"navigators" poems
***
When you think
Maybe, we ~
Are
Forlorn
For the time-
Being cruel to us
In most heartwrenching
Wonderful impossible
Way
love, Love, _
Never was I yours
To come at your
Thresholds
Blushed a little bit
Over my sunlit cheeks
Holding in my hand
A Damascus Rose
For my beloved~
For you
A jazzy blues done
None plus no one
Gets the whole bush
Unless walking hand in hand
Through garden divine
Loving
Like
Icecold queen n' king
Siddharta within our seams
Yet, I turn in my dreams
And look straight
In those lovely
Flames
Portruding in me
Fireflies lit
For me
To you
Cosmos exists as a play
Of darkness through
Light
Hurting me
Again
No
More
~~~~~~
Please
~~~~~
For a begining
You gently touch
My wrist, holding
It with desire
And say
- Here
You
Are -
My twin~flame!!
A
Long
Awaited
Wonder
This Day Is
Magnetic
Grip
. . .
Unutterly
Unyeilding
Pulling me close within
Your chocolate
Emerald wisdom
Vishnu Inevitability
Embrace
Emitting radiance
Embraced for as long
As we need to please
The almighty & amazing laws
Of physics
Nodding
In approval of
.
.
.
Weeee-_-omens
***
= =
Woed by
Thunderous pounds
Blood in our veins
Burning like the
Ocean waves
Rhythmic pace
Dreamy foams as
Satin
Lace
Overwhelming Us
Courageous
Navigators of
Our starry midnights
Building the arch of
Invisibility
For the rest
of the
World
Our tent
Under satin~silk
Is heavens
A
Relationship
Beautifully
Playful
Extraordinaire
& Serene***
Sep 16, 2016
Sep 16, 2016 at 5:46 PM UTC
We are the lost lovers who wander
the great walls of this world;
in pursuit of the love that only navigators
can have in their very own hands.
And we go in endless circles while
endlessly hoping of being home
to someone we'll ever know but
our fate only does.
The roads have turned to deserts
and the life is starting to wither;
you are her oasis--her savior from dispair;
though you are nowhere to be found in the middle of the death fair.
You are one of the likes of her --
young, tired, lost, and long gone
from the lovers' lane you once belonged;
and you're alone, wandering to wonder.
May you both find your ways
through this garden of all-or-nothing;
and may you find dandelions
than a rose in a field of thorns.
Nov 15, 2015
Nov 15, 2015 at 12:58 AM UTC
The issue with the Ego isn't the Ego itself:
like many other aspects of sentient Life,
Intention and Willpower navigate a Vessel
whither it may will to be- consciously or no!
True Wisdom is subtle: implicit
in every single last one of the ten-thousand things.
Incidentally, such subtlety nests grave danger:
such capacity to be overlooked or ignored-
manipulated, extorted, distorted;
abused, neglected: abandoned.
Antagonized.
Beware. Tread lightly.
Please think and act with utmost care.
Be as Tao; as the rest.
Non-seek Zen mind.
Everything is precisely as it must be,
with exception of Human mentality.
Follow your Heart, but utilize thy Brain.
Find a purpose and learn from the pain.
Through just struggle does One justly gain.
By Empathy, could we all do just the same?
Let's just try it and see, shall we?
The Force takes care of it's own.
Thank you for reading.
Blessings upon thy Path.
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Apr 13, 2015
Apr 13, 2015 at 5:07 PM UTC
It coasts on the dips and dives
along smooth muscle, contracting
pushing, friction absent
and lubrication self-perpetuating.
She called it a spiral, but
I don't see it that way.
It is funny how the little things --
orange and purple and white petals
strings of words together like beads
white-bordered photographs in sepia
-- are bigger than they should be
and shrinking into the smallest spaces
ubiquitous and permeating
reproducing
on and onward pulling.
How do you determine the area of a feeling
how you wipe it down like auto wax
all the crevices like jelly in the webbing
between your fingers
all the misplaced metaphor and you're assuming
I know what you're talking about
you're assuming I care.
I see them there in the bright lights.
I want to be with them.
I want to be a part of nothing.
I want something to be a part of me.
The circle is the mockingest of shapes
daring the others to find its edges
a noose for the mathematician
relying on impossible for truth discovery
the approximation to determine strength or mass or density.
A curve is inherently incorrect
and creates problems for the navigators
who trust cohesion and consistency
who trust each other in cohesion
and constant and consistent standard creation
who challenge the borders of the world
and braid together the loose ends
cruising on new planes.
I watched the wing fall into the water
into the lake, that's a lake, right?
It feels like it goes on forever.
Loud noise.
Open eyes.
Dart right and right.
Grab. Hold. Release.
Quiet.
In chalk on the floor, I drew one of those shapes.
I crawled inside of it, curled up into it.
I closed my eyes tight and held my knees together.
Aug 29, 2013
Aug 29, 2013 at 12:19 PM UTC
We were drunk, and stupid, and scared.
I was scared.
You were all poise with your surgeon hands
To cut past the layers of clothing and skin.
I clutched the air, like a sheet, to my chest.
You wanted an adventure but got me.
May 29, 2013
May 29, 2013 at 2:26 AM UTC
ray peeps around a corner,
playful child reflecting light through
a periscope. lashing gales, umbrellas concave,
ponds dampen scurrying workers.
morning sky was blue, everything
turned with lunch. praise replaced by
a battle back to element of gas.
curtains drape to trap comforts.
again the sun hides, astral signals
unbalance and change. Venus to star
in a celestial ballet. scorching orb
of retina burn the prop and set.
eclipses of dramatic entrances in a single
month. exit from knots and
hibernation from the troubles of others.
a bear stomps to a hollow trunk.
king tides and fishermen endangered, waters
rise hauled by lunar spectacles.
maddening navigators endanger with
skids escaping weather and wheels.
pool at the back door trapped by
leaves on a grate. level rises then cleanses
bricks as a gust clears the drain. A single
dawn ‘til she casts her spell
on a damaged inhabitant. James Cook sailed
with secret plans to record her dance.
pressure on, contingencies set, the
ninth battalion armed and twitching
Apr 4, 2015
Apr 4, 2015 at 4:04 AM UTC
Who owns the sunset?
Who is mistress of the stars?
Do the navigators of fortune
Sit at a table and boast?
Are the humours four fine sisters?
Can it be that I am
Master of all these things?
Do I hold the yet untwined
Ball of string of the future in my hands?
My hands. My hands of no strength,
My hands of no extraordinary skill,
My hands that arrive at eternity unclean.
These fingers that are whole
In spite of broken spirits
Are treated as the fingers
Of perfection.
Of blamelessness.
Of forgiveness.
The threads of time
Are dusty in my fingers.
A fine mist of sediment
Crumbles at my touch.
Delicate stars are loosened
And burn out in my sight.
Reaching up I return
This future to the hands
In which It belongs.
Stars and light dance down
Into my eyes, and I know
Who owns the sunset.
May 25, 2013
May 25, 2013 at 9:55 PM UTC
i am lost in a place where everything covered with a fog
i am lost in counting my days for long
i am lost in a sea like i did not start the journey with navigators tools on the front
i am lost in sadness where i can't breath
i am lost in happiness of no reason
i am lost in wrong of right and right of wrong
i am lost in explanatory words
i am lost in journey, like i did not start the journey
i am lost in my decisions since every decisions seems to haunted me
i am lost in a world, where every directions keep you getting you lost
i wish i can find my way back home ,
where father is a Dad , where a mother is Mum
where the big brother is the asshol and protector , where the little brother is the annoying one
where the older sister is the second mum and annoying but not like the little sister she the master
i just don't want to get lost , i want to find my way back home NOW!!!
Apr 14, 2016
Apr 14, 2016 at 4:49 AM UTC
Who owns the sunset?
Who is mistress of the stars?
Do the navigators of fortune
Sit at a table and boast?
Are the humours four fine sisters?
Can it be that I am
Master of all these things?
Do I hold the yet untwined
Ball of string of the future in my hands?
My hands. My hands of no strength,
My hands of no extraordinary skill,
My hands that arrive at eternity unclean.
These fingers that are whole
In spite of broken spirits
Are treated as the fingers
Of perfection.
Of blamelessness.
Of forgiveness.
The threads of time
Are dusty in my fingers.
A fine mist of sediment
Crumbles at my touch.
Delicate stars are loosened
And burn out in my sight.
Reaching up I return
This future to the hands
In which It belongs.
Stars and light dance down
Into my eyes, and I know
Who owns the sunset.
May 25, 2013
May 25, 2013 at 9:55 PM UTC
Green spacious land speckled with yellow poppies outstretched for miles on end.
Flowers dance, the wind its puppeteer, as a bee comes hoping some pollen the flower will lend.
Butterflys weave in and out of crowds, navigators of flight their path only they themselves may they bend.
Red and white checkers lay upon the soft green meadows a cloud of fluff and lace clothe thee, lady friend.
As boys run about holding kites, and racing little toy boats with a little hand written note to send.
Men sit and chat about the news and weather, while the women set upon the house to tend.
Simple means, simple beings are easy to fend.
Apr 1, 2014
Apr 1, 2014 at 12:45 PM UTC
We are all bewildered dancers
Lost in an incomprehensible ballet—
Woven tightly through a rich tapestry,
Drawn from contrasting colors,
Yet forming a boundless whole,
Waltzing hand in hand—
In love and hate, joy and suffering,
Dark and light, death and life.
The universe—a radiant church window,
Fracturing light into polychromatic unity,
Drifting shards of stained glass,
Piercing through the drama of duality,
Rippling into a sea of endless complexity,
Wedged between the boundaries
of stars and the space that forms them,
A perfection found in imperfection,
Beneath this sea of contrast lies truth:
How could we be anything at all
Without two sides to make us whole?
Before the technicolor skies formation,
We were the loneliest deity,
Infinity alone in a room made of itself,
Where everything was everywhere,
And time unfolded all at once.
So we crafted ourselves a dream—
From the core of our mirrored soul,
A place where I am you and you are me,
So we may live and perish in grace.
So we may play a game with ourselves,
Performing on this boundless stage,
An intricate puzzle piece,
Fitting together in a dance of chaos,
Meticulously designed to deceive ourselves,
So we may treasure life in the face of death.
Navigators of the in-between,
Wandering the maze of nothingness.
If infinity could dream,
Its deepest longing would be
To grasp something real—
To feel the grass beneath its feet,
As it runs across the hills of our earth,
Savoring the fleeting bliss of it all.
The present is so precious,
It hints at a reason we call it so—
A split second glimpse of meaning
In the eternal dance of existence.
Sep 9, 2024
Sep 9, 2024 at 10:50 AM UTC
Eating a bowl of Cap'n Crunch in the morning was comparable to dining with the 'Captain of the ship' on Saturday when my Dad was home , swearing , working the crew , barking commands , guiding his first and second mates into adulthood ! One of the great navigators of my time ........
Sep 15, 2015
Sep 15, 2015 at 12:55 PM UTC
early navigators
traversed the ocean
by tracking the stars
across the night sky
and yet
i've never needed
extensive knowledge
on celestial bodies
to find my way to you
Aug 19, 2021
Aug 19, 2021 at 11:17 AM UTC
I know,
I can navigate,
On the ocean's quietness;
On these blue waters,
I only see your face,
Through dark waves;
The next shore is still afar,
From my reach,
And I swear that,
One day,
I will arrive there;
Many navigators aspire,
To swim in the ocean,
But they ignore,
How deep it is,
For it's unwise to get,
Rather than seeing;
And my soul is still finding,
His own reign,
But the Blindness still persists,
Like a sweet honey,
Ready to eat;
How much long,
Might I still wait,
For I realize,
About my way?
Jun 2, 2017
Jun 2, 2017 at 7:26 PM UTC
I have no idea how long,
I’ve stared at this blank page.
Only the following words will know,
An incremental of some measured time.
A twilight of an idea,
Poised in the head,
Just below the visible horizon.
Many navigators have been here before me,
I'm armed with neither compass nor sextant.
Adrift,
I'm looking at the texture of the paper,
For direction.
And doodle boxed rectangles,
To fill the gap until some lifeboat saves me.
Jul 31, 2017
Jul 31, 2017 at 12:03 PM UTC
You who sleeps have forsaken me.
When your sacred bodies drift into R.E.M,
I am protector of the night.
When malignant sorcerers
come for your souls,
I am dragging their wretched shadows back to the underworld.
Honor me for I am truly divine.
You who slumbers have forgotten me.
Fear not my deathly stare.
My eyes are the navigators into the murky darkness,
where no man will ever see it's depths, and
when we cross paths,
salute me in your dreams.
It is then that you will truly recognize a wizard in disguise.
You who hibernates before morning will hear my calling.
Let it serenade you,
so that I may continue to speak in the language of trees and moon.
So that I may continue to fly effortlessly to the east,
assuring the sun will rise for you again.
You who is oblivion shall not wake.
And when you do,
respect me by cherishing the light,
for I am protector of the night.
Aug 8, 2015
Aug 8, 2015 at 2:16 AM UTC
They refer to us as street pigeons, city birds and believe it or not, sometimes even refer to us as flying rats.
The general consensus, we are an unacceptable lot, filth and vermin.
We are thirty strong. We survive day-to-day. Sitting upon the phone lines of this Rugee Vista neighborhood.
Sunny, is our fearless leader. She is a skilled glider, a fast thinker and not to be taken lightly.
Sunny is a mixed breed. Part Show Racer, part Birmingham Tumbler. She’s a warrior that knows the Importance of being resourceful.
Generally speaking, we are a peaceful group, But have been known to attack other birds that infringe upon our territory.
You probably don’t know that Pigeons are an intelligent bunch. We’ve passed the mirror test for self recognition lol… And we are expert navigators.
We are constantly foraging To keep our bodies, minds and youth strong. We mate for Life And we share the responsibility of rearing our young.
So the next time you see us hanging out in the neighborhood, we hope your thoughts will be pleasant ones.
Meantime, we will be rummaging the back alleyways, garbage cans and city parks for food to support ourselves and keep the city clean.
We'll leave you with this qoute that Nelson Mandela once said.
WE ARE THE KINGS OF RUGEE VISTA
“No one is born hating another person because of the color of his skin, or his background, or his religion. People must learn to hate, and if they can learn to hate, they can be taught to love, for love comes more naturally to the human heart than its opposite.”
Oct 26, 2020
Oct 26, 2020 at 2:45 PM UTC
RACING DRIVERS RACE CARS
JOCKEYS RIDE HORSES
SAILORS SAIL BOATS AND
NAVIGATORS PLAN COURSES
BUILDERS THEY BUILD HOMES
TV HOSTS HOST SHOWS
TEACHERS TEACH PUPILS
AND GARDNER'S USE HOE'S
ASTRONAUTS GO TO MARS
AND WRESTLERS JUST THROW THEM
BUT POOR OLD LITTLE ME
I JUST COMPOSE POEMS
Apr 23, 2017
Apr 23, 2017 at 3:04 AM UTC
Ash
Existence has turned into ash.
The day has become night;
There are no stars in the sky
And the chapel rings no sound at all.
Everything is sad in my world.
The haunting voice of the man with the scythe;
There is no light in these darkest of times.
No butterflies; only flies.
The train slowly rolls along the lines.
No people to be seen;
Is this all a bad dream?
Or a place where I have nowhere else to go?
I am left hopeless without my hope.
There is smoke in the air;
The smell sinks into my lungs.
No radio message; no song to be sung.
Just a requiem written on a wall;
Graffiti art spells out ‘A lifetime is so short.’
When I think of my time, just a second in creation;
Another second of life, a final second and then an ocean,
Where all is sinking away.
Everything is lost to never be seen again.
At the bottom of this ocean there are only bones,
Of those who sailed; they never made it home.
Princes and pirates;
Novices and navigators.
None know the answers;
Nobody to say see you later.
In the end all things they must go…
(C)2017 Aa Harvey. All Rights Reserved.
Jun 12, 2018
Jun 12, 2018 at 8:54 PM UTC