"aptness" poems
perfect poise
between diction
imagery and tone
measured rhythms
and true fine feelings
that fall like soft rain
to mirror humans
in tender moments
and coarse grim cameos
of things best forgotten
things nuanced and bitter
this vast field of experience
is the business of poetry
the art of aptness
the art of compactness
and incredible depths
leading to damp squibs
we search nevertheless
for unique form and content
that exercise in futility
till at last we rest from our labours
and we understand at last
poetry like life is a bitter-sweet illusion
Mar 27, 2016
Mar 27, 2016 at 1:37 PM UTC
Fit to be tied to a ligand gated receptor,
mind you,
right there, in the area below our own aptness
to think and do at once, thus we think without
knowing we are
thinking
things,
new and old, linked by local nodes arranging ions,
in channels previously lacking bridged interchanges.
Instant one past then,
we re think,
if we remain, persisting at or on some certain point,
may we not, mainly almost completely, be self aware?
The gaps insulating our separate selves, as we imagine,
thoughts outside our heads do remain connected rectly
ortho dexterous… sinister off, right on. Switch,
transcendence, sit zazen intently making bits of this
peace.
Inner, breathing conscience, knowing used, to pay
yourself, first
love, neighborly behave, have love as for your self.
I, the boss mind, I, the chooser of destiny from now,
I, ego and id and all, me, you must acknowledge,
I was here when you arrived, in an acknowledged,
innocense, not ignoring a curio juxtaposed, sup-
posed to prompt a why from your own self, why
am I not kind to me.
I am no better than I can imagine proving, to myself.
I must convince me, you are merely watching me be,
in a mind state seeping from a spring I cleaned,
to channel a flow a bit thicker than a seeping…
Sit with me a minute,
measure the brevity,
leave be the reason, I wished to feel you there.
Knowing how I love you, determines the worth
of my own love.
Sep 13, 2023
Sep 13, 2023 at 12:54 PM UTC
The Way To Dark Justice
Inside The House Of Shadow
I Stand In Darkness
I Open My Wings To Airflow
I Take The Look For Every Weakness
Inside The Dark Cloud You See My Eyes
To Be The First To Witness
I Take You Up, I Hold You Down
To Feel The Chillness
Killing Is My Only Rule
My Whole Augustness
Making the crash in your skull
with one bullet moving so airless
The Scope On My Eyes
and the breath was aptness
To Give you free visa to hell
And pain Rise up To be bigness
Bleeding Your Blood So hard
To take Your Soul in my fitness
Taking the look in That Hole
All What Says you're hopeless
breathing so hard and weakest
And your body Was idleness
Once you leave your body
your mortality will be bodiless
your spirit Will take the freedom
While you was never chariness
deciding to Jump and take the fall
thinking That you Are Making Buisness
Wars and Destruction making River of Blood
to make fear And other things dirtiness
But now I make sure about your elimination
With No Come back To Make the justice
Author / Aladdin Aures Hamdi
Nov 17, 2015
Nov 17, 2015 at 1:33 PM UTC
Is that my name on your tongue?
***** I'm the smoke up in your lungs!
Got that 1930s aptness
crazy off that ****** madness.
These players whining, got emphysema
acting like ******* is the remedy--I
I got rhymes to define my time
ain't nobody expecting
a lyrical mastermind.
But I don't owe you **** and
I ain't got **** to prove
stand toe-to-toe with me
***** I never lose.
I ain't going to beg for your approval
it's this confidence that keeps me youthful.
Jun 14, 2014
Jun 14, 2014 at 4:31 PM UTC
How long do you reckon
it'll take you to read a book
say, of a thousand pages?
Well, it took the intellectual
six months to read, thinking
and considering every page and idea;
the writer took about five months
taking in the aptness and beauty
of each phrase and word;
the teacher took three months,
the librarian two and so did the reviewer -
*but the student, the student did it in just one night,
just the night before the final exams...*
Oct 20, 2014
Oct 20, 2014 at 11:07 PM UTC
Dare the dainty
All in eaves, a dance of we've
Sour regards for a knowing heed, the eclectic key
Wavering in the air, to tell a story of finality
Salt, dust and whatever else
Rhymes with damnation, the tows of veracity
Become like lucky butterflies, the solution in bells
To worth and occur, with a certain mighty...
Sounds of music, to die for
Through the hollow of sunshine we find so warm
The completion of a single thought for avidity, so sore
Has the curiosity of chances, and the decency, only more
Should we shoulder a pathetic distance, from the nerve?
Or is causes guidance, to a realm of liberty ensconced
We woke, and walked to the notion adding, a due friend
With seasons of come, to light the way to sits, of around...
About now
The tale has become ours for a looking have, and the moment gave
Mirrors, seldom fears and a host to what nears
The romance of aptness, for a circle of deem, that has it to save...
Jun 2, 2023
Jun 2, 2023 at 5:17 PM UTC
The most elegantly glimpsed aptness of blue,
So colorfully unique in it's intending,
Of the brightest pastels found inside the Louvre,
In the depth of the sky in it's ever mending.
A cascading stain above as the dawn breaks,
A changing shade away from night brings a warming tone,
The vastness of profundity only seen in Great lakes,
These dripping streams of patiences are not yet overblown.
A color we bleed when we need a companion,
The tint we see in oceans at the eye's length,
And fills the sky on the most stunning day in the Grand Canyon,
The deepest blues are seen in weakness and less in strength.
A chagrining emotional torrent coursing to a commotion,
Water flies above as airy type materialization,
Seeing spirits crushed by the weight of a winter squall Atlantic ocean.
But reveals a illusive blue when in a frozen glaciation,
The most beautiful blue is so intrinsic,
Like the inner part of the flame burning insistent,
But with far more life that is so simplistic,
Whereas my life without blue is nonexistent.
Jan 2, 2014
Jan 2, 2014 at 3:26 PM UTC
Maybe not...
He did bought me bouquet of roses,
Or a box of expensive, assorted chocolates;
I know I just need a piece of flower,
He picked from the ground when we were together.
Maybe not...
He did drove me on our way home,
Every night when we thought every place was our throne;
He was my king and I was his queen,
In our world full of sweetness and beam.
Maybe not...
He did so much effort for me,
I knew it was and will always be him;
Those sincere, dazzling eyes looking at me,
With a promise that I will always daydream.
Maybe not...
We were always in aptness and peace,
On days when we thought our liaison would split;
Anger was spilling right out of our mouths,
But still end up together among of all crowds.
Aug 8, 2015
Aug 8, 2015 at 12:04 AM UTC