"communing" poems
synergy in the mist
of creations' breath...
multitudes croaking so loudly
drowning in eventide dew,
all the wind's timbre
is hushed;
overcome
by earth’s
communing symphony,
creations’ living
pulsing thrum..
alone in a crowd
proclaiming
the glory of now...
whelmed,
and i wishing
i were a frog,
and unalone
in the throng
maybe evolution
as this—
is reversing...
ouroboros
i need to search
for an intimate kiss
metamorphosis,
another incarnation
that will turn me
back into a frog—
a speck of stardust
in a sky full of stars
seems better than
feeling like ashes
a burned out candle
muted
by the gypsy choir
*the call of the wild
sung in the wind*
wild is the wind © march 2016
Mar 6, 2016
Mar 6, 2016 at 2:16 PM UTC
I.
In youth I have known one with whom the Earth
In secret communing held—as he with it,
In daylight, and in beauty, from his birth:
Whose fervid, flickering torch of life was lit
From the sun and stars, whence he had drawn forth
A passionate light such for his spirit was fit—
And yet that spirit knew—not in the hour
Of its own fervor—what had o’er it power.
II.
Perhaps it may be that my mind is wrought
To a ferver by the moonbeam that hangs o’er,
But I will half believe that wild light fraught
With more of sovereignty than ancient lore
Hath ever told—or is it of a thought
The unembodied essence, and no more
That with a quickening spell doth o’er us pass
As dew of the night-time, o’er the summer grass?
III.
Doth o’er us pass, when, as th’ expanding eye
To the loved object—so the tear to the lid
Will start, which lately slept in apathy?
And yet it need not be—(that object) hid
From us in life—but common—which doth lie
Each hour before us—but then only bid
With a strange sound, as of a harp-string broken
T’ awake us—’Tis a symbol and a token—
IV.
Of what in other worlds shall be—and given
In beauty by our God, to those alone
Who otherwise would fall from life and Heaven
Drawn by their heart’s passion, and that tone,
That high tone of the spirit which hath striven
Though not with Faith—with godliness—whose throne
With desperate energy ‘t hath beaten down;
Wearing its own deep feeling as a crown.
2.9k
as we talk
around in circles
words fall
********** silence
Apr 22, 2017
Apr 22, 2017 at 3:55 AM UTC
Just to see what it was like
The smell of brimstone and smoke
Torture and mayhem
Burning heads impaled upon flaming spikes
I shook hands with the evil one
Of course, horned and dressed in red
Welcome friend mi casa es su casa
But absolutely no communing with the dead
I said I was just looking around
Put to rest any fears
With my good and pure lily white life
I shall never end up here
Many years later
Staring down at my coffin
At my funeral where was shed many tears
It seemed only seconds had passed
****
And there I was
Back in hell again
I looked around at the fires
And asked Satan fearfully
Tell me Beelzebub
What am I doing here?
Your name is on my parchment silly fool
And I have waited many years
All Rights Reserved Tammy M. Darby Dec. 27, 2013
Dec 27, 2013
Dec 27, 2013 at 11:36 AM UTC
Sunshine
Bicycle
Wind
Country air
Miles and miles
Of farm fields
And plush green forests
Rolling hills capped in hemlocks
Wheat and oats dancing in the breeze
Flying among the Heavens, communing with
Nature!
Jun 2, 2013
Jun 2, 2013 at 1:34 PM UTC
I’ve gotten better
at eating the wafer
so Jesus
doesn’t get stuck in the metal.
Feb 22, 2011
Feb 22, 2011 at 3:02 PM UTC
Between earth and sky
is where I abide.
Grass grows beneath my
feet and inbetween
moments of deep thought,
longings and unuttered
desires,
as I sit, communing
with the trees
and for a while, just
doing as they do...
just simply 'being',
no matter what
as they hold majestic
limbs up
toward the heavens
in adoration or
perhaps
interrogation.
And that is but
speculation or
imagination
on my part.
I sit, quietly,
somewhere between
this moment
and tomorrow
and wonder those
simple, complex
questions of old...
What does it all mean,
in the end?
What price do we pay
for passion or apathy?
Why are we here?
In my mind
worlds collide, die
and begin again
and this most
encumbered heart
still holds hope
by the throat,
refusing, yet, to
let go.
Between earth and sky
is where I abide.
That is where
you'll find me.
Full to the brim,
with questions,
wild, vibrant dreams,
and a never ending
sense...
of wonder.
-by Mercurychyld
Copyrights
Aug 10, 2014
Aug 10, 2014 at 3:36 PM UTC
Of all who hail thy presence as the morning—
Of all to whom thine absence is the night—
The blotting utterly from out high heaven
The sacred sun—of all who, weeping, bless thee
Hourly for hope—for life—ah, above all,
For the resurrection of deep buried faith
In truth, in virtue, in humanity—
Of all who, on despair’s unhallowed bed
Lying down to die, have suddenly arisen
At thy soft-murmured words, “Let there be light!”
At thy soft-murmured words that were fulfilled
In thy seraphic glancing of thine eyes—
Of all who owe thee most, whose gratitude
Nearest resembles worship,—oh, remember
The truest, the most fervently devoted,
And think that these weak lines are written by him—
By him who, as he pens them, thrills to think
His spirit is communing with an angel’s.
1.8k
aromatic coffee awakens senses
midst the gestured warmth of radiant
smiles's 'tween morning brew,
reverently paused to catch
the awe inspiring poignancy
of sunrise's exhilaration,
whilst cozily wrapped in the delightful unfurl
of captivating poetry's skillful delectation
a rising ritual begun many blue moons afore,
tempting consciousness, feeding soulfulness
enlightening sensibilities as it
enriches the day's appreciation
'pon the keen awareness of poets,
tempests from all niches of the world
coming together amid upheavals and serenity,
ceremoniously dubbed fierce confirmations
of words expressly borne, communing the
artfully spirited of resourceful artisans,
procuring special collective bonds that
only poesy can wholly dictate,
they look upon us as enigmas
rather strange breed of puzzling characters,
as this inexplicable endeavor
escapes their stifled perceptions
of conduit's musing reasonable facsimile,
we're merely cognitive passages for
experiences on common ground
in realizations of all-too-human foibles
eccentricities, yearnings and fortitude,
released deliverance of potpourri
serving up inky joy beyond expression,
intention's distinction deciphering
reflections in meditative affirmations,
breadth of unrestrained beholden visions
conjured notions of paramount significance
wherein lies evidence of life's burnt offerings,
beginnings and endings of hearts' indulgences
wept in resolute celebrations of existence
as only a poet could discernibly translate
Jul 9, 2015
Jul 9, 2015 at 8:23 AM UTC
He carves words he has spoken
Of promises unbroken
whispering into the dark
Chiselling delicately into her bones
With tobacco juice to bring out the tones
Quietly engraving symbols and psalms
Living for the night
Working through to the light
Communing only through dreams
In daylight she's secure
Inside a white Alder tree
Protected and respected
Her spirit flies free
Jul 16, 2019
Jul 16, 2019 at 3:36 PM UTC
Last night communing with the,
much more than anything,
but still not quite,
echoing in worlds beyond this one,
if it pierces,
empties out carefully
What is it that is never quite,
intact or playfully,
ask the sages to reconsider,
paths to the sun,
Wonderful it will be to reach,
apexed or transcedent,
finger tips dusty or removed,
which is the endpoint subtracted,
faces that are familiar,
but are no more,
bottle green,
they are everything but sad,
dowsed in caffeine again,
heart is drowning in,
stolen courage,
the day passes away,
lost and fragmented.
Aug 24, 2018
Aug 24, 2018 at 12:30 PM UTC
A festival of celebration
An ancient Celtic religion
May Day, the Spring equinox
The Summer solstice
Happy heathens, pagan pride!
Honoring Nature, the Seasons,
The Elements, Spirit! Gods, Goddesses
And deities of our hearts
Childlike, we are, dancing around
The May Pole of bright colorful ribbons
Weaving up and down, as above so below
Offering flowers, acknowledging
fertility and abundance
Communing together in the Woods
Feasting with our friends, our families
Our Tribe! May you never know hunger
May you never thirst!
We are many and we are of one heart
A sacred bon fire blazes in the night
of the Forrest, emitting its protective
powers as we leap the flames and
dance around the fire of our souls
May 6, 2019
May 6, 2019 at 3:15 PM UTC
I sit here again
with a beer and a cigarette
communing with a lost soul
my own?
someone else's?
I read scripture and the
words dance around me
a thousand flights of fancy
on the page
my incense burning
this pure incense burning
this pure understanding
of the cruel nature
of humanity
of friends, heroes, lovers
I write it all down
try to solve it
it stands before me
a picture of my steps
to this point
I have reached the point
of unabashed unregulated
distorted reality
my daily life
the breathing
the eating
the sleeping
it doesn't seem any more real
than this life I live
in my head
or somewhere in my heart
and I long to touch the
part of me that is real
but I am so disconnected
flowers in the winter still grow towards the sun
and such is my soul
leaning leaning
toward the everlasting source
reality fails me
and lights go dim
and I cause the moon to glow for a light
somewhere in this dark night
and I can't stop believing in a God that doesn't exist
but which pushes further down this tunnel into the hell
of my eternity
and I can't
find simplicity
can't find purity
it's all convoluted
I hate the game
shifting pulling
begging for release
and somehow I am
an ember in a fire
bent on burning out
forever
and I have a soul
I have a heart
someone acknowledge me in this newspaper grey world
I am flat lining
where will I go after
this life has sloughed off my skin
I know I am endless
and I am bound for a world
where opinion doesn't taint reason
and somehow
I will be there
where the sky meets space
I will be there
somehow.
Dec 10, 2015
Dec 10, 2015 at 7:20 AM UTC
My ignorance
Is no longer blissful
I said "I love you"
And I meant to
I commend you
For not returning the favor
Clearly
You would not
Have meant it
Demented thoughts
Would be brought
To the mind
Of a false lover
But I
Am not bitter
I’d wither
With her
Miscommunication
Communing
With a Miss
Whose kisses
Tell stories
Weak lips
Trying to force
Passion
Though mine
Blazes like a fire
You coldness
Froze me
I recognize
Dislike
Distaste
Dissatisfied
With this stratified
Hate
Hiding beneath
The layers
And presented
As a gift
A curse
Is wrapped beautifully
It used to please
But love’s police
Seized
All the properties
Although
My ill-gotten gains
Will be forgotten
My repression
Of your memory
Will return
As déjà vu
If I see you
In
Another life
Sep 30, 2010
Sep 30, 2010 at 12:42 AM UTC
I am filth embodied,
spending my time
communing with mold and cockroaches,
spending my time
sitting in filth
because filth is home.
I do not feel *****
I feel just fine.
There's month old dishes in the shower,
rot in the fridge,
toenails on the table.
And it is home.
Filth is not good or bad.
Love is not ***** or pure,
it is two naked figures in front of a grimy mirror
marveling at their comfort.
Jan 20, 2011
Jan 20, 2011 at 6:32 PM UTC
Energy shivered from the snow-kissed courtyard into the cold winter night.
One hundred of us strangers gathered around each lantern's orange light.
Your friends communing memories of you, letting the world know your obituary, by sharpie stained tissue.
Jan 23, 2019
Jan 23, 2019 at 9:11 PM UTC
A city made from music and gas
-a humor of golden mass in the boiler room
phosphoric eyes launching up;
heroes come slower now, fearful, decadent
as if engorged by war for too long
changed;
within the soil
looking up from the street with malleable bones
like antennae sending up endless prayers
expressing nothing
if not heard
a city, a dome, a breast
cannibals small, eating freely
‘a passing rebuttal’
a glance in the ride – which smiles back
and the world followed will
and the earth gladly sipped
cooks cooking better asleep;
poems, gas, meat, hunger
locked in horn
knowing they’re the wrong type
of poem free
to do whatever
they ever wish
even the energy of old worms has sense
and the concrete knows the distance from where they have come
from the earth-helping
them back, by natural pull, or passerby
before the parade comes
and the hooligans still have rage and bayonet
colliding inside faces
like metered bodies
unable
to learn dance
helixing
around you
their song-
neither taking
or meaning
anything
to your own;
the west-coast train leaves
the power station to my right
opening its three pounding mouths
to the quiet drone of the fog and sky
a sandwich and a coach full of drunks
-communing
-inside
-memory
and hail hits the window
solidifying rapid water
cocktails;
nearing a station and familiar fields
office, and tired sun
letting your face know she only jokes
when her tongue radiates
later on
when her body
finally breaks;
soaking the last dust
a home within scent
calling out to everything else;
calling it
a liar.
Jun 5, 2013
Jun 5, 2013 at 9:13 AM UTC
My emotions stretch and unfurl
like tendrils drawing toward the Sun.
Rainbow twisting wires,
Ethereal antennas communing
with the subtle frequencies Life.
The undetectable choir of light waves
only measurable by science.
The "new-age" sorcery of man,
where cloaks and herbs
and timeless intuitions
are replaced by lab coats,
chemicals and categorical limitation.
If we can only quiet the errant mind chatter
we too will have the ears to hear.
There is a silent symphony of soul songs;
Rythyms, harmonies... These pulses ARE
the very lifeblood of our existence.
The unfathomable Angelic speech of the Heavens.
Long dead tongues of an Ancient world.
The breathe of Love,
sweetly whispered on a summer breeze...
Who's only hope lies in the liberation of her message;
Like a butterfly's kiss upon a daisy
growing wild amongst the grasses
of our scorched and broken Earth.
Aug 16, 2015
Aug 16, 2015 at 9:32 PM UTC
She cometh from afar,
Chanting words of magic.
Singing beautiful songs
Calling out to the spirits
Her powers so glaring
Her voodoo doll by the window
The crystal ball of life
Cards of the future laid in the table
Looking into her eyes,
Seeing the communing of the spirits.
The owl on her roof,
Making scary sounds welcoming the spirits.
Piercing into my soul
A telling of the past and the present
Her reading of fortunes
A telling of the future
The enchantment in the room
The conjuring of spirits
Her performance of black magic
A force of good and evil
Written by Tosan Oluwakemi Thompson
Jul 8, 2020
Jul 8, 2020 at 1:32 PM UTC
BUTTERFLY
A dangerous thing.
Inspirations' fragile wings.
Metamorphoses.
BARRIER REEF
Great walls dividing.
Vast cold deeps from Summer seas.
"Hail Metropolis!"
LOTUS FLOWER
Morning--Star-burst--bloom.
Floral crown on tranquil lake.
She walks on water.
SEAHORSE
Pregnant father sways
Rocking chair to Oceans' gait.
Champions patience's race.
BOMBYX MORI
White Mulberry leaves,
Veins of Univoltine wine.
Silk, worm's waste of time.
ORCHID
Soft petals open.
Easy like wild poetry.
Medicinal muse.
LAVENDER
How like a feather
Dancing meadows' Royal hue.
Perfumes the twilight.
OWL (Query)
"Who?" Rather than tweet
In the dark keenly can see
All her nameless prey.
DEATH VALLEY
Akimbo cacti
Off the scenic highway road
Flail in Hell's hot suns.
TSUNAMI
Deaths' devastation.
Chaos drowns all the petty
Wars and last concerns.
COMMUNING
These very mornings
I awe as the blue ocean drinks
The sky bleeding gold.
DINOSAUR
All you have are bones.
Our flesh once Giants : lies, dust.
My feelings extinct.
SUNFLOWER
A golden pinwheel.
Tall and proud, the face of day,
Burns bright love's bounty.
POPPY
Her rouge a deep dark
pharmaceutical Red to
kiss your pain away.
THE SWALLOW
Rain's graceful feathers.
The Spring's swift wisps' arriving
Two Tailed Brothers' Breeze.
ROSE
No other fragrance
But from her kiss--sublime songs
True Love's red flower.
AGUA
Siempre Vivir
Go quench your thirst and your soul,
'Cuz Life drinks for free.
IN SPRING
Orange breasted plume.
A Robin bird trills and swirls.
Seasoning her nest.
ASPHODEL SNOW
Gossamer winter.
The fractal window panes sigh
white breath of flowers.
LIGHT-YEARS
Space is Time is Light
it's speed can measure eons'
infinite distance.
Dec 4, 2016
Dec 4, 2016 at 7:11 PM UTC
Where reverent suns are red,
I inhale a golden sun and hold the moon,
Floating in a cosmic centered bath
Dancing in ablaze of space,
Communing with sentient splitting stars
naked I have roamed among
ravenous red fire flowers in bloom,
lips, juicy sweet ardent wet fervours
Earth spinning, my dance be illusion,
To his kisses I forever weaved magenta trees,
Breathing earth’s day of vermillion,
Chasing samsaric robes, torn in
confusion, I grasp egolessness,
How I flickered black and white to and fro
The immortal swordless in his arms,
the awakened watcher in sky robes,
Yearning for star fields,
yet poisoned by the darkest snake,
Whispering, whispering,
his hallow raptures of
“Love”
─ © Arnay Rumens / A Sol Poet Ju. 112014
Dec 27, 2014
Dec 27, 2014 at 4:47 AM UTC
synergy in the mist
of creations' breath...
multitudes croaking so loudly
drowning in eventide dew,
all the wind's timbre
is hushed;
overcome
by earth’s
communing symphony,
creations’ living
pulsing thrum..
alone in a crowd
proclaiming
the glory of now...
whelmed,
and i wishing
i were a frog,
and unalone
in the throng
maybe
such evolution
as this—
is reversing...
Ouroboros
touched wondrously
by spoken wind,
urgently
i need to search
for an intimate kiss
metamorphosis,
another incarnation
that will turn me
back into a frog—
a speck of stardust
in a sky full of stars
seems better than
feeling like stardrift
ashes
a burned out candle
muted
by the gypsy choir
*the call of the wild
sung in the wind*
wild is the wind
Apr 12, 2018
Apr 12, 2018 at 11:01 AM UTC
I love and haunt the wastelands,
the rundown, out of the way lands;
down by the docks and abandoned piers,
out on a lonesome, windswept jetty;
warehouse row or the rail yards
and ruins of every type.
I know these places for what they are,
forgotten by some
but never empty.
Always full of dreams and memories past,
of what was wrought by man.
There you will find me
walking and thinking,
sometimes drinking
communing with the wind
that blows through my soul,
like a stiff November breeze.
So it is with my heart;
I love the forsaken,
the lost and alone
trembling unfulfilled,
aching for that gentle touch.
They make the best lover’s,
struggling to release their inner flame.
Can you see them?
I can hear them
singing their own songs
with rough and ready voices,
fading in the distance
until only the melody remains.
Sep 18, 2011
Sep 18, 2011 at 1:16 PM UTC
***~for my poet friends who will understand exactly
the nature of our ailment/adventure~***
it begins when once poem titled,
which, a first clue, nothing more, a mumbled prophesy,
an arrow to duration & direction home but unknown,
a one-way stop sign neatly lettered in the
smallest sized letters with the disclaimer above
you sojourn to an uncultivated land, not sown.
you travel to places “finding out what you
don’t want to know, what you don’t want to find out,”
no guide, no well trodden path, no cultural prescribed woke diktats,
you are,
taken unwilling more than you lead, where endings
surprising, unforeseen, return tickets never offered for sale
pick words, more likely,
they pick you,
the only constant your rapid metabolism,
a winter snow blow, swirling churning, even midst
the most languid, sultry southern summer day
mind the mind.
mind the ground frozen until a tiny tickle trickle verse
becomes a full-on ground melt, wet and soggy,
******* you into a
rice-rock-hard pellet-poem thriving,
you observe your own drowning in a
6 inch deep wet paddy
the bottom line,
the net net, summary judgment
you commenced with urgent hesitancy for the
risks are great now, pen dagger chest pointed,
you, ****** in crosshairs, your own graven idol image
having found out what you
don’t want to know,
having found out what you
don’t want to find out
find myself weeping,
fists holding my head,
communing with floorboards oak hardened,
groaning acknowledging,
this, this, THIS***
*this discovering, uncovering,
this is
why I write,
this is
why I dare not write anymore!*
12/13/2019
~~~~~
postscript Friday the 13th, 3/26
~~~~~~~
or why I cannot stop…
Dec 14, 2019
Dec 14, 2019 at 10:42 AM UTC
Isolation can be a choice
to go see
if anyone else
lives there.
On safari to the heart
of everything
communing with ancestral
stars being born.
finding a crowded space
the all in all
of love arriving
with the arrival of yourself.
Mar 12, 2016
Mar 12, 2016 at 8:37 AM UTC