"levitates" poems
Hey Human! I am your Sibling.
Queen bee wings are Ripped,
bee niblings are Smoked
For Your Honey Sweet.
Hey human! Listen your Sibling’s Buzz.
Tiger lost bones for Medicine,
Fox lost fur for Fashion,
Sharks lost fins for Soup.
Hey human! Do Not Butcher Siblings.
Simba’s life is not your Trophy,
Jumbo’s tusks are not Decors,
Helmets of Hornbills are not jewels.
Hey human! Do Not Reap Siblings.
Emperors of ice continent lost land,
Economics is making Amazon less,
Logging makes Orangutans homeless.
Hey human! Do Not Invade Siblings.
Warm oceans bleach corals,
Water depleted in cities,
We ingest plastic regularly.
Hey human! Do Not Desert the Earth.
Overfishing is holocaust of aquatic life,
Livestock levitates toxic emissions.
Hey human! Do Not Prey on Siblings.
Lichens stunned by pollution,
Symbionts are disintegrating,
Biodiversity is declining.
Hey human! Be Together with Siblings.
Hey Human! We are Offsprings of Mother Nature.
Monera, Animalia, Fungi, Plantae, Protista
all have common roots.
We are branches of the one Phylogenetic Tree
rooting Common Ancestry unto LUCA.
Hey Human! We are Siblings.
Hey Human! Recall your Siblings.
Hey Human! Revive your Siblings.
Jul 20, 2019
Jul 20, 2019 at 11:19 AM UTC
.
The waves spilled the rising tide
back into the scattered footprints in the sand
deeply entrenched in life’s mystery,
receding into every breaking wave
A stiff sea breeze put back every grain of sand,
elements of a larger object gathers,
gravity firmed, into the silent shoreline chasms—
a beheld essence washed out to sea
by the fugitive tides and retreating sea-foam
Soon all trodden traces visibly vanish;
unmarked mileposts on a metaphysical pathway
slip away back to a windswept shoreline
and elapsing summer tide
Seabirds glide in slow-motion,
held sway into the shapeless gusts —
as if feathered puppets hovering,
hanging from the rafters
of the burgeoning orange sky
There's an uncommon peace in the renaissance;
effervescent crisp ocean air filling
the indefinable emptiness
marooned within each heartbeat’s echo
Each new breath inhaled, disappearing within
the unhealed hollow of every thing once believed;
fully aware this life is unholdable as time,
yet feeling many things deeply retained
in each passing moment—
slipping away like a handful of sand
sifting through all these hands once held
Presence becoming wreathed in a miasma of stillness,
space that levitates like an unpredictable fog
that seeps into the gnawing voids
of an unsated hunger
harlon rivers ... August 1st, 2018
Jul 31, 2018
Jul 31, 2018 at 8:34 PM UTC
The dream haunts me
often, far too often, building
in intensity but is initially
disguised in absurdity and the
nonsense of a young man's lusts
with an old man's deficits.
This woman-like entity,
ill-defined at first but forming
voluptuously, emerges from
swelling curtains. She moves, more
levitates, toward my bed, buoyed
by what I don't know, but angelic-like
it would seem. Or perhaps
an Aphrodite reincarnate?
Oh this goddess, what pale
skin, as Parian marble, full bosomed,
jutting ******* ***** that
beckon, nearly drool, and pursed
red lips beaded with sweet
juice stolen from the wild cherry
tree beneath my window.
Far too much clarity for a simple
dream. But such a dream! And what
seething testosterone I feel!
I am become a hedonist, raging,
pulsing spermatozoa, renewed
of time and youthful energies.
Nerve into nerve we join, ecstacy
compounding ecstacy, bodies wantonly
impaling the other on this love bed
to the result that each cell of our
individualities melds. We are indistinct,
yes - as one, and any ****** impulse
between us is shared to the point of
utter exhaustion, depletion. I am
nearly drained of life, it would seem.
Then, as it always must,
the scene changes, Act II.
Inexplicably, shedding a ******
serpentine-like skin, she slings it away
and drops limply upon me - entirely
skeletal, dry cartilage, sinew, lifeless,
sexless, motionless. The horror
of a diabolical hollowness
stares through me, and I am
suspended, fully terrorized, in
this paralysis. So, this is
succumbing to the Succubus?
God, my dear God, that I should
never dream again!
--
Oct 12, 2011
Oct 12, 2011 at 10:25 AM UTC
five pm, mid-winter
i thank Sky for taking sweet time.
Sky sets her thumb on the light-switch of the land.
she stands still, she waits.
for the hour, she meditates
on her day.
Sky hopes her skin
becomes verdigris the next day, not grey, but
verdigris to clothe **** trees. Or perhaps she will
hurt soon— Sky scars in
rainbows. Her change of thought: the small folks who have traveled
through her this day. She wonders where
they all
go.
Open your eyes,
do you hear Sky’s mute call?
in her meditation, hour of magic, all
wakes.
on the earth, photographers peer from their windows,
then rush through their doors to catch Sky’s dancing gleams,
beams flash through the tip-top’s of the Sugar Maple family,
their shadows splatter onto pot-hole streets.
Sky brushes her grass and her roads with paint of a gold hue,
fresh Rorschach tests while her thoughts try to rest.
i spot a leaf sleeping in the street, deep wine and apricot,
twisted from months away from its Mother
the wind levitates the leaf—lightly—and the sun
creates a squirrel of it, he climbs the tree, and scrambles over
to me. in short squeaks, he explains his political theory,
“why do you let your peep el let a few rich folks control
all others? why don’t you follow me
into the woods?”
he grabs my skirt with his sweet little paws
but i look up and notice the darkness,
i look down and see only a leaf again.
Sky’s savasana has ended,
candles ignite in the houses, Sky and Sun crawl into bed.
i’ll wait now for the selenian Sun, but i can’t rest my eyes. soon
i will escape with my new friend.
bittersweet magic: “the moment” lost in the sock drawer.
five pm, midwinter
the afternoon is reaching an end,
Lady Sky decides when she wants to change for us.
as the sun sets, she meditates.
some call it the “magic hour”
but how can you truly tell magic from reality?
go outside and see.
radiant beams do the tango on the trees
(a leaf in the street becomes a squirrel as my eye blinks)
a squirrel who runs straight up to me.
“get outta the system while you can!”
he squeaks, then nods at me to follow his path, another blink
the sky darkens, the squirrel disappears.
Feb 26, 2012
Feb 26, 2012 at 7:31 PM UTC
a late harvest in Brigadoon
plucked from good earth
by strong hands
hauling
uphill, until
a gentle
slope
rewards
a stiff
back; easing
a grateful
burden
that levitates
famine
[ bushels ]
now
ziggarats
in a root
cellar
a Sumerian skyline
of parsnips and rhubarb
with fennel minarets
where Gilgamesh slept
in a pantry of pagan loot
underneath a corner room
at the very back
of a round
house.
where four seasons bunk with an almanac
mason jars of pickled beets
breathing their own blood
hanging gardens from the ceiling
of the Underworld
like fliers of missing children
on telephone poles
i go outside and wander off
you stay home
Jul 6, 2014
Jul 6, 2014 at 2:02 AM UTC
Flickering lights, a pause of the dark.
botched up kohl, a spot on her chin
an ironic beauty mark.
She just lay there, dummy dead..
Juggled in a crass cacophony so shrieky,
as if nothing was ever left unsaid.
Her red tinged lips clasp the stick of joy...
it, like a new bride, so crisp and coy.
a rush so sweet..
the feel to feel it forever.
WHAT. A. MAJESTIC. TREAT.
The pain evaporates..
the soul levitates..
the sins are forgotten..
a bizarre psyche evolve to take a path less trotten.
The world stands against her ..
She doesn't belong to it anyway,
a sight of it is blur to her.
In that moment. .. she belongs to her soul.
like diamonds belong to coal.
the scorchy sun don’t matter..
the night sky, just colorless with a flecky mole.
Let her lie in her limitless peace.
let that nothingness never cease.
let that brutality bestowed upon her lay low for a while...
invincible. . . let high be the highness, let her smile.
Sep 24, 2012
Sep 24, 2012 at 12:00 AM UTC
Cloudless skies and
You & I.
A BBQ aroma
Levitates
Like those hummingbirds
Did you like that movie?
I've got to be home
Maybe 11.
I like your pick-up
It makes me reminisce
For an old home
With happier times
Maybe we
Could re-create those?
Looking at the blacktop,
I'll miss you tonight
You'd make a good father
Half-moon lover,
Let my dreams
Only be of you.
Jun 2, 2012
Jun 2, 2012 at 2:12 PM UTC
sweet waters with mint fragrant hints,
memories flood me,
"walking back in time"
he describes it
of my early days of discovery,
this voyage upon the poetry ship,
with me, mere stowaway,
unfit by compare,
sailed to lands unimaginable,
friendships seeded in words,
sprouted like a field of summer sunflowers,
water weeping, for joy so joyous,
the mastery of his words
elevates, levitates,
the ashes of sadness now dispossessed,
floating on the Ganges
the drumming of my dreams,
of treasures of golden words,
in lungs undiscovered, unspoken,
leads me back to you,
Balachandran from Thiruvananthapuram
April 10, 2016
~~~
Jun 1, 2013
Balachandran
How I love to say your name,
Rolling waves over my tongue,
It is must be said out loud
Two or three times to feel its rhythm,
Two or three more just for the
Spiced pleasure it conveys.
Bala chan dran!
My name harsh, Germanic,
Like the Black Forest,
Where my ancestors dwelled,
Until a harsher people drove them away.
Balachandran!
Under the ground beneath the temple
Padmanabha Swamy,
A temple dedicated to
Vishnu,
In the state of
Kerala,
the original spice country.
South Western sea board of India,
where miracles never cease to happen,
A billion dollar treasure discovered.
A treasure of words and sounds,
A language musical, every word a poem
Of incroyable elegance.
I am so glad that you were not born in France.
Perhaps someday I will courage summon,
To spicy lands, explore, and even come to
Thiruvananthapuram.
For now, I must be satisfied with the
Poetical musicale program I attend,
When I say over and over again,
Balachandran from Thiruvananthapuram!
Dedicated to K Balachandran
Apr 10, 2016
Apr 10, 2016 at 7:46 AM UTC
Our teacher rides on her broom
she levitates on it in our classroom
she will snap and then deride
wish she'll take her pride for a ride!
Our teacher rode off on her broom
and there was joy in the classroom!
Our teacher came back from her ride
and all the students stirred inside,
"How do we rid her?"
"We must decide!"
"There are students in other classrooms
that also ride as you on brooms"
"They need a guide!"
"They want your brew!"
"They can ride along with you!"
"They can be your new crew!"
"Fly to them now, that's what you should do!"
" We won't miss you, we won't be blue ! "
"Fly to them now, that's what you should do!"
Dec 5, 2010
Dec 5, 2010 at 2:13 AM UTC
All I saw were wrinkles.
These wrinkles exemplified pain, loss, happiness and content. These wrinkles in his long leathery complexion represented my life; and how every moment is a wrinkle in time. These wrinkles in the old mans face told me where I had been and where I still had to go. I glanced at the old man, pain and sorrow clouded his eyes, which were covered by his snow white hair, which fell gently upon his forehead much like how a feather almost levitates before it hits the ground.
All I saw were wrinkles.
The old man turned slowly towards me, his facade was illuminated by the warm glow of the fire, and he flashed me that all knowing smile of his, which old age could never take away. This radiant smile was a rare sight to see nowadays he seemed to enjoy the company of books rather then the company of people.
All I saw were wrinkles.
The old man was a silent presence. Silent enough to sneak up on me when I used to watch Sunday morning cartoons. Grandpa! I would exclaim, half suprised half content that he was just with me and by my side.
All I saw were wrinkles.
The old man gave me one last sad smile and stood up from the cracked leather sofa.
Where are you going? I asked him.
I never found out.
I never will.
All I saw were wrinkles
Mar 1, 2015
Mar 1, 2015 at 4:14 PM UTC
My Mistress' Eyes Are Everything Beneath The Moon;
The crimsom of her lip is as the shade of blood;
If coal is black, why then her thighs are cream;
If skin be burlap, white silk is her body.
You have never seen masked daisys, black and blue
But she creates blooming poppies on my cheeks,
And no perfume upon the earth compares to her scent
The exhalation of my mistress is as jasmine and honeysuckle.
I hate when she is silent, yet well she thinks,
All other sound is dissonant compared to her voice.
A godess I first saw, as she passed me;
My mistress levitates and glides across the air.
All the horrors of hell, are fine, if her memory remains in my mind.
Her magnificence is selfevident, with words beyond compare.
Aug 1, 2012
Aug 1, 2012 at 9:26 AM UTC
Rummaging noises that muscle into stark gravity
maiming
black & white finishes
into the hands of young artists
and everyday geezers
--drinking wine made for mad housewives.
We are seduced and strangled by this.
Spirits that knock seven times
on Hiroshima's soul that levitates through
planet Earth's oceans
--how can we not pull a ****
from our sweaty palms?
Gods, and doors, and chalk spittle
that gores the gorilla's back in the abyss
threatening hopeful snow--the lifting of applauding
violins. We are seduced and strangled by this.
Cultural amoeba--
the dimensional of minds
--made up of blank smoke
and film negatives.
And oh!
How the gasoline pours rainbows
on the pavement, fertilizing the crosswalks
where we danced...
seduced and strangled by this.
Apr 8, 2013
Apr 8, 2013 at 12:04 AM UTC
Dancing Crimson Fireworks fill my heart
Violent infant butterflys tare me apart
She levitates and makes time bend
I can never tell when things will end
Is it that our minds hold on
Even for only moments long
Is it wrong to see you here
Gazing into the Stratosphere
May 18, 2011
May 18, 2011 at 5:17 PM UTC
Let us write our stories
Reckon all moments
A passage to self-reflection
With a display box of grandeur,
Fingers on a key pressed,
Levitates a search in no time,
Way out of the crowd
Quiting a reality to roam and wander
Nothing is outside, all within
A big circle of virtual connections,
Without months of eye contacts
No face to face,
Sending empathy through e-thoughts
Having a common ground,
Hope to run faster than Terabyte,
We love seconds more than a minute
WiFi made all worth living
Sending signals to the soul
We will feel it, anyway.
Feb 17, 2018
Feb 17, 2018 at 1:29 PM UTC
eternal sorrow breeds
eternal apologies
a succinct series of sorries
stretched out for years
i sacrifice my innate interior
to the naifs who know me not
obscurely tarnished & dimmed
one love plagues my skeleton
naivety levitates from relevance
for the new ones have been ruined
& so i repeat:
regurgitating the same remorse
just in a new direction
Feb 7, 2010
Feb 7, 2010 at 6:59 PM UTC
A solitary hunter
am I, let me confess,
with a heart,
pining for visions of beauty,
fleeting through this ethereal haze.
In my hunting trips I don't ever ****
only cajole
luminous words
that entice me
or striking images
to surrender, that would
become a rapture timeless.
A lonely hunter am I
who goes deep
in to the tangled jungle
of time, unarmed,
walks backwards
and forward
levitates upwards
and some times
zoom down
to capture the moments
defying gravity.
You call me poet,
in fact ,
I am an oracle
speaking in the syllables
of thunder,
from the subconscious
for all to hear
prompted by a possession mysterious
I still couldn't discern what.
Oct 10, 2011
Oct 10, 2011 at 12:54 AM UTC
My love levitates above me,
begins to circle out
heading to the silent softness
tucked beyond perception.
I have packed you
with Milky way hopes,
witnessed the slashing
of stars make their way
bright against the purplish night.
I have known you to slip out from
the hidden human crevice
to perform secret plays
with oceanic aches
surpassing all words
threading impossible rich
grasslands in a desert
of a million scornful suns.
I felt you harpoon me
pulling me back to the immense
place beyond the curtain
verifying every hope that kept me crawling for just one taste.
I heard you speak me into shelter
every promise of your verse
riveted my skylines with the most delicious eclipse I've ever seen.
Your love moved me to another hidden Everest where The Golden Angel sang to me with a voice that bleeds my haunting.
I felt you craft a crystal ship, your freedom set it sail inside me.
May 3, 2017
May 3, 2017 at 3:47 PM UTC
The last garden they planted
was prickly and difficult
tomatoes that looked like loons
strawberries dripping with oil
the earth was parched
despite torrents of rain
“the world spins round and round
yet nothing falls and nothing's found”
There can be no revolution
without black negligees.
Shout, if you must,
but learn to whisper, too.
There can be no revolution
without question marks.
“the world spins round and round
yet nothing falls and nothing's found”
I’m going to wash my face
in cold ash and bitter tea
and aim for that space
where everything penetrates
and my body levitates
above the fractured light
“the world spins round and round
yet nothing falls and nothing's found”
Sep 3, 2013
Sep 3, 2013 at 11:56 AM UTC
There’s something about the post-punk silence of nighttime that makes me doubt my soul. That makes me define things in terms of what they follow instead of what they are. Someday, I hope my life will be as interesting as a rock-and-roll portrayal of history. Something to be envied. Something to be admired for its brilliant art direction and cinematography, but panned for its lackluster script. In simpler terms, something boring but pretty. But I’ll only be in it for the costumes. And the one critic who will understand and say, “Her story is strange. At night she levitates above her bed. She’s over the age of sixteen, but she’s still not a witch yet. Kudos for not succumbing to clichés.”
Jul 29, 2012
Jul 29, 2012 at 7:31 PM UTC
What does your heart do at night?
It spins silk silently above the clouded sky.
And when it levitates back to thee
the moon is curdled in every beat of me.
© fey (20/11/22)
Sep 11, 2023
Sep 11, 2023 at 8:34 AM UTC
Love those accouterments, my eyes catch, even if hidden,
though I don't particularly pry for them in any one, such ambiguity
helps to see world as a place, cryptic messages get transacted,
some are very open even, though no one seems to notice,
like this women I go out with, a free spirit, not the type
who keeps few secrets stashed away in a dark corner of an attic.
Enormous wings she has, I was fascinated by their lasciviousness
how light she would feel, when she soars up viewing the scene
from above, blessed she is , an envied celestial being
she would be in all other's eyes."Ever fancied flying on
your own wings?" I ask her, in a tone so matter of fact
not revealing I know her secret, as if just to know her feeling
as a flier.But her words make me think how strange this world is!
Just imagine this, she was never aware of her wings! How strange?
Pure white, delicate, befitting to her petite figure, soft yet sturdy,
her wings weren't a reality, how can it be, when I myself am a witness
the wings never came to her notice, so they cannot exist, she argued.
Her wings were thin, white, silver petals, that shines during dawn and dusk
at a midnight moment she levitates, we fall deep in a pit of velvety clouds
but by some quirkiness of reality, quantum physics may explain perhaps,
it isn't there, her wings,though for the purpose of mathematical calculations
it is counted as a reality; in my imagination, she makes me fly with her.
Sep 3, 2014
Sep 3, 2014 at 2:04 AM UTC
My feet steadfast upon the soil,
The ground stirs beneath me.
The translucent smoke levitates about,
Seclusion claiming the sublime mountains.
The wooden sovereigns retain indefinite poise,
Exuberant with gleaming white flowers.
Ants traverse the green bridge,
Their mouths opening a seal to new life.
Elegant leaves flutter in the wind,
Their entities obscuring the radiant sun.
An infinite stream flows;
A waterfall is calling to me.
Dec 13, 2011
Dec 13, 2011 at 10:01 PM UTC
There is an inch of sleight in this house – this cold chair,
a burst of cologne clogging a 20 minute stride. The stringent
air tonight blusters deeper than gashing sheens.
The little dryad of dew outside and the cadenza of frogs
after lambaste of rain. Whenever you sing, your voice
communes an immense pain, something unconscious of its
gravity, something that levitates back to momentary ululations
swelling in the grime of times and heady chances. A long stretch
of a day submerged in silence resembling a howl underwater.
There will be many sorrows and they will take form of doves,
assume the skin of the populace. They will come in a volume of
names pressing the linoleumed musk the way the body turns
maneuvering over the saltine, the mattress, juxtaposed to a lover,
a brusque aroma of coffee brushing away the calm demeanor
of the morning, dragging along the weight of its lassitude
towards the sprays of fern opening a dense ornate of forget,
you, in all places that pulse without recall – an obtuse
fish feeling its life in a surge of blue, overtime, finally knowing
what it means to sing and drone only words.
Feb 3, 2016
Feb 3, 2016 at 10:20 AM UTC
Where do you go when the soul levitates in space?
Synths wash over me with godlike grace
I say, my dimension is slow and reverbed
With every problem, futsal shuffled to the curb
I say, "it's so surreal"
I want to gain a nursing shield
Just to show my father it's real
I know you're not around me
But I still feel your presence still
Some nights, I'm on an asteroid watching the stars
Other nights, I'm frostbitten awaiting your warmth
So, I ask you
When does your soul leave the physical?
I wanna know because you're supposed to see
What I see
Apr 30, 2021
Apr 30, 2021 at 2:16 AM UTC