she smells (nameless and shameless)


a concoction of mixed aromas,
a once in a lifetime scent,
impossible to bottle,
impossible to name,
nameless and shameless

morning coffee, last nights vin rosé,
a come-a-little-closer-tasting for the summer solstice,
the stale of the evening meals of grains and kale,
the sour remains of bedroom sweat,
the displeasing scented sight of
sweat soiled clothes carelessly discarded

the first of the season red spot-stained white peonies
fail to mask the bodies aromatic musks,
which are mostly gender identifiable

my sneakers hail mary, her stockings odorize the atmosphere
most unusually, nylon and lycra are strangely familiar,
prior memorized perhaps, from deep within, a ****** hallelujah,
deep amidst where, the ***** linens are shelved and binned,
before they journey to the Egypt Nile of the basement waters

the burnt crumbs of illegal in-bed brioche toast
amazingly invisible on unclean sheets,
state “breakfast in bed, was yummy in the tummy,
but next time use a big dinner plate,
down here, the burnt of the bread and the burnt
of other things (popcorn pieces)
is just a scratchiest fragrance too far,
needing a sheet wiped clean slate

even the colorless and tasteless water
absorb the ionosphere of smells,
because one does usually speak poetically,
one of us makes a (vice) presidential declaration:

she smells, I man-ually stink, each,
each glower shower nower,
open the window to the spring wet grass aroma fresh cut,
to exhume and then send away
this odor now christened,

nameless and shameless


11:47 28/4/19

Dedicated to Beverly & ?? [&c., &c., &c.]

[this poem contains multiple characters;
   I didn't write any of it, but strangely, it's all true]
     She was wearing black leather ankle boots
     & torn                              fishnet stockings;
                    The top was black and sleeveless,
                      w/ fishnet covering her stomach
up to the frayed hem of the fabric of the shirt;
All around the room there was a buzz of voices,
all the people seeming a whirl of fishnet stockings,
                        bright makeup & colorful costumes;
             Strutting across the stage removing fishnet stockings,
             her long silky legs drawing all the attention;
             She was wearing a black tank top,
red tartan mini-skirt w/ fishnet tights & black
leather, knee high boots;  Her hair was long
& deep purple                  & her short skirt
revealed a shaved snooch & gorgeous legs clad in fishnet stockings;
The black fishnet top, and the tight t-shirt
with the skull on it were quite perfect for the occasion;
I opened my eyes and found myself staring up at the pair of legs
in knee high boots & red fishnet stockings
beneath a red and white schoolgirl skirt [the woman wearing them old
enough to be my grandmother]. PVC, fishnet,
rubber, Lycra, velvet & lace
     were worked into corsets,                            coats & masks;                                   Finally she settled on a black corset dress,
her skull necklace   & black combat boots
that went up to her shin & black fishnet tights;
She stomped her way across the room,
grabbed me painfully by the arms
         w/ her black fishnet sleeves
& ruffled collar shirt & planted a kiss on me;
  she wore black fishnet stockings & stilettos
that wobbled underneath her feet as she stepped;
          She then stepped into a long
black skirt, and w/out much effort,
managed to get into her black fishnet stockings;
I pulled out a black long dress,
black fishnet stockings & see-through undershirt;
but she was already dressed in a short denim skirt,
black fishnet stockings and high red sandals,
&        she was wearing a blood red tank top,
   black miniskirt & fishnet stockings;
She was fairly small, about 5 ft. even,
appearing only slightly tall in sling-back stilettos
& fishnet stockings w/ a red tube top
                w/ black mesh on top of it;
                         I looked down at her short tartan skirt
& bare feet in fishnet stockings, her black nail polish
looking good,          so was her ripped black tank top:
I gathered the long dress in one hand,
pulling the material up as far as her waist,
                   revealing the black fishnet stocking tops

There's sweetness in the crisp of morning
There's promise at the start of day,
Bird song in the trees about me
Heralds life and all's OK !
Howling down the hill on cycle
Feel the blast of wind on face
Give a yell of joy for living
Age on bike and bike at pace!
Sunshine falls upon the meadow
Flowers bobbing in the breeze,
Pukekos with tails a-bouncing
Sheep graze on with studied ease.
Spraying gravel in my corners
Pedals pump as fast as can,
Huffing, puffing, loving morning
"Hello" to a jogging man.
Wheel the bike around the corner
Grind these pedals up the hills
Winding down to see the shore birds
Flock to land with squarking bills.
Young girls laughing, dark eyes dancing
Striding down the foreshore track,
Fresh loveliness in lycra shorts,
They laugh and wave, I wave right back.
Happiness in brilliant morning
Cycling to a sweaty stop,
Relaxing under shady awning
Love my favourite coffee shop.

Marshalg
@the estuary
Mangere Bridge
13 February 2010

Perfect with gravity
fuji-like mountain
above which hangs heaven
star full and bursting

beside which she sits with a mouth full of flattery
quipping alacrities with ease
'you’re a man with a very smooth shirt’, she says
‘thank you’, he replies almost inaudibly

The breeze brushes an inner thigh with its lycra tongue
she shimmers
like a clear-lake breeze kissed

He grows to become a campfire on her shores
she laps at his embers
reflecting and flickering

He encompasses the perimeter with stealth
Sniffs the wind for fear and for warning

none comes

they bathe naked, ever watchful, for
a shift in the rushes, for the
fish in their sleep,
for the shadows
in the deep
not yet awakened.

MChallis © 2015

A Cerulean precipice grows  
wrinkles. Blouses scatter into oblivion.
Rusty chain, in the room with no time.
Tea-kettles antagonize moonlit lovers.
Shotglasses chase, through ghastly cornstalks.
Cascading lights speak incantation.
Flash dance to late night serenades.
Phoenix plumes in Sunday hats.
Laying poolside, argyle splashes.
A magnetic lioness creeps.
Daring glances spread gossamer lies.
Alabaster halls consume infant minds, while
Dusty caps unlock elusive touches.
Black widows drink white wine.
Anise waters drown lycra mermaids.

the air is crisp
as i sit on the front
verandah, snuggled up
in wooly hoodie, flannel
pyjamas and ugg boots
hands wrapped around
a large mug of steaming
coffee
watching those with more
enthusiasim, than nouse
riding up the hill in bright
lycra body suits.
the weekend pelaton rides
on to  wherever.

I could think of many swear words to express my
profound distress at the need to work again
Such a normal thing to have to do and yet
I turn against me
I'd rather be doing other things,
Wouldn't we all?
Your words still wound me and I'm supposed to forget them
What a tough time this is
All my flaws suddenly turn technicolor
They're all I see, all my mother would see
You have taken her place and I want you to love me
What a joke. Really when I can walk on water she will love me.
And so will you.  But those moments that filled me with rapture
I had your positive attention, and I was was floating.
It was an illusion.  I was the one forgiving my flaws
I was the one suddenly appreciating me
I was the one feeling useful and worthy
You were just standing there, giving me a flash
of your time and no more because you are basically stingy
So today, I felt like such a loser but I asked a cute swim coach
about the Master's work-outs and I could join
Me who only swims because of a lifetime of bad knees
But there are men of all ages thrashing about in the pool
Walking out for the world to see in the Speedos
And I look up for a breath of a breastroke and I see what lies underneath the lycra
So, honestly, it would be a social, healthy, motivating kind of thing
If I am worthy of it, if I can forgive my out of shapeness and lack of technique
The men, bare chested, some with hair, some not, all nearly naked
swimming back and forth and then chattering about their man lives
One more piece of motivation

a concoction of mixed aromas,
a once in a lifetime scent,
impossible to bottle,
impossible to name,
nameless and shameless

morning coffee, last nights vin rosé,
a come-on tasting for the summer coming,
the stale of the evening meals of grains and kale,
the sour remains of bedroom sweat,
the displeasing scented sight of
sweat soiled clothes carelessly discarded

the first of the season red stained white peonies
fail to mask the bodies aromatic musks,
which are gender identifiable

my sneakers hail mary, her stockings odorize the atmosphere
most unusually, nylon and lycra are strangely familiar,
prior memorized perhaps, from deep within,
deep amidst where, the ***** linens are shelved and binned,
before they journey to the Egypt of the basement

the burnt crumbs of illegal brioche toast
hidden on unclean sheets,
state “breakfast in bed,
is yummy in the tummy,
but next time use a big dinner plate,
down here, the burnt of the bread and the burnt
of other things is just a fragrance too far

even the colorless and tasteless water
absorb the ionosphere of smells,
because one does usually speak poetically,
make a vice presidential declaration:

she smells, I manually stink, each, glower shower, nower,
open the window to the spring wet grass,
exhume and send away this odor now christened,

nameless and shameless


11:47 28/4/19

the walker, bends,
her lycra-clad hips,
to check her addidas laces.

she has walked,
many, many miles
in this life.
all, in the pursuit,
of the, body beautiful.

and now, has the
musculsture,
of an aged chicken.
all string and rope,
under sagging skin.

she breathes deeply,
sips, from a metalic bottle
and begins,
the downward journey,
into the unenviable,
inevitablity of ageing.

she smiles and
gives me a cheery wave,
as she passes on by.

before the day the night retires
black tucked in by dawn's pale fingers
lifting a cover of sun
across damp sands
evaporating patterns withdraw to shore.
needle arms salute the clouds
trails of lycra ants
empty heads
from reds and whites
the week's download & lick of salt
night blanket gone
new slate to paint
scene of beacons & vessels floating
seawall haven
man on a board paddles the current
drifting a distance
in reach of shore

Small triangles of lycra
cover heaven
in this tanned landscape
of flesh

basking like beached seals
under the god sun
worshipped for its power
through the protection of lotions
and creams, keeping
cancerous skin at bay

grains of sand
smashed from rock
innocently hide nature's power
all around

bodies dipped into an ocean
already polluted
by greed and the impurity
of this impossible dream

the tide plays with them
like a cat with a mouse
knowing full well with one pounce
all would perish

the earth tolerates our blindness for now
but before you dip a toe in the water
know this
you will be washed away like the
castles you make, pretending
you have dominion
over this sleeping monster.

In dreams, I live thinking of you as I leave my deep sleep, wonderful REM sleep, nearly awake,
Deep as  glory chasm, pleasure filled and sumptuous, wonderful image of lovely,lush candy coloured clouds,
Aw shucks,
Oooh, put away those rose-tinted specs again, just phantoms at play,
Stupid ****** woman, she's one hell of a woman ,are or at least, so I was told !
Witches and *******, woman all on the take, make of that sad suggestion, whatever you like,
Those flamin' heart strings are elastic, as lycra  spring loaded, ****** drastic,
Oh here we go, up and down, roller coaster of love's essence captured me again!
Bang, deck hit, oh s**t!
In dreams I'm laying curled up as vulnerable, miniscule, lost innocent, sweet soul at rest,
Convincing you that belonging is supreme in being rather than being lost in diversionary excuses of self inflicted
solitude!
Virtual madness, in fantasy!
Tortured by long gone spirits morose, whose purpose is torture, sad souls, destroying the world of belief in life,
is for the living,
In dreams, what will you find,  perchance, me haunting recesses deep in your head,
Guess, that's the only way I can share your bed!
Copyright Livvi 07/04/2013.

I have invented a sport called Yogates,
What, indeed, is this, if you please?
Why, for you, it is inertia, you see,
You lie under a blanket, only breathe,
You wear what you like in Yogates,
A steady state of not doing,
No, you are not doing Yoga or jogging,
In cute couture like shorties,
You are not swimming in pool or sea,
No chlorination fever for thee or me,
No lycra or spandex triathletes,
No marathons for fluoro funnies,
So, this is multi age or gender, see,
Yes, all you do is lie there and breathe,
Now you can opt to do Yogates,
Or not, it is not compulsory!