"aisles" poems
Have you ever watched the light,
The diamonds of the mind,
Fade out of focus never to return?
Felt your forefathers disappear
From your reality only to haunt
You in the dark of night when you
Are all alone and feeling like
You're out of time?
Marched down the aisles of faces
That are burned into your eyelids,
So whenever you close your eyes,
To try and be alone to escape,
With a weight in your hands
And on your shoulders?
Well then join me,
Brothers and sisters new and old,
Welcome to the fatherless.
Welcome to the ranks,
With tired eyes and weary hands,
We are joined in mourning.
Welcome to the fatherless.
Jul 29, 2013
Jul 29, 2013 at 1:23 AM UTC
What's it take
These days
To write a poem
That makes the world go mad
That brings the crowds to their feet
That spreads like wildfire
Through a dry winter forest
Is it those excessively long words?
The ostentatiously loquacious
Platitudinous ramblings
Of an insecure mind aspiring
To authentic intellect?
Is it perhaps...
the "creativity"
of varied spacing
or... could it be..... the lack
of capitalization
the loathsome little letters
screaming out
hey, look at us!
... or maybe it's
the punctuation marks,
littered, haphazardly
through the text
(whether used correctly)
or, theyre not?!
despite worrds mispeled
and a grammar might is broken
can these gimmicks increase interest
though miswritten or misspoken?
Is the trick alliteration
Whose bite brightly bids us
To center on the snappy sounds?
Although all along
unvoiced underneath
Ideas idle in the isles
(or perhaps the aisles)
Of the mind
To meld and craft and bind
Our thorough thoughts
And worthy words
Into lines
Which
Heard by herds
Raise the
Praise for which we
Privately, desperately
Pray
Maybe it's a magical mix
Of splendid in-your-head rhythm
Marvelous meter that perfectly clicks
Flowing smoothly without schism
Well-spaced stanzas
Well-used time
Well-crafted phrases
Well-thought-out rhymes
Well, maybe not...
those gems are often ignored
cast-aside, unread, even abhorred
Why?
Because the modern world
doesn't need your rules
your restrictions
your regulations
your misguided boundaries
your oppression
your antiquated ideas
of "the right way"
to write
to speak
to act
to live
to (fill in the blank)
No, what the modern world needs
is
Negation!
Contradiction!
Resistance!
Revolt!
And poetry whose words
Say the same thing
Repeat the same meaning
Echo the same lyrics
Rephrase the same thoughts
But in an ever-so-slightly
Different
Varied
Altered
Adjusted
Changed up way
Line
After line
Of synonyms
over
and
over
and
over
again
-----
What's it take
These days
To not give in
To narcissism's spiral?
But more importantly:
What's it take
To make my poem go viral?
Aug 12, 2018
Aug 12, 2018 at 12:17 AM UTC
Eternal brood the shadows on this ground,
Dreaming of centuries that have gone before;
Great elms rise solemnly by slab and mound,
Arched high above a hidden world of yore.
Round all the scene a light of memory plays,
And dead leaves whisper of departed days,
Longing for sights and sounds that are no more.
Lonely and sad, a specter glides along
Aisles where of old his living footsteps fell;
No common glance discerns him, though his song
Peals down through time with a mysterious spell.
Only the few who sorcery's secret know,
Espy amidst these tombs the shade of Poe.
11.9k
They cut it down, and where the pitch-black aisles
Of forest night had hid eternal things,
They scaled the sky with towers and marble piles
To make a city for their revellings.
White and amazing to the lands around
That wondrous wealth of domes and turrets rose;
Crystal and ivory, sublimely crowned
With pinnacles that bore unmelting snows.
And through its halls the pipe and sistrum rang,
While wine and riot brought their scarlet stains;
Never a voice of elder marvels sang,
Nor any eye called up the hills and plains.
Thus down the years, till on one purple night
A drunken minstrel in his careless verse
Spoke the vile words that should not see the light,
And stirred the shadows of an ancient curse.
Forests may fall, but not the dusk they shield;
So on the spot where that proud city stood,
The shuddering dawn no single stone revealed,
But fled the blackness of a primal wood.
9.9k
THE SUNFLOWERS
On the way to the store today
I decided to buy a packet of seeds
They had to be for giant sunflowers
Or else I would really have no need
As I strolled the aisles of the store
I came upon exactly what I was looking for
The packet said they’d grow to be six feet tall
Aiming toward the sky they would surely soar
I took the seeds out and they were oh so very small
How in the world were they going to grow to be so tall?
I took my time and planted each and every seed
In a straight row they went as if to form a floral wall
I watered and waited and even watered some more
Until one day I awoke and saw that they had broken ground
It seemed like they were growing at least a foot a day
One morning I arose and there were buds to be found
Each bud was compact and as tight as it could be
How in the world would they be able to open
Their petals were bent in with no where to go
They looked like they could explode but I knew not when
Today I woke up and was amazed at what I saw
Overnight the tucked away petals had burst open with pride
Big, bright yellow sunflowers were here at last
One little flower seed created sunflowers at least six inches wide
Sep 27, 2013
Sep 27, 2013 at 2:30 AM UTC
1
My mother would say:
“Little boy Raj…
Go to Muthu’s
and get some
cinnamon, betel leaves
and ginger and garlic”
And so I go to the shops
singing all the way
and when Muthu asks me
what I’d want
I rattle off a list:
“Sesame seeds, onions
tomatoes and pickles”
And back home,
Mother twists my ears
Ouch!
2
And inevitably I grew up
and inevitably I got married
and inevitably my wife says to me:
“Dear husband whom
I married in a fire-ceremony;
could you kindly go to Woolies
and get me some
flour, castor sugar,
pepper, pasta sauce and pancakes…”
And so I drive to Woolies
singing all the way;
and walking down the aisles
I throw the following
into the trolley:
cinnamon, betel leaves
and ginger and garlic…
And back home
though my wife does not twist my ears
I feel Mother reach forward
from the other world
and she twists my ears
Ouch!
Sep 30, 2010
Sep 30, 2010 at 4:03 AM UTC
What thoughts I have of you tonight, Walt Whit-
man, for I walked down the sidestreets under the trees
with a headache self-conscious looking at the full moon.
In my hungry fatigue, and shopping for images,
I went into the neon fruit supermarket, dreaming of
your enumerations!
What peaches and what penumbras! Whole fam-
ilies shopping at night! Aisles full of husbands! Wives
in the avocados, babies in the tomatoes!--and you,
Garcнa Lorca, what were you doing down by the
watermelons?
I saw you, Walt Whitman, childless, lonely old
grubber, poking among the meats in the refrigerator
and eyeing the grocery boys.
I heard you asking questions of each: Who killed
the pork chops? What price bananas? Are you my
Angel?
I wandered in and out of the brilliant stacks of
cans following you, and followed in my imagination
by the store detective.
We strode down the open corridors together in
our solitary fancy tasting artichokes, possessing every
frozen delicacy, and never passing the cashier.
Where are we going, Walt Whitman? The doors
close in an hour. Which way does your beard point
tonight?
(I touch your book and dream of our odyssey in the
supermarket and feel absurd.)
Will we walk all night through solitary streets?
The trees add shade to shade, lights out in the houses,
we'll both be lonely.
Will we stroll dreaming ofthe lost America of love
past blue automobiles in driveways, home to our silent
cottage?
Ah, dear father, graybeard, lonely old courage-
teacher, what America did you have when Charon quit
poling his ferry and you got out on a smoking bank
and stood watching the boat disappear on the black
waters of Lethe?
Berkeley 1955
8.4k
i.
Happy birthday, diaphanous balm,
Mayest this span of time greeteth
Thee; with Good health, and loving
Psalm's.
ii.
Maligayang Kaarawan, archaic
Gem, mayest thine smile brush-
Stroke the aisles, of carbuncles
Of never-ending friend's.
iii.
Bon anniversaire, mon amour,
Mayest thine Satin-silk moonlit
Eye's, be a guide to the deaf and
Blind, mayest the heaven inside
Thee, be the richness of the poor.
iv.
Harúmena genéthlia, Earl, like
The lost and hidden pearl's,
Mayest the luster of thine
Memories, be kept safely
Locked, under thumb and key,
To openeth later, in sanctity.
v.
Penblwydd Hapus, Filipino
physician whom hath saved
Mine life, soul-mate, Queen,
Wife, mine bearer of this heart,
Mine carrier of all that's right.
The beam of nebula delights,
The diamond in mine might,
Mine-Queen, O' Jane
Mine Wife!!!!!!!!!!!!!
Jan 15, 2016
Jan 15, 2016 at 8:41 PM UTC
All she wanted her horoscope to give her
was a sock-foot cozy kind of relationship.
One that wore SPF 30 and smelled of sugar candy.
That would have been just fine.
Instead she got a surprise pancakes kind of beast.
Bear hugs, dog kisses, ***********
sumptuous battles, book aisles, 2am feast
and little silver spoon in the middle night.
We never made it to the papers,
so we built a patch-quilt nest.
The quirky loving is alright,
you dress me in my Sunday best.
Dec 5, 2012
Dec 5, 2012 at 9:22 PM UTC
I've been focused on nutrition
sense before recognition
of a requirement of nutrients
for my life.
I eat for nutrition
I shunned the processed
chemical ick
a lifetime ago it seems
no longer remembering the taste
of chemically created
food stuffs.
though I know if I were to get a taste
it would satisfy my buds
they were made with my buds
in mind
hijacked my senses
lied and lied and lied
told my body it didn't need
nutrition
that is could live off of
intuition
and stuff in boxes
and bags
and cans
I've become my own food processor
now
I have mouths to feed
now I know what to feed
and where they make feed from
so we stick to the grass-fed
I'll teach them how to eat
even before how to read
its just how I see it
once that sugar laden
red
chemical construction
touches their lips
they will instantly desire more
Twain and Fitzgerald
will take them longer to digest.
so these are my priorities
now.
I am a nutrition seeker
a truth seeker
and I believe I come from
a line of healers
all who knew nutrition
is the key to life,
here.
the basic building blocks,
the amino acids
of life,
here.
when you're nourished
it all makes more sense
but stay out of those center aisles
their chemical composition
is too dense
my kidney could no longer clean
the code of food stuffs.
My strong little kidney
I'm so proud of it for
releasing its grip on its twin.
it wasn't for us anyways
Oct 29, 2014
Oct 29, 2014 at 7:10 PM UTC
title: not god, but his clock, will gnaw at us: that we are mortal, and agitated by a libido to continue, as to why the immortals find us so cosmic, for the worth of not exacting a better joke prescribed to other genus archetypes... whether the atheists believe in a blind-watchmaker is beside the point... the actual conjuring of the ultimate engineered thing will undo us... only the gods could have engineered time... space? they can't fathom space, the gods could only engineer time, but they couldn't engineer space: the cliche, think outside the box? even the gods know nought concerning this; and if there is only one god... he has been lodged into a letter: θ - a 1 inside a 0; the being already confined... even gods have limits beyond the stressor of supposed immortality... they can't engineer space... all they can engineer, is a transcendence of time... only mortals, men, can engineer the concept of space... hence nations, hence borders, hence differences, hence the concept of magnetism and repulsion... if gods engineered time, then men engineered space... as now, and forever, will remain so, the quest for a cosmic joke / clue.
it won't be the blind-watchmaker
who eats us up,
the the clock itself -
it will devour us,
it will gnaw our flesh toward
the bone,
and then with out bones
play an instrument
to glorify its procession down
the aisles of our endeavours
to express civility...
was there any to begin with?
our temporal anxiety, being mortals,
equates itself
with the spatial anxiety of the immortals
(gods).
Jul 3, 2017
Jul 3, 2017 at 9:30 PM UTC
This is a cold perfect night
The sun switch off the light
Hear my guitar owns the night
I stood on the beam of the light
To give the role for the moon
He reflects It through the dune
There your heart such a stone
See a rock keeps a stone to retain
Then the rock was my silly brain
Such a sculpture looks really fine
Keeps the memory a part of mine
In a hall of the magestic britain
I'm inveterate to cross the line
Carefully she watches how i speak
In a magistic break doesn't bleak
Tired world makes me the freak
A plague of feelings makes me sick
The steak of heart does not streak
The plague is there wouldn't break
So i keep my eyes away of her eyes
No escape from the morning breeze
A viscous fail on her warmer tears
While i'm lost between the aisles
No matter how much hard I do
Can't Escape the reflections of you
You Know my soul keeps crying too
But i can't forgive The sins you do
Destiny keeps our separated ways
Deeds aren't hearts keeps the ties
Author/ Aladdin Aures H.
Aug 10, 2019
Aug 10, 2019 at 5:47 AM UTC
I don't wear smiles
like clothes,
like you wear makeup
I don't choose in aisles,
in stores,
just for the occasion
You can try
and you'd fit right in my shoes
but I'd never fit in yours
I don't wear jewels
but I'd love
to wear your denial
mmm,
your scent for awhile...
Aug 30, 2017
Aug 30, 2017 at 3:28 AM UTC
my dream is to go on a long ride
with my bestie before we become bride
my dream is to forever cherish her smile
even when she is walking alone in the aisle
my dream is to never let my bestie forget me
for that i can pay any fee
my dream is to keep your hand along and walk miles and miles
even sometimes rolling and chilling in the aisles
my dream is to stay in your heart
till we have to again put our life into the mode of restart
my dream is to be your best friend
even if many others join you in your life
my dream is to be the reason
behind your 24 carat smile
my dream is to get 100% from your side
even if we stay far apart
my dream is not just a fantasy
my bestie would definitely make it a reality
Jan 22, 2017
Jan 22, 2017 at 12:03 PM UTC
Matrimonial stars in aisles of Auroral rainbows. Mizzling rays of twilights, arraying bays with skylines of lucent waves.
A plethora of scarlet roses reposed in florid clouds. Ashore the Giddy ocean in a gentle motion, caressing Mali garnets, mirroring effulgent lights, kissing the mountaintops before refulgent nights.
Mar 26, 2015
Mar 26, 2015 at 8:04 AM UTC
I did my part, by staying in.
So effective, bored.
It’s a sacrifice.
The soul is very passionate.
The isolating, the flattening.
Foraging coercion.
For Immuno compromised persons!
Stay in your homes.
Prevent the increase in tombstones!
Then pat yourself on the back.
Knowing all the people you have saved!
Staying in, flattening the curve again.
Outcome, only time will tell.
Feeling relieved I’m not the only one!
And the stupidity will **** us all.
Hoarding toilet paper from the aisles.
But no one else can see.
The effects this has on the elderly.
Social distance, social distance, social distance.
Social distance, social distance, social distance.
Oh, there are arrogant ******** not taking this seriously.
But there are others doing their part.
The nurses and doctors have gone mad.
With people taking all their masks.
But when we cure it all,
The faith will be restored,
Who hopes we will be blessed?
We could start over,
Just cover your mouth when you cough!
It’s that simple.
Now there’s time to watch streaming platforms.
Helpfulness, committed.
To doing what I can.
I’m not the only one.
And the stupidity will **** us all.
Hoarding toilet paper from the aisles.
But no one else can see.
The effects this has on the elderly.
Social distance, social distance, social distance.
Social distance, social distance, social distance.
The limits of the research.
The limits of the research.
The limits of the research.
Fake news outlets (social distance)
Only check AHS, for info (social distance)
Your support to fund research would help (social distance)
Can’t stop the spread (social distance)
If you don’t stay home (social distance)
This is a must (social distance)
I’m not the only one.
And the stupidity will **** us all.
Hoarding toilet paper from the aisles.
But no one else can see.
The effects this has on the elderly.
And the stupidity will **** us all.
Hoarding toilet paper from the aisles.
But no one else can see.
The effects this has on the elderly.
The limits of the research.
The limits of the research.
Apr 5, 2020
Apr 5, 2020 at 1:51 PM UTC
--To C. M.
Fountains that frisk and sprinkle
The moss they overspill;
Pools that the breezes crinkle;
The wheel beside the mill,
With its wet, weedy frill;
Wind-shadows in the wheat;
A water-cart in the street;
The fringe of foam that girds
An islet's ferneries;
A green sky's minor thirds--
To live, I think of these!
Of ice and glass the ******
Pellucid, silver-shrill;
Peaches without a wrinkle;
Cherries and snow at will,
From china bowls that fill
The senses with a sweet
Incuriousness of heat;
A melon's dripping sherds;
Cream-clotted strawberries;
Dusk dairies set with curds--
To live, I think of these!
Vale-lily and periwinkle;
Wet stone-crop on the sill;
The look of leaves a-twinkle
With windlets clear and still;
The feel of a forest rill
That wimples fresh and fleet
About one's naked feet;
The muzzles of drinking herds;
Lush flags and bulrushes;
The chirp of rain-bound birds--
To live, I think of these!
Envoy
Dark aisles, new packs of cards,
Mermaidens' tails, cool swards,
Dawn dews and starlit seas,
White marbles, whiter words--
To live, I think of these!
3.9k
790
Nature—the Gentlest Mother is,
Impatient of no Child—
The feeblest—or the waywardest—
Her Admonition mild—
In Forest—and the Hill—
By Traveller—be heard—
Restraining Rampant Squirrel—
Or too impetuous Bird—
How fair Her Conversation—
A Summer Afternoon—
Her Household—Her Assembly—
And when the Sung go down—
Her Voice among the Aisles
Incite the timid prayer
Of the minutest Cricket—
The most unworthy Flower—
When all the Children sleep—
She turns as long away
As will suffice to light Her lamps—
Then bending from the Sky—
With infinite Affection—
And infiniter Care—
Her Golden finger on Her lip—
Wills Silence—Everywhere—
3.7k
I saw you for the last time
before you left for Georgia
we hugged in the hotel hallway
people walked by, we didn't care
what they thought of us.
It felt like it was just you and me.
I mumbled into your chest, "You smell good"
"It's Old Spice" you said "now whenever you smell Old Spice you'll think of me"
Now you're gone, and I probably won't see you again ever in my life.
I'll see you when I stand in the aisles
In the store looking for Old Spice
So I can smell you again.
Jul 12, 2014
Jul 12, 2014 at 9:35 PM UTC
Shropshire the outback of hives and mires
A birthplace of industrial revolution
Built with ***** iron and bricks
submerged in the depths of the water beds
Shropshire the strength in the metal structure
A cast of firm shields and fields
The greenery of contrasting yellowy yields
A mirage of hills sat on pillar heights
The breeze so fresh as sun prints on the canal
The warmth so intense as the bird hums in the nests
Labour artisans and metalsmith at the heart of coalbrook dale
Bricks aisles of pathways along the river
Bordered by vintage delicacies of the magnificent nature
Jun 4, 2016
Jun 4, 2016 at 9:28 AM UTC
Stealing away from the noise and glare
I paced the aisles of an ancient library
Being worn and tired, indisposed to read
I sat in a corner, lost in half reverie
Around me were books stacked end on end
In safely locked glass and wooden shelves
And sectioned into different genres
Fiction, non- fiction, verse et al, in thinly layered leaves
I felt lost in this vast continent of erudite friends
Poet, scholar, philosopher and sage, each sat quiet
But those silent souls seemed to crave for human touch
Waiting to serve anytime learning’s lovesome diet
Closely sheltered from the tumult of the world
The place, though serene had an eerie air
And books like so many beauties in a harem
Were kept away in seclusion just to admire
The lifeless air and the long deserted look
Mildly disturbed my inner calm
Couldn’t digest man’s total disregard of books
Which for long, to many a lonely soul, served as balm
Sitting amid those gallant souls
I thought over the relentless efforts of sage like men
Who in the stillness of the night, in their cloistured cells
Plunged into research and meditative reflection
What knowledge is garnered in these tomes!
What all charms, encased in these pages!
To what magic lands they can carry us
Sharing with us the accumulated wisdom of ages
With the profusion of electronic gadgets
And information, readily available by a finger hit
Books no more are given a venerable treat
And fated to be stashed away in corners unlit
Heavy with the time tested wisdom of the wise
They sit huddled together in damp corners
Longing to get a little human warmth
But sadly neglected like rusted burners
After an hour’s enervating reprieve
While I was leaving that dumb world
In my ears, fell a faint sound
Of the agonizing cry of the Printed Word!
Jul 15, 2018
Jul 15, 2018 at 8:58 AM UTC
White mountains capped in satin,
North face hiding behind a veil of frigid diamonds.
How I long to caress your powdered cheeks.
To float down your ivory aisles.
How I long to toast your champagne kiss.
To hear you softly whisper "I do" beneath my feet.
How I long to traverse across your velvet curves.
To fall head over heels into your feathery embrace.
It's something.
Old friends
New snow
Borrowed time
Blue sky
There's just something about getting cold feet.
I could wed you every single day & never grow tired of this frosted bliss.
Feb 13, 2017
Feb 13, 2017 at 11:28 PM UTC
see little Tommy
no, you can’t see him in the trolley -
like a monkey
or a possum on the tree
he’s well-hidden
so expert, as mom
pushes the trolley
through the aisles
And then nimbly
he crawls out
and hangs by the handle
feet on the brackets
still hidden
and suddenly drops
on the floor
light as baby Tarzan
And Mom says: “Tommy!”
and Tommy laughs
and climbs back into the trolley
like a little Alexander on a metal Bucephalus
and there he stands commandeering
the trolley: “Cheese, mum! Lollies! Lollies!”
And Mum says to Little Tommy:
“Shhh! Shhh! Shhh!”
But little Tommy
he’s the Master and Commander
and pirate
but mostly the monkey
on the shopping trolley
down the aisles and down the corridors
and the food court
sliding and jumping and hiding
in his fantasy world of the trolley
see little Tommy -
no, you can’t see him in the trolley
like a monkey
or a possum on the tree
he’s well-hidden
so expert in the trolley
he so happily commands
Sep 11, 2012
Sep 11, 2012 at 9:01 AM UTC
Whoaa, why so blunt, harsh hard-hearted heathen,
hear me out...
chase the dragonfly as it weaves trails to places
you have never dreamed...
or have you?
pick the cherry tomato right off your vine
brush it off and bite down and let the juices
stream,
down your granite chin.
In your life were you ever gentle,
I mean soft with kindness,
in love with blindness,
if you held your hand out would
all the *animals long to be
close to you*
or would you be all alone
through decades of cultivated fear
and evaporated tears,
from the heat of your raging anger
your looks like daggers,
skip down the aisles of grocery stores,
even when you are with friends of yours,
have a sock fight and be willing to lose,
sit on some shady chaise somewhere as
the sun sets and just drink in all that
is around, no needs no wants,
no haunts as the skeletons return to
their closets and leave you to be free
to laugh to cry to share to pry
your hands off the greed that chokes
every breath that could have been full
of
life
oh be gentle friend be gentle
their is enough spirits of malice
that yours, your spirit need not
be numbered among them,
oh gentle giant not by stature
not by might but by how God
sees you within His sight and
sings over you,
gentle humble friend if
we had the time to break bread
instead of speed records or
hearts misled by, "that is how we are wired."
Gentle
you can still be a man of courage,
you are a man of strength
you are a gentle man
©DWE072013
Jul 27, 2013
Jul 27, 2013 at 2:18 AM UTC