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There is the beginning
Promising and reviving
And the end
Inevitable and certain
Bringing to nought
All efforts and struggles
Invariably
Restarts engineered
Dreams retraced
Hopes kept high
And efforts made
Again lead to nowhere
And the eternal wait
For this cycle to end
Continues
s Jun 8
I read somewhere
two days ago,
a thing or two about
love & growth
- how much we seem to know
about the beginning of love
and how devastatingly little
about how it continues -

and so I found
a reason to write
about how love
revealed itself
in hindsight;
like a hungry monster
lurking around
subverting expectations
and doubts.

--
Sometimes his hugs are like
those blood pressure gauges
that slowly inflate
to check all my vitals;
At other times they're like
a dash charging socket
for all my circuits and bones
- twenty minutes
for the battery to be whole.
On cold days,
he cups my feet
blowing into biting toes
because these socks
have too many holes.
And on any day
he swivels me up
when I run into him
for a no reason hug.
I don't know how it would be
to not have access
to these tiny luxuries.

We cannot agree on what is tasty
or find a film that loves us both,
and yet we're here, curled up and lazy,
Eating khatta meetha or rusk with tea,
using a wasteful amount of will
to peruse each other's watch-lists,
alternately.

He thrives on social situations
that cause me nothing but exhaustion.
and has a deep love for buying things,
(always a delivery to be tracked)
while I'm all for hand-me-downs
and owning as many things as I can pack.
I'm all about the whys
of existential voids
while he's out to ask how
we built this material world.

There's a little bit of contempt
that they say familiarity breeds,
But a whole lot more attempts
to fulfil Love's greed,

And as I sit to study
these curiosities -
creating patterns and poems
of contradicting absurdities;
listening to the jugalbandi
of predictability and tease,
watching the battle between
curiosity and belief,
and logging how we
manoeuver differences
with a pursued kind of ease,
love sits quietly,
amused but revealed,
its appetite appeased
with a wholesome meal.
Midnight Jul 28
i don't know
where your body begins
or where mine ends
the passion, ecstatic
we're entangled
and it feels euphoric
lost in the moment
and i don't want it to end
when you grow up
in a world where old is not useless
but means connected
to other times that made yours possible

then the weathered beams
     of an old mountain farmer’s house
          lived in for generations
give you a feeling of security and continuity

the solid doors of venerable city buildings
     signal achievement, comfort, safety
     knowledge and culture
     brought to you across the centuries

the crumbling arches of old castles
      remind you of your country’s history
      some of it glorious  some not
      for better or worse

even your faded family photographs
      can make you wonder
      suggesting all the generations
      that passed so you can have
      that special feeling
Who is all alone?
Solipsism slept with me
Community then rose the sun
The thorned and black roses leapt
To attention when it struck their stems
The difference between self pity and sadness
The black and thorned roses leapt
To attention when it struck their stems
The milk of the mother of the world
Community then rose the sun
While solipsism slept in me
Who is all alone?


(The Suspicious Oracle groaned, the body and the mouth. They came to rest on the line between the poles. No grimace. No grin. No light deep, deep in the eyes. The Suspicious Oracle pushed an object across the table toward the audience. An old coffee tin turned black with paints and oils. Centered in bright yellow, the word TIPS. All around it, simple symbols were scratched out in metal. Fingers. Toes. Currency. A *****.)

Coin for a fortune?

(One of the drifters at The Suspicious Oracle's table gifted a coin to the tin. The Suspicious Oracle smiled, and shifted back into the shadows.)

Thank you.

(The Suspicious Oracle reached into their jacket and produced a card printed on one side with a pair of staring eyes. They slid it toward the drifter with the eyes turned up. The drifter flipped the card and read it to herself.)

'UNHAPPY IN LACK, UNHAPPY IN EXCESS'
MetaNote:

I'd like to thank my grandpa, Arnold Gene Evans, for teaching me lessons that no one else could. And if they could, they wouldn't bother. Here's to you, big guy. The memories of smiles, sun, and the cool breeze remind me every day that my gray is gold to some. And that's enough.

~ W.
joel jokonia Nov 2017
me and my sub-conscience fight over weird things
i wrote this poem with a vision of making this the longest poem if possible
i poem by poets around the world in one topic
any poet can add at least one phrase keeping the topic at hand, a twist could do to but keeping the head on

i would appreciate to write with you all
it would the greaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaatest of all

i am going tag all words cause you never know what it will become.


you can start from
'me and my sub-conscience fight over weird things.....
Sally A Bayan Aug 2017
...........run long...
... seeming to end at one point,
........yet, in truth, they just go on
.............for, currents are ceaseless
.................they find their own paths
......................they symbolize continuity.
...........................r i v e r s .....r u n...l o n g....


(Harlon Rivers....you are your name)


Sally

Copyright August 30, 2017
rrab
...a humble poem for you, Harlon Rivers...
...peace to you always , dear friend...
...your return is most awaited......
Gabriel burnS Aug 2017
My skin can hear your colors
From the other end
Of happiness

But the line is folding in a loop
Closing in a circle
And the end is the beginning

Time is tesselating
Unto itself
But we have not the senses

There is no loss
Just continuation
Into the unknown

Relativity delays
The arrival of awareness
Consciousness is slow to form

The cooling of the mold
Takes a great deal more
Hence, the procrastination

Inert and habitual;
Words taking root
In everything

My end and your beginning
Collided into a freshly manifesting
Iteration of existence

The bud becomes
The fruit
A new cycle
if you don’t like the way things are
either change them
or change your attitude
Evna-Luna Jul 2016
Night falls through a brooding glass
Owls carries the fear of the day through an eerie sight
Moon shines on and consoles the forgotten souls
A Wolf howls from a Fearful hill
The night takes its form and structure
Ends and a new day begins

A child is born and cries, he begins to die as each day fades
Setting sun fades into*  COSMIC DEPTHS  to rise again
Sky turns from grey to silver, then black, then silver again
DNA encodes within a man to start another clone of his Father
Heart beats over and over again
Yet the heart gets the smallest amount of blood
All these
Ends and a new life begins


Birds tweet away the night's sorrow at dawn
Rain cascades and falls on Earth's landscape, as it romances the air and kiss the window pane
Families on sundays visit St Patrick's Cathedral and pray to ***
As they did four years ago and still do concurrently
Women go ***** to feed their damaged ego
The little children watch them on TV and go with the pace
Evil Fathers behind close doors
Romance their little daughters
And shut their mouth by threatening them with the knife
While Mothers pray and intercedes for the world on bended knees
While the moon hides and shy away from earth's darkness
While no
  STARS GUIDE AN EVIL NIGHT

All these too ends and begins in a never ending stream of continuity as long as we have breath

ENDS AND BEGINS


EVNA-LUNA©

2016

**ALL RIGHTS RESERVED
Inspired by the Poetess Fay Slim's Poem's title  BEGINS AND ENDS
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