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#facile
the trouble with poetry (and this poetry site) is its facilitation awoke in a strange bed, my own, in a different city, with my old eyes renewed with, by loving amazement at the beauty of so many souls experimenting with edged, loving, dangerous compo-notions, that make me older than King David, who loved the love of life and this world, for here I am, falling too for the life & love potions of words of my fellow humans across vast oceans and I stoke their and stroke their heated words, pretending that the cool warmth of my tablet is both their gorgeous skin and alluring verbal twists that arouse my innermost, and break my already broken heart, and heals it at the very same time... all too, so easily this communication is at levels that descend, transcend, grips me with passion and consternation at my own desires, my open body & mind stirred, chilled, shaken, stirred and soothed by the busting out contradictions of us, me, so well hidden, so well revealed in the marvy ability of so many to share their essences, their own scents, just by words upon a page, and here I pause... to consider the duality of the word f a c i l e for poetry shared facilitates this burning,   "     "              "            "             "     tumult, and yet comes to me so facile, that I worry, that the words themselves are facile, cheap & easy, but then I am reassured by the very real drops of my body's fluids upon my cheeks, that confirm, that poetry is too so real, so living, and I guess you know me by my real name, my real face, and my realized words here, and wonder if I need cease to wonder why wonderful is... a thing my poetry is written by silent night, or early morn, so very differing, and laugh out loud at myself, for I am a differing man, at differing times, of a potpourri of contagious contradictory conceptions, that I traverse so easy, this facility is my blessing, and poetry my well worn skill at...facilitating this absurd admixture of human~you-man~a man~amen. and here I leave you... for I have left the sunroom too... @ 3:26 am Thu Sep 4 someplace else
0
Sep 4, 2025
Sep 4, 2025 at 3:35 AM UTC
nat-lipstadt
the trouble with poetry is...
the trouble with poetry (and this poetry site) is its facilitation awoke in a strange bed, my own, in a different city, with my old eyes renewed with, by loving amazement at the beauty of so many souls experimenting with edged, loving, dangerous compo-notions, that make me older than King David, who loved the love of life and this world, for here I am, falling too for the life & love potions of words of my fellow humans across vast oceans and I stoke their and stroke their heated words, pretending that the cool warmth of my tablet is both their gorgeous skin and alluring verbal twists that arouse my innermost, and break my already broken heart, and heals it at the very same time... all too, so easily this communication is at levels that descend, transcend, grips me with passion and consternation at my own desires, my open body & mind stirred, chilled, shaken, stirred and soothed by the busting out contradictions of us, me, so well hidden, so well revealed in the marvy ability of so many to share their essences, their own scents, just by words upon a page, and here I pause... to consider the duality of the word f a c i l e for poetry shared facilitates this burning,   "     "              "            "             "     tumult, and yet comes to me so facile, that I worry, that the words themselves are facile, cheap & easy, but then I am reassured by the very real drops of my body's fluids upon my cheeks, that confirm, that poetry is too so real, so living, and I guess you know me by my real name, my real face, and my realized words here, and wonder if I need cease to wonder why wonderful is... a thing my poetry is written by silent night, or early morn, so very differing, and laugh out loud at myself, for I am a differing man, at differing times, of a potpourri of contagious contradictory conceptions, that I traverse so easy, this facility is my blessing, and poetry my well worn skill at...facilitating this absurd admixture of human~you-man~a man~amen. and here I leave you... for I have left the sunroom too... @ 3:26 am Thu Sep 4 someplace else
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61
Facile flirtations Sighs and sorrows The depth of brevity Sonorously sinking Rising slowly Washed by the rain Drifting The swollen ocean Rolling, pounding An avalanche of sound Cascading, sublimating.
0
Nov 30, 2014
Nov 30, 2014 at 12:19 AM UTC
kenneth-walter-simpson
Overtures
Facile flirtations Sighs and sorrows The depth of brevity Sonorously sinking Rising slowly Washed by the rain Drifting The swollen ocean Rolling, pounding An avalanche of sound Cascading, sublimating.
Continue reading...
11