"imperturbable" poems
:::::::::::.................:::::::::::
Here, in this sacred space...
:::::::::.............:::::::::
...where curtains and breeze
.....dance and tease,
...no words are uttered, i hear nothing
.........except my breathing
eyes roam, legs are crossed, as if to rule,
determined....as a stubborn mule
here in this sacred space, i have a regular
dialogue with my Creator....my Saviour,
::::::::::::::::..........................::::::::::::::::::
through His mysterious ways, He speaks to me
i am drawn to a quietude that flows from Him.
...........this noiseless space talks to me...
it's not the words...something else takes over
.....and enfolds me........especially, when
fragmented moments start to stir my heart,
...i lose them all....when i hold my breath
when my mouth has ceased, my words on a halt,
...........i am suspended.....far from the noise
.....................of the outside world...
:::::::::::::::
here in this sacred space, i am with my loved one,
::::::::::::::::..........................:::::::::::::::::::
though distant............the world is...ours,
we're in deep conversation that could last a day
we are ourselves, naked..wearing no false pretenses
...we are timeless...we are one...the two of us...
::::::::::::
here, in this sacred space...rich with
......an imperturbable stillness
..........my mind is overwhelmed
...by a silence.....so eloquent.......
::::::::::::...................::::::::::::
Sally
Copyright June 25, 2017
Rosalia Rosario A. Bayan
Jun 25, 2017
Jun 25, 2017 at 7:17 AM UTC
When Icarus falls
Who can say that
He does not turn his own back
To the fact that
The ploughman’s family
Are shrivelled on a diet
Of failing crops
And that the only two
Imperturbable components
To the serenity of his fallen world
Are the sun and the sea
That wash blue and gold
Over the evidence
Who can say that
Icarus is not so consumed
With the boiling wax upon his shoulders
And the screams in his throat
That he has casually
Failed to realise
That the ploughman on the cliff
Has just as far to fall
Mar 21, 2015
Mar 21, 2015 at 7:06 AM UTC
A desolate shore,
The sinister seduction of the Moon,
The menace of the irreclaimable Sea.
Flaunting, ****** and grim,
From cloud to cloud along her beat,
Leering her battered and inveterate leer,
She signals where he prowls in the dark alone,
Her horrible old man,
Mumbling old oaths and warming
His villainous old bones with villainous talk--
The secrets of their grisly housekeeping
Since they went out upon the pad
In the first twilight of self-conscious Time:
Growling, hideous and hoarse,
Tales of unnumbered Ships,
Goodly and strong, Companions of the Advance,
In some vile alley of the night
Waylaid and bludgeoned--
Dead.
Deep cellared in primeval ooze,
Ruined, dishonoured, spoiled,
They lie where the lean water-worm
Crawls free of their secrets, and their broken sides
Bulge with the slime of life. Thus they abide,
Thus fouled and desecrate,
The summons of the Trumpet, and the while
These Twain, their murderers,
Unravined, imperturbable, unsubdued,
Hang at the heels of their children--She aloft
As in the shining streets,
He as in ambush at some accomplice door.
The stalwart Ships,
The beautiful and bold adventurers!
Stationed out yonder in the isle,
The tall Policeman,
Flashing his bull's-eye, as he peers
About him in the ancient vacancy,
Tells them this way is safety--this way home.
4.2k
My intuition is telling me,
There will be better days approaching...
I'm attempting to approach the approbation
Of my career that I is going to fulfil...
My thoughts get real rational,
My feelings get real vivid,
My chic get elevated,
Consistently...
My intuition is telling me,
There will be better days idiosyncratic...
My intuition is never incorrect,
My intuition is illumine not an illusion...
With my intuition I'm imperturbable
Consistently...
Not everyone has the same one...
Not everyone has the same one...
Not everyone has the same one...
Jan 17, 2017
Jan 17, 2017 at 6:32 PM UTC
Pet was never mourned as you,
Purrer of the spotless hue,
Plumy tail, and wistful gaze
While you humoured our queer ways,
Or outshrilled your morning call
Up the stairs and through the hall—
Foot suspended in its fall—
While, expectant, you would stand
Arched, to meet the stroking hand;
Till your way you chose to wend
Yonder, to your tragic end.
Never another pet for me!
Let your place all vacant be;
Better blankness day by day
Than companion torn away.
Better bid his memory fade,
Better blot each mark he made,
Selfishly escape distress
By contrived forgetfulness,
Than preserve his prints to make
Every morn and eve an ache.
From the chair whereon he sat
Sweep his fur, nor wince thereat;
Rake his little pathways out
Mid the bushes roundabout;
Smooth away his talons’ mark
From the claw-worn pine-tree bark,
Where he climbed as dusk embrowned,
Waiting us who loitered round.
Strange it is this speechless thing,
Subject to our mastering,
Subject for his life and food
To our gift, and time, and mood;
Timid pensioner of us Powers,
His existence ruled by ours,
Should - by crossing at a breath
Into safe and shielded death,
By the merely taking hence
Of his insignificance—
Loom as largened to the sense,
Shape as part, above man’s will,
Of the Imperturbable.
As a prisoner, flight debarred,
Exercising in a yard,
Still retain I, troubled, shaken,
Mean estate, by him forsaken;
And this home, which scarcely took
Impress from his little look,
By his faring to the Dim
Grows all eloquent of him.
Housemate, I can think you still
Bounding to the window-sill,
Over which I vaguely see
Your small mound beneath the tree,
Showing in the autumn shade
That you moulder where you played.
3.4k
...Here a man stands accused--the pellucid jury
of his peers come to themselves in their life's arms
through him.
He wails upright...a shadow continent wedging
The Flood.
Timekeeping horseflies besmirch his chest cavity
with due kisses...par for par movements consume
time till the singular advocacy of he withstood.
The imperturbable essence captured itself, as so
at the height of its powers there's interplay.
Ease culled from tribulation...countenance slackened
by degrees...overwhelmed by awareness.
Kingdom come Kingdom--shoring space of grace
that is freedom.
As if Everything centering of itself, fawning over itself...
polar opposites in conjugal bliss.
Here a man stands accused...of being--fit for steely
juxtaposition...the murderous implement of will, or
salvation.
Envision him post-Flood, waist-deep, the living Face
of the Deep...look upon him!
Timekeeping horseflies besmirching his chest cavity
with due kisses...par for par movements consuming
time till the Singular advocacy of thee...look upon
him!
An encounter of pitless ramification: fear or love...be
it the last man upon the earth.
Look upon him--O jury of his peers boasting billions...
pellucid unto one another...look...The Hour is radiant!
Won't thee come to thine life's arms through him?
For he is Everyman.
Feb 6, 2015
Feb 6, 2015 at 11:25 AM UTC
I ASKED the Mayor of Gary about the 12-hour day and the 7-day week.
And the Mayor of Gary answered more workmen steal time on the job in Gary than any other place in the United States.
"Go into the plants and you will see men sitting around doing nothing-machinery does everything," said the Mayor of Gary when I asked him about the 12-hour day and the 7-day week.
And he wore cool cream pants, the Mayor of Gary, and white shoes, and a barber had fixed him up with a shampoo and a shave and he was easy and imperturbable though the government weather bureau thermometer said 96 and children were soaking their heads at bubbling fountains on the street corners.
And I said good-by to the Mayor of Gary and I went out from the city hall and turned the corner into Broadway.
And I saw workmen wearing leather shoes scruffed with fire and cinders, and pitted with little holes from running molten steel,
And some had bunches of specialized muscles around their shoulder blades hard as pig iron, muscles of their fore-arms were sheet steel and they looked to me like men who had been somewhere.Gary, Indiana, 1915.
1.8k
(Haiku x 7)
Ears are blocked...deafened
Conversations are ignored
Disconnected.....though
Weary mind needs rest,
Wary, half-closed eyes make sure
World...still exists...while
Aerosmith rocks me!
AHA takes me on...Go West?
Yes! Hall & Oates, too!
OMD's Secret
ABC sings Ocean Blue
All my dreams came true!
Eurythmics sings dreams
I love how the Bee Gees ask,
"How deep is your love?"
Chaka Khan pledges:
"For a chance at loving you...
Even through the fire...."
MP3 takes me...
To dip...to wade...an escape
~~~ imperturbable ~~~
Sally
Copyright March 2015
Rosalia Rosario A. Bayan
Mar 20, 2015
Mar 20, 2015 at 9:46 PM UTC
The tortoise has began
To sniff aloud impatiently,
Causing the *** full of
Palm-wine to burst into flames,
But the bat can only
Think of himself as a bird,
Let the yam tendril
Grow rapidly in this season,
For this matey idea
Engenders glowing nightmares,
Now know this,
The sacrifices of palm-wine
Cannot be substituted with water,
For your departure has caused
Me to sleep with the magic owl,
Oh yes, hear the sparrow
Singing your conventional song,
Listen dear, listen!
Listen and quicken the precious
Beads on your convex hips,
So that my heavy heart
Can behold her boisterousness,
Even though good beads
Do not speak in public,
Indeed, the machete has
Fallen on the wrong victim,
For I left the chicken undisguised,
And the ravenous hawk
Took an instinctive care of it,
***** dear, *****
***** all your pain
Into the thirsty calabash,
For I have evinced
A strong desire to be
Reconciled with your love,
So, let our imperturbable love
Unfold as the implacable day unfolds,
Obaahemaa Nyarkowaa,
The mother of my heart,
Please forgive my dumb insolence,
For I acted out of love.
© PRINCE NANA ANIN-AGYEI
Email: [email protected]
Apr 8, 2013
Apr 8, 2013 at 6:46 AM UTC
waves always feel like
a long time coming.
tide high as nirvana
breaks down at eye level,
on the feet of boulders.
clusters of bubbles popping--
one by one as joy screaming
underwater.
to let out the imperturbable
truth, remaining silent on
what was first to last.
further out, the rims of waves
destined for the same, are
darkened by schooling fish.
Jun 20, 2017
Jun 20, 2017 at 12:34 PM UTC
Karl Gustav Van der Meyer
era un gran jardinero.
Allá, en su alegre Holanda de cofias y molinos,
de canales y zuecos,
Karl Gustav cultivaba tulipanes extraños
en la penumbra de su invernadero.
Karl Gustav Van der Mayer soñaba con la gloria
de un tulipán fastuosamente *****
íntegramente ***** como las noches árticas,
como un luto total en terciopelo.
Y era así, día a día y año tras año.
Y su sueño era un sueño.
Pero él, imperturbable, regaba sus macetas,
meditando en abonos y en injertos.
(A veces, distraído, se guardaba los bulbos
en los bolsillos del chaleco...)
Karl Gustav Van der Mayer, indiferentemente,
vio blanquear sus cabellos.
Pasó el amor un día y él se encogió de hombros,
para seguir soñando con tulipanes negros...
Pero, una noche, alguien saltó la tapia.
Alguien, con un puñal.
Y el jardinero
cayó de bruces sobre sus macetas,
muerto.
Y alguien cavó en la tierra,
y echó el cadáver y tapó aquel hueco.
Karl Gustav Van der Mayer se quedó para siempre
en la penumbra de su invernadero.
Ah, pero un día, un día
se vio brotar del suelo
un tulipán de luto,
fastuosamente, íntegramente *****
Karl Gustav Van der Mayer no pudo ver su gloria,
pues la abonó su propio cuerpo.
Karl Gustav Van der Mayer
no supo que su muerte le dio vida a su sueño...
(Karl Gustav Van der Mayer siempre llevaba bulbos
en los bolsillos del chaleco...)
Por los viejos canales siguen pasando barcas,
y aún giran, como entonces, los molinos de viento.
Las muchachas sin novio regresan del domingo
entre un blancor de cofias y un trepidar de zuecos.
Ah, y, sin embargo,
Karl Gustav Van der Mayer era un gran jardinero!
1.1k
I love you terribly, and because of it
I am become completely impotent.
And I love you impotently,
And that is a terrible thing to behold.
I love you patiently
Because the root of me is a grave impatience,
And I love you impatiently
Lest the present root begin to die in earnest.
My flesh loves the scarlet sin in all of you;
Being that itself is made entirely of ruby-blooded flesh.
And my spirit loves the resounding hollowness
Of your souls thin, empty rails.
My love is an imperturbable being
That is too soon ground beneath your wheel, like an acorn;
And it is an impenetrable wheel
Which pulls me under, on it's return travel around.
This love is a decomposing hand
That's rising up fist-like, out of a newly closed grave
To grab my ankle as I run past, trying to scream out your name,
Through some shadowed cemetery, at some ungodly hour
In a world that looks suspiciously like this one.
And this love is a panting hound,
Trying to rebury its last remaining bone scrap of hope
With two lame legs impeding;
While this love, a one-eyed crow
Sits taciturn in a tree, just above a tiny, dead sparrow-
And fluffs its jet feathers, unconcernedly.
Mar 6, 2010
Mar 6, 2010 at 3:50 PM UTC
*
***
******
Her heartbeats are imperturbable,
ready to face any day
blue skies, or gray,
with, or,
without uncertainties.
******
no words said, just thoughts progress
in the silence of after midnight hours,
her eyes and mind go far, beyond the
dark horizon, she's a bird flying early
morning...soars over shadowed trees
and mountains...well before light,
she perches on the window sills of
her real world.
******
in the kitchen, she fries sausages and
potatoes...her mind travels with the
rising steam of coffee brewing,
tiptoe-ing on sad waters,
then basks in unforgettable moments past,
as voices from far away lands,
and even those
who are long gone
still echo
and dwell within her.
******
she faces life's adversities with true grit,
is toughened by pain, by loss...and by
grief, that sometimes...refuses to die.
******
her happiness springs from shallow waters.
she regrets not, about her goals foregone,
content, that, once in her life, she had her
dreams...and wished upon many stars.
******
eyes and heart often wander upon hills
and valleys, she fondly calls "home,"
sun-wrapped at day, shadowed at night,
it is where her soul.....freely roams.
******
she is wife, mother, grandmother, sister,
a friend, a caregiver, a voice...a pursuer of
truths...all she needs to be...for the sake
of her loved ones.....she is WOMAN.
******
***
*
sally b
©Rosalia Rosario A. Bayan
May 8, 2021
May 8, 2021
May 8, 2021 at 12:31 AM UTC
The wind that blows
Clouds grow
Trees sway
The sound that they make,
the sound that's peculiar,
the sound is also an indication,
rains are here to stay.
It's a lull before the storm
The storm arrives,
followed by rain
Rains are here to stay.
As of now it's raining since a long time now
Just before a few minutes reached home sound and safe
In nick of time everything changed
Rains are here to stay.
Apr 28, 2017
Apr 28, 2017 at 9:34 AM UTC
They say the ice will hold
so there I go,
forced to believe them by my act of trusting people,
stepping out on it,
and naturally it gaps open
and I, forced to carry on coolly
by my act of being imperturbable,
slide erectly into the water wearing my captain's helmet,
waving to the shore with a sad smile,
"Goodbye my darlings, goodbye dear one,"
as the ice meets again over my head with a click.
Feb 20, 2014
Feb 20, 2014 at 10:02 AM UTC
Estaba tan absorta frente al mundo
que no sentí como volaba el tiempo
siempre adelante con sus duras garras
cargadas de sucesos y momentos,
halcón imperturbable, me llevaba
también a mí, la joven e inocente.
Y quise detenerme, mas no pude
se me filtra en la oscura cabellera
la escarcha de los fríos inclementes,
esclava de sus pasos siempre anduve
en busca del verano que es mi patria
como no puedo hallarle me he sentado
a llorar. Ya no soy sino una apátrida.
646
Entre la imperturbable quietud de la alameda,
donde el césped recama su tapiz absorbente,
la fuente silabea melancólicamente
las tímidas metáforas de una estrofa de seda.
El chorro de agua clara vacila, ondula y rueda,
irisando de espuma los labios de la fuente,
y sobre la amatista cóncava del poniente
el sol funde los bordes de su roja moneda.
En el plácido estanque de linfa transparente
un cisne erige el asa de su cuello indolente,
y en actitud heráldica meditabundo queda...
Pero el plumaje cándido se eriza de repente,
y del pico de ámbar fluye un grito estridente,
ante un botón de rosa que flota en la corriente,
húmedo y sonrosado como el **** de Leda...
641
Eyes dimmed by calicanto vapours find
ecstasy in blurs as sandalwood scents arise
from burning candles, melding to provoke
an original entrancing redolence, a fay’s
potion delicately sending me into raptures.
Cocooned in the crystalline aqueous lymph
nakedness allows fondling drops to slither,
softly caressing skin with each emersion only
to immerse once more for greater pleasure.
Intensifying warmth enhances my perception
of this bliss persuaded, that nothing else
could touch me in this place, placental womb
imperturbable enchantment, secluded, from
reality shielded by a shell made of steam.
Enthralling haze incites fantasy to unleash
enticing indulgence in blind hallucinations
where ethereal substance imposes its flesh
upon my liquescing essence.
Chimerical cleansing drowning impurities
that will escape, when I’ll remove the cap
I will watch them whirl away, sheathed
in my bathrobe a chalice of red wine
will remain untouched as I’ll refuse
to relinquish the beguiling delight.
Feb 12, 2018
Feb 12, 2018 at 5:53 AM UTC
To understand how you feel
I think I will continue to stand right here
Will you come to miss me?
Or will you fly free?
I hope to be imperturbable that you love me so
Not to be filled with inimical effects and woe
Apr 26, 2014
Apr 26, 2014 at 8:33 PM UTC
Off this deck there are no splendid vistas to see.
Gray and marbled trees lean and weather
Rooted in the ground, entangled, rigid,
They appear imperturbable.
The earth sleeps under a veil of snow.
A hawk ensconces on a barren tree limb,
Catching the warmth of the sun, unmoving
As stone and stoic, in a blanket of cold,
The snow-covered yard seems to undulate
Below its menacing black silhouette.
A dog trots by like a miss-casted
Jackal hunting on a snow Savannah.
The path is bleak as a bleached desert.
A lone woodpecker hammers a fallen tree.
The wooden deck stays unmoved, quiet, steady
Along with its snow-covered assemblage
Of strewn chairs, square ricks, clay pots and wind chimes
Resting silent. Encircling me the air moves
And chatters in a vague idiom.
I listen as the passing moments arise and pass without hesitation.
Later on, the sky will be heavy with snow.
A grim night for star-gazers and hunters.
Even the tree trunks crackle from the cold.
I wished to see the hawk catch its quarry
But instead, watched it fly at dusk,
Slow, solemn, an apotheosis of nature,
Survivor of bleak winters, taut sinew and bone
Covered in a feathery jacket.
The morrow will see it back again and
This snowscape will flicker like a candle.
Dec 21, 2019
Dec 21, 2019 at 3:11 PM UTC
Tabula Rosa
Soldiers without emotion
Imperturbable
Armed forces demands extreme
Patriots The Proud The Few
Inspired Songs
1). 19 ( the final story) 1985
By Paul Hardcastle
2) Fortunate Son 1969
By Creedence Clearwater Revival
Footnotes
Tanka Haiku
5 lines
31 numbered syllables
BLT Webster’s Word of the day challenge
3-10-25
IMPERTURBABLE
Describes someone or something marked by extreme calm; such a person or thing is very hard to disturb or upset
Tabula Rosa
an absence of perceived ideas or predetermined goals, a clean slate
Mar 11, 2025
Mar 11, 2025 at 12:36 AM UTC