"orbed" poems
Now for years I haven’t seen him
nor know if he is alive or dead
the shadowy man who floated like dream
each moonlight on the roof surfaced!
When from my window his silhouette I caught
saw him on his voyage embark
the moon stalker day’s small-time clerk
wove a magic spell on my thought!
As the moon came over the eastern edge
silver orbed in her glorious rebirth
he would be there lost in his gaze
like a moonman stuck on the earth!
Madly his eyes riveted on the sky
in pursuit of gain unknown
as if once unmoored to her he would fly
leaving this world disowned!
Hours passed by his wonder not ebbed
eased not the moon stalker's trance
it seemed to me moon's waning he grieved
mourned dimming of her silvery dance!
Each full moon saw this unfailing zeal
on the roof two lovers' meet
his eyes sky bound till he had his fill
the moonman on earthly transit!
Mar 27, 2014
Mar 27, 2014 at 1:04 PM UTC
loathe — july 17, 2013
reëstablish the current which made being whole
no, not just in another life since fragmented whole is nothing tethered to the waist. that’s what belts are for. if you say so
monitor it like
you would anywhere
the trajectory is clear : light the torch of multi-orbed sensation
where we wait on the cusp
of the whole
perhaps in another life, we dare to suggest it. i don’t dare. if i did, i would consider myself a pigment of this pallet
i don’t breathe limited expectation
scientific claims
they’re just as good as dead to me. perhaps the whole can be related and consume our progress. there is too much to see. too little methods
methodic function isn’t perfunctory yet. a push is required. jumpstarting will only cause sparks.
i know something better
so sit down and move to the right. the light’s blocking my view and i cannot surmise unless i’m granted a complete oversight. nothing backseat, because we all know
that is reductive
paint splatters on my face
i
am
frozen
the colors reimage our complexion and erase the mistakes until we are whole
[ uncertainty is the new guarantee ]
introspection is a form by which we do so. everything we see is incomplete. our eyes need to be adjusted
to the [ uncertain ]
adore — july 29 , 2013
black blue strata pillars spruces flutes
eclectic aftermath debris snaffle pop
chute-in whelked chrome lugubrious
lifeblood : trans yes mutate pro-ohms
in timehalts wyoming woodsmoke
screened scans : rancid gemini rotors
hulks histories back - lying supine arts
( please remind me to act regimentally )
Aug 22, 2013
Aug 22, 2013 at 5:27 PM UTC
I am a shell. From me you shall not hear
The splendid tramplings of insistent drums,
The orbed gold of the viol's voice that comes,
Heavy with radiance, languorous and clear.
Yet, if you hold me close against the ear,
A dim, far whisper rises clamorously,
The thunderous beat and passion of the sea,
The slow surge of the tides that drown the mere.
Others with subtle hands may pluck the strings,
Making even Love in music audible,
And earth one glory. I am but a shell
That moves, not of itself, and moving sings;
Leaving a fragrance, faint as wine new-shed,
A tremulous murmur from great days long dead.
1.7k
From Aries to Pisces,
herein lies the golden-orbed saviors,
grunting and hustling
across the globe
to find
a pious zealous man
and bring him to
visit the Dark Angel below the sea,
herein lies
a dead leader
in a red country
inhabited by sunken cheeks
and the optimism and fear
in their
hollowed eyes,
herein lies
a dead inventor
of overrated gimmicks
men consider wonders
and substantial of life
herein lies
the tragedy of a man
starry-eyed at the red blinking lights of the street light,
having the jovial thought of a
fat jolly white bearded man leaving gifts next to his
pink plastic tree near the garbage disposal where he resides,
herein lies
life taken...
and
life given...
and
never noticing the forward momentum of which time goes by
Dec 20, 2011
Dec 20, 2011 at 2:20 AM UTC
There is never new and there is nothing see old
The sky Of Tunisia, easily I can fold and unfold
In a notch of eye sight like magnificent light
Yes, Sometimes a day and many times in night
leaves are waved and stars a glowing in dark
They has given me absolute and divenly spark
Everything looks delighted as an eternal ray
Tunisia, my faith is stronger then previous day
What a dream, a poet can see you almost free
Can see the Monastir, a capital of world poetry
I do feel pleasure in a beach at wonder sunset
You are my Mediterranean sea is really great
Smell of silence are spreaded from the south
Sahara ! travellers way, dessert of thirsty mouth
No water, Dust is whiffed that freedom of ridge
Tunisia ! A soft sister of Egyptian Sandy breeze
Douz, a town at Sahara's edge for camel ride
Which is kept Romans gallery, nothing to hide
Serene cloud on top witnessed of Arab Spring
Men of Tunis proved by revolution none is king
Oh my sister ! I salute you for full of orbed glory
An amazing love of solitary, a successful lorry
At the time of grim sand storm whirled a while
In obscure can move with poem mile after mile
Mar 21, 2020
Mar 21, 2020 at 6:03 PM UTC
The wide, bright temple of the world I found,
And entered from the dizzy infinite
That I might kneel and worship thee in it;
Leaving the singing stars their ceaseless round
Of silver music sound on orbed sound,
For measured spaces where the shrines are lit,
And men with wisdom or with little wit
Implore the gods that mercy may abound.
Ah, Aphrodite, was it not from thee
My summons came across the endless spaces?
Mother of Love, turn not thy face from me
Now that I seek for thee in human faces;
Answer my prayer or set my spirit free
Again to drift along the starry places.
1.3k
‘Twas upon a moonlit night in July,
That I saw thee long ago,
Thy silvery aura caught mine eyes,
With an enchanting full-orbed glow.
The flowing light from the fragrant beams,
(Though no wafting wind dared carry it,)
Scented the heavens,
And perfumed my dreams,
(Whilst every star failed to catch it.)
Silent siren songs,
Awakening me from my slumber,
Thy soul sung to me,
A smiling tune alike no other.
A pair of perfect lovers is what we are,
And silver and golden lights dance for me,
As I stand here to admire thee from afar.
Each to our respective titles we remain true,
And as the years pass,
Though the brilliance doth not fade,
I still love you.
Nov 5, 2010
Nov 5, 2010 at 7:07 PM UTC
"In Modern Drama we turn a critical eye
into the conditions of real life and morality." --- Arlen Rambush
Modern Drama 101
Her life had become an Ibsen scenario,
cloaked, as it was, in furtive AOL chat rooms,
seeking the romance no longer orbed in marriage,
rather to be panned from the internet wellspring.
It wasn't so much inconstancy, as it was whimsy;
more a channeling of Deneuve, than profiling Gabler.
And she found they flocked to her,
pigeons to be shooed away, should they get too close.
Soul of the house, everything to husband and family,
yet, it was in cyber tryst where she flourished,
that informed the powerful intellect at intervals
with mother and a carte blanche ingénue.
It's possible she sought to reform them,
tear them down --- or no --- it was conquest.
It was not she that needed men,
it was she that absorbed them in hedonistic pleasure.
Jul 27, 2015
Jul 27, 2015 at 9:01 PM UTC
“Beyond the Last Lamp”
(Near Tooting Common)
By Thomas Hardy
I
While rain, with eve in partnership,
Descended darkly, drip, drip, drip,
Beyond the last lone lamp I passed
Walking slowly, whispering sadly,
Two linked loiterers, wan, downcast:
Some heavy thought constrained each face,
And blinded them to time and place.
II
The pair seemed lovers, yet absorbed
In mental scenes no longer orbed
By love’s young rays. Each countenance
As it slowly, as it sadly
Caught the lamplight’s yellow glance,
Held in suspense a misery
At things which had been or might be.
III
When I retrod that watery way
Some hours beyond the droop of day,
Still I found pacing there the twain
Just as slowly, just as sadly,
Heedless of the night and rain.
One could but wonder who they were
And what wild woe detained them there.
IV
Though thirty years of blur and blot
Have slid since I beheld that spot,
And saw in curious converse there
Moving slowly, moving sadly
That mysterious tragic pair,
Its olden look may linger on—
All but the couple; they have gone.
V
Whither? Who knows, indeed. ... And yet
To me, when nights are weird and wet,
Without those comrades there at tryst
Creeping slowly, creeping sadly,
That lone lane does not exist.
There they seem brooding on their pain,
And will, while such a lane remain.
Oct 8, 2014
Oct 8, 2014 at 1:18 PM UTC
It would be nice to know
that there's still time affordable
to etch-out some type of belonging.
I'm not quite my occupation,
neither am I my time-off, but
I hack it, on account,
for both occasions.
A "plan" would be nice,
but, an "A-plan" is ideal.
.·°
Find the "A+ Plan," though, and
we're rolling like orbed-steel.
Nov 20, 2020
Nov 20, 2020 at 11:21 PM UTC
I hadst to let go of mi amare
She didst not belongeth to me
As I must admit...
She cheated on me with her orbed crescent......
Jun 24, 2015
Jun 24, 2015 at 9:19 PM UTC
You had fallen asleep. I guess so. Your breathing is smooth, if I could touch your breath, if I could touch the nightfall outside, the sensation would be the same. I no longer throw a fit for not receiving attention. I used to, but you had said, "Don't tell me that humans should treat each other equally. That's Utopic." At that time I told you to cease talking to me for two days. However the same afternoon you texted me your thoughts after reading 1Q84 (you emphasize you finished it in a week, twice the speed of me), and I accidentally forgave you. I still loathe those words, yet I grudgingly let it influence me.
"Am I kidding? I hate you," I say, pushing you off my bed and onto the ground. You sleep like a corpse. The bugs outside cease colliding into the window after the lights are off, remaining the bumptiously round moon. I imagine myself as Aomame, stepping into an alternate universe with two moons. I squint my eyes, maybe I'll see two that way. The orbed moon becomes clearer. I might be too near-sighted.
"You're too stupid. You have to space out to see two moons." Your voice comes from the ground. I pretend not to hear you but I try anyway. I really do see two moons.
Jan 1, 2019
Jan 1, 2019 at 3:40 AM UTC
Frustration like the sound of your hair
Like the tune of violin strings
Brushed the wrong way
Leaving gasping breaths behind
Sliced and diced as hands run through hair like knives
Fight or flee
Or curl into a ball
And I forgot the world exists
Stuck with hair like mine
Stuck with hands chipped
Stuck
Behind four walls of 'no one cares'
And three layers thick of 'this is who you are'
Frustrated as nails run across these walls transparency
Like I am the oil to the watery self of the likes of you
But our hearts beat and our eyes meet
Distorted and orbed
I try to become polar
May 10, 2016
May 10, 2016 at 2:06 PM UTC
Tis,
I was blind at birth
CURSED!!!
Yet when I looked at that white speckled orbed crescent,
For I could now see,
From mine cage she had set me free!!!
Jun 4, 2015
Jun 4, 2015 at 10:48 AM UTC
If Sneezes were Horses, then Beggars Would…Sneeze, Probably
O man – what art thou? Thou’rt not mighty
Clingingly pathetically to a Kleenex box
Instead of wielding a conqueror’s sword
Lifting patent medicines, not wine, to thy lips
Thy sneezing and wheezing will not win thee worlds
The book unread though open in thy lap
Thy darked-orbed eyes unseeing and unseen
Thy wretched, reddened nose – all is despair
And snot that runs in foul, polluted streams
O man – thou art little more than Nyquil-dreams!
Jan 10, 2018
Jan 10, 2018 at 5:16 PM UTC
I shall not bend
I shall not fold
I mustn't give under the gaze
of their watch.
For in my eyes this is weak.
however.
It is okay if I fall and crack,
It is okay if I break and snap.
Yet these orbed windows of my soul,
I mustn't let flood.
I may shake and tremble,
in anguish,
in frustration,
but this dam of my lids
shall not break.
Feb 3, 2021
Feb 3, 2021 at 11:23 PM UTC