"convergence" poems
i must give you a full physical exam
to fully grasp my prognosis and plan
of treatment for you... dont be afraid
i feel confident, no need to debate
i can satisfy
and gratify
your pre-dic-ament
in the richest succulent
as a specialist, to some degree
my healing hands work expertly
but to receive full and complete treatment
you must partake my honey rather frequent
for a better plan of action
i require a full body transfusion
a chemical mixture of center fuses
a delicate blending of our juices
this may require several procedures
over time it provides many features
healing properties of your most vital *****
however worth it, even if, it cost a fortune
to this a can guarantee success
but first you must fully undress
i work with energy transference
your help required for successful convergence
of the best possible results
between two consenting adults
bartering is certainly a viable option
for your long term medical condition
providing equal services for each other
helps maintain balance to one another
Mar 28, 2017
Mar 28, 2017 at 1:01 AM UTC
Chance
is being in the right place
at the right time,
coinciding with the orbit
of another searching
the aspirations that you to seek.
A connection needs attention,
a compliment, a smile,
an enquiry of mutual interest
that engages instantly.
The abdication of convenient norms,
a shift in behaviour,
adopting a new travel direction.
It requires no discrimination,
but an open welcoming mind,
conjoining parallel convergence,
Meeting.
© Pagan Paul (2018)
Jun 7, 2019
Jun 7, 2019 at 6:27 AM UTC
Oh cute little thing
I like your contour
you look pretty funny when you're cold
you get these lovely wrinkles
especially in the middle region
nearly dendritic
more like the cracks in the earth
and your satchel breathes on its own
like a brain if it had lungs for itself
but more like an amoebic celestial body squirming around in some primordial goop
I think that's pretty cool
you're a pink and brown mushroom emerging from a forest of black wiry moss
concentrated around you and
all growing in your direction
almost lifting you up and out
and then further away fading
the way the water gets clearer
above a sand bar
and then a great convergence
a crashing of two great waves
against each other
forming a wall of spindly tendrils
before the whirlpool
Oct 7, 2015
Oct 7, 2015 at 8:39 PM UTC
Feel the chains change in me tonight
Condense me to evaporate in want
The long of a bounce to another world
Light the fire to burn deep and fervour
A belly roasts in repetitive embers flushes
Hearts tied connate as the essence flashes
A tangle ribboned to last after the dawn
Testify as our sparks infinitely ignite dances
Titaniums of our tectonic plates merge motions
A convergence entwined in bordered emotions
Link me in the convections of transformations
Conversations of a lasting warm benevolence
Paradisiacal chum of a past in resonance
A photographic collection of a lived long life
Unwrap the snare, unwind the erased tapes
Lay back as we hide away behind the moonlight
Apr 29, 2016
Apr 29, 2016 at 4:18 PM UTC
When you shed that chrysalis of clothing
Releasing the dragonfly wings of your longing
Wholly among the sanctity of your skystrung ribs
Your hips gyrating on the revolutions of the moon
The astronomer in my belly burns to look up to the sky
And see you spreading yourself among the singing night
My fingers, matches skywriting
The contours of your body
With the lingerings of fire
Nails soft scratching the runes of desire
Among the hidden temples of your skin
A secret language you twistup and rumble
In like the sea swallowing a storm
Inviting me to wade in your waters
Till the lighting comes
To reunite you with the heavens
Let me lick a long crusade
From summit of spine down
The long whirling dervish of your legs
Relight wildfires only to douse them in all
The tsunami of your wet
And wash you in the convergence of thunder
As it rumbles among the fault lines of your bones
Till we rattle the pearly gates loose
And quake the caverns of hell
Grind yourself upon me into
Something so much
Sweeter then stardust
Break your body open
Into a firefly and ignite
Upon the rough embers of my wings
This friction will elicit a diction
Spoken only in vowels and the
And in the crescent arch of your spine
As we sling ourselves skyward as fireworks
To rupture open the night
Suffocate me on the whirlwind mane of your hair
There is a lioness behind those lips waiting to devour me
A sacred hunting upon moonlight to take me in the dark
Don’t you see
All of this is yours
The rumble of the earth
The heavy breath of the heavens
The match
The candle
And the sweet rush of the burn
Dec 24, 2013
Dec 24, 2013 at 8:48 PM 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
She'll sleep tight in a parallel universe tonight
my deeply serious rainbow girl astral projects
communes with Shiva and champions chakras
she has the recipe for what passes as illumined
her ignorance of current events is appalling
but that chosen ignorance is staid and unperturbed
I grumble and complain, I use the news like a ******
I put the pieces together, pattern the puzzle-
I see the BIG picture…I cut my life short
possessing a keen memory is like the proverbial millstone
the information is the lake
rainbow girl is contemptuous of my self inflicted plight
we realize its a matter of time before disparate likes divide
I am fire and she is water, I the destroyer, she the preserver
the passion can be complimentary for just so long
Like the lady bard said:
*You read those books where luxury
Comes as a guest to take a slave
Books where artists in noble poverty
Go like virgins to the grave (Joni)*
She'll tolerate my confabulated artistry a spell
I can see she's a caterwauling banshee of protestation in the waiting
Her mellifluous quietude, equanimity and perfect poise can only last so long
Before my brash stripped down vituperative diatribe is as acid in the eyes
Then be off to resume her prior harmonic convergence of heart stuff
as I with my artistic bent, abbreviate my life
*http://jonimitchell.com/music/song.cfm?id=38 The Boho Dance
Apr 28, 2013
Apr 28, 2013 at 10:12 PM UTC
Analytical Critique of Unconscious Thought
acting out without conscious thought
like those silly shorts that you just bought
the gaudy plaid in a stripped world
capacity bottom-up weighting rule
convergence conclusion you silly fool
uncalled for diatribes that you unfurled
magical spiral of unspoken words
formed by hand into painted sherds
genius clown keeps lips tightly curled
Gomer LePoet....
Apr 29, 2013
Apr 29, 2013 at 1:41 PM UTC
(Lines on the loss of the “Titanic”)
I
In a solitude of the sea
Deep from human vanity,
And the Pride of Life that planned her, stilly couches she.
II
Steel chambers, late the pyres
Of her salamandrine fires,
Cold currents thrid, and turn to rhythmic tidal lyres.
III
Over the mirrors meant
To glass the opulent
The sea-worm crawls—grotesque, slimed, dumb, indifferent.
IV
Jewels in joy designed
To ravish the sensuous mind
Lie lightless, all their sparkles bleared and black and blind.
V
Dim moon-eyed fishes near
Gaze at the gilded gear
And query: “What does this vaingloriousness down here?”. . .
VI
Well: while was fashioning
This creature of cleaving wing,
The Immanent Will that stirs and urges everything
VII
Prepared a sinister mate
For her—so gaily great—
A Shape of Ice, for the time fat and dissociate.
VIII
And as the smart ship grew
In stature, grace, and hue
In shadowy silent distance grew the Iceberg too.
IX
Alien they seemed to be:
No mortal eye could see
The intimate welding of their later history.
X
Or sign that they were bent
By paths coincident
On being anon twin halves of one august event,
XI
Till the Spinner of the Years
Said “Now!” And each one hears,
And consummation comes, and jars two hemispheres.
2.7k
Poem
I watched a truck churning under a wire convergence
and the sky above doped entrails coming from Europe
Where had the turtle gone, the one puffed in the curve of the fox?
Now clambering onto the icy porch
I open the door into
smells of brass polish, wood polish
pots full of bones.
Winter’s wind rattling time holds me in
I must make marmalade with Seville oranges
with their thick rutted craters, sadly moon-like
a little sweetness of the blossom
worn on bridal veils will come back
as the flesh boils soggy with pips
and Demerara’s sweetness pummels
and I’ll be beaming ear to ear, beaming, full
of a sugar high, then fall. I don’t think I’ll be flying
to Jamaica, but at least I have a box of jars
My house will be dressed
of stiff forsythia branches, blooming
while I pull on stupoods of wool
socks, and wax my boards
I watched whirling snow collapse, loshing
on my face, signs of a dream, unsettling
separating mills and boon from reality.
If I had cast a spell stirring boiling sugar
And whispered ancient simple words
And as spring soars from
the dirt he would say agapa me
and my house full of worms, fat as fingers would dissolve
which is why I must plant, for butterflies to flutter
O my mighty easel, you are not like nature
though you are like a highway
of roots, clamped with straps
Supported or shaded, you reveal
all that I am.
The light begins to drop out of ticking stars
onto the snow bank behind the studio
the place where crimson and ochre mate.
I am really a painter
and my brushes are words
which glaze accidentally across
vellum, spurning censure.
Feb 15, 2012
Feb 15, 2012 at 6:02 AM UTC
The coffee *** just signalled, Ready,
So I pour the cream before the java:
A cup of divergent thinking.
There are roads running
In opposite directions,
Sharing points of similarity:
A tree, a sign, me.
Inside or outside the box of thinking,
Using the lower and upper ladder rungs
To paint the same wall,
Prologues and epilogues to the same story,
Lawyers in clown suits,
Children using,
Kittens chewing slippers,
Dogs in litter boxes,
Earth cooling,
Healing and feeding the masses,
Elected monarchies... NO monarchies,
Sleeping in or getting up,
Cursory letter to family and friends
(Though this is coming to an end),
Making love while wearing gloves,
The moon moves east to west
In the blink of sleep,
Churches giving alms and unlocking doors,
Schools excelling,
Parents attending.
To juxtapose is divergent,
Like sobering up with detergent
(You may be clean, but are you dry?).
If insurgents were divergent,
We'd have more convergence.
Feb 10, 2015
Feb 10, 2015 at 9:25 AM UTC
The Past comes rushing out just as
the Future comes crashing down.
The Present is what we perpetually call
the convergence point of no return.
Nov 12, 2013
Nov 12, 2013 at 9:43 AM UTC
A first exclamation
Is it an approximation?
Of my imagination
Spoken determination
We are all in delusion
Sinking possibilities
Acting on this activation
A brain improvisation
A flowing dedication
Mounted city destination
Lacking in co-operation
Mounted evaluations
Investing the cognition
Is not the only direction?
Embracing the investigation
My convergence recruitment
Not even words uncovers
The layered entrenchment
Sunken lost in introversion
A day dream of absolution
Mar 13, 2016
Mar 13, 2016 at 12:31 PM UTC
Conscious how below self awareness motives can be.
Subconscious no matter the state.
The density remains linear; all drawn in pen
to attend to these feuding desciples
of being “super” and the instinctive relliance on idioms,
of actions portrayed further than words,
finding balance on this epicenter
of egocentric dreams coined all along the same metaphor.
Sides- to what ever shape of form of the matter ,
linear at point we all eventually
dive/urge finding another
point above or below
convergence in light
to change focus in volume/mass
equaling (1)ndividuality / decreasing the density of situations
Aug 22, 2011
Aug 22, 2011 at 10:54 AM UTC
Poem
I watched a truck churning under a wire convergence
and the sky above doped entrails coming from Europe
Where had the turtle gone, the one puffed in the curve of the fox?
Now clambering onto the icy porch
I open the door into
smells of brass polish, wood polish
pots full of bones.
Winter’s wind rattling time holds me in
I must make marmalade with Seville oranges
with their thick rutted craters, sadly moon-like
a little sweetness of the blossom
worn on bridal veils will come back
as the flesh boils soggy with pips
and Demerara’s sweetness pummels
and I’ll be beaming ear to ear, beaming, full
of a sugar high, then fall. I don’t think I’ll be flying
to Jamaica, but at least I have a box of jars
My house will be dressed
of stiff forsythia branches, blooming
while I pull on stupoods of wool
socks, and wax my boards
I watched whirling snow collapse, loshing
on my face, signs of a dream, unsettling
separating mills and boon from reality.
If I had cast a spell stirring boiling sugar
And whispered ancient simple words
And as spring soars from
the dirt he would say agapa me
and my house full of worms, fat as fingers would dissolve
which is why I must plant, for butterflies to flutter
O my mighty easel, you are not like nature
though you are like a highway
of roots, clamped with straps
Supported or shaded, you reveal
all that I am.
The light begins to drop out of ticking stars
onto the snow bank behind the studio
the place where crimson and ochre mate.
I am really a painter
and my brushes are words
which glaze accidentally across
vellum, spurning censure.
Feb 15, 2012
Feb 15, 2012 at 6:02 AM UTC
I saw demise in her eyes
acceptance of a summarized
existence in this instance
incidentally its in stints
well baby take my hand and
we'll ride the intertwining serpentine
you feelin my energy in an instant
i feel
i know you missed this
lips reveal whats sealed from description
oh woe to words, absurd innately
oh woe to words' deceptive paintings
We owe an ode to the world, and im thinking maybe
its this moment
its this moment
in this moment I feel relative
in this moment, man, im so not relevant
what tomorrow holds, there is no tellin ya
weve only just crossed paths
yet Ive known you for millennia
Universal Invocations
serendipitous relations
deceitful daggers draped in red cloths
slash at eternal hearts carried by temporary raven claws
disperse
fall into insanity
and land in my lap of chance
no more wallowing in the mire
rhetorical kiaros at a glance
awake, shake these dreams from my hair
evaporate those inhibitions into thin air
exposed soul, open emotion to bare
tip-toeing the peripherals of Medusa's glare
convergence in a vicious cycle
vinyl in perpetual spiral, we rendezvous in eternity
convergence in a vicious cycle
vinyl in perpetual spiral, situated, stuck internally
Many moons might fall and several suns will set
but in this instance, together, we'll always be infinite
May 14, 2014
May 14, 2014 at 12:10 PM UTC
Can't wait any more,
darling,reach out,
just touch my lips
with your index finger,
red hot with desire.
I am ready to melt
as convergence of
lust, passion and love
happens in that order.
വയ്യിനി കാക്കാന്
തെല്ലും വയ്യിനി കാക്കാന് പ്രിയേ,
ആസക്തിയാല് രക്തവര്ണമാര്ന്നോരാ
തുടുവിരൽത്തുമ്പാൽ ചുണ്ടിൽ
മൃദുവായ് തൊടുകെന്നെ നീ.
രതിതൃഷ്ണയും ആസക്തിയും
പ്രേമതാപവും മേല്മേല്,
തിരമാലകൾപോലെ വന്നെൻ
ഉള്ളത്തെകലക്കവേ,
ആര്ദ്രനായ്, രാഗോന്മാദാൽ
നിന്നിലലിയാൻ കൊതിപ്പൂ ഞാന്!
(Malayalam Translation)
Nov 12, 2015
Nov 12, 2015 at 11:32 AM UTC
In any convergence of creative-minded people there exists a massive potential for positive change. Internet platforms included. Let's make use of this energy and bring awareness to the things we feel strongly about!
I'm asking yall to write poems about change! Social, Ecological, Cultural CHANGE! Let's address specific issues! Let's stop fracking, and plastic, and war, and hunger, and child labor, and let's free Tibet! Let's bring attention to pollution and corporate crime! Let's heal our wounds and bring our ills to the light! I know we can~
I created a collection called poets for change
please post here:
~~~~~~ http://hellopoetry.com/collection/2821/poets-for-change/ ~~~~~~
Our voices united are powerful and beautiful
tell your friends! spread the word!
REPOST THIS SHIZZ!
Let's show the World~
Mar 14, 2014
Mar 14, 2014 at 1:42 PM UTC
A Sufi Cowboy
rides an incandescent star
gliding to the ground
pouring light like a shiraz
into his heart, he drinks bliss.
A Heavy Metal
Buddhist slamdances beyond
the shadow tree glades
nourishing the grass with tears--
her crying mediation.
Their eyes connecting
to echoed crystal heartbeats
of their higher selves.
He strikes a match across air,
flame kisses the dangling zoot.
Their eyes hold the gaze.
A mellifluous voice glows
from her, singing odes
of buzzing deja vu jazz
and gamboling dragon flies.
Cowboy & Buddhist
decide to share a few drinks
in the Cosmic Bar.
Mar 2, 2015
Mar 2, 2015 at 8:13 PM UTC
A sunlit narrow path cleaving
overgrown green hedge, both ways,
such exhilarating surprises, it too can offer,
but would one expect, in the first place?
On my track, I stand arrested hold that flower,
that made my heart jump, in my front,
felt being washed inside out
by a kind wave, transformed.
The flower, romancing the sun
still is on it's branch,alive
didn't feel the temptation
to pluck it like many times before.
Even the beauty's name is unknown to me,
just another hibiscus,amidst her cousins,
"I love the one next to her, the purple one"
said a female voice, a wayfarer like me.
Standing by me, she adoringly looked at her favorite,
I had no hesitation to accept it, like mine.
no ranking makes sense, each has
own quicksilver tongue, if you 'd listen.
"Look at you! how pleased you look
I love the folks, that adore flowers!"
she sounded like a skylark, hands of
evening sun caressed her, we are kindred spirits.
"You have wide eyes like girls,
eyes seeking beauty reflect it"
we held hands like childhood friends,
long lost, looked at each other's eyes.
Isn't it the feeling one try to capture and define,
when trying to say what poetry makes to happen?
it's there, a tangible feeling, if you know what it means,
on our separate ways we went, gifting what to keep for ever.
Oct 1, 2014
Oct 1, 2014 at 1:02 PM UTC
I, in a field amongst my peers;
We are so similar
Almost all the same-
We grow together
From the soil beneath
Our stems, our roots
Combining, clustering,
We are all connected.
I feel like I am different though,
I have my own stem
My own hue of pink
My own pretty petals
My own green leaves
My own movement
My own form of life.
I realize there are others
That look like me,
That grow like me,
That sway in the wind as I do.
But I also know that
I am my own flower-
I am not like the rest-
I am an individual.
This field of wildflowers,
Filled with stems and petals
That may seem the same-
Yet so exceptionally different,
Is simply a community.
What makes this vast meadow
So whole and complete,
Is every distinct blossom
Coming together-
Creating a natural
Convergence of unique,
Beautiful, living beings.
Mar 31, 2015
Mar 31, 2015 at 9:22 PM UTC
A space composed, simultaneously, of divergence and convergence
peaceful moments are the wave about to crash and break
acceptance is not the end of motion, it is the end of resistance
a breaking point is a point of new birth
the air is made fresher by longing
and life is made most beautiful by constant change.
Ride the wave.
Jan 27, 2014
Jan 27, 2014 at 10:43 PM UTC
1.The Serpent
Pensive, she lies alone on her soft feather bed expectant.
Her eyes widely shut, imagining moments wildly exciting.
Serpentine desire contained in the burrow of her mind,
Sneaks out, slithers, snugly coils around her dainty waist.
2.Fact finder's predicament
The fact finding committee at last,
met in silence, in all seriousness,
But each member was found
taking a walk, in a direction different.
Each one's sweet whim, clearly
did reflect in the facts they unearthed.
Reaching a point of convergence,
therefore was not something expected.
Dec 12, 2015
Dec 12, 2015 at 5:09 AM UTC
Just me,
no distractions.
I settle down to work.
A day reserved for poetry --
pure bliss.
I search
for convergence
of meaning and music.
The right word is somewhere nearby.
But where?
Just here --
almost at hand.
Will I reach out and net
the breathtaking flash of brilliance
today?
Apr 3, 2012
Apr 3, 2012 at 12:18 PM UTC