"connectedness" poems
A message heart delivered by a musing troubadour
left footprints upon a well weathered rivers’ rocky shoal
the lazy days of the summer’s simmering
ethereal breezes lazily waft astir
Unknown distance ‘tween yonder skies azure;
thoughts of nebulous distances fearlessly ignored to be sure,
connectedness sown and deference’s soar from high above,
yet beyond vast breadth afar the great divide
His brimful heart in hand fulfills passersby thirst
needing love here, hearts on sleeves sincere,
wellspring sensibilities handed out willingly here
voids filled by word of quill …
right now is the known needed time
Glasses half empty suffused to their half full brims;
do unto others you will reap just what ye sow,
a poet beyond the bounds of his own demure,
bearing immense understanding
The quintessential essence of family love
drips from heart like heavens rain,
testifies the heart's purpose for being
A poet’s voice speaks in soul’s timeless tongues
unknown breaths from another understanding realm
too deep for words;
yet the word sayer struggles to see his forest ‘s poetic beauty
for to see beyond the pendant beauty
within its magnificent grandeur
of his own gifted heart’s nurtured trees.
~
The Twist
This poem was not written by me.
It was written almost four years ago,
lying fallow in some passing cloud.
Writ for me by someone effervescently more talented than I,
and one of the poets whose quality of work, and command of our shared language is something to which all of us should aspire.
I post it now as yet another homage to the true author.
For in reading it, never was a poem was far more clearly,
an unwitting self-portrait.
**It was written on August 21st, 2013
by Harlon Rivers**
by Nat Lipstadt
Apr 15, 2017
Apr 15, 2017 at 12:53 PM UTC
Are acceptance and approval synonymous terms? It is important that we give adequate definition to that which blocks our winding garden path, where foxgloves, lupins and a multitude of botanical dreams can blossom into a gorgeous array of ****** captivation.
If we embrace that which is repugnant, then possibility may not be confined to the cradling arms of the mistress of death.
So, my judgmental and moralistic companion from the sands of Jupiter – if your daughter is a raunchy stripper, then keep your expectations on the leash and preserve your anthropological connectedness, otherwise you may veer into prickly thorns of certain detriment and thereby lose her attachments.
It is incumbent upon us to nourish those fragrant plantations with a careful approach, so that beautiful reproductions will abound in a bouquet of resolution.
Nov 7, 2013
Nov 7, 2013 at 12:23 AM UTC
I lay my head upon my mother’s chest
And for a moment, I’m a little girl again.
I remember what it’s like for the whole world to stop
For worries to melt away like candle wax
My jagged edges smoothed by a warm embrace
It’s a feeling I’ve rarely felt since
Maiden, Mother, Crone
I watch the wheel of fortune spin
Daughter, Mother, Grandmother
Me, Myself, I
The passing of time I there observe in all its stages
In our faces
Growing old,
To be young,
The illusion dissipates when I look into the eyes of those who I love most
In those luminous pools I see more than a person, I see a mirror
I see my connectedness and yet
There’s an immense need to defend what is mine
I wish I could stay here
Just for a little while longer
But we are all just passing through
I can only hope, this selfish desire
Is justified
Oct 1, 2018
Oct 1, 2018 at 2:02 AM UTC
I finish scooping a large serving of stir fry onto a styrofoam plate
with the two metal spatulas left on the counter for me.
I sidestep the forty something year old man who is our host
who has opened this house, his families house, to us
his extended family.
I jump over the dog and take a seat in a metal folding chair that has been set by the table
which is meant to seat 4, but is seating 9 tonight.
To my right is an old friend, the estranged stepsister of the sleeping hostess
to my left; the father of another friend who is, himself the best friend of the host
and a regular in this kitchen.
His son sits on the other side of the girl to my right
his girlfriend is across from him
and to his right is the three year old niece of the hostess.
Her Five year old sister sits across from her.
at the end is the 14 year old daughter of the hostess
and across from me is her sister, the reason I am here.
We eye each other across the table,
trying to say something to each other
trying to reveal the sound our heartbeats make,
but our words are frozen in our throats.
They would be pierced though by flying words
and noodles
and laughs
and forks.
they would be pierced through by the energy here
by the connectedness
by everything.
If we were to say anything
it would be rendered so completely useless so quickly
that we can't.
Or so we tell ourselves
as we sit at this table
with our large, crazy, extended, adopted family
knocking elbows as we try to eat
passing around the Parmesan cheese
listening to the dogs barking at us for accidentally kicking them
as they tried to forage for food scraps under our chairs
not telling us they were there.
There is a happiness here
a buzzing
an energy
this is a family
this is a family
and I belong
Jul 3, 2013
Jul 3, 2013 at 3:46 AM UTC
*of flavor
in an A-ha moment..
at these differences
we smile.. :)
fractals are about
similarity and difference..
connectedness rules..
Let us inquire
of the similarity
in the bursts above..
all similarities
find Torus shape..
Torus is formula
iterating creating all
differences we find..
On a vertical column
curved surface surrounds
a hidden black hole..
at a Point
black hole turns white..
now our bursts
all are as One..
The Torus needs
motivation to move
arousal and stimulation
below and above..
all this Similarity
iterates the differences
so striking we see..
More differences now:
succulent juices
pulses and flow
DMT liquid light..
all these differences..
really..?
we smile again.. :)*
Jun 27, 2013
Jun 27, 2013 at 11:29 PM UTC
i hate it when you have a hangnail but it is mostly a piece
of skin that is really steadfast about not detaching
from your finger. it’s like the piece of skin has
separation anxiety and you can’t get it
to leave ever
all you want is for the piece of skin to move out.
today is your twentieth birthday and you are thinking
about your mortality a whole bunch and how you have provided
the piece of skin with a comfortable home and now
you want it to move on and make a big life
for itself so when you’re old and more carrot-like
you will have the piece of skin to take care of you
until you are ready to make the big trip to hamilton
known as dying alone and feeling okay about it
because hamilton is a nice place to die alone
hamilton is a port city in the canadian province of ontario
you dream of hamilton and you are already a little bit more
carrot-like on this day, your twentieth birthday. we want the
piece of skin to get its **** together so we can all be happy
for you one day when the amount of carrot-like
characteristics you grow into becomes immeasurable
and creamy. the piece of skin smiles and says
it does not like your conservative-minded nonsense
the piece of skin feels as though it has a right to
prosperity and a new season of hey arnold
and its own episode of mtv cribs.
you say the piece of skin is too liberal and you
get out a pair of scissors and cut of your finger
the finger with the piece of skin that was too clingy
is now resting peacefully on the hardwood floor
of your apartment in a pool of blood that you are
proud to say is something you made on your own.
the piece of skin quotes hemingway as it dies
the reference goes over your head and the reader’s head too
Dec 30, 2011
Dec 30, 2011 at 1:56 PM UTC
I lay my head on your heart
I hear your heart beat so close
The sound of your breathing fills my senses
The sound of heart beating strokes my soul
Why do I feel this connection?
Like the universe is in your arms
When enveloped by your senses
I seem to loose my calm
How peaceful and one I feel
with you truly by my side!
The power of the feelings you evoke
The connectedness I feel with you so sublime!
The words you are saying
are born inside my heart
but the script is on your tongue
Our hearts are so welded
that the language of love is one.
Jul 10, 2014
Jul 10, 2014 at 4:01 AM UTC
It baffles me how
Many who preach
Pro-life choose
To eat a ham sandwich
For lunch,
Or buy a "pet"
From a *******
Thus taking a
Life from the shelter.
Then there are those sad clowns
Who think it's funny to say
"Yum, bacon!" when you expose the
Torture and bloodshed
Of some poor animal
Produced for food.
And, we mustn't forget
The good ol’ “humane" farmers
Who raise trusting animals
From birth only to
Hang them up, slit their throats, and
Slowly bleed them out to
Turn
A
Profit.
How can we be so disconnected?
How do we not see the
Magic in every fetus?
The wondrous exchange of
Seed to soil - just as humans -
Creating a precious being
Who also deserves a life
Of liberty and justice?
Whether two legs or four,
Wings or extremities,
Fur or skin, fins or scales,
How can we not see their
Inherent worth?
Such dire disconnect!
We were created the same
Dear human and non-human
Animal friends, out of
Magic and dreams.
We both hunger and thirst,
Bleed and seek shelter, cry out
In pain, shiver in the cold,
Fear, and fight for survival.
We all begin by breathing in Life,
And we shall all leave this earth with
One
Final
Breath.
How is that not proof of our connectedness?
Nov 5, 2015
Nov 5, 2015 at 10:11 PM UTC
Familial connectedness once again balances upon the brink of severed reconciliation.
I regret those detachments of which I had no accurate knowledge, and I have come to realise that those precious smells of nocturnal celebration far surpass the Scottish occasion of Hogmanay.
The East coast of Scotland will never cast aside her conscious awareness of masonic peculiarity.
So, I proclaim that our significance and identity transcend steel constructs which span the treacherous marine pathways of The Forth.
Did you happen to see the most beautiful girl amidst the smoky atmosphere in Yoker?
Snowflakes will continue to fall in silence over Fife hills, as the wisdom of Jimmy's grey hair calmly submits to a kaleidoscopic inevitability.
Listen, my friend, because this is important: we will always be related to detachment.
Sit comfortably, with tears in your eyes, because our roots will surprise us in the Great Finale.
Nov 6, 2013
Nov 6, 2013 at 9:56 PM UTC
Isn’t it strange
how in this brief exchange
of the creative impulse
we gain
a certain kind of intimacy
with each other
yet we never
smell each other
shake hands
breathe the same air
put up with personal idiosyncrasies
and off-putting voice inflections –
all the things our friends and loved ones have to.
Yet here we occupy hearts and minds
many of our friends and loves do not know
with such closeness, interiority, and connectedness.
What a strange and magnificent gift!
Oct 9, 2021
Oct 9, 2021 at 12:32 PM UTC
Perched against an ancient stone
That stands on top of the hill
Bathed in the crystalline light
Of a November sun
And wrapped in my winter coat
I listen
To the Makers of Wings
That dance through my being
Until
Dimensions shift within
While one reality is fading
A new one opens up
Giving access to
Beautiful geometry
Of multi-colored light
Dissolving matter into
Fluid rainbows that
Make me wonder:
Where does this body stop,
And where the stone begin?
There is no more I
Nor is there a You
There is no grass, no stone, no air
No cold or warmth
And
While my senses are blending
Light and sound
The veil is lifting
The feeling of connectedness
Leaves no room for thoughts
I drift in timeless space through
The eternity of the moment
That allows me
A glimpse of what I am
A chilly autumn breeze shifts
Dimensions back again
To where my brain translates
Geometry into matter
And tricking me once more
Into illusions
On the far horizon
Out of undefined grayness
Of multidimensional vapors
Ascending water
Reconnects as a cloud
And above me
In the blueness of the sky
White feathery wisps appear
A clearly visible Infinity Sign
Morphing into the double helix
Of a strand of DNA
How powerful the metaphors
We create along the way
As guidance on the winding path
Of the ever expanding Self
And out of the silvery cloud
Hanging over the sea
The White Phoenix is rising
© Jasmine, Wadebridge, November 2010
Aug 8, 2013
Aug 8, 2013 at 9:49 AM UTC
I want to reveal
things about
me
and have you
seek out their
origins.
I want you
to pour over me
the pieces of you
I don't know
yet.
Maybe we need
to stop.
Stop allowing all
the doubts
and
insecurity
infused from everyone,
past...
present...
to keep our
thoughts tied.
What have we
to lose
but
time and hiding.
In my gut
I feel a weight
could be evaporated
from us.
A light
glowing dim between
could be
illuminated.
Completion and
a knowingness of
who we are already
is not a hole
either are trying
to fill.
Maybe we just want
a hand to hold
after our struggles.
A comforting embrace
to melt into
after our pain.
A heart to accept us
completely
and love again.
Maybe
we just don't want
to carry fear around
anymore.
Intimacy is something
vulnerably created
and hardly given,
I know.
Spiritual connectedness
is the highest of highs
and I think
we're both wanting
to fly.
©NDHK
Jun 6, 2013
Jun 6, 2013 at 2:43 AM UTC
The world is so connected and indeed, it is not in many ways,
From newspapers to the internet, social networking sites to video calling and last but not the least telephonic calls.
We are so absorbed in the world that exists not as a tangible reality,
that we forget the ones seated next to us,
to smile at our friends we forget or we don't realise
but find time in all the world to smile at a WhatsApp message or a Facebook chat.
We miss the chances to care and help others in real world
while we make panels and help groups on social sites,
And work hard on promoting stressing and straining to make things work.
We forget our loved ones while trying to find new loved ones
through distant chords and invisible strings of a virtual world.
It is indeed right we learn of cultures and diversity
and acknowledge most kinds and varieties
forgetting the very near and very much wanted.
It is a difficult question as we are still gestating in a world of virtual reality
far fetched from the perceivable reality
if we still wanted to continue as such.
But the truth is that we are more connected by this umbilical cord of illusionary virtual global connectedness that we block real realities in the dawn of it.
We are not ready to be reborn with more sensitive capabilities,
to transform and reunite and catch hold of our lost sensibilities and sensitivities
to save our world from being so disconnected.
Is not it time that we did redesign a new world
Where love and care
Warmth and tenderness reign.
Is it not time that we stop and stoop to hold our old world and yet conceive of a new world integrated
With technology and live side by side
And weave a wonderful life for us.
Jan 31, 2016
Jan 31, 2016 at 2:35 AM UTC
The sea is the land's edge also..."
--T. S. Eliot
It's a sand-castle in morning tide
slowly constructed
for the first time; and the horizon
sea-blue, distinctly separated from sky-blue
with a razor fine-line
liquid running steadily
into time.
I saw a small boy, ankle deep
in steaming sand
building illusional dreams of
Kings and Queens and Knights
because he can
do anything he wants,
while dolphins dive and dance
in the sunrise crystal morning
with his tiny, growing hands...
And when the seagulls circle by,
above hearty, browning palm trees,
eating as they please,
the kiss of water hits the shore
invoking a magnificent mystery music
just before
I
realize as certain memories arise,
that beyond this circumstance
lies connectedness,
an ****** wavering consequence,
leaving me to forsake
alone
ness:
When I wander along this temporal shore,
flying, sometimes falling
through these storms:
like the sea I am in many ways
so sometimes slowly dying
without pain,
and in a certain collectiveness, she reaches
forth her foamy hand,
blistering my cheeks in colours crimson, sweet,
erasing that child's castle
in the sand.
Jun 2, 2010
Jun 2, 2010 at 2:05 AM UTC
We are only siblings with one thing
that connects us at birth is genetics
and chemical DNA
Whilst our spirit, soul and energy
are from worlds away
seperated by will and the cosmic fate
All through life we open up
to accept and forgive
to with truely live
We have our differences
even with or without the X's
Theres still a connectedness
that cant be easily suppressed
The hemoglobin blood tissue flow
is where our DNA grows
We share the droopy lid eyes
and the addictive traits
and personality lies
ankles and feet that cant
wieght or structuraly stand
I idolized you both so now
so now im alot like you both
and myself defined by my
own values, morals and oaths
Dec 17, 2011
Dec 17, 2011 at 5:56 PM UTC
I speak with a heart
Connectedness
I speak with a heart
I breathe with a heart
Its beating my heart
Its beating my heart
I see in my dreams
Connectedness
I feel in my dreams
I'm real in my dreams
Its beating my heart
Its beating my heart
All that's strange will go away
Our blood a different color
And even with my eyes
You can't see
In our difference
Will go away
Connectedness
Connectedness
I speak of the truth
Connectedness
And without the words
There is love
Its beating my heart
Nov 24, 2016
Nov 24, 2016 at 5:15 PM UTC
Everything living
Requires things dying
Nature is beautiful cruelty
It’s thermodynamics
An energy gradient
A food cascade
Staggering connectedness
Exquisite fragile quilt
Sadly, loose strings pulled
Mar 29, 2019
Mar 29, 2019 at 11:25 PM UTC
I have openly altered my state of consciousness and have connected with astral planes where the channelling of transcendental energy into the room has occurred through vibrations from the soul of music.
A spellbinding stream of conscious connectedness truly pulsates through unseen realms of reality.
In order to participate, we must understand that healing cannot be defined by the limitations of familiar vocabulary. Therefore, let us permit shamanic drumming to throb within the network of our being.
Thank you. I can feel your transparency.
Dec 5, 2013
Dec 5, 2013 at 11:16 PM UTC
Have you ever tasted the finality of abandonment?
I fully acknowledge the ambivalence of hateful and loving connectedness.
But, there is something wonderful about lunar eclipses amidst dark forests where trees creak and groan with the pains of animism.
The dial of the sun will emphasise her eternal wheel of galactic sobriety, whilst interaction transcends her promiscuous limitations of what is deemed to be sophisticated.
What do you understand about hormones?
Thank you, oh priestess of resentful misogyny.
I applaud your sexuality.
Apr 14, 2014
Apr 14, 2014 at 11:33 PM UTC
Searching
I always thought the iPhone
the most human of devices.
I named mine George.
Like an overeager child
George buzzes when engaged.
Spent, he recharges
to the sixty second cycle
of a resting heart.
Last night in a hotel bar,
an accidental altercation
with a roughhousing stein of Great Lakes Lager,
ruined the inner George.
Now, when shaken, George rattles.
No longer able to connect,
the heart-rending message “searching,”
parades across his shattered screen.
How human that yearning
for connectedness?
May 6, 2016
May 6, 2016 at 1:55 PM UTC
Under the darkening heavens,
cool winds endlessly blow
across the Nile,
between the sacred pyramids,
the sphinx lies in silence,
a testament to wealth & power.
Standing alone, I witness
the spectacular setting of the sun.
Ancient voices hum eternal tunes,
seemingly lost forever in
the mysteries of the universe.
At once I am overwhelmed,
feel a true connectedness with
Pharoahs & the countless stars,
twinkling their message
under endless dunes.
Jan 2, 2014
Jan 2, 2014 at 11:25 AM UTC
It's been a long time since I've looked at myself in the mirror and asked who I am
prodding a reflection to see how long it takes to change
That kind of thinking follows you- it preempts every step-
step-
I'm swallowing confusion whole. In a daily pill. A color for every feeling.
I was thinking about my circular habits when I caught myself there, again,
a black hole in the glass fragmented like..
children, transposed against war
myself, the child and the war-maker begging for peace
the harsh lines cut across valleys of wheat
cut me down, I'm begging the blackness, make fault lines out of my hate
across my body, slash my body, curl up and disappear into my body
take my body and teach me to float
I'll volunteer my soul in the name of love, lovers, loved, loving... forgiveness.
and float there in a dream that a human doesn't stand to realize any time soon, I'm sobbing for my lost dreams and stuck in my own memories, I mean --
I fool myself sometimes. Because things are harsh and harshness is perception. And connectedness comes from letting go. And ****** I've been stubborn since birth and I was stubborn when I knew God and I'm stubborn now I don't
I don't
I don't. Tell me what to do, because I'm tired of beating myself down
I once tried starving myself raw
and realized the hard way it was never an option
I miss that kind of numbness. I want to believe that the ones I want to see know how to look past skin. I'm - wanting - to float. I'm... wanting. I'm wanting in components of human nature lack lacking lacking love
I
never ever would have ever admitted
self in grounds of coffee. down the hatch, down the drain, downing levels of consciousness as days homogenize and fears are realized and
slowly drowning time
rationalized
mine
body is mine
body is dying, legs are dying, eyes are dying, drooping, dropping like flies fl-fl-fl-flying
to fly
dreams of flying
I had dreams of flying
I have dreams of flying and every day I'm dying
This is blackness reflected back. apathy.
warped cognition slides through me cold
I don't know how I got so old
Apr 28, 2012
Apr 28, 2012 at 2:12 AM UTC
Come in! Come in! Enter into the viral abyss of the ages.
Give thanks to the astrological signs in the name of the ancient wisdom of the oak tree.
Smouldering coals convey their warm and glowing connectedness in a medieval village, whilst the screeching owl swoops into the lofty turret of the olde English churchyard.
Will you pay homage to the proclaimed majesty of Anglican monarchy? Dare you submit your soul to the authority of King Henry VIII in the guise of what is deemed to be Catholicism? Listen: Thatch your roof my naïve friend of putrid beauty – the real plague is already upon us. Can’t you feel the tangible octaves of the harpsichord?
The rhythm of midnight will never deplete in her resounding cries throughout the universe.
Dec 31, 2013
Dec 31, 2013 at 3:45 PM UTC