"pathed" poems
In a lonely place succumbs.
To my childhood till this day.
Carves the age of longevity.
When colors were once remained.
Blue captured eyes like fame.
Streets pathed along the way—
Guiding to a melancholy lane.
In times of November breeze.
Boat by boat each one sail's,
The building's growing moss—
that cries the tears of rain.
Slipping like a sultry state,
Washing what can never stay.
Filling through but twas too late.
To the race walking in romans.
Sparkles every narrative palm.
Marigolds that lead their way,
The cold traded from warm.
Everybody's longing a friend.
Dark night was a weeping tomb,
In places were life meets the end.
Dec 17, 2017
Dec 17, 2017 at 8:33 AM UTC
Osprey flood-pathed junctures
in the
middle
of Paradise.
Overexposed and diluted
by the
sounds
of the missing heartbeat
and the
loneliness
of the beakless egret
we all feel.
The expression of
the sunlit
reflective pool,
for the
paradise
we know and sense
and understand.
Not quite at the
end of
earth,
but almost.
While the ball
of fire
exposed and
diminished,
flourishes to the
very end., and
awakens on the beaches
of Casey Key,
toward the dusk of
the beautiful day
in paradise…
I smile
Feb 25, 2011
Feb 25, 2011 at 3:16 AM UTC
At the top of the world
my inferno swells
consuming
the masquerade
of my blood heart
once, founded upon red mountain
I lost myself
in billows of black,
my sordid hands
slipped
through the sands of time-
a pyramid of translucent rage
within
my whimsical mind
pathed an oblivion
spiraling
down
to the depths of the sea.
There my soul awaits
slain,
encapsulated by
ice and a curse-
forever, he writhes trapped
in shards
of tormented black
glass
they cut
cut
cut
his frosted wings dead
eaten alive
by
living sea bed
yet
the shadow of his touch
still
crystalizes
my fear.
Then alone
we atone
so emboldened
his & my
****** & pulse
wrapped in rebirth
we rise
to blinding lights
longing
to taste
world's end-
before our
blank
utopia
begins
with song
in C-minor.
Ayo Alé
Jan 19, 2021
Jan 19, 2021 at 1:30 AM UTC
Everything is happening so quickly
so many negatives surpassing the
insignificant glimpse of positives
that never seem to suffice,
there’s always this light at the
end of the tunnel that everyone
speaks of, yet i continue to see darkness;
a journey down this long tunnel brings
no illumination but only a continuance
of nihility, the damp walls
seem to bring the chill humidity
closer and closer with each step,
the droplets echo the narrowing,
flickering lights dissipate at passing,
the gag sparking stench of sewage
and ***** make the voyage to
light even more unbearable than the
previous hesitant inching towards
the so called spoken about bearability of life,
sudden scintillations of light bring sight
of russet, worn doors, consecutively placed,
discoloured of crimson roadkill,
I open the first door and see a woman
tied and bound, gag in throat,
beads of sweat turning the white gag
to watered milk,
the dirt beneath her nails entwines with skin
and blood dredged by her own fingertips,
to front is a tray of what seems like
torture tools
*intrigued, I slam the door
and avoid a kiss
from Judas*
The next door, I open and see a man
sitting facing the corner,
wrapped in a flickering fan,
staring at a wall of carvings of ticks and dashes,
to see arms of cuts and gashes,
with a tray next to him
comprised of razors and knives
he sits picking at skin of bruises and hives,
tempted to grab the tool and corrode self,
with the reflection of whats within, I slam the door
and avoid
Finally the third door
eagerly stares to
me with anticipation boiling veins,
I press my ear to foreshadow,
I hear a cries; a man of hatred
and a woman of pain
I open the door and find a bottle of whiskey
I take a swig and feel as if Judas kissed me,
Within the third door; walls
with peepholes to confirm the calls
on the left I see the sliding knife
over-panting roadmaps of russet to
the neck of the bound woman,
the screams are deafening,
they present a vibration,
stuttering thoughts, and releasing the fixation,
prompting the admiration
to view the second door,
I see myself, in door 2
tremors and convulsions
seeing blood expel every vein
as the verticals
halt oxygen to the brain
Departure brings me
to the abysmal realm of society
where the burden of negativity
proves to provide no proof towards what
differs between the endless, narrow
tunnel-visioned cesspool of bone marrow
and psychosis driven visions and the
narrow pathed voyage of life.
Oct 25, 2015
Oct 25, 2015 at 1:37 PM UTC
the dark, the death, the knight
through a smudged sense,
of reflections in the mirrors,
obscure those never-ending sinners,
amongst us, losers and the winners.
The path pathed through tranquility,
in pilgrimage with the night.
Darkness passed and daylight spoke,
the sharpness slice of spikes.
A mellow calling forms storms,
the meadow's yellow namesakes.
Nameless reverberation heard,
between the birds and bone breaks.
It takes more than Haven,
in the afterglow of the last laugh.
the paths crossed shards of glass,
the waters ***** from the back splash.
In the aftermath of white noise
and the tyrants rise in silence. ,
mother nature defeated the motherland,
and the whole world sang together
in alliance.
Apr 2, 2016
Apr 2, 2016 at 7:08 AM UTC
I picture my crossed legs, cresting a mound of ephervesent green, not tumult Sky with shadowed cloud, but cherry kissed blue rolling with heat.
The morning song sweeps the vale, harkening the beast and fresh fauna arouse, and the morthered trees wheaping away glass tears of mid morning shower.
Not a sound of combustion smoke, or thick air laced with chemical cloak.
But licked breath of sun flower fume, and jolly ring of a blue **** call back tracking the day of English country side sun.
Village in the deep pathed with rosened brick, cobbled with years to their name.
Thatched and single glazed sleep the houses of those in pleasure to live, away from sound and smoke and ever reluctance to give.
Yet bestowed from my world I am ****** back through to a bench in embankment side.
My village blown by September breeze and blue *** lost for lacking of trees.
The birds song unsung and arrogantly moved by the slamming tune of metalled wheels. Locals March by with mission and no excess, thoughts of exploration never sound as each space in the city has already been found.
My poet talk resents the city, as country birth implanted my eye and captures my spirit with intrigued motivation.
Yet opposites attract in such manner or Fashion, that crescent streets and busses red, fill my eyes with more movement than words ever said.
And unfinished I want to be here, to inhale the fume and absorb the sound, and so that upon return to my fields of green, my dream of birds and thatched village lay, that not the strongest of mid September breeze, could ever blow away.
Oct 25, 2016
Oct 25, 2016 at 7:28 PM UTC
the time is here,
the air is clear
the time is now
to go about
a certain path
all alone,
guided by my own heart
pathed by intuition
felt by faith
here i am,
free at last
standing taller than ever
loving myself and being strong
i know the right one is out there
it just takes time and personal change
i will achieve that.
May 16, 2012
May 16, 2012 at 8:57 PM UTC
multi pathed train tracked,
derailed by increasing amounts,
of defulfillment in full bottles and cigs,
longing to whisper secrets,
into a familiar set of ears,
eyeing up the next thrill,
stuck strong in shadows,
past demons, seeking out,
a new target,
a corpse possessing form,
that has been declared as my body,
posses at the mirror,
filled with whitewashed emotions,
and a longing at how everything is colder,
when you aren't around.
May 27, 2015
May 27, 2015 at 2:30 AM UTC
Ancient Trackways
My mind travels sometimes
To the ancient trackways across the land;
The furrows that unfurl the past,
And lead to the soft pathed hills
streaked with moss and fern.
I imagine the many feet that have trod
The paths to shrine, stones, and wells
And the deep memories they share;
The streams of wisdom flow on now, in silence
Knowledge runs green against the whispering sky.
The clues are there in the landscape, should you wish to hear
The rushing wisdoms that echo across deep lanes and green trees.
Listen for my whisper in the quiet lanes
And I'll guide you where the ancient footsteps lead
To the sacred places that lie still and quiet in the land
Nov 2, 2012
Nov 2, 2012 at 6:34 PM UTC
Three By Sea
Shall we wax as moon flower
in distant array,
swayed by first light of day
shall we retire by nightly beam
it's blue-white ray pathed
by cobblestone glistening?
Shall we skim naked as treetops
alive in the drift of whey
the woe of worlds surrendered
to the torrid heat of day
if the night is cool carressing?
Shall we blush in wistful velleity,
billowing voice as coarse drawn sail
our tragic beauty her blacken veil
should Dawn draw her curtain to
earthen edge?
Shall we pledge constant to Cresent
the lively heart of we three stars,
to grace his cheek in shivering war
all our brothers, lovers, sons?
Shall we all be inspired horizons,
a shimmering star in selenotropism
blooming wildly grateful in the dark
to spread the heavens,
to light the sea?
Jul 10, 2016
Jul 10, 2016 at 1:21 PM UTC
I was young and he was too and I don't understand why he said that no I don't understand some people even asked me do you understand why he left don't see why it never gets you is he was not here she never really fell in love with you that's what they will tell him and then he will ask me if it was true and I didn't know I don't know why but that's why I was rejected I was he wasn't he thought he had his life pathed out be done with me don't mention it when you talk to me I'm just I don't know I guess I'm just rejected R E J E C T E D...
Apr 18, 2015
Apr 18, 2015 at 7:33 PM UTC
Tell me of the mystified Isle's,
the dampening subheader
splotching itself upon
a concrete rug
that calls itself
"AMAZING.
SO PATHED, SO SMOOTH, SO GRANITE,
GRANDEUR, AND GRENADE-THROWN
A M A Z I N G G G G."
May 19, 2018
May 19, 2018 at 3:53 PM UTC
You're someone
you're everything
you are a symphony, the lead
necessary
You're beautiful
you're kind
you are the air, the trees
wanted
You're different
you're weird
you are the world, the sea
an eternity
I can see it all
laid in front of you
I can see it all
pathed behind you
You're strong
you're brave
you are more than what you think
I'm yours
I'm yours
I am yours, yours
though I know you don't need me to be
Jun 23, 2014
Jun 23, 2014 at 8:17 AM UTC
Ancient wood
Gone
Sailed to every
Genocidal continent.
Armada splintered
Divinely winded
Only new forest
Squared and rowed
Bridle-pathed and
Signed for city
Fat henry hunted
Stag and wife
New camera click
Surprise the deer
The pony
And I
Aug 30, 2016
Aug 30, 2016 at 1:52 AM UTC
into space with stares
while they fleet along foot-path;
a week's time till it's been
twenty and six times round. and
distraction of perfumed air lingers,
ending season towards thought
that what will come will run on
leaving syllables pathed out
even though return is not expected.
return never expected; actually,
**** Expectations of memory.
reality, now is further truth of
memory than receding ages.
Sep 7, 2014
Sep 7, 2014 at 1:43 PM UTC