"placidity" poems
Oh, how I delight in the taste
of my lover’s scent
as she cries out my name!
In my arms, a slender orchid
worshiped to soft placidity,
she murmurs
do I still yearn for my virginity?
And I whisper, my love,
ten thousand times
ten thousand times, no.
For what we tender feel in lost virginity
is not for lost virginity alone
Not for a shred of skin or a drop of blood;
what human being mourns this?
That small ***** we feel
is the eternal mortality
of all lost first experiences.
Then let us thank the Gods they spare us,
for now,
our last virginity.
Think now upon the family and friends
we have lost
to disease or hunger, to time
or accident, to addiction or war.
How shall we remember them
if not their names?
How shall we speak of them?
Will you remember me?
Or shall I become as dust in this temple?
Loudly, all my loves, hear me,
come now with me!
Let us leave this temple for a time,
walk with me to my secret garden
where we shall remove these robes
and look upon one another
with the gift of acceptance
and where
we shall place flowers in our hair.
Where we shall hold hands
and walk a bit farther
to the river and bathe one another
in the moonlight.
Then let us return here to celebrate
the memory of the fallen
as the Gods intended.
Let us remember the names,
let us speak the names and lest we forget,
cry out their names.
Oct 28, 2018
Oct 28, 2018 at 10:03 PM UTC
Swan Lake
Crystal clear lagoon
Slow glide and procreate
The serene placidity humm
Last Song
Sep 29, 2013
Sep 29, 2013 at 10:59 PM UTC
This weekend, something has awakened inside of me. This weekend I have lost my fear. I have fasted and been patient- I have enjoyed the company of my friends and enhanced in their sadness, their happiness, their contributions to the feeling of “whole”. I have seen human nature and kept to myself. I know that throughout all suffering I always have the peace of myself to return to, the inner quiet that speaks to me at night and envelopes me and tells me it will all be okay. There is beauty in the system, the system that lacks courage and strength, where cowards reside, there is also fault. Excellence and prodigious truth lie within nature, tranquility, the placidity and enjoyment of pedestrian life. Over complication does nothing to enhance life or living, and the creation of problematic situations is meaningless in any circumstance. To live and live in the lives of others is where true value lies, and I am settled, I am content.
Feb 2, 2012
Feb 2, 2012 at 9:57 AM UTC
There is this moment.
After hectic hours in the daylight.
The view minutes after the landscape
was painted in the splashing colors of sunset.
Before some people fall asleep
Or break out in an insane serenity
Caused by the feeling of being incognito
Under the invisibility cloak of the night.
There is a moment of placidity.
When the last rays of sunlight
Battle with the first stars
For the ********** of the sky.
When the shadows grow longer
And blur between light and darkness.
When the surroundings are dim-lit
I am the most alive.
The silence makes me hear.
The monochrome paints make me see.
I step out of the penumbra
And vanish in the outlines of the world.
Apr 22, 2014
Apr 22, 2014 at 9:04 PM UTC
I
Happy are men who yet before they are killed
Can let their veins run cold.
Whom no compassion fleers
Or makes their feet
Sore on the alleys cobbled with their brothers.
The front line withers.
But they are troops who fade, not flowers,
For poets' tearful fooling:
Men, gaps for filling:
Losses, who might have fought
Longer; but no one bothers.
II
And some cease feeling
Even themselves or for themselves.
Dullness best solves
The tease and doubt of shelling,
And Chance's strange arithmetic
Comes simpler than the reckoning of their shilling.
They keep no check on armies' decimation.
III
Happy are these who lose imagination:
They have enough to carry with ammunition.
Their spirit drags no pack.
Their old wounds, save with cold, can not more ache.
Having seen all things red,
Their eyes are rid
Of the hurt of the colour of blood for ever.
And terror's first constriction over,
Their hearts remain small-drawn.
Their senses in some scorching cautery of battle
Now long since ironed,
Can laugh among the dying, unconcerned.
IV
Happy the soldier home, with not a notion
How somewhere, every dawn, some men attack,
And many sighs are drained.
Happy the lad whose mind was never trained:
His days are worth forgetting more than not.
He sings along the march
Which we march taciturn, because of dusk,
The long, forlorn, relentless trend
From larger day to huger night.
V
We wise, who with a thought besmirch
Blood over all our soul,
How should we see our task
But through his blunt and lashless eyes?
Alive, he is not vital overmuch;
Dying, not mortal overmuch;
Nor sad, nor proud,
Nor curious at all.
He cannot tell
Old men's placidity from his.
VI
But cursed are dullards whom no cannon stuns,
That they should be as stones.
Wretched are they, and mean
With paucity that never was simplicity.
By choice they made themselves immune
To pity and whatever mourns in man
Before the last sea and the hapless stars;
Whatever mourns when many leave these shores;
Whatever shares
The eternal reciprocity of tears
2.8k
i remember that first night
how desperately you craved
to feel my lips against yours.
how worried you were when i refrained
from surrendering to your deep inhalations.
thoughts of uncertainty clouded your confidence
while your sense of comfort waned and ebbed
as my will held like a cliffside
against the ocean of your lust.
let me calm your worried mind now darling
it was not for lack of desire
that i held my lips pursed.
it was not detachment
that held my hands shy
of a passionate embrace.
i was lost in the shear comfort
of your presence.
your warm hands on my chest
felt as though they had been there
my whole life.
the weight of your leg across my hips,
so familiar that i was left confused by
the brevity of our acquaintance compared
to the depth i could see so clearly
in your glistening eyes.
it was in adoration for this precious moment that
i held myself satiated.
it was this same feeling that held me in fear
that our first kiss would not be the
electric explosion of beginnings
that we would hope to fuel our infatuation,
but that you would feel dissatisfied by the same ease
and placidity i felt.
i kissed you
in that way i felt i had for years and
with that practiced knowing hand
i pulled your lips in close.
they sang a story so old and meaningful
that i found a joy akin to returning home.
...
and since then
every moment shared,
every touch experienced,
every kiss given and
every kiss received
is a small unravelling of a truth that
i had long since forgotten:
that home is where the heart is.
...
and you have mine
Dec 9, 2013
Dec 9, 2013 at 5:21 PM UTC
Enraptured by the senses heightened,
Sight stolen by blindfold,
Mobility hindered by bands of silk,
Forced into placidity by restraints.
Blinded abruptly,
Aural faculty's amplified by the loss.
Still, I hear nothing.
Silence so thick it's tangible,
Heavy, weighed down by an anxious nervousness,
Attuned to very vibrations permeating the atmosphere,
Breathing in sync with the pulse of my blood,
Harsh and quick,
Thunderous in the stillness of this contemporary plane.
I'm almost afraid.
Fear exacerbated by acute vulnerability,
Naked to criticism, to contempt, to desecration.
Offered as repast,
Meal to sate invisible mouth,
Chocolate sin to tantalize his tongue,
Displayed and arranged for his feast.
I long to be free.
Wavering between the excitement begotten by thrill,
And a desperate need to escape,
I hang. With nothing to ground me.
Held aloft at another's will.
I long to be free...
Don't I?
Jul 24, 2021
Jul 24, 2021 at 3:06 PM UTC
Rippling outward till the waves stop.
Dropped from a 5ft 10" skyscraper with a plop.
Perfect circles in precession,
stretching into regression
The placidity is eerie
as it returns with no sign of it's companion
The next one cast did a flip flop
across the liquid table top.
Those ripples again.
As if this lake had a brain,
it feigns space to detain
the stone and share knowledge arcane.
The last one I decided to swap
I traded the lake's ripples for ones in my pocket.
Its a reason to return to the lake
The reason behind the pebble's wake
Scientifically, I know the make.
How is done, now why is at the stake.
,
May 24, 2013
May 24, 2013 at 9:33 AM UTC
i am satiated sinful--
who cares more?
that we've been scorching bliss
and grafting these
blameless bittersweet distractors
like we won't hear thunder-
hiding from the condescending constancy
of raindrops on the tin garage
i will swallow you
until my belly rumbles
*"enough cataclysm,
enough leaky roofs,"*
filling me with sloshing
wistful reminders
of our tranquil dampness,
a shivering placidity in
our secluded synchronicity.
May 8, 2013
May 8, 2013 at 5:08 PM UTC
Passion?
You want to see Passion?
Passion is the lust I feel
watching a dew's refraction
on a petal so vibrant,
and so placed,
that it could not be placidity I feel,
But Excitement.
Passion is when you tell me
to **** you,
and pull your hair
I slow down
because
I Mean It
Passion is that flooding spark,
the moment a match
becomes gas,
when I feel
invincibly
collapsed into
An Epiphany
You don't know passion.
Because if you did
You'd know it's not just a glory
I entice,
but equally
A Gore
Passion is having your heart broken,
and looking to the floor
a devastation
Wailing as you feed
your intestines back
inside of yourself
Craving forgiveness
and receiving
Futility
Passion is hearing a song
that rips you to a moment
so far away
and so irrelevant
you feel breathless,
a coward,
and that one moment
that once kept you lit
becomes something
You Can't Control
Passion,...
Passion is a curse,
a bias,
a crutch
As equal,
a gift
Apr 19, 2017
Apr 19, 2017 at 3:52 PM UTC
Is that a frown I put upon your face child?
As I tried to soothe the sadness that smiled on your inside
That festered like pathogens inside your heart
Is that your index finger?
Sitting inquisitively on your lip?
I see the distraction in your whirlpools of corneas
Your hair lays insecurely on your shoulder blades
Let me console you with a joke
Pacify your placidity with these sad bars
You pick up your phone.
You read your texts.
Oh?
Is that a smile I put upon your face, child?
-zaba
Jun 29, 2014
Jun 29, 2014 at 6:10 PM UTC
The smell of sulphate,
emanating from that
accursed thing, its aura glistened,
seemingly smouldering .
But when the breath of life
died beneath sunset,
A Spector of ill conceived retention
contemplated.
Daybreak was mutilated upon the sight.
established placidity..
May 3, 2020
May 3, 2020 at 5:06 PM UTC
there is a difference between honesty and candour.
there is a difference between pleasure and joy.
a difference between relief and relaxation.
a difference between sufficient and fit.
between comfy and cozy.
between placidity and tranquility.
between restraint and stillness.
between care and cherish.
light and shine.
love and in love.
easy and natural.
real and true.
Sep 3, 2012
Sep 3, 2012 at 1:33 AM UTC
Electric static buzzing in attentive ears, wondering how and why you ended up where you did. Stale smoke filling the air like the compressor in a carburetor.
Direct injection.
Vicious speeds.
Catatonic struggle.
The lisp of an old hippie, tracing his tracks in a wheel-legged fashion, up and down the streets of Seattle, looking for the kicks that previous nights were unable to provide. Supply and demand for bottom up approaches.
Roaches scattered in the living room. Some dead, some still glowing in the dimness. Empty cans of Campbell lint excessive consumption. The prevalent motif of the middle class. Stars and stripes hung in the window pain, above the static placidity.
Seattle stars
No such thing
I guess it must be raining there forever.
Apr 14, 2014
Apr 14, 2014 at 2:56 AM UTC
I am on the front of a beach, a seas exit or entrance.
There was a feeling of superficiality in my vision, and my conception.
The waves, ** The keepers of the fleeting see on the soon-to-be-night tide.
They were so subtle as to loosen me in placidity, a melting hypnosis of crashes and slides. Thus was the nature of my moment with god. I was thus, thus was thus, thus was truth, god was truth, and the moment was god.
And oh, what a season, of fire and explosions, of the heat of summer and the love of the summers warmth, in the night that blew a silver wind in the moonlight, and the days that would either burn your skin, or tan it, depending upon constitutions. And depending upon the angle of the eyes, one could see the beauty of either the blades of grass, where there is no single blade, or the golden-sun dusk that was the most beautiful red, orange, blue, violet, becoming deeper as every memory of the day passes with the sun for new memories to take their place. And I will sit and wonder at the new sky, the freckled face of the drawn beauty, made demure, made to endure, though the moon gets smaller, though the day seems longer, though slept through. I will sit and wonder, until the darkness fades, the silver turns molten; the freckles turn pure blue, the true colors of his natural shyness. Just then, the day seemed like the beach, a seas exit or entrance.
There was a beauty in the ever foreseen sorrows of the future. Where the time became a fortune telling bell that, even the dulled mind, could hear and know where the tune was going. So as far as the ghastly face of death was concerned, we thought she was a beauty, a dancer at the ball, where infinity, god, oblivion, and me where fixed upon her her, as she was the spitting image of the beach, a seas exit or an entrance.
Oct 23, 2015
Oct 23, 2015 at 2:30 PM UTC
Winter cherries
My heart is one of warmth and color, but a rarity in all aspects.
Like winter cherries
Sweetheart swarms in sudden bursts of imagination, stopping my heart and purifying the air with each breath she takes.
Never has the silence sounded so sweet as when it comes from her.
Never has invisibility been so noticeable as when she does it.
Never will I be able to share or distribute such a purity as she has.
Her chill is so obvious that there are no boundaries to the conversations we inaugurate. We ride the waves of giggles and chuckles that we form, playful arguments made and led into deeper conversations never finished.
I love the way we converse like buddies yet everything about us speaks of distant strangers. I wonder does she feel the same.
It’s something in the way her voice shakes or the way her eyes dart through mine when she looks at me. It’s something about the way she smiles in a way that shows she’s fighting it.
It’s her personality
It’s who she is.
And I’m shocked to say that I’m being struck down by her energetic placidity.
I wonder more about her than any other possible that I’ve ever known. I think of what she’s like and how she’d treat me if she knew me more. I wonder what I look like in her mind and what I look like out of her mind as well. I wonder how much she thinks about me, if at all. And the only answer I get is that of cherries in calmed snowstorm
Stems filled with white crystals as light as air itself when alone, yet at the collected fruit they weigh tons.
Falling in slow motion as the last crisp it could bare falls to a rest on its ruby red outer shell.
Frozen in air as I walk past and see it. Only wondering how long it should stay before it succumbs to the inevitability of gravity.
And her voice cracks my concentration.
It falls.
But no noise shall it make, it shall stay as quiet as the snow itself and remain a music in my mind.
The befalling of her voice
The falling of winter cherries.
May 31, 2016
May 31, 2016 at 1:18 PM UTC
*Darling, your face is my favourite
The afterglow of eventide
Flashing golden brown
On your cheek
Pulsating vibrancy
Infusing placidity,
Lucidity
Into my anarchy suffused heart
My very being awash in tenderness
That which you exhale
Darling, you are my most indulgent narcotic*
May 12, 2015
May 12, 2015 at 11:48 AM UTC
The cosmic river of placidity our spiritual
Graveyard, laden illuminating the resevoirs
Of the sun serpents mineral kingdoms created
As the desecrated flowers of the
Universe decay,
The barren Earths machinery immortally
Combative rebirthing deaths plague.
Akashas victorious joy reflecting the
Sillohettes of times ardititious travellings
Fleeting, the strength of withered spirits
Collective daydreams upon solacses fallen
Fields of despair, redeeming justices
Patience provocating abeyance.
The irredescent golden amber of an iron
Roses kindling flame; katabolisms landscape
Transcending sunsets incarnate pharisaical
Clouds defying agonising temptations rising
On the wind of sanctimonious whispers
Working the stagnate temper of
Choas' repining heart.
ELEETE J MUIR.
Jan 13, 2012
Jan 13, 2012 at 10:59 AM UTC
I
At night, I search for the wrench
I lift it off my nightstand
I lie down on the workbench
the cool weight held in my hand
what I must loosen first is my knee
lull myself to a state of repose
leg is a swollen trunk of a tree
placidity the pain soon outgrows
ache that is green
ache that is ivy,
ache that is wrapping
around me
entirely.
being disarming,
the way that a friend will--
in no way harming,
I pry up one tendril,
My ache and I have just locked eyes
I turn my bolt counter-clockwise
just one half turn.
making way t’ward release,
pain is adjourned
to finally find peace
II
And in the factory,
It seems I was wound too tightly
Deemed satisfactory
Now, I relieve pressure nightly
The bolt pushes in such a way
it leaves the metal bent
Relief is not given away
but instead it is lent
pain that is sharp
pain that goes squish,
pain that is swimming
around me
like fish.
The pain in my head
a pain bright white
Will surely spread
If not done right
My head and I sob, throb, and cry together
And then I finally sever the tether
spin one full revolution,
Though I know it's unwise,
Lets in nightmare pollution
Maybe last night’s reprise
III
At night, I will always search for the reasons
Why is it that bad things happen to good people
I lie down and lament each of the seasons
If it’s about church, I’m skewered on the steeple
Now plaguing me is my dear heart
O! Please don't think me frigid
It’s how to be, if you are smart
Walls that throbbed become rigid
want that is lace
want that is divine,
want that dissipates
completely
in time
Wincing at every twinge
Heart so hollow it awards me pain
Lace is fraying at the fringe
Meteor in my orbital plane
said it flutters and feels flighty
prescribed one spin righty tighty
Then, compact are the loves I hold,
Locked in my heart airtight
No space empty or left cold
I wish you all goodnight
Dec 3, 2020
Dec 3, 2020 at 5:06 PM UTC
*"There is a certain placidity in my seclusion .
The feeling of affection seems like an obtrusion.
Here is peace , but out there whole world is prying.
Probing us for flaws and they never stop trying.
Testing us with abstracts like love & what-not.
As the chains of spurious amity tighten the ****** knot.
I am amidst the society, yet I am sequestered.
And the resentment has become more festered.
I have no enmity for the world out there.
In lieu of perfidious world , I prefer to be here.
That fabricated affinity I just elude.
So, I always hanker for tranquility of my personal solitude ."*
-asim.javid
Feb 17, 2017
Feb 17, 2017 at 3:17 AM UTC
Too tired to sleep too stubborn to fight
eyes resist both closing and capturing pictures
leaving one (Me) to be in a state of zombified negligence and grump.
Sleepy funk, like dreaming a boring black and white
film covers retinas and lenses
brain swirls in intoxication of running on E
and not even the fun kind
just the Empty kind that needs some juice
or nap
or maybe just some lovin' from a certain someone ****
though that's a stretch
and muscles are currently too ****** to reach that far
or scratch broken ribs of progress or even to
drink much of anything
just trying to be happy
though one needent need to try
just breathe and try not to wish for the night
because today may be the last or next to last
and the uncertainty just causes more anxiety
so the cycle of strife rains on its acid and placidity
until finally I'll crash
or implode, or cry
and it'll be great
because breakdowns are necessary for life and peace and tranquilizing.
May 28, 2012
May 28, 2012 at 12:48 PM UTC
At the same time of year
cold winds bite down and continue to blow
my knuckles encounter these tearing gusts with ripped chapping
Alone together
As the moon veils through the curtain
and the only noise outside
are echoes of crickets chirping
Embrace is proffered
Under a dim glare from the lunar glow
a lucky duo who are in need of an other to bestow
Heedlessly collect the offer
she coats her fingers and palms in oil & aloe
one at a time our hands begin binding
regarding this oil from plants insides refined
creating a mirrored rhyme
Her hands of wisdom take on a placidity
when combing over my wounded misery
I can see the searing adopt a soothing
Into every finger
she sends the technique of love speak
what it is to see in motion and defining
...the endearing
Mar 8, 2019
Mar 8, 2019 at 10:22 PM UTC
A perfect place
A natural utopia
Snow sails down through the corridors silently
Sunlight glazes above sylvan serenity
Time will peacefully pass
Over the sleet sheltered viridian grass
How life has so deserted this paradise bewilders me
In this perfect placidity I feel so free
This landscape holds no surprises, only beauty
Just as my tongue tells no lies, only poetry
As I top the summit, in shock, I see
A ghastly sight I cannot believe
This defies what I’ve seen and cannot be
But if I can trust my own eyes on what they perceive
A terrible fire
Burns into the sea
That I have created, in my ignorant glee
The sight screams in my soul like a haunting banshee
But amidst the burning debris
Stands alone one rebellious tree
On the top of the hill, like a statue of hope
Mocking the treacherous fiery slope
With the means to end this all
I pray that the tree does not fall
As it’s placed on the edge so precariously
The saviour of paradise, the tree...is me.
Hope I don't **** up.
Jul 13, 2010
Jul 13, 2010 at 2:46 AM UTC
I want to be inspired by something
I mean really inspired
To change something
Make something better.
I want to care about something
I mean really care
To know what it feels like to love something
More than anything.
I want to have great ***
I mean really great ***
To lose myself in someone else
In pleasure and placidity.
I want to feel something
I mean, anything really
To assuage this suspicion
That I don’t have it in me.
May 25, 2012
May 25, 2012 at 1:01 AM UTC
Oblivion
A pleasure
A bliss
An acedia
Remembrance is a pain
Despise hurts
Offensive repugnance
Oblivion
A blessing
A sovereignty
An ******
To let mind dwell away
The Earth, carved with misery and desolation
Oblivion
A labyrinth of tranquility
A quest for placidity
A warfare out of blue
A cure of the old wounds
But not to neglect your mortal shield
As oblivion is addictive
You'll crave for soft darkness
As you embark on a journey to Lethe
May 15, 2017
May 15, 2017 at 12:47 PM UTC