"perturbations" poems
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Lear wanders in stormy open, bares warring elements,
The heavens blister, crackle, night is balmy shroud,
Wretched monarch babbles in sprinkles of wind cold,
Arguments lost by ones own pouring perturbations
And raining sky said 'nothing will come from nothing.'
Howl, howls into blackness treed in lightning splits,
His outcast soul, reels, fleshed, cut to smithereens,
Tang of salt burns on the bluffs and the sea rages,
So entire and ceremonious is Lear's fall meted out,
Air spoke, 'nothing from nothings ever yet was born.'
Sky proclaimed to man child King, here is a reckoning,
Each mad choice was self infliction, now wind flays
And sweet Cordelia lies in her innocent **** grave,
Sky, in thralls of thundering asks, 'what say thee now,
King of highborn follies, even purple heaths are rags,
Yet black and above you and night shades, whine,
Unworthy King, done in by compounded effects,
The might of maelstroms in low butterflies wings,
How now, bare trees, knifing reeds, skeletal flashes,
To rains of night are ever your lanyards my lord,'
Sad Lear so near oblivion fell mute, sky went on,
'Howl and cry mad King your reaper calls beyond,
The icy brisk heavens await to brusque you away,
Your slipshod kingdom was mere and fools' dream,
Howl, til howls abrupt abate, for nothing now comes.'
May 27, 2015
May 27, 2015 at 10:10 PM UTC
Ah, you ask
what the origin is of the word pharaoh
Let me assure you first
such questions need to be asked
and you have come to the right person
for I am an antimologist
one specialized in the study of the origin of words
1
Let us consider....pharaoh...pharaoh...pharaoh...
Ah, I have it...the answer retrieved
from the safe confines and treasuries
in the deepest recesses of my mind....
The pharaoh
was so called
for these rulers were,
in spite of the scorching heat and unforgiving sun,
these rulers were always fair
and never became dark
and so that clears the mystery of the first half of pharaoh
2
And moreover, it is revealed in the papyri
and graffiti in the tombs
these Pharaohs could row -
even as Rulers these Pharaohs could row -
you know
row, row, row your boat
and they could row
the full length and breadth of the Nile
And thus from the 2 Divine attributes
of FAIR and ROW
came the title: PHARAOH
3
But....but...but! you say
Ah, I know, I know - you are about to ask
why then is the word spelt as PHARAOH
and not as FAIRROW?
Ah, such questions you have this morning -
what are you on?
Too much sugar and candy floss last night?
Well, you are lucky as I’m not only an antimologist
but also an IsDorian
and so I shall dispel your doubts at once:
It’s simple - remember they were Ancient Egyptians
and these Ancient Egyptians did not know their English well
and so instead of the proper English FAIRROW
they gave us the mangled PHARAOH -
and let us not be too hard on them
as you also recall this was all in the infancy of human civilization
and we shall be graceful enough in our maturity to accept these errors,
for after all, these Ancient Egyptians were but as children
in the History of Human Motion
And I hope I have now dispelled your morning perturbations
as I rowed you over
the rivers of knowledge of antimology, IsDory
and the secret knowledge of FAIRROW and the PHARAOH
Nov 21, 2011
Nov 21, 2011 at 5:12 AM UTC
I have sons spread around the world
birthed by different girls
foundation built in my arms.
recognition of the need of men
of the Love of a woman,
for a woman to guide his heart,
to open his eyes to his start.
she whispered,
the power of the son.
he is of she, penetrates the sea
and births anew.
she the prototype, the official
original, the womb.
woman, her scent alarms the masses.
and we scream now.
we scream and we cry
we live in angst in our homes,
our men are concerned.
yet our pheromones sense things,
weather and other perturbations.
mothers voice in the heart of her children,
daughters tend to stay closer to home.
women, we hear the call!
as we quiet our longing drawl,
the pull we feel to somewhere, we know not of
a place beyond the beauty of our eyes,
we know,
we remember,
our requirements as a creator.
ours, the power of the reflection
of the full moon,
the trees dance in the monthly celebration,
though in the desert, I've seen a few
who,
when the moon is too full,
too reflective of its presence,
they fold to hide from the light.
knowing whats best for themselves, I trust.
I just can't help but to choose to stand
with Her.
stand in Her light, my mouth
opens for the gift.
the thirst quenched.
head tilted back, think of
the men of the world.
if I could just hug them.
as Ms Badu claims
I bet you LOVE can make it better …
I bet too.
I bet I can heal you.
open your heart, peal the bitter,
drain the water, raise the alter.
praise the lover, embrace as a Mother.
pour into the builder, the sender.
release his true endeavors.
release the tension in his body,
helping him to know
mind over matter.
plugging him into the true
creative power
of his *** his gift of Love,
of his body penetrating another.
what his self is communicating,
what his seed is sprouting.
he needs our healing.
his heart is calling, and he's stomping around
like a little boy! I have sons, they stomp around…
they need mommys love,
mommys extra love.
she, calls us to her sons.
new normals, open our hearts
health always to follow.
Jul 31, 2015
Jul 31, 2015 at 4:12 AM UTC
perturbations of aliveness
animated sensual arousal
the world is full of beauty
bleeding colour into edges
the soul is on it's knees
in constant reverence
as the body postulates
with many varied stances
the heart's tide is roaring
with cryptic coalescence
symphonic sounds wave
from an unstruck core
swallowed in a resonance
undulating both ways
all ways,
always.
Mar 11, 2014
Mar 11, 2014 at 2:22 PM UTC
.
Lear wanders in stormy open, bares warring elements,
The heavens blister, crackle, night is balmy shroud,
Wretched monarch babbles in sprinkles of wind cold,
Arguments lost by ones own pouring perturbations
And raining sky said 'nothing will come from nothing.'
Howl, howls into blackness treed in lightning splits,
His outcast soul, reels, fleshed, cut to smithereens,
Tang of salt burns on the bluffs and the sea rages,
So entire and ceremonious is Lear's fall meted out,
Air spoke, 'nothing from nothings ever yet was born.'
Sky proclaimed to man child King, here is a reckoning,
Each mad choice was self infliction, now wind flays
And sweet Cordelia lies in her innocent **** grave,
Sky, in thralls of thundering asks, 'what say thee now,
King of highborn follies, even purple heaths are rags,
Yet black and above you and night shades, whine,
Unworthy King, done in by compounded effects,
The might of maelstroms in low butterflies wings,
How now, bare trees, knifing reeds, skeletal flashes,
To rains of night are ever your lanyards my lord,'
Sad Lear so near oblivion fell mute, sky went on,
'Howl and cry mad King your reaper calls beyond,
The icy brisk heavens await to brusque you away,
Your slipshod kingdom was mere and fools' dream,
Howl, til howls abrupt abate, for nothing now comes.'
Mar 6, 2017
Mar 6, 2017 at 10:39 AM UTC
Not since the plasmic glow of the Inflationary period,
When the glorious Universe could be held in the palm of your hand,
Has the Light prevailed;
Ever-after, the Darkness has gained increasing **********
Forget those globular perturbations coalescing into Galaxies;
Forget, too, the denser gases igniting into radiant stars;
The cold, dark space-time only retreats temporarily - and grows all the while.
The expanding Universe acts to isolate the Light,
And the Darkness is patient enough to await its ultimate victory.
When Matter has run its race,
And complex Life is a distant echo;
When atoms and molecules haven't the Energy to socialise,
Then the Darkness will swallow the Light for good.
The Universe will be dark and dead -
And God will cease to exist.
Mar 6, 2014
Mar 6, 2014 at 12:32 PM UTC
Have you ever felt a tear fall lovely
It’s gorgeous
More than dying to a everlasting piano chord or holding pinkies
Your flowers bloomed in my mood
I’m your florist
My throat grows sore
As I remember lovely perturbations
And lovely sensations
And times where you were loving and held tight to your patience
And I wonder when you go when I can’t feel your presence
It’s a present breathing in all the ******** from your old lessons
Legions **** on what was legit
I never wanted such a lovely heart break or a heavy soul
It’s never been a time when your eyes met mine and I looked past your demise
But for some reason I appreciated your lovely lies
Lovely sight
Lovely sighs
Ugly fights
Thick thighs
Tight grips
Cold fingertips
They say the coldest hands have the warmest hearts
I wonder if you thought I was lovely from the start
Am I pretty enough?
Quiet enough?
Do I lie too much?
Do I cry too much?
Why do we fight so much?
Why do I miss your your touch so lovely?
Where are the words you speak with your lovely kiss?
I guess I might walk steadily enough to be a model but my features aren’t of Linda Evangelista
I’m eye candy for the diabetic
I’m a lovely view
But you’re used to savory things
One time my voice didn’t quake
And my loving moans wondered off in the walk of shame
My silence was deadly and you couldn’t handle my tongue in the most innocent of ways
You said you adored it
Treasured it
Never heard something so true
Same way I’ve never seen someone as lovely as you
I guess our lovelies didn’t quite match
For once I spoke my last words
My honest broke our latch
My truths hurt and my lies were sometimes too blunt
Bold and beautiful yet enough to make you
Jump
Ship
Forget
Split
Walk away from me and live
Touch me lovely
Scream me lovely
Miss me lovely
Hold me lovely
Lovingly cry about me
My comebacks are mighty and your stamina was slightly too small
Too lightly
I was lightweight in weight
and you in mind
It’s funny
You’re the kind of lovely only the wicked could find
I miss you lovely
The way you touched me as I held the metaphorical heat gun to the edge of my thoughts and
Pulled the trigger
When you couldn’t pull me together I miss your feathers
I miss our weather
Sunny enough for glares
Cold enough to exchange sweaters
I miss your lovelies because you was my true love
Touch me lovely
Scream me lovely
Miss me lovely
Hold me lovely
Lovingly cry about me
Dec 4, 2017
Dec 4, 2017 at 9:06 PM UTC
Cloud Trick
I am writing on a plane:
An airbus A380 cruising
Through the emptied rooms of heaven -
The place seems larger,
Now there's no one living here.
The clouds below are thick
And suddenly I wonder:
Why is it, every time I fly,
I cannot see the land below?
Yet when I look up from the ground
I often see the aeroplanes,
Travelling through an open sky,
Angels encased in corporate livery.
Now, in my seat by the window,
Staring down,
I see little specks of light -
Perturbations in my visual senses -
Errors of the mind -
Highlighted on the canvas of the air -
And on these flickers of illusion I fixate.
What if there is no land below?
Could it be that every flight we take,
Is a computer-generated fantasy?
An elaborate scheme dreamt up
By secret powers,
Who wish us to believe in forces
Beyond all reach of human mastery?
Maybe they catapult us
To this virtual place -
A hologram of God's old house,
Designed to bring the memory near:
The hope that humanity might have
A parent in the atmosphere.
Then,
Upon taking us up
To the promised land
They showcase the sacred vacancy
Of all our dreams of paradise.
Just as I begin to fall
Into the particulars
Of this miraculous conspiracy
I stop, and realise how poor I am -
I always buy the cheapest flight:
Always leaving early in the morning,
Just at the end of the night...
Do clouds form like dew
In the darkness?
As the Earth spins,
Are its hemispheres
Alternately cloaked in veils of white,
Like an eye that opens and closes
In both directions?
What I would give to witness that.
Jul 26, 2017
Jul 26, 2017 at 1:40 PM UTC
.
Lear wanders in stormy open, bares warring elements,
The heavens blister, crackle, night is balmy shroud,
Wretched monarch babbles in sprinkles of wind cold,
Arguments lost by ones own pouring perturbations
And raining sky said 'nothing will come from nothing.'
Howl, howls into blackness treed in lightning splits,
His outcast soul, reels, fleshed, cut to smithereens,
Tang of salt burns on the bluffs and the sea rages,
So entire and ceremonious is Lear's fall meted out,
Air spoke, 'nothing from nothings ever yet was born.'
Sky proclaimed to man child King, here is a reckoning,
Each mad choice was self infliction, now wind flays
And sweet Cordelia lies in her innocent **** grave,
Sky, in thralls of thundering asks, 'what say thee now,
King of highborn follies, even purple heaths are rags,
Yet black and above you and night shades, whine,
Unworthy King, done in by compounded effects,
The might of maelstroms in low butterflies wings,
How now, bare trees, knifing reeds, skeletal flashes,
To rains of night are ever your lanyards my lord,'
Sad Lear so near oblivion fell mute, sky went on,
'Howl and cry mad King your reaper calls beyond,
The icy brisk heavens await to brusque you away,
Your slipshod kingdom was mere and fools' dream,
Howl, til howls abrupt abate, for nothing now comes.'
.
Jul 6, 2019
Jul 6, 2019 at 6:00 PM UTC
Ripples through time
Perturbations
in the world around you
Originating
In word
In deed
Circles ever widening
Of influence
And impact
Even when we are gone
From the room
Or from the world
In body
In spirit
Our ripples spread
Merge with others
Shape them
As they go on
To shape others
Even when we are gone
Even when we are forgotten
Remember
Your ripples move on
Merge
Intersect
Transform
But always spreading
Through time
Sep 13, 2022
Sep 13, 2022 at 2:09 PM UTC
.
Lear wanders in stormy open, bares warring elements,
The heavens blister, crackle, night is balmy shroud,
Wretched monarch babbles in sprinkles of wind cold,
Arguments lost by ones own pouring perturbations
And raining sky said 'nothing will come from nothing.'
Howl, howls into blackness treed in lightning splits,
His outcast soul, reels, fleshed, cut to smithereens,
Tang of salt burns on the bluffs and the sea rages,
So entire and ceremonious is Lear's fall meted out,
Air spoke, 'nothing from nothings ever yet was born.'
Sky proclaimed to man child King, here is a reckoning,
Each mad choice was self infliction, now wind flays
And sweet Cordelia lies in her innocent **** grave,
Sky, in thralls of thundering asks, 'what say thee now,
King of highborn follies, even purple heaths are rags,
Yet black and above you and night shades, whine,
Unworthy King, done in by compounded effects,
The might of maelstroms in low butterflies wings,
How now, bare trees, knifing reeds, skeletal flashes,
To rains of night are ever your lanyards my lord,'
Sad Lear so near oblivion fell mute, sky went on,
'Howl and cry mad King your reaper calls beyond,
The icy brisk heavens await to brusque you away,
Your slipshod kingdom was mere and fools' dream,
Howl, til howls abrupt abate, for nothing now comes.'
Oct 8, 2015
Oct 8, 2015 at 6:33 PM UTC
.
Lear wanders in stormy open, bares warring elements,
The heavens blister, crackle, night is balmy shroud,
Wretched monarch babbles in sprinkles of wind cold,
Arguments lost by ones own pouring perturbations
And raining sky said 'nothing will come from nothing.'
Howl, howls into blackness treed in lightning splits,
His outcast soul, reels, fleshed, cut to smithereens,
Tang of salt burns on the bluffs and the sea rages,
So entire and ceremonious is Lear's fall meted out,
Air spoke, 'nothing from nothings ever yet was born.'
Sky proclaimed to man child King, here is a reckoning,
Each mad choice was self infliction, now wind flays
And sweet Cordelia lies in her innocent **** grave,
Sky, in thralls of thundering asks, 'what say thee now,
King of highborn follies, even purple heaths are rags,
Yet black and above you and night shades, whine,
Unworthy King, done in by compounded effects,
The might of maelstroms in low butterflies wings,
How now, bare trees, knifing reeds, skeletal flashes,
To rains of night are ever your lanyards my lord,'
Sad Lear so near oblivion fell mute, sky went on,
'Howl and cry mad King your reaper calls beyond,
The icy brisk heavens await to brusque you away,
Your slipshod kingdom was mere and fools' dream,
Howl, til howls abrupt abate, for nothing now comes.'*
May 25, 2015
May 25, 2015 at 6:10 PM UTC
The world could have been black and white,
emotions would have been put aside,
Across the white sun, you could stare endlessly
belongings of trust would have died peacefully.
Your burning disease I smoked in the ashtray,
And I can still curl and think alright,
bitter words will be washed away
and then my emotions will step aside.
Little words bring justice to your world. No matter how much you try, there will always be something you can never achieve. I prosper when things look bleak, while smoking a cigarette and burning the trees. Thoughts would wander and take you to this land, where fairies and gods will give you their hand. Disagreements and perturbations will shimmer your beliefs; but you can hold fast to the rope and be silently relieved. No wonder, the earth rotates and if only it had been black and white; then I might cower at the sight of you, as my emotions will step aside!
Sep 27, 2014
Sep 27, 2014 at 3:18 AM UTC
Volcanic waves
roar on by again.
A series of perturbations
in the once rational brain.
Flips and turns within my stomach burn,
like an acrobatic firefighter on fire
as my thoughts
race, multiply, amplify,
on the path of no return.
Hot beads
skid down my neck;
Every drop
An incoming train wreck.
Alas the Devil
Turns the ****
Stops the faucet of disaster
For me to feel sober.
To the World I am
but an ugly child,
A mistake, a creep—
Awkward—
Those murmurs so loud
So I
Shut my heart
Close the door
Dim the light
Lie to myself,
"It's alright."
Dec 19, 2018
Dec 19, 2018 at 2:06 PM UTC
“Haunted Houses” (1858)
All houses wherein men have lived and died
__Are haunted houses. Through the open doors
The harmless phantoms on their errands glide,
__With feet that make no sound upon the floors.
We meet them at the doorway, on the stair,
__Along the passages they come and go,
Impalpable impressions on the air,
__A sense of something moving to and fro.
There are more guests at table, than the hosts
__Invited; the illuminated hall
Is thronged with quiet, inoffensive ghosts,
__As silent as the pictures on the wall.
The stranger at my fireside cannot see
__The forms I see, nor hear the sounds I hear;
He but perceives what is; while unto me
__All that has been is visible and clear.
We have no title-deeds to house or lands;
__Owners and occupants of earlier dates
From graves forgotten stretch their dusty hands,
__And hold in mortmain still their old estates.
The spirit-world around this world of sense
__Floats like an atmosphere, and everywhere
Wafts through these earthly mists and vapors dense
__A vital breath of more ethereal air.
Our little lives are kept in equipoise
__By opposite attractions and desires;
The struggle of the instinct that enjoys,
__And the more noble instinct that aspires.
These perturbations, this perpetual jar
__Of earthly wants and aspirations high,
Come from the influence of an unseen star,
__An undiscovered planet in our sky.
And as the moon from some dark gate of cloud
__Throws o’er the sea a floating bridge of light,
Across whose trembling planks our fancies crowd
__Into the realm of mystery and night,–
So from the world of spirits there descends
__A bridge of light, connecting it with this,
O’er whose unsteady floor, that sways and bends,
__Wander our thoughts above the dark abyss.
Oct 14, 2020
Oct 14, 2020 at 10:08 AM UTC
Thank you to all of you who have joined my group "Perturbations."
I sent out a rather large number of invites to a rather small population of the writers I respect rather much with whom I've had the pleasure of interacting; a few of them have taken the bait, and for that I thank thee.
"Perturbations" is a collection of my own works which I wish to become a book, most likely by the same title.
I welcome all constructive feedback. If a piece is weak or needs a tweak, please speak your mind freely and with respect. :)
If any of you would have an interest in following/joining the group who haven't done so, you are so much more than welcome to do so. I would consider it a compliment.
Personal Disclaimer:
This isn't intended to be an ego thing for me, it is meant to show people who enjoy my work/style the works I feel best about. I'd also be verily interested to see similar collections of other people's own favorite pieces.
Jan 18, 2015
Jan 18, 2015 at 6:08 PM UTC
If thou perchance hast longed for my embrace;
thou felt its spectre linger on thy skin,
thou must unearth a paradise wherein
abundant is the fruit that thou shall taste.
Its sweetness and perfume will thus invade
thyself, who art perplexed by strident din,
(which one mistakes to be the medicine)
and shall be cured of solitude's malaise.
And thou may wonder where doth one procure
this nectar so sublime that guarantees
escaping from the claws of loneliness?
In silence, these empyreal orchards endure
the perturbations of the fleeting years,
and in the fruits they bear - thither I rest.
Mar 31, 2020
Mar 31, 2020 at 2:58 PM UTC
Oh my friend,
Your darkest thoughts will lead you down into the deepest depths; away from superficial neon signs, promising porch lights and the mockingly blue sky. Dive into the abyss with your literary wit, pass through the pitch black; you are the light. Go deeper and deeper until you are swallowed whole, where silence is thick and the water speaks in bright white and blue hues. That is you. Pristine perturbations of pearly light, reflecting your own pools of brilliance. Don't be afraid of the darkest depths of your mind. Dive and dive until you find your light.
Apr 7, 2015
Apr 7, 2015 at 2:45 AM UTC
the sensations ripple
so deep
through, within, so deep,
they are for the union.
our sacrifice, our blessed gift.
tied up, chocked and tense,
only yet, to fully be free.
women, creative force within.
always stirring...
confidence built on the
external sensations.
internal perturbations
wreak havoc on my focus,
cause recurring memory lose.
One is, regardless.
the ride is intense, heart wrenching,
heart warming, heart healing.
lead with the heart.
drop the defense.
One is, regardless
Apr 28, 2015
Apr 28, 2015 at 4:21 AM UTC