"hemispheres" poems
The street
filled with tomatoes,
midday,
summer,
light is
halved
like
a
tomato,
its juice
runs
through the streets.
In December,
unabated,
the tomato
invades
the kitchen,
it enters at lunchtime,
takes
its ease
on countertops,
among glasses,
butter dishes,
blue saltcellars.
It sheds
its own light,
benign majesty.
Unfortunately, we must
****** it:
the knife
sinks
into living flesh,
red
viscera
a cool
sun,
profound,
inexhaustible,
populates the salads
of Chile,
happily, it is wed
to the clear onion,
and to celebrate the union
we
pour
oil,
essential
child of the olive,
onto its halved hemispheres,
pepper
adds
its fragrance,
salt, its magnetism;
it is the wedding
of the day,
parsley
hoists
its flag,
potatoes
bubble vigorously,
the aroma
of the roast
knocks
at the door,
it's time!
come on!
and, on
the table, at the midpoint
of summer,
the tomato,
star of earth, recurrent
and fertile
star,
displays
its convolutions,
its canals,
its remarkable amplitude
and abundance,
no pit,
no husk,
no leaves or thorns,
the tomato offers
its gift
of fiery color
and cool completeness.
11.4k
29/3/13
Bring me celestial music of the spheres
Such notes as dance in colours in the mind
The shimmering of distant hemispheres
Where streams of rainbow nebulae unwind
Bright notes cascade in sparkling waterfalls
Light motes resound in echoes through the breeze
From secret gardens hid behind stone walls
Paradise plays enticing symphonies
Our earthly plane is rife with vexing noise
Cacophanies of thundering machines;
Barkings of dogs, vexed babies in full voice
keep us earthbound, locked into dull routines.
Reach for the headphones, cover up your ears,
Take in celestial music of the spheres.
Mar 29, 2013
Mar 29, 2013 at 12:02 AM UTC
From blossoms
released
by the moonlight,
from an
aroma of exasperated
love,
steeped in fragrance,
yellowness
drifted from the lemon tree,
and from its planetarium
lemons descended to the earth.
Tender yield!
The coasts,
the markets glowed
with light, with
unrefined gold;
we opened
two halves
of a miracle,
congealed acid
trickled
from the hemispheres
of a star,
the most intense liqueur
of nature,
unique, vivid,
concentrated,
born of the cool, fresh
lemon,
of its fragrant house,
its acid, secret symmetry.
Knives
sliced a small
cathedral
in the lemon,
the concealed apse, opened,
revealed acid stained glass,
drops
oozed topaz,
altars,
cool architecture.
So, when you hold
the hemisphere
of a cut lemon
above your plate,
you spill
a universe of gold,
a
yellow goblet
of miracles,
a fragrant ******
of the earth's breast,
a ray of light that was made fruit,
the minute fire of a planet.
6.8k
You once told me that when we die,
we become another star in the night.
I never really cared about your zodiac and lunar signs,
I never paid attention to the solar action shooting by,
You'd wonder if it's magic plans or broken scrap that flew the skies,
You were psychedelic dresses, I was only wrapped in suit and tie,
It never blew my mind until I finally gave your truth a try,
I glimpsed the puzzle pieces in the time before the moon would rise,
A tapestry on galaxies, depicting myths, and human lies,
I guess you proved me wrong again, I was quick to scrutinize.
Now, I'm studying the subjects and sitting in observatories,
Thinking back to when I'd write them off before I heard the stories,
Earth is boring now you're gone, I hope you're up there yearning for me,
Every star's a soul, I'd see you but there's nothing worse than stormy
Nights and light pollution, it's a blinding kind of nuisance,
I'd be admiring your fusion but the sky has turned translucent,
But still I'm plotting charts of stars, I'm always making observations,
Waiting for the day I get to see your face in constellations.
I wanna chase you forever, whether heaven or hell, I'll go,
Can't let you float away, I'll take a world tour with my telescope,
The way I speed through hemispheres, this night will be the death of me,
But otherwise I'd only see you half the year, you're my Persephone,
I'll trek from Arctic harbors, give binoculars to polar bears,
Shiver in my igloo, hands together, say a hopeful prayer,
And no, I won't be lonely there, your soul will be a solar flare,
You'll whisper an aurora, northern lights to let me know you care.
I'll whistle Canis Major and Minor, and let Orion guide me,
I'm quite unlikely to quit, what kind of guy would I be?
To search the Seven Sisters for an eighth and get inside their psyche?
I'll question Cassiopeia, Cygnus, and Pisces nicely,
Ask if they've seen something fishy, and then I'll talk to Taurus,
An orbit tourist, I'm daunted without the gall to forfeit,
So if you're gone, then I'm glad that this was all you taught me,
I live each day for the night and just endure the morning.
Jan 31, 2019
Jan 31, 2019 at 3:50 PM UTC
1104
The Crickets sang
And set the Sun
And Workmen finished one by one
Their Seam the Day upon.
The low Grass loaded with the Dew
The Twilight stood, as Strangers do
With Hat in Hand, polite and new
To stay as if, or go.
A Vastness, as a Neighbor, came,
A Wisdom, without Face, or Name,
A Peace, as Hemispheres at Home
And so the Night became.
4.2k
Grand mamma always told me
Hold your head up proud
And never accept to blend in with the crowd-
Kinna strange the way
I'm parting rivers right now
And how if sitting silent
I'm truly speaking out loud
Long ago and swiftly
Juggling dozens of eggs
Though trying not to split 'em
I tripped up on some pegs
The yoke leaked out
Mixed with the blood
From my head
I didn't whimper yet I knew
My beauty was dead-
But that's how it grows
All you Elaine's and Ed's
Through brazen heat
And tempest sleet
Chewing on led
While inspires cry
And empires fry
That sandstone shifts
And driftwood drifts
Alone I merrily roam
With my for sure's and if's
Never dissuading
The hemispheres
Of my bliss
Feb 23, 2015
Feb 23, 2015 at 1:33 PM UTC
378
I saw no Way—The Heavens were stitched—
I felt the Columns close—
The Earth reversed her Hemispheres—
I touched the Universe—
And back it slid—and I alone—
A Speck upon a Ball—
Went out upon Circumference—
Beyond the Dip of Bell—
3.5k
sitting hungry in the halls
reading holocaust novels with a morbid fascination
two identical scarves knitted by two identical souls;
both hungry for self-love, god-love and the night
one is rewarded by he who weaves the long, black tapestry of his own destruction; the other destined to sit lonely & forgotten
standing idly, lost in the dance of delusion
& moving wildly intoxicated
seeking love, seeking chase
giving flight to the demons of the age
the technological drug-fix of instantaneous communication
the lobotomy of both mental hemispheres
the horse collar choking struggle to escape clinging home and mother's spinning round & round
turning wheels and daisies
kicked up in the dust of the twilit road
retched from the stomachs of a thousand children lulled to sleep
by the sickly glow of orange floodlight
Mar 10, 2011
Mar 10, 2011 at 12:37 PM UTC
710
The Sunrise runs for Both—
The East—Her Purple Troth
Keeps with the Hill—
The Noon unwinds Her Blue
Till One Breadth cover Two—
Remotest—still—
Nor does the Night forget
A Lamp for Each—to set—
Wicks wide away—
The North—Her blazing Sign
Erects in Iodine—
Till Both—can see—
The Midnight’s Dusky Arms
Clasp Hemispheres, and Homes
And so
Upon Her Bosom—One—
And One upon Her Hem—
Both lie—
3.4k
all of
America’s
gubmint hatin
yahoos, pining
to get their
country back,
should grab
yer rifles, stock
up on ammo
and giddy up
down to Texas
to join the
secessionists
headin out
of the Union
Rick Perry
promises to
keep his promise
to close all the
gubmint departments
he can't remember
the names of
Ron Paul will
finally be liberated
from the tyranny
of his federal
paycheck and
can return to
his district to
practice medicine
unencumbered
by the acceptance
of medicare
payments
Ted Cruz will
move to coronate
his Cuban born
daddy as Viceroy
for life of the
western hemispheres
newest banana
republic
the last act of
of the Compartment
of Education will be
to turn every
public school
into a Holy Ghostin
Jehovah meetin
house
Judicial magistrates
will criminalize
poor people
or just make
them slaves
and all prisons
will be turned
into profit driven
plantations,
overseen by
the local
Sheriffs who
will be paid
time and a
half and 15%
of all profits
unfortunately
the Cowboy’s
will lose it’s
moniker as
America’s Team
if rattlesnake
booted
Jerry Jones
can’t make a
deal to turn
his stadium
into a sovereign
independent
territory as a
protectorate
of the USA
To assure
national purity
Texans will
build a Jericho
style wall to
define the boundaries
of their heavenly
kingdom and outlaw
all trumpet playing
within earshot
of their perturbed
borders
The Eyes of
Texas as the
state anthem
will need to
be reworded
The final stanza
will be changed
to "Until Gabriel
blows his nose"
keepin the ungodly
out and the chosen
people safely
insulated within
the shining
Lone Star State
will rise again
as a solitary
confederacy
of dunces
Music Selection:
The Eyes of Texas
Oakland
11/18/13
jbm
Nov 18, 2013
Nov 18, 2013 at 12:25 AM UTC
Wicked nether-land. Nether world, white, askance. Capitulating mangroves, verdant trees spliced with hyperbole, onomatopoeia, and manilla envelopes; her world is stuffed with secrets, she listens to gorillas cracking mussels a kilometer away, near a rill. Never she thought. Nothing that could provide....providence. Mangled heliographs sprayed all over the everywhereworld.
"Don't be S.A.F.E.," she whispered. A bouquet of gorse, cistus, and pimpernels squished in her small fingers. She climbed her way through the pedimented stairway, then collapsing on the porch. Legs spent, and spread out upon the desiccate grayed four by four planks of the portico.
And as time elapses, the shuttering shake of the hemlock, which writhes through her skinny nimble dactyls, upwards straining the heart as its toxic bends appendages- crisp cerise lumens bend on the Titanium White walls, where only shadows bend time. The hour, still nine. Every adornment, furnished with red and its hues. Not purple, periwinkle, or any masked enhancement.
These are the symbols that reticulate splines, that curve temperatures, perverse hemispheres and debunk worlds. Upped antes, verbs that terns flirt worth, birth words. Ooh. Aah. Camera. The forest wraps her in its verdant pasture, where at last the moribund tamarisks disperse.
While at the plateau she is quiet and longing. Arms astride, dangling. Vaunt with highs and bliss- a kiss of withstanding pleasure serves her the cure for a lifetime of whining. This, yesterday where her body rattled through crooked vines. Square ships toasting her vocal melancholy in the sweet-waters of Time. So that all of her ripened limbs could grow, no more sheepishly than the magic she knew as a child. Stress free. First among the Earth-words, verbed-up and made jealous by pronouns that encompassed her joy-brimming hide. Closing down her voice and hugging her from behind.
Apr 26, 2014
Apr 26, 2014 at 4:44 AM UTC
I am like a lone wolf who hastens across the tundra of Northern Hemispheres, with stealth.
Our temperature has risen and the Chinook boldly reveals her austere formation across the vast expanse of alpine variation.
I understand that your customs may be nomadic, as they roam across the treeless plains of baron socialisation.
But will they lead you beyond the West coast of Ecuador?
Therefore, always remember that layers of permanently frozen subsoils are designed for terrestrial corridors of arctic sojourns.
Nov 17, 2013
Nov 17, 2013 at 12:41 PM UTC
(Lines on the loss of the “Titanic”)
I
In a solitude of the sea
Deep from human vanity,
And the Pride of Life that planned her, stilly couches she.
II
Steel chambers, late the pyres
Of her salamandrine fires,
Cold currents thrid, and turn to rhythmic tidal lyres.
III
Over the mirrors meant
To glass the opulent
The sea-worm crawls—grotesque, slimed, dumb, indifferent.
IV
Jewels in joy designed
To ravish the sensuous mind
Lie lightless, all their sparkles bleared and black and blind.
V
Dim moon-eyed fishes near
Gaze at the gilded gear
And query: “What does this vaingloriousness down here?”. . .
VI
Well: while was fashioning
This creature of cleaving wing,
The Immanent Will that stirs and urges everything
VII
Prepared a sinister mate
For her—so gaily great—
A Shape of Ice, for the time fat and dissociate.
VIII
And as the smart ship grew
In stature, grace, and hue
In shadowy silent distance grew the Iceberg too.
IX
Alien they seemed to be:
No mortal eye could see
The intimate welding of their later history.
X
Or sign that they were bent
By paths coincident
On being anon twin halves of one august event,
XI
Till the Spinner of the Years
Said “Now!” And each one hears,
And consummation comes, and jars two hemispheres.
2.7k
Stuck in my head like music,
like lyrics that flow and move
and have meaning.
Like lines from a movie, that
voice is so clear.
over and over in loops,
cartwheeling between my
hemispheres, until,
bleary-eyed,
I rise before the sun, not
exhausted
but
excited!
Wanting more; hungering after it.
Surely it will come;
Surely I can appease my anticipation with some fanciful dream
or maybe the passing of time
will help to curb the realized enthusiasm.
But when poetry flows so
freely and necessarily from
my pen, such energy
cannot be destroyed, so much as
misdirected.
Jun 11, 2014
Jun 11, 2014 at 10:16 AM UTC
if only emotional abuse scarred my skin the way physical abuse did, because maybe then you'd see that your words and your demeanor are the reason why you say i have issues with channeling my anger
maybe if your screams bludgeoned my skin the way a punch would destroy the filaments under my tender flesh, you'd notice how much you're hurting me
and it scares me that you can't even see what you're doing
it scares me that one day i'll be one scream away from erratically fainting to my demise, falling effortlessly to the floor, heart still beating in my chest and brain activity picking up faster than ever before
it scares me that you're not scared
your words are like knives carving my organs with cynical words
"worthless" is inscribed through the hemispheres of my brain
"damaged" is engraved into my lungs
i can't breathe
and im beginning
to not feel anything
anymore
Jul 30, 2016
Jul 30, 2016 at 1:30 PM UTC
~
*Windsong breeze
Playing to the tune of migration
Flight of the Arctic tern
Pushing the boundaries
For greater hemispheres
Internal clocks sound a message though
It is indeed time to go
To wing forth in formation
As they were designed to do
Their wanderlust tempered
By an annual returning*
~
Oct 3, 2021
Oct 3, 2021 at 2:51 PM UTC
in the blue steel sky
where new northern
mornings arrive
and the stark chill
of predawn elementals
reign across the cycles
of timeless millennia
Orion stands, emblazoned
returned from a summer
season of hunting
in far off hemispheres
greeting old comrades
tied to the fixed points
of fluxing terra firma
with mighty sword
unsheathed and risen
to stalk the spare game
of a dire season
in seasons past
i too was once a
great hunter
now i thumb
the dull blade
of my ill used sword
commencing a search
of deep pockets
for a stout heart,
diligent resolve and
a sharpening stone
Philip Glass Ensemble
Orion: India
Oakland
10/25/13
Oct 25, 2013
Oct 25, 2013 at 10:02 AM UTC
I've seen endless galaxies in her eyes,
And I have felt entire hemispheres
Hot and burning
Upon our lips,
The sun and the stars,
Consummating, constellating
Between her hips.
Aug 23, 2017
Aug 23, 2017 at 2:34 PM UTC
How exotic is this curvaceous dance within our brazen synaptic hemispheres?
The scholastic wisdom of the ages boldly pronounces licentiousness when Ashtoreth makes herself readily available to ravenous self-projections of post-modernity.
As we saunter around the parameters of entitlement, the monster will reveal itself with narcissistic glory whilst cotton candy is purchased by naïve populations of bewitched obedience.
Scan the desolate horizon where economical lap dances are nothing more than a mere mirage of repressed Oedipus conflicts.
Feb 25, 2014
Feb 25, 2014 at 10:26 PM UTC
I’m curious about your experience of time. Do you feel like life is moving really quickly? Is your music one way to sort of turn it over and reflect on it?
WILLOW SMITH: I mean, time for me, I can make it go slow or fast, however I please, and that’s how I know it doesn’t exist.
JADEN SMITH: It’s proven that how time moves for you depends on where you are in the universe. It’s relative to beings and other places. But on the level of being here on earth, if you are aware in a moment, one second can last a year. And if you are unaware, your whole childhood, your whole life can pass by in six seconds. But it’s also such a thing that you can get lost in.
How have you gotten better?
WILLOW SMITH: Caring less what everybody else thinks, but also caring less and less about what your own mind thinks, because what your own mind thinks, sometimes, is the thing that makes you sad.
JADEN SMITH: Exactly. Because your mind has a duality to it. So when one thought goes into your mind, it’s not just one thought, it has to bounce off both hemispheres of the brain. When you’re thinking about something happy, you’re thinking about something sad. When you think about an apple, you also think about the opposite of an apple. It’s a tool for understanding mathematics and things with two separate realities. But for creativity: That comes from a place of oneness. That’s not a duality consciousness. And you can’t listen to your mind in those times — it’ll tell you what you think and also what other people think.
WILLOW SMITH: And then you think about what you think, which is very dangerous.
Do you think of your new music as a continuation of your past work?
JADEN SMITH: That’s another thing: What’s your job, what’s your career? Nah, I am. I’m going to imprint myself on everything in this world.
What are the things worth having?
WILLOW SMITH: A canvas. Paint. A microphone.
JADEN SMITH: Anything that you can shock somebody with. The only way to change something is to shock it. If you want your muscles to grow, you have to shock them. If you want society to change, you have to shock them.
WILLOW SMITH: That’s what art is, shocking people. Sometimes shocking yourself.
So is the hardest education the unlearning of things?
WILLOW SMITH: Yes, basically, but the crazy thing is it doesn’t have to be like that.
JADEN SMITH: Here’s the deal: School is not authentic because it ends. It’s not true, it’s not real. Our learning will never end. The school that we go to every single morning, we will continue to go to.
WILLOW SMITH: Forever, ‘til the day that we’re in our bed.
JADEN SMITH: Kids who go to normal school are so teenagery, so angsty.
WILLOW SMITH: They never want to do anything, they’re so tired.
WILLOW SMITH: I went to school for one year. It was the best experience but the worst experience. The best experience because I was, like, “Oh, now I know why kids are so depressed.” But it was the worst experience because I was depressed.
Apr 8, 2015
Apr 8, 2015 at 7:51 AM UTC
The Sun & Earth
23.5 tilted degrees
North Pole & South Pole
Equator
Tropic of Cancer
Tropic of Capricorn
and Meridians
North/South/East/West
Hemispheres
Equinoxes
Solstices
Four seasons
Astronomical phenomena
Today at where I live——
On northern hemisphere
The Garden of Eden
A local Home Depot
The Sun will directly hit
The Tropic of Capricorn
giving us the longest night
and abandoning the North Pole
All it has remembered
is the pole on the other end
Where penguins, whale seals,
and albatrosses will bathe
whole day in full brightness
at -15 degrees Fahrenheit
What a chilling exhilaration!
Could I run away from
this so called winter solstice
this unbearable darkness
this senselessness of
obscurity and wickedness
Could I go to the South Pole
and dance with the penguins?
Dec 25, 2015
Dec 25, 2015 at 8:40 AM UTC
Established landmarks removed test the fates
Burning wind in a vacant sky
Rearranged cosmic hemispheres of mind
Oracle of day not seen with naked eye
The need for warmth a thing of the past
Frigid waters the basis of newfangled cell
Tortured derelicts kept from spiritual vision
Oracle of night hangs in days empty shell
Dubious means to generate a sun of artificial light
But a fling cannot replace a love that is shunned
Yet warm rays of sunlight still flow above the temporal
Still hanging in defiance of the 60 cycle hum
Regain your bearings oh heart of Pure Light
Everything in its place: oracle of day and oracle of night.
Apr 5, 2017
Apr 5, 2017 at 11:22 AM UTC
Squelch into the deepest puddles where sadness echoes her silent heart across physiological plateaus of numbness.
Can I have permission to permeate your being whilst plantations convey their sorceries beyond seeming sophistication?
We must interact beyond the realms of that which is anticipated.
I am sincerely grateful for those broken hemispheres of discrimination,
because we are lost within the parameters of being found.
Mar 30, 2014
Mar 30, 2014 at 10:05 PM UTC
Run your slender fingers through my desert storm, whilst tumbleweed blows past mechanical vineyards.
Although it feels like heaven, it would be fitting to acknowledge the indulgent nature of our deprivations.
How diabolical are our interpersonal dynamics amidst customised motorcycles with forked tongues
where the societal corpus callosum facilitates communication between hemispheres of cultural polarity.
Let us expose the violence that is submerged within suave guises of sophistication.
I am already seated in the dunes of contemplation where the sky at night reveals mysteries of silent amazement.
Feb 7, 2014
Feb 7, 2014 at 10:18 PM UTC
The spirochetes of the ages embellish themselves in a mystical quartet, as our respirations reverberate across sanctimonious plateaus of Oedipus and Electra complexes.
Your celestial convictions are tasteful as they wistfully meander through the fuselage of hydrangea bushes and ***** foxgloves.
I can feel the beat of your apprehensive pulse.
As we applaud the demise of this psychological stage-show, where connected separations unravel their shameful mysteries into a vortex of deluded academia; it is evident when someone communicates deep convictions across pulsating swamps of cosmological hemispheres.
So, as we merge into this cataclysmic vortex of enshrinement, let us embrace the past understanding of future ambivalence where the beginning can only be understood within the context of the end.
May 24, 2015
May 24, 2015 at 12:19 AM UTC