"propel" poems
Fly, Dragonfly, fly!
Spread your wings and flex your tail
take off to the skies, follow the blowing winds!
Leave behind the Wicked Men of Hollowing Trail
and escape the poisons of their worded sins
Fly, Dragonfly, fly!
Race, Dragonfly, race!
Sweep your wings back against the windy skies
Let your heart propel your spirited sprint faster! Faster!
Escape from the Forest of Unnerving Lies
and the creatures of the Lost Souled ********
Race, Dragonfly, race!
Hunt, Dragonfly, hunt!
Beat your wings to the sounds of the butterflies
Feed your hunger for protecting the meek
with the haunting taste of Honey-Soaked Flies
and the sting of Sugar-Coated Bees
Hunt, Dragonfly, hunt!
Rest, Dragonfly, rest!
Allow the venom to still your beatful wings
Let the swift death claim a Hero's life
Beckon the Raven of Heaven to blissfully sing
to the tune of the Stalking Sparrow's whistling knife
Rest, Dragonfly, rest!
Dec 26, 2011
Dec 26, 2011 at 1:25 PM UTC
The warmth of the sun settles, hugging the lake.
The dragonfly flies low, hovering above the tranquil water
the light seeping through the paper thin skin,
it hums across the lake, refracting light off its wings,
An array of colors make patterns on the wings,
wearing it like a cloak, a rainbow embedded within.
The colors tilt and shift as the dragonfly gracefully cruises through life,
laying close to the water but letting the air propel it forward,
floating between two different worlds,
it is like a dream where our thoughts are separated from reality,
and are scattered like refracted light for us to assemble.
Through a screen of our dreams, a world can be seen.
A world of hopes and desires that is dormant within
The light of life just soaks us bare,
our skin turns frail,
under the scorching glare,
the glare of eyes that want you to be,
someone that is accepted by society.
the dragonfly bathes itself in the sun,
the iridescent colors shine on its skin,
flying and floating, he’s determined to win
a predator, determined to get what it wants
nothing blocking its way or paving its path
making the most out of life and never holding back
spread your wings like the dragonfly
that hums its way through life,
dipping its wings in the sun to shine,
breaking free a life of colors,
that we leave locked and forgotten,
behind a reality made of black and white,
the black ink seeping through our minds,
injecting us with ideas of the 'ideal life'
where money and fortune, and status define.
Bathe your mind in the wonders of the world,
soak your heart in life's warmth and glow,
and pave your own path,
with the dreams you sow.
Oct 21, 2012
Oct 21, 2012 at 3:13 AM UTC
In the murky depths of muck and mire
hope flickers in hearts
courageous enough to believe;
sending out ripples in the waters
like a domino effect rewound.
Insignificant seedlings to the cruel eye
filled with light and promise
as yet unseen turned
Fragile sprouts in healing green
reaching up and out
to rest hopes on the water front,
as if to console one another -
we are not alone.
Against all odds, bean of India,
Keep going –
Power through the sluggish resistance
Of this darkened plane.
Though life seems lost in loneliness
Listen closely,
Hear the Whispering rumours of life beyond the deep
Of basking in light and life
beneath the welcoming heat
of a dancing sun.
A triumphant act of faith indeed,
to content oneself with growing,
never really knowing
what lies beyond the darkness.
I weep for you
with joy, O little pocket of hope
as you propel yourself forward -
such strength, such courage
for one who as yet knows not
of that rosey happiness,
that snow white purity
that lies beneath your shell.
I stand in awe of you;
You with your absurd elegant beauty
tracing your journey
accepting it as part of yourself
embracing who you once were.
The original rags to riches tale;
Roots in putrid, ravenous foundations
yet you yourself remain unstained.
The journey every bit as beautiful
as your glorious destination –
a testimony to your essential self.
I see you take up your stance
Front and centre, finally ready
to declare yourself to the world.
Budding beauty of new life
awake! open your eyes, your heart,
you dont have to hide anymore
the world is missing who you are.
And time births healing and growth.
Every flower blooms at her own pace;
Tentatively unfolding - delicate and fragile still
with gentle colours begging will I do?
Caught up in a lighter life
becoming bolder, blessed, nurtured
blooming bright, opened out
hello world, here I am.
Your wary days drowned, you claim your space,
Fill your space,
Make it your own.
The ethereal splendour of your gentle petals
Succeeded only by the loveliness within,
As you build up your legacy of hope
So wonder will not be lost in the falling petals
but made more beautiful still
in the healing gifts,
in nourishing others,
in the gifts you give of yourself
back to the world.
Jun 26, 2013
Jun 26, 2013 at 5:44 PM 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
Cradle my emotions in the gentlest of whispers
Lace my heart with sultriest of ribbons
Fill full my sail with the worthiest of winds
Engulf my being in the sweetest of notions
Colour me beautiful with the most vibrant of rainbows
Propel my universe into the farthest reaches
Soothe my aches with the most abundant love
Carry my vessel to the sandiest of beaches
Embed my thoughts within the fluffiest clouds
Let soar my dreams on the bravest of kites
Set my destination in the furthest horizons
Present me with life's buffet with the tastiest of bites
Dec 2, 2014
Dec 2, 2014 at 8:47 AM UTC
Its in these waters, when I was merely a Parr
Or as you might refer to me as a fry,
This wise but young Brook Trout cruised the slow water with my kinfolk fry.
Moving to and fro hiding among the biome vegetation
The sunlight supported my living space and warmed my growth rings.
I dart in and out of the oxygenated seams which help me flourish.
Some days, I had to use stealth to outwit the pine marten and warblers,
I shadowed the cattail and watched them fill their bellies with those around me.
But I felt fate had a purpose for me to be something special.
And When the time was right, I'd propel myself above the water into the night air.
The large circle of orange light filled my eyes and the night sky was filled with luminary.
I imagined what it must be like to live outside this riffle domain.
This morning, through my refractory vision I spot some floating objects,
And through an inherited sensory recall I can see these are hatching green Drakes.
I immediately shoot to the surface and fill my stomach, then swim back to the undercut for cover.
As the years pass by and maturity abounds, I find my self settling in behind a large boulder
Right at the tail out of the back eddy, providing me with an ample food supply.
And it's here I prefer to live my life in the slow current, content and peaceful.
And one day as I swam into the current seam, I spotted what appeared to be,
A different looking bug with yellow belly, so I make my move.
He's not moving much so I decide to raise my head above the water line and sip.
As I grab the hopper I start to slide back behind the boulder,
When I feel a pinch, as if someone try's to pull me towards the surface
I fight with all my might but this force proves to be stronger than I.
It's now I realize a human reels me towards the shore line, and I'm fearful.
This one called a human, grabs my tail and places his hand on my under belly.
Pulling me from my home, he dislodges the hook from my mouth. I gasp for oxygen.
He looks me over from nose to tail, smiles and says how beautiful I am.
He looks me in the eye And says " This was a wonderful fight my friend, enjoy the rest of your life,
He places me back in water, gently reviving me and finally lets me swim away.
I dare to turn and look back at him for a moment and as he continues to watch me,
I hear him say " I fish, knowing everyday on this stream is a gift."
Feb 7, 2017
Feb 7, 2017 at 3:59 PM UTC
If I ever see you again
I'll spat insults and hope they
Spray on your aviators
like the bugs that squashed against
my windshield the last time
I drove away from you
If fate destroys me
and I am in the same pub one night
as your wormy self
I'll tell you how you're the most
arrogant, vapid, shallow, womanizing,
******* male mascot
I've ever had the disgust to know
I'll slap you hard across the face
Oh and not like Scarlett O'Hara,
you demon darling
No crushing kiss will follow
and I'll mean vengence
vile will seep through my mouth
instead of the sweet saliva
I let you taste
long ago
If I ever hear your voice
or see your mocking manequin
among my tele again
With disgraceful force
I will lift that 50 lb set
and propel that ******* screen
across the state
The way your black static apology
shattered the brightness
that used to reside
within
me
If I hear of you
one more dispicable time
I'll grow bombs maticulously
within my empty core
and time them so perfectly
that all of your dysfunctional doormat
confidants
will explode the second they come near me
and their manipulative cells
will burst
and be burried among the soil
of ***** words
you whispered in my ears
**** if I ever see you again
I'll shatter every martini glass around me
and down a fifth of fireball
and breath venomous fire
and burn you, you beastly boy
And I'll pretend beauty amongst you
and walk away, a tall glass of water
That could diffuse
that angry licking fire
that is swallowing you up
When I see you again
I won't acknowledge your existence
and I'll be dressed to the nines
and I won't do a ******* thing about it
Because you aren't worth a sentence within this stanza
But I know I am.
Feb 7, 2013
Feb 7, 2013 at 11:03 PM UTC
LOVE? Connotative of so many different things, one conjures up vastly intricate definitions of the word. To what extent their truth reaches is indicative of their author’s own relationships, childhood, future and past. To be asked what love truly is, is to allow another to peer inside of your soul, to reach the depth and breadth of your entity and to relinquish your fears and dreams to them, simultaneously. Asked today for my opinion, I deferred my response, realizing I myself hadn’t considered a solid definition. Seemingly such a simple concept; really a foundational core, underpinning our self worth, self adoration and self identity.
Love is unique, to everyone. It can be explained through the use of analogies. Stereotypes. In some ways, our ‘idealistic love’ is a window for our selfish, impeded selves to climb out of. We expect our lover to propel us into some sort of surreal, unchallenged fairy-tale romance, irregardless of the modern day reality we’re living out. We expect worlds to stop, planets to align and stars to shower upon us in some picturesque dream come true. However, referring to love in stereotypes can be impersonal and superficial. I find love can be best defined by a persons own experiences, dreams, fears and desires.
A lover can help realize and form these definitions.
To me, love is resting my head between the curve of his shoulder and my sheets. Love is watching a summer storm roll in together, dry and safe. Love is observation; of passion, of fear and of delight. Love is acceptance. There’s nothing more beautiful than knowing and being known. Nothing more beautiful than opening yourself up to someone, being with them in complete serenity, complete coexistence and honesty.
Rolling over and looking into their eyes, and silently whispering, “I love you.”
That to me is love.
- c.m
Aug 13, 2013
Aug 13, 2013 at 12:52 PM UTC
I love roller coasters.
I love the old rickety ones that jar my spine and push me into my little sister and i can feel our ribcages collide with the
click-click-click as they slowly build suspense and propel me towards the sun.
my last boyfriend hated them. He felt that his stomach couldn’t stand up to the drop of gravity so he ran at the sight of the climb up to reason and fled the line when i unbuckled my seatbelt.
i love waiting in line for a **** good thrill, and i count down the minutes until the spill of my scream echoes into the hairspray of the woman in front of me as she holds the hand of her cut-offs husband.
i guess you aren’t one to pine for the wooden tracks of thrill, either. but last night i lay in bed, on my side, trying to memorize the planes of your face, trying to calculate the angle of your nose as it leans slightly to your right, you tell me it’s crooked, i tell you it is lovely. it is the finest architecture this side of eiffel tower and you run your hands from the top of my collarbone, down the valley of my waist to the top of my hip, and you tell me you wish you had a tiny car to run along the line.
most of all i love the fall.
Jul 11, 2014
Jul 11, 2014 at 12:00 AM UTC
She is sleek , a little battered
scar across her back
but in her silver dress
whoa, never had a girl like that
long legs propel her fast
in any direction I turn her head
She lets me press her buttons
she lets me turn her on
just one flick and she'll be roaring
or one twist and she sits
motionless
When she breaks down
I pick her up, fix her up
god bless
She's hot in summer
frigid in winter and
always in that dress
She soothes me when I'm stressed
blares out my worries when
I've got them on my chest
She yells out songs at
the top of her gravelly voice
or she whispers lullabies
it's my choice
loud, quite, she doesn't care
I could be rich, or broke
she'd still take me anywhere
I've cried in her arms
I've loved in her lap
I even let her wear
my favorite baseball cap
and see my feet
Once she kept me warm
during my sleep
watched my eyes shifting
underneath my lids
If she lasts long enough
someday she could hold my,
my kids
Nov 7, 2012
Nov 7, 2012 at 1:45 AM UTC
the gentle lapping of salty waves, break onto the shore,
The wave of change is coming fast-
into the tide contentment's cast
it's the only way to sail from past
to brightest futures; A risen mast...
**and a seagull, somewhere, sings in F minor.
no human can ignore:
no matter race, religion, class,
that the waves propel us, or
drowns us beneath their mass.
The wave of change's tolling tide
has come again for us, we tried
to keep using whatever we
contrived,
to surf change's wave,
wildly we ride.
Jun 6, 2019
Jun 6, 2019 at 2:28 PM UTC
It consists of this,
all of it and none
I found solace in that
which I could not hold
but only cherish as fond memoirs
of a terrible moment in time
Never full, never empty
it turned into an addiction
derogation of the unwise, with no premise
bawls and shrieks have no place here
this is silent lucidity capsized
hundreds of expressions explaining one thing
one thing that explains it all
Destination: lost
with no means to propel the self
into a promising new day,
pray tell, what will break down the wall
self loathing and misanthropy creates
alone in a crowd, here, but far away
none of it is that important anyway
The smile stealer, grin eater
mood killer, running short of edification
It's never alone; in bed with misery
the smallest things distress
the grandest of thoughts
wanting reprieve, searching escape
as if you could
die and stain pride?
No
Cowardice is lower than this
not worse, just pathetic
but please, ignore my terrible advocacy,
everything is half off today
I'm feeling generous.
May 4, 2014
May 4, 2014 at 5:45 PM UTC
I've been collecting ear wax
Since the belly button lint dust fire went bad
I lost all my dignity in that fiasco
So ear wax is all that I have left
Believe you me, it's not easy
Coming up with another scheme
After burning the whole town down to the ground
To get a single soul to look or even listen to me
But that fateful day that I dug deep
And pulled a replica of the Eiffel Tower out of my ear
I knew that fame and fortune lay before me
My time had arrived, my time was here
Who should I call first over my artful discovery
The Post? The Enquirer? The Times?
No I would call The Museum Of Modern Art in NYC
For the Art World would soon be mine
I knew I had to ratchet it up a notch
One piece of ear wax art might be a fluke
So I got out my brush...the Q-tip
And removed a portrait of John Wayne AKA The Duke
Since I live in a hippie commune in the woods
Little furry creatures would always stop by
To gaze upon the artful process
Squirrels can be the best of critics...no lie!
Which gave me the idea with all the left over ear wax
I sculptured a mini-amusement park with mini-arcades
And charged the woodland creatures nuts and berries
Which helped feed the hippies with whom I stay
It wasn't long after that I received the letter
Stating that art had a need for me
I've become known as The Andy Warhol of The Art World
With abstract ear wax being my specialty
Now I go to all the major "Who Does"
Where everybody knows my name
As I create masterpieces right before their eyes
Just don't hold it to close to the flame
Who would have ever thought that ear wax
Would be the perfect medium
To jet propel this Simpleton
To Art World stardom and beyond
May 10, 2013
May 10, 2013 at 8:25 AM UTC
the other night,
i had a dream;
usually,
i don’t remember
my dreams—
those unconscious
musings
of my mind—
but this night
was different;
maybe it had
something to do
with the fact
that i had fallen
in the shower
half an hour
before laying it
down on the
pillow...
...a trickle of
blood running
down my forehead,
transforming quite
alarmingly into
a babbling brook
consisting entirely
of chocolate milk;
my raft bobbed
up and down,
the demon who
haunts my nightmares
now clad in a
tuxedo—
a nice change
from the bright
pink trench coat
he usually wears...
...the demon’s
strong hands
propel the
craft forward
with a rather
Huckleberry Finn-like
affectation;
i turn my
attention from
my oldest friend
to the shore,
sparkling with
broken glass,
thumbtacks,
and mathematical
equations;
there,
i glimpse my classmates
doing burpees...
...suddenly,
a car crash
occurs;
the chocolate milk
becomes a very
narrow,
winding road,
the end of which
is obscured by
an angsty cloud
of disappointment;
the elevator
plummets horizontally toward
the 3rd sub-basement
of the shower;
my friend in
the tuxedo offers me
a steaming
cup of hot chocolate...
...which burned
my tongue,
causing me to cackle
wildly
and toss the
mug into the
abyss;
**** you cup!”
i scream,
utilizing my
full lung capacity
as i begin to
fall again,
down,
down,
down;
and then i was awake,
sweating, bleeding;
i may have a concussion...
Dec 13, 2018
Dec 13, 2018 at 3:37 PM UTC
a candy apple red heritage soft-tail classic
on a rusted dirt road
i am built of where i've been
the mango groves
the east and west coast
and every camp-ground in canada
this map is my home
let me tuck you into the folds
and sing you to sleep
some place sweet
where the air smells of earth and rain
don't let the concrete tame you
the road under foot is not measured by the steps necessary to travel it
but the way one migrates over the breaking soil
resting between where we are and where we'll be
when our dreams run free
and the tent's set in the pines
barefoot
running shoes
doc martens
thumb to the sky
pack on my back
black top under bridgestones
let us fly
let us soar
s'go
i'll take you with me
like my sleeping bag
and skinning knife
and canteen
be the water that i drink
fuel the fires that propel this engine
drive me to the end of the road
where one can only go by foot
and feather
and foolishness
let's disappear in the fog of the north
the mud of the east
the heat of the south
the haze of the west
let's find ourselves in the topography of folded bodies
tangled up in a flesh scented tent
Jan 1, 2013
Jan 1, 2013 at 1:53 PM UTC
I live at the bottom of a lake
I am a fish
There are gills in my ears
‘Cause there are things my blood needs to hear
I have fins in my mouth and they propel me so far
The only way to stop is to bite down real hard
Sometimes I miss the air, even though I’ve never breathed
I drive around the lake bottom in my little moving machine
I call it a Notcar
I try to find my way to the other side
It’s blue out there or maybe grey
I died at the bottom of a lake today
I ran all out of imaginary air
I fell asleep at the wheel of my Notcar
And drove right into a telephone Notpole
My friends all gathered round my little fish-shaped grave and I learned something
They don’t tell you in books or movies,
That Dead speaks a different language than Alive
So I couldn’t understand a word my fishy friends said
It sounded like this:
I’d always hoped my death would have some meaning
Or that at least my life would
But mostly I just tried to understand things
Like all the different rooms in my brain and why underwater never smelled like rain
I loved a few boy fish, had some very fishy affairs
I loved my friends the most, they were such pretty colors
(Dead sees colors differently than Alive, so now they look like this: )
The day I died was special like every other day which is to say
That it was not Notaverage
And I died in a pretty Notspecial way
And because I can’t hear Alivewords, or see Alivecolors
I’ll never be sure if I left any mark
I live at the bottom of a lake
Most days I think that I’m an alien
On Tuesdays I feel pretty human
The lake I live in died
It left behind little shells in the sand at the playground
And pretty rocks with ripples
It left rings on the mountains but not like rings inside trees
These rings mark a countdown to death, rather than a count out from birth
The lake is a ghost
It sings to me in my sleep, but I don’t speak Dead
At least not yet
And furthermore, I don’t speak lake
I speak a language called Notdeadnotlake
And so do all my friends
Sometimes I wonder why the ocean was so thirsty that it called my lake back home
And I wonder if I’m part of Something Bigger too,
Whether Something Bigger is feeling thirsty
I think I might be part of a big strange creature made out of all the things I sometimes feel like:
Lakesludge and matches and sunshine and fish with sharp little teeth
Notgoods and notbads and spiders and bats
Sadhappys and angryfucks
Starsparkles and earthworms and fairywings and dinosaur bones,
It has really big ears and stubby toes
And all it needs is some alien or Tuesdayhuman to feel complete
Or maybe it’s made of lakeghosts and fishghosts
And wants nothing to do with me
Jan 22, 2013
Jan 22, 2013 at 8:56 PM UTC
it doesn't matter
whether you're on the edge of seventeen filled to the brim with life,
or old and grey with eighty six years' worth of stories—
we have all been built by the same golden hands of time
and carved by the strength of memories.
a natural longing
for dreams and foresight
propel us to move forward
despite the storms of the heart or of life itself,
in all its ugly, glorious grandeur.
so take time to celebrate you:
your revolutions around the sun,
your tears,
all the pieces of your glass heart shattered on the floor,
your laughter, your words,
and all your golden days.
**you are,
and always will be.**
Jun 27, 2017
Jun 27, 2017 at 1:32 PM UTC
I have a habit
of hypnotizing myself
I like to put on my veil
a shroud of alteration
marry myself to the haze
again & again
I baptize everyday before I
light the world on fire
lose myself in the afterglow
live in the confusion
I love the girl who is
the sister of Leila, Ophelia, Astrid
o, Sweet Mother Mary
pray for me, stuck in melancholy
& losing ground
unity in Heaven's Rose
you are euphoria
mostly because I have
arranged my wills
to center & propel
those wills of yours
think for me
show me I can't live without you
can't
do for myself what you do for me
let's swim in the river
where I forget everything for a little while
enrapture me
all day every day all ways
May 29, 2013
May 29, 2013 at 4:57 PM UTC
i've never fit the standard
i've always been quite odd
and while i know that makes me different
i'm not necessarily flawed
because it's always for the wrong things
that the world tends to applaud
though i swear it's not intentional
i've never been conventional
my behaviors have no pattern
my colors have no scheme
when i'm asleep i'm thinking
and when i'm awake i dream
while the rest are all so silent
something inside me screams
i'm more than three-dimensional
i've never been conventional
you may find me confusing
you may not like me very well
that's something i understand
i'm a hot pink among pastels
still i think, no i believe
that eccentricities propel
the reason i'm ascensional is
i've never been conventional
Dec 11, 2016
Dec 11, 2016 at 8:43 PM UTC
--------------------
When red ran from the sand.
From the depths, rose a creature quite old.
Solemn and slow, not a care to be bold
It anchored itself, and gave no expression
The strength of its shell, shook in depressions
Tall extensions: its lifeblood, its protection.
Found scattered, on its shell, in cert’n sections.
The pride of Madagascar—the creature by name—
Are Rosewood and Ebony now mangled and maimed.
--------------------
When red ran from his hand.
Trees are felled, and the humans displace:
Lemurs are losing, they can’t find their space.
Hear the creature wail, its shell echoes with grief—
The sounds of its guests, find little relief.
For its pride is valued, and cut for a price
Hard decisions made—it is life’s device.
Wooden splinters bite back trading flesh to save flesh.
Living masses are caught in our culture’s great mesh.
---------------------
When red in hand and land.
Oceans to flood, new depths to behold
Our desires to fill, balk: “Don’t let them fold!”
She tires of our, meandering session;
Beating-out paths, to varied oppressions.
Laugh at the onslaught, of one great convection!
As humans propel, in that direction…
In all this, Gaia shrugs, naked-apes are to blame.
Fruiting, of hand and land, need-be one and the same!
---------------------
Jan 20, 2016
Jan 20, 2016 at 12:30 PM UTC
I want to take a dive in to your psyche
Tread past every memory and thought
Ride the tides of your emotions
And every tsunami you've ever sought
I want to take a deep breath and immerse,
Propel myself to your ocean floor
Where the darkness and the unknown
Has always existed but was never explored
Jun 3, 2015
Jun 3, 2015 at 3:38 AM UTC
Just the other day,
I would never have
thought that it
can be done.
Couldn't believe
that it is possible.
Never imagined I
would come out
victorious with my
dignity not messed up.
How can this be done
for the sake of posterity.
With enthusiasm we
can do wonders.
Positiveness is vital
to propel you
to the miraculous.
It can generate you
and powerfully send you
to a spiritual high.
Anyone who has
not experienced the
darkness will never
appreciate the light.
You will never know
the beauty of heaven
until you pass through
hell to overcome evil.
Enlightened mind is
a determined one and
can't be stopped by
the frivolous feelings
of the weak mind.
Uprightness must be
a priority in its dealing
with the worldly things.
Separated from the crowed,
he becomes more in tuned with
the divine and the fantastic.
Trusted with the fabulous,
the mind is tested for strength
of purpose to be fully accepted.
No weakness is tolerated
for the inner beauty of man is
made visible by the power
beyond the ordinary.
The innate power within man
is called forth at a time such as this.
©2018,Emeka Mokeme. All Rights Reserved.
Jul 22, 2018
Jul 22, 2018 at 2:28 PM UTC
your skin creates peace inside me
creating wrinkles in time
i find myself constantly longing to feel you close
for us to create friction between gravity
our inertia to propel us into voids of pleasure
nothing between us is what i desire
but when you deny me
black holes devour me
crushing my guts into pulp
bleeding me with your rejection
i blend till i am nothing from what i began
May 6, 2021
May 6, 2021 at 10:07 PM UTC
"Swing is the mythical moment in rowing. When the energy an oarsman puts into the boat seems to perfectly propel the hull forward, when the crew moves in unison and the boat slides over the water, when the output seems to generate more energy and a grueling pace seems infinitely sustainable, a boat and the rowers aboard feel "swing."
Swing is trust. Trust that you can do your own and the boat will fly because of everyone. The moment of swing is the moment seared into the memory; a moment to be relived in recollection."
Swing I know.
Swing is when my
living words
fall and flow so fast,
they complain, to me,
Keep up, Keep up!
We are in unison in a moment,
forever sustainable, forever lived,
and forever relived,
a myth created,
a recollection
collected and preserved,
singing:
Swing low, sweet poet,
Comin' for to carry us home;
Swing low, sweet poet,
Comin' for to carry us home.
Jan 4, 2014
Jan 4, 2014 at 12:33 AM UTC
What drives a man to achieve his goals? Motivation of course!
The enthusiastic mindset that if you work hard, you'll achieve.
The unhindered perspective that compels you to think about the end goal and ignore the hardships that attempt to impede your progress towards greatness.
The idea that putting your best foot forward will gain the admiration of a metaphorical Hermes who will then grant you his winged sandals to propel you above the rest of your peers and out of your unsatisfactory situation.
What drives a man to succeed in his ventures? Motivation of course!
A burst of energy that says "I can do it if I believe I can." despite limitations on your strength or your intelligence or your character.
An aura that surrounds you and invigorates your humors, enticing your senses as well as giving you a mask that hides your unsure demeanor.
It's a revelation, that motivation, which enlightens the soul and frees the body from the chains that marked the end of it's abilities.
What drives a man to accomplish milestones for himself? Perhaps it manifests itself in something other than motivation.
It could be the desire to find acceptance, to be wanted, to get that simple thumbs up that sends a message that needs not be spoken. "You did well."
Possibly it would be the wish, the simple wish that a man will have done something worth remembering in the brief existence that he has, something he can look back on and think to himself, "I didn't do half-bad on that, did I?"
Teetering on the self-existential reflecting concepts, it could just be that man wishes to find fulfillment by filling his daily activities with anything. And that the greater the activity, the laborious hours put into completion, here man finds solace in putting meaning into his day to day living. Thus we find that goals are merely tick marks, road signs on the long drive from life's start to inevitable death.
This, this is all motivation. Anything that places reins over a man's mind and hits the spur against his brain, in hopes that this will help him move forward and do what he believes is necessary to do.
Motivation is to place one's self in this self-deprecating position as to be a slave to ambition in order to be satisfied with one's life. And to think that motivation is a blessing that leads to self-improvement.
Motivation is truly the mind's greatest illusion.
Jul 29, 2014
Jul 29, 2014 at 10:11 PM UTC