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island poet Apr 29
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for some time,
in these troubled moments,
midst the uprooted formless firmament
where rawest poems come from,
and the saddest formed gentled, go to die,
colloquially a place called
time

in these, them days of lockdown quarantine,
time has lost its preeminence,
the swagger of precision-swiss-definition
of the imposing measuring stick of
routine
is lost to that very
formless firmament

we look at each aghast,
with wild puzzlement faces,
inquiring of each other,

what day of the week is it?

the eavesdropping, spying voice of this device
answers,
“see the upper left corner”

which is kind of a miracle
but not nearly as amazing that

a few hours later,
or some time span of an approximate relevancy,
(we assume,)
we ask each other, once more,
in a reverie of hopelessness,
with total no-pretense of the
when,
no, worse,
the frightening pointy needlessness of
why
it matters

dearest darling,
pray, pray,
what day of the week is it?

writ on the Isle of Manhattan
CautiousRain Apr 2019
I despise how abuse is always
littering my airspace,
always tainting
the water I drink,
and always rupturing what's left of me.

I had this preconceived notion,
unfortunately,
that once you've been abused,
you'd be wise enough to escape
another abuser,
but boy, how he showed me,
how they all showed me,
how stupid I am
to have believed that.

I want to imagine,
though how useless it would be to do so,
what it would have been like
to love someone
and to be loved by someone
genuine, for once.

I must confess,
I don't think I would know
how to accept a love
that isn't corrupted,
or perhaps,
nonexistent,
and that pains me more
than my delusion that
I could stop them from hurting me.
sometimes I'm a fool
always a fool
A Simillacrum Feb 2019
If I can identify the problems with
the actions that I take, and the moves that I make
mere seconds after flapping my lips, or
twisting my lips, then

why do I do what I do?
I don't know.
If you're asking whether I think
it's a good thing, or
a bad thing. . .


How long   is it before
"just what I do"    delivers
you to prison walls from paradise?
How far   is too far, to
let my personality drag my brain around?

If I'm self aware, I'm on the borderline.
Control me, will you, my rampant ways?
I have you centered in my sights better
than I ever have, and it's now I think to tell
myself, Action must yield choices more
than Piety or Wantonness. As a for instance,
if I see myself clearly, can I drop the gun
as long as I develop disclosure and transparency?

I'm ******* you, I already know my answer's yes.
From my experience, honesty invites
the utter end of communion,
and from this, you inherit an abject loneliness.
Healer Nov 2018
I know you are wild moonlighting
so fool me like I am dreaming
As if your wistful eyes have meaning
"You are the one" your eternal silence is always screaming
your erratic heartbeat has a notion,
which brings my grey heart to motion
Every frosty night you haunt me
I am amazed by your warm devotion
Your stare fills my  naked soul with colorful emotions
No matter how much I refuse  you always seek my attention
You are a seductive mirage of the sensational desert
alluring me to my  sweet destruction
one lightest touch of your's
my cold sanity has stopped it's tuneful function
you have  become its owner now it won't listen to my instruction
for I am an emotional volcano, ready for my catastrophic eruption
Mane Omsy Nov 2018
Leverage for an escape
The fearest of them all
Last time he wore a cape
The dearest of them all

Perished, in dirt and blood
Vanished, from hearts and hoods

You witnessed nothing but the lies
Impossible to believe,
Still awakening the witnesses
They don't seem to believe.
Having said that the impossible matters are hard to believe, here, I remind you that's what it makes a man a hero. Several years after when the hero is no more, people tend to forget their effort. Just the slight memory of his existence makes most of them wonder what he was as a person and judge him from that perspective.

Heroes are always heroes. No matter the time or place.
George Krokos Oct 2018
I seem to be looking for something that is hard to find
Is it love or just something else deep within my mind?
Whatever it may be has now got me somehow going
and what I'll end up finding could be nothing knowing.

Is it some kind of a feeling or notion that something is missing
perhaps a thing that I've recently lost and I'm just reminiscing?
Something I need to do that needs to be done soon or otherwise
which is at the back of my mind bugging me so now in disguise.
--------------------------
Written in 2018.
Shofi Ahmed Mar 2017
Someone is singing a song, it's somewhere written.
The ocean breaks in billowy dances, the seas open up
Get it off the chests, put a notion through onto the cloud
that won’t just fall, won’t just stop and drop: it will float
to the measured moves, only then will it roll in,
pop into the million blooms, wreathed rosy lips,
set out bowls of colours before the one is pouring in!

A song like King David sang and everyone heard.
It’s the sweet song sang in every mother tongue;
a perfumed speech is heard sweeter than the nectar,
wreaths round each patch of earth as part of a tongue.
In all different variations, directions it’s being sung!

Mathematically composed that rhythmically spans
fashion in both, or you choose science or arts.
It’s a lyric sung with finest curvy swaying dance.
Feel the thrills deep down through the atomic level.
still the variety motions in various directions turn on,  
and nowhere near that looks, drawing a pause!
FRITZ Jul 2018
contusion clouds burst confusions under the sound.

underground, through the air, and softer the sea.

     a pond a barrier to you and to me

          song as sweet and stiffened at the



                                                         fireflies and jello eyes watching shyly

                              your fingers are blue and ivory they burn in the light

                 song as sweet as the purple dew in the crook of your fingers



                    you are told as strong as sand

                                    you are rock

                    you are clinging to rock atoms

                                      be honest

                     you are shrapnel arriving early and departing late.
focusing on the notions of "Reluctance."
George Krokos Mar 2018
It seems a mistaken notion when we hear it said that 'all men are born equal'
and is due to the fact that as a baby we are all helpless, dependent and small.
But as we grow up and get older the sense of equality doesn't mean much at all
as there are many factors at play which are not so evident and hard to forestall.
_________
From "The Quatrains" ongoing writings since the early '90's
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