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"interplay" poems
‘I am…’ 'Or am I’? Who can say? ‘A posteriori’ leads the way For the extra and the ordinary Axiomatic sway, In the gravity of corollary, ‘A priori’ interplay Ataraxic overlay of anxious automation, As the innocence of dissonance delay. Practicing semantic contemplation, In willfully prevenient interpolation, Civilly disobedient in expediently seeming disarray, Forecasts in vague extrapolation Contrasts the millennial contagion Already underway, Filling nihilistic voids with particles in waves, To interpret dreams of Freud to free Oedipus’s slaves, A degreeless scholastic who never misbehaves, Simulated humanoid dramatic in the affect that he craves, Inflating linguistics in acrobatic raves, A thespian who plans conation with legacy engraves. The probabilistic determiner of cosmogenous debates, An apperceived inquirer of qualitative states, Inspiring proprietor of dismality abates. Challenging aporia as epistemic oscillates, Stoically, heroically, ‘one’ who amalgamates, Circling the infinite in hermeneutic calibrates. An escaped prisoner from depressive disillusion, Of an introspective extrovert who finds solace in confusion, The personable recluse fighting an illusion Breaking down the nuances of every institution. Calculating consequence as time goes to infinity Revolutionary commonsense of principal utility, An opinionated adversary, to the realist without evidence, Theorizing in futility, Stipulating every sense leading to the virility of the pretense that dominates community. Divergently converging all the efforts we’ve personified, Inadvertently submerging old traditions that unethically were codified, Hastening the urgency for purging that which cannot be modified through the merging of the certainty that will no longer coincide, Stationing the levies to finally stem the tide, Of periodic enmities disguised to be necessities so blatantly deified. Observing moral sentiments, perched upon eternity, As consequential regiments are expounded universally, To unstratify the residents indiscriminately And identify quantum elements spiritualistically, Changing collective behavior individually, Socializing constructs in joint ventured logo therapy.
0
Nov 16, 2018
Nov 16, 2018 at 8:07 AM UTC
Paradoxical Tendencies
‘I am…’ 'Or am I’? Who can say? ‘A posteriori’ leads the way For the extra and the ordinary Axiomatic sway, In the gravity of corollary, ‘A priori’ interplay Ataraxic overlay of anxious automation, As the innocence of dissonance delay. Practicing semantic contemplation, In willfully prevenient interpolation, Civilly disobedient in expediently seeming disarray, Forecasts in vague extrapolation Contrasts the millennial contagion Already underway, Filling nihilistic voids with particles in waves, To interpret dreams of Freud to free Oedipus’s slaves, A degreeless scholastic who never misbehaves, Simulated humanoid dramatic in the affect that he craves, Inflating linguistics in acrobatic raves, A thespian who plans conation with legacy engraves. The probabilistic determiner of cosmogenous debates, An apperceived inquirer of qualitative states, Inspiring proprietor of dismality abates. Challenging aporia as epistemic oscillates, Stoically, heroically, ‘one’ who amalgamates, Circling the infinite in hermeneutic calibrates. An escaped prisoner from depressive disillusion, Of an introspective extrovert who finds solace in confusion, The personable recluse fighting an illusion Breaking down the nuances of every institution. Calculating consequence as time goes to infinity Revolutionary commonsense of principal utility, An opinionated adversary, to the realist without evidence, Theorizing in futility, Stipulating every sense leading to the virility of the pretense that dominates community. Divergently converging all the efforts we’ve personified, Inadvertently submerging old traditions that unethically were codified, Hastening the urgency for purging that which cannot be modified through the merging of the certainty that will no longer coincide, Stationing the levies to finally stem the tide, Of periodic enmities disguised to be necessities so blatantly deified. Observing moral sentiments, perched upon eternity, As consequential regiments are expounded universally, To unstratify the residents indiscriminately And identify quantum elements spiritualistically, Changing collective behavior individually, Socializing constructs in joint ventured logo therapy.
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47
Focus on the Positive but do not shun Negative. Respect the Negative by way of Positive reflection. And, indeed, vice versa; as if some twisted cosmic joke, yin and yang shall interplay e'ermore, ad infinitum.
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Apr 10, 2015
Apr 10, 2015 at 8:20 PM UTC
Words be funny Tools [Positive, Negative]
Lying beneath trees in the heat of the day cannot possibly be compared to any other pastime: to watch the light toy with the leaves, shining bright and brighter in the ever-changing gaps in the leaves turned dark by the shadow. The interplay between the light and the leaves in ever-ongoing banter and they hate to quit their game when the sun moves too far beneath the horizon for the light to reach above the boughs and must return to its source. The wind plays a part in the sport as well, when it rustles the leaves and causes a sparkle in the variance of illumination. Tortoiseshell patterns scatter along your limbs and features and tumble off the cliffs of your sides into the grass you recline on. The filter of light casts playful interlocking patterns of light and dark impossible to decode without the proper encryption, forever lasting while the world speeds past their lazy game.
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Mar 14, 2014
Mar 14, 2014 at 11:39 PM UTC
Komorebi: Sunlight That Filters Through the Trees
Boundless energy around us, Stretched to snare the senses. Shaped and bound to our life-force. No barriers, or defenses. Limitless interplay, front row seats shall we say. To astounding cosmic displays. Consider what a day holds;~ Glimpses of magnificence In the eyes of the beholder, Fear not insignificance. Take grip of your awareness Exchanging energy, Is inherent in us. Throw a love curve ball. . . Await your reciprocating shower. those stars, they fall forever. They deal not in glamour. Casually causing us humans to stutter and mumble. Let not, your heart labor, Loves home-run rests Patiently, On your minds table. Prana for everything, This **** ain't no fable.
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Sep 2, 2015
Sep 2, 2015 at 8:31 PM UTC
The Prana
*As a designer, I have always been fascinated by the interplay between people and objects of design. The responses change over the years, and with this in mind, my collections become tangible reflections of my own journey, as a woman to this day.*                                      / Alexandra Mor
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Mar 5, 2015
Mar 5, 2015 at 1:20 PM UTC
iAMWoman
Shade giving Sentinels Custodians of the environment Infusing oxygenated life Extending canopies of bliss! A fine interplay of synthesising solar photons Food factories to the plant Self sustainable gifts from the Almighty God! Bemoan Human apathy Fragile relations with humankind Exponential signs of human induced Ecocide! Oh Humankind! Oh Humankind! Wake up to a Nature’s clarion call Embrace Mother Earths Sentinels Tree Huggers of the World Unite in Unison and Eco harmony Save Trees! Save Trees! Cherish God’s Nature Permeate Environmental Euphony Demolish reckless Infrastructural Cacophony !!! Biospherically Yours Forever 🙏🏻 @Nitin Raikar
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Sep 6, 2020
Sep 6, 2020 at 2:31 PM UTC
Nature’s Sentinels
How I look at the world each day Is a curious interplay Of fire and earth, cadent and fixed, And often my impressions are mixed. The world entices me from the cocoon Of my Leo Sun and my Taurus Moon. How I shine and how I feel… To find a balance would be ideal. The goal, of course, is to do what's right; The nuances are ever so slight. It's just a matter of being in tune With my Leo Sun and my Taurus Moon. Although I'm more complex than this, Their strong influence is hard to miss. Understanding who I am Partly comes from the diagram Of what occurs when they commune-- My Leo Sun and my Taurus Moon. It isn't just as simple as that-- My Sun and Moon both having a chat. It might make me ill at ease To ignore the many intricacies Of aspecting planets. Never jejune Are my Leo Sun and my Taurus Moon. Add my Rising Sign and see How other people look at me. Virgo adds more earth to tame And somewhat soften my Leo flame. There's no reason to ever impugn My Leo Sun and my Taurus Moon. Finding answers within and without Helps to dispel the burden of doubt. Tools to study the self abound; What we discover can be profound. Knowledge of self comes never too soon With my Leo Sun and my Taurus Moon. -by Bob B (4-19-22)
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Apr 19, 2022
Apr 19, 2022 at 11:44 AM UTC
My Leo Sun and My Taurus Moon
Pretence to be what you are not Compounds the very way, You spout the cause and issuance Of guilt in interplay. The moments carved from honesty Cause sweat to run between The shoulder blades of conscience And beads of guilt to gleam. Gut squirms in apprehension, Those averted, eyes do coax A riot of indecision And shrill nervousness to broach. Sweating brow is glistening There’s a tremor in the fist, Wide, dancing eyes unsteady And a reluctance to resist. A perfunctory bark of laughter Occasionally forced between the teeth And a loosening of the bowels Betrays a quivering beneath. These symptoms to the practiced eye All unveil the hidden truth, That surreptitiousness in it’s starkest form Shall reveal you as ....uncouth. Marshalg Victoria Park tunnel 11 November 2010
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Nov 10, 2010
Nov 10, 2010 at 4:40 PM UTC
Liar Liar, Pants on Fire
...Here a man stands accused--the pellucid jury of his peers come to themselves in their life's arms through him. He wails upright...a shadow continent wedging The Flood. Timekeeping horseflies besmirch his chest cavity with due kisses...par for par movements consume time till the singular advocacy of he withstood. The imperturbable essence captured itself, as so at the height of its powers there's interplay. Ease culled from tribulation...countenance slackened by degrees...overwhelmed by awareness. Kingdom come Kingdom--shoring space of grace that is freedom. As if Everything centering of itself, fawning over itself... polar opposites in conjugal bliss. Here a man stands accused...of being--fit for steely juxtaposition...the murderous implement of will, or salvation. Envision him post-Flood, waist-deep, the living Face of the Deep...look upon him! Timekeeping horseflies besmirching his chest cavity with due kisses...par for par movements consuming time till the Singular advocacy of thee...look upon him! An encounter of pitless ramification: fear or love...be it the last man upon the earth. Look upon him--O jury of his peers boasting billions... pellucid unto one another...look...The Hour is radiant! Won't thee come to thine life's arms through him? For he is Everyman.
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Feb 6, 2015
Feb 6, 2015 at 11:25 AM UTC
Pellucid Jury
She stands where autumn wind and lake collide, its whispers trace her curves in soft ballet. Her blouse pressed tight, it frames her quaking frame. A moan escapes; the love that she must abide, as hair veils trembling lips that long to stay. The wild wind plays, yet stirs a deeper flame. Wind howls, her skirt rises, her heart inside, its breath explores secrets bared to foreplay. Her chest revealed, she shivers, soft and tame. She opens wide, her body greets the skies, Waves repeat, with rhythm's gentle interplay. The wind recedes; she calls her fleeting name. Her arms enfold the ache she cannot flee, a whispered ghost of love she cannot see.
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Nov 15, 2024
Nov 15, 2024 at 11:24 AM UTC
Autumn's Wild Caress
Stone Love :  A Building Named ‘Linearity’. Unobserved I lay my hand on your limestone wall and feel the rough surface as my fingertips touch the stone slabs and junctures of your construction… Gently pressing my cheek against your sunlight- warmed, stony skin. Veiled in concealment, just you and me, right here…. Being with you, so near to me…   No one else but you and me. In this very special love affair we share together.   Your  comforting presence, so mild and so compassionate…. Gazing at the elegance of your architecture with its majestic interplay of  razorsharp  outline patterns  in a  merciless contrast  with the soft spindrift twilight  clouds  in all serenity above us….and I feel so protected…. Staring at your powerful black silhouette as it rises up into the sundown skies…. Mesmerized by the grace of golden sunray reflections stunningly glistening, dazzlingly shimmering  in your numerous windowpanes as the sun sets unhurriedly, while the mauve, lavender and scarlet clouds make the perfect composition for our undetected wonderful moment…. Oh, ‘Linearity’,… Your stone wall feels so warm when I think about  the coldness of  people.
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Oct 16, 2012
Oct 16, 2012 at 7:09 PM UTC
Stone Love: A Building Named 'Linearity'
Logos enters not in matters of the Mythic, yet they copulate. Mythos is a realm wholly separate from Logos yet they interplay, This dynamic play in a mythicly tuned mind; akin to wisdom. Mythos and Logos dancing cosmically onward as if Yin and Yang. To shun one and cling zealously to the other is tantamount to fearing Death until the day it's icy finger points itself at you: You miss out on all the wondrous things in this life; Enjoy here and now.
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Apr 30, 2013
Apr 30, 2013 at 9:02 PM UTC
Seven Haikus to the Mythic
The Natural World is not so benevolent. Though, I don't mean that it is malevolent, but with things like Disease, Entropy and Radiation, I would say that the odds certainly are not in our Favour. Yet, here we are. An act of sheer Defiance to an otherwise inanimate Reality. A Being of Reason, Creativity, Interpretation, Intuition and Consciousness observing the cold assumed lifelessness of the Crystallization of this Epoch of Energy. I speak not of the benevolent and malevolent Energies which perhaps permeate and flow through this Reality, but those, to me, don't necessarily qualify as "Natural" in this sense; they are super-natural, para-natural, or hyper-natural. Pre-natural, even. I speak of tangible, scientific, here-and-now "Reality"; whatever that means. Matter and the Energies we know of that are subsets of it. Gravity, Electromagnetism, the Strong and Weak Nuclear forces. This Physical Prison of Godself; like a physical Dream from which One cannot awaken until Death. Perhaps not even then? Who knows? Who are we, who yet live, to say? Maybe it's a case-by-case basis; but, in any case, I digress: The Natural World is a Force to be reckoned with; it holds the Powers of Sustenance as well as Annihilation yet we so take it for granted and **** pillage and plunder it evermore systematically That's just bad form. Conciser Reverence though not religiously so; merely giving Thanks to the Forces which sustain us. Respecting the Forces which sustain us. Earth. Sun. Water. Air. The interplay of these things. The Plants that give themselves to us as nutrients as well as the Animals that do the same. The fact that you have a left and a right Brain. A Body and Mind. That the Sun rises each Day and you're born anew with it in ways. If we truly give Thanks for all of these things and more, our perspectives will enlighten a bit, and Reality will become wholly Holy; Holistic: and we can finally begin, again, to move on.
0
Jul 20, 2013
Jul 20, 2013 at 12:12 PM UTC
The Natural World
The Natural World is not so benevolent. Though, I don't mean that it is malevolent, but with things like Disease, Entropy and Radiation, I would say that the odds certainly are not in our Favour. Yet, here we are. An act of sheer Defiance to an otherwise inanimate Reality. A Being of Reason, Creativity, Interpretation, Intuition and Consciousness observing the cold assumed lifelessness of the Crystallization of this Epoch of Energy. I speak not of the benevolent and malevolent Energies which perhaps permeate and flow through this Reality, but those, to me, don't necessarily qualify as "Natural" in this sense; they are super-natural, para-natural, or hyper-natural. Pre-natural, even. I speak of tangible, scientific, here-and-now "Reality"; whatever that means. Matter and the Energies we know of that are subsets of it. Gravity, Electromagnetism, the Strong and Weak Nuclear forces. This Physical Prison of Godself; like a physical Dream from which One cannot awaken until Death. Perhaps not even then? Who knows? Who are we, who yet live, to say? Maybe it's a case-by-case basis; but, in any case, I digress: The Natural World is a Force to be reckoned with; it holds the Powers of Sustenance as well as Annihilation yet we so take it for granted and **** pillage and plunder it evermore systematically That's just bad form. Conciser Reverence though not religiously so; merely giving Thanks to the Forces which sustain us. Respecting the Forces which sustain us. Earth. Sun. Water. Air. The interplay of these things. The Plants that give themselves to us as nutrients as well as the Animals that do the same. The fact that you have a left and a right Brain. A Body and Mind. That the Sun rises each Day and you're born anew with it in ways. If we truly give Thanks for all of these things and more, our perspectives will enlighten a bit, and Reality will become wholly Holy; Holistic: and we can finally begin, again, to move on.
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44
the fire of desire in each step staccato movements making many a sparking flint a close held twirl fervent the grasp the guitar is at fever pitch strumming a flammable chord the couple engaging in a hot dance powerful the ardor which they display a sensual love in the tango's interplay
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Nov 6, 2013
Nov 6, 2013 at 8:10 PM UTC
Tango (Metaphor Poem)
(from "To: Mimi Romanelli" ~indebted to suggestion of https://hellopoetry.com/MacGM/ for filling me up one of the trillions of missing datapoints in my slowly diminishing insights & missing knowledges <> "I am happy, Dear, to have walked with steady faith on the waters of our uncertainty all the way to that island which is your heart and where pain blossoms. Finally: happy." from the poem by Rilke "To: Mimi Romanelli" see notes '~~~' so worthy of my/our attentions, his reflections on loss, grief and mortality, for in the natural course of this poet's story, the interplay of this shopping list of preoccupations, foremost on this temporal frontal lobe in these waning days of my perhaps, last summery summary, that falls upon your eyes with my guilt that you have clicked upon this e~pistle, in and un~ tentionally & tensionally thus demanding & tendering post-haste my apology so be advised, be learned, and query why an essay on ending mortality should be be finished with a concluding a "Finally: happy." by breaching this poet Rilke essay, one discovers this poet sees through the storms of his preoccupations, "the red of his blood," because he loves another human, being, so many would agree, yet so few are so certain, as Rilke, and yet, "*It is still always that death which continues inside of me, which works in me, which transforms my heart, which deepens the red of my blood, which weighs down the life that had been ours so that it may become a bittersweet drop coursing through my veins and penetrating everything, and which ought to be mine forever. And while I am completely engulfed in my sadness, I am happy to sense that you exist, Beautiful. I am happy to have flung myself without fear into your beauty just as a bird flings itself into space. I am happy, Dear, to have walked with steady faith on the waters of our uncertainty all the way to that island which is your heart and where pain blossoms.* Finally: happy." <> Writ the last week of August, and the first of September 2025
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Sep 2, 2025
Sep 2, 2025 at 12:49 PM UTC
Finally: Happy
(from "To: Mimi Romanelli" ~indebted to suggestion of https://hellopoetry.com/MacGM/ for filling me up one of the trillions of missing datapoints in my slowly diminishing insights & missing knowledges <> "I am happy, Dear, to have walked with steady faith on the waters of our uncertainty all the way to that island which is your heart and where pain blossoms. Finally: happy." from the poem by Rilke "To: Mimi Romanelli" see notes '~~~' so worthy of my/our attentions, his reflections on loss, grief and mortality, for in the natural course of this poet's story, the interplay of this shopping list of preoccupations, foremost on this temporal frontal lobe in these waning days of my perhaps, last summery summary, that falls upon your eyes with my guilt that you have clicked upon this e~pistle, in and un~ tentionally & tensionally thus demanding & tendering post-haste my apology so be advised, be learned, and query why an essay on ending mortality should be be finished with a concluding a "Finally: happy." by breaching this poet Rilke essay, one discovers this poet sees through the storms of his preoccupations, "the red of his blood," because he loves another human, being, so many would agree, yet so few are so certain, as Rilke, and yet, "*It is still always that death which continues inside of me, which works in me, which transforms my heart, which deepens the red of my blood, which weighs down the life that had been ours so that it may become a bittersweet drop coursing through my veins and penetrating everything, and which ought to be mine forever. And while I am completely engulfed in my sadness, I am happy to sense that you exist, Beautiful. I am happy to have flung myself without fear into your beauty just as a bird flings itself into space. I am happy, Dear, to have walked with steady faith on the waters of our uncertainty all the way to that island which is your heart and where pain blossoms.* Finally: happy." <> Writ the last week of August, and the first of September 2025
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46
Twenty strolls by the canal out without followers ,pleasant by night walk slow and around fast thoughts changing fireflies with the mouth while angst wallows out with the wind by the shore sifting every other passer this way who never wanted life beyond a couple years ,except we all just have dreams and mine are all eyes to Moloch now for he streams dark giants and quiet interplay with water-lights and I am brought to tears If I could...for every ******* misfit, and geek chasing trains past bedtime and seeing green in society’s streets just tapping steps in the dirt who cared none about father’s scrutiny, who worried less confronted in the night with all ceaseless horror and inviting fear
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Sep 28, 2012
Sep 28, 2012 at 5:22 PM UTC
11
T-Together they'll create a lovely moon W-Wonderful is their adoration's boon O-Oneness of love this pair shall festoon H-Harmonic shall they be together   E-Exquisite of a meshing love tether A-Abiding in all kinds of weather R- Resplendently matching with other T-Tenderness their eternal soft feather S-Special the song of amity's heather B-Bounty and plenty e'er they'll possess E-Elated this pair in joyous congress A-Always to be in the realms of fullness T-Twined by braids to true loveliness I-Infinite the land of affection's prettiness   N-Naught shall blight their gleefulness G-Glories shared in a bower of sweetness A-Aligned in all that they say and do S-Sublime the narrative of these two O-Of love's serenade they'll endlessly play N-Nicely coalescing in each and every way E-Ecstatic this their devotional interplay
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Nov 13, 2014
Nov 13, 2014 at 6:29 PM UTC
Two Hearts Beating As One (Acrostic Poem)
All our senses concatenate, building on each other <> this interplay is truly interplanetary, for each of us a unique solar system, our brains, intricacy literally personified, and our five senses, working in concatenation our long range sensors, busy bees compiling inputs by the nanosecond second, distilling, integrating. blending and then reconstructing…into a whole! *a gentle breeze ruffles the hair, the tree swing rises and flows of its own accord, no passported passenger required, and a neighbor’s American Flag, moves majestically & impressively, whipping, dancing, yes, prancing to a tune only it can hear, the syncopated air currents providing a rhythmic awesome inspiring beat…* and the brain takes this all in, a momentary second of a vista that is constantly flexing, yet remains unchanged, a muscular view of a real world, living but yet immutable, and I utter thanks to my motor functions, that bless me with the eyes to perceive, the nostrils to smell sea salt flavored air, the hearing ears that the know the imperceptible orchestrations of silences by their absence and their intrusion, and I touch my fingertips to my tongue, wetted, and hyper sensitized to that gentle breeze that decorates the landscapes external, *and the combinatory addition of the all of it, into a single momentary poem of recall, what I “knew” yesterday, & will greet again this coming day, as an old unfamiliar friend, who grasps me entire, and proclaims: this is living…and the greatest satisfaction that a speck of mortal can achieve, retain and through impoverished words…share* 4:14am Mon Jul 22 2 0 2 4
0
Jul 22, 2024
Jul 22, 2024 at 4:25 AM UTC
All our senses concatenate, building on each other...
All our senses concatenate, building on each other <> this interplay is truly interplanetary, for each of us a unique solar system, our brains, intricacy literally personified, and our five senses, working in concatenation our long range sensors, busy bees compiling inputs by the nanosecond second, distilling, integrating. blending and then reconstructing…into a whole! *a gentle breeze ruffles the hair, the tree swing rises and flows of its own accord, no passported passenger required, and a neighbor’s American Flag, moves majestically & impressively, whipping, dancing, yes, prancing to a tune only it can hear, the syncopated air currents providing a rhythmic awesome inspiring beat…* and the brain takes this all in, a momentary second of a vista that is constantly flexing, yet remains unchanged, a muscular view of a real world, living but yet immutable, and I utter thanks to my motor functions, that bless me with the eyes to perceive, the nostrils to smell sea salt flavored air, the hearing ears that the know the imperceptible orchestrations of silences by their absence and their intrusion, and I touch my fingertips to my tongue, wetted, and hyper sensitized to that gentle breeze that decorates the landscapes external, *and the combinatory addition of the all of it, into a single momentary poem of recall, what I “knew” yesterday, & will greet again this coming day, as an old unfamiliar friend, who grasps me entire, and proclaims: this is living…and the greatest satisfaction that a speck of mortal can achieve, retain and through impoverished words…share* 4:14am Mon Jul 22 2 0 2 4
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45
He unlocks the door & opens the space Where words romp back & forth Spontaneous & limber like frolicking children Silently witnessing this interplay The myriad combinations of combinations Weaving, looping, effortlessly flowing Easily mingling sonorous and dissonant melodies He almost listens, not dictating Not controlling or manipulating Turning a deaf ear to the ego's urging He lingers in this hard earned realm Enjoying the dance as long as he can Returning revived, refreshed, restored Reveling in the power of his powerlessness He gently yields to it And joyfully succumbs to himself
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Jul 25, 2013
Jul 25, 2013 at 12:15 PM UTC
Hugh
she stood naked neath the cascading waterfall a bush walker espied her from the track he was enthralled by her pert ******* they almost were saying we need caressing he made him self known to her by saying isn't it a lovely day she replied it certainly is why not join me in the waterfall's spray he disrobed on a bolder rock and swam to where she stood then they imbibed in some physical interplay the atmosphere they created neath the waterfall was truly pleasurable
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Apr 1, 2013
Apr 1, 2013 at 6:20 PM UTC
Pleasurable
Each passing time my will to create with words depart from my impulse, The drive and want and passion lost by crippled sense of inner flames. Do you see the dreams blurr the skies of blue to grey, As crimson and hues of purple interplay in the celestrial plain. From the time of land parted from the skies zenith ago And further more the time garden of Eden let Lilith go! It's a place of Queens and Kings with wings, while ladies and maiden play among the swings. With stone and lands with rocks shaped into castle, All those creation crumbled to dust to ashes blown by the wind. Such illustration created by sleeping illusion eludes interpretation, As time elapse our minds will shut to collaspe with no variables. As the strand of hair turn black to white with forgotten songs, One can lose all of their imagination and can only surrender to sleep.
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Aug 3, 2015
Aug 3, 2015 at 11:06 PM UTC
Losing imagination and surrender to dreams!
To the joy We dance, we jest and joust The complex interplay of two Souls recognising selfness Seeing the edges fit To the sorrow This memory fades, surely, swiftly A conversation half remembered The realisation that .. I can't recall your voice To the sweetness A softly remembered moment The curve of a finger Tracing line across memory To the senses That I can't feel those arms Lightly, a tear traces a path I feel it slide down my cheek Then unseen weight grips To the Anger Against moments expectation unmet When the collision occurs And unwanted words come forth The rage unchecked To the self The clash of the ego and id tripartite vying for casual dominion Eros and Thanatos war Action dictated by thought To the internal The experience of A lucid world of love of longing, of joy And it's counterpart; sadness As I remember that I will Never see you again We will never speak You will not know How much you are missed To friendship To the joy of finding each other To the gift of you, selflessly given To the kindness To both sides of a being To the present To Finding ways to exist Sans those who've faded Always to persevere The interlocking of past and now Always seeing and remembering the essence of their being Just breathe To the heart No words exist for this journey From innocence to sorrow And back But when led with.. Nothing is insurmountable
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Mar 9, 2017
Mar 9, 2017 at 12:27 PM UTC
Memories unbound
My hand rests here upon this blank form the pen nuzzled, cozy and warm between index and thumb and I but await, the form that it should bear The little para-sail of thought that swiftly entails By draft of conscious reason the play, the lines That shall stem and grow upon this paper. Sometimes, I am not here at all It's like a vagrant character takes hold this form and drifts the banks of faded memories to etch but theirs to mine Till ink flows like a non stopping spicket, pouring out Soon digested to the whole phenomena I lay blank Like pagess upon which the words desire to embrace. Little child like figures wave between the interplay This game of margins and thought, marbles clutter where the revenue of the flow but draws Upon these hopscotch and I caught the weasels momentum springs but it's eternal sight to peer over and across the facade of time And jots a line or two of verse. Here, Aye here is the bereavement of the writer who's image fades to the mighty word and pounds ever so deeply the elemental cries That reason holds no power here. I chuckle at the notion that ever befalls some faded harmony of a promised bliss that vanishes amidst the shadows of night To leave but it's haunting cry. There I peer down the lane of the centuries Those famous writers and scribes of literature's ghosts That forever within our minds haunt us to the passion of a word And leave us but whole and naked to the deliverance of truth. I wonder how their pens but scribbled How they filled their own inconsistencies and ravished the thought. Alisdaire O'Caoimph
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Mar 19, 2011
Mar 19, 2011 at 8:21 PM UTC
Ravished the thought
My hand rests here upon this blank form the pen nuzzled, cozy and warm between index and thumb and I but await, the form that it should bear The little para-sail of thought that swiftly entails By draft of conscious reason the play, the lines That shall stem and grow upon this paper. Sometimes, I am not here at all It's like a vagrant character takes hold this form and drifts the banks of faded memories to etch but theirs to mine Till ink flows like a non stopping spicket, pouring out Soon digested to the whole phenomena I lay blank Like pagess upon which the words desire to embrace. Little child like figures wave between the interplay This game of margins and thought, marbles clutter where the revenue of the flow but draws Upon these hopscotch and I caught the weasels momentum springs but it's eternal sight to peer over and across the facade of time And jots a line or two of verse. Here, Aye here is the bereavement of the writer who's image fades to the mighty word and pounds ever so deeply the elemental cries That reason holds no power here. I chuckle at the notion that ever befalls some faded harmony of a promised bliss that vanishes amidst the shadows of night To leave but it's haunting cry. There I peer down the lane of the centuries Those famous writers and scribes of literature's ghosts That forever within our minds haunt us to the passion of a word And leave us but whole and naked to the deliverance of truth. I wonder how their pens but scribbled How they filled their own inconsistencies and ravished the thought. Alisdaire O'Caoimph
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Leaven, Part One Transfigured from within, though I don’t know The moment when the sponge infused the dough. It must have happened, though, because I see The end result, as different as can be From flattened lump I mixed not long ago. Exposure to the yeast began, first slow ‘Til I divided and commenced to throw And knead each piece, and then to watch all three Transfigured from within. Was it the pounding, shaping, every blow I worked into each batch that made it grow? Or was it just the presence or degree Of leaven in my pastry that was key To making lifeless mass now overflow-- Transfigured from within. Leaven, Part Two Transfigured from within, this lump of clay But not because I made myself obey. Instead, the difference that I see outside Came when that kingdom started to reside Inside my soul, as I believed the Way. I cannot tell you minute, hour, or day When leaven from Above suffused to stay. I only know that I’ve been modified, Transfigured from within. Was it the pounding pain that made me pray? The kneading, shaping, Holy interplay? Or was it just the presence, amplified, Of Word expanding where my old man died? This loaf, when proofed, those workings will display: Transfigured from within.
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Feb 20, 2017
Feb 20, 2017 at 7:33 PM UTC
The Kingdom of Heaven: Leaven--Parts One and Two
the first time we make love *your body will tremble, from behind, my arms’ will, to encase, I, sponging up every tremor, shush-stealing each shuddering, the outpouring of sounds will grow softly and steadying, as gasps slow lessened, till the breathing is regularized.* you will sly ask for words, but I will come prepared and you, will laugh when so informed, happy by my thoughtfulness, wondering if they are being reused, and knowing this, I will coax you to feed me morsels will I shall then embellish, proofs*. there is a first time in almost every aspect, but for one, which you won’t refuse, forgiving my experiences, a history to become now partly yours, the priors paying forward my debt to serve, a gentling interplay of eyelashes ********* fingertip confessions*. you will alternate tween fragility, regretful solitude, emptied but then refilled, you’ll want to define, identify, label for storage and reuse, classification for acceptance, thinking that will make this moment lasting, but it won’t, but it will, last, under closed eyes*. when the need to sob returns, one or two may escape, unelicited, but won’t go past that, you’ll hear me saying “Hello in there, hello,”^ and ten thousand skin cells will in unison firm gel a single sensory, not a trick or strategy, an honor bestowed, medaled, molten medaled*. that you were held captive, it will be a proud mark, for freedom only comes from being released, and an anthem will start to form, words all raw and wholly yours, then you will sing to me “good bye stranger,”^^ granting me a pardon, for being who I am, a wonderingly, somewhat familiar face...*
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Sep 6, 2020
Sep 6, 2020 at 3:16 PM UTC
the first time we make love
the first time we make love *your body will tremble, from behind, my arms’ will, to encase, I, sponging up every tremor, shush-stealing each shuddering, the outpouring of sounds will grow softly and steadying, as gasps slow lessened, till the breathing is regularized.* you will sly ask for words, but I will come prepared and you, will laugh when so informed, happy by my thoughtfulness, wondering if they are being reused, and knowing this, I will coax you to feed me morsels will I shall then embellish, proofs*. there is a first time in almost every aspect, but for one, which you won’t refuse, forgiving my experiences, a history to become now partly yours, the priors paying forward my debt to serve, a gentling interplay of eyelashes ********* fingertip confessions*. you will alternate tween fragility, regretful solitude, emptied but then refilled, you’ll want to define, identify, label for storage and reuse, classification for acceptance, thinking that will make this moment lasting, but it won’t, but it will, last, under closed eyes*. when the need to sob returns, one or two may escape, unelicited, but won’t go past that, you’ll hear me saying “Hello in there, hello,”^ and ten thousand skin cells will in unison firm gel a single sensory, not a trick or strategy, an honor bestowed, medaled, molten medaled*. that you were held captive, it will be a proud mark, for freedom only comes from being released, and an anthem will start to form, words all raw and wholly yours, then you will sing to me “good bye stranger,”^^ granting me a pardon, for being who I am, a wonderingly, somewhat familiar face...*
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