"immortally" poems
IN YOUR lips moving fervently,
Your eyes hot with fire,
Life seems immortally young with desire,
Life seems impetuous,
Hungrily free,
Having no faith but its burning to be.
You could dance laughingly,
Draw where you move,
Hearts, hands and voices pouring you love.
Youth be a carnival,
Life be the queen,
You could go dancing and singing and seen!
Whence came that tenderness
Cruel and wild,
Arming with ****** the hand of a child?
Whence came that breaking fire,
Nursed and caressed
With passion's white fingers for tyranny's breast?
In your soul sacredly,
Deeper than fear,
Burns there a miracle dreadful to hear?
****** of ******
Was it God's breath,
Begetting a savior, that filled you with Death?
2.2k
I drink in His midnights
Lips parted to taste the rich darkness
Washing over my tongue, that begs
to caress rapturous shadows
Soothing my thirst within the twelfth hour
Catching prayers in palms, lapping the secrets
that I hunger for in quiet repose
I bathe in His moonlight
Soft, winds trace my skin
where southern breezes bring the crave
To hear intimate commands to limbs and heart
Adorned only in delicate sighs,
Tethered, to the beams of Lunas jealous glow
surrendering my desires to nights
silken absolution
Moaning my truths
through silent pleas
for nocturnal deliverance
I breathe in His twilight
Filling my chest
with the names of eternal passion
Woven through my breath
******* heaving, as I gasp
at the stars primal ******
Bringing me to my knees
in overwhelming clarity
of this nights worship to sky
He has become my expression of want
Where fingers trace the wet I create
every time hands grasp tender my submission
My body is given raw, laid for feast and pleasure
prepared for the communion of liquid embrace
Becoming immortally bound to euphoric whispers
dancing forbidden verses
over what has become His, alone......
Sep 13, 2012
Sep 13, 2012 at 4:03 PM UTC
An old man in blue suspenders
gazed down at his wife
who had just slipped away
in this hospital
Her last breath was taken
at 2152, documented by doc’s writing
what started with chest pain
ended in this dimly lit room
The old man looked up at me
gravity pulled a tear to his shoe
I blinked, the room began to spin
The old man
in blue suspenders
then calmly said,
"As I look down at her wrinkled face
and thin lips,
I can vividly remember the day
our friendship began
Her eyes were full of life
her red lips plump,
her smile made my heart
brew emotions that wouldn’t pass
We talked about these things
that made life seem so right
She was my best friend.
Now here lies her peaceful face
washed away and pale
death has finally taken her
as it will me
But those moments,
those moments of life
the bliss and her youth
live on immortally
she’s still there in my mind
that young girl,
with fire in her eyes."
Dec 7, 2014
Dec 7, 2014 at 10:59 AM UTC
The cosmic river of placidity our spiritual
Graveyard, laden illuminating the resevoirs
Of the sun serpents mineral kingdoms created
As the desecrated flowers of the
Universe decay,
The barren Earths machinery immortally
Combative rebirthing deaths plague.
Akashas victorious joy reflecting the
Sillohettes of times ardititious travellings
Fleeting, the strength of withered spirits
Collective daydreams upon solacses fallen
Fields of despair, redeeming justices
Patience provocating abeyance.
The irredescent golden amber of an iron
Roses kindling flame; katabolisms landscape
Transcending sunsets incarnate pharisaical
Clouds defying agonising temptations rising
On the wind of sanctimonious whispers
Working the stagnate temper of
Choas' repining heart.
ELEETE J MUIR.
Jan 13, 2012
Jan 13, 2012 at 10:59 AM UTC
Feel free to mourn me when I’m gone,
When I will not be back again.
It’s natural to grieve at death
For those who miss you so, I know.
But don’t forget to celebrate my life
And all I’ve done on this fair earth.
Be full of joy about these things:
Immortalise me for my deeds.
I hope to live for many a long year:
If possible cheat Death immortally,
Perhaps by going somewhere safe
From the Grim Reaper’s deadly scythe.
I hope for many table tennis wins
And trending poems, before I leave this mortal coil.
Iambic rhythms throughout cyber space,
Free verse expressing a greater vision.
I’ve planned ahead by writing this,
And might have jumped the gun maybe.
But when you read this out perhaps,
I might by now be Free.
Paul Butters
© PB 19\6\2016.
Jun 19, 2016
Jun 19, 2016 at 9:35 AM UTC
For one hundred days, we set sail without as much as one distraction.
But the skies open up,
the waves begin to groan.
The wind in the wires made a tattle-tale sound,
and a wave broke over the railing.
The lost ship would not float again,
with tattered sails and opening seams,
and deck bestrewn with falling beams,
in the deep ocean it will remain.
I feel your fear and despair.
I was much farther out than you thought.
I scream but nothing, nothing will come out.
You’ve gone too far…..
Another nameless sailor’s ghost lost to the sea.
As the tide just sweeps and sways,
When will I find my way home?
Where is the shore-line?
Will this open water become my tomb?
Whoever told the sun to wake?
And whoever told the moon to clutch the sea?
Alone, yes alone, I may not survive.
The water’s getting so hard to tread
with these waves crashing over my head.
Just a hug could make me feel like I was never alone.
Light rain-drops fall and wrinkle the sea.
I should have known the tides were getting higher.
I will fall asleep,
to close my eyes is to be at sea,
and live eternally, immortally.
There was never any way of going back to the old world with any sort of victory,
or good tidings of new discovery.
At sea I sail in the bellowing gale,
on my way to the end.
Mar 27, 2014
Mar 27, 2014 at 8:04 AM UTC
True criticism
Whether constructed or impulses for the moment;
Taken or not, to be offended by it
Is to be aware of an interjected potency.
A toxin of a so-called realization to drive towards sin
Or perhaps self-actualization, to whom we are within
Mind differs from soul, on the division of what is human.
The thought conveyed is lacking in being, rather than seeing.
Applying logic as a constant is grounds for ill confidence.
In a quality that droughts in tears from a cyclic existence
The thoughtful thrive on selfless striving
to be heard, immortally by their reviving words
The self-centered gravitate to absent causes
assisting no one, and becoming less heard
But sincerely who is right to judge you and me
Bias surrounds us, traps us to filter what we see and believe
Faith is lost to a logical world, where action is questioned
And the metaphysical will soon be poisoned by what is known
There are lights
Not meant to succumb to blight
Of the true dissension of Adam’s apple bite
Feb 24, 2010
Feb 24, 2010 at 8:30 AM UTC
[Click]
O there is a blessing in this gentle breeze
That of a childhood friend
returning for a gentle kiss on the cheek
O, sweet Mary, how did you bear the fruit of thy womb
so that the winds of change may spread it far
far and wide, far from a sparse city, so that
a pilgrim may find freedom.
Free as a bird, free from a bird, the sins of his past forgotten
Not forgotten, but atoned for, O Friend
What shall be my harbour, so that the winds
the winds may take me from this place,
through a clear stream of conscious reckoning,
of conscious wreckoning avoided
the heavy weight of a weary day, bears its fruit
bears it burden, a burden burthen of a now flightless bird
unable, disabled to the winds, to wind and soar
and now, upon this water, carried by the same winds
The earth is all before me, my journey is endless
Immortally mystified at its own liberty.
I remember this day, and the gentle zephyrs that brought me home
‘Twas Autumn, the waters were clear and placid
I remember this day, as the gentle vortex kissed my cheek, stroked my hair
a Vortex, that you, too, can have
for 3 Easy payments of $19.95, only on HSN
but that’s not all.
[Click]
Jun 13, 2012
Jun 13, 2012 at 6:12 PM UTC
Watching people compile the data of their lives.
Projecting and archiving information to stimulate cultures of us
when we give ourselves space to be about what makes us us.
To lose sense of myself is to
castrate
my own vitality
and why I fall in love with the toils of another’s expression.
The catalogues of souls that stand like sentinels in the arteries of the human race.
We were here. We know this moment.
We share it with you and you know the moment in your way,
in the language of your life
and you are heard while being spoken to.
Living to be romanced in this way,
to be understood in the ways we know
with the words constructed on top
of the emotion which was constructed on top
of a moment
now a memory.
A mortal drive of creation in evolving consciousness,
immortally moving another.
Now theres no going back.
I’ve challenged narcissism to grow from nasal gazin bathroom mirrors
into seeing yourself in it all,
to sense the language;
Lust
and fleshy aspects wrestle urgently in the song of your life.
Sorrow
and the audience retreats into the cushions of their throes
or runs from that back alley full of discarded mental furniture.
Love
and their minds explode with connections blossoming into each wonderful and terrible memory that grows into a mesh of a net cast out into the ocean of their heart.
Each memory connecting in a timeline of our moments.
The lines of our lives are filled in with dead words
masking all life to ever show its face.
If only we gave those dead symbols life
in the way life gave them to us.
The language of you while being born with the stubborn disposition
of restless curiosity of our being that begs the questions
of where our lines could go
and with what we could fill ourselves with.
Possibility bursting at our s e a m s ,
spilling over into our realities.
Aligning our minds towards considering perspectives;
perspective being one thing that our paradigm of truth does not demand more of.
So eager to settle into a home in our head,
we chase the walls and roof of one truth and forsake non-sense of what has yet to make sense
when maybe the bigger picture
and all the multitudes of its non-sensical parts are waiting to hold hands together
in that same portrait,
framed on your nightstand
where you can see how it makes sense,
so the sense can put the weary wights of the unknown to sleep,
so that you may dream with certainty.
So then, what makes more sense than non-sense?
Oct 5, 2013
Oct 5, 2013 at 10:30 PM UTC
Internal quarrels rage within,
While all the while I'm without
Your kiss, your lips, unpursed for me.
I blindly fall about.
A steady hand is just a show.
A steady heart betrays
A heady feeling from below
Dissipates and fades.
Distance, time and lofty words
Can **** a man with strength,
But just one thought, one smile, one wink,
Can bring to life in length.
For lengthy is the depth of love
That like those oceans fill,
But even depth and distance stop,
And years can dull the thrill.
So in my words, forever be,
My love, my dove, for me.
While distance, time and quarrels fade,
You will thrive immortally.
Jul 19, 2010
Jul 19, 2010 at 12:44 AM UTC
There is something awry
I can feel it
as I step into
the thick and tense
stifling and sinister,
suffocating ether.
I have a peripheral sense
of an occluded slumber,
a disturbance.
Begotten by me?
I can only hope not.
Haunted by something unknown,
unseen but not unheard.
A sound, a whisper, a chill
Ghastly squall
The rush suspends my breath,
captivates my thoughts,
hurries my pulse;
throbbing and pounding,
in my dizzy and cluttered head.
The door has closed.
Impulse and instinct
drive my body
but it is dark,
never-ending,
surrounding
Me.
Perturbation reaches up
And grips my very being;
strangling my conscious,
operational will.
Numbing all perception short of
foreboding and dread.
My entranced, mortal corpse
stumbling over my own hastened direction
that it already knows.
Scrutinizing and bellowing
an audible, unmistakable
laugh
which freezes me again
with crippling petrification.
There is no escape.
Now face to face
as I turn to confront it,
stare to glare.
Menacing and perilous
it consumes me.
Devours me.
Immortally imprisoned by
It.
Jan 15, 2017
Jan 15, 2017 at 2:58 PM UTC
i'm sorry that i write words
into fickle lines
like my life depends on it
and that i sink ships
harbored in your heart
faster than the lose lips that whispered, "i love you"
i'm sorry that the constellations engraved in my palms
will perpetually lead back to you
and that your calloused fingertips will always feel like home
i'm sorry that feelings are fleeting
and that mine are cemented,
that all i've ever wanted
was benevolence
and that you are immortally running in the rivers of my consciousness.
but mostly,
i'm sorry that i will invariably confess through
spilled ink and teardrops
what i stand for
rather than tell you
what the voices echo constantly in my hollow skull.
Sep 22, 2014
Sep 22, 2014 at 10:51 PM UTC
My power on you
Is negligible
Yet you hold me tighter
Tight
Tightly to you.
We dance around
In endless rotation
I spin
Immortally.
I breathe you in
I walk all over you
Yet you don’t know
I exist.
I am one piece
Of the puzzle
Of your skin.
You are hot and cold
Oscillating my emotions
Tidally locking me
Ensnaring me
Into your brilliant bath.
She is jealous.
Stronger and brighter than
I am smaller and feeble.
Her light shines luminous,
My glow is conditionally a specter
Unseen.
Eons ago she was yours,
And the crawl of seconds
Pulled her away
And the crawl of seconds
Birthed me upon you
Given the chance
She would wrench the blood
From my veins as she
Tugs on your arteries
Yet the iron given to me
By you, residing in my
Bones and beating chest
Holds strong, touched by
Your lifesaving magnetism
Your ferric ferocity shields
Me. In an invisible
Aromatic atmosphere of
Blanketing love.
You swirl me
Rotate and revolve me
Wake and quake me
Birth and waste me.
Mother and Father providing
The soul within me, the
Soul beneath my feet.
My planet, my world
You are my Earth.
May 29, 2014
May 29, 2014 at 11:30 AM UTC
scribbling on a piece of parchment
tying it with a red satin ribbon
i hope the waves’ movements
bring you towards a safer shore
where foreign and familiar collide
like waves bashing against rocks
warm sand with your feet inside
salt spray onto those beautiful locks
the world at your feet
you unfurl the message in the bottle to read:
Dear someone out there,
I hope you find the person who tucks you in at night
one who never leaves you out of his loving sight
the one with the gentle vocality
even when he is frail and elderly
one who will be the one to wash away
all the lingering pain of yesterday
the one with the anchoring presence
that over the years never lessens
one who lends you a listening ear
about everything you hold dear
the one that loves you for all the days you are alive
and kisses your every wrinkle, bulge and crease
one who brings you hours and hours of joy
as if you were a little girl and he a little boy
the one with the immortally kind spirit
providing you with an immense heat
one who knows the names your toes go by
joe, bonnie, ian, andrea, kai
the one that will make silly stories about kyle the toe who went to town
just to turn that frown upside down
i hope from the bottom of my jet black and neon soul
that you will, one day with the love of your life grow old
until there is nothing but the ashes of the hot, burning coal.
Jan 29, 2016
Jan 29, 2016 at 8:54 PM UTC
If I could save time in a locket, I would wear it around my neck and sail the seas. Thus being immortally known as the father of time travel.
©
Sep 29, 2019
Sep 29, 2019 at 8:10 AM UTC
I've said what I had to say
-or rather- I've typed it
I did it while you were sleeping
But I know you felt the words as they trailed behind fingertips
I only told you to read the poem to avoid ruining your game
We both know the words are immortally indented in your skin
Because whilst typing it was you who was on my mind
Allowing you to see and hear all in that moment
Even if you don't like what it is
Even if you won't do anything about it
Sep 21, 2013
Sep 21, 2013 at 5:30 PM UTC
the night came a lady,
swooning her opalescent skirt
on the vertebrae of the earth!
and the shingles of stars were
crusted on the velvet belly of her
thighs) between
whom
is
the fragrant notch of dawn;
a babe waiting crimson skin
to wail softly in the crevice of
darkness and come immortally
dieing every eve. resurrected
in her womb who did slay him.
anon the coming morn.
but should
i have a say i would say i love her more.
the night. she slanders upon and kisses
my tepid flesh, inviting my eyes to
glaze her still frame. she doth love
me well. and i too do love her. the angles
of her skin. and her cool hair. stretching
or whispered. an arch tremulously. desiring
my fingers.
she is wet. the night. hither little magic. i will love you.
Jul 24, 2010
Jul 24, 2010 at 11:11 AM UTC
i seized the day but it broke my fingers to break my grip
i didn't have the strength it took
to dig in and hold onto it
see, time has a way of making fingers frail
and just how many seconds it takes to make them breakable you
never can tell
but if, like they say
those whose hearts beat fastest live longest
then by the hold you have on me, my heartstrings
I'm immortalized immortally
Jan 27, 2012
Jan 27, 2012 at 3:22 PM UTC
A little bit of poetry made her day
for it was made immortally for her
Feb 15, 2019
Feb 15, 2019 at 9:28 AM UTC
Life is not certain but death is always true,
It is the sum of life we are told, its something we all must do,
But is life then worth it? If what is true is taught?
If death is our only eventuality, then the sum of life is naught,
That "it's what we do that matters", it's often argued in light of this thought,
That "it's about each of our own journeys, the individual battles that we have fought".
But when we die the memory of that life dies too,
All the trials and tribulations journeyed through,
And as that is fact and held deep within our minds,
Then it is not the life lived that matters, but the memory left behind,
Alas memories fade, like photographs that ware,
So beyond a few generations thought, were we ever there?
Our memory will be so easily forgot,
And our existence beyond a century will matter not.
Then is life to leave a legacy?
To have engrained ourselves upon eternity?
Is the goal to scorch our name on this rock,
And leave the message "forget me not"?
If that is so then I do not wish to live this life,
To toil in anguish and attempt to leave a mark in strife,
If our actions have no effect and the truths we sought are lost,
Then I would argue life means nothing, and death is no great cost.
It is often in life, to then look above,
To hope that someone notices, our actions, our thoughts, our loves,
And hope that in their mind we will remain,
So that in that thought we will immortally be sustained.
Truly I believe if a faith is the choice a person has then made,
Then it is nobody's business to make that belief fade,
But belief so often leads to action, to change, examples of this are rife,
So then faith is more destructive than any other walk of life.
I have never had the gift of faith, something at times can give me woe,
But instead find peace in facts, in thought and knowledge left to know,
In science a persons legacy can span an entire age,
Their words and thoughts sealed engraved by ink upon a page,
But again the page can be easily lost, or fade or too be burned,
Then humanity would forget that person, and anything that they may have learned.
I was once told that what makes humanity unique is the archiving of our knowledge,
That we keep it to pass along through schools and art and college,
Then the things we teach and then pass on,
Is all that ever mattered all along.
If that is true then life does have a goal, that we must go,
Out into this world to live our life and learn as much as we can know,
And if I am as I believe correct,
Like the old and wise do teach in retrospect,
Then I would wager that it is our purpose on this rock,
To have all that we know ready, when death begins to knock,
To then sit and tell our story, speak soft words to the generation to come.
And hope our teachings keep them well for this is our life's sum.
Jan 12, 2016
Jan 12, 2016 at 9:08 PM UTC
What fires burn in this feverish mind!
And from the ashes spring ardent words,
Like the phoenix rising up to heaven,
Leading flocks of diaphanous birds
Mimicking the tides, thoughts ebb and flow
Ceaselessly, as those of the ocean;
Like one possessed, I surrender control,
Jotting down every whim and notion
Angst and rapture mingle together
As I ponder each new assignment;
Vague concepts, dispatched from a remote source,
Invade my mind, seeking refinement
Transient verses perch upon my pen,
Now my minions, I must guide them home;
With care, I place them upon the blank page --
Trumpeting the birth of a new Poem!
Dare I hope my words be remembered
Immortally, as our God must be,
Bringing joy and comfort to burdened hearts,
Like a prayer recited faithfully
My words cannot be held prisoners
In a box meant for decaying remains;
But rather, these poems I lovingly pen
Must soar alongside heavenly strains
I care not if few sad tears are shed
For my folded hands and eyelids closed;
But when Death commands that my voice be still,
Grieve for the poems that went uncomposed!
Feb 16, 2018
Feb 16, 2018 at 1:23 PM UTC
Dear Old Friend,
Oh the hours we've played, the hours we have spent together
No words are spoken, none are needed
Our connection is physical
Gentle belly rubs
And warm, soft, furry skin gently keeping winter chills from inflicting my being
I recall the days you would fit on my lap, resting in-between my thighs in that comfortable crease
You had pupils the size of a pinky toe, and your nose was in proportion to a dime
Sweetly, lovingly, I could hold you in my palms
Where did those days go?
I now must kneel to touch your feeble, aged body
You lay down most days. Tired? Pain?
I wish it was the first option
Your time has come, my companion, to be better once more
The hours are numbered, and I am counting
Though it hurts, it helps to know you will soon recover
I want you only to be that innocent baby again
I want the webs of your paws in my little fingers, I want your fluffy, perfectly soft self sleeping on my lap again
Sleep once more, sweet pet
Sleep eternally and immortally
Oct 24, 2012
Oct 24, 2012 at 9:32 PM UTC
when your fantasy fails, and your dreams scatter into the black
foreboding emptiness
come to me
when your hopes are ripped form your ******* weak hands
and all you do is sit there wishing for some apathy that you will
never receive
when your mind is ***** repeatedly and ****** over one to many times
come to me
when she pulls your tongue out of your putrid mouth and slaps your wittle **** with it
come to me
when your on your knees begging, let them laugh in your face, let them spit upon you
for you are ******* nothing
your god has left you
nowhere to be found?
your mind it's being ****** again, sanity where'd you go? stop slutting around
HAHA!
oh the irony, my little ******* piggy
when you are nothing, when you sincerely cannot give two ***** anymore,
when you stop silently screaming for help, when you have given up on any kind of release,
come to me
when you have found pleasure in this game you play all by yourself in that endlessly open mind of yours
see me
when you are here but nowhere to be found
seek for me
when you still don't give two *****
love me
when your dead,
fear me
when your gone, but immortally in ecstasy
hide from me
when your reality is all but "everything"
listen to me
like you always have
let me **** you one more time
sweetie
dearest
******* innocent pie
come to me
feed me
live with me
don't let go
you are here
forever in fantasy
ecstasy
your sanity, the games honey,
oh how we love them
fear me
speak to me
come to me
Sep 29, 2014
Sep 29, 2014 at 9:16 PM UTC
Descended immortally, as those of lesser
Morals sit upon jaded thrones. Less are
Their thoughts of those looking below.
Etched in sands time we decompose.
We struggle upon sands ever ebbing
Downwards, our struggle is for that
Fleeting moment of breath, to catch
One more, too many moments cast.
Those thought above, never see how we
Live, our moments more precious than
Those times mentioned. We are sand but
We are many moment in a finite lifetime.
Aug 7, 2015
Aug 7, 2015 at 5:58 PM UTC