"circulates" poems
i feel your energy surging through me
-
through the veins that keep me breathing
and the scars that keep me fighting
(though i wish they didn't)
through the extremities of my fingers
all the way to my tippy toes
-
your energy is all i need
i feel your smile energise me
-
through your whitened teeth
and your crooked beam
through the timid smile i can't help but create in response
i know with all of my soul
you are far brighter than a thousand suns combined
-
your smile is all i need
i feel your breaths complete me
-
through your oxygen
that circulates through my body
through my detritus that yearns for you
(and just you)
i've come to realise
you've become my only supply
-
your breaths are all i need
Mar 6, 2015
Mar 6, 2015 at 7:53 PM UTC
You are the sun
That peeks
Through the window,
Letting me know that
It's time to get the day
Started.
You are the roots,
Cut and carved from the trees
That provide shelter,
A place to live,
A place to grow.
A foundation built
From strong roots,
That stretch and wrap around me.
You are the air that circulates
Through my lungs,
The air that, if I think about too long,
I'll mess up how much
You've changed my life.
When I am in you,
I am not in some house,
Nor am I in just any old room.
I realize that I am home,
That I have everything I need.
When I close my eyes,
The first thing I see
Is you,
And how the first thing
I want to do is come back
To you
Feb 7, 2025
Feb 7, 2025 at 10:33 PM UTC
do you know how it feels?
to have to look a certain way?
to act a certain way?
do you know how it feels?
to fight against a backwards mentality?
to be sexually objectified?
to keep quiet to appease fragile egos?
do you know how it feels?
to be treated as though you are replaceable?
to be treated as though you are incapable of possessing your own entity?
do you know how it feels?
to be treated as though the best thing you have to offer is between your legs, rather than what circulates within your mind?
do you know how it feels... to be a woman?
Feb 21, 2019
Feb 21, 2019 at 4:08 PM UTC
He stirs, slowly...
watching the spoon,
break the fog,
settling over his morning cup...
opalescent eyes,
scanning the sleepy blue,
of daytime horizons.
Porcelain fingers, shift
into hard, ceramic claws;
first smoothing up,
snuggly cotton pantlegs,
and then running them down,
forcing his navied thighs, to separate.
The fork, in the road,
as I crawl in, between them,
headlights, and a glossy smile,
on full beam.
He jerks, with surprise
at the unexpected motion,
lips, arrested in a subtle purse--
a pinched pink,
pouted gently, outwards
to blow away the steam
gathering, around tense fingers.
I mimic the tension,
with my own, slaking lips.
Hands shift,
to cup him,
and slide, upwards.
Suddenly, he needs two,
to grip the mug.
My tongue, slicks out,
wetly,
to follow his ascent,
as he stands, upright;
neapolitan soldier,
with the suede skin.
The heat,
gathers,
in my palms
flushing his thighs,
and it circulates, warmly
against flickering flesh;
mouth, moving limberly
to drink him,
under the table.
My feral eyes,
fix his drunken ones,
as we both take each other,
in.
"I hope you saved some cream, for me?
Good morning, honey."
Jun 13, 2025
Jun 13, 2025 at 10:02 AM UTC
Everything feels like nothing, and nothing starts to feel like everything.
Everyday. Everyday as I wake up,
Nothing ever beats the feeling of inadequacy.
Inadequacy to do good
Inadequacy as a daughter
Inadequacy as a student
Inadequacy as a person
Inadequacy in feeling good within my own body
Inadequacy from feeling good about myself.
Everyday feels like an endless loop, you best believe my misery hunts me.
But what is inadequacy?
Is it scarcity? Deficiency? Insufficiency? A lack thereof?
Is it this mindless blob, formless and dark or a mangled form of flesh, eating away at you and your insecurities?
Like a virus, it pins you, goes deep inside you and there is never enough antibiotic for you...
This inadequacy keeps me up at ungodly hours where the sun howls and moon chirps, the clouds look at us, feigning interest, idly looking but never interacting.
This inadequacy lulls me in irregular fever dreams where comfort lies in solitude and loneliness,
where the people that surround you, cover their ears, bites their cheek, looks forwards, smiles faintly, but never tries to understanding.
My heart wails for the smallest of things. Nothing, nothing becomes everything.
My successes make me feel less, still. Everything, everything becomes nothing.
I am this inadequate thing, floating around, never seeming to be enough.
Inadequate. Because i could not protect myself from those who touch my skin like its free real estate, those clammy hands holding me in a state
A state of frenzy that never seems to end
Inadequate. That no matter what I do, my past will forever haunt me and define the being I am now that no matter how much I change, and try and try and try to do good, it will never be
enough.
And those same voices, those same people, they say they scream they tell me,
“You should have told me.”
“You should have fought back.”
“You are a waste of time.”
“You are dumb.”
“You are nothing.”
“You waste your talents for something as this,”
And those same people, let go of words
That back then would have meant nothing
But now it seems to be everything
It becomes my identity
It becomes my oxygen
It becomes the blood that circulates in my body
It becomes the endorphins in my brain
Nothing becomes everything. And everything that I’ve tried to change, worked hard to achieve, tried to mend, was sorry for, starts to become nothing.
But I am tired of feeling like nothing. That everything I do is always inadequate. That it is some form of scarcity, deficiency, insufficiency, a lack thereof.
These mindless blobs, or mangled forms of flesh,
Like a virus, it pins me, goes deep inside me and there is never enough antibiotic for me...
Because instead of listening, to understand, to empathize, they listen so they can jeopardize...
Whatever love is left that I could give to myself,
Without a shred of doubt,
In a warm, bright embrace for myself, in a corner slouched.
So, I ask these voices, who are only here to remind how inadequate I am:
How do I fight back?
How do I be good enough?
How do I become less dumb?
How do I make nothing stay as nothing? And appreciate everything as everything?
Because day by day, this inadequacy I feel, gets really tiring.
Sep 18, 2020
Sep 18, 2020 at 1:26 PM UTC
The blood circulates
Inside my cheeks, it makes me red.
How I missed the blush.
Butterfly flapping,
He tears my ribs to pieces.
Exposing the heart.
Jan 22, 2016
Jan 22, 2016 at 3:07 PM UTC
Cocoon suspended ‘neath a branch,
Out of harmer’s range;
Churning in tight quarters then,
Awaiting for the change.
A cast she’d spun with great detail,
To blend into the scene;
Remain innocuous, choosing plain,
To spend such days serene.
This sanctuary has terms of time;
Yet flippant so, of sight;
Blinded by the darkness kept,
May only dream of flight.
There, outside this nurturing crypt,
Lies futures yet untold;
Exploring freedom, airless hours,
As wings will then unfold.
Alterations to her inner form
Complete in all detail;
While oblivious to worlds unknown--
Mem’ries without a trail.
As perforations tear a fold,
In which she will embark,
To crystal, glowing cast of moon
Within this evening, dark;
She wrestles to uncurl her girth
And wingspan so anew;
That seems so awkward, foreign and
Has converted different hue.
Now perched upon her drying bed,
She fans while instincts try
To capture sens’ry explosions
That lay to foundling’s eyes.
Beyond the glen, a spot she sees;
A single glowing blur.
Just then each tree bends toward one side,
As breaths sweep under her.
Weightless, floating, movement new,
She tests her longer arms,
That reach, manipulating wind,
Should quivers strike alarm.
The lure of the eerie glow,
Possess investigation,
As closer toward the light she flies,
Embraced with consternation.
Near collision with the beacon,
She’s halted in mid-air;
Translucent strings of sticky form,
She didn’t see, were there.
She wrestles, tries to free herself,
While a shadow looming near
Smiles with contentment of
His cunning craft of snare.
Slowly he approaches while
She looks to see his eyes,
So vacant of emotive flush,
With fear she starts to cry.
The octo-legged creature then,
Inserts his poisoned quill,
As venom circulates her life,
He waits until she’s still.
Then coils her in silky thread,
While dancing ‘bout his room.
Tho’ this is of his own design,
She returns, inside cocoon.
As thoughts of life, such brevity,
Released of any pain.
She closes youthful eyes at last,
And dreams of flight again.
Jul 4, 2010
Jul 4, 2010 at 6:23 AM UTC
30 days in. Now, after, out to the market theatre.
People idling, few wondering who pulls the strings
few investigate who paints the streets
who constructs the buildings
it is a show if you slow your vision you will know
You go to a shop, you pick, you pay and go your way
Calculated activity
Prolonged elasticity
And money extends and circulates the sensitivity
the physical defying relativity
Schedules and plans, maps and structures of time
a defined life as I write
You go to church
the congregation settles, the pastor preaches
the congregation responds, "halleluyah" "amen"
songs are sung
tithes paid and progress of church displayed
soon the bell rings and away to our cottages
Cook sunday lunch and a day blessed by God
and sunday after sunday after sunday
You go to school
there's a teacher and students in the classroom
the teacher teaches, questions are asked and notes are taken
Again and again the routine iterates
until tests and assignment dates
how hypnotic this academic tale
promising a better future, a positive fate
And a mall is a town in a cubicle
a church is a social uprising theatrical
a school is a place of worship for the tamable
...and the World a jungle for those who oppose
a haven for the ignorant, a pacific abyss for the survivors of evil. All in all a theatrical play which is a story telling itself in rewind...
Jun 22, 2013
Jun 22, 2013 at 2:30 PM UTC
Buzz, buzz, buzz
The fly says as it circulates
Around the congested classroom
The sound of pencil to paper
As art is created on the
Corners of failed labs and late assignments
Breathe in the soft pink flakes
Of your neighbors easer
That tickles your nose
And makes you cough
Hear the tapping of a pen
At the edge of a desk
As you silently beg for the teacher
To notice and cease it
Feet shuffle and bags are grabbed
In anticipation of the
Bell
s.a.m.
Jul 11, 2014
Jul 11, 2014 at 6:15 PM UTC
Oh there is a ball in my stomach
a tight knot of anxious confusion.
It circulates and undulates
dilates and twists
throbs
grows...
absorbing my life's energy.
"Let it free and watch it"
It emerges from my stomach...
the twisting blue-black mass
convoluting, churning
in the space in front
…and in a moment it dissolves…
My mind is clear
the rain falls gently outside
almost like snow...
Moving with the gentle breeze...
What power in coming into awareness,
Into relationship with
those things which pain me.
Feb 17, 2023
Feb 17, 2023 at 7:15 AM UTC
Our hearts ever so pure
Tainted by the lust
We keep dormant
Explode once
Our cold fingers
Connect
And the warmth
Spreads around
Our body like
the blood that already
Circulates
And we become
Beasts, who hunger
and treat each other
Like Prey.
Dec 6, 2015
Dec 6, 2015 at 3:35 PM UTC
My steps have led me
To a far unknown place
Where the Beast is hiding,
Where the Dark is shining
Across the other side
Of the moor.
Magpies have sung me
About a far unknown place
Where my Heart is hiding
Into a deep dark well
On the other side
Of the moor.
My memories have left me
Into a black unknown place
Where a patient Solitude awaits,
Unnatural Silence circulates
A deep dark well
On the blackest side
Of the moor.
The Beast is laughing...
Mar 30, 2017
Mar 30, 2017 at 3:25 PM UTC
My biggest fan
Is like a breath of fresh air,
Circulates the same conversation and
Knows when to cool down, but
Likes to talk in circles
It's a ******* fan.
Nov 17, 2016
Nov 17, 2016 at 1:05 AM UTC
A constant reinvention where the outlier becomes the mainstream and circulates back to the outlying regions. Beautiful layers on a bed of kindness and understanding.. compassion mixed with passion and hot tempered moments of reality checking in-your-face murals along the textured walls..seen through crisp, foggy mornings.
Jun 30, 2015
Jun 30, 2015 at 2:14 PM UTC
My brain is fighting
The migration in my stomach
But I know better
Than to follow every heart
That passes by.
My hopes are higher
Than my expectations.
I've been here before,
My naivety has yet to depart
But the more I over think your words
The more cautiously I have to find my own
Yet you always leave me with a loss.
I'm a deer in the headlights.
More mayhem than
The Allstate commercials
Circulates my brain
With the idea
That I am actually worth
A love I've always dreamed of.
I don't know the shape of your handwriting yet,
An authenticity built
Constructing more than just words
Or indentions in the paper.
I dream of tracing my fingers
Across your ink ridden paths
To find a memento just for me.
But I don't even know if you'll remember
A promise I'd never break.
I'll be Mrs. Goldfarb
Waiting for the mail
Waiting on you
to stop and
Wait
Jan 14, 2014
Jan 14, 2014 at 1:39 AM UTC
She asked me the strongest drug I had ever done,
I responded with your name
Not MDMA, LSD, or *******
You kept me up
Intense heartbeat, face red, cheeks flush
sweat pouring, teeth grinding, actions rushed…
Bursts of color invade my visual receptors,
the sights are fluid movements through the lens of a kaleidoscope.
Music takes command of my limbs, now I’m putty in your hands
You have your way and we dance.
Left, right.
Left and right. In and out.
Breathe.
I take another hit of you.
Chemical energy circulates my veins
chills crawl down my spine and ice overlay my lungs.
I know I can’t get much higher but I’m addicted to my sins.
I take another hit and breathe you in again.
My eyes start to wiggle and roll towards the back of my head,
I should’ve left a long time ago,
before you killed me and left me for dead.
Overdosed.
Apr 9, 2018
Apr 9, 2018 at 1:53 PM UTC
Dark is the skyline, behind the high rise buildings,
a blue curtain spreads behind the wide stage,
to celebrate Ashad, the mirthful monsoon season.
Behind the curtain of clouds, the dancer, many faceted rain,
gets ready to emerge with her out of the world dances,
the anklets of lightening flashing, stunning everyone;
in the backdrop, thunder drums, beat relentlessly aloud.
Fronts of coconut palms, cheerful green, in thousands,
spread peacock feathers wider, when the trees, excited audience -
too dance in display of resonance, every one watches spellbound.
Muddy red water, circulates blood again in the dead rivers,
that gush down, rejuanating grass, plants that had gone lifeless,
and trees that stood wilting, ready to sacrifice life to save water.
Now, the rain sings her sonorous song, making rivers and fields,
that lay parched, thirsty for water, to squirm with pleasure.
May 31, 2013
May 31, 2013 at 8:52 AM UTC
He wears lots of light blue and close to gray
so young I wonder where does he come by
such tender knowledge with King Kong depth
I fantasize;
Here I am in his world
and my hands are on his shoulders as he writes
Stolen knowing
(must be lifetimes before, how could it be otherwise?)
I see the mist that circulates and falls like dust
dancing round the light
filling up the room we share
and I take the temperature from his body
as he makes love to me where inside his mind
already brewing
a becoming
of a thousand different ways to express
his heady stroke of my skin and darling wet flower
Books spewed (so many) about
are dog eared
all the greats are here
and a few I must purchase oneday
He is contained and unsure just because he is
young
but his heart beats like a grand scale of octave notes
who’s perfection between pitch
sirens those who want to feel his world
(like I do)
Lounged and laid back, surprising shapes of figs appear
In this… my own version of the best lover for me
Figs, pear shaped and small and dark purple
All ripe with my desire
I love his smile
It’s mine in this scenario
the parting of his mouth is like kings table
desserts
endless like his words; delectable, pungent, foreboding
far reaching
Sometimes un-intelligible for a less than writer like me.
But that’s why I wrote this,
It’s still delicious to find power in flesh and word.
I’ve simply fallen.
Linaji 2011
Nov 13, 2011
Nov 13, 2011 at 10:37 PM UTC
Unimposing to the objects around.
Visualizing each item with vivid detail.
Haunting the forgotten sleeping synapse.
Hidden deep within the fiber.
Feeling lungs cascading violently.
Sundering pops of adrenaline punctuate.
Shadows cast doubt over courage.
Crossed eyes seeing double vision.
Tranquility forbid the beating heart.
Shaken steadily upon each migraine.
Broken toe acting subtle.
Windows eviscerating the light.
Dimming color and pigments alike.
Dancing brave the wildly fire.
Black and blue, mildly haze.
Images of demon and ghoul take the hour.
Sickened sunken skeletal room.
White tiles caress coldly as ice.
Air circulates with grim agenda.
Hands riddled with obnoxious arthritis.
Brooming the dust, sweeping the fear.
The beautiful black steed champions it away.
Red are the hoofs painting the scene.
Vaporizing the light by any means.
Delegating everything entirely serene.
Shootingstar, throttling deemed.
Brilliant cloud looming so high.
Setting the Sun into the sky.
Benevolent brother opposing shy.
Sorcering wisdom allowing to fly.
Devilish the Moon, waking my eye.
Aug 16, 2016
Aug 16, 2016 at 11:20 PM UTC
In the morning
The sky
Is so beautiful.
The wind
sways the trees
And urges me
to dance.
The sun's rays
Shine with clarity
And the birds' songs
Invite the light.
I am at peace.
So.. I can be.
But,
Sometimes...
Swiftly...
Do you hear it?
There's a whispering...
Don't listen.
It's a trap.
There's no way.
There's no chance.
There it is again,
That fear.
The storm -
Here it comes.
Buckle down.
Id better hide.
Quick, try.
Before it sweeps
Me up too high...
But it's got my mind.
It's here.
Strong and loud,
This time.
And not slowly, but
Instantly, It
Sweeps,
Me,
Up.
I am thrown in.
I am lost within
A black space
With no boundary.
I can't find the edge.
And I've forgotten,
How,
To function.
I scream.
I collapse.
I cry.
I destroy.
I despise
Every bit
of myself.
And, still
I can't find
The way out of here.
The storm -
It thrusts
And sways.
Unsettles
And circulates.
Until it
Can no longer
Keep up
With demands.
The perpetual motion
Slows down,
And the winds
Begin to calm.
But the black
Smokey fog
Doesn't leave...
The dust
begins to settle
On top packages
Of self doubt,
Shame,
Guilt,
And worthlessness.
Then without warning
Gravity pulls me
Back
Into my body.
And in silence,
I am left,
Sifting through
What remains of me...
Shattered sorrow
Tired eyes, and
No light that I can see.
...
I am so angry
Because
The sky
Was so beautiful today.
And so was I.
But I wasn't bigger
Than the storm.
Not this time.
• Mica Light •
Oct 2, 2021
Oct 2, 2021 at 1:47 AM UTC
i.
Hallow thou art, mine
sacrosanct wayfarer;
Sacred heart, raiment
Of January's start,
Thou art the
Beginning
Of spring
And summer's sunshined arise in full-bloomed mesmerize.
The firth of thee, circulates inside of me.
O' Asian delicacy- thou art that righteous tree of
Life. For thine way's art insight's, *********** to the human thought, for thine countenance canst not be store bought. O' thy intelligence canst not be door taught. Destined Jane, O' foreordained, I knewest thee, thou knewest me, in bygone land's.
©Brandon Nagley
©Lonesome poet's poetry
©Earl Jane Nagley dedicated ( Filipino rose)
Jan 17, 2016
Jan 17, 2016 at 12:51 AM UTC