yelluw_always
Poem Published
22nd Apr 2019 3:57pm
22nd Apr 2019 3:57pm
Lakeside 20/30
Let us hang our hands
besides our mirror;
this is a time of publicness.
Consider strings tugging eyebrows
and lips curling a cat’s tail-
irritation or affirmation.
Squint, squelch and things
become quantum expressions-
only with known parameters,
full stops and a fateful
morse face.
Widen, warp into chipmunk
cheeks of autumn and eyeful
words are now chunks
of distance past Mars-
only with known extremities.
Our rooms are no rooms
at all even though they
have...
besides our mirror;
this is a time of publicness.
Consider strings tugging eyebrows
and lips curling a cat’s tail-
irritation or affirmation.
Squint, squelch and things
become quantum expressions-
only with known parameters,
full stops and a fateful
morse face.
Widen, warp into chipmunk
cheeks of autumn and eyeful
words are now chunks
of distance past Mars-
only with known extremities.
Our rooms are no rooms
at all even though they
have...
#identity
#nature
#culture #NaPoWriMo2019
#culture #NaPoWriMo2019
16 reads
1 Comment
yelluw_always
Poem Published
27th Apr 2019 7:20am
27th Apr 2019 7:20am
Lakeside 26/30
A different kind of ending
is happening in the underbrush
you might see it as a kind of matted
with its braids and twisted
bodies making do with space though it appears a mess
a real pollack moment of turning a head
everything appears fast
appears indiscernible and indescribable and streamed
of starved language
pretty much it’s a whirligig or a thingamabob
that all needs to be weed-whacked
to most
flattening what exists in a layer between control and worldview
mowers and machetes, landscapers...
is happening in the underbrush
you might see it as a kind of matted
with its braids and twisted
bodies making do with space though it appears a mess
a real pollack moment of turning a head
everything appears fast
appears indiscernible and indescribable and streamed
of starved language
pretty much it’s a whirligig or a thingamabob
that all needs to be weed-whacked
to most
flattening what exists in a layer between control and worldview
mowers and machetes, landscapers...
#identity
#nature
#culture #NaPoWriMo2019
#culture #NaPoWriMo2019
16 reads
7 Comments
yelluw_always
Poem Published
29th Apr 2019 8:05am
29th Apr 2019 8:05am
Lakeside 28/30
fathomless is not crossing
a gap like the Sound for I can
bend myself mold myself
a fin or boat what my ears
can not do my body
does for me is elsewhere
a sundry of bone and
nerves manifest in sundering
of subject I part him
to propel what is carried
on my back as a question
of...
a gap like the Sound for I can
bend myself mold myself
a fin or boat what my ears
can not do my body
does for me is elsewhere
a sundry of bone and
nerves manifest in sundering
of subject I part him
to propel what is carried
on my back as a question
of...
#identity
#nature
#NaPoWriMo2019
16 reads
4 Comments
MalcolmG
Poem Published
14th Dec 2024 7:40am
14th Dec 2024 7:40am
Majesty of the Eagle
Through dense green webs of ancient forest's breath,
The eagle glides, a shadow marked by death,
Its talons strike, a silent end to life’s caress.
Above the plains where golden grasses sweep,
Its wings command the winds, vast skies they reap,
A sovereign hunter, boundless strength, and ceaseless quest.
From Andes' heights where harpy eagles reign,
To open skies where crowned kings stake their claim,
Their gaze, a spear, pierces time's eternal crest.
No backward glance betrays their calculated strike,
Their flight an arc,...
The eagle glides, a shadow marked by death,
Its talons strike, a silent end to life’s caress.
Above the plains where golden grasses sweep,
Its wings command the winds, vast skies they reap,
A sovereign hunter, boundless strength, and ceaseless quest.
From Andes' heights where harpy eagles reign,
To open skies where crowned kings stake their claim,
Their gaze, a spear, pierces time's eternal crest.
No backward glance betrays their calculated strike,
Their flight an arc,...
#birds
#nature
16 reads
0 Comments
Cyndi_Moone
Poem Published
26th Jun 2018 3:55am
26th Jun 2018 3:55am
THE SONG OF THE CRICKETS
Take me to the Old Orchard Tree
Where the crickets sing happily free
Their song is music to my deafened ears
Deafened by silence when there’s nothing to hear.
My ears suffer violence
When surrounded by silence
For even silence carries a sound
I wish not to find or be found.
Stop silence’s high-pitched ringing
Take me to where the crickets are singing
Surround me with music; bury my ears with sounds
Hide me away where silence and I cannot be bound.
...
Where the crickets sing happily free
Their song is music to my deafened ears
Deafened by silence when there’s nothing to hear.
My ears suffer violence
When surrounded by silence
For even silence carries a sound
I wish not to find or be found.
Stop silence’s high-pitched ringing
Take me to where the crickets are singing
Surround me with music; bury my ears with sounds
Hide me away where silence and I cannot be bound.
...
#trees
#nature
17 reads
3 Comments
yelluw_always
Poem Published
19th Apr 2019 7:37am
19th Apr 2019 7:37am
Lakeside 16/30
Interlude: Here is an inter-
view of those, planks and grout
of silence. Stacked
and stuck together, glued hands
piling up. Quite similar
to signing comfort
only it doesn’t come apart
ever easily. It’s in the attitude
of momentum- of the beat
which lifts up off
the ground. Our hands
rubbing together makes
a sound like heat.
I am levitation. The hands
push me up higher
until I am in the middle
of air. Untouched.
I leviathan as fog
over liquid, spread fingers
circling against each ...
view of those, planks and grout
of silence. Stacked
and stuck together, glued hands
piling up. Quite similar
to signing comfort
only it doesn’t come apart
ever easily. It’s in the attitude
of momentum- of the beat
which lifts up off
the ground. Our hands
rubbing together makes
a sound like heat.
I am levitation. The hands
push me up higher
until I am in the middle
of air. Untouched.
I leviathan as fog
over liquid, spread fingers
circling against each ...
#identity
#nature
#NaPoWriMo2019
17 reads
3 Comments
yelluw_always
Poem Published
10th Apr 2019 7:29am
10th Apr 2019 7:29am
Lakeside 9/30
At this side of this lake, on a side of its classroom,
the stilted return to formless. They take the mirror
surface made of stars beyond a wobbly city and
remake themselves into yes. They make
lattices of their spines with toothpicks
and test the strength with textbooks.
Play pick-up sticks all night. Next, they take-
instead- trunks of trees which are a literature of ages.
The lake pushes more silt, more clay
towards logistics. It says to wait for the sun to dry
the skin but first, move, and the mud...
the stilted return to formless. They take the mirror
surface made of stars beyond a wobbly city and
remake themselves into yes. They make
lattices of their spines with toothpicks
and test the strength with textbooks.
Play pick-up sticks all night. Next, they take-
instead- trunks of trees which are a literature of ages.
The lake pushes more silt, more clay
towards logistics. It says to wait for the sun to dry
the skin but first, move, and the mud...
#identity
#nature
#surreal #NaPoWriMo2019
#surreal #NaPoWriMo2019
17 reads
5 Comments
yelluw_always
Poem Published
12th Apr 2019 7:46am
12th Apr 2019 7:46am
Lakeside 11/30
The water gliders wait
and drift on tension,
Wait to chomp down
on our green bodies.
To mill them down
into a lake floor.
This is what it
means to jump,
To break a surface
and glitter a bottom
in pieces, lower than
what sees the light.
It is cool and damper
than damp. Above, we see
the rain and its typing
un-noised.
The fins whomp
us, the duckbills
nudge us. We twist
and disperse as thoughts,
brown and necessary.
With swords of butter...
and drift on tension,
Wait to chomp down
on our green bodies.
To mill them down
into a lake floor.
This is what it
means to jump,
To break a surface
and glitter a bottom
in pieces, lower than
what sees the light.
It is cool and damper
than damp. Above, we see
the rain and its typing
un-noised.
The fins whomp
us, the duckbills
nudge us. We twist
and disperse as thoughts,
brown and necessary.
With swords of butter...
#identity
#nature
#surreal #NaPoWriMo2019
#surreal #NaPoWriMo2019
17 reads
3 Comments
yelluw_always
Poem Published
13th Apr 2019 7:45am
13th Apr 2019 7:45am
Lakeside 12/30
People come to our shores,
steal glances, whisper back and forth
or maybe they’re dog-whistling
through the steel tubes of their lips.
I wash upon the world
in hyperbole and they exclaim
so beautiful, can you teach me
how to wave like you do.
I wash upon the world
typecast as a panorama
of dancing hands. Obvious
as nature. My expressions unclothed.
People come to our shores
from their city of ears
and say how pastoral and
quaint are our song of pictures.
I wash upon the world, babbling ...
steal glances, whisper back and forth
or maybe they’re dog-whistling
through the steel tubes of their lips.
I wash upon the world
in hyperbole and they exclaim
so beautiful, can you teach me
how to wave like you do.
I wash upon the world
typecast as a panorama
of dancing hands. Obvious
as nature. My expressions unclothed.
People come to our shores
from their city of ears
and say how pastoral and
quaint are our song of pictures.
I wash upon the world, babbling ...
#identity
#nature
#surreal #NaPoWriMo2019
#surreal #NaPoWriMo2019
17 reads
2 Comments
yelluw_always
Poem Published
28th Apr 2019 6:02am
28th Apr 2019 6:02am
Lakeside 27/30
So we clap like trees in a life-
sustaining storm, shaking and
shaking in cheer, we sprout tendrils
with something to say and spread wide
not as a mouth but blanket the air
with our touch and slough the drops
to this lake of ours. Hearts dense of weathering,
here we condense to that of a wave
cresting without gravity. Look, we fly
our thoughts to stage, leaves turning over
our tender undersides, a brightness
that belies the sunny side-up
waxiness of daily frying beach days.
That is not to say we...
sustaining storm, shaking and
shaking in cheer, we sprout tendrils
with something to say and spread wide
not as a mouth but blanket the air
with our touch and slough the drops
to this lake of ours. Hearts dense of weathering,
here we condense to that of a wave
cresting without gravity. Look, we fly
our thoughts to stage, leaves turning over
our tender undersides, a brightness
that belies the sunny side-up
waxiness of daily frying beach days.
That is not to say we...
#identity
#nature
#culture #NaPoWriMo2019
#culture #NaPoWriMo2019
17 reads
4 Comments
yelluw_always
Poem Published
8th Feb 2019 5:42am
8th Feb 2019 5:42am
Owl Series: III
Fists on its hips, a schoolyard monitor,
the sky readies to sheave the crying,
rolling. Whodunnit. Some honking clouds
the wetlands, next to the honkings
which zoom. Choose wisely
without saying- says the black-headed
mother. “Ours is a story within the fringe
of where. My head is not a flag of surrender.
Wear white only as they do at Ganges.
Do not recess when the ground is met.
Hatchlings..” She bows a half-heart. Lessons
as simple as the hook. Lessening
the betrayal. Survivor. Stretching a betrothal. ...
the sky readies to sheave the crying,
rolling. Whodunnit. Some honking clouds
the wetlands, next to the honkings
which zoom. Choose wisely
without saying- says the black-headed
mother. “Ours is a story within the fringe
of where. My head is not a flag of surrender.
Wear white only as they do at Ganges.
Do not recess when the ground is met.
Hatchlings..” She bows a half-heart. Lessons
as simple as the hook. Lessening
the betrayal. Survivor. Stretching a betrothal. ...
#birds
#nature
18 reads
3 Comments
yelluw_always
Poem Published
2nd Mar 2019 3:42am
2nd Mar 2019 3:42am
The Green Canoe
reaching the top I shrug
off mankind as a backpack
from it I take out my instruments and
magic-rabbit the wall of sound
near a hip the bustle of money
drops as a robin against a recently-washed
window
that wall my always turnstile
walking forward
through noise
the kind you know
my kind
is the tiny radiating pointillism opposite
the port, the port disappears as soon as
my head draws to a sloped electricity
a heterochromia outlook
a scene halved- the sky meets craven
earth soft in...
off mankind as a backpack
from it I take out my instruments and
magic-rabbit the wall of sound
near a hip the bustle of money
drops as a robin against a recently-washed
window
that wall my always turnstile
walking forward
through noise
the kind you know
my kind
is the tiny radiating pointillism opposite
the port, the port disappears as soon as
my head draws to a sloped electricity
a heterochromia outlook
a scene halved- the sky meets craven
earth soft in...
#nature
18 reads
6 Comments
DU Poetry : Least Read Poems About Nature
