Skinny's thread

Glamour says I must
line up with the willows
in their dun gowns
to wash tresses in this ceramic gloom.

That kingfisher jolt overhead
bothers me, hung upside down and damp,
as I am right now.

Dun leaves swirl, now the rain has lifted,
and my eyes are grey pools,
not lifted by the metallic sheen that came
so highly recommended.

I'm feasting like starlings,
stalking my kitchen for innocent crumbs,
recoiling from hidden sugars and holding my breath.

I should move, quickly, pant.
I'm keen to see how my stars will arrange for
love's young dream to come bounding back
from a warzone.

 

the one guy
who hadn't heard of
democracy...
perfect!
giggle twisted!
niiice!
impressive diversity, matey,
keep it comin'

 

These old men,
are tired, creak
around the sapling.

They crack
old bark
with their sharpened breath.
Snap knuckles,
ever optimistic.

And they vie
for youth's attention.
Challenge each other in earnest whispers,
fight duals as they did in
the good old days.

Counted in worn hours
and won smiles.

 

I am at my fondest
when my breathing strains
against the dirty weather,
when all I hear is traffic noise
and my footsteps,
when I feel my heart in my neck
and the dampness on my back
and my burning ears, chewed by wind
and scarred by sneezing buses.

 

Today this grey
grew a little deeper.
Joined up with green and brown
to take on orange
and all died and decomposed
happy in their rainbow's grave.

We stuck roots down,
in the background,
smelling the impending compost,
awaiting peat-hidden mysteries and
the whispers of silent bugs.

But as it was
we got no further
than the bottom of the trug,
all splintered,
abandoned all winter on the doorstep.

 

When I stamp my feet
I want a lover to come running
or a uniformed salute.

When I flash teeth
I want to see the beads of sweat
cause whiskered cheeks to pucker
and lips slather slightly.

When I turn away,
to hear the sighs of disappointment
the shuffle of confusion
as the plot is lost.

I want to feel
the snake that nestles
in my skirts
grow bold
with my enchantment.

 

Loved Sour Bait and Pavement~! Solace Mulch was a good piece too, loved the opening in particular. So poetic. Took me right to a picture in my mind. Death of autum. Hafta come back later and peruse more. It's kinda like being atta perfume counter, too many scent kills the senses. Thanks sweety!

Today this grey
grew a little deeper.
Joined up with green and brown
to take on orange
and all died and decomposed
happy in their rainbow's grave.

 

Thank you Gdh!

 

This is an ambitious masqerade.

I step up first
and shake. Then dust down.
One hundred strokes of hair and thigh.

I am all kinds of sheen and matt.
I am thick and thin.
I am underwhelmed by this meagre,
half baked reflection.

Dim the lights and up the ante.

Perhaps I'll try the chiffon thrill
but essence of vanilla thumps me.
I decline.

Dogstooth check.
Big hips, can wiggle,
no hat, wrong heels,
and there's an old drop of claret.

Ankles like nuggets of parmesan,
wedgewood skin.
A moving blemish on this mirror.

Yet to you I am

juniper berries
to cure you,
cranberries
to burst you,
an emerald net
to catch you in,
and the smell of chestnuts
on your skin.

 

~* god, I loved this~!! so prettily put and ain't that the truth. Do we all do this to ourselves? lol. Thanks sweety.*~

 

hi there
wow..i love the explode of lvoe here...

yet somewhat held back by other emotions.....

lovely words love n peace from saff.....

the mother who tucks in the starlight at bedtime.
{what a memory i treasure from my eldest to youngest.....beautiful}
line........

 

7 Angels"
I set out from galio
thats were I saw him thier
the fog came down before me
the air was barely thier
shadows seemed to dance
In a frightning kind of way
he tried to invite me in
but it was hear that i wanted to stay

the first angel took me by the hand
led me threw a road of stone
I watched as they put scores on the beast
burnt its flesh down to the bone
the next two were like pools of blood
killed the lives with a massive flood
from the pool your lives I drank
He said its what you and I deserve.

 

Pleased to make your acquaintance. Unless....


I don't know you...do I? Thread sabotage, eh....your poem needs a fine eye to pick out your meaning behind the misuse of their/there, here/hear....

can I ask - forgive my boldness - what was your point exactly?

Personally I'm a proponent of the plain english campaign. That and a fan of the literal truth..... go on. Indulge me, sunny.....

 

When silt held me tight
and gave me dreams of eternity,
those small nibbles,
were my valhalla,
my warm and final resting place.

I am naked now.

I am a skeleton
dangling over dry land,
in this cradle,

condemned

to view the water's lap
from behind a great glass wall,

to hear my story
made up and regurgitated
incorrectly
a thousand times a day,

to have the artist's reconstruction
bear down on me,
a false memory slowly becoming fact.

They pulled me out,
a rotten tooth
from the fjord's restive bed

and hung me out to dry.

 

I'll have a desktop full of memories.
I want bent photos, with a seam running across one corner
curling slightly, like the lips on the image,
the face posing back at me when I pause for thought.
I want slips of fine pastel paper, with memos and jottings,
a modest pile of screwed up never-has-beens,
dead flowers beautiful in their withered ancient state.
I want a fine pen, an inkwell, a blotter,
but a drawer full of biros and felt tipped monsters
that are my army of workers, oppressed,
overused under the glare of the aristocratic nibs.
I want a lamp, bad taste. Perhaps a porcelain lady sits mournful on the base,
the yellowing shade her oversized and ostentatious parasol.

I want a view of the lawn, the stone birdbath in the sun's pool.
I want to chew a pen lid thoughtfully and gaze at you
sat under the oak with the papers
and a tall tumbler,
so earnest and distant.

I want to discover on this abused desk
a pink shred of paper,
under a notebook, or soiled by the base of a teacup,
sending me a wink, in your hand, from the other end of the garden.
Words to meet my gaze, that have lain undiscovered in this copse of productivity
for hours or days, or, perhaps, all summer.

 

wowzers, skinny! those last two were so incredibly good, I have to count them among my favorites of yours (and that's a list that's grown quite huge). Especially the untitled one; the images are perfect, crystally clear and just... yeah! To me, that one possesses everything a great poem should.... many thanks for sharing it!

 

I am no siren,
yet you
are so easily beguiled,
bewitched, by incantations
in a minor key,

these
trivial posies of words,
hard won, wrought from my enfeebled imagination.
These are mere tricks

and yet
you're spun
so hard
against the earth.

We're bold, and moulded in.

I had bruised haunches,
rocked, and scraped along the seabed.

Clung to some old, wrecked thoughts. Now
my shingle lies dishevelled,

but behind me.

I'm standing tall, shirking spray, outstretched,
a lighthouse.

I could not rip
the tide's strength from my ribs,
without
your keel and anchor.

 

This is a bitter chuckle,
this flirtation with exotic words
so quick
to lick this bleached and whoring page
to flicker on and off
like the harlot's lightbulb.

Out there, outside,
released from the prison of my typeface
impotence is rabid.
I am defenceless,
minus swagger.
My hips betray me.

You, vampire, I blame you.
Your absence fires me up,
I'm signalling across mountains
without the guile you stole.
My defences were shattered when you
opened me, and now
every weapon I try to use is gone,
turns to ash in my pale hands.
You left me without my mocking smirks,
now I am just whimper, and succumb.

So I'm agape.
A chasm. Waiting for the one and only quake
that shatters all my joints and
spins my bowels round the earth.
Just you. I've gone to ground.
Waiting for your stinging clutch
your probing, burning, condemnation,
our smitten, rosy signature
on my weak and gorgeous flesh.

 

Roskilde Longboat ....all I can say to that is an ineloquent no shit!! You caught something I've tried very hard to write without any decent success. You caught it perfectly~! I'm just going to let that one float me along. The others will have to wait. Its like trying to smell too many perfumes at one time.

 

Where shall we go then?
Is there a place in our here and now
where we can joust
in happy denial?
Those gossips! Ha!
Such a bore, but

usually they have the smoke,
wave it under your nose, asphyxiate.

I see your battle paint
and your introduction to the field of play.

But this time round,
you shall not
tan my hide
be my cipher
teach this old dog new tricks.

This is not pride
but pragmatism.
I am too far out of sorts,
too dried up, vintage
satin quilted,
to meet you here.

So I decline.
The ground is not as soft
nor as high
as I would choose.