"immortalizes" poems
When you touch me, I do not stand near the faint window, but I open all the bright doors, the doors of a very strong and very shapeless breeze. O Ramadan; the rain of touches that reach every story in my weak body and every region in my soul. Your touch is a soft candle, yes your touch is a new white flower. When you smile at me, I do not wait behind the absent window, but I see the true doors, the doors of endless time and unlimited place. Oh Ramadan, you can imagine my very intense and very shapeless happiness. When your soft whispers flow deep in me, I will never be near the salty window, but I will be immersed in warm doors , the doors of swimming in a stunning river, disappearing in a very strong and very shapeless sea. O Ramadan, let your lantern to touch my cheeks and draw a beautiful spring on my eyes. Let fasting immortalizes my body out of the water that will gone, and the food that will perish. Let my body know its true existence, and let me see my real body without food or drink. O Ramadan, allow your lantern to shine in my depth and to color my soul with unforgettable chants.
Jul 17, 2019
Jul 17, 2019 at 2:48 AM UTC
I
The absence of air
affects the lungs,
which stop inflating,
and kills the subject of illusions.
The absence of love,
which is not so fatal,
immortalizes the unemotional
and ponders if in heaven he must be put.
There's a longing
as wilting as flowers
and as old as happiness.
There are colors
which together paint my town
with praises and pains.
II
There's a new effect:
creepy like fear,
fragile since early
and sad when undone.
There's a new now
which arrives in mind
and explores in it
everything what feels
The absence of us
saddens the unhappy
when there are no advantages,
The absence of what I did,
done alone,
makes useless what is said about flowers.
May 8, 2014
May 8, 2014 at 6:16 PM UTC
For me it is rooted in my personal life,
Continues itself in our sweet relationship,
It immortalizes in our mutual feelings.
Apr 20, 2015
Apr 20, 2015 at 2:05 AM UTC
Mary! I want a lyre with other strings,
Such aid from Heaven as some have feign'd they drew,
An eloquence scarce given to mortals, new
And undebased by praise of meaner things;
That ere through age or woe I shed my wings,
I may record thy worth with honour due,
In verse as musical as thou art true,
And that immortalizes whom it sings:
But thou hast little need. There is a Book
By seraphs writ with beams of heavenly light,
On which the eyes of God not rarely look,
A chronicle of actions just and bright--
There all thy deeds, my faithful Mary, shine;
And since thou own'st that praise, I spare thee mine.
1.7k
I. Erosion
I could ***** a monument to death
And carve my name and epitaph in stone
But words are just as fleeting as my breath—
My monument is made of flesh and bone.
Indeed, like granite, filed by the rain,
Whose names and dates will ever be unfound,
We leave them lying here who we have lain
As headstones toppled wanton to the ground.
But while their names will wash away in years
And melt into the soil with their flesh,
We, left living, welcome weather's tears
And let the showers wash our bodies fresh.
II. Plots
What rope is this, tied round a plot of land
To separate the sacred from the plain
And make uncomfortable on which to stand
These grounds that, like all others, suffer rain?
The plots on which I make my daily rounds
Are no less sacred than the breathless fields;
The same grass grows in fair and fertile towns
As in the lands from which we draw no yields.
III. Ideals
What ideal immortalizes dying
With figurines that celebrate decay,
Which stand ironic of their subjects lying—
Staying while their subjects waste away?
What ideal shapes stone to mask the slough
And sculpts a youthful bust out of the sickly?
One human form is monument enough.
I hope it crumbles quickly.
Feb 27, 2014
Feb 27, 2014 at 9:09 PM UTC
Moonlight carries her like an ivory carriage.
She walks with the river and cringes not at the insects.
She resembles the water, always flowing and overcoming.
The fireflies ignite the spark in her eye
And the sun's dawn immortalizes her passion.
She floats, ethereal, with the wind.
Horizons calling her sweetly by first name,
Extending an deathless hand to a mortal goddess.
Jul 13, 2016
Jul 13, 2016 at 8:24 PM UTC
harmful yet tempting
it lurks within
the thought of it
the memories of it
it pierces your heart
with a fine needle
making a design that cannot be taken away
it throbs
pulsating throughout your entire body
rattling your bones
and sending traces of it through your bloodstream
it's venom
it immortalizes you and yet,
you like it
you covet for it
you want the thing that slowly makes you into something you're not
it's slowly eradicating your flesh
and yet, you like
the smell
the sensation
the sound that echoes within your ear canal
harmful yet tempting
it lurks within
and you don't have the tenacity to rid it from yourself
May 23, 2013
May 23, 2013 at 4:31 PM UTC
"i am writing to hold onto you." - henrikka tavi
i realized the truth within this as i flipped through
the journal pages that screamed your name aloud
at me as i sat trying to forget, and whispered of our
endeavors as i lay trying to sweep everything under
the unconscious rug that lay beneath me as i dreamed
you were every where in these parts of my life, riding
up abel and turning onto fourth, i couldn't forget that you
had grown up, a decade before me, just a block over on south,
deli boy and bianchi's pizza, sundays spent at st.cecelia's,
me, a little girl, and you, trying to figure out how to be a man,
here we are fifteen years later, me, a little girl, and you,
still trying to figure out just what it takes to be a man
ink immortalizes what we are terrified to throw into the trenches,
and just because i have vowed to find victories elsewhere
doesn't mean i've prepared myself to forget you, but the truth remains,
i must learn to write to let go
Apr 1, 2013
Apr 1, 2013 at 8:07 PM UTC
The seasons inure us to loss
whether a vote of confidence
or no confidence
we are neither more nor less
in our hearts and souls. We are still
whole, history
forgets our story
but immortalizes us, nothing is annulled.
Today's board vote affects my livelihood
how and what I hunt and gather,
money, but not whether
I live or die. That's God's and luck's neighborhood.
I like capitalizing God
although I don't believe and can't imagine
an intelligence managing or wanting to manage
this interface of rock and flesh, fire and sod.
The Knowledge
tells us how to rebuild after an apocalypse,
not let the circle lapse,
to outlast the holocaust. I have no vantage
from ridges I ascend
Cercocarpus, turbinella, dry and hot
places worry, planning, thought
stop. May they inure me to my end.
Aug 10, 2015
Aug 10, 2015 at 10:04 AM UTC
laughter embroidered in gold,
smiles embossed in bronze,
tears dripping with diamonds and
amber eyes in emerald faces that see a glittering world;
a gentle silvery touch of hands,
glassy fumbling fingers,
ruby cheeks and marble hearts and
amber glistening in sunlight and darkness;
glittering light on a glass finger,
clasping hands in a burst of silver,
gold and bronze and diamonds all around and
running off into a slippery citrine sunset;
a final touch of silver,,,
tying the knot on golden thread,,
bronze glinting through diamond droplets, and
emerald bodies returned to the waiting earth.
but amber immortalizes every golden thread,
every glint of bronze, every diamond,
everything that has been, everything that will be-
every single piece of the human experience.
Feb 7, 2020
Feb 7, 2020 at 7:51 PM UTC
I was thinking about the blast
of neon colors in a film
and the New Wave Music
and Marie Antoinete pastels
But in my childhood
it was as if we had other hues,
a small box of crayons at hand,
or that the world was seen through
Kodachrome film.
There were lollipop reds and purple
and dungaree blues, lake and skies,
lemon ice yellows, setting suns
and lush summer green.
In scratched lenses, children seemed to play
as if inspired by the living colors,
imagining that their lives would last forever.
And even as they grow, it immortalizes them.
But, like life, the colors decay
and we gaze at scenes of sepia and moss,
with ochre grass and reds turned brown.
We must attune memory to remember more.
And using suspension of disbelief,
Elders, middle-aged and children gather
Like the neolithic ceremonies meant for gods,
But celebrate, not the stars or stones,
Rather the lives we have lived or have yet to taste.
Mar 17, 2025
Mar 17, 2025 at 4:04 PM UTC
In a dream the word found me.
“Absolution” took my hand and brought me to tears
in a coffee shop.
Here’s to achieving illusive (and blatantly present) forgiveness!
To start
let me make myself worthy of grace.
I’ll be a bicycle tire left alone during winter, but now needed in the spring.
Would that be ok?
Now I’ll be a bouncy castle waiting
to be purchased for the hour
eager to please
quick to quadruple in size
easy to get lost in.
Next I’ll spin my own mythology,
would you like that?
So as Strabo immortalized Orpheus
Jensen immortalizes Jensen.
“I walked to and from school uphill both ways in the rain”
but
my truth is Swiss Cheese
carried in torn pockets
completely and unflinchingly real.
Here’s to forgiveness for others,
uplifting;
something special, easy and
a hand-written letter you
clutch close to your chest
not letting go until you and only you put it in your lovers mailbox.
Here’s to forgiveness of self
(once viewed as one views making a trillion dollars,
or being able to carry [your] my house
with [you] me
wherever I would wander)
and here’s to forgiving
to reliving myself of pain,
not a pardon
not an acquittal
but an opportunity to notice I am human and understand what that means.
Now at the end of this journey the ever-dawning sun of immortal love has broken my clouds, and here I am and here you are and here’s to accepting forgiveness!
So with an opened heart and sharpened mind
I’ll find the word again or let it find me
and choose to feed myself
what I earnestly feed others.
Nov 1, 2017
Nov 1, 2017 at 4:12 PM UTC