"ceremonious" poems
Now this particular girl
During a ceremonious april walk
With her latest suitor
Found herself, of a sudden, intolerably struck
By the birds' irregular babel
And the leaves' litter.
By this tumult afflicted, she
Observed her lover's gestures unbalance the air,
His gait stray uneven
Through a rank wilderness of fern and flower;
She judged petals in disarray,
The whole season, sloven.
How she longed for winter then! --
Scrupulously austere in its order
Of white and black
Ice and rock; each sentiment within border,
And heart's frosty discipline
Exact as a snowflake.
But here -- a burgeoning
Unruly enough to pitch her five queenly wits
Into ****** motley --
A treason not to be borne; let idiots
Reel giddy in bedlam spring:
She withdrew neatly.
And round her house she set
Such a barricade of barb and check
Against mutinous weather
As no mere insurgent man could hope to break
With curse, fist, threat
Or love, either.
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As the sun moves to the western horizon
Colors are skilfully blended in a palette
In an instant the sky becomes an exquisite canvas of art
Making even Van Gogh burn in jealousy
With the last glimmer of sunset
When the shadows chase the light,
The aerial folks fly back to their nests
Like black and white specks dotting the sky
With a dark drape stretched across the Earth’s face
The arrival of the night is a spectacular sight
Cicadas and crickets welcome her with their ceremonious band
And street lamps blink their eyes to catch a better view
While truant clouds still wander around aimless
The cerulean sky signals them to hurry
Stars slowly appear in the night sky
Like sequins stitched on to a blue brocade
The crescent moon smiles down
The empress of the night, proud and regal
She and her retinue keep guard over the slumbering Earth
The unpaid sentries of the night!
A gentle breeze makes a palanquin ride
Wafting in the scent of opening buds
The beauty of the night sends me to raptures
My heart exploding like foaming wine in a bottle
Yet I cannot but keep wondering
How many dark secrets
The night holds
Within her tenebrous folds!
May 10, 2017
May 10, 2017 at 12:52 PM UTC
.
Lear wanders in stormy open, bares warring elements,
The heavens blister, crackle, night is balmy shroud,
Wretched monarch babbles in sprinkles of wind cold,
Arguments lost by ones own pouring perturbations
And raining sky said 'nothing will come from nothing.'
Howl, howls into blackness treed in lightning splits,
His outcast soul, reels, fleshed, cut to smithereens,
Tang of salt burns on the bluffs and the sea rages,
So entire and ceremonious is Lear's fall meted out,
Air spoke, 'nothing from nothings ever yet was born.'
Sky proclaimed to man child King, here is a reckoning,
Each mad choice was self infliction, now wind flays
And sweet Cordelia lies in her innocent **** grave,
Sky, in thralls of thundering asks, 'what say thee now,
King of highborn follies, even purple heaths are rags,
Yet black and above you and night shades, whine,
Unworthy King, done in by compounded effects,
The might of maelstroms in low butterflies wings,
How now, bare trees, knifing reeds, skeletal flashes,
To rains of night are ever your lanyards my lord,'
Sad Lear so near oblivion fell mute, sky went on,
'Howl and cry mad King your reaper calls beyond,
The icy brisk heavens await to brusque you away,
Your slipshod kingdom was mere and fools' dream,
Howl, til howls abrupt abate, for nothing now comes.'
May 27, 2015
May 27, 2015 at 10:10 PM UTC
341
After great pain, a formal feeling comes—
The Nerves sit ceremonious, like Tombs—
The stiff Heart questions was it He, that bore,
And Yesterday, or Centuries before?
The Feet, mechanical, go round—
Of Ground, or Air, or Ought—
A Wooden way
Regardless grown,
A Quartz contentment, like a stone—
This is the Hour of Lead—
Remembered, if outlived,
As Freezing persons, recollect the Snow—
First—Chill—then Stupor—then the letting go—
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A huge crowd thronged the temple premises
Its vicinity, already bursting in color
With people in hundreds streaming in
The young and the old clad in festal attire
With fire in their hearts n' festive sheen in their eyes
Not driven by piety, mostly to enjoy the fanfare
Festoons decorated trees that lined the compound
Colorful lamps blinked everywhere
Sacred bells, chiming intermittent
At the auspicious hour, as devotional songs rent the air
The chief deity was brought out of the shrine
And was placed on the caparisoned elephant
Accompanied by pulsating percussion ensemble
The devotees cheered witnessing the majestic entourage
Within them the fervid spring of joy swelled
Colorful umbrellas were unfurled
Drawing synchronized patterns in the air
Under the glare and noise, the heat and sweat
Amid the tumultuous beat of trumpets
And the rhythmic sounding of cymbals
The crowd swayed in psychedelic lassitude
An army of hawkers had already set up shops
Each made it a time to earn some bucks
Selling knickknacks and goodies to tempt children
From ice creams to popcorn and colorful balloons
Children ran around licking cotton candies
Some enjoyed blowing up soap bubbles
And iridescent orbs landing softly on their hair and dress
With dusk fall, the ceremonious fire work began
The crowd stood aghast at the pyrotechnic display
Scintillating colors and confetti of sparks painted the sky
Shooting spears rose high and fluorescent rainbow colors
Came dancing down, fire wheels swiveled on the ground
Deadening roar of crackers and thunderous blast of *****
Tore the sky announcing the sleepy world;
‘It was once again festival time for the people to rejoice
Apr 24, 2017
Apr 24, 2017 at 9:25 AM UTC
Mutual embrace severed
Out of politeness, leg
Removed from leg we pulled
Apart desiring separation
In the afterglow.
An affair just begun
Is like a morning
After a night of rain, the
Sun sliding through gaps in the
Ceremonious cloud,
Serene, reassuring and secretive.
It was not yet love,
Just **********
A curious investigation
Of a stranger, hardly known,
Of unspecified views, who
Has not yet freely spoken.
The routine had long ago been fixed,
Inconsequential phrases over coffee,
Denying breakfast, smiles
Without intent. Holding hands
At the door, a kiss,
And then the regretful goodbye.
A voice remembered as a sigh
A movement as pleasure,
No other memory but the callow scent
Of brief uncertain intimacy.
Nov 11, 2015
Nov 11, 2015 at 8:07 PM UTC
Well hello, all, I’m your maestro ceremonious
they call me Lokonious, purveyor of the odious
so sit back, relax, and celebrate the… atonalness?
A: Andante con fuoco
We’re goin’ a cappella so let me say first
your style’s ba-roke, now let’s get on with the verse
you’re all up in the scale with a falsetto pitch
hittin’ soprano like a castrato *****
my mind is sharp, while you’re stuck outta key
my rhythm’s all natural, you can’t find a beat
you need some help ’cause you’re out on your own
find that ****** on a subway, the metro-nome
B: Allegro con brio
throw down the fermata and hold up a minute
your ***** a cacophony, no way to spin it
and son, i ain’t broke, my style’s all classical
you just can’t register that my words are magical
I spit rhymes in fantasy, can’t you see that you’re beat?
And they thought an allegro was unfit for elegy
A: Moderato col legno
well as for your girl, it may sound corny
the ***** loves my brass ’cause she’s: oh so *****
dispel your illusion, i got one more
your girl’s like a crime show… easy to score
B: Allegretto grazioso
your intellect is minor and your insults are bassless
your composition’s hardly a harmony: graceless
your cymbalism’s trite, and your motif’s unknown
an unfocused opus full of dissonant drones
A: Affrettando agitato
get out my face with your unnatural rap
you spit cold air and your lyrics are flat
you’ve got no harm while my canon’s a gat
so work on your refrain, ‘fore I bust da cap-OOOHHHHH
B: Coda
pull your weak crap, ’cause you’re outta your mode
such imperfect rhymes that we’re calling a cod-a
no time for the fanfare, you’re trying my patience
an end to your requiem, bring out the cadence
So that’s their story, best not get involved
their fight’s an augmented fourth: difficult to resolve
Jun 13, 2012
Jun 13, 2012 at 5:47 PM UTC
.
Lear wanders in stormy open, bares warring elements,
The heavens blister, crackle, night is balmy shroud,
Wretched monarch babbles in sprinkles of wind cold,
Arguments lost by ones own pouring perturbations
And raining sky said 'nothing will come from nothing.'
Howl, howls into blackness treed in lightning splits,
His outcast soul, reels, fleshed, cut to smithereens,
Tang of salt burns on the bluffs and the sea rages,
So entire and ceremonious is Lear's fall meted out,
Air spoke, 'nothing from nothings ever yet was born.'
Sky proclaimed to man child King, here is a reckoning,
Each mad choice was self infliction, now wind flays
And sweet Cordelia lies in her innocent **** grave,
Sky, in thralls of thundering asks, 'what say thee now,
King of highborn follies, even purple heaths are rags,
Yet black and above you and night shades, whine,
Unworthy King, done in by compounded effects,
The might of maelstroms in low butterflies wings,
How now, bare trees, knifing reeds, skeletal flashes,
To rains of night are ever your lanyards my lord,'
Sad Lear so near oblivion fell mute, sky went on,
'Howl and cry mad King your reaper calls beyond,
The icy brisk heavens await to brusque you away,
Your slipshod kingdom was mere and fools' dream,
Howl, til howls abrupt abate, for nothing now comes.'
Mar 6, 2017
Mar 6, 2017 at 10:39 AM UTC
Strawberries
*that tumble off grocery stands
of dusty wood-colored plastic
wiped clean with rank rags dripping ***** water
and a hint of bleach
to **** germs.*
Covered in dripping red
*gooey sweet syrup
that resembles sour sauce
of lo mein Chinese restaurants,
but encapsulates all feelings
to nerve tinglings
and lick chops to swallow drowned.*
Atop a table
*tuckered in the corner
next to borrowed chairs
that mismatch from three to one
and darkened grain and pale wheat
with a broken leg
that will one day topple to the floor.*
Retching from inhalation
*as breath stops short
lungs rejecting air
from the path of recycle-ment
like tossing used paper bowls
into foundations for isla de debris.*
Enlightenment of the general mood
*from stumbled laughter
into an inception loop
of spinning tops and trading card games
into a never ending bubble stream
like a train braking
and go to rest.*
Dead like a corpse
*as in sleep like the departed
where nothing can be bothered
except the alarm for tomorrow.*
Because I am scared,
for the shadow of despair,
that will rise as a lion's roar,
to claim the title "king,"
and rain down sorrow,
before the lamed warrior can raise a piece,
or a scholar a pipe,
to ward away evil,
and purify with ceremonious smoke.
Mar 16, 2013
Mar 16, 2013 at 1:57 AM UTC
prognosis: passive preoccupation
adulation of vacuous aversion
careless cupid, cleaving cardiac
to the closet consecrated
courtship of wedded hemlock
feasting on desolate devotion
ceremonious shedding of sacred tears
laced with lone loss
Dec 23, 2017
Dec 23, 2017 at 10:59 AM UTC
He. Opinion is not worth a rush;
In this altar-piece the knight,
Who grips his long spear so to push
That dragon through the fading light,
Loved the lady; and it's plain
The half-dead dragon was her thought,
That every morning rose again
And dug its claws and shrieked and fought.
Could the impossible come to pass
She would have time to turn her eyes,
Her lover thought, upon the glass
And on the instant would grow wise.
She. You mean they argued.
He. Put it so;
But bear in mind your lover's wage
Is what your looking-glass can show,
And that he will turn green with rage
At all that is not pictured there.
She. May I not put myself to college?
He. Go pluck Athene by the hair;
For what mere book can grant a knowledge
With an impassioned gravity
Appropriate to that beating breast,
That vigorous thigh, that dreaming eye?
And may the Devil take the rest.
She. And must no beautiful woman be
Learned like a man?
He. Paul Veronese
And all his sacred company
Imagined bodies all their days
By the lagoon you love so much,
For proud, soft, ceremonious proof
That all must come to sight and touch;
While Michael Angelo's Sistine roof,
His "Morning' and his "Night' disclose
How sinew that has been pulled tight,
Or it may be loosened in repose,
Can rule by supernatural right
Yet be but sinew.
She. I have heard said
There is great danger in the body.
He. Did God in portioning wine and bread
Give man His thought or His mere body?
She. My wretched dragon is perplexed.
Hec. I have principles to prove me right.
It follows from this Latin text
That blest souls are not composite,
And that all beautiful women may
Live in uncomposite blessedness,
And lead us to the like--if they
Will banish every thought, unless
The lineaments that please their view
When the long looking-glass is full,
Even from the foot-sole think it too.
She. They say such different things at school.
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I knew the end had come,
Such a ceremonious segway into death
But after the pomp faded away
Came long the mourning days.
And in mourning, sorrows become dear
I slowly forgot what death I mourn'd.
Safely occupied by the copious comfort
Speculating the new road I must walk alone.
But now, as my soothing summer air turns chill,
And the leaves shrivel and die,
Each night marks the passing of another day
Drawing nearer the dead's true end.
It steals upon me, with insidious cunning
A bitter cup I must partake,
*I see the dead are not truly dead
Until mourning is ended.*
So I shall never cease to beg Heaven
To send you back to me,
I shall never cease to let these tears
Of life and mourning free.
Aug 8, 2013
Aug 8, 2013 at 1:14 AM UTC
O dear time,
I blink my eyes and you pass..
pinching my attention..
making me realize how far you have taken me with you
that when I look back..
I see a long endless bridge of ceremonious past
built with the bricks of
an immensely spirited childhood
and a carefree wonderful teenage..
and now when I turn back to see forward..
*All I can see is the mosaic you have constructed..
with the streaks and dazzles of an unseen future..
which is calling my novice feet
to walk on its Zigzag path*...
Jun 1, 2016
Jun 1, 2016 at 11:49 PM UTC
.
Lear wanders in stormy open, bares warring elements,
The heavens blister, crackle, night is balmy shroud,
Wretched monarch babbles in sprinkles of wind cold,
Arguments lost by ones own pouring perturbations
And raining sky said 'nothing will come from nothing.'
Howl, howls into blackness treed in lightning splits,
His outcast soul, reels, fleshed, cut to smithereens,
Tang of salt burns on the bluffs and the sea rages,
So entire and ceremonious is Lear's fall meted out,
Air spoke, 'nothing from nothings ever yet was born.'
Sky proclaimed to man child King, here is a reckoning,
Each mad choice was self infliction, now wind flays
And sweet Cordelia lies in her innocent **** grave,
Sky, in thralls of thundering asks, 'what say thee now,
King of highborn follies, even purple heaths are rags,
Yet black and above you and night shades, whine,
Unworthy King, done in by compounded effects,
The might of maelstroms in low butterflies wings,
How now, bare trees, knifing reeds, skeletal flashes,
To rains of night are ever your lanyards my lord,'
Sad Lear so near oblivion fell mute, sky went on,
'Howl and cry mad King your reaper calls beyond,
The icy brisk heavens await to brusque you away,
Your slipshod kingdom was mere and fools' dream,
Howl, til howls abrupt abate, for nothing now comes.'
.
Jul 6, 2019
Jul 6, 2019 at 6:00 PM UTC
She gave it to me in a ceremonious way, since she's advised me to have rocks before
because they ground you when you hold them and it's better if they mean something to
you because then it is more powerful and I've had plenty of rocks, but none have really
worked so well as this one.
And I hold it with me nearly all day and it makes me feisty, and I feel strong because it
comes from her office, this island of sanity where I can suddenly let go of all the fear and
guilt and self hatred and realize it's them, not me. No matter how much I want to believe it
is me, that they are good and if I only change.
But some people are not good, or wise or kind and they can decide that you'd make a nice target and
self laceration will not make them stop stabbing and stabbing, ceaselessly until you are nothing but
road **** on the floor because it is a great relief to them to let go of all that onto someone else
and so you must fight back and that means, you believe in yourself and you fight for that self and this rock came from her office and it came from under a plant and she wiped it off after my mind was
clear from another tornado of self hatred and punishment and she said, this rock comes from this office
and I didn't want to take it because I thought the plant needed it but she said not to worry that she
had plenty of rocks and now I hold it
And I've been fighting, fighting against those dark forces and the darkest of them all, the one who
has made my life a scary mess for months now today he finally said he was sorry for misunderstanding me. He said it twice and I think: this is a breakthrough and he may still take me down, because the future is far from certain but I would say you may take me down, but I'm going to take a piece of you with me. And I felt the power of the sanity in that rock and I hung on. I hung on.
Nov 29, 2012
Nov 29, 2012 at 9:05 PM UTC
.
Lear wanders in stormy open, bares warring elements,
The heavens blister, crackle, night is balmy shroud,
Wretched monarch babbles in sprinkles of wind cold,
Arguments lost by ones own pouring perturbations
And raining sky said 'nothing will come from nothing.'
Howl, howls into blackness treed in lightning splits,
His outcast soul, reels, fleshed, cut to smithereens,
Tang of salt burns on the bluffs and the sea rages,
So entire and ceremonious is Lear's fall meted out,
Air spoke, 'nothing from nothings ever yet was born.'
Sky proclaimed to man child King, here is a reckoning,
Each mad choice was self infliction, now wind flays
And sweet Cordelia lies in her innocent **** grave,
Sky, in thralls of thundering asks, 'what say thee now,
King of highborn follies, even purple heaths are rags,
Yet black and above you and night shades, whine,
Unworthy King, done in by compounded effects,
The might of maelstroms in low butterflies wings,
How now, bare trees, knifing reeds, skeletal flashes,
To rains of night are ever your lanyards my lord,'
Sad Lear so near oblivion fell mute, sky went on,
'Howl and cry mad King your reaper calls beyond,
The icy brisk heavens await to brusque you away,
Your slipshod kingdom was mere and fools' dream,
Howl, til howls abrupt abate, for nothing now comes.'
Oct 8, 2015
Oct 8, 2015 at 6:33 PM UTC
i)fingers splayed wide catching light then
half-sized peach little hands
i look at them and they can hold the world
in wonderment of these moving tools
a feather as long as my forearm is magical
most sacred artifact of spirit energy
and look! i found it, look how there is one
fleck of blue i saw in the grey
like a dove, like a monster, like an angel
that i found, and treasure, will keep
ii)NO you must not touch that you mustn't EVER
bad disease angry said words my own good never again sickness not no
in my head snowstorm like got-lost TV channels
But
DOWN a rough hand
a knocked out treasure
a burning after-image in my palm
like it was a coal
stealing a ceremonious glance back
to grieve the loss of magic
and for a moment
i am very very older than even grandma or world.
Mar 12, 2012
Mar 12, 2012 at 4:08 PM UTC
.
Grasping to the sky
With ever reaching
Branches, leaves spirit
Themselves to sacred
Airs.
Old tree, a star set
Truncated with sprite earth,
Stolid, touchstone spark,
Place, feeling all waves
Dripping by like clouds.
In some underworld,
Bathing with Gods,
Are immortal roots
Divining water, laid
In ceremonious soil,
Digging out golden,
Unfallowed tombs.
Old tree in the sun,
Great soul barking
Skywards each day,
Joyous arms clench,
Lansing, higher out,
Embracing heavens.
May 17, 2017
May 17, 2017 at 4:49 PM UTC
.
I saw you in dream,
We walked together,
Kaleidoscopic,
Like truly it had once been,
The comfort of always you in hand,
The sun's caress, the open skies,
A secret valley, fields beyond
The first breaking,
Dawns perfection,
Then music, newly made
Played on, seeping
A soft étude of warm drops,
Rain so gently dripping,
The whole meadow began to move,
Yellow butterflies and red winged warblers
Wafting round circuitous, ceremonious,
Soothed in simple harmony,
We made our barefoot way,
Toes in the sands,
Passed lofty streams, came upon
Golden gleams, glens, surprised
By lake shores seams and slowly,
Without fortune, gazed
Into the creaking sadness
Of blue
Reflections.
Suddenly, we slid, fell
Amid rolling tears
Filling our eyes,
And my hands reached
Out into nothingness . . .
Demise,
You,
Vapourized.
I awoke into steadfast
Silence and smoke
Of low, deepest night,
Tarnish taste of sloe
Burn and cold blackness,
Hopeless, banished,
Before the running after fall,
Near inklings of those
Only, once known,
Unblemished,
Hues, fading,
Lost,
Colours.
Feb 2, 2017
Feb 2, 2017 at 11:26 AM UTC
I saw you in dream,
We walked together,
Kaleidoscopic,
Like truly it had once been,
The comfort of always you in hand,
The sun's caress, the open skies,
A secret valley, fields beyond
The first breaking,
Dawns perfection,
Then music, newly made
Played on, seeping
A soft étude of warm drops,
Rain so gently dripping,
The whole meadow began to move,
Yellow butterflies and red winged warblers
Wafting round circuitous, ceremonious,
Soothed in simple harmony,
We made our barefoot way,
Toes in the sands,
Passed lofty streams, came upon
Golden gleams, glens, surprised
By lake shores seams and slowly,
Without fortune, gazed
Into the creaking sadness
Of blue
Reflections.
Suddenly, we slid, fell
Amid rolling tears
Filling our eyes,
And my hands reached
Out into nothingness . . .
Demise,
You,
Vapourized.
I awoke into steadfast
Silence and smoke
Of low, deepest night,
Tarnish taste of sloe
Burn and cold blackness,
Hopeless, banished,
Before the running after fall,
Near inklings of those
Only, once known,
Unblemished,
Hues, fading,
Lost,
Colours.
Jun 20, 2013
Jun 20, 2013 at 2:50 PM UTC
I saw you in dream,
We walked together,
Kaleidoscopic,
Like truly it had once been,
The comfort of always you in hand,
The sun's caress, the open skies,
A secret valley, fields beyond
The first breaking,
Dawns perfection,
Then music, newly made
Played on, seeping
A soft étude of warm drops,
Rain so gently dripping,
The whole meadow began to move,
Yellow butterflies and red winged warblers
Wafting round circuitous, ceremonious,
Soothed in simple harmony,
We made our barefoot way,
Toes in the sands,
Passed lofty streams, came upon
Golden gleams, glens, surprised
By lake shores seams and slowly,
Without fortune, gazed
Into the creaking sadness
Of blue
Reflections.
Suddenly, we slid, fell
Amid rolling tears
Filling our eyes,
And my hands reached
Out into nothingness . . .
Demise,
You,
Vapourized.
I awoke into steadfast
Silence and smoke
Of low, deepest night,
Tarnish taste of sloe
Burn and cold blackness,
Hopeless, banished,
Before the running after fall,
Near inklings of those
Only, once known,
Unblemished,
Hues, fading,
Lost,
Colours.
Dec 27, 2013
Dec 27, 2013 at 1:08 PM UTC
.
Lear wanders in stormy open, bares warring elements,
The heavens blister, crackle, night is balmy shroud,
Wretched monarch babbles in sprinkles of wind cold,
Arguments lost by ones own pouring perturbations
And raining sky said 'nothing will come from nothing.'
Howl, howls into blackness treed in lightning splits,
His outcast soul, reels, fleshed, cut to smithereens,
Tang of salt burns on the bluffs and the sea rages,
So entire and ceremonious is Lear's fall meted out,
Air spoke, 'nothing from nothings ever yet was born.'
Sky proclaimed to man child King, here is a reckoning,
Each mad choice was self infliction, now wind flays
And sweet Cordelia lies in her innocent **** grave,
Sky, in thralls of thundering asks, 'what say thee now,
King of highborn follies, even purple heaths are rags,
Yet black and above you and night shades, whine,
Unworthy King, done in by compounded effects,
The might of maelstroms in low butterflies wings,
How now, bare trees, knifing reeds, skeletal flashes,
To rains of night are ever your lanyards my lord,'
Sad Lear so near oblivion fell mute, sky went on,
'Howl and cry mad King your reaper calls beyond,
The icy brisk heavens await to brusque you away,
Your slipshod kingdom was mere and fools' dream,
Howl, til howls abrupt abate, for nothing now comes.'*
May 25, 2015
May 25, 2015 at 6:10 PM UTC
Grasping to the sky
With ever reaching
Branches, leaves spirit
Themselves to sacred
Airs.
Old tree, a star set
Truncated with sprite earth,
Stolid, touchstone spark,
Place, feeling all waves
Dripping by like clouds.
In some underworld,
Bathing with Gods,
Are immortal roots
Divining water, laid
In ceremonious soil,
Digging out golden,
Unfallowed tombs.
Old tree in the sun,
Great soul barking
Skywards each day,
Joyous arms clench,
Lansing, higher out,
Embracing heavens.
Jul 12, 2016
Jul 12, 2016 at 12:23 AM UTC
THIRST
Oh hollow Thirst!
How it drowns life's liquid scenes,
All trenchant memory now
dries the tongue;
When recollection swims with dire aches
In the stomach lingering
Deserts
once oasis-providence:
the ease of us
sifting with the sand
Minutes limpid between caress
Creation our chalice overflows
Quenching in and each other
Love for water
As the hours go touching vastness'
That open us / our heaven's sky :
Illuminating in you
Both assuage and succor...
But I am drought and man
Flesh heavy / crawling through
War's searing hills
Chafed of what made me fearless . . .
A Traveler discarding haste,
Still Thirsty for those palm trees’ shading moments
Still just pictures of bodies felt
and yet still feeling.
It is as though an affliction’s game
To wait
Between search and weaning
No swift elixir
I am just a bare tree leaning
praying for love's rain...
This Thirst is deeper than remembering
The drink that once was Us.
. . . .
HUNGER
Halcyon: bathing in your adoration,
Nothing so sinful, or miniscule, as to need
Redemptive rinses and the spirit
When we were
As what we only knew how to be
Ourselves yet together sharing feasts
Which we lay out for each other
Ceremonious only through having its discovery
Knowing to trust in this (which is between us)
Oh How to feed the hunger I have longed for
Softer than the dew on skin
When we have the outdoors with our mischief
Attentive as the grass when we look within…
These eyes that pierce me now
Understanding / how my breath shivers
With the slight tips of tender fingers
Through a body famished and weakened,
Needing
The food from in between kiss and spark
On a smile that shares heaven’s glee
In each other’s sensations, feeling the answer
Rather than being told to eat
Reverie of wines tasted, the lifting of all things
To a memory, yet not having the full course
Of dining with serenity, finding that destiny
Has yet to begin
When love was the race I was questioning
Kind supposedly human
And dreams came true with happy endings?
Hunger can make the world seem cruel
When we give up on searching for meaning
We ourselves make
The feast from meals
with our believing …
Dec 7, 2015
Dec 7, 2015 at 9:05 PM UTC
fleeting memories of the past
tangible when I put on that nostalgic mask
a cowl that was worn for years too long
where has time gone?
rapid growth
development of body and mind have allowed a ceremonious welcoming for the spirit
metamorphosis
-
shattering cocoon
re emergence into this physical plane coming soon
reflections of the past
fortifies present situations
no consideration of the future for I have no expectations
come what may
Feb 6, 2015
Feb 6, 2015 at 3:06 PM UTC