"absented" poems
The poison has run its course
And has worked its way out.
Removed itself from my veins
And once again, my brain is mine.
The wound has healed
And the pain has long absented.
Visible on the surface they may not be,
The scars still remain
Long past when you have passed.
I continue to wear those beads of Rosary
As a symbol against your blasphemy
Against that Religion of Love
I had built for you.
May they ward off future evils
- Like a crucifix for a monk -
Against the Church of Heart
That had taken you in as a friend
Where you became so much more;
Through your every sinister'y action
That I could not dream profane.
And now, to all, I close my doors
Be they devout, divine, mundane,
In fear of the failure of my Love
I had built for you.
Feb 14, 2011
Feb 14, 2011 at 8:02 AM UTC
He buried his life in a pile of books,
And blinded himself from dainty looks.
He buried his life in many educations,
Absented himself from youthful occations.
His aquaintances called him folly,
As on soothing nights they got jolly.
His closest friends carried the burden with him,
As his chances of love grew dim.
In those soothing nights,with the book,
All his lifetime he took
Trying to figure out the puzzle of life,
But then the answer was worth more than life!
Jan 5, 2017
Jan 5, 2017 at 2:18 PM UTC
involvement with the scientific method requires an elaborate set of controls where actions and findings can be judged to deliver results in a probability driven system
I am nearly sixty years old
how am I doin’ ?
Friday, November 1, 2013
Nov 1, 2013
Nov 1, 2013 at 12:06 PM UTC
The day imploded
came rushing in to remind me that the night
was but an amalgamation of those minutes
that pin the eyes awake.
I take two moments to acclimatise
unpin the pins pinned on my eyes
and the fading of the fading light finally fades and dies.
I look with infra dead between the lines
and intro sped along the times when all was well
and now it disappears into the room of absented fears
French leave for the grieving and believing I am one of them
the lonely buttered crusts of men I go on
and into further there where the sharp words cut my feet
and bleeding sorely thus I greet
the men to whom that I would speak
of better days
who in their ways have sold a million memories
to hang up on the blowing melodies that seem to crow at me
and if I listened carefully
would say but few words dolefully and this before the breakfast laid upon my lap
the dripping sap
another buttered crust
any yet another dream that turns to dust
but in the cream jug where the poison lies and remnants of the dying light prefer to hide and sit upon the milky way
the lay of it appeals
in laying down something unreal can steal this mind of mine
and use it in some future time to come
cryogenic
hallucifrenic
and I am going down the tubes
before the slide that carries me into the beginning of my darkest day
I say,
'if I would walk a second,fecund and mount the insurmountable'
would I be accountable to myself or to those crusty men?
and to the lady,she who knows where this road goes and leads me to its ending
in the twist and bend will you defend me
fight for and lend me strength?
What is the length of illness measure
what treasure does it hold and
and what on being told the answer
would I answer in return?
The fever of the brow and how the body burns
and burn in turns like you
and we together
would we be forever
severing all ties
even as the fading of the fading finally fades and dies
and can you tell me
can you tell
can you
can.
A crusty buttered dusty battered and man to whom that nothing mattered would like to know
before I go.
Jun 12, 2013
Jun 12, 2013 at 4:11 AM UTC
The sweet mistake for the false water
Forgotten altogether in the ancient discovery.
No child is old enough to play in puddles
That the doll might drink
To believe the reflections to be real people
Delighting in shaping and extending the fantasy.
All are drowned and restored to another heaven
In walking their reversed feet
Just thinking
The shadow of their shadow belongs to them.
It is a world indeed
Where the sky shines beneath us
Where the feet of the second self
Walks against the go.
The broken ashes are rebuilt in darkness
Fighting to maintain an uncomfortable satisfaction
The painted glowing stars in the dark room
Walk closer than ever
As effects of an absented cause
With the hope that
What that is not lost can never be found
On the surface
Broken by the shadows.
Sep 17, 2016
Sep 17, 2016 at 10:00 AM UTC
The years go by and I want to swim by the pools of wisdom
But always dream of myself arriving naked a school
In absented mindedness, I arrive at the period of boredom
As my vast experience of educated sorrow
Educated lie, the trains have gone
I eat potato chip
And I can tell, the longer the sentence
More it takes for her to repeat everything that went wrong
And doing the right things at the appropriate time
My lovely anonymous teacher
Jun 7, 2019
Jun 7, 2019 at 8:32 AM UTC