"disk" poems
In swirling clouds of silver lace
The disk of Luna lies concealed
Across the Autumn skies they race
Over this shadow realm surreal.
On evening shadows now, I gaze
A gentle wind swirls through the trees
From depths of sleep, I watch half-dazed
Thin branches stirring in the breeze.
Lights flickering neath mystic skies
Through gaps in trees, they shine within
Entranced, my mind, I watch surprised
This spectral beauty in the wind.
In these dark shadows, spirits drift
Translucent ghosts and dryads old
From this meadow, I sense their gift
Strange stories from the wood untold.
Oh let me join thy sylvan fest
Pale spirits of this Solstice night
Before the Moon sets in the west
We'll revel neath her misty light.
Jun 16, 2014
Jun 16, 2014 at 12:04 AM UTC
The sun sets in molten gold.
The evening clouds form a jade disk.
Where is he?
Dense white mist envelops the willows.
A sad flute plays “Falling Plum Blossoms.”
How many Spring days are left now?
This Feast of Lanterns should be joyful.
The weather is calm and lovely.
But who can tell if it
Will be followed by wind and rain?
11.3k
Dear America,
Do not call my generation stupid.
We were the first group of kids to learn a computer.
Think about that society: A group of kids learned this intricate machine. Yes, I'm talking about the O.G. Apples with the green type where you had to save with a floppy disk and if you put a magnet to the screen it went purple forever.
Yes those, same kids grew up and created everything you see before you now.
Everyday.
Do not call my generation ignorant.
In a short time span of years, as children, we learned about oral relations with interns and terrorist attacks.
From Clinton's impeachment to the World Trade Centers/Pentagon/Flight93 Somerset.
As children we learned; emphasis on the children part.
Our minds grew knowledgeable of a world at hand long before society gave us credit.
We grew up.
Do not call my generation lazy.
When we were sixteen and just received our license, gas rose to the highest it had ever been in our country's history.
We got underpaid and disrespected jobs:
cleaning up bathrooms and serving your foot-longs.
The ability to travel on our own, it was our new found freedom.
Like the early travelers roaming new found lands:
Our wings were spread.
Do not call my generation weak.
We are the same group of people who entered college or the workforce with the worst economic fall since the Great Depression.
You ask, "What did it do to you?"
Buried us in more and more debt until it consumed our life.
But, we became enlightened.
We majestically thrived in the chaotic times by finding out who we are, what we are capable of and that life will take us our journeys before we even see it coming.
The light still shines even when you are buried the deepest.
It does not matter what you throw at us next.
We will rise and conquer. It's the world's hidden secret.
I'm proud to live in this time.
I hope you are too.
Never giving up is our morale.
Respectfully,
THE PERENNIAL MILLENNIALS.
cc: (No HashTag Necessary)
Apr 7, 2014
Apr 7, 2014 at 8:12 PM UTC
1454
Those not live yet
Who doubt to live again—
“Again” is of a twice
But this—is one—
The Ship beneath the Draw
Aground—is he?
Death—so—the Hyphen of the Sea—
Deep is the Schedule
Of the Disk to be—
Costumeless Consciousness—
That is he—
8k
Dear, let me startle you by slinking my hand into
your smart, ethical decisions while I touch
quite gently
ripping to shreds
your photon ends.
Dear, let me caress your supple virtues and vows
until they blow out of proportion
merging your interests with mine
like the longing of eyes
uncanny in its distortion.
Dear, let me rip off your clothes as I grip your tight notions
ideas slipping carefully into place
like a sterile, unflinching blank slate
inching towards computed devotion.
Dear, let me carry out some foreplay
as long as you bend, not break,
delightfully stroking the edge of your plate.
Dear, let me come so close to your face
so close that it becomes blurry.
Where are my glasses in all this flurry?
Of feelings resembling photo reels on fire
shooting flames out the window
beyond everything you’ve ever known;
beyond anything you desire.
Dear, let me kiss you to submission,
your brain waves in motion
as I twist and slip into them
hormones ablaze
lighting up for days
your synapses recapturing
in a binocular haze.
Dear, let me flop on top of you
like a floppy disk, uploading your lips
into my hardrive.
Do I make you hard as fire?
Slowing burning
my hot fingers curling
up your robust spine
cracking it into
chiropractor sublime.
Massaging your tired broad shoulders
like large sofa ends.
Is this keyboard only
made for pretend?
Dear, let me mind **** you
take you and light you
brighten your screen
uphold and unseen
neurons fighting as I whisper ***** words
directly into the folds of your tulip ears
too large to hear, and
Dear, let me engage my rage
into a productive haze
bolting out words, unheard of for days.
Dear, let us become undone together
like the battery of a computer
rebooting after a hectic hardware phase.
Dear, let us breathe and walk through this maze.
Nov 7, 2015
Nov 7, 2015 at 11:33 AM UTC
Especially when the October wind
With frosty fingers punishes my hair,
Caught by the crabbing sun I walk on fire
And cast a shadow crab upon the land,
By the sea's side, hearing the noise of birds,
Hearing the raven cough in winter sticks,
My busy heart who shudders as she talks
Sheds the syllabic blood and drains her words.
Shut, too, in a tower of words, I mark
On the horizon walking like the trees
The wordy shapes of women, and the rows
Of the star-gestured children in the park.
Some let me make you of the vowelled beeches,
Some of the oaken voices, from the roots
Of many a thorny shire tell you notes,
Some let me make you of the water's speeches.
Behind a post of ferns the wagging clock
Tells me the hour's word, the neural meaning
Flies on the shafted disk, declaims the morning
And tells the windy weather in the ****
Some let me make you of the meadow's signs;
The signal grass that tells me all I know
Breaks with the wormy winter through the eye.
Some let me tell you of the raven's sins.
Especially when the October wind
(Some let me make you of autumnal spells,
The spider-tongued, and the loud hill of Wales)
With fists of turnips punishes the land,
Some let me make of you the heartless words.
The heart is drained that, spelling in the scurry
Of chemic blood, warned of the coming fury.
By the sea's side hear the dark-vowelled birds.
5.5k
Lucid, abusive
Tongue in cheek divine
Stupid, elusive
Lost soul of mine
A snap of orchestral fingers to summon the suave illustrator
Mohawk punks and minions to smash the limp masturbator
Loveless, acquiesce
Arpeggio flutter ripples
Convalesce, Fancy dress
******* with perky *******
One or two drinks, make it three then five
Keeping the blood warm and love alive
Visceral, peripheral
Dark raven hair
Liberal, scriptural
I couldn’t even care.
I adored her all, her everything, her gleaming demeanor
The subtle wink of her eyes, the glow; even greener
Exotica, ex machina
Street amazon of desert glass sand
No drama, rural karma
Flesh sweating like the heat of Sudan
Dead singers like Cole and Morrison sing of paper moons and Crystal Ships
The mixed CD segues to U2, Pulp, and then a full disk of The Flaming Lips.
"Nightingale", minor scale
The saxophonist played under the street lamp outside
Folktale female
“Another drink?” she abides, two glasses and wine supplied
On her balcony we watched and listened, to the call of urban passion
The wordless music we adored, a testament to our mutual attraction.
Apr 16, 2013
Apr 16, 2013 at 5:07 AM UTC
i popped the 20+ year old disk into the cd drive
as we began to role down the road.
something came alive
in my 35+ year old dad
who screamed along with cobain
after the twelfth song had finished
we sat in a few moments of silence
one of the only real connections
i had ever had with the man
*you know,
scott and i were driving to school
on this road in 94'
someone came on the radio
announcing that kurt cobain was found dead
we stopped the car and just sat there
in the road for a long time
then we turned around and went home*
i felt those words.
of everything he's ever told me
i felt that the most
music is everything great in this world
people die
music doesn't
Mar 14, 2014
Mar 14, 2014 at 8:08 PM UTC
The final words deeply
Rooted well spirited from top
To the wishing well bottom
She writes-- on-- the-- top-line
Real flower takes action
The Spring Mom affection
Dark- Shades She's the brightest
Star- Poppy make it snappy
Fire red Floppy disk
Movie flick favorite flower
Take a risk perfect pick
Your heart sunglasses got baked
With Moms baking flour
She couldn't see the sun
Light years away
Words sound alike look at the what!
blue skies just pray we are rooted
like a gifted flower
That never dies
Star Eyes** enter
The flowers frame mirror
"Sunflower Face"
* * *
Words sprout like
"Mr. and Misses"
The ceremony
Oh! Honey what's your point.....
Red so vibrant laughing Loretta
Crying operetta baby birth flower
Rudolph running nose red
Homesick cough water spell
chamomile flower bed
Light up Holiday wed
"Poinsettia" she's tough
Bloom- make room
Show Biz flower "Cafe Vienna"
Curtain call sprinkle me
Sunflower voice heal me
Daisies lion- roar- free
The fresh-cut dandelion
Sunflower hats bow
"Kentucky Derby" I reckon
Flower words I beg your pardon
Did I ever promise you the rose garden?
Last curtain call divine sunflower
Dec 21, 2019
Dec 21, 2019 at 1:04 PM UTC
My happiness ... it comes from the smallest things,
as it flows into the clepsydra the grains of sand.
My happiness ... is the thought of using my wings,
my warm soul that surrounds you with its hand.
My happiness ... is the rainbow after a big storm,
is the fragrant, beautiful scented flower, like a lip balm.
My happiness ... are your eyes as a color spell in uniform
and you embrace me all in your comforting palm.
My happiness ... is the song humming your name
under the burst of tender kisses of a guitar on fire.
My happiness ... is your vibrant glance in a frame,
your touch on a bear fur, like a hot desire.
My happiness ... is my smile in which you mirror in the night,
your face is dear heaven in my humble garden.
My happiness ... is faith in love and in what is right,
it's the flame burning, without asking for a pardon.
My happiness ... is the sleep you will watch for me
with fine caresses on my long raven hair.
My happiness ... is the starry sky where I feel free,
our bathing in the great spiritual love, like a prayer.
My happiness ... is coffee in two until we're much older,
when the sunrays brings us to life without any risk.
My happiness ... is the sea breeze on our naked shoulder,
spring suite appears, warmed by the heavenly yellow disk.
My happiness ... is to be happy even if I'm sad and on my knee,
for you have the power to raise me up and wipe my tears away.
My happiness ... is to swim against the waves of the sea,
for you are expected, loneliness has announced its delay.
Jul 22, 2018
Jul 22, 2018 at 6:59 AM UTC
The blinding moon pellucid says,
shining loud yet never heard;
"I follow you where you may go."
In a child's wondrous nights,
cast away shadow's monster delights,
"I follow you where you may go."
Mene mind of Thoth complete,
for child's attention doth compete;
"I follow you where you may go." *
Jun 30, 2016
Jun 30, 2016 at 2:14 PM UTC
She brought me to the devil—
swept the leaves off my brain
& we jumped in the pile.
After rolling a few
& burning
we bathed in wine
washing our minds
with chicken soup for the soul.
He appeared in the stars
& we smiled—
absorbing his card
through a lovely osmosis
supposing the black roses
hiding behind his back
were cut by a queen of swords.
We skipped roped
w/ a noose
cuttin’ loose our useless
baggage by tossing them over
a stony cliff.
As the devil lit a cigarette s/he mumbled
something about a conscious shift.
The devil gave us a gift—
It was a skull
inside a prince’s disk
shaped discus change purse.
“I bring you death as a parting
gift to show where to put the change.”
We laughed & giggled
as we played with plasma—
that’s liked fire cubed.
Jan 25, 2013
Jan 25, 2013 at 8:07 AM UTC
Dear, let me startle you by slinking my hand into
your smart, ethical decisions while I touch
quite gently
ripping to shreds
your photon ends.
Dear, let me caress your supple virtues and vows
until they blow out of proportion
merging your interests with mine
like the longing of eyes
uncanny in its distortion.
Dear, let me rip off your clothes as I grip your tight notions
ideas slipping carefully into place
like a sterile, unflinching blank slate
inching towards computed devotion.
Dear, let me carry out some foreplay
as long as you bend, not break,
delightfully stroking the edge of your plate.
Dear, let me come so close to your face
so close that it becomes blurry.
Where are my glasses in all this flurry?
Of feelings resembling photo reels on fire
shooting flames out the window
beyond everything you’ve ever known;
beyond anything you desire.
Dear, let me kiss you to submission,
your brain waves in motion
as I twist and slip into them
hormones ablaze
lighting up for days
your synapses recapturing
in a binocular haze.
Dear, let me flop on top of you
like a floppy disk, uploading your lips
into my hardrive.
Do I make you hard as fire?
Slowing burning
my hot fingers curling
up your robust spine
cracking it into
chiropractor sublime.
Massaging your tired broad shoulders
like large sofa ends.
Is this keyboard only
made for pretend?
Dear, let me mind **** you
take you and light you
brighten your screen
uphold and unseen
neurons fighting as I whisper ***** words
directly into the folds of your tulip ears
too large to hear, and
Dear, let me engage my rage
into a productive haze
bolting out words, unheard of for days.
Dear, let us become undone together
like the battery of a computer
rebooting after a hectic hardware phase.
Dear, let us breathe and walk through this maze.
Apr 24, 2018
Apr 24, 2018 at 10:49 AM UTC
Her ivory hands on the ivory keys
Strayed in a fitful fantasy,
Like the silver gleam when the poplar trees
Rustle their pale-leaves listlessly,
Or the drifting foam of a restless sea
When the waves show their teeth in the flying breeze.
Her gold hair fell on the wall of gold
Like the delicate gossamer tangles spun
On the burnished disk of the marigold,
Or the sunflower turning to meet the sun
When the gloom of the dark blue night is done,
And the spear of the lily is aureoled.
And her sweet red lips on these lips of mine
Burned like the ruby fire set
In the swinging lamp of a crimson shrine,
Or the bleeding wounds of the pomegranate,
Or the heart of the lotus drenched and wet
With the spilt-out blood of the rose-red wine.
3.4k
I love to carry two flags in my hands
Where ever I be on the Earth.
One belongs to the country where I started
My earthly journey.
The other drawn on the limits
On my global choices as a human.
A defined context,
The power of sight my eyes permit.
A global white of the snow or the clouds
A global blue of the sky or the sea
A global black of the night or eyes closed
A global green of the grassy land and leaves
Shades of red, yellow and orange merge into a disk
My heart is there, the gateway to nature's breath.
Oct 7, 2015
Oct 7, 2015 at 4:44 AM UTC
Jupiter Mars P Moon
VENEZIA, "May" 19"th", 1910.
Jupiter's foursquare blaze of gold and blue
Rides on the moon, a lilac conch of pearl,
As if the dread god, charioted anew
Came conquering, his amazing disk awhirl
To war down all the stars. I see him through
The hair of this mine own Italian girl,
Adela
That bends her face on mine in the gondola!
There is scarce a breath of wind on the lagoon.
Life is absorbed in its beatitude,
A meditative mage beneath the moon
Ah! should we come, a delicate interlude,
To Campo Santo that, this night of June,
Heals for awhile the immitigable feud?
Adela!
Your breath ruffles my soul in the gondola!
Through maze on maze of silent waterways,
Guarded by lightless sentinel palaces,
We glide; the soft plash of the oar, that sways
Our life, like love does, laps --- no softer seas
Swoon in the ***** of Pacific bays!
We are in tune with the infinite ecstasies,
Adela!
Sway with me, sway with me in the gondola!
They hold us in, these tangled sepulchres
That guard such ghostly life. They tower above
Our passage like the cliffs of death. There stirs
No angel from the pinnacles thereof.
All broods, all breeds. But immanent as Hers
That reigns is this most silent crown of love
Adela
That broods on me, and is I, in the gondola.
They twist, they twine, these white and black canals,
Now stark with lamplight, now a reach of Styx.
Even as out love - raging wild animals
Suddenly hoisted on the crucifix
To radiate seraphic coronals,
Flowers, flowers - O let our light and darkness mix,
Adela,
Goddess and beast with me in the gondola!
Come! though your hair be a cascade of fire,
Your lips twin snakes, your tongue the lightning flash,
Your teeth God's grip on life, your face His lyre,
Your eyes His stars - come, let our Venus lash
Our bodies with the whips of Her desire.
Your bed's the world, your body the world-ash,
Adela!
Shall I give the word to the man of the gondola?
3.4k
An orange-rose halo suffused
the eastern horizon
like the birth of a fresh new world.
Our celestial furnace, still veiled
beyond the eastern edge,
lent its glow to the bright silver disk
still hovering in the western sky.
In the chill still of an autumn morn
where yesterday greets tomorrow,
a sermon wrought of science and spirit
whispered through the aether,
"All is hope.
All is promise.
All is awakening,"
Aug 3, 2013
Aug 3, 2013 at 5:22 AM UTC
Unwatch'd, the garden bough shall sway,
The tender blossom flutter down,
Unloved, that beech will gather brown,
This maple burn itself away;
Unloved, the sun-flower, shining fair,
Ray round with flames her disk of seed,
And many a rose-carnation feed
With summer spice the humming air;
Unloved, by many a sandy bar,
The brook shall babble down the plain,
At noon or when the lesser wain
Is twisting round the polar star;
Uncared for, gird the windy grove,
And flood the haunts of hern and crake;
Or into silver arrows break
The sailing moon in creek and cove;
Till from the garden and the wild
A fresh association blow,
And year by year the landscape grow
Familiar to the stranger's child;
As year by year the labourer tills
His wonted glebe, or lops the glades;
And year by year our memory fades
From all the circle of the hills.
3.2k
An elephant remebered running wild in savanna.
The rays of the sun shining down warming the ground beneath him,
He bathed in the light, as he trunked with the other elephants around his elder's legs,
He remebered the large disk of light as it descended behind the earth and the sky became hues of color,
He remembered as he lay down in the nights, drawing warmth from his elders,
He remebered this as the lion, with jagged teeth, ripped his guts.
The lion, having had his fill, looked up at the elephant and there as darkness settled in his eyes, like curtains closing in the finale, an elephant ran wild in savanna.
Feb 7, 2019
Feb 7, 2019 at 8:54 PM UTC
I'm a DJ, a Disk jockey.
My fingers are like a jockey stick.
I breathe and live House music.
The first descendant of Disco music.
I'm the descendant of Frankie Knuckles.
My tunes ease listener's glooms.
I'm a predator, music beats are my prey.
House music is the only language I understand.
I busk locally and internationally.
I'm a beast, not just any beast.
Beast that play 4/4 repetitive beats.
I play tunes that move with heart beats.
My tunes aren't restricted to race or religion.
Behind the deck, I'm thee "House beast"
May 16, 2018
May 16, 2018 at 7:17 PM UTC
I try to put the words together
make em eb an flow...
the waves were crashing all around
and began to rock the boat..
it crashed and left him stranded
and enveloped in the swoll..
hes fighting for the surface but he's
being pulled below...
deep down in to the recess of his
dark an dreary mind...
hes surrounded by the thoughts
and feelings of every single kind...
now unsure to where to go from
here its all become to much...
whats real or fake or in between he's
got no reality to clutch...
but now hes scratched the surface
and the disk begins to skip...
hes starting to let go a little push and
then he slips...
he finds himself together
he's perfectly in tact...
now hes got the power harnessed
no way he can look back...
His goal becomes destruction
he begins to look around...
He sees the lies that torture him,
his target he has found....
the source of all this pain and hurt
your deceptions were so good...
How you always faked the smile
he's never understood....
In his mind he begins erasing never saving
what was bad...
Now anything he didn’t want its if he's
never seen or had...
The good did come but came and
went just lost along the way...
Now he sat up and smiled
for he had come upon today....
Just up on the horizon the sun had begun to rise...
the light began to take him
he tightly closed his eyes...
He awoke to find himself alone
just lying on the shore...
He breathed in deep to his relief
he had been there before...
This beach he had imagined every night
he lay in bed....
This place was his escape from all thoughts
inside his head...
The water washed up on his feet
it began to come and go...
The waves they crashed just like the words
that so did eb and flow
-JT
Nov 9, 2012
Nov 9, 2012 at 1:15 AM UTC
Maybe these wonders
that float by the bed
of the wandering traveler
will ever find peace
to the rivers it washed
on the shore of tomorrow
but the train has departed
time itself frozen
in ice-trays for scalding
hot yesterdays
lollipop remnants
askew in the hallway
of this rundown shack
rewind the
disk so as to portray
all the shame felt
by this day
we say Hello..
hands waved to the sky
as rainbows descend
heaven above like wings
white as the
snow, but pure like
nothing seen before
we dance...
mixtures of speech
blend like smoothies
of strawberry finess
every stripe, every spot make
the gold seams of the dress
stars wear. year
after year it grows
to burst with
confetti they float and
we stare...
blankly each moment
is blurred
muddy images pierce the walls
drip do they fall like rain
on the ground covered in
petals and petals of flowers
so red but yellow
we hug...
Nov 2, 2012
Nov 2, 2012 at 12:50 AM UTC
Jeweled.. map... talk
Wipe her... teardrops...
He summoned her
Braveheart
"The Hipster" starry eye
Commando Chief
Trampled the hot item
help!!
* * * *
Rubies in the Paradox
Pep-talk thief Fox
* * * * *
Red Rhapsody
Hey, Buster, on the
Tip of the "Ice Queen"
"King Speech"
Her lips
Practice what your eyes
Preach whats inside his lips
Lip marooned force
Afterfight doomed
"Divorce"
He tapped took a bite
So vamp lit her lip
Apple stumbles
Mr. Cobbler
Lips got caught to be
crumbled
Clicks movie flicks
* * * *
Physiological College of chicks
On her Demon laptop lovesick
Sisters of the Sentinel
Fingers clicking like quicksand
Ancient lips touch the shadow
Of his smile
Does anyone have a
soft spot for Angels
The psychotic broken wing on the verge
The lip pledge Demon
Give him a shot lip
bullet glass
"Red Electricity" he smiled
Certain lip she deserved
The floppy disk
Sweet breath
His baking whisker's
Those baby boomers
Top of the lip rumors
the right kiss
"Emmy" Jet set trips
Their chattering lips
Niagara falls duty calls
"Lip Shoutbox"
Her lips touched on
A nerve
schemingly
He blew up like the
Cherry bomb we will
succumb dreamily
Could blow his
lips down
How she wore the
red velvet bustier
A+ lip magnet
He's the connoisseur
La Luna melancholy
"The World Is Dying"
No apology
The symphony in line
With the lip up
His chin down is lying
But when your smiling
A poem knows what your
lips are saying
Are you in way too deep
Lips like cold cuts the
paparazzi mob sheep
The movie cut Deli line
Race her the Italian
Mazzaratti be mine
Demon jungle no plain
Jane's lips
Hurry up your highness
lost his taste for goodness
Do angels die her lips went___?
Angel confession another
revelation
One lie please "I am the Angel"
we never live to die
Feb 7, 2019
Feb 7, 2019 at 8:05 AM UTC
You're only a vibration
pressed to scrap metal,
burned to a disk.
I can hold your voice with one hand;
I can hold your melodies with my ears.
I can hold you in my heart,
fool my body into your presence.
For epithelial tissue
is not so clever,
it cannot tell the difference between a dream and reality,
love and necessity.
Sound travels 768 miles per hour, a pace my heart races,
but I'll die before I win that game.
Sep 14, 2012
Sep 14, 2012 at 5:38 PM UTC