"diverges" poems
The wind diverges the horizon boughs
into view finders of royal blue.
The flicker of the blue beyond washes to
brown sticks fettered with dry leaves.
Oh what cadence ensues,
From a bent bough and a
Sifting wind?
If that limb but a will,
And that breeze but a pulse,
Harmony would hide in the
Heartbeat of an eternal summer.
Yet eternity suffers sterile sadness,
And cadence breeds a timid tempo
Of hollow trees against a grey sky.
So speak the world in discord,
Unveil blue skies from cacophonous trees of green,
And push the wind in hurricanes.
As wind and bough dance in perfect imbalance,
I admire the flicker of their countenance.
May 7, 2014
May 7, 2014 at 4:34 PM UTC
Two hearts, one path.
We built an empire together.
We saw the world, conquered it.
Alas, just as empires do,
Love rises, love falls
And now one path diverges two.
I often visit the ruins of our empire,
No longer bitter over the end of our Era.
Instead I see it's monuments,
Gazing in awe over the relics of our past.
I'm filled with pride when I see
how far the civilization that is my life
has grown because of our empire.
My heart has but one wish for you,
its hope: that you have grown too.
Nov 13, 2014
Nov 13, 2014 at 2:08 AM UTC
The path ahead is unknown,
but when the path is dark
may a light shine in you.
And when the path diverges
may love be your guide.
And whatever path you choose
may joy follow you!
Jan 15, 2023
Jan 15, 2023 at 6:51 PM UTC
The Story of Gypsy of Wind
dust has dissipated
When it rained
Gypsy sang
With his guitar, which he inherited from his father ..
The last farewell song ...
As he crosses the Earth
Without thinking of a terminal to reach
...
A fugitive from modernity.
From every paved road ..
Of all the twinkling constellations ..
From the noise of cities ..
From the gloom of government buildings.
The gypsy diverges,
Evading sandy roads.
He meets the boys of the villages ..
He sings and they dance..
He passes near the peasant women with red hair covers.
He plays love tunes for them.
Until their cheeks flush ...
He meets the shepherds ... and avoids them ...
he receives the wide plains
With bright eyes
And on his back
He hung up his guitar, which he inherited from his father.
.....
The gypsy meets the girl of his dreams.
But he leaves her to continue trekking.
Gypsy knows no boundaries ..
He does not know what warm rooms mean.
He does not know what daily work means.
He does not know what school means ..
Because he does not want to learn ..
Rather, he should live on the road.
....
The gypsy has no identity papers.
But he does not know what the meaning of stained papers and seals.
The gypsy does not know power ..
when he meets the mayor of the village
he Whoops:
Why do they obey you when they are free ..
The gypsy knows no hunger ..
Because he eats anything in nature.
Flowers and butterflies ..
Rivers mud ...
Then he pulls his guitar from his back.
And he goes on trekking
He plays a song that tells about a dream
With the warmth of a beautiful woman's chest.
Gypsy travels after the spring.
as if he tied with a rope..
He does not like winter ..
He does not like summer ..
He does not like autumn ..
Like birds in the sky ..
Gipsy follows the scent of silt and nectar.
He points with his finger to the distant horizon:
- It rained there..
He plays a rain song ...
.....
What do you have, gypsy?
The bar girl asks him
In transit hours standing
He says: What do you mean by the word "you have"?
The gypsy has nothing ..
Because he has everything.
He has his freedom ..
A girl spends a night with him
Then she expels him from her arms in the morning
So he takes up his guitar
And he sings in tears over his broken heart.
Passing through plains and mountains ..
To where he does not know
....
Truck drivers meet him
They offer to get him to where he wants..
But he refuses ..
He doesn't want to miss a moment without being in the heart of nature ...
Sings
Consuming time with his guitar
His guitar, which he inherited from his father ..
His father who does not know him ...
But what his mother told him before her death
when they were traveling on the way ..
He buries her ..
And he prays for her soul..
Without knowing which god he is praying to..
He smiles ..
And he goes on its eternal journey
.....
When crossing forests..
He is surrounded by hyenas.
He pulls his guitar and sings.
The hyenas watched him in amazement.
they remain amazed as they snaps his flesh..
And he is still singing
Playing his guitar
His guitar, which he inherited from his father ..
His father who never knew him ..
Aug 28, 2020
Aug 28, 2020 at 2:06 PM UTC
A road that diverges
Starts at a point
And plies in two directions.
Where these roads meet
You hear two different heartbeats;
One of a boy,
One of a girl.
They were destined to be,
But they walked in a V
Separating themselves
From what God only sees.
Walking astray from each
They continue to grow distant.
Not a word to be said
Just a silent whisper,
“This connection will not whither.”
A mental image
Remains in the mind.
Though they are disjoined
Their hearts have been coined
To become reunited
No matter where they end up going.
Heading on the right track
Senses begin to kick in.
Though it is not yet known,
Their love is already scripted
It’s just, love likes to remain encrypted.
It’s not random;
It’s fate.
Their paths begin to converge,
But they still lack the nerve
To acknowledge what’s inside
And let the love emerge.
It’s coming to a point
Where everything’s inevitable.
The obvious feels right;
Plight is soon to be made.
Fate begins to pervade.
With two precious rings
They promise
To love each other forever
On this journey to endeavor.
Hence the coining of the phrase,
“Diamonds are forever.”
Jul 30, 2012
Jul 30, 2012 at 11:41 PM UTC
Separated by progress
We live in isolation
Socially stagnated
Growing ever distant.
Focus further inward
Without hesitation,
Cutting off future conflicts
Before they even happen.
Perspective and reality
No longer separate
Echo chamber catalysts
Shattered-faction fragment.
Elitist tactics brainwash
Entire populations,
Localised abundance withers
With dying vegetation.
Doomsday clocks lurching
Our salvation diverges
Shouting to the twilight sun
We share but false elation.
Entire regions' designated
Means of production
No new doctrines allowed
All hail consumption.
Ever directionless, at a loss
Regressing into violence:
Revolutionaries' proudest
Of our failed revolutions.
Living out our dreams
Of solitary bliss,
Live alone in harmony
Or die in the abyss.
What piece of work is man
That chooses inhumanity
A species in a chasm
Led by mere savages.
May 10, 2022
May 10, 2022 at 6:26 PM UTC
you say it's not about the ***
but the declaration does nothing
to ***** the boiling terror
to shoo away that yawning hole
digging deeper and deeper
into the root system of my ribs
tilling the lush soil that is
my traitorous stomach
and ever shrinking lungs
it uproots me
grinds the stump where I once stood
a towering oak
or was I only ever a sapling
that was snapped in half
severed the exact moment
that the floodgates opened
and the raging storms remnants
poured forth unshackled by the walls
I carefully constructed around my trembling heart
how I screamed when they fell
the resounding crash
of my fingers digging into your back
pulling you closer
and closer
I can't stop wanting you closer
to inhabit that feeling
the safety of a harbor in a storm
you somehow can protect me
from the radioactive wasteland
that I am still traversing
dodging gamma rays of manic frenzy
and alpha particles heavy with the
black hole that swears it will consume all of me
its final sacrifice demanded my life
how can I trust this?
when the reality of the matter is
you are no lead apron
absorbing the radiation for me
some kevlar vest that can ever protect me
from the bullets of vitriolic bile I hurl inward
not to mention grenades thrown my way
by wayward neural firings
which find me craving my blood
a box of razors is
a box of friends
and reality diverges into an orthogonal plane.
you could be snatched from me
you are a small worm on
the biggest hook to make the juiciest
most succulent amuse bouche
for a big world of sharks
how ******* stupid am I
to be a fisherwoman who has
fallen in love with her bait?
Apr 29, 2015
Apr 29, 2015 at 8:51 PM UTC
She...she responds to a soothing bath.
He...he prefers a different path.
They each disrobe from the day's affairs,
the formal restraints they each do share.
Their clothes lay scattered about the floor,
both stand naked at a tiled shore.
She eases herself into this sleeve,
a temperate knitted liquid weave.
He guides the stream from it’s perched spout,
the water finding the perfect route.
His face is wet, his eyes are shut tight.
She prefers ambient candle-light.
She gently sponges her supple skin.
He grips the soap...oh, so masculine.
She contemplates his rugged terrain,
he puts his hands out to feel the rain.
His caress yields a lathery foam,
her fingers begin a downward roam.
He too diverges, or so rather,
deviates from the task to lather.
Much attention in just one region,
cleaning can’t motivate this legion.
His thoughts of her, and her thoughts of him,
nothing stops what’s about to begin.
Tremors start from her head to her toes,
a smile blossoms as she plateaus.
He feels the pressure stiffly increase,
it brings to him an immense release.
She savours the last rippling quiver.
His knees weak from such an endeavour.
They catch their breath, and resume their chores,
have they been remiss in these detours?
Excuse the news they misuse shampoos,
they choose to amuse with such taboos.
One can’t ignore in the aftermath: he takes showers
... and she takes a bath.
Sep 17, 2019
Sep 17, 2019 at 10:34 AM UTC
A blond girl walks in front
and I fall in love
not with how she j_g_iggles
(that comes later walking home)
because she doesn't
in her neat two short
French braids,
petite flat black shoes
and a rolled up, no
it can't be no one reads
printed media anymore
but it's there, in her purse
as she walks fast
fading into the future
I can't catch up with even if
she doesn't turn left or right
while I'm a centrist so our future
diverges splits into
parallel universes identical
except our minor chord variation
in the Music
May 15, 2016
May 15, 2016 at 12:00 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
I march to the beat of my own drum, but I have no rhythm.
The path diverges in two ways and I choose the third.
My head is a labyrinth from which escape is fruitless.
Please believe me when I tell you that my heart holds more dark corners than most because the sun just doesn't shine as bright as it used to over here.
And it's not often that the gates come down long enough to let others in,
so welcome to the road not traveled.
Now the moon has become my guiding light to eventual freedom,
escorting me through the shadows of the past.
I need your fingers locked with mine as I share the secrets buried so far back I almost forgot where I put them.
You gave me this and more
or so I thought
because now...
Now I worry that the corners are too black and your eyes don't adjust well in the dark
and you too are lost in the labyrinth with little hope for return.
The road worn and beaten by footprints is the one you choose to journey on,
for my path has too many thorns and poisonous plants that choke whoever dares attempt passage.
And as you fade into the distance,
I can tell that my cacophony of percussion will never allow me
to be able to match the melody
of the soft, steady pulsation that emanates from your very core
but you knew that all along,
didn't you?
Jul 17, 2014
Jul 17, 2014 at 10:47 PM UTC
“We read to know we’re not alone.”
C.S. Lewis says, as a character in the film Shadowland
~~~
my lovers mumble when they leer and clear the
assorted sordid, livres with dust jackets, spines,
and notable ideas, POV’s that dare to offend; me
thinking seeing they’re uneasily resting uneasy, for
there appears to be some scales, mountains that need
mounting before they can successful scale my
heights, a big BE WARY atmospheric global warning
signs prior to enter my magic kingdom,
quizzes they are unassuaged they will pass
with any color schema,
let alone flying ones…
that amuses me, ah well, a sign of my changes, when
those days when a merely handsome man turned this
now skeptical-woman agog, and flushes of heat made
a breast beat, a flesh and blood chin, *** eyes, rock me
like a movie poster definition of movie poster handsome
they are smarter and when they cautiously inquire re my
diversity, a broadening array of fiction, philosophical disput-
ations, that lay and lie with me, they, and I bare skinned,
open to the ah ha! of titillating notions of human endeavor,
or British ****** mysteries, and lots and lots of history…
this commends and cerifies
my screening choices for,
when alone, I read
to know I am are not alone,
for my thoughts need hot
company, and my caress
of divers words diverges,
in so many directions, I need
assurance, insurance that the
men who wish to bed me are
capable of making love to my
mind, where stimulus and that
they can feed me endlessly a
variety of bouchées amusantes,
that wet my appetite for their
entirety
should they fail,
to for want of trying,
I comfort them obliquely,
informing them that
”We need to read to know we are not alone!”
Mar 3, 2024
Mar 3, 2024 at 8:33 PM UTC
Fear has taken my left hand
And Faith has taken my right hand,
Pulling me in opposite directions
Like children playing tug-of-war
I’m swaying between the road that diverges
Into a life of comfort or a life of greatness
And I cannot decide who deserves my heart
Does Faith deserve it because it embraces uncertainty,
A tortured game with unpredictable results?
Or does Fear deserve it more because it promises certainty,
An enemy of progress that loathes new adventures?
Faith has taken my left hand and Fear has taken my right hand
I cannot make a choice; they are pulling me apart
Where do I go from here, I’m running out of time
Aug 17, 2019
Aug 17, 2019 at 11:39 AM UTC
To write
to write one's life
is to take a road that leads nowhere
and yet parallels the totality of one's existence
To write one's life
is to evoke a silhouette
that of the writer rushing through his past
One cannot tell where he is going
as he detours diverges deviates
but that is why we want to follow him
Along the way like a lost traveler
he picks up pebbles from the ground
and stuffs them in his pockets
As he gropes backward he loses himself
but we are willing to be disoriented with him
willing to be lulled by his vain repetitions
Stranded in time with him
we lose ourselves in space with him
and yet everything holds in place underneath
as if pulled by a magnet
All that was absent
forgotten from his life
is now suddenly present again
May 20, 2014
May 20, 2014 at 8:52 PM UTC
sam i yam not,
nor will this 'lo bot go away
cuz, every coordinate in cyber space allows,
enables and provides
an opportunity to bray,
and thence get access
to each excel lent power full point
one among the beguiling bajillion,
thus this ming boggling concept proffers
(even the generic mom and pop hacker
tubby in her/his element field gloating
as if they won
the Irish Sweepstakes that day
despite neither could claim
direct lineage, sans Emerald Eire
analogous to Celtic temptress,
whose grand geography
beckons toward entranceway,
where sensory, levity,
and ecstasy punctuate foray
boot that diverges one hundred
and eighty degrees asper gateway
onrush of spam enters electronic hatchway
spilling forth like
offal horrific bilge interlay
sloshing violently, revoltingly,
and nauseatingly, witnessing a jay
bird donning mask (yule hating)
beak coming contrivance fashioned keyway.
force full brainstorm to firewall
to place on indefinite layaway
inundation of spam midway
between now and eternity,
essentially noway
no more, and if necessary
hermetically seal myself
stationing a pal in drone willingly overpay!
Mar 24, 2018
Mar 24, 2018 at 1:22 AM UTC
*Something calm
Something soothing
Vigorous dark
Surrounds smoothing.
Tonight in evil clutches
There caged my sense,
Like pigeon’s first flight
My swift and dense delight.
All stars having their query
Twinkles like murmuring together
As if they recall my past hours
Fairy Venus twinkles to me some more.
You are not a bard in conscience,
You were never fair in Love remarks
Reckon follies of your worthy mind,
Find your heart in flames and sparks .
Fair Moon chide me not,
No guilty am I but that love knot
That early lost the strength
I lost there my lot in affections.
Here lay I, in torturing sea shore
In slopes of tough pebbles,
Frequent thoughts or blustering bubbles!
I glared you constant Venus
Constant with swollen eye *****
In Midnight flow of sea or tears!
Until you fade away from my sight
Until its orange sun light
Until that chirping diverges my mind.*
-Anurag A. Sharma
Jun 9, 2014
Jun 9, 2014 at 3:48 AM UTC
I am here,
alone,
where the river diverges in six different paths,
and where the mountain turns into a cliff,
and from there, the water flows
downward
creating a waterfall.
You will find me here,
alone,
where the sun struggles to rise,
and where the rooster rarely crows,
and the eagles endeavor to fly
upward
spreading their wings and drifting through the air.
Come find me here,
for I am alone,
and the wind is howling
but the wolves are louder.
The beasts only come out at night,
when I am alone.
But,
dear friend,
sometimes the moon doesn’t even shine bright enough to see.
May 14, 2018
May 14, 2018 at 10:23 PM UTC
to deliver any of these moments, in perfect clarity
the dust, caught, between streetlight resolutions
footprints, in short and fragrant sidewalk grasses
heard the tears leaking from the road
outside of rosemary's house
nobody deserved that loss
so soon
I
hadn't said
my last sentences
haven't seen you in years
this news rests heavy on my father's eyelids
attempting sleep, in a log or tin cabin miles and miles away
summiting the path that diverges from penny lane
through semi-forested, midnight blanketed steps
the glitter of the valley below lies in wait
*the clouds ventilate interior spaces
leaving a halo of shadowlit castles
three stars pinpointed about
the perimeter*
lost my breath
telling myself you'll want better
before anything can change.
Dec 7, 2012
Dec 7, 2012 at 8:21 AM UTC
she is drowning again.
this time she knows the truth
-she can’t do this anymore.
and this time she knows that her mother’s hand is not the hand she needs in hers,
and that she walks alone on the only road she’d ever known.
as the road diverges, her feet are spread further and further apart,
so she’ll fall into a deep crevice,
or jump.
she’ll fall before jumps.
maybe there will a river at the bottom,
so ice cold.
but she’d move along,
and she does love to swim.
maybe it’ll be ground,
and she’ll break all her bones.
then she’ll pick herself up,
keep walking.
what if an abyss is just an abyss?
a pit of nothing,
a pit where you’re falling and you don’t know,
how low you’ll go.
and if you expect wings,
how would you create them on the way down
-no one cares enough to strap them to your back,
because no ones cares.
she knows, it’s all her fault.
you know.
she’s been told she’s everything,
and she wants to be everything.
but her heart is gone.
her appetite is gone,
and the once hungry girl
is left picking at her plate.
Oct 4, 2018
Oct 4, 2018 at 11:05 PM UTC
It’s been a while,
I barely remembered your name.
But how could I forget
The curves of your face
We shot for the stars
And then aimed for mars
But ended up
In two for twelve bars.
Press replay on my broken heart
the starting blocks were just a false start
And even if I lose my throne
I’ll still have the memories we own.
Regardless, there’s always
Something on the radio
That makes me think of you
and diverges the sadness in me
And I don’t care if this moment is our last.
For if it is
Everything I’ll ever do will be past.
I won’t be there for the last laugh
Press replay on my broken heart.
Wind back the tape but don’t you warp my record
leave me melting, frightened in the winter heat.
Self focus and hibernate to chase the dream away
"Such narcissistic cynicism laid to rest on a TV dinner tray"
Alright, smart ****
Your entire personality is a farce.
They hate the now. But hate the past even more!
Stick it to the man! But they’ll still clean his floor
I miss the crowd
I miss the bliss
I never thought it would come to this
Dec 14, 2019
Dec 14, 2019 at 7:29 PM UTC
As our hearts entwine in each other
Sort of like two rivers
Flowing in tangent
dancing around obstacles left and right
Perfectly mirroring the others shape and speed
I set my eyes on you
And none other
I dream of us on a hill
Laying down
Our ears touching
Hearts beating
Watching the figures in the clouds
You see the shape of a baby
I see you laying there
Looking cuter than ever
You see me watching you
I stand up and get down on one knee
You see the ring
I see your face as you start crying
That ring of gold
With a shiny diamond
I ask
"Will you marry me?"
You scream with joy
And kiss your boy
Tears from on your face
You can't stop saying yes
I wipe away your tears
You pin me to the ground
We kiss longer than ever before
Before we know it it's night
And we decide to head in
A few months later
You're walking down the aisle
I almost start crying
For you are more beautiful
More beautiful than ever before
You seem to shimmer
Your white dress
Makes you glow
When you reach me
The pastor says the words
We finally get to say it for real
"I do."
We say in unison
He says
"You may kiss the bride"
I go to kiss you but stop...
I sweep you off your feet
Kiss you and off we go
Off we go to party
Our rivers have finally fully joined
And we begin living together as one
A year goes by
Its Christmas
you give me a small box
Its in my stocking
I open it and almost faint
Here is a little bar in the box
With two vertical lines
You hug/kiss me
And say merry Christmas
"You're a father"
Nine months later
Another river diverges with ours
It's a small child
A boy
Every time I hold him
Care for him
You stand there smiling
Tears forming in your eyes
You are amazed
At how awesome I am with him
It's a new chapter
Of our lives together
A few years past
One more river has joined our stream
We have a family of four
Our lives flow on
Our love endures
Like a river in time
We may keep carving our path
But our stream continues
And it will continue for the rest of eternity
Feb 17, 2016
Feb 17, 2016 at 9:05 AM UTC
I live in the darkest of places,
it is here that I constantly dwell
Some would call it empty,
but to me its name is just hell.
So rare is there anything,
that enters here into my night.
But every so often I am tortured,
by glimpsed reflections of light.
I watch as light approaches,
feel its warmth inside of me.
Giving rise to both dream and hope
and the promise of things that might be.
I watch as light passes,
and bathe in its radiant shine.
Thoughts voiced by madness,
I look to the light for a sign.
As it draws nearer to my existence,
and knowing what I need it to be.
The light always unerringly diverges,
I now aware the light just didn't seek me.
I sit and remember the lights,
here in my own black little shell,
I look all about me at darkness,
knowing that light wont ever want hell.
Mar 24, 2019
Mar 24, 2019 at 10:35 AM UTC
She chooses to live
a life of style ,
A life where her story
Will be told using stanza
Rhyme and conclude in verse.
A story which will be
Written using metaphor and
Simile to illustrate her
Personification as an elegant
beautiful creature
She chooses to be poetic,
Ironically she was still prosaic
Every day of her life
Trying to fake it
till she makes it
She wanted to take the Road that is less travel
The road that diverges
Into two different paths
She took the prosaic
But walk the poetic
Feb 26, 2020
Feb 26, 2020 at 9:27 AM UTC
Time and time again
I find myself
At the threshold,
Where life diverges into a million different outcomes.
Yet, time and time again
They make me doubt
And forget who I am.
Feb 25, 2016
Feb 25, 2016 at 2:27 PM UTC