"possessing" poems
*
Cné
I believe in love...
In a blink of an eye, a life goes by
extinguished in the end.
And all that's done returns to dust.
No omen can portend.
Yet love lives on, infecting all
and never really dies
It goes beyond the realm of man
to live in fragrant skies.
And on the spacious sea of clouds,
it waits to find a port.
And then it anchors in a soul
to caper and cavort.
Traveler
Perhaps
In the emotional beginning
When head was yet held high
Stumbling through clouds
Of bright blurry skies
Love was a foolish quest
Of paralyzing highs
And now you're telling me
Love can never die?
Cné
Translucent,
the clouds we've sailed
and golden sunsets made
Kisses that we could have had
while watching rainbows fade.
Alas, a life's too short to spend
in fathomless regret.
Perhaps the wheel will turn again
another lifetime yet.
And so, my love
the voyage goes on,
to "golden years"?
We'll see.
Until
the other side reveals
what shall become of "we".
Traveler
Indeed
A dangerous theory
I can't imagine
Love roaming free
The source of all misery
Another invisible ghost
Possessing unaware host
Surely
Love is the blood we bleed
All across time and history
Love is more than a mere key
More than a want
Love is a need...
**Cné
Traveler Tim**
*
Aug 3, 2017
Aug 3, 2017 at 10:41 AM UTC
Where did the innocence go?
Doves turned to ravens,
Juicesboxes turned to bottles,
Toxic beverages leaving poisoned bodies to roam these streets,
Possessing personalities of ********
Suckers turned to joints,
The high replaced the feeling of love,
Which could propel you to places beyond any hallucination,
Virgins mimicked, giggled at,
Wide eyed stares penetrate their skin as they stroll on streets,
Whispers fill rooms as their sealed bodies strut,
Jealous viewers stand, shattered,
With no purity to share with their loved ones.
Thinking their assets can be displayed for the public to adjudicate,
Maybe we're to young to know about love,
We're young, yes we are.
But what good is a young nation,
With poisoned , broken youth.
What good is a nation with no future leaders.
So I'm asking, where did the innocence go?
Tell me so I can know.
So I can replace the demons that lurk in these infants,
With the innocence that should gleam,
From their flesh.
May 26, 2014
May 26, 2014 at 2:00 PM UTC
What thoughts I have of you tonight, Walt Whit-
man, for I walked down the sidestreets under the trees
with a headache self-conscious looking at the full moon.
In my hungry fatigue, and shopping for images,
I went into the neon fruit supermarket, dreaming of
your enumerations!
What peaches and what penumbras! Whole fam-
ilies shopping at night! Aisles full of husbands! Wives
in the avocados, babies in the tomatoes!--and you,
Garcнa Lorca, what were you doing down by the
watermelons?
I saw you, Walt Whitman, childless, lonely old
grubber, poking among the meats in the refrigerator
and eyeing the grocery boys.
I heard you asking questions of each: Who killed
the pork chops? What price bananas? Are you my
Angel?
I wandered in and out of the brilliant stacks of
cans following you, and followed in my imagination
by the store detective.
We strode down the open corridors together in
our solitary fancy tasting artichokes, possessing every
frozen delicacy, and never passing the cashier.
Where are we going, Walt Whitman? The doors
close in an hour. Which way does your beard point
tonight?
(I touch your book and dream of our odyssey in the
supermarket and feel absurd.)
Will we walk all night through solitary streets?
The trees add shade to shade, lights out in the houses,
we'll both be lonely.
Will we stroll dreaming ofthe lost America of love
past blue automobiles in driveways, home to our silent
cottage?
Ah, dear father, graybeard, lonely old courage-
teacher, what America did you have when Charon quit
poling his ferry and you got out on a smoking bank
and stood watching the boat disappear on the black
waters of Lethe?
Berkeley 1955
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Scattered across my bedroom floor,
glimmers of light staccato on wilted rose pedals
Memories of us,
the faintest slapback of the person I was with you,
flicker with lethargic buoyancy
Fondness for fondness sake,
denial as a delicacy
Your face, obscured in these floral polaroids
Impressions of who you were;
what you meant to me,
a struggle to behold
but recognizable in ripples across the faces of others
Remains of an entanglement that seemed to answer
why the universe was even formed to begin with
This omnipresent truth laying abed the other
jagged reality of our affair;
it was never you,
it was my self-possessing pursuit of wholeness
Mar 13, 2019
Mar 13, 2019 at 9:10 AM UTC
complexity bias
how you love to criticize my poems
as too long and overly complex
poor me, I’m no genius, don’t prosper by exploiting
unrecognized simplicities, rather deconstruct the
intricate complexities that I flatter myself are the me-sinews
Writing is a **** temptation -
we focus on the 10% that is complex and ignore the easy 90%
perhaps this once I will surrender my bare bones
put aside the rich, satisfying of cave diving, urban spelunking
word caressing tongue verbiage rich tapestry exploring -
give you the plane of plain where nestles my destiny: nesting near motionless where the couch is my kingdom and cold cereal is
easily digested and there are no consequences
I am a member of a discriminated-against minority
we have no charismatic leader, no marchers anywhere, and government programs say
hey you’re free white and twenty one plus, get the crap out of
our faces, you useless piece of rhymes with **** and includes dirt, though I shower twice a day to keep myself occupied
25 years old, a high school dropout, of course I’m white,
my occupation is playing video games and making sure
my supply of opioids is adequate in these great United States
where I was born
there are fewer jobs than none that my application survives
a first glance discardation, and now my disability preempts
any demand to pretend there is gainful employment in store in
my future
this reductio ad absurdum is a technique to expose the fallacy,
ah what’s that you say no interest in hanging about,
on your way out, of course, of course,
we are the wrong flavor of downtrodden
my life is simple - simplistic in its a chaotic entropic way,
order slowly declines into disorder
my rituals are a fight against slip sliding down, falling off the
the Herzog continuums
and the poems are desperate hand holds to prevent my
going, gone under
so forgive me if I tax you without possessing not the
requisite taxing authority
you hone in on the obvious disparities and my contradictions
resenting my sending you this bill of extravagant length
compose with me and a mean will be located and to sleep I go,
perhaps to undress my dreams and explicate the wealthy multiples of complexity in the simplicity of a junkies life
Feb 4, 2018
Feb 4, 2018 at 3:56 PM UTC
*he is screaming but no one can hear him
she is singing but no one listens
he is lost but no one is looking for him
she is searching and finds that she is alone*
words go unanswered
no matter what is said
they fall upon deaf ears
and reverberate into deep unknown places
an orchestra in the ocean
performed in a foreign frequency
a song lost in translation
heard by many
but meaningful to none
*he is asking but no one answers
she is begging but no one gives
he is following but no one leads
she is leading but no one will follow*
uniqueness is your downfall
strength lies in being the same
in possessing
the inherited dialect of survival
that cannot be achieved
it is a birth right
as natural as your name
but instead
of deserved solace
you received the gift
of 52 hertz of loneliness
*he is calling but receives no answers
she is crying but finds no comfort
he is sinking but no one knows
she is dying and no one cares*
doomed to drift
through bottomless, indigo twilight
being carried on the waves
of your own erie lament
the sound of your sadness
is the cause of your isolation
your desperate song
remains your only hope
and it will never cease
someone, someday
will hear you
and answer
your heart wrenching pleas
someone, someday
singing love songs in the deep
Jan 25, 2012
Jan 25, 2012 at 4:36 PM UTC
We start from nothing
And spring from dreams
Reaching through dimensions
And time.
I stand like a rock
Rooted to the earth beneath my feet
Know this place
Own this space
Whilst possessing nothing at all
Still I fly
Pondering reality
Dreaming with clarity
Knowing only
Love survives all.
Feb 28, 2017
Feb 28, 2017 at 12:14 PM UTC
Darkness.
Laying here, alone
weary
empty
I've withdrawn into
deep shadows
I can't see the pain
but your voice,
your condescending rage
rattles against my cage.
I've never understood
you...I blame the drink
for randomly possessing
your eyes
seeing me as a target.
I don't know what to
expect.
physical or mental
it's all torment.
I'm sick of walking
on the eggshells which litter
that fabric which we used to
lay on
together.
Now I hide from you,
from your demons that can't find me
in my darkness.
Darkness.
May 6, 2014
May 6, 2014 at 3:56 PM UTC
driven by a ghost
possessing my body
I lived with a mind
a stranger with no identity
a thatched soul, fake
- no authenticity
quivered in fear
of people in my vicinity
may they never discover
the imposter - my entity.
Dec 12, 2022
Dec 12, 2022 at 8:57 PM UTC
Can you coax your mind from its wandering
and keep to the original oneness?
Can you let your body become
supple as a newborn child's?
Can you cleanse your inner vision
until you see nothing but the light?
Can you love people and lead them
without imposing your will?
Can you deal with the most vital matters
by letting events take their course?
Can you step back from you own mind
and thus understand all things?
Giving birth and nourishing,
having without possessing,
acting with no expectations,
leading and not trying to control:
this is the supreme virtue.
__
"Lao Tzu is believed to have been a Chinese philosopher (a person who seeks to answer questions about humans and their place in the universe) and the accepted author of the Tao te ching, the main text of Taoist thought. He is considered the father of Chinese Taoism (a philosophy that advocates living a simple life).
Read more: Lao Tzu Biography - life, name, death, school, book, old, information, born, time http://www.notablebiographies.com/Ki-Lo/Lao-Tzu.html
Oct 22, 2010
Oct 22, 2010 at 11:17 PM UTC
Violating a placid spirit
Memories transgress
desecrating the sacred.
Memories are
the dark side
of a full moon.
Memories are unsatiated desires
couched on sorrow
entangled in time
a perennial wrinkle on the soul.
Memories are trespassers
possessing neural atrium
wading saline sockets
slithering in to throbbing veins
tiptoeing to hollow spaces
burying all under their eerie weight,
Memories are an inescapable affliction.
In fragmented mindscape
Memories are violent winds
littering the past.
Lurking behind aches
in ethereal garbs,
Memories are assassins.
Or sema
of a swirling dervish.
Hurtling within, Memories
is an avalanche
pounding the abyss
choking the void
one gasp at a time.
Memories are
nameless apparitions
fused as shadows
to the very being.
Memories are an assault
on identity and belonging.
Sep 28, 2018
Sep 28, 2018 at 6:23 AM UTC
1620
Circumference thou Bride of Awe
Possessing thou shalt be
Possessed by every hallowed Knight
That dares to covet thee
5.3k
My dearest Frank, I wish you joy
Of Mary's safety with a Boy,
Whose birth has given little pain
Compared with that of Mary Jane —
May he a growing Blessing prove,
And well deserve his Parents' Love! —
Endow'd with Art's and Nature's Good,
Thy Name possessing with thy Blood,
In him, in all his ways, may we
Another Francis WIlliam see! —
Thy infant days may he inherit,
They warmth, nay insolence of spirit; —
We would not with one foult dispense
To weaken the resemblance.
May he revive thy Nursery sin,
Peeping as daringly within,
His curley Locks but just descried,
With 'Bet, my be not come to bide.' —
Fearless of danger, braving pain,
And threaten'd very oft in vain,
Still may one Terror daunt his Soul,
One needful engine of Controul
Be found in this sublime array,
A neigbouring Donkey's aweful Bray.
So may his equal faults as Child,
Produce Maturity as mild!
His saucy words and fiery ways
In early Childhood's pettish days,
In Manhood, shew his Father's mind
Like him, considerate and Kind;
All Gentleness to those around,
And anger only not to wound.
Then like his Father too, he must,
To his own former struggles just,
Feel his Deserts with honest Glow,
And all his self-improvement know.
A native fault may thus give birth
To the best blessing, conscious Worth.
As for ourselves we're very well;
As unaffected prose will tell.
Cassandra's pen will paint our state,
The many comforts that await
Our Chawton home, how much we find
Already in it, to our mind;
And how convinced, that when complete
It will all other Houses beat
The ever have been made or mended,
With rooms concise, or rooms distended.
You'll find us very snug next year,
Perhaps with Charles and ***** near,
For now it often does delight us
To fancy them just over-right us.
5.3k
There was once a young woman who,
possessing the disposition of ice,
icy cold and somewhat frigid
went walking in the snow
slipped on the black ice
and down she did go
tried to get up but
it was too slick
and so, she
lay there
frozen,
alone
like
an
I
C
E
C
I
C
L
E
but
then
a nice
man with
warm hands
reached down
and lifted her up
he held her close and
warmed her heart, melting
her in his strong arms. She'd like
to think that he was her guardian angel
and he thought she was his own snow angel.
Dec 22, 2015
Dec 22, 2015 at 2:42 PM UTC
What is this thing,
This change in me,
What is this feeling,
That is happening to me?
This possessing of my spirit.
This seemingly lack of control,
That was not always so.
That a concerto slow turn,
Played and heard,
Renders me weak in the knees,
A sweet moment of human joy,
Or actual real grief,
Even viewed on a movie screen
Can tug at my heart so.
So too, a child’s sweet song,
Though sung off key.
A blazing sunset,
Orange and red,
A thrilling thing to behold.
Nature always a motivator,
All of these and more,
Pluck cords of my emotions,
Like the strings of a harp,
So easily reduce me to tears.
Not body shaking sobs mind you,
Just a slow gentle stream,
Nothing my sleeve can't deal with.
"Men don’t cry",
"Sensitivity is only for women",
Or so I have always been told.
Well it’s taken me a long time,
But I have concluded this bias,
Is a load of unadulterated Bull ****
‘Cause as it turns out,
I actually enjoy it.
And see no reason I shouldn't.
Not to mention,
It keeps my tear ducts open,
And free flowing.
In touch as I am with my feelings.
Jan 14, 2014
Jan 14, 2014 at 8:47 PM UTC
I will write ****** poetry
until the day I lose
the ability to sense,
the strength to feel,
the will to care,
and all memory
of ever possessing
any of the three.
Mar 24, 2014
Mar 24, 2014 at 4:57 PM UTC
do you know how it feels?
to have to look a certain way?
to act a certain way?
do you know how it feels?
to fight against a backwards mentality?
to be sexually objectified?
to keep quiet to appease fragile egos?
do you know how it feels?
to be treated as though you are replaceable?
to be treated as though you are incapable of possessing your own entity?
do you know how it feels?
to be treated as though the best thing you have to offer is between your legs, rather than what circulates within your mind?
do you know how it feels... to be a woman?
Feb 21, 2019
Feb 21, 2019 at 4:08 PM UTC
1640
Take all away from me, but leave me Ecstasy,
And I am richer then than all my Fellow Men—
Ill it becometh me to dwell so wealthily
When at my very Door are those possessing more,
In abject poverty—
4.7k
Settle down, the court is in session,
The esteemed Court of Validation,
Where I stand trial for being
And thus must attend this hearing
To seek the sublime opinions
Of the wise Jury of Champions
Who've been there done that.
Please lecture me on how to act,
Tell me how I must dress,
What to say under duress,
To brandish my success,
And my worth attest
To finally be accepted among civilization
With a stamp of approval from the Court of Validation.
Here comes the verdict for the Judge to read.
I'm guilty of possessing an identity.
Therefore I'm sentenced to a lifetime of conformity
To the status quo established by society.
But Your Honor, there must be a mistake!
There has to be another path to take.
Sorry child, this is the only way,
Or else you'd be imprisoned in the Cell of Dismay.
Embrace your fate without hesitation;
Indeed it's a gift from the Court of Validation.
Aug 14, 2015
Aug 14, 2015 at 10:09 AM UTC
Mean but resisting
Love stronger possessing
His charm I was Divinely
touched by his spirit
I want it so easy to flaunt it
"Both Suited" Black tie affair
Smoking out the joint
What a dangerous pair
Darker than any smoke
What's the point??
Going to blow devil words
Angelic Paradise birds
Do we have this planned out,
what do we see? He's not suited
Cruel 2-B ****** life is dark
but **** good easily taken
Fruit of the soul mistaken sliced
and parted
Paint's it Graffiti hood
Careless ****** up to him
Reckless my lips played
him hard
Smoked killed me off-guard
He sneaked around the fruit
Strawberry strange pursuit
My soul this is the last straw
Deadly strawberries beguiled
by the??
Strawberry smells of the
black rose
All covered seductively posed
The song plays out strawberry
With solitude voiced by
Soprano wine by the bucket
of deep red "Gallo"
Intense smoking love incense
Smoking jacket cuddled me
cello
Strawberry sounds smothered
Good night dark strawberry moon
I grabbed him way too soon
Dec 3, 2016
Dec 3, 2016 at 10:31 AM UTC
A woman in heaven caused the fall of man,
Even though the apple was plucked by her man.
A woman in Troy caused a ****** old war,
Brave men fought for the honour of possessing her.
A woman in Judea gave birth to a baby boy,
Whose tongue caused upheavals that's felt to this day.
A woman in a bikini is a poster for her own liberation,
While in a burka she is a symbol of her own oppression.
She must be the cause of her own sexploitations,
For her assets fulfil the ogling market's expectations.
When she's ***** it must be her fault in some way,
For as she passes by, her brethren look the other way.
A young woman is responsible for her own lynching,
If she dishonours her brethren for her lover's calling.
As a child she is the cause of her own infanticide,
For she is the bearer of ill-omens and misfortune.
Has anyone ever asked her if she wants to be a poster,
Or a commodity, or a bearer of their burden and slander?
Beware how you treat her, for she is above all a mother,
Whose hands may cradle the next saint, thief or ******
Jul 12, 2014
Jul 12, 2014 at 9:16 AM UTC
Dark of night surrounds me, pillow below my head.
How long the many hours since I tumbled onto my bed?
Mind so filled with thought that clearly has me stressed.
Racing, scattered thought that just wont let me rest.
Blanket that feels loose and shifts to feel oh so tight,
and so it sets the pattern for this never ending night.
I know that I must sleep before the rise again of the sun,
in a world that cant relent from insistence things must be done.
My body urgent in its craving to be silent and be still,
but my mind just wont give in possessing the stronger will.
A discomfort on my left side, so I roll again to my right.
Countless repetition through the hours of a god forsaken night.
Nothing that I do brings a sense my mind is nearing calm,
I must try to get some sleep before clock sounds its alarm.
So the hours go, too many hours surely for just one night,
but too late now to rest as window reveals dawns early light.
Dec 8, 2021
Dec 8, 2021 at 6:17 PM UTC
We have souls that are plunging off this planet,
in hopes they will be swallowed by the cosmos-
fearing the hurt is never ending,
leads to renovations of existence.
To silence the beating
of a heart,
to end a life.
Morality is stuck behind
the gates of purgatory
& society is too scared of
what will happen
if we use our mouths for
meaningful conversation.
Indeed.
A tourniquet can stop the bleeding,
but can’t do justice for spread of infection,
or the scar serving as a reminder.
People are dying from depression-
faulty chemistry in the brain.
As well as suicide.
It is the crying of phantoms,
never to be heard-
wanting change,
a re-birth,
of the contorted humanity
we proudly call ”life”
Ache that’s carried lifelong,
but never resolved.
Truthfully,
those vague questions
don’t save lives.
Death knows this,
of course.
He is an omniscient force
lingering in the scenery.
Possessing the inability
to tolerate the teasing
and the wagers.
Coming to collect early
because, we’ve begun
to shatter
every fragment
of light
life reflected.
Now,
Darkness makes him feel welcome
and entitled.
KRM
Jun 10, 2018
Jun 10, 2018 at 2:41 AM UTC
One can only imagine
The height and peaks
That may be reached
Until the chase begins
Off dreamland you go
The smoke is offered to all
Who seek this elusive creature
Possessing desire to gaze into its eyes
Chasing the Dragon
Rare nectar for the mind
It may only be found
In the gray fog of sweetness
Within swirling curls of smoke
Carefully hidden
The dragons yoke
For once tasted
Forever will you crave the hunt
So as the rest
I chase the dragon
Through out the universe and time
My life never more be my own
Tall mountains I will climb
In my quest to ensnare the beast
Chasing the dragon
This poem is copyrighted and stored in author base. All material subject to Copyright Infringement laws
Section 512(c)(3) of the U.S. Copyright
Act, 17 U.S.C. S512(c)(3), Tammy M Darby
Aug 24, 2013
Aug 24, 2013 at 11:42 AM UTC
Why Damon, why, why, why so pressing?
The Heart you beg's not worth possessing:
Each Look, each Word, each Smile's affected,
And inward Charms are quite neglected:
Then scorn her, scorn her, foolish Swain,
And sigh no more, no more in vain.
Beauty's worthless, fading, flying;
Who would for Trifles think of dying?
Who for a Face, a Shape, wou'd languish,
And tell the Brooks, and Groves his Anguish,
Till she, till she thinks fit to prize him,
And all, and all beside despise him?
Fix, fix your Thoughts on what's inviting,
On what will never bear the slighting:
Wit and Virtue claim your Duty,
They're much more worth that Gold and Beauty:
To them, to them, your Heart resign,
And you'll no more, no more repine.
3.9k