"inbound" poems
Happenstance to the melancholic gives leave the sin of pride.
Inbound reconnaissance tells not the bearer of influence.
Squeamish at first: a foreshadowing of calamitous bonding.
A space between the mark of corporeal and the ethereal; a stringent hiatus
That which rattles the concrete foundation of morality is scarcely a malleable recourse.
Regret stains the unfounded soul: an enigma of ephemeral perforations.
A separation of the unmitigated humanities; misandry topples the writhing snake.
Impact; a cleansing of the maker's flaws integrated solemnly.
Complacency arrests the administration of the abhorred; unbridled is the autonomy of a guru.
Ambivalent giftedness burdens the reliant and haughty.
A flick of the tongue brings forth the cinema mortem.
Castaway: alone to wade in the sea of obscenities.
A temporal causality allows no mourning to abscond.
Negligence is not the enemy, but indulgent wrath.
Hesitant: a stroke of qualia begets the end of a maiden.
Feb 6, 2014
Feb 6, 2014 at 11:13 AM UTC
Remember
The last time We were
in Dallas together
That place where We met
We loved and We lived
and where We were
so very alive in Our time
There in the beautiful city
Resplendent and Refined
Where we spent Our moments
in love in life
and the quiet vibrant
Love of Life
Remember
That last time
We went back home
to Dallas
On that day we awoke
in the early morning
When I asked if you
were ready to leave
You stepped gracefully
to embrace me
You said We had time
Do you think We might...
please
You knowing surely
without a doubt
you never needed
to plead
We made love
like We knew
that We meant it
We made love
that isn't made fast
We made love
in the joys
of pleasing each other
A love that would always
however still last
We soon then
were on our way
on a beautiful bright
late Fall day
To see someone
back home
You there then
golden and glorious
Happy and smiling
Sipping on a Sunkist
citrus soda
We put the car on cruise
and We sailed away
Slipping quickly from
the rustic western country
To merge swiftly
into the flow of
the magnificent city
Toward the inbound
expressway
Remember the majestic
towering skyscrapers
as we made the loop
around downtown
The red flying Pegasus
still flying on
as the emblem
of Our hometown
Reunion Tower
and the magic of light
The Top of the Dome Club
at the top of the world
Such wonderful times
at the top of Our life
Remember Our date there
when We were yet still young
that lasted the afternoon
Throughout the evening and
all that beautiful night long
For You then my Lady
A perfect Chardonnay wine
For me Johnny Walker
on the rocks
All to perfectly bind
the heart and mind
To a wondrous moment
Overswept yet fixed in time
You by my side as
I always had hoped
Like that very last time
We were in Dallas
together back home
We made our stop
to meet with a doctor friend
He knew what I could never
believe and what I never
wanted to have had
to comprehend
You were gone by measures
You were gone by degree
You were going
and near hopelessly
gone unto me
Yet I still hoped
and believed
The last time
We went back home
to Dallas together again
But still on the way back
from Our bright shining city
to what would become
the darkest of desolations
You still were happy
or so it seemed
You were bright and beautiful
like in a perfect dream
We stopped at a restaurant
I ate a lot...but You did not
You stepped away for a minute
and then I met you at the car
When We got back
to that place
where together
We last lived
We embraced and
You said again...
please
Surely You never
would have ever
needed to plead
We first lay there
together a moment
to recover Our strength
Entwined together
You and me
Then We there
were immersed within
that precious moment
When all of beautiful
intimate art is
expressed in life
And all of love
becomes perfectly
tragic art
There is where
I felt the trickle
of Your tears
as they fell down
onto my chest
And then there
upon my heart
After that last time
We were back
home in Dallas
together.
Remember Dallas.
We always
will have Dallas.
-R.
7/17/17
-LA
-4MAR
Aug 10, 2017
Aug 10, 2017 at 3:57 PM UTC
***A Woman's Reflection on Her Reflection (Valence and Value)
one poem, written by two authors***
~~~
**Ever the analyst,
A mirror functions as surface to
Parse the fleeting constant
Of youth's beauty.
From genetic gift
Of symmetry and bone,
To technological tampering,
Until the equation is solved,
As experience and character
Models and maps the result.
The answer, a reflection,
Of individual valence and value**
(written by S.D., a woman)
~~~
(written by N.L., a man)
unbidden and unannounced, a
"not fully formed poem,
but a simple reflection"
inbound missile arrives inbox,
armed with silent power,
the lethality of the
Holy Unexpected
the man reflects
on her mirror-on-the-wall's
fulsome reply,
parsing the words of a
woman's reflection,
while gazing on her own
every human's momentary glass notation,
but an instance of summation,
a human poem, whose editing,
unceasing
a comma here,
a period inserted,
an eye shadowed, an eyebrow tweezed,
a eye dark circle line added,
to tree-mark time's authorship
all these
but a person's
excerpted extraction,
notarized,
then auto-erased and revised,
as out of date,
instantaneously compromised
but,
***it is upon the conceptual,
valence and value,
more that the man reflects perpetual,
less on transitory morphing changes of
exterior mortality
while overlooking her
glassine realization from behind,
he concludes:
every reflection,
no matter how oft the snapshot,
the unfleeting constancy
of the combining of the
princes of principles,
valence and value
that he witnesses,
in the calming pool
of her eyes,
(those borrowed windows into her soul's well,)
so well reflect
her unchanging greater finery,
her character
this reflection,
metamorphosis transformed.
into a planetary permanency poem,
high placed in his the firmament
of their conjoined sky***
Feb 25, 2016
Feb 25, 2016 at 8:54 PM UTC
I’m lying down in the ground
as the sun shines its rays
right inbound
on me.
hounding me
(surrounding)
Without a sound
Or is there?
A ringing
or dinging
a pinging
maybe a constant stinging.
I wouldn’t know.
Could be the blood pulse
or the sea dulse wrapping
the seashells doing their sins
or
a pair of siamese twins
trying to
dance and
lance and
advance on my grave
(how brave! how brave! i hope they cave)
germinated spouts
and terminated doubts
with exterminated outs.
Oct 28, 2014
Oct 28, 2014 at 3:16 PM UTC
Caught myself amidst the wilderness
Where I was neither born nor raised
It always appeared so, so strange a place
No place for a child
My heart resided in the certain and familiar
Now I wonder where it longs to take me
Desire's inbound with unflinching insistence
But perceived reasons stake me to the ground
Curious odors, pulsating flashes, prickling noises, voracious appetites
The atmosphere overwhelms me senseless
Am I here to enjoy or to observe?
My chains answer with invisible weight
Now comes the rainbow-colored mist
Is this a magician's home--a flourishing disguise?
Sparks and shadows scatter into the expanse
All I see is a vista like the blessing skybox
Desire will you take me?
Lead the boy out of his crib built by the safe
Who are one and the same
Sitting, allowing the box for forge us
A light of the mist careen's my way
Its pleasant sting spreads, boundaries finally disintegrate
Remains litter the ground, I'm finally free
I'm finally lost
Jul 12, 2015
Jul 12, 2015 at 12:32 PM UTC
*
The nature’s inner emotions leaked out;
Pouring heavily, rain drops on her breast;
Half-covered body smiles on the surface;
Her roughness turns down to a pink face.
Oh my Dear Mother Earth,
You are very elegant;
You are very benevolent.
You are a sleeping ray of light;
You are a peeping eye of night;
You sing a love melody with a half smile;
A mild kiss mark on your cheeks, meanwhile;
Your body rouses; your shapes turn around;
Again lying up and down, a fine ecstasy inbound,
Oh my Dear Mother Earth,
You are a sleeping ray of light;
You a peeping eye of night
Your harsh lust is in doors:
Your light love is in outdoors.
*
BY
WILLIAMSJI MAVELI
[email protected]
___________________________________________________
www.williamsji.com
www.williamsmaveli.com
www.williamsgeorge.com
Mar 29, 2013
Mar 29, 2013 at 8:46 AM UTC
One hundred and thirteen days since my last sip.
And it only took me one day to finally jump ship.
No matter how long I'm sober, nor how much I drink.
Will ever allow me the clarity to see the way that you think.
So here's to relapse, and the misery inbound.
Because girl I'll never stop you from runnin' around.
Oct 8, 2016
Oct 8, 2016 at 4:16 PM UTC
State of union
as we're unified, we're lateral
parallel,
paraphernalia in our religions
to add to this televised broadcast
forecasting short cuts and short comings
Sure—
I'm running out of excuses tongue-loosened painfully,
but who thought,
the chief that is,
invited everyone to our ghost dance
they stand and applaud,
Me at the helm of our podium
they **** and they gawk,
you at my breast plate
the air I drink is futile I cough,
But Is it kosher?
Nova Scotian landscapes supplementing dinner,
The candles on your dessert,
reminds me of our fire,
We once had, We flicker,
Once singular now plural -- yes adulting made us thorough,
through the rigours,
I feel different
YOU'RE TRIGGERED,
them posts traumatic symptoms I remind you of
frequently,
I listen
I sin again, I sin again
Differently,
You take me back,
Religiously,
And say,
meditation is key,
Khalad would be proud
emotionally I'm wolverine --
Untouchable,
But that was yesterday and I'm trynna say,
Sorry
I'm trynna be unguarded
as a point guard off the inbound,
Pointing to your tilted crown — Adjust it to your coils
Flag a waiter down,
Beef is not what I wanted
nor pleasant to your palette
major key — take the salmon
Overall I think we're better now,
I asked my mom about you
and my aunt about your culture
What you really need is closure
Instead of asking for permission,
settled for forgiveness,
you sweep your pride away in the name
the victim,
Treat me like I treated you
Treat me like you're bullet proof,
Treat me like those systematic flaws --
Unforgivable
You left me?
Dec 2, 2016
Dec 2, 2016 at 8:50 AM UTC
Hudson, Hicks, Vasquez,
Android crew on board. Ripley -
Didn't like cornbread.
Last survivor, Newt.
Evacuation cancelled.
You're just a grunt.
'Yeah, Bishop should go'
Sulaco dropship inbound,
Huggers roam freely.
One final rescue,
Push through the ******* airlock.
Escape. Fade to black.
Apr 27, 2014
Apr 27, 2014 at 8:33 AM UTC
There are things that disappear
when I close my eyes,
dangerous things:
fire and its notebook,
the burden of procuring more poison,
my love affair with hydrogen,
the missing footage,
the sniper's veil,
the secret moon,
the cat's tale.
There are things that disappear
when I close my eyes,
random things:
Icarus descending into
brokenness and the candy afterlife,
the sound of the young
approaching an unseizable world,
the splendor of gretel,
the plunder of hansel,
a house of sticks for inbound kings.
There are things that disappear
when I close my eyes,
things said in passing:
"don't forget to write,"
"I'm too emotional to care,"
"I've got problems bigger than global warming,"
"touch this and die,"
"I think it's passed the expiration date,"
"leave it for the archaeologists,"
"the heart is sometimes wrong..."
Oct 11, 2025
Oct 11, 2025 at 4:52 PM UTC
These Lines:
etched and edged,
well-distinct and ill-defining,
clarifying and disguising,
multifarious characters,
multivariate natures.
nefarious and courageous.
thickened thinnings,
straightforward curvings,
appointed and unanointed,
given, taken, and then
redrawn, misshapen.
both boundary and limitations,
goal reached, unending destinations,
a human's realm of indefinite definitions,
These Lines:
mappings of his domain,
recordings of his failings.
my great divide,
testimonies to my endings,
visual markers of
virtuous past successes,
virtual future failures invadings.
How can they be both simultaneous?
These Lines:
double etched and sword edged,
outbound-triumphant, defending,
inbound-plaintive, wailing,
both an indefensible and defensive blade,
cutting, both ways.
*PostScript:
The twenty eight of the month of Feb-rue-ary,
clear enough ending to the muddiest, contrary,
turgid month of the ifs of a man's life.*
Feb 28, 2014
Feb 28, 2014 at 4:50 AM UTC
Flowing like wind
I inhale you deep in,
My lungs
Chest beating like drums
The world is rotating
and your spinning around
Like a Ferris wheel inbound
In a way, you got me feeling relief
Must have been the smile u planted on me
Spending all my time,
In your vibrant patterns
Waves crashing and dying
Don't get me wrong
Its beautiful.
Jan 5, 2019
Jan 5, 2019 at 2:40 AM UTC
It’s taken you’re fed up
With politicized debate
And the fools who do brinkmanship’s
Scared world of hate.
And the ghouls who eat babies
As pawns in their game
In their scrawny white penis’s
Sad quest for fame.
Where the sick sabre rattlers
Cavort with their ploys
Of destroying old satellites
To show off their toys.
To drape flags of challenge
With threat weave inbound
Across mantles of aspirants
Desirous to be crowned.
Intimidating tactics
From they with the gun
Against all the challengers
Emerging at run.
From China to terrorist
The gauntlet’s thrown,
You cross our line
There's no mercy shown.
And we little guys sit
In our quiet, timid way,
Whilst the gigantic ego's
Jostling holds sway.
Whilst the arrogant right
Profess to have God,
And the rest of us cower
In fear, like a dog.
And the sun comes up
With a glorious show
And the nuclear dust
In the air is aglow,
And the rich and the famous
Are dead in their beds
And the ***** and the cockroaches
Nibble their heads.
It’s all such a waste
In a terrible way
When the General’s pushed buttons
And had such a day....
Marshalg
Victoria Park Tunnel
10 February 2011
Feb 9, 2011
Feb 9, 2011 at 7:19 PM UTC
Sailing through storms, lost at sea
Two ship search for love, they plea
Lost in the unknown, two ships
But relief was found on your lips
Not knowing what we found
A love, or lust, or trust inbound?
Ships tethered together tightly
Surrounded by chaos, so unsightly
But your eyes like the ocean
Slowly swaying me, a beautiful motion
I didn’t know I was searching for you
I didn’t know what I could do
‘Til I found your touch
I couldn’t get enough, to you I clutch
Feelings of adoration, giving me inspiration
Appreciation so strong, my salvation
Chaos ensues over the sea
Two ships search for love, they plea
Untethered by contract made too long ago
One made before truth I didn’t then know
Longing for each other, but belonging to another
Should we even bother, to go undercover
Or brake free and together always be?
Tell me if you can, are we forever lost at sea?
Oct 9, 2018
Oct 9, 2018 at 1:09 PM UTC
Here it comes peace inbound.
Falling down without a sound.
There is no discrimination.
It's only goal annihilation.
Mankind's destructive wonder.
Made to tear the world asunder.
Great big bomb in the sky.
Last thing we see before we die.
Dec 13, 2016
Dec 13, 2016 at 9:22 PM UTC
God, electricity has never been so painful
as when it manifests in blue cords holding up your core
and doubled over the rail finding any way
to stay away from home,
it hits your **** like the arctic wind
before it shreds and embeds in your soul
Will. I ever. Be touched like I touch, or will I
shuffle through my time alive at Water Avenue?
Will. I ever. Be held as close as I hold, or will I
wander, wistful?
Fallout. Inbound. Reciprocation comes
arriving on highways that transport heavy arms
and ***** bombs. Take me where pavement
is miles away. Take me on.
Jan 22, 2015
Jan 22, 2015 at 11:25 PM UTC
went to the hospital last week
saw my baby on the ultrasound
came home and i had'a write it down
My babies inbound
and this rap thing hasn't left the ground
I try to move but my feet dont follow
must think if i go ill crash like the Apollo
so i tell myself maybe it'll go better tomorrow
Friends telling me Congrats
when I'm still getting Richards education
Jan 25, 2013
Jan 25, 2013 at 7:05 PM UTC
watching Where Eagles Dare
just ahead of Yuletide
came a bang from upstairs
while the snow fell outside
was that you, bro, up there
was it something you tried
just to make me aware
of the moment you died?
was that you, bro?
was your cigarette stink
by our old Christmas tree?
did you make its lights blink
and that bauble fall free?
did you want me to think
you were right there with me?
that you'd severed the link
from your human debris?
is that true, bro?
then an unconscious stream
brought a nice note of grace
in a bar, just a dream
where we had an embrace
and the overall theme
I recall, from your face
you're still part of our team
lost in time, Lost in Space
I miss you, bro
I said 'drop me a clue
next time, easily found
should you ever pass through
let me know you're inbound'
he said 'I always do
but it can't be profound
there'll be some subtle cue
so you'll know I'm around'
don't say boo, bro.
Aug 18, 2024
Aug 18, 2024 at 7:17 AM UTC
Shamelessly flaunting a "good life" but never own it
They're only snapshots of good times and staged moments
You've only come across carefully selected, rookie opponents
Never felt how hard struggle hits
But...
What about when the floor drops out and a new rock bottom is found?
What about when the relentless doubt is the only thing registering as sound?
It's a generic cliche but a legitimate thing to say,
Who are you when judgment isn't around?
Do you explode in secrecy if to tightly wound?
Do you trust what stops the breakdown from happening in front of a crowd?
When you can't distinguish between right and wrong, when up seems down
When "elementary my dear Watson" proves too profound
When inner thoughts are unbound
When your own mind releases the hellhound
When you lose the comfort and security of solid ground
Control and reason give way to confusion and treason and all you can do is lie and say "change is inbound"
Would exposing the real you leave those closest to you confound?
See,
They say there's two sides to every story
I believe the same is true for every personality,
So I'm just asking around
©2024
Mar 8, 2024
Mar 8, 2024 at 2:21 PM UTC
Five
you inbound the ball
Four
you hear the screaming of the crowd
Three
the pick is set
Two
you step back
One
you pull the trigger
Zero
you awake to find you aren't Michael Jordan.
Nov 13, 2012
Nov 13, 2012 at 9:52 AM UTC
Godliness is inbound in every tender mind;
Blessings are enveloped to all; truly in kind
of comforting word, phrase or beyond;
An Echo is an instant action to respond;
Like a prayer is fruitful; in silence or aloud;
For the glory and existence of the beloved;
Death demands next, its own renaissance;
to hell or heaven, an indirect, appearance.
Even if you wait, in life, upon creator’s name;
Everything exists, continue until the last game!
BY
WILLIAMSJI MAVELI
[email protected]
www.williamsji.com
www.williamsmaveli.com
www.williamsgeorge.com
Apr 9, 2013
Apr 9, 2013 at 1:27 AM UTC
[Since the season has been a bit overwhelming for me, I wanted to share a children's poem from my earlier collections. Hope you enjoy this other side of my personality ;-)]
DIGGIN’
Doug dug a hole to China
And there upon the way
Another Doug was digging
To see the U.S.A.
Doug and Doug stopped digging
Then heard more digging sounds.
A shovel came protruding
And Dougie was inbound.
Dougie, Doug and Doug sat down,
And I’m not kidding you,
The dirt collapsed above them
And Doug the Fourth came through.
Eight more Dougs came digging,
A dozen Dougs in all.
It felt so overcrowded
They dug four mammoth walls.
Now, middle earth’s a party,
So if you dare the trek,
Come dancing down with diggers
At 12 Dougs Discotheque.
Steve Roberson
Dec 31, 2013
Dec 31, 2013 at 12:48 AM UTC
Running around the inbound of sound.
For all to see me deceive what I believe to retrieve,
the neglected objective that's been subjected in this mind of mine.
Consisting of time like fine wine of the intertwined kind will bind the blind line of mine.
The anticipation of the inevitable separation caused from the nations obliteration for youth.
What's missing is the truth.
I melt to help the self,
arose to arise the arisen distant prison crimson that listens with the minds eye.
such as I of the mind for the eye.
Distant assistant listening for missing lies.
whimpers, cries ,
exhales and sighs.
The fantasy in witch I see continuously runs into me.
Articulating fiction contradiction **** injuries.
Repetitive incentive meant to give intensive thoughts.
breaking the awakening making me shaking taking lots.
Monstrous past at last running fast from the masked blast,
new tasks.
Configuring manipulative structured meaning that's gleaming for redeeming intent,
and the time spent when it went bad.
It's sad but i'm glad I had bad dads .
Add a tad of reflection and redemption,
let me not mention,
my intention.
Side note( reading the writing fast helps the fluidity)
Feb 14, 2013
Feb 14, 2013 at 3:42 PM UTC
For the low low price of just being within' earshot,
the conversation analyst will run a full diagnostic on your conversation.
You know how that perfect comeback
feels, three weeks after
You didn't say it?
In training, representatives for Inbound sales listen to recordings of their own phone calls and critique them like Art majors in a studio class.
Our conversation analyst.
Looks at you like a shoe on the wall.
Unlike the psychology major, the conversation analyst will never share his results.
He'll just judge you.
Silently.
He doesn't speak.
His fourth grade english teacher taught him that the carpenters house is never finished.
She was referring to her husband, the carpenter, not finishing the renovations on their new home, but the conversation analyst heard it as a metaphor, and adopted it as a universal truth.
Much like a painting controls the path your eye travels the canvas, or the scientific process that goes into composing music,
the way you build rapport is one of those things that people don't realize can be an art form until they wittness it professionally.
Our conversation analyst considers himself Socio-passionate.
Which amuses him, when he deducts points from your conversation for not empathizing correctly.
Or not giving effective compliments by asking a relevant question afterwards.
The conversation analyst is not always mute. On special occasions such as first impressions he is a fine conversationalist.
You can meet the conversation analyst for the first time, as many times as you want.
If the carpenters house is never finished.
The conversation analyst
exemplar at listening,
Will never hear you.
Feb 5, 2018
Feb 5, 2018 at 6:26 PM UTC