"plateaus" poems
Wish I had a special pair of lenses
A tool for me; just for my senses
That grant me binocular vision
Allow me to see with heightened perception.
Peer through mountain crags, over dunes of sand
Pierce skyscrapers in familiar foreign lands
A sight beyond nimbus clouds
Amazingly through temporal shrouds.
Past breathtaking ridges and quiet plateaus
Alongside a ****** of black-feathered crows
Tripping over singing brooks and moss-covered pebbles
Herds of quadrupeds as they frolic and gambol
Extraordinary views and candy for the eyes
Travelling linear between earth and skies.
But...
You're too far away for me to see
Even if bestowed upon me...
Still,
I wish my eyes binocular...
Because I need you so much closer...
Aug 14, 2014
Aug 14, 2014 at 2:23 PM UTC
Health reflects plateaus,
Thick tears running like rivers,
Arthritic mountains,
Wrinkles ripple at beaches,
Plains welcome the exhausted,
Suburbs look peaceful,
Rural childhood decomposed,
Urban amnesia,
Roads outline the senile brain,
Destination: nostalgia.
Oct 27, 2014
Oct 27, 2014 at 3:14 AM UTC
It's not often when a man meets a woman
Who makes him feel better than he'd feel on his own
This woman is a testament to motivations unknown
But a testament nonetheless to feelings kept devoted
to the idea of another to forever kiss and hold
Now these sentiments might sound sappy
to those without a love both sad and happy
But it matters less than little to those who have
endured the peaks and the valleys
in order to reach the ebullient plateaus of contentment
Sep 23, 2012
Sep 23, 2012 at 10:50 PM UTC
Push another button
I dare you
I'll be gone before you can mock me
for leaving.
But I'll probably stay
long enough to make it harder to leave,
And still walk away,
Forgetting to breathe.
But I remember to keep
An easy stride
so easy your pride
might not survive.
I doubt you and I
don't trust you and I
don't think you are real.
You are crazier than me:
You soak in my zeal
Run your thumb along my greatest appeal
explore the cloaked
cliffs and plateaus, and yet
feel no love towards me.
I am too weak
To stand tall and reek
of eagerness to speak
with no constraints.
I bare my greatest pains
to enslaved brains
that manipulate to gain
something that flows freely
from me.
At the throw of a stone,
I'll walk alone.
I'll fall and crawl and bawl alone
But I refuse to throw another bone
your way.
I might confuse again your joyfulness
as mine
and accidentally stay.
Push another button
I dare you
But I know you won't
make it so simple.
You'll plead when I run but
Still bleed as I burn
everything on my shelf
to sterilize the needle
needed to sew your brittle ego.
I weave a steady thread
of lies and secrets and hope and dread
over and under.
You won't stop bleeding
As if to say " See? You can't help me, either!".
At least I tried.
You've clutched your lies and secrets
hope and dread.
Good for you, you have held onto
your head.
Mine flips 5 times a day.
Mar 31, 2014
Mar 31, 2014 at 2:13 PM UTC
In the deep of time indigenous tribes
surfaced a red earth with protruding plateaus
and burnt canyons along the Cimarron River.
The ancient Anasazi settled
at the core of this mesa.
Scattered ponderosa pine.
Yet, their sudden demise echoed curiosity.
Navajo sensed a struggle of two infinite worlds,
a quivering inundation.
Circling its haunted ominous shape,
a skull with one eye, the apparition of light
rose into a blue desert sky.
Violent storms crackle hot lightning
strikes in a sulfurous summer-
an oracular hothouse.
Navajo talk of spirits or the gateway
to fire. Heaps of iron and lodestone
lodged in the cap. Only two
brazen, cat totem poles guarding its passage.
Standing among the mesa
to feel the verve of the earth.
A New Mexico sun beats down
burning the drowsed terrain.
To see the legendary shaman glow
in his ephemeral blue nimbus.
Bathed in gaudy turquoise.
Sensing the dark encroachment
of a ghost. Near the bony hills, soared
a turbulent black bird in full flight,
upward.
Apr 11, 2013
Apr 11, 2013 at 7:43 PM UTC
I’m walking through the desert
Following faint trails of pioneers before
Sometimes stumbling in circles through furnaces of sand and cactus
I haven’t seen my destination
it’s place isn’t marked on any map
I don’t know where I’ll find water
I’m a wanderer and I don’t keep it on tap,
I lose my sense of time
listening to the dune’s eerie song
All I know is that I’ve been trapped here
too long
I live for the moments I crest the layered plateaus
and can finally see the distance
of wilderness I have travailed
Oct 20, 2018
Oct 20, 2018 at 10:19 PM UTC
Most of the southern portion
Of Argentina
I stand alone
Waiting
In Buenos Aires
For the elevation of my love
Entirely free of her stones
A statue shapely face
With granite and crystalline rock
Windy plateaus
Breezing along the Rio Colorado
Memories remain deep
While my heart ponders
I've so much blood in war
To a woman
Lady Eva
Is her name
Rings out in whispers
In my ear so ghostly
Our youth was so boldly
But beautiful
Her departure
Deposit streams of tears
That aches many nights
I screamed out in agony
And found myself in shame
Now, I'm left alone and lost
To a time
Of past history
How can an unsuccessful love
Prison a desire
That is worsen
Than a sharpen sword
A buried faith
I cannot bring back
Jun 28, 2010
Jun 28, 2010 at 7:43 AM UTC
Surely these surly bits
Must be burrs caught up in my
Makeup -
Making up reasons for
Why my spit was accidental.
I done been through a
Rough patch or two -
Crawling with these
Thorns in my knees
Across funky plateaus
That poke their chests out
In their scouts
For sunnier flora.
Though,
I assume their search
Didn't go over so well.
'cause these scabbings won't heal
Like I want them to,
Buried under gobs of
Ointment
That was supposed to take care of it
(And
One more bandage
Just in case).
I'm just moseying on through,
With my feelers out,
Making sure you're someone
I have to know.
In and on my way
Somewhere
In this crazy field,
Waiting for sunflowers
To bless my prayers
While I continue to
Make room for myself to
Slip past
Without being noticed.
I'm smiling so hard
To keep the soft-hearted
At bay -
Trying to avoid being forced
Into pinpoint relations
With clueless drifters
Who refuse to stay on their side.
They only mean well -
I know this,
I do.
But, the simple has yet to escape me.
Send your
Sympathies
To the weak ones,
Roleplaying
Alongside the meek,
For these are the creed
Who,
Without giving heed,
Deliver their lives
To bliss.
Sep 7, 2011
Sep 7, 2011 at 11:02 AM UTC
Shahrazad, dancer of the night
Behind the purple lattice of Persian screens
You dance to the rhythm of ancient music
Swirling in the mirth of frankincense
Spinning into the night.
I drink from the silver chalice of your smile
Seeing crescent moons reflected in your eyes,
The echoes of singing voices radiate the vision of desert nights
As I feel my passion flowing
A river of silver and gold melting into distant plateaus.
Desert enchantress,
Spinning your dance eternal in the lapis depths of evening's promise
I surrender now to your smile
Let me drown in the music of your dark eyes
Your seductive voice,
Leading me to misty moonscapes and ruined castle walls.
Shahrazad,
Swaying to the syncopating rhythms of drums and bells
Beneath a Persian moon
Drawing me to the magic of your spell.
May 2, 2014
May 2, 2014 at 12:08 AM UTC
The Rise: powerful.
A great reminder of self.
Reflection of Fall.
Don't let it hold; not today.
Please, just keep going.
Propulsion: drive to break free;
Free of the Fall's grip--
Freedom for another day--
And another Rise.
Momentum: back in the game.
The cycle renews.
Driven back to the top now.
Unstoppable now;
Greater than ever before!
Rise above it all.
Look down, laugh; never again.
This Rise is THE Rise!
Never falter; never fall!
No, never again!
Not now that there's--a new doubt:
Just the potential...
Just the possibility...
Momentum plateaus--
It was too good to be true--
Momentum fading.
Should have learned from the last fall;
Should have known better.
Momentum's lost now,
Don't let this Fall be the last.
Reflection of Rise:
Let it hold; another day--
Please, just one more day.
The Fall: unavoidable...
The Rise: powerful.
Sep 3, 2014
Sep 3, 2014 at 5:56 AM UTC
Squelch into the deepest puddles where sadness echoes her silent heart across physiological plateaus of numbness.
Can I have permission to permeate your being whilst plantations convey their sorceries beyond seeming sophistication?
We must interact beyond the realms of that which is anticipated.
I am sincerely grateful for those broken hemispheres of discrimination,
because we are lost within the parameters of being found.
Mar 30, 2014
Mar 30, 2014 at 10:05 PM UTC
The spirochetes of the ages embellish themselves in a mystical quartet, as our respirations reverberate across sanctimonious plateaus of Oedipus and Electra complexes.
Your celestial convictions are tasteful as they wistfully meander through the fuselage of hydrangea bushes and ***** foxgloves.
I can feel the beat of your apprehensive pulse.
As we applaud the demise of this psychological stage-show, where connected separations unravel their shameful mysteries into a vortex of deluded academia; it is evident when someone communicates deep convictions across pulsating swamps of cosmological hemispheres.
So, as we merge into this cataclysmic vortex of enshrinement, let us embrace the past understanding of future ambivalence where the beginning can only be understood within the context of the end.
May 24, 2015
May 24, 2015 at 12:19 AM UTC
the beauty of english nakedness, look at it for long enough
and you get to retract or at least crab-walk east
into the pincer plateaus of the frozen tundras and see
again, proustain afresh in the cork-lined room:
what bothered me was the acute stress on the faroese a -
english really is a blank canvas: or a complex canvas with
many unique distinctions of individual words - perhaps
the dementia crisis in english-speaking societies -
also why the accent diversity between all those who come
to learn it, and those who live in the zeitreich
of the absteigen sonne - but theories are theories.
so back to the blank canvas, which allows so see
the dynamics, although as i said, the acute faroese a
(acute, because derived from the latin verb of needlework /
puncture) - ~etymology (approx. because not
related to words but phonetic units, i.e. letters)
thus reveals that the latin accents died, truth tooth
of the phrase latin is a dead tongue - but not as dead
as when you see remnants of the transformation,
in that certain latin activities (verbs) spawned the stressing
revisions on letters to appropriate the nordic and germanic
slavic, *** and celt into its ***** acute to puncture -
like the polish acute o (ó), meaning to puncture the o
and make a U sound, although when otherwise acute is
needed, but the geometry is less obvious it means not to stress,
but sharpen, cut-short, exfoliate into a range of onomatopoeic
comparisons: sneeze - wheezing - high pitch flute -
play the clarinet - pincer the tongue - pliers -
god knows what instrument i'm really playing: ć, ń, ś, ź -
cut the letters from cen nan sap zed into the uniqueness
of the actual first letter, go into roman do re mi fa so la
****** musicology) rather than greek omega omicron
alpha beta. so this acute faroese a, what bothered me
was the suffix -áp... the p you see, if the accent dynamic
was to end with a german umlaut -äp or with a
māori macron -āp... i would have said the p...
rather than ending with a b.
*"heimlich" tongue-numbing d.
Jan 3, 2016
Jan 3, 2016 at 9:06 AM UTC
She's the type, to take away your soul
bury you in forever, taking, full control
She won't, she can't, let you heal, or rest
saving her best for last, a woman, girl, possessed
There's not going to be a break, or lull
she's on fire, insatiable, never tired, or full
Driving, striving, to reach peaks and plateaus
bringing you along, in her afterglow
Never spent or run down, kisses that entice
always moving forward, using all, and every vice
Ride the ride while you can, as imagination flows
she'll inspire all and everything, laughing, as she goes
May 8, 2017
May 8, 2017 at 10:34 AM UTC
his fingertips as wild sparklers
his palms, wads of soft cotton
and the plateaus of his toiled finger beds
so his grasps -- stray, muddled, unintended
like paint swashes glazing my frigid worn skin
realeasing undue quivers down my delicate chine
Aug 20, 2013
Aug 20, 2013 at 4:30 AM UTC
*embers drew to a shaded face, fragmented lips wept;
storms, feral and unabated, loitering in the combe of fires.
the ethereal visions of honey amber lights, faint and narrow;
ebony of my pupils dead, alike of shriveled meadow.
violence thrusted into yellow mouths of daffodils,
like tapestries like yarns of blue saccharine sorrows.
brimming with viscid liquids of blackeries and vains,
like silver mackerels, sleeping out of the abyss, on a train;
like subtle, maladroit shorthands and dewy black inks,
who lilts the fawnish plateaus and quaint alleys.
the depths of my shallow sleeps, glowing under
the burnt foliage, mellifluous sonatas gently play;
strawberries occur under bare walls of throat,
vanish on the morrow, like a dalliance—
so frantic and hollow.*
Jan 3, 2014
Jan 3, 2014 at 10:13 AM UTC
An iridescent celestial being
Anarchic yet effervescent adolescent
Frolicking freely in the omnipresent forest,
Like a breeze through the leaves.
Barefoot & star gazing — native & trail blazing.
Like a clever, fearless fairy exploring the faraway night sky,
I am the fantastic bit of magic on an otherwise static planet.
Bewitched by wild wonderment;
Coloring my life with the chaos of pathos.
I am the captain of passion, & best little hippie
On the mountain — formed by a volcanic fountain
That caused a panic on our little oceanic planet.
Dancing in multidimensional secrecy,
Past an unattainable horizon
Is where you'll find me — on the Big Island in the sea.
It is a true treasures
With impeccable weather & such mystic characteristic,
It's almost unrealistic.
So forget your whimsey Hawaii five-O fantasy
Tear a hole right through the sky
Arise, & fly with me on a real odyssey
Across the mesmerizing island
Teeming with undreamed of creatures
& seemingly endless saffron sand beaches
few have ever been
up to the
Vermilion rainbow plateaus
& sacred volcano summits
Amidst cascading honey suckled waterfalls
& streams of splendiferous wildflower meadows.
We can indulge in thousands of hues of bloom
Or retreat, once more to the oasis at the shore,
To stand hand in hand before the prevailing trends
Of a turning world; scattering brightness in the dark
Fledge millennium into an unadulterated oblivion.
Enveloping what is suspend in time
with a colour compass configurations
The universe, nearly legible expresses herself
Writing constellational scribe
elucidating galaxy.
Apr 18, 2016
Apr 18, 2016 at 7:59 PM UTC
I cannot replace a loss like Kathy
Who inspired my world of rhyme
Who encouraged my neatest metaphors
And urged me take the time
She cheered me to the loftiest
And made me reach plateaus
I never even knew before
I'd have the will to go
She was a poet and an angel
This human in disguise
She touched my life and made me see
A world beyond my skies
She kept my quill original
And made my words more wise
She'll come by I know she will
Each time my fire dies
Copyright Louis Brown
Apr 15, 2012
Apr 15, 2012 at 4:47 PM UTC
She...she responds to a soothing bath.
He...he prefers a different path.
They each disrobe from the day's affairs,
the formal restraints they each do share.
Their clothes lay scattered about the floor,
both stand naked at a tiled shore.
She eases herself into this sleeve,
a temperate knitted liquid weave.
He guides the stream from it’s perched spout,
the water finding the perfect route.
His face is wet, his eyes are shut tight.
She prefers ambient candle-light.
She gently sponges her supple skin.
He grips the soap...oh, so masculine.
She contemplates his rugged terrain,
he puts his hands out to feel the rain.
His caress yields a lathery foam,
her fingers begin a downward roam.
He too diverges, or so rather,
deviates from the task to lather.
Much attention in just one region,
cleaning can’t motivate this legion.
His thoughts of her, and her thoughts of him,
nothing stops what’s about to begin.
Tremors start from her head to her toes,
a smile blossoms as she plateaus.
He feels the pressure stiffly increase,
it brings to him an immense release.
She savours the last rippling quiver.
His knees weak from such an endeavour.
They catch their breath, and resume their chores,
have they been remiss in these detours?
Excuse the news they misuse shampoos,
they choose to amuse with such taboos.
One can’t ignore in the aftermath: he takes showers
... and she takes a bath.
Sep 17, 2019
Sep 17, 2019 at 10:34 AM UTC
create with no shame
create with no measuring stick
use only this:
everything that is done well
is good art
explore and excavate forms,
churn the ether
within you is the sleeping artist,
tap yourself awake,
yet be silent,
be intimate,
with the unconscious plateaus
with in you
be intimate
with the making
and the doing,
the fertility
of creating
you will require silence
to allow for reflection,
communication
Childbirth is noisy, messy,
Birthing art is different
understand your language,
mine it, taste it,
it is your play dough
avoid the chronic,
habit is slavery
collaborate for
there in nothing new
under the sun,
but the constant rediscovery
of the old
in new forms
when ideas are exchanged,
every partnership is a solo
Experience anew,
Each time,
Say:
This is my first time,
This is my first work
I do not need your validation.
I validate myself
and in doing so,
who else
comes along
for the ride
on our tide?
create with no shame
create with no measuring stick
only this:
everything that is done well
is good art
Be Fertile and Radiate
Mar 21, 2014
Mar 21, 2014 at 12:18 AM UTC
it wasn't as though he shoulda seen it coming
(God knows he muddled through that one well enough)
and it wasn't as though he thought it in the bag
(the whole **** thing had always seemed ****** daunting)
but these now recurring tasks
and pop-up commitments
were wavering him
*a great big pain the ***
burdensome, machine like
lacking, of any particular meaning
now there was that element of perseverance
that he had read and lectured on (oh, how he had lectured on and on!)
but he was not fully accustomed
(having flown on a wing and a prayer)
to the shattered routines
and fallen plans
obligatory iterations
and post-mortem like sessions
(seemed easier to stack em up, and
shelve em in a somewhat manageable way)
but a rhythm evolved
in simple momentum, and truth
new plateaus, and revelations
transformative unfoldings
and cosmic events
(which appeared as gifts from above)
and they paved a path to growth
eyes opened, to the wonders of the world!
a grounding in an earthly connection
narratives reclaimed
adjustments made
faith, and fellowship
first steps, compromise
and gratitude
filling the center stage
(in kaleidoscope colour!)
in this glorious
and ever evolving
play of life
~
was it worth it old friend?
*you bet your *** it was!
Oct 30, 2019
Oct 30, 2019 at 10:52 AM UTC
That thin line is where
I want to be
Cut off between us two.
No matter how much we
change, this line will
always be.
Between motorized vehicles
the patter of shoes, old & new.
Spaced out between concrete plateaus and
painted highway lines.
The onlookers & passerbys
caught in the wind without second glance,
that thin line where I want to be
Can only be described as
Beside you.
Between the trees, beside the small lakes & birds
of your imagination,
That thin line where I end & you begin.
Our invisible bridge where my voice
tickles your ear & is miles long
That thin line that grasps your hand & mind.
No matter how much we change
this line will always be
& this line where we always meet
Sep 14, 2020
Sep 14, 2020 at 5:13 PM UTC
_Deep in my soul
I felt weak and weary
And knew that my end
Hung silently near me
But on the wind
And through the trees
A sound fluttered down
A nearby breeze
It danced along
A deviant path
Bending and phasing
In a joy filled wrath
My hollow bones
So light and enchanted
By that colorful tone
Not evil nor slanted
Pushed ever onward
And looked out below
The source of this song
I was thirsty to know...
I came upon a white city
Shining in the distance
If it weren’t for the music
I would have missed it
Eagles soared above
From mountaintop trees
They flew with grace
Together on a breeze
I felt myself hopeful
And drawn to their course
To that faraway city
Far off to the north
With haste I dashed
Down rocky plateaus
For I felt at home
From my head to my toes
Like a child I raced
As the sun finally set
Until I was caught
By a rope-wound net!
It was forever as if
I floated across those plains
My captors carried me
With grace so strange
As the music got nearer
Eagles sang with flutes
Piecing together a melody
Known by trees and their roots...
I was placed in company
Of a magnificent king
His crown was white
And his robe, and his ring
He bid me welcome
To live among his people
In his white city of courtyards
Towers and steeples
As I opened my mouth
And my heart to say yes
He stopped me before that
With one lone request
I must dwell in this realm
Until the end of my days
For in hiding, he said,
We all must remain
Hidden from the darkness
That dwells beyond the mountains
Hidden among fairies,
Family, and fountains...
So there I dwelt
Until the end of my life
In that shinning white city
With my children and wife
I’ll never forget
That most fortunate day
That by music and eagle
I was once led astray..._
Jun 23, 2019
Jun 23, 2019 at 8:58 PM UTC
The dense forests and ragged hills were still on this eve,
Their inhabitants silent as the chill north-wind blew in,
This coming torrent would be a force all would receive,
This frigid embrace would soak all bark, fur, and skin.
Trees crying as their limbs tore, whipping to and fro,
The woodland creatures scurrying back to their holes,
Great flashes of lightning would illuminate the high plateaus,
Blossoms blown away to the darkness, howling winds claiming souls.
Firm and resolute earth turned softhearted and weak,
The downpour snuffing out every disparaging notion,
Quickly doing away with the timid and meek,
It caressed all equally in these ceaseless motions.
She tore lightning across the canopy of Earth,
Flames leaping to life, only to be snuffed out a moment later,
This cycle endlessly repeating, death and birth,
Until we all felt the shadow of this savage conciliator.
Bis wir alle von diesem grausamen Schlichter bedeckt waren.
Nov 15, 2017
Nov 15, 2017 at 8:10 AM UTC
She slipped out of her clothes
The little black dress
I always envision her
dropping
to the floor
Before we hit the bed
running on euphoric overload
She got off on the way I destroyed her ego
to enlighten her
submitting
to
the
sado
maso
Christ
within
I was the second coming
of her consciousness
slurred
slurping
ships
of
my ambrosia
loaded
god-complex
from her lips
dripping wet
sweetness
down the curves
of honey-softness
O
What it does to her hips
quivering
tingling
writhing
wet
When I crucify her.
Pin her to the mattress
What she meant to say
was she wanted
Stigmata
To really feel the pain/pleasure switch
To strike and choke her
Because of daddy-issue reasons
This is that atonement
Bad Bad
Baby girl
battered
beat red
stripped down
back to her
Electra Complex
The light again
From plateaus
bound by
peaks
until ******
Alpha
Omega
A little death.
Reborn where it begins
Aug 24, 2014
Aug 24, 2014 at 11:51 PM UTC