"deciphering" poems
And it was at that age...Poetry arrived
in search of me. I don't know, I don't know where
it came from, from winter or a river.
I don't know how or when,
no, they were not voices, they were not
words, nor silence,
but from a street I was summoned,
from the branches of night,
abruptly from the others,
among violent fires
or returning alone,
there I was without a face
and it touched me.
I did not know what to say, my mouth
had no way
with names
my eyes were blind,
and something started in my soul,
fever or forgotten wings,
and I made my own way,
deciphering
that fire
and I wrote the first faint line,
faint, without substance, pure
nonsense,
pure wisdom
of someone who knows nothing,
and suddenly I saw
the heavens
unfastened
and open,
planets,
palpitating planations,
shadow perforated,
riddled
with arrows, fire and flowers,
the winding night, the universe.
And I, infinitesmal being,
drunk with the great starry
void,
likeness, image of
mystery,
I felt myself a pure part
of the abyss,
I wheeled with the stars,
my heart broke free on the open sky.
12.4k
Dreadlock Rasta;
No like informa,
No like imposta,
**** smoke; burning da trees
Mango scented leaves,
Burnt grapefruit scented breeze.
Wolly mammoth size locks,
Steal wool, ***** tied in a knot,
Jamaican colors wrap tie; sitting on top.
I and I, believe it or not.
No woman no cry,
No problem;
Him cool as a rock.
Charles Dickens by his side,
Studying stanzas, deciphering plots.
Prayer's meeting;
meditation- never stop.
Water’s blue waves,
Fresh fish after 12’o clock.
Under the bridge, find my spot.
By his sweet Sugarcane from,
Miss Parker Sugarcane shop
Burning a spliff, because the ****
is his only green; pastures plot.
Mary Jane, his only queen be,
Never leaving he; love him or not.
May 23, 2014
May 23, 2014 at 4:35 PM UTC
And it is braided with silk, but woven of plastic-
-materialistic; corrugated ridges on burnt iron legs.
But to the streets of suburban deforestation,
Her influential deciphering - infatuated - purged
Of seamless equations and reincarnated followers,
Abides by the diamond-bleach, the sultry circuits,
Poised in the foetal position for the last - yet first -
Time.
Dec 3, 2013
Dec 3, 2013 at 5:59 PM UTC
An abstract gait
Surrounded by coils of binary and luminescence.
Suave, purple suits clasping to morphed skin.
Electrical vibes, transistors atomically sized.
Brain dives, the concept of thought diluted.
She can only wish it was palpable.
In a mirror mirage,
Static fumbles,
Repos the limelight.
Cyberpunk gen, neo-noir,
A relevant memento.
Deciphering the metaphysical is
Unattainable.
***** it all,
Maneuver the landscape.
Might as well enjoy the sights
In the nick of a quivering snap.
Jan 28, 2012
Jan 28, 2012 at 6:00 PM UTC
This transparent veil to cover transparency is suffocating me.
I want to rip off this fabric and know that when I touch your flesh you feel the compassion, not the contact
I want to knock teeth when we kiss and hear thundering laugh and not the muffled titters of nervousness
I want 10 minutes to go by and we're already buried deep in our conversation via messages
Because I don't care. I don't care that there's this new found stigma that caring is out and mysterious is in. Because I don't care if you text me without a reason, because oh hey! I was just thinking about you! Because I like your company, because I'm tired of deciphering ambiguous words. Because life isn't a god **** code. It's thrilling, it's open, it's here. I'm here.
I want you to know I'm here.
May 21, 2014
May 21, 2014 at 1:14 PM UTC
This is only our second encounter
but all hesitation is gone from your actions
I walked into the lair of a merciless monster
igniting a domino of reactions
my cheeks flushed as I'm held by this beast
that I find myself pinned underneath
hot breath pours out on my neck
as my ears are grazed by your teeth
my heart pounds against your chest
your hands roughly comb through my hair
I squirm, submerged in your arms
continually gasping for air
your mouth desperately searching for mine
I finally succumb to your kiss
the problem with a fatal attractions,
is deciphering what's hell and what's bliss
Jan 22, 2015
Jan 22, 2015 at 6:47 PM UTC
therapy and resistance
how is it that therapy becomes the excess of class war or the oppression thereof?
When the struggle of the individual is made to seem self induced when it is easily and clearly directly a result of the failures and complacence afforded by the majority of the group.
When in a therapeutic environment it is important to distinguish the opportunities of resistance from the experience of trauma.
there has always been individuals who establish groups that are in a realm of desperation.
Understanding how this process has unfolded institutionally is just as valid as treating the individual.
This gives the individual the choice and resources needed to heal.
The healing could look like resistance rather than assuming aspects of class war or oppressive culture to be normal.
Otherwise therapy is nothing but the means to normalize the process of oppression.
The traumatic state needs to be able to decipher its organic existence from that of organized oppression and its institutional cooperation.
the neglect of deciphering or distinguishing these differences causes individuals to make a competition out of trauma. This minimizes certain trauma of individuals and causes the group to have less of an opportunity to resist organized oppression of the institution.
Those that are in the realm of desperation or traumatic state are given no choice but to repress in order to continue being social or a member of the group.
in excess the hierarchies of gender, race and class are reinforced to an almost superhuman level.
To the desperate or traumatic state…
what needs reinforcement is that there are humans just like us who have resisted oppression and caused the normalcy of the group to be more inclusive and aware of the processes associated with organized oppression.
Apr 20, 2017
Apr 20, 2017 at 7:30 PM UTC
The question regarding the question relies on what the question really is.
If the question implied is a question directed outwardly, then it may be misinterpreted as a question to oneself internally.
Otherwise, a question explicitly directed inwardly is critical to deciphering the question that one will address outwardly.
If an indirect question is questioned through the user, then the question itself becomes a metaphysical question to choose from.
In the event a question is said through alternate means, consider the quantitative/qualitative state of the question at the time being; as it may be resolved by asking the question in a subconscious level indeed.
Superficial means tends to seek fundamental questions to the reality of the state one naturally possesses.
In the case where the unconscious decides the opportune event to question the conscious reality, one must interpret the means in examination of the intrapersonal mentality.
If the question is imposed through correlative thought and subliminal expression, then the question itself is related to a parallel conscious state intertwined with the unconscious state of mind of progression.
If the question is relative in combination to the solutions mentioned above becoming apparent, then one has means to ask the question without questioning the question itself in disparate.
Otherwise, the question continues to perplex the question through the continuation of irrelevant questions that one will have thought; creating a treacherous belief so concurrent one could not have fought.
Therefore, is the reality of the question portrayed to the reality you live in or the reality of others? As this poem was conclusive to subtly evoke thought in the questions we construct.
By: Michael M. De La Fuente
May 25, 2014
May 25, 2014 at 8:08 PM UTC
Juvenile Government. Black-skinned Politics.
Lavish desires for power, establish conflicts,
Contrive one's graveyard for authorities,
And inculcate defalcation at the zenith.
Deciphering the truth from ocean of lies,
Sovereignty of benevolent people has drowned;
Flooded miseries. Benighted reality.
Withered accountability. Absurd transparency.
Jan 26, 2012
Jan 26, 2012 at 10:04 PM UTC
the clutter of words taking wing
beneath the wide arms of dense green oak.
the deciphering symbols now begin
as parts of the mystery fall into place
one by one, each piece reflects in a mirror
so similar to what I held up to catch the sky
and reason, fragments that collided in mystical shape
and formed into spirals seeking fresh answers
the dreams that haunted our togetherness for so long
and I languished in every stroke of your poetic pen
now falls the silver cross and the lining in these clouds
that have twisted and turned me inside out
yet I've built a crucible of hope from endless hyperstrings
and pieces of magnificent beauty that I first saw
in your writing and significantly stayed magnetised
by the unfolding of your life into my own searching.
I will stand here forever, watching, even as the sun dances
into dark of night and my feelings grow a new pathway.
Author Notes
Optional
© Marshall Gass. All rights reserved, 2 months ago
- See more at: http://allpoetry.com/poem/11580728-DreamCatcher...-by-Marshall-Gass-noguest#sthash.3aDaqvOh.dpuf
Oct 13, 2014
Oct 13, 2014 at 7:52 PM UTC
Each day when I think of the way you hurt me
when my heart wrenches in pain.
I think of what I did to deserve this
When u know that there was no other way.
I don’t know why u can hold my heart ransom
Crush it with unkind gesture of yours
When I loved you so truly and madly and
didn’t think even once of the loss
U see it is I who stand to loose from what you’ve done
Cause for me there can be no one
not after what you have done
The doors of my heart have closed forever
Never will these open again for anyone.
For you this was just an attempt to see if your charm worked
For me this was a soul shaker, the one that changed me forever.
I resisted every attempt of yours
For your eyes scorched me day and night
Still I bore down your charm
and stood my ground alright.
Our chemistry was in the air you see
We could never hide it from prying eyes
Any blind man could have told
they way we looked into each others eyes.
I fought and resisted you for long
And thought I was strong
Till that fateful day when
I decided I would have it my way
But fate would wish another way
For the day I decide to part
That was the very day I lost my heart.
Your fun and jokes and childish pranks
Your endless teasing had me in splits
You knew very well that
it was beginning to grow in you as well.
A strange feeling of falling head over heels.
We were one and we did not need those words
Until you started expecting me to cross my limits
Limits I had set long ago, and you knew
I would never never cross them for anyone.
What did you want me to say, say that I love you
I already did it a million times
Didn’t my eyes say it all.
You knew you felt it too.
But now, I don’t know what’s wrong with you.
I am done with the deciphering
I am done with your cold ways
I am done with your pushing me around
I am never going to stay that way
For all that could have been done is done and over
My Lord, my energy’s drained and u have run me over.
I wept and cried and wondered why I deserved this fate.
You see miscommunication is to blame that closed the gate
For I cannot reconcile the same heart that rent sweet words
were tossing me out cold and dry.
I could not let u go for you were the sweetest thing my eyes beheld,
and I did love u truly, but you’ll never understand.
Its over now..what a mess!
The only prayer that escapes my lips
May our paths never cross again!
For I cannot afford loose my heart again.
Jul 14, 2014
Jul 14, 2014 at 4:29 AM UTC
How can you forgive something
that has never been apologized for?
It's an undeveloped photograph
It's an unfinished sentence
It's a working draft
How can you forget something
that has never been remembered?
It's an unopened package
It's a safe without a key
It's a lost baggage
It keeps you searching
It keeps you longing
It keeps you deciphering
The question
The answer
The password
It keeps you hanging
It keeps you wondering
It keeps you waiting for
The closure
The end
The full stop
You need a period not a comma
You need an end not a pause
You need closure
You need conclusion
Because you need
A new sentence
A new stanza
A new chapter
A beginning from an ending
May 6, 2015
May 6, 2015 at 10:50 PM UTC
For me, you are Sunday. Today is Sunday,
and tomorrow will be Sunday. Because I am stuck
in gingham yellow sheets, small white saucers
with matching ceramic cups, cigarette ashes
like a crop circle around them as I sip homemade
coffee. The ***** brown liquid sloshing
in the back of my throat, scorching my insides
as I swallow something not nearly as
painful as looking up for an answer to the crossword
and realizing you are not in fact actually there, and your hand
is not on my thigh, tracing the outline of my knee
with your thumb. I am stuck
like a kid on the monkey bars. Deciphering
between reaching my hand out to grab
the next rung or just allowing myself
to fall into the wood chips, welcome
that scraped skin and soil in the worry lines
of my palms. Because calling you,
reaching out to that line, could end with me
face up on my bed staring at the blades of my fan
trying to pinpoint just one to follow around and around
again. Or I could get your voicemail. Or you could
see my number and decide to hang up. How close
were we really anyway?
Or you could answer and we could talk through
how bad the weather is, how we've been doing,
and then get to the poignant silence, that hum
in the background that coils through the wires
into my ear, down the canal, and sinks into my heart
until the pressure becomes too much. Until
I tell you that its Sunday. That I need the 1994
Tony Award winning musical for 3 across, and hopefully,
you'll give me the right answer.
Jan 27, 2016
Jan 27, 2016 at 11:55 AM UTC
We swim in pools of flowers picked from the gardens
Grown from your words
Going back and forth between poetic sonnets
And bare laughs
Feeling pain in our ribs
Healing the pain in our hearts
I try to write sentences too cluttered to make sense of
With metaphors, like gardens
So that you may not accidentally figure out
Everything you mean to me
So that you and I can spend a lifetime together
Picking words apart
Searching for meaning and walking with the stars
Because these midnight conversations
Are too precious to be lost to effortless deciphering
Aug 6, 2021
Aug 6, 2021 at 5:09 PM UTC
Osiris is not a viable option,
The rays of him are toxic,
One must err on the side of caution,
One mustn't take in the toxins.
Not with a serpents gaze of night ,
I am the gleam in their very eyes,
The twilight of people's lives,
The shine dwindling with time.
Street lights conjoin with the void,
As loss and gain meet with choice,
The old teach young about voice,
Lack thereof and unspoken poise.
Lines have gathered across the head,
Along with emotions, swirling regrets,
Primal fear creeps up ones neck,
The remainder of memories to forget.
I haven't slept for I have wept
I
Am
No
King
I haven't sang for I have pain
I
Am
No
King
I haven't laughed for I am ******
Keep
On
Looking
I haven't smiled for I am vile
You
Won't
Find
Me
For she dwells within me
A potion within a vial
Searching for answers,
Answers that have long since forgotten the questions,
As words have forgotten poems,
Poems that have forgotten books,
Books that have forgotten shelves,
And you, who has forgotten me,
Although you live here, my Isis.
You do not have the mind,
To know that I dream of you,
With me, as one in the same,
Glimmers of hope which make way,
For back breaking pain, and disdain
As you say, my name, I sob, I pray,
You encounter the soul provider,
Whom you alone, deserve.
Deciphering the hieroglyphics,
The depth of my chambers,
Such an undertaking,
Is only for those not wary,
Of rude awakenings and laws,
Forsaking the freedom of my bonds,
Which hold my place, along the gate,
Which controls my fate.
Bonds of loathing and taunting
Specters of faceless smiles
Messages of nameless moans
Titles and spiteful rivals,
Bring cries of despair and tears,
Which shatter the floor beneath,
Uncovering layers of disgust,
Skin deep, is the source of vanity.
Vanity meaning fleeting importance,
For it, death, life, joy, fear, hope,
And melancholy; know nothing,
As they are simply the effects,
But not the causes of the ruckus,
The frozen coating of ocean surface,
Ignorant to the swelling below,
Waiting for a chance to bring Diablo.
I
Am
No
King
You
Won't
Find
Me
Strip
Me
Of
My
Crown
And
Bury
Me
My
Queen
Oct 30, 2013
Oct 30, 2013 at 11:10 AM UTC
I, bestow this delicate heart of mine to whom
who really deserves it,
Let thee scrutinize me, before the verge of my beloved death,
Exquisite time travels fast; no one could deliver it back, then;
Let thee compromise thy mere words uttered by my tongue.
Into the horizon, my love will intertwine joy upon
thy cold eyes;
Confusions shall subdue through the brilliance of the light,
Thy Windows of Heaven, will unfold thy truth for myriad
of doubts
For each hemisphere shall listen upon my countless vows.
Into the horizon, nothing can stop every step taken
towards thee
For I, will fight even at the darkest eve on the battlefield:
Yet if I lose, I forbid not thy tears a-falling on the ground
to heave other,
Herewith, perhaps, thee haven't seen thy rose that
will never wither.
For I, offer thy hearth of my life to whom who never bequeaths,
Let thee displays clairvoyance for the adequate reason
I breathe;
Yet when the golden sun already descended below
thy wonderful horizon,
Deciphering became dreary, for soon this agony will be gone
to emancipation.
Oct 15, 2011
Oct 15, 2011 at 3:41 AM UTC
The Moon and the Stars
It all started one night under the stars.
Lying in the field on the clearest yet brisk last nights of summer's warm-held grasp. Telescope, blankets, friends and stars. We watched and waited as satellites and planes flew overhead; deciphering shooting star from orbital waste, relearning and recalling constellations recognized throughout man's lifelong past. Gazing into the wide open of the unknown with thoughts of extra-terrestrial, black holes, and the possibility of life after death.
The darker the night the more magic seemed to exist. After wrapping up our outdoor viewing of the universe, we headed indoors for peaceful sessions of passing the pipe while listening to shamanic throat singing and overtones, as our friends sat gravely entranced, zoning out to the wonders of the world covered by media through National Geographic and the world-wide-web.
It was somewhere a midst all this where I find myself; body calm and mind relaxed, propped up on the couch pondering the innermost immortal thoughts of the interconnectedness of life and death and sound and energy, spirit and soul as visions of spirals infinitely intertwining as one appear before my eyes. The sensations of what I imagine the reference of “getting the gears rolling” in the center of my brain as my pineal gland begins its first steps of decalcification brought about by the intentions of man.
Up until this point my life was on a one track path. A steady straight line towards the unknown, unawakened, and ignorantly naive, believing everything I had been taught up until that moment was a true solid fact. With this new sensation of the potential for higher vibrations within my own soul, my heart began to rapidly race but without pain and suffering, rather with the excitement of this new realized grace.
Awakening to this new idea, to this new age, to this new way of life.
Dec 21, 2015
Dec 21, 2015 at 11:06 AM UTC
too long your lips have stared
into the body of my thoughts,
studying the patterns
and the features,
deciphering the blueprints,
my irrational being
...those petals,
their textures burning in the color,
popping out like embers, fed
every regulated breath
you are compelled
to lick away the dryness,
wipe the prints and traces,
put out the flames covertly...
but make it look casual:
you cannot be caught spying;
or the government of words
denies everything,
severing the strings,
abandoning its secret desire
behind enemy lines,
to be captured, questioned,
and tortured
by your very own
collaborationist conscience
Dec 7, 2016
Dec 7, 2016 at 5:57 AM UTC
Today, I am among the half-dead again
Wandering the halls with a gaze that could disintegrate the sun
The world around me is painted in an elephant grey
But this safari feels empty and yet so congested
With a smile that’s been sloppily and gruelingly painted on,
I face the challenges of everyday life once more
Half of me is tuned in to the things around me,
Scribbling words and deciphering the text at a snail’s pace
But the other half is still dreaming,
Waging war against the strongest mages of our time
Or drowning among a school of clownfish
Either way I’m not here and I’m begging to be free
Today, I am among the half-dead again
I imagine that someday a dragon will take me away
This may simply be my dreaming side taking over again
But if I said it could burn away all my worries,
Wouldn’t you wish for that as well?
I would hop onto its scaly back and point towards the sky,
Chanting as if I had been rehearsing for this moment,
“Anywhere is fine, as long as it’s not here”
But until then, I am drenched in my own rain
And the smile has run off with it, off to somewhere far away
Today, I am among the half-dead again
With weights tightly chained to my fingers
I’m dragging my thoughts along with my spirit
I’m a little bit tired but maybe if I wait, tomorrow will be a much better day
Feb 25, 2015
Feb 25, 2015 at 11:07 AM UTC
When an illusion becomes a reality
The whole idea of existence is shrouded
In the mysterious clues we are given
Unearthed from the remains ancient
Many hypotheses which float around
Mystic lands which once existed
So many exposed to the light of day
Many more still cradled within the layers
Many interpretations, ancient chronicles
Dates back to time immemorial
Many sources and many more tales
The soul of the scripts lost long ago
None will come to know the real sentiments
Mired in the deepest secrets of yesteryear
Historians’ favorite child, philosophers guide
We can only come up with our understanding
Spend a lifetime deciphering between the lines
Many centuries of hidden anecdotes
We can only reconstruct what we decipher
We may not be close to the real meaning
The custodians have whisked away the heart
And soul of the entire episodes
Leaving us between the vagueness
Papyrus holds the words, without the meanings
Not sure of the real feelings and emotions
Maybe a rendezvous with the chroniclers
If we can travel back in time
And enter the ethereal world of these histories
Can reveal the truth and exact sentiments
Till that time, we have to live with our inferences
Maybe we are way off the mark
In a different trajectory, away from the core
An illusion we may have created form our cognizance
Mar 13, 2015
Mar 13, 2015 at 7:20 AM UTC
aromatic coffee awakens senses
midst the gestured warmth of radiant
smiles's 'tween morning brew,
reverently paused to catch
the awe inspiring poignancy
of sunrise's exhilaration,
whilst cozily wrapped in the delightful unfurl
of captivating poetry's skillful delectation
a rising ritual begun many blue moons afore,
tempting consciousness, feeding soulfulness
enlightening sensibilities as it
enriches the day's appreciation
'pon the keen awareness of poets,
tempests from all niches of the world
coming together amid upheavals and serenity,
ceremoniously dubbed fierce confirmations
of words expressly borne, communing the
artfully spirited of resourceful artisans,
procuring special collective bonds that
only poesy can wholly dictate,
they look upon us as enigmas
rather strange breed of puzzling characters,
as this inexplicable endeavor
escapes their stifled perceptions
of conduit's musing reasonable facsimile,
we're merely cognitive passages for
experiences on common ground
in realizations of all-too-human foibles
eccentricities, yearnings and fortitude,
released deliverance of potpourri
serving up inky joy beyond expression,
intention's distinction deciphering
reflections in meditative affirmations,
breadth of unrestrained beholden visions
conjured notions of paramount significance
wherein lies evidence of life's burnt offerings,
beginnings and endings of hearts' indulgences
wept in resolute celebrations of existence
as only a poet could discernibly translate
Jul 9, 2015
Jul 9, 2015 at 8:23 AM UTC
why my poetry is as if a heilig schrein?
teutonisch schwarz auf weiß -
kreuz imitieren zunge -
Preußen war etabliert pre Weimar:
verloren ein Verstand mit Jagiełło;
die punkt auf sein?! nichts zu hinz,
unless electorate Hector
and that Trojan vigil to mind,
with aviation of Ottomans deciphering
the gallop and sneeze of the Arab breed -
more racehorse and less dummy of carpenters'
excess.
Jul 17, 2016
Jul 17, 2016 at 11:31 PM UTC
I try to uncover what’s underneath;
I try to uncover what’s hiding beneath these sheets.
They decorate my soul, create this person who I am,
but they’re beginning to tear, tear right at the hem.
I’m not sure why I am this way,
though I constantly search each & every day.
I try to find the answers as to what I do and what I say,
though none come up each & every day.
I trace it to my childhood; the tangled roots start there;
of love & misfortune; the burden too often too heavy to bare.
I struggle with memory, as it tears a gaping hole,
Of smacks & bruises that coated your aching soul.
These visions –though conducive to my progression-
are often the reason for my rage & aggression.
Did you not love us? Were we not fair?
Did we not have perfect teeth? Did we not have perfect hair?
Were we not the model children –the ones perfect for your show?
Why did you have to break us & torture us with each & every blow?
“The drugs,” the drugs; the God ****** drugs are to blame, right?
Then why –without the drugs- do you cause me such fright!?
I want to incriminate the drugs for the abuse;
I wish I could, I wish I could, but there’s no use!
How can drugs create an entirely new monster, such an evil spawn?
The devil was always inside of you, no matter how much coke you were on!
But if you’re the devil, what does that make me?
If you’re the devil, is that what I’m meant to be?
My life is dictated by what has occurred in the past;
I leave it behind, but it never truly lasts.
How do I leave behind what has made me -created me?
How do I let it go & expect to be?
Do I create a new person –is that what’s left to do?
But how am I supposed to be me without you?
Jan 18, 2014
Jan 18, 2014 at 12:52 PM UTC
This poem is for the girls and guys in limbo
Somewhere between love and lust
Up the dark road
Inside the cold box
This ones for you.
For u sweet dreamer
For the girls lusting for the boys who have only followed the trail of perfection
This is for the nerdy guys
Afraid of the way she flips her hair
And his own shadow
This is for the friend zone
Those who tip toe cautiously
Reading mixed signs
And deciphering smoke signals
This is for you
This is for heartachers
And the people that will never know there own doing.
This is for the girls who say no
And for the boys who don't know there power
This is for I love you's
Whispered under breath
This is for the crushes
And the people that love them
This is for the traded glances
And the misinterpretation
This for the hours wasted
And tears that have fallen
Fallen long enough to build you an ocean
Like a mote
to place around your heart
This ones for you dark forecasters
And glass half fullers
This ones for the poets and the phone calls
This is for the obsessing
The morris code blessing
And this ones for the confession
Those that take there pride and tuck it between their legs
This is for you
Stand tall
Tall enough to crane your neck to see the horizon
Because this may look different on the other side.
This is for the hopefuls
Those who love and still believe
This is for the love lyrics written
And those that repeat there songs
This is for you.
Feb 5, 2013
Feb 5, 2013 at 6:28 AM UTC