"obscures" poems
lies are dots....
obscures the truth yet resembles the truth
so share these dots
connect them
and see the bigger picture known as the truth
but
one man's truth is another man's lie....
Oct 28, 2014
Oct 28, 2014 at 9:23 AM UTC
heavy, deep and dark.
louder, louder;
the twofold pounding
of clockwork respiration.
thud, (thud-thud)
goddess arms hang
into the abyss, like
dead weight.
depth obscures,
lesser life forms
meander on their own,
unaware of the wayward colossus.
/lonely/
a shroud of antiquity
suspended --
veiling the secret
of ages.
thud, [thud-thud]
percussive life
continues alone,
out of time.
evolving
longing
Nov 14, 2012
Nov 14, 2012 at 1:04 AM UTC
Cellophane wings beating
against the heavy summer air,
back and forth, all day long,
the blue dragonflies
chase one another across the pond-
their tails turned up
like neon scimitars
poised for a ******
that never seems to come.
Occasionally, a truce is called,
and they settle into place
on opposite sides of the reeds,
momentarily oblivious to their war.
Twice their size,
the red dragonfly idles in the sun.
From time to time it leaves its perch
to challenge the silhouette
hanging from the iris blade,
its spent skin,
as if it were a bad memory
rising from the green depths of the pond.
Below the surface,
the fish school together- a current of gold
slipping between the lily pads,
each aware of its place in the stream.
My reflection circles them all.
Drawn to the water
that both mirrors and obscures
I lose my place for a moment-
hovering between obligations and idleness
on cellophane wings.
Tom Spencer © 2015
Jul 14, 2015
Jul 14, 2015 at 7:39 AM UTC
He's up there
The lonesome astronaut,
with a will to fly,
and a skill of flight
He and a star
that have just collided
both dies gracefully
Like a flower withering in spring
But the star still haughty
And so full of itself it explodes
Into a supernova
He and the star
that emits the brightest light
And obscures the eyes
of whoever that sees
As he dies ever so faithfully
And the flaring light?
Blinds thousands as it emerged
in the darkest seven p.m.
But we were wildly astonished
by the lonesome astronaut
who was a dashing astronaut
-2018-
Feb 19, 2018
Feb 19, 2018 at 9:33 AM UTC
The devil's speech say they:
Rolling, clattering, frolicking, hungry.
Billows of charred skeletons embrace the air
Black soot pumped straight from the pyres of Hades
Congealing to clouds of evil intent wherever it roam.
That charred old shell so terse,
Black as sadness and dead as a hearse,
Darling to death as he brings on the rain:
The dry rolling thunder of the funeral train.
In the coughing desert
Not a thing dares roam
Neither wind nor creature
And neither stick nor stone.
But then the silence disturbed by a horrible shriek -
The railway screams in horror and the train itself speaks, saying
"Tell me, thou innocent,
Why feel you special and best?
For when all is done I take you
And return you to my nest;
Your world is bright and happy
Full of high spirits and song,
Though soon you too shall step aboard
And join my faceless throng."
Hot saliva on the heaving engines:
Weeping, groaning, ghostly, parched.
Rusted joints spewed onwards grinding resisting
Movement spat out like a violently beaded string of curses
Sloppily uttered as incantations of a malformed mouth!
From that charred old shell so terse,
Black as sadness and dead as a hearse,
Darling to death as he brings on the rain:
The dry rolling thunder of the funeral train.
That dark train cries out and all around
A mourning whimper rises like slumbering fog-
Bleak and yellow it obscures the land
Seeping out insidious in strange locales all:
The old lonely fisherman
Sleeping on his wharf,
The frustrated hawker's
Windblown barefaced booth,
Silent streets crying for attention,
Dark places hidden at the corner of every eye.
That solemn train cries out and all around
Her mourning whimper rises like harrowing fog
Calling all to upright attention and fear.
Looming like a spectre but a breath-span from your window
Slowly closing cold dread claws-
Naked numbness dumb as ice-
Cold dread claws upon thy waist.
And you,
You poor old thing,
Shivering in your pitiful shack of bones,
You never had any chance!
You were only human.
You were only human, you poor old thing.
Barreling on with brimstone slang:
Clang clang! Dang dang! Beelz Bub!
Sputtering an ocean of curses from turgid goat-flesh
Born of sadness to cause even more, yawning great maw
Jowls clanking with fresh hot oil drool steaming stark and lewd, and yet
That charred old shell so terse,
Blacker than sadness and slain like a hearse,
Is all that gives meaning to our every gain:
The dry rolling thunder of the funeral train.
Oct 4, 2011
Oct 4, 2011 at 12:10 AM UTC
Pyres of cityscapes burn contingently in the distance
ever drunk with blood of a mother, a nurturer who asks
nothing of the morose, self-consumed existence
she cares for. Her brow cocked,
wrinkles descend like
rain that tears down
a window.
Pain.
You're bleeding out! But she'll never put herself
forefront. How could she? Sitting, reflecting.
Tormented by incompetence, her soft
voice silently flutters the leaves.
Drearily an extension of her lips, the words
escape the cusps like a cautious prairie-dog.
Smog obscures
the senses, a haze
darkening the pupils of your celestial eyes.
I still see You
drooping in the rocker under a hard light. Retaining know-
ledge of past and present, through spectacles.
Her deflating **** secreting
concrete into the sucklings, cementing fate,
as the clock that hangs above her falters. I shutter to think of the
future that's afore. When the one who's raised me is not.
No more.
Your timber limbs look awfully thin. Restless and alone,
she's tired. "Abandoned"
we're all alone,
but your company means more to me than a sustainable
stone.
May 10, 2010
May 10, 2010 at 8:31 AM UTC
he rides his bicycle in the the
torrential rain
plowing a froth quick and fierce
through the rivers created
the cycle once bright orange
has patches of rust the size
of cantaloupe
and has a blue hoodie wrapped
round the seat which smells musty
you can feel him panting
bathed in sweat
as each hill retains more and more of
his hard earned pace
but mother nature is kind to her
strangest son
and every hill has a
fly by the seat of your pants
whoop whoop laughing
breeze in you hair bugs in your teeth
downhill
shift to vision miles distant from
that smile
the cycle lay in the weeds by the river
broken
the night obscures
the riderless iron steed
its form twisted
it has expressions of pain in appearance
that paint cannot contain
pain for its own lost
freedom of the road
but pain for its rider
the years count on and on
from that downhill smile moment
that lives on in the heart
Jul 30, 2013
Jul 30, 2013 at 8:57 AM UTC
Your embarrassed skin obscures my vision
Until I take off my glasses, always in the way,
Everything works around a pinkish hue;
All in my sight clamors for a chance, too, to kiss you.
We navigate the crowds of cool hipsters
Smoking away their silhouettes; we're invited
Only 'til breakfast, then we've got to go.
May 27, 2015
May 27, 2015 at 2:21 PM UTC
Raindrops on my face.
The harder it rains,
The more I erase
Why I am crying.
Raindrops hide my tears.
The harder it rains,
The less are my fears
I’m weeping in pain.
Raindrops on my face.
Each droplet obscures
A tear in its place—
Hopelessness or joy?
Raindrops hide my tears.
Each droplet obscures
Having to decide—
Why am I crying?
These precious raindrops
Leave it up to me.
The confusion stops.
They are tears of joy.
Jul 22, 2018
Jul 22, 2018 at 9:19 PM UTC
when in the wilderness, then the portal seems so long and wide
no matter how heavy the distance is, let go of your deepest sigh ...
at the signal of the time, the wounded mind will exhile in the heart and heal any sore!
because for every success is worth the celebration!
no matter how big or small
even when the lines are not rhyming anymore!
do not be afraid, do not be discouraged, do not let your words slip,
express how you feel by looking up or kneeling.
and when you hold your pen and its loose ink ...
kindly convey your thoughts to a lifetime place that can grow around different corners!
someday,
howsoever ...
selfishness can correct the colorless mixture of fire and water
covered by heaven and Earth
and made thru the collision of Love and hatred
until a massive light fades, and obscures the limit of fading views
Oct 23, 2020
Oct 23, 2020 at 2:14 AM UTC
The sky is limitless
With all that flies
Barely covering a speck
Regardless of size.
The sky is limitless
With its tinge of heavenly blue.
It warms me with its broad brilliant sun,
Yet obscures lies as it does what is true.
The sky is limitless
When I gaze into you.
I fall under the spell of your majestic hue
Until everything in the world feels new.
The sky is limitless
To the point where I do not know
Where it starts or where it ends
The sky only bends.
Limitless is my misunderstanding of the sky.
Its soft stillness soporific; it stupefies.
Yes, there is still silence in the sky.
Limitless is the sky.
Nov 26, 2012
Nov 26, 2012 at 12:22 PM UTC
Society's light is one of oppression,
It hides in the shadows the manipulation,
Of likes, favourites and ratings,
And of course, the TV stations,
That tell us how to live.
But there will be a time,
When someone opens up their mind,
And notices the signs,
That dictate our every step.
Why not today?
Let's smash up the light bulbs,
And pull out the fittings,
Let's switch them off at the mains.
Let's wreck up the power stations,
And cut all the wires,
So only darkness remains.
It's time to listen to the crying stars,
It's time to listen to the silent cars,
It's time to listen to the city at night.
Because the city at night is shouting:
*Louder!
Louder!*
And the rain on the pavement's calling:
*Stronger!
Stronger!*
And tribal rhythms,
Inspire the buildings,
To get up and walk.
And driving heartbeats,
Persuade the dark streets,
To rise up and talk.
*"It's time to stand up for what we believe in!
It's time to show the world how we're feeling!
Because the light has blinded them from our point of view!
From our vantage point beneath your feet,
We've observed the city that never sleeps,
And realised it needs to change and let the darkness through!"*
And all the onlookers and sympathisers,
Respond with a chant,
That shakes society's foundations to bring it down.
*We don't want to fit in!
We don't want to give in!
To peer pressure within
Every waking day!
We all want to regress!
To when we all had less!
When money hadn't quite messed
Up every word we say!*
As every light goes out,
Each with a bolder shout,
Those in charge watch in awe as the revolution wins.
The entire city unites,
To bring about the night,
A dusk to match the dawn of humanity's sins.
But in the morning the sunrise,
Brings the reform to its demise.
And light obscures the strings that control our minds.
Dec 5, 2014
Dec 5, 2014 at 5:42 PM UTC
I. The Minor Poet
His little trills and chirpings were his best.
No music like the nightingale's was born
Within his throat; but he, too, laid his breast
Upon a thorn.
II. The Pretty Lady
She hated bleak and wintry things alone.
All that was warm and quick, she loved too well-
A light, a flame, a heart against her own;
It is forever bitter cold, in Hell.
III. The Very Rich Man
He'd have the best, and that was none too good;
No barrier could hold, before his terms.
He lies below, correct in cypress wood,
And entertains the most exclusive worms.
IV. The Fisherwoman
The man she had was kind and clean
And well enough for every day,
But, oh, dear friends, you should have seen
The one that got away!
V. The Crusader
Arrived in Heaven, when his sands were run,
He seized a quill, and sat him down to tell
The local press that something should be done
About that noisy nuisance, Gabriel.
Vl. The Actress
Her name, cut clear upon this marble cross,
Shines, as it shone when she was still on earth;
While tenderly the mild, agreeable moss
Obscures the figures of her date of birth.
2.2k
Making a living Wage from the living Word
Inevitably shades, obscures, taints and corrupts
Betrays the apparently living Faith
And exalting the Man than the Word
Balaam refused silver and gold in public
But embraced death's wages in secret
Certainly the labourer deserves his dues
But from his Master and not from fellow labourers
If the lives you saved leave you hungry
But for your whip, perhaps they're yet slaves
Mar 23, 2022
Mar 23, 2022 at 2:30 AM UTC
Yesterday the fields were only grey with scattered snow,
And now the longest grass-leaves hardly emerge;
Yet her deep footsteps mark the snow, and go
On towards the pines at the hills' white verge.
I cannot see her, since the mist's white scarf
Obscures the dark wood and the dull orange sky;
But she's waiting, I know, impatient and cold, half
Sobs struggling into her frosty sigh.
Why does she come so promptly, when she must know
That she's only the nearer to the inevitable farewell;
The hill is steep, on the snow my steps are slow—
Why does she come, when she knows what I have to tell?
2.2k
I know myself better than you.
In my heart there is a banshee waiting to drown themselves on the shores of a beach covered in discarded glass.
Her body ragged, bruised, and gaunt in every view.
She’s sharp and harsh with every cut that may pass.
Her hair obscures her eyes with a taupe wash of strands.
She pierces into the tiny drums with a venom only meant to break my spirit and erode past the bones.
Into my soul she will cut with those talons on her hands.
I can’t progress without her because she is my cornerstone.
My foundation would collapse without her haunting inside.
She’s seen my cracks and my missing parts.
Instead of leaving me numb she waters my plants.
Together we craft love and we create art.
She raised the goblin in my head to laugh and dance.
He leads us through her pain.
It’s something that helps me smile no matter how heavy the rain.
He swallows the flames we light each day or eliminates the obstacles in our way.
His skin so full and flushed;
It contrasts so greatly with her hair unbrushed.
His eyes so clear, bright, and colorful.
I can feel the joy radiate so extensively.
What he gives so soft like the silky breeze she echoes back with a call so guttural.
I always valued him more so selfishly.
There would be no him without her.
There would be no parts in me without the parts I don’t prefer.
So before you tell me that I’m intense or too much;
I hope you see how important they both are inside.
They are more than the things you can see or touch.
They are every laugh that I’ve had or every tear that I’ve cried.
I don’t need you to believe that I am the right amount between too much and just enough for you.
I believe in my own beauty and wholeness; we all do.
Aug 9, 2022
Aug 9, 2022 at 8:29 PM UTC
The Knitting Needles Museum
has a prudish name
that frightens the schoolchildren
and obscures the oppression
of desperate and ***** women
The torture museum
and the war museum also
lack the inspiration
from a muse
They are monuments
and should be called that
With the unbuilt museums
of destroyed art and
ancient cultures, they can
fill a street in any city
'Ecce homo', behold man
the noble beast, the master
of things and nothings -
virtual and vanished
worlds that are unlivable
Jan 4, 2023
Jan 4, 2023 at 4:04 AM UTC
The path is crooked, long and pained,
but brother wolf walk on
for if it's rained, return we not,
all we walk is vain
The path is crooked, long and pained
the rain obscures the trail,
the scent of prey's not in the air
soaked fur and hanging tail
your dripping eyes and looming gait
tell of your arduous walk
but brother wolf walk on, walk on,
walk on and we will talk
of romance and naivete and hearts that come undone
of moonlit night when flames we met, of sparks and summer suns
live wild and young and free and bold
listen well that you may hear
this hunt, it only passes once, as seasons **** the year
but lone we aren't though wolves we are
and loyalty lies between
these wolves whose pack is not of blood
but of a bond that bleeds
vision may obscure we by the foolish or the brave
by Russian waters, or by lights, from fool's fake flame's that blaze, by passions that we crave
but through it all and by the path when by the way exhaust
your brother stops in passing by and howls "not all is lost"
for today and through the night and through the future fair
be we brother's deathly strong and princes of the air
wolves with wings and sharpened claws and hardened hides to match
we one may fly and one may dive and one day have our catch
after all we walk this path through mazened woods and sky
and after all, and after all, we'll walk it til we die
disorder from an aerial view , the other's taken turns
that crooked lead and path diverge and do our purpose spurn
warn with a whistle, call and care, "that turn will harm our dream"
give advice and give it quick, revealing everything
where brother's blind his brother eyes see not what things seem
the turning trails and easy paths left open to our paws
the trails that take no pain to walk no effort, none at all
are oft the ones that easy take and lead our hearts astray
begin to kindle fickle flames that tomorrow die away
let not our hearts nor paws nor wings nor looks be knocked aside
but be we steady in the brotherhood and steady in our stride
steady in our dreams, and steady be in nights,
steady in our running, steady peering down from heights
the path is crooked, long and pained
but brother wolf, walk on
for if it's rained, return we not
all we walk is vain
so brother wolf, walk on . . .
Apr 10, 2012
Apr 10, 2012 at 3:14 PM UTC
imagine all the cells that form to
join in your sensation
all the stars that blew your bits together
for proper procreation
being born with every breath and
reaching death through exhalation--
i simply can't exist without you
nor you without i,
and of this we can be sure that
(though the sureness of my i
obscures the many in us all[
mere words to ***** for thoughts we cope with]
)it will rumble beneath
and explode at the surface
to delayed surprise of just reprise
(mistaking inflation as progress)
that libations of dogmas won't change a thing:
when you look at the fibers in the fabric of being
(spun finely by spiders invisibly swift)
and if our knowledge were but a fly
we'd see ourselves trapped by its infinite web,
both victim to its trap and servant to its host
(though this is the nature of matters sticking close[
especially light years away])
just as the lattice of language roots deep
inside double-helix libraries unimaginably tall
filled with books authored by curious protons,
excited electrons and fleeting photons,
composed of sentences by snarky quarks and gluons
lying in -eate groups with unseen companions
(read between the lines) working in union
to fashion a sum greater than summation could do--
an alchemical-calculus of fractal fluidity,
finding contexts for novelty to sing songs
like Earth (though just a planet in other eyes)
to give conscious rise within the cosmic playground
embodied by us, but not encompassed by us;
rather extended through us
as curiosity mirrored.
Sep 13, 2012
Sep 13, 2012 at 2:37 AM UTC
Once upon a time we had the hymnal propped by the kitchen sink so's I could learn; years later Mum would sing along with me, and now...I like never but once in a blue moon dare to sing aloud, for missing her to tears.
(sonnet #MMMMMMCCXLVII)
What's happened to--me? Rainy hours detail
Thet eye with silver's touch while green lawns fence
The minutes fog obscures by vague suspense
With softest carpets rolled out to avail,
And I'm not erm, my own in sheer betrayl;
Erst naked trees lost to mists' whitish sense
Of yonder, I could shiver, and do hence,
Cuz in a blink I'm his upon that scale.
One comment like my wont five days ere, poor
As what? now he distracts aught hours 'til through
Suggestion I am giggling, sober, tour
His deepest sorrows, and maunt say he'd woo?!
Of course, I'm better searching violets, fer
All that. Let purple wink low, saying we knew.
05Apr17b
Apr 15, 2017
Apr 15, 2017 at 12:58 AM UTC
I await tomorrow's world,
the promises and hope;
that come to all believers,
as with today, we cope.
I await the sunshine,
that never fades away;
that dissipates the clouds,
that obscures our way.
The day when troubles end,
when all's replaced with joy;
that I knew in innocence,
when I was but a boy.
I await tomorrow's world,
when the morning star will come;
and our restless adversary,
will completely be undone.
I await with prayers and song,
to usher in that day;
when the world will be at peace,
when they will know the Way.
Feb 12, 2016
Feb 12, 2016 at 4:22 PM UTC
We weren't meant to live forever,
here today and gone tomorrow;
Father Time has pulled his lever,
enter now, the grief and sorrow.
Life's sweet blossom fades away,
gone too soon, the gasping breath;
be thankful for this gifted day,
that doesn't end in our own death.
Sing a song of praise for living,
and celebrate this day of life;
grace the time with much forgiving,
gain the peace that obscures strife.
What we had, will pass forever,
yet a treasured piece remains;
for those we loved forget us never,
in our times of troubled pains.
Memories will last a lifetime,
and the good will never die;
and like the poetry we rhyme,
it won't fade with our last sigh.
Apr 8, 2016
Apr 8, 2016 at 4:39 PM UTC
Dawn, o Dawn
Sunlight that spills over a distant hill
Teasing the shadows of wheat and knell
Filling the cracks with a soulful lit
Expose the face, the shining face
The earth that shies from night
Expose the blindness of the earth
Just as blind in the light.
The fury that melts the dew away
Casts me long away from me
I stood outside, the weeping fields
Seeking the escape I need.
Futility, oh misery
It pulled me back, the seed
And forced embrace, to love the day
Despite spurn, implore, or plead.
The coming day, I hate the man
No friend of mine is he
Every day, oh, Dawn, oh Dawn
A disappointment to me.
Ev’ry step of Apollo’s path
Is paved with bitter tears
Each minute, forced to swallow
To see my failure’s leers
Each time the day begins anew
I’m forced into a darker world
One where pieces of the previous day
Are halved, split into
Shreds and shreds Oh, dear, oh, dear
You’d think spirit’d be all but dead
But what kills him more is not his thought
But what my eyes continue to see
When those eyes were drawn to me
The sun shows never was
It existed in the dark
Obscures like barley’s shadow does
And if, of course, it’s fantasy
A book intent with end
I’ll rip and claw the dawn away
And fiction I’ll defend
For if you’ll never grace my field
And reap the fruits that grow
I’ll just raze them, sky and all
The passion the earth will know.
A fictitious world, much more surreal
I love my own creation
The sunlight unveils the bitter truth
They are not food, but cremation.
If I could stop the coming dawn
If even for a moment
Darkness would bathe the far corners
Wasted lives atone it.
But that is bunk, the dawn knows that
Reality is taken in full
Who ever knew a crisp fall morn
Could be so utterly cruel?
Laying here, the sun moves on
Soon we’ll both be dead
To face the face, my misery
Confines me to this bed.
Nov 25, 2013
Nov 25, 2013 at 8:22 AM UTC
She who is the agent of chaos
Knows not why she does dance
Shyly she poised on her tiptoes, bare
When I saw her just by chance
She, my Shiva dances atop the highest of the Himalayas
Humming and hoping I watch alone from below
And I wonder - how does the dust feel betwixt her toes?
How does this earth resist from swallowing her whole?
***** a compass, she traces to encompass
A circumference within which she does reside
There, she spins, twirls, pirouettes a vortex
And the dust obscures her from my salacious sight
But I can still hear her
Blinded by the grit and deafened by the gale
I hopelessly follow the sounds of her anklet bells
But to scale these peaks with my bare hands, I slip, I fail
And fall forever into her infinite fractal spells
A feather, I drift towards her fictional siren calls
Travelling through echoes of silence and spectre
She punctuates her poses in the shape of question marks
Interrogating me, when she knows I cannot help but surrender
Who are you I ask, my agent of chaos?
Mute and vengeful she turns to strike like a cobra
With one blow she breaks her own spell
And refracts her remnants from fractal to mirror
She who is the agent of chaos
Danced a waltz upon my throat
Speechless and breathless I was rendered lame
But he knew it’s really all the same
Aug 3, 2012
Aug 3, 2012 at 6:11 PM UTC