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"illuminate" poems
I find it strange that when I look into your eyes I'm not met with an endless starry sky. The world around me doesn't freeze or turn monochrome around everyone but you. I don't see an endless sea or visions of a setting sun, no matter my determination. So how do I know it is love if it isn't as the words I've heard all my life describe? Yet my heart still drops when you walk into the room, even when your focus is a place far off. People say it's like a flutter but this is far too heavy to use such a light word to describe such a feeling. It's painful, but I know it isn't something ominous or bad because it feels right. How do I know it is love if none if my words describe it right as they should? I get it every time our eyes meet or you tilt your head and smile with your head in the clouds. I get it when you laugh to yourself or say something hardly above a whisper. When you focus so hard you ***** up and let out that silly sigh of aggravation and I feel such deep affection. Yet is it alright for me to say what I feel is love when I can't even tell myself what love is? I don't think your eyes need starry skies or my stomach needs a million butterflies. Your smile doesn't need to illuminate the room and my thoughts for you don't need an anchor. Your love shouldn't have an expectation and my words don't need to have a proper diction. Perhaps I'll see it in your heart or feel it in your touch one day if you feel the same regardless of what the world has sold me with their modern day poetry. I promise you that no matter how hopeless I become I will find out for myself what it means to love you wholly, even if I have to find out from loving at a distance.
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Jul 16, 2018
Jul 16, 2018 at 1:16 AM UTC
The Expectations of You
I find it strange that when I look into your eyes I'm not met with an endless starry sky. The world around me doesn't freeze or turn monochrome around everyone but you. I don't see an endless sea or visions of a setting sun, no matter my determination. So how do I know it is love if it isn't as the words I've heard all my life describe? Yet my heart still drops when you walk into the room, even when your focus is a place far off. People say it's like a flutter but this is far too heavy to use such a light word to describe such a feeling. It's painful, but I know it isn't something ominous or bad because it feels right. How do I know it is love if none if my words describe it right as they should? I get it every time our eyes meet or you tilt your head and smile with your head in the clouds. I get it when you laugh to yourself or say something hardly above a whisper. When you focus so hard you ***** up and let out that silly sigh of aggravation and I feel such deep affection. Yet is it alright for me to say what I feel is love when I can't even tell myself what love is? I don't think your eyes need starry skies or my stomach needs a million butterflies. Your smile doesn't need to illuminate the room and my thoughts for you don't need an anchor. Your love shouldn't have an expectation and my words don't need to have a proper diction. Perhaps I'll see it in your heart or feel it in your touch one day if you feel the same regardless of what the world has sold me with their modern day poetry. I promise you that no matter how hopeless I become I will find out for myself what it means to love you wholly, even if I have to find out from loving at a distance.
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5
He told her she was pottery; a vase with grooves and cracks. The patterns of the history she hid behind her back. Within his words he layered in- like thread upon a loom- The sweetest undercurrent to illuminate that gloom. In certain cultures, he decreed, when pottery is cracked They aggrandize them with gleaming gold to bring their splendor back For they believe, with certainty, once damage has been wrought Those tiny cracks, now filled with light, hold truths that can't be taught.
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Jun 11, 2015
Jun 11, 2015 at 6:32 PM UTC
They Fill the Cracks with Gold
Of ones heart with shadows lurking to take over spite is made precious to be felt exciting while it is in fact trecious, but a sleeping terror awakens at times as well, thus a rampage is made amongst it, A thrill wandering down your spine when you wrong someone and see them tremble through your actions a cold shiver followed by spite Choosing a carefree life, yet unable to hide the fact that no spark would be able to illuminate whats in your dark, where angels fear to tread, only to explore this loitering abyss within you for some time, All this blood lust must bring you to insanity, make you a lunatic, But let it happen, in this emotionless shell it's what feels majestic, The storm raging inside, waiting to feed on this caused chaos, Evil and vile, heartless not carrying a smile while mercilessly continuing this riot of a resented soul waiting, longing for destruction Feeling alike to be burning up, priceless about this act of cruelty until the wanted realisation drives its way into your soul and you question yourself what you have done, or why you have done it for anyway, But the time will come again for sure, so be ready for it to arrive When the sleeping terror awakens for another dance ~ Umi
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Mar 18, 2018
Mar 18, 2018 at 7:34 AM UTC
The thrill of Spite
* What an "ANGELUS" time it is These times of LOVE The "SALATS" of the moment embraces everything around us Is it the "FAJR" of birds kissing? Is it the "ASR" of cats stretching? Is it the "MAGHRIB" of peacocks screams? Those are the sound of LOVE I suppose I can see on the cheeks The wetness of the kiss That has not dried yet Who is the LOVE (BELOVEDz /  LOVERz) who causes The tears swell in the eyes Of the one who LOVES? Why is the eagerness to touch The bare shoulders so enticing? Why the heart longs to drown into LOVE (BELOVEDz / LOVERz) core? Placing one's face on the lap The flower smells jasmine rains Close eyes and experience my LOVE When I seal your pores with my lips? Can I sing you lullabies When you sleep besides me peacefully? Can I snap a new art sculpture Out of your hair every morning? Forget your thoughts While feeling my LOVE By being in LOVE with me Why the words become worthless When we share A common breathing between our lips? Who is listening to the music Of our heart-beats? Why do roses rain over us When we share our chromosomes? Who are they? There, below the waterfalls Behind the mountain caves The two magical unicorns in LOVE? Who will pray "TEFILLAH" When we are in Ultimate union of LOVE? Who will "TENEBRAE" our lives To illuminate our souls? So that we "THEOPHANY" the LOVE deity of ONENESS Now tell me... Will the clouds answer our LOVE-call? Will the first ray of sun ever find us? Will the moon ever illuminate dark lives? Will the stars sparkle over our springs? Will the dew drop give birth to seedlings? To save the cosmos & planet EARTH Let us embrace into Single semantic of LOVE *
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Jul 24, 2018
Jul 24, 2018 at 12:04 AM UTC
Disambiguation
* What an "ANGELUS" time it is These times of LOVE The "SALATS" of the moment embraces everything around us Is it the "FAJR" of birds kissing? Is it the "ASR" of cats stretching? Is it the "MAGHRIB" of peacocks screams? Those are the sound of LOVE I suppose I can see on the cheeks The wetness of the kiss That has not dried yet Who is the LOVE (BELOVEDz /  LOVERz) who causes The tears swell in the eyes Of the one who LOVES? Why is the eagerness to touch The bare shoulders so enticing? Why the heart longs to drown into LOVE (BELOVEDz / LOVERz) core? Placing one's face on the lap The flower smells jasmine rains Close eyes and experience my LOVE When I seal your pores with my lips? Can I sing you lullabies When you sleep besides me peacefully? Can I snap a new art sculpture Out of your hair every morning? Forget your thoughts While feeling my LOVE By being in LOVE with me Why the words become worthless When we share A common breathing between our lips? Who is listening to the music Of our heart-beats? Why do roses rain over us When we share our chromosomes? Who are they? There, below the waterfalls Behind the mountain caves The two magical unicorns in LOVE? Who will pray "TEFILLAH" When we are in Ultimate union of LOVE? Who will "TENEBRAE" our lives To illuminate our souls? So that we "THEOPHANY" the LOVE deity of ONENESS Now tell me... Will the clouds answer our LOVE-call? Will the first ray of sun ever find us? Will the moon ever illuminate dark lives? Will the stars sparkle over our springs? Will the dew drop give birth to seedlings? To save the cosmos & planet EARTH Let us embrace into Single semantic of LOVE *
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60
Where the candles illuminate your face.. Where my dreams get the illumination just right.. I see you there for a moment for an eternity.. As my dream candles reflect in your eyes.. You light up my darkness with your luminescent soul..
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Jun 9, 2015
Jun 9, 2015 at 10:46 AM UTC
Where the candles illuminate your face..
sages and brethren gather, and share and slowly souls are bared their tempered voices and quiet eyes reserved of judgment with passing smiles moments blend in current trends opinions wide and reflections deep the concepts and irregularities once murky now clear they prioritize and familiarize that staunch resolution of generation net will remunerate and illuminate through the checkpoints and formal reviews through the purple curtains and open stage nothing tainted or bitter left for taste cause its they who’ll plant the seeds the captains of commerce healers and jugglers the coaches and councilors negotiators and compromisers the kings and queens hustlers and hellcats (who've all found their way!) let us tip our hats and salute them*
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Dec 2, 2017
Dec 2, 2017 at 2:05 PM UTC
copper robes and iron rings
Last night I cried myself to sleep thinking about you, the ********** chemistry that we used to share over the midnight campfire, our sleek bodies rising in passion with each bursting flame, deep shifting fingers pressed up against thick sheets, as our ankles and thighs harmonized and smiled, glossy green eyes filled with lust and immense thoughts.  Your soul was calling out to me in the nighttime sky, vibrant skin sifting inside timeless climaxes and rewinds, shimmering lights and hypnotic gleams, an ocean of water and poetry gliding on booming beats.  The world began to sink inside our romance, the horniness of our hot flesh sizzling in sparking temptations, deep designs and glimmering patterns.  And as our nations made music over earth’s creation, brilliant escapes and captivating depths, you were the magnificent star inside my kingdom, the purest existence that could illuminate the fire inside eyes.
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Dec 13, 2018
Dec 13, 2018 at 11:08 AM UTC
********** Chemistry
Sacred fires burning bright Purging the flesh of my being Becoming one with the light Scorching the cells of my mortal body 4 Illuminate 3 the masses 4 Self-immolate 3 to ashes 1 break 3 conciousness 4 cosmic I lapse 3 death cleanses 8 dissipate into the nether 4 essence of life 3 extinguished 4 the chains that bind 3 relinquished 1 Pain 3 Surging through 4 Serenity 3 Gleaming blaze I, long to be cosmic, dissipate into illumination To, become the nether - to lapse in lost consciousness Then I shoot off in space and time, soaring through illusions Light years from reality, distant pixels 8 Obsessing through the tesseract, 6 scouring past illusions 7 beyond spatiality, 4 distant pixels Drifting, no sense or feel Flames of color, figments of my creation Drift in-to the surreal, Chasing fractals defragments my cognition Dreaming in discordance Life confined in simulation A glitch in the matrix Lies conceived through my perception Breathe I, long to be spectral, fluctuate right through this oscilation To, attain the ether - planetary cognizance Then I shoot off in space and time, soaring through illusions Light years from reality, distant pixels Obsessing through the tesseract, scouring past illusions beyond spatiality, distant pixels Drifting, no sense or feel Flash of colors, figments of my creation Drift in-to the surreal, Chasing fractals defragments my cognition Dreaming in discordance Life confined in simulation A glitch in the matrix Lies conceived through my perception Breathe
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Jul 12, 2015
Jul 12, 2015 at 5:46 PM UTC
A Glitch in the Matrix
Sacred fires burning bright Purging the flesh of my being Becoming one with the light Scorching the cells of my mortal body 4 Illuminate 3 the masses 4 Self-immolate 3 to ashes 1 break 3 conciousness 4 cosmic I lapse 3 death cleanses 8 dissipate into the nether 4 essence of life 3 extinguished 4 the chains that bind 3 relinquished 1 Pain 3 Surging through 4 Serenity 3 Gleaming blaze I, long to be cosmic, dissipate into illumination To, become the nether - to lapse in lost consciousness Then I shoot off in space and time, soaring through illusions Light years from reality, distant pixels 8 Obsessing through the tesseract, 6 scouring past illusions 7 beyond spatiality, 4 distant pixels Drifting, no sense or feel Flames of color, figments of my creation Drift in-to the surreal, Chasing fractals defragments my cognition Dreaming in discordance Life confined in simulation A glitch in the matrix Lies conceived through my perception Breathe I, long to be spectral, fluctuate right through this oscilation To, attain the ether - planetary cognizance Then I shoot off in space and time, soaring through illusions Light years from reality, distant pixels Obsessing through the tesseract, scouring past illusions beyond spatiality, distant pixels Drifting, no sense or feel Flash of colors, figments of my creation Drift in-to the surreal, Chasing fractals defragments my cognition Dreaming in discordance Life confined in simulation A glitch in the matrix Lies conceived through my perception Breathe
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65
You are the light That hides below the horizon I await humbly for your rays To illuminate this darkened season You are the beacon That would build me anew Equip me with newfound notions When dreams and hopes are far and few You are the air Of a fresh new start Allowing this body another chance At retrieving a brand new heart You are the opportunity Held my breath for far too long Soon be granted to live again And choose the right from the wrong You are the day Like many have too often said Due to arrive after tonight And embrace me as I laid in bed You are the tomorrow The promise of my brand new day But there have been many tomorrows That have come and gone away You are my tomorrow My future, bearing much needed balm Maybe tomorrow I may finally realise That you would never ever come
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Feb 26, 2015
Feb 26, 2015 at 7:17 AM UTC
You Are My Tomorrow
Who are you and why do you have this effect on me? You walked in the room and I can hardly breath Do you make me nervous on purpose, or is it just me? Are you doing this on purpose? I'm falling so quickly I don't wanna rush it and call it too soon But if you were the sun, then I'd be the moon Your eyes illuminate the streets with the only light I can see I'm just a deer in your headlights when you look at me Take me anywhere you want to go I'd follow you into the dark in places I don't know Wherever you are is where I want to be You're everything I want, and all that I can see If you have a hint of doubt about the things that I have said Just believe me when I say, you do laps inside my head If you leave it up to me, I'd tell you to stick around You be the tree, I'll be the roots in the ground I'll help you grow and try to give you everything you need Darling, it'd make me happy if you grew old with me
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Mar 2, 2014
Mar 2, 2014 at 11:04 AM UTC
If You Were the Sun
He wrote of the light of the world, a testament, a lamp to illuminate the place from which he came —     I saw his lighthouse coalesce     out of the cloaking mist, its blade     shearing the sheath of darkness.     I inhaled the dusk bloom scent     - Four O’Clock Flower, Poinsettia, Frangipani -     beguiled by a road, undeterred     by calls in the night, the rain, the unknown way.     I sang with one thousand night-drunk tree frogs     proclaiming an equatorial cycle to the stars,     choristers intoning a chant of existence.     I rode balanced between     the cycling engine's torque and the     reflective cast of my foreign skin.     I felt the grip of ignominy constrict the stir     of my drink, amongst hands toasting     the crush of entitlement’s bearing.     I walked where people dwell, and stop     to greet and tell news of the market     or of their nets, bearing the sea’s returns.     I savored the song in his speech,     a seasoned stew, unshackling the tongue     to ring like the steel of a drum — a tapestry unfurled: a world paced by sirens of wind and wave, embroidered on the earthbound side of heaven's abiding blanket. Copyright © 2017 Gary Brocks
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Aug 26, 2018
Aug 26, 2018 at 4:46 AM UTC
CARIBBEAN IDYLL with REVERENCE for DEREK WALCOTT
I want to know what it feels like for reconciliation to wash over my fault lines. Take my cracks and paint them with gold. Let me glimmer,                    gleam,                            and glow redemption. Illuminate my mistakes and let my skeleton frame out a museum of triumph
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Apr 11, 2016
Apr 11, 2016 at 1:20 PM UTC
Kintsugi: the Japanese Art of Golden Repair
neon lights illuminate the night’s heavy clouds while rain muffles the constant urban humming pierced by distant sirens moving slowly through concrete canyons.
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Dec 9, 2019
Dec 9, 2019 at 9:54 AM UTC
city scene
No thoughts, concerns, hesitations. Worries can wait. Happiness shouldn't. Despite how fleeting it may turn out to be. I'm happy with him. Happy enough to forget about the clouds that have a tendency to settle into the snug horizon. He's like a red balloon that keeps me looking up. Distracted from all the cracks in the pavement that make me trip. Oblivious to the wavering skies. Focused solely on keeping my eyes on patterns of movements. Memorizing this new thing. Piloting something unknown. Let's refrain from using maps that lead down past paths. I'll use my sense of adventure to navigate my way. Illuminate the trails with the colors of your mind. If I get lost, I'll anchor down in your arms. Clutching each of these moments with a ferocity that most will never understand. Let them question why I'm staring at reflections of light through a bit of plastic. They'll never know that you gave me rainbows. All the more reason to look at the bright-side.
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Sep 23, 2012
Sep 23, 2012 at 4:26 PM UTC
Light Defractor
You taught me how to love, Unconditional and true. There is nothing in this world That I wouldn't do for you I want to shield you, From the hurt and pain That you will one day come to know. A mama bear doing whatever I can, To protect my cub and soften life's cold hearted blows My pride and joy Forever my baby boy. Growing so fast Filling my mind, heart and soul With imagery, laughter and stories that will always last. As the stars illuminate father sky at the end of each day I open your door to watch u sleep, As I kneel to pray. Watch over my little one He knows not what awaits him Away from the safety of my arms. Give him strength and draw him close to u creator Protect him from harm.
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Oct 26, 2012
Oct 26, 2012 at 2:52 AM UTC
First Born
The tendrils of my hair illuminate beneath the amber glow. Bathing. It must be this one. The last remaining streetlight to have withstood the test of time. The last yet to be replaced by the sickening blue-green of the future. I bathe. Calm; breathing air of the present but living in the past. The light flickers. I flicker back.
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Mar 13, 2019
Mar 13, 2019 at 5:42 PM UTC
Ghost under the light (A poem by Yuri from DDLC)
“I am a warrior, so that my son may be a merchant, so that his son may be a poet.” John Quincy Adams, 6th President of the United States <> a bad weakness, mine, mess with the perfect of others, unsure what to add that will addictive illuminate further, but as homage, a tribute, a salute got to got too, no middle class delayed gratification for me, none, whatsoever, read the words and my own hands choke me as if to pull out, to free the upsurging words in my chest-forming, to uplift me up, from the floor where I am roiling in wonderful wonderment at a prophecy come true my recent family history, about 400 years worth, got it written down someplace, escapees from a Spanish Inquisition, a Roman one before that, meandering Jews who found a respite, a small welcome in a small village in Germany (the irony does not go unnoticed) from villager to merchant, from tiny town to big city folk, we went, warriors if any, kept secret, best unheard, attract no attention, but do what survival doesn’t always politely request here I am child of the proverbial wandering jew, fancy me a poet with, at best, a very small p, one of three children, historians, book writers, scholars and even poet~traders, and so a President’s words, hammer my cells upon an anvil for human skins, the future shape of me foreseen and I think to myself, alone and out loud: This, This! is what makes America great,  welcoming the stranger, even predicting their possible pathway to a peaceful existence, giving their descendant’s generations liberty, liberty to become poets, free, who can stand upright*
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Jun 25, 2019
Jun 25, 2019 at 1:47 PM UTC
“I am a warrior, so that my son may be a merchant, so that his son may be a poet.
“I am a warrior, so that my son may be a merchant, so that his son may be a poet.” John Quincy Adams, 6th President of the United States <> a bad weakness, mine, mess with the perfect of others, unsure what to add that will addictive illuminate further, but as homage, a tribute, a salute got to got too, no middle class delayed gratification for me, none, whatsoever, read the words and my own hands choke me as if to pull out, to free the upsurging words in my chest-forming, to uplift me up, from the floor where I am roiling in wonderful wonderment at a prophecy come true my recent family history, about 400 years worth, got it written down someplace, escapees from a Spanish Inquisition, a Roman one before that, meandering Jews who found a respite, a small welcome in a small village in Germany (the irony does not go unnoticed) from villager to merchant, from tiny town to big city folk, we went, warriors if any, kept secret, best unheard, attract no attention, but do what survival doesn’t always politely request here I am child of the proverbial wandering jew, fancy me a poet with, at best, a very small p, one of three children, historians, book writers, scholars and even poet~traders, and so a President’s words, hammer my cells upon an anvil for human skins, the future shape of me foreseen and I think to myself, alone and out loud: This, This! is what makes America great,  welcoming the stranger, even predicting their possible pathway to a peaceful existence, giving their descendant’s generations liberty, liberty to become poets, free, who can stand upright*
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Nothings how it looks in fact, maybe the opposite People say I'm energetic When I'm fighting for consciousness Downed NyQuil to solve my imperfections Took Benadryl to sleep Drugs make chatter over the back and forth banter of boredom And action A trip to the hospital Affects the people to care for a minute Hallucinogens fade, but this music it stays No 3G left **** it lets sing Words slurred eyes red I don't give a **** spread love Acceptance And tears of joy The ones that run over the face of a baby boy Mama's proud Baby you're so smart! You're gonna be so successful! Yeah I remember those days Now its nicotine sticks on my lips and E's for my mom to brag about They think I'm lost Am I? Testing to be done Society approved pills to pop And a letter from my aunt Words spread like dye in water I've dropped Down from the heaven of the early years Lucifer can maneuver his way around the city unnoticed A spy who tells lies to himself and greets the people as equal Human again I'd like to be All I want to do is live! But a life's money, family, and a plan Floaters get flushed Couch potatoes get crushed Lazy ***** Ha They just get fat Like these joints everybody wants to roll **** is for beginners but what happens to the pros? No trophy for the taking No stack of gold Just a massive headache And dependence Diet coke doesn't count My sis puts her heart on her sleeve Me I don't even think I have one No wait it's up my *** **** me good **** me long That only love is what turns me on If not Keep out Of my head Or Switch, light Too god **** bright to illuminate these white walls I'm hired to paint 24hrs, 365 days a year, until the day it’s complete Avoidance Births time from time Cuts wrists to elbow Show how mellow I can be Let me cope Every days a new day Born today die tomorrow Next day Wake up Look in the mirror and decide what you'd like to see
0
Jan 17, 2014
Jan 17, 2014 at 4:22 AM UTC
Unedited, 1:04am.
Nothings how it looks in fact, maybe the opposite People say I'm energetic When I'm fighting for consciousness Downed NyQuil to solve my imperfections Took Benadryl to sleep Drugs make chatter over the back and forth banter of boredom And action A trip to the hospital Affects the people to care for a minute Hallucinogens fade, but this music it stays No 3G left **** it lets sing Words slurred eyes red I don't give a **** spread love Acceptance And tears of joy The ones that run over the face of a baby boy Mama's proud Baby you're so smart! You're gonna be so successful! Yeah I remember those days Now its nicotine sticks on my lips and E's for my mom to brag about They think I'm lost Am I? Testing to be done Society approved pills to pop And a letter from my aunt Words spread like dye in water I've dropped Down from the heaven of the early years Lucifer can maneuver his way around the city unnoticed A spy who tells lies to himself and greets the people as equal Human again I'd like to be All I want to do is live! But a life's money, family, and a plan Floaters get flushed Couch potatoes get crushed Lazy ***** Ha They just get fat Like these joints everybody wants to roll **** is for beginners but what happens to the pros? No trophy for the taking No stack of gold Just a massive headache And dependence Diet coke doesn't count My sis puts her heart on her sleeve Me I don't even think I have one No wait it's up my *** **** me good **** me long That only love is what turns me on If not Keep out Of my head Or Switch, light Too god **** bright to illuminate these white walls I'm hired to paint 24hrs, 365 days a year, until the day it’s complete Avoidance Births time from time Cuts wrists to elbow Show how mellow I can be Let me cope Every days a new day Born today die tomorrow Next day Wake up Look in the mirror and decide what you'd like to see
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74
Oh radiance of the sun, do not leave us and go Illuminate the path and we will turn to guidance Do not leave us For darkness, no! We'll be back Tomorrow Light up, Oh sun of pride and beauty, with your radiance to provide the growth of the wonderful spring flowers whichs oud and fragrants we enjoy! And then the night comes to break We'll look at the horozon and make A prayer that will take all the darkness from the night Make this world bright Beautiful with the suns might ~ Umi
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Dec 15, 2017
Dec 15, 2017 at 2:09 PM UTC
For the Sun
We're all as dead, as burned out, as the stars that shine above our heads. We may shine as bright and as blinding as the sun before we die. Yet mere points are we, in time and in space, and the sum of all of us is not enough to illuminate the darkness, the ever-growing darkness. Not all shall die and cease to shine before their light has reached our eyes. But the night sky glows with faded echoes from long ago weary from their journeys. And so to shall we, in time and in space, traverse infinity merely hoping to illuminate the darkness, the ever-growing darkness.
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Apr 16, 2013
Apr 16, 2013 at 12:28 AM UTC
The Night Sky
Millennials at Work and War Scorn not the snowflake who stands watch for us Now thrown into the existential struggle Surrendering their youth and taking up life They muster in the fields and factories And in their elders’ undeclared, shadowy wars Uniformed in an unappreciated sense Of duty and dignity while scorned by those Who take their ease upon the couches of sloth And fling cheap mockery at millennials Who take up tools and work and love of life Sometimes to die in deserts still unmapped While generals dismiss their casualties as light Despised as snowflakes by keyboard commandos Who never got closer to any war Than a John Wayne ketchup-bloody movie. Some work long double shifts through university In a sawmill, shop, or fast foodery Only to be dismissed as slacker layabouts, But expected to trust those who condemn them For not being the greatest generation As defined by those who never served at all And while being criticized they will grab A quick cup of coffee for the night shift Staffing the hospitals and police patrols That keep their sneering critics alive and safe They drive the trucks, they man the ships, they work They drill for oil, these useless millennials While idlers lounge long in the coffee shops And YooToob computered jokes about them Millennials have no time for coloring books Or comfort animals or revolution For they are weary with study and work The best of them make no demands, but, sure A little respect, hard-earned, would be nice If only the scripted singer-songwriters Would pack up the tired old stereotypes And see millennials as they truly are But darkness falls – they must go back to work On the eleven-seven, the graveyard shift They do not burn draft cards or Medicare cards Instead through work they illuminate this world And build it up with continued sacrifice Scorn not the snowflake who stands watch for us
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Dec 13, 2016
Dec 13, 2016 at 4:39 PM UTC
Millennials at Work and War
Millennials at Work and War Scorn not the snowflake who stands watch for us Now thrown into the existential struggle Surrendering their youth and taking up life They muster in the fields and factories And in their elders’ undeclared, shadowy wars Uniformed in an unappreciated sense Of duty and dignity while scorned by those Who take their ease upon the couches of sloth And fling cheap mockery at millennials Who take up tools and work and love of life Sometimes to die in deserts still unmapped While generals dismiss their casualties as light Despised as snowflakes by keyboard commandos Who never got closer to any war Than a John Wayne ketchup-bloody movie. Some work long double shifts through university In a sawmill, shop, or fast foodery Only to be dismissed as slacker layabouts, But expected to trust those who condemn them For not being the greatest generation As defined by those who never served at all And while being criticized they will grab A quick cup of coffee for the night shift Staffing the hospitals and police patrols That keep their sneering critics alive and safe They drive the trucks, they man the ships, they work They drill for oil, these useless millennials While idlers lounge long in the coffee shops And YooToob computered jokes about them Millennials have no time for coloring books Or comfort animals or revolution For they are weary with study and work The best of them make no demands, but, sure A little respect, hard-earned, would be nice If only the scripted singer-songwriters Would pack up the tired old stereotypes And see millennials as they truly are But darkness falls – they must go back to work On the eleven-seven, the graveyard shift They do not burn draft cards or Medicare cards Instead through work they illuminate this world And build it up with continued sacrifice Scorn not the snowflake who stands watch for us
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He is a link between this and the coming world. He is A pure spring from which all thirsty souls may drink. He is a tree watered by the River of Beauty, bearing Fruit which the hungry heart craves; He is a nightingale, soothing the depressed Spirit with his beautiful melodies; He is a white cloud appearing over the horizon, Ascending and growing until it fills the face of the sky. Then it falls on the flows in the field of Life, Opening their petals to admit the light. He is an angel, send by the goddess to Preach the Deity's gospel; He is a brilliant lamp, unconquered by darkness And inextinguishable by the wind. It is filled with Oil by Istar of Love, and lighted by Apollon of Music. He is a solitary figure, robed in simplicity and Kindness; He sits upon the lap of Nature to draw his Inspiration, and stays up in the silence of the night, Awaiting the descending of the spirit. He is a sower who sows the seeds of his heart in the Prairies of affection, and humanity reaps the Harvest for her nourishment. This is the poet -- whom the people ignore in this life, And who is recognized only when he bids the earthly World farewell and returns to his arbor in heaven. This is the poet -- who asks naught of Humanity but a smile. This is the poet -- whose spirit ascends and Fills the firmament with beautiful sayings; Yet the people deny themselves his radiance. Until when shall the people remain asleep? Until when shall they continue to glorify those Who attain greatness by moments of advantage? How long shall they ignore those who enable Them to see the beauty of their spirit, Symbol of peace and love? Until when shall human beings honor the dead And forget the living, who spend their lives Encircled in misery, and who consume themselves Like burning candles to illuminate the way For the ignorant and lead them into the path of light? Poet, you are the life of this life, and you have Triumphed over the ages of despite their severity. Poet, you will one day rule the hearts, and Therefore, your kingdom has no ending. Poet, examine your crown of thorns; you will Find concealed in it a budding wreath of laurel.
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The Poet VIII
He is a link between this and the coming world. He is A pure spring from which all thirsty souls may drink. He is a tree watered by the River of Beauty, bearing Fruit which the hungry heart craves; He is a nightingale, soothing the depressed Spirit with his beautiful melodies; He is a white cloud appearing over the horizon, Ascending and growing until it fills the face of the sky. Then it falls on the flows in the field of Life, Opening their petals to admit the light. He is an angel, send by the goddess to Preach the Deity's gospel; He is a brilliant lamp, unconquered by darkness And inextinguishable by the wind. It is filled with Oil by Istar of Love, and lighted by Apollon of Music. He is a solitary figure, robed in simplicity and Kindness; He sits upon the lap of Nature to draw his Inspiration, and stays up in the silence of the night, Awaiting the descending of the spirit. He is a sower who sows the seeds of his heart in the Prairies of affection, and humanity reaps the Harvest for her nourishment. This is the poet -- whom the people ignore in this life, And who is recognized only when he bids the earthly World farewell and returns to his arbor in heaven. This is the poet -- who asks naught of Humanity but a smile. This is the poet -- whose spirit ascends and Fills the firmament with beautiful sayings; Yet the people deny themselves his radiance. Until when shall the people remain asleep? Until when shall they continue to glorify those Who attain greatness by moments of advantage? How long shall they ignore those who enable Them to see the beauty of their spirit, Symbol of peace and love? Until when shall human beings honor the dead And forget the living, who spend their lives Encircled in misery, and who consume themselves Like burning candles to illuminate the way For the ignorant and lead them into the path of light? Poet, you are the life of this life, and you have Triumphed over the ages of despite their severity. Poet, you will one day rule the hearts, and Therefore, your kingdom has no ending. Poet, examine your crown of thorns; you will Find concealed in it a budding wreath of laurel.
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48
Art is opinion masquerading as truth. When I draw a city, I am drawing the city of my dreams, just as the city that is does not exist. Putting policy into words in the hopes of having yourself heard is not the point of the philosopher, and should not be the end of the penman. When I attempt to make the world see, I manufacture my enemy. We should seek instead to illuminate gracefully, to speak the words beyond the void of flesh, and to touch emotions that swim with depth It will get us nowhere to make art political, of which it is propaganda and employed many an artist in the past; whose dreams of good deeds became hung in a museum for all the wrong reasons, leaving a remnant of an unforseen circumstance hanging dry on an empty tour-guide phonecall Descriptive yet lies Argue the dialectic of truth than the present purfume of lies that is fumigated from the salivary discharge of a cetaceous yearning of ********** of thought, that leftover dream of God That all things should be the same, that all minds should think that way-- if they were, we'd be done with the experiment.
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Jul 17, 2018
Jul 17, 2018 at 7:14 PM UTC
Political Poetry
Justify the real illustration on the pastel, this is a painting festival live your thoughts and ideas and dreams. Illuminate the night, stretch the light and make the night turn white. The luminous charm didn't work this time, I'm fine but let's look for something neat to see, so we can look harder and harder and harder, nice to know we went farther and farther than we knew we could, so picked my rain coat and yelled hey looks like rain and rain came down. The thunder preyed on the sky and all we saw was light and we went higher,higher,higher and higher, higher, higher and higher, higher, higher and the Highlands seeked all in sight was light and the sky sighed out grief and died from the white light
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Jul 28, 2015
Jul 28, 2015 at 10:17 PM UTC
night light