"interchanging" poems
It's not me, it's you
these words they haunt beds
but I can sleep at night.
Rather be cold, covered, and neglected
than hot, naked, and rejected.
Yeah you're winning cause you have feelings
but nothing is ever what it seems.
Crying and purging at the thought of my body
but I won't let you see me because I'm shaking.
You're so far away from my tree that I appear
to be still but my leaves are trembling.
I never asked for thunder and rain,
you were supposed to bury the pain.
Instead I watched as you endlessly shoveled to find
the root, so the the thorn in your heart can be extracted.
But I won't let you get soil deep
forever bound
chained and held in my hand
curled up defeated
a snail in a shell.
Sicker everyday.... all because I didn't wish you well.
Shame
fingers point
and they blame
you.
Libra weigh the scales
I'm tired of the lower hand
I want you so bad it's stupid
It's stupid that I want bad news
Yearning centuries now for something new.
I want you so bad it's stupid
it's stupid that I want you so bad
so bad, my want is bad,
but I'm stupid for you.
The Victim and The Villain
interchanging between the two
chemistry ignited in red
but now we're entering the blues
The positions they change as frequent
as lies that transform into truth.
The Victtim and The Villain
they live inside of us;
and they live inside of you.
May 24, 2013
May 24, 2013 at 12:42 PM UTC
Often poets communicate
via internet voice recordings
sharing dancing lovers videos
as pen pals may venture to do;
no it doesn't mean
we do not exist
people aren't virtual cartoons!
We have feelings emotions we love
the mind makes it all real.
We are real people in different countries interchanging loyalties
we are perhaps more real then couples living together yet disconnected in many ways,
and not in love either
but rather utterly bored.
~~
So don't be cruel saying
I am virtual and you've met
the love of your life already
and want no one else,
but your Zaheera for all eternity
because she's omnipresent real.!
Trying to make her jealous with me
a real poetess!? think again!
Zaheera and me can smell your rat.
She is more a fantasy for years if she even exists
Why the virtual competitiveness
and AnK isn't real?
We are breathing eating sleeping loving trusting sharing
yet not real!?
In your book of tricks ? Hu?
How shall we search for real connections hu?
have you noticed though
the whole planet has gone virtual.
it's become a ritual,!
All people are real living brings
not virtual their lap tops cell phones c are the virtual conduits,
though so what !?
~~~~~~~~
By Mr and Mrs Andrews
inspired by Karijinbba.7/21
Jul 3, 2021
Jul 3, 2021 at 5:50 AM UTC
All for the memory
Take me higher than before
Make it even more lively
Cloud nine, I want to soar
High class roll up
Diamond filled jay
Miscado in the cup
Take it in before the fray
Shadows crossing
Paths interchanging
Rainbow colors shimmering brightly
Final destination called trippy
Is it you or the moment
Timeless time spent
Doing wrong for the right
Morning isn't coming so we party all night
Without you this would be pointless
Shame covers the immaculate mess
Nobody will know how much it means to me
That's why I do it all for the memory
Jul 27, 2013
Jul 27, 2013 at 11:28 PM UTC
Me: A series of fifty-five emotions
interchanging every ten minutes
love me, adore me and I shall grant you your deepest wildest dream
upset me, disappoint me, and I shall consider you dead
Nov 18, 2021
Nov 18, 2021 at 7:49 AM UTC
An igneous rock, she took from the garden,
our rendezvous and presented as her heart to me.
It turned red at once and winked to my soul
in a cryptic primordial code, beams of light flash
telling our love had begun somewhere beyond time.
Distinct memory I have, it was glowing within the galaxy,
of billion silver stars, kept in the chest of immortality,
when we burned and burned to blend in each other's light,
"Come to me" beckoned her flame in intermittent pulses.
And I came to her in this garden, light years down,
we forget time, the spirit we are, living in elements ever,
matter and energy in an interchanging embrace, love in essence
to her "SHAKTHI" I am the "SHIVA, pervading in the cosmic vastness.
Feb 8, 2015
Feb 8, 2015 at 12:00 PM UTC
Of man be there two.
One holder of mirror whilst other a scryer,
renders mirror to glass pierces through.
Where one speaks the other is silenced,
mere whisper acknowledged in this interchanging feud.
So in this blurred intersection,
where there is no reflection
Then what man of man be the truth?
What man of man be the truth
as he stands here split in two?
Be it what he thinks or what he do
that makes the man?
This single man in double view.
A multi facet that will reveal itself in time due.
A facet only glimpsed in certain light,
gone unnoticed by friends.
One and the same in this game of life
where does one begin and one end,
when it is only in the battle that they raise their head?
See the chimera for what it truly is,
this lone Mr a Hydra instead.
Each flitters between life and the scythe
as they fight for control.
Each condemned to the darkness
as the other negotiates sole lease of this soul.
But Death haunts the two because the two
form the whole.
And so this dual begins
without rules and birthed in sin.
Begun with one who seeks to release his debase desires
that lie un-mired in mind,
confined to an imaginary state,
where he can ****** slander unheard
but then he plays with fate.
He plays with fate, when he opens the bottle,
hands himself to the primal,
unprimed for the battle that lay ahead.
That lay in head and heart and will;
one's will that will leave one dead.
But for now each has his role.
One takes the guise of a Jackal
in cunning he seeks to conceal the other,
his brother in hiding,
in sin he hides him inside him
but he will not be silenced.
The fiend longs for this angels confession
and will teach wings a lesson in flight
as he makes his escape in dark and in light.
So this would be angel tries in vain
to press the other down, so that he can remain
but he's wingless and in pain, feeling the strain of
restraints that will no longer contain
the hate that dominates as the other pushes free,
pushes to be this man's sole identity.
This poor soul thought he could enslave that which was caged
and to the beast he did open the door
but it was this angel that lost his wings
mauled by a beast that would not sing to his tune, just roar.
Each sacrificed for the other
as this man of man ends his days
cold on the floor.
For man can not negotiate with fate.
And when One cannot take rule
the pair will end their days together
in the dual.
Nov 10, 2014
Nov 10, 2014 at 4:44 PM UTC
A pair of lovers is a pair of tongues that say the word alternately, the same word, which moves from mouth to mouth.
A pair of lovers is a pair of eyes that never tired of looking at each other, lyrics to each other, closing each other, in the light and dark.
A pair of lovers are two travelers searching each other, and steadfast wait until finally found each other.
A pair of lovers is a pair of names that ask each other for a place in memory, so as not lost in the loss.
A pair of lovers are a pair of farmers who rush to the fields do not wait for the rain to die, because love is a fertile morning.
A pair of lovers is a pair of eyes in the night, there is a beautiful dangling light, and there is hope that gee, rampant.
A pair of lovers are two lines on a gurindam, longing for revenge, mutual opening and closing, harassing, muffling.
A pair of lovers is a pair of longing hands, stalling to the empty, as if to rub a love on the forehead full of sweat.
A pair of lovers are a pair of hearts at a glance, bristling, as you imagine the longing will be very torture.
A pair of lovers is a pair of interconnected books, the first book, continues into the second book, and vice versa.
A pair of lovers is a pair of books that amaze each other on the cover, because it knows very well what is written on them.
A pair of lovers are two books, writing and reading each other, without ever interchanging the pages.
Jul 12, 2017
Jul 12, 2017 at 12:09 AM UTC
You're a mad rapper
I'm a mad hatter
Ideas in my head always bleeding
So lyrics you won't be needing
You spit them
I write them
You rap them
I rhyme them
Lines we be exchanging
Like I'd be interchanging
The lanes fast on the freeway
Paving the roads leading away
From the ghetto
Like Pinocchio was to Geppetto
We be each others woodwork
Combined we be the spork
Together in our minds
Like buns on girls behinds
We ain't getting lost
Whatever the cost
We'll stay in the light
Never fly stay and fight
Cause we be the illest
Cough Cough we infect the rest
Wanting to be part of the fuss
They try and copy 'r' us
But they will never ever
Be as swift or as clever...
© okpoet
Dec 31, 2012
Dec 31, 2012 at 2:15 AM UTC
Tripping up the stairs,
looking out the window
smelling barley, corn and rye.
Trees make patterns
interchanging with birds in the sky.
Sun beats down upon your head
sit, counting ants,
with a stick, poke and ****
throw rocks in the pool.
Boulders scream to be jumped off of
into water of shiny cyan blue.
The smell of summer in the air,
Trapped ***** caught fish
All is still and calm.
It's these simple thing
that keep us apart
my trust in you
guides me through the dark
When I look ahead,
all I see is reflection.
Walls of mirrors
infinite to perfection
It's out of reach,
this dream of mine
over the edge of
i
n
s
a
n
i
t
y
Trees make patterns
against the backdrop of the sky.
Throwing shadows,
casting hiding spots
for those who wish not be seen.
Turning invisible any
seeking shelter.
Screening out sunrays,
dappling lukewarm oases
over woodchips and detritus
like pancake syrup.
Let’s play camouflage in the forest.
May 17, 2013
May 17, 2013 at 12:59 AM UTC
Oh that your hips lock to the crevice of my interchanging mute fragility
that I may become a part of your absoloute screaming
inclining infidelity
that I may wrap my cotton black sleeves around your wrists
and have you hum some old lullaby that your mother
use to sing to you when you were a child
mourning down at the pastel lake
where the waters scream its wonders and secrets
that hold something in the deeper side of you
I'm casting the debut of our lives on a pictionary mind
where thoughts interlude and transgress
every now and then and I am eluded by your watchful glare
into the raindrops that fall into my naturally black hair
I am subtle and hollow in your speech
calm and protective
on defending my own means
of living
oh there you are and I am blinded
all along
invisible with the cloack that I saw
hanging on the sides of your face
imaginary- beautiful , envision no pain
nor disgrace
wrapped in sheets of warm weather
and cool breeze
needless and the most needed
uneeded needs
my cheeks are red sunkissed by the shine
of everything surrounding me
completely bewildered knowing this is mine
bare I hold out all my caged animals
to seek your truth
hidden under gardens of possibility and crime
my mind
I see
is on the edge of extingtion
when drowning in all the different skin
I wake up early on sundays
from the sleep of dead
and open my chest to take and impignorate to all the precious
flowers that I will keep my eye on them
while I master the language
and you master the art of gaze
Oct 31, 2010
Oct 31, 2010 at 8:43 AM UTC
Her door was the sanctuary to inner peace; a sudden enlightenment
Engaging the candle of lit eyes.
Mindful to the calm hush; Disappearing in self.
Body, Mind, Soul.
Beside her door there was a lake wide awake with open ears.
I stood there Absorbing her wisdom.
A depth of kindness with each interchanging current.
I learned to speak without words. Connecting thine eyes with hers.
All else was swallowed; Exhaling, then breathing again.
Fingers extinguishing all else that threatened a light shone from her.
Her Eyes.
She'd shone me courage, grasping my hand. Entwining her path with mine.
I bowed to her and her alone in guided mediation.
At that moment there was no need for mirrors, realizing that she was my reflection.
My spirit animal, my refugee.
She taught me the language of her heart, being shown in silence.
I journeyed a place ears would have no use, my tongue becoming a stranger.
A total embodiment to the gift of her and her alone.
A beautiful lesson in poverty; Clinching my hands in prayer.
Blessed in her presence
Oct 19, 2016
Oct 19, 2016 at 9:44 PM UTC
An immortal component
in all being chosen
when firing from body fast
through rapidly spinning tunnel vast
walls emblazened with Aztec figures
chattering very fast in various languages
rocketing out through them
into a vast void to float
suddenly seeing many interchanging symbols most
passing into afterlife plane
deathless soul continuously born again
in many times places and planets
a huge intergalactic adventure with many facets
a lifetime on one planet given
just an instant in limitless time driven
over the course
of immense enterprise of souls journey force
evolving consciousness more and more
each planet a soul school to learn
radically advancing through levels term
depending on actions from previous lifetimes
to manifest current lives rhyme
gaining more awareness each time
to be more awake and recognize the signs
continuous birth and death
of planets and souls galaxies and universes met
coming back full circle into the now
which is all there somehow
Apr 7, 2016
Apr 7, 2016 at 5:54 PM UTC
Your hazel eyes are like
the amazing, green valley
that glisten in the springtime
breeze where the peaceful,
romantic landscape
flows harmoniously with time.
Your hazel eyes are like
bold, golden sun
that stands in it’s
own grandeur,
surveying the immense nation.
Those hazel eyes
captivate me
as I long to embrace them,
to gaze at their gentle
and glamorous radiance,
their eternal, celestial dynasty.
I adore your hazel eyes,
how they utterly charm me
like the richly brilliant stars.
There are so many innumerable,
vividly intoxicating words
that exist in those seductive hazel eyes.
They are the astonishing pleasures
syncing to my soul,
so spontaneous
shouldering boundless devotion,
interchanging from gorgeous greens
to intriguing browns.
I am love-struck over those hazel eyes,
how they remind me
of the hypnotic and aesthetically
desirable trees,
Oh, how I cherish your hazel eyes.
They are truly a masterpiece.
Jul 24, 2020
Jul 24, 2020 at 6:06 PM UTC
what we can do with our love?
well
let's not kid ourselves
lets lay down the law -
of our own relationship
and see what happens?
well
well
well
what do we have here?
what do we have here?
always gunna want more
this is the most dangerous drug i've ever touched
his salt kisses
and potent touches
are enough to breathe life into death
and death into life
we die constantly in the interchanging sections
and well - it's not exactly a simple plan we've constructed with the band
it's quite a few different aspects
to the way we love
1. we began with a trip
2. we end with one too
3. we keep our space when need be
4. we let each other be exactly as crazy as we are
5. we don't ever , ever forget how much love is worth
6. we play
36. love thyself above all
and know that it does crazy things
the whole of perceptions will change forever and ever and ever
and when the love is shared
well
well
well
well.....even stranger improvisations appear from null and void destinations and complications that appear to be inverse sensations
oh.
even more
the reflections of ourselves
are very very
curiously wonderful
new word!!!!!!!
shloom : Defenition
the feeling of a laugh that pervades throughout all the halls of time and selfs perpetual
sunrise
sinking into the smiles of solo flying
duel speed
we are astro monks sitting in our robes on a flying moth that guards the outer reaches of this universe
and well
earth sent out a very large warning cry so we know who needs us and when and where
and we are on the way
we are already there
instant.
we are not aliens
we are not scary
we look just like you and me and we know exactly
how we play this
very well done chaps
improv is exciting
heheheh
heheheeh
is this long enough ?
oh an essay?
you want a 4000 word essay on why i love life?
and DEATH??????!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!
NO.
sorry not sorry.
Aug 23, 2013
Aug 23, 2013 at 10:04 AM UTC
The second I spoke
I heard myself through the look in your eyes
When did I become so distant
That I am now the self-centred attraction of your pupil’s reflection
No more do I see the interchanging colours
The door to your soul
Where I am
And you are
And we are
Through
Not so long ago you held me close
A comfort blanket for your woes
Though when did I become so rough
That you choose to wriggle and wrench from out my arms
No more mutual embrace
Body connectives
Now I am
And you are
And we are
Through
Speak to me in silence
When tone of death stare is enough to remind me of the jobs I should have done
When did we become so lazy
That we allowed spoken sentiment to dry up
Replaced by quips and sarcasm
Communicating only
That I am
And you are
And we are
Through
Yes I am through with second guessing emotion
And you are through with needy wanting
We are through with petty squabbling
We are through with dry expression
I am through with you
Just as you are through with me
However we, most importantly
Are finally through with ‘we’
Sep 23, 2016
Sep 23, 2016 at 11:28 AM UTC
And the man with the battle-bruised segmental fracture fists turned to the cylindrical tree
And asked,
“As you are a wise tree of such a unique shape, I must know if I am the self of tomorrow’s past or the momentary projection of a conscious spirit swimming in a perceptual slew of today’s virtues?”
The tree shed a leaf and observed a drop of rain, now multiplying.
“What difference does it make? Your existence in this interchanging moment is undeniable, when all else, consequently, is.”
The tree paused and saw a ray of electric energy pierce a nearby farmhouse, setting fire to its mahogany foundation-
“We serve witness to a recurring pattern of chaos, always singularly consistent in form while simultaneously imploding within itself against a vacuum.”
The man walked home and thought on this until the wrinkled hands of tomorrow drowned this form towards oblivion.
-
Nov 10, 2015
Nov 10, 2015 at 10:19 PM UTC
Your gentle frame is dangerously close to me.
Our hands collide together and become one,
Not even pausing for a breath.
But tracing the outline of one another's body with our tongues.
Your eyes close as your body raises towards the sky.
Everything around us black and white.
You and me colliding.
Illuminating and wrapped in interchanging shades of color.
A light gasp of air, taking it in as if it were our first.
And this innocent feeling we are experiencing as if we have before.
As your wrapped in my arms the thoughts in your mind sing to me.
Your fragile fingers trace my spine, sending surges through my body.
Your hair, soft to the touch, slowly brushing across my face.
Your breath, warm and subtle, as you whisper your deepest secrets and wants to me.
And I whisper mine to you.
Nov 4, 2011
Nov 4, 2011 at 8:37 PM UTC
How can you not talk about
death when it's just a world
only slightly beyond,
which soon must definitely
invite you home.
Being alive and yet dead,
and being dead and yet
fully consciously alive,
which one is more glorious.
The spirit within will always
take control of our being,
making sure that life is
sustained while in our earthly
body for the allowed
period of time,
whether healthy or sickly.
Being conscious of this
fact is very vital.
The visible and the invisible
world are like the pendulum
swinging circumspectively
overly spiraling around you
in precision at perfect synergy
in unison to the cosmic rhythm.
Perfectly interchanging
themselves in their diversities
and unique roles played
out in their own ways.
This is a plain truth for anyone
who approaches the world only
slightly beyond with an open mind.
With gladness the whole universe
responds to such a one with
assurance of a glorious life
free of ignorance.
Nothing is gained here really
only experiences to fully live
in the after life.
In that world beyond is
our lives made perfect.
©2018,Emeka Mokeme. All Rights Reserved.
Sep 9, 2018
Sep 9, 2018 at 5:55 PM UTC
.
Of all who are here
( welcome )
.""
Some picture creation as a collective movement
And interchanging of energies
Thru a matrix
Commonly called
Time and Space
In which beings develop
And transform
And are now in their present shape
//
Some see creation as the simple
" placing down "
Of completed figures onto a stage
That does not change
But is only there to be seen
And evaluated
Studied
And analysed
By other consciousnesss
•
I prefer the first of the two possibilities
.
Dec 25, 2015
Dec 25, 2015 at 2:56 PM UTC
the resurrection of the roman empire happened a long time,
it probably happened when the latinißed
(in english the german eszett works miracles in terms
of how the s and z mingle in certain words, interchanging
in certain words, where even an s is involved in spelling a word,
it’s not necessarily pronunciated, e.g. empiricism is written thus
but necessarily it could be empiricißm) started using
revised arabic digits, given the near synonymous simplicity
of both systems of notation - the near skeletal orientation
of the eye sockets proved that the characters of the language
had to involve a complication - the insurgence of the diacritical
marks on certain letters is keenly metaphorical as the descent
of the resurrected rome, via the heart thumping in the vatican,
the caesars becoming popes and hypocrites deliberating on
what’s supposed to be hidden and what’s to be revealed -
while cyrillic became neo-greek, after all:
Γ (gamma / ge) ι (iota / dotted ι)
ε (epsilon / ze) κ (kappa / ka)
Η (eta / en) o (omicron / o)
π (pi / pe) τ (tau / te)
υ (upsilon / u) φ (phi / ef)
ρ (rho / er) χ (chi / kha)
~ψ (psi) i.e. ш (sha);
and because the greeks developed actual names for letters,
it was only rational to employ these letters as scientific
constants ranging with popular demand in physics and chemistry.
Dec 6, 2015
Dec 6, 2015 at 3:22 PM UTC
Do you want to know why I stayed?
I threatened so many times to disappear before you glimpsed
the worst parts of me, through whispers and fists and biting
my lips to stop the eruptions of volatile girl from stabbing
you with my skeletons.
In the misty, early hours when neither of us were sleeping
because you were scared I'd go and I was scared I wouldn't,
I showed you the nooks and crannies of my character, the
crevices and caverns of my interchanging moods.
I did my very best to upset and cause unrest and I flung
every miserable curse in the direction I thought you'd be going.
I screamed my violence and mistakes against the front door
and told you I had proven you right.
I was unlovable.
I was a dysfunctional bundle of bones and you were
better off without me.
And I turned over to sob myself to sleep and considered
how I would also be better off without myself and as I
went to hit my pillows-
As I heaved in a shuddering breath of regret and guilt
and my lungs expanded to places I had never felt before,
You reached out and caught me and inserted yourself as
a root in my flailing, upended life.
You stroked my hair and cradled my shivering body and
quieted my sobs and told me there was no way in hell
that you'd leave this beautiful mess.
You said that I punish myself for being anything other than
what I think I should be. You said that I wreck the things
I love the most so that they won't one day see me as
a monster, and you're right. I prove how horrible I am
before you can. I sabotage so that I can say
I know. I'll let you go.
But you absolutely refuse to go,
So here I stay.
Dec 10, 2014
Dec 10, 2014 at 6:21 PM UTC
*Sometimes where brevity is required, we elaborate
Where we need to elaborate, we rely on brevity
While altering the situations we get caught in crossfire*
Jun 9, 2014
Jun 9, 2014 at 12:03 AM UTC
words.
nomadic in nature. traveling across cities and states and countries and continents fluidly like liquid. the translation from lead to lips, however, may be the most arduous travel yet.
words.
lost. wan white against the black backdrop of my mind.
when my jaw unhinges, the magic is lost and those little travelers
stumble, crash,
drown in foreign ears.
consonants
plummet from my teeth
and lose their serrated
edges, crumbling like pliant cakes
under eager fingertips
vowels become
clipped
once they've rolled
down my tongue, their once sweet melodies
sharper
than a shiv-
words.
home. they're a broken kaleidoscope
against a canvas. so
jaggedly beautiful, interchanging hope
and anguish and no
anxious eye or mental interloper
can steal away my unaligned shine.
the pen and paper are my saviors,
the destination of my pilgrimage from foreign lands
where I come to terms with words
and worship them
once again.
Jun 26, 2018
Jun 26, 2018 at 8:58 PM UTC