"converge" poems
worlds converge in a papercup
come, come you on the tambourine
me on the harmonica
let's make music without the adjectives
let's live on the jingle-jangle of coins
tara na! this pavement
is our carnegie; metaphors
sans adverbs -- no illusions, no fantasies.
you and me and this street --
dancing like gypsies on a prairie
later tonight, while the moon watches over
we'll upstage the stars
with **** adverbs & adjectives
Mar 31, 2012
Mar 31, 2012 at 8:57 AM UTC
The process of becoming other than,
the shedding of the old by way of time
the hands upon the clock traverse their span,
the ever fleeting moment reigns, sublime.
The emptiness of all objective forms,
the rushing river, never stepped in twice,
the reconfiguration of all norms,
the virtues of lost ages seen as vice,
The elements converge and then react,
the caterpillars weave themselves cocoons,
the world amends its stock of gathered facts,
the moths emerge, in flight to greet the moon,
The firmament, destroyed and rearranged,
the universal essence, found in change.
Apr 26, 2016
Apr 26, 2016 at 7:47 PM UTC
Surfing across the glaze of light
Multiverse into one, this universe shines bright
Condensed energy upon my sight
Mystery upon this 'life'
All is multiverse stitched into one universe
All universes stitched upon each other
Tension upon layer and layers
Heaven, Hell, reincarnation, all are bound by makers
One moves upon a series of 'matter' or vibrations after the shell is removed or gained
However rather low, high, negative, or positive energy, all is remained
Logic
A mere barrier designed and captivated by a mind
Grasping your vision, your perception, your multiverse
Either a hinder or power surge
Forming pieces of ones quilt to converge
A poisonous psychedelic
The rarity of an ancient relic
It is yours, whatever it may be
Hold close, as it is all you may have
As the 'universe' of the multiverse leans and meets according to so
Then raving within your conscious, you see a brighter glow
You pursue, you make the most
Using the now gleam to move upon the multiverse you hope to have
Doing all in reality in order to keep the spark alive
What seems to be drab
What seems to strive
All according to the beholder
We keep these lights seemingly closer
Whatever they maybe
Whomever they maybe
What has never begun to start will never be over
Jun 11, 2014
Jun 11, 2014 at 12:02 AM UTC
tell me what words are there
to articulate this savage parade
not here, not in all the Lebanons
whose crystal castles sparkle
like broken glass
on the dark horizons
at the jagged edges of the world
from which cultured minds have receded
and all humanity has been relinquished
to the barbarity of the frenzied flavours of fools
who will speak for this wild parade
without impediment to mythical protagonists
tell me where are the energised arguments
against sophisticated yet false laments
where testament is torn through
weeping cedar trees
producing the unpredictable accidental quality
that memorialises phantom caresses
that have neither been invented nor encouraged
the hallow that inaugurates
the distinctive features of
destructive energies that are both
exuberant and hard to comprehend
this parade where there is
a savage sensibility
capable of apprehending
contradictory ethical imperatives
that vouch for a mocking stream of
tragic political consequence
displayed vividly in the inextricability
of civil order and political violence
that defies exclusive claim
by casting itself as freedom warrior
in disguise as militaristic humanism
and burns the temple tree
and where human identity
becomes an elusive possession
owned by a few
who in the inevitability of ignorance
refuse to recognise their tragic error
and the world does not mount
a strenuous protest
at this headlong dash for Ephesus
where antagonistic language and
neutral expression of thought converge
and here the value of valulessness
repudiates, even in a single poetic moment
Aug 25, 2013
Aug 25, 2013 at 4:04 PM UTC
First,
Thank you for this poetry, precious intellect.
For employing each muse, under no objection--
Working hard so that the words in my head can sing their celebrations
As if without effort,
And take their leave in abstract
Unity.
Second,
Thank you for my pain, you lying ************
Every time I fall under the spell of night silence,
Unencumbered by those solemn realities,
Somehow, still, I long to be bound in the ribbons of mental garrulousness.
Because ****
It'd sure be hard to write without any words--
Without the consequences of this troubled mind.
So, it looks like you’ve found a convincing way to pitch the worth of suffering.
And Darlin’, I suppose that
I'll be the buyer of your generic brand of heartache--
Never cared for that top-shelf quick n’ done despair anyway.
I must just have a pallet for lingering bitterness.
Third,
Thank you for this herb, mother nature.
For the improvisational song that it sings in my veins,
Tuning out prosaicism’s drone.
For the rocking motion of my psyche
That starts when the rapid and the slow converge,
And the configuration of the fourth dimension warbles me to sleep
In a chorus of veins—
Conveying each of life’s cadences,
All in vain
Of what I myself
Ordain.
Feb 17, 2012
Feb 17, 2012 at 11:33 AM UTC
We want to understand our world and humans that are in it
situations and events that shake it up and spin it
make our choices, choose our path, convinced that it is 'right'
until we see another path that's just beyond our sight
a different path but yet, the same, with others plain to see
all moving on or standing still, all people, you and me
as paths converge what happens next is basic and is right
no pushing shoving or standing ground, no need to stay and fight
a simple course correction, moving round each other with ease
to continue on our paths, no two the same you see
For all the paths eventually arrive at the same conclusion
that help us clear our hearts and minds removing our confusion
it's not the destination that was paramount, but those along the way
people, lessons, obstacles, that come with each new day
the journey that we travelled bringing thought and clarity
Be glad you chose the path you did ~ Be glad that you now see
Apr 1, 2012
Apr 1, 2012 at 6:02 PM UTC
People come
People go
We get so close to people
we don't ever really know
We're all avatars
in this
the real world
Private self
Public self
Virtual self
We're all avatars
in this world
As real as the real world
As if it didn't have a delete
re-set re-post twelve more lives
power-off button
Real worlds converge
Real hurts
Real drama
Unfriend Block
When the virtual world
replaces the real world
which is the "real" world?
Real money for virtual tools
People fall in real love with people
they don't even know
People come and go
The real world
The world that really matters
The real world is real to me.
Take your pick in the real world,
which is really real
Private self
Dream self
Public self
Virtual self
Real pain in the real world
Are we all really avatars
in the real world?
One day the AI robots
are coming with skin
3d printed
speaking your language,
real relationships
going the way of cigarettes
outside
better done in the garden.
The AI's will be singing every night
"Happy trails to you "
When they know they are the
new real.
A virtual
real relationship
in the real world
Imagine that
Are we all avatars
in this world,
the real
real
world?
And which is that?
One day when we have dream machines,
is anyone gonna want to wake up?
We're all avatars in this world
the real world.
Apr 6, 2016
Apr 6, 2016 at 10:47 AM UTC
Took this down, but I'm putting it back up after reading a letter by another teacher, deeply questioning his own courage and what has gone wrong In America.
___________
Anger, sorrow....
They sometimes converge
in children
The wind explodes them in our hands
and
I hate the world that kills 17 kids
with American Senseless
Peace--
Impossible possession
The angle of declination
Breath of a moment
A violet thread pulled from the hem of day.
Feb 19, 2018
Feb 19, 2018 at 11:17 PM UTC
The Seashore Gathering
by Rabindranath Tagore
loose translation/interpretation by Michael R. Burch
On the seashores of endless worlds, earth's children converge.
The infinite sky is motionless, the restless waters boisterous.
On the seashores of endless worlds earth's children gather to dance with joyous cries and pirouettes.
They build sand castles and play with hollow shells.
They weave boats out of withered leaves and laughingly float them out over the vast deep.
Earth's children play gaily on the seashores of endless worlds.
They do not know, yet, how to cast nets or swim.
Divers fish for pearls and merchants sail their ships, while earth's children skip, gather pebbles and scatter them again.
They are unaware of hidden treasures, nor do they know how to cast nets, yet.
The sea surges with laughter, smiling palely on the seashore.
Death-dealing waves sing the children meaningless songs, like a mother lullabying her baby's cradle.
The sea plays with the children, smiling palely on the seashore.
On the seashores of endless worlds earth's children meet.
Tempests roam pathless skies, ships lie wrecked in uncharted waters, death wanders abroad, and still the children play.
On the seashores of endless worlds there is a great gathering of earth's children.
Originally published by The Chained Muse. My translation is based on an untitled text in Bangla (Bengali) first published in 1912 and known as "60" due to its numerical placement. Tagore made history by becoming the first Asian to win the Nobel Prize for Literature the following year. Keywords/Tags: seashore, gathering, children, sky, sea, water, dance, sand castles, shells, boats, play, nets, swim, fish, pearls, ships, waves, songs, mother, lullaby, baby, cradle, tempests, death
Mar 30, 2020
Mar 30, 2020 at 11:03 PM UTC
honoring the glass artistry of Dale Chihuly
A rainbow of serrated globes,
Friends to the water lilies,
Floats in a sculptured pool.
A surreal yellow glass Medusa
Woven through a white crescent trellis
Gleams in the midday sun.
Choirs of chrysanthemums
Sing with multicolored flora
Blown from molten soda, lime and sand.
Sheltered in a geodesic tropics
Orange herons stand on legs of glass
Amid living palms, bamboo and wild orchids.
Towering blue spires
Lift skyward out of the soil
While butterflies dance
In the misty veil of a waterfall.
Nature and the shimmering world within
Happily converge in the florid vision
Of an effervescent man with a patched eye -
A man called Chihuly.
October, 2006
Aug 22, 2013
Aug 22, 2013 at 4:03 PM UTC
It has to mean something.
The way our bodies fit together like Pangea.
When we're together the world rejoices,
I feel it in my bones.
A reuinion longed for,
deep in the collective soul of the earth.
We should have known, we'd be
lovers
separated
by outside forces
Drifting apart, slowly but surely.
It has to mean something
When our bodies converge
Mine subducted under yours
And volcanoes erupt.
It has to mean something,
How your lips on mine feel magnetic attraction.
How my fingers intertwine with yours
An electrical circuit, completed.
Our love could put the stars to shame.
Not only light up the night,
but consume and leave it in darkness
-power surge.
It had to mean something.
We diverged.
The space between us in bed, a trench.
The space between the bed where I lied awake waiting for you and the couch where you drank.
The space between the apartment you abandoned and the home you returned to.
Did it mean
Anything?
Dec 31, 2018
Dec 31, 2018 at 2:55 PM UTC
steel
oil
engineering
labor
converge
round a
Rocket 88
dead man’s
curve
prescient
precocious
capitalists
concoct
Edsels
Vegas
Chevelles
leaping
Impalas
leak
oil
staining
every
American
driveway
Pintos
chase
Gremlins
across
The Great Plains
gassing up
at
Rt 66
fillin
stations
scramblin
Midnight
Ramblers
detour to
take refuge
with Goats in
Big Sky
Indian
garages
440
Mustangs
nip
327
Stingrays
and
Mach IV
Cobras
get
snake bit
by Dart
wielding
Mopar
muscle
cars
long fins
chrome bumpers
and round fenders
still get bent in
Havana
but
Motor City is broke
nations outta gas
whole **** country
needs an overhaul
Ike Turner/Jackie Brenston: Rocket 88
Nelson Riddle: Route 66
7/19/13
Oakland
jbm
Oct 30, 2013
Oct 30, 2013 at 10:57 AM UTC
moist moist moist moist MoiSt mOisT moIsT MOIST
now stop reading it, say it
moist
it's a weird word
-----------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------
a storm is coming
and I can smell it, feel it
MOIST
on my skin- slick
it wisps into my mouth
dirt patches aren't meant to be stoic
the storm approaches from the north, northwest
I am headed that way- north, northwest- approaching it
we have not yet converged but I can feel it
moist
it tastes of dry dirt
not local
nomadic
the clouds are foreshadowing --- foreboding
parting only to show more grey
we have yet to converge but I can feel it
the grey
the parting
the moistness
I am not yet there but I can feel it
wisping through me
I am not meant to be stoic
nomadic
the first d
r
o
p
refreshing
I can feel it. really feel it.
moist on my skin. weird.
the clouds are parting
lightening [effect] thunder [effect] convergence [effect]
I am the storm; its core
moist
grey
parting
wisping
can you feel me
approaching...
Jun 3, 2014
Jun 3, 2014 at 7:51 PM UTC
.
We converse without words...
Just shudders and crests of bated breaths.
Tingles that resonate between echoing beats.
We speak without voice...
Just deep gazes that peer endless into bottomless eyes.
Subtle blinks that freeze the ticks of relentless hands.
We talk without sounds...
Just slight quivers between parted lips.
Holding the other captive in a gentle clasp.
We part with no farewell...
Just two wilful wisps darting on separate courses.
Knowing that paths that meander may someday converge.
.
Dec 3, 2016
Dec 3, 2016 at 7:00 PM UTC
Never judge a book by its cover - they say.
Never believe a man's word over his actions - they say.
Never trust without reason - they say.
Why not? - I say.
Humanity (as a virtue) is being crippled by humans as they
stride
past the crippled man, hunched-back and desperate to extend,
to stand up,
to reach out
for that can of coffee at the grocery store.
As they violate, debilitate and penetrate our
minds by starving
us of
education
and
taunt
us
with
grant
money.
As they reduce our
complexity and significance and capabilities
to
stats
charts
numbers
lines
dots
.
As they stand, staring
up
eleven floors
at a flailing, failing student ready to
jump.
As they stereotype us
into boxes
that we use to hold our belongings -
our interior design.
As they spend more
money in one day
than they
pay
the gardener over
a week.
As they scoff down ketchuped french fries
after saying they were
starving
whilst they edge
forward
at the
robot
to
ignore
hungry begging children.
As they complain about being
alone
when the others around them are also
human.
That's just it.
The 'they' that we always speak of,
'They'
are us.
Unsheltered, not oblivious -
we see the misery, suffering,
pathetic pain -
but we are ignorant of the
barefoot woman with
a load
on her head and
a life
on her back,
asking for a
lift.
Some of us see the strain
but convince ourselves that our efforts would be
insignificant,
assure ourselves that it is
hopeless,
we are helpless.
Science and religion
seem like parallel lines but
they
converge on the point that
Mankind
is a superior species.
'Made in his image.'
'Increased cranial capacity, developed the ability to reason.'
Yet we use that magnificence to justify our
INcapability?
Advanced beings in an age of connectivity and
so disconnected from the essence of our own kind.
We decide
to be
alone.
There are rainbows of
'umuntu ngumuntu ngabantu'
but Ubuntu becomes
'don't want to'
and apathy is what makes us insignificant
- indifferent and inhumane.
To those who
can read this,
we
are hypocrites
- together -
which means that we are never alone and thus we are made
able.
We are not helpless, we just
Help Less.
I refuse to hope less in humanity
and allow us to be coaxed into an inferiority-complex
when we can have
progress and
success but
Only after we have
oneness.
Mar 27, 2016
Mar 27, 2016 at 11:00 AM UTC
I’m up early
as always
swimming in the currents of
a sweet morning
in summer
in Oregon
as if for the first time
Much like the morning
years past
when I woke
with a new girl
in a cemetery in Eugene
We went there to escape the heat
slept on a blanket
naked in the night
So alive were we
and in love
Practicing, perhaps,
for the day when sleep
and death
converge.
Aug 6, 2018
Aug 6, 2018 at 4:30 PM UTC
Sick Psalms in my Submarine
Praying to Neptune
At the center of the earth
Submerge and converge
My thoughts from my head
Isolation in a cabin bed
Weeks in solitude
The comfort of radars beep
Check the periscope
Eat Sleep Repeat
Aug 18, 2015
Aug 18, 2015 at 1:22 PM UTC
Boundaries converge
subduction, descension
divergent margins widen
convective from the core
red hot and sticky
hardening to obsidian
succumb to subterranean pull
an infinitesimal slide below
dense and pressured soil
the slow parting seam
a rift becomes a chasm
consuming solid ground
Nov 10, 2016
Nov 10, 2016 at 11:54 AM UTC
Purifying bath Katmandu Nepal
Yes come to these purifying waters join these ladies it will not perform the greater spiritual cleansing
But it provides a picture of glory with her lying on her back she is just slightly submerged in this grey
Clear water her face is beaming her shoulders are bare her hair flows around her neck on one side one
Arm is freely laid over her chest the other extends upward as a friend holds her by the wrist we all know
The bliss that water enriches us with her brown skin is truly purified and her personnel glory again
Beams with such peace soon the elements will converge to change her thoughts and feelings but they
Will not touch the conciseness that was altered in the river Baghmati during Reshi Panchmi a purifying
And Atonement day for women they bare extra burdens in foreign lands how great to see them
Experience such joy countless burdens are washed away at least momentarily water the friend and
Blessed comfort to matrons it provides one of the most picture perfect sights of a soul in repose you lie
Without care a dear friend holds you by the wrist they bottled water if only they could capture this
Special reality and provide it on demand there is nothing stopping anyone from acting this out it would
Change your day your whole perspective it would truly reenergize body and soul I thought I would just
Share a place in time a rite that provides concepts that ever so briefly will take you out of time fill you
With rapture make you devoid of care allow you to play in the courts of the extravagantly rich with out
Price or responsibility they say nothing is free it doesn’t get any more free or freeing than this I guess it
Cost nature the clouds way up in the Himalayas release the moist weight it falls as abundant rain the
River swells and flows gravity pulls it down to the lower valley and when you enter you luxuriate in
Water’s gift tell the tale Katmandu alone is renown but it has even greater layers of reward than the
normal expectations hope you enjoyed a refreshing
Sep 21, 2012
Sep 21, 2012 at 6:41 PM UTC
Confide in me
the irony
of laughter as a crutch to keep
with self descriptive Bildungsroman
in view of Schadenfreude's Ad hominem
Mask the image, compensate, compensate
Power struggle, shift division, relegate, relegate
Egocentric discharges inhabited by identity crisis
Circumstantial Deus ex machina, plastered on by streams of vices
No wreck, no head on, but a path beset by tolls and diversions
Somehow I must find a way to make these scattered routes converge
Dead and othered language roams the fields of pomposity
More ironic self aggrandizement, an appropriation of ferocity
Paint them a picture in the mind's eye of your blurred forward vision
I want to see the target marked, but attention is a competition
I'm Viable, I'm Jovial, I have the means to take these chances
I'm lying now, it's one or the other, let's hope I make the right advances
Oct 14, 2013
Oct 14, 2013 at 2:21 PM UTC
Pools of anguish overflow
a solemn, silent dirge
From the opaqueness of my soul
all my fears converge
Pretty lights on the horizon
blotted out by rain
Is this desolation
or could lucidity be so plain?
Jun 18, 2014
Jun 18, 2014 at 7:34 AM UTC
The rock that once balanced on the mountain
has now tumbled down and blocked the only pass,
the valley remains cut-off, unable to sustain
even prayers could not move the big stubborn mass.
When great minds converge, they carry burden of hopes,
when creativity has to come out of neccessity,
esoteric ideas amalgamate with ladders and ropes.
Sheer force was unable to move the heavy bull
the ram was dropped and chisel was chosen,
it was time to think whether destruction can be beautiful
That which cannot be moved, can be carved to perfection
suited to your need, can bloom with painstaking nurture.
The valley now has become a source of attraction
with a tall structure on pass, called a gateway to the future.
May 16, 2016
May 16, 2016 at 6:49 AM UTC
Distant clouds lining the endless horizon hurtling back in waves,
rugged trees on the blue-barren shore, courtyard of this palace-
prison: the world shrinks, receding softly like
the last light of the evening sun:
Neither Odysseus King of Ithaca, nor a captive prisoner of
my own deeds, now, the world drops from me, in this
deep night I really am no-man, now, I am merely
the awareness of nothingness.
New worlds emerge: where I ride flying elephants, a hero I am
who won without recourse to a decoy horse, where Achilles
lives and Laodamia grieves not, where I rejoice
at my home the year after we won:
Fair Queen, worlds as real as my prism-world at dawn, where
the sea-nymph reigns; Many pasts converge and onward
to many futures from this present-point, I am really
ever just the silent witness.
Oct 11, 2012
Oct 11, 2012 at 9:53 PM UTC
fragments of life
scattered on the photoshop floor
discarded moments
deleted before fully developed
urgency depicted as living for today
overexposing the instantaneous
cropping a disjointed existence
from the bitmap of impatience
why the aversion to time's darkroom
where future's blur slowly comes into focus
giving clarity to the contiguous
splicing realization from potential
cut to ending...
a panoramic view of destiny's horizon
where paths converge but never vanish
Dec 6, 2013
Dec 6, 2013 at 9:07 PM UTC