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"indefinable" poems
You once asked me that question and all I could answer was, "I just love you." My answer to your question might seem so simple, but believe me when I say it's more complex than that. My love for you is too vast, there's no amount that can measure it. It is by itself indescribable, no words can do it justice. I would say that you're my whole universe, but to me you're more than just an immense number of galaxies. I would say that I love you to infinity, but I know that I love you more than what's beyond the infinite. I would say that I could love you for eternity, but to me even eternity seems like a short period of time. I could write this for as long as I want, but I know that this won't even be enough to explain my love. So dear, if you ever ask me again of how much I love you, know that my answer would still stay the same. Within those four words my love remains indefinable. Within those four words my love remains immeasurable. "I just love you" and that is all I can say.
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Aug 14, 2017
Aug 14, 2017 at 3:42 PM UTC
"How much do you love me?"
unto thee i burn incense the bowl crackles upon the gloom arise purple pencils fluent spires of fragrance the bowl seethes a flutter of stars a turbulence of forms delightful with indefinable flowering, the air is deep with desirable flowers i think thou lovest incense for in the ambiguous faint aspirings the indolent frail ascensions, of thy smile rises the immaculate sorrow of thy low hair flutter the level litanies unto thee i burn incense,over the dim smoke straining my lips are vague with ecstasy my palpitating ******* inhale the slow supple flower of thy beauty,my heart discovers thee unto whom i burn olbanum
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Unto Thee I
The quieter he became ... the more he could feel only a single lit candle moved the stillness , gripping the void between lucency and obscure darkness longing eyes slipped slowly closed as the flicker faded , inner quietude dimming all light the darker it got ... the more vividly he could see a nearly silent exhaled sigh let the memories flood ; leaning into the bereft where there once was light , he became a timeless silence                               without form                      *only shaped by retracing                         re-remembered words* yearning to understand some of the greater things life unfolds experiencing the unknown                              without fear ,                       for to clinch and feel that which seems indefinable      for here , in this formless manifest dimension , all layers of essence are peeled back to the bared aurora of a soul's spirit light ; *at the core of inner stillness       nothing is impossible* ... © H A Rivers all rights reserved
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Sep 23, 2016
Sep 23, 2016 at 12:15 PM UTC
becoming silence
. The waves spilled the rising tide back into the scattered footprints  in the sand deeply entrenched in life’s mystery, receding into every breaking wave A stiff sea breeze put back every grain of sand, elements of a larger object gathers, gravity firmed, into the silent shoreline chasms— a beheld essence washed out to sea by the fugitive tides and retreating sea-foam Soon all trodden traces visibly vanish; unmarked mileposts on a metaphysical pathway slip away back to a windswept shoreline and elapsing summer tide Seabirds glide in slow-motion, held sway into the shapeless gusts — as if feathered puppets hovering, hanging from the rafters of the burgeoning orange sky There's an uncommon peace in the renaissance; effervescent crisp ocean air filling the indefinable emptiness marooned within each heartbeat’s echo Each new breath inhaled,  disappearing within the unhealed hollow of every thing once believed; fully aware this life is unholdable as time, yet feeling many things deeply retained     in each passing moment— slipping away like a handful of sand sifting through all these hands once held Presence becoming wreathed in a miasma of stillness, space that levitates like an unpredictable fog that seeps into the gnawing voids of an unsated hunger harlon rivers  ...  August 1st,  2018
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Jul 31, 2018
Jul 31, 2018 at 8:34 PM UTC
a fistful of sand
We are not simple nor monotonous We are the sum of a thousand million living dying existences Only believe that you are simply you Because simply being you is an act indefinable The fact that we are growing yet deteriorating Breathing yet suffocating Living yet Dying All at once is astonishing This is life Do not sit here and accept it Find a way to create yourself All over again
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Jun 5, 2014
Jun 5, 2014 at 4:31 AM UTC
Diaherrea of the mind at 2am
I want to feel those feelings, those indefinable feelings of hopscotching towards it, one foot in front of the other to experience the maudlin aqua-eyed moments in rain, jeans and midnight skirts. Taking every step necessary to evade black lakes down your cheeks, hot blood on my fingertips. And there'd be a song, cordial and soft on the piano, delicate like carnation petals, writing lyrics on each other's arms in multi-coloured ink, letters that hop up to our elbows. How to feel what it's like with another one, opposite and the same all at once. Cheerful dreams, placid days on streets, in homes with brown drinks, single and un-single friends who say 'I knew you two would...' and to show our love our hands would touch and our lips would touch and the lights would rise.
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Dec 31, 2012
Dec 31, 2012 at 12:23 PM UTC
Carnation
am I awake dreaming that I am asleep or perhaps asleep dreaming that I am awake yet I do dream. I dream of Brazil where antique rages like great storms announce themselves with a small breeze that stands against rust in mighty waves and stares at the bleak mid winter eyes of oppression and by crimson haste, dithers in despair and watches the pages that unleash such rages become the cobalt colour of tombstones who ***** themselves behind the eyes in dramatic stages yet is the announcement of all these historic rages that are outrageous placed upon blank pages that butchers compassion which is almost infinitesimally brief yet so poignant and dislocating has a momentarily almost faint identity that singles indefinable loss that is expressed in all known language and splinters the mind into dark deep waters that the only thing that can be trusted is this moment, this moment is the realisation, so powerful that one cannot do otherwise but confront it and in so doing feel the immense vibration of change
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Jun 22, 2013
Jun 22, 2013 at 11:45 AM UTC
A Dream of Brazil
SHIVA (Bijoylakshmi Das) The silence of night scares you With its eerie thoughts Ever azar with doors wide open To give vent to unrestrained dreams, Never letting you to rise above The mundane laws of existence. Do you ever think of SHIVA The eternal principle of the Sublime? Sitting alone on the peaks of the Himalayan silence, Speaking to you in His divine muse- Of ineffable ecstasy. The body is not all. That obeys the physical laws, The mind is not all. That listens to odd yearnings. And the spirit too is not your limit. You have to go beyond Far beyond life's petty limitations To reach Truth, Consciousness and Bliss. SHIVA, the enlightened. Which translates human dialects Into an indefinable divine hieroglyphic. SHIVA, the Supreme Creates the Universe, Rules it too, Annihilates when Harmony loses its identity. The universal principle of Love Gets bewildered in empirical rules of earthly existence, And Spirit fails to rise above, SHIVA opens His Third Eye, In its piercing gaze All lights fade and The fugitive human mind finds no sojourn He warns you. Arise, awake To reach your goal Beyond the earthly ken. (Bijoylakshmi Das Haridwar)
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Jan 13, 2020
Jan 13, 2020 at 7:31 PM UTC
SHIVA
~ *scarlet wind sails upon an ultrasounding wave, postcards from tiny islands; nebulous, indefinable, floating, fresh as a field of crackerjacks; nodding happily from minute one, celebrating the mountains and valleys of being alive in excelsis; irresistible and impish in its understated insinuations.* ~
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Dec 12, 2022
Dec 12, 2022 at 12:08 PM UTC
Minute One
There are days of restless worrying, And sleepless nights of fear. Then are days of numb oblivion With nights of terror-filled dreams. Like relentless waves pounding The weakened beachhead of the shore. Like bloodied knuckles punching The shredded remnants of a sandbag. This, my cycle of the Inevitable, Unavoidable, Inescapable, Unpreventable Stirring up of the Indescribable, Indefinable, Inexpressible Anger that resides deep within My broken soul. Yet no one knows. I am a calm, placid lake. A deep and dark lake Sitting in the mouth of an active volcano.
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Jul 13, 2014
Jul 13, 2014 at 12:33 AM UTC
Suppression Depression Blues
I saw.... Two black crystal ***** Rimmed with white Reflecting an indefinable emotion Glowing with some intense passion Riveting   Entrancing! Two eyes of oceanic depths Relaying the most intimate message “I love you” (?) So piercing were those eyes That I couldn’t stand their electric glare From those eyes, rose the Promethean fire Glistening like molten gold At once sending out The light of a hundred galaxies From the fire bursting through those eyes My body was turned into a conflagration And my soul rippled like fermented wine An ocean was stirring within Whose whirls could never again be tamed In those flooding pools Let me cast my fishing net!
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Feb 14, 2017
Feb 14, 2017 at 4:55 AM UTC
Those Eyes...
The unexplainable emotion The indefinable feeling The sudden shift of scenery That thing called Love I first felt it with a girl in black Though wearing thick eyeglasses And books in both hands She's the most captivating thing I have ever seen in my life My life before is like piano tiles Plain and simple, just black and white With her around, everything seems bright Like rainbow after the rain So beautiful and nice She's the taste of my favorite dessert The sweetness that never once hurt my tooth Instead, kept me wanting craving for more of what she can give Like any other girl, she is not perfect She got flaws and done mistakes Caused me pain and brought me tears But I'll still willingly accept her Over and over again They say I'm blinded with what i feel Warned me not to fall too deep But what can i do right now When I'm already drowning With that thing called Love
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Feb 22, 2018
Feb 22, 2018 at 8:32 AM UTC
That thing called LOVE
The first smooch kiss A spring night Moonlit pastoral lake Dancing elm, oak, and pear Mild breeze Courting song of crickets and katydid Secrecy and silence Standing close, smiling, and stirring Our necks tilted on the right One hand behind and one front Thumbs caressing the face And fingers releasing the locks of your hair Our hands massaging behind and front The adorable landscape of love Bump and ******* Belly and waist Crossed legs Delirious smell of the skin Taste of your rosy lips and sweet saliva The taste of one another Outer eyes closed, inner open My upper lip between your lips Your lower lip between mine Rubbing, pressing, ******* kissing Small and big, short and long Goose bumps and blushing Breathtaking, timelessness, breathless Uncaptured, indefinable moment!
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Jan 1, 2015
Jan 1, 2015 at 12:42 PM UTC
FIRST SMOOCH KISS
Sug The frame a town in the Midwest time teen years the person a girl I have been touched by the Smokies Its southern magnificence the heritage it evokes, the Rockies awe inspiring, the Sierra Nevada its Grandeur commanding sheltered by the San Gabriel’s as I played in Los Angeles these places have one Thing in common they cause you to look out and beyond on the rich views below and they cause a Mighty flood of memories to crash ever so sweetly in the soul yes plenty of teenagers were around but For different reasons each uniquely stood out and apart all that made up the texture of this time its Greatness the final touches were being added to our lives and from this we would go on the harder Sometimes tougher road of life but in the midst of it all she stood like a Goldenrod impossible to miss Bright yellow in the profusion of other vivid colors for Ed unforgettable she possesses an undertow of Quiet Cool she didn’t make a great stir but a gentle one you slowly stepped and submerged yourself in The Quiet magic she created truly the pebble had fallen into the pool imperceptibly you couldn’t put You’re Finger on when but the circles continued to widen and you felt their effects a gentle hush Pervaded our sometimes rambunctious lives she at times was that indefinable darker hue that brought Depth to The picture soothing tremble that came into your life touched you then continued to the outer Reaches Still it lingered and in its make up hope sprang up causing a defense ageist alarm no harm Defied Her Charm this is just my simple way of saying thanks for being a wondrous part of my youth and what I am today and also happy birthday Sug
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Jan 10, 2012
Jan 10, 2012 at 2:02 AM UTC
Sug
Sug The frame a town in the Midwest time teen years the person a girl I have been touched by the Smokies Its southern magnificence the heritage it evokes, the Rockies awe inspiring, the Sierra Nevada its Grandeur commanding sheltered by the San Gabriel’s as I played in Los Angeles these places have one Thing in common they cause you to look out and beyond on the rich views below and they cause a Mighty flood of memories to crash ever so sweetly in the soul yes plenty of teenagers were around but For different reasons each uniquely stood out and apart all that made up the texture of this time its Greatness the final touches were being added to our lives and from this we would go on the harder Sometimes tougher road of life but in the midst of it all she stood like a Goldenrod impossible to miss Bright yellow in the profusion of other vivid colors for Ed unforgettable she possesses an undertow of Quiet Cool she didn’t make a great stir but a gentle one you slowly stepped and submerged yourself in The Quiet magic she created truly the pebble had fallen into the pool imperceptibly you couldn’t put You’re Finger on when but the circles continued to widen and you felt their effects a gentle hush Pervaded our sometimes rambunctious lives she at times was that indefinable darker hue that brought Depth to The picture soothing tremble that came into your life touched you then continued to the outer Reaches Still it lingered and in its make up hope sprang up causing a defense ageist alarm no harm Defied Her Charm this is just my simple way of saying thanks for being a wondrous part of my youth and what I am today and also happy birthday Sug
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the previous listener, who did so faintly and in a manner foreign to me, sat reasonably as I do now, or perhaps lain starry and jaded on some soft lawn riddled with the paused movements of those who watched, clouded with distraction, the life of a sweet nothing drown in descent from above as they cheered and screamed for it, for that meaningless treasure tainted by the vanity of their own desire, ignorant of the listener, of her own treasure then forming, as something warm and enduring in the seat of her chest, something to brood, to analyze, to cherish for a length, at great odds with the fleet and trivia that so dominated the struct of their noire. but the listener had none of this, gulfed from the shaking and pressing, shielded the same from its symbol and write, opting to push for those few golden moments most certainly approaching her as the rest wraithed past, softly and shyly granting the scarcest and most shamefully starved of treelines, roadways and ballparks and wire staff, knowing but keeping that the few she would most deeply and fondly remember would be just these. and so the listener and her lover stood past, sweeping over the artificial earths with little concern, not pausing or skipping for a moment to witness the wonder in the world around them and to soak up some indefinable fraction of its infinite offerings. from lain block to patch grass they strode, searching for their one moment, for that which so surely stood staunch and unmoving at some near point in their passage, but which always seemed to elude them, to taunt and hang and cackle in the face of their steadily growing contempt. and then, as the crowd deserted their peaks for the safe and steady and trough, allowing those moments of elation to slip from them with ease, the listener let likewise all that was precious to her from her grasp, and fell into a similar place, one of deserted lows and recollections of the brightness that lay behind, of those very moments that felt their way independently into her heart and her soul, and left her love beside her, forever looking up into the dark.
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Feb 21, 2015
Feb 21, 2015 at 2:37 PM UTC
the listener
the previous listener, who did so faintly and in a manner foreign to me, sat reasonably as I do now, or perhaps lain starry and jaded on some soft lawn riddled with the paused movements of those who watched, clouded with distraction, the life of a sweet nothing drown in descent from above as they cheered and screamed for it, for that meaningless treasure tainted by the vanity of their own desire, ignorant of the listener, of her own treasure then forming, as something warm and enduring in the seat of her chest, something to brood, to analyze, to cherish for a length, at great odds with the fleet and trivia that so dominated the struct of their noire. but the listener had none of this, gulfed from the shaking and pressing, shielded the same from its symbol and write, opting to push for those few golden moments most certainly approaching her as the rest wraithed past, softly and shyly granting the scarcest and most shamefully starved of treelines, roadways and ballparks and wire staff, knowing but keeping that the few she would most deeply and fondly remember would be just these. and so the listener and her lover stood past, sweeping over the artificial earths with little concern, not pausing or skipping for a moment to witness the wonder in the world around them and to soak up some indefinable fraction of its infinite offerings. from lain block to patch grass they strode, searching for their one moment, for that which so surely stood staunch and unmoving at some near point in their passage, but which always seemed to elude them, to taunt and hang and cackle in the face of their steadily growing contempt. and then, as the crowd deserted their peaks for the safe and steady and trough, allowing those moments of elation to slip from them with ease, the listener let likewise all that was precious to her from her grasp, and fell into a similar place, one of deserted lows and recollections of the brightness that lay behind, of those very moments that felt their way independently into her heart and her soul, and left her love beside her, forever looking up into the dark.
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LIVING IN A WILDERNESS October 2, 2009 – Damascus, Syria Ayad Gharbawi I see my eyes Reverting Bulging inwards Yet, speaking outside Of shrill fears Feeling hues and nuances indefinable Lovely contrasts Jagged emotions, Acres of mutilated humans Serrated teeth Severing carotid veins Jugular explosions Blood frothing inside Mine mind That throws itself Weeping far too low On this strangled ground Near my skin Far too many times I’ve felt, seen, experienced blazing humiliations Searing slicing fear That I can never ever Describe to you And so I’m writing for no one I know Listen to these skeletal notes Being played out Manic piano loving my drunk guitar Producing acoustic screams Hurling within My hatreds That need to prop my reason of d‘etre Isn’t that language Being expressed Spouted out Created forth frothing from these experiences That are harrowing?
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Jan 28, 2010
Jan 28, 2010 at 8:06 AM UTC
Living In A Wilderness
Sanctified by scorpions, the secret touch of midnight water sneaking black upon the shore. Deep-sea chests full of hearts, some broken, some missing. The most indefinable ***** pushed out of my head and out of my body. shattering the surface of glassy mirrors, mirages of masochistic light bending at will. Take me, still I always surrender. Spit out a little more solid than before, more than just flesh drifted onto sands. The mystery of subtle transformation beneath your hands.
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Aug 6, 2011
Aug 6, 2011 at 5:17 PM UTC
"Water" freewrite, August 4th
<<<>>> It was a few inches from my rubber shoes, i almost stepped on it! if i had, i would forever feel guilty... i was in shock, and....puzzled a small yellow creature.....moving forward when it should have moved upwards... in its silence, its voice rang in my mind friends had already left the area, but, i waited....for clearance... ........hoping, to see it rise again, and..... ......redeem itself... but, my expectations seemed doomed ..............so, they failed ..........i finally turned to leave ......and...left its fate.... ...to its empowered movers..... It resembled a new yacht...being wheeled by a bigger cart, towards the ocean, for its initial dip.......... :::::::::the wings of this yellow creature were widely spread....seemed ready to soar high yet, it didn't move a bit... it could no longer fly... ::::: for the last time, i looked, :::::::::::: and saw, four tiny black ants, persevering, painstakingly carrying this dead yellow butterfly... the trail went on and on, toward their inconspicuous hill on the ground... my feelings were indefinable that moment, it was hard to speak...or decide ......ants?...... or .........butterflies? ::::: not their fault...they both matter! ::::: Sally Copyright March 16, 2017 Rosalia Rosario A. Bayan
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Mar 16, 2017
Mar 16, 2017 at 7:19 AM UTC
Yellow, and Dead
Her beauty is that of a million diamonds glittering with perpetual gracefulness; each reflecting its own ray of light making brilliant patterns, She in herself an integral part; a masterpiece of God’s finest art, As His giant gentle hands molded her He knew exactly who she would be, She would be the one whose voice is so calm; calm enough to hear the whispers of angels from the depth of eternity, Whose smile blaze with sullen magic; enough to penetrate through the sandstones of the hills and mountains, She will be in her human self a miracle on the face of existence; whose beauty is indescribable in words; a joy to watch when she grazes the floor with her graceful walk, To see the eyes of men attendant and respectful; and the eyes of women upholding the hypothesis of her dignify honor when she talks, She will be that lady who moves with such flawless coherence of elegance and perpetual gracefulness that dead heart beat when she pass, Sending off a wave of unstinted pleasure to their inhumane face in amazement to her indefinable class, She will be that lady whose voice command respect; so much respect that no bird dares sing in the planet when she talks, In view of the universe being created around her immaculate gracefulness; the earth would rotate and dance in congruence to the luxuriant wave of her sweet voice, waxing strong in her ambiance such to believe in her ineffable gift of completeness; for her presence is bliss seasoned with perfection, She will be a dowager queen who radiates lucid rawness of orchestrated elegance; So much elegance that the angels gasp in the wake of her presence, same very angels would spread their wings in adoration so she could graze upon them, those same angels would seek and find solitude in the ambiance of her meticulous tenderness, wishing that the melody from her luxuriant voice could be turn into songs; they will forever dance to its tune of sublime perfection, wishing they could bask in the warmth of her smile; they will never forget to mask their face with it, wishing they could bath with the purity that springs from her immaculate eyes; they will remain forever sacred, wishing their names could be transcribed into the adoring letters of her name; for they shall forever bear the name HANNAH.
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Oct 2, 2016
Oct 2, 2016 at 12:52 AM UTC
ANGEL IN HUMAN SKIN
Her beauty is that of a million diamonds glittering with perpetual gracefulness; each reflecting its own ray of light making brilliant patterns, She in herself an integral part; a masterpiece of God’s finest art, As His giant gentle hands molded her He knew exactly who she would be, She would be the one whose voice is so calm; calm enough to hear the whispers of angels from the depth of eternity, Whose smile blaze with sullen magic; enough to penetrate through the sandstones of the hills and mountains, She will be in her human self a miracle on the face of existence; whose beauty is indescribable in words; a joy to watch when she grazes the floor with her graceful walk, To see the eyes of men attendant and respectful; and the eyes of women upholding the hypothesis of her dignify honor when she talks, She will be that lady who moves with such flawless coherence of elegance and perpetual gracefulness that dead heart beat when she pass, Sending off a wave of unstinted pleasure to their inhumane face in amazement to her indefinable class, She will be that lady whose voice command respect; so much respect that no bird dares sing in the planet when she talks, In view of the universe being created around her immaculate gracefulness; the earth would rotate and dance in congruence to the luxuriant wave of her sweet voice, waxing strong in her ambiance such to believe in her ineffable gift of completeness; for her presence is bliss seasoned with perfection, She will be a dowager queen who radiates lucid rawness of orchestrated elegance; So much elegance that the angels gasp in the wake of her presence, same very angels would spread their wings in adoration so she could graze upon them, those same angels would seek and find solitude in the ambiance of her meticulous tenderness, wishing that the melody from her luxuriant voice could be turn into songs; they will forever dance to its tune of sublime perfection, wishing they could bask in the warmth of her smile; they will never forget to mask their face with it, wishing they could bath with the purity that springs from her immaculate eyes; they will remain forever sacred, wishing their names could be transcribed into the adoring letters of her name; for they shall forever bear the name HANNAH.
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ginko soft they pile, strewn on cobble memories themselves concretely devised cloister inward, revise, revise, revise: debauched meanderings fully marble escapes to curl the lip, adorable here and there, whether smile sneer incise linguistic pirouettes or paler lies congest that wisdom indefinable -- the moment past moves on to feigning truth with pretty rhyme, for ornamenting time with myths to filter in an Avalon, juggle perspectival paradoxic ruth with fine meter fine, vernacular chimes, and resolve the conflict like a dawn
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Dec 2, 2012
Dec 2, 2012 at 9:47 AM UTC
clarity rejoins its titulars (little Petrarchan song)
Hey, Buddha I’d like to know what’s that smile for? what you smiling about? there’s so much pain and tension and conflict in the world and so much loneliness and so I don’t see cause for a smile I see you cross-legged in the gardens and on shelves and in the pictures and I see you at the Thai restaurant and always you have that smile so Hey, Mr Buddha - what’s that smile for? is there any reason why you should smile when it’s a struggle down here? I don't mean to be rude but just tell me: what’s there to be smiling about? given the times maybe an expression of agony like Christ on the Cross might be more apt; or maybe if you were more like the Abstract Prophet - no images allowed - might have been a better way for you, considering indefinable nirvana and all that instead you smile and perhaps you spawned a tribe of them: like the laughing Chinese Buddha whose bellies people rub for good luck; and all those ancient Chinese sages eccentric and laughing like the world’s a fun camp; and that Kuan Yin, that bodhisattva, who seems a female version of you she’s smiling always too though she hears the cries of all sentient beings so tell it straight is that smile really necessary do you think or is it just some ancient unknown Leonardo’s chisel cut everyone who makes you just repeats? Hey, Buddha always smiling what’s that smile for? what you smiling about, Mr Buddha?
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Oct 26, 2010
Oct 26, 2010 at 3:35 AM UTC
the pessimist sings to the Buddha
The probability of life itself is unpredictable For I can’t extract your mind or heart to decode Likelihood of possibilities in measurable quotient For I can’t retract a past gone by to encode Continuums of even chances and certainty The toss of the toasted dime, the weigh of sides Slashed slide all smashed and thrown in mines Fallibilism of my indefinable opinionated delicacies Attenuations of what life is attacks and strangles my neck Global troubles of war, bombs, hunger, anger Illogical connotations of overlapping determinism I burrow like a termite in a convex rising molehill Terminated in contrasted stations as we convene Gripping hands to grasp our existence in life I wonder about the whole of it, I think of it somedays
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Jan 15, 2016
Jan 15, 2016 at 10:50 AM UTC
Indeterminate (Un-SIRI-fied Version)
trapped beneath a fitted rubber sheet a lump in the mattress suffocating on rancid latex sweat and yesterday's dried fluids who were they the nameless in the dark this one smelled of popcorn that on howled in delight a collage of senseless noise scented by cats and Ajax leftovers always go bad Chuck-will's-widow in the tree by the window it must be after midnight though noon looks the same in this cage that gives just enough to torture with possibilities of breaking free freedom is overrated roses stain glass with the bloodletting of thorny mishaps blurred by smeared wounds ain't life grand when love ceases to be a goal how can one find what is utterly indefinable if it cannot be decisively named it cannot be concretely attained then again, love's fluidity is its charm no hard edges ebbing and flowing elusive and longing **** me latex blind unseen and used by those who never did mind a lumpy mattress
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Apr 13, 2018
Apr 13, 2018 at 4:10 PM UTC
Loveless, Sexless, Lifeless, and Free
We only danced like floating shadows in mesmerizing daydreams                        wistfully yearning                        to drift as light as shapeless air Warm brush of skin seemed so tangible across the  distant horizon                        touching souls                        only in the throes of musing dreams Sailing blindly down unmapped winding river shorelines                        tiptoes touch                        at shallow waters’ edge                    "Close your eyes" ...  swim afar                        where feral currents beckon                        waft away adrift                        in a moonstruck daydream trance Only in sumptuously                        lucid night dreams                        we swim stark-naked                        in a sea of sublimity Plunging into an alluring metaphysical abysm                        into the secret titanic depths                        azure oceans bathe Plummeting from the edge a Utopian threshold                        swirling beneath restless                        swollen waves crest Unraveling  passion’s prevailing tidal maelstrom                        the wanton estuary                        where lovers yearn to swim Yet … I’ll drift away alone in this restless moonlit solitude                        fly by night through star dust                        showered cosmos scenes                        crash into naked stars                        in their luminescent splendor Imbibe a spellbinding elixir yellow moon on the rise Only in dreams before morning dewdrops gather                       impearled flesh glistens                       on the cotton beach of dawn Awakening sighs replaced by warm enraptured whispers                       the sensual asylum                       passion tenderly betides Splendidly improbable entrancing reverie                       inspiring indefinable                       enchanting realms Awakening to another lonesome daybreak                       the outgoing tide,                       drowning in the trove                       beautiful dreams befall             Someone you used to know                                 2017
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Jul 7, 2017
Jul 7, 2017 at 12:39 PM UTC
In Dreams
We only danced like floating shadows in mesmerizing daydreams                        wistfully yearning                        to drift as light as shapeless air Warm brush of skin seemed so tangible across the  distant horizon                        touching souls                        only in the throes of musing dreams Sailing blindly down unmapped winding river shorelines                        tiptoes touch                        at shallow waters’ edge                    "Close your eyes" ...  swim afar                        where feral currents beckon                        waft away adrift                        in a moonstruck daydream trance Only in sumptuously                        lucid night dreams                        we swim stark-naked                        in a sea of sublimity Plunging into an alluring metaphysical abysm                        into the secret titanic depths                        azure oceans bathe Plummeting from the edge a Utopian threshold                        swirling beneath restless                        swollen waves crest Unraveling  passion’s prevailing tidal maelstrom                        the wanton estuary                        where lovers yearn to swim Yet … I’ll drift away alone in this restless moonlit solitude                        fly by night through star dust                        showered cosmos scenes                        crash into naked stars                        in their luminescent splendor Imbibe a spellbinding elixir yellow moon on the rise Only in dreams before morning dewdrops gather                       impearled flesh glistens                       on the cotton beach of dawn Awakening sighs replaced by warm enraptured whispers                       the sensual asylum                       passion tenderly betides Splendidly improbable entrancing reverie                       inspiring indefinable                       enchanting realms Awakening to another lonesome daybreak                       the outgoing tide,                       drowning in the trove                       beautiful dreams befall             Someone you used to know                                 2017
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My shelves and desks they are full of pencils of varied origins some unknown How did they arrive? I have not been to all Mysterious Arrivals from unknown places But they are here and there blacks, blues yellows, reds even some of indefinable colors All write well good pencils And it's funny Well, I do not write
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Apr 15, 2019
Apr 15, 2019 at 4:50 PM UTC
Pencils