"dryness" poems
Lay your sleeping head, my love,
Human on my faithless arm;
Time and fevers burn away
Individual beauty from
Thoughtful children, and the grave
Proves the child ephemeral:
But in my arms till break of day
Let the living creature lie,
Mortal, guilty, but to me
The entirely beautiful.
Soul and body have no bounds:
To lovers as they lie upon
Her tolerant enchanted slope
In their ordinary swoon,
Grave the vision Venus sends
Of supernatural sympathy,
Universal love and hope;
While an abstract insight wakes
Among the glaciers and the rocks
The hermit's sensual ecstasy.
Certainty, fidelity
On the stroke of midnight pass
Like vibrations of a bell,
And fashionable madmen raise
Their pedantic boring cry:
Every farthing of the cost,
All the dreadful cards foretell,
Shall be paid, but not from this night
Not a whisper, not a thought,
Not a kiss nor look be lost.
Beauty, midnight, vision dies:
Let the winds of dawn that blow
Softly round your dreaming head
Such a day of sweetness show
Eye and knocking heart may bless.
Find the mortal world enough;
Noons of dryness see you fed
By the involuntary powers,
Nights of insult let you pass
Watched by every human love.
11.1k
It was but was not god nor goddess.
It was but was not deva nor devi.
It was but was not angel nor demon.
It was but was not metaphysical being of any kind.
It was but had not any name nor could it be named.
It was but had not any face nor likeness.
It was but had not any body or corporeal state.
It was but had not any form nor lack of form.
It was but not incarnate nor disincarnate.
It was but was not existent nor non-existent.
It was but could be described in words in any way.
It was but had not depth nor height nor breadth nor volume.
It was but could not be measured in any way.
It was but had not materiality of any kind.
It was but had not immateriality of any kind.
It was but had not space nor lack of space.
It was but had not direction nor lack of direction.
It was but had not nothingness.
It was but had not somethingness.
It was but had not anythingness.
It was but had not beingness.
It was but not Isness or non-Isness.
It was but had not light nor dark.
It was but had not wetness nor dryness.
It was but was not nowhere.
It was but was not nowhere.
It was but was not somewhere.
It was but was not anywhere.
It was and then It manifested the nature of Its essence
and became the universe and all that was in the universe.
All that was incarnate and disincarnate.
All that was physical and metaphysical.
All that was existent and non-existent.
And still It was.
It manifested Itself in ignorance of Its own nature as the Isness of the Universe,
in order to participate in the existence It had created from Its own essence,on an equal and fair level with humanity.
It gave of its own essence by putting a small piece of its own essence--the individual Isness-which is equal and autonomous and individual and independent--into all human bodies,both female and male,at conception.
And It made humans ignorant of their nature--the individual Isness--
as It made itself ignorant of Its own nature.
And then It set humans and Itself the Riddle of the Existence
that had come from Its manifestation of its nature as the universe and all that was in it.
It posed these three questions to humanity and to Itself.
1--Who am I?.
2--Why am I here?.
3--When I knowhow I am then what is my purpose?.
Who am I?.
Like all humans,and for the sake of fairness,
It manifested Itself into ignorance of its own nature also.
The Isness of the Universe set humans the task of realising their own nature--which is the individual Isness--as an equal individual autonomous and independent part of the essence of the Isness of the Universe,so that they could then show the Isness of the Universe Its own essence and then share existence together.
The principle governing Its action in creating the universe and all it contains, especially humanity,was that before you can reach the heights of existence you must go through the depths of existence.
Why am I here?.
Obviously I am here to answer the first question.
After answering the first question --which can only be done existentially and not intellectually--
there would then be the third question to be answered.
The answer to the first question lies in regaining your existential nature--the individual Isness--as a small but equal,independent, individual,nameless,formless,genderless and non-physical Isness formed from the Isness of the Universe which is free from Mind and Conditioned Identity.
The answer does NOT lie in amassing the false knowledge of all "religions" and "political systems that the Mind and Conditioned Identity have created in order to mislead the individual Isness from realising ,existentially,its true nature.
The Isness of the Universe did not want a world of maniputed puppets,as the Mind/Conditioned Identity,does but in order to achieve fairness in solving the Riddle of Existence,it gave humanity these attributes and the ability to live out their opposites.
Freedom of Will.
Freedom of Choice.
Freedom of speech.
Freedom of Truthfulness.
Freedom of Association.
Freedom of Debate.
Freedom from Violence.
Agreement to Disagree.
www.beyondenlightenment.co.uk
Aug 20, 2014
Aug 20, 2014 at 1:21 AM UTC
Beyond a beginingless beginning.
It was but was not any "god" or "goddess".
It was but was not "deva" or "devi".
It was but was not "angel" or "demon".
It was but was not a metaphysical being of any kind.
It was but had not any name nor could it be named.
It was but had not any face nor likeness.
It was but had not any body not corporeal form.
It was but had not gender nor ***
It was but was not incarnate or disincarnate.
It was but was not existent nor non existent.
It was but could not be described by any words in any way.
It was but had not depth nor height nor breadth nor volume.
It was but could not be measured in any way.
It was but could not be imagined.
It was but had not materiality of any kind.
It was but had not immateriality in any way.
It was but had not space nor lack of space.
It was but had not direction nor lack of direction.
It was but had not nothingness.
It was but had not somethingness.
It was but had not anythingness.
It was but had not beingness.
It was but had not light nor dark.
It was but had not wetness or dryness.
It was but was not nowhere.
It was but had not somewhere.
It was but had not anywhere.
It was and then it manifested the nature of its essence
and became the endless Universe and all that was in the Universe.
All that was incarnate.
All that was disincarnate.
All that was physical and metaphysical.
All that was existing and non existing.
And still it was.
It manifested itself in ignorance of its own nature as the Isness of the Universe,in order to participate in the existence it had created from its own nature on an equal and fair level with humanity.
It gave of itself by incarnating a small piece of its own nature into all human bodies,both male and female ,equally but different,at conception and then it made them all ignorant of their beginings as it made itself ignorant of its own beginings.
And then it set these Isness incarnated in human bodies the riddle of the existence that had arisen from its manifestation as the Universe and all that was in it.
It posed these three questions to Humanity and itself.
1--What am I?.
2--Why am I here?.
3--When I know what I am then what is my purpose.
The Isness of the Universe set each individual Isness incarnated in a human body the task of realising its own nature,which was a part of the nature of the Isness of the Universe, so that each individual Isness could then show the Isness of the Universe its own nature incarnated in a human body,female or male equally of any skin colour,dancing the dance of life,singing the song of life..
The principle governing our joint action on creating the Universe and all it contains,especially Humanity,was that before you can reach the heights of Existence you must go through the depths of Existence.
And oh boy are we going through the depths playing these Mind games?.
www.beyondenlightenment.co.uk
May 1, 2015
May 1, 2015 at 1:05 AM UTC
It’s the beginning of the monsoons and of the week,
A clouded chilly one with the clouds blanketing the sun.
I’m struggling to get out of bed and into my daily routine,
Running late as always, there’s never time for fun.
The first rains of the season were not welcomed with a smile,
Cars, Buses and mopeds splashing and spraying water all around.
People cursing the rains and others on the roads,
Racing to the office is not as easy as it may sound.
It’s a dark dull day with no sunshine to light my path,
And the rain to rob me of the dryness I had left.
As a child I remember this being different in every way,
The rain bringing me cheer and happiness, never indulging in theft.
Stopping at a red light, all wet and soggy,
I see this small figure making way between the vehicles standing.
On every window and door she knocked with enthusiasm,
This little girl hopping around in every puddle landing.
Trying to sell the water lilies she had in her hand,
Not letting the frowns or the drops of rain her spirit lower.
She shines off all the hate and the disgust,
Through the muck and water walking to sell this pretty flower.
All of the dullness and gloom she got rid.
A smile on my face and in my heart she brought,
This little girl with those bright water lilies,
Like the flower she sold, all eyes and hearts she caught.
Bringing smiles and spreading fragrances in times so dull,
The water lily blooms in the muck and conditions degrading.
So did this little girl on this dark rainy day,
Returning cheer and happiness drained in the rain by blooming.
Mar 6, 2015
Mar 6, 2015 at 6:16 AM UTC
Wet season becomes dry
But dryness is not permanent;
It's a test.
And when one embrace the vision,
There will be a provision
Unto him, due to his higher calling.
There is a revival
An awakening of the soul
There, justice shall submerge
And it shall be a payback time.
For to where a revelation lies,
There will be power and inspiration
And the keys to the multitudes:
Faith, prayer and obedience.
Aug 19, 2014
Aug 19, 2014 at 4:36 AM UTC
Dry your eyes, your tears are too much for the clouds
They can't hold anymore sorrow,
or they'll fall toward the earth
Lay on my lap,
though it may be soaked, unlike the clouds,
they could use some more substance
Before you know it, tears of laughter
and joy will overcome you.
Almost overwhelm you to the point of dryness.
*Dry your eyes,
your tears are too much
for the the clouds to handle.
It may just have to rain.*
Mar 6, 2012
Mar 6, 2012 at 11:26 AM UTC
Across the ocean, you meant nothing to me.
You were a destination, a photograph, a wish.
You plagued my winter woes with your heatwaves,
jumping into creeks in your underwear while I wrapped myself in another blanket, cold Canadian ice princess.
You slept under stars in close contact with beautiful nature, beautiful life, beautiful people, while I stared at them, upside down, from my window.
And then the big dipper dumped you into my lap, head on my chest so you could feel my heart beat and I could tangle my fingers in your hair.
Photographs aren't supposed to come to life.
Beautiful smiles and messy blonde hair are for fantasies and dreaming and rainy days, and not for my bed or my guitar or my lips
But there you were.
For two weeks I thought and rethought and plagued my heart with goodbye is coming. He will fly away from me. We are not birds meant to be caged
We are wanderers, nomads, free-spirits who need no tying down or tying knots,
And I want to tie myself to your bed post with barbed wire because it hurts that much to leave you anyway.
But you leave me.
And there you weren't.
There you weren't as I made up my mind that it's okay to love a nomad, as long as you're one too.
And it's okay to love a bird of flight, just build yourself some wings and follow
But I was mistaken, I was wrong and I was three steps behind you.
Because when you said "I'll see you later" you didn't mean later
You meant get out.
And I still don't know if you're scared or if you just don't want me,
You don't ******* want me.
High as the plane that brought you here to leave me, I stand lace clad, smoke screened and alone.
High enough to feel my lungs contracting with each breath that made my tongue taste less and less like yours,
High enough to feel my knees click where you held them once,
One time,
Because that was all it took.
I couldn't get high enough to stop retracing the lines that your fingers made up and down my sides as you felt the curve of my body for the first time.
My limbs were barren, cold, antarctic as you left them when you took your warm, summer hand away.
So I turned the shower up all the way, until it burned enough to feel like I was boiling my skin, baptizing your sinful touch off of my innocent body.
I burned my arms and legs until they cracked.
They cracked from dryness, even after I wet them with my tears,
And my first,
fourth,
tenth glass of wine.
And I threw the bottle against my bedroom door.
Watched it smash,
Wished it was me.
I'll clean it up later.
Jan 26, 2015
Jan 26, 2015 at 11:52 PM UTC
Doctor, Doctor, did u hear?
There's a new infection coming near.
It starts with a flush and then a blush,
Then gets down right scaly in a rush.
It's nothing other than the dreaded disease,
It's called Dragon **** if you please.
First you're numb
About the bumb.
Then you itch!
What a *****
Then out grows the scales,
Watch out for the tails!
Just heed this warning, secretaries out there,
Dragon **** can catch you unaware.
Look out for the numbness, the itching, the scales.
Avoid the dryness, the burning, and flails.
There's nothing worse to work all day,
Draggin' **** is no way to play.
Jan 13, 2011
Jan 13, 2011 at 4:49 PM UTC
"but where is my tomorrow," said the ticking of the time
this alternate reality is slipping through my mind
I cannot seem to focus and I never want to sleep
instead I lie awake beside the loneliness I keep
there's only so much human any person can embrace
before the roots of truth begin to spread across your face
I have not measured hours long enough to see them through
I'm changing at a pace I cannot possibly undo
wherever I am going and wherever I have been
create the kind of future I could never settle in
these feet have walked the deserts and the mire all the same
I would not even be without the dryness and the rain
Nov 25, 2015
Nov 25, 2015 at 11:16 AM UTC
Cascades were dripping outside of this moving vehicle
White noise, patternless and arrhythmic
like magnified sounds of nails on a concrete wall,
made by souls desperate to cleave their way to dryness
This public utility vehicle holds spirits successful in finding this temporary heaven
Weathered, soaked and almost drowned
like panting dogs that managed to swim ashore from a shipwreck
caused by the iceberg that is the eye of the storm
This safe haven holds champions in a world of misshapen men
A woman clutches tightly on a bag of lime and her ever waning youth
Tired, but not eager to face Death
still closing her windows to his cat burglars
that come faster than the downpour of Typhon's tears
A homeless child comfortably sleeps on the far end of this ride
His innocence tested by fate
Too experienced for someone his age
instead of just playing in the streets he calls home
The jeepney driver has eyes on the road painted by Van Gogh
Unabashed, industrious and assiduous
determined to serve,
provide for a family whose stomachs hunger not but they hunger for his return
This other dimension nurtures alien thoughts and parallel thinking among beat down men
I do not know them but I can hear the cries of their emotions,
their longing to be felt and empathized with
Their voiceless cries are guns with a silenced nozzle
shooting at anyone ignorant who curiously stare at this minefield of a passenger jeep
Dec 19, 2015
Dec 19, 2015 at 12:19 PM UTC
It is raining outside,
Everything wet,
Soil, tree, terrace, flower *** gate, wall,,,,
But aridity stifles inside,
Head, heart, hand.....
Like the fruits of silk cotton tree,
Cutlery ruptures thought
Humanist is slaughters on the street.....
But slayer forget that
In extreme dryness
When fruits of dry Cotton silk tree explode
It’s diffuse
Germinate in wet soil
and grow everywhere,
Humanist will emit all over again!
Mar 2, 2015
Mar 2, 2015 at 1:24 PM UTC
*blink an eye and it will disappear
blink the other and you will cry
a thousand tears of joy
blink them both and watch
fireflies alight the azure sky
in suspenseful darkness the alabaster moon
croons its romantic breath over all those vineyards
angels taste the dryness of the grapes
and laugh at the waste of another year’s wine
move out of the way of human frailty
share your space with our immortal stakes
a slavery more terrible than any mankind has yet to try
the Goddess is our home
sower of seeds for those that fast internally
rise the quickest
and dance the hardest
seek the longest roads
give more than you’ve ever known
swallow whole this ocean filled
with the bones of your daughters
forsaken in trendy delicatessens
our heroes are just myths that drift
like derelicts in psyche’s mythos
i am pathos, eros and shadow
i am daylight’s twin brother
her-eyes-on the horizon
yet she could see through to his soul
her-eyes-on the horizon
if we are destined to find our way back home*
Apr 5, 2017
Apr 5, 2017 at 10:28 PM UTC
divine creator, I thirst after you
because I have known the dryness of
trying to fill my thirst with worldly clamors
my thirsty soul cannot be filled with liquid spirits,
but by the life flowing and giving Spirit
help me lord to see clearly
and to love you more deeply,
so my love of you is not only in thought or
empty words.
help me to be honest and see that my
love is lacking when I hate even one
of your many children,
including myself
may your outpouring love
begin in me, so I may
share your life giving water
with those still
thirst
for
you
Aug 6, 2014
Aug 6, 2014 at 10:29 PM UTC
(for children)
(1)
I heard a big word once. 'Armamentarium'.
It's a word with old parents. It means things
like medicine and how doctors feel your chest
for beats that don't quite fit. It means red
and the things inside your body that need
hands to help you. My hands help by wandering.
I tap my hands on tables, I comb my hair,
I pick up flowers, I hold up faces
of people I love when I feel blue. But my favourite
is red, because it is inside me, beating.
I learned a big word once. It was my name. I said it and it sang.
(2)
If you peel me you will find songs
as thick as grapefruit. I am red inside.
I take some time. I am always late.
I am best in the mornings but at night awake.
I'm from a place that is not as green as here.
Our grasses are yellow and say so with the wind.
My mirror is both my best friend and enemy,
sometimes a lover, often a bully, either way
hands are caught. I like to read. I read
so much that I think of my skin as grapefruit.
I don't even like to eat it. I just like the red.
(3)
Planes have mouths. They swallow people.
They fly them away. They spit me out.
Sometimes I do not know whose stomach I am in.
Inside the planes I dream of reds as dense as
roses. When the planes land I give them to
me as myself. Let me explain this better:
my accent is a grand liar because my
country is blue. It never rains there
but when it does you will find my mother's throat.
I croak with such dryness that the sounds turn to words.
(4)
When I see me I see soil. I grow roses
in my skin. People who don't look like
me first brought those kinds of flowers
to my country with ships. Kind of. We do not have
oceans. They must have walked so far for me
to speak with things they then planted. People think of me
as oceans reflecting the sky. I say I want the sunset
petalled perfectly into soil. My skin. When you see me
you must adore me because of your planting. I am not
your garden. I bloom.
(5)
When you hear words do not forget that someone
taught them to you. Maybe your mother
who read books about cats in hats to you
at airports. Maybe your father
and his stories of his childhood with feet
twisting through thin sand as roses dancing.
Where I am from we do not have soil
for those kinds of flowers. My father still grew
and my mother still grew me. Peel my skin
and you will find that sort of red beneath. If you ask me
where it came from I won't say. I will sing.
Oct 21, 2018
Oct 21, 2018 at 1:05 AM UTC
The dryness of my mouth
Feels the ***** sound of darkness
It screams
Freedom
Like the youth knowing more than
What it has been told
Each sand of darkness goes to sleep
Peacefully
But we know its
Sound
How the taste makes our stomacs full
Of disgust
Pinching our most inner thoughts
Our eyes see
drying them out
How the earth blossoms with green spinach
Is that not a sight to see?
Everyone sees industrialization, (pipes)
Machinerary
You will pull all of your hairs out
To see that is reality
Pumping our fuel and water for money
Mar 29, 2011
Mar 29, 2011 at 10:06 PM UTC
An endless waterfall of emptiness
leave her, love her, hurt her, she does not care
she longs to care but she is covered and bundled in a thick quilt that poisons her everything with “nothing”
something is missing, the tears are missing
she knew she would be okay because of the streams that would flow furiously down her cotton felt rosy cheeks
she knew she would be okay because of the tender most voluntary light tears dancing gracefully across the marbled floor that was her face
but now,
she does not know if she will be okay because of the dessert like dryness of her eyes,
and the solitude her cheeks and lips have felt for quite some time now
something is missing, she is missing
she has been looking for what seems like a million years all over her now pitch black universe for herself
she had colors
she had stars, moons, millions of suns and planets within her
now the color black is the mere most perfect description of everything she has become
the battle between deciding what to feel out of all that she felt is over
she feels as an invisible soul that has passed from our physical world feels;
anger, rage because he is truly incapable of touching those who he stands infront of all day, he cannot do anything about the fact that he is invisible and non existent to all those he wishes to be noticed by
she feels anger, rage because she finds herself incapable of touching her emotions
frustration because tears no longer dance across her face
she feels invisible to her reflection in the mirror because she remembers the image of a person
an actually person
who is able to cry when sad and smile when happy
she is no longer able to show any physical emotion so she sees no reflection
a thick black fog invades her physical body and soul crawling through her eye sockets, her mouth, ears ,nostrils, and pours
it invades her psyche with all its blackness and abducts all the stars, moons many suns, and planets converting her inner universe into endless caves made of millions of tunnels that make love with emptiness and darkness
she has become a maze
beautifully numb, impatiently lost, sedated by absence
she is me, and i,
have been kissed by apathy.
paralyzing me and incapacitating me from myself is what this beautiful demon has done to me
she touched my lips and altered my thoughts
persuaded me into the belief that she would protect me
she told me that if i did not feel i would not hurt
at the time that i fell in love with her i was in a state where i would of taken my life just to end all feelings and confusion within me
she offered her anesthetic kiss,
i took it
as she relentlessly took over me i started to realize…
now i fear it be to late
i know the end to this maze will be the gate to my stars, my moons, my many suns, and planets
and i will run for what now seems an eternity
but i will not give up on my universe
j.e
May 7, 2014
May 7, 2014 at 2:31 PM UTC
Lay your sleeping head, my love,
Human on my faithless arm;
Time and fevers burn away
Individual beauty from
Thoughtful children, and the grave
Proves the child ephemeral:
But in my arms till break of day
Let the living creature lie,
Mortal, guilty, but to me
The entirely beautiful.
Soul and body have no bounds:
To lovers as they lie upon
Her tolerant enchanted slope
In their ordinary swoon,
Grave the vision Venus sends
Of supernatural sympathy,
Universal love and hope;
While abstract insight wakes
Among the glaciers and the rocks
The hermit's sensual ecstasy.
Certainty, fidelity
On the stroke of midnight pass
Like vibrations of a bell,
And fashionable madmen raise
Their pedantic boring cry:
Every farthing of the cost,
All the dreaded cards foretell,
Shall be paid, but from this night
Not a whisper, not a thought,
Not a kiss nor look be lost.
Beauty, midnight, vision dies:
Let the winds of dawn that blow
Softly round your dreaming head
Such a day of sweetness show
Eye and knocking heart may bless,
Find your mortal world enough;
Noons of dryness see you fed
By the involuntary powers,
Nights of insult let you pass
Watched by every human love.
2.4k
I will miss Uganda
The people that made us feel most welcome
That helped us learn as part of the team
I will miss the sunshine
Even the downpours and storms that stunned us
And the dryness of earth that dusted our skin
I will miss the hilltop views
That look upon the cityscape of hectic humanity
And roads filled with the danger of boda-bodas and matatus
I will miss the expectation of casual tardiness
Of moving like there’s no rush
No better place to be so why hurry
I will miss the adventure of discovering new places
Of eating new things with new people
And sharing stories of varied past
I will miss Uganda and it says it misses me
But as long as I remember
I wont need to miss the memories
Mar 11, 2014
Mar 11, 2014 at 10:07 AM UTC
It was Tucson in the endless dog
days of an endless summer.
The heat was inescapable,
pooling in the window frames
and the air as it coughed from the vents:
A fever that would never break.
Two weeks we lay there, knee deep in the throws
of a heat that would never subdue, a summer
that would never end. You would knock on my door,
laying there on the bed, staring holes into the
dripped and melting ceiling.
You held a paper bag of cheap wine between
your ****** and tarnished fingers,
clinking against the rings you wore like
trophies. I don’t know where I found you,
golden brown and beautiful out amongst
an vast eternity of ugliness.
We took mescaline we had gotten from
your cousin living back out on the reservation.
Laying there passing back the wine
you told me how the desert was alive,
how it had been swallowing you your whole life.
You told me that the dryness and the heat
had consumed you, burnt you through until
you couldn’t bear to be yourself anymore.
The scorching heat overcame you and you told me
there had been no choice but to become the desert.
I had only been in the southwest two months,
but I saw it, although I was untouched.
You had grown here, you said,
wilting to ash together with the desert.
The mescaline had me by the throat and
I saw you from dust to dust.
I saw you at one with the desert.
You were beautiful amongst the
red and ochre blood of the sand
and at once I wanted to melt to ash
and burn into the desert alongside you.
I told you and you laughed and I laughed
and we made love to the heat
and to the sweat driven
out from underneath our pores,
inflamed by the drugs and
the inescapable heat.
The room was aflame and
the great desert was alive
and ripping at us
through the open window
with claws of heat that
slashed at our backs.
I awoke and you were tying your shoes.
Just like that, the fever had broken,
and already you could feel
autumn coming in with its swathes
of chilled air sweeping across the plains.
I had been in love those two weeks.
With the sun and the dust and the ash
and the desert and all of it being one
with you. As it all collapsed around me
I felt saddened at its loss.
You were out the door
and the summer was over.
I moved back east where the
winter came faster and colder
and the desert was
of a different kind.
Oct 14, 2014
Oct 14, 2014 at 4:36 AM UTC
Although she didn’t use these exact words,
What it got down to was:
“My **** hurts!”
Your age-appropriate **** buddy
Experiencing a profound lubrication deficit.
Vaginal dryness:
A legitimate topic these days for
Baby-Boom conversation.
“65: the New 30,” the slogan rings.
A Mel Brooks clarion call,
Harvey Corman doing Count Da Money:
"Don't get saucy with me, Bearnaise!"
For all our good friends at
KY, Vaseline & Astroglide--
As recommended by female OB/GYNs,
(Should there be any other kind?)
Sales projections are rosy for
Ottmar’s Coconut Cooch Oil,
Despite the economic downturn,
So, naturally, you commence your
Search for a young, wet—sopping wet—co-ed,
Running the risk of bumping into
Some UC Berkeley ****
Who digs older gentlemen, and
Knows your daughter, Gwendolyn.
Jun 27, 2014
Jun 27, 2014 at 1:38 PM UTC
It hurts to see my pain in my eye
I just want to see the end when it ends
I want to see the cold rusty me
The dryness to be, the biggest part of me
The ego that ran; to be free
And the horrible pain in my chest
Has became essential
And even if i sing my poems
It will be crazy to believe me
So i say let's sing it together
Since I'm already crazy to think that this pain will ever go away
It's mixed up with my blood
So that leads to cutting my hand open and letting the pain be a blood bath
I wish I could be alive to see that
Full of satisfying emotion.
Apr 10, 2017
Apr 10, 2017 at 2:40 PM UTC
A discordant gain
moves through the hall
echoes off every wall
and reverberates again
through my chest cavity.
my ribcage thrums
obstinate, hopeful
it is a clear fullness
it is the water that I carry.
The cistern is broken
but
it has been sealed in gold
that reflects the light of
things that have been, are, or will be
and it is the lightning fracture
that appeals to Him now
more than the gold itself.
I know your
heavy lead-heart, lead-limbed
sorrow.
I know the iron nails
your mind would drive
up into your own veins.
You crucify yourself not every three days
but every day
every night
every hour.
It is the lightning-fracture
that reminds you of this place
moreso than the gold ever could.
The high, dissonant clattering
in the world
drives into your dryness.
I will give you water
but to hold it, you must seal
your cracks, yourself.
Nov 2, 2015
Nov 2, 2015 at 12:28 PM UTC
too long your lips have stared
into the body of my thoughts,
studying the patterns
and the features,
deciphering the blueprints,
my irrational being
...those petals,
their textures burning in the color,
popping out like embers, fed
every regulated breath
you are compelled
to lick away the dryness,
wipe the prints and traces,
put out the flames covertly...
but make it look casual:
you cannot be caught spying;
or the government of words
denies everything,
severing the strings,
abandoning its secret desire
behind enemy lines,
to be captured, questioned,
and tortured
by your very own
collaborationist conscience
Dec 7, 2016
Dec 7, 2016 at 5:57 AM UTC
In the rainy dark night,
Two hearts having fight,
In the silence of the night.
Their heartbeats screaming more than thunderstorms.
Remembering their first kiss
In season's first rain.
Smelling each other and kissing away each other's pain.
Remembering the long drives,
And dancing together,
Getting closer and closer to each other.
Remembering the nights,
They spent holding each other,
Reminiscing promises broken one after another.
Remembering the day,
They last met,
The date Feb 14 and the year was '08.
In their eyes, there is love,
And some tears,
Will they meet again? Like some fears.
They were meant to be,
But now it's clear,
They have to leave and live their fear.
As the raindrops became dry,
They were meant to say goodbye.
May 5, 2015
May 5, 2015 at 6:36 PM UTC
Strata upon her lope with hope to everyone
when leaves would fall betwixt these righteous paths
whether your forks gathered rain
as autumn found together in sheer delight
where dryness perchance had provoked many living trunks
and maple syrup was flowing from sap
so delicious these hot cakes fulfilled grace and picnics in Eagles Mere.
Oct 18, 2016
Oct 18, 2016 at 11:36 AM UTC