"discerned" poems
The bees build in the crevices
Of loosening masonry, and there
The mother birds bring grubs and flies.
My wall is loosening; honey-bees,
Come build in the empty house of the stare.
We are closed in, and the key is turned
On our uncertainty; somewhere
A man is killed, or a house burned.
Yet no clear fact to be discerned:
Come build in the empty house of the stare.
A barricade of stone or of wood;
Some fourteen days of civil war:
Last night they trundled down the road
That dead young soldier in his blood:
Come build in the empty house of the stare.
We had fed the heart on fantasies,
The heart's grown brutal from the fare,
More substance in our enmities
Than in our love; O honey-bees,
Come build in the empty house of the stare.
30.8k
My country is an old book with a crumbly, dusty cover;
original and valuable
Like a book, you don't judge it by its cover.
What's inside it is what defines it.
Gently open it;
Read each word with heart,
Uncover its uniqueness
till it brings delight.
Find the book enjoying,
You'll never wish for it to end.
You'll read it one more time,
You'll show loftiness to it.
Oh, fellowmen, we're proud of our country
Even if we're not;
Our mouths say we are, but our hearts deny.
Oh beloved country,
We discerned ourselves
through judging you
because of our own fault.
© Frank Lloyd Manalang, 2014
Dec 6, 2014
Dec 6, 2014 at 5:10 AM UTC
Somehow, down through the centuries,
Man discerned it was best to hide.
Conceal their grief and likewise love,
And hoard it all inside.
Emotions we should so easily share,
We choose to temper instead.
And so many things that we want to say,
We just let go...unsaid.
Jul 17, 2010
Jul 17, 2010 at 10:55 AM UTC
~weary weighted~
flummoxed are the sea watchers;
the long rhythms of sea change reveal only minor modesties,
difficult discerned are the tidal subtleties
though repetitive thrashing extracts it toll,
only the weary-weighted see the true meaning of the beating,
knowing full well,
it beats for them
recalling their early day’d fascination with its endless chaining,
now knowing all are similar
detained-chained,
and the ******* churning but a cover up masque,
they need not longer conceal,
an unrevealed confess:
water is heavy-weighted, you cannot forever float,
constancy is of a thing to be wary,
its sadder longevity,
a chipping away erosion of wearing,
*‘tis is the knelling noise of sad respite,
an unlight lighthouse*
~for Victoria, a year later~
Jul 29, 2018
Jul 29, 2018 at 3:21 PM UTC
Fahnd 'im lyin' int middle o' t'street
bruised an' battered from t'tramplin' feet.
Ee'd crawled aht from some gutter
an' them cries tha' ee did utter
almost like a knife through butter
cut mi quick an' deep.
'Is broken wings ah tried to treat
gently praying that ee'd be reyt.
But when 'is cry became a stutter
t'world rolled dahn its shutters
an' rahnd mi someone muttered:
" 'is prospects ain't 'alf bleak".
An' that poor lost little 'eap
ah cradled but coun't weep,
til mi arms discerned a flutter.
So in mi chest ee'll see the summer
from that 'ollow haven like no other
where ee can safely sleep.
Aug 3, 2015
Aug 3, 2015 at 11:59 AM UTC
I feel like he was created just for me.
I think im holding hands with Destiny.
He Encourages me to be The Woman The Father has presdestined me to be.
Hes like a dream given unto me.
He sees straight thru me like he can hear my thoughts telephatically.
Got me fiening for him like jodeci
Plunging into the depths of his soul's love as I enjoy The journey of his story....
Hes The Instructor of love and Im the student thinking critically.
He has left An impact on my life tremedously.....
Im drowning in his love ever so endlessly.
He is Waves from the oceans currents of
pure bliss
And I......I am his ocean shore that his waters of love kiss.
He's like a precious treaure I have discovered.
Unlocking the chest to look inside and see what I have uncovered.
Im happy for what I have found
Hes A King worthy of Sparkling crown.
I wish I could wear his love Like a White Flowing Wedding Gown.
I feel he completes me like a sentence Yah is the subject, He's the predicate and im the noun.
With his words he painted a vivid picture of me
Its a picture with definition, depth, and clarity.
Its almost like he captured every little detail so Carefully.
As if I were an image of an angel made so Heavenly.
Apparently,
In his eyes Im a portrait crafted very delicately.
A beauty constructed with integrity.
Sparkling like the waters of the deep blue sea.
To Be held in The Artistic nature of his Creativity
Is a Wonderful sight to see
With his poetry I see The illustration of his spiritual Imagery
I caressed the Compassion of his vibes that discerned The ambience of his Frequency.
His Energy Sweetly Speaks so pleasntly
His Diction shows me his style Musically.
His wisdom shows the level of his Maturity
And it makes me drawn to him as if Its a force was pulling me closer into his gravity
Ill admit this experience is kind of scary
But My lovely Beautiful Mahogany
theres no place I rather be than with you standing by my side next to me.
Feeling as if I am Soaring like a bird so Free.
He Surely bring out the Best characteristics of me.
I Believe Im Subconsciously holding hands with destiny
#destiny #serendipity #Love #beauty
Dec 28, 2016
Dec 28, 2016 at 12:59 AM UTC
There is a point in life…
when you get tired of trying to fix everything…
when kindness gets mistaken for weakness
so often…
that it becomes your own fault
for letting it all continue.
Eventually, you start accepting that
you can not make everyone happy
and that no one at all
is trying to make you happy.
This is the moment…
that you reach a crossroad
and make a decision
as to which path to take.
And that decision…
made at a time of
great frustration
and relinquished dreams
can become the filter
through which
your perception of the world
and the motivations of others
will be discerned
from that point on
Choose thoughtfully…
that crossroad is
where character is born
Or
empathy dies
_______Suzanne Penn________
Jun 7, 2013
Jun 7, 2013 at 1:29 PM UTC
She is a succulent bunch,let me be helpful,
if you don't get the complex chemical scent,
I call her ,"a girl of unpredictable
meeting places"inotropic, is her effect,
She sends heartbeats way up.
Delectable too, she was, every time
I tasted certain parts of her.
Her avatars are numerous, like Hindu Gods
With specific intention for each incarnation
Onee will be pushed in to neurosis,
if doesn't completely relish her infinite variety.
She is a cryptic mystic,
for a while from signals
I discerned and firmly believed
Or is she just a creature mysterious
Doubt raises it's head, like a lotus
From slushy pond
My eyes met her at the level of her eyes first,
the rest in a haze to me was invisible,
Then my heart sends a message
"Right now, I missed a beat here"
Heart then recites a poem,
tells me, it is all her making
"Don't fall in love" heart's advice,
"Go, dissolve in her completely"
Even my own heart has crossed sides,
or is it truly an advice for my sake?
Love is a hallucinogen, get it?
she whistles like wind at bamboo groves
from within sings like a thrush,
she is a magpie, or is she a koel?
Nocturnal animal, in need of mating,
making calls, frantic SMS, incessant.
She is wind and water, elements
that make one burn and drown
She spreads her yoga mat on the floor,
asks me to sit cross legged Indian style,
I am already for that in my mind,
So I spread eagle in corpse pose, indicating, "All through my life", mother earth gives me warmth.
Shanti, Shanti, shanti
Mar 21, 2015
Mar 21, 2015 at 7:45 AM UTC
No wonder you couldn't have a conversation with me
No wonder you can't even respond to the email I wrote you
Not that I expected it to be welcomed with open arms
But it's months later and I'm still piecing together your lies
And I'm sure the truth is even worse than what I've discerned
Congratulations. You're the biggest liar I've ever known.
And something is deeply wrong with me
That I fell in love with you.
Nov 20, 2014
Nov 20, 2014 at 12:38 AM UTC
Walk
Down cracked sidewalks but forget where and why the going started.
Lost in the chaos of moving feet whose unity lies in their organic flow,
Perspectives shift to some new truth: experiencing its constant displacement.
Here
As bodies carry me forward, they rush to the rhythm of those who desire our desires:
I smile and laugh at voices screaming out from billboards and TVs
“What you need is need itself! Don’t look within, but to ME!”
Drift
Down the street and pause at the window’s reflection.
Behind the still face staring back lies the world’s movement:
With purpose distorted by its realization, the present bursts forth out of nothing:
Pushing
Onward from some inconceivable lack,
Towards a resolution that will not resolve.
Here I close my eyes.
Here there is the silence between thought and its realization:
In which the meaninglessness of boundaries can be discerned.
Here I find myself fall away into everything.
Here I find only Love.
Oct 12, 2011
Oct 12, 2011 at 4:44 PM UTC
When you close your eyes
do you know
what it is dawning
as a torchlight on the silver glass
of your soul?
Does your heart like mine
throb with words
crying out to breathe life
into the darkness of your world
and for once,
be understood by all?
If our words could stand up
and dance in the light
of a moon shining on love
they could be loud enough
for others to learn.
Until everything said
played out in a scene of seconds
full of trust, never ending
or needing
to be discerned.
My heart speaks the language
that your heart understands.
Our thoughts
are one and the same.
Your heart too,
speaks the language
my heart understands.
Each of our words
cries out to breathe life
into the darkness,
oh......
if only they could dance.
Mar 20, 2012
Mar 20, 2012 at 3:39 PM UTC
To be imbued with the conviction that empathic listening is a panacea,
by the surreptitious, murmurous harbinger and his mellifluous words,
provoked brooding that my comprehension of his susurrous eloquence was a mondegreen,
when this scintilla of sagacity left a fetching ingenue crestfallen.
By the surreptitious, murmurous harbinger and his mellifluous words!
I adopted a propinquity to this furtive, ephemeral epiphany,
but when this scintilla of sagacity left a fetching ingenue crestfallen,
I discerned this lagniappe beleaguered our dalliance.
I adopted a propinquity to this furtive, ephemeral epiphany.
When she became inured to petrichor I knew my method pyrrhic,
and when I discerned that this lagniappe beleaguered our dalliance,
I vowed to rectify the imbroglio for my quintessential cynosure.
When she became inured to petrichor I knew my method pyrrhic,
and I ruminated that her insouciance was only forbearance.
I vowed to rectify my quintessential cynosure of the imbroglio,
and fabricated a denouement to return her to halcyon incipient.
I ruminated that her insouciance was only forbearance,
until hearing her state our conflation made each a moiety of our own panoply.
She fabricated a denouement to return us to the incipience of halcyon
with ineffable felicity, and I remembered with ebullience my inamorata's words.
Hearing her state our conflation made each a moiety of our own panoply
provoked brooding that my comprehension of her susurrous eloquence was a mondegreen.
With ineffable felicity I found ebullience in my inamorata's words
and was imbued with the conviction that empathic listening is a panacea.
Nov 26, 2013
Nov 26, 2013 at 4:58 AM UTC
A Man killing in the name of Justice
A Brother slaying another in Self-defense
A Son firing a round into an intruder in Fear
A Nephew taking up a sword for his Country
An Uncle giving up a criminal to the Authorities
A Grandfather using his cane in response to Violence
A Need for
Power, Money, Fame.
A Response of
****** Theft, Oppression.
A Need for
Justice, Vengeance, Retribution.
A Response of
Judgement, Violence, Restitution.
Two sides of the same coin?
Who is the villain?
If both are the victims of the other,
Who is Guilty?
What then is Justice?
Who shall decide?
You?
Will You be the one to throw the first stone?
Do Good and Evil,
Equate to Yin and Yang?
Balanced forces of Light and Dark.
Or,
Is Evil apparent and easily discerned from Good?
Contrasts of Black and White.
If Neither, Nor,
Do they mix into a swirl of indecision?
A mess of self-righteous Grey.
What if it is my own life I sacrifice?
What if I am the one taking the bullet?
Not in a suicidal attempt or mission,
But instead in protection of Good.
Am I the Villain for causing my ******
Is the intended Victim the Villain for being targeted?
Are the Witnesses guilty for not acting?
Are You guilty for being unaware?
History is written by the Victors,
So do they command Justice?
Does History demand the mantle,
Of deciding Right from Wrong?
Everything unsure in the Present,
Until the Future decides.
If You name me the Villain,
I’ll wear it in Red,
Speak in Riddles,
And break the Rules.
But if I name You the Villain,
Would You do the same?
Jun 2, 2017
Jun 2, 2017 at 1:46 PM UTC
My dear, do you want to know
why this stream shall never cease to flow
why this countenance shall know no smile
why in vain you realease torent of bile
for eternity shall my face tarry behind the sun
and ever shall be till this ugly scenario run
cut off from every string joint to my mind
to recall no more that gruesome day
Limbeh turned a cadavar awaiting decay
how my heart tremble while my tongue relates
the incident that turned an early widow late
the night before, cried a owl across at nightfall
grandpa beheld and discerned the mysterious call
tapped he my shoulder and opened his phangs
look beyond the pregnant night in labour pangs
waiting to birth a child as mysterious as the cry
Ekumbo! May i live not to witness that melancholic night(he sighed)
a thing unheard of in Aweh beyond countless centuries
worth plunging a kingdom into an endless misery
frightened, departed me with my ribs to my cradle to fall
holdin his words to await he upon whom the lot shall fall
so as the pregnant night did flipped
departed then this poor widow to her field
to gather bread for her fatherless kids
then in agony their lips they bit
as their eyes rained in torrent
and their sobs grew even fervent
when the fatal tiding was unleashed
a thing which feared hearts and andrenaline released
how she bent beneath a dry iroko gathering yam
in her distant and lonely farm
a branch uphigh cracked
turned she to see the source of the crack
behold a log fell on her skull
pouring out what was left of her brain- all
keeling rightward, she fell as her spirit transcended a plane beyond
a place so gray, so blund
now poor orphans, as poppies to be shared
departed they to various kins to be rared
and daily this dirge about her goes
as villagers their drum beat and lyre blow
forget not the story of the unfortunate widow
who for the door, took the window
and drank not from the spring of old age
nor for her maternal labour achieved a wage
Aug 23, 2013
Aug 23, 2013 at 7:05 AM UTC
on this rumbling
stretch of tundra
no trees reach up
to soothe the sky
there is a pulling down
of wind tunnel vortex
like conifers in reverse
an icy howl
in the bonechill
of time
Translucent holes,
perfectly round, are dug
in glacial archeology
and in the sea below
gelid creatures lurk,
half-frozen
in the history of my
soul
Only moss and lichens
grow on the rock,
somehow softening the
rugged textures
of the wild landscapes
that seethe
just beneath my skin
and there, just
shy of the surface
is a quickening
a subtle pulse of veins
that pumps life
between the gales of
my heart's steppes
flushing out
the pain
somewhere
deep
within the private lotus
of my being
folioles unfurl
leafy shapes around
my organs
wrapping them like gifts
as they undulate in whorls
opening my petals
in renewed consciousness
and deliberation
as a new kind of
stamen
rises
dusty pollen
powdery
budding ripeness
bursting up
and out
of my deepest
centered
whirlpool pistil
nectar dripping
in viscous webs,
to be caught upon
the tongue of
a new dawning
My silky outer
wings of vegetation,
slender stalks of
filaments and anther
have been turned
into hot steel
They protect
the tender vulnerable
when burned
as poison words held up to my
watchful eyes,
are properly discerned
I give myself over
to this new power,
my back arched to fully embrace
what is to come,
a universe calling thunder,
the old patterns undone
I am ready
to reveal my all
as the goddess deep within
comes to release my gold
suffusing light through skin
conjured from me
a relentless strength,
ever-growing,
now tenfold
rising way past
soft-lit stratospheres
and orbiting
to
bold
Nov 5, 2017
Nov 5, 2017 at 6:05 PM UTC
~for maddie~
the inference need not be discerned,
plain clear like a perfected blue sky
that took a millennium to craft so
well that you take it 100% for granted
even God needs trial and error to get it
right, and more to create a perfect anything
and any
body
and any
elephant
Jun 15, 2024
Jun 15, 2024 at 9:58 AM UTC
THREE old hermits took the air
By a cold and desolate sea,
First was muttering a prayer,
Second rummaged for a flea;
On a windy stone, the third,
Giddy with his hundredth year,
Sang unnoticed like a bird:
"Though the Door of Death is near
And what waits behind the door,
Three times in a single day
I, though upright on the shore,
Fall asleep when I should pray.'
So the first, but now the second:
"We're but given what we have eamed
When all thoughts and deeds are reckoned,
So it's plain to be discerned
That the shades of holy men
Who have failed, being weak of will,
Pass the Door of Birth again,
And are plagued by crowds, until
They've the passion to escape."
Moaned the other, "They are thrown
Into some most fearful shape.'
But the second mocked his moan:
"They are not changed to anything,
Having loved God once, but maybe
To a poet or a king
Or a witty lovely lady."
While he'd rummaged rags and hair,
Caught and cracked his flea, the third,
Giddy with his hundredth year,
Sang unnoticed like a bird.
2.1k
Others taught me with having knelt at well-curbs
Always wrong to the light, so never seeing
Deeper down in the well than where the water
Gives me back in a shining surface picture
Me myself in the summer heaven godlike
Looking out of a wreath of fern and cloud puffs.
Once, when trying with chin against a well-curb,
I discerned, as I thought, beyond the picture,
Through the picture, a something white, uncertain,
Something more of the depths—and then I lost it.
Water came to rebuke the too clear water.
One drop fell from a fern, and lo, a ripple
Shook whatever it was lay there at bottom,
Blurred it, blotted it out. What was that whiteness?
Truth? A pebble of quartz? For once, then, something.
1.8k
This is not my home,
Blame narcissism; what I bring to the table is balance and I’m not alluding to table salt,
Credited Shiva when fables taught;
So why am I alone?
To the left are the people I left,
I can even summarize as past,
Their decisions were based off right removing rights,
This is an act of freedom;
Feeling obligated to honor a name,
The illusion is last,
As of right now,
I exist in between,
It’s during the experience, that I wonder…
Sooo, why am I alone?
When I lay eyes on a female, I want her to feel disrespected,
It’s important that a female is aware of her insecurities,
It’s important that she sees the disconnection, impurities, her own reflection,
Buddy want his hotdog wet; thought ejects*,
Natural selection,
Buddy want the Top Dog vest,
I’m baffled, I only guide a confession,
I’m eliciting the potential,
Pushing a resurrection,
Sharing; passing lessons,
Sparking questions,
My love you’re in the box, I want you to be free; Change of perception,
They fed you food for regressions and impressions,
Polarity rings; I’m attracted to the curves, the body’s expression,
That musty smell of oppression/depression,
How could you blame me for wanting to interfere,
I hate MEN; I’m calling progressive…
FLO here,
For lovers only,
Love is what I’ve been giving since birth, and I don’t expect a return,
People show hate; universe translation (twenty years later),
“Tough love”; discerned,
I laugh daily, that is the outcome of pain,
Me wearing colors was the outcome of being plain,
I made a choice; no longer was the same,
I can honestly relate to Jane,
Feminism is misconceived these days; point was a healthy balance of both carries no shame,
It’s unknown, separate from the game,
Adiyogi Shiva; Transcendental if omming the name…
I always wonder if I’m narcissistic; I love people unconditionally, there’s no reason why I should ever feel alone.
Dec 5, 2018
Dec 5, 2018 at 7:39 PM UTC
If you cracked open my skull,
(and discerned past the alarming indirect realism
Featuring a ****** cerebrospinal fluid-y cranium,
Hewed and fractured crudely
And gushing like a cascade),
You'd unearth a disturbing array of mechanisms,
Filed, packaged, and manufactured,
Well intentioned lies and repulsive judgement,
Distressing reality and optimism open to ridicule
Self-interested altruism and desperate defenses,
An assortment of fallible hope and fallacious despair,
All nearing a point
Of sudden, piercing tragedy.
For I, too,
Am devoid of worth and life,
I, too, have done nothing
Worth life's light
Jun 2, 2014
Jun 2, 2014 at 10:32 AM UTC
I have seen the blood of my loved ones, spilled on a dusty road;
Seen the fall of kings, powerful warriors and the bold;
The skin of mothers and little children, broken by cold;
The ancient landmarks of the fatherless, siezed and sold.
I have heard the cry of the homeless but no one there to save;
Heard the wailing of the deserted, seen the tears of the brave;
Many driven from their homelands, now hiding in caves;
And a father toiling night and day, treated as a slave.
I have heard of dreams of many, still unrealised;
The ****** daughters of priests, lured or defiled;
The goals of youths, swallowed up by pride;
And the future of generations, poorly discerned.
I have read government policies, unfavourable for the common man;
Heard of national resources, expended without concrete plans
Communities connive to eliminate a defenseless clan;
And a nation sold into modern slavery, by reckless polititians.
Many tears have droped, sweat and blood everywhere;
Many races have been run but the end seems nowhere near;
Many have waited hopelessly for a better year;
Many have stood up but crawled back for sake of fear.
A day will come when the oppressed will arise;
Like Martin Luther King Jr. did,though his blood was a price;
Like Nelson Mandela did, even though his act was termed a vice-
For the freedom of the enslaved and oppressed but the wicked's sudden demise.
Oct 12, 2015
Oct 12, 2015 at 3:26 AM UTC
plica semilunaris,
I see you from the corner of my eye,
leftover moonlit shadows,
sibilate bullet proof lullabies.
As the whisper turns into a sigh,
the murmur insinuates an intimate view,
we confide in the news of a,
discerned conception.
Deception of course.
You should of known those metaphors bought time,
to make it hard to find
what your eyes could see so clearly.
Nearly.
In retrospect prescience, presently knew.
Visualised you from another point of view.
And now in far sight,
hindsight betrays idyllic portraits,
never true in the first place.
So the worst case scenario,
typhlotic tyrants,
amaurotic darkness left sightless in blindness.
The darkness is an Alcatraz of bars made of gold.
Senses stolen from the repentance of souls.
Allusive in it's finest form.
Dec 28, 2015
Dec 28, 2015 at 8:34 AM UTC
yesterday
in blurry sight I discerned
the shape of your face-
an ink kissed by a drop of water-
and I thought I cloud draw you
a thousand times
today
I woke up and you weren’t here
and I thought I’d rather look at you
a thousand more
Apr 14, 2021
Apr 14, 2021 at 5:36 PM UTC
I Saw Her In The Subway,
She Was Tall & Fair,
But Her Clothes Weren't.
I Saw Her Makeup Wearing Away Now,
She Had Her Clothes Damaged,
But She Was About To Say Some Words.
I Observed Her As She Stopped Her Sentence In The Midway,
She Recognized Me & I Recognized Her Too,
But I Walked On Without Being Dogged By My Past - The Angel Had Fallen.
I Discerned Over Going Back To Hold Her Hands Again,
She Needed To Be Helped By Someone Close,
But It Was Her Decision To Separate Our Ways - She Chose Disgrace.
I Agreed That Nobody Could Pull Her Out Now,
She Was Comfortable This Way Too,
But I Thought I Saw Her Eyes Glistening As She Passed With Another Customer.
Dec 31, 2012
Dec 31, 2012 at 7:35 AM UTC