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Nat Lipstadt Sep 2013
On The Great Lawn of my mind,
The city's biggest dance floor,
Upon its cushions, stepping lightly,
The spring breeze, feeling its way,
Making, reawakening, a thousand acquaintances,
Absent parent kissing each long-lost babe-blade of grass

Breeze takes each blade of spring grass:

Cajoles, asks not,
With windy hands, guided missiles,
gentle/firm
push/pull
engage/ disengages,
open/closes

Breeze makes each one
Neck, caress their neighbor,
A thousand pas de deuces of  
fresh faced green children.
All in all a triumphant processional,
Cloaked in robes of sky blue velvet,
Crowned by the sun's burnt orange kisses.

At the middle school dance,
The walls are portrait painted  
with the shy ones,  
The ones-who-don't-know-how-to-ask.
Passover's children
Needy for a Moses.

Student of the spring breezes,
This silly earnest teacher/chaperone,
Grand-pa-rent will:


Cajole, ask not,
With hands, guided missiles,
gentle/firm
push/pull
engage/ disengages,
open/closes

Under his tutelage,
Every boy and girl
A dancer, a blade,  
Each a Passenger on the fuselage
Of his Spring Ballroom breeze.

These are my spring rites  
imagined,
Visions of my sight  
unimpaired,
Present and future  
clarified.

Soon we will teach our own  
Little Princes and Princesses,
The shelter of dancing,
Feel the embrace of nature,
Under the mantle of an  
A Capella choir of tree leaves,
We will lie side by side,  
Skyward pointing,
Sharing our spring-sprung imaginings,
Performing each and all  
Upon the breeze to carry away,
For all to gleeful applaud!
Another old one
Mateuš Conrad Feb 2016
i do remember the scorn your encountered by the next of kin, for not having memorised the alphabet, to some stupid degree of accuracy, fetish of the french i call it... why not put all the vowels first and all the consonants after? so why care for the diabolical aristocratic monopoly on these symbols, having to cite a, b, c, d, e, f, g... rather than a, e, i, o, u, b, c? idiots! or should i say... ***** *******?*

i see friendship as a two tier system,
a friend allows you
to forget your reflective nature,
spelled out in the affirmative (
not compounded): your self...
but allows you the medium
they know you by, in a sense
the reflexive nature, spelled out
in affirmation: yourself.
the reflective nature of things stands
in unison with all the things
required: photosynthesis for example...
god still remains a complexity of language,
or how far language can complicate
matters so that no horrid activity can
fester... god is a word presiding over
the complication of the expression
of language, everything else is dumb-struck
deity orientation where we can laze
for an eternity: drunk, or gluttonous
or otherwise... but find me a drunkard who
composes on the additive? how many
drunk and therefore violent fathers
have crossed the threshold with drink
but wrote no single poem by medicating
on alcohol as an active sedative?
and how many partied on other drugs?
and dumb things drinking, while
the legislators caste in shadow of neither
vishnu blue, scandinavian bleach
hair and ivory skin or the african with
chocolate and auburn and short tailing-off
of curls turned to scorched frizzle of afro...
where among them the true identity of legislators?
nowhere... the masked identity to involve
a hidden tidal wave of the many,
later disrupted by a collective-consciousness
that democracy is, preceding jung's theory
of the collective-unconscious,
democracy is not carl jung... but it's its chiral
composite pair...
so friendship is the allowance of the self in reflex
akin to knee jerking or heart peeping into
rhythms escaping a finality / banality of
the measure of stone of standing still...
there is no friendship when the self disengages
from its reflexive naturalisation into social
circumstance (spelled yourself),
and engages in the reflective naturalisation
into anti-social circumstance of
body tiniest like among jupiter moon alaska
and all other shares of size (spelled your self)...
so then the inverse numerology:
C, one hundred... there is no T unless it be
the time concerned suffering on a crucifix...
but then there's the XI... eleven...
turn numerology on its head...
peer into something abstract associated
with the twinning of words, words twinned
to a bare minimum... so akin in misguided
uses as to appear so akin as to be readily
misused, upon the matter of twinned-pronunciation
without a necessary dichotomy that's already
there, for the optics dare not like,
but the tongue makes a porridge of the sound
then usurps the twinned sounds to opposing
spelling that the optics finds appealing.
Hal Loyd Denton Nov 2012
Wonders of place read what one writes about a place now that he is far away by years and distance the
Flavor and tone it draws and evokes acuteness vividly portrays common tasks and experiences a
Richness pervades thoughts weighted and robed in love it is stirring imaginative and it speaks to all
And entreats you to take a similar excursion fields play grounds schools homes that overwhelm by the
Slightest recall we need these times of refreshing and we lose sight of their value these buried treasures
Lay just below the surface easily bridged but their worth invaluable reminisce yourself into folds of soft
Mellowness it will enrich your life presently this one thing that can be carried forward in extraordinary
Ways the first effect it had on you and the way it made you feel is and always will be you they talk about
The time it takes for light from distant stars to reach us once you were engaged in this innocents that
Traced time and space and people so many are now lost to us they live in the entirety of who you and
They are just beyond the jumble of this present state we live in they Say God lives in the eternal now
He is in the past present and future isn’t it possible for us to know that in a precious degree since we are
Made in his image all it takes and there are different ways but just close your eyes and drift with just the
Smallest indication you will roll and speed back to those times that were cherished with family the
Clouds belie earth’s surface at times the heaven’s treat us to measureless wonder with mystery it
Disengages the time line can become lost moments untie in a seamlessness we truly go to another place
While part of us stay in its natural place go forth in freedom dear friends hurts will fail to follow you can
Taste of sweet waters no bitterness will invade your thoughts you are immortally strong for a time you
Get a foretaste of the future you are bound to infinity weightless ageless without form you are pure
Thought unlimited but for the first time truly engaged exhilaration floods the real you that has never
Been exposed before the sluggish physical now only powerful spirit rears its head back thunderstruck
Your senses explode you expand you rule time and go backwards or forwards gifts out of reach before
Now present themselves in simplicity and untold beauty handle riches that were lost in the fall now
Reclaimed you are able to shake the dust from them they have set in dark stores awkward denseness of
Humanity held you at bay now from this time you know what you will miss if you continue to sell you
And your life with God short ecstasy of fulfillment will be lost wonder will be replaced with the truth and
Fact of one who has squandered riches untold all for miserly living that has been aliened with a fallen
Foe you deserve more and it is your birthright but you take the chance of losing it all you are more
Valuable than you know believe that and correct your course your true home is beyond the stars don’t
Sell out for the illusion that is this temporal world
KM Aug 2013
My beautiful mother just called me
And said so kindly, "her little pyro"
But oh if only she had a clue
Of the fire that burns within me also

Sometimes it's a subtle mellow flame
And other times a forest fire rages
My sweltering heart cannot be touched
Except for with him, the fire disengages

For so long the fire inside me was kindled
Burning up the things that upset me
I never saw the affect it had on what I loved
Till I was worn thin and my fire let me free

I was all burnt up and left charred from my faults
When a refreshing rain cloud hovered nearby
No hatred, guilt, fear or sadness was left upon me
And suddenly that rain cloud was my entire sky
8/23-24/2013
Ann Beaver Aug 2013
I try to saw
My body in half
The gears and springs
Broken sensors
Machinery of my other half
never quite disengages
I pour out its contents on these pages
So as to not get oil
On your ear
It's broken? fix it.

Well
B'twixt you and me,
Who wants broken machinery?
Bratt M Jones Aug 2015
Across a gulf of houses planted in      
rows of streets some abandoned some flooding with life.
I saw him, went straight for my *****
Then he in turn
Shots sang out like call to prayer
Foot chase, car chase, more shots, foot falls, and then
Dead end, reload .357
Pointed at his chest
In anger finger bites trigger- but suddenly gun squirms out of hand
Tumbles to ground
Lying there gun's cylinder disengages
And pops open and five live bullets leap from that *****;
One embeds its self in my foot
" like *******"
One batter Rams forehead
Like a " told you so,
Another impales my heart
Like I'm accused of something horrendous
Last two stab palms like a martyr a messiah and there I died like a constellation.

           It was the day all guns got fed up, said **** it, and revolted.
Parashar May 2015
In that effervescent essence of elation,
Another day dawns

Twilight finds its way through time,
twisted and tied
Trembling, like the tense, tangled trees

Decadence, descending, with delicious darkness
and then vanquished, with vain valour

That day and its dawning, drowns all
that disengages my disparagement
Distastefully delectable, defenseless..

I ascend,
into this conscious realm
I transcend,
past this putrid pestilence
that plagues my existence..

Nightmares, negated by the nascent
necrosis of my negligence.
Bereavement beckons yet again,
But there is time,

There is time to taste
the tepid transience
of tomorrow..

Silently simmering within,
seraphic, sumptuous sorrow
sinks slowly,
softly..
Jeffrey Pua Apr 2015
I write a piece remastered as though
To make love. It is when my poem engages
And at the same time disengages,
Where the reader keeps wanting, and
Bare, barely, retaliates.

So the poet was a man
And the reader was a woman.
When I write, I hold
And hold her hips.
And the pull was the pull
Of the lips of our kiss.*

© 2015 J.S.P.
Draft.
betterdays Sep 2017
the odd sockery
do but mock me
as the lego bits
grind the bones
of my heels
faintly i smell
old orange peel

toys, stuffed pell mell
into ye old treasure chest
the piece of three weeks old pizza
you ain't ever gonna unring that bell

favorite teddy at rest on window sill
looking far from his best
and in his snake-arium, lies bill
the blue tongued lizard lazy and still
on the shelf beside, the books
of the boy wizard,
the one with the glasses

the bed barely passes
the status of made
and in the nooks
his father created
all sorts of findings
and keepings and
thingamabobs are laid

bless, in the corner a beanbag, sags
with the weight of my world
and his book bag, all snuggled up
with the tuxedo cat, whose motor purrs
like a harley cruising on by

the room a catastrophe,  in it's early stages
but  at the sight of them my ire disengages
and i stop still and thank the stars in heaven
that these two are mine, that they are happy
and safe and incredibly fine

sunday afternoon in the burbs
somewhat, wonderfully sublime
Andrew Guzaldo c Dec 2018
"I am now bedeviled by her conjure of obscurity intensity,
Could this be hers it must for I know nothing of such alchemy,
Enmeshed now is my fate with this seemingly obscurity afore,
Is she the curer or the harm that meanders amidst daily logic?
  
Who may save me from torrid anguish beguiling my heart?
I know not what may have been cast upon my simple soul,
In my prior enraptured by you I am now left disparaged,
Delusional I now bare reecho sounds of vibrancy of rivers,

Sources of solidity have evoked water like fateful bouts,
As then my tears and gains across the sandy rivers edge,  
Expounded breaking down on the way all earthly lakes,
Coppice compact walls disengages the planetary quartz,

Nostalgic planetary feelings as droplets of rain fall upon me,
As they soothe my heart and cleanse my bedeviled soul,

By Andrew Guzaldo 11/05/2018 ©
By Andrew Guzaldo 11/05/2018 ©   #Poem #141
Contoured Jun 2019
I hope to never grow old.
Of course not in a literal sense,
That's inclusive in the natural progression of time.
No, I mean in every other sense.
Passion.
That's what I fear to lose.
I fear to forget.
I struggle, conceptually, with its disengagement.
How can such an emotion wither?

The nights when I lay by your side,
Only to glance into the limitless bounds of your eyes.
That smile, oh that smile.
To not witness that smile would be a tragedy.
The feeling that I provoke that smile,
Engulfs me in affection,
And I fall more in love with you than any can believe to be possible.

Too see the sunrise,
And stand motionless, awestruck.
Its vibrant colors,
Grazing the memories of childhood wonder.
Reliving moments,
Once believed to be lost.
Holding on to a moment mercilessly,
Attempting to extend it to many,
To never wander from it.

To pursue limitless enjoyment,
Never forcing a smile because you don't have to.
To laugh at everything,
With everyone.
The recognition of simple pleasures,
All compiled in a scrapbook of memories.
One to be created at a later time,
Because you're consumed in remembering now.

But eventually,
You'll lose the memories you wish to document.
Because the sand of time slipped through your unforgiving hands,
And you forgot
The once vibrant skies,
Will fade to dull variations of the same tone.
As nature must be re-painted from time to time,
Which you forgot.
The laughs,
They'll fade to echos of your own,
With no one left to reciprocate such an intense expression of joy,
Because you forgot.

Unforgiving forget will consume that which you should've never forgotten.
Because as time grows old,
The body does too.
And as the past begins to wither,
The brain disengages.

As time progresses,
Passion does not have to be lost.
You do not have to forget.
The things forgotten are what you wish to forget.
Slowly counting backwards from one hundred
if restless, yet most every night/early morning,
when tiredness defeats ability to remain alert
though rarely these days no difficulty to dream
way before mentally mouthing the number zero,

a segue way into unconscious state disengages
awareness, nor does yours truly recount numb
burr, nor REM member upon awakening hours
later how far from first triple digit to nought, I
ceased noiselessly iterated theoretical string of

symbols (representing whole sum quantity), the
likes linkedin to the Hindu-Arabic numeral cyst-
stem attributed to two Indian mathematicians awk
credited with developing mode to abstract former
lee bird den some assignation expressing a short

shorthand to conveniently represent a numerical
value, honor belongs to Aryabhata of Kushuma-
pura developed the place-value notation in the
fifth century, and about one hundred years later
Brahmagupta introduced important symbol for

zero, without such (now obvious) methodology,
this nocturnal primate, would most likely resort
to awkward, bulky, clumsy, et cetera alternative,
sans Roman numerals silently with eyelids shut
tight, thus imagine if ye will this sir soundlessly

enunciating c, xcix, xcviii...praying to dog never
reaching the lowest solitary i, cuz this mister, he
would never be accountable waking bolt upright
resembling a zombie emitting nought a peep, cuz
this suddenly duped frenzied hotmail, would have
zero choice!
Then you realise that it's not new,
it's you,
change!,
has it come to this?

Tik-Tok
the eyes lock
the brain disengages
someone, somewhere
stages a coup,
not new,
but not you.

Below me
on the seventeenth floor
the idiot is drilling again,
I think he thinks he's
drilling for gold,
I've told him
he needs to head for the hills
or
keep taking the pills
he
just drills.
idiot.
Marshal Gebbie Aug 2023
It’s August here in New Zealand which means it is the middle of Winter. It rains almost every day here during winter.
Firewood piled outside the door is getting low so I earmarked two hours to barrow split wood from an auxiliary pile, stacked against the rear wall of the house, to the depleted pile, under cover of weather, at the house frontage.

The wood had been there for many months so it was full of spiders. Big spiders with brown chevrons on the back of their abdomen, Wolf spiders the locals call them, they can give you a nasty bite but they have insufficient venom to harm humanity. These spiders inhabit the underside of the split wood, they build silky white webs that resemble pouches. The webs catch inquisitive insects that search for food in the woodpile. The insects become entangled in the webs and the spiders pounce upon them and eat them. I saw plenty of evidence today of both the big spiders and what remains of their insect meals. Shells of the scarabs epidermis actually, all of the soft innards ****** out by the hungry spiders.

Also in the woodpile were several female Beech wasps, brightly colored little Hymenoptera with yellow and black banded stripes, with fearsome, sharp stingers protruding from the very end of the abdomen.  These wasps were not sheltering in the woodpile from the falling rain, they were hunting for the big Wolf spiders. Arachnids ten times their size and equally as combative as the hunting wasps.

Undeterred by size and ferocity the wasps attack the huge spiders without hesitation, Make no mistake, war is waged here for should the spider lance the wasp with its fangs the wasp will die an agonizing death, but if the wasp manages to deftly spear the spider with its stinger, a powerful venom will be injected into the spider immediately paralyzing it…..but the venom doesn’t actually **** the spider, it immobilizes it. The female wasp then penetrates the bulging abdomen of the Arachnid with her ovipositor and lays all of her eggs inside the paralyzed creature. Once egg laying is completed the female wasp disengages herself from the spider and flies away to die.

Almost immediately the wasp eggs hatch inside and the little white larvae begin to consume the living internals of the spider. They continue to eat the fresh edibles until they metamorphosize into young adult wasps which chew their way out of the, now dead, husk of spider and fly away to seek a mate which in turn, once fertilized, will ultimately hunt yet another unfortunate spider to host the fearsome hatchlings of her own busy brood.

As I stacked the wood in the front alcove I paused for a few moments to ponder the miracle of life and death enacted, unsuspectedly, in the battleground of my back woodpile….and marveled at the absolute drama of it all.

M@Foxglove.Taranaki.NZ
20 August 2023
Betty H Feb 2021
My subconscious
free from clutter
waters calm
luminary space of blues and violets
inner linings trimmed
dive with dolphins
scrutinize the moon's abstractions
chaos disengages, pink hues
Hurrikaharri May 2018
Am I the secondary presence, an abscess where nobody understands  my essence, my purpose.

I cant comprehend the idea of surplus, the quintessential need to feel included by all of humanity, disengages us all from our own journey
preservationman Nov 2019
Warnings after Warnings
As Asteroid that was going to be a direct hit towards Earth
Where will the Asteroid land no one knows for sure
This is a Special TV News Bulletin, “An Asteroid disengages from the Solar System being Nonstop towards Earth”
Panic extends to the streets
Some people were shouting, “End of the World”
The people were running through the streets
But could their escape turn into a defeat?
No one knows where on Earth the Asteroid will land
It was a time to repent and pray
The Asteroid speedily heads Earth’s way
The world is holding its breath in tense moments in thinking will they survive?
A question with an uncertain possibility
Hours turned into minutes
Seconds being Earth’s contact
Suddenly the Earth explodes
The force being an astrological load
The Earth is shattered into non-existence
An Earth that had living creatures have long gone beyond
Souls given to the Heavens
Earth when gone now
John Prophet Jun 25
The station.
Experience
begins.
Enter
the soul.
Corporeal
entrapment.
Strapped
in for the
ride.
Moving
out.
Leaving
the station.
Pathway,
destination
unknown.
Journey
begins.
Slowly then
speeding.
Hairpin
turns
steep
heart
pounding
drops.
Whipsawe­d
again and
again.
Buffeted.
Hammer
and anvil.
Vice grip
holding
pounding
away.
To and
fro.
The journey
continues.
Unrelenting
change.
Molded
soul
suffering
thro­ugh.
Station
approaches.
Ride
nearly
done.
Reflecting.
Battered
a­nd bruised.
Soul
disengages.
Stepping
away.
Wiser
for the
journey.
Moving on.
Next ride
awaits.
Once more
strapping
in.
anguish, aganony,  anxiety
no longer random, brief or happenstance
constant,  unrellenting,  in perpetuity
october 6th wasn’t the beginning
won’t be the end
but it is reflective of the evil  in our world
another lifetime  I wish I could  suspend

we are beset by the tribulation of the ages
a world so dumbfounded it  disengages  her sages
he age of reason capitulates to a new season
a  crass mediocrity of  dismal wits
with religious fanatics as a ruling class
these daze

— The End —