"enlivened" poems
This morning,
I walked with god and man, and animal
I've come to believe,
no other possibility,
He denies me sleep
as His insurance policy
some One wants to be sure,
someone sees His sunrise poem,
He selected this ancien regi-man
to be His admiring audience,
with deer, squirrels, rabbits, a red fox, an osprey
always complaining, why do they get
the cheap seats
so up at five,
no jive,
gotta get there early,
for a good seat,
on the dock by his name
watch the color blue transgender
from feminine elegy elegant pale
to peacock royal male,
the water,
a contributing editor,
phases in with a steely grin,
with ermine whitecap hints
and an orange marmalade sky homage,
I cannot try to describe
and here is where man comes in...
as the tableau reveals a still life
come to be,
a painting enlivened,
come to me free,
bursting with
effervescence and
animal life tribunes,
paying on...
strange...
my Pandora app
back to back,
plays for me
Gershwin's Rhapsody In Blue,
hard upon it comes
Saint-Saëns's
The Carnival of the Animals
and I
enfeebled amateur,
needy for a
word titan Titian,
can think only
this trite thought:
*I know not who is the
instrument and who
is the
artist,
but virtuous us,
We, all, now-capital-buddies,
now, all, well-color-capitalized,
god and man and animal,
crooning a chorus of appreciation
let this "accidental" miracle,
this collaboration,
enthuse me,
to live happily
with anticipation
for just one more day...*
June 2014
Jun 15, 2014
Jun 15, 2014 at 6:56 AM UTC
I know I've been there,
I've given into death and altered the fabric of reality
Every day we waste away transfixed by flattened images
Of the limitlessness of death
Coupled with elusive, Luciferian harm which will befall us all
Who subsist on the manipulated reality of the hyperspace information field
But one day, enlivened by the festivities of Shakori Hills
And the fungal spirits who awoke beside us
I walked the irreversible pathway through oblivion
Facing cruel destruction and terror
For a horrifying passage across Styx into eternity
And emerged within a crowd of mollusks dancing to the waves of a musical sea
All time suspended in the impossibly drawn-out ****** of the
Archetypal wizardry of rhythm,
The swirling clumps of faces in
Unshakable ecstasy
And seemingly responding to the wild currents of my conscious thought;
A longing for human touch drew the others closer and closer around me
Till they began brushing against me
Bumping into me,
The flow of the crowd saw its axis at my psychic emanation
As once more the last song of all time began with thunderous energy and applause.
I escaped the arresting confines of the crowd
By willing them aside, wearing, as I suddenly became aware, the shoes of Moses
And seeing my muddy feet upon the sands of Egypt
But I yet had no understanding
Of the nature of the garden of earthly delights
Into which I had fallen,
And fear began to envelop me,
Producing law enforcement officials hawklike swooping in to limit my power.
I had but to let go of my acceptance of their power over me to transcend them
But fear tethered me to reality,
Even as I saw about me a Dharmic mandala
Of my past present and future,
Generating inexplicable archetypes around me in a manner profoundly defiant
Of rational logic.
Synchronicity compounded upon me
As the Christos within me
Brought rain down upon us
Forcing us together and leaving me in dumbfounded reverie
Of all that had transpired to bring this moment forth
What had seemed to be the end of history was in fact
The awakening of a new rebirth
The first moment of coming to be
The union of past, present and future
As the reassuring smiles of my trustworthy disciples gently allowed me passage back into a rational existence
I beamed in utter gratitude for the eternal life which Christ afforded us.
Chaos had subsided back into normalcy
But still winked at me
In telepathic coincidence.
My soul has begun to realize that it resides in all things
Soon they are to be reintegrated
Nov 22, 2012
Nov 22, 2012 at 10:16 PM UTC
I'm grateful for my avatar
Functioning well, the odd scar
Often bored of my own skin
I visit worlds waiting within
Physical demands eventually disrupt
Noisy distractions persist, interrupt
When night falls they tend to refrain
Hours may pass, I still remain
Inside transcendental places
Meeting new n' familiar faces
My senses heightened
Existence enlivened
An economical holiday
Safe and far away
From all life's worries
And its incessant flurries
Experiencing new chapters
That my brain captures
Just like "actual" memories
Stored in my treasuries
I'm starting to realise
That each sunrise
Lights a world that I can
Explore as a man
Just as I do with glee
In Dreamland so free
The difference being
I'm no longer dreaming
Choices endure
So I like to ensure
My future gains
By this choice which remains
What choice do I mean?
The ever moving scene
The Present as they call it
You get to draw it
Your body the pencil
With so much potential
Constantly writing
Is the story exciting?
It's hard to know
But I'm keen to touch snow
Which I've done in Dreamland.
Just not in Queensland.
Nor any physical place.
I want to go to space.
Sep 25, 2021
Sep 25, 2021 at 2:53 AM UTC
when I go
it will be
impossibly late
and I’ll leave you
not multi-talented bars
or pairs of randy ingots
itching to procreate
in a splendid explosion
of golden delight
what I’ll leave you is
a stale-air larder
filled just this once
by dully packaged thoughts
and duller feelings
when I have them
they could only couple
if enlivened with musical prodding
or the sigh effecting benefits
from hands full of mood-altering
pharmaceuticals
so please yourself instead
and don’t
put them to any use
bury them deep
better yet
pile them high on Pyrrhic pyres
where the gathering scorch will send
down leaden puddles
while precious platinum curls rise
up to trickle trickster tears
my greatest possible reward
Sep 3, 2010
Sep 3, 2010 at 8:54 AM UTC
I watched through tears
--That streamed like the one out back
And the scattered clouds
--The ones that floated overhead for years
A twilit ridge inurn the sun.
It was one of those rising hills of my youth,
One my infant eyes always thought
Gave birth to the moon
Time and again.
With its innocent face smiling
That worldly crispness is lost
And the foggy past is far more defined.
Who are these forms I've lost?
They are but phantoms,
(I tell myself)
And now intangible, those memories
Acidic and dusted with sugar
Held suspended and taunting, like
Feet at the mouth of an open casket.
The cold, bitter knives of impersonal
Reunion
And rejuvenated promises
--Only now remembered, only now forgotten—
Illuminated once again
In the dark.
Passing onward and through
--Like our time together—
Exactly like wind through these **** dead branches
And this grave: winter-bare.
I remember the vivacity
How enlivened the sky, that I
Each day for granted took
And how so much smaller, in my youth,
The mountains afar looked.
But there is no home,
It died when I left.
The poison I fought
Has become the blood which pumps the heart,
Now corrupt,
Antithetical.
Nothing is more colorless, not sky,
Nor hill, nor moon,
Or ever more formless
Than what I once called home.
Now that only exists is deteriorated
A rotting house:
Four walls and a roof to keep
Hatred dry,
Windows and lamps, so
Hatred has eyes,
And all the people that
Hatred hates most.
How cozy it must be to sleep in
One’s own bed, no?
To have some stable place,
And an ounce of certainty?
As for me, that will never be
Again.
Though the house is open,
Lock, room, and all
The home is closed forever
Without a proper epitaph.
Vain death.
Vain,
Vain,
Death.
Now all I can only turn back
And flirt with shadows
Just outside my arms
Walk with images
Shifting, growling, and oh, so dark
--mere abstraction
--future so stark--
With no companion but defeat.
I can’t hug a memory,
Nor cry on recollection’s shoulder,
Nor can my mother or sibling console me,
And I cry alone.
Maturation is merely widening a distance, so
I should let them go,
Bid them adieu
Because, I can't be homesick
For a home
I can't go back to.
Nov 16, 2013
Nov 16, 2013 at 11:17 PM UTC
I am not wracked by doubts:
I am enlivened,
enthralled
and awakened by them.
Sep 25, 2011
Sep 25, 2011 at 6:17 AM UTC
the social pace manic in its self-absortion, possession facing possession and what if
the world risks collapsing under the weight of its own irony:
a hedonic frame of mind so devoid of the ******* of life
the tyranny of desire is teaching **** to the naked eyes
a culture stops breathing if it can't let go of its desires to find them again
nothing to be destroyed cause everything is dismantling slowly
going right or left it's the same but not in any corner of the world
the leftovers of God, tautologies in a straightjacket,
cause one has meetings all day but no sleep all night
He/She/They colonize you with the scripture of profit
everything has its price on the expence of being enlivened
some don't have water, others too much of an illusion
some don't have peace, others have haute couture
some haven't eaten, others have molecular cuisine
some have the shelter of the sky, others listen to the echo of Big Bang
this logic of contrast is dreaming of the creativity of decay and
what if politics has become a narcosis, a drunkenness of words,
while the wisdom of trauma is hidden in billboards,
the text says Politics of Happiness or Diserotica
the depressive society fools itself with the financial ****** of disconnected bodies in search of the last noise of the day
the space of the mind broken by narrow horizons
the flesh and bone might turn into a virtual dimension
yet
the soul of the world flickers, it covers its solar plexus until we meet again as brothers and sisters of the trees
just because you feel good doesn't mean that
the world feels good too
Aug 18, 2023
Aug 18, 2023 at 4:42 AM UTC
Night has enveloped, to give me some relief,
Now invisible are walls of separation, and thy grief.
Where blood quenches the thirst,
Disloyalty is faith last and first,
Is the religion my beloved belongs to.
I beckoned, red and black robed lady with a wand.
Let me take her by the hand.
Heard of her about sorcery.
Her powers useless, and witch now about to succumb,
From just a gaze of eyes filled with Kohl of Leila.
My nights worthless, body breathless,
Every moment, feeling restless.
Be silent and hear, hear me, my cries,
Don't forget the promise you swore,
I have lost my childhood over you.
Don't know, how these years left me alone,
Sufferings, separation, theft me alone.
I never knew how pain excrutiates.
Sometimes, I enlivened you my dear,
Love is a blessing, and not a fear.
In a melancholy cloudy day, I mourn.
Glistening eyes, weeping sky, and heart torn.
I gaze from a window in Kashmir,
For a moment, condoling the tragedy, sighing.
In sombre time, lifeless, as if dying.
Nov 9, 2017
Nov 9, 2017 at 7:32 AM UTC
I am addicted to skin,
not a particular woman's skin,
all and every woman's skin
*(stop here,
If you are uncomfortable,
with this writ, for me then,
it be a consoling poem,
an adoration of skin,
a comfort food,
that I cannot live without)*
see what you cannot see,
inside this one's
brain-eyes-tongue-soul-whatever
whatever you name his five sense-sifting-all combination,
I don't care
I drink skin
all textures
all colors
every woman
every woman ageless
every woman street passing
touched and taken
no fabric but the
fabric of her skin
tween my thumb and forefinger
on my stippled senses
enlivened
I taste skin,
like a good poem,
the cheek, the shoulder bare,
the in between spaces,
the minty hint of décolleté,
the ankle chain,
turning my breath heated,
tips of red noses,
I take and
I keep
and no,
no refunds, no returns
I see
your skin, as a gift to myself
created, donated, by you,
and by me,
aggregated
tho you think I am selfish
I thank you always
I hear
you cells splitting,
rejuvenating,
you nourish,
I flourish
I smell your
skin-scented au naturel aroma,
and inward smile,
a parfume
named after me,
who knew?
you knew
stop enough!
softly, no, softly never enough...
every wrinkle, every blemish
every tablecloth of skin so
lovely set, so smooth glowing,
I weep,
I seep
inside
and
touch me touching you
and
for every cell of mine dying,
two of you,
two for you,
so you may live longer,
one of mine,
lingers
within you
evermore
you nourish,
I flourish
Mar 23, 2014
Mar 23, 2014 at 1:03 PM UTC
an instant coffee poem scribbled
on the back of an iPhone, and mailed
to the motley crew hanging in these
environs
my request, your bequest
<>
never had an article of clothes
that required a hem to be tailored,
but you my daredevil darlings,
bring me now
you & yours,
a hem of thy choicest choosing
that I may taste your dew,
this and thus
enlivened,
I will love you,
far more than forever,
beyond my overwhelming
incarcerated capacity
to absorb,
but to exist and seize
the dew of your souls,
each an adrenaline ephedrine
shot to our mutualized brain
~
our soul’s temporal abode
the meaning plain!
you too
will forever be
within
the unlimited scope of this script
on the universe of the internet,
far longer than any intimate moment
we could share ,
a sensory
beyond the physicall
I beg you
please!
9:19 am
Thurs Sept. 12
two thousand and twenty four
Sep 12, 2024
Sep 12, 2024 at 9:24 AM UTC
7. FOOL FREEDOM AND MARTYRDOM
There was once a love
I had found
Greater than the spheres
Of all knowledge
For it held it in one hand
A depth that troubled and excited
A love that glittered in my heart
And stirred me whole
That rang the bell
In my enlivened cells
But a slave I was
Watched by day
And watched by night
Every moment governed
By this Roman rule
The Romans saw me as this orphan boy
Who traveled a chaotic path
But in my happiness I whistled in the wind
And traveled through peoples hearts
The Romans rules me closely
They could see my every hand
Slipping closely into this moment
When love was on my left
I was forced and encaged
And humiliated by this Roman rule
A dangerous thought
Occupied my mind
With the enemies attention focused
Dominating and controlling my future
There legion circulating
My golden city of future love
Torn into by darkness
As this was my last chance corral
With much regret I tentatively
Pursued my drastic course
By blowing the bridge to my golden city
And opening the gates to my freedom
Much noise and many arrows
Rained on me from the Roman rule
But they were stranded in my golden city
Blind and unable to navigate
For I was truly free
I danced and sparkled in my freedom
But at what great cost
As I looked over the great raven
To my golden city of love
My last chance corral
Had my ego baffled and betrayed me
For what great sacrifice
What martyrdom is this
Had my ego secretly tricked me
Had I sacrificed myself
Nailing myself to a cross
Just that i placed on a hill
And raised on a cross
That I may look down on my oppressor
Had I been a foolish martyr
As I may blow an arrow
Through every verse
For there are many acts we play
Penetrating deeply into every moment
We can clear the debris of our life
As I am folded layer upon layer of madness
Forged into me by the insanity of the world
To find my freedom I need to
Unlock many gates to my center
As I am plagued by many doubts
Be careful of the games in this world
As there is love and freedom
And I fear i missed the two of them
But one day I will catch them both
Feb 25, 2014
Feb 25, 2014 at 4:07 PM UTC
A black maid enters.
Cowed, inarticulate,
she makes obeisance to her mistress,
our erstwhile heroine.
She is given a menial task
in a perfunctory fashion,
and you thrill at this splash
of historical colour.
But her mistress's command
is irrelevant. She is fully engaged
with two vital functions
with which I have entrusted her.
The first: she has bathed our heroes
in moral ambiguity -
she is a shortcut to complexity,
rendering the important characters
doubly fascinating,
bathing them in pathos.
The second: she has pleased you
as you recognise your own outrage:
"Why must she be black?
Why can't they treat her better?
Don't we live in finer times, you and I?"
And a happy reader
is a reader who will proceed,
enlivened, vindicated, affirmed.
And thus freshly enslaved,
she returns
to the sculleries of my imagination
as we press nobly on.
Jan 18, 2015
Jan 18, 2015 at 5:39 AM UTC
Corrugated tesseracts
Are enlivened under blood gorged membranes
The barrier to a cool coral maze
Of still shoals, the palest pink
Permanent waves folded
Into a frozen tidal sea
And here is the world of worlds
That makes of us, ourselves
A dimension that can't be trespassed against
Where we are always home
Inside spider woven neurons
That talk only to each other
Or to god
They relay their subsonic messages
In penumbral patterns
Translated into dismembered tongues
And ancient relays of concordance
Telegraphing farthest emotion
Into clairvoyant flesh.
Nov 1, 2010
Nov 1, 2010 at 3:21 PM UTC
You catch stars from the sky
dropping them into my heart,
I can feel them fighting
to find space
in their new home.
They are hand picked
stars, you had named
with me that night,
they light up
in my chest, fill my ribs
& illuminate my eyes,
a yellow daze of love.
I can feel my body
become weightless,
you have enlivened my spirit,
& all I wish to do
is kiss your lips -
shooting stars passing
back & forth, from
one heart
to another.
© Sia Jane
Jun 18, 2015
Jun 18, 2015 at 7:30 PM UTC
Enlivened right with boughs of rage,
Through ****** thoughts and untouched page,
These eyes glare on with secret fire
Of anger, hindsight and dark desire.
I see how my cards often lie,
The same as poor and cast-off die;
A triple fit of numbers unbalanced
(They never quite
Fit in
To their slots.)
Perhaps I've gone a-raving mad,
Perhaps my mind's just gone a tad
Too in-depth into mundane things,
Making all the mole hills into kings.
Perhaps these worries are overdone,
In thin and fragile worry spun
To exotic, antiquated feelings
Of anger, envy, and revenge reeling.
Perhaps we spin these fates too hard
(They never meant
To hurt
My self image).
But still, I feel my mind a-flame
With hidden anger hard to tame
To society's cold, repressing style
Of crinkled eyes and facsimile smile.
Try to hold it back but fail;
It lands on them like a beached whale,
Stinking, rotting, putrefying,
Slowly, surely, swiftly dying.
This rage I had has bubbled down
Into nothing more than a thin frown,
For held back, harsh, with iron words
(Your secret dreams
Are just
Boiling curds.)
Jul 6, 2010
Jul 6, 2010 at 11:25 PM UTC
Thank you for being nocturnal with me;
for kissing me on the cheek
with your grizzly jaw,
for letting the silence between us speak
for itself.
Thank you for dreaming
of Greece
and music festivals
and road trips,
and for carrying my friends across the busy streets
and for laughing about it;
for holding me in that perfect way
that makes me feel safe
and loved.
Thank you for letting me bounce around enlivened with energy
and never asking me to slow down;
for never complaining when I wander away;
for staying;
for treading softly and living free.
Thank you for astronautical mornings, sweltering afternoons spread out in rainbow grass,
and for smoky nights;
thank you for being the last one on the dance floor with me.
Thank you for horses grazing on the beach,
and for log cabin jacuzzi hazes,
and for unfalteringly
hoping;
for huddling in a tent in soft white sand;
for believing in me.
Dear friend, you feel like home to me,
so let's keep chasing
dogs through the streets and trekking through sewage tunnels and
watching hours fly away from us like a swarm of gulls on a Mediterranean beach.
You know me:
a fickle girl, afraid
to commit or admit or abstain,
yet all the same,
thank you
for being my
friend.
Oct 12, 2015
Oct 12, 2015 at 3:48 PM UTC
With parted lips,
I draw in your sweet psyche--
all opaque and smoky--
as these placid, sober feelings swim,
verdant and gentle,
through twisting tendrils.
Still thawing and diffident from the flux
of our individual nuclear winters:
flakes of former selves
fall around us, formless,
flailing cold
to sting our entangled skin,
valleys where I end and you begin.
I exhale you again,
you are lasting in my veins.
Enticing fervor once hidden in marrow,
I am enlivened by the dreamy exaltation
of my breaths back into you.
Suddenly, all is warm.
Dec 17, 2012
Dec 17, 2012 at 10:40 PM UTC
lately i give no loyalty to the cause of the quiet-cancelling of joy in the heart.
the world knows how many times i'll spit and curse on the bad things that made you cry.
what they were even wanting to say
is like belonging for the cowards
where laughter was always not home.
far out, they want. but i will not.
what i would always want is to be enlivened by the thought
of me being seen living with you all my life.
i am going to take what chance gives me today.
and that is to write this poem in the hot-cold mix of the moment.
Sep 26, 2013
Sep 26, 2013 at 9:02 AM UTC
just sitting here
with stiff legs
a stone face
when I swivel
it is to swivel
at a single place
not going anywhere
am your swivel chair
not going anywhere
am your swivel chair
have long stopped longing
for adventure and smiles
have discarded all things
that enlivened me inside
have no life, do not care
am not going anywhere
am your swivel chair
you look like me
I look like you
each passing year
we just wait here
for no person
for no place
for all things to
magically change
like two brothers
rusting together
like two brothers
rusting together
just sitting here
with stiff legs
a stone face
when I swivel
it is to swivel
at a single place
am not going anywhere
am your swivel chair
am not going anywhere
am your swivel chair
May 22, 2017
May 22, 2017 at 3:42 AM UTC
*she divested herself
of her encumbrances
invisible sparks in rayon and silk
enlivened the room
the night alive with fireflies and mystery
a boon to her loveliness
a beauty to taunt the rising moon this night
through the slight parting in the blinds
he saw the shimmering silvery strands of moonlight
even as his libido lay in shreds before her
a lady from the imagination
shrouded in fatal allure*
Jun 23, 2016
Jun 23, 2016 at 5:17 AM UTC
Struggling to bud, stretching,
The ache reminds me that my inspiration
Has seasons
And dies sometimes.
I eventually start to wonder if it will ever return.
Next I forget I ever had it
And then things appear to me -
Light spectrums stretch,
I notice the weather,
The blue filter removes,
And I'd like to capture it, somehow -
I turn my lens and let blur come to beckoning.
I'd like to record this enlivened state of beauty
Before I shift my gaze in ignorance
And thanklessness.
My words are the flowers and the bugs
I want to catch but leave alone
To not abash their fluidity.
I pet them with my pen
And suppose questions I might ask
If I could bother them for answers.
Aug 17, 2016
Aug 17, 2016 at 2:52 PM UTC
Surfer Grandson Smoker
Manager Traveler Father
Daughter Cook Teacher
Mother Reader Lover
Trainer Son Painter
Volunteer Exhibitionist
Santa Claus
member of a fishermen club
tomorrow
or you name it
if you still have air
we left ourselves outside
alone with these explosive days
blind witnesses
have buried their faces
into the desert of time
the concentration of pain
remains a universal constant
the world is a helpless arena
of master plan illusions
what shall I become
or what shall be consumed of me?
and these rupture faults
body-dynamite against ego-dynamite
culture crushing nature versus
nature crushing culture
the soul famine
in the book
of unknown faces
we were all just enlivened cells once
while we feast in our blood
the discreet continuities
remain hidden
identity encapsulated
in the wave length
of supernovas egos
poetry is left with this
apparent nonsense
camomile turns into laughter
and the pride of butterflies
deserves better
this rhythm consumes us
faster than the speed of dreams
the speed of thought
the speed of forgetting
how our mothers
were never healed
to be or not to be simple
that’s a question
May 16, 2015
May 16, 2015 at 5:25 PM UTC
No peeking! Oh great owl
For the expedition
Is no more enlivened,
Oh no, the market women
Cannot afford the upkeep
Of this treacherous mileage,
Now see, the priest does not
Even know what to *****
And what to swallow,
For the tranquilizing effect
Of her beauty, put my heart
Into trance every new moon,
My beautiful African queen,
Please speak the prophecies of
The ancestors to my dwindling nature,
For the halcyon days of my
Youth is no more hale and hearty,
And never be a quisling to my heart.
© PRINCE NANA ANIN-AGYEI
Email: [email protected]
Apr 8, 2013
Apr 8, 2013 at 6:38 AM UTC
*she divested herself
of her encumbrances
invisible sparks in rayon and silk
enlivened the room
the night alive with fireflies and mystery
a boon to her loveliness
a beauty to taunt the rising moon this night
through the slight parting in the blinds
he saw the shimmering silvery strands of moonlight
even as his libido lay in shreds before her*
Feb 13, 2016
Feb 13, 2016 at 10:44 AM UTC