"condensing" poems
Each day with so much ceremony
begins, with birds, with bells,
with whistles from a factory;
such white-gold skies our eyes
first open on, such brilliant walls
that for a moment we wonder
"Where is the music coming from, the energy?
The day was meant for what ineffable creature
we must have missed?" Oh promptly he
appears and takes his earthly nature
instantly, instantly falls
victim of long intrigue,
assuming memory and mortal
mortal fatigue.
More slowly falling into sight
and showering into stippled faces,
darkening, condensing all his light;
in spite of all the dreaming
squandered upon him with that look,
suffers our uses and abuses,
sinks through the drift of bodies,
sinks through the drift of vlasses
to evening to the beggar in the park
who, weary, without lamp or book
prepares stupendous studies:
the fiery event
of every day in endless
endless assent.
11.1k
The great New York metropolitan
stretching its vibrancy
trafficking its wears.
Car horns combating in contemptuous arguments
habituated eardrums unwittingly pulsating
Great buildings upward; towering behemoths in grandiose splendor
This great asphalt jungle sprawling its electricity for blocks,
for miles
The jazz of the city continues the chanting; the sounds of bass and the blowing of the **** sax, the horn, the piano
and the drums drumming on its rhythmical beat
Beating hearts feeling the vibrancy; the shock waves of nuances echoing the great hustle
Multitude of voices singing praise to the different tongues;
vibrant in diverse rejoicing, the poetry of men and women
Metropolitans claiming the world condensing into small
blocks and listening to its RHAPSODY.
Aug 29, 2014
Aug 29, 2014 at 7:29 AM UTC
not the milk, you see, is too sweet,
thick, which will rhyme if i write,
for me.
thick like the wool that filled
breaches in the wall, saved the lives.
save some with shelter, needing shelter,
while others lean to watch the birds fly,
talk of the bell tower, and all the implications.
the man parked his car, tidily went to poundland,
bought cards.
sbm.
*notes verb
verb: condense; 3rd person present: condenses; past tense: condensed; past participle: condensed; gerund or present participle: condensing
1.
make (something) denser or more concentrated.
Dec 16, 2013
Dec 16, 2013 at 2:44 AM UTC
Scandal and Silence the Theme of the Night
When his Dive scorned my Innocence with him
The Endearing One was there - Red in sight,
Marking the Troll for his Disgusting Whim
Which I would agree if Extent permits
The Mirror crying my Conscience to wake
Trust, at my Pocket; Honesty, at brim
And a Cloud condensing to form this Lake
Now fill Evaporation's Time with Blood,
Squeezing the Hour we need to amend:
****** Holy, Smug Lot! Gossip's Cot Krug!
And whatever ******* left at Tar's Bend!"
Aye. Folly Love-Haskins takes one a-craze
And left the Diver-Boy swimming at maze.
Mar 11, 2013
Mar 11, 2013 at 2:19 AM UTC
It hung delicately upon it,
Yet not touching.
All was surrounded
It was like clouds had
Wished to kiss the ground,
Moisture,
Condensation,
Breath,
Suspended between
Heaven
&
Earth.
Each so close caressing between each,
Condensing into a lingering touch,
Dew
Mist
Haze
A gentle breeze like breath.
Exhales, the beads between both
For this moment removed, they nearly
Were one, caressed a lingering never touch.
And moved on, till the next time
Sky gently caresses upon the Earth.
Oct 31, 2014
Oct 31, 2014 at 6:39 PM UTC
I hate the summer air
The way it sticks to every hair
The sudden need
To shave my legs
Scrape myself ******
Surely instead
The air itself chokes
Me like water
Swimming in mosquitoes
Spiders and moths
When will this horror of summer
Ever stop?
I miss winter
It's bitter chill
The cold piercing me
Like no lover ever will
My breath condensing
In mid-air
The snowflakes falling
White winter wonderland
Jul 22, 2014
Jul 22, 2014 at 8:50 PM UTC
A valiant woodsman of God’s green earth,
An ever gentle soul,
Treads nobly through the forest’s edge,
To conquer hill and knoll.
Morning chill, punctuates warm breathe,
Condensing on cold steel,
A rising sun greets a friend of old,
With beckoning appeal.
The singing birds, call quick to arms,
Warning to those that hear,
The woodsman’s made his presence known,
To this they must adhere.
The ageless warrior nestles down,
A clearing by a brook,
From iron sights, he takes a bead,
A short but lasting look.
Ten points in all, the target grunts,
And directs a gazing eye,
A trigger’s squeezed a slight indent,
The woodsman breathes a sigh.
A crack of thunder, a flash of light,
The beast is crashing down,
The woodsman offers praise to God,
The forest makes no sound.
A resounding victory born this day,
Upon much hallowed earth,
And from majestic creature lost,
Does spawn a sacred birth.
The woodsman leaves, more quiet than came,
In humbleness and awe,
To tell a tale of conquest sought,
To share of what he saw.
Oct 22, 2010
Oct 22, 2010 at 11:20 PM UTC
Verse 1
You are the wind that blows
I am a book that you read
Condensing chapters told
My feeble mind relearns
To search the eons of bliss
Verse 2
You are the scent I breathe
I am a nomad that strolls
Guarding blooming depths
Your inner eye is my sight
To trigger seasons afar
Verse 3
Your skin is my shiny glow
I am a mass that revolves
Reflecting the mirrored view
You review within my insight
To align the guarded tusks
Chorus
I will never punch you
Neither munch you
A sway in desire
I will never judge you
Neither nudge you
A swing to inspire
Jan 26, 2016
Jan 26, 2016 at 4:10 PM UTC
There was a Rock band playing hard but I didn’t hear them
flashes of lights in the screaming crowd but I couldn’t see them
only your face, drenched in beauty beaming in the middle
pulled your curls over your right ear so I could talk to your dimples..
...then I stood there in your eye’s gaze, swirling in a maze amazed
in wonderland, minus a white rabbit and a white man in a top hat
to get back to the land of the sane, to hear my name in your voice
was insane, no matter how many drinks we already had.
Bohemian eyes, green lights, curly black hair with shades of brown
condensing in your forest sight, setting fire to the entire Amazon
hanging on to the ring that barely bitterly bites your bottom lip,
trying to squeeze that melancholic bohemian smile in-between.
Ripped jeans at the knees, cinnamon skin, low-cut blouse
rockin’ to the guitar’s string, to string me along a flower child
promised to write you a poem while in my mind you were still fresh
even if I didn’t kissed your lips, with my skin I touched your breath.
Then we talked about things while the eavesdropping moon was near
you had a man, it was clear, but that went in and out the other ear
maybe I’ll never see you again, so I’ll take that with a shot of sorrow
because it was no longer yesterday bohemian girl, it was tomorrow.
Nov 5, 2012
Nov 5, 2012 at 9:30 PM UTC
Why turn on the light illuminate the beast that's here?
Who stirs beyond the softness of the focus so unclear...
Condensing on the hairs sprung straight from necks the breath so near
And if i light it, we ignite it, I haven't ways to fight it, giving sight to insurmountable fear
Jan 17, 2015
Jan 17, 2015 at 11:47 PM UTC
The sand is drenched with misty water
Falling from the sky.
My shovel cradles the clustered grains until
They are ready to be deposited
Into the security of a plastic bucket.
Once it is filled,
The infamous flip happens.
Then I am bound to lift the bucket
And embrace whatever I find underneath.
I squint, only wanting to half-look
At the potential abomination.
But I find myself pleasantly surprised;
Shivering
From the cold droplets condensing on my skin,
But grateful.
Jun 12, 2012
Jun 12, 2012 at 11:11 AM UTC
I'm tired of missed calls
Undelivered texts,
Removing digital evidence
Of an ex.
Typing 'lmao' when
longing to howl
Pressing like, acting,
you're on the prowl.
Weary of condensing my
message
To just on small
passage.
Tap it all out,
Just to backspace,
like what you need to express,
Is a plain old waste.
Look up from your paper thin,
Retina display,
Don't let technology
Get in the way.
Take chances, soar
ignore the device
that makes your life
so impure.
Throw away the shackles,
Reconcile,
Cry on shoulders,
Whisper, wander for hours,
Whatever you do,
Ignore the iPhone's powers.
Love love love,
And don't feel bad,
For not getting a text back,
Is not the worst pain you've had.
Be truly elated, this time
don't pretend
put down your mobile,
As for now, in this moment.
Technology needs to end.
Feb 3, 2015
Feb 3, 2015 at 4:51 PM UTC
In the swirling zephyr,
The grass dances weakly
I heard an escort,– Awaits my way to the Wolf Hall.
A triumphant sinister;—
My broken pleasure,— How lovely to see thy scraps again..
Such a bounty hunter
What the gods want now?
Doth not turn me around!—
Doth not hang me!
If thou loose my ties,—
Thou wilt be a murderer of all vines!
Spare me!— I am not thy prey;
I am not one of Greek's peccant,
Please, off loathing my purity!
This predator devoured me..
The ****** of his dark matter, stabbed me..
The mob held me captive,— by net traps
The culprit lies next to me—
Acted one alike raw; then I was sacked,
I felt the bethel was mocked,—
But my Lord won't despise me.
A paralyzed arrest screeched me
I was stroke— by a vermin quenched for meat..
Thou art the most cherished
It is still me..
Scattered with mud,
Dressed in a blanket;
Hoping to kiss thee
Bend for belief,— and not forgiveness
Wherefor thy body shivers?
Thy cup is condensing,
Lips ill-looking;
Red flames changing blue—
Am I still the hue?
I sensed—
Thou fell into the pit
My shreds, thy lust
The roots art on the tip of thy nails!
An ancestral plague poisoning whoever sits,—
And bridesmaking is a promiscuous habit—
To grasp a braided hair,— for an accessory
Behold, the lineage of romantic paintings,
Whence the bonds turn to heist
Looting innocence and staying in history...
May 8, 2020
May 8, 2020 at 4:13 AM UTC
In Waterstones
Sighing at the bestsellers
opaque at the corner of my right
eye two ladies late in life
are centre stage amid the table
paperbacks.
“Are you following me?” the taller bellows
brimmed headscarf towering over her NHS bespectacled
sister of afternoons and shopping mornings
continuing a conversation that has obviously
followed them their entire friendship
seeming the matriarch of the pair, she is circumspect
in her contrariness.
Whatever entitles her to this
Guardianship of self-importance
Her being a lighthouse rising above the mists
condensing off beaten shards of rock
is subdued by her companions’ pithy response
“no-you know I have no interest in Autobiographies.”
Jan 9, 2019
Jan 9, 2019 at 7:18 AM UTC
Where does one start if not with the absolute I,
Beginning with sight,
The sun kept clockwork in check.
The kids kept their songs in their heads
The parents kept photo albums full of smiles where a split second
Becomes the cover letter for years of dread.
The page kept condensing life that is better left unsaid,
While the reader kept considering the page a part of him.
Beginning with sound,
The ocean kept grinding the ground.
The guitar kept articulating the waves that come from
A place that can be found
In the engine of muscled bone,
Arriving at what you know
Through nature's transient code,
Read between simultaneous consideration of scope
And a song that keeps you on your toes.
Beginning with touch,
The cage kept the prisoner condemned
Who was slave to the ego's violent whims.
Hunger ravages the idealism of men,
Who kept on believing in sensory over stimulation.
While rapid eye sleep kept fostering shackled sheep
Towards their only release.
Beginning with dreams,
I start to seem incomplete
Fuzzy puzzles kept flagging themselves as urgent but unapparent in meaning
And even faster in disappearing
To make room for me.
A resurgent thief
That kept insisting on stealing a mind's freedom to be.
Oct 23, 2013
Oct 23, 2013 at 10:57 PM UTC
Encroaching satellites
High voltage saturation and shade
And an obtuse synopsis of cognitive psychology
Condensing your threshold
Searching for hand outs
Ripping the railings out of the walls
In the stairwells in the doctor's office on the way to your colonoscopy
Laying on the futon with and your therapist writing down everything you say
"Go on"
"Mhm"
"I see"
"How does that make you feel?"
Skid-marked underwear
Delving, dumpster diving for food
In the lonesome twilight
In the rippling rainstorm
People shelling out gripes
Squinting, doing a double take at you
Followed by a wavering tumult
They're gonna have you capped
That is, unless you purchase this love seat
-Tommy Johnson
Jul 15, 2014
Jul 15, 2014 at 11:04 PM UTC
Took one step into his lonesome world.
The clouds there were peculiarly pixelated in a forgettable shade of #999999
Digitally coded water vapor condensing into dense bubbles of thought
They resembled puzzle pieces childishly misplaced
Naivety was finger-painted along the lining and edges
While other bits played a quiet game that seemed to find them wanting
I did wonder where he hid them
Or if it was someone else who ran away
Who stole the stars in his sky?
Who stole the light in his pocket?
Took another step into his lonesome world.
The wind there had a dance of it's own that seemed to trace a pattern
Oscillating at a rate of 15Hz was a low frequency partner-less sway
Similar to eyelids confused and batting their lashes
Or wiper blades clearing tears off cars during a storm
Occurring without much thought was the drizzle with each wave
I did wonder why he danced alone
Or was it someone else who simply walked off
Who turned his sky on?
Who turned his lights off?
Took a breath standing in the center of his lonesome world.
I looked up and to my surprise found the eye of his mind
Staring back at me from those ***** clouds
It was the reason to all being and the wind was it's doing
Rising high up from an endless undisturbed nap
It was;
Brighter than the Sun itself
Bursting citrus with each blink
Bleeding pulp over my skin
Burning like acid on my own wounds
Delightful heat dripping off my tongue
Psychedelic spirals twisting my limbs
And
i danced and spun
And
i lost and won
Please find me somewhere in those broken memories of yours
Dec 20, 2013
Dec 20, 2013 at 8:14 AM UTC
insomniac
tangible darkness
let me take a picture of you
paint you on the wall
scribble your name on waters
in your naked form
bend you, so no one else
knows you but me, alone
insomniac darkness — tell me
my muse, let me taste you,
bewildering, like arrows in disarray
and white birds
surreal as falling seraphs and forked tongues
moist darkness
what is sulking inside you must submerge
with manta rays hemmed in circles long ago
curled horns probing, testing bygones,
frozen dawn condensing my azure dreams ashore
Jul 4, 2021
Jul 4, 2021 at 3:08 PM UTC
May your eyes never forget
the taste of me-
taken in,
devoured,
in the humid evenings
of late July.
May your lips never forget
the smell of me-
pink skin catching
every glisten of sweat
condensing under
the hot sun.
May your ears never forget
the sight of your name
escaping in a gasp
from my pink lips,
my eyes wide open
never missing a second
of your perfection.
Mar 14, 2016
Mar 14, 2016 at 11:43 PM UTC
Black, reflecting my negative emotions
And yet, also reflecting soft dappling light -
White light, reflecting my optimism for happiness.
Clicking cameras' clinging onto frozen moments.
Curved lenses
Capturing, condensing,
concentrating, and compacting.
A vaguely comprehensible collection
of inconsequence.
Oct 4, 2012
Oct 4, 2012 at 12:01 AM UTC
i am so done with existing but i care so much and i hate when things aren't perfect
there are only like four people in the world that i like unconditionally
and even they can make me cry
this morning my dad yelled at me for seeming sad because i've been "so much better this year"
but he must be blind because i can't focus or find motivation and i feel like i'm slipping
past rock bottom and into the core of the earth where the heat and pressure are condensing me into molten liquid,
and then back into useless rock
Dec 2, 2013
Dec 2, 2013 at 9:54 PM UTC
When graphite meets the silky threads of paper
Or when ink drips upon the golden sheet
A beautiful artist is born.
There are many kinds of artists in this world
Although today I shall speak of only one..
A neglected kind that does not wish to
Gain fame or to capture the spotlight
But rather to share to listening ears.
There be people
Who see the world through the eyes of a painter
But are capable of stealing the elegance
Of a dancer, a fighter, royal blood, and much more
And condensing what they feel and see
Into a narcotic thread of words.
There be people
With broken and shining hearts alike
That run on wheels of ideas and epiphanies
And feed on overstuffed buffets of salty tears and sugary kindness.
Idealists and realists,
The poor and the rich,
The hungry and the fed,
The broken and the salvaged,
The logical and the emotional,
This beautiful art is not limited to anyone.
It is the echoing voice of the heart
It is the pleading cries of the soul
And the smile of our childhood innocence.
This art we call "poetry"
It is the life itself whispering ideas into ears.
And if that isn't beautiful.. I don't know what is.
Jul 7, 2017
Jul 7, 2017 at 8:45 AM UTC
Hey
listen here
yeah
listen
here.
LISTEN.
I'm here.
I'm right
here.
Not
up there.
Down
here.
Down.
I'm
"grounded"
if you will.
Will you
listen?
I'm important.
And I have
big
important
things to say.
So
move
out of the way,
I'm here.
I am
here.
So listen
here.
Here
is where
one might hear
the cawing
of ten thousand
sparrow
or see the majesty
of a goose
in flight.
We are birds
see
SEE
HERE
we are
the birds and
HERE we fly
as the birds.
Hey
listen.
Are you
listening?
Listening
with your EARS?
Cause I have big
important things
to say.
Listening
with your EYES?
Cause I have big
important things
to show.
Hey
watch here
yeah
watch
HERE.
Cause I
can only show
you once.
ONLY
ONCE.
Matter
what
is it?
I don't
know
I thought you
might.
Matter
matter is
soft
and
easy to break.
It's like
this roof
or your
ground.
Ha
ha
I guess you're
"grounded."
I don't
stay on the ground
not when
people can't
hear from
down there.
I've been
making noise
trying to break through
this matter
this matter
frozen
and condensing
all around me.
It
is closing in
trying to wait
for a
mistake.
ONE mistake
and it wins.
ONE mistake
and I'm silenced.
Hey
listen
this is
good news.
At least
they can watch
from
up here.
Hey
see here
yeah
see
HERE.
I'm only
going to jump once
so watch now
to see
me
fly.
Watch as
I step
into
the
empty quarters
of the
air
below.
Aug 14, 2010
Aug 14, 2010 at 11:41 AM UTC
I still love you. Is that a bad thing? I can’t eat or sleep. My thoughts hallucinate at the mention of your name. I see your face. Everywhere; my dreams- you’re holding me close, and you never let go. Remembering that time we shuffled out over the desolate forest in our aging wellies- you’d squeeze my hand tighter for reassurance.
I can still feel you’re warmth condensing against my skin. But it’s beginning to fade. . And I’m lost. I’m beginning to drift away. Endlessly searching for that closure you bestowed within me. I need you. I’m lost without you by my side.
Everything seemed to erode when you’d left. The ache for forgiveness is still there and forever will be. You carved that dagger into my heart like it was funny. Like you found humor in my agony. It pierced through your azure globes as your smile widened at the excruciating pain you threw upon me. You just walked away and I shouted and I screamed;
COME BACK! COME BACK! COME BACK!
I just lay there on the ground. Numb.
You gazed deeply into my soul, robbed me from of the little purity I had left. You left me. Shattered. Broken. Unusable. You ripped out part of my heart as we said our goodbyes. And I still love you.
Nov 15, 2015
Nov 15, 2015 at 1:05 PM UTC
I no longer dance
under a raincloud of poems
but if you let me,
I’ll pull you
under every tiny bit
of cloud I find
and we can dance under them;
our sadness,
condensing into raindrops —
our façade,
melting with the petrichor —
as if a downpour of words
will wash away
the bruises and scars
and baptize our soul anew.
a clean slate;
like the soil after the storm,
like leaf patterns that
know happiness
like a summer day,
reborn.
Jun 29, 2019
Jun 29, 2019 at 10:26 PM UTC