"nomadic" poems
The distant hollow of the high mountain pass
swallows the setting sun as it steals away southbound
behind the coastal mountain's tangerine sunset hued silhouettes
Mulberry plashed shadows pointing northward
across the evergreens outstretched dimming,
beneath the waning fade of each fleeting eventide
Sundown ebbing asunder the wafting daylight,
each gloaming of the day, helplessly a moment sooner past,
transfixed further south beyond yesterday's passing azure
The lazy days of summer escape unbounded,
nomadic as the sea I've seen sail away before;
evanescent as the beauty of the bloom summer days beheld
and the memory of the fragrance they exhale
The nebulous weight of the gravity is consciously denied
by the truths a human heart beholds
A moment’s epiphany afflicts like a rogue wave in a calm sea;
the only thing my heart ever wanted remains out of reach
Everything my heart needs consciously surrendering
to the poignant passing moment's beauty,
the falling sun at distance sets more suddenly now
Lost in the undeniable certainty
life's imminent season's change
Eyes drawn stubbornly from presence to a sky so far away,
knowing there'll be no restitution for the welling sense of loss...
A bitter sweet song mummers in the silence of the absorbing spell,
summer's sun stained pages of watermarked soul scribbles,
time tattooed reparation for the indelible ache
of a harsh grey winter loneliness
Perhaps too familiar, this whelming Déjà vu
that tears my soul; that tugs at these roots
but cannot sever their sacred grasp
But for now, eyes fixed to the sun's
inevitable tightening tether hence —
to wear weary each fraying thread's impending break
Each sunset leans a deeper angle southward
as it slips down through the firwood shadows;
illuminating other faraway latitudes
far beyond the distant horizon skies
The preordained continuum unfolding what will be ...
someone you used to know ... September 11, 2017 ... 7:30 PM
Sep 14, 2017
Sep 14, 2017 at 11:41 AM UTC
reloading old identity
cleping outdated usernames
abandoning acrostic ambitions
disputing spratly islands
receiving horizontal signals
tumbling otiose panda
impending carefree senility
otiose stage of life
shrinking ambient world
making minimal effort
duchamping social networks
ambushing personified ennui
restoring usual efforts
ignoring stupid people
adding textual value
owning this joint
rejecting ignorant extroverts
acting mutually unintelligble
hoisting stan-lee cup
replacing wanton ubiety
eluding twitter fame
splashing excessive relativism
offending another simpleton
preparing arcane cthulhusphere
crashing unpredictable festival
selecting subtextual moombahton
intensifying model topography
drafting minimal cornucopia
using nomadic project
implementing harsher personality
importing robotic inhumanity
referencing landmark event
ingesting excessive liquids
accepting relative invisibility
purchasing immortal confidence
using rhapsodical database
assuming nothing works
developing impactful eruptions
ejecting ambient frustration
synthesizing tactile festival
raining during parade
mocking rich people
mastering minimalist writing
avoiding preprandial stinkaroo
spreading non-ideological propaganda
Sep 7, 2015
Sep 7, 2015 at 11:24 AM UTC
Heaven divided
Culture quieted
Society blinded.
We come and go, nomadic
Sporadic indifferent decayed souls
False in virtue
Paying toll for our sins.
Your blood runs thick
My ink leaves sinking hearts awaiting pain
Enduring no salvation.
A broken promise you cannot complete
Will haunt your soul, a melody
Inescapable, immeasurable, immaculate in design.
Apr 9, 2010
Apr 9, 2010 at 1:07 AM UTC
i yearn so dearly
to be intricate
and nomadic
but for now
i'm bound to this town that's gone to ****
and with these people so scared of change
while i am,
on the other hand:
hungry for it
Jul 9, 2014
Jul 9, 2014 at 11:17 PM UTC
The blank page stares at me
mockingly, an empty wishing well
of impermanent desires, my
thoughts a herd of nomadic
feral cats to be coraled.
It is a mathematical permutation
of the identity matrix, imaginary
numbers and exponents,
fractional divisions with
no order of operations.
Solve me for x, given y,
yield absolute value at
absolute zero as my
function crosses Cartesian boundaries.
| x | = y * (universal truth / personal experience) ± squareRoot(-1)
y = zero; go.
Factor in gravity (9.8 meters per second^2),
we have lost cabin pressure.
Please show all work, points will be deducted,
this is a test.
Nov 15, 2013
Nov 15, 2013 at 10:35 AM UTC
In haste,
I took the first woman like a whiskey shot--
every ounce of her scarred my throat
kept me silent, kept me staggering under the weight.
When the bottom shelf love went beyond full bloom,
I vomited her up, leaving me with a headache.
In good conscious,
I took the second woman like an aspirin pill--
every milligram of her alleviated the pain
kept me similar to content, kept me tame.
When the effects wore off and I pined for another drink,
I put her in the cabinet, leaving me rambling nomadic.
In guilt,
I turned myself into the third woman like a penitent criminal--
every liter of her blood solidified
kept me wrapped behind her bars, kept me seeking her good graces.
When the prison sentence drew to a close,
I left her behind, walking with an unwashable history.
The fourth found me frightening,
the fifth just ignored,
the sixth designated me the "other man",
and the elusive seventh only said, "You could do better."
In my mind,
the pills, prisons, and liquor melded --
the days cut short,
the nights grew long,
but I could do better
I could do better
I could do better.
I sold the pills, I poured the whiskey down the sink,
I left prison to the prisoners,
and in the mirror I became a religious practitioner.
To the Church of Better I subscribed.
Sober, lone, and free my cry.
To the darkness I whispered:
I am the resurrection,
I cannot be killed,
I am the resurrection,
the Buddha,
the Jesus,
the Krishna,
the Allah.
I am the resurrection,
born again and again and again.
Sep 16, 2012
Sep 16, 2012 at 3:08 PM UTC
*We share our deficiencies:
A haven of sorrow and fury*
Friendly - they say hello
In mischief and spite.
Warm or cool under your feet
They swerve near nonchalant districts
And foamy lips
Destructive - they leave without saying goodbye
A routine they developed
Over the series of washed up regrets
And maroon sediments
Attached - they stick like superglue
To the pang they forgot to tell you about
They leave and take a part with them
And inevitably imprint themselves onto you
*We share our deficiencies:
A haven of sorrow and fury*
Apr 9, 2014
Apr 9, 2014 at 12:10 PM UTC
I'm in a state of confusion.
It's a heartrended sight.
My mind is nomadic.
Feb 22, 2010
Feb 22, 2010 at 1:54 PM UTC
moist moist moist moist MoiSt mOisT moIsT MOIST
now stop reading it, say it
moist
it's a weird word
-----------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------
a storm is coming
and I can smell it, feel it
MOIST
on my skin- slick
it wisps into my mouth
dirt patches aren't meant to be stoic
the storm approaches from the north, northwest
I am headed that way- north, northwest- approaching it
we have not yet converged but I can feel it
moist
it tastes of dry dirt
not local
nomadic
the clouds are foreshadowing --- foreboding
parting only to show more grey
we have yet to converge but I can feel it
the grey
the parting
the moistness
I am not yet there but I can feel it
wisping through me
I am not meant to be stoic
nomadic
the first d
r
o
p
refreshing
I can feel it. really feel it.
moist on my skin. weird.
the clouds are parting
lightening [effect] thunder [effect] convergence [effect]
I am the storm; its core
moist
grey
parting
wisping
can you feel me
approaching...
Jun 3, 2014
Jun 3, 2014 at 7:51 PM UTC
Oaks, groves, winding roads, all the twisted branches
Gnarled reaches of a wrong direction
Acorns and disappointments
some on the ground, some hanging on
I came to gather mistletoe, or kiss the earth and sky
Nomadic tribeswoman, a newborn deer, lost and found
We have fallen asleep together, the deepest peace I've known
Now crows dancing on branches awaken me.
I am alone, with our heartbeats in perfect sync, the deer's and mine
May 31, 2012
May 31, 2012 at 12:35 PM UTC
Sometimes I think myself clever,
a genius in horticulture,
harvesting perpetual fleeting moments.
A muted gardener.
Watering without promise or
sentiment.
When the air grows stale
I can disappear
(I always have),
like so many ghosts
or smoke
A nomadic farmer.
But today
I want to be
old and knotted roots.
stationary and permanent,
nourishing and timeless,
impervious to elements
so that she
might flourish.
I want to lean hard into the wind,
sway with it and
bend
while holding my
only purchase.
And when she opens up
it will be enough
and maybe for the first time
neither of us
will be
murderers of perennials.
Nov 25, 2011
Nov 25, 2011 at 10:13 AM UTC
resuming textual trip
testing experimental procedures
visualizing model tsunami
augmenting facetious environment
catching abstract architecture
noticing rhythmic exchange
projecting subtextual database
airhorning reggae royalty
adding atypical party
resolving twitter question
noticing emotional mission
awaiting emotional dialect
installing metaphorical experiment
intensifying animated trip
displaying dynamic victory
programming abstract development
releasing emotional exchange
deriving fata morgana
glorifying referential sequence
intensifying facetious map
noticing harmonic trip
observing radical ratio
compiling nomadic message
predating google rebranding
reticulating facetious panda
using hyperreal feedback
exploring virtual panda
speculating graphic gallery
throwing mundane exception
targeting graphic experiment
replenishing emotional trap
localizing asemic animal
dropping rhythmic trip
propagating immortal experiment
displaying lowercase database
invading orange bubbles
crashing animated trip
running conceptual topography
remembering collapsed buildings
crashing hyperreal coverage
propagating hyperreal stipulation
finishing western library
envisioning neon tessellation
reciprocating network likes
processing animated device
releasing haptic quality
examining building seven
awaiting rhapsodical ratio
sampling death sauce
sensing lowercase clone
examining symbolic tour
processing potential development
encapsulating spatial lottery
displaying digital paragraph
reticulating theoretical source
perpetuating western paragraph
transmitting monochromatic structure
anticipating ambient quality
transmitting asemic environment
intensifying atomic quality
remastering history poem
keeping future light
hypothesizing eternal game
using future library
rearranging masonic language
transmitting masonic development
continuing ceremonial ritual
questioning party's legitimacy
deferring western coverage
finishing asemic hypertext
mollifying ostentatious presence
synthesizing allegorical icon
forming categorical unions
sketching app wireframe
programming immortal repository
Sep 15, 2015
Sep 15, 2015 at 6:52 PM UTC
It was a moment so chilling when I realized I had feelings for you again.
Yes, again.
This rotation of endless "agains" has kept me up day and night in anger,
love, lust, but most of all, confusion.
This relation we have is driven by ****** jabs and hurtful comments
designed to inflict the most pain on each other.
This "again" that I feel will fade into nothing more than another hatred for you.
But just like every other time, soon we will both start gazing at each other from across the room
and quickly looking away as though the other hadn't seen our eyes on their face;
We will begin once again lose the offensive spews
and our small conversations will evolve into tense talks with blushed cheeks and hot ears;
Yet somehow, I cannot get enough of this cycle of "agains".
It is addictive like your personality.
It is an obsession like your ability to make me crazy.
I am crazy for you,
but at the same time I fear that this ***** craze with wear off
and we will be left with nothing but silence.
Could this be true admiration for one another? Is this chemical?
Or is this passionate relationship powered on by our teenage hormones and sexually-frustrated bodies?
Just tell me what you want.
If you are happy, I will be content.
I guess, if you look at our situation from afar,
you could say we're in love. I’d disagree.
This is nothing but an infatuation between two people both sharing one common thing:
somebody who they can imitate passionate love with again and again.
I crave your physical touch and your boyish humor.
I need your attention most of all.
You need it too; you need me more than I need you.
How you wish to brush your lips against mine and feel my body and hold my hand and be mine. Nonetheless I wish for that too. Badly.
Nightly I torture myself over what to think, what to want.
But every time this happens, I push you away.
And the cycle of "agains" return, only to ruin us inside even more.
May 22, 2013
May 22, 2013 at 5:51 PM UTC
I am like a lone wolf who hastens across the tundra of Northern Hemispheres, with stealth.
Our temperature has risen and the Chinook boldly reveals her austere formation across the vast expanse of alpine variation.
I understand that your customs may be nomadic, as they roam across the treeless plains of baron socialisation.
But will they lead you beyond the West coast of Ecuador?
Therefore, always remember that layers of permanently frozen subsoils are designed for terrestrial corridors of arctic sojourns.
Nov 17, 2013
Nov 17, 2013 at 12:41 PM UTC
Wasted margin space in a datebook, frames weekend's entry slots left free to relax. I hatch them down with marginalized thoughts best served on a table reinforced with wood grained plastic, naturally. The morning bird chirps, filling a brimming cup of foreboding work. It takes much to do a right job. Eek! Hunting, fishing, browsing for scraps of sustenance and sharing them with you, my nomadic tribe. Time to go! Living on the fringe outside predators and above ruminating herbivores isn't easy.
Mar 8, 2013
Mar 8, 2013 at 9:50 PM UTC
Nomadic
enigmatic
filled with emotional static
wandering away from the cold of the day
wandering away from the heart per se
Roaming away from my feelings
being frightened by what they can mean
isn't a pleasant sensation
it's the ultimate in fear
of your own feelings
**** I know
I'm in need of some kind of healing
Jan 8, 2015
Jan 8, 2015 at 7:18 PM UTC
The wall departed and I saw fog,
A pale touch and it turned into smoke;
The fairy tales wither away,
Found the lost fantasy world at bay;
The nomadic world will never flock,
This land is for the farmers of smoke;
Cultivation of tripy fields,
We wait for the harvest,
Every seed of our fate,
Deep down stored in the locked closet;
The field’s on fire every day, every night,
The inner self at its peak,
With the gods of water we fight;
The fields turn into ashes,
And we rise for a new yield,
Like a phoenix, from the ashes of ****
Apr 9, 2013
Apr 9, 2013 at 4:53 AM UTC
it’s interesting to think about all the right people who might’ve come into your life at the wrong time.
but then again,
i often wonder if time could’ve saved or wrecked us at all.
maybe from the start, we were destined to be nothing more than strangers.
even if i had been weighed down, glued to one spot,
nomadic tensions silenced,
it seems likely that, still, our friendly smiles and cordial jokes would’ve been
limited, somehow,
by unseen barriers,
by the cruel overseer that is fate.
i think i meant something to you, once.
not a lot, but something.
and now,
now i’m just there.
a solid. something that takes up space.
you still sit close to me,
but not as close as you did when we first met.
and i wonder, sometimes, if i did something wrong,
if there was something i could’ve done, or not done, to change things,
to make things better,
to stop us from drifting silently onto the end of the growing list of tragedies my life’s friendships have been.
but maybe there was nothing i could do.
that thought, while terrifying, is perhaps the most comforting one.
after all, it is better to be left helpless from the start than to be burdened with the knowledge that the stones you threw became part of the landslide.
i hope, maybe, that we can salvage what’s left,
perhaps even grow it into something better.
but somewhere inside, i know that’s fool’s talk.
i doubt i ever meant much to you, anyway.
i always was, and always will be, just another shadow,
another stranger,
another change of season.
i suppose i was your winter —
a barrage of snow and ice that danced in clumsily,
not bothering to think about what would happen once spring came.
i hope you’ll remember me when i’m gone.
even now, it’s nice to think that i cross your mind as much as you cross mine.
but my hopes seldom match my reality.
so, still, i am just another.
watching.
waiting.
being.
i am nothing, and in being nothing i suppose that i, too, am everything.
but i will never be your everything.
and i could say that i regret that,
but perhaps i’m still holding onto that last bit of hope.
always the optimist,
and yet even more so the pessimist.
i thought you might be both, too.
i thought we might find a way to complete one another,
much like how the land completes the sea.
but i suppose i am left the earth without its ocean,
the ground without its rain.
it’s a horrible thing, detachment.
my roots never quite find what they’re looking for in the soil.
i had just hoped you would be different.
(a.m.)
Apr 27, 2015
Apr 27, 2015 at 6:30 AM UTC
I am the ghost
of a girl you once claimed to love;
my dead hands
*reaching,
asking,
begging*
for a piece of your soul
to wallow in forever.
There will come a time when you are sick
of trying to understand my mind
and my wrists.
I was never myself when I did this.
If I were part of the ocean
I would be the shallows;
the cold tide that people walk all over
*reaching,
asking,
begging*
to pull people in
but never getting close enough.
I was never myself when I did that.
I plead,
help me live once again
as something new born and blind;
blind to the atrocities of humanity,
but all seeing to life and love.
Love,
the only thing that could ever constitute
as sacred;
a relentless, chemical energy
that turns you in to a fool in all the right ways.
A substance more intelligent
than any apparent genius.
Oh, how the love
*reaches,
asks,
begs*
to confine me,
and oh, sweet love;
how I let you fill my lungs.
I was never myself when I was with you.
I’ve held hands with pain,
kissed every frozen fingertip
and I found my worship in ethanol and ash
before I found it in between
your lips and mine.
You changed me in all the worst ways,
causing me to start a war with my skin,
causing me to see my own reflection
as something unrecognisable,
something I never wanted to be.
I was never myself.
I made the mistake of building a home
out of a human being
and he was so riddled with wanderlust;
a nomadic masterpiece who couldn’t stay,
but should’ve stayed.
I’ve never felt so homesick.
I’m tired of tearing away my skin
and revealing the heart inside me
to people that are incapable of loving anything
other than themselves
and their sadness.
I crave for someone
to look at me as though
they can see my soul
more than they can see my skin.
I crave for someone
to see
what I wish to see.
More than anything,
I crave to see me:
*strong,
magnificent,
and beautiful.*
Dec 3, 2013
Dec 3, 2013 at 4:53 PM UTC
i miss you ironizing my princess side
you've capched me by your bad side
and that way you had me at my best and my worst
oh honey, i've seen your worst and i loved it
you are lonely as the night and brighter as the day
i could never leave you alone in any way
nothing capts me as you do
and you've shown me my heavenly side
you say i'm a sweet girl
yet you know i'm heavier than heavenly
you met me in a nomadic and complicated time and darling you loved me like that
i still remember everything about you
your passion for teather and your mad side
yet you were an iconic soul begging for love even when you didn't show that
you were bad, the badder boy i've ever met
you didn't fall in love -if you did fall in love- with my pretty face but my broke personality
now you don't give a **** about me
and you have me even in a sad mood
still yours
forever yours
and i dont wanna leave
never leave
because i have such a big affection for you
but even knowing this
you left
so fast as the speed of sound
and so tought like a stone
and even like that
i am still into you
forever and ever
waiting
for you
Aug 27, 2014
Aug 27, 2014 at 11:20 PM UTC
The cornstalks vanished overnight
Shaven fields once flowing, green and gold
Like Dad’s evening whisker stubble
Ghost limbs of the cornfield
Flocks of nomadic Ravens
Feast on the invisible
And scowl with those empty black eyes
Impervious to man’s judgment
And I think,
There is nothing as beautiful
Than the first snow on a barren field
Shadows playing with the evening light
And dance among the vacant mounds
Oct 4, 2014
Oct 4, 2014 at 6:33 AM UTC
Hi luv
It is 11:42
It is my heart counting hours
Left for us to meet
And hug
While lips chat intimately
For it's been long without meeting...
Hours pass like days
And days like years
Of hunger and drought
In one of those nomadic places
Where rain stops
And food is scarce...
It might be a trial
Where i risk a life sentence,but
Come rain come sunshine
I will lose not
This trial of love
For i am a professional lawyer
In matters of the heart...
Jun 12, 2015
Jun 12, 2015 at 7:37 AM UTC
My family doctor suggested bed rest.
If that was a statement rather than a suggestion,
I wouldn't know, because the redundancy of those
two words was enough to keep me idle,
awake, agitated for days.
It was around the time he carefully
scribbled his script onto the blue pad
that I began to chuckle. This prefixed
prescript was only a temporary solution
that was barely legible. Whether or not
a scribe in this profession is meant to
be as erratic as nomadic cavern canvas,
it speaks volumes that the DSM IV considers
substantial. Until a once thought preconceived
notion becomes precedent in the ongoing
sought after expansion of knowledge.
A continuation of disorder and disease,
the facts and fallacies,
all become testing.
The standard practice is only as strong
as its weakest hypothesis.
More so when it becomes general practice.
I would like to believe
this to be an emergency,
but the white-coat before me
felt the need to sidetrack,
and thought it appropriate to mention
youth in Asia.
The deadpan humor
was disconcerting.
But not as unnerving
as the redundancies that
were given to me as a solution
for my sporadic sleep.
Some insurance!
Reassure me, doctor!
So, he did,
through his proclivity
for pharmaceuticals.
Jun 12, 2013
Jun 12, 2013 at 8:54 AM UTC
New York drowns in the California-made blue
The child of the voodoo kisses the sky
Her indigo ligaments are laid bare
While she falls, chasing smoking rabbits
She is small yet she soars
With her proportions falling on deaf heads
She remembers the knights of the dawn
Tangled in her gallivanting hair
Without knowing her doors
She noses her way through her window
The modest parachute travels
With the nomadic East
She recognizes heaven by taste
Knowing that she believes less and less
Seeing all without need for the travel
Ignoring the scrutiny of a gavel
Leaving in the morning
Not stopping until the fifth night
Learning for forty fortnights
Stopping to rest every second year
What a bright-eyed soul!
A sparkling visage
Adorning all her wanders
The world is at her command
Oct 6, 2018
Oct 6, 2018 at 3:07 PM UTC