"affirming" poems - Hello Poetry

"affirming" poems

This is the light of the mind, cold and planetary The trees of the mind are black. The light is blue. The grasses unload their griefs on my feet as if I were God Prickling my ankles and murmuring of their humility Fumy, spiritous mists inhabit this place. Separated from my house by a row of headstones. I simply cannot see where there is to get to. The moon is no door. It is a face in its own right, White as a knuckle and terribly upset. It drags the sea after it like a dark crime; it is quiet With the O-gape of complete despair. I live here. Twice on Sunday, the bells startle the sky ---- Eight great tongues affirming the Resurrection At the end, they soberly **** out their names. The yew tree points up, it has a Gothic shape. The eyes lift after it and find the moon. The moon is my mother. She is not sweet like Mary. Her blue garments unloose small bats and owls. How I would like to believe in tenderness ---- The face of the effigy, gentled by candles, Bending, on me in particular, its mild eyes. I have fallen a long way. Clouds are flowering Blue and mystical over the face of the stars Inside the church, the saints will all be blue, Floating on their delicate feet over the cold pews, Their hands and faces stiff with holiness. The moon sees nothing of this. She is bald and wild. And the message of the yew tree is blackness -- blackness and silence

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36.3k

The Moon And The Yew Tree

This is the light of the mind, cold and planetary The trees of the mind are black. The light is blue. The grasses unload their griefs on my feet as if I were God Prickling my ankles and murmuring of their humility Fumy, spiritous mists inhabit this place. Separated from my house by a row of headstones. I simply cannot see where there is to get to. The moon is no door. It is a face in its own right, White as a knuckle and terribly upset. It drags the sea after it like a dark crime; it is quiet With the O-gape of complete despair. I live here. Twice on Sunday, the bells startle the sky ---- Eight great tongues affirming the Resurrection At the end, they soberly **** out their names. The yew tree points up, it has a Gothic shape. The eyes lift after it and find the moon. The moon is my mother. She is not sweet like Mary. Her blue garments unloose small bats and owls. How I would like to believe in tenderness ---- The face of the effigy, gentled by candles, Bending, on me in particular, its mild eyes. I have fallen a long way. Clouds are flowering Blue and mystical over the face of the stars Inside the church, the saints will all be blue, Floating on their delicate feet over the cold pews, Their hands and faces stiff with holiness. The moon sees nothing of this. She is bald and wild. And the message of the yew tree is blackness -- blackness and silence

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I battle my identity, As people try to label me, My mum tries to show me the right path, But is this really destiny? 9-5, Zero hours, Holiday and sick pay impossible to claim, Expected to work for 20 hours a day, Minimum wage, This society makes me insane, On the weekends I can I run away to raves, Take what ever I can to create waves, Not like the sea, like to much Dizzle, Party all night society says that's crazy, But whats crazy is the war on drugs, Some users just victims, Can't get enough. Instead of giving criminal records, Affirming our behaviour, Turning us riot, ruckus, snapping wires, How about a little support? After all how bad must life be, That children as young as 13 turn to drugs to escape? It's medical, Some say medicinal, But when your mums crying, Her heart dying, Because her baby boys been lying? No one wants police at the door, But it was gunna be the last night you swore. A new batch, strong stuff, you didn't believe And now your six foot under Rotting, deceased. But maybe this could change? If the right support was in place, For all those getting spaced, People will always seek a fix, So why not monitor, control and safe proof it.

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Jan 12, 2015

Jan 12, 2015 at 9:01 PM UTC

I battle my identity, As people try to label me, My mum tries to show me the right path, But is this really destiny? 9-5, Zero hours, Holiday and sick pay impossible to claim, Expected to work for 20 hours a day, Minimum wage, This society makes me insane, On the weekends I can I run away to raves, Take what ever I can to create waves, Not like the sea, like to much Dizzle, Party all night society says that's crazy, But whats crazy is the war on drugs, Some users just victims, Can't get enough. Instead of giving criminal records, Affirming our behaviour, Turning us riot, ruckus, snapping wires, How about a little support? After all how bad must life be, That children as young as 13 turn to drugs to escape? It's medical, Some say medicinal, But when your mums crying, Her heart dying, Because her baby boys been lying? No one wants police at the door, But it was gunna be the last night you swore. A new batch, strong stuff, you didn't believe And now your six foot under Rotting, deceased. But maybe this could change? If the right support was in place, For all those getting spaced, People will always seek a fix, So why not monitor, control and safe proof it.

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sound of waves crashing against shore she says it’s the tone in your voice sound of waves crashing against shore he asks what tone are you referring to what are you hearing sound of waves crashing against shore she says i’m an artist too you don’t have to tell me sound of waves crashing against shore he explains i was simply affirming my vocation in order to elucidate why i perceive another way sound of waves crashing against shore she says you don’t need to pose or differentiate for me you are so ******* self-absorbed sound of waves crashing against shore he answers self-conscious possibly not self-absorbed i think it is intelligent to question everything to suspect all we see think we know maybe a greater mystery than any of us realize exists beyond all our beliefs sound of waves crashing against shore she says i think it’s time for us to stop talking sound of waves crashing against shore he says why can’t you make it easy why must everything be a fight sound of waves crashing against shore her ****** becomes a deep dark narrowing tunnel he is trapped in thinning air smells like ocean sound of waves crashing against shore her voice detached distant disaffected says fine sound of waves crashing against shore he questions fine? find? line? sign? can you hear me? anyone hear me? sound of waves crashing against shore she purposely ignores his panting gasping shrieking sound of waves crashing against shore later she tells the surgeon who performs the extraction then the police detectives who conduct the investigation she had no idea he was lost in there sound of waves crashing against shore unanimous jury finds her guilty she screams out at courtroom he was a self-absorbed dreamer this is all wrong sound of waves crashing against shore the judge declares mistrial dismisses case based on prosecution’s inability to refute so-called artist’s willingness to enter of his own volition sound of waves crashing against shore late at night she feels his voice whisper circulating through her body haunting her sound of waves crashing against shore

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Oct 17, 2010

Oct 17, 2010 at 8:47 AM UTC

michael-reid-rubenstein

sound of waves crashing against shore

sound of waves crashing against shore she says it’s the tone in your voice sound of waves crashing against shore he asks what tone are you referring to what are you hearing sound of waves crashing against shore she says i’m an artist too you don’t have to tell me sound of waves crashing against shore he explains i was simply affirming my vocation in order to elucidate why i perceive another way sound of waves crashing against shore she says you don’t need to pose or differentiate for me you are so ******* self-absorbed sound of waves crashing against shore he answers self-conscious possibly not self-absorbed i think it is intelligent to question everything to suspect all we see think we know maybe a greater mystery than any of us realize exists beyond all our beliefs sound of waves crashing against shore she says i think it’s time for us to stop talking sound of waves crashing against shore he says why can’t you make it easy why must everything be a fight sound of waves crashing against shore her ****** becomes a deep dark narrowing tunnel he is trapped in thinning air smells like ocean sound of waves crashing against shore her voice detached distant disaffected says fine sound of waves crashing against shore he questions fine? find? line? sign? can you hear me? anyone hear me? sound of waves crashing against shore she purposely ignores his panting gasping shrieking sound of waves crashing against shore later she tells the surgeon who performs the extraction then the police detectives who conduct the investigation she had no idea he was lost in there sound of waves crashing against shore unanimous jury finds her guilty she screams out at courtroom he was a self-absorbed dreamer this is all wrong sound of waves crashing against shore the judge declares mistrial dismisses case based on prosecution’s inability to refute so-called artist’s willingness to enter of his own volition sound of waves crashing against shore late at night she feels his voice whisper circulating through her body haunting her sound of waves crashing against shore

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Nearly home. The bed And the slippers grow ever closer. A memory of things that give comfort seem palatial, Euphoric in the mind's eye, Though I do seem to ponder of its romanticized reality Memories always seem so warm. In reality, The things that hold others close are affirming. Love, Shared events Symbiotic empathy, But given the current state... The boring, The mundane, The trivial and the tedious that makes the most of a lifetime Are omitted from the mind. But why not have a memory full of nothing but the nothingness of life? The train rides? Waiting for the toaster to splay its insides So I can feast on its wonderful toasty goodness? Talking to the tenant who does not understand That a bouncing leg And constant time updates are signposts to **** off? Empty the files of my brain And fill it with the moments of nothing. These moments and these alone Are your true self. if you are a good person Is not determined by How many charities earn your pay Or how many items stored, What you are is chosen by the lonely, The solitary, The Tigress. Only when you accept that person, You are happy And free. But don't hold your breath.

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Mar 15, 2013

Mar 15, 2013 at 11:29 AM UTC

egaeus-thompson

3. Roam The Land

Nearly home. The bed And the slippers grow ever closer. A memory of things that give comfort seem palatial, Euphoric in the mind's eye, Though I do seem to ponder of its romanticized reality Memories always seem so warm. In reality, The things that hold others close are affirming. Love, Shared events Symbiotic empathy, But given the current state... The boring, The mundane, The trivial and the tedious that makes the most of a lifetime Are omitted from the mind. But why not have a memory full of nothing but the nothingness of life? The train rides? Waiting for the toaster to splay its insides So I can feast on its wonderful toasty goodness? Talking to the tenant who does not understand That a bouncing leg And constant time updates are signposts to **** off? Empty the files of my brain And fill it with the moments of nothing. These moments and these alone Are your true self. if you are a good person Is not determined by How many charities earn your pay Or how many items stored, What you are is chosen by the lonely, The solitary, The Tigress. Only when you accept that person, You are happy And free. But don't hold your breath.

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1142 The Props assist the House Until the House is built And then the Props withdraw And adequate, ***** The House support itself And cease to recollect The Auger and the Carpenter— Just such a retrospect Hath the perfected Life— A past of Plank and Nail And slowness—then the Scaffolds drop Affirming it a Soul.

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5.1k

Emily Dickinson

The Props assist the House

1142 The Props assist the House Until the House is built And then the Props withdraw And adequate, ***** The House support itself And cease to recollect The Auger and the Carpenter— Just such a retrospect Hath the perfected Life— A past of Plank and Nail And slowness—then the Scaffolds drop Affirming it a Soul.

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if there are five love languages i am fluent and you... you could never speak number one: words of affirmation i never stopped affirming "you matter” “i believe in you” you could never accept number two: acts of service when you were hungry, i gave you food but when i was starving for your love you could never feed me number three: receiving gifts from me, you received the dancing bears for your coldest nights you could never wear it number four: quality time in our time together you were given my undivided attention you could never attend number five: physical touch i gave you my heart, my body selflessly, unconditionally you could never touch me if there are five love languages, i am chomsky and you... you could never speak

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Sep 18, 2017

Sep 18, 2017 at 5:48 PM UTC

if there are five love languages i am fluent and you... you could never speak number one: words of affirmation i never stopped affirming "you matter” “i believe in you” you could never accept number two: acts of service when you were hungry, i gave you food but when i was starving for your love you could never feed me number three: receiving gifts from me, you received the dancing bears for your coldest nights you could never wear it number four: quality time in our time together you were given my undivided attention you could never attend number five: physical touch i gave you my heart, my body selflessly, unconditionally you could never touch me if there are five love languages, i am chomsky and you... you could never speak

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*Your eyes are what spoke to me the loudest, as it did when I first caught your stare. And I still fall for your wink and your lids' sweet fluttering, even right now, at 5:22, looking at your photograph. I crave for the sound of your voice - gentle and affirming. I remember how each time we talk on the phone your words would slide its way down my throat right through my heart, melting it smooth. I still fall for your laugh, even right now, at 5:22, looking at your photograph. I ache for every word you've spoken, smitten with tender affection, to again escape your lips. I think I've never told you before how your good-nights are more comforting than the softness of my bed. I still fall for your puns, even right now, at 5:22, looking at your photograph. I sit here two thousand miles from you, sharing the same sunset view. I whisper to the winds to carry these words to you, and bask the air that you breathe with my kisses too. Then maybe it wouldn't be that far of a gap, even right now, at 5:22, falling in love with your photograph.*

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Jul 31, 2015

Jul 31, 2015 at 1:03 PM UTC

*Your eyes are what spoke to me the loudest, as it did when I first caught your stare. And I still fall for your wink and your lids' sweet fluttering, even right now, at 5:22, looking at your photograph. I crave for the sound of your voice - gentle and affirming. I remember how each time we talk on the phone your words would slide its way down my throat right through my heart, melting it smooth. I still fall for your laugh, even right now, at 5:22, looking at your photograph. I ache for every word you've spoken, smitten with tender affection, to again escape your lips. I think I've never told you before how your good-nights are more comforting than the softness of my bed. I still fall for your puns, even right now, at 5:22, looking at your photograph. I sit here two thousand miles from you, sharing the same sunset view. I whisper to the winds to carry these words to you, and bask the air that you breathe with my kisses too. Then maybe it wouldn't be that far of a gap, even right now, at 5:22, falling in love with your photograph.*

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Dad didn't want a coffin. "Cremate my last remains," And so we did. Cool and dry, His ashes, urned, Lie beneath the sod And prairie sky Waiting some clarion call, Some trill of hope, Bright, re-constitutional, Faith-affirming. Mother's wishes rise before us: No crematory, No embalmer. Just her blanket, Just a hole Dug beside our Dad. The law would let her wish be true, But her children won't. We're searching coffin plans. Reverently grim, Lovingly deferential, Dutifully rebellious, Solemn this journey be. Pine boards to honor her thrift But smooth and tight, Rope handles, fitted lid, Perhaps a little trim, Perhaps a sheaf of wheat carved For the old farmer she was. We'll bury her, Wrapped in her blanket, Tucked securely in pine Beside my father's ashes. Like a grain of wheat she'll lie Silent in her final say Inside our final say Waiting Resurrection Day.

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Aug 5, 2018

Aug 5, 2018 at 6:11 PM UTC

Coffin Building

Dad didn't want a coffin. "Cremate my last remains," And so we did. Cool and dry, His ashes, urned, Lie beneath the sod And prairie sky Waiting some clarion call, Some trill of hope, Bright, re-constitutional, Faith-affirming. Mother's wishes rise before us: No crematory, No embalmer. Just her blanket, Just a hole Dug beside our Dad. The law would let her wish be true, But her children won't. We're searching coffin plans. Reverently grim, Lovingly deferential, Dutifully rebellious, Solemn this journey be. Pine boards to honor her thrift But smooth and tight, Rope handles, fitted lid, Perhaps a little trim, Perhaps a sheaf of wheat carved For the old farmer she was. We'll bury her, Wrapped in her blanket, Tucked securely in pine Beside my father's ashes. Like a grain of wheat she'll lie Silent in her final say Inside our final say Waiting Resurrection Day.

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Gun in one hand, bible in the other. Is not the word a sword? Why need for a gun too? Or is it a justification to **** The same as a rocket launcher on one shoulder, and the koran in the other hand. Or a flag in one hand, and a sword in the other. The image says justified intimidation. Fear me, for I have the Authority. But really, the Authority is only as valid as there are fools who submit. And the only true authority is the gun, or sword, as you certainly know it. And the flag, or bible, or the koran, are but for your own conscience. or cover for your lack thereof. The bible and the gun: an oxymoron; a display of faithlessness, the defilement of holiness, a blasphemous act; affirming the proud fool you are, that says in its heart, there is no God!

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May 7, 2019

May 7, 2019 at 4:51 AM UTC

Gun in one hand, bible in the other. Is not the word a sword? Why need for a gun too? Or is it a justification to **** The same as a rocket launcher on one shoulder, and the koran in the other hand. Or a flag in one hand, and a sword in the other. The image says justified intimidation. Fear me, for I have the Authority. But really, the Authority is only as valid as there are fools who submit. And the only true authority is the gun, or sword, as you certainly know it. And the flag, or bible, or the koran, are but for your own conscience. or cover for your lack thereof. The bible and the gun: an oxymoron; a display of faithlessness, the defilement of holiness, a blasphemous act; affirming the proud fool you are, that says in its heart, there is no God!

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Alone again, But not lonely Accepted solitude As tranquility Your fear My freedom Exploring my depth Releasing my demons Core settles In tune Mind opens Heart composes Serenity and beauty Heeding inner voice Spiritual rejoice Gratitude Emotional latitude Flows freely Rejecting the judgmental, Artificial Open to growth Affirming an oath Confident in myself Purpose in moving forward Trusting my gut Relying on Superiority The One and Only Alone again, But not lonely © JL Smith

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Jul 10, 2017

Jul 10, 2017 at 3:50 PM UTC

Alone, But Not Lonely

Alone again, But not lonely Accepted solitude As tranquility Your fear My freedom Exploring my depth Releasing my demons Core settles In tune Mind opens Heart composes Serenity and beauty Heeding inner voice Spiritual rejoice Gratitude Emotional latitude Flows freely Rejecting the judgmental, Artificial Open to growth Affirming an oath Confident in myself Purpose in moving forward Trusting my gut Relying on Superiority The One and Only Alone again, But not lonely © JL Smith

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That fence seemed to go on forever. With every trough and crest of the terrain, the posts seem to trail off into the stark black nothingness of the night. Suddenly, the flash of the headlights, affirming its infinite presence. Only three feet tall, but countless miles of boundary.

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May 4, 2014

May 4, 2014 at 1:29 PM UTC

That fence seemed to go on forever. With every trough and crest of the terrain, the posts seem to trail off into the stark black nothingness of the night. Suddenly, the flash of the headlights, affirming its infinite presence. Only three feet tall, but countless miles of boundary.

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as in clouds so in words many things seen and read hiding keys affirming revelations in the unseen and unspeakable

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Jul 20, 2022

Jul 20, 2022 at 10:14 PM UTC

as in clouds so in words many things seen and read hiding keys affirming revelations in the unseen and unspeakable

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Told my feelings were fake Laughed at for crying Brutalized for refusing Depicted as anomalous This is my "home" I exploded, caught a breath as I felt the silencing Crossed volatile environments Misunderstood ephemeral friends Bullied, ostracized Experienced injustice This is school I performed, in the illusion of shutting silencing Living my curiosity Knowledge is my strength Reflexivity makes me grow Embracing my difference This is my refuge I introspected, in the freedom of their paralyzed silencing Meet mind-like people Discovered my emotions Explored my preferences Dug my family history This is my travel I free-fell, as in my trust I hit structural silencing Communicating humbly Nourishing healthy relationships Trusting my positions Affirming my autonomy This is my womanhood Becoming a mother, I urge to gather the pieces for her freedom

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Feb 19, 2019

Feb 19, 2019 at 6:13 PM UTC

Invalidated; a quest to freedom

Told my feelings were fake Laughed at for crying Brutalized for refusing Depicted as anomalous This is my "home" I exploded, caught a breath as I felt the silencing Crossed volatile environments Misunderstood ephemeral friends Bullied, ostracized Experienced injustice This is school I performed, in the illusion of shutting silencing Living my curiosity Knowledge is my strength Reflexivity makes me grow Embracing my difference This is my refuge I introspected, in the freedom of their paralyzed silencing Meet mind-like people Discovered my emotions Explored my preferences Dug my family history This is my travel I free-fell, as in my trust I hit structural silencing Communicating humbly Nourishing healthy relationships Trusting my positions Affirming my autonomy This is my womanhood Becoming a mother, I urge to gather the pieces for her freedom

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death is laced with colours no eye can see i saw it yesterday resting on a twig on a cold manhole cover against which it looked so alive -- it seemed to be comforted brown wings pulled close, tips almost touching, against the tiny white shell of its chest, speckled with black a tiny beak welcoming the chance to grab at an interminable silence --neither ugly nor morbid but gently pretty, the presence of death affirming life. - Vijayalakshmi Harish 06.07.2013 Copyright © Vijayalakshmi Harish

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Jul 6, 2013

Jul 6, 2013 at 2:51 AM UTC

vijayalakshmi-harish

Death's Colours

death is laced with colours no eye can see i saw it yesterday resting on a twig on a cold manhole cover against which it looked so alive -- it seemed to be comforted brown wings pulled close, tips almost touching, against the tiny white shell of its chest, speckled with black a tiny beak welcoming the chance to grab at an interminable silence --neither ugly nor morbid but gently pretty, the presence of death affirming life. - Vijayalakshmi Harish 06.07.2013 Copyright © Vijayalakshmi Harish

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Concinnity of rapid motion in balance and proportion, round the ballroom, like the synchronized frequency of vibration in a crystal quartz. Whirling contortion of bodies embraced in movement's revealing intimacy. They are partners. They are dancers. They are lovers wantonly stoking libido's hot glowing embers; promenade affirming keen awareness to the vigors of the steps, footfalls and technique of its pretenders. Gown and tux attired, passionate accessories to the cult; merengue, fox-trot, rhumba, abandonment's fertility rites to gods and goddesses, danced with such elegant result, they are immortalized in time --- divine service to the night.

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Jul 17, 2012

Jul 17, 2012 at 7:46 PM UTC

Concinnity of rapid motion in balance and proportion, round the ballroom, like the synchronized frequency of vibration in a crystal quartz. Whirling contortion of bodies embraced in movement's revealing intimacy. They are partners. They are dancers. They are lovers wantonly stoking libido's hot glowing embers; promenade affirming keen awareness to the vigors of the steps, footfalls and technique of its pretenders. Gown and tux attired, passionate accessories to the cult; merengue, fox-trot, rhumba, abandonment's fertility rites to gods and goddesses, danced with such elegant result, they are immortalized in time --- divine service to the night.

Continue reading...

I am not Christian but I have deep reverence for the teachings of Christ and his love of humanity. I am not Roman Catholic but I recognize the life-affirming power of community, communion, and ritual. I am not a Moslem but I find beauty and usefulness in the teachings of Mohammed. I am not Buddhist but I have seen the results of meditation, daily spiritual practice, and putting aside my own ego. I am not Taoist but I have felt the peace of the way of simplicity and harmony with the Tao. I am not ancient Egyptian but I know the power of the Sun in the heavens, and I honor the Holy Mother Isis whose name has been hijacked by terrorists and propaganda machines. I am not Wiccan but I have danced with the natural cycles of the year and the moon; I have known the power of the Earth and my place within it. I am not Jewish but I will not forget the lessons of suffering, wandering, Silence, and discipline they have taught the world. Heathen. Pagan. Atheist. Heretic. Believer. Trickster. Demon. Saint. Paradoxically, I am none of these things and All of these things. I believe in a humanity that can transcend the enslaving dogma and intolerance of patriarchy and religions used against us, to see ourselves, our god(esse)s, and our highest noble values in the faces of each other and all the natural wonders of this universal dream. Original Sin = the Original Lie. I believe in the goodness and greatness of us all. Won’t you be my neighbor? <3

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Dec 11, 2016

Dec 11, 2016 at 9:54 PM UTC

holywildempress

Hello, Neighbor

I am not Christian but I have deep reverence for the teachings of Christ and his love of humanity. I am not Roman Catholic but I recognize the life-affirming power of community, communion, and ritual. I am not a Moslem but I find beauty and usefulness in the teachings of Mohammed. I am not Buddhist but I have seen the results of meditation, daily spiritual practice, and putting aside my own ego. I am not Taoist but I have felt the peace of the way of simplicity and harmony with the Tao. I am not ancient Egyptian but I know the power of the Sun in the heavens, and I honor the Holy Mother Isis whose name has been hijacked by terrorists and propaganda machines. I am not Wiccan but I have danced with the natural cycles of the year and the moon; I have known the power of the Earth and my place within it. I am not Jewish but I will not forget the lessons of suffering, wandering, Silence, and discipline they have taught the world. Heathen. Pagan. Atheist. Heretic. Believer. Trickster. Demon. Saint. Paradoxically, I am none of these things and All of these things. I believe in a humanity that can transcend the enslaving dogma and intolerance of patriarchy and religions used against us, to see ourselves, our god(esse)s, and our highest noble values in the faces of each other and all the natural wonders of this universal dream. Original Sin = the Original Lie. I believe in the goodness and greatness of us all. Won’t you be my neighbor? <3

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Bubbling up Unabashed Unbridled Uncontained Volcanic Inappropriate Inadvisable Irrefutable Eruption Contagious Infectious Endemic Free flowing Molten Life affirming Giggles!

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Jun 23, 2014

Jun 23, 2014 at 8:03 PM UTC

Bubbling up Unabashed Unbridled Uncontained Volcanic Inappropriate Inadvisable Irrefutable Eruption Contagious Infectious Endemic Free flowing Molten Life affirming Giggles!

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The ranch-bound bovines, in dehydration, yet wary of Kool-aid, declined to drink. They grazed in wonder, cowed rumination: where does “beef” come from? A herd tends to think of pasturage, water, and basic needs. Ranch-hands assured them all was in order; privileged guests enjoy the finest feeds. Cows, content on this side of the border try Buddhism, yoga – or simply gaze… though things in the distance loomed ominous (those lots at the edge of the well-hoofed ways) – and a stench wafted into their consciousness. Yet calves frolicked on while the bulls mounted heifers – dreamed vegan dreams as they nibbled grasses some earned doctorates, others went clubbing; all loosed sustainable methane gases. Soothing their calves with fables and stories where cows are the measure of pastured life they deflected the gist of the young ones’ queries, affirming that Truth means avoidance of strife. “It’s best to just graze. Don’t ask questions dear. We’re on this planet without any clue. We evolved. From just what is a little unclear – but Cow Science has proved that it’s true.”

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Sep 9, 2015

Sep 9, 2015 at 8:35 PM UTC

When Cows Come Home

The ranch-bound bovines, in dehydration, yet wary of Kool-aid, declined to drink. They grazed in wonder, cowed rumination: where does “beef” come from? A herd tends to think of pasturage, water, and basic needs. Ranch-hands assured them all was in order; privileged guests enjoy the finest feeds. Cows, content on this side of the border try Buddhism, yoga – or simply gaze… though things in the distance loomed ominous (those lots at the edge of the well-hoofed ways) – and a stench wafted into their consciousness. Yet calves frolicked on while the bulls mounted heifers – dreamed vegan dreams as they nibbled grasses some earned doctorates, others went clubbing; all loosed sustainable methane gases. Soothing their calves with fables and stories where cows are the measure of pastured life they deflected the gist of the young ones’ queries, affirming that Truth means avoidance of strife. “It’s best to just graze. Don’t ask questions dear. We’re on this planet without any clue. We evolved. From just what is a little unclear – but Cow Science has proved that it’s true.”

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little me, why so sorrow? what makes you disconnect? seeing your body in pictures sent shivers down your neck the rhythmic beating pounding as an alarm body restless when will you get rest then? little me, you waited quite a while family's opinions turned vile it didn't matter much you never connected only as much as a charger is to phone escapism buried her when he could be online reversing roles and affirming yourself only gained so much self help a tool to be unlocked little me, you had blocks in front of you you played with them as trial until they weren't meanwhile so what did it mean to you? what did you learn? how did you grow? what did you learn? little me, you're too young to understand one day you'll find who I am we've always been together tight knit and forever don't lose the game of cards unless you want your graveyard

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Jan 5, 2021

Jan 5, 2021 at 3:10 AM UTC

why bear children to make them bear darkness.

little me, why so sorrow? what makes you disconnect? seeing your body in pictures sent shivers down your neck the rhythmic beating pounding as an alarm body restless when will you get rest then? little me, you waited quite a while family's opinions turned vile it didn't matter much you never connected only as much as a charger is to phone escapism buried her when he could be online reversing roles and affirming yourself only gained so much self help a tool to be unlocked little me, you had blocks in front of you you played with them as trial until they weren't meanwhile so what did it mean to you? what did you learn? how did you grow? what did you learn? little me, you're too young to understand one day you'll find who I am we've always been together tight knit and forever don't lose the game of cards unless you want your graveyard

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Mutilated chains of flowers delineate where schoolboys cowered; sixteen brick houses on St. James Street reduced to red dust under homeless feet; photographers pause, catching their breath, spellbound by the neutrality of death; clearing haze where the white chapel stood reveals ever-dismantling wood; the market's one register on a charred-black stand, nearby derges lilt from a funeral band: *...oh and as, and as they're lain in silk and white ashes... the town broken apart, flattened... ...in marble graves and mahogany under skeletal laurel branches... ...on down to sleep, to sleep... ...we may walk with weathered ease... ...oh we may consider, may remember, a granted time, an affirming love...*

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Oct 10, 2012

Oct 10, 2012 at 1:40 PM UTC

christopher-howard-gorrie

After the Bombing

Mutilated chains of flowers delineate where schoolboys cowered; sixteen brick houses on St. James Street reduced to red dust under homeless feet; photographers pause, catching their breath, spellbound by the neutrality of death; clearing haze where the white chapel stood reveals ever-dismantling wood; the market's one register on a charred-black stand, nearby derges lilt from a funeral band: *...oh and as, and as they're lain in silk and white ashes... the town broken apart, flattened... ...in marble graves and mahogany under skeletal laurel branches... ...on down to sleep, to sleep... ...we may walk with weathered ease... ...oh we may consider, may remember, a granted time, an affirming love...*

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Sitting in the aftermath Of shattered dreams on broken skin Left to wonder how Realizing we are all capable of unmentionables Steeped in regret Begging forgiveness Accidents are accidents Still, there is no forgiveness Self-affirming the negative Unintended consequences Alter perceptions Who are these people Who, then, have I become Though, that who feels more like a what And the demons laugh As they frolic in the real world Let them run free Let them dance Who I was Will hide in their dungeon For it is safer in there than out here Yes, it is much safer And there is no one To say differently Punish the guilty Punish the guilty Punish the guilty Who needs proof What is proof It was only an accident Unintentional circumstances Affirm nightmares No one will find me in here Safe in the lair of the beasts who bore me Alone inside my head

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Jan 22, 2015

Jan 22, 2015 at 11:53 AM UTC

Sitting in the aftermath Of shattered dreams on broken skin Left to wonder how Realizing we are all capable of unmentionables Steeped in regret Begging forgiveness Accidents are accidents Still, there is no forgiveness Self-affirming the negative Unintended consequences Alter perceptions Who are these people Who, then, have I become Though, that who feels more like a what And the demons laugh As they frolic in the real world Let them run free Let them dance Who I was Will hide in their dungeon For it is safer in there than out here Yes, it is much safer And there is no one To say differently Punish the guilty Punish the guilty Punish the guilty Who needs proof What is proof It was only an accident Unintentional circumstances Affirm nightmares No one will find me in here Safe in the lair of the beasts who bore me Alone inside my head

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Come to me surreptitiously like fog comes in December night I will hide you by the news of discontent and discomfort- Engulf and surround you with fear of loom, The country is going to dust now, Master has become maniac puffing the ***** of 'Power' deeming good into bad and bad into good, The books affirming violence his students seek, The guardians and protectors stand and watch the clashes like sadists forbidden to inflict pain; I lament the plight and plunder of my sacred home, Hoping a dawn of summer amid chilly winter.

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Jan 31, 2021

Jan 31, 2021 at 3:27 PM UTC

Come to me surreptitiously like fog comes in December night I will hide you by the news of discontent and discomfort- Engulf and surround you with fear of loom, The country is going to dust now, Master has become maniac puffing the ***** of 'Power' deeming good into bad and bad into good, The books affirming violence his students seek, The guardians and protectors stand and watch the clashes like sadists forbidden to inflict pain; I lament the plight and plunder of my sacred home, Hoping a dawn of summer amid chilly winter.

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An artistically woven turquoise woolen pullover made out of the finest moher fabric made my day. Made for you, to be caressed and cherished as a perfect garment. It looked so good on you, my darling! Rainbow colors always bring me happiness and I gently touch you, feeling already safe as a deer in a flowering forest; within narcotically scented alluring hug, we embrace again, tightly, you and me, entwined. Whiffed winds melody played through tall pine tree tops as a flute song swaying branches. It seemed as they are affirming our walk along the shore, where the river meets an ocean, hand in hand, peacefully. And, yet, every time the strong cool breeze exposes your magnificent masculine figure in that woolen top, my coolness faints into the void and dissolves itself. Our urge emerges! I feel your fingertips touch as a passionate flame dance over my face, you turn my head up toward your loving gaze, wanting it so much, slightly pulling me up then burning my lips. Our hurried steps are heard, echoing as a rushed tempo on the salty path, fresh air lingers around us, leading us to our charming summer suite, to undress. And love.

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Jan 30, 2015

Jan 30, 2015 at 8:54 AM UTC

ImpeccableSpacePoetess

Artistically Woven

An artistically woven turquoise woolen pullover made out of the finest moher fabric made my day. Made for you, to be caressed and cherished as a perfect garment. It looked so good on you, my darling! Rainbow colors always bring me happiness and I gently touch you, feeling already safe as a deer in a flowering forest; within narcotically scented alluring hug, we embrace again, tightly, you and me, entwined. Whiffed winds melody played through tall pine tree tops as a flute song swaying branches. It seemed as they are affirming our walk along the shore, where the river meets an ocean, hand in hand, peacefully. And, yet, every time the strong cool breeze exposes your magnificent masculine figure in that woolen top, my coolness faints into the void and dissolves itself. Our urge emerges! I feel your fingertips touch as a passionate flame dance over my face, you turn my head up toward your loving gaze, wanting it so much, slightly pulling me up then burning my lips. Our hurried steps are heard, echoing as a rushed tempo on the salty path, fresh air lingers around us, leading us to our charming summer suite, to undress. And love.

Continue reading...