Short Bristle Poems

broken bristle branch
robin tock
thistle fog fleck...

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bristle,coach whistles
a student athelete down
cpr started...

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summer lightning
hits the old tree
bristle brush snags a spark...

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deciduous tree
limbs bristle in winter wind
ever green fortress...

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fish markets bristle
tourist traps brim with coy baits
acropolis shrouds...

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Bristle sun and hide.
Clothe yourself in cloud blankets
of cool whisper steam......

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Ideas and vivid images I soon find
Bristle and crowd my mind;
Stirred from sensations hidden below
Now on streaked palettes flow....

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Do not park 
Under a tree
And then bristle
About bird droppings
Atop your car
I'm just sayin'

Date written and posted: 10/27/2017...

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My Mother liked to whistle
Which made my Father bristle
Although Mum whistled well
Dad thought it unladylike for a gel
To whistle, abyssal...

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Penny was lost in the city
A passing young lad thought her pretty
He gave her a whistle
This made Penny bristle
She scowled at the lad, what a pity...

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The bristle of our skins,
the taste of the mouth,
the awakening of the smell,
the anticipation of pleasure

are precipitated forms
of harmonious coexistence
between the pure amalgam
and body vibration....

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Hard-working, calloused hands 
firmly imprint ridges upon my back.
Your sandpaper face, like a fine file, 
smooths against my neck gently.
Like your rugged bristle terrain, 
my arm hairs stand erect.


11-7-19...

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Your sound flew through the air,
A blaring auditory missile,
Though no one that I noticed
Seemed to cringe or even bristle.

The driver of the bus, however,
Waited just a bissel,*
Enough to let on board the man
Inspiring this epistle.

*little bit in Yiddish...

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Captive of the heart
You are a willing prisoner
You fain the life, a poet's soul
And bristle when love, like writers block
Amplifies the anguish
And tolerates your impotence
Above all, time is not a comfort
It ticks down louder and slower
Until time stops and stills it's beat...

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She says I am a bear this morning
- my hairs bristle, 
apparently I’m unbearable.

I tell her I love 
park rangers and children,
mention that I am more
an amiable walrus.

She’s not buying
the whole walrus thing.

I follow her to the breakfast table
growling,
black coffee in hand....

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Rather than talking to walls –
I’d prefer a saguaro
For the wisdom they know.
Centuries – they come and go –
Leaving mysteries unsolved

And the traditions Loss mourns
Told through centenarian eyes
Could straighten crooked lies
With some persuasion – surprise! –
Instead – they bristle with thorns....

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Small crickets chirping
Wonder what may be lurking
Gentle limbs bristle
The wind a lunar whistle
Moonlight from above
Casts shadows to below
A distant howl of wolves
Their intentions may be cruel
A few croaks from a pond
When you look for them they’re gone
The beauty of the night
Until broken by the dawn...

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She thought she had nothing to gain
and posing for it would be a pain
but son insisted
against her wishes
her portrait gaining a lot of fame

Women would look at it and bristle
holding tight onto their epistles
but not their men
they loved the new trend
her long black dress making them whistle.



10-24-17...

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There was a rustle 
With a madden hustle
We huddled inward 
Exhaling all doubts
Thus Cringing 
with each fated steps
To unveil your hidden passions
Bestowed by natures’ cravings  
Vested by the driven breezy wind
enclosed within a canopy of clouds 
 Enveloping our world
Causing a bristle 
Thus stirring a drizzle...

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What choice has bittersweet despair,
A dying rose,
An empty chair.
Shall I then grieve and weep for thee
And temper broken heart and soul
So I can cherish one more gaze
Of happiness, of summer days
And bristle with abiding love
Of life cast now in shade and brook,
This ebb which pains with force and fate
United soon through heavens gate....

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Bleeds
Pleads
Begs
Love leaks down his sleeve
Bone and bristle
Heart reaped
Soul raped
A broken man with homeless face
Waiting
Meekly at hells fiery gates
Dreams in a bottle
Messages from above
Broken glass cuts deep
Into rivers red of bloody consumption
The earth takes what the pregnant give
Spitting away
The butterflies
That hover and hope
For better days...

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A high silhouette,
lucidly etched, a raptor,
feathers flickering in sunlight,
a thing carved 
and branded in a window of space,
an osprey.

It plunges, strikes the filmy dazzle
a bristle of talons,
and there on the face of the water
it cleaves its own swooping shadow.

Then it mounts the sky once more;
 a shimmering fish 
looks back
at its last swim....

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Old Man

his weatherbeaten face, lined
with the hills and valleys of age
watery blue eyes set against a
backdrop of bloodshot white
his cheeks reddened from
sun and alcohol, his aquiline
nose has lost its nobility
his once full lips now just
scowling lines covering remnants
of jagged teeth
his stubble covered chin now
a dirty gray bristle
life has not been kind to him
...

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Bristle summer days
In a land full of flowers and mountains....
—I love the warmth of your embrace
that makes pleasure worthwhile
and worries far away

In the winter night,
Saving me from the coldness and drawing me closer,
My heart thumps at the thought of your neglect

treat me like a plant
hide me in a pot,
 protect my parts
and at the end, don't give me away
  © Kafe3lah...

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His wheel completed her ride


His Ferris wheel whistle blew at her carousel bristle 
sending a shrivel as his eyes bore into hers and tickle
On playground of love was biggest attraction from above
his hands coveting his little dove to his fancy thereof
She jumped on his ride taking a spin with a big happy grin
the hot breeze  touching her skin as he bore on and in

connie pachecho

1/11/17...

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