"disturbances" poems
The first thinkers were poets
Naming Mother Earth
Beginning symbolic thinking
Of nature, death and birth
Though themes are often repeated
Love, Beauty and God
Poetry in the guise of Religion
A prophet or a fraud
The poet resurrects the Primitive
Through allegory and similes
Disarming the unknown like explorers
Sublime Prophets and Visionaries
They must lay bare those treasured images
That must be expressed
Unraveling and revealing the sounds
At each soul’s behest
Encompassing the entire Cosmos
So lyrical the beat
The poet’s excitement flows outward
Laid at the Reader’s feet
So original, individual
She won’t examine or explain
Letting go the festering feelings
Disturbances in her brain
He exposes his dark, wounded psyche
Just to release and express
Such capacity to see and compare
Hyperbole at its best
I love, I hate, I suffer
A special dance in rhythm and rhyme
The poet as a buffer
Lessening the pain and sting of time
Laden with symbol and feelings
She gives you sweet relief
From something urgent, revealing
Confusion to belief
Through a cinematic kind of seeing
The poet purges to transform
By leaping through Alice’s looking glass
She never was one to conform
Quite intolerant of convention
Just like The Mad Hatter
His passions immune to all logic
In syncopated patter
Jamming up the poet’s mind
Struggling for expression
Seeking order out of chaos
An infantile regression
Cleaving to his imaginary world
The poet breaks out into words
Creating sound paintings to be unfurled
So his own agony is blurred
She succumbs to storms of passion
With instinctive techniques
Rhymes and rhythm still in fashion
Out of hand flows mystique
The poet mines from his unconscious
The Reader is not blind
For every single line and symbol
Means something to the mind
Causing an inner liberation
Enlightenment or flight
It is a matter of life and death
When darkness turns to light.
Nov 14, 2016
Nov 14, 2016 at 6:55 PM UTC
I shall go up north,
as north as I could possibly go,
trekking the wilderness of darkened hue,
to have a little adventure with you.
Shining lights from everywhere,
as dark a sky as it were,
greens and blues of a multi-color fare,
I wish I can be there to enjoy your every flare.
Tiny disturbances can be so magnetic,
causing an atmosphere to become electric,
as far as the elves have been to arctic,
I bet I haven’t seen anything more mystic.
You looked like the wishful green master
that was ready to grant all my wishes, yet
seeing you up close was a
dream that was more than all my wishes fulfilled.
Maybe, you really are that genie from a bottle. :)
Nov 13, 2019
Nov 13, 2019 at 11:15 AM UTC
We were born into a world of shallow minds and deep disturbances of young millennials mimicking mindless mimes because we were told to stay in line but be yourself but follow me but think "originality."
A generation full of copycatting individuals with monotone mindsets mulling over social ladders and trends dictated by invisible monarchs of industry inviting and spoon feeding insecurities masked as improvements.
A generation spending more time pretending not to care than on passions stifled by our peer pressuring playmates who are all prescribed Vyvanse, Adderall, Ritalin for their incurable imaginations deemed "learning disabilities."
A generation of temporary friendships because no one can connect with each other but we can connect to the internet and chat with strangers and share thoughts, photos, and secrets to a virtual audience that loses interest in an entanglement of wires forming a noose around our sincerity.
Oct 17, 2015
Oct 17, 2015 at 2:38 AM UTC
glowing waters, tranquil as though the ocean were holding its breath
and yet breathing in and out, in and out
rhythmic, an inexorable drum
an explosion of ripples as I drop the kayak in,
the disturbances swallowed by marsh grass, waving in protest
murmuring to be still, stay still.
I shift in my seat, heartbeat in my ears, loud breathing
scared of being swallowed, lost to depths where darkness clung –
yet hardly imaginable in this world of dripping sunlight.
dip the paddle in, tasting the waters
right, left, right, left
cautious, careful, clumsy at first
splashes of droplets as I pick up the pace,
salt on my tongue, tasting the burn.
the pull and tug of muscle against the world, a silent war
the ocean protesting futilely, but
surrendering to the kayak with a creaking moan
as I shoot through the water like an arrow, splitting the curling, white-crested sea.
the wind picks at my braid and throws it to the past with a lingering sigh
my paddles cutting through that glossy mirror of cloud and sunshine
shards of brilliantly stained glass.
Sep 11, 2011
Sep 11, 2011 at 10:38 PM UTC
the LIGHTHOUSE
~~~~~
On the high cliff
.:.
(Fog)
Few stars appear
The dark
----------------
We wander thru
We gaze upon each other
In awe
In wonder
We have no idea of what we are doing here
-----
the LIGHTHOUSE
:::::::
We never really "touch"
One another
////
*we hardly notice any disturbances of the waters
We don't even know of the cliff or the shore*
--
-----
------
He sits in the lighthouse
He wonders what signals he should send
He wonders what he would say if he could speak
Mar 28, 2013
Mar 28, 2013 at 6:01 PM UTC
*Conquer the disharmony
That creates ripples on
The veneer of silence
From the depths
Powerful chants resonate
This world within
An inspiration to quell
The disturbances
Savor the silence
And feeling of nothingness
You have emptied yourself
Of all the disharmony
Now, only powerful silence
And you are one
With the cosmic harmony*
Mar 16, 2015
Mar 16, 2015 at 7:39 AM UTC
Disturbances, however hard they try,
Will always be horrifying.
Now alarming is just the thing,
To get me wondering if disturbances are atrocious.
The ramp is not nonthermal!
the ramp is exceptionally nonthermal.
A ramp is hot. a ramp is nonthermal,
a ramp is caloric, however.
hardships are not lean!
hardships are exceptionally zoftig.
Do hardships make you shiver?
do they?
Don't belive that gales are big?
gales are little beyond belief.
Now unimportant is just the thing,
To get me wondering if gales are shrimpy.
I cannot help but stop and look at depressing tornadoes.
Do tornadoes make you shiver?
do they?
Cyclones, however hard they try,
Will always be traumatic.
Never forget the harmful and painful cyclones
Sep 12, 2018
Sep 12, 2018 at 8:08 AM UTC
sitting down drawing circles on sand
by the ocean for 16 years without disturbances,
save a few hefty feet trampling down sand castles
but then one day something happened
and an overwhelming wave comes hurling itself at you,
and you have no escape plan despite living on the sand all your life
the wave comes bearing galaxies from atlantis,
blinding starlight, and a myriad perfect seashells.
it feels like an eternity,
being consumed by the wave as you're given
a tour of every attraction there is,
receiving free samples every now and then.
you succumb to the star dust,
enthralling you like a child at disneyland,
or tumblr teens on the fourth of july.
it feels like you're the only one lucky enough
to witness this spectacle, and you're marvelling
marvelling
marvelling
marvelling
marvel-
.
.
.
.
.
no air
you're gasping
muddy
sand in your eyes
and through the excruciating discomfort,
you see a hundred other silhouettes looking back at you.
---;
this is how it was, loving him briefly.
and this will stare him in the face,
but perhaps his eyes, too, full of sand
will stare right back at me
“silhouettes” he'll say
“silhouettes are what make my day”
Sep 22, 2016
Sep 22, 2016 at 4:37 AM UTC
Sometimes when I rise out of the nebulosity of my ego, I can see dead leaves on the ground.
Above I feel formless, Uncrippled by any precursing contingencies.
Disturbances are nullified by the rising and falling of my breath.
I am no longer a keeper of anything.
I feel as I've been left to float inside a vacuum that requires the complete disassociation from anything that I have ever known.
Everything here is gentle, && welcomed.
vibrant and healing.
perplexing to those that aren't ready to let go, salvation for the many who are.
Mar 2, 2017
Mar 2, 2017 at 8:57 PM UTC
You're not going to let it win
You are not going to let it destroy you
You are going to find control
You're going to accomplish what you plan
It's going to be left as a ship wreck
And be compared to your successes
You are going to do this
You are going to get through this
I'm not going to let it win
I am not going to let it destroy me
I am going to find control
I'm going to accomplish what I plan
It's going to be left as a ship wreck
And be compared to my successes
I am going to do this
I am going to get through this
I'm not going to let MDD win
I am not going to let MDD destroy me
I am going to take its control
I'm not going to let MDD stop me from accomplishing what I have planned
My MDD is going to be left as a ship wreck
And be compared to my achieved successes
I am going to do this and beat MDD
I am going to get through MDD's disturbances
And I will not let it prevent me from living
I suffer from Maladaptive Daydreaming Disorder
It pushes me around
Kills my hopes and dreams
And contributes to my wish of never being born
But maybe I can try
If I put my head into a good perspective
To gain the control
Back into my life
Why should we have to suffer?
Nov 18, 2015
Nov 18, 2015 at 12:13 PM UTC
an ****** calligraphy
of hallucinated images
gesture to the posturings
of omitted consciousness
the preoccupations
that puncture the ‘rational’ thought
of a false corporeality
and rely on an artificiality
to produce a reality
writes of the pagan haunts
of silver ****** ghosts
of fantastic rumors
of acquired futuristic loathing
where cognitive disturbances are
the reconnaissance of a fragmented mind
seeking an evacuation to the past
screams at the monuments of
immediate dismissal of everything
not of their transmission
Mar 4, 2013
Mar 4, 2013 at 5:58 PM UTC
if i sit on the fourth step of our staircase, i can look through the window and watch the street outside. this waiting game has always frustrated me; my knees buckle underneath me every time someone walks past our rust-encrusted gate. i can feel the anticipation weighing heavy on my chest with every glimpse of a shoe or a shirt only to have my nerves unravel once i realize they look absolutely nothing like you;
every stranger that walks by is just another soul that wasn't yours.
i use numbers as my ultimatums. this is the third person who has walked by that isn't you; two more, and i swear, i'll go back to my room and write and chat with other people and watch youtube videos and try not to think of you even though my fingers are itching to pull at my door **** (just one more look). i count ten vehicles that pass before stalking back in to my room, only to peek out of my door to check the streets again minutes later;
every jeepney that doesn't stop is just another car that you weren't in.
i welcome distractions that send me moving around the house. to wash the dishes, get my dad snacks, fake going to the bathroom, check on my brother, nibble on some leftovers in the refrigerator. as long as i have my little disturbances i feel like time's moving faster, but then i find myself pausing by my front door and wondering when you might come knocking or if you'll even come knocking at all;
every minute that you're not here is just another sixty seconds to spend thinking of you.
May 18, 2016
May 18, 2016 at 2:08 AM UTC
The ship(notified) lost
leisurely drifts over waves
westwards, "Unhurried hereafter"
is the slogan written on it's mast
it would seem to an onlooker.
A net is cast wide,
to catch as much fish
as the tired crew now needs.
Each furious wave
that rushes towards the ship
changes tack, proclaims
a frothy message of peace.
No more communication exchanges
causing disturbances, no hurry any more.
None waits for the lost ship,
in any distant shore, with a binocular,
or spanning a Radar, uneasily .
The crew had already forgotten
every mission undertaken before.
It has no schedule, deadlines, plan
the ship feels more buyout than ever before
,just floats along, as if it's a tranquil thought,
towards the direction where
the purple sun prepares to set dramatically.
Accompanied by two astonished whales,
sailing along like two mates, the ship,
now a lone wolf,with a hidden yearning
has become more alive, once declared lost.
Nov 9, 2015
Nov 9, 2015 at 1:36 PM UTC
And the question is, “What constitutes the good life?” And the neurons in my brain automatically begin to connect and arrange themselves into a conveyor belt of possible responses. This is not about fancy cars and giant mansions. This is about searching high and low for the unique existence of character buried in the depths of your heart. The labyrinth of suffering is something that traps and consumes every single one of us. Being aware and accepting the circumstances that will occur after exploring all the different solutions of discovering a way to escape is a major fundamental element needed to survive. Ostracizing yourself from the countless number of distractions in today’s generation to truly identify your individuality is the most crucial procedure in recognizing an outbreak from conforming to false associations. Infinite minutes are wasted every day because there are numerous amounts of interruptions that interfere with our life’s mission. Eliminating these disturbances will erase people’s impulses to shake hands with laziness. More people need to realize that utilizing time and wisely spending the precious moments we have left should be more carefully valued before it is too late. At times like this, it is perfectly acceptable to be self absorbed on account that working towards a goal is in effect. Take the time to focus on figuring out how to learn and how to proceed in expanding the mind’s personality. It is so important to acquire the ability to control the aspect of reason. But once enough experience is achieved to gather the information on how to conquer the labyrinth of suffering, you will then inaugurate the good life.
There is only one way to assemble the knowledge as to where the door lies and that is by simply living life and never giving up. Take chances and live on curiosity. We learn by putting ourselves in situations that are out of our comfort zones, giving the opportunity to mess up. Overcoming the situation is when we gain the confidence to promote ourselves to the next level. Life is full of mistakes but it is about being intelligent about those obstacles. Building up from those faults and taking advantage of everything life offers. We will move on from every mistake only to come face to face with another one. But life carries us. It challenges us. And the brave souls that accept that challenge are the ones that go on living the good life.
Aug 29, 2013
Aug 29, 2013 at 4:09 PM UTC
driving at Kennon (treacherous zigzag
resembles hopscotch with death)
as i play Morrissey on the radio and the
woman sleeps, sometimes waking up lamenting the death of moths I ran over, splattered on the windshield, "Poor little creatures!" she said. no, baby, i am the poor little creature and so are you,
relentless against the dark
past Urdaneta — her being mineward,
i play with death as i turn the headlamps
off (pure blackness, nothing as if falling
into a bottomless pit as void sits on its
throne waiting) and on (all white as pains
now, trucks flare up and down the bend,
the tumbled boulders keep meting out
some forceful way of disturbances,
our collapse, the afterthought of it all)
i sensed from the beginning that the
old moon will wade out and soon the sun
will throw dissipated shades all across
camps with bonfires dead and stilled.
at the height of all, it becomes so
hot that the birds leave the trees together with the flowers and the Cordillera cannot cry any longer.
my woman wakes up as if rattled
with different pains, her face floating
past the mountains dreaming at the verge
of birds in the morning—
and it is twilight and still the same birds,
now it is the night and you
cannot see the birds anymore,
neither a hint nor a trail of
where they have disappeared
like the glory of Rizal in Luneta.
the lightsome globules in Paris.
the lions of Manila, now a town full of cowards as alleys fill with ******
the kids laying flat on their bellies
as the lawn takes its revenge
on the rest of the surrounding,
beheading the tree, and the
birds fly farther and away.
Nov 12, 2015
Nov 12, 2015 at 7:09 AM UTC
Sometimes LIFE stands for
L-lifelessness
I-irritation
F-futility
E-emotional disturbances
Apr 9, 2015
Apr 9, 2015 at 10:18 PM UTC
Clouds like arctic mountains surround me
My thoughts are becoming fog;
I have been engulfed
By my own pavid being
Where my disturbances of thought
Are evil and I am pure love
Dead in a world so alive.
The fiery soul of nephilim
Acknowledging the conclave-
Heaven creating Hell;
Made by their own for their own
Heavens sacrifice
Residing peacefully alive in a dead world
Synergistically intoxicating
My paralysed mind
The eternal love of all Gods legions
For the sake of Hell
And the salvation of Heaven,
The dawn of Elysium rising
Concordantly above mortal reasoning
Forever in Pergutory.
Now remembering
Dreamt dreams dreamt i cry
As I watch my beating heart
Fall upon the ground
Like a bird of prey with broken wings,
My hearts bitter sweetness fading
Untoward Heavens hellish passion.
ELEETE J MUIR.
Jan 13, 2012
Jan 13, 2012 at 10:03 AM UTC
"...There are presumably images in the experience of lower animals...They have not that future and past which gives them, so to speak, any rights as such..." -- George Herbert Mead.
Lower being a term relative to concepts like the limbs of trees or the position in a list, only a careful, philosophical assessment was capable of blooming as a flower from the starfish to the stars. The past was an increment creating a (perfected, preferred) series of growths unfolding by the propagation of a (blueprint, dream). The dreams quantized ideology to make the receptivity and the discoveries made by grape hyacinths or hardy grass.
[ d _ cos ln d ( g , h ) P ( t ) ] = { [ tau n ( u ) d I ] / ( d e ) } :
int F ( B ) d I = dfn q ( r ) d r .
Best liked was the colorful effect of self enthusiasm, bringing shade, from the darkness to the twilight, of the trees. Yet, the animals had learned to grow claws and legs. Were the birds not learning to fly? Striving brought a weight of labor, the years were fading into prehistory. Predestiny had been a decision by tulips. Disturbances had been required to bring evolution. Insects were living a fantasy with flowers. This looked across to obscurity. Those hidden were not like those dancing.
Jul 21, 2014
Jul 21, 2014 at 8:22 PM UTC
Spider
Walking into a corridor of neatly aligned cobwebs,
that have your history strewn across, like telephone wires
intertwining and intersecting,
Making all the conversations and voices interweave,
crossing paths - causing a disruption in the line,
the static disturbances echoing through the dark corridor
embellished with these cobwebs that have been lost in your mind.
The cobwebs speak like conversations
from broken telephone poles
that are overlapping and confusing the mind,
muddled and disarrayed, lacking any sense.
time has consumed these thoughts,
leaving bits and pieces,
that only mislead you
You swing across paving new paths with silken threads,
crisp and new, like adhesive,
glistening with prosperity.
Yet you keep these deep rooted cobwebbed memories
locked in your mind,
like Pandora’s box ready to unravel.
So just let them retire,
they have fallen and become undone,
and now they just collect
dust from your memories
Reminding you of thoughts,
that are specked and flecked
with dusty recollections.
Those worn out thoughts can no longer collect,
they only eject,
tangled stories confusing you
and bemusing you
So don’t collect
your abandoned webs,
like a memory book - they are no longer relevant,
they were just webs you wove to learn
how to weave the web you now conceive,
strong and secure,
fully capable to endure.
Dec 26, 2012
Dec 26, 2012 at 3:21 PM UTC
*Went into the pool
To dip my head
Under the water
To break the
Disturbances
from within.
Dipped my head for
Few seconds
or minutes.
Couldn't tell the time
Except to feel the calmness
All across my body,
As if the time has paused,
Nothing mattered after that
Except the stillness underneath
And within!*
Jul 30, 2017
Jul 30, 2017 at 3:14 PM UTC
We thought we’d declared it dead
The words we bury in the soil of time
Eroded by broken silences
In the most unexpected of times
The words that stung my tongue seem to flow numbly
Desensitized and dehumanized,
We wrap ourselves within a world of plastic
Where the external disturbances are kept at bay
Where no one may tap on the window and see within the soul
If we seethe in the residue of our animosity
We’re as good as snarling animals quarreling for the final prize
Before we draw the line between harm and benefit
We must draw the line between man and beast
Jun 15, 2010
Jun 15, 2010 at 9:46 AM UTC
Ego death
Death of mind
Death of body
Death crawls gallantly
Gallantly crawls death
Seated in a wooden chair
Breathing in smell of candle wax
The sweet aroma trickles into my nasal
Gently
Like a sweet secret whisper
Memories strike
Fear of the night
Death of all light
Combustion of dendrites.
Death happens rapidly
A spider; well groomed and ready to feast
Pulls his venomed victim from the steady arm of life
Fangs drawn
Body of insect brawn
Of skeleton armor
Penetrating easily
Devour young Dermaptera
The victim is dying
Slowly and painfully
The spider finished his meal
BANG!
he looks up towards the light
A nervous giant approaches
with intuition to ****
The boot overcomes the life of an arachnid
Another life has come to a stop
Crushed armor lays silent on the floor
Bow to the human God
Animals growing to fear
The moth captures the fear inducing look
of human eyes
The most feared Tyrant
of the insect jungles
Grasses higher than skyscrapers
Giants roaming on their chosen paths
Crushing any live that stands in the way
The Ocean
Boats in mass amounts
Distorting the predator balance
Innocent shark
Pulled from its domain
by alien hands
Slicing off fins and cutting throats
Leaving you drowning in your own element
Cruel human torture
What lies beyond the dawn?
Karmatic destruction
for torture of nature?
Torture of men
Crushed by gravity
Ripped from earth
Blood drawn
Gods angry and willing
to provoke death on the wicked
Disturbances in the valley of life
Heartache in the valley of life
Thoughts of torture to loved ones be your punishment
Eternal sorrow and regret
That is what the wicked get
May 3, 2013
May 3, 2013 at 1:25 PM UTC
Your eyes are introducing an attentive gaze
Analyzing everything, you see
Commanding the unfamiliar to be openly revealed
Exhibiting your intensive curiosity
An open expression of gathering awareness
Gently glows there upon your face
Transcending all of the troubled disturbances
Communicated here in this place
There is a vast swarm of shifting transformations
Not seen by the unguarded eye
Now zealously revealed to your attentive gaze
As your awareness begins to rise
The harmonious elevation of your wondrous unveiling
Strikes a chord in the depth of thee
Awakening the knowledge, you hold deep inside
As what is hidden, you can now see
Aug 20, 2010
Aug 20, 2010 at 8:20 PM UTC
Our bilingual illiteracy and contemporary expression of vintage infancy remind me of developmentally mature eccentricities within a complex haven of interpersonal dynamics.
Just like a carnival hall of mirrors, our perceptual disturbances succumb to elaborate revelations and dreadful expositions of what we presume to be articulate prose.
Although the socio-political roots of a seductive striptease may shatter the silence of our audible and urban ecosystems, we can now access realms which connect to the severance of divided collusion.
Our galaxy has established her infinite story, in the same manner as a wrought iron gate interferes with the evidence within our contemporary society.
It is just like an alternate universe.
Feb 8, 2016
Feb 8, 2016 at 1:02 AM UTC
There were certain
disturbances:
Skirts high on the thigh,
front-row desks and
that shadow between
the knees;
Questions showing
the definition of the torso
and the upraised arm;
Sojourns to the office
at dusk
to pose shyly–
fingered tress in golden
lamplight between door and frame–
and the door closing;
And of course
learning, passion,
bright eyes and
a vernal splendor
of poetry.
Nov 7, 2011
Nov 7, 2011 at 4:57 PM UTC