"possessor" poems
Who is she? I do not know.
Inhuman. She tangles my mind like no other.
One look, she glances over your soul
With her pale hues and feline eyes,
I have been baffled with her tight grasp.
Celestial. Confusing. Crafty. Cold.
That she is,
She has casted a spell on me,
That can only be broken by her.
Who is she?
Puzzled. I have been,
A witch? Could it be?
Her voice is melodiously venomous,
I have been mesmerized,
She has clung to my soul.
A distinguished walk,
The childlike enthusiasm,
An enigmatic character,
Her signals are vague,
She is full of anonymity.
Marked with beauty, a mask hides her personality
The possessor of the key to my heart,
She is a mystery.
Dec 26, 2014
Dec 26, 2014 at 2:48 PM UTC
#*Come after me, O glorious Divine Possessor.
Conquer, shackle, and entomb my straying,
faithless affections in Your love once more.
Sweep me up into Your strong and jealous
embrace till my heart is fully bent toward Yours.
Have Your way with me until it is all I desire,
until You are all I desire, Lord Jesus.
Unveil me, uncover me and unbind me
before Your penetrating eyes, the perfect gaze
of You with Whom alone I have to do.
Awaken me until I am wholly abandoned
to Your pleasure, completely responsive
to Your touch, utterly enraptured,
enthralled and entangled with You.
Break me for Your glory, sovereign Lord.
Pierce my soul to its deepest hidden parts
and pour Yourself into me until You have
totally claimed me as Your own possession,
Your willing captive, until there is no delight
in my heart but You and Your delight.
O Holy One above, set me to burning!*#
Jul 14, 2016
Jul 14, 2016 at 8:24 PM UTC
Khanjar Hain Teri Aankhein
Talwaar Hain Teri Aankhein
Zinda Na Rehne Dengi
Ae Yaar Teri Aankhein
Your eyes are like a dagger
Your eyes are like a sword
They will not let me live
O' beloved eyes of yours
Ae Nargis-e-Mastaana
Allah Tujhe Rakhe
Rehti Hain Tasavvur Mein
Har Baar Teri Aankhein
O' possessor of drunk eyes
God keep you in His preserve
Enduring within my imaginations
O’ forever are eyes of yours
Yeh Bolti Aankhein
Bhi Afsaane Sunaati Hain
Rakhti Hain Zuban Jaise
Ae Yar Teri Aankhein
These talkative eyes
Speak of many tales
As if, they have a voice of their own
O' beloved eyes of yours
Humne Teri Aankoon Mein
Allah Ko Dekha Hai
Iss Par Teri Aankein
Uss Par Teri Aankein
Within your eyes
I have seen the Lord
In every direction
O’ are eyes of yours
Chehre Pe To Ghussa Hai
Aankhoon Mein Muhabbat Hai
Karti Hain Mere Dilbar
Iqraar Teri Aankhein
On the face anger is exposed
But love is within the eyes of yours
Revealing O’ sweetheart
Unity, are eyes of yours
— Translated by Jamil Hussain, Sung by Nusrat Fateh Ali Khan
Nov 30, 2016
Nov 30, 2016 at 3:23 PM UTC
I don't consider various eye colors "beautiful" nor "enchanting".
In all honesty; I've never really understood the incorrigible obsession with iris pigmentation that is genetically inherited and beyond the control of the possessor of the same pair of eyes you deem "beautiful".
But in contradiction to the callous statement I've opened with;
I've found a pair of eyes that I can unhesitantly call beautiful.
It should be noted that I only fell in love with the eyes after I'd seen them roll back with pleasure
(a memory that still makes me shiver)
And from that night on; I started to notice every single beautiful thing the eyes did.
The way they lit up with frenzied excitement,
The way they burned with raging desire,
The way they filled up with salty achromatic tears.
I've loved the eyes for as long as I can remember.
But I don't consider myself lucky just because those same eyes look at me lustfully midweek; but because in a seemingly redundant life, those eyes became something to look forward to seeing; or feeling pierce through your skin on a warm Saturday night
Sep 6, 2013
Sep 6, 2013 at 10:45 AM UTC
Some man unworthy to be possessor
Of old or new love, himself being false or weak,
Thought his pain and shame would be lesser
If on womankind he might his anger wreak,
And thence a law did grow,
One might but one man know;
But are other creatures so?
Are Sun, Moon, or Stars by law forbidden
To smile where they list, or lend away their light?
Are birds divorced, or are they chidden
If they leave their mate, or lie abroad a-night?
Beasts do no jointures lose
Though they new lovers choose,
But we are made worse than those.
Who e’er rigged fair ship to lie in harbours
And not to seek new lands, or not to deal withal?
Or built fair houses, set trees, and arbors,
Only to lock up, or else to let them fall?
Good is not good unless
A thousand it possess,
But dost waste with greediness.
2.8k
Topic,
My next project will be
Dissecting ego:
From where it begins
Objectives:
To try to explore, where the seeds are
To unveil who showed it
To confirm if it is heritable?
To witness how fast it grows
Is that us who tame ego,
Or does ego tames us?
Does ego dies before the possessor?
Method used,
Tracking the loud voice
Tracking the grandeur side
Dissecting skin deep
Relating all connections
Exploring circumstances
Done exclusive on humans
Saints excluded
Discussion:
Ego never discuss
It stays ahead
Conclusion:
We are the one
We tame ego
Absolutely acquired
Understanding is the antidote
Disclosure:
None
Aug 21, 2018
Aug 21, 2018 at 5:43 AM UTC
*Angel - act 1
The last star
Falls from the heavens
A tool for creation
Or a weapon of destruction
The soul of the possessor
Guides it's path*
Apr 24, 2016
Apr 24, 2016 at 11:51 AM UTC
Controversy started over the images this device receives. Hormones control this impulse, she's making each ***** convulse, and I can tell I'm still in love by the palpitations of my pulse.
Thus, proving that her actions indicate the prequel to her return. Her affection distant but still yearn, expressing sentiments, guess I'll never learn, spoken without biting my tongue
and now it's your turn.
Conquer hearts and take over,
**** her off when I'm not sober,
**** her off when thoughts become somber, **** her off when I say I won't be here much longer, **** her off for many reasons, **** her off once during every season and **** her off the most when in myself I stop believing.
Her perfection an extension of accessible recollection, to the woman who despises the notion of wearing articles of clothing.
Not the best at displaying her emotions, so in combination the words she's chosen seem broken, unable to withhold the growth of sentiments cut at the root, and as they now reproduce, sunflowers inhabit her garden and all the revelations of truth.
Lapse of time passes, lasting longer
than activities that involved
me being on her.
Inappropriately timing events perfectly.
Summer seems to have visited me in the fall, her memories now more than ever I recall and wishing I wasn't missing the woman who had it all.
Concluding it's a blessing, for continuing to have your presence present, writing by only depending on your recollection, and since poetry is my obsession, make new memories with me as I practice the act of ceding back to a former possessor, definition of recession.
Oct 12, 2013
Oct 12, 2013 at 7:10 PM UTC
The possessor of a weapon that kills all.
Slashing the backs of those once loved.
Leaving the innocent with open wounds.
They do it with no regrets; it’s a mind game.
Life to them is like an everyday mascaraed.
There will be no peaceful revolution.
Beware the backstabbers who slay the night.
Apr 7, 2015
Apr 7, 2015 at 12:53 AM UTC
The sun, a blazing circle of celestial fire
Hangs low upon the horizon,
Its fiery glory reflecting orangely
On the wind-whipped, blue-green sea.
The late afternoon sees my love and I,
Arms and legs entwined, ******* naked on the beach,
Rapt in appreciation of that blest moment
When sun and sea join in mystic communion.
And yet, all is not golden:
When one mentions the word "legs"
Once is certainly grammatically correct, yet
One does not convey the true situation to the reader.
You see, my lover is the sad possessor
Of a fifty percent deficit in the podial department,
Whilst I have a full double complement.
And thus to so-called act of generation
(Most times mis-named, for which I thank the gods)
Is a feat requiring great dexterous equilibrium.
However, my love's club foot (speaking candidly,
An admitted visual defect most times)
Now comes to the rescue of Eros' urgent needs,
With the aid of a little mutual ingenuity.
Balancing carefully on my dear one's abbreviated podex,
Supported carefully by the discarded surgical boot,
A passable **** can usually be achieved.
Only the halitosis appears irremediable.
Jan 5, 2015
Jan 5, 2015 at 10:40 AM UTC
The fall has been undone
The world is overcome...
Almighty Holy One of Israel
Possessor of the heavens and earth
Your name be great among the nations
Magnified by your Son's perfect work
The fall has been undone
The world is overcome...
All powerful Father creator God
Blessed hope and salvation
Your kingdom come - Your will be done
Unapproachable light eternal
The fall has been undone
The world is overcome...
Alpha and Omega, Beginning and End,
Faithful Rock and Redeemer
Lord, you alone are just and wise
Who can stand against You?
The fall has been undone
The world is overcome...
The fall verily hath happened
Thus there art demon's in
The world; though Christ
Saidst we canst overcometh
By his light and faith assured.
For ourn truth wilt makest
Friend's turn to enemies, and
Enemies to friend's; though it's
Yeshua ha'mashiach, on which
We shalt depend.
So mine dearest friend edward-starr,
With pain's wrapping thy skull; remembereth
Thou art God's child, not just some being of
Mistakes and flaws. We art to be perfected
In Jesus alone, for Christ hath made thee
A mansion, that soon shalt be thy home.
Hath faith Edward, thou art under
The protection of the great "I am";
He sent to thee, Jesus the king, to
Die for thee and every man.
For God saidst,
I am always with thee, wheresoever I mayest be;
Remember whom thou doth worship Edward,
Christ, the son of God, Yeshua ha'mashiach,
Thy Lord and healing king.
©Brandon Nagley and VS duo poem for Eddie starr
©Lonesome poet's poetry
May 18, 2016
May 18, 2016 at 8:15 PM UTC
This isn't the remedial rhythm your grandfather told you he listened to when he was a lad
This rhythm is the sole possessor of unfathomable depths
A melodic perception of what awaits at the steps of cognitive pools
Each bubble coalesces at the apex and pops with a reckless flush
Liquifed sound scatters and turns to dust
You can hear it on your skin
It's slight
But you can almost decipher what that muse was mouthing before you took the dive
Warning: Contents under forever
Sand does not absorb these notes
Infinitesimal grime only shocks and provokes
Until the boiling point is reached
The clock will strike half past infinity before you can even see
Your reflection's hymn ripple across the well of eternity
Nov 7, 2012
Nov 7, 2012 at 5:15 AM UTC
*i've been to kenya, all that these "charity" adverts are fuelling
is ignorance, they're presupposing
all the african nations are like kindergarten,
they're insulating them... it's like that:
give a man fish or give him a fishing rod,
i.e.: give a man money or give him a
method creating & subsequently circulating wealth:
these charitable companies are insulting
african nations to be at a loss,
they're only feeding european bureaucrats
who are really the only worthwhile
charitable pay-cheque givens, odds 4-5.*
a retired lady selling poppies
for a feeling
committed suicide
being hunted by ninety-nine
charity organisations...
charity organisations...
start-ups akin to apps of
cue: shaved face, young, eager
****** venom ****** statues
of jealousy...
all the bankers' wives have
a tier system, the origin of
charity companies
(surely a wife can't be as pristine
as her husband):
first two don't count,
third: modern art "collector",
fifth: philanthropist,
seventh: possessor of an O.B.E.
and as one bemused englishman said:
king arthur and the zimmerframe table
of knights with walking sticks rather than swords:
money made people lazy, less adventurous,
let alone less tribal and communist,
adventure just became predictable,
tourism...
the modern shopper is envious of
the hunter gatherer... so envious
he wants to look the part, but live as modern
lazy allows... after all... all the gym sessions
can't go to waste... got to run standing still:
hey! don quixote! leave the windmills!
check out the treadmills... you see a caveman
anywhere in the sweaty parlours?
i don't.
Feb 1, 2016
Feb 1, 2016 at 7:31 PM UTC
poets possess
dreamy romantic hearts
with notions enough to
stitch a quilt of love
to blanket the world
poets possessed
of cracking wit
and sharp tongue,
by darksome reveal,
spur us on towards
a bold new frontier
poet's possession
immeasurable wealth,
freely distributed.
the mighty pen sways
hearts and minds.
treasures inherent,
readily bestowed.
poet's possessor
the world own's her heart
and she, the world's
through words, none new
arranged fresh for you:
delight and beguile,
awaken again the senses,
as morning dew strewn
on Kentucky bluegrass
or creep up behind
and steal a kiss,
bringing pure bliss
to dry, parched lips
or rush and attack,
leave you flat on your back,
wind knocked from your chest,
in a state of unrest
words own her heart,
they always have,
right from the start
--bruised orange
Oct 3, 2011
Oct 3, 2011 at 11:59 PM UTC
here's a tale I will tell
of the supreme Master
of Rivendell
elfin Lord, just and wise
knowledge deep as elvish skies
darkly handsome, unearthly fair
silver circlet, midnight hair
greatest Power for him alone
eyes as deep as river stones
grey and lustrous, holding grace
broad of shoulder, fair of face
aquiline nose, chiseled jaw
Master of the Elves. Their law.
of his mercy his people sing
possessor of the elvish Ring
one of three, such Power possessed
he's the Lord, and thusly blessed
he's seen grief and was forsaken
his beloved wife was taken
to Mordor and was in suffering bound
with the Orcs deep underground
father of the maid Arwen
who's in love with the human King
deep pain of mind, Elrond's aware
that he must leave this daughter there
in human kingdom Middle Earth
for her love has lifetime worth
but Strider will soon pass away
while Arwen has immortal days
though her love's surpassing fine
she will one day weep and pine
without her husband, all alone
for her people will be gone
they will one day sail far
following an elvish star
and of Frodo he's aware
the Hobbit will go to Sauron's lair
generous, gentle, yet supremely strong
he will help Frodo along
elvish war-mail and provision
he directs with great vision
noble King of Rivendell
at once gracious
yet mighty, fell
his word, ever,
is his bond
Hobbit friend
the great
ELROND
SoulSurvivor
(C) 2/5/2016
Feb 5, 2016
Feb 5, 2016 at 10:54 AM UTC
Tufted ethereality, angelism of stock and store
pedestrian...alas, circusy.
Helm of streets bob...our supplicant pulls out
a mile or two of scripture from an enormous
pocket.
Fingers ink-blotted with grime, bent forth striding--
a heedless Beethoven tuned in immaculately.
Array's arrival stunned with scurry...planets of
conveyance pull at their elliptical wiring.
Some rare gigantism to the tenth of powers has
touched everything...all he could do from
going where he's arrived is futile.
From time immemorial, he...at present, its full
possessor!
What convoluted theorem of probability will
forcibly eject him from eureka...from where he's
vaporized his wears...naught...naught!
Some precipice's nudge knew best the wind for
his thought to take to, a majestic soar pealing the
spheres to show them their shape.
Life has exemplified its frugal capacity to him--
simmering creation tucked away for one fine day.
He, to outlive the closing energy that dances him,
an immortal...to be handled with care...with
universal intelligence--be, has let him...loosed.
He's broken the code of things in and of themselves...
he's a thing in and of himself--the Unitative factor erupts.
As the credits of glory pull upward...so he as them.
Nov 1, 2014
Nov 1, 2014 at 12:42 PM UTC
The Red Herring travels a divergent path,
alone in presence,
master of mind.
The Red Herring comprehends what he hath,
bearing little thought,
to the wake behind.
The Herring passes content with isolation,
alone in essence,
possessor of mind.
The Herring cares not but for his destination,
bearing some thought,
to the wake behind.
A herring finds his final place,
alone in absence,
chaser of mind.
A herring now knows his destination was never a space,
bearing absolute thought,
to the wake behind.
Oct 10, 2018
Oct 10, 2018 at 9:04 PM UTC
I dreamt a dream but when the night was young,
And the moonlight sang lullabies,that doves-
Fair-feathered slept to,while boughs at guard hung,
Like a lover stands eyeing her, he loves.
I dreamt a dream that I had discovered,
In the most unexpected of places,
In epiphanic manner uncovered,
The true possessor of divine graces.
There was a chant that I heard in the dream,
That made me, unknowingly, pledge my soul;
Thus, 'To thee,to thee' did I sing and scream,
And woke up,as if released on parole.
(Later.)
Queen Mab,yet again blessed me at hour wee,
And O, did I dream? And what did I see?
Mar 24, 2019
Mar 24, 2019 at 3:14 PM UTC
~
*a secret-possessor, a poetess of riddles,
informs, but my senses don't conform,
claiming that in my possess,
a gift ensconced, a soulfulness harbored,
purportedly outing me as "one gifted soul"
~
this "gift" of cobbled together phrases, on the back of
paper napkins,
words impermanent, undeserving of the firmamen
of cottoned cloth,
they shall not be mourned, when forever lost,
for like my soul, but a fleeting glimpsed visitor,
a 100 year comet, naturally self-destructing,
intended to be witnessed but once in a lifetime
~
wincing at this dear praise, yet it serves me well,
as the sweetest reminder, that we shall all yet meet,
all on that day, all in that place,
from where souls are gifted and returned,
however shopworn
or even disgraced
~
all welcomed upon our inevitable return, no proof of purchase needed,
where, living forever, in such good company is a
certain surety,
knowing this, that we are all certainly possessed with this relief,
easy then, in agreement, every each, born in fluid from the belly of belief,
each of us
"a gifted soul"*
Dec 17, 2016
Dec 17, 2016 at 11:27 AM UTC
How can it be that whatever wrong we do,
You always forgive and find the silver-lining.
The things you do, we cannot repay,
So we spend our days just trying.
Possessor of unconditional love,
The world will bow down to you,
Out of respect and loyalty.
In a way, we're saying...we love you too
That smile of yours is infectious,
Somehow we can never stay mad.
I'll do what I can to make sure
No one will ever make you sad.
Keep smiling because the world will smile back at you,
You know that I only speak what is true.
Madame, you come from God in heaven,
Everything will start and end with you.
Dec 8, 2013
Dec 8, 2013 at 1:34 AM UTC
Angels, who are my Gods; winnowed curves & a nucleus | [Local]
Always riveting [ ]; &
those who do not see the higher angels | [It] | |
human kidney damage leading to distress
& the cave's heat cries out of nothing;
& from him that hath loved him:
Sisyphus' mistake; [Passion
The acts; although in whose care he was given;
the doctor does not seek external things;
oath]; Telling of the ages of gold and silver;
Man is evil from childhood
thereof, and one kid of the goats, a male one,
whom his master, he has promised
unto me for ever unto the ages; this is the first,
What is the one thing
in her womb,
who has more, Me & all the walls;
The devices, which are separate
preceded him: Feed my lambs;
St. Thomas is the most avant-garde Angel,
who are my Gods;
w/ winnowed curves;
as a nucleus | [Local]
Always riveting [] and
those who do not see the higher angels; | [It] | |
human kidney damage; distress
and out of the cave of the field, and that,
heat from a nothing; and from him, who loved him,
Sysyphus is a mistake; [Passion
given the acts of his deeds; for the doctor;
EXTERNAL seeks a miracle
oath]; Tells the gold and silver;
Man is evil from childhood
his, and a young goat, which he acts,
I promised forever
ages; This is the first time
the rest of it is in the womb of its possessor,
scattered in the hedges: for all things;
In the foregoing St. Thomas feed;
my greatest concern is the avant-garde,
Angel, who are my Gods;
winnowed curves;
as a nucleus | [Local]
Always riveting [ ] &
those who do not see the higher angels; | [It]
| | | | || | | |
human kidney damage; distress
The cave and,
the heat out of nothing; from him that hath loved him:
Sysyphus errors; [Passion;
through whose care he was given; the doctor
It asks for foreign
oaths]; Tells the gold and silver;
Man is evil from childhood
his, and a kid of the goats, for one, whom his master,
I promised forever
ages; This is the first time
The other is a pregnant woman;
All the fences that separated
the foregoing, Feed St. Thomas;
the sum of the avant-garde
Sep 14, 2018
Sep 14, 2018 at 1:40 AM UTC
So bring your favorite church
and your favorite song,
and some illustrious teacher
and loveless words along-
We are heading for a forest
where the sparks are small,
but fierce tremors will shake
and cause mortal words to fall-
When weather permits we will
go singing and tremble down our bones,
because all our spirits ache
for the true and righteous Home-
All I am You, All us are false
All All All is You but dimly lit,
All All my Father, All my Christ
Every All my Anchor-Ghost-Possessor-Mist.
Oct 31, 2012
Oct 31, 2012 at 2:51 AM UTC
Scattered things like lost souls
Scream their futility.
Trinkets and trash charged with endless possibilities.
Illusions of how life could be better so,
I collect scraps of waste masked as human invention
New technologies, toys, and other luxuries
Drive that dark spear of desire deeper into my being.
Want is a sickness, a fever that cycles on and off.
I have I want, I want I need, I need I get.
I get I have, I have I want, I want I need
A scary situation and in its pursuit
I place myself in painful positions
Paying with large chunks of my life.
I get more and as it become easier.
My urges get stronger and stranger,
Joy becomes that much harder to find.
Get it get it get it get it get it
Buy buy buy buy buy buy
Till the pile stacks up so high
That I live and die inside
The world of crap I bought.
Once I start it is hard to stop
And I become the sole possessor
Of this sick collectors disposition.
Jan 30, 2017
Jan 30, 2017 at 7:00 PM UTC
I do not trust a happy day
My mind recalls past patterns
And each time hope has come my way
Peeking past life’s parted veil
Singing songs of sweet tomorrows
The weeks that come are always hell
As are the all the years that follow
I do not trust a lover’s promise
For they can be given so easily
I have seen certain hearts shattered
When loving to carefree and happily
I know one cannot pledge eternity
Anything can be broken even the best family
I do not trust a possessor’s passion
Cause in pursuing owner’s pleasures
I have found all things are only passing
For the taking, to give, in the asking
We all tire of the new toy
Sweet things can rot away
Adding one more item to your pile
Won’t save you from your final fate
There is a far darker day ******* me
The shadows tight on my trail
Night will fall sooner than expected
So even when I smile, I do not trust myself
Moods will change, ebbing and flowing
With the winds that keep my armor
Flapping up and down so my scars are showing
The good is just a phase
Then again I could say the same thing
About the bad days coming
Neither are permanent
Only one thing is inevitable
Jan 29, 2017
Jan 29, 2017 at 2:32 PM UTC
What is love but an exposition,
Of what is otherwise so deeply hidden,
Within the heart of the one who adores,
Living with the fear of when she explores,
I came to you before we had met,
So majestic with pure excellence,
A perfect guy you had taught,
This broken heart's possessor had been,
When durations of speech,
Went from minutes to hours so quick,
I revealed myself not all but a bit,
Though that bit was enough to change your mind,
You saw me fall and reached my hand,
Helping me up, assisting me to stand,
But at the same have your troops leave,
The worthless soil of my hearts land.
A confused man isn't apparently;
in the eyes of a lady attractive
AROODY 2019
May 2, 2019
May 2, 2019 at 1:53 PM UTC