"cyclically" poems
I am resilient today
I've yet to right a wrong,
Write poem,
Sight a note,
Convey in pros,
Hope for hope,
Join the stream,
Bathe in logos,
Come close to host the thoughts of all;
Boast? I don't think so.
What's not achieved Isn't real?
Really?
I cannot convey the souls that reside this body,
This mind,
Chimed,
From which end of the chimera?
The poem intoned,
Vocal aspects of the crone.
Cyclically saying,
I am resilient.
Mar 22, 2016
Mar 22, 2016 at 12:28 AM UTC
Reality shifting in a way we could get to
if the world were just a bit flatter
when the truth of the moon is reliant upon the sun
where everything with matter cyclically scatters
surrounded by faces,
he sits lives lonely some
waiting in an empty room
she's knows no one will come
I've been outdone,
he traveled faster than you
you've been outrun,
she did better than I could do
its the way that time is spun
like wind on J's cling clang clatter
where complacency is hung
next to apron strings as a happily ever after
At least the ones that needed me
had the quiet decency of fair warning
that they signaled the cubs to eat away everything
the wolves couldn't use to play with me
Jul 1, 2014
Jul 1, 2014 at 3:37 PM UTC
In a little pile by the bathroom,
a collection of my clothing engraved.
Though the cloth is cyclically exchanged,
the pile serves as vowed remain.
I say I keep them there in case,
but we both know it's promised trace
that any time I leave this place
there is a never-ending return.
May 26, 2015
May 26, 2015 at 12:17 PM UTC
Poetry to me is both the tree and the seed.
Weight gets taken off my chest and helps me to breathe
Allowing unhealed wounds to get the stitches they need
In dark times the pen connects fueling the necessary release.
I get to write out the vision of my dreams
And speak my peace confidently,
Because poetry saved me
I've been able to address and let go of what pains me, thankfully.
These words strewn together form a much bigger painting.
I know it reaches beyond me so potentially someone else could read and also find life worth saving.
Cyclically, once again we will all fall like a leaf from a tree.
Ever-important, you are an integral part of life, a whisper in the wind floating on in the breeze.
Plant those seeds and Watch the growth of Being.
Remember You are profound, deep, and
beautiful - like poetry
Aug 16, 2021
Aug 16, 2021 at 6:49 PM UTC
If I could say just one thing to you
[and believe me, I am]
I would tell you to stop looking "out there".
I would tell you that you have everything you need.
I would tell you that you are everything you need.
Nobody can add anything to that.
and be **** sure, nobody can take anything away.
But you must share yourself with those around you:
your body, your mind, your words, your heart.
They are not for the PICKING. They are not for the TAKING.
They are for the sharing.
They are for someone to enjoy with you.
But lovely lovely love stop looking, please!
Release the pressure, drop the anxiety, ignore the stress.
It does not serve you.
It is merely in your head,
not in your bones.
Not in your flesh.
There is no "doing" in worrying.
There is only worrying.
And beautiful, that's not you.
If I could tell you one thing it would be this:
There are no rules that you do not make for yourself.
There is no time that you must do anything,
only times when you can do something.
Just opportunities that cyclically arise and fall away before you.
Did you miss one? That's ok.
Will another one come? Of course it will.
Let things come of their own accord
and you will end up happier than you could have dreamed.
There's nothing on the other side of that door.
In fact, you've already been there. You're there right now.
There is no lock holding you back.
No lock keeping everything from you.
You've got a pocket full of keys, and no locks.
Oh, if you'd only let me tell you,
I'd tell you everything in the world is alive in you.
Jun 4, 2014
Jun 4, 2014 at 1:27 PM UTC
...
fall
fall
breathe,
stop.
deny the existence of agony,
or rather purposefully ignore it.
do not transcend, your glimmering
ivy-covered existence.
sleep.
in a
world barred between urban stars.
scream,
scream.
allow the tips of the universe to
extend beyond the myth of static symbols.
return to the room where men ride bicycles
cyclically
picking flowers for food under the afternoon
starlight.
the ostrich tells you to shut your eyes
...
Nov 18, 2011
Nov 18, 2011 at 1:45 PM UTC
so this is it.
the ending.
the middle.
the beginning...I'm not sure
lately days have managed to blur my vision
I know no transition
I know dissociation
to pull myself from what is real
lately days run past in hyper speed breaking the wall between my sanity and the insane
and it aches when I think about it
confronting it in the cold confines of what I call my home
Mar 13, 2015
Mar 13, 2015 at 5:42 PM UTC
I do not love myself
dear poet I could not love myself even if I tried
dear poet I do not love myself dear poet I try to love myself
dear poet I sit in meditation groups & I chant “love your body”
over & over again, silently, cyclically, a prayer
until I am crying dear poet I am not yet 20
& my body already feels wrinkled
dear poet last night I had a panic attack
because last night a boy who reminded me of my mother
tried to kiss me on a field underneath dark stars
dear poet I still feel guilty for not kissing him back
dear poet he tasted like 12 years old again
dear poet like 12 years old I was upstate at camp in a lake
shaped like a womb swimming with my back arched
upside down like Australia dear poet I am all skin & mosquito bites
& I still taste like summer like alcohol from a boy
dear poet I am shaking here in my skin dear poet
I can’t stop shaking dear poet please calm me down dear poet
once I loved a boy & then he drowned himself in a lake
& dear poet I cannot love again dear poet except I love you dear poet
Aug 29, 2014
Aug 29, 2014 at 1:47 PM UTC
Bring the angels and shine
Bleach the smile and shimmer
I rushed in the isles of the world
I rested halfway through the island
The tiredness of the unforgiving pain
The strain of trying to explain myself
They saw my social awkwardness
They peeped as I hid by a corner
Seldom backwardness is my nature
So so in a world where introversion is a sin
I have never been a fool, just turned down
I have never been unconfident, just confined
I have never been sociable, just a lone wolf
I have never been lonely, just absently present
I have never been old, just youthful at heart
Bring those songs you chatter, take my hand
Banters of a hunter hunt as I revolve cyclically
I pass the ball in this deserted court in a park
I park my back on the decayed timber as I wait
The sire of the ailing livelihood we call life
The site where we watch as the sun illuminate
I saw your sincerity and cocooned you in me
I spoke your language as you pushed me in an abyss
Seldom backwardness is my nature
So so in a world where introversion is a sin
Jun 21, 2016
Jun 21, 2016 at 3:36 PM UTC
I'll bury letters in the ground to let them rest in pieces
They'll decompose before the world finds their meaning
Their remnants shall intertwine with the seedlings of tomorrow
And take healthy root to sprout the beginning of the illusion
It will grow and grow and reach to kiss the sky
It just exists ignorantly free of the magnitude of why
No questions asked as time will pass, a ripple in a dream
Blink twice and the dust settles riddled and pristinely clean
All is flux and our celestial sphere is making the rounds
Words seem mundane under the magnifying glass
Archaic masochisms of our mind to help try and cope
Notions shall invade to question the cyclically divine
What's the rush? We're all on the same spinning vessel
Chase your tails in the Almighty dog and pony show
Enlightenment pins the Donkey's smile on the nail
As the hammer brings down the cataclysmic blow
Jun 18, 2014
Jun 18, 2014 at 5:14 AM UTC
sunlight
highlights
the lowlights
of all things
continuing contrasts
lighten the load
of an expanding
consciousness
change occurs
void of that unaffected
thoughts, beliefs, ideals
actions perceived free of inspiration
a hidden motivation
spirals cyclically and infinitely
to ever expanding nothingness
the body is only a vessel
for a timeless being
a collection of all
that was and is and has been or will be
what wasn't and isn't and hasn't
been and won't ever be
May 5, 2013
May 5, 2013 at 9:08 AM UTC
soul inscribed in it's vessel
gently caressing the being
light burns from within
ephemeral transience
contracting
it will
expanding
consume
providing desire
driving
everything and nothing
fall blissfully in and out of sync
cyclically yawning at an
ever expanding horizon
May 5, 2013
May 5, 2013 at 9:11 AM UTC
Your rage erodes
through your smiling teeth
and makes holes in
your throat,
spluttering
corrosive through your hearty laugh.
Your rage is like battery acid on your tongue
fueling your acerbic words.
My rage is rope making the ring in which
me, myself and I
battle it out in my head
cyclically.
My rage is a steely triad of me, myself and I
in my mind,
a metal mental instrumental
triangle tapping incessantly
ringing the ting ting ting of
soft subtle slurs.
Our rage is visceral.
Eternally internally infernal,
crackling embers dying within
leaving us shells of ourselves -
warm bodies with blackened ash souls
daring not to breathe should someone notice the smoke.
Mar 23, 2016
Mar 23, 2016 at 6:02 PM UTC
to be a speciman in a jar
inspected from all angles
not freedom,
no hopeful view
inspected for your shape,
your feelings, your i.q.
to tip and tap scream and
yell for help to free oneself,
to pace cyclically while the beat of
your innerclock ticks your
precious time away.
to watch the watchers,
hear them whispering,
gossiping, laughing,
pointing at you,
curled feotally, as far as
possible from the incessant
view.
to want one thing,
but have another.
to desire,
to emire oneself
in a,
crooked point of
view.
to be confused, restrained
by sundered synapse,
or
fixated on rythmn, numbers,
rhymes in order to get through.
to be black ink stickmen,
in
an ink black room,
with a black dog,
chasing you....
growling out doom.
to be living a hell private
and encompassing while,
working in uniform
oh so neat.
we are one and all,
the specimans,
incomplete.
the glass jar is there,
for
all who stumble in defeat.
....to be a speciman
in a jar
judged for ....
is a living death,
a soundless living hell
a far cry from heaven,
more an automated shell
walking, moving, talking,
exsisting.....
in a jar...
..... on a shelf.
Mar 23, 2014
Mar 23, 2014 at 4:52 PM UTC
Seven sins cyclically
Cycling sinister
Signs in the night sky
They look all identical
Death sits at my door
With sharp scythes so silver full
I wait in my bed
With sighs for a miracle
Happened so quickly
Brush fired basilica
Falling like leaves in the
Autumn breeze coup d'etat
Jan 18, 2013
Jan 18, 2013 at 11:22 PM UTC
A corpse buried six feet deep under the earth,speaks
peacefully to the night that extends to galaxies
that cyclically take birth and embrace death.
A night owl sits like a rock cut figure, it's ears
opened to the heart beats of sleeping silence,
finds out the secret that lie beyond life and death,
immaterial to the beings that mastered the art
of hitching a ride on the wings of transcendence.
Feb 29, 2016
Feb 29, 2016 at 10:25 AM UTC
When the house is filled with silence
And the air is the colour of evening
I take my chair to the window and watch
The world, the sky, the people
And I think of you.
There’s one stubborn star shining
Brighter than every other light and
It’s you, signalling me from your destination
Letting me know you’re safe with
Light, energy, magic.
My clock ticks unusually loud tonight
Keeping time with the symphony
The earth moving round cyclically, ever
Onwards, changing, leading us
Away from yesterday
But I carry you inside my veins
Timeless and with no need for fear
Sitting here I feel you so close and so far
Such a paradox but somehow
You’re everywhere.
I find myself musing dreamily,
Do the stars look different from up there
Do the Seasons touch you at all?
Or is everything constant, unaltered, known
No surprises?
And I find myself wondering restlessly
How many years lie ahead of me
How many nights until I’m with you again
Because I’m not sure I’ll make it,
It’s too long.
When the house is filled with silence
And the air is the colour of mourning
I take my chair to the window, and sit
And remember, and smile
And miss you.
Hello bright star...
Wish you were here...
Aug 26, 2018
Aug 26, 2018 at 8:10 AM UTC
At first, it was a pleasant adventure
but the trainer is not that easy on me
I swear I must be some kind of a ******
who is proportionally unfocussed
and over-processing unidirectionally
should I just stand like a marching frog?
and leap where the primal instinct leads me
or punch like a perfectionist in a constant orbit
At last, it is something that I need to stick to
but the trainer is not that easy on me
I swear the strength within will gather
and awake the deadened practical sense
to some Phoenix that cyclically degenerates
punching those pads in a total disarray
with strength, persistence and sleek control
until it all sets in my mind, soul and body
Aug 9, 2018
Aug 9, 2018 at 6:43 AM UTC
Hi **
Hi **
It's off to work why go?
Just sit and sun and have some fun
Why go hi ** why go.
Speak as you find
I don't mind if I do.
as unique is to me
so unique is to you.
we are all leaves from the one tree, each leaf being different from another and occasionally, seasonally,
cyclically falling to found a new dynasty, the same you and me in a different tree, the one tree.
But it's only pie and mash when you ain't got any cash and we should be reading Dickens or poems by Frederick Ogden Nash,
but we've got beans on crusty bread instead and Private Eye beside the bed because we like to think that we're all spies.
eyes down for the full house, the flop house it's never the mansion house is it?
Hi blasted **
I'm going to have a go
but don't know when
have you ever wondered why
men
are like that?
Aug 16, 2016
Aug 16, 2016 at 10:03 AM UTC
How great the space when without us,
how far stars seem to be,
when you, me, and the whole world by
parts just cyclically.
Are greetings sorrow
til tomorrow?
Are parents here to be?
Is absence kinder,
desire blind
to sheer simplicity?
Something immense, beyond the scope,
helps me here to see,
only the things I am shown
to not belong to me.
Nov 10, 2018
Nov 10, 2018 at 4:34 PM UTC
Cyclically recycling re-resolving and prescribing
Waning and waxing
Revolving rapidly yet repeatedly reconditioning
Training for the marked off trail and practicing perfidiousness
Ever-failing always falling
Sprinting from ladders and slipping past stairs
Adamant on Adam's folly restitute to lies
Lust, she is a sneaky beast and one by many names
Jun 11, 2021
Jun 11, 2021 at 9:38 PM UTC
such space for creation
without strangled-throat;
without pre-conception there
at fettering length. and i want
to smoke this *******
cigarette right here, right
now, where supined, ego
stoking knowing i can't. i
won't, and i'll just come along
down the road and revolt
against own great Ego; i'll
cycle cyclically some later day.
pretentious ****
sometime's we need to be hate.
sometime's there needs to
be contradiction; self-made
chaos in attempt to -- ****
i don't know. i wanna smoke
this cigarette. i could use
to burn a bit; could use for
a moment's blindness.
(you're there right now,
already. a while now)
could use for a moment's
luminescence out from supine sky -
textured dry-wall. want felt in
the bones; about a nic-fit, about
time to smoke this ******* cigarette.
Feb 17, 2016
Feb 17, 2016 at 4:20 AM UTC