"materially" poems
Hallucinations in life"s desert accompanied with my unquenchable thirst
Lacerations fade to scars to prove luck"s point that it wasn"t near the worst
Temptations conspire with times inevitable push as we all learn we"re cursed
Plantations wear us down as we are all slaves until our souls have traversed
Fascinations are shared before we hitch a ride on the grim reaper"s dark hurst
Elations are defiled like a child"s smile transformed after the last bubble"s burst
Cremations are compiled as ashes drift away off cliffs and are forever dispersed
Vibrations guide us through the universe so please join me as we dive head first
Take my hand my friend and lets go be free
No need to worry about having any eyes to see
trust me as our souls dance in the wandering sea
And accompany me through this glorious eternity
We are Universally linked paralleled to every degree
Soul searching for the destination that they call journey
Brave souls are blessed with this human shell as a test
A life materially possessed leads to a lonely empty nest
So don't waste time depressed on this short epic quest
You"ll forget all the rest when our souls have coalesced
Nov 21, 2012
Nov 21, 2012 at 6:16 PM UTC
Soldiers sown in the field
And bodies usually are the yield
Bodies of strangers , friends and
colleagues
Leaving survivors with long lonely
monologues
Rendering life without taste or feel.
In this clash of elephants
The casualties include animals ,
civilians , even infants.
That is to say but the least .
Vultures gather in circles to feast
On the remains of once beautiful
living beings .
Where then is the profit of war ?
When rebuilding cost so much
more
Both humanly and materially .
Sep 10, 2014
Sep 10, 2014 at 4:09 PM UTC
This one day I was awalkin' down the road,
to Chicago, winter o'seventy, worst in thirty years,
'saw this young fella in a army jacket, shiverin',
his feet was cold.
I walked up and said hello, you don't know me,
but I saw your feet was cold.
I got some dry socks and bread bags that'll
keep'm dry, you can have 'em if you will.
He said thank you, sir, real polite, but
cold feet is what I'm gettin' past,
gettin' over it wit m'mind. A guru taught me.
Ain't working is it?
I saw your feet was cold.
Nah, it ain't, now yah mention it, and I'm hungry.
So he bought me a burrito, and I told him about angels,
and how some say cold feet are symbolic,
one told me once,
many's the wish gone awanting
for lack of a reason to try.
I had cold feet, back then.
walkin' to Chicago, tryin' to. Again,
wit my mind. And bread bags, this time.
Angels, I believe in, they all are helpful as can be,
within parameters, y'understand, but evil angels,
ain't no such a thing.
Not no more any how. Jesus fixed it, came and saw,
damright, conquered war by loving and forgiving,
All while the Iron-legged montrosity from Italy,
was squishin' Jews and Christians in mud
that stuck like clay to the Iron-legged beast.
Ironic, ain't it?
You don't know? Whoa. These are the last days,
all the sealed up stuff that lion's den guy
got from the angels, messages from YodHeyVodHey,
Jesus's our father, from the prayer,
on earth as in heaven? There ain't no evil angels
in any heaven you ever imagined somebody imagined.
Loki, don't count. There's jokers in heaven.
Probably.
Mark Twain imagined a hellish heaven,
but saw no evil angels there.
They're mythic materially, literal wills o'the wisp.
The idea of evil hybrids,
that was then.
This now, now angels are all they ever were,
messages in the medium.
Mediums are something past medium now, hot or cold,
media-evil memes can manifest from a mob in the medium,
but they are bubbles,
right? Professional testers of the patience of the saints,
protesting the end of time,
so what?
Oct 10, 2018
Oct 10, 2018 at 10:24 PM UTC
Your reality controls my life
With something, which binds
My fleshly existence and my third eye,
Despite self and despite logic,
Your sharp-edged screams
And this love focused
Only on materially living things
In self-assertion
Keep me locked
Within whatsoever limits.
Your emotions and conations
Are the embodiment of your ideas.
Your love is enclosed within them,
They are inhabiting your life.
You are the follower
Of your own creed.
You need to be
Freed from your own illusion
And from your own constraints.
I can see you
Between visible and invisible,
Ceaselessly aspiring to universal Divinity,
Trying to reconcile your inner contradictions,
Absolutely saturating your feelings,
Your intuitive vision
And your vibrational essence of thought.
I can see your realm of realism,
Imprisoned in the identity of your thought.
I am the object of your senses
And the essence of your beatitude,
While you try to keep safe
The word's meaning.
Dec 17, 2011
Dec 17, 2011 at 4:52 PM UTC
*humid sounds of city stillness
wafting warmly, quietly
through bedtime screens
melancholy windows open
deep within my soul
don't know why...
love is allowed to fade
from mundane view
treasure unrealized
nurturing appreciation
materially displaced
don't know why...*
Jun 18, 2014
Jun 18, 2014 at 2:09 AM UTC
Soldiers sown in the field
And bodies usually are the yield
Bodies of strangers, friends and colleagues
Leaving survivors with long lonely monologues
Rendering life without taste or feel
In this clash of elephants
The casualties include animals, civilians, even infants.
That is to say but the least.
Vultures gather in circles to feast
On the remains of once beautiful living beings.
Where then is the profit of war?
When rebuilding cost so much more
Both humanly and materially.
Mar 14, 2015
Mar 14, 2015 at 12:14 AM UTC
8:55 or even 9:30
but surely Pm...
I dont remember the time
i never dont remember it!
Its crowdy over there
some mobs moving from shop to shop
listening to hip hop music of babbling society.
I sat on that rock beneath the pillar
waiting for the bus...watching the time[but i dont remember it]
listening to the silent tickling of cruel watch
innovating the ideas to **** time.
A man sat infront of me
i dont know from how much time he was there
i dont even remember if he was there before me
but he was there.
He wore white dress but its not white...
its ashy black.
His stomach is more like a bowl
liberating starving howls of hunger.
Beside him is a women
who is as thin as a grasshopper
and she wore no pant or anything covering
but she wore a long shirt...long enough...
and she got that secret ingredient
in long pocket of her rusted shirt
that gummed his interest from the beginning.
Give it to me- asked he
she ignored
Give it to me...he raised his voice
he raised his spirits
she...moved a little like a worm
and taken the thing from her pocket...as long as her hand
as her eyes scintillated like an angel
an angel trying to reveal her glory
she took out some powder
a black powder...not gun powder
some tobacco powder.
She powdered it...even powdered it with her thumb
grinned it...and finally
raised her neck and opened her mouth...ate it
elegantly
...i can see the flow of powder through her pharynx
and then she smirked...she didnt noticed me seeing
she didnt noticed anyone seeing her...but she smirked.
I love her smirk.
Then the man asked him to give him this powder
but she ignored him
forced her to give it...but she repelled
then she gave it...gave it being helpless
and then she smirked...not caring the loss of her property.
He wrapped it in a paper
and kept it deep in his pocket...a corner
where everyone keep their gold.
Horns...
your attention please
bus number 6712 arrived at platform number 3...
we raced... towards the bus
following the rhythms of horns
and thats it...
thats the final time i saw her...materially!
Jul 11, 2010
Jul 11, 2010 at 3:42 AM UTC
I once wrote that I liked your posessions left at my house,
because it reassured me that you're coming back.
It's only now that i realize,
with your clothes still at my house,
but also the knowledge that you are not coming back,
That though i can hold onto you materially,
it means nothing more than that
alone.
Apr 2, 2014
Apr 2, 2014 at 2:49 PM UTC
I am brought to you
in my dreams
again tonight.
Why does your ghost choose to haunt me
in a way I can't control?
in a way I can't escape?
in a way I do not wish to go
a path I couldn't choose to break
and **** the stones you stand on!
**** the stones beneath you.
You're the ghost;
and haunted, strucken, disturbed
I have fallen
beneath you.
beneath the vision of my
memories of you
It's true
I belong to the death of you.
and where is my escape!?
I cannot bear the thought
[tonight]
of seeing you again,
seeing your shadows inside of my head
when materially
eternally
It's clear to see
you're perished to me
to everywhere we have and have not been.
but I bring myself to you again.
Oct 26, 2011
Oct 26, 2011 at 12:06 AM UTC
I’m afraid of entropy. A thing so fearsome, it can only be alluded to with the letter S. It is haunting; it looms silently over everything, only expressing itself materially in the mess that litters itself on the edges of highways, in a crowded mall, in a subway full of disparities, in images of landfills. Images so foul and beyond our imagination, they look almost like artful depictions. We find beauty in them, abstract them to colors and shapes and assure ourselves in the efficacy of our ideology. Chaos surrounds us, makes a necklace around the circumference of the ocean and hangs upon the necks of its oldest inhabitants. The shell of a sea turtle looks like infinity. It carries the resonance of a pool of water, an entanglement of snakes, a rat king, a mangled mess of necklaces. Unbreakable chains. Putrid and infinite. The stuff that emerged from Pandora’s box. We yearn for boxes, we want to contain our sins, our sorrows, our shame. We look for safety within four walls, in the shadows of concrete structures, in straight edges, things we can count. But silently, we despair, because we know, for all our effort, it does not suffice. Everything around us builds in complexity and in inextricability, linking the mother and child to the predator and prey, holy things become impure, ugly things become common in our collective imagination. We try to filter out the horrid symbols completely, but they linger like an albatross hung round our necks. Our spines weaken, our postures relax. We feel the humidity and the stench of garbage follow us to the countryside. Poppies lined in gunpowder and pain. ***** tinged with the scent of blood. Products spring forth from the ground, but they aren’t the bounty promised by our ancestors. They are made of plastic and tin. They long to be recycled, made homogenous again, but that fearsome letter. Will always have its way.
Jan 31, 2021
Jan 31, 2021 at 2:53 PM UTC
Alzheimers:
Noun
A progressive mental deterioration that can occur in middle or old age, due to generalized degeneration of the brain.
I remember, but I'm reluctant to use that word,
Because you are incapable of defining a memory.
You now know a memory as a fictional reality,
From which you formulate your world.
To me, It's as vivid as what's right before me.
The past, that is.
The only contrast?
I'm able to distinguish it from now.
I reminisce on the moments,
The ones where you'd call me your "special little girl,"
The ones where you'd calm the discord arising in the room.
The ones where you could recall my name,
The ones where you could identify my countenance.
I miss your smile,
The one illuminated by stories of the past.
I miss your stories,
Those of war,
Those of love,
Your memories,
They're gone.
Now, everything has changed,
You still respire,
But for no purpose anymore.
The air you inhale does not keep you alive,
It keeps you existing.
I still see you,
Materially, you're there,
But mentally,
You've been gone for years.
I can't determine if it's easier this way,
Or if it'd be of greater benefit for the both of us if you also retired physically.
It's not fair to you,
It's not fair to me.
The most arduous task I'll ever document will be this:
I am grieving your loss,
But you're still here.
I know this life is no longer worth living to you,
And although the life you've lived is priceless,
I wish it didn't have to reach this bitter variation of an end.
I always pictured you in further parts of my life.
My wedding day.
I'd dreamed of you there to meet my husband,
And soon enough, my children,
But I can't have that.
Not all wishes come true,
And I've yet to accept that fact.
But it's time for you to leave,
You want to go back home.
I want you to find peace,
But I'm scared to let you go.
I'm not upset,
I'm scared,
I'm hurt.
It's not your fault,
You are too.
The blames to give,
To this condition,
That wrongfully affected you.
Though you've forgotten me,
You'll never leave my mind.
I hope you know I'll always love you,
Even when you leave my side.
Feb 14, 2018
Feb 14, 2018 at 7:02 PM UTC
My resolution this year is to love you.
Not more than last year.
But to love you.
Cause only you can determine the depth.
And posible the worth.
But my resolution will be to love you.
And in doing it.
It will confuse you.
Cause you'll be amazed of the things I will do.
When so much time and energy will be coming to you.
It might be materially done.
Probably not in ways you know.
But whatever it is?
Your face will light up with a glow
Smile.
Love's coming at you.
Jan 1, 2013
Jan 1, 2013 at 11:01 AM UTC
screen shocker,
clean talker,
no mean stalker,
fleece offered,
a peace offer,
so soft,
Unbothered,
chief taught her,
don't trust a falsified fabric,
that's when they stormed the gate,
swarms of locusts filled with hate,
it was too late,
blood painted the palace,
blood stain don't come out of,
carpets and drapes,
hate don't discriminate,
shows up in fleece falsified fabrics,
***** for the addicts,
*** for the nymphos,
message in a bottle,
floats swiftly across the ocean,
want and need,
words for devotion.
materially I see,
past the oak trees,
past you and me,
to a comfy new couch,
laying flat on my tummy,
stab the knife in my back,
my eyes were closed,
showered in roses,
blood red,
swells,
I'm dead.
Jan 27, 2020
Jan 27, 2020 at 1:22 AM UTC