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Debanjana Saha May 2017
On the boat
of passion
& dispassion
keep them both side by side.
Hold on to passion
most of the time
to fly high in windy weather
but when needed rest,
hold on to dispassion tight
to release & fly!

– 17th May, 2017
A thought about passion & dispassion..
How both are interestingly important in life..
Genial poets, pink-faced
earnest wits—
you have given the world
some choice morsels,
gobbets of language presented
as one presents T-bone steak
and Cherries Jubilee.
Goodbye, goodbye,
I don’t care
if I never taste your fine food again,
neutral fellows, seers of every side.
Tolerance, what crimes
are committed in your name.


And you, good women, bakers of nicest bread,
blood donors. Your crumbs
choke me, I would not want
a drop of your blood in me, it is pumped
by weak hearts, perfect pulses that never
falter: irresponsive
to nightmare reality.


It is my brothers, my sisters,
whose blood spurts out and stops
forever
because you choose to believe it is not your business.


Goodbye, goodbye,
your poems
shut their little mouths,
your loaves grow moldy,
a gulf has split
the ground between us,
and you won’t wave, you’re looking
another way.
We shan’t meet again—
unless you leap it, leaving
behind you the cherished
worms of your dispassion,
your pallid ironies,
your jovial, murderous,
wry-humored balanced judgment,
leap over, un-
balanced? ... then
how our fanatic tears
would flow and mingle
for joy ...
You wouldn't just leave,
that was never gonna be enough for you.

You wanted to drag my soul through the pits of misery,
have it's beauty carved on glass...
...because you knew just how easily it could break.

You wanted to take every part of me there was to take,
just so you could rip me to shreds...
...leaving me in pieces
that could never mend.

Little did you know that I was already detached from my being...
...the moment you thought you were becoming one with it.

That I was so estranged from the person you knew...
...because I was already becoming someone you would never get to know.

You took all there was to take,
not because you had that power over me,
but rather
because I gave up what was no longer necessary for my existence.
The beauty of pain is often found in acknowledging its lesson(s).
If we don't realize who we are and why we are here
If we are not happy and just live with stress and fear
If we come to earth and don't realize why we are given this birth
Then, can we say we lived? No, at best, we did exist

Everybody wants happiness, who wants to be sad
Who wouldn't exchange a life of misery for one that is glad
But few are happy with unfullled desires and expectations
They never learn happiness is a journey, not a destination

Are we meant to zoom from our womb to our tomb
Or is life such that we must be locked in a room?
No, life is about living and realizing the Truth
Finding our life purpose, getting to the bottom of the root

The world is chasing success for everyone wants happiness
They cheat, they lie, they steal and cry, and end their life in a mess
They think achievement and money will give pleasure and smiles
Till they learn Success is not Happiness, Happiness is Success

It's crazy but it's true that we earn for others to burn
Silly, we are stingy, we don't spend on what we yearn
Till one day we realize, sadly, that we have money but no life to live
Money that we can't take with us, everything we must give

Achievement creates pleasure, it makes us laugh and smile
But with it come problems that are longer than a mile
With contentment and fulllment, our life is full of peace
There is no stress, there is no worry, just tranquility, and ease

Have you ever wondered why we are anxious and miserable?
We worry about our cough and cold, and how we will pay the bill
The biggest cause of unhappiness is our desires that are not met
We seek something and are disappointed and this makes our eyes wet

What is our life purpose? Why do we come to this earth?
How do these trillion cells together take a magical birth?
If we live and do not nd life's purpose and meaning...
Then we are no better than a tree that is tall but just leaning

Instead of just existing, there are questions that we must ask
Let's make our life interesting by doing this curious task
Where is God and who is He? Is it true that God made me?
Let us nd out what came rst - was it the seed or the tree?

Are we the body that is born starting as a zygote?
Or is the body something that keeps our life aoat?
Fools are those who believe that we are made of bone and skin
The Truth is that we are the Life Energy that lives within

We think and worry and fear, that is our mind
Strange, isn't it, where is the mind, we cannot nd!
It appears like a monkey jumping from trunk to trunk
Spilling thoughts left and right till we make it into a monk

If I am not the body, I am not the mind, then the question is, who am I?
The ego says, “Oh, it's me! This silly question - why?”
The ego tries to fool us with this mistaken identity
The Truth when we know, only then we will be free

We live in ignorance covered by a blanket that is dark
We achieve many things but what is life, we miss the mark
We foolishly live and do not achieve our own life goal
To nd we are not the body or the mind, but the Soul

The body will die, and the mind will y
The soul which is me will leave for the sky
The body will return to dust, that's no lie
That's the simple Truth, I will never die

There is a power that controls this earth and universe
A power that's kind, that's wise, and does not curse
How is it possible otherwise that the earth goes round and round?
Who is the one that causes all the magic on the ground?

We know God exists but who is, where is, what is God?
Why can't you tell us the secret from the skies, Oh Lord!
We know you exist that's for sure, we have no doubt
You are a power that we know, but we pray: please come out

Life on earth is a Cosmic Drama, we come and we go
Nothing is real, it's like a dream, it's just a Cosmic show
Because we think that life is real, we worry and we cry
We ght, we shout, we scream, we suffer right until we die

Karma is a universal Law, what you give is what you get
As you sow, so shall you reap - on this I can bet
Law of Action and Reaction, those who **** will be made to hang
And it all returns back to us, just like a boomerang

Man thinks he can achieve anything but little does he know
There is a mysterious 4th Factor that actually controls the show
Man believes results depend on him, his equipment and his act
Sad it is but the results lie with the 4th Factor, in fact

There is a way to suffer no more, not to worry, not to cry
If only we nd out the Truth of 'who am I?'
Then though the body and mind suffers, that is not me
From regret, fear, worry, pain and misery, I am free

Of course, we all need a good Life Coach who will teach
Otherwise, it is not possible that success we will reach
If we want to nd the Truth and our life to realize
We need a spiritual master, who will open our real eyes

Do you know anybody who has been to heaven or hell?
Are there devils in hell and does heaven have a bell?
The Truth is this, these are not places that anyone can go
Sins or good deeds are redeemed here on earth we must know

If we are not the body and the mind, then who are we?
We are the Soul, the Atman, we are the Life Energy
When the body is born, we enter and we are the cause of birth
We continue to give life to the body till it dies here on earth

We all say that time is ying, but this is not true
We are moving. Time is still. It's stuck like glue
No doubt the clock has a needle. Its ticking doesn't stop
Stop and see time is still. It's we who run and hop

We must realize this Truth that knowledge is not realization
It's the root, it's not the fruit, there must be evolution
From knowledge shall shoot wisdom that will nally make us know
Who we are and why we are here, in our Soul this will glow

What is our goal? All religions say it is liberation
We must realize we are the Soul, whatever be our occupation
Most of humanity thinks that happiness is the goal
No, this is not true. It is to nd that we are the Soul

Where is the mind? We cannot nd but who will make us know?
It is our intellect who is the master to make the mind slow
The intellect discriminates between what is right and what is wrong
We then choose what we must do and sing a happy song

There is a way to stop all our worries and anxiety
If we live with detachment then from misery we are free
It is passion and desire that makes us expect and crave
If we don't live with dispassion, we will take worries to our grave

What is the key to realization? The secret, do you know?
With discipline of mind and body, towards liberation you can go
If you have no control on your body and your mind
In a prison of Body and Mind, yourself you will nd

People think yoga is a physical exercise.
This is believed by fools, not the ones who are wise
Yoga is union. It's a connection with the Divine
That is all that matters, and it is truly sublime

Who is it that kills and destroys our joy and peace?
It is we ourselves who do it. Let's not blame others, please!
When we start, there is happiness and peace all around
But we desire and we crave and anxiety is found

The one who can be happy in this moment, in the NOW
It is he who can be peaceful, grazing like a Happy cow
He doesn't live with regrets of the past that is gone
Nor does he live with the fear of the future not yet born

Why do we nd that people easily believe in the myth?
Why don't they ask questions and Realize the Truth?
Because we believe in rituals and trust superstition
Our life is in turmoil and we live in stress and tension

Maya is a cosmic illusion. It has two amazing powers
With one it conceals the Truth, with the other, it projects the stars
Nothing is real in this cosmic world, everything is a dream
Because we believe in Maya, we fear, worry, and scream

The Law of Causation states that every effect has a cause
Don't just believe it's a gold ring. Ask questions and pause
If you remove gold from the gold ring, you will nd nothing left
The Divine is the cause, the world and we are just effects

To achieve the goal of life, important steps there are three
It starts with the purication of body and mind, then we are free
In the second step, the darkness goes because of illumination
In the nal step we become one with the Lord, that is unication

Every human being on earth has to act and is not free
When we wake up from bed, we wash our faces and be who we must be
While we cannot be free from action and this Truth we do know
We can be free in action and we can let the spirit grow

At death one of two things happen…this is the Divine Truth
If we believe we are body and mind, we will have to take rebirth
But those who realize we are the Soul, from rebirth they are free
At death, their Soul is liberated and one with the Lord, they'll be

Columbus discovered America, the land he could touch and feel
Self-realization can't be discovered. You’ll know it when you peel…
Layer by layer, when you strip apart the body and the mind
You will realize you are neither, you are the Soul that's inside

Even those who realize the ultimate Truth, they are still not free
They still have to ght the war within, then liberation they will see
The Truth you know, you are still prisoner of the mind
When you transcend ego, and mind, then you are free, you will nd
Of course, there is a way to everlasting peace and joy
If we are free from body and mind, this bliss we can enjoy
But rst, we must realize the Truth and know that we are the Soul
Then we can achieve everlasting joy and peace as our goal

Many things are beautiful, with these beautiful eyes we see
And then we can appreciate how beautiful the Creator can be
But when we realize that everything is a manifestation of the Lord
Then we will not just see beauty, but in beauty we will see God

All religions are good for they take us closer to God
But there is one problem, they say their God is the only Lord
Thus, religion is the kindergarten to spirituality we must know
We must go beyond our religion, in spirituality to grow

Realization of the Truth is nothing less than magic
It eliminates regrets, fears and takes away everything tragic
When we realize we are not the body that cries and the rascal mind
This is the realization of the truth, and peace and joy we will nd

When something happens don't wonder, accept the Divine Will
We must trust in the Divine Master, His design and His skill
Rather than hope for something and break our little heart
It is better to surrender to the Divine, just doing our little part

We all have enemies, who doesn't? But the greatest enemy is 'ME'
ME is Mind and Ego, a bigger enemy there cannot be
It bombards us with thoughts and causes anxiety
It makes us suffer in regret and fear and doesn't let us be free

What is life all about, have you ever thought?
Who are we and why we are here, this we have forgot
The purpose of life is to nd the Truth - we are not body and mind
Our goal is to unite with the Divine, and this Truth we must nd

In a transformation, we make a change, though it is better, not worse
We changed our life from what it was, but this change we can reverse
But a metamorphosis is different, it's when a caterpillar starts to y
It can never again crawl on earth as it becomes a buttery

We are all Souls embodied in a body and a mind
Without this body-mind complex, the Soul we cannot nd
Just like mud needs a *** to manifest itself
The Soul too needs a body and mind and can't be seen by itself

Why do we fear, why do we worry, why do we regret?
Because we live in ignorance, we fume and we fret
But once we realize the Truth that we are not body or mind
We dance with joy and peace, and misery we leave behind

It starts with self-realization, knowing who we truly are
Neither are we the body, nor the mind, but the Soul that shines like a
star
This leads to God-realization, we nd God is a power
He is everywhere, on earth and in the sky. He is in every ower

The human mind can't understand all, it has a limit we must know
The nose can smell, but cannot see and show what eyes can show
And so is the human being created, he cannot think beyond
He can realize the self and realize God, but can't go beyond

I live as the happiest man on earth, what is my secret of life?
I live with peace and joy and bliss. I have no strife
I know I am not body or mind. I am a Divine Soul
To unite with my Lord, My God, is my Life's only Goal.
Spiritual Poem By AiR
TKS Nov 2015
Passion is excessive effort
when you gotta leave you bed
All my thoughts were once on fire
then I strangled them to death

I see this world through a thick lens
of blinding apathy
Not because I couldn't care less
just because it helps me sleep

It's a clinical indifference, baby, bask in your dispassion
Clinical Indifference, let your lethargy become your guide

Action is a senseless venture
When you can't perceive an end
All my words are now required
to solicit emptiness

I see a stranger in your eyes
who I have known for years
Not cause I couldn't care less
it's just companionship breeds fear

It's a clinical indifference, baby, bask in your dispassion
Clinical Indifference, let your lethargy become your guide
Song used by the band i'm in, lyrics done by me.
Homunculus Jan 2019
Enraptured in
a fevered spasm,

Captured in the
mind's phantasm,

Swimming through
the ectoplasm,

Pouring from the
roaring chasm,

Hidden in the
soul's recess

A subtle, gentle,
warm caress

So jubilant, it  
doth redress,

The hindrances which
so suppress,

The progress of the
spirit's wellness,

Showing things which
words can't tell us,

Giving gifts, which
none can sell us,

Do you
hear the
bell that's
ringing?
                  
ringing
              from a
                           distant
                                        shore?

It resonates from
mammoth spheres,

In orbit, shedding
countless years,

Through aeons of
causality,

And boundless
temporality

We see how worlds
arise and cease,

We see how yearning
lays the fleece,

The wool over the eyes,
deceiving, cool

Dispassion's peace
relieving, our

Great webs
of pain and sorrow,

Darkening,
to light the morrow

For as all things
must come apart,

So suffering's,
great work of art,

is merely but
a transience,

receding slowly
in the dark.
Notes.
Robert Ronnow Mar 2021
Carrying a sleeping baby.
Cleaning after a successful party.

Camping beyond mountains more mountains.
Playing trumpet on the streets of New York City.

Eating although the food supply is deeply compromised.
Flying with Democrats and Republicans, evangelicals and atheists.

Flying like a fruit fly that won’t quit mating.
Cool as a hummingbird in a stream’s wet spray.

Abstaining wholly, absent from worldly life.
Two dogs fighting but not biting hard.

Chanting as if the planet were mending.
Gourmet dining, devout prayer, loving Mary.

Evenings watching tv. Scotch and Star Trek.
Taking off Emily Dickinson’s clothes.

Meeting in the meeting house, arguing and praying.
Planning a legacy as if you knew enough to control events.

Pursuing happiness as a naturalist or humanist.
Spinning with the planet, performing the history that surrounds us.

Killing many Germans, saving many Jews.
Doing less until one thing’s done well.

Fainting from staring at candles through stained glass windows.
Morning, a billion trillion nuclear detonations per second warming your
        bones.

Manipulating symbols, solving equations.
Disregarding tweets and facebook persuasions.

Sitting with a tiny Buddha near a rushing stream cutting a gorge.
Running, disciplining myself, making myself healthy.

Ingesting drugs, throwing die, drinking sludge.
Growing varicolored corn.

Participating in the cause because it’s impossible not to participate in
      the effect.
Running over a chipmunk, groundhog or a skunk.

Lying face down in the emergency room facing doom.
Waking up Monday thinking Sweet Saturday! but soon remembering
      your trick knee.

Turning the towering young thunder of my anger against my sons.
Regretting the callow dispassion with which I met my parents’ quietus.

Lawn mowing, leaf blowing, yapping dogs, napping old people.
No jets but a rooster mornings, cows and goats.

Al is painting an apartment. Sirma is cleaning the floors. Felix is taking
      out the garbage.
Deciding tentatively I slightly prefer Heifetz’ to Oistrakh’s Sibelius.

No cedar waxwings, no chickadees, but beautiful moon!
If you’re alone as you get, why are you crying?
—Collins, Billy, “Taking Off Emily Dickinson’s Clothes”, Sailing Alone Around the Room: New and Selected Poems, Random House, 2002.
Onoma Jul 2018
You are the body of Siva, having sun and moon for twin
*******;
Your Self, I surmise, O Goddess, as a new sinless Self;
Therefore, by mutual complementarity, this relation
remains one of common reciprocity
Between You two, participating on equal terms of
transcendent bliss.


--Soundarya Lahiri


you wandered into the cave

of this spiritual heart.

the moment you entered, these

eyes flew open--and glowed

nocturnally.

black, the color of dispassion--

moved with you, till it realized it

moved and was broken.

even after perfectly seeing the

hell that is desire, desire thus!!!

you conjured this, you called out into

the wild...and now i call back!!!

i couldn't resist you, because you awakened

the realization that there's more to be burned.

your hand found its way across

the cave walls...never was a touch

so familiar.

you create the time it takes for

five fingers to hold every hand

ever formed.

if it is i've understood the energetic exchange,

and you have not...manifold the cave.

how unfathomably deeper the

depth, and i must love you

relentlessly for making it there.

i have forever to wait out your

mind.

eyes closed...tears of ecstasy

cutting down a face of ash.
poetryaccident Sep 2018
Dawn will soon be embraced
for treasures beyond the curve
of the earth now brought to hand
wanton actions then expressed
the mold is broken and then reformed
sensuous defined by each one

far-flung stars gazed in sleep
Scorpio waiting for a chance
when emotions churn within
private dreams foretold the way
those secret urges beyond the veil
brought to waking in the light

morning risen to exclaim
what the night hid away
the slumbering to be roused
or should arousal be the term
for dispassion put aside
in response to nature’s urge

vocal ***** and stirring hens
or reversed and transposed
now awoken from their sleep
ask for strokes to greet the day
more than enough to awake
achieve release not found in sleep.

© 2018. Sean Green. All Rights Reserved. 20180930.
The poem “Morning Risen” was inspired by another poet’s work.  They wrote a poem about the interplay before foreplay.  This led me to write about waking up in the company of another.
CIN Jan 2022
Its interesting
The way it feels to be
Nothing and everything all at once
These feelings are dizzying
Spinning me in circles as i stare into the sky
There are planes making orange trails
Cloudless blue fading into brilliant pink
And ginger lines of exhaust
It’s cold in this hell
Bellowing through my ornate lungs
I exhale a scream of agony
And watch your expressionless face
I remember that you are nothing but a pawn in life's sick game.
Nat Lipstadt Apr 2016
Selah

~~~

is a word used seventy-four times in the bible.  The meaning of the word is not known, though various interpretations are given below.  It is probably an instruction on the reading of the text, something like *
"stop and listen."  The Amplified Bible translates selah as "pause, and think of that." Alternatively, selah may mean "forever," as it does in some places in the liturgy.  Another interpretation claims that selah comes from the primary Hebrew root word salah, meaning "to hang," and by implication, as in weighing, "to measure"

for Sethnicity
~~~

what trifle these
modern words,
hurled, expelled from the
no country for an old body,
without passport or
earnestness of purpose

the yeah yeah yeah filler
of day tourists who
leave~refuse,
leave their refuse,
never mark-making,
nor even  a mark of
minor distinctions

what mystery valued then in these
olden words,
of which,
there are the fewer than
precious few,
possessing
ineffable, multifarious meanings,
never wasted or with dispassion disgraced

Selah

as a young boy
parentally captive
was POW forced-marched
to synagogue daily,
then weekly,
and now,
free at last,
Oh Lord
free at last,

to go
never

now wanting immunity
for my sins
but asking only from myself
my own forgiveness,
still and well recall the
puzzlingly feeling of

Selah

"forever"
explained the perpetually tired,
older father-man,
"it means forever,"
he who was wearily forever tired from voyaging
and living in a new, stressful,
inhospitable world

carrying in a single suitcase(1)
centuries of the continental drift of
global dispersal diaspora prior,
that cannot be well remembered,
only honored in the
forever recalling

but I disdain the explanation,
as if
"forever"
would satisfy
a ne're satisfied,
irreverent, teenage curiosity

here I am
decades on,
remembering the mysterious

Selah

embracing its many personalities,
endearing now by its revealing opportunities,
and its suitability
in this,
in the the hour of
now me as the
elder father-grandfather

weary-leery,
of a man's age of aging,
the approaching visible runway,
upon which you only land
and never takeoff,
during the phasing out period

and so I reconsider

Selah

and all its variants,
seventy four times

all those elders know too well,
there was never a

forever

so you
stop and listen,
but not to your own heartbeats,
but to tue

poetic lapsing pauses,

the in betweens,
thinking on that
hope for next one Nat

taking your own measure,
the hanging up,
the weighing up
of the always imbalanced
credits and deficits,
accepting the net net
sum of
the totaling up

yet once more,
despite all,
the poet rises,
stands up,
stops to listen,
to give blessing to
you the reader

all poet's
welcomed progeny and prodigy,
hearing your crying hearts,
youngest wishes
and grinding familia of
familiar fears,
expressed so clear
in all your scripts,
pronouncing
over them,
over you


Amen ~ Selah

once again ,
one last time
telling it to God,
or anyone who'll listen,
with fervor

smiling inward
believing even more now
in the olden
specialized mysterious,
powers
of a word
that means
exactly what you meant it
to mean,
when  your say

Selah*

Oct 2, 2015
a poem written and stored away from a sense of
who will get this weary wariness... but I let it go because
it was
selah time

for Sethnicity

(1). he was a Fuller Brush Man
Lucy Feb 2018
The yonder above is forever bruised and opaque
Reigning over glum faces
Complexions washed with a bloodless shade of dispassion
Robotic, disengaged.

Material desires are quenched with vast shopping centres
Credit Cards hold on for dear live
As every last drop of sweet money is rinsed from that plastic rectangle.

Living beyond our means
Whilst simultaneously refusing to give up on Sky TV box sets and liquid lunches.

Hooked to our phones, but not for telephone communication
Rather, for self validation
Defined by the click of a heart or pathetic thumb.

The once friendly communities
With blood coursing through their veins
Are husks of their previous life form, gentrified beyond recognition.

Filtered faces with protruding spines and modified features
Infiltrate mass media
Corrupting the definitions of success and beauty.

Plastic personalities reign supreme
Vacuous minded socialites profess women’s empowerment begins with the flaunting of skin
Rather than the possession of a strong mind.

Many bury their heads in the sand
Residing in ignorance
As mass genocides and civil wars manifest every second.

Or worse, they read the TORYgraph and THE ****  
Believing immigrants spawn white genocide
And white conservatives suffer oppression.

Pffft!

I have deep contempt for those behind these ***** tabloids
Murdoch and his monsters
Orchestrating lies and bile
Destroying lives or scaremongering the impressionable
Committing the most savage, sycophantic crimes
In order to extract Monday’s headline.

I do not suffer fools
Especially those who make up the tapestry of dystopia
A failing age of doom.
Nat Lipstadt Apr 2014
put down thy pen,
it is in disrepute,
smash thy tablet,
crack its glass...

house the mouse,
don't be an ***,
genus human,
you have been
antihero morphed
anthromorprophesized,
******, simply, replaced

you poem prophecy
returned,
stamped,
Unneeded, Unread, Unheeded

you have been excused,
you have been recused,
jury, a chamber of inconclusive noises
dismissed,
the judge will digitally
write all
from now on...
submit your selected tags
for laughs,
a different poem returned to you,
by a digital "humanist"

what do I crave?
give me your youthful typos,
let me literate critique
the good, the bad, the
trite repetitive and especially
the ugly
poetry,
the kind only
humans can write

so I love or hate it,
your literacy,
with impassioned dispassion,
the kind no machine will e'er transcend

pull the plug on your random alphabet generator,
Eliot of York,
or you might find yourself
upgraded into unempoement!
Three poems in 50 minutes, 12:55 am, time for body replenishment - but if my hands should find themselves upon my thighs, no telling if the writing birth canal knows it should be shut... See http://hellopoetry.com/poem/661501/the-proper-sleep-position-for-poetry-writing/
cassiopeia miel Nov 2015
Like a squiggle in your eye; blink,
and
I'm
gone
because I am all lipstick smudges left under carefully-pressed lapels, or Sharpied innuendos scrawled on bathroom walls in dingy bars.
A souvenir from one ephemeral moment, a fleeting tryst of dispassion (from my side at least); before I am scrubbed bare and raw.

DON'T YOU TOUCH ME, for I am so tender.
Thrown into the wash;
you can clean me, but the stain remains.
The scent of sugar, sweat and shame.
Rhet Toombs May 2016
I am searching for red blooms on this fragile ground
And awake every morning accepting the agony
Split
Ruined
Wound down for another agonizing transformation
You are the first
My love continues for you on this dying earth
Situations flooded with dispassion
I hope you will remember me
You said we lay naked
But only for me to study your crystalline arches
And to purge myself from the cruelty of this world
Tara Marie Oct 2014
Ty
He waits for nothing
trapped inside vendettas of the past.

To compensate for all the pain.
Collapsed by storms, aghast.

Mouthing words into the plated
metal microphone.

Omniscient spy who gawks upon
his wretched monotones.

Patient Dr. Jekyll sits still
with longing looks.

While Heyde is toying endlessly
amongst his fellow crooks.

If only neither played a part,
and both were but a dream,

No plague of silent conflict
would crowd his every seam.

Within the realm of tragedy,
is where his soul endures.

Ty; intrinsic predator
searching for a cure.

And as his restless measures
of feelings coincide,

and harmonies escape his lungs
while beats start to collide,

The distant Dr. Jekyll protrudes
from vacant sleep.

Commences to erode a quiet
conscience, from the deep.

Sudden need for elsewhere
is all that Ty can see.

Every fiber recognizes
where he needs to be.

And suddenly the microphone,
who knows his every pain

is sitting lonely,
mesmerized
by silent noise again.

Ty is but a victim, sullen thoughts
that make him sick.

Never can he compromise,
when all his habits stick.

Forever now ambivalent,
confused and losing time.

Ty knots his laces,
bats his tears,
a façade: pressed and fine.

Ty's dreams are crushed,
disintegrate into the offshore sand.

When all at once he notices,
his life is in his hands.

A straw that Jekyll used before
is laying on the ground.

Heyde is shaking shamefully,
but cannot make a sound.

Ty looks upon the dreams he crushed
and searches for his will

its lined up right in front of him,
dispassion in a pill.
Relapse is sudden, and sometimes unexpected. A story of a friend.
Gabrielle H Jun 2013
Your liquid mercury eyes,
drawn to the sight of a hiccuping heart
half-exposed through a ragged chest,
brought me close and held me there.

Despite that proximity,
in the end not even my own heart
was cold enough to solidify those
mercurial eyes of yours,

and you slid right between my fingers
forever, leaving only a diseased heart

and renewed dispassion.
Ady Dec 2013
There is a freedom in delusion,
It is artificially flavoured and cheap-
for anyone desperate enough to buy it.
Like this, there are many more copies of the originals.
It is the promise of Love,
The dissapointment of failure,
and the bitter taste of regret.
Yes, there is a blind happiness in the act of faith;
believing in the shadows reflected on the walls of the cave.
A hard truth to accept- the lies you tell to yourself
as you go to bed and succumb to wishful dreams.
Another day wasted-another mind twisted.
The vitality of grass and the prattle of the birds ceases
love fades away, as does the vigor of the summer.
Words once fluent, now cease to forced murmurs of dispassion.
There goes the first leaf of autumn-
in the cold harshness of the creeping wind.
There is honesty and pain in recognition,
Deceit and grief at the eyes of imitation.
Yes, there is a temporal taste of forged happiness;
A comfort in the fabric of deception.
Wrote it back in summer for a friend.
George Krokos Nov 2010
If you somehow find or see the way,
be firm in your resolve come what may.
The way for you is that which reveals
Your real nature within hidden seals;
being those which we have all constructed,
over the years left with, now are obstructed.

To say only that whatever did happen
was ****** upon us, we were mistaken
is due to lack of discrimination right from the start
considering, the choice was ours, we played the part.
We became entangled in an invisible net
of our own creation and so fell into debt.

We looked for that which never existed
outside of ourselves and became twisted.
Finding out painfully things just did not last
as we expected them to, remember the past?....

Perhaps one who has recognised this and with detachment,
some reflection acquires dispassion, sees their attachment,
will find the right keys, with a little grace unlock the seals
fastened within their mind and heart, so remove the veils.
Revealing the inner light gradually brighter
by the virtue of purity and thus get lighter,
feeling our natural essence being unalloyed bliss;
ecstatic joy, unmistakable and unable to dismiss
as something other than coming from within,
sustaining, fulfilling, and definitely free of sin.

Projected from inside as a screen seemingly outside where
it manifested as tangible objects appearing to be out there.
This is part of a grand design to lure us all from the source
by a world of duality being apparently an adversary force.

Creating so many illusions and making us believe
we haven't the things with which it tries to deceive.
Eventually becoming involved in an unreal mesh
of the five objects through the doors of our flesh.
And using five limbs we get seduced even more,
caught in a desperate struggle to hold and score
all that we can hope to get by not realising that
everything has come out of our own mind's hat,
that we have all created to experience the extent
of our Infinite Being which was really the intent.

We are only One Being apart from it all
eternally free, playing the game we just saw
of hide and seek making all the right choices
within its own dream and thus finally rejoices.
When finding Itself as all, nothing has remained
left to be known; all has in Itself been ascertained.

Awakened at last and knowing ourselves as one motion
of existence indivisible beyond certainty a shoreless ocean
of light self effulgent and forever complete,
only Itself, all pervading, can actually meet.
Infinity of existence, omniscient, formless; nowhere bound,
endless and immutable being Itself without a second around.
Awesome, incomprehensible, beyond mind's ability to grasp
except after final annihilation of all limitations in its clasp.

Everything and nothing have merged as before
into that place where they will be forevermore.
For a moment only that Existence of Being is Now
and am by myself so reverently to That must bow.
From unpublished book "The Seeds Of Life" - compiled in 1996
Katherine May 2013
He traced his fingers down my spine
my bare skin crawling with desire
I knew it was just ***
and I knew he did not love me
and I did not love him
but I still yearn for those moments
laying in my bed
with his skin on mine
in a state of utter dispassion
As the sea is dolorous
My soul is untamable
As the moon perpetuate the sea
One can make me conclusive
But who can bottle that be?

The sea may reverberate
My affection may extravasate
The moon dispassion the waves
Of my life's precipitation
Who can prevail against me?

As deep as the sea
Is my love and my heart
As the moon faultless the sea
I need someone to quiescent me
Who can rival me?

The sea is so atramentous
As is my disposition
The moon luminosity it's light
Can someone genuinely love me
And make me whole?

I need a camaraderie
Like the moon and the sea
Commensurate and exhaustive
Come find me
If you dare
I'm lost at sea.
This is the sea of love
George Krokos Jan 2014
The world is a vast playground and we're like children playing games
in the acquiring of many ephemeral things that we have given names.
All those sense objects usually just blind us and often lead many astray;
by great effort and dispassion sometimes we escape to see the real day.
_______________
From "The Quatrains" ongoing writings since the early '90's.
Onoma Aug 2015
The stepchildren of passion
bear the selfsame fruit of their
parentage...disowned by their own volition,
till becoming...incrementally dying
aspirants of dispassion.
I think of St. Francis, St. Francis
I think of you often.
Neobotanist May 2019
Stop cleaning up around me
I cannot and I do not

I’ll sleep with her if you want me to
Me and fluid and machine
I’m not laughing aloud
Nina Nina Nina
Coming in but a lot of the same name
And madly

There’s a lot I can’t like
But I’ll have a better imagination window tomorrow
The ceiling flan blades tangle
And I am on a wave of symmetry
We are We are We are

Rebalancing Las Vegas
It’s a development from another evolutionist
And it’s currently alive
I’ll check back later to see if I
still love you

You visited the portable stage
How was the weather in Cancun?
Counterarguments with the same hundred girls

I noticed it anyway
I’m heading home with indebtedness
So therefore
You should at least punch me a call
I realized yesterday that
The public does not exist physically
It’s located within

Also we are photogrammetry
And strategically significant
As microbes
I’m talking in the studio
Mainly to become desensitized

Did you get that disability from extreme passion?
Or did you get that dispassion from extreme ability?
Thank you, Thank you
You’re stuck behind me now
This is another sentence and if you like anything in particular
You need me

This evening I think you actually got my hopes up
When you said everything was up and running
When I supposed what you ultimately wanted was
Everything

Did I have this “Everything” to give?

To hear you slurping everything from suspension
I think the craziest messages just talk
Nat Lipstadt Mar 2015
studied dispassion,
go about
the roundabout
of practiced ordinary living,
fully aware,
there are no open exits
currently available,
leading back to when,
all exits
led only bright forward

consensual distance
spaces tween
registered vehicles
but no longer
registering bodies,
legally maintained,
by all
outward appearances,
minor kisses
in a habitual habitat,
perfunctory
of the functionary,
"I love you's"
traded before
shutting off the
permanence of the
finale of the
now dimmed bedroom light

diminution
by the minute,
covertly clarifying
the ex-mission critical,
cutthroat ended
by consensual distances,
silent no speaking
empty spaces that
cannot be closed,
or
dispossessed disposed,
the sensual, desensitized

been down this
slow mo lazy path,
to slow ruin
before
the quick road to
The End

the questions
air hung but
unasked,
the words
unspoken,
they,
the ultimate
****** weapons
inevitably found,
getting at long last
a final hearing,
judgement reached
at the
reenacted scene
the finale resting place,
the grave of spaces,
consensual spaces,
the gulf of no love,

the pre-partum dénouement
I have been near enough to death
to know it well
its unwavering dispassion
its unflinching reality

as I breathe into her
and hear the sound of empty lungs
it has ripped all the curtains I had sewn
all the false smiles and pat answers
a lifetime of rehearsed dialogue and robotic gestures

I was now naked before myself
and the lies that became me
now face me
and dissolve
Ghost Writer 3 Jan 2017
Again this compassed
Done with this feeling
Last with this bargain
Away with the dealing

Belated and lagging
Broken records play
Same old song, away
Screeching are sound
When you stay around
I am afflicted anew
Withdraw, my savior
Long past due

The bills are pilling
My thrills are dying
Dispassion growing
Heartbeat sinks
Inside the pit, the fire
Let the burning flow
Heaven sinistral
Purgatory sleeps
Only wakes on earth
I refuse to affirm
Which no one will know
I refuse to hold on
I will only let go
b for short May 2015
Cloudy days make me
feel like I’d be better off
thinking and feeling with dispassion—
stripping all of those bright and buzzing inklings  
down to their logical black and white bones.
Colorless, I stare at what’s left of them—
dull pencil lines and some ***** eraser dust.
Nothing to build on, nothing to respond to.
There’s nothing left which stirs under my skin.
Now, just this empty notion someone put here.
I don’t like it or trust it.
I can’t make sense of it.
Only a familiar voice assuring me
“it’s better this way.”
© Bitsy Sanders, May 2015
Onoma Apr 2019
never the mercy

of water--

on fire in full.

not once left half burnt.

feral child of the sun.

burning mouth--

why do you eat me so?

as the question begs

shamelessly.

over and again--the

ritualistic leavings of ash

for pale morning to fall upon.

to stand my burning ground--

desirous of what you've reduced to

nothing.

a fine brittle black sickly sear smear.

thus i mark my forehead...

till dispassion be learnt.
mike dm Dec 2015
i grew up in an evangelical home in the burbs. i now like to think of this brand of belief in christian doctrine as the sorta "star but humble upstart" ---- a shy new jesus on the block. not very showy with ritual. not too brimstone-y with rules. but nevertheless it is terribly aggressive and convincing in its apparent passivity, summoning up a tactical confusion in the believer that petrified the will before it had a chance to bloom and raked in the imagination before it could body forth an inner-whorl.

the evangelical brand leads with a hidden, veiled threat of eternal damnation best served cold with kind eyes. these eyes, they grow mouths inside them to speak to you the truth as they see it. it assumes your consent already. it rips initiative from the realm of possibility. it rents you a god, a "real living god" amid a scarcity of eternal life. you are sold. you must be. it trains a deep, serene dispassion that enslaves any shred of emotionality. it grips ****** life-affirmation with thousands and thousands of self-induced mental strokes against the backside, moving into position various leather tentacles tipped with acute tapered bones that seek out, lick, dig and pull up a guilt that beats subcutaneous, stuck to the very core center of the hard white tissue holding up humanity itself. you are fallen now because of before, or so it goes. it is the worst kind of violence. it steals who you are and gives you back a cheap copy that tells or suggests you hate, with a vengeful love of course, these original pieces of you that keep cropping up, keep emerging through nice smooth paved suburban sidewalks, still wanting, still desiring -- new words worming through old written ones.

it starts with a lack, and it wants to color you in. "you are not good enough" it sez. "you need something" it warmly alleges. "don't resist, let him in" it condescends with a grin reaching for the ear. it is a vamp asking for permission to eat your heart out with fork and knife, only to replace it with himself - all as you watch the procedure. it loves you to death.

tell it *******, kindly. then shut the door.
dm micklow
Emily Miller Mar 2018
I used to be beautiful,
Glossy,
And warm with the glow of untouched purity.
Propped up on my stand, for all to see,
To admire,
To desire,
But not to play.
I can’t remember feeling before feeling the touch
Of your hands,
Rough and warm.
Beauty be ******,
I relished the newness of your grasp on my curves,
That first rush
As your fingertips glided down my polished body.
It wasn’t long before you found my strings,
And joy turned to fear-
Furiously yet gently,
You loosened my taut wires,
And a motion of sound filled my once blissfully hollow form,
And what came from me but an alien, lyrical cry,
Flying from my strings as your fingers danced across them,
And to my horror,
You smiled,
As you watched my misery unfold.
This sound,
Unheard before now,
Rang out my fears and my naked desires for all to hear,
I couldn’t stop you,
And my soul could not be stifled,
As you forced out of me a bitter song,
A tearful melody,
Of hopes unfulfilled
And a vital *****,
Stolen and unreturned.
One hand round my neck,
The other pulling most painfully at my delicate strings,
You played me.
You monster,
You kidnapper,
You mad musician-
Take me home,
Put me on a stand,
In my case,
Hide me away,
Let me go.
Release me from my tiring song,
In any way you must.
Master,
End it,
Before there’s nothing left,
Before I’m dust.
I already lament the death of my beauty,
My once unblemished wood,
Now splintered,
Dull,
Warped by your unforgiving grasp.
And still my strings you play,
Relentlessly,
And with cruel dispassion.
Ravageur,
Finish my song,
And don’t play me again.
If you must,
Destroy me,
So I can’t sing anymore,
Feel anymore,
Destroy me,
Obliterate me,
Shatter me,
Break me,
Against your counter,
Your headboard,
The wall,
Until I’m scattered across your floor,
Oh, **** me,
Player,
Anything to be silent again.
Carlo C Gomez Jul 2020
Punished by the sun
in a desert of our love.

Slipshod the sailing stones,
how dispassion speckles the playa floor,
salt pans dissolve motivating force.

I'm a man returning to his ground.
You're a woman seeking refuge
in the cracked crevices of my rib cage.

So far below sea level,
where does love go from here to survive?

Perhaps, Chloride City
and the grave of a James McKay?

Maybe at Bottle House in Rhyolite,
the "Queen City"?

Either way, this sensation has become an unsacred mirage:

the watering hole, a leadfield,
with which we can only look back from.

Praying the sulfur in the sky
passes on from this place,

before we turn into something sodium, something akin to
Lot's careless wife.
Dark n Beautiful Nov 2021
My mother believed in prayers, more than my father did

My father believed in tackling his problem with a flask of  

White ***, I believed in the moment of things:

They are hidden compartments inside of us,

“Being in the moment” can be a helpful reminder if we understand it in a more expansive way

Perhaps it was true, when someone said to deal with some situation at moment times

I refused to grieve for my dearly departed husband,

Past experience, wouldn’t allowed me to weep at his grave

My lack of dispassion and willful stubbornness;

Did I really love him, did I really forgive him?

Maybe it was the disrespect, I couldn’t forgive,

The truth is quite different. Forgiving an offense empowers the offended. It is to a man’s glory to overlook an offense (Proverbs 19:11)



I would look at his picture on my refrigerator, and I love him and I hate him

In that same moment, we are surely bedmates

My distance craving, my longing to be held tightly throughout the night.



If a person can fulfill needs for companionship, love, *** or mating, there is a greater chance that the other person will fall in love with him or her.

I have done all of this, and came out the loser, all the time

Love is not for me.  loneliness is my captive

I know, I know, I know, loneliness need not to have the final words
Paromita Mar 2021
In the lap of my master
I sit and look

With eyes closed & an open heart
Observing every passing thought

With dispassion
No dissection
No judgments passed

Just watching the drama
Is a simple joy
Than getting entangled
And ending up in knots

Your grace...your blessings
Will see me through, I guess
Through the cliched weariness
& mundane thoughts

Overwhelmed by manipulations at play
I sometimes feel like running away
But the closure of the eyes
Makes me realize
That you're everywhere ...
Hence there's more inward-running to do
Than any attempts of running away...
poetryaccident Nov 2018
The screams fade over time
echoes fading at long last
leaving questions when hush presides
answers worse than what came before
stillness becomes the mute horror
instilling panic instead of hope
when the unknown is recognized
as the outcome hides from sight

perhaps deafness is to blame
hearing shattered by the sound
the unholy shrieking was enough
to make silent what should be heard
the vibrations still persist
an earthquake stated when tones fail
all too soon the world will break
with ears blinded to suffering

a worse fate awaits the ******
surrounded by ten thousand yards
walls beholden to no sound
impenetrable barriers without resolve
the casket buried six feet down
a resting place without compare
allows contact that’s denied
when solitude denies rapport

lastly the deepest hush
is the phantom when hearing works
statements made are ignored
when the hardness settles in the heart
hard-of-hearing is more kind
or even exile would be a choice
if dispassion becomes the norm
as the screams continue on.

© 2018. Sean Green. All Rights Reserved. 20181129.
The poem “The Screams Fade” was loosely inspired by a Tumblr meme.   I started out with the first line and then thought about why screams would no longer be heard.
kfaye Jan 2017
you cover your head in dark laurels   pretending not to notice me.
hoarding gems between your fingertips like a dying rosary
unwinding the threads of it with malice
playing
neck twisting to the rhythm of a steady stalactite drip
caustic to the slow breath leaking from the vents. filling the room with dispassion.
masturbatory towards life
looking cool
in
a
pink sweatshirt

— The End —