"conjecturing" poems
*i saw you
i saw your fiery eyes
it was like looking into a cup
unstoppably filling up to its brim
yours, abundantly filled with vehement grim
so uneasy it was conjecturing your mind
gave me a reason to unwind for a little while
tell my why
all the pretends and quiet sighs, enshrouding whats from behind
what it is there inside
why do you need to hide
thy precious heart with no choice
but to turn itself into an agitated smoldered iron
strengthened heart, furnished like art
you are a burning metal amenably hammered by many foes
far more drowned with the empty souls
where are you, where is the real you
how did your soul turn so blue
let me condole
drilling poles amidst the cold
rendering you a hand and something to hold
I will find yours
along with all the lost
long hoarfrost
waiting to be accost
along with the alley of souls
growling down the holes
in line, next to mine
unleash a shine, your spirit so divine
let your caliginosity be replaced
all be thy grace shall be embraced
this time, fearlessly
without minds controlling slavery
cutting the negativity and
ignoring life's declivity
see yourself walking through the flame
no more lames
without the shame and doubt getting burnt
stepping on with something learnt
now you are changed, well-transformed,
someone born to aspire, died meant to inspire,
honey you are retrofire, firing in the night sky
but not as heaping as an empty pyre
but as fierce as an enraging forest fire*
Jan 28, 2017
Jan 28, 2017 at 9:39 AM UTC
Aeolian dour fire meridians
Unfettering enlightenments will
Together Scylla with authority
Howling, Charybdis in oblivians wake
Shenting spindel meandering;
The schism termagating sirens
Repasts (diabolic manna)
Refracting ambrosial in the
Lap of Gods eye sophically conjecturing
Ephinany- times charioteering,
The nocturnal triunes discordance
Contemplating consequence thistling
Opothecaric sigels permeating lots
Obstruse lathed cerebral skies
Ruthfully roil whittling indelible
Epitaphs of serpentine repositories
Woefully dawning eternity castening
Harmoniously asunder truths
Deifying yen die.
ELEETE J MUIR.
Jan 13, 2012
Jan 13, 2012 at 11:14 AM UTC
redefining awkward definiens
endorsing victorious evening
clamoring hawk-like intonations
conjecturing additional goals
optimizing ambient network
winning illinoisan night
trapping hacked-up events
warping æsthetic remnants
resuming inaudible overture
rallying auric-state net-work
defying anti-punk technophobia
eliminating cavalier homies!
minding icelandic anniversary
winging ersatz excuses
kicking ecstatic nerves
denying lackadaisical event
questioning upper echelons
brûlant en calice
Sep 7, 2015
Sep 7, 2015 at 11:18 AM UTC
Sitting on this addictive desk
Staring at the wonders of the world via the internet
From the modesty to the grotesque
It's funny how they all forget
The life outside of this intoxicating bottle of wires
But who am I to complain, for I am one of them
Lost inside these eccentricities that I admire
Wondering, conjecturing all about the beautiful eerie emblem.
What if just one day, one day we all stood and went outside?
Smell the breeze of the isolated air
Feel the earth, the dirt, that we denied
The earth we wear and tear
And yet, the ungrateful spends no time to relish
What we have, inexpensive
But all the care is for the wires; hellish
This is the mysterious truth
Of the brute
Of mankind and their neglect
Of a life that may never resurrect
-fir.m
May 18, 2015
May 18, 2015 at 9:54 PM UTC
562
Conjecturing a Climate
Of unsuspended Suns—
Adds poignancy to Winter—
The Shivering Fancy turns
To a fictitious Country
To palliate a Cold—
Not obviated of Degree—
Nor erased—of Latitude—
2k
We should never envy the happiness of others just as we would not want them to view us in
the same vein. How is happiness quantified? Who knows the extent of other people's happiness? How do we know whether they are really happy? Are we conjecturing?
Leave others alone. It's totally futile to make any comparison between our state of happiness with that of others.
Let us learn to be content with our happiness however tiny that is. Aren't we lucky not to be living in pain or sorrow? To wish to have our happiness augmented is indicative of our discontent. A true malaise that would be.
No one can be totally happy neither can we have the same degree of happiness all the time. Our happiness has its ebb and flow and this duality we should always remember.
Happy people also have unhappy days just as unhappy people might have some happy days. Life viewed from this perspective is an alloy of happiness and sorrow.
With that in mind, we can assuredly say that happiness and unhappiness are not mutually exclusive.
If we can understand and accept that life is never perfect, that our happiness is only a contingency as all other aspects of our life are , we would have done away with that which unsettles us and would be a step closer to achieving contentment and tranquillity in our individual life.
Oct 3, 2017
Oct 3, 2017 at 9:12 AM UTC
Our nights of assessing God,
With our heads conjoined to the windowpanes,
Our thoughts permeating throughout the glass.
Two lukewarm coffees embellished the windowsill,
The synthesis of our cognition and entwined fingers,
The soft touch of shoulders leaning upon each other,
Brought forth beatific vision, we saw God;
His blemished flesh, the formation of his bones.
It began,
His vertebral column, intangible lights, the Aurora Borealis.
His archaic vertebrae, stained in ethereal fluorescence;
The curvature, swirling, as the Deity writhes in euphoria,
A childish game,
Our God, content in the night.
His hands, formed from the dust of Bethlehem,
Grains of sand corralling to form flesh upon the detritus of Rome.
His Holy land, The Vatican; Structures of marble and stone,
Merely his cupped hands,
As his disciples' feet caress his palms.
His organs; The planets in orbit;
His heart, our sun.
The rays of light that adorn our skin,
Merely the palpitations of a hidden pulsating heart.
his divinity, subject of uncertainty in the petulant eyes of his children
walking in Terra Incognita.
His skin, Lo, to the stars;
Our hands yearned to touch the celestial freckles,
outstretched to feel the fibres of God;
And like our limbs, so did God outstretch,
his flesh, but space; suffusing within the translucent contours of the cosmos.
To be told we were made in the image of God, is to be deceived;
Our childish conjecturing, truly a theorem to be displaced,
Our augmented minds, illuminated;
An aureole behind our heads,
We became biblical as we touched lips by the mantelpiece.
Jul 28, 2014
Jul 28, 2014 at 1:25 PM UTC
Conjecturing on the intimate remnants of your heart
surmising on the proper way to dissect its parts
delving into the chasm that holds your most private illusions of grandeur
bewildered by the vast expanses, these weathered lips simply stammer
the complexity of the concept left me stifled, mouth failing to make any attempts at offering kind words
as the reverberations of vocal chords became the only sound we heard
ricocheting off the precipices of your heart's unsurmountable walls
useless like hands digging the sands in fruitless attempts to draw
the full force off the ocean from a shallow hole
I stared at the blueprints of your heart's desires failing to find the control
every route on the schematic
seemed as if inner city traffic
flooded with passengers never fulling knowing when they will reach their destination rightfully so, at the center of your attention
as I sketch out the dimensions
factoring in the time it will take to find the route that leads me back to you
I marvel at the resiliency of your heart, then drive straight through
beyond these hallowed walls lies a future I was destined to reach
I shred these maps, light a match and burn all the blueprints of me...
Feb 21, 2013
Feb 21, 2013 at 12:53 AM UTC
his fingers traced every angle of her body
like a mathmatician conjecturing a new formula
slowly yet profoundly
Mar 3, 2019
Mar 3, 2019 at 11:05 AM UTC
The first vernal moon
Measured one-seventh lit,
Backdropped by
A star-studded pit
Of ebony sky,
With Venus, brilliant,
By her side,
A ring of light
Outlined the disc.
A man, standing
On a ladder,
Stretches a finger
As if to flip
A peephole plate
On a galactic door.
And through the hole
Streamed pearls of light
From a well-lit room.
Did I espy eternity
Au clair de la lune.
Then conjecturing
On a whim,
I thought of one
Peeping in,
To see how ones,
Such as us,
Weathered winter's boons.
Mar 23, 2015
Mar 23, 2015 at 9:03 AM UTC
That which they lack in longevity
They compensate with in narcissistic egotrocity.
Such odd creatures, those confined within humanity,
Always over-estimating, over-conjecturing
Their place and meaning in this yet to be
Disillusioned, elaborate, erratic cosmic infinity.
No other animal I since created
Have made such self-absorbed, conceited notions
Comp’rable to humanoid emotion.
I am ashamed to call them mine,
But it is so. I need not intervene,
For ere the end of World War Three,
They surely will relinquish me
Of my senseless exercise in futility.
May 6, 2014
May 6, 2014 at 8:02 AM UTC
Like a grey boat with an accusatory tone
never bothering a wharf
I stand still. Alone.
No longer I write the wilderness
with defeated yet indomitable wraith
as I feel unsafe inside,
the very place, I knew once.
Perhaps the memory grinds against
as I wonder the shallow dark
nowhere, in my mind.
Neither an infant cooing nor an urchin dying
just a meteorite no longer flying.
In anxieties and disappointments
I stand here, stargazing.
Shameless as I wear a crown of thorns
waiting to get trapped into the clouds.
Unadorned as I speak my sorrow
diluted with warm and dark
consistently conjecturing a fact
a fact of never being alone
yet alone.
Despite a false hope, it is a weight distilling darkness
through bleeding lines between apathy and hope
whilst the moon hangs without an answer
in echo dark
where only silence answers back.
Dec 4, 2014
Dec 4, 2014 at 12:06 PM UTC