"commingling" poems
the cherry blossom accord/equation
”perfumers use aromachemicals to recreate a cherry blossom accord...(an accord is a scent made up of individual aromachemicals, that when combined, create a harmonious blend where none of the individual ingredients are able to be detected on their own).”
the odor of our lustful eyes,
the sweat, a unique commingling,
a sheen of salted oils body bathing,
crushed green petals of peaches,
crumbled together with the softy fuzz shavings,
the sediment of aromatic fruit juices drippings
our blending bottled in our brains,
none other would recognize but we,
to too two smell each other through and over
floors, concourses, cities, disparate distances
our ingredients secreted (secret),
our flavors cell secreted (secreting)
the world’s silly tittering aroma inserted,
our sparking fingertips touching
add a bush burning burnt odiferous
we seat across from each other in an airport
plastic restaraunt and everyone asks out loudly,
what is that smell, feed me that, taste me that,
as we are irradiating the atmosphere,
as we renegotiate our cherry blossom accord,
fresh signatures, updated, harmony of harmonies, notarized
she smiles, I joke, winking,
we must continue
to meet like this,
the fireworks of we,
of us,
to-gather to-gether,
a getting of giving,
she answers:
*take me home and
bathe me in love,
give our bodies shelter
from the world outside,
beside a new spice
have I uncovered,
this will require some
discussion+exploration,
the quantity to be added,
the when, and the how!*
what is this new ingredient?
asking puzzled and aroused,
she laughs
(a spice already included),
why it’s called
only love poetry
8/23/19 4:55pm
Aug 23, 2019
Aug 23, 2019 at 5:06 PM UTC
Pure in it's gleaming marble white
a rare conch shell, well formed,
with 'reverse turning spiral',*
he holds, in both palms with reverence
closer to his naked chest, where
his beating caged heart tries to create
echoes, as if it, in an unknown
mysterious way, represents
a myth entwine him with pure nature.
An intriguing remains, retrieved,
from the accumulated deep sea secrets,
where still his memories vaguely roam
in another life, as a creature of the deeps.
The conch he is aware, hides tender notes
that bridles air, water and fire, cosmic ripples
prods him subtly to accelerate his quest,
a swim towards the maelstrom of inner core,
commingling with the music cosmos conducts
every moment, with it's billion piece orchestra grand.
She is a flame burning in clarified butter,
his consort,her eyes reflect a concurrent spirit,
both her palms she bring together ,makes a lotus thus
and a red blooming lotus is nestled between palms.
Her lotus speaks of fecundity,from which flows love and life
generations, descend find succor, in the gentle fragrance,
and warmth, the lotus, protects, even at the midst of a freeze.
Her eyes are blissfully half closed immersed in the fragrance
wafting in the air spreading in waves far and wide.
Feb 14, 2016
Feb 14, 2016 at 9:26 PM UTC
"Though to my feathers in the wet,
I have stood here from break of day.
I have not found a thing to eat,
For only ******* comes my way.
Am I to live on lebeen-lone?'
Muttered the old crane of Gort.
"For all my pains on lebeen-lone?'
King Guaire walked amid his court
The palace-yard and river-side
And there to three old beggars said,
"You that have wandered far and wide
Can ravel out what's in my head.
Do men who least desire get most,
Or get the most who most desire?'
A beggar said, "They get the most
Whom man or devil cannot tire,
And what could make their muscles taut
Unless desire had made them so?'
But Guaire laughed with secret thought,
"If that be true as it seems true,
One of you three is a rich man,
For he shall have a thousand pounds
Who is first asleep, if but he can
Sleep before the third noon sounds."
And thereon, merry as a bird
With his old thoughts, King Guaire went
From river-side and palace-yard
And left them to their argument.
"And if I win,' one beggar said,
'Though I am old I shall persuade
A pretty girl to share my bed';
The second: "I shall learn a trade';
The third: "I'll hurry' to the course
Among the other gentlemen,
And lay it all upon a horse';
The second: "I have thought again:
A farmer has more dignity.'
One to another sighed and cried:
The exorbitant dreams of beggary.
That idleness had borne to pride,
Sang through their teeth from noon to noon;
And when the sccond twilight brought
The frenzy of the beggars' moon
None closed his blood-shot eyes but sought
To keep his fellows from their sleep;
All shouted till their anger grew
And they were whirling in a heap.
They mauled and bit the whole night through;
They mauled and bit till the day shone;
They mauled and bit through all that day
And till another night had gone,
Or if they made a moment's stay
They sat upon their heels to rail,,
And when old Guaire came and stood
Before the three to end this tale,
They were commingling lice and blood
"Time's up,' he cried, and all the three
With blood-shot eyes upon him stared.
"Time's up,' he eried, and all the three
Fell down upon the dust and snored.
1
2.4k
Ultimately, language will be replaced by subtleties.
The amplified magnitude of your true essence commingling amidst another's - unbounded and effortless.
Parallel perspectives - instinctive and raw
Each quark and quirk facing the void
Evoking recognition of confidence wrought amidst the entwined advent of your ability to manifest emergent and fresh.
Hewn vibrationally in the full spectrum of presence, we lightly upon wave form.
Oct 7, 2016
Oct 7, 2016 at 8:12 PM UTC
10,000 steps to a poem
<~>
walk to save my visions, my subterfuge-self, trying to
encapsulate the moments, seconds of nano-instances of a
tableau of histories, of actions becoming interactions,
a physical mitosis, ground into one human paste of word-cells
by a singular mortar and pestle that more than blends, but condenses
walk in Whitman’s footsteps, prowl old cobbled
streets seeing them anew, listening to the patois
of each skyward pathway, a commingling of
catechisms, Tefilot, Salah, Stuti Karana, into a stampede becoming a tornado funnel of a multivariate alphabets singularity - a prayer|poem returning to birth-mother
rush homeward desperate to retain the holy mess of verbal music,
before aged eyes release the visions, into a heavenly lost but found
depot of single lefty gloves, snatches and refrains, hymnals, phrases,
10,000 preservation band steps keeping but scraps, weeping
for the so much lost, yet blessing-uttering thankful for this one,
to a one
*who has kept us alive, sustained us, and brought us to
this moment, to this season.*
4/4/21
1:50pm
~writ by night, daylight born~
Apr 4, 2021
Apr 4, 2021 at 1:57 PM UTC
Like thousands of soldiers in parachutes
they come out of the winter sky
One by one hitting the pavement
to claim victory for the season now unfolding
At first they are vanquished almost instantly
a price paid for those leading the charge
However as they begin to accumulate and cluster
a formidable foe is being created
Inch by inch, foot by foot, a fortress is being built
one that can be transformed into an igloo for shelter if needed
Soon the landscape will be covered by a heavy white blanket
left unattended it will run amok overwhelming all
As plummeting temperatures assault those not ready
once open lakes and river pathways no longer escape routes
A battering ram of inclement weather hampering travel
imprisoning those caught unaware of its fury
Snow drifts form obstructing passageways
entrapping those not prepared with an escape route
Waiting out the enemy a defensive strategy now in use
As it surrounds you on all sides building an oppressing presence
High winds and frostbite commingling in the air
that will dominate at the end of the day
Beauty or beast
The conflict yet to be decided.
Andreas Simic ©
Apr 23, 2022
Apr 23, 2022 at 7:19 AM UTC
We're talking
put up a hand
to stop a hurricane
futile here,
folks.
Two days past trying
while listening
to Hermine's tails
lashing at the windows,
I reach deep
into a well of emptiness
for a lost bucket
of words
filled with dusted
dried feelings,
the rope frayed
to snapping.
A thirst to heal
will lead me to drill
elsewhere,
thirsting for the tears
commingling with rain,
the tears that burst
from a stone-crag heart
in artesian splendor.
Sep 3, 2016
Sep 3, 2016 at 10:40 AM UTC
Downriver...crystalline ventricles
gurgling, bedded stones believe
rest--greenhorn's hymnal.
Land kept at your sides, passed
and passing, love's dicast.
Gushed alter of the wayfarer,
perfect turn of phrase--spurred onward
gravity's lane.
A commingling smoke of candle and
incense--bird's parallel, lucid Coming...
divined gauge.
Euphoric to be had of earth,
overflow at rain's touch.
Errant yonder, solvent sketch...
at-long-last's monotone declarative.
Soul's minutiae in plain, downriver...
downriver...downriver.
Feb 17, 2015
Feb 17, 2015 at 2:05 PM UTC
Disjoining this coterie
dissolves it's fragments
in Unison
Dispersal to all borders
with hasty charge
Contracted to bide
Consenting inside a concord
Of Visceral culpability
to Re-Integrate
Incontrovertibly
Oct 11, 2010
Oct 11, 2010 at 1:50 AM UTC
For Kara--
I was an idle mind miles out at the wheel, just combustion
On a road. The borderlands
Lose their sense of place and aim
Just skirting the middle space with no face or claim to
Dauphin, Lebanon, or Lancaster.
I’ve given my love to any of the three
One is in memories and
One is in late, and
One is where I graciously keep moored
The threads of my rebirth.
These signs are riddled in bullet holes, their figures
Come to semblance of entangles, brilliant in brunette
And a gaze, reluctant ever to be caught,
I wouldn’t wish to go back
If she could be remade from bones, copse, and sunlight
Through auric clouds of mayflies.
But, the illusion scatters, and in its lack,
I do find her, much more real than ever
She is what keeps me settled in the several fawning hours
And though weak from sleep she’s the very victory of a single breathe
I start my day believing in, that she’s a spirit,
There’s this life of hers inside the countryside
Like winds who speak in sweetened tones, mild
In mockery and bewilderment, the very grip of control
Has her fingers playing palmistry, pretending magic
Distorting the sad matter of earth, her very being is a song
That to lose or to grieve my lonely way
I, to Mt. Hope, find clear direction back.
Fall in love with Lancaster girls and they can break your heart
They'll have you already like rolling hills and city lights,
And she is the entire scene commingling
Where it ought, that summer aura of hers
Is a blessing just so hard to bear,
For stories are not so wearing on me, they are easier to believe.
I no longer need to pretend
That airplanes are shooting stars
When there’s no need for wishing to a home
Where the heart is anymore; there is the
Hand that leads me everywhere,
Back to the miles of shimmering land
Where one hears always sighs of content
And rests easy in disbelief.
Mar 28, 2015
Mar 28, 2015 at 8:30 PM UTC
Her excited nerves are tingling
He met her on the sanded pier
Their hungry hearts are mingling
His pocket keys are jingling
He carries good luck everywhere
Her excited nerves are tingling
While they sipped cups of singling
He said words she wanted to hear
Their hungry hearts are mingling
They danced and went swingling
Everyone saw both of them there
Her excited nerves are tingling
He bent low, whispering, ingling
Silencing all of her lingering fear
Their hungry hearts are mingling
Today, their lives are commingling
It's a truth they can't wait to share
Her excited nerves are tingling
Their hungry hearts are mingling.
Oct 28, 2015
Oct 28, 2015 at 1:51 PM UTC
Miracle of this morning:
Sun commingling with green !
I see.
Jul 12, 2012
Jul 12, 2012 at 9:20 PM UTC
inspired by TC Tolbert's poem, ""Dear Melissa"
~~~
joined skin cells shed and shredded,
two bodies, a compositoy,
an experiment in the temporary,
now, lost under lock and key, at a secure depository,
remote, undisclosed location,
kept unheated in a dark cool place
to preserve their combinatory
slow, half-life decaying oratory
the body is never an accident,
even though we mostly are,
accidental tourists, two collision-prone comets,
lark, rambling rambunctious adventurers,
on a half-day tour only,
leaving behind commingling blinking dust vapor trails,
emissions of a tour bus journey rerouted
while under orbit sail
some cells, microscopic, preserved digitally,
aged to imperfection, thrash my eyes,
making me speak in tongues I do not recognize,
but fluently possess, no wonder there,
the memory place fairly empty,
room aplenty for passerby's and the imagery
of the vaguest of dearly departed
skin is not the only mot shed,
sloughing of woeful words, shelled
~~~
Dear Melissa
TC Tolbert
a curve billed thrasher
is cleaning its beak on the ground—
we are closer now than ever—sitting
in shadow—I never want to scare
anyone—not really—I have a friend
who loves people who come out
suddenly—in the dark—
pleasure
is the same distance as pain from here—
that’s my skin on your sweater—both hands
stripped now—I know I am someone
to you I am entirely—practicing
Spanish on the computer—gesturing to
the neighbor instead of speaking—
to sharpen
the body is never an accident— someone
I know I am not—letters are inseparable
from loss—moving what can be still
moved—one is sweeping the mouth—
what ever isn’t skin—take it off—
May 7, 2016
May 7, 2016 at 5:39 PM UTC
Piano keys are dreams that illude me.
The sounds are so sensual, clacks that mock the gentle twinge of a note.
Like guitar strings plucked just so, sound as the weeping of stars.
Light that seems to melt away from its whole leaving a void.
I feel as though the world has become so much easier to hear.
The silence from indoors is a perpetual energy that feeds us.
Keeps us safe.
Yet the ecstasy of light on a dark night seems to call to us.
The blur of a grey black in the night sky that meshes so well with street lights.
The winter calls clarity to our eyes,
and the world seems to stand still while snowflakes move past our frozen bodies.
And each flake catches the bouncing particulates of a glimmer, making the air crisp.
Like the sound of ivory tickling the soft ridges of oxygen in our ears.
Commingling with the illusion of light behind our eyes.
And the foot prints in the snow,
foot prints searching for the morning glances of a sunrise from dew drops that are months away. They seem so lost.
As lost as unwritten notes to a beautiful mind.
As lost as a concerto performed in an empty hall.
-P.S.
Jun 12, 2013
Jun 12, 2013 at 10:16 AM UTC
Time and Wind raced the wallowing skies,
speeding past spiraling leaves,
glorying triumphal in veiled in lies,
an interminable pursuance of meandering
through mystical myths of life
lopsided and rustical in guise,
hung up on the horizon gates;
"I'm no confluence for commingling
for opposites merged with binds"
Nov 13, 2017
Nov 13, 2017 at 6:34 AM UTC
The Knees
never forget
the prayers
at the stairs
of memory.
In the afterlife
an erstwhile
lover
flys forever
like a crane
in the limited spaces
of my heart.
May 6, 2015
May 6, 2015 at 6:12 PM UTC
Adult Alternative Poem
not for the young, reserved just for the young, just at heart,
your skin, face, crinkled, for smiling is you resting face positivity,
you daily existence free of punctuation, no separation,
your body tilted, falling forward, only direction the chest understands
your words sewn on tapestry of silence, yet voices never stilled,
fingertips spark on command when touch is earnest, casual, fierce,
Bublé, Sting, Daughtry, Allison and Adele, ****** tears commingling,
read her your love poetry & her chest breathing, your oxygen tube
easy to be an adult when the alternatives are all
proximity discoverable, nearness constant, distance an irrelevancy,
age just another construct and love, an ageless deconstruction+
unfinished reconstruction, adult alternative channel, our only playlist
Dec 23, 2019
Dec 23, 2019 at 9:28 AM UTC
TEN HAIKU
1
Far away
long ago
only memories and feelings now.
2
Worn-out books
on neglected bookshelf
I remember my school-days.
3
Winter night in Melbourne
hastening feet
muffled coughs.
4
Depth of night
she stands under the street-lamp
for whom is she waiting?
5
Last tram from the city
a manuscript
of sad and tired faces.
6
Moonlit night
lovers look at the moon and stars
fishermen watch their nets.
7
The old man looks at the sky
heaving a deep sigh
the kids call ‘Grandpa, full moon tonight!’
8
Violin strains drifting
in the night commingling
with the sighing of the winds.
9
I was writing a poem
a tiny bird was pecking on my window
I forgot my words.
10
The last winter leaves
scatter on the wet ground
the crows step on them and fly away
Sep 10, 2015
Sep 10, 2015 at 6:29 AM UTC
She loves enormously
the very last demeanor of desolate sun,
the way stars undergoes the distance
and all the tussle they had with moon,
She faith not in earth,
not those peeps which appears famish right after having regale,
She wail not at funerals now
for god has whispered truth
and kept her arouse
from seven lethally sleep,
The way she perforated and annihilated his heart,
The way she gave her clangers the name of freedom,
The way she opted the arms of her paramour and made him watch that in the downpour of October,
The way she sheered without any au- revoir and burned him breathing,
he loved anyway,
That night was black
the sky was plenary,
the moon was serene,
under the aged tree,
her hand over his chest, starkers
they were slumbering, commingling two soul,
that was the final night,
that was their final powwow,
After that night ' My mom kept continue the yarn',
there was no her and no he,
Before any toughie comes in my cerebrum she ended it saying ,
"She shot his head
And cut her vein
for they mastered their devotion
they conquered their fate
when they found them under the pines
blood was everything that left "
Aug 30, 2017
Aug 30, 2017 at 7:28 AM UTC
You certainly make me granite,
emboldened with steel
& I know I make you tingle!
O darling, how can
the commingling of
sensuous-words
consummate our
perfect date & not allow us
to become masters
of a lonelier fate,
pray tell?
Mar 3, 2014
Mar 3, 2014 at 8:48 AM UTC
blunt deadly weapons of mass destruction
electrify, fracture, and
jeopardize **** Sapiens
species (and entire biosphere)
continuity rent asunder
doomsday declared (nuclear winter
gallows humor spelt
with eternal snow day)
dystopian authors outflanked
nuclear fallout wreaks worst
rocky horror picture
effected upon mankind
global (worldwide)
big screen radioactive
wee ***** weber webbing
materiel severely seared
sepsis poisons deoxyribo
nucleic acid future generations
organic fiber cursed
simultaneous single simulcast
broadcast airs live after Royal Wedding
audience participation demanded
bumping ugly fleshless
formed fruitless fatal fumes
anomalies all – blinded
******** begotten bemoan
brethren brood
brutal burnt offerings
crackling, snapping,
and popping surreal muck
shapeless liquified populace
sloshing helter skelter
quests slither towards
aimless destination
bone a fied skeleton crews cruise
crying cretins creep cavalierly
crepuscular cratered city
cruel mushroom clouds
cloaked croaking cellophane charred
cancerous clumps career,
clomp continuously
chaos charts choking climate
cold comfort commanded collusion
commander in chief concurred
crumpled coveted constitution credo
crass conceit communicated
cooly came clean concerning
consensual ****** cavort
crazy cream craving characterized
condoned combined crunching
crotch crab free **** -
****** free crux
contractual commingling
cashiered coverup
chic chica chick
cigerette chewing
clutched cocked club
choked chicken concluded
das capitol business
before he returned
to regularly broadcast program
the sea son finale
last chapter of human race
no winners, nor survivors
bleak contaminated Earth gasping
heaving jackknifed lost
nonpareil planet reduced to vapor!
May 18, 2018
May 18, 2018 at 6:33 PM UTC
By: David W. Clare
...where the down trodden trade in
their woes for more ***** and dope, for those with no hope...
Junkies, drunkies and the hapless disenfranchised **** of humanity enjoy commingling in the material ruins of rusted up tools
Unable to shed their grief to falsely find relief investing in the misery of others...
Stolen junk for sale!
A sickening menagerie garbage pit of doom
A sad room of mental midgets as they fidget like neurotic goons...
The hideous merchant recoils your offer in jest
Might one suggest avoid the crap trap of broken barbarism...
Saws, wrenches and shovels to merely dig ones pitiful self a deeper pit of derision
A better decision?
Goodwill stores are there to empower the solution whilst the lowly pawn shop sadly empowers the pollution...
(C) in perpetuity all rights reserved by the author
(P) FilmNoirWorks
--
Oct 28, 2016
Oct 28, 2016 at 12:27 PM UTC
if you take ***
out of the equation
areourexchangese m p t yormeaninglesschatter?
or a commingling of ideas
energy sparks
we are
of the earth
but we are also of the heavens
Mar 30, 2012
Mar 30, 2012 at 6:57 PM UTC
Echoes!
Faint echoes
abound.
Ghosts in
the ether.
Faint, subtle.
Barely discernible.
Information
never lost
yet
nearly so.
The void,
filled with
echoes,
forever.
Echoes of
once was.
Echoes filled
with civilizations
noise.
Filled with
essence,
filled with
history.
Stories
of civilizations.
All that ever
was, just echoes.
Echoes filled
with ethos,
filled with
poems,
filled with
aspersions,
filled with each
civilizations
essence.
All they
represented.
Gone now!
Passing like
ghost ships.
Ghost ships
in the
night.
Echoes
passing thru
echoes.
Commingling.
Meeting!
Ghosts, meeting
ghosts deep
in the void!
Exchanging,
yet
never to
have met
at all.
Dec 22, 2018
Dec 22, 2018 at 7:31 AM UTC
green as eyes
drinking from emerald caves
the color of rusted gems are dancing in your face
i keep getting distracted by the longing in your voice
poetry keeps me hungry
poetry wakes me up
forever trusting my intuition
i seek heavy water for keeping our daughters safe
i serve muscles and nerves in a stew
the returning few are worthy of bone broth
your strength is several miles high
your fame is conveniently shy
i am arguably thine
reflect and revive
however you strive
i support you
all is said and done
now get dressed by the fire
go forth in glory and don’t forget to inspire
in between sensations
there is a pause all for you
how your hair smells
and what are you waiting for
your breath is commingling with the ocean
forever immersed in the moistness of the dawn
i am shirtless and perspiring
juicy mountains determine
our fall from heaven's grace
a gladness that i chased you
for once you were bitten
i could never be happy without you by my side
retrieve the dimples from my cheeks
dress the dog in cotton tunics
release the poison of the world
and dance with me in forgotten fields of lavender
the secrets are no longer kept
what was spoken in neglect is now there forever
i hear that one is only a disguise for another
Jun 2, 2017
Jun 2, 2017 at 1:29 PM UTC