"amalgam" poems
We're born, we live, we die.
That's called life. What is life
about? For so many, it's just
about survival. For a tiny number,
it is about acquisition of things.
For the blessed, it is about love--
love of self, love of another,
love of all. I wrote once that
the greatest thing you can ever
be is your real self. To be true to
your real self is to be true to all
others, true to the Cosmos.
Fame is a social cosmetic.
Wealth is unconscious com-
pensation for lack of self-love
and thus for lack of love for
others; political power much
the same. Leadership is an
amalgam of real power, self-
love and love of others, and
the courage to do the right
thing. It is uncommon and
precious. To live your life
fully, you must be fully
your real self.
TOD HOWARD HAWKS
Jun 20, 2020
Jun 20, 2020 at 11:21 AM UTC
She used to tell me
of math and poetry
by the length of her arm
and rhythm of her heart
conversing verse and fraction
with form following the function
of communist theories
and greek philosophies.
she beat out aesthetics
with a perfect symmetry.
because no one understands
the relationship between
seafoam and shoreline
the way she does
[swimming in saltwater sorrows]
reimagining time in an hourglass,
she shot up infinities with a glance
and left me moondrunk in the night.
she emits sparks throughout my system
breaking and entering--
my kingdom under siege.
her name was an amalgam of numbers
italic1.6180399. . . .italic
and I loved her by design.
Oct 26, 2014
Oct 26, 2014 at 10:18 AM UTC
She stood still before the choas; unshaken.
The wind blew its mighty breath against Her core but to no avail; unmoved.
Her coffee'd skin warm like the sun that kisses the Earth's horizon.
Something within Her had risen without warning nor permission:
She was a Goddess, in Her own right.
Brown. The soft tone of the Earth.
Golden hue painted widely across the canvas of Her *****
Her skin like caramelized silk, with the sunglow of Egypt itself.
She pressed Her face to the Earth's floor and moved mountains with Her prayers.
Queen of the meek, ambassador of the poor.
She was the perfect amalgam of beauty and brokenness.
~The Goddess of Humility.
Sep 10, 2015
Sep 10, 2015 at 3:51 PM UTC
Loving someone is a confusing task.
Its that point of time when people don't really understand what they are upto.
Maybe its because, when we fall in love, we are not only driven by the modern world instincts, but also by traits which we've inherited from our earliest ancestors.
Its an amalgam of varying emotions resulting from numerous hormones.
We get involved in the act of love either to enrich out lives or to generate lives...its all logic.
However, the simplest act of expressing or explaining this strange feeling, appears to be a mammoth task for most.
We call it 'love' just like we call God 'God', but its just a verbal pronunciation for things we don't understand, for things which are much greater than just the words...
We say 'I love you' but we mean so much more, even the most beautiful poems cannot possibly explain it properly.
Hundreds of letters written by a lover cannot compensate for the lover in person,
10000 words cannot compensate for a simple gesture or an act of love.
Words are just sounds which transmit thoughts from one mind to the other,
But in order to touch the deepest core of the brain, which is the heart, one must go way beyond the thoughts, way beyond those 10000 words.
May 3, 2015
May 3, 2015 at 2:40 PM UTC
moment to moment
we are the sum total of
our chemicals
we think of ourselves
we think of others
as an average of our
time and spacial synergy
an anatomical amalgam
a biological brine
frankensteins with
personalities, commonalities and
unique agendas
sprinkled with neuroses that
range from microscopic to
catastrophic, whether
chemical reaction or
hyperbolic extraction
you can choose to
canonize or demonize
as long as you can
recognize
the flesh and the blood
versus the fantasized
Sep 29, 2014
Sep 29, 2014 at 1:46 AM UTC
Somewhere constant
I count my blessings
and submit to nature
Sacrificing my physical self
to the soul of summering Fall
Mother Nature on menopause
whisking out hot flashes
with a cold shoulder
turned on innocence
The trails here
wind me
back
in
time
A place for believing in a higher self
without the stigma of belief
Some mystical "nonsense"
you'd have to see
to believe
Stranger than the fiction we lived
before Autumn turned to ashes
to embers
and reignited
hearts
with an amalgam of inspiration
Grace is the only constant
The unheard rhythm
We lose our minds
trying to find
in the chaos
The thrill in the chase
to drop the
four-on-the-floor
somewhere on the journey
Hope perpetuates in rhythm
Everything here
is coming together
for my highest good
Or
That's how my mantra
overrides my manic
imagination
Subliminally
stuttering
steps
A path to within
From only out here
I walk back to the graves of trees
where I parked my car over
Hollowed out and haunting
my attachment to the Earth
Grounded by ghosts
The echos in the silence of Singing Hills
*This is my worship.
This is my tribute.*
Oct 11, 2013
Oct 11, 2013 at 6:46 PM UTC
he had a third beer
before the hot platters came
he would have had another, had she not
stared, like she going to ask every question
he did not want to answer…
how did it feel to slap his first wife?
how did it feel to pull the trigger
and mow men down like so many weeds?
those were the questions in her eyes
and had he ever told anyone, what happened that night
when they came upon a village, where the young ones
slept with the dead, their ancestors
only a few feet away, watching, mute,
beyond the paddies where they planted the rice,
the narrow trails where they hunkered and spoke
the ancient tongue, not adulterated by the romance of the French
or the clumsy amalgam of shredded sounds from the new soldiers
the giants who ignored them in the steaming light of day
but came one night, bringing strange smells, oiled steel
muzzles pointed at their faces, shoved into their empty ears
grunting and groaning in an even more grotesque tongue
leaving tears and trembling in their wake,
the torn flesh, the wounded wombs, the silken vessels
meant to be there for the milky planting of tomorrow’s seeds
not the greedy groping of the interloper’s devilish deeds
was she asking about that night, the sounds he recalled
like puppies under heavy foot, or worse, like
the madding moaning of his own sister
when someone ripped her open
not in the distant killing fields
but in the back seat of her car
not two miles from where they sat
where he ordered more beer, and
she asked those questions with her silence,
with her eyes, the questions he would never answer
not after all the beer, in all the free world,
and he was pitifully glad
they served no sushi, in Kiki’s, though
the sharpened knives were there
ready for his confessional
and the raw slaughter of truth
Jul 30, 2013
Jul 30, 2013 at 2:43 AM UTC
Deranged rocks, spread in albeit magnetic threads
rattle the sky's mirror with impatience.
Lay her feet on the ground, the young girl did.
The touch of her soft, dampened scarf
kindled the metamorphic calm.
My veritas found its unwanted shrine--
The dreadful peace that let it dine,
upon the well-being of its host nest its swine.
The ****** amalgam in her eyes
led its produce down her wavy brown vines.
They hid her cheeks, and brought down traited drops
of long-withheld tangy crust
towards the lavender ascot.
She grabbed onto her feet,
warm and wrapped with white cotton and wool heat...
she caressed the ornamental fabric,
swerved her fingers along its threaded magic.
Their lacy innocence familiarized her and made her smile,
whence the memory of her veritas triggered in her mouth's isle.
She lay her hopeful eyes on the silver-nitrate clad scarf,
covering the now-calming rocks' quaff.
Of my reflection her face saw only loss,
for her recognition seemed forever trapped in virtuality,
in moss.
Mar 30, 2013
Mar 30, 2013 at 11:39 AM UTC
[Verse 1:]
Sharp like an edge of a samurai sword
The mental blade cut through flesh and bone
Though my mind's at peace, the world out of order
Missing the inner heat, life gets colder
Oh yes, I have to find my path
No less, walk on earth, water, and fire
The elements compose a magnum opus
My modus is operandi is amalgam
Steel packed tight in microchip
On my arm a sign of all-pro
The ultimate reward is honor, not awards
At odds with the times in wars with no lords
A freelancer
A battle cry of a hawk make a dove fly and a tear dry
Wonder why a lone wolf don't run with a ****
Only trust your instincts and be one with the plan
[Hook]
Some days, some nights
Some live, some die
In the way of the samurai
Some fight, some bleed
Sun up to sun down
The sons of a battlecry
Some days, some nights
Some live, some die
In the way of the samurai
Some fight, some bleed
Sun up to sun down
The sons of a battlecry
[Verse 2]
Look, just the air around him
An aura surrounding the heir apparent
He might be a peasant but shine like grand royalty
He to the people and land, loyalty
We witness above all to hear this
Sea sickness in the ocean of wickedness
Set sail to the sun set no second guessing
Far east style with the spirit of wild west
The "quote-unquote" code stands the test of
Time for the chosen ones to find the best of
Noble minds that ever graced the face of
A hemisphere with no fear, fly over
[Bridge]
The blue yonder where
The sky meets the sea
And eye meets no eye
And boy meets world
And became a man to serve the world
To save the day, the night, and the girl too
[Hook]
Some days, some nights
Some live, some die
In the way of the samurai
Some fight, some bleed
Sun up to sun down
The sons of a battlecry
Some days, some nights
Some live, some die
In the way of the samurai
Some fight, some bleed
Sun up to sun down
The sons of a battlecry
May 8, 2014
May 8, 2014 at 4:57 AM UTC
The night becomes you -
hair coiffed in fashion
illuminated eyes reveal attraction,
the scent of body oil
pervasive,
ambient music evolves
persuasive
savory rhetoric,
cabernet erodes my inhibition
no contrition, turn the ignition.
The night becomes you -
you wear it well
an amalgam,
ardor and insouciance -
redefining glamour,
ephemeral moments
dial down the sunlight,
I am slain - voice and accent
weave their spell;
black dust coat, white hat,
a pair of posh boots
they live to tell.
The night becomes you
rhyme scheme - lyrical poetry
sophisticated venue, table for two
ensconced, the
leather lounge,
similitude within difference;
undulation - cadences of
counterpoint -
poise and peril of duality
we inhabit the floor.
Postprandial, conversation extempore;
machinations of intoxicating discourse,
I could drink your words -
artistic milieu- beguiling imagery,
sonant susurrations
penetrate my being.
The night becomes you -
theoretical locutions
phrasing depth and humor,
undiluted amour, tensions resolve
frame by frame,
solidify the affair
and validate the rumor
subsumed in sequence, pulsating,
igniting the sapid interior flame
silver screen ending,
effusive reviews
two hearts collide and form one;
the cherub's arrow finds its aim.
©2008 & 2011 W.S. Warner
Sep 22, 2011
Sep 22, 2011 at 10:34 PM UTC
Delicious midnight,
kyanite and citrine crystal bells buzz
& haummm....
Piano notes dance around the room,
some sing silent eurythmy patterns.
An amalgam of pinball gypsy
time travelers colliding--
the timing couldn't have been more perfect
as we rest in the sacred loft
under the metallic ear.
Full Flower Moon
whispers persimmon kisses at 2am.
Here we rest,
a space for the timeless animals,
wounded healers,
soldiers of peace
all seeking a brief respite....
collecting energetic auric heart fire fuel
before we slingshot off in our kaleidoscopic time machines,
candles navigating to the darkest reaches
of outer and inner space.
Here, fear dissolves....
Here, light evolves....
Jun 15, 2014
Jun 15, 2014 at 10:37 PM UTC
Pestered and pursued
by unknown foes
A topsyturvy land
where snakes can have horns
and cows can have fangs.
Night'mares' where the day's stallions
make mountains out of molehills
A chance to witness greek mythology-like creatures for real
For dreamland tis a place for the unreal and surreal.
Those hair-raising scary scary dreams
beset with horrified silent screams!
We do try to interrupt nightmares, pinching ourselves
With relief wake up to see there aren't any horrid elves.
We also try to interpret dreams filled with mystery
But gifted dream interpreters like prophet Joseph
Are now part of biblical human history
All in all, dreamland's fascination
for extra-ordinary exaggeration
and tall-tale imagination
Where myth and legend come to life
An amalgam of fiction or real strife
Where assorted monsters of the mind
reign supreme in that REM sleep of our kind.
Yet on the other hand the wishful, wistful sweet sweet dreams
where fantasies form mirages bordered by fanciful seams.
Where castles in the air that humans build, float gently down to earth
only to shoot back up unto nowhere from the awakened one's berth.
In dreamland a pauper girl can be a princess or fairy fair
for daydreams extend into the night and linger on there.
A quote I took to heart and it to console all and sundry
'that if your sweet dreams don't come true, don't you fret
for atleast your nightmares didn't come true either,
so just heave a sigh, by and by.
Every night let us all just fly away and escape
And lo behold the extraordinary world of Dreamscape
Aug 9, 2018
Aug 9, 2018 at 7:02 AM UTC
Plagued by a flagging heart at the very mention of Brazil,
and the poor habit of scrolling to Capricorn at any and all astrological babble.
Meaningless and heedless whether together or apart,
tyros or hedonists,
perhaps both.
A volatile amalgam any way you slice it.
My best poems are about you,
my worst thoughts too.
May 31, 2018
May 31, 2018 at 9:55 AM UTC
This one time...I was real happy.
All expectation had the correct tact,
had the correct sharpness,
the saturation levels were just so.
but then stuff happens
the stuffs what I'm afraid of.
not the movie reel anymore
I am no longer afraid to dance in light of passing frames on a movie screen,
or look at the actors straight in the eyes,
what happens is, the content, un-contents.
We urinate, we spew, we spackle, we *** we ****
we live all of life in two fiking seconds.
Thats alright,
Know one what whats right,
and thats why its right :)
So turn up the music to 50 volume on the sony.
crack a beer,
grind a little,
***** the amalgam of emotion, that is.
Emotion.
Waltz.
Apr 4, 2013
Apr 4, 2013 at 12:58 AM UTC
want to delight
two minds and hearts
call-up Angels,
Darda'il to protect
Seraphim to cherish
Raphael to heal
Uriel to guide
you & i
effortlessly
all the ways
and
let the supremacy of Sandalphon
naturally meet up both hearts
grant unlimited blessings
for incredible love, health, and prosperity
beyond reasons of minds
because chaste hearts and minds
are in an amalgam body and spirit
you & i
May 30, 2015
May 30, 2015 at 5:14 PM UTC
The girl’s corneas expand over the small black abyss of pupil
Tides of blue and hazel rising over onyx isles
An unhinged eyelash balances precariously on its neighbor
It evaporates with her quick blink
Directly beneath her right eye
Below the mottled eggplant shadows
The corpse of a capillary drains among the freckles
Subterranean rivers of vein
Pulse under thin skin
Her nose is spherical
Etched by soft papery scars
Pores round and gazing
Culminating in a uniform valley
Lips are soft and pink and unkissed
A source for a small steady trickle of pride
Her mother’s lips
But behind the outer façade
The seamed surface is rough with nervous nibbles
Ribboned with scars of worries and troubles
She lacks fourteen teeth
Absent since the womb
Those she has are either sickly infants or filled with grainy mystery metallics
Some entirely fabricated with spatulas of amalgam
Yellowed and cracking
Rough and worn
Spongy inner marrow screaming with pain
She hides the stony incisors from view
The hair
Curling and waving
Kissing with reptilian tongues at her cheeks
Neck
Forehead
Framing her face in brambles and cowlicks
Indecisive of its true form
Fuzzy with moisture
Unwilling to obey
The strands of a gorgon
A monstrous tangle of personality
Instantly recognizable
Her hands attempt to soothe the undulating tendrils
But they anger
As stubborn as her
Refuse treatment
She gives up
Rinses her hands
And turns away from the mirror
Sighing
May 31, 2013
May 31, 2013 at 11:48 PM UTC
I'm a captured tooth nerve
amalgam appeased
restrained in containment
by my keeper
then I can be a prisoner
escaping the jail
my warder has lost
the keys of control
on dark days
my fathoms swirl
in murky mass
infused with blinding kelp
on good days
my porthole shows
clearness of eye
the glass reflects well
just to confuse
my ores composition
is misunderstood
the translation
metamorphic
changing
minute by minute
hour by hour
these ones are buggers
my microscope
isn't good with definition
will I or wont I
who knows
my borders are contested
being diplomatic
I make pacts and treaties
no monicker is required
the tried and tested
gentleman's agreement
that will do
my margins
can be thick or thin
comments fit in
usually they range
between
insult and praise
depending on the mood
I oft go to open cut mines
to find common minerals
which are useful on a daily basis
real effort is called for
when I delve into deep shafts
sometimes gems are quarried
precious ones to behold
well enough said
a letter is to be written
dear meditative home
we're returning soon
if we're delayed
after hours
p.s. leave the porch light on
Oct 16, 2013
Oct 16, 2013 at 5:52 AM UTC
Neuroeconomic
Amalgam
Uninitiated
But prescient
Drumming to remember
All last September
Kernels
Nuggets
Mirroring
Neurons
Can take down
Neocons
\|/
Signals
/|\
Subtle infrequent
Lullabies flow into
A numinous bassline
Reverberating Ohm
Indivisible
Mitosis
Becoming us
As the egg aspires
Divine feminine
Holding space
For the new
Phoenix rising
Nov 16, 2014
Nov 16, 2014 at 4:03 PM UTC
Hadn’t changed numbers.
A voice bristled in my ear,
said why not then, it’s been years.
Months passed.
An amalgam of frail strained hearts,
smells on pillows we tried to lose.
Chose the boulevard in the end,
gaudy nostalgia blazing
like a forest fire in my eyes.
I waited.
Ran a finger over rails
those skaters we knew marked,
back when something called lust
fizzled between you them and me,
through the airwaves;
the lyrics can still trickle
on my tongue if you ask nicely.
Peroxide-blondes, men with muscles
the size of marrows,
a summer pick ‘n’ mix
lacking in looks, in fine taste.
Went to read a book in the sea
for a while,
slurped up half a pint in chapters
then lost the plot again.
That’s when you came
in polka dots,
a pack of colourful taffy
swinging idly from a wrist,
peanut-butter cups
like lily-pads on your palm.
As if you’d never left,
same number, name, face.
Forgot what goodbye was,
tripped over a lost hello.
Nov 20, 2014
Nov 20, 2014 at 5:30 PM UTC
They call you MY ******
I have a mother; my mother
A sister; may be a daughter
Or a son.
My father, my brother, my friend, my classmate, my lover
My people.
Where do you figure?
Yet they say you are mine.
Mine.
Their impassioned pleas
Echo in courtrooms, in police stations,
On stark black letters staring out of newspapers;
Crisp saris and well-fitted suits, their accented comments
Drenched in arrogance, tumbling out of flat-screen television sets;
Smug families discussing me (and you) in bright living rooms
With unblemished walls bearing paintings of enigmatic women.
They all say
You are MY ******
I can see you.
I can see you glowing with pride.
Feel the shroud of admiring glances
Cocooning you wherever you go.
For every sigh of cuss, there are a hundred
Congratulatory nods.
They giggle
As you hold my mangled soul
Up above your head,
Like the tattered flag of an enemy country.
Why, you have silenced another of those
Who dared to rear her sad, ugly head.
Or a happy, pretty one.
What difference does it make?
You never saw
My eyes
Eyes screaming out loud, and going dry
Wide open, yet blind.
You didn’t feel
Tired, shapeless lumps of my being watching us
As my body stopped being mine,
But an amalgam of ******* ****** and a
Deep long scar across eternity.
While I no longer have a name,
You possess one more: ‘My ******
Oh yes, I invited it upon myself
I have chosen it,
I have chosen YOU.
It was predestined. A given.
Since the time I was born.
So you might as well be mine.
My ******
Jan 5, 2016
Jan 5, 2016 at 11:04 AM UTC
I'm not the one
not the one you were waiting for
not the one of your dreams
as real as those might seem
Not the one of your fantasies
this is more....
your reality
I am not the one that got away
or her, you know the one you saw just the other day
Baby...
I am not an amalgam of the worst or the best
of the ladies and ******
you put through your tests
I have confessed
my sin is wanting...
needing
you
you can trust
I am much more than mere lust
I am more than this flesh
way more than skin deep
Not something you can keep
I will seep your veins
invade your brain
In your mind
I am not the one
not yet...anyway
and hey I gotta say
I'm not your Mother
not the one your Mother
warned you about either
not the girl next door
I am exactly what you've been waiting for
Open your mind
instead you seem to find
my age isn't right
I'm not the ideal height
or your ideal anything
although you still like these curves
when they move and swerve
you said you like my mouth
after only just a nice slow wet kiss
Imagine even more
all you have to do is wish
I am here darling...my nice full lips
and curvy hips and massaging oiled fingertips
I am a perfect ghost
haunting, wanting you as my host
your heart
to explore you
is my goal
eat you up and swallow you whole
to keep you as if your mine
nights when we are intertwined
if only for a little while
I love your quirky quiet little smile
we can do it hippie-redneck style
I'll take what I can get of this beautiful memory
that releases me to ecstasy
in whatever form it is
are you afraid to touch me again
that I'll show up at your door
That maybe I'm much more
than just your good ol' friend?
except you already know
I am everything
I am the craving
The ache
your mistake
the best one yet
the desire
we are on fire
emmmm....a ****** attraction
creating a chemical reaction
hunger...a yearning
alone I'm turning
my bed it is burning
thanks to you
Although..you know
it's true...
I am not worried
I am sure you'll be calling on me again....
real soon
my lover and my very, very.... special bright eyed friend.
Cherie Nolan© 2016
Aug 19, 2016
Aug 19, 2016 at 12:51 PM UTC
You're my quark who stride back and forth
to expect some gains from the proton of progress
and,
neutron of ignorance.
Then when you progress towards a great deal of ignorance,
you slowly gather yourself up,
to create a minute a hadron of deep insight,
powered by a glory of gluon!
Jun 13, 2015
Jun 13, 2015 at 9:49 AM UTC
Timing takes away from us
the gold medals of our youth.
From plastic souvenirs that break
to
timeless records without use.
No overstylistic amalgam-
-just black or white to choose.
A safety blanket or mid-life crisis-
what's left of us to lose?
With imagined money
&
imaginary love
what good is "good"
for bargained luck?
- I spoke of dreams I could not see,
could not feel, nor breathe, nor touch.
- I used to feel what I may be,
now I wait around and rust.
Mar 21, 2014
Mar 21, 2014 at 1:52 AM UTC
How can I be so needy,
Yet evasive
How can I be so stubborn
Yet submissive
How do I find the things untouchable,
So alluring
How do the things I have
Have dust settled upon themselves
How can I love so passionately
And overwhelm them with one quick gaze
How can I be so cold, and devoid of feelings
Like oblivion was carved out of my chest
How do I walk miles,
For people who won't take a step for me,
How do I make a shell out of people who want to help,
And leave when I see summer coming
How could we be so bruised
And yet pay no attention to others' bruising
How can we hurt others so bad in the process of hurting
May 3, 2016
May 3, 2016 at 12:04 PM UTC
So, speak of infinite love and
roll your umber eyes. It goes so
well with the way you roll your r's,
as you teach me your Castilian
intonations. Just don't fall
in that category of immersed lost
Latin loves, of mine, sunk in
wet memory.
Ah, the murk of them, an amalgam.
Each giving to a melting ***
and me, a liquid molten fraction
of strange tensile strength
and half gold-like luster. An alloy
of allies, do I see them as? Why,
yes, of course.
Now you come. Please stand out
from the mix. Show me your
purity.
Be solid gold.
I know you like my pronunciation.
I need to know now, yours.
Mi Amor
Nov 25, 2015
Nov 25, 2015 at 8:29 AM UTC