Short Bristled Poems

bristled tail flitting
ears piqued squirrel's hollow cheeks
Hawk swiftly charges...

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pigeons bristled up
I am walking in from the terrace 
now here we are
me
pine tree
and pigeons

and Christmas...

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Dame van Dyke now reclines and relaxes,
while her lady-in-waiting re-waxes
      bristled shadowy skin
      of her chinny-chin-chin...
the vexation of vain battle-axes....

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You cut the rivers in half
bulldozed the banks edge
bristled the green trees
and threw florid ladies into the vetch
your old winkles
falling into shredded paper
your conversation not always edifying

...

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Once glistening strands of shiny gold
Curling in connection 
Seamless waves of silky smooth
Now lines of white infected
Bristled dry madness 
Strings snapping at their centers
Oil applied to try to try!
And slow down this infection...

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Did he have to toss me out here? 
Alleys are not comfortable places to be dumped off.
Noting a bad feeling, I keep my mace close. 
Gory things happen to those who are unaware. 
Even if I cannot see someone, I sense them. 
Reacting to my fear, I keep my back bristled....

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Those pink grey nights
Where grumbling echoes
of distant cars
parade with sounds of drunken
brawls
Staring at bristled
arm hairs
as ice castles form upon their tips
Night shivers through me
and each step
the next ice mask
forms
beyond the skin
that begs its touch...

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Earnest Ernie Van Stickle,
Sat on a mushy pub pickle.
Yeah, Ernie was hot,
He fumed as he bristled.
Now he had a wet spot.
with a big sticky tickler.
He said OH, why not,
and ordered a triple.
Then, even Earnie smiled,
when the bar keep opined,
Van, better wet, than a Thistle....

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Lynne knew she wanted to burst out of her life
Onto a new stage
She wanted to sing and dance
Frolic and swivel
Learn and love
Laugh and twirl 
She wanted to throw off all responsibilities
To leave school
To start her own adventure
Where to begin
And what direction?
She bristled with excitement...

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Daubs
__________________________________a nd
_____________________dabs

of                                                                    words
Like                                                  an

artist                                                      first

tentative                      strokes...

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I feel as a perfect thief:    
first I stole you a look,    
afterwards a caress, a kiss,    
until arriving to the valuable treasure: 
your heart.  

My lips smile, they express happiness;    
my skin is bristled, expressed shyness;    
my heart accelerates, expressed feelings.   
You have gotten it: I fell in love with you....

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Their eyes met briefly 
  She giggled

He smiled at her
  Her nose she wiggled

She smiled back
  His hips he swiveled

He removed his shirt
  Abs revealed, perfectly chiseled 

She threw back a mane of hair
  Her ample chest, it jiggled…

Sparks of electricity fairly bristled ~
  Just then was heard a low wolf-whistle...

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The sudden sound of talking turns quiet.
In the quiet remains we rumble forward.
Like distant planets, we only experience
     Life through impacts and collisions.

There is no higher God than your own voice.
And there is no point to God unless someone else is speaking.
Relax and repair, in your watchfulness,
Like the bristled flower,
The photo in the wind....

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Was it in the mood
before it became the colour
here light
bends itself asunder
where space between the clouds can shout
where reeds like bristled growth
upon the untouched face of earth
making castles
for unlit fishes
that drop inside
whose end is always sought
Emptiness that never met its spot
like crystalline cubes of clearest cool
in glass that sunlights chip...

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What lack that lay behind that kiss,
fast wiped, when at last dismissed,
by schoolchild’s sleeve across his lips?

No man or child for home embrace?
No gift to give but kiss this face?
No touch received, no sense of grace?

I will not know, save memory’s distaste 
still lingers.

Still wipes child’s feel of wetted face,
still feels those pointed bristled pricks 
surrounding mistress’ moistened lips....

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I THINK that I shall never see
A bug as ugly as a flea.

A flea whose chewing mouth is prest
against the doggie’s hairy chest;

A flea that bites the beast all day,
And lifts its bristled legs to prey;

A flea that will in summer tear 
a bloody hole where doggie’s bare;

Upon whose body germs abound;
and parasites throughout are found

Pets are kept by fools like me,
But God knows I despise the flea....

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The birdie whistled
A wet and wild song;
Damp feathers bristled.

Wild song, rain-scented;
Trills of petrichor,
With flapping, vented.

Petrichor afresh.
A hot steam, released.
Buds unfurl-refresh.

Released melody;
Shines sweet bluebird’s wings
In storm’s brevity.

Bluebird’s wings fluff bright,
As the sun billows,
At the beak’s delight.

Billows, of warm tweet
And zephyr, compete.
...

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Low dust clouds bristled
   In the sky but I did not see;
A lone grackle whistled
   A warning I did not perceive.

The world would not cease turning
   In its cruel mockery.
I sat upon a rock, faltering –
   Because of things that wouldn’t be.

Only distraction can persuade –
   Only sleep can steal
Such sadness that pervades
   And hot tears that swell

But hotter yet came a wind
   That brushed my fingers
As would one consoling
   And dried my tears....

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