I like how -bumble bee blonde- slips off the tongue. Great realism entwined with mysticism. Kismet, destiny, stars. Do me a favor if ya could read my -Fatalist- poem on page 2 of my thread, I wonder what you'd think of it.
I see you like using a lot of alliteration. The advantage of alliteration is that it creates a natural rhythm in the lines which makes the poem enjoyable to read. You also have great image, your diction is nicely constructed in those areas. Congrats! Keep writing!
and your name becomes the mist a whisper invents on the lip of a wine glass as response to rude comment becomes refracted light from crystal end over end that crashes on the wall and becomes blood splattered on the ceiling staining the carpet creating the future an impenetrable and ugly fate becomes now today tomorrow what history becomes has been written now your photographs on fire your phone # forgotten your face becomes erased
wrote this a few minutes ago... lots of coincidence going on today... some of the things in KittenX's thread sparked this and I ran with it, forgive me for embellishing …Cos when Maynard sang, "one and one are one, eleven" it was prophesy on fire out of my speakers defying immutable logic immitating omnipotent voice the full width of which lies forgotten in the deck till you get in your car and go to lunch and hear it crank back up and then, to jazz it up, two turkish images coalesced and danced and I don’t believe in coincidence and while probability is of consequence fuck math lightning bolts strike lightning rods many, many times the dead are revived by god, if you’ve faith and probability is probably bullshit; one plus one equals eleven
4 nights in a line and the whole time alcohol numbed the nerves and slowed the mind and we slept as the strep went scarlet with little red bumps growing on her skin causing concern than builds anxious tension and it’s got to be confusing, not knowing what the roots of the problems are the aches seem to be closing in wrapping infected tentacles, covering her skin and I have to confess, our history hurt and it leaves me bitter, wanting revenge wanting to cut into her psychoses But it’s not right; an unwarranted attack Just to get back, snap that spine in half Is too strong a momentary emotion So tell me what am I supposed to feel The boy with a decaying smile Too afraid to brush his fingers against her Too scared to care to think about her pain Is behind the wheel of these 4-doors again Driving down the road with the windows cracked In an insignificant black, blue, broken world Created by sense of fucking humanity Created by being the bigger person, And it will break me, too. I’ll be blinded by How she likes to cook and crate vegetarian meals How she bites her bottom lip in mischievous spells And the confusion will creep thick smoke blankets Contaminating the clean air of current thought And what’s real will escape And so she’ll sleep ignorant and safe From the shadow that just crossed my face
Great collection - you have a feel for the shape and taste of words! Highlights of the lot are, in my opinion: first stanza of "elasticized", the ending of "connection" (esp the last line - love love love it), the whole of "on the floor" - a sensual extravaganza" and finally the painting that is "Anti-territorial & College Optics". I'll keep popping in.....
Thanks for stopping in Sylvan and Lil Skinny! Glad you derived enjoyment from some of these :sunglasse
laura’s in synche with doug laying down foundations to deep conversations. the subject: evolution of the brain during a single life span and the mental adaptations rerouted neural paths and stimulants that make them permanent. the party has crowded around college kids with cheap keg cups listening and fascinated by the couples iris bombs, strings of enlightenment, woven intelligent words, the pattern pieced together when the comment is made laura and doug are talking in iambic pantameter. they talk eclectic, their voices echo spaghetti-western reverb, that low bass feedback lingering in a hushed room stale as a lost pack of cigarettes. laura swears she’s margarita, cold as ice, topped with salt. she’s the slurred hammer put the boys down after only a sip. three o’clock strikes and the house is nearly empty. she’s laying with him on the floor ocean carpet rolling wild with an ear ringing backdrop resting in the psyche with an observed permanence. laura looks over, notices that doug possesses grizzly bear hair, a rough punk peach fuzz beard and shady mentality not worried about crazy shit that happens sometimes. laura is all smiles and horomones are getting thick in her chemistry. her mind spinning cartwheels, calm is a pipe bomb with a fuze half burned and satin thoughts are getting loud in her body language. closed closet day dream, mental peaks, creeping webs of dark’s ribbon thread around torn reality thrusting thru rhythmic lung explosions watery eyes and fire she’s an emotional avalanche, a passion ripped whimper from the forming thought that this is wrong.
Amazing story telling and word play! Each line offers something extravagantly new and refreshing. Excellent piece fulmah.
Something about this one's just not right to me... any ideas anyone? is it crap and scrap it? morning came, clouds answering questions, thick as thunderstorms, hailstones crashing flashbacks of the night before with the haunting technicolor of a dreams hypnotic touch… mclaughlins fingers of fire shivering wailing distorted soundscapes; each note a phoenix brought to life to die as the next is born suzanne’s listening from the lay-z-boy, head down, brown hair hanging over a face of soft, angelic, innocent curves; and i tell her she's cleopatra, watch her try to respond, but shy, she gives up and so I offer youngs double chocolate stout; "cheers", start drinking then all goes grey its about four hours later, i guess. beer bottle caps are a minefield across the bedroom floor. clock radio says its 3:18am and i dont know what we've done but shes blanketing me, head on my shoulder and slick skin. she's waking up, mumbling an irresistable sirens symphony calling me to her arms so i kiss her quiet sail back to dream. sunlight is cruel to drunk, passed out yes, prying them seperated, forcing attention to poorly composed pop-rock that's conquered my clock radio. suzanne left in the early morning, poor girl split her foot on a cap, spilt blood and stumbled into her clothes, couldn't put on her shoes: they're still here. out of bed and dressed and into the kitchen, i grated cheese for scrambled eggs, then saw the note on the refrigerator.
I’ve some of her hair, I’ve made a doll it’s in the closet on a clothes hanger disguised to be a dragon breathing fire & wreaking havok wrecking my possessions on the shelf wrinkling my work shirts, my jackets so, I’ll dance to tribal drums chant the spell for shaman eyes and while I may not be an astronaut here goes my mind to the oort cloud home of comets and planet x with the solar system far below here I can weave the gravities into a waterslide, a wormhole, some kind of dimensional expressway that contains control of the dragon & will put out the fire & say her name 3 times & light some candles till the smoke begins to float against the wind into the dragons mouth against the laws of physics one day she’ll open the closet door see it hanging there: a little her. eyes: the same, lips: the same, the same shape of her face and everything else proportional and what would I say to her everything you feel is programmed are the effects of a spell that creates pheremones to attract & pull attention to braid your brain with: this is the real thing, no faery tale this is the forever that hardens diamonds this is that kiss-the-bride camera flash and there’s nothing you can do.
This is immersive. I love the texture of your relationships. Your inspiring me to create another thread of my beloveds diamond flashes
a countdown came creeping across the apartment as a viscous ticking clock with alarm set to toll & pitching elbows on the coffee table, I watched the hands with silver fingernails flip another card. she howled, "fuck!" and flung her arms in the air & right then I was thinking, something’s happening & right then thunder assaulted the house & our ears just as she won the game: it was godly proclamation of fuck, thunder, a heave-to of heavy vibrations that left windows rattling; that left me dumbfounded and figuring that though the world’s not terminated that even if the chance of another bolt is low I think I’ll accept defeat & make no challenges well, maybe I’ll formally apologize for the failed repair of electrical codes the brain composes into words that the tongue can speak... cos right now I’m stuttering, blaming predictions: the five of cups fell and for all its warnings I felt we could hold together the disintegrating communication I thought we could call off the bedroom battles, but we spit bullets, spilt blood broke bottles, lamps, and bones and if you didn’t already know calendars compiled of such events will quickly wreck your humanity create a defensive beast, on guard, expecting attack at any time. it's a technique interrogators use to break the sense of self and applied to any couple… a long, ugly end.
indeed, careful must we be that the cups do not floweth over, fattening us on a pleasure we would take for granted, stagnating our power of going, and our ability for knowing. Wouldst thou will to love, or dost thou love to will? The difference is so subtle, yet the distinction is so important. Let us not lose sight, lest we decieve our selves. Indeed, let us lose our selves, and regain any sight we may have lost. There is triumph here in these apparent seeds of decay. Will you go with the flow, or be dragged under, fighting the undertow? We must ask ourselves, and meditate long on the matter: "Which is stronger, the Water or the Rock?" Much Love
Thanks for the feedback Dope and Osiris... and Osiris, wow; great response... very thought provoking, least for me... Precisely right probably 90% of the time, this occurred due to that 10% other-world... If you go with the flow, and be dragged under. Will to love or love to will; does it matter if your partner is unconsciously applying an extremely subtle, powerful form of emotional abuse? Not too pretty a train of thought... but as G.I. Joe said, knowing is half the battle! Here's to the prettier days ahead.... Thanks for this brief moment of reflection....
around the base of stretching skyscrapers a limited perspective was introduced as I tiptoed behind a cute brunette who wore a reckless white tank-top. ambition attached itself to my stomach as attention focused on the space between her shoulder blades right where the spine starts to emerge to mix composites for cerebral connection. I was watching her muscles move and how her spine stuck out in a weird way when she turned around, looked right at me. I blinked and we were at my place with two months on the clock the window open and her clothes four stories below on the sidewalk; and had I been given powers to _____predict her favorite songwriter _____control her every thought _____perform the moves that _____make her scream I might have moved before now or at least brought some lubricants I mean, I should have at least suspected but no, here I am, face inflamed wondering if her ex-boyfriend wants to beat me up a punch to the chin, it’s no lie, I’d fall like her clothes, out the window floating down between buildings landing among so many feet that after she came running to look she’d find only dirty ragged remnants of her only airborne lover we went to sleep well beyond midnight and the pillow got hot, muscles got tense leaving me rolling over all night but still I managed to catch the zzz’s, the sheep on the fence whatever, I woke up trying to breath and the ceiling was nowhere in sight guess I passed out on my stomach she seemed to think that important "you hide in the dark but light gets in anyway" yes, I got stepped on. It left me stunned, stumbling down dark, dirty streets. recollection rpm’s redlined, and at the point of implosion how was I to know I’d find two shoulder blades & a spine
Gripping, blazing & sensual. Loved these lines the best. I admire your perceptions. The contours and beauty, caught by your eye, is not that of the obsessive norm. I enjoyed lingering with you on the shoulder blades and spine. Your imbedded OBE was subtle and the implosion imagery very effective.
