"adjoined" poems
Prolong the journey to happiness
revisit the memories of converging paths
sighted images is what made these last
but we cannot be sure it is for long
Hear the woman echo
the cry of love and joy
praising a man's piece
the romance is their buoy
Faintly, I felt her touch at our last goodbye
unaware of anything around us but sheer sorrow
our eyes met and spark adjoined
our lips touched, raising an alarm in my heart
Promote the fantasies of malady
her deep dark secrets keep me near
of unspoken dreams, my lips are sealed
Along with her fingertips, dastardly teasing with suffice
her strawberry scented hair straight though sordid.
I still long for her touch, even now.
Jul 15, 2013
Jul 15, 2013 at 6:24 AM UTC
Never been so attracted
to one being.
Wildly attracted
to traits of many,
always fleeting.
So many rolled
into one man
leaves me speechless,
intrigued and fiending.
He mirrors my lunacy,
and my fiery independence,
our duality.
Water bearers
pour streams
adjoined from
the heavens, unencumbered.
After years of finding
the streams gravitating
into one,
we ditch a gourd.
Our fingers intertwined
under the neck
and the base of
the remaining one.
Our eyes mingle mysteriously
each morning,
and when they find stars
they get to pouring.
Dec 27, 2014
Dec 27, 2014 at 1:29 AM UTC
Natures dilapidated rhythms
Carves itself into the trunks
Leaving only an omen
To be enchanted by a passer by
This fellow lone traveler
walking into ceilings of emerald delusions
The saintly stones and the creaks of trowlbrooks
He can not help but to gasp even to deafened ears
Lulled into complacency by decades of broken legends
The anointed ones and their fractured promises
Still somehow a harmony of one lonely leaf called out to him
Echoes from an apocalyptic cavernous wasteland
All the worlds suffering adjoined in one single note
With the agony and punishment
of all the dehydrated souls
The traveler was resurrected by the choice to live in a world of sensation
Rather then some brick containment
He chose to let suffering be fall his confessions
With a symphony in one hand
And a chain saw in the other
He belted the incarnation of freedom
They all tumbled for the rocks
he , the saw and the beauty
The clashing cascade
A blessed rapture and necessary harmonic sacrifice
all to the gods of that ensure we never have silence
Nov 30, 2010
Nov 30, 2010 at 9:10 AM UTC
I am well aware how your skin
shreds off immortality
when adjoined with mine.
Very well aware.
Aug 12, 2013
Aug 12, 2013 at 1:06 PM UTC
nomad
hungry ghost
trembling hands
outstretched
forever seeking
that which does not
sustain
alms
for the golden
empty bowl
offerings laid
on the morning altar
until there is
no barrier
only
giver and receiver
giving and receiving
adjoined
without end
that which circles
becomes eternal
all is but illusion
we remain
unbound
released from suffering
what was fractured
in wholeness
will be found.
Feb 11, 2016
Feb 11, 2016 at 11:30 AM UTC
There lived, amid the common folk
A seamstress of renown
Tucked away most smartly
In a quiet sort of town
So perfect was her needlework
And delicate her hand
That all and sundry sought her out
Her skills were in demand
To gain a moment here and there
She took a silver thread
She deftly put a stitch in time
And curled up in her bed
For she was such a busy girl
Deserving of a nap
But as she slept one evening
The stitch in time went 'snap!'
Time unravelled rapidly
From 'will be' to 'before'
And coils of causality
Were all over the floor
But fortune is a canny dame
For a needle was at hand
Still threaded up with silver
At an artisan's command
She bustled in a flurry
And rummaged through the ages
She sorted out the centuries
With diligence, by stages
While shoring up the borderlines
And patching up the wars
She darned the holes in spider silk
And trimmed the dinosaurs
She hemmed the mighty oceans
To snuggly fit the sand
Then zipped up the horizon
So the sky adjoined the land
The night was stitched in situ
In between adjacent days
And time was mended seamlessly
And better in some ways
She locked away her needle
And her strand of silver thread
Her work would wait 'til morning
And with that, she went to bed
So next time life is hectic
And leaves you in a flap
Allow yourself an hour
For a cheeky little nap
Dec 18, 2013
Dec 18, 2013 at 6:14 PM UTC
you are my partner in class
my partner in crime
my partner in sadness
my partner in happiness
my friend, my love
I know we have forged
a partnership in life
no, not like that
not the way that's thought to be so
but that genuine joy
of keeping one's company
adjoined at the heart
and dwelling at the part
one day you will marry
and live in the woods
as you wish to be so
and I will find my husband
and own a studio
cluttered with paints and books
and travel the world
but you will remain my most
beloved pen pal
and we will laugh
until our hearts grow sore
Feb 16, 2016
Feb 16, 2016 at 8:52 PM UTC
She died a sudden death
at least the the bullets impact
slammed the door.
but I cant say for sure.
I hope so.
I dreamed her in repose a few months before.
I am not a dreamer nor do I think I have a gift.
I saw her with ruffled lace around her throat
asleep still lovely in profile a hint of a smile.
The mahogany half lid removed. just her face
and I shuddered knowing it was a dream as I dreamed it .
You know when you know that you are dreaming
and choose to let it play out. That was the case.
I left her to her own devices knowing they were fatal
in the long term but not so long after all.
I knew she would find the rainbow even told her so
Her death wish was on display the day
The brown van careened around the corner
The blue sedan in pursuit shooting blindly
she stood and watched the show go by
with no regard. I looked up at her from where I
sprawled and knew for sure then that she
hoped for the rainbow.
Diana was her name.
Out of sync with her existence.
Boy how did she last that long.
She told me once and never repeated
one warm California night as we sat on
the level roof of an adjoined building from her apartment
we sat and watched the pinprick stars far away in the
black velvet sky drinking cognac as the city lights cast from afar.
she told me.
She told me and I cried inside of a father
who took her innocence and made her prove her love in a twisted oral benediction.
Then It all made sense. We never spoke of it again and her scars glowed purple and pulsing
from within.
All heart and soul.
Caramel eyes that held love always
Never anger or even pain. That
was buried as deep as the hole
she has lain in for years.
This is as close as I have come to saying goodbye.
She drifted backwards.
Old and new acquaintances
Toxic .
The end was brutal.
The rainbow at the end of the pain.
Nov 18, 2012
Nov 18, 2012 at 12:31 AM UTC
L'heure verte
The mountains. The heaps of their bountiful gravels, and earth, and soil, large oversized masses of half-frozen water teetering on the precipice of subzero masculine ******* Francophilic cleavage jetting out of this deserted white pastoral dressing. The inaugural bawl, wanton fixations of putting the imperialist foot on every spot of tree, each and every shrub, until the limbs' cast reaches each dimple that foliage braves, where that blue eagle of patriotism dredges its claws to form every river, rill, estuary, creek, channel, flume, littoral, and waterway where the iron-rich gullies once brimmed in the interamnian basins, rich crimsony waters riffling through fruitful and extravagant aquifers. Beyond that, where an inexplicably feral wind rips vines from their dendritic housings, where barely an eye can see, this place of exsanguination and abysmal phytocide.
At the end of this lamentable torture, only a desert of human interest remains. There is no reason to laugh, or smile, or cheer, or put a leg up, to call on a friend, or to have ice cream. There will be no more ice cream. There is only the loathsome incredulousness and avarice in the semblances and familiarity of those with whom we thought we once knew. Little can ever be known, for there is much to gain in the absence of knowledge, and even greater that can be acquired in the alms of wisdom through patient examination and thorough silence. Here on the buttes and cornices, the thwacking gavels of evil power deities throw down their lust for more and soon become adjoined to these grand discrepancies greed mistakenly loses to a lack of awareness and to self-aggrandizement.
Power is the weapon of inexperienced wielders. Passion is the immortal frequency that is worn by artisans and artists, poets and painters, it is the business of quietness to learnedly evolve to protect our tomorrows from personal needs, but to instead preserve the integral parts of society. The words of languages, artifacts, and cultures, rather than the skeletons of ****** and the deeds of possession. Each who sleeps knows their bedfellows to equally be at peace. For no wealth can exceed that of comfortable pillows, soft quilts, and sheets. We are all the same while we sleep.
Jan 9, 2017
Jan 9, 2017 at 6:52 AM UTC
Write me a melody.
Nothing too simple, though that’s what you lead on
Building a bridge over a lake of fire
Ah!
If only fire could swim
Grilled fire on a side of living gargoyles.
Forked tongues shoveling rice,
And chicken,
Into a newly refurbished brain.
Does it burn?
All the seaweed and hackneyed
Washed up krill,
Burnt up, skewered, and caught in the nets.
New mesh scales
Mashing mesh sha shooting into the skin
While the sun circles
And the animals follow and dance
Preying themselves into everything you’ve done
As though you’ve done anything new.
Like addition multiplication,
Surely you’ve done all of that.
A tear in the paper
And you’ve spilled the white out.
What a mess.
A great tear in the universe
Arranged.
Separate colors of
Grass and sky,
The trees and sidewalks form into one.
Everyone adjoined and nothings lost
Because even this idea has a partner.
What a lovely
(shattered)
Dream.
Sep 19, 2010
Sep 19, 2010 at 5:07 PM UTC
What's inside of you, is also found inside of me.
A child, full of vulnerability.
Never safe, in a jungle full of uncertainty.
Sometimes, a voice is allowed into the fold.
Words Spark Embers
Love leaves Smolders
And in the moonlight two souls are Adjoined in a single sight.
Mar 17, 2017
Mar 17, 2017 at 5:57 PM UTC
Court has commenced
Everyone is in court and the Jury is all set to begin
Grandmas Lawyer’s is ready
Santa is representing himself holding steady
The Judge has entered the court and the proceedings give begin in the gravel
Grandma is on the witness stand and sworn in
The Prosecutor asked Grandma to identify Santa in the room, and she points on the right
Grandma gives her testimony on what happened on the day in question
I had Egg Nog with a touch of Alcohol for the Winter cold for warmth before going out
Grandma explained as she walking, she was caught by surprise and run over by Santa’s Reindeers and Sleigh
The Prosecutor then responds to Grandma that she wasn’t alert in her right mind
Grandma’s Lawyer responds with an outburst bullying the witness
Judge responds with over ruled
The Prosecutor asks Grandma, Did you hear any jingle or bells in warning?
Grandma abruptly responded with NO
The Prosecutor then responds with, Grandma, I hope you don’t mind me calling you that, “You said you had Egg Nog with Alcohol to keep warm
If you were drinking that meant you were probably unstable
Where were you going?
Grandma stated, I was going to the store to pick up food and Soda’s for the Family get together on Christmas
The Prosecutor reminded that there were no witnesses and just you in the circumstance
You wasn’t sober, have no idea into whether you were run over by Santa’s Reindeers or a car
The Hospital records indicate that you were in fact intoxicated
There is no evidence that proves Santa and his Reindeer are at fault
It is now Santa’s turn to question Grandma
Do you have any personal feelings against Santa?
Grandma abruptly suggested, NO
Your remarks seem to state, that you are the one in question
Intoxication
Santa stated, I don’t drink, and always remain sober at all times
The shoe now is on the other foot
The Judge asks the Jury to deliberate their verdict
The Jury made their verdict as Santa and his Reindeers are innocent
There was no doubt because of strong evidence
Grandma needs to understand to be sob er and alert when going out
At the moment, appraisal from everyone in the court, but of course, Grandma was upset with the verdict
Grandma has a Drinking bout
Santa was cleared of all charges
Judge’s Gravel
Court Adjoined
Nov 29, 2021
Nov 29, 2021 at 11:38 AM UTC
Fading sunlight in the horizon
Falling leaves in breezy autumn
While nature paves way for hope
I wish this self to be lost and forgotten
Similar to tides, uncontrolled and heightened
A lone wolf yowling at her sight
Adjoined by the constant urge to be isolated
Fervent to cut loose the rope of gloom
Like a lost traveler in search of dwelling
A barren land thirsty for rain
Tired of this skin and mind
To devastation this heart is intertwined
What is lost darkens my soul
Your voice and memories cut deep through
Your brown hair blowing in wind
Hazel eyes sparkling in the sun
Echoes of your footsteps,
Deepness of your voice
Still surrounded by your existence
Harmed and scarred, I want to leave
Fragile lives and untamed hearts
Filled with fiery of desert storm
I want to run, away from your hue
Before I turn into an emotional massacre
Did I really deserve? Did you really want?
Let the leaves of our memory fall
And the blossoming florets wilt
Clinging to hope with intemperate self
Permit yourself to grow vines by own
Ashen and burnt, bury us in ground
Let youraelf grow either as roses or thorns
Amongst all this I realize what Rumi said
Nostalgia is a powerful witch indeed.
Oct 15, 2018
Oct 15, 2018 at 6:42 AM UTC
Many are not able to grasp it.
Your love I mean.
What with all *the pain,
Afflictions,
Wars,
Hatred,
Religions,
and the like*.
Try as they may to grasp it just to slip from their fingertips.
Your love I mean.
Without *the logic,
the sense,
the proof,
the evidence,
the tangible,
or something physically palpable*.
Oh sure I have sang about it,
Perhaps preached about it,
Even scolded others about ignoring it.
Your love I mean.
Perhaps this makes me *a hypocrite,
a bigot,
an ignorant,
a self-righteous,
maybe even preachy,
or a holier-than-thou type*.
If I cannot fully grasp it, how can I share it?
What is true for many is not true for others.
Your love I mean.
What with *the studies,
the science,
the confusion,
the politics,
the agnosticism and atheism,
and the overall misunderstanding*.
Few truly grasp it enough to sincerely share.
Oh to be adjoined to the martyrs because of it though!
Your love I mean!
To *perish,
Lay down one's life,
Give up the ghost,
Enter the glory,
Cross the great divide*,
and join the angels.
In this was it made graspable though,
Your love I mean,
Through *the Godsent,
the Son,
the Lamb,
the Prince of Peace,
the Counselor,
and the Wonderful*!
Aug 3, 2015
Aug 3, 2015 at 11:46 AM UTC
I dig a hole now once or twice,
Wherein that hole I somber hide.
From all the troubling symphonies,
And how it shrieks and shakes and pleas
And when I dig that hole so wide,
But also shallow for me to hide,
I leave the top uncovered there,
With no protection, I am bare.
So bare that one may still so touch
And comfort the mind becoming rough.
But left exposed without care,
A blackened heart will desist there.
And when the birds and sky and earth,
Hear not the drumming that once occurred,
The stone-so heavy in my chest,
Draws down the earth; deeper yet.
And once it goes it will not stop:
That bleating song for why it drops.
Th’ abyss it makes goes further on
Forever more; continually withdrawn.
And why it can continue so,
To the notes so high but the words so low?
For the ditch I dug to that doleful tune,
Had adjoined not with the ground’s slight hewn.
Instead the hole uncovered,
Was from there which first tears were shed.
I died not from the harsh and wind,
I died, in fact, from the hole within.
Jan 22, 2012
Jan 22, 2012 at 10:07 PM UTC
Life will offer you a fork in the river that rages the veins of your soul. One path new the other old and familiar. Our habitual rapids have weathered emotional scars that cover thick skin. For how long will you travel this pain before you fork towards the congruent path? Your potential is waiting. It is your choice alone. Still many never leave the rapids of their youth. If you so choose Yesterday becomes Today, what was left is now right, up is down and who am I is a stranger. At first you want to change back and many do but every paddle will wish you to stay. Both riverbeds argue over the spirit. Opposites attract for this reason and if one stays till the swell settles the downstream becomes upstream within the adjoined depths of new life. What was old is new. What was dead is alive and you feel it in each heartbeat………………..The gift of baptism…………….Jesus
Mar 2, 2014
Mar 2, 2014 at 11:57 PM UTC
Silent wind speak those fine words
chase freedom in the meander of a stream
in haste make a pace inside the forest reign
and I met him on a stroll of a Monday afternoon
on a time and land where we once stood
then we felt the contours of one's face
in melodies of what we once held before
Ohh Ohh It's never always black and blue these days
Ohh Ohh It's summer fountain in muse these days
Silent spills whispers the unbroken cord
Lace as his breath kiss and crochet
Rising through my bones and spinning skies
As we long to feel the warmth of each
And our hands entwine and adjoined to love
In peace the two heart caked forms
Talk in beats that trance inside my vein
Ohh Ohh It's never always black and blue these days
Ohh Ohh It's summer fountain in muse these days
Temperature rise in counts of tens
****** the fire in the tongue
Temperature rise in counts of tens
****** the fire in the tongue
Mar 11, 2017
Mar 11, 2017 at 4:36 PM UTC
*Blue lighting embracing the faded linen of the couch,
We grow flowers to keep life flowing through this house,
Because planets only collide when it's the end of the world,
And the clean tile floors know that peace can't be disturbed.
The last we amplified our voices on one another's frequency,
The year sparkly white lighting hung down from trees,
Naivete of youth counting down to the far unknown,
Missing the fact that it will then be identities to mourn.
And down with China plates we inherit this folklore,
Bolt your windows and hide from strangers at your door,
Cause opportunities are nightmares you should avoid,
You see, you're only a half waiting to be adjoined.
In search for a wall to cower under its shadow,
The sun is never kind to lone figures with no one to follow,
So it won't matter if you mend this vacancy with cement,
No one will see past the frame, wood doesn't comprehend.*
Apr 3, 2017
Apr 3, 2017 at 4:16 PM UTC
Once upon a time
A man planted two trees
Maybe a symbol
To a lover, a history lost
Maybe just because
I bought the house
And the trees came with
Grown and strong
First apart and then adjoined
At their base, they were separate
By time, they joined
Leaning on each other
Their strength was together
Withering many storms
Winds that crashed
All too many others
And they were the last I owned
One day they fell, some fool
Brought nails, too early on
Pegged a sign, maybe for some yard sale
And the nail was planted
But they grew around
Thought, together
Thought they were strong
But the trees felt rot
It crept right in
They had ignored the wedge
Guilt and rot set in
And, together they fell
Their roots, I found
Together, tangled and proud
I couldn't tell, one from another
So close they had grown
How broken they ripped
The trees were close
Almost just as one
The greatest trial they faced
And that bit of nail
Rusted and brown
A storm like no other
Brought them both down
One fell away, another the other
Both against even the wind
The great storm, just another
They broke at the nail
Created by another
Such a small thing
But never recovered
Aug 21, 2014
Aug 21, 2014 at 11:27 AM UTC
Cut from a moment's charge,
legion with motion...
the sound of a knell held
full sway.
Receiving ends of sound
cried what they could never
qualify.
In answer, and in answer--
adjoined questioningly...
to nonentity.
Dec 19, 2016
Dec 19, 2016 at 12:42 AM UTC
If I joined her in the sky,
Would they remember me?
As they remember her,
With odes and pictures,
Soft renditions of her laughter.
I do not feel as if I've left a single stroke.
This painting is a wild one,
A sad one.
And death will part us all,
But her death adjoined,
With tears and remembrance.
My death would do none at all.
Apr 5, 2014
Apr 5, 2014 at 3:49 PM UTC
The songs that play off my elbows and knees
Are quietly loud and
Somewhat adjoined to the whispers of my heart
Mar 4, 2011
Mar 4, 2011 at 7:22 AM UTC
The hills beckons!!
In it's ethereal beauty.
Bringing it's surroundings to life!!!
The blessings of Mother nature in its total richness.
The intricate layout of the earth's crust.
The flamboyance of creation.
An artist's inspiration, a poet's muse.
The rocks adjoined hip to hip.
Serendipity in these hills!!!
Jan 17, 2019
Jan 17, 2019 at 1:16 PM UTC