"absorbing" poems
Thick, warm, fuzzy air
Radiates against your skin, making you want to doze off
You sit on the front of a low red car that looks another era, leaning on the glossy hood.
I want to put your lips on mine
The world feels yellow, and orange.
It's as if clear smoke has filled the air
My eyes are dimmed through thick sunglasses, my body absorbing the warmth through jeans and a small black shirt
I'm in a lucid daze
Looking at you through a curtain of leather black hair, not bothered to move it from my face.
Your eyes the crisp refreshing blue in a world tinted amber
Like a fresh spray of water on my back
After hours of sunbathing
We sit there
We say nothing
We take in the sun
We don't need anything else
May 12, 2018
May 12, 2018 at 6:04 PM UTC
The distant hollow of the high mountain pass
swallows the setting sun as it steals away southbound
behind the coastal mountain's tangerine sunset hued silhouettes
Mulberry plashed shadows pointing northward
across the evergreens outstretched dimming,
beneath the waning fade of each fleeting eventide
Sundown ebbing asunder the wafting daylight,
each gloaming of the day, helplessly a moment sooner past,
transfixed further south beyond yesterday's passing azure
The lazy days of summer escape unbounded,
nomadic as the sea I've seen sail away before;
evanescent as the beauty of the bloom summer days beheld
and the memory of the fragrance they exhale
The nebulous weight of the gravity is consciously denied
by the truths a human heart beholds
A moment’s epiphany afflicts like a rogue wave in a calm sea;
the only thing my heart ever wanted remains out of reach
Everything my heart needs consciously surrendering
to the poignant passing moment's beauty,
the falling sun at distance sets more suddenly now
Lost in the undeniable certainty
life's imminent season's change
Eyes drawn stubbornly from presence to a sky so far away,
knowing there'll be no restitution for the welling sense of loss...
A bitter sweet song mummers in the silence of the absorbing spell,
summer's sun stained pages of watermarked soul scribbles,
time tattooed reparation for the indelible ache
of a harsh grey winter loneliness
Perhaps too familiar, this whelming Déjà vu
that tears my soul; that tugs at these roots
but cannot sever their sacred grasp
But for now, eyes fixed to the sun's
inevitable tightening tether hence —
to wear weary each fraying thread's impending break
Each sunset leans a deeper angle southward
as it slips down through the firwood shadows;
illuminating other faraway latitudes
far beyond the distant horizon skies
The preordained continuum unfolding what will be ...
someone you used to know ... September 11, 2017 ... 7:30 PM
Sep 14, 2017
Sep 14, 2017 at 11:41 AM UTC
Lush is the quietude
of the late Saturday afternoon,
rich are the silencing sounds,
as variegated as the shades of greens
of a man-seeded, nature-patchworked lawn
rays reveal some bright,
some yellowed spots,
all a potent color palette
resting worry wearied eyes,
untroubled by the gentle fading light's illumination,
that soon will disappear and seal officially,
another week gone by
the lawn,
acting as an ceiling acoustic tile,
absorbing and reflecting
the varied din of disharmonious
natural sounds orchestrated,
an ever present reminder
that true quiet
is not the absence of noise
I hear
the chill in the air,
insects debating vociferously
their Saturday evening plans,
the waves broom-swishing beach debris,
pretending to be young parents
putting away the children's toys for the eve
the birds speak in Babel multitudes of tongues,
chirps, whistles, clicks and clacks,
then going strangely silent as if all were
praying collectively the afternoon sabbath service,
with an intensity of the silent devotion
this moment, i cannot
well enough communicate,
this trump of light absolutes,
and animal maybes,
that are visually and aurally
presented in a living surround sound screen,
Dolby, of course,
all a plot of
ease and gentility,
in toto,
sweet serenity
here to cease,
no more tinkering,
leave well enough,
plenty well enough
Jun 7, 2015
Jun 7, 2015 at 10:39 AM UTC
Static, memories
Emanating, separating
The postcard- perfect
Still life speaks
From its storied past.
Invisible, to drift
Among
The florid aphorisms,
Ending in
Deleterious debris,
Aftermath of
The inevitable.
Empty room, echo hollow
Tabula rasa -
Carpet clean, quite candid in it's
Return to callow.
Consciousness athirst,
Absorbing phenomena
Effervesce, inquisitive
Ideas foment,
Sealed inside a question.
The what -
Against the narrow
Scarcity,
And fatigue of should.
A tender malleable
Youth,
Betrayed, under
An assumed decorum -
Residue of truth,
Flattened emotion
Privations of a self
Unheard;
Misplaced affirmation,
Buried pathologies
In architecture
Fear manifests symbolic.
Harboring apathy
The lunacy of pious
Pedigree,
Import contagion,
Fetters of benignity
Doubt and indecision
Into ******
Cognizance,
Fallow spirits
Seep fumes of decay,
Credulity bleeds a human stain.
Social edifice, inoculated
Heirs of neurosis;
Palpable, sensual pain
And transience, though
Tacit - remain,
Our haunted history,
The blind hyperbole,
Maudlin
Forbearance, this haven,
A portrait
Of immaculate condition,
Nurtured with precision
Under sterling pretense.
Provincial domicile -
House beautiful,
Savage irony -
Unseen treasure
Innocence unabridged,
Faces, tiny creations;
Compliant vessels
Wounded,
While modernism murmurs
Its promise.
Brave New World,
In a late model sedan,
Domestic ranch on a
Corner lot,
Suburban natives,
Silence means security.
The misunderstood
Speak louder -
Consumerism beneath
Unvarnished ambition,
Never could
Repair the brokenness within...
© 2011 & 2018 W. S. Warner
Oct 20, 2011
Oct 20, 2011 at 5:38 PM UTC
I wake up in the bath
after a day on the wine.
Fat ******* arrives
at mine around nine.
Friday night and it's too much,
the temptation.
******* powder with dehydration.
Back into town,
bouncing around like a clown.
Absorbing attention,
I'm the star of the show.
I'm cloaking my secret,
the one they can't know.
I'm out of my mind
and I've no Idea where.
I cannot go back,
'cause she lives in there.
I've been running for years,
purge after purge.
Yet I know come tomorrow,
I'll again have the urge.
Because I need her
and I love her.
I am her!
Poetry by Kaydee.
Jun 29, 2018
Jun 29, 2018 at 3:58 PM UTC
Hang in there.
I know times are tough but that's okay, that's part of life.
I just want to let you know that I'm proud of you.
Proud of you for taking all the ******** and bearing with it.
Absorbing all the crap that life has given you and using it to become better.
You held on for so long that now, it's time to let go.
Let go. Let go of what hurts you, everything that once made you feel alive but came crashing down like the waves on high tide.
One thing to remember, never regret. Never regret loving someone just because they caused you pain. Remember that once, that person gave you a reason to smile or make you feel like you were the happiest person on Earth. That person made you feel love even if now, it barely means anything.
I remember you being so restless, so helpless because you didn't know what to do. That was 6 months ago when you thought everything was meant to be, when you thought that that person was the one for you.
Even if he wasn't, he's meant to be in your life for a reason.
It's a good thing you decided to give yourself space, because it's an ultimate test of friendship. You know that you can't live without this person, but maybe just not in that way.
You needed to start over.
Give yourself time, because in the end it will be worth it.
It will be worth it to wake up one day and feel okay again.
Yes, it's not bad to admit that you're hurting. Pain makes you human, so does love.
Obviously, you knew it was dangerous but you fell anyway. Not your fault, not a mistake. You had nothing to loose.
You had your pride.
But you learned how to swallow it for the person you were willing to fight tooth and nail for, even if you knew it wasn't worth it because they just didn't feel the same way.
Don't blame yourself for being confused. Being confused with the different kinds of love. Trying to find it in other people just so you can see if you could get over him.
Guess what? It didn't work, but again thats okay.
Yes, pain does make you loose your morals. It's inevitable and of course, it's also hard. It's hard to make the right decisions when you are blinded because you are so caught up in the feeling of being hurt.
But you know what?
You really kept it together. This might have been the most mature set of feelings you've had for a person. These feelings you knew were sure and real. These selfless feelings you've had because you knew you wanted another shot at the love that you wish you gave because in the past, you've received love and never gave it back.
You already know how important it is by now, and it's one thing to realize it and another to show it. You did both and you gave it a shot, even if in the end you didn't make it.
Dear self,
You deserve all the love that you have given.
All the love that you once gave to this special person who probably didn't deserve it as much. You gave so much love, but if you don't receive any you'll run out.
Maybe God is reserving you for the right person because He's waiting for the right time and place for it.
Thank you for knowing that, thank you for taking care of that person who has a special place in your heart even if it hurt so much. Thank you for not having bitter feelings like the past, for being more mature about everything. Also for accepting the fact that people will hurt you, even the ones you love, and even having the will to go on despite it.
You never gave up, you're not giving up on love. You're just wise to know when you've had enough.
Dear self,
You are a fighter.
Jun 8, 2015
Jun 8, 2015 at 10:04 PM UTC
Fluorescent lights absorbing.
My glass cage surrounding.
Smart phones and silenced minds.
To strangers WiFi connection binds.
Likes substitutes compliments and comments conversation.
I turn myself inside out for empty validation.
Cyberspace is like a vacuum, they can't hear you scream.
Forced smiles, you lie and hide behind pixelated screens.
Apr 22, 2016
Apr 22, 2016 at 12:00 PM UTC
The stigma that sensitive people are weak needs to diminish.
Just because she feels things down to her bones does not mean she is weak.
She carries everything. Her feelings, other people’s feelings, the world around her as she takes it all in.
* * *
Sensitivity is deemed feeble.
Thick-skinned people are the brave ones, right? They have endured so much that they no longer feel anything. Snide remarks, rude comments, and stressful situations roll off their skin like water during a storm. If it’s already pouring, why worry about each droplet?
* * *
That is the problem, she thought to herself. Are brave people truly brave?
No.
Brave people are the true cowards. Rather than taking their experiences and feeling them, letting them seep into their bones to become the marrow which fuels their bodies, they shut them away; skeletons in a closet.
They have become numb to the baggage they carry at the expense of growing numb to everything else.
* * *
People around her are merely living in this world, she decided, whereas she was absorbing it.
In the spring she lays in the grass, running her fingers through each blade as if it were the Earth’s hair.
When summer nights bring a light breeze, she imagines spirits are hugging her.
In the fall when it rains, she spreads her arms wide and gazes up to the sky, knowing that each water droplet that falls is Mother Nature peppering her skin with kisses.
* * *
Others are too preoccupied making sure their skeletons do not peer out of the closet.
Strength, after all, is the ability to withstand vast amounts of pressure and God knows how much force those skeletons must bear.
* * *
In the middle of the night, her father hears her talking to someone, except there is no response. It is as if she is conversing with herself when in actuality, she is conversing with her skeletons.
After midnight when others have drifted off to sleep, hoping that their skeletons do not come to haunt them, she is wide awake, her closet door open.
She lays in bed and asks her anxiety how it’s day was, laughs at a witty comment that her depression has made about her life, and gives thanks to the insult a bully gave her in the first grade for making her the person she is today.
The things that should weigh her down, she has befriended. They come to visit so often, anyways.
* * *
She wonders how someone who has mastered the art of suppressing their feelings is braver than someone who has mastered the art of acknowledging their feelings.
The strength it takes to keep the closet door shut is immense.
However, it takes an unsurpassable amount of resilience to carry the world in her heart and soul while still having the courage to open her closet without being afraid of the things that could jump out at her.
Feb 4, 2018
Feb 4, 2018 at 3:49 PM UTC
Sitting here,
wishing she
were here,
In this chair-
on my lap,
straddling me.
Choker on,
wearing a skirt;
pink lace thong
Hair combed long
no shirt on
tats; jet black lace her back
Gently kissing her neck,
she slowly lick her lips,
But, the rest is
all mine...
Her soft skin
rubbing against mine
goosebumps run up her hand
then scatter through her spine
Thin *******
turning me on
intensely
I need her energy
immensely
Her senses
sense me
her scent
attracts me
The rough material of my jeans
Rubbing against her ****
Buckles your knees
I can feel it
The more I move
the tighter she squeezes it
the stare in her eyes
is her invitation
to my demise;
I have
arrived.
Moaning
as she grinds,
absorbing all her vibes
rubbing herself against my thighs-
Leaving her wetness as my prize
Apr 11, 2022
Apr 11, 2022 at 7:42 PM UTC
howling black wavespounded the doomedwelshmen of steeltravesty loomed absorbing the onslaughtrelentless attackerwrong end of mountainrourkes drift, south africa brave boyo stood fastsolid in stancebattled the tideof barefoot advance singing in tunicvalley men bred fought black waves of heatin rivers of red respectful zulunot mindless marauderheld assegai highand saluted....the south wales borderer
Feb 28, 2010
Feb 28, 2010 at 12:22 PM UTC
* * *
Absorbing dust and Golden heat,
living more openly than I do,
he shimmies to Billie Holiday
The year is not 1957, though
he lives in a San Francisco fog
longing to play the piano
The time in not 11:57pm, though
he orders a ***** martini & swims
in the fishbowl bay
Escaping to Telegraph Hill
to drink moonlight jazz & vermouth
he pretends to live
Way back when
* * *
Nov 11, 2017
Nov 11, 2017 at 4:29 PM UTC
⭐️
*Reading is like
Sitting under
A canopy of trees
Listening to the humming of bees
Chirp of birds
A gentle breeze soothing the mind
Absorbing the warmth of the early morning sunshine
Being one with nature
A solitude
Undefined Peace
Writing is like
An ever flowing stream
Cascading rills
Sparkling placid waters
The essence of nature
The different seasons
Like a flurry of emotions
The moments lived
Reminiscing the times
The Moments to come
The moments one dreams
Different reasons
Wrapped in words ideal
Writing is Therapeutic
The essence of it all*
⭐️
Mar 2, 2018
Mar 2, 2018 at 2:25 PM UTC
Just know...
He’s had lives & loves before you
Remember that when the bricklayer or the mechanic
Asks for your hand
You’ll receive one flower
Instead of a dozen roses
Picked on his way home
Handwritten notes in your shoes
Instead of Hallmark greetings
Elaborate dinners cooked by him
Where he said he’d clean
Afterwards
But didn’t
Spur of the moment
Road trips
Instead of planned vacations
The opening of windows
For the springtime thunderstorms
Listening to the beat of his heart
While the rain drops
Drip
Drip
I
N
T
O
The drain
He’ll write you with jazz playing
Wine in his bottle
Records in his head
Absorbing you into his world
And if he dies before you
And you bury him
And you mourn over him
Lasting for years
Remember his flower
His notes written just for you
And if you see his ghost
Haunting you
Then the Poet
Has fallen forever for
...You...
Feb 5, 2018
Feb 5, 2018 at 5:21 PM UTC
You want to know what I want?
I want to wear socks to bed.
I want to wear socks to bed and pretend that I'm in love with you.
You're making this too hard.
You're making this too hard even with my lack of emotions and your lack of anything I need.
But, I am finding myself jolted awake in the middle of the night with my socks kicked off.
My socks are kicked off with my bare feet absorbing the warmth of yours.
I have a sinking feeling that I am no longer pretending.
This is not what I wanted.
Feb 6, 2013
Feb 6, 2013 at 10:53 AM UTC
Unlimited essence of floatation
The slow turn of rotation
Flying across the vast stitched multiverse
Extreme wave of beauty, but with a curse
So large, infinite if you will
Though, at float I am, still
Moving towards a planet
Gazing deep within it, I can tell it is stranded
The low gravity warped around my astral shell
Not enough to send me to a dwell
Paralyzed as its beauty is spectacular
The dark, purple atmosphere moves upon deeper into my soul
Absorbing and soaking its cosmic realm, my eyes center towards a trickle of light
A shine calling upon my invite
Invitation towards the 3rd Heaven
Still trapped within the box
The 2nd Heaven
Leaning closer, my aura and the planet's begin to lock
An increase of gravity as it embedded
Embedded a mere astral body on towards a new oasis
The closer I began, I noticed how my eye was so basic
Or was it
Creating barriers, I mustn't
Now upon the barren, desert soil
The dim black and purple formed as crystals
A plant sprouting, as the roots coil
Gazing upon the birth of one's self, a force trickles
Awaken from the deep slumber of meditation
A possibility of an infinite number of myself brings an essence of incredible invasion
Or perhaps, I'm moving forward within my soul
Moving closer towards a reality-based goal
Jun 15, 2014
Jun 15, 2014 at 11:19 AM UTC
I think I love you
There no denying this synergy
It's greater than you and me
I think love you the feeling you giving me absorbing your energy my love will
offer you inner peace
I fall in love with all I want to do is love you
I have Fallen for you I know I love you
I love each part of you
No comlntepmlnting my love for you
This situation is highly anticipated your heart
Will be apperciated
No need to abbreviated it my love for you
Never ends in any era
If there is an afterlife I still love you there
I search for you dear my love I will share
I think love you
I think love you forever
I want to show you I love you
I have fallen for you
My love is calling for you
I think love you
Its no denying this love for you
I know I love you I really want you
I love U
Oct 30, 2018
Oct 30, 2018 at 1:16 PM UTC
Miscommunication
serendipity, anticipation,
blurred reality -
lost in the dialect
of a dream,
in pursuit
of Love
find callous irony;
subversion of desire
what's it all about?
to know and be known.
Mere seconds
of scrutiny
inferior,
I am shown.
Her appraisal
eviscerating
my warm flesh,
her tilted criteria
supplanting the interior,
voluble with
saccharine neologisms
and preferences
for the exterior.
(not mine)
Ironic was my
attraction to
her brain.
Lines, features
and symmetry,
image - the commodity,
aesthetics, the
currency
in this transaction,
cursory liaison,
incendiary,
collapse of the
insurgent ego -
there was no
us in the
the affair of
nothingness.
Bruised in
abasement,
I'm not the one -
I thought I was.
Hyperbole -
the center
of delusion,
a curious
diversion -
avoid my life.
The allure of
the illusion,
transference,
the ordinary to
the romantic,
the perfect other.
Searching, the
absorbing project -
aquiring wholeness,
did she reject me?
I rejected me.
The escape into
fraudulent
sadness,
to mourn,
is to displace,
the disowned heart
by self is tragic.
Should
I not mourn for
the one I'm
deferring?
Inside of me
It's safe,
to lament
the loss of
identity -
tension is agony
without resolve
sequestered,
in my pain,
self-imposed
familiar terrain,
upon retrieval,
awaking in
renewal,
mystery and destiny
providentially,
I am free.
Feb 14, 2012
Feb 14, 2012 at 8:08 PM UTC
In apparent silence,
Raindrops play their music.
I look at the strings of stretched water
Before they touch the soft, damp ground.
Fog has covered the distant hills.
The Spirit of those Mountains
Existed only in the past chants
Of those who, without bodies,
Return to their abandoned homes
As a breath on a wet glass.
I don't know their language,
But I hear their words:
The fog,
The rain,
The hills
And memories
Hidden in the soothingly cold rocks
And streams of clear water.
I cut out a piece of earth and sky
I've always been sad to leave that place.
I stay a few moments longer,
Before walking ahead
I drink the peace,
I eat the rustle of the wind,
Absorbing the steady pattern of raindrops.
I long to be invisible
A drawing of the unearthly landscape
And come back here endlessly
After long absences.
In the green valley,
Immersed in the rain
Where I leave and find myself
Again,
Again,
Again…
Sep 8, 2025
Sep 8, 2025 at 12:42 PM UTC
The flickering lamp in your hand
sways as if to swim in peace to me
the lily scenting a warm ponder
ripples from the apple of my eye
and bobs across to bid approach
blooming with a soft absorbing sigh
which enters an essence close to reach
Your touch colludes in a light lashed usher
enticed to where my heart will sing
of finding lithe spirit mute from flesh
I slide into choral waters with longing
for the wonder of a parting life wish
Drumming soft
as butterfly strokes
swishing in the night
so close
and so remote
she could vanish
into poppy fields
at any moment
but will never leave
my sight
fluttering
I swim onward..
I swim
out..
Sep 14, 2014
Sep 14, 2014 at 10:32 AM UTC
Some people are like
beautiful dreamcatchers,
absorbing the most terrible things
for those they love
and leaving them
only the softest, gentlest
thoughts behind.
Jun 8, 2016
Jun 8, 2016 at 7:56 PM UTC
She has a heart of cedar color
And dreams in shades of peony and lotus stems.
She leaves the smell of cyclamen and ripe apricots
Behind her,
Those who are crying in the shadows of Magnolias
Are finding a shelter within her.
Sometimes I imagine that I'm the sea foam
That is touching her ankles
And the air that envelops her lips,
Absorbing her every move,
That is reflected in the mosaic of her pupils.
Her thoughts are sleeping in the depths of my veins,
In every pore that absorbs her voice
I can hear her breathing.
I remain frozen in her existence
And in the contours of her shadow,
All of what I have seek so far
I have found in every thing on which she brushed.
After all,
I'm just a pale reflection of the stars
In her night sky,
The dying firefly in her garden
Of white poppies and wild rose hips.
Jun 4, 2015
Jun 4, 2015 at 6:08 AM UTC
No reason to be precious about it,
it's best to just be blunt,
she's got a helluva ****
I could wax poetic, swooning like a
love-drunk boy, but what's the point?
Sharing, expressing, defining the spell
is futile. *** with her is like
dancing with god.
Finally, at fifty, I feel the
vibration of lovesongs.
Not in my ears, deeper than any sense can taste.
Lost for hours in life, in bonding; finally
knowing the only knowledge worth knowing
She teaches by just being.
Responding, absorbing, inspiring,
implanting new sensations and
bringing me out of me.
Sep 14, 2013
Sep 14, 2013 at 9:42 PM UTC
I was never one to pick one over the other
They used to function together as well as brothers
As time passes, their relationship sours
One works hard and focuses for hours
The other struggles to relay to the main tower
Dripping with blood is this brother
Dripping with liquid salt in worry is the other
Together they used to form pictures in the clouds
Now one peers through a fog stitched shroud
Teamwork is a thing of the past
The rift between them is filling with fog, fast
They still both serve under the same mast
But one is absorbing as much sun as he still last
Nov 6, 2013
Nov 6, 2013 at 3:19 AM UTC
Renaissance Man
mathematician, painter and poet
a genius of an engineer
I wish I could have met the man
or even better if he were here
I would follow him everywhere
absorbing as much as I could
trying to collect his brilliance in a jar
you know most surely I would
his curiosity and imagination
equaled by few mortals ever known
his feats of undeniable skills
his seeds of desire forever grown
the anatomical research he started
unequaled technological ingenuity
the beautiful Mona Lisa's face
the Last Supper reflects his ASSIDUITY
the creator of simple bobbin winder
the theory of plate tectonics
solar power and hydrodynamics too
his thoughts on moving robotics
yes he was a marvelous genius
his love of life will live on forever
sharing his unending reaching mind
we can marvel at this man together
Gomer LePoet ....
Dec 1, 2013
Dec 1, 2013 at 11:40 AM UTC