"consolidates" poems
1063
Ashes denote that Fire was—
Revere the Grayest Pile
For the Departed Creature’s sake
That hovered there awhile—
Fire exists the first in light
And then consolidates
Only the Chemist can disclose
Into what Carbonates.
4.2k
She is the lady on the road.
She is a mother, a sister, a colleague, a bird, a lassie, a damsel.
She is the lady on the road.
She spreads love and enriches kindness in the society,
She is the crux of an organization, and the fundamental principles.
She is the lady on the road.
She twinkles with the stars and shimmers with the moon,
She scampers with her pets and hops like a frog,
She is not a nomad, but a faithful keeper.
She is the lady on the road.
She wears short skirts,
She wears tight tops,
She doesn't encourage the flirts,
She neither abominates the leering of cops.
She is the lady on the road.
She holds a honourable reputation,
She forms the base of ethical standards,
She buries the grudges and resolves the dissension,
She consolidates herself and maintains her fettle,
She is the epitome of cheerful disposition.
She is the lady on the road.
She ignores the catcalls,
She endures the torture and prevails her morale,
She is a monument unshakable, and a stone unbreakable,
She dumps her burdens and enlightens her destiny,
She protects her dignity and negotiates with denunciation,
She does no harm, but deals with it.
She is the lady on the road, ..the seventh wonder of the world.
Jan 27, 2015
Jan 27, 2015 at 7:37 PM UTC
Dear one,
As the domino, I fall cascading on the drawing board. Why would one deny progression? A furtherance , the ebb and flow. I remain up beat and spirited as I read your letters. It's like a barred barricade is being lifted.Your glowing light is charging me. Certainty is liberating, the riding of the waves have become a skill that I have engrossed. The tides spread from shore to shore and I must anchor. I am ever grateful for your deliberation in regard to my current affairs. Your magnanimity is greatly appreciated.
As I am
Enormous, bountifulness of free spirit. Episodes of taciturnity alternated by sequences of thrill are remarkably felt. The higher level linking is simultaneous , coordinated and equidistant. As life propels, years progress a resemblance of energy is greatly congruent. The conforming compatibility of the absolute is evident. Transpiration of what once known yet unknown surfaces, erupts and consolidates a new meaning. A renewed existence, a recovered emergence solidifies. These moments are so evident, abundantly and vehemently felt on every fibre,bone and muscle of my being. Right to the core of my soul, my very existence.
On the tangent of thoughts........"J" the jewel... the forgotten treasure. What happened to the nature trueness that stroked your mind? The non win compromises aren't spontaneous. We must realign.... we must.
Vous êtes magnifiquement merveilleux et excellent en tous les moyens possible.
You sure do give me the butterflies......
You hold me in skies high above.
I can't control the butterflies.........
Is it just a flutter ?
To progress as you progress.....
SassyJ
Inspired by........
Natasha Bedingfield (Soulmate)
https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=P27MPi3ZhCg
Dec 25, 2015
Dec 25, 2015 at 2:35 PM UTC
When I look into the mirror
Each morning after dawn
To peruse the wrinkled skin
And slack musculature drawn,
When I snore upon the couch
Before flashing TV screen
To be woken by my sweetheart
For a dinner yet unseen.
There’s an overriding likelihood
That achievements made to date
Will be my lot for evermore....
An admission that I hate!
And the scent of hot seduction
Though a feature of my youth,
Shall be confined to flash of fantasy
Amidst pains in nagging tooth.
Enduring twinge of aching joints
To the whistling in the ears
And the apnoea of sleeplessness
Which just consolidates the fears.
Homeopathy has promise
To the happy road to health
But pharmaceuticals are farming
For my meagre worldly wealth.
Though the promise of the afterlife
Which held aloft on high,
Presents a gaggle of good churches
Who will proffer you the sky.
Best to form your own religion
With philosophy of POW!
To say" IT’S ALL ABOUT ME, BROTHER"
AND I WANT MY YOUTH BACK NOW!!
Marshalg
Wielding the Gold Card with an impotent flourish
AUCKLAND
25 January 2012
Jan 24, 2012
Jan 24, 2012 at 8:14 PM UTC
A hand rises out of the scarlet misery
Saving grace, leaving trace
Pull it out
I see this crimson horror
In lieu of my salvation
Deception and Duplicity
I try to pull but it consolidates its hold on me
And it's me drowning in the red pool
Jun 7, 2013
Jun 7, 2013 at 8:36 AM UTC
#Brother and Sister Citizens:
Our fatherland consolidates. Let us salute, as One, our terrible destiny, lately manifest as the gathering force of an orange sun now glowing, after eight years of lightless gloom. Now we shine, now we merge our individuality in one to discover our collective future in Trump. As one wave of Greatness we now stride over the ruins of Hope & Change, into the American Restoration. Let us, each one, offer a straight stick of noble hardwood for the mass.
Donald our axehead is now tightly bound with us in a shared sacred duty, projecting his keen edge from the national bundle. Let us, together, grow tired of winning until all worthless cancerous cells are neutralized and disposed of. All that is not full of the Will to Greatness must perish before us. Clad in the shining raiment of victory let us serve with American fervor our new leader.
Women, mothers and nurturers of the mystic rebirth
are welcome in our new nation.
Sweep away the cobwebs of the old weakness, hail the conquering hero, he who fearlessly bears the Roman fasces into the courtroom as judge, jury, and executioner. Let the cities and nations of unbelief tremble and plead for mercy.
Poems shall be composed as bridges are built to span the years.
Stanzas shall spontaneously fall into place and march with military precision.
Every capital line shall converge upon our captain.
Hail the crown of Donald T.
Hail the mighty orange flame
Hail the age's consummation
(Voters have themselves to blame)
TRUMP shall smash the global Hydra
TRUMP shall avenge our national shame.
TRUMP shall restore our families' honor;
CONQUER (in his deplorable name) !
Captain TRUMP, the cord that binds
TRUMP the axe-head and the judge.
Leader DONALD, light that blinds.
Our final King: let none begrudge.
LOVE UNDER WILL ☻ !
(was that fascistic enough 4 U ?)
Jan 30, 2017
Jan 30, 2017 at 4:42 PM UTC
The battle field of
My being never sleeps
Where sweet sugar from
My soul lives in trenches
As the battle rages on
Bombarded by shells
My heart nests in bunkers
Where ears become death
With the sound of hatred
My heart consolidates its
Strength in the shared
Responsibility of war
As I fight for brother and sister
And honor all those
Who came before
Let no one die in vain
As the stillness in my center
Marches out like thunder
As armies are accessed
I fight the silent war
For my gentle acceptance is far
More bolder and carries greater
Power than you world
And my silence carries
Ferocious fires from
Many dragons
As my heart drinks the
Bitter taste of unfairness
And sprinkles sugar
Making lemonade
With the strength of
Charging Rhino
I fight the peaceful war
Sitting still and softly
I let nestle and rest
Upon my chest
Fear , anger and depression
Where they make a cosy nest
Fended of by fountain spring
My loving heart turns
The battle field green
As I fight the passive war
Nov 16, 2014
Nov 16, 2014 at 11:05 PM UTC
there is something
that needs to be done,
revere in the plot
or a merciless yelp of rebellion;
the night consolidates
into something no hand could grasp
no eyes could pare
with stabbing vision, paring the skin
of it, leaving it flayed
hurtling in the corridor like a child
razed by high-rise of sun
the bucolic ornaments of downtown
seething with hammered words,
it starts to rain, diving into the gutter.
there is something that needs to be done.
tonight i look past the haze of the window
and see a vision gyrating, like a hand of
hours full and whirling, preyed on
an iron-wrought webbed without relent
from a tarantula's sepulcher,
a seraph denied of flight.
this is what needs to be done;
all-kissing twilight of paradisiacal twining
a name extolled in all that is quiet,
dismembering parts of you
as i try to once more assemble the night
and give it your flair, your tonal voice,
your riverrun hair, your leap of faith,
again and again the vaudeville of stars
propagate in the starless morning
necessitating unsung surrender
heeding patterns, fluid lithographs
drawing a new caricature of pain.
Oct 28, 2015
Oct 28, 2015 at 7:47 AM UTC
Time is the great healer,
I've heard said, it gets easier
as you go along.
Keep yourself busy,
less time to think,
others advised, well
meaningly I don't doubt.
But time has healed nothing,
my son, it doesn't get easy at all:
neither nights nor days,
thinking of you and those
dark hours, the last minute scenes,
the negligence
of those paid to care,
and grief's usual wear and tear.
Time just consolidates
the pain and grief, brings it
up close now the numbness has fled,
the stark reality bites deep
no matter how busy
or occupied the head,
and the final words
scribbled down:
your son is dead.
Sep 18, 2017
Sep 18, 2017 at 3:16 PM UTC