"recollected" poems
"Patience," flapped the Butterfly's wings
"Patience," said Thomas Edison
"Patience," said Abraham Lincoln
"Patience," said the Diamond's sparkle
"Patience," said the Pearl's smoothness
"Patience," said Columbus' sailors
"Patience," the monks prayed
"Patience," the Mountains yawned
"Patience," Maturity recollected
"Patience," Healing nodded
"Patience," Insight demanded!
"Patience," winked the stars of the Milky Way
Oct 21, 2013
Oct 21, 2013 at 10:40 PM UTC
Here I stand on the intersection
Blocking every apparition
That appears before the collision
Of my unearthed passion
The debris it scattered
And the fragments it recollected
Did no good for our Russian Roulette
And my black dress that sweeped
Aiming blade to each direction
And shadow-chasing apparitions
Here I stand, on the intersection
With the devil’s spawn in front
The sinner angel on my left
The lost brothers of long-ago arts
And the mourning ladies behind in red
If I let my blade slip in front
Inferno is the runaway paradise prepared
Yet if I let my blade to my sides
Heaven hold no place for my stained black dress
And the mourning ladies in red
Have no colors that resembles mine
But that is just an extermination
That won’t even matter
For tragic is just a trapped magic
Oct 17, 2014
Oct 17, 2014 at 10:31 AM UTC
Sweet and seductive
The twilight
Can I come in?
No need to worry
Frustrated moments
Tempting lies
Please don't scream
I'll be discrete
Caresses recollected
Old embraces
********** and bathos
Fur instead of hair
Movements in a mirror
Time for breakfast
The appearance of a peach
Fried sentences
Scrambled words
Rhyming couplets
Tea and coffee
Contradictory conversations
Flee from open mouths.
Sep 29, 2014
Sep 29, 2014 at 12:47 AM UTC
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
Infinity's Mirror by Nat Lipstadt
Two mirrors, set in opposition observe created notional blending,
a reflecting pool of bonding's of unglued, contrary compositions.
Mirror to mirror, his imagery, fuses to Sylvia's images, hers,
faintly recollected, now living face, face to face, with his past insurrections, alters his future visions.
From cold water lake she's drawn, impaled by refracting regrets,
retrieved, drawing her words upon him, an awakening slap to drink,
beloved, tragic magic, infinitely captive. But this old man's tiddlywinks, land-locked words, blunted instruments, needy for release & salvation, are neither silvered or exacting, just stains on a dulled, tarnished brass spittoon, except for the brunt'd bunting of lines across his roughened terrain'd face, black and white, pen and ink etched illustration of howling agitation.
His words worn down, hardened, red faced, purloined speckled pellets, damp to roll on down her rutted, almost ancient, tear streak paths, disbelieved superstitions, sacrificed for one of her living morsels of words.
Man, here to her, pledges allegiance, audaciously defiling her poetic sanctity, a visage endless repeated, delivers her shiny poem-poised countenance, even though no forgiveness from time can a mirror afford for either, from her words, confession born, terrible truths beyond, beyond the finite.
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
Mirror by Sylvia Plath
I am silver and exact. I have no preconceptions.
What ever you see I swallow immediately
Just as it is, unmisted by love or dislike.
I am not cruel, only truthful---
The eye of a little god, four-cornered.
Most of the time I meditate on the opposite wall.
It is pink, with speckles. I have looked at it so long
I think it is a part of my heart. But it flickers.
Faces and darkness separate us over and over.
Now I am a lake. A woman bends over me,
Searching my reaches for what she really is.
Then she turns to those liars, the candles or the moon.
I see her back, and reflect it faithfully.
She rewards me with tears and an agitation of hands.
I am important to her. She comes and goes.
Each morning it is her face that replaces the darkness.
In me she has drowned a young girl, and in me an old woman
Rises toward her day after day, like a terrible fish.
Apr 25, 2016
Apr 25, 2016 at 4:17 PM UTC
616
I rose—because He sank—
I thought it would be opposite—
But when his power dropped—
My Soul grew straight.
I cheered my fainting Prince—
I sang firm—even—Chants—
I helped his Film—with Hymn—
And when the Dews drew off
That held his Forehead stiff—
I met him—
Balm to Balm—
I told him Best—must pass
Through this low Arch of Flesh—
No Casque so brave
It spurn the Grave—
I told him Worlds I knew
Where Emperors grew—
Who recollected us
If we were true—
And so with Thews of Hymn—
And Sinew from within—
And ways I knew not that I knew—till then—
I lifted Him—
2.5k
She has a luminescence about her
A way of outshining the neon and fluorescent
That cling to her curves as she dances beneath them
I stood there, in my second-hand persona,
wearing a mask of bravado, now whimsical with
its mouth agape, staring as she made love to the music.
I recollected myself,
remembered to breathe,
swallowed my heart,
and dared to move closer.
The rhythmic pulse of the music
threatened to crush me as my feet touched the floor-
my head still in the cloud generated by her heat,
that permeated every molecule of my body.
The closer I got, the harder it was to keep
from succumbing to the lack of air.
"Remember to breathe.
You're sweating.
Abort. NO.
Play it cool. You're cool."
I could have pieced together
A thousand words, pulled from the ether
and crafted into exactly-what-she-wanted-to-hear,
But she had taken my air.
My tongue wouldn't move with my lips
To form a simple hello.
I just stood there in my mask.
No longer whimsical.
Nearly desperate
and certain that I would die right there.
Then, in a move that writes love songs,
that creates sunsets and shifts paradigms,
SHE, this caramel-skinned goddess
Wove her warm, illuminated fingers into mine
And pulled me into that dance
That she was sharing only with the music.
Not breathing again.
Keep moving.
Stop thinking.
Just be. Right now, just be.
So, I was. Dead to time and space,
alive to the moment and the music,
Her touch, the light and the curves.
She held to me as if she read my mind;
perhaps I wear my heart in my eyes.
Eyes that she seemed to pull my soul out of
To drown it in hers, as she danced
With me.
To me. Through me.
Beyond me.
But with me, as though I were the light and the music,
and she wasn't done making love.
Aug 3, 2016
Aug 3, 2016 at 7:01 AM UTC
Beholden.
I am for a tainted past.
Years of scars.
Inwardly vast.
Recollected memories so brawn.
In my dreams.
They will never be gone.
At a time..
Feeling worthless...
Knowing now.
A test..
A test of hidden purpose.
Purpose that has given me preparation.
Inspiration.
Determination.
Motivation for a delightful future is now my affixation.
I am..
Beholden.
Dec 24, 2014
Dec 24, 2014 at 7:54 PM UTC
*You remind me of the earth,
like deep burnt umber woodlands
mid downpours' fresh aroma
& spring's foliage lushly reborn,
twinkling explosive pinpoints
grazing beyond dark ether,
sparkles dappling 'pon depths
of eternal seascapes's nature,
amidst breath of relentless airy winds
gusting above her majesty's hazes
beyond purple mountain's apex
and streams of meadows' wildflowers in
deftly painted horizons after moonbows,
vivid consciousness' uttermost reminisce
of all things recollected in the long ago
essence of your memories' presence*
Jun 17, 2015
Jun 17, 2015 at 4:49 PM UTC
The land is green,
And the water, blue.
Let us remove the solves,
Beneath sheltered feet.
Trekking through these colors,
Bare-foot.
Lapping waves wash out,
Con-caved imprints of adventure
From feet grazing the sand.
Photographs spark,
An array of mental depictions
With first hand sights.
Flashing activity, inside the mind,
Multiple memories,
Recollected in due time.
Words do not describe,
What a photograph provides
But a photograph does not suffice,
The memories which last a lifetime.
May 29, 2012
May 29, 2012 at 9:30 AM UTC
A bit of another story
for someday when we can
make the time,
to think how old river tales are,
those ones when a river is bent,
to the will of empires, using tiny
autonomic nanobots, scene human scale.
Here your mind crossed mine in all probability
exactly once, just
right, it all was just fine, grinding
to a halt,
frictional tension, old blisters recollected
as reminders, what the science misthought right,
and sold mysteriously, for the promise to pay
all the taxes you manage to squeeze,
from the cash cows digital representation,
brass bull, where once stood a golden calf,
in the blood of a red heifer and a white buffalo.
Mar 24, 2023
Mar 24, 2023 at 12:16 AM UTC
Why is that looking into the-
Wide and open city so upsetting?
I saw the bird,
She was looking amongst the buildings,
A space that was hers
Or maybe the space-
Her ancestors have told her,
The folklores and many songs-
Written on the very space.
She crossed mountains,
Seas and barren lands
To see the city lights and
The many dreams she had.
She is not homesick,
She doesn’t even have a memory
Of her home-land
It is a long lost dream
Which cannot be recollected.
She’s homeless.
Was she looking for a mirage
In between the tall buildings -
‘They’ said where dreams prosper?
It’s a furnace,
The colours of fire she could see,
The shadow painted colours-
Orange, red and grey and
Still it required meaning?
I’m looking for it too!
I am scared of forgetting,
Old age and Alzheimers
I’m a dreamer, a homeless hippie
But there is a root, a deep root
A scent, a strong scent and
A soul that is sometimes homesick.
I’m a coward, a bold faced, masked dancer
But there is no rhythm, no audience
It’s just silence, dull grey stillness!
These buildings scare me, where is it?
Where is my chariot?
I cannot follow the crowd
They have a home, a meaningful home
They like the cement, the black air
And bundles of printed paper.
They stamped me mad. Am i?
Maybe I am.
Hey bird, I’m not responsible-
For your destiny, look, look
Look at my hands, there is no blood
Look, look carefully, there is no stain
But I belong to the race, I belong to
The same age, the same world
That changed your fate!
I've no redemption from my sins!
I've no redemption from my sins!
Sep 3, 2015
Sep 3, 2015 at 11:42 AM UTC
The doctor rubbed my sore shoulder
spraying copious amounts of analgesic compound
to freeze the area
from the side of my eye I caught the
silver glint of a 6 inch needle poised
to penetrate my quivering shoulder
with cortisone
intense pain exploded through my consciousness
as the syringe fracked into the deeper regions of
my shoulder
Afterwards, while reflecting on this incident
I thought about polarities and Newton’s Law:
“For every action, there is an equal and opposite reaction”
The pain I had just experienced did not occur in a vacuum
Somewhere along the time continuum I’d set up that opposite
swing of the pendulum
I recollected all the intense moments of extreme and dizzying
sense enjoyment, lust and gratification
my mind has sought and indulged in with rabid satisfaction
always wanting more, restless, never content or at peace
When we examine this world, and its quintessential duality
we are confronted with extremes at every angle
Hot, cold, up, down, win, lose
We can’t have birth without death and so on
hmm…. I thought as the enlightenment bulb
went off in my head
This is why many great sages and saints
fostered a way of life that
transcended duality
Lord Buddha extolled the “Middle Path”
He described the middle way as moderation
between the excesses of carnal indulgence
and self mortification
Aristotle gave us the “Golden Mean”
“every virtue is a mean between two extremes, each of which is a vice.”
Sathya Sai Baba states:
“The object of meditation is equanimity,
the object of equanimity is samadhi (enlightenment or self realization)"
This beautiful quote by Bhagavan Baba is redolent with wisdom
and sublime beauty:
“Surrender to God and to life means the absence of duality
and being of the same nature as God.
But such a state is beyond man’s will.
Surrender is when doer, deed and object are all God.
It comes naturally to a heart filled with love for God.
God is as a spring of fresh and sweet water in the heart.
The best tool to dig a well to that inexhaustible source and
savor its sweetness, is Japa (Chanting God’s Name)
Feb 15, 2016
Feb 15, 2016 at 12:38 PM UTC
I forgot to take my medicine.
Don't freak out, but I forgot to take my pills.
My veins are not swirling and dancing and wait actually the pills probably slow them to stop swirling and dancing so I guess now is the time for said swirling and dancing, is it not?
I can feel a bit of mania in my head, so excited and so alive and so real. I can tell because there goes periods, out the window, never to be remembered or recollected or what was I talking about?
Its twitching and hopping and like Wonderland and here we go, no ashes, just painting the roses red, painting the roses red, here comes the queen of hearts and off there goes my head, we're painting the roses red, until we end up dead.
Am I somberly manic, or maniacally somber or am i even sad? I don't know its just the twitch, I can feel it, so Chesire under my skin, the smile is coming through and my head is racing and my focus is wasting away under the hot spotlight of my own personal theater. Bravo, Grace, take a bow!
Letters and figures and math and language, so different but so funny because people speak both, why do mathematicians not count as fluent in another language, because its certainly foreign to me.
Ooh, I probably should alert the one I never expected, tell him how my head's a twitching and my fingers a fluttering and all of it a maddening. I missed this, I'd hate to admit, with the progress and the productivity and the beauty and the wonder and the land and the magic carpet ride. What land am I in again?
How funny it would be to see an intoxicated me. Am I intoxicated now? I don't know, I act like it but nothing's in my veins to even the pills am I born intoxicated, am I intoxication incarnate, am I addictive, am I a problem?
I like my sweater today, its got words that I love and words that I feel, to be or not to be, that is the question, **** it feels like I'm on fire, my limbs are burning and I am flame reborn. Maybe I should take off my hat and let out some heat, but its a pretty hat and it might feel bad if I ignore it.
Time to go back to busy life, where the life is dull and i am the fire but I love the dullness and the normativity because it involves my wonderland friends and the one I never expected. They make me happy, which lets me fly like this. The flying fire is me.
Apr 22, 2015
Apr 22, 2015 at 2:23 PM UTC
*Are you a ******
Whirlwinds of flashes
Passed in front of her eyes
And she shut them tight,
Remembering,
Had he touched her?
No.
Had he touched her?
No!
Had he touched her?
Yes...
He had touched her deeper
Than the reach of physicality,
He had touched her firmer than
Sensations of all tactile reality,
She knew kisses that tasted of Forever,
Without having kissed at all,
So what could she answer!
She was untouched,
Yet she was not.
She recollected herself,
Replied a meek Yes,
And felt herself violated by
Another alien self,
A tear rolled down silently,
As her soul bled to death.
Sep 3, 2016
Sep 3, 2016 at 3:56 PM UTC
Return with me
come back in time
to an older memory
Reading words
un-refined
that everyone can see
Your first
but not your last
it may be raw or bad
Perusing older prose
hurt feelings
love, happy, sad, or mad
Wondering the past
why a word got turned
choices made so carefully
Poetry, so learned
May 12, 2017
May 12, 2017 at 7:48 AM UTC
The wheat harvest is Magickal, and you have always invited me into your damp crypt.
Apples are ripe when Demeter searches for her lost offspring, amidst shades of nocturnal eroticism.
Therefore, let us now bake bread with feminine or masculine features in the name of Southern rhythms where the hunt takes place upon acreage of the aristocracy.
Do you have any regrets or farewells in this season?
Let it flow like a bubbling brook through woodlands of this recollected netherworld.
Jun 28, 2014
Jun 28, 2014 at 11:49 PM UTC
*At one moment in time
she was poetry in motion,
'til she pirouetted herself
unto dusty shelves
midst old clouded rhymes
& recollected love notes
yet, there were echoes
glistening 'tween strands
of web's interlacing design,
meshing her finessed
past within gossamer's
complex entanglements
amid labyrinths of
ancient symphonies
she dances, still ~
silently in her head
flirting with destiny
albeit, not as grand*
Jul 18, 2015
Jul 18, 2015 at 8:05 AM UTC
Shame guilt embarrassment
for every breath taken
every moment recollected
every meal prepared
every look looked
All face
Every dance floor danced
every talk
every walk
every poem written
every relationship passed
The Faux Pas A Moment Club
has my email address
keeps texting me
emailing
for donations
I
Give Give Give
The future is not much better
when the pity *** is filled
overflowing
everywhere seen ahead
is filled with
dread.
Mar 13, 2015
Mar 13, 2015 at 10:09 AM UTC
*"My future ex-wife,
are you still alive?"*
The thought hit me as I was out of cigarettes one Monday morning, when I remembered that the previous night I was only able to smoke half of my last one. I had put the shorted cigarette underneath of a spring doorstop, still in plastic and uninstalled, that lay resting on the brick pillars erected on the front porch of the house. For as long as I've lived there, that doorstop had been lying on those painted bricks just waiting for a half of a cigarette to protect from the wind and snow.
The filter, on that common Monday morning, was ice on my lips, and your frostbitten love was inside of my lungs.
As it smoldered and spewed twirling blue swirls,
I sat and recollected upon you.
Dec 4, 2014
Dec 4, 2014 at 9:23 PM UTC
Through a broken mirror I see your recollected smile
To the depth of a vision’s reach I see your tormented soul
Lost soul waiting to come out the materialistic exile
I see you reaching out your hand but the mirror is too cold,
You are trapped, who would have thought we could switch places
Though I feel your broken heartbeats
****** tears dripping down your shattered faces
I’ll stand by you, dimensionally, if your soul fits.
Your remains lie in your illusionary window
Until the end of time your existence remain a story untold
Your soul continues with no hopes of tomorrow
Your dull destiny was long foretold
I’m looking at you through this broken mirror
All I see is loneliness and false happiness
Dimensions repel me from stepping closer
While your soul falls down the infernal abyss.
*Well well, here we are again
Gazing upon you as I revisit your brain
You haven’t changed since our last encounter
Well I had to see you again as we open this new chapter.*
May 31, 2015
May 31, 2015 at 9:37 AM UTC
Recollected memory is subject to a host of ancient inaccuracies, where psychoactive crises are currently attributed to ghosts of a distant netherworld.
Have you ever wrapped your hands around the power of a train as it meanders down the tracks of contemplation into the distance of realisation? How loud is the scream of the butterfly?
I fully appreciate that there is a difference between visual and auditory senses, even though one may see with their ears and hear with their eyes.
Can you taste the classical mantras of sanskritic language where vedic chants find solace in the bridge of the sitar?
How phenomenological! I can feel your trembling pulse, my antiquarian partner of contemporary lusts.
Dec 22, 2013
Dec 22, 2013 at 11:28 PM UTC
I'm, but a bottle of vintage wine.
Preserved for long,
For an occasion, so perfect.
Over time, it has been,
The star of the wardrobe.
He kept it with pride.
And finally, the day came, so awaited.
And stood there, that wine glass so beautifully with grace.
As it, would hold the precious of all, in it.
Like a lady in grace,
And her curves so pristine,
Beauty that falls so spontaneously.
Lady, you fail to know.
They stare at you, those men,
They dream of you, from far.
And their greedy souls, How they long for you.
Can't you see?
And, a moment of pause.
Then he pours, the wine.
And that moment changed it all.
Down it fell,
Into the white marbled floor.
Breaking into countless pieces,
Of fine glass crystals, sharp enough.
To cut through,
All in its way.
But, more sharp it was in his heart,
And soul.
The wine, red, stained the floor.
Ah, that remains.
How, it shattered,
And what it was preserved for.
That, it cannot be, recollected.
It gave him, a pain,
Making a mark( too deep).
And it was true,
That he never bought one, again.
He feared, it'll fall down again.
How he couldn't hold one in his hands, anymore.
I'm, but that glass of wine,
Broken.
All into many pieces.
Jun 15, 2017
Jun 15, 2017 at 11:59 PM UTC
Reviewed is the past, refreshed, reorganized and recognized.
Yet the past remains a thing of past.
Time and again it has been proved that every change brings with it something new, something different.
Different is the present,
different from prior,
different from the past.
Different will be the future,
different from what has been ascertained in the present.
It’s easy to make up your mind to start something new,
however, the real challenge lies in to contain and continue with the present.
There is always a lure to get something more in the future
Along with time things will improve and get better,
but do this one thing and your future will be bright.
The lure aspect becomes a sort of mechanism, which works in changing the mindset of an individual
Subsquent to this lure are the recurrent changes taking place in the present.
Then there are mistakes from the past that get recalled, recollected and remembered in the present
Anything and everything amongst all this has the potential to deter the progress of what is happening in the present moment of time.
Yet with all this that is going on around you it is always better to be what you are in the present
Live in the present with the present moment in time
Move ahead along with the present moment in time
A time will come when you will realize, understand and accept what is right and all that has gone wrong.
Important will be that moment in time, since it will be important to accept the truth and act accordingly.
Once the right direction is taken,
line of action decided,
better do not wait for what is in store with regards to the future,
since the future will always remain uncertain.
Better be a part of the present moment in time
Give your best and hope for the same, nothing but the best.
Till then, it’s all watch and wait.
Definitely again a right opportunity will come across your way if you are keen on not to give up in your life and keep going.
Nov 14, 2015
Nov 14, 2015 at 9:00 AM UTC