"reappear" poems
It finally stopped raining,
after endless hours of trying to fall
into the deep rhythms of sleep.
But the rain just kept tapping on the windows
while the wind blew like the Big Bad Wolf,
those **** plastic window frames
groaning.
I lay flat on my back
while you were there by my side.
We watched as the stars slowly reappear into
the night sky,
the moon waxing.
We had our sweaters on
to keep the nasty cold bite out,
yet I was comfortable where I was,
the warmth between us enough.
Our bond, stronger than ever.
CRACK
went the lightning,
and I awoke with a startle.
The wind was heaving pellets of rain
to my window
as the frame bent and swayed
in response to the wind's force.
I got up to look outside
and I saw: nothing;
It was dark, empty,
and very cold
chilled to the bone.
*not again
is it really difficult
to want something that tastes so sweet
yet feels so painful*
Jul 22, 2015
Jul 22, 2015 at 2:41 PM UTC
some nights you will feel
like there are a thousand galaxies
exploding in every inch of you
and you are burning too bright
to ever be looked at directly,
and some nights you will feel
impossibly small, like your
whole body could slip through
the spaced between atoms and
never reappear in this world again,
and some nights you will feel
like a paper doll, carefully crafted
and easily blown away, fragile,
too delicate to ever be touched,
and some nights you will feel
like each cell in your body is
made of the strength that holds
the whole planet together,
and that is okay because you are
made of stardust and miniscule
atoms and breakable bones
and the building blocks of
everything in the universe,
and you are too alive to never
feel anything more than human
Jul 10, 2014
Jul 10, 2014 at 11:27 AM UTC
Lately
I don’t feel close
to poetry.
It feels elusive.
Unfamiliar.
Once it spoke to me.
But now it’s mute.
It sits back
and doesn’t look
at me.
If I call out
it doesn’t hear.
Lately poetry is
like that demon
I used to want
to reappear.
Jul 31, 2018
Jul 31, 2018 at 9:14 AM UTC
Do you remember how you stood there ?
When the sun had set and the afterglow started to fade, you stood proud, slightly upon the dusk, brilliantly, majestically yet so tiny,
You looked so lonely and helpless, as light faded into darkness,
Covering the world; a sweet blanket filled with many twinkling stars,
How impossible it seems to turn back, have you realized how you changed so drastically, my little sparkling friend over such little time?
Irrational the things hidden away by the night, no moon comes to rise
If you would realise, how this world really is, or the place you are being led, softly, gently, elegantly to stand would be like, what then ?
Have you changed because, you calmly, without having any knowledge fear the night and it's lingering, loitering darkness ?
The night is stained with illusions, keep your gaze up to the sky and follow another star, then surely you would be able to reach your goal,
When you engage in pure furies, the whereabouts of the heart remain undetermined, you just lose yourself within its wandering fragrance,
Because the world you had taken for granted collapsed into somber,
Collapsed into a dimmer more frightening state of undefined beauty,
Everything is far too late, impossible to return now, it has been decided that it maybe should have been so, a loitering darkness to be,
You are part of this world now, standing where you are don't you think that this sky, slumbering earth is as allure as nothing else ?
If it awakens your wish will become true and you will disappear by the sight of the daybreak, the sun takes over with her golden light,
The world you have forgotten will reappear then everything starts a new and maybe one day you too will understand, my dearest,
That the night is something very beautiful.
~ Umi
May 3, 2018
May 3, 2018 at 6:00 PM UTC
Mistah Kurtz—he dead.
A penny for the Old Guy
I
We are the hollow men
We are the stuffed men
Leaning together
Headpiece filled with straw. Alas!
Our dried voices, when
We whisper together
Are quiet and meaningless
As wind in dry grass
Or rats’ feet over broken glass
In our dry cellar
Shape without form, shade without colour,
Paralysed force, gesture without motion;
Those who have crossed
With direct eyes, to death’s other Kingdom
Remember us—if at all—not as lost
Violent souls, but only
As the hollow men
The stuffed men.
II
Eyes I dare not meet in dreams
In death’s dream kingdom
These do not appear:
There, the eyes are
Sunlight on a broken column
There, is a tree swinging
And voices are
In the wind’s singing
More distant and more solemn
Than a fading star.
Let me be no nearer
In death’s dream kingdom
Let me also wear
Such deliberate disguises
Rat’s coat, crowskin, crossed staves
In a field
Behaving as the wind behaves
No nearer—
Not that final meeting
In the twilight kingdom
III
This is the dead land
This is cactus land
Here the stone images
Are raised, here they receive
The supplication of a dead man’s hand
Under the twinkle of a fading star.
Is it like this
In death’s other kingdom
Waking alone
At the hour when we are
Trembling with tenderness
Lips that would kiss
Form prayers to broken stone.
IV
The eyes are not here
There are no eyes here
In this valley of dying stars
In this hollow valley
This broken jaw of our lost kingdoms
In this last of meeting places
We ***** together
And avoid speech
Gathered on this beach of the tumid river
Sightless, unless
The eyes reappear
As the perpetual star
Multifoliate rose
Of death’s twilight kingdom
The hope only
Of empty men.
V
Here we go round the prickly pear
Prickly pear prickly pear
Here we go round the prickly pear
At five o’clock in the morning.
Between the idea
And the reality
Between the motion
And the act
Falls the Shadow
For Thine is the Kingdom
Between the conception
And the creation
Between the emotion
And the response
Falls the Shadow
Life is very long
Between the desire
And the spasm
Between the potency
And the existence
Between the essence
And the descent
Falls the Shadow
For Thine is the Kingdom
For Thine is
Life is
For Thine is the
This is the way the world ends
This is the way the world ends
This is the way the world ends
Not with a bang but a whimper.
17.9k
J'étais fou de toi. J'ai été
I will never forget
the more I wanted (you)
the less I was.
If a dark night is for dancing -
will you come waltz with me?
from the top of a hill
she never heard
which way to down
and never felt
a connection underneath
a missing note
a deviate step
a vapor mist
our kisses never met
a hollow cavern
a hole forever closed
inside and out
like tar water run-off from a hopeless ash basin
an unending drizzle of forever ending dribble that fizzled ... out
help me dear earth
if you really want to be mine
blacken the soil and ink the green
in deeper ferns we reappear
as lava flows to shore.
Jan 10, 2016
Jan 10, 2016 at 1:41 AM UTC
I’m everything and nothing
For where do I belong
Everywhere and nowhere
Life feels like death
To me, and it seems
Death feels like life
If only I could disappear
Gone from this earth
And slowly reappear, in hopes of a rebirth
To free myself from this pain
In a world of no disdain
With pleasure and infinite gain
This fickle life of endless monotony
I yearn to be free from;
To be in a world of transient diversity.
This skin that I love and hate,
In its real and abstract fate
Was once brown, now black to date.
It seems the winners are losing
In a backwards upside down world
Where the losers are winning.
If I could turn back the hands of time,
I’d go back to the year zeros
In hopes of a restart and some new heroes.
To take everything from the every ones;
Some Robin Hood type ****
And give something to the no ones.
Jan 30, 2019
Jan 30, 2019 at 5:03 PM UTC
Thankful for hardships, thankful for strife;
Thankful for those who have come into my life:
to show me the good, and show me the bad
how to be happy, how to be sad;
Thankful for lessons that have made me stronger
For holding out hope when I thought I couldn't hold on any longer
Thankful for family and thankful for friends;
For knowing which ties to break and which fences to mend;
Grateful for failures and faults and misgivings
Thankful to know I am human and living
Thankful for lies which turn into truth;
Thankful to elders who remember their youth;
Thankful for times when I think I have nothing;
And thankful for realizing that nothing's still something
Thankful for memories, dreams, and things still unclear;
For things that retreat for a time and then reappear
Thankful for those who used to be here
And the ability to hold those folks who are still here_ near
Thankful for earth, oceans and heavens above
Thankful for knowing the meaning of love
Thankful to know when I've stolen the sky's blue
That I can turn around and give many more thanks just for You.
Mar 1, 2017
Mar 1, 2017 at 9:57 AM UTC
All these days
I thought I was fated
Challenged against my will
To gain the trust of strangers
Strangers who turn into friends
Friends who turn into lovers
Lovers who turn heartbroken
I don’t bow my head to their feet
I bow down way beneath
To offer this trust
In desperation to be trusted
With the impression that trust happens on the outside.
While I feed my soul to the world outside
While I feed myself an understanding
That strangers turn into friends,
I am blinded away from my world on the inside.
Those I always know are my own
Become more transparent than invisibility
Those I take for granted as my own,
Become the strangest of strangers.
While I chisel and chisel away
I shape strangers into friends
Friends into lovers
Until I carve a bit too deep into the stone
Realizing a little too late its fragility
Lovers turn broken hearted
And I fall
And there they appear all over again
My very own strangers
They reappear
With love
They disappear again
With strangeness
Yet only they appear again
And again
Godsend, these strangers are
They let me walk away from them
They let me befriend
They let me love
They let me hurt and get hurt
They let me fall
They watch me fall
Yet they appear,
Only to pick me up again
To hold me with grip
To be my crutch, my wheel and my horn
To be the strangers I first opened my eyes to
To be the strangers who showed me friendship
To be the strangers who taught me love
To be the strangers whose hearts are too strong to break
To be the strangers I call,
My family.
Nov 4, 2015
Nov 4, 2015 at 8:55 AM UTC
You were the perfect **** buddy
No talking, just *** and cuddling
A mutual agreement between our bodies
A few months and then end of story
Two years later you reappear
A new man, who talks and listens
with words of care
Wanting and searching for
something that just is not there.
I liked your tattoos, your height,
your eyes, your strength, and your hair.
But the love you're looking for was
never a part of our affair
Feb 11, 2014
Feb 11, 2014 at 4:53 AM UTC
An indifferent ache swirls in the silence
throbbing like a dancing candle flame;
no one understands the heart of silence
moving the darkness with its ancient dance
Its voice is only felt but never heard
the way it whispers the reality it bears;
disrobing the nakedness of a fragile heart
exposing inherent truth deep in disguise
retouching the chaos passing of love laid bare
Unspoken emotions that nobody hears
float around a muted tongue benumbed by fear
doubt is a bitter taste that knows not love
searching for a labyrinth to begin to wend a better way
trying to feel the unfelt warmth of love in an endless cold
waiting on a frozen emptiness that never thaws
No one understands the haunting fear,
... surly it couldn't happen again ― and surly it will,
a heart stifled silent, silence doth loudly peal
poignant dreaded words:
***"It's not you ― it's me ,.......
I love you but I'm not in love with you"***
and like winter dreaming for the sun to reappear,
to come back again and dry the memory of fallen tears,
a hushed heart falls off the earth lost in ether shadows lay
mooning in the lonely silence within moonlit dapple
When you pull love too close ― it will push you away
some silence heals ― a dissonant silence cuts to the bone
Only the lonely feel a silent voice sigh
Only one hears a silenced heart die ...
harlon rivers ... March 2018
Mar 22, 2018
Mar 22, 2018 at 3:00 PM UTC
*With our untold dreams
On the beach we've built a castle
To put in our sighs, our whims.
Then suddenly, you left the vessel,
To sail your way, offshore.
The walls, made stronger by my tears,
Can now resist the Ocean much more.
Though I have no fears
That, horse riding as a white knight,
As you vanished, you will reappear,
Sooner or later, maybe in the night,
Back to our sand castle,
my Dear.*
Jan 13, 2015
Jan 13, 2015 at 3:19 PM UTC
You take these brilliantly colored pills
to paint your soul
in a way that that can be done
with only the trigger of a gun
but the piano's song is not yet done
swaying with death
you're starting a game that plays in blood
your heart may flood, with the dance of a discontinuing thud
the ground is holding us all down
is it possible to be released from it?
or is the shot our way out from these ties.
when the piano play it's final note
you can't help but want to be numbed
it feels better but,
your angel won't tie your arm
they hide the beauty from you in the needles they keep from you
Fight it softly
make the holes reappear
make the lights reflect from the glimmering things you hear
leave now, let the gun take you out
to the beat of your life
you aren't living now.
Jul 3, 2014
Jul 3, 2014 at 4:38 AM UTC
Through the veil of the cool mist
my eyes met yours and made a tryst
a promise that our hearts will blend
and our love shall last till the end
over the hills you disappear
and in my dreams reappear
O my delicate snow white rose
ensconced in my poems and prose
O my delicate snow white rose
emanates from my heart a cadence
that resonates with your heavenly fragrance
All the barriers I shall break
My life I shall put on stake
Until I merge with you one day
To be with you forever I pray
From my life please don't vanish
let our love never diminish
petals of your love I shall always cherish
O my delicate snow white rose
Aug 7, 2014
Aug 7, 2014 at 6:01 AM UTC
"I have gotten from there to here"
Its a simple tautology, chant it
either/or an uncertain accomplishment.
From there to there to there until there became here.
This too is fairly obvious,
but still, it seems so strange,
how many times must you be reminded
that you are too ill-equipped
to string the sequence.
And what about those weak suspicions
that reappear from time to time,
the ones you are
quick to disregard
out of the fear that you may be a lunatic.
What if they were correct, what
if a moment were nothing more
than a brown package
of stimulus.
They came to you, one after the other
and you what could you do but follow
them, like crumbs in a trail that lead
you further away from home
and into this carnival.
Where people who sing lullabies out loud
carry pistols and globs of color
are merging in all
directions.
Wedged in between "there to here"
and "here to there", the laws of tenses
never made this much of a difference.
Babies know this all too well.
That's why they're the last
ones
we turn to for wisdom.
But should they ever decide
to permanently stop crying.
You'll know what they mean by their silence.
Nov 11, 2011
Nov 11, 2011 at 5:20 PM UTC
A poem should be read aloud
whether to one’s self or to a crowd
It’s meaning lies in being heard
and not the shape of every word
Lest it become calligraphy
hung on the wall for all to see
But poems seen do seldom touch
when compared to one read out as such
For intonation, pace and rhyme
are all heard within the poets mind
As pen commits the words to page
the actors banished from the stage
To reappear when words meet sound
and raise the poem from the ground
To sail on high with majesty
extolling sorrow, mirth or glee
Bring forth emotions penned in ink
and take the reader to the brink
To place you there midst poems tale
for to spectate means poets fail
So stand up son and stand up proud
whilst you read these lines out loud
Feel the smile upon your face
or seen on others your voice did grace
For had you kept this to yourself
might just as well have stayed on the shelf
But bringing voice to wiser words
allows its message to be heard
A message know by self or crowd
that poems should be read aloud
Oct 19, 2010
Oct 19, 2010 at 2:30 PM UTC
My friend came by the other day.
As a leaf in the wind he has blown
From street to street
Town to town.
A wanderer he may be
but not at heart.
He longs to be attached to a tree
Any tree.
In spring and summer the leaves are green
And
attached.
Summer slowly dries them out as the tree
Prepares for winter.
My friend, the dry brown leaf
Blows in his perpetual autumn.
We all grow in our own time and season:
Winter dormancy
Spring regeneration
Summer fulfillment
Fall preparing for the
Inevitable
season of death.
These seasons of the soul
Are the very essence of our existence.
They teach us
Temper us
Fulfill us.
But there are those who do not see
The purpose of the seasons.
To them winter means only
Cold
Snow
Desolation.
Spring means only
Rain
Mud
Flooding.
Summer means
Beauty to mock
The heart in winter.
I trust in the wisdom of the seasons.
Nature teaches us lessons in her cycles.
Let the l
e
a
f
fall to the ground.
Let it rot into cold
Stark
Winter
Desolation.
Spring will come.
Bleak gray will become bright colours
Of spring.
The beauty will fade again but will
Reappear in winter's own stark beauty
Though it may be cold and gray.
Then spring will come.
Spring will come!!!
Mar 17, 2017
Mar 17, 2017 at 10:56 PM UTC
ever
the disappearing man
habitually
vanishing
he stays disappeared
as this
be his will
he'll never appear
ever again
disappearing
is his lasting refrain
his disappearing act
doth aggravate
as he cares not
to be noted on the slate
he vanished
some two weeks ago
and since then
hasn't put in a show
should he decide to reappear
in the coming days
he'll be greeted
with a none too
congenial hooray
Nov 26, 2013
Nov 26, 2013 at 9:48 AM UTC
Another prophet who got his top knocked off,
this system’s toxic thought we’d found hope but lost it,
Nipsey Hussle shot down outside his clothing store Marathon,
live and die in LA grow up only to get shot down on Slauson in Compton,
and the irony is that he was taken out,
in the same neighborhood he had invested in,
from Proud2Pay to AfroTech Nip was a Community Activist,
in a system of force fed poisons he was medicine,
and maybe that’s why he was martyred,
just like MLK Tupac and Marley,
this is all real life in living color,
life’s not a Game but this is The Documentary,
every word true,
I mean do you,
think it’s just a coincidence,
that Nip was murdered when,
it was announced he was about to come out with a film,
about Dr. Sebi,
the herbalist,
who was also possibly murdered when,
he went public with claims of curing AIDS and other illnesses,
nothing random about this act of violence,
it makes so much sense when you think about it,
nothing senseless in the message,
I mean seriously think about it,
MLK shot on 4/4 at 39,
NIP shot on 3/31 at age 33,
why do the most violent things happen,
to the brothers that preach the most peace,
it all makes sense everything adds up,
but most will probably dismiss this just as another conspiracy,
I mean I guess it doesn’t matter ‘cause nothing will bring Cuz back,
RIP NIP Rest in Peace Nipsey another brother gone to young at 33,
and it’s all so eery it’s creepy,
all the above evidence plus,
“Having enemies is a blessing.”,
was his last tweet,
as the words of his last sound sit in my ears as they ring,
**** I wish my n!gga Fats was here,
how’d you die at 30 somethin’ after bangin’ all them years,
Grammy nominated in the sauna shedding tears,
all this money power fame and I can’t make you reappear.”…
RIP NIP
∆ LaLux ∆
LA 2019
Apr 1, 2019
Apr 1, 2019 at 7:27 PM UTC
Forgive me father for I have sinned, wait what's the part after that? Isn't it go ahead my child? I don't really know because religion has always felt like a relationship I just can't commit to, while others are on their knees begging for forgiveness I was on the white tiles while the only blood of Jesus I saw was my own. Forgive me-wait you see I'm suppose to say forgive me father but it's more like why did you forget me father ? You breathed the life into my mother's stomach and then like hoodini disappeared only to reappear when the sting from the cut had started to scab you ripped it off like the bandaid I had to leave on for so long because as a child all I wanted to do was heal. Honor thy mother and...thy father? Is that really the thing to do after barricading yourself into my arteries with the knife you chased mom with. Forgive me father I don't know what I've done but somehow being born was the sin that condemned me from ever feeling your love as a soft emotion but of something I must always beg for. Forgive me father I cannot seem to see things straight and for that you will surely disown me as if you owned me when you put your DNA into the mixing bowl to recreate your mistake that you so proudly claim on taxes. Forgive me father for I have sinned I wrote another poem again thinking someone would care to hear my voice, but they shot it down like the deer I am. Now I lay me down to sleep I pray--- who has my soul because they told me I lost it when I kissed her when I tied myself down and told them how to pronounce my name. Forgive me father for I have sinned? Just by putting on the female body I live in.
Dec 18, 2015
Dec 18, 2015 at 2:07 AM UTC
Just because they have disappeared
does not mean that
i'm clutter-free.
It's a cluster-free, a clusterfuck of ******* insanity.
My uncle left right after
my Grampa's funeral,
split like a chicken's *****
"he's in the airforce
or some other human-processing factory,"
Ma would say to me.
My aunt mable,
dipped out
dripped out two kids
then split
like a pillsbury biscuit.
My aunt pat's mom,
left Aunt pat on Aunt FLo's doorstep,
in the sole of her instep,
stepped out on a kid
and a husband
with a left shoe,
the right one
was left behind.
My pops
was forced out,
I saw him drag Ma
through the halls,
saw him whip her face in
with the brass-end
of a leather belt,
everybody's face was leathery
when the cops came in.
There is a litany of disappearing faces
in my family picture, a litany
of the disappeared
who reappear
over thanksgiving and christmas dinners,
when we wax nostalgiac
or hurt
over turkey,
gravy,
and biscuits.
Over love
and how many are missing.
Jan 25, 2012
Jan 25, 2012 at 12:24 AM UTC
I've worked so hard
to blend into the woodwork
I knitted myself
an invisibility cloak
and I wear it
everywhere I go
because if they can't
see me
then they can't hurt me
one of these days
when my nightmares
stop killing me
maybe I will begin
to reappear again
Feb 1, 2017
Feb 1, 2017 at 1:56 PM UTC
A massive weight shifts between my shoulders. It’s another fight, I am getting older. One more step, I grow bolder. See me out there, on that thin wire. Juggling my life at the same time trying to aspire. The pain didn’t set me back; it lit in me a fire. Your words sharp like a blade and my heart for hire. Elusive to the noise, I climb higher.
I’m eviserating the catacombs of an empire.
I am not trying to scale the ladder. I’m tearing it down to the mire. I am not dousing the flame, I am feeding the fire.
If we are walk this way, we need to dress the correct attire.
Clearly there is an internal fight, a struggle for power. I am not built to last, I eventually get tired. But the problems that disappeared just reappear taking on another form.
I do my best to keep my balance and keep walking this thin wire.
There is a silence in the noise of a mob
I can feel my heart. The story has to end or at least on my part. Will I hit the net below to sweet depart?
Or Shall I just keep juggling as I walk? It doesn’t matter if they think I am a fool; just as long as I do my part.
Life is a circus, living it is an art.
-RSC
Mar 8, 2022
Mar 8, 2022 at 6:48 AM UTC