"apprehending" poems
Not easy to state the change you made.
If I'm alive now, then I was dead,
Though, like a stone, unbothered by it,
Staying put according to habit.
You didn't just tow me an inch, no--
Nor leave me to set my small bald eye
Skyward again, without hope, of course,
Of apprehending blueness, or stars.
That wasn't it. I slept, say: a snake
Masked among black rocks as a black rock
In the white hiatus of winter--
Like my neighbors, taking no pleasure
In the million perfectly-chisled
Cheeks alighting each moment to melt
My cheeks of basalt. They turned to tears,
Angels weeping over dull natures,
But didn't convince me. Those tears froze.
Each dead head had a visor of ice.
And I slept on like a bent finger.
The first thing I was was sheer air
And the locked drops rising in dew
Limpid as spirits. Many stones lay
Dense and expressionless round about.
I didn't know what to make of it.
I shone, mice-scaled, and unfolded
To pour myself out like a fluid
Among bird feet and the stems of plants.
I wasn't fooled. I knew you at once.
Tree and stone glittered, without shadows.
My finger-length grew lucent as glass.
I started to bud like a March twig:
An arm and a leg, and arm, a leg.
From stone to cloud, so I ascended.
Now I resemble a sort of god
Floating through the air in my soul-shift
Pure as a pane of ice. It's a gift.
39.3k
tell me what words are there
to articulate this savage parade
not here, not in all the Lebanons
whose crystal castles sparkle
like broken glass
on the dark horizons
at the jagged edges of the world
from which cultured minds have receded
and all humanity has been relinquished
to the barbarity of the frenzied flavours of fools
who will speak for this wild parade
without impediment to mythical protagonists
tell me where are the energised arguments
against sophisticated yet false laments
where testament is torn through
weeping cedar trees
producing the unpredictable accidental quality
that memorialises phantom caresses
that have neither been invented nor encouraged
the hallow that inaugurates
the distinctive features of
destructive energies that are both
exuberant and hard to comprehend
this parade where there is
a savage sensibility
capable of apprehending
contradictory ethical imperatives
that vouch for a mocking stream of
tragic political consequence
displayed vividly in the inextricability
of civil order and political violence
that defies exclusive claim
by casting itself as freedom warrior
in disguise as militaristic humanism
and burns the temple tree
and where human identity
becomes an elusive possession
owned by a few
who in the inevitability of ignorance
refuse to recognise their tragic error
and the world does not mount
a strenuous protest
at this headlong dash for Ephesus
where antagonistic language and
neutral expression of thought converge
and here the value of valulessness
repudiates, even in a single poetic moment
Aug 25, 2013
Aug 25, 2013 at 4:04 PM UTC
I've abandoned a withered state, fumbling
Toward your ecstasy - opening windows to
A brave new world: What a scene to behold!
My heart has calmed consuming life’s tonic -
I'm filled with attraction, alike an alchemist
disposition to discover their personal legend
How far, do thoughts travel? Become aware,
we’ve covered only but a few hours of sleep
The vicissitudes of motion - by faith we move
At luminal speed, ’til visions dawn and we’re
Before a sky clearing moon
Shall we recline in that loft above?
While it be suspended in the fetal position?
Or tarry until morn’ when reflections are reborn
From spurts of spontaneity, to cycles of growth
Apprehending blessings so as to appreciate the
distance of our obstacles
For camaraderie's had since severed –
And authenticity perfidiously pilfered –
And liars became prosecutors of liars
Pregnant with delusions of grandeur
Freedom is the temporal prison for
Revolutionaries wails of conditions
Psalms of sentimentalism provoke
An emotional tug of war, conscripting
another soldier of love – wearing a fig
Leaf of inhibition and foul remains of
passed transgressions...
Where to turn to when you’re cold?
Intransigent echoes give no warmth
I’ve fallen into the (d)earth of sanity
Erstwhile
Fumbling
Toward
Ecstasy
Sep 28, 2012
Sep 28, 2012 at 2:27 PM UTC
Writing for me isn't easy
Unwriting, much harder
So I do
Until I get enough
With all blissful vibes
Symphony of grace
Overwhelm spirit
Grounding reality
And a magic of its own
Out of sight
Let me take you on a journey
Reconnecting all the senses
Returning back to sanity
Curiosity
Wonder
Imagination
And spontaneity
Apprehending the whole
And meet you in the another realm
Jul 21, 2022
Jul 21, 2022 at 12:11 PM UTC
*''In spite of apprehending every detail of you in each poetry;
Keep pretending to tell countless lies on you.
Serendipity has guided me gently to your gravity.
Is it a probability or a fantasy?
You seem real, in the place you don't exist.''*
Jan 17, 2016
Jan 17, 2016 at 3:42 PM UTC
I want to write a poem that politically minded would read more:
My political allegiance: my contribution to the art:
those Snakes in the grass would adhere too: without obligation;
The hidden agenda of the world leaders
Would suddenly, take the Sephora masks off
just in time to reveal what we thought of them all along;
Those voices of the babbling brooks: some louder than the other:
the poem must expose secret of the ocean mystery /myth
Without apprehending the beauty
of the dolphins and the whales legal rights;
While its uninvited guests are caught up in their lies
we the people must say to them
"you all can’t plead the fifth" because
They are still a lot of trivia question for us to answer.
And it’s still difficult task for some of us to find
where's waldo amongst the leaders:
Jul 28, 2018
Jul 28, 2018 at 11:30 PM UTC
On the surface of your skin
I can see
You are
Within the reflection of a breath
And soft
Spoken words
They demand everything
At once my
Heavy thoughts
Soak
In blood while
In some other world the desolation
Of days gone
Filters like 26
Fleeting memories
Strangled
By the hands of
Angels
I’ve described my moments on napkins
And given them to strangers
On the street
At some point my collapse
Will re-invent the air and the movement
Of your digestion
And the scary
Part of you
Will be there holding me down
Pressed
Against
The glass wall
The reflections will disappear and broken
Windows cut
Each
Artery
I’m letting
Go
Don’t be afraid
If all else within my reach loves
You then we can die
Like small raindrops trapped in a
Pothole
The miscarried thoughts of eyes
And saliva soaked kisses soon
Envelope you an extension of morning
And the hands that touched you in so many ways are now lost
In the vague shadows of your voice
Apprehending colors that disappear and I forget about you and silence
Left among the doves of grass
Your shelter it all
Oct 21, 2013
Oct 21, 2013 at 10:10 AM UTC
Harmonic strums of an old guitar
Endless interpretation nights
My Darling, My Darling, looming far
Flashbacks; reminiscent timely old sights
Darling, darling, may you sing along?
Sadly, just the the same old song
the gloomy melody heard much before
the same expression you once wore
A past buried deep underground
Trained fiercely not to make a sound
But Darling, darling, those cuts are much deeper
Than my broken wings, or your shattered mirror
So here I am, trying to kneel
Pretending as if you can’t feel
Continue lurking in our past mistakes
Darling, darling, how long will it take?
So I'll keep pretending and apprehending, my emotions that “don’t exist”
While you keep lying, I’m complying, dragging my feet in this supossable “bliss”
So please, this once, just grant me my release
Darling, darling, return me my peace
Apr 21, 2012
Apr 21, 2012 at 9:47 PM UTC
Anxiety ******* tearing up inside of me. ***** ******* **** with some *** stained cavities and now shes coming onto me entirely. I should be like finally, but instead the anxious brain of mine avoids the blankets and gravitates towards the rhyme cause reality... what the **** is reality? My extended ****** up morality, apprehending the shortness of mortality or all these sexualities?
He, she, they, them.
See me hock phlegm.
Maybe stock them.
Lay low till' ten.
And then when,
They stop,
My pen cap,
Pops off,
Stabs lead into the head of the said *** already wishing they were dead, but the use of a mag would cause attention, so I'm carrying a handbag full of pens. This is my pencil pushing, pen pushing straight into the gay neck, rushing to **** the wreck of a man and get paid through bills or a check again.
From my anxiety to killing gays, cause I'm willing to get lost in my ways of letting my mind wander, even though I kind of wonder why the gays were on my mind. The ***** that broke my heart was bi, but that's fine. I got nothing against you, unless you hurt me or the ones I love. You get two feet up your *** at once if you harm or speak bad about any of us.
Dec 5, 2018
Dec 5, 2018 at 6:26 PM UTC
Predicament of the zero hour
enabling brave or foolish decision
Even mélange of both
Hitting home
physical structures oppose
Unfleshly
Holy Ghost takes over,
very much also
Divinity and arousal
Only human
perched on brink of flight
dwelling is no perception
of freedom
Apprehending bigger picture
"To judge is not to love"
or something Mother Teresa said
When Pops referred to "The Bible"
it meant, bring him the sports page
Dichotomous our separate ways
revealing conscious decisions
Tridented a third eye
When a vision of something further
sends to sentiment beyond
Cast and flung
Stealing home plate
and called, "Safe"
Pondering what only a god
may leverage
Mar 10, 2017
Mar 10, 2017 at 11:37 PM UTC
Forgive me for remembering
what should not be remembered
Forgive me for questioning
what should not be questioned
Forgive me for apprehending
what should not be apprehended
Forgive me for persisting
what should not be persisted
Forgive me for pretending
what should not be pretended
Forgive me for enjoying
what should not be enjoyed
Forgive me for hurting
what should not be hurt
Forgive me for aiding
what should not be aid
Forgive me for trying
what should not be tried
Forgive me for fighting
what should not be fought
Forgive me for letting go
what should not be let go
Forgive me for thinking
what should not be thought
Forgive me for starting
what should not have started
Forgive me for ending
what should not have ended
Forgive me for breaking
what should not have been broken
Forgive me for forgetting
what should not have been forgotten
Jul 31, 2015
Jul 31, 2015 at 12:29 PM UTC
An Inmate who escaped from prison
A reason forming Treason
The Inmate killed and robbed an innocent man
He was sentenced to 30 Years
But now the Inmate has a penalty of arrears
The Inmate escaped from Sing Sing Correctional Prison in Ossining, New York
The Inmate escaped from the prison during the night
Announcement was made but has the entire community in fright
Helicopters searched throughout the night using spotlights
But no trace of the Inmate in sight
Now the Inmate needs a getaway ride in order to hide
There was an idled Greyhound Bus parked in the parking lot
The Inmate felt the Greyhound Bus would be his plot
But I am sure once the Inmate is caught he will received a tightened knot
However, I didn’t tell you, the Inmate was a Former Tractor Trailer Truck Driver so driving a Greyhound Bus would be a piece of cake
Perhaps give or take
So the Inmate started the bus and headed for the thruway
But Greyhound already knew where the bus was since they have a tracking device that is connected to the Company’s Command Communications Center
So the authorities are on alert
The Greyhound bus of course was stolen
The Inmate has no idea that Greyhound Bus 4902 is on record and is all over the airwaves
Helicopters were able to pick up the trace what the Inmate didn’t realize
What a surprise?
So the New York State Patrol was apprehending
Suddenly so abrupt, the Inmate pulled the Greyhound bus off Exit 17 on the New York Thruway
Now you could imagine, the New York Patrol is now going to be mean
As the Greyhound bus moving side too side on the Thruway, the bus had a slight lean
Now the Inmate only has one chance, he can either continue or give up and come clean
So he continued
But moments later, the Inmate was caught
Now Greyhound’s slogan was always, “Go Greyhound and Leave the Driving to us”
But the Inmate may have changed those words to “Go Drive and Leave the Driving to anyone”
A hounding confess
No it was a test
I guess the Inmate would have said it best.
Jul 20, 2018
Jul 20, 2018 at 6:34 PM UTC
“we were
soul wolves
stealing nights
& apprehending
other-worldly
shadows
beneath the
safety curtain
of a silent moon;
never meant to see
the light of day.”
|| shoo.shu ||
Jan 25, 2016
Jan 25, 2016 at 5:09 PM UTC
As I wake in my sheets,
Aggravated anxiety.
Blue light peeks, reminding me of my impropriety
Of the night before.
Like the melted ice throne in the last layer of fire,
My thoughts agonize.
I became the prosecutor when I was the prosecuted liar.
These ordinary overcast mornings
Are my favorite to step in to.
The city smells ripe,
And I think of it with you.
But I will go to trace my patterns
Worn into my body.
Another weekday in which I tread.
Reading messages unread,
Apprehending what’s next.
Life doesn’t need explanation,
Only bread.
But I will stop to worry those worries
Worn into my body
And only hope there may come a palm to press into my spine
With a touch so fine to entwine
A belonging, a needing, into my mind.
May 1, 2018
May 1, 2018 at 10:03 AM UTC
I'm not coming back
no more vain rebellions
hello to nothing
from the inquisitor of nothing
no ones home but shapeless shadows
cutting across mysteries
of multiple worlds
an empty head
so patient
ghost moon
my legs aren't tired anymore
here in the undergrowth
of slugs slides and slime
whispering hymns needle green
buoyant belly on the rings of night
libation of death
apprehending the void
dissolving doom broadens to immensity
like a light flicks on
wonder wave
no death for the dead
they could care less
nearby in endlessness
stretched out on a couch
spumed mouth
papyrus frail
creature of black steps
waking will not raise burnt wings
where I lived and was broken
noon day demons lost
I dangle from a nightingale floor
burning hair waves windless
linking one self with the other
like night with day
gales of dreams
falling lulls weave me together
like a thorne bridge knits fate
hand over red hand
mind of winter
now I inhabit you
slain and shaken
Jun 28, 2019
Jun 28, 2019 at 11:50 AM UTC
comprehension isn't in your bloodstream you are too busy apprehending these repressive tendencies. Everything is messy lately, and I can't seem to see things clearly. This can't make sense to anyone but me- and it never will. Memories are isolated events. My trauma is a movie only I have seen but everyone tries to write the review of. I'm tired of this being a competition. Like whoever has the most ****** up life wins in this potato sack race to the finish line- I'm far from fine I'm two steps back and trailing even farther behind. Everyone seemed to have had some kind of advantages, these genetics were defective for me, my motor skills and processing delayed and defective see I can seem speak on these things too clearly. Mumbling at the mouth of memory and retention, I'm trying to articulate what's piled on top of my heavy heart and this chest full of weight and ***** slate and angst. I'm having trouble marking the place on his face. I'm having trouble marking the place where I laid, where he laid, where I can find peace. I'm having trouble not having trouble. I'm alone in my struggle too. No one knows you better than you, but no one knows me like I know me and it seems this is factually accurate from an everyone standpoint. Am I okay anymore? Or is this void the only voice I will hear when I am being called back to sleep. Where will these secrets always be kept? Inside of the locks behind my retinas, who the **** forgot the combination to the safe. That would be me.
Nov 9, 2017
Nov 9, 2017 at 4:41 PM UTC