"densest" poems
Adrift amongst the endless cold,
Burning with embers that never grow old.
Here I have sat for many of years,
Slowly pulled by my neighboring peers.
Pure energy streams from my eternal fires,
Warming up from my immediate desires.
What a joy to be watching from out here,
Reaching out to all things both far and near.
My favorite game is that of tug and war,
Using my mass to lure in so much more.
In they come to fuel my wage,
A never ending, burning, cosmic rage.
Out here it is survival of the biggest.
The brightest, largest, densest, fittest.
Only these hold their weight,
In this cosmic soup of heaven’s gate.
Come join me, if you so wish,
My secrets served on this vast milky dish.
Come to me, my traveling friend.
Knowledge I have in mass to lend.
Seek your way amongst us in your ships.
Just do not be afraid if the hull rips.
Fear not the vastness of space,
Fear only that which leads to your own disgrace.
I wait patiently for you to come,
Empires have been born, and become undone.
Yet I know one day you shall come to visit me.
As I sit watching, waiting, isolated from thee.
Dec 24, 2012
Dec 24, 2012 at 4:53 PM UTC
lighten up the load,
replace it with stone.
one rock
of the densest sort
breaks through my glass ribs
suspends in hollow silence
void of a beat.
keeps me comfort,
in a life with no soul.
Jan 28, 2011
Jan 28, 2011 at 3:02 PM UTC
Famed to have brought light into being, but
dark, dark you are my friend, passing
through me effortlessly, though I know
there is an interaction: week, very week.
Deep there buried somewhere in my soul
was a throb heard, when every miracle
that forms the chain of my life surfaces:
and I've been searching for you. I thought
you were beyond oceans, where sky meets,
until my ship turned around at the horizon;
I looked for you in the womb of terran vaults
and then in the planets and the stars,
and you have been collapsing fields and
manifesting timelines so I proposer, meanwhile.
You are not what I worshipped in image and
then smashed it and sought in formless word.
Every time I grasp you, you vanish, retreat,
bubble-being, who knows what exists beyond
this expanse we inhabit, these membranes
and curled up manifolds, where in the knots
I'm still searching; But before even this unfolds
in full, I discover, it is all dark, darkness
that holds these tiny galaxies of light in its
densest folds; Magicienne, wave your wand,
let us know beyond the dark and the illuminated,
let us in, into the secret chamber of kinship.
Apr 22, 2015
Apr 22, 2015 at 6:08 PM UTC
Certain American cities are said
To be on the rise
While others at the same time
Decay into their own demise
Those that prosper are being told
You must grow!
You must accommodate the influx of capital
Even if some must go
To those who are priced out
Evicted or displaced
The powers that be simply could not care
That you miss your grandma's face
The solution they say
Is to build to meet demand
No matter that this fills the pockets
Of those who rigged the scam
If supply is the problem
That is not meeting demand
Then why are the two densest cities in the States
The most expensive to live in
Jan 5, 2017
Jan 5, 2017 at 5:10 PM UTC
It is in, the how,
not the why, the where,
or, the when,
no, no, it
Is the how,
that provisions and provides
all the answers
that any lover needs, for
In the how, one revels,
but also,
unbeknownst, unwillingly, reveals
what one's heart wishes to secret, and conceals
and with
The single stroke
of a single finger,
lightly across thy cheek,
raising sky colors upon
thy skin's patina and,
How commences the matina,
with petals of white cloud roses,
blushing anew in your cheeks,
loveliest of failed cover ups,
laughing, I airbrush your
almost, invisible tears away,
residue of melodramas of troubled sleep,
stilled and stolen, mine,
to pacify, keep,
tranquilized in my breast
It, Is In, The How,
What, You Are Thinking.
What vincible arrogance
humans possess when we pray,
we hope, knowing that we are infidels,
hoping to mislead
the eyes that glance upon us
You give up the shadows painted for me when
filtered beams, rays of
a, and of...kind,
lance shield of densest lead,
lain upon the chest to cloak
the tremors of volcanic hearts,
the eyes of hurricane thoughts,
containers of need that
Are so full of oh so
many questions, yet,
singularly resolved,
with the answer of
a single stroke,
of a single finger,
lightly across thy cheek,
knowingly full well you are
Thinking there is no exit,
no right of way to negate
the sum of what we let to ail us,
O disbeliever, how simple be,
for all, all of
It, Is In, The How,
What, You Are Thinking,
I soften and modulate,
your conflicted complexion,
with the answer of
a single stroke,
of a single finger,
lightly across thy cheek,
all that is mine,
to encapsulate,
recharge, refill thy vessel
with Bocelli tones of
passioned, gloried harmony
Worry not if my eyesight dims,
be unconcerned if
my hearing, my voices
wearies and weakens,
for all the answers
we shall ever need
remain, contained in
a single stroke,
of a single finger,
lightly across thy cheek,
and
this is how I know now,
and forever more,
what you are thinking
As long as skin is the coverlet
o'er the bell jar of mind n' heart,
as long oxygen defies gravity,
I will know how,
unveil, open secret chambers,
now and forever more,
what you are thinking
Sep 18, 2013
Sep 18, 2013 at 10:53 PM UTC
I wonder If you knew
if I held my breath for you
I would be no more
I'd be as a hole in the floor
A bottom-less pit
I'd be a scream in space
Not being heard
Not from the stars
Exceptional from the birds
I'd be a void
a disgusting black hole with the densest concentration of mass
I'd be the silence after the laugh
In math
I'd be divided by zero
Utterly impossible
If I'd hold my breath for you
I wouldn't see
I wouldn't think
I wouldn't feel
The warmth of the presence of the one you love
I'd be the key to the theory of everything
In the words of Aristotle
In this seat, I am waiting for you
In your brown eyes I am an empty chair
Just sitting there
You'll see
Nothing
And that is all that I am....
If I held my breath for you
Copy Right 2013
©Patty Ann
Nov 16, 2013
Nov 16, 2013 at 1:13 PM UTC
Looking deeply into the densest black, no light to be found save a tiny little crack. The fracture that harbors a minimal piece of light, holding a tinge of fear as a battle rages in the night. Champions of the bright stand battered and bruised, a war against the dark we cannot afford to lose. Many tactics has the dark to destroy leaving broken shining beams, yet the light holds tight inside us as we strive towards our dream. Of a world that will only ever live in the light, and the only darkness we see is that of night. A war that eternally wages on, so no matter the victor...the tiniest crack of the dark...lives on, in us. We are the bringers of both side of illumination, one without the other, never balances the equation. For oneness is all that we seek, the inner battle of the strong and the weak. A source to which we are forever tied, we merely live to choose a side.
Dec 12, 2014
Dec 12, 2014 at 12:02 PM UTC
I never knew how the roses you grew
the myna flapped again broken wings
soils thirsted for touch of you
longed for your gift of saplings!
I never knew the depth of your eyes
reaching to the densest of bush
I only snapped the mating butterflies
the day end’s scurrying mongoose!
I never knew what hidden key
was in you to unlock the door
to be in a world yours only
with a sky for limitless soar!
I would never know why said you
when at dusk I pointed afar
*your eyes and my eyes together make two
please never show me a lone star!*
Mar 17, 2015
Mar 17, 2015 at 9:50 AM UTC
Ever densest now,
Now, a humid haze
Scenes and stages
A VHS - the joy of painting
A DVD - it's the one with Ross and Rachel
I know it, I've seen it before
I haven't, but I know
A laugh track thuds against the humming air conditioner
It's sort of melty
Warm gummies
Adhesive on someone's fingers
It tingles - unpleasant
Water is away, and just as warm
The couch doesn't yield
Feb 4, 2021
Feb 4, 2021 at 6:30 PM UTC
Adrift amongst the endless cold.
Burning with embers that never grow old.
Here I sat for many years.
Slowly pulled by my neighboring peers.
Pure energy streams from my eternal fires.
Warming up from my immediate desires.
What a joy to be watching from out here.
Reaching out to all things both far and near.
My favorite game is that of tug and war.
Using my mass to lure in so much more.
In they come to fuel my wage.
A never ending, burning, cosmic rage.
Out here it is survival of the biggest.
The brightest, largest, densest, fittest.
Only these hold their weight,
In this cosmic soup of Heaven's gate.
Come join me, if you so wish.
My secrets served on this stellar milky dish.
Come to me, my traveling friend.
Knowledge I have in mass to lend.
Seek your way amongst us in your ships.
Have no fears if the hull rips.
Fear not the vastness of space.
Fear only that which leads to your own disgrace.
I wait patiently for you to come.
Empires have been born, and become undone.
Yet I know one day you shall come to visit me.
As I sit watching, waiting, isolated from thee.
Oct 23, 2020
Oct 23, 2020 at 11:50 AM UTC
And the forest was silent again…
Splintering shadows creep slowly
across the overgrown footpath
frantic fingers slivering in sinister shapes
Slumbering moon beams cloaked,
abaft of a stately oaken veil,
a canopied thorn and branch woven tapestry
Wallowed whispers cling to cavernous winds
pushing chinaberry stalkers deep
under the cover of moss coated roots
When suddenly…
Underbrush fantasies flourish
behind vine wreathed curtains,
on fallen leaf stages of assorted colors
Foot light fireflies trim the edges
in panoramic illuminations,
flickering to tickle every fancy
Fairies perform pirouettes on tippy toes
Glistening wings flutter, shimmering to the
melodic sounds of hedgehog harmonies
As bullfrog baritones and spider web sopranos,
sing the sweetest songs in the key of autumn
bringing smiles to all of the creatures in attendance
When suddenly…
Far away on the eastern horizon
the faintest specklings of amber appear
slipping through the densest drapes
A great horned owl yawns and blinks,
gazing eyes follow the turning head
as he surveys another day in his life
Sounds of scurrying, bristled brush
echo through now glowing limbs
signaling the end of the evening
And the forest is silent again…
Oct 2, 2014
Oct 2, 2014 at 7:38 AM UTC
The slow stream meanders through the densest undergrowth
finding its way through folly and brush and barriers
until at last it reaches a sea of understanding
where the waves crash and burn
tumble and roll in ecstatic freedom.
So do our lives, liberated from tense *******
of social chains placed upon us
by tradition. We were born free
others wanted us locked in rituals
and rants prescribed
that satisfied their swollen egos
and their own insecurities in the chain
of progress.
Breaking out is not easy
but one must bulldoze through the miasma
to reach the thin light beckoning you
to leave your baggage behind
on an overcrowded platform
where the trains have just whistled past.
A long time ago, my mind was ablaze
in the jungle of dissent and I roamed the world
seeking the liked and unliked ideologies
to a better way to leave a mark of this fabric
of patterned prose and poetry.
Am I yet free? I don't know.
Tempt me with the taste of freedom.
Author Notes
Freedom has many shades.
© Marshall Gass. All rights reserved, a month ago
Oct 22, 2014
Oct 22, 2014 at 8:15 PM UTC
If then a departure demands instruction
and your body when in pace
as signal of movement – elocutionary when
asked, a sworn answer force-defined
take enough space from ocean
and anticipate a barbed wind
within the finest day.
remember: contest all, if not
then sever what is yearned for:
a love, or a misguided another
returning for but not twice-over
a field but the densest perfume only when
accounted for. Foresight is to pull
the weight away and transliterate
judgment: it is raining and how all
piecemeal and dragged heavily
within a home without furniture
awakened by no touch but of search
enough a call – a chain operates when
it desires to launch you out of
every territory of sleep –
wordless beside every morning.
Jun 6, 2016
Jun 6, 2016 at 11:22 AM UTC
My shadow is full of moonlight.
I caught it in a sunbeam, stashed it beneath my floppy hat.
Tis the light of my life.
My my how it shines.
Because it's mine.
It doesn't mind, it doesn't matter.
By the power of the densest winter, I'm just the mad hatter.
My diverse shadow is happy, as he languishes under my hat.
(C) LIVVI
Feb 6, 2015
Feb 6, 2015 at 5:50 AM UTC
Positive predictions.
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
Positive predictions
Onward we all go into period Twenty-nineteen
So much actual trauma in this current year.
It has been as if we have been lost in a forest
The darkest densest forest of all space n time
In that only the most strong would ever survive
Virtually most of Twenty-eighteen hard going
Everything within each day so was difficult
People without faith in the universe floundered
Running back n fourth like headless chickens
Even the faithful had their occasional doubts.
Dutifully we of faith kept our nose a grinding
In that we’d faith in God that bad times pass
Come with me now into the bright sun-shine
There are many and varied good times ahead
In that planets will align and your luck change
Of new plans that you make now be assured
Now this is the time, this is the moment to rise
So rise with my unconditional loving support.
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
Written by Philip.
December 22nd 2018.
Dec 21, 2018
Dec 21, 2018 at 3:55 PM UTC
/ rivers pulse this house as if activity, predictable.
leave this body just like that.
and heave the emptiness from the thrum
of the streets just like that
the stars delineate an axis tilted by my means
to live under frail coruscations.
take this house, take the rivers
with you, all the more my body
anything other than my blunder.
take even, these tiny and immediate currents
as i hear this is how it is to be delivered from
grace and expanse.
you are what this truancy is trying to undo
as you were by mine before -- this is how
it feels to be moved and sidled again and again
this river that you carry me across and left with details none can supply. there
is resolve in this, even when I am taken aback,
which certain things are left crossed and wronged,
and how you keep the place guarded, possessed
by light -- how it wholly hurts, this invented
life all mine /
1
What is to break if not another word for
impossibility, or another phrase as palliative
for suffering each other
2
What is so sure of it to arrive
in the densest minute, say when if already
out of sight, I implore you to
unlearn my body
3
This and the deep and hollow end of it.
Visage voyeurs as if the past is just next door
sleeping with my woman, laughs and then cuts
open to free itself from a slammed door
and mosey on.
4
As statement to refute my coming into,
I am already accomplished. Turn this day opaque.
Lens to the world my found
imperative of what was given, a knife
to stalk a heart so difficult as if known to me
as a path home, or unearthed bus tickets
from Longos to Tabang. Say when it rains,
forgive me. I remember still.
5
To believe in touch and its memory is
obligation. The way I see this, a palimpsest.
I attempt to discover something, witnessing myself
pass mirrors, body found as if rivers do drift
me to the brink of a high noon wishing
to swing downstream the words I have
no use for, if not documents of haloed hours.
6
I passed by your house.
Silence annuls azure skies.
Balustrades gone. They took everything down
evenly to the last inch of paint,
balmy this oblivion only for me, catatonic is this
peace as my hands lift a piece of the soul
to shred. The day burns like a forest in my hand.
May 15, 2016
May 15, 2016 at 8:18 PM UTC
A diamond in the rough
hasn't been a diamond for long
From the core
it has been forged in the hottest fires
molded and melted
and hardened
forcing itself through the densest
praying for the chance to make it out alive
to be able to shine brightly in the sun
and through it all
it was plucked from its cave
stripped of its shell
polished and made new
Exposed and vulnerable
Don't break it
Mar 28, 2016
Mar 28, 2016 at 2:24 PM UTC
My mind can wander
across the tallest mountains
and through the densest forests
but it always seems to find it's way
right back to you.
The problem is
that I wonder where your mind runs
and if it seems to find me, too.
But maybe your mind climbs the mountains
and travels the forests
and lingers through fields of daisies,
And maybe your mind
just doesn't ever come across
someone like me.
Apr 30, 2014
Apr 30, 2014 at 8:20 PM UTC
Entering into the nucleus of time,
I saw-
The densest of its protoplasm,
And the part behind the unraised curtain.
Whatever, is in there, as
Successful cells of life
Controls all biological reactions.
That, remain
Innumerable in the center of the soul
Consists of a combination of protons and neutrons.
Where,
A relatively clear ***** exists,
Which is the carrier of perpetuity,
And multidimensional;
As well as it is a silent witness of the eternity!
Mar 9, 2022
Mar 9, 2022 at 10:19 PM UTC
The warmth of a bonfire is what I seek,
amidst the chilly alpine milieu, under the sky,
a sky that is clear and dark at the same time.
I wish for the densest darkness
as I yearn to witness the brightest glimmer,
the lucid shimmer of the twinkling starlight,
unmarred by a circuit of city-light.
Misty monsoon in a cup of coffee,
in search of milk-warm sunray
with reasons rolled in a scroll,
entwining fantasy on the window pane,
craves for a life as easy as it was
in the book of the binomial theorem.
Jul 24, 2017
Jul 24, 2017 at 1:22 AM UTC
I look for love at all the wrong places
Like at the mosh pit at a metal gig
Or at an empty art gallery at 2 in the afternoon
Like a bee hovering over a Venus fly trap
I look for love at all the wrong places
I search for friends at the loneliest of places
Like a solitary recluse in the densest of mazes
With a hungry appetite for even the slightest of gazes
I search for friends at the loneliest of places
I seek music at the quietest of places
Leaning firmly against hollow boxes
Slow my breath as I flip through the pages
Like a clock without an hour hand
I seek music at the quietest of places
.
Mar 6, 2016
Mar 6, 2016 at 10:00 AM UTC
cast death to who hears it most reverberating.
he hears it at noon, at sundown, at the
raising light of moon, half-mast set
glaringly through a pond of the word.
he hears it goad through the synagogue,
the pew, the assault of avian,
in the most chilling cold, in the ferocious
water of heat sinking ships to
their metallic deaths.
he heeds it now, fencing thick air
attended by the densest shadow,
he moves with it, its compelling invitation
from darkness to darkness, the faith
of contrition fizzles into the splintered hour, moves with it, moved by it;
he writes, tottering animal of furious wording; the hill there yonder draped
by heavy cloud, rinsed by rain salting
its *******
cast death to who feels it most sensuously.
he opens his eyes and darkness is infinite.
he opens the window and no light
lifts, awakens.
these juxtaposition of roads, the feasting
of the lamppost, feeding the wick with
infinitesimal flame, quickening the twinight, the courtyard, the amble of strange populace.
he words the earthenware, the figment of deepest abstract, says her name,
Martina, he has her gone in
the ashen hour, the wind that once blew
spruced stillicide on the roof of this home has dithered away in the inexorable.
he squints to inconsolable brightness
Martina sheds trembling in her
eyes ready for ever now,
and then writes as time trickles from
the ephemeral gush of spigot,
slivering the horizon by the unending stream of the familiar dawn, repeats its hymn, beheading the garden.
he will not name the end of all,
he will not count the hours dead
wearing the hand like a glove,
a word from stiff dark to flagrant one:
cast death upon him who knows not.
Oct 19, 2015
Oct 19, 2015 at 4:29 AM UTC
you are the sun
you shine in my sky even on the darkest of days
your light radiates through the densest fog
and the worst of storms
your light burns in the best way
warming my skin and my insides
i am blooming
the ivy that holds my throat like a vice is dying and making room for the flowers that are bursting from my ribcage and out of my mouth
you are the sun
Feb 21, 2017
Feb 21, 2017 at 9:13 PM UTC
... on the face of things the
world seems very solid
and real. But let's take a
closer look at that...
Even osmium, the densest
known solid, is only made
up of atoms. Neutrons and
electrons...
These subatomic particles
have space around them.
Even neutrinos have space
around them!
What is this SPACE?
Jun 2, 2017
Jun 2, 2017 at 6:21 AM UTC
i pass on a story to empty barstools and
cathedrals -- that i will remain as
inconsolably so
and ask, shall I be free so as to
suffer myself?
admitting i am shaped according
to your demands,
where, first there is you and the last
always the prime of days;
where mapping out or telling a thread
is inclination to never mind
our place. the need to bury you
in my own Earth, willing to make you
meet a darkness which you once
were as if to swallow the entire verity
of common peril. this perish, this drown
first before displacement, to conceive
the evening within stories you have
created beginning with a sharp departure
making your silence and abandon final,
myself less than total.
that when i look at you, i want to burst
into meaning like stone being taught
to speak, as much like your study as comparatively
a bluer dawn rising from your feet
you passed me on as someone else, a makeshift freedom underneath an impalpable source,
that i am sick in your densest volumes
when you speak, all the more when you dont
realize that I am trying to gravitate you
into something, say to allow me into remembrance
and you, an insistence to function in void.
that whilst you remember, you forget
that in the tense moments I am trying to unlearn
you, as if there was only I,
the city we were both in underneath a senseless moon, and whatever it was that i saw in you
in such an imperfect night -- taking all your debris,
the body of all this sliding into reticence
as detritus, the unflinching weight of yourself
as time stumbles to shuffle absence.
strange now as the morning peers through
the wide aperture, there is only I,
faced with rivers as transit; when there was once
I moored in place and you have learned
how to walk, and further away.
Apr 15, 2016
Apr 15, 2016 at 2:42 AM UTC