"exalting" poems
Introduction
There they stood; keeping silent company.
Yet of His face, wept searing electricity.
To the lovers of life
Here they stand, keeping silent company.
No utterance dealt; yet clear in both their minds
A single, brilliant truth:
He longs for her with a savage delight.
And it cries from every fibre, exalting!
It is in the bearing of his eye;
Rifling through her tender flesh
In search of what he knows, from voices ages old, is there:
That her heart will beat for no other as it beats for him right now;
That in this moment, their Souls are bared
To each other’s glares- naked, and blemished, and cowering-
Yet his eyes remain fixed and sure:
And for this, she loves him.
For they have seen each other for the First of Times,
Truly! And as with many the Ancient Laws unfurled,
They stand aware, in lack of ever being taught,
Aware with every atom, every straining tendon tight
That their time's so very short.
And so they drink… wordless
To each other, to their youth, and to their bodies
Shining like never before in the noonday air
Garbed in cloth that snaps and furls around their waists.
They imbibe with electric eyes,
Eyes that are new born to this world of light
And come out screaming, living, and sensitive
For lack of ever being touched.
They revel in their new-found joy;
Pouring from Her figure,
Of Her sleek, supple waist and the arch of her back,
Bristling with delight,
Of His strong hands and easy smile,
That spoke of laughter scattered
Across countless campfires of summers past.
Their light does burn intense as any fire,
And when their brimming anticipation
Overspills its crimson chalice
The silence shall SHATTER.
To find peace again in each other's arms.
Fumbling in sweet darkness-
Of heavy lids, of earthy flesh,
With lips embraced...
In ravenous finality.
Jun 29, 2015
Jun 29, 2015 at 5:14 PM UTC
she likes to dance in cemeteries naked
warring little but jeweled ***** bells,
ankle bracelets
toe rings
bingles, bangles, piercings,
through ******* and nose
her tongue split
each side wiggling independently
she gives head on a head stone
her blow jobs
like two undulating mouths
her skin inked with
black and blood tattoos that say
*Satan's little ***** *****
double penetrations preferred porfavor
the more buttery big ***** and pastry puffy ******* the better*
she
all purple hair tinged red
and antler horned hat
with silver toe and finger nails
a crazy saint sane
adored by the popes of the lascivious
eyes wide open over a crimson mouth sneer
cherry pout lips
gods gift to ***** and vaginas
a temple of relief exalting
Eros
a **** it bucket list of lust
her heart
cotton candy in flames
****** like a river of smashed potatoes
in cream
she like
phases of a corpse moon
begs to be used after death
like pigment on canvas
smeared red globes and chiaroscuro
she playing dead
living it up
do you know her
she keeps her secret hidden
on her sleeve
while you keep yours
from yourself
*bless me father for I have sinned
and loved every minute of it
yet dare not be happy
for fear of Gods rage*
my soul saved
turned fertile earth to sand
and shrouding vistas of light
till the bed is the bed
of the living dead
so there's nothin left but work and sleep
and dreams of drunken **** madness are buried
under the weight
marked forbidden
black sun curse
hips sway in ashes
a forbidden dance
Feb 22, 2018
Feb 22, 2018 at 10:42 AM UTC
There was something wrong with the sky today
in the melancholy cold September sun.
Frost sculpted clouds hung in the empty blue,
bereft, uncelebrated
The swallows are gone.
No more exalting
in our wet summer
unfettered by earthbound grumbles:
now they scythe the skies
to Africa
leaving us completely behind.
A white-spattered woodshed -
over-bold insects -
and perhaps
the promise of return.
Sep 23, 2012
Sep 23, 2012 at 3:10 PM UTC
The stellular supernal of
Translation exalting the
Absurdist rudimentary
Vale of tears; the place
Death was born blanketed
In twilight's eternal
Oblivion, breaking
Immortality-
The propitiative law
of Medes and Persians
From time out of mind,
'Whom the Gods love die young';
The amaranthine race to
Drink from the retentionist
Cup filled by Medea's ichor
Imbrued kettle readying for
The harrowing of Hell.
Eleete J Muir.
Sep 4, 2014
Sep 4, 2014 at 11:04 PM UTC
Making a living Wage from the living Word
Inevitably shades, obscures, taints and corrupts
Betrays the apparently living Faith
And exalting the Man than the Word
Balaam refused silver and gold in public
But embraced death's wages in secret
Certainly the labourer deserves his dues
But from his Master and not from fellow labourers
If the lives you saved leave you hungry
But for your whip, perhaps they're yet slaves
Mar 23, 2022
Mar 23, 2022 at 2:30 AM UTC
The golden leaves, ardent in their sheen and whisper
Their slender stems, crisp in their sway and grain
The long branches, graced by gold, hazed by willowy pulchritude
The trunk, straight, firm and glistening, exalting the golden
The hidden, outreaching roots, left to imagination
Suppose the tree is life, its leaves our time
Each falling in its own momentum.
Suppose the stems are relations, and the branches emotions
Golden, brilliant, each prevailing over the other.
Suppose the trunk is purpose, and the roots your belief
The trunk firm, exalting your life; the roots hidden but obvious to the light.
The golden tree for your golden life.
~Moniba.
Jun 21, 2014
Jun 21, 2014 at 12:16 AM UTC
daughter of the mountain
those fierce himalayan winds
bring home
the music of your tinkling anklets
with each cat-like step
you take
i hear esoteric ragas
neatly arranged
forming musical treatises
exalting
your indescribable beauty
and infinite greatness
for now,
i meditate on
that space
between these notes
which is where
i know
you truly reside
© 2019
Apr 21, 2019
Apr 21, 2019 at 4:58 PM UTC
The passion thy self does give for phenomenal proportion and hue.
The riddle of life does leap apart and the colours of temper askew.
Thou majestic brilliance is worthy of the utmost of praises.
Indestructible violet, unfathomable reds, and when lamentable blue; the celestial bodies sum up thou radiance
Thou light brings sight to the blind.
Thou brightness is a key to creative minds.
Thou purpose is to give us ours, thy structure is to give us beauty.
Sky so vast, sky so eternal, you canst leave the world in darken state.
The gray skies of storm, thundering loud, lit up with fires of lightning.
We canst describe how fortunate we are to learn of the sky.
The mov’ment of Earth is thy survival.
Do not leave the Earth, do not leaveth us.
The sky is eternal and we praise thyself for remaining.
The blue sunny skies with discerning truth, we see the sunlight.
No longer the brilliance is cloud-covered.
We deserve less but the sky is much.
Much to be anticipated, much to be received.
O valued sky, the World does not see you as so.
I see the World climb higher just to be ye.
That is why I write thyself an ode.
I write exalting thyself in humble abode.
Nov 2, 2012
Nov 2, 2012 at 10:38 AM UTC
Today, a poem should be palatable, cute
As a Kiwi fruit,
Dumb
As a horse battalion's scudding run,
Strident as out of tune horns
Of basement bands where the gloss has grown—
A poem should be bloodless
As the slight of words.
A poem should be film of ocean brine
As the reel unwinds,
Cleaving as the gear greases
Spoke by spoke the light smearing breeze,
Blowing, to the temple outhouse
Exalting all the ****** functions—
A poem should be not true:
Equal too.
For all the history of vanity
An empty room and a bass relief
For lust
The keening masses and no light above the stream
A poem should not be
But mean.
Feb 5, 2014
Feb 5, 2014 at 6:29 PM UTC
Your shadows cast down on the lonely spirits
Bringing with them intricate visions
And emitting longing desires
With searing memories that are cutting but so prepossessing
Residing between the clouds of the evening and the curtains of the dawn
You are both mysterious and majestic
With the moon as your crown
The stars as your wealth
And silence as your robe
You gaze with eyes
Open and wise
Into the universe above you
And see all of the depths of life
You listen with ears
Sharp and careful
To the sighs of desolation that flow ever so quietly
From the ever wakeful souls and the ever restless minds
You whisper with lips
Soft and sanguine
Into quiet rooms
Bearing peaceful slumber and secret dreams
With hands
Mystic and powerful
You close eyelids gently
As you guide hushed minds and aching hearts
To a world more kindly than our own
Lovers get lost in the folds of your dark and endless ensemble
And the lonely-hearted weep at your feet
You feel their unfading longing and despair
And lull them with your soft sounds and quiet presence
You are a friend of lovers
A consoler of the lonely
The minds of poets stir at your forthcoming
And hearts of prophetic stature awaken
As imagination and inspiration are both
Born and nourished under your guidance
You are a monarch to the poets
A vision to the prophets
A confidant to the thinkers
Ever so tragic
But ever so beautiful
You are home to the intellectuals and the visionaries
The writers and the artists
Over time you have revealed your secret purposes unto me
You have transformed my fear of the darkness into tireless trust
With your magic fingers you touched my mind
And my thoughts poured out in stardust
And flowed like a river beneath the moonlight
You kissed my spirit
Became my most trusty companion
You accompanied me in times of joy and in times of sorrow
You caressed my cheek and kissed my forehead
We grew closer and closer
Until we became one in and of the other
For within my dark self there are twinkling stars
That scatter passion throughout
And within my heart lies a struggling moon
In which doubt surfaces with the dawn
And comfort envelops me as the evening retreats
You awakened my soul and instilled peace deep within
I am covered with a veil of mystery
Given unto me from your own mysterious shroud
I, too, am a night
Quiet and profound
Yet fettered and unruly
Strong and exalting
Wise and amiable
Yet cryptic and capricious
For there is no real beginning to my darkness
And no real end to my depths
Apr 17, 2013
Apr 17, 2013 at 8:26 PM UTC
it’s the twelfth of can’t-remember
as i find myself marveling at the soft cadence of your affection
fluttering against my cheek in faint echoes of conjured memories,
and crafted illusions which bind me in turn,
to the hollow chambers of misfiring synapses
and daisy-chained coaxials tethering my lips
to this anvil-shaped heart.
the steam rises in wispy forms
from places where all is void
and memories are married with dreams
becoming those smiling faces
left in the picture frame i brought home from the store,
smudged by the cellophane,
and now conceived whole by the very absence
of a loving progeny to call my own -
pieces of me left to bloom amidst the shadows
exalting themselves sub rosa within the absence of light.
it is a moment to taste the waters
and wade out until my bristly chin
is beguiled by the ripples born
of *ulacia's stone finally reaching the bottom,
and cry out little pieces of nothingness
to bounce off of the shoreline,
if only to sate the grumbling deception
that my tears could float here without end or amen,
isolated within these painful shapes of you
to clot the cursive wounds
all the while imploring of elysium
that one day i shall awaken to a strange smell
and realize . . . that i am burning.
Jul 15, 2013
Jul 15, 2013 at 11:12 PM UTC
Poetry lies intermingled
Tangled recognition, interpretation
Drawn meaning like syringe
Conceptual life,
Intellectual dream.
Walking, swimming, fighting,
Forest branches weaving
Filling air, with wooden breath
Growing standing
Still and strong
Wise beards ferns green
Brown coffee time and maturity
Professor, interpreter
Language ciphening
Hourglass ideas.
Sifting sorting exalting dropping
Sliding through grasps of
Clasps of minds.
Grip and resignation
Trains and tracks
Lay directing paths for feet
That fly and touch not ground nor map
Atmosphere, time, space
Wind, water, sand
Scrunched paper words
Crushed branches pasted ingrained
Elements
Nature is poet
Words in the sky that fills our lungs
Breathing as filtered light –
We become,
Complete.
Apr 22, 2013
Apr 22, 2013 at 12:10 AM UTC
plot out distances between freckles
and count the amount of hairs;
in a beauteous analysis
a cold witnessing
of)a featured lifeless gaze
projected onto windows
refracted in time with the pounding
from lost soulless ghouls
in a dank puddled basement
as we stare through keyholes
the length of life waits to rescind
to wash up on the shoreline
anew, once refreshed
with Angina on
wading in cyclic waves
in deposits of reveries
stale orangeade sonatas
and dull area tirades
the purpose
economized
every axiom
americanized
and as your atoms become depersonalized
tension is materialized, in ornate ivory
shattered brass instruments rusted by
novels written to god
in a
fractured light
and range
cramped in a curtailed distance
a brickwall deadend universe
gnashing with frustration
****** yawns of futility
closed viaducts
and vacant lots
deafened eyes, grey
glimmering in retort
to their own expression
blind sight was squandered by the snapback, of all the
strings of the orchestra as they were simultaneously snipped
by sharp prying eyes, listening to the mixing of paint
to smell the music, its arms limp, vivid
wishing to pull you back (in hindsight)
with dreaded, deadened incantations
a dithyrambic liturgy to the drunken thoughtless night
of slurred litanies and unappeasable, irascible deities
lonely and immaculate, all-powerless and deft
in irksome quarrels and arguments
glossed over by the fine print of another
exalting the vainglorious self-inscribed paragons
and revelling every inadmissible mistake
gazing past to a solo star
dumbstruck and dead
from an evaluation
and dehydration
dying to know
forget it.
Jul 13, 2015
Jul 13, 2015 at 12:03 AM UTC
hard soft i'm large and groaning a fit of plastered excellence in my ambrosia fountain of giggling fornication this city is grandly exalting and flustering mightily incense of femmes du *** who art graciously ******* with a their boisterous choir of laughing *** or the men groping seriously their frail fair trackmarked beauty and they finger their air and lush and spit gratuitously their eyes upon their *******
and they like to laugh with their haughty whorish
breath a longing barely chained loosed slowly in splattering
abscesses of lust
; asinine men go and plead sourly your heads in thighs sweating
anorexic *** your Are
is
just
cosmic
lice
Dec 1, 2010
Dec 1, 2010 at 10:50 AM UTC
up on Boot Hill
the sun sets early
the soaked anguish
of grieving mothers
swaddled in
twilight's vestments
mourn the death
of another murdered
child
we roll our eyes
and speak in tongues
tiny prayers
incant
RIP
these reflexive bits,
our shattered votives
litter city boulevards
on each solemn
street corner
new alters
of desecration
are erected
then despoiled with
the wasted wax of
misspent novenas
our extended families
are bloodlines of fear
spawning
prostrate men
tattooed with
multicolored pain
who refuse to cover
body marks
bespeaking epic tales
of sorrow,
divisions
countless separations
also marking
righteous reasons
of seething
resentments
eager to settle
accounts
sweet vendettas
clever ambushes
carefully deliberated
for generations
by discordant clans
believing in malice
exalting guns
shared loss
is our
common
affliction
uniting everyone
in envelopes of sadness
becoming live
Dear John letters
bearing news of dearly
departed loves
atop the coffins
of dead children
votives pile high
with scrawled eulogies
of fevered graffiti
solemnly pledging
“gonna make someone suffer
gonna even the score
never forget you
RIP”
and we all die
looking stupid as hell
lamenting
love don’t rest in peace
hearing
it scream from the grave
witnessing
the hallowed earth
churning with revulsion
accepting the bitter ashes
of another dead child
for the love of you
is your funeral march
love don’t RIP
it stalks the tomb
of indifference
it mourns
the ambivalence
of its devaluation
it haunts the
day dreams
of what could
have been
it restlessly
flits among
the playgrounds
of our minds
cluttering the rooms
of our homes
with grief
up on Boot Hill
we clasp the
small hands
protruding from
shallow graves
groping to find
a graceful sleep
for love don’t
rest in peace
Stevie Wonder:
Love Is In Need of Love Today
Written to honor
Love Appreciation Day
jbm
Oakland
1/19/13
Feb 18, 2013
Feb 18, 2013 at 5:45 PM UTC
There were idols in days of old
Made of wood stone silver & gold
They had a mouth eyes & ears
But they could not speak see or hear.
And there were also idols of flesh
Filled with God's own breath
The same images we worship today
Creating physical & spiritual decay.
These idols of flesh we're exalting
These idols of flesh we wallow in
These idols of flesh we're consuming
Will consume our mind & our spirit.
Taking away what we can't live without
Replacing inner peace with fear & doubt
Precious time spent covering up our tracks
Looking ahead but still looking back.
Burning on the ancient altar of lust
Occasionally saying we've had enough
Sheepishly returning to the altar again
Learning to live with the scars & the pain.
They are flesh & blood just like me & you
Filled with emptiness when the act is through.
Jan 27, 2017
Jan 27, 2017 at 3:45 PM UTC
Today, a poem should be palatable, cute
As a Kiwi fruit,
Dumb
As a horse battalion's scudding run,
Strident as out of tune horns
Of basement bands where the gloss has grown—
A poem should be bloodless
As the slight of words.
A poem should be film of ocean brine
As the reel unwinds,
Cleaving as the gear greases
Spoke by spoke the light smearing breeze,
Blowing, to the temple outhouse
Exalting all the ****** functions—
A poem should be not true:
Equal too.
For all the history of vanity
An empty room and a bass relief
For lust
The keening masses and no light above the stream
A poem should not be
But mean.
May 14, 2015
May 14, 2015 at 11:20 PM UTC
Vision...the perpetual resurrection of light,
tipping point whose interstice of darkness
is overcome, spreads the image clear.
Furrowing the brow of space like a great
perennial philosophy--the nexus of
contradistinction and unanimity.
Brilliant point via wave, wave via point lit
manifest...hence, objects to sequence the
speed of light which relents time.
Unerring panorama whose open ended gape
presupposes the conclusive evidence of
poetic salt in all its worthiness.
At the starry behest of a many-sunned
convention, apace with rarefied perception.
Vision...the illusory stasis of light, whose
translation is perception--mines the fusion
of angles, of a three hundred and sixty
degree order.
This plenary dispatch, exalting the sum of its
parts...inbuilt fractal minding, mining parts
which are The Sum.
...Om...
Nov 4, 2014
Nov 4, 2014 at 10:29 AM UTC
The leaves are tumbling
through homes of old
and hardship and cold.
The trees are dieing.
The leaves escape
through neighborhoods sold.
Graffiti and glass
cover the asphalt,
exalting these homes of old
and hardship and cold.
The leaves rustle by,
but break under shoes
of forgotten crews,
but cheer has spread
thanks to these leaves.
The kids laugh together
and live life with ease,
without regulation
and not being controlled.
They fend for themselves
in these homes of old
and kinship and cold.
Dec 17, 2012
Dec 17, 2012 at 4:13 PM UTC
Once again
History is buried
As fragile scraps record
How we varied
From truth
To lies
Guiding us all
To our demise
The enemy
Is sent to the grave
Yet honesty
Can only wave
Sneering
At what I believe
Asking how can it be
That I am so naïve?
Why do you accept
Everything you read?
The world is dying
Over mankind’s greed
Do you have the mind for this?
Then let me begin
Hear what I say
The enemy is within
Know their intentions
Discover their mind
Study their words
In them you will find
The root of your fears
The chamber for the bullet
The conspiracy to steal
Money from your wallet
If you will only see
The daily symptoms
Explode all around
With self-righteous rhythms
As your great country
Has begun to rot
Along with the ideals
That someone forgot
They know you
And how you live
How you wish to please your God
They count on you to forgive
They use fear of retribution
From your creator
On rapturous wave
They make you a hater
Do you worship
God, man or the flag?
Do you even know
Which end will wag?
The living
Give the account
Exalting their quest
From atop the mount
The dead
Unable to testify
Gasping from below
Unable to tell you why
You are deceived
From birth to dust
Your destiny given away
As in evil we trust
How can mankind be free
When a nation cannot turn the other cheek?
Killing is so easy
Is revenge all that we seek?
Yet you pray
And demand moral leadership
The good book your master
Brandished like a whip
And who do we forgive?
Our enemy?
Our leader?
The questions are many
Shall we drown everyone
With a boil from the melting ***
Demanding obedience
We say follow us or be shot!
Yes honesty waves
A cynical hand
As we continue
To plunder some other land
Say what you will
I don’t care anymore
Greed's insatiable dance
Is not my war
Dig up the graves
Ask the hard questions
Why are you here?
What are the lessons?
The dead speak no more
The cheers grow louder
Many more will die
Who will light the powder?
Will it be you?
Will you give vicarious approval?
You will feel the fire
Of your soul's removal
Yes history has been buried
And so too my peace of mind
Can all those who love
Live in a world so unkind?
COPYRIGHT 2011. ALL RIGHTS RESERVED. MARK LECUONA
Feb 11, 2012
Feb 11, 2012 at 10:03 AM UTC
What a breath of fresh air
Seeing you once again
Your company is always welcome
So good to befriend you love
I sure can use your comfort
Your elegant, powerhouse vibe
Quenches my lonely soul
I am in need of you
Its been such a long time
Since our dear minds floated
In a milieu of ignited joy
I have combed the vicinity
From the periphery of the night
Til the nascency of the sun
Close by and far about,
To cross your seraphic path
Once again, here we are...
So come take a walk with me
Let us prance along the lake
Dash through spring's leaves
Exalting each other's presence
Let us dance in airborne circles
Together, as inseparable canaries
My thoughts of you
With that celestial killer smile
Your dazzling eyes of pensiveness
That touch of sweet caress
Is strongly needed in my life
Spending time with you
Is truly like no other
My adulation for you
Is passionately unspoken
This pash I have for you
Has kindled as we bonded
There is honestly no way
I'm letting you go
No more, never again
So take my hand
Slowly spin with me
Into love's unknown
Together forever.
©Michael P. Smith
Mar 14, 2013
Mar 14, 2013 at 4:03 AM UTC
You continue to exemplify everything beautiful in this world
The heavens above exalting a thousand trumpets
Symphonies hailing from the mountains,
Her intoxicating smile glistening, biting my lip in allusion.
Your eyes unimaginably delicate,
Thinking of you, a piano chorus dwindling on repeat.
Your bashful beauty,
Alway makes rainy days come to a hault.
So much wrong in this world,
Pressure, decisions and guilt,
And I am just here admiring you.
Everytime I look at you,
My lump heart skips a beat.
Clenching my sweaty hands,
I have seen you a million times before
But you mesmerize my love struck mind.
Every inch of you, impeccable and unchangeable.
Nov 12, 2014
Nov 12, 2014 at 11:52 PM UTC
And we frolicked with our arms entangled
under the stunning gleam of the moonlight.
With the diamond waterfalls as witness,
dreamy as the rainbow,
cascading solace in our thoughts.
We’re out of the gushing downpour.
though we still hear and feel the water.
Exalting how we climbed
the higher and steeper trail
with dangerous cliffs in thousands,
we continued to hold hands.
With even a tiny bit of love but a ton of hope,
we eradicated fear
and let the light come through.
Merging us again into one!
Reshaping,
transforming,
mending,
stitching every hidden torn and burn.
Jun 20, 2021
Jun 20, 2021 at 5:02 AM UTC
Pride uses conversation to tell something that is private or secret to many people.
Pride denies what the gospel reveals about our seriously sinful condition.
Pride doesn't need a spouse, only an audience of people to watch, read, and listen to something or someone.
Pride assumes I already understand everything I need to.
Pride is quite content with what it already knows.
Pride loves to talk reveling itself with an exalting form of self expression.
Apr 30, 2015
Apr 30, 2015 at 10:48 PM UTC