shy ghost creeps
behind mind's eye
s t a l k i n g
under the skin,
sharp and electric
a deep hum
burns hot
like pepper
and stings
in the mind...
plumbs the d
e
p
t
h
s
for hidden truth
the answer? elusive.
l o o k
to the ghost...the way
I am fascinated by blood’s rapid color change
blue inside my skin
the older I get, the better I can see the azure color
my hands have a crooked trail of blue under the skin
and yet, the instant someone puts a needle in my vein
the blood changes to red
I want to put my eye down there and see it as blue
before oxygen can turn it
so, it will seem more royal, less common
I have not figured out a way yet.
Sacred are the living?
And just why would that be?
Decay, gifts a-giving!
Under the skin to see.
Light, fall fast! Soul, fly away.
Poison, work thee hard.
Sunlight in my sky, shine grey!
Crystals, bear thy shard!
Emperor of ancient world?
Best that ye revive.
Spear in warrior hands a-hurled!
No longer alive!
Doom, claim all. End Times, begin.
How else can we win?
Blanch everything, light of Sin!
Drown it all, O vin!
Wicker man and bickering mare.
Tortoise, eat the hare.
O tornado, on a tear!
Thunderstorms aren't rare...
Warp and woof. The Devil's hoof.
Gambrel, pitch and roof.
Smoke of bonfire, in a poof!
Joker, time to goof!
Hated are the days of man.
Lengthen not each span.
Clock of mankind, how you ran!
Eat, reptilian!
I'm more watery than women
under the skin
altho' my body's composed
of 6 chemical elements within
and all that remains
to go with the flow
is approx. 60% H2O
and the gravity of the situation maintains
if I stand
on my head or hands
or do cartwheels
(head under heels)
(tho' I prob'ly shouldn't oughta)
on the cranium I'll have water
(hydrocephalus)
then again who knows
how else would I experience
some of those
cerebrum faves
alpha beta delta theta
brain-storming waves
ever really knowing
if I'm coming or going
meanwhile
what am I to do with you
as somewhat akin
under the skin
yet now quite skint
but taking a sprint
and just for fun
making a dummy run
if I may say
it's leave or stay
quite the conundrum
of all things the sum
but when it's said and done
of the be and end-all none
for should you ever think of me
tho' unruly I could be
there's more to life than this
and banter's what I truly miss
not so much the rinky-dink
as everything including the kitchen sink
The peace they display is a ripe fruit from thousands of battles,
They walk among us, in a silence that intrigues and soothes,
We think they have always been this way, under a benevolent star,
But this peace vibrates like metal hammered a thousand times,
It resonates with the memory of blows and raw wounds.
A hundred years of inner war means demons faced,
The fear of not being enough, doubt like a splinter under the skin,
Anger burning inside, more than any enemy,
It's a hundred years of learning: forgiveness frees oneself,
That falling matters less than refusing to rise.
Their peace is a silent victory, a fortress without walls, light,
It's not forgetfulness, but a comforted memory, inhabiting the cracks,
It does not fear the storm, knowing that at the end the sky is washed clean,
And when their eyes meet yours, you feel the humility,
Of those who have walked through fire and found themselves undefeated.
Body rejects itself,
Bone-dry and like a furnace,
It burns alive, kill
It is sand, dead
Dig two graves,
Refuse to rot,
This isn’t revenge.
Hate the body,
It’s nothing but problematic.
One ear open,
Stay somewhat conscious.
Maggots crawl in the body, tearing under the skin,
Refuse to rot, feel it inside-out.
Fling a rope,
It will not reach,
YOUR BODY isn’t strong enough.
A little spark. A work of art.
She lit the dark and filled my heart.
Around I turned to feel the burn.
There she lies. I’ll never learn.
She huffed and puffed and blew me down.
I was amazed at what I’d found.
She drifted high above the rest
But didn’t pass the acid test.
A little prick under the skin.
It’s quite the trick how she snuck in.
Then through the vein up to the brain
The little things drove me insane.
She soothed and smoothed my troubled brow.
She calmed my nerves, I don’t know how.
She laid me down. I felt so blessed.
But didn’t pass the acid test.
A little sign. A dream defined.
I drew the line there in my mind.
Then, unaware, without a care
I breathed her in like so much air.
She revved me up and sped my pulse.
Somehow, some way she got results.
I must admit, she did impress
But didn’t pass the acid test.
At The Madrasa
On the floor, we three intertwine,
glances that linger, hands that align.
Many pages of verse we recite and tread,
A hand touches hand, no words are said.
Fingers trace the zippers glide,
A sudden warmth, a spark inside.
Bare beneath fabric, thrill within,
A rushing pulse under the skin.
Lips graze nipples, tender and close,
In the library, where no one knows.
Kisses that linger, tender and wet,
Stirring a fire, dripping hot sweat.
Heavy breath, our bodies collide,
Fingers penetrate, no need to hide.
******’s surge, crashing in flight,
lost in each other, moans of delight.
Among all the girls in the room,
Where passion and love bloom.
In warm embraces, the hours slip by,
Until our teacher lets us go with a sigh.
You are your fellow man
We are all the same under the skin
With all the same wants and desires
To love and be loved
To help each other in times of need
Be it a kind word
A helping hand
Or just sharing life's experiences
Listening, offering support
It is human to care for your fellow man
One day that love will all come back
In your darkest moment
Love will lift you from the depths
Till you are singing once more
Laughing again and loving again
You are your fellow man!
Timid Man
The ridiculed mind of a man stands between two lines, To stagger in thought, Never to vine. My slivered emotions, As they wither away, Are left to wallow in past decay. To dig at a splinter under the skin, Scratching the surface of catered sin. Wish I was to dead to care, Without pain, And no despair. To fear without trembling, To see without eyes, To feel without touching, To have reasons without whys. To breath without taking, To cry without tears, To suffer without aching, To pass days without years. To live without dying, To fly without wings, To search without finding, To flow without streams. To end without starting, To never hale a dream, To protect without guarding, Nothings what it seems. There's a look in his timid eyes, To afraid to live, To afraid to die. Your betrayed by self illusion, You live in thoughts demise, To be suffocated by deception, And blinded by its disguise.
All this skin holds my body
working or as a homebody
what a miracle it is
do not give me a quiz
now I need to go potty.
Under the skin we find many bones
some say they are hard as stones
bones ache from time to time
calling out a rhyme
my heart sings and never groans.
Date Written: 6/12/2023
A Double Limerick
I stare at these old hands, where is the timekeeper?
Who can count my rings? Will they have to slice me?
How can these ancient hands be attached to my wrists?
Flipping them over I see that my pale skin is thinning
Three prominent blue veins under the skin touch my bracelets
Where is the time keeper? Why are the seconds so fast now?
I stare at these old hands, wondering to whom these old hands belong.
She dresses perfectly with prominent spikes in her hair,
long and flowing brown violet braids,
which make her face exotic and relaxed..
she wears several precious stones between her hands and feet,
with flower tattoos surrounding her fingers
mortals adore her because it is beautiful and impossible to have,
the diaphanous and crystalline skin like perfect porcelain,
smells of fresh algae and freshly picked water lilies..
they play ethereal music when she is around,
and they build sheer and transparent dresses
that enhance her sweet curves..
the way she sings awakens spring and lulls children of paradise into their smallest and most colorful dreams,
she is a surreal creature that man has ever seen..
the golden scales fade in color like the rainbow,
peek out from under the skin,
and shine brightly in your eyes through the sunbeam.
I see you beyond
your humanness,
your one of a kind-ness.
When you recite your work, it
pricks the ears of nightingales,
they stand still and listen,
their heads tilt to one side,
they are captivated by the rich tone of your voice.
Same—when you write a couplet,
a rhyme, a haiku, a free verse,
sharing your innermost thoughts,
your words remind us of good times and sad times,
and of special occasions we’ve lived.
They make us laugh or shed a tear
cos we can relate and we are moved.
We trip on nostalgia.
The aura bringing your words alive
makes them shine bright for all to read;
enriching hearts, reaching deep under the skin,
arousing goosebumps, while motivating and healing.
Thoughtfulness lodged between each word—
not ordinary words—but words bearing intentions
to display truth, to heal and connect souls.
Our lives are enriched by your metaphors and rhymes.
Dear poets, you are a freaking, exceptional breed!
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