"adjourns" poems
The red-capped Cock-Man has just announced morning;
The Keeper of the Robes brings Jade-Cloud Furs;
Heaven's nine doors reveal the palace and its courtyards;
And the coats of many countries bow to the Pearl Crown.
Sunshine has entered the giants' carven palms;
Incense wreathes the Dragon Robe:
The audience adjourns-and the five-coloured edict
Sets girdle-beads clinking toward the Lake of the Phoenix.
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*My acute dementia
Seems to precipitate the need for immediate euthanasia
A hurried departure
Through the aperture
Deep set in the hollowness of time
Because essentially life’s been a lackluster mime
Imbibing flawlessly flawed ideas
That inform my capricious
Nature to various stimuli
It’s a life story based on a true lie
Frivolities interspersed with grave concerns
The myriad adjourns
Futile attempts at mitigating
A self-imposed galling.*
Oct 10, 2013
Oct 10, 2013 at 5:06 AM UTC
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We wear our sober Dresses when we die,
But Summer, frilled as for a Holiday
Adjourns her sigh—
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This travel refreshes the eyes
Even if it is the same view
Day in and night out
Doesn't take away its beauty
A journey marked by swans
That runs seaside
then turns riverside
and adjourns right side
See, it's a journey burned behind my eyes
It is between the swans that I can think
And not think
This is my safe house and I'm a habitual criminal
Stowing away in this liminal place
Taking a rest from being arrested
for too much stress
I will never tire of these travels
Each sunrise and full moon
Falling that little bit more in love
Pupils dilating as the eyes refresh
May 17, 2017
May 17, 2017 at 8:18 AM UTC
Across the purple mountain majesties,
flowing fields, and amber waves of grain.
The eagle flaunts wings of liberty,
she is focused, gazing without refrain.
Even intrusive when one is snowed in,
the eagle watches and "protects" us all,
but the masses refuse to be smitten.
The once omnipresent eye exists galled.
Indecision, haunting the eagle's eye
whilst law favors liberty's wing - A moot
adjourns amongst her eye and our disguise.
Expanding wisdom laments her eye - left shrewd.
But now, why at all be concerned?
Now, the eye's chances fall under one-third.
Apr 26, 2015
Apr 26, 2015 at 1:43 AM UTC
damage has always been your forte -
an expertise,
your recalcitrant venom.
you annihilate
before they could burn you
and your fortress is painted
in a deep, metallic rouge.
you wear the word 'vicious'
like a crown;
loyal weapon tucked neatly in the
taverns of your mouth.
you are adroit with words, after all.
such a fine weapon,
such a clean cut.
realms bow down, subjects to terror.
sweet vilification's best served
in your court.
not one soul would dare to beard
the lion,
no single breath,
shall make your empire topple.
the caucus adjourns; your grip is slipping
you may be the head,
but we
are
the
body.
your realm will rot
from the inside.
May 31, 2018
May 31, 2018 at 11:42 PM UTC
to catch a drop of water
to change its chosen path
deflects where it was needed
altering how it lasts.
it will one day return
into the cycle it belongs
bringing with all the stories
that it has forgone.
it adjourns amongst its peers
sharing its life over the years
revealing the beauty and horror
of all our hopes and fears.
its seen the effort to maintain
just how things are
and also seen this effort
not getting very far.
its seen the disrespect
and lack of understanding
unwillingness to change
has killed us where we're standing.
it cannont change our choice
to do this to ourselves
it weeps of hope and fall tears
in attempts to break our spell.
it knows and sees its influence
and importance beyond our years
it lives within a system
it cannot change its gears.
to catch a drop of water
to hold it precious and true
will hopefully secure a place
meant for me and you.
Feb 21, 2017
Feb 21, 2017 at 3:21 PM UTC
As we toss and we turn,
Our conscious adjourns.
Thoughts start to disfigure,
When closed eyelids flicker.
Memories of time gone distort,
Visions of future form and contort.
Within the mind we easily create,
Wondrous love and passionate hate.
We’re free to judge all we have been,
Even the parts that we hide, the deleted scenes.
Too enlighten our deep seeded sorrow,
Or darken our ever awaiting tomorrow.
Spoken in tenses past and present,
It may be nonsense or possibly relevant.
When we spin ourselves tall tales to fantasise,
Time as we know it so easily passes by.
When torturing ourselves with merciless power,
Every minute feels like an hour.
May 3, 2019
May 3, 2019 at 3:26 PM UTC
he is at home in the wild
wandering under transient skies
on bedrock crafted and scattered
by the almighty power of time
over frozen-ash clay in volcanic hues
and purple-white cushions of phlox
he is escorted by pale raven shadows
steered, like himself, by the wind
a meadowlark congress adjourns
their trills drift on the strong scent of sage
through lonely susurrant-pine whispers
the breeze sings the ballad of spring
on he roams through this gusty plain
immersed in his mother's deep beauty
toward the wedding of mountain and sky
as the day gracefully greets the night
Apr 19, 2021
Apr 19, 2021 at 10:31 PM UTC
Awake
I can feel myself falling
Into old habits and new people
A too-long torturous "What if?"
That leaves a tightness in my chest
And an emptiness in the words
Of these few poetic adjourns
Til that elusive sleep returns
Mar 4, 2018
Mar 4, 2018 at 7:05 AM UTC