitting there, a lonely woman, thinking of her youth,
lost in thought, and her tea was getting cold.
It made me think of the nature of love; there must be a physical
Attraction first, loving the person comes later.
If I met her for the first time today, there would be no physical
attraction, but perhaps she would have had something interesting
to say. I just heard her cooing and sexual rapture.
The thought of sleeping with now was depressing, and for doing
that...no. But we did fly on wings of passion too high for us, and
we burst into flames, only ashes left. 
She looked around but didn´t
Recognize me, why should she
 A fat, bald man reading a paper?

Virginia Woolf

Have you read the note?
It speaks of the doom of the liquid element.
An inclement weather, grey, and with the fuss of a bleached lightning,
Besieges the tick of the clock.
Must have been a bland Sunday, which retreated
From the temerity of old wine,
Haunted by the lonesome refrains of exhausted hymns.
The belfry yawned loosely....
But quiet crept in like leprosy,
Hanging loops on loam-matted hair, black and fringy,
And nursing frets we held
When the wetted guitar strings would not strum....

Have you read her note?
Not the one of Mrs. Dalloway
Nor the one of Between the Acts,
But the one she cringed for —
That banal, invidious act, non-virginal,
Which haunts the church to this day.

Forgotten far from forgotten

I limp into the empty driveway.
Four days, two rainstorms, one infected leg.
The coyote's nip itches.
Dry spot where the red car parks.
You forgot me in that park.
My coat matted with thistle thorns.
I hope you don't return just yet.
That you're out searching for your friend.

Plight of the Wight

Never again to know fresh air,
Combing worms from my matted hair.
No one remains who’d ever care —
Tied to my grave, this lonesome baire.
I must escape the sun’s harsh glare,
Tread carefully down crumbling stair,
Descend into my crypt just there,
Where I sit alone in dark despair.
Upon my ancient worm-eaten chair,
Inside my vaulted charnel house lair,
Such a sad and accursed affair —
Never to rest, always aware.
This kind of death is so unfair:
No converse, no song, no whispered prayer.
A thousand lifetimes in disrepair,
Unattended, solus, solitaire.
Harshest sentence beyond compare,
Caught in this endless undeath snare.
Naught to do but eternity stare —
And comb the damn worms from my hair.

Mad Dog

It was grandma’s last winter.

I watched her hurry outside
to split enough wood so her old kitchen stove
would burn through the new storm
she felt gathering
along the horizon,
its first eiderdown already afloat
on the twilight
settling over her white garden.

From nowhere
a dog tormented by visions
plunged through the drifts
and laid ahold of her leg.
She hacked half through its neck
and crawled to the house,
dragging the axe in her blood-trail
lest she lose it in the snow.

She bandaged her wound at the sink.

My breath frosted the pane,
and rubbing a hole
I peered through the gloom
at the scarlet peony
blooming ‘round the dog’s matted head.

The thickening whorl of snow
gently tousled its fur,
tucking it in
until spring.

Cup

The love I have for you wakes me at night.
It sends me out at all hours shouting, 
Darting down the sidewalk in both directions.
It never smiles and always expects the worst.
It looks for you when you’re already there.

The love I have hollows me out with bombs when I sleep,
Then packs the broken spaces with flowers and scenes recalled, 
Of walks to the car wash when you were three, 
A spit-matted bear, clutched at your tiny hip.
 
I have no choice in loving you,
As much as a cat has whenever it bathes
Or a bird born knowing how nests are made.
So too am I mastered by codes too old and close to see,

How you’re in a cup in the hands of life
And the worried cup is me.

For Them We Worked

Forgive this battery; tilt up your chin. 
You're ready now. 
Still, absent. "Help! Help!"
Life running in. Futile.

Puckered breath on silent chest.
Crushing pain and animal calls.
"Please! Please!" A familiar voice.
We work. Not for you.

You are lost, forever and complete.
Distinguished face, absent now.
Silver hair matted red and brown.
For them. We work.

Body rushed to mind's demented end.
Forgive us this dishonour on
Your ancient bones.
We press, counting, breathing.

Declined decision raises ugly head.
Of vomit, of blood, of tears and shame.
A bookcase bare of recent tome,
Crushed under laced fingers. 

"What's the time?" It's over now. 
Last moments made brutal.
Forgive us this horror.
For them we worked.

My cat can’t be happy

Ok God hear it is
I spent eons perfecting an animal that cares about nothing I call it a……Cat
Gabriel beams as he places it gently in Gods lap

Could you please remove it
It is making a weird noise
and is constantly nipping me with its claws

Sorry your Lordness
Gabriel lifted the cat from his maker

Before we begin the test
I hope this is better than your last attempts
What was it again….God stroked his head
Yes the Dodo
The duck filled platypus
Oh and let’s not forget the humans

So …., shifting back on her throne…..test 1
Obey your maker
Come here……his finger pointing just beside her feet
The cat drew its eyes and darted off in chase of some flickering light

Okay good start…but let’s not celebrate too soon
Gabriel

Her me Cat sit
she sat transfixed by the cat
as it curled itself into a donut and fell asleep he glanced at Gabriel………very impressive

The cat leapt from its prone position
It jerks in juxtaposition with its grunts
Finally ending its exorcism in a matted tuft of regurgitated fur

Realia

A poodle lived in her shadow,
it was not ill-treated, just ignored,
its matted form
wandered around the house
looking to be noticed.

The living room
was littered with her underwear,
discarded bras, panties, garters and negligee.
I had no idea
why these things all came to rest here,
scattered around her like that.

I was an occasional pal of her son.
Once she fed a pink baby
from her own white flesh
as if not even noticing us boys.

The soft upholstery of the sittee
settled around her
proclaiming her sovereign presence.

The poodle hesitated to enter the room,
knowing, as we did,
we would never be part of her kingdom.

Eerie Forest

Swaying branches spy as secret spooks in canopy’s dungeon
Creepers knitted around trunks like ornamented bead chains 
Suspended pillar roots appear as the matted hair of Lord Shiva.
Hoarse noises as non-rhythmic beats of an amateur drummer
Serpents dragging their bodies on dried leaves with cracklings
Hoots, chirps, clicks, and whoops from the crowns of trees
Whispers of exhausted leaves and goggling eyes of silent owls
Spiders’ silky webs  levitating as the canvas of boats
Trunks green with mass, standing as Lucifer's lieutenants
Scent of flora mixed with acrid smell and the floor with sticky clag 
An impassable stretch never been eyed by the sun and moon as well.

PLACE: 3rd

Kailashanatha!

O Kailasanatha!
Imbued with serenity and calm,
Like the great Kailah that holds your fiery dreadlocks powerfully in its icy fold,
Even in the biting cold,
Makes everyone stand with their hands in prayer together ahold,

O Kedarnatha!
With your matted tresses,
And a boiling pot of emotions
That the holy Kailah redresses,

O Umanatha!
Opening your Third Eye,
You show the world the way,
As a catcher in the rye,

O Natanatha!
With your innocent countenance,
And your hands of virtue,
Can make life itself dance!

Desolate Trekker

A desolate trekker who walks undauntedly, 
Truth moves slowly but surefootedly
Through matted crowds of lies,
Ever stung by lethal fangs of vice. 

Her trek through moistureless terrains 
Unperturbedly winds on amidst pains;
Outnumbered by loathing children of gloom,
Till the coming of Diablo’s definite doom.

Sea Glass

The little urchin sat by the sea watching the waves splash 
no parent to watch him no rules to obey, just a big old sea
He survived on wild berries and fresh catch of the day 
half crazed with heat he wore nothing but skin hide 

A little roe deer depleted by summer, lost but not found  
no rescue mission in question for this child, un-abused   
He was raised by wolves in the thicket of the forest 
respecting nature he ate what he caught with bare hands 

A feral one with matted dreadlocks and eyes like sea glass    
moved like a panther with stealth, as he surfed the shore
first human contact was made by a fisherman on his arrival   
it took years to build up the trust, but eventually he spoke.

Invisible

Asleep on a pavement
Filthy and gaunt
Empty bottle beside him
Drowning demons that haunt

Few teeth, hair matted 
No shoes on calloused feet
Spirit beaten and broken
Years living on the street

Weathered, aged beyond his years
His mind lost to the booze
Alone, unseen, neglected
Trapped ,afraid ,confused

A precious young man full of life
Until addiction robbed his soul
Money for the next bottle
Now, his only life’s goal

Swore he would never be like him
Now he lay ,tagged John Doe on a slab
Cause of death…..Alcoholism
Exactly like his dad!

Ratty cat

Ratty cat, ratty cat,
old and alone,
sitting on a wood pile,
making it his own..
Ratty cat, ratty cat,
listening and wondering.
Why has the sky grown dark?
Could that be thundering?
Ratty cat, ratty cat,
here comes the rain..
Fur now soaking wet thru an
orange matted mane..
Ratty cat, ratty cat,
drenched as can be.
Are you waiting there for
a free meal from me?

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