"ofttimes" poems
What's your take on walking?
My body serves my soul
and tells me how to go.
My heart, affixed -- aims to show.
These ways I’ve walked in my shoes and stockings.
I've looked to heaven’s stars, to daylit clouds,
when I've stepped out, or dropped my gaze
to track the ground.
Yes, it is true—whoever passed me by
could have taken offense and supposed
I lacked my confidence.
And ofttimes, I strode out straight and true
as if toward a far mist horizon.
Un-manifest future,
even peek-a-boo,
could be comprehended?
I should doubt it.
And if I wished to address an occasional
in-the-dumps, lost-at-sea feeling,
I'd shut my eyes, and walk backwards --
owl-like, swivel 360 my head.
Backwards blind circumspection seemed worthy my try;
Ask--Who am I?
I would story where I’d been.
In my most spontaneous of nature foot-trafficking,
in roulette walk; my spin of gun chamber click--
ant, spider, beetle, and the occasional sighing snail
had fled my shadow shoe?
As slow drift clouds in a sky game would play
with the sun to hide—creatures had sought me out,
sung their farewells? (it was an excellent day to die)
Let me tell it, as it had happened today,
and truth says how.
My feet, they had gotten to waltz-walking.
O how my body and soul
danced a-fancy free.
Love was brimming out of me; happiness
whispered her wordless name; and
my tongue tripped nonsensical.
So if, at last, you've kept a-pace with me
in sympathetic striding, then perhaps
you would surmise:
there never could be a flat-footed me,
when I spout off with poem-talking.
Now, what’s your take on walking?
Oct 31, 2015
Oct 31, 2015 at 12:12 PM UTC
The Buddhists Teach
There is a door
Between the conscious and the unconscious
On the threshold of awareness
Where, from this sleepy place
Mind-door takes in space
A snap-shot of what’s around
The shapes and the sounds
Be it red, blue or brown
Sensory fed and felt and judged
A conceptual conclusion
Based on memory and illusion
Served up ofttimes with a bit of confusion
The sixth sense of inclusion
Transcending time and allusion.
Knock, knock.
Who’s there?
The unaware
From where?
Memory Lane
What a pain
Insane and mundane
Tainted and sainted
Familiar and unfamiliar
It’s the object and the flavor
It only makes sense
To bring in the other scents
Can you feel it
Through my poetry?
Because I have no other way
I’m sending you the sweetest berry
In bloom
And tea scented perfume
For some lazy afternoon.
Starting out so poetic
Descended into the prosaic
I’d like to stay in those high-minded places
Between the sheets of my faces
I’m at peace and war with myself
No one else.
I know I shouldn’t get attached
Shrug it off with panache
When I think about impermanence
Makes me cringe and
create another circumstance
A twirling happenstance
A devil’s dance
A devilish lance
It’s getting better
Like frankincense
Then it fades
Like the past tense
How does one let go
When clinging’s become a way of life?
A hunting knife couldn’t pry
My pathetic fingers lose
Holding on to
A hangman’s noose
I’d scream and rail
Holding on
To the nail
That pierced my travail
As life stomped and pounded
grounded me down
But, I wouldn’t let go.
Oh no, not me
Fool that I am
Was it a question of pride?
A fear of the night
The ego chasing its’ tale
Personal blackmail?
A forgotten memory
A mishmash
Lack of mindfulness
A Pandora's box?
Nonetheless,
I confess
A little bit of everything.
I tell myself
Baby steps
Baby steps
Baby’s need to let go
And fall and get up
Or they won’t learn to walk
Or talk or grow up
It’s baby talk
And baby steps
Knock, knock
Who’s there
No one
Then come on in
Naked and all alone
Rest on the threshold of time
Rest on the threshold of awareness
But, In all fairness
Don’t expect it to last
Such is the nature of impermanence
Only the bliss shall remain.
You can find it once again.
When you learn to let go.
But,
Don’t listen to my advice
As you can see
I’m still holding on for dear life.
Oct 9, 2018
Oct 9, 2018 at 12:30 AM UTC
I cannot speak for desire's fiery touch, nor can I speak against it for who listens to a hypocrite's tale and feels anything other than tired annoyance.
I will not offer any advice aside from the weary words of the twice, thrice, ofttimes fallen, yet who cares to hear the yarns of those that tried and failed.
All I can do is spout sad knowledge disguised as nonsense with the practiced ease in which Dylan spouts poetry and hope that you glean some semblance of the message therein and take not this crooked path of mine.
Jul 18, 2014
Jul 18, 2014 at 3:12 AM UTC
In the depth of our existence, the ‘real us’ dwells,
which often remains untouched, ofttimes unspelled.
Don’t empower the peeps to impose their thoughts,
Be the brainchild of your conviction and you’d be sought.
Books that ****** ideas and structure our notion,
Make us go astray from our real aspiration.
Don’t let the world dilute your soul;
You are a born sierra, not a trivial knoll!
-Elina Dawoodani
Dec 30, 2014
Dec 30, 2014 at 1:28 PM UTC
*always been a perpetual dreamer
castles forever floating in air
foundations constantly shifting below
earthly tremors shaking the heavens
…a role reversal made to disorder
sometimes i long for a clear blue sky
without puffy white towers soaring
ofttimes i wish for a darkened slumber
with no white noise of fanciful fanfare
…a dreamer in reverie of dreamless nights*
Jul 26, 2015
Jul 26, 2015 at 1:39 PM UTC
~
for T.M.R.
~
*We find our poems in many different ways. Of late,
I keep finding inspiration in the public and private messages that many of you send to me, regarding poems I choose to publish here.
So I repeat my disclaimer,
"any message you send, can and will be used as a poem."*
~
instant recognition at levels so deep within,
what are the odds, given the enormous differentials,
that the kin in kindred, would blossom across two lives,
where the oppositional factoids are exceptional
as if seeded in the fertile soil of the blank spaces,
between each of our poem's words and verses,
there secreted for each other, but gleaming visible
for all to see and uncover, even join in,
uncovering semi-hidden insertions and assertions of affinity
I confess
she stands behind me ofttimes in my mind, silently,
suggesting, reflecting, critiquing a word choice,
a nuanced pressure upon the hand redirecting,
with infiltrating suggestions imaginary
oh wordy me, four stanzas excised,
abstracted from the memories contained within my fingertips,
this, an accolade to the pleasuring of humanizing mystery connectivity,
when she, in the depth of her stylized brevity,
captures more than I, after hours of exercised trying,
in the succinct excalibur of her comprehension
"We are an unstated understood"
Jan 13, 2017
Jan 13, 2017 at 5:40 PM UTC
We are gathered
Here
Today
In holy matrimony
With each-other
Though we continue
To pretend otherwise
-----
---
We ofttimes say
We are against war with other
Countries
But we still find it okay
To hate our ex boy or girl friends
-----
-----
We can choose to see the best in each-other
Or see the worst
We choose to see the worst
Because we feel safe
Hiding behind a wall of anger
-----
Even our love is fake
Only false sentimentality
Masking our possessive
Addictions
..
Addicted to sadness!
(This just another hiding place)
-----
We are gathered here today in.......
WELL
We SHOULD be gathered
Here
Today
In Holy matrimony
With each-other
But we chickened out
And decided
To act like stupid Americans
Which
Unfortunately
Has become
A rather
Easy thing
To do
---
MAY GOD HAVE MERCY ON OUR SOULS!
Jun 4, 2013
Jun 4, 2013 at 2:00 AM UTC
ironically, love has ofttimes robbed me of my sanity & my peace of mind. my being.. destroyed by the time in which i’ve endowed in those i came to love. those whom requisitioned to love me in a way that would make forever seem reasonable..
and i find myself conflicting with people like myself, people that are looking for the same things that i myself are: soul intelligence, brilliance, killig, and a love that loves equally in return.
and when im away from him & his 'love', i feel homesick.. homesick for a place that doesnt even exist.
i sometimes question myself, i ask myself will i ever be able to experience hygge.
& sometimes i want to apologize to him.. for loving him so much, for being so passionate about caring for him in ways that he could never imagine, for trying to hold onto him when he obviously didnt want me in his life. all he wants is to be set free, but i dont think that i will ever be able to completely let go.. & i know he'll probably be happy without me & heaven knows that happy is all i want him to be. but when i love someone this much, a piece of my ego is with them.. if i let you go then you'll have to take a piece of my pneuma & quite frankly, im on my last piece. i am dying for your love & i am willing to face mortality.
Feb 15, 2015
Feb 15, 2015 at 6:30 PM UTC
(
)
(
)
(
)
\/
/\
/ \
+
Sea
•
the mists part
I see your face
And I come home
••
We go to the wars together
( where have I been ? )
.:::.
yes it's true
Ofttimes we grow weak
••
Ofttimes we hide till loneliness
Tells the story
And we heed
•
•
Sea
//
Delusion fades
You re-appear
Side by side
We go together to the wars
Nov 20, 2014
Nov 20, 2014 at 6:50 PM UTC
Well my recipe is simple
Take the words offtimes read
Ofttimes read but never heard
Sprinkle then with words of love
Bake until light on bottom
Brown above
But the recipe has a bitter taste
For the words of love
Hide a bitter hate
Words are all we have to use
But words are often
Misunderstood, abused
Jan 18, 2015
Jan 18, 2015 at 7:25 PM UTC
I do not ofttimes descry such rhymes as thine,
lest I should divest all remembrance
of the inequity of tragedy and aching anxiety,
and thence my wretchedness wouldn't digress in tearshed.
And if my misfortunes can't cleanse my substance
in my weeping, mourning this bittersweet feeling,
then when at my last gasp of breath I'd be distressed
if devoid of the joy that you employ in your poem.
Nov 28, 2014
Nov 28, 2014 at 1:21 AM UTC
Thy conscience ofttimes estimates
Itself by itself midst dark logics
Of the old slate-grey slate of slates.
I am no creature of "chaotics"
Desiring to pry into dry changeable ways.
Fade slowly into that quietude,
That lonely but desired emptiness.
Be fainter than faint in solitude;
And accompany Misery at high interest--
A use of usury that leaves many dues.
Now come haunting thoughts of Oblivion,
Not a one canst I undo at all without your
Granting; and I cannot move with any idiom
Anything if you stall to so wish it or implore--
Because it is not mine, nor is it my decision.
Dec 27, 2014
Dec 27, 2014 at 9:11 PM UTC
As teens we walked that road so many times,
The sand gets into everything it’s ground so fine,
From cars and trucks that travel by.
When a car or truck comes speeding by, the dust cloud rises way up high.
It settles oh so slowly down on everything, ofttimes even in your blinking eyes.
Orange grove right and orange grove left with barriers of weedy brush.
Walk on the side and you can hear the sound of old dry weeds as they crush.
Ghosts there were upon that stretch of citrus lined sand and clay,
Where even most adults would only walk by the light of day.
Before you hurt yourself with a hearty laugh,
Give me a chance to show it’s not a gaff.
Nighttime brought out the little creepy things,
These harmless things we knew could do no harm.
But larger sounds like footsteps keeping pace in the brush,
The kind of thing to bring conversation to a sudden hush.
‘What’s that noise?’ a new friend once asked. ‘Just a noisy ghost, I guess it is’.
‘There’s no such thing’ he said to me,’you’re just giving me the biz’.
But when it was time for him to go back to his home,
He stood steadfast and would not go alone.
So we took a light to”show our way”
And started walking back again,
Toward his home at the end of day.
Crunching noise as we pace,
Makes the heart beat like it's in a race!
‘Wait! Let’s stop and check this out’.
Flashlight shines, no help at all, though we shine it all about.
Never after that again did my friend go,
To my house without a ride, guaranteed both to and fro!
Sep 8, 2010
Sep 8, 2010 at 5:11 AM UTC
Born of freedom, wild birds that rule the air!
Have I but a view of earth just as fair:
Of impassive mountains, of golden sand,
Of vast continents that link man to man,
Of seas their depths human eyes cannot reach,
Of beautiful islands, oh, what a treat!
Of grass stretching like a green carpet wide,
Of worms, snails that across green grass glide.
Can I but feel the playful gentle breeze
That ofttimes I see kissing leaves of trees,
That dancing in suspended gaiety
Do free some of my earthly cares from me!
To see these birds flying is ecstasy -
To think not of my inability!
Birds, fly on! my heart make light, my soul lift!
At least mankind share the joy of your gift!
Aug 19, 2020
Aug 19, 2020 at 3:58 AM UTC
.
Everywhere is war
( • ) ( • )
Walking nakedly
We ask for love
::
Ofttimes nakedly we get laid
" this is it ! " we say
( • )
The winds of time
;;;
The ways of war
//// • ||
<>
Only you are left !
( You and your god and your righteousness )
::
Everybody
)(
( we ! )
•
Reality (?)
Is there One or do we just do what we do ?
()() ()()
Everywhere is war
Everywhere
Is war
.
Jan 27, 2016
Jan 27, 2016 at 12:44 PM UTC
People aren't as you think
What's black ain't black, what's pink ain't pink,
Beneath the surface it's dark and murky,
What seems simple is odd and quirky
If you see mud, that might be a gem
Hiding beneath the sloth and phlegm,
Silver that shines is ofttimes plate
On nickel 'n zinc and other dead-weight
But dig beneath that dark interior
That hides beneath the glinting exterior
You might discover sommat superior
Unsurpass'd gold that shouts 'Exclesior'.
So don't be quick to adjudicate
Oft as not we don't see straight
You and me, we're not as we think
Our slime is gold, and our jewels stink
Apr 9, 2021
Apr 9, 2021 at 5:02 AM UTC
-----and the words!.......
& ...... And the image of the man
Upon these streets!
(A man)
••
in the middle of the words ofttimes
Someone is there
||||
in the middle of some depiction of reality
Ofttimes
I see you!
(what are you doing --- here?)
••
In the middle of the words
where
Danger!
might be lurking!
••
I see you here
Awkward & shy & full of fear
••
in the middle of the words
Ofttimes
Reality!
appears!
••
-------- and the words ! ......
& ------ And the image of the man
Upon these streets!
(a man)
••
and many stories are told
That few people hear
Feb 8, 2014
Feb 8, 2014 at 1:58 PM UTC
***A photo's dark background
is ofttimes overlooked..
It fills the spaces between
and we might assume
some darkness is replaced
with the flowers and tree
which so pleasantly
treat the eye..
What a difference though
if the appearing dark
hides an eternal light and
out of its own brilliance
this beauty does appear...***
Aug 30, 2015
Aug 30, 2015 at 6:57 PM UTC
I have to say the world has changed,
Since I was twelve years old.
For now I've got travel marks, scars,
And the best of stories to be told.
My feet have become the wheels,
That bring me on the ride of my life.
But somehow there's no reverse,
No brake, no end to strife.
I can't go back, I cannot stop,
This vehicle needs a change.
For ofttimes my heart beats fast,
And sometimes it's quite strange.
Even when I sleep at night,
Rest my weary head,
I know I'm in a constant line,
Straight to the land of dead.
So I'll live my life as I see fit,
Never again be told.
For I've read my story once before,
In the stories of old.
Mar 23, 2014
Mar 23, 2014 at 11:29 AM UTC