"endlessness" poems
*be ever gentle to thy words
treat them, your tools, well,
cleansing and protecting,
wrapping them in cloths of chamois and moleskin
that they may be well conditioned and
pour forth with a temperament clear and viscous,
reflecting their high honors and a noble lineage,
they are well-intentioned to exist far longer
than your meager temporal life,
upon this ever hasty, ever perpetual, orbit
give them all respect, their fair due,
they are treasure immeasurable,
for which you have been granted guardianship,
custody received from others to be gifted onwards,
yours, but for the duration
so oft we trifle words,
expel them from the country of our body,
without passport and earnestness,
as if they were the cheapest of footnote filler,
day tourists, to be treated as leavings,
refuse for daily discardation,
barely noting their fast comings and faster disappearance,
but leaving not, a mark of distinction
more truffle than trifle,
find them in the dark forest of your life,
use them sparingly, just for soaring,
take them from the roots of your trees,
shave them with a paring knife,
counts them in bites and measure them in grams,
even in grains,
for words are the seasoning of our lives,
agent provacateurs that can modify the moment,
bringing out to the fore
the flavor of the underlying
speak them slow and distinct,
for they arrive slow to you,
a trickling of refugees for your sheltering,
harbor them as full companions,
protected by natural law,
provision them well,
prepared and ever ready for a quick departure,
moor them at the embarcadero,
for the next restless leg of endlessness,
which they themselves will inform you
will last longer than eternity,
long after there are no humans to speak them*
Oct 10, 2015
Oct 10, 2015 at 6:01 PM UTC
In the night, those shadows come alive. So little do i know about this heavy doubt.
Cold wind biting the heart. Trying to figure out where I've been.
Dark winter pulls me closer, now theres a place i'm thinking into the air.
A voice calling, "Who knows but that which seems omitted today, waits for tomorrow?"
Nothing is as it seams, just as beauty leans from the earth in a sunset--a harp for the soul to sing.
But You are life and you are the veil.
Beauty is eternity gazing at her self
But you are eternity and you are the mirror.
And if you want to know truth retire of solving riddles.
We wanderers, ever seeking the lonelier way,
begin no day where we have ended another day;
and no sunrise finds us where sunset left us.
Even while the earth sleeps we travel,
back into dreams.
Ay, my bow rests on my chest.
There is the flame spirit among a starry mountainside.
Oh it was but yesterday we met in a dream. You watched as I built a ship towards your shore.
My spirit goes wandering upon the wind, off to the desert sands, deep beneath the ocean's sound.
I am the gypsey and the fortuneteller, liken an honest thief. No I'm the myth builder and dream master.
who laughs with me when I destroy,
the sand castles of my innocence. The
sun warming my back just as the wicked, and drawing my image locked in a shadow.
Here the soul a battlefield, where
reason and passion become one.
they are the sails of my seafaring soul.
There I found the naked body of my dreams, in silent sleep my spriit walked the path.
I am the star-gazer who feels the power of endlessness, Aware of timelessness and
neverending space. The love in me still
present amidst the scattered fires that
burn in black ink.
Just as the caveman draws his fears on lost walls, speaking of misfortune and
treasures gallore. A fantom ghost in Hade's Fate.
Now my ship wanders forever on a pearlous course but never sinking.
Oct 29, 2012
Oct 29, 2012 at 12:47 AM UTC
my entrails seaping crimson blackness into my heart
Bitten by the rotting incisors you force into my flesh
My body seeking your gaping void
mere mortals describe as a mouth
Your dark hollow soul blackening Cutting my thin cold skin i let you in. Feeling our flesh merging in this torturing oneness,
Filling the cavities of endlessness.
i yearn to feel you feasting upon my clammy cold covering desiring for the essence of your inner being to take me whole devouring my crescent moon in undertones of a wild demonic frenzy
Extracting dark passion from your soul Staring into darkest nights of your mind's cavity.
Through your soul, a black gaping hole. Darklights seeping through my sanity.
searching for a searing flame
it matters not that my etheral love is a force from another plain
i can only believe in the feeling of you
Perpetual fear of being hurt long i went through.
This torturing love you wrung me through.
my cold dead heart lingers in a state of confusion
serving only to terrorize my mind
forever playing tricks on me
for a soul ive left behind
Nov 21, 2010
Nov 21, 2010 at 4:39 AM UTC
Can we pretend for a bit,
that every day is a bicycle waltz?
That every day is filled,
filled with wine and whiskey love.
And skin feels like heaven,
when no one is watching it touched.
That your body & my body,
will never grow tired of the endlessness of each other's.
Everyday should be a bicycle waltz,
With you my dear,
my immeasurable amount of intangible motion.
Apr 24, 2013
Apr 24, 2013 at 10:48 AM UTC
a quote of Bernard-Henri Lévy
~~~
the divers’ recovery, diverse,
shipwrecked salvage from different locations,
auctioned to the highest bidder,
tho the excised excerpts are exceptional,
none come to do the bidding,
for the provenance of words
belongs to all, and to none
~~
“so oft we trifle words,
expel them from the country of our body,
without passport and earnestness,
as if they were the cheapest of footnote filler,
day tourists, to be treated as leavings,
refuse for daily discardation,
barely noting their fast comings and faster disappearance,
but leaving not, a mark of distinction”
“the addicted pleasure words granted to we privileged few,
like every enslaved soul to the mind, which I am, I am,
evening dreams, midnight thinkings, sunrise seeings,
how can I infect and thus protect the young to the liberty
to love the crafted content of our human essence to better
comprehend that a moment caught on tape of our shared
words is a holiday, a celebration for the ages...and every molecule,
becomes a human tuning fork in concert, in pitch identical, in blood tainted with the simplicity of we are all the same, only words, this will transmit”
“murmur me, with soft downy charms,
these words discovered
recoursed and intended well to
pointedly offset and contradict
their very own tumultuous discovery uncovering,
tear tongue me
with calming, lapping word wages,
hymns harmonious and fine homilies,
a call, a request,
a bequest
to sedate my shrill life
“some cells, microscopic, preserved digitally,
aged to imperfection, thrash my eyes,
making me speak in tongues I do not recognize,
but fluently possess, no wonder there,
the memory place fairly empty,
room aplenty for passerby's and the imagery
of the vaguest of dearly departed
skin is not the only mot shed,
sloughing of woeful words”
“speak them slow and distinct,
for they arrive slow to you,
a trickling of refugees for your sheltering,
harbor them as full companions,
protected by natural law,
provision them well,
prepared and ever ready for a quick departure,
moor these words at the embarcadero,
for the next restless leg of endlessness,
which they themselves will inform you
will last longer than eternity,
long after there are no humans to speak them”
Mar 27, 2019
Mar 27, 2019 at 4:55 AM UTC
White foam drifting, turquoise waves swaying gently
to the shore. Looking out to open endlessness. Feeling
insignificant and vulnerable, yet relaxed as the sand
between your toes massages away every pain.
Carelessness fills up your rosy body as heat heals
your bones. Dancing overcomes you as you spin alone
on the crest where sea and land embrace. Your mind
is finally blank in thought and peace settles throughout
the delicate shades of the bright blue horizon which
is reflected by the sun deep down into your soul.
Dec 6, 2011
Dec 6, 2011 at 12:15 PM UTC
By book-ends my stomach is churning,
I'm cantankerous and stand-offish
in spurts, barely there in others.
I could not dig up where my head was
if I had to. I do not have to.
There are some things in my life that
lead themselves to failure. I have dropped
instinct, instead adopting pattern,
a means of coping with the endlessness
of life in a globalized world.
This is not lament. I could part with
objectivity, happy to expire for a
scrap of extra sentience. Please, before
my words become manners and manners become
holes full of dirt, pardon me for the mess.
I only had so much time after all.
Feb 1, 2015
Feb 1, 2015 at 7:13 PM UTC
Death is the act of becoming.
Death is the act of birthing.
Death is all that is, creation;;;
And destruction.
Death is love.
Death is hate.
Death is neutrality.
Death is chaos.
Death is order.
Death is truth.
Death is real.
Only death is real.
Death, death, death.
Only death is real.
Death is life.
Death is gateways.
Death is magick.
Death is G-D.
The Lord is life,
Thus, The Lord is death.
Death is endlessness.
Death is the spiral.
Death is forever.
Spiral. Spiral. Spiral.
Death is deathless.
Death is holy.
Death is Shiva.
Death is Allah
Death is ********
Death is Om.
Death is Jesus.
Death is Roman Empires fallen.
Death is the earth fallen.
Death is trees fallen.
Only death is real.
Only The Lord is real.
The Lord is death.
Death. Death. Death.
Only death is real.
Life is illusion.
A testing dream for death.
Death is a gateway to Divinity.
Only death is real.
Jul 25, 2016
Jul 25, 2016 at 6:17 PM UTC
When I was little
We never went to the beach,
Or the lake,
Or the river
In fact the very idea that,
Anything was larger than the creek behind my house
Was foreign to me
I knew it existed,
But I didn’t really…
I’d never seen it
But when I did, I still remember the fear
Walking up to edge of the cool water
The grit of the sand
The heat of the sun
The smell of fish
The knowledge that the waves could pull me in
Take me away
But the thing that stays with me the most
Is the feeling
I felt calm
I felt at peace
I never knew that
Never understood it anyway
I could have stood there for hours
Just staring out at the endlessness
Knowing that there was something on the other side of that
Something else that I could see
It made me realize how small I was
It made me realize how big I was
I guess that’s the beginning
I went back,
Searching
For that feeling again
I returned to very spot
Same time of day
Same day of the year
But it wasn’t the same
Something’s was missing
Maybe I just needed a different beach
Maybe I don't need a beach
But I still kept searching
Looking around
Questioning if I’ll ever feel so small again
Someday
Somehow
I’d feel that again
That endlessness
That serenity
That hope
But if that was the only time
I wish I had taken more
Just a few seconds
To really memorize it
To really embrace it
Before I ran off
I hiked up a mountain side
The rough rocks digging into my hands
The leaves providing shade
The nutty, floral scent on the wind
Then there at the top
The sun set below the horizon
And then that feeling arose once again
And I knew it wasn’t endlessness
I felt that day
Rather I was
Complete
Oct 26, 2015
Oct 26, 2015 at 11:23 PM UTC
*the losers,
report me to
the bad poets society,
bad student loans , bad poems
bad boys and girls society
taste, head rearing, daring
elegance, shocking awe,
fk that looks it like be a poeming **** forming,
ah, the teenie weenies millies become white walking whiners
write a poem about the sky,
**never using the word blue black
or grey**
Then, use it to
tell me why the
Paris dead
matter
the most remarkable feature
of the sky is its endlessness,
no matter what the colour of the day be,
for what else can you point to
beside the sea,
that simply visible
has no boundaries?
I will tell you.
see my grieving rage
boundaryless,
for the Paris dead,
and there is no colour,
just one dead blanched black rose
placed upon my chest,
soiling my face,
a visible reminder that
forgetting is
endless, colourless,
rage and revenge
too*
Jan 11, 2015
Jan 11, 2015 at 9:40 AM UTC
Please weave your
nerves along
My bones,
my marrow is
your supper.
Please wrap your
never ending
absoluteness around
My eternity,
my endlessness is
your reward.
Sep 25, 2024
Sep 25, 2024 at 5:59 PM UTC
It’s the essence of sensation,
the elastic feel in the body,
spiritual flame in the heart,
the wild movement that
lights up earth and sky.
It’s the centrifigal force
that radiates mood’s sunshine,
the moment of unexpected torque,
infinitely complicated yet simple
in its sublime resonance.
Each step is gifted,
each step an idea,
a word unspoken,
a poem in the making.
For dance is flux and motion,
a viseral trance, a carefree discipline
of endlessness promising bright
tomorrows until the final release
beyond earth-bound dimensions.
Aug 18, 2022
Aug 18, 2022 at 3:28 AM UTC
At the center of the world
there's a statue of a girl.
She is standing near a well
with a bucket, bare and dry.
I went and looked her in the eyes
and she turned me into sand.
This clumsy form that I despise;
it scattered easy in her hand
and came to rest upon a beach
with a million others there.
We sat and waited for the sea
to stretch out so that we could disappear
into the endlessness of blue;
into the horror of the truth.
You see, we are far less than we know.
Yeah, we are far less than we knew.
But we know what we could taste
Girls found honey to drench our hands.
Men cut marble to mark our graves.
Said we'll need something to remind us of
all the sweetness that has passed through us;
fresh sangria and lemon tea.
The priests dressed children for a choir.
white robed small voices praise Him
but found no joy in what was sung.
The funeral had begun.
In the middle of the day
when you drive home to your place
from that job that makes you sleep,
back to the thoughts that keep you awake,
long after night has come to claim
any light that still remains
in the corner of the frame
that you put around her face.
Two pills just weren't enough.
The alarm clock's going off
but you're not waking up.
This isn't happening happening happening
happening happening. It is.
Sep 2, 2012
Sep 2, 2012 at 12:10 AM UTC
He called me 'little swallow'
Dark kisses like planting seeds, dotting the bumps on my spine.
Breathe sweet with curry promises heat pools on the skin of my neck.
My ******* he holds in the dim light as if they were the most precious fragile china.
Urgency and endlessness twirl as drunken dancers in my stomach.
Infinite and the finite.
Little swallow, he begs. Little swallow.
Traces of invisible letters drawn on his dark skin with such a soft rake of my nails.
He arches his back in a bridge from delight to despair as he digest the pain of lust.
I could trace the map of India on his neck, the constellations on his back.
"Little swallow," a whisper that comes out as a groan.
"You are flight of swallows, living cloud.
That I could hold you still
a thought in my head
"restless girl with her heart beating fast."
Now he roughly pulls my hair back
and my neck whips with it.
He has my arm in a lock beneath my chest, kissing the side of my neck.
'my little swallow' he entreats in a dry cough of sound
and i trace Calcutta with my feathery tongue.
Feb 27, 2014
Feb 27, 2014 at 9:28 PM UTC
Enamoured by sightly existence
clinging to every glimpse
though nearly impossible to track
she was lost amongst a crowd of infinity
So captivated my mind races to the future flow of the current of bodies to where one would be in step and time to pace rhythm and flow and know ones whereabouts in premonition
Where my meditations meet reality I've dreamt love into existence even if only one sided her smile made me think otherwise
Who's to say that the love I found within just a momentary lapse in endlessness isn't an energy that persist through the age of ages
and feel as if they were made for you and you in turn for their moment of hope and possibly
one could find the cure to all sickness experienced
Jan 28, 2023
Jan 28, 2023 at 12:05 AM UTC
"It is a deepening,"
she said
and took his hand
to her watery bed,
beaming her light
upon those almost
invisible threads
in particles subtly
speaking
in sparkling aquatic tongues
like colored crystals,
felt in shards of icy wine
shells sifted
in far-flung
seas of time
Shining down as
we dive to the depths
we lead each other on
We are the
explorers of the dark
We have
powerful equipment
to attempt to clarify
radiate it all up
and if it fails,
the light from
our eyes and hands
is enough to illuminate
the murky
waters below
our salvation,
deep-sea secrets
revealed—
churning in undertow
In fact, if you dare
to penetrate the dark
and cast aside
fear of predators
you will see-
the ruins of
an ancient temple
waiting,
just waiting
for you
for me
to dance amongst
the algae-coated
alabaster, green
wisps moving
in hypnotic motion
to weave in-between
the fish and corals,
a magic breathing in
of ocean
in sync with our own
breaths
This expanse of endlessness
…..so many layers to discover
to sway and trip the light
in quiet,
breathless joy
The feel of electric
flow around our feet.
Saltwater,
turning sweet.
It is time
for the next stage
to begin
So tip your
head back,
my love---
and
drink it
in
Jul 13, 2016
Jul 13, 2016 at 6:56 AM UTC
Astral architecture hangs on the balance of my once fragile mind, now unbound and open to the potential of the Penrose Stairs that I climb. Infinity, I thought, was an innate idea man was not meant to understand, because if the universe is in fact infinite, into what does it expand?
Standing at the precipice of epiphany, teetering at the very cusp of clarity, it came to me in a monumental moment of sibylline singularity:
It expands into itself.
The thought was too profound to perceive, too ravenous to be satiated. Could this be at long last, the answer for which I have waited?
I realized that consciousness operates under a similar uniformity: the brain won't outgrow the head, but the mind will outgrow the body, and our echoes will radiate across the endlessness of existence, for all our forgotten frequencies are oblivious to the concept of distance.
We are all limitless beneath the veil of this perceived reality,
but only there are we human, and only then are we free.
Feb 20, 2017
Feb 20, 2017 at 10:27 PM UTC
you are splitting me open like
a ripe pomegranate
my back arching beneath you
I am nothing but you
(and come and go and here and upside down)
you say your chest feels like it is exploding
and smile at me half naked in a sweatshirt
sinking into nothingness (everything)
you are garganta do diabo
(my eight year old self feeling a breath of
endlessness for the first time)
and Utah Beach and Mumbai at night
where I am breathless (breathless)
(I am raw here)
twisting my throat splitting
me open like I have never closed up.
Dec 8, 2017
Dec 8, 2017 at 12:13 AM UTC
This is the Genesis.
Incentives to diminish menaces.
Endlessness.
Will I finish this?
Infinite questions of aggression, are expressed when the deception of obsessions are a progression.
Infinite diligent stimulant from an incident, but im innocent.
And still I vent...
Sep 17, 2013
Sep 17, 2013 at 8:40 PM UTC
Edgeless days are the hardest
to let pass you by
as you stare at all the pretty things
Just out of sight.
There sits, heavy in atmosphere,
On these days of no ends,
A timelessness
in the most tragic way.
All your toiling
begins to feel useless,
and errors make a mess of this.
Your anger - Instantly boiling
Futile barking.
Damning non-existent gods,,
And then a mocking laughing-
Since you are alone.
Because, of course,
You are alone,
Chained to the room
They're paying you to
|
When the crushing
Endlessness to your day
Could be so easily been remedied
with conversation or, some play
And now those gods
are laughing.
And you wish to be alone
From yourself.
Oct 16, 2011
Oct 16, 2011 at 7:57 PM UTC
doing the heavy lifting
*picking up my emaciated heart,
letting the rest of my wilting body
tag along qualifies, but is not the
heavy lifting referenced above.
we all have a meeting, the bits and
pieces, the bobs and keepsakes
that constitute my mien, a constitutional
convention of 13 colonies that raucous
write of burdens, of freedoms, with wild
inspirations and cold political calculations
this combining document hoping to topstitch
my reeling mind and deteriorating physic,
to write words of hopeful praise but rising
to a world that is baking in hatred into fabric
and tissue, and that is the heaviest lift of all
Sunday morning, coffe-d, somewhat rested,
a full day planned, and a Mike Message says
it’s me that does the heavy lifting and I know!
he knows! the displaced state of my mind, and
the hardened ache of writing with fresh hope,
when there is so little, that it is lost in the litter
of endlessness of a world gone, not going,
mad~insane and murderers are
illogically celebrated,
and yet here I am punching words on my
AM Morning Punch List of worthy words
available that aid us needy for repair & yet
might move us together to a state of full repair;
but I am punchy from trying, to find words
themselves that require do not require, a
truth washing,
a new word recleansing
and*
(they put the load right on me),
*and naïf-not, see the troubles ahead and get
me more paper to add to the list of lists of
worldly worrisome words that are heavy
lifting of the world as it is but know I weep as
I write this for not in my possess the light airy
words, the wordsmith is crushed neath the weight of***
tonnage of human word-lessened-ness
Sunday Morning
Oct 22 2023
9:02am,
writ in a singed single cry
Oct 22, 2023
Oct 22, 2023 at 10:09 AM UTC
Their violence. Their fire. Their beauty.
Their clenching, unclenching. Their bedlam.
Their silence.
Their toes squirming in their shoes. Their sobs. Their seventy-mile-an-hour fury.
Their eyes. Their glimmer. Their construction paper dreams.
Their insecurities. Their melanin.
Their rapture. Their forgiveness. Their twisted-up mouths.
Their screaming.
Their laughter. Their spoiled innocence. Their decent.
Their wilderness of wit. Their barbed future. Their ineloquence.
Their noise. Their stretching limbs.
Their vigor. Their hair spurting out of their scalps.
Their secrets echoing and singing through low-ceilinged halls. Their desire.
Their chipped orange fingernail polish. Their belly aches.
Their misspelled crayon messages. Their ghosts. Their audacity.
Their fear. Their braids. Their arms tight around each other.
Their torn jeans. Their longing.
Their possibility.
Their harpoon words. Their blood. Their bursting hearts.
Their walls. Their art.
Their endlessness.
Their airplane arms and their shrieking and their streaming outside into the yellow ache of a sinking sun.
Their rhythm. Their nonsense.
Their hands cupped around their mouths.
Their reverberation. Their chapped lips. Their love.
Them.
Mar 18, 2015
Mar 18, 2015 at 5:08 PM UTC
so there's no more laughing
at an evening fire
no more the crackle of flames
to echo our desire
for summer is on its way
yet all i feel is the cold
sat staring at the dying embers
of a love once known
your reasoning remains certain
and so easily evoked
those moments i recall now
mere epitaphs i wrote
what of that first kiss or
that walk upon your stairs
the warmth of our breath
as i slide through your hair
cast aside as mere memories,
lost shadows in this game
as the ashes burn out
through the endlessness of blame
summer does beckon as you
heed its call to take flight
redefining your season
escaping my darkness to light
alone to search deep inside
and what will I see
complicated and broken lives
but only one truly free
for no mirror will ever conceal
my self inflicted lies
decisions and failures welling up
in these guilty grey eyes
a sentence delivered through
the coldness of silence
yet I will appeal to take solace
in some other summer dress
to mask the responsibilities,
to seek shelter for this shame
it is I that must carry the burden,
bear the endlessness of blame
Apr 13, 2017
Apr 13, 2017 at 5:44 PM UTC