Uncorked Words

I edit, write terrible poetry and short stories. I dine and sleep with wine. I also ramble, often coherently. I also have a book released. Twitter: @UncorkedWords

[takingstockofwhatmattersmost]

orangeyellows and blues walking along springtime shorelines mornings hold the key

[gabrielgadfly]

I would like to pick up river stones and find your likeness in them: worn smooth, multicolored, still glistening with cold water.

       But you are not like river stones. You are like stones before the river has worn them: rough-spurred and chalky, your colors hidden under yourself, dry and thirsting for cold water.

One stone is not better than the other. One is beautiful for the colors erosion has coaxed out of it. The other, because it thirsts to be weathered.

[uncorkedwords-blog]

The Crow.

Excerpt from Uncorked Words: The First Bottle. Available on Lulu.

[uncorkedwords-blog]

Tear me away from the page, i dare you.

[definegodliness]

Remind me to see beauty in small things; When my mind’s palette turns achromatic, Tell of a new hope that each morning brings.

How the sun rises, how the blackbird sings, How the daylight moon leaves you ecstatic (Remind me to see beauty in small things).

Dream me up cycles of winters and springs, How all comes to life!–                  axiomatic; Tell of a new hope that each morning brings.

Say we do not have to be queens and kings When I–                       envy the aristocratic Remind me to see beauty in small things.

Say we are grander than puppets on strings And human woe is       simply             erratic; Tell of a new hope that each morning brings.

Say–       no matter how the pendulum swings You will–             remain loving, and empathic, Remind me       to see beauty in small things; Tell of a new hope that each morning brings. Pissarroesque - M.A. Tempels © 2017

[shentoncarrington-deactivated20]

The Poems of Cyril Hurk

I was asked if I should like to become a nun, In Ferrara, where I would join the choir and Sing like apple blossom. It was a kind of unkind Jest. I liked it best, but feigned confusion. We Were looking through a leather-bound volume, Tracing a story in the marginalia. All those songs Of red innocence and turquoise love were hailed There by a reader, anonymous. On the balcony, In this oak-lined library, we pointed with fingers Softened in white gloves. She indicated where My digit sat. Our gloves touched. It was love. So She said: “You ought to have been a nun, mayhap.” And that was when I knew I would never get over This feeling, this longing, the wayward moment.

[vasilinaorlova]

I have a request to make

please. buy my book

if you bought it, read it.

if you read it, write about it. send me what you wrote. post what you’ve written on your blog with a cover. take a picture of you beautiful self with this book. rate it on amazon. rate it on goodreads. mark it as a book you read on goodreads. silence kills. absence of an echo is dreadful. I don’t want to die unknown. I deserve to be read. this book is worthy of your time. I wrote it to entertain, satisfy, and make ponder a great reader. I observed all the minutiae of the process meticulously. I found the best artist for the cover. I selected the best version of what she drew. I selected undying texts among other undying texts I wrote. please let me know that this work has its place on your shelf and in your heart.

[uncorkedwords-blog]

Stranger

you, just a stranger I mistake you for a rose... and if you have time perhaps we can see through this blindside to what the Moon ushers...

[behind-the-veil-of-sanity]

TRUE LIES

I could never harm the self with knives as cuts leaves lasting scars exposed.

I could never waste this precious life with drugs and dolls and days asleep.

I could never face the mirror image without truth in heart and honest intention.

I could never drink myself to sleep, alone in a moulding bed of dreams.

[uncorkedwords-blog]

Halo

I, contained in a cage of bones,

Stripping all folly, past and present,

How juvenility was squandered!

By a man of an ivory facade

threading heartstrings

and other lethal things,

In the seat of my vulnerability,

And I, deluded in the illusion of fate,

Starved to the marrow,

Then devouring the self alive,

I must confess

I locked my own prison doors

in the hunger for a halo

of ideal symmetry.

[takingstockofwhatmattersmost]

Poetry…a song, a breeze, shared love and whispers

Kevin (via takingstockofwhatmattersmost)

[sydneystreetphotography]

Bondi Junction

[heirsofnovember]

Burning

Buried in a shallow grave

like the Manhattan Project lodged in St. Ann’s side

the wound weeps as the fire kindles

an atomic civil war

under the garbage of our past

Tear ducts drown from ancestors wronged

while new generations get in line

as offerings to the delusional gods 

Money and Power

a pound of flesh for every pound of wealth

The political tongue wrestling over this land

“divided we stand but united we fall”

echoes sentiments of ruins from Greece to Rome

and yet the blind keep wandering

through stores and malls

buying up the last remains

of the good ol’ Amerikan dream

before everyone awakens to the expired glory

found in Landfill Heaven

White pointy caps ripped off

freed of masks

proudly waving and marching

through empty streets of the once called great cities

Now sterile habitats for Wealth and his henchmen

making no room for colorful silks, linens and cottons

Like an old song playing from 1942

the crowd dances to 

Hate    Greed    War 

They can’t see themselves

in the mirrored building

or on TV screens

So taken by their loss of status

in this crumbling pyramid scheme

Thinking their part of “the club”

they cheer

while eternally standing behind

the blood red rope

Some say

he’s the laughing stock of the entire world

this Grand Poobah of the new

Korporate Kalonial Klan

But if he takes over

no one will be laughing

No one except him and those few

who sold their souls and those around them

to follow in his wake

of rubble and ash

But remember–

this kind of loud mouthed roaring fire

bellowing empty promises of cinders and smoke

eventually dies down

to a smoldering simmer of hot embers and coals

can always be dampened and cooled

if the flames not fed

and splashed with liquid from hearts pouring

Love    Kindness    Compassion    Generosity    Care

This kind of fading fire

as it gasps for one last breath

just like those that came before

will eventually peter out

with a whimper and a sigh

[uncorkedwords-blog]

Hangman

Oh, hangman! Humble me with your knots,

Yet, no! Twine them from such fine silken threads,

My neck feels the need of such warming cots,

As this life and the next you do so wed.

Oh, hangman! Caress my soul with strong hands,

And blind me to all of life’s aggressors,

As for my fate I do so count my sands,

Awaiting to see my predecessors.

Oh, hangman! Do save me from myself now!

I submit all power over to you,

For your care and forgiveness I do vow,

To forever stay by the gallows true.

Oh, hangman! What are to ever do,

Of the distance between our two beings?

I only ever dreamt of me and you,

Dancing to the end with sordid feelings.

[rhapsodyinblue45-deactivated201]

thoughts stay out late, well past decent and expected, stayed out because a hunger for darkness crept inside, lingered in lengthy crevices;

warm skin submerged in icy currents, serpents swirling through limbs, teasing, licking, feasting, tasting– fingers stretched over layers of undulating moonlight, aching for the shimmer of luminescence;

mind shrouded in frothing tongues, cryptic words, scrolled on the parchment of waves.

Tattooed Thoughts -Waxing Rhapsodically #5

Image by Warren Keelan

[uncorkedwords-blog]

Moonless

The moonless darkness of such desire,

Of silken petals caught in the briar,

So torn between the luscious and the tip,

Ink flows vermilion in a fatal sip.

Blushing layers of bestial suppression,

Falling into a cultish possession,

And eyes whisper for but a moment more,

But sands fall, a solitary encore.

As the tempest inside leaves all at bay,

In the waters of passions holding sway,

O'er the hearts and hips of those who so fall,

A penance for never heeding the call,

Of sirens’ warning across the rocks,

Anticlimactic as the vessel docks,

And though the flower only briefly bloomed,

Was alluring in how it so perfumed.

[kfpearls-blog]

Lovely Poetry …blooming !

[uncorkedwords-blog]

Thank you! xx

[wordsnquotes]

If I got rid of my demons, I’d lose my angels.

Tennessee Williams, Conversations with Tennessee Williams. (via wordsnquotes)