"inundates" poems
It is nothing,
a mordant of the soul,
an elixir, a panacea, a placebo
for my lesions, there in the thistle, grows
our drastic garden of red posies and hyacinths,
such little things, on the verge,
lilting as the decorum begins to bobble
and slump sideways, and murmur,
on Mondays I can swallow the octave
of your absence, tendrils and all,
red quince limbs parting from the deluge
and in its wake, the wreckage
of black pumpkins and purple corn, hanging
pendulum at our door,
the Autumn lights summon a lavish song to harvest,
thirty seven colours in the brocade you gift me,
tangled and heavy the years upon my bones
begin to spur and flower
into cunning disruptions,
and stratify upon my body like rinds of ricepaper,
vellum for another wish
in the complacent burial of mango flesh,
listen,
as my song liquefies,
drowns you, inundates
each alveoli, and our love
in the swallowing gush, perched,
begins to shudder,
devoured by its symmetry,
stem cells all akimbo
in the shallow pitch of days
bound in a nostrum of wine and liquorice
it is nothing, really,
a mordant for the soul, a tulle filament
twitching in a raincoat of lightning....
Oct 21, 2012
Oct 21, 2012 at 4:35 PM UTC
Trickling tingles bubble, goaded from the verdant body
As a butterfly’s flutterings coax the flow
Widening and filling
With a gentle lapping of inlets
Ripples tease the reeds into turgid tremors
Merging to waves
Wave upon wave
Curves slide over curves
And at the Delta’s swollen, gaping breadth
Crests slip over craving crevices
Slapping froth in desperate gasps
Milking cruel spasms from the urgent need to reach escape
Until with turmoil resolved
A gentle calm inundates the great ocean of sleep.
Jun 2, 2014
Jun 2, 2014 at 9:34 AM UTC
streams of salt and H2O leak
down reddened cheeks and condense
in a golden beard. a war-torn nation,
half-a-world-away, crystallizes clear as dayspring
in an insomniac's screaming and fragile psyche
at half-past-three in the morning.
what strength must a seven-year-old posses
to persevere amidst the perversity of cluster bombs?
munitions bought and paid for with the taxes
we fork over to the United States. will her blood one day
stain our hands with crimson? will her mother's?
a girl who just wanted to read, to escape
the tragedy that inundates our surroundings,
to a magical realm of pure imagination.
where we can summon spectral stags
to save us from the misery of humanity
and learn to disarm those who would harm
us with the charm, Expelliarmus!
the bastion where i found the first seeds that grew
into a rebellion opens its doors to you, Bana.
there's a crater where your house used to be,
rubble strewn in Aleppo, Syria. but know that Hogwarts
will always be there to welcome you home.
Nov 30, 2016
Nov 30, 2016 at 4:05 AM UTC
The Empire State Building is a giant middle finger
Concrete is broken, NYPD, taxis racing, red light green light
I enter the hand of the city through it's capillaries breaking mad concrete
Warm gusts of **** grime, and transportation swallow me
The city feeds off dreams and hope which we personally, willingly give up
We all somehow learn to accept this fate
The passerby no longer human but broken mirror
The hand inundates my eyes from breezes of tomorrow
The spacy apartment, and the affluent career and the acquantanceship
Of the handful of New Yorkers that run the hand: all questionable plans today
It's as if the hand's grasp, although sharp and brick, would venerate your intellect, guaranteed
If that's the case, I see wizards of wisdom everyday snoozing on concrete and cardboard and plastic
Bearded, black with dirt and skin, threads ripped by a world inferrior than the one in thier minds
Empire "Middle Finger" State of intellect, scrapping billion dollar clouds
Sardine can subways, escalators, elevators, high on crack **** speed of sound
The cash nerve system meltsdown into golden chips to feed the pigeons
Glass and steel craft spaces for modernity to be sold like a Washington Heights *****
You can feel the growth of the hand at the end of your intestines
It's a warm, uncomfortable vibration revealed in your ********
Foreign tongues buzz through the air, through your hair for 19.95
New York needs a haircut, some profound discipline so we wake up from this bizzare life of welcomed pain
You once charmed me with hopes of culture, open minds, connections, real connections, love and laughter
Yet, Today I am hungry in Murray hill
I am cold in Chelsea
I am broken in Union Square
I ***** in SoHo
I have fallen in the East River
And I bleed on financial monoliths
Someone have mercy on my wills
It is an intention trying to be fulfilled
But failed when it became self-aware
Nov 4, 2010
Nov 4, 2010 at 11:44 PM UTC
there is a glacier
partially concealed
melting from a climactic
climate shift revealing a
reality congealed by revolt
rebels burdened with
a philosophy that
elevates humanity
insisting we will not grovel
before a vain messiah
espousing erroneous
iterations of ideology
will the human race permit
the iceberg to dissolve
as vapid reformist
rhetoric inundates our
political consciousness with
pragmatic progressivism
or will we rise in resistance
with the radicals
fists clenched in protest and
hands outstretched to one
another rather than
lifted high in praise to a savior as we
witness the glacier solidify once more
as CO2 perforates our atmosphere
with heady highs and noxious toxins
will we succumb like dumbfounded
addicts intoxicated by inoculation
consuming the opiated semantics
of charismatic personas or will we
challenge the corrupt
with our wits about us
facing the sobering corporate
corporeality with the pride
of lions facing a den of thieves
abandon the chosen champion
of the vanguard party
we stand hand-in-hand
7 billion
sisters and brothers
in an anthemic chorus of
solidarity that shakes the
bastions of the enthroned
with the resounding shouts of
perseverance in our
non-compliant defiance
our manifestos are written
in the blood sweat and tears
we've shed for this
dream deferred
and we will not be the
silent majority anymore
the masque of anarchy
is ours to share
will we wear its visage
or will hell freeze over
before we choose
freedom
over happiness
Feb 2, 2016
Feb 2, 2016 at 8:00 AM UTC
Knowledge teaches us
How much is our need
Vices inundates
In the swirl of greed.
Increasing knowledge
Lessens the needs
Guides the soul
Towards wisdom and peace
Vices are like
Cancerous germs
Increases the greed
To destroy oneself.
Goal of life
Is to attain love and peace
With greed
We can never reach that place.
Greed is
Like a hunting trap
It allures, attracts
And ruins at last.
Increasing knowledge
Lessens the needs
Guides the a soul
Towards wisdom and peace
=====================
Amitava (4.11.2014) 7-00 am
©ALL RIGHTS RESERVED BY AMITAVA SUR
Nov 6, 2014
Nov 6, 2014 at 7:14 AM UTC
Black Trees haikus
The lamp post leans...light,
is dim...the wind blows...rain, falls
black trees...sway on wall
loud pitter-patters
drop...pound heav'ly on the roof
black trees...droop on wall
ceding...accepting...
floods rush...spreads all over...the
black trees... sway no more
roots have lost their grip
too much water...inundates
black trees...surrender
life...is like a tree
there are many elements
water is just one
nothing's permanent
floods recede...sun returns...then
black trees sway once more.
Sally
Copyright October 18, 2015
Rosalia Rosario A. Bayan
Oct 18, 2015
Oct 18, 2015 at 4:51 PM UTC
Imperfect world, purposeless person.
I retired to pursue perfection
learn jazz tunes, woody and herbaceous plants,
read every inch of English literature,
Scientific American and Foreign Affairs,
have an affair with an American.
Oh, and by the way, before you ask, I'm from Mars.
Orbiting your planet, admiring the girls.
Paraphrasing prayers by George Herbert to share
with Jesus believers on talk radio shows
where we try to bring your lives into expressible states
before it’s too late and climate change inundates you.
Reversed thunder, savior-side-piercing spear,
one day you’re feeling fine, the next not.
We’re pretty matter of fact, clear about
the fact of death. Once you’re gone most of us forget
your face and previous accomplishments. The place
you lived is repopulated with the next generation (of aliens)
and that ought to be a comfort, a sort of restful
certainty all is well, nothing special need be done.
Bluebirds are back, crows are mating on the sky
and chasing hawks away from their nests. Juncos
and sparrows glean together. I hear pileated woodpeckers
jackhammering and barred owls hooting soothingly.
Herons smoothing feathers and spearing fish.
Everything is as one would wish.
Numberless are the world's wonders
but none more wonderful than aliens.
Sep 22, 2015
Sep 22, 2015 at 7:06 AM UTC
After much evaluation,
I do not think
this place to be the trouble
or to warrant change.
I am the trouble, and I am
indelible from it.
Guilt inundates the mind
as a byproduct:
nausea and exhaustion are an
ungodly synthesis
indicative of something--
something...
And if I were given a dollar
at each instance,
I could buy a carton
of cigarettes.
At first, I thought that
funny.
Now I think I should not think
at all.
Oct 29, 2012
Oct 29, 2012 at 12:00 AM UTC
The pervasive silence fills my ears, the resonance of it inundates me. I speculate what you’re thinking about, why you are now drifting into nothingness, why we are now on the precipice of nothingness. Maybe I revealed too much, perhaps I shouldn’t have told you that you are what I want, that you will always be what I want...that this will never change. My feelings for you are constant, they never waver. They bubble over into hysteria, into rash thoughts, into frantically telling you these things. Things that make your lips still. My lips are still too. They are meant to kiss you with, my dear. They are meant to break the absolute fragility of this silence, the glass house that we currently inhabit. Words right now would be like stones, carelessly thrown. I am living in the reality I have created in my mind. I do not know what to accept as fact or fantasy, for your silence deafens me, your silence stops me from being able to rationalize my own reality. For I will never know what gears are shifting in your machine of a mind. For I will never know whether this silence is meaningful to you, whether you know the speed at which my spry thoughts are sailing. You could be thinking about how unreal the sun feels on your back after the months of winter we have endured. You could not be thinking about me. Or maybe you want to admit to me that we occupy the same reality, you and I...Or maybe you’re plotting your inescapable escape. This silence will be misconstrued in infinite ways, overanalyzed, thought about incessantly until my mind becomes overcome with you. Until my mind tires of you. Until I force you away from me. Until my feelings are fleeting, and you wonder what I am thinking when I thoughtlessly wander away from you, abandon you...leaving you standing there with your own thoughts, your own mind. Your own reality.
Dec 5, 2012
Dec 5, 2012 at 3:16 AM UTC
Which ground shall thine eternity crawl beneath?
With agony, thou cry, thou scream and thou sleep
Staggering over time, the extensions of gore
A morph possessed over the flags: cloistered around throat
An uttering of serene eons, of atrophy and of thaw;
A morass of hegemony, of identity and war
Withered from bullets,drained over the ground
A knock on the coffin of tommorrow and the past
A chronology misplaced and outdone
And a synapse of presence smothered with the breath of dust
Which ground shall thine eternity crawl beneath?
With hope, thou bawl, thou shout, thou sleep
Chaotic commemoration ruptures over the streets
Splatters around an arcane, segregated country
Under the mud of enigma lies the rotten leaves of history
Away the tomorrow leans, restless and unknowingly
For it lies awake with the screams of a rifle, the screeching audibilty of ghostly mutterings, the camaraderie caught on flesh, between the teeth of craved monarchy
For the tomorrow lies awake near the history.
For the past suffocates the vivacity
Yclept the peace, yclept the tranquility!
Which ground shall thine eternity crawl beneath?
With anger, thou yelp, thou break, thou sleep
A hymn of sigh deafens the petrifying serenity
A sigh outraged with the murmur of life
Seismic ephemerality tears the ground apart
Barges in, the present, whispers a cry
The tomorrow lies still over the chunks of calamity
Lulled to sleep with the kiss of presence,
With the screams of a distant enmity:
The burial of time that has been cloistered around the anonymity
The burial of the ceased, the past, as a euphemism
The burial of the existence, the present, as a mayhem
The burial of the undone, the tomorrow, with a malediction
All three in the same grave, punching the timeless, imminent reality they delineated
Which ground shall thine eternity crawl beneath?
With silence, thou shatter, thou question, thou sleep
Down the ground quaffs the time
Of a city that no longer breathes
Out inundates the prayers of a dilemma
For a country is to cleave
Fidelity over a continuum, with faded prayers, shares a discourse
Befuddled with an antinomy, it asks itself, how an epitaph shall be wrought?
Down the ground swallows the confusion
Of a city that no longer cries
Now, which ground shall thine eternity crawl beneath?
To be overwhelmed by a plenitude of halves
In the name of peace, in the name of life!
Which ground shall I die beneath?
To lie awake with an eternal sleep
I no longer whisper over the divided streets
Not to awaken the past, not to revive the wounds and faded hymns
I breathe in the dust, devouring the ceased
For a divided city is to be kissed
Down I no longer hold an impulse to scream:
A gush of presence that arises a breeze
That of which billowing up the grave
Releasing a future for a road ahead
With hope, I bawl, I defy, I beg
Yclept the peace, in the name of solidarity!
Sep 15, 2017
Sep 15, 2017 at 5:28 AM UTC
A heart is a war, a heart is a shutter
One stream of light is allowed to escape
Far into your chambers a ceiling is painted
Mosaic by name, but truer to form:
An electrical storm we ourselves engineered to
Perpetuate evils eluded before
In the grimness of what lies behind the mind's door
When we met as two fangs in the jaw of a serpent
And you were the flares arcing up towards the sky
And I was the lens overawed by your light
Yes, I was what bent you with colors diffracted
Now I am that glass which your mildew begrimes
Color me flyblown, or color me blind
Marred are the edges around this old glass
The ink inundates and the horn is all hollow
Latched is our gate when the causeways collapse
Besieged now in my ocean of ink
Scanning the night sky for sign of a flare
No whisper, no shutter, no lingering there
Aug 30, 2016
Aug 30, 2016 at 8:06 PM UTC
)(
)( )(
/\
••••
We are the Poets
( we are sooo sensitive! )
•
The vision of YOU
NAKED !
Floating !
Nakedly floating !
In the bathtub
With your gently slit wrists
Pulsatingly offering your
Life to the healing waters !!!!
I picture the bathtub as the
GREAT PRIMORDIAL SEA !
and your senseless body 1 of 1000's
Of tender lifeless bodies
Bobbing up and down on the waters !
A TOTALLY RIGHTEOUS OFFERING !
There before the EYE OF GOD
( and Me )
•
The bobbing of the waters
The hypnotic spreading
Of the legs
The revealing
Of the secret sacred opening !
Before the EYES OF GOD and MAN
••
( WE ARE THE POETS !
WE ARE THE SENSITIVE !!!!
---we who truly face the beauty and the pain --- )
••
The healers !
The gift givers !
We stare into her secret sacred opening and wonder
At her soft offering
Her gentle pornographic vulnerability
//////
HOW HARD IT IS !!
( and getting harder ! )
//
WE ARE THE MASSIVELY HEROIC POETS !
our brave words float onto the paper
As wisely and as purely
As our blood flows out
As our blood inundates the waters !
As our minds inundate the helpless female body
Floating there
In its pornographic hapless splendor
And as TRUE POETS ! we cry out
MORE ! MORE !
as the bobbing waters
Spread her open and we gaze on
Soooo sensitively
And so sensitively
We erase all sense of pain or shame
///
WE ARE THE POETS !
yes we are !
We write LOVE POEMS!
( don't we ? )
Soooo sensitive !
//
WE THE POETS !
We are soooo sensitive !
Apr 20, 2015
Apr 20, 2015 at 2:15 PM UTC
At eventide
Sitting on top
Last sun rays
About to cover up
This town is divine
And feelings that drown
Only city lights scintillate
While the darkness inundates
At the end of the day
Another one that was bad
All the way
When all I look forward to
Crawling back to bed
And solace in my pillow
You ask me out for coffee
But is it not too late
To be injected
With something that awakes
You twinkle, I am your star
And we sit for a while
Just you, coffee and I.
Jul 25, 2013
Jul 25, 2013 at 9:37 AM UTC
You remind me of someone from a half remembered dream,
A silhouette from an epoch
That I have journeyed through fleetingly.
And then beside these sempiternal embers
I indulge in a pestilenntial reminisce,
Of the antiquated aeon of camaraderie
When the befuddlement inundates my anima like a swinging ragde.
I have been spooring thy sigil,
Through this deranged tourney of metampsychosis,
Only to be impelled by your unequivocal,
Benightedness surrounding my subsistence.
Jan 7, 2019
Jan 7, 2019 at 10:21 AM UTC
data
all arranged collimated
in neat rows columns
speading sheets all laid out
on rooftops with SOS
written in red paint calling hecilopters
help us it says
water is good unless it inundates
and is ***** with sewage and the government flies by
looking but doesn't do it
before it ends there are accountants
adding tallies costs against lost lives on
a white sheet a
gamma line
going steadily up to the right corner
of a clean paper sheet maybe a posterboard for added
emphasis
etchy red line exponentially rising up up away
in that line are lives against costs the government
sitting on markers
red crayons calculators
basing missions against costs like lives are expendable
how much can we spend for a bunch of creoles or ****** in New Orleans,
someday white folks you gonna be the minority.
I'm
red
I'll rate in the minority
no matter what.
May 22, 2018
May 22, 2018 at 11:27 PM UTC
Seasons change
Just ask the jay
Whose plume is blue
As the sky
After a fierce rain
Inundates the land
Bringing with it winds
Whose currents lift the jay
To dance among scattered clouds
Waving a final goodbye
To the warmth of summer sun
Setting past falls forward
Into winters grasp
Whose chill shocks the jay
With visions of ice and snow and frost
A sign to migrate to warmer climbs
Where fall has fallen backward
And summer sun rises anew
Challenging the changing season
To remain sunny and blue
Jun 26, 2024
Jun 26, 2024 at 7:37 PM UTC
Here I am, sitting on my..., excuse me.........in my chair, trying to come up with a suitable topic. Right now, that appears to be doomed for failure. So, be that as it may, I decided to go back to the archives and pick a few that I hope you enjoyed, and hope you still will, much like the television network programming which inundates our homes with reruns this time of year. But, I will take this opportunity to wish all of you a "Happy Holiday Season, a Merry Christmas, and eventually, a Happy New Year!!"(which year that will be is unknown at this time.)
richard riddle: 11-27-2016
(re: hellopoetry.com)
Nov 27, 2016
Nov 27, 2016 at 4:06 AM UTC
I met a lady today
Whose face I see in my dreams
Her name is fortune
She wears a beauty that men and
gods becomes confuse
Her virtue is like a torrential river
With an enraging eye and behavior
Her nose inundates the lowland
Her breast brings down trees and buildings
She creates havoc when she passes
Her legs cleanse the land on one bank
And deposit debris on another
Many flees to her direction
As she calms a heart as levees
She drifts heart in stormy weather
Makes you think she is yours
Her deceptive lips makes you hers
As she tease you with glaring beauty
you succumb to her desire hoping she
gives a hand, but she takes the help
for her advantage as she sauntered
away into the dark with her beauty
Written by
Martin Ijir
Dec 22, 2017
Dec 22, 2017 at 8:57 PM UTC
there are nights i fear you coming, knowing your arrival will plunge me into the abyss, to dredge the emotional depths, i am not ready or willing to explore. i am too fragile, overwrought to plumb those parts of me.
it is intense, exhausting, all consuming, analyzing and dissecting my feelings, so i can pick up a pen, transcribe the wellings, spew them on paper, for the world to see. you are a sadist, but i am the ********* that is the reason i love you, leaving me frail, weakening my mettle, as you show me my demons.
crashing out of our dream, i awake alone, the morning after, left in a stupor, hung over, craving more, lamenting what could have been. how lonely do i need to be, to feel free, how much drugs and alcohol does it take to forget, how far do i need to fall to see.
the depression envelopes, inundates all, in a grayness, as the summer sun leaves, abandoning me to melancholy. that is when you come, at my deepest, loneliest, to kiss me as no mortal woman can, whispering, “ you can’t escape me,” in my ear..
Sep 15, 2019
Sep 15, 2019 at 12:35 PM UTC
I was born into a storm I could never calm,
When wind shaken shutters rattle against the time warped windows,
And the growl of thunder reaches even your very bones, fragile and broken,
Where there is no light, only lightning, only darkened skies, and tears we cry,
I was born on a battle field as blood was flowing,
The angry rage of war, the soldiers last lament, would be the first thing that I hear,
The iron clank of swords, the deafening blast, the cannon *****
It's a war I fear will wage long after I am gone, and I'm dust again,
I was born into the storm, the tornadoes, the hurricanes
The spin that was the first thing my innocent eyes would see
The flood which inundates and makes most of the world suffocate,
And I learned to breath
I was born into the storm
I was born to love the storm
Apr 9, 2016
Apr 9, 2016 at 12:21 AM UTC
vision so vital
to all a poet is;
silent beauty whispers
its miracles only
to those listening.
the poet cursed
with eyes and ears
the clamor of
a living, dying world
inundates
their soul
finding refuge
from the deluge
in a quiet stream of stanzas
never realizing the blessing
of the eye of the poet
until all the words have dried
Aug 28, 2020
Aug 28, 2020 at 8:38 AM UTC
Amputate them from myself.
Not masochism, but medically necessary.
Do I deserve such a relief?
They multiply, and strip away time.
Their mitosis is parasitic. Alien. Destructive.
This ailment leaches from me.
So glad to see you temptation...
One of love’s demons, life’s meanings
Darkness inundates this plane.
Lone light on what I’m craving.
Perched upon a ring pillow of velvet.
Distant from a vestal white, ****** pearl.
Far from what I need right now.
I don’t want to feel this lurking hostility!
Distracts my complete hospitality.
Stalking me like a meal, I can’t show what I feel.
Not until I break down and release.
Like an animal, on my knees at feast.
Only a small chunk taken from their population.
In mitosis they’ll be back shortly.
To start this destructive cycle again.
May 4, 2020
May 4, 2020 at 1:58 PM UTC
There's no place to run to
no place to hide
self is dissolved
disintegrates--the tide
of blame and shame
inundates
and swallows up the sufferer
who struggles and suffocates
no help
is in sight
conscience is sharper
than the knife which with all its might
knows no pity
nor shows respite
this is worse than the execution avenged by an enemy
more cruel than words can describe.
Mar 9, 2016
Mar 9, 2016 at 7:51 AM UTC