Black Bruises III
I can wallow under the blackness,
the quietude underwater
coaxing to a surmised fray
I can endure the insipidness
sleuthing senescence arrive,
sleuthing balmy perfumes,
sleuthing cigarette kisses,
sleuthing ablaze kerosene,
sleuthing sly putrefactions,
sleuthing unawake buds,
sleuthing old handkerchiefs,
sleuthing ruffled pillowcases;
but am I the only one smelling
these black bruised fragrances?
poem by Norman Santos
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Related quotes
Where I Won't Hide
I traipse into alleyways
where the hellhound scampers
for the abundance of prospective preys
sleuthing with their hunger
with their carnage grinding
along its wilted masquerading
I wandered with their howls
adrift in the unconscious lane
towards a poignant demise
In these hollow rifts
chandeliers tinker the shelves,
the cages and the dens -
The vulnerability caressed -
and every larceny,
and every mind's eye
surreptitiously slithered inside
the pulsating chamber
where ephemeral things
comes in and out
to corrupt the strings
the harpist dedicated
for her opus and its beauty
flagrantly before my eyes
Inside this abortive purgatory
I basked in the cheap glory
of flames igniting for
the cheap bliss instilled
in the false hope dangling
upon your succinct trespasses
and that is how I managed
to subsist in unreality
where our vagaries
grew fairy wings for
the lifeless earth's boundaries
where we I won't hide.
poem by Norman Santos
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Sweet Tasting Treats
Lovely, after traveling through the bumps of uncertainty
this morning, suffering through the existential question
why I cannot concentrate like a machine or master the
art of sleuthing until finding the correct version of every
source text expression, fighting doubt that life can have
meaning if one is a million brain cells too short on
lightning fast comprehension - yet
Has to seem industrious and accomplished - after all this
my existential problems were solved in one mighty sweep
of eucalyptus and menthol delight, popping the delectable
sweets in my mouth, immediately the certainty and calm
of the ages fill my being bringing my anxious mind to rest,
everything seems easy and no question can bother me
any more, thank you for sugar
It shortens my life, scientists say, making the shorter life
so much better and more enjoyable, thank you that I need
not eat boring veggies to bring me nearer the end; as for
my teeth – there are dentists and the toothpaste industry,
I am as happy as a lark as long as I can embark
on sweet tasting treats...
poem by Margaret Alice Second
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Vacant Chambers and Cigarettes
The Gods have spoken
Of what I am, was, and shall
In a telegram of impious sighs
Marauding an open door
That I had left ajar with my eyes
Always sleuthing in askance
For a serenading knock,
And the castigators
Riding the yuletide wind and cars
Revved a gyrating silence
Of a lamented psyche
That I have naught but
Black lips made of cinder and derision
Engulfed by a daft genocide
And my chest hangs on a scaffold
Whilst the sun sprawled in recumbence
When the clock divulged
The barren quarters
In the teeming alleys,
The unrequited eyes
Amongst the adamantine
Petals of a blossoming asphodel
The empty hands,
Amidst the bountiful grains
Of time and its subterfuges,
The quavering lips
That had never talked to anyone
But fated to kiss the rings
Of the vacant chambers
In these squandering cigarettes
And as I wait for a key
That lingers on the billowing air
Palmed by infinitesimal humming birds
A colossus mauling in the small of my frame
Undraped to be a heartless beating
And until one stepped into the trellis
Close enough to the gaping antechamber
Of my vacant city
I shall shed a salty sea
In the pseudo-heavens mantling above.
poem by Norman Santos
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An Interesting Ancestry
To some of us, a tortoise lives on land
while turtles only rarely leave the sea.
‘Chelonians' applies to any brand,
so here I'll use this terminology.
Land dwellers share aquatic ancestry
and most of us decided to stay put.
Chelonians agreed to disagree.
A flippered revolution was afoot.
A late Triassic turtle fossil shows
a hard-shelled belly plate and softer back,
presumably to ward off fatal blows
from deeper-dwelling predators' attack.
Did top shell metaphorically ‘dissolve'
when full-shelled forebear sought the sea's embrace?
Or did an unshelled forebear's shell evolve
in oceanic pilgrimage retrace?
Genetic sleuthing points to latter case.
The evidence suggests that once again,
the tortoise forebears left their liquid space
and plodded (swam?) to shore with sigh, 'amen'. *
From sea to shore to sea to shore once more.
You'd surely think a record lies therein.
Yet maybe making not three trips but four
is water loving cousin terrapin.
When next you gaze with love in tortoise eyes
and wonder at his mind's soliloquy,
from languid, longing looks you may surmise,
he's pondering ‘To sea or not to sea'.
poem by Diane Hine
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Old Lion Man
In this lair I built
all around myself
the tigers lost their hunger
and lions slept like coals
without a flicker of flame
There were footsteps
lambent and poetic.
How can one find me
ballasting a violent nothingness
in the void of this cellar
where the prison is the warden?
Perhaps the spigot
made the saline water
sing enigmatically
into the harried pipes
of gelid gold and brass
As the dawn morphs to dusk
I saw you, calculating steps
like insurmountable avalanches
to catch the iron shackles
on my aching legs
You found me amidst
the chalky light and air
of my cobwebbed heart
You found the Braille
on my terse paw prints
and read the laments
of ludicrous misshape
like no one else did
and for a stolen moment -
while the aeons became bubbles,
the breeze sang violins,
the sleeping cars dreamt of revving;
several degrees out of phase
I saw myself in you
Like sleeping mirrors
we awaken into the terror
as we look into each other
and exchanged livid lights
and lucidly formless hopes
But the glass is shattered
and the bones dangled
like an inebriated pendulum
tautly vertical in
pleading for you again
to pillage my time
and percolate the many stains
of the unwoven tassels
on my parsimonious tapestry
The spuriously ratcheting flames
on the wick of our charades
wept like candles
but the tears will not
sing its weathervane song
burned generously
like toppling bridges
Where are you now?
So distant from the heraldry
not even your hair
comes to my waning graze
but in this lair, the shadows
remained riveted on the walls
and this telescope is inverted
I am the only one plummeting away
into the gates of exodus
Like a caged beast sleuthing
the pollens of yellow daffodils
I lost my virulence for hunger
in this malignant dream
Unbreak my cage if
I can no longer be tamed,
my fastidious heart is frail
my fastidious heart shall fail
so crucify me now
before I become
a lion or a man alone
if I am a lion man at all.
poem by Norman Santos
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The Blackness Of The Black Black Night
THE BLACKNESS OF THE BLACK BLACK NIGHT
The blackness of the black black black night
The blackness inside-
‘The wretch concentred all in self’
Why oh I oh I oh I?
A million times the question comes
Focusing only on number one.
Who are we
And what can we be
If we are only
‘me me me’?
The blackness of the black black night
The blackness deep deep inside
Why oh why oh why oh
Always always always ‘I’?
poem by Shalom Freedman
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Kerosene
everywhere I look I see
exclusive huddled
uninviting shelter
is privilege
of the same and competent
kerosene keeps me warm
I'm alone to watch it burn
kerosene
exposure is a pitiful
and pointless way of dying
before it gets me
I'll set a funeral pyre
kerosene keeps me warm
I'm alone to watch it burn
kerosene
i'm a man and
my dignity won't wave
Tonight buildings rage!
kerosene keeps me warm
it feels so good
to watch it burn kerosene
kerosene keeps me warm
feels so good
to watch it burn kerosene
song performed by by Bad Religion
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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Black Bruises II
I can ponder upon the blackness,
the garrulous of silence
placated by benign solitude
I can endure the ostracizing
listening to lulling lullabies,
listening to trembling metals,
listening to enraptured echoes,
listening to a soundless shattering,
listening to nothingness,
listening to guffawing crows,
listening to diffident clocks,
listening to the waning time;
but am I the only one listening
to these black bruised whispers?
poem by Norman Santos
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Black Bruises IV
I can gorge the vile blackness,
the eviscerated acquiescence
like a dog-eats-dog carnival
I can endure the struggle
tasting blotted inks,
tasting cheap champagnes,
tasting one's molting skin,
tasting a chance to begin,
tasting cold greasy dishes,
tasting stark carnal sin,
tasting tar and nicotine,
tasting saline misery,
but am I the only one tasting
these black bruised savors?
poem by Norman Santos
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Black Bruises I
I can stare into the blackness,
the void of many abysses
behind every dark curtains
I can endure calm and silence
watching pole dancers grind,
watching stars scintillate,
watching still shadows on the walls,
watching dislimned reflections,
watching trees pass me by,
watching ethers wash the screen,
watching my lonely feet,
watching little things sway;
but am I the only one watching
these black bruised visions?
poem by Norman Santos
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Wallowings
I am in the Wallowing-
there I find my best and worse.
Pity-Wallow is where I focus
all on my self and go inward
for long moments of pity-filled indulgence of self.
Sorrow-Wallow allows me to grieve
on my own terms, yet not really suffer
too much.
Wallow-Defeats are my best
and where I re-learn over and over again
not to regret.
Good Wallow where I learn lessons
over and over again-
Down is the best way Up;
Out is the best way Back:
Wallow-Defeat is the path to Happiness-
if you Wallow quietly and accept
that a Good Wallow is where you
plan for the Wallow-Through
not stop and rest amid your Wallowings.
As my Mother used to say:
'Cry and Wallow that's ok
but use the time to plan to get
back on your feet again.'
A good Wallow is a terrible thing to waste.'
poem by Lonnie Hicks
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Underwater
You and I,
Are here, underwater
Seconds are so dear, underwater
Searching for a light, to draw me closer
I hold my breath in tight, bring me closer
I feel your touch, will you pull me up again?
It's not so bad down here, underwater
Once you get past the fear, underwater
Since you through the haze, it's like a memory
I've been down here for days, have you seen me?
I feel your touch, will you pull me up again?
It's all the same for me, underwater
There's nothing much to see, underwater
I cannot make a sound, but I can listen
I can't tell up from down, now I'm listenin'
I feel your touch, will you pull me up again?
You're just in sight, will you save my life again?
You and I are here, underwater
song performed by by Vertical Horizon
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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Summer's Yearnings
Summer's eyes look me for heat and flowers
succeeding the spring buds with which adorned her
I am cast as Spring Calling
buds my Siren Flowers
I rose
inside her
flower petal Springings
because I
heat from inside
lying down with her Summer Fevered Longings.
Her roses bloom from my Spring Pollinations;
I give her Summer Glory
and and receives
all my Spring
Offerings.
'What good it be
dressed up in Summer Light' you say
'in Summer Jasmine Perfumes
if you do not arrive each time
to kiss me in my feverish night? '
'What sates sweet summer lips' longings
without your spring kisses joining
kisses which seal our souls
In unspoken understandings;
lips which kiss and hold in the secret night
hearts pounding
melding souls
swept up in destiny's yearnings
you offering a wet mouth
I a crimson cheek quivering
we two lost in Shudderings Desire
which press us two together
two on two
making then between us
Love's Single Season.
because lovers
make things
previously apart
into One
and
Discrete Time
fades into
into
Summer's Eternities.'
poem by Lonnie Hicks
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Underwater
It's in her head, it's in her mind.
She can't believe it,
Can't believe she's running out of time.
And any hold that she can find.
Something to lean on.
Everybody fails her half the time.
Nothing to be,
She's already been
Oh, in plenty of time.
Plenty of time...
Plenty of time...
She lights her candle, six A.M.
Starting a new one.
Every new one hits her just the same.
Just like clock work,
She climbs down into her bottle.
Yeah, and no one down there cares to know her name.
She's underwater, nowhere now.
She's underwater, upside down.
The rising tide won't find her now.
She's lost and found.
Underwater...
She's underwater.
She's underwater, but she won't drown.
She can't believe it,
And everyone she meets feels just the same.
It takes all day to get to tonight.
What makes the sunset,
And what makes it go back to where it came?
Nothing to be.
She's already been
In plenty of time.
Plenty of time...
Plenty of time...
She's underwater, nowhere now.
She's underwater, upside down.
The rising tide won't find her now.
She's lost and found.
Now she's upside down.
Now she's six feet down.
Underwater...
Underwater...
Underwater...
song performed by by Switchfoot
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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Blackness
Venturing into a big black hole.
Emptiness surrounds, it fills my soul.
The grandness of the blackness takes control.
Hopeless, meaningless damn the blackness.
The blackness inside that does feed us and beats us.
It swallows me up and feeds my soul.
Heats the hate that makes me cold.
It reaches out and takes a hold.
To drive me further in blackness bold.
Further and further it's freakishly cold.
Enveloped yet to be told.
No boundries how far will it go?
We've got to see how dark the black can be.
So venture now to blackness hold.
You must be bold to take this road.
poem by Michael McParland
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The Cupboard Of Loveliness
The fragrances of yesteryear
So fascinated me
That everything was crystal clear,
As if my destiny!
Collecting perfumes one-by-one,
Became my great desire,
My joie de vivre, my scents of fun,
As seller and as buyer...
Exquisite and ecstatic friends,
As if my second skins.
Companionship that never ends -
They cause my constant grins...
They magnify, they edify,
They sanctify my soul,
They rectify, electrify,
They somehow make me whole...
No wonder, then, I must enthuse,
Promoting such perfumes,
Such that I help my friends to choose
The blessed and best of blooms.
Designer perfumes blow my mind!
Pure bliss and happiness!
They're Heaven-scent and so refined,
God-given loveliness!
Denis Martindale, copyright February 2011.
Peter Sherlock, UK Shopping tv pre-scent-er
Dedicated to Peter Sherlock's ever-so-famous
'The Cupboard of Loveliness' which could just as
easily be called 'The Cupboard of Love Finesse'.
Fragrances stimulate, envigorate and celebrate
all that we sense as being beautiful and sensual.
Our transformation can be such a revelation that
others will want to share. Maybe there should be
a perfume called, ' What's That? ' because that's
what people ask us when they want what we've got!
How many buyers say they're buying perfume for
somebody else, only to sample the perfume and must
keep it all to themselves? Millions, that's how many!
poem by Denis Martindale
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Hooks
The night procrastinated
Yet I endured
With the resuscitation
Of cigarette smokes
And the rundown of kerosene
Roaring without recoil
And the nurse and cajoles
Of a trusted man
Glinting in gold
The boys resembled
A retired warfare
Craning over a screen
Emitting a child's play
Whilst taking slugs
And smoldering gulps
Of ambrosia.
And I was there too
Capturing their reflection
Of a subtle conspiracy
And riding the hooks
Swaying like pendulums.
The brusque chortles
Reeled a heartless laugh
Of callused vagueness
And I had endured,
But when it subdued
The dusts would settle
At the floors
Of the pits.
An affable kindness
Hooked to cloy
In the meantime,
In between time,
And I let myself
Be taken away
And I feigned vigor
Holding it high
Like breathing underwater
Until I drown
And breakdown.
The hooks slurred
And caught me
Inclining in a wall
In the penumbra
Of a lamppost
Clogging the rupture
Rifted by the hooks
And a dear comrade
Haplessly vied
For me
And my vantage point
But the damage was
There with us
Only halting
When I sojourn my breath
Underwater.
poem by Norman Santos
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Bed Of Flowers
i found myself in a bed of flowers
looking up towards the sky
i laid there inhaling the sweet
fragrances of the flowers
and thinking of you and i.
the fragrances tickled my nostrils
and the memories flooded back in
thinking of all the joys we had
and all the things we did.
every feature of your face
the color of your eyes
the way your hair fell upon your shoulders
and how you could hypnotize.
i felt your arms around me
the tenderness of your embrace
your soft tender kisses
kissing my neck
kissing my face
taking me back to another world,
another time
another place.
you had captured my heart with all that i saw
and in my heart live there
now and forever more.
i smell the fragrance of your body
and it fills me with delight.
i feel your presence near me
although you're not in sight.
all my five senses are reaching out to you
but you're not there
and i don't know what to do.
so i'll lie in this bed of flowers
until you finally arrive
and in my heart i know
that our hearts will both entwine.
poem by Louis Rams
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Drown
Drown, drown
Drown, drown
Drown, drown, suffocating no air, underwater no air
Drown, drown, suffocating no air, underwater no air
And you know that I need you
So give me something I can do
But you just take and rip away, until its over
Ive been waiting for so long
Finally found out what went wrong
Listen closely and you will hear, that it is over, right now
She ties you down, down, down, down, down, down, down
Wasted!!
You made me love you
Drown, drown, suffocating no air, underwater no air
Drown, drown, suffocating no air, underwater no air
Lie your head down thoughts consume
On a blanket in your room
Wraps into fire and comes so clear
Face head over
Drifting out, out into sea
Looking glass, cleared for me
Glancing slowly for some room
To bang a nail solidly through
Its all over cant you see
Ive given you all of me
So scratch until you dig away, all of the venom from your vein
I cant help you, cant you see, that it is over
Dont you know its over, dont you know its over
Drown, drown, suffocating no air, underwater no air
Drown, drown, suffocating no air, underwater no air
Drown, drown, suffocating no air, underwater no air
Drown, drown, suffocating no air, underwater no air
Sacrifice my soul to you
Disappearing in thin air
song performed by by Uranium 235
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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To Blame The Air
This air does not only hold your fragrance
That I dangerously yearn for, like a candle light
In this pool of kerosene I soused my heart
It holds the petrichor, the semicide breaths,
A faint streak of puissant hope,
A sanguinary stench of a fray,
Tobacco scents and licorice,
A cry of war, a song of plea,
A hefty drapery of confusion;
For now I suck on these withered buds
Fixing a daunted lion poise
And breathing the oppressed air
To live in deaths, until
The atmosphere can cradle
The resurrection of what was
Blaming a shapeless enemy.
poem by Norman Santos
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