"inflow" poems
Inflow of confetti, brings happiness and fun
Newly wed romance in the November sun
From the valley of dreams, mid the hills and dales
Azure the sky and green the vales
Tantalizing melodies in the afternoon air
Unaware of love lingering everywhere
Against the backdrop of a cloudless sky
The snow capped mountain stands so high
Infatuation or love? A beautiful sight
Oblivious of day turning into night
Nostalgia enters, and music plays in the moonlight.
© Hazel
Nov 29, 2012
Nov 29, 2012 at 8:42 AM UTC
Ingredients:
suitcases
photo albums
quick wit
a new space that is comfortable to breathe in, raise other beings in, and nurture pets and your spirit in.
Sprinklings of humor to shake on it all when it gets to be too much. Mason jars of self-appreciation and worth to open in an emergency, if these qualities are forgotten and old patterns resurrected.
Preparation:
First, sit quietly with yourself.
Breathe deeply, as many times as you need.
Fill as many soul cups as you can with confidence,
and pour them on yourself, until they sink into the
soapstone of your pores.
If needed, tip back your head and open your mouth,
in order to have a more direct inflow.
After that, take just as many cups of calm
and pour them in, slowly and with generosity.
It is okay if you overflow; you may need extra serenity
later, when you are in the midst of action.
Let the two ingredients mix, slowly, until colors as yet unnamed
are formed in your solar plexus, spilling
throughout the entirety
of your body.
Take a break and blow bubbles, for lightness.
Yes, you may laugh like a loon.
Marinade:
After the laughter has subsided, take a big dose of self- love and rub it all over yourself, drizzled like fine coconut-scented oil. Do not miss a spot, even on the parts that you have a problem with. In fact, give those extra love.
And now, for the rub: This has been simmering for a while. It is time to push it all into the oven and bake it. The heat is rising, so be quick.
Take all precious memories and sew them into the pockets of your coat. The ugly ones, burn, quickly and thoroughly. Scatter the ashes into the wind.
Hang new pictures on the wall. Splashes of nature you have photographed. Mandalas created by a precious daughter. A platypus wishing you goodnight by your little flower imp. A cheeky photo of your boy, to remind you of inner sauciness.
All of these strengthen with love.
Finally, rest your head upon the new pillow and inhale the scent of freshly laundered springtime. For now, the ordeal of your winter has ended.
Time for a long, languid, luxurious dessert.
A new life!
Bon appetite!
Apr 5, 2017
Apr 5, 2017 at 4:36 PM UTC
Inflow
Ex flow
system
positive feed back
in a negative loop
hyper sped on the electric boop
beep .
awoken to car horns and sirens wail
Odysseus could no longer feel his left foot , right...
is that the one where they sing those songs and the mermaids eat them up ?
is that the sphinx in scuba gear?
freediving?!!
Sep 16, 2013
Sep 16, 2013 at 12:55 PM UTC
I learned the myth of the mound was blowing away
from the TV's urgent plea.
Humidity transformed into a sickly, green hue.
I need to see what is coming, but the cedars block the view.
The rapidly increasing darkness and howl means the monster broke free.
Sirens rise to take a stand, join the fray.
Mom's at the store, dad's day at the Capitol just began.
Alone. . . across the street to join the neighbors downstairs.
Inflow yanks at my feet, begging me to slip, and my eyes have to know.
Looking backward, I keep moving forward...it follows...I might be too slow!
Bathed in different light -- the dying sun, exploding blue arcs, headlights in the air.
The door latches, then leaves, along with everything else of where I just ran.
Aug 16, 2014
Aug 16, 2014 at 10:01 AM UTC
You tore my beliefs from their foundation
I lay, cut and broken, looking at a calm blue sky
While thunder threatens a repeat and rain soaks my skin.
I’m too shocked to realize this is not my imagination.
The fierce wind took my breath and I can’t get it back no matter how hard I try.
Words stumble over my tongue and don’t make it over the din.
I sensed something brewing, yet went forward with blind eyes
The anger rising like heat waves from the concrete.
The sadness leaching from the pavement, fueling the air.
It never ceases to amaze me, the fact that I’m surprised.
My thoughts, flailing about like a child’s tantrum, never complete.
Suddenly, it's upon me, and I walk into its lair.
Welcome inside the bear’s cage.
You won’t see me coming in the wrapping rain.
I’m going to tear you apart until there’s nothing more.
Everything you ever wanted, exploding in the windy rage...
till nothing remains.
Choke the inflow,
transition to a new tower,
repeat as before.
Mar 8, 2014
Mar 8, 2014 at 1:15 PM UTC
Before my tender lungs
Have known an inflow of breath
Or my eyes seen
The beauty of the daylight
Before I have come to know
The Taste of Colostrum
And before my new skin received
The caressing warmth of the sun,
Mama,
You have handed me
An illegal gate pass
Past the birth canal
Shattered my candid destiny
The president of the land
Flushed out your liberation
From the ******* of poverty
And fangs of disease.
Jun 23, 2012
Jun 23, 2012 at 5:30 AM UTC
Mind/body energy should
not have an outflow
and should not have
an inflow, if we are to maintain
our peace of mind,
but we must breathe
and we must think
most of the time,
so care is needed
to make sure that our energies
do not create trouble.
Jul 5, 2010
Jul 5, 2010 at 10:31 PM UTC
Music in the night time. Just me and all the words written and sung by poets alike. Nothing is together but everything is calm. Somewhat scattered peacefully around me. My head is rested on a pillow but my mind frantic and the only way to calm ease this rush is by giving it a rhythm to think to; for the impulses to dance and sing along as they move ufrom cell to cell.
Solitude.
Suddenly I realize that I am at my best when the powerful voice of silence washes through me. Shadows accompany me on my quest in darkness but they stand around me like ghosts, ghosts of which only silhouettes can be seen.
Silhouettes that are mainly composed of excess musical notes that escape through my earphones and travel to a place where they belong. As the shadows move swiftly around me, they are powered by the harmonious hum they produce. The rest of existence is shut out and paid no mind to. At an occasional break, the silence that is outside of my earphones remains awkward.
Outside, with everyone else, and where I am lonely, I hear trees sing and dance to my music. Perhaps their scrambling frantic minds can only rest in the silence where there is rhythm, or it could be that they have adapted to my religious routine of rhythmic thoughts and they, each night, dance and hum to it to put their rustling, busy-bodied leaves to sleep for the eve.
And when the inflow of magical music comes to a gradual halt, the trees outside know to wake up and continue to dance in unrest during day. I understand, because I am shown in the same light and only at night, my willow friends and I put our souls to rest and we sing and sway with the night, calm, until our calculated dance routine is interrupted at wake. Tonight again...
May 21, 2013
May 21, 2013 at 10:42 AM UTC
Heartened by the
merest of motions...
that set the
eyes for inflow...
outflow.
Whose standstill's
in the Heart
of All.
Mar 16, 2015
Mar 16, 2015 at 12:54 AM UTC
Music in the night time. Just me and all the words written and sung by poets alike. Nothing is together but everything is calm. Somewhat scattered peacefully around me. My head is rested on a pillow but my mind frantic and the only way to ease this rush is by giving it a rhythm to think to; for the impulses to dance and sing along to as they bounce from cell to cell.
Solitude.
Suddenly I realize that I am at my best when the powerful voice of silence washes through me. Shadows accompany me on my quest in darkness but they stand around me like ghosts, ghosts of which only silhouettes can be seen.
Silhouettes that are mainly composed of excess musical notes that escape through my earphones and travel to a place where they belong, as the silhouettes. As the shadows move swiftly around me, they are powered by the harmonious hum they produce. The rest of existence is shut out and paid no mind to. At an occasional break, the silence that is outside of my earphones remains awkward.
Outside, with everyone else, and where I am lonely, I hear trees sing and dance to my music. Perhaps their scrambling frantic minds can only rest in the silence where there is rhythm, or it could be that they have adapted to my religious routine of rhythmic thoughts and they, each night, dance and hum to it to put their rustling, busy-bodied leaves to sleep for the eve.
And when the inflow of magical music comes to a gradual halt, the trees outside know to wake up and continue to dance in unrest during day. I understand, because I am shown in the same light and only at night, my willow friends and I put our souls to rest and we sing and sway with the night, calm, until our calculated dance routine is interrupted at wake. Tonight again...
May 21, 2013
May 21, 2013 at 12:40 PM UTC
That great emptiness in my heart
For years,
Spacious as the most distant dream
In which You appear suddenly…
For to fulfill me of Your beauty,
And praise the day and the light of raising,
For not to the precipice in space
Of the missing events as countless things:
Suffering and joy in the solitude of
Life…
That everything - to feel
The exhale of Eternity,
Inhale of Love…
To Be…
Again, and again
Reality tunes up:
Inflow and the outflow of the waters,
The fullness of the Moon and New Moon,
Rising Sun and Sunset,
Falling of leaves and shooting of buds,
Waters circulations around the Glob,
Life - Love - Death and
New Life.
Rhythm and rocking,
The Rise and Fall,
Inspiration and Exhalation
Countless forms of Existence.
Whosoever has the access in
The Fullness of the Beauty and Life?
At front of the Being
Which lasts as an invisible smile:
Mona Lisa or Buddha?
Whosoever participates in
The total suffering of Christ’s
Painful Mystery?
That everything - to feel
The exhale of Eternity,
Inhale of Love…
To Be…
How much do You need
From it
To praise each day by
Art and Work?
How much do You need
To jump into a day, anew
As into a water
With a hope, You can once at last
Find the Secret Script
Which is not soaked through yet, in the bottle…
To read it!
That everything - to feel
The exhale of Eternity,
Inhale of Love…
To Be…
July - November 2008
Leonard Gorski © copyright
Sep 19, 2014
Sep 19, 2014 at 12:09 AM UTC
"OH POOR POET......!!!
The more I Read
the more I Fuss,
Statements made Beyond
Eternity Bond,
how Can a man have Heaven Inflow,
and not have a Voice
in the World,
words so Frugal & Frail,
yet Defines the True
meaning of Life, Cash flow or not in
the Singing Bone,
Eternity will Hear
my Royal Rymes,
for I'll sound it to
the Hearts of men, And they'll Hail it
even in Silent Graves,
Fret not Oh Poet
of our Time,
for Money Goes with
one with Words, the one who has a
Tale within,
and will Recite it
whether Paid or Not.....
Jul 2, 2016
Jul 2, 2016 at 2:31 PM UTC
Sitting there
Nostalgic inflow
Creating cyclonic updrafts
While memories pass
Through the open windows
Down once crowded corridors
Carrying away the last remnants
On out the other side
Where the broken doors of my mind reside
Behind the steering wheel I sit
Upon this crumbling and cracked concrete slab
Now so rough
But once smooth enough
The breakout games of basketball
In this neighborhood once proud
The waning sun of summer days
Pulling in the shade bound refugees
Around the court the gathering crowd
Pulling in those kids from two
Even as far as three blocks away
Inevitable that kids will do what kids will do
A foul or some minor slight
Would divide the crowd
War of words would insight a fight
And as always it got so loud
That it would wake my dad from his evening nap
He'd struggle up out of the easy chair
Still wrapped in the deep slumber
Of the Schlitz 6-pack he had laid down under
He'd hit the door and kids would scatter
Booming out so angry and loud
I was surprised the single pane glass didn't shatter
That was my pop but he was alright
Actually he was much more than that
As the rerun would play the very next night
He's been gone now for near 20 years
Mom couldn't take it tagged along just three years later
Poor old house is empty.... falling apart
Should have torn it down 10 years ago Tell the truth I never had the heart
Hell I been here long enough need to go
I push the down button let the window roll
Look at the house and I yell out
Dad
lf you're here no reason to stick around Freeway is coming it's all coming down So if you want to climb on in
This new car that the old place bought
And well go for a spin
I got a new place up in the hills
Yeah...
But what else do you do sitting upon Sacred ground where you used to play
I know it seems dumb maybe a bit sad
What else do you say before its gone
When saying goodbye to the house
Hand-built by your dad
Jun 26, 2016
Jun 26, 2016 at 11:18 PM UTC
A pink small sparrow
Comes at my halo
And grants me furlough
To travel through hollow;
I do after her lonely flow
But at my trail many glow
With expectation inflow
Of Money red or yellow.
It made me strong fellow,
From yesterday to tomorrow,
Who travels lonely and slow
By using a wheelbarrow.
No friend or enemy allow
Me to enter in his furrow.
So ye decide judiciously now
And choose relatives or sparrow.
Aug 13, 2017
Aug 13, 2017 at 12:19 AM UTC
while soaring the heavenly heights
many hours ago
every major metropolis appeared
about a million miles below
the rarefied atmosphere
ideal composition beckoned angels,
who bustled, hustled, and jostled elbow
(which bedlam, flimflam, and mayhem
intimated Hells Bells)
wing trying (heavens to Betsy) to flag attention,
and snag coveted soundcloud Netherland Award
cap ping bulging port folio,
which hubbub charged crackled, popped,
snapped amidst light emitting diodes
with a snazzy aura, charisma
harp pulling, piping, and chiefly
paying praise (CI years post haste)
to William Henry Perkin
whose credit able karma
(and unwitting) claim to fame didst glow
purple, which jumpstarted incandescent halo
couture culture club, via constant comet inflow
of Plasmodia vaguely resembling microscopic red Jello
illuminating swath of dusky
shutter flying sky sustaining
self contained feedback instagram loop know
wing lee broadcasting mauveine staccato low
to the groundswell of chemists dyeing, Googling,
and gratefully huzzahing insinuating
killing, kindling kissing
malaria goodbye, an outlook
(nee a once in a lifetime moe
mint - je nais sais quoi) win out loud
respectably sedulous honoree, a no
bill sine qua non bit player aniline
(to conclude this short poem) about his oh
penning accidental discovery kickstarting pro
noun est contribution to the fashion industry.
Mar 12, 2018
Mar 12, 2018 at 4:09 PM UTC
It is 2am and I am finally feeling sleepy
Dream will soon inflow and they are very creepy
I break out in a sweat.
I fear I'm in debt.
It's not real but I can't help what I feel.
It's only a dream and not an endless wheel.
I once was the cream of the crop.
No I am being arrested by a cop.
I reach under the bed for a drink.
It really isn't what you think.
Monday we play at One.
Bruce has a court and its done.
I look back at these times
I fear we will will not climb.
Thank you for reading and being there you are trooper for being there.
May 6, 2018
May 6, 2018 at 1:32 AM UTC
Another romantic poet for whom gusto
Of poem was great and alluring, ergo
He would a novel write and praise Nero.
His solitary poem was a masterpiece forgo
The old ideas and forms of poets did gizmo.
Bridge and Cuckoo poems have inflow
Of creativity and rhetorical devices lo.
Can anyone join him in his maestro?
No! None can! Even searching in Oslo.
Hence, friends, give him courtesy low
And try to achieve views getting below.
Aug 14, 2017
Aug 14, 2017 at 6:23 AM UTC