"inhabiting" poems
it was a dark dance
of an immovable body
as she was taken by the throat,
death, causing stupendous distortions
and entrancements of lunar landscapes
she reeled pirouettes between smothering
and seeing through a miraculous inner eye
deepening her sense of nothingness
as if pickled in a jar, suspended in
formaldehyde
held buoyant
where there is no reason for anything
moveless in a veiled corridor
inhabiting innerness, a raven fog
her ******* wet with the scent of fear and ***
she fell through the earth
into the infernal arms of
Hades
his tremulous kisses
a thousand glittering eyes
she could see through
Jul 9, 2018
Jul 9, 2018 at 10:35 AM UTC
Evening slipped into the long abyss
So fell the red moon
Malicious shadows forecasting doom
For the cursed animal man
Inhabiting the precious earth
Fearsome rolling rivers ran dry
Black smoke filled the spanning azure skies
The churning murky green oceans gave up the bones of their dead
When the moon turned red
The crust of the hard ground shook
Split and burst into deep fiery crevasses
Dark yellow orange smoldering nooks
Swallowing all of life
So obliterated was mans world as we know it
Destroyed
Barron and dead
When the moon turned red
This poem is copyrighted and stored in author base. All material subject to Copyright Infringement laws
Section 512(c)(3) of the U.S. Copyright
Act, 17 U.S.C. S512(c)(3), Tammy M. Darby Jan.10, 2014
Jan 12, 2014
Jan 12, 2014 at 11:11 PM UTC
I know not
Whether I'm in love with you
Or in love with our friendship.
For you,
Are the boy who's been inhabiting my mind lately
But I must admit,
You're not the first to reside there
But I can say,
That I would not mind
If you were the last
Though I fear,
Your departure is inevitable.
But if you could remain,
I would not take it in vain.
For you're the only one
Keeping me sane.
May 5, 2013
May 5, 2013 at 11:44 PM UTC
two women
a single
Gemini
of desire
the yin
the yang
betwixt
the known
and unreachable
swinging
on wide
arcs of
extremis
inhabiting
opposite
polar worlds
and all
the spaces
in between
intrepid
sailors
dare hope
to explore
T
the outer
R
the inner
T’s
tiny
name
betrays
a big
robusto
femininity
bombastically
womanly
big *****
jazz *****
perfumed musky
hips and ****
that rock
and those
lips
oh,
those ruby red
Norma Jean lips
I’m puckered
up
begging her
to paste a big
rouge smooch
on my eager lips
press those
bustling bosoms
onto my face
wrap those
arms round me
with a rasperous
hug
shake me
with gyrations
of your gracious
shimmy thang
you wow
the bow
out of this
dog
taking lovers
prisoner
with the
coy blink
of wide
eyes
flashing
lashes
batting
brow
boldly
being
a force
of a
mothers
nature
bearing
and
belting
Bessie’s
*****
blues
to a
howling
crowd
wanting
more
fully
enthralled
bedazzled
enraptured
with quixotic
hypnotics
I'm frozen
solid
hoping to
melt
into the
heat
of your
inviting
fire
R
bespeaks
whispers
from an
inner place
she lines the
lost desires
of a yearning heart
she offers the
softest curves
the delicious touch
the wet presence
of a delicate tongue
limpid fingers
hide shy sly
*******
offering
invitations
to hidden nests
humming the incarnate
dark forest secrets
of bloomed lilacs
and sweet carnations
the voice of poems
dance and flutter
from her mouth
as the lightest
butterfly
wings wayward
onto soft hearts
yearning
seducement
her
kimono
gently parts
at the slightest
suggestion
of a rising
breeze
her songs
invite lovers
to pillowed
chambers
daring
intrepid
men to
risk the
death of
desirous
tempests
I melt
into the
delicate
complexity
of your
fleshy heat
my dear
celestial
twins
the lovely
Gemini
each different
reduce me
in differing ways
to a puddle
of rippling water
reflecting
the glorious
elegance of
wondrous
ambrosial
femininity
Dedicated to
T& R
Music Selection:
Barbra Streisand
Pretty Women
Oakland
4/26/12
jbm
Apr 29, 2012
Apr 29, 2012 at 10:56 PM UTC
I woke up one day
And I rode far away
And when I came back
A few weeks late
i decided to shape
up
or else, its a long ride
down
How often do you walk home?
Or should I say struggle
Distances are more attainable
In mixed up situations
I am too deeply rooted in thought
on the topic of meditation
To help this patient
I am inhabiting
Enter: ************* bicycles
I used to find
Walking uphill
And walking downhill
Equally awful
The climb to the top
Is worth the fast ride down
The topic of how many hills
are around
And how often we choose to climb them
Will not play in this ballgame
Because cycling is a sport
blood doping is dope
breaking news:
Livestrong sponsors the pope
Without a helment
You would tell me I look ****
As I ride with no hands
Don’t worry darlin’
I knew my hair looked good too
Drinking whiskey at home you can make art
I made that without you
It all came out of my mouth
And nostrils
Without you
I will puke again
Without you
Its true
Rough mornings aren’t new
their usually rough
without you
Only because my will is strong
And if I didn’t livestrong
My will - still will included you
Only if I died on someone else’s terms
(spoiler no such thing)
In an alternate universe
You could be on my bike
And I’d be ****** cold sober
And when that bus hit me
My mom wanted to give you
what belonged to me - the one thing
That survived the accident
Ask a few old friends I survived a few
Whether you knew
Or not
were on it or off
Always on the bottom
Jake
Was a snake
Before I met him
That’s Kona bike history
Living on
Without me
As I age I am learning
To be loyal
To all sorts of objects
like bikes
And women
that own them.
Withholding
without me
I can't see what it would be
like without me -
But lets be honest
Its not so as much about the bikes
As it is about bliss
i've seen what its like without you
It true
If a bus ran over my *** tomorrow
The first thing it would break is my heart
You could start
The day I stopped
Riding my bike
Apr 27, 2013
Apr 27, 2013 at 3:35 AM UTC
No option, but to be perceived
Violent, Aggressive, Irrational
Identity becoming an other
Words of malice, they mystify
Words of ignorance, they vilify
Subverting consciousness and articulation
Our identities, fighting to be
Autonomous landscapes
Hoping in anticipation for liberation
No real notion of we or me
Implicating it's inhuman to be foreign
When they represent as much of we and me
Scandalizing alternative identities as subversive
Advancing erasures in favor of hegemony
Propaganda favoring what is most white
Amelioration for the obliteration of cunning identity?
No more cooperation, ****** the euphemisms
That cover up, and help justify marginalization
Our identities, fighting to be
Autonomous landscapes
Hoping in anticipation for liberation
Time to **** ****** massacre eurocentric ideology
We preach no violence, being not them, just we
But cannot request to be free, must tear it out by force
Eurocentric ideological pandemic inhabiting, inhibiting the soul of mankind
Unthinkable abomination concealed in the veil of appropriated minds
Necessitating exorcism for the incarcerated conscious mind
When we completely violate mandates of eurocentric ideology
When only we appropriate our own identity
When we all nullify the color of our skin
As profanity or inadequacy
Our identities, fighting to be
Autonomous landscapes
Hoping in anticipation for liberation
Will be awaiting purgation from alienation
Feb 1, 2013
Feb 1, 2013 at 6:25 PM UTC
(and I cannot live
from with-out)
<>
a poem in appreciation to Rossella Di Paolo
<>
I, too:
- am an embryonic work in progress,
well into my seventh decade, with no ending in sight
I too,
live in the house of poetry, the address likely differs,
but suspect the innards of the houses differs little,
the decor, quite similar
- my house shrewdly requests a rethinking,
noting, it lives my artifice,
with in & with out
Then, we are a We:
- my cavities house her, She, Poetry is of Ruth (1) born,
- Poetry, She, reminds me, ”whither thou goest, I will go”
This duality:
- where the haunting of words providential,
emanate, both inhabiting & inhibits my breathing
She, a fearsome creature, a fearful-something,
for it tears me and shreds tears its demands be wrung
from with in to with out
She, Poetry:
- leaves me gaping, hollow, fills me with
depressurizing boreholes exposed to the elements of
externalities of an admixed atmospheres, that nature demands be refilled, fresh in, stale out,
for which the artifice trick is knowing which is which
when Poetry’s birthing:
- chest pounds, heart-rate beats heavy metal,
abdomen contracts, there then, no languid in my language,
no help untangling the alpha-bet jumbling,
product of the screams of pushing,
squeezing it forth*
*you’re hoping to quick-catch newly formed combinations,
for if you fail, a poem
noisily crashes to and through the floorboard cracks,
where poetry’s chaotic glinting etes
maliciously glimmer~winks at me
with a sarcastic thank you*
*“ah, too bad, another creation stillborn,
gone to rest, biting the nether dust,
without hope of resuscitation…”*
just another unfinished work in progress
periodically
a survivor clean caught, transcribed, edited to be finished,
amniotic fluids cleared,
poem resurrected
blessed with eternal life,
readied to be shared and delivered,
affirmed
and you say to no one and to everyone:
this poem will be our poem,
wither it goes, ascending, descending,
all live in the house of poets,
one house,
many apartments,
each poem a god,
and
my God will be our God,
your God, my God,
in the House of Poetry
Jun 21, 2023
Jun 21, 2023 at 5:55 PM UTC
(Holding fire and water together)
I don't know why the rain keeps writing the
name of Nigeria on the ground in every corner.
I don't know why we are this broken and
tortured like the fragments of the dust.
I don't know why the Dapchi girls returned yesterday while their chikbok friends are
still in captive.
I don't know why every street in Nigeria is
known with an imprint of good leaders.
I don't know why we cry yet point accusation. fingers back to ourselves, who is fooling who?
I don't know why the sun cry here with a
closed lips.
I don't know why we keep writing love stories
while our brothers and sisters perish in shame!
I don't just know why but I think you should know.
Are you not the one that collected a cup of rice, clean notes and Abrahamic lie from them?
I won't speak ill of this land again, I won't!
I won't judge any one, no, I won't for the
sake of my unborn children.
No, I won't for the sake of what happened to Dele Giwa and Saro Wiwa.
We poets are abnormal psychologically.
We paints abstraction from the abstracts creating fears that might hurt those true patriots.
My muse fell out from me yesterday night,
When my television opened to a scene of genocide.
Men on pants, women on trousers painting out the tears made for people inhabiting hell.
Their laughters and smiles were printed to be archived among themselves.
I won't speak ill of this country, no, I won't!
Because of my unborn children,
I won't!
But I will tell just one tale for them to remember
Of how monkeys carted away with our monies!
Of how Snake swallowed our currency!
Of how good our leaders are, I think you know!
I have been holding these demons in me until last night they came out horribly in fierce protest to revisit this land again.
To tell of those girls ***** under the bridge,
To ask why boys like me are named after me,
To speak against shadows of death lurking here and there.
Nigeria is grey and black, red and violent,
Retrieving this oceans of mysteries from the hidden abyss of grave corruption is the passport tabled on the pyramid top to recreate a versatile muses of a lyrics calling for a right to write our rights.
Take a walk to memory lane pass your shadow, that of your father, mother & grandmas
You will see a Nigeria in another angle trying to free herself from the grip of corruption, then, revisit her tears and struggles you will know we are the cause of our own misfortunes.!
©John Chizoba Vincent
From_A_Pen_Refusing_Frustrations
Jun 30, 2018
Jun 30, 2018 at 5:00 PM UTC
every achy bone inside me a relic
of the former self still inhabiting this shell.
exquisite fossils of the life once lived
my silhouette, housed in rock,
yet the softest part of me rotted out.
the vacancy in my expression
mirrors the hollowed out spaces
between each rib and every "what if"
my lungs carry haunted cries
apparitions you forged in my memory
phantom fingers singed the word
“remember” into my paper skin.
i am still smoldering.
chambers of my heart filled with cobwebs;
every strand of silk an unfulfilled wish.
we are still tangled up.
the spiders have crawled from our throats
but the dust is settling.
your fingers have intertwined
with the segments of my spine,
fists taking root in my chest, cradling a stone heart.
knuckles bent comfortably around each vertebrae,
your hands are cold.
the weight of all my sins is crushing me,
i suppose i should have noticed
when you read the lines in my palm like an obituary.
forgive me.
- m.f. & j.a
Dec 9, 2013
Dec 9, 2013 at 4:42 PM UTC
how easy it is to write a poem
of unrequited love
an ode to that insatiable hunger
that lives unwelcome in the pit of
my stomach
and slowly eats away at me
gnawing a black hole into that space
an emptiness i couldn't look at
its darkness burned brighter than
the eclipsed sun
who always called with the most
beautiful voice and promised that
if i simply stopped averting my eyes
i would most certainly become one with you
and i forsake my sight
to have your heat
your radiation from all parts of the spectrum
to burn my traitorous eyes right out of their sockets.
how different it is to write
of contentment and perhaps even
a love that i can reach out and touch
without having it sublimate each atom of my being
and reduce me to a radioactive ash
scattered to the wind.
it's a love that i can submerge myself in
it presses in all around and the
mega-Pascals of pressure simply reach
a placid equilibrium with my porous skin
i breathe it in and my lungs
somehow learn to pull the oxygen from
the molecules of liquid desire and vitreous joy
and it fuels my body
infiltrating and inhabiting every cell
feeding my muscles as i
sensuously move my body
fluid as the frigid water around me.
May 3, 2015
May 3, 2015 at 2:37 PM UTC
So primitive that it should be criminal
like a limited pyramid of minimal
innocent citizen, inhabitant, or denizen
infinite vision and mission subliminal
principled, committed and disciplined
addicted to the privileged derivative
affirmative velocity, motive inquisitive
inhabiting, uninhibited, where prohibited
Feb 6, 2014
Feb 6, 2014 at 1:47 AM UTC
I took a stroll down my childhood lane
These neural pathways took me back
Multilingual versions of the narrative
Warned me of imminent attack
I made it work for me my people
Bedeviled on behalf of all my greater good
I took my time in stride with sidewalks cracked
And broke my swag along a scattered beach
Came down with that viral capacity to fluctuate
According to what gut feeling feeds heart pumping
Where we intersect that jazz bebopper inhabiting art
Draw outside the lines come together in stark contrast
To the words we negotiate with each other in exchange
For favors better left unpaid yet enacted cross-purpose
To our intended lizard goal to wrap our prey entangled
Tongued in the mail entreated globally galactic guardian
I’d simply settle inside ambitious repose armed by you
Draped across our gossamer webs wet commingled faces
Jun 29, 2013
Jun 29, 2013 at 1:30 AM UTC
why do we trap ourselves with walls of thought
that exist only in our heads, walls that restrict
what we can see and understand through our journeys
in life and love, good and evil, wonder and cynicism
What are we so afraid of in our existence that
barriers are created so strong built through belief
and ignorance, invented to keep so much from affecting
the way we think and act, as if the minute amount
we know is enough to live by without being
curious about this amazing universe we find ourselves
inhabiting, filling the area around us with out thoughts
How can we not be filled with an unquenchable thirst
to discover and understand all that is around us
surrounded in physical splendor and ethereal mystery
All things are there for our mind to intertwine with
to understand without deconstruction, to comprehend
without destruction to be a part of and with all
of life while being individually thinking, metaphysical exploration.
When will we allow our minds to expand beyond our
walls of mistrust and comfort to show our thoughts and
joys of living emotion to each other to let
the very essence of who we are to press against
each other in vulnerability and trust, to share without
expectation of return. Without empathy and understanding
our thoughts will remain only our own, locked
away and formless, unable to show the universe
the beauty of what we truly are.
Where will we be once we can share
with each other our thoughts mingling to be
able and ready to explore this fantastic existence
we will be human, at long last true to ourselves
and everyone else to realize the universe is a
thought in the mind of a child
and so are we.
May 6, 2014
May 6, 2014 at 5:18 AM UTC
The Israelites (/ˈɪzriəlaɪts/; Hebrew: בני ישראל Bnei Yisra'el)
were a confederation of Iron Age
Semitic-speaking tribes of the ancient Near East
inhabiting parts of Canaan during the tribal & monarchic periods;
Modern archaeology has largely discarded
the historicity of the Jewish religious narrative;
re-framing it as constituting an inspired national myth:
The Israelites & their culture according to modern
archaeological accounts,
did not overtake the region by force,
instead branching out from the indigenous [Canaanite peoples
long inhabiting the Southern Levant, Syria,
ancient Israel, and the Trans-Jordan region]
through the development of a distinct _monolatristic_—
[_Monolatry_ (Greek: μόνος (monos) = single,
and λατρεία (latreia) = worship) is the belief
in the existence of many gods but with the
consistent worship of the one deity; the term
"monolatry" was perhaps first used
by Julius Wellhausen;
Modern scholars of Israel's religion have
become much more circumspect in how
they use the Old Testament; not least
because many have concluded the Bible
is not a reliable witness to the true religion
of ancient Israel and Judah; representing
the beliefs of only a small segment of the
ancient community _centered in Jerusalem_
& devoted to the exclusive worship
of the god "Yahweh": Monolatry is
distinct from monotheism,
which asserts the existence of only one god;
and henotheism, a religious system in which
the believer worships one god w/out denying
that others may worship different gods with
equal validity]; later cementing as a monotheistic religion
centered on Yahweh, one of the Ancient Canaanite deities;
the outgrowth of Yahweh-centric beliefs
along with a number of cult practices
gradually gave rise to a distinct Israelite
ethnic group setting them apart
from the other Canaanites
Jul 21, 2018
Jul 21, 2018 at 4:28 PM UTC
Joe wants to know
how'm I doing?
an innocuous query,
little can he know,
bye bye is my merry,
marooned on a skerry,
noxious fumes in the aerie,
currently inhabiting my foreheady,
worry waves, rolling thunderous tides,
have myself beside
thus the answer to your toll,
something bad, on me, got a hold
Joe,
life is,
more than a tad
concerting
concerting?
surely you meant
converging, or perhaps,
concatenating, or concaving?
discombobulating, or more likely,
plain ole disconcerting?
indeed, all of the above,
fit like a glove,
but best combinated in steaming mug of
concerting
"to contrive or arrange by agreement: to plan; devise"
the world is secret contriving,
the world is secret devising,
a plan for my demising,
forces are concerting re me...
most concerning,
as trends converging,
concave hollow chains clinking,
a concatenating chorus
voicing their displeasure,
at my happy existence,
which now gone,
its loss, wept for, in great measure
life dissing me, in a manner
concerting and dis-concerting,
my composure,
decomposing,
the ides of depression,
hip hop discombob-
(undu)lating throb
but then again,
what's in a word,
what's in a rhyme,
jes that old timey R&B;,
rhyming and blues,
of a verbal kind
so, Joe, how'm I doing?
now that you are knowing,
as men of distinguished letters,
students of history,
part time poets,
Your Reply
must only be:
"Oh no, Natty,
say it ain't so"
Jan 18, 2014
Jan 18, 2014 at 5:03 AM UTC
Our affection was a spider web
As we slept in our separate homes
With our spirits inhabiting
Both bodies,
The gossamer was swindled
Carefully in between each
Eyelash and around each
Finger and toe,
Tiny filmy stings
Had our hearts connected.
I felt a pang inside me
When loneliness tugged
Your arms and plead with you
To follow it.
I wondered
As my tear ducts
Emptied themselves
Onto my cheeks,
How do I cope with
Sadness that is not
My own?
I have felt the
Icy sleet
That is one a.m.
With sad songs
And emptiness in
All aspects of life
And I wish it upon
No one.
I want the sadness
Only to be mine
I want to be greedy
I want to steal it
From you
If only so that
I could see you happy.
Nov 13, 2013
Nov 13, 2013 at 8:48 PM UTC
Is humanism Utopian?
You really have to think about it.
Or is it rather more dystopian?
No, then I think you’d never doubt it.
It seems that disbelief is best.
Humanism owes a debt
to thinkers of the Enlightenment,
although I haven’t paid it yet,
I think of it as my entitlement
to settle it at some behest.
I very early cleared my mind of Kant,
experiencing a vast relief,
approaching his chef d’oeuvres extant;
removing knowledge to allow belief;
the opposite of what he had expressed.
It occurred to me I ought to dig up
(or should I say instead ex-hume?)
what constitutes at least an egg-cup-
full of wisdom that I might consume
with non-platonic zest.
But wondering how on earth to do so
and thinking he might hold the key,
I fixed my sights on Jean Jacques Rousseau
and set sail for my destiny,
while trying not to feel depressed.
Voltaire’s voices loudly rang in deaf ears
as did the Persian Letters of Montesquieu
and failed to still my latent fears.
And thus I felt no need to rescue
Adam Smith (morality-obsessed).
To put Descartes before the Horse-
men of the Apocalypse
War, famine, pestilence and worse.
Who could guess it would eclipse
my thought, wherefore I was oppressed.
Or take the case of Denis Diderot
a friend of Hume and others seedier.
and one you might consider so
rash as to produce an encyclopedia
to get his knowledge off his chest.
That precious quality of truth
was Mary Ann’s# description of it.
It would not take a Sherlock sleuth
to simply thus produce a conviction of it:
an elementary request.
I cut my questing teeth on Russell.
His secular logic had a profound effect
and seemed to stir each red corpuscle
inhabiting this fervid non-sect-
arian but doubting breast.
I later turned my eye on Dawkins,
and his concern with my divine delusion.
A sceptic whose inspiring squawkings
validate my disillusion
and emphasise an ill-starred quest.
And so I felt the pointlessness of it.
Progress is the best end for a man to see
And belief simply produced less profit
for reality’s dispelling of my fantasy.
So, in the end, I acquiesced.
#Mary Ann Evans, aka George Eliot, in Adam Bede
Nov 16, 2014
Nov 16, 2014 at 10:21 AM UTC
*Please don't leave me alone with these thoughts in my head
The monsters are coming and they're telling me I should be dead
They force down the blade, they slice up my skin
They tell me I belong in hell, and I should pay for my sins
Humming sweet tunes of death, I can always hear them
No matter how hard I try to ignore their sounds of torment
These monsters in my head they're tearing me to shreds
I want them to stop, with every drop of red, the voices become softer
I can barely hear them now, but they'll be back full volume all too soon
As long as they're still here, my mind will only get darker
I just want the voices to stop, I don't want to hear what they have to say
I want to tear out my heart and cut off my ears, I want the pain to end
These voices in my head make me ashamed of who I am everyday
I'm thinking of ways I could silence them, maybe I'm better off dead
My soul and body are becoming vacant and empty
The only thing still inhabiting me are those voices in my mind
The quick stinging pain of a cut is dulling the screams, but just barely
I'm already empty inside so all that's left is finding a way to die
I bought a new razor, I have my pills and a tub of hot water
When suddenly I'm hit with a memory, a memory of you
That single thought saved me from the slaughter
You called me perfect, you made me feel beautiful
I remembered your smile, your eyes, how you looked at me
I know you're hurting too, I'm sorry, just know you're irreplaceable
I'm fighting my demons, I'm locking them up and you are the key*
Dec 8, 2013
Dec 8, 2013 at 10:11 PM UTC
You sit here on this night, reclining on the moon,
Sleep inhabiting your eyes but your stubborn heart still beats the rhythm of a thousand days of recollection,
You dwell on the remnants of departed mornings still beaded onto this horizon line,
Dipping your feet into the sunrise, embracing the coolness of the morning wind,
Nothing stands between you and reality;
Flesh is fleeting, it is memories that house the graves of love.
So, you pick flowers to pay your respect, leaving the stagnant solace of this momentary life behind
May 8, 2022
May 8, 2022 at 7:01 AM UTC
Life's about the suffering
Peace a destination
What is more important
Is what happens duration
Impossible to self-pardon sins
Plagued with doubt and fear
What if darkness creeping within
Sronger than the light inhabiting here?
Worrying is not worth the toll
I have to pay my dues
No one can walk path for me
Don't wear the same size shoes
Each break and bruise instruction
Finish line forever unknown
Happy endings fantasy
Majority synthetic like silicon
It has to shift before we surrender
To assimilation of society
In-between consciouslessness
And controlled compliancy
After Point A wandered astray
Point B hopeless cause
Meandering sheep in a deluded daze
Progression practically on pause
Creativity and cerebration rare
Killed in each as a child
Brainwashed being obedient
Different labeled 'wild'
Those in power yearn to program every step
Shaping image to fit their mold
Corrupt agenda is nothing new
Most don't realize they are trapped in their hold
I want to lead uprising
But I simply am too afraid
Remember when surroundings were calmer
Present for past I desperately long to trade
We had plenty of time to correct behavior
There is an existing disconnect
From planet earth and each other
Too immersed in screens for paths to intersect
A thousand unanswered questions
In silence reality is revealed
Up to us to find purpose in this dimension
Stumbling blindly through this battlefield
We are closer to cliff than we realize
Inching towards edge each day passing by
Shadows halting vision with uncertainty
Wings clipped so we are unable to fly
Nov 23, 2024
Nov 23, 2024 at 5:57 PM UTC
A mariner on the ocean of the eternal,
Looking above the bow,
A panoramic view of the presentation of self,
Nautical boundaries and jurisdictions,
Inhabiting and found,
Consciousness of all,
Abound.
Nov 28, 2012
Nov 28, 2012 at 8:22 AM UTC
Seasoned Love's silent discourse,
Dusk of the long distance,
Beneath the mantle of lament
The peak bloom, gnawing decay,
Obscure
The weight of favor;
Annealing fire, moulded by
Winds of duration
Unfastening the raw surf of sorrow.
Incipient caprice, theft of occlusion
Colored by common defiance,
Vile tremors of privation-
Native enclave,
The province of
Vacant, age-eaten elucidation.
The tangled weave, pathos and ethos
Vested
Interior acquisition,
Furrowed paths of countenance
Evincive and drawn,
Affinity found, inhabiting the palisades
Of Immersion.
A furtive glance harbors
The trained gaze whose
Immanent flame-
Emergent
Serous source,
Imbued piercing latency;
A taste of
The fountainhead.
Unprobed theater of the absolute.
Thin supple pith
Identity sealed in skin
Perambulator of meaning and
Lineaments of cure.
Bearing the image of ubiquity
Perceives in the other,
Immortality.
Sacramental Eros,
Subsumes the
Capacity to treasure.
©2013 W.S. Warner
Mar 11, 2013
Mar 11, 2013 at 2:51 AM UTC
I have been learning how to die,
have prepared myself at every
intersection or doctor's office,
have been whispering
Good Bye
like last words,
every time.
I have been learning how to be a corpse,
have been rotting from the
inside out,
have been peeling away the decaying flesh
beside my fingernails,
on the inside of my lip,
around the wounds that I know will never get the chance to heal now.
I have been learning how to be a skeleton,
have been leaving empty spaces
between ribs
and
vertebrae,
have been training myself to lie still
in small, dark places.
I have been learning how to be a ghost,
have haunted my own
home,
have found solace
in inhabiting this body
that I claim to belong in,
I have been learning how to regret.
Jan 12, 2015
Jan 12, 2015 at 11:54 AM UTC
choices
embrace things
that sickens
enslaves
maims
kills
unbound
yourself
loose
your chains
turn away from
the dungeon
that has
become
your death
chamber
you
alone
crafted
with such
deft skill
you exiled
yourself
hid away
from the living
inhabiting a
convenient
confinement
relishing
the deceitful
pleasures of an
addled mind
a twisted
portrait
of a
shackled
self
living
inside
the
dark abode
of your head
bumping
about in
unmapped
caves
dwelling
in a place
that no one
could find
nor dare
explore
you heap
stones
at the door
providing
your only
means
of escape
safely
entombed
in your
vapid
delusions
a decrepit
graveyard
an abandoned
township
of lonely
sarcophagi
long forgotten
by the
moldering
bodies
of the city's
ghostly
citizens
you reek
with the
stench
of death
you
murdered
yourself
and
became
dead
to us
But
Jesus
wept
over
your
self
denigration
never
forsaking
your favored
condition
The
Good Friend
lifted
you
from
Edens
dust
and
showered
you
with
fine
things
yet
you
found
no joy
in
the gift
of solace
the might
of grace
the balm
of love
the rest
of peace
all
only
heaped
torments
upon
you
your
sisters
wailed
in grief
imploring
The
Resurrector
to make you
whole
he only
shrugs
and
extends
a palm
unloose
the rags
of your
swaddled
grief
unbound
yourself
Lazarus
come out
and walk
amongst
the living
again
put
down your
stones
the hand
is nigh
choose well
my friend
St. Alban's
Bible Study
7/09
jbm
Nov 7, 2011
Nov 7, 2011 at 10:45 AM UTC