Hello Poetry
Submit your work and get some sparkles! Create free account
"collides" poems
#*It's at the point of desperation that the soul finds its deepest desire, and in that desire lies everything of which true life is made. Perhaps the first and central question concerning surrender ought not to be, “What am I willing to give to God?” but “What am I willing to receive from Him?” For it's only in the realization that I have nothing to give Him and He has everything to give me that true humility and surrender come. If I would simply receive all He offers me and let Him fill me up I would have no room in my hands to hold onto anything else.   But how often it is that we won't receive it until everything else is lost. It's the secret and inexpressible dreams of the soul which are the hardest things of all to let go and the last to go. When they are finally gone we have nothing left to run to but Him, and when we do we find that He is the beginning, the end and the center of every secret dream. Ah, blessed Peniel—that mysterious and holy ground where heartache collides head-on with romance, that deep and shadowed land where we struggle with God and with men and we overcome, that painful yet glorious place which we may leave limping with a wrenched hip but we do not care, for we have seen God’s face— like Jacob, may we not pass you by without being forever changed.*#
0
Jul 2, 2016
Jul 2, 2016 at 2:06 PM UTC
Wrestling at Peniel
Through the naked crest of your back The dips above your clavicles And the way I lunge at your jaw. Through pale hands and swollen lips And heavy eyes It echoes Resonates through thin air And seeps into the cracks of the walls The way it collides with your skin And buries through the flesh That moment, awakening, I got through You know now how much I love you
0
Nov 10, 2014
Nov 10, 2014 at 1:13 AM UTC
***
#*It's at the point of desperation that the soul finds its deepest desire, and in that desire lies everything of which true life is made. Perhaps the first and central question concerning surrender ought not to be, “What am I willing to give to God?” but “What am I willing to receive from Him?” For it's only in the realization that I have nothing to give Him and He has everything to give me that true humility and surrender come. If I would simply receive all He offers me and let Him fill me up I would have no room in my hands to hold onto anything else.   But how often it is that we won't receive it until everything else is lost. It's the secret and inexpressible dreams of the soul which are the hardest things of all to let go and the last to go. When they are finally gone we have nothing left to run to but Him, and when we do we find that He is the beginning, the end and the center of every secret dream. Ah, blessed Peniel—that mysterious and holy ground where heartache collides head-on with romance, that deep and shadowed land where we struggle with God and with men and we overcome, that painful yet glorious place which we may leave limping with a wrenched hip but we do not care, for we have seen God’s face— like Jacob, may we not pass you by without being forever changed.*#
0
Nov 14, 2015
Nov 14, 2015 at 12:48 AM UTC
Wrestling at Peniel
the sky a silver dissonance by the correct fingers of April resolved into a clutter of trite jewels now like a moth with stumbling wings flutters and flops along the grass collides with trees and houses and finally, butts into the river
0
17k
The Sky A Silver
I wear these new scars Because of you With your pin ***** kiss Making my lips burn Your bare bones weaken me so Perhaps we could wipe the dust off I would be gentle and new We hide in the darkness of how we lived I want to heal the brokenness  in my heart Into my veins as the blood explodes As your hand collides with my face again I trying to strive and  find myself some faith Broken and wounded But the seductive whirl I can't seem to purge My heart is dying I feel shamed The ghosts that live in my stomach Try to consume my mind Dazed eyes that can't cry Through fields of regret Wisps of me fly away Not much left to say The whimpers disappear from my lips A quiet poison that captures me Farewell to those whom I admired Farewell blackened eyes Farewell to a broken life I'll have you know I'm finally free
0
Sep 12, 2013
Sep 12, 2013 at 11:49 PM UTC
Seductive Whirl
Face first crash, ****** mouth full of gravel, some say this is how depression hits you. Others say it is like a freight train that collides into them head first and smashes them against the tracks, Leaving bits and pieces of themselves in places they don't belong. Face first crash into depression, so unexpected, always hurts the most.
0
Feb 17, 2016
Feb 17, 2016 at 9:24 AM UTC
Crashing into depression.
Looking through my soul, Not my eyes. Vibration draws, Patterns to your light. Your energy collides, It speaks to mine. Beautiful whispers, Colours intertwine.
0
Nov 25, 2014
Nov 25, 2014 at 11:50 PM UTC
Soul Speak
A hymn to paired planethood: Venus hits Pluto as death, in cold orbit, collides with biology smashing to fragments: demonic astrology (more a black hole than a love-star, it’s true though). Cynical cure for Eve’s womanly grievance Concupiscent consequence: lust’s bitter fruit – ah the thought… changing Sin into mere inconvenience. Margaret sang her seductive refrain about weeding the garden and progress and light. Her sisters should view her with scornful disdain but instead have adopted her murderous rite. With sang-froid she promoted her racist eugenics (as if she had never herself been a fetus), condemning her heirs to postmodern polemics while nurturing ardent desires to defeat us. Suppressing the lives that she flushed down the drain she would liberate Death – and resistance was vain. As a midwife to modern life (though on the “anti” side) Old Matron Margie racked up quite a legacy singing the praises of sanctioned infanticide calling the shots for the coming sick century. Planning, quite calmly, to “cleanse” certain races her zeal was empowered by murderous graces. She labored to bring us such pearls of subduction: “dilation and curettage”, “women’s autonomy” “viable fetus”, “procedure”, a “suction” Hippocrates retches to hear the taxonomy; words that turn Life into mere reproduction. She enters the realms of the ****** and the motherless roundly condemned by her feminine otherness. Man’s first protection: the God-given womb which no infant should have to regard as their tomb. Dismembered dark cherubs, assembling, greet her as demons (in scrubs) holding baby-parts meet her. Long may she burn with the medical cynics this mother of Moloch, this founder of clinics. Convenience is king when abortion’s the Queen and the profits swell big with each nubile teen… yet the fruit of such carnage remains to be seen. I send her this song as a funeral wreath and a card inked in blood. You may read what is there: “To the Matrix Supreme of our culture of death from the souls of the infants you slew on the earth. May your torment increase with the children you bear.”
0
Sep 10, 2015
Sep 10, 2015 at 9:09 PM UTC
Margaret Sanger’s Entry Into Hell
A hymn to paired planethood: Venus hits Pluto as death, in cold orbit, collides with biology smashing to fragments: demonic astrology (more a black hole than a love-star, it’s true though). Cynical cure for Eve’s womanly grievance Concupiscent consequence: lust’s bitter fruit – ah the thought… changing Sin into mere inconvenience. Margaret sang her seductive refrain about weeding the garden and progress and light. Her sisters should view her with scornful disdain but instead have adopted her murderous rite. With sang-froid she promoted her racist eugenics (as if she had never herself been a fetus), condemning her heirs to postmodern polemics while nurturing ardent desires to defeat us. Suppressing the lives that she flushed down the drain she would liberate Death – and resistance was vain. As a midwife to modern life (though on the “anti” side) Old Matron Margie racked up quite a legacy singing the praises of sanctioned infanticide calling the shots for the coming sick century. Planning, quite calmly, to “cleanse” certain races her zeal was empowered by murderous graces. She labored to bring us such pearls of subduction: “dilation and curettage”, “women’s autonomy” “viable fetus”, “procedure”, a “suction” Hippocrates retches to hear the taxonomy; words that turn Life into mere reproduction. She enters the realms of the ****** and the motherless roundly condemned by her feminine otherness. Man’s first protection: the God-given womb which no infant should have to regard as their tomb. Dismembered dark cherubs, assembling, greet her as demons (in scrubs) holding baby-parts meet her. Long may she burn with the medical cynics this mother of Moloch, this founder of clinics. Convenience is king when abortion’s the Queen and the profits swell big with each nubile teen… yet the fruit of such carnage remains to be seen. I send her this song as a funeral wreath and a card inked in blood. You may read what is there: “To the Matrix Supreme of our culture of death from the souls of the infants you slew on the earth. May your torment increase with the children you bear.”
Continue reading...
44
Western Sources Mist, rain and snowmelt gather And soak the Montana crests. A trio of rivulets carves the slopes, Grow to rivers that braid into a single course And the Missouri is born at Three Forks. Shoshone and Hidatsu rest from the hunt, Kneel and cup their hands To raise life giving liquid to their lips While horses bow beside them Bellies filled with the refreshing waters. The river flows north dividing the tall grasslands, Plunges over the cataracts at Great Falls, Churns on the rocks below And drives inexorably toward the sea. Mandan and Sioux Soft flute sounds drift from the Mandan village Intertwining with the riffling music of the river. By its banks a coarse French trapper roasts a rabbit To share with his Shoshone child-bride. Sacagawea sings softly beside him - Charboneau's son stirring in her womb. Sioux warriors on horseback Stand guard by the shores. How many travelers have passed? How many are yet to come? Beyond the rolling hills A buffalo stumbles and falls Pierced by Lakota arrows and spears. Boats in the Water At River du Bois where the Missouri Collides with the Mississippi, Forty men slip into boats and take to the oars To interpret Jefferson’s continental dream - Their keelboat laden with sustenance, Herbs, weapons and powder. They carry trinkets to dazzle the natives And cast bronze medals to give them Bearing images of their "Father in Washington" That none had asked to have. May,  2004
0
Aug 3, 2013
Aug 3, 2013 at 5:42 AM UTC
Missouri Triptych
Rain falling on a mountain top one drop at a time, dissolving, changing, rearranging, the shape of the world and so we wear down continents. one drop at a time. Thoughts falling on a fertile mind one idea at a time, dissolving, changing, rearranging the shape of the world, and so we wear down prejudice. one idea at a time. Earth collides along a fault line one inch at a time, building, changing, rearranging, the shape of the world and so we build vast continents, one inch at a time. Compassion holds out hands of hope one kindness at a time, building, changing, rearranging, the shape of the world and so we build community, one kindness at a time.
0
Jun 8, 2010
Jun 8, 2010 at 4:10 PM UTC
Patience
The sun is setting, The painted sky, All I see is black lighting, Which makes me cry. The silence that kills, My heart collides, The fire drills, All those painful rides. The drips and drops, Like on a rainy night, A rabbit hops, I see no light. Dreading myself, In endless sorrow, In mindless shelfs, The screaming crow. And now it's the end, Of this painful book, Memories end, My heart shook. ... I feel hopeless ...
0
Apr 26, 2015
Apr 26, 2015 at 10:15 AM UTC
Hopeless
She danced across the sidewalk
 Her tiny boots splashing the puddles of color
 Blue, pink, green, yellow
 Her pigtails smudged with paint
 Brown, blonde, black, red
 She dances through the rainbow rain.

 He walks to work, leaden, heavy
 His shoes are black, but polished
 With red, and orange, and yellow
 His hat is dark blue and his coat is green
 His smile is coal, traced in red, 
His face white, with eternal teardrops
 Etched on his face. 

 The boy and girl, young, shy
 Their hands delicately intertwined with strands of purple
 Strings of yellow electricity
 Jumping from heart to heart
 Red raindrops fall up from the sidewalk
 Gravitationally drawn to them
 Tracing their faces before flying away.

 The seagull collides with clouds of orange 
His wing tips blue and wispy
 His beak green as the sea
 Purple fog tints his stomach
 As he tumbles through aqua wind My window only filters mango light
 My ceiling the color of honey
 The air above the floor is black
 The space beneath the ceiling is white
 And everything in between covers my body
 In rainbow rain.
0
May 22, 2012
May 22, 2012 at 10:55 AM UTC
Rainbow Rain
I will love you until the day the moon will vanish into its dark vast space Until the stars slowly untwinkle as you close your eyes during the night. And until i see the morning sun rising reflected upon your brown eyes I will unconditionally love you until  our universe will inevitably explode into the void Just as how defeaning our world crashes and collides, Is just as perfectly how i would want to loudly speak your name and yell how solemnly am deeply inlove with you
0
Mar 22, 2017
Mar 22, 2017 at 11:56 AM UTC
Celestial
Out on the ocean, our boat breaks down. Thankfully, we aren't too far from land. The rescue boat is on its way, but now the wind comes up and it's pouring rain. I know God is with me, so I am not afraid. The broken down boat is tossed by the wind and waves. Crash! It collides with the big rocks along the shore. While grizzlies hide within the forest. When will our rescue boat appear? The rain pounds down harder. We get colder and colder. And then off in the distance... we spot her. The fast boat gliding upon the water. To rescue we the stranded. From threatening danger. Then... I think of my life. And the storm that has come to be. Like a boat in trouble on the sea, I need a rescue boat to come and save me. For I can get so scared and weary. Only God can be my Saviour. He is my rescue boat, when I break down in the storm. And the waves of sorrow engulf me. He is my rescue boat who comes to me, when I am stranded on the sea. In the storm and in the rain. When I'm out on the ocean of life, and my boat breaks down, He will come for me. And bring me to safety. (C) Elizabeth T., 2016
0
Jun 24, 2016
Jun 24, 2016 at 11:42 PM UTC
The Rescue Boat
Remember the days When we’re both drunk in love, Hands touching each other’s heart, And those passionate eyes. Those were the days When we still jump for joys, Laughing, hearing no other noise. But that was replaced With words we never meant to say, People trying to break A love that was already at stake. I tried to be strong Because one has to believe That everything is worth a song Until then, My hands slipped off of the rope, A rope that once I thought was long, Long enough for my hopes to hold. I thought of you as the enemy So I could easily forget all the wounds you’ve caused to me Because it is easier to hate than nothing at all. I though it will last forever, The grudge I’m holding on for months. But an angel was sent down To guide and fix up our hearts’ frown. I never thought how much you were affected For I was blinded with my own fears and tears Now my memories of us came back As we accept each other again, Nothing will be the same, ever again. Questions were left unanswered Because in love, actions will always be better than words. Always remember “A love that once existed, Will never ever fade away.”
0
Nov 15, 2015
Nov 15, 2015 at 8:04 AM UTC
Love and Hate Collides
*Whenever I see you it seems like all the beauty in the world collides and  nobody ever seems to notice because it all happens with every single one of my atoms sensing every single one of yours.*
0
Dec 20, 2015
Dec 20, 2015 at 11:51 AM UTC
Atoms
In my graduation t-shirt, and it fits right, she finger-and-thumbs the switch on my desk lamp. Lights on. And I'm getting too thin. It shouldn't fit right. "No, no. I want it dark," I say. "Tell me what's off limits." Her eyes, big and wet with bongwater, wash over me. I'm pebble. I'm allowed. "Why?" "I want to know what's off limits so I know where to set my goals." I believe in love, even at first sight. Just not the eternal kind. And I love her when she says things like that because I created her. And when you create, and the creation reaches perfection, all you want to do-- destroy. Hammer to head. Crowbar to Parkinson thighs. *What's off limits? What's off limits? What's off limits?* I can't stop. Before I respond, with adolescent delight she tears me open by the pearl snap. She lifts her arms up. Surrender? No. She's a sycamore. I'm the wind. Body bare and body scattered, congregate at the inosculation of her trunks. She's a sycamore. I'm the wind. Wavering. Leafless. Pot-addled. And the breeze doesn't do it. And the seasons don't affect it. Gale force insanity. I climb her branches. Beard wet with her. She wipes her off. I climb her branches. I can't stop. Grows into me. Trunks entrap. Elevated, she. And I, well, I stumble. Hit the wall. Concrete, everything. I press her against it so hard, she turns to waste and passes through. I press her against it so hard, I can't stop. Autumn acorn fingertips, a river emptying to ocean, and she asks,"Is this off limits?" as she turns me sharply and my back collides with the wall. "Is this off limits?" she asks as she pounds her head into mine. "Is this off limits?" she asks as she claws my face. "Is this off limits?" she asks as she licks to heal. My will says yes. My flesh says no. I can't stop.
0
Mar 14, 2013
Mar 14, 2013 at 10:16 PM UTC
Sycamore
In my graduation t-shirt, and it fits right, she finger-and-thumbs the switch on my desk lamp. Lights on. And I'm getting too thin. It shouldn't fit right. "No, no. I want it dark," I say. "Tell me what's off limits." Her eyes, big and wet with bongwater, wash over me. I'm pebble. I'm allowed. "Why?" "I want to know what's off limits so I know where to set my goals." I believe in love, even at first sight. Just not the eternal kind. And I love her when she says things like that because I created her. And when you create, and the creation reaches perfection, all you want to do-- destroy. Hammer to head. Crowbar to Parkinson thighs. *What's off limits? What's off limits? What's off limits?* I can't stop. Before I respond, with adolescent delight she tears me open by the pearl snap. She lifts her arms up. Surrender? No. She's a sycamore. I'm the wind. Body bare and body scattered, congregate at the inosculation of her trunks. She's a sycamore. I'm the wind. Wavering. Leafless. Pot-addled. And the breeze doesn't do it. And the seasons don't affect it. Gale force insanity. I climb her branches. Beard wet with her. She wipes her off. I climb her branches. I can't stop. Grows into me. Trunks entrap. Elevated, she. And I, well, I stumble. Hit the wall. Concrete, everything. I press her against it so hard, she turns to waste and passes through. I press her against it so hard, I can't stop. Autumn acorn fingertips, a river emptying to ocean, and she asks,"Is this off limits?" as she turns me sharply and my back collides with the wall. "Is this off limits?" she asks as she pounds her head into mine. "Is this off limits?" she asks as she claws my face. "Is this off limits?" she asks as she licks to heal. My will says yes. My flesh says no. I can't stop.
Continue reading...
71
Dolphin Goddess You light our souls With your rich and Luscious gia energy And allow us to Bask in your Goddess form As your soul And energy take Us to newer high As we all climb The mountain of Your love and Connection for Our mother earth And for the rich Feminine and life Giving energies that Are all around us You survey your Kingdom and see That it is good and Beautiful and that All is well in your Paradise as your Dolphin Goddess Dreams take flight In the night we get Closer to your Heart and soul As you open up Yourself fully And completely To anyone who Is willing to bask Upon your light And gain your Ancient wisdom And joy that Sprouts from Your heart and Gets shared with With everyone You meet along Your way in life They see that light And hidden goddess Inside just waiting To be unleased with A warm smile and Embrace of souls As her energy Collides and Embraces with The universe and Everything In between
0
Dec 26, 2013
Dec 26, 2013 at 3:10 AM UTC
Dolphin Goddess
Out seaward to the  horizon I see Forgiving hills where lessons fade, Projections of my desirous plea Patiently await their farewell to bade, Look now for at their peak the sun is setting, With an orange hue caressed blue sky, And white clouded streaks like thought forgetting, Senses renewed—our demons die. Can you see that place where intrigue resides, Beyond those hills ‘neath the sky turned red? For there the heaven and earth collides, Pervading all hope in our angels stead.
0
Nov 16, 2018
Nov 16, 2018 at 7:28 AM UTC
Forgiving Hills On The Western Horizon
Have you ever loved someone, who was just oblivious of your existence? Like a comet passing the eye of a sun, neither aware nor touched by its gaze. She was just there, and I was just here. She was never meant for me, else that comet collides into this sun.
0
Apr 27, 2015
Apr 27, 2015 at 10:22 AM UTC
The Sun & The Comet
The neo-noir carnival The black light circus Is pulling me into uncertainty Stretching me like spaghetti While their ******* defense Goes twinkle twinkle on the patio And I'm still on the fence About everything As Andromeda collides with the Milky Way The people below think it's just A very bright day
0
Nov 25, 2011
Nov 25, 2011 at 8:42 PM UTC
Neo-Noir Carnival
*Clouds are as thin as satin The cool breeze caresses our faces Millions of stars gleam so bright Like no other I describe the night There I see your eyes ever so pretty Jaw-dropped as they look at mine Your face defines such beauty That It cursed me with dementia Your lips is as red as velvet Cured my color blindness As they move as you speak I can't respond, I'm tongue-tied The warmth of your embrace Overthrew the coldness afar As both our eyes collides I fell more in love with you I stare in your lips one more time For they kept me in astonishment Oh I really wanted to kiss them Yet I can't cause I can't I know that time will come All I have to do is to keep my faith Under this bright blue moon I promise, with all my heart, I will wait*
0
Aug 2, 2015
Aug 2, 2015 at 9:30 PM UTC
Blue Moon
The moon is staring me in the face Shaded in grey, slowly fading away Barely paving the way                to the edge of the fray. Whispers of intrigue control the iris Repeated patterns within blue beauty Triangles that sparkle like a diamond around a dense, black circle That leads to the cortex of insight. It looks like that of a galaxy Filled with mystical images of life; Where night is day and day is night. Meteor showers litter the sky, tears of joy fall to a puddle of pride As earth collides with a great divide. Right through the center;                from the lithosphere to the core Pain on the outside is ramified on the inside And I’d be ****** if I said it isn’t a beautifully                tragic picture because life isn’t balanced if a good deed                doesn’t contain a malice intent. Temptation to touch the treasure without consent is no where near the worth of self-control. The dare to take a risk is self-imposed, but the move to play it safe is the lightest of loads. Would you rather re-paint the rainbow                or find the *** of gold? Walk a path through the park to feed the pigeons and a serendipitous encounter with livid pigeons                leaves your empathetic heart frigid. While a deaf person speaks for the mute                as the mute listen to laughter, The blind guide those who are struggling                to a gleaming green pasteur. A mass murderer to the morality of humanity Commonly senseless people skew                the meaning of integrity, The soul of the soulless has been released to be met by the life of persistence. Positivity’s existence is amplified by tragedy; Sadly it takes sadness to appreciate               what makes you happy.
0
Aug 9, 2013
Aug 9, 2013 at 11:14 AM UTC
A Balanced Opinion
The moon is staring me in the face Shaded in grey, slowly fading away Barely paving the way                to the edge of the fray. Whispers of intrigue control the iris Repeated patterns within blue beauty Triangles that sparkle like a diamond around a dense, black circle That leads to the cortex of insight. It looks like that of a galaxy Filled with mystical images of life; Where night is day and day is night. Meteor showers litter the sky, tears of joy fall to a puddle of pride As earth collides with a great divide. Right through the center;                from the lithosphere to the core Pain on the outside is ramified on the inside And I’d be ****** if I said it isn’t a beautifully                tragic picture because life isn’t balanced if a good deed                doesn’t contain a malice intent. Temptation to touch the treasure without consent is no where near the worth of self-control. The dare to take a risk is self-imposed, but the move to play it safe is the lightest of loads. Would you rather re-paint the rainbow                or find the *** of gold? Walk a path through the park to feed the pigeons and a serendipitous encounter with livid pigeons                leaves your empathetic heart frigid. While a deaf person speaks for the mute                as the mute listen to laughter, The blind guide those who are struggling                to a gleaming green pasteur. A mass murderer to the morality of humanity Commonly senseless people skew                the meaning of integrity, The soul of the soulless has been released to be met by the life of persistence. Positivity’s existence is amplified by tragedy; Sadly it takes sadness to appreciate               what makes you happy.
Continue reading...
43