"culminate" poems
Books movies
Scifi fantasy
Reading writing
Letters words
Social skills
Or lack thereof
All culminate to be
The nerd inside of me
Apr 23, 2014
Apr 23, 2014 at 7:32 AM UTC
A solitary seagull sits bobbing on the waves
the waves culminate together and generate cascades
The seagull stays determined he will not be dragged down
yet one little misjudgment of a wave and this poor fellow will drown.
Mar 24, 2013
Mar 24, 2013 at 8:53 PM UTC
*Through the vortex
It’s a spiraling journey
From the core to the edges
Churning out new realizations
Beyond your control
There may be many paths
But one destination
Journey shall culminate
Before entering another vortex
Spiral down in awareness
Of another avatar
A different journey
And another destination
It’s continuous*
Jun 25, 2015
Jun 25, 2015 at 9:33 AM UTC
667
Bloom upon the Mountain—stated—
Blameless of a Name—
Efflorescence of a Sunset—
Reproduced—the same—
Seed, had I, my Purple Sowing
Should endow the Day—
Not a Topic of a Twilight—
Show itself away—
Who for tilling—to the Mountain
Come, and disappear—
Whose be Her Renown, or fading,
Witness, is not here—
While I state—the Solemn Petals,
Far as North—and East,
Far as South and West—expanding—
Culminate—in Rest—
And the Mountain to the Evening
Fit His Countenance—
Indicating, by no Muscle—
The Experience—
2.6k
*Your mind, I can read through the mirror of dark eyes,
no iris reading technology this, an ancient practice of lovers
disagreement creeps in to your naughty mind
don't I read it's alphabets and words?
you still smile and act amiable,
just to mislead me and hide your war tactics.
this little game of ours has a subtext of lust,
in bed we translate it to a physical duel
half moons of my nails etch blood mark all over your back
your sharp teeth, give quick bites, lips nibble my earlobes,
love play quickly become a rough and tumble game
when you are the naked aggressor sitting above, I the victim,
moving up and down, we inch forward to culminate in sweet thunder,
you have your sweet revenge, my lover, like in times before,
dissolving your disagreements, in my willing surrender
to your charm, warm naked body's entrapment, every time my dream*
May 21, 2014
May 21, 2014 at 7:11 AM UTC
*The wind blows hard tonight. The wind takes every bit of warmth from my marrow and doesn't bring any of it back. No, this is not an art that you have mastered exclusively, as much as that may disappoint you.
Ninety six days culminate and rot within my intestines. The feeling, well, the feeling is like **** but the images interpreted are more than appealing, beautiful I would say.
I don't stay at home anymore; I go to other people's homes and stay there because it fascinates me. It fascinates me for so many reasons, expressions, to name a few.
Keeping true to the convention of keeping true to the convention, I shed a layer of skin when I threw the old tea box full of photographs from the terrace this morning.
The air smelt of coriander and fresh mud, fresh rain. I took it into my lungs as a restatement of my existence but it felt smug and in vain when winter's wisdom slapped me as I exhaled. The pain was a harsh reminder; I was real. My face was red more from the shame than the sting of it.
The whole occurrence was organic, and the memory makes me laugh. Some say to me that I'm made to laugh easily, that I laugh like a fool. I'm a bad hand out of a deck of cards. I am dealt with. It's all in my stars.
In comparison, sardonicism has never known a friend, but I've had one or two. Most people are hopeless to me; I am unplugged.
You speak to me, you want me to be connected. You have a longing in your voice, not so much for me, but for the thought of me rejected.
I had stars in my sights the nights you ignored me and made my hands your ****** Time, and time again, you justify keeping me pressed against your window, believing every inclination is adored.
Time has passed, these creases will stay forever in my corduroys. The fragmented fire wood we never got to burn and those forgotten chapters of childhood still litter my mother's yard.
Maintaining a reserved tone, tensing those muscles in your face, for what? Try dying twice and then you will see that there is no magic, no mystery behind the way things are happening, especially here.
Happy to be hurt, ironic, the pain in my neck reminds me of you.*
Dec 12, 2010
Dec 12, 2010 at 6:33 PM UTC
Let’s take a silver train underground
to the back streets of Atlantis
thru the corrugated iron roots &
then to the peak itself, to the
saddle of the last ridge past strewn
boulders,
finally meandering thru cascading snow
wearing miner’s hats on the perpendicular
dark night &
going up to the edge of the Southern Cross
where we reach at last the pure white
glistening glaciers &
begin to chant over bones in rags
of Scorpio
Armless in the sticky substance how could
they ever have had a chance?
Permission will not be required
only poems of blood offered to
the memory of TREE
It is not ice which is eternal
but the fury of the absolute
separating the void from the spirit
of man,
uplifting like life when it is used
against itself,
that is, Radical Love -- & again, we
are reduced to living beings
Caught by the instant
we are taken away
We live in the imprint of the flame
& we are helmeted within the internal
blackness
where the ray begins its passage
across the indignant sky
Vain clouds uncaring in a tangle of
crossbeams
culminate in the hermaphroditic mirror
of the epileptic dancer
asleep
And during sleep
the light is joined
to the light
It is all a matter of getting up
and then to abandon the pain
It is there that the journey beings
in the self generated flame of
Spontaneous Combustion
(Swayambhunath)
The main line running counter
to the triangle comprising the
MAELSTROM, the DOLDROMS & the
SARGASSO SEA where sleeping Atlanteans
dream forever,
this line, this battlefield of the ages,
crosses the divide of my most wandering
backdoor heart.
We will all have to go
if we want to reappear
in the rhythm of the ritual
It’s the wheel of fools spinning
over my bed
If I put my left foot first
they will find a way to call me
by that name
tracking tremors
like glyphs
on drunken walls
in the negative palace
just before taking eave
of my senses
the white powder dissolves
in the sunlight
& making noise like a peacock
he hops on one foot up the mountain.
Apr 17, 2013
Apr 17, 2013 at 4:07 PM UTC
She labors to smile,
irony draws lines
on her embittered face,
thick dark iron bars,
temporarily cage pain;
yet the risk
the two run is toxic.
soon they 'd have to face it,
unmistakable indications reveal,
her velvet voice over the phone,
conjured up an image,
drastically different,
a sadness now faintly asks
his permission to spread quickly,
confused he postpones, buying time.
guilt, a shaggy, smelly, hound
suspicion, its dominant trait,
lurks sniffing around,
the table they mutely sit,
like prisoners of unburied past
convoluting the plot,
by playing ***** tricks.
the air thickens
chocking both,
the haunt leers, licks its paws in glee
what is its intention?
"You look more or less
like him, my former lover-
I try to erase from memory
by every which way possible,
sorry about that, but i can't help it,
he traded in pain of many kinds
ingeniously, nothing else he did"
she shoots from the hip.
memory of an evil genius
was quickly resurrected by him
from the assortment of stereotypes,
vision of caravans transporting
gun powder kegs of bad memories, flashed
he had a match stick handy.
soon, everything exploded to culminate;
darkness devoured all, breaking limits.
caravans slog towards horizon, one after other still.
Jan 24, 2014
Jan 24, 2014 at 9:26 AM UTC
Abhorrent,
Baffled,
Wavering!
Sort, Culminate, File.
Toss in Sanitation Dispensary
Jan 31, 2013
Jan 31, 2013 at 10:55 AM UTC
On a rickety bridge,
across roaring Rubicon,
in spate, he stands,
holding on to a
Janus faced moment,
that will decide his fate,
once and for all.
He gazes at the rushing-
red waters, from the hills,
madly impatient to reach the sea,
at the earliest,
akin the ****** frenzy at the ******
or life racing towards death, to culminate, dissolve.
Some message, he has in it.He looks on, in silence.
*Two options, his mind discerns,
cross the river and trudge
to the rendezvous, where
the union has to take place,
with his sweet heart, of long years,
or jump in to the surging waters
that tempts, from the time of birth,
and submit oneself
to the hands of nature,
and thereby forget all tribulations.*
**He shuts his eyes and contemplates,
then, his moment of truth comes.**
Nov 21, 2012
Nov 21, 2012 at 10:09 AM UTC
Carcass of an old
Self
Death paves way for
Regeneration - a service gifted
Within one generation
Without alienation
Dips and follies only culminate in the diamond from coal
My heart sits where he sits
Now, I'm the same wounded healer
No night time dealers beware
We know survival skills -
We are soft but we could ****
Touch the hummingbirds wing
Send fear running
We quick , we cunning
Evade the fortress walls
Tumble the towers with rose petal showers
Weapon of choice - a smile
Business card states that I spread love and he spreads laughter
You know we ain't after cash
But that's the whiplash
Anyway
We were born to play , so we play it well , better than I'd care to tell
Stay humble leave no room to grumble
Keep the tune light , till we ignite the daytime night
My soul is his soul and his soul is mine
It's not essential so we ignore space and time
No way to express the words that don't flow when the energy exchange is enough to know , my child's father
My lover is harmonies peals and sweet serenading appeals
I , gift , me unto you , the wrapping is golden but the present is still hidden
A surprise for the patient wounded healers healed in each other- ready to heal anew
Both of us - asleep in our parallel worlds under the umbrella of ambient lighting
A shameless copy of the pure sunlight
That emanates from their bodies
When they collide on the material
Plane .
Aug 6, 2013
Aug 6, 2013 at 9:16 AM UTC
1.
Show me your inky night
and dreaming darkness,
the passing clouds, moonlit,
wind driven, impassioned,
that never would know where
they wound culminate,
or what transformations
will take place between the
nebulous begining and the end
as they speed through as if
they are programmed to perform
feats that move the wheels forward.
2.
Show me the constellations magnificent,
that baffle me every time I stare,
countless stars in your milky way
like a progression, dying or being born,
some glittering, some death pale,
red, blue or any hue one could imagine,
and the endless mystery that envelops,
all the wondrous things, making' being'
as a part of 'nothingness' eternal,
one in which "Maya"*unfolds as apparitions.
3.
Show me,how you drown me in your
boundless love that makes
every moment born, transcend
beyond black holes of deaths
and cycles of births connected
like tunnel of wormholes.Make me listen
the subtle music being conducted within
every tiny spec, that takes part in this
eternal ecstatic dance of the sublime.
4.
Show me your magical might,
that would make me both,
Schrodinger's cat alive, in it's playful self,
and simultaneously in a sleep like death,
existing while it is non existent,
and one with everything in this multiverse
dead , dying, alive or emerging from gloom,
all at once, while, reposing
within a consciousness, limitless.
Sep 16, 2016
Sep 16, 2016 at 1:31 PM UTC
Below Orion’s belt
He will fly.
Sailing in on the evening breeze,
Through a clustered cloud of E’s.
To the timbre of a stammer,
Above the cedar trees.
A wish for lips to seize the soul is filled,
Without tongue, or a love-stoned kiss.
No, this moonlight drifter need not sneak
To steal your attentiveness.
Raspy cool, birthed on a cool train, a Coltrane,
Flickering inside a steel blue horizon.
A stray bolt of lightning
in a darkening jar.
Did you see it?
Condensed droplets of jive crystallize
As sight spreads with a cock-crow sunrise.
Shadows yield to spots of sunshine, and
The hum knifes through atoms of air,
Awakening the Early Ears.
A fulfillment, furnished.
A drip, a drop,
A drip and a drop,
Arranged in pairs of sinking threes -
The details of an ensemble’s dream
Infuse the day’s reality.
And with one last vertical dance,
Time slips back to a simpered trance,
As basso continuo leads you home,
Through a lonely mountain pass.
A zephyr is crowned,
Sitting atop a morning cloud,
To culminate, an unfettered kite,
A lazy bird in flight.
Feb 16, 2011
Feb 16, 2011 at 3:58 PM UTC
'As like the Woman as you can'--
(Thus the New Adam was beguiled)--
'So shall you touch the Perfect Man'--
(God in the Garden heard and smiled).
'Your father perished with his day:
'A clot of passions fierce and blind,
'He fought, he hacked, he crushed his way:
'Your muscles, Child, must be of mind.
'The Brute that lurks and irks within,
'How, till you have him gagged and bound,
'Escape the foullest form of Sin?'
(God in the Garden laughed and frowned).
'So vile, so rank, the ******* mood
'In which the race is bid to be,
'It wrecks the Rarer Womanhood:
'Live, therefore, you, for Purity!
'Take for your mate no gallant croup,
'No girl all grace and natural will:
'To work her mission were to stoop,
'Maybe to lapse, from Well to Ill.
'Choose one of whom your grosser make'--
(God in the Garden laughed outright)--
'The true refining touch may take,
'Till both attain to Life's last height.
'There, equal, purged of soul and sense.
'Beneficent, high-thinking, just,
'Beyond the appeal of Violence,
'Incapable of common Lust,
'In mental Marriage still prevail'--
(God in the Garden hid His face)--
'Till you achieve that Female-Male
'In Which shall culminate the race.'
1.4k
My life consists of walk-by smiles
Shallow, lacking any real depth
No burning passion, or even deep regret
Just small ones--here or there
That culminate into something more.
My walk is sometimes slow and sometimes fast.
I love the pretty girls that smile back.
But a smile is only that, a smile
It is here and gone again.
The brief excitement or fuzzy feelings fade
Into nothing but the cold breeze against my face
Reminding me that somethings missing.
It is more than just the smiles
They are only a small piece of the whole
The feelings of an incomplete existence
One lacking so much love and joy
Filled with busyness, addictions and indifference
Feeding the bad with attempts to remove
But lacking the courage to fill with good
Perhaps too much pride, or doubting I deserve
All of it let alone a little
Resolution eludes me even now
So many distractions deepening the disillusionment
Will the walk-by smile life ever lead
To stopping, a hello, even coffee or tea...
I usually make too big a deal,
but I see the problem is probably me.
Dec 9, 2010
Dec 9, 2010 at 2:20 PM UTC
Right from the man ribs to the heart to celebrate
Women are in the world to get love to recreate
The essence of love with beauty to serve,dominate
Life on its edge of eternity to associate,culminate
In all walks of life women are ahead of strong men
They are like sword and sword is mightier than pen
No one knows revolution came how,where and when
For their fellowmen ,all women have become supermen
But in many places they are below level of humanity
They are imprisoned in chains and not at all are free
The creator of prophets,saints and preachers of liberty
They are treated worst than animals,below level of dignity
The international day is fro some but for all it is mockery
Which is just to show men has achieved level of humanity
Salute to all the women who persevere pain in entirety
And still bring life and color to this world and bear disparity
Col Muhammad Khalid Khan
Copyright 2017 Golden Glow
Note.This is a tribute to all women of the world on International Women Day.
Mar 8, 2017
Mar 8, 2017 at 3:57 AM UTC
Last day in November
A day to culminate thoughts on souls
All souls departed remembered
For many are the legacies left behind
Legacies of those dearly beloved
once seen but now no more
Thanked for their existence
Loved for the links they left behind
Links thus born out of feelings
stemming from day to day dealings
Many are those thus gone by
Love connections they left behind
Gratitude tugs gently at the heart
of legacies, links and connections
breathing life in the present
breeding yet another to be left behind
Last day in November
A day to culminate thoughts on souls
All souls departed remembered
For many are the legacies left behind
Dec 1, 2015
Dec 1, 2015 at 5:54 PM UTC
They say I could be like sand near the seaside
And you the push and pull of the ocean
So you build and break me like the tide
Move sand away from my hands in motion
While I'm left to wait for the moment we collide.
They say I will cause your waves to break
Then how come you slither and never uncurl
With every squishing move forward I create?
Then how come even when caught, you whirl?
Even when in possession your storms culminate?
If I could only see into your whirlpools so deep
Be mesmerized by your blue, like being asleep
To fish for pearls of knowledge about you to keep
For though you gobble up any nautic attempt,
Though you defend with sloshed foam and current,
They say I am the shore and you are my ocean
And after all there is one true notion:
Your currents kiss my sandcastles every day
And willingly, my sand grains float your way.
Apr 3, 2016
Apr 3, 2016 at 8:47 AM UTC
Cast your eyes to the fall sky.
Where golden clouds expand
to celebrate the moment
as leaves make a drifting tapestry.
Cast your eyes
to the winter sky.
Where winds drift with snowflakes
and breath can make you
remember your divinity.
Cast your eyes
to the spring sky.
Where sun anoints flowers to open
and songs echo behind birds wings
as one takes to dance.
Cast your eyes
to the summer sky.
Where rainbows drift and angels carry
wishes for all to be peaceful
as one walks sandwiched between earth and sky.
Yes cast your eyes upward,
to the beauties present.
FOR it is FROM there,
that love can be anchored
and bliss can culminate
WITH BREATH AND INTENTION.
StarBG © 2017
Dec 5, 2017
Dec 5, 2017 at 2:43 PM UTC
Imagine what
No human mind can gauge
Count the countless years
Milleniums and miles
We had to cross
To meet
Imagine here
This fateful rendezvous
Ordained before the stars
Before old Sol
Above us there
Was christened blue
Imagine now
To culminate a love
That came so far
And finally
The merging here
Finally....
Aug 16, 2012
Aug 16, 2012 at 1:51 PM UTC
I’m hungrier lately, not because I never eat,
no, my usual diet of everything just seems to be
bland,
I’m hungry for words that do more
than echo deep into my eardrums,
I’m hungry for eyes that see more
than literal words on a page,
I’m hungry for fingertips with minds
of their own and empty palms
grown tired of holding air,
I’m hungry for my nose hairs to be
tickled with the forgotten scents of childhood,
I’m hungry for another tongue to touch
mine in search of Truth, or at the very
least a lie
you can love,
So today, I won’t be having the usual,
Give me yesterday’s special,
and do the same for me tomorrow,
that way we have a little bit of time
to let them talk about it,
and they will talk of your cooking
and my hunger until your apron
unties
and I’ve had my fill
of all the extraordinary things
we let eat us, that culminate
into this dish called
Life with a steady helping
of an unknown spice.
May 2, 2015
May 2, 2015 at 7:28 PM UTC
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Aug 31, 2015
Aug 31, 2015 at 5:34 AM UTC
Here I've grown to accept the riddles of each day, to culminate into a coalesced mesh of disarray.
Never would the seeds down under sprout to see the sun at the mere sound of thunder.
X marks the spot somewhere dissolving in my gut, wrenching at the chance to give both some and none of which we call *****
I've lost my faith in humanity,
I've lost humanity in my faith.
Yet I'd face my fate if only just to sate the state.
This flip book of stop.
Animation.
Assimilates fremescent assibilation,
And similarly tastes terrible,
Savoring like dry sponge, and tied tongues,
It's incredibly trivial, just a trivia of syllables stripped up to simple tools.
Simple tools.
Simple...
Oct 26, 2017
Oct 26, 2017 at 11:49 AM UTC
This is his Henri Julian Rousseau taboo land,
here he appears as the lion night after night,
with his tail stiffened, erect--but the Gypsy wasn't there
Bathed in psychedelic strobe lights, now
here on a plush confession table doubling as their stage
his Gypsy lies spread-eagled,
til there is no secrets left in her body, he now tries
to pry open the many chambers of her peripatetic mind.
With a lingering kiss, he in vain tries to arrest her
never subdued spirit and begins his secret rituals
for the angel of sin, black magic maiden, yin for his yang
who in ways direct, sly or by allusion, is the bestower of
a million forbidden pleasures, whispering,like a mantra thus:
"There is no right or wrong, all illusions, within an imagined truth"
which made him stray, albeit, within the labyrinth
like innumerous men of power, which they gained
shedding blood, sweat and tears; as if there is nothing beyond.
She who by instinct engineered his downfall
from the pantheon of the anointed is finally here
but this is no retribution, only return of the favors received,
his throbbing lust seeks her deep interior's caresses
giving her forgiveness in return, his masculine urges
wish to be gripped by her unusual craving,
she is melting like butter, her sweet urges fight back
in unison they seethe, wreath, roll and race to culminate.
On a swing hanging high ,above the poisoned earth
for a few sweet transient moments they remain,
weep in pleasure til they fall in to slime and crawl back to life
--then the Gypsy and the Lion remember nothing .
Oct 27, 2014
Oct 27, 2014 at 1:00 AM UTC