"interweaving" poems
Stepping into the pristine, gentle atmosphere; truth hanging from the intricate crystal chandelier full of endless glow and luster - mischievously placed structure conspicuously elevating wonder
Full of flashing, coruscating shimmer enthusiastically engaging the convivial space; evoking a spontaneous internal unfolding mirroring the perpetual suffering connected to the chosen impeding of spirit’s copious interweaving.
Dec 1, 2014
Dec 1, 2014 at 11:23 AM UTC
Scars will be scars,
the ones left untouched,
the ones left unharmed.
The wound has healed,
the time has sealed,
yet the remnants remain still.
The broken past:
fraction, fragment, fabricated;
solemn, dark, barren.
captured, cultivated, castrated.
emotionally torn,
physically torn,
psychologically sworn.
(When will the bird fly,
up to the sky,
freedom beneath the size
of the azure limitless dye).
We find comfort in sorrow,
fulfillment in hollow,
but emptiness continues and follow.
When will the shadows ever stop linger,
slipping and interweaving between my finger.
(One day maybe good news will come from a harbinger).
Light is what I need,
smile is what I seek.
Happiness is what I have to lead,
even with this little heart which is meek.
(One day) I will fly,
the cages will stop stifling me by,
although it is hard to try,
(One day) I will survive.
Jun 22, 2012
Jun 22, 2012 at 11:20 AM UTC
The strokes,
of my brush,
against the Canvas,
depict the features,
forming the image,
of you,
my Romeo.
Hazel eyes mesmerize me,
revealing the key,
to your soul.
An alluring smile,
intrigues my interest,
dreaming of your lips,
caressing my own.
The view of your form,
exposes your body,
embellished in ******
similar to the gods,
of Greek and Roman antiquity,
intoxicates me.
As I finish,
my masterpiece,
temptation persuades me,
to move towards,
you,
my male model,
to render,
my artistic expression.
You gaze into my eyes,
yearning to taste,
my lips as passion emanates,
from our kiss.
You come closer to me,
removing my blouse,
with your firm hands,
brushing against my torso.
You lower yourself down,
to your knees,
unzipping my paint-splattered jeans,
with your teeth.
After the removal,
of my garments,
you carry me,
into the bedroom,
gently placing,
me upon your bed.
Your breath warms,
my skin,
as you strike,
my exterior,
with the blade of lust,
fiercely thrusting,
in the heat,
of the night.
Our bodies unite,
interweaving our souls,
igniting an intimate explosion,
between ourselves,
consuming our spirits.
A safe haven,
becomes my reality,
as I lay into your arms,
whispering sweet nothings,
to enchant your ears.
I drift into slumber,
resting my head,
upon your chest,
holding your hand,
as my world,
is at peace.
I awake before you,
leaving to create works of art,
write sensual poetry,
reflecting on my thoughts,
of you,
to reveal my admiration,
for you,
my soul-mate,
brought to me,
by the hands of Venus.
Jul 15, 2012
Jul 15, 2012 at 2:42 PM UTC
Here we shared the slips and reels of earnest conversation,
An interweaving counterpoint of dialogue
Wherein I bled the truth of loving.
Heart’s secrets shed
And shared.
And by and by transposing the antiphonal chant
You guide towards consonance, harmony,
With gentle lilting phrasing
Encouraging sweet concord within the cantus firmus.
And yet you say you do not sing?
Surely our hearts beat out the song of love and life
And all our narratives are ballades sung in open form?
I have heard you sing your madrigals
With melodies of hope and peace and grace
And tried to catch the tune.
Here, have rich harmonies been played out
And love songs whispered on the air.
So, if God grants, a final cadenza let there be
In a lullaby that’s sung for me.
Mar 4, 2010
Mar 4, 2010 at 12:25 AM UTC
Headaches
Longdays
Of thoughtless thinking
Turn left at the corner
Right at the sidewalk
Then end up on the steps of
Nowhere
Did so much
To accomplish less than a days work
Stop talking to me
Words for hours
Actions not seen
Your support couldn't hold my dreams
Step back
Then maybe
I could step out
Out of crumbling castle you call home
Built on credit
Not made of material things
Please listen to this harsh reality
You have to do something
To get it done You can't stand in one spot
And expect to move on
Two devils on my shoulder
Full of disbelief
Screaming
Scratching
Prying
Interweaving there thoughts with mine
But those tides are over now
The sun has risen over the horizon
And my eyes work just fine
Chaos muffled by the beauty of this scene:
Braking out of generational defeat
To be free
Or not be…
caged
I am(as the hippies would say)
High as a kite
And I like it
Wouldn't even fathom
Reacquainting myself
With soil beneath my feet
Again I say
To be free
Is the only options I will receive
This question I perceive
How many field lengths
Will I run
To overcome the pain and suffering
Caused by dysfunctional parenting
Jan 20, 2013
Jan 20, 2013 at 1:59 AM UTC
Sploosh!
An interweaving stream of fluid burgundy falls fast
Slipping from the tip of this crystal clear glass
Flowing down through gravity 'till it makes contact with the exquisite white spongy strings
strung together for the sole purpose of sale.
"Shoot!"
She exclaims
As she seeks to supplement a spill with her own soul
not noticing that neither wine nor bleach
stop the spinning cycle from spiraling down
southbound
Feb 4, 2010
Feb 4, 2010 at 9:57 PM UTC
I avoid writing poems about flowers
I don’t need to tell you that roses
Bright, blood red, placed perfectly atop a broccoli-green vine,
Existing solely for the purpose of atheistic pleasure
Is something that is beautiful
Put a white background behind anything and it becomes beautiful
Flowers are more than a hyped-up beauty pageant queen that those old white women grow to fill their voids with
They sometimes manage to grow in my neighborhood too
Once prominent Victorian homes now squalid and neglected
Weathered wood, dirt embedded in the sea-foam green, navy blue, eggshell white paint they were once coated with
Trash thrown in front of their faces
Like their appalling forms granted validity for those who passed by to toss their gum wrappers, soda cans, and cigarettes without hesitation
It’s an age-old tale
Ugly things deserve ugly treatment
I’ll always spot a savage grove of mutt flowers
Amongst the trash cans and recycle bins
Struggling to make their way to the surface of these rejected homes
Acknowledging them, coddling them, interweaving themselves along their battered walls
Ignorant to their repugnancy
Eager to decorate and give them an evanescent glow
Sad too,
Sad they didn’t grow in front of some rich family’s home
Where they would’ve been given weekly haircuts and fertilizer containing only the best **** on the market
They wilt a little
They have no direction,
No will to live or to die
They exist and sit there until a bike runs them over
And takes them out in one swoop
Or until those stray dogs **** and **** on them until their weak
Frames fall staunchly onto the grave sidewalk
Exquisite wild lepers,
You do more for society than I ever could
You’ll sit there with a dutiful posture
Harboring old McDonald French Fry boxes
Eating the sewer-infested dirt that you laboriously grew from
Constantly breathing air swarmed with smog
Beautiful because,
Despite it all,
You don’t hate them
You’ll peek at me through your prison of trash and give me a flash of your purple and blue skin
And
My eyes feel your love and serenity
And for a moment,
The world is nothing but a kaleidoscope of warm skin and heartbeats
Nov 3, 2011
Nov 3, 2011 at 11:06 AM UTC
on her knees she comes crawling in from a storm
a refuge with heavy baggage
sludge marks her path to shelter
ten thousand ruined, and wrongs
a welcome across the threshold
and interweaving clench for comfort
she stood up for a moment
and her eyes witnessed the uncrossing
unforgiven
Jul 20, 2012
Jul 20, 2012 at 5:25 AM UTC
Every once in a while, a thought comes along with a lasting strength of memory.
A dose of a wild clarity, a seamless interweaving of symmetry.
Every once in a while, a thought comes along with a lasting strength of memory.
A clear and toned glance at the authenticity of life.
A pure recognition of its simplicity and strife.
Every once in a while, a thought comes along with a lasting strength of memory.
The crumbling of broken shackles becomes the only sound vowed to never forget.
An impossible moment of knowledge bound only to the roots of truth.
A passionate interjection of thinking that will change everything.
Every once in a while, a thought comes along with a lasting strength of memory.
Yet we forget.
Feb 23, 2024
Feb 23, 2024 at 11:09 AM UTC
Cold January. Heated furnace.
And you, my dear, refuse to sleep.
I think of you.
And lights across the window sweep,
And droplets freeze upon its surface.
My eyes meet yours. We dim the lights.
And suddenly, as one, we’re breathing
My hands, around you, interweaving,
I recollect the gone by nights.
My heart is burning, raging wild.
You place, your hand upon my chest.
Confess, softly whisper, “child...”
Only the silence when I can’t deny it.
Jan 18, 2021
Jan 18, 2021 at 10:46 AM UTC
Look at the stars
Spinning, coursing lightweight
Through the blackness,
Like ice-coated spiders
Floating gentle, softly interweaving
Cloud and hovering nearly near enough
To be captured by your tiny hands.
It seems all so easy
To stay here mentally forever.
Look at the stars
Drifting magnetically, childlike
In their path. Lost and dreamy,
An image separated from a cause;
Heavenly blessings as they drop close enough
To kiss the roses,
Breezily hoping to rest frozen
'Neath the nest of your tired skin;
Lazily watching the night transition
As others must've all those nights before--
When you were too busy to pay them any mind.
These stars map a codex that laughs at you
While you're fixed to the ground and forced to look
beautiful.
These stars sing of the dead. Muses without a voice
Or lives to any longer be lead. The stars dream
Silently of you, patiently nibbling at your breath,
Looking forward to the day they can absorb your
smiling teeth.
The stars hold your spirit and you theirs,
Both constant and unremarkabley dull--
The stars did not ask to be beautiful,
We made them that way. The stars
And you are one, in as much a way as polar opposites
Can be one.
You and the stars, making your fates as you go along...
You and the stars: unintentional twin sisters left astray.
You and the stars: two blind men unravelling an exquiste corpse.
You and the stars: two pawns beating helpless in awe of their sojourn.
You and the stars: complimenting the other like sand does glass.
You and the stars: in awe of each other and the rainwater that
preludes
The moment.
You are the stars, you are the dreamer, you are the observer,
You are the life that has been given life in order to give it back
Sing softly now and lullaby the stars asleep,
Like the son does after growing old for his dying mother,
Like the summer leaves do when their boughs start to snap.
Sing softly for the stars that remind you of whence
Once you were nothing
But a hypnotised lantern
Wandering the endless black.
You and the stars, connect them
even when they appear as aimless
anxious dots.
Form a shape out of the stars; encarve
And embody the flesh of your own constellation.
Nov 14, 2019
Nov 14, 2019 at 11:43 PM UTC
my spine a garden trellis
waiting for new growth.
every spring anticipating
every season. slumbering.
waiting.
wishing for the next new blossoms
the next new gorgeous flower
to climb, and Climb, and CLIMB
interweaving in each vertebrae.
Mar 2, 2017
Mar 2, 2017 at 12:34 AM UTC
We are nothing but the interweaving of bleak and hopeful threads that we fasten around a branch to hang the ones we love and cut free the ones we loathe, so they may prosper and thrive from our anguish. Never focusing on others, we are inaudible to their cries in the dark stations that we possess as they morph into cavernous cancer vortexes that absorb their happiness into our misery. There is no reward at the end, there is only the validation of endurance and the uncertainty of purpose. We are loveless quasi-predators that want to be mistaken as selfless and proven important.
Mar 10, 2014
Mar 10, 2014 at 3:12 AM UTC
I've been too selfish and kept you
tied into knots on my tongue, or
kept you caged up in the cell structure
of my brain, like an Anglo-Saxon
relic you see the interweaving and
I did that to you, to never let it go.
But, to be fair, people like you tend
to find it reasonable to steal my breath
and not return it, which I do find quite
rude but I'll just pretend you're homeless
and it's only fair to let you keep the warmth,
you might not have enough come winter.
So maybe we'll make up an agreement,
I'll keep your name and give it to
the cat to play with, along with my tongue.
And you can take from me whatever you want,
make a game looking for the missed heartbeats,
use my flat line as a skipping rope.
Sep 21, 2013
Sep 21, 2013 at 8:34 PM UTC
I haven't wrote a poem
since I could inscribe your name
inside of the stone cold outline of my cerebellum.
My movements are etched inside these lines,
but it seems you write too much in cursive
which consists of you
interweaving your thoughts around mine.
I believe these movements are meek-
that these hands can only write for so long
before they feel as if they have said too much.
Or too much of the same thing-
I cannot wrap this head around your literature
how you walk and the way you switch pages in an instant-
I didn't even get to read you.
But this comprehension is merely subjective
when it comes to your eyes under these sheets
and these hands all over your brain
trying to rack it of what is left of us.
You speak in tongues
and run in and out of me-
but somehow I still can't hear you.
Just a soft faint whisper
behind these outlines and inside of these four walls.
You encompass me
but it seems you still haven't a clue where you're going.
Time and time again
I try to rewind these words
and read another page of your insides
only to have it ripped away from these fingers.
Now all you do is collect dust
building up these leftover skin cells
because you would rather shed yourself thin
than open up.
I haven't written a poem such as this-
since your words ripped me in two
and I had to rebind this spine of mine.
Seems I am a renewed version of myself
and still a used copy all in the same two hands.
There isn't a page missing here
but somehow they are all defiled and bent
backwards they seem, lacking uniformity
just read me-
because I need you to see me
because I need you to let me see you.
Jun 5, 2016
Jun 5, 2016 at 10:07 PM UTC
“Can I walk beside you?”
We can talk and chatter about future plans
Your voice reminds me of all my dreams
And after joke with tired eyes about unimportant things
“I’d love to walk beside you.”
“Can I hold your hand?”
I want to feel your warmth and clammy hands
Strong fingers interweaving in and out of mine
And I would tell you how great you are at love
“But of course you can.”
“Can you hold me now?”
Your body is so warm when it’s next to me
I couldn’t feel safer than with you here
And I can tell by the way you breathe that you will say
“Only if you want me to.”
“Can you kiss my lips?”
No awkward moment’s in-between movement
Because then will be more than perfect timing
And with your lips formfitting my mouth it’s hard not to fall in love
“Don’t say another word.”
“Can we fall in love?”
Just hold my face in your clammy hands I know too well
Stare me straight in the eyes different than before
And you know I already memorized the pages of your open book
“There’s no need to ask.”
2.24.2013
1:56 am
Feb 24, 2013
Feb 24, 2013 at 7:49 PM UTC
golden waves
wind slow
the leaden sky
smells like summer
the fine rain
smells of land and of you
the great willow
is our alcove
our moans
invade the air
your heat fills me
and satisfies me
your eyes invade me
interweaving of legs
and sweaty bodies
smell of rain
smell of land
smell of you
panting hearts
heavy breaths
under the great willow
two souls touched each other
and defeated
Jun 12, 2018
Jun 12, 2018 at 3:50 AM UTC
Bits & pieces of pixelated, ground up species.
We have conversations, but the conversing stops, when the lighting changes & the flirting fades. Between us we have nothing but a few soiled goods, & a bottle of cheap romance.
None of this poetry means anything, because your lips won't read the words. I knew you had fell out of love, when you...stop calling. The Cheez It's no longer held the same silly value. A back seat ***** you long forgot about.
I'd spend journeys, journeys with you. Lacing up laces. Crossed & laddered. Interweaving our emotions into one big shoe box. That no one will take off the shelf.
I feel nothing but a subtle head ache, missing & wishing the acid would kick in.
Aug 31, 2015
Aug 31, 2015 at 10:21 PM UTC
**** it.
**** it.
**** it.
This manic mind
This depressed
This suppressed
This unimpressed
Pervious
Imeasurable mass of emptiness
Overflowing with sadness no, not so
Simple as that
But more an interweaving madness
A growing mass
Like a tumor
Malignant with forelorn
And adorned with ornamental sentiment
Regret and all the things one forgets
Just to **** it up and get on with it
And the day to day, it stays that way
We cut out our tongues for lack of lungs
To breathe the air required to care enough
To speak the words we need to say
Everyday
We cherrypick our blessings and forget
To give credit to the lesser triumphs we've made
Day after day
We watch the light shine brightest
And we let it fade and fade
Never reaching out into the growing darkness
For fear we will be dragged away.
May 31, 2017
May 31, 2017 at 12:39 AM UTC
People know and talk about you all the time
But i don't know you or communicate with you
Is like talking to myself, introspecting my thoughts that never existed
You are like air and wind
People can't touch or feel you
You a ghost
Swerving, interweaving and tormenting
Those who can't see, touch, feel or get closer to know you
I want to meet this friend who is alive but dead
i want to know and understand you but you like a white blank paper
i see people getting closer to you but there is black curtain blocking me
people express their feelings and experience of you
but i'm in another world experience loneliness, joylessness
as i strain my eyes to look for you
the image of you disappear in a thin layer
but how can i see, know or touch you if you never existed
Mar 11, 2013
Mar 11, 2013 at 7:27 PM UTC
Oh, Child of illusions
Creator of divinity
With spiritual connections
Living in a moment of history
With desire for libration
Myth of promising afterlife
Seeking solace
Inside a wall of hope
Interweaving mind and cosmos
Balancing an ego and id
Doctorate: blind to conviction
Merge all the universe
For salvation of humanity
Accept empathy, a seed of peace
Buffering indifferences
For unity of religions
The beginning of all ends
Welcome to the tranquility
Door to metaphysics
With all the senses
Peace reign in us.
Feb 17, 2018
Feb 17, 2018 at 7:49 PM UTC
Faint light
and fading night;
The bird sings
its melancholic insight.
Caged inside an absurd universe,
each melody is an unsung curse.
Muffled scream
and shattered dream;
The coyote bids
a disdainful grim.
Fragments of false salvation shroud its way
resulting in an impenetrable barricade.
Utter obscurity
and interweaving despondency;
A dauntless zephyr emerged
from the tenebrific shadows
of misfortune and tragedy
releasing the desolated soul.
This is why suffering sweetens the reward.
"You are my greatest redemption.", she whimpered.
Mar 22, 2018
Mar 22, 2018 at 1:15 PM UTC