"fathoming" poems
some poetries
are not yet
conveyed into words;
they're still
felt by the heart,
and the mind
is still fathoming
those sentiments,
before finally
converting them
into words.
Mar 22, 2019
Mar 22, 2019 at 11:44 AM UTC
1573
To the bright east she flies,
Brothers of Paradise
Remit her home,
Without a change of wings,
Or Love’s convenient things,
Enticed to come.
Fashioning what she is,
Fathoming what she was,
We deem we dream—
And that dissolves the days
Through which existence strays
Homeless at home.
4.9k
i am not good with words
i was never good at literature
never good at fathoming
my thoughts, cries, and pleads into lines and rhymes
always on the look out
for words that i can never understand
and metaphors that dont match
but i'll use them anyway because i thought they'll look nice.
i was never good at poetry,
always forgetting to water
the flowers on my tongue
so they just wither away
and the soil of my literature
will run dry as the pen on my table.
i was never good at using words
as an outlet of my shriveling thoughts
i
never
knew
when
to
hit
the
enter
key
i was never good at this.
but your ears were always closed
and your eyes were always open,
on the look out for your next lover
so here i am.
a girl with poetry for lips and paint fir blood.
here it is.
my poetry,
in all of its pain & glory.
Aug 5, 2016
Aug 5, 2016 at 6:42 AM UTC
You hate yourself for reasons I can't understand
Fathoming, pondering your small shaking hands
What you don't see in yourself, others do
Talented, beautiful, compassionate you
If you would use Paul McCartney to greatly inspire
You could be like him, if that's your desire
You have a future, a purpose that you can not see
But if you listen to anyone, listen to me
Stay strong, stand firm, don't let them be
The demons in your life, you can be free
Stay the way you are, which is your true beauty
Just let the peace in your life, Ashley
Oct 16, 2014
Oct 16, 2014 at 1:49 PM UTC
Rippling tide of light (the) horizon a mélange
Insight inside of me (my) fastidious internal ******
Behold breath-taking beauty (in) my minuscule mind
Fathoming unfathomables (of) every different kind
Magnanimous mount (in a) flowing green sea
Mustang must muster (the) strength to stay free
Battling rages inside (this) heavy hearted fool
Lasso cinching fate (our) human nature’s cruel
Taken from the wild (then) taken home and named
Though this horse was broken (she) was never tamed
Jun 28, 2010
Jun 28, 2010 at 2:19 PM UTC
I am not much of a poet, and it takes a whole lot of poet to write a love poem
Sappy and happy never read as well as blood, sweet, and tears
And years of turmoil has always aid me
But lately, I’v been hastily and systematically fathoming how to make words fit
Like our bodies do at sundown, when we are the only light inside a dark room
Just beaming at one another, why bother… cheesy isn’t easy .. but I try
I try to find the powerful words that will describe the electricity that pulsates from us
We are the biggest power source around, if only I found the words to say it right
I am not much of a poet, and it takes a whole lot of poet to write a real love poem
But if I tried to write a love poem, it would be about you
About how your smile is a sun rise after endless nights
About how I only know your strength because you pull me in close
Like I weigh nothing and my baggage is just a carry on, nothing that can’t be handled
Never pushing me away or hurting, your strength is seen in your gentleness
I would explain how you make stretch marks feel like beauty marks
How you make sun kisses feel cool, how you make heartbeats in to drums, how you make a guitar sing, and your voice vibrates and rolls something between honey and heaven.
I would write about how you have endless energy and ambition
Charisma and endless potential that grabs at every opening door
I would write about how you grow friendships and flowers like they are one in the same
And how you love and invest in both
How you read like a scholar and chase after things only brave men chase after
I am not much of a poet but if I were I would paint in words for you the most vibrant expressions
Of lust and love and tinder kindness
Lay down words like bricks to build you up
Show how you are the one I searched and found worth finding
How we light up, show how exciting…..
Im not a love poet, not much of a poet at all…
But either way you are worth the fall, you deserve a love poem.
Jan 30, 2014
Jan 30, 2014 at 2:06 AM UTC
Proud we stand, loftily in our ivory towers
Proud we stand, bawling our boasts and feats
Proud we stand, on the cold concrete we built
In shame, I hung my head, fathoming our “powers”
In grief, my quill broke his heart descrying our plight.
Humanity bleeds as his ink flows in protean woe
Love has lost its world, We estranged her away
And the world lost its Love, We chased disarray
All the colours in this world have run eerily cold
Our eyes fixated on a global monochrome gold
To bundles of printed paper, our soul… we sold.
Humanity bleeds as his ink flows in protean woe
Our vermilion blood has thinned, thinner than wine
Onto our gashes, we had to dowse the thickest brine
Blinded by rage, we parried the balsam to our souls
Yet in an unhesitant grace, traces remain in our bowls
Yet... Our calamitous claws yearn to rinse it off us
Humanity bleeds as his ink flows in protean woe
For an endless pursuit, in an unquenchable thirst,
We ****** our heels onto them who cleansed them
The hands which held us taut. we mangled them.
All for an empty crusade seeking the same black
We went rabid, scouring for an immortal fountain
The answer was a drop of Love, now unobtainium.
Yet I anticipate in the warmth of a spring someday
A few dewdrops and a little fountain emerging…
Fountain so bountiful in Love, her arrival in glory.
That day, my quill shall be healed and his ink resting
Sep 19, 2021
Sep 19, 2021 at 2:50 AM UTC
Nothing is but an ideology
Created within the midst of terminology
Contemplated inside the realm of human sociology
Excessive thought creates a disease of unknown etiology
Without nothing, the purpose of something lacks possibly
Fathoming such perceives speculations of oddities
How can one measure that lacking of qualities
and incomplete of quantity?
Theorization subconsciously
Rationalizing improbably
On the brink of psychopathy
Is it really all but a prophecy?
Distorting my mind in such ferocity?
Encompassing dimension of philosophy
Does the term nothing orbit a sense of despondency?
Interpreting into a form of commodity
But how can I construe what nothing is,
I mean quite honestly?
Mar 7, 2014
Mar 7, 2014 at 8:17 PM UTC
Nature delivers all that she promises fairly.
She hands us the reality of death,
to be either denied and abhorred or accepted and understood.
I lay under an opened night sky, bitter.
I am agony as the stars wax and wane by my eyes inability to focus.
Of the lessons to be instructed,
this seems, to me, so implored by my spirit.
Looking out into the nether,
my mind attempts a fathoming of what it means to be endless,
like space seems to be in any singular moment.
When I am close to an end at any moment,
my mental prowess is under strain.
All things, even those beyond my grasp, are cyclical.
Stars are born from dust to die in dust.
The Universe, born, will end.
Our Sun, the life-giver, warmth and light,
once mere molecules will return to such.
I can not escape this truth.
I, like all life here, was born to be swallowed back into Earth.
A cruel thing it is, to be destined to loss,
always looming in the future.
In our past, all have been ended,
like I will have been to those who proceed me.
I have long-since been swallowed by rivers and dirt.
I have given birth to grass and inspired trees to bear their seeds.
I have issued new men to prosper and time to pass.
Though solemn this truth, all will follow behind me.
Jan 13, 2014
Jan 13, 2014 at 9:16 PM UTC
*Unable to decipher the reasons behind
mistaking politeness for shyness.
Trust me, I am definitely in my zone.
Incapable of fathoming why is it a grave mistake to be quiet.
I am fighting my inner demons.
I do not wish to speak to you.*
Jan 5, 2015
Jan 5, 2015 at 11:03 AM UTC
*Now a flowing air wise signs on waters streaming,
pouring forth from the pitcher of wisdom anew,
ever full undrunk,instinctive of human absolutes all.
Gods,men,minds all uranian battling calm,now futile,
But knowing,caring, grasping,fathoming, conquering
tidings evil of powered souls unholy,uncaring deliberate.
Searing lightning flashes of intellects just,truly intuitive
burning stiff coffined conventions,dry dead rules of yore
melting old cold solid knowledge cruel of Draco obsolete
to humane rivers gently righteous, of merciful hearts
ripping away ways human sordid and corroded deep
repaving with light golden love those roads to hearts.
is it enough I wonder, have we become naturalized?*
May 19, 2013
May 19, 2013 at 8:25 AM UTC
Whilst I was dreaming, streaming up and down my arms
The confining, winding vine
I became another stone in the great wall
Which lines this labyrinthine
One door leading to another, my steps echo upon the stair
If I don’t believe it, I can’t perceive it
That’s the advice you always gave me
But I was too stubborn to ever receive it
There was some confusion over the illusion
And now the fusion has occurred
Don’t bother trying to dig me out of the hole I’ve made
I’d rather my screams never be heard
A silent midnight hides my vengeance
In the comfortable depths of my abyss
Please tell me you don’t understand
So I can explain the meaning of all of this
Rapid eye movement, shutting me down
Fathoming the phantoms eating my soul
Don’t come any closer, or you’ll be a monster like me
An empty shell, delusion filling the hole
Your chimerical notions of bravery sustain me
Starlight keeping time with my every heart beat
You are the only dream, the only perfection
All else in my eyes has become obsolete
The vines entwine our hands
The maze once endless is now clear
Why do you save me every time, even if I don’t want saving
Why do you destroy all that I fear
Eye lids pried open and even in reality it’s always you
The darkness calling me, and I remain thinking
I wish to be among the stone, wrapped in vine alone
Tricked by the eyes, in the abyss I am sinking…sinking..
Whilst I was dreaming, streaming up and down my arms
The needing, bleeding vine
I became another victim of love
I became yours and you became mine.
Mar 14, 2010
Mar 14, 2010 at 2:31 PM UTC
she is seen to appear in moonlit nights
in her bridal dress and sparkling jewelry
though the sparkles may just be fireflies
and her bridal dress a will-o-wisp
silhouetted by the playful moon
smiling in broken ripples on her toe.
she stands on the pond's edge
gazing at the crested sparks of moon
fathoming the depth of the grey slime
where he once reached to lay in peace
and she followed through fireflies and ripples
leaving in the winds her echoes.
Aug 22, 2015
Aug 22, 2015 at 12:57 PM UTC
A voice gently called out
whispering loudly
from the rafters of silence,
the way canyon walls softly echo
in a warm southern breeze
It seemed as if it were a dream
but eyes wondered wide open
Reaching out for the lingering
empty air that breathes my name
Touching a wafting emptiness
rippling through the hollow void,
to buoyantly catch sight of
an oasis in another distant realm
Swept away by a seething waterfall,
the heart won’t let go ―
Seized by the calling voice
that spates the broken intone
never fathoming
distantness
was so far away
An abiding voice hovers ―
a paling memory beholds a glow
of someone I used to know
by heart
.
Nov 20, 2017
Nov 20, 2017 at 8:14 PM UTC
I need a new vocabulary
these words aren't enough anymore
it's holding an ocean
in my cupped hands
The syllables erupt botanically
until the air is a garden
so I prune cautiously
three red roses
to signify primly
every forest in the world
I'm not a romantic.
I'm an architect feverishly pacing
with visions of the first cathedral
I'm a scientist riddled mad
with want of fathoming space
I'm a skeptic who is poisoned
by the mystery of death
the technology is antiquated
love outdates itself
I love you is no longer enough
but it's all I ever say
It's every word I have ever said.
May 17, 2012
May 17, 2012 at 10:35 PM UTC
Restless eyes,
The luminaries winking,
The night, as if were
The Moon's stage of solitude
Shines vast in the nocturnal glory,
Revealing silken flattery,
The gentle light caresses.
There is a connection
Of the luminal glow
To the eyes whose mind is
Trapped in a cavernous shadow
While fathoming uselessly
Unto the revolving clockwork
Of living,
Like a trance between
An unknown familiarity.
Thoughts carve out timelines
In jigsaw's grip,
The Moon is a portal
In deafening silence,
Faceless memories guided
By forgotten constellations and
One realises the depth of life
And the race of time,
And come sweet soul searching
In the needs of the spirit while
Trembling from regret.
The solitude is an ocean
Keeping one afloat in a
Suspended profile,
Crystalline clarity like a mirror
In polyhedrons,
So much reflection in restlessness.
And we can drown
In this ocean bathed in the Moon,
Like reliving or redoing
All the past making it so
Pure only our souls know
The life lived in another version.
When the thoughts calm
Into the the minds realignment,
The light becomes forgotten
And the nocturnally calm of the spirit
Flies to live another life;
All that remains is the solitude.
Jan 12, 2016
Jan 12, 2016 at 11:32 AM UTC
Yeah , traveling i think is one of the most soul opening , mind fathoming blacksmiths workshop to turn that ore into filigree framework still.
I learnt the art of traveling whilst sitting still this year,
i would say since around june last year - winter forced me into hibernation and several 4 hour meditations forgetting times limitations - but i left to travel in may and since then well , let's just say we've had considerable renovations..
Sep 11, 2013
Sep 11, 2013 at 5:37 PM UTC
Bar me off, Useless! Cryin' a'sighin'– over cliffs, over.
She caught me a'whisperin' at the docks! Far, yea, far;
And when did compersion to the western wayside go?
Feeling let down. Staircase is a'goin' for a day or two!
Distance between two points. Farther, father, fathoming depths.
Low, now! Lower bent! –you, so far bent, did ask him so.
"Chief Joseph– St. Joseph– Won't he have word with me?
Nonsensical, man. Understand! If only for a day or two."
Yea, some men never call. Some callers a'callin' do.
Blue collared jazz blues– You saving it for the morning?
Where the sea meets the land. Find him by the cowrie reef–
I say that's unnecessary. Stand by me for a day or two!
And them stories be so far bent,
all a'tellin' them so:
He fell out! What a falling out!
Talked about for years to come!
And hear they come 'round the bend–
Lessening distance between points. I see horizon.
O' horizon! Yonder horizon! And the sun all arisin' be!
Huddlin'– All huddled like. Beneath the comet's tail she caught me.
Found me all a'whisperin' at the docks... and I say:
"Seaside, O' Seaside! Beneath them netherskies you wait. Yea, if a fool's never foolish are his thought's so foolish, see– I never felt so transfixed. Them waters got a depth to them– Therein lies weight. I talk to still paintings– none be a'talkin' back to me! Minds racing backwards. Would you listen to that still? Silence, she finds me in unnerving non-natural states. Psychosis takes a seat. They say them waters at the western wayside foam! A real, true foam! Froth and cough into your sleeve, white foam! Kiss me on the lips and tell me secrets for a day– Frenzy! Riot on! Whitewaters, subtle sexes, and a midnight matinee. I say what a night– What a comet's shone today!"
Feb 5, 2014
Feb 5, 2014 at 10:50 PM UTC
And after the storm the wind scatters
You take stock of how much of yourself you’ve lost
Checking for new scars and bones rattled
Reeling from the shell shock
Picking up the now rearranged thesis of who you are
Dusting off your soul and it’s unrecognizable in the light
So you sit there in silence
Fathoming every reason you’re still alive
You dive a little deeper
Delving secrets from the mind
You can’t describe what you’re seeking
But it feels like paradise
An infinite calm but only out of the corner of your sight
Contact is imminent
But perhaps this isn’t the time
If not now then when?
It’s the same question presented to you at the eye
After you’ve splayed into everything you will see in ice and shadows
But as you are it stands for something out of reach
And then wind picks up again
As every storm is not without meaning
Jun 9, 2016
Jun 9, 2016 at 5:11 AM UTC
Is this emptiness
or cosmic space
a love for dark or consummate
absence?
You lay there
and I, here
in the same
tangential uniformity.
we are but together
splintered, then separate,
making no difference.
you, in your place
and I, in mine
like some unattended baggage
dragged mechanically
by a tireless conveyor,
a hound in pursuit
of its own tail in intense circles,
left to my own silence brought
to the brink of all the noise.
*
The morning with its peripatetic
crush of garlic and spry birds.
In an unassuming distance
strip to void, teased to rogue,
the light does not arrive with
its usual taciturn warmth;
your mother gives you a pear
to pare and ******
my mother, the same in giving,
yet another thing worth grazing
say, the old skeleton of an empty
wine bottle,
a cold stride past womb-tender
bungalows and sleep-shaped mailboxes.
the feel of its bone , gutted out of flesh.
a compelling strike of silence
permeates more silence – like a prayer thumbed
down to its last throng.
there will be no dialogue.
this is the same quietude
in miles that assume our places.
maybe once you knew this domicile
like the curve of your bow-leg,
or the glint of your inner thigh.
the word “love” falls flat on the surface,
taking its station amongst the masses,
flying with the birds soon dead in their tracks.
the word “love” slits,
cuts open, unloosening a wound,
your mother in the kitchen paring
the flesh from the bone,
and you hear it,
as we look out of separate windows,
the hush churning sound,
spreading on all fours once in this room.
the morning lays out its hairbreadth
wire of memory
in some place unknown to us,
to size the measure our own,
still yet not ours, you in your home,
and I, somewhere outside the world
fathoming shadows their own things not ours.
Feb 3, 2016
Feb 3, 2016 at 8:45 AM UTC
you know,
you can imitate walking like a crow,
hunchbacked with a probing
index of a hand's pentagon
akin to the yellow pages being
itemised - walking like a crow
in the middle of night -
primarily because we started dicing a song
into rhythm deviating from rhyme:
it got boring after a while...
until it's an export, it ain't an import -
so ridicule the seance of hillbillies
in Soouthend for caricature of holidaying;
you can walk like a crow
in the night, hunchbacked, glistening variety of
into the void by black sabbath as accomplice -
crouched the solemn bird agile on foot -
crow walk hunchbacked:
why is the raven like a writing desk?
it's a hunchback on foot or with pen in hand
readied to scribble footprints onto
the slouched backbone of forgotten flight;
hunchback crow walk in the night,
a reverse of a Victorian street lamp lighter -
shadow eater, shadow fathoming form.
Sep 12, 2016
Sep 12, 2016 at 12:19 AM UTC
The truth was ripe
The taste was sour
A rotten sting of my golden hour
Spawn your dust, scarce without stint
A silver tongue to sprawl resent
Yet, blends of clarity and savagery - aligned to devour
your fragile phantom fathoming
that HONESTY isn't POWER
Feb 23, 2015
Feb 23, 2015 at 6:23 PM UTC
I held you up against the sky,
Believing that you could surpass the stars,
Never once fathoming that my heavenly contender
could burn out just the same.
Even all of the stars and sun and moon
Cannot be seen both day and night
And I’ve been trying to figure out
which you are: my sun or my moon.
I tried to make you both,
But you are neither.
You are human.
Mar 5, 2013
Mar 5, 2013 at 3:03 PM UTC
The land beneath me burns away,
what I have always held at bay.
Emotions suppressed, feelings contained,
To whom can I share them without restraint?
Friends and family, Strangers and foes,
Whom will actually understand my woes?
Multitudinal emotions, feelings unrepressed.
Finally I release them, unsuppressed.
Many are in shock, while others in dismay.
They begin wondering, "You were not this way"
You used to be better,
You used to be happier,
You used to be calm,
without this... anger.
Without the sadness expressed from the heart,
Without the anger experienced throughout,
what is left is but a shadow,
a false image, left in the meadow.
Though the path to growth lies in true peace,
amidst its progress lies emotional release.
Without expressing the emotions lying in one,
how can we understand the path that lies beyond?
The path to maturity, growth, understanding,
lies in a place beyond our fathoming.
Amidst this progress a painful tribulation,
Yet waiting for us, is an eventual destination.
Nov 13, 2017
Nov 13, 2017 at 9:39 AM UTC
I'm not angry I'm calculable. I'm a fathom.
That phantoms
are things that people would wish in themselves
alludes me.
We can talk past midnight and our hairs will grey
and our all else will dust. But if the brain remains
then we will have achieved something. And with a computer, too--
as if that time Jesus ascended-- we can travel somewhere
that is not a country and it won't be strange, it will not be
new. It will be as the same thing as everything else has always
been: chance, calculable, a fathoming-- something called for a while
ago by that first big thing with all the light, that first wiggling thing
splitting into two (I skipped a few seconds), that fish
walking, that ape talking
this. Will you
talk to me as if called for? It is not hard. It is any
such kind of speech. You open your mouth,
a sound.
Mar 31, 2019
Mar 31, 2019 at 7:28 PM UTC