"divergence" poems
I'm sorry!
for not talking to you all these years.
I don't know the reason,
Maybe because I was disillusioned,
or may be because I misjudged,
and I was imprudent.
But that day when I heard you name,
I couldn't stop myself from talking to you.
I found myself in the memory lane,
and all divergence creating reminiscence.
Tears rolled at the pace of the emergence;
of all memories sweet and bitter.
I made a good decision and talked to you,
never expected you to take it so lightly
as if nothing
ever happened between us,
You are the best brother ever,
but neither I am nor I was a good sister.
I'm sorry!
Aug 6, 2018
Aug 6, 2018 at 11:33 AM UTC
There’s no other choice but to wear them,
The drawer offered nothing but these.
An odd pair of socks might be quirky,
Odd sizes don’t normally please.
The one at my ankle was spotted,
The other was striped to the knee
The latter two sizes the smaller,
The former quite large by degree.
This mismatch I thought to keep secret
And cover the dissonant pair.
I chose from the wardrobe some trousers
And shoes, with considerable care.
My ruse would conceal the divergence
From prescribed social standards of dress
And none would be any the wiser
My discomfort I’d have to suppress.
Now, it’s harder to mask discomposure
When physical pain has attacked.
The small sock had cramped my toes tightly
That blood didn’t flow, was a fact.
My colleagues regarded me strangely
For they could see nothing amiss
But I could feel cold perspiration,
Anxiety I couldn’t dismiss.
It was then that I felt a strange itching,
The striped sock began to descend
And round my right ankle it wrinkled
And bulged at the trouser leg end.
Dismayed at my great consternation
But clueless to what was awry
My friends made comforting gestures
Need of which I could only deny.
The moral of this story’s transparent
Socks are always best worn as a pair
Their nature is in the relationship
Which provides a well-balanced air.
And take the trouble to remember
Be congruent in all that you do
For disparity will often bring discord
And that path, you’ll certainly rue.
Oct 11, 2009
Oct 11, 2009 at 6:43 AM UTC
. Father, I have seen you
haunting my footsteps,
judging harshly my own
actions, and I fear that
I will follow the way
you have chosen for me.
But that path, however
narrow, is not where my
heart lies, and so on
I go, my own way. Will
you forgive me? Or,
perhaps, when all is said
and done, the question
to be answered is,
can I forgive you?
Feb 13, 2011
Feb 13, 2011 at 5:12 PM UTC
slippery light boasts
languid limbs gestating
in mercurial puddelings
awaiting the destruction
of their tender shafts by
some pale passing
fle(she
bears its ethereal
glow on her pallor
in the second of that truculent divergence
)
May 5, 2010
May 5, 2010 at 11:45 PM UTC
Half the poems on here
Are oversentimental love poems
Written by sobbing little girls
About boyfriends
Heartbreak
Flowery and and stinking of perfume
While the boys are on pornhub
On the **** section
There is a divergence
Aug 18, 2013
Aug 18, 2013 at 3:49 PM UTC
all too often
we carry the
inexplicable burden
of perfection,
the weight balanced
upon our weakened shoulders,
we can hear our hollow bones
cracking like fallen leaves
under the pressure,
and still, we ignore it.
we see ourselves
through a looking glass
of social comparison
and self discrepancy.
she can't be better than me.
we want to believe that we are beautious beings.
we criticize what
intimidates us,
hatred falling from
our tongues
without a single,
rational thought.
it is then that we become wolves in sheep clothing
but let me tell you this:
you and i, will never be the same
my hair will never
fall the way yours does,
clothes will never
rest that delicately
upon my frame.
there is a divergence
in the way my
hips sway
and
that is okay.
i've a geyser
in my heart,
rosebuds in
my soul.
the faults,
crevices,
canyons in
my flesh
tell the story
of where i am
and have been.
i've inextinguishable embers
inside of me,
things that no other
being will
ever see.
and you,
you are
a monument,
too.
so, though
we all aspire to be
that image seared
into our minds,
from the cover
of that magazine
we read when we
were thirteen,
we will never be the same
and
that
is
incredible
Feb 5, 2018
Feb 5, 2018 at 2:19 AM UTC
You are the light
streaming through the wings of a Phengaris Arion, butterfly.
The real blue a divergence
from the brilliant hybrid lanterns,
your radiant eyes.
I walked in reckless,
The slash the superheated steel,
ate the sea and drank the sky, died, and flew.
From the outside I came to you,
a reflection, you, yourself,
pineapple slices on banana leaf.
Curtain the day, let the glass go dark,
place the mattress on the lawn,
spawn nightmares in the street,
revel in an autumn rain, the dull dark white,
the blazing black awaiting dawn.
Your beauty is a tempest or swirling currents,
that caress all the senses, for it lies not only before the eye,
but in the content of action and creation, the heart in your endeavors.
Forget the insincere frauds and sharks scenting sorrow,
and feeding on misery in a frenzy.
We together can blunt the teeth of the shark with our joy.
Rose pink and fuchsia, euphoric light.
The Creature from the Black Lagoon on a drive in big screen,
black and white in the night. The air is scented electric.
Bright waters ripple in the spaces between us.
Sep 9, 2012
Sep 9, 2012 at 3:54 PM UTC
Dear America,
I was built on a loose foundation
A table with three legs
to sustain the load of a table with four.
To make nothing from something but
For something to come from nothing you need some thing.
The most terrible thing to waste
The superlative of Man’s tools
What makes us as individuals unique,
On the contrary defines us as a social order
The mind, The M.I.N.D.
My Intelligence Nurtures Divergence
Always accepting of the opposition,
A bloodthirsty cheetah digging its fangs deep into the flesh of a wildebeest,
my mind feeds off of their ideals,
Further amplifying my intellectual power.
Expansion within the human intellect,
builds on experiences of failures and success
Be afraid of failure, but unafraid to learn from defeat
The world is a frigid place,
and even colder when you squander your most valuable weapon. “A weapon?
What beats an M16, double barrel shotgun,
9mm, Smith and Wesson, or Desert Eagle.”
Young blood, the divine power is in your head
Gandhi, Malcolm X, Socrates
Gone too soon due to minds considered Weapons of Mass Destruction,
Weapons of Mass Enlightenment to others
Since 1992 I’ve embarked on a journey
A journey to educate myself
A journey to realize the man I want to be
A journey to reach my full potential
Universally familiar words of my grandmother
“You can do whatever you put your mind too”
The future poses as an unknown force,
But within me fear is absent as my MIND is fully equipped for the ongoing battle of life.
I was built on a loose foundation
Tupac Shakur, John D Rockefeller, Oprah Winfrey, Chris Gardner, Christopher Wallace, Richard Branson, Steve Jobs, Walt Disney, Michael Jordan, Michael Jackson, Henry Ford, Bill Gates.
Expected to come from nothing to something
but had that one thing to become something
Utilize your strengths and bury your weaknesses
For with a strong mind the word weak is without purpose
Aug 3, 2012
Aug 3, 2012 at 12:05 PM UTC
The balcony's railing
creaks and crackles
to the tune of
an untold superstition
that no being belongs harmed
and no man ever be reprimanded.
To think of an untamed world
and to see divergence
between each
due to simplicity and disgust
reminds us of the ridiculed
defaults that we have grow into.
Show me something unusual
or bring me somewhere new-
don't continue to show me all
that I have seen a million times
in my own sorrowful world
disgust is among us
Jun 8, 2014
Jun 8, 2014 at 11:46 AM UTC
Evening colours
come crooning to me in the swallows
flying by:
saucers in the sky,
as I wait for the bus
that will go and halt on the wall
in my living room.
The evening is somewhat dull now,
let me hurl a few stars
at the horizon:
I have a dozen in my purse.
All of them gifted by you,
collectibles, kissables.
My tiara princess, the hair-band
is your secret wand.
Ah, my leg, it's
stuck in Grosvenor Road.
So I hurtle back. and loop forward.
Folding memories neatly into my
back-pocket.
There's a Divergence Theorem
gone missing here, volumes
are not going sheet-smart.
I want my nj's.
I could drown in those dimples.
Mar 8, 2015
Mar 8, 2015 at 3:15 PM UTC
I am a sucker for your laugh, your smile, your soul
living life in your bastille curled up in a hole;
owning up to your walls, guards up, just standing by;
voraciousness owing and yearning lest I die.
entranced by your beauty, I find myself struggling
your eyes, locked with mine, a passion that is stifling
obscured from plain view is the thirst to surrender
undeterred by respite, a pledge of forever.
allow me to stand beside, inches from your world
my desire is to consume each flesh of your word
I can no longer bear the longing for you
nary a howl of protest what you put my mind through
amidst the ocean of divergence, I tell thee:
“hold fast and hold steady, as mine you will be.”
Jun 26, 2014
Jun 26, 2014 at 11:22 PM UTC
Life is a sacred journey.
No two are the same.
Respect for divergence
is paramount
to a holistic experience.
Life
is not about
status-quo
or
expectations,
t'is simply what's made thereof
Lyphe
is a sacred opportunity
not to be taken lightly
Our Bodies
are our umbilical vessels
which tether us
as mortals
to "Reality,"
which, in itself,
seems to me to be
a reduction of potentials
from chance
to actuality
such ephemeral eternety;
infinite limitations;
actualized potentials;
possible paths-
these are but some of
the koan-like attributes
which lead me to use
the rather ambiguous
and ambitious
term "sacred."
Truly,
it becomes
whatthefucksoever
One may well will
to create thereof.
Action is Manifestation,
yet Thought begets Action.
Therein lies the sacred gift of Life.
'T'is all too oft taken for granted.
Every living being
(i am convinced)
has an equally vivid depth of experience
and I find it more than somewhat offensive
that humans (with a lowercase H)
feel they are the penultimate organism.
All is One
in that existence, itself,
tethers us all
to everything
and probably even beyond,
and so
to be so
hubristic and arrogant
as to assume a hierarchy
so convieñantly crested by mere
**** Sapiens Sapiens*
seems to me to be
an anthrocentric and narcissistic projection
of that meddlesome ages-old archetype
of the "Ego,"
that is to say "God,"
whatthefuckever that means!
Find it in thyself
to be humble enough
to accept that each and every iota of "Creation"
is, by virtue of association, equally sacred; divine.
Heirarchy, thus, seems to be a manifestation of some desire for order; control; a yearning to alleviate some hypothetical insecurity as a result of being essentially "absolute, infinite" (vis-a-vis the domain of Consciousness) yet contained within a vessel that is mortal, and, thus, ephimeral.
The Ego doth so loathe it's own limitations:
too bad it's far too arrogant to realize that most of the limitations it experiences are illusions, allusions;
charades of an insatiable Consciousness
Hell-bent on experiencing something
it won't redily allow itself to experience!
What a Holy fuckton of
incredulous, ineffable, impalpable, inspirational **** that would be, eh?! (insert interrobang)
I am me (I think...)
as thou art thee;
so why can't that just be good enough?
Could it be?
What obstruction precludes such harmonious divergence?
I reckon 't'is but us;
and very little else, indeed!
Mar 1, 2016
Mar 1, 2016 at 9:37 AM UTC
Let us diverge
You & I
For what was once there
has long died
Maybe the right term
is half-dead
because it lives on in me
keeping me awake at night in bed
So,
let us diverge
Me & You
Our love is too explosive
and burns out too soon
Maybe the right term
is caustic
I don't know about you
but it drives me psychotic
Jun 16, 2013
Jun 16, 2013 at 8:22 PM UTC
the divergence of roads
is an illusion
a myth perpetuated
by those who fear solitude
but one who has walked the lonely path
enjoyed all its sights, sounds and sceneries
rested in the shade of its motherly oaks
knows that at last
everything converges
every road, every fellow traveller
every other choice
meets at one
single brilliant point
- Vijayalakshmi Harish
08.02.2013
Copyright © Vijayalakshmi Harish,
Feb 11, 2013
Feb 11, 2013 at 1:09 AM UTC
A space composed, simultaneously, of divergence and convergence
peaceful moments are the wave about to crash and break
acceptance is not the end of motion, it is the end of resistance
a breaking point is a point of new birth
the air is made fresher by longing
and life is made most beautiful by constant change.
Ride the wave.
Jan 27, 2014
Jan 27, 2014 at 10:43 PM UTC
He was sitting in a burgundy chair, a glass of whiskey in his hand
slowly taking a sip, eyes fixated on the display in front of him
A young girl
tall, thin, brunette
Standing in a slinky dress and too-high heels
misplaced in his garish living room
Another gulp of whiskey
He knew he needed to slow down
The edges of his vision were blurring, and he didn't want to miss this
It wasn't the first, not even close
But this one was different
Something in her eyes... he couldn't look away
He shook the wandering thoughts out of his head,
not allowing his sight to falter
She stared back, not a bit of fear painted on her face
She grabbed one strap between her thumb and index finger
delicately pushing it off her shoulder
She briefly looked in the full length mirror to her left
before smoothly lifting the dress over her head
and casually draping it on a chair behind her
She tipped forward and rolled down her stockings
remarkably steady in her stilettos
She did it with grace
but with a fire blazing behind her thick lashes
He leaned back, wishing he had another ice cube for his drink
but not daring to move
She reached both hands behind her back
pushing out her chest
Thin fingers effortlessly found the clasp
and released her *******
She let her bra fall, not wasting the time
to place it with her dress
She stood, relishing in her liberation
brushing a strand of dark hair behind her shoulder
Her ******* were small but firm
sitting high and round on her chest
Her confidence condensed on her skin
and evaporated as he took a sharp inhale
He stared
and she stared back
Her fingers found the waist of her thong
slipping it off
Poised, she allowed the room and her spectator
to soak in the sight
of her fully exposed body
He sat, numb to her naked figure
and she, to his unwavering gaze
They remained like that
burning holes into each other's skin
savoring the divergence
He absorbed himself in liquor
and women
but he wasn't looking for ***
And she, she undressed herself
in front of men she didn't know
but she didn't want their money
She stood, tensing
and he gripped his glass
both hardened to the outside world
finding an escape in drugs,
each of a different kind
He finished his whiskey and blinked
She slowly collected her clothes
not bothering to put them back on
She grabbed her coat and let herself out
neither one saying a word
He sat, motionless
with the image of her etched
on the space behind his eyes
Just another scar
to become numb to
Oct 13, 2013
Oct 13, 2013 at 11:56 PM UTC
Divergence
Leads to-
Convergence.
James Funke
Told me
I was going to hate him.
I don’t hate you, long arms.
After I read those poems of yours
I cannot- willnot
Believe you wrote them
To drive me away.
Did you really write them?
Nov 14, 2014
Nov 14, 2014 at 1:47 PM UTC
Sometimes I write nights, in the séance of the city
to the thrum of the sidewalk, the fume of the smokestack;
I scribble the madcap of it all, I furrow my nails in vinyl and dance
in memoriam,
my face blackened by storms in the crematorium;
there are those that watch the world through a window,
and those that are watched;
and if they have no voice in their manic stumblings; and if instead they
mutter
to the shadows for traction, to the swirl in the gutter, the outer rim of
silence
they will find a friction
to descend upon cement with an electric lunacy;
and though they will be outliers, they put out the candles
and write nights too;
within the funneled starlight, and the wheel of the sky,
we string our bodies astral,
in procession and out, similar in divergence, until similarity diverges
into steam and carbon
and time surges backwards to rejuvenate nights
and our visions are left clotted in their seams by
the dark.
Aug 19, 2010
Aug 19, 2010 at 9:01 AM UTC
A soul is all you needed to be human,
I tell the ape,
that God blessed us with upon divergence
when he made us lose our tails
but forked us into different routes
in his flash of magnificence
morphing us into a super entity
but pitifully
depriving you of that edge.
A soul, I assert with satisfaction,
would've kept you out of this cage.
You might not have even noticed it,
I hated the grin on its face,
yours has only some wider space
by God's will,
so you wouldn't easily feel
your soul's losing the way in the maze.
But a cage, is a cage, is a cage..
Feb 15, 2018
Feb 15, 2018 at 8:41 AM UTC
Her smile lasts a lifetime
To one's heart
She styles with a cultivating conformity
Her silk short hair holds a traditional divergence
Fewr words can describe her soulful beauty
How can a man maintain her innocence?
As waterfalls sends droplets
Her visional lustrous appeal
Entraps
A dissertation of enjoyment
Sep 7, 2009
Sep 7, 2009 at 11:29 PM UTC
“These birds are the most singular of any in the Galapagos.”
Charles Darwin.
Volcanic up swell,
tick mark,
tiny dot in the middle
of a blue map.
Stationary ship,
belly of the earth
like a backstroke swimmer
in a blue-black sea,
where erratic rains run away
while a Cactus Finch (Scandens) has gone
black to mate, so black that shadows cast
blushes back. So black,
more silhouette
than a black beaked bird
Daphne,
on your barred black belly,
this fine breath’d bird, this
penumbra of feathers and flight;
demonstrating divergence and drift,
so proud he sings aloud
the song of the Ground Finch (Fortis).
O befuddled bird
bereft an opera coach,
sans score of Scandens, the bird song
bindery gone bankrupt, loose leaf
scores littered, learning a neighbor’s
second hand sheet music.
Amid the volcanic dreams
of Finches, and bird shaped voids,
singing atop cacti, amid these small
dark commas set against a bluer
than blue sky, he sings the wrong song
but it's been a good year and she comes,
the star crossed lover, Lady Fortis.
And before the rains return, and they will return,
a small clutch of stars.
And when the rains return,
they will return
with long lost letters from London.
Oct 16, 2017
Oct 16, 2017 at 12:05 PM UTC
...And as we move,
so too does the mind.
Shaped by divergence.
Rendering the oncoming landscape
for our poor pathetic little mind's
to comprehend, whilst true,
natural fertility is shed,
dropped to the ground,
recognized as little more than
detritus, lost to the process
of reconstitution.
As interpretation seems to be prone
to spinning, so too does our willingness
to become dizzy. Blaming disorientation,
never lack of focus.
Only what's in front of us can
slow the onset of nausea;
instead we choose to consume
the calamity, pridefully ignoring
its immensity.
Finding ourselves bent over,
heaving up what's left of the carcass
we're all devouring.
Giving back to that which we all spurn,
the nutrients of survival.
I can't stand the made up plight of man.
The maladies we allow to
overwhelm us daily, simply because
the grind, the acceptance is better
then the stand, the resistance.
All I see anymore are walking effigies,
doing as they're told, becoming exactly
what they were cast to be.
Succumbing to the malevolence
of playwrights whose power
only exists because you've given it
to them.
You're becoming their form of social
interaction.
Now you're stuck between two cameras,
but you can't be bi-focal.
"Faith needs no form of refuge."
Sep 22, 2018
Sep 22, 2018 at 8:50 AM UTC
The tragedy's over, it's finite.
But it's still tragedy, it's infinite.
A single action multiplied through all of reality.
Two lives subtracted from this universe indefinitely.
One, deemed slightly odd, just wanted to get even
Emotions compounded, suspending all reason.
The other in a more integral union
Now leaving a remainder with no solution.
But regardless of identities, what's the difference
when actions like these have a sequence?
A series of lives lost;
Lost to the shell method
With empty shells bouncing on the floor
The death toll adding up more and more.
As a country, what is our limit?
what constitutes a significant digit?
We hear about tragedies with such frequency
we think "it won't happen to me".
And that might be the root of these events,
A mindset of disconnect.
That our lives all run parallel...but only until they intersect.
But the hole in that theory is that we're already in a universal set.
If we integrated that thought into the way we live
We might have less families asking "iff"
Because that might be a tragedy on par:
Living as if our neighbors are imaginary parts.
So, let's shift our prime focus from our own simple interest
Before its outcome produces absolute divergence.
Jun 2, 2016
Jun 2, 2016 at 10:39 PM UTC
each morning it dawns on me I am not that fragment of myself I was the previous morning
rebrand and reveal, rebrand and reveal, fall in love with every character I play
I am always murdering and resurrecting every facet of myself
an endless and repetitive series of seeking the light, being the light and rejecting the light
forever I remain The Obscure And Terrifying Great Unknown
nobody recognizes me. little parts of myself keep falling away like this
in helping people forget me, I am always both safe and at risk of vanishing
now watch me materialize into everything you ever wished for, now watch me flake and disappear
this life is but a massive game of Now You See Me Now You Don’t and nobody can ever win
read about Alice in Wonderland shrinking and growing, changing and morphing
read it ten times in my childhood before I realized I am the girl called Alice
if The Looking Glass was a glass prism, I am a ray of white light
I step into the glass only to shatter into seven different people
I am not that fraction of myself you first encountered
when you first glimpsed me glowing, I was only the moon reflecting the light of something else
if anyone tells you it’s not possible to be four-and-a-half people in a day, they are wrong.
can you remember what it’s like to not be losing yourself?
please tell me
I always wonder what it would be like to observe me in a magnificent divergence.
Nov 22, 2015
Nov 22, 2015 at 11:04 PM UTC
*whatever we speak, it's hardly going to
be spoken of.*
which means two kettles...
mind you: target practise
or as i mind
the 2.4
of said: superman
in Iowa...
do i care to mind?
well, **** me!
they verse in acronym
i.n.d.i.a. & c.h.i.n.a.
akin to a billion...
i'm tongue tied and heaving,
das bōt...
this doesn't help the aesthetic...
with prolonging dies
the excess o...
kaiser schweizer min took!
whatever that means,
they say funny accents in ****
to **** a thought of a zeppelin...
yhwh: or the hollowing-out,
awaiting the god to lift us out...
Pythagorean umlaut
into a macron joinery...
depending on your aesthetic...
Kreisler schisser...
twins anti avid,
interchange s and z...
Charlotte
and sharpening, shearing and cheering,
and so many excuses...
the chard and the sh and the charcoal
and the shattering of, of the chatter:
cheap and sharp
or the acute variations of śarp & ćeap...
or what the first H represents:
an upper punctuation marking,
above the letter,
Y or gamma γ vs. Υ (upsilon)
in latter phrasing comma...
or what's pinpointed with Y
and what's later replicated in trigonometric W
of sine and cosine, as is Y the tan divergence...
excesses bound to later and latter...
how to differentiate? the lay'ter
from the latté of not mopping up the surd
h and the vocalised h that's asphyxiating
within catching breath asthmatic?
people forgot punctuation
in the same way they forgot diacritical markings
but at least they got a pretty picture
and dyslexia, and iconoclasm, and
modern illiteracy;
as said modern conspiracy theory:
far **** away from 1990s cartoon network...
everything you just said: doesn't
prop a need for me to buy things;
which is why, i guess, you need
a drugs trade that's the alternative
of consumerism.
Nov 23, 2016
Nov 23, 2016 at 10:36 PM UTC