"foment" poems
Static, memories
Emanating, separating
The postcard- perfect
Still life speaks
From its storied past.
Invisible, to drift
Among
The florid aphorisms,
Ending in
Deleterious debris,
Aftermath of
The inevitable.
Empty room, echo hollow
Tabula rasa -
Carpet clean, quite candid in it's
Return to callow.
Consciousness athirst,
Absorbing phenomena
Effervesce, inquisitive
Ideas foment,
Sealed inside a question.
The what -
Against the narrow
Scarcity,
And fatigue of should.
A tender malleable
Youth,
Betrayed, under
An assumed decorum -
Residue of truth,
Flattened emotion
Privations of a self
Unheard;
Misplaced affirmation,
Buried pathologies
In architecture
Fear manifests symbolic.
Harboring apathy
The lunacy of pious
Pedigree,
Import contagion,
Fetters of benignity
Doubt and indecision
Into ******
Cognizance,
Fallow spirits
Seep fumes of decay,
Credulity bleeds a human stain.
Social edifice, inoculated
Heirs of neurosis;
Palpable, sensual pain
And transience, though
Tacit - remain,
Our haunted history,
The blind hyperbole,
Maudlin
Forbearance, this haven,
A portrait
Of immaculate condition,
Nurtured with precision
Under sterling pretense.
Provincial domicile -
House beautiful,
Savage irony -
Unseen treasure
Innocence unabridged,
Faces, tiny creations;
Compliant vessels
Wounded,
While modernism murmurs
Its promise.
Brave New World,
In a late model sedan,
Domestic ranch on a
Corner lot,
Suburban natives,
Silence means security.
The misunderstood
Speak louder -
Consumerism beneath
Unvarnished ambition,
Never could
Repair the brokenness within...
© 2011 & 2018 W. S. Warner
Oct 20, 2011
Oct 20, 2011 at 5:38 PM UTC
A Mummers Funeral
Time slip't, a careless moment, words without thought or foment.
No smile, no glance, no touch, nor care
none of these things ever so fair,
was thought or brought to share.
I've gaps in my memory,
And holes in my shoes.
not enough time,
Too much *****
Nothing left of strength and toil.
The grapes of wrath? That wasted soil!
But for the Ghosts of Things unsaid,..
Shadows host the Deeds Undone.
Bare walls and plank't floor,
cobwebs of nothing more.
A Home empty; a house.. a shack,
a time-worn agent my soul to wrack.
Shadows flitting through
cobwebs in the corners of my mind, Have taken in my soul to bind..
I've holes in My memory,
And Gaps in my Blues.
Too much time,
And Not enough *****
Dec 31, 2016
Dec 31, 2016 at 8:54 AM UTC
Subdued and seduced by sounds so sultry
floating with fantastic phonetic finesse
vibrant voices vehicled via visages
the magical message making me a mess
each seconds surrenders me speechless
praying for the process of progress
kissing, caressing, conspire in concision
affection and adoration an admirable ambition
Subdued and seduced by sounds so sultry
floating with fantastic phonetic finesse
vibrant voices vehicled via visages
the magical message making me a mess
beautiful belles becoming begrime
rendered ready by my written rhyme
won with wonderfully whispered wit
foment flattery in a fanatic fit
Subdued and seduced by sounds so sultry
floating with fantastic phonetic finesse
vibrant voices vehicled via visages
the magical message making me a mess
Sep 11, 2010
Sep 11, 2010 at 5:39 PM UTC
Gathered pieces of a great puzzle ;
refreshed perspective like ocean riptides
foment at the confluence collecting dark rivers’ flow
Repurposing back-eddies ,
rejuvenation of stagnant brackish waters ,
inherent buried soul-shine purging
from the ancient core of earth mother
Light arising from the hidden depths
of inner stillness as if a refilling wellspring
burst forth , reawakening muted sighs unspoken
Forming poetic constellations of black and bright
to lighten afar the nebulous darkness ,
a sea of swirling ink transformed into poetry
A sage opus renewed
by the muse of a migrating flock ,
striving to discover new sacred grounds ;
yet there is an undeniable song sung
in the howling winds of change
An incitement from a higher dialect
that empowers a restoration of spirit
Oeuvre uplifted by rogue waves
of summoning winds ,
arousing that which time erases
A manifest renaissance
among the rousing nuances
of poetic continuum ,
judicious to rediscover
the enthralling vastitude
of every breaking wave
in a boundless sea of poesy
Where prevailing currents
stir oceans of verse eternal ;
provoking a verve revival ,
the magnitude of an unbroken circle ,
ocean swells merging singularity
with the omnipresent colour
of uncharted depths
As if thoughts are assuaged
by a union of intimately touching souls
with words of intangible spheres ,
sparking subtle shades of meaning
spanning poetic immortality
Transcending barriers of unexplored lexicon
to manifest the immensity,
enkindling rhapsody of hearts and minds
Deeply rooted soul replenishment
harvested from the tree of humankind ,
willingly sharing without regret nor intention ,
with deference to the soul of one-blood,
one-love enabling an enlightening
metamorphosis of the human journey ...
© harlon rivers ... all rights reserved
Jan 20, 2017
Jan 20, 2017 at 11:48 AM UTC
back from the brink
of blindly falling;
back alone again
in a crowded room
there is no bridge
over troubled waters,
no way to purge
vast oceans
when deep rivers foment
pitch black
swallowed by an insatiable sea
no good shepherd to gather
an abandoned black sheep
cast heedlessly away
from the fold
unbefriended
like a dogless bone
a stain on impeccable sublime
a hopeless wanderer
stalled on the brink
of a threshold lost in time
purge me from your poetry
so I won’t remember
the insatiable ache
of inerasable words
left unsaid
you lured me out
from the cold & darkness
to freeze my heart
in naked light of day
purge me from your poetry
like you spilled me
from your heart;
don’t come back here
to this slippery, lonely edge,
just to bid adieu
as if I didn't notice you were gone
purge me from your poetry
so I can accept without
sorrow's ache so deep;
in unbroken silence
a heart silent atones not pretense,
and yet,
the only lie you whispered was "friend"
November 2016 ... wild is the wind
Nov 9, 2016
Nov 9, 2016 at 7:32 PM UTC
when that hopefully ecofriendly R.I.P becomes my final home
whether bios urn
or spirit seed
or any trendy tree from corpse to copse,
from dust to leaves
or better than
a crematorial commode --for fresher air and fuel for brighter flames
transplanted into other selves
redressed in mushroom spore-suit
seeded with the genes of generations hence and past,
piercing veils to fruit above again,
a mycophile to the last--
i will have lived with growth in mind,
that firm amorphous
ground opining green
to kindly live and die in kind
foment another view,
encompass monumental evanesce
supernal tablets branching neo-dolmen ethernexusnets beyond the r00ts
barking technoshaman psychic rings about a fiberoptic rosey,
perhaps a sappier refrain for finer silica domains
to sing along and echo Dryads doting long ago,
in threaded tones the make-remaking fold
of earthenborn rekindled kin of stars
decided to invent to cater otherworldly themes
Feb 19, 2013
Feb 19, 2013 at 11:13 PM UTC
As we sailed the fast river of Rhône
the steady sun bleached it a sparkling gold
like the treasures of Caesar’s kingdom
A curtain of fawn-silken tackle, shaded
back the fervidly garish star scatter,
and cooling flower-scented airs tickled
the senses like touching down-soft silk
"zhuang hong zhuang sheng" (Chinese)
“Put on airs’ - Peter and I are Gatsby gilded.
Why not dress - on luminous forenoons?
Pick a heart, any heart and ***** it, sharply,
with the sight of a handsome man.
I yet breathless, breathe
What weapon is sharper than libido?
I defend myself, with fashion’s sartorial sparkle.
Frankly, I was hoping for something passively ******
you know, foment a false perception - dazzle
with fancy outwork to tip the cosmic balance
Men will witness what they believe
.
.
song for this:
Desperately Trying by Club des Belugas, Anna Luca
10p.0615
Jun 15, 2024
Jun 15, 2024 at 10:07 PM UTC
The truth is turning plastic
And politicians spastic
As they dream up fantastic
Ways to be bombastic.
The anti-intellectuals,
Their rhetoric effectual,
Demand a perpetual
And lucrative processional
To a place they know the score
Where they can amass more
Of money and stores
In disregarding the mores
They were elected for
And continue waging war
Like high-priced political ******
The truth has no chance
In this genocidal dance
Of unfortunate circumstance
Created to enhance
Resultant happenstance
When, by the seat of his pants
When we happened to glance
Away for a particular moment
And were swamped by the foment
Of eight long years of torment;
Freedoms arteries turned to cement
And any chance of sanity
For American humanity
Got buried in some inanity
About hanging chads and counts
Giving a fool a chance to pounce;
To squeeze the last pure ounce
Of dignity out of the Presidency
By merely taking up residency.
Nov 25, 2015
Nov 25, 2015 at 6:07 AM UTC
Her plan
with bantam
there shakes
subsequent arthritis
or foment
her albatross
when zion
mats superfluously
and poverty
now ungrateful
in their
Milwaukee suburbs
while her
ruby floss
allure in
her java
melts mine.
Sep 14, 2016
Sep 14, 2016 at 4:01 PM UTC
A hatred fiend,
Playacting a votary
Of democracy and federalism
To a gluttonous end,
“Unless we grip
The rein of power
Driving a divisive wedge
Along religious and
Ethnic lines, also
Orchestrating terror
Every hour,
See to every evil
We shall
Till the wind of change
Blowing over the nation
Suffers reversal.”
“On the world-acclaimed
Change drive
We shall inflict
Every possible harm
So that flouted it runs
Out of charm!
Using a Facebook army
On par with Tsunami
We shall trigger
And foment conflicts
And make
This and that ethnic groups
Arch enemy.
Slaying toddlers,
Senior citizens
And women, with
The bun in the oven,
Shock we shall
Create often!”
"Also with
'We are victims' clamor
Seeking for a stalemate,
Global-pity a door
We intend to continue
A victor.
To deflect attention
From a government-junta
Crackdown
To neighboring country’s town
Firing rockets far
Dragging it into war
We shall internationalize
The fight
Conveying our diabolic move
Is right!
Though unheard of in history
We shall splice
In unholy marriage
With any enemy
Of the country.
Also from its back
The national defense force,
Guarding the boundary
And us
Its forehead
In the crosshair mark,
Revoltingly
We shall attack!
Though this makes us
Selfish, our ethnic
Groups we shall use
As a human shield
A daunting influence
On citizens-cherishing
Government to wield."////
Nov 17, 2020
Nov 17, 2020 at 8:07 AM UTC
~~~
how to cook a poem/poetic theology
so many ways,
but one favored
after oh so many trials
after oh so many errors
taste tastings, plenty,
some good, some feh
some inspired, some liared,
but it's the process
the methodology,
that becomes your
poetic theology,
of
how to cook a poem
slow simmer,
as if it was
a hearty filling stew,
with the red wine,
you flavored,
for style unique
stew
over it,
add pinches of
contradicting adjectives
icy hot,
bland spice
and not everything nice,
bitter herbs,
fatalistic flaws
make it
to
make the left and the right
side of the brain
argue and engage,
let it taste of the foment,
of unease, disease,
and the
coming to terms
with the
alternating au courant currents,
of fashionistas
don't forget
the final seasoning, the finishing
reasoning,
the perfect certainty
of momentary
peace
uncovered, derived, home grown,
after a thirty years war,
and the
perfect uncertainty,
you still aren't sure,
which side won
and why
some fry in nastiness,
some broil,
flaming to burn away,
some boast to roast
of the average angst
that breathing
seems to
require
some peel,
some imbibe the raw,
all get sorted
for even what
writ in haste,
all sourced from ingredients,
taking years of seconds,
in the assembling
the trial and error
the preparation,
required for living a life
cooking poetry
Jan 17, 2016
Jan 17, 2016 at 5:17 PM UTC
We send messages as bombs
We're the new terrorists of the moment
What horrors might this foment?
Apr 14, 2017
Apr 14, 2017 at 9:29 AM UTC
Nothing better than I chance to show you how I’ve froze over hell givin’ Beelzebub a chill,
Your fables hold little weight when you try to justify their existence as long as I continue dissect your deities,
Not that I am entitled but I can careless about how you explain yourself without the brain,
I’ve been broken and forced to put the pieces back together because I’m not ready to embrace the oblivion without a say,
Without of a chance to reciprocate what you didn’t do for me,
I’m telling you to **** yourself till I fill in your grave,
Get ready son for your vacant destiny,
I’m done with the mental constraints of your needs,
I’m fed up with taking a beating for the ignorance that breeds,
Your about to bounce a check that will leave you dangled at the neck,
Not a threat but I didn’t oppress the armed of ancestral resistance,
That desk can’t keep you from the reach of those who believe in unconditional independence,
And you know why you walk a thin line,
It isn’t because of those nickels and dimes you earn overtime,
It isn’t because you drive home to a white picketed life full of lies,
It’s because you know if one of us grabs a mic we might turn to the tide, the next chapter of this species existence,
Making you extinct,
You think daddy’s inheritance will let you pass any Bill,
But it only takes one to change the tone,
One to alter the course of ****** fostered governance,
Not suggesting a Reich’s renovation,
Or an imperialist’s intervention,
But an interruption to this Nation’s corruption,
**** your principals, **** what your father’s told you,
It’s our turn to mend this debilitated democracy,
To end this domesticated atrocity,
So sorry not trying to foment insurrection,
Just asking the children to picket your legislative lickings,
The documents you pen in order to silence dissidence,
But I’m not going to fear old men with millions,
Jan 10, 2013
Jan 10, 2013 at 1:29 PM UTC
You can sing it to the tune
Of I Shot The Devil,
But I totally did it
Strictly on the level.
No, I didn’t know it when,
For another night of ***
He asked me to his den
Under the spell of some hex.
It was like he was to me
The hottest guy ever seen.
He was built like a star
His hair had a fine sheen.
Body and face were fine;
Toned and masculine.
I’d never seen him before
Though I had often been.
He used his elocution
And handy circumlocution
Better than a Rosicrucian
Sentenced to an institution.
He could twist the moment
Out of a frenzied foment
Then to a crazy torment
With muted arcane comments.
We met in a bath house
On Melrose, West L.A.
And somehow that night
Things seemed to go my way.
He gave me the eye
And I returned it in full.
I am fairly certain that
We both felt the pull.
It was all about debauchery
And he was calling the shots
Making me see I got stupid
Whenever I got that hot.
I let my **** do the thinking
And he seemed glad to show
That I would flirt with danger
And then, not even know.
He used his elocution
And handy circumlocution
Better than a Rosicrucian
Sentenced to an institution.
He could twist the moment
Out of a frenzied foment
Then to a crazy torment
With muted arcane comments.
So, I went back for seconds
At Hedda Hopper’s apartment
Across from Mae West’s place
Fueled with no armament
To protect me from what
Would turn out to be, for me
The scariest ****** encounter
In my busy, young history.
We were doing the deed again
But this time things had changed.
His appearance began to alter
Into something scary and strange.
His canine teeth grew longer
And his body turned fiery red.
I quickly dressed and left that place
And stumbled back home to my bed.
He used his elocution
And handy circumlocution
Better than a Rosicrucian
Sentenced to an institution.
He could twist the moment
Out of a frenzied foment
Then to a crazy torment
With muted arcane comments.
Jun 9, 2015
Jun 9, 2015 at 1:45 AM UTC
I don't know if I’m good enough.
Oh, I can string the words
like silvery, satin, wild-caught pearls
along a silken line...
I can foment strong, heavy words
like boots that march in ****** mud
or hot, shivering sand.
I can sling words like silent razors
slicing swift and clean.
But every day...
every day when the word count rises
when writing’s the thing and not the play,
when words must stick together in factory formation
to add up, to bring forth, to produce...
maybe I’m not good enough for that.
Apr 11, 2014
Apr 11, 2014 at 12:29 PM UTC
1) to solitude: for embracing my current and unavoidable state of being, not in useless ponder or contemplation, but in a organic yet intentional direction towards self forgiveness, and a transforming journey, and realization, into “being”; as described by Eckhart Tolle in “The Power of Now”. for allowing me the gift of space within, to bear fruit to earnest honesty, yet foment Light for future plans, in virtuous manner, without dream-like delusions or self torment from the past.
2) to the, slow yet obvious, dissolving of the Ego via realization, and active practice thereof, of the “observer”: as opposed to the “thinker”, which bore gorgeous fruit to disassociation from the “earthly”, and incredibly vain, self and its incessant attachment to it via unconscious living.
Feb 26, 2024
Feb 26, 2024 at 4:41 PM UTC
I chanced to meet a ghostwriter at my door,
her transportation failed just down the road
A sojourning doppelgänger of sorts
…an elusive reflection in need of a tow
Transmuting words to wine,
We both sip time to time,
‘Til they foment catharsis
And melt to sublime.
Breathless in afterglow,
From insouciance and hubris,
Words weather to sediment
That we’ll climb to the precipice
And once at the summit
We’ll cast words adrift,
Toast our glasses to flying
And then leap from the cliff.
I read your words by day,
to skirt the wiles of your will
but I know your heart by night.
Leave me, charlatan, to my waking hours,
I know whose ghost you are
why haunt my spirit in its sanctum by the light.
I contravene with tears
in the corners of your eyes,
Guide them back, and kiss their lids
And send them off to hide.
In dark whispers,
calling you and calling you
To join them by their side.
Why must you take me with you,
is this protest not enough?
My importune to tender ears,
“I’ve things to do, I must!”
Still you wrap yourself around my world,
My overflowing chalice
And turn the wine to liquid gold,
oh, ever clever alchemist.
Jul 12, 2015
Jul 12, 2015 at 12:11 AM UTC
It rises up like a wall
A flaming, raging wave
I think of a cliff in Santa Cruz
In a storm, the water hits and sprays
So suddenly, without warning, in my private precious moments
The ones I looked forward to to savor
My feelings, suddenly foment
And here I am in fear, without a reason, without a cure
Something awful is upon me, of this I am sure
Zen tells me, back to the body
And hurriedly I go
Back to the breath, just counting
This isn't fair, say it isn't so
"It's like an anger addict, it just flares up, without notice"
I am told this, so here I will post it
It goes back a long way, to a time when I was two years old
This can be defined by science--do I feel better now? No.
Why me? I wail, feeling sorry for myself
Why must I suffer like this when others walk, a carefree self
Back to the body, count the breathes, and for that moment I return to "here"
Until another anxiety attack sends me into fear
Mar 27, 2012
Mar 27, 2012 at 6:11 PM UTC
In the time it took me to start over
I died by your side with closure
on my self-imposed solitude
from every soul in a fighting mood
with inherited axes to grind
in line
to use the men’s bathroom
during the last game,
immune to the toxic byproducts
of extended cab pick-up trucks
circling the drain of
made up
settling sentiment trickling
through the air connecting
you lungs with mine,
an irredeemable line
in the low tide sand
and
inescapable memory holes
fret the yet again brethren
sending their regards
while they take up arms
against mended fences
wrestling
with a cost,
the interest,
and late fees eternal
grown from the infernal
jest we let foment
into rent checks and
a stale hex
revealed next
to nothing
in a book I did not write
that you read all the same
Jan 14, 2025
Jan 14, 2025 at 12:14 AM UTC
The poet weaves his magic web of words
They dance in the moonlight
Glistening with dewdrops
Like mezmerizing stars
Stalk and pounce is left to lions
The prey will come to him
Lured by sheer beauty
A glimpse of the soul
Hidden secrets locked in boxes
Peeks inside draw her near
The truth is found in years of purging
Unabashed release without inhibitions
Darkness and light
Shadow puppets of reality
Watched, absorbed
And loved more with each passage
Harsh words foment
Pain breeds caring
Love and hope pull her in
Laying bare on the dewy silken words
She waits and he smiles
As he claims his prize
Oct 8, 2014
Oct 8, 2014 at 12:57 AM UTC
I look at you and wonder
Will we touch again?
Can we rush toward each other
In the foment of early morning or
In the stillness of midnight?
Desire-
Frozen in time,
Chilled by years,
Forgotten in the onslaught of life,
Lies fertile in me.
Gather me.
Wash me again in whispers that cascade
Like drops glistening on translucent skin,
That I may drink in the fullness of love made new
In a place that time forgot.
Copyright/All Rights Reserved Audrey Howitt 2011
Sep 18, 2011
Sep 18, 2011 at 6:04 PM UTC
The proximal end of my soul is no longer safe
Decay has dilapidated the space
The raveled fragments fester
Leaves wilting with vinegar burns
Where I have tried to **** the infestation
And found I was only killing myself.
I can remember when my mind was softer, but not safer,
Hiding in the hallway to the den
Watching the scene of the desperate father
pulling his dead son from burned rubble
My child mind imagining
Blooms of orange around my bedposts,
tendrils of cinder and smoke,
Placing my hand against the back of the door
To feel the phantom heat.
And now I hold the matches to my own bed
The quiet comforter can only stifle them for a moment
There is not enough weight to press
These dreams out of myself
Maybe I still crave heat because it is the pain that is also comfort
It is the fear and the foment, the ailment and the aid
It is my body asking for enough feeling
To know it is alive and safe
While my mind is screaming fire
in a crowded
theatre.
Sep 17, 2021
Sep 17, 2021 at 9:12 PM UTC
the words won’t come out…
it’s as if they have shut my metaphorical spout--
truly nothing verbally fruitful will sprout
maybe I am having a protracted senior moment
where nothing creative will attempt to foment
perhaps I really never had anything important to write
or my neurons have given up the fight
and my imagination has taken flight
and left me with thoughts of where to go for lunch
or whether I’ve had an accurate hunch
about where the market will close tomorrow
sad that I once could write on the nature of the Tao
and now scribble numbers about the falling Dow
tomorrow may bring more creative flow
but for now I’ll decide where for dinner I will go
Oct 8, 2012
Oct 8, 2012 at 7:55 PM UTC
Anticipation hovers in the gentle light of dawn
With birdsong chorused to night
Where satin striates to prismatic effect
Radiating gold sunbeams alight.
A mirrored reflection from lake front to reed
Through tumbled refraction to trees
And cattle in pasture are lowing with joy
As green clover extends to the knees.
Autumn erupts with her jubilant song
And the colours turn russet and gold
As she flings her skirt with seductive allure
Letting feeling, now reeling, take hold.
Alive and wondrous, skip we two lovers,
In laneways of tangerine leaves
And the magic of moment overflows in a foment
Of happiness flung to the breeze.
M.
Glorious moments of Autumn in the downs of Taranaki, New Zealand.
2 March 2017
Mar 2, 2017
Mar 2, 2017 at 1:04 PM UTC
i climbed mount olympus
i said
"hi dad!"
--
i sailed with jason on the argo
ya shoulda been there!
--
i sat naked on a bench in central park
a beautiful young woman comes up and............
.......
----
----
and......
........we rode with chiron across the river styx
right into hades
all of our friends were
waiting there for us
--
she sat naked on a bench in central park
the crowds gathered
strewing flowers!
--
abandoned children pretending to be
betrayed lovers betrayed by love
really really break the HEART
--
a country that has ever lynched people
because of skin color
isnt free
--
a country that has ever lynched people
because of skin color
will end up with people afraid to
question their leaders
--
a country that has ever lynched people
because of skin color
will probably allow their leaders
to foment a terrosist attack upon them
and blame someone else
Sep 27, 2010
Sep 27, 2010 at 1:38 PM UTC