"permitting" poems
A supine position
upon my bed
and a slow turning
of my head
I look out through my window
and by chance
LISTEN!!
Hearing the howling
and chilling desultory gusts
of wind
Noticing seemingly deceptive
immutable muffled
grey-white
low hanging clouds
enveloping everything
in its heavenly path
with coinciding
feelings
of being enclosed,
a slight hint,
the oncoming winter
A sunless sky also
matches the early November mood
as virtually motionless
elongated pearl-grey-clouds
having distinct
wind-kissed
topsy-turvy-wavy-ruffled bottoms
that travel and permeate
onward
across the heavens
These eerie vapors
s t r e t c h
from north to south
east to west
casting Buddism's
grey colored shadows
upon the earth below
while not permitting
any sky blue
to peek through
A distant howl and barking
of
a dog,
my inner volcano snuffed out,
the tranquilization of Hercules...
Time seemingly
stops altogether
and hangs...
... heated feelings
dissipate
into
cool nothingness...
Sep 20, 2014
Sep 20, 2014 at 4:27 PM UTC
Saturn Venus & Mars
If you live in the Northern Hemishpere of this universe,
go out any night this week an hour or so after sunset,
and look at the western sky to catch a planetary triple play
starring Venus, Saturn and Mars. The first thing skywatchers
will see — weather permitting — is the planet Venus,
slightly north of west, in the constellation Gemini.
Look for Gemini's twin first magnitude stars,
Pollux and Castor, just above Venus. As the sky gets darker,
the planet Mars can be spotted to Venus' left as it appears
in the constellation Leo very close to the bright,
first magnitude star Regulus. Further still to the left,
will be Saturn shining in the western part of the constellation Virgo.
The sky map below shows how to spot all three planets.
Venus, Mars and Saturn are all currently appearing,
slightly north of the ecliptic, the path the sun appears to follow
over the year, shown in green in the sky map. This occurance inspired
the poem that follows.
Good morning my love, hope that you slept well,
while you were away my dear, all the night sky fell,
the only stars that remain, are the stars in my eyes,
when I gaze upon your face, the tears my heart cries,
for I can only dream a dream, of you in my world,
and wish that I could kiss, those sweet lips so curled,
I also wish that you, would think of me this way,
holding you in my arms, is my wish each and every day ....
Gomer LePoet...
Jun 10, 2010
Jun 10, 2010 at 1:21 PM UTC
I lock myself in places - so no one can see me crying,
So no one can see my tears
Or my pitiful face.
My mind explodes as my thoughts torment me
It all gets so overwhelming
And I can feel the tears prickling my eyes
I close them - and they sting
But no tears fall - although I can feel them,
Scoring their way down my cheeks
Outlining my faults,
Outlining my weaknesses,
And forcing me to atone for them
By keeping them suppressed in my ****** up mind
And not permitting my tears to fall...
These are my restricted tears.
Mar 22, 2014
Mar 22, 2014 at 8:37 AM UTC
My recollect is of the each,
The Two
And within the Two
One is the One
Holding and using our lead and ink utensils
as if they are weapons for winning at Love,
and reasoning for our written duel
Expressing desires the voice would customarily sever into dissection
Permitting authority to the crafted scripts *********
and may it’s barrier lay
over the possibility of a broken and scattered tongues communicate
Giving our internal intent its day
the way hoped it would speak
Expecting the requited, the return
was a pesticide over wide horizon,
Where the organic surprise of rainfall kept us neutral and thankful
And apart,
our minds maintained with
and of our other
With no need for philosophical proofs only the inner felt proof
Of forwarding shards of sentiment
with compiled assurance
and a dispatched formula
the best way we could phrase
Alongside images
that came in and held tight
in sectors tucked away and reserved from the cherished
to this day are still to be amazed
Spontaneous placement of universally synchronized jewels and stones
Of not have to have
[Only the simplified, pushed down and planted fact]
Of want her to have
So when away,
You feel a personal, singled-out
appraisal of praise
Feb 20, 2019
Feb 20, 2019 at 9:07 PM UTC
United [] [] [] Meanwhile
we boldly [] [] [] we fortify
decry [] [] [] our hearts
the loud [] [] [] not permitting
orange man [] [] [] entry
wailing for [] [] [] to anyone
a wall [] [] [] at all
.
Sep 1, 2018
Sep 1, 2018 at 1:11 AM UTC
1753
Through those old Grounds of memory,
The sauntering alone
Is a divine intemperance
A prudent man would shun.
Of liquors that are vended
’Tis easy to beware
But statutes do not meddle
With the internal bar.
Pernicious as the sunset
Permitting to pursue
But impotent to gather,
The tranquil perfidy
Alloys our firmer moments
With that severest gold
Convenient to the longing
But otherwise withheld.
3.8k
"There is a stillness that floods the moment"
a sky full of stars
***~~~
for you, poet, you
~~~***
*there is a stillness that floods
that exact moment,
the cutting chord moment,
that oddly has no
resounding chords
~
a stillness
that, simultaneous,
happily, sadly, accepted, lost,
all immediately,
by its very knowing
released acceptance,
for that is when
depression and joy,
a 1-2 punch of
raging quietude floods
the exactness of that moment
~
this shock of the calmness,
albeit brief,
jolt of kind,
jolt that slow mo's
pulsing prior air gasping
~
it comes when thinking*
done,
*it is done, yes done and I am undone,
having surgically cutting off
a limb, never bloodless, but
still relief waters flush the wound,
a granted, gifted joy floods,
permitting its escape tween the sutures,
in exhilarating exhalations
~
throw it down,
your extracted best,
lift up,
the fleshed out silhouette,
present it to the court and corps,
a farewell glance push,
finger caressing the send button
with ****** anticipation
for the lovely loving,
a vintage of the pre-regret
of completion
~
the poem is done, gone, ****** eliminated,
the light of eyes so peculiar to that moment,
when you have birthed a new born poem,
an acknowledgement of the stillness of a
closing loss,
the parting, the coming,
of a
peace of you
must too, be noted,
all deserving of equal rights*
~~~
July 12, 2015
NML
Jul 12, 2015
Jul 12, 2015 at 9:06 AM UTC
To the first boy
Who broke my heart
Telling me that cheating
Is really no big deal.
"I forgive you."
To the person who
Wasn't paying attention,
Texting and driving,
Then colliding with me.
"I forgive you."
To the man who thought
It was a good idea
To break my heart,
And his fiancé's too.
"I forgive you."
To the one who said
He loved me,
Yet in public
Wouldn't touch me.
"I forgive you."
To the friend who
Wasn't really a friend,
Pushed himself into me
Without hearing my pleas.
"I forgive you."
To the man who decided
To have *** with her,
Resulting in a pregnancy
That ruined us.
"I forgive you."
To every person
Who has hurt me
In one way or another,
Small or great.
"I forgive you."
To the person who
Can't find it in themselves
To offer forgiveness
Due to overwhelming pain.
"I forgive them for you."
To those who decided
To give this poem a read,
Tell me now if you think
The world is a little brighter.
If not, "I forgive you."
If you cannot find
Love in you, know
"I forgive you"
For the hate in your heart;
For the cold that now
Encases you,
Not permitting that
Forgiveness to take hold;
To love those who
Have hurt us before,
To care because
We all have those days,
To smile and spread
The warmth of love,
To hold someone else
Because you know the ache.
"I forgive you"
For the hate.
"I forgive you"
For the anger.
"I forgive you"
For the lust.
"I forgive you"
For the danger.
Remember to forgive,
We are all the same
Sinners in this hell,
And living in pain.
– billiondays
Nov 11, 2014
Nov 11, 2014 at 1:46 AM UTC
The solitary reminder,
a sole survivor,
hopeful-placed,
forgivingly encased
in little boxes decorative
hidden in plain sight
throughout our home.
Single and incomplete,
the lonesome leftovers,
openly hid upon bookshelf,
desk corners, fireplace mantels,
storage units of the
I am unlost,
I am unfound,
Raise your hand,
stand up and say
that is me,
that is me.
Minor treasure chests,
of carved wood, seashell real,
acquisitions of trips
to faraway places,
these boxes, they themselves,
visible but unremembered,
just there, no cares,
no one knows,
when or why.
that is me,
is that me?
Space fillers, memory taunts,
grandchildren's playthings, delight,
when they someday come visit,
weather and parents permitting,
finding keys for locks, doors,
from three homes ago.
Can they unlock me too?
Boxes hoard the things
we have lost, but cannot discard,
can't sacrifice, gotta keep,
an admixture of buttons,
dried flowers, faded notes that
once upon a time mattered,
shook someone's world...
Some kept in hope,
others, sequestered, lock-up,
jails that we are both
jailor and jailed,
the joke being on me.
Should we, you and I,
exchange these
cases histories of lost hopes, memories,
it would not be surprising,
if when opened,
the contents identical,
even if you are in Manila,
Leeds, places of need,
and yet,
we would be shocked,
asking,
*that is me,
is that me?*
Dec 9, 2013
Dec 9, 2013 at 6:34 AM UTC
while the debate goes on and on,
as to which country has the longest, continuous
democratic parliament, have it on on good authority
that the subject above,
is it better to love your kids too much than not enough?
was the first among all temporal discussions ever held,
despite periodic tabling, the debate remains unresolved,
the question unsettled even after 1000 years+ of argumentation
when over time, Universal Adult Suffrage finally came to be,
the debate became renewable, enflamed, divisive most contentiously,
various coming down on each side of a point of view topically
since mother, father and child, i.e.
pretty much everyone, definitionally,
claimed total expertise,
and sparing the rod was deemed by most to be illegally,
no plebiscite, amendment or ballot initiative was resolved resolutely,
the beat goes on continuously as new children reach voting age, sagaciously repeating their view, personally
my view?
I’ve tried both and failed equally
so I’ve little to contribute,
so let it be stated in manner unequivocally,
the sweet sensibility says too well,
but helicopters crash and monied snowplows
run over other both their own and others better deserving,
leaving all of them buried in snow piles street side,
while those who blame their faults on insufficient love,
are later most demanding more attention than any,
having becoming painfully hardy, by being treated hard about,
hard on themselves and worse to others
everyone knows the answer to this question for themselves
but I’ll leave you with this,
permitting a child to fail is a winning strategy,
as long as there is no legal limit
regarding the amount or frequency
on lifetime hugging
Mar 28, 2019
Mar 28, 2019 at 2:14 AM UTC
“wordlessly watching, heartlessly helping “
an early morning insertion,
says writes a love poem of
necessity, no formal request,
but as I am quiet bound to
her chest rhyming rising, falling,
she, caught between eyes closed,
but ears open, in pretense of deep
sleeping,
leaves me treading words,
“wordlessly watching, heartlessly helping “
borrowed for reuse, as waves
that have been here moments ago,
but only now just splashing me
to a place of inspiration, I look
up at the jambalaya of verses,
and declare myself satisfied,
both in love and wish this:
a completed poem that satisfies a
noisy urging~surging to tell her I
love her without disturbing her
peaceful state of drowsy and
permitting me too
(thinking pause)
to
taste a piece
of peace, so
well completed
Oct 4, 2023
Oct 4, 2023 at 8:57 AM UTC
I spend much of my life
within the confines of my mind
Some days I am unsure
Whether I am dead or Alive
But the medication that I cling to
removes the existential fear
and allows my thoughts to relax
yet, it also seems to suppress my wonder
Without the pills,
I can intently watch myself write
As each stroke of my small wrist
Leaves grey stains across the blank page
With them, I can feel happiness
I can detach myself from life's pain
and realize my distractions
instead of permitting them to anchor my heart
But with my medicine I cannot create
not in the ways I wish to
They build a border between substance and surface
while it blocks out the depression
it also limits my humanity
Yet, if I were to quit taking them
the darkness would return to haunt my world
strangling my limbs, until I have no will to fight
or even to move for that matter
Without them, I can expend myself
in this art that has kept my heart beating
My emotions can freely guide my movements
in the hopes of creating something beautiful
But those pills have also saved my life
and yet, they have a dark side too
The anxiety they breed produce
such a significant strain on my actions
that I can't tell if I'm truly living
So as I sit in this barren hallway
listening to the echoes that disrupt the silence
I wonder whether my temporary refrain from my "lifelines"
will lead to my success or my demise.
Apr 27, 2017
Apr 27, 2017 at 12:50 PM UTC
In to my eyes she longingly gazes,
for a long moment, disarmingly smiles,
as if I am her first teen age lover
broken in to her room,unawares
and did naughty things,like snatching kisses.
her dad would definitely scold her mother
for permitting such nonsense
without his prior approval,
now that all got wrong, she is perplexed,
what would the people think of her
if they find out all about this?
Her lips I kiss ever so tenderly
to prove that I am still a green horn
in matters of amour, callow and clumsy to boot,
I join in her pretension that we just had
our first vanilla ice cream together,
when we bumped in to each other by chance.
Now the scene changes, she signals
like in one of those school dramas she shone well,
in my ears she whispers, now the coy Indian bride,
who never take liberties without
prior parental approval,
"I just wanted to cheat myself,
for this once, isn't it the last chance
forget for the time being that
we just had an arranged marriage"
Feb 21, 2016
Feb 21, 2016 at 8:45 AM UTC
~
Shadows move on sheet rock barriers
framed in time of late
Spaces filled with unknown visions
dance about with feet of clay
Gowns of nightmare carpetbaggers
thunder on the floor
Drippings in a mist of nervous breath
blanket my safe haven
and the sounds scream
in voices of past mishaps
Lost in lonely corridors,
wailing on aching skylights
permitting barely a moon glow psalm
to echo of their meaning
in songs from a distance,
of pleading skeletal desire
“I fear for I have no choice”
Doorways yawn in weary ovations
Slanted photos dot the landscape
Windows prove little relief from the cold
as heat pierces my cavities
Gaping wounds of frail memories
clutch at my last ounce,
measuring the words I am reading
Taking a breath, sweet, stagnant
Clawing for an exit only to find
it has stood before me all along
Baby steps, I have been told
Find that trust, slowly…make sure,
reach out for the hand
offered on a dreamscape message
“I fear for I have no choice?”
Eyes, so tired, weeping pools
out of focus since that day, open
(As if sunflowers float on silken wings
and glorious becomes an understood word)
slowly and tentatively,
blinking sorrow’s pathway free
to lead me to you
The imprint of that butterfly
marks my palm in red lines of love,
mapping my skin with a long awaited
smile, dry lips curve as I take your hand
trusting, for the very first time
realizing the feeling
which hath finally…set me free
“I no longer fear, for I have a choice”
Nov 6, 2013
Nov 6, 2013 at 12:27 PM UTC
met my maker
*not for the first time,
two acquaintances periodical,
two boon craftsmen, artisansals,
bs-gab-talking about who is surely
the better poet, glinting, side-splitting,
raucous laughter in our dueling self-mockery*
*neither takes the other too serious,
but of each other, we take endless,
never satisfied, insufficient, each needier
for the rapper inside and repartee, adoring
our jiving unique camaraderie, all-the-while,
knowing our balance unequal, but not caring*
*for as equals we meet, to revel and reflect,
revealing things of each other that only we
know, meant not for sharing ever, for these
webbed strands binding, at same time, release,
permitting a tough honesty tally, truth not a concept,
unnecessary, for how could we ever hide our love mutuel*
*we sitting bestride and beside, in ye old, weather-beat-down
chairs Adirondack, having come hewn from trees centuries old,
now overlooking the Bay, we eyeing a solitary fisherman whom,
we both knowingly aware, metaphor for that day that will come
to collect me away to a new locale, where we will yet still needle
each other, with mercy unforgiving, not for our misdeeds, for never*
is forgivenessasked for or given, not taboo, but
holy unnecessary for such is the way the between the
designer and the artifact, the poet and the poem, the craft
and the object, gardener and her fruits, a cellular understanding
that comprehends the interlocking necessity of our natures, that our
shared endings, are a duelity, both finale and gateway to our next poem!
https://hellopoetry.com/poem/462537/how-i-observed-the-day-of-atonement/
Jun 30, 2023
Jun 30, 2023 at 7:46 AM UTC
It's not deception,
but it, I cannot believe.
These truths transmitting,
time permitting,
will crush me flat.
I'm not sure what to think,
in the fact's bull-rush.
Screaming out.
Damming it to be,
cardboard scenery.
In sincere
secrecy.
With a dash of nothing,
spicing the world.
Give me a kiss; no,
give me a twirl.
Splicing the word-weary
and thought-Leery.
Such fresh ********
Screaming out.
Damming it to be,
cardboard scenery.
In sincere
secrecy.
Sep 26, 2018
Sep 26, 2018 at 7:14 PM UTC
this is a fine morning and the man in the bathroom mirror smiles
though he admittedly isn't the friendliest person but honestly
he seemed genuinely glad to be awake and alive on such an Autumn day
with the birds chirping and the window near the kitchen slightly ajar
allowing safe passage to a nice chill breeze. he finds the cat up as well
meowing "Good morning!" cheerfully and innocently in its tiny cat voice
and he chuckles and meows back in the most accurate manner available.
on the kitchen table there's a mug of coffee, the newspaper rolled like a cigar,
a plate of waffles, bacon, scrambled eggs and powdered happiness which
the man gobbles wholeheartedly while reading the day's fresh headlines:
President Declares Peace on Earth, Local Man Defeats Dog - Gives Too Many Treats,
Cop Buys Medical Lemonade From Child's Lemonade Stand, World Hunger Exterminated...
permitting the felines to rule our existence was truly the best of ideas!
Nov 8, 2015
Nov 8, 2015 at 2:37 PM UTC
Nonsense isn’t clear when self-induce becomes derogatory. Switching off claims to promote a zero-questioning start. Only for calamities to raise the bars of victory without circumstance. Pleading you to forget what you saw and repeat after me. Nonsense without structure, is relaxing too much. Does relaxing come after nonsense when zero questioning permits the struggle of structure? I digress for the infinite that is suggesting you relax when it comes to ******* interiors giving no rise to pressure that exceeds balance. Balance in the face of consequence. Consequence in the doubt of honor. Honor in the… WAIT! It’s nonsense, right? ALL OF IT!! EVERYTHING!!! Plain examples of zero switches without direction. Promoting the structure of pleading facts rubbing with calamities. Ruining what shouldn’t have been. Illusions! All of it. Claiming something, which isn’t a benefactor to logic raising circumstances toward rising the bars of victory. Doesn’t make any sense, does it? Any of this ringing a bell people?! Good. Just relax and create your own structure. Even how awfully permitting to other appeals it might seem. Structure is without consequence. Relaxing about regular customs to oneself, permits the desire to act with a calm disposition. Everything being a confused debate of nonsense. Only adding nonsense over something that’s already a relaxing structure. Is structure without relaxation? Enough details… I’m out! Structure your own appeals?!
Oct 7, 2019
Oct 7, 2019 at 12:48 AM UTC
We’ve been slowly sinking
Into our own thrones –
Permitting an unwitting
“Thinking” alone.
At evil, we’re winking
Without any Eyes –
Unshrinking, no blinking,
We see not the guise.
.
Jan 31, 2019
Jan 31, 2019 at 11:26 AM UTC
The tide came in oozing foam, and crashed along the rock
that lay among the edge with jagged disarray-
A flood compelled by anger without warning or delay.
The waves that break the silence and the salt that burns the wound-
a storm not predetermined; an evil-driven shrew.
A conniving mess of jealousy, the tide will not retreat
as it floods around my feet and strikes a grin of great deceit.
I wish upon a better day, they say " weather permitting"-
the beach is closed and so it shows my hourglass is empty.
Jun 18, 2010
Jun 18, 2010 at 10:42 AM UTC
Freedom isn't all flowers
And it isn't day dreams for hours
It isn't always your favourite taste
Redemption isn't always the case
In fact, freedom likes to give us choices
It's the reason we can use our voices
Try on words of all kinds
Thoughts on repeat change our minds
Freedom has a lesson to teach
That we all will learn eventually
A wretched vice of love internally
Permitting our suffering certainly
Freedom isn't all flowers
And it isn't high skies and towers
It's a power of will so specially
Designed for us to guide our destiny
In truth, freedom is like the spirit
Neutral to life but ever coherent
Providing us the great option
Of sleeping, or becoming conscious
Freedom has a message to send:
Forever within you can transcend
Trust the person you are within
For our lives are never stone written.
-miss_mica(<3)
Sep 26, 2014
Sep 26, 2014 at 5:41 PM UTC
Old houses speak
Dark secrets they leak
Storm weathered
Never settled
Full of cracks and creeks
Antique furniture exposed
Wear and tear from past souls
Resembled ghost in white sheets
Laughter and movement
Once known now abandoned
Vacant and alone
Years of neglect is all that’s shown
The occupancy of life long gone
Pane- less windows
Like eyeless souls
Let in only darkness dampness
Mildew and cold
A door once accustomed of permitting things in
Now warns to keep out
Refusing its hospitality to extend
By chance you pass one's way
Or turn there in
Its rickety corridors try not to disturb
Or its vestiges offend
For old houses are sensitive
To the vibes we send
Old houses speak
Aug 5, 2013
Aug 5, 2013 at 9:36 PM UTC
Do you still believe your lies
The story you told
Is ages old
So, if truth be told
I’m growing old
Waiting for you to wake up
And makeup
Up, up, up
Do you still give a ****
Isn’t it as much about the cooktop
As getting to the up top
Mountaintop
Dress shop
Island hop
Photo opt
Lollipop
You had better pay up or shut up
Don’t even think for a split second
That that’s my mantra
Said the pieman to the cow
You’re such a monkey mind
With your mixed-up metaphors
And sky-blue pedicures
Did you hear me when I said
Shut up monkey
Reference never mind
Do you ever mind that I so
Casually include you in every line
If you didn’t make an appearance so sweet
No poem would ever be complete.
So Hey
Monkey mind
Did you ever notice how
All the self-proclaimed gurus of love and light
Nothing wrong with love and light
Said girl interrupted
I know, I know
But I’m talking about
The shadow side
Because every good story needs a protagonist.
Getting back to
Me guru
Me thinks
Me right
Yeah well that’s right
Those downloads came straight from heaven
Yep from heaven to earth
They flew
Straight into their guru lap
Excuse me, laptop
Because that’s where they stored
Space permitting
All their wayward followers
like a ladder submitting
Skyward
Hey, guys, I’m back
And I came straight from the light
With a brand-new insight
And I love you so much
Monkeys
Yes, I do
Even if
All you ever do is
Hang upside down from your monkey tail
Telling yourself tall tales
You’re so mixed up monkey
Won’t you ever make up your mind?
Why do I always have to read between the lies?
Mar 3, 2019
Mar 3, 2019 at 9:44 PM UTC
the woven intercept
*the crescendo soft ascending,
commandeers our riveting,
we do not surrender, taken, nonetheless,
our deference to an elegant wand wave,
combo hopeful and all encompassing, the helplessness
both well understood
the progression higher, steady on,
a rapture going to a defined ending,
concluding voyage occluded, for now,
but the setting sun rays us a plan, a path,
teasingly, soto voce lips moving, “this way”
follow on the unsteady water
restraining resistance failing, flailing weakly,
it is both early morning and late afternoon,
the light warms, but each, a timbre different,
the pitch and intensity tho one and the same,
yet, order confused, still, we are given-in
giving in unwillingly
absolution unrequested, but awarded anyway,
shelter from the storm of safe and warm,
children begin first school day, but adults
know better, beginnings full of risks unforeseen,
the season changes, normalized, but would be refused
if we could
the waiver offered, the woven intercept read,
emotional intelligence so fragile, on and on,
sidekicks, lovers, connected by a dotted line highway,
the space between permitting anything we want,
but contradictories say, wanting everything, impossible
but the viable solution singular
how do we leave it then? we leave it thus, clarified,
separation is a kind of attachment, voidable, when,
kissing comes calling, from all around the world,
the crescendo ends, we each have read the intercept,
it concusses, interpretations differing, yet we don’t care
lying through embracing lips*
our tune is a mismatched matching,
a vision ending and yet anew hatching,
this is love, understanding, undefinable, undefeated,
a changeling definition, paths possessing multi-endings,
loving is the unceasingly, desirable imperfect struggling
unique, singular just like everyone else’s
9/4/19 9:07am
nml
(she'll know)
Sep 7, 2019
Sep 7, 2019 at 2:14 PM UTC