"hungering" poems
"O ye, all ye that walk in Willowwood."
D.G. Rossetti
Two gazed into a pool, he gazed and she,
Not hand in hand, yet heart in heart, I think,
Pale and reluctant on the water's brink,
As on the brink of parting which must be.
Each eyed the other's aspect, she and he,
Each felt one hungering heart leap up and sink,
Each tasted bitterness which both must drink,
There on the brink of life's dividing sea.
Lilies upon the surface, deep below
Two wistful faces craving each for each,
Resolute and reluctant without speech:--
A sudden ripple made the faces flow
One moment joined, to vanish out of reach:
So those hearts joined, and ah! were parted so.
21.1k
Young people can you feel the suffering?
roca wear, gucci, apple, facebook, mcdonalds, apple bee's,
honda, lamborghini, harvard, Community College
american express, pnc bank, walmart
Wage Slaves, ceos, owners, lenders, renters, indebtedness
Structural dehumanization, systematic mechanization
Exploited labor feeding blood to your hungering consumerism
Young people you are embracing MISANTHROPY!
Embracing the hate of your own humanity! Why the hypocrisy?
Wealthy children, poor children
Trying for enlightenment through education
Parents garnering wealth through the oppression of their victims
Parents garnering debt through the oppression from economic inequality
Still you invest and promote the only legitimization of your being: CAPITALIST UTILITY
Capitalism engineering unrelenting misanthropy
Vicious economic system discarding humanity
Perfecting the concentration and accumulation of wealth
With the expansion of human alienation and murderous competition
Prostituting your body to labor exploitation and consumerism
Where does your wealth end up?
multinational companies? financial corporations? military arms contractors?
Loyalty lies in their pockets, backstabbing everyday tactics
Killing you through the exploitation of your body
Because they know the birth of another proletariat or bourgeoisie can replace you
Entities, not human, how much have they bought you for so that you cannot see!!!
Beware of these misanthropic missionaries granting your body power and agency
When your body can no longer be plundered for profit you will taste tears and blood
Young people will you deliver your forefathers and fathers
From worshiping capitalist misanthropy?
Mar 9, 2013
Mar 9, 2013 at 12:56 PM UTC
The memory of you emerges from the night around me.
The river mingles its stubborn lament with the sea.
Deserted like the dwarves at dawn.
It is the hour of departure, oh deserted one!
Cold flower heads are raining over my heart.
Oh pit of debris, fierce cave of the shipwrecked.
In you the wars and the flights accumulated.
From you the wings of the song birds rose.
You swallowed everything, like distance.
Like the sea, like time. In you everything sank!
It was the happy hour of assault and the kiss.
The hour of the spell that blazed like a lighthouse.
Pilot's dread, fury of blind driver,
turbulent drunkenness of love, in you everything sank!
In the childhood of mist my soul, winged and wounded.
Lost discoverer, in you everything sank!
You girdled sorrow, you clung to desire,
sadness stunned you, in you everything sank!
I made the wall of shadow draw back,
beyond desire and act, I walked on.
Oh flesh, my own flesh, woman whom I loved and lost,
I summon you in the moist hour, I raise my song to you.
Like a jar you housed infinite tenderness.
and the infinite oblivion shattered you like a jar.
There was the black solitude of the islands,
and there, woman of love, your arms took me in.
There was thirst and hunger, and you were the fruit.
There were grief and ruins, and you were the miracle.
Ah woman, I do not know how you could contain me
in the earth of your soul, in the cross of your arms!
How terrible and brief my desire was to you!
How difficult and drunken, how tensed and avid.
Cemetery of kisses, there is still fire in your tombs,
still the fruited boughs burn, pecked at by birds.
Oh the bitten mouth, oh the kissed limbs,
oh the hungering teeth, oh the entwined bodies.
Oh the mad coupling of hope and force
in which we merged and despaired.
And the tenderness, light as water and as flour.
And the word scarcely begun on the lips.
This was my destiny and in it was my voyage of my longing,
and in it my longing fell, in you everything sank!
Oh pit of debris, everything fell into you,
what sorrow did you not express, in what sorrow are you not drowned!
From billow to billow you still called and sang.
Standing like a sailor in the prow of a vessel.
You still flowered in songs, you still brike the currents.
Oh pit of debris, open and bitter well.
Pale blind diver, luckless slinger,
lost discoverer, in you everything sank!
It is the hour of departure, the hard cold hour
which the night fastens to all the timetables.
The rustling belt of the sea girdles the shore.
Cold stars heave up, black birds migrate.
Deserted like the wharves at dawn.
Only tremulous shadow twists in my hands.
Oh farther than everything. Oh farther than everything.
It is the hour of departure. Oh abandoned one!
14.2k
Listening ears don't come easy
Most come with mouths harbouring wagging tongues
Pouncing on the chance to retell your story
Exploiting your need to empty acrid lungs
Listening ears, they're indeed very rare
Unidentifiable no matter how well you know
Lurking behind a mask of concern and care
Sweet words employed so your cards you'd show
Listening ears could be just a myth
An idiom to quench the thirst to confide
Listening ears sometimes come with fangs for teeth
Hungering and lusting for your trust and pride
Listening ear, oh why you come with a mouth so foul
Why the cunning trickery and unscrupulous deceit
Kindness as bait, when in fact you prowl
Many none the wiser until they are bit
Listening ear, in you I gave my trust
I bared my innermost and gave my all
Hoped that you'd soothe my ailing crust
Instead you lifted me high only to watch me fall
Dec 30, 2014
Dec 30, 2014 at 7:51 AM UTC
What smouldering senses in death’s sick delay
Or seizure of malign vicissitude
Can rob this body of honour, or denude
This soul of wedding-raiment worn to-day?
For lo! even now my lady’s lips did play
With these my lips such consonant interlude
As laurelled Orpheus longed for when he wooed
The half-drawn hungering face with that last lay.
I was a child beneath her touch,—a man
When breast to breast we clung, even I and she,—
A spirit when her spirit looked through me,—
A god when all our life-breath met to fan
Our life-blood, till love’s emulous ardours ran,
Fire within fire, desire in deity.
9.2k
when the proficient poison of sure sleep
bereaves us of our slow tranquillities
and He without Whose favour nothing is
(being of men called Love)upward doth leap
from the mute hugeness of depriving deep
with thunder of those hungering wings of His,
into the lucent and large signories
—i shall not smile,beloved;i shall not weep:
when from the less-than-whiteness of thy face
(whose eyes inherit vacancy)will time
extract his inconsiderable doom,
when these thy lips beautifully embrace
nothing
and when thy bashful hands assume
silence beyond the mystery of rhyme
6.3k
I was sick of being a woman,
sick of the pain,
the irrelevant detail of ***
my own concavity
uselessly hungering
and emptier whenever it was filled,
and filled finally
by its own emptiness,
seeking the garden of solitude
instead of men.
The white bed
in the green garden--
I looked forward
to sleeping alone
the way some long
for a lover.
Even when you arrived,
I tried to beat you
away with my sadness,
my cynical seductions,
and my trick of
turning a slave
into a master.
And all because
you made
my fingertips ache
and my eyes cross
in passion
that did not know its own name.
Bear, beast, lover
of the book of my body,
you turned my pages
and discovered
what was there
to be written
on the other side.
And now
I am blank
for you,
a tabula rasa
ready to be printed
with letters
in an undiscovered language
by the great press
of our love.
4.9k
The Albatross
Lone de-odorizer of the toilet
Its smooth contour covered in a clear blanket
Wrapped around with cheap plastic,
Adorned with cheap silk, the semi-lucent plastic
Like unwrapping a yema
It smells very sweet. Very, very.
You seldom notice this white bird
In your long hours of comforting, brooding
Hungering for attention beneath the swollen toilet
Asking for unwanted pleasures
The toilet asks "why must I feed?”
The Albatross mums in its silent reprieve.
Still you didn’t notice the wounding
Of your smooth oily toilet
In long comforting hours of sleep;
No, only excretion is wanted here.
The albatross takes away the scourge
The scourge beneath your noses
And still you didn’t notice
The glory in its inexistence
(Paolo Jerome D. Cristobal / June 28, 2008)
Sep 17, 2017
Sep 17, 2017 at 12:00 PM UTC
*
~for Bill T. Jones~
two poets, laureates both,
on the nature of hunger, they discourse,
in temple, where sacrificing is to living arts
I was there, hungry in every aspect,
seeking wisdom of the hungering nature of human.
examine the word, hunger,
hardly a rolling off the tongue mellifluous.
you growl it from the gut, in gowned resplendent ugliness,
go ahead, try it, it’s coarse and powerful insistent.
awoken empty but for the hunger, hungover from
dancing words and imagery not mine, now mine,
maddeningly demanding my dutiful attentions,
as if hunger was the master, me, obedient pupil.
the clean white slate the IPad re-presents repeatedly,
insulted that I have yet to crayon color it with the coherence
of hunger-exhaled words, dismissive that I am but an also-ran,
my village of lexical too unsophisticated,
the page addressed yet unplanned,
Apple white
is the color of the
starving artist.
May 26, 2019
May 26, 2019 at 1:44 PM UTC
I am a nymph, caged in a greenhouse,
arms overgrown by white orchids;
my lover has hidden me away from the world.
Little goats keep me company,
nipping the orchids which cover my arms.
I dream of the forest, the babbling brook,
the laughter of rain,
hungering for freedom, the touch of the moon.
Like in a desert do I feel here,
this love suffocates me, drying my roots
until I wilt from this illusion.
And when he comes to water me at dawn
greeted is he by my frail still body,
a coffin spun by diamond spiders.
Mar 21, 2014
Mar 21, 2014 at 5:17 PM UTC
Muck bit her ivory nightgown, as if earth hungering
after her...the delicate collapse of a napkin,she.
Hours poured atop her head, her shaggy, silvery
mane suspended--its reluctant bounce captured
at midpoint...as a spiderweb under ultraviolet light.
Desert sands lost in contemplation, reminiscent of
her flesh--divulge her core as she sleeps in a
fetal position.
Her body spasms awkwardly...its will visibly slowed
from initial motion.
As the paralysis experienced by prey amid the astral
annals of nightmares.
She'll rise into that shine, wonder at the nightmare's
symbology...talk to her garden--whilst thinking of her
time to come.
Silkworm breached the parcel
of time, its cocooned inertia
coarsed through the opalescent
eye of God to Godhood.
Of time's ruination redeemed
in a solitary work...cupped
airless the unbridled form of
a trapezist spent itself.
Opened and closed somersaults
atripped a piece of said space...
nothingness regenerated to
move, to take step of itself.
A self-argumentative abstraction
glowed...undid its silken flag--
firmly planted in an undiscovered
region...her time come.
Nov 22, 2011
Nov 22, 2011 at 7:45 PM UTC
*The passionate propensity
of waxing moons' passages,
I crave your poetry
as the air I breathe,
vital spirit aches within intention
hungering the blissed taste
of essential Neruda -
midst the significance of
rose and topaz
arrows of wildflowers,
whence your own scripted
inclinations unfurl
searing 'neath my flesh,
rendering me speechless
'tween ***** sighs
I surrender in the exhale
of a thousand blazing suns*
Jul 6, 2015
Jul 6, 2015 at 7:12 AM UTC
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
Sating stains unrecognizable
dripping filth of first love gone
Insignificant swelling of power
We are human
Hungering for control over strong hold fear
Tangible in it's release
We are human
It moans to be sought by destroyers
We are human
Hypnotized by dances of mesmerizing flesh
patterns mangle until there are no more borders
sweeping over luscious ruins
we depart from entrapment and lightly fall
Silver gleams off malleable thoughts
We are human
Nov 5, 2010
Nov 5, 2010 at 1:36 PM UTC
Beyond the lost days of manna,
all nutrition I'll ever need
was given to me at birth
with the implantation of spiritual seed.
An enabling inner spark,
combined with soul's hungering emptiness,
allowed me to find divine connection
and a path towards Your Holiness.
Thank You Lord for Your Daily Bread
that feeds my spirit and sustains my soul;
for feasting on Your Word everyday
is the best way to be kept whole.
Author Note:
Learn more about me and my poetry at:
http://www.squidoo.com/book-isbn-1419650513/
Jun 21, 2012
Jun 21, 2012 at 11:31 AM UTC
In seeps life’s deeply rich hypnotic alluring tune.
Throngs of pitch tickled with powerful eminent bass.
Crisp sounds displayed, tweaked, collaged, and delectably consumed.
Stretching our ear’s vast hungering palette to please.
Vibrations lead to the tingling mind’s inevitable response.
Guiding the body through its purity of sound.
Hums and hisses overshadowed by the DJ’s track.
Lasers lights dance over the vast sweating fans.
The floor is a rhythmic sea of flesh.
Dance steps balanced by the DJ’s meticulous craft.
Tears of joy creep upon the dancers faces.
As bodies succumb to the vibrant enchanting mix.
This truly is an ideal moment of bliss.
Having one’s mind captured by a DJ’s tryst.
The mind thrives forever from their musical kiss.
As fans dance the night, refusing to miss.
Jul 15, 2013
Jul 15, 2013 at 9:27 PM UTC
prey tracked
relentlessly pursued
mass of zebra
whacked
pulverized
to the ground
powerful jaws of lion
employed
in the gruesome ****
throat of prey
exposed
oozing scarlet ****
lion consumes
a bloating portion
for himself
deference shown to lion
an uninvited hyena
joins in
snarls and snappy retorts
go between the two
hyena knows
the borders
at nature's table
with
lion king
both delight
in the zebra's
ample flesh
and its sweet
warm entrails
they savor
every morsel
above in stark
glared filled skies
anticipating crows
circle
frenzy intense
hungering craw
needing
needing
squawking
to announce
arrival
descending in unison
blanketing the zebra's carcass
beaks tearing
the meager scraps
from the bones
welcome
sustenance
at natures
all too sparse table
each creature know its place
crow has a place reserved
scavenger on the rim
Oct 13, 2013
Oct 13, 2013 at 9:16 PM UTC
This saccharin seeps into me,
Liquid recompense trickling,
Trickling,
Into my bloodstream.
This ichor, sweeter than the morphine
I fiend for.
A ****** hungering for a hit.
So I pray to you,
Somnus, please don't send me away.
Night looming behind you,
Death in the wings.
Everyone knows that they have a sweet tooth
And I'm all sugar.
Feb 7, 2018
Feb 7, 2018 at 11:39 PM UTC
every moment
is continually shedding itself;
sloughing off the skin of time,
dying, into the past,
to freshen in exposure,
this moment.
to live, really
to breathe, by
impermanence.
constantly transforming,
the body is never solid,
here, there, as atomic flashes,
electrons popping in and out
of existence,
an appearance made,
to depart, in a flicker.
all turns off, like this,
always, eventually,
momentarily.
threshed and stripping
bare chaos
voraciously burns,
returning through extinguish
on smokey black horizons.
sinking, into
tendrils weaving,
knitting by fray,
tapestries engendered
by enveloping decease.
you feel this
don’t you?
unconscious
as much of it may be.
it is the nearest of near,
and dearly intimate,
passions corrosive kiss,
oscillating, opening,
to retract, in flow,
pushing in
to pull away,
thanatos is eros
together, apart again,
together-apart,
here-going.
the heart is aware,
supremely aware of this happening,
even when the mind is fooled
by apparent stability,
and the soul surrenders to
it's inevitability,
even hungering for
divine destruction,
as basic an urge
as the creative impulse.
to be composed
is to be subject to decompose,
fertilizing compositions
in cosmic chasms.
our lungs darkly shining
with every fall of the chest
mirroring,
each breath
one breath closer
to the final breath,
each exhale
a letting go
of what can’t be held
forever,
the expelled
foreshadows annihilation,
on the fading road, towards
this mortal coils entropic end;
a preparation.
to live, surely, is to meet loss
over and over,
to love, fully, is to grieve
again and again,
there is a deep
melancholic knowing
that exists in all living things,
water drops
tears like rain,
leaves fall
like sighs,
everyone,
and everything
dies.
our melancholy
might be sacred
could we truly embrace,
and feel, this reality:
death is the ever present condition.
Apr 4, 2014
Apr 4, 2014 at 9:04 PM UTC
A collaboration between Neva Flores and Mark Albert http://hellopoetry.com/-mark-albert/ and of Writers Cafe http://www.writerscafe.org/Insomnius
I paint pictures in my mind with your smile and your voice,
Always hungering and wondering what you paint in yours.
I have a feeling that your thoughts beckon my own,
turn my resolve into a burning liquid even the sun has to adore.
When the Sun has gone, and thoughts turn to sleep,
this man dreams in colors drowning me in the sea of your woman's heart.
Still, here I am crying out in a voice full of fight afraid to look into your eyes
as my heart could be destroyed, my world torn apart.
I lay still trying to obey the face of time, to let go soothing trickles of reassurance
in shimmering beams given from the Moon.
While we both use words when our eyes are not closed, mine are complex
and yours easy to hold..dropped from different hearts, yet in tune.
It is enough, holding this dream for now. With eyes, hands, and hearts unfurling,
slowly opening through barriers erected from the destruction past.
I believe in these two hearts that are beating as they write about love differently.
Today I will take down those barriers, just don't enter too fast.
© 2012 Neva Flores and Mark Albert
Aug 27, 2012
Aug 27, 2012 at 7:53 PM UTC
the way your hair
falls to frame your face,
and caress your shoulders
the way i wish to.
the soft arch
of your brow,
like gates.
your eyes,
a more beautiful
reflection.
the gentle turn of
your nose
and
your high
round cheeks.
ah!
and your lips!
to feel the
heat
of your breath...
and to be
able to
brush your neck
with hungering
kisses.
the low Valley
between
your *******
garden
of sweetest
flowers.
and surely,
to rest upon
your thighs;
those beautiful
Hands
entwined
in my hair.
and then tracing
the length of
your legs.
each
seperately.
kissing behind
your knees.
while i wonder
where these feet
have traveled.
Aug 28, 2017
Aug 28, 2017 at 6:53 PM UTC
Shall I wither and fall like an autumn leaf,From this deep sorrow – from this painful grief?How can I go on or find a way to be strong?Will I ever again enjoy life’s sweet song?Sometimes a warm memory sheds light in the darkAnd eases the pain like the song of a Meadow Lark.Then it flits away on silent wings and I’m alone;Hungering for more of the light it had shone.Shall grief’s bitter cold sadness consume me,Like a winter storm on the vast angry sea?How can I fill the void and deep desperate needTo replant my heart with hope’s lovely seed?Then I look at a photo of your playful smiling faceAnd for a moment I escape to a serene happy place;Remembering the laughter and all you would do,Cherishing the honest, caring, loving spirit of you.Shall spring’s cheerful flowers bring life anewAnd allow me to forget the agony of missing you?Will spring’s burst of new life bring fresh hopeAnd teach my grieving soul how to cope?Sometimes I’ll read a treasured card you had given meAnd each word’s special meaning makes me see,The precious gift of love I was fortunate to receive,And I realize you’d never want to see me grieve.Shall summer’s warm brilliant sun bring new light,And free my anguished mind of its terrible plight?Will its gentle breezes chase grief’s dark clouds away,And show me a clear path towards a better day?When I visit the grave where you lie in eternal peace,I know that death and heaven brought you release;I try to envision your joy on that shore across the sea,And, until I join you, that’ll have to be enough for me.For all the remaining seasons of my life on earth,There’ll be days I’ll miss your merriment and mirth,And sometimes I’ll sadly long for all the yesterdays;Missing our chats and your gentle understanding ways.Yet, the lessons of kindness and love you taught me,And the good things in life you’ve helped me to see;Linger as lasting gifts that comfort and will sustain,Until I journey to that peaceful shore and see you again.
Dec 18, 2014
Dec 18, 2014 at 6:40 PM UTC
All I really want is to talk to you rather than distract myself with the petty things I do.
I'm almost gone.
A deep hollow in my chest leaches at my sanity leaving me bereft of a connection that could seal up the cracks in my heart from which leak my wounded humanity.
Scrolling through my Facebook feed leaves my hungering for what I really need.
The stupid games and apps light up my phone and make me forget that I'm alone.
Tomorrow creeps into each patchwork day. You can't hold time it slips away.
Each hour is fractured by distraction the sun is sinking before I gain traction.
While I'm not looking I miss the sunset. Time to cushion my head with this night's fret.
I won't sleep tonight, like most. My place is haunted. I'm the ghost.
I drift the twilight between realms with clipped wings and overwhelmed.
Sun and moon chase round about; light blinded eyes, thick-dark-muffled-shout.
That's the way it is at night things look different by starlight.
But which am I the sun or moon; do I give chase or am I pursued?
I won't find the things I seek. I'm stuck like this from week to week.
To be needed is exhausting, but to be not needed is accosting.
I need to hear you hearing me and be realified in that harmony.
Instead of trapped between death and life, I'll be free when I see you seeing that I'm Being. Existence could suffice, yet personhood is reciprocally conferred. Make me a Being like you then you'll be a christ.
What is my name?
You say that you can't read my mind as if I haven't put it down line by line.
I want to know I'm more than heat rising from the pavement to dissipate in the sky. Or else call me Mirage--If you can't see me, feel me, hear me.
I'm already gone.
Oct 1, 2017
Oct 1, 2017 at 6:09 PM UTC