obliged to function

[create a dream]
repetitive symbols and allegories
a habitual state of mind
within the complexity
of a certain strangeness,

it was a kiss/

significant to the external world
and not the four walled habitat

[interior body]
hearts and ideas created verses
spontaneous kiss
and delightful flesh
without absent things to deny,
music filled the simple sense
isolating the event
captured in his mind,
temptation a language of it’s own

an act of kiss/

[pure,impure]
moment cracked with resonance,
her eyes had claimed the
measurements of his passion,
without verbal matter to form
a leaf litter sheet

[fell upon her]

you discover in a kiss/

all named sciences describe
needs and imaginings ,
and in ache of after limbs,
aesthetic conditions
and those rules of attraction
will provide possibilities
for them

Winning Bukowski Tweet #1: wine by Chris Lawrence

Thank you so much Bukowski On Wry and all your readers , all the best

love gone beserk

isolation makes me jump
into the shredding propeller of her tongue
it was Hi 8 and stereo record player
and a sense we belonged,
wiping nose on my hand
then on those jeans strained and faded,
we could make it work maybe,
her nightgown had buttons
linear nipples of distraction,
i would run
if it where not the seventeenth floor
and no closer to heaven,
her voice slowed quicker
than the snow outside,
are we done
gun still pressed in my back waistband
you look done
i  felt battered beyond the cut over eye
and bloodied nose,
the projects would have heroes
i was not one of them,
failing to hold up the store
girl cashier
younger
faded blonde dye and dark roots,
i spoke and connected,
pulled a flower from the bunches
sold cheaply at the desk
and gave it to her,
a startling explosion
as manager hit me with a piece of wood,
i ran
never said goodbye
but i know who
i wanted now

http://dversepoets.com/

and you know how to bake

around the mouth

cakemix stolen from the bowl

a taste of the unbaked

sweeter than expected,

holding back the urge

to lick lips noisily ,

washed it away

as a drunkard would

bottle sloshed whiskey

turned burnt caramel,

bowl slipped from edge

of table with enormous shatter,

pieces glazed

spread as his foot got cut

spilled as a sacrifice

for he was a prophet

born in anticipation

growing to expectation,

the world full of paraphernalia

that only a poet mends,

blood painted in circles,

scratching balls in shorts,

where was the thunder

to his profanity,

his stem to water

those fragrant vaginal daisies

errors and promises,

love had entered an interval,

trumps inflated cotton,

she came to see

shaking head

ash fell from her cigarette,

they had binds

beyond gold bands

and a chapel promise,

no atomic desolation would separate

leave it she would say

taking his hand

led to another room

more doors away from

the violent splatter on the walls

best to ignore

her voice sleepy not unsound

sat limply hung out to dry,

she stood adjusted nightgown,

it would be clean,

and wounds heal

maybe the interval was over

dVersePoets

Sunday Whirl

A poem for dVersePoets and Sunday Whirl , dVerse needed a beat sound and i hope i hit the notes

 

 

concatenation

ethno totems

to sky conspire

landscape doors and views

memory an artifact

to a city bar,

snowprints on sidewalk

snowscape lean and pale

collect and exist

what love brings tangible

native ambiance

settled and answered

bring your dances

and embraces

bleak satirical cold

twisted with lime in gin

amid saxophones and guitars

as red flamed resonance,

word labels on her cheeks

written and said

walk out of the snow

into the light

sins well washed with winter rain

glass bowl sun

will rise with the headlines

that make no sense,

the night as always

long with relief,

closing eyes

alaska seemed much closer

http://dversepoets.com/

 

Wolfgang Paalen
Fata Alaska (1937)

 

soup in cans

history cannot be muted by a kiss

butterflies will not drown in your drink

dark streets do not betray your shadow

he strokes her fragrance

with a soft inhale,

a kitchen room

cabinets stove fridge and sink

table center

soup can next to opener,

between them,

the earth has not fallen

yet still they stare

not at each other

but at the can

silver topped paper wrapped,

blood smears oceans

and desert sand,

wine flavored tongues begin to talk,

as they decide

stripped of it’s cloth

the table was bare and knotted,

around her shoulders

cloth placed

as they found out about

soup and why it was in

can

http://dversepoets.com/

endured no more

titian tints of summer yield

forgetting and embracing

wind and rain,

winter would come with shackles

a home,

citadel of seclusion

sphere light bulbs and ticking clocks

here you can contemplate

the different shades of life

and it’s own complex fate,

grey heart beats,

distilled whiskey poured in

glass streaked by fingers

that once touched face,

without silken words

she would return

and the fevered mind would clear

moments of indiscretion

reshape reform

music would attract,

moth like fluttering in her heart

and the once broken tongue

would speak again

healing a process

begun

http://dversepoets.com/

elephant looks in a broken mirror

when a thought becomes a fraction

divided into memory

and everyday fatigue

it settles not happy to remain

will divide again

into dreams and realization

long cerebral passageways

cluttered with electric snapshots

of a life lived long,

thinking was a process

started in the morning

after rinsing mouth and bathing

combed and prepared

opened the mind

some fractions found division harder

and became elongated spools

of tension and agitation

hands that tremor

ever so slightly

as sipping a glass of lemonade,

beneath this mass of

seething activity

normal had almost resumed

old fractions worked

looking at a photo album

your son found in the loft

other debris of a life in one place

gathered and divided

and will be when your

gone

 

 

Fathers Day

i am father

and my father was father before me

we are form

almost unified shape

tied by familial genetics,

i am here

my father gone

bond unbroken love unbound

memory and cohesion

i have many of his traits,

i am here

and he still is

of the dust of the wind

yet at my side

that rub of ache in the forehead

as his thoughts and mine collide,

i have voice

my children hear

i make it apparent

as i heard my father,

despite long hours of work

his words i could hold

and made me smile

a child growing taught what is right

molded by nurturing consideration,

i am love

to my children

as he to me

never too old to embrace

and accept eternal bond

now without him

i will carry on

and my sons

as fathers will

Ivan Hare 18/06/27-09/01/13