"commingled" poems
*in the midst of an emerald slumbering forest
laced with pungent scents of jaded wood
a burgundy blushed tail
of a chestnut hued fox
scurries as copper sunbeams part the day
a hospital lumes starkly nearby
its aura exudes hints of melancholy
commingled with faint impressions
of halcyon futures
not yet lived
at neighboring dartmouth
a student sprinting to class
drops his crimson colored backpack
the prospect of cancer
far from his budding consciousness
my beloved sits patiently
pondering pensively
his last chemo treatment
elusion of death
not far from his mind
i feign to fend off future catastrophes
watching letters scramble across my screen
earnestly writing
in a desperate attempt
to be with him forevermore
an aquamarine hummingbird drenched in tranquility
senses the inverse
its amber tipped wings stand seemingly stationary
while it steals a quick glance through the window
curious at chemical infusions meant to heal
my beloved walks out
of the austere building
with rose colored glasses i feel
that we’ll whirl on the tips of gilded stardust
dancing with another chance to fly
©2016janetaylor
Apr 30, 2016
Apr 30, 2016 at 1:19 AM UTC
Droop, droop no more, or hang the head,
Ye roses almost withered;
Now strength and newer purple get,
Each here declining violet.
O primroses! let this day be
A resurrection unto ye;
And to all flowers ally’d in blood,
Or sworn to that sweet sisterhood:
For health on Julia’s cheek hath shed
Claret and cream commingled;
And those her lips do now appear
As beams of coral, but more clear.
4.4k
Thank Heaven! the crisis—
The danger is past,
And the lingering illness
Is over at last—
And the fever called “Living”
Is conquered at last.
Sadly, I know,
I am shorn of my strength,
And no muscle I move
As I lie at full length—
But no matter!—I feel
I am better at length.
And I rest so composedly,
Now in my bed,
That any beholder
Might fancy me dead—
Might start at beholding me
Thinking me dead.
The moaning and groaning,
The sighing and sobbing,
Are quieted now,
With that horrible throbbing
At heart:—ah, that horrible,
Horrible throbbing!
The sickness—the nausea—
The pitiless pain—
Have ceased, with the fever
That maddened my brain—
With the fever called “Living”
That burned in my brain.
And oh! of all tortures
That torture the worst
Has abated—the terrible
Torture of thirst,
For the naphthaline river
Of Passion accurst:—
I have drank of a water
That quenches all thirst:—
Of a water that flows,
With a lullaby sound,
From a spring but a very few
Feet under ground—
From a cavern not very far
Down under ground.
And ah! let it never
Be foolishly said
That my room it is gloomy
And narrow my bed—
For man never slept
In a different bed;
And, to sleep, you must slumber
In just such a bed.
My tantalized spirit
Here blandly reposes,
Forgetting, or never
Regretting its roses—
Its old agitations
Of myrtles and roses:
For now, while so quietly
Lying, it fancies
A holier odor
About it, of pansies—
A rosemary odor,
Commingled with pansies—
With rue and the beautiful
Puritan pansies.
And so it lies happily,
Bathing in many
A dream of the truth
And the beauty of Annie—
Drowned in a bath
Of the tresses of Annie.
She tenderly kissed me,
She fondly caressed,
And then I fell gently
To sleep on her breast—
Deeply to sleep
From the heaven of her breast.
When the light was extinguished,
She covered me warm,
And she prayed to the angels
To keep me from harm—
To the queen of the angels
To shield me from harm.
And I lie so composedly,
Now in my bed
(Knowing her love)
That you fancy me dead—
And I rest so contentedly,
Now in my bed,
(With her love at my breast)
That you fancy me dead—
That you shudder to look at me.
Thinking me dead.
But my heart it is brighter
Than all of the many
Stars in the sky,
For it sparkles with Annie—
It glows with the light
Of the love of my Annie—
With the thought of the light
Of the eyes of my Annie.
4.4k
I took a stroll down my childhood lane
These neural pathways took me back
Multilingual versions of the narrative
Warned me of imminent attack
I made it work for me my people
Bedeviled on behalf of all my greater good
I took my time in stride with sidewalks cracked
And broke my swag along a scattered beach
Came down with that viral capacity to fluctuate
According to what gut feeling feeds heart pumping
Where we intersect that jazz bebopper inhabiting art
Draw outside the lines come together in stark contrast
To the words we negotiate with each other in exchange
For favors better left unpaid yet enacted cross-purpose
To our intended lizard goal to wrap our prey entangled
Tongued in the mail entreated globally galactic guardian
I’d simply settle inside ambitious repose armed by you
Draped across our gossamer webs wet commingled faces
Jun 29, 2013
Jun 29, 2013 at 1:30 AM UTC
Now I am all
One bowl of kisses,
Such as the tall
Slim votaresses
Of Egypt filled
For a God's excesses.
I lift to you
My bowl of kisses,
And through the temple's
Blue recesses
Cry out to you
In wild caresses.
And to my lips'
Bright crimson rim
The passion slips,
And down my slim
White body drips
The shining hymn.
And still before
The altar I
Exult the bowl
Brimful, and cry
To you to stoop
And drink, Most High.
Oh drink me up
That I may be
Within your cup
Like a Mystery,
Like wine that is still
In ecstasy.
Glimmering still
In ecstasy,
Commingled wines
Of you and me
In One fulfill,...
The Mystery.
3.3k
With my Beloved I alone have been,
When secrets tenderer than evening airs
Passed, and the Vision blest
Was granted to my prayers,
That crowned me, else obscure, with endless fame;
The while amazed between
His Beauty and His Majesty
I stood in silent ecstasy
Revealing that which o'er my spirit went and came.
Lo, in His face commingled
Is every charm and grace;
The whole of Beauty singled
Into a perfect face
Beholding Him would cry,
'There is no God but He, and He is the most High.'
3k
How rich and pleasing thou, my Julia, art
In each thy dainty and peculiar part!
First, for thy queenship, on thy head is set
Of flowers a sweet commingled coronet:
About thy neck a carcanet is bound,
Made of the ruby, pearl and diamond:
A golden ring that shines upon thy thumb:
About thy wrist, the rich dardanium.
Between thy ******* (than down of swans more white)
There plays the sapphire with the chrysolite.
No part besides must of thyself be known,
But by the topaz, opal, calcedon.
2.3k
My Poet:
*tho evening draws nigh,
on this our wedding day,
the stars, guardians of our canopy,
reminder twinkle it can never be
fully complete, for you always make
a moment in time for me,
today we wait, synchronizing seconds
until both pronounce,
I do
let my hands,
in my tenderest embracing grasp,
perforce, when I hold you face,
still cannot hold your entirety,
for you always make and leave a space
for me to seal our universe
today, you need me to fill you,
so together, ever forward,
we will define and explore
the edges of our redrawn,
now, single unified line,
our ever expanding contiguous boundary
our blood is not commingled
but when our bodies unified,
the physics of our conjoining,
illustrates that those in our
surround of time and space,
in the aura we create,
not so very great,
and yet our oneness
'tis a shining upon the countenance of our place,
a luminous emittance upon this earth
when you write your poetry,
it always finishes with me,
I am the native child of thy words,
I am the filament webbing
illuminating the spaces between each line
but more than this,
I am your beginning,
you are my destination,
together we make,
The End
they ask me to vow,
demand I swear, make promises,
certify, preserve, record and store
the solemnity of this marriage born,
in ledgers of the city,
before an invisible god
I eschew all this
for nothing in life
ever guaranteed by words secured,
but this I know true*
My Poet:
*what I shall give to you,
and you to us,
cannot be spoke,
the words, not yet,
have we originated
for each day
will we compose anew,
each day, shall be
a new combination
under new stars,
our canopy unfolded,
our joining sanctified,
by the simple truth of us*
May 26, 2014
May 26, 2014 at 11:30 PM UTC
I deemed thy garments, O my Hope, were grey,
So far I viewed thee. Now the space between
Is passed at length; and garmented in green
Even as in days of yore thou stand’st to-day.
Ah God! and but for lingering dull dismay,
On all that road our footsteps erst had been
Even thus commingled, and our shadows seen
Blent on the hedgerows and the water-way.
O Hope of mine whose eyes are living love,
No eyes but hers,—O Love and Hope the same!—
Lean close to me, for now the sinking sun
That warmed our feet scarce gilds our hair above.
O hers thy voice and very hers thy name!
Alas, cling round me, for the day is done!
1.3k
You--softly spoken entrant whose voice
bore holes afire, gave and took utterance in wilds
of will.
Obscured by the liminal impasse of distances,
elements commingled--you, the God/Goddess
of each in schizoidal break.
Passions outstretched to vanquished winds,
nestled in the directional roughhouse of you.
Sodden in sweat, limbs quake to receive one
another...well-versed nerves know the crucial
importance of our meeting.
Hence, the Foundation of the World--
space time's admixture beholds Truth take in
its fictions.
Its footprints burst the bubble of a mirage in
the deep of desert.
Whenever flesh and bone ran over their
spinning perimeter, lanced by the shock of
gravity...the firmament dissolved its maya.
We withstand our cosmic segway, we lock eyes...
chalk down the Seven Wonders to One.
Mar 2, 2015
Mar 2, 2015 at 8:23 PM UTC
You were mine
You owned me but I thought I bought you
To the right, straight on ‘til morning, priceless
Tundra frontier vast expanse of possibility final
Let’s settle down
Our place very fine
Satan’s little acre
Where work got done you oversaw
To the left, we kissed deep, drunk each other
Families commingled extended
Biblically umbilical making babies
Behind the audacious bleachers
Our promise broken unfulfilled
Until our hot integrity solders this metallurgy
Together again like joint work power coupled
With terpsichorean abandon unleashed
I’ll stop the world
Board the white van
Emerge my own man
And you are his
Aug 10, 2013
Aug 10, 2013 at 1:22 AM UTC
This morning’s dawn
had a hint; a tease,
like barely touching lips
of autumn to the air.
It tickled the skin
like a cool breeze
on warm inner thighs;
or the goose bumps
on *******
at first caress.
The grass was damp
like the commingled glistening dew
of lover’s passion spent.
I love the fall
from grace from summer
to the meditation
at season’s end.
I wait the blushing trees
like my lover’s first unveiling
before the bold nakedness
of November’s knowing wind.
I thought of you this morning
as I walked
into the day.
Sep 18, 2011
Sep 18, 2011 at 12:56 PM UTC
An ant repeatedly told
she loved him so much,
he wasn't astonished a bit,
knew life was incredible
it's a pin point of *****
to dull the existential pain,
how would he forget this ant
if not an ancestor,she may become
a descendant, a bond for ages.
"The grain of sugar
you allowed me to take
made me look sweet as I
shared it with my buddies,
though you aren't aware of it"
A cloud told that
she once made him stand
under the umbrella of
her cool shade, and that
experience did transform her.
"So tired you were
your eyes were dreaming;
while being dismembered
by an adamant wind,
inch by inch, I struggled
to hold myself together
till you could find a
new shade, before I am dissolved
by external compulsion.
Those moments I lived for
the love of you, so pure
expecting nothing but
fulfilling my karmic, dictate,
gave me the insight,
to remain a cloud in spirit, ever
though not in my form any more.
Your songs of loneliness
made me overwhelm,
I am essentially water
that flows towards the ocean,
containing meanings dense
the song you have sung
in intense pain, was
an experience; walking through
glowing embers of coal,
for all who commingled
with my flow to ocean."
The tree had a rare radiance
it told him pleased,"Like me
you too have the crown,
a cloud of dancing thought waves,
that has silver lines,all the time
you sit and contemplate,
Every one has a Buddha
reclining inside,if you care
to think the way out of all miseries
he would be awake and smiling,
the compassion incarnate.
I appreciated what you did
that marked, I thought
the beginning of the light
that drives the ignorance of
darkness out from mind.
I did it by showering flowers
were you aware?"
"Karuna" she whispered as if to
emphasize it's preciousness
"Compassion" is what the most,
the world now lacks"
It could make the world a garden of love,
That's what reflected on me
when you sat underneath me
and gazed in to the far galactic
turbulence that is a saga continues,
how many moments of gold,
we were gifted one by one!
"Karuna" is the jewel, the Buddha
the enlightened one's words
did sow in us, with the touch
of a transforming thunder."
May 16, 2016
May 16, 2016 at 2:37 PM UTC
She does not ask for much;
a piece of paper,
a few markers,
time, and a mind at peace.
Her patience is maddening.
Dot by dot,
fantasies form,
sprung from her forehead
fully grown and armed
with the colors she imagines.
Her gray eyes clouded
with concentration,
for every jab of her hand
must strike true,
a felt-tip Seurat.
Her life a study in pointillism, too;
each day filling in
an outline, dark and light
commingled, colored by
those who come and go,
the users and losers,
the bruisers and the healers.
Self-portraits abound;
the smiling face and glowing eyes
she will show the world
painted over the pain
she has known
from loss of blood
and faithless friends.
A word to the wise:
Though her unicorns and pegasi
are strikingly beautiful,
her demons can be quite real.
Sep 22, 2016
Sep 22, 2016 at 5:08 PM UTC
"As if you were on fire from within
The moon lives in the lining of your skin"
Because your eyes, so beautiful, containing every color an ocean can be, show the light of your soul... and it is kind.
Because your lips, sculpted by angels, turn up at the corners when you smile, and your happiness makes me a child again.
Because your hair, strands of gold commingled with shadow, betrays the brightness of your spirit,
and the darkness, not unlike my own.
Because your name; said in the darkness of my room, to myself, alone, means I am not alone.
This is why.
Jul 6, 2018
Jul 6, 2018 at 4:46 PM UTC
Elegy for a Four-Cup Coffee Maker
Poor Mister Coffee – may God grant you rest
After long years of humble service to man
You never abandoned your duty station
Next to the cookies and the kitchen sink
You were the first to bless each day at dawn
Your little red sanctuary lamp aglow
As with electricity you commingled
Water and coffee into a sacrament
Fruit of the bean and work of human hands -
But now you are silent, to drip no more
Feb 18, 2017
Feb 18, 2017 at 8:40 AM UTC
The Earth is stained
with so much blood,
millions cut asunder
on the thunderous plains,
who endured
mountains of pain,
now lie buried,
under
the fields of endless flowers.
So God bless the friendlies & the foes,
the crusaders & the defenders alike,
who will be always together,
commingled &
forever at peace,
buried deep
under
the fields of endless flowers.
And for those still living in
such trying hours,
I will pick for you a single flower
& praise the rest
of them swaying in
the fields of endless flowers.
Be safe & Godspeed
my brethren.
May 23, 2014
May 23, 2014 at 10:32 PM UTC
Look at the sphere –
which astronomers say is no sphere at all.
Not halfway between ourselves and the edge of space.
Blue with the ancient gasses that cling to its massive ribs.
Blue with the dissent of that atmosphere to sunlight.
Flat, a little, at the poles, teetering
white into the void.
Strewn with latitudes and the wakes of ships.
It is green, except where it is not.
It is dusted with the tread of angels
commingled with the hoofprints of stags.
It is only as wide as you can hold in your eye.
A succession of names is written on the pedestal.
Each, for a moment, watched night crawl across a peninsula;
saw countries form, shine and pass out of being,
smiles at a distant stranger.
Spin it lightly, with just your fingertips, and listen to the air moving over it.
Nobody is here, and the final name is yours.
First you will come to know your voice.
Then you can begin to name the animals.
May 15, 2022
May 15, 2022 at 2:04 AM UTC
She drapes her beauty
over a gossamer sleeve
breathes music box melody
through the spindles of dreams
elopes with the stars
and whispers
lavish possibilities
through a cauldron of clouds
she, the whimsy,
midnight Blues fantasy
seeped in gin
drizzled over
my sins
she is madness
and meaning
commingled in
pearlescent
glow
Jul 28, 2020
Jul 28, 2020 at 8:53 AM UTC
I don't know where we came from
I don't know how I got here
But we might not be here too much longer
I'm sitting here on the back porch of my mind
Swamp gas bubbled up
Or anaerobic somethings commingled in the sea
A single cell expanded
We keep expanding till we're free
I have a megalomaniacal mind
It's a miracle how I think
Just as I chew more cannabis edibles
Then puke them up in the sink
Take another swig of liquor
Read the Bible and curse God
How'd the Lord of all Creation
Go and get this heathen wrong?
Really though I want like everyone
And this life is just a test
Who's the teacher and group leader
Who wanted all of this?
I don't know where I came from
This is my agnostic poem
I don't know how we got here
But I feel right at home
Feb 28, 2018
Feb 28, 2018 at 2:53 PM UTC
Somewhere in the apology
I lost my direction
a nervous outpouring
commingled with red heat
In the most obvious of places
and well
my train derailed
in a flurry of regret
Mar 5, 2014
Mar 5, 2014 at 3:46 AM UTC
Buried on this Island in a tiny unmarked plot,
You would have been my son or daughter
but she decided to abort.
It would be nice to have been consulted,
But that’s a right men haven’t got.
You might have been a beauty
as your sister is today.
Or You might have been a scholar
if not commingled with this clay.
There is no stone where I can grieve;
No plot to kneel and pray.
Just this burial ground of paupers
I am visiting today.
It is my fault as much as hers
I do not seek to blame.
If only I could have held you once
or given you a name.
The winter chill cuts to my core.
I feel a sense of sin.
I’m reminded the saddest words of all
Are these:“what might have been”
Mar 13, 2018
Mar 13, 2018 at 7:37 PM UTC
What an amazing thing it is
the center of the highways and byways of humanness
A rhythmic beating that stirs the soul
the ultimate example of the word dichotomy
It can survive attacks with incredible resilience
yet be shattered by mere words
Lobbed in your direction to inflict pain and suffering
these powerful weapons wielded like a sword
Leaving it in shreds like shards of glass
strewn carelessly about each crystal abandoned unto itself
The results can be deep incisions leading to permanent scars
picking up the pieces far easier said than done
Some say it is akin to a stab wound with a twisted blade
that literally and figuratively can invoke fatal damage
Often; time, space and love encourage healing
While a touch, hug or kiss can re-ignite its flame
Occasionally it requires the talents of a skilled surgeon
To bring it back to life using ordinary means sans heroics
Hope, trust and faith the elixir aligned with patience
A potent cure commingled with a mix of prescriptions
The combination of memories and senses
Delivering messages for it to act upon
Call it heart break or heart ache or any other name
The result can end up being the same.
In the end it is not a matter of whether science
can complete a successful transplant
But whether a broken heart can be mended at all
Andreas Simic©
Feb 11, 2018
Feb 11, 2018 at 8:03 AM UTC