"enormously" poems
Anom o ly
Non-named, never imagined much less realized
The left hand can't know what the right is doing,
it's a brain matter, grey area, may be a way to
imagine your unique. task, yours, not doable from here
We can do things as us that we never imagine alone.
Is there a need to negate, wait, think,
must one do any act?
Now, I see, emulating Socrates is thought easier than
emulating Jesus. Christ, you know that ain't easy, eh?
Death is the friend of being. Things change from time to time
but, you know knowledge grows in two directions,
the dark part is not evil.
evil is as evil does. The roots that ever live in the earth,
those roots are required, requirements.
Left brain uses the right hand. Don't tell the left-hand
that nearly all it's skill in serving
and being used right,
is used up by the other side.
Right or wrong, is not a chiral question, nor is good or bad. ******** Phillips's head screws with a butter knife is wrong.
It can be done right, but not if you turn it the wrong way.
Drawing on the right side of my brain has always symbolized a crossroads experience, in my mind.
I mean I draw, realistically, with my right hand, left brain.
Maybe, brains are no easier to analyze than time in an immaterial medium of messaging.
I am certain life wins.
Meaning everything you think life means.
Do you think evil is required as an activity for life to actively be?
I doubt that.
Death fixes everything. Fret not. Wait.
First make room, what was the Bronte word? Penetrium, no, cut n paste
[A]t once it struck me what quality went to form a Man of Achievement, especially in Literature, and which Shakespeare possessed so enormously - I mean Negative Capability, that is, when a man is capable of being in uncertainties, mysteries, doubts, without any irritable reaching after fact and reason - Coleridge, for instance, would let go by a fine isolated verisimilitude caught from the Penetralium of mystery, from being incapable of remaining content with half-knowledge.
From <https://www.etymonline.com/columns/post/cloud-of-uknowing>
Happiness demands an agreement
Joy is in process, I agree, I am happy, haps happen and I notice
Note: Bronte was one to tweak fine puns with the word Penetralia: 1. The innermost parts of a building, especially the sanctuary of a temple. 2. The most private or secret parts; recesses: the penetralia of the soul. See Chapter one, Wuthering Heights.
----- From
bronteblog.blogspot.com/2006/03/emilys-penetralium_03.html
Mar 2, 2018
Mar 2, 2018 at 12:12 AM UTC
..life is full of life
like a magic land full of wonders,
like songs whose notes go high and low,
with lines which rhyme to make a flow!
and whole experiences in life goes just like a wind's blow:
soft yet swift, silent yet clear.
It begins,continues and may even end well only if you put forward a virtuous life indeed.
All you need to be away from is the poison tree
which fed Adam and Eve.
Look away!
It may be placed in the center of your life too.
You may find it the most glossy and glittering today.
Bowing to this may keep your head held down forever.
Know this fact for a sinless life
All the tempting trees yield fruits sour & reel
you'll stumble,totter,wobble & falter!
Then'll you realize fasting away this fruit was better.
But by then you'll lose paradise forever and fetter!
So let us all not reach to this concluding our lives should have a better ending.
which is to be more certain,graceful & dutiful.
Cos we live only once but it should have the worth of tons
Life'll help you do that..As "life attracts life"
BEAUTIFULLY ,ENORMOUSLY & PERFECTLY!!
Jun 1, 2015
Jun 1, 2015 at 8:20 AM UTC
The Genius
Philosophizing the universe
One who thinks of quadratic theories of space and time
On his free time
The one who thinks of beautiful poetry
To a delightful muse
The Madman
Inventing ways he can put math to his cause
Always thinking of things to invent
Ideas- a storm of them
Intelligence- enormously, yes
Standing behind a corner
Stalking his love
I ask you:
Is there much difference between madmen and geniuses? Aren't they the same?
Mar 16, 2014
Mar 16, 2014 at 10:15 AM UTC
I want to be close to you like Mercury
to see your full glow
and brightness of your intimacy
I see you like a Venus
because of your unsurpassed beauty
and your unfathomable, abysmal kind of love
You are like the Earth
where living with you is not a problem
and with you it is always easy to breathe
I see your ardent desires like a red Mars
to fight a war to cover and protect me
even sacrificing your own life
You give a gigantic precious tenderness
and enormously unselfish affections
like a Jupiter
You give me snowball rings like Saturn
that gives remembrance to all the beautiful
things that we had been in the atmosphere
of treasured memories
Your warmhearted axis
that tilts on the rocky core of my life
is like in a deep ocean of Uranus
that clasps me with grasping arms
You are like the depth the Neptune brings
who takes me beyond the known
to what's alive only in my wildest dreams.
On a very far and infinite distance
deep into the darkness like Pluto
you are perfect to get lost with
nothing matters but You and Me
Sep 19, 2018
Sep 19, 2018 at 5:53 AM UTC
As a maddened beast it charges
Emanating with expanse
Brute techtonic plate reaction
From the epicentre’s stance.
Huge concentric rings diverge
Expanding at horrific rate
Black, titanic, towering waters
Ploughing to a deadly fate.
*Kneeling in her bed of roses
Pollinating bees abound,
Morning sunbeams kiss her shoulders
Peaceful garden bliss surrounds.*
Surging to the coastal shelf
The black gigantis rears on high
Claws toward the placid beach
Seabirds scatter to the sky.
Tide receds to bare the reef
Stranded mackerel whitely leap,
Enormously the massive wave
Attacks the land and they who sleep.
Death comes fast to they who loiter
Violence in the tangled purge,
Massive pressures, crushing debris
Broken buildings in the surge.
Ships and cars are tossed asunder
Inexorably it slams
Far inland to slay those fleeing
Locked in highway traffic jams.
*Strange roar at the garden wall
Terrified, she finds her feet,
Roses, bees, sweet girl engulfed
As black entombedment swamps the street.*
Far inland the chaos flows
Wreaking death's destructive bands,
Halted now by highland hills
Where souls in horror, wring their hands.
Slow retraction leaving ruin
Desolation far and wide,
The smell of new death in the air,
Heartbreak in the countryside.
Marshalg
For Nippon
18 March 2011
Mar 17, 2011
Mar 17, 2011 at 4:44 PM UTC
I think the subject which will be of most importance politically is Mass Psychology... Its importance has been enormously increased by the growth of modern methods of propaganda. Although this science will be diligently studied, it will be rigidly confined to the governing class. The populace will not be allowed to know how its convictions are generated.
Nov 5, 2015
Nov 5, 2015 at 6:20 PM UTC
Greed is a fencepost,
her thighs are laced with barbwire
towering so tall.
You shall not have me
for i am enormously
so much more than you.
Greed lies between thighs
tongue deep inside the lip folds;
this is mine, all mine.
May 20, 2013
May 20, 2013 at 4:36 PM UTC
*I could lie, and lie hard, about looking,
And looking hard for the perfect blue,
A certain force of blue that castles
The white sand beaches of the South,
Of the Visayas region, somewhere
In your eyes, beloved, while they only echo
The whisper of that brown coffee blend
You infinitely adore, or that proud tan missing,
Always missing out on a red bikini.
But my heart can't nor simply can't.
There's this something about my lineage
That resonates within me, that my soul, wet,
Would always want to travel back
Like a driftwood drifting back.
I do not demand the burn nor the fire.
I am completely fine in smoke, shadowing you,
Shadowing me and the scars,
Making love, perpendicular,
Out of a night perpetual, and postpone sleep
Over our mutual moon beaming.
There is none left for silence, but us,
Only our lives. (Listen.)
I can't help but love that eloquence,
Your tenderness, a roof
Out of your hands. Your comfort
Is where I rest and wake up to.
Say something, anything, for it speaks,
And is pleasure, a poetic treasure,
A novel or a story. I love the way
You nag. Be candid for me,
And especially for you.
I would enormously love to burst
In a quiet laughter, simply because someone
Made me so with a crafty subtlety,
In me, from the inside out.
I would trade my poems for a woman like that,
Like you, and I would love a kiss,
A kiss for all of that.*
© 2015 J.S.P.
Mar 9, 2015
Mar 9, 2015 at 2:38 AM UTC
Poor Putin is a dangerous psychopath
No one likes to mention that one fact
He is more like an ape than a human
Sick little poor wasted Humanoid Vlad
The Pope must be an openly psychopath
Just the way he dress himself so foolish up
Wonder if he is just enormously beautiful
Naked with deadly eyes like Humanoid Vlad.
****** was a sick nasty **** psychopath
A whole nation following his death path
Now there is a ******* evil ****** Caliphate
Nothing to compare with Humanoid Vlad.
I guess we all could be like psychopaths
Take one deep look into our monstrous souls
It contains mostly of neurons and pure fat
We got no free will just like Humanoid Vlad.
*Humanoid Vlad
In ice cold motion
Humanoid Vlad
No love and no notion
Humanoid Vlad
Done it all calculated
Humanoid Vlad
His time hopefully faded*
Mar 16, 2015
Mar 16, 2015 at 7:07 PM UTC
Poems, the consciousness of minutes
Plucked like corn from the ear
Of language,
Between the here and now
Of echoes reflection,
A door to everywhere and nowhere
At the desk,
An escape from the peoples,
From the abyss that fills,
From the sulfuric melancholy
Where unconquerable ruins
Lay at the foot of memory
Armed with an assault of words.
The beneficent metaphorical
Divinities of the moments we
Connect like spinning webs,
You, me, him, her,
They, poets and every one else.
We compact time ripping off
The facelessness of vanities,
Provokers of thought,
Erupting the sensitivity and
Stirring the pit of emotion.
Every poet must know a lover
To cut the cord from the ink
And commit to the experience
Of the realised, words become
What we have done.
Nouns, pronouns, adjectives, these things
Are tools to the inner soul,
We become prophetic and speak
The Fallen,
We know the children of dust
And ignite the realised poem
In each of them,
This is how poetry exists,
How philosophy exists,
And love,
And even hate.
And if these things don't exist,
Then I do not exist,
Neither do you.
Somewhere in the darkness
A prisoner of words begins
Writing the light brighter
than any under the sun.
The first of first, her hair in the
Motion as she flicks slender finger
With her eyes gushing in a half
Smile, the music on the radio,
The memory of Mother, everything,
Everywhere, poetry is life,
It writes itself!
And here in this decalogue,
Every love survives,
Every pain manifest,
Streaking in the heart the
Blood races to the fingers and
Bleeds words to paper.
Every poem is a sacrifice,
Time, energy, pieces
Of you, pieces of I
Scattered in the penumbra,
We become as crystalline structures,
Transparent translation of the
Spirit that burns.
Every man and woman
Writes the experience,
Life and its unique constellation
Of emotions, enormously
We must write the world,
The poem is real,
The images speaks itself.
Poetry is life,
Deserve your poem.
Apr 6, 2016
Apr 6, 2016 at 5:24 PM UTC
A sorrow and my words,
I remain the same,
Alone....
Together before like an opaque
Tear under impressions
Of time in my time,
Thoughts rein in the future
Of course without her,
We spoke of love
While love was written
Under the quarter moon
And the night peices
A masterful passing....
I cannot stay here
In your company theoretical,
The memorial entombed
Into the fibers of every verse,
A past sudden,
And I remain there,
Such a melancholy being,
Though u kept me
In the moments
I remain there in the future
Without you,
Passionate to the narrowed
Views,
Enormously grateful for sorrows
That weep today's passing,
Oh I remain in the moment,
You reminded me to be there,
Little did I know
I would be left behind
And I don't love her anymore,
I linger perfectly imprisoned
And the words bleed,
Joyous for the mist in my eyes,
Alone with your memory
And her name is.....
But a few thoughts
Scribbled in seclusions.
Nov 11, 2017
Nov 11, 2017 at 2:40 AM UTC
Fiddlededee days devour the sparks of inspired nights.
Kindling the middle of winter afternoons, end too soon.
Here
and
Now.
Sometimes, it is good.
Ladies linger in the shower, shave their legs but blood is thick.
Paying for the middle of winter afternoons, end too soon.
There
and
How.
Sometimes, it needs enormity.
Yes, yet
Sometimes, it takes too long.
Buts
or
Ands?
Libraries of looks in lieu of winter afternoons, refuse to end too soon.
Libraries of discontent in ***** diaries, ***** living rooms.
Sometimes, it is something.
Whats
or
When's the clean part start?
Sometimes atoms seem enormous as winter afternoons refusing to end too soon.
Showers of sparks scratch ****** demarcations into rickety winter bones.
Sometimes, it is enormously good.
Jun 24, 2012
Jun 24, 2012 at 6:43 PM UTC
The sun will set
The moon will hike
The darkness will spread
The memories will fade
Folks will fall asleep
With the sound of the wind
They will start to dream
all the mirthful seconds they've wrapped
The filthy crawlers once again
Comes out from there hollow caves
To zap all the memories
Which folks have shaped
As time passes
The sun will ascent
Glowing enormously defeating darkness
Giving new life to the young and old
But the memories
That is fade shall never rebound
And the memories
You are gonna make wont last forever
-new life everyday
Jun 10, 2017
Jun 10, 2017 at 8:24 PM UTC
think I shall be springtime; such clumsy
scent of the world collapsing not with nets
but hands not upon trellis but bodies –
sleep shall carry us to inches
of terrible speech such somnolent world senses
quietness in the rivers of our blood;
how murmurously veritable moment
leaps forth ripe in the air of such splendidness
when it was not mountains
but your breasts deep within the Earth of me
and I rain cleaving the scent of the world
into two separateness until the
enormously nude moon plunges within;
I shall be a tree
and you, a rose or springtide, or everything
that
blooms, withers,
dances – new beginnings;
Jan 19, 2016
Jan 19, 2016 at 8:39 AM UTC
When your view is totally different
Give to none shocking current
Calmly indicate your position
By telling the present condition
Never at all behave venomously
Use God-given wit enormously
Even if you are completely right
Refrain from waging a stiff fight
You may be in fact perfect
And you may be correct
Here only employ precious wisdom
Be not a slave for conceit's kingdom
Offer your ideas very politely
Let your act be made rightly
Never jump to quick conclusion
To avoid possible concussion
When truth stays at your side
Show true humility, not pride
Quietly if you plan to deal
For you surely all will feel
Harsh approach never helps
By that, only hatred develops.
mvvenkataraman
SEARCH mvvenkataraman IN GOOGLE OR YAHOO
Aug 20, 2011
Aug 20, 2011 at 8:37 AM UTC
Inward smiling as the thought just returned
Remembering the shame as advances were spurned
Still going red at the thought's recollect
No romance that time, another chance wrecked.
Ah adolescence and all the things new
The callowness is borne like a fedora askew
The so spotty face that we tried hard to hide
By growing our side-burns enormously wide.
And now decades later and still happy in love
With the woman who always fits me like a glove
Those teenage angst years are now way in the past
But we have to go through them for the now things to last.
To be loved for decades is a wondrous thing
My heart wakes each morning and just starts to sing
For my love lies beside me as we welcome the day
In my heart I now realise it was always this way.
©Joe Wilson - My love lies beside me 2014
Jun 14, 2014
Jun 14, 2014 at 12:26 PM UTC
in my heart blisters impossibly an amorous garden and every tiny blossom whispers enormously her name in plumes of kind scents bustling tragically in the summers hair lilting arches of lovely heaps
Aug 31, 2010
Aug 31, 2010 at 12:29 PM UTC
In spring
the birds converged upon a tree,
filling, brimming, bustling,
with tiny jaunty jovial bodies, and
wings, legs, beaks, and eyes
all peered onto
the world from skies
so high, so high
the giant tree, that blocked the sun and
forged the wind and
forged the rain and
forged the clouds and
forged the shade and
forged the dirt and
forged the grass and
forged the snow and
they amassed,
branch by branch,
limb by limb,
stick by stick,
twig by twig.
Pygmy bantams
leapt, hopped, skipped, popped,
grew
in volume enormously
until the tree, being just a tree,
only a tree,
could only hold
so much and
when they amassed
branch by branch,
limb by limb,
stick by stick,
twig by twig,
it happened to crack
break, dissolve, fall, and die
into hard ground
under weight of flightless
little bodies.
May 14, 2010
May 14, 2010 at 11:11 AM UTC
in a biggest deepness
there's was 1 golden chord
small and
ENORMOUSly a heart POUNDING NAKED extrapolating
harshly a beating volume of sOUnd! fat on the skinny darkness
A
N
D
this iSwill drunk of ragged ****** a caving silence in which is a scrap of
,
;
'
.
i
Jan 30, 2011
Jan 30, 2011 at 10:42 AM UTC
im so tired of holding this inside, its threatening to burst from my chest. If i were just certain it wouldnt ruin anything, id tell you in a heartbeat..1..2..3.. "Whats on your mind?" you say..
"love" i try to reply...
my tongue wont form the word. It wont let me tell you how painful it is to watch you leave, or about the tears i hold back when you give me that last kiss.. Is this what its like to be in love? endlessly agonizing over every sweet look? Hoping that this time.. This time you will say those words that burn holes in my throat, trying to escape and find their way to your ears.. I was never sure that i could even fall in love, i had never even come close to feeling a fraction of this painful ecstasy. But i knew.. From the second your lips touched mine with the salty taste of ocean water, that i loved you.. And every day i fall more than i ever thought was possible. You can see it in my eyes , and still you hesitate, wanting the timing to be perfect, when its all i can do to keep myself from collapsing in your arms and choking out those three, enormously small words. I need you to understand that i can no longer survive without you, you are my life now.. Maybe soon you will hear what my kisses are whispering to you so sweetly each time our lips meet..
i love you
Nov 7, 2012
Nov 7, 2012 at 12:35 PM UTC
enormously tiny
(amorphous)
white idea
you sat
in Cerulean
comfort
holding ephemeral
puffy-ness
wield your cottony skin
Apr 27, 2010
Apr 27, 2010 at 12:44 PM UTC
when i have been a rose
i was firstly of the soil
my glossy thorns were
from me out and on the
air they pricked it loose
and my petals bustled
round my bulb and
when i have been a rose
i slept with mountains
and i have been eaten
by fawns quickly in
dappled grasp of forests
slight and enormously
when i have been a rose
i green
and light
did creep
between the
creases in light
slutty and chaste
winds have been on me
when i have been a rose
Jun 20, 2011
Jun 20, 2011 at 11:22 AM UTC
This is a note to thank you, with all my heart, for showing me how precious and amazing love can be.
The nicest times in my days are the moments when I think about sharing a beautiful life and a priceless life... with you
What we have is so far beyond anything I have ever known before! The relationship I've always dreamed of... is the deeply real and enormously special one i share... with you
I think the words "with you" are two of the sweetest words ever spoken. And I want you to know that I'd like nothing better than to go on saying them forever because...
It is such a joy to be with you, to have so much to look forward to, and to wake up feeling like everyday is a gift I've been given.
I love sharing my life...
With You
Oct 5, 2015
Oct 5, 2015 at 2:10 AM UTC
You climbed into a boat of light.
Then the night grew, until it devoured you.
You found your great soul.
And then, you lost it.
You know it is gone forever--
for it will never come to you in that way again,
willingly, and enormously.
This is
how it almost always is.
Once, you were gently surrounded
by endless, loving, non-discrete beings.
Now it is an infinite ache and confusion--
emptiness.
Your love is laid to agonizing rest
in the grave of your heart
and you wade through pathlessness
without any reference points.
O Mourner, remember.
Your love is also there, in despair.
You've lost everything of beauty, strength, and safety;
yet you have gained the only thing of value.
You cannot truly love
until his beautiful mask is stripped from your sight.
The darkness which surrounds you
is not your enemy.
It is the greater aspect of your friend.
Be merciful towards it, even though
it causes you pain.
Remember that emptiness is love unmasked.
(When emptiness presses from within and without,
against what does it press?)
When you are also empty,
then you will be full.
Aug 8, 2013
Aug 8, 2013 at 4:44 AM UTC
I see her eyes
they are curious
raw
and enormously round
like the heart of an water lily
the petals never close
they risk desolation
destruction by the tempest’s wrath
they have felt the frigid hail before
how they know its bitter sting
but they despise ignorance
for what is surviving safety
if beyond lays living hell?
if one flower blooms
the maelstrom becomes worth fighting
so they gladly withstand hurricanes
giving those thrown into this gale
a remedy
to bring the dying back to life
I see her eyes
they are dark
enigmatic
of burnt umber
like the ashes of the phoenix star
the dust of the dead
compressing and contorting
their carnage reaches distant worlds
as a glimmer amid the twilight
to them, this is worth the pain
I can see them rupture, crack, and fade
they burn
they rise from peace
to welcome the chaos of ignition
In looking at her
my surroundings blur to grey
the grey of colors so confused they mix to absolute equilibrium
and so I see only her eyes
but that is all I need
to perceive her
Sep 25, 2014
Sep 25, 2014 at 11:32 AM UTC