"gaea" poems
I like Homestuck,
Donald Duck,
Ancient Greek Gaea,
APH Hetalia,
Marzia and Pewdiepie,
Random bow ties,
Doctor Who,
That colour of greenish blue,
Sherlock Holmes,
Garden gnomes,
Boy/boy ****
Sweet tea,
Left 4 dead,
Books I've read,
Minecraft,
When I laughed,
Yu-Gi-Oh,
Gateau,
Ender's Game,
Notre Dame,
World War One,
World War Two,
Mouse and shrew,
Bugsy Malone,
Jam scones,
Birthday cake,
Milk shake,
Drawing art,
Taking part,
MLP,
Shopping spree,
Sleeping in,
West Berlin,
Random songs,
When bells go ****
Stars shine,
My blood line,
All my friends,
The latest trends,
Yuri much,
And such and such,
Fanfiction,
A prediction,
Doujinshis,
Marshall Lee,
RhymeZone,
My touchscreen phone,
I could go on,
But that's too long,
But my favourite is,
Hello poetry - so don't diss!!
Oct 4, 2014
Oct 4, 2014 at 4:59 AM UTC
So sell your daughters
**** your sons
Go break your spoken
Vows in tongues
For from these lungs
I storm the loudest
As my furies
Muse the proudest
Wings endowed with shrouds of Nyx
Baptized within the River Styx
So wage petty crusades
And feel
Titanic wrath’s
Achilles heel
For in this heart
My lust will claim
Entire Gaea’s
Set aflame
By bolts of my creative spark
Be sure, I’ve never missed my mark
So bend your knees
And cross your hearts
And mutilate
Your private parts
For by these hands
The story spun
The sickle swung
And shed my young
And led them to the glory sung
Henceforth until the Fates are done
Aug 23, 2018
Aug 23, 2018 at 5:36 PM UTC
I watched the water rise. Creeping down the muddy street. As if a divine force was attempting a stealthy act of insurrection. I didn't have the heart to fight it. Had I only known.
I watched Hell's Half Acre silently succumb to the whimsical (however so pleasantly devastating) path of Gaea. Through this empowering incident I felt redemption like I never had before.
I jumped down from the platform of the livestock pen to personally welcome the satisfying force of nature's purification. The water lashed out and grabbed my leg. At that moment my jubilate spirit spoiled to uncontaminated terror. It was not a redemptive Spirit winding its way through the rail tracks but the serpent Lucifer. Had I only known.
And so in the West Bottoms Tavern I found myself under the ***** shoe of The Machine. A wayward phantom rising from our precarious Kansas River. It drifts through the sweet Midwest like the coal black locomotive smoke that paints a suffocating thick haze above the Stockyards.
A welcome slate of provision. A shelter covering us from the racial tension and poverty smothering the outside world. To those in the Bottoms with unruly desires, a saviour. To those at City Hall with loose morals, the messiah.
And it was at 1908, I nervously pulled the covers over my vulnerable body and sealed Satan's foul kiss with a diabolical red scrawl. We skipped hand in hand through the freshly paved streets of our "wide open" town. I always tried my best to look the other way but I knew full well that I travelled with a gang of thieves.
Nonetheless, everyone votes in our town. A brutal party whip keeps the Jackson County Democrats in line and "Charlie the *** prevents any Rabbits from multiplying.
But I've been working from within the belly of a "whale" for years and I fear we've now run out of ocean. Our arranged marriage has robbed my capacity for faithful navigation. I'm seeking a radical divorce from The Beast, the cost has become inconsequential to me.
So I found genuine redemption. Finally. I closed the driver side door to my sedan and walked out to the edge of the bridge. The water below seemed whimsical (and so pleasantly devastating) in nature, much the same as it had 36 years ago. I pinned this note to the window, and with a Ready-Mixed Concrete block tied around my waist I watched the water rise.
Oct 25, 2018
Oct 25, 2018 at 9:47 PM UTC
Ethereal and Base a harmony so diametric a solid.
Wisdom's forgiveness lands to the unyielding new,
white spray on black lava, merging
elemental minerals in salt water.
Life the mediator, yearns for compromise
algea harvests sunlight at the hard shore, grows into plants
fish munch coral creating sand washing up, a tree's foothold creating soil...
can rock become Earth any other way?
Mother's beauty, an unknowable generous smile
and confident grace from the sun.
Ages
sitting wrinkled and depleted to her waist,
beauty transforms
into unknowable generous laughter alighting graciously from wise eyes,
like a flock of Heaven's doves so close to home
stirred by her running children: daughter and son.
All the while all the yearning is unrequited.
For her children, Beauty is vertigo,
painful reality rooted to the shore.
Eyes long for the horizon, Vision Country
between sky holding its breath and water measuring out patience,
The heart spills out futile on the crystalline sea,
but Sadness, belonging to clear water,
lightly buoys lonely Ecstasy,
Completes the voyage.
The Vision pairs selfless love with unmet desire,
opposites' harmony the firmament,
but the sound breaks from tension and the echoes fade,
and the senses footing gives way;
vertigo with dove's wings tied shut.
Descending minuscule between dissipation
falling through molecules of bliss,
and diffusing atoms of despair,
to the last remaining positive and negative
and the tension's silver thin wire between.
It cuts tied wings free,
slingshots the dove's soul back up,
at the last second, the tension's iridescent thread tangles loosely on her foot.
She hurtles back up through the scales of size:
Microns, amoeba, minnows, birds, primates, people,
over trees, looking down at cities, mountains, yet higher
borderless nations, green and sand continents,
and again all the crystalline blue seas.
The silver filament draws taut, holds the dove's ascent,
wings slowing in awe as she views Mother Gaea
her intensely brilliant sphere accompanied by vivid tiny stars.
in a cold cold soundless night...
Grandmother teaching her children to fly;
Beauty's yearning realized complete.
Jan 22, 2013
Jan 22, 2013 at 8:52 PM UTC
Home.
Three.
Two.
One.
Ignition;
We ascend.
Faster now;
Ground control:
Are you there?
Systems functional.
Slip past gravity,
Escape velocity;
Break Gaea's bonds.
Fuel tanks go.
One.
Two.
Past Luna,
Towards Zeus.
Aphrodite's horizon.
Sol's pull,
Too close,
My wings burn.
Faster now;
Cronos looms;
Rings shimmering.
Faster still.
To Caelus,
Beyond the sky.
To Poseidon,
Past sea's shore.
With Hermes,
The gates of Hades.
Edge of home,
Losing touch.
No longer domestic.
Three.
Two.
One.
Gone.
Apr 9, 2013
Apr 9, 2013 at 1:03 PM UTC
The yucca plant from my mother’s garden sits
unattended and on the verge of death next to her
eldest rose bush, now wildly overgrown and lightly
blushing in the cosset of the midmourning sun. Its
withered rosettes droop down to its bed of maroon-stained stones
in crisp, harum-scarum patterns as if the plant is spending its life
like currency trying to touch its toes. I oftentimes
find myself wondering if the reason behind this
slow rotting of mother dearest’s garden is hidden within her
five-year absence. If I didn’t know any better, I’d say
her nursery missed the d
i
g
g
i
n
g
of her weathered hands.
She was the biosphere of my world; I suppose that
it only makes sense for the earth to match my thirst. We
sit side by side, that yucca plant and I, as we struggle to
nod our heads towards daylight while we rise on
the side of the house that is more or less
cloaked in shadow; the side that she would sunbathe
on during scorching late afternoons. Perhaps without her
body giving shelter, all her garden is doomed to
atrophy like muscle in the sunlight.
I find irony in the way that my mother’s favored plant
was the “ghost in the graveyard;” a perverted parallel
to the game that she never wanted us to play. I think it to be
sort of sardonic that her pride swallowed the possibility of
a cure being found within that ****** plant’s roots. She,
a third generation American girl,
had blood as muddled as the mud
that buried that yucca’s heart.
The boundary line between Mother and
nature coalesces into one:
Gaea
six feet under
melting into soil
I hope she becomes seawater.
Apr 5, 2014
Apr 5, 2014 at 1:41 AM UTC
your skyscrapers are just overgrown hairs
gaea has neglected to shave.
Aug 20, 2017
Aug 20, 2017 at 7:27 PM UTC
Like morning dew set like a duvet over the frail grass
mist laying thick but yet frail and thin like glass
stars still glooming on Gaea's black arch far above
pines resting deep until dawn calm thereof
the silence only broken by a mourning dove
not breaking, being of the serenity one of
only at times as these I can feel at bay
my own doubts can not even make me sway
for once I feel whole...
May 19, 2016
May 19, 2016 at 3:56 PM UTC
Oh, to sail upon the sea.
To brave that which so scares me,
To leave land and life behind,
To sever those ties that bind.
To experiance all those amazing places that I so want to SEE!
That will be something that will forever impact me.
But oh,
Can it happen?
I don't know!
I'm really sick in my body,
Even though I have never said,
It is true that at times I,
Who so loves life,
And beauty.
Have wished to be dead.
Sometimes it is hard to continue on,
But I CAN be strong.
Because I want to experiance those places,
To see,
The world,
The tropics,
Those places,
That make me hope and dream,
The sea and its steams,
There is so much to see!
Dear God,
My lord,
heal me,
Let me be healthy,
So that I can live my dreams,
And photograph,
And experiance,
All that is in my heart,
All that is me.
I want to feel hot white sand beneath my feat,
To stand underneath the Saharan sun,
to feel that great heat,
To Stand upon Rapau Nui,
To FEEL that island beat,
I want to gaze upon the pyramids,
That are ages old,
To gaze upon greek statues of Zeus,
Marble and Gold.
To see forests,
Forever untouched by man,
To visit places,
Unique upon all the lands.
Seattle is my home,
From Father Mountains,
And Mother sea,
But I want to see those places that I always dream of.
Lord,
God,
Let me be free,
Let me healthy.
Or,
To hell with that,
Let me,
Be,
Tenacious enough,
To do what I dream of,
Anyway,
Good God,
Just let my spirit soar,
Let me see,
Let me Photograph,
Just,
LET ME BE FREE,
Just let me open my eyes to beauty,
and let me see.
(with camera in hand)
Long I stand,
Healthy or not,
Let it be known,
Life's,
God's,
Gaea's,
Great beauty,
I have sought.
Gone on too long,
This poem has rambled.
Dear lord,
Let me,
See.
At the end of my days,
Be it months or years,
Let me see those mountains,
Seas,
Shores and streams,
Let me see those places,
that constantly show up,
That shine through my dreams.
Let me see,
With camera in hand.
Sick or healthy.
Every part of me,
Will do my damndest,
to fight,
To take pictures,
and to stand,
Upon those shores,
sands and streams,
that beckon me,
through my dreams.
Sep 7, 2012
Sep 7, 2012 at 12:28 AM UTC
I call upon their harmony
They honor me with artistry
The pupils of Apollo's
Lyre resonant inside of me
Calliope adventurous,
Intrepid in her recklessness
Emboldening my will to lead
The unenlightened on this quest
Through Clio's scrolls of history
My oracle clairvoyant
She has graced me with the vision
Of the future sky chatoyant
And a buoyant sea of Euterpe
All floating through the lyricist
That synchronizes all of this
Into a metamorphosis
Evolving as Erato's love
A heart as soft as silk
A dove, tabula rasa thirsting for
The Mother Gaea's milk
To rise from Melpomene
Masks of tragic flaws of Icarus
For I divine the comedies
Thalia simply can't resist
Polyhymnia, Terpsichore
My rarest of expressions
Still reveal themselves in forms
Of spirit guide possessions
When Urania in cosmic bliss
Transports me to the stars
Reborn again to join them
As Mnemosyne's memoirs
Aug 30, 2017
Aug 30, 2017 at 1:11 AM UTC
with the clock ticking restlessly
as my heart fondly wishes
to rest my palms against your dips
the valleys your waist had created
full of mountainous curves
the arch of your back carving hills
there's no denying that your rivers
so onyx, bringing Styx to shame
cascading down your mid-back
each strand flowing so elegantly
my hands desiring to feel its silky texture
and to finally let our fingers intertwine
the twigs growing on our trees
now blooming iridescent florae
the mundane in you never existed
for the emerald in your irises
flusters butterflies as they flutter
their wings carrying them curiously
to view your angelic ethereality
which was, not so ethereal;
but more grounded, rather earthly
it is unfair to profess you as my angel
as you represented mother nature
you are my Paradise Lost
for Gaea trembles at your divinity
my Earthly Venus, you have captured me
under your trace of beauty
Sep 23, 2018
Sep 23, 2018 at 5:22 PM UTC
*
*Born in chaos dawn
Led by her defiant heart
Rise to conquer plains
*
*
Aug 16, 2020
Aug 16, 2020 at 1:33 PM UTC
Tethered no more by this umbilical chain
We break through the shell - Burst through the seed
Fingers laced and reaching up toward the big blue
Eyes gaining sight, sight meeting light
We bathe ourselves in the warming glow
Sol's sweet kiss to ease and simmer
Terra's touch to point the steps
We haven't much further to climb
-
Tree of Life - Home - Mother - Bed
Your roots we leave for Eden
Sky of Thought - Dream - Father- Blanket
Your wind will guide our wings
We gain friend in fire, rock, and storm
To tinker with the gifts of Titans
Together we rise and seek the stars
So we may spread the songs and preach the past
-
We go by Gaea, We go by God
Underneath our pagan star's shine
At night, symphonies will charm them
And we dance together until we fade
gain we lay into the palms of dream
The fingers of sleep, clench to a fist
Grinding us down to the finest of dusts
To glow and blow into the zephyrs
-
Sep 3, 2013
Sep 3, 2013 at 1:32 PM UTC
Prelude:
How could this have come to be, this life, so ever-changing?
these laws that pushed the smallest things to pull the greatest mountains?
and what could cause the chance to think and wonder why we can?
Sophia flowed through mystery where Logos formed a plan.
Act 1: Epigenesis
First Interlude:
At the heart of sacred grounds, a man claims what is righteous
with ****** standard pointed proud and conduct that disguises
a savage pulse, an ancient thirst; is Cronus set in stone?
Impressing eager, weaker men, Saint George goes on and on.
Act 2: Saint George
Second Interlude:
Where the wood once bloomed unbound, a shaft of ivory rises
and reigns above a throne of clouds, where veil of white disguises
a wilting rose, a potted plant; did Gaea plan her fate?
Behind the stained-glass window's view, Joanna meekly waits.
Act 3: Joanna
May 10, 2011
May 10, 2011 at 6:34 PM UTC
Strip you of your resources,
Growing exponentially with time,
Only to be left as our scars to nature
Mother Tree why do we treat you so Poorly.
Is Humanity here to show the end
To the objects that give us life.
From Oxygen producing plants
To the water that sustains our life
Is it our job to destroy the Mother
Who has nurtured us since we suckled
As a virus on this beautiful planet
Depriving Gaea of her own necessities
No Human wisdom can lead my answer
So tell me please.
An answer to one true question worth asking..
"Are we only existing to destroy you,
Or shall we live WITH Earth rather than ON?"
Feb 18, 2014
Feb 18, 2014 at 4:15 PM UTC
"With sunshine gone,
My solemn smile fades away,
And all are left are clouds of gray,
Remnants of the death of dawn.
The light of day,
As quickly it came it now has left,
Our cries of joy we are bereft,
Path of our lives we've gone astray.
The tears, of our dusk
Wash away, what is just
Trust in God, trust in Satan
What is given, what is taken
The losses, we fare
The crosses, we bear
The stars, shining bright
Of my Mother, the Night.
The chilling breeze,
The warmth of Gaea goes from me,
Now a lonely, soulless effigy,
Nothing to put my mind to ease
The halcyon obscure,
Frosted and yew-scented nightmare
Frightened and scared beyond compare,
That my ailment will never see a cure.
The cries, of our dark
Wash away, what is stark
Trust in Heaven, trust in Hell
What has risen, what has fell
The losses, we grieve
The souls, we receive
The moon, glow with glee
To my Mother, set me free."
Dec 2, 2009
Dec 2, 2009 at 11:15 AM UTC
“Oh young one,
How much adoration I bestow upon thee!
For the sweet whispers of thy song,
shall provide nectar for thy birds and bee’s.” – said he.
“But what are these tears from Heaven?”
she curiously curses to thy God’s above.
“Why should you allow Heaven to weep so,
in your Almighty presence?”
He places his hand gently upon her face and whispers,
“Divine darling, oh love, shall you see,
that without Heaven’s tears, cease to exist,
would thy birds and bee’s,
you love so graciously!”
Apr 9, 2012
Apr 9, 2012 at 1:16 AM UTC
I fell in love with you one night in September
When crickets sang an ode to Autumn
When Gaea’s palettes matured to tones of herself
to the leaves, falling like tired angels
I remember the dying painter spitting his last few colors onto the sky,
Warm scarlets that professed themselves to be deep ceruleans and violets
When we watched, spaced, from the yellowed creaking picket fence
Wind chimes sighing in the subtle breeze.
You were the artist, a divine manifestation,
Wisps of hair breaking through your perfected face
An ocean of complexion in your eyes, hiding secrets
Reap the grains of my affection, throw it in the pitch
But I was colorless, achromatic
A beige canvas
You played me with your hues and tones and tints and
splatters of pigment
Sometimes, I’m painted vibrant oranges and yellows and reds and
pondering in sunflower fields, gentle raindrops resting on our shoulders,
crackling bonfires, leaping flames.
Pleasant comfort.
colors fade.
Vibrancy grows faint under grey.
Winter frost slithered to your heart, turned jet-black
Boreas’ wind swept you away.
Tobacco-scented Icarus, you’re bound to fall.
Ah, snowy white procession of death, take me!
Bare skeletons of trees shiver in the morning chill
A heaviness carries the shattered ice of your eyes
Unforgiving, piercing, daggers to my soul.
You fell in love with him one night in December, and I wait.
Minutes liquify, oozing to hours, seeping through cracks of my sanity.
Nov 19, 2017
Nov 19, 2017 at 2:32 AM UTC
The crumbling husk of a little brown spider
chases after a swatted fly.
Not for a meal to replenish his brittle figure,
but because he envies such a glorious death.
This day is not for the covetous,
nor for the weaver. That eight fingered hand.
This is a day marked for interment by rain.
Both to be washed in Gaea's reshaping womb.
If God made dirt, and dirt don't hurt,
then why do we feed it the dead?
Whether mogul, scholar, radical, or drifter-
in soil we are stripped of semblance and class.
Man, beast, lain down as equals - offerings
to a hungry celestial wanderer.
The soaring nomad, mindlessly migrating.
Circling an eye of fire. Star sailing.
Ashes and dust. Blood and bone.
Thought and memory. Feeling and dream.
Our lives are poured into a basin of stone,
from a pitcher containing the constellations.
Every drop, a cosmic reflection
tethered by a silver cord to the present.
The perspective of heroes and house flies
is separated only by sensation.
Aug 22, 2013
Aug 22, 2013 at 11:20 AM UTC
The safety of the black, winding, snake of a trail is like an arrow pointing me home.
I flee from this serpent of tar, for the promise of discovery awaits me at the bottom of the hill.
I’m surrounded on all sides by the Sylvan Queen, her antlered familiars, and her army of trees.
I need only to march east to return to the realm of men and metal, but the woods beckon still.
I blanket myself under the brittle fallen leaves that have felt autumn’s kiss and gravity’s hand.
With hesitance, I find myself starting to give in to Gaea’s soft spell of slumber.
I hear the hymns of the birds in their language true and old.
I see the dreams of the cicadas painted vibrantly in the overcast sky.
Aug 21, 2013
Aug 21, 2013 at 12:29 PM UTC
The distant clop of war horses echo
The chainmails heavy like a burden
Wetting the lips like a starved gecko
The battle was like that of Verduns
My figure now stained crimson red
My mind now haunted by dark idea
To concur we made many men dead
My truth of now existences as Gaea
Mother of all time and the titan king
Destroyer of all in ridged cold combat
The steady deep echoes of armor dings
Now its time to hang the old battle bat
Peace now constant for the new age
Time leaving a new fresh blank page
Oct 1, 2013
Oct 1, 2013 at 11:57 PM UTC
If you ever see me,
hugging someone,
let me remind you first:
the days, nights, hours,
minutes, and seconds
of silking waves
dashing on shores
of rocks, sands,
splashing to reach
the cottoning skies,
of our locking ears
capturing candy melodies
of Eden voices,
who sound as if
they were listening
to what I touch,
to what I see,
to what I absorb,
of my soft carrying
of such beautiful globe,
I, your Atlas,
You, my Gaea.
But then you choose
to desert me still,
to stay on his shores,
of overrated sands—
stones, rocks, pebbles,—
as if addicting as
their addicting brothers.
I tried, my dear,
to ride this boat,
to leave that shore,
full of echoing sands,
diamonds to your eyes,
cigarette ash to my hands.
Remember, my love,
if you ever catch me
locking my arms
with another wings
only as welcoming as a home,
for my heart overflows
with unused salt water,
and here is someone
who chooses to catch
every single droplet
of such salty sugars.
She understands,
I do hope so,
that it was not
a tie of everlasting string,
for my soft diamond rope
is still connected
to the harbor of your shores,
waiting for you
to pull it back,
the moment you will utter,
Escape, Escape, Escape.
--for A.
Mar 17, 2011
Mar 17, 2011 at 6:28 AM UTC
Find sanctuaries under other people’s rib cages.
Count all their heartbeats, each exhale,
Wipe down dusty lungs and old notebook pages.
Bite down on bones and fingernails.
Whisper to yourself, “I will prevail.”
Peek out from behind the diaphragm and skin.
The world is foggy through this veil;
This is how familiarity begins.
Old highways only lead you to stages,
ravine edges and steep drops with no rail,
where wanderers have pilgrimed for ages.
You hesitate to fly; you fear you will fail,
unable to follow wanderlust’s trail.
You’re weighed down by all your past sins
and the mountains you turn to scale.
This is how familiarity begins.
In someone else’s heart, a hurricane rages,
sleet and thunder and head-sized hail.
Memory lane’s speed limit has no gauges.
The mountain drops angry avalanches of shale,
So close your eyes and determine to prevail.
There’s no way to count your wins;
The sun is rising and the sky turns pale.
This is how familiarity begins.
Curious, how feelings are so frail
under mountains and ribs, the outs and ins.
Veins and dirt roads trace the trail:
You’ll start to see how familiarity begins.
Sep 4, 2017
Sep 4, 2017 at 10:02 PM UTC
Sparkling fauna emerald green, organic lifeblood bleeds.
Molten blasting magma screams, brimstone preacher speaks.
Freezing water frigid creeps, Poseidon's clarion shrieks.
Blackness, ****** human greed; Gaea's suffering.
Corrupted souls, riddled with filth. Void of empathy and guilt.
Crossed with fate, blind with hate. Tear the fibers, desecrate.
Unholy thoughts to Hell dedicate, quickened pulse, frightened rate.
Can't run away, horrid dreams mutate. Steel fangs in neck with death's weight.
Child of stars and moon, watercolor streak crystalline.
Metal mind fragment, bristling tesla machine. Lightning-blue bloodstreams.
Twisted man's being, child of nothing. Made hellish and free.
Stitched visage shows war-torn beast, ghastly and crazed, shivering bleak freak.
Corpulent avarice, altered being, raised to moonlight, stricken, striking.
Drained by bloodletting, desiccated. Once live and free but now ill-fated.
Skin like armor, baneful valor. Built to survive and smother the cowards.
Towering servant to the unholy knave. Servant to the call of the endless grave.
Mar 21, 2014
Mar 21, 2014 at 12:06 AM UTC