"materializes" poems
I like to stare listlessly
At the night sky for long
Durations of time, as if my
Gaze will compel the stars
To align to breathtaking ends.
Alas, they stay put,budge they
Don’t, a sneer streaks my
Face as my pride’s hurt.
And a tear droplet materializes
On the corner of my eye.
Maybe the moon prefers her
Star friends to remain as they’re.
Jun 9, 2017
Jun 9, 2017 at 3:35 AM UTC
http://hellopoetry.com/poem/first-date-17/
http://hellopoetry.com/poem/first-date-ii/
http://hellopoetry.com/poem/first-date-iii/
(best read in order)
He blankets her with a mist that is fine and as pure as his postpartum soul is able to manifest. He’s sorry that she is sobbing on the dirt floor. He can’t think past the hunger that is beating upon her, which beats upon him. He is angry that his ancient predatory instincts are gaping to the fore.
For the ancient being now gently weeping on a cold dirt floor.
Why did he not recognize her? How did he get so lax in the thinking that cattle could disguise it self? A Wolf in Sheep’s clothing? Well... it’s not like he has not donned the same costume!
He had been a Protector for so long. Rising each Sunset with the challenges that bring on the most predatory beasts that hunger for pain. He, alone, has stood beside Humanity to bring the world a semblance of normality, morality, a passing moment when they thought they were King of the world… but their inflated egos were never touched by doubt.
Because of him.
But she brings him down to the basest level.
He feels…
For her
For her hunger
For her emptiness
For her utter contemptuousness
She is the creature that he has been birthed to fight. The utter savageness that she brings forth when it becomes night.
He alone, in eternity, wanders the earth to make Mortal life the one thing that is right.
She lifts her head from the cold dirt floor to stare at him. He materializes as a persona that should scare her, one that heralds Death, but his emotions are fraught with peril. She is important to him. He may have been birthed to bring Death but he was never denied that one could become his Life.
His pulse quickens, her eyes widen, her pulse quickens, he is afraid of the sight that lays bare in front of him. His fangs are buried deep in his bottom lip, he can not say a word even if his immortal soul depends on it.
She licks her lips in hesitation, maybe anticipation; she could be licking her lips because of the small droplet of blood that lingers in the corner of her mouth. He wants to touch his tongue to said lips and cheek and ear and throat and, well HELL, he’s happy to continue south… as long as his tongue is touching skin…
She looks away, briefly, and cries again. She is unable to fight past her hunger even though she has recognized the Protector.
She needs protecting too!
She’s so hungry!
But from the swelling of his body, so is he…
Nov 25, 2013
Nov 25, 2013 at 5:28 AM UTC
The setting sun has a way
of creeping up on you
with cherry red coloured dreams
nights as naughty as little gnomes
flitting about in escapades
of soft silk lusts.
Once the night embraces you
with its cloak of stars
velvet summer laziness
and tomorrows never there
its time to take the fullness of today
into the emptiness of tomorrow
and slip into that twilight zone
where all the magic materializes
on why we love these special spring days.
© Marshall Gass. All rights reserved, a month ago
Nov 5, 2014
Nov 5, 2014 at 2:32 PM UTC
I sat across from a man made of millions.
From his shiny black patent shoes to his dolphin patterned socks,
and his slicked back gray blonde hair, a color so elusive
Midas himself would find fault with designating blame,
I saw treachery.
If character were based on dress I would assign worth every time.
But people don't work that way: you must listen to what they say.
When he mentioned God and fate in the same breath as commissions and unlimited potential financially,
I went back to the socks.
Imagining the dolphins desperately trying to find someone else's socks,
someone less driven by green pieces of paper easily set aflame by
a deranged individual, someone like me,
who would not be so ludicrous, but entertained the notion,
would have more idealistic pure thought framing.
While the world runs in bounding strides to freedom from debt, from loans, from taxes, and money....stuff,
so that every "thing" materializes as a personal possession
and retirement happens at the unseemly age of 35,
but who will provide a home for the dolphins?
I would not throw my socks away as soon as the threads began to bare.
I would find some cerulean blue thread and weave in the ocean.
Jun 27, 2014
Jun 27, 2014 at 1:35 PM UTC
The Sun Is Shining Today
The Storm Has Finally Stopped
a statement says:
<we have done something yesterday
nothing like our best
just something
to stop that storm>
the statement returns true as fact
inconsequent gestures of nature
we weave
to serve an unknown wish
-made of numerous physical and non-physical senses-
so that fabric of a network
evolves itself
materializes sense
sense to fabric
fabric to sense
scientifically improbable it remains
an infinitesimal loop
unwinds when you are not there
runs within an ideally operating closed circuit
remains invisible to the factual eyes of daily lives
an etheric vitality
materialized by our definable senses of touch, of smell, of see, of taste
and some of yet undefined ones
- possibly assigned to maybe a Poetic Variable-
executable within that program of simultaneous causalities only.
So then Only then
When You Combine the patchy Network
of Things
of Beings
You Can Dance Them
Sing Them
Play Them
Make Love To Them
Become One With Them
Compose Them
but
All these on condition that
it remains as an unpacked gift
Without telling to Yourself
or to Others
or to That Storm
because
You Don’t Even Have An Intention To Stop The Storm
All you do is Wish for Sunshine so you can maybe bike tomorrow
But again
How important is it really that biking tomorrow ?
I mean when sighs and cries whirl around?
a statement says:
<you can’t stop wars by fights>
the statement returns true as fact
And
if I know that
you can stop storms by touches
touches to smells
smells to lights
lights to metals
metals to elements
elements to stars
stars to flights
flights to a breeze on my fingertips
breeze on my fingertips to an auric kiss
then
I think maybe it is **** important to keep a seemingly futile wish to bike to a beach of my dreams tomorrow
so that I can be blown away on a broken December day
and let my long hair collect dune corrals made of cosmic ray
Huh So Yeah
I can Stop Storms if I want to or Create Some!
- not because I need to for my own sake or think about it.
Mar 8, 2015
Mar 8, 2015 at 5:13 PM UTC
Scintillating depth paints the luxurious fabric
In a vista that drowns in
Its own sophistication
Thick, spicy flavor drips from the petals of
Soft indigo ink
Wetting the paper (that sweats with
Hard work and furrowed concentration,
Eyes do not waver
External cacophony mutes
The only tunes being the hymn
In the skilled artisan’s mind)
Art materializes into
Real beauty- an irrational, existing,
Hypnotizing magnificence,
A piece of pure worth, ready made-
To be sold cheaply in the local market.
Mar 10, 2014
Mar 10, 2014 at 6:02 AM UTC
Young, strong, And eager. The stallion drinks of the blue green waters. Ripples of tranquility lapping over him. He drinks in this new place, so fond of feelings that coarse through him. So fond of the peace that encircles this land.
Young, beautiful, And pure. The rider slides from atop her stallion. She lands softly, her feet sticking, catching her as they have countless times before. She ties her stallion to the old post and kneels drinking of the mesmerizing waters herself. She stands and fades off, exploring the beauty of the place.
Old, tired, And lonesome. A dusty scene materializes. A dried up waterhole left battered by the prying hands of time. Buzzards sit picking apart the final remains of a frail skeleton, still shackled to the old post he once knew well. The last drop of murky grey water sits beside a pair of one way tracks, laid down years ago.
Beauty comes and beauty grows but in time the dust will always blow.
Jul 22, 2013
Jul 22, 2013 at 6:14 PM UTC
Rising before instinct completes my sleep, rousing common sense out of bed,
I pack the car. It's so dark the moon is still drowsing.
Soon I am in the cool ocean, arms propelling me and a surfboard,
stomach submerged and chest free through white water splashes,
then crests breaking, then up and over their shoulders
to arrive at the very place where waves emerge from calm water.
At this hour there are only a handful of other dawn-patrol surfers, all Hawaiians.
Greeting with a smile of bright grace learned from the sun, and a cheerful How'z It?
brown glowing skin tattooed with small triangle patterns on strong arms, chests, backs,
emblems of kama'aina heritage and Aloha's honor.
A little talk story, sharing a laugh, and I sit up to take sentinal,
beginning the quiet meditation
searching the horizon for the sea's ever-changing intention.
Morning wakes color, with sleepy palms rubs away the world's hushed gray veil
revealing sky blue on royal aquamarine and palm-tree green silhouetting tropical canyon jade.
The mountain's gold-rimmed halo of mist is announcing dawn's imminent arrival.
She bursts over the ridge, arms showering the water with tiny pebbles of light
gold jewels skipping across the sparkling surface and turning silver.
It must be so beautifully curious from below, the whale's eye view here in their sanctuary.
First we see a mysterious dark shape, a nose, that morphs into an ever-expanding building,
that materializes into the entire magnificent whale suspended in our thin world
then arching over, she bursts the water, scattering dawn's sparkling treasure.
We surfers call with uncharacteristic exclamations, pointing in excitement,
So close we can feel the whale's contagious joy.
One Hawaiian woman slides off her board, to place her ear on the water in reverie;
hearing the Kahunas ancient Aumakua call.
Jan 3, 2013
Jan 3, 2013 at 2:34 PM UTC
True darkness materializes
On the precipice of the mourning tower
Wails of agony ring throughout chambers of antiquity
Where the souls linger in misery
A discordant choir rises up amidst the still air
And here death becomes an entity
Endless torrent of pain, death, and doom
Mindless shells of men march with hearts of gloom
Skies of grey rain tears of blood
Hope had its throat slit, face down in mud
Pointless existence
Subject to extreme animosity
Endless voids pool on the ground
******* everything down into the abyss
Fingernails splinter and break as I try to claw my way out
Nailed down in a casket, mouth sewn shut
Screaming internally
Misery smashes through me
Like a hammer through a child
I will lose everything here
At the hands of this curse
And I'm not sure I care to carry on
A broken man, once driven
Now devoid of any and all reason
To keep living
Dec 5, 2012
Dec 5, 2012 at 9:33 PM UTC
The Girl from Coronado
Dark brown eyes the brownest hair the most captivating was the faraway look in her eyes the painter
Searches for her in lost dreams she materializes on the sharp trumpet blast then she lingers as it turns
Softly as the street in front of the Saint Louis cathedral in New Orleans she was as wistful she was the
Bleeding torment held in battle field shadows her way had the razor sharp that cut through pretense to
The real the meaningful what was that certain something that held you in awe was it the southern sea
Breeze that was absorbed the enfolding touches that were exuded from her depths there are still
Waters then there is Gloria is it fondly promised like flowers floating on the tide the sweet smile that
Cuts and divides the waves like a surfer coming out of the Banji pipeline her brown hair blows softly it
Has enlightened on the breeze as fragrance unspoiled unidentifiable it enthralls as she walks the sandy
Sea swept beach in the distance she passes as a spirit cast improperly in a human role to disturbing to
Fetching she makes appearances in Celtic dreams of misfortune she brings trouble as a winged wonders
Those that are not for evil but hidden in them are clandestine secrets that open new corridors of
Simplicity that brim with honor they are the culminations of promises long deferred now they are at
The door to restore she possesses powers that are seemingly strange but they are beholding the
Glimpses she allows trigger eager disruptions the common falls before her gaze you find establishments
That seemed impossible could she be Isis presumably not but just bearer of her traits one who gives gifts
Of the natural world to artisans from normal items joy is in them as fluid emotions they suppress but
Only for the pure cause of making greater results occur the tiresome is abolished the clay is gold even
Though it be hidden from many to the few it is cherished sought and redeemed by love in a sea side
Town on the southern coast of California her alluring beauty you too can possess this just open yourself
seek the opportunity to give to others your name will be favorably spoken like the graceful girl from
Coronado
May 12, 2012
May 12, 2012 at 3:00 PM UTC
What I’ve learned is this:
when you’ve loved someone—
I mean really loved—
like ******* crazy loved,
I’m talking seeneveryinchofhisrottensoulandstilllongedformore loved,
known every glimmer of his shifty eyes and what each one means,
shared every bare ugly bruise of your past and let him heal them all,
peacefully slept with complete comfort and security in his arms,
danced at the thought of his name and grown
every second you spent with him or near him or thinking about him,
and yearned for more time to show him
your love and could never believe
for an instant
that maybe he loved you as much or
as deeply as you loved him,
like your insides could just burst
and your blessed little heart is liable
to explode at any instant with the
sappy mushy love
that looks ridiculous on anyone else
kind of loved—
when you’ve loved to the point
where you don’t watch your back
and never think he’s watching his,
where you don’t look to the past because there isn’t one,
only a wide, shiny future,
where you fall in love with every word that
drips from his mouth to yours
and every thought that materializes in that
beloved skull,
where you lose yourself and everything
you thought you knew only to realize that
you are
refined
and more you
by his side than you are alone
(and that stupid little paradox doesn’t sound ridiculous to you),
where you can sit in complete profound silence
and still manage
to know each other better for it,
where imagining life without him is a hilarious extravagant absurdity,
where you are certain that other people just will
never know a tenth of the love you have,
where waking up and driving and lunching and chatting
and the most mundane
aspects of your mundane
days make the most tender moments of your life,
where you’ve never been so content to be so vulnerable—
when you’ve loved someone like that—
completely—
the tears taste a little sweeter.
Jan 17, 2012
Jan 17, 2012 at 6:14 PM UTC
There's nothing quite like
saying hello to someone
who doesn't remember
who you are.
They tilt their head, maybe
squint their eyes,
but nothing materializes.
Your face means nothing.
Even when you saved
the world together when
you were both ten
or wrestled on old
Mrs. Snyder's yard
for an autographed
Ken Griffey Jr. card
or fell in and out
of love with the same girl
throughout the tenth and
eleventh grade.
Now your face means nothing
and a world of memory is
shattered against the soft
edges of your heart.
Maybe its troubling that
moments spent so earnestly
could be
forgotten
or the idea that you could be, too.
The truly valuable people
come like drops
of water from
a sandy canteen
so forgive me while I
pick up the pieces of
myself that broke
off with you.
Aug 22, 2015
Aug 22, 2015 at 12:38 AM UTC
They say all you need
to make a place holy is a
sacrifice and a prayer,
so here we are in the field.
I've brought you grass.
I've brought you sun and earth.
I've laid my very soul here.
I may have stumbled through
the rosary, but I think we have
a chance.
We're in the middle of it.
We're right in the middle of it,
the field, on our backs while
the sun sends our skin tingling.
The dragonflies, the faraway birds,
the little specks of dusty dirt floating
in the light.
I don't know if any of it is real, but
just let me have this. Let me have just
one moment of reverence, of peace.
This is how a soft spot materializes.
This is how we find our way at the
end. I looked over at you and saw
the eyelashes tickling your cheek.
I saw hands smoothing over the grass
and angels pouring across the milk-
blue sky. I said,
I want to be buried here. You said,
Let's be alive first.
**I still call you darling in my head. It took me a long time to learn that covenants and siren songs aren't much different at all.**
May 17, 2017
May 17, 2017 at 2:40 PM UTC
I have a friend
that has a permanent
room
in the crummiest
hotel you've never
heard
about.
He's a loner,
a thinker,
a genius,
a philosopher at times,
an idiot,
a killer,
a smoker,
a lady's man,
a wordsmith, the best of all time.
He's everything that
I'm not
yet everything that
I am.
Sometimes late at night
he calls
***"Let's go out, Chris.
Let's go out into the night."***
And I mumble back
*"Not tonight,
not ever,
you're no friend of mine."*
A big grin
materializes into his face,
I can't see it
but I feel it,
and the witty *******
goes silent.
He's always there,
sitting,
smoking his cigars,
in that cheap hotel room,
waiting for my
trips out.
When I'm out
he's always there
ready to join the fun,
and when I'm out,
really out,
out of here,
out of mind,
the ******* will leave me
on the streets
disembodied,
naked and frail,
and he'll borrow my wallet,
my I.D.
and I swear to you,
my face, my body.
(original title: My Friend) .
Jul 9, 2013
Jul 9, 2013 at 1:46 AM UTC
There's a soft blue spark
That materializes in the smallest of moments
That illuminates those that love
Whoever they may be
And we can see it, that blue glow.
Just like a fire never chooses where to burn
A spark never chooses where to find itself:
Between animal and friend;
Between fingertips during a movie neither cares for;
Between the flick of your smile
And the words on a page
Or the flash on a screen;
Between mother in mind
And child that may only be there too;
Between laughs that bubble up
When nowhere and nothing clash;
Between one here and one far,
Or one here and one gone.
We fall in love with those sparks of love
And they show us just how to do so -
Teaching you how to teach,
Showing you how to show,
And they care not for who
For what
For when
For why
For how;
They simply show.
May 11, 2017
May 11, 2017 at 9:58 PM UTC
He materializes in white, as though from cloud
out of petals and vines--bright ferns whose arms
flower and wrap as though silken angel's yarn
breathing a sheer and layered freckle-shroud
about the capacious canvas of his back
in an uncharacteristic ceremony of purity or bliss.
So capricious a beloved yet elicits a dual image
in the mind of her who's also seen him black.
Apr 16, 2012
Apr 16, 2012 at 9:17 PM UTC
rddpc your word of honor lives on
our very heart beat drum is us,
God let his heart beat forever
reign peaceful my lover divine .
~~~
He left me as I guarded silence
in shock in my prime later again.
I remained decades sunstruck
in love with this King my twin
no matter what I just do.
~~~
His shamanic drum and ink is my heart beat raising and pausing as
I burn bittersweet at the sound
of his drum beating getting closer
thus my beloved materializes
in my arms again and again
whispering "baby baby" in my ear
for hours in the same hot Atlas.
worshipping him.
~~~
{ JC felt like Rhett B in GWTHW
with Scarlet O running
to women mad for his all
instead of being true to himself and stay with me whom he truly loved
to fall in love after asking a few key questions to see me eye to eye.😂}
✓\✓\✓\__________________________
°°°
His foot steps ink and all I hear
as his familiar rose scent
tickles his chin and I see them there;
then slowly my candle is blown off.
my heart stops ✓}✓\_________
I am never alone our union warps
etched in time and space as a painting safe inside a fortress of loves sacred parameters and divine brain art.
°°°
His whispering drum drumming
remained embedded deep in my soul.
The love of my life my heart beating
he guards
His word of honor he gave to be so
and so it is
thanks Heaven for his loving ways .
~~~~
√/✓\✓\/√√ √\√\√\√\√√ \√\√\√\.
Karijinbba.
Jul 2, 2022
Jul 2, 2022 at 11:51 PM UTC
Flying above the clouds,
The elements beneath me are churning,
The Earth is metamorphosing into something greater than it once was.
I’m surrounded by a heady and heavenly bliss.
I descend from the azure blue skies in search of something greater, in search of fulfillment for my heart.
Time has bestowed me with the greatest gift of all; love.
Now I must search.
I reach out my hand; I push past the sea, the barren soil of the wasteland and the unknown thresholds of the terrene.
Pink ribbons envelop me.
Glimmering hearts surround my soul and spirit as the sky begins to turn crimson red.
Everything is changing so fast.
My eyes begin to gleam.
An ethereal beauty materializes in my midst.
Iridescent puffs of smoke form a silhouette of an animated vessel, a human of the most magnificent splendor.
Rose petals lie upon my barren and vulnerable skin.
As you are created right before my eyes, as I witness your conception, I come to know what forbearance really has in store.
I reach out my hands in the hopes of grasping your delicate skin if even for a moment.
You glow.
Your eyelids are formed.
And…?
You open them!
I’m gazing into cerulean spheres of rapture.
I’m magnetized by the gravitational pull of your body.
We’re both levitating above the ground, and like two celestial bodies we collide.
An eruption of passion creates a daffodil made of light.
It looms high above the clouds, in place of the sun.
We have effloresced.
Our bodies have bloomed at the moment of contact.
Our inflammation shall illuminate the night sky for the heavens have bestowed upon us the greatest benediction of all…
It’s love.
Just when our passion seems to be everlasting, the sky turns to darkness, ebony clouds linger and the ground beneath us begins to crumble.
We fall into an infinite abyss until the bottom swallows us whole.
Lying upon my bed, I awaken to find that you are nowhere in sight.
It is only I.
Me, myself and I.
It was just a dream.
I am forever alone…?
By, Iridescently Efflorescent
Jul 29, 2012
Jul 29, 2012 at 12:20 AM UTC
There is a line
Dividing myself from myself
I am two tormented bodies
Merged intricately into one skin
Trouble is looming
They want out and I am trying to mediate The conflict
They are tired and insecure
They want themself to themselves
And I want it all
I can see the marks on my skin
The stretching and the pulling
And the tearing apart
It cracks and flakes
And I watch me lose my faith
Fragment by fragment
There is a line
It can be felt but not seen
It is hard and bold
And obscured by fantasy
There is a line
That awaits
The tug of acceptance
Once the collision
At long last
Materializes
Into
Something real
Oct 5, 2018
Oct 5, 2018 at 1:58 AM UTC
It's hard
when my fingers yearn for the rough of your skin
I imagine my arms extending like branches on a willow
twisting and turning on street corners
to make it to you
for one last touch
It's hard
when the cold encompasses my back
facing the empty dark
and holds me still
I imagine your head buried into the nook of my neck
your heart's slow beats pounding against me as you sleep
as I wiggle under your heavy arms
It's hard
when the blinding light pierces through my eyes
as i try to regain consciousness
only to turn to my side
and see the pillow untouched
the crinkles exactly how they'd been left the night before
I imagine waking up to you pulling me closer
as if the waves carried me away in the night
waking up to your scrunched up nose and tired eyes
leaning in for a kiss
that never materializes.
Jul 1, 2015
Jul 1, 2015 at 2:37 PM UTC
In the darkness of the night,
From where comes the dove,
Materializes
Your envoy of love.
Here for your privelidge,
He fits like a glove.
Wear him like midnight,
Your envoy of love.
You can count on him.
You won't be let down.
The spectre in the night that comes to you
Is the diamond in your crown.
He's nothing but a dream,
Your imagination
Moving in the shadows of your room.
He is the part of you
That will not let go of hope.
He is everything you see,
All and much above
The highest dream you have,
Your envoy of love.
Keep him to you self.
In verse, cantillate of,
But always hide in code
Your envoy of love.
Jan 30, 2018
Jan 30, 2018 at 1:03 AM UTC
When matter reflects on itself,
consciousness materializes
into something more tangible
and realizes all of existence
is floating above its head.
Matter turned and governed
by gravity’s hands.
Spun and pulled by
creative fingers,
shaped into round colorful bodies and
tossed into blackness
to dance alone.
Some are given partners,
little moons to set their mood,
to spin their silvery light around them
and sing their songs at night
to put their children to sleep.
Some stay awake for the song,
some watch their slow dance,
and some look up at the milky sky and
wonder if matter thinks about them back.
Jun 24, 2018
Jun 24, 2018 at 4:15 PM UTC
A sweet rainbow in dreamy colours
Materializes from the whispering pool like magic
And in that storybook moment
Our fingers are entwined by hearts in torment
As they seek that elusive fusion of wish-mania
We seek each other in the blue haze
Of a morning that'd have us melt into this phase
With the shy sun in our eyes
I see yellow gardenias in a field of fragrant glory
And in the setting sun
I see a tropical angel poised for her transition
Sep 15, 2015
Sep 15, 2015 at 2:15 PM UTC
Love often materializes
Into whispered interludes
Of hazy inertia
And tender warmth
Feb 24, 2013
Feb 24, 2013 at 5:44 PM UTC
I get near crying
quite a lot
I guess
and
even when I'm feeling great
I think things would be
better if I were to be
hit by a car
right then
I always thought these things
were always in people's minds-
always seconds from a suicide,
leaving everyone behind
but I'm seeing now that
it's just me and my mind
that are are constantly searching
for an escape against time
I'm kind of avoiding facing that,
because impermanence is
such a big part of my life
and I've learned through the years
we don't change, we just become refined
so I'm fighting with myself and my
******* hungry soul
to stay or to go
but I just don't know
whatever though,
my internal dialogue
is simply
dialogue
until it materializes
Feb 2, 2014
Feb 2, 2014 at 12:42 AM UTC