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"culminations" poems
We watched the sun fall down and scrape its knee again, across the horizon. Effusing amaranth, carmine, and cochineal across polluted vista. It felt petty to issue guttural laughs, or engage the myofacial crescents beneath its visual lament as the Earth turned its back again. We watched the sun rise, bruised, tender and shy this morning. Its muddled contusion obviated by the gauze of fog. A mottled neophyte - Luminescent crepuscular rays defied dregs of interstellar debris and cloud. Aching to kiss your skin - In stellar cloud nursery, it eschewed the torque of orbit and gravity - eras before verity of your essence. Humbly settling concentrically about oblate sphere, and gaseous tome. Latterly - It altered the atmospheric pressure on the other side of the planet a week antecedently, as you clung to your dream lattice, and Earth innately turned oblate nucleus. Its intent – A veneration of you. It bade the atmosphere convey a breeze echoing about your dermis, as it gilded your frame laconically, betwixt shaded steps beneath cloud and arbor. The sun yelled at me at its pinnacle today, Pallid bone – molten - miasma of rage Its core missive garnered inertia – coronal plasma warping ellipsoid factions in inflections of elusive filigree Pirouetting spicules spattered smelted torrents in the dismal anchorite Atomic schism – silent but felt It stoked humidity under shadowed niche - casual vaporous smears evinced no clemency. Flesh torqued, and seized beneath itself, briny globules shed from puckered pore. Culminations of sensitive fluid sacs scorched into the shallows of my chassis. Insignia knit in cellular shrapnel The sun ignored me today – or perhaps, it was I it. Enigmatic tenacious resolution – an echo of its gravitational collapse Inverse thermonuclear fusion It is not fear in a relationship that keeps you apart, it is neglect of the infinitesimal.
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Jan 26, 2014
Jan 26, 2014 at 9:13 PM UTC
Heliophilia
We watched the sun fall down and scrape its knee again, across the horizon. Effusing amaranth, carmine, and cochineal across polluted vista. It felt petty to issue guttural laughs, or engage the myofacial crescents beneath its visual lament as the Earth turned its back again. We watched the sun rise, bruised, tender and shy this morning. Its muddled contusion obviated by the gauze of fog. A mottled neophyte - Luminescent crepuscular rays defied dregs of interstellar debris and cloud. Aching to kiss your skin - In stellar cloud nursery, it eschewed the torque of orbit and gravity - eras before verity of your essence. Humbly settling concentrically about oblate sphere, and gaseous tome. Latterly - It altered the atmospheric pressure on the other side of the planet a week antecedently, as you clung to your dream lattice, and Earth innately turned oblate nucleus. Its intent – A veneration of you. It bade the atmosphere convey a breeze echoing about your dermis, as it gilded your frame laconically, betwixt shaded steps beneath cloud and arbor. The sun yelled at me at its pinnacle today, Pallid bone – molten - miasma of rage Its core missive garnered inertia – coronal plasma warping ellipsoid factions in inflections of elusive filigree Pirouetting spicules spattered smelted torrents in the dismal anchorite Atomic schism – silent but felt It stoked humidity under shadowed niche - casual vaporous smears evinced no clemency. Flesh torqued, and seized beneath itself, briny globules shed from puckered pore. Culminations of sensitive fluid sacs scorched into the shallows of my chassis. Insignia knit in cellular shrapnel The sun ignored me today – or perhaps, it was I it. Enigmatic tenacious resolution – an echo of its gravitational collapse Inverse thermonuclear fusion It is not fear in a relationship that keeps you apart, it is neglect of the infinitesimal.
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27
The Girl from Coronado Dark brown eyes the brownest hair the most captivating was the faraway look in her eyes the painter Searches for her in lost dreams she materializes on the sharp trumpet blast then she lingers as it turns Softly as the street in front of the Saint Louis cathedral in New Orleans she was as wistful she was the Bleeding torment held in battle field shadows her way had the razor sharp that cut through pretense to The real the meaningful what was that certain something that held you in awe was it the southern sea Breeze that was absorbed the enfolding touches that were exuded from her depths there are still Waters then there is Gloria is it fondly promised like flowers floating on the tide the sweet smile that Cuts and divides the waves like a surfer coming out of the Banji pipeline her brown hair blows softly it Has enlightened on the breeze as fragrance unspoiled unidentifiable it enthralls as she walks the sandy Sea swept beach in the distance she passes as a spirit cast improperly in a human role to disturbing to Fetching she makes appearances in Celtic dreams of misfortune she brings trouble as a winged wonders Those that are not for evil but hidden in them are clandestine secrets that open new corridors of Simplicity that brim with honor they are the culminations of promises long deferred now they are at The door to restore she possesses powers that are seemingly strange but they are beholding the Glimpses she allows trigger eager disruptions the common falls before her gaze you find establishments That seemed impossible could she be Isis presumably not but just bearer of her traits one who gives gifts Of the natural world to artisans from normal items joy is in them as fluid emotions they suppress but Only for the pure cause of making greater results occur the tiresome is abolished the clay is gold even Though it be hidden from many to the few it is cherished sought and redeemed by love in a sea side Town on the southern coast of California her alluring beauty you too can possess this just open yourself seek the opportunity to give to others your name will be favorably spoken like the graceful girl from Coronado
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May 12, 2012
May 12, 2012 at 3:00 PM UTC
The Girl from Coronado
The Girl from Coronado Dark brown eyes the brownest hair the most captivating was the faraway look in her eyes the painter Searches for her in lost dreams she materializes on the sharp trumpet blast then she lingers as it turns Softly as the street in front of the Saint Louis cathedral in New Orleans she was as wistful she was the Bleeding torment held in battle field shadows her way had the razor sharp that cut through pretense to The real the meaningful what was that certain something that held you in awe was it the southern sea Breeze that was absorbed the enfolding touches that were exuded from her depths there are still Waters then there is Gloria is it fondly promised like flowers floating on the tide the sweet smile that Cuts and divides the waves like a surfer coming out of the Banji pipeline her brown hair blows softly it Has enlightened on the breeze as fragrance unspoiled unidentifiable it enthralls as she walks the sandy Sea swept beach in the distance she passes as a spirit cast improperly in a human role to disturbing to Fetching she makes appearances in Celtic dreams of misfortune she brings trouble as a winged wonders Those that are not for evil but hidden in them are clandestine secrets that open new corridors of Simplicity that brim with honor they are the culminations of promises long deferred now they are at The door to restore she possesses powers that are seemingly strange but they are beholding the Glimpses she allows trigger eager disruptions the common falls before her gaze you find establishments That seemed impossible could she be Isis presumably not but just bearer of her traits one who gives gifts Of the natural world to artisans from normal items joy is in them as fluid emotions they suppress but Only for the pure cause of making greater results occur the tiresome is abolished the clay is gold even Though it be hidden from many to the few it is cherished sought and redeemed by love in a sea side Town on the southern coast of California her alluring beauty you too can possess this just open yourself seek the opportunity to give to others your name will be favorably spoken like the graceful girl from Coronado
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23
Who am I? I am the Skeptic type, Surfacing placid as each side creates waves, Pulling on heart strings for their own self ameliorate, Heated controversy focusing on Health care, Religion, and Hunger debates, Inevitably resulting in ******* up charges for war to undertake. Equality's repercussions leaving our freedoms at stake, While inflating our Economy only the rich take the cake, Consistently keeping the poor at bay, One resolution would be to properly educate. Before you sell into the poison they produce to control and degenerate, Look into the disputes staged to manipulate,   Open your eyes and see we're being left with no other options but to obey, For when they deny you your right to bear arms The Constitution goes up in a fury of flames, As we sit back and watch as they replay the tape. I am free yet I am caged, Caressing the bars of black and white mind frames, Constructed to destroy thought and leave the masses divided in a collective state of confusion as their questions remain, I no longer associate with my neighbors today. Empathy is a far cry full of ache, Frayed by the misconception that lives are part of a game, Monopolies and greed breed nothing but hate, As a silenced homeless Veteran plays his violin drowning in pain. We're left searching for some kind of circumvent, In a country that prides itself upon convenience, Our golden gates are not always what they seem, If born into poverty your chances can seem some what foreboding. Think of the future aside from your own and find hope in opportunities for the much needed change we all see and know, With so many imperative predicaments there is plenty of room for growth, Obstacles only providing the likelihood to overcome and to approach , For strength does not accumulate for those who are not familiar with struggle, With all these unresolved culminations there is plenty to live and fight for despite your troubles.
0
Apr 12, 2014
Apr 12, 2014 at 2:13 PM UTC
The Words Of a ******
Who am I? I am the Skeptic type, Surfacing placid as each side creates waves, Pulling on heart strings for their own self ameliorate, Heated controversy focusing on Health care, Religion, and Hunger debates, Inevitably resulting in ******* up charges for war to undertake. Equality's repercussions leaving our freedoms at stake, While inflating our Economy only the rich take the cake, Consistently keeping the poor at bay, One resolution would be to properly educate. Before you sell into the poison they produce to control and degenerate, Look into the disputes staged to manipulate,   Open your eyes and see we're being left with no other options but to obey, For when they deny you your right to bear arms The Constitution goes up in a fury of flames, As we sit back and watch as they replay the tape. I am free yet I am caged, Caressing the bars of black and white mind frames, Constructed to destroy thought and leave the masses divided in a collective state of confusion as their questions remain, I no longer associate with my neighbors today. Empathy is a far cry full of ache, Frayed by the misconception that lives are part of a game, Monopolies and greed breed nothing but hate, As a silenced homeless Veteran plays his violin drowning in pain. We're left searching for some kind of circumvent, In a country that prides itself upon convenience, Our golden gates are not always what they seem, If born into poverty your chances can seem some what foreboding. Think of the future aside from your own and find hope in opportunities for the much needed change we all see and know, With so many imperative predicaments there is plenty of room for growth, Obstacles only providing the likelihood to overcome and to approach , For strength does not accumulate for those who are not familiar with struggle, With all these unresolved culminations there is plenty to live and fight for despite your troubles.
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36
How should I recite my life? Was it a full sentence or was it parted in two? Did it entail big words or meaningless clichés shouting carpe diem? Did it have depth or did length bare it out? Did it trip on punctuations or did it flow painlessly? Which parts lingered on tongues? What orders did it give? Did it fade among greater paragraphs or was it magnificent? How should I recite my life? Should I clothe it in borrowed metaphors or should I simply read it out loud, word by word, stress the culminations, the loud parts, give extra sound to the little words? Was it a meaningful sentence? Will it linger on and get carried in the mouths of men? Will it serve as a citation for great living; or will it simply be forgotten as the sentence ends, the last syllable is whispered and the full stop is finally engraved.
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Dec 14, 2013
Dec 14, 2013 at 3:58 AM UTC
I wish to be read and remembered as I am forgotten
mazes of fire and ice mazes of notes and letters on pages or dreams re-written at pages seams slip the triple disked knife and plow through the world vision seen as a prisoners gun using mental capacity to over rule mental castration , take the blue pill NEMO!!!! and swim - in the all pervading ( surrounding ) magnitude forces of universes glow - making possible all to be known. . stalling into the oceans 78654610978893836485048262537859694826284949505958585575674652424242416112 Binary code is the internets verse throwing up pages and screens that look nothing like numbers but are in actual fact the elephant in the room a magnitude of worlds - exist on inter fabricated planes plane 1 - 'real life' plane 2- macro cosmic plane 3 - micro cosmos plane 4- number plane ( this is the binary code ) Plane 5 - mental world plane 6- dream world sixteen dimensions further than christian or Buddhist invention but a plethora of random incidents that seem to have a pattern that sinks deeper into oceans magnificence arn't we all fishes ? arn't we all snowballs? aren't we all just culminations of distractions dissertations born and thinking well maybe we should do something now we are here....
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Sep 22, 2013
Sep 22, 2013 at 8:56 PM UTC
Wolfy.
The beauty of poetry expands far beyond the immersive imagery, tongue-painted metaphors, and whimsical similes used to portray the artists' vivid hallucinations. No amount of consistent, thorough editing, no amount of precision in thesaurus culminations, nor the long-learned, dextrous techniques, fined-tuned throughout fortitudinous refinements undermine the essence: the exact moment in time where a poem is experienced, engaged, and ultimately conceived--- the epiphany.
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Apr 6, 2016
Apr 6, 2016 at 10:34 PM UTC
"Epiphany"
my skin is hellbent on flames tears are grease in my lashes nothing about big city concrete is lavish Rock back and forth on cement to forget I rock back and forth on your bed and what it never, never meant who dare tell me I'm sinful instead, pray I stop this addiction to pins and needles, menthol stop telling me I'm broken when I never worked to begin with chains chokin' Rockefeller pout infectious I will own this ******* world it will be the death of us I'm only a rough draft in the middle of culminations but this big city concrete it is death, determination isn't this all what I'm running to chasing
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Dec 24, 2015
Dec 24, 2015 at 2:38 PM UTC
big city concrete
I’m alone in watching a coal burn a solid object internally lit. A tongue of fire whose flames don’t lick. A heart The allusion, now clear, yet the edges remain blurred. Fire and flames struggle and fight, without a lifting wind they’re weak. Their culminations are short lived. Deadened ashes. Lust Embers remain after the excitement is snuffed out. The slightest breeze kisses their cheeks and they show new life. Glowing unconditionally. Love I’m alone in watching a coal burn out slowly s l o w l y s  l  o  w  l  y f   a   d   i   n   g      a   w   a   y. Even when the fire is lost, the embers of love will burn on.
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Jul 20, 2012
Jul 20, 2012 at 2:09 AM UTC
Burning Love
You darken light so shine bright oxymoron's juxtapositions finding oneself in pondering situations humor in each step , fairy lights guide the path less traveled feeling the peace pieces fit together jigsaws of unabridged meaning simply seething with the intimate feeling of moonlight hopping from idea to idea to thought to thought love's boundaries are naught and love's hugs are many loves kisses flow plentiful indigo rivers on far off archipelagos snake into brown rivers flows mixing merging the same happens in the soul culminations and starters Pudding just a little while after A lot around , a lot within , a lot in addition to the whimsical nature of life's flight of fancy floating feather drops.
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Aug 14, 2013
Aug 14, 2013 at 2:25 AM UTC
Reading
Passion screams, for she's my ****** dream touches, kisses, exotic misses, every bit, extreme Tigress, lithe and playful, eyes aflame reaching every peak, and fall, calling out, her name She's the reason, why I give a **** culminations, excitations, defining, a simple man There may be flames in heaven, or hell that burn eternally But my heart can only sing the flames, of her, and me
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Dec 29, 2017
Dec 29, 2017 at 9:10 AM UTC
Burning Brightly
Wading the tide pool under moon, and sun consuming every part, of you our ecstasy, not done Teaching as we learn touch, and pleasures fine eye to eye the waters flow I am yours, and you, are mine Bury myself within your scent bathe in your wet reply dripping smooth, and ******* met with screams, and moans, and sighs Reaching culminations both sublime, and heady washing ashore, climatically with rhythm strong, and steady
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Sep 25, 2017
Sep 25, 2017 at 11:23 AM UTC
Oceanic needs
Winds from Africa, blow from the East News of fire spreading nearby me What's to be done here? What's to be gained? The gasoline spreads, we soak up the hate Culminations of what can go wrong Do all of the dead deserve to be gone? Does us the living deserve to be here? Do all our futures deserve to be feared? More murders makes ****** more accepted All walks of life crash at intersections Instead of sparing time, letting others pass We spend our lives road raged, being unmatched END CREDITS Then we crash in traffic. Gasoline leaks Sparks from the friction. Death senses who bleeds You're crawling out your car. Gas line aflames Tailgating fate and there were other lanes
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Jan 15, 2018
Jan 15, 2018 at 10:53 AM UTC
Road
They can’t make out the stars on this moonless night, though the torn curtains lay stripped of willful ignorance. They can’t see the green left in the stalk of a dying marigold bloom scattered on the floor between shards of a broken vase. It’s hard to find the seeds after Autumn’s breath stills the dirt, the day is night-taken and the undying questions tiptoe around the tapestry laid out, unbelonging from the crushing grief it has woven into the well cared thread. The lavender and ginger tea steam whispers upward, toward the popcorn ceiling where the moonstruck wander in tight knit culminations, songbirds floating around, wilting feathers dropping as stones fall down in unrelenting storms of chaotic speeches. Tap tap tap on the fifth story window hollering up from the snow frozen grass roots, incoherent language sauntering around the table at thanksgiving dinner, dim faces stretched out alongside the turkey.
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Dec 4, 2018
Dec 4, 2018 at 7:42 PM UTC
Bus Driver's Exhaust
Lawrence Hall, HSG [email protected] I Do Not Count the Clock Cf. Shakespeare, Sonnet 12 I do not count the clock when I’m outside I do not count the leaves, fallen and sere I do not count the silver in your hair Though I celebrate them all the same (But not the clock; there is no love in clocks) These golden days have beauties of their own Their richness born from the promises of spring The culminations of summer’s growing days Crowned with silver by the first falling frost I do not count the clock when I’m outside I do not count the clock when I’m with you
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Apr 8, 2024
Apr 8, 2024 at 8:11 AM UTC
I Do Not Count the Clock
Tears that miss, Pain that teaches, Withering of vigor, Memories forgotten, Final farewells, Beauty like, The giving breath; The escape to death, The culminations of ******* Bottom the list of desires
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Nov 28, 2021
Nov 28, 2021 at 5:27 PM UTC
Beautiful like