"everchanging" poems
Senses explode, WWII,
Nuclear warfare on this expanse of bare
Skin supposed to be closed at my age separates,
I let the saltwater seep into this,
Slick. Time passes, hardly passing,
But, oh, how well we move. Dance
Around our icy fire, escape from the pain
Constantly eating, feeding.
We are a buffet of things to harm
Come for another plate, fate.
Do us more harm? No. We will not stand, we can't
When we are in this state of mind. We have no state of mind,
Lust driven creatures, but we can speak. Command, tell me what
You want. You want a simple thing, but so complex.
And I want it, too, but simpler for me. A simple thing, unless thought of.
Believed in, felt deeply in ways not physical.
Arching and deepening, we will not be broken down by a measly
War outside of our windows.
Fire scorching the wooden figures, but we are sheltered by stone.
We have escaped and we are left with a heavy air and the smell
Only we can concoct. Nonexistent fabric leaving traces on my skin and yours, indent.
And your eyes are all I see, even in the dark. I know their color by heart, greenbluegrey-everchanging. But I can figure it out.
Your pupils dilate you know. You look at me and I see them. You seem drugged, dear.
Let me feed your addiction. There are many nuclear weapons left, buried
Throughout the world. We can travel and love,
Never ending.
Nov 6, 2013
Nov 6, 2013 at 7:03 PM UTC
Here now by many paths convoluted,
Ever trying the thoughts new, acted on.
Heeding just,streams conscious flowing,
Changed and morphed in an instant blinking.
Hair long,then shaved, now streaked orange grey
Suits to jeans,tore them,robes spiritual,now **** pray!
Was straight,turned metro,for all open,but curious still,
Body clean,got pierced, now adorning pasts tattooed!
Gurus, philosophies many, still a fool ever journeying.
Heard Bach,reggaed to Marley,wood-stocked,now fused.
Loved intense,let go easy,Kama sutras experimented on.
Traveled afar,lived as a local,now a foreigner everywhere,
Hip-pied from smoke to grass,yoga to parties raved hard.
Against wars, sat in for peace elusive,fought all,now stoic,
Never shocked or surprised,took all as came,now strong.
The set mind,everchanging,the physical a compliment cosy,
Unrecognizable now,existing totally, being happy, normally?
Many shout, freak! I smile,walk on to my home in Bohemia!
Oct 14, 2012
Oct 14, 2012 at 12:52 AM UTC
At the world’s edge,
Upon a steep ledge,
I must ask the everchanging blue:
Why must I fall in love with them?
Whereupon, I break bread
With my enemies
I must ask the everchanging red:
Why must I fall in love with them?
Again, and again,
It is a dinner that ever ends
It’s the common place of disaster
A comedy of manners
Drenched in sinister designs
Beyond the grinds
Of my understanding
Of the world
It’s the Theatre of the Deranged
Laughter
So much laughter
And I don’t know what they’re after
I’m the jester
Without a wry disguise
Cleverness beneath comedic idiocy
I’m the fool
In this Theatre of the Deranged
Discussions at a lopsided table
Where only those who obey the master
May talk – all else must listen
To her, to her, to her!
Gorged on foods
I never wanted
There is nothing sweet
Left for me to eat
Mouth sealed shut
Except to laugh
But there’s nothing funny
When you’re the joke
That’s gone on too long
But the party is far from over
When you’re the court jester
To the Queen who rules the world
To the King who rules the world
To the Jack who rules the world
To the Ace who rules the world
To the suit who rules the world
To the world who rules the world
To the monarchs who uphold
The declarations of entertainment
And attend the gathering
At the edge of the world
Adorned with velvet curtains
And velvet lies
In a swirling and everchanging
Red and blue
Known only as
The Theatre of the Deranged
Feb 8, 2018
Feb 8, 2018 at 6:33 PM UTC
There's no straight lines from A to B
No compass does it show
It shows my life as it has been
It doesn't show me where to go
As time goes by the pages fade
Just memories of past times
At times the present's blurry too
There's just so many criss crossed lines
No pages show my future
Just blank, unfilled, unset
You can not have a road map
To things that have not happened yet
Some roads it shows are darker
Roads you'll want to use once more
And on other pages, blankness
You don't know what they were for
The map is everchanging
It's not always the same
You can blame the old mapmaker
It's your mind that is to blame
You trigger things with songs and sounds
And others you might lose
It's a map that should show where you've been
But it's no good without clues
A compass in the corner
Doesn't point which way to go
It's your life, there is no answers
You get to choose which row you ***
It's not an easy map to follow
Hills and valleys all around
But, somewhere there's a spot that
Is where your best can be found
A page that now sits empty
Tomorrow, will be mapped and show the way
But, it won't show you where you're off to
It'll show where you were today
So, enjoy the roads you've travelled
And the experience so far
For this is not a map you'll ever
Find inside of any car
As I said, it changes daily
There's only so much room for stuff to stay
So, remember just what's important
And make the bad stuff go away
It's not a map that can be folded
It doesn't show you where to start
But when you go and look back at it
You'll see your life was full of heart.
.
May 2, 2012
May 2, 2012 at 5:05 PM UTC
i had a dream last night that there was water in my lungs.
i could feel the ocean wrapping careful hands around my limbs,
caressing my thighs with soft seaweed,
my hands with gentle current.
i could taste salt on my lip,
the way a first kiss with a new lover settles and stains on the skin above your tongue,
i could taste the care the water was taking in taking my life.
taking it's time, the ebbing ocean snaked across my midriff,
hands on waist, wasting away at skin with salty touch as sandpaper
scraping away at my sense of self
i dreamt the water changing pace from calm glass coffee table top,
held flowers and coffees and your feet and mine,
overlapped and intertwined
and into
undertow,
pulling your hand from my waist
and your salt from my mouth
i dreamt that i saw nothing,
felt nothing
but your salty sandpaper hand scraping skin across my collar bones
as you pulled your coral reef body away.
the glassy water turned to pavement
and you left me in rapids under black ice.
i had a dream that i was trapped under ice,
with children skating on top
and i couldn't hear or breathe or scream
but i could feel their skates on my insides
they cut my hair with their blades
and as they spun in circles above me
i spiraled further into the depths of an ocean
that felt more like a fire.
i had a dream last night that there was water in my lungs,
and it hurt less to breathe then
than it does now that you're gone.
i never thought about how it would feel to cough the water back up,
until i realized how much it hurt going down.
and i was never scared of the ocean
until i saw it's vastness unescapable
it's arms
unrelenting
and it's love
everchanging
and i realized nothing's everlasting.
i was never scared of drowning
until i woke up puking the water i drank before bed.
and realized there was nothing more in my stomach
but salt.
Dec 18, 2015
Dec 18, 2015 at 9:58 PM UTC
we're all so worthless
you know it
you're everchanging
not so everlasting
throwing cigarettes on your bedroom floor
you're so numb you can't feel the cold
where's the ceiling
always falling to the floor
there's just something
special about you
can't figure it out
I get chills
I want to look like you
move like you do
visions and side effects
I know you will break my heart first
but I can break it twice
Feb 3, 2022
Feb 3, 2022 at 3:57 PM UTC
12/15/2017
Maybe a woman. Definitely not a lady.
Always fluid, everchanging
Transient, human, waxing and waning
Dust to dust, the earth is waiting
Skin deviously separating
Lips and eyes and breath recreating the truth
Impermanence, interrelationships between the two of you
Between the hundreds of thousands of beings surrounding and breathing with you
Being with you
Being me
Being this inexorable mix of light and twisted, my fight is rising, round 2 has been gifted
Moving, shifting, intermixed
Lifting my voice to try to fix the never-ending brokenness
The ******* hoes, the tokenness
My ecosystem intertwined
Roots supporting, climbing vines, climbing high
Rise and rise, the end is nigh, lest we fight this beast beside
These children fighting over limbs
Ripping flesh and slicing skin
Removing organs from the breathing earth within
Ive spoken this truth before
But from a shattered soul
I speak now from a podium
Breathing deep and whole
Apr 15, 2018
Apr 15, 2018 at 8:17 PM UTC
in the glow of the moon she shines
her silhouette everchanging as she moves
the lights reflect her eyes
her skirt flows in the wind
in the shadows of the forest she shines
her body so still as she looks back at me
there's beauty in her smile, and danger
a flicker of something unknown
in the abyss of space she shines
her claws outstretched to meet me
her eyes are so different now
in her cold grip i still feel her warmth
on unfamiliar ground she shines
her silhouette unrecognisable to me now
feathers and tentacles, claws and fangs
my heart is still hers
Jan 4, 2019
Jan 4, 2019 at 7:40 PM UTC
don't gain weight, they say
do you want to look like a pig?
but it's ugly if you're too skinny,
no ***** and no *** what are you so proud of?
society's standards, everchanging and everflowing
from the desireableness of being just bone and skin to having big **** and an ***
our society that can't decide what it wants
our society that thinks it can control what is perfect
perhaps i shouldn't conform to society's standards after all
Jun 17, 2018
Jun 17, 2018 at 8:18 AM UTC
Evergreen ponds of mint,
Circulating everchanging scents of space.
The busy-bustling bees of the scorching sun,
Their ebony and mustard bodies catching the eye,
The sweet-seeping smell of fresh honey harvest.
Tangible scent of spring touched grass and moss,
Carried on the arms of wise wind,
To encrust the mind and body's senses.
Continuous dance of trickling-trickles,
Born from that same stream,
Of August warmed water,
Clear as your gray eye's shadow.
Do you remember...
That night of an August full moon?
When we bathed in that same stream,
Our naked bodies silver under the moon's touch.
That August moon,
We shared our dreams and desires,
My fingerips wrote poetry on your skin,
Your lips spun silk against my cheeks.
That night,
So long ago,
Now feels like only yesterday...
Can you still remember that night?
My fingertips?
Your lips?
Though the deep ocean is your new home,
The jelly and dolphins your new companions,
The growing coral your new body,
Can you still remember?
I believe you can,
I hope you can,
But just incase,
The undulate movement of the ocean,
Has washed away your memory...
This flower is for you!
It is a wild scotchbroom,
Mustard yellow, like the bees of the scorching sun.
It is my wish that the ripples of the flower,
Once touching the water's surface,
Will reach your ears,
And echo the memory to you.
That night of the August full moon,
When we bathed in that same stream,
Our naked bodies silver under the moon's touch...
May 4, 2012
May 4, 2012 at 8:10 PM UTC
I drift listlessy through the murky waters and think, not about life
and the menial and trivial diffficulties that we all face. I think not
about the struggles and battles that some fight everyday. It does not
even cross my mind that some must fight to survive in a war against
not just nature but humanity aswell. No! As I slowly float further and
further away from the rivers shore, as does my mind from the problem
of the shore dwellers and towards that which means the most to me. My
possessions? Replaceable. My friends? Expendable. My feelings? Ever-
changing. Everchanging that is aside from one, a feeling of a
connection, a bond, a pure unbridled passionate presence that
overwhelms the senses and turns rationality into a mere subconscious
annoyance, like the nagging feeling that a light has been left on in
the back room.
It's this love feeling, inexplicable, indescribable,
unbelieveable yet here it is, staring me right in the eyes with it's
huge hazel orbs telling me that nothing is important but this one
feeling and that this feeling must be cherished and protected, cuddled
close to the heart and fresh in the mind constantly. It's there when I
sleep, converting my once nightmarish visions of half sleeping
delusions into something much more blissful, with a soothing Voice it
lulls me into that state of sweet inebriation
This feeling cradles me, and reminds me constantly that it is to be
preserved and you know what, when I look at it, into the huge hazel
orbs, the mystifying shapes take hold of a much more feminine human
shape and gains the voice of an angel. And when that feeling takes the
perfect form it speaks to me. She speaks to me and I don't have to ask
what to call her.
I can already feel the perfect name. I call her emma
and she means to me, more than the plight of the world, more to me
than the shades of my nightmares. More to me than anything else. And
she's my one and only.
Sep 7, 2010
Sep 7, 2010 at 3:06 PM UTC
waiting weightless
waitless
1/18/15
8:43am
' hand rest chest
thumpthump
thump ''
' that heartbeat is a
metronome of waxing and waning
rhythmic tides and it's an '
everchanging time signature
to my overture overture and '
hand off and unsettle and '
thrown into uncontrolled rubato~ ''
' fizzy brain
spinnin dizzy
spinnin circles
spiral spiral ''
' life over my shoulder
strapped to my back and
I'm flowing like a river
down the elevator ''
' opening down
the seam and out ''
I step and roll heel toe
heel toe '
eyes flick side and side
glass door push open and
box and glass door push open and
push open push open and
open... ''
' cold streets are
the downbeat to sleet '' — '
it's frozen roads going backwards
and I'm going backwards with all my lackwords ''
...slushroadslick. '
I'm returning and leaving
like a medicine wheel spinning
and there's a dead grackle soaking
next to the curb slippery
with toxic runoff... '
...crystal water
melting '
my shoes slide from left
to left and I've up and left and
I'm climbing down the
right side of a staircase
and it's a case and it's a way
that stairway
and that last step
is 9:13am last step flat
and platform dead and
sleepy benches waiting for
the listless waiting
for the waitless ''
' waiting , waiting ''
I hop on and hide... '
the silence is sacred ''
the eyes are averted
and it's one of the
thousand different silences '
it's one of the rumbling ones
but then it's broken and
it's broken by an angry one '
and we're all alone in a railcar
with seven others, we're all alone
and she breaks it, ' she breaks it by
spilling angry nothings into the phone
that she pushes tightly to her skull '
and she grips it and she breaks it and '
and she breaks it and '
I hop off and run...
and once again I'm a
thousand different faces waiting '
but right now we're two
watching watching the
hopping sparrow ' and
it is so alive with it's
warm fluffy feathers
soaked with life ''
'
and everyone is shuffle shuffle pacing ''
' but every body stands still with eyes saccading...
sweep sweep, '
stay where you are,
in your lateness ''
and your action
is in your inaction
weightless... '
waiting to
hop on
Jan 19, 2015
Jan 19, 2015 at 4:41 PM UTC
i see today,
the first glimmering
of summer,
in the curl of green nails,
on the deadman fingers
of the frangipani.
i see today,
the last sighs of winter
in the dessicatted, crumbling, leaves being,
blown ever which way
by the gusting, September winds.
i see today spring,
coming up,
in shoots of green,
sprung from the rain softened soil.
all different hues,
of potential and expectation
rising from the ground.
i see today, the the last glimpse of autumn,
in that pallette of a leaf,
stubborn throughout the winter now finally,
come to grief and floating, serene in silent submission, on the pond of koi.
the oranges and browns
blending into the watered background.
i see today,
all the seasons,
in the sky
and all around me,
time moves forward
and every moment,
counted as precious
and noted by this poets eye...
Aug 31, 2014
Aug 31, 2014 at 8:00 PM UTC
When he holds me,
I feel secure
A constant in this everchanging world
That allows me to exist –
But when she holds me,
My spirit flies high,
And she gives me all the inspiration
I need to be –
And when he kisses me,
I feel unity and tender love,
But when she kisses me,
The caterpillars in my body
Break free and form something beautiful,
something new.
And when he’s gone,
I miss the constancy of being loved
Rather than I miss him,
But when she’s gone
I miss all the overwhelming feelings we shared
More than I miss her.
And when we make love,
He makes me experience
A great lust with a great desire
But when she makes love to me-
My imagination is running wild
An exciting fantasy
And everything in this world
Seems to be designed only for us.
I’m drunk on her while he tries to cure me
Nov 6, 2014
Nov 6, 2014 at 9:35 AM UTC
Nocturnal images explode
and implode as a fixated
date to date
prevalent
survey
of
my
adopted
deep slumber
The conscious
incongruent
purgatory
of a limbo
realm
calling
, lucrative,
The Subtle and The Sublime end
The everchanging Translucent
Glass, Chalice Filled
With Water
A Non
Firey
Borghes
Steppen steps
Upon vibrant villa's grass
Soulful children let out
Finally—To play
In the Garden
For Grey-green eyes
Young maiden gathers
Pens and pencils to
Leave traces in Time
To draw a route where Thou
Travel
Dec 29, 2015
Dec 29, 2015 at 7:51 AM UTC
I have a tail from the past,
Some wings to the future,
A strong stomach for now,
My beauty is Chimerical,
I have changed and evolved,
Into an unworldly being,
Understood by none,
Misunderstood often,
I have lived on.
With memories of the past,
Oblivious smiles at the future ,
Curiously treading now,
I leave my footprints ,
Only to be erased,
So a different me ,
Shall walk the path again.
My nature is chimerical ,
Everchanging and Evolving.
“Give me a name?
So stereotypical of you!”
My being is an enigma,
An untamed beast ,
Expansive till I shall consume,
The infinite possibilities,
An identity is limiting,
For what I was ,
What I’ll be ,
And what I am.
In this limitless form,
Chimerical I have become.
May 17, 2022
May 17, 2022 at 11:01 AM UTC
There is a calm center within me;
It flows from deep rivers of breath,
Spiraling up and out in every direction.
There is a calm center within me;
Grounding me with sturdy roots,
Soaking up the sweet soul beneath
My rocky hard surface
Through twisting tunnels, tumble torrents.
There is a calm center within me;
Laying soft and still under rushing currents,
Reflecting patience, serenity, consistency
To my mistaken misplaced preconceived perceptions,
Oh they appear to be everchanging,
While the truth is they're stuck going round and round and round
Over the same cyclical trap, making me dizzy.
There is a calm center within me;
It is my mountaintop of mercy,
Where my mind meditates and marvels
At the we of conscious connection,
Spreading from me, reaching out to other frequencies
Emanating from peaks which surround me,
Where the dichotomous
You-Me, ***** Us-They;
Melt into a spectrum of WE --
And oh, I am just beginning to see.
There is a calm center within me;
There is a calm center;
There is calm.....
There is a calm center within me,
Let it flow out.
Sep 1, 2014
Sep 1, 2014 at 7:35 PM UTC
why do we speak to the moon?
we turn our secrets to
dark, shadowed, everchanging,
pulling the ocean's moods.
but then again -
i can't imagine telling this
to the sun.
Nov 17, 2015
Nov 17, 2015 at 10:42 PM UTC
I’ve always loved the rain. Maybe because I found comfort in the way it clouded up my fears and worries and made the world seem so much smaller. I felt more at home amidst the misty downpour than I ever did in blinding sunlight. Rainy days seemed to match my mood so much better than most things and the sky has always has been something I can rely on. It’s everchanging qualities remind me that change is possible and often even necessary
Sep 12, 2014
Sep 12, 2014 at 12:10 AM UTC
I wonder if the ocean
ever gets tired of being pulled by the tides
if there are days
she just doesn't want to rise
and instead,
wallow in the abyss of her cries?
What about when
her feet are ripped from the shore
though she wanted to stay
a little bit more?
Caught in the fishing line
of time
barely stepping into a moment to play
before it's washed away.
Ever changing are the tides
her heart rides
and it's really no surprise
that's where the magic lies;
in a place hard to find
when she's sinking down blind
but when her face reaches the sun
you'll know it has really begun.
Jun 21, 2015
Jun 21, 2015 at 9:44 PM UTC
I will write a story.
But it is not for you.
And nor is it for me,
but for the tide that goes in and out,
everchanging,
gaining and losing,
winning,
yet never reaching an end,
a ****** a finale,
spending its eternity just moving against the sand till its belly is rubbed raw,
but no pearls will be formed from this graize,
no beauty found in its torture,
only pain and sorrow and lost souls
and a mournful wind that sweeps and stirs the sea into a fit of emotion,
into a writhing curling mass which is lost to all and which all is lost to,
but nevermind, for we are on the land.
And so the sea is left,
forgotten by us,
as we live,
and thrive and jump and play,
left to its own ruin,
its own regretful demise,
maybe one day it will rise from the sand that rubs it bare,
in a wave of foam and fury,
to revenge upon us who turned our backs,
left it in neglect,
in disgust,
as we ran about in our wealth,
our bellies clean of wounds
hardly rubbed by sand,
who could have offered shelter from the winds fury,
or comfort from the abrasive grit,
and deliver unto the oceans wound
a pearl of comfort
so that it may enjoy the peace and health
which we take for granted
but then
what reason for us
of two legs
to interfere in such ruin
of a thing so different and seperate to our own
so far from us
and complete in its seperation
that we may forget
and by such slip of mind
enjoy our comforts
unperturbed
uncaring
for any suffering
or demise
other than our own.
so far it is, so far
and we would much rather stay in here
warm next to our open fire
than shift to the rough stormy sea.
they will have to save themselves
it is not our cross to bear
But then perhaps I was mistaken.
It seems we are no longer on the land.
But emersed too in the ocean,
seemingly as endless as the pain with which it binds us
they are not so far or different as they seem
This story i tell, it is for you and me both,
but mostly for the tide, the pull, the current, the sea which has dragged us down,
and been dragged down by us
through our own lack of care and
our neglect,
is dragging us and together we sink,
drowning in our foolishness,
they are not so far from us
nor so different
We waited for them to be saved
as they drowned
if only we had stopped waiting,
waiting for the sun to rise,
to turn their water into air,
a mighty pearl to free them from the wrath of the waves
the wind which traps them in dispair
and now, in turn, us
we starve
stripped of our wealth
yearning to be back
by our fire
warm and safe
in ignorance
of their reality
and suffering,
Surely if we could go back, it would be different,
we would lend some wealth, our hand of glory
gift upon them a pearl
so they may not be so troubled
and we hear, as a whisper ripped from some time long ago,
on a far distant shore, in the haze of the sun;
Nevermind, for we are on the land.
Oct 11, 2011
Oct 11, 2011 at 6:53 AM UTC
Why is creativity like the sea
crashing and retreating into infinity?
Oh, if it were constant.
But what is constance?
Unlike the sky with its everchanging colors and moods.
Unlike the trees --
their leaves, they change
roots digging
bark peeling, healing.
Unlike the beasts --
birthing and dying,
evolving and migrating.
Unlike people --
they grow, they sink,
their hearts become tattered,
their bodies defeat themselves.
If only I were constant.
But I am as floating as last year's love. A love so craved -- a love we ran for and caught up with.
But we ran too fast; our breaths dashed, our ankles cracked.
You asked me why I ran, and now I say to you --
why don't you?
Nov 4, 2011
Nov 4, 2011 at 8:51 AM UTC