Buckets sloshed out onto the ground.
I reached with fingers that seemed scraggly.
Snapped my fingers and they almost fell off.
With a “snap” I can taste in mysterious ways.
Gradual eye opening.
Stuff is pouring like clutter.
Whatever, stuff, things, words.
Depression helps me do stuff…
So if I’m slow moving?
I’m already feeling a thumb tack in my foot…
Just got too weary to take it out…
It was just easier to….
Take a slow moving nap.
Dump out stuff, things, blah.
Guess what? With depression, you don’t nap.
You just wake up,
Buckets sloshing onto the ground.
That’s how you get up.
MIDWINTER
Slushy, Sloshed,
Shivering, Sheltering, Slumbering,
Siri Nox, Siri Lumos,
Shimmering, Sunbathing, Singing,
Sensuous, Spirited,
MIDSUMMER
Celebrating emergence from hibernation and the transition from dark winter to bright summer
at the edge of the cliff,
she stood
determined…….
eyes limpid pools of sadness,
hair wind swept
flawed….?
damaged?
the swirling enormity below
inviting….!
nested in her own ignorance
never knowing there’s poison
in the sting of bees,
as dripping honey
in their combs.
consumed without flame
in the heat waves of life
an escape is ineluctable
to cover a secret kept…!
SWISH….!!!
the water below parted noisily
sloshed up…
but the tug was fierce.
down,
down
she slid,
into the silver chambers
to be garlanded by mermaids!
We had not canoodled for ages,
we washed bed linen,
sloshed saggy skin with surgical soap,
put on face masks
(rubber gloves were optional),
but they did remind us
of more risqué days.
We had old people sex -
less frantic, more careful.
I think I heard God laughing
as we both encouraged
slow-fuse orgasms
that declined to arrive together.
At our bedside
a stretched-out chocolate lab
huffed, a little bollixed,
as if overhearing
two hamsters exercising
on the same training wheel.
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
Autumn’s abundance attracts adventurers to Munich.
Oompa bands boast boisterous beats.
Beneath the boundless, blue Bavarian skies,
Bountiful banquets beckon where breads and bratwurst blend,
Beer bottles beckon, from barrels and bars.
Steins are sloshed with swaggering splendor.
Generations gather; Bavarians bask in bucolic bliss.
Hearts harmonize in humble hymns of heritage held dear.
Hand in hand, they huddle, harvesting hope
*Oktoberfest in Germany will take place from September 20 to October 5, 2025. This annual festival is held at the Theresienwiese in Munich. (source: oktoberfest.de). You still have time to book a flight and travel to Munich; hotel rooms, though, will be hard to find. smiles
If love were 'dark matter'
it would be the size
of a small kidney stone.
Hate is
an intestinal tapeworm
that gnaws at our vitals,
though most folks
remain unsure just what 'vitals' are.
The human brain
does not write poetry,
it merely crouches inside one ear,
while shouting into the other.
Poetry abides at the center
of an ever-expanding constellation
deep within the pineal gland -
that physical presence
manipulates, as many as
ten fingertips or toes
plus, a sloshed Calliope
swinging back and forth,
as she clings precariously
to chandelier-like Adam's apple.
Lips learn to think for themselves,
with the help of undocumented
angels.
Thus, naturally
organically produced poetry
can easily be manifest
while a nose dips deep
into a foaming glass of beer.
If I was an owl
I would swallow my prey whole
Letting them enjoy the entire trip
Down my gullet into my stomach
Being gentle with them as they sloshed through my juices
Not crushing them in a mean way like a python
If I was an owl
He trundled his way up the three heavy steps
His mop of hair searching every direction
In the middle of the stage a brash spotlight
shone on a large drum kit
Behind a curtain dangled over a hand painted sign
The burgundy curtains partially
covering the letters making it look like alent sho
The boy now seated behind the kit dwarfed by its side.
He adjusted his seat slightly, closed his eyes and
took a breath
The crowds murmurs abruptly cut by some drunks
sloshed repartee -Hey.kid you, a belch breaking his sentence-forgot your sticks
With a tiiter of some of the onlookers
The young boy slowly opened his eyes
A tear slowly rolled down his pale cheeks
Swaying from his chin for a moment
before falling
It meandered along the cymbal's it’s tremor almost melodically before snapping upon the snare
Each tear falling in perfect formation
No beat missed a methodical beat
One after another
The silence of the audience
mesmerised by his music
He played with such sadness
The tears of those watching only adding to his symphony
at the edge of the cliff,
she stood,
determined…….
eyes limpid pools of sadness
hair wind swept.
flawed….
damaged?
the swirling enormity below
inviting….!
nested in her own ignorance,
never knowing there’s poison,
in the sting of bees,
as dripping honey
in their combs.
in the heat waves of life
consumed without flame
yes, an escape ineluctable!
perhaps more to cover a secret…
SWISH….!
the water below parted noisily,
sloshed up… but the tug was fierce.
down, down….
she slid,
into the silver chambers
to be garlanded by mermaids!
Rhino baby bubbles up the sink in a flash
He is showing his goods, and he makes an incredible splash!
This is a whine sloshed out by my roommate, Leroy Flash.
Who is a bit scared of the baby; his teeth all a’gnash!
I was born in a landlocked getaway town
Where all the colors were black, gray, or brown.
Jobs at the steel mill were ratcheting down.
It was not in my future to stay.
So, I took a long walk off a very short pier,
An unschooled, untraveled recruit buccaneer
On a quest to cross Neptune’s vast salty frontier.
Hopped a slow boat to China one day.
Underway on the Crescent City, it seemed
The ocean was wider than I’d ever dreamed.
A ship load of sinners, our souls unredeemed
Steaming west toward whatever there was.
Keelung told Hong Kong to call Singapore.
Subic Bay badgered Mombasa for more.
Sea legs, as always unsteady ashore,
Even more so with liquor and drugs.
Bilge water sloshed in the depths of the hold.
The mizzen mast learned what the typhoon foretold.
I was sea duty tempered and Shell Back enrolled;
Wasn’t nothing but maritime norm.
I was born in a hard luck blue collar town.
Half the way broken and half the way down.
But time gifts its renaissance scepter and crown
To a jack tar who’s weathered the storm.
After all, life is but a twisted tale,
Of trying blue; to weigh us, if model.
To find happy rest in all we travail...
Winnings, everyone continually tail,
Unleash cheats and deceits of sh*ts coddle...
After all, life is but a twisted tale!
Satisfaction has stolen away scale,
That manoeuvres peace at achievement's jail,
To find happy rest in all we travail.
Then the world becomes completely new ale,
That subjects sloshed sanity to waddle...
After all, life is but a twisted tale!
Time moves fast unlike dream's series avail,
Its fulfilling bail to rescue Abel.
After all, life is but a twisted tale!
How dire Cain reckons not blood, but impale
His brother; blackmail his death, wroth unveil.
After all, life is but a twisted tale,
To find happy rest in all we travail.
Hardly venture into such verse.
In her bedroom, she wrote her curse.
She despised bright pupils at Yale.
If water drops could tell their tale.
She went on long walks in the drought.
They urged her to blend in and flout.
In gray rain, she went past wan shale.
If water drops could tell their tale.
Had they fed the felled holy trees?
Her thongs sloshed in a thoughtful breeze.
Gather, freeze, pour down wet and hail.
If water drops could tell their tale.
Where had those lovely old dribs been?
which dropped sunk ships and saved Tholepin.
She found longing despite the hail.
If water drops could tell their tale.
Written: August 09, 2022
A Kyrielle about Water Poetry Contest
Sponsor- Kim Rodrigues
Checked by HMS.COM
16 Lines 8syllables each/ 4 Stanzas.
Here lies the last of the brood
Though always sloshed, never rude
Fame and fortune eluded him
So, he filled himself up to the brim
Always there when we would call
He died from drinking alcohol.
written February 26, 2022
The air was pure and bright. A sea-salt tingle
hovered in an easygoing offshore breeze.
In mesmerising rhythm, wavelets sloshed
and swished along the timeworn jetty wall.
The bay was sparkling in the morning light
as early gannets hungrily patrolled
their crystal-clear domain.Slight movement now
within the overnighting boats, safe moored,
serenely sheltered at the break of day.
A swan flotilla, now near fully grown
and all in a row, in silence glided by,
exploring weed and tidal offerings
under a careful matriarchal eye.
The year was moving on, the midges gone,
and still the little ferry ploughed its course
across the bay, its passengers intent
on finding peace and personal content.
The cafe at the pier, with clinking cups,
was heralding the day, with early starters,
few in number now. The summer throng
dispersed and homeward bound, to feed
on memories. For some, like me,
a fitting epitaph might be
“He lived his life in thoughts of Arran “.
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