"oculus" poems
In the divet between mountains
Resides a wooden cabin – ostensibly an amalgamation of the scape
Adroitly - I - quondam female warrior flit
Down massive (ancient) hand-laid, hand-cut carved stone steps
Bounding from contingent step onto the dense pad of turned soil
Tacit compliance between gravity and soil holds footprints bound
A compressed deflating crescendo as pace ignites with bounds
Cadences of protuberant wildflowers and grasses erupt from swollen terra
A winsome chromatic menagerie, dispersed in ecstatic fistfuls
A venerably ancient ritual
My nascent clandestine vocation
Personally meted out - a beatification for my provisional sanctuary
Along glacier-fed stream
Lissome fingers shadow inert stalks –plucking dormant beginnings from their desiccated ligaments
I am austere and unadorned save for a festoon of pyrite flecks trailing my semblance
Residual gilding from my ante-meridian swim taken after requisite gathering of wild blackberries, goose berries, and rhubarb along oft-tamped path
The sun, nestling into its requisite apex endorsed my completion
I reclined into the hassock of soil, feeling the elements settle about with an embossment of my form
Imposing verdure arched subtly as compressed soil beckoned hyperbolic flux
As I lay within the basilica of opulent living columns replete with comestible bounty
Lingering dew honed inflections of sacrosanct petrichor in unison with piquant clover
Wild purple clover buds saccharinely tinted and inundated nestled nerves in mine cribriform plate
Birds pitched and galloped through the frond tips and beyond in the lapis expanse
Frequently snatching damselfly’s and assemblages of midges from their ephemeral drift
Auspicious rays transcended stippled diaphanous gravid clouds
Light inundated ether entered humbly into the cathedral oculus
Pyrite speckled terrain beneath, and my bare gilded form above
Cast a refracted aura about my sanctuary
Precipitously the elusive vaporous embankment distended further
Ashen atmospheric correspondence inaugurated liquescent sustenance to my mountain abode
And I -
Lingered beneath the descending gobbets, curls furled in a puddle
Fresh topsoil cupping my corporal topographic contours
Pressing blackberries into my mouth between smiles
Jan 26, 2014
Jan 26, 2014 at 9:13 PM UTC
there's ethical idealism:
where ethics is discussed...
there's ethical relativism:
where ethics is practised...
there's ethical realism...
where ethics is quantified
as an improbability;
and then there's ethical
absolutism,
where we supposedly
"progress" -
in this scenario are
the laws of physics actually
suspended:
whereby oculus qua oculus
is replaced -
a loss of an eye is "relative"
to 10 years in a cage...
really?!
ethics is
ideal, realistic, absolute or relative...
we're encouraged to live
in "realistic relativism"...
never in an absolute realism,
since realistic relativism
only compares itself
to ideal absolutism...
and nothing more...
ever watched that film
secrets in their eyes?
you ever wonder what
ethical idealism is to the ethnical
consequence that can absorb
a realistic libra?
i can only believe in
ethical absolutism,
ethical relativism is horrid to me...
relativism adorns idealism,
absolutism adorns realism...
a life sentence is worse than
a death sentence,
whether justified or not,
prison is sadism,
but at least ****** is simply ******
a space-time intact,
a ****** penalty is not
inhumane, nor a ouija board...
it's time for time,
space for space,
the actual punishment comes
with the missing adrenaline rush
of the unexpected reception of the wielded
weapon...
either send these jealous plonkers to
siberia, or sentence them to death,
for you are no more than they are,
nay, you are more...
you're akin to cats toying,
playing a sadistic games with half-mutilated
mice...
this is why i abhor
ethical relativism of the crucifix...
hence my belief in ethical
absolutism in the paragraph of realism,
which is perfected, by
being exacted, and never, ever,
being leisurely discussed,
on a farcical palette with a grimace
to boot: ******* a lemon;
compensating the horrors within
minutes, is never compensated
with ordeals that last years...
which is why i find the death penalty
an act of authentic humanity,
and not this quasi-humanitarian
act of pardon, ******* hypocrites -
i abhor the caged rat
more than the rat gladly nibbling
on a dead corpse...
at least there was passion
in the ******
waiting for death penalty is like killing
a vermin with poison,
disposing them with nonchalantly...
the wise maxim states:
ledo ferrum sicut id est calidi -
strike the iron while it's hot...
death is the dawn-broker -
a new tomorrow promise -
left intact, the fermenting process
of ethical dynamism takes over...
then again,
the supposedly "evolved"
preferred moral relativism to moral
absolutism,
because there was no
moral realism to speak of,
since morality could only
be talked about in ideal terms of
the supposedly so, supposedly
fashioned via: it ought to never happen to
me...
and then it might, and then:
oops... argument sinks like a wet fatty ****
into shambles of keeping up with
the presupposed pillar of argument
being "impenetrable";
hey, genius, back to the blackboard!
Nov 11, 2017
Nov 11, 2017 at 8:50 PM UTC
so, with israel being re-established...
why do we, us,hit
europeans... even need to bother
establishing authority,
utilißing the new testament?
i quiete like the old testament
logic of:
oculus per oculus
(eye for an eye)...
because the saxon concept of
justice: i rather see...
the implosion of
blackstone's formulation...
the 10:1 imploding to the 1:10
ratio of...
a shawshank redemption...
there is... redemption...
since! there's no justice within
the post scriptum of
the hillsborough disaster...
watching people walk, the lunatic walk,
20 years later?
disorientated by the court
of justice?
re-dem-ption...
the whole aspect of: innocent until proven
guilty is horrid!
this... saxon vernacular of
that branch of philosophy that's
bogus...
namely... within origins
of the forbidden fruit...
i.e. and you know?!
really?!
no... but i'll **** to make
a standing pivot of a pawn
on a chess-board.
savvy?
who, among the europeans...
actually needs such artifacts
as new testament texts, credo,
orthodoxy, sign of the cross
greek exports?
the state of israel has
been re-established...
i don't want anything to do
with this judeo-grecian banality...
you can have you little affair over
n
e w
s...
don't worry... i'll make sure that i'm
watching... people tell a lie...
yeah: hum hum bubbly hum-hum...
am i, or are there any arizona
inbreds?
who, the hell, needs, the news testament,
within the confines of history,
dispossessing europe of it,
of an established jewish state?
one book among many...
hence the scent of a yawn...
when entering a library...
i'll do one gesture, and one gesture
alone... inclined to a replica...
ecce libra!
i wash my hands from
having any investment in it.
**** the greeks can have it...
they can keep it, cherish it,
but they better not spaghetti the old testament
with their... "ingenious" plot...
not when the nag hammadi library
emerged...
no... not now... not ever...
i detest this greek book of overt
symbolism...
their pristine alphabet,
their diacritical application,
with the pseudo-romans toying with: deaf...
or blind... whichever it is...
sandpaper... instead of a kangaroo pouch...
of inflated... soft... flesh?
i'll rip your heart out
and feed it to my neighbour's dog,
beside a bowl of water.
Jul 24, 2018
Jul 24, 2018 at 8:32 PM UTC
My Reflection
Written by Adam M. Snow
See the mirror hanging there,
with obligation stare.
A glimpse an image, do I dare,
peek my reflection standing there.
The mocking image laugh and stare,
with lights surround to give a glare;
I see myself standing there,
looming deep within despair.
Do I dare? Do I dare,
glimpse the glass,
o mirror standing there?
Oculus of glass I stare,
waging war myself, standing there.
Apr 10, 2014
Apr 10, 2014 at 3:25 AM UTC
oh! how cute you are
with that round brown pupil
I fall in love always
when you roll back
and catch me as i steal a glance
window of the soul
the most beautiful of all
like the sky oculus
the early February moon..
Jun 5, 2015
Jun 5, 2015 at 11:12 AM UTC
the weight of seven
hummingbirds -- 21 grams --
is what leaves the body
after death
on that hummingbird breath
the soul leaves
a wispering whisper
of seven tiny, winged cavatinas
being sung back
and singing themselves
forward
into the chorus
to enter again
a melody -- in
the Eye Of God
shimmering
iridescent
wings beating
the rhythm of Love
c. 2018 Roberta Compton Rainwater
Jan 13, 2018
Jan 13, 2018 at 1:08 PM UTC
The moisture congregates on the surface,
and a single drop condenses quickly.
With a blink, it is released.
This salty drip of anguish,
it will crash to the ground below,
or absorb into my clothing,
Until I am drenched, in tears of woe.
One after another, emanated from each cavity,
each oculus becomes clouded, with liquid distress,
as I sit here reduced, to a beautiful, rueful, mess.
Dec 24, 2010
Dec 24, 2010 at 4:13 PM UTC
So often I inhale your cathartic cocktail;
it swoons me from my study, my brain trails.
Homogeneous with my velvet red intertwines, all else hails.
All exhales whisper, loftily, a separate tale.
Your embers are like no other;
they glow of yesteryear and retract into the present.
The warmth and the darkness, you segment.
Each draw, intoxicating, one after another.
Like a con artist you remain vague, and disappear;
any remaining inflection sails beyond the oculus;
presence constant, but hueless.
Those unacquainted always sneer.
Knowing not, your gift is of the most diverse;
but, in the end, like all else, your essence is a curse.
Mar 2, 2017
Mar 2, 2017 at 5:12 AM UTC
Let us lay in endless greens, and symbiotically allow the day
A simple spinning about the omphalos of heart’s creation
I want to feel the rapturous entanglement of our atoms
Bursting in fruition as melismatic chiming sighs
And in this becoming, vernal musings with parameters repealed,
We glimpse an eternal oculus by sapid lips shared
In this essence chased through time and captured by the instance
Your quantum passion yearns toward the receptacle of prophecy
I, the oracle form a forecast in rhythm’s *****
To find that the plexus of forever pulsates beneath your skin and mine
Feb 20, 2013
Feb 20, 2013 at 11:17 AM UTC
Everlasting momentum continues,
Spiraling out of control.
No thought for results, it projects.
figure in the distance.
Brakes.
Tender loving figure, teaching
Young to live.
- Pause
Heightened senses momentarily detect,
The Impending danger.
Manufactured oculus,
The last to witness.
Breaks.
Jan 15, 2016
Jan 15, 2016 at 9:40 PM UTC
They took them…
With a *** shovel and beards engulfed with disguise,
By fire, by force and harm
They heartlessly took them…
Loading with a military van from the snare, the school
Sabotaging their education and jubilance
At the brink of our oculus, like a hot blade through margarine,
Like the evanescence of dew upon new dawn,
They were gone…
We cajole to Haram Islamic militants,
Not the slavery we signed up for,
Yet this is our story, but not our destiny.
It is profane and sacrilegious to talk slavery upon our realms.
Our ancestral dormancy and Jesus crucifixion outlines our history.
We were untrammeled...but today,
Our existence is dreary and clouded by mystery
We count minutes turning into tormented hours,
In lament of our own flesh and blood
They took them..
with needles and stylus they pinched poked and taunted us,
Like a bunch of sponges filled with voids,
Our hearts are painfully porous,
Dope them with defects,
Bring back our girls…
Haram saboteurs came in with a saber,
They took them…
How less of a man to not respect the words of the late Tata Madiba,
When he said"Never, never and never again shall it be that this beautiful land
Will again experience the oppression of one by another".
There will be war upon the element of Haram when Jesus intervene..
Bring back our girls..
(Nigreian acsent)
Chinekeee, man of Haram, bring back our girls_oo
I beg, why go they take?
Eeeh, god will go get you one day,
With our teary Nigerian eyes, will we ever see?
Adedagbo, our crown of joy ?
Aduke, our beloved ?
Afolayan Walking in majesty...
Agbogu, God settles dispute…
Bring back our girls.
Aug 25, 2014
Aug 25, 2014 at 1:28 AM UTC
Moon of Pythagorus, such proofless arithmetic derived,
No sigmoidal curves or cold calculus of the divine,
But pale barbarian, war-bringer of straight lines,
Your sea drifts commandeered like lit ash-spears in line,
Or the thrashing of wind-whipped rags of horses’ manes.
Moon of Pythagorus, the phantasms of your campfires
Of waiting armies flicker like fireflies along the stream.
Burn me, Moon, with your fire-tongued spears,
Your haunt of horses, unbridled and reared,
Burn an eye through my heart like the oculus of the Pantheon,
So I can see my pulse beat against the ash of naked footsteps
Of those who make false shrine to me.
Aug 7, 2019
Aug 7, 2019 at 7:27 PM UTC
Today i noticed a metallic spot upon my hand.
It was cold to the touch,
And as i removed it i noticed it was an needle.
A needle of impossible length for the space provided.
When it was removed i discovered there was a third eye hidden in my hand.
It opened slowly as if it had been asleep for an immeasurable time.
As it opened i saw things beyond my wildest dreams.
I saw great cities beyond me in all directions,
People above and beneath me,
The wars of past and yet to come,
I saw the beautiful awakening of the ocean of stars,
And i saw it all end at the hands of the glass toothed beast.
Before the eye had wholly opened, i reinserted the needle.
I didn’t think i could handle all the reality laid out before me.
I felt that being a spec in reality would be safer than the alternative,
to be enveloped by its crawling chaos.
Oct 18, 2011
Oct 18, 2011 at 10:04 AM UTC
I dressed as me
for the party.
What do you do for a living?
I am a poet twinkled
calloused eyes
between disbelief
and comic relief of
fake heroes marveling,
spitting out punch
cause it tasted like grease,
their business cards burning
in speechless canopies.
Those grieving batmen
pleasuring the guilty,
wasting precious time,
Oculus Rifts on their eyes.
*But..
You should be going to more events like these and...
Didn't I see you at the Belvéderé party? and...
You should be getting drinks with people twice a week...
It's the only way. (I think)*
*What is this table?
Is this free wine?*
Oh and...
I wasn't asking what I should do with my precious time.
I am asking what you don't do...
and why?
You say you hate to trick,
but that it's the only way to get treats.
You probably were the kid that
filled your pillowcase with
doorstep pumpkins of candy,
abandoning the suckers like me.
But life isn't Halloween all the time,
just one night.
And lies are not costumes
we can sell on ebay
when we are done tricking people.
They eat us alive.
Trick n' die.
Nov 1, 2014
Nov 1, 2014 at 2:27 PM UTC
Hair entwined upon a frogs throat no words escape,
Phrases silenced upon glyphs her fingers shift.
Skulls oculus vacant onyx blighted in introduction
Or demise, unseen glyphs taint your sight mine.
Hair warped on twigs embrace, like a servant I
Usher your will entwined on fingers legacy.
Soul is charcoal in my thoughts no purity, nevermore.
I am the shadow lingering with string behind the door.
Oct 11, 2015
Oct 11, 2015 at 7:33 AM UTC
I feel like I'm looking for someone that doesn't exist. My oculus, my self. Perhaps, my oculus, you are truly my reflection, and every time I look me in the eye, I'm looking at the love of my life. But that can't be, when I can't pull a courages heart out of my magic hat. So you must be real. So please, please be real. Because reflecting nothing hurts like hell.
Nov 29, 2014
Nov 29, 2014 at 11:45 AM UTC
My grandson Alex said something very profound and intriguing after his graduation ceremony.
I was complaining about how thin my hair had become and blamed it all on growing old. Alex looked at me with quizzical eyes partially covered by a mop of black sheepdog hair and declared,
"Well, Grandma you are an old lady."
I gave him a piercing look and said,
"True, but, remember this: The Soul is Eternal."
In that moment, my 14 year old grandson said that I reminded him of an old lady living in an off-the-beaten road shack. As I listened to him and the evocative images he spun I took the liberty of embellishing his description:
"Hidden by a dense patch of wild crafted herbs, a hint of mint, diamond needles darning their way around the bucolic scenery, a peculiar little hut comes into view.
The round oculus amethyst windows appear as portholed eyes to another world. If you pause and listen keenly you can distinctly hear the hum of otherworldly chants echoing from its eaves. Indeed, everything about this strange occult cottage exudes magical charm, you'd think it was inhabited by a priestess or something of that nature.
Slowly, I open the creaking door, puffs of rose moss incense and pooja camphor burn in small brass pots. Countless multi colored bottles, all different shapes and sizes, antique knick knacks, curiosities crowd the musty shelves. And a soft, rainbow mist floats through the room. This enigmatic Shack oozes wisdom......My Granny, her hair thinning, bits of silver creating a halo of stars, welcomes me. She gazes at me with a wise, weathered elderly smile while applying a red *** *** dot on my third eye and says:
"You know Alex the Soul is Ageless."
Jun 23, 2019
Jun 23, 2019 at 7:44 PM UTC
all things consist as sounds consist
of the elements
[Here follows the history of the four]
evident then,
what we have said before
all men seek causes named
we cannot name any described before
not at all.
the Subject lisps
it is young and bone by virtue
the essence and substance of
flesh and tissues
the elements and
the names - fire and earth and water and air.
He has not said clearly.
Our views have been expressed before;
but let us return the difficulties
perhaps we may get some help towards
our difficulties.
The Subject of our inquiry:
we are seeking the universe.
the fire, forthcoming
as flame would follow
moth to candle
vapor to lust
lust to yearn
yearning to dust.
A fire’s flame, inquiries made
the perfect deep shade
of rust.
crumbling to ferrous, ferric
streaks in the Earth
the earth.
O humble, o depths
of rich and mysterious mud
o magnum mysterium
overturned with resounding
thud
and iron streaks richer than blood.
but crumble it shall
in many waters, rivers
the orbital, the oculus
the eye of all clarity
and all washed away
it is time
it is time
the Subject: washed away
into vapor
into air
into wind
the howling, the holy
the Subject lisps
and it is holy wind
holy flame
holy earth
holy water
wholly: the Universe
and nothing more
and nothing less
than its elements
than sound
Here follows the mystery of the four:
they are holy, inherently
and wholly, inherently pure.
Oct 20, 2015
Oct 20, 2015 at 10:36 PM UTC
A window, left open for the breeze
A passage for air, sight and sound.
Window originating from the Old Norse 'vindauga', from 'vindr – wind' and 'auga – eye', i.e., wind eye,
and what the wind sees through our many windows
would cause a chill not stopped by the closing of the Window.
Let's take a look at what the wind sees, and hears through our
open, inviting hole in the wall.
The Gothic inviting rainbow of sights,
the sumptuous smells and desirous sounds.
The sound of love, of desire, the moan and groan of fulfilment.
The sound of hate, the dull punch, the whip crack of a slap.
The sight of happiness, contentment and peace.
The sight of sadness in all its forms, bereavement, pain,
beatings, abuse, of riches and poverty.
Drunks, mothers, fathers, children and babes, lovers and haters.
The dying the dead. The hiding the found.
Those filled with dread and not bread.
The wind's oculus is many shaped.
Geometrically placed for a view to be true.
Yet, reflected in that view is an honesty that the wind carries away.
The wind has learnt to howl, to gust and bluster,
and all we do is try and obscure it's view.
We take no heed of it's keening through the lands.
We are all veiled by curtains and blinds,
but, we are not obscured from the wind's all seeing eye.
Aug 6, 2014
Aug 6, 2014 at 2:21 PM UTC
Perry Madison
Who is that face that knows my brown eyes?
A midnight phantom, who sees all my lies.
He knows me, stares deep in my soul,
what makes me weak, and what makes me whole.
How can others love him when I hate who he is?
Going through life, which is also his.
I’ve seen that face, who are you?
You know who I am, all too true.
I despise you, it’s never been clearer.
I dread the boy staring back through the mirror.
Tethered by rules, pressure, and norms,
with no choice but to lie down and conform.
Beaten around like a ball between walls,
with no one to catch me in my final fall.
Realization in time, a true life verity
Breaking the glass with newfound clarity.
I don’t need a mirror to see the true me
With broken chains, I can finally be free.
To leave the hive, I’m skyward bound.
To never fall or be tied to the ground.
Oct 23, 2016
Oct 23, 2016 at 10:16 PM UTC
I sit before my window silent,
arms at rest upon the sill; I
sit and dream of silent things,
as the rain falls slanted upon
the gabled roof; winds sighing:
and watch the falling rain
appear, and silver streak the
window-pane. I sit and dream,
the world forgotten, and even
so do my dreamings change;
no more of sad forgotten silence,
color blooms behind my eyes,
and fills my mind with rainbow
light, shining, as the glow behind
the key-hole, as the blushing
dawn fresh washed in rain.
Thunder roars beyond
the pane, and lightning cracks
the sky in twain, but out of
revery, out of dream, I do
not wake for the crashing
din. Rather, then, in sudden
sequence, in a seconds flash
of swift cessation, no more of
color do I dream, no more
on rainbow laughing light,
but in the midst of a storm of
thunder, of lightning, and the
lashing rain, high above the
foundered land, I find myself:
and amidst all that raging
torrent, between the thunder,
and the wrath of Gods most
holy lightning, a single drop of
silver shining, strikes the
point between my eyes,
wherein the third sleeping
oculus of dream doth
dwell; and I wake. A leak
in the roof.
Aug 5, 2016
Aug 5, 2016 at 11:16 PM UTC
Well...
I heard it from Pookie
Who's real tight with Sookie
You know 'cuz
They're twins 'n all
And they're both from the neighborhood
When it all went down, guess they seen it too
Eyewitnesses times four
You know 'cuz
They two got a pair of blinkers
You know --peepers! Oculus instruments
You know ... These! (Wink wink hint hint)
Brown eyed, blue bright
Or "whatever you say Iris!"
She was the one with the twirly hair
And the swirly speech
Rollin' up on all of her
You know ... Gelatinous gelatina ****
Rubberneckin'
Don't mess with this!
"Uh huh"
"Nah ah, oh no she didn't ..."
Throwing ghetto out her mouth
Talkin about. yo mama
So PHAT
(Pretty Hot & Tempting)
For a rotisserie or deep fried in Crisco...
And you know
If the chicken heads are plucky and loud
Clucking chis-miss rumors
About
How she did done killed her molester
"Down that poor dirt road"
"I can still hear the gospel sang,
the surrounding churches'
Southern love to be loud, wafting
With the breeze through the long grass
Walking, closer to home, a hush...
Back when we folk were shiny skinned
With sweat of Summers' Lovin
Or late night lullaby in' ...
Baby's lil babe
She said he couldn't fall to sleep
Until this Final one"
When it all went Smack!
Talking for no reason now
(Just wanna be heard)
Throwing shade in the hot shadows
Her hollering voice
Reciting not laws but what's right for sho'.
A weeping willow
A peacock
A desperate clarinet cry
Look here now ! Don't miss out !
And that was when Pookie & Sooky
Took home mama Mook,
Who's complaining like Chubacca
Furry as the Wookie
Drunk as the fish in Tequila Seas...
But whatever battle she took to words
In the shadow of
Bars brawls and loss of conscience,
Everyone here / neighbors hear
The hoods we're in
She said the clouds! in the sky
"They was the lot of them
throwing most heinous shade!"
And whatever
You took from that there blathering
Wagging tongues
Talking smack. (That's on you)...
*In the dim domain of drank and diggitty
They carry the haunch away*
Three shadow figures
one is itchin' at her arm...
Smack
Throwing Shade.
Dec 5, 2016
Dec 5, 2016 at 7:20 PM UTC