"inexpressible" poems
#*It's at the point of desperation that the soul finds its deepest desire,
and in that desire lies everything of which true life is made.
Perhaps the first and central question concerning surrender
ought not to be, “What am I willing to give to God?”
but “What am I willing to receive from Him?”
For it's only in the realization that I have nothing to give Him and
He has everything to give me that true humility and surrender come.
If I would simply receive all He offers me and let Him fill me up
I would have no room in my hands to hold onto anything else.
But how often it is that we won't receive it until everything else is lost.
It's the secret and inexpressible dreams of the soul
which are the hardest things of all to let go and the last to go.
When they are finally gone we have nothing left to run to but Him,
and when we do we find that He is the beginning,
the end and the center of every secret dream.
Ah, blessed Peniel—that mysterious and holy ground
where heartache collides head-on with romance,
that deep and shadowed land where we struggle
with God and with men and we overcome,
that painful yet glorious place which we may leave limping
with a wrenched hip but we do not care, for we have seen God’s face—
like Jacob, may we not pass you by without being forever changed.*#
Jul 2, 2016
Jul 2, 2016 at 2:06 PM UTC
#*It's at the point of desperation that the soul finds its deepest desire,
and in that desire lies everything of which true life is made.
Perhaps the first and central question concerning surrender
ought not to be, “What am I willing to give to God?”
but “What am I willing to receive from Him?”
For it's only in the realization that I have nothing to give Him and
He has everything to give me that true humility and surrender come.
If I would simply receive all He offers me and let Him fill me up
I would have no room in my hands to hold onto anything else.
But how often it is that we won't receive it until everything else is lost.
It's the secret and inexpressible dreams of the soul
which are the hardest things of all to let go and the last to go.
When they are finally gone we have nothing left to run to but Him,
and when we do we find that He is the beginning,
the end and the center of every secret dream.
Ah, blessed Peniel—that mysterious and holy ground
where heartache collides head-on with romance,
that deep and shadowed land where we struggle
with God and with men and we overcome,
that painful yet glorious place which we may leave limping
with a wrenched hip but we do not care, for we have seen God’s face—
like Jacob, may we not pass you by without being forever changed.*#
Nov 14, 2015
Nov 14, 2015 at 12:48 AM UTC
Shall I sing my telugu sonorous song
Which will stay for so long?
Like the cool breeze it touches your every part
And like any great art it surely soothes your heart
Have you ever heard of the great Bards
Annamayya and kshetrayya who sang
With a lot of godly emotion
And inexpressible passion?
I am very proud of my culture and song
Which will definitely make you throng
Your song may be sweeter and fine
But I like my song because it’s mine
God is undoubtedly music
We can’t understand his magic
Music is really intoxicating and divine
It is much more tranquilizing than even French wine
Jan 15, 2011
Jan 15, 2011 at 8:56 PM UTC
You died too young
Your angels' voice
Your deep deep sorrow
Don't you know how I need you?
You left too soon
Your wicked heart
Yourdrunk drunk love
Don't you know how I need you?
You are from the black gold era
Black is for your melancholy
Gold is for your inexpressible soul
You said goodbye too young
Your golden tears in the paradise
Your rousing heartbreak
Don't you know how I need you?
You passed away too soon
Your mysterious disappearance
Your breathless dream brother
Don't you know how I need you?
You are from the black gold era
Black is for your melancholy
Gold is for your inexpressible soul
You fell asleep too young
Your American breath
Your rootless trailer trash
Don't you know how I need you?
You gone to glory too soon
Your curly dark hair
Your heavenly muse
Don't you know how I need you?
Jul 7, 2014
Jul 7, 2014 at 6:01 AM UTC
There is something about knowing that your heart
has finally found its place, that the peace you have been searching for
now knocks at your door.
That the storm that has left you in pieces,
that has you so used to the darkness you had
forgotten you once walked on sunlit paths
is finally over, and you remember that the moon and the stars still exist
that hurricanes, no matter how huge, lose their speed
and there is still such a thing as clouds
that don’t bring death with each fall of rain.
I know that there is something about knowing that
there is hope, and not just any kind of hope,
but the hope that is alive,
and knowing this… you know what it does?
It makes me feel like spring,
every fiber in my being so alive and kicking
and suddenly every part of me knows
how to dance, I lose control of my body
and even I don’t know how to stop me,
my mouth seems too small to contain the smile
that is breaking across my
face is flushed pink
like I’m in love, I am in love, how can you not be in love
when you know that a hope like this is living and it
overtakes you and kind of breaks you and
makes you feel like this, makes you
forget how to form words on your tongue,
even the simplest things are now indescribable
brings you to your knees, waterfalls of tears on your cheeks
and you’re not sure if they’re from laughter or amazement
but then it hits you, the word to describe it is
joy.
An inexpressible, glorious joy.
And this joy does not fade.
Even in my hardest nights, in the corners of my heart
there it resides.
How can this joy go away, when I know
that every ugly part of me
every mistake
every failure and every fall
has been taken and exchanged?
Darkness for light
death for life
sin for righteousness
mourning for gladness.
How can this joy be silenced,
when God Himself shamelessly proclaimed
His love for me, an unworthy being,
announcing to the world
that I am now His through the nailing of His body to a tree?
How can this joy be destroyed,
when even after accepting His love into my life
there are times my heart still strays far
but then, again and again and again, His love goes further?
It cannot.
And it is with this joy that my heart has been filled,
more than when all the blessings are flowing
and I am not lacking, this joy
goes beyond this world in which we are living,
pointing us to the only possible source for a
joy like this.
There is something about knowing where the source
of such a joy comes from,
and knowing that your heart has finally opened its doors
and finally found its place there.
And that source is Jesus.
And my heart has opened its doors to Him and
found its place in Him, and I am filled with joy.
An inexpressible, glorious joy.
Mar 21, 2016
Mar 21, 2016 at 8:43 AM UTC
A quaint little bazaar
In the heart of the town
Tells a story
Of a thousand moments
Dal Bazaar as they call it
Or "Curry Market" for others who don't know.
I have fragments of memorable memories
Deep within my mind
The smell
The intoxicating smell of spices
Blended with the quiescent yet cacophonous lives
Of Merchants and Beggars
Of Buyers and Sellers
Of Bullions and a single calloused rupia
In the hands of the old *****
The sunlight baking
Bags of turmeric.
Suspending the scent
In the minds of men.
Capering clouds of black and grey
And the sudden squall
Stirring the monotony
Of the customary.
The pirouette of rain
The one that excites the plainest of the plain
Painting the whitewash with shades of grey
The chalky walls
Dust
Moist corriander
And the relief of earth
Conciliating
So rewarding
For the ruins of the bare sun.
This flashback into my soul
Where all my senses seem to be so awake.
The feel of the wooden veranda
Scent so inexpressible
My eyes devouring the sunset
Tasting the heavens
Hearing it all.
Feeling it all.
Oh the plight of poets
The ritual to end a poem.
Painful.
Aug 16, 2014
Aug 16, 2014 at 3:33 AM UTC
Hammers on heartstrings,
And I wish to tell you of their
Sound.
Lo, how each chime rolls
Or taps the surface of the air,
Each an exultation of depression,
Creation.
Eyes sting with salt, wetted with
What has been – the foolish enterprise
Of my words. These notes, they
Scale the patterns of my life.
Pure emotion.
Inexpressible.
Hammers on heartstrings,
They fill the emptied rooms with
Sound.
Lo, how each key sings.
Their voice naught in solitude,
Yet a celebration of life’s discourse in
Union.
Ears ring like a music box. Chopin’s
Soul in the spaces beyond time,
Touching mine. Our sorrows pastured
Green, laying life under the ground,
Tough fingerprints.
Hammers on heartstrings,
And I wish to tell you of their
Sound.
Lo, how they still my jittered soul.
Lo, how I accept the drizzle,
The arrival of autumn
At my window.
Sep 6, 2013
Sep 6, 2013 at 8:45 AM UTC
A fruit, tasting truly different, it was what I needed,
because in every bite, it satiated my desire, inexpressible
I climbed to the top branch of the fruit tree and
plucked the most sun drenched juicy one gleaming.
But it didn't put out the fire raging in my heart, though
the sweet fruit made me withdraw and be quiet
for a short while and then I went in search of another
when it dawned on me that it's a rare root, with
magical effects, that the nomads collect from hidden woods,
and it is the stuff used at the dead of night for alchemy
the chemical work that makes even the cheapest metal gold!
I went seeking a girl,who was described in revelations--
her bewitching beauty, haunting eyes and the songs she sung
promised many things to my heart and I couldn't sleep
after the time I met fleetingly, that seductive dame.
She was from a world different, her heart was unlike
any one else's I have known, yet I told her I still do search,
as it was a puzzle still, why beauty beacons me !
The black forest winds and waters, the flowers everywhere,
I needed to be alone with myself, when my heart stirred,
heard a little bird chirping that said" You make me calm,
where did you find the poem you just read aloud?"
Suddenly I have woken up from the dream I had fallen into,
eyes lit with beauty, munching a fruit, my favorite
book of poetry in hand,I went to my love, to read it aloud
to her and mull the beauty together, get rejuvenated.
Aug 27, 2017
Aug 27, 2017 at 11:19 AM UTC
His jealousy is like a poison in my blood
I can feel my limbs getting heavy
in my attempts to ease it
but it just gets stronger.
My limbs are like dead weight
sinking sinking deeper
drowning in the water
unable to rise
unable to feel.
I fall to the ground
so deep I can feel the hounds of hell breathing
breathing me in
the way I breathed in the smell of my coffee
the smell of his blackberry tea.
He prefers tea to coffee
it has a better taste to him
he only likes iced coffee.
His presence has gone silent
he no longer speaks.
I don’t hear from him
he’s done
he just disappeared.
It’s like it never happened.
I never watched him play
with his tea cup after it was gone.
He never kissed me.
He kissed me...
Maybe he did have a right to be jealous of him.
Maybe it made sense...
I just don’t know.
I wish his presence would come back.
I enjoy talking to him
seeing him
being around him.
But I also enjoy being around the other.
How can I expect him to not be jealous
when I know how he feels,
but I still tell him when I hang out with another guy?
Like Eli and his blackberry tea
his blackberry tea and my coffee.
My coffee I sipped at to make the moment last longer.
I’d been so scared he wouldn’t like me.
I was already wondering why he wanted to hang out with me
he’s a freshman in college I'm a sophomore in high school.
The only conversations we had before then
was always about poetry
poetry
poetry
poetry.
But what did I do?
Why did he just stop?
All I did was say I couldn’t hang out that night.
He asked at eleven at night.
I was already lounging around.
I was watching movies.
I had to work in the morning.
Why did he wait till eleven at night to ask?
I was free all day
but he waits till its dark and I can’t leave.
Why does that give him reason to ignore me?
I guess two can play at that game
but its a little harder on my end.
When you’re already being ignored its hard to ignore them
especially when you just want them to talk to you.
Talk to me.
Talk to you.
What am I talking about?
If he messaged right now
we all know I’d answer.
What’s a girl to do
when she wants to be around the person
that’s ignoring her?
Before you ask
no, I don’t like him like that
at least I don’t think
I don’t know.
I don’t know what I think.
I don’t know anything.
I don’t know me.
I don’t know you.
I don’t know her .
and I apparently don’t know him either.
But I know the other.
He’s still there
watching quietly in his jealous stupor.
He’s still talking to me
but that has made no difference.
Especially when he quotes my own poems back to me
“‘This inexpressible, uncontrollable feeling’
*for you
you
only you
no one else
just you*”
I don’t know how to respond to that.
how does he expect me to respond?
I don’t even know anymore!
Feb 26, 2015
Feb 26, 2015 at 9:30 PM UTC
A ****** becomes a woman
only when she is occupied, possessed
caressed and squeezed by her lover
or husband. As a buzzing bee *****
nectar from the flower, he sips manna from her rosy lips.
A man’s life is a waste
unless he smoothly touches the ******* of her lover
and pours the loving juice in to her beautiful *****
It is really an ecstasy for a man
to climb the mountains and go deep into
his lover’s deep valley and fathom
her inexpressible beauty
Blessed is the woman
whose breast is ****** most passionately by his lover
and most lovingly by her child for milk
when she becomes a mother.
The greatest thing in this vast universe
is the happy union between a man
and a woman which is the real source
of recreation and creation of man,
the cleverest thinking animal on earth
Apr 16, 2011
Apr 16, 2011 at 11:31 PM UTC
There are three important stages
in the life of a man or woman.
Birth, marriage and death.
We do not know about our birth and death
But we enjoy and celebrate our marriage
It may be celebrated in different ways
in different cultures across the globe.
It brings happiness and joy not only
to the bride and the bridegroom
but everybody sitting in the betrothal room
A man and a woman become perfect
only after marriage in any age
The bride sits like a queen
in the Indian palanquin
And the bride groom waits for her
like the spring for the koel.
Marriage is not only to unite two bodies
but to ignite two souls.
The happiest occasion for a woman
or a man is when ***** becomes
a mother and a father.
when the child plays with a toy
the father gets inexpressible joy
and the mother feels like the HELEN OF TROY
Mar 20, 2011
Mar 20, 2011 at 8:18 AM UTC
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.
Jul 13, 2014
Jul 13, 2014 at 12:33 AM UTC
The day they operated on his brain
he imagined it as his day of poetry
freedom from the pain of living,
and heard a train reciting a long poem
on love, nightmares and death
by a Chilean poet he adored,
whose name he tried to recollect, over and over again
but his train of thoughts curiously missed
that one station in each, separate attempt.
.
Did he hear anyone whispering anything about 'bad omen'?
reminding a poet killed by a dose of poison
injected by the doctor treating him
to end the emotional ********** of
his poetry over the mind of millions
of readers
- and then he slowly lost orientation
in delirious state he fell in to a pit of delight and thought
about the white luminant mist poetry, has created in his being,
all through the days of suffering love gifted him.
He received poetry as a feeling, deep, deep inside,
Emily Dickinson was to him a fragrance enveloping his consciousness,
then a feeling inexpressible, an elation, leading him to a plane higher.
His brain was a night filled tunnel, through which
the train reciting dark poems of stark beauty of death
traveled like lightening, he sat perplexed looking
at a mirror someone held before him, reflecting darkness, an eerie feeling.
That night train wailing as if someone dear has left for ever
traveled through the surreal plane of Dali paintings.
"Life", a unfamiliar voice proclaimed aloud near him,
"Is poetry written in one's blood, which one fails
to read as it is dangerously close to one's suicide note,
that one finishes reading only at the last minute".He hoped
they must have finished his surgery by now;
it was getting dark, a kind of mist spreading like a swarm of evil beetles,
but they were still at it, panic reigned
on the operation table. His face was peaceful
immobile like the wings of a dead butterfly.
Oct 17, 2013
Oct 17, 2013 at 12:08 PM UTC
throwing stones
into the lake
i discovered
the dog
likes to chase
the staccato splashes
as the surface
of the water
is broken
with inexpressible joy
pebbles were tossed
individually
and by handfuls
as i watched
the playful bounding
for over
half an hour
unfortunately
i had not spotted
the fisherman
further along
the water's edge
rolling eyes
and shaking head
as wave
after wave
of rippled chaos
disturbed his lure
and line
scaring away
anything
he had hoped
to catch
Aug 3, 2022
Aug 3, 2022 at 9:47 AM UTC
It’s not an art museum,
it’s a Waffle House,
and you’re looking sleepy
as you sip your tea.
It’s three a.m. and
I know we still have a few more miles until my house,
but I’m home and you know it.
I’m ripping up a napkin with my
hands as we talk about the concert.
I know I enjoyed it more than you,
and I know I cried on the way home
because I thought you didn’t love me,
but you still came to the concert
even though you didn’t really like the artist,
and now we’re at a Waffle House at three a.m.,
and the garish yellow decor reflects on your skin,
and we’re sweaty and tired,
and I love you in the rare, inexpressible way
that feels most potent
after concerts at Waffle Houses at three a.m.
Dec 12, 2019
Dec 12, 2019 at 1:47 AM UTC
And the emptiness now
lets the memory howl
and bang its head
off the sheer walls of never—
Engulfed in consequence as it rolls in
fog or smoke?
In any case—
lonely
looks like this--
numb and cool and slow-moving
grayish-white fingers
reaching for molecules of air
while the reign of suffering comes like fine drizzle
over
springtime over....
Desire perishing in a crisis of will
In the thickets of panic—
bronchial spasms expand seconds
at an open window
Choking, congestive, failure of heart!
in the face of what it means to be...
not being
...as I came into this world
breach and not breathing
to my mother’s horror!
Alone
Scrapping, gasping, grappling for breath
I love life
I LOVE-- life!
Love—
inexpressible, inessential fool of a child
Love ripped apart at the v
Apr 17, 2017
Apr 17, 2017 at 8:50 PM UTC
A sip of stillness
listening
for
God moments...
relax in the warmth
of the "felt"
love of Christ.
He widens my vision
to distinguish
real importance
transfusing me
with His Power
in my quest
for that Pearl
oh, yes,
the Pearl of greatest price.
Revitalize my love
for God
renew my thirst for His Word
empower my prayers
with wordless adoration..........
Overwhelmed
the inhibition over
the desert lay behind
and off I am
into the land of longing.....
I do not
cannot
speak
no words are necessary
too paltry would they be.
The dust
that becomes the diamonds
sprinkles
and comes forth.
Like the water lily
I am basking in the sun
of His Presence.
I soak up His Love
and
His Tenderness.
In this ecstasy
words
become
unnecessary.
Pain
God's megaphone
through which He speaks
to a deaf world.
(Which has shut Him out.)
To give joyous hospitality
we need silence
a simple, prayerful silence
belongs
to everybody
in our pousitinia*
we desire
to hear from our God
that still small Voice
the fulfilling
...........
I will lead her
into the desert
and tenderly speak
to her **
at a loss
the Spirit intercedes for us
with sighs
too deep
for words ***
inexpressible longings
God alone
understands.
Cj April 30, 2017
Apr 30, 2017
Apr 30, 2017 at 5:36 PM UTC
Awesome animal
Magician with your amazing sleight of neck tricks
Coat of tawny spots a perfect artist painted
Your wondrous balletic grace lends mystery and eyeful daze
as we look up to you with inexpressible sorrow
aware that one day you might vanish from our smitten sight
Dec 26, 2016
Dec 26, 2016 at 7:55 PM UTC
My shaft-craft docked I with hers
As in orbit the space shuttle Atlantis,
Before it was by NASA rested:
So up she swallowed of for three
Inexpressible minutes, my darling dilly, --
Just like a shark swallowed up stiff Jonah
For three days in her belly, --in Havana,
Where I was locked in tween her hot thighs,
Heaving out we both extraterrestrial sighs
Upon the green with amours encrusted.
Jan 5, 2012
Jan 5, 2012 at 11:54 AM UTC
Sometimes I just wanna write to you and tell you that you ****
I think you’re over-dramatic and moody and I couldn’t take it when we were together
I always felt like I was doing something wrong
I always felt like there was something keeping us from being truly happy
There was some spirit of oppression over you and therefore over me
That made me feel like I was going mad
It left with me a sense of deep inexpressible pain that I still feel when I think of us
And yet we connected on some deep level that I’ve never felt before
And yet I wanted so desperately to make things work with you
Perhaps it was merely the magnetically strong physical attraction
The *** with you was the best I’ve ever had;
But then again I don't have much to go off of
Unlike you who latches onto anything that comes within ten feet
Not saying you’re a player or a ****
But you didn’t and maybe still don’t truly respect woman
You’re a relationship *****
You’re addicted to being in love
You have this ridiculous expectation of what love is and how it comes about
If you hold onto that you will never be happy
If you keep doing things the way you have been;
You don’t deserve to be happy
You have left a trail of broken hearts and have cried victim
Justifying yourself by the wrong that has befallen you in the past
You're addicted to your heart ache
You haven’t let it go or moved on
And you wont allow it to heal
You’re delusional
And you spread it to those who are unfortunate enough to fall for you
I need to realize that I’m better off without you
Because your love, your life, your companionship is poison
Dec 11, 2012
Dec 11, 2012 at 1:59 PM UTC
God,
holds you over the pit of hell.
You have offended him,
infinitely.
Sinner!
Suffer,
this fierceness and wrath,
of Alrighty God.
You must suffer,
for,
eternity!
It is,
inexpressible,
inconceivable,
the power of God's anger.
Suffer!
Infinite,
misery.
Jul 20, 2012
Jul 20, 2012 at 3:21 PM UTC
When I hear music,
I feel like getting up and sing.
When I hear music,
Its like the world dances.
When I hear music,
The birds sing along.
When I hear music,
The joy in my heart is inexpressible
When I hear music,
Everyone listen.
When I hear music,
I want to scream.
When I hear music,
If I don’t sing I feel ashamed.
When I hear music,
I feel like love at first site.
When I hear music,
I walk down my memory lane.
When I hear music,
I hear legends.
When I hear music,
My enemies become my friends.
When I hear music,
My heart pounds faster.
When I hear music I get chills.
When I hear music,
Its like a dream comes true.
When the world hears music,
MAGIC HAS APPEARED.
Mar 19, 2014
Mar 19, 2014 at 9:42 AM UTC
What is real beauty? is difficult to define
We may find it if our manners are fine
You can see it even in a poor man’s sweat
Or in an innocent baby’s taking rest
Beauty is more inside than outside
External beauty may give us temporary delight
But internal beauty is the real light
It is soul’s inexpressible blissful plight
Beauty is not a thing of permanence
It’s a matter of mere relativity
It may lead us to excessive vanity
Real beauty lies in purity
Your body and mind should be pure
You will feel internal beauty for sure
You can see beauty in unselfish duty
God’s eternal duty is the only real beauty
Jan 14, 2011
Jan 14, 2011 at 6:55 AM UTC