"avenues" poems - Hello Poetry

"avenues" poems

a connotation of infinity sharpens the temporal splendor of this night when souls which have forgot frivolity in lowliness,noting the fatal flight of worlds whereto this earth’s a hurled dream down eager avenues of lifelessness consider for how much themselves shall gleam, in the poised radiance of perpetualness. When what’s in velvet beyond doomed thought is like a woman amorous to be known; and man,whose here is alway worse than naught, feels the tremendous yonder for his own— on such a night the sea through her blind miles of crumbling silence seriously smiles

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76.1k

A Connotation Of Infinity

a connotation of infinity sharpens the temporal splendor of this night when souls which have forgot frivolity in lowliness,noting the fatal flight of worlds whereto this earth’s a hurled dream down eager avenues of lifelessness consider for how much themselves shall gleam, in the poised radiance of perpetualness. When what’s in velvet beyond doomed thought is like a woman amorous to be known; and man,whose here is alway worse than naught, feels the tremendous yonder for his own— on such a night the sea through her blind miles of crumbling silence seriously smiles

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It was golden and splendid, That City of light; A vision suspended In deeps of the night; A region of wonder and glory, whose temples were marble and white. I remember the season It dawn'd on my gaze; The mad time of unreason, The brain-numbing days When Winter, white-sheeted and ghastly, stalks onward to torture and craze. More lovely than Zion It shone in the sky When the beams of Orion Beclouded my eye, Bringing sleep that was filled with dim mem'ries of moments obscure and gone by. Its mansions were stately, With carvings made fair, Each rising sedately On terraces rare, And the gardens were fragrant and bright with strange miracles blossoming there. The avenues lur'd me With vistas sublime; Tall arches assur'd me That once on a time I had wander'd in rapture beneath them, and bask'd in the Halcyon clime. On the plazas were standing A sculptur'd array; Long bearded, commanding, rave men in their day— But one stood dismantled and broken, its bearded face battered away. In that city effulgent No mortal I saw, But my fancy, indulgent To memory's law, Linger'd long on the forms in the plazas, and eyed their stone features with awe. I fann'd the faint ember That glow'd in my mind, And strove to remember The aeons behind; &

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21.4k

It was golden and splendid, That City of light; A vision suspended In deeps of the night; A region of wonder and glory, whose temples were marble and white. I remember the season It dawn'd on my gaze; The mad time of unreason, The brain-numbing days When Winter, white-sheeted and ghastly, stalks onward to torture and craze. More lovely than Zion It shone in the sky When the beams of Orion Beclouded my eye, Bringing sleep that was filled with dim mem'ries of moments obscure and gone by. Its mansions were stately, With carvings made fair, Each rising sedately On terraces rare, And the gardens were fragrant and bright with strange miracles blossoming there. The avenues lur'd me With vistas sublime; Tall arches assur'd me That once on a time I had wander'd in rapture beneath them, and bask'd in the Halcyon clime. On the plazas were standing A sculptur'd array; Long bearded, commanding, rave men in their day— But one stood dismantled and broken, its bearded face battered away. In that city effulgent No mortal I saw, But my fancy, indulgent To memory's law, Linger'd long on the forms in the plazas, and eyed their stone features with awe. I fann'd the faint ember That glow'd in my mind, And strove to remember The aeons behind; &

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In love they wore themselves in a green embrace. A silken rain fell through the spring upon them. In the park she fed the swans and he whittled nervously with his strange hands. And white was mixed with all their colours as if they drew it from the flowering trees. At night his two finger whistle brought her down the waterfall stairs to his shy smile which like an eddy, turned her round and round lazily and slowly so her will was nowhere—as in dreams things are and aren't. Walking along avenues in the dark street lamps sang like sopranos in their heads with a voilence they never understood and all their movements when they were together had no conclusion. Only leaning into the question had they motion; after they parted were savage and swift as gulls. asking and asking the hostile emptiness they were as sharp as partly sculptured stone and all who watched, forgetting, were amazed to see them form and fade before their eyes.

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19.9k

In love they wore themselves in a green embrace. A silken rain fell through the spring upon them. In the park she fed the swans and he whittled nervously with his strange hands. And white was mixed with all their colours as if they drew it from the flowering trees. At night his two finger whistle brought her down the waterfall stairs to his shy smile which like an eddy, turned her round and round lazily and slowly so her will was nowhere—as in dreams things are and aren't. Walking along avenues in the dark street lamps sang like sopranos in their heads with a voilence they never understood and all their movements when they were together had no conclusion. Only leaning into the question had they motion; after they parted were savage and swift as gulls. asking and asking the hostile emptiness they were as sharp as partly sculptured stone and all who watched, forgetting, were amazed to see them form and fade before their eyes.

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I even hear the mountains the way they laugh up and down their blue sides and down in the water the fish cry and the water is their tears. I listen to the water on nights I drink away and the sadness becomes so great I hear it in my clock it becomes knobs upon my dresser it becomes paper on the floor it becomes a shoehorn a laundry ticket it becomes cigarette smoke climbing a chapel of dark vines. . . it matters little very little love is not so bad or very little life what counts is waiting on walls I was born for this I was born to hustle roses down the avenues of the dead.

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14.9k

Charles Bukowski

Consummation Of Grief

I even hear the mountains the way they laugh up and down their blue sides and down in the water the fish cry and the water is their tears. I listen to the water on nights I drink away and the sadness becomes so great I hear it in my clock it becomes knobs upon my dresser it becomes paper on the floor it becomes a shoehorn a laundry ticket it becomes cigarette smoke climbing a chapel of dark vines. . . it matters little very little love is not so bad or very little life what counts is waiting on walls I was born for this I was born to hustle roses down the avenues of the dead.

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Sometimes she walks through the village in her little red dress all absorbed in restraining herself, and yet, despite herself, she seems to move according to the rhythm of her life to come. She runs a bit, hesitates, stops, half-turns around... and, all while dreaming, shakes her head for or against. Then she dances a few steps that she invents and forgets, no doubt finding out that life moves on too fast. It's not so much that she steps out of the small body enclosing her, but that all she carries in herself frolics and ferments. It's this dress that she'll remember later in a sweet surrender; when her whole life is full of risks, the little red dress will always seem right. Lord: it is time. The summer was immense. Lay your shadow on the sundials and let loose the wind in the fields. Bid the last fruits to be full; give them another two more southerly days, press them to ripeness, and chase the last sweetness into the heavy wine. Whoever has no house now will not build one anymore. Whoever is alone now will remain so for a long time, will stay up, read, write long letters, and wander the avenues, up and down, restlessly, while the leaves are blowing.

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13.4k

Rainer Maria Rilke

Sometimes she walks through the village in her little red dress all absorbed in restraining herself, and yet, despite herself, she seems to move according to the rhythm of her life to come. She runs a bit, hesitates, stops, half-turns around... and, all while dreaming, shakes her head for or against. Then she dances a few steps that she invents and forgets, no doubt finding out that life moves on too fast. It's not so much that she steps out of the small body enclosing her, but that all she carries in herself frolics and ferments. It's this dress that she'll remember later in a sweet surrender; when her whole life is full of risks, the little red dress will always seem right. Lord: it is time. The summer was immense. Lay your shadow on the sundials and let loose the wind in the fields. Bid the last fruits to be full; give them another two more southerly days, press them to ripeness, and chase the last sweetness into the heavy wine. Whoever has no house now will not build one anymore. Whoever is alone now will remain so for a long time, will stay up, read, write long letters, and wander the avenues, up and down, restlessly, while the leaves are blowing.

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And now there would come a time a swift sharp clock on the bed Blaring its little chime in between the hard bells Like an angry little arm Charming if not for the alarm And everyday I slap the face of it Like an unwanted ***** And she is silenced Quick unlike Said chick But I am a cruel guy and have no sense of wet and dry Nor cool or heat There's nothing bothering me Time just ticks off and I laugh at it But my cells divide and turn into little old protoplasmic men And yet I am not called upon them Because they are stupidly designed and I have no sympathy for arts and crafts No masterman who failing to raise his hand Clams up With such poor artwork Slap that ***** in the dilapidated sistan Now In San Francisco Where the alley streets stink of *** And the European facades are just that Crumbling Poopy And full of **** And what yet are they dreaming to be? The church that survived fire Great conflagration God didn't make a rainbow at the end of that, Now did he? He's a water-sign Dolt And water only jolts your mind When it scatters true light, Ain't that right? But it's all the same Just different hues And the news Isn't new Just Blaring and yelling And speeding television crews Riding their stories Up and down the many stories Trying to build a city of angels On a bituminous hill Shills No life skills And I walk the city streets with a ugly old leather Brief Casing the joints and rolling my own Unhappy and alone Kerouac and the dreams on the monangular input where the triangular avenues meet And he has no road While airplanes shake their jets on the tarmac and trebuchet into the air Going god knows where Seeing a new piece of the sculpted pinball Perpetually trapped in the machine How bout Nippon Or Hangujin Or Han Chinese Or Berlin Anywhere but when A little ways along the state Of "in" All these strange things

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Aug 16, 2018

Aug 16, 2018 at 3:00 PM UTC

That ******* from Pastebin or 10it or whatever

And now there would come a time a swift sharp clock on the bed Blaring its little chime in between the hard bells Like an angry little arm Charming if not for the alarm And everyday I slap the face of it Like an unwanted ***** And she is silenced Quick unlike Said chick But I am a cruel guy and have no sense of wet and dry Nor cool or heat There's nothing bothering me Time just ticks off and I laugh at it But my cells divide and turn into little old protoplasmic men And yet I am not called upon them Because they are stupidly designed and I have no sympathy for arts and crafts No masterman who failing to raise his hand Clams up With such poor artwork Slap that ***** in the dilapidated sistan Now In San Francisco Where the alley streets stink of *** And the European facades are just that Crumbling Poopy And full of **** And what yet are they dreaming to be? The church that survived fire Great conflagration God didn't make a rainbow at the end of that, Now did he? He's a water-sign Dolt And water only jolts your mind When it scatters true light, Ain't that right? But it's all the same Just different hues And the news Isn't new Just Blaring and yelling And speeding television crews Riding their stories Up and down the many stories Trying to build a city of angels On a bituminous hill Shills No life skills And I walk the city streets with a ugly old leather Brief Casing the joints and rolling my own Unhappy and alone Kerouac and the dreams on the monangular input where the triangular avenues meet And he has no road While airplanes shake their jets on the tarmac and trebuchet into the air Going god knows where Seeing a new piece of the sculpted pinball Perpetually trapped in the machine How bout Nippon Or Hangujin Or Han Chinese Or Berlin Anywhere but when A little ways along the state Of "in" All these strange things

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We find multiple ways to disconnect Where business and technology intersect We kick one another for cash When we need equilibrium for our economy Our morals disintegrate to ash And we trade away our autonomy But we don't dare reflect Instead we disconnect We turn people into symbols and numbers So we can more comfortably slumber After causing heartbreaking pain Through bureaucratic chains Because face to face Our heart will race And we'll examine our submerged morals That lie in the depths with the coral But our reflection is too much to bear So we cowardly choose not to care The only way we can feel ecstatic Is to turn people into demographics The Internet connects us But also satisfies lust And imitates human contact Which has a negative impact The feeling leaves us sated And we don't feel the need to change Our armor becomes plated And we shoot arrows from long range Because we don't like the idea of being one another We get used to the idea of not seeing one another We disconnect so we don't have to try We disconnect so we can slowly die The ****** disconnection continues As we find more violent avenues We utilize fatal instruments To ****** without the sense Of physically feeling The life we're stealing We stabbed one another with swords Until the bullets soared But we still needed more So we disconnected further And became satellite searchers Studying people through actions Defining them by faction We don't have any interest in their personality or flaws All we're concerned with is if they're breaking the law The law we wrote to tip the scales The law that makes us too big to fail A husband leaves his wife Disconnecting from her life She's left with a child To raise in the wild Until a drone drops a bomb On the struggling single mom She's not an investor So we'll just harvest her worthless life Who'll be her protector When she's near someone we don't like? We **** her from our computer That's the way we casually mute her We carefully cultivated a disconnect To treat one another like insects This mentality will infect Until we interject Once we finally reflect Love will connect

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Oct 26, 2017

Oct 26, 2017 at 6:09 AM UTC

We find multiple ways to disconnect Where business and technology intersect We kick one another for cash When we need equilibrium for our economy Our morals disintegrate to ash And we trade away our autonomy But we don't dare reflect Instead we disconnect We turn people into symbols and numbers So we can more comfortably slumber After causing heartbreaking pain Through bureaucratic chains Because face to face Our heart will race And we'll examine our submerged morals That lie in the depths with the coral But our reflection is too much to bear So we cowardly choose not to care The only way we can feel ecstatic Is to turn people into demographics The Internet connects us But also satisfies lust And imitates human contact Which has a negative impact The feeling leaves us sated And we don't feel the need to change Our armor becomes plated And we shoot arrows from long range Because we don't like the idea of being one another We get used to the idea of not seeing one another We disconnect so we don't have to try We disconnect so we can slowly die The ****** disconnection continues As we find more violent avenues We utilize fatal instruments To ****** without the sense Of physically feeling The life we're stealing We stabbed one another with swords Until the bullets soared But we still needed more So we disconnected further And became satellite searchers Studying people through actions Defining them by faction We don't have any interest in their personality or flaws All we're concerned with is if they're breaking the law The law we wrote to tip the scales The law that makes us too big to fail A husband leaves his wife Disconnecting from her life She's left with a child To raise in the wild Until a drone drops a bomb On the struggling single mom She's not an investor So we'll just harvest her worthless life Who'll be her protector When she's near someone we don't like? We **** her from our computer That's the way we casually mute her We carefully cultivated a disconnect To treat one another like insects This mentality will infect Until we interject Once we finally reflect Love will connect

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O xxxXxxx 0 0 O / ( ( \ ###### On the ancient avenue ( you are there ! I seen ! ) •• Years and years ||||| The story is still your own • ( I seen ) ///////// Me and the 1000 friends of mine We surely seen you there ••• Days of Power days of Grace On those ancient avenues •• ((( Weren't no politicians then ))) ((( Weren't no police ))) /// Back then Don't you remember ? ||| Many hopes were mentioned Many promises made Amid the general love affair •• Out on those ancient avenues We // Saw each other truly And were glad ///// Home //// Come From these vastly polluted streets To the strong humanity And the pure community Where we belong

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Dec 29, 2014

Dec 29, 2014 at 12:31 AM UTC

O xxxXxxx 0 0 O / ( ( \ ###### On the ancient avenue ( you are there ! I seen ! ) •• Years and years ||||| The story is still your own • ( I seen ) ///////// Me and the 1000 friends of mine We surely seen you there ••• Days of Power days of Grace On those ancient avenues •• ((( Weren't no politicians then ))) ((( Weren't no police ))) /// Back then Don't you remember ? ||| Many hopes were mentioned Many promises made Amid the general love affair •• Out on those ancient avenues We // Saw each other truly And were glad ///// Home //// Come From these vastly polluted streets To the strong humanity And the pure community Where we belong

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Upper East Side The Hamptons Aspen, Colorado The plastic people Follow each other Moving in herds Like cattle to the Slaughter Drifting Floating Shifting focus From one charity event To another Whatever’s trendy Whatever’s fashionable Whatever’s happ’ning Whatever’s the need Tainted new artists Society’s rejects The film-maker who fits in with The flavor of the month The disease or the cause That captures the moment Stigmas overlooked Deformities relieved By one hyper exertion By one pseudo good deed Changing bedrooms Changing partners New alliances Noblesse oblige Mrs. Astor’s Four hundred Reinvented forever Reinvented with fervor On the edge Of hypocrisy Keeping up with the Jones’s Maintaining the houses Paris, Rome, Cote du Jura Malibu, Palm Beach Couture fashion Madison, Rodeo Worth avenues united Avenues of the liege Location, location, location The right address unspoken Dinner in the right places Sporting events to be seen Three martini luncheons Halcion evenings Business is business Where money’s retrieved Look to plastic people For fashionable guidance No matter the moment No matter the need Remember to catch them While jetting to Santa Barbara Saint Maarten, San Troupe San Marco, warp speed They live in their milieu Can’t function outside it Can’t follow a shadow That others believe It’s easy to find them They leave behind footprints But barely a mem’ry Or singular creed Other than finding The latest in fashion The latest persona Or new plastic breed

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Aug 8, 2018

Aug 8, 2018 at 8:19 AM UTC

Upper East Side The Hamptons Aspen, Colorado The plastic people Follow each other Moving in herds Like cattle to the Slaughter Drifting Floating Shifting focus From one charity event To another Whatever’s trendy Whatever’s fashionable Whatever’s happ’ning Whatever’s the need Tainted new artists Society’s rejects The film-maker who fits in with The flavor of the month The disease or the cause That captures the moment Stigmas overlooked Deformities relieved By one hyper exertion By one pseudo good deed Changing bedrooms Changing partners New alliances Noblesse oblige Mrs. Astor’s Four hundred Reinvented forever Reinvented with fervor On the edge Of hypocrisy Keeping up with the Jones’s Maintaining the houses Paris, Rome, Cote du Jura Malibu, Palm Beach Couture fashion Madison, Rodeo Worth avenues united Avenues of the liege Location, location, location The right address unspoken Dinner in the right places Sporting events to be seen Three martini luncheons Halcion evenings Business is business Where money’s retrieved Look to plastic people For fashionable guidance No matter the moment No matter the need Remember to catch them While jetting to Santa Barbara Saint Maarten, San Troupe San Marco, warp speed They live in their milieu Can’t function outside it Can’t follow a shadow That others believe It’s easy to find them They leave behind footprints But barely a mem’ry Or singular creed Other than finding The latest in fashion The latest persona Or new plastic breed

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In the elevation of spirit, I am seperated; Drawn apart from the land-dwellers, I am propelled into the arms of clouds. Eagerly embracing my new fate amongst stars, I rewrite the patterns that form my destiny, As a god amidst the heavens. I fabricate new avenues as I venture, Liberated from the fetters of ground, I find freedom - escaping to new planes. My sole duty to self, Uplifting ego; regal in posture, I am kept aloft of storms in my flight; A seer, with third eye opening To envision silver linings and goals. And even in my solitude I am connected, Solar energy soaring through veins, Spreading wings to swallow sun, I fly with Nut, drifting in meditation, Each breath an inhalation of frequencies. As subtle as Oshun, I am deity as tranquil as stream, Unbounded and infinite; A soul of fire, air, ice and earth. I am element, atom, and energy, One with universe, a sound ensemble, I am cosmic pneuma - A human.

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Aug 11, 2021

Aug 11, 2021 at 8:50 AM UTC

writing_withoutwalls

"Celestial" - Chris'Nell

In the elevation of spirit, I am seperated; Drawn apart from the land-dwellers, I am propelled into the arms of clouds. Eagerly embracing my new fate amongst stars, I rewrite the patterns that form my destiny, As a god amidst the heavens. I fabricate new avenues as I venture, Liberated from the fetters of ground, I find freedom - escaping to new planes. My sole duty to self, Uplifting ego; regal in posture, I am kept aloft of storms in my flight; A seer, with third eye opening To envision silver linings and goals. And even in my solitude I am connected, Solar energy soaring through veins, Spreading wings to swallow sun, I fly with Nut, drifting in meditation, Each breath an inhalation of frequencies. As subtle as Oshun, I am deity as tranquil as stream, Unbounded and infinite; A soul of fire, air, ice and earth. I am element, atom, and energy, One with universe, a sound ensemble, I am cosmic pneuma - A human.

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There are worse places to be There are better Avenues of everything I’ve ever dreamt of Stretch out before me like a baby’s crumpled arms Rugs pave the broken road Soothing the wavy maze of souks and bazaars Covered in blemishes Riddled with secret treasures Untameable animals scour the pathways Searching for forgotten scraps Shadows live in contrast to the midday sun Hiding fallen beggars Lying twisted on the ground Juxtaposition of beauty and pain unfolds Poised in the blameless blue sky A tower rises over the horizon Desperation pours out of every cracked brick And a prayer floats out to the market It is perfection, of a kind. The streets are not innocent They have seen and heard and felt Every wrong in the world Afternoon heat of the square suffocates me I’m lost in an array of people and materials Drowning in the swirling language Eyes stinging amongst the dusty chaos Rain Eats away the market’s life, Dampening red-hot brick walls. Corrupted skies cry. There are worse places to be There are better

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Jan 12, 2014

Jan 12, 2014 at 8:41 AM UTC

dissolve-in-the-sky

There are worse places to be There are better Avenues of everything I’ve ever dreamt of Stretch out before me like a baby’s crumpled arms Rugs pave the broken road Soothing the wavy maze of souks and bazaars Covered in blemishes Riddled with secret treasures Untameable animals scour the pathways Searching for forgotten scraps Shadows live in contrast to the midday sun Hiding fallen beggars Lying twisted on the ground Juxtaposition of beauty and pain unfolds Poised in the blameless blue sky A tower rises over the horizon Desperation pours out of every cracked brick And a prayer floats out to the market It is perfection, of a kind. The streets are not innocent They have seen and heard and felt Every wrong in the world Afternoon heat of the square suffocates me I’m lost in an array of people and materials Drowning in the swirling language Eyes stinging amongst the dusty chaos Rain Eats away the market’s life, Dampening red-hot brick walls. Corrupted skies cry. There are worse places to be There are better

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I understand. That you are frustrated. Alone like a dot. In the puzzle of your routine. I know. How thoughts can become clocks. The terrifying performance of repeat. I share it. Your idea of total estrangement. Blonde avenues without a silver soul. I believe you. Those sharp ideas to break free. To be ruled by pure impulse. I’ve got your back. That plan to draw meaning. To assist others to pleasure. I realize that too. That you’re at the edge of the night. That you’ve got goosebumps as stars on your skin. I do not deny it. The vastness of every unused minute. Cold, the cold bored instant. I share your opposition. To the lake of doubt that drowns the hope. To the ache of death that drives the howl. I understand. How small a part of life can sting. I know. That you are frustrated. Alone like a dot .

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Nov 20, 2018

Nov 20, 2018 at 10:17 AM UTC

I understand. That you are frustrated. Alone like a dot. In the puzzle of your routine. I know. How thoughts can become clocks. The terrifying performance of repeat. I share it. Your idea of total estrangement. Blonde avenues without a silver soul. I believe you. Those sharp ideas to break free. To be ruled by pure impulse. I’ve got your back. That plan to draw meaning. To assist others to pleasure. I realize that too. That you’re at the edge of the night. That you’ve got goosebumps as stars on your skin. I do not deny it. The vastness of every unused minute. Cold, the cold bored instant. I share your opposition. To the lake of doubt that drowns the hope. To the ache of death that drives the howl. I understand. How small a part of life can sting. I know. That you are frustrated. Alone like a dot .

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Five minute street artists and insomnia mongers. ****** drunk blondes and finger snapping phat booties. Street geniuses bred by Machiavellian philosophies cypher dreams over tokes of marijuana smoke. Color worshipping narcotic traffickers, and bread winners parole corners sporting fitted caps and twisting fingers. Senile war veterans beg for change in cardboard boxes from the American dreams they afforded. Hard workers with every ethnicity molded into each pore of their face, rub shoulders with tourists at traffic stops barely escaping tires crushing their feet. Sartorial geniuses with no pants switch hips in knock-off stellos heels, selling the origin of the world on avenues next to Arab Halal food. Cooperate ties and blue collars chafe ***** on subways. nodding in and out of Daily News articles while oxygen blessed by asparagus **** pump through their noses. Summa *** laude number runners dictate economies From sky-crapper offices, And powered rain swallows their concrete each winter, With no apologies.

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Jun 2, 2011

Jun 2, 2011 at 11:01 PM UTC

ugochukwu-charles-onyewuchi

Five minute street artists and insomnia mongers. ****** drunk blondes and finger snapping phat booties. Street geniuses bred by Machiavellian philosophies cypher dreams over tokes of marijuana smoke. Color worshipping narcotic traffickers, and bread winners parole corners sporting fitted caps and twisting fingers. Senile war veterans beg for change in cardboard boxes from the American dreams they afforded. Hard workers with every ethnicity molded into each pore of their face, rub shoulders with tourists at traffic stops barely escaping tires crushing their feet. Sartorial geniuses with no pants switch hips in knock-off stellos heels, selling the origin of the world on avenues next to Arab Halal food. Cooperate ties and blue collars chafe ***** on subways. nodding in and out of Daily News articles while oxygen blessed by asparagus **** pump through their noses. Summa *** laude number runners dictate economies From sky-crapper offices, And powered rain swallows their concrete each winter, With no apologies.

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how many paths, how many loves living and changing and ever climbing learning and growing and springing over like purple sunsets entering red mountains each experience reopening your eyes, gaining wisdom and freedom, ever increasing strength Atlas holding Gaia, never ending strength becoming charged and overcome with love encircled with history and caring, gaining a repertoire of eternal connections, climbing into dream fields surrounded by mountains will this serenity ever be over? though hopefully the uncertainty will be over and that we will have strength to conquer all the encountered mountains created by each newly attained love embrace avenues crossed and obstacles climbed to have pleasure and confidence gained though will paradise ever be gained allowing forgetfulness of pain we're over while still remembering friendships we climbed every node you pass gives strength for the next stage of love giving elemental power to move mountains our past shadows creating fresh mountains to relive, to adore; understanding gained so many different forms of love meaningfully distinct, passed but never over, each one providing new wonderful strength to allow us unique nirvanas climbed always strive for larger heights climbed those hopes will be worth mountains don't fear any loss of strength, weakness endured is often willpower gained hate and sorrow should never over- come the treasureful bliss of love *Don't be afraid of the climb to the top of the mountain unbelievable strength will be gained, all the adventures that are over will become unforgettable love*

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Aug 29, 2012

Aug 29, 2012 at 7:47 PM UTC

Transcendental Willpower (Sestina)

how many paths, how many loves living and changing and ever climbing learning and growing and springing over like purple sunsets entering red mountains each experience reopening your eyes, gaining wisdom and freedom, ever increasing strength Atlas holding Gaia, never ending strength becoming charged and overcome with love encircled with history and caring, gaining a repertoire of eternal connections, climbing into dream fields surrounded by mountains will this serenity ever be over? though hopefully the uncertainty will be over and that we will have strength to conquer all the encountered mountains created by each newly attained love embrace avenues crossed and obstacles climbed to have pleasure and confidence gained though will paradise ever be gained allowing forgetfulness of pain we're over while still remembering friendships we climbed every node you pass gives strength for the next stage of love giving elemental power to move mountains our past shadows creating fresh mountains to relive, to adore; understanding gained so many different forms of love meaningfully distinct, passed but never over, each one providing new wonderful strength to allow us unique nirvanas climbed always strive for larger heights climbed those hopes will be worth mountains don't fear any loss of strength, weakness endured is often willpower gained hate and sorrow should never over- come the treasureful bliss of love *Don't be afraid of the climb to the top of the mountain unbelievable strength will be gained, all the adventures that are over will become unforgettable love*

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horns squawk rainforest avenues exoskeleton of cars arteries clogged with unlovely taxi cabs fat green fruit for sale five languages merge into a knot hisses kiss vowels kiwis apples pears black guys basketball debt rises like blood pressure stocks tumble but we walk brogues clop on concrete count brick after brick sun cascades over roof slates mind cracks in slabs (you say Monroe stood here) heat quivers men are dominoes suits for the office a funeral designer sneakers daddy paid for pigtails cheap thrills violet octagons on a stranger’s neck (behind the closed doors) today I drink purple water aubergine lips remind me of a Tuscany Superb list the names Houston Charlton Leroy Sullivan Perry Cornelia Dominick and Jane (ladders lead away from me close to you) and back again

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Jun 21, 2014

Jun 21, 2014 at 12:24 PM UTC

reece-aj-chambers

horns squawk rainforest avenues exoskeleton of cars arteries clogged with unlovely taxi cabs fat green fruit for sale five languages merge into a knot hisses kiss vowels kiwis apples pears black guys basketball debt rises like blood pressure stocks tumble but we walk brogues clop on concrete count brick after brick sun cascades over roof slates mind cracks in slabs (you say Monroe stood here) heat quivers men are dominoes suits for the office a funeral designer sneakers daddy paid for pigtails cheap thrills violet octagons on a stranger’s neck (behind the closed doors) today I drink purple water aubergine lips remind me of a Tuscany Superb list the names Houston Charlton Leroy Sullivan Perry Cornelia Dominick and Jane (ladders lead away from me close to you) and back again

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To Marianna When blue night mattresses cover the city Schizophrenia , depression , deception they all cross the avenues or rather swim in redness the green rain stagnates in the brothel's garden the cat leaning on the stair landing shuffles the deck of cards a sweating Eros slides on a female yet so manly river his signature Monet . Giorgos Vlachos 10.11.2008 Translation : Christos Rodoullas Tsiailis

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Mar 21, 2015

Mar 21, 2015 at 2:04 PM UTC

giorgos-vlachos

Under Monet's signature

To Marianna When blue night mattresses cover the city Schizophrenia , depression , deception they all cross the avenues or rather swim in redness the green rain stagnates in the brothel's garden the cat leaning on the stair landing shuffles the deck of cards a sweating Eros slides on a female yet so manly river his signature Monet . Giorgos Vlachos 10.11.2008 Translation : Christos Rodoullas Tsiailis

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the form the pattern emergent beauty honor! faces! bright with life! honor! ------ born we come here ----- honor! ------ the gentle raw naked power vibrates and pulsates joy! ------ a tiny piece a leaf in the wind perfectly placed a simple smile gracing the avenues heals a knowing a gift of love ------ of love ---- joy

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Nov 24, 2010

Nov 24, 2010 at 11:32 AM UTC

the form the pattern emergent beauty honor! faces! bright with life! honor! ------ born we come here ----- honor! ------ the gentle raw naked power vibrates and pulsates joy! ------ a tiny piece a leaf in the wind perfectly placed a simple smile gracing the avenues heals a knowing a gift of love ------ of love ---- joy

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Changing faces for nameless places Nameless people struggling for existence in a nameless time Worship the incoherent ramblings Of countless babbling nameless fools Bread and water lead the lambs to slaughter Prejudice injustice demanding obedience Nameless zombies Becoming the robotic puppet Of the puppeteers desires With pre-programmed responses Feelings not your own Desensitized children Of a race of morbid loving junkies We render them fearless, then cry At the mass of chaos they invoke upon us Lost leading the lost Devouring the beauty in their paths The scourge of the free man Who lives under the delusion of his freedom Prisoners all While the power sits upon a high throne laughing Unbelieving how simply they all fell And obediently they continue to provide The avenues of deception for his rich existence © Crystal Erickson 11/24/2007

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Dec 14, 2014

Dec 14, 2014 at 11:11 PM UTC

Changing faces for nameless places Nameless people struggling for existence in a nameless time Worship the incoherent ramblings Of countless babbling nameless fools Bread and water lead the lambs to slaughter Prejudice injustice demanding obedience Nameless zombies Becoming the robotic puppet Of the puppeteers desires With pre-programmed responses Feelings not your own Desensitized children Of a race of morbid loving junkies We render them fearless, then cry At the mass of chaos they invoke upon us Lost leading the lost Devouring the beauty in their paths The scourge of the free man Who lives under the delusion of his freedom Prisoners all While the power sits upon a high throne laughing Unbelieving how simply they all fell And obediently they continue to provide The avenues of deception for his rich existence © Crystal Erickson 11/24/2007

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In the coffin lay your body silent and still As with wax, sealed were your eyes Bared of all passion, pain and strain You were at rest, tranquil was your face When your body was lowered into the grave Tears trickled from our eyes like streams of blood We stood orphaned beside the newly dug up pit Knowing quite well that the days of glory have fled! When you left, leaving in us a contused wound We hoped time would heal the **** quite soon But with every passing day you’re sorely missed Especially when our life goes out of tune At times when I feel lonesome with none to care In weariness I search you among the stars of the sky When my heart twitches with an unknown pain To your comforting presence, my mind does fly Sometimes I envision you coming into my room Smiling that sweet smile in the dead of the night But soon I realize it is only a fleeting vision And from my sight, you vanish like an ethereal sprite Rambling through the avenues of vanished years We remember your sweet assurance, tender care n’ love But never will we have the joy of having them again For you flew into the horizon like a gentle dove Mom, your presence my tiny world once filled With that old bygone past how I was content A treasure of sweet memories still I do hold Now your eternal absence, how deeply I lament Oh Mother, though you are dead and gone Our love for you is inscribed deep in our hearts Which nothing can erase or erode and will last Until finally from our body, life silently departs!

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May 28, 2016

May 28, 2016 at 8:34 AM UTC

I Still Remember !

In the coffin lay your body silent and still As with wax, sealed were your eyes Bared of all passion, pain and strain You were at rest, tranquil was your face When your body was lowered into the grave Tears trickled from our eyes like streams of blood We stood orphaned beside the newly dug up pit Knowing quite well that the days of glory have fled! When you left, leaving in us a contused wound We hoped time would heal the **** quite soon But with every passing day you’re sorely missed Especially when our life goes out of tune At times when I feel lonesome with none to care In weariness I search you among the stars of the sky When my heart twitches with an unknown pain To your comforting presence, my mind does fly Sometimes I envision you coming into my room Smiling that sweet smile in the dead of the night But soon I realize it is only a fleeting vision And from my sight, you vanish like an ethereal sprite Rambling through the avenues of vanished years We remember your sweet assurance, tender care n’ love But never will we have the joy of having them again For you flew into the horizon like a gentle dove Mom, your presence my tiny world once filled With that old bygone past how I was content A treasure of sweet memories still I do hold Now your eternal absence, how deeply I lament Oh Mother, though you are dead and gone Our love for you is inscribed deep in our hearts Which nothing can erase or erode and will last Until finally from our body, life silently departs!

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i. impressionist, where the grey clouds and the blue ice of winter gather their ghosts, winter, too cold, too white, the woodland hollows dent, summer love discarded in the frost, the sky oaken, the moon’s forget-me-knots silvery dream. ii. clouds like wintery steel, sunken, in a night pool, the golds of my heart, the lodestar gathers moss and rook, glimmers in a sky of woven cloth, her leaves, the trees of winter, her leaves, the dark breath of the storm. iii. winter and quiet stars brooding emperor sleeping in the twilight hour, winter dreams of strange ice caverns where ice ghosts dance with twisting hair. iv. pond of ice, snow bear, snow dream, sleep unwraps wide avenues of trees, sleep, the dark girl, the falling tide. v. twig breaks under foot, earth’s thrones settle in the lizardy light the moon rises in the sky, soft centuries of sky.

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Jan 3, 2017

Jan 3, 2017 at 1:57 PM UTC

beth-fwoah-dream

monet's waterlilies revisited

i. impressionist, where the grey clouds and the blue ice of winter gather their ghosts, winter, too cold, too white, the woodland hollows dent, summer love discarded in the frost, the sky oaken, the moon’s forget-me-knots silvery dream. ii. clouds like wintery steel, sunken, in a night pool, the golds of my heart, the lodestar gathers moss and rook, glimmers in a sky of woven cloth, her leaves, the trees of winter, her leaves, the dark breath of the storm. iii. winter and quiet stars brooding emperor sleeping in the twilight hour, winter dreams of strange ice caverns where ice ghosts dance with twisting hair. iv. pond of ice, snow bear, snow dream, sleep unwraps wide avenues of trees, sleep, the dark girl, the falling tide. v. twig breaks under foot, earth’s thrones settle in the lizardy light the moon rises in the sky, soft centuries of sky.

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