“A poet is a nightingale, who sits in darkness and sings to cheer its own solitude with sweet sounds.” -Percy Bysshe Shelley
Showing posts with label blind. Show all posts
Showing posts with label blind. Show all posts
Saturday, November 26, 2016
You for ick & X-Stacy
Tantalize me, blind me
with only the very tip
of touch
by bare skin, finger-
tip and thirsting tongue
piquancy tastes of infusion
and shutterless delusions
Sip and savor
thick honeyed pleasure
open viscous and slow,
collecting each drop contains
seven heavens
in one sin
Shall we begin
by a scent
magnet eyes,
enrapt by craving
connection, in conductive curiosity
never killed the unseen energy
crackling its static ring
of five
alive
ones
And generosity
left to ecstasy
takes lying down
where I would
see
in twice meant
lurid along making life lines
by hand.
Drawing by By Toulouse-Lautrec, Henri de (Unknown) c. 1896 in [Public domain], via Wikimedia Commons.
Friday, June 17, 2016
My right, your left
It all worked out,
things, that is,
what are nows
are exactly how they
should have been
we never needed
to worry and plan
all that armament
and added security
all for nought
knowing it would be good
as the old days
back then when it was
too dark to see
ahead or two
eyes do nothing
but distract, in fact
you made it that way
blindly feeling
your way
past
ifs
extrasensory gifts
finding a fit
and working your way
back out.
Image of painting by George Frederic Watts, c. 1886, Hope [Public domain], via Wikimedia Commons.
Wednesday, June 15, 2016
A city called Home
If I were blind the first question would be
Where,
then Am I?
If I were to listen I could not tell our places
apart
Your city sounds no different than my home.
When I close my eyes
to turn up the volume,
when I strain to listen in
the sounds become deafening.
I can hear your train
passing through.
I can hear the rushing waters,
through my fountain
or your pipes.
I can hear conversations
not for me,
laughter, underlapping rise and
fall
of voice-
a plane passes also
not for me.
I can smell the cafes, the local fare,
I can smell the clothes and bodies,
I can smell the trash and perfume spent
for no good reason.
The pots and pans,
footsteps, traffic, coming and goings
of whims from my window
it tastes exhilarating.
Smiles, and dings, rings,
jewels, tones, excuse me's
and gotta go's
seem exhausting.
Everything
I could ever need,
under one roof,
safely knowing each footstep
to the door, down the hall
to get the mail
to get back inside
(where I hide)
called my place,
or your City
Where
I am right at home
taking in
the blind view.
Subscribe to:
Posts (Atom)
And then...
Change is like that strong smell of cut grass or chopped wood that stops you still. Patterns, a symbol can be an illegible sign, at first...
-
1. Of my Soul a street is: Preternatural Pic- abian tricktrickclickflidk-er garner of starfish Picasso...
-
Today seems like a good day to burn a bridge or two. The sky resembles a backlit canopy with holes punched in it. In California...
-
This world is not for breath for feelings also come and go. As hard and light as Push and pull Go. Busy hands and bees-electricity, alter...