"barometer" poems
What is it about this chase that eludes me
That runs away from me
That seeks to experience and then flee me
Until I get hijacked by another
Consenting to my own free fall into ignorance and bliss
Conditioning myself to transmit
Abundance without reservation
Until shot at the knee
But dragged along for a while longer
By the chains I so genuinely let bind me
And even before the wounds have healed
I don't stop running, I won't stop running
Resolute in a chase that targets me
I do so unconditionally
But you can't hijack my senses
I am not an experience or experiment worth having
I am not a temporary treat to be improperly digested and defecated
I am not an amber that ignites upon initial contact
To then be mediated or extinguished if the temperate is not right
I am not the holy water that you colonize
And shower with to cleanse you
To then invalidate that sanctity
When it falls down the drain
I am not a barometer that reliefs the labor
Needed to challenge the aberrations
Of your colonized and colonizing tendencies
I exist
Physically insignificant
As the earth that birthed me and will bury me
But eternal in essence
I am a permanent presence
I am an unforgettable imprint
I am your equal, no less, no more
The moment that we mutually acknowledge
Each other's existence
I have bound myself to you
From that moment...loved you unconditionally and eternally
And expect no lesser commitment
From you to me, or any other person you meet
And even after the wounds have healed
I don't stop running, I won't stop running
Resolute in a chase that targets us
We must unleash our abundance unconditionally
And when we leave
We will have given
Absolutely everything
That we had to give
During that time of our existence
Mar 6, 2015
Mar 6, 2015 at 8:07 PM UTC
a lupine prayer
to bear and bull
cry wolf
cry wolf
cry wolf
now look into his eyes
until you think like I do
and then take a desperate man
for his last penny
(finance options available)
go long on a cheeky Nando's
followed by
no
inflation
constant
expansion
short the small print
and profit from the fight
against pollution by
investing in the future
but as returns don't come cheap
diversify and purify the self
the Ganges is so polluted
it has gall bladder cancer
the main economic indicators
are telling us that
inflation is set to jump, while
British statisticians are optimistic
that the housing ladder
will continue to defy gravity
as it is an export barometer
with a blue eyed quant inside
crying wolf
crying wolf
cry wolf
Jun 1, 2015
Jun 1, 2015 at 3:05 AM UTC
#***" Don't walk behind me; I may not lead.
Don't walk in front of me; I may not follow.
Just walk beside me and be my friend." - Albert Camus***
~ ~ ~
The telegraph road circled through the foothills,
rising towards the majestic mountain high
It’s been a long and twisting passage soon forgotten,
with the pavement abruptly dead ending,
just below the timberline
The dawning blue heavens look so much closer now
Just a step away from standing within reach
The birds uplifted on the telegraph wire rest atop me;
perched on the final material traces
disregarded by a digital world
My awakening soul is ascending beyond
the distant alpine meadow horizon
At the threshold of an untrodden wilderness wonderland,
climbing up above the meandering clouds
It’s exhilarating to look back and know
there is no turning back around;
I’ve never been higher
and can never get back down
What unknown frontier lies in wait before me now?
Just on the other side of the impossible dream?
The last step forward to find the next step beyond the bounds
There is not that much that changes,
when we just repeat the same old song
The atmosphere’s thin air leaves me gasping for wings
Like dust and ashes free to soar with the tempest breeze
If only time would sever these loathsome ties that bind
The ones that enchain the weight of this load unto me
While understanding the pace to a long journey’s rhythm
The only barometer you have to trust is in your heart
Adaptation is at the core of freedom's survival
But it feels almost like running away
I have felt the fear of falling with nothing left to lose
I’ve climbed as far as flesh and bones can reach
I've come this far always feeling subtly afraid
It has been a great distance back from the beginning;
knowing I must take these last steps alone.
Understanding it was love that brought me here
Naturally tugs at the spirit in my soul encouraging me on
I'll keep searching for the shining light of guidance
Listening for a voice that softly beckons me home...
written by: harlon rivers ... May 24th, 2013
May 28, 2018
May 28, 2018 at 10:18 AM UTC
The forecast on the radio
I didn't need.
I felt it coming
In and through the threads of my light sweater
Tickling my skin so my arms embraced
One another.
The barometer falling
As are the remaining Ash leaves
Of yellow, like canaries rushing about
Certainly saying goodbye
To the past
As they must
When the wind picks up.
Hurling chilly
whips of wind
down
The East canyon
Announcing its arrival
I think of my warmest coat
And how long I'll have to wear it
As I sit on the porch in my shivering
Bare feet listening for what is to come
The seasons change
How will I?
Nov 23, 2023
Nov 23, 2023 at 4:07 PM UTC
An altitude of ale
A barometer of beer
A circulation of champagne
A depression of damassine
An equilibrium of eau de vie
A fractus of fenny
A gust of grappa
A hail of horilka
An isotherm of icewine
A jet stream of jenever
A kilopascal of kirsch
A layer of limoncello
A metamorphism of mead
A nocturnal of nuvo
An overcast of ouzo
A persistence of porter
A reaction of rakia
A storm of sake
A torrent of tequila
An updraft of unicum
A vortex of *****
A winter of whiskey
A disaster of drink
Dec 11, 2012
Dec 11, 2012 at 10:10 AM UTC
Flow Like Fluid Concept by Jay Byrne of Eclectic.Collective.
"text" Jay byrne text Mr.Sandman
-------------------
I flow like fluid. I do it. You knew it.
The cryptic, mystic, Celtic Druid. rpt x 1
--------------------
"Bring them all on, mix them in me cauldron.
Brewin' up a batch o' bad beats to call on.
Broth's bubblin'. Brewin' up, rumblin'.
I try avoid trouble in me hometown Dublin.
I'm a pacifist. I take the ****
Spit like a basilisk. A rhyme alchemist.
An optimist when the chips are down.
Smoke verbs like herbs the proverbial clown.
I get a notion. Pure emotion.
Check out me rhyme. Poetry in motion.
Behold me ocean. Come in it's fine.
Jay's The Name, I'll take you Deep Into The Rhyme.
So deep.
Put your back to me brother cos me brother I keep.
No sleep now it's on with the show.
Feel the beat now I'm lettin' you know. That"..
-------------------
"..I flow like fluid. I do it. You knew it.
The cryptic, mystic, Celtic Druid."
--------------------
*Grrr...I flow like fluid. I do it,you knew it,
the Poseidon Adventure,Marianas Trencher,
I flow like fluid. I do it,you knew it,
the Poseidon Adventure,Marianas Trench-yeah*
-------------------------------------------
*Welcome to the Maelstrom,event horizon,
barometer's droppin,ears poppin,the pressure is risin,
yours widen in surprise as you enter the eye of the perfect storm,
beneath the surface beyond the norm,
moments ago the surface was placid and warm,
Now the Sandman's here...Sea's turbulent,
sound the alarm,
too late wrong Siren,your crew is all charmed,
chain yourself to the mast spindrift whips past,
as I froth up the sea's with my breath,
mermaids approach eyes promising caresses of death,
whether Mariner or Sub Mariner,you're no challenger,
Architeuthis is toothless but it still strangles ya,
Mangle ya drags ya down to the Abyss,
welcome to my realm,hear the crackle and hiss,
Neptune's risin,rhyme's sussurus surprisin'-you're caught on my Trident,
______--__________________-___________
*Cause I flow like fluid. I do it,you knew it,
Poseidon Adventure,Marianas Trencher,
I flow like fluid. I do it,you knew it,
the Poseidon Adventure,Marianas Trench-yeah*
Mar 29, 2016
Mar 29, 2016 at 11:27 PM UTC
1122
’Tis my first night beneath the Sun
If I should spend it here—
Above him is too low a height
For his Barometer
Who Airs of expectation breathes
And takes the Wind at prime—
But Distance his Delights confides
To those who visit him—
1.6k
The flashback burns
My retinas
Until even with my eyes open
All I see is the grusome scene
I thought I'd left far behind me.
The panic sets in,
And my leg begins to bounce
Up and down
Under the table
As I try to hide the sudden onset
Of heart-stopping panic.
I should have known though
That no matter how infinitesimal
The change in my moods,
You are the most sensitive barometer.
Your eyes glance at me
And I know if I don't look up,
The piercing stare full of concern
Will bore a hole in my skull.
So I glance up into eyes
I never asked for,
Never deserved,
Never knew I needed in my life.
Your eyes hold no questions but one,
"Are you ok?"
Your eyes hold no promises but one,
"I'm not going anywhere."
I don't say a word,
Yet you know,
And so
I'm enveloped in a bear hug.
My heart slows its manic staccato beat.
My breath resumes its almost even rythm.
And I feel the broken pieces of me
Begin to fuse themselves together again.
When you release me,
The warmth lingers in my bones
As an injection of time-delayed
Antibiotics to ward off
The aftereffects of the flashback.
And for the first time in a long time,
I know I'm loved.
And Love is the greatest balm of all.
With Love
Every wound will heal,
Every pain will disappear,
Every scar will fade away,
Every bitterness will become sweet.
Love conquers all.
Apr 3, 2015
Apr 3, 2015 at 8:47 AM UTC
Life sometimes sunny, rainy or snowy
But what of those cloudy days
When we are too depressed to dress
How do we interpret that which befalls us
When it is dark above and an ill wind blows in
What do we rely upon as our barometer
There a myriad of reasons for when the weather changes
Maybe health is being a messy storm and a dichotomy of ailments
Or your relationship resembling a twisting tornado
A lost job or business failure a hurricane to the future
Droughts in our lives igniting all types of addictions
Failing grades a tsunami of disappointment
Postpartum a wall of sleet not easily navigated
Mental illness a torrent too easily dismissed
Marriage troubles a cyclone bursting forth
Loss of love resembling mesmerizing howling winds
Death a lightning rod striking into the soul
The past a swirling sandstorm blinding us
Andreas Simic©
Jun 7, 2022
Jun 7, 2022 at 6:37 AM UTC
Dubious: charge
The deluxe program in. Obtuse angled and oblong animals. Mecca sexúal, discoverer pulling back the curtain tails in mimicry and peacockiness as the horizon shimmers itself out. Do not eschew unwieldy ostentation towards benign mid-weight colors in the sequel to Blahnik.
Offers in the hesitant, peak winds of Southern-Hemispherical Antarctic weather barometer losses. The ice is like a hive of nameless blue lily pad vessels, each a different magical shade of the water's blue.
She like the uncommon baroque grandeur in an hour of time, herself-
Summons the immense symmetry of her elaborate lavender macramès sheath and entomb her skin, exploding across her body like milk-white daffodils draped upon a morning bow. Linseed and anise encompasses burnt sweet grass on the breadth of pine in a gentle pillow, anchored only by the veins of her red fruit nectar stitched at the grooves in her cool and unpunctuated lips. While anxiety numbing tufts of gentle satins wisp all the worry and turmoil away, pleasing every nerve, sensor, instinct, and exercise of glib humanity intertwined amid the pulse of our uncensored adultness. She glides amid the arcs of ebullient-molecules ribboned in winter synonyms, summoned up in her sensual and illustrious sublime, and the story of how like a horizon muted by organzas falling beneath her into that relationship she carries with her water God into something profound, immense, and totally ******* exquisite, yet beyond all imagining, she is always doing what has been the coolest **** ever to me. That becomes more magnificently indescribable like our amorous fire, incentivizing the luminous beauty of new stars to rush above us, and yet under us too, amidst the simple and perfected automany she so awesomely imbues.
Until the minutes are silenced in our heads and the days are warm with you.
For Sarah
Dec 15, 2016
Dec 15, 2016 at 7:32 AM UTC
A part of the world where there's no dawn
Lies a factory of processed hatred
It stays unaffected
Within its walls
Not one person has able to locate it
Due to the fact it was never supposed to be found
Conspiracy abound
It is not ingested
Leaving the populace congested
With retorts and unpleasant exchanges
Increasing the percentage of the deranges
How are we able to survive in this?
I can't comprehend the stronger minds
How did they pull it off?
I want to know
I aim to shut down the Hatred Factory
It should of never transpired
It lurks for people to hire
And does the exact opposite of aspire
That's why we never get higher
Just lower on the barometer
Wake up
Wake up
Please, for the future
But I guess it will be too late.
Keep your products from the Hatred Factory
I'll stay outside of its influence.
Feb 2, 2017
Feb 2, 2017 at 3:19 AM UTC
The road I travel has called me again.
Yet, that's not true, as the voice was never quiet.
It was only hidden away like a pair of shameful eyes.
Closed to the admonishments of a sadistic lover.
Yet always there bubbling, percolating, cajoling in a soothing voice.
Beckoning me with memories of freedom and the comforting drone of the road.
Reminders of rest areas swarmed with hopeful travelers with red eyes and creaking joints.
The vending machine stand stoically in a row like good soldiers standing at attention.
Windows open, air buffeting, my face is that of a child catching the new rays of spring.
Music blaring, singing along, my soul rising like a barometer as high pressure moves in.
Right lane driving, eyes gleaming, each passing car tells a story of hope and and unveiled inspiration.
Small towns passing, unrealized lives, I ache to know you. Yet our paths must remain distantly apart.
Night falls and the excitement only builds. The bulbs of light above are my guide. No map has their magnetic draw.
The scene changes as the road becomes deserted. My fellow journeyers are swimming or ordering room service.
My metal friend shall be my bed. This jug of water my frigid shower in the morning. Late night talk radio my lullaby song.
My thoughts are pure and calm as I curl up in the backseat. No fear or remorse that I've spurned all lovers. My needs are few and my heart is full.
Jan 26, 2014
Jan 26, 2014 at 1:17 PM UTC
And So The Wind Came!
Clouds amassed in morning sky.
Grey and dancing.
Breeze fresh.
Blowing as the winds of change
Legions, brimming full with rain.
Appearing as sentinels.
Protecting the concealed sun.
Matinee brings with it the weather.
Acting out her violent scenes.
And so the wind came.
Lashing of legs tied in her bite.
A thrashing inferno that's burning with pain.
So stealthily the rain it came.
Let not Saint Antonio visit.
The saint of fellows lost.
May the blast not purge us in it's wild whip.
Let the wind not bring amass of rain.
Dispatch not floods our way.
Let the hurricane play and bay.
Her heart's content.
As wild hungry hound.
Barometer pointer swivels.
Storm it shrieks.
Melee over land.
Let Heaven guard the seas.
May the sea control her swell.
Keep all safe and well!
By ladylivvi1
© 2013 ladylivvi1 (All rights reserved)
Oct 27, 2013
Oct 27, 2013 at 11:41 AM UTC
checked out the tabloid headlines
in the local checkout line
if it didn’t work they wouldn’t do it
the suits with their charts
could act nicely but ***** it
for the ****** barometer
that is human desire
reveals plenty of room
at the lowest denominator
Dec 13, 2013
Dec 13, 2013 at 2:41 PM UTC
A change of mind
a change of heart
a step this way
or that
a moment held
or given
a step away from light
naive or dark.
Is choice
an invitation
and if so
by whom
or what?
Those million
thoughts that lead to actions
now or
down the track:
and then this
what if that
to pick up
to put down
to left to right
to leave to stay
and on until
a path or paths are found
or trod
or followed.
If everything is choice
what is not
- to step from instinct to intuition
- to love my wife
- to love my children
- to love the god of life
- to write this.
The barometer of
heart
the judge and jury of
the mind
the guides
the angels
assisting
and the thoughts
that tend to lead
to actions
that tend to lead
to feelings
that tend to lead to more
thoughts which sometimes
are discoveries
that tend to lead
to choices
down the track.
The map of my life
can be seen
by turning
my head to the south.
With the benefit
of hindsight
I see I am and have been
passenger and pilot
messenger and message
drawing and drawn
but with this
I must ask
is it that I am also
a choice
and if so
by whom?
Aug 13, 2011
Aug 13, 2011 at 11:40 PM UTC
i'll keep this narrative short
light to pass to make less
haste to what i seemed
to be hindering to chase,
you with your facades
me with my cascades
wavering from faltered
planks, decked
to be closer
to your horizons.
i have taken these
mornings, facing away
from sunrises
to bask in rays
behind new days
only because
of the concrete
that holds this feet
from falling
it's past that now
i have reached
in confidence
the middle again
an episode of a series
ending with a cliff hanger
you as a guest appearance
for my character development
Feb 19, 2010
Feb 19, 2010 at 12:35 PM UTC
Columns of water smoked over
The lake last evening,
Leaving a sun-soaked
Wet-dog pungency. But wagging.
Fatted newborns are
Claiming trees, digging holes.
The worms are doomed
Beneath the green.
Snouts are grovelling
Where they belong.
This was a blithe storm
Passing through.
My sun is eclipsed by you.
After a calming period.
Especially after seeing
You again, seeing you're happy.
That's a rising barometer
For you.
I see it in your hands,
On your ring finger.
Being congenial is different now.
But I am persistent
With my lieu time.
I will be resistant
In my windbreaker.
I have learned
To wait in queue.
Aug 22, 2014
Aug 22, 2014 at 11:57 AM UTC
Envelopes and elevator music can explain
Why we clutch our horror and flee our name
A watchtower and alarm clock sang their lament
Across the concrete we rejoice and the paradise we repent
And as we signed
we denounced allies
In favor of the forbidden
what artificial blood and absinthe love
could deduce the lies we've hidden?
Mistletoe in the greenery of late july
and honor's punch drunk alibi
Reinvent the wheel that streets had broken
but its all another poker deal
a bet from the same token
Why do we abhor the delight to adore
what is written across the table?
If we read it as love we read it as a fable
and who still gives a **** about Cain and Abel?
Forgive my verse I tend to curse and my pentameter could benefit from consistency
But pardon your barometer I never intended to study calculus or chemistry
The commodity of obscenity and the gardens of Versailles
It's not a question then of who or when but rather a matter of how and why?
We buy and slash with words and cash all of those we enable
Why not, my love, give whiskey and drugs it's honestly more stable
The aftertaste of lust and lace
Grim fairy tales and telephone sales
The absence of the rhythm
That transforms mere words to singing
but format this or format that that isn't a life worth living
The morning connives with sidewalks and vines
while dark eyes sit and stare we are but wine and air
What is this routine we have fought to acquire?
No sweet perfume can sweeten the flame of fire
so kiss you reflection and hold close to the glass or the mirror
Objects that appear far away
they may in fact be nearer
Aug 5, 2014
Aug 5, 2014 at 2:55 PM UTC
What. what is this tide that turns within me?
my emotional barometer has gone haywire:
I can't tell triumph from grief
any longer.
Once I might have said I was strong,
I was blinded by your shining armour,
the smooth glitz of your scales.
Your eyes stung me,
you shot your crippling poison into my heart.
Your fangs are still embedded in my skin,
your venom everstill circulates amongst
my bloodstream.
I seduced you—or did you ****** me?
Those days are no longer memories:
rather, they are something more akin to a
strange, fantastical dream I once had.
When will I wake up and be shown what life really has in store for me?
Sep 21, 2014
Sep 21, 2014 at 11:01 PM UTC
children need villains -
as much as adults require heroes.
that doesn't exactly mean
that there's an inherent malign
to treat children as
a care for: investment...
it's just the benign
ambivalence
of someone sacrifice themselves
to save someone from a passing train
who's racked themselves on the train-tracks...
so what better form of acting,
what better form of the thespian
is not in pretending to be evil?
i watched two mothers
and a girl walk the street today...
when i walked past the baby girl and looked
her in the eyes... she stopped walking...
and began clinging to her mother's
leg...
it's nothing as such, but when
you're observant of cats at the barometer to
anything autistic... a baby girl looks you straight
in the eye, and she's horrified to walk a step further
and clings to her mother's leg.
the beard? the body? what? what?!
cars need petrol... children need villains...
i'm sure: the ones that are faked
are scarier than the real ones: because they
have a dimension that allows them to
become myths, i.e. disperse and acknowledge
a greater number of the phobia-riddled...
but at the same time:
adults need happenstance heroes...
nothing achilles-like to be frank...
something exemplar in the realm of the mundane...
adults need something to match
up to the child's need for a villain...
point is: when the child eats away at what
provoked fears in him to begin with:
and starts becoming a villain, himself;
that's just called a point of realisation:
realisation furthered as: continuum.
Mar 31, 2017
Mar 31, 2017 at 4:55 PM UTC
A locomotive literary musk rat attack
Sitting roadside with a pocket full of lint
Just another low down stint
In a life in full pursuit
Slow and tranquil were the twinkling rays
With white hitting and streaking quite nice and naked
There were friends of mine stomping around
Vanquishing the present with ribbon touches of sore red
Upstairs the memory breaks itself on a staring mirror
Soon the words that seemed to be heard
Will just be a faint far away cliched memory
I opened the door to many places
Saw many a thing and somethings there was nothing
With the glinting forks and the good heavy whiskey
Sit stools wooden proud bar workers old deadened porkers
Blondie with a barometer measuring her liters
Never mentioning the bill she holds still
Tune of a ton pours itself over the youth and the young
Who are washed for the moment but will soon meet
The cold hard touch of the rough and tumble concrete
Where will grass burn when the fun is done?
Where will the streets crack when the back of the match
Has been pinned down and bought off?
No these were the illusions of the rearview mirror
The beat of the heart only lasts so long
Yes, only lasts oh so long
Year in and year out time stands still forever for itself
We are mere passerbuyers seeing the sights until were off to somewhere new
America you mentioned something to me at the party last night
But couldn't quite out what you wanted me to see
Now to be stuck underneath the overpass for ever last
No promises were made personally
Only
Nationally
May 18, 2011
May 18, 2011 at 5:55 PM UTC
If I’m gonna be heartbroken then I’m throwing my shame into your lap.
I have no use for it. This is a brand new theatrical performance.
The guilt can be your footwear, not mine. I’m a map not a floor mat.
This chest is a windrose and the terrain is a glory that beats behind my ribs.
My spinal column will surge up like a barometer, bobbing to the nape,
but you’re not my storm anymore so sit down, stay still, watch me.
These directions aren’t so cardinal now; I swapped them around.
I was born facing up, my laboring mother cursing her derision
like she knew someday I would raise up, face the sky again
and let loose a fury that began in me when I was conceived.
I am a violent flicker and I can syphon out the light until I swallow it whole,
until you’re begging me to swallow you again too. I am not seasonal.
Keep frantic at that compass in your hand. It won’t bring me back.
Sep 5, 2013
Sep 5, 2013 at 10:10 PM UTC
The wind today was dangerous
Over the north and south
Britain is a weather victim
Abused by the blustery skies
The treacherous rains and storms
Mostly damaged the south
The weather brought a barometer of change
I am going on about it as usual
Feb 26, 2017
Feb 26, 2017 at 2:40 PM UTC
Shifting pain
Forward and back
Up and down
Stay still
Go away
I know it's snowing
You don't have to tell me that
You're the worst internal barometer ever
A measurement of pain
I don't need you to tell me
This front is insane
Just go away
Please
Just leave me be
I'm fine without you
Can't you see?
I walk to school just fine without you telling me a dime
I can see the ice and snow okay
JUST GO AWAY
Jan 13, 2016
Jan 13, 2016 at 10:43 AM UTC