"maelstrom" poems - Hello Poetry

"maelstrom" poems

721 Behind Me—dips Eternity— Before Me—Immortality— Myself—the Term between— Death but the Drift of Eastern Gray, Dissolving into Dawn away, Before the West begin— ’Tis Kingdoms—afterward—they say— In perfect—pauseless Monarchy— Whose Prince—is Son of None— Himself—His Dateless Dynasty— Himself—Himself diversify— In Duplicate divine— ’Tis Miracle before Me—then— ’Tis Miracle behind—between— A Crescent in the Sea— With Midnight to the North of Her— And Midnight to the South of Her— And Maelstrom—in the Sky—

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51.6k

Emily Dickinson

Behind Me—dips Eternity

721 Behind Me—dips Eternity— Before Me—Immortality— Myself—the Term between— Death but the Drift of Eastern Gray, Dissolving into Dawn away, Before the West begin— ’Tis Kingdoms—afterward—they say— In perfect—pauseless Monarchy— Whose Prince—is Son of None— Himself—His Dateless Dynasty— Himself—Himself diversify— In Duplicate divine— ’Tis Miracle before Me—then— ’Tis Miracle behind—between— A Crescent in the Sea— With Midnight to the North of Her— And Midnight to the South of Her— And Maelstrom—in the Sky—

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My soul is a maelstrom How dare you maim my son. You’ll choke on my sea My beasts will eat your heart. I am god of the depths You are fragile meat.

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Oct 28, 2014

Oct 28, 2014 at 7:43 PM UTC

My soul is a maelstrom How dare you maim my son. You’ll choke on my sea My beasts will eat your heart. I am god of the depths You are fragile meat.

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Death, sweet Death, beckons to me. He is a lighthouse, warning most to avoid his realm But He calls me by my name He tells me to be dead is the greatest gift Life has to offer And whispers of the secret joys of His hazy oblivion. "Come my child and partake of my treasures," and "Your troubles shall cease even as your spirit roams," are His entreaties. At first His voice is as soft as the waves lapping at the shore But as I ignore him his call becomes louder Louder LOUDER Than the squall of a maelstrom Until He is all I hear His voice dries up the Happiness fed by Hope, who is a frightened dove. And when Hope ceases to feed you in the morning and in the the evening, then "Elijah, you are alone." So End Life to escape from Death. Cast off your body and dwell with Him. Death is the light in the lighthouse. Choose that light Choose darkness.

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Oct 10, 2014

Oct 10, 2014 at 2:17 PM UTC

Death, sweet Death, beckons to me. He is a lighthouse, warning most to avoid his realm But He calls me by my name He tells me to be dead is the greatest gift Life has to offer And whispers of the secret joys of His hazy oblivion. "Come my child and partake of my treasures," and "Your troubles shall cease even as your spirit roams," are His entreaties. At first His voice is as soft as the waves lapping at the shore But as I ignore him his call becomes louder Louder LOUDER Than the squall of a maelstrom Until He is all I hear His voice dries up the Happiness fed by Hope, who is a frightened dove. And when Hope ceases to feed you in the morning and in the the evening, then "Elijah, you are alone." So End Life to escape from Death. Cast off your body and dwell with Him. Death is the light in the lighthouse. Choose that light Choose darkness.

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You're a volcano in winter Made when the Earth splintered Tectonic plates shifted And you were gifted The frigid air outside is subzero So you become my volcanic hero When you scorch the cold With your warmth so bold I await an eruption But there's a disruption Dormant you remain With suspicion engrained But entering your main vent Was not my main intent Yet now that I'm in your magma chamber I can see your anger You're made of lava and ash So you demand drama and cash And violently explode in a flash You've become my Krakatoa When I wish I didn't know ya Because of your grand magnitude I question my aptitude And insecurity ensues As confidence I lose I realize I've gone too far When I feel your lava discharge That pushes me into your crater The pain I feel couldn't be greater When all I see is an ashen cloud And all I hear is your lashing growl Inside of your volcano There is a tornado As sure as day glow I feel I must lay low And dodge the debris While playing referee As you're dissecting me In your burning sea That swirls in a cyclone maelstrom Hell is where it was mailed from I receive it Reprieveless I begin to drown in fire And wish to retire You think you're neat Yet despite your heat You're a cold blooded lizard But outside there's a blizzard So I get used to your volcano I can't contain my disdain though

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Jan 9, 2018

Jan 9, 2018 at 6:18 AM UTC

You're a volcano in winter Made when the Earth splintered Tectonic plates shifted And you were gifted The frigid air outside is subzero So you become my volcanic hero When you scorch the cold With your warmth so bold I await an eruption But there's a disruption Dormant you remain With suspicion engrained But entering your main vent Was not my main intent Yet now that I'm in your magma chamber I can see your anger You're made of lava and ash So you demand drama and cash And violently explode in a flash You've become my Krakatoa When I wish I didn't know ya Because of your grand magnitude I question my aptitude And insecurity ensues As confidence I lose I realize I've gone too far When I feel your lava discharge That pushes me into your crater The pain I feel couldn't be greater When all I see is an ashen cloud And all I hear is your lashing growl Inside of your volcano There is a tornado As sure as day glow I feel I must lay low And dodge the debris While playing referee As you're dissecting me In your burning sea That swirls in a cyclone maelstrom Hell is where it was mailed from I receive it Reprieveless I begin to drown in fire And wish to retire You think you're neat Yet despite your heat You're a cold blooded lizard But outside there's a blizzard So I get used to your volcano I can't contain my disdain though

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They say the sea is cold, but the sea contains the hottest blood of all, and the wildest, the most urgent. All the whales in the wider deeps, hot are they, as they urge on and on, and dive beneath the icebergs. The right whales, the sperm-whales, the hammer-heads, the killers there they blow, there they blow, hot wild white breath out of the sea! And they rock, and they rock, through the sensual ageless ages on the depths of the seven seas, and through the salt they reel with drunk delight and in the tropics tremble they with love and roll with massive, strong desire, like gods. Then the great bull lies up against his bride in the blue deep bed of the sea, as mountain pressing on mountain, in the zest of life: and out of the inward roaring of the inner red ocean of whale-blood the long tip reaches strong, intense, like the maelstrom-tip, and comes to rest in the clasp and the soft, wild clutch of a she-whale's fathomless body. And over the bridge of the whale's strong phallus, linking the wonder of whales the burning archangels under the sea keep passing, back and forth, keep passing, archangels of bliss from him to her, from her to him, great Cherubim that wait on whales in mid-ocean, suspended in the waves of the sea great heaven of whales in the waters, old hierarchies. And enormous mother whales lie dreaming suckling their whale- tender young and dreaming with strange whale eyes wide open in the waters of the beginning and the end. And bull-whales gather their women and whale-calves in a ring when danger threatens, on the surface of the ceaseless flood and range themselves like great fierce Seraphim facing the threat encircling their huddled monsters of love. And all this happens in the sea, in the salt where God is also love, but without words: and Aphrodite is the wife of whales most happy, happy she! and Venus among the fishes skips and is a she-dolphin she is the gay, delighted porpoise sporting with love and the sea she is the female tunny-fish, round and happy among the males and dense with happy blood, dark rainbow bliss in the sea.

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8.9k

Whales Weep Not!

They say the sea is cold, but the sea contains the hottest blood of all, and the wildest, the most urgent. All the whales in the wider deeps, hot are they, as they urge on and on, and dive beneath the icebergs. The right whales, the sperm-whales, the hammer-heads, the killers there they blow, there they blow, hot wild white breath out of the sea! And they rock, and they rock, through the sensual ageless ages on the depths of the seven seas, and through the salt they reel with drunk delight and in the tropics tremble they with love and roll with massive, strong desire, like gods. Then the great bull lies up against his bride in the blue deep bed of the sea, as mountain pressing on mountain, in the zest of life: and out of the inward roaring of the inner red ocean of whale-blood the long tip reaches strong, intense, like the maelstrom-tip, and comes to rest in the clasp and the soft, wild clutch of a she-whale's fathomless body. And over the bridge of the whale's strong phallus, linking the wonder of whales the burning archangels under the sea keep passing, back and forth, keep passing, archangels of bliss from him to her, from her to him, great Cherubim that wait on whales in mid-ocean, suspended in the waves of the sea great heaven of whales in the waters, old hierarchies. And enormous mother whales lie dreaming suckling their whale- tender young and dreaming with strange whale eyes wide open in the waters of the beginning and the end. And bull-whales gather their women and whale-calves in a ring when danger threatens, on the surface of the ceaseless flood and range themselves like great fierce Seraphim facing the threat encircling their huddled monsters of love. And all this happens in the sea, in the salt where God is also love, but without words: and Aphrodite is the wife of whales most happy, happy she! and Venus among the fishes skips and is a she-dolphin she is the gay, delighted porpoise sporting with love and the sea she is the female tunny-fish, round and happy among the males and dense with happy blood, dark rainbow bliss in the sea.

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On an autumn walk at the ides of day I saw birds of a feather fly together away. As they flew over flames In an ides-of-day way They got caught in the weather And so forever became The tall twisted tale That we hear of so much: Two birds with one hailstone, Death from maelstrom above.

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Sep 6, 2016

Sep 6, 2016 at 5:11 PM UTC

On an autumn walk at the ides of day I saw birds of a feather fly together away. As they flew over flames In an ides-of-day way They got caught in the weather And so forever became The tall twisted tale That we hear of so much: Two birds with one hailstone, Death from maelstrom above.

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Summoning a waterfall He fills the sea Commanding sweet hail Into its milky depths His steely trident Churns up a maelstrom Raising a soaked raft of leaves He casts it from the sea And laying aside his trident Raises his cup and sips his tea

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May 23, 2014

May 23, 2014 at 5:26 AM UTC

Summoning a waterfall He fills the sea Commanding sweet hail Into its milky depths His steely trident Churns up a maelstrom Raising a soaked raft of leaves He casts it from the sea And laying aside his trident Raises his cup and sips his tea

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When education was restricted They ran to religion When solace was stripped away They ran to martyrdom Loved ones fell Hated ones rose As hearts sank To the depths of the maelstrom Fueled by the unholy trinity Value, vindication, and violence Bombs decimate Afghan villages With the precision Of a needle hitting a vein And as casually As a contractor putting a dollar in his pocket The rubble of their town Lost in a mist of dust The rubble of their minds Lost in a mist of vengeance The rabid dog chases the subjugated raccoon The raccoon discovers a sacred hole and hides in it The predator attempts to encroach the void The raccoon quivers in it's sanctuary shelter Finding relief as the hound becomes stuck And laughs as the infected beast starves to death But ecstasy turns to terror As the raccoon realizes it's only way out of this hole Is being blocked by the gargantuan corpse Terror turns to sorrow As the raccoon starves to death Alone In the dark It's holy land now hell For once it had protected the raccoon from unbridled rabies But since the hound's death It's Cerberus size obstructs all progression Holes become graves And prey are left to pray For someone to drop a bomb and clear a path

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Jun 7, 2017

Jun 7, 2017 at 4:45 AM UTC

When education was restricted They ran to religion When solace was stripped away They ran to martyrdom Loved ones fell Hated ones rose As hearts sank To the depths of the maelstrom Fueled by the unholy trinity Value, vindication, and violence Bombs decimate Afghan villages With the precision Of a needle hitting a vein And as casually As a contractor putting a dollar in his pocket The rubble of their town Lost in a mist of dust The rubble of their minds Lost in a mist of vengeance The rabid dog chases the subjugated raccoon The raccoon discovers a sacred hole and hides in it The predator attempts to encroach the void The raccoon quivers in it's sanctuary shelter Finding relief as the hound becomes stuck And laughs as the infected beast starves to death But ecstasy turns to terror As the raccoon realizes it's only way out of this hole Is being blocked by the gargantuan corpse Terror turns to sorrow As the raccoon starves to death Alone In the dark It's holy land now hell For once it had protected the raccoon from unbridled rabies But since the hound's death It's Cerberus size obstructs all progression Holes become graves And prey are left to pray For someone to drop a bomb and clear a path

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502 At least—to pray—is left—is left— Oh Jesus—in the Air— I know not which thy chamber is— I’m knocking—everywhere— Thou settest Earthquake in the South— And Maelstrom, in the Sea— Say, Jesus Christ of Nazareth— Hast thou no Arm for Me?

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5k

Emily Dickinson

At least—to pray—is left—is left

502 At least—to pray—is left—is left— Oh Jesus—in the Air— I know not which thy chamber is— I’m knocking—everywhere— Thou settest Earthquake in the South— And Maelstrom, in the Sea— Say, Jesus Christ of Nazareth— Hast thou no Arm for Me?

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Gentle ballerina dance dance your way around the world with bold precision dance with graceful arms unfurled Tip toe to the passion of the tune whirling, leaping maelstrom of romance existential exercise of poetry unwritten fluttering, a butterfly of souls unduly smitten with love of life and dignity stirred all up into one resounding splash of destiny the last breath of a swan

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Mar 17, 2015

Mar 17, 2015 at 8:46 AM UTC

Life of a Ballernia

Gentle ballerina dance dance your way around the world with bold precision dance with graceful arms unfurled Tip toe to the passion of the tune whirling, leaping maelstrom of romance existential exercise of poetry unwritten fluttering, a butterfly of souls unduly smitten with love of life and dignity stirred all up into one resounding splash of destiny the last breath of a swan

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It’s the morning after the last heart session Eyes open but brain still crackling with static and white noise When I try it again Hoping to get pen to paper Before consciousness can recover sufficiently to intervene And proffer pretty syntax to the poem Hold the mind blank And stack the words in rows of green growth Like garden beds That only need time and attention to bear fruit Let truth come from some other place Than reason or left brain Or the extensive vocabulary Meticulously indexed in the cranial cavity Somewhere near the brain stem Or maybe in the DNA As C, T, G, and A Storing data like binary only twice as complex The recall mechanism operating in the darkness of our comprehension Apprehension of its failure threatening to leave the poem unfinished Unillustrated Uncalibrated Un-fact checked Like that matters somehow Like the facts are important in art Like the right brain has no sense of propriety Just as surely as the heart tells lies in gibberish A chattering maelstrom of syllables in a cyclonic vacuum And yet somehow the heart speaks with perfect clarity Uncluttered rhythm Timing and flow So you know there is more going on here than we fully understand Lend a hand to help decipher the intentions of a part of yourself wayward from the rest of you Leading to a collapse of the ego And a blurring of the lines between you and I Turning discrete data into continuous On the fly On the run Under sun and and moon and sky Until the day that even death fails to be discrete Or even an event any more important than a fire Converting energy from one form to another

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Dec 1, 2012

Dec 1, 2012 at 7:42 PM UTC

Heartbeats & Mathematics

It’s the morning after the last heart session Eyes open but brain still crackling with static and white noise When I try it again Hoping to get pen to paper Before consciousness can recover sufficiently to intervene And proffer pretty syntax to the poem Hold the mind blank And stack the words in rows of green growth Like garden beds That only need time and attention to bear fruit Let truth come from some other place Than reason or left brain Or the extensive vocabulary Meticulously indexed in the cranial cavity Somewhere near the brain stem Or maybe in the DNA As C, T, G, and A Storing data like binary only twice as complex The recall mechanism operating in the darkness of our comprehension Apprehension of its failure threatening to leave the poem unfinished Unillustrated Uncalibrated Un-fact checked Like that matters somehow Like the facts are important in art Like the right brain has no sense of propriety Just as surely as the heart tells lies in gibberish A chattering maelstrom of syllables in a cyclonic vacuum And yet somehow the heart speaks with perfect clarity Uncluttered rhythm Timing and flow So you know there is more going on here than we fully understand Lend a hand to help decipher the intentions of a part of yourself wayward from the rest of you Leading to a collapse of the ego And a blurring of the lines between you and I Turning discrete data into continuous On the fly On the run Under sun and and moon and sky Until the day that even death fails to be discrete Or even an event any more important than a fire Converting energy from one form to another

Continue reading...

the tides swell and hearts quell my body shakes in anticipation of profund ecstasy of liberation and not the emptiness of libations the bright moon light keeps the revelers out thirsting for soemthing they cannot name in a drunken fanatic frenzy they shout claiming a new change in life when they remain the same the ocean waves crash and so do my thoughts an uncontrollable maelstrom that spreads like a rash only to find peace in the still silence I've always sought Finally I am home and I bask in the light of the full moon I too was a reveled once howling at the moon but now instead I drink in the spirit of life I might have spoke too soon because my heart still feels stife

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May 15, 2014

May 15, 2014 at 12:03 AM UTC

the tides swell and hearts quell my body shakes in anticipation of profund ecstasy of liberation and not the emptiness of libations the bright moon light keeps the revelers out thirsting for soemthing they cannot name in a drunken fanatic frenzy they shout claiming a new change in life when they remain the same the ocean waves crash and so do my thoughts an uncontrollable maelstrom that spreads like a rash only to find peace in the still silence I've always sought Finally I am home and I bask in the light of the full moon I too was a reveled once howling at the moon but now instead I drink in the spirit of life I might have spoke too soon because my heart still feels stife

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Little problem, tiny flame. Thoughts running wild Around and around Stir the little flame Into a fiery maelstrom. Let the cool breath of reason Set thoughts to rest! How quickly the flame returns To its proper size.

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Dec 30, 2012

Dec 30, 2012 at 2:57 AM UTC

Little problem, tiny flame. Thoughts running wild Around and around Stir the little flame Into a fiery maelstrom. Let the cool breath of reason Set thoughts to rest! How quickly the flame returns To its proper size.

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Ancient doors creak and groan scraping back the dust of ages gone A formidable sight... like standing guardians since time immortal Slinking in past swirling fog I pause to calm my fear adding strength to resolve when suddenly... a deafening voice ERUPTS with EXACTING FASTIDIOUS truths Solid ground shatters beneath me... I hover helplessly Below me... a noxious boiling maelstrom The voice of truth EXPLODES from above ECHOing my 'Every Sin' the resounding shock-waves drive me down Legs lifted high to avoid the searing pain then a tangle of blistered hands reach out and drag me within the churning inferno Blinding spin and unbearable suction envelope Scream fades to gurgle Unconsciousness welcome though never met The searing pain still rising yet Each fibre ripped apart to molecular particle Riding the vortex of purification Separating sins from soul Finally Cast out and caught yet again by the uterine web with the voice of truth still taunting ... " BETTER LUCK THIS TIME "

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Jan 18, 2015

Jan 18, 2015 at 1:48 AM UTC

rex-allen-mccoy

Reduce Recycle Reuse

Ancient doors creak and groan scraping back the dust of ages gone A formidable sight... like standing guardians since time immortal Slinking in past swirling fog I pause to calm my fear adding strength to resolve when suddenly... a deafening voice ERUPTS with EXACTING FASTIDIOUS truths Solid ground shatters beneath me... I hover helplessly Below me... a noxious boiling maelstrom The voice of truth EXPLODES from above ECHOing my 'Every Sin' the resounding shock-waves drive me down Legs lifted high to avoid the searing pain then a tangle of blistered hands reach out and drag me within the churning inferno Blinding spin and unbearable suction envelope Scream fades to gurgle Unconsciousness welcome though never met The searing pain still rising yet Each fibre ripped apart to molecular particle Riding the vortex of purification Separating sins from soul Finally Cast out and caught yet again by the uterine web with the voice of truth still taunting ... " BETTER LUCK THIS TIME "

Continue reading...

Like a lotus emerging Unsullied From the mud, So have you appeared, In this world, Yet not of it. I consider myself Most blessed of all men For having glimpsed upon your face. Not even Michelangelo, With all his magnificent frescoes, Could have conceived of such beauty. The most flowery prose of Marquez wilts, Inadequate to fully describe your radiance. The supple, rich compositions of Mozart Are a rancorous cacophony Compared to the melody of your voice. Your entire being is a testament To the masterful craftsmanship of our Lord. I may circumnavigate this world Sample the most luscious of delicacies Climb the lofty peak of Everest Swim the English Channel Trek the Ural Mountains Watch the Caribbean sunset Walk the entirety of the Great Wall But none of these shall hope to compare with the blissful moment When my eyes fell upon you. It was truly a day of days, One which no other can rival. You stood out A swan Regal in its repose Amongst Ducks Babbling away In their ignominy. I have found my muse -- Alas! -- But for a moment. Yet I shall not rage. Neither shall I weep. Just because He got to you first. Just because He is Perhaps More worthy Of you. I shall not fly Into a maelstrom of emotion Sulk with resentment And seethe with envy Just for losing Something Someone I never even had. Just because She will never be mine. I shall not have To lower and abandon myself To the maddening clutches Of grief To wantonly fling My artless soul At the burning altar Of undignified melancholy. For it is foolish. Yet I cannot help But do exactly this. Act like the boy, The child, That I am. For what else am I? I am not a man Like him After all. Not adequate For anything Resembling a soulmate For anyone Like her. I can never hold you In my arms Never gaze Into your eyes My ears can never hear you Whisper Sweet nothings. And My lips shall never Meet yours. So what Else Can I do But mourn?

0

Mar 6, 2014

Mar 6, 2014 at 11:48 PM UTC

Like a lotus emerging Unsullied From the mud, So have you appeared, In this world, Yet not of it. I consider myself Most blessed of all men For having glimpsed upon your face. Not even Michelangelo, With all his magnificent frescoes, Could have conceived of such beauty. The most flowery prose of Marquez wilts, Inadequate to fully describe your radiance. The supple, rich compositions of Mozart Are a rancorous cacophony Compared to the melody of your voice. Your entire being is a testament To the masterful craftsmanship of our Lord. I may circumnavigate this world Sample the most luscious of delicacies Climb the lofty peak of Everest Swim the English Channel Trek the Ural Mountains Watch the Caribbean sunset Walk the entirety of the Great Wall But none of these shall hope to compare with the blissful moment When my eyes fell upon you. It was truly a day of days, One which no other can rival. You stood out A swan Regal in its repose Amongst Ducks Babbling away In their ignominy. I have found my muse -- Alas! -- But for a moment. Yet I shall not rage. Neither shall I weep. Just because He got to you first. Just because He is Perhaps More worthy Of you. I shall not fly Into a maelstrom of emotion Sulk with resentment And seethe with envy Just for losing Something Someone I never even had. Just because She will never be mine. I shall not have To lower and abandon myself To the maddening clutches Of grief To wantonly fling My artless soul At the burning altar Of undignified melancholy. For it is foolish. Yet I cannot help But do exactly this. Act like the boy, The child, That I am. For what else am I? I am not a man Like him After all. Not adequate For anything Resembling a soulmate For anyone Like her. I can never hold you In my arms Never gaze Into your eyes My ears can never hear you Whisper Sweet nothings. And My lips shall never Meet yours. So what Else Can I do But mourn?

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resuming vogon poetry altering website logos pretending everyone cares playing "east hastings" asphyxiating well-nigh denouement depicting twitter status obfuscating coincident deletions translating from Sḵwx̱wú7mesh assuring Sḵwx̱wú7mesh exists painting skwiḵw's mother? decrying micropolitical maelstrom imbibing fireball fountain inundating lexical foofaraw crafting poetic wonders desiring other mediums remaining practically invisible ending internet-only depression drafting noetic blunders requesting astute clique blazing perilous trail aging ominous grisaille depicting kmart realism seeking darker groups increasing pre-weekend laughter appropriating communist symbols making lone chuckle offending worldwide communists colonizing hello poetry colonizing parallel universe relaxing e-migration policies пить чистую водку photographing abduction scene ¿losing consistent format? increasing bluebird insignia avoiding frivolous legalities striking astraphobic comments assuming near-universal automation lowering latent inhibition traversing oneiric plane laxwadding afebrile loodies wallscaping pitchsourced chthonicities closing one-star conveniences sharing alien-looking alphabet writing system downtimes

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Sep 13, 2015

Sep 13, 2015 at 7:42 PM UTC

resuming vogon poetry altering website logos pretending everyone cares playing "east hastings" asphyxiating well-nigh denouement depicting twitter status obfuscating coincident deletions translating from Sḵwx̱wú7mesh assuring Sḵwx̱wú7mesh exists painting skwiḵw's mother? decrying micropolitical maelstrom imbibing fireball fountain inundating lexical foofaraw crafting poetic wonders desiring other mediums remaining practically invisible ending internet-only depression drafting noetic blunders requesting astute clique blazing perilous trail aging ominous grisaille depicting kmart realism seeking darker groups increasing pre-weekend laughter appropriating communist symbols making lone chuckle offending worldwide communists colonizing hello poetry colonizing parallel universe relaxing e-migration policies пить чистую водку photographing abduction scene ¿losing consistent format? increasing bluebird insignia avoiding frivolous legalities striking astraphobic comments assuming near-universal automation lowering latent inhibition traversing oneiric plane laxwadding afebrile loodies wallscaping pitchsourced chthonicities closing one-star conveniences sharing alien-looking alphabet writing system downtimes

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The doubt is with the night forever hanging in the head it sips all the fire the flickering stars, the bickering meteors the maelstrom spews hate over the pinned madness the magnetic field emits hate over the pinned sadness if it sincerely wants to be accepted look no further than how life has been enacted.

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Jul 18, 2018

Jul 18, 2018 at 8:44 AM UTC

The doubt is with the night

The doubt is with the night forever hanging in the head it sips all the fire the flickering stars, the bickering meteors the maelstrom spews hate over the pinned madness the magnetic field emits hate over the pinned sadness if it sincerely wants to be accepted look no further than how life has been enacted.

Continue reading...

I feel the humid emotion in our room This room where feelings are felt and magic happens between you and I You, sitting on the edge of our bed..motionless as the air itself.. Your pale colored eyes looking hungrily all over me..craving desire.. I know you want me.. Your layered jet black hair falling over your face in a roughed up lust.. I , sitting across from you on the ground These old cherry glazed wooden floors that are so familiar to us Sitting half undressed, motionless My hair in a mess, like one of those models posing in a vogue magazine Desperately waiting for something to spark between this still nature My eyes looking you up.. and down … I want you… I crave your touch That euphoric rush you give me when your skin meets mine.. I want to feel your warmth up against my body A feeling I longed to feel for so long Sometimes I wondered if love really exists? Sitting alone, envisioning, and always thinking of you Is love just a movie? It starts, and sadly ends When I see you here in front of me, I deeply reflect. I think no, never. You are the definition of love You are my beautiful distraction The way your eyes lock on mine, they paralyze me, our gaze is cemented I wonder if you feel the same about me The emotions rush through my body as I passionately look at your perfection I the butterfly, and you the lion, such strong complexities to obtain. I leisurely rise and walk towards you following your desirable gaze I get close to your body and touch your gentle face, you let me get into your lap. You make me fear, you I touch you to reassure this is real The love I have wanted for so long. I kiss your soft skin, and bite your lips gently. Your warm body up against mine makes me melt in your arms. We share deep and passionate kisses that I wish would last forever. But forever is too long and I would be a corpse decaying in your arms. This memory will always linger I only want more from you. Take me somewhere we both know we want to go I whisper words into your ear softly Words that haven’t been spoken as long as I could remember. I shudder with life every time your touch embraces my soft skin. I close my eyes and the world spins into a maelstrom of pure bliss a beautiful desire.

0

Apr 19, 2012

Apr 19, 2012 at 10:30 PM UTC

venessalexander

Beautiful Desire.

I feel the humid emotion in our room This room where feelings are felt and magic happens between you and I You, sitting on the edge of our bed..motionless as the air itself.. Your pale colored eyes looking hungrily all over me..craving desire.. I know you want me.. Your layered jet black hair falling over your face in a roughed up lust.. I , sitting across from you on the ground These old cherry glazed wooden floors that are so familiar to us Sitting half undressed, motionless My hair in a mess, like one of those models posing in a vogue magazine Desperately waiting for something to spark between this still nature My eyes looking you up.. and down … I want you… I crave your touch That euphoric rush you give me when your skin meets mine.. I want to feel your warmth up against my body A feeling I longed to feel for so long Sometimes I wondered if love really exists? Sitting alone, envisioning, and always thinking of you Is love just a movie? It starts, and sadly ends When I see you here in front of me, I deeply reflect. I think no, never. You are the definition of love You are my beautiful distraction The way your eyes lock on mine, they paralyze me, our gaze is cemented I wonder if you feel the same about me The emotions rush through my body as I passionately look at your perfection I the butterfly, and you the lion, such strong complexities to obtain. I leisurely rise and walk towards you following your desirable gaze I get close to your body and touch your gentle face, you let me get into your lap. You make me fear, you I touch you to reassure this is real The love I have wanted for so long. I kiss your soft skin, and bite your lips gently. Your warm body up against mine makes me melt in your arms. We share deep and passionate kisses that I wish would last forever. But forever is too long and I would be a corpse decaying in your arms. This memory will always linger I only want more from you. Take me somewhere we both know we want to go I whisper words into your ear softly Words that haven’t been spoken as long as I could remember. I shudder with life every time your touch embraces my soft skin. I close my eyes and the world spins into a maelstrom of pure bliss a beautiful desire.

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Today, suddenly, I reached an absurd but unerring conclusion. In a moment of enlightenment, I realized that I'm nobody, absolutely nobody. When the lightning flashed, I saw that what I had thought to be a city was in fact a deserted plain and, in the same sinister light that revealed me to myself, there seemed to be no sky above it. I was robbed of any possibility of having existed before the world. If I was ever reincarnated, I must have done so without myself, without a self to reincarnate. I am the outskirts of some non-existent town, the long-winded prologue to an unwritten book. I'm nobody, nobody. I don't know how to feel or think or love. I'm a character in a novel as yet unwritten, hovering in the air and undone before I've even existed, amongst the dreams of someone who never quite managed to breathe life into me. I'm always thinking, always feeling, but my thoughts lack all reason, my emotions all feeling. I'm falling through a trapdoor, through infinite, infinitous space, in a directionless, empty fall. My soul is a black maelstrom, a great madness spinning about a vacuum, the swirling of a vast ocean around a hole in the void, and in the waters, more like whirlwinds than waters, float images of all I ever saw or heard in the world: houses, faces, books, boxes, snatches of music and fragments of voices, all caught up in a sinister, bottomless whirlpool. And I, I myself, am the centre that exists only because the geometry of the abyss demands it; I am the nothing around which all this spins, I exist so that it can spin, I am a centre that exists only because every circle has one. I, I myself, am the well in which the walls have fallen away to leave only viscous slime. I am the centre of everything surrounded by the great nothing. And it is as if hell itself were laughing within me but, instead of the human touch of diabolical laughter, there's the mad croak of the dead universe, the circling cadaver of physical space, the end of all worlds drifting blackly in the wind, misshapen, anachronistic, without the God who created it, without God himself who spins in the dark of darks, impossible, unique, everything. If only I could think! If only I could feel!

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Oct 20, 2013

Oct 20, 2013 at 9:58 PM UTC

fernando-pessoa-1

Today, suddenly, I reached an absurd but unerring conclusion. In a moment of enlightenment, I realized that I'm nobody, absolutely nobody. When the lightning flashed, I saw that what I had thought to be a city was in fact a deserted plain and, in the same sinister light that revealed me to myself, there seemed to be no sky above it. I was robbed of any possibility of having existed before the world. If I was ever reincarnated, I must have done so without myself, without a self to reincarnate. I am the outskirts of some non-existent town, the long-winded prologue to an unwritten book. I'm nobody, nobody. I don't know how to feel or think or love. I'm a character in a novel as yet unwritten, hovering in the air and undone before I've even existed, amongst the dreams of someone who never quite managed to breathe life into me. I'm always thinking, always feeling, but my thoughts lack all reason, my emotions all feeling. I'm falling through a trapdoor, through infinite, infinitous space, in a directionless, empty fall. My soul is a black maelstrom, a great madness spinning about a vacuum, the swirling of a vast ocean around a hole in the void, and in the waters, more like whirlwinds than waters, float images of all I ever saw or heard in the world: houses, faces, books, boxes, snatches of music and fragments of voices, all caught up in a sinister, bottomless whirlpool. And I, I myself, am the centre that exists only because the geometry of the abyss demands it; I am the nothing around which all this spins, I exist so that it can spin, I am a centre that exists only because every circle has one. I, I myself, am the well in which the walls have fallen away to leave only viscous slime. I am the centre of everything surrounded by the great nothing. And it is as if hell itself were laughing within me but, instead of the human touch of diabolical laughter, there's the mad croak of the dead universe, the circling cadaver of physical space, the end of all worlds drifting blackly in the wind, misshapen, anachronistic, without the God who created it, without God himself who spins in the dark of darks, impossible, unique, everything. If only I could think! If only I could feel!

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She was like the iron pyrite The teacher asked them to examine, and describe; Cold, dense and prickly, Difficult to love. Given the right light And a gentle handling, Oh, how she'd sparkle, But in that place, expectations and sensory overload rendered her lumpen, and resistant. Removed from her books and her inner world - all she needed - And placed in a maelstrom, She was bewildered and forlorn. Un-cooperative, they called her, And the teachers loved the other gems instead, Pretty little nuggets; Ruby, Jasper, Jade. Two years of discouragement and dislike And even the tentative sparkles had darkened. The other gems enjoyed each other And moved away from her magnetic pull, sensing difference. No outright meanness, not yet, But hints were brewing, whispers had started And she wandered alone, in the playground, Talking to the seagulls, and singing to herself. The teachers only wanted conformity And called her parents to voice concern about her lack of friends. Had they asked her, allowed her to have a say She would have told them it didn't matter But they were determined that it did, to them, if not to her, And her parents were added to the burden of people Worried and disappointed, watching. She knew now, she was different, she had always known but never minded, Now it was a problem. She didn't fit, Like that scratchy purple uniform, around her chubby waist Food didn't judge, dislike or condemn. That life ended, and a new struggle, in a new school, began. This was harder; the meanness was apparent now, Difference wasn't tolerated And someone wandering alone was a target. She found a place to hide, behind a staircase, with a book, But they found her, removed her and patrolled her only refuge Forcing her to submit to the torture. Every day was a war zone, So she found another way, and embraced ill-health, stealthily Spraying deodorant directly into her own face induced asthma attacks; and not all those ear infections were real, She was an accomplished actress. She got through it, millions do. She found her own place, her own friends in her own time. Among Onyx, Jet and Tigers Eye Her darkness didn't mark her out as different, And all that fake illness Was great prep for theatre, Where she was able to return to her inner world, And no-one cared if you feigned madness Or embraced the real thing. Difference was celebrated, The whispers now, were that she had a great stage presence, And a talent to be nurtured, Not a difference to be despised.

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Sep 17, 2013

Sep 17, 2013 at 4:35 AM UTC

The Girl who Talked to Seagulls

She was like the iron pyrite The teacher asked them to examine, and describe; Cold, dense and prickly, Difficult to love. Given the right light And a gentle handling, Oh, how she'd sparkle, But in that place, expectations and sensory overload rendered her lumpen, and resistant. Removed from her books and her inner world - all she needed - And placed in a maelstrom, She was bewildered and forlorn. Un-cooperative, they called her, And the teachers loved the other gems instead, Pretty little nuggets; Ruby, Jasper, Jade. Two years of discouragement and dislike And even the tentative sparkles had darkened. The other gems enjoyed each other And moved away from her magnetic pull, sensing difference. No outright meanness, not yet, But hints were brewing, whispers had started And she wandered alone, in the playground, Talking to the seagulls, and singing to herself. The teachers only wanted conformity And called her parents to voice concern about her lack of friends. Had they asked her, allowed her to have a say She would have told them it didn't matter But they were determined that it did, to them, if not to her, And her parents were added to the burden of people Worried and disappointed, watching. She knew now, she was different, she had always known but never minded, Now it was a problem. She didn't fit, Like that scratchy purple uniform, around her chubby waist Food didn't judge, dislike or condemn. That life ended, and a new struggle, in a new school, began. This was harder; the meanness was apparent now, Difference wasn't tolerated And someone wandering alone was a target. She found a place to hide, behind a staircase, with a book, But they found her, removed her and patrolled her only refuge Forcing her to submit to the torture. Every day was a war zone, So she found another way, and embraced ill-health, stealthily Spraying deodorant directly into her own face induced asthma attacks; and not all those ear infections were real, She was an accomplished actress. She got through it, millions do. She found her own place, her own friends in her own time. Among Onyx, Jet and Tigers Eye Her darkness didn't mark her out as different, And all that fake illness Was great prep for theatre, Where she was able to return to her inner world, And no-one cared if you feigned madness Or embraced the real thing. Difference was celebrated, The whispers now, were that she had a great stage presence, And a talent to be nurtured, Not a difference to be despised.

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Ophelia...smote egress, you are Rimbaud's: "Drunken Boat". The river you fell asleep upon found you a sea. Your bones knew no seabed--poppies, marigolds, orchids, black roses fill your eye sockets, mouth and rib cage. You substantiate what color the sea may give your lay. Its foamy waddle has signaled you to one too many climes...an orison broke open. What strain of tragedy now holds you, spine on depth, eye sockets on sky? You dove headlong into the Shakespearean maelstrom-- where mortal coil confounds, chin-up darling. Great winds fish-scale your waters, only to invert their maw. There are lines daily of sea's breadth, whereupon its creatures come single file to kiss your bone. Ophelia...wrested from river to sanguine sea, shedding trails of flesh. If bones were the eye of a needle...you've pulled through, heir to tragedy--circumnavigating your infamy.

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Nov 1, 2013

Nov 1, 2013 at 10:25 AM UTC

Ophelia and Rimbaud

Ophelia...smote egress, you are Rimbaud's: "Drunken Boat". The river you fell asleep upon found you a sea. Your bones knew no seabed--poppies, marigolds, orchids, black roses fill your eye sockets, mouth and rib cage. You substantiate what color the sea may give your lay. Its foamy waddle has signaled you to one too many climes...an orison broke open. What strain of tragedy now holds you, spine on depth, eye sockets on sky? You dove headlong into the Shakespearean maelstrom-- where mortal coil confounds, chin-up darling. Great winds fish-scale your waters, only to invert their maw. There are lines daily of sea's breadth, whereupon its creatures come single file to kiss your bone. Ophelia...wrested from river to sanguine sea, shedding trails of flesh. If bones were the eye of a needle...you've pulled through, heir to tragedy--circumnavigating your infamy.

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