"liveliness" poems
you shrewd mistress.
when you are restless you raise
mountains with your power over
the earth then claim
no one made the effort to climb against
you
you shrewd mistress.
arranging daisies by color,
shape, liveliness and smell.
pulling petals till your fingers bleed
all so you can feel well
you
you shrewd mistress.
tossing and turning,
finding the hidden meaning behind your dreams
sitting next to strangers,
thinking about all the love there could be
between him and
you
you shrewd mistress.
standing quietly in the cold,
you’d never make a fuss.
just wait for it to build up and over,
build another mountain
wait for someone
anyone
to climb over to
you.
Nov 17, 2014
Nov 17, 2014 at 2:18 PM UTC
i guess it was sort of ironic as it's a place where people to go to be treated that they couldn't properly take care of a plant. it may not have been their fault, but it was odd to see shriveled up leaves on top of the *** full of dirt, and a bamboo stick pointing up to give direction to what was no longer there. the *** itself was colorful, adorned in hues of red and blue to give hints toward the life that was once there, and maybe that's what i do for myself. i adorn myself in hues of purple, green, blue to imply a liveliness that i no longer feel deep within. to cover up an emptiness that once held some form of life, some form of happiness and innocence. it's not like i've had it hard, i mean, things haven't been absolutely bright and sunny but i haven't experienced great loss but somehow i have lost myself. it's an odd feeling, because i know i will be okay and that everything will turn out just fine but i can't believe that in my heart and i just can't feel okay. and maybe that's fine. it's healthier to express an emotion than to cover it up and hide it, because it will build upon itself until you can no longer withstand the weight and oh, god, i know how it feels to tremble and crumble underneath the weight of unfelt emotions.
but is this better?
i look to extremes to cure the numbness in my chest and i can't care if it's good for me or not.
Jul 28, 2014
Jul 28, 2014 at 9:27 PM UTC
Her eyes stand out,
On a canvas full of ink,
The contrast between them,
"Nothing better," I think.
Her eyes reflect her heart,
And the liveliness of her soul.
She's like a problem, needing an answer,
And her eyes are the main goal.
Aug 7, 2018
Aug 7, 2018 at 7:32 PM UTC
we brought home this puppy,
black fuzz with caramel spots -
he has german flowing through his
small bodied, big pawed liveliness.
he is already wise like a shepard,
he lives up to his breed.
the boy that i love, his affection has
bloomed for something so stealthy,
so strong;
all he needs is his dog.
i thought i was just irrationally thinking,
but,
he only grazed my skin, kissed my lips
a total of four times today.
maybe tomorrow, it will be five.
Nov 13, 2011
Nov 13, 2011 at 8:18 PM UTC
My home happened to be a house
There were people
There was love
There was home made meals
And memories in the making
Each night as I went to bed
I felt content
and like I was where I needed to be
But as our family got torn apart
The laughter left our house
The liveliness fell away
leaving tears in its place
only some continued to stay there
But much of the once occupied space
was now empty
I no longer felt okay
in my own bed
I didn't care for my room
the building ceased to be more
than just a building
**It was a house
but not a home**
Jul 3, 2016
Jul 3, 2016 at 12:43 AM UTC
A bird lived its life lonely,
None came for its help,
It kept hunting for fruit pulp,
Considered relations and family unholy.
When its mother lived on difficulty,
Other relative birds, treated it a person of mediocrity,
Refused to follow generosity without partiality,
To keep them safe, pretended their incapacity.
Elder sister of the lonely bird kept threatening,
About the future inabilities and loneliness,
For a family life, kept telling it undeserving,
Told it would face disappointments without liveliness.
Life kept the lonely bird, lonely,
The bird never cared about it,
It had its mother with it,
Life went lively & happily.
Lonely bird had a fear in its thought,
What happens, in loneliness if I am caught?
It felt severe anguish and fear,
On occasions, its heart fell in tear!
Its elder sister, treated it with disrespect,
In spite of it being, an aspiring intellect,
Life of lonely bird remained downward,
It got itself ready for situations untoward.
The lonely bird kept struggling and thriving,
With its ambition and goals put its life driving,
Going remained really impossible & tough
The path to dream remained very rough.
Its fellow birds, remained happily settled,
For lonely bird, things looked to be tangled,
It was skilled, opportunities remained disabled,
With rejections, life continuously growled.
The lonely bird wanted to turn phenomenal,
Didn’t look out to happiness personal,
It did not have family,
In its wealth remained, being hit poorly.
Life went downward with pause,
It was on long term ambition and cause,
The bird turned itself a hungry beast,
To put it away from loneliness, at least.
If none is there, to take care,
I would die! I would die!
For a worldly mission, if I dare!
Of loneliness, I would never cry!
Elder sister of lonely bird threatened,
You were born a layman
Will die an orphan!
Because you are a madman!
The lonely bird, responded for it in life,
I was born a layman,
Will fight for my mission like a madman,
Will die always fighting world evils as a spearman.
There was ring! There was a ring!
It was named Bhagat Singh!
It told me life is lived on its own,
Others shoulders are used at time of funeral.
There was an alarm! There was an alarm!
The name was Abdul Kalam,
It told me Always be the unique you,
Even if world wants to change you everybody else.
Loneliness sometimes hit it like thorn,
Nothing could make it torn,
Through difficulties it was born,
It lived life to make this world adorn.
Loneliness turns out ubique,
I am not alone! I am not alone!
I am an unshakable stone,
I am unique! I am unique!
Oct 18, 2018
Oct 18, 2018 at 8:07 AM UTC
I'll have my heart in a gift box wrapped in see-through,
embellished with flowers, dedicated to you.
I'll spread a smear of glitter on it, maybe a little gold too,
so it doesn't seem so bitter, so overdue.
I hope it's vivacious; if it was pumping still,
and with prudent words you would overkill.
Its liveliness--once, now long forgotten--will decay in your palms.
Daffodils and daisies will melt into your hands, betraying all qualms.
Being the human that I am, obliged me to always seek knowledge.
I loved everything. Everything was a wreckage.
The fact that humans can cause this much damage enlightened me,
yet the thought of persuing self-destruction further could never set me free.
I was distraught till I was numb to the bones,
paralyzed on the cold tiles, silencing my own moans,
because what future awaits those who are namely the sick-minded,
the delusional, the know-it-all, the blindsided?
For spectators like us, we set everything into action,
to those who are less fortunate; the earth is flattened.
Their ideas, their meticulous theorems and allegories would all be dispersed,
by those who ignited the fire from the beginning. By the universe. By us.
Jul 16, 2014
Jul 16, 2014 at 5:02 PM UTC
I promise the usual things:
to love you and respect you,
to hold you and want you,
to make you smile
and laugh, and dream.
But I also promise:
to hold your hand
when you are trying
to get something done,
just because.
to kiss you
in the middle of a sentence,
and make you cry with me
when my feelings overwhelm you.
I promise to look at the sky,
and name the stars for you,
I promise to learn you,
I promise to teach you,
share a million little useless facts,
about unimportant things.
I promise to show you,
the simple things that get me going,
like the liveliness in your eyes,
and I promise to remember
your aspirations
and what side of the bed you prefer.
I promise not to get mad
when you forget my birthday,
(I know, you’re not that good at that…
it’s kind of cute),
and I promise to interrupt you
with something I just remembered
from two weeks ago.
I promise to quote random books
and random people,
and maybe they won’t be that random,
if a particular phrase reminds me of you,
of me, of us.
I promise to sing,
maybe just once, to you,
and every day to the scars of our love
(when the time comes).
I promise to give you my all,
and learn how to cook,
and I promise to take a break,
every now and then,
from everything
so we can do silly things.
I promise you the usual things,
to love you and to hold you,
to be as certain of this,
as I am of evolution,
as sure as the roundness of Earth,
as steady as the rhythm of your breath
that night I felt you sleep underneath me.
I promise you myself,
I promise I will be happy for you,
and with you,
and because of you.
And I promise I will finish this someday.
Apr 9, 2013
Apr 9, 2013 at 1:23 AM UTC
*"Let's end the day of sadness
That make us feel in madness
Ask in a way of forgiveness
That make us feel liveliness
Start a day right in happiness
Through bad and good ways of daintiness
We should live full of willingness
In a short period of time, and it's realness"*
May 28, 2015
May 28, 2015 at 5:02 PM UTC
You and your gold doorknockers,
those two rings
of golden milk
in your ears,
I love you for the things
that go into your ears,
for the Odysseys
and Onegins
and all the love letters
of Abelard and Heloise
that make all that milk
into a cream.
Your hoops
hang high and tight
until you forget to take them out,
I like when you forget to take them out,
and in the mornings
I wake up
to your low-tolling jingle
in gallons
and the liveliness of your jaw
saying things
that wake me up
with a natural cheeser on my face
and questions galore
in my dry mouth
and lungs.
Feb 13, 2012
Feb 13, 2012 at 8:40 PM UTC
The faint hint of tension left the air pungent
a mordantly eerie undertone that I couldn't scrape from the sky
even with a sharp stare from bright eyes
there was a subconscious pause in your voice, the type of momentary disillusioned understanding of a shortcoming
the sudden realization of a lassitude onset left these battered feet aching to stop running
the tread was fresh, anxiously beckoning to simply go
an inner utterance gently murmuring no
perchance the time was not sufficient
quite possibly these watch hands that had seen better days, now judge time slightly different
their past experiences dictating the liveliness and youthful ticks of yesteryear to a far more relaxed tock with decades of chasing it's counterpart
I became the minutes to your hour, fruitlessly chasing you round the rotation to greet and depart with your change of heart
the seconds became the tension
building anticipation as I watched them sweep
feeling the next moment we'd meet, pain-stakingly creep
until I find myself here again air thick with tension, hanging still and pungent
I remain for a minute just watching the seconds keep running...
Feb 10, 2013
Feb 10, 2013 at 11:31 PM UTC
Genuinely a human being
is suppose to listen to bees
Bees are little bumblebees
Dalai Lama is the
Cutest of them
All
Beings
Endure good~ness
Bye
With a mission
Working sweetly
Wonderfully unselfish
Unending
For a greater cause
Forgetting about the fame and the flattery laurels
Achievements and Archibalds
Focusing on liveliness of a recent call n
Frivolous flattering sounds
Are gentle blessings
You'd recon that I adore your
Intense passion for
Poetry
By the looks
By shut eyes eager to be soon open for a glimpse of
Outerness
The listeners are performing
With slightest ****** mimics
With crossed legs open
Changing a position
Scrathes on head
Winking
Nodding
Inwardly borne self dialogues
Your soliloquy
Is the sea of
Love, life
Loving
Me
By the memory
Reciting
Bits of your heart beats
When the tin noise
Of your crying
Tears tears
Apart
Interrupted
Rumbles
When you dream of the mortal coils descendant
As a halflings brought together through
Dissolving into the golden
Cocoons
You've seen two
Butterflies
I've seen one amongst many
Each a divine gift
Within wholeness
You
There's
No peace
When you dissapear
And I yearn to visit a cultural event
In total darkness (if i shut my poetic eyelids and cover them with both palms) then maybe only the blood's tiniest brooks within my fingers may start the signal for the motion pictures inside the ideal world
The World's Spinning
In a Absolutely Poetic
Manner
Kirchenblau
Let me embrace peacfulness
Within the secret garden
Let me taste of your
Nectary thoughts
Let me lead you through
Thundery waters
Silk veils and lyricism
Let me lead you through
Fire and ice n'all that is
Nice
Let me . . . oh . . . Let me
Suffice
Sep 8, 2016
Sep 8, 2016 at 2:44 PM UTC
Colors, have ways of making us soar,
or fall.......they make us buoy...
they, too, can divide and isolate...
long ago, a magazine
was colored and identified for a reason.....
also,
a kind of blue-sy music, upon which i groove,
...was named for the same reason...
.............a magazine..... a music genre,
became instruments...and parts of
dark and golden moments.......recalled
and enjoyed, every now and then...they're
painted.......registered in people's minds....
life is a magazine of stories, of poetry...
life is a jukebox...filled with soundtracks
life is an album...a collection of smiles
...of colorful images and emotions
reddish brown at first...turning yellow brown,
with tinges of taupe.......mottled through the years,
turning...into fading shades of sepia...
i refuse my late summer moments on earth
............to be done in Grisaille,
painted, only in tones of grey and dark green...
...it is written...one day, life would be hued with
subdued colors...the blues, silvers and grays,
...........will be cold as winter...
but, until then,
i'd rather be consumed with liveliness
i would adorn my days with peach and lilac
blossoms, hang fuschia pink pennants
on my wall....to brighten my disposition,
i'd practice...play the guitar once again,
i'll wear my ruffled, dappled-purple skirt,
and yellow converse sneakers when i walk on
the pavement....under blue skies that enhance
greens, and gold...colors that breathe existence
transforming weariness to courage...
wherever...whenever, however possible,
i speak, whisper to God words of gratitude,
and endless thanksgiving...i pray for strength.
and acceptance........prepare myself...when,
.....i, too...would face my own moments,
...............of fading sepia.
Sally
Copyright August 6, 2017
Rosalia Rosario A. Bayan
Aug 5, 2017
Aug 5, 2017 at 10:34 PM UTC
I saw a languid, thirsty flower
with lost smiles was crying.
I sprinkled water mixed with
my smiles to stop it from dying.
I saw a tree loosing its patience
standing there for ages.
I gave all my patience to it
which was borrowed from sages.
I saw breeze standing still, sad
, amidst mirthfulness dearth.
I couldn't see its sorrow,
sadness, handed all my mirth.
I saw a pond motionless,
no ripples, dull, calm and quiet.
I tied my liveliness to a stone
and threw into it to excite.
I saw hopeless sun filled with
despair was setting in west.
I gifted all my hope so that it
rises again with promise and zest.
Smiles, mirth and liveliness
all lost, now I had none.
Patience and hope were also
not with me, all gone.
Am I still alive? , thinking this
I looked deep into the skies.
A grave infront of me gazed at
my body with greedy eyes.
Nov 2, 2014
Nov 2, 2014 at 6:45 AM UTC
I still skip stones
across your ocean—your foaming white
cut from the butterfly vine
flips the beached fish
into the definition of liveliness
takes to the sun—a pearled pantina of ocean rain
connecting my nose and mouth
into the rainbow vision
of your thin lips mending the
the maimed ***** claw
this is how I will always think of you
my wishing well babe
neck-deep in sand
the butterfly vine entering your mouth
pulling your tongue to say
those three words aloud
finally, like you mean it
like I want it, the ocean tide
bathing my ankles
Apr 26, 2018
Apr 26, 2018 at 10:55 AM UTC
Life became Robotics
Human minds are programmed
We are moving into a world
Where we cannot talk to each other
Technology taking the place of conversation
No original smiles
But only some Smiley symbols in electrical media
We are losing liveliness
Running for a virtual world
I hope for a good relation
Which will be free from technology
And smiles will be natural
Happiness will be all over
May 18, 2014
May 18, 2014 at 11:43 AM UTC
Earth: our ominous all-mother,
she, the greater good:
the interminable fountain out of which stems life and vivacity itself
always reaching
and grasping for the abstruse azure heavens above.
her hair never stops growing. the mites and parasites never cease to fester her scalp. She is growing and changing and rotting and dying. but where death comes, there is no long interval until more
life.
the liveliness is everywhere; it promotes to all faces and regions and niches. Multiplying, begetting, propagating. all for the greater good of our orb and its inhabitants. Most dwellers are humble and solicitous toward her, and learn to keep a vigilant eye
as she can be so
forceful and violent.
She does have, however, one rascal who believes that the globe belongs all to Himself.
He is the man.
He has a masterful gift, yes. He is profound and competent. He forges the impractical query into a conclusive answer. He, however, is also egocentric and pompous, and He sees her as a specimen to which
He has the rights to dismember and pervert.
He makes a mess of her unique vistas. He tramples and stamps on her face, running about as if she were the coliseum in which the gods gather to view the Species fight itself to extinction. He works her to the
core, always asking for more, more, more, more,
until she has little left to give.
But she never loses courage in His asinine and moronic views and His sprawling village,
for she created Him
out of herself
she is the framework out of which the mind is able to mundanely manifest itself.
Without her, He would be nothing.
And she is so immeasurably loving and benevolently caring and forevermore giving; for
She is life, she is love.
We are love.
Feb 13, 2013
Feb 13, 2013 at 9:19 PM UTC
There's something so
delicious
about getting caught
in a summer storm,
the chilled water droplets
penetrating the outer layers
of clothing,
soaking the overheated body
with unexpected
refreshment.
I heard all the squeals
and screams,
cries toward the sky
to close its open mouth,
to stop spitting down
on them
as they ran,
ducking cars,
looking for a rooftop
makeshift
umbrella.
I chortled
not so discreetly,
extending my arms
side to side
to catch the droplets
on my bare skin.
The rain felt so ****
as it slid down
my forehead,
slipping
slowly
across my lips,
sneaking down below,
into the crew cut
of my shirt.
Two blocks away from home,
most of the runners had run by,
the rest huddling below
the entrance to various shops
and bars,
I walked by, paying the stares no mind,
sporting a purported
half-crazed look,
while I truly exuded
exuberance,
ebullience,
liveliness.
The pouring
turned to
pittering, pattering,
gentle kisses from the
beads,
letting up just as I
approached my door,
like the universe knew,
and it let me
dance home
in the rain
before the sky shut its
wide-toothed grin,
and the storm was gone.
Jun 5, 2014
Jun 5, 2014 at 12:50 AM UTC
The greater masters of the commonplace,
Rembrandt and good Sir Walter--only these
Could paint her all to you: experienced ease
And antique liveliness and ponderous grace;
The sweet old roses of her sunken face;
The depth and malice of her sly, grey eyes;
The broad Scots tongue that flatters, scolds, defies;
The thick Scots wit that fells you like a mace.
These thirty years has she been nursing here,
Some of them under Syme, her hero still.
Much is she worth, and even more is made of her.
Patients and students hold her very dear.
The doctors love her, tease her, use her skill.
They say 'The Chief' himself is half-afraid of her.
1.4k
I’ve been questioned on
my late night walks,
why do I do it?
the repetitive cracks
sing hedonist soliloquies
at every avoidance,
the streetlights eat away
at forfeiting darkness,
vomiting garbage cans
spew synthetic carrion
and winking storefronts
****** nightfallers,
trash kissing curbs
pushing away affection
cry out for help,
cigarette butts cloud
sandy sidewalks
and hug dragging soles,
passing cars and
mindless youth
spewing timeless
nothings out car windows,
cop cars and crisis topped
middle-agers stumbling their way
to fast food and
regretful forenoons,
I’ve been questioned
on where I’m walking to,
but never what I’m walking from,
no matter where I go,
I find myself
burning my throat
with coffee at 2am
May 7, 2016
May 7, 2016 at 1:36 AM UTC
It is the River that tells the tales of life in a never ending flowing pattern of liveliness
Aug 8, 2016
Aug 8, 2016 at 7:40 AM UTC
As pebbles are thrown
into the lonesome pond
laughter splashes out
And smiles run and glide
with ripples of liveliness.
May 19, 2020
May 19, 2020 at 12:14 PM UTC
We splashed in the pool
Together, the kiddy one
That is now too small.
She huddled in the
Car with me when I was scared
Of the thunderstorm.
She helped me sneak through
Her house at midnight and showed
Me her ice cream stash.
Sneaking grins across
The church on Sunday morning;
Well, we still do that.
She helped show me that
The world doesn't have to be
All work and no play.
Her liveliness and
Generosity show me
True, pure happiness.
I know we're growing
Up, but I hope she will al-
ways be my best friend.
Aug 15, 2018
Aug 15, 2018 at 1:36 PM UTC
Moment of happiness
And struggle of life,
Liveliness of new born
And Gloominess of death...
Beauty of woman
And boons and curses she bear,
Strength of man
And generosity he must show...
Wheels of time
And the never ending motion,
Life full of promises
And promises we fulfil...
Feb 26, 2013
Feb 26, 2013 at 8:32 PM UTC
A ray diffracted from the crystal flower,
into a thousand diamonds on my wall;
different angles creating a shady bower,
under my delusion tree,
here i rest peacefully.
Not in denial nor in sorrow,
in all measures of every feeling;
in life's liveliness in every moment,
like there's no tomorrow..
a gift to me from the galaxy.
A rainbow halo it bequeathed me ,
streaming through the empty space ;
erasing and recreating a strange place
in my delusion bower,
under my illusion tree
Like a dream
mystified with creator's creativity.
how glad i am to see
the cloudy sky or cloudless blue
the green grass blade caressing the morning dew;
How glad i am to see,
the mirage or the oasis;
it's not my mind's hallucination
the divine at play,
total internal reflection
Nature's cradle nurturing the seed
eventually the divinity
that unfolds,
blossoming into my crystal flower,
making space for the miracles it holds;
And the sun shines right through ,
its rays diffracting
and scattering
into a myriad hue,
merging into infinity...
Oct 17, 2015
Oct 17, 2015 at 9:00 AM UTC