"oldness" poems
I loved you once,
Although I never had you.
I suppose that's why I wanted you.
As I fly over the Rockies, I can't help but wonder what mountain you and your board caressed.
I saw you there last week in photos.
I know your love for flying with the snow.
As I look down over the land the topography brings me back to our conversation,
You know the one we had in the aisle of best buy in front of the speakers.
I was on my hands and knees and you were looking down at me.
Oh how your gaze would melt my heart.
Those eyes that seethed into my soul with understanding and mutual oldness.
I told you about the topography of the land and its similarity to the structure in our own bodies.
The rivers are our veins, the water our blood.
We find these veins in leaves, in intricate patterns in the mountains, in sediment run off and in lightening.
I tried to make you see what I see,
That we are not separate from nature, but in fact we are nature in a complex and beautiful form.
Intelligent and loving.
I thought I could make you happy,
But you didn't agree.
I'm still so sorry that you never had me.
L.Cole
Mar 14, 2015
Mar 14, 2015 at 11:15 PM UTC
(A missive to the "Thursday Guy")
Pause, I tight my eyelid,
there your face again,
Lovely and winning.
Suddenly Interfered my mind,
Thereupon rested and died.
I can no longer pick you up,
In an opening w/c is abounding
Abounded by the thoughts of you
My mind, I was speaking (of).
On the Ascension Day, Maundy and Holy alike,
I am smiling deepest and ceasing the time.
I held on for you, I stared then,
(though your eyes are daft),
Foolish, Crazy, even though I was,
every hour.
Oldness has gone, I flew.
Withal,
You are still a beauty even in fancy
In truth,
I cleave solely in your memory.
Your hair, dawning from your eyes
Succored the threshold of my fantasy.
I intend to whisper a truth
Some words that will embody my longing
I don't want you to, all but dwell on my fancy
But to breathe with me in solidity.
Please, once again, I want to gain a stare.
-C.
Sep 4, 2010
Sep 4, 2010 at 10:55 AM UTC
It is impolite to wonder
whether the hot air balloon in your
lungs have begun to deflate,
grandfather.
Whether you wish to float away.
Dad said you never feared flying -
dad said nothing about it, rather.
But I fear for you.
You are old. Older than I can ever imagine.
You are frail but for the globes rising
in your chest and stomach; they fall
with each frail breath.
Let it carry you away. Do not
let these wires hold you down. They do not
pump poison into your body. They do not
let the heat escape.
If it must, it will, grandfather. The ceased oldness
in you expanding and contracting
at will. You will not die without a fight,
grandfather. Oh you will.
Dec 20, 2015
Dec 20, 2015 at 12:10 PM UTC
I've swapped:
Blue skies/\Grey Skies
Monsoon Rain/\Drizzle
Island/\Island
Family/\Family
and it makes me tired, but i should not complain, it's a strange kind of beauty.
All this movement....it's something i asked for... but it carries with it a kind of intoxicating nostalgia.
On one hand , it's a most free feeling , the nomadic journey.
One see's with eyes wide open , to the new oldness of a place , and the new oldness of the people who reside there.
You, with cut throat precision come to terms with the fact that,
whilst you have been adventuring, feeling the motions..routine has stood time still...
On the other hand. I yearn for a key to my own front door, where my bags are not packed, and i can invite people over, where i can cook, and clean and maybe fall asleep on the kitchen floor if i feel so inclined.
For there are more gains then losses and i am thankful , for my lesson filled escapade that is this fictitious life.
---
I've been told many things but i have felt a few more.
I - in all my running , nothing has really worked out the way i'd hoped.
But i have become fierce , like a panther.
I stalk the quiet night time hours , i seek the cover of darkness, i want to fly under the radar.
I've been told many things but i have felt a few more.
Don't waste energy talking about something , just do it.
Watchful like a fox, notice the energetic frequencies of actions , of places of emotions , of times , of days.
I've been told many things but i have felt a few more.
People are always warning me ,
you need to remember you were made to have a mortal life.
As if i can escape it.
Dec 16, 2013
Dec 16, 2013 at 4:31 PM UTC
I put my earbuds in and sting my open wounds with stories
I wander through the library, mausoleum of time
Oldness, dust, that faint smell with no name
I open a book in Danish, squiggles and dots
This must be what a child feels like before they can read
My soul is leaking out of my sides, I clasp them tight
As I attempt to imprison my wandering soul, it slips out my mouth
Into these ancient creations of another
I must read to find it
I must find it
It weathers storms on a glassy sea
It wanders in darkness and burns in the light
It jumps off the precipice of possibility
It was screaming and I forgot to listen
I just put in my earbuds and stung in with stories
Until it became one
*Oh my soul I must honor thee, in black and white you illusive remain.
Constantly moving but staying the same.
Freedom you found, freedom these pages contain.
But I am not with thee in flesh I remain.
Sorting through words for which I have no name
Lost in the translation that made the mundane*
Dec 14, 2016
Dec 14, 2016 at 12:27 AM UTC
I passed the new york in your eyes notriously
before ever really speaking the language that they shrieked
the rigourus dimensions
the pale fingers speak
Im crisp
as the apple giving birth to her death
send your signals to me
fly seas
dance in breeze
remember the ****** when in her blackened tongue she speaks
fragility giving birth to her gritty skeletons
came to me one night and begged me to breathe
poetically told me it was me the universe seeks
not who they said I was
but to shed the hiding technique
the ill and sly words in my tongue raging to leak
the ordained freak and the memories
laying in the back of my mind somewhere,
those
those real antiques
Im a princess in the world of words itself
and the universe is my boutique
I brush the pink smile upon my cheek
and I grab what I want with the strength of ease
to my side I kick those ordinary bullies
and now Im watching them burn in the lowest average of these cities
I let my hair grow
wear bright colors
and dance the dance of the gipsies
I take life back further than the fifties
then further then the thirties
I run to the cemetary and mingle with that one zombie
the one who I let go of
and let him explain to me the details of my hidden worries
he tells me to let them go
I shoot the fatigued oldness in the heart with the spine of my arrow
I make loves to all my shadows
I hallow in my very mellow
state of mind
my intrinsic phsyco
my cronic rainbow
I dont need your superfiality
because as human I have won the mental lotto
Oct 30, 2010
Oct 30, 2010 at 10:31 PM UTC
That terran voice
Has little weight,
Is slow and late;
But voice sooner
Trade all feature,
It had a teacher
And is other.
That like a forest
Keeps all time,
If nighttime isn't
The death of that;
For time is miles
But the people's struggles,
Where goblin has lurked
Eager and deadly.
If that is never
A goblin's measure
Nor, began that;
Is goblin at rest
But when it drift
Thought shall not near
The oldness there,
And oddness steal
Her ceaseless shake.
Feb 24, 2014
Feb 24, 2014 at 1:57 AM UTC
You both rode your bicycles
to the small church
along the lane
and parked your bikes
against a tree
in the churchyard
out of sight from the lane
will there be anyone in there?
Milka asked
as you tried
the old wooden door
don't think so
people only come here
one Sunday in the month
you said
you opened the door
and walked in
it smelt of damp
and oldness
and no one was there
you walked up the aisle
and looked at the old pews
and stained glass windows
people still come here?
she said
guess so
you said
kind of old isn't it
you stood looking
back at her
her dark hair
brought into a ponytail
her jeans and green top
do you like the place?
you said
for what?
she said
to visit
you said
been to better places
she said moodily
thought you
were going to take me
somewhere
we could be alone
and kiss and such
she added
looking around the church
we are alone
you said
yes but hardly
the place to kiss
and do things
she said
we can kiss here
you said
then what?
she said
she walked down the aisle
looking about the place
you watched her
we could have ridden
to the pond place
and did more
she said
let's just sit
and get the feel
of the place
you said
she reluctantly walked
back to you
and you sat in
one of the pews together
I wonder how many couples
have walked down
this aisle as man and wife?
you said
a few unfortunate couples
I guess
she said
you smiled
some make a go of it
you said
don't get any ideas
she said
I'm not ready
for that stuff yet
do your brothers
still needle you
about going out
with me?
you asked
not any more
they got bored with it
in the end
besides you're
their friend
and I’m just their sister
they said
you ought to see a quack
after going out with
she said unsmiling
and my mother
trusts me with you
which is annoying
why annoying?
I wanted her to be worried
that I was doing things
and have her look at me
like I was a no good *****
you laughed
what for?
to see her reaction
she trusts me
you said
well she shouldn't
Milka said
not after
what we have been up to
it's not always
what you do
it's what people think you
do that makes them
judged you
you said
I don't like this place
she said
let's go elsewhere
ok
you said
and so you got out
of the pews
and walked out
of the church
and got on your bikes
and rode off
into the Saturday morning air
giving her moving hips
as she rode
a happy stare.
Jan 22, 2014
Jan 22, 2014 at 3:49 AM UTC
Under the celestial heavens,
The sceptic, is so small, slight—
In a dull room, filled with gloss, vacant,
Unbelievers, hayseeds, who unbeknownst
To themselves, are all in an incestuous love cult,
A construct so vain, vacuous, of spineless comfort
And smarmy snugness, a tribe of loose, yawning tripe,
A spew of runny phlegms, a scheme of useless blue things,
Festering. What rational and clear clods, of beheadedness,
Cluelessness, in clefts of lobotomy, plain and clearly sightless,
Without seeing, they proclaim, all that their dull drivels, the dear
Elders had once spoon fed to them, preached, said— now, how,
They are sad, righteous and solemn in their preordained, oldness,
Incongruous, indifferences and prejudices. To have completely lost
Any warm, decent, actual feelings for emotion is foreign— the stars,
Do not align, the waters will not part, yet they are blind to the lies
In themselves. To have experienced— any real, beating, ******
Thing is beside the point, is beyond their ken, is not knowable,
Yet, kowtow-able, quantifiable, not actual, but unbelievable
They—the smug, slugs, under rugs, are dead, as dust,
Under celestial skies, deep, darkness inside . . .
Feb 28, 2014
Feb 28, 2014 at 11:48 PM UTC
Stuck where it is
The wind be so cold
It's leaves have but left
This tree is to old
With oldness comes time
With time it's left lone
For others to find
But no one to hold
These rings they will grow
As time will sure pass
And nothing will help
Til snow turns to grass
And grass means warm weather
Now things may get better
Coming from cold
To non-lonesome weather
Jan 31, 2013
Jan 31, 2013 at 3:16 PM UTC
The gap between our fingertips widen
Cool winds whistle warmth discipates
Your set for a new adventure
Without me as your guide
I know now the oldness of me
Has rusted your heart
I understand we both threw stones
Only so much sanding and primer
Can hide all the dents
I see it in your eyes
The color of happiness has faded with time
So go now seek somthing new
When that wears off you can find me
In the vintage section
Painted and shiny looking new
Nov 1, 2016
Nov 1, 2016 at 7:01 PM UTC
a lizard scurries up a white wall
as lightening flashed
miles away
the oldness of this city
means so little
as we approach the fort,
the furthest point
the great Spanish empire
ever reached,
I am stricken by the hollowness
of it all
the stone seems plastic
the palms an illusion
the bridge stretches across
the water, lights strewn
across its concrete length,
and the lightening still
flashes when the mood
strikes it
the water seems black,
shady, dull, brooding
it holds some deep secret
(but, for once, it is not my
reflection)
this night hurts
I wonder where I should go
with these feelings as I trudge
silently through the night
Apr 4, 2012
Apr 4, 2012 at 9:44 PM UTC
I was ******* poetry
Right out of the womb
Now I am ******* poetry
On the way to my tomb
One you escape from
One you do not
Life is a dead end
Suicide is a hope
Walking along dead end streets
Losing memories and endless sleep
Running away from fears unknown
******* away moments, a life stolen
Oct 14, 2017
Oct 14, 2017 at 10:48 PM UTC
Ex Nihil
Warning!
This site contains explicit pictures
of someone you know.
So is this it,
the Magic Theatre
supposedly advertised
for Madmen only?
Explicit indeed,
bad dreams and sensual whispers,
perhaps just a breaking;
a dissolving of one self.
Where you go,
I dare not follow,
for I am not of those people
and moreover
they know it.
Where I go,
you don't want to follow,
for reasons I don't understand
and which you
won't explain.
You want the city,
the newness and the lights,
adventure being a new bar
every night?
I want the forest,
the oldness and the twilight,
adventure being a new song
every night.
Halloween night
this last year;
I saw a relative of yours
run alone down the middle
of your street;
Red Fox in the City.
Smoking on your balcony,
with a bear of a man
we yelled inside that your
family was at hand.
I sat on your couch
and talked with you,
watched you watch others,
and I can't remember
anything you said.
I do remember,
when you took me to your room
in search of cards
because I needed to be
doing something with my hands.
You pulled boxes from
your closet and I met your cat,
(I hoped he liked me; he was pretty cool,
didn't enjoy the noise of a party,
same as me in that regard)
we didn't find cards
but we did find a vase of flowers.
You laughed when I asked
who gave them to you,
as if you buying them for yourself
wasn't something I
should be sad about.
Perhaps that's why
I bought you carnations
when your Grandmother died.
I can't help but feel
that I didn't meet you by accident,
but knowing that we will
never love each other
merely adds to my confusion.
There's a low roar in my ears
as I sit here now,
knowing that I care about you
for purely selfish reasons;
as if by being good to you
I could erase selfishness and
ignorance from my past.
In a final note
of outright anguish,
I wish that I in my childishness,
had the courage to show you
the things I have written
for you...my friend.
Mar 10, 2015
Mar 10, 2015 at 2:17 AM UTC
Slowly
it begins..
tiptoes down the bantam
skin, one bird awake
water holds both
cold and oldness
somehow fresh
and freezing air
grows, unaware
that yesterday
existed..
A lorry carries
off the stars
The barking dog
demands,
demands,
insistent as the car
alarming movement
at the window
Feb 10, 2023
Feb 10, 2023 at 12:15 PM UTC
Tonight I'll bring you flowers
so vibrant they'll lighten up the darkness
that fills your room
tonight you'll change
and become an ambassador of light.
It's okay to cry
a river of tears
change is hard
when you've lived so long
amongst the clutter of books
and dust.
You see
the world is different now
the modern era
has grabbed the limelight
pushed out the oldness
and the oddness
now we live in clarity
a technological wonderland.
Bear with me
and keep your heart from gripping its valves
we're on a journey of self-discovery
never will we lose
when we have this power in our veins.
Oct 17, 2014
Oct 17, 2014 at 8:18 AM UTC
I'm helpless, watching you get undressed with your black dress
Watching you fall back into your oldness
And you just want me to go
So sorry, you know things are never what they seem to be
But I could never say you never warned me
And darling I don't wanna know
You're heartless, dump your lover boy then he is obsessed
Touch my lips suddenly I become breathless
Darling you know what you are
Oct 30, 2014
Oct 30, 2014 at 5:17 PM UTC
Personal. Me, I gotta assume you are.
aware I live with grandchildren,
the old fashioned way oldness is taken care of
as it occurs to me.
It gives me an edge on others.
Reader, dear
if you know my work, your price was
dear indeed, as you know experience
keeps a dear school,
but such as I learned in no other.
It was free.
Now that I recall all the details with AI supplying
victual literal mods on my new wine memory
spigot
spigot, this was invented, faucets we
called 'm, then this old man,
white hair,
a hoary head, they call it, up north,
where there ain't no mo'
morning dew, but there is frost, beautiful crystals
sifting unseeable beauty forms in light,
during the night
empowered by the cold,
this frozen beauty cartoons cannot convey,
though if you sing it like a child,
dancing with yourself in the mirror,
on grandma's closet
old men may only imagine the dance, or see it,
that once
that child's unblemished wish to sing
and dance,
but not in snow. No, only here now.
She sees me see her in the mirror.
Apr 5, 2021
Apr 5, 2021 at 4:41 PM UTC
The fairy of the ruins
Dances away to life's rythm
Chanting tales of the past
Holding together the cracks of time
Sharing her beauty with the dead
Dusting away broken cobwebs
Eternally cradling hearts
Of angels and demons alike
Seeing through imperfections
Of our flawless cores
Rising to her strength
Beautifully as ever
As if it's her only purpose
Watching over wondering eyes
And crumbling souls
Marvelling at the grandeur
Of what once was
Breathing the oldness
As a reminder of the present
Blessed are those
Who meet these Apasaras
Weaving light into our paths
Living deep within
the ruins of our souls...
And in the monuments of people we meet.
Have you ever met an Apsara so pure?
Who invokes the love we can be...
Who embraces the love that we are.
- Divya Prasad
Jan 15, 2018
Jan 15, 2018 at 2:06 AM UTC