"ephemerality" poems
I catch glances
As I walk through town
Daughters
Out with their mums
Who pretend to look off in the arbitrary distance
As I scan them
From top
To toe
And then the glances of their proud mums
Old women who huff
As I have the demeanour
Of a stargazing ******
The odd freak
Who cheers me on with his eyes
Machos, who like to hold the gaze
Which I like to hold right back
Thinking of my father in a coffin
To return a calm, worrying stare
Sometimes a fleeting beauty will appear in a metro window
And both knowing of the ephemerality of our encounter
We **** with our eyes
Before she is whipped off
Down the dark tunnels
I can hold a gaze with almost anyone
People are fascinating
I can hold all these gazes
Until
Some men stare back
And I melt
Sep 19, 2013
Sep 19, 2013 at 3:17 AM UTC
Seek that you do not fear your Mortality;
for it seems rather foolish to fear anything
but especially so such an inevitability;
fear not Mortality;
Mortality is a question
and the answer is Life;
many fail to respond;
they may indeed live
but they have no lives;
they sacrifice their time
to Pantheons external
rather than devoting their fleeting time
to the one internal;
fear not ephemerality;
it is an opportunity
but like any other,
it can be, and often is,
overlooked- ignored- misused-
squandered.
Fear not your Mortality
for it is an opportunity
to transcend this reality;
life is a sacred and holy opportunity;
(and these words, from an atheist!)
it's up to you to make the most of it.
Jan 12, 2014
Jan 12, 2014 at 4:11 PM UTC
I was looking when I got lost
ignoring the bill when I saw the cost
Saw my future in the turbulent waters
Of the porcelain pool into which I was tossed
Bemoaning yet accepting the fate I was enduring
Upon hearing the sound of the handles clank
I relinquished all control
as I began to roll
Gave no fight of self preservation. as I sank
The echoing swoosh left its sound in my ears
Then solid darkness closed in tight
So much more vivid than night in absence of light
The water was thick and seemed to be swallowing me down
Any oxygen of life seemed a fast fading memory
As all the while I could feel a gathering momentum
Like a ride through some putrafied tunnel of .... well...now all ephemeral in it's sudden ephemerality
As I was
Blasted loose from that officious muck
Propelled far far beyond the cascading flow
as a lust for life returned in a flash
I flicked one fin and then the other before allowing sweet gravity
To carry me down affording me that glorious splash.
Wow! It thought ' this is an enormous and wondrous bowl '
Oh oh oh!
That poor little goldfish that had suddenly become the hapless to happy victim
Of a frustrated and angry parent who had lost all control!!!
GOOD LUCK little one...you will need all you get!
Question/ riddle of sorts.
Anyone know the reason for my naming the. poem this ... bit of
i _ _ _ _ _ twist?
Jan 5, 2019
Jan 5, 2019 at 12:24 PM UTC
This world is but a graveyard
Of kings and kingdoms
Of philosophers and freemen
Of sacrilegious arrogance
For we live in a vast wasteland
Of prospectors and merchants
Only a few steps from oasis
Battling for a distant mirage
Humans are mere beasts
Like hyenas and lionesses
Fighting for supremacy
In this endless ephemerality
iamthe_avatar ©2016
Nov 3, 2016
Nov 3, 2016 at 6:45 AM UTC
we did what we could that night
and a supernal being is ashamed.
this is the drift of thought
in the vast ocean of gilded gold
frothing at the edge of rotund:
giving back a silenced enigma,
spewing the answer in an exhaust
of white rancid smoke
dharma burns plastered to cigarette.
burning and burning, afloat are the high-pouncing embers looking for fleeting shades and dagger-ambulations
of a shadow's swagger in tectonic soiree.
we did what we could that night.
like a flash of lightning at the back
of hoarded hills,
or say, something brutal and brash with
modern sensibilities we never jell —
we come not with softness or life
peering out of our eyes like little girls
serenaded by mad men in the eve of
forlorn nights. we did what we could
and some god cringes, winces away
like the erratic dance of candleflame.
the leviathan black spreads its parasol
and we are no strangers.
when our veraciousness starts to pierce
the veil, the populace should start
to worry of their trapped conditions.
we came here for something:
be it flesh, be it wisdom, be it plain inebriations — we will never flinch
at the squalor of tomorrow's sobering.
keep in mind, kaibigan.
it's all levitation and transcendence.
the darkness wept as the car
groans near the end of its immaterial life.
i flick the last cigarette into the grey-faced pavement.
all oceans drowned,
all shadows burgeoned,
all fires emerged plump,
this silent radio rivers
through the wave of this ephemerality,
the onomatopoeia of strangeness,
the thud
of the senseless head of metal
on the body
the clackety-clack
of hours thereafter!
ayeayeaye! the streets sing no mild
appendage. the solstice is lost
in the length and precision of all things.
bringing ourselves to the brink of absence,
our pallid selves set ablaze, emblazoning
the quick life of matchflame or rumble of
thunder — the steady phoenix of
that night! this is learning
to breathe again, o, what currents purloined in vicious swarth as we keep
this river flowing into our throats,
jamming our souls to compelling music.
remember kaibigan,
it's all levitation and transcendence.
Oct 28, 2015
Oct 28, 2015 at 8:03 AM UTC
Rules disintegrate between midnight and when dusk hits horizon
Ask someone, anyone, to run away with you. I dare you. See if they’ll say no
Shrouded with the gentle miasma of sleep just out of reach, a half-step towards the unknown doesn’t seem so risky
Only when the sky is swathed in dull orange does logic start to kick in, 70 miles from home with nothing but a broken compass and a fond companion
Spit bitter regrets at a nameless former lover
The one who scoured every inch of your body and eagerly delved in every crevice of your fragile heart before you even knew the true definition of naiveté
Naiveté: (noun) the scared, nostalgic hands that innocently cling to a forgotten yesterday while prodding us towards the blind plunge of tomorrow
Declare love to that unrequited forbidden fruit
Sleepy vulnerability cracks away at the protective walls we build
Besides, what could the ramifications possibly be when come morning, faintness of memory won’t be able to distinguish fantasy from reality?
So seize the opportunity; be horribly candid and nakedly honest
Feel the transience of the night and relish the fleeting moments that rest between your fingertips.
Mar 27, 2013
Mar 27, 2013 at 6:36 PM UTC
A Mass Inversion.
I have lived to witness an Apple
become a juggernaut
see the followers nod their heads in belief,
walking segregated on the streets
unaware of their own worship.
We have not yet realized
that the largest religion in the world
is no longer faith based,
technophiles fill our rural
and metro quintessential sprawl.
Their numbers swell
and burgeon with new converts
that give funding rank and file,
whom are taught to know indulgence
in name only, mistaking desire for need.
This technology based obsession
is without age or gender restrictions,
without race distinction,
it asks not for ethics,
pride,
morality,
intelligence or privacy.
It is all-consuming
just as any ideology-
as any religion,
answering the same fervent questions,
demanding tribute and changing the way you think.
-
The View Outside.
Among the whole, the slow mass conversion,
there is occasional dissension,
some who glorify a golden era or fill with nostalgia
for something they may not have even experienced,
an immaterial escapism of the present
furthered by a childish inability to accept ephemerality
and our irregular morality.
Sometimes amid this denial,
this abstaining,
there is a seed of anger that grows with gnarled roots
that twist throughout with nary a cry or shout.
It is a quiet anger,
unconditional and baseless but for an intensity,
a burning sense of being wronged,
an infection that spreads without exception.
And when your self-righteous halo eventually slips to catch
in your now flapping jaw,
your anger will fade as you choke on hard etched resolve.
Dec 21, 2010
Dec 21, 2010 at 9:29 AM UTC
I miss being filled with a sense of here and now from
the unclouded mental vision of youth before
the eclosion from adolescent reverie to
adult delusions.
Every moment thereafter
being crystallized with serene debasement of self.
With age eagerly gripping the hand of heartache,
will you worry about losing relevance?
survey says, an astounding "YES"
Frightening,
knee-knocking
shoot the stranger who walks at dusk questions arise...
How long will my mental faculties survive this torment of existence?
How long till I am the stranger blinded and in the dark?
How long till I am the fly caught in a web of ineptitude?
Forever the convalescent,
I revel in and reveal the depths of human insolence.
For, ever striving to be the emotion-less outsider,
I become buried beneath the
inherent
ephemerality
of
cerebral
acuity.
Sep 22, 2010
Sep 22, 2010 at 11:45 AM UTC
The enduring ephemerality,
Strung together moments of blissfulness,
Each fleeting in its temporality,
But feeling infinite in wistfulness.
The hands of time spin circles without end,
While memories live in moments discrete.
Some moments blur to a nondescript end,
Moments with you time will never defeat.
Events live so long as not forgotten,
Life’s meaning breaks time’s continuity.
With each breath a new time is begotten,
So time gone lives in perpetuity.
When timeless blissfulness is in the past,
The paradox of time still makes it last.
Oct 13, 2018
Oct 13, 2018 at 9:04 PM UTC
No, I let them come & go,
consistently riding that
endless wave of ephemerality.
Parade on in,
Provoke! Provoke!
I’ve got hours upon hours
to spend, delicately tracing
the hopes & hard-ons of young men.
By midnight, the cathartic compostion
is unravelling or rotting
& I’ve got my hand
down his pants,
hoping to call forth that
Saint-Lazarus sleeping at my core
Oh yes but how I do like you so,
said I, drowning in clouds
& flying through the bottoms of
sticky plastic cups
It wasn’t the truth
but God knows, I wasn’t lying
I would love to love you
I get utterly intoxicated
when you let me swallow your smile,
whilst you’re sleeping in my eyes.
It’s just that,
I only know to project my dreams
and lie awake,
melting beneath the cowardly heat.
Oh it lives on, the stiffling tension
of a fool with a thousand feelings
and a limited vocabulary.
Beware,
I must admit
there isn’t much beauty to be found
as I left my courage far behind,
in spring,
in a bedroom,
inside some other vacuole of desperation
and he fed it to the birds.
These days,
my declarations are dosed,
I keep my tongue on a leash
and my chest begets a cage.
I crawl inside my mind
and close many a door.
Dec 18, 2013
Dec 18, 2013 at 1:02 PM UTC
Somebody
had thrown a cassette
of Therapy?'s "Troublegum"
its nicotine-hued tape
mangled like the innards of
a gutted fish, or
so many sprayed limbs
in a crowded car pile-up
-decorating the bare branches
of the winter-stricken trees
which lay beyond the barbed wire fence
that separated the state-supported
and architecturally sound
playground facade of the solitary concrete grounds
-with empty swings-
of our mixed gender primary school
of 200 plus students (whom were
referred to as "pupils"-which reminded me
too much of eyes, but children are all eyes, aren't they?
With golden-hued irises, who seem to remember
everything).
Who had thrown it there?
Smashing all the angst-sodden, ripped guitar reverberations
-the fruits of a few individuals hard grasp and compromise, toiled out through a probable number of significant years-
that had lurked inside?
Why that gesture and why in that place?
Perhaps it had been the jettisoned request
of some clandestine love affair
(ephemerality also lays claims to gifts, to its plural gesture)
or, maybe in a more obviously classical mode,
it was only the result
of a bored friend who cared little for the music
or the efforts behind its delivery?
Whatever the reason,
its one of a handful of memories
that have stayed with me
when my thoughts strayed back to that school
(mostly without an intended purpose).
Also, across the same wasteland
there were assembled corrugated shacks
lined in front of back-garden walls
strewn with illegible graffiti
anticipating the waning rave culture
where we supposed-and were frightened by the thought-
that were the hang-outs of Drug users (AIDS was still a topic then)
and Pedophiles.
But then again,
we never tried to find out.
Jul 12, 2014
Jul 12, 2014 at 7:06 AM UTC
time
was purely a four-letter concept with you
you made hours alone
discussing the universe and its secrets
feel like fleeting minutes
a year passed by
in an ephemeral glance
reality completely deliquesced
with the touch of your lips
and your love was marked as transitory
...but those eyes were infinite
x.
Jun 18, 2018
Jun 18, 2018 at 12:03 AM UTC
The sharpest intellect
cannot pierce the screen;
the fabric remains
but a hair's breadth away.
To pursue
brings endless folly;
to remain
brings more of the same.
You've been atop
the highest pole.
You've stood tip-toed,
and stretched.
But can you return
to the modern world
and still maintain
your breath?
Jun 16, 2012
Jun 16, 2012 at 7:29 AM UTC
I could live in those moments forever,
Like when in shock my brain suddenly lost language,
My heart ceased beating,
My lungs no longer filled with air,
Creating a temporary death to accompany my realization of your permanent one, Annalisa.
Or perhaps the moment when,
We were frantically trying to get back to your hospital room, Flora,
When we got the call that you were fading away,
Helping your husband as he struggled with his walker,
And more heartbreak than I have ever seen on one face,
All while knowing we would be too late.
Even that brief sensation of dropping,
My body falling faster than my heart,
That suddenly occupied my throat,
As I rushed to an imagined release,
Could last me a lifetime.
But the memories of your smile, laugh, and happiness,
Fade more quickly than I would have predicted,
Those moments so sweet,
They melt as quickly as cotton candy in your mouth.
And I am left only with a sour aftertaste,
Cruel, lingering memories here to haunt me forever.
Aug 3, 2018
Aug 3, 2018 at 10:05 AM UTC
_ _ , _ _ , 2 0 1 9 is a day gone to the ashes of kismet’s pages
the midday zephyrs and wino meditations that ran through streets like rainfall now live in the hippocampus
the bright side’s gone with the dark
the whole day, for what it was, is no longer
and it bugs me out
that through any endless combo of permutations and planetary rotations, the same circumstances that built the ground of yesterday
will never repeat
or will they?
I’ll never know like the licks that reduce a Tootsie Pop to crumbs
I’m not intelligent, I’m dumb
because it took me 27 years to learn the value of 24 hours
to learn that a lotus bloom is something to treasure ten times more than scraps of pure gold
we are the children of nature
what does that make our creations?
Humans birthed a cosmos
of currencies and chambers of computer generated concoctions. . .
are they not descendants of the Mother?
In some abstract way?
Idk, dude, I’m out of it,
if you know me, you know exactly what that means - -
but I digress - -
It’s just that I never got the chance to tell the day how grateful I was to have it
and I now know that wasting time is a luxury modern civilization can enjoy after epochs and eras
this day and age is as far from perfect
as the brain is from perfection,
tech grew faster than the collective consciousness
and we still limit worth and love
to skin and heteronormativity
but at least
for a small sliver of time
things were, in a single moment
.
.
.
pretty good.
Aug 4, 2021
Aug 4, 2021 at 6:48 PM UTC
memories are spears;
a weapon of skilled warriors
fired at your most vulnerable
they **** your breath
take advantage of your loss
memories are thieves;
they own your past
they haunt your present
yet they desire your future
dominating your days
memories are gold;
a snapshot of one moment
stolen ephemerality turned eternal
flashes of a love that once was
but not anymore
memories are you;
the teasing lilt of your voice
your smile of bottled sun
your kisses like butterflies
and a fire burning strong
in the past residence of my hope
- - -
Jul 7, 2013
Jul 7, 2013 at 10:35 AM UTC
By her heart I was welcomed
and although I have never thanked her
she didn't want to me see lost.
And what would be of flowers
except gifts to dead?
White petals, yellow center;
it's not gift nor flower.
It's daisy, my darling.
That which I'll put in your hair.
And what would be of river
without the ephemerality which it represents?
By his heart I was understood
and although I have gone away
he was willing to answer my request.
And what would be of us
except scared people?
****** wall, cracked wall;
it's not modern art nor delayed.
It's rebellion, my friend.
Reason I follow you.
What would be of world
without disorder which it represents?
May 9, 2014
May 9, 2014 at 8:20 PM UTC
As the day recedes,
and the night envelopes me in her chaste embrace,
The joy of knowing what is new and lucid,
with the sorrow of leaving behind,
what was once - me.
the wind whistles past,
my heart opens up at last..
begotten memories of her innocence,
stirs my alluring essence,
flooded in the light of today's ephemerality..
obscuring the truth of rancorous reality.
What is real, is only so, to me.
Perhaps that is why, Fate wont leave me be,
to carve my own destiny,
from the stones at the bottom of the sea..
..the depth of which is as resonant as her heart.
Her heart,
echoes with the laughter of those lost years,
drowned in the sullen melancholy of her tears.
Darkness recedes, as it always does.
and the warmth of tomorrow shall embrace us,
as we lie on the dewy grass,
as the sumptuous scent of the lilies,
sends my senses spiraling into your arms
And we lie,
with our hearts
bared to heavens above us..
Jun 17, 2012
Jun 17, 2012 at 8:31 AM UTC
Which ground shall thine eternity crawl beneath?
With agony, thou cry, thou scream and thou sleep
Staggering over time, the extensions of gore
A morph possessed over the flags: cloistered around throat
An uttering of serene eons, of atrophy and of thaw;
A morass of hegemony, of identity and war
Withered from bullets,drained over the ground
A knock on the coffin of tommorrow and the past
A chronology misplaced and outdone
And a synapse of presence smothered with the breath of dust
Which ground shall thine eternity crawl beneath?
With hope, thou bawl, thou shout, thou sleep
Chaotic commemoration ruptures over the streets
Splatters around an arcane, segregated country
Under the mud of enigma lies the rotten leaves of history
Away the tomorrow leans, restless and unknowingly
For it lies awake with the screams of a rifle, the screeching audibilty of ghostly mutterings, the camaraderie caught on flesh, between the teeth of craved monarchy
For the tomorrow lies awake near the history.
For the past suffocates the vivacity
Yclept the peace, yclept the tranquility!
Which ground shall thine eternity crawl beneath?
With anger, thou yelp, thou break, thou sleep
A hymn of sigh deafens the petrifying serenity
A sigh outraged with the murmur of life
Seismic ephemerality tears the ground apart
Barges in, the present, whispers a cry
The tomorrow lies still over the chunks of calamity
Lulled to sleep with the kiss of presence,
With the screams of a distant enmity:
The burial of time that has been cloistered around the anonymity
The burial of the ceased, the past, as a euphemism
The burial of the existence, the present, as a mayhem
The burial of the undone, the tomorrow, with a malediction
All three in the same grave, punching the timeless, imminent reality they delineated
Which ground shall thine eternity crawl beneath?
With silence, thou shatter, thou question, thou sleep
Down the ground quaffs the time
Of a city that no longer breathes
Out inundates the prayers of a dilemma
For a country is to cleave
Fidelity over a continuum, with faded prayers, shares a discourse
Befuddled with an antinomy, it asks itself, how an epitaph shall be wrought?
Down the ground swallows the confusion
Of a city that no longer cries
Now, which ground shall thine eternity crawl beneath?
To be overwhelmed by a plenitude of halves
In the name of peace, in the name of life!
Which ground shall I die beneath?
To lie awake with an eternal sleep
I no longer whisper over the divided streets
Not to awaken the past, not to revive the wounds and faded hymns
I breathe in the dust, devouring the ceased
For a divided city is to be kissed
Down I no longer hold an impulse to scream:
A gush of presence that arises a breeze
That of which billowing up the grave
Releasing a future for a road ahead
With hope, I bawl, I defy, I beg
Yclept the peace, in the name of solidarity!
Sep 15, 2017
Sep 15, 2017 at 5:28 AM UTC
I'm on a whim contemplating between disparity and continuity.
Stuck between where the fire meets its maker doused in gasoline.
Who self destructed to the point where her hands aren't clean.
And turning a deforested soul into a forest full of wanderlust.
Moving along with Earth's rotation as she becomes crystallized into her origin of star dust.
Cemented between inhaling the start of another new season.
And exhaling out gun powder from the war waged against self treason.
Feeling the outline of my fingerprints just to pretend his skin is still touching mine.
And reading the crystal ***** as they fall down my cheeks telling me his heart was never aligned.
I can't choose between the feeling of infinity and ephemerality.
Oct 21, 2017
Oct 21, 2017 at 3:08 PM UTC
the good days burn out like matches.
sparking sleepless nights and bad dreams.
the force of trying to start it again isn't
worth the ephemerality of its effect.
you never should've played with fire.
it's (i'm) nearly impossible to put out
once i'm started
Apr 18, 2018
Apr 18, 2018 at 5:59 PM UTC
chase away the vengeance,
the grief and
the vanity
for what is the world
but
an ephemerality
Jul 19, 2013
Jul 19, 2013 at 1:59 PM UTC