"disclosures" poems
*finding this morning
awareness of loss
the obituary entry
this physical sense..
those lesser deaths
portrayed as loss
fill electronic news..
Approaching loss
or loss Approaching..?
loss seems woven
into our fabric..
our morning Nutrition:
approaching is longing
to locate disclosures
of buried light
under the garments
we wear...*
Mar 4, 2013
Mar 4, 2013 at 12:27 PM UTC
Honey you must be
High risk, high return ;)
I've lent you my love
But you'll most likely be a bad debt
I'll have to write off
You've got a high risk of default
You're not a public offer
Won't give me the disclosures I need
Darling you're private debt
And the riskiest type
Babe, you're the riskiest investment
A structured product
Only the most accredited investor
Can afford your risk
Im only a retail consumer
Barely making ends meet
But you're a bad boy
Risky
And I'm nothing, if not risk-seeking
Jul 3, 2018
Jul 3, 2018 at 3:20 PM UTC
I can see the mask that you wear
The demon that you hide behind
As it chases you loiter it's shadow
I'll sooth you in the dark alleyways
Directly call the shamanic exorciser
to starlight your pebbled and icy path
I can see the mask that you wear
It laughs and mimic's as you **** it
Carrying a collection of your innocence
the disclosures of the haunted past
I'll reconcile amicably with the villain
sign the treaty permanently on your behalf
I can see your charming face behind that mask
That beautiful facade of yours my dear one
the vision in your eyes written on your iris
the ink that pastes a blank page of my desires
Our seal that wraps the crawls in the cold night
My divine one, let's fly afloat in the attic of our dreams
May 25, 2016
May 25, 2016 at 6:05 PM UTC
Heaviness of soul-searching
is ****** into sympathetic arms
- alleviation in darkness.
We are the animals
desiring answers
but needing affection.
Warm lips and fluids
a temporary release
from oppressive questions
Though even sensual yearning
will be embraced
by ultimate disclosures.
Why deny your hunger
while searching
for a god?
Both share
in the equation.
-fr
Feb 15, 2014
Feb 15, 2014 at 2:32 AM UTC
The way you said it
The way you looked
If you've got something
Against it
It could've been the one
You took
The lines of disclosures
To the rhythms of love
Of unexplained pain
It could've been the reason
For one to feel
Exactly the same.
Jun 27, 2015
Jun 27, 2015 at 9:48 PM UTC
5 X 5
sitting in that chair, once more,
that chair that is my picture of me...
One:
The bay laps quiet rhythmic hellos
knows better than to ask,
just graciously accepts,
one of us says Hallelujah,
and the other, Selah!
a torrid summer of morose and illness,
lingers still, and here I am, cosseted,
comforted by familiar comfort foods,
baby waves, the gentlest of precision-crafted currents
of air, all together a baklava so sweet,
one could forgo forever eating,
but never, writing of them, to you
Two:
Crumpled tissues,
absorbers of ****** fluids,
crumpled poems,
absorbers of mental fluids,
evidence of a body and soul's
dismal anguish, creativity extinguished,
weeks of weak, months of morbid,
were the pretense that a lovely physical shelter exterior,
could ever successful well-mask the human upheaval within,
as if a summer tan could disguise the illness exposed in his eyes
Three:
Sun of moderated fall heat enters via the nostrils,
crimping the bacteria of depression,
that come from an overrun immune system,
a summer of discontent for the summer man,
who has been encapsulated by the suicide
of a man he knew only from his humorous artistry
am I better? some. healed? of course not...
but here I begin a summation of my silences,
that came with no explanation substantive,
for which I formally apologize
Four:
Four is for me, a self-addressed postcard,
way past the point of clean slates,
I am a blackboard with years of dust cumulated
from scrawls, equations, mistakes,
and here n' there a teachers favorite,
a large exclamation point!
decide that it is perhaps time
to relearn how to write poetry for pleasure,
wipe that chalk dust off some,
not for pain disclosures hall marked,
though the pain must be played through,
today, a new season starts and my record,
unblemished a perfect 0-0
Five:
Why 5 X 5? No idea!
this is how it starts for me,
a title, a notional emotion,
a horse rider with a head,
but no body attached,
no direction home,
and the words, disassociated,
pulled together and now there are
five babies tendered for your
care and consideration,
perhaps even,
for your pleasure...
Sep 7, 2014
Sep 7, 2014 at 12:31 PM UTC
What of secrets?
Secrets are alienated and aligned reclusive disclosures. As such a secret is everything that is solely enclosed and angled in oneself. The unveiling of a secret can be a double edge sword exposure. The sharpness of one edge can explode to inextinguishable flames. The bluntness of the other can be the very fuel that will help you explore your rooted essence and existence.
The aftermath is dependant on the edge you choose.
What edge do you choose?
Dec 25, 2015
Dec 25, 2015 at 8:25 AM UTC
From the Prayer of Saint Ignatius of Loyola (see notes)
<>
the phrase grabs my eyelids,
a forced opening,
nay,
a denial of closing,
our most human
and natural
escape hatch
and I wonder…
is it self~slander,
or is it the obverse,
that explores a desire
to enumerate honestly
for what is…is…
let the costs count us!
is that it?
merely
poetry
airy escapery,
what passes
for t r u t h in
these dark days?
<>
the damning costs count me
in their number!p
as ******
<!>
hapless victim of living,
pondering ponderous
divination of saintly
defiant definitions
of ‘greater good’
’tis the difficile,
entre the pill and the
bitter, oh so bitter the herbs,
for it is
so plainly & so hard
to differentiate, et
distinguer mais être distingué(1)
distinguish tween but not to be distinguished
memories that are costs disguised,
reverting as dreams, in the true~alone
hours of the twenty four, when it’s
just you, & fighter and worthy opponent
them costs,
who needs no definition
tolling the steeple bells
of utter anguish,
as you're thre greatest living expert
in these matters,
(le plus personnel)
the sins of action and transaction,
And the worst, those truly heinous
inactions,
face off in opposition in the boxing ring
<>
and the costs paid, a savage skilled
opponent, intimate of your every trickery,
the bare knuckled brawler, whose knows,
knows! the true tally, the bodies you’ve
buried, the children witnesses to your
creative abominations, lies you tell no
one else, but yourself- every single day!
the urge to cease here
grows stronger by the second,
minutes past and les défenses have risen,
what disclosures revelations bring forgiveness?
this my spotlight,
caught in the headlights,
where fessing up is in reverse,
fessing down to the black bottom,
where ugliness is the normative and
vain attempts at denial offers no escapes
from glutinous disgusting mess of gelled of
nothing but the truth
nah,
you don’t want to know,
what a human can accomplish
in a short seven decades of decadence
and recount constantly the costs of consternation
<>
so I‘ll let you
retreat to the gray masses
all your own where your very
owned
wonderings
are intercepted
for where I go now
willingly, unfailingly,
failing
needing not, requiring not
no company
Jul 13, 2024
Jul 13, 2024 at 7:17 AM UTC
On my way to teaching my lovely yoga class this paradoxical poem:✍️
We Die When We’re Supposed To
We die when we’re supposed to,
Karma chained in cause/effect.
One eve I lay there,
Sorry, sad and full of fear
When of a sudden, shocked, aware,
The snare of truth, as clear as day,
Told me that we pass away
From causes self-created
From our characters, our choices,
Gene pushed, situation fated…
You know, when you get these flashes,
(call them insights, revelations, mind disclosures)
You can sense veracity’s exposures crashing in
And you’ve no choice
But to believe
What mind and thought receive,
In this case this:
Death comes when it will,
And it is up
To us to give this hidden ‘reasoning’ a whirl
And take the pill
However bad the taste.
We Die When We’re Supposed To 9.18.2012/8.16.2018 Birth, Death & In Between II; Arlene Nover Corwin
Aug 17, 2018
Aug 17, 2018 at 4:14 AM UTC
How could the dead not realise
The secrets that you keep so near?
Why, would not, the shame you feel
Be founded in disclosures clear?
Naked, shock exposure
Plasters pictures in your mind,
Quaking realisation of the dread
You fear to find.
How the brilliant crimson
In your cheek reveals it all...
Why the squirming torment
In your gut becomes a ball...
Can you face the horrors
of the sleepless night ahead?
**And will you come to terms
When you're confronted by your dead?**
Marshalg
Walking in dark solitude
Mangere Bridge
21 February 2011
Feb 20, 2011
Feb 20, 2011 at 6:19 PM UTC
Lawrence Hall
[email protected]
https://hellopoetry.com/lawrence-hall/
poeticdrivel.blogspot.com
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May 17, 2022
May 17, 2022 at 11:38 PM UTC
Her tears are all she knew,
and from this day forward she flew..
to be no more; she mourns
simple white roses,
tangled and torn
in her golden hair that poses
her crown of thorns
bloodstains that disclosures
her angelica face of bedlam dreams
so torn to be free, oh so free
angels fall sometimes even cry
and maybe just maybe angels die....
Debbie Brooks 2014
Sep 13, 2014
Sep 13, 2014 at 1:52 PM UTC
*Where tears are all she knew,
and from this day forward she flew..
to be no more; she mourns
simple white roses,
tangled and torn
in her golden hair that poses
her crown of thorns
bloodstains that disclosures
her angelica face of bedlam dreams
so torn to be free, oh so free
angels fall sometimes even cry
and maybe just maybe angels die....*
Debbie Brooks 2014
Sep 26, 2014
Sep 26, 2014 at 6:56 PM UTC