"juxtaposes" poems
February is brighter.
It's pale blue
aura juxtaposes
the deep purple
of January.
It stutters
in, reminding us
that the adamant doors
of winter have been closed
to ajar.
Only the thin confetti
of snow now lines
the streets in
it's final celebration.
Blue smoke from the slates
thaw the crystals
and the bluebirds
have returned
to the sycamore tree.
Apr 16, 2014
Apr 16, 2014 at 3:12 PM UTC
The clouds in the sky are fluffy runs
With the imprint of skis passing through them
In perfectly rounded patterns of the experienced skier
And in zig zags of someone who may not be so inclined.
I drive to my next task, the sun burning my face with intensity
And I breathe in the cool spring air that juxtaposes the blazing star.
It's so beautiful and yet so dim.
Those memories fill my mind with a thick smoke of remorse and regret.
Beautiful images turn to ugly truths as I drive down 95.
I turn on the music to hear a good song,
Hoping that my playlist of feel good music will help to lift the burden.
And yet, I'm still caught thinking about you
Amid the overbearing wash of depeche mode.
I love their songs as much as I love you still. It's a forever love that even after weeks of not thinking and not listening, I still return to that hollow yet comfortable place.
My mind rolls on to other thoughts as I roll the window down to aid the wind in caressing it's fingers through my hair. I allow nature to substitute for you.
I only wish the rays from the sun would be as gentle as your touch once was and not harsh like the words that were spoken between us.
And I wish the clouds did not form into such shapes as to remind me of that smirk you held as you skied beside me, so proud of my progress.
And I wish the wind was you instead of simply just being wind.
But instead, as I drive and think all these wishful thoughts, there is not an element to nature that can dry my tears like you.
I sob as the sun presses and the clouds move. The wind continues to caress me and I can only accept the little bit of solace I get from it.
God bless the wind.
Mar 8, 2015
Mar 8, 2015 at 9:22 AM UTC
I focused on poetry
to write about you
about us, about our love
I did poetry cause I know we rhyme
Our behaviour alliterate
and bae you know what
In a land of poems my love for you
Juxtaposes cause I hate to love you so much
Jan 13, 2019
Jan 13, 2019 at 5:12 AM UTC
~
from a world of unknowns
you entered my realm of all known;
your inquisitive mind,
questions of the divine,
my existence inquisition
to you answered the question;
to live is to feel,
to feel, to be real!
ancient life work as Sufi
juxtaposes our selfie.
this new fixation
giving life to rumination.
~
*post script.
those more privileged souls, well-studied in the anthropology of poetry will already know him, but to me he was virtual unknown until a recent daily script caught my eye; a reference to Rumi, one of the greatest of Sufi poets, Jalal al-Din Rumi wrote poems in the 13th century see http://hellopoetry.com/rumi/ . this poet challanges the entirety of my thought processing. only wish my discovery had come earlier in life.*
Jul 18, 2015
Jul 18, 2015 at 12:43 PM UTC
it's the old Lehman
interlace again I
wonder how many I's
might some day buy The
Daily Mirror making
David the first poet to become
rich but like so many artist long
after they're dead
we're like nerve fibers
fasciculating fine word
that juxtaposes well to fardels
we bear-- words
heavy with too much bass
restricting us to only 3
degrees of freedom: Music
Word and Color
we' ld build a higher Babble
if only unbound from
a flat syllable world
we'd settle the Prometheus score
with 4D notes like cut-red-Bminor-spin
we'd render the higher ordered
flesh with 10D swirl-syncopated-reflect-bass-kisses-Lorena-Tom-ass-soft-cookware
to a fatty shard able
to cross synaptic chasm but maybe
we shouldn't for there's the rub in our xenophobic
extra dimensions
we'd find Superman
banished enemies or Buckaroo
aliens waiting to invade they always come from that extra
dimension don't they the ones
we don't fully understand the ones
wavering on the edge of perception of curiosity of fearfulness of exploring
a neighbors yard watchful for their dog
ready to run back
to safety back
to our one dimension back
to one Word
Singularity
Jul 22, 2016
Jul 22, 2016 at 8:44 AM UTC
When she sings
Celestials dance
Her voice summons sprites
Automatons ignited by a single utterance
Writhing and shimmering
Even in the shadows
The fae emerge from beneath oak leaves
Coaxed out of hiding
By what was taken
For a druidess' song
When she sings
I weep
At what could have been
At what is
She tosses a glance down at me
And juxtaposes elation with despair
My skin revolts
In an eruption of goosebumps
Not even whiskey can suppress
Each melody
Revealing
Unspoken depths
Nourishing her unassailable spirit
Flawless in her imperfection
Tempered in her brokenness
Her breath fills my soul
With effervescent aether
All my meticulous machinations
My impenetrable nonchalance
Those incorrigible wisecracks
The implacable facade
Methodically pieced together over time
Shattered
Undone by the whisper of a seraph
Apr 4, 2014
Apr 4, 2014 at 1:30 AM UTC
Driving slow, late at night,
in the 3 AM rain.
It happened suddenly;
"Pit, pat, pit, pat",
it spattered lightly on my windshield.
I should have smelled it coming, I thought;
I usually always do.
This I conclude as I make my random rounds,
through the place we call "our town",
that I must be more distracted
than I initially thought.
As I take in the sound gratefully,
(not as familiar to me in the midst of a Summer season)
I bathe in the Afterglow
without any particular reason.
It then occurred to me that it has been years
since I listened to slow music without fear of tears.
I don't know...
Some tell me the rain makes them sad.
For me, somehow,
it makes me feel safe.
The sound is a comfort,
the smell is a comfort,
the sight is a beautiful thing,
a miracle, if you will.
That we can somehow be cleansed
by the laws of nature, by the heavens above,
without asking... Doesn't it leave you in awe?
I am not afraid of the weather.
I long for all of it.
Because, I don't see sadness in the falling water.
In it, I don't see fear of what is to come,
or what has been.
I see nothing, for the rain encompasses all,
and locks me in the moment with it.
I feel everything warm, for it perfectly juxtaposes
all that is soft and well.
We can feel beauty without fear.
We can feel pain without consequence.
It holds me like an embrace from a father,
and reminds me that I am, in fact, Here,
and all is, in fact, Now.
Yes, I feel eternity in the rain.
Jun 26, 2014
Jun 26, 2014 at 7:04 AM UTC
In that dark chasm
The trees slowly died while the water turned black.
Our children lost bits of themselves
And knew nothing but machine.
The ramshackle living of the worker juxtaposes the mansion of Industry.
Coal black rags versus gleaming white marble.
We dragged ourselves out by force.
We gained many scabs and saw the bullets fly,
But we made it out.
Feeling the cool air at the opening,
We took a clean breath.
We sat for a while, letting great men do great things.
Then came the rain.
Now we’re in the middle of a rare, but fierce storm.
Soaking wet and struggling to hold on,
Some of us have forgotten those trees
And those children.
They wish us to take a dive, a plunge.
Back to the chasm.
Where it’s dry.
Dec 14, 2012
Dec 14, 2012 at 10:44 PM UTC
It doesn't make any sense how everything juxtaposes
But i'm a model that makes no poses
I don't want to be an impose
Unless it's dire
Unless someone is in danger
Then i hope i'm not the Lone Ranger
In my efforts and intentions
I hope i get some help
To perpetrate this evil off together
We seem weak now but we can become menacingly powerful against our worst enemies
This means war
Paradise is meant to stay
So try to come my way
You're going to tussle with the wrong people
We'll see the results at the end
May 7, 2016
May 7, 2016 at 4:16 PM UTC
No matter how or what you write
A myth, a melodrama or a mystery,
About your life or a dreadful night
In a poem, a song or a short story.
Write in a manner to evoke pathos
And in matter to mirror a tragedy,
Establish a sincere sense of ethos
Whether you write a satire or a comedy.
Either try to provoke a hearty laughter
Or to elicit a feeling of warm sorrow,
Steer them stealthily to a myth buster
Or promise them of a better tomorrow.
Write an epic, an elegy or a pastoral
With a sublime, visionary imagination,
A ballad, an ode or even a doggerel
Of a dramatic event or a silly situation.
Perceive the pulse and tone of the people,
The image, the rhythm and the sound,
The habit, custom, creed and the foible,
Develop the theme with metaphors abound.
The essence of life belongs to poetry,
It is an ever enriching avocation
Where purity of love overcomes bigotry
Where reality juxtaposes with imagination.
Jun 19, 2015
Jun 19, 2015 at 7:13 PM UTC
My secrets are metaphors.
The words are artfully arranged in alliteration
Or cautiously halted in
Enjambment so that they don't reveal themselves.
My secrets are anaphoric.
They are metonymic, swearing secrecy to the pen.
Sometimes they are synecdoches,
Begging, afraid, in rhyme for your attention again.
My secrets are anecdotes.
They write about themselves through personification.
This poem juxtaposes itself;
I've told you all of my secrets of secrecy-how ironic.
Mar 27, 2019
Mar 27, 2019 at 5:13 PM UTC
My friendships
Turn to dust
As another date
I said offhand,
I failed to commit
To memory.
Trauma of the past
Has left remnant seeds
Of which I rely on
As a survival instinct
That has driven,
Like roots,
Uncontrollably through
Every friendship I gain.
I forget the most basic
Conversations and things
I’ve said,
But my past,
Made black in defense
Of my ability to move forward,
Shows plainly
That most of it I did not need;
Files have been deleted,
And only frames
Of each have been contrived
To make looking back easier to handle.
I often wish it was not this way,
And find myself apologizing
For a defense mechanism
That has rooted in the very fabric
Of every memory—
Will they ever forgive me?
Will I?—
I hope they don’t see the blank
Canvas that I see.
Will it ever be filled
With anything other than
The coffee stains
That have been left
From when I’ve decidedly
Put off trying
Not to forget?
Or will it be an everlasting
White, that juxtaposes
The darkness I see when I look back?—
It tantalizes me, truly.
Feb 10, 2021
Feb 10, 2021 at 8:37 PM UTC
In the moment, the clarity of the seconds where the self exists I am wallowing
The now is a draining flow of self disrespect
I take what little dopamine I can find from the stories we build in new interactive and technologically enhanced ways
Because I can't seem to let go of when I spoiled the party, showing the people an abstract cancer inside myself
Maybe its the remnants of wine and revelry that juxtaposes against it which gives me reason to indulge in the bitter
Maybe the alcohol and carcinogens are a physical drain I should take into account
Or maybe showing these people that I still am behind, am weak against my personal struggles, maybe its something that I'm ashamed of
This is shame I'm feeling after all
Over something so stupid, and forgettable, yet..
Symbolic of a burning desire that scares me
Anger, the need to fight, shout, scream and 'win', whatever that means
Would I lose it if I stood in shorts and gloves and made the other man fall?
Or does it represent what I think it does?
An emasculating realisation of time lost, friends no longer friends, a face in the mirror that still isn't good enough
As much as I try to love him
I don't know
But now some people I respect know how pathetic my anger can sound so..
You'll have to forgive the self consciousness
I'm thankful for knowledge, friendship and the direction I've manifested out of the madness
I think after giving my body a push, my equals a Hello, my crafts an hour and a bit of a shaping
I'll be fine
I just I don't like being angry
Dec 13, 2015
Dec 13, 2015 at 9:28 AM UTC
First you ply me with flirtatious smiles
Then you dry me with a towel
The mundane juxtaposes
With the profane quite nicely
Misguided tangents or misleading angels
Retrograde dancers hit the wall
As I fall at your feet for centuries
But you say you must leave me for the summer
I say come back and be my lawyer or my lover
It's all in the way we blame each other
For true hunger is always a holy rolling
Apr 22, 2019
Apr 22, 2019 at 12:04 PM UTC