"feedbacks" poems
Of a thousand miles and a thousand smiles
of earth and her footsteps
meandering like a puppet
of friends in Rome
Of a strong zeal
to the dancing hills
Of river of gold
Of cannabis; Of brain surgeries
through the eyes of a seer
and the hands of a poetess
through the storm of the night tears
flowing in the calm of the night tears
over and over
the story goes on and on
and then, of fire and ice
locked within the siege
there are some black wanderers
eerie and uncanny
they come in full force
and storm in with pause
they move; they subserve
they send signals and get feedbacks
they scream through the nights
of the thrills unknown; yet longed for still
together they fall; divided they stand
Shadows, Nightmares and Night falls: Ever Intertwined- the story they tell.
Apr 5, 2015
Apr 5, 2015 at 3:44 PM UTC
When I write,
my thoughts and feelings flow.
When I write,
I'm lost in thought.
I say line after line too many time to count.
Reword, replace, move around, add and drop.
When I write I seek the best.
I seek perfection but imperfection.
When I write I want like,
I need hates and feedbacks.
When I write,
I want everything and nothing.
When I write,
my troubles leave me.
When I write,
I escape reality,
I'm freed from everything.
When I finish...
...I'm dragged backed to reality.
Apr 6, 2014
Apr 6, 2014 at 4:30 PM UTC
There is a number that knows itself
Logic has predicted its numberness at most
but logic does not know to what it matches
Within its coordinateless space
beyond the mind
the number has formed itself
at the expense of fixing
a masterpiece about a lover
made of the shape of one’s desire
becoming that one pure desire
of and to and for All
or simply invisible
known to none
matterless
formless
filling
temporary silhouettes
until
silhouettes collapse
unknowingly
about their
barbapapaic nature
to the unknowing
so
what you call
‘grand’
‘poetry’
the combination of chosen words
made of letters
presenting duality
between me and me
made of the sound of the form of one’s
ever changing body in one’s mind
Vibrates
in such frequency that
when one reads
one connects one to one
*( like in maths –
and a bit more complex than that
considering sensual feedbacks etc :))*
and transforms
almost vectorial to
some resulting frequency
of an irreversible altered state
and a doses of future changes
but such occurrence cannot take place
when once known
OOPS!
such occurrence takes place
if it is irrevocable of the finite shells
of time
a true joker
has a pure skin as such
through a veil of pores
nothingness floats
towards its knowing
keeps oneself as is
unknown to all the separateness there is
Thus the program forgets
(:D = thankfully)
or runs infinitely at a place :
‘this could be heaven and this could be hell’
as in Hotel California
so
you should know for yourself
if you wanna make it love
because
If you not
It’s then someone else
because
It is always someone
as reasoning goes
it is a manifestation of the self
a contextualization of a narrative
as story requires
as story unfolds
I always remind myself to
keep up to one reason just
which eventually are no words
but sound or silence of
a reflection on an expanding
surface of a bubble in pure
unfixable color
Oh
words of preconditioned unoriginals
manifestations of self adorations
what is there to be said or heard or grasped?
when All stories are the same?
Shaped extensions of one source
sticking out repeatedly to tell one thing just
expanding the bubble
within the bubble and the bubble
just
to be heard
once
as big as a
Hum
en route exit as scriptures call it
but am I gonna be able to hear it?
(or you or us … )
Aug 12, 2015
Aug 12, 2015 at 6:12 PM UTC
*by John Keats
A thing of beauty is a joy for ever:
Its loveliness increases; it will never
Pass into nothingness; but still will keep
A bower quiet for us, and a sleep
Full of sweet dreams, and health, and quiet breathing.
Therefore, on every morrow, are we wreathing*
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
**Feedbacks
A poet strives for perfection
Someday his work will become a worldly reflection
With each line he procrastinates,
With each stanza bring unique function and a unique purpose
Reaction, pro action and anticipation
To the point of debating or deconstructing his work
Despite the unfavorable reviews
Should he read it out loud?
Or should he let it simmer
and invite samplers to sample
Too many minds, too many voices
The Metaphors, similes and analogies work so well,
because they make messages,
those closely related literary devices are
so influential, so important.
So when the feedbacks become the Sunday buffets
the main course, you are messing with his thing of beauty
A poet strives for perfection
Someday his work will become a worldly reflection
With each line he procrastinates, of who he is**
Oct 25, 2015
Oct 25, 2015 at 8:20 AM UTC
A hug so awkward
With hands held together,
On a cold night weather
A love story was discovered.
Moments like this should be cherished,
As both hearts reached that line called "finish".
Trials along the lane ade then ill,
Until one felt pain and chill.
Alas hope came back,
But another got stabbed,
All those feedbacks and backstabs one heart held strong.
A hopeful heart still waits,
Hoping an understanding and honesty,
And ask the other to please not choose another.
And the pther heart still waivers,
Losing slowly to uncertainty,
And ask the other to please wait a little further.
Oct 18, 2016
Oct 18, 2016 at 3:16 AM UTC
Knocking On The Doorway Of Eternity
I’m a mystic out and out.
I never shout it out,
But I’m a little ‘high’ right now
(the morning coffee works – and how!)
Simple prayers, requests and hope,
A little child-like – a puppy.
Yet coming by small feedbacks in small ways;
Minutes, hours or days -
It can’t be just coincidence.
It could be basic innocence.
In any case,
Face flushed with happiness -
Muted or giggly.
No great gesture,
Just a cherished jest
‘Tween the divine and me.
A mystic always knocking on the entrance
To eternity.
Knocking On The Doorway To Eternity 4.2.2018 To The Child Mystic II; Arlene Corwin
Apr 3, 2018
Apr 3, 2018 at 12:04 PM UTC