"culminates" poems
If "increasing knowledge increases sorrow,"
depression culminates from seeing clearly.
Jun 23, 2015
Jun 23, 2015 at 3:25 PM UTC
I
To-night, a first movement, a pulse,
As if the rain in bogland gathered head
To slip and flood: a bog-burst,
A **** breaking open the ferny bed.
Your back is a firm line of eastern coast
And arms and legs are thrown
Beyond your gradual hills. I caress
The heaving province where our past has grown.
I am the tall kingdom over your shoulder
That you would neither cajole nor ignore.
Conquest is a lie. I grow older
Conceding your half-independent shore
Within whose borders now my legacy
Culminates inexorably.
II
And I am still imperially
Male, leaving you with pain,
The rending process in the colony,
The battering ram, the boom burst from within.
The act sprouted an obsinate fifth column
Whose stance is growing unilateral.
His heart beneath your heart is a wardrum
Mustering force. His parasitical
And ignorant little fists already
Beat at your borders and I know they're cocked
At me across the water. No treaty
I foresee will salve completely your tracked
And stretchmarked body, the big pain
That leaves you raw, like opened ground, again
4.6k
And our brother, too, the metal shaman
Reaches up, plucks knowledge from the stars
We chant, guttural grunts, primal urges
And fierce grinding teeth clenching and screeching
The shaman dances and
Reaches up, plucks knowledge from the stars
And we SCREAM shrill
Bare our necks and bring the knife across, ****
A sacrifice to the metal beast
The shaman stares straight up,
Plucks knowledge from the stars
And the blood leaves us
Hair turns grey
Daily exploits lost in deepening wrinkles
The macabre ritual culminates...
The Shaman, unappeased
Laughs like Hyena, cackling
REACHES UP AND PLUCKS KNOWLEDGE FROM THE STARS!
The existential cacophony diminishes
Din dimming
Beast is empty
Bits flow like blood
Ones and zeros in a jumbled pool
The shaman delivers
The family sits around the glowing box
A tribe in an ancient ritual
Flip the switch, change the channel
The children plucking out their eyes
Little blind Oedipus
Smashing faces through the tube
To the life on the other side
Celebrities, products, and reality shows
Forget thought
Present your mind
To the beast
A cinematic ****
Send Damsels to appease the Minotaur
Change the channel
Aug 10, 2013
Aug 10, 2013 at 4:03 PM UTC
*
Collapse into the arms of destiny
Let them carry you wherever the wind blows
Do not resist, be pliant
Like the reed that sways
Trust that you will be guided
To that which is in season to your soul
Love speaks with one voice
Sometimes through the parting of different lips
Know that the displacement and nostalgia you feel
is but a memory and a foretelling of Home
Relief comes with surrender
The leaf knows this secret
it yields in acquiescence.
Take a moment and contemplate
the life of a leaf ~
Surrender is not defeat,
it traverses land far and wide
and arrives gently to its destination
Surrender is not weakness,
know your strength.
Your essence can move mountains
Transcend into a fragrance that casts its spell into the night
unbeknownst to the beholder from whence it comes
In your surrender is beauty
that draws you closer to the ultimate Beauty
and culminates in the ultimate Love
Love him, love her, and let your love permeate
like the scent of two roses, together in bloom
♥
Dec 17, 2014
Dec 17, 2014 at 10:44 PM UTC
You know how when
You put a kettle on a stove,
Maybe for tea
Or something else maybe
You get the kettle
To put on the stove
And you put water in it
From the tap
Or if you're in
The inner city
Then maybe from
A jug
From cvs
Or rite aid
I don't know which is closer
To your kettle
That you're putting the
Water in
To put on the stove
But the tap smells funny
And tastes like minerals
And artificiality
So if you have a bit of money, Maybe an on-tap
Filter or brita
You turn the little
**** on the front
Of the oven
And you hear
The distressed, hurried
Sound of a component
Desperately trying
To do its job
It seems like forever
But it's just a couple
Seconds
The spark catches
The gas
And glorious blue
Energy leaps out
And causes
Instant condensation
On the side of the
Kettle you've filled
With water
And put on the stove
And then
Primordial chemistry
As old as old
Changes ****
Around inside
No time
For a chem lesson
Just listen
And then after a few minutes
A blast of
Piping hot
Shrill
Pure energy
Explodes out of the top
In an earsplitting
Harried call
To you to let you
Know the kettle
You put on the stove
Is now ready
For you.
All that pressure,
From so much activity,
Before you even
Turned the heat on
You walked around
Gathering materials
And moving about
And all the calories
You burn thinking
About it
And then the
Thermal activity
Which is breathtaking
In its simple
But ever so complicated
Perfect order
And predictability
And all of this simply
Amazing process
Culminates
In one constant,
High energy geyser
Of released pressure.
This is equivalent
To the results
Of one thought
About you.
What a life
As a kettle.
Yea.
Sep 3, 2012
Sep 3, 2012 at 11:07 PM UTC
You and I,
We got high
together at the seven eleven at seventeen,
and listened to Fall Out Boy as he sang ironic one liners.
And we'd argue about what it would mean; too high to believe
the other was right, and then laughed at passing cars.
We stumbled to the graveyard and told ghost stories with wine,
and whiled away the hours dreaming of knights and dragons
in crystal towers far away across fable and time. I'd lift my proverbial flagon,
and you'd ****** it away, and whisper
"What am I
to you?" So sudden, and I was too high to answer it right at the time.
I stumbled. I mumbled. My words were all jumbled, and all that came out was:
"Thou art mine friend." Kind of lame, that word at the end. But I ended the sentence
With a laugh. I didn't know you were serious...
But...
I should have cut a word from the statement. Because if I was being serious too,
I'd have whispered back "Thou art mine."
In my mind, I relive the moment over again and again,
before you left and stumbled off into the dark,
I say "You are my princess, I'm your knight."
I say "When it's all ****** up, you make it all right."
I say all the right things and it culminates in a kiss by starlight,
but I mumbled,
words jumbled,
And you took the bottle of wine with you as you stumbled
alone into the dark till it took you away from my sight.
That night I sat alone and soliloquised what I didn't say right.
Feb 20, 2015
Feb 20, 2015 at 12:50 AM UTC
"Ah, young Sir,
indeed it is in your lines on your smooth palm
as I indeed felt the moment
when I saw your noble face
and your inimitable manner…"
"What is it? What is it?
O speak your mind, young gypsy;
speak the truth, speak with no fear"
"Ah, young Sir
this curved line that runs
across your gentle palm tells
you must certainly have
some of the blood of the Caesars
running through those bold veins of yours"
"Ah, true, true indeed
sometimes I have felt it too"
"And, young Sir
this straight line that cuts that curve
on your most delicate palm
ah – it indicates even some lineage of prophets
and a history of past holy men
which line now culminates in you"
"Oh, indeed, indeed
I have had such intimations indeed
at the House of God when I kneel
in holy prayer;
and I have had such whispers
and stirrings within my *****
indeed…indeed…"
And when the gypsy is gone
it is then that the young man
of such esteemed rank and high nobility
and of such holiness
he feels his gold ring also gone…
Aug 1, 2011
Aug 1, 2011 at 7:44 PM UTC
Words…..because words are all I have……..:) Edgar
endearments generosity incantatory new sagacity surprise heresy dissipation violating abyss language warning culminates dalack obdurate serving waiter ossuary occurrences tortured beware silence calm bow physiognomy paucity occurrence exegeses transmogrification effectuation Adjunctive dairy tenure contention tenner reins happy indomitable, connoisseur artifice concatenation vivacity voluptuous solemnity enigmatic burdened glorious line huge……………………some I made myself…..:) Edgar
Nov 2, 2012
Nov 2, 2012 at 4:07 PM UTC
A tantalized spirit
Delves into my spine
It dictates my breathing,
It quickens my saunter
I see filth in my mind,
In my decaying lungs,
On the palms of my hands
Muck where virtue once resided
Virtue untainted by original sin
“O’ God free me”
No reply
The spirit seizes each prayer
If the spirit within should perish
Or plague babes hereafter
It is negligible
For every breast carries putrid milk
Every infant grows
And matures into a gruesome sight
Every wave peaks
And culminates
Every day passes
Every harmonious sound shall cease
Mar 21, 2012
Mar 21, 2012 at 6:51 PM UTC
Every time
I start anew,
or decide
to leave,
without fail I arrive
at a new beginning.
Every start
is an end-
of something.
Each arrival,
culminates in a departure,
fallen in to the cycle of
'samsara'
vagrant mind, plays
creates illusions;
ends and beginnings.
When the karma wheel completes its circles,
without thinking, consciousness merges with
the ocean of eternal being
arrivals and departures mean nothing,
If
consciousness is still and unmoving, in the point between
birth and death.
Oct 20, 2012
Oct 20, 2012 at 8:44 AM UTC
Whimsical roses and uttered rhetorics
spare the disgrace of the grieved afflictions
pebbled roads of restraints and constraints
laughter and compressed redundancy
the tone changes and emptiness nest
the tongue races and eventuality sets
such a season of unknown unrest
undresses one to a bare *****
where the ****** peaks, unsure of the leak
offended in the reign of unnamed seeds
with evocative sprouts that germinate
to the unlocked mysteries of happenstance
such a season of bearable tests
caress one to a bare bottom
where even shame never turn or press
oppressed in the fields of unmarked borders
with seductive crowns that culminates
to the unlocked mysteries of happenstance
Aug 7, 2018
Aug 7, 2018 at 4:02 AM UTC
The Satan residing in the cornea,
Tries too hard to insist
And the continuously contaminated
Clockwork fails to resist.
The ***** of the aces – Corrupt
In a while it will erupt,
And puke out disrupt
****** emotions outburst
Of unbearable lust.
The pubescent plaque
Haemorrhages seeds of deeds
Culminates all over – the wicked weeds.
Seductive seas
The mind browses
****** ***** the louses.
Engulfed in the trap of crap
Cornea turns Pornea.
Mar 4, 2010
Mar 4, 2010 at 12:11 PM UTC
As the cobra falters before it doth strike I recoil away from thee, awaiting my moment to ricochet forward and make my **** Such false security aids my real course and weakens my adversary’s resolve and as you happily take full advantage of this ill advised programme you can rely that your mistake is now my gain. As you plunge, I parry and as your momentum fades mine increases in velocity until my blade doth find its target.
This sword of mine, made of finest worked, metal, slides easily through your personage. Flesh, muscle, even bone presents a none problem for this well forged tool. Sharpened point now immersed so deeply through your core that it conveys me too close to this pierced torso. I am spattered by such spurts of blood and sickened by another’s foul breath.
We gaze for a moment, you in the horror and pain of defeat and myself in the satisfaction of victory. You remain upright only through the skewer I have delivered and it is at my decree that you do so. As I withdraw my being the blade extracts itself and it is only then that you are allowed to descend to your indubitable destination.
As crumpled legs can no longer hold the weight of thee I use the momentum of this blades removal to pirouette my body. The spin that culminates with such a strike, a laceration so immense that the removal of your skull is no more than a mere triviality. Your destination is now complete. This is the legitimate place for a lesser man and the norm for a superior warrior than thee.
Come take this gift dear Lucifer, I make a present to you of death's cadaver, it lies here before me at this very moment and it is yours. A donation from one great warrior to another. It seems that I fill such a bottomless pit with unworthy adversary. They suppose honour holds them to stand before such a skilled combatant but their is no morality for lesser men to try. There is no such thing as a honourable fool.
I seek he that will try my skills, he that will take me to the brink of death with more than a single strike. For this person I will gladly redeem as a worthy opponent, for he, I will present my respect in more than a just a mere bow. Such adversary should he become victorious will possess a legacy that will draw him to the status of majesty. I would gladly fall to this superior being and as such, this would be a most fitting and virtuous death.
Aug 26, 2014
Aug 26, 2014 at 9:59 AM UTC
you can be my fella
if I can be your gal
we can go to a speakeasy
and sneak kisses on the walk home
swell
pin me after class
I’ll wear your letter cardigan
so everybody will know
that we are going steady
pick me up in your porsche 944
we can go for a ride
put in your favorite tape (tenderness)
and we can spend the night together
rad
we could start as adversaries
like in every 90’s teen movie
but secretly we will fall for each other
until our relationship culminates
at the party
where the whole school
is getting down to B.I.G.
let’s be facebook official
Aug 3, 2012
Aug 3, 2012 at 2:45 AM UTC
Always love or like, all alike,
Kin or none, friend or foe; hate none,
Lift yourself above all weakness,
Emerge strong & hit the ultimate goal.
Believe in boundless bliss beyond 25
Purge yourself out and converge pure;
Free from lust, greed, anger & delusion.
Look behind the eye for truth beyond,
Unscathed by matter that does not matter
Believe in boundless bliss beyond 26
Cultivate prayer of the ultimate Supreme
Be good, do good and go with the good
No good to amass wealth without sharing
The poor and destitute deserve a better deal
Believe in boundless bliss beyond 27
Absorbed in pursuit of carnal desires,
Life culminates to cease in disease,
Mind is blind and blank of virtues till end,
Sins & sinners rule the roost without end.
Believe in boundless bliss beyond 28
Wealth that reigns is none but one that ruins,
Rich are frightened by the shadows they cast,
Joy of pelf pales off in hoarding and hiding,
Spiritual health is holier than physical wealth
Believe in boundless bliss beyond 29
Regulate breath, sensitize sense,
Condition the body and soul,
Through meditation and prayer,
Free the fickle mind to firm up,
And search for eternal delight.
Believe in boundless bliss beyond 30
Stir up your inner eye more focused,
Behold; the Lord lives in your heart,
All you need is a mentor that helps,
To liberate yourself from material life,
And capture the rapture all abound.
Believe in boundless bliss beyond 31
Worship of the Lordship is the only ship
To cruise and cross the ocean of life,
Be it chanting sacred hymns in extol,
Or be it a service to untidy society,
The essence of life is to transcend,
And attain Supreme above the self.
Believe in boundless bliss beyond. 32
Feb 9, 2015
Feb 9, 2015 at 6:47 AM UTC
The infernal machines loudly portray their thoughts
When all culminates they taunt me.
Hysterically laughing at my blunders
No machine can make a mistake
Banging at the doors of the psychological house
Of my nature; my brain
The infernal machines, steam spewing; combustion fumes fill the air
Choking only me to my breaking point
The unforgiving hardness of the machines
Touches my skin with severity.
The infernal machines broken…
With no more fumes or steam lay torn;
For machines cannot feel the security of warm blooded touch
Beating; bludgeoning
I weep at the hardiness of their steel in that cold basement in which I dwell.
I smash them with my emotion (now I taunt them)
Watching the deprecation of the beasts’ rusty metal.
But…
With a sputter,
The infernal machines awake,
Building their factory over my rose lilacs
Where you and I once laid.
Those machines of my psyche
No longer allow the good in me
To be released out of this bubble of depression
That consumes me when I am secluded.
But humming below my feet,
Droning on, they heat the floor.
My path always leads back to the machines.
Believing the lies, they whisper to me.
Beckoning my ******* self to the bottom,
of that basement where the floor is no longer,
a grate, but a slab of concrete.
As I approach the stair, a figure stops me,
“Head my warning. What you seek, or feel you should be seeking isn’t there.”
I repressed this.
As I walk, the sound of the machines slowly haunts its way to my ear.
I strain to hear and when I arrive the machines are off.
I sprint through the basement, but it seems they have abandoned me.
In a mad dash, I frantically search for a working machine.
But to my demise have forgotten,
That machines cannot give nor receive warm blooded love,
And for this reason I sit waiting for the next sputter of the evil machines,
For it is all I know.
Nov 20, 2012
Nov 20, 2012 at 11:59 PM UTC
Shoals of salmon on an upstream rush,
a frenzy propelled by an instinctual wish,
the milling evening crowd does siege the street,
one'd think it is a riot, all hopes to be sane is already lost.
Not soldiers on march, they are, but within each
rages a war, not exactly knowing what they want to search,
this street has it all, hence all blindly flow along the stream
greedy green eyes hunt, splurge, conquer,vent steam.
Look for the labels, brand is sacrosanct,the only pointer
once the libels are spotted, in to the brain enter, the deal is done
smile, be contended, evade every other thought,
why waste time on value judgement,pointers assure delight.
Salmon on the stream never look for happiness,
a clock work motion that culminates in nature's prompt.
nowhere in this broad street you'd find a shop that sells-
happiness; but all search for it, without even aware.Fail.
Nov 27, 2014
Nov 27, 2014 at 8:25 AM UTC
In a dream I never sought
unprecedented horrors and thoughts
a scissors with a hint of blood
heavy and surreal sound
the demon within speaks
I exfoliate to my core
The mask of sanity is no more intact
Disturbed and desolate in an unknown labyrinth
Of love, of law and of thoughts
Death is abutting your life
an escape to an aberrant sanctuary
scrupulous circles of luminance lead you further
The past is farce and forgotten
The senile you and your transgressions end
Your dalliance with humanity culminates
Loathe and love exist no more
Reverie is not what I need
restore the thought indeed
Aug 2, 2012
Aug 2, 2012 at 4:54 AM UTC
Love culminates with
Delicacy between our
Shaking fingertips
Apr 11, 2019
Apr 11, 2019 at 4:17 PM UTC
it took that walk home (the same three hours as usual) one last time, or at least the promise of, to realize, maybe admit that there's no good reason any longer to pretend to know what idle thoughts (those ones that had been left to mull for the last three months, at a minimum) had or have to do with reality, if they've even stayed remotely consistent or if it's the predictable chaos of daisy petals, tiny and pure clean as they are, dropping sequences of murmurs through wound car windows or heartfelt sunrises or collapsing into the mess of sorrow in the library for the fourth time that week, the flash of peripheral reflections across the ceiling and slowly forgetting someone else- she'd said "don't blow me off, this time...", but all these stories blur to blue clouds in these porcelain hands, wondering why the same circumstances pass with all those skewlined angles on the surface of this world, distinction-drained lovers, and it all culminates with that **** centre point: the human, half in covers, could god have built him so wrong? (or does all will lead to the same end, am I fated in freedom to such fallacy?) I could forget everything, you know. guess I'm just waiting for a reason to.
Dec 18, 2012
Dec 18, 2012 at 8:38 AM UTC
Life culminates and dissipates;
I remember to remember,
Then run out of space.
Your distant face in retrospect,
Crystallized by neurology,
Leaves me longing for an apology
Some respite for what you did.
The clouds come rolling in,
And you stay gone.
The wild runs within my skin,
And you're still gone.
I've learned a lot since then,
I've learned how to be me,
Taught by the moon's apogee,
Experience distilling my being
Into something that I hope isn't like you.
Stay gone, Steve,
Stay away from me,
Rot alone in your empty home.
One day you'll hear about me,
And realize I did everything I've done
Regardless of you.
By: Forrest Jorgensen ©
Feb 15, 2016
Feb 15, 2016 at 5:01 AM UTC
We had breakfast on the Champs-Élysées this morning at Café Joyeux. Their croquet monsieur (a breakfast sandwich) was to die for - one bite can cure a hangover. They also serve a deep, rich Yirgacheffee coffee (€15 a cup) that I think God stirs with his little pinkie finger - it’s THAT good. We took up most of the little outdoor, oval tables on the right side (there are 10 of us) and our little sorority was noisy with chatter - earning us looks.
Our European vacation culminates today. We’re flying back to Georgia in a couple of hours. June seemed to drain away like water.
The minion my Grandmère charged with coordinating our vacation, François, breakfasted with us. He’s one of the flock of Sorbonne Université MBAs she recruits each year to infuse new energy into her conglomerates.
He briefed us on our departure and flight. His imposition of definitive order and advance planning allowed us a casual and carefree sense of travel this summer. In an ideal world, he’d coordinate my entire life.
He’s been on-call all month but joined us, off and on - like when we arrived in Doublin, at customs, to smoothly guide us through and again, similarly, in Paris.
He’s 26, very handsome and model looking. He’s perfectly tailored, with an elegant yet minimalist style. He wears dark shirts of admiral and yale blue with long black jackets and gray slacks with no tie. His hair is a hipster straight, blonde fringe.
He’s so perfect that I wouldn’t put it past my Grandmère to have placed him in front of me, like bait, to see if something with us sparked-off.
He’s Frenchly brisk and yet dryly solicitous - as if I have the power to sanction his position, which, in a way I suppose I do.
“How’s François doing?” Grandmère would ask, each time we talked.
“He’s wonderful,” I said, “I think he’s a keeper.”
“Good, good for him.” she would reply - making the comment sound almost sly.
Jun 30, 2022
Jun 30, 2022 at 12:57 PM UTC
Eyes lit with passion
Glow pure, human fire
Innocent and dangerous
Like the passions they inspire
When two eyes meet
Exchange curiosity and desire
Culminates in ethereal flame
Or dies in the pyre
Apr 30, 2015
Apr 30, 2015 at 12:47 AM UTC
There's a certain joy in the ability to move
this is reflected when we get in the groove.
Take for an example the urge to dance to a beat
using the whole body while upright on our feet.
It would be very depressing if one couldn't move
and this wouldn't be hard at all for one to prove;
as we get so many things done with this ability
that not having it would be known as a futility.
All creatures in the world exhibit some movement
for them to be alive regardless of their predicament;
whether they swim, fly, crawl, walk or even run
depending on their situation this has to be done.
Even the simple act of breathing is a major event
involving the passage of air in and out to prevent
a gradual slow asphyxiation that results in death
for any creature when they happen to lose breath.
The intake of food whether it be solid, liquid or gas
is another way movement takes place in a body mass
so that it can be converted into energy to facilitate
its movement or survival in life regardless of state.
Casual observation reveals that wherever things are
in this universe and no matter if either close or far,
they're always in some constant state of movement
underlying their individual existence and placement.
The joy of movement is in experiencing one's freedom
that which culminates in self realisation and wisdom.
-----------
For in joy we are born and for joy we all live
it would be very hard for anyone not to give
of themselves in some form, manner or other
regardless of who or what they're to another.
_________________________
Dec 8, 2016
Dec 8, 2016 at 4:18 PM UTC
Chasing time results in immense frustration
Frustration that culminates in pain
The sweet sound of an angels voice
Such release to be had
Eyes closed as the music hums
Melting stress on its path to the soul
It crosses all barriers
It comforts the lonely
And it soothes the sad
It reaches through the core of emotions
Grabbing what happens to exist there
Holding fast for a ride to wherever the music will land
Accompanying melancholy through to brighter days
Smiling within
Absorbing the pain
And leaving things better than when it began
May 24, 2010
May 24, 2010 at 6:09 PM UTC