"bodiless" poems
i am much younger than i am
my hair is dark and thick
instead of pruned bald
i am lean and meek
feeling hollow
as if weightless
we are at an airport
with no memory of getting there
i had left my hotel room urgently
in a jacket that is not mine
i can't find my Swedish wife
whom i miss like a panicked child
and my Asian wife whom i've never never met before
and know all to well
is angry
and could care less if i got lost forever
i am going home to my parents house
i remember that they are dead
but we had just spoken
there will be soup and Hors d'oeuvre's
they wait for me
on my way
the streets and boulevards are unfamiliar
yet old hat
and no matter how long i walk
i can never find their house
located somewhere in Brooklyn
on Haze street in San Francisco
i have a business
and retain no idea of what i do
i left my cloths somewhere
and i don't know why
in a locality i cant remember
for a reason that doesn't exist
a beautiful woman smiles offers me ***
she is friends with a girlfriend whom i'm committed too
but do not know and never met
i want to cheat with her
but guilty kisses will ruin everything
so i turn away
murdering desire
in an already anchor-less miasma
i remember a past
my life a continuum
of disjointed vagaries
tears well up
i fear myself a figment
a bodiless revenant
stranded in a fog
sparkles and smoke
incandescence and shrouds
a dis-junctured soul
that clutches memories
like braids of dust
living in the eye of nothing
a labyrinth of shades
lighted by the sun of cognizance
a wretched phantom
transparent husk
living a dark fiction
my grave a womb
i am the dead living
Aug 26, 2017
Aug 26, 2017 at 10:27 AM UTC
They hate the shadow of the bird
over the high water of the white cheek
and the conflict of light and wind
in the salon of the cold snow.
They hate the bodiless arrow,
the precise handkerchief's farewell,
the needle that keeps the pressure and the rose
in the cereal blush of the smile.
They love the blue desert,
the swaying bovine expressions,
the lying moon of the poles,
the water's curved dance at the shore.
With the science of tree trunk and street market
they fill the clay with luminous nerves
and lewdly skate on waters and sands
tasting the bitter freshness of their millennial spit.
It's through the crackling blue,
blue without worm or a sleeping footprint,
where the ostrich eggs remain eternal
and the dancing rains wander untouched.
It's through the blue without history,
blue of a night without fear of day,
blue where the **** of the wind goes splitting
the sleepwalking camels of the empty clouds.
It's there where the torsos dream under the gluttony of grass.
There the corals soak the ink's despair,
the sleepers erase their profiles under the skein of snails
and the space of the dance remains over the final ashes.
7.5k
like a good poet, I whine and whinny:
the muses are unreliable, get too much paid vacation,
unlimited unpaid, and pretend their cells are out of range,
even when they are in bed with you and you’re near desperate
to cop a feel of inspiration
my problem is a variation on the theme. Everyday I jot down
too many possibilities, a handful of words added to the list of
pound bound childless titles, sad faced orphans, dogs and cats,
squeaking “pick me, pick me,”
our reply a casual
“you on the list” rather than admit they are titled, but bodiless
until cupid smashes a cupcake in my face and the bell rings
there they stand - at a friendless crossroads - direction home,
path unknown, awaiting a poet tour guide to complete them
if this sounds a bit like a bad achy breaky country song,
then you and I, on the same side of where I could be headed
cause at the friendless crossroads, always unsure, left foot first? that first line, first step, could be a false messiah,
or a free-at-last, a free-at-last emancipation
but there are no sidelines in a forest there no sidelines in a poet’s mind; there are the minefields of mindfulness that can explore explode and explain why it is tempting to believe that every gifted one deserves a break today
but you cannot be broken or break off from the community
“Hillel said: Do not separate yourself from the community; and do not trust in yourself until the day of your death. Do not judge your fellow until you are in his place. Do not say something that cannot be understood but will be understood in the end. Say not: When I have time I will study because you may never have the time”
my friend,
substitute writing poetry for study, for study is for us the analysis of everything, that is, everything we say, see and know the need to communicate
so
those who abide in the life of good words will not suffer an abdication (yours)
do not think
there are friendless crossroads,
there are only crossroads that the eye cannot yet see a fellow sojourner coming toward him,
bearing an oversized load of
the inside insight of responsibility
that demands sharing
that is why we call our meetings at
a crossroads,
a cross
Feb 4, 2018
Feb 4, 2018 at 10:21 AM UTC
At midnight, in the month of June,
I stand beneath the mystic moon.
An ****** vapor, dewy, dim,
Exhales from out her golden rim,
And, softly dripping, drop by drop,
Upon the quiet mountain top,
Steals drowsily and musically
Into the universal valley.
The rosemary nods upon the grave;
The lily lolls upon the wave;
Wrapping the fog about its breast,
The ruin moulders into rest;
Looking like Lethe, see! the lake
A conscious slumber seems to take,
And would not, for the world, awake.
All Beauty sleeps!—and lo! where lies
(Her casement open to the skies)
Irene, with her Destinies!
Oh, lady bright! can it be right—
This window open to the night!
The wanton airs, from the tree-top,
Laughingly through the lattice-drop—
The bodiless airs, a wizard rout,
Flit through thy chamber in and out,
And wave the curtain canopy
So fitfully—so fearfully—
Above the closed and fringed lid
’Neath which thy slumb’ring soul lies hid,
That, o’er the floor and down the wall,
Like ghosts the shadows rise and fall!
Oh, lady dear, hast thou no fear?
Why and what art thou dreaming here?
Sure thou art come o’er far-off seas,
A wonder to these garden trees!
Strange is thy pallor! strange thy dress!
Strange, above all, thy length of tress,
And this all-solemn silentness!
The lady sleeps! Oh, may her sleep
Which is enduring, so be deep!
Heaven have her in its sacred keep!
This chamber changed for one more holy,
This bed for one more melancholy,
I pray to God that she may lie
For ever with unopened eye,
While the dim sheeted ghosts go by!
My love, she sleeps! Oh, may her sleep,
As it is lasting, so be deep;
Soft may the worms about her creep!
Far in the forest, dim and old,
For her may some tall vault unfold—
Some vault that oft hath flung its black
And winged panels fluttering back,
Triumphant, o’er the crested palls,
Of her grand family funerals—
Some sepulchre, remote, alone,
Against whose portal she hath thrown,
In childhood many an idle stone—
Some tomb from out whose sounding door
She ne’er shall force an echo more,
Thrilling to think, poor child of sin!
It was the dead who groaned within.
4.3k
For Leonard Baskin
To his house the bodiless
Come to barter endlessly
Vision, wisdom, for bodies
Palpable as his, and weighty.
Hands moving move priestlier
Than priest's hands, invoke no vain
Images of light and air
But sure stations in bronze, wood, stone.
Obdurate, in dense-grained wood,
A bald angel blocks and shapes
The flimsy light; arms folded
Watches his cumbrous world eclipse
Inane worlds of wind and cloud.
Bronze dead dominate the floor,
Resistive, ruddy-bodied,
Dwarfing us. Our bodies flicker
Toward extinction in those eyes
Which, without him, were beggared
Of place, time, and their bodies.
Emulous spirits make discord,
Try entry, enter nightmares
Until his chisel bequeaths
Them life livelier than ours,
A solider repose than death's.
3.9k
There are so many shadows on the planet.
The ones of the living, bodiless, moving along, appreciating the complicated road the humans are taking to enjoy each beat of their heart. But then there are others.
Shadows inside of those who live.
Hiding beneath the flesh lies an empty carcass of what used to be the poem of a life yet to be lived. Hiding beneath lies a ruined soul waiting to be picked up by death. You do not always recognize those who have died inside. They know how to put up a front, but… the inside is rotten and empty and sad and destroyed and I wonder how you can possibly live a life like that.
The real question, though… is how that happens? How do you die inside? Does it happen all at once?
Someone tells you they do not love you anymore, and everything goes through you, your heart, your soul, your happiness, everything vital just crushes down and breaks all over the floor in an invisible flood of despair that swallows your entire being?
Or is it done slowly, almost imperceptibly? You go through the motions, you smile and laugh, but somehow, the laugh empties itself out, as if, suddenly, you only had one reserve that would never replenish. The reserve runs out and the laugh is empty. The smile faints into a neutral expression, and then it's gone, too. The rest follows the same path. After a while, every gesture, every word, every look is empty. But the change is so subtle, almost natural. And no one notices. And you are the last one to leave. Your body is a shadow and you are gone.
"As good as dead".
Sep 20, 2014
Sep 20, 2014 at 6:13 AM UTC
Moments, each like a drop of rain
That is the continual movement
Of the Omniverse
Forming, falling, breaking and rejoining,
Inhaled back up to the skies
And starting all over again,
Eventually, even the Gods,
Like energy into matter
Like electrons and protons and neutrons
Like atoms into molecules,
Like those bodiless strands of DNA
Floating in magnificent soups of matter,
Cloning themselves,
Like the cells they formed connecting and creating life,
Systems of energy making machines,
Like the bodies that wasted away
When their brains became their graves
Breaking away into pure information,
Finding each other
In the vast expanses of space
And reconnecting like the broken lines of a puzzle
Finally piecing together
To make the image of a single universal being…
They too shall join and make one,
For many are the plains of the multiverse
And many are the gods that stare out
Into its infinite dimensions.
Sep 15, 2012
Sep 15, 2012 at 1:43 PM UTC
594
The Battle fought between the Soul
And No Man—is the One
Of all the Battles prevalent—
By far the Greater One—
No News of it is had abroad—
Its Bodiless Campaign
Establishes, and terminates—
Invisible—Unknown—
Nor History—record it—
As Legions of a Night
The Sunrise scatters—These endure—
Enact—and terminate—
2.4k
524
Departed—to the Judgment—
A Mighty Afternoon—
Great Clouds—like Ushers—learning—
Creation—looking on—
The Flesh—Surrendered—Cancelled—
The Bodiless—begun—
Two Worlds—like Audiences—disperse—
And leave the Soul—alone—
2.3k
As when desire, long darkling, dawns, and first
The mother looks upon the new-born child,
Even so my Lady stood at gaze and smiled
When her soul knew at length the Love it nursed.
Born with her life, creature of poignant thirst
And exquisite hunger, at her heart Love lay
Quickening in darkness, till a voice that day
Cried on him, and the bonds of birth were burst.
Now, shielded in his wings, our faces yearn
Together, as his fullgrown feet now range
The grove, and his warm hands our couch prepare:
Till to his song our bodiless souls in turn
Be born his children, when Death’s nuptial change
Leaves us for light the halo of his hair.
2.3k
At times like these
I miss you the most
not with the pretentious serenity
of the night
but with the open ferocity of the sea.
I miss the salt in your
sweat mingling with
mine in the slow
melting surrender
of two soulless bodies
or two bodiless souls
I miss exploring
those geographical spaces
connecting me to your beyondness
under the familiar but
comforting garb of the mundane
(I just hate calling it history now)
But tell me
do you miss me?
Do you miss me
basking in the
obscurity of your shadows ?
do you miss the
salt in my tears…
for I suddenly remembered
I forgot even
How to cry ….
Nov 28, 2010
Nov 28, 2010 at 7:15 AM UTC
2038--neurolotto
You SEE
sometime
in years yet seen
science
will make
our bodies last longer
a decade or more
but questionable advances
will allow
our BRAINS to live
for…millennia
or longer
submerged in
a neuro-friendly elixir
connected to
electric eyes and ears
freed from
frothing fears
about our body’s
dutiful decay
BUT even with infinite leaps
in scientific skill
and our relentless will
(to be around for eternity)
only a few will have the means ($$$$$)
for such magic cyber machines
and joyful juices
to keep them THINKing
10,000 years or more!
So, the powers that be
will have a grand lottery
though millions will apply
(while 10 billion others know their own brains will die)
only a few thousand will have the privilege
of having their few pounds of cranial fat
placed in a perpetually guarded vat
for helpless these brains would be (!)
if they were left at the mercy
of those who could not pay
to extend their time to play
on this rolling rock
What things they will get to see
floating in the magic juice (!!)
But…walks in the park
will be only a waking dream,
thinking about cheeseburgers
will be calorie free,
for the sense of smell and taste
will, of course, be history
music will sound a bit…strange
for the best implants
won’t replace the old ear
a passionate kiss
and the a n t i c i p a t e d bliss
of more
will be a sweet (??) memory
a “sweet” memory…?
Or just a memory
for when freed of the flesh
can sense and soul still mesh?
Can THINKing
we are FEELing
suffice?
and will we really
savor the cyber sight
or cringe in FRIGHT
of round spaghetti *****
floating in other preciously guarded vats
that we KNOW
are our only bodiless friends?
Aug 14, 2012
Aug 14, 2012 at 10:54 PM UTC
I am a skydiver
a cloud walker
A time traveler
in a bodiless soul
Feeling dared
to live the dream
Feeling strong
to move mountains ahead
Feeling brave
just to keep you safe
I might be broken you know
but I am forever yours
Jul 20, 2014
Jul 20, 2014 at 12:42 PM UTC
Dance of the wind, shakes the trees, shakes the sky
Turn of the seasons
Turn of the storm
Sweet Ulyses on a broken tulip, dying
Reaching for the last of time
Within the great mystery.
Oh, holy land walking underneathe feet
With tired eyes and repeated lies -
The carrion song breaks down and cries
Yesterday closes in on thought's illusion
Of telling today to run around
Chasing past days gone
For the sake of youth gone
Crystal eyes and flaccid goodbyes
The carrion song breaks down and cries
Under soft caresses of Nature's glow
Ceases to be, the gift of selfishness
Asleep in the fog
Spinning madly, this rock of earth
Around star sun, a one-eyed Buddha
Taking gravity, magnetic energy
Invisible force
Orange burn, holographic sin
Make the clock jump ahead
Forward in time, backward in rhyme
Poor things of words
Emotionless, bodiless
Detailing worlds, both inner and outer
But never receiving rightful admiration
Or recognition
Oh, sad words of symbolic reference
Lay down your weary tune and collapse
Sink back into the void of a hum
Yesterday opens around thought's illusion
Of showing today the masterplan
When bizarre happenings stir the crowd of mind
'Tis the moment to step out of time
And examine the line,
The dire chime of truth
And thus enters the chance to realize
The carrion song that breaks down and cries
Dec 12, 2013
Dec 12, 2013 at 6:55 PM UTC
On a temporary dusk,
The sun may bleed but not die.
On a fight between angels & demons,
None of the spirits sigh.
A cucumber moon melts on a dawn,
And become a bodiless beauty.
It will fall in the arms of the river bed,
Re-unite with earth on its divine duty.
A brighter sun re-appears one gay morning,
It’s timeless journey to death cave.
Another world turns around,
Life & death altogether spun on a magical wave.
Sep 17, 2013
Sep 17, 2013 at 10:21 AM UTC
Full of hate
Full of anger
Full of sadness
Full of broken pieces
Of broken parts
Of broken hearts
An ended life
A lifeless body
A bodiless soul
Hanging in the air
Lingering
Hunting
Haunting
Full of blackness
Full of blankness
Full of emptiness
Empty
Yet
Full
Full of confusion
Full of shame
Full of blame
Full of torture
Full of hurt
Full of regret
Full of fallenness
Full of worry
Full of worthlessness
Full of exhaustion
Full in death
Apr 7, 2013
Apr 7, 2013 at 2:00 AM UTC
I walk down to the stream,
a ghost among the tendrils of mist
wakening from the moist air.
The half-moon gives a weak light to my feet,
but grows stronger
as the night rises
and shakes off the sleepiness of twilight.
Sitting on a rough stone,
I look into the shadows
and begin to think.
I pull out my flashlight, try to write,
then turn it off and stare at the stars.
Branches of the tree above me grasp at the wind.
I wrestle with much more,
but cannot grasp my thoughts
or the inconceivable movement
within my soul
any better than I can subjugate the bodiless air.
A melancholy that is not sorrow
settled on me a year ago
this night, in the dark of October's waning moon.
I stand up and leave the stone to wander.
I meet the banks of the shallow stream
and stand there for a while, empty.
There is nothing,
there has been nothing,
for twelve months
since I renounced my pain and bitterness.
Everyone tells you that somehow
love will find you
when you let go of hate.
Everyone is wrong.
The stars spin
in their slow, silent dance;
the highway sighs in the distance;
the moon rises slowly as it had done
for thousands of years.
"Speak!" I importune the stars.
They do not answer.
"Show me your light!" I implore the moon.
The moon hangs there,
still,
among the darkness of the stained sky.
"Answer!" I demand of the sky,
and the sky says nothing.
Twelve months of solitude,
of emptiness and silence,
hovering over the abyss.
I have looked into the abyss.
The abyss has looked into me.
And slowly, like the setting moon,
like the way a fever ends in peaceful sleep,
I begin to fall.
Oct 14, 2013
Oct 14, 2013 at 6:44 PM UTC
The splinter colors
draw me.
I would like to cuddle
with their invisible sources.
Black no longer means to
me the kicking open
of mother's womb.
The old bodiless existence
from which my essence poured
has filled its minute's worth
of purpose.
I have strength to shun
any painful return.
I am free.
New moments slip
easily between my smallest
dappled places,
and a loved guide determines
my best steps.
Sep 8, 2015
Sep 8, 2015 at 12:44 AM UTC
The Way To Dark Justice
Inside The House Of Shadow
I Stand In Darkness
I Open My Wings To Airflow
I Take The Look For Every Weakness
Inside The Dark Cloud You See My Eyes
To Be The First To Witness
I Take You Up, I Hold You Down
To Feel The Chillness
Killing Is My Only Rule
My Whole Augustness
Making the crash in your skull
with one bullet moving so airless
The Scope On My Eyes
and the breath was aptness
To Give you free visa to hell
And pain Rise up To be bigness
Bleeding Your Blood So hard
To take Your Soul in my fitness
Taking the look in That Hole
All What Says you're hopeless
breathing so hard and weakest
And your body Was idleness
Once you leave your body
your mortality will be bodiless
your spirit Will take the freedom
While you was never chariness
deciding to Jump and take the fall
thinking That you Are Making Buisness
Wars and Destruction making River of Blood
to make fear And other things dirtiness
But now I make sure about your elimination
With No Come back To Make the justice
Author / Aladdin Aures Hamdi
Nov 17, 2015
Nov 17, 2015 at 1:33 PM UTC
by his betrayal to the dormant blood flow of life
in moonlight who preaches insanity, anarchy,
who taunts the wicked mind in its present neutrality
where the provocation is of being blank and yet overbearing,
such accentuates the interim shadows etched into a dirtied slate,
thus that light that kills makes his mind primitive, soul, sedate,
and apart from all, his body who became its own ruler
spectral projections in his image surfaced
as the fingertips ripped through its own ribcage
and dethroned His Hapless Majesty in repressed rage
and an animated husk continued forth
even though the hostless spirit was delicate in its wake,
so free from each others' demands, the two had liberties to take.
and so thus they spent decades in total alienation
but in time, like a king with no subjects, the Mind wavered so,
and the Frame, like a guardian with no duty, faltered the same,
and like clockwork, fate had cursed the two that one became,
and by the moon's blinding and blank light a revelation held
that craving ensued for the beings to become whole again,
as the Mind haunted folklore, the Frame men,
as a means of searching, to reunite and rest as an ultimatum.
and they keep searching
a mindless body, and a bodiless mind
perhaps never to reunite
in punishment of denouncing their being
it was a truth he sought,
though never foreseeing the truth he forgot.
it was a race to command insanity and misery.
Nov 5, 2018
Nov 5, 2018 at 5:01 AM UTC
She stood a few meters to the west, a strikingly close distance that would usually be much too close for comfort, with what I expected to be thoughts of danger and malice floating around in her head. But here I was stone-still in my long johns with a lovely tea in hand (I had gathered mint and bark earlier in the day just for it) and I was not afraid. I had a head and a stomach full of sisterhood and peace to offer her. We stared deep into each other eyes for what seemed to be a long while. She tested the waters, moved with unease, smelled around my camp. She was a shaggy silhouette backlit by a lush sunset of purples and reds.
I observed her and she me. As the stars began to peek out at us here down below, she seemed to grow comfortable in my company. A true creature of the night. Both pairs of our eyeballs hung bodiless now through the curtain of nightfall, reflecting only the small fire I sat near. Her eyes were glazed in a funny kind of yellow, and I’d bet mine looked just as eerie to the wide-eyed wolf floating in nothingness. She wandered and sniffed out into the trees and sat for a moment watching me drink my tea. With that, I never saw her again. One moment, one blink, and her eyes were gone from the shadows. I was alone again. I appreciated her company and was glad to have shared this evening with her.
The coals burned for a while with the dying dusk but eventually bled into the blackness just like everything else. Everything had its day but now it was night.
Most nights were expected to be lonely. I braced myself for the sorrow. Tonight it did not come. Though shivers shook my spine, rattling my bones, I felt no desire for any arms other than mine to warm me. Instead there was ecstasy and freedom in my solitude that flooded my dreams. I was alone and I could do absolutely anything that I pleased. So I slept and slept long and slept deep and woke with the sun as my only companion and was very glad that it was so.
The next few moons were peaceful, as the skies were preparing for the birth of the next blood moon. I too prepared myself for the next leg of my journey.
Oct 31, 2015
Oct 31, 2015 at 7:09 PM UTC
It is morning.
I heard birds sing earlier.
Used to look out
and see them
before my blindness.
The ward is busy,
voices calling,
bodies rushing past,
smell of disinfect
and body waste.
I lay back on the pillow
and wait for someone
to put me on the commode
and see how
my leg stumps are,
they ached something
awful in the night.
I hate being dependant
on others, that nurse
in the night I had to call
seemed rushed and said
of a terrible air raid
with many casualties.
Near here? I asked.
Jam factory, girls burnt
or injured in the blast,
the nurse had said.
I wonder if Philip
will come?
Each day seems
a slide down a long
dark tunnel with no light
to welcome, just an echo
of voices calling for me
from empty chambers
and cries from bodiless
voices as I slip by.
I need the commode,
I call, as a body rushes by,
swish of uniform,
won't be long,
a voice replies.
Hands pull back
the blankets, lift me
and undress me
and place me
on a throne,
then leave me,
quite alone.
May 3, 2016
May 3, 2016 at 2:01 AM UTC
my essence hides on season tides
that watch my flock with eyes hawk wide
the hills, the trees, the harmonies
reside inside the endless seas
swimming through the timing to
the cliffs of peace that god once knew
we stand and scream atop life's seam
and animate this clockwork dream
freedom lies in love's warm hold
a trying tale the ages told
these shackles be but soon undone
and thus the bliss and I breathe one
we sew the skies and weave the ground
and drink the love that's all around
a bodiless embodiment
of all of nature's gold intent
I'll meet you here when your time comes
and vibrate still with beating drums
a goodbye glance that stills your heart
the end ends here; extends your start
of all the angels, echelons
and mighty kings that bring the dawns
I'm glad it's you who saved me from
the welcome words that aren’t well come
but time is short and must I say
we'll meet again one fateful day
my grace resides until your end
much love my love, my heart, my friend
Oct 17, 2015
Oct 17, 2015 at 5:04 PM UTC
There were stitches up her leg
watching her walking slight ahead
crossing the street as the skin slowly pulled apart at her seems
transfixing crimson drops
they would fall slowly I thought
I blinked
Just a tattoo nothing more
the blood was gone, I looked away
She turned the corner, I waited for the bus
I watched the edge of her skirt disappear around it
like the coat tails of the white rabbit
looking down, eyes closed
what would that be like...?
A rabbit in a waistcoat skirted the edges of my thoughts
the wind teased cool fingers at the back of my neck
Feels like flying doesn’t it…
A disembodied voice chipping away at my daydream
I ignore it, instead conjuring a hole under my feet just like Alice
What is? my voice answered for me
another chip breaking away
I started down the hole
The wind… when it blows like that it feels like flying
I wished the voice would leave
I wouldn’t know I’ve never flown…
Neither have I…
I could hear the voice smiling
a crack of light broke through my daydream
I turned away from it catching a glimpse of blue coat tails just around the corner
Why is it like flying then?
another chip…
Why isn’t it?
Go away I thought bitterly
the bodiless voice laughed softly
cool air teased my neck, back of my shoulders
I heard the bus pulling up to the stop
Be seeing you then?
My daydream crumbled away into reality
I opened my eyes still looking down
No…
the only answer
Hmm… that’s too bad
Another pause
I looked at the bus doors opening to admit me
Well goodbye then… Alice…
It was smiling again
I shivered, turning to put a face on the voice
Dress it in something more then the sound of its smiling
No one, I stood alone with the breeze kissing my skin and smiled a little
Goodbye… Cheshire cat
Mar 13, 2013
Mar 13, 2013 at 7:44 PM UTC