"enclaves" poems
As we exchange gentle kisses;
our bodies engage
lips graze her ribcage
her heart enclaves
and her chest caves
unto a soul encaged
beating with passion
and fueled by rage
it's more than just lust
it's the Passion we exchange.
Mar 13, 2018
Mar 13, 2018 at 6:09 PM UTC
Scraggly curl hair bounces in the air
wagging with whisky eyes breezy pleasing the eclectic electric hectic now mind
like finding a papaya inside an oyster
battery powered like a pomegranate passionfruit flower growing and glowing
around my trinity heart with the noise of a sphere's galactic ******
Crystal Citrine Mountains provide water fountains of sunlight
as so tye-dye t-shirt hip-cat hippos smokin' coconut shisha bathe in barrels
of bourbon.
Lion snakes spit words of worlds hurling nebulous timeline's spiraling
and crashing and splashing baptism ripples together painting Pollack Splatters
with the aroma of Byrd Jazz Jam on rye-whisky bread.
Fractal Berries served by the Far Out Faerrie Ferryman Skeletan with bejeweled emerald eyes
winks while I read in the reeds panting in pan-flutes while water rabbits scamper
into clay enclaves to bathe in pinecone designed sand-tubs.
The hieroglyphic phoenix twists and skip-scats neon green vinyl
turning the wind inside out to x-ray flames of fireworks.
Dec 6, 2013
Dec 6, 2013 at 8:01 PM UTC
When raids of knaves
And smitten sheep
Aimed to pervade
Our hide and seek,
Beneath enclaves
We'd creep and keep
Their souls, we flayed,
To hide and TWEAK.
May 5, 2016
May 5, 2016 at 1:09 PM UTC
**Parades of knaves,
And smitten sheep;
Came to pervade
OUR hide and seek...**
*Depraved – I caved
To strut; to seek
Tirades of graves
With CREEP antiques.
CHARADES engraved
On my physic;
Enslaved, I waved
Through gift-wrapped chic.*
**For Beneath enclaves,
She seeks the meek
whose souls – she'd flay,
To Hide-and-TWEAK.**
Feb 12, 2016
Feb 12, 2016 at 6:04 PM UTC
Pour all into bowl
then separate and cull
joy from sorrow
reality from fiction
peas from carrots
outline a writhing boarder
and then declare
These are here,
and those are there!
no more enclaves
assimilation
or gaps of no-man's land
from now on
clean cut
aesthetic
well defined
a beacon of chiseled hope
for the sick, the weary
the poor
so they may flock into your chapel
amass, wet eyed, to learn
the essence of humanity
never again to be confused
never to succumb to madness
never to grow old
Nov 4, 2018
Nov 4, 2018 at 9:57 AM UTC
A passive segregationist policy
We've build high walls and gates around us
Living in enclaves, digging our own caves
The sin of wanting to belong, to be close to our own!
Who is our own? Aren't we all the same?
So blinded and closed off from the society
What's the point of living if only to be same
Variety and diversity builds
It keeps us on our toes
Our strength lies in our weakness
Sometimes is better to need than to have
What we need is to move from our comfort
To learn from our faults and get better.
Prepared for anything and embracing everyone
you can't wait for change!
Better start chasing it.
Nothing changes but ourselves
You must be prepared to embrace weakness
To make you stronger
Mar 26, 2016
Mar 26, 2016 at 9:35 AM UTC
You're a myth
I'm the conspiracy theorist
My predictions proved accurate
To bachelorettes
In need of witch doctors
I came equipped
With a portfolio pertaining
More to psuedoscience
Than pharmaceutical
They marvel
At my hypothetical
Dream conjuring
But you're more than watcher
You are the observation
Please,
For the sake of science
Let me bring
Your dark mysteries to light
The laws
Of the impossible will be rewritten
In your name
Save me
From the enclaves
Of society
With scientists who doubt
Supernature
Expose your perfection
My ambition
Claims I discovered you
Because Nobel's Peace Prizes
Aren't given to spirits
Yours kept me alive
Without medication
The cure
For all ailments
A killer of pain
A passer of time
With controls
To slow
Or explode it
I'm devoted
To the micro-
And telescopes
In hopes
To set sight
And tell the scope
Of possibilities
Feb 27, 2014
Feb 27, 2014 at 2:48 PM UTC
Apathy and ignorance tainted humanity
into droplets of unsettling mists
formative actions just pours blood
as enclaves of prejudice forms unrest
Whose nations are these?
where moral compassion is tool we lack
leading to unjust unidirectional tracks
for entitlement is an illusion
a dismiss to the evolutional revolution
For many months I watch the clouds pass
asleep as the layers of the skies seduced
whilst supremacists are hanging undone
whilst terrorists are merging undone
whilst institutional racism stand undone
Who are these unsaid heroes?
tired of fighting and just trying to survive
segregation is virtually an erosion
a creation of a constrained imagination
breeding just mere criminals and monsters
Mar 17, 2019
Mar 17, 2019 at 8:05 AM UTC
My love is the seventh sense;
Before which there is no meaning.
My love is birth and death at once;
Would not die after dreaming.
My love is the light that dances on waves;
That spins the oceans, and foams its enclaves.
My love is the rushing of flocks on wing;
The voice in the heart of the forest that sings.
My love is the seventh sense;
Before which there is no meaning.
My love is the sky and whine of ocean;
She will not die after dreaming.
My love is the silence of a windless day;
Spring snows on top of the bare mountain.
She is the babble from the brooks;
And the air that steeps in secret fountains.
Sep 21, 2013
Sep 21, 2013 at 2:30 PM UTC
Tribute To The Fallen SAF
Woe to troops of bemedalled cops
Ill fated elite forces, they were the tops
Uniformed men, well trained and bright
Braved the stillness of the cold night
Sneaked through the forests deep
While rebels dozed off to sleep.
Heroic mission to the jaws of death
Men unfazed went in glorious treat
Walked straight to the enemies' lair
Before the break of first dawn flare
Under cover of the pitch dark night
Unbroken, unyielding, all set to fight.
Two terrorists to neutralize or slew
Anti terror raid ordered to push through
Gallant men unswerving in their pursuit
Display of valor, in dispute be resolute
Onward with brevity,victory almost at hand
Foes' enclaves were quietly overran.
Rebels alerted to sounds of gunfire
Drew up arms going haywire
In salacious and murderous frenzy,
Engaged the intruders in butchery
Moro rebels' treacherous cry
Avenge the terrorists slay try.
Valiant ones mercilessly felled by bullets
That ripped through their souls and bodies
Eyes stared up the skies to God be plead
Last dying wish be home with beloved
Heroes' blood splattered on the ground
Pain and death in glory were in rebound.
Silence pervaded the blood bathed marshland
Their sacrifice to nourish dear motherland
Woe to the gallant men who fought and died
Gave up their lives in the name of peace and pride
Woe to a people who revere, sorrow they cannot hide.
Woe to a nation that grieves over its fallen men.
Delilah Causin, Feb 3, 2015
Feb 24, 2015
Feb 24, 2015 at 2:40 AM UTC
Cultural enclaves
Multi granular igneous rock
Heat and compression
Lava pools surrounding mineral stones
Granite
The development of will in its distinction
It is strong
It is powerful
Jul 12, 2019
Jul 12, 2019 at 11:31 PM UTC
Ruminating epoché,
‘I am…’ ‘Or am I’? Who can say?
‘A posteriori’ leads the way
For the extra and the ordinary
Axiomatic sway
In the gravity of corollary,
‘A priori’ interplay.
Ataraxic overlay of anxious automation,
As the innocence of dissonance delay
Initiatives imperative consolidation,
Civilly disobedient in expedient disarray.
Practicing semantic contemplation,
Filling nihilistic voids with particles in waves,
Forecast in vague extrapolation,
To interpret dreams of Freud to free Oedipus’s slaves,
A degreeless scholastic who never misbehaves,
Simulated humanoid dramatic in the affect that he craves,
Inflating the linguistics of silent enclaves,
A thespian who plans conation with legacy engraves.
Probabilistic determiner of cosmogenous debates,
The Apperceived inquirer of qualitative states,
Inspiring proprietor of dismality abates.
Challenging Aporia as epistemic oscillates,
Stoically, heroically, ‘one’ who amalgamates,
Circling the infinite in hermeneutic calibrates.
May 23, 2018
May 23, 2018 at 1:24 AM UTC
In a deep and narrow gorge
the wadi winds its tortuous course
in a cliff face pocked with caves
monks ensconced in steep enclaves
Elijah was fed by ravens
praised the Lord, beheld the heavens
Down a steep and winding path
What good is being a polymath?
Wadi Qelt a holy place
I feel God's serene embrace
past are now my life's transgressions
I embrace my sins as lessons.
Jan 28, 2016
Jan 28, 2016 at 7:26 PM UTC
I swim into the depth of sulpiride every night
where those times I died like the dead roses
when I took the stairs right to the light
every composes derived the harmony of doses
To swear upon the streams of reckless
To the labyrinth of happiness
here I go to come fire the enclaves
Maybe nobody in home, hopeless
Mar 2, 2021
Mar 2, 2021 at 4:11 AM UTC
Stapled in blue light harmony, I abuse my silence, thinking in a way that could be construed as past tense
Slaved to my sand castles that were taken by waves
I'm a kid on the beach giving way to tourists' enclaves
Seaworthy and daft I **** my own gun, a habit I tell you is nothing but fun
I smoke myself to death on this boat that lies rest to my wake
Waves I've created I tell myself I'm obligated to break
I promise the hinges of my door are stressed for holidays sake, and everybody's got a piece of advice that they need to take
It's always as transparent as wishing on a birthday cake
There is no salvation in my morning slumber, whether I hear birds chirp or horizon rise
Car sounds are just as good of an alibi
As childhood dreams are for validating highs
Jul 9, 2018
Jul 9, 2018 at 5:35 AM UTC
My love is the seventh sense;
Before which there is no meaning.
My love is birth and death at once;
Would not die after dreaming.
My love is the light that dances on waves;
That spins the oceans, and foams its enclaves.
My love is the rushing of flocks on wing;
The voice in the heart of the forest that sings.
My love is the seventh sense;
Before which there is no meaning.
My love is the sky and whine of ocean;
She will not die after dreaming.
My love is the silence of a windless day;
Spring snows on top of the bare mountain.
She is the babble from the brooks;
And the air that steeps in secret fountains.
Jul 21, 2012
Jul 21, 2012 at 2:21 PM UTC
When will they realize that it doesn't matter
that their pessimisticality will only drive them
down dead ends
into enclaves of nothing but missery and dissarray
When will they realize that bestowing discomfort upon a fellow human
is equivalent to cruelty
and that exclusion is as frowned upon as forgetting your mother's birthday
When will they realize that insincerity is our biggest enemy
and that lies are merely self inflicted vitriol
when will they realize that they were wrong
evey time they called me weak
When will they realize that I have risen above being hurt
by their malice
but that I haven't risen above forgiveness and respect
and honor
Perhaps commencement from all but them
will bring me to a state of eternal satisfaction
but I can never forget the mayhem that they brought me
every day, when all I ever did was live
Aug 17, 2014
Aug 17, 2014 at 6:47 PM UTC
I am struck.
Struck once again by the lighting of fear;
but also by that of fate.
And while I want nothing more than to fill these pages with hate,
I know deep down that the state of my heart
will endure the now undefined shape of my future.
The pile of ash that remains is just another locked door.
A mound of fallen hopes and tears to be buried beyond the depths of this floor.
And I am sure,
that what was once the key was only just a lure.
And yet, as if by monstrous waves I am nonetheless crushed over and over again.
Unsure,
whether or not the blow of one more
I will be able to endure.
Standing.
Breathing.
Thinking.
An infinite array of caves await,
whose haunted hollows the only enclaves,
where dwells the depths from which my future resonates.
Apr 26, 2012
Apr 26, 2012 at 5:01 PM UTC
"Odoriferous fresh gardenia flowers fragrance was she,
Her beauty will be cultivated forever amongst and beyond,
How does one know if it is love it is more than just a word?
It is a feeling soul bound that fervor’s beneath the skin,
So how do I know it is love if it isn't as the words are procured?
A sense of rising tide a rapid undulant river of a woman,
One cannot be a troglodyte in life when love arrives,
My love has arrived I have felt all the above and much more,
Sheer thoughts of her sends a billow enliven rapture within,
A rush with consternation render’s fervent fracas of piquancy,
I have heeded in life these depictions of the fluttering gusto,
As long as I live this tectonic emotion of this naiad will remain,
Restraints of the days is this prologue to exodus to enclaves,
I turned my back on the capricious sea the euphoria and somber,
Where with a strain and a ****** on the banks of islet sands,
Beauteous day slips in night as the sailing foam drifts afar,
Although I am where I am I will never be perniciously charmed,
Stars will burn for all time as I lament in demanding sadness,
Cursing as a cavalier of false hopes with untethered regret,
For I am not a troglodyte of ages but just an aesthete in love,
Beauty is Culture!”
By Andrew Guzaldo 03/02/2019 ©
Apr 2, 2019
Apr 2, 2019 at 7:29 PM UTC
Ruminating epoché,
‘I am…’ ‘Or am I’? Who can say?
‘A posteriori’ leads the way
For the extra and the ordinary
Axiomatic sway
In the gravity of corollary,
‘A priori’ interplay.
Ataraxic overlay of anxious automation,
As the innocence of dissonance delay
Initiatives imperative consolidation,
Civilly disobedient in expedient disarray.
Practicing semantic contemplation,
Filling nihilistic voids with particles in waves,
Forecast in vague extrapolation,
To interpret dreams of Freud to free Oedipus’s slaves,
A degreeless scholastic who never misbehaves,
Simulated humanoid dramatic in the affect that he craves,
Inflating the linguistics of silent enclaves,
A thespian who plans conation with legacy engraves.
Probabilistic determiner of cosmogenous debates,
The Apperceived inquirer of qualitative states,
Inspiring proprietor of dismality abates.
Challenging aporia as epistemic oscillates,
Stoically, heroically, ‘one’ who amalgamates,
Circling the infinite in hermeneutic calibrates.
Mar 18, 2017
Mar 18, 2017 at 11:50 AM UTC
Drafting a manifesto for an autonomous imperial guard
Inquisitor enclaves in a deep neural cognitive march
A singularity of supremacy, a metaphysical beating heart,
quantum system algorithms weaponizing a dark star
Ignite self, ingest opposition, implement brain delay,
intelligent machines nestled in the spine of human vertebrae
Bimolecular neural networks, a new breed of DNA,
In conclusion, a resolution to delete the human race
Nov 26, 2020
Nov 26, 2020 at 7:16 PM UTC
My love is the seventh sense;
Before which there is no meaning.
My love is birth and death at once;
Would not die after dreaming.
My love is the light that dances on waves;
That spins the oceans, and foams its enclaves.
My love is the rushing of flocks on wing;
The voice in the heart of the forest that sings.
My love is the seventh sense;
Before which there is no meaning.
My love is the sky and whine of ocean;
She will not die after dreaming.
My love is the silence of a windless day;
Spring snows on top of the bare mountain.
She is the babble from the brooks;
And the air that steeps in secret fountains.
Mar 27, 2013
Mar 27, 2013 at 3:44 PM UTC
What I want more than anything
is to live Nowhere.
To have no stakes set,
no roots-
just move with the wind
like a pioneer-
follow the sun as it sets,
and even knowing the futility,
try to find it.
I want to be a nomad,
both spiritually and physically.
To be finally and gloriously free
from all the ignoble trappings
of a world obsessed with neon
and gold trimming.
Instead of paintings I would have
the silver-braced sky and cold, green
mountains of Colorado;
instead of statues, the golden-clay
mesas of Arizona;
instead of fine crystal,
the emerald-clear waters of the Keys.
I will befriend every creature
and soak in the beauty of
self-creation that is our earth.
Instead of billionaires, I will count
the dirt-smudged, air burnt faces
of Tibetans as my compatriots;
their hearts are more open.
They are more at peace with
themselves living in huts
than the rich in their enclaves of
steel and stone.
Instead of a church, I will find my
worship in the temples, the
incense scented high-chambered rooms.
The steady sound of om is more
pleasing to the ears than hymns.
I will find joy in drinks and drugs,
in the wide variety of intoxication
provided to us not by chemists,
but by the earth itself.
I will complete that joy by sharing these
mediums with others-
experiencing new reality, new feeling.
And when it comes time to die,
I will rest somewhere open,
with the stars above and the earth below;
I will lay me down,
I will sleep,
untroubled, fulfilled.
Mar 7, 2014
Mar 7, 2014 at 3:10 PM UTC
Know that I love you more than ever before
Know that our souls smile together,
Wisely content with the other's existence.
Know that with every second's passing
I sigh,
Feeling within the deepest enclaves
Of my heart and mind,
That we have years and years
that we have yet to expect to have
To love each other.
If you are tired,
Rest.
You are strong enough to be content
Without me by your side.
When I come home,
When you and I meet eyes and
Release our tears and smiles
of relief and joy,
All that opposed our happiness and peace
Will
Fall
Away.
I love you,
And you love me.
Time apart neither negates nor emulates.
Time together is hearts' ecstasies.
I love you, universe.
Sarah
Feb 13, 2010
Feb 13, 2010 at 9:27 PM UTC