"motioning" poems
When I found my voice
suddenly everything had meaning
I found my purpose
thoughts were no longer random
but a systemized way of motioning
dreams into reality
My voice had been lost somewhere
in the dungeon of self-doubt,
had to free myself, had to escape in
pursuit of happiness
along the way,there were battles
encountered and obstacles to
overcome
But my focus was centered on success
not on will-power it wouldn't be enough to face the rough
terrain of disappointment and words that break
I had to master courage from within
while feeling confident fighting off
conflicted ideas of those that looked down
on me with lowered eyes as if i didn't matter
I couldn't settle, I didn't,kept going and growing
I acquired knowledge with each new level
and wisdom wasn't too far,
disapproval from others fueled my persistence
I persevered even when it looked hopeless
It was necessary to forge ahead,
it was mandatory to believe when those close lost faith,
failure was not and still is ,not an option.
Apr 5, 2016
Apr 5, 2016 at 7:34 AM UTC
Only friendship.
You made yourself clear - clear as glass - that it could never be more.
But as I too am glass, a small shard of me broke off and shattered.
And why did it ignite my spirit to be in your presence, to be enfolded in your warmth
Why, why did it set my heart aflame, burn me with such flammable, incendiary envy
To see you lust after another, to want far beyond friendship with them
Why did that melt me
I was already committed to another, no matter if it was a dry, barren whisper of once-existing love or a forest of endless rain
It was commitment
Yet in spite of this, I continued to melt
Melting, right down to my core
Where I am just sand
Vulnerable, exposed, walked-on sand that could, at any second, be picked up by the wind and taken to another pit of uncertainty
But you
You dropped the empty attempts
And you began giving me your time
You showed me the naïveté that I am, and you took my hand and led me through a dark room
It was cold, and I was afraid
And you could not tell me that "everything would be okay"
Because this was real, unfiltered life you were motioning to before me
And though it was not a fully comfortable realisation,
The cold slowly thawed, from the outsides into my core, my sand
And as I thawed, as you too made yourself more vulnerable,
I at last began to take shape
Perhaps I have a calling
Beyond this fragile shell I consistently run back to for shelter, return to when it yearns back for my unearthed body to be protected again
But I knew better,
That when you molt from your armour,
Its purpose has been used up, and it is now just an empty shell, and it is time for that shell to be discarded.
And now, in my infantile flesh,
I trust that you can be my protector until my new shell can learn to harden
I am still unsure today if it has solidified,
Because I am focused elsewhere
Focused on you
My heart's every beat feels light at the remembrance of you
My mind's every thought a whirlwind
From the dissonance of reaching for you and being tempted to go back under the comfort of my old shell, from the knowledge that these two cannot coexist
But my soul, my soul is nearing soundness at last
Because with you here, I feel that my honest identity is at last coming to life
With you here,
Your breezes blow, but I do not fear that I will be carried away
Your shore arrives, but I do not fear that I am going to wash away
Though it was you who dared grind me down to my initial state of innocent sand,
You have sculpted me, even with the uselessness that I've felt I am
Shown me my potential
And made me a flourishing seashore.
Oct 17, 2014
Oct 17, 2014 at 10:39 AM UTC
I’ll lay here and let the sun make love
Penetrate the shielded part of my being
to bear the brightness of its warmth
right to the base of the unmoved core
and when hysteria sizzles time passes
right to the century of the ancient timeline
where women sadness was denied access
only to be healed by a scientific ***** massage
that gentle movement of finger in the pelvic
to bridge the eruption with the explosive paroxysms
where a woman would relive forgetting
all the unattention behaviour bore by their husband
women wombs would be removed so as not to feel
women ****** desire would be numbed so as not to feel
women would be sent into asylums so as not to feel
They are ****** women confiscicated to a domestic gloom
Let them tend to the men and gain no societical standing
until the doctors got tired of it all, with broken hands
those cramped fingers and supportive bandages
tired of motioning and fumigation of the libia
with sweet smelling and relaxing oily lotions
It was as simple as that...... the change of notions
and the innovation of the handheld vibrators
eradicated hysteria in mere 1952........
Oct 13, 2018
Oct 13, 2018 at 5:27 AM UTC
On a swing of deadened wood she would
Swing, holding upon these slender ropes of thorn.
Piercing onto flesh, but always held on as
Though to fall, but tears bleed from this motion.
Back and forth, white became red as a head
Slumped forward and motions carried on as hand frim.
This dead wood sat upon a rope of thorns
Motioning the seeping tide that with each gesture flowed.
Grasping fingers ridged as these swings, each
With heads slumped, bleed a little and swung always evermore .
Jun 6, 2016
Jun 6, 2016 at 5:32 PM UTC
He didn’t love her for her body.
He loved her for the way she belted out the wrong lyrics while blasting music driving down the highway.
He loved her for the way her eyes brightened like stars on a cloudless night when she saw him.
He loved her for the way she twirled around in her pretty blue dress, barefoot on the soft grass.
He loved her for the way she fumbled over the piano keys, creating a barely recognizable melody.
He loved her for the way she woke up on an early morning, all grumpy and confused, wrapped up tight in a blanket.
He loved her for the way she splashes around in the ocean, kicking the water at him and motioning for him to join her.
He loved her for the way she loved him.
He didn’t love her for her body.
He loved her for her careless, sloppy soul.
Dec 12, 2015
Dec 12, 2015 at 3:19 AM UTC
As fishes wriggling
The entirety of their slippery bodies
In vast oceans, lost in the glory of waters
Instincts meander
Their way through to the mind
In a pool of imagined
Sensuality with wanton desires
A longing for the temporal
Poignantly stands *****
In the throne-room of man's emotions
Motioning with a seemingly motionless demeanor
Unfulfilled cravings
Cradles persistence
In his goal oriented pursuits
Thoughts are repressed
Mental imageries suppressed
To pave way for **********
Of pleasantly positive feelings
Yet the uncouth lingers
Occasionally engages the enthroned
In scrimmages in their bid to dethrone them
Man holds the prerogative
To serve either of them willingly
Equally, man possess all it takes to be
Heinously hedonistic
And heartily attractive in personality
To please society
None can reach complete perfection
At both extremities
© Seth Boss Kay @ 19/10/2013
Oct 20, 2013
Oct 20, 2013 at 2:10 AM UTC
She smiles like a Cheshire Cat,
And it makes me laugh to think of how she sways her hips, walking away while looking back, like a professional acrobat.
"Live with me! I'll cook for you!"
The cologne
of her ex
on her skin,
as she coos
into my ear,
"Oops,
dropped my phone."
She bends her neck to let me see her *******
(which jiggle as she giggles at a joke I never said)
I don't trust her. Not at all.
But I'm flattered by her clear attempt to sell me in the mall.
Maybe it's Maybelline,
Maybe it's methamphetamine
(Or the bruises on her arm)
Or her pupils stretched with a line,
Of black paint past her felonies,
Past the "no trespassing" sign.
Past her oceanic iris,
Curving to her brow,
Like a coy, reserved, egyptian lynx,
Poised while on the prowl.
Maybe it's her melancholy glance,
Sent off towards some memory,
Of a redwood where she kissed-
How she looks away when she sits,
To my left,
her eyes, motioning
to some tempting offscreen thing...
I don't know what drug she worships,
But it's got her shivering.
"I love you like I love rock music
(But keep your clothes on)
I love you like I love the Steinhart aquarium,
(But keep your clothes on),
I love you like I love the cinema,
(But thanks for the compliment)"
Mar 18, 2017
Mar 18, 2017 at 3:37 AM UTC
I am the jellyfish that sits
in the bloom of your waters,
looming my lines across your ocean
motioning you towards my toxicity.
I'm water, I'm water
Simplicity.
Aug 25, 2013
Aug 25, 2013 at 3:37 AM UTC
///
Knowledge has grown with time
from our origin
and through evolution of nature
we have taken this information
and carry on
by generation to generation
with our gene
feelings are pinning you,
every second
every minute and every day,
gathered like clouds,
that has grown as rain in the horizon
Your brain has taken
millions of feelings,
making your mind,
taken those feelings,
bound all together magnetically
We discovered love, hate
pain, tears, laugh
even our words
all have made with emotion
accumulate of emotions are feelings
and millions of feelings make a mind
where there we make our love
where there we make our song
and there we make our life
But not all the seasons are same
the spring, rain and the winter
change over and being--
as we see through our life
neither always so rhythmic
nor always so romantic
neither too harmonic
nor too motioning
but all the time we carry emotions
that hurts our growing mind
changes its physical structure
and makes a new shape
as the ocean moves through the continents
and change its structure continuously--
We see tears flowing from her eyes,
you say pain,
that can also moves through vein
as the river runs through the vale
as like as water coming from a waterfall
moving like a stream
it has tasted salty,
those tears are to be torn
and turned to be stone
that has to be made the crystals,
crystalline through land and sea--
If those tears move too long and mad
it has formed layer
and has settled layer by layer
over an ocean bed
as the ripple marked,
silted and compact through time
grown as a dark shale,
black and compact
finally,we see our feelings has turned to the matter
///
@ Musfiq us shaleheen
Dec 13, 2014
Dec 13, 2014 at 3:28 AM UTC
Young and old people sipping beer, with hands in pockets and heads nodding to the rock music, standing in a crescent around the stage.
Some 30 year-old guy in a cut-off is on stage playing a bright red guitar which is shining silver. He finishes his set.
I'm sitting here alone and nobody seems to mind. Actually a couple of people have smiled and said hello.
One of the drunker guys sitting at the bar yells "Encore" first and then the rest of the room starts echoing him. Encore. I even let out a few "Woos!"
This man probably trades his cutoff for a collar during his day job. But we liked listening to him. He take a long drink of his PBR.
Then, he starts playing his bright red guitar again. The rest of the room is cast in red lighting with blue-christmas tree lights dangling around the room.
The bar itself looks like we are on the inside of the hull of a ship.
Woody, damp, safe. Decorated by a collector of whisky bottles and olden times posters.
I'm in a booth and to my right is the act which just ended and to my left, books. "Can I buy you a book," I ask a beautiful woman at the bar motioning to the books with a smooth wink.
Just kidding, maybe next time. But as the act ends I see a drunken, happy, young man with a girl who looked like she was his girlfriend.
In his drunken courage he attempts to take her hand and bring her to the dance floor, now empty. He pulls a rare for college, Charlie Brown dancing, sort of moveset and she is laughing. It's still red blue and dim but she's probably blushing.
He keeps dancing by her till she stands up and dances near him, both of them laughing and enjoying and somehow dancing to the rock music that is playing.
He keeps motioning his finger for her to "come here" as he backs in the center of the dance floor, until eventually she follows.
For one song, the two dance by-themselves to this music, in the center of the dance floor and lights, bobbing in and out, and just jamming.
Jun 2, 2014
Jun 2, 2014 at 3:45 AM UTC
The leaves are falling as if from far up,
as if orchards were dying high in space.
Each leaf falls as if it were motioning "no".
And tonight the heavy earth is falling
away from all other stars in the loneliness.
We're all falling. This hand here is falling.
And look at the other one. It's in them all.
And yet there is Someone, whose hands
infinitely calm, holding up all this falling.
Rainer Maria Rilke
Sep 14, 2014
Sep 14, 2014 at 10:05 PM UTC
Your Fur Is Black As The Raven's Wing,
And Soft As The Eagle's Sacred Feather,
Your Eyes Golden As The Dying Corn In October,
Your Teeth Are Never Barred,
And You Always Have The Same Posture,
Stark And Lean--Tail And Head Down,
As You Stare Into My Leafy Green Orbs,
It's As If You're Trying To Speak To Me,
Because Almost Every Night,
You Lurk In The Hollows Of My Dreams,
Sometimes In Dark Corners,
And Others In The Woods--Motioning For Me To,
Follow,
Sometimes I Am Human When With You,
Other's I Am Dwelling In A Different Form,
You Are From A Lifetime Ago,
We Must Have Been Close,
Though Now You Shyly Follow,
A Knowledgeable Ghost,
You Protect Me In Every Nightmare,
And Are With Me At Every Great Sight,
I Am Happy To Sleep,
Because You're There Every Night,
Your Masculine Presents Does Not Frighten Me,
And I Am Sad Every Time I Wake,
Though I Know You're There,
Running Through My Veins,
In A Part Of My Mind Which I Cannot Unlock
Dec 6, 2012
Dec 6, 2012 at 11:04 PM UTC
what is this yearning?
to feel the constant twirl of our turning
to angle the head, resting chin to shoulder,
wedging itself into place like a candle to it's holder
motioning backwards, resisting all forward
where our form turns from flesh to steel
as we wrap our stories onto the rotating prayer wheel
mimicking VHS tapes
and twisting our frames to rewind the spell of time
to undo scripture laid in stone
becoming a one man
time machine freak show.
to dwell in the days of yore
and tell yourself …
"its all been done before"
where we become the whirling dervish
head angled aside like a curious sun dial clock
arms resting in the air on the great invisible rock
or maybe
holding afloat the force of the celestial spheres,
a battalion of Atlas' drenched in marbled white cloth
stirring in a *** of dance turned to trance
into some chaotic mystery broth.
where we become the lazy susan
who just found her running gear
wedged on the cluttered bookshelf
like added day to leap year.
and we wonder what we have become
what concoction have we drunk?
thats spun us dreideling from
under the rug of normalcy.
this potion of feet lifting and descending
-- a mad mans dance --
always going and never arriving
until we no longer know where "I" begins or ends
until time no longer knows which way to bend
and our feet become entangled below
in a rapid fire dance of devotion
between course ground and sweet motion
Apr 8, 2015
Apr 8, 2015 at 2:13 AM UTC
Bleeding earth,
Of motioning limbs,
praying to the tethered sunset,
wooden seasons snubbed,
abandoned and slathered,
Between almost everywhere,
Unnamed and shrub covered,
Something found in the endless,
plain and comprehended,
Civility manifested,
cottoned on to,
scratched out with plastic implements,
roaring blood cascading,
mechanical timidity,
tongues are on a journey,
naked and dead.
Aug 24, 2018
Aug 24, 2018 at 1:46 PM UTC
She's out of her mind.
Wild as can be.
In bed she's an animal.
Dark hair,
Soft lips,
Lord, she drives me crazy.
She can make a woman turn homosexual, Or a homosexual man turn straight.
She is uncontrollably ****
But what is it that I really know about her?
She's out of her mind.
A daredevil.
She's got all the right things about her,
If you're craving the *** of your life.
Going on a date means fearing for jail time.
She's that insane.
Not a care in the world.
But still I am skeptical of her sanity.
I come home,
Kicking my shoes off in the closet.
I look down, and I see something.
Something shocking,
And frightening.
And red.
A trail of blood leads to where?
The bedroom?
The bathroom?
The kitchen?
I'll start with the kitchen since it's close.
Holding my fists up as if I am a champion,
I stumble into the dark kitchen.
A silhouette visible, but no face to be seen.
I flick the lights on,
It is her smiling,
Holding a knife,
as they're both covered in blood.
Slowly and erotically licking the blood off of the knife,
she starts to giggle viciously.
Looking down at the corpse next to her,
an unfamiliar face frozen in terror.
Using the knife to slit the side of her dress,
It falls on the floor like a feather.
She stand's there in her bra and *******
Motioning her finger for me to come to her.
"I want you right now", she said.
My heart is beating fast.
I'm petrified.
I'm alone.
I'm stuck with a killer,
And she wants me right now.
Sep 1, 2016
Sep 1, 2016 at 11:38 PM UTC
.
My label was showing,
flipping out from behind the collar
of my non-U.S.A. made shirt
Sri Lanka I think,
but I can’t see the back of my neck from here
Perhaps that is why they stare or
maybe it is why they don’t?
Well, that's okay, I’m new here,
first time on this floor
(I pushed the wrong elevator button)
Fancy suits and low cut gowns,
hors d'oeuvres, champagne, noses held high,
some are long ones to look down or up at
“Bat in the cave! Oh, did I say that out loud?
Sorry lady, no I wouldn’t like any avocado"
Whispers, murmurs or just low talking,
there must be a hundred of them
I thread myself through the crowd
making my way to the podium where I speak,
“Hello I am a poet and I’d like to read you something”
A strong gust of wind races against my face,
not air from any open window,
but the breeze created by their mass exodus
as they head for the outdoor terrace
for a smoke or to spit on those below them
Then I saw her, standing in the middle of the room
all alone, staring up at me
Deep brown eyes, dark glistening hair
and a smile that out-beamed the overhead recessed light
“I’d like to hear your poem,” she said in a euphoric voice
I gazed upon her mesmerized, feeling my throat tighten,
sweat appeared on my forehead as I lifted
a slip of paper from my back pocket
I looked it over and looked over at her…again
Then, taking a deep breath muttered,
“I must apologize, for it has become obvious to me
there is no more beautiful poem than the one
standing before me at this very time
To read these words which I have penned
would only pale to this I find”
“Thank you, that is very sweet of you,
would you like to go for a walk in the park?
I’d much rather be outside than inside
and maybe you can read me some
of your wonderful poetry there?”
“I’d love to, but what about them?”
I asked motioning toward the crowd on the terrace
She picked up the tray of sliced avocado, some champagne
and slipped them out the door, then giggled,
“Those insiders will be just fine outside for a while”
As we headed down on the elevator
she leaned up and kissed me
and it was at that very moment, as my heart
was nearly beating out on my chest I knew,
(I had pushed the correct elevator button)
Jul 20, 2016
Jul 20, 2016 at 6:48 PM UTC
The crowd pushes and pulls
Motioning forward without effort
Life has a way of happening
Without intention
Tan slacks
Brown shoes
Matching belt
Lost in the landscape
Within the throng of humans
I am one of the many others
I am one of the obscure
That is me there
Yes, there I am
Mar 15, 2016
Mar 15, 2016 at 11:47 AM UTC
His Dark Angel smiled;
cold lips warmed by passion.
The trance compelling.
Desire for the flesh burned
in immortal rage.
The snow fell.
His Golden Muse lay slain;
warm blood cooled by liberation.
The death an afterthought.
Indifference for life
in mortal depression.
The snow fell. The winds rose.
A spirit retreated to the
only embrace that remained.
The Angel stirred in the shadows.
A knife fell.
Taking the bloodied hand
he clasped it tightly in his.
The snow fell. The winds rose. The tears froze.
The pages of his life blood
lay scattered across the snow.
Like a sacrificial alter
the volumes were placed.
The temple now erected.
Each author a contributing artist.
The funeral pyre now complete.
The snow fell. The winds rose. The tears froze. The flames danced.
The fire scratched violently at the frosted air;
each enamelled finger reaching out in horror.
Ashes twirled, battling the soft white flakes;
angels and demons seeking one final act of sovereignty.
He glared through the flames, motioning to step forward.
He firmly gripped the stained hand, holding it ever nearer the
flame that writhed in its own tormented agony.
There was scream that emanated like a banshee, yet ended in the flames…
The snow fell. The winds rose. The tears froze. The flames danced. The end marked.
May 24, 2014
May 24, 2014 at 10:57 PM UTC
I looked at their hands,
and how effortlessly they laced.
She wore a pastel purple and he was all black.
And they were impossibly beautiful.
Everyone was enjoying pineapple cake,
while the band played orchestrated indie music.
The place was large, and I was passed the mic,
Say some things for the happy couple!
"I...
I am really jealous, and I could only dream
of something remotely close to this
in my future.
*Real love
I'm talking about a real love.*
I...hope they go on like that...
-motioning at them making out-
forever."
In the back of my throat there was almost
a satisfying fear forming
that they'd become a statistic.
It never left my mouth,
it just stayed in my stomach until I met him.
Jan 19, 2015
Jan 19, 2015 at 8:24 AM UTC
With the palms of the man wet
back of hand across a sweaty brow
Knife held firmly in hand
Sweating like a pig he thought
a smile stretched taut
the meat on the cutting board was now set
The knife cuts across the meat
oven ready, smooth and steady
sweet aroma's decadent taste wafting
Mouth watering already, so soon?
tactful thoughts as sauce drips from wooden spoon
His special blend will give his guest a wonderful treat
Rapping on the door, right on time
the guests will be hungry he presumed
Pull the meat, pour the sauce
Sweating bullets, better wipe it down
'Bullets', he muttered, smile replaced by a frown
Body aches even if the thought was sublime
'Just a min!', he hollered at the knocking door
muffled words in varying pitches answered back
He quickly set the table, set the meat
Apple a day keeps the doctor away he cracks himself up
Wedge the apple into the mouth, pour the drinks into a cup
He moved quickly, to keep his guest from waiting more
'Howdy neighbor', a pleasant greeting, a lie
The man, gagged and bound with fear in his eyes
Body shaking from the drugs wearing off
'It's time to eat, come you look hungry' he said
motioning for the man to sit at the table's head
'I've made my special, you might recognize her', he said with a glint in his eye.
She looks so happy with that apple in her mouth
Feb 13, 2011
Feb 13, 2011 at 10:58 AM UTC
The clock rocks
tick tock
all the way to paradise.
While you look,
at old pictures of
situations you can no longer
remember.
In a flash they are
gone.
Long and
short hands
motioning that
your life is draining.
And the blackbird sings,
but only for a moment.
Knocking over the hourglass,
shattered time.
Oh, the
humanity.
Ring the gong,
sending shockwaves through
the world.
The global population's ear's
perk up,
listening,
waiting.
For the catastrophe at hand
to begin.
Monuments shatter and crumble,
the mind begins to deteriorate.
And the clock,
ticks
on
and
on.
Mar 31, 2013
Mar 31, 2013 at 10:29 PM UTC
~
Changing directions
In a forestalled motion,
balanced on the side of truth while practicing losing my step
in the rushing waters of life…
I slip
Clinging to a lone branch
I find it blocking the sky, pulling shadows from mist
and teetering on the edge of someone’s sacred sanity
My eyes,
stern and fashioned of blinded occurrences that swallow
the light of day and the masks of sympathetic stares,
focus
For in the distance,
tapestries woven of heartbeats glisten on the ripples of a naked moon beam,
motioning to me in pleasing movements a’ dance on its reflections
Passionately in syncopated volumes she whispers,
louder than the hope now swirling in the rising swells
and broken slivers of drastic wastelands which
sit vacant in my mind
“Float to me”,
I hear as the cool waters so elegantly gather about her perfect feet
Her toes grip the rocky floor in such beauty that I fall helplessly,
allowing nature’s crest to take me, singing me sweetly to this pristine dream
Disbelief churns in fountains of doubt fed wishes and desires
as I submerge in the beauty that is her
Engulfed by white capped rapids beating faster…only my heart
She, with silken fingers plucks me from the surf,
her fragrance, lilac and magnolia, intoxicate me
We stand, shades of the deep sky and starlight beacons illume her face
As fireflies play in the trees and
our lips meet, my pulse floods with fever
Her desperate thoughts invade my elated mind and I agree
Together we plunge to the depths of forever and I slowly drown in her love
Oct 15, 2013
Oct 15, 2013 at 2:22 PM UTC
I am a wall you carve your name into
A stencil in time and motioning hands
Beckon me forward
Call me as though my ears were formed to know your voice
And music could not exist without your skin
I am a ship in open ocean
Battered and bruised by belligerent waves
Carry me under
I am in current meant to wash your star-lit shore
And your island is my earth
My star cannot shine
Unless your eyes can see
My seas are your words
My gold is your dirt
My sun is your hope
My heart is yours
My gold is your dirt
I am the son of the soil
And you the seed
May these roots of sycamore grow
And reach your vision
I am a star only if your universe allows
I am an empty desire and an early death
An unmarked grave
In a battle ground
An unknown soldier spilling blood to win your war
I could never give my life
I never was alive
Except for you
My gold is your dirt
The land your feet will walk on
I will worship the sidewalk
And love a ghost of memory
Never forgetting a shade of blue
I place nothing above you
May 30, 2016
May 30, 2016 at 1:08 AM UTC