"nexus" poems
Later at the same address
A storm of words reaches flood stage
A couch is bobbing in the currents
towards its mangled ruin-nexus
of matchsticks in cyclonic flow
among the renegade
trash
hanging
from the limbs like tinsel
Meanwhile
chair heaved through her door
Like the river
I am not above my rage
at this stage
of more than enough....
Clever daughter's got my goat
Turns my words on dimes
Lays into me
her score of blame
Each blow to drop me further
presses all my buttons at one time
despite the flashing
Warning! Warning!
“Fine! Fine!”
She blows-out through the afternoon
right past me
in a torrent of curses
A stubborn perfect storm
of words
has taken out parental dam
and blown out toward the Bay of Freedom
to the sorrows of her day
The river may crack its whip
But its got nothing on her
nothing is left standing
in her way
Jun 6, 2018
Jun 6, 2018 at 9:24 PM UTC
The summer time storms..
The summer rain..
The summer with you..
The summer change..
The summer sunlight..
The summer in Texas..
The summer night..
The summer nexus..
The summer dreams..
The summer flowers..
The summer stars..
The summer night showers..
The summer cools..
The summer sighs..
The summer dies..
When fall arrives...
May 12, 2015
May 12, 2015 at 10:49 AM UTC
Your wishes do happen some where in the universe.
Never think they are wasted.
Waves and links are formed on the other side of the galaxy..
Linking light and darkness in such a way that you see the links in your dreams.
As the wave becomes a part of a nexus it travels forever painting wishes across the universe.
Leaving behind stars in its passing wake.
Thus comes the saying.
" When you wish upon a star."
Jan 16, 2017
Jan 16, 2017 at 11:50 AM UTC
pruning fingers from a cold dead hand to gain twenty index
to power point a disjoint nexus, amongst ill guests
to better frame the nameless tool,
thumb-less apes could truck with -
in bands of frantic lack-wits
hording alabaster thumb-tacks
to pin jokes, they don't get.
a lapse in queens, the hard Chess...
an hour glass
with a grain of sand left -
wearing a jet pack, to delay the turn next
that checks your king.
or telekinesis, ghost-grips the silicon
in free fall... on pause to stave off
a game lost.
pruning fingers from another world of empty reach, i grasp -
at long last;
the short girl with the long red hair -
has two eyes, on task...scanning my true intent
with deep shy, heavy lids; a bright green
fixed on my nervous
laughter.
smitten; then, a Pabst
Blue Ribbon
kiss.
and sweet
disaster.
Oct 26, 2011
Oct 26, 2011 at 11:51 PM UTC
*I choose to remain calm in life
I choose to pacify my anger and hatred
I learned a lot by listening
and destroying hatred with love.
We must understand that
The said nexus is real.
Without war, there won't be peace,
Without hate, there won't be love,
Without death, there won't be life.
Because this is reality.
I can turn the tables if I must.
I can consume you with fire if I want.
I can destroy you- leaving your heart in tiny fragments
Like shrapnel stuck in the undwelled parts of your body.
But reality's deeper than these.
Reality's deeper than me.
Reality is all within us.
Accept it as it is.
Never fight with the nexus.
Hold on to it, but do destroy the hatred inside you.*
Apr 24, 2015
Apr 24, 2015 at 12:12 AM UTC
To maintain peace and sound reflexes,
Sever every possible type of nexus,
With ex’s friends & friends exes,
Regardless of their sex's,
Above all, consider your cerebral plexus,
And know that wounds get infectious,
If unhealthy connections are maintained with one’s own exes.
Aug 1, 2014
Aug 1, 2014 at 8:38 AM UTC
sword-shaped
wild iris leaves
pierce the meadow sod,
reaching outwards
from cold reclusive shelter
beneath native strawberry
carpeted repose
juxtaposed ― smoke rises
to the sun
like the basal verdures
of fleeting winter's escape;
crawling up an invisible
spiral staircase seeking
the azure heavens
r e n a s c e n c e
a nexus ―
stormy winter’s windfall
and,
irony of a wooden match,
gathered winter tinder
inflamed, sacrificed
to the heraldic spring skies
of the begetter;
just like
the wistful soul
beheld a simple man
that impatiently rests
on the threshold
of a dream,..
unnoticed
by the billowing silence
of evanescent
winter exile:
daydreaming
a peaceful ascendance;
dissipating puffs of smoke
drifting away
unto the ether,
weightless as light
harlon rivers ... spring 1st, 2018
Mar 18, 2018
Mar 18, 2018 at 1:07 PM UTC
The Pen
The pick up the pen;
The put it down again
(That sunken feeling, nemesis or friend?)
The pen. The Pen.
The pacing, the pressing up against
The period. Stop stopping
Again. Pick it up to put it down.
Pointless. Pshaw.
Please.
Please me simplicity. C’mon!
C’mon pen lemme pick it up
And put something down.
I’ll plagiarize the flow for a few words of my own.
I’m looking for inspiration from the great beyond.
My muse is missing.
I know the medium is a constraint.
I know inside
The set of symbols paints
Me into a corner. The parameters
Of my pen’s head worn out. I’m ****** The metaphors
Pressed. The pen is second-guessed.
A literate piece of poetic license,
The defense mechanism
Against the prison I impose.
Me, myself, and I inside
The pen pining for a purpose.
The nexus of picking it up and putting it down
Is perplexing me, is vexing
Me like a sticky keyboard key.
So, I’m putting it all down
With the pen.
The pen.
The picking it up: who cares?
The putting it down: pensive prohibition.
The picking up; what I left out.
The putting it down: polygraph precision.
The picking up where I left off:
The putting it down: priority, what’s left of me.
The picking it up, when I don’t even know
Why I bother?
The putting it down: passion
The putting it down: plea of let me be.
The putting it down periscope; I’m diving under
The pressure’s mounting; I’m down for the counting on my muse
To bring me back
From that inky black abyss once again
My personal sonar is
Probing the depths, of what lies
hidden within
the pen.
Aug 1, 2016
Aug 1, 2016 at 7:46 AM UTC
Cosmic kraken,
gelatinous tentacles that choke the ventricles..
air tainted by its pungent pores...
daylight darkens,
its presence hearkens,
for the light to shine no more...
Heart is hardened
vestigial veins with not blood but pain...
wrinkled cartilage writhes at lore..
of the divine despair
I now come to bear,
graces this unworthy *****
"I beg I pardon!
spare me the road to your celestial abode!"...
whispered screams that scrape throat raw...
silence snares...
at my futile affairs...
with the sadistic nexus between doors...
"Oh I cannot fathom
creature with unworldly features...
and blade fashioned from nebulous ore...
what terrors await...
and to permeate....
my flesh forevermore!"
Mar 3, 2019
Mar 3, 2019 at 11:39 AM UTC
Given up, deluxe in Essex
Cornwall, seaside Fortress
Stonehenge, felt the Vortex
One Vision, one idle Apex
Kiss the Haven Sanctum ******
Diligently Lingers the Finger Remix
Vibrate the ring tho Rung Her Nexus
Into New Blue , You beg the Context
Of seeming NonSense, hum my Edifice
I'll give You This, oh humble Tread
I've past the Veil, many lives I've Led
Memory to Full to sustain, Unfurled
This Nomenclature not of this World
Do you want Me? Come then, Explore
Rich, sweet, then Sour, Drink More
Intoxicate, bubbled deep risen the Core
She is Ancient, She is bled, of Iron Ore
Cleanse your Palette, taste must never
Mix, or coagulate, congeal, or Root
Fluidic Fauna, Flower Sauna, Resolute
Cleanse, release into Her, Ashen Soot
Absolute Sanctuary, must enter, Barefoot
Apr 29, 2014
Apr 29, 2014 at 9:34 PM UTC
it was suggested
that there be no nexus
between texas and your pal-
omino - tagging the alamo, **
en el barrio, yo(u)-
and your gringa homecoming
queen in tight-assed jeans
-running with ms-13?
-playing twister with your hipster
sisters misters smith & wesson
oiled up and and ready to go
- new mexico?
i found you in tres piedras
at a place called ortega's
eating huevos rancheros
- shooting jose cuervo?
-muthafucka mara salvatruchas
in a red camaro and two bruthas
on a burro with bow and arrows
-stole your palomino?
*-they shoot horses
don't they?*
riding the black el camino
-on the blue mesa.
r ~ 9/30/14
Sep 30, 2014
Sep 30, 2014 at 6:08 PM UTC
The Story begins with silence and black out, a void. Not darkness. Nor anything that attempts to define nothingness, because it’s nothing. The blackness or void is only a metaphor representing nothing. Within this point, so close to simultaneous you’d think they were one in the same, a light emerges, emanating divine, pure energy and love. Its intelligence and complexity expands and fills what was once nothing with beauty and truth. At this moment, all is whole, fast as thought, strong beyond comprehension, gentle as a whisper and furious beyond all flame. The wild spirit of happiness is real and alive! The void was never the enemy, only a point in which to be born. Duality can only exist if unification finds an enemy within itself. The enemy is reflected by the segregation and space created between divine and mortal. This space is developed by Ego.
This entity “Ego” is the essence of self resistance, absorption, chaos, consciousness…hate. The inner antagonist rises and begins to cut and eliminate the threads attached to creation and spirit. A mirror that envelopes and contains the living spirit. An orb caging vulnerable souls spread throughout the expansion of life and suffocating energetic flow. The universe and it’s creatures that lost connection being virtually incapable of seeing one another ever again while the enemy exists.
The instigation is tolerated by those who always continue the journey. The emasculation of Ego, commences as the divine resonates it’s vibration as a weapon like a solar flare, piercing the Ego. Then the inner spirit begins to open up and claw its way out. The Spirit sees that vanity is leading the despair of self pity into the heart as it remains a vessel dwelling in a false world channeling a false force. This awareness makes The Spirit lifts up, against and out of a matrix constructed within the crystal ball cage that refracts the true sun’s rays. Together, The Spirit and The Divine begin to crush Ego. Ego begins to flatten, compress and then combust. Through the flames the chord of love between The Divine and The Spirit bursts like a shooting star towards the kinship’s re-established nexus. The collision creates what was pure and full in circulation again and the expansion becomes an infinite motion harmonizing with the void in an adventure that goes on forever. When Ego tries to slither back in after a nearly insurmountable time of hiding between the gaps that contains new life, it is given no room by anything in thought, theory, in any form of existence.
Nov 8, 2012
Nov 8, 2012 at 7:40 PM UTC
Insects layered lilac pedals upon her skin
As if she was a nexus of nectar
As if her body were the chalice of youth
And all that dripped from her, made her a fountain
That flooded the halls of fatherly time
Leaving her ignorant of seconds, minutes, hours
So why do the insects dress her like the flowers?
Because to the ideal of a perfect plant, she is treason
For she never decays in any season
Sep 9, 2018
Sep 9, 2018 at 10:31 AM UTC
~
*She smiles only in pictures
Her hair is growing long
With eyes closed
Au coucher du soleil
Her voice is dulcet
Her laugh is nexus
"Take me with you," she says.
"We'll make kites, we'll steal land."
The gentle arrival of rain
In the blue hour of
The portrait gallery
Makes her qualified to dream
About a serenade of water
And the blueberry boat*
~
Feb 7, 2025
Feb 7, 2025 at 3:50 PM UTC
***
***
𓆩⟡𓆪
Swathed in my caution
I search to find my daring
Fire cracks my egg
𓆩⟡𓆪
I've been long since lost
Colours of the creative
Dulled by daily trudge
𓆩⟡𓆪
I hear the wind call
Fearing the might of my wings
Fall before I fly
𓆩⟡𓆪
***
***
Jan 31, 2023
Jan 31, 2023 at 6:07 PM UTC
Squishy fated
Topography
Meant to puzzle
Together,
the nexus of
Interlocking
limbs--
pulsing and
pumping.
The conductive
catalyst
the dazed hazy
Swooning--
I bite my lip
and you start to
give in,
I won't tell you no--
take a hit
to the bed
grabbing sheets
*******
air past teeth
no thoughts
just breathe...
or don't.
Choke
on the nexus
of firing synapses
the electric relapses
into shivers and moans--
****
I need
to
feel you.
Your skin
lingers in
the shivers--
in the wake
of the day
my body
Remembering
that you
aren't there
and it aches.
Please--
Lead me there,
Take
Me
Please,
Let me
bathe in
your twilight.
Feb 6, 2025
Feb 6, 2025 at 9:20 AM UTC
The city tosses, turns, and finally rises,
Surrendering to daylight and giving itself over
to the bustling movements of its citizens.
At the crosswalk, an old codger in rags holds a panhandling sign,
And nearby a bearded hippy plays guitar.
The sound of beggars, musicians, bored businessmen,
And all the teaming masses drift through back alleys,
And float through the air like the heady perfume of car exhaust.
Each street, each block, each break in the never-ending flow of man’s own personal jungle.
Brings to mind stepping into a whole other world.
Here, in one such strange nexus, a building likened to a castle,
Stares across a narrow stretch of road at an abandoned building,
Cracked broken and peeling, tattooed with graffiti from a hundred vagabond artists.
It conjoins directly to a new building,
the fresh, well maintained walls of which offer striking contrast.
The confused, confounding nature of the true jungle is in this manmade facsimile
More well reflected than anywhere else in the world.
The muggy air rings with life, the heat is stifling,
And for all that it has a strong allure.
This city, and all cities.
For in every corner, at every street, life bleeds from a city.
It grows from the crack like a flowering ****
And in truth,
Is a flower born in the streets of a city, atop the stem of a dandelion
Any less a flower than a rose from the heart in the woodland?
To me, that a flower could be so brazen, so proudly out of place,
Makes it all the more a thing of beauty.
Sep 3, 2013
Sep 3, 2013 at 1:08 AM UTC
With sensuous cords suspended
between heaven and earth,
A nylon hammock generously supports
all, races, colors and creeds.
Guilty pleasures are carefully balanced
during a rendezvous of
stolen moments and secret escapes.
Ideas are born
in this cocooning nexus, and
work is accomplished from
a place of succor and rest.
A gentle swaying
calms the mind and
brings life into balance once more.
Aug 20, 2010
Aug 20, 2010 at 12:05 PM UTC
winter covers the earth
in a requited slumber
dropping a bleak veil
of prolonged eventides
a sparse season's
dire landscape
professes a chill
of privation, across
frost crusted furrors
crowning cold fallow fields
resting from offerings
of a past season's yield
reaping passages
to the royal realms
the mystic visions of
this twilight nexus
germinating seeds
burrowed deeply in
recurring reveries
of future harvests
our dreamscapes
of abundance, sustained
in the deepest memory of
the advent of new seasons
Music Selection:
Paul Winter Consort: Icarus
Oakland
12/21/13
jbm
Dec 22, 2013
Dec 22, 2013 at 2:25 AM UTC
The strumming of lonely guitars
Transmitting the frequency of stars
Emotion coming off in waves
Flowing from the nexus of graves
Music blasting
Hope everlasting
Clouds marching across the sky
I watch them as they drift by
Sweet chords
Bitter words
Such feeling
Defenses peeling
My voice pierces the air
If people hear, I don't care
I close my eyes to the world
In my head the music is unfurled
All flowing in my head
It transmutes my thoughts from lead
And into gold
Its clear, and its bold
Its the obvious solution
It was just clouded by thought pollution
I leave, i know it in my heart
I've memorized my part
No clue what you're going to say
But at the end of the day
That's what makes it entertaining
I meet you, there is no explaining
The words fly out of my mouth
My eyes venture south
Toward your feet
Dead silence, about to admit defeat
She says yes
No more stress
Pure elation
Feelings that have no translation
I look you in the eyes and smile
Then, i hold you for a good long while
Jan 8, 2012
Jan 8, 2012 at 3:28 AM UTC
Every dawn is a nexus, /
Every twilight is a beckoning; therefore, /
Embrace the fickle future /
Ensconscing within the sacral oath /
Of a thousand words: /
These utterances shall envelop you /
When upon Triumphal Arcadian Skies /
We meet again. /
Save your tears, /
For love shall reign /
From the empyreal aethers above /
To the Gaian epidermis of /
The Magnanimous Matriarch; moreover, the mellifluous kisses /
Of The Sovereign of Songbirds /
Will burgeon within, /
Will descend upon you as The Holy Dove. /
Unfurl your third eye, /
See with an indefatigable clarity /
All that you were meant to be: /
Strong, Wise, Just; /
Love; /
A luminary fulminating /
Radiantly, resplendently upon /
The Denizens of the Terrene. /
(—Se' lah)
Sep 9, 2021
Sep 9, 2021 at 12:00 AM 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
We've taken you from your home. Lush in line, your twins and elders, taken.
You lost connection to the Nexus, put on display with porous candied paper messengers and the consumers of blood, perched from the ceiling by invisible lineage.
We have taken you. We're sorry. We lament. We trade small goods to take you, but its easy.
We take the tools too. The serration, the sadism, newspaper mat lobotomy.
We lament. We are sorry.
We lament and cut sad faces. We cut the undead that spawn from the soil and ****** your innards into the hot room. We are sorry. We too spawn from soil. You feel you've lost connection to the Nexus- with the stringy appendages of chilled gore.
We've taken your insides and given you a new face.
We are sorry.
Oct 1, 2015
Oct 1, 2015 at 2:25 PM UTC