"mutuality" poems
when you understand my poems perfectly then,
their utility is inutile,
their usefulness is, will. always be, in the
nth
*reinterpretation, a million and still counting,
as long as you must guess at its labyrinth inner wired construct,
be pleasured by the roiled and rolled curves upon your tongue,
two lives (yours, mine), a paired wine tasting, we together,
believing in the greatness of joyous frustration
some say, as I do, the world is better for the
utility of thine own struggled understanding,
the truest combination of two way communication,
surpassed only by our at last armed embrace,*
when at last we understand our mutuality of need and salve...
May 8, 2019
May 8, 2019 at 9:47 AM UTC
I fear thyself
I fear attraction
I fear unfamiliarity
I fear attention
I fear incidence
I fear conversation
I fear interaction
I fear answers
I fear questions
I fear to tell my story
I fear to hear yours
I fear compliance
I fear conflict
I fear benevolence
I fear mutuality
I fear victimisation
I fear change
I fear to love
I fear to hate
I fear significance
I fear insignificance
I fear the lies we tell
I fear the truths we hide
I fear imprisonment
I fear freedom
I fear hope
I fear despair
I fear old age
I fear children
I fear intelligence
I fear ignorance
I fear to take
I fear to give
I fear to borrow
I fear to loan
I fear to exchange
I fear to teach
I fear to learn
I fear to laugh
I fear to cry
I fear to be
I fear not to be
I fear to be afraid
I fear to be brave
I fear to die
I fear to live
I fear discomfort
I fear responsibility
I fear to gain
I fear to lose
I fear victory
I fear defeat
I fear antrophy
I fear hypertrophy
I fear inertia
I fear activity
I fear obedience
I fear disobedience
I fear justice
I fear injustice
I fear totality
I fear poverty
I fear embarrassment
I fear addiction
I fear declamation
I fear guilt
I fear pride
I fear delusion
I fear unfulfillment
I fear my apathy
I fear to be wakeful
I fear to be tired
I fear my capabilities
I fear my incapabilities
I fear my dreams
I fear my nightmares
I fear women
I fear men
I fear being disabled
I fear misinterpretation
I fear misrepresentation
I fear altruism
I fear limitation
I fear to endear
I fear to inspire
I fear to forget
I fear to remember
I fear self doubt
I fear discrimination
I fear starvation
I fear migration
I fear fragility
I fear formality
I fear banality
I fear enticement
I fear cruelty
I fear judgement
I fear to embrace
I endure what I fear
I endure because I must
I endure myself because I fear
Endure thyself
Dec 11, 2014
Dec 11, 2014 at 6:37 AM UTC
I had a gf that used to get called a feminazi,
but no one ever called me a feminanarchist;
I think what we really were is Feminihilists.
FFP opposed ***********
defined as the sexualized degradation,
********** humiliation, objectification,
subjugation, violation, psychological
annihilation, exploitation, & violence
against women as distinguished from
erotica based on the mutuality
of power and pleasure.
According to FFP's pioneering founder Page Mellish,
*********** provides the training for ******
assault & **** results in the objectification
of women; affects women's ability to get equal rights
& equal pay, & encourages men to associate
*** with violence; Page ultimately claimed
that _all_ feminist issues | [ , ], [ ]
are rooted in ***********
& in a 1986 letter to the editor of The Wall Street Journal,
she asserted that FFP is "not against love & not against ***
Page held that all men or women
who did not fight against ***********
were accountable for the violence
against women, claiming that women
who enjoy *********** or rough ***
had internalized the male [gaze] & |
male definitions of power
Page's positions on ***********
have been debated outside FFP,
including with respect to porn's agency
on crime & feminist & gay definitions of ****
Legislation alone was not a solution,
according to Page; it was also necessary to remove _"the need for ****
vehemently anti-censorship & pro-sex,
Page taught me to show everything from
all sides; my other feminista professors
were pro-monogamy [patriarchy] while
Page was a combat boot wearing girly-girl;
she had these cute little doe-eyed Q's following
her around carrying the placards [ ] for her
spontaneous demonstrations against underwear
Aug 21, 2018
Aug 21, 2018 at 5:54 AM UTC
"And the older I get, the more I'm sure
That more by itself never was a cure
Some days I've got nothing to show for except
Walking the dog and walking the floor"
Mary Chapin Carpenter
<><><>
*it's been twenty years plus
who can remember exact,
the last time I had a full-time four-legged
companion to share my bed, greet my head with
wagging tail, and joy incessantly, overflowing and drowning me
with face lickings and hugs of a topsy turvy twisty body,
and smiles and curdling yowls of deep throated
cries of obvious joy and the
first thing I'll do when the nectar of next
life's staging begins to commence will be me to get
such a dog as heretofore I remember as an unadulterated purest joy,
I'll still walk the floor,
long walks, yup, outdoors, early morn,
and late afternoon day settling setting endings,
dog and me, freshly bathed, settling in to watch
some British crime and ****** mysteries sleuthed and
solved by folks I'll never meet, but whose company enjoyed
over the distance of an atlantic sea and about seven feet,
and maybe dog curls up next to me, by my pillowed
head, or between my happy to snuggle legs,
don't matter much, dog & me,
will discuss an alternating
rotation satisfying our
mutuality,
and even when I still walk the floor, which be a task for evermore,
he can walk beside me if he chooses, cause choice is
what's it all about*
with a true companion
nml
Aug 18, 2025
Aug 18, 2025 at 5:19 PM UTC
The Physics of Love: The Equivalency Fallacy
the poet places his Sunday porcelain coffee mug
upon his bare chest, purposed to heat the heart to a
higher degree, equal to hers, next door, three feet away,
in their communal bed
two identical alarm clocks, one on each nightstand,
confirms the degree differential, for far beyond time-telling,
it informs on me, providing the room temperature,
and her side of the bed, 5 degrees warmer
the collegial scientists posit theoretical excuses,
the rooms wind currents, proximity to the A/C, body mass,
all refuted after visual and mechanical inspection,
all indelible proofs of the Equivalency Fallacy
despite the visual evidence abounding all around,
despite the surrounding starlike quantity of busted,
love songs, poems and the other artistic churn,
depicting the principle, one requires love physics to validate the
living principle for the living, that love is rarely identical
in quantitative quality, typology, representation and
manifestations measurable
each greets the other with morning declarations of
mutuality, trying to find those hundred different ways
to love her/him today, employing imaginative artifice to proof
the impossibility, that in every aspect your living love ability
is precious capital precision equal
and ha! each love is the greater...
you knew this?
then you knew, his coffee spills (intentionally?) and the
Fighting Fallacy rules,
every thing is fair in love and war, for they too, are
identical and equal, in so many ways,
but never quantifiable exactly
8:33am, 73 degrees, on my side
11/12/17
Nov 12, 2017
Nov 12, 2017 at 8:45 AM UTC
~and for Harlan, who loved this one best~
*"for tandem is the ever-changing, graying color of their fierce attached tenacity"
waking/walking in
careful pacing regular lock steps,
like new cadets, counting cadence,
in perfect silent, almost motionless,
except for the minuscule quivering of
slightly parted moving lips
these two elders,
still now plebes,
freshmen
but of a latter, graduated stage,
demonstrating robustly
the slow shuffle-along,
a well practiced dance conjured
'in tandem'
her arm, crooked in his,
his other hand,
in protective custody of a
knight's armored chain glove
encasing hers,
he, shuffling just,
a precise, intended half-a-beat slower
lest she ever think
that she, ever be a drag upon him
hair, his,
threaded with daily,
new arriving grays,
proudly accepted
as the privilege of
graceful aging
hers,
disguised with periodic outings,
outings for the hidings of life's bookmarks,
conceding nothing ever to
time's lunatic desire to separate them
modest in dress,
styling hints of pasts' elegant,
the man's hat defiant,
daringly jaunty angled,
a small scarf to handbag knotted,
matching his Windsor knotted tie
the passers-by, all smile,
the signal charm of an
end game processional,
thinking so sweet,
yet mine eyes detect more,
something
hardy and radical
a fierce, fierce fierceness,
both fighters in the resistance,
armed with tandem tenacity,
ground given,
but only inches surrendered,
wounds resisted by
scar skin toughened
by the caress of ions bonding
under the pressure
of atomic level mutuality
worn out,
well past Purple Hearts,
no capitulation feared,
to the ever changing,
enemies' new disguises,
they,
a two person platoon,
each,
having the other's back
and I burst into tears on the street,
a train of out loud moans,
even groans emitted,
like a string of perfect pearls
breaking,
clattering on an asphalt terrain
weeping
not
from visions of the inevitable,
sighing
not
from the certitude of a
cycle's uptime ending*
but jealous furious by this reminder delightful,
angry at myself, for having lost so many wasted years,
mine, the loss greatest, for absent was the
fierce tenacity of tandem
Mar 6, 2017
Mar 6, 2017 at 8:41 PM UTC
I can't remember
If I told you I loved you
The first time we had ***
But knowing me,
I probably did
My fingernails digging into your back
Your face in my neck
I most likely whispered it into your ear
Said it softly but loud enough for you to hear
I said I love you
Like it could make you stay
Like it meant mutuality
Thinking that maybe the lack of space between us
Could hypnotize you into believing
That you loved me too
A part of me certain that the air particles
Could somehow sew us together
And that the inevitable reality
Lingering in the background
Could never detach us
Convinced myself
That we were an atom in pure form
Incapable of being split apart when we were this close together
***
Is not synonymous with feeling
I knew this to begin with
Love and lust
Like oil and water
Can be separated with ease
Television and movies
Trained me in the art of one night stands
But I never intended to have you for one night
I didn't wanted you for a week
I wanted you for the amount of time
Where we forget how long it's been
Memorizing every single one our limbs
Ribcage
Arm
Hands
Skin
Then ******* the demons out of each other
To rectify our sins
Making love until we have no recollection
Of who we were before we learned each other's bodies
We were nobody
Before the conquer of this foreign territory
I wanted to surrender
From the moment we touched
But making love is so similar to make believe
That it gets hard
To tell the difference sometimes
When I slept next to you on your couch
My back pressing into the ridged corners of the sharpness
It was not out of convenience
It was out of purpose
Believing that withstanding the ache
Would show you how much I cared
Forgetting that your heart
Belonged to someone with a different name
In different city
Yet every night you still called my body home
Coming back to it repeatedly
Like a drunken wanderer
I thought if you did enough times
You would never want to leave
I convinced myself
That letting you **** me
Was one step closer
To getting you to stay
***
Is not synonymous with permanence
We should have never done it to begin with
Knowing quite well you were here
With the intention of temporary
I talked myself into your skin
Thought if I wrapped myself in it
Deeply enough
You would do the same
To me
My body
Was nothing more than a grave yard
For you to hide your secrets in
No treasure,
No gold
I buried my love for you
Into the curve
Of your collarbone
I bet it would still be there
If you looked for it
But I know
You wont.
Oct 29, 2014
Oct 29, 2014 at 1:35 AM UTC
It is
Whatever you want it to be.
How you perceive is your perception,
Your perspective is not deception
-But why are we so reluctant to make use of affection?
The detection of attraction exhibits bits of satisfaction
That neither of us can speak of.
If push comes to shove,
Don't make me make you fall in love.
If I can't have your body
I don't want no body.
Celibacy.
It will be a delicacy to insituate the thoughts that insituate your time
I'll obituate your loss
And re-birth worth in your mind-
The situation
Is a mind **** manipulation.
I will eliminate the
No
And inseminate the
Yes
Undressed across your expression
The progression
Of **********
The contents of your mind until you bare a confessional corruption
For when mutuality is in play;
Manipulation is just seduction.
Mar 28, 2013
Mar 28, 2013 at 2:50 PM UTC
.
I'm so proud !
::::
Now here's how it came down
//
A whole lotta girls at our high school
Come up with a new *** craze
Literally
Getting ****** up the *** by a billy goat !
In and of itself
This is hardly noteworthy
But (!)
They took it too a new level by filming themselves
Doing it
While also ************ with one hand
And jiggling their **** with the other
And basically turning it into
A sort of ***** dance competition.
//
Now this caught on real big
And the high schools in the area each got
Together competitive teams
And then a city wide league
Where the teams are judged on form
And
Creativity
And synchronization of *******
And mutuality of masturbatory modalities
( like oral *** )
//
It is a huge money maker for the schools //
Drawing 1000 of fans
Who basically
**** and **** off all night
In the stands !
//
At first the Christians of the town
Objected
But
Eventually it proved to be that
Not having to pay taxes is a higher CHRISTIAN precept
Than ****** purity !
//
Everyone here is having a good time
and maybe some of your towns
Might get something going
//
Some schools I know of
Are trying to include
Cutting oneself and menstrual blood
Into the completion
Hopefully new ideas will occur
And the sport will grow
.
Dec 9, 2015
Dec 9, 2015 at 1:56 AM UTC
Oh' if I could speak the language of his atraction
With a generosity of exchange in bounteous metaphors
Yes and let him be the quality of my oppression
For there is a torture about my words when put to voice
They search for plausible reasons as is such cannot be found
And yet I have a trouble governing my generous impulses
Oh' the inaudible corruption that is my mind, hoping, wishing
Begging for a prosperity of possibilities that will vanquish tears
That I with moral perspectives should bind a mutuality between us
Invalidating my inadequacies thus find a resolution not in artiface
But in a charmed and beautiful way that shall be the essence of love
Without a prodigality of thought, but each for each, in solemnity of kiss
Sep 2, 2012
Sep 2, 2012 at 2:24 PM UTC
on the margin
the paraphernalia
employed to obtain
the sweated inspirations
to tell these lies randomized
stories, factuelle (feminine)
pestle and mortar martyrs,
crushed together, drink in
her form, the S curves
of her shape, my fav
place, on a long list
of favs,
and she says;
hey poetry man!
which renders my
100 or so
senses,
that radiate,
congregate,
infantuate
rendering moi
delightfully attentive,
and I think:
Solitude:
Be All well and good,
wells and veins awaiting
for spelunking & mining for the
nexus of the
next line, but when she summons me,
with a cherished honorific I am
sundered by words deep felt,
and the next line forgotten,
disappeared and
for multiples,of poems,
that
die
heart busted broke
when she call poet, come,
it is like living in a gearbox
Stuck in Fifth,
that message of multiplex pixels,
so engaging and so many container conceptual structures,
those poetic burst and bust out,,
gnawing to be released free,
***** solitude, it’s her
attitude that gives
more than I can
handle…
and the poems are about the conjoining
of
the mutuality of our:
soliciting solitude attitude
Aug 4, 2024
Aug 4, 2024 at 11:03 AM UTC
Our immediate discomfort always feels so wrong
Aren’t we all meant to get along?
It starts as simply as the set of their jaw
Before long it’s their toneless guffaw
Then their mere presence becomes an intense irritant
And you fight to suppress your instinct to be militant
Forget the initial dislike that began to percolate
Now you fight for control as you hyperventilate
Digging deep for composure you seek compromise
But then you recognise the mutuality of warrior steel in their eyes
You know they know
What to do; step away or let it be so?
Apr 26, 2015
Apr 26, 2015 at 8:46 AM UTC
~for my dear, dear friend, T.R.
who tills the soil of Jordan’s Garden,
from which life springs eternal
<>
see your words, sent direct to my ears and all our mutuality of senses,
fingertips tasting the soil, the moisture, the granularity,
the chemical composition and the color, always the colors…
our gardens are our children, each similar but always,
unique, altogether different, altogether similar
how I love the how-work of it; how the soil, you, suckle each other
with nutrients of tears, Georgia heat, outcomes of
the summer produce(s),
a refresher course of memories, of frustrated endlessness
we see heaven only by looking down, you, me, on our hand and knee,
touching each plant by hand as if soft stroking a cheek of our children
in some spots, the ground unyielding, keeping its riches
stored for another day, only then, when it wills, offer up
its specialty - a surprise, a wind-blown in, seed sprouting
it so many different ways, the work gets harder, and yet,
more tender, more desirable and we do not wonder on it
for this the way, of planting, and planning human desires,
tempered by elements over which we relinquish a
sense of control, yet forever knowing, happily, renewal~marked by
the forever and ever on seasonality
of a rebirthing garden
that sustains
us
6/25/23
Jul 2, 2023
Jul 2, 2023 at 8:23 AM UTC
Heartfelt confessions
With jovial eyes
of sincerity
Blossoming affection
With pure and
Delicate mutuality
It was sunrise.
It started blooming
Like redolent flowers
in springtime.
Sensible to meaningless
Talks in daytime
Secrets unraveled
Under the ineffable beauty
Of the cloudy sky
Unblemished hearts
Had grown to love
As innocent as
The newborn child.
Nearly twilight
Lovers in paradise
Exchanging thoughts
Priceless stories
Hands intertwined
Creating future
Dreams, plans.
Thinking, forever
Is in their hands.
The night of moonless sky
Was the time to bid goodbye
Forever is over now
Castle of promises somehow
Turned ashen gray
Dust and sand
All blinding the eyes
As one heart escaped
And the other remained
All shattered and pulverized
A quiet midnight
Nothing but a silent cry
Resonates the room
Recollecting
Ephemeral moments
Indelible memories
Both ravaging
The soul and heart
Hopeful for
A kind of dementia
To erase all
The wounds and scars
It's clear dawn now
A curve in the lips
Hiding , enduring
The pang of
boundless ache
Wishful of the
Forthcoming sunrise
To bring about
The celestial fate
A Better tomorrow,
A beautiful aftermath
Of the twisted
Playful life
Jan 20, 2014
Jan 20, 2014 at 1:55 AM UTC
friends of friends and an **** of mutuality
every one ripe for the ******* until we greedily
eat our own tails
I find myself running low on chemistry
with so little reaction left inside of me
the water around the plug hole no longer spins,
it only falls
architectural wounds
cannot heal beneath this razor’s murderous haste
while the cognisant weak and a capella apes deform
the silent comedy of a shared space
once straight tempers and scorpion kindness highball
an unhappy taste, leaving who to speak
for the ordinary host?
the functionaries’ short practice
infects the martyr’s hurried hair
between the principal route and the settling irons
Mar 10, 2015
Mar 10, 2015 at 1:40 PM UTC
To this life,
replete in unconnected fragments,
you are glue,
bonding disjointed existence,
exhalting impassioned communication,
raising love beyond visible heights.
There are no sounds without receiver;
what good are nimble thoughts,
without the same --- a lover
with whom to share?
Every separation is a link,
making closer the rendezvous.
Every revelation a mortar,
cementing admiration in opposites.
I need to know
the unknowable you,
dissimilar as we are,
routinely disagreeing,
reinforcing our mutuality.
O delicious paradox,
delight me,
in the not knowing
in the riddles
of relationships.
We both appreciate
Carroll's Rules of Jam ---
*Jam tomorrow or jam yesterday,
but never jam today.*
My trusted ally,
who but we,
shall prevail against such logic?
Let's share
*six impossible beliefs
before breakfast.*
Mar 7, 2012
Mar 7, 2012 at 9:56 PM UTC
Once upon a time, on a site far far away, I would post and not a soul would comment, let alone read...
Minor poet,
I am not even, but odd.
A truth that slaps me unto tears.
I seek your admiration,
admonish your failure to
admonish me, fail me
unto tears.
Your academic hyper-pretensions
gods of overlording silence,
sentence condemnations of the
meagerness of mine deaf,
weary-worn entreaties.
Your ignorance and the
vanity of my weaknesses,
pencil point punctuate my brain,
holes filling up with the
approbation of silence.
Tender unto me
the Onomatopoeia of a concerto of boos,
barrels of bitter alliteratives
regretful rainwater,
send me curses of future inspiration.
immoderate me re my mediocrity!
Try try again, to charm thine eyes,
populate your face with grimaced tears,
penetrate our mutuality
with uncommon verse,
pricking the winter frosted windows
of a enmity and a common enemy.
Another day of self-persauding,
un-succeeding to accept that
successive minor failures,
are undeniably,
a success of sorts,
in a minor way.
A play on words,
as y'all play me.
Mr. Adminstrator, answer me!
Are we not all prisoners of Poetry?
Sep 14, 2013
Sep 14, 2013 at 11:06 AM UTC
“*You are so kind.
Thank you with all the
resolve
in my heart.”*
J.V.
<>
A thank you note,
for a simple shining-of-light,
stuns me into inspiration,
deep chested thrombosis consternations and calculations,
palpitations of the boom-boom variety,
signaling the onset of intracranial contractions
of a new birth~poem
aborning…
who of us these days,
speaks of the resolve in our hearts?
who of us free confesses deep natured thanks,
it is almost too old fashioned.
it is powerful.
it is a thanks that
powers the wattage sufficiency
to light up a city entire,
and even though inward focused,
it yet is shedding Moses-like
light beams
heavenward,
I wrack my heart to even comprehend,
that simplest of actions reciprocal:
1/Thank You
can it, (it can!)
steel the heart,
give its truthfulness a special
power, and more than resolve,
even solves
our equation solution
so elegantly is the endless searching for the
right way to give thanks, to receive thanks,
it is a mutual gifting, for our mutuality is of
two hearts, echoing the words of
all legislative bodies:
”Be it Resolved”
what is this resolution then?
the consummate of English words
with such a variety of shadings,
requiring a declarative,
not a narrative,
consummation
be it resolved,
that two resolute hearts
shall not depart this Earth
before their arms interlocute an
embrace,
the shadows of their eyes interlock,
casting away
interfering long distances,
a single atmosphere shall
be tasted, inhaled,
by their
combinatory sensories
then and only then:
their resolve tested
and surpassed
will their poem
commencé et terminé,
begun and completed
The Emotion is Carried
<<>>
“*The gender-neutral name Jamadhi comes
from Arabic origins, meaning “beauty.”
When thinking about all the beautiful
things in the world, your little one, with
their kind demeanor and bright smile,
no doubt springs to mind! But a name
simply meaning “beauty” doesn’t only
refer to their appearance. This name
is a reflection of their beautiful little
soul, too, on a journey through this world.
Baby Jamadhi could be a gentle soul
or the fiercest of little childon the playground,
but no matter what, a name meaning
“beauty” will always ring true.”
Feb 15, 2024
Feb 15, 2024 at 3:28 AM UTC
losing you and it's effortless
redefining short and sweet,
a whiskey neat,
eight years, much shorter than the forever,
everyone's grand assumption feast,
wrongly assumed, love consumed,
making ***** of her and me
for believing,
and looking now,
as if it's almost
our own closing time,
the hour of our
just desserts
you lose yourself, asking yourself,
can a three legged stools
with two busted legs be
just merely rocky,
without another hand on the tiller~shoulder,
something
with haunting visions
of falling, failing, flailing,
down the stairs
victim of a stoning, or just ******
gravity, the Blackhawk down,
the string puller, the no-reason reason
the slow descent,
so effortless, glassine smooth at first,
barely noticed, shrugged away like a small bruise,
then you cannot help to stop and forgive the incessant
wondering of how we got,
the confusion contusions,
now body bejeweled resplendent,
everywhere, in everything
you were once
a rock, a star,
with all the answers to the questions
she was about to ask,
your arm punched,
attached to an affectionate smiling,
for the perfection of our mutuality of
knowing
was her rock,
and now, quietly,
this last piece of jewelry consists of
a necklace of stones,
a choker of
glass pebbles in both our mouths
wry cry
realizing that the
darkness cracks of
busted and rusted,
are voluminous surround sound silences
breaking up,
either side of
us
Jan 7, 2017
Jan 7, 2017 at 10:44 AM UTC
Climbing—it’s a calling: everyone’s calling!
The climber climbs on, on and on, perpetually;
The ladder dictates, and the climber climbs;
Fate! No discretion! And no choice to make!
The ladder is to the climber, climber to the ladder;
Mutuality: Each fulfilling the role of the other.
The ladder knows not why the climber climbs,
And the climber knows not why the ladder dictates.
The climber reaches the top, and then, what next?
Whether to descend, or jump down, or take wing?
Dread-apprehension- trepidation- distress!
It conquers the climber, then the fall! Defeat!
But I climb on, both in rise and in fall alike;
Path clear, vision fixed, destination well-defined;
Clouds, ether, blaze, radiance, doorway, chorus,
Throne, corona, nimbus, glory-bedazzling!
Beauty is forever Truth, and truth forever Beauty!
Nov 8, 2013
Nov 8, 2013 at 12:19 AM UTC
when you poem me,
*and the sudden tumble
into a mesmerizing moment,
is a felling of a tree, that
everyone can hear, anywhere,
forest everywhere,
suddenly, I will know you,
no introduction required...
to be with you, and save my
day, my heart stolen, and to my
captor, I hereby surrender,
capitulate completely, quick quiet,
and we are three thrilled together, a triumphant triumvirate,
for each other and a unity of
1 + 1= 3
is a new counting,
a unique
formulation
a formidable forming
a mutual following,*
a fellowship
nml
Weds.
June 18 3025
In the sunroom
Jun 18, 2025
Jun 18, 2025 at 12:23 PM UTC
Last night I melted into you -
Didn't I?
It felt like an eternity
It felt like a river flowing
Into an intense tranquility
Uncertainty tries to
unhing my sanity
But I know what I know
To be true
I flowed into you
Until we became one
And for once -
I didn't feel a lone
Because I knew -
I knew this is where
I belonged.
-
May 25, 2016
May 25, 2016 at 9:41 AM UTC
Glint
Reflecting mirrors,
Each leaf glints,
An illuminated individual
In a stadium pool of
Waving faces.
Paying homage by shining,
Mutuality of existence,
Chlorophyll for oxygen
Light for life,
A fair bargain.
May 19, 2013
May 19, 2013 at 11:38 PM UTC
so you write a lot,
pouring entire waking existences,
current n' prior,
into a long and crafted 'pistles,
and pixels
and you got jive pride
and then, the poem,
you worked so hard for,
ups and dies
gets a few middling fingers of reads,
dying on a vining of
Juliet's pseudo poisoning elixir,
no big deal, happens all the time
but here's what's wielding & weirdly wilding:
***A poetpourri.
of newly found co-inhabitors,
from around the universe,
from places unpronounceable,
unlike Venus & Mars, (very poet-popular)
and from previously places were
never or seldom was heard a
discouraging word, igniting a
rewarded mutuality of a
following up embracing***
par example;
Tirunelveli
Poland
Lisbon
Cyprus
Bihar
Uruguay
Ankara
Vienna
Albania
Tanzania
India
Bangladesh
New Zealand/Australia
Soldotna (Alaska)
plus Texas, West Va., Ohio, and other exotica, like
Nowhere
what a blessing!
Blessed art Thou o Lord,
that permits the miracle that my integers
of 0 & 1
can be translated into such
varied exotica, in harmony,
thus permitting this discovery of
never visited oceans and landfalls
of poetry never heretofore to join as
one.
Aman.
<>
nml
Aug 30, 2025
Aug 30, 2025 at 6:31 AM UTC
Falling asleep at my keyboard
Writing another message to you
Wondering if I'm wasting my words with every keystroke
By trying to explain how I feel
Hope for mutuality
I fell asleep at the keyboard
Writing another message to you
My head hit the keys when I fell
It typed out a better explanation of my feelings for you
Jan 19, 2015
Jan 19, 2015 at 4:19 AM UTC