"merges" poems
.
A poet's heart isn't like any other...
It's the tears that trickle with radiance through words.
It's a treasure trove that hides but longs to
be found.
It's a book shelved high that wants to
be read.
It's the freest of all birds caged but
unbound...
A poet's heart isn't like any other...
It doesn't beat to the capable strokes of the artist.
It doesn't pump in the most vibrant of
colours.
It doesn't wield a paintbrush to
translate its thoughts.
But it can see through the eyes of
painters...
A poet's heart isn't like any other...
It doesn't conform to the conventional parameters of lyrics.
It doesn't bind itself to the requirements
of musical harmony.
It doesn't follow the conventions of
genres.
But it sings its voice loud without
restrictions of melody...
A poet's heart isn't like any other...
It's an open secret, that whispers in metaphoric codes.
It's an exploding universe, that merges
back into galaxies.
It's a sought after painting, that boasts
of unfathomable beauty.
It's an everlasting song, that echoes
within the poet that embodies...
Jan 19, 2015
Jan 19, 2015 at 10:54 AM UTC
~ ⚘ ⚪ ⚘ ~
And so the Pu'erh and Jasmine Lily
pearls are covered, my attention on
the Phoenix Eye pearls, and I peel back
the foil of a small handful. Ainhana had
carefully remove the infuser and I pour
in the pearls, listening as they gently
hit the glass.
~ ⚘ ⚪ ⚘ ~
As soon as Ainhana places the infuser
back in the tea *** I turn the sand-dial
and watch the cream sands run, and the
pearls steep. I dare not let it run for the
full five minutes - I find the perfect brew is
made in three. The pearls now unfurl, the
green leaves now floating. The clear water
turns into the colour of the finest champagne.
~ ⚘ ⚪ ⚘ ~
After three minutes, Ainhara pours me a cup,
the aroma itself puts me more at ease.
'Do not waste it,' I tell her, holding the
handle and saucer. 'Such fine pearls can
be steeped twice, and I will make sure that
I treasure every single cup.'
'Yes, My Lady,' She says with a curtsy.
~ ⚘ ⚪ ⚘ ~
With my eyes closed, I blow away some
steam and proceed to sip short and brief.
It is a pleasure that is most welcome, indeed!
Teeming with the fires of the Phoenix itself
and caressing my tongue with floral sweetness.
A delicious moan escapes me as I relax in
my Summer Throne.
~ ⚘ ⚪ ⚘ ~
My breathing is calmed as I look at
the horizon with redolent eyes.
The choirs sing as I drink such fine
ambrosia! By a cup of Pearls, mine
own eyes feel inspired, as I think of
the lovely vision that is the Phoenix
that is born of the lotus.
Adieu, stresses of Court!
Adieu, plagues of doubt and anger!
Thy Queen is now jocund dove.
~ ⚘ ⚪ ⚘ ~
'Truly the finest Jasmine Pearls I've
had in years!' I beam. 'Be sure to share
this with my fellow Kings and Queens.
Especially Queen Kim. In such a golden
hour, we shall become Dream Children,
to be lost in gardens of distant China.'
'Yes, My Queen.' Ainhara waves her hand,
Semui and Ilazi now resume play.
~ ⚘ ⚪ ⚘ ~
As I sip once again, the summer
showers come. Lo! My gazebo
glistens! Cleansed by the light,
and life for my fields of my
fair gardens.
~ ⚘ ⚪ ⚘ ~
This blend cleanses the fire of my heart.
This blend casts out sorrows for me to
drink beauty.
~ ⚘ ⚪ ⚘ ~
A liquor the shade of champagne with
the flames of life budding from a
delicate flavour.
~ ⚘ ⚪ ⚘ ~
The Phoenix merges with me, for I
am the star of the morn that graces
my Aurelinaea!
~ ⚘ ⚪ ⚘ ~
Such a blend of elegance in my tongue,
a heavenly euphony. How I'm forever in
awe of the power of
my Jasmine Pearls.
~ ⚘ ⚪ ⚘ ~
Aug 4, 2018
Aug 4, 2018 at 7:49 AM UTC
Manila,
Manila,
Your bustling streets vibrate with the rumbling of the jeepneys
and the hollers of the drivers as they say,
“Pasahero diyan, kasya pa, kasya pa!”; (Any passenger there, some seats are still free!)
Your nights twinkle with the Christmas lights
that surround every tree around the Meralco building
when September begins;
Your endless traffic jams keep McDonald’s and KFC alive
twenty-four by seven
where traffic enforcers dodge cars
and vans
trucks and tricycles
and jeepneys and bicycles
while dancing to the rhythm beating in their own ears
with a smile and a salute to all the drivers
from dawn to dusk;
The noise awakens the outskirts of your city
filled with people who never fails to smile
even when the storm pirouettes like a tempestuous ballerina,
where children watch the roads
transform into this ocean of black water
and small wooden boats become the means of transportation;
paddling in between houses
as the adults try to go to work;
where chickens waddling upon roofs
and cats chasing rats
become the best forms of entertainment
but Manila,
your lingering smell of cancer
comes with the dark blue starless sky
telling people to grip their bags until it merges with their bodies.
Manila, say good night
while they hold it tight
protecting it from the dark humid air
where thieves come out to
thumb down unscrutinised objects
from shallow pockets
by the flickering lamps
across the blazing red and emerald green lights
you see less
and less
and less
faces
as the Sun sinks and says good bye.
Stop
and try to tranquilise yourself.
Your city is now lead
by a blood-thirsty leader.
Apologies from gunshots overpower the cries of help from your people.
Manila,
ignore them
and sleep well.
Let the truth decay
while lives burn and vanish.
Prayers cannot save your mutinous ignominy.
Halcyon days are over
but
Manila,
you are still a beautiful city.
Your resilient people
overflows with hospitable hearts.
Their faces plastered with big smiles
as they welcome us for you
and say, “Mabuhay!” (Long live!)
proud and mighty.
Offering their minds on banana leaf plates to everyone who visits,
Giving away their hearts in small loot bags to everyone who leaves,
The Pearl of the Orient Seas
was my hood.
Manila,
despite your lack of snow
and intense weather swings,
You are
and will always be
my home.
Apr 7, 2017
Apr 7, 2017 at 4:54 PM UTC
Another Version
Hartley Forde
You can’t see the wind,
But that old mango tree,
Outside my window,
tell me it’s there..
.
I never travel with a raincoat,
Even though I hate getting wet,
Then here comes the aches and pain
And I started to wonder,
was it because I got a little insane..
I thought that I could
Have run faster than it pours
I haven’t heard of
any aircraft that outrun a jet plane yet,
But, not so anymore,
I never leave my coat and cane,
When I am on a stool,
Oh dear, what has happened to me?
Am I aging? I am not young anymore,
Nor grey, nor old: for age is just a number,
But when the toil of the day
Merges with the aches and pain
With sighing sounds I start to wonder:
I still dance the night away, with my social tunes,
And waltz across the floor to all-time favorite of Strauss
See how I step back in time with the reggae beat,
Lighter than a feather on my feet,
Smiling, with my pearly teeth from ear to ear:
Life just isn’t fear: because age is just a number
That’s when the rubs and oil granny left me:
Come alive again in the neck of time,
to soothe the pain of my aching joints
I smile once again and said
“Oh dear, what do they say again,
Age is just a number and life begins at forty,
Because, I am just starting to be naughty:
Downhill !
written by:
Hartley Forde
Sep 19, 2018
Sep 19, 2018 at 6:48 PM UTC
A most pious man
whose well-tempered music
brushed the cobwebs
from the throne of God
Evolution was made manifest
across deep time
these lyrical figures
achieve the same purpose
in the space between the morning star
and the dawn
A fallow field
is sewn with pearls
a moonlit beach
illuminated by shadow
every scrape of the fiddler's bow
merges mind with the present
harvests the meaning
in the moment
The composer
that good man
was
for a time
church organist at St. John's
its notable steeple leaning
all askew
as a rebuke against God
or perhaps the drunken architect
A finger of candlelight
plays across the manuscript
a fugue echoes
through the still church
And though no living person
on that still winter's night
shares the organist's solemn delight
the stirring mass of possibility
that is posterity
awaits
Oct 9, 2016
Oct 9, 2016 at 5:49 PM UTC
First star channels
a hymn from a hammock
Leave a trail for me
in the new grass
I will weave back around it
as I trace the code of our pasts
I will glide back through
Like two snakes
Each print of my feet
a press on fresh cells
Merges me with you back
seeping to the soils
Keep speaking to me through the fire through the clouds
through the first body of light in a quickly darkening sky
In that space, we deny
all that is fear from dying
From here, there’s only “feel”
And from everywhere, is “Love”
More.
Jan 5, 2022
Jan 5, 2022 at 9:01 PM UTC
and I would give everything I have to see your eyes light up like streetlamps and you know that time in summer where the steady glow from daylight merges into night time and the breeze dances along the leaves of trees too tall like ballerinas; so gentle if you blink you’ll miss the sway of them? that’s what you remind me of.
you are a glow, an indian sunset and I long to be the sea your sun shine kisses and when your glow transcends into moonlight I long to be the stars who are accompanied by your effervescent light night after night and you know to me you will always be a god **** sunset when you should be rainfall: you pour down on everything I love and leave puddles; you cause unapologetic floods in the crevices of my collarbones and attach your saltwater to the follicles of my hair and you warp the words on the pages of love letters I never sent and when you fall down my cheeks my teardrops and your raindrops will merge and for a moment we will become one and that’s all I’ve ever wanted. to be one with you. to be a god **** indian sunset in your illuminous eyes.
I keep running through the hallways of my mind and your voice is bouncing off the walls and echoing straight through my chest and there’s a thudding that gets louder and louder, like bongo drums, every time and I’m pretty sure my heart is now a gallery of us, open for public consumption and they can walk along the hallways and appreciate the beauty of our profound love like you never could.
one day you will find someone who melts your heart into your veins until it feels like the oxygen around your body is trapped and screaming for you to try to breathe, try to breathe harder and you’ll scream for them and they’ll stop returning your calls and there’ll be no texts and everything you once had will sink – almost in slow motion, almost as intangible as the idea that I loved you harder than anyone ever could – a ship where you’re the only person aboard and you’ll be watching an indian sunset like you watched their fingertips trace the curvature of your hips for the last time and you’ll realise in that moment that they were your indian sunset and man, don’t you just wish for some rainfall?
Jan 25, 2016
Jan 25, 2016 at 9:31 PM UTC
The heat is coming down
Like a car playing chicken
Except all you can do is stand there and get hit
Over and over again
Until it merges with your skin, your body
It stays with you like a second skin
Like some sort of sickness
Water is your pain reliever
Air conditioning is but a temporary cure
Because as soon as you leave
The heat is right outside
Waiting for you.
Jul 8, 2014
Jul 8, 2014 at 12:30 PM UTC
I crave to graze
Your lips with mine,
Until our touch
Merges into a dance so slick—
Our lips, slipping and sliding in perfect sync.
Aug 5, 2024
Aug 5, 2024 at 11:52 PM UTC
~
*Lift the veil from a grayscale morning. Vividly imagistic. An odalisque no more.
Her shape beneath the gown is a foreign land, a series of quiet revelations. Its pattern manifests as pinpricks of light perforating the shirred fabric of his heart.
The preponderance of dream in her eyes becomes a call and response evoking purely imaginary spaces. The contained chemistry is beautifully insular, monochromatic.
And there her lips. Into claustrophobic kiss. This lower register of love comes in unadorned, subtle colorings like the darkest part of night.
One thousand shades of gray.
One single light of white.
And everything merges in the night.*
~
Nov 24, 2023
Nov 24, 2023 at 11:47 AM UTC
Life!
Life is not about
Telling jokes on other peoples behalf
Behalf!
The bottle is empty or full of liquid
Liquid!
The primal message of growth needs moist
Moist!
Merges with at least two body heats infatuation
Infatuation!
Ergo: life, behalf, liquid, moist, infatuation===> The middle age is probbably the most magical stage of life
where infatuation absolutely and undoubtedly (will) occurs.
Jul 27, 2015
Jul 27, 2015 at 9:55 AM UTC
Love is like a river floating down stream
Just when the water stills, it merges with another
The rivers play, tossing the water around
Unbeknownst of the waterfall that's tumbling down
Together they fall, becoming one,
It's scary to fall, damage is done.
I've fallen before it's sad to say
Sometimes the river doesn't quite make the bay
But i hope and i pray that this river lasts
For i think I've found true love at long last.
Aug 18, 2015
Aug 18, 2015 at 11:40 AM UTC
what makes a person worthy or worthless?
murmuring burden and hearse certain curses
first in the furnace for the hurt or the nervous
on verges of searches for earthly purpose
what makes a people deceiving and evil?
mistreating their equal and beating the feeble
bleeding of demons and beasts of the lethal
there's a reason to believe in eden of peaceful
what makes a person worthy or worthless?
versus urges emerge first on the surface
bird of the furthest turns and then merges
on verges of surges of a worthy purpose
Sep 21, 2015
Sep 21, 2015 at 5:27 PM UTC
I admire you.
The honesty, the purity
The seconds of happiness
The moments of passion
How does this moment last forever?
Without secrecy...but the same intimacy.
How does one feel?
How should we react?
What is right doesnt mean it will lead to happiness.
What is wrong doesnt mean its worth loosing what is.
But how do we know?
We dont.
Its all risks. A risk worth taking?
A risk worth fighting for?
Whatevere it was...
All it took was a single spark.
All it takes is a singe spark.
A single spark that set ablaze not just the heart.
A spark felt throught.
It never felt so good to be on fire.
But how does a spark end?
Pour water on it?
No. Not this kind of spark.
This is one that merges.
Before it dies out,
It catches fire with someone elses spark.
Fight fire with fire.
And all you get is a bigger fire.
Could the flames burn for eternity?
Die out in a day?
But, how did the spark catch on this much?
Whats so special?
Sirens preserve theirs under the moonlight.
Where the smoke creates the plantes.
The planets then orbit the earth.
Fall down and blaze up the fire again.
The Sparrow is a little more chaotic and less poetic.
She lights up her home, but she keeps adding the twigs.
Does she destroyed her own home?
Or has she created a weapon?
All it takes is a single spark,
To start a fire, a revolution, a war
And the most important thing of all.
To start the shimmerin your eye.
Nov 3, 2019
Nov 3, 2019 at 5:46 PM UTC
You find yourself thinking in color. It permeates through every inch of what you know. Thoughts get processed in them and translated by it. Although I favor the one that shines most bright, I barely claim it. I lack of it. In fact, I come to deny it, to exclude it, rather than make it my own.
Lets think through color. Nelson lives in the reflective imposition of it. She strips it down and eats it whole. She hugs its core and stares right at it. She owns it, unlike the string of light I keep refusing.
He, she, they, constructed this. We, you, them, distort it, reshape it, bend it up, and cut it down.
It is the only lineage that connects us all. Dickinson saw the strength of the grass like your mom did and with the vision you do. But, color gets lost in translation. They used Doves to instill fear and swordsmen saw Paper as a sign of truce.
It hurts as well. Obsidian carries pain within. Marks on his back from a remote past, a past that is still dragged to the present. Obscure in its presence. Regarded as biologically distinct. Yet, we now know better, or pretend to.
Blends. Blends in, it merges, fuses, makes new. Transforms. Distorts. She made me see the core once, and it bleeds.
Not the primary but the others, from distant lands on a new canvas, filling in the outlined sketch.
Mar 18, 2017
Mar 18, 2017 at 6:17 AM UTC
Blue hills yet again beacon
in a language
my spirit understands
so very well.
I trek alone,
prompted by
the most sublime love
brimming in my being
that makes my life
less of a puzzle.
dreamily I move
following in my mind
a subtle music
that seems to me
is the greatest reward
above all else in this world.
No method
to value its worth
is yet invented,
is there a need?
The path winds up
I drink foaming green
with my eyes,
jungle orchids of various kind,
play their orchestra
blending fragrances
with finesse.
the music
playing in my mind,
merges with it;
real magic is within us
yet again I realize.
Two jungle babblers
catch my eye,
cuddling closely
preening each other
In a world so deceptive
I cannot but wonder:
a love so mature
or a parting gesture?
I ponder a moment,
in silence
about the vagaries of life
before my ascent.
Dec 14, 2013
Dec 14, 2013 at 10:09 PM UTC
i am grateful for our silences
thankful- that we can just sit together
comfortable with not talking, no pressure-
no need to think
of intelligent things to say
we can just sit back
and watch the sunlight play
hide and seek with the waves
its nice
how you can listen to my mindvoice
and complete my self-talk
and interrupt my thoughts
and ingest them with yours
like a seed
that breeds and grows and merges
symbiotic with mine own
and if ever we talk
i love how we can stop
midsentence
and then when we meet
after years of separation
pick up exactly where we left off
without missing a beat
get right into it
-Vijayalakshmi Harish
21.09.2012
Copyright © Vijayalakshmi Harish
Sep 21, 2012
Sep 21, 2012 at 12:47 PM UTC
Every time
I start anew,
or decide
to leave,
without fail I arrive
at a new beginning.
Every start
is an end-
of something.
Each arrival,
culminates in a departure,
fallen in to the cycle of
'samsara'
vagrant mind, plays
creates illusions;
ends and beginnings.
When the karma wheel completes its circles,
without thinking, consciousness merges with
the ocean of eternal being
arrivals and departures mean nothing,
If
consciousness is still and unmoving, in the point between
birth and death.
Oct 20, 2012
Oct 20, 2012 at 8:44 AM UTC
Stroking
<6:56 Am>
*this petite gesture, glorious in effect,
impervious to aging, speaks volumes
of storied nuance and sun powerful to believers,
inherent messages much refined by its singularity
all that can be, will be, transporting the living,
calming effervescence by simplest of motion implanted,
its sensory powers long lingering, instantly, uncovers
the furtive child in us all, tho well we hide it
stroking my woman’s body when errant dreams,
disturb the early morning scheming, returning a placid,
to her steady breathing, exhaling the disturbing,
erasing the fearful that wanders inside our night boundaries
stroking the cheek, of my six year old granddaughter,
pulling back the hair locks that impede her vision,
the whirlwind passes, her body sedates, and her
totality merges into mine, born, borning a Godlike oneness
these fingers air the words that my chest pervade,
there is power galore in their communicative physicality,
but nothing more powerful than skin upon skin, in motion,
continuous, circular soothing the giver and the receiver equally*
<7:09 AM>
Jun 9, 2023
Jun 9, 2023 at 7:19 AM UTC
Dawn sparks with a silent scream
Drawn through the matrix into this dream
Without delay we gasp for air
The soul is invisible, the flesh is bare
What is life but an impending death
A drowning pool where we struggle for breath
We take it in but we can’t hold on
We fade like footprints out on the lawn
A fleeting moment this one night stand
From nowhere to somewhere and back again
Why can’t we remember, why can’t we forget
Why should we perceive the end as a threat
The essence of spirit merges with the physical
We search for meaning, we embrace the mystical
But in the end we fall asleep alone
Yet this one-night stand we gladly condone...
Aug 29, 2016
Aug 29, 2016 at 5:52 PM UTC
The river, her vigor sublimated, is a thoughtful flow
after the daring dive head on from the pinnacle of the cliff,
madly arrogant roaring rush through the dense woods
in spate during torrential monsoons muddy red,
satiated now, at ease, meditative, inner currents subdued.
These planes are different, the river an uncanny imitation of a pond,
the white swan, she keeps still, unfazed by the pulls to four sides
falling in love with the enigmatic pink lotus, my witness
that blooms alone, in the marshy shallows, only for her to fall in love.
Amazing is the swan's prowess,she makes the mighty river
accept her ease, wise tranquil pace and brings to a slow down
little by little, listening to the inner music,which is oh! haunting
the river now comes to trance yogi like, in sync with the
foaming green waves of trees along both the banks,
the whisper of wind to coconut leaves,if you listen
is the mystic mantra, "Ï am that..I am that..I am that"
wisdom isn't alien, don't look for it atop only the mountains
it's in the wind's hands,on the lap of land and in water's prompt,
what space evokes when one merges seamlessly in nature's divine ,
the song one hears silent within, echoes aloud in nature's chant.
My heart is ruled only by her, the white swan.I realize.
May 5, 2015
May 5, 2015 at 10:14 AM UTC
On the riveting tiger skin,
intricate tantric motifs
nature has deftly sewn,
indicative of the mystery
of communion predicted
by the stars, the fish in
intergalactic oceans
that dream beyond time,
her lush, **** body spreads
in anticipation of the union
foretold,in palm leaf scrolls of yore
the ancients wrote, as revealed to them,
defying all human logic.
Shiva, merges with Shakthi
Lingam, the ******* plough of creation
seeks Yoni, the fertile awakened
feminine soil that awaits sowing.
The churning of the milky sea begins
in excited, repitative, motions
till nectar secretes, bringing sublimation.
Then begins transformation,
she becomes the devine lust
of the universe, the receiver of pollen,
to create, proliferate, sustain and spread,
the circle of mystery widens every moment.
The tiger skin on which she lies
before him assumes its grand version now,
it's the sky, without a beginning or end,
she now is the drawing of the universe
reduced to the symbolism of female body,
a pure white piece of cloud, taken by wild wind
above hills, dales, that in course of circumnavigation
gets pregnant, then, rains in torrents over the earth.
the union, an energy in waves, spreads
creating fertile imagination, in all beings
earth in green pulsates, with the universe,
the rhapsody resulted is in all colors.
Jun 17, 2015
Jun 17, 2015 at 8:19 AM UTC
how is it with you everything feels natural and right?
I didn’t think I could find someone I could talk to
without my heart fluttering uncomfortably in my chest
like a bird locked in a cage, just yearning to be free
wanting the conversation to end
do you know my heart flutters with you--
with a strange happiness?
I always believed love should feel like a release
and not a restriction
but it was difficult when with every soul
I find absolutely no pull
no connection
tell me this--
can you feel it too?
because I’m constantly in awe of this, of you
I’m left with wonder at our intertwined existences
how suddenly it could happen,
and how surprisingly right
nothing is forced or clashing
it simply merges and flows
there are some things too wonderful
for our finite minds to comprehend
that perhaps our souls just know.
Jun 6, 2017
Jun 6, 2017 at 10:53 AM UTC
Where is your faith
in this world gone awry?
It got lost
in translation
between you and I.
Words we hear and words we say
set their sights on
mindful play,
and everything that
we are taught
merges with our
worldly thought.
That is why
the Savior said
heed my words upon your hearts,
for that is where my kingdom starts.
Apr 10, 2016
Apr 10, 2016 at 9:41 AM UTC