"immanent" poems
Glowing bright in the dark
is the moon the half of the sun!
The sun from the heavenly blue
colour in the midday rose to bear the light
and basks into the other half of the night.
Goodness knows when but God willing
the ancient bird of time once will fly.
Numbering the numberless stars
filling the one halve the half of the sky!
Maybe each star is a shining piece
of one half cut halve that's yet to reunite.
As the cream always rises to the top
and God promised the believers paradise.
Perhaps then without cutting in a fraction, once
paradise is packed with the folks of the good ones
there will be no more partial decimals of the pi!
I wonder then how will it look, a full moon picture?
If then the forever intact paradise lends a mirror
of the ‘immanent feminine’ In Shaa Allah
God willing that will still be my better half!
Sep 27, 2018
Sep 27, 2018 at 8:24 AM UTC
Look up and breathe it all in
The sky is crying, exploding
with a torrential waterfall.
Inhale natures’ showering
an unblemished symphony
The black cloud’s unavowed weight
lingers invigoratingly overhead
Emotions ebb and flow
with the moment’s
immanent spirit of light;
there is a liberating sensation
that excites anticipation
of the sky’s impending
purposefully fated release ...
Heavens… flood down holy water
in a drenching act of baptism
a merciful drowning in a river
of celestial tears
Dowsing rains wash over
in a cleansing rain
Refresh the dust and ashes
the fallow summer leavings
What once was a blossoming presence,
evolving into a dimming
cold winter reign...
Now all that remains is but
a shadow of what once was;
hearts and bones nearly eroded away
by the years of fallen tears
To rinse away unrequited love’s
stagnant inversion, washing away
the invisible bonds that bind
to the loathsome heavy ball
of an unforgiving chain ...
Know the cleansing rain
is the spirit of love, washing over
a malnourished heart of soul;
exposed and bared naked
to a remiss world
Looking out with thoughtful eyes
into the boundless universe
Never to stop believing
rejuvenating dreams course beyond
this long road
Imagine the storm clouds
parting in the ominous
threatening sky
as an uplifting awakening light
comes shining through;
renewing the promise
that surrendering to love
shall renew purpose
and it feels like rain...
baby can you feel it (?)
December 2012 © harlon rivers ... all rights reserved .
Oct 5, 2016
Oct 5, 2016 at 7:24 PM UTC
The pierced ego sees
through an opaque lens;
a vestige of hope,
humor and
intellectual solidarity.
Effigies of forgotten ethos,
the culmination of a
fated dream;
unrequited ardor, abandons
identity to an irreducible
fervor,
subtext of tension,
enduring ****** privation;
etude of a paramour
ending torture,
tasting mystical polarity.
The wounded heart
once intruded,
bleeds effusive;
the ornament of humility.
Flattened collateral
damage,
primal search,
proves illusive;
portals of hurt, slivers
of pride,
assembled fragments of
thereness
absorb the loss
of my English muse.
Poetry and devotion
punctuated murmurs
of piety,
depth perception
virtue unfound;
expectation - access
to suffering;
disinterested love
present,
desultory carnage
of rescission,
absurdity personified;
euphemism
of adieu,
the sound of no sound.
The discarded image
finds no favor,
the salt lost it's savor
unquenched thirst;
desire of
diminished purview,
the saporus stream
deferred;
vision eclipsed;
saturated self
hidden in the text.
Poverty asks the
question,
absence summons
ethereal substance
merged into
the immanent frame;
integrating,
in solitude signifying,
mediating - logos
contested
the humiliation of
the word.
Lyrical enigma,
where did I go?
provisional
personality
scorned,
renouncing nostrums
of the prosaic,
surrenders to the
the realm interior
sovereignty
assumed in
provenience,
native
horizon of the next.
©2008 & 2011 W.S. Warner
Sep 3, 2011
Sep 3, 2011 at 6:11 PM UTC
Jupiter Mars P Moon
VENEZIA, "May" 19"th", 1910.
Jupiter's foursquare blaze of gold and blue
Rides on the moon, a lilac conch of pearl,
As if the dread god, charioted anew
Came conquering, his amazing disk awhirl
To war down all the stars. I see him through
The hair of this mine own Italian girl,
Adela
That bends her face on mine in the gondola!
There is scarce a breath of wind on the lagoon.
Life is absorbed in its beatitude,
A meditative mage beneath the moon
Ah! should we come, a delicate interlude,
To Campo Santo that, this night of June,
Heals for awhile the immitigable feud?
Adela!
Your breath ruffles my soul in the gondola!
Through maze on maze of silent waterways,
Guarded by lightless sentinel palaces,
We glide; the soft plash of the oar, that sways
Our life, like love does, laps --- no softer seas
Swoon in the ***** of Pacific bays!
We are in tune with the infinite ecstasies,
Adela!
Sway with me, sway with me in the gondola!
They hold us in, these tangled sepulchres
That guard such ghostly life. They tower above
Our passage like the cliffs of death. There stirs
No angel from the pinnacles thereof.
All broods, all breeds. But immanent as Hers
That reigns is this most silent crown of love
Adela
That broods on me, and is I, in the gondola.
They twist, they twine, these white and black canals,
Now stark with lamplight, now a reach of Styx.
Even as out love - raging wild animals
Suddenly hoisted on the crucifix
To radiate seraphic coronals,
Flowers, flowers - O let our light and darkness mix,
Adela,
Goddess and beast with me in the gondola!
Come! though your hair be a cascade of fire,
Your lips twin snakes, your tongue the lightning flash,
Your teeth God's grip on life, your face His lyre,
Your eyes His stars - come, let our Venus lash
Our bodies with the whips of Her desire.
Your bed's the world, your body the world-ash,
Adela!
Shall I give the word to the man of the gondola?
3.4k
I rose at night and visited
The Cave of the Unborn,
And crowding shapes surrounded me
For tidings of the life to be,
Who long had prayed the silent Head
To speed their advent morn.
Their eyes were lit with artless trust;
Hope thrilled their every tone:
“A place the loveliest, is it not?
A pure delight, a beauty-spot
Where all is gentle, pure and just
And violence is unknown?”
My heart was anguished for their sake;
I could not frame a word;
But they descried my sunken face
And seemed to read therein, and trace
The news which Pity would not break
Nor Truth leave unaverred.
And as I silently retired
I turned and watched them still:
And they came helter-skelter out,
Driven forward like a rabble rout
Into the world they had so desired,
By the all-immanent Will.
2.7k
(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
jaeger.
chasseur.
foxtail.
seduction of fascism in mind,
like tumbling autumn leaves
ever and always
on the steps of a country house.
always and ever
just outside the aix-les-bains dance hall.
his blousy new bride
and her old lover
aware of his sympathies and
the danger he presents to them.
jaeger.
chasseur.
foxtail.
seduction of fascism in mind,
ever and always
on a deserted alpine road.
always and ever
one trail of blood,
remnant of the preyed upon.
she screams against the glass,
quiet devil in the backseat
haunted by the disorder
of his own mind.
eyes opened to
his own mutability.
alienation is immanent,
bred in the bone.
a desperate need for gravitas,
built upon vaporous credulity.
and she is pursued through the woods
ever and always,
through iridescent fields
always and ever,
until finally in his crosshairs
she falls.
those like him have not suddenly
vanished from the earth, but
are merely lying in wait.
Mar 25, 2022
Mar 25, 2022 at 3:22 PM UTC
Give me a moment I've lost my breath.
Hold it in, it's all I've got left.
Renew the true
And exhale the stale.
Once it slips away, I g(r)asp!
Running after it, it goes too fast!
Look, almost nothing left,
Better take a breather,
Hope it will last..
Ask yourself what's the difference between either and neither?
Better not to choose,
Waste your time, it's the breath you'll lose.
But, a 'mountain high' can be found;
Upward, one may look at a mountain around,
But it is here under your feet, the highest earthly ground.
-
Hold me up prayer of the nigh,
Immanent and strong~
I hear thy song.
Wrap me in
What there is to see.
Dream out ten thousand flowers,
A dream of you and me.
What's left to say
But that "I love you."
~
Aug 12, 2015
Aug 12, 2015 at 10:05 AM UTC
Seasoned Love's silent discourse,
Dusk of the long distance,
Beneath the mantle of lament
The peak bloom, gnawing decay,
Obscure
The weight of favor;
Annealing fire, moulded by
Winds of duration
Unfastening the raw surf of sorrow.
Incipient caprice, theft of occlusion
Colored by common defiance,
Vile tremors of privation-
Native enclave,
The province of
Vacant, age-eaten elucidation.
The tangled weave, pathos and ethos
Vested
Interior acquisition,
Furrowed paths of countenance
Evincive and drawn,
Affinity found, inhabiting the palisades
Of Immersion.
A furtive glance harbors
The trained gaze whose
Immanent flame-
Emergent
Serous source,
Imbued piercing latency;
A taste of
The fountainhead.
Unprobed theater of the absolute.
Thin supple pith
Identity sealed in skin
Perambulator of meaning and
Lineaments of cure.
Bearing the image of ubiquity
Perceives in the other,
Immortality.
Sacramental Eros,
Subsumes the
Capacity to treasure.
©2013 W.S. Warner
Mar 11, 2013
Mar 11, 2013 at 2:51 AM UTC
This has nothing to do with the Absolute -
this idea of God.
In childhood, God was the loving
Father in the sky -
Outsized, sporting a flowing white beard, and
ever attentive to my prayers.
Now, God is an abstract notion -
transcendent and immanent,
Infinite, eternal, and
difficult to embrace.
But all of this has nothing to do
with God -
All these continually mutating
mental constructs.
- fr
Jun 19, 2017
Jun 19, 2017 at 3:37 AM UTC
The sunflowers are yanked from my grasp.
The only spot of sunlight I see,
Is through the slivers of your finger cracks.
I am choked and dragged below,
To this dank tunnel.
Countless times do I find myself,
Crawling through this thick mud,
Escaping from the gollum,
Ring in hand and throat intact,
I run through the forest.
These trees know my path and struggle.
They sway and change my vision.
Thick bows and strands of their leafy vines,
Slap against my back like the whips
Of condemnation.
I am free,
But this time,
Full of the aches of your pain,
Inflicted through my body,
Telling of my immanent captures.
Mar 21, 2010
Mar 21, 2010 at 1:11 PM UTC
if I am to love you,
I will love without expectation
of return
or reciprocation-
neither acknowledgement
nor honey sweet affection.
I will love despite
brutal response
or dismal absence,
regardless of wounds and abscess,
and with no regret.
I will love every part
radiant and rotten alike,
leaving no portion of you out in the cold of night.
if I am to love you,
I will love with conscious intent,
not based in fleeting emotion,
but grounded
in purposeful action
and ever-evolving
spiritual awareness
of the pure metaphysical essence
of you-
and I-
as One.
I will remember that love is a garden,
and not an avalanche.
I will love in understanding
and trust that
there is nothing that separates us,
transcendent soul
immanent in each bone.
if I am to love you,
I will love in tranquil tracing,
in tender waves -
ascending and
receding.
candid caressing
peacefully pulsing pace of peeling
back layers
of my self-skin
to return to
the egoless origin.
if I am to love you,
I will love in humble gestures,
sacrificing all before me
not for moral glory,
but to recognize
shared sacredness.
surrendering desire and attachment,
equalizing all extensions
of the
you-me matrix.
I will love stepping over
self-interest
and dancing into harmony in singularity,
entire generosity
sharing all the puzzle pieces of me.
and,
if I am to love you,
I will love wild
true
and free.
letting the universe
continuously
wash my eyes in new clarity.
opening further
each golden morning
to share the light it has gifted me.
Jan 18, 2015
Jan 18, 2015 at 3:21 PM UTC
Do not ***** over the flourishing flowers
of those who surround you.
Do not form conspiracies,
not even to target your saboteurs.
For it has always been immanent--their loss.
And when the day comes--their loss--
you will be left with nothing to exult over.
You will be filled with vengeance
against no one but yourself.
For memories of your deriding
will be the ones to remain,
and all else will be in decadence.
You will have no time for your musings,
you will acquire no self-respect.
The littlest of their littlest actions are bound to be missed--
their awkward laugh, their freckles, their drawn-out sighs--
as your own blooming flowers will disintegrate
into amber ashes of those lost souls
that will embed in your skull,
engulfing you in madness.
So do not ***** over the flourishing flowers
of those who surround you,
because even if their existence had ceased,
your self-worth will still not increase.
Apr 27, 2014
Apr 27, 2014 at 3:07 PM UTC
On the first day, we are all just hydrogen and time. Filling these hands—
this one mirror angle, one small wrist. One afternoon’s picked-over bones.
The second day, I spun ten times. On the grass, sky turning
its cosmic ballet. The axis of the world, there in the front yard.
On the third day, a hangman’s rope of pantyhose. Easy choices
like stop, and get a ****** or don’t stop, and get a family.
On the fourth day, tick-a-tick-a-ticking. Since I learned
to tell time, cradling has been inescapable and immanent.
The fifth day, I wanted an ovipositor that would glide
and bed, know it’s way around a dark brood pouch.
Day six, caught stealing ancient definitions, stuffing my pockets
and shoes. I’m told zülf is the wisp of hair falling over my eyebrow.
On the seventh day, I shelved myself and gave back one rib, honey
spines of snakes. What tiny handprints they’d leave if they had hands.
Nov 8, 2012
Nov 8, 2012 at 3:46 PM UTC
there is heard an amplified distinction of sounds
smells of accelerated inner vertigo
a feeling of immanent death
the distillation of blood stains on the sheets
an impulse of volatilized emotion
that generates a different vocabulary
creates a fixation with a considered state
of inner concerns, entertains other dimensions
discovers with sinister undertones
that one is a figment, yes a figment
of someone else’s imagination
that you are a a fascinated but unfortunate escape
from a brutal insensitivity that sustains a mind
that teeters at the jagged edges of the world
for is it you… are is it who, an hallucinated perception
of the I, the we, the them and the me
Nov 9, 2013
Nov 9, 2013 at 10:33 PM UTC
isn't it time
for penitence?
I just forget everything
and don't talk to anyone
except for you, dear Lord, you are my ball and chain
having died and come back again I get to look back
watching old movies of myself,
sleeping last night off, leg twitching
dreaming of moving along a motorcade of immanent death
one by one getting flat tires, running out of gas, suddenly the battery
dies
I get out of the car, look around, and see, to my surprise
a loved one's love looking back at me, twisting in the wind, empty, alone, drunk,
its my father or mother lifting my brother or sister from the back seat to the front, carelessly driving, ceaselessly swerving
towards the waterway
if it wasn't for the guardrail, we'd all be dead
time is a ritual now, and it hurts to come back to life, to feed the living,
to get dressed in day-old church clothes, to hit back, as one sneers at being sneered at, I pick up the Daily and skim the headlines, Lost and All Alone, A Stranger Takes a Dive, toss the rag and head to work, fixing to lie to my boss about being sick, about tasting olives, about who I am.
Jan 26, 2017
Jan 26, 2017 at 1:57 AM UTC
Jarring heartbeats disturb the
Infinite flow of ecstasy. It has
Nothing to do with the immanent
Kaleidoscope of life or love. It is a
Yearning of spirit blighted by wounds.
This day marks a beginning of
Ultimate reinvention of a heart
Birthing anew---leaving the old;
A dawn transmogrified into purpose; a
Lingering thought of living
In search for my being,
Not for the sake of having, but
Against the conventional meaning of
Love, this day marks the beginning.
Sep 16, 2013
Sep 16, 2013 at 1:01 PM UTC
these preserves are reserved for the children
infinite hours till immanent destruction
since you left i am all perspiration and fear
and gone are the tears of yesterday's inhalation
these fragrant leaves of grass are bound to our carriages
will forensics seal the deal once we are too blind for healing
in demented restaurants and lakeside beauty pageants
your saddles and mounts are rented out for our entertainment
Oct 12, 2018
Oct 12, 2018 at 4:27 PM UTC
Miami Vice – The Song – From First Kiss Rock Opera
The night was ringing, with violent sounds,
the echoes of turbulent dreams were flying,
being chased by villians, like foxes and hounds,
through the streets, hear the voices crying
seems he had been, a witness of crime,
he was offering his service to the city,
the cartel found out, he was taking the time,
his interventions would allow for no pity
duck your heads, run for the cover,
these beasts of violence, will sure take your life
hide with the Feds, save your lover,
be wary of traitors, they cut like a knife
the wailing of sirens, tear through the night,
warnings of immanent danger for you,
seek out the dark, stay out of the light,
you and your lover with your love so true
duck your heads, run for the cover,
these beasts of violence, will sure take your life
hide with the Feds, save your lover,
be wary of traitors, they cut like a knife
Still thinking of that First Kiss ….
Gomer LePoet
Apr 22, 2010
Apr 22, 2010 at 8:39 AM UTC
My menorah is three-branched:
three the lamps that light my firmament
one, ineffable, more ancient than time
the other immanent,
and the third, the Lamb, incarnate love.
I drank of the them in a drop
of the tears the autumn sky shed.
Yea, I held a camphor to the skies.
An eternal flame, that
burns in the chamber of the heart
where I stand anointing the beloved's
feet in perfumed oil. This crimson eve
when the shadows return,
I kneel lost in the light of his love.
A silken stream from the unknown
that gushes silent in the creeks
of the heart, where I sit in gratitude
feeling the warmth in my palms.
Aug 24, 2014
Aug 24, 2014 at 1:19 PM UTC
//// /////
Terra is rosy
'shadow and light'
and evergreen.
It's never a world
this is it!
Numerically perfect
is scientific
painstakingly poetic.
Walk along the beach
never think
you are alone see
the clouds fly in sheer bliss
The ocean of the rivers is
forever flowing.
It's a mundane
yet hallowed holy.
The artists' kaleidoscopic
the pious men's
immanent metaphysics!
Sep 19, 2019
Sep 19, 2019 at 10:32 AM UTC
We're drifting apart
Slowly but surely
Snipping the strings of the heart
I'm not speaking prematurely
I feel it in the words you speak
In the way you kiss
You're losing your mystique
I know something is amiss
The light that once lit up your face is fading
Sometimes it feels like talking to a stranger
Where I once felt at home, I now feel like I'm invading
I feel like I'm living in constant danger
At any moment you may deal the final blow
I don't want it to end
I want to continue to grow
And you will insist on still being my friend
Whatever the hell that means
Still the same messy end
I'm tearing at the seams
With the immanent evasion
Awkward mono-syllable conversations
Just the balancing of the equations
The beginning and the end of relations
Feb 5, 2012
Feb 5, 2012 at 4:55 PM UTC