"outbound" poems
I am sitting on the surface of the stone faced moon
looking in through the gray above the green
hanging over the black shingle roof
of the room where I am sitting.
I can't see me resting here.
The streets of my youth are out my window
through a hole in the trees in the still autumn night.
I must rise to the call of the bread truck man,
to the whinny of the rag picker's horse,
to the distant clanking of a slow freight train.
So far away on the stone faced moon
how long my ears have thirsted
to drink the sounds they cannot drink again,
to sponge the voices from the streets of my youth
and squeeze them back a drop at a time.
Sitting on the surface of the stone faced moon
I can see the globe rolling cars upon it.
Outside my window into autumn is
the incessant din of transportation,
the percussion of outbound movement
toward the stone faced moon where I sit.
Nov 10, 2012
Nov 10, 2012 at 1:44 AM UTC
when you start
feeling as if
just being you
is not enough ,..
when you see
the sunlight slipping away
sliding into the ocean
and the outbound tide
is pulling strong ,..
gravity throbs downward ―
you see it's weight groan
pacing in lonely eyes,
you feel it's burden
bear down on
a wayfaring stranger
wandering away alone ,..
wondering what went wrong
stalled by a riverside
frozen in time ;
walking on slippery rocks
and fallen stars,
searching for peace
along the meandering shoreline
the waterfall surrenders
a river's silent lament ;
the storm gales' surge stirs
the urge for moving on
a heart broken knows
how fickle tides change
which way the wind blows ,..
which way the rain
comes falling down ―
watershed moments
undulating
serpentine rivers,
unbridled terrain waters
veritably cascading beyond
blurred latitudes,
uninhibitedly drifting
in shapeless symmetry ―
a deep ocean rises
with the calling tide's
murmur,
the shorebirds linger ;
hole up with the peace
of the unsullied sands
at the sea stained
tide-mark ―
barnacles cling
to the pulse
of the tidal sway
where starfish hold on to
slippery rocks ,..
being enough
to while away
just a little bit longer ―
to simply let it all be
and wholly wash out
in the water
waiting for the tide change,
to swallow whole
the rivers stagnant flow,
immersing
the stars in swirling silence ―
in the unrestrained
rhythm and the sea ...
Oct 25, 2017
Oct 25, 2017 at 11:01 AM UTC
Keep love for youth, and violets for the spring:
Or if these bloom when worn-out autumn grieves,
Let them lie hid in double shade of leaves,
Their own, and others dropped down withering;
For violets suit when home birds build and sing,
Not when the outbound bird a passage cleaves;
Not with dry stubble of mown harvest sheaves,
But when the green world buds to blossoming.
Keep violets for the spring, and love for youth,
Love that should dwell with beauty, mirth, and hope:
Or if a later sadder love be born,
Let this not look for grace beyond its scope,
But give itself, nor plead for answering truth--
A grateful Ruth tho' gleaning scanty corn.
2.6k
Some days I see myself outbound like an 80's movie...
living life day by day, wondering what lays ahead of the play.
I love life, because of the good and bad, but off course, bad things can't cut it, but we have to get what's bad to get the greater things in life.
No, no silly, i' am not talking about politics, or the crap happening right now...but the adventures in our personal lives that we go through every single day.
Being with you tonight was like two fishes who swam together in lovers hearts, synchronized in nostalgia.
When we lock eyes, emotions spur into greatness.
You held my hand as we walked underneath the starry night, so quiet and dark, playing hide and seek around the truck parked in the front yard, and as i looked back at you, we swung a hug in each other's warm arms along with a never forgotten kiss.
Your kisses, one by one, are always cherished and never forgotten...also when you're leaving to go home, i take a photograph of your lips in my mind, how they feel pressed against mine.
As I walk underneath the pear tree nd lights flashing underneath from the garden below shining unto my minty laced robe of satin, catching your eyes once again on mine in a new pictured memoir.
I love nostalgia, who doesn't?
it helps you feel like you belong...
when no one else is there to help sing your song.
I have been a day dreamer since a youngling, and will always
continue to do so throughout my living days.
happiness comes through dreams,
and when you believe in those dreams
you can really see
your true
reality.
Aug 7, 2021
Aug 7, 2021 at 4:36 AM UTC
i.
unfiltered asiatic plaything seeks
hypoactive cradle technocrat
evicting meaningful poach,
mendacious transcripts of
past events found in his
memoryless playhouse.
poplar crowd scribbles observations
outbound punch of laughter
sighs to the scrambled, ethnic
postgrad nation.
microfiche telegram exploits
meaning to deeper courtesies
current surrendered upon
entry.
ii.
psychotropic sustenance
fizz thru ***** vein corridor
secret mission lifestyle
learning fast in enormous packs of
tiny lies.
spew logic chagrin mediated
bloodstain; cerebus twitching
outside of beingself.
iii.
heart ceases,
sacred whitepaint moans.
o infidel,
strike thrice; a chord
binding us- nasty, *****
beads bleeding rich.
cloaked bushes tasting,
hisses cured human oaks;
tapered horns that sob,
casting waved heels.
iv.
dawn fallen, only concrete
possible now. separated by
thousands of what is not,
shocks disintricate; undwindling
patriots mailing lessness,
laughter sounds fetching
offband pitch.
Feb 13, 2010
Feb 13, 2010 at 7:11 AM UTC
management in Washington
has only gotten worse
Obama's administration
is it's curse
before he took up lodgings
in the oval office room
America wasn't as replete
with endless gloom
he's most certainly
made a mess of everything
the health of the economy
is flagging
at will be disrespects
the amendments of the constitution
and the people are becoming
tired of his flagrant execution
with a Republican
at the helm of the ship
America will have
a more astute stewardship
the White House must be
purged of the Obama regime
so the great nation of America
will again positively gleam
with mid term elections
coming at the end of the year
the majority Democrats
should be given the spear
Obama and his mob have achieved
little for the American populous
the time has arrived for them
to board the outbound bus
Jun 24, 2014
Jun 24, 2014 at 9:00 PM UTC
.
*Heart and soul pour forth
an artesian spring
arising
set free
through the conduit of poetry
brilliant constellations gleam adrift,
soothened reflections
float away unfettered,
mirrored upon
peaceful rivers sojourn
downstream
coursing afar
conjured beyond
the mesmerizing spell
of the outbound tides beckon
unconfined
swallowed
by the scattering voice
of the rising sea
fomenting
a comfortable silence
all at sea
within ocean deep
someone you used to know* 2017
Aug 27, 2017
Aug 27, 2017 at 12:45 PM UTC
When behind closed doors, in slumbers’ shackle bound
Weary eyes dream in bliss, the world makes no sound
He’s out on round to reach each door in hunt of his man
His face unseen but he sees them all, the hooded horseman!
One night he stopped at a door on hearing a painful moan
The agony in it was so intense, melted his heart of stone
He went in to find a man, in pain’s utter anguish
Mumbling ‘o god have pity on me take me away please’!
The hooded man greatly moved asked him what’s the cause
The streaming sobs of his painful cry was in what remorse
All the while as he said these words, never took of his hood
For he couldn’t, knowing it well, it would do the man no good!
The man replied ‘in my ripe old age I’m left alone
With ailments, without a care, as all my own are gone,
So I asked god to take me off, I can’t bear it anymore
Staying alive with crumbling bones and festering bedsores!
The hooded man said ‘wait a while, let me see to it,
If it’s there, your name, features in tonight’s list,
He scanned it hard then shook his head ‘nothing I can do,
There’re names galore for outbound trip, not one of them is you’!
Saying thus he mounted his horse, here he was needed no more
The hooded horseman on his ceaseless errand, galloped to another door!
Sep 15, 2013
Sep 15, 2013 at 4:58 AM UTC
Burning branch lit aflame, no dove can rest and it is a shame.
When peace needs rest and the city is burning, her heart grows tired and rest now yearning.
A safe place, lovers in a field, where the dove does rest and needs no shield.
Beside the Rhine where all is well, let me stay, let me dwell.
But calling back that world on fire, more knowledge he said, you do require.
Mar 9, 2015
Mar 9, 2015 at 1:50 PM UTC
I am ready
I disobey the god's revival
And trash the odds of my survival
Unlike my mother, and her mother before her,
I refuse to dabble in caution craft forevermore
Second sight seductive suasion
My vaulting vision sans precision
Harlot harbinger I am of endless happenstance
Sterilized with indecision
C'mon, baby-bomb, take a chance
I am ready, now,
To throw everything here away
It's all just trash and trials treacherous
Earlier today
I had a fever dream--
Of waking in another place
The sun fracturing the skin on my face
(But still I laugh to dance blind
And kiss the cyan sky)
I dream
Of the tandem-lipped tides that vie to taste me
Wet finger fringes ******* at my toes displace me
Rising up to bring me down
(Almost makes me want to drown)
...but here my bubble won't burst
Here it freezes first and dies of thirst
And so I am ready
To dance dollars out of rich Japanese businessmen
For paradise I can translate all their yen
It doesn't matter
If I slither for our supper
Or whether we sleep indoors tonight
Islands wild with abandon
We could be living radical and random
We could be living freezer-burn free
An outbound invite to jaded shade
This golden opportunity
(Hourglass sands swallowed by the sea)
The spiders of the rainforest are calling creepy
And queer, sustain and dim to disappear
Echoes of whispers from the ancient banyan tree
Calling me....
Nov 12, 2011
Nov 12, 2011 at 9:25 PM UTC
I once had a dream about what I would like to be
but the dream's still being realized in life to see.
To date I now find myself having a poet's brain
and a passenger traveling in an outbound train.
The carriage I occupy is starting to break down
and I wonder how much longer it will be around.
Though it's better to always keep a positive mind
and not let the devil of despair to rob you blind.
The life we're all living now is just another dream
of that Infinite Existence in the flowing stream
of Its own imagination which has no real end
apart from the limiting state we all try to rend.
Only a few ever come to know about this game
that is played out within a holographic like frame
which includes all dualities of form and substance
created to express Its own boundless abundance.
The illusion's needless to say so very well done
that we are all caught up in it and try to have fun;
going from one extreme to another as we live
in mastering the art of how to love and forgive.
__________________
Nov 11, 2023
Nov 11, 2023 at 11:41 PM UTC
We wore our shoplifted morals
on our very backs.
Shirts stained in lust and
revelation plain.
Lost in odes to obscenity
and ****** light in boxcars
to Ocean.
Fake wisdom chainsmoked
and chained up pressed
to the radiator, burned.
Seventeen looked twentytwo
and felt about a hundred
But danced like we were
young again in the ethereal
glory of the night.
But the nights turned to
minutia as we packed
Luggage filled with memories
on an outbound train to
Adulthood and Adolescence
was left waiting for you
by the tracks.
Trains trains trains
life and love gone flying
by at a mile a second
and the seconds are precious
and the miles are precious
and all the precious miles
and minutes still fly fly fly
speeding on train tracks
and we wave as friends become
blurred faces waving back
from portholes zipping
in opposite directions
and we becomes I and you
and I don’t quite know you anymore.
And this used to be beautiful:
Writing gibberish on
our arms and legs
when we ran out of paper
sleepless nights pouring
forth beautiful poetry
and utter catastrophe
twinkle-eyed laughing .
Driving streetcars through
Los Angeles to go get high
at the top of the world
and peal out when
the coyotes crash the party.
Summernight shamblings
and skinny dipping
and kissing caressing
ashamed of nothing.
Learning that peace
is only a word
until love breathes
life into its
lungs and that we could
breathe with each other
and breathe in each other
But our kindred fire
flickered and roared
only to flicker again.
sunken embers haunting
fingertips reaching,
but too far now to
ever touch again.
Charred and depleted,
flying in the tumult
of cyclone wind,
Memories stripped bare
and standing blasted by
the sands of time until
smooth and unrecognizable
they fade from our minds
Ashen shadows of smoke
from locomotive top-hats
chugging endlessly onward
to opposite stations.
10 October 201o
Oct 21, 2010
Oct 21, 2010 at 11:50 AM UTC
How quiet it gets
Just after snow
When at 5am walking out the front door
Onto the lawn
Hearing muffled road noise
Slipping like sand through a sieve
And whispering peripherally
Until sputtering out in indivisible steps
Dimming and fading
Like a cigarette
In a glass of
Water
Flowing slower and slower
Like a river freezing
Locking and waxing
Until woven into outbound threads
And creaking as it settles
Grasping on to tree branches
Yellow glow
Silent 5am scene
With streetlight
How moonlight so easily mingles
Oct 8, 2010
Oct 8, 2010 at 2:21 PM UTC
These Lines:
etched and edged,
well-distinct and ill-defining,
clarifying and disguising,
multifarious characters,
multivariate natures.
nefarious and courageous.
thickened thinnings,
straightforward curvings,
appointed and unanointed,
given, taken, and then
redrawn, misshapen.
both boundary and limitations,
goal reached, unending destinations,
a human's realm of indefinite definitions,
These Lines:
mappings of his domain,
recordings of his failings.
my great divide,
testimonies to my endings,
visual markers of
virtuous past successes,
virtual future failures invadings.
How can they be both simultaneous?
These Lines:
double etched and sword edged,
outbound-triumphant, defending,
inbound-plaintive, wailing,
both an indefensible and defensive blade,
cutting, both ways.
*PostScript:
The twenty eight of the month of Feb-rue-ary,
clear enough ending to the muddiest, contrary,
turgid month of the ifs of a man's life.*
Feb 28, 2014
Feb 28, 2014 at 4:50 AM UTC
Accursed is
the 1:45
outbound express
long distinguished
for its
contentious couples
vomiting babies
drunks marinating
in *****
and miraculous
near misses with
cars careening
around curves in the
no passing lane
Oct 2, 2012
Oct 2, 2012 at 4:46 PM UTC
the Australians are playing
a good brand of cricket
they've got the English
at sixes and sevens at the wicket
our bowlers seem to be bowling
with much strength
all their delivers
are of a fine line and length
last time we met the English
in an Ashes Series
our Australian team
played like a lot of old ladies
but they've made
some key changes to the team
which shall yield
our cricket side a winning dream
play to-day sees
the English batting at the wicket
they've a bit of work
to do on their cricket
the Australian team
are drilled to perfection
with all their plays
going in the right direction
the Australian's
catching and fielding has improved
we'll be making sure
that all the English are removed
twill be a goodly day
at the Gabba Cricket Ground
watching the English batting
heading outbound
Nov 22, 2013
Nov 22, 2013 at 6:38 PM UTC
I am a beat, I am a clock,
I am a rhythm of some sort;
I’m a carrier on a mission;
The byproduct of an invention;
A battery that is being charged
And depleted low and large.
I am a ball, I am a cell,
I am the will of higher selves;
I’m a layer of the kernel,
Flying on seat "57L";
I’m a letter that was sent to mail,
Set outbound when rings the bell.
I am a curve, I am twirl,
I am sustained motion still unfurled;
I’m necessity in the system;
Of absorption I am the emblem;
I’m a branch of fractal downward;
Of struggles past I ain't no award.
I am a beast, I am a fork,
I am a breach through inert soil;
I’m a head of the hydra snake;
Consolation in all of mistakes;
I’m the blood of the wounded,
The brain of memories faded.
I am a blink, I am a cause,
I am the storm after the pause;
I’m the pity for the angered;
Whose duties have been tempered.
I'm the eye that's about to drool
And the tooth that's bound to fool.
I am silver when I am gold,
Yes I am pale when I grow bold,
Like an etching on a clean surface
I'll be sanded just to be varnished;
I'm the most certain of prediction,
Foreseeable beyond provision.
I am ludicrous, I am lukewarm,
I am commitment amidst cold wars;
I’m the frontier around the form
And the earth that drowns the worm;
Of victory I am some defeat,
Accomplishment left incomplete.
I am a meter, I am a yard,
I am pain that causes no harm;
I'm the scepter of the peasant,
The suffering in the pleasant;
I'm everything that's ever been said,
All that's forgotten once it's been read.
I am a sin, yes I am sought,
I am a child yet to be mourned;
I’m resistance to the inevitable,
Recurrence of the unstable;
I’m the distance of departures,
The first minutes of final hours.
I am a beat, I am a clock,
I am a rhythm of some sort;
I’m a carrier on a mission,
The byproduct of an invention;
A battery that is being charged
And depleted low and large.
Jul 14, 2019
Jul 14, 2019 at 1:26 PM UTC
Walked through Union Station
The other night after a concert
The station was mostly empty
Just the cleaners and some bums
Went down into the underground
Toward the Metro Redline terminal
Was walking down the stairs
And stepped on something soft
I looked back a few steps
A large grey rat laid dying
On the second to last step
Kicking its leg spastically
Sadness dropped upon me
Thank God for poor timing
I walked on to the outbound train
Michael the Accidental Rat Trap
Dec 15, 2018
Dec 15, 2018 at 7:58 PM UTC
it made him feel old
beyond even the years
he was managing to carry
as he judged the children
storming the carriage
raucous in hi-vis
ever-ebullient despite
their chaperon's plea
to showcase successfully
their inimitable behaviour
only to be scuppered by
a locomotive
lack of momentum
which did nothing to quell
their impatient effervescence
as the stationary train
held by an unexplained
flashing of red signals
awaited its onward journey
through yet another
outbound rush hour
not one single person
elected to sit next to
or even near by
that solitary man
wrapped tightly in coat
bedecked in hood and hat
hands deeply pocketed
and eyes half-closed
blind against his fatigue
and the low-slung sun
unseen by the children
until after their calming
the man appeared to them
as one of those adults
not to be disturbed
like their grandpas
deeply snoring on
those rainy Sundays
or their parents
finally at peace
after one of those
wanton days
steering clear of limbs
and personal space
they are careful to avoid
any proximity to this
slumbering stranger
fearful of the wrath
of such an awakening
appreciating their caution
unnecessary as it may be
through his squinted
obstructing view
unexpectant and unexpected
he found himself smiling
at what he could see
at what he remembered
and stirred playfully
settling deeper into
his feigned slumber
careful to avoid
confounding
any of those
childish preconceptions
Jan 25, 2024
Jan 25, 2024 at 11:09 AM UTC
What a dark place our mind wanders to when we allow it to slip away from the blinding facade we portray.
The constant euphoria of a part of the world I so desperately want to be in-
trapped in the pool of contentment that this town urges.
I'm focused but drifting
stable but wandering
smiling but envisioning the smell of my suitcase when I dust it off and open it up once more.
Dreaming of a place far from the seat I sit in in the town I'm all too familiar with.
My body is here, but my heart is on the next outbound flight with no destination.
Oct 29, 2013
Oct 29, 2013 at 3:09 PM UTC
What I remember most is the ghost I left in the North that day
And how you agreed to drive--I almost didn't believe it
Not only not my body but not my soul, so what better an anchor?
Not my home and not my world--what better an anchor?
I-5 South to 405 driving like nothing, but leaving a smoke trail
S.O.S. outbound in denial with no signal return
Smiling beside the driver unknowingly burning, unknowingly smoking out
Could you respectfully decline an offer to wipe your feet clean at the door?
Outbound there's nothing that changes but the fear inset and instilled
It's just a portal
Could you respectfully decline an opening to escape with your devils moored?
Outbound it's better than ever if you'll accept it's not running away
Doorways are just portals
Oct 14, 2013
Oct 14, 2013 at 8:31 PM UTC
We'll bid her goodbye in September
Her time for leaving is our decision
We'll cast a last motion of recission
Twill be first rate blotting out this member
Her team hath been a truly awful crew
Our nation cannot bear their governance
We require a mob with better guidance
She's got all persons in a right old stew
Another three years of her we'll not stand
The polls say she is on an outbound trip
New policy directions will be grand
We'd prefer she wasn't captaining the ship
To a fresh government our hats we'll doff
Nov 10, 2013
Nov 10, 2013 at 12:01 AM UTC
Supine, I sonder...
all syzygies and cromulent salons.
Stalking inlets, outbound.... surrounding swathes of
simpletons and awkward savants.
Sublime, I bombinate blithely... babbling
oblique begonias -
abloom... beyond barbarous gardens.
I tune my loom to weave
a wondrous garland -
the envy of every Harvest Moon
eclipsed...
[ and beg no pardon ]
As The Aurora
of our angular momentum
aptly allude to our diluvian droughts.
boundlessly departed
from all dominion... Like -
a dessicated deluge
dormant at the heart
of an epibenthic
pearl of dew.
I slake my thirst at
the First Well...
desolate of mirth.
yet ever at
peace.
contiguous in the extreme.
Supine, i sonder....
stitching my
brother's shadow
to the heel
of my odyssey.
My Wilderness
complete... when I go
missing.
[ where i oughta be ]
May 12, 2018
May 12, 2018 at 12:02 AM UTC