"outflow" poems
The terrible truth is...
I love that I can run away!
That I can escape into this world...
Where everything is anything I want it to be.
Where you are just a figment of my imagination.
And, I can make you so much sweeter.
And there is no negativity,
no melancholy drama.
Here the animated beauty I see,
lies within everything, even you.
I can twist your evil words into a sweet sweet song ringing in my head.
The animosity in the room is not palpable,
and there is only a longing to dance in rhythm.
Oh I love this land of make believe!
Where just a word turns into a constant outflow.
Or a solitude thought of fantasy,
becomes an intriguing and engulfing page.
I love the traffic jam in my head,
just waiting to become permanent ink.
Words strung together never to be taken back,
to just linger in the world....
waiting for someone to cherish them.
To open eyes and minds....
To inspire and ignite imagination and individuality!
To provide an escape for you and them...
To provide a mental island for myself.
Inside my blissful hideaway..
Everything is so comfortable!
No rules to follow, no expectations to meet.
Complete freedom.
Oh how I do love it here.....
Jun 15, 2013
Jun 15, 2013 at 10:28 PM UTC
The river in me
exists.
Its outflow of pour
drenches the gullies
makes moist
the sand that
graces your toes
I flow into your roots
strengthen your
capillaries
pump liquid gold
inside your veins
loving your flaws like
kintsukuroi
you piece me together
adorn my cracks
with powdered metals,
still loving them for
being broken
a longing
quenched
I want you dripping
down my chin,
my thighs
when you rush through
me just like that,
the soothing aqua tempest
I have always
wished for
Mar 16, 2019
Mar 16, 2019 at 2:48 PM UTC
*Spreading his mystic chart of zodiac signs, cowrie shells
And the writings on palmyra palm leaves in his hand
An outflow of astrological destiny of the landlord
Kik kik kik kik sounds the house lizard
The astrologer confirming the death of the man
Predicting an accident after a day
Exhaling his last breath of disbelief
With fear of mystical belief pushing his destiny
Before a day of astrologer's prediction !*
Jul 27, 2016
Jul 27, 2016 at 9:22 AM UTC
I'm angry that I gave you so much.
You took and you take
I was bought by your touch.
Days leaked by, me loving you.
A day too long came too soon.
A heart for a heart, piece by piece
Ink from my soul, I slowly release.
Year to year I stayed in your gaze.
A shadow to the side, without delays.
You stopped your outflow, soaking me up.
A sponge of lust to fill your cup.
A taker of light, a heart wrenching theft.
How can I let go, with nothing left?
Nov 14, 2012
Nov 14, 2012 at 2:25 AM UTC
Half way up inside my *** is a little kind of lump,
like a chum who lets me down, but i cannot give a thump!
Into next week..
'cos my eyes would start to leak.
It's become a constant presence, though a little bit unpleasant,
so don't tell anyone.
Shhh...
That's not it bursting I must stress, although I do confess,
I inserted a brush handle by the light of Susan's candle,
and made a ****** gush.
A sable number 2,
which you are welcome to,
and you can have the mush.
The Amoco Cadiz, would have quailed at the outflow,
millions of surfers would have shrank and yelled "oh no",
this is not lush, please flush. And do rush.
So a reduction in the pressure of this dinky little fissure,
may not last so very long,
can't say the same about the pong.......
So a shilly shally poking, with a brush that now is broken,
and my pals are all a- choking while the question then is spoken.
Why put a brush where the sun don't shine,
A roller does it better every time!
And has more coverage!
Dec 10, 2010
Dec 10, 2010 at 11:58 AM UTC
Stalking lion,
Do you miss the way I touch you?
It's just that you long to be touched like that.
Were you shocked to find I knew of your crime?
We've met before, she warned me it's souls you control.
Your method of approach was unwise and unseemly.
The accidents, the rumours, the campaign to search and destroy.
So here I am rife with anxiety,
seeking emotional primacy under your barrage attack.
The outflow of promises to be kept, leaving a wake trail like a dreadnought.
And thus we called the Conqueroo,
to dance the king snake to ashes.
May 9, 2013
May 9, 2013 at 12:45 AM UTC
Mind/body energy should
not have an outflow
and should not have
an inflow, if we are to maintain
our peace of mind,
but we must breathe
and we must think
most of the time,
so care is needed
to make sure that our energies
do not create trouble.
Jul 5, 2010
Jul 5, 2010 at 10:31 PM UTC
Between tree line and snow line, the alpine plants survive.
Cold and desiccation are enemies, but there is no surrender.
Clonal propagation is adequate: *** is often dispensed with.
Between fame and indifference, the quiet people settle.
Ice is melted by family life.
Coupling does occur: but surreptitiously.
Between the eccentric and the outrageous, my love lives.
No-one is ever oblivious to her presence.
An immediate outflow of passion is always an option.
Time to go upstairs, dearest one.
Time for a re-enactment of the big bang.
Time to roar.
My! Where did you learn to do that, Cynthia?
May 11, 2014
May 11, 2014 at 8:08 AM UTC
the cold light of day reigns:
concrete, metal, glass, towers
the "system" turns humans into numbers
new york city is full of giant rats
pregnant with the outflow of frustration
in the moonlight, their teeth twinkle
bloodred maws, spiky fur, darkgrey
i don't want to become a rat
"you gotta keep a sense of human"
a quote by earl simmons, a.k.a. dmx
lord, gimme shelter, gimme strength
bornheim, germany, yonckers, usa
regardless where we are; who we be
this line hugs my son nicholas,
and i do love eden, my daughter
THEY ARE LIFE. THEY KEEP A SENSE OF HUMAN.
i'm max, and i'm not trapped in placelessness
gotta stay clean, will meet my kids again
trance is not life, it's the aberration of escape
my weakness is my strength, i got it in me
like a greenly glowing marble of hope
drugs don't change the world, but you
as i was laying in a puddle of sweat,
i prayed to god: "pleeeease let me live"
couldn't breathe for a moment, fear of death
the addiction for the trance brought me there
i gotta keep a sense of human; for myself
i gotta keep a sense of human; for my kids
Dec 16, 2020
Dec 16, 2020 at 3:09 PM UTC
Heartened by the
merest of motions...
that set the
eyes for inflow...
outflow.
Whose standstill's
in the Heart
of All.
Mar 16, 2015
Mar 16, 2015 at 12:54 AM UTC
**in this age of modern wonders
a new outflow of ideas thunders
and lo and behold before too long
we assume new names willy-nilly:
@david and so on and so forth
a name for my facebook timeline
where i tag such strange people as
motherless, yesterdaychild, rude,
sweetness, jawbreaker and so on
i have other names in numerical form
my mobile number, my atm card number,
passport, national identity card, social security
and medaid number; and when i pass on
i shall be an anonymous number on a grave
no-one will remember me or any of my antics
and i shall dissipate in the profusion of identities**
Jul 5, 2016
Jul 5, 2016 at 4:37 AM UTC
I move the pen
let it bleed
pinch out more life
yes - this is hemo-
camouflaged in black
camouflaged in black
falls on the page,
tumbles, rolls across
the eyeballs
and the gray matter is eased
of unwanted and unknown images
emptying
created out of black and
my ready hand
still steady
still steady
Cramming the words and letters
across this barren wasted papyrus
ancient scroll
for pharaohs and scholars
3 ringed and blue lined
receiving the unwanted, unwarranted
the wood block of
uncontrolled mind
Insistent
the blood
that rushes from heart to
feet and up again to brain
out my restless hand
camouflaged in black
camouflaged in black
Onto the desert
onto the Waste Land of Elliot
briny tavern of James Joyce
and black coffee pots of Thomas Wolf
Bleeding, in need of a tourniquet
medical attention
or at best psychosomatic drugs
control this outflow
stop the nonsense
it serves no purpose
bleeding out your sanity
proving you have lost it.
uncontrolled and deranged
wandering running from
the bogey man
the bogey man
Who comes out of the dark cellar
quite near your little bed
with its pink flowered coverlet.
and the blood leaks out the
end of this instrument of
Terror
In the shadow of Stephen King
I make my stand
only poets get to say
things people can't grasp
The rest do graphic violence
camouflaged in black
camouflaged in black
their blood too
camouflaged in black.
Jan 8, 2017
Jan 8, 2017 at 12:24 AM UTC
That great emptiness in my heart
For years,
Spacious as the most distant dream
In which You appear suddenly…
For to fulfill me of Your beauty,
And praise the day and the light of raising,
For not to the precipice in space
Of the missing events as countless things:
Suffering and joy in the solitude of
Life…
That everything - to feel
The exhale of Eternity,
Inhale of Love…
To Be…
Again, and again
Reality tunes up:
Inflow and the outflow of the waters,
The fullness of the Moon and New Moon,
Rising Sun and Sunset,
Falling of leaves and shooting of buds,
Waters circulations around the Glob,
Life - Love - Death and
New Life.
Rhythm and rocking,
The Rise and Fall,
Inspiration and Exhalation
Countless forms of Existence.
Whosoever has the access in
The Fullness of the Beauty and Life?
At front of the Being
Which lasts as an invisible smile:
Mona Lisa or Buddha?
Whosoever participates in
The total suffering of Christ’s
Painful Mystery?
That everything - to feel
The exhale of Eternity,
Inhale of Love…
To Be…
How much do You need
From it
To praise each day by
Art and Work?
How much do You need
To jump into a day, anew
As into a water
With a hope, You can once at last
Find the Secret Script
Which is not soaked through yet, in the bottle…
To read it!
That everything - to feel
The exhale of Eternity,
Inhale of Love…
To Be…
July - November 2008
Leonard Gorski © copyright
Sep 19, 2014
Sep 19, 2014 at 12:09 AM UTC
Small Issues
When she unlocks her heart
It all comes out
Pouring in a stream
Without seeming end
Everflowing, not always like a river
But rapids
Frothing and bubbling
Heart flushing out poison
Like after a hard night of drinking
When a friend holds hair back
And all the ugliest, nastiest parts roar out
Pushed , upchucked
Without control.
Outflow of bitter
Salt of tears
Tears, unsewn, sometimes ripping bigger
Sometimes just bearing it
The worse for wear.
The fabric of her soul
Is often many-layered
And multi-hued.
Rough-spun jute
Next to softest silk.
But today, as heart is opened,
The key misplaced,
She cannot hold back.
Dizziness and nausea take over.
Silk is torn and waves like a flag.
She raises hands, in supplication
Before holding onto the nearest
Steadying object, be it chair or rail.
Hope arises
for sweet beneath bitter
for clean, warm blood
pumping with life, and flowing purely
for feeling clean after all the poison is out.
She knows it is there, deep down under
muscle and tissue
She knows
light-filled energy is
somewhere shining
in a low rock pool
right around her solar plexus.
"How we only need,"
she thinks.
"To work out
a few small issues."
Relief
And exhaustion
Take over
As she reaches
for tissues
to wipe away pain
and lie down to rest.
There is some down time
before the next test.
Feb. 2014
Oct 21, 2015
Oct 21, 2015 at 6:14 PM UTC
No it doesn’t
belong to know
the first fellow
on my pillow
in meadow how
he anyhow,
showed good flow
of shadow on my
window that
overshadowed
rainbow to outflow
reflow, to reglow and reshow
my endow
of WoW!
Jun 17, 2020
Jun 17, 2020 at 4:08 AM UTC
Profanities,
declarations
bombastic, love/ hate sprayed, whatevers,
beer-stained brutalist underpass
the lake, a paper-mill, stink of pulp-steam,
dog-shit minefield ,fast-food cartons
park-and-riding, egg-fried verges
turgid outflow,
Down this squeezed tube,
of dead algorithm n' *****
blue-green algea ,wetland gangrene,
come Nightingales..
Meliflous revelry,
distinctive dichotomy,
obvious opposite
oddity
Beneficent Mediterranean
medicine chugged via
secretive syrinx
sweet,
sweet
sweet unplugged jugular
thick cut clarity, every
note a pearl-dropped hope for muddled
ditches, creeks and jetties, broken
wings of football pitches
blood of oak and bluebell
soaking smoke above the muddied tracks
and clearing,
clearing all
before their song
May 21, 2023
May 21, 2023 at 3:05 AM UTC
You are like the sun.
Sometimes spots and rays I get glimpses of under the shade of trees; calming.
You always held my hand. Sleeping, walking, do or die situations. No matter what, when and where, the spaces between mine were always filled with your fingers. You always gave it a little squeeze, an assurance that you would always be there.
Sometimes warming heat against my skin; weirdly pleasing.
You always made those extremely goofy faces and told those godawful jokes. Anything and everything just to make me laugh. You always put my happiness above your own.
Sometimes full on heat burning me at every touch; afflictive.
Like every other couple, we had our bad days. You were always painfully honest, could never tell a lie. You couldn't help being mean but I knew you were telling the truth. You always did.
But days don't last forever on Earth and stars have long yet inevitably doomed lives in the universe.
You loved me deeply. You loved me so much, too much and that was exactly the problem. You loved me so much, your love was an outcry, outflow, an explosion of affection. You loved me so much that one day you just stopped. Neither you nor I knew the reason. Was there even one?
The sun will set and die, gone temporarily and forever.
I never thought we would come to an end but no one ever sees something like this coming. No one is ever prepared for heartbreak, loss, grief. No one is ever prepared to say goodbye but you deserve one. Goodbye, my love. Today, tomorrow and beyond.
Oct 8, 2016
Oct 8, 2016 at 3:22 AM UTC
Generally, whatever's said outside
some shack, some interim man's
dwelling/s- like his words
(are) just uttered in vain, not
cacophony, but smooth
round phrases, splayed with
well-rounded intentions.
Whether it's sonic reach
falls behind his sneeze
or his anger clouds the trees,
his shack- a mess of foul timber
shakes and struggles to hold
these words, an outflow of
his welled-up memories ( seared
through his longings)
haunted by willows, painful mist
and crumbling dwelling/s
Mar 25, 2019
Mar 25, 2019 at 4:03 PM UTC
In the castle by the sea, lovely stands
there she, at the gemel window, waiting for the tears to cease trembling down her cheek, for O! how her father didst scorn her for her fears, and for being mild as an child, for being meek and weak. As the streamlets hushédly didst outflow, go by, like the ceaseless and despairing cries, that this poor princess didst as ever know, and know so well, did she, that no other soul didst so bother to come to know, O! come to know her they did naught e'er do so -and her story ended in tragedy sadly in the castle by the sea.
Mar 26, 2016
Mar 26, 2016 at 1:59 PM UTC
No matter how hard I try
I cannot remember
What it was like to feel those things
For you, for everyone.
It has been too long.
They lied
Time seals all outflow of emotion
And makes it impossible to go back.
Mar 8, 2013
Mar 8, 2013 at 9:20 PM UTC
*Sitting in a yard with my eyes closed
My pen's nib on the table waiting
For the outflow of words
A humming of folk song
Woke me from my thought
Wooing me towards her
A captivating beauty moving forward
In a slow folksy feminine way
She was in a black frock
With coppery brown coat
Her alluring ruby-red eyes
Giving me a glance to follow her
Reached a small Amur maple tree
Where her Beloved waiting
For his black and brown beauty
Welcoming her with his love
Disguised beauty flew away
From my lustful sight
The appealing crow pheasant
Holding hands sat on a branch
Hearing their song of duet
Putting my head down with dismay
Back to my seat with her thoughts!*
Sep 3, 2016
Sep 3, 2016 at 10:28 AM UTC
To me only she leaves it
In turn I leave it to her
In our hiding holes of habit
Things don’t move any far.
In this funny game
Consensus is scarce
In the fear of blame
Taking a decision scares.
She tells me *it’s for you to decide
Ways to cut the rising bills
How to stop our savings’ slide
Still have two square meals.*
I tell her *in your hands is the rein
To check unneeded outflow
Find some ways to build a gain
Some savings for the future to show.*
She retorts *don’t say you’ve no clue
The way I manage the pence
What you bring can hardly accrue
Any surplus post expense.*
Things go on like they did before
With us never reaching a deal
Yet our lives happily soar
The way we lovingly will.
Apr 24, 2014
Apr 24, 2014 at 3:44 AM UTC
Whirling of your airconditioner, breeze of the open air
The things i hear in this wee hour of the morning
I closed my eyes, tried to dream something nice
But i just cant make it, things are going crazy on my mind.
In moments like this, all i want is to vanish
Not to leave things unsaid but i just cant take it.
Days have passed, they're pretty fast
I don't know how to stop the clock.
I'm trying to make sense all the things i said
But somehow regret for being so honest
I glanced at you, asked myself some clue
Of how you found the things that we've gone through.
I can't understand why on the first place i'm lying on your side
All i know is i'm awake and wanna hug you tight
The taste of lips i savoured and felt
Though you told me i didnt know how to kiss.
You may laugh at me and forever find me funny
I think that's the image i might leave to stay
But pardon me i just wanted to let go
All the glow you gave me when i laid my eyes on you.
It's not a game that most people play
Because im not good at it and i dont mind losing anyway.
All i know is when i wrapped my arms around you
I felt some warmth that only your heart can outflow.
I thank you for all the things you've showed
They're not easy for sure, i know.
One day when you think of this day
I don't know what you would say, but for me, this is one of the sweetest things i ask when i pray.
Jun 28, 2014
Jun 28, 2014 at 10:43 AM UTC
Hearing stories from various individuals about their complaints about different things has become my daily menu. Not to mention that i sometimes attempt to relate their story to mine to discover what is familiar between us all. Furthermore, it ends up being Fretfulness.
Now and again i consider escaping the "space" i made myself yet do i truly need this space? Envision an existence without limits, opportunity that is so vast it will allow me to travel anyplace with no control. Truly, i need that control. I need that space, that limit.
Fretfulness isn't incited: it attempts to discover avocation for itself, and to do as such, it utilizes all things, the most contemptible affection, which sticks to It, when it discovers It. Fretfulness incites itself, uncovers itself, it is a limitless creation. Fretfulness is an outflow of the flawlessness of human instinct. It is the yearning of the common life for the higher.
Ridiculous and mortal life is the acknowledgment of a piece of growing up and controlling fretfulness. That everything is impermanent and satisfaction is scarcity.
Feb 5, 2021
Feb 5, 2021 at 9:53 AM UTC