"purview" poems
The pierced ego sees
through an opaque lens;
a vestige of hope,
humor and
intellectual solidarity.
Effigies of forgotten ethos,
the culmination of a
fated dream;
unrequited ardor, abandons
identity to an irreducible
fervor,
subtext of tension,
enduring ****** privation;
etude of a paramour
ending torture,
tasting mystical polarity.
The wounded heart
once intruded,
bleeds effusive;
the ornament of humility.
Flattened collateral
damage,
primal search,
proves illusive;
portals of hurt, slivers
of pride,
assembled fragments of
thereness
absorb the loss
of my English muse.
Poetry and devotion
punctuated murmurs
of piety,
depth perception
virtue unfound;
expectation - access
to suffering;
disinterested love
present,
desultory carnage
of rescission,
absurdity personified;
euphemism
of adieu,
the sound of no sound.
The discarded image
finds no favor,
the salt lost it's savor
unquenched thirst;
desire of
diminished purview,
the saporus stream
deferred;
vision eclipsed;
saturated self
hidden in the text.
Poverty asks the
question,
absence summons
ethereal substance
merged into
the immanent frame;
integrating,
in solitude signifying,
mediating - logos
contested
the humiliation of
the word.
Lyrical enigma,
where did I go?
provisional
personality
scorned,
renouncing nostrums
of the prosaic,
surrenders to the
the realm interior
sovereignty
assumed in
provenience,
native
horizon of the next.
©2008 & 2011 W.S. Warner
Sep 3, 2011
Sep 3, 2011 at 6:11 PM UTC
Frozen moments,
embraced,
visions of
luminous things,
unpretentious
pearls dancing;
embers of memory linger,
elegy of the lachrymose,
this horizoning self
lying low in saturnine
tranquility
and repose – paternity lost
to the provisional.
The cross of lassitude,
forming
scars of loss;
estrangement,
preface to
ineluctable autonomy.
Earthen treasure - immortal
footprints, the migration
of fair maidens across my
effusive heart.
Venus trio in bloom,
aesthetic allusion,
ephemeral incarnations
of beauty - perishable fruit,
transcending the plebeian.
Aerial substance-
the hermeneutic,
betraying desire’s
ambrosial tyranny;
The permuted passage -
savor the sojourn, submit
to the fated peregrination.
Purple orchids blossom,
immortal creatures,
culminating
in perfection
from the sheath
respectively,
each plume,
singular,
the continuum of
splendor, mediate
the inviolable.
Eternity compounding,
time and essence suffuse
the already and not yet
into an
orbiting mosaic.
The susurrant devotions
of a satellite father,
summon the quest -
both, and,
absence and proximity,
conduits of
distress and peace
ironically,
solace and
terror
traverse the
same path.
Plunge though,
deep, the depth of pain;
deeper, sweeter
the taste of pleasure.
Engender and witness,
window into
preeminence,
surface azure,
the sacred -
inimitable gravity of
grandeur,
ma petite,
you - are
lived poetry
seen and heard;
cosmic order,
a mediating heuristic -
to love is to see,
in the dismal,
gift of distance.
child of delight,
evermore, Don’t I hold you?
Beauty and strangeness,
music found
in linear,
secret places
beyond the tangent,
purview of limitation,
arousing imagination -
infinititude as near
as it is far.
Long loneliness -
dissonance that
resolves;
perceiving,
the tertiary refrain -
as exquisite verse,
and matchless liqueur,
sublime gratuity
derived
through
doors of surrender.
Daughter,
in adoration and wonder,
I hold you.
Jan 19, 2012
Jan 19, 2012 at 5:25 PM UTC
Some may consider you a pagan god
But you are the most handsome lord
You are blue in colour
And are invincible in valour
You reared the cattle
But led a pierce battle
You are the darling of shepherd women
And you are undoubtedly supra human
You play the flute with divine melody
No poet can extol your musical prosody
You are a thief of butter
No one can describe you better
Like Jesus you were born in a cattle shed
Your divine word the whole world spread
You are most romantic and highly philosophic
You are beyond the purview of any religious critic
Feb 16, 2011
Feb 16, 2011 at 6:45 AM UTC
For You- Butch my friend from Philippines ocean away to Cali U.S.A
FRIENDSHIP is like Red Rose in my Garden.
It is not the sum -total on how many it BLOOMED
but unfathomable beneath the ROOTS thriving & Sprouting.
Purview as Emoting little some Some,
little Bored,
little Depleted
little sad, or yielding to the Inevitable!
Languish to anguish perhaps from lack of vitamin 'ME"..Ahah!
Thereby stayed in touch, in Tuned
following the thread with ME.
My Friend so close yet Afar.
Truly Extraordinary,
wonderfully Smiling
and adamantly Affirms:
"You are D apple of my Eye!"
Every time WE see eye to eye in social networking called Facebook
Through Cyber Space
The abounding witty comments of "OMG's," "Ohhs "and 'AAhhs"
makes everyone amused with Awe of such silly antics we so accorded!
A blessing, a gift from God.
So unusual Diamonds so Alike
a rare atypical like it!
..so Uncommon
Not Phony friends out there to deceive & Decry..
Succumb unlikely in Waterloo!
But You definitely a Diamond to my passion!
As girl's BFF, a Buddy or a Sweet chum or Dude!
Not a Foe but Pal Forever.
And just to let You Know , my Friend,
You are like a Diamond so brilliant
Found like a rare gemstone from a dust
who is never be a mere coincidence to bring JOY & Delight
to the norm & Conform.
So for now.. priceless friend like You..is for me to treasure the friendship between Us.
Thank you, my Friend,
I will always be here & there for You as a Friend in Deed!
Aug 7, 2011
Aug 7, 2011 at 11:57 PM UTC
She's lost in wilds unexplored
Far from dreamers' shining lands
In misty moors where even Sleep
Lets fall his useless magic sands
There is no rest for mortals here
For fools who play where Faeries tread
On Faerie roads, in Faerie lands
The world is turned upon its head
Her stride is sure, yet she is not
Perception is the Faeries' game
Sending visions, glamours, ghosts
Illusions wailing out her name
A fearful girl along the roads
Will bargain for most anything
And here, the threshold of Lost Hope
Is purview of the Raven King
The Raven King! The Raven King!
She fell in wonder at the sight
As castles grew before her eyes
And wild dark turned blinding bright
He led her to the winding halls
She rushed down cobbles Faeries tread
She gulped the dizzying Faerie wine
And took the proffered Faerie bread
They swept her up in swirling dance
For frenzied days, she whirled along
In drunken time, she stumbled to
The beat of Faerie's wild song
And, wilder still, her heart would drum
Excited in the glittered haze
As Fae lay stardust in her eyes
And drew her with their feral gaze
But wait--why did her weary bones
Resist the Fae's beguiling thrall?
Even as her mind was pulled to
Pirouette the Endless Ball
Dissonance--a spell had snapped
She scrabbled at the gilded walls
"Is this to be my cage?" she called
Across the King's ethereal halls
She couldn't sleep; she couldn't rest
Paced and fretted, cried aloud
But she had bargained, drunk the wine
And for the Raven King now bowed
"You made the bargain, mortal girl
You said the words and you were bound
You called out for the Raven King
When you were lost on Faerie ground."
She'd never known the ancient laws
The tricky ways of binding rites
The way the Fae could draw you in
With silvered tongue and phantom sights
The Faeries laughed; the Faeries danced
They brought her back under their spell
She didn't fight--their dazzling daze
Was better than a living hell
So there she stays, a wayward girl
Heartsick, lost, and trapped in Fae
A fearful girl along the roads
Who bargained her whole life away
Sep 14, 2022
Sep 14, 2022 at 12:08 PM UTC
Love has an embargo against me.
Forsaken, forgotten, forlorn--
My heart breaks for the sound of a lover’s sigh;
For the solemn pounding of a treasured heartbeat next to mine.
I'll never find sublime perfection
In the face of another;
The arcane whispers and smiles
Shared by soulmates are barred from my purview.
The divinity of a caress escapes me,
The sacred secret of a kiss refused me.
Love denies itself to me.
I stand alone,
Waiting for seafoam to tickle my toes.
Waiting for a love that will never be known.
May 18, 2014
May 18, 2014 at 11:37 PM UTC
**The Marginal Difference
Tween Child And Adult**
awake Sunday stuff to do...
another unit of life decapsulated,
where one will compromise
with all those lofty
make believe dreamy would-be goals
that course thru the brain,
when sleepy morphs into
the to do list at the premier of today's
wacky wakey consciousness movie
and a poem forms on lips
that have not yet been
coffee'd
into adult responsibility
the list purview'd,
and you purvey,
foresee, attending,
bend back that pointer finger
looking right at ya guiltily
one and enough,
believe getting that one done,
will be
satisfyingly crossed off that
grownup
groaning
tatooed list
of the unavoidable
one will make the
marginal difference....
tween child and adult
Mar 15, 2015
Mar 15, 2015 at 8:58 AM UTC
Spoilt wind driven veronica , castigated in blistering Summer swelter . Blue lace in harried July repose , a thundershowers grace upon a parched , grateful basin .
Streams collect on the valley floor , seeking their terminus ..
The clap of thunder addresses the meadow , seemingly forever into the darkened landscape ...
Tree frogs proclaim their appreciation , field crickets and cicadas sing familiar ballads ..
A shy Moon reoccupies its rightful purview , wood ducks return to their evening quarters .. Sleep well Mourning Dove , rest in peace Appalachian hillside ..
Jan 22, 2016
Jan 22, 2016 at 11:03 PM UTC
Every true crime documentary resides in me.
Binge used to be tied to drinking. The language, I think,
is evolving, and I walk the black part of town at
night on a double dare from a lady poet whose
lexical purview lies somewhere between her
**** and the moon. I'm a beacon of fairness,
fair trade coffee stains my teeth, my lenin pants
imported from Bali are ethically made, and I speak
in a respectable and thoughtful half whisper
like the women of the QVC.
I return to the loft free of gunshot wounds
and love my lady poet thin and love my lady poet
tall and she says confusion is the only sustainable
state of being and I say I can agree with that and
she says she's been thinking about transitioning
and I say into more responsibility at work? and she
says haha no. Into a man.
And three weeks later I watch her read a poem
entitled "Traffic My **** Transgender *** to Heaven,"
she goes home with one, two, three Sylvia Plath lookalikes,
and I get swabbed at the doctors and I get prescribed
a moderate dose of Effexor and I speak in high school
Spanish to my office crush — she's from Venezuela, I think.
Power. Control. Stockings, I tell her, I have a thing for stockings
and pink cotton socks. One more drink and I'll hit my
groove. Chill. Power. Control. Put on that soul song I like.
Didn't I do it, baby?
Jul 5, 2016
Jul 5, 2016 at 4:17 PM UTC
Sitting around the patchy tree stumps at Sagar’s Cafeteria,
Campus was not solitaria*.
Listening to songs saved on our tiny phones, decade ago,
We devoured the sound of silence and the fields of athenrye
Together.
We lit mary jane and made merry singing along to ***** Gun
in broad daylight without the purview of uni cam puns.
Who cared if it was just a five-minute break from Hemangadutta
Or Sheeba’s hungry call for relief,
we made it seem wakeable in the dewy morns.
Sagar’s had the tastiest samosa, chicken puff
and Tiger biscuits so cheap we could fudge it in the lassi whuff.
Days and months went by hovering around Sagar than classes.
We never saved pennies, we spent bills on choora
from our pocket monies for bura.
May 11, 2019
May 11, 2019 at 1:38 AM UTC
He was a simple man of simple words,
or high-school girl with broken heart who thought
they had a message, or a call, or not.
Arriving with a sense of the absurd,
a bittersweet purview on life and love,
together with a gift for nuanced phrase,
appreciating how the language plays
upon the mind and tongue, they rise above
the well-worn similes, the tired cliches
for days, perhaps for weeks. Then comes the time
when human ugliness shows up to flay
the budding poet. The evidence of crimes
committed: smoky circles, nameless gray
reminders of whose gifts they took away.
Oct 26, 2015
Oct 26, 2015 at 12:45 PM UTC
Annette, she was a Worthingham
And Karen, she was a Lee,
But both of them were adopted
In the war, in ’43.
They pulled them out of a rubbled house
But their folks, they couldn’t save,
And so they grew as the sisters two
With the common name, Palgrave.
As sisters, they were like chalk and cheese
Though the neighbours didn’t know,
They said that one was the milkman’s
And the other, Lord Mulrow’s.
For Annette, she was a saucy ****
Was the wilder of the two,
While Karen, she had a stately mien
With a haughty, grand purview.
They fought like cats through their teenage years
Would curse and swear, conspire,
Annette destroyed Karen’s underwear
While Karen burned hers in the fire.
The mother was pale, and frail and ill
When she asked them both to go,
‘I don’t have to keep you anymore,
I adopted you both, you know!’
The news hit home like a thunderbolt,
They looked in each other’s eyes,
‘You mean, we’re not really sisters, Hell!’
It came as a great surprise.
Karen went to her room to brood
Annette was flooded with tears,
‘Why weren’t we told, it seems so cold,
We should have known that for years.’
So Annette got a cold water flat
While Karen lived on the Square,
Then Annette got herself pregnant, but
Nobody seemed to care.
The boyfriend didn’t appear one day
And she knew that he was gone,
She drifted into a deep despair
As time went travelling on.
She got so big that she couldn’t cope
And she thought to take her life,
And then there came a knock at the door
Just as she raised the knife.
She groaned and whispered to go away
As she lay flat out on the cot,
‘It’s Karen here, it’s your sister, dear,
I’m the only one you’ve got!’
She’d brought a parcel of food with her
And a daffodil layette,
‘I couldn’t choose between pink or blue,
Not knowing it’s gender yet.’
They hugged each other and burst in tears
For a love they hadn’t shown,
While caught in an unknown falsehood, but
Their sisterhood had grown.
David Lewis Paget
Oct 13, 2014
Oct 13, 2014 at 5:18 AM UTC
I am.
I am fish and brick and sun and moon and sky and earth and river and forest and thunder and storm and silence.
I am light and dark and blood and sand and sinew and mud and bone and fear and loathing.
I am ambition and broken trust and betrayal and broken promises.
I am triumph and failure and love and loss.
I am the summer breeze and the arctic blizzard, I am the waves crashing upon the shore and the sunlight warming the lizards on the rocks.
I am the stars that shine in the night sky and the nebulae being born past the purview of your eyes.
I am the vast nothingness of space and the infinitesmal denseness of singularity.
I am the space between heartbeats and the silence between words.
I am the oneness of all things, the internal nirvana, the consciousness of the universe and its fleshy manifestation.
I am good.
I am evil.
I am god.
I am me.
I am you.
I am we.
I am.
Apr 13, 2013
Apr 13, 2013 at 2:55 PM UTC
I often find myself being Governed by Idiots of moderate Intelligence,
Not Governed, necessarily, in any Political sense;
Governed or Controlled by someone in a position of Power:
Whether within a Company or a Bureaucratic hierarchy; or a Job Description (An"Expert" or "Executor" );
Or someone with physical superiority or gender qualification.
Whatever, whenever, however --> Some people abuse their Authority over others.
Some in Authority have worked hard and diligently to reach their positions -->
My hat off to them: Good Luck and Congratulations;
You obviously deserve the Privileges attached to the Responsibilities.
I have no qualm with such Authorities,
Providing they don't abuse the Social Trust (too much...).
However, there are many People invested with a modicum
Of Authority that so Deceives them;
These People are self-conceited delusionists,
Ever eager to swagger and boast and abuse Their given Trust -->
A modicum of Authority with a modicum of Intelligence
Is tantamount to disaster for someone else.
Unfortunately, that someone is often vulnerable to the Abuse;
Someone given to being Victimised,
Either by Age or Gender or Sexuality;
Or by physical weakness or Belief or Conviction;
Or by circumstance or timing or just plain Bad Luck.
I'll accept most Trivial abuses of Authority -->
Good Luck to them, providing it doesn't impact Me and Mine too greatly.
However, there are those instances of abused Authority
That can destroy People's lives, either directly,
Or attempt to destroy or damage People's Lives,
For No Good Reason, other than They can.
These Abusers of Authority **** ME OFF no end
And They Must Be Stopped, Weeded Out and Put in Their Place.
They have no Consideration for Others
And the damage done can last a Lifetime.
Enough --> F**k You, ******** Pull Your Head In Before You Lose It!
Too often the Abuser is absolved of Responsibility;
Too often They hide behind a smoke-screen of Legitimacy;
Too often These Idiots Abuse because They can get away with it -->
They wear the Uniform;
They have a purview for Order or Peace or Protection.
Don't get Me wrong -
In the Heat of the Moment, Things Happen, Good or Bad,
And Mistakes are Lessons learnt the Hard Way;
Accept Your Responsibility along with your Authority;
Front up and give a True Account
According to the Facts and Your Decision(s) for Action;
Accept that SomeThings are as They are - UnReasonable as They may Be.
Don't Abuse Your Authority!
TRUST ME --> YOU'LL REGRET IT!
Mar 8, 2014
Mar 8, 2014 at 4:10 AM UTC
Echoing inside
empty buildings bolted with
fall-ed trees, hollowed stones, were reverberating
hand pats. Clapping will go
on.
Mourning cries,
tears won’t echo as well; rather, staring
hand, clasping
shriveled hand
shaking and bouncing
off wooden panels,
fake storefronts.
Acts
incited
feigned appreciation;
palms crashing, esophagi grumbling,
bodies jostling
for view.
As a species, we watched our own performance.
There, bursts from imagined forces
generated sounds, echoing
an otherwise empty darkness--
a yet empty darkness--
through purview.
Voices and people:
gone.
Objects, unacknowledged.
Thoughts, acted on.
Contained by walls
illuminating anything there was
with echoes from voices
and fingers, flapping on impact,
hitting corridor materials.
Below trap doors, no surprises are
waiting.
Everything that could have been said
is permeating,
blissful
nothingness.
Sep 27, 2012
Sep 27, 2012 at 12:32 AM UTC
Ordinary day, lonesome happening
Quiet as can be, here I sit
In this uneasy office chair, daydreaming
Of what can be, pretending to be
What all I really am, Imagination set aside
Desire catches my eye, Endearment blessing me
On terms anyone could really conceive
What is in a thought, a process which can be deepened
A simple second can change anyone’s life
Whether it be for the better or the worst
Life is what we make of it, use of the proper tool
A lesson to be taught or learnt
Determination of one pure decision
Decisive declaration over biorhythms of allotment
Chronologically prepared to make right
Stepping one foot in front of the other
Tend the watchful eye as it shows you
A golden path through the toughest resolution
Building brick by brick along pastures of purview
Now come to your senses, strike a pose
Propound on this glorious insight
A betterment for which you will carry on forth
Entering the approachable endeavor of life’s greatest mystery
Setting sight upon goals to live by
Be free to understand the lesser of evils
As your mind yearns for enrichment
That of which comes from the power of virtue
Apr 6, 2010
Apr 6, 2010 at 11:25 AM UTC
I am e and I don’t like p
p really disgusts me
and makes me go eeeeee!
p is a stalker and purposely tries to get close to me -
see what I mean?
I try to keep p at a distance
but I don’t always succeed
look
I want to get a fruit
and I reach for a pear
and see? - P comes to share!
He wants to make a pair with me!
Oh! I just hate p!
Try and get some peace
but that p instantaneously
casts a shadow over my peace,
as you can see...
I can’t even have fun -
I just want a peek - and p insists on being there;
and if I just take a peep - oh p
infuriates me
like barriers in front and at the back
I try an orange
hoping to get rid of p
but as soon as I start to peel -
oh! I hate it! p’s there, do you see?
I don’t mind s, or c or dear old d
but Oh this stalker p
I hate p
with all my life and energy
and even a hates p
for p thinks it’s good company in papa
when a just wants to be alone;
and worse, p is really crude and smells
and s and i think so too
cos p forces them altogether
and makes them ****
Oh I am e and I hate p
and the ABC Police tell me it’s not within their purview
could I speak with the Numbers Department?
and the Numbers Department says he’s too important
since he’s in pi
O what can me, we do with p?
I just hate p - he just makes me want to puke!
one of these days, I’m just going to *double *** on p!
Nov 27, 2011
Nov 27, 2011 at 4:15 PM UTC
a goose honks
an elephant trumpets
the giraffe makes nary a sound
you'd think they'd be the loudest
with long necks and pretty eyes ever so proud
the cats that purr
all covered in fur
could scratch out the eyes of dogs
whom bark and hound at night out loud
they seem to howl for nothing
but they have hearing beyond our words
conveying a relay of messages
outside the purview of our terms
the geese in flight
in the formation of V's
call out and change places
to increase endurance and speed
a collective migration
to God's beckon and heed
a calling forthwith to some territory to breed
sparrows ever chirping
battling over scraps
resemble little children
giving each other raps
a pecking order, it seems
within all life forms
an innate alpha- type dominating norms
and so it is
that we silly humans
aren't really that much different
than the cattle idly lowing
or the birds who seek a more suitable ambience
instincts commanding they seek nature's semblance
while we petty humans bicker and argue
about which direction to go
doubting our instincts regarding whether
to proceed somewhere near
or perchance someplace hither
Jan 26, 2014
Jan 26, 2014 at 1:25 AM UTC
The revolving doors of strife
are in opposition to peace;
unfulfilled desires of lust,
burning with envy and anger,
offers no one any release…
to those personal conflicts.
Wanting stuff with wrong purposes
for selfish pleasures of life,
will result in spiritual confusion-
more so than a three-ring circus.
Insecurities of deceitful hearts
can generate disastrous events,
with life spinning out of control;
His grace will teach us to overcome,
when we earnestly choose to repent.
Turn away from disloyalty towards God;
don’t speak evil of others around you.
Grace, the power of the Holy Spirit,
has the ability to teach us humility-
Remain in the Light of His purview.
Life remains chaotic, out of balance,
unless we defeat the evil tendencies
that are resident within human nature;
we can be more than conquerors when…
recognizing our inner dependencies
of needing God first and foremost.
We’re to be separate from the World;
He’s protective of us with His jealousy
with healthy hopes from Him alone,
as His precious boys and girls.
.
.
.
Author Notes
Loosely based on:
Jam 4; Psa 34:7; Jer 17:9
Learn more about me and my poetry at:
http://amzn.to/1ffo9YZ
By Joseph J. Breunig 3rd, © 2014, All rights reserved.
Nov 6, 2014
Nov 6, 2014 at 10:34 AM UTC
In a place where my dark insanity does crawl,
The voices I hear are having a brawl,
Whispers echo in the halls of the mind,
Twisting thoughts of a darkness of the purest kind.
Reality shattered, like broken pieces of glass,
In the endless maze, that my mind is at an impasse,
Illusions surround me in a macabre dance,
Mental illness has my mind in a trance.
Voices taunt, a never-ending noise of despair,
Pure madness reigns when im stuck in my mind’s lair,
Visions torment, shadows popping up, is a poison like cyanide,
In the labyrinth where only the demons’ rule & sanity has died.
Chains of delusion bind my soul,
I feel like a burden & I believe my hysteria takes a toll,
As my loved ones must bring me back from the rabbit-hole,
It torments me and anxiety eats away at my soul.
Fear grips tight in its icy clutch,
In the purview of the mind’s dark touch,
A slave to my thoughts where demonic voices play,
And shadows lurk around making sure they too get a say.
In the darkness where the madness that reigns supreme,
I am a soul adrift in an bleakness dream,
Lost in the abyss of insanity’s tight grasp,
I wait for day when my mind will collapse.
Mar 14, 2025
Mar 14, 2025 at 2:01 AM UTC
The Thew Of Phantasmagoria
<for Sanders Maurice Foulke III>
The Thew Of Phantasmagoria
the muscles of the brain, design bridges, author poems, obviously
the strongest force upon the Earth, whence & where the powerful
coiling of our mortal coexistence energies be stored & unleashed
muscles summon previous unknowns, establishing neural connectivity
between colliding galaxies, undiscovered planetary rings, using kinetics
to create a vocabulary for the express purpose of astounding creation
the modest only dare inquire of themselves in wondrous silence
how came this thematic landscape, new language, to escape my
optics, my ken, my viewfinder, purview, essential essence sensories?
the deniers claim magic lanterns, optical illusions, love, par example,
they ascertain, a chemical imbalance stimulates the sensorineural,
mocking those who believe the comet’s tail visible wags its orbital path
this poem abstruse, yet full of truths, a working man’s lunch pail
full of fine china chicanery, fooling those who observe only exteriors,
but we who live on bounded islands recognize safe passages available
when the thew of the phantasmagorical is debunked, acknowledging
that for something to be truly true, it must be agreed upon by two,
thus creating a language clarifying even if it’s punctuated by shadows
621pm 23-2-2020
IP lmn
Feb 23, 2020
Feb 23, 2020 at 6:29 PM UTC
Santa Claus is coming.
This isn’t a luck situation.
He knows things, like if you’re sleeping.
Which is kind of creepy if you think about it.
I suppose I’m an open book.
It’s an implacable reality.
oops, better rhyme something.. let’s see..
“Santa, that elf commanda
will bring you all a panda
fresh from the jungles of Uganda
straight to your verandah”
Whew.. art is hard work.
Leeza has a small aluminum-tinsel Christmas tree in her room with a new-age LED-star topper. It slowly prisms through the color spectrum, breaking down light, like modern jazz. Small things can still enchant, if you’re open.
I was sipping dark-chocolate coffee while Lisa rearranged the ornaments on the tree - again (as head-elf, the tree is her purview). She was humming to herself unconsciously as she worked, like a finch in a beautifully lit, evergreen garden. There was no real melody to it, it was just happiness.
Peter (my bf) is here, he arrived last night - we’re workshopping instant gratification.
Even if things have been tough - I hope you have a joyous holiday - that you chose it, like an option in an app. Nothing’s sweeter than the bruised joy of someone who’s known sorrow.
Merry Christmas Everyone!
Dec 24, 2023
Dec 24, 2023 at 8:22 AM UTC
We never forget the ones we loved
If the feeling was strong and true,
No matter what happened, the push and shove
That separates me from you,
And those who came after, who took your place
Will never extinguish the spark,
That sits in the memory’s starkest place
After making new love in the dark.
For an old love’s more than a pretty face,
It’s more than a bunch of sighs,
It’s more than a fragile cobweb’s grace
That recalls the look in your eyes,
It sits together with faded youth
We recall on our darkest nights,
The pain, obsession, the laughter too
As the mirror of memory lights.
The further down we push it away
It comes when we least expect,
Bustling in from our salad days
With a feeling of sad neglect,
How did it stutter and how did it fail
Is the question that meets our eyes,
And then we remember the truth of it,
Our false and our feeble lies.
Whatever possessed us to stray back then
We made up the perfect two,
But you would get angry with me, my love,
And I would get angry with you,
So our footsteps strayed and we lost the way
To find our way home again,
I’d be with girls that I didn’t know
And you’d be with other men.
But we’re still back there in the years that fled
And we’ll be together again,
When people talk of the life we led
In that time of way back when,
There are certain times in my history
That I see as a strange purview,
When I was entranced by your mystery,
And you were just simply you.
David Lewis Paget
Jan 30, 2015
Jan 30, 2015 at 9:02 AM UTC
Granted its slanted but my purview's pervasive
Third eye lens changed
perspectives rearrange
Engaging the plebeians
never dawn so little do
Get a grip and deal with it
I know its ****** up
Corrupt, unjust
Needs sussed
@~_~@
|
Sep 20, 2015
Sep 20, 2015 at 5:17 PM UTC
in oneness of hope
we go forth
to taste the last tear
to face the last fear
indeed to cup the ear
on the cusp
of eternity's scream
bound by our fealty to reason
brought on by the savage mad-seasons
where legions of treasonous lesions
straddle continuum's seam
well versed in the precepts of sorrow
immersed in regrets of tomorrow
ingest we the beating breast
and pick the chest-bone clean
in life as in death
we resound
RE-SOUND
reverberated requiems
RESTATE
reinvigorated impetuums
RELIVE
unadulterated invectives
REVEAL
unemancipated objectives
we mustn't recoil
we shan't recant
upon words aflight
our spirits alight
in oneness of hope
we write
Nov 7, 2017
Nov 7, 2017 at 4:23 PM UTC