"distill" poems
Life’s about the adjectives,
it’s how we know the world.
Nouns, you see, are only names,
with adjectives - life is knurled.
Think about the apple,
just fruit upon the tree,
red ripe skin with tasty pulp,
better lets us see.
Providing us the texture,
of color if you will,
ADJ allows us space,
to give our lines the fill.
Life’s about the adjectives,
spice for the written line,
Verbs, you see, are motion,
and index things like time.
Think about the race car,
going around the lane,
zipping fast with lightning speed,
better feeds the brain.
Providing us the feeling,
of nature if you will,
ADJ gives the taste,
to writings we distill.
Verbs contain the action,
and nouns have the heart,
adjectives add the flavor,
for cooks of written art.
Life’s about the adjectives,
how else could it be,
that words paint the pigments,
in poems for us to see?
Aug 20, 2010
Aug 20, 2010 at 3:48 PM UTC
Warning: Use dis list in context.
You decide on which side you fall.
disappear
disregard
disaster
displace
disqualify
disrepair
disturb
dissipate
disability
dispose
dismal
distribute
distrust
disturb
discriminate
discuss
disdain
disguise
dishearten
disinherit
disown
disparage
disagree
disgruntle
disclose
discolour
dispute
disarm
discover
disassemble
disadvantage
disallow
dispossess
discontent
discontinue
disrespect
disincline
discomfort
disrepute
dishonest
disillusion
dishonor
dismiss
disobey
disjoin
disappoint
discipline
discord
discern
discrete
disfigure
disconnect
disapprove
discharge
disbar
disease
discord
disfavor
disengage
disassociate
discipline
discount
disembody
displace
dissaray
disembowel
discombobulate
discredit
discourse
disentangle
disenfranchise
disembark
discard
disburse
disbelief
discover
disable
disagree
disintegrate
dismay
dispense
dislodge
disclaimer
disapprove
dissatisfy
disrupt
dispel
dislike
dismantle
disloyal
disbatch
disrobe
disperse
display
disaprove
disciple
disavow
disconcert
disinfect
disorder
dismal
dismember
displease
dissemble
disunity
dislocate
distort
distrust
distress
dissolute
disassociate
distill
discect (?)
distemper
distain
distasteful
distraught
dissolve
dissonant
dissuade
And dis isn't de end.
Aug 22, 2015
Aug 22, 2015 at 12:06 PM UTC
Someone collect all the hatred,
and all the vehemence too.
then don't recycle or reciprocate it.
turn it all into something else,
rich and green and full of kindness.
distill it, remove the impurities,
coagulate it away from it's cold
tungsten tensile titanium.
some of us only have to try,
it can be done. Einstein said so;
and Mother Teresa and Gandhi,
and Martin Luther King Jr.
and brother Nelson too.
Someone collect all the hatred,
and all the vehemence too.
then don't recycle or reciprocate it.
turn it all into something else,
rich and green and full of kindness.
distill it, remove the impurities,
coagulate it away from it's cold
tungsten tensile titanium.
encase it in concrete and steel,
bury it with the radioactive waste.
let it lie for it's half life,
in over 40,000 tears.
Dec 9, 2013
Dec 9, 2013 at 3:46 PM UTC
I want to cut you up in little pieces
And scatter you amongst the sky
So you will be reflected in every pool of light
And shimmer like a halo around every face
I want to distill your very nature
Wear it like a perfume on my skin
Letting it permeate my every pore
Seeping
Inside
Me
To my very core
I want to reach inside your chest
To unfasten your heart
And swallow it whole
So it will beat forever in tandem next to mine
Each beat imparting
Every word
You could never say aloud
Love
Want
Need
Mine
Please
Please
Your eyes are by far my favorite
Two sparkling jewels
Hidden like a holy secret
Underneath your veil of lashes
One look and you
Undo me,
Unravel me,
Undress me
Again, again.
Behind my lips
I keep your kiss
My smile suggesting a clandestine wish
Only you possess the key
To unlock me
Turn it slowly
So I may relish the twist of my womb
And the fire that travels up my spine
To light my eyes
So that you will know
What you
Must
Do.
I want to cut you up in little pieces
And scatter you amongst the sky.
Jan 30, 2012
Jan 30, 2012 at 7:40 PM UTC
The poem was inspired by a particular photo of the WT C, and after that by my first visit to the 9/11 Memorial. On the day of 9/11, I was working about a diagonal mile away, and from our windows, we could see people jumping to their death.
Open sky annulled
to bordered lines of
uptown edges,
worldview momentarily
forcibly redefined by
memories of buildings and sadder days,
recollections of pillars of biblical smoke rising
A photograph
makes me look up,
and sit down historically,
need to catch a breath,
to rest mentally,
upon a storied small bridge's steps,
that I well recall,
a disappeared street stoop.
all were rubble then and once
upon that day.
Wear, tear, and older eyes distill perspective,
but the hardy heart is hardly stilled
by the recognizable gray upon
bon vivant gray reflective surfaces of
memories of buildings and sadder days
So today, on a reborn street,
I rest upon reconstituted speckled curbstone,
the city's lowered down ledges,
the city's lowered down-town boundaries,
constantly redrawn, but
nonetheless, always rebuilt from their own
regenerated stony compost,
and the NY passersby doesn't even notice
a man, head in hands,
silently weeping, thinking that:
We throw away so much we should have kept.
We keep so much we should have thrown away.
Lose keepsakes, but keep our mysterious sadnesses
locked away in compartments that open only to
benedictions uttered in ancient tongues.
Make your own list,
be your own curator,
catalogue visions of sophomoric triumphs,
museum mile pile
those early poetic drafts,
be unafraid of memories
raw and ungentrified,
overlaid, buried underneath
postmortem of dust-piles of senior critiques
Finally went downtown to see
where the blessed water falls
into catacomb pits that once
were the foundations
of buildings that ruled the cityscape,
downtown anchors
for a modern city that exists
only because it was built on
million year old granite bedrock
Stone monuments are stolid, discrete.
Memories are of grayed, frayed edge consistency.
Negatives resurrected that survive digitally,
all blend synthetically, layer upon layer,
essence distilled in a single,
black and white photograph
that serves to
disturb complacency,
awaken stilled pain,
reflections suppressed,
are restored
Sep 11, 2013
Sep 11, 2013 at 6:36 PM UTC
There's a fire hose:
You drink it.
Well, you try to drink it.
You playfully examine it
For a few moments, then
You wrap your lips around the nozzle,
And pump up the pressure:
It blows you back
And pins you to a wall.
The spray stings your eyes,
But if it brings tears to them,
They are washed away by the flow,
Before you, or anyone else,
Can be sure they were there.
Your limbs ache,
You think that if only
You could rest them,
You could hold them stronger
But the time for rest rarely comes.
Some people, washed in despair
Or simply sanity, step out of the way
Never to look back and never to regret.
Some collapse or simply drown.
Others stand the force.
The mass of the waters accelerates,
But still they stand strong.
Wavering at times,
But never giving up.
And one day the flow slows
To a stream, to a trickle, to a drip
Then it stops.
You stand there:
Sudden and Sullen,
Dripping and Deflated,
Percolated, but Proud,
Wet, but Wise.
And you reach out,
Brass Rat rusted to your knuckle:
You grab a beaker and into it
You wring the waters of knowledge
From the clothes of your experience.
You take this drought and distill it.
You bottle it, you market it, or you give it away,
But, with luck, it takes the world by storm.
From the fire hose flow rises the rarefied results
Filtered through your hands,
Tested in your trials, Fortified in your failures,
Vivified in your victories.
You look back with mixed emotions:
Wondering if it was all really worth it.
Your prospective my grow,
It may never be clear,
But the fire hose flows on...
~D.B. Guy (March 6-12, 2010)
Nov 3, 2012
Nov 3, 2012 at 2:32 AM UTC
Distill water is healing.
The moons voice manipulates the ocean,
By reaching and pulling away from the sand
the suns smile equips us with Vitamin C
The Water cycle is a universal enigma.
She starts of as clouds quenching our planet with:
Oceans, lakes, rivers, and water puddles
she evaporates into mist of waves
Camouflaging her family recipe in the sky,
While cooks up new baby clouds
its starts all over again like the tadpole evolution
even though we all take water for granted sometimes,
She still supplies our needs.
By Shannon Pollard
©Summer 2012
Sep 12, 2012
Sep 12, 2012 at 7:22 PM UTC
To ghosts which walk about our imagination,
we have surrendered counsel, yielded consolation.
They are the souls of the might-have-been,
kindred brethren yoked to our liquid center,
who've never endured the pain of intelligence,
never walked the bed-of-coals of perception,
yet, they have wisdom nestled on ethereal neurons.
To semaphores which count a poet's unused resources,
written in the higher code of life's metaphor,
iteratively substituting words to distill a truth,
a single universal life experience upon which to dwell,
all taken from myriad axioms of cerebral ecstasy.
This is writing, confrere, and you have tasted it, as well.
We are craftsmen in the medium of language,
poets following the involuntary way.
Jan 15, 2013
Jan 15, 2013 at 5:15 PM UTC
floyd and the skinny kid skate round
me like vultures looking for table scraps
today im all about just keeping the head above water
try all night to sleep but just climb walls in my head
my kryptonite came round again and she was full of smiles
even tho i could feel things crawling round neath that pretty face
couldn't help myself just ended up humpin leg
while she just laughed counting bills outa my wallet
just really skull **** myself over and over
like to trade my life in for a simpler one
distill the hours down to thouse moments
when i escape the circus of my own thinkin
when i can sit and soak up some sun on the beach
without all the headnoise crowding out my goodtime
floyd and the skinny kid circle round me
but i got no use for virtual vampires
and they just manage to annoy
i got prettier things on my mind
hoping to distract
just hoping to distract
Jul 28, 2014
Jul 28, 2014 at 12:17 PM UTC
When we look to the future
let’s remind ourselves that the sun
shines all the time for everyone
and in making dreams
with possibilities
we distill hope
and our faith carries us on
even if like a candles it flickers
we will relight the flame
because we know love is the Holy Spirit’s
name.
Mar 27, 2021
Mar 27, 2021 at 3:26 PM UTC
i am a poet and still
i can’t comprehend these symbols
these missing heartbeats
and hours spent counting thimbles
i am perplexed by love
shall we seek herbs and remedies
lose ourselves in cures and compounds
must our inner territories be colonized
while we remain captivated by inconvenient theories
struck down by doubt and insecurity
the mind wields no ammunition
and yet its cavalry has desecrated the land
without the slightest sign of inhibition
or a trace of empathy, justice or compassion
will we make a new peace treaty
will the blessed earth be forgiven
and can the sweet essence of her children
comprehend the innocence of spring
oh how our hearts yearn for dancing
still you spend your dollars and your pennies
but give your emptiness to the king
i eat oats and honey cooked upon the fire
while you distill golden nectar from the garden of desire
in the ancient inside-out alembic of your will
and imbibe spagyric liquid that eradicates all pride
and confers wisdom, truth, beauty and longevity
upon the already immortal nature of your mind
Sep 5, 2018
Sep 5, 2018 at 5:04 PM UTC
Where will you
refuse
today?
will I find
it in your eyes?
pupils widened against
actual rejection,
wildly seeking some small
life control
in the clench of your hands
gripping your seat as your
sneakers kick out
or will I distill it in the
frantic voice-
*I'll smash you with
my will if
my fists don't find
you first*
in your body
I see you carrying all
the weapons you can't
toss. an arsenal of hope
I wish life hadn't forged
but I'm not the one
that made it so.
So you take that feeble
power and just keep saying
No.
May 29, 2013
May 29, 2013 at 10:22 AM UTC
Looked in the lint trash
What, a bucket of spiders?
But that's just my smarm, I mean
Charm, yes so charming, I
Feel I should tell
You: See, I am the kind
Of a man whose particles of rage all blend blisters into macrame
What? That's to say I only craft with vengeance, Art is Hell.
I'm not really sure, see, it seems I
have so many words inside and yet
No order, no syntax, no form, no norm.
Can't spin A.D.D. into gold, No,
I can't tremble, blink, then in that
Blink! Distill a miracle
Of words whose sentience, er,
Sentence myself to the chair,
The chair at the computer where,
Confounded,
I shiver and sigh, sob, eye.
Sep 7, 2011
Sep 7, 2011 at 6:43 AM UTC
Ye flaming Powers, and winged Warriours bright,
That erst with Musick, and triumphant song
First heard by happy watchful Shepherds ear,
So sweetly sung your Joy the Clouds along
Through the soft silence of the list’ning night;
Now mourn, and if sad share with us to bear
Your fiery essence can distill no tear,
Burn in your sighs, and borrow
Seas wept from our deep sorrow,
He who with all Heav’ns heraldry whileare
Enter’d the world, now bleeds to give us ease;
Alas, how soon our sin
Sore doth begin
His Infancy to sease!
O more exceeding love or law more just?
Just law indeed, but more exceeding love!
For we by rightfull doom remediles
Were lost in death, till he that dwelt above
High thron’d in secret bliss, for us frail dust
Emptied his glory, ev’n to nakednes;
And that great Cov’nant which we still transgress
Intirely satisfi’d,
And the full wrath beside
Of vengeful Justice bore for our excess,
And seals obedience first with wounding smart
This day, but O ere long
Huge pangs and strong
Will pierce more neer his heart.
1.9k
Stolen light, comes to life in the downpour
Awake in the dead of night, shutters open to collapsing skies
Folded up, I felt the warmth of five points held to mine
And a breath to distill fear
As regular as my heartbeat
Feb 4, 2013
Feb 4, 2013 at 7:39 AM UTC
If someone ever gets me a box of those little word magnets you can put on your fridge
I'll be gone for hours whenever I go to get a snack.
I love words.
I love the challenge of saying something meaningful
With a jumbled stack of them all scrambled up.
I love words.
Having them there to swirl around and make strings of
Like a child makes popcorn garlands for the Christmas tree
Comforts me
In a way that pulling them from thin air can't.
It marries my two soothing balms- expression and mindless motion.
If I see them in a friend's house or a store,
I disappear for... sometimes hours, to be frank.
My English teacher had them on the board.
I made myself late for the following class every day
Because I couldn't keep my fingers off those words.
Finding purchase, somehow,
Tactility,
It satisfies a wild craving in my heart
That mere thinking and typing just can't satiate.
It's really absurd.
Once I visited my friend,
And I wandered into her kitchen to get sodas for us both
And she found me there an hour later
Sliding little black and white type words
Along her stainless steal freezer compartment.
She said, "What are you doing?"
And I jumped, pulled back from some focused, faraway place,
And guiltily realized the sodas were warm.
I love words.
I love touching the things I love,
Feeling their existence.
I love limits on words,
I love figuring them out,
Because even with the tiniest amount of them
You CAN say what you need to say,
If only you distill the meaning to its essence.
I just... I really
Love
Words.
If I ever get my hands on those silly little magnets,
I honestly don't think I'll ever make it past the refrigerator door again.
That's why I don't buy them myself.
Aug 5, 2013
Aug 5, 2013 at 8:16 PM UTC
The monkeys chatter in the trees
And peel their big bananas
The Caribbean evening brings
Delightful panoramas
The jungle birds all sing their songs
As sunlight heads due west
The girls in string bikinis
Make all the men feel blessed
I love the plump and ripened fruits
Where conchitas drive me nuts
It’s fun to kiss the maidens
So friendly with their b..er..hugs
I do thank these island people
For the *** that they distill
I was meant to flip the bottoms up
In Pina Coladaville
Nov 7, 2010
Nov 7, 2010 at 8:11 AM UTC
Formless words...broadcast scribbling space, their diagram
of poetic motion washes over you...formed on impact.
Dark room's glow in broad daylight--your fully developed
picture...deepest blue of two worlds in one, betwixt vibration.
Hue of the canonized, twanging entire a cloudless sky...
enriched tenfold in mimicry of you.
If only stained glass and silk would wed, search light's
spectrum...distill the most affecting gradation of blue--
then would you see a just replica?
Visionary's shield...where earthen wend unveils the abysmal...
that eyes may remain upon you--till one is ferried, and
vision seen through.
Apogee of seventh sea...epicenter of dancing Nine Muses,
whose round keeps the Blue Flower earthbound.
Blue Flower of the poet's pilgrimage, whose synesthesia
electrifies.
Blue Flower...a nebula pinned to earth, the name of spring
born of you.
The golden section of angels fly their flawless form to you...
that High Art may pray to High Art.
...Blue Flower, commended spirit rife with grace...whose
ceaseless hour at hand holds beauty alone.
Mind, quill to tongue riven--if ever...ever is now--Blue Flower...
ever is Now!
The words of this poet have begun fasting...not to eat of what
they cannot sacrifice...their Blue Flower.
Nov 17, 2014
Nov 17, 2014 at 1:48 PM UTC
he lured her into his dorm room
her first time there between
the toilet and the shower - steam
fogging the cracked mirror - steam
meant to distill the unmistakable smell
of the crushed greens she inhaled deep
swallowing the fiery magic as he
slipped beside her wanting
to be inside her, he massaged her
back, her shoulders, inching his fingers
up along the sides of her slender
neck trying to knead his way into her
mind the way he wanted, needed
to give her another mind-blowing
experience right there between
the toilet and the shower - steam
turning into sweaty rivulets down
the crack of an arched back - but
submitting to the aching desires
of hungry men was an act
she knew far too well and so -
between the toilet and the shower and the steam
she saw temptation as it was -
a slimy red-eyed serpent
begging her to stay.
Jul 12, 2012
Jul 12, 2012 at 1:08 PM UTC
Every single night, death comes and sits by my side
Every time I shut my eyes, by his rules do I abide
He taught me the intricate balance of questioning and acceptance
He also showed me the innate frailty of structure and permanence
I understood the difference between wisdom and knowledge
Also why one must, without dismissing, eat one's porridge
That a bat can carry numerous diseases without getting ill
That seasons can bring change in the colours of a bird's bill
That questioning oneself requires immense strength of will
He taught me when to swallow my pride
Whom to trust, and in whom to confide
That one must take great caution while vowing vengeance
What's done is done, and can never be undone by penance
Things I never would've learned had I stayed on in college
He showed me that it's but a myth, the idea we call "flawless"
That bending the limits of one's mind can too be a thrill
That it's tougher to bring life than it is to make the kill
How ever hard you may try, life's essence you cannot distill
Dec 11, 2013
Dec 11, 2013 at 3:48 AM UTC
Considering me a talented, aspiring shill
My muse loaned me a feathery quill
Brokering her wisdom, leasing her skill
With embroidered frills each barb with beauty did distill
Lithographer's vision, a graceful dividend to reveal
Depreciating vane my artistic license to bill
Hollow shaft gilded so her availing light could the vacuum fill
Inky reservoir with inspiration did instill
A deep well with literary devices did rill
Ideas streaming from strained cavity to the mind's tip with zeal
Burnished hues, sharp tones aesthetic notions to congeal
A precision valve appended vagaries to swill
An automated inkblot defibrillating patterns to spill
Sep 15, 2011
Sep 15, 2011 at 11:28 AM UTC
**
You have ravished my heart,
my sister my bride,
you have ravished my heart
with a glance of your eyes.
with one jewel of your necklace.
How sweet is your love , my sister, my bride!
how much better is your love than wine.
and the fragrance of your oils than any spice!
Your lips distill nectar, my bride.
honey and milk are under your tongue.
the scent of your garments is likethe scent of Lebanon.
A garden locked is my sister , my bride.
a garden locked a fountain sealed.
Your channel is an orchard of pomegranates.
with all choicest fruits,
henna with nard.
nard and saffron, calamus
and cinnamon
with all trees of
frankincense.
myrrh and aloes,
with all chief spices -
a garden fountain , a well of
living water.
and flowing streams from Lebanon.
**
Sep 23, 2015
Sep 23, 2015 at 1:14 PM UTC
Considering me a talented, aspiring shill
My muse loaned me a feathery quill
Brokering her wisdom, leasing her skill
With embroidered frills each barb with beauty did distill
Lithographer's vision, a graceful dividend to reveal
Depreciating vane my artistic license to bill
Hollow shaft gilded so her availing light can the vacuum fill
Inky reservoir with inspiration did instill
A deep well with literary devices did rill
Ideas streaming from strained cavity to the mind's tip with zeal
Burnished hues, sharp tones aesthetic notions to congeal
A precision valve appended vagaries to swill
An automated inkblot defibrillating patterns to spill
Aug 9, 2011
Aug 9, 2011 at 5:20 PM UTC
another day, another lotion,
sighed, “much rather be making potions.”
*tedium, boredom, boil and bubble,
add a spice, then add it double,
stir it well and let it settle,
in a kettle,
made of metal.*
what's your fancy, what's your trouble?
basin clogged with dwarven stubble?
make one balm,
you've made them all!
concoct a cream, a cream?—a cream!
one more grog burn,
swear I'll scream!
*tedium, boredom, boil and bubble,
add a spice, then add it double,
stir it well and let it settle,
in a kettle,
made of metal.*
give me dragons, give me daggers,
give me jewels with emerald feathers!
give me—“what?
what's this, right now?
of course I know exactly how!”
roots to find, true essence to distill,
adventure?
no, but pays the bills.
Aug 13, 2020
Aug 13, 2020 at 5:47 PM UTC