"rarefied" poems
What is it that causes me to smile
for no apparent reason?
To feel my heart occasionally skip a beat?
To be so much happier than I used to be?
To sing when there is no music?
To regard tomorrow with such promise?
To feel so **** young again?
Like a kid still in High School.
Outwardly to those that know me,
There is no visible reason for all of this,
They might even begin to question my sanity,
Just a little bit.
Only you and I know the reasons,
That Love is in the air,
This rarefied air we are both breathing and sharing.
Jan 21, 2014
Jan 21, 2014 at 2:49 PM UTC
Giraffes have their heads in the tops of trees, merrily munching
great big beautiful eyes and just the cutest faces, heads way up there in the clearest rarefied atmosphere
what a stretch that must have been for evolution, millions of prototypes,
and then the finished article, just as well we do not eat them, can't imagine eating a Giraffe burger with ketchup and fries.
Feb 22, 2016
Feb 22, 2016 at 6:02 AM UTC
There's a fire hose:
You drink it.
Well, you try to drink it.
You playfully examine it
For a few moments, then
You wrap your lips around the nozzle,
And pump up the pressure:
It blows you back
And pins you to a wall.
The spray stings your eyes,
But if it brings tears to them,
They are washed away by the flow,
Before you, or anyone else,
Can be sure they were there.
Your limbs ache,
You think that if only
You could rest them,
You could hold them stronger
But the time for rest rarely comes.
Some people, washed in despair
Or simply sanity, step out of the way
Never to look back and never to regret.
Some collapse or simply drown.
Others stand the force.
The mass of the waters accelerates,
But still they stand strong.
Wavering at times,
But never giving up.
And one day the flow slows
To a stream, to a trickle, to a drip
Then it stops.
You stand there:
Sudden and Sullen,
Dripping and Deflated,
Percolated, but Proud,
Wet, but Wise.
And you reach out,
Brass Rat rusted to your knuckle:
You grab a beaker and into it
You wring the waters of knowledge
From the clothes of your experience.
You take this drought and distill it.
You bottle it, you market it, or you give it away,
But, with luck, it takes the world by storm.
From the fire hose flow rises the rarefied results
Filtered through your hands,
Tested in your trials, Fortified in your failures,
Vivified in your victories.
You look back with mixed emotions:
Wondering if it was all really worth it.
Your prospective my grow,
It may never be clear,
But the fire hose flows on...
~D.B. Guy (March 6-12, 2010)
Nov 3, 2012
Nov 3, 2012 at 2:32 AM UTC
We're out at a bar splitting a good night of cheers
Drinks and laughter flowing among peers
Double shots dance around the table
Tonight's the moment, tomorrow's a fable
We garnish the laughter with Halloween
What's your costume, how do you swing
A chorus of "I'll dress up as a cowboy"
Is met by a few rolling eyes, "I'll address their convoy"
Not to be excluded is the gay guy in back that chimes in
And competes with the rolling eyes, cowboys are mine
Laughter of reveries spills faster than the drinks
A 80's song, When Doves Cry, continues to play over the links
A women crashes the party and exhorts the group
Come on guys put your wings on, fly the coup
Halloween's around the corner, make a splash, make waves
Find your muse with a costume that stands up, and raves
Look out to the horizon, the rarefied air, and trick for treats
Find my tunnel of love with a costume that beats
After a pause, a coy smile surface on rolling eye's lip
Oh Melville come with me, come with me, and take a dip
Double shots dance around the table
Logan Robertson
10/19/17
Oct 19, 2017
Oct 19, 2017 at 3:26 PM UTC
Lips, soft as petals, rarefied as undiscovered
Wild orchids.
Hair, threads of gold gathered, woven, mined
From secret caves.
Eyes, that fell from violet skies landing on new
Isles of azure.
Skin, so salmon flecked, subtle, delicate, solas,
Destination.
Your body is buried cask and gilded keeper
Of jewels and flame, whispers, searing cold,
Blue fires untamed—
Lush, fertile wanderings, colourful birds, sweeping
Moon, pools of sorrows and light, trees branching,
Pleasures keen, crushing delights without name.
Nov 28, 2012
Nov 28, 2012 at 9:24 PM UTC
how my balloon became addicted to helium is a cautionary in a coal mine
choking on fumes, next to the garden hose, all snakes and power-lines
entangled in the turbulence of absolute calm , a rarefied catastrophe
an asterix, just to the right
of the meaningless word
you would say
to me.
how my balloon became addicted to helium is a lost tomb.
teensy- weensy bones are polished
very close to microphones.
i would have to be the nothingness,
just for the night
[ followed by the longest day with you. ]
jimmy the lock
and fish out the quills;
we'll write a new desolation in cuneiform and iron will -
throw out your kinsmen
if they be discontinuous...
to shave a few hours off
time wasted
delirious.
Oct 17, 2012
Oct 17, 2012 at 2:06 PM UTC
The cruciferous prophet sticks in my teeth-
I think I'd rather have a tidbit, of thief;
All covered, of course, in a vinegar sauce
With just a light dusting, of the true cross.
Some rarefied spleen, set sideboard,
With red vintage wine; A.D. thirty-four
Frankincense and Myrrh, baked in aspic;
And saved for last, Shroud Flambe: digestif.
Mar 8, 2010
Mar 8, 2010 at 6:17 AM UTC
The Siren song
Sung by the Sea
Sounded so much
Sweeter
Before the boy
Was born.
Truth be told,
I was born that day as well.
We shared our first breaths.
Delicate and enduring atmosphere.
Sweetest, most overlooked element:
OXYGEN
Awoken our lungs
And spread life out
Through our
Fingers,
Toes,
Tears.
(His were louder,
Mine were longer)
We shared more than
rarefied air that day;
Excitement.
Confusion.
Love.
Fear.
Before I knew it
My Scorched sailor’s skin
Sought sanctuary
In
Landlocked love.
You see
The inconvenient, unfortunate, and unavoidable
Fact of humans is,
They like to eat.
And warmth is also nice.
Diapers.
And Kathy next door just got this great icebox and she says she doesn't know how she lived
without it and that in the long run it will actually save her money, what with buying in bulk and not
going to the store so often and leftovers.
So there’s that too.
So I work
Willingly, willfully
With wetness
On Back,
But not behind ears.
And my captain is a good captain,
A true captain.
Our pay is always waiting when and where promised.
Pennies are not pinched when providing rations.
He gave me this job out of the goodness of neighborhood.
But he has no child.
No wife.
Little reason to head to port,
And less to linger long.
I see my boy’s chestnut eyes in my dreams
And they act like the cruelest potion,
Which, when sipped
Leaves the drinker with only more thirst.
But there are dollars here,
And, what other skills do I have?
And, bellies are full.
I try not to complain.
Tonight,
I want the fireplace,
Roaring.
Our boy smiling, laughing
His cheeks having played chameleon
With the scarlet of our flag.
His mother;
Her eyes,
Outshining her hair,
Outshining the sun,
Scroll between our boy and the page,
As she reads his favorite book of tales.
He doesn't understand a word,
But I do.
We share an unnumbered smile.
He likes the pictures.
My mouth has tasted of salt for
64
Long
Days.
The ocean gives,
And the ocean takes away.
Jan 13, 2014
Jan 13, 2014 at 4:23 PM UTC
I am a certified expert in the sequential pushing of buttons,
this pushing performed, on a good day, in concert with the
expensively purchased, somewhat rare mental model of
the workings of a recently commonplace variety of machine
dependent at its core on the minuscule presence of increasingly-rare
earth metals allowing for the conditional flow of groups of electrons.
These machines, like their precursors, are further dependent on
the supply of slightly less increasingly rare combustible material
for which armed conflicts are routinely fought and many have died.
My interest in the machines began at an early age,
enticed by the illusion of control, and on the whole,
I think, motivated by the idea that these machines
processing information, the core mechanism of reality,
might be used to create understanding.
In the interceding years, it is increasingly apparent to me
that while some are used for this purpose, most,
like most things around me, are controlled and engaged by
multi-personed organisms concerned primarily with:
1) self-preservation AND
2) the collection of, and limited divestment of,
unit notions of rarefied value, insured by the
existence of another similar organism valued for its
1) self- and nearby-environs preservation AND
2) recent track record of insuring continued relatively easy access
to the aforementioned important combustible materials.
—it is generally considered to people's credit that this notion
of value is thus-derived and no longer as frequently derived by virtue
of possessing a metal which, while of certain non-combustible use,
is basically just pretty rare and really, really shiny.
I find myself again shortly in a need of convincing such an organism
that my button pushing is of sufficient quality,
on sufficiently frequent good days,
that it should consider me a temporary part thereof and divest,
of itself to me, sufficient units of value that I might happily
continue to push buttons on its behalf in the pursuit of further units.
I am, for some reason, somewhat less than thrilled with this prospect
finding it, despite its marketability, a maybe less than important enterprise.
I am existentially concerned by the idea that my whole value may derive
from my button pushing, and is thus further dependent on
the availability of rare-earth metal and also-rare combustibles.
In some delusion of importance amongst 7 billion plus similar primates
and a unfathomably vast universe,
I thought you might be interested to know
Jan 21, 2014
Jan 21, 2014 at 4:56 PM UTC
Lips, soft as petals, rarefied as undiscovered
Wild orchids.
Hair, threads of gold gathered, woven, mined
From secret caves.
Eyes, that fell from violet skies landing on new
Isles of azure.
Skin, so salmon flecked, subtle, delicate, solas,
Destination.
Your body is buried cask and gilded keeper
Of jewels and flame, whispers, searing cold,
Blue fires untamed—
Lush, fertile wanderings, colourful birds, sweeping
Moon, pools of sorrows and light, trees branching,
Pleasures keen, crushing delights without name.
Jul 17, 2013
Jul 17, 2013 at 11:59 AM UTC
*En route to your heart,
I strayed in to,
the lush garden of your youth,
full of unsullied flowers,
kissed only by mischievous sun.
No man can even, think
of turning his back to this
veritable feast for senses;
it transmitted a vibe resonating,
perfectly with my psyche.
The heady fragrance emanating
from varieties of flowers did speak
of magical pleasures unexplored
I did eagerly heed,
was it by pure chance
or were there plans to allure me in,
I don't even want to know,
it suits well to my desires.
Amorous droning of inebriated bees
rang in my ears,
making me giddy.
Spring time it was
in your budding new garden,
being a pretender
who elicits the best effect
you smartly feigned ignorance
of my presence,
(As you expected, I suppose)
I lost my way and ended up
in the spirited night we shared between us,
harvesting wild fruits with a verve
we had never known before,
pleasures of many seasons
were there in store, I was astonished,
a consummate seductress you were.
a she wolf, under a sheep's skin.
but kind amorita, most adroit.
Could I ever blame you
an iridescent creature, exquisite
oh! the candor that marks your surrender!
Scent of flowers wafting on the wind,
created the effect of rarefied air
my lungs are full to the brim
with your feminine spices.
Does this happy transgression
to your secret scented garden
make me a fallen angel,
or am I a slave of your whims
entrapped for the rest of our lives?
Either way your wile wins
a knight in shining armor or
bereft of it, and naked, for your sake
I willingly submit before
the light that shines in you,
I'd make your garden mine.*
Jan 8, 2014
Jan 8, 2014 at 6:44 AM UTC
****** Finds Her Love
as the rising heat rose,
prickling horse pose
a young jockey is born
among saddle of thorns
she sees his harden well
up close it looks swell
looking both in the eye
will he teach her on the fly
his widening eyes yearn
of nature's lesson she'll learn
one must trot before she runs
labor of love before the fun
she pets and explores his tap
and he sings and fiddles her gap
a plumb beautifully glows
yearning love for the rainbow
she takes his bridle slowly in
crawling like with a grin
on wings of sage she flies
higher, higher as she cries
kiss me through the night
as her widening lips incite
a fire rages the rarefied air
a trotter shaking the pair
to the moon and stars she goes
her first orbit coming to a close
down to earth with a pop and splash
their wedding night's dance a smash
LR-5/7/17
May 7, 2017
May 7, 2017 at 9:34 PM UTC
Fly away
Believe in your wings
Take into confidence
The winds
Help your soar higher
Bird’s-eye view
Clearer perspective
Higher altitudes
Rarefied air
Do more with less
Now you can fly
Wings give hope
With winds by you
Perch higher
On the highest cliffs
Edge of the world
Never seemed so beautiful
Ready for adventure
It all starts here
Feb 15, 2015
Feb 15, 2015 at 1:12 PM UTC
I set a paper rocket flyin', and it hurtled into space
breaking off gravity - all the way to Mars orbity!
Now everyone's surprised, coz a mere paper rag
flew up high and reached that rarefied lile where
only the costliest of junkets lounge leisurely by.
They said you're stupid, you got a paper twit to beg
and you've wampered even that away: how dares
a hungry haggard send missives down the skies?
I stand staring, starry eyed. This is an old squint,
that I got learning to look the other way as
my brothers starved and pottered on the streets
when cotton and coal funneled to Manchester leets.
But last heard, papa John's makin' paper boats
to swim by them snooty stars and there's a scramble
at my yards to get some ******* to the Moon.
Nov 11, 2014
Nov 11, 2014 at 12:41 PM UTC
Lips, soft as petals, rarefied as undiscovered
Wild orchids.
Hair, threads of gold gathered, woven, mined
From secret caves.
Eyes, that fell from violet skies landing on new
Isles of azure.
Skin, so salmon flecked, subtle, delicate, solas,
Destination.
Your body is buried cask and gilded keeper
Of jewels and flame, whispers, searing cold,
Blue fires untamed—
Lush, fertile wanderings, colourful birds, sweeping
Moon, pools of sorrows and light, trees branching,
Pleasures keen, crushing delights without name.
Jul 26, 2014
Jul 26, 2014 at 2:07 PM UTC
The clock smiled at us
as if it knew we were lost.
Unable to see the path, we continued along
on the wrong side of the ones and zeroes.
Tired of our aimless float;
fumbling along in the vacuums of our ignorance.
With all kinds of navigational aids to chart our journey
we mostly relied upon the compass tattooed over our hearts
While lost in the chasm of our indecision
our bodies and minds listed.
Our attempts to unpack the endless
parcels of our unrest ... proved futile.
So carefully, we re-learned the ABCs
and re-interpreted the Western Canon, finding
that it was only by closing our eyes
that we were able to see; were able to feel.
However, the rhythm was off
which was immaterial as
our feathers were ruffled and
the rhetoric was pluming.
With the overture of the new day dawning
we turned our back
on the algorithms of our demise
and shucked off self-imposed limitations.
You see, it was thirty seconds to midnight and
the world that never seemed to want us
needed us now.
So like anemic royalty, we took flight
breathing down rarefied air and
gulping the nuances of our resilience to swallow:
our intergenerational trauma
one more time.
Jul 28, 2020
Jul 28, 2020 at 8:09 PM UTC
Our empty syncopation's are patiently ambushed
By restless margins of undeclared territory;
Shivering cymbals, entraining cloistered memories,
A nimbus inclining toward unredeemable quarries:
Refrains unimagined, of star-tipped dawns
Upon certain days of ritual, unbelievably worn.
Breathing dragons of fire-squandering meridians
Pour round water upon semblance's drowned emotion;
Cleave then to me, who cleaves to the last vestige
Of rarefied air, breathed by bellows-smothered centuries
When your foot trod the newly opened ****** earth,
And your hand hinged loves diagonal, even unto death.
Jul 11, 2010
Jul 11, 2010 at 12:15 PM UTC
Fuji, Rainier, now to Africa’s pinnacle
she followed, behind a parade of sycophants
marching, single file behind his greatness
few made ascents with him
she only Fuji, on a windless day
though others made the trek up Rainer,
surviving a blizzard that hit halfway
down
she told her lover
his faithful must have thought his presence
imbued them with immortality
which he seemed to possess
maybe it did, the lover said
seven decades and one, still *******
old mountains and young women
and she was still there, despite
the doctors’ bleak sentence
she was painting, moving
while she still could, a water color
of Rainier in mist, hanging in some
haunted hall in his home
now a pale pastel of Kilimanjaro
for which he would spend a fortune, to hang
somewhere he would not spend a minute
when her extended contract expired
she would be ashes scattered in Big Sur
and he would still be climbing higher
breathing heaven’s ether, a color
she never captured
but her signature
would be on overpriced art
which from the start, he commissioned
to keep her from leaving without
having seen rarefied air
Nov 16, 2015
Nov 16, 2015 at 10:49 AM UTC
"It is a postulate implicit in all metaphysical poetry that nothing is ineffable, that the most rarefied feeling can be exact and exactly expressed. If you cease to be able to express feelings, you cease to be able to have them, and sensibility is replaced by sentiment, in the end by the vague expression of the vague, and poetry degenerates into a diversity of noises."
Mar 31, 2010
Mar 31, 2010 at 3:29 AM UTC
We sit in tightly crafted boxes by day
forcing our feral souls to be still.
When we leave our daytime offices
for larger, comfier coffins,
the same spirit we once stifled
rips off its chains of productivity
in favor of a rarefied air full of possibility.
As we soar without any pretension of advancement
we forget that other life that appears with an overly punctual sun.
Through no fault of their own, we fault these day to day doldrums
through bleary red eyes while the true culprit of freedom
waits amongst the thermals until the night breaths anew.
Jul 13, 2013
Jul 13, 2013 at 7:39 PM UTC
the planets will align
every once in awhile
to arraign all who need
or are deserving of it
those who find themselves
treading the wrong path
those who can no longer
see what lies ahead
despite all those
gazing upwards
silently questioning
these immaterial messages
will be overlooked
unheeded by the majority
only recognised by the few
comprehended by even fewer
this singular occurrence
rare and rarefied
may be explainable
in its most basic sense
logistically
empirically
to even the layman
it is but a simple matter
of timings and orbits
calculations of gravity
versus mass and inertia
but that which truly matters
the universal push and pull
will leave even
the most discerning of minds
in the dark
Oct 31, 2023
Oct 31, 2023 at 3:25 PM UTC
Concrete walls
Solid foundations
High-rises
Rarefied air
Epic elevations
Cornered lives
Distant views
Modern amenities
Unaware neighbors
Plush condominiums
Soft beds
Weary eyes
Deprived of sleep
Lonely hearts
Sleeping pills
Soothes nerves
No dreams
Only hallucinations
Constant fear
Of going down
Alien grounds
Will reclaim
May 19, 2015
May 19, 2015 at 9:54 AM UTC
Rainbow
The colors speak and reveal red means you’re mad or hot or it could mean you’re a cool hot which everyone wants to achieve
Yellow means you’re mellow in some cases fear beats out courage and they call you coward that’s when mellow helps
Green with envy most unattractive but if your green references money then you’re loaded and envy switches to others
Blue you’re depressed you are moody if it causes you to beat the bad feelings then your blessed and can help someone else
Orange you got the juice or you’re a fruit or your characteristic of the pleasant ending of a day ending in dying beauty
Purple the skies greatest hue next to the azure blue the greatest canvass viewed and admired by all mankind freely
They say black isn’t a color but necessary to create a rainbow sets it off enriches deepens makes it stand out immeasurably
White again not a color represents day brightness purity the heart of a rainbow told on this backdrop exquisite power generates
A spiritual rain bow made of red hot fervor galvanized flesh and spirit in perfect harmony only one had it all others reflect it
Green without experience raw available receptive to the filling spiritual purity the essence of a holy life truly lived completely filled
Blue spiritual skies take flight to others invite these rarefied climes sadly empty of the very ones who need it most they neglect
Yellow marvel wonder speak and know God up close and personnel softest steps in holy reverence and awe you enthrall one and all
Purple ancient days it represented fabulous wealth this crest this winner’s wreath your soul now is made to wear forever
Orange speak with soft undertone your words glow no need to shout the landscape enriched the soul enlarged widest measure told
White should the darkest night break yes now that true light is found all that is unholy is expelled only evil cursed darkness dwells
Black the smoke ascends he said never by water he made a vow with a bow it is true with fire destruction the end will consume
Jan 1, 2012
Jan 1, 2012 at 8:35 PM UTC
Lips, soft as petals, rarefied as undiscovered
Wild orchids.
Hair, threads of gold gathered, woven, mined
From secret caves.
Eyes, that fell from violet skies landing on new
Isles of azure.
Skin, so salmon flecked, subtle, delicate, solas,
Destination.
Your body is buried cask and gilded keeper
Of jewels and flame, whispers, searing cold,
Blue fires untamed—
Lush, fertile wanderings, colourful birds, sweeping
Moon, pools of sorrows and light, trees branching,
Pleasures keen, crushing delights without name.
Aug 14, 2012
Aug 14, 2012 at 3:26 PM UTC
I hoped to become an eagle
soaring above amber waves of grain
seeking perch in rarefied air
a red-tailed hawk,
or even a garden warbler
would have sufficed
instead I metamorphosed
into a mosquito and found myself
skulking on a fine lady's arm
I could only hope
she wouldn't swat me
before I drank my red full
and took flight into dusk
or returned
to my pitiable simian self,
lice laced and homeless, hunkering
in a cold corner, wishing
I could fly
Feb 22, 2016
Feb 22, 2016 at 8:50 PM UTC