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Summer Daze

When I  first saw you , in Sitges , across from the bay- To say I was struck by your display of non-attire   is hardly an understatement.

My eyes darted in every direction . Phallic erections were all I could see in my embarrassed array- it was all so blatant.

There was simply nothing else I could do  but hold eye contact with you – those emerald-flecked  eyes is when I felt true mesmerism.

It was only then I realised how naked I felt fully dressed on this hidden beach -it projected the true souls that contain all thing auriferous.

My hands easily untied my tie-dyed blue sarong. I didn’t stop there . I may only have a hand full but I whipped off my white bikini top and wriggled out of my bottoms. All I could sense was an aura emanating off of  you

(sigh)  simply so… chivalrous.

The sun shone starkly – but being the  mightiest of knights you picked up my clothes, placed them next to yours. You took my hand and guided me -running , gold spun,free – to the turquoise , fish enchanted ocean.

Legs entwined around your torso – skin on skin  contact – salty, wet, tongue licks of devouring  devotion.

Lavishing one  other, two became one. The ripples, the bubbles- our heady  infusion, blasted open my eyes to the skies- – tufted clouds – summoned up  an old tune-

Puff the magic dragon.

Magic is always possible when you believe in you.  I  swear it had nothing to do with  that extravagant  elixir  of a  cocktail – I  imbibed a  couple of hours before, at that quaint restaurant – the one that I drank out of a craggan.

Composure – time to depart, float on my back -contemplate this dilemma of how quick I was to abandon my clothes.

 I may have come into the world as naked as I am right now but I know what is waiting on the coastline is a far cry  from my fantasised hardened  cocks.

 In fact quite the opposite. I know no shadow can camouflage    the   pruned skin of a   60-year-old Grandad  with a   wrinkled ,flaccid   penis.

Christ,  I am 21 years old- apologies for the sudden heaving up of  old man smell that a young me loathes.

It was meant to be a bit of fun – find the secret nudist beach – have a laugh – take a few sneaky pics ,make them go viral- anything for a cheap high.

It’s gone viral alright – my mates couldn’t resist -filmed it all!

pardon me – if I gather  my clothes and seek legal advice to prove to you all – this act is one steeped in a state of  stultify?

Willful wrong

(a stream of consciousness  borderline poem unrevised) 

Whilst fleeing from the echoes of ‘you were in the wrong’. The Screws twist torture upon entering her 4th chamber.

Inside her bloody mind. Dried & pressed between her breasts

Leaves, stained by painting the roses red.

Long live to leave the Queen of Hearts

Lovers lost: Lovers found -past & tense -future is uncertainty abound.

Forever locked in a  gaze with the  omniscient eyes of Janus

Uncalculated, her actions motivated by too much heart. Unruly emotions betrayed her by treason. Penelope, she is not for a reason.

Lost to thoughts in solitude until reunited with like-minded misfits caught up in the cycles we call seasons.

 

* Inspiration for Acrostic poetry word ‘willful’ came from how some people describe me & I wrote this cos the one person I thought would “get” how complicated relationships are (didn’t). #write to recover and keep me sane.

 

willful

adjective

will·​ful | \ ˈwil-fəl \
variants: or wilful

Definition of willful

1: obstinately and often perversely self-willed a stubborn and willful child

Atrophy

Demise.

A state I  claim as my own.

A walking catastrophe.

There

I saunter

Meander

in the state of atrophy.

 Cackles  full of apathy

No more I write for pleasure

I write  more for  no pleasure.

Wasted to academic response.

The demise of a broguer weary wasting away on the scribe’s chopping board

The life in an annus miribilis  mocking bird world.

Woken by the tweet ( hashtag) Motivation Monday.

Today’s news

The latest politician to fall into a blunder.

Cordoned off by the first sizzle of thunder.

Dissociate  from a time they could

Muster

Guster

Cluster

words connecting heart and mind

Until

over spillage

Foam  froth

Displayed shapely snowflakes

A Costa ‘s  coffee hallmark.

Glug down for the dawn of the   festival of the dead

 Mourning

in a town close to the  Pennines-

Lost to me is this place meant

To prove to be a better person,

My woe.

Ungirthed

A  spit  fire roasting.

A  moaning myrtle.

Toilets

vacant

Blocked up with  yesterdays cum

By  Yadda Yoda .

Glee geeked a fatal flaw.

A whore — seeking out the currency of words.

Could screaming out his name strengthen muscles of an inner core?

Bathe in white milk entice to indulge in a  favorite parlor  game?

This back drop.

A mood scape.

Blinded archetype to fate.

If this story could end..

Two acts saved by marty’s who implore

Destined by a saviour

Garnished blistered scabbed covered  Hope fulled folklore

May clarity denounce

infinite  notion  of worthlessness

Disparaged hypo-manic thought hindsight

Goaded in to  a contemplative state

sat on the floor

Coloring in books

Mind

Fully Clothed.

hidden from a distance

Write to recover  or die trying to be

A better self

at peace away from this tumultuous existence

These are my words.

atrophy

nounat·ro·phy | \ˈa-trə-fē \plural atrophies

Definition of atrophy 

1: decrease in size or wasting away of a body part or tissue atrophy of musclesalso : arrested development or loss of a part or organ incidental to the normal development or life of an animal or plant

2: a wasting away or progressive decline It was not a solitude of atrophy, of negation, but of perpetual flowering.— Willa Catheran atrophy of imagination. 

nounat·ro·phy | \ˈa-trə-fē \plural atrophies

Definition of atrophy 

1: decrease in size or wasting away of a body part or tissue atrophy of musclesalso : arrested development or loss of a part or organ incidental to the normal development or life of an animal or plant

2: a wasting away or progressive decline It was not a solitude of atrophy, of negation, but of perpetual flowering.— Willa Catheran atrophy of imagination. 

MERRIAM WEBSTER

Phantasmagoria

These spoken words infect the brain

‘Till it rot and fester.

 

Dare deny thoughtless utterances

Be it in mind maps or in clusters.

Gathering speed from maimed parts

Propel bodily functions into a catatonic state.

Summon steel nerves climb barbed wired fences caught its rags.

Wear with affray.

Chaos  stilled by lighting a hermits way.

Bedazzle

shades of noir surrender  when dark displaced emotions

unhemmed  the layers of Times embroidered

by frail.

If the secret of mortal man escapes

A part

These lips could loosen.

The winds could drown out  familiar chants

Beholden sacred

 

Will it have been all in vain?

 

To keep sight of the lighthouse

Hope

Propose a love affair upon reaching shores

Traverse the tides of the ocean’s girth.

Reveal La luna’s silhouette

in a phantasmagoric naked form.

 

 

Out on a whim

Do or die –

live fast , party hard –

be an honorific rebel.

Spank me, 

Shake me up, 

Colour me bold! 

Don’t wind me down – use a font that sounds like Bevel. 

 

If I could jump in that diamond-encrusted box with you, would you promise that when the children come by we could uncoil, spring up, put on the frighteners  – bob up and down on a wire?

I don’t mind you playing the feral monkey but those cymbals screech: overtrained!

we need a  new theatrical,

a mind-body infused,hell-raising gospel choir.

It’s a happening, baby – right over here. Club Fifty-Four.

Andy Warhol is in New York –  a shimmering and a  shammering with his latest regurgitated muse,  lapping up the froth off his candy-coloured eye-popping corps.

It’s all the craze.

It deserves a mention.

Yo, budding journalists get your jots and pens out,  pay attention to the latest and greatest.

News knew how to mark us – with the blackest of plagues.

Fish and chips to go, in ink -lined, soggy wrapping?

Spill out your guts with this slick new verse, congenial wordsmith.

Toxic misty breath continues to reign -centuries later, none of us is the wiser to what we are all truly cursed with.

Need a blood test or has Fate told you to put up your feet and take a light rest?

 Rest is of the idle boned –  the ones whose gums recede in a world of a decade ago of old, gravelly  deflated pillows, grimy duvets sprayed with remnants of last night’s perhaps last months  dalliance.

Life is to be played.

Hard and fast.

No one wants to party with some skittle who loses the colour  of his  new shades – when the beat kicks in and he is meant to advance without a second glance.

Rookies, pawns, knights and queens. 

Who should we really be saving?  

Strategy demands the benefits calculated tested means.

Decrease or increase the stakes of getting a hit.

Marked.

Snipers above you – numb shoulder – stay still, Mr unfit.

If I could be the monkey, I want to play the trumpet. 

Souls are more likely to come my way if they can see few notes breezing over the Mississippi – 

Maple syrup to go with that sultry strumpet?

Hard cold cash – transmute people into formidable magpies.

Shiny, wind-up trinkets send these entities up a spiral of canonised lies.

Dance with me – take flight to this notion. All you have to do is follow the lead – go with the flow just don’t step on my toes. 

Look me in the eye – don’t worry what the other Ravers are shaking their glowsticks at.

They are revelling in a moment caught up in ecstasy- let go of your own methodical woes.

One night to play – shirt off  -loosen that fusty tie – let’s make a play for the dairy queen – The rocky road ahead but it leads to confectionary.

Extra! 

Extra!

read all about it.

We have a new sweetheart in town – all scarlet glittering lips- she hums the notes of a person who invented this spin.

I will call her whig mal eerie-

non-believers look it up in the dictionary.

slash/virgule poem

I light this vigil/ candles given to me by an individual/ a name I cannot give thee/ heart and mind forgive me.

and/or…

If I said his name is Slash/ he’s indecisively crass/more renowned as a light brush stroke/ his Latin name leaves a remarkable impression in repressed folk.

perhaps/ not…

It worries me that Axl hasn’t made up his mind/ more guns than roses-sublime/ A promiscuous murmur/ hidden in visual fervour.

confess/ snitch …..

Naming something can either increase/ diminish power/ I’m thinking psycho -you know – the scene in the shower? /If I had to reveal his true name is Virgule/ why does that visually conjure up an image in my mind of a gargoyle?

For the meaning of the word ‘Virgule’ scroll down.

This was so hard to do. I think I may have broken 100 rules and made up my own. Hey ho!

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Definitions for virgule

  1. a short oblique stroke (/) between two words indicating that whichever is appropriate may be chosen to complete the sense of the text in which they occur: The defendant and his/her attorney must appear in court.

Citations for virgule

It can be used, of course to indicate the choices, one or more, that may “properly” fill the blank space that follows. But the virgule need not be strictly identified with a particular or exclusive binary. It can be argued that the virgule is the poststructuralist punctuation par excellence (although a strong case can be made for the hyphen), in that is can be deployed to suggest the endlessness of binariness, a serial proliferation of constrastives in horizontally endless adjacencies …Virgil Lokke, “The Naming of the Virgule in the Linguistic/Extralinguistic Binary,” After the Future: Postmodern Times and Places, edited by Gary Shapiro, 1990

The path was cleared for the substitution of the verbalizable ”or” by the unspeakable ”/” in the legalistic term ”and/or,” which would be hard to say as ”and or or.” Now we are afflicted by the promiscuous use of virgules.William Safire, “On Language,” New York Times, May 24, 1981

Virgule entered English from French, where it means “comma, little rod.” It ultimately derives from the Latin virgula meaning “rod.”

DICTIONARY.COM

The Virgule

The virgule, often called the “slant bar” by computer users, has four specific uses in punctuation.

A virgule separates parts of an extended date.

Example: The 1994/95 basketball season.

Washington was born in February 1731/32.

A virgule represents the word per in measurements:

Example: 186,000 mi./sec. (miles per second)

A virgule stands for the word or in the expression and/or. (Though not considered standard, it sometimes stands for the word or in other expressions also.)

A virgule separates lines of poetry that are quoted in run-on fashion in the text. (For readability, avoid this with more than four lines.)

Example: Ann continued,”And up and down the people go,/ Gazing where the lilies blow/ Round an island there below,/ The island of Shalott.”

ENGLISH.PLUS.COM

Titivate

When She is in the mood to arouse you and She wants you to reciprocate.

She has a technique she uses to spruce up her petals

inject a colour dye

No doctors needed to take an oath

No need to hang dry and desiccate.

All she desires is to tempt you with her words.

She looks upon them as her Fire stoked Lords.

Simple and overused is tedious when used as commoner slurs.

So titivate is something She does.

It doesn’t require a zazen mind state to create an immediate demand for 1950 style Fords.

Take a dust feather to your ear, tickling it ever so slightly, a murmured breathe escapes – to let you know she is quite eager and indeed keen.

Arouse you with whispers of sweet adjectives.

Use words that excite you to shudder instinctively.

Now She needs to make herself seen.

Fluttering eyelashes – butterfly kisses.

Sensual and cute -tempting yet blissfully innocent.

Pure and light and dreamy enough to set your imagination to seek out. Whatever is in that mind of yours…

She wants you to know She finds you alluring

magnificent.

Which of your senses does she wish to tease out the most?

The ones that arouse mental fuckability from an agile, graceful host.

Often she craves a tidy up just to try out something new.

Freshen the vibe up.

Create dribbles from your lush dew.

Bubbles have more of more a rambunctious appeal.

Invite a sense of pure, exquisite fun

Her mind seeks out to imbue.

So to titillate you, she has to titivate herself.

Seems rather rueful

Please be curious about what she has in her mind –

Truth is her middle name.

Look by all means.

Dare is the name she gave to herself when she was born.

Feel free to question her too.

She speaks in orgasms when someone can make her laugh with their wit or indeed see a sparkle of hers thrown our carefree and unconsciously.

successful relationships are a honed practised recipe inciting those who have an inkling or some fledgeling clue.

Spindthrift

REBLOG

A true union of hearts was joined one summer in late  June.

The birds chirruped, the sun shone – the two became one -reflected for all to see by La  Luna- the moon

Air and Water – shouldn’t cross paths. These two elements casually ignore each other in nature’s form-its innate core.

He of Air –

She of Water.

The energy that caused the spindrift was something not even these elements could ignore.

Le Mistral caught up in a steamy, heady mood.

Strode across the sky scowling, blowing curses – chaos surely ensued .

La Mer

– she was winding down for the day.

The tide had come in, and she was ready to listen to a  mermaid wax lyrical her classic tale of Babe Ruth.

The wind so vexed was he – he deafened her with one strike of his herculean hair -clouded by his inability to self- soothe.

La Mer reacted in bad form. He struck her so hard, – her mind swelled up with great licks of waves – crashing and thrashing her mental whereabouts.

Never interrupt an element so passionate about listening to her favorite composer.

Le Mistral and La Mer could ignore one another no more. She would make him feel the repercussions of his foolish, senseless,not-so-well thought out Strop.

Now he would have to face his conjurer.

A tidal wave of thoughts arose inside her. He would pay dearly for interrupting her meditative state of mind.

He had no clue what feud he had started. Fire and Earth were shrewd not to intervene. They knew when to stay out of the way of a combination of this kind.

They witnessed how the passion of this great unforeseen union came to be.

The product of this affront was simply not even what the conflicted two could continue to deplore.

Witnessed by two friends .

 Wind and Water created the very first image of love .

Spindrift -a physical  feeling of exhilaration consolidated the two .

They were now ready for a new adventure – together -ready to  explore each other, become the couple -who looked to the other with eyes that said ‘j’t‘adore.

Definitions for spindrift

  1. spray swept by a violent wind along the surface of the sea.

Spindrift is a variant of the Scots spoondrift, with the nautical verb spoonorspoom meaning “to run or scud before the wind.” It entered English around 1600.

DICTIONARY.COM

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My True penny

I’m taking back my power.

I’ve got my ammo and my gun powder.

I’m not going to use it cos I’m more of a peace than a ‘fuck you -let’s bomb you to oblivion’ type of  person.

I have realised that  to allow someone who thinks nothing about me to have so much power to lure me into a paralysed state of persuasive perversion is:

 True insanity. I have my true penny and that is what counts.

I pushed him  away like a woman under attack –  I pushed  my lot away – until it formed blood clots on the insides – comparably sized to mounting a  herd of elephants.

unwilling to be ridden- trunks raised up, irate – exploding in  shouts.

I started to talk about what goes on in my head and my true penny told me that we all makeup scenarios in our minds, to make sense of the lives and situations we come across, in this world of an  uncertain,  never-ending skyline.

I thought I was losing it.

I thought I  was obsessed.

Turns out my brain works out  my issues based on characters and story lines and other  shenanigans.

Crazy?  maybe but creativity strokes  the  beat with a brush  –  I feel there is  almost a genius to be found walking on this fine line.

Swastikas and Reds are not my idea of interior decorating.

Tearing down my  walls.

One little Nazi’s thought is not going to make me come down to that kind of level.

I have my life.

 I am the queen of my disco.

I have retro  roller skates on .

 The sun is my Disco ball.  I’m on the rooftop, in the light-beaming under the  rays.

Not hiding in the dark, under the influence,an imposter.

A star that can’t twinkle, dishevelled – so shady – a back turns away –  It’s the one known as the  blue devil.

We are on two separate  paths –  I notice  the screams of a   shaken baby.

A rattle spins across the floor – Dummy dribbled with garbled spit.

I guess mommy is right when she says: ‘You always want what you can’t have’

It’s not infatuation, love or anything like that – This baby is  having a tantrum – she  didn’t get what she  wanted .

She  didn’t even get a maybe.

I’m done slithering  on my belly across damp floors.  Waiting for the next Gestapo, soot-stained  boot to squelch  me.

Turn out my guts until, all you can see is the insides of me- a sore sight of  limacine.

Phantom limb syndrome – I am back from the  war of past, oppressive obsession.

  I’m awake.

 Clarity.

Nightmares were all I had to grieve over.

 I didn’t lose any limbs. Only my inner self- belief .

 I’m a china teapot lady – I’m done  trying to find happiness in a person who happily  lives  life drinking out of cups made of polystyrene .

 The present is my greatest gift.   I’m not wasting another second wishing on  dreams that we can be friends.

My heart is my greatest ally and foe. It makes me work.

Dwarves getting their hoes to do all the work – chasing fairy dust ,  axe- picking fights with one another, to grow in a place under a roof of  artificial light.

Genuine and melodic – true light – mountain breeze is the only place I will find a place to atone.

To make amends.

Let it go and go with the flow

I stand before the world smiling – unashamed – this is my show.

 

SHOUT OUTS AND AWARD NOMINATATONS TO FOLLOW

 

State of Dis Orient

Ladies dressed up to watch the jockeys race, not on but against their steed.

A befitting bet, the only time you will see her bow down, wearing a fascinator – laid on the mud- sacerdotal, on her knees – lunacy fanned out in a stylish turn of the century plead. 

Mixologists stir up a great spectacle – 50 per cent proof. This skulls hidden unconscious is about to  set  Ablaze

Four straws facing north, east , south, and west. It’s nearly 8 o clock and she is losing all sense of walking along cobbled streets – eyes misty -sultry in her glaze.

Somewhere, busy – night rolls her up in its fringed tapestry. 

Abandoned, lost. Cries of her child – don’t let them take her. 

Don’t let them know she is the true reason the station has become a living catastrophe.

How did she make it past the patrolled border?

An elevator –

dizzy,

disorientated,

confused – out of order.

A wack to the mouth causes bones to elementary fracture.

Spewing out pieces of ivory tooth and red rotten metallic pulp. She has become the victim of a  mere capture.

No eyes, no mouth, no voice.

How can an invisible entity  cause so much blood to make enough for a devil   Mc flurry?

She stumbles about – finally free – absorbing kleenex tissues to stifle the colour of Florida’s orange rain. 

Elbows, whistles, laughter  – a short dwarfed jockey, begs, catches her eye – nods at her in mocking disdain.

Maybe just this once she could wish for a  platform called nine and three quarters. 

She knows the wizard told her to click her shoes thrice and think of home. How is that nothing resembles a place she knows holds the faces of her loving daughters?

Chiming spinning, no change, no credit card, no ticket. 

Ringing, coming from her leathery bag – could it possibly hold  the conscious of a good-hearted  Jimney cricket?

Where are you?

Where are you?

Where are you?

Where are you?

Familiarity breeds a set of stifled sighs.

Eyes veer to her left,  a drunken, matted hair women scream to her brood don’t let these people put you down. You are who you are – Never be ashamed and don’t fucken frown.”

” Let’s have it.”

I’m home!

I’m home!

I’m home!

I’m home!

Nothing seems familiar. She doesn’t recognize a face, a place, not even the sound of the underground.

Train tracks look as slumber full a place to have a reality dysphoric fit.

All of you attempting to copy her brand of me -too-ism.

Not even the darkest version of voodoo blended with rum can get you to her level of cuckoo-ism 

Her child appears. Disappears in the arms of another blur.

A man who says he is her husband is here to take her home – in his arms – he attempts to gather her.

Not without my daughter. She knows what these child traffickers are doing. 

Police form a ring around her – all flashing lights- yellows and blues.

What happened Miss – Miss? 

She breaks down into a misfit of boo hoo-ing. 

Assaulted by her mind and the evil hands of time. 

Destroy the ones she loves – her gaping heart – her child won’t come near her,  not even if the thought crossed over to bribe her child with a dime.

Rage, fury, vengeance and betrayal – a feud with her family- the ones who have stuck by her to the very end.

Divorce on grounds of stationary inebriation. 

Rings are thrown to the ground. Frodo come get what is rightly yours and have your eternal salvation.

Clean sheets, a bottle warmer tinkers at her feet, a hug from the husband who she tried to chase away and defeat. 

A portrait of a framed married couple- Cracked and jagged on the side of this man. Fragmented glass distorts a smile, rendering it obsolete. 

So it is true she is the one encrypted with a  learned evil, the one who holds the reigns of the one who goes by the name  Deceipt?

She picks ups her lace parasol. It can only hide little and only reveal so much – she still has the fascinator and her original brand of receipt.