"ascending" poems
For Al, who left us
With each passing poem,
The degree of difficulty of diving ever higher,
Bar incrementally niched, inched, raised,
Domain, the association of words, ever lesser,
Repetition verboten, crime against pride.
Al,
You ask me when the words come:
With each passing year,
In the wee hours of
Ever diminishing time snatches,
The hours between midnight and rising,
Shrinkage, once six, now four hours,
Meant for body restoration,
Transpositional for poetic creation,
Only one body notes the new mark,
The digital, numerical clock of
Trillion hour sleep deficit, most taxing.
Al, you ask me from where do the words come:
Each of the five senses compete,
Pick me, Pick me, they shout,
The eyes see the tall grasses
Framing the ferry's to and fro life.
Waving bye bye to the
End of day harbor activities,
Putting your babies to sleep.
The ears hear the boat horns
Deep voiced, demanding pay attention,
I am now docking, I am important,
The sound lingers, long after
They are no longer important.
The tongue tastes the cooling
Italian prosecco merging victoriously
With its ally, the modestly warming rays
Of a September setting sun,
finally declaring, without stuttering,
Peace on Earth.
The odoriferous bay breezes,
A new for that second only smell,
But yet, very old bartender's recipe,
Salt, cooking oil, barbecue sauce, gasoline
And the winning new ingredient, freshly minted,
Stacked in ascending circumference order, onion rings.
These four senses all recombinant,
On the cheek, on the tongue,
Wafting, tickling, blasting, visioning
Merging into a single touch
That my pointer finger, by force majeure,
Declares, here,
poem aborning!
Contract with this moment,
now satisfied!
Al, what you did not ask was this:
With each passing poem,
I am lessened within, expurgated,
In a sense part of me, expunged,
Part of me, passing too,
Every poems birth diminishes me.
_________________________________
(this poem more than most,
for its birth celebrates
my loss, your loss,
which cannot be exonerated 8/7/18)
_________________________________
written at 4:38 AM
September 8th, 2012
Greenport Harbor, Long Island
May 21, 2013
May 21, 2013 at 7:07 AM UTC
“Falling in love” is a contradiction in itself, because in love there is only the rising, the ascending, not the falling.
You can not fall in love, but rather, rise.
Jan 26, 2019
Jan 26, 2019 at 10:15 AM UTC
scent of a woman
sent from god
sends me forever
ascending awed
Mar 3, 2014
Mar 3, 2014 at 1:10 AM UTC
I wish to age like a wrap-around porch
In a thunder storm,
While generations tell tales,
Sipping drinks.
A porch of blinking stars,
A shelter out of rain,
With ascending and descending friends.
I will age like a tree,
Grow stronger in the wind;
Give shade and shelter to all
Beneath my ring-aged limbs.
I wish to age as a river bends,
Contiguous with all shores;
Floating everyone I know
On eternal waters,
A current winding with no rest.
I will age like a star,
Burning bright, giving light,
Something to reach for.
I wish to age like a mountain,
With secret caves and riches.
And you can rock your soul
Around, over or through,
Solid, snow-capped summit,
Beckoning you.
I will age as the moon,
In stages, full and new;
Each night different,
Unnoticeable fading,
As all who age will do.
Jul 8, 2017
Jul 8, 2017 at 7:50 AM UTC
The sounding alarm starts the frenzy
I hurry myself to shower and dress
Slowing just for a moment
To strategically place fragrant surprises
For later explorations.
Accelerating with all urgency
I weave through the blockade of traffic
Risking it all to preserve
Each second, each minute, every moment of time
For my waiting infatuation
Flushes of excitement consume me
As I near my destination
I am overwhelmed with pulsating urges
As I search for a way to impress you
Show advanced appreciation
Welcomed with a sensual eagerness
Each of us knowing and wanting
I ask "Can I play you a tune?"
A Love song plays to a faintness
As you bring me to satisfaction
Then,
Ascending to kiss me softly
You wish me a good day at work.
Wiping excess from your chin
You smile and say "See you tomorrow."
© Tina Thompson
Feb 16, 2012
Feb 16, 2012 at 2:46 PM UTC
***If I were a Rainbow
The children would run to me
Turning upside down, I would be an iridescent swing,
The children would mount my rainbow wing
Swaying high up in the starry skies ascending on the moon
The children do bunny jumps, counting stars till noon
Awestruck and desirous they pick a few
The colours pink purple orange magenta and blue
Swaying down to the flower garden
They would pick flowers from the boughs laden
Threading in a star and a flower into an ornamental garland
Adorned as neckpieces , running around ,making one happy land
If I were a Rainbow
I would dismember all the semicircles making one hula hoop
The children would gleefully twirl and sway into the enormous loop
If I were a Rainbow
I would become one big ramp
The children would joyously roller skate up and down
Lighting up the ramp
If I were a Rainbow
And all of these came true
I would turn upside down making one radiant smile across the sky
The children would happily smile back at me , waving me good bye***
Aug 25, 2017
Aug 25, 2017 at 11:49 PM UTC
He is a link between this and the coming world.
He is
A pure spring from which all thirsty souls may drink.
He is a tree watered by the River of Beauty, bearing
Fruit which the hungry heart craves;
He is a nightingale, soothing the depressed
Spirit with his beautiful melodies;
He is a white cloud appearing over the horizon,
Ascending and growing until it fills the face of the sky.
Then it falls on the flows in the field of Life,
Opening their petals to admit the light.
He is an angel, send by the goddess to
Preach the Deity's gospel;
He is a brilliant lamp, unconquered by darkness
And inextinguishable by the wind. It is filled with
Oil by Istar of Love, and lighted by Apollon of Music.
He is a solitary figure, robed in simplicity and
Kindness; He sits upon the lap of Nature to draw his
Inspiration, and stays up in the silence of the night,
Awaiting the descending of the spirit.
He is a sower who sows the seeds of his heart in the
Prairies of affection, and humanity reaps the
Harvest for her nourishment.
This is the poet -- whom the people ignore in this life,
And who is recognized only when he bids the earthly
World farewell and returns to his arbor in heaven.
This is the poet -- who asks naught of
Humanity but a smile.
This is the poet -- whose spirit ascends and
Fills the firmament with beautiful sayings;
Yet the people deny themselves his radiance.
Until when shall the people remain asleep?
Until when shall they continue to glorify those
Who attain greatness by moments of advantage?
How long shall they ignore those who enable
Them to see the beauty of their spirit,
Symbol of peace and love?
Until when shall human beings honor the dead
And forget the living, who spend their lives
Encircled in misery, and who consume themselves
Like burning candles to illuminate the way
For the ignorant and lead them into the path of light?
Poet, you are the life of this life, and you have
Triumphed over the ages of despite their severity.
Poet, you will one day rule the hearts, and
Therefore, your kingdom has no ending.
Poet, examine your crown of thorns; you will
Find concealed in it a budding wreath of laurel.
8.9k
Utopia Must Be An Invention of the Mind
I have searched long and hard, trying to find that place
where peace and serenity, in our world may yet grace
a chance to meet a dream come true, if only for a few
where pain and suffering are gone, and will never renew
Then I realized, this Utopia I seek, on a map will not be found
still an undiscovered world, whose contemplation will confound
finding some comfort, the thought of my soul ascending on high
no longer to be troubled, suffering on earth never again to decry
A world exists but not for the living, to experience this garden of delight
a place where the happiness of life's dreams, will satiate your appetite
where fear and worries cease, hope and desire now become your reality
trials and tribulations throughout life, ending with that long awaited finality
Maybe Utopia really does exists, but only with extreme effort can you hope to say, it you have acquired
but most people refuse to commit, unwilling to put in the time and effort that is unquestionably required
how mistaken we often are, thinking we can still remain happy, giving up by settling for that much less
only up to the point we are once again challenged, and our daily events again cause us all of our stress
To understand why so many people never seem to be satisfied, no matter what they have, it is never enough
first we must acknowledge the answer might be found in the lies people believe, but most of them are a bluff
Utopia must be an invention of the mind, convincing itself that feelings of joy and happiness are close at hand
seemingly it might then be prudent to maintain this self-deception, since this is what our egos really demand
Although it has been stated time and again that Utopia does not and can not exist, yet we still continue to dream
coming to teach us this great lesson in human psychology, how much for happiness' sake, we're willing to scheme
yet we can take note to the fact that despite our varying differences, this human condition remains constant in us all
our primary need for true happiness is why we can rest assured, invisible Utopia we will forever continue to recall
Jul 30, 2015
Jul 30, 2015 at 2:30 PM UTC
“We could be gods amongst mortals"
“Why be a god when the earth gave me you?”
His slight whisper
Another’s warmth on my hand
Body sculpted like those of gods
Engraved into my own
He is very humane; -
He is gravity;
Retain me against ascending
Pummel my sins
He is water;
Take away my thirst
Drown me when greed takes over
And I am grounded,
I am thirsty,
Lain earthbound onto the ground at his side
Heart aflame far away from Mount Olympus
I am still only ** human.**
Nov 7, 2016
Nov 7, 2016 at 8:09 AM UTC
And like incense our scent takes to the air.
Ascending before we fall.
Her and I.
We burst into fire.
Our eyes a gaseous mixture.
Ignited by the touch of skin.
Kindling the many thoughts we keep of each other.
A crackle blown out.
Accented in desire,
Our yearning ignites.
We hold ourselves unselfish,
Keeping warm.
Separate stems bonded as one.
Our inner voice visible.
Bypassing worry, our doubt.
A piece of us both, dissipating in a slow burning.
To give more than we've taken in unspoken communication.
We fell in ash.
Our scent a prayer sent to heaven.
To always remain this way.
Even after our extinguishing.
May we linger.
Forever more.
Falling fast asleep in each other's arms.
Leading each other to a place we call love.
Until the last ash drops
Apr 23, 2018
Apr 23, 2018 at 9:42 AM UTC
AMBIGRAM VIII
Recto:
Yesterday was Christmas, and the days
already start to grow a little longer.
In our hand, the new year‘s fledgling, stronger
though more fragile too in many ways
than this bedraggled, aging crow, its song a
a sad, repeated phrase among the blackened
trees along a river. So sit back and
raise your glasses to it, do the conga,
auld lang syne, then hit the sack. And black and
white explode, a throng of rainbows—gaze!
You‘ll see it, wakened in the morning haze,
ascending as the tethering s tring is slackened:
Verso:
Yesterday was Christmas, and
the days already start to grow
a little longer. In our hand,
the new year‘s fledgling, stronger though
more fragile too in many ways
than this bedraggled, aging crow,
its song a sad, repeated phrase
among the blackened trees along a
river. So sit back and raise
your glasses to it, do the conga,
auld lang syne, then hit the sack. And
And black and white explode, a throng of
rainbows—gaze! You‘ll see it, wakened
in the morning haze, ascend-
ing as the tethering string is slackened.
AMBIGRAM
Recto:
Yesterday was Christmas, and the days
already start to grow a little longer.
In our hand, the new year‘s fledgling, stronger
though more fragile too in many ways
than this bedraggled, aging crow, its song a
a sad, repeated phrase among the blackened
trees along a river. So sit back and
raise your glasses to it, do the conga,
auld lang syne, then hit the sack. And black and
white explode, a throng of rainbows—gaze!
You‘ll see it, wakened in the morning haze,
ascending as the tethering s tring is slackened:
Verso:
Yesterday was Christmas, and
the days already start to grow
a little longer. In our hand,
the new year‘s fledgling, stronger though
more fragile too in many ways
than this bedraggled, aging crow,
its song a sad, repeated phrase
among the blackened trees along a
river. So sit back and raise
your glasses to it, do the conga,
auld lang syne, then hit the sack. And
And black and white explode, a throng of
rainbows—gaze! You‘ll see it, wakened
in the morning haze, ascend-
ing as the tethering string is slackened.
AMBIGRAM
Recto:
Yesterday was Christmas, and the days
already start to grow a little longer.
In our hand, the new year‘s fledgling, stronger
though more fragile too in many ways
than this bedraggled, aging crow, its song a
a sad, repeated phrase among the blackened
trees along a river. So sit back and
raise your glasses to it, do the conga,
auld lang syne, then hit the sack. And black and
white explode, a throng of rainbows—gaze!
You‘ll see it, wakened in the morning haze,
ascending as the tethering s tring is slackened:
Verso:
Yesterday was Christmas, and
the days already start to grow
a little longer. In our hand,
the new year‘s fledgling, stronger though
more fragile too in many ways
than this bedraggled, aging crow,
its song a sad, repeated phrase
among the blackened trees along a
river. So sit back and raise
your glasses to it, do the conga,
auld lang syne, then hit the sack. And
And black and white explode, a throng of
rainbows—gaze! You‘ll see it, wakened
in the morning haze, ascend-
ing as the tethering string is slackened.
AMBIGRAM
Recto:
Yesterday was Christmas, and the days
already start to grow a little longer.
In our hand, the new year‘s fledgling, stronger
though more fragile too in many ways
than this bedraggled, aging crow, its song a
a sad, repeated phrase among the blackened
trees along a river. So sit back and
raise your glasses to it, do the conga,
auld lang syne, then hit the sack. And black and
white explode, a throng of rainbows—gaze!
You‘ll see it, wakened in the morning haze,
ascending as the tethering s tring is slackened:
Verso:
Yesterday was Christmas, and
the days already start to grow
a little longer. In our hand,
the new year‘s fledgling, stronger though
more fragile too in many ways
than this bedraggled, aging crow,
its song a sad, repeated phrase
among the blackened trees along a
river. So sit back and raise
your glasses to it, do the conga,
auld lang syne, then hit the sack. And
And black and white explode, a throng of
rainbows—gaze! You‘ll see it, wakened
in the morning haze, ascend-
ing as the tethering string is slackened.
Dec 27, 2011
Dec 27, 2011 at 3:26 PM UTC
Can I write you a love song
I’ll sing it softy in your ear all night long
Blow gently without words on my saxophone
Diamond and Pearls behind the throne
A beautiful ensemble meant for only you
As I give credence too
Take my hand
Cross this journey with me as I sing about faraway lands
Past Egypt pyramids shifting Morocco sands
Lay back my love, allow your mind to silently drift
Feel the enchantment of my piano keys as it spiritual uplifts
I’ll sing love songs of old
A cappella chorus echoed from deep within my enlighten soul
I’ll sing to you about the blues, society’s injustice, and elements of darken storms
Keep your heart warm, while playing my French Horn
Enrapture foretold from this dedicated symphonic poem
A music sheet of percussion, woodwind, brass, keyboard, and strings
Harmony carrying the mind away as the joy of coming spring
I’ll hum your favorite beats, can you feel the crescendo now
Fiddle from the heart by the sweat of one’s brow
Submerge your cerebral cortex, lose yourself in the sultry tunes
Harp sounds bathe of light kissed from the illuminating moon
Destiny overcasts in the lyrics
Fate floating stratospheric
Karma of others handled in the eyes of satiric
Opera, I give you so grand in its grace
French Creole dialect murmured among silk and lace
Sounds of my flute resonant to face
Allowing my Cello sounds to thoroughly embrace
Can I write you a love song
Body and soul serenading soprano to keep you standing strong
My guitar stringing your philosophies along
An equal equation, one plus one equals two
Emotions, feelings, sentiments, its tenor expressed only for you
No compass to my heart, my seasonal love found in hidden melodies
Trombone guiding back and forth breathless as it please
Orchestra sounds
Ascending minds, bodies, souls, pass the opening clouds, divine and profound
The last note sung by me as we gradually come down
Beautiful music embraced, needs never to make a sound
Shh, close your eyes
Meditate on the music for a little while
Hush sweet baby don’t say a word
My heart softly tweets to a mockingbird
If that mockingbird don’t sing
Can I write you a love song created only for your being
As minds are sightseeing
Hearts fleeing
Timpani drums guaranteeing
Entwined of our divine wellbeing
Emotions freeing
Crooning of bodies heard as the day is long
Can I write you a love song
Sep 9, 2018
Sep 9, 2018 at 10:39 AM UTC
1450
The Road was lit with Moon and star—
The Trees were bright and still—
Descried I—by the distant Light
A Traveller on a Hill—
To magic Perpendiculars
Ascending, though Terrene—
Unknown his shimmering ultimate—
But he indorsed the sheen—
6.1k
All are architects of Fate,
Working in these walls of Time;
Some with massive deeds and great,
Some with ornaments of rhyme.
Nothing useless is, or low;
Each thing in its place is best;
And what seems but idle show
Strengthens and supports the rest.
For the structure that we raise,
Time is with materials filled;
Our to-days and yesterdays
Are the blocks with which we build.
Truly shape and fashion these;
Leave no yawning gaps between;
Think not, because no man sees,
Such things will remain unseen.
In the elder days of Art,
Builders wrought with greatest care
Each minute and unseen part;
For the Gods see everywhere.
Let us do out work as well,
Both the unseen and the seen;
Make the house, where Gods may dwell,
Beautiful, entire, and clean.
Else our lives are incomplete,
Standing in these walls of Time,
Broken stairways, where the feet
Stumble as they seek to climb.
Build to-day, then, strong and sure,
With a firm and ample base;
And ascending and secure
Shall to-morrow find its place.
Thus alone can we attain
To those turrets, where the eye
Sees the world as one vast plain,
And one boundless reach of sky.
5.6k
the tectonic plates
in me
are shifting
as our continents
approach collide
my ocean is
getting closer
to the mountains
on your landscape
tallest grasses blowing
in wild demon dance,
shaking their
heads as heated
storm approaches
oven-baked air crackling
with its own
electric currents
Nothing can stop it
it's a magnetic force
one to be
reckoned with
surrendered to
as dust foams
like ocean froth
around our heads
clinging to us in tiny
starlit fragments
and soon will come
the slick dive into
wordless waters,
just skin on skin
slippery mouth muscles
like entwined snakes
flick-flicking, shiny
in eye-lit cherry moons
Take my hand.
Just pull me in.
Enfold me,
without talking
watch as my aura
rushes into you,
first a delicate whisk
of cool light
to slake the thirst
of coal-licked caverns
then sparks
and bubbling oxidation
turning into liquid brushfire
Hold your palm
to my chest,
as if to keep
my heart steady,
my glowing flare of halo
pressed into your
clavicle, taking in
the embryonic beats
soothing my torrid ache,
infusing minerals
in vitamin-laced libation
It is time to simply bask
in the new
crispness of radical
shake off
the silt and salt
and rise up
into the spheres
of memory
of soulspeak
of collapsed time zones
budded breath
spiraling up
in curls,
diaphanous
dark mist
ascending
into
light
Jul 27, 2017
Jul 27, 2017 at 6:08 PM UTC
I'll ravage your flesh with a ferocious hunger,
devoid of any restraint or inhibition, as I immerse myself
in the pursuit of satiating my most primal desires.
With every inhale, the intoxicating scent of your flower
captivates my senses, leaving me lusting for the delectable
sweetness that lies within. It's a flavor that seduces like a
symphony playing upon my taste buds, awakening an insatiable
craving that consumes me from within.
So, my love, settle upon my tongue and allow yourself to
indulge in the enchanting sensations that await you there.
Feel the heat of my breath mingling with your essence, teasing
and coaxing, guiding you towards the pinnacle of pleasure.
As the strands of your hair intertwine with my grasp, I will
shape our movements with unwavering confidence, leading you
through the tumultuous symphony of our desire.
In my presence, the strength of our connection will resonate
through every fiber of your being.
Your legs will surrender to their trembling under the weight of
our intense union, while your heart and soul collide with a force
so powerful it leaves no doubts or hesitation in your mind.
You will know, without the shadow of a doubt, that you
belong to me and me alone.
And allow me to confess, my darling, that my words possess
a hypnotic quality that penetrates your very core.
Even before my teeth sink into the tender flesh of your neck,
my lips will grace its surface, ascending its contours like
a mountaineer seeking the highest summit.
With every touch, every caress, the walls within you will
yield gradually and willingly, testaments to the profound pleasure
I offer and the ecstasy we create together.
As our passionate encounter reaches its zenith, I want you to
revel in the knowledge that every moment has been a sensational surrender to the depths of desire.
My whispers, soft as silk against your ear, will affirm the
undeniable truth that our connection is beyond question or doubt.
It is a truth that we share, etched upon our very beings, binding
us together in an unbreakable bond.
In the end, my love, there is no room for uncertainty.
Your complete and utter enjoyment of our encounters is not
a mere fleeting possibility but an irrefutable reality that we
both embrace. In the whispers of our ecstasy, in the echoes
of our connection, the affirmation resounds loudly and clearly:
__You belong to me, my love... and forevermore,
you shall remain mine and mine alone.__
Feb 10, 2024
Feb 10, 2024 at 12:08 PM UTC
Clasp of silvers twice as thin as each other
Both flat to end in its impact
Its echo does not repeat but lingers like static that makes you think of gold.
Drifting in an ascending melody that
Climbs the senses in your ears as much as your skin.
They lead us steadily
To the edge of the mountains and then stops abruptly.
Stopped incredibly as if it's afraid and timid.
Strings play so thinly as each are all skinny.
A miracle moving like smoke and gas welcomes her.
Slow dance in arpeggios, a glimpse of perfection for harmony, tip by tip
And in her quiver
She laments she'll wait forever.
Forever it may be til she is in the arms of the lover.
For the end of all thousand Decembers and Januarys
Undyingly and endlessly.
Anywhere you go
Seek the thunder you wander far and near, wide and narrow.
Until I hear you sigh
Until you stop holding your breath under the brim of our wishing well.
May 2, 2018
May 2, 2018 at 8:29 AM UTC
I’ll protect the innocent
even while I may proclaim
my deep regard for who they are
controversy may be exclaimed
guiltless stated for my friends
this word is used at its most broad
when all children of the divine
deserve their refuge from abuse
even while I seek to proclaim
my admiration for their grit
stepping outside confining realms
leading the way for this questing one
on the shoulders of the perverse
this is how the public may respond
declaring wisdom I don’t share
when I see threads of commonality
in my heart I know we are the same
seeking power in our own way
being true to ourselves
while expressing how we live
humanity searching for a voice
I’ll add mine to the chorus
admitting that I’ve fallen far
while ascending to the heights
spectrums ranged in pursuit
my honest nature at last found
though at first I wrongly thought
I was alone when I was not
the free spirits led the way
I wish my voice could exclaim
and still I hold back my breath
protecting innocent like myself.
© 2018. Sean Green. All Rights Reserved. 20180909.
Sep 9, 2018
Sep 9, 2018 at 10:57 PM UTC
MESSENGER
Now at the Seventh Gate the seventh chief,
Thy proper mother's son, I will announce,
What fortune for this city, for himself,
With curses he invoketh:--on the walls
Ascending, heralded as king, to stand,
With paeans for their capture; then with thee
To fight, and either slaying near thee die,
Or thee, who wronged him, chasing forth alive,
Requite in kind his proper banishment.
Such words he shouts, and calls upon the gods
Who o'er his race preside and Fatherland,
With gracious eye to look upon his prayers.
A well-wrought buckler, newly forged, he bears,
With twofold blazon riveted thereon,
For there a woman leads, with sober mien,
A mailed warrior, enchased in gold;
Justice her style, and thus the legend speaks:--
'This man I will restore, and he shall hold
The city and his father's palace homes.'
Such the devices of the hostile chiefs.
'Tis for thyself to choose whom thou wilt send;
But never shalt thou blame my herald-words.
To guide the rudder of the State be thine!
ETEOCLES
O heaven-demented race of Oedipus,
My race, tear-fraught, detested of the gods!
Alas, our father's curses now bear fruit.
But it beseems not to lament or weep,
Lest lamentations sadder still be born.
For him, too truly Polyneikes named,--
What his device will work we soon shall know;
Whether his braggart words, with madness fraught,
Gold-blazoned on his shield, shall lead him back.
Hath Justice communed with, or claimed him hers,
Guided his deeds and thoughts, this might have been;
But neither when he fled the darksome womb,
Or in his childhood, or in youth's fair prime,
Or when the hair thick gathered on his chin,
Hath Justice communed with, or claimed him hers,
Nor in this outrage on his Fatherland
Deem I she now beside him deigns to stand.
For Justice would in sooth belie her name,
Did she with this all-daring man consort.
In these regards confiding will I go,
Myself will meet him. Who with better right?
Brother to brother, chieftain against chief,
Foeman to foe, I'll stand. Quick, bring my spear,
My greaves, and armor, bulwark against stones.
4.8k
(and I cannot live
from with-out)
<>
a poem in appreciation to Rossella Di Paolo
<>
I, too:
- am an embryonic work in progress,
well into my seventh decade, with no ending in sight
I too,
live in the house of poetry, the address likely differs,
but suspect the innards of the houses differs little,
the decor, quite similar
- my house shrewdly requests a rethinking,
noting, it lives my artifice,
with in & with out
Then, we are a We:
- my cavities house her, She, Poetry is of Ruth (1) born,
- Poetry, She, reminds me, ”whither thou goest, I will go”
This duality:
- where the haunting of words providential,
emanate, both inhabiting & inhibits my breathing
She, a fearsome creature, a fearful-something,
for it tears me and shreds tears its demands be wrung
from with in to with out
She, Poetry:
- leaves me gaping, hollow, fills me with
depressurizing boreholes exposed to the elements of
externalities of an admixed atmospheres, that nature demands be refilled, fresh in, stale out,
for which the artifice trick is knowing which is which
when Poetry’s birthing:
- chest pounds, heart-rate beats heavy metal,
abdomen contracts, there then, no languid in my language,
no help untangling the alpha-bet jumbling,
product of the screams of pushing,
squeezing it forth*
*you’re hoping to quick-catch newly formed combinations,
for if you fail, a poem
noisily crashes to and through the floorboard cracks,
where poetry’s chaotic glinting etes
maliciously glimmer~winks at me
with a sarcastic thank you*
*“ah, too bad, another creation stillborn,
gone to rest, biting the nether dust,
without hope of resuscitation…”*
just another unfinished work in progress
periodically
a survivor clean caught, transcribed, edited to be finished,
amniotic fluids cleared,
poem resurrected
blessed with eternal life,
readied to be shared and delivered,
affirmed
and you say to no one and to everyone:
this poem will be our poem,
wither it goes, ascending, descending,
all live in the house of poets,
one house,
many apartments,
each poem a god,
and
my God will be our God,
your God, my God,
in the House of Poetry
Jun 21, 2023
Jun 21, 2023 at 5:55 PM UTC
I clenched my fist and gritted my teeth as I gulped;
My head tilted upwards and stared at the sky filled with the
blue color that reminds me of your eyes filled with
wonders, trying not to look directly into the windows of your
soul;
I did all these not to suppress my anger, but something even more
difficult;
But no matter what I do, everything is not under my
control and will
never be
For these tears still streamed down my cheeks filled with deep sorrow and melancholy;
Yes, it's hard;
It's making me bleed so much that I feel like I'm dying yet still continuing to
breathe;
It's far more arduous than any predicament that I have encountered in my whole existence;
Yet I still have to do it;
For I cannot continue any longer to hurt you by offering you my heart, my dear;
As you continue to heal and purify all my sins
While all I ever do is
corrupt
your soul and drag you in the the deepest and darkest abyss that I call
home;
Darling, I am now setting you free and breaking the chains that
restrict
you from ascending into the
limitless sky where you truly
belong, so flap you wings
and fly to your
well-being;
Goodbye.
Jul 26, 2018
Jul 26, 2018 at 1:40 PM UTC
As the stars shine in the dark night sky, my heart shines upon your soul.
The flame encases them, flowing through them, around them
Descending upon the earth they separate
Journeying to find each other again
I will never stop seeing you for what you are.
Her eyes are a fiery world of emotion, volcanic
The depth is endless, shaken from the reality of this world
Soft gentle skin, smooth, unseen perfection
Her mind an endless ocean of thought
She breathes, searching, for the flame that burns within
His mind battered from the constant misunderstanding
The past is over and his new beginning is overdue
Searching for the taste of all that he knows, Searching for the flame that burns within
The universe sets it’s plan in motion
It’s an inevitable fate
Two souls searching, working toward this certain conclusion.
The flame is cast, frequency’s align
Ascending far above the earth
The flames merge once again, bound by destiny
And again the flame encases them, following them into eternity
Forever searching for the merging of the twin flame.
Feb 14, 2015
Feb 14, 2015 at 8:34 PM UTC
Similiter et omnes revereantur Diaconos, ut
mandatum Jesu Christi; et Episcopum, ut Jesum
Christum, existentem filium Patris; Presbyteros
autem, ut concilium Dei et conjunctionem
Apostolorum. Sine his Ecclesia non vocatur; de
quibus suadeo vos sic habeo.
S. Ignatii Ad Trallianos.
And when this epistle is read among you, cause that
it be read also in the church of the Laodiceans.
The broad-backed hippopotamus
Rests on his belly in the mud;
Although he seems so firm to us
He is merely flesh and blood.
Flesh and blood is weak and frail,
Susceptible to nervous shock;
While the True Church can never fail
For it is based upon a rock.
The hippo’s feeble steps may err
In compassing material ends,
While the True Church need never stir
To gather in its dividends.
The ‘potamus can never reach
The mango on the mango-tree;
But fruits of pomegranate and peach
Refresh the Church from over sea.
At mating time the hippo’s voice
Betrays inflexions hoarse and odd,
But every week we hear rejoice
The Church, at being one with God.
The hippopotamus’s day
Is passed in sleep; at night he hunts;
God works in a mysterious way—
The Church can sleep and feed at once.
I saw the ‘potamus take wing
Ascending from the damp savannas,
And quiring angels round him sing
The praise of God, in loud hosannas.
Blood of the Lamb shall wash him clean
And him shall heavenly arms enfold,
Among the saints he shall be seen
Performing on a harp of gold.
He shall be washed as white as snow,
By all the martyr’d virgins kist,
While the True Church remains below
Wrapt in the old miasmal mist.
4.7k
Floating on a breeze
Floating in my dreams
Suspended like a feather
Blowing on the winds
Of my mind
Blowing wherever it pleases
Flying along
Rising and ascending
Falling and descending
Only to rest on the earth
Once again
Aug 29, 2012
Aug 29, 2012 at 11:37 PM UTC