"prostration" poems
Tea Talk (or Taking Tea)
Jam comes first
And then the cream
Said the scone from Cornwall
To one ‘n’ all
Taking tea
Milk jug blinked.
The teaspoon gasped,
Who would have linked
The layers of bliss that sweetly kiss
With their order between the halves of a scone
From Cornwall
Where one ‘n’ all
Know that the milk is churned
Until it’s solid
Then we say the cream is clotted.
The teapot looked at the scone from Devon
Who knows that cream and jam is heaven
But only if the cream comes first
And then the jam . . . . .
My thoughts exactly said the ham
From between its sandwich fingers
Where it lingers
Until it’s time for tea.
‘Are you sure?’ the teacup said
To ham within its breaden bed.
Saucer asked the cucumber salad,
‘Should jam come first?’
‘But does it matter?’ said cucumber salad.
‘It’s a ballad
So red and white,
A symphony of taste
Into which to bite.
It is so right
For those who are taking tea,’
‘Jam then cream, is what you do,’
Insisted Cornwall’s scone who
As we know likes cream to be clotted.
But tomato blushed and quickly said,
‘With cream from Devon I am besotted
Because we know it’s clotted. . . . .
Too.
Onion, hearing Cornwall and Devon
Knows that cream and jam are heaven . . . . .
But jam and cream are bliss
Sealed with a kiss that is heaven . . . . .too.
The dilemma of order fuels onion’s frustration
And onion’s tears lead to prostration
For those who are taking tea.
What is to be done
To solve the question of order
Jam first . . . . . or cream?
The issue borders
On the ridiculous
As the layers sweetly intermingle
Like the lovers’ kiss
As those who are taking tea
Bite . . . . .
Ouch! said onion
The scone from Cornwall
And the scone from Devon
‘Either way is heaven.
David Applin
Copyright …David Applin (2015)
May 9, 2015
May 9, 2015 at 7:13 AM UTC
Ahh-he-che'em ack-ahem. Sorry, let me clear my throat.
One day I set out galavanting, looking for a high.
I meandered to the ocean shore and set a lively stride.
My eyes were wet, my heart was light as I looked out at the splendor,
About that time I heard a rumble, a sudden yearning for a chicken tender.
I galloped to an eatery in hopes of a hearty meal,
But had a measly handful of coins, so I opted for a deal.
The only place I found tat would accept my sum of coins
For anything sufficient enough to satisfy my *****
Was a gritty place called Taco Bell, but it was my only choice.
The cashier was a voluptuous dame and my trousers became quite moist.
She said to me, "what will you have?", in a shockingly low-pitched voice.
I was taken aback for a moment, but stuttered, "a number six, I think".
"Comin' right up honey", he or she said with a wink.
I just smiled shyly and went to go fill up my drink.
My food was finally ready, but I was a bit wary,
I could't tell what was in my taco - squirrel, beef or canary.
My hunger pushed me through my fear and I finally took a bite,
Although skeptical at first, my taste buds did delight!
I had finally finished with my meal and was satisfied and full,
But down below my abdomen I felt a mighty pull.
I had no time I knew at once and dashed to find relief.
The single men's room was in sight, but who should be a thief?!
The cashier with the arousing bosoms had stolen my salvation...
As I stood there in that Taco Bell I felt a curious sensation.
When normally I could have held it, a complete bowel prostration.
While the **** was pouring out like a broken sink,
My mind started to wander and I couldn't help but think,
*If the women's room is out of order, I wonder which she/he has,
A set of both, a meat-locker or a **** and nads?*
Nov 4, 2014
Nov 4, 2014 at 4:35 PM UTC
Evening! fearful face turns red,
you set in the west, awed!
With reverence and respect
you prostrate before Almighty God.
Whole night you travel
a fixed course beyond my ken
so that with God's permission
from east you can rise again.
This has been going on
and go on till the time ordained
then your route will be changed,
from prostration you'll be refrained.
People will be surprised
to see you rising from west that day.
Door of repentance will be closed,
very very near will be Doomsday.
Dec 7, 2014
Dec 7, 2014 at 10:37 AM UTC
On rare occasions, I still pray
When it’s dark, I slip in one more prayer or two
I stand facing the qibla, saying God is great
I bow before the one and only, glory be to God, the Most Great
I stand back up, to God belongs all praise
The ablution cleanses me, the prostration humbles me
Glory be to God, the Most High
I wish for peace and mercy upon the angels on my shoulders
When I am done, I understand why people are believers
Because there are no angels on our shoulders in real life
The rest of the world is there in their stead, weighing us down
As if we are Atlas, cursed to carry for eternity
But the Lord is our shining beacon of hope who can absolve us
Of course people are believers, why wouldn’t they be?
Are faith and devotion not a small price to pay for reassurance?
For peace of mind?
On rare occasions, I still try to convince myself
When it’s dark, I slip away to find that light again
Jul 5, 2021
Jul 5, 2021 at 4:43 AM UTC
Have you seen how perfectly
Aligned is every single thing
From the way you sigh
To the way you blink
And how the clouds move
To let the grounds drink
When you feel alone-
Then you hear your heart beat
Or how a single prostration
Could lead you
back to Him
Jan 4, 2015
Jan 4, 2015 at 7:37 AM UTC
She was not like most people, she got caught somewhere in between reality while swallowing substances as a form of psychiatry.
She had found herself always stumbling accross her own art you see, even amongst her own world she was lost and misplaced her galaxy's key.
She was never exactly listening while breathing in your level of dimension you see, her thoughts wandered much too far off the edge of her galaxy's sea.
This place she ended up was consumed by madness, darkness, and imagination. She was always shaking on the floor fighting the feelings of prostration.
This woman lived inside of her head you know, all these things she could not explain somehow made her grow.
She fought against her own world, how was she supposed to stay sane when the reality around her was swirled?
She tried her best by hiding behind the moon and sprinkling her world with fairy dust, still she found herself screaming at the stars to please shake off the feeling of lust.
She was cursed with a heart that never ceased to love, voices whispered in the skies of her own galaxy and laughed at her from above.
She refused to waste her time believing in actuality, for she was too busy seducing starlight with her sensual sexuality.
Her unpredictable personality was either devilish or angelic, she was lost while chasing dragons in this world of hers oh so psychedelic.
You would never dare to walk deeper into her thoughts of fantasy and lucid dreaming, your naive infinity could have never established any meaning.
You were unimpressed by her actions and resented her always reckless, around the witch's neck laid her luck inside a necklace.
She remained in her own nonsense believing mysteries indeed mystical, in the end these mysteries meaning nothing less than egotistical.
You never saw beyond the facts of your own perspective, little did you know
from her's she was fighting villians just to keep her nature protected.
May 15, 2019
May 15, 2019 at 8:26 PM UTC
Dreams of working with little objects,
but my fingers are grotesquely fat,
bloated with self worth.
Such frustration,
as the small metal ambiguity falls,
again
between my clutches to clang helplessly on the whitewash table below.
A growing discomfort that is oddly angled and
it’s hard to look away lest someone end up mangled.
Filled with the certainty of a dying man,
I race against the biological clock.
These clichés are sticking to me and
your black thoughts are wicking,
can't you see?
This task is meaningless,
teeming in seemingly endless trysts of error and visitation.
Your mask is bleeding from this,
streaming and adorned in nameless anger,
your own manifested creation.
So I stare with unyielding disquiet at your unhindered disdain,
and make elastic confessions of comparable pain.
May 13, 2010
May 13, 2010 at 12:03 AM UTC
Lie in prostration, child,
When life bereaves you
Of all truth, all inspiration
All light, all the ways.
For they'll find you,
They'll come to you,
Bathed in glory,
Unreal beauty and grace,
Twin guardian angels,
Soft, tender glow
On perfectly sculpted face
Capped with sparkling halo.
All you'll need to do then,
Is to rise, lift your arms,
And you'll feel your pain
Start to slowly dissipate,
As you'll cup your weak,
Trembling palms, to
*Reach out and touch Hope,
Reach out and touch Faith.*
Mar 29, 2013
Mar 29, 2013 at 11:22 AM UTC
I’d just finished my fall-term exams. I felt at once both played-out and relieved.
Ever felt like just falling over? Didn’t I deserve that small treat after what I’d achieved?
No doubt our floor was ***** but dust, in blonde hair, isn’t easily perceived.
I was lying, relaxed, on the cool common room floor in sedate prostration
when my boyfriend arrived. He was eager for some post-exam reunification
but I lacked the energy for synergy, the motivation for combination
or even flirtation. Which left him grumbling with male frustration.
He suggested, “Why don’t we go out for some libation?”
Oh, what a smooth-talker - that’s practically a direct quotation.
“Oh, sure,” I said, “ply me with ***** and into temptation!”
Side stepping that, he proclaimed, “It’s time to celebrate and the start of vacation!”
I held up my hands and he pulled me upright, “Ok.” I said in resigned assignation.
A shower and change of clothes soon had me refreshed and reanimated.
How sad I’d have been to miss the end of term conversations imbued by holiday decorations
and I offer this to you, my small, winter, college-based narration.
In the hope that you’ll be inspired, even if you’re tired, to celebrate your own holiday occasions.
Happy Holidays Everyone!
Dec 21, 2022
Dec 21, 2022 at 10:18 PM UTC
Like cotton puffs of white the clouds float by on cyan skies,
the lamb fur hassock of the angels praying in the skies.
Their occupancy hidden but for subtle clues for eyes,
a shadow in the cloud reveals an angel in the skies.
Their bows are permanent, their heads fall once but do not rise,
the stillness of the clouds betray the angels in the skies.
Their motionless prostration is their very best disguise,
creating doubt upon the earth of angels in the skies.
What of the consciousness of those in tombs we all surmise
have fled to scenes beyond the eyes among the clouds of skies?
Where are the shadows of their seats? Despite our many tries,
we see none in their names we find cloud-written in the skies.
I call to those who've left too soon, their names among my cries.
Their answers whisper in the hiss of rain from cloudy skies.
(C)2013, Christos Rigakos
Apr 1, 2013
Apr 1, 2013 at 6:36 PM UTC
I am a Leaving Cert student this year.
My life's work rides on this set of exams
So they say...
Currently, I'm trying to get my history notes on the Eucharistic Congress
(I've an essay due)
They're on the floor
And I can't get them
My fingers are being ******
And my chair can't go any further
I need to get them
So I can do the essay
So I can study.
So I can get out of this... hole!
But I can't get them
I need to ask for help
My father will sigh, get up and ask in a weary voice
'Anything else?'
He stops short of prostration
(Like Alexander ordered)
It kills me.
But what can I do?
Everywhere there are obstacles
Stuff in the way
And I can't reach my books
I can't do anything
Everywhere is stuff
mountains of mountains
of Stuff.
An immutable, immovable foe
That blocks the table
I wish to study.
I wish to do well
But I drown in Stuff
It suffocates me and leaves
No room for anything
My brother took less subjects
And studied so in school
He didn't care as much
Did not see his luxury
It pains me that I have the know-how
But cannot coerce the Congress from the floor .
It pains me so much
To feel that little Johnny never studies in the fresh, open, air,
And my desire to do so in my hole that is abyss
Sep 13, 2015
Sep 13, 2015 at 12:06 PM UTC
Still, I sip nicotine clouds;
this calls for calming calculation.
I wave my scythe, slashing though shrouds.
Still I sip nicotine clouds.
Hardly buzzed, I flick at fish flies.
She gladly drifts through prostration.
Still…I sip nicotine clouds
that call for calming calculation.
Waiting depths to rock me closer,
barely breathing surface air.
I’m death’s beautiful composer,
waiting depths to rock me closer.
Mom said, “No one would choose her.”
I’m infected, why should I care?
Wait for depths to rock me closer,
barely breathing surface air.
Oct 2, 2016
Oct 2, 2016 at 6:00 AM UTC
I was drowning.
I was suffocating.
I was trapped.
After he died, I lost all hope.
I lost all strength.
I lost every care I had ever developed.
I had gained weakness.
I had gained prostration.
I had inhaled and swallowed
way too many substances to destroy my
emotional and mental pain.
For some time,
I avoided the torment.
You would have never guessed I was
suffering inside.
Then one day,
I got too high on what was supposed to
make my feelings disappear,
and I started feeling
everything at once.
I was overwhelmed,
I was controlled,
I was drowning,
I was suffocating,
I was trapped.
5 hours of endless tears,
and a shaking body.
I was gripping my sheets
in the most non-pleasurable way possible.
I was staring at his picture on my phone
the entire time as I was reaching out for him, but
could no longer feel his touch.
The toll his absence had on me
was immense.
I could no longer control
any type of feeling I possibly
could have had,
and that was my fault for trying to numb all the pain.
It was the reason he got taken away from me,
fault.
Now instead of trying to get rid of the pain
for however much amount of time
in an unhealthy way,
I try to avoid it naturally.
Even a natural, healthy way will never help stop feeling.
I have to deal with the unbearable amount of pain,
and that's just the way it is.
Mar 31, 2018
Mar 31, 2018 at 8:36 PM UTC
Hello bae
Here I am within the walls of my room with my thoughts starring at the past in comparison with who I am today with that person I was before meeting you. Today I feel happy because I notice at each and every instance the importance you represent to me,you light up my world not only just with your presence but with your radiant smile,a smile so graceful like nothing seen in this world,a healing smile that can caress even the most hurting of hearts,My heart beats a song of untold story,a drum like the rhythm of sweet sensation as bliss can only be justified in the pleasantness of your joy,the moon in prostration to your elegance for you set the bars and measure for perfection,your beauty forever etched into the orifice of my mind,a beauty that would cause even the world to tremble,my head is filled with the thought of you cos you've graced the galleries and template that walled every inch of my heart,you are gorgeous and adorable capable of making me realize how good it is to feel loved,how good it is your presence makes me grow and transform into a better person capable of turning dreams into reality.
My dear my life without you would lack meaning,without you,I would be nothing but a wandering errant searching for my path that could lead me to happiness's door,in your absence my heart beats faster than it ever would,as both my mind and heart miss you more than they possibly could but with you around by my side,everything feels just right. I feel that all this love and care that I share here with you goes both ways and it fills our hearts with peace and joy,gazing endlessly into your deep yet sweet eyes,I realize the tender and pure light that pours from your heart and soul. I shall never let this feeling that joins us perish. Never by any chance let us drift away from love's true path built on complicity and affection.
Should this ever reach you my love, know it is not just a letter from my heart but a letter written with every fiber of true and sincere love echoing beneath the core of my heart....I love you my jewel of inestimable and immeasurable value and I can go any length in the whole world to prove that.
Yours lovely
Your Sugar lover
Mar 2, 2016
Mar 2, 2016 at 3:37 PM UTC
A cloudburst blesses the other side of Panola Mountain at two a.m. . I caught a glimpse of lighting , the clap of thunder shot straight down Highway 155 ..One farmer awarded with life giving water while another
man's hard work slowly dies ..
Storm cooled air should benefit a body in need of rest , Heats prostration knows no boundaries in 'Dog Days' , thoughts travel wild , supplications that lie unanswered in midnight sweat ..
Jan 26, 2016
Jan 26, 2016 at 7:12 PM UTC
my perceptual imbalance regardless of talents spread out over a
chronological lifetime
gives an obfuscated vision of a murky aberration unfocused on
all but the aperture
overwhelming blind ambition especially when wrapped up in
raiment of religion
becomes translucent in the implications and applications as they
writhe into obligation
laid out in prostration in their zeal appealing to an ever evolving
version of Valhalla
even now we see demonstrations of new world rationalizations
mired in implications
Machiavellian machinations as we seem to suddenly find need
of insentient insensate
willing partisan participants who believe participating in sacred
rights annihilations
in total disregard of patently salacious overbearing lying denying
terrorizing abomination...
............A SAD SAD TRADE FOR WHAT WAS....
.. OUR GREAT....OBAMA nation.
Mar 25, 2017
Mar 25, 2017 at 5:11 PM UTC
Lockets
A Poem by Corset
...with half the heart locket
hanging empty
'round and 'round we go
we said maybe its a lesson
in futility
or maybe it helps us grow.
He says it's hard to be a hero
if it smacks of manipulation,
and all the stacks against it
was a back up in prostration
just convenience counting gears
*** smothered in validation,
well, the years might just prove
to have only been denied pride
but we all have to wonder why
we can't just fly to the other side.
Maybe we can't buy our wings
or strip them of the smell
maybe it hurts too much
like sacrifice or hell,
with half heart locket
hanging
'round and 'round we go
we said maybe its a lesson
in futility
or maybe it helps us grow.
well whatever makes you happy
or helps you to make escape,
these arms only reach so far
wrapped 'round all those mistakes.
Feb 25, 2016
Feb 25, 2016 at 7:16 PM UTC
As I stare into thoughts unknown,
Perchance for Millennia have these thoughts been hidden.
How many lives have been sacrificed for these lines that have been penned,
Wrought forth from the hands of women and men?
I ask myself as I stare deeper,
Will I open my soul & truly experience what is written inside?
Questions, answers, propositions, mathematical formulae,
Stamped on pages in prose, poetry and the notation of symphony,
When bound together between two covers, they are given life,
As they stand tall & proud upon spines of twine and glue.
So what are these books, where are they from, what do they do?
They are treasure troves of information,
Some may well be useless yet some do indeed cause perturbation,
due to their profundity, symmetry or, dare I say it?
Their deep ringing harmony, nay symphony with the truth of creation.
For deep within the belly of our souls writhes a beast with a limitless craving,
& her name is desire.
Silence her cries and take only that which you require,
Place the crown of creation into a state of physical and spiritual prostration,
Search out the knowledge so that you may acquire,
The epiphany of wisdom and the freedom from desire,
For in the end,
Despite what we might covet and admire,
Knowledge is rootless without sincerity,
And sincerity is fruitless without guidance.
Jun 15, 2016
Jun 15, 2016 at 8:55 PM UTC
Tried by
color, a
color stayed
its coloration...
the second
wind of
infinity's prostration...
here...decidedly
empurpled.
Nov 5, 2013
Nov 5, 2013 at 12:42 AM UTC
“Those pretty little stars,”
Their jagged tendrils blinding,
Etched patterns on the water writhing -
You can never see beside me,
Always will strain behind me.
I see all alone.
My spine warped from prostration
I will kneel, passive, before them.
I pray you won’t, callous, contour them -
You shouldn’t even try to look.
Their power straight through my soul shook
A hole. “Steady the boat.”
Nov 18, 2017
Nov 18, 2017 at 10:19 PM UTC
Make me great with your light
O Most Powerful God,
Keep your light shining on me
O Most Merciful God!
You stay in my entire life and death
O Most Gracious God,
My prostration is to you in full faith.
O Most Merciful God!
I don't want to go the wrong way
I wouldn't respond to others in a wrong way,
I just only want your mercy,
O Most Merciful God!
Please open the door of mercy
And forgive all of my sins
with your love and mercy
O Most Merciful God!
If I have done any little sin in the day
Turn me on the right path immediately.
O Most Merciful God,
Keep your mercy flowing to me, please!
May 14, 2020
May 14, 2020 at 2:46 PM UTC
TLACAELEL
The weeks since last we met found Hungry Prince
Of late locked in his tower, casting scrolls
Which chart the star-crossed charms of the occult.
And in the predawn darkness of his arts,
He broke through to a voice from the beyond
Which whispered that the throne of Mexico
Must soon come to be ruled by foreigners.
PRIEST OF TLALOC
And thus the emperor submits to trial,
And these, their wagers, are red herrings, then.
TLACAELEL
To spare us the demoralizing news.
The spirits’ hands will steer them to reveal
If this prognostication failed or not.
PRIEST OF TLALOC
The ***** in motion. Let the gods decide.
TLACAELEL
Motecuhzoma falls! The ball is down! The ball is down!
PRIEST OF TLALOC
Dust rises, and our lord is lost to view!
TLACAELEL
Three in a row! Were we left hanging, then,
For torturers to **** by small and small?
MOTECUHZOMA and HUNGRY PRINCE reappear.
MOTECUHZOMA [aside]
I’ve lost then, but the full significance
Of that word “lost” I’ve yet begun to know.
Gods need not lie, and here we have their words.
Well, let it come. [to Tlacaelel] Unseal the wagers, lord,
And read before these noble witnesses
The stakes we trusted to you at the serve.
TLACAELEL
First, the abortive fee for Hungry Prince:
King of Texcoco, had this victory
Been won by his imperial majesty,
And you had failed, your forfeiture had been . . .
[Opens the first wager.]
The loss of all your lands, your courts, your throne,
And all, for your opponent’s acquisition,
Decoronation to a common man,
And forced prostration to this gentleman.
HUNGRY PRINCE
A staggering ransom! I must thank the gods,
Not for their championing me, but truth.
Oct 13, 2016
Oct 13, 2016 at 4:14 PM UTC
I found freedom in prayer
Peace in prostration
And belonging in submission
As my head touched the floor
I found my heart at the mosque
And a lullaby in the recitation of supplications
I found hypocrisy in preachers
And piety in the poor
Sisters that lay in the shadows
To show me light when I fall
Brothers who are protective
But most of all respectful
I found a unity with strangers
A vision beyond this world
I wanted to see my reflection in
The rivers at the Gardens of Eden
I fell in love with manners
Smitten with worship
Prayer swept me off my feet
Where there is God there is no defeat
Aug 31, 2014
Aug 31, 2014 at 12:21 PM UTC