"diffracted" poems
A ray diffracted from the crystal flower,
into a thousand diamonds on my wall;
different angles creating a shady bower,
under my delusion tree,
here i rest peacefully.
Not in denial nor in sorrow,
in all measures of every feeling;
in life's liveliness in every moment,
like there's no tomorrow..
a gift to me from the galaxy.
A rainbow halo it bequeathed me ,
streaming through the empty space ;
erasing and recreating a strange place
in my delusion bower,
under my illusion tree
Like a dream
mystified with creator's creativity.
how glad i am to see
the cloudy sky or cloudless blue
the green grass blade caressing the morning dew;
How glad i am to see,
the mirage or the oasis;
it's not my mind's hallucination
the divine at play,
total internal reflection
Nature's cradle nurturing the seed
eventually the divinity
that unfolds,
blossoming into my crystal flower,
making space for the miracles it holds;
And the sun shines right through ,
its rays diffracting
and scattering
into a myriad hue,
merging into infinity...
Oct 17, 2015
Oct 17, 2015 at 9:00 AM UTC
You gently pushed me
into a wall
with your frame on mine again.
A wall –
Painted so long ago you –
could no longer smell the volatile compounds
Acutely confined - my frame
between yours and its.
Palm frond muted light spilled
into imposing window
from New Orleans street lamp
Diffracted in dappled condensate orb.
Condensation drapes into pearls - collapsing
on themselves, and dropped
in unison
with – our - shifts.
Uneven wooden floor panels echo
our obsequious rhythm
of physical appreciation, settled
into their granular responsibility.
Your pulse
embodied in your palms and hips
lilts in soft gasps
as I drape my forearm over your shoulder –
sliding body forward - I dip
into the crook of your neck
finding your pulse on my nose.
I prop my chin into
your
Collar bone crook
glancing into
your deepening eyes,
and press my lips into the
grooves of your neck
as you arch - into
the delicate moment before reciprocation.
I do not wonder what it would be like if walls could talk;
I would love to see them show impressions
of those that have touched their surface –
revealed in smears of paint.
And feel
racing pulses echoed
within those who pressed
into these corridors --
listening to secrets of one another’s bodies.
Grind deeper,
the wall will record our pulse tonight,
and perhaps –
our next encounter
will entail
our bodies
in paint
telling stories we could never capture
in our eyes locked into one another.
Jan 26, 2014
Jan 26, 2014 at 9:08 PM UTC
The wheels draw to a halt with an ominous screech,
Dazed, I look up from my broken revery;
Murmuring voices, shuffling footsteps alight,
A diffracted spectra, some dark, some bright.
To the windows shift my moony eyes,
As the engine spurts with a burst of life.
Through a tunneling limbo of seamless dark,
Slash ribbons of rail in swirls and arcs.
In this labyrinth, this state of oblivion,
Memories trickle, in ounces, in millions.
Lights of saffron on the arches bloom,
Will-o'-the-wisps, my conscience assumes.
Emerge awed, under a canopy of stars,
An infinity of dreams one could wish upon.
The country bathes in the moonlight deluge.
Utopia, I muse, for my poetic refuge.
The cosmos smiles, enchanting yet so strange.
Would we ever know why, if we weren't so vain?
Gold, moltened crimson, at the horizon streaks,
Warm like the dribble, of tears on one's cheeks.
The last station nears, the wheel rhythm slows.
I get up, wishing the end weren't so close.
The final chapter. Is there ever a further plot?
Perhaps, I decide, on another train of thought.
Apr 13, 2016
Apr 13, 2016 at 3:11 AM UTC
A heart is a war, a heart is a shutter
One stream of light is allowed to escape
Far into your chambers a ceiling is painted
Mosaic by name, but truer to form:
An electrical storm we ourselves engineered to
Perpetuate evils eluded before
In the grimness of what lies behind the mind's door
When we met as two fangs in the jaw of a serpent
And you were the flares arcing up towards the sky
And I was the lens overawed by your light
Yes, I was what bent you with colors diffracted
Now I am that glass which your mildew begrimes
Color me flyblown, or color me blind
Marred are the edges around this old glass
The ink inundates and the horn is all hollow
Latched is our gate when the causeways collapse
Besieged now in my ocean of ink
Scanning the night sky for sign of a flare
No whisper, no shutter, no lingering there
Aug 30, 2016
Aug 30, 2016 at 8:06 PM UTC
Indigo echoes blue
The color of the sounds you make
The sweet light waves
Running the horizon
Bouncing off the sky
I cannot control myself
The colors surround me
My perception diffracted
My eyes half open
The glimmer of music
Listen closely
You can see it too
Retain the feelings
Forget the thoughts
Shades of noise
Sep 25, 2013
Sep 25, 2013 at 2:18 AM UTC
Your eyes are fixed on the western horizon--
a gaze set towards the sunset on the golden coast, that
does know not that this midas mirage
is feather-light and diffracted, scattered
like the morning paper
after your father finishes his coffee, and rises
knees creaking louder
than his chair, crooked
tie and all sloughing off
in the morning light, squinting
because it isn't evening yet.
May 1, 2014
May 1, 2014 at 5:06 PM UTC
we are targets for light, for the precision of its
unknown aim, yet we insist in blackening the world
as a self-described pyromaniac, I practice daily rituals with your presence. I tell your name to the wind, to the sheets, to the cup of tea, to the orchids. then I tell to myself who I am, who you are.
outside the world is drowning in its own guts. your name is incomprehensible, but not to the rituals of the heart, they defy gravity, brevity and bribery. Diffracted on the psychic field your trajectory is eerie, the amplitude of some waves enormous, as I watch them wash the horizon away. dreams are the only shadowless creatures, and still I dream only your shadow. we still don't know why beauty is truth and truth is beauty. oh, happy rituals of the hands: inventing love, writing poetry.
Jan 9, 2024
Jan 9, 2024 at 5:41 PM UTC
down by the sand dunes of St Clair
the streetlights are phantasms, diffracted
in the squinting vision of night. Lightning fractured
across the sky cracked, cathartic. Imagine, to steer
into the sea as the evening stretches, take it
to other coasts, live a life less haptic;
resurrection by the unbound, and disappear.
but most days as the wind curls the sand around my toes, this beach to wash up the same bones
the same trunks of broken trees,
what was it I was meant to be
like a limp, whale on the beach stones
eyes to the sea she dreams
the empty ownerless sea.
Sep 24, 2016
Sep 24, 2016 at 6:47 AM UTC
Rays of warmth stroke my heart
My eyes, glazed, deliquesce
Resolve calmly enters my mind
My soul forced to start again
A ray of light passes by,
Enters a diamond's murky lair,
Reflecting multitudinous times,
Parting with rays to spare
Its continuity
Rays are lost everywhere
Refracted, diffracted, gone
Unable to recombine again
Forming a radiating unit of one.
Not needing to recombine,
As they move to consign
Rejecting inability
And escaping black holes...
Nov 13, 2016
Nov 13, 2016 at 11:04 AM UTC
did you ever think
there is no bad
did you ever imagine
not caring at all
thy will diffracted
thy flesh devoured
you are not you
now you are me
our minds are crushed
into fine mist
and as we travel
as we soar
as our consciousness dissolves
we see the lights
and strange emissions
the colours, the shapes
the massive fissions
I am not me
now I am you
and we are all
no big no small
we understand there is no mission
as we dream of television
Jan 30, 2014
Jan 30, 2014 at 11:21 AM UTC
I came upon a river,
as wide as the years
spent to to find it.
I took of my shoes,
to rest down beside it.
And as I stopped
to think of a way
to make it across
the waters someday,
my hair turned grey,
my flesh to dust,
and the river swept me away.
I raged and I churned,
I frothed through the years.
I carved through the earth,
deep valleys and streams.
I devoured all in my path:
animals and travelers,
I held nothing back.
Until at last came a ferryman
slowly drifting with ease.
His eyes fully open,
with a soft smile and care.
I surged fully violent,
to consume him with my wake.
But as his oar pierced my skin --
Oh, agony's bright light!
His oar parted then,
and my drops diffracted the sky:
the stars and the moon,
all jewels within my mind!
Again and again:
deliberate strokes against my rage.
As he made his way across,
my mighty rapids became
rhythmic lapping on the shore.
Then he laid down his oar,
and prostrated three times
fully bent and out-stretched
with his head on the floor.
Surprised, I looked the side
to see who he met reverently.
And, what did I see? Myself, just as before.
Already standing on the other shore.
Sep 7, 2014
Sep 7, 2014 at 12:48 PM UTC