Difficult Body
A story: There was a cow in the road, struck by a semi--
half-moon of carcass and jutting legs, eyes
already milky with dust and snow, rolled upward
as if tired of this world tilted on its side.
We drove through the pink light of the police cruiser,
her broken flank blowing steam in the air.
Minutes later, a deer sprang onto the road
and we hit her, crushed her pelvis--the drama reversed,
first consequence, then action--but the doe,
not dead, pulled herself with front legs
into the ditch. My father went to her, stunned her
with a tire iron before cutting her throat, and today I think
of the body of St. Francis in the Arizona desert,
carved from wood and laid in his casket,
lovingly dressed in red and white satin
covered in petitions--medals, locks of hair,
photos of infants, his head lifted and stroked,
the grain of his brow kissed by the penitent.
O wooden saint, dry body. I will not be like you,
carapace. A chalky shell scooped of its life.
I will leave less than this behind me.
poem by Mark Wunderlich
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Related quotes
I Stand In Total Frustration!
I stand in total frustration
at this shore of this metro's road
in which flows the perennial river
of automobiles in mad frency!
I am unable to cross to the other shore-
I curse as helpless minutes fall dead!
God!
you must have created me
with an owl's head
that can look back and front-
with Lord Indhra's body full of eyes
and with Impala deer's nimble legs
to cross this death trap
in a single fluid jump!
poem by Sundaram Chandrakalaadhar
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Song X
Hey ho here we go, were on the road to never
Where lifes a joy for girls and boys and only will get better.
Hey ho here we go along the road to never.
Romeo and juliet, the doctor and his case
Without a plan they left the van and there were laid to waste.
Hey ho away we go along the road to never.
The priest was there with sandy hair, religion by his side
He saw his law was broken, the punishment was applied
Hey ho away we go along the road to never,
Hey ho away we go were on the road to never.
He held her hand and wished her well although his heart was aching,
The camera rolled, the print was bold, the holy war was breaking.
Its hey ho here we go were the road to never,
Where lifes a joy for girls and boys and only will get better.
[hey ho away we go along the road to never,
Hey ho away we go were on the road to never.]repeat
The priest was there with sandy hair, religion by his side
He saw his law was broken, the punishment was applied
song performed by by Neil Young
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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Dark Chocolate
Dark chocolate
I saw you today
riding sweet,
in a red chevrolet.
you tilted your head,
and rolled down the window.
lifted your eyes
and I felt the wind blow
knocking my hair all around
It was your voice that made this smooth sound
tilted your head
'get out of the way! '
and that's what I thought you would say.
Chocolate run smooth
'Do you need a ride? '
Chocolate on the move.
as soon as we locked eyes.
poem by Selene Reynolds
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Even More Domineering
I love Rudi’s protectiveness, Juliette says
I’m a disgrace to all feminists, I love his
jealousy while Juliette points out that she
is the great beauty, not I, she has the hair,
seriously beautiful hair, long legs and big
blue eyes; while I have soft hair, light-sen-
sitive eyes and short legs and a non-sexy
smile, Juliette has been crowned first
princess in a beauty pageant
She mockingly threatens to steal Rudi from
me, he’s much too handsome and I’m much
too clinging, she says, but I disagree, I asked
him could he have chosen Juliette if he had
met her first, he burst out laughing and said
not on your life, I don’t care for eyes, legs and
hair, but about what’s inside, I asked him if
he loved what’s inside me more
than the outside –
He replied, I love what’s inside AND I adore
the package in which you arrived, he kissed
my non-glamorous hair and my light-sensitive
eyes and said he liked the fire that lived inside,
he kissed my non-sexy smile and said the love
in the line of my lips drove him wild, I asked him
about my being too dependent and forcing him
to be domineering, using Juliette’s arguments;
he decided then and there
To become even more domineering instead
and marched me off to bed…
poem by Louise Tredoux
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Barbie Doll
This girlchild was born as usual
and presented dolls that did pee-pee
and miniature GE stoves and irons
and wee lipsticks the color of cherry candy.
Then in the magic of puberty, a classmate said:
You have a great big nose and fat legs.
She was healthy, tested intelligent,
possessed strong arms and back,
abundant sexual drive and manual dexterity.
She went to and fro apologizing.
Everyone saw a fat nose on thick legs.
She was advised to play coy,
exhorted to come on hearty,
exercise, diet, smile and wheedle.
Her good nature wore out
like a fan belt.
So she cut off her nose and her legs
and offered them up.
In the casket displayed on satin she lay
with the undertaker's cosmetics painted on,
a turned-up putty nose,
dressed in a pink and white nightie.
Doesn't she look pretty? everyone said.
Consummation at last.
To every woman a happy ending.
poem by Marge Piercy
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That the Soul May Wax Plump
My dumpy little mother on the undertaker's slab
had a mannequin's grace. From chin to foot
the sheet outlined her, thin and tall. Her face
uptilted, bloodless, smooth, had a long smile.
Her head rested on a block under her nape,
her neck was long, her hair waved, upswept. But later,
at "the viewing," sunk in the casket in pink tulle,
an expensive present that might spoil, dressed
in Eden's green apron, organdy bonnet on,
she shrank, grew short again, and yellow. Who
put the gold-rimmed glasses on her shut face, who
laid her left hand with the wedding ring on
her stomach that really didn't seem to be there
under the fake lace?
Mother's work before she died was self-purification,
a regimen of near starvation, to be worthy to go
to Our Father, Whom she confused (or, more aptly, fused)
with our father, in Heaven long since. She believed
in evacuation, an often and fierce purgation,
meant to teach the body to be hollow, that the soul
may wax plump. At the moment of her death, the wind
rushed out from all her pipes at once. Throat and rectum
sang together, a galvanic spasm, hiss of ecstasy.
Then, a flat collapse. Legs and arms flung wide,
like that female Spanish saint slung by the ankles
to a cross, her mouth stayed open in a dark O. So,
her vigorous soul whizzed free. On the undertaker's slab, she
lay youthful, cool, triumphant, with a long smile.
poem by May Swenson
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Melancholy
My hand caresses intimately.
Playing harps, with tight memories of my early dreams of 'love
Entranced by the solid walls of hot baths and steam
My Eyes reversed, white,
on the head tilted toward the high.
With her curly hair, I would have kissed again as I have always done.
Changes that cannot happen,
Like of shooting stars, you cannot win, his passing and time.
I seal my love.
A sad day, the cold air puffing, sweating in my jacket,
Walking faster and faster.
Lilies of the road are whispered,
the melancholy like thorns tangling my heart.
Silly dream, you made me exalt.
Drunk by Bacchus, left me awake intoxicated.
Like a bottle, running along the street, empty and aimless
The steps of time, leave footprints,
retraced by memories of dragonflies
mating in a stagnant pain.
In a deep well at the end of the dream
I woke up with thirsty sadness.
And buried treasure chest lost forever.
poem by Luca Menin
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Alone in the Wind, on the Prairie
I know a seraph who has golden eyes,
And hair of gold, and body like the snow.
Here in the wind I dream her unbound hair
Is blowing round me, that desire's sweet glow
Has touched her pale keen face, and willful mien.
And though she steps as one in manner born
To tread the forests of fair Paradise,
Dark memory's wood she chooses to adorn.
Here with bowed head, bashful with half-desire
She glides into my yesterday's deep dream,
All glowing by the misty ferny cliff
Beside the far forbidden thundering stream.
Within my dream I shake with the old flood.
I fear its going, ere the spring days go.
Yet pray the glory may have deathless years,
And kiss her hair, and sweet throat like the snow.
poem by Vachel Lindsay
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Leg
I know your legs are
On the legs of Baali the demon king
I know your legs are
On the head of Bharata your brother
I know your legs are on the
Head of Uddhaba your follower.
You have no leg I heard.
I Know you are present everywhere
Everytime and in everybody.
I do not know what a leg is.
I know the insect has six legs
I know the animal has four legs
I know the bird has two legs.
Your leg is my project paper
I do not know howmany legs you have
I do not know I a leg is.
poem by Gajanan Mishra
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Visit Malaysia Year Poem - Pulau Ketam (State of Selangor)
pincers, white fluffy flesh
red hot, spicy shells
under our white
plastic hammers
each leg, pincer,
carapace broken
licked clean
the two eyes
now jutting out of
the auspicious
light as flight
red orange shell
so cleaned up of life
so meaningless
and emptied
of existence
a loser of
the world
except for
its rich delicious
steamy white
vein laced flesh
the shells
stripped of all the limbs
straddle the table
play out the animals in us
some are upside down
some in upright position
some helter skelter
loose signatures of the
delicious triumph of a two legged
over a ten legged wonder
now only our hands are
crawling all over the table
grabbing parts, positioning legs,
pincer for hammers
we are nothing
more than dinosaur
when it comes to crabs
they are but fluffy, juicy, spicy,
pulpy, squeaky rich protein to
fill up the stomach
to build the muscles
of our own limbs
more customers coming?
get ready the crabs
get ready the rice
and the hammers
how many of them please?
how many crabs?
ketam ketam ketam
plankwalk that make
our walk sound crab
and.....dinosaur
Ketam is the malay word for crabs. pulau ketam is an island 30 minutes away from port klang in selangor. port klang is about an hour by commuter train from kuala lumpur and the same amount of time if one drives in one's own car. the island is famous for its seafood. the wooden plankwalk to the numerous restaurants makes one's walk sound crab because it goes ketam ketam ketam.
poem by John Tiong Chunghoo
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Paperback
' dust at the side of the road '
the story writes itself
in however how many pages it may take
it can feel your pulse-rate rise
and enters through your skin
it is a very fine dust
slides easy off the page
then grain by grain by grain
it burrows deeper in
poem by STEPHEN BRIAN Brady
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The Boy With A Moon And Star On His Head
A gardener's daughter stopped me on my way, on the day i was
To wed
It is you who i wish to share my body with she said
We'll find a dry place under the sky with a flower for a bed
And for my joy i will give you a boy with a moon and
Star on his head.
Her silver hair flowed in the air laying waves across the sun
Her hands were like the white sands, and her eyes had
Diamonds on.
We left the road and headed up to the top of the
Whisper wood
And we walked 'till we came to where the holy magnolia stood.
And there we laid cool in the shade singing songs and
Making love...
With the naked earth beneath us and the universe above.
The time was late my wedding wouldn't wait i was sad but
I had to go,
So while she was asleep i kissed her cheek for cheerio.
The wedding took place and people came from many
Miles around
There was plenty merriment, cider and wine abound
But out of all that i recall i remembered the girl i met
'cause she had given me something that my hear could not
Forget.
A year had passed and everything was just as it was a year
Before...
As if was a year before...
Until the gift that someone left, a basket by my door.
And in there lay the fairest little baby crying to be fed,
I got down on my knees and kissed the moon and star on
His head.
As years went by the boy grew high and the village looked
On in awe
They'd never seen anything like the boy with the moon and
Star before.
And people would ride from far and wide just to seek the
Word he spread
I'll tell you everything i've learned, and love is all...he said.
song performed by by Cat Stevens
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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Paper Chains
The first snow of the year
& you lying between my breasts
in my husband's house
& the snow gently rising in my throat
like guilt,
& the windows frosted over
as if etched by acid.
You have come from the desert
& have left a little sand
between my legs
where it rubs & rubs
& secretes a milky fluid,
finally a poem
or a pearl.
I am your oyster shell,
your mother of pearl
gleaming like oil on water
for two hours on a snowy day.
'Poets fall in love to write about it!'
I said in my brittle way,
& told you about other loves to tempt you
& heard your siren songs of old affairs.
I fall in love as a kind of research project.
You fall in love as some men go to war.
What tanks!
What bombs!
What storms of index cards!
I am binding up your legs with carbon ribbon.
I tied you to the bed with paper chains.
poem by Erica Jong
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The Boy With A Moon & Star On His Head
A gardeners daughter stopped me on my way, on the day I was
To wed
It is you who I wish to share my body with she said
Well find a dry place under the sky with a flower for a bed
And for my joy I will give you a boy with a moon and
Star on his head.
Her silver hair flowed in the air laying waves across the sun
Her hands were like the white sands, and her eyes had
Diamonds on.
We left the road and headed up to the top of the
Whisper wood
And we walked till we came to where the holy magnolia stood.
And there we laid cool in the shade singing songs and
Making love...
With the naked earth beneath us and the universe above.
The time was late my wedding wouldnt wait I was sad but
I had to go,
So while she was asleep I kissed her cheek for cheerio.
The wedding took place and people came from many
Miles around
There was plenty merriment, cider and wine abound
But out of all that I recall I remembered the girl I met
cause she had given me something that my hear could not
Forget.
A year had passed and everything was just as it was a year
Before...
As if was a year before...
Until the gift that someone left, a basket by my door.
And in there lay the fairest little baby crying to be fed,
I got down on my knees and kissed the moon and star on
His head.
As years went by the boy grew high and the village looked
On in awe
Theyd never seen anything like the boy with the moon and
Star before.
And people would ride from far and wide just to seek the
Word he spread
Ill tell you everything Ive learned, and love is all...he said.
song performed by by Cat Stevens
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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Cavallina Storna
The grey horse follows its familiar road home,
it pulls a wagon with a man at the reigns.
Its hooves kick up dust. This is Sicily.
It's Summer and it hasn't rained in months.
The man at the reigns is dead.
The horse waits patiently for her master's whip.
She won't speed up without it.
At the barbershop in town
hair floated cutting through beams of light
and irritating his breath.
He thought he was to die right there,
but they waited till he was on the road.
The horse's eyes are covered to keep her calm.
She can only see ahead where she can make out
the house, and the children waiving
from the branches of the orange tree.
poem by Matthew Christopher
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Festooned Man
Laid out by the festooned man,
The front road was a double avenue;
The festooned man carried moss on his chin
With wide eyes, and compounds of course.
Certain lotions needed adding to the gentleman,
With fearsome times on this horizon;
Laid out by the man of many colours,
A rainbow defended the land with the sea.
Your man perched on the line
Is sounding alert, detached and misaligned;
Your terrifying man, destitute and scared,
Scares us well above the normal level.
He is laying out a front road of picture-perfect
Quality; it is overgrown and funny with moss,
Like his beard and all the festooned man's body,
The body of diseases and ailments always contagious.
poem by Naveed Akram
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On A Winter Afternoon
A gray mare standing beside
The snow covered wooden fence.
The fence along a country road
Icy and well traveled.
Cars and trucks passing by;
Few noticing the gray mare
Breathing hot fog
From her nostrils.
The gray mare noticing all
Passing by, the wind in her hair,
Ruffling her mane. Patiently,
Standing by the snow covered
Wooden gate.
Awaiting her masters return
From work to bring her safely
Across the country road
To her home, the red barn,
And a meal of winter hay.
poem by Joe Wocoski
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The Tryst
I raised the veil, I loosed the bands,
I took the dead thing from its place.
Like a warm stream in frozen lands
My lips went wandering on her face,
My hands burnt in her hands.
She could not stay me, being dead;
Her body here was mine to hold.
What if her lips had lost their red?
To me they always tasted cold
With the cold words she said.
Did my breath run along her hair,
And free the pulse, and fire the brain,
My wild blood wake her wild blood there?
Here eyelids lifted wide again
In a blue, sudden stare.
Beneath my fierce, profane caress
The whole white length of body moved;
The drowsy bosom seemed to press
As if against a breast beloved,
Then fail for weariness.
No, not that anguish! Christ forbid
That I should raise such dead! I rose,
Stifled the mouth with lilies, hid
Those eyes, And drew the long hair close,
And shut the coffin lid.
My cold brow on the cold wood laid,
Quiet and close to-night we lie.
No cruel words her lips have said.
I shall not take nor she deny.
The dead is with the dead.
poem by Muriel Stuart
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A Poem About The Rotten Self
it is
a law that every
human being
accepts
as is: it is always the soft side that is hidden
sort of
Achilles's heel since we do not want to be
destroyed in an instant
it is the hard side that is always shown
a carapace
an armor of the body
a steel polo shirt
a pair of pants made of platinum
a bronze heart
a brain full of lead
tin hands
iron feet
the soft side is left like a fruit that you have forgotten
inside the
cabinet because of your selfishness
that inability to accept that all things are meant to be given
away
one day
you will find all the pulp consumed by the ants
have hope get the remaining seed with dried fiber like hair
on all over its body
take it and sow it
today.
poem by Ric S. Bastasa
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Good Deed Done.
The old woman
was lying
on the path
from her
ground floor flat
along Harper Road
when you and Helen
walked by
on your way
from the shop
with your penny drinks
you both ran to her
and she said she'd fallen
so Helen
ran across
to the surgery
on the other side
of the road
while you knelt
by the woman
placing your
short sleeved pullover
under her head
you're a good boy
she said
but you'll have blood on it now
don't matter
you said
you stroked her head
and pushed
her grey hair
out of her white blue eyes
when Helen returned
with a doctor
he examined
the old woman
and said
he had called
an ambulance
Helen stood
next to you
her eyes tearful
her hand
touching yours
the woman said
thank you both
I don't know
what I'd have done
if you hadn't come along
it's the least we could do
Helen said
you waited
until the ambulance came
and took her away
and disappeared
off along Harper Road
look at your pullover
Helen said
it's got blood on it
don't matter
gives it colour
you replied
anyway Mum'll wash it out
she gazed at you
through her thick lens
her eyes awash
with tears
her small hand
still in yours
the path
from the old lady's flat
had a small stain
of dark red
where blood had seeped
where she'd laid her head
a bit like an abstract
pavement artist's work
you said
the white stone canvas
with that touch of red.
poem by Terry Collett
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