#rooted
(be) word rooted
————-
oops there goes another rubber tree plant! (1)
another poem title slips past me, not
properly stored,
as proposed and intended for futurity development
so we let it.
Be!
~~~~~~~~
but for those who might wonder,
here is a brief addendum:
———————————-
the mothers these days
tell their children:
use your words!
instead of tears, fists, stomping feet, curses,
guns or even,
***** looks;
which triggers me to myself
to think:
‘tis a far better thing I ever done, (line borrowed)
to tell them, & me too,
be,
word rooted,
and let them
be
the softest tissued words,
to bring you to peace,
exactly, like it does for,
exactly like it does
fini~nml
for me…nml
Apr 25
Apr 25, 2026 at 1:03 PM UTC
we would rather discern a fleeting renunciation than transmute these destitute ends.. but I grasp what needs to be catalyzed in hindsight.
I wouldn't trade this execrable disdain that echo through the night, cause you taught me radical honesty..
Surreptitiously as these circumstances engrain, you're teaching me accountability without self flagellation.
Persiflage tides that drown these ambition, shows me that our words need to flourish, not erode and to respect your own sovereignty.
The Fabrics of our Anatomy and the center point of singularity seems like a blissful illustration that yields us to stop negotiating with ghosts of our past that haunts our desires for this embellishing entanglement.
A nervous systematic disposition we have here, a conjunction of eccentricities I still have to decipher.
Along with the idiosyncrasies I trace upon the lines of her fragile nature. Abdored and abhored alone the same poles we dance through.
As the Incremental waves of beauty and desolate reverberating measures throw my faculties asunder from a structural love, instead of an optional one. Easy to say, the reflection is refractive bound we must learn to adhere to, so I'm done chasing, the dynamic ends as...
The adscititious wavelengths that convalesce Innately in her, disposes her complex anatomical snare that once seemed impeded, to realize the root of this dismal length.. but the intense limerence entailed a familiarity that transverse world's that resides beneath those eyes, a reflection Innately the atoms danced to.
"Flectere si nequeo superos, Acheronta movebo" ( if I cannot sway heaven, than I will raise hell) for there is no heaven like here and no hell I wouldn't endure.
"Fluctuat nec mergitur"( she is tossed by the waves but doesn't sink) a symbolistic resilience that is admirable.. as our problems root from the mirror tendencies we haven't resolved but peace is the pinnacle of our unfortunate aptness to defragrate our inclinations. This I must meditate upon, and integrate eventually. So we quit burning the seams woven inbetween us and the propensity we once crystallized.
At least it's animating as much as alienating. Until next time.
Where Namaste relatively seems dimensions away but somehow prevalent. Until we cross again.
_ Twins at times feel more intense than intimate.. but I presupposes I'm ready for this hopefully resounding interlude.
Apr 16
Apr 16, 2026 at 12:10 AM UTC
wooded paths, mystical journeys
the age of trees share their wisdom
never moving, a constant strength
their meditations rooted depths.
Apr 2
Apr 2, 2026 at 10:46 AM UTC
different hat different day
used to be the way
-now its whatever keeps the head warm
and thats ok with me.
Feb 28
Feb 28, 2026 at 7:52 AM UTC
Writing a poem is about locating self.
Every facet within what you’re about to create
blooms from your consciousness, your subconsciousness
your ego, your mind, your heart
But where are those elements planted?
Where are they rooted?
They are rooted within:
your ethnocentric illusions
your lived reality
your privilege, your pleasure, your pain
your abilities, your disabilities
your socioeconomic status: have and/or havenot
your fluency, your empathy, your sense of humour
your vices and your storytelling devices
Now we've got some roots, what are we going to grow?
Let’s begin by observing, using our senses
Maybe, let’s use our eyes
Consider, the reality of how we see and sense the world
Is different for each and every one of us
Everything is tempered by the lens we use
Which is informed through the roots of our synapses
Which empirically flow from the subjective ground
On which we stand
And what does this have to do with poetry?
What you describe in your poem,
Is an interpretation of what you see (and feel)
Interesting poetry comes when
there is exploring to do
It is a poet’s imperative to
Explore the edges
Out past the boundaries of the visual and audible spectrum
If we were fish poet’s
Would we write poetry about water?
I like to toy with my teenagers on occasion
So I asked my son the other day, what his worldview was?
And I have been enjoying the vacuous silence ever since
To be fair, I have been asking myself the same question for many years
And this might have been the inciting incident leading me to storytelling
As we began this journey together, it was stated that
Writing a poem is about locating self.
Can you describe your context?
Let me attempt to describe mine:
Here I am on the stage in this ocean of air
At the Owl Acoustic Lounge
On a Wednesday night in May
Popping air with rhythm, nuance, and a certain je ne ce quoi
Although this poem is not objectively true
Let me attempt to share that
this poem blooms from my developing cosmology
From the overtures of my Overself;
from the undercurrents of the Monomyth,
From my ***** and through my groans of intercession
This poem blooms from oblivion
Threading through philosophy, to worldview, and into a budding cosmology
For myself:
Worldview fell away when I found cosmology while reconnecting with the night sky
That night sky took me places while grounding me concurrently in inner spaces
Where locating self flows into meta-cognitive health,
Well ... that is something to write about
May 24, 2023
May 24, 2023 at 8:25 PM UTC
i can cut all the petals off of you,
as viciously as i please....
but what i will fail to accomplish is the pulling of your roots.
They've ran too deep.
and well,
the petals will all return too soon.
and quite frankly
i remembered every color in them, anyway.
close your eyes to the sun, and I promise -
the iris will still feel him.
cowardice
Apr 16, 2023
Apr 16, 2023 at 2:49 AM UTC
Weep for me willow
Loose and low
With aged tales
Of travellers
Tuned to the melodies
Of song birds
And sleepy streams
That sigh their way
Through the centuries.
Wave willow
With the winds of change
Root yourself
In soil as aged
As your dreams
Jul 7, 2020
Jul 7, 2020 at 5:40 AM UTC
Crawl your way up
the bitter earth
Break open
And breathe
There’s a world out there
for you to see
but first
you must learn
to weather a storm
to swim a sea ...
and grow as if you were a tree
each day, everyday
you must live
like it is the beginning
as if the story has
just started
and you are the master of your own mystery
So, gather your soul
wait for the sunlight
stay rooted,feel the breeze
on your warm skin
And Breathe ...
Feb 8, 2020
Feb 8, 2020 at 6:09 AM UTC
You are
Rooted
Within
To make me
Believe
A home
Where I belong
Jun 10, 2019
Jun 10, 2019 at 12:03 PM UTC
She's always been like a tree,
Rooted and strong.
The resemblance
Only grew with her age.
The wrinkles of her face-
Hard and intricate bark;
And her wisdom reaching-
Branches offering shade
Jul 14, 2018
Jul 14, 2018 at 12:52 PM UTC
The tall tree
with a thousand branches
wishes it was free
to fly
like the birds.
The birds in the sky
wish they could be still
In one place, every day
Get nourished
and grow effortlessly
like the tall tree
with a thousand branches
To be rooted and yet free
To be free and yet centered
The desire of all life
Begins with awareness
And ends in love.
May 23, 2018
May 23, 2018 at 8:15 AM UTC
i would like to paint a picture of tranquility and peace
but from the lack of having a father figure
and the fear rooted deep in my mind of failure
it stops me from being happy, it stops me from
the moons cycle, the circle of my life
the apple of my eye, the core in my heart
falling in love, falling in deep, falling
i would like to see the sun rise tomorrow
but if i don’t wake up, put on my favorite song
and lay me down with all my mistakes and a bed of belladonna
the deadliest nightshade, the poison ivy
the most poisonous ivy of them all
just like my envious soul
Mar 10, 2018
Mar 10, 2018 at 12:00 PM UTC
Planted by the river of Living Waters,
I remain rooted and grounded in Christ;
He provides for my thirst, my hunger,
my Salvation and my everlasting Life.
With the foundation of Biblical Truth,
I’m rooted and grounded in the Holy Word;
the application of its principles gives
my heart hope with peace that’s assured.
When walking in holiness and rectitude,
I stay rooted and grounded in God’s love;
His Essence softly embraces me with grace,
as new mercies stream… from Heaven above.
.
.
.
Author notes
Inspired by:
Prov 12:3; 2 Sam 22:2-3, 47; Psa 1:3;
Rom 3:22; Lam 3:22-23
Learn more about me and my poetry at:
http://amzn.to/1ffo9YZ
By Joseph J. Breunig 3rd, © 2016, All rights reserved.
Jul 23, 2016
Jul 23, 2016 at 2:11 AM UTC
I could still smell lavender, hinted
winds from the east I’d once caressed.
And I could still smell that Lavender
When I look down to watch the ants
scurry. Once more, I could still smell
Lavender come empty and my life In
a bubble atop the world. And at last,
the Lavender’s gone, when trees root
elsewhere.
May 23, 2016
May 23, 2016 at 10:12 PM UTC
I felt the knife drag across my heart
Years after we carved one in this tree
I only felt the repercussions after it killed me
Now I'm drowning in the blood of the tree
Mingled with tears from the sky
I feel at one with nature.
Apr 4, 2015
Apr 4, 2015 at 10:23 AM UTC
The skies cloud over,
the smell of thunder taints the air,
and the rain begins to fall
from my eyes.
There's a book of poetry
in the lines of my hands,
that no one wants to read.
I've lived my life,
rooted in her darkness,
arms catatonic as a tree.
Unable to run or cry,
when her other prunes my flowers.
Dec 18, 2014
Dec 18, 2014 at 4:26 AM UTC