#sublime
Time: the sublime state of losing track of it.
the morning has disappeared,
slipping out between the space
separating my ten scribbling fingers
poems dropping with every pollination,
a comment, an article, a randomized thought
flying by, all become becoming, and now near
the mid of day, I look at my stacked pile of boring
should-be-to-doings, and
draw deep satisfaction
that my
procrastination has been aside shunted,
by the splurging urging to create,
a much worthier
choice for the quality of a
life worth living
nml. fini
May 10
May 10, 2026 at 11:05 AM UTC
There are symphonies inside me
No room could ever hold,
Whole heavens being built
From feelings too bright
To name.
They move across my eyes
Like stars remembering
Where they came from,
And I am floating
Through the space of my own mind,
Weightless and sublime.
Apr 25
Apr 25, 2026 at 1:04 PM UTC
{{The Society of the Spectacle
by Guy Debord inspired this reflection}}
In the spectacle, within
pompous circumstances
wherein the entertained abide,
seeing our chosen side always winning
each as per
usual real-
izational transfactual exchanges,
"Indeed, it is only inasmuch
as individual reality is not
that it is allowed to appear."
brought to mind the starry night,
abstraction from one mind, one night
in a world lit by fire or heaven in truth,
that which appears above and beyond us,
save when we feel the draw, the inhaled awe,
in some once shared glimpse past artifice to art
for the sake of the substance confirming spectacle.
------------------------
Note to readers asking sense from my nonsense, what we do not say but be, in free entertainment economy allows me to think of any reader asking me to explain my will to stand by my muse uses...
Debord wrote his book in 1968, in French, and never changed a word, which helped me republish "The Seed of the Dream"
"In all that has happened in the last twenty years, the most im-
portant change lies in the very continuity of the spectacle. Quite
simply, the spectacle's ********** has succeeded in raising a
whole generation moulded to its laws. The extraordinary new
conditions in which this entire generation has lived constitute a
comprehensive summary of all that, henceforth, the spectacle
will forbid; and also all that it will permit."
— Guy Debord (1988)
art for all its worth in the medium we use
... to testify, ... and hang with Van Gogh
Apr 1
Apr 1, 2026 at 7:33 PM UTC
between the frigid waves of breeze, fuelling my weather kite,
I gazed, far and high, up at the distant depths of a height,
and I saw it, engulfing the sky's starry-showered light,
a nimbus, growing out from a numb november night,
sure the winds up there, are in a warring state of fight,
and earth, trembles, with descent of many, a trailing light,
as if the skies were torn apart, by an Asgardian's flight,
to leave a thunderous echo after a lightning in sight.
Feb 2
Feb 2, 2026 at 9:36 PM UTC
O Rio que o Xisto Bebe
No princípio era o xisto, rocha dura, ferida,
Onde a raiz se aprofunda, sedenta e atrevida.
Veio a mão do homem, de ferro e de calo,
Talhando o socalco, pedra a pedra com o cantar do galo.
O Baixo Corgo desperta com bruma e maré,
Chuva doce na encosta, verde firme de pé.
Mas no Cima Corgo, onde o vinho ganha nome,
É o sol que governa e a sede que o bago consome.
No trono das vinhas, a Touriga se faz,
Rainha de manto ***** de nobreza e de paz.
Violeta no sopro, seda fina na espinha,
Sangue vivo da terra, alma densa da vinha.
No Douro Superior, o silêncio é ardido,
Calor que estala na pedra, tempo lento e contido.
Zimbro e esteva perfumam o ar rarefeito,
E o grifo traça círculos no céu celeste do meu leito.
O chasco-preto responde do alto do penedo,
Guarda antiga da encosta, segredo sobre segredo.
O Douro não é só vinho, é corpo e memória,
É natureza e suor na mesma história.
São mortórios esquecidos, de vinha vencida,
Onde a lontra desliza na água escondida.
O tritão celebra no fundo do chão,
Vida antiga pulsando em comunhão.
Da Régua partem barcos de lenta nostalgia,
Carregados de tempo, silêncio e poesia.
E o rio serpente de ouro alento da minha satisfação,
Bebe o xisto da margem… e prende o meu coração.
Victor Marques
Douro
Portugal
Feb 20
Feb 20, 2026 at 4:41 AM UTC
NATURE OF HEART
Dual curved carved
crystalline
earth pointed plasmic
Oneness
quantum wave
particled
allows Heart to heave
Heal with white light
eagles
on Tibetan height nights
continuously crafted
through storm eyes
looping solace
sighs
whorling whispering
Rain tears feed
its sizzling stamens
pistillate androgyny
crying
crumbling
simultaneously graniting
granting access
piously
Soft supple sublime
in rhythmic dance
twirls across seaspun song
sealed
bends baritone bones
gliding through skulls
of ancestral
sacrament
Heart curiously examines
coral swimming coloured
through sockets
smiling
Silent sacred still
holds no longings or
exalted expectations
observes
its own arising gyrations
destructions
cannot label
nor muse
or impress empress
governors or lover
fathoms no fools
Only presents
primal
lingering longings
for its own beatings
irrepressible expressions
lavic lush luminosic
explosions of expirations
split open
exposing slivered voluptuous
vulnerability
breathing
©GhairoDanielsPoetry
&Song2024
Aug 13, 2025
Aug 13, 2025 at 8:56 AM UTC
I don’t judge people when they’re down for the count.
The wheel’s get spinning so fast, it causes a sudden karmic pounce! And life sweeps up the debris, every gram and every single ounce..
Aug 4, 2025
Aug 4, 2025 at 5:40 PM UTC
Oh moon,
Once again caught in your sublime beauty,
By your bright and orange glow,
Like the sunset in the African plains,
But instead with your navy backdrop,
The few clouds surrounding you-
Perfectly in place,
Almost turning into new found islands,
Underneath your reign
Oh how lucky can I be-
When I see your powerful shine glazing on the sea,
Lighting up a path,
All the way to the horizon-
For the creatures deep below,
So they too can feel your glow
Sitting there so still,
The whole of nature quiets,
I had never felt the wind to halt in such a way,
Not a single leaf would shake,
Nor a buzzing bug dare disturb,
They stop in awe-
You really are the mother of it all
They listen to your will,
And silently drift to slumber-
As your simply there,
Watching over what you must,
And protect them while they sleep,
Their lives once again-
- fall into your loving trust.
-JJ
14/04/25
Apr 18, 2025
Apr 18, 2025 at 7:52 AM UTC
And when the midnight unwinds
It has come
Like waves
To luminous shore
More to sigh
than to say
Golden solitudes
To Caress with the sublime
And chimes
Of our Loves rhymes
To Soothe
Reynaldo Casison
Apr 5, 2025
Apr 5, 2025 at 9:43 PM UTC
I dream of a Love that Soothes sublime
The Moon is pure Modest gold,
sweet with its exotic Roses
Luminous sanctuary
of dreamy romance
The Stars sparkle fine with champagne
Their Beauty quiet and their Love blind
They waltz intimate with Stillness
Their iris glimmers
are pretty exquisite sighs
I always dreamed of a woman
Whose beauty and love is Sweet
Sweet sweet
She sings and dances like evening rain
And blushes luminous
like the Midnight moons
With the Vineyards so sweet
So tenderly deep
She has become a Rose Gypsy moon
My Love the Stillness
of heavenly iris lakes
like her wild
Carefree and Exoticly serene
Reynaldo Casison
Mar 4, 2025
Mar 4, 2025 at 1:49 PM UTC
Golden lotus
Even when you Meditate
Just As You are
You're Pretty fine
Down to Earth
Casual
And
WithIn The Divine
Reynaldo Casison
Mar 3, 2025
Mar 3, 2025 at 4:12 PM UTC
A silhouette drifts through the mist,
shaped by memory but not quite there—
a figure lost between the spaces
where time forgets its own name.
Wings flutter, soft as dust,
stirring the silence in slow breaths,
like the whispered promise
of something never meant to be.
The air is thick with the weight of nothing—
a presence that slips through your fingers
before you can hold it,
before you can understand.
In the distance, a song plays,
but its notes are hollow,
echoing through the vacant spaces
of a forgotten world.
It is as though the fairy exists,
but only in the spaces where eyes do not see,
where dreams and memories fold together
like forgotten pages,
and everything is both real
and utterly lost.
You reach for the hollow light,
but it fades before you touch it,
leaving only the scent of something once pure,
a trace of something you can never claim,
floating away
into the quiet dark.
Nov 22, 2024
Nov 22, 2024 at 2:46 PM UTC
What is love? A quest,
You totally are the best,
Wake me up in bliss,
Takes more than our kiss,
It is beyond sublime,
Stood the test of time,
Better man no love could bring,
You make this heart's bells ring,.
Guess I am still in love,
Love is sign from above.
Oct 31, 2024
Oct 31, 2024 at 3:54 PM UTC
Adapting re
voluntary reading
to the future, when we've
nothing to do so, sub-con
science frictions call all men liars.
I am by no means chief,
I came from the Calebland Productions,
early Eighties,
Macintosh and Appletalk, and Silicon Beach
grand brainstorms insisting if we heat it
the entire idea of dust as us and our mites…
just willing to revolve with the planets will
enough all those old winds that twisted
like we did last summer,
wind up like
those ones, wow, so real.
Northwest Passage is open, and yet,
none acknowledge life in full control,
something literarily evolving
where the crawdads eat the corpses,
Bayou Blue, Barrios and Pepitons,
cheri mio, we had some fun,
we all sung, on that by
you seem to agree, we won.
we won the evolutionary war,
mankind, wombed and un,
ever so long ago, none knew, we did
but time is a bit of a Ouranos cycle,
looks like a great ocean churning gyre,
of which the last swirling tide reminder
fit to an old spider web designer,
loser backslider
with a gambling wife,
who took a chance on me,
what do we see, but what we get,
generously, love is there
for the looking for,
and for remembering finding, and
really, when a man
from the molds
that made our we this kind of old man,
an individuated
NPC, in a cast of thousands,
acting stand in assistant to the
assisting intelligence time accounting,
massive messaging, is a thing
are you aware…?
your connection can self correct,
your bluetooth can whistle
in your ear,
eh,
we made it up.
The loss, we, laughed and made it all up.
Apr 24, 2024
Apr 24, 2024 at 4:11 PM UTC
it's not,
too late
to feel again
even the broken
can be restored
and given a second chance.
just sit back
and relax.
good things will
come to those
who patiently wait for fate.
you thought that
was the end
of your world
but the end,
is just the
beginning
and those
good things
are never-ending
it's not,
too late
to feel again.
change your
heart and
mind
and don't
drown in the
depths of time sublime.
Sep 3, 2023
Sep 3, 2023 at 2:29 AM UTC
Well !
To justify the word
"Perfect"
All great artists
Have invested
Some more ink
Some more color
Some more truth
Some more sense
Some more time
Some more endorphin
Some more emotion
To detail
Their perception
Honoring the spirit
With passion to prime
Their enthusiasm
And insight to give
Eternal life endlessly
Consoling their soul
They invest
Nothing more
Aug 19, 2022
Aug 19, 2022 at 9:58 AM UTC
In the recesses of my mind
Lies a fearless monster
Whose heart is blessed and blind
And whose love grows forever
Its beauty glows of a shine
That suns and moons polish brighter
And its pain draws a line
That tears and turns into laughter
Its madness is of wisdom a shrine
And its lightness can never grow paler
For He expresses the sublime
That my aches breed for you, dear Reader.
Oct 6, 2021
Oct 6, 2021 at 4:56 PM UTC
When a soldier marches, where does his focus go?
Forward? To glory or doom?
His mind filled with stories of honour and pride of wars long ago?
Backward? Of the life, they left behind?
To the wife, the child back home?
The medals to be shown as trinkets or to speak never more?
Have they ever stopped to look around? Of the country, to be or not to be? The mountains, the rivers, the towns and to the sea.
The damage to be caused? The life preserved?
Regardless, the solider marches
Aug 10, 2021
Aug 10, 2021 at 8:22 AM UTC
If lucky, we accrue the time
that makes us me and you
it is sublime
and wholly human too
Jul 4, 2021
Jul 4, 2021 at 1:01 PM UTC
Are you ready?
Let's talk something different
Beautiful, and raw
Silent, yet profound
Devotion, and surrender
Thoughts, and beyond
Let's talk about the things
You can't neglect
The thing you understand
And the things you want to understand better
Let's talk more
About the background
And the challenges
Tonight
Let's talk about soul feeds
And the common sense
Namaste
Apr 11, 2021
Apr 11, 2021 at 12:08 PM UTC
The Other Side
Look through me so that I can see you
naturally
Surprise me
Do not hinder your reveal
I appreciate your humanness
The blood that sings when you think of me in golden evenings
I know.
That you can hear me learning
I feel your brain’s creativity on my spine
That is beauty speaking to the core
Growing one breath at a time
before we meet again
Dec 28, 2020
Dec 28, 2020 at 9:25 PM UTC
a man crested his hill, he viewed the world around him. never before had he seen such ferociousness.
he was viewing something no souls had ever encountered. he was, for the first time in his life, the first.
he fell to his knees— water crashed below, as the tangles of pine closed in on his frail form.
he believed the world built this view for him, and only him. only— the world built this view for no reason.
the serendipity of the hill he collapsed on was marveled by the man. he wept. alone, in a world only he would ever see exactly as is.
cries to the heavens were silenced. his own drive to rise again fell off the cliff face. he simply watched.
vines creeped up his torso. snakes nestled under his legs. his hair melted with the spring thaw, then washed away with the rain.
his eyes never faded. his mind never dulled. he simply sat and waited. he waited for god to extend His hand.
what else should one do in front of the sublime?
Dec 14, 2020
Dec 14, 2020 at 3:31 PM UTC
When she walked it was as though
the wind would move her
she would flow like summer breeze
one could barely behold
the perfection – oh the ease
with which she moved
Each step was like the ballet
like Swan Lake was set afoot
in the person of her womanhood
she, like no other could
Men fell in states of blunder
and ladies shapes of awe
for none could stand before her
not one resist her call
The Mona Lisa in the flesh
a living work of art
her subtlety betrayed her
a disguise she ill could wear
Her modesty set before her
a veil that through would shine
the loveliness of her countenance
the lady so sublime
I saw her once.
Nov 16, 2020
Nov 16, 2020 at 3:00 PM UTC
A chance encounter
a snapshot in time
life's random moments
are simply sublime
© 2020 by Mark Toney. All rights reserved.
Aug 14, 2020
Aug 14, 2020 at 12:03 PM UTC