"communed" poems
MESSENGER
Now at the Seventh Gate the seventh chief,
Thy proper mother's son, I will announce,
What fortune for this city, for himself,
With curses he invoketh:--on the walls
Ascending, heralded as king, to stand,
With paeans for their capture; then with thee
To fight, and either slaying near thee die,
Or thee, who wronged him, chasing forth alive,
Requite in kind his proper banishment.
Such words he shouts, and calls upon the gods
Who o'er his race preside and Fatherland,
With gracious eye to look upon his prayers.
A well-wrought buckler, newly forged, he bears,
With twofold blazon riveted thereon,
For there a woman leads, with sober mien,
A mailed warrior, enchased in gold;
Justice her style, and thus the legend speaks:--
'This man I will restore, and he shall hold
The city and his father's palace homes.'
Such the devices of the hostile chiefs.
'Tis for thyself to choose whom thou wilt send;
But never shalt thou blame my herald-words.
To guide the rudder of the State be thine!
ETEOCLES
O heaven-demented race of Oedipus,
My race, tear-fraught, detested of the gods!
Alas, our father's curses now bear fruit.
But it beseems not to lament or weep,
Lest lamentations sadder still be born.
For him, too truly Polyneikes named,--
What his device will work we soon shall know;
Whether his braggart words, with madness fraught,
Gold-blazoned on his shield, shall lead him back.
Hath Justice communed with, or claimed him hers,
Guided his deeds and thoughts, this might have been;
But neither when he fled the darksome womb,
Or in his childhood, or in youth's fair prime,
Or when the hair thick gathered on his chin,
Hath Justice communed with, or claimed him hers,
Nor in this outrage on his Fatherland
Deem I she now beside him deigns to stand.
For Justice would in sooth belie her name,
Did she with this all-daring man consort.
In these regards confiding will I go,
Myself will meet him. Who with better right?
Brother to brother, chieftain against chief,
Foeman to foe, I'll stand. Quick, bring my spear,
My greaves, and armor, bulwark against stones.
4.8k
*The music in the library was you,
My saving symphony, a silent movie,
That Jason Reeves song which
Never fails to wow me,
A whisper,
A ***** whisper,
The ancient sound of a page's
Turning, a bell-ringing
From the ***** icecream vendors
Of my humble Homeland,
Or the comfy sound
Of an oven-toaster.
I was enchanted
To meet you.
Had you not come to me, love-ling,
And fling the old cobwebs away
From the bore of a book called
Moby ****
Which my life was,
Then all the dust of the Earth,
Of the shelf, of my flesh
Would have gathered
In me, burying the papyrus,
The scroll, a fragility—
My heart,
My ever-lost.
Time ticked like a man clambering,
An ambulance, a clocktower
Pierced through the chest, the soul,
The spirit.
But your eyes sang, songstress.
My spirit hoped.
Your body leaned,
Communed.
Your ear
Touched my ear—
A melody, a harmony,
An embrace.*
© 2015 J.S.P.
Feb 27, 2015
Feb 27, 2015 at 3:39 AM UTC
Now of New Age, I am a fan,
I communed with my healing man,
I relaxed, breathed, because I can,
Yes! I communed with my soul's shaman,
He appeared, by my psychic side,
At last, I met my inner guide,
But, you see, it was lunchtime,
Hunger pains panged inside,
Who is this messenger guide?
I asked, yearning deep, besides,
Yes! I did commune with my inner shaman,
Unfortunately, his name is Manga!
Let's do lunch,
End of hunch!
May 2, 2016
May 2, 2016 at 12:51 AM UTC
Today, I woke up to spearmint soaked vegetation,
where I communed and warred with
jagged-edged thistle, and needle-nosed insects
filling their large bellies with the space between
the stitching of my shirt. I pounded
my foot on metal and the ground beneath opened.
I lifted and the tender roots of those things I call
weeds snapped and popped as they were torn from
their sphere, like fish from a pond.
Today, I walk as though
I were in a giant corn-field where
a thick fog floats through shortly after
the sun has fallen below the ragged trees off
in the distance. But I cannot see those trees,
I see only the grey around me,
and I hear it ask me the same question
again and again and again and
I know it is me asking the question. While the answer,
like the horizon, is something I already know.
The problem is, I don't want to leave the fog.
I want
the sun to set so that I can leave and never have
to look
or think about the horizon ever again.
A deer passes, he is on his way out of the corn-field,
I stare at him jealously, wanting to follow him or
hoping time will stop
so I can have a little more time to think about it.
Sep 5, 2010
Sep 5, 2010 at 10:25 PM UTC
A deep and sprawling swell
Crept its fingers deep and well
Around my stomach as it fell,
And rose. Each breath a tell,
She's alive. She is well.
Despite a heart that ceased to beat,
Molded to tawny and rusted to effete,
That despite all attention and treat
Leaked a pussing and steady gleat
That could not help but secrete.
Though I wrapped wrapped my wounds with my hair
Where once hands grasped my neck, wet and bare,
Cocooning deep in skin without care
while I, unaware,
Opened lips and gasped in ecstasy. Or despair
As he shut my mouth, shut my eyes.
Made me convert, communed and baptized.
In making me what he wants, made me what he despised.
Leaves me, but one kiss and leaves, and my heart dies.
****** from the start for what I not knew,
Now I'm ****** for what I do.
A knowledge i never sought to accrue,
Wasted. Through.
****** by me for being ****** by you.
May 29, 2013
May 29, 2013 at 6:36 PM UTC
I hope that when Love comes into my life, he knocks.
That he is warm and smells like hay, like wet earth and roses, like my father.
that he is the same in every light, every angle, in black and white and color. That his daddy taught him how to fix things, and a Phillips looks good on him. When he says my name, I'll hear Texas, North Carolina and Oklahoma, long hot drives and a dust filled cab.
When he sees my shelves are crooked, he pulls nails
out of his pockets, he has pistols in his glove compartment, *****
jeans but cleans up nice, that when I say that I love Jesus he
reaches for my hair and says of course you do.
When Love comes, I hope he waits at the door because I take a while to get ready. I've been perfecting my heart for ages, softening my
soul to room temperature, polishing the pottery and brushing my hair back. I've been searching for the perfect shade of lipstick, one that
reminds him of a dream, an old brick building where he once
found me, where we broke bread and communed and
when he woke up, he left this old life and
came in search of something new
someone, new, me.
That when love comes, he's neither relieved or overwhelmed. He might
breathe a sigh of joy over I didn't know when it was gonna happen, but here we are. And Everything we've done up until that point is
an instrumental, everyone else a backing vocalist singing
harmonies to the way we laugh. When Love comes he'll
probably know. We'll probably glow brighter.
we'll probably glow brighter.
Apr 30, 2016
Apr 30, 2016 at 9:15 PM UTC
I've been in touch with the earth
from eight to eighteen
I've tasted the the dirt
Oh, the abrasions I've seen!
I've been one with the pavement
I've been one with the pain
I've contemplated the gravel
when I jumped from a train
I once communed with an animal
then communed with the ground
When my equestrian skills
were not to be found.
When I channeled the energy
of a poorly taped line
of an aerator machine,
I expanded my mind.
The lessons in life
can be deep and profound,
and, for a blue collar sage
the lessons abound.
Jan 18, 2016
Jan 18, 2016 at 4:08 PM UTC
TRIBUTE TO STEPHEN KESHI (A DIRGE).
Our son has gone to reunite with his wife,
she left us not long ago,
She left in haste without saying goodbye.
She was young and unaged lovely to behold.
She was unwell stricken by the rough rod of
life.
She journeyed in sorrow to the white Lords,
The ones who have communed with all
knowledge,
To know the answer to all pains.
She left to meet.
He saw her leaving and bade farewell,
Awaiting her return in wholesomeness of
being having healed.
The day came, strange with Eerie note, it
was a day of despair and desolation,
A day of misery and the depth of sorrow,
A day of dirge and elegy.
Our wife has come home,
The love of our son has returned.
She came a different being motionless,
Borne on the shoulders of men in black.
The wife of our son has come a heroine,
She has come on a different tone.
She was his girlfriend, the girl of his youth.
The mother of his children.
The only true joy he has ever known.
We saw son our son's life leaving him,
Our son who was our source of joy,
A leader in the game of men in nations,
A legend whose kick and lead has brought
us victories by him we won trophies.
Our own son has left us in sorrow to reunite
with his wife.
The lady of his youth, the Love of his life.
Our son has chosen the hand of his love
from the world beyond,
Leaving behind careless his innocent
children, the very fruit of his Union.
Our son has left us in pain and sorrow,
He left us a legend, a hero,
Our son has gone the way of his wife.
Our son has gone home!
THE BIG BOSS HAS GONE HOME!
Jun 11, 2016
Jun 11, 2016 at 4:46 AM UTC
Those long rambling messages
exposing tidbits of your genius
bubbling with your raw angst
shining true hues of you
send them through the choking air
clear my muddled mind
brandied brain
I see your depths
your heights
you
Apr 26, 2013
Apr 26, 2013 at 7:55 AM UTC
Spoken first, particular last
With a mightier introduction, ahead
Since sincerity, since seclusion, so fast...
Has the voice of a beautiful angel, awoken to lead...
Meetings of the mind
Continue in the voice, meager times
Hope and surmisal, can be so kind...
Letting a lost promise, become strength's trying...
Survival's prophecy, of the fittest
Where in, stirs of shared conscience
Is the can't, the cope of truth, a senses test...
Adage over communed liberty, overtly presence...
A tale of two liberty's
Shown a calling, a creed to instinct, due
Know a keep, beyond which is civility...
Ready an eye, of comprehension is anarchy's you...
Salt to salt, spice to spice
Where, out to dance among intuition's stars
Has the new voice, of now in love twice...
The rue of simplicity, the risk of summation, by far...
Oct 6, 2024
Oct 6, 2024 at 11:22 PM UTC
I've jotted the oblique
Scribbled the sublime
Communed with Mother Nature
While holding hands with Father Time
Dipped my toes in the poetic pool
Swam in the extreme
Question is does this make me out a fool
Or genius with a dream
I've taken my pen to absurd heights
And to the very depths of low
I've written what I fantasize
And that which I do not know
I've peeked around some corners
That set my minds eye free
Taking up the meaning
Of treasures hidden in the means
I've placed my writers kiss on all of this
As I've moved slowly through the rhyme
Tasting tiny morsels of oddity
In the words I've wined and dined
What this all boils down to
Is I've about covered it all
But before it is I give up on this
Think I'll squeeze out a couple more
Nov 16, 2015
Nov 16, 2015 at 10:13 PM UTC
A moment's consolation
is conveyed illogically,
its Intelligence has
communed with
unimaginable factors...
the cut and recut edge,
exclusively abreast.
Mar 14, 2016
Mar 14, 2016 at 2:46 PM UTC
Time to meditate and pray
Time to sleep and time to eat
Time to wash my father's feet!
Time to write and time to read
Keep up with my friends - agreed?
Time to cook and time to wash
Time to do the dishes - gosh!
Time to talk upon the phone
Time to be with God - alone
Now that day has just begun
I've communed with the Holy One
Meeting with the morning sun
Now it's time to have some FUN!
Nov 22, 2015
Nov 22, 2015 at 11:16 AM UTC
Once a starling choir at dawn’s first light
Wove borrowed lore of multitudes in flight
Each mirrored trill a surge of many souls
Naming the air in shared, harmonious might
Now I stand alone—a hermit lyrebird
My lone lament is all that’s heard
No flocking wings to quell my cry
Or crack of broken twigs beneath my feat
Then solid silence seals my defeat
Yet in these plumes both communed rifts abide
I bear the lore of countless hearts allied
For one lone note that trembles to be free—
A joint chorus and a hermit’s melody
Aug 24, 2025
Aug 24, 2025 at 4:50 PM UTC
Magdalena,
your beauty known
Magdalena,
your wisdom shown
Magdalena,
firm and steadfast
Magdalena,
communed repast
Magdalena,
so loved a man
Magdalena,
his blood in hand
Magdalena,
though history scolds
Magdalena,
your heart withholds
Magdalena,
much more than friend
Magdalena,
—the truth contends
(Villanova Pennsylvania: March, 2019)
Mar 26, 2019
Mar 26, 2019 at 5:44 PM UTC
Tree of Life stood at the
centre
of an intersection of
wheels .
He sat to one side in
blue light ,
while above him flew the
Spirit of the Shadow
and an enormous bird
made of fire .
☆
The High Priestess was
there besides ,
and to her left , the Queen
of Swords
danced dervish , slicing
the air .
On the wall behind her ,
an array of knives
and she slept every night
covered in flowers .
☆
Niaids moved swiftly
through swollen streams ,
past a luminescent green
magic grove .
Forest faeries in ceremonial
dress ,
watched as three devotees
of different psychic realms ,
communed with their
ancestors and Nature .
☆
One was adorned with
hibiscus ,
another had come laden
with dreams ,
a third one was dancing in
a soft perfumed mist ,
while all around hundreds
of animals and birds ,
began to sing with one voice
on the wind .
Sep 28, 2024
Sep 28, 2024 at 9:53 PM UTC
*I've jotted the oblique
Scribbled the sublime
Communed with Mother Nature
While holding hands with Father Time
Dipped my toes in the poetic pool
Swam in the extreme
Question is does this make me out a fool
Or genius with a dream
I've taken my pen to absurd heights
And to the very depths of low
I've written what I fantasize
And that which I do not know
I've peeked around some corners
That set my minds eye free
Taking up the meaning
Of treasures hidden in the means
I've placed my writers kiss on all of this
As I've moved slowly through the rhyme
Tasting tiny morsels of oddity
In the words I've wined and dined
What this all boils down to
Is I've about covered it all
But before it is I give up on this
Think I'll squeeze out a couple more*
Nov 16, 2014
Nov 16, 2014 at 7:26 AM UTC
You don't hate me
because I ****** you.
That's far too simple, baby.
I communed with you,
and I devoured your spirit.
From the husk that remains,
you must find wisdom
to regrow that which you were,
and know life will never be
quite the same.
-Ron Gavalik
Sep 14, 2018
Sep 14, 2018 at 3:39 PM UTC
Incomer and native,
crowned princes of Orkney arts,
the two communed together
with wind, wave and wilderness.
Their works kindled many hearts
conjured festivals of Island
arts, tragic St. Magnus Opera,
Fairwell to Stromness, poetry,
newsprint and novels.
George Mackay Brown's words,
Peter Maxwell Davies' music,
they left us their works,
left wind, wave and wilderness.
Dec 4, 2019
Dec 4, 2019 at 5:58 AM UTC
When I was a child I filled the vacuum of ignorance
with philosophies founded on a pebble
or a dandelion seed
In that time cats communed in slant-eyed syllables
savored gossip of ghosts and goblins
Outside time and space unborn souls lingered
waiting for the call of conception to take them
suddenly to a moment of birth
When I leaned against a telephone pole
I could feel tiny voices running inside the lines
The earth rolled on. I knew
I could feel it move when I lay in bed
before sleep tumbling eastward
spinning within the great circle of the year
I knew the plane in which the sun moved
I felt the spin of the Milky Way
Only passenger on the Cosmic Carnival Ride
I worried at infinity or pondered the history of rocks
"You see, I see this thing here
and I say it's green.
You say it's green too, but how
do we know it's the same color. I mean
if I looked through your eyes
would I call this thing red? How do
we know? Maybe it's just
a long time ago we decided grass is green and the sky is blue and because
we all call this color green
we think we all see it the same."
Infinity will always remain. Half of forever is still forever
I prefer to sit facing the east
looking to see what is to come.
Jul 9, 2018
Jul 9, 2018 at 4:14 PM UTC