"conducted" poems
1445
Death is the supple Suitor
That wins at last—
It is a stealthy Wooing
Conducted first
By pallid innuendoes
And dim approach
But brave at last with Bugles
And a bisected Coach
It bears away in triumph
To Troth unknown
And Kindred as responsive
As Porcelain.
23.6k
I was brought into this house
Ordered from the local furniture shop
Made to order according to specifications
I am a wingback,
Upholstered in full-grain leather
True to my rich heritage
I was placed in the library
Amongst the illustrious works of famous writers
Half- a - century have passed, providing support
To the backbone of the family
Although tired, he finds solace in my cozy embrace
I give him my wings to fly into the world of literature
Cervantes, Bunyan, Bacon, Goehte, Dostoevsky, Chekov, Tolstoy
Some of the names from the illustrious collection
Not all were privileged to have a seat here
He was transported to each era, savoring the rich legacy
Of literature down the centuries
I was privy to the mind-boggling debates
Which he conducted with himself
Trying to reason each work of literature
A mere wingback rose to be a companion
Providing sturdy support on the mahogany legs
One fine day the reading session ended in deep slumber
Five decades of bonding and companionship came to an end
Now, I stand here, forlorn, at the corner of the library
Reminiscing the reading sessions, and siesta
The wingback does not have the wings to fly away from this bond
© Amitav (Radiance)
May 26, 2014
May 26, 2014 at 2:35 PM UTC
This isn't a love that can be
Put on speaker phone.
We're far too silly for that.
Easily saying the first thing that
Comes to mind.
One moment to the next,
Stunned slience.
Phone etiquette thrown out the window.
This isn't a love that can be sat down.
Kept between an ear and a shoulder.
The amount of time it takes for someone to leave the room.
Conducted in civil manner.
Attempting not to shout,
Completely losing train of thought.
Not sure of validation,
Our voices raise a bit.
By now you should know we shouldn't have to limit ourselves like that.
Denying a freedom that connects us to whom we truly are.
Our quirks, general weirdness.
The crazy looks from those around.
The laughs that get funnier each moment that passes.
By now you should know that we are the complete definition of crazy.
Often appearing in person,
Before one of us can hang up.
Laughing hysterically,
Continuing the conversation
At any given time or place.
This definately isn't a love that
Can be placed on speaker phone
If we have to applogize for what we say.
Afraid to be who we really are.
Isolated from who we truly are
Oct 8, 2018
Oct 8, 2018 at 9:31 AM UTC
She pulled up her shawl and left the house
Gone to get more tea
And all the people passing by
And all the noises eating at her ear
Could not grasp her attention
Attending only to herself
Brilliant and Boisterous her thoughts
A majestic melody of their own
So how could she not be secure?
In her soul’s symphony
The strings vibrated her vessel
The horns heckled her heart
The drums beat down her darkness
And wisdom conducted alongside grace
Matching one another’s pace
Astute in one another’s ache
At conducting timelessly, never being late
It was almost as if their union was fate
Almost being key for it surely did take
Tireless effort, and sacrifices to make
The two into each other’s esteemed mate
Aug 25, 2018
Aug 25, 2018 at 9:46 AM UTC
i want to feel the rush,
the tingly fireworks under my skin,
the buzzing sparks of awakeness.
i want to feel the bubble burst in my chest.
i want to dance. i want to ride the music
like a rollercoaster,
i want the thrill of the next drop,
the next wave of euphoria
pulsating through my veins
like electric current conducted by
all the goings-on around me
i want your energy and my energy
mixing together in the air around us
like a glittery galaxy milky-way aura,
a sanctuary of our own vibrations,
a place where our hearts are huge
and our egos small.
a place of peace, of love,
of unity, and respect,
of higher elevations
and acceptance for all.
can't we just do drugs?
May 24, 2016
May 24, 2016 at 6:30 AM UTC
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Apr 17, 2013
Apr 17, 2013 at 9:01 AM UTC
5
monkey bars
they were all she could hold on to
when the ground crumbled
beneath her trembling feet
4
swings
they were the metronomes
that conducted her life
so she could stay together
3
slides
they helped her explain
what she was feeling
when everything was moving too fast
2
basketball hoops
they showed her how to do
what other people wanted
to get what she needed
1
merry-go-round
that taught her how not to puke
when things wouldn't stop spinning
inside of her head
Aug 19, 2015
Aug 19, 2015 at 10:18 PM UTC
Sitting on stage
The glare of the audience immobilizes my every move
Is there a way this paralysis will soothe?
The lights suddenly blare
Like a deer bathed in headlights
How can I escape from this radiant bear?
The conductor baton rises into the soundless air
Sweating, stammering, shivering
Will this be my final prayer?
The sound of an A fires from a clarinet
Bow on string, I imitate the shrill
This magical note seems to be my fever pill
A-D, D-G, A-E
Instrument seems in tune
But will this miniscule fact solve my problem soon?
As the chief baton swings side to side
Flickering images in my mind crash like a tsunami tide
Joy, Love, Hardship, and Harmony
Music conducted the opening to my passion ceremony
Fire ignites my being
Like bungee-jumping off a bridge
The words “Anything is possible!” now beaming
Like poetry, music is an art
Raw emotion strangles uniformity
Expression bears no limit
Creativity beats as our vital body part
Apr 17, 2013
Apr 17, 2013 at 1:38 PM UTC
So I just sat there and stared at the stars as the clouds rolled in to take it all away.
I saw it crumble apart in my hands, paralysed, yet so moved. There was nothing I could do,
I saw the fear in your eyes, a fear I'd never seen before, just as like in the realm of my nightmares.
Nightmares that plagued my mind, these nightmares showed such relevance to the thoughts
I've conducted like a symphony.
Mar 18, 2010
Mar 18, 2010 at 12:11 AM UTC
You and I are going to settle this score
Now that you've abandoned your special snowflake campaign
And overcome your Stockholm Syndrome
A dynasty has been created
The snowball's chance begins to take effect
The short order cook has taken a tall order
A citrus feast for a ship of marauders
To prevent scurvy
The maitre d' disarmed them at the door
And allowed them to infiltrate the dining hall
The captain sat and twiddled his thumbs while his crew cut loose
The first mate drank fire water and shot it out of his nose
The quarter master ordered some fiddlesticks served on door glass
The boatswain ordered the insemination of a cow so he could eat the cow and all of its offspring
It was his first day eating meat again
He remembered his vegan salad days
The carpenter and ****** constructed a shrine of after dinner mints
And conducted a seance to talk to their old crew mate, Black eyed Ollie
He squandered his life searching the sea for a doctor to restore his sight
They planned to revive him and allow his spirit to possess one of them
And sure enough Black eyed Ollie entered the seaman's body and they took turns controlling the fleshy vessel
Black eyed Ollie got every day of the week that ended in "Y" and the seaman got the rest
The filching crew of blighters finished their meal and went on their way
They left quite a tip
"Actions speak louder than words and money talks too
Yet talk is cheap
But time is money
So every burning second counts
Then let's freeze time
Take action and buy all the talk at whole sale price
And sell it at retail price"
So pay up man, I told you working here would be interesting
Jan 25, 2015
Jan 25, 2015 at 4:56 PM UTC
The moon lulled itself
Into few second-long naps,
The winds whispered the smell
Of the oncoming rains
As ants did a tight-rope
On the tree's sleeves.
The dog pricked its ears,
Each time the tiny hurricane
Of dried leaves whirled round.
The spider attempted to balance itself
On the maze of its own making,
As the web threads strummed
A happy tune
In response to the wind.
The lull before the storm,
Was becoming too much of a bulk
For the clouds to bear,
Before a slant of water droplets,
(Some drying midway through
The atmosphere's layers,)
Stamped their arrival
On the parched layers
Of land, leaves and minds.
Streaks of lightning
Conducted a survey
On the distribution of downpour
Clicking vintage tinted photographs.
The rains slowed down to a drizzle,
The insects buzzed through a banter,
The moon tried to
Sneak through the clouds,
Surprised at its reflection
In a puddle on the street.
The morning wakes up
Smelling a misty presence
Of the (previous) night it rained.
Aug 31, 2014
Aug 31, 2014 at 11:23 PM UTC
Why is the primal
question.
*This was written one
week primary
to the real
encounter*:
Language difference
enables my poignant
ponderings to
hide among
pink puffy tonality
of your beloved
mother's tongue. To
dwelve smooth and
constructively
conducted within
your howlin'
domesticated
vowels. I so
become wonder
writer smitten
softly,
touched
by pleasant words
of other writers.
Not suffering.
As I do
in my
original
vaccinity
of no
distance.
Clouds and thunder
collapse into my
deepest core. Tearing
me there at non
acceptance. I tear my
poems. And throw them
into the abyss. Of no re
turnin'.
May 31, 2015
May 31, 2015 at 10:48 AM UTC
I stepped out,
finally, a terrestrial in Istanbul.
My leveled shoulders carried
an empty satchel of undone buckles
To let every fresh sip of raw experience
tumble inside,
my adventures impatiently plucked
from the closest branch
of a banyan tree bearing
a crisscross of endless tales.
I rescued my lungs with air,
thick with resentment while
swallowing astringent flavored symphonies
and ballads of orchestrated ruckus as
women deflated their lungs
blowing out antipathy, through high pitched whistles -
A forgotten kettle blowing off steam.
Adorned in scorn, sardonic welcoming mats lined the airport.
Women pushed at their car horns as if the dragging sound,
like a severing saw can cut through
the tenacity of the ones with innate ear plugs.
They have become obsolete traffic signals -
First, their green light diminishes - like their wages
Then, their red light is dimmed -
it stops too many people in their footsteps.
And thus the world just races past them,
And they are left only with yellow -
Telling them to slow down.
They said it was an act of love.
That their plumped crimson lips,
Glossily complimented with nails
that matched the tails,
of the so-called mile high club
was just too much to handle.
Priming for work meant neglecting their love
for the perfect shade of watermelon lipstick,
No more sweet ketchup fingertips
Showing you the emergency exits. No more,
lipstick stained glasses
of a self made woman.
These cumulating lip kissed glasses
stack up like trophies,
that sway in the heavy panting
of the ones who can’t keep up with this generation.
So the women gracefully conducted the orchestra
and through lipstick stained whistles,
They tried to drown out the dogmatic policies
And with unrelenting strife,
they passed on some advide
stop shattering our liberties
And underminining our abilities for
Endless possibilities.
Because we are the ones
Who fly high and soar
And we will always
look fabulous
while doing it.
Aug 5, 2013
Aug 5, 2013 at 7:45 AM UTC
replacing white lines with gray ash and sleeping in beds for sleeping in bathrooms and you wonder if you had any self respect in the first place because this afternoon you tried to think of your happiest memories in the past year and it wasn't when you were in someone's arms or thinking of your successes in the mirror while you flexed your kickass young *** it was when you were smoking bummed menthols and your friend commandeered a miniature tractor in the tenderloin and conducted two drug deals in less than 30 minutes and you watched her disdainfully with her girlfriend and wondered where on ******* earth you could get a three dollar old fashioned and let a forty year old flirt with you for coke and you wouldn't even have to do anything for it wouldn't life be nice like that
Oct 21, 2014
Oct 21, 2014 at 5:32 PM UTC
____ Little leonard Lion, decided to attend the Upcoming Town meeting with an Open mind about the Subjects that were to be Discussed. Many Times in the Past, Little Leonard along with others of his Thinking, Especially, Anthony Ant and Roxanne Roach, Went to the Town Meetings with the Attitude of "Cautious-Listening".. MANY Times the Town Meetings, conducted by the Town Upper-Layers and their *Chief, Wendall Waglips, had NOT stuck entirely to issues , BUT rather Modified them. SO, that the Credits due to the *Proper Provider, were Instead directed to Themselves ! Waglips and his Upper Layers had announced the Upcoming meeting would be a *Revelation of NEW Ideas and Plans ! Needles to say, Leonard Lion, Anthony Ant and Roxanne Roach Could Hardly wait ! As they sat on the edges of their seats, to hear the Proclamations that Wendall and the Upper Layers would be SWEETLY offering up to the Audience of " Fully Attentive" Listeners . Waglips approached the Podium of Announcement, Stood behind it, Grabbed both sides at the top, Leaned forward toward the microphone,____With a Self made Smile and his Attitudinal Voice, Began the Ritual of Proclamations; #1= A Decree you will accept with Glee. #2= When I Condone and accept it as the Known. #3= Should you disagree, DON'T bring it to me ! #4= What is Laid out, ACCEPT it or get Out. #5= The LAWS are on the Walls in the Halls,,BUT__DON'T Loiter in the Halls. Waglips continued His Finale , "These are for Your benefit and I am sure You agree, That each of you they will fit ! These NEW rules we've SPOKEN for your Wellbeing for the Residents of this Town ! _____Leonard, Anthony and Roxanne Looked at each other and glanced around at the 2500 attendees ! As a Megaphone was Placed in Leonards hand! He Repeatedly Shouted out ! "JOIN ME IN THE HALLS "... So, whats in store for those who stayed in their seat and "DID-NOT" heed the Boldness of the VOICE ,calling them to the Halls ?
Jan 20, 2011
Jan 20, 2011 at 3:35 AM UTC
The sun sparkles
And illuminates,
The glass edge,
Of my soul,
Vibrating with life.
The rising pitch of surrounding voices,
Conducted by my own,
Melts it razer thin,
Threatening to shatter,
And scatter,
Into many fragments.
I forget to stop and measure,
The damage I have done,
I could see,
If I paused,
That the golden lines are always longer,
Spinning consistently out,
Strong enough to hold,
Despite the holes.
Oct 11, 2014
Oct 11, 2014 at 3:13 PM UTC
Let’s start with a reminder:
President Harding,
President Woodrow Wilson,
President McKinley,
President Calvin Coolidge
& President Harry S. Truman--
Harry giving them hell in my lifetime,
In my time—
An ever so proximate reminder--
These were all Presidents of the U.S. of A.
Also, KKK Members.
Warren G. Harding, for Christ’s sake,
Was actually sworn into the Ku Klux ****
At a **** ceremony
Astonishingly conducted,
Inside the White House,
Presided over by Wizard Imperial of the Day,
The Honorable Colonel Simmons.
And I may as well throw in
Justice Hugo of the Supreme Court
Hugo Black in white robes,
While we’re on the subject of cultural memory,
To wit: the one Branch where Fairness
Is supposed to go with the territory.
You want to talk about race?
Hey, don’t get me started.
Jun 4, 2014
Jun 4, 2014 at 11:04 AM UTC
I would trade your season for mine,
But winter is more comforting
Than the flowers of spring.
Harvest the snow,
And there you have luxury.
The white sand of my country,
And the pure radiance of yours.
On the strings
We have slithers of ice
And polished brass
Is the wind.
Hear the percussive surge of river
Or the silence seducing empty roads.
We have found our orchestra of frosty season.
Conducted by currents in the sky.
Jan 8, 2010
Jan 8, 2010 at 7:28 AM UTC
she'd been placed
on a missing persons register
she was last seen
walking to the shopping precinct
her whereabouts didn't get solved
for some time
police had no positive leads
from the public
a full scale search was conducted
but nothing new
came to light
she'd just disappeared
like a wisp of air
some twelve months later
a jogger happened upon her
upper torso in amongst
the Taylor lagoon's
reeds and muddy sludge
this discovery was something concrete
for the police to go on
a forensic unit scoured the area
in the hope of finding further body parts
and other evidence
a state by state missing persons
search began
to try and identify the victim
who'd met with a ghastly end
in the autopsy report
it stated that she'd been
sawn into pieces
with a chainsaw
as the marks on her thoracic cavity
and neck
indicated this...
the detective sergeant
complied the information
he had on the lady
for a brief in court
as luck would have it
she had breast implants
and on them was found
a code number
by tracing this number
and the hospital who performed
the surgery
pay dirt was hit
she was a resident of Kentucky
who'd gone missing
in July of two thousand and fifteen
a chainsaw murderer
did the deed
as six female victims
were found
across three other states
Sep 22, 2016
Sep 22, 2016 at 8:11 AM UTC
I had a moment of clarity
In my life
When I would wake up
From my night terrors
The train tracks outside my window
Wobbled louder than my sanity.
Yes you were there
Patrolling my dreams,
Sprinkling hatred
Over the innocence.
You were the fake ****
Who conducts lies
With your promises.
Your nails, nail the impression
That you practice
On voodoo dolls
Hanging in your soul.
Tearing each thread
Back to its spindle.
It cries.
Prying apart
Till frost vacates your heart
Into these dolls.
Look at you go!
Like Reptar,
You mustered the mightiest rawr
To scare everyone away.
Like reptar you are the toy,
Imagine that.
You see,
They use their imagination
To make you look like
What your faking to be.
Someone different.
You forced me
To lock you up in my dreams.
Murderous murders
Slaughtering anyone
Who mentions my name
So you can feed the meat
You store in the temple
Filled with thorns.
People say stick and stones
May break my bones
Yet your smile
Still shatters them to dust,
Stuck between your nails.
An inconvience.
That's what you would called it.
Hear ye hear ye
My apologies
For me not being clearly.
You must understand
My voice is a little drowned
By the lack of intelligence
You ponder about.
Especially when I glossed over the fact
That this is the poem
I've always want to throw down
Onto your trenches
On your forehead,
The gateway to the mind
Which conducted
The illist mistake
Thinking I'm not worth the time.
May 1, 2015
May 1, 2015 at 2:56 PM UTC
The world has changed and so have we,
United we would never be.
Consumed by selfish greed our leaders fall,
The propaganda war blinds us all.
Unless we change for a new tomorrow,
The Lebanese soil will cry in sorrow,
Recalling the days we Lebanese stood firm,
Against all odds, fighting by our own terms.
In the land of the strong, the generous and the wise
Conducted disorder reduced our proud size
Us divided so is the ground under our feet
All alone the road becomes too steep
All that we need is to look at history
Read what was there and compare to what we see
The wise knows the brain, the warrior knows the heart
Carriers of blood hide not your origins, unleash your mark.
But what land do I speak of?
Was it the land of the free and brave?
But haven’t they all fled off?
For their future they must save.
To seek new opportunities they have gone,
Beyond the seven seas and the western stars,
Where they can bloom safely, save their sons
From where lies corruption and wars.
Yet under the dreaded shade of corruption
Still runs a silent whisper of light, unsold
So raise your heads and shout out this resolution
Let the whistle turn into anthems of hope
One day the whole world will hear our shout
That day we will have learnt to use our might
We did not think or let our spirit show
But today on the big black wall, we pierced a beam of light.
So Rise mighty phoenix and spread your wings wide.
Scorch the earth and awaken the spirits, the everlasting fire.
Light a candle, for those gone,
Light a fire, the new dawn.
Dec 30, 2014
Dec 30, 2014 at 6:06 AM UTC
I'm trying to write a poem, because that's what I do
write poetry about me and you, you and I
those guys, these kids...
that time I choked on fireflies because every third word I'd say illuminated the sky and between every spark of light the shadows clenched my eyelids. Or all of the times Elmer fastened them shut and I saw nothing but sticky, icky white glue
poems about something true, like the genetic connect between my cats- they're sisters
or the non genetic connect between me and my stepsister- i miss her
poems about hating the way I destroy each building block I set aside
poems about hanging on for the ride
I could write a poem each and every day about the birth of the earth in may
but when springtime arrives and lucious life thrives I can barely get out of bed
poems about irony
poems about the law of murphy
There's a poem I've written too many times about the criminal I am and all of my crimes
there's a poem I have not yet written in ink, about not knowing what why or how my thoughts think
there's a poem I will write, and it fills me with fright yet gets me through the night
because the beauty blooming from your eyes intoxicated me, like the hug from a drug pollenating
You can't simply try to write a poem- upchuck the acidic thoughts you think
they weigh you down like past and future hangovers
molded like heavy boulders almost tipping off your shoulders- you can't simply try to write a poem
It's like loving your cousin though you've barely known him
like a conch pressed to trying to hear the ocean
but it's really just your blood pumping in motion
Dec 17, 2013
Dec 17, 2013 at 8:44 AM UTC
We’re playing the long game.
We share things, we’re lovers,
we slip in and out of each other’s lives
like jackets hanging on the back of a door.
Relationships are like instruments,
they must be played, kept in tune,
the carnal and the corny balanced,
carefully, like sections of an orchestra.
Sometimes, I feel that I have to bring the energy,
BE the entertainment - and I can do that - in spades
but not forever - I’m not a tireless-giver - in fact,
I'm atavistically Parisien (we admit loving nothing).
I’m learning that when a relationship’s conducted,
at great remove, the basics - like punctuality,
dependability and preparation - become a big deal.
When I’m in an optimistic headspace, I think we can do it,
maybe, that we know what we want and who we are.
That we’re playing the long game
Nov 15, 2023
Nov 15, 2023 at 4:37 PM UTC