"intermingling" poems
if ever there were
gods or goddesses of desert
of the drylands
of parched earth some call home
they would be surprised to learn
of the miracle of
this Spring deluge
unfurling forth
from deep within
the crusty dermis
of this sublunar territory:
hydrangea and ***** apple flower,
intermingling their hues
of mauve and lilacs,
as well as the color of sky
blooms of the succulents
popping open
in celebratory dance
in wild fuschia
sunray butter:
a dazzling botanic trance
hollyhocks of magenta,
veils of bougainvellia, too
sweetpea clusters
curling in the trellis
weaving heavy-scented magic
through and through
a private orchard of lemon tree, and apple
olive and pistachio grove
One would not guess
the endless giving
of this desert treasure trove
And I feel like a goddess
of mythology softly spun
like Demeter, or Ceres
ancient Egyptian Renenutet
my hands spread out
in the licks of gentle sun
for as spring pours forth its honey
all through this barren land
I , too reawake
and flush out all the infected,
dust-scratched sand
I welcome in
the waters of abundance,
of love, of light under stars
let new energy wash out
old poisons
my radiance spilling far
Reaching out unto the Universe,
cradling this heart
I cup the buds of blooms,
of nectar
to inseminate my dark
allowing me
to release the past
and seed within me, lit
the atoms
of new
start
unfolding bit
by tender
bit
Apr 22, 2017
Apr 22, 2017 at 10:05 AM UTC
if you wish to be a warrior prepare to be broken.
if you wish to be a explorer prepare to get lost, and if you wish to be a lover prepare to be both.
to be a lover meaning you possess a feeling, a spell or desire.
that irresistible urge to be with someone.
that heavenly union, that destiny conspires.
to be a lover takes strength like a warrior. such as loving a person, even when they gave you a thousand reasons not to. to be a lover takes some exploring. a mere attachment, or infatuation. a bond or a yearning? getting lost on what loves really means.
to be a lover we sometimes seek what it means when all its about is, the intermingling of 2 souls, come together to form a whole. we look to deeply to decipher love to code the way in which the caged creature works,
we learn, get hurt, grow love, repeat.
to ever extract its true essence is tough...
Are you ready to be a lover?
May 3, 2016
May 3, 2016 at 6:18 AM UTC
Blasting out of the fog and mud
Past the forests in the sunrise
Farms and high ways
Trotting through suburbia
Through the tunnel
Defacing and refusing to allow themselves to be part of an unjust ******
Believe in the intermingling of colors
Waiting for the planets to fall into place
To stop for a moment and inhale the abundant harmony that surrounds them and emote and create a inspiring response in the form of self expressive freedom that matches the beauty that had compelled them
Feb 19, 2014
Feb 19, 2014 at 10:51 AM UTC
*I welcome the breeze
From the distant land
Brings fresh happiness
Lifts the veil of doubt
Reveals the inner beauty
Many rich aromas unknown
Intoxicates the senses
Travels through unknown corridors
Not even the corners spared
Soul breezes along with pleasure
Some unknown music notes
Hits the heart with marvelous grace
Intermingling of two waves
Brings harmony and peace
I welcome the breeze
As I surrender to the weightlessness
My soul feels loved and joyous
Tears of joy mingles as sweet droplets
Floating with the sweet breeze
Fresh breeze from afar
To which I surrender at will*
May 28, 2015
May 28, 2015 at 2:14 PM UTC
you haven't lived
until you've been in a
flophouse
with nothing but one
light bulb
and 56 men
squeezed together
on cots
with everybody
snoring
at once
and some of those
snores
so
deep and
gross and
unbelievable-
dark
snotty
gross
subhuman
wheezings
from hell
itself.
your mind
almost breaks
under those
death-like
sounds
and the
intermingling
odors:
hard
unwashed socks
****** and
*******
underwear
and over it all
slowly circulating
air
much like that
emanating from
uncovered
garbage
cans.
and those
bodies
in the dark
fat and
thin
and
bent
some
legless
armless
some
mindless
and worst of
all:
the total
absence of
hope
it shrouds
them
covers them
totally.
it's not
bearable.
you get
up
go out
walk the
streets
up and
down
sidewalks
past buildings
around the
corner
and back
up
the same
street
thinking
those men
were all
children
once
what has happened
to
them?
and what has
happened
to
me?
it's dark
and cold
out
here.
4.1k
I wake up to let the dog out
And am greeted by your collective clutter--this family!--
***** cups and plates, cushions on the floor, old socks tucked into the couch, cracked pistachio shells intermingling with dried berry blood, ear plugs!
I wade into the bog of filth to begin my daily duties. I can hear your voice say, "No one ever helps me around here!"
Truly I am a modern Cinderella--I think-- beaten and worn down by those who don't appreciate me. So Christlike!
It smacks me in the face.
The realization that Christ was crucified last night and is dead and buried and won't rise until tomorrow,
And the disciples have no idea that he will indeed rise!
I am no Cinderella.
I am a murderer going about her business without any remorse for her crime.
What a grim day Saturday can be.
Apr 4, 2015
Apr 4, 2015 at 9:47 AM UTC
It was one of those mornings
where you peer out your bottom floor window,
and look up at the raindrops freshly fallen.
You feel broken,
and yet rushed with an unexplainable emotion.
but you know it’s a good one simply with a bad aftertaste.
You see people everyday, no, you stare at them.
You wish for relationships you once had.
Others you wish you could hold,
and those you could never give up.
Have you ever heard the saying about faking a smile?
It’s an understatement.
It’s not sadness, or anger really, just pain.
It doesn't start out as pain, it just evolves, over time.
The madness results in Emotionally caused Physical pain.
The pain doesn't hurt, it just...sits.
This emotion that we've nicknamed pain, rushes through the body,
Arms numbs, legs shaking, eyes holding back, everything.
It’s all caused from sight, with a drop of longing.
You see this person everyday.
You long for the same people every single day.
And your body just longs for them.
It’s not as lustful as it sounds.
You just possess an attraction to these people.
An attraction that even the most specific and descriptive of words could not describe.
You sit there and you are bound by society’s lock on intermingling.
You are bound by the mock and disgust of others.
You are bound by that person of which you desire.
You are bound simply by yourself.
All this.
All of this Emotion, if you will, was bound in that little drop that clings to the window.
That was but a drop of what I feel every single day.
You can’t imagine
but don't let me sound as if I am exaggerating.
For I am not.
I have felt wonderful things.
Things I am not sure most of you have felt.
Though I wish you could.
I wish I could place my hand on your chest
I wish that all of that energy, that emotion, would flow into you and then back into me.
I could look into your eyes, and I would know, that you know, how I feel.
You could understand everything.
You could sympathise.
but the fact of the matter is, you simply can’t.
I do not believe you have felt what I have felt too, no.
Different version and variations, yes.
But this feeling of impossibility, I know you have not felt.
You are common rebel,
this is not bad, no not at all,
you have more opportunities to release this emotion than I ever will.
And i envy you. All of you. Every Last one.
You look away from the rain drops.
You go back to living.
You go back to hiding.
You go back to solitude.
Yeah, it was just one of those mornings I guess.
Apr 26, 2013
Apr 26, 2013 at 10:41 PM UTC
London,
Beating heart of England,
Charismatic time-capsule thrumming to its own rhythm,
History looming, akin to massive waves splashing down,
Drenching all, the unwary, the scholar, soaking it up,
Savouring every scintillating droplet, blissful, hopeful,
Weaving through lives, changing with every moment,
Variety of race and creed, intermingling, jostling, noticing,
Sharing sight, sound, colour, scents, smiles and frowns,
Pulsing soul of people, thriving and alive, buzzing with spirit,
In Camden, easy-going, a friendly riot of textured-hazy-peace,
Artful structures of Belgravia, magnolia temples of affluence,
Lauding architectural finery while mere mortals pass through,
Mind swinging through centuries, flowing along the river artery,
Bridges carrying us home, keeping their own dark secrets,
Cranes rising high, creating modern palaces, new beginnings,
Old lives wreathed in the foggy past of legendry deeds,
Embellished beyond reality, ghosts crying out, warning,
We can never own this city, never know this city, not really,
Guardian dragon allows us entrance, pours herself upon us,
Takes our love, progresses while we observe,
All left behind, knowing, feeling, sensing,
We are but shadows in her Light,
Dust on her famous streets,
Blessed to know her,
To breathe her,
Love her,
London.
©Paul Chafer 2014
May 19, 2014
May 19, 2014 at 3:49 PM UTC
On lonely nights
When thoughts of you
Dance throughout my mind
I wonder how often
I dance through yours.
I wonder if we met
For the first time
Right now
How would life unfold?
Would we spend
The next eleven months
Building our lives
Planning our futures
Wasting out time
On a foundation cracked
By your empty words
And careless lies?
Would you destroy everything
We had worked so hard for
With two simple sentences?
Only to give it
One more try
For two more months?
Would we then fade
From each others' lives?
Maybe we would grow.
Maybe the following year
Would be built
On solid foundation.
Maybe you would
Really love me
And our relationship
Would grow into marriage
And children
And grandchildren
And great grandchildren
And ashes
Intermingling with soil
And growing something beautiful
Like our love once would have.
Maybe I would break your heart.
Or maybe
We wouldn't know each other
At all.
Jun 6, 2013
Jun 6, 2013 at 5:34 PM UTC
It was a quiet afternoon of reminiscing
Nostalgia lingered in the sunlit air
intermingling with the sweet aroma of coffee
as I sipped and leaned back in my chair
˜
He walked up to me as I sat by the window
I waited to see what he wanted to say
“Your skin is the color of my mocha’, he smiled.
‘Just a notch deeper than your café au lait.’
°
With his jet black hair and Mediterranean eyes
And a physique worthy of a prize winning stallion
His confident air and his subtle smirk
He had to be greek, or maybe a charming Italian
˜
Long hair in a messy bun that didn’t care
jeans ripped in strategic places
His gaze never left my quizzical eyes
obscuring everyone else’s faces
°
He waited for me to respond
mere seconds since his saunter
Forever engraving in my mind,
This coffee shop encounter…
Jan 1, 2015
Jan 1, 2015 at 3:49 PM UTC
what is this
the sound of a voice
a faint crackle
over the line
burning icicle dipped
into ink of my dark
zipped in a fracture
through space
woven in time
the sound of it
penetrates
a heated
arctic zing
of light
into the soul
and your words
caress places that
would not be reached
in life's daily hold
I would look into your eyes
my blues to yours
two vast oceans
never ending
This might express
the divinity
of the word "love"
This might express
a fraction of the feeling
and this alone
could be all consuming
but the real expression
would be my mouth
devouring yours
my tongue
exploring your lips
and all that's inside
my starlight
infusing your being
as we press into
the silken matter
as the levity of skin
that brushes like silk
as your actual saliva
and ***
are my nourishment,
like heaven's milk
and our cells
ignite in slow movement
as we gasp and sigh
the air around us
invisible velvet
I want beyond
internet
I want beyond
a small, mirrored screen
I need to drink your luster
as we inhale the soft, molten folds
as we break open
and drink deep
inner liquids
as we crack
and the flow of the
electric river
slides
through
and within,
intermingling
auras tingling
Just take me,
already
let me feel the imprint
of your fingers
upon my wrists
let your kisses mark
my secret spaces
Rush into me
as a river
before we
simultaneously
combust
for if I have to hear your
vocal chords
one more time
I will
explode
into
fragments
of
crystallized
dust
Apr 13, 2017
Apr 13, 2017 at 3:54 PM UTC
I've ran away to all the far places where
I know you will not be
I have made memories in foreign tongues
and smiled into the eyes of people I will never see again
Perhaps, it is the reflection of our intermingling in space-
languages on two different wave lengths
destined to be separated again
Whenever I send you a carrier pigeon love letter I
hear from him instead or else
don't hear from you at all
I just want to hear my name on your mouth again cause
my memory of you will never be tainted
no matter how many times you try to sabotage it
I will always love you
I anxiously wait you to remember me while I try to forget you
It is all a bit too futile for someone so open hearted
I'm going to catch a cold
Our love has grown cold but my heart will keep it warm
I've always been a warm fire for you
kindling for you to ignite
I know all your secrets, I am not sure that you know mine
I hold them close to me
I imagine a world where you miss me where you ring me again
You have come and gone I can not forget that
Can not forget the day we met
Forget the day you left
I cried
Whenever I am with someone else I always think of you
I measure him to you
even though you were nothing short of a let down
I paint you perfect
remember you between the moon and my brow
under the starlight between the blades of grass or
sitting, a safe distance apart
you always kept me a safe distance apart
May 22, 2017
May 22, 2017 at 9:27 PM UTC
Not all tree roots
need to be long or thick
to be strong mighty ever lasting.
trancending time and space
The strongest tallest trees
have SHORT roots tightly close interconnectedly
with many tree roots
by one amazing fact
being rooted from underneath very close to one another
Huddled in short proximity
it's how the strongest tallest trees thrive stronger live longer.
across time and space
lungs on earth for humans.
Nature teaching showing why
even poets lost in solitude
are as derooted weak trees
they shrivel and die
Here at Hello Poetry
we may willfully become stronger tightly rooted together
to grow taller stronger mightier
or perish for lack of unifying interconnectedness.
huddled root to root
I perceive a disconnection on H.P, among many poets
with thick long roots yet unable to stay connected with
one another in rampard discord
some expecting benefits without any other concern but arrogance
and selfishness
Trusting unison powerful
indestructible succeeds interconnectedness.
Why not huddle up together
closer so noone deroots us.
i hunger for your view on this.
Nature is teacher at best
intermingling tightly
so closer in proximity
likewise
poet to poetess poem to poem
so that i may follow you
confident follow me
huddled up
root to root.
~~~~~~~~
By:Karijinbba
revised: 01-07-19
Jan 4, 2019
Jan 4, 2019 at 1:53 AM UTC
The night sky spits crystalized drops of clarity.
I stand with eyes painted black
My lips painted red
And ponder my reality.
Unloaded amps, keyboards, guitars take up more space
Then my heart can create room for
Erratic beats and flailing feet explode my sense of peace
and I'm caught in the harsh whipping of the vibrating music
played too loud to hold any resonance
its only purpose to push the sweat to dancers skin.
This music which I normally love so much
Falls flat to ears accustomed to the screams of suffocating ideals
and I forget why I am here.
I forget why these arms love his with a tired affection
that withstands his sublimations and holds his faults in a place where everything he creates is perfect.
We are not perfect.
This rain falls in thin sheets
intermingling with tears that suddenly appear on my flushed cheeks
and I taste salt.
Throughout the infinities trapped in teenage years I find
Its taste a fading memory
a paling reminder to how submissive I have become
and before I can remember exactly where it's from
Its gone and I am left with arms full of his music gear
and a heart too full to hold with only two hands.
He calls back to see if I need help
and I say no
because what are you going to say when you are shattering and do not know why.
Feb 13, 2016
Feb 13, 2016 at 2:10 AM UTC
These emotions swirl around my mind
Like the glowing leaves outside
Yellow anxieties, orange excitements, and red passions
All intermingling to create something divine
For those who don't understand
It appears disorganized and unnatural
But as sure as leaves return to trees in the spring
My feelings will continue to bloom for someone
More than one
And that's beautiful
Nov 13, 2017
Nov 13, 2017 at 4:13 AM UTC
Moonlight peaking through blinds
intermingling with candlefire,
Illuminating a tired artist
creating out of an innate desire.
Cups of coffee, cream & sugar
downed two at a time for stamina
while the typewriter tatters away
fabricating a tapestry of stories
weaved by burgeoning personas.
Who are you?
the stories ask
The coffee? The cream?
The paper? The sugar?
The moon? The light?
The candle? Their user?
Are you the art or the artist?
The heart or its confuser?
All of these questions & more boggle
the artist, who knows not the difference
between imagination & its manifestation,
reality.
Our rational world of thought has given way
to a mystical realm harbored deep within
every subconscious; a subterfuge of
silver threads that discreetly tie us together.
Every night, one after another,
minds across the world become interwoven
into a network of murmured incantations.
Dreams lost in translation like travelers
awaiting trains at different destinations.
Apr 2, 2023
Apr 2, 2023 at 12:56 AM UTC
Find us idling our time away in the twilight of a movie theatre projector,
Intertwining, intermingling, interlocking..down to the matched rhythm of breaths with her...
Criss cross them thighs to my Lap and let me caress up till I feel that knee becoming hip bone
Its been months since I felt all the sensations of a man lost in what some would call the zone
Lost in the coy smile in hands pushed back from pleasure just to be returned seconds later
Back to spots felt even stronger that a wait's made even better
Bitten lips never tasting more full, bitten lips bitten softer,
Lips just ripe for this mood and both best savored....
We just cant help ourselves when months of affections been saved
As i feel through our months of basic training till your legs tighten and beg
Pulling my body closer to yours, closer to the temptations you fight to conceal
Your eyes closing to the theatre around us to begin playing fantasies, for now, you just feel...
Grip tight baby and love loose...
Were just adding up our reasons and dividing the excuses to always equal youth
Come, rest in the pleasure of friction and fingers hidden in the dark,
Guilty by unsanctioned military pleasures, innocent by young hearts....
How much can two people fit between a showtime and credits
Would some say just a body that next weekend comes with seconds
Or others perhaps poems formatted inside those racing pulses
Count one butterflies count two everything off body language and impulse
An ecstasy that finds us spent and content when lights flicker back on
To then look into each other eyes and stare soft and stare long
To then hold the very hands that etched passion in every last valley of our bodies,
To then, just ever casually walk to the smell of popcorn, and the light of the lobby...
Sep 9, 2014
Sep 9, 2014 at 8:11 AM UTC
Pelvic bone to pelvic bone
We are fused together.
Some type of warped conjoined twin syndrome.
Chin to chin.
Lip to lip to lip to lip.
Our lips are touching but we are not kissing.
Cheek to cheek.
Fingertips scarping against fingertips.
There’s a theory in physics
That states
You are never really touching anything,
Only the space in between.
Sometimes I think we are the very definition of this theory.
We push closer
But we never touch.
I cannot feel your kiss pressing up against my neck.
I cannot feel your teeth tugging at the skin on my collarbone.
I cannot feel your saliva intermingling with my own.
You are sitting next to me on the couch
But I do not feel
The bend your body makes.
I do not feel the dip of cushion.
Your hand is nothing more than
An anchor keeping me grounded on Earth.
We are perpendicular lines
But it feels like we’re parallel
Nov 26, 2014
Nov 26, 2014 at 9:49 PM UTC
Without a coat
as deep autumn rears its ugly head.
stolen scarf.
what does it mean?
Drunk off of boxed wine
and good food.
Sweet melodies shadowing
my every move;
who cares?
Awakened senses
as a ambitious feline
joins the ready hunt.
sweet taste,
aftertaste
of that herb,
the herb.
smoke dances
intermingling with steam.
Venus sees me
for I am Psyche
I am Artemis
Virginal huntress of the night.
Never to be forgotten.
Oct 25, 2012
Oct 25, 2012 at 1:11 AM UTC
Such loneliness permeates my days,
No one seems to notice I exist;
I'm as transparent as the sun's first rays
Intermingling with the morning mist
I'm as obscure as a grain of sand
Clinging to the ocean's lonely shore;
Should a wild wind fling me to some strange land,
Who would notice that I'm here no more?
Has my frame decayed and turned to dust
And my restless spirit unaware
That I'm just a ghost tumbling in a gust
Of the pitiful wind of despair?
Too long I've haunted this lonely sphere
Where it seems no one's aware of me;
Let there be a soft whispering in my ear:
"Claim your peace, dear soul, you've been set free"
And how eager I'd be to depart
From this cruel world I've come to deplore!
Yet, if love would lay its hands on my heart . . .
I'd consider staying a few years more
Apr 19, 2022
Apr 19, 2022 at 1:53 PM UTC
Neon lights from salt rusted beach buggies, gypsy camels and a faint memory of dollops of colour reflect under the milky moon that hangs unnaturally low.
In the car window, the reflection of her pensive eyes are overlaid with the mischievous moon, and a vendor selling animated light toys skip like stones that never sink -
ceaseless ripples in the unconventionally eerie and curious night.
They say the moon has this unnerving attraction to the earth -
a pull, compelling and persuasive. Like a tangled ball of yarn it is unkempt, woven out of threads of enigmas. Each of us having a loose end of the intermingling threads tied around our waists, like our own invisible axis.
Every time our thread is tugged, almost like a reflex we are compelled to look up like a reminder that we might live on earth - on the ground, but our eyes, minds, and our souls are infinite.
Jun 21, 2014
Jun 21, 2014 at 6:08 PM UTC
The Wild Hunt
by Michael R. Burch
Near Devon, the hunters appear in the sky
with Artur and Bedwyr sounding the call;
and the others, laughing, go dashing by.
They only appear when the moon is full:
Valerin, the King of the Tangled Wood,
and Valynt, the goodly King of Wales,
Gawain and Owain and the hearty men
who live on in many minstrels’ tales.
They seek the white stag on a moonlit moor,
or Torc Triath, the fabled boar,
or Ysgithyrwyn, or Twrch Trwyth,
the other mighty boars of myth.
They appear, sometimes, on Halloween
to chase the moon across the green,
then fade into the shadowed hills
where memory alone prevails.
Published by Celtic Twilight, Celtic Lifestyles, Boston Poetry and Auldwicce. Few legends have inspired more poetry than those of King Arthur and the Knights of the Round Table. These legends have their roots in a far older Celtic mythology than many realize. Here the names are ancient and compelling. Arthur becomes Artur or Artos, “the bear.” Bedivere becomes Bedwyr. Lancelot is Llenlleawc, Llwch Lleminiawg or Lluch Llauynnauc. Merlin is Myrddin. And there is an curious intermingling of Welsh and Irish names within these legends, indicating that some tales (and the names of the heroes and villains) were in all probability “borrowed” by one Celtic tribe from another. For instance, in the Welsh poem “Pa gur,” the Welsh Manawydan son of Llyr is clearly equivalent to the Irish Mannanan mac Lir. Keywords/Tags: King Arthur, wild hunt, Halloween, Artur, Bedwyr, Valerin, Valynt, Gawain, Owain, Devon, Wales
Apr 18, 2020
Apr 18, 2020 at 12:18 AM UTC
Without a coat
as deep autumn rears its ugly head.
stolen scarf.
what does it mean?
Drunk off of boxed wine
and good food.
Sweet melodies shadowing
my every move;
who cares?
Awakened senses
as an ambitious feline
joins the ready hunt.
sweet taste,
aftertaste
of that herb,
the herb.
smoke dances
intermingling with steam.
Venus sees me
for I am Psyche
I am Artemis
Virginal huntress of the night.
Never to be forgotten.
Oct 25, 2012
Oct 25, 2012 at 1:11 AM UTC
When was the moment?...
Did the idea plant itself within you like the root taking hold?...
When did our love ...waver, falter, fail you?
When was the moment that you waded far from the shores of my love?...
Deeper into the waters of oneness...standing on your own two feet...fleeting...
As my footing, my voice, my humanity escaped me...slipping from the depths of my soul...
intermingling within the seas of your sadness...oddly... We are one again.
And I...unhinged and undone...carried between the crosswinds of angst and adoration...torn from union... Hover....like a spirit...over you...over us...OVER.
And all at once ...you...dissipate...disappear...a misty memory dancing around me...scatter...float...fall...
Rain down upon me...and as the memories settle...
a myriad of invisible scars burrow their imprint deeply within my soul...
And you...who walked away...
Is carried within me...
Tell me...When was the moment?...
Jan 14, 2013
Jan 14, 2013 at 5:09 PM UTC