"prolongs" poems
yours is the music for no instrument
yours the preposterous colour unbeheld
—mine the unbought contemptuous intent
till this our felsh merely shall be excelled
by speaking flower
(if I have made songs
it does not greatly matter to the sun,
nor will rain care
cautiously who prolongs
unserious twilight)Shadows have begun
the hair’s worm huge,ecstatic,rathe….
yours are the poems i do not write.
In this at least we have got a bulge on death,
silence,and the keenly musical light
of sudden nothing….la bocca mia “he
kissed wholly trembling”
or so thought the lady.
31.4k
<>
**”To dream by the oak and awake by the sea
when August has ripened and turned Jubilee
you must enter dominion of summer's delight
and live in the rapture of candescent light
Oh to live and to love one must first learn to kiss,
the kinetics of summer, with eternal bliss.”**
~from vienna bombardieri’s poem, “Kinetics Of Summer~
(with her kind permission)
<>
First verse pinpoints accurate, this,
my spot!
by oak and sea,
my precise longitude and latitude, where my summertime
eyes open to receive the gift of morning’s light, observing
the conjunction of land, hard by the sea, the land-ed avian gentry
and sea~sailor birds interacting, sharing the uprising currents,
for sport and observation, travel and pleasured sailing,
these “Masters of the Sky can fly for hours (or days), while barely flapping,” and this verse stuns, and
my shock,
at these, her words
my breathing is gasped and grasped
by oak and sea, for so it be,
this is where
my morning’s operatic scrum, ballet and dance hall hullabaloo,
my diurnal natural choreography is performed,
while slow sipping my very heated first coffee
it was here
that I learned to love more easily,
for the kinetics of summers trio of sun, sky, and moderate breezes,
lulled the turbulence of my disheartened lives into an easier
order, the world~surround, a living, breathing exercise that
warmed the spirit, cooled the soul, and spoke without uttering
a single word,
here dear person, is the where and the when,
the comfort of the natural-blanket
that enwraps, covers, cherishes the atmosphere entire,
containing the healing elixirs and protective ointments,
that remove the
plaque of life’s accumulated injuries, slights and scar tissue
simply put,
here I breath freely,
here I see with clarity
here the infusions of
living in nature, prolongs,
restore, remind, enliven
and enhances,
the intermixture of
body and soul
here in actual deed,
the kiss of summer bliss
upon
my tiring cell’s walls,
are resurrected even unto the nuclei,
by the warm breath of sun life and sun light,
and the breezes of salty sweet caramel air
and under their loving, combined-dominion
am I
resurrected and will yet sense,
one more Jubilee again
as I lay dreaming
by the oak and the sea…
Aug 2, 2023
Aug 2, 2023 at 4:05 AM UTC
After my mother died, my room was filled with roses. When the flowers died, my room was filled with their sweet, rotten stench for weeks on end; it sunk into my pores and into my DNA and years later, I still smell like dead roses.
My sister confuses this smell with dead lilies.
A bouquet of red roses was placed atop my mother’s coffin as it lowered six
feet down into the earth. After the roses died, I wonder if my mother could
smell them like I did? I wonder if she still smells them, or, more likely, how long it took for the roses to disintegrate into dust like her?
We don’t talk about the body after death because we don’t like to be reminded of how vulnerable we really are. In high school, a boy asked me to prom using roses and lilies that were all different shades of reds and oranges and yellows like fire. Lilies like funerals and tombstones and formaldehyde.
I don’t think he meant to remind me of death. I don’t think his intention was to place me in a casket similar to my mother’s with its pink padded walls. I don’t think he realized that’s where I went when I saw his basement covered in bouquets of hellfire. I think he meant the roses to be romantic,
but I looked at them and saw my mother’s putrefying face, saw her intestines eaten away by savage bacteria and bugs, saw her eyelids drying out and peeling back like black and dead and withered lily petals. Embalming does not prevent decomposition, only prolongs it. I have embalmed my mother's
memory in the shape of a teal notebook. I cannot tell if it has
begun to decay or not.
May 24, 2016
May 24, 2016 at 2:31 PM UTC
Running on empty tiered for sleep my brain is fried my limbs now creak.
I went to bed or so I thought to get some kip and recharge my bones.
Well that wasn't how it ended up and my mind was racing with well "just stuff".
The stuff you just cant explain a film! What was the actors name?
A song, a tune stuck in my head another hour of wasted bed.
Then to try and top others all, the ghost of a child throwing a ball prolongs the nite in another's hall.
No dreams no peace, I'm withered now the body aches but won't shut down.
Tomorrow I guess it's panda eyes and heavy lids, I could cry !
I just want sleep it all to stop and please dear brain
"WILL YOU JUST TURN OFF!"
Nov 26, 2012
Nov 26, 2012 at 10:04 AM UTC
Now the golden Morn aloft
Waves her dew-bespangled wing,
With vermeil cheek and whisper soft
She wooes the tardy Spring:
Till April starts, and calls around
The sleeping fragrance from the ground,
And lightly o’er the living scene
Scatters his freshest, tenderest green.
New-born flocks, in rustic dance,
Frisking ply their feeble feet;
Forgetful of their wintry trance
The birds his presence greet:
But chief, the skylark warbles high
His trembling thrilling ecstasy;
And, lessening from the dazzled sight,
Melts into air and liquid light.
Yesterday the sullen year
Saw the snowy whirlwind fly;
Mute was the music of the air,
The herd stood drooping by:
Their raptures now that wildly flow
No yesterday nor morrow know;
’Tis Man alone that joy descries
With forward and reverted eyes.
Smiles on past Misfortune’s brow
Soft Reflection’s hand can trace,
And o’er the cheek of Sorrow throw
A melancholy grace;
While Hope prolongs our happier hour,
Or deepest shades, that dimly lour
And blacken round our weary way,
Gilds with a gleam of distant day.
Still, where rosy Pleasure leads
See a kindred Grief pursue;
Behind the steps that Misery treads
Approaching Comfort view:
The hues of bliss more brightly glow
Chastised by sabler tints of woe,
And blended form, with artful strife,
The strength and harmony of life.
See the wretch that long has tost
On the thorny bed of pain,
At length repair his vigour lost,
And breathe and walk again:
The meanest floweret of the vale,
The simplest note that swells the gale,
The common sun, the air, the skies,
To him are opening Paradise.
3.2k
You have your eyes on someone else
I am happy gazing at the shell
It's a nagging zeitgeist, well
I tried to keep a pretence
Could you tell?
I spinned in endless circles
Blinded by the sparkles
Thought there will be tell-tales
Measured self on bad scales
Contemporary delusions hail
Careful calculations also fail
I am trying to move on
From something
That was only drawn
In my thoughts, which pawned
My heart, which still prolongs
Tell me
What should I do?
Everyday I am filled with blues
I could throw this forever
If I knew a little, how to!
Or if I had the slightest clue!
Mar 5, 2022
Mar 5, 2022 at 11:34 AM UTC
If you have pain anywhere in your body, tell yourself it will go away, because it will. Thinking about the pain in any way prolongs it. Using ice packs or heat is no match to what your own effectors can do. They heal, and ice or heat just comforts for a short time, while keeping your mind on pain. Don't think twice about this. Know that you are just as powerful as any animal. They don't have ice or heat, or doctors, and they heal fast. We were blessed with a consciousness that can heal us faster than any living animal.
Mar 28, 2022
Mar 28, 2022 at 12:27 AM UTC
Please be strong
And crack my walls
Break them down
And make them fall
Dissolve
My unbreakable shields of fear
All the feelings
I hold so dear
Inside my head
They seem so strong
The dark gravel road
To my walls
Prolongs
You’ll always be walking
So pick up the pace
Please make the effort
To win this race
Against the road
Dec 1, 2014
Dec 1, 2014 at 2:42 AM UTC
Winters weeping wonders,
Of emotions seeping ponders,
Pain so deep,
And hearts so worn,
Fruits we reap,
And souls forlorn,
Winters cold,
And winters gain,
A thought so bold,
A mind insane,
A Woman scorned,
Man and creature alike,
Be warned,
Winters sorrows,
And winters mourning,
Bitter cold frostbitten warning,
Abandoned hollows,
Frozen wants,
A need so strong,
Winters wait prolongs,
Winters storms,
And winter moan,
Frosted rages warmth,
Ever growing,
And so the depth,
Ever sowing,
And so the fruits once warm,
And ripe,
Now cold and bitter,
A rotten infested type,
A Woman scorned,
Be warned,
Man and creature alike…
Dec 7, 2012
Dec 7, 2012 at 6:19 AM UTC
The light in your eyes
Prolongs every day
And each time makes way
For the joy of the moment
So simple and pure
Your words are a path
And each time you let
Me grow a bit more
And although I know
That this will once end
I know I will spend
Forever with you
Nov 20, 2011
Nov 20, 2011 at 7:45 AM UTC
I have vowed to no more eat that which harms,
And to the best of my abilities,
I do so.
I see no difference between the cat you pet
And the lamb you slaughter.
I see no difference between the dog you play with
And the calf you tear from its mother.
I see no difference between the pet birds in cages
And the male chicks thrown in the grinder at birth;
They will produce no eggs, we have no use for their lives.
I believe it is not the role of man
To deem whom should retain their lives
And whom should die for a moments self-gratification.
Vegetarianism is wonderful,
Every little bit helps; less humans eating meat,
means reduced CO2 emmissions
and less world wide poverty,
The grain that could feed a hundred hungry mouths
Is not used to produce single burger patty,
For a single peckish man.
But drinking the milk of a cow,
Eating cheese and eggs
All contributes directly to the meat industry.
Dairy industry is veal industry;
Dairy industry; milk, eggs, cheese all supports and prolongs the practice
Of killing and eating children.
You ask that we respect your choices;
but you do not understand that your "choices",
Your learned eating habits,
Your probing questions of "what do you eat then?!"
And your arguments of "But meat just tastes so good"
Are directly offensive to all we stand for,
And all we fight against.
To me, arguing that the taste of meat,
Makes the living conditions of these animals ok,
Is a kin to the argument that slavery is fine,
Because the work gets done quicker if you can use a whip.
It is a kin to the idea that **** isn't that bad,
Because it at least feels good for the ******
It is a kin to the comment that women are inferior,
Because men could beat them in a fist fight.
You will instantly think I am radical in my views,
You will try to brush them off as the rantings of a crazed vegan
Or you will stop reading
Because you really do not want to see what I have to say.
But I give you only the truth as i plainly see it.
If you must eat meat,
Hunt for it and **** it yourself,
Let it live a real life first,
And respect that for you to eat,
It has died.
Dec 5, 2013
Dec 5, 2013 at 5:34 PM UTC
Dissected brilliance
Admissible propositions
Sculpted resilience
Destructing predispositions
Initiates our purpose immensely
Criticism gives it's crucial effect
For the better, accordingly
It's for us to detect
Why? we ask throughout
Our incompetent delusion
Through our endless bout
Here, take your conclusion
"Why" is a sensational question
Dissects mind's interest
Releases its compression
Yet we remain among the belligerent
This answer prolongs
Through your eyes only
In our hearts it belongs
Don't persevere your phony
Bring back your trophy
-Joseph B Schneider
Jul 25, 2014
Jul 25, 2014 at 1:48 AM UTC
Depression visits often
He’s the kind of guy
Who doesn’t wipe his
Shoes before entering
And leaves traces of
Himself through out
The house
He keeps to himself
But you can always
Find him washing down
His doubts with cheap wine
Or writing a love poem
That never gets delivered
When it’s time for him
To leave, he usually
Prolongs his goodbyes, but
When all is said and done
He quietly sneaks out
Without me noticing
Even though he’s gone
I leave a key under the door mat
Because I know he will
Be back soon.
Jun 4, 2015
Jun 4, 2015 at 2:37 PM UTC
As I walk down the street
That looks nothing but normal,
With pedestrians walking on the sides
Mothers calling sons after school,
Teenagers writing their dreams with sweat pants and converse shoes
Trotting down the pathways with their personalities
Compressed in their back packs;
I like to play a game called
“What’s behind the steering wheel?”
A bomb;
A wired representation of defeat
An open gate to oblivion,
A flower with pedals of fire
Pollen of political tyranny
With ignorant humans for bees
That “spread the word”.
“What’s behind the steering wheel?”
A kid reading a book
Forgetting the world outside
For the worlds in fairy tales
Seem real;
And as soon as his eyes start rolling
He envisions himself a leader of a striking army
A great protector of truth,
Or even a little girl dancing her way into the forest;
Busy being a child
She never thought about the monsters waiting on the other side;
And all those characters are despised,
In a world where innocence is put aside
Where dreams are confiscated
Like phones in elementary schools,
Where minds only follow
And hearts are black;
In a world,
Where reading a book becomes a threat
Only terminated by something louder than life
But nothing is louder than words.
“What’s behind the steering wheel?”
Afraid tyrants,
Calculating their reign
In seconds
And seconds are all they leave us
Before we leave us,
Before we start making martyrs of our names
And memorials of our pictures,
Before we write elegies
Before we write poems of anger
Before we cry down our thoughts
Screaming the names of those we lost;
Afraid that one day,
No one will remember those names
Afraid,
That one day,
Our name would be among them.
Ow martyrs who left us a world to fix
Our hands are tired of typing,
Our eyes are drowning
For the more we write down your names on our souls
The heavier are our tears;
Our thoughts are crumbling
Into posts and statuses
But who are we posting for, if all of you are dead?
Ow martyrs who left us with more spaces to cover
We cannot cover all this by ourselves.
Our trials are self-destructing,
Our memories are filled with images of you
Hoping that our memories stay memories
As we revolute towards our future.
Our flowers are wilting,
Our candles are too close to burning out
We have read all the prayers that we know
And as the journey prolongs
I ask myself…
“What now?”
Our rage is dormant,
Our eyes are open as we observe
The post traumatic epilepsies the world is coming about,
Our minds,
Once fooled
Are now base lines for our attacks;
Our hearts are filled with images of you
In an open chamber
Easy to access
For one day
All these images will appear on the surface of us
And that is the day we avenge you
Ow martyrs who left us,
You left us with a world to fix and a nation to create.
Jan 2, 2014
Jan 2, 2014 at 3:13 PM UTC
not every poem is about beauty
too caught we are in the moment to write about it
that is what makes it beautiful
pain clings long beyond instants
prolongs and window reflections
engulfing our bones
masticating our stomachs
from slow drip bile coffeemakers in our chest
the line from that one song starts the burning
and the eyes of a stranger flavored with reminders
i wish i could tell him i finally got to ____________
my blood is chunked with tomato slices
acidic clots and stagnant passions
float me in melancholy perplexities
a minute of oddity where emotions
are unidentifiable
Jul 30, 2014
Jul 30, 2014 at 3:49 PM UTC
Wishful thinking was all it was
It was never anything more.
I tell myself to not look back,
But still there is the allure.
If I had just wished a little harder
My request made more sincere.
I would have everything I needed
All that I hold dear.
But wishing never makes it so
It only prolongs the pain.
For wishing is just only that
A plea to stop the rain.
Dec 12, 2012
Dec 12, 2012 at 5:41 AM UTC
Forgiveness isn’t that easy,
Especially with wounds so deep.
After all,life is like a daisy,
Its beauty forever can’t keep.
Enemies backbiting innocence,
And even tarnishes your flesh.
But in us is God’s presence;
To forgive is to love also what is trash.
Therefore, I ask of a merciful heart,
That peace can enter to where it belongs.
Then I shall do my part,
Absolve others’ sins to me and love prolongs.
Lord, keep me at bay,
That I may be like you:
To love unconditionally is to stay,
Well,grounded as you do.
Never to see adversaries as pagans,
But as my own neighbor.
This is us,Christians,
Imperfect but we’ll never abhor.
Jul 6, 2014
Jul 6, 2014 at 9:37 PM UTC
Beyond the grey water,
A light sustains its glow.
Radiating over the rippling water.
The waves,
Las Olas..
They are beautiful,
Under the blue moon.
The blue moon is known as Aurora,
"Goddess of the smiles"
She prolongs the life of the light.
Blinking over the binding waves,
Caressing your hand as we float astray.
Aurora guides our path,
To the island of paradise.
The island with the light..
The brighter it gets,
The closer I become.
To finding You.
My love..
May 29, 2014
May 29, 2014 at 9:27 AM UTC
I **** people with the knife of fear without hesitation
In their world, its just another day of hallucination
Churning out muck from the milk of the bodies of the dead
Seeing them die with agony in hell's own bed
The pleasure I receive,the relief that I get
From the ****** bodies that I behead
The terror that grips them day and night
I never miss it out of my sight
The web of commonness to which they stick to
I give them a new world of pain to go through
I, the doctor of the dead and devil of hope
I give their demented souls a boat of peace to row
The darkness that lurks around and the silence that prolongs
That is the only thing they see and in their ears that echoes around
I slash them with the sword of anguishness
I help their suffered souls to attain true tranquilness
I relieve them from the trance they live in
From the decayed mind with which they from heaven ship in
I see the agitated bodies lying in my hands
Whom I bury with the shovel of hatred into the blood stained sands
The ethereal hearts,in my hands I take them
I shred them out and give the dogs to feed them
I live to see them get killed
And with a sigh, I pray to the God of Hell and dream of someone someday devouring upon my dead body's filth.
Jan 29, 2013
Jan 29, 2013 at 2:48 PM UTC
He looked across the boardwalk into the inalienable ocean.
Love danced upon the cresting waves.
The sound of a quantum leap stretched thousands of miles.
A piece of him was still with her.
She looked across the boardwalk with another.
Pain no longer had a home within her golden hair.
She had withstood time, it's waves began again.
His need showcased in the night sky, to her horror.
Deadly, their entanglement remains after being long forgotten.
Poison gas reaches into his head, the same gas rots her mind.
Toxic people and corrosive words melt their being.
Condemned to the hell he calls home.
Pull and push, he pushes on, she pulls away.
He continues his war march into this nethermost dwelling.
She escapes into the day, burning at its torrid sunlight.
He destroy her mind, She prolongs his pain.
In the end, they're just two toxic people in love.
Never to see each other again.
Jun 28, 2016
Jun 28, 2016 at 6:55 AM UTC
i must smile, as i breathe.
i must live, as i die inside.
for the time shall not come,
for lighter showers to grant upon.
whether be, it withers thee.
all burnt up inside,
and prolongs to smolder.
i am all singed in green.
May 30, 2010
May 30, 2010 at 6:39 AM UTC
Bedsit lights flicker
floorboards creak
the night prolongs plans
to see through the situation
An envisaged train journey to Canterbury
may just reawaken this
side of reason
realising clear thoughts
the richness of discourse
where I may visit some folk club
summarise these my questions
through a better door
May 24, 2014
May 24, 2014 at 2:52 PM UTC
*The storm floods the horizon
With great exuberance
She is an ocean of time
A fatal collapse a disastrous crash,
she takes the torch
Pure atmospheric voltage strikes
with cataclysmic force
A surface permanently damp, she is angry
She rises above and drowns the city
Intently the people scream
scattering
Flooding throughout the streets
The wrath persists;
a queen of storm prolongs peace,
and brings the world to its knees*
Jul 9, 2010
Jul 9, 2010 at 10:13 AM UTC
Colorlessness filth inside
Spiritless and exposed
The bloodshed of humanity prolongs
As Injustice penetrates our wounds
As we have lost our way
Dec 6, 2013
Dec 6, 2013 at 11:33 PM UTC
*"Every existing thing is born without reason,
prolongs itself out of weakness,
and dies by chance." - Sartre*
What is easier, life or death?
Some people think this is a simple question.
And I'm sure for some it is, a straight cut to one side or the other.
We know so much about human life and so very little about death.
Some would call it an "easy" way out from the constant struggle of existence.
But how many of you here on this world wide web are truly embracing your struggle today?
Are you following "the plan"?
A plan?
Birth, growth, assimilation, "education", indoctrination,
out of the womb and into the classroom,
graduate and start your career,
retire and die.
Isn't everyone proud.
I mean, think of all those soothing, sedating systems
put into place to make your life easier to avoid.
Much like the screen you stare at now.
I've, as they say, "suffered" from depression my entire life,
and as one of those chosen people,
I'd like to debunk the myth.
The loom of death breeds a lust for life
like nothing else I've ever encountered.
You appreciate every little nuance
and at the end of the day
you're grateful.
Unlike so many "happy" people.
But you also know the utter meaninglessness of it all.
And it makes it that much harder to swallow
when everyone doesn't realize the opportunity they have
every single day.
Most are complacent, content as cattle, lined up and waiting
for slaughter.
Until they're looking death in the face
and wondering what the **** they've been doing all this time,
in this line.
But I do not look at those other chosen people who've cut the tie to the physical plane
with judgement, pity, or shame.
Their bravery shines.
Everyone deserves an out, because so often people stay in out of selflessness,
out of attachment and obligations, to friends, to families
but will you deny them forever?
Give them their peace and think of their great example often.
All of life is risk,
you're always on the cusp,
every day could be your last.
Death is the final frontier,
an adventure unknown,
and wanderlust is strong in some.
May 19, 2015
May 19, 2015 at 3:19 AM UTC