"intuit" poems
there is hope
like a rising sun
on a distance horizon
lighting up the morning sky
pushing the darkness aside
melting the clouds away
the rays warm my face
coaxing a smile
squinting my eyes
i take a breath, savoring being alive
the sky is blueing deeper, clearer
morning haze is lifting, disappearing
life is awakening, stirring, moving
the beauty is overwhelming, awe inspiring
i see anew, with an indigo eye
things i’d sensed but never knew
i feel too deep, intuit too much
beheld as a curse, repressed, suppressed
i burned, screamed, fell into ashes
my soul lay fallow, quiet, healing, waiting
resurrecting from cold dark depths
heart beating, eyes opening, arms reaching
vindication from self doubt
forgive me Cassandra, Cairn, Mother
i weep, openly, proudly, for your grace
it is the 9th and final gift
Jan 6, 2019
Jan 6, 2019 at 2:26 PM UTC
Sometimes I hope that someone might notice my difference,
Might intuit that the first approach,
The handshake, the "Can I join you?"
Is simply more difficult
And make the first move.
Sometimes I hope that people will realize the hand motions,
Foot tapping, slight rock of the body or toes
Are not merely a restless fidget,
Not impatience, nor disrespect.
Sometimes I want to be invisible,
Normal,
Neurotypical,
To be just another human being,
But mostly I wish to be accepted,
Autistic, quirky, kind, creative,
ME.
Sep 24, 2019
Sep 24, 2019 at 11:34 PM UTC
Some time Life is like a dark room,
Indiscernible indulge to intuit incurring infusion
Infusion of irrelevant and irregular,
Leads to a moment of disappointment and despondent!
******
But when light penetrate
Everything becoming vivid - vivacious
and set up Valve to visions!
*******
Allow light to break in and spread all over.......
Make everyone spirited and shunt for
Peace and progress!!!
Jun 28, 2015
Jun 28, 2015 at 3:59 AM UTC
Lyrical—
like poetry in motion.
Rhythmic—
like the motion of the ocean.
Fluid like a breeze
passin with great ease,
Movin through the branches
Dancin through the leaves.
Flowin like my mind,
Going over time,
puffin on some trees,
Like truth I’m bout to find.
Stayin on my grind.
Leavin fear behind.
Blastin through the cosmos
like my stars are all aligned.
Quantum physics redefined,
The beauty of being kind.
Travel thru dimensions,
A universal mastermind.
This illusory time
alluding to retain us-
Yet the conscious mind
refuses to contain us.
Recondition of the masses,
Before time comes to pass us.
before it’s all too late
Start movement to change
Let’s wake each other up
Let’s take control over our fate.
Again and again,
Love it till it’s over,
live it till it’s fin.
A reflection of your life spent,
a vessel that you’ve been lent,
so go forth with intent.
Gratitude for all worth
Know you are important
Every breath, and all birth.
Your light that resides true
In the poetry inside you.
The vibration stays fluid,
Like the love that is intuit.
You’re a medium— a conduit.
Yeah, now you’re catchin onto it.
High frequency—-
Waves of love
True vibrancy,
Bonds—-
you are free of.
Faith in self,
No need for vaunt,
lovin what you have
not havin what you want.
Give it all you got
till you got nothin left,
Then take the deepest breath
And give it once again.
Mar 19, 2019
Mar 19, 2019 at 5:09 PM UTC
Not in voice?
If I want to know
if he really loves me so
in his kiss there's fire,
nowhere else I can know.
I felt this flame in one love
I find it again!
Because it's right
because I own this fire
and my lover owns same
No it's never too soon
or too late for true love
to meet half way masked
The Kiss! Anxient fire
ages asleep awakens díer
twin flames unrequieted.
Memory ignition the key
We long to see that face,
we die to hear that voice
our beloved breaths on.
Our grail lost found
so many times before
so many lifetimes on and on
twin soul ancient divine
the cosmic law of attraction
pairs up beings knowing
what we cannot unravel
we ask to see to marvel
as life times we struggle.
May we meet to tangle.
Let's not live of trinkets
dreams and memories
alone, sharks we are
no liquor can makes us
a sharks meal.
Why become ramora!
We're rascals Rhett
and his Scarlet renewed.
This world will never
own us, let's own it
we are the authors
of our own life and destiny
We know, we intuit
we are loved cherished
in ways so deep no words
exist to describe our
joy and happiness
the battomless loss
abyss free us in courage.
what we ask to see lifetimes before
is now reveled and revered.
~~~~
Oh the silky breath
my Angel once withdrawn
in sadness
my love returns priceless.
Softly as rose petals tikling
memory chip's lock snapping
the long gap banished.
~~~
By:Karijinbba.
Sep 8, 2021
Sep 8, 2021 at 8:23 PM UTC
some of us walk insistently,
instinctively, and instantly to
and upon the edged path,
this physical nexus & abstract mental locus,
a cliffside enticing rock strewn trail,
drawn of men, by men, for men
(yes, men are people too, still)
enthralling views,
down to the riverside,
where eyes intuit the
beauteous aroma of
precious precocious
precarious precipices
and the near-stench of
mortality
amidst
wafting scents of inane undesirable need,
hints of destruction, or,
alternating eager relief,
like a ****** infused, instant attractiveness,
making weakness in the knees, all too real,
trembling with a delicious accented edge of
a fresh, familiar scent, fresh baked bread,
an all enveloping consumption need now!
to
crave what we fear,
to fear what we crave
our cravings are craven,
this twisted sense, annuls
our common sensibility, yet,
titillates our pleasured imagined relief,
releases, our unsated, even better,
our insatiable curiosity to tremble,
an entire body enjoined by vibrato~
enticing tremulations, shaken and stirred,
this danger choice releases something primordial,
escape? a reckless wrecking so deeply designed,
it has its very own designation…death wish
multitudes of easy choices afforded my senses,
and by accident, all mine chosen, all nearby,
I travel the esplanade près de the East River,
where even if calm is the sole visiblilty,
undercurrents and the unpredictable passage
of container wakes and the larger freighters
will hand you down, so easy, to become parcel
to a littered river bottom of centuries’ artifacts
but even more tempting, the balcony,
a hop, skip and a jump unlocked,
mere ten steps, no need for a running start
why it’s the “height of convenience,”
he ruefully winces, and not even any
TSA lines or inconveniencing “conveniences”
Why this calamity seems so desperately desirable,
Why this unabrogated feat so featured, nay, even
feted in our hot? cold? bloodstream
“Why just men?
*I don't know,
Perhaps,
it is all I know.*”
Dec 5, 2023
Dec 5, 2023 at 5:42 PM UTC
Our life’s definition
lies beyond what we use to define
life
emotion & thought
observation & action
acceptance & debate
our bodies heed to balance
like the earth to the moon & sun
we are forged by the unknown
as much as the known
through pulsation and reservation
do we align ourselves with
our true
resonation
Dec 6, 2018
Dec 6, 2018 at 3:25 PM UTC
there is a broken thing
reformed in amber
disarranging the spectrum
of sensical causal motion
nail biting following
migration patterns of neural
activity and we bless the few
who cut clean and learn early
those bespectacled masses
cannot intuit the limited scope
of aversion to blurry pink clouds
gussied up in peripheral vision the
pineal gland controls circadian
rhythms gushes dmt when
we die i wonder i
wonder what that (vestigial)
little pinecone knows
that we don’t
cased in spongy
grey matter and i don’t think
much of time as metaphor but
my watch strap broke
yesterday i hope
that is
important i do
nothing so simple or complex
as love but(i carry it in my heart)
Nov 1, 2014
Nov 1, 2014 at 8:44 PM UTC
The Tenderness
My hand slow motion falls, with the soft of the gentlest rain,
sensed,
but not disturbing, nay reassuring,
by the quality of the sensation, rolling caresses over
the hillocks of her body, outlined beneath the
Sea of Coverlets
My arm rotates and reverses, back forth, up down,
as if it were a well oiled engine, the hand strokes with
a smooth four cylinder stroke, gentle coating the panorama of
her body on the surface of our Planet-of-the-Bed.
The woman does not stir, meaning the dewey doux
intensity of my touch, there sufficient to please but
not disturb, is a perfect ten, for I intuit, that she attends
to my comforting attentions, with pleasure
by the
absence of objection.
This will not be the first poem I have written on this day,
but though not premiered, the experience is newly born
with each escapade of tenderness delivered, and steel hard
iron of ironies, it please. me as much if not more, for fully
awake and alert, am receiving by the giving and though
she stirs not, my heart does, for the electrical pulses of my
soothing her, soothe me in much the same way.
This is how I make love in the morning.
This is why this Poems is well titled and entitled as
“The Tenderness”
Jul 25, 2023
Jul 25, 2023 at 6:54 AM UTC
what in the hell have i become lately
intuit served me until now
when i wander
i wander when i will die
and some deviance,
this *** drive - hate that i feel this guilt
and shame
like the parts of me that i don't tell you
after we do it - i hate me
and i hope you don't know that
because then you'd hate me
and this deviance will reach isolation
Aug 11, 2015
Aug 11, 2015 at 10:22 PM UTC
Our prez is now Donald J Trump
Who has promised to clean out the sump
Well he's certainly no wussy
When groping a *****
What more to expect from a gump?
In charge of the Vice, Michael Pence
Said some things that embrace little sense,
"Global warming's a myth"
But's now taking the fifth
In attempting to straddle the fence
We all recall general Flynn
Put in charge of security spin
A trained atomiser
No more Trump's advisor -
His deal with the devil's his sin
The billionaire Betsy Devos
Making plans for a school albatross
Hating free education
Backs private castration
And kids will be bearing her Cross.
The Congress approved Jeff B. Sessions
Ignoring his racist obsessions
He seemingly cares
More for foreign affairs
While forgiving Klan's toxic transgressions.
Chief strategist Stephen K. Bannon
Develops the Great Again Canon:
The Goldman Sachs Bankster
Turned yellow rag gangster
Flings crap from the New Order cannon
Says EPA ruler Scott Pruitt
"Instead of dry facts, we intuit..."
(His work as denier
Keeps profits much higher)
"... If everything dies, well, just ***** it"
The war whoops of Mad Doggy Mattis
Awaken the death apparatus
With boundless expense
For a doomsday defence -
Armageddon administered gratis
The magnates no longer need lobby
Or fight regulations thought snobby -
Now set in the saddle
They're herding the cattle
And pulling the strings as a hobby
Now the Don can start wielding the axes
Truncating the tariffs and taxes
The Mafia boss
Is dismissing the dross
And poverty's pain as it waxes
Feb 18, 2017
Feb 18, 2017 at 7:11 AM UTC
Cold twisted and icy
meandering slides.
are my enemies alone
on their down and out,
this my poetesses domain.
Enjoy your own slippery
slimy slope cliff ride down.
Lately a very confused entity
paid to keep me busy writing
back while being intimately
intrusive has failed.
A snake in my old flame's
paradise or my kid's world.
Arranged to distract me again
from my true love's path
agreed upon eons prior.
I can intuit a fools intentions
and did cut that naga off soon.
I love on free will alone.
not fooled to play games
In the name of love.
I don't care for pimps lures.
~~~~~
By Karijinbba
All rights reserved 1954-2021-
present.
May 21, 2021
May 21, 2021 at 1:16 AM UTC
*Let me not to the intuit of true poetry
Cast aspersions. Art is not art
When it conceit finds,
Or bends with public senses
To be misused:
Oh, no! Tis an unfinished tome,
Of written prose fixed on ink and stone,
A beacon for generations to behold
Spoken for itself
And never owned.
Verse and prose yield not
To times whims,
Though ink stained digits
Decay within
Her sickled blade
Reduceth all to dust.
Our compulsion alters not
With her frigid certainty
But endures it out, even
To the edge of eternity.
If this timeless effort 'folly,'
And upon me proved,
I have never lived
Nor no one ever
Truly mused.
~~~*
Sep 15, 2014
Sep 15, 2014 at 11:58 AM UTC
Why Is It When I'm Doing What Dogs Do,
What Dogs Are Designed To Do,
Then I'm A Bad Dog?
Why Is It When I'm Not Doing What Dogs Do,
Denying My Very Nature,
Then I'm A Good Dog?
Sniffing Strangers' ***** ******* Auntie's Leg;
******* To Say 'I Woz 'Ere' - That's What We Were Made For!
Sitting Still And Silent, Make No noise Or Smell,
Wearing Dainty Waistcoats - Just An Evil Joke!
Good Dog, Bad Dog - Why Can't We Decide,
Join Your Debate On The Meaning Of 'Good'?
We Dogs Can Emote And Intuit, Be Logical And Positive!
Philosophical Dogs, Unite!
You Have Nothing To Lose But Your...
Oh, Yes, You've Lost Them Already. ****
Mar 28, 2012
Mar 28, 2012 at 5:27 PM UTC
I am yearning for a true change
This is what I want to shatter my chain
They always want to see my broken wings
But I’ll create a storm through my pains
Now I fly with my windblown wings
Towards fullness, I feel it
The harsh but caressing winds
Drives me to change, I intuit
I have changed, I was rescued
From all suffering life and its pains
Embracing newfound wings, soaring high
Over dreaming clouds and wishing sky
Aug 15, 2024
Aug 15, 2024 at 5:49 AM UTC
I do not desire to control the world, I aim much higher, mastery of oneself, my soul. That's the meaning of life. Who would I be to deny deserving people of my love, my praises? All people are worth that, I've come to Earth to realize this. I just want to help. I just want to be helped. I just want to be whole, my soul I throw down on the ground in humility, thats my collateral. For arrogance see's no fault. Where there is no faults there are lies. If God is love and God is truth, I just wanna love God so I can love me and love you. If I couldn't see lessons for what they are I'd be miserable. If I couldn't learn to stretch my patience and strength I wouldn't be limber. It's the flexible tree that bends and doesn't break. Let my sanity and love for myself be the main stay that outlasts every man lifetimes over. That allows me to nurse them back to health when they have fallen, for every sorry *** is a heart broken and fumbling for a semblance of that feeling of acceptance. I am the essence of compassion as long as you reach my love will follow, I was born of Great Mother energy, I am strong, yet this is Earth where I need a warrior. His stealth, lessons in control, patience and acceptance. He needs a queen who feeds him back, she needs a King to stay loyal to her energy for it will always intuit them in the right direction. Together with his protection they are the compass. Should she have grit and he have clear vision they are a team to never be had, they will build a reach into the Heavens where children thrill to slide back into Earthly existence without a care as to how it might hurt them, when you're working for a dream team, what's a few scratches..
Apr 17, 2016
Apr 17, 2016 at 12:22 AM UTC
Like always you cut me exhausted hungry destitute alone freezing stuttering in coldness without you.
Unaware of how you would pop up with open ended questions
to decide my life without you.
To answer your question with awareness fairness realizing it was you who questioned me;
out of the blue using a new name de plume that I had to intuit it right
that it was you
or forever miss my mark.
No it's never too soon nor too late,
for lovers to meet face to face;
after each catastrophic storm
had ended,
or after a lifetime or two.
You were the only real man
back with me after each storm.
hopping I rescued myself!
You reappeared dead silent,
Talking your own language and you never hinted what hell I lived through.
How astounded in shock wounded i was you carried open ended questions
for me to make lifetime decision
with my shattered heart.
you failed to realize struggling to survive homeless without resources
have no time for healing wisdom.
Why in the world do you ask such questions behind this mirror!??
And sadly for me, in my own answer,
you found your road ahead
with a significant other!.
That was easy wasn't it!?
Should I spell the many
Name De Plume on here HP with your many windows you used!?
You closed some and left others open.
I know you read me on here
delivering anonymous messages
was that fair!?
~~~~~~
I live by this biblical rule:
"Love is patient, love is kind.
It does not envy, it does not boast,
it is not proud not covertly hidden..
It is not rude, it is not self-seeking,
it is not easily angered,
it keeps no record of wrong doings.
Love does not delight in evil
but love rejoices with the truth.
~~~~~~
It was never too late or soon dear;
you just asked too many **** questions, and in my suffering pain
I missed my mark again.
You made me stumble and fall.
Yes fall always, with your help.
~~~~~~~
By: Karijinbba
Dec 6, 2020
Dec 6, 2020 at 2:02 PM UTC
Prolong the intro,
Secure its simple harness,
Inject a bit of colour,
Bring light out of its darkness,
Still I don't think, they like me.
Each morning is silent,
The wind no more less violent,
Acres of space that walk divines,
Walk on by it passes off time,
But still I don't think, they like me.
Afternoon bakes without purpose,
Standing in a queue street bustles,
Next please the black dressed ref whistles,
When something dozen align,
I don't think, they like me.
All that energy used up from a curVe nostril,
A smoke screen tunnel home a miracle,
I'm surplus to need in quarantine I just feel,
Another day lost with keys on the table,
Intuit style I don't think, they like me.
All these thoughts became an Ariel view,
So fresh from a melon the last picture of you,
Loves July and December,
The flower of summer, the snowdrops of winter,
They walk on by and still I don't think, they like me.
O'Reily@11012015
Jan 12, 2015
Jan 12, 2015 at 7:17 AM UTC
Creating a new poem is like creating a new story
a new paradigm from the depths of history's bowls
from a nightmare, we are to create a dreamscape
something that tantalizes the soul, and draws us near
to the greater perfection within ourselves... who knew?
Creating a new poem, much like a new society
has to start from within, and be drawn out somehow,
and some will be more inspired than others to invent
their own approach, to instill their own values,
to be critical enough to recognize what is most sacred
Creating a new poem demands the ability of the artist
to take hold of his or her feelings, thoughts, and intuit
the flow of consciousness in just the right cadence
remembering the song of ages that goes and flows
Being the poet that you are, your heart is stretched and open
yet you are afraid to be as the caged bird: freedom frightens you!
And in creating your new, new poem, you would be as angels
singing from the achrimony of the ages, singing light and dark
good and evil: but remember god and devil are just a letter off both ways.
Creating a new world is like creating a new poem: if you let go
and just do it, the miracle will wash away the banality of a bygone age
and the new **** will be born as a rose red flower in flames
before the technocratic temple of bright lights and ********
Create a new art, artists, poets, and those average ager's
be a revolution in the heart, an evolution in the swing,
bring first the arrogance, then the confidence of knowing:
you are the master who makes the grass green: the universe in your eyes
the solar flare in your step, and change this world from a prison
to a paradise!
Create your new poem, and singe it like a caged bird!
Give your language the power of princes, without the pomp
believe in yourself and let go of the awkward moment you had
with the love of your dreams last night; create your new life
and transform this new poem into a rally cry for the poet class!
Nov 3, 2014
Nov 3, 2014 at 11:36 AM UTC
Our urban commutes are punchlines without any stories. Climb out, rinse, release, restrain, converse, intuit, insert, recharge. Why narrate?
I used to talk to God a lot when I was very young, never a ******* word back. Just strange developments ;
the family life taking unexpected detours into anger and occassional uprorious joys at Christmasses,
that sort of thing.
Amidst all the second guessing that real pursuing sense of lonliness,
at quiet moments of the day, particularly when outdoors.
You think you can stuff everything that's inside of you into a plastic bag,
it doesn't work like that.
The wind blows open memories at unexpected traffic intervals, but it really hasn't gotten anything to do with nature. Memories are just like the wind.
Oct 23, 2017
Oct 23, 2017 at 7:13 PM UTC
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Dec 1, 2015
Dec 1, 2015 at 12:35 PM UTC
Omniscience is empty
I don’t want to know everything;
I don’t even want to know you.
The evidence is not humane,
No one needs proof of being
I need not fathom;
I need motion,
The dance between the ribs;
Wed the sapient to the savage
Where is the fine line?
You cannot intuit till you cross it,
But keep both eyes open
At all times;
Not the pretty ones with the lashes,
That swallow the light,
But the ones that devour the dark.
Jun 16, 2017
Jun 16, 2017 at 4:00 AM UTC
I remember you from a past life..
whence too many questions occupied my mind. Back when fun was all that mattered,
and tears ran freely down my face.
Far before I found the courage within myself to know, to intuit, which fork in the road led home.
I don't miss you, I can't.
Because I know what it's like to miss you,
And simply..
I don't deserve that kind of punishment.
Anymore.
I have suffered enough.
Do you know what 'asceticism' is?
It means..
To abandon everything you know,
and love, willingly.
To embark on a journey,
in search of your Self.
To return, a different man,
to a different place.
A mere walking,
and a mere becoming.
It's chaotic, for a man without faith.
To have done
what I've done.
To have felt what I've felt.
Time really does wait for no one.
You see..
A man does not attain the highest goal,
or awaken the Supreme Truth within himself in a habitual habitat. All the Sages pointed in the same direction, and my heart was drawn; Twas my calling to become.
Twas like magnets to the metals in my blood.
They said:
"Search, and you will find."
So I did, and I have found my purpose,
if that means anything to you.
To move, is to live. To remain static is death;
One of many affirmations
I've asserted, and adhere to.
I'm a man of virtue now, believe it or not.
Because I know what it's like to die,
to perish, at last.
Its a breath of fresh air.
To lay your head down, once,
after slaying waves of inner demons,
in the darkest of chasms of the mind.
For six long years, at last.
..At last.
But I also know what it's like,
to be reborn.
To acquire new perspective.
To move toward the light;
to find the exit, out of the dire,
idle hopelessness I made my home.
To desecrate my soul, from the grave,
to the garden I could smell,
but could not touch.
And to allow beauty, the privilege of my perception.
And to laugh, to laugh!
At last..
..At last.
And I have a feeling..
That this journey..
This..
Odyssey, I embarked on,
was not walked alone.
You were forced to walk it with me.
You must have felt an egregious pain.
To be left, alone, with a child to care for.
To have questioned the integrity,
of the only man you ever loved,
without an explanation.
To have wondered if that love was ever real.
To have thought yourself a fool.
Used. Played.
I know I made your biggest fear, reality;
And you were much too pure, too innocent.
Too inexperienced to have seen it coming,
or to cope, or to maintain your composure.
You must have questioned your faith.
But I bet you've grown so much.
Don't hate me for that.
If it accounts for anything..
Let it be known:
You were the last woman to have conquered my heart, and I have worshipped no other woman since.
I forgive myself;
And I allow Love
into my life.
...and I hope you do too.
-Raziel
Apr 16, 2015
Apr 16, 2015 at 9:45 PM UTC
There are more poems inside me, but I intuit it is longer fair to impose on you by sharing more. The deep seeded infection of my spirit waxes and wanes, and there is no antidote, and unlike the virus itself, there never will be, a future cure, an inexpensive replacement cost for the spirit spent, the time and futures spirited away.
Perhaps you recall I was one mile away from Ground Zero on September 11th. Rarely do I walk there.
The coronavirus poetry inserts itself unaided, never asking permission, a like minded, but a contra-cousin to the coronavirus.
I live in New York City, the epicenter where now, close to 800 die daily.
Normally, about 25 bodies a week are interred on Hart island, mostly for people whose families can't afford a funeral, or who go unclaimed by relatives. In recent days, though, burial operations have increased from one day a week to five days a week, with around 24 burials each day.^^
Each dies with no last words, no Kaddish recited, Last Rites, too late, no Ṣalāt al-Janāzah or Om Namo Narayanaya. Each one, a numbered pine coffin, and each one will have at the very least, a poem of their own, so help me god.
Buried side by side in large trench, room plenty for new arrivals,
I hear the banging, protesting, resisting, this is not the way, I was promised, my ears left pounding! Hillel, the great scholar in this dream, reminds that “the time is short, and the work is great.”
He paraphrases, though, “the bodies many, the poems too few.”
There ain’t no anonymity in heaven, but I’ll reconfirm that with you later.
Apr 12, 2020
Apr 12, 2020 at 10:48 AM UTC
All the warm pleasure shared between us
in moments common
& as you think of me
I wonder of you still
How do you feel now?
What do you wonder of me?
While you must know
or at least intuit
I am lost in my own madness
& worldview
yet still see you as beloved
Perfect in your incompleteness
Aware of the possibilities
of achieving understanding
Easing me through gentle riddles
suffering High School & bad relationships
drunkenness & revelations
Jan 29, 2015
Jan 29, 2015 at 2:20 PM UTC