butter's stuff: the good, the ugly, and the incomplete
- Thread starter butters
- Start date
butters
High on a Hill
- Joined
- Jul 2, 2009
- Posts
- 84,496
live writes bounce
like pebbles off the window
or hail reversing its long long fall in a sudden leap
exhibiting its need to be airborne moments longer
so as to delay the moment of its melt
we hit the plane and bounce in shock
attempting to engineer a reversal of thoughts committed to screen
but gravity sucks us in
and in
we melt
here
right before your eyes
like pebbles off the window
or hail reversing its long long fall in a sudden leap
exhibiting its need to be airborne moments longer
so as to delay the moment of its melt
we hit the plane and bounce in shock
attempting to engineer a reversal of thoughts committed to screen
but gravity sucks us in
and in
we melt
here
right before your eyes
butters
High on a Hill
- Joined
- Jul 2, 2009
- Posts
- 84,496
remember the days
we would sneer
at our mums
when they cheered and they beamed -
a new washing machine?
now my own's broken down
and the laundry's undone
I was told just to wait
until it could come
(the new one)
but a phonecall arrived
and the girl had her say
"there's a slot opened up
we'll deliver
Friday"
now i know history
tells us "girls, swing 'em free"
it's a sign of the times
it's emancipatory -
but I have to admit
now i know how mum felt
and my smile full of glee's
all domestically
fit to split!
we would sneer
at our mums
when they cheered and they beamed -
a new washing machine?
now my own's broken down
and the laundry's undone
I was told just to wait
until it could come
(the new one)
but a phonecall arrived
and the girl had her say
"there's a slot opened up
we'll deliver
Friday"
now i know history
tells us "girls, swing 'em free"
it's a sign of the times
it's emancipatory -
but I have to admit
now i know how mum felt
and my smile full of glee's
all domestically
fit to split!
butters
High on a Hill
- Joined
- Jul 2, 2009
- Posts
- 84,496
fingers stutter
halt
hinder
flutter
breath
mutter
ooohs and
is that the moon
so bright so bright
spilling cool its pale milk light
shadows sip and shadows fold
shadows make the heart beat bold
clouds across the stone-cold orb
hush the hoof-beats
at the ford
rivers rise and rivers run
greet the rose pre-dawn till sun
comes to burn away the mists
to leave behind residual bliss
halt
hinder
flutter
breath
mutter
ooohs and
is that the moon
so bright so bright
spilling cool its pale milk light
shadows sip and shadows fold
shadows make the heart beat bold
clouds across the stone-cold orb
hush the hoof-beats
at the ford
rivers rise and rivers run
greet the rose pre-dawn till sun
comes to burn away the mists
to leave behind residual bliss
butters
High on a Hill
- Joined
- Jul 2, 2009
- Posts
- 84,496
here you go, anna - all within the last 4 years.
and still i stare
her hands, her dress, her hair
all fail
to tear my gaze aside
from eyes
whose sadness is a shockwave
breaking over me
they say she's crazy
bleeders
with experience comes
a thinning of the blood
a coolness of the brain that
lifts the mists
and in the grass
the liars sharp as glass
are easier to see
handy that
for bleeders
such as me
estranged
how to communicate with the moon
when it sails so high
so lofty
a blind eye
indifferent to semaphore
and ill-equipped to receive thoughts
launched
in a rocketship
dawn raid
black shapes
with their black sounds
drop black tears on a
sleeping city
day erupts
bright with pain
love comes quietly
there is no grand parade, no clarion call
for magic happens in quiet quarters
small gestures, in the catching of an eye
back alleyways, the vistas of a sigh
in dusk's cool plums - that backdrop to starlight
and mists across the moon on autumn nights.
laughter, warm and fresh, can swell a heart
enmesh it, happily, and two hands held
in firelight's soft red and embered glow
will hold the memory of that touch although
the snow lays all around, and freezing hail
vies with the bitter wind to no avail.
Time teaches us best listen to the breeze
for truths are small and love comes
quietly.
backsliding
on those green days
when dreams forget they've long been put aside
so easy to get lost
again
dog days
the grey dog rests
her bones in the shade
eyes half open
ears muffled by age
she's quiet except for
the wheeze of slow breathing
but make no mistake
she's watchful and smart
though stamina's failing
and teeth are half broken
she's wily and wary
still able to bite
tangled
life's a complicated maze
and my string is
full of knots
u.v glare
not an easy man to love
yet vital as the sun
he lit my days
now i know:
to fly too close risks sunburn
and the cancer of him
when his uncertain light eclipsed
i found i owned an inner heat
and when i looked into the night
the sky was full of stars - all shining
watching for boats
i stand on this island
looking out to sea
watching for boats
and if my gaze
could draw you back to me
there'd be footprints in the sand by now
but the sea's not giving up its secrets
and skies change and change again
shifting sands beneath my feet
vibrate to strange rhythms
a beat too rapid surges -
fails
spirit
it's when i close my eyes
close out the madding crush
allow the hush to come
it's at these times
these quiet, hungry times
i feel you
white flags
fingers
are better than eyes
for discovering flaws
subconsciousness
speaks truer than
the heart
lovers
march blindly with the band
hands behind their backs
bright hearts exposed
end of an ice-age
although, outside, a frozen waste
all feeling chased away and numb
the movement of her secret core
declares "No, wait! this is not done -
there's more!"
it powers through that glacial crust
vaporising all to dust
combusting quite enough to thaw
her icy status quo
a cat's tail
when tucked around her feet
the tail suggests
a state of firm composure
we can guess
at other messages
but only guess -
her eyes reveal no trace
of mental stress
she sniffs the proffered dish
but watch her tail
flick twice, abruptly, of its
own accord
then with contempt it dips
and flicks again -
to leave behind no doubts
about the meal
when neighbours' cats disturb
my wayward mog
her tail transforms, becomes
an angry snake
accompanied by much hiss
and caterwaul -
stark warning of her
felinicious wrath
when startled by some loud
or sudden noise
her tail appears to swell
to twice its size
points heavenwards, above
her saucered orbs -
a bristled flag that flags her
own surprise
when just the tip is gently
all atwitch
bird-gazing or when lazing
in the sun
with eyes three-quarters closed
and ears adrift -
she's fondly entertaining
nature's fun
for me, she saves a special
tail-ored code
a punctuation used
when i've been gone -
her furry question-mark
requests to know
where have i been and if i,
now, am home?
from the 007 Lit challenge
his thoughts are tailored
closer than his suit
those fire-ice eyes
turn away
his voice asks more
than the question he poses
I sit and think of the surf
how the water streamed from
hard flesh, scarred flesh
wonder how he'd taste on my lips
he hands me the glass
frosted and rimmed
a bead of moisture
slides down its stem
I stroke it away
taste my finger, finding salt
he swallows
*
undercover agents
when I checked out his pen
it seemed out of ink
so i started to twist
screwing its barrel
he took it from me
warned me it might expel
unexpectedly spill
said he didn't want stains
on the shag pile
no, really, he said
don't shake it that way
it'll squirt up the walls
let everyone know we were spies
suck it and see
see if it will leak
invisible ink
we can write with
trust me
he said
my word is my bond
*
some
thing about bad boys
keeps her attention
eyes liquid green
a purr in her throat
their
minds, their presence
devilish intentions
keeps her claws sheathed
paws butter-soft
she
slips from the table
stalks the red carpet
hair sleek and shining
a collar of gems
sniffs
at his bare throat
the man with the blue eyes
and with a soft growl
pours into his lap
expanded skulls
in dark delicious silence
torpid grubs burrow
their soft slow way
umber juices atrail
as they inch upwards
inwards
swollen with intent to hatch
in hot, expanded skulls
five word soup poem
poems
like soup
require flavour
not everything
that springs from the soil is good
not everything organic's always wholesome
there's a certain shade of green
of white
that sprouts and dances
pretty in the light
yet harbours poisons
some more subtle than others
all of them intimate
she's cupped
in the white bowl of his thoughts
melting slowly
white on white
stirs her with a lazy finger
brings it to his lips
then sighs
bored with vanilla
if only he'd added
some sauce to the occasion
positive thinking
in a dark and burning world
where even ice catches fire
where skies peel
and the soil is sour
where howlback oscillates
cinder cone to horizon
a shabby soul
may yet get clean
at least
that's what i tell myself
thoughts and tunes - a study in light and shade
half her face is lit
that half furthest from his back
light weighs on his shoulders
curls them inwards
away from her
and the shadows she makes on the table
and that damned half-halo
limning a mirroring curve
and he's unaware
of how her cigarette's smoke
drifts up and away
to that high, narrow window,
its passionless stare
twinned downlighters
over him
over her
shaded thoughts
shaded faces
and though his nose and lips are
lined with light
his eyes are closed
the shadows are speaking
along with the light
listen, you'll hear them
the smokey stroke of ivory
shadows in a wordless voice
and on the table
fourset and square
the handbag
closed
makes shades of its own
she's all closed
arm closing him out
reflecting his angles
nicotine and alcohol mere props in this composition
beneath fingers of light
and shade
no black keys
he brings his own shadows
at least from this angle
as her legs are angled
towards him but crossed
they deny him
she denies all of him
curtains her thoughts
and he is a curved closed shield
tender neck exposed
two chairs:
a dark gap yearns between one and the
light that still spills
on a table top
while the chair at her table
empty as empty can be
as if it's been empty a long time
no-one welcome in that chair
defined by sirens
and the sirens
the sirens
hold the night
define
in strident notes that try to tear
my skull in two
or more
i can't be sure
of anything any more
it's so surreal
i feel the fabric where i sit
its stiff nap
but fingers won't interpret
or tips translate a colour
to a brain that's all night
split
and split again
i've no spit left
with which to swallow
and my ears don't hear
the moving lips of
busy service men
my ears and eyes know nothing
numb with shock
looking at the body
stretched and tubed
obscenely pummeled
over and over
"clear!"
i worry about bruises
waves gather
shake frothy skirts
rush
and boil
crash against indifferent cliff
cling
for foaming moments
enough to stir
then fling away
away
away
eroding
stealing more
sing a song of nookie
muffins hot as pie
all the whores at Hackney
wanted overtime
and when the politicians
began to squirm and writhe
the madam came, got out her tits
and whipped them into line
egg fried rice, egg fried rice
see how he cums
see how he cums
it wasn't much of a chinese shop
but he had such a way with his bold young cock
she almost forgave him for burning the wok
and egg
fried
rice
that sounds so
dirty
in a semi-savant kind of way
intercollectual
textacollectual
like a sneer
like a soucop of disdain
a hot-house, not-house, not-got-of-this-house house
a knot of forgetmenots got basted and boasted
a shabby soufflé with a price to make your eyes water
served up in thimbles
with a 20% tip slapped on top
and yet to fall between the cracks
to slide into the new
for that brief and shining moment -
we'd most of us give our eye teeth for
but let's not fancy it up so
ponce about with labels designed more to exclude
than embrace
face to the pavement
we're all peering through
hoping to catch that small glimpse
of something we're unable to name
dangerous rainbows
threaten village and city
cascading light paints us
all shades and hues
can't make up my mind if it's solar or
deeper,
some bright affinity
under the skin
diversity mocks
the issue of colour
racists stumble wild-eyed
open
confused
live writes bounce
like pebbles off the window
or hail reversing its long long fall in a sudden leap
exhibiting its need to be airborne moments longer
so as to delay the moment of its melt
we hit the plane and bounce in shock
attempting to engineer a reversal of thoughts committed to screen
but gravity sucks us in
and in
we melt
here
right before your eyes
everything's muffled
dis
connected
and the sun's too flat too hard too bright
late night
on receiving news from the CSA
can't help but allow
a little smug ...
warm
as the mug
full of
coffee in my hand
and
the aromatic breath of steam
basting this cupped smile
at least
just for this
just for this
a simple, little while
magic
it snowed last night
it's snowing now
and in this muffled world of white
where day's misnamed
so low the light
and night's brighter
than name allows
children of all ages smile
as adults grow
from man to child
to speak of berries
crushed between fingers
squeezing out the juice of her
that ripe must
that hedonistic lust
topped only by her cries of cream
when sweet oils burn
at midnight or at dawn
smoke curls and wraps
itself about itself
tenuous fingers
subliminal scents
the mirror
the mirror
shows us other worlds
other existences
facing yourself
you find someone else
weather warning
this dirty night
drives nails of ice
deep
into hollow bones
surprised that
after all this time
the ache still finds
its shape
and look
see how the soul-suckers congregate
here
when they ought to have applied
their cold-breath need
to places
people
less holy than themselves
i hear the new Harry Potter film's
still seeking Dementors
writing is as writing does
one aches
one wears one heart
alive
on sleeves of others' making
poor poor poem
drag and drop your muddied skirts
don't stare at me
eyes so wet and wide reproachful
maybe then another day
when your composure may then be regained
you'll strut your stuff on red red carpets
Nancy, oh Nancy
Oliver-betrayor
Lover of the murderer
Sought by Lloyd-Webber
Chosen by the populace
Plump up your cleavage and
Sing!
up there
in the blue
your dark shape hurts my eyes
silhouette against the sun
looking down
you're entranced
your own shadow races
wavering over the dunes
and truly
it's far more interesting
one day i looked up at you
saw that i
was the dunes
you relied on my ripples
to make you appear
fascinating
ah, circe,
herb-wise and generous
with her cheese and honeyed meal
so sweet to serve up magic on a plate
how apt - pigs to pigs
ah - not so fair, those words
sailors ways are not the most refined, but pigs?
perhaps it was a porkie of a tail -
no mind
just as well the one kept wits
about his precious hide and
made off to warn Odysseus
and Herme smiled
bestowed a gift
to change the pace
to change the outcome of the tail
and Batman gleaned his Robin's cry of
Holy Moly!
something new i learned.
Pasiphaë, Pasiphaë,
they really did a job on you;
where was Max Clifford when you needed a publicist?
of all the possibilities
this page affords
i still don't know if i can bring
my schtick to sing
of such deep broads and rising tides
that swell to rush and suck back down
a whirpool of i
deas
when really all's set off by you
your underwater gruff and bloom
that shudders, shivers, shatters high glass rooms
until, exposed, my core shines silver
wet but pulsing yet with scarlet
flame that's free to ..
free to ...
testing testing this be-coming word
free
free
dom's still too new for me
to know quite what to do or be
so back to possibilities
i cannot voice
i cannot vice
i cannot thrice and twice and throw the dice
and roll a pair of deuces like a
maestro
no
that's music not
a metaphor to sloppy-drop
to gamble with a score or move like props upon the dim-lit stage
thank god this bastard thing can be
erased
quick
cover me
snuff me
dry me
stop me
re
think
the brink
and stumble back from
sounding like a freak peer
ing through the muddy chink and looking for the light to ride
away
so gonna regret this
to dance
cheek to cheek
at arm's length
within reach
word-contact
cha-sssaaaaaayyyyyyy
dip
pose
then spin me away on words po-
-etic
more than prose a rose in your teeth well
maybe not the rose but flick, kick,
point and
gliiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiddde
i'm more than pink content to ride
the night away as lorencino leads
paso paso
doblé me
stamp and clap and tango me
lorencino
but last
and last
and last of all
i wanna be waltzed
*john, i'm only dancin' but it turns me on - only dancin' ...*
i practise
by looking in the mirror
performing the steps
but my spatial awareness is fooled
by reversals of fortune
made mockery of
by reflections in cold panes
my hands and feet stumble
on awkwardness and misdirection
and i have to take stock
close my eyes
feeeel the beat
when i can't see myself
that's when i dance best
body knows
becomes rhythm
melody
counterpoint
open my eyes and see another
meld the moment, movement, magic
harmonising's fun
water's soft
till you hit it at speed
kinda like love
then
when you're too tired
to hold your head above the surface
you drown
cold
the end of december
is cold
so much older
so rest your head
cry a little in the dark
sparkle
a little in the dark
call my name
in the dark
it's not okay
it's ... all i know
this
writing into space
the dreadful unknown
sounds crazy, i know
i
ask you a favour
read this letter
a spectre on your desk
peel back the mask
over days over nights
it's not okay
i know
in the dark
in the dark
call my name
crazy
out of control
so much older
december is cold
and still i stare
her hands, her dress, her hair
all fail
to tear my gaze aside
from eyes
whose sadness is a shockwave
breaking over me
they say she's crazy
bleeders
with experience comes
a thinning of the blood
a coolness of the brain that
lifts the mists
and in the grass
the liars sharp as glass
are easier to see
handy that
for bleeders
such as me
estranged
how to communicate with the moon
when it sails so high
so lofty
a blind eye
indifferent to semaphore
and ill-equipped to receive thoughts
launched
in a rocketship
dawn raid
black shapes
with their black sounds
drop black tears on a
sleeping city
day erupts
bright with pain
love comes quietly
there is no grand parade, no clarion call
for magic happens in quiet quarters
small gestures, in the catching of an eye
back alleyways, the vistas of a sigh
in dusk's cool plums - that backdrop to starlight
and mists across the moon on autumn nights.
laughter, warm and fresh, can swell a heart
enmesh it, happily, and two hands held
in firelight's soft red and embered glow
will hold the memory of that touch although
the snow lays all around, and freezing hail
vies with the bitter wind to no avail.
Time teaches us best listen to the breeze
for truths are small and love comes
quietly.
backsliding
on those green days
when dreams forget they've long been put aside
so easy to get lost
again
dog days
the grey dog rests
her bones in the shade
eyes half open
ears muffled by age
she's quiet except for
the wheeze of slow breathing
but make no mistake
she's watchful and smart
though stamina's failing
and teeth are half broken
she's wily and wary
still able to bite
tangled
life's a complicated maze
and my string is
full of knots
u.v glare
not an easy man to love
yet vital as the sun
he lit my days
now i know:
to fly too close risks sunburn
and the cancer of him
when his uncertain light eclipsed
i found i owned an inner heat
and when i looked into the night
the sky was full of stars - all shining
watching for boats
i stand on this island
looking out to sea
watching for boats
and if my gaze
could draw you back to me
there'd be footprints in the sand by now
but the sea's not giving up its secrets
and skies change and change again
shifting sands beneath my feet
vibrate to strange rhythms
a beat too rapid surges -
fails
spirit
it's when i close my eyes
close out the madding crush
allow the hush to come
it's at these times
these quiet, hungry times
i feel you
white flags
fingers
are better than eyes
for discovering flaws
subconsciousness
speaks truer than
the heart
lovers
march blindly with the band
hands behind their backs
bright hearts exposed
end of an ice-age
although, outside, a frozen waste
all feeling chased away and numb
the movement of her secret core
declares "No, wait! this is not done -
there's more!"
it powers through that glacial crust
vaporising all to dust
combusting quite enough to thaw
her icy status quo
a cat's tail
when tucked around her feet
the tail suggests
a state of firm composure
we can guess
at other messages
but only guess -
her eyes reveal no trace
of mental stress
she sniffs the proffered dish
but watch her tail
flick twice, abruptly, of its
own accord
then with contempt it dips
and flicks again -
to leave behind no doubts
about the meal
when neighbours' cats disturb
my wayward mog
her tail transforms, becomes
an angry snake
accompanied by much hiss
and caterwaul -
stark warning of her
felinicious wrath
when startled by some loud
or sudden noise
her tail appears to swell
to twice its size
points heavenwards, above
her saucered orbs -
a bristled flag that flags her
own surprise
when just the tip is gently
all atwitch
bird-gazing or when lazing
in the sun
with eyes three-quarters closed
and ears adrift -
she's fondly entertaining
nature's fun
for me, she saves a special
tail-ored code
a punctuation used
when i've been gone -
her furry question-mark
requests to know
where have i been and if i,
now, am home?
from the 007 Lit challenge
his thoughts are tailored
closer than his suit
those fire-ice eyes
turn away
his voice asks more
than the question he poses
I sit and think of the surf
how the water streamed from
hard flesh, scarred flesh
wonder how he'd taste on my lips
he hands me the glass
frosted and rimmed
a bead of moisture
slides down its stem
I stroke it away
taste my finger, finding salt
he swallows
*
undercover agents
when I checked out his pen
it seemed out of ink
so i started to twist
screwing its barrel
he took it from me
warned me it might expel
unexpectedly spill
said he didn't want stains
on the shag pile
no, really, he said
don't shake it that way
it'll squirt up the walls
let everyone know we were spies
suck it and see
see if it will leak
invisible ink
we can write with
trust me
he said
my word is my bond
*
some
thing about bad boys
keeps her attention
eyes liquid green
a purr in her throat
their
minds, their presence
devilish intentions
keeps her claws sheathed
paws butter-soft
she
slips from the table
stalks the red carpet
hair sleek and shining
a collar of gems
sniffs
at his bare throat
the man with the blue eyes
and with a soft growl
pours into his lap
expanded skulls
in dark delicious silence
torpid grubs burrow
their soft slow way
umber juices atrail
as they inch upwards
inwards
swollen with intent to hatch
in hot, expanded skulls
five word soup poem
poems
like soup
require flavour
not everything
that springs from the soil is good
not everything organic's always wholesome
there's a certain shade of green
of white
that sprouts and dances
pretty in the light
yet harbours poisons
some more subtle than others
all of them intimate
she's cupped
in the white bowl of his thoughts
melting slowly
white on white
stirs her with a lazy finger
brings it to his lips
then sighs
bored with vanilla
if only he'd added
some sauce to the occasion
positive thinking
in a dark and burning world
where even ice catches fire
where skies peel
and the soil is sour
where howlback oscillates
cinder cone to horizon
a shabby soul
may yet get clean
at least
that's what i tell myself
thoughts and tunes - a study in light and shade
half her face is lit
that half furthest from his back
light weighs on his shoulders
curls them inwards
away from her
and the shadows she makes on the table
and that damned half-halo
limning a mirroring curve
and he's unaware
of how her cigarette's smoke
drifts up and away
to that high, narrow window,
its passionless stare
twinned downlighters
over him
over her
shaded thoughts
shaded faces
and though his nose and lips are
lined with light
his eyes are closed
the shadows are speaking
along with the light
listen, you'll hear them
the smokey stroke of ivory
shadows in a wordless voice
and on the table
fourset and square
the handbag
closed
makes shades of its own
she's all closed
arm closing him out
reflecting his angles
nicotine and alcohol mere props in this composition
beneath fingers of light
and shade
no black keys
he brings his own shadows
at least from this angle
as her legs are angled
towards him but crossed
they deny him
she denies all of him
curtains her thoughts
and he is a curved closed shield
tender neck exposed
two chairs:
a dark gap yearns between one and the
light that still spills
on a table top
while the chair at her table
empty as empty can be
as if it's been empty a long time
no-one welcome in that chair
defined by sirens
and the sirens
the sirens
hold the night
define
in strident notes that try to tear
my skull in two
or more
i can't be sure
of anything any more
it's so surreal
i feel the fabric where i sit
its stiff nap
but fingers won't interpret
or tips translate a colour
to a brain that's all night
split
and split again
i've no spit left
with which to swallow
and my ears don't hear
the moving lips of
busy service men
my ears and eyes know nothing
numb with shock
looking at the body
stretched and tubed
obscenely pummeled
over and over
"clear!"
i worry about bruises
waves gather
shake frothy skirts
rush
and boil
crash against indifferent cliff
cling
for foaming moments
enough to stir
then fling away
away
away
eroding
stealing more
sing a song of nookie
muffins hot as pie
all the whores at Hackney
wanted overtime
and when the politicians
began to squirm and writhe
the madam came, got out her tits
and whipped them into line
egg fried rice, egg fried rice
see how he cums
see how he cums
it wasn't much of a chinese shop
but he had such a way with his bold young cock
she almost forgave him for burning the wok
and egg
fried
rice
that sounds so
dirty
in a semi-savant kind of way
intercollectual
textacollectual
like a sneer
like a soucop of disdain
a hot-house, not-house, not-got-of-this-house house
a knot of forgetmenots got basted and boasted
a shabby soufflé with a price to make your eyes water
served up in thimbles
with a 20% tip slapped on top
and yet to fall between the cracks
to slide into the new
for that brief and shining moment -
we'd most of us give our eye teeth for
but let's not fancy it up so
ponce about with labels designed more to exclude
than embrace
face to the pavement
we're all peering through
hoping to catch that small glimpse
of something we're unable to name
dangerous rainbows
threaten village and city
cascading light paints us
all shades and hues
can't make up my mind if it's solar or
deeper,
some bright affinity
under the skin
diversity mocks
the issue of colour
racists stumble wild-eyed
open
confused
live writes bounce
like pebbles off the window
or hail reversing its long long fall in a sudden leap
exhibiting its need to be airborne moments longer
so as to delay the moment of its melt
we hit the plane and bounce in shock
attempting to engineer a reversal of thoughts committed to screen
but gravity sucks us in
and in
we melt
here
right before your eyes
everything's muffled
dis
connected
and the sun's too flat too hard too bright
late night
on receiving news from the CSA
can't help but allow
a little smug ...
warm
as the mug
full of
coffee in my hand
and
the aromatic breath of steam
basting this cupped smile
at least
just for this
just for this
a simple, little while
magic
it snowed last night
it's snowing now
and in this muffled world of white
where day's misnamed
so low the light
and night's brighter
than name allows
children of all ages smile
as adults grow
from man to child
to speak of berries
crushed between fingers
squeezing out the juice of her
that ripe must
that hedonistic lust
topped only by her cries of cream
when sweet oils burn
at midnight or at dawn
smoke curls and wraps
itself about itself
tenuous fingers
subliminal scents
the mirror
the mirror
shows us other worlds
other existences
facing yourself
you find someone else
weather warning
this dirty night
drives nails of ice
deep
into hollow bones
surprised that
after all this time
the ache still finds
its shape
and look
see how the soul-suckers congregate
here
when they ought to have applied
their cold-breath need
to places
people
less holy than themselves
i hear the new Harry Potter film's
still seeking Dementors
writing is as writing does
one aches
one wears one heart
alive
on sleeves of others' making
poor poor poem
drag and drop your muddied skirts
don't stare at me
eyes so wet and wide reproachful
maybe then another day
when your composure may then be regained
you'll strut your stuff on red red carpets
Nancy, oh Nancy
Oliver-betrayor
Lover of the murderer
Sought by Lloyd-Webber
Chosen by the populace
Plump up your cleavage and
Sing!
up there
in the blue
your dark shape hurts my eyes
silhouette against the sun
looking down
you're entranced
your own shadow races
wavering over the dunes
and truly
it's far more interesting
one day i looked up at you
saw that i
was the dunes
you relied on my ripples
to make you appear
fascinating
ah, circe,
herb-wise and generous
with her cheese and honeyed meal
so sweet to serve up magic on a plate
how apt - pigs to pigs
ah - not so fair, those words
sailors ways are not the most refined, but pigs?
perhaps it was a porkie of a tail -
no mind
just as well the one kept wits
about his precious hide and
made off to warn Odysseus
and Herme smiled
bestowed a gift
to change the pace
to change the outcome of the tail
and Batman gleaned his Robin's cry of
Holy Moly!
something new i learned.
Pasiphaë, Pasiphaë,
they really did a job on you;
where was Max Clifford when you needed a publicist?
of all the possibilities
this page affords
i still don't know if i can bring
my schtick to sing
of such deep broads and rising tides
that swell to rush and suck back down
a whirpool of i
deas
when really all's set off by you
your underwater gruff and bloom
that shudders, shivers, shatters high glass rooms
until, exposed, my core shines silver
wet but pulsing yet with scarlet
flame that's free to ..
free to ...
testing testing this be-coming word
free
free
dom's still too new for me
to know quite what to do or be
so back to possibilities
i cannot voice
i cannot vice
i cannot thrice and twice and throw the dice
and roll a pair of deuces like a
maestro
no
that's music not
a metaphor to sloppy-drop
to gamble with a score or move like props upon the dim-lit stage
thank god this bastard thing can be
erased
quick
cover me
snuff me
dry me
stop me
re
think
the brink
and stumble back from
sounding like a freak peer
ing through the muddy chink and looking for the light to ride
away
so gonna regret this
to dance
cheek to cheek
at arm's length
within reach
word-contact
cha-sssaaaaaayyyyyyy
dip
pose
then spin me away on words po-
-etic
more than prose a rose in your teeth well
maybe not the rose but flick, kick,
point and
gliiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiddde
i'm more than pink content to ride
the night away as lorencino leads
paso paso
doblé me
stamp and clap and tango me
lorencino
but last
and last
and last of all
i wanna be waltzed
*john, i'm only dancin' but it turns me on - only dancin' ...*
i practise
by looking in the mirror
performing the steps
but my spatial awareness is fooled
by reversals of fortune
made mockery of
by reflections in cold panes
my hands and feet stumble
on awkwardness and misdirection
and i have to take stock
close my eyes
feeeel the beat
when i can't see myself
that's when i dance best
body knows
becomes rhythm
melody
counterpoint
open my eyes and see another
meld the moment, movement, magic
harmonising's fun
water's soft
till you hit it at speed
kinda like love
then
when you're too tired
to hold your head above the surface
you drown
cold
the end of december
is cold
so much older
so rest your head
cry a little in the dark
sparkle
a little in the dark
call my name
in the dark
it's not okay
it's ... all i know
this
writing into space
the dreadful unknown
sounds crazy, i know
i
ask you a favour
read this letter
a spectre on your desk
peel back the mask
over days over nights
it's not okay
i know
in the dark
in the dark
call my name
crazy
out of control
so much older
december is cold
Last edited:
I like this stuff, a little ee cummings almost
ah, circe,
herb-wise and generous
with her cheese and honeyed meal
so sweet to serve up magic on a plate
how apt - pigs to pigs
ah - not so fair, those words
sailors ways are not the most refined, but pigs?
perhaps it was a porkie of a tail -
no mind
just as well the one kept wits
about his precious hide and
made off to warn Odysseus
and Herme smiled
bestowed a gift
to change the pace
to change the outcome of the tail
and Batman gleaned his Robin's cry of
Holy Moly!
something new i learned.
Pasiphaë, Pasiphaë,
they really did a job on you;
where was Max Clifford when you needed a publicist?
of all the possibilities
this page affords
i still don't know if i can bring
my schtick to sing
of such deep broads and rising tides
that swell to rush and suck back down
a whirpool of i
deas
ah, circe,
herb-wise and generous
with her cheese and honeyed meal
so sweet to serve up magic on a plate
how apt - pigs to pigs
ah - not so fair, those words
sailors ways are not the most refined, but pigs?
perhaps it was a porkie of a tail -
no mind
just as well the one kept wits
about his precious hide and
made off to warn Odysseus
and Herme smiled
bestowed a gift
to change the pace
to change the outcome of the tail
and Batman gleaned his Robin's cry of
Holy Moly!
something new i learned.
Pasiphaë, Pasiphaë,
they really did a job on you;
where was Max Clifford when you needed a publicist?
of all the possibilities
this page affords
i still don't know if i can bring
my schtick to sing
of such deep broads and rising tides
that swell to rush and suck back down
a whirpool of i
deas
i remind you of ee cummings in my live writes?
i'll take compliments where i find 'em, if it was intended as one
ty
yeah it's good. I only think poems are good if they resemble a poet I like.
butters
High on a Hill
- Joined
- Jul 2, 2009
- Posts
- 84,496
that's really odd
for me to hear, anyway. so what happens if you stumble across someone incredibly fresh, innovative, and nothing like anyone you've read before? are they auto-binned in your thoughts? only there's nothing i enjoy more than finding a writer like that.that's really odd
Very rare in my experience. I usually have to go back in time to find a writer that sounds fresh, someone I've managed to overlook. A brand new poet writing something that doesn't remind me of a past poet would be a find. There'll never be a prose poet who blows my hair way back, and prose poetry is the mode of contemporary poetry as far as the eye can see. Eight to fourteen lines, not more than 140 syllables, doesn't seem like much, but we know how difficult it is.
Palba_Noruda
Literotica Guru
- Joined
- Feb 7, 2009
- Posts
- 548
I like these ones best... but I haven't gotten to the looong post yet... those look like a great bunch of poems...
I gotta say I love when people put down a whole bunch of words... I've always loved to see when a person has a huge pile of writing... All those words pouring out from somewhere, over time... Gives me goose bumps...
butters
High on a Hill
- Joined
- Jul 2, 2009
- Posts
- 84,496
oh, the long post is only some of the more recent (well, within the past 4 years and those on here since i joined) so annaswirls can get some idea of how i'm writing lately - for charley's 'guess the author of the poem' challenge.
and thanks for taking the time to read some of these and comment.
DeepGreenEyes
Whittled
- Joined
- Dec 23, 2007
- Posts
- 8,500
backsliding
on those green days
when dreams forget they've long been put aside
so easy to get lost
again
I love this.
on those green days
when dreams forget they've long been put aside
so easy to get lost
again
I love this.
butters
High on a Hill
- Joined
- Jul 2, 2009
- Posts
- 84,496
thankyou!
Palba_Noruda
Literotica Guru
- Joined
- Feb 7, 2009
- Posts
- 548
I like the second stanza best. (The part about the shockwave, not because I enjoy sadness in somebody's eyes LOL)
I like how this one goes from big to small, from everybody to one. Feels like the liars are coming at her.
I looked it up for myself
I like how this poem goes from moon to rocketshipsem·a·phore
1. an apparatus for conveying information by means of visual signals, as a light whose position may be changed.
2. any of various devices for signaling by changing the position of a light, flag, etc.
3. a system of signaling, esp. a system by which a special flag is held in each hand and various positions of the arms indicate specific letters, numbers, etc.
Spooky ____
Oh I LOVE although
beautiful poem
sounds like a song, nice
Last edited:
butters
High on a Hill
- Joined
- Jul 2, 2009
- Posts
- 84,496
just adding a couple
from Tzara's Fool challenge:
Trojan Horse
i rode into battle
armed only with bravado and scant knowledge
searching for rats to kill
scared of what each keystroke might impart
you'd dropped your payload
deep within my walls
making a fool of me and my
sweating attempts to destroy and delete before you did
it wasn't me who opened the gates
invited you in
hidden within a gaudy gift
all show, not a thought given
to protocols
but fight you i did
desperately brave
fatalistic and waiting for that
sudden Ping of Death but
no
this fool turned jobbing carpenter
sawed the legs right off your wooden horse
ha!
from Tzara's Fool challenge:
Trojan Horse
i rode into battle
armed only with bravado and scant knowledge
searching for rats to kill
scared of what each keystroke might impart
you'd dropped your payload
deep within my walls
making a fool of me and my
sweating attempts to destroy and delete before you did
it wasn't me who opened the gates
invited you in
hidden within a gaudy gift
all show, not a thought given
to protocols
but fight you i did
desperately brave
fatalistic and waiting for that
sudden Ping of Death but
no
this fool turned jobbing carpenter
sawed the legs right off your wooden horse
ha!
Last edited:
butters
High on a Hill
- Joined
- Jul 2, 2009
- Posts
- 84,496
from UYS's Annikey challenge
c-c-c-culture versus nature
his throat is rough as grit and twice as dry
he watches as the gunman lights a smoke
the muzzle's black, hypnotic, makes him freeze
it never wavers as he whispers "why?"
but silences his question with a choke
out there on the horizon they see smoke
hangs blue and lazy, makes them wonder why -
crops or homestead? season's way too dry
but when they see the corpses all thoughts freeze
they count the bullet wounds and start to choke
the hunter trusts his gun and knows just why
the critters caught in his sights start or freeze
he never wastes a bullet and will smoke
whatever he can't eat until it's dry
come winter, larder's stocked and he'll not choke.
the cop pulls out his sidearm and yells "freeze!"
then finds the sidewalk's kiss is cold and dry
his brain attempts to make sense of this why
his breath drifts up, away, it looks like smoke
and blood jets from his neck, to make him choke
the casualty statistics make me choke
in peace or wartime, can't be swallowed dry
but, faced with figures, politicians freeze
and bumble-mouth the platitudes, that's why
the bullets fly and we breathe in their smoke
c-c-c-culture versus nature
his throat is rough as grit and twice as dry
he watches as the gunman lights a smoke
the muzzle's black, hypnotic, makes him freeze
it never wavers as he whispers "why?"
but silences his question with a choke
out there on the horizon they see smoke
hangs blue and lazy, makes them wonder why -
crops or homestead? season's way too dry
but when they see the corpses all thoughts freeze
they count the bullet wounds and start to choke
the hunter trusts his gun and knows just why
the critters caught in his sights start or freeze
he never wastes a bullet and will smoke
whatever he can't eat until it's dry
come winter, larder's stocked and he'll not choke.
the cop pulls out his sidearm and yells "freeze!"
then finds the sidewalk's kiss is cold and dry
his brain attempts to make sense of this why
his breath drifts up, away, it looks like smoke
and blood jets from his neck, to make him choke
the casualty statistics make me choke
in peace or wartime, can't be swallowed dry
but, faced with figures, politicians freeze
and bumble-mouth the platitudes, that's why
the bullets fly and we breathe in their smoke
Last edited:
Similar threads
