Flicks and rolls,
It works in a wondrous way
Though some wish it would not obey
as the brain slowly tolls.
I enjoy how the lines flow
like they’re sought in the sky afar,
and though they leave the soul ajar,
it pays off what I owe.
As it aches slow and decadent
and helps litter my anatomy,
this is not a regret to me
as my pains are now evident.
Controlled by will
and yet none to be found
therefore no need to ground
what can be perfectly still.
The joint is my lover,
ligaments let the blood flow,
hidden and more on show,
all will be worn and washed over.
I have worked myself young,
creeks, grinds with naivety
skint with offers for prosperity,
so my wrist is what i have brung.
I met a fellow with a serious case of ‘Seuth poetry wrist’
~ He ended every poem with a humorous twist
Not for contest. Merely inspired by same. ~ gw
The moth mistakes my bare skin for moonlight—recurring, insistent. Its wings dust the wrist like a forgotten promise, reminding me of a question I never dared ask aloud. I had held his wrist, not his hand. A ghost of a moment playing on loop in my hypnagogic state.
moonlight
TrEmBlEs
on my wrist
where s i l e n c e nestles
and my pulse
p^u^l^s^e^s
until wings
forget what F L I G H T meant
without aCHe
and consequences …
Silverback led his gorilla by the wrist
out into the fog and missed,
lost his heart and then his way,
sadly, he was heard to say,
"Don't get me wrong,
I'm no King Kong,
it's plain to see,
so, don't make a monkey out of me."
Silverback took his gorilla by the hand,
looking for the promised land,
a jungle bungle at very best,
made him roar and beat his chest,
"What can I say,
she's no 'Fay Wray,'
here on the ground
I'm an ape, I don't monkey around."
….nobody dies on my Watch
This joke has been brought to you
By mes
A sudden flicker of space
Saw inpouring of grace
Activating both wrists
There is no mistake
Since we were awake
Endless are divine trysts
We catalogue this event
Of boons heaven sent
For record keeping
Mindful eye cognises
How magnetism rises
Within our form leaping
We wait for news of the sale of our house,
our home. Weeks pass. Unsettled. Unable
to focus on anything else. All seems
temporary; provisional or not relevant.
I call to mind patients needing patience;
waiting for results. Not knowing. Tested.
Trust tested explores hope, rehearsing what ifs.
Whatever news comes, knowing brings relief.
Decisions can be made. Actions follow.
In writing I'm reflecting and learning.
It feels like a long vigil: attending;
depending on others. Waiting on God –
struck by those fleeing conflict or climate,
how trivial our testing. I slap my wrist.
Knocking across my abilities
That I could find it tough
The battle to play in no time
My wrist dissipating out of power
To watch the surroundings of ours
Such that my hand less weighed
Although no stretch made possible.
Thinking within my instincts
Where I should search some options
The decision to put into action
Oh medulla! Why no pathway?
To create some streams of ideas
For I felt too overwhelmed
Regardless that I got a relief.
Waving through my oceans
All the flows zero viscous
The length to alter no frequency
Getting myself move steady
Moving in a manner of disbelief
One of my organs hearing a relief
Strengthening a progress being chief.
Looking behind the windows
No creature would be visible
Such a view to loudly shout at
Eyes smelling the sound of bitterness
Having myself dance in betterness
'cause it led me fully relaxed
And finally my wrist had relieved.
Leaping, spilling, jumping,
The flowing crimson flood
Pours forth, my heart still pumping
The river of my blood
Technological marvel:
who’d have ever guessed?
They went to the moon,
powered by less.
The thing receives phone calls,
it’s got GPS,
a mindfulness app
for when you are stressed.
It monitors heart rate,
can produce EKGs,
prompts you when it’s time:
take your medicine, please.
Blood-oxygen levels,
hours of REM sleep;
If you’re under the water,
it knows just how deep.
If you’re lost in the woods,
it will help get you back,
or blast a loud siren
if you’re under attack.
The steps that you took,
the stairs that you climbed,
record a voice memo
to capture a rhyme.
Listening to music,
or receiving a text,
keep up with your groceries,
so your wife won’t be vexed.
For the gals, tracking cycles,
and for all, track your phone,
keeps up with the NASDAQ,
and the stocks that you own.
But it doesn’t record
all the things that you missed -
Life in arrest,
watching your wrist.
The Wrist
Bears the watch marking time
And moments sublime
Shakes the hand to impress
And flaunt success
Deftly bends to play the notes of staccato
And trills of vibrato
Takes the pain
As drugs enter the vein
Radial pulse strong and steady
Then later thready
The rhythm of life eventually ceasing
Unleashing, cut like a knife
My head burning!
My eyes turning!
Stomach churning!
It’s a new twist
Requiring a priest:
To God close enough to clear the mist
Prayers firing while holding my wrist
Or delivering right hand on my splitting head
Now, often seeking a pillow on any bed!
Or should I a doctor try?
To halt this that does my system fry?
Would a doctor
Prove the victor
Or a worse actor
And me our priests not hector?
I wanna be able to show everyone the scar on my left wrist
Without being judged, or mocked or laughed upon
I wanna be able to tell the story behind the scar
To everyone who asks
I wanna be able to tell everyone that my life
Isn’t perfect
That however much I may pretend
I too am broken
I don’t really care about the world
But I wanna be able to tell you
How I feel
Without fearing
That you too will leave
I don’t think I will be able to hide the scar anymore
For I no longer have any strength left
I just wanna be me
And sometimes I feel its too much to ask for
I wanna be able to tell you
How I cut my wrist
With no gist
Not using a blade
But a soft graze
And how much it hurt
After the blood spurt
I wanna tell you
How I feel when I lose control
And how much better you make me feel
I just wanna be me
A girl with a scar on her left wrist..
I can’t believe today that I broke my wrist!
And I can’t push the button for the cream that’s whipped
How am I to eat an ice cream sundae?
Without that white topping that brings it thunder
And what am I to do when I want some jello?
Cause on top of that dessert whip cream is stellar
Oh woe is me now that I broke my wrist!
I can’t get the cap off since it needs a twist
Maybe I can borrow you for this?
Then together we can dream of ice cream bliss
Where are we to scatter the ashes when our flesh meets fire in the crematorium
For my ode forgery is the forbidden romance of the sky and the sea
Today I've decided to run the marathon of my past lovers
Ply my sinful body against thee
And when day draws the curtains and decides to love in the dark
I find myself writing about lust
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