butter's stuff: the good, the ugly, and the incomplete
- Thread starter butters
- Start date
Angeline
Poet Chick
- Joined
- Mar 11, 2002
- Posts
- 27,191
It's a lovely lover's poem. Ain't nuthin wrong with that.
Crowman is powerful. Really brave, muscular writing.
butters
High on a Hill
- Joined
- Jul 2, 2009
- Posts
- 84,454
It's a lovely lover's poem. Ain't nuthin wrong with that.
Crowman is powerful. Really brave, muscular writing.
thankyou, angie
that one came from a dark place - never going back there. today, i enjoy the light. and H is my sun, moon n stars.
butters
High on a Hill
- Joined
- Jul 2, 2009
- Posts
- 84,454
on a wheel and a prayer
before jesus was a twinkle
in some god's eye
a chinese man gave thanks
to whomever invented the wheel
meaning he could shift the loads
that otherwise broke his wife's back
and meant there was more chance
of hot rice with fish before bed
after all, as history notes,
so much depends
on the wheelbarrow
https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Wheelbarrow
this portal
electronic bubble
fay nest floating in the ether
harbouring solar ripples
she's home
this side of the void
that shrinks to a pinprick
or yawns
blues stone-grey'd
till, one hand on the globe
th'other cupping silver,
she finds that interface where they meet
right here still
as always
dust lays thick on golden wood
where tv and a yellow bear
sit quietly, an odd-matched pair
and clothes strewn loose on bed and chair
wait patiently, they do not stare
or ask aloud for time, for care,
but silence speaks quite loud enough
of choices, chores, in voice so clear
i can't ignore nor fail to hear.
smoky paprika kisses
- ah, if kisses were wishes
you'd be a smoked fish dish
and i
would lick your plate clean
then wash my whiskers
purring
salmon
of course
because you make
take
the leaps
through white waters
risking the falls
to reach your goal
the net was ever full of holes
far rather you'll remain
of your own will
sunlight scattered on scales
fins splayed
tail slowly fanning
conned cat
ku'fd off~
work-related, not binary boys...
cheese 'n' chorizo pizza,
whisky splashed in cherry coke,
chillin', feet up,
waiting for my moggy mister,
fur starting to settle
and she wonders if he's still asleep
or restless, wakeful, wanderin'
the house for nibbles, coffee,
mind chasing ghosts
waiting for a pale sun's rise
to highlight dancing motes...
he should be sleeping
buried under stormy skies
waiting it out
like the old white dog
head between paws
patiently watches the rain from his dry spot
knowing rabbits twitch in their burrows
dreaming of green days and blood on the grass
she leafs through their memories -
still dawns and storm-lit skies
faultless blues that yawn
endless invitation to fall
up into forever
beyond the pall of petroleum
that ugly buzz of industrialised man
in her eyes
the deep ripeness of blackberries
skin re-calling
the hot ghost of his touch
and on her lips
ah
yes
his citrus kiss
before jesus was a twinkle
in some god's eye
a chinese man gave thanks
to whomever invented the wheel
meaning he could shift the loads
that otherwise broke his wife's back
and meant there was more chance
of hot rice with fish before bed
after all, as history notes,
so much depends
on the wheelbarrow
https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Wheelbarrow
this portal
electronic bubble
fay nest floating in the ether
harbouring solar ripples
she's home
this side of the void
that shrinks to a pinprick
or yawns
blues stone-grey'd
till, one hand on the globe
th'other cupping silver,
she finds that interface where they meet
right here still
as always
dust lays thick on golden wood
where tv and a yellow bear
sit quietly, an odd-matched pair
and clothes strewn loose on bed and chair
wait patiently, they do not stare
or ask aloud for time, for care,
but silence speaks quite loud enough
of choices, chores, in voice so clear
i can't ignore nor fail to hear.
smoky paprika kisses
- ah, if kisses were wishes
you'd be a smoked fish dish
and i
would lick your plate clean
then wash my whiskers
purring
salmon
of course
because you make
take
the leaps
through white waters
risking the falls
to reach your goal
the net was ever full of holes
far rather you'll remain
of your own will
sunlight scattered on scales
fins splayed
tail slowly fanning
conned cat
ku'fd off~
work-related, not binary boys...
cheese 'n' chorizo pizza,
whisky splashed in cherry coke,
chillin', feet up,
waiting for my moggy mister,
fur starting to settle
and she wonders if he's still asleep
or restless, wakeful, wanderin'
the house for nibbles, coffee,
mind chasing ghosts
waiting for a pale sun's rise
to highlight dancing motes...
he should be sleeping
buried under stormy skies
waiting it out
like the old white dog
head between paws
patiently watches the rain from his dry spot
knowing rabbits twitch in their burrows
dreaming of green days and blood on the grass
she leafs through their memories -
still dawns and storm-lit skies
faultless blues that yawn
endless invitation to fall
up into forever
beyond the pall of petroleum
that ugly buzz of industrialised man
in her eyes
the deep ripeness of blackberries
skin re-calling
the hot ghost of his touch
and on her lips
ah
yes
his citrus kiss
Last edited:
butters
High on a Hill
- Joined
- Jul 2, 2009
- Posts
- 84,454
we are survivors
of life
every one of us
despite fate's intentions
in spite of, for some, our own
and sometimes i think the zombie apocalypse is here, already upon us: us - the shuffling wrecks of flesh, lost limbs, burst hearts, blindly hulking our way towards uncertain goals on feet, hips, knees that no longer work in sync, hands out groping, dumb lips no longer able to articulate (eyes roil in sockets) what decaying minds conceive . . .
and then the warm warm breath of life
vital, finite
fills me with wonder
and perspective changes
for the better
like a gap in the mists
life's beautiful cacophony breaks through
flesh remembers electricity on a molecular level
the tidal nature of our inner seas
and i remember
we're all survivors
revised version:
Survivors
sometimes i think the zombie apocalypse is here
already upon us: us—the shuffling wrecks of flesh
lost limbs, burst hearts
blindly hulking our way towards uncertain goals
on feet, hips, knees that no longer work in sync
hands out groping
dumb lips no longer able to articulate
what decaying minds conceive—
and then the warm warm breath of life
vital, finite
fills me with wonder
and perspective changes
for the better
like a gap in the mists
life's beautiful cacophony breaks through
flesh remembers electricity on molecular levels
the tidal nature of our inner seas
and i remember
we're all survivors
----------------------------
it is meet
that salmon links with open
skies are seas
above as below
and humanity's linked
in leaps of salmon-hued faith
__________________
there's a rain-storm a'comin'
gonna last a week or more
but torn skies an' the wind's wild howl
don't scare me none
as the lightnin' dances
so will i
'cos there's a wild girl laughin'
an' gettin' wet to the bone
lone raven
in stark branches
above an oiled-slate lake
pale disc hangs
in monochrome sky
as under flat waters
darker shapes wait
patient as night
there's poetry in a grave stone
that single name
isobelle
afloat
in a cool grey sea
polished granite
silken to the touch
as if fingertips could hear the
whispers of her name
on quiet tides
when ears hear only emptiness
the core of what i want to write so i don't forget
The Bookcase
a place of strange intimacies
where child star and priest
astronaut, plumber
boxer and queen
sit shoulder to shoulder
spines exposed
to the caress of eye, finger,
imagination-
those on the top shelf
gathering the same dust as the rest
all voices hushed
patiently waiting release
__________________
some say love
is just a chemical reaction
a pheromone-driven exchange
granted
there's chemistry in flesh
hormonal secretions
a craving for balancing acts
whereby one drip-feeds the other's needs
in daily measured doses
but love is not a petri-dish
or supplemental sugared pill -
its sting alone should make that clear
its saline burn
its sharp electric jolt
when we weave shadows over light
the black and white of page and type
can see a tiny current
spark opiate wild-fire
peptides' flint to tinder-hearts
beyond the press, the mesh of meat
to blaze, to flame in fuel-rich minds
when love burns bright
endorphinised
follows on
butters
breath deep, breath shallow,
breath pushed from moist bellows into
a future of skies
bluer than Agean seas and oceanic eyes;
skies
greyer than November attitudes,
blacker than lost years,
higher than expectation's cost,
brighter than high-hope's dawn; breath
lost to tender vapours,
tendrils of threading and twining
a-mingling with wisps and puffs
that emanate from beast and bird alike.
from all green and growing things
great acres of exhalation:
life-stuff
puffed
and sucked
by untold creeping creatures, killer whales;
by leeches, apes and parasites,
by sail-winged bats in blind caves;
by rabbits and by eagles,
by heroes, thieves and oafs;
by presidents and paedophiles,
by prisoners and popes.
breath
vast comings and goings;
great tidal ins and outs,
mass transpiration circling this orb
on the greedy drag of jet streams and
the gentle wings of zephyrs.
breath
from my mouth to your mouth -
great gifts given thoughtlessly.
my breath's caressed your pink and bubbling sacs;
i am intimate with you beyond imagining,
my gift transparent and without motive.
i take
as thoughtlessly as i give -
as you take
and give
as he and she and they and those
take
and give
in the reckless scant of life,
in the ripening of fat mangoes;
in soft membranous flap of gill,
through sparkling rill and hollow's faithful cling
where grow such foreign fleshy things
in thrash and meld of succulent structure;
the calling home of flocks to roost,
in pastures and in wolvish rowling howls;
thoughts fidgeting in pews and in
fingers dug so deep in soils all moist and cool,
life-death's perfumes commingle, darkly sweet.
i feel
the breath of nations flow;
creation knows i follow
with weightless thoughts wheresoe'er they go,
knowing no boundaries other than life or death.
breath
crosses o'er
and i know that i must breathe my last
before i breathe my first again;
that dying things expel their gusty last before
their gasp of lusty first again
and life flows on --
death follows on
and are but one as
breath,
both in and out,
follows on.
the door into summer
damned summertime
when doors are also jars
and metaphors -
those bright and wilful things
once so adored -
now dull, abhorred
abjured for lack of lure
dim damsels in their towers, unexplored,
immured despite their tresses
silicone skins still flawless...
give me august's thunder, boil and hiss
to ease these endless blues with passion's kiss
fling wide the windows
batter down the doors
come strike this word-blind muse
saul's peter - floored
*peter - ugh*
as the shadow creeps
i tell him
it is safer to look at the edge
than into the sun
let me be your moon
full of silver caresses
rather than be the one
to burn those blue eyes black
As Alice dreams
Sleep's white tide pulls us
under...
and the rabbit
a hare's breadth from madness
folds his waistcoat
lays down his silent watch
curls his pink tongue
in a yawn
watches the fox
still as snow
his breath a mist to
mask his stiffened whiskers
muffle the tapping of his claws
till all the world
drifts away
in foggy thoughts of
gold eyes black...
till everything
is anything
but spring
of life
every one of us
despite fate's intentions
in spite of, for some, our own
and sometimes i think the zombie apocalypse is here, already upon us: us - the shuffling wrecks of flesh, lost limbs, burst hearts, blindly hulking our way towards uncertain goals on feet, hips, knees that no longer work in sync, hands out groping, dumb lips no longer able to articulate (eyes roil in sockets) what decaying minds conceive . . .
and then the warm warm breath of life
vital, finite
fills me with wonder
and perspective changes
for the better
like a gap in the mists
life's beautiful cacophony breaks through
flesh remembers electricity on a molecular level
the tidal nature of our inner seas
and i remember
we're all survivors
revised version:
Survivors
sometimes i think the zombie apocalypse is here
already upon us: us—the shuffling wrecks of flesh
lost limbs, burst hearts
blindly hulking our way towards uncertain goals
on feet, hips, knees that no longer work in sync
hands out groping
dumb lips no longer able to articulate
what decaying minds conceive—
and then the warm warm breath of life
vital, finite
fills me with wonder
and perspective changes
for the better
like a gap in the mists
life's beautiful cacophony breaks through
flesh remembers electricity on molecular levels
the tidal nature of our inner seas
and i remember
we're all survivors
----------------------------
it is meet
that salmon links with open
skies are seas
above as below
and humanity's linked
in leaps of salmon-hued faith
__________________
there's a rain-storm a'comin'
gonna last a week or more
but torn skies an' the wind's wild howl
don't scare me none
as the lightnin' dances
so will i
'cos there's a wild girl laughin'
an' gettin' wet to the bone
lone raven
in stark branches
above an oiled-slate lake
pale disc hangs
in monochrome sky
as under flat waters
darker shapes wait
patient as night
there's poetry in a grave stone
that single name
isobelle
afloat
in a cool grey sea
polished granite
silken to the touch
as if fingertips could hear the
whispers of her name
on quiet tides
when ears hear only emptiness
the core of what i want to write so i don't forget
The Bookcase
a place of strange intimacies
where child star and priest
astronaut, plumber
boxer and queen
sit shoulder to shoulder
spines exposed
to the caress of eye, finger,
imagination-
those on the top shelf
gathering the same dust as the rest
all voices hushed
patiently waiting release
__________________
some say love
is just a chemical reaction
a pheromone-driven exchange
granted
there's chemistry in flesh
hormonal secretions
a craving for balancing acts
whereby one drip-feeds the other's needs
in daily measured doses
but love is not a petri-dish
or supplemental sugared pill -
its sting alone should make that clear
its saline burn
its sharp electric jolt
when we weave shadows over light
the black and white of page and type
can see a tiny current
spark opiate wild-fire
peptides' flint to tinder-hearts
beyond the press, the mesh of meat
to blaze, to flame in fuel-rich minds
when love burns bright
endorphinised
follows on
butters
breath deep, breath shallow,
breath pushed from moist bellows into
a future of skies
bluer than Agean seas and oceanic eyes;
skies
greyer than November attitudes,
blacker than lost years,
higher than expectation's cost,
brighter than high-hope's dawn; breath
lost to tender vapours,
tendrils of threading and twining
a-mingling with wisps and puffs
that emanate from beast and bird alike.
from all green and growing things
great acres of exhalation:
life-stuff
puffed
and sucked
by untold creeping creatures, killer whales;
by leeches, apes and parasites,
by sail-winged bats in blind caves;
by rabbits and by eagles,
by heroes, thieves and oafs;
by presidents and paedophiles,
by prisoners and popes.
breath
vast comings and goings;
great tidal ins and outs,
mass transpiration circling this orb
on the greedy drag of jet streams and
the gentle wings of zephyrs.
breath
from my mouth to your mouth -
great gifts given thoughtlessly.
my breath's caressed your pink and bubbling sacs;
i am intimate with you beyond imagining,
my gift transparent and without motive.
i take
as thoughtlessly as i give -
as you take
and give
as he and she and they and those
take
and give
in the reckless scant of life,
in the ripening of fat mangoes;
in soft membranous flap of gill,
through sparkling rill and hollow's faithful cling
where grow such foreign fleshy things
in thrash and meld of succulent structure;
the calling home of flocks to roost,
in pastures and in wolvish rowling howls;
thoughts fidgeting in pews and in
fingers dug so deep in soils all moist and cool,
life-death's perfumes commingle, darkly sweet.
i feel
the breath of nations flow;
creation knows i follow
with weightless thoughts wheresoe'er they go,
knowing no boundaries other than life or death.
breath
crosses o'er
and i know that i must breathe my last
before i breathe my first again;
that dying things expel their gusty last before
their gasp of lusty first again
and life flows on --
death follows on
and are but one as
breath,
both in and out,
follows on.
the door into summer
damned summertime
when doors are also jars
and metaphors -
those bright and wilful things
once so adored -
now dull, abhorred
abjured for lack of lure
dim damsels in their towers, unexplored,
immured despite their tresses
silicone skins still flawless...
give me august's thunder, boil and hiss
to ease these endless blues with passion's kiss
fling wide the windows
batter down the doors
come strike this word-blind muse
saul's peter - floored
*peter - ugh*
as the shadow creeps
i tell him
it is safer to look at the edge
than into the sun
let me be your moon
full of silver caresses
rather than be the one
to burn those blue eyes black
As Alice dreams
Sleep's white tide pulls us
under...
and the rabbit
a hare's breadth from madness
folds his waistcoat
lays down his silent watch
curls his pink tongue
in a yawn
watches the fox
still as snow
his breath a mist to
mask his stiffened whiskers
muffle the tapping of his claws
till all the world
drifts away
in foggy thoughts of
gold eyes black...
till everything
is anything
but spring
Last edited:
butters
High on a Hill
- Joined
- Jul 2, 2009
- Posts
- 84,454
tucking this here to work on - woke up with it. might get to use some or all of it, but maybe not....
lick the (skin) of day's dull afternoon
unpick its ragged sutures, one by one
???????????????????????????????????
how dreams the molten/liquid surface of the sun?
lick the (skin) of day's dull afternoon
unpick its ragged sutures, one by one
???????????????????????????????????
how dreams the molten/liquid surface of the sun?
butters
High on a Hill
- Joined
- Jul 2, 2009
- Posts
- 84,454
nude in a midnight lake
she floats
heavenly body in black silk
ripples
on a vast expanse of bed in a
room all starless night
where the lustre of her flesh
holds the wolf in thrall
howl caught in his throat
reluctant to break the silence
scatter her celestial image
on the dark pool of his eye
__________________
she floats
heavenly body in black silk
ripples
on a vast expanse of bed in a
room all starless night
where the lustre of her flesh
holds the wolf in thrall
howl caught in his throat
reluctant to break the silence
scatter her celestial image
on the dark pool of his eye
__________________
Last edited:
butters
High on a Hill
- Joined
- Jul 2, 2009
- Posts
- 84,454
before:
the salt marsh
is beautiful
when viewed from above
mud and brine transformed
to shining flats etched with fractals
patterns that glitter in the light of day
glimmer
beneath moon and stars
how far away it seems
how long
since first we sprang from soil
tiny rivulets
kissed by grass
trickled
as streams
counting gravel in our beds
swelled
cut through steep-banked valleys
fields of grain alike
felt the rush of power fed by rains
were spurred
by the knowledge of mortality
till we found pleasure
in taking just a little time
to meander in thought
reflect on blue or stormy skies
and how it feels to harbour precious
life that seems to open up
even as we're shaped by silt
till
here we are
spilled, joined,
contemplating beauty in our now
curling round
splitting into intricacies
delicate capillaries
before time and tide claim us
and we reach our endless sea
after:
time and tide...
the salt marsh
is beautiful
when viewed from above
mud and brine transformed
to shining flats etched with fractals
patterns that glitter in the light of day
glimmer
beneath moon and stars
how
far away it seems
how long
since first we sprang from soil as ti-
-ny rivulets kissing grass
or trickled
as streams
counting gravel in our beds
inundated by the rains
how we swelled
powered by that rush
to carve deep valleys
flood fields of grain alike
spurred on
by tastes of our mortality
till life's terrain slowed us
somehow discovered pleasure
in taking just a little time
to meander in our thoughts
reflect on blue or stormy skies
and how it feels to harbour precious
life that seems to open up
even as we're shaped by silt
well. here we are
spilled, joined,
contemplating beauty in our now
curling round
splitting into intricacies
delicate capillaries
before time and tide claim us
and we reach our endless sea
------------------------------------------------------
think i've lost some of the simplicity that worked in the original's favour. probably need to find a middle ground by revisiting later.
the salt marsh
is beautiful
when viewed from above
mud and brine transformed
to shining flats etched with fractals
patterns that glitter in the light of day
glimmer
beneath moon and stars
how far away it seems
how long
since first we sprang from soil
tiny rivulets
kissed by grass
trickled
as streams
counting gravel in our beds
swelled
cut through steep-banked valleys
fields of grain alike
felt the rush of power fed by rains
were spurred
by the knowledge of mortality
till we found pleasure
in taking just a little time
to meander in thought
reflect on blue or stormy skies
and how it feels to harbour precious
life that seems to open up
even as we're shaped by silt
till
here we are
spilled, joined,
contemplating beauty in our now
curling round
splitting into intricacies
delicate capillaries
before time and tide claim us
and we reach our endless sea
after:
time and tide...
the salt marsh
is beautiful
when viewed from above
mud and brine transformed
to shining flats etched with fractals
patterns that glitter in the light of day
glimmer
beneath moon and stars
how
far away it seems
how long
since first we sprang from soil as ti-
-ny rivulets kissing grass
or trickled
as streams
counting gravel in our beds
inundated by the rains
how we swelled
powered by that rush
to carve deep valleys
flood fields of grain alike
spurred on
by tastes of our mortality
till life's terrain slowed us
somehow discovered pleasure
in taking just a little time
to meander in our thoughts
reflect on blue or stormy skies
and how it feels to harbour precious
life that seems to open up
even as we're shaped by silt
well. here we are
spilled, joined,
contemplating beauty in our now
curling round
splitting into intricacies
delicate capillaries
before time and tide claim us
and we reach our endless sea
------------------------------------------------------
think i've lost some of the simplicity that worked in the original's favour. probably need to find a middle ground by revisiting later.
HarryHill
Hairy fucker
- Joined
- Jul 13, 2012
- Posts
- 15,106
Pick the ragged sutures loose
let the wound of the day fall open
raw and red, seeping plasma
butters
High on a Hill
- Joined
- Jul 2, 2009
- Posts
- 84,454
how did i miss this?
strong visual!
soon there'll be time to update this thread properly.
butters
High on a Hill
- Joined
- Jul 2, 2009
- Posts
- 84,454
the skin on my hand
is not smooth or tight with youth
but tracing palm with fingertip
you tell the story of love come late
of a line the keeps right
on growing in longevity
pop me in your pocket
with your keys and lists
i'll count the crumbs from forgotten cookies
as you hum, content, behind the wheel
scatter them on the blacktop
so we may watch the birds feed
for we need no trail to follow home
home is here
in our hearts
they say
count your blessings
and it sounds like you
first shucked your socks
then brought out the abacus
to help with the task
he fills grey days with colour
from coffee to the frost's first flush
on bradford's lasting leaf
from chivkens claw to fire's hearty
roar and batman's beacon lighting up
our shadowed bedroom ceiling...
the ambling alpine aging bear
the dancing shades of green of bush and grass
the tones of ma'am's hands shaping feasts for kings
the blues in eyes and moons on nails
the pewter-grey of kitchen pails
the golden treasure stored within a chest
jewelled facets of his thoughts
full-spectrum found
within the pallette of his ever-shifting mind
well my pc screen's fritzed
but i've dusted off the laptop
the dodgy laptop
with the loose connection
and tendencies to overheat
or freeze if i rest just a little too hard
with the heel of my hand on the port side
red-lighting me
when green for go is necessary
in communication across the blues
so, for while it lasts,
thunderpuss is GO
here
he said here he could eat a cow
that man has appetites
and imagination
now it's winter
and i'm still here
he has to feed his oral fix somehow
and i'm sat here
wishing i was there, thinking
eat me
"This is ground control to Major Tom.."
although
in this universe
it's major tim
you time-warped me back
spaced me out -
through my headphones
an oddity of a moment
now there's lip service
and lips service...
let me see if i
can have you naming deities
whilst i listen
wide-eyed
on my knees
if i could see the moon to wish upon
i'd wish for smiles to wreath your lips
for love enough to fill a starved heart
strength for arms so they may hold me ever
and a mind tumbled with quicksilver thought
the moon is buried somewhere deep in clouds
that race with ragged purpose through the night
her face obscured, her silence lost; how loud
the wind's own discontented flight
who needs a moon to wish upon? not i
the thoughts are homespun
though no less earnest for that
and with no moon in sight i'll
simply stir your coffee, kiss the cup
and wish my love 'goodnight'
moist air ridin' you
thunderstorms keep rollin' over
up on a hill your e-ears n eyes
muffled
like a dry sack over your head
but look with those denim blues
at the roilin' restless skies
what inspiration lies there...
imagination spins dark funnels
flattened grasses mark the journey of rain
ponds forget quite where banks start/end
and the silvery sides of fish
that should have been reed-sleepin' weeks ago
flash beneath the breaking lights
and the old white bear watches
from under the house
listening to the tattoo of drums
turning the world brown
yellow n blue
now cavort on a moroccan wall
at the foot of the bed covered in
old roses, forget-me-nots n lilac...
the last of christmas hangs over the head
blue-white icicles trailing across the mirror
reflecting in the night-spun window panes
i sit at this smaller desk
can of lager and your words in front of me
and smile
having first pulled a face over that 'perfect creature'
(nope, not me)
hoping you'll love me despite my imperfections
maybe, even, because of them...
i'll catch that old moth in a jar
blow out the candle and open the window
show it the moon
let it fly away home
dinner's near done
fishies on my plate
with a few pomme frittes
and bright green jewels from the garden
if you peas
it's winter
at last
and the small, soft animal inside
curlz
tail over noze
whizperz
on a slow-spent breath
zleep, zleep, zleep
his letter, always more than mere words
top centre of the sheet
a finely-penned cat,
so full of character i know it breathes
the second i glance away,
curled in a coffee-cup ring -
a funny parody/homage
to metro goldwyn mayer
his sappy, lovely rhyme
his note
explaining where and how his
time is being spent
and then precious words sent my way
from the lady i'll be proud to know as ma'am-in-law
saying how my presence in his life has
wrought such changes
topped by her well-wishings
then back to his accountings of the day
daisies, ammo, burgers at cafe...
and finished with reminder of his love
i'm sure that moggy winked, sat there, above.
electronic gremlins
wasted time with their gigglin's,
my plug and unplug-ins,
frustrated eye-rollin's.
then third time of leavin'
this thing, blast and cursin',
the same button pressin',
it's back as if nothin'
was wrong to begin with!
damn, that hour's flown too fast
seven minutes left and counting
d
o
w
n
with the clock being watched
never enough time to say
all i'd like or all you need
to hear
but still
heart-beats tick away the seconds
know your love is nearer with each tick
tock
still the clock
but count me in
let me fly on happy wings
direct into your arms
till then
our minds embrace
let troubles chase
their own tails
let smiles crease our faces
love warm all our 'ahem' places
and now this cheesy missive
has ticked down to
bye (for now)
the missus
Oooh
On the search for truth
It's new
Still out there, baybee
Little older
maybe wiser
Unlock the cabinet
Look under X
Cat senses say
winterwinterwinter
feed,fire,fur
Snuggle,snooze
purr,croon
Knead a lap
nose in tail
pussycat dreams
the night away
Poetry
s'all dust n mirrors
cogs n smoke
and
every now and again
the lightning's flash
that threatens to break the glass
superimposes after images
leaves behind a low and rumbling echo
__________________
valentine valentine...
(and how i hate writing villanelles)
Love
conforms to no set scheme
no
syllabic equation
refuses to be confined
by a limited number of lines
Love lies in the spaces inbetween
in the silences
as much as in the words we utter
Love
is the breath, the smile, the tear
upon a cheek or glistening on a lash
It can no more be defined
than the glassy roll of waters
as they tumble over the edge
or sweet notes stolen
from a songbird's beak
by the wind
So let us, this you and i,
smile in the silences
let gentle touch speak
what words fail to convey
let the double drums of our hearts
keep
right
on
beating
"Love is..."
is not smooth or tight with youth
but tracing palm with fingertip
you tell the story of love come late
of a line the keeps right
on growing in longevity
pop me in your pocket
with your keys and lists
i'll count the crumbs from forgotten cookies
as you hum, content, behind the wheel
scatter them on the blacktop
so we may watch the birds feed
for we need no trail to follow home
home is here
in our hearts
they say
count your blessings
and it sounds like you
first shucked your socks
then brought out the abacus
to help with the task
he fills grey days with colour
from coffee to the frost's first flush
on bradford's lasting leaf
from chivkens claw to fire's hearty
roar and batman's beacon lighting up
our shadowed bedroom ceiling...
the ambling alpine aging bear
the dancing shades of green of bush and grass
the tones of ma'am's hands shaping feasts for kings
the blues in eyes and moons on nails
the pewter-grey of kitchen pails
the golden treasure stored within a chest
jewelled facets of his thoughts
full-spectrum found
within the pallette of his ever-shifting mind
well my pc screen's fritzed
but i've dusted off the laptop
the dodgy laptop
with the loose connection
and tendencies to overheat
or freeze if i rest just a little too hard
with the heel of my hand on the port side
red-lighting me
when green for go is necessary
in communication across the blues
so, for while it lasts,
thunderpuss is GO
here
he said here he could eat a cow
that man has appetites
and imagination
now it's winter
and i'm still here
he has to feed his oral fix somehow
and i'm sat here
wishing i was there, thinking
eat me
"This is ground control to Major Tom.."
although
in this universe
it's major tim
you time-warped me back
spaced me out -
through my headphones
an oddity of a moment
now there's lip service
and lips service...
let me see if i
can have you naming deities
whilst i listen
wide-eyed
on my knees
if i could see the moon to wish upon
i'd wish for smiles to wreath your lips
for love enough to fill a starved heart
strength for arms so they may hold me ever
and a mind tumbled with quicksilver thought
the moon is buried somewhere deep in clouds
that race with ragged purpose through the night
her face obscured, her silence lost; how loud
the wind's own discontented flight
who needs a moon to wish upon? not i
the thoughts are homespun
though no less earnest for that
and with no moon in sight i'll
simply stir your coffee, kiss the cup
and wish my love 'goodnight'
moist air ridin' you
thunderstorms keep rollin' over
up on a hill your e-ears n eyes
muffled
like a dry sack over your head
but look with those denim blues
at the roilin' restless skies
what inspiration lies there...
imagination spins dark funnels
flattened grasses mark the journey of rain
ponds forget quite where banks start/end
and the silvery sides of fish
that should have been reed-sleepin' weeks ago
flash beneath the breaking lights
and the old white bear watches
from under the house
listening to the tattoo of drums
turning the world brown
yellow n blue
now cavort on a moroccan wall
at the foot of the bed covered in
old roses, forget-me-nots n lilac...
the last of christmas hangs over the head
blue-white icicles trailing across the mirror
reflecting in the night-spun window panes
i sit at this smaller desk
can of lager and your words in front of me
and smile
having first pulled a face over that 'perfect creature'
(nope, not me)
hoping you'll love me despite my imperfections
maybe, even, because of them...
i'll catch that old moth in a jar
blow out the candle and open the window
show it the moon
let it fly away home
dinner's near done
fishies on my plate
with a few pomme frittes
and bright green jewels from the garden
if you peas
it's winter
at last
and the small, soft animal inside
curlz
tail over noze
whizperz
on a slow-spent breath
zleep, zleep, zleep
his letter, always more than mere words
top centre of the sheet
a finely-penned cat,
so full of character i know it breathes
the second i glance away,
curled in a coffee-cup ring -
a funny parody/homage
to metro goldwyn mayer
his sappy, lovely rhyme
his note
explaining where and how his
time is being spent
and then precious words sent my way
from the lady i'll be proud to know as ma'am-in-law
saying how my presence in his life has
wrought such changes
topped by her well-wishings
then back to his accountings of the day
daisies, ammo, burgers at cafe...
and finished with reminder of his love
i'm sure that moggy winked, sat there, above.
electronic gremlins
wasted time with their gigglin's,
my plug and unplug-ins,
frustrated eye-rollin's.
then third time of leavin'
this thing, blast and cursin',
the same button pressin',
it's back as if nothin'
was wrong to begin with!
damn, that hour's flown too fast
seven minutes left and counting
d
o
w
n
with the clock being watched
never enough time to say
all i'd like or all you need
to hear
but still
heart-beats tick away the seconds
know your love is nearer with each tick
tock
still the clock
but count me in
let me fly on happy wings
direct into your arms
till then
our minds embrace
let troubles chase
their own tails
let smiles crease our faces
love warm all our 'ahem' places
and now this cheesy missive
has ticked down to
bye (for now)
the missus
Oooh
On the search for truth
It's new
Still out there, baybee
Little older
maybe wiser
Unlock the cabinet
Look under X
Cat senses say
winterwinterwinter
feed,fire,fur
Snuggle,snooze
purr,croon
Knead a lap
nose in tail
pussycat dreams
the night away
Poetry
s'all dust n mirrors
cogs n smoke
and
every now and again
the lightning's flash
that threatens to break the glass
superimposes after images
leaves behind a low and rumbling echo
__________________
valentine valentine...
(and how i hate writing villanelles)
Love
conforms to no set scheme
no
syllabic equation
refuses to be confined
by a limited number of lines
Love lies in the spaces inbetween
in the silences
as much as in the words we utter
Love
is the breath, the smile, the tear
upon a cheek or glistening on a lash
It can no more be defined
than the glassy roll of waters
as they tumble over the edge
or sweet notes stolen
from a songbird's beak
by the wind
So let us, this you and i,
smile in the silences
let gentle touch speak
what words fail to convey
let the double drums of our hearts
keep
right
on
beating
"Love is..."
butters
High on a Hill
- Joined
- Jul 2, 2009
- Posts
- 84,454
The moon no doubt rides high
someplace beyond the curtains
drawn against the frigid gape of night
and I
duvet wrapped
lay wondering if that light rain predicted
turned darker
drawing its own drapes
across your channels of communication...
Nature... one moody muther
Oh! How my spicy man calls me home
With pails of gumbo, jambalaya...
Food made for me (let's never mind
My ancestry)
Food of the gods
Goddesses, too
But he's my favourite feast-de-jour
A spiced creative brain stew.
He's a doodle-bug
Save our souls
Scribe the proscribed
Let it dance, pin head to pin head
Angelic submissions
Pricking hearts
Monday morning rolled around again
Wet n grey n looking for a welcome
The cat's unimpressed
But this mog has to go greet the bustle
Schoolkids by the dozen
All fingers and thumbs on electric devices
Air filled with invisibrle words
Beams racing through our bodies....
The wonder of technology
And yet
A dark muse mutters
Of things disturbed in our depths
Of leviathons sleep compromised
Cellular distortions
Strange futures...
Gremlins... 2nd long reply lost
Hit send but connection wasnt there
w.t.f?
told you all about the day
how that shop sucks
the paperwork an utter shambles
how i got away late, shopped, walked home
chicken chow mein for supper...
and how all i need to make it right
is your arms, your smile, and a coffee
Lol-miau, lol-miau, lol
midnight snacks
munchie attacks
No wild oats
all bagged/boxed
milk on your whiskers
twinkle in your eye
Time i was gone
kisses blown, bye bye
C'mere
let me
brush the cobwebbed dust
that clings to inquisitive whiskers
as your eyes whirl
reflect
give paws for thought...
the cat's in the kitchen
enjoying the heat
paws on the cookies
flour on his whiskers
cheshire grin on his lips
cooking up plans
how to spice things along
even more
next time
spring's palette
as brought to life by the artist's eye
has me craving march sunlight
when we've been cloud-locked so long
even the daffodils
stunted
and thin in bloom
(missing those that sprang too early from their beds)
look overwintered amidst
cart horses and coal fires
grey socks and leather lace-ups
for the luckier kids
frozen milk on the doorstep
standing proud of glass bottles and
topped with red foil caps
holes pecked in them by the birds
hurry up, march-shine
i'm withering here
cream and pink roses
red carnations and bright blushing chrysanths
the stately lily buds and something green
bobbly heads with unknown names
sturdy green sprays and
delicate arcing fronds
all in a crystal vase
makes my heart shine
someplace beyond the curtains
drawn against the frigid gape of night
and I
duvet wrapped
lay wondering if that light rain predicted
turned darker
drawing its own drapes
across your channels of communication...
Nature... one moody muther
Oh! How my spicy man calls me home
With pails of gumbo, jambalaya...
Food made for me (let's never mind
My ancestry)
Food of the gods
Goddesses, too
But he's my favourite feast-de-jour
A spiced creative brain stew.
He's a doodle-bug
Save our souls
Scribe the proscribed
Let it dance, pin head to pin head
Angelic submissions
Pricking hearts
Monday morning rolled around again
Wet n grey n looking for a welcome
The cat's unimpressed
But this mog has to go greet the bustle
Schoolkids by the dozen
All fingers and thumbs on electric devices
Air filled with invisibrle words
Beams racing through our bodies....
The wonder of technology
And yet
A dark muse mutters
Of things disturbed in our depths
Of leviathons sleep compromised
Cellular distortions
Strange futures...
Gremlins... 2nd long reply lost
Hit send but connection wasnt there
w.t.f?
told you all about the day
how that shop sucks
the paperwork an utter shambles
how i got away late, shopped, walked home
chicken chow mein for supper...
and how all i need to make it right
is your arms, your smile, and a coffee
Lol-miau, lol-miau, lol
midnight snacks
munchie attacks
No wild oats
all bagged/boxed
milk on your whiskers
twinkle in your eye
Time i was gone
kisses blown, bye bye
C'mere
let me
brush the cobwebbed dust
that clings to inquisitive whiskers
as your eyes whirl
reflect
give paws for thought...
the cat's in the kitchen
enjoying the heat
paws on the cookies
flour on his whiskers
cheshire grin on his lips
cooking up plans
how to spice things along
even more
next time
spring's palette
as brought to life by the artist's eye
has me craving march sunlight
when we've been cloud-locked so long
even the daffodils
stunted
and thin in bloom
(missing those that sprang too early from their beds)
look overwintered amidst
cart horses and coal fires
grey socks and leather lace-ups
for the luckier kids
frozen milk on the doorstep
standing proud of glass bottles and
topped with red foil caps
holes pecked in them by the birds
hurry up, march-shine
i'm withering here
cream and pink roses
red carnations and bright blushing chrysanths
the stately lily buds and something green
bobbly heads with unknown names
sturdy green sprays and
delicate arcing fronds
all in a crystal vase
makes my heart shine
butters
High on a Hill
- Joined
- Jul 2, 2009
- Posts
- 84,454
2 - 1 bladder blitz
to pee or not
to pee? that
that is the question
that chases its tail
tail wags the dog
tale of two cities
cities with spires
cities aspiring with hope
hope burns
hope-on-a-rope
rope-a-dope
rope me in
in or out
in times of need
need to pee?
need a toupé
toupé or not, trump?
toupé top-hair
hair gone wild
hair today, tomorrow too
too soon, too soon
too - oops, wrong turn
turn on the spot
turn around bright eyes
*eyes the clichés
eyes the window cleaner*
cleaner soul with soap n squeegee
squee? gee i messed up there
squeegee reminding me
me i think i need a pee
me a culpa - guilty
guilty is as guilty does
guilty as a drunken buzz
buzz off
buzz along
a long time coming
a long walk off a short pier
pier-pressure
pier burning
burning shame
burning bladder
bladder wracked
bladder - pee?
pee ja vu!
pee-s in a pod
pod cast
pod house
house call
call the midwife
call of nature
nature takes its course
midwife? bedpan! : p(l)ease :
2-2
he washed half-ways around the world
roped to sailess mast on splintered raft
lips blistered from too much salt and sun
hope peeling from the burn and the troughs
even as his eyes tracked unfamiliar stars
half-drowned, half-baked, at last he came
to rest in the dawn-light of her shallows
staggered on sea-legs through lacey brine
fell upon his knees to drink
sweet waters in her delta
2-3
wound tighter than a reel under pressure
somethin's gotta give
but there's no letting go
this has to be played out
will the snap come
or the drag beneath the surface
fighting to breathe?
breathe. you gotta breathe
lean into the pull
let the line run
sense the moment when to grasp
to draw that tangled red towards you
unsnarling at last
even as you hold your breath
even as your pulse thrums
and you hoist the prize clear and free
then realise
you forgot to breathe
2-4
the non-aggressive
shall certainly inherit the world
thriving as they do
in eternal night of caves
or deep, deep in oceans
clustering to heated vents
in colonies
more populaced than tokyo or
new york city
what consequence the rush and strife of man?
how meaningless his goals
his fleet achievements
his art, his gods
in the face of immeasurable time...
just another mass of organic tissue
offering opportunities
to expand
span eras
survive
2-6
flash flood
black water
punching the air
spouting like some furious dragon's belch
and there's mud on the roadway
trees and stones on the tarmac
till suddenly
there's no tarmac
just great yawning holes where infrastru-
-cture's collapsed
swallowed into the angry dragon's gut
and houses teeter shyly on compromised footings
timid dancers reluctant to step out on the dancefloor
indecision hokey-kokey
a garden gate swings with strange determination
having lost its garden
and a cat
no - a child made from mud
clings
to a garden slide caught in a treetop
all is sound and battle and fury
then a pink-faced inn bends from its waist
a slow, polite bow
to fall face-first
in drunken etiquette
stiff vomit of table and chairs
mops, beds, brushes
bodies and bricks
ejected
all
carriedaway...
2 - 7
the buzz word
well
phrase
taken to new levels
of stupid
on the morning news
had me pause
mid-type
ing
greens are better
than bread
for ducks
(who knew?
)
but if you really must
feed ducks your crusts
portion control
is their friend
world's gone quackers
2 - 8
chancellor osborne
is no robin hood
no matter how he styles himself
and smirks a plastic smile above a
small red-stained case
for the cameras
this is reverse hood-ism
skin and pine and lead
a coffin hinged instead of nailed
a coffin nonetheless for the hopes
of those most in need
who're systematically robbed
to feed the greed most felt
by those with full bellies
deep pockets
pensioner, pauper
disabled and disenfranchised
save money
though you go hungry to feed your family
work till you're 85!
work zero-hour contracts!
work despite newborns at home!
work where there're no jobs! work!
someone has to pay for freezing tax
on wine, beer, and spirits....
[George Osborne, Chancellor of the Exchequer, poses outside 10 Downing Street with the Budget Box = a small case made from red-stained ram skin over pine, lead-lined]
2 - 9
if i were to write a poem
it would be a thing of beauty
a natural work
of art
a
panorama of
the heart
to make you taste
the tears of angels
on your tongue
the sweat of demons as
they dance a strange burlesque
your fingertips would trace
cold marble's whorl, sift
the fine fine grit of sand
and maybe
just maybe
your pulse would quicken
to wild fire as it leaps
canopy to canopy
till you choke on verbal smoke that fills your lungs
all bitter blue
till then
this is all i have
to offer
you
2 - 10
https://s-media-cache-ak0.pinimg.com...7adb10cdaf.jpg
if we are lucky enough to endure
persist in breathing into adult years
the cracks start to show
whether from unseen flaws
that fracture the delicacy of our vessel
in life's firing process
or from the clumsy treatment
of careless hands
when we find the one
(or strength to find ourselves)
strange alchemy binds us
makes us whole
all the more beautiful
for cracks we're not afraid to show
__________________
3 - 1
stepped on a snake
cracked its back
sent me tumbling
back to start again
hoping to throw a six
or land on a lucky ladder
to climb
level to level
trusting the rungs beneath my feet
not to snap
i hope the snake forgives
these heavy feet
to pee or not
to pee? that
that is the question
that chases its tail
tail wags the dog
tale of two cities
cities with spires
cities aspiring with hope
hope burns
hope-on-a-rope
rope-a-dope
rope me in
in or out
in times of need
need to pee?
need a toupé
toupé or not, trump?
toupé top-hair
hair gone wild
hair today, tomorrow too
too soon, too soon
too - oops, wrong turn
turn on the spot
turn around bright eyes
*eyes the clichés
eyes the window cleaner*
cleaner soul with soap n squeegee
squee? gee i messed up there
squeegee reminding me
me i think i need a pee
me a culpa - guilty
guilty is as guilty does
guilty as a drunken buzz
buzz off
buzz along
a long time coming
a long walk off a short pier
pier-pressure
pier burning
burning shame
burning bladder
bladder wracked
bladder - pee?
pee ja vu!
pee-s in a pod
pod cast
pod house
house call
call the midwife
call of nature
nature takes its course
midwife? bedpan! : p(l)ease :
2-2
he washed half-ways around the world
roped to sailess mast on splintered raft
lips blistered from too much salt and sun
hope peeling from the burn and the troughs
even as his eyes tracked unfamiliar stars
half-drowned, half-baked, at last he came
to rest in the dawn-light of her shallows
staggered on sea-legs through lacey brine
fell upon his knees to drink
sweet waters in her delta
2-3
wound tighter than a reel under pressure
somethin's gotta give
but there's no letting go
this has to be played out
will the snap come
or the drag beneath the surface
fighting to breathe?
breathe. you gotta breathe
lean into the pull
let the line run
sense the moment when to grasp
to draw that tangled red towards you
unsnarling at last
even as you hold your breath
even as your pulse thrums
and you hoist the prize clear and free
then realise
you forgot to breathe
2-4
the non-aggressive
shall certainly inherit the world
thriving as they do
in eternal night of caves
or deep, deep in oceans
clustering to heated vents
in colonies
more populaced than tokyo or
new york city
what consequence the rush and strife of man?
how meaningless his goals
his fleet achievements
his art, his gods
in the face of immeasurable time...
just another mass of organic tissue
offering opportunities
to expand
span eras
survive
2-6
flash flood
black water
punching the air
spouting like some furious dragon's belch
and there's mud on the roadway
trees and stones on the tarmac
till suddenly
there's no tarmac
just great yawning holes where infrastru-
-cture's collapsed
swallowed into the angry dragon's gut
and houses teeter shyly on compromised footings
timid dancers reluctant to step out on the dancefloor
indecision hokey-kokey
a garden gate swings with strange determination
having lost its garden
and a cat
no - a child made from mud
clings
to a garden slide caught in a treetop
all is sound and battle and fury
then a pink-faced inn bends from its waist
a slow, polite bow
to fall face-first
in drunken etiquette
stiff vomit of table and chairs
mops, beds, brushes
bodies and bricks
ejected
all
carriedaway...
2 - 7
the buzz word
well
phrase
taken to new levels
of stupid
on the morning news
had me pause
mid-type
ing
greens are better
than bread
for ducks
(who knew?
)but if you really must
feed ducks your crusts
portion control
is their friend
world's gone quackers
2 - 8
chancellor osborne
is no robin hood
no matter how he styles himself
and smirks a plastic smile above a
small red-stained case
for the cameras
this is reverse hood-ism
skin and pine and lead
a coffin hinged instead of nailed
a coffin nonetheless for the hopes
of those most in need
who're systematically robbed
to feed the greed most felt
by those with full bellies
deep pockets
pensioner, pauper
disabled and disenfranchised
save money
though you go hungry to feed your family
work till you're 85!
work zero-hour contracts!
work despite newborns at home!
work where there're no jobs! work!
someone has to pay for freezing tax
on wine, beer, and spirits....
[George Osborne, Chancellor of the Exchequer, poses outside 10 Downing Street with the Budget Box = a small case made from red-stained ram skin over pine, lead-lined]
2 - 9
if i were to write a poem
it would be a thing of beauty
a natural work
of art
a
panorama of
the heart
to make you taste
the tears of angels
on your tongue
the sweat of demons as
they dance a strange burlesque
your fingertips would trace
cold marble's whorl, sift
the fine fine grit of sand
and maybe
just maybe
your pulse would quicken
to wild fire as it leaps
canopy to canopy
till you choke on verbal smoke that fills your lungs
all bitter blue
till then
this is all i have
to offer
you
2 - 10
https://s-media-cache-ak0.pinimg.com...7adb10cdaf.jpg
if we are lucky enough to endure
persist in breathing into adult years
the cracks start to show
whether from unseen flaws
that fracture the delicacy of our vessel
in life's firing process
or from the clumsy treatment
of careless hands
when we find the one
(or strength to find ourselves)
strange alchemy binds us
makes us whole
all the more beautiful
for cracks we're not afraid to show
__________________
3 - 1
stepped on a snake
cracked its back
sent me tumbling
back to start again
hoping to throw a six
or land on a lucky ladder
to climb
level to level
trusting the rungs beneath my feet
not to snap
i hope the snake forgives
these heavy feet
butters
High on a Hill
- Joined
- Jul 2, 2009
- Posts
- 84,454
march same title challenge : fertility
Rust moon stares
eye too dry to blink
as night
sinks
shares its languorous shawl
- a humid air -
across the greening corn
whose upright flesh
- pressed urgent from the soil -
is now all splashed in black that
shallows
slow
sticky...
Beneath unhallowed land
thin white things stir
spool, unspool in boneless squirm
in nitrogen-excitement
in
fertility's darkest dance.
Rust moon stares
eye too dry to blink
as night
sinks
shares its languorous shawl
- a humid air -
across the greening corn
whose upright flesh
- pressed urgent from the soil -
is now all splashed in black that
shallows
slow
sticky...
Beneath unhallowed land
thin white things stir
spool, unspool in boneless squirm
in nitrogen-excitement
in
fertility's darkest dance.
butters
High on a Hill
- Joined
- Jul 2, 2009
- Posts
- 84,454
although i ache for him
i am content
knowing there is movement
slow but true
towards our yes and ahh and oohh
when all about me are the lonely
more than passing blues
who walk their days half-dazed with loss
wait out the even longer empty nights
nothing fills their need
they're shadows passing through
the brighter lives of others
sparking with connection
trailing laughter on the air the
lonely cannot touch
no matter how much they gasp for living
life side-stepped them
and they don't know how
to feel whole again
so i count the days
and count my blessings
count on you and count on me
wish love for the hollow
that they may once more come to see
themselves as more than shadows at noon
i am content
knowing there is movement
slow but true
towards our yes and ahh and oohh
when all about me are the lonely
more than passing blues
who walk their days half-dazed with loss
wait out the even longer empty nights
nothing fills their need
they're shadows passing through
the brighter lives of others
sparking with connection
trailing laughter on the air the
lonely cannot touch
no matter how much they gasp for living
life side-stepped them
and they don't know how
to feel whole again
so i count the days
and count my blessings
count on you and count on me
wish love for the hollow
that they may once more come to see
themselves as more than shadows at noon
butters
High on a Hill
- Joined
- Jul 2, 2009
- Posts
- 84,454
ode to a kinked dick
a warning of what's to come
like a signpost
indicating a turn up ahead
a kink in the road
so power through the curve
for a kinky dick
reaches the parts others miss
even if it involves
some geometric thinkin'
now fasten your sealt belt
a warning of what's to come
like a signpost
indicating a turn up ahead
a kink in the road
so power through the curve
for a kinky dick
reaches the parts others miss
even if it involves
some geometric thinkin'
now fasten your sealt belt
butters
High on a Hill
- Joined
- Jul 2, 2009
- Posts
- 84,454
there was a dream
though whose it was is lost
but
the body
was laid on a woven grass mat
the mat circular and
some unnamed shade between
silver, beige and green
a worn cool smoothness to the touch
the edges were wrapped around the
body
wood-silent
save for the half-hidden face
that spoke volumes
from a bruised face puffy with the unexpressed
as thin grass cord was looped
tied
though never enough to hide
entirely
the whole truth of the matter
the slick glint of a destroyed eye...
and despite all efforts
dirt hole and tamped soil
the walking away from an unmarked grave
the dead do not so easily lay still
and writers find
their ink has found its pen
only content when exposed to full sun
though whose it was is lost
but
the body
was laid on a woven grass mat
the mat circular and
some unnamed shade between
silver, beige and green
a worn cool smoothness to the touch
the edges were wrapped around the
body
wood-silent
save for the half-hidden face
that spoke volumes
from a bruised face puffy with the unexpressed
as thin grass cord was looped
tied
though never enough to hide
entirely
the whole truth of the matter
the slick glint of a destroyed eye...
and despite all efforts
dirt hole and tamped soil
the walking away from an unmarked grave
the dead do not so easily lay still
and writers find
their ink has found its pen
only content when exposed to full sun
butters
High on a Hill
- Joined
- Jul 2, 2009
- Posts
- 84,454
valentine's villanelle challenge
Not making a hash of it
He warms his butters in the pan
then sprinkles in his piquant spice,
her daring, caring, T.N man.
He coaxes heat because he can,
chancing flavours, throws the dice
and warms his butters in the pan,
watches till she bubbles - fans
her flushing cheeks, all naughty-nice
her caring, tender, T.N man
who cooks on open-fire plans.
She knows the cost, he's worth the price -
he warms his butters in the pan.
He adds the meat, he adds élan,
he's more to her than pork-beans-rice,
her tender, clever, T.N man.
From when they very first began
he tenderised her heart, enticed;
still warms his butters in the pan -
her clever, darling, T.N man.
Not making a hash of it
He warms his butters in the pan
then sprinkles in his piquant spice,
her daring, caring, T.N man.
He coaxes heat because he can,
chancing flavours, throws the dice
and warms his butters in the pan,
watches till she bubbles - fans
her flushing cheeks, all naughty-nice
her caring, tender, T.N man
who cooks on open-fire plans.
She knows the cost, he's worth the price -
he warms his butters in the pan.
He adds the meat, he adds élan,
he's more to her than pork-beans-rice,
her tender, clever, T.N man.
From when they very first began
he tenderised her heart, enticed;
still warms his butters in the pan -
her clever, darling, T.N man.
butters
High on a Hill
- Joined
- Jul 2, 2009
- Posts
- 84,454
december challenge: pairings
Rememories of Love, Past, Present, and Future
Too often wounds of unkind love
sting with fresh-rubbed salt.
Too many tears poison the well;
their bitterness stunts growth
of even the most robust love -
a matter of chemistry over faith.
When kindness finds you,
when good love knocks,
open the door with a smile;
though tears may fall they
have a sweeter source;
there'll be no drowning in remorse.
Time has a way of balancing the scales;
a broken heart can mend, scars
fade. Regeneration's brought about
in most surprising ways, its future cost
supposed though not accounted.
Who knows how mellowed minds will ghost -
rememories of loves lived, lost....
Rememories of Love, Past, Present, and Future
Too often wounds of unkind love
sting with fresh-rubbed salt.
Too many tears poison the well;
their bitterness stunts growth
of even the most robust love -
a matter of chemistry over faith.
When kindness finds you,
when good love knocks,
open the door with a smile;
though tears may fall they
have a sweeter source;
there'll be no drowning in remorse.
Time has a way of balancing the scales;
a broken heart can mend, scars
fade. Regeneration's brought about
in most surprising ways, its future cost
supposed though not accounted.
Who knows how mellowed minds will ghost -
rememories of loves lived, lost....
butters
High on a Hill
- Joined
- Jul 2, 2009
- Posts
- 84,454
lit holiday poem swap
larger than life
he disappears within shadows
shades at his windows
a voice behind closed doors
a cheshire cat smirk
hovers in the blank space
just past the witching hour
0-666 in 60
though demon is too strong a word
more imp on a bender
that's just a face for the camera
behind the scenes
a sensitive
wandering inside a mind
floor to ceiling books
and exquisitely poised
to see the beauty in life
despite all its ugly
in his hand a rod
to beat the wilfully stupid about the head
'count this!' he'll say
bloodied crown perched sardonically
ducks awing
whilst, in his eye, ice-crystals form
and he's lost in golden lattices
gentled mists
purpled rains
-----------------------
thankyou for that invitation
many years gone by
despite the gap, i found you here
so stayed to Lit test-drive
that simple little thing you did
has changed the way i live
the way i think, the way i feel,
the way i write and give
it's thanks to you i've had the joy
of meeting people here
who've touched my life in different ways
and found my love, my dear
so let me wish a little thing
a simple wish, it's true
i wish you merry christmas
and that '16's kind to you
--------------------------------------
Love skills
There's a little girl on a mountain
who, looking up from her books,
looking out across the mists,
still bears his heat within her veins,
his lips upon her pulsing wrist.
She slides her pump-clad feet in time
to their beat, their happy beat,
their music hanging in the air
and snaps her fingers,
conjures his smile
as only a poet can...
she can do magic
------------------------------
when he picks up his pen
it's the start of a journey
where he takes each reader by the hand
drops them into a pizza booth or church pew
prison or palace
opens ears to accents
eyes to the carnage of big guns
hearts to the plights of others
minds to truth over history
he stares out the window as the sun hangs low
stirs equal measures of love and retrospection into his coffee
--------------------------------------
ever since i heard her voice
it sounds in every thing she writes
that luscious south
she plays her games like cat and mouse
and mouths a smile that's just for us
she dares us chance
from lowered sultry lids a glance
and dances word-to-word with glee
she fans the flames
a belle to ring, there's none the same
no shame, she prances on the bar
red-gartered gal
----------------------------
he's moved beyond the hammer and chisel
kicked the fragments from around his feet
laid down the plane, stroked the wood
time to step back 'n' breathe
time to take stock
to look in the mirror
to see past the sawdust and mica on his brow
to the sculpture he's wrought
passion in every line
scars and love shining
he's hand-crafted himself
as poet
---------------------
seems she's only happy when she's bleeding
happy meaning writing, nothing more,
and bleeding meaning writhing in the
bliss of sin although i'm pretty sure
there's more, much more of her to share
when and only when she's willing...
till then i wish her christmas cheer
a tainted christmas eve
a master's slap upon her butt
and bondage in her stocking
-------------------
no-one does erotic quite like she
who else could turn a humble dowel
quite so phallic-ly?
oh! fortunate walter!
no chemicals required
just her naiad, slippery, sleek
and every man holds his breath
hearts bucking like mules
living out those sucking moments
the gifts within her skills.
so my thankyou's more than paper crown
to wear upon your brow
it reads, in lights, Erotic Queen
'n' you can wear it all year round
--------------------------
i write you so much
i'm scared you'll not think this special
except -- not really
you're way more generous to my words than that
and i don't even need to close my eyes to
see your cheeky wink
hear your steady heart
feel the warmth of your smile wrap me in
love
every day you gift me with your heart
and glimpses of our life that waits right there
amidst greenery and the whirr of hummingbird wings
their jeweled flashings
and you, always you, holding my hand.
-----------------------
those dark glasses
always make me smile
the guy who knows how
to slide
cat on an oiled ride
motor purring
then gunned to life
spitting dirt from the rubber
that's hurling blue smoke into the faces of those
left behind
rain
gliding down your windscreen
wipers inactive
you should come around more often
there's a barstool with your name on it
lookin' lonely
-------------------------
they say bronze is the age of wisdom
which kinda makes your blue eyes smile
eyes that've seen their share of mischief
and known the sting of smoke from while to while
you cut the crap and sink the balls
a cue is a cue is a cue
an' ifn any are thirstin' for water
you're the river
'n' the river is you
People! you say in a moderate tone
despite that sharp exclamation
They do their own thing, I do mine;
now if one of you buggers'll light my cigar
I'll proclaim you're the best and all's fine.
-----------------------------
bounced in like a puppy on steroids
and decided that it'd be fun
to shit all over the shag pile
but when he was done he was done
and now we're quite used to his droppings
and i'm sorry he's still feeling rough
but with so many cats he'll be cosy
being sick can be icky and tough
this doggerel verse is to make him
take pen in his hand, wield revenge!
he's not so much strange as a weirdo
but he's our weirdo, right? in the end....
------------------
my darling girls, my dashing boys,
i wish you hearts of festive joy;
of light and cheer and rude good health,
of bonhomie and good love, felt.
in times of darkness there is light
despite the longest winter night;
so let us wish for peace again -
that '16's free of fear and pain.
so raise your glass, your cup, or mug,
it's litmas time, so, right - group hug!
--------------------
god rest ye, merry litmas peeps,
let nothing you dismay;
the word's alive and kicking, well,
alive on this yule day!
no matter how depraved we get
let's not forget to pray
for-orr poems and poe-osts of great joy,
comfort and joy,
for-orr po-oh-ems of cu-um-fort and joyyyyyyyyyyyyyyyyyy
-----------------------
larger than life
he disappears within shadows
shades at his windows
a voice behind closed doors
a cheshire cat smirk
hovers in the blank space
just past the witching hour
0-666 in 60
though demon is too strong a word
more imp on a bender
that's just a face for the camera
behind the scenes
a sensitive
wandering inside a mind
floor to ceiling books
and exquisitely poised
to see the beauty in life
despite all its ugly
in his hand a rod
to beat the wilfully stupid about the head
'count this!' he'll say
bloodied crown perched sardonically
ducks awing
whilst, in his eye, ice-crystals form
and he's lost in golden lattices
gentled mists
purpled rains
-----------------------
thankyou for that invitation
many years gone by
despite the gap, i found you here
so stayed to Lit test-drive
that simple little thing you did
has changed the way i live
the way i think, the way i feel,
the way i write and give
it's thanks to you i've had the joy
of meeting people here
who've touched my life in different ways
and found my love, my dear
so let me wish a little thing
a simple wish, it's true
i wish you merry christmas
and that '16's kind to you
--------------------------------------
Love skills
There's a little girl on a mountain
who, looking up from her books,
looking out across the mists,
still bears his heat within her veins,
his lips upon her pulsing wrist.
She slides her pump-clad feet in time
to their beat, their happy beat,
their music hanging in the air
and snaps her fingers,
conjures his smile
as only a poet can...
she can do magic
------------------------------
when he picks up his pen
it's the start of a journey
where he takes each reader by the hand
drops them into a pizza booth or church pew
prison or palace
opens ears to accents
eyes to the carnage of big guns
hearts to the plights of others
minds to truth over history
he stares out the window as the sun hangs low
stirs equal measures of love and retrospection into his coffee
--------------------------------------
ever since i heard her voice
it sounds in every thing she writes
that luscious south
she plays her games like cat and mouse
and mouths a smile that's just for us
she dares us chance
from lowered sultry lids a glance
and dances word-to-word with glee
she fans the flames
a belle to ring, there's none the same
no shame, she prances on the bar
red-gartered gal
----------------------------
he's moved beyond the hammer and chisel
kicked the fragments from around his feet
laid down the plane, stroked the wood
time to step back 'n' breathe
time to take stock
to look in the mirror
to see past the sawdust and mica on his brow
to the sculpture he's wrought
passion in every line
scars and love shining
he's hand-crafted himself
as poet
---------------------
seems she's only happy when she's bleeding
happy meaning writing, nothing more,
and bleeding meaning writhing in the
bliss of sin although i'm pretty sure
there's more, much more of her to share
when and only when she's willing...
till then i wish her christmas cheer
a tainted christmas eve
a master's slap upon her butt
and bondage in her stocking
-------------------
no-one does erotic quite like she
who else could turn a humble dowel
quite so phallic-ly?
oh! fortunate walter!
no chemicals required
just her naiad, slippery, sleek
and every man holds his breath
hearts bucking like mules
living out those sucking moments
the gifts within her skills.
so my thankyou's more than paper crown
to wear upon your brow
it reads, in lights, Erotic Queen
'n' you can wear it all year round
--------------------------
i write you so much
i'm scared you'll not think this special
except -- not really
you're way more generous to my words than that
and i don't even need to close my eyes to
see your cheeky wink
hear your steady heart
feel the warmth of your smile wrap me in
love
every day you gift me with your heart
and glimpses of our life that waits right there
amidst greenery and the whirr of hummingbird wings
their jeweled flashings
and you, always you, holding my hand.
-----------------------
those dark glasses
always make me smile
the guy who knows how
to slide
cat on an oiled ride
motor purring
then gunned to life
spitting dirt from the rubber
that's hurling blue smoke into the faces of those
left behind
rain
gliding down your windscreen
wipers inactive
you should come around more often
there's a barstool with your name on it
lookin' lonely
-------------------------
they say bronze is the age of wisdom
which kinda makes your blue eyes smile
eyes that've seen their share of mischief
and known the sting of smoke from while to while
you cut the crap and sink the balls
a cue is a cue is a cue
an' ifn any are thirstin' for water
you're the river
'n' the river is you
People! you say in a moderate tone
despite that sharp exclamation
They do their own thing, I do mine;
now if one of you buggers'll light my cigar
I'll proclaim you're the best and all's fine.
-----------------------------
bounced in like a puppy on steroids
and decided that it'd be fun
to shit all over the shag pile
but when he was done he was done
and now we're quite used to his droppings
and i'm sorry he's still feeling rough
but with so many cats he'll be cosy
being sick can be icky and tough
this doggerel verse is to make him
take pen in his hand, wield revenge!
he's not so much strange as a weirdo
but he's our weirdo, right? in the end....
------------------
my darling girls, my dashing boys,
i wish you hearts of festive joy;
of light and cheer and rude good health,
of bonhomie and good love, felt.
in times of darkness there is light
despite the longest winter night;
so let us wish for peace again -
that '16's free of fear and pain.
so raise your glass, your cup, or mug,
it's litmas time, so, right - group hug!
--------------------
god rest ye, merry litmas peeps,
let nothing you dismay;
the word's alive and kicking, well,
alive on this yule day!
no matter how depraved we get
let's not forget to pray
for-orr poems and poe-osts of great joy,
comfort and joy,
for-orr po-oh-ems of cu-um-fort and joyyyyyyyyyyyyyyyyyy
-----------------------
Last edited:
butters
High on a Hill
- Joined
- Jul 2, 2009
- Posts
- 84,454
3 - 2
find the number
call the number
number's not answering
waiting, waiting
cut off, re-dial
number's not answering
waiting, more waiting
cut-off, re-dial
short-cut the system
wrong department (yes, right)
can you put me through
where i want, pretty please
thankyou
at last, here's a person
but so softly spoken
sneezing and coughing
poor girl is quite ill
seems it's all done
certificate-thingy
online now so guides me
to where i should be
however, the service
is currently unavailable
so she takes all my details
they'll ring me back soon....
if life is a poem
it's written in red scrawl
i'd sooner just go there
and pay what is called for
so now the poor sick girl
all sneezy and sweating
is registrar-chasing
and probably cursing
my name as she does it
between using tissues
what is it with websites
for /dot.gov-ernment issues?
:waitsonphonecall:
3 - 3
intravenous
float in shallow water
in a sun-warmed stone bowl
visions no longer come
to paint your dreams in vivid shades
lightning over the mesa
and you wonder if they're right
about your crazy brain
but thoughts are too soft to hold onto
and it's been too long
since anyone spoke your name
or if they did
memory's shot
and names have no meaning
not here
and they'll never understand
how your spirit runs free
in the moon of red ponies
*in the moon of red ponies - book by james lee burke
find the number
call the number
number's not answering
waiting, waiting
cut off, re-dial
number's not answering
waiting, more waiting
cut-off, re-dial
short-cut the system
wrong department (yes, right)
can you put me through
where i want, pretty please
thankyou
at last, here's a person
but so softly spoken
sneezing and coughing
poor girl is quite ill
seems it's all done
certificate-thingy
online now so guides me
to where i should be
however, the service
is currently unavailable
so she takes all my details
they'll ring me back soon....
if life is a poem
it's written in red scrawl
i'd sooner just go there
and pay what is called for
so now the poor sick girl
all sneezy and sweating
is registrar-chasing
and probably cursing
my name as she does it
between using tissues
what is it with websites
for /dot.gov-ernment issues?
:waitsonphonecall:
3 - 3
intravenous
float in shallow water
in a sun-warmed stone bowl
visions no longer come
to paint your dreams in vivid shades
lightning over the mesa
and you wonder if they're right
about your crazy brain
but thoughts are too soft to hold onto
and it's been too long
since anyone spoke your name
or if they did
memory's shot
and names have no meaning
not here
and they'll never understand
how your spirit runs free
in the moon of red ponies
*in the moon of red ponies - book by james lee burke
Last edited:
greenmountaineer
Literotica Guru
- Joined
- Nov 28, 2008
- Posts
- 2,442
This is my favorite one, butters:
http://forum.literotica.com/showpost.php?p=75984748&postcount=815
empathetic and introspective without being maudlin.
The last couplet was one of those "I wish I could write like that" moments:
that they may once more come to see
themselves as more than shadows at noon.
http://forum.literotica.com/showpost.php?p=75984748&postcount=815
empathetic and introspective without being maudlin.
The last couplet was one of those "I wish I could write like that" moments:
that they may once more come to see
themselves as more than shadows at noon.
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