"fascinations" poems
Pay your quarters
pay your dimes
you're paying for laundromat time
slowly spinning
forgotten
by
Einstein's Theory of Relativity.
Minutes become hours
and
there are still too many hours to go.
Any math class
intense gas
organized religion
waiting for the tow truck,
the bus
in
the pouring frozen rain.
Sitting in the E.R.
with a cut finger
waiting waiting waiting.
Sitting in the hospital room
with an elderly distant relative
you hardly know,
their funeral too.
At the grandparents house
with endless repeats of Judge Judy
on the t.v.
t.v. droning monotoning on and on and on.
Any work day
perpetually two thirty or three,
in meetings with presentations
with more presentations to go,
you're trying to be productive,
but all you know
is
laundromat time
slowly spinning.
Any night of insomnia,
betrayals endless loops,
anxiety rolling through,
following you from one cigarette to another
three o'clock
four o'clock
four-twenty.
Home movies of endless barbeques
I know meaningful to you.
Pictures of people's
cats and dogs
a hundred more to go.
Eight and a half months pregnant,
kiddie soccer on a Sunday morning at 7:30,
the middle school brass band
Friday night at nine,
yes, that's me
passed out and snoring,
laundromat time
a warm blanket
has
put me under.
Anybody else's endless fascinations
say
pictures of weather,
laundromat time sets in
as the
eye lids flutter
narcolepsy sets in with all of this clutter.
So the next time
you're standing in line
and the woman in front is telling
the clerk
every detail you never wanted to know
you'll think about these poor lines
and remember
you're spinning in laundromat time
forgotten by Einstein.
In fact these poor lines
must be feeling that way too
I am going to do you a favor
and
get back to you later.
Dec 28, 2014
Dec 28, 2014 at 10:54 AM UTC
She keeps my soul alive,
I'm content with just the conversations.
Intelligent beauty,
everyday I travel to her imagination.
She gave me her Skeleton key.
I can explore any place in her mind.
Trusting each other with the secrets and fascinations of our lives.
Akaash.Horizon
May 19, 2015
May 19, 2015 at 1:11 PM UTC
*
**Behind
little doors
of pure temptation
she'll hide sweet treats, of
fascinations. hooked by stockings
on needle bare trees, she's an angel on top
who knows how to please... twenty five smiles
rapt in love, with
sparkles for free!*
Nov 29, 2012
Nov 29, 2012 at 10:53 AM UTC
No tribal scarring marks your face
no cinder walk or thorn-pierced tongue
to prove you are no longer young
but fit to take your rightful place
Your generation never fought
And you have wished that you could see
the selfless, brave camaraderie
of which you were so often taught
Alas for you to fetch ashore
when we had lost our appetite
for making children go and fight
and briefly grieved, and said "No more!"
Condemning you, unreconciled,
to shed no blood, as real men should;
to feel that life is mostly good
Oh foolish knave! Oh hopeless child!
And saddled with this gross mistake
your quiet kindness gently spread
and harmless fascinations fed
and left no corpses in their wake
To think we looked to one unmanned
as children, hungry for a clue
of what it's right for men to do,
led, blind, by your unbloodied hand
Sought thoughts from one who could not brag
of marching forth to suicide
for waxed moustaches' sense of pride
Nor bleeding dry beneath a flag
But you had naught to tell us, save
that life is hopeful and sublime
and we should use this precious time
And I'll be grateful to the grave.
Nov 1, 2011
Nov 1, 2011 at 4:20 PM UTC
.
She walked naked into the woods,
where the moonlight danced with fog.
Where an owl competes with a coyote,
the rush of the creek drowns out a dog.
Fascinations overwhelmed her,
she just wanted to know.
Then a future reading of an ultrasound
appeared from within the glow.
She looked beyond the stars above,
as Saturn's colors began to swirl.
She thanked God and she walked back home,
she now knows that it's a girl.
.
Jan 31, 2010
Jan 31, 2010 at 9:30 PM UTC
Hallucinations in life"s desert accompanied with my unquenchable thirst
Lacerations fade to scars to prove luck"s point that it wasn"t near the worst
Temptations conspire with times inevitable push as we all learn we"re cursed
Plantations wear us down as we are all slaves until our souls have traversed
Fascinations are shared before we hitch a ride on the grim reaper"s dark hurst
Elations are defiled like a child"s smile transformed after the last bubble"s burst
Cremations are compiled as ashes drift away off cliffs and are forever dispersed
Vibrations guide us through the universe so please join me as we dive head first
Take my hand my friend and lets go be free
No need to worry about having any eyes to see
trust me as our souls dance in the wandering sea
And accompany me through this glorious eternity
We are Universally linked paralleled to every degree
Soul searching for the destination that they call journey
Brave souls are blessed with this human shell as a test
A life materially possessed leads to a lonely empty nest
So don't waste time depressed on this short epic quest
You"ll forget all the rest when our souls have coalesced
Nov 21, 2012
Nov 21, 2012 at 6:16 PM UTC
On weekdays,
privatised ******* trucks
disguise our secret fascinations
and shift the scraps
of our failed dinners
into piles of decomposing waste.
Welcome to the city,
there are buses on the hour.
Better grab a seat before
coffee stained tattoos
covered by sweaty rags
absorb up all the loneliness.
Where do they all go to?
Who eats all the bludgeoned bodies?
Oh, book the saturated dinner table tonight.
I feel like saturation.
In the weekends, somatic mutations
reveal themselves, for if I,
speak, like, I can speak,
then I am not speaking to anyone
save for the flowers. Oh, so
hurray, the garden blossoms again!
But I mean, in the end, I maintain I am
writhing like a centipede in a dryer,
tumbling between hot air, screaming
“Help me! Help me! Where
has the humanity gone?
I cannot even capitalise
first names! You must forgive
my lack of morals!”
“Hello”
“I am here!”
“Hello?”
“I am here!”
“Hello!”
“I am here!”
Jan 26, 2013
Jan 26, 2013 at 8:20 PM UTC
Sophisticated creations created in sophistication
Humbly stumble your rocket ship upon us
Show us the ways of wisdom
The gears to greatness
Greetings from above…
Indescribably intuitive taking part of our tuition
Relaxing everybody with your percentages
Because everybody loves your mathematical mysteries mingling with minds mistaking us monitoring the minutes of our total misguidance
You guide us through that too…
Tactically tyrannical, democratically demonizing our demands
Demanding our demons
Because without the demons dictating our lusts as districts for us to be in
You are but a simple voice
Maybe so inhumanly loud and annoying
But incompetent
Powerless…that freaks you out…
Notorious nuzzles nurturing our children
Not so new of an idea
Because were used to getting
Tips of our rights smuggled through the windows you chose to open
Then smile and wave from up there
Because being like us is too mainstream
Becoming like us is an impossibility possible only when you become wood
Stiff wood
Moving around on shoulders
Standing in line on
The borders
Of dirt and human form
Following your followers with flowers on top of you facilitating your families fascinations that yes, youre gonna be alright down under
Flashback to the fudemental moments of your life
And you’ll realize
It’s when you killed the father
Suffocated the mother
Ripped the brother apart
And told the son…hey let me help you
But this is when you die…
If we all **** you in our minds youre dead
And only then…would “up there” be nothing but a shameful figure
Rather than a worshiped emblem of total **********
And only then…would we gain life…
May 5, 2013
May 5, 2013 at 6:05 PM UTC
I'm just a Libra love swinging high on indecision
in the throes of inebriation, permeated with all sorts of
feelings filling falling fascinations in the moment.
Fleeting while failing to carry on and then become it.
Aug 20, 2015
Aug 20, 2015 at 1:12 AM UTC
This is not a love poem.
Because
I know nothing about the entrancement of Romance
It’s like watching a mime mimic antics
It makes me panic.
No, I write epics and tragedies.
About political catastrophes.
About the rhythmic anatomy of poetry.
Not about “How do I love thee…”
But let me count the ways that these days
Have grown strange;
The passage of time has seemed to stop.
This black clock’s bold Tock and
Tick have been erased and
I’m still sick with the aftertaste
From the venom of your kiss
Your toxic lips made me itch that
Poisoned twitch One-thousand times
Before my bloodshot eyes
Went blind to your beauty.
“A most unfortunate disability”
Professionals told me
But I just sighed and smiled insignificantly
“No, no, you see this,
Ironically, is immunity.”
Imperviousness to seduction
But this is not a love poem.
It’s a professional epiphany
An observation
All research and annotations state things like
Blind Fortunes and
Heart complications are just
Minor alterations that
Spark fascinations in
Lab coats and stethoscopes.
Isotopes of foreign hopes
Are my safety ropes to cope with my
Distance away from you another day
And there I go again.
Every ******* word I say will start out right
But then convey to betray me with the
Cliché decay
Of a fluttering heart.
And on this day when time has stopped
I’ll re-lock my jaw that dropped
And, with Blind Eyes, this mental case
Will try to trace the chalk outlines
Of lucid days
With the white spine
Of the brain stem
But this
Is not
A love poem.
Because
I refuse to be Entranced by Romance.
I’m the kind of guy who would Panic in
That Frantic state of mind
And draw away from Sunlight
To find warmth Moonshine
To bite the bullet and lace up these shoes
Because eleven shots and twelve steps
Is the closest I get to refuge.
See, I dream in the Black and White
Of a first version television box set
About Bloodied tragedies
And political catastrophes
Set to a beat based on
The rhythmic anatomy of poetry
Rarely about “How do I love thee…”
Or the bedpost marks of
Fading, Chalk-Laced Memories.
Mar 9, 2011
Mar 9, 2011 at 8:41 AM UTC
To dance under this broken moon
Is when speckled stars and old fascinations
Come together to put back pieces you
Shining a light on this midnight blue
That infuses your wounds
Ten thousand years can't save you now
So, leave behind this moonlight melancholy
Find the hands of those you've loved
Those that hold you in their eyes
Hold onto them,
In the empty space you used to breathe
Feb 6, 2022
Feb 6, 2022 at 3:14 PM UTC
Lively silvery torments,
mere golden tingles,
hours never gone off.
I keep watching over you,
poetic genius,
****** genuine,
learned rebel,
sensitive archetype.
Could I forget your voice
and the thousands fascinations of yours?
Utopia, my pirate….
It’s only my foolish desire
a dense kaleidoscope
of languid coincidences,
all vain,… but certainly
mystic consolations.
Apr 2, 2016
Apr 2, 2016 at 7:47 PM UTC
When did I detach myself from the current of reality,
eternally fused to the nothingness that awaits us?
To become a slave of dreams and machinations.
When did I become another heartbeat,
longing for fantasies of love,
only to find the anguish that comes from human desire.
Knowing that we are powerless to our fascinations.
How many days go by, as we long to be remembered?
For art, for name, for doing, for living
only to reach the same end of obscurity.
They call me a deconstructionist, a detester of life.
But are we not worthlessly tied to this current of life?
We are born with no concepts, no meaning, an echo of what is to come.
& that same echo escapes us in the end.
Sep 26, 2021
Sep 26, 2021 at 11:03 PM UTC
the gentleman's a patient wolf
he trails his prey so quietly
and plans their quick demise.
his initial fascinations
are figments of imagination-
like melting rainbows, quickly forgot.
an earthy seducer ...
all the tragic ladies
immured in their addictions.
his sharp eye will quickly find
yet another quivering quail
in tallest grasses.
such eager craving -
born of hungry desires
the hunter's instinct
Mar 2, 2012
Mar 2, 2012 at 4:42 PM UTC
My thoughts are always wrong.
Rehearsing things to say so long
that I'll never respond.
Too hard to take my time.
Too quick to jump this gun.
Fixating on all the most inappropriate fascinations.
Holding tongues on all the worst occasions.
Let's play a good old fashioned game of Russian Roulette.
Rushing to do all the things we'll regret.
And forgetting all those words we pretend to believe.
I'll always have one more deception up my sleeve.
That might just be the old me.
Jan 31, 2016
Jan 31, 2016 at 11:30 PM UTC
" Stimulation of ones genitals or another
resulting in ******
How could that be an abomination ??
for me
an
"Acceleration"
with downward
"migration"
With lots of exploration
and
"stimulation"
With dreams and fascinations
of
**********
Self exploitation
and
"Gratification"
with new innovations
maybe a little ***********
Nothing wrong with group participation
and
experimentation
some change of ****** orientation
With lots of anticipation
and
determination
**** for visual sensation
Lots of perspiration
Even hotter with verbalization
nothing in moderation
Both hands moving in unification
with different combinations
self examination
Breath quickening with each
expiration
Waiting for
the ******
and it's
donation!
!!
:)
Sep 13, 2015
Sep 13, 2015 at 10:55 PM UTC
Let’s take a walk through my dreams
You see them speckled with hopes and memories
You’ll see they are broken and incomplete
You may even see behind the grey clouds
A hint of sunlight stringing beaded fascinations into things to wish for
Oct 3, 2021
Oct 3, 2021 at 2:09 PM UTC
Illiterate alliterations
Of Farcical fascinations.
I fancy myself a wordplayer
if not a word-sayer
Though the paper gets far more love than the air
***** what's nearest the toaster oven.
Vile Bile, Jim, by at least 3 miles.
I took the tapeworm from yesterday's sandwich
Gave it to the secretary, who continues to *****
She's a labrador
I'm a matador
You'd be surprised how much bulls ****
Apr 5, 2016
Apr 5, 2016 at 8:41 PM UTC
we have never experienced as little
as brushing hands
and yet you have
every inch
of my body memorized
Mar 24, 2021
Mar 24, 2021 at 1:39 AM UTC
Unprovoked, you often squabble
With strangers you don't even know.
Often spouting unkind ramblings,
Seems like your head suffered a blow.
You rant and rave, not making sense,
You babble such mindless drivel.
The head you carry seems so dense;
In your little world, you revel.
You spew such foul atrocities
No one can seem to comprehend.
Still, you speak in this gibberish
No one wishes to understand.
Your madness and stupidity
Are such a sad combination.
Hopefully, you enjoy all your
Nonsensical fascinations.
Jan 31, 2016
Jan 31, 2016 at 4:28 PM UTC
I thought the ceasefire had come.
I had survived the press gangs
and carpet bombs
and the drum of war had been
reduced to the constant undying
thud of my heart.
I was hoping to feign retreat.
Three days of deepest winter
before a new year in the sun
hanging like Christ over the Zodiac
and not from the branch
of my father's tree.
The extension cord came loose.
Bread knives are now curious
fascinations
and sit in my stomach like
so much red wine and that writer's pride
in greeting death.
I was hoping to gain a peace.
To place it like a necklace
or badge of honour on my breast
to remind the tourists of the ******
that ravaged the town
I had grown up in.
I have eight years left to die.
After that I will grow fat
and loose in mind
and forget why sadness is
so important in the modern world
of dying art.
I was hoping for vague release.
Something to **** cowardice
and that hesitant breath before
the pull of a blade or jump to the sea
of endless black hole
and icy relief.
I thought the ceasefire had come.
We had stood outside to watch
the confetti
fall to the ground with delay
in a wind we had come to suspect
would destroy us.
I was hoping to gain belief.
I thought the rockets had stopped
or else been pointed to the sky
in a bottled message from all mankind
to another place,
to another time.
Sep 13, 2014
Sep 13, 2014 at 5:35 PM UTC
The world I walk through is a deep cavern
filled with cool air and brilliant water.
I jump from puddle to puddle weeping
at all the wonders my little chasm is filled with.
My feet carry me in syncopated skips to those small funnels
where the invisible breeze tickles and sings in my ears.
My breath gives me pause to reminisce on how lucky I am.
These various rhythms of enthralling fascinations
leave lasting echoes that reverberate off my cavernous edge
feeding upon one another,
until the cacophony is too painful for me to ignore.
I must rest until it passes.
...Walking with you
...that steady pace you take...
resonates against my walls.
All I have to do to is match your step
and
marvel at how the echoes sync
with every one of your resounding steps.
Each in turn, building upon the last into a glorious orchestra.
They shake my stones until one little loose rock comes plummeting down.
In its stead,
a wondrous beam of light shines radiance through my dusty air.
(sfumato)
My all enveloping world is no longer.
I know there is more for me,
far away.
A world of light,
A world of joy,
A world of love
Out beyond these beautiful walls.
...I am weak
and my world crumbles
from the beauty your footfalls have left on my soul
Nov 7, 2013
Nov 7, 2013 at 11:01 PM UTC
Loosely withheld fascinations,
Glimpses of mindful surrender through the rustic, burnt, glowing-hot-stove, honey-crisp-apple,mommas-pumpkin-pie, milk chocolate, and old-tractor-yellow colors,
Falling around my clouded Monday morning meanderings.
The jack-o-lantern's toothy smiles,
Mock me,
For someone's cut out their heart,
And left them empty,
And they know, I too, will be hollow soon.
A giant maple sheds, slow, sticky, tears,
As he watches a years work fall beneath him.
He fights the seductive slumber,
For he knows he'll dream of sweet spring.
But to him I say, we all wither in the cold.
While he wonders who could love his bare branches.
But he doesn't see his leaves falling, along with tidbits of seasonal nostalgia, being kicked up by frosty winds,
softening my steps, landing in my hair,
Easing us all into our own winters.
Oct 29, 2013
Oct 29, 2013 at 4:21 AM UTC
The
continuity
of
all radiance and vibration
carves
out a space in me
for me
to
understand the secrets
of serenity.
Identify the divine
in
all our
living creations
our utterances
our fascinations
our foundations
letting go
of
all our self defeating
attachments
but those
that
are
our true blessings
and
not
false meanderings.
I
find myself
on
the roads
to
the realms
of
meaning
where
the sweetness
of
love
drips
drop by drop
and
eyes are illuminated
and
begin to see
call it god
call it rocks
call it soil
call it life
doesn't matter much to me.
We
are
orchids
blooming
adrift
in
the black vacuum sea
reminds me
in each
moment
to
consciously
be.
Jun 4, 2014
Jun 4, 2014 at 9:27 AM UTC