"lensed" poems
All present in the stream of time,
Connected they build a line, a river which flows uninterruptedly,
The here and now, is the future of a pasts dream, a wonderous reality,
It is the futures past, the memories recorded within the depths of it
Gravity distorts time, causing it to slow down till it's stopping point lensed from a black hole, lurking within shadows of remorse in space,
Fished out from the sea of passing events, it keeps flowing, but now it does so while not including the fallen one who embraced a blackhole,
Time only knows one path, straight ahead with no slips and turns,
The present is the pasts future and what was thought to be possible,
It is the little wealth every living being possesses yet it is overseen and forgotten, until the moment of ones death drives gladly near,
From the womb to the tomb, drowning within the waves of a temporal lengh, the event of an entity's existence and its period.
A pace for an allotment, given from the complaints of an worldly life,
Spend it well, unlike the spring we cannot turn the tide, recycle again!
But for that matter the world of dreams holds a sweet embrace to all,
After all, you don't need to die in a dream.
~ Umi
Apr 2, 2018
Apr 2, 2018 at 6:26 PM UTC
"Boy were we wrong! We're the oddball. We're the freaks." --- Dr. Michio Kaku
We looked at trillions of those stars and knew,
that somewhere out there was another Planet Blue.
Those were not canals we saw on Mars;
optical illusions, lensed figment memoirs.
Stare into trillions, space mind overwhelms.
Rimbaud entrapped in countless ethereal realms.
Not the goal of evolution, merely happenstance,
the search for elsewhere leads a merry dance.
Planets a dime a dozen, yet no Goldilocks Zone
produces signals bearing SETI transient tones.
Birds more subtly impact our lives,
than do the aliens our universe provides.
Aug 14, 2018
Aug 14, 2018 at 1:16 AM UTC
Burns Creek
Climbing Chimney Rock.
Dad and David Scoville
In their mid 30s,
Two men out to prove
Their bravery,
Their derring-do.
Nervous,
My Mother,
My brother and I,
Five and six,
Necks craning,
Wait and watch;
Dad moves up and up
Clings to the top.
Inept and six,
I stand below,
Admiring my Father's
Fearlessness.
I am nearly blind,
The myopic, thick-lensed gawker,
Peering upward.
The men climb down,
Victorious,
The day’s challenges
Vanquished.
Heading home,
Choking dust.
Old land,
Deep ravines,
Rattle snake domain.
My father's old Ford
Bumps over red scoria,
Billows burning dust.
Ancient land,
Cindered clay,
Open grazing land,
Dry and hot.
Memories churn
From sixty years ago.
Feb 2, 2022
Feb 2, 2022 at 9:08 AM UTC
It sat there, as still as the dead, waiting. It had to keep very still; it was listening, waiting for the right feeling. It checked, cocking its head to the side. Nothing yet. If it could huff, it would have. It had been there all day yesterday and all night. Waiting. It shook its head; the sun would surely be out soon. It suddenly felt a bit insecure – would all this work, this art it had worked so hard to build, be for nothing? It shifted its spindly legs; it was getting uncomfortable just waiting. It stretched them out long, then retracted them once again. It was still listening; still waiting. How much time had passed? A minute? Two? An hour? It wished it could tell time. Yet, it acknowledged, it didn’t need to. It could make art, and it could eat and it could walk. That was enough it really needed, in the end. It admired its artwork this time – really admired it, with its sweeping symmetry and complex patterns. It had simply outdone itself. It felt quite proud, and might’ve rubbed its legs together for joy, if it had not been for the small vibration it felt. It paused. It titled its head left, maybe it could hear more that way. Nothing.
No; wait. There was something…yes! It licked its lips.
Quickly and with so much joy it could hardly contain itself, it scrambled up from its position between the apex of the leaning wooden shovel and the wooden wall of the little shack. It felt the vibrations more furtively now, and that just made it crawl all the faster. It scurried until it finally reached its prey.
Once, it almost felt sorry for the poor thing. But that once had been long ago, and now, it knew the wickedness of the world all too well. It had to take every chance it got when it came to spinning. It approached the buzzing creature with compassion. It spoke in hushed tones as it slowly wound the fly in its silk – a soft lullaby of peace and serenity. The fly seemed to like this, for it yawned and almost drifted asleep. Slowly, so very slowly, the fly’s multi-lensed eyes drifted closed, a calmness coursing through its body. Suddenly, the fly's eyes burst wide open.
Oh, the taste! What a delicacy this was, oh what wonderful juice! It lost itself in a haze of crimson. Nearly torn apart in ecstasy, it smiled, teeth glowing with what little moonlight there was. The fly stared back at it, aghast and eyes filled with cold, dead fear.
This was its favorite part.
Dinner.
Apr 10, 2014
Apr 10, 2014 at 3:25 PM UTC
It's beautiful, he said.
Rain played its music on his thick, dark coat.
Look at this, it's beautiful.
The winds sprayed mist into his white hair.
He had seen her and it was beautiful.
He had seen her and danced with her.
He had to dance with her.
His thick lensed glasses fogged slightly.
They hadn't let it end, had they? he thought.
It was a beautiful darkness that she had fallen into.
One that froze their memories fresh in her mind.
He looked at the looming mountains in the distance, gray and gloomy with rain.
She had curled her short black hair on their wedding day.
They were in their church, in their city, and everything was how it was supposed to be.
Everything was still how it was supposed to be.
He had seen her blue eyes fade.
He felt her cold, pale hand.
He loved her.
It's just a beautiful day, he said.
Just a gorgeous day.
Oct 29, 2012
Oct 29, 2012 at 6:14 PM UTC
The last star, now corporate logo.
You're my spoilt demand of love.
The hitch-hiker is buried at home.
Weight on the mattress, no more.
Conceding to smoke in my lungs.
Beheaded treetops, and a poisoned sky.
The lighthouse blinks - oh blessed recovery!
The last human uploads his consciousness.
The cancer spread to bone marrow.
Thousand lensed eye, yet no identity.
He plays the last ever chord.
Sequel: And she dances to his echoes.
With no land left, only sea.
Third eye opened – to New Eden!
The unbelievable new fathoms of physics.
With wonder, she first saw Earth.
Jan 9, 2014
Jan 9, 2014 at 7:55 PM UTC
Once again this, once again love.
A memoir so sublime, summered and peppered, folded in lustre and sheen of a blue lensed and buffering sky
Once again love
May 25, 2023
May 25, 2023 at 3:02 PM UTC
She's as wild as a wolf,
As wanton as a whorish witch,
As wicked as a werewolf;
As woman's allure bewitched.
She rules the dark night
In magnificence of full moon
And reigns with sunlight
As glorious splendor of noon.
Eyes lensed with emerald;
Whose stare hypnotizes and kills.
Her synergy an evil herald,
To bloods of the souls she spills.
Her innocence's deceptive,
Her beauty men just couldn't resist;
Mistaken as being receptive,
Their unbridled lusts cease to exist.
May 19, 2016
May 19, 2016 at 10:50 PM UTC
My first flight was a fancy funny dream cream delight,
Of crafty wings swinging in thrifty winds of daylight,
Propelled by pilots cocooned in the cozy cockpit,
For a grand take off, of the roaring and rising craft.
I was spotted and seated by a dainty bounty beauty,
Beckoning me to buckle up for reckoning safety,
With slippery smiles from her clipping rosy lips,
After brisk demo for self -help on risk rescue tips.
Skiing wings nosed up plush and puffy heights,
And up and up I went and gazed through vent,
As basking clouds shone in tender light and heat,
Flight floated on velvet carpet glowing silver white.
The sailing swan in sky moved in majestic style,
Eased and caused nagging nap of lull and pull,
Her long and lavish belly hosting high fly guests,
Rays and rain gifted a colorful bow to the far west.
The queen in quest lensed on landing scene of the city,
Focused on the crown of castles of unseen beauty,
Trespassed vibrant greenery and scenery, hills and hillocks,
Rivers and rivulets, flora and fauna in all mix and make,
The mettle of men and machine did its marvel in travel,
As the veiled wheels unveiled and wielded to safe land,
The metal bird grounded on a grand ground around,
And rejoiced rousing reception of the curious crowd.
Feb 27, 2015
Feb 27, 2015 at 9:57 PM UTC
There's a world out there
seen only through orange lensed ski goggles
a world with a redder sky
and a vermillion ground
your eyes adjust
though
to the apricot hues
and after a while
you find yourself seeing orange
and thinking blue
and when you take off
those warmly toned lenses
everything seems
so **** blue
like you forgot
the entire sky around you
was just a vast expanse
of cerulean
everything is so ******* orange
until it's blue
Jan 8, 2018
Jan 8, 2018 at 7:36 PM UTC
My first flight was a fancy funny dream cream delight,
Of crafty wings swinging in thriftyjwinds of daylight,
Propelled by pilots cocooned in the cozy cockpit,
For a grand take off, of the roaring and rising craft.
I was spotted and seated by a dainty bounty beauty,
Beckoning me to buckle up for reckoning safety,
With slippery smiles from her clipping rosy lips,
After brisk demo for self -help on risk rescue tips.
Skiing wings nosed up plush and puffy heights,
And up and up I went and gazed through vent,
As basking clouds shone in tender light and heat,
Flight floated on velvet carpet glowing silver white.
The sailing swan in sky moved in majestic style,
Eased and caused nagging nap of lull and pull,
Her long and lavish belly hosting high fly guests,
Rays and rain gifted a colorful bow to the far west.
The queen in quest lensed on landing scene of the city,
Focused on the crown of castles of unseen beauty,
Trespassed vibrant greenery and scenery, hills and hillocks,
Rivers and rivulets, flora and fauna in all mix and make,
The mettle of men and machine did its marvel in travel,
As the veiled wheels unveiled and wielded to safe land,
The metal bird grounded on a grand ground around,
And rejoiced rousing reception of the curious crowd.
Dec 4, 2014
Dec 4, 2014 at 5:36 PM UTC
Bitter disgust creeps over me
This seeming cloud, dark and cold
Looms to rest upon my shoulders
An earth of unearthed restlessness
A burden the likeness of Atlas'
Weighing
Me
Down, and now?
My minds peace was only just found
Lensed memories unfocused
Once fierce defensed, now softened
A fault of mine, brought by elated carelessness
Blinded, in part, by optimism
Sunny disposition, eclipsing my affinity of guarded feelings
Other part, in layman, love
General heartfelt and honest affection
In roots reflection, mirrored image of my own
Sought to help sustain, intended nurtured growth
Found only rot, contagious decay of a soul
Then my own branch being infected
When only in care was it bowed, blossoms begin to wither
The warmth of spring they'd hardly known
Virus of untrusting insecure betrayal
Unjustly and so unfairly given
Am I not deserving of these gentle breezes?
After years of harsh and relentless frigid winter I've endured
And so, in sustain...limb thusly removed
Sleeved hearts only allow for deep grief and aching wounds.
Jun 16, 2016
Jun 16, 2016 at 11:53 AM UTC
*on its last day
we murdered last year*
with our lensed eyes
named with a new gaze
our voices flayed out
with our mismatched knives
designed and sharpened
to cut, gouge, and bleed
with the gifts of new poisons
and fresh deaths.
Apr 11, 2017
Apr 11, 2017 at 7:22 AM UTC
sand castles and searching for seashells
scraping knuckles against stones,
swinging on creaky chipped bars
my twin covered in matching calluses,
my childhood my youth
we will meet again.
sand dunes and metal hunting,
my friend's fingers interlocked with mine
submerged under the grains.
course and sharp and dry
searching for pirate treasure,
my childhood my youth
we will meet again.
splitting candy and rolling down hills,
feeding mud pies baked with mulberries,
grass stains and bees buzzing
oh neon lensed life,
my childhood my youth
we will meet again.
but when?
lyinging at night, isolation's blanket covers me
when i stop and remember
my childhood my youth.
the scent of the memories fade from my nose.
the touch and sensation leave my fingertips.
the sound of their voice get lost in my ears.
their names elude my tongue.
their faces become a blur.
oh but sweet youth,
don’t fret, don’t cry
just know,
despite the hourglass’s sand clouding my brain
my heart shan’t forget—
the joy, the sorrow, the disgust, the pain, and the love i felt
over these years.
i’ll never forget you, i promise.
my childhood my youth,
we will meet once again,
that’s my promise.
whether it be now
or at death’s sandbox.
Dec 10, 2024
Dec 10, 2024 at 2:15 AM UTC