"reconstruction" poems
The nature around us
Provokes to think!
The geometry of nature
Creates coincidences and intersections!
Coincidences of creation- destruction and re-construction!
Intersection reveals the connectivity,
Connectivity between deconstruction and reconstruction!
Geometry portray the commonness and uniqueness,
Commonness and uniqueness between
‘image and number’ and ‘shape and number’!
It leads all relation to number relation!
Sep 26, 2015
Sep 26, 2015 at 2:30 PM UTC
Everything in quotations marks and italics was written by TS Eliot.
eyes knowing glossy men,
sheer women, creatures,
not all artists, but artists,
always thus,
centrifugal, simple
from their core,
emanate, resonate,
expand the exterior
with interior precision sculpting
to the interior delve,
via brush or limb,
pen or music,
the exposition, the exploration,
the reconstruction of composing
one's self, creation and destruction
of your own myths
movement of arms and legs,
sparseness of simplicity
subsidiaries of centricity,
tributaries of complexity,
oriented to their locality
the simple purpose of inhalation,
to exhale, after transformation,
the calculus of thought into emotion:
*"the tongues of flame are in-folded
into the crowned knot of fire and
the fire and rose are one"*
the dancers hear the music:
*"so deeply that it is not heard at all,
but you are the music
while the music lasts."*
**”Quick now, here, now always –
A condition of complete simplicity
(Costing not less than everything)
And all shall be well and
All manner of thing shall be well"**
Mar 10, 2014
Mar 10, 2014 at 10:42 PM UTC
Maybe
The falter of her step
Will trigger a
Mini tsunami.
But
There still is
The sound of gravel hitting stone
And
Brick upon brick;
Reconstruction
means
Beautiful noise, too.
She'll cause the world to
Stop and stare
Either way.
Sep 20, 2014
Sep 20, 2014 at 12:01 AM UTC
When you were a phosphorus angel
There was almost light,
And your glow became like the Fallen.
When you were holding my hand
Your prints took over
Mine, like a stolen identity...
Willingly.
And I was,
Because you were my existence
In the abyss,
And your luminous spirit a breath
Underwater.
And you were the storm
That I left the shelter for,
A little grey can go a long way
In a rain of sorrowing embers.
I was the reconstruction
Of your project,
Rebuilding is never easy
But you stayed til I was me again.
Life is big,
But so little in time,
I am because you were,
I was because you're gone.
Apr 25, 2016
Apr 25, 2016 at 10:21 AM UTC
Like an alien in a spotlight
With her magnifying glasses on
My mother as she worked, up all night
Did invisible weaving till dawn
I would watch her when I couldn’t sleep
Honing in on that hole in the suit
Intently, her concentration deep
Weaving tiny threads enlarged like jute
In other-worldly light she labored
I was afraid she’d lose her eyesight
Watching her focus never wavered
Her face all aglow in the lamplight
Invisible weaving, I inquired
How tediously she plied her craft
Worked for the money that she required
Made the warp and weft of fabric last
Reconstruction, undetectable
No more burn, or tear, or fabric blight
Weaving magic so incredible
Its wound now perfect by morning’s light
She taught me much that I’m still making
From her life that now I’m grieving
Sewing, crocheting and great baking
But never invisible weaving
The picture of her life that mattered
I now see how she toiled so finely
And that the wrinkles in the fabric
Of my own life splayed out so blindly
The vision of my eyes, bedazzled
Incandescent, her face in the beam
Unaware how her mind unraveled
As Depression stole her ev’ry dream
The threads of DNA defining
Who I’ve become I’m now believing
My mother’s hand in that designing
Of my own Invisible Weaving*
*In honor of my mother, Edla Sylvia Fitzpatrick, on this International Women's Day
Mar 8, 2017
Mar 8, 2017 at 1:01 PM UTC
wrapped up in aluminum foil
head resting on cracked concrete
surrounded by winking lights
and blinking eyes
warmth from the glow of humility
basking in the rays of a two dollar toaster
cardboard dwelling and trashbag scenery
paper towel t-shirt, styrofoam socks
salt and pepper lunchtime
pedastal reconstruction
hot coffee burnt tongue
peanut allergy and poisoned water
locked cabinet, rotting condiments inside an unplugged refrigerator
dying romance read only in magazines
purple heart scrawled on my arm
syringe full of bourbon plunged directly in my eye.
Nov 27, 2011
Nov 27, 2011 at 9:03 AM UTC
Misunderstood
Making decisions that some may find hard to swallow.
Ethically, my soul may seem hard to follow.
Some clash with me and claim I'm just too hollow.
But those who quit may find themselves suppressed by their wallet.
I'm misunderstood because they misunderstand
That I don't do what I should but I make my own plan.
Because what I will do is not always what's good for me.
I try to pursue the truth to make my own ends meet.
Recycle, save the the trees, but don't ask me to concede.
I believe it's the truth that will always set you free.
Life is precious but only one life has no meaning,
Populations come and go and eventually blend into the green.
We are part of a whole that must carry ourselves on.
We can't get caught in the moment and put perfunctory blinders on.
We need to focus on greater good like we really should
And prevent ourselves from becoming truly misunderstood.
I can see all the sides to this perpetual story, man
Like the reflections from the great scrub, John Dorian.
Sap stories of pressure and plight make me sick.
Just **** it up and try to live your life in the thick.
You are always nothing unless you can make yourself.
Struggle is completely natural and we must all try to fight for health.
If you spend your life to only strive for material wealth,
Then you will never truly come to ******* know yourself.
Maybe one day when you finally come to your senses,
You'll realize your whole life that you've been completely senseless.
Your goals have only served to benefit you immediately.
Now you can see that once again you have absolutely nothing.
The rise and fall of this material life creates emotions
Of unbearable strife ending in your utter destruction.
And you'll realize that you've just been herded through the motions.
And at once your life will end before the reconstruction.
Like a flood that caused the soil to avulse,
Society will shift at the last beat of your pathetic pulse.
This won't matter to you but it will effect everyone else.
You left this world misunderstanding yourself.
The life we lead
Will always be with us.
The things we seek
Are within us already.
The price we pay
To seek our necessity
Will always be...
(x2)
Oct 2, 2010
Oct 2, 2010 at 5:55 AM UTC
Calf augmentation => silicon implantation
Endoscopy, otoplasty, baby
Mentoplasty, rhinoplasty, scalpel
Juvederm at 4, Starbucks pit-stop right after,
pop some xany's and go
Chemical peel, dermabrasion
Dr. Unknown PhD. meet patient Montag XR3.
Brain stimulation, kneecap replacement
Doc, I'm starting to miss the table, is this a complication I should expect?
Fat grafting, bone grafting, mystic tanning
(what really is natural nowadays?)
Chin reconstruction, laser resurfacing,
(what really is me anyways?)
Consultation with your post-op pain,
It's gonna be "Ouchy" for a month,
but worth it in the end.
Self-esteem scan shows a cancerous tumor and growth
Yuck
And here I thought plastic was
"cancer-free"?
Apr 9, 2012
Apr 9, 2012 at 11:43 PM UTC
You say I burned your heart.
Well
Burning,
Like welding,
Is part of reconstruction.
and I'm in the same process myself.
If only I wasn't so sheltered to burn anyone who came close enough to feel my fire.
May 31, 2014
May 31, 2014 at 11:01 PM UTC
Once again feeling lost and so alone
Time has passed and I thought I had only grown
I can't escape the past that seems to haunt my soul
I can't find a better half that completes me and makes me whole
It's just me, myself and I, trying to make it in a cold world
People looking down on me thinking I'm just an ignorant little girl
Everyone so judgmental because of all the lies you told
This feeling of being worthless I can't shake off and it's getting old
Let's make it clear I didn't steal from you, that's not how I spend my time
I simply just took back what was already mine
So stomp on me and try to dispose of the person I am inside
It's only going to make me ignite my flame and I'm going to shine
Bring light to the evil coldness of your frozen heart
Keep trying, I'm binding myself and all the pieces because I won't stay torn apart
I can fix myself and the damage you've done within
I'm a fighter and I'll keep on fighting because I know I have to win
I need to be myself, all of the beauty and darkness that I am will stay til there til the end
I'm in the world to make my mark and I can do without a friend
In pieces now but with just myself, the only one I trust I can handle the reconstruction
For I am not a daughter a sister a niece or a cousin, I'm simply the product of reproduction
Feb 5, 2014
Feb 5, 2014 at 9:41 PM UTC
A nation that bleeds
Unwilling to confront the past
The last thing we need
Is celebration and blasts
The unequal treatment
Race gender and class
Shines so clearly
With Donald Trump laughs
In this time reflection
Will shine a better path
Reconstruction Redistribution
Instead of indifference and death
Jul 6, 2015
Jul 6, 2015 at 11:39 AM UTC
A retroactive reconstruction of
whats forgotten forms what’s real.
We rob and steal
past transgressions,
but what happens
when the mechanisms making memories
twist elegantly toward
the ego?
Aug 11, 2011
Aug 11, 2011 at 4:19 PM UTC
Like an alien in a spotlight
With her magnifying glasses on
My mother as she worked, up all night
Did invisible weaving till dawn
I would watch her when I couldn’t sleep
Honing in on that hole in the suit
Intently, her concentration deep
Weaving tiny threads enlarged like jute
In other-worldly light she labored
I was afraid she’d lose her eyesight
Watching her focus never wavered
Her face all aglow in the lamplight
Invisible weaving, I inquired
How tediously she plied her craft
Worked for the money that she required
Made the warp and weft of fabric last
Reconstruction, undetectable
No more burn, or tear, or fabric blight
Weaving magic so incredible
Its wound now perfect by morning’s light
She taught me much that I'm still making
From her life that now I'm grieving
Sewing, crocheting and great baking
But never invisible weaving
The picture of her life that mattered
I now see how she toiled so finely
And that the wrinkles in the fabric
Of my own life splayed out so blindly
The vision of my eyes bedazzled
Incandescent, her face in the beam
Unaware how her mind unraveled
As depression stole her ev'ry dream
The threads of DNA defining
Who I’ve become I'm now believing
My mother’s hand in that designing
Of my own Invisible Weaving
Feb 25, 2016
Feb 25, 2016 at 12:24 PM UTC
and the dead lessons
(.........like our song!)
the dying embers of
................abused images
born to an abusing
imagination!
SOON ! SOON!!
we shall rule the world!
------------
tiny footsteps!
spiritual brothers!
spiritual sisters!!
engaged in carnal excess!
(bordering
......................on vicious ******
---------
dead lessons we
refuse to learn
hence
the dying world
WATCH IT BURN!
Aug 7, 2010
Aug 7, 2010 at 10:13 AM UTC
I opened my eyes once just to see if his were shut as tight as mine.
I could tell by the way he moved, how angry he was with her.
It was nothing between him and I.
It was pure emotion we couldn’t express to each other without imitating the act of making love.
We were the only ones left there for the other
or maybe we were just there.
Probability.
I do not love him.
…but he breathed like you. Kissed like you.
He was built like you, cried like you.
I hope you understand.
It was my only release.
It was not affection for each other that drove us into such a passionate entanglement but the restrained love we had for each of you.
The Anger. The Sadness. The Loneliness.
We were open journals,
and we filled each other with feelings that words could not express.
…I missed you so much.
He’s the only one who could ever understand how much I did.
While our bodies were dripping with shame,
what else could we have done?
I felt his feelings for her and they broke my heart.
There was no stopping.
The tighter he held,
the softer he whimpered,
the more it pulled me in.
The more I understood the less alone I felt.
This dismal place became less painful.
I was not out to hurt you.
It did not bloom from spite or revenge.
Not for you.
While his body did grind into mine,
I felt the pain of his anatomy and I used it against myself.
His body was my only way to repair and destroy myself all at once.
It was pleasurable due to the dream I had woven into it,
and I could feel his muscles forgiving me.
Forgiving her.
I wonder what he felt come from mine.
Relief, I hope.
Once the sweat and tears had dried,
and our bodies lay throbbing and limp
there was a sense of calm neither of us had ever experienced.
Although I’ll never be able to tell you how I feel,
I know I confessed everything I could that day with my writhing
and with my heat.
It was all for you.
Even though we did not let it happen through love or adoration
it was not meaningless.
Our souls confided in and approved of our scene.
That’s all I needed.
For it to be known I did not cheat.
I did not cheat you and I did not cheat myself.
Now, I don’t think I could love you as much as I do now had it not happened.
I found us that day.
Buried beneath years reconstruction and restriction.
More importantly, I found myself.
Lodged in between the freezing of time and heartache.
I’ll miss my innocence, but not my ignorance.
I opened my eyes just to see if his eyes were shut as tight as mine.
I had never felt so utterly complete.
Oct 26, 2012
Oct 26, 2012 at 11:18 PM UTC
Dismissive reconstruction
Clay sculpted beauty
Sadistic fornication
Touching precision
Molding to perfection
*Don’t say you’ll deny me
I’ve lost my perspective
Eyes bloodshot from addiction*
Any reason to make a point
Is made to correct moral mass production
Sep 22, 2011
Sep 22, 2011 at 3:05 PM UTC
My grade school
burned down
twice.
Once in the 1930's
then again in
the 50's.
They rebuilt,
there were two
large black and white
framed photographs
of the school houses
before both fires
hanging in the
main hallway.
At some point in
the reconstruction
someone had decided
on two boys
restrooms.
The one at ground level
was always clean.
There were small white
tiles and fresh blue paint.
It always smelled like
pine cleaner,
never ran out of
paper towels.
There was always
sweet smelling
liquid soap in the
shinny silver dispensers.
There were doors with
shinny silver
locks on the stalls.
It was a timeless
space,
pristine and somehow
preserved.
Free and unscathed
by the ugliness of
the world.
Then there was the other
one.
The restroom below
ground in the basement.
There were ground
level windows
with round wire cages
over them.
The view of the
***** untied
tennis shoes
attached to
saggy socks and
scabbed knees.
The children
ran about
with purpose
over every inch
of the playgrounds
hot black top
as I'd try
to guess who's
feet were who's.
There were no doors on
the stalls,
yellow stains beneath
every leaky
******
Smears of rust around the
faucets ,
a coarse hand soap
in the often broken
dispensers.
More fit for prisoners
than students.
It smelled like
**** and was always
cold.
I don't know why
one was always cleaner
than the other.
Maybe it was an
unwritten janitor
law.
Maybe they seen it
as somehow lower
than the other.
I always chose the
basement restroom.
It just seemed more
natural to me,
it made me feel strong,
made it all feel more real.
Now after so many
hardships as I sit with drink
in hand or lay down
while high on some drug
I can't seem to help
but look back and
remember.
Then ponder the question.
"Have I always been
meant to live in such a *****
harsh environment,
even way back then?"
May 2, 2013
May 2, 2013 at 8:49 PM UTC
Verse
Turning what looks dead into only sleeping
Dreaming while dead was deceiving
At the very depth of my despair
When there was no oxygen in the air
You made a path for my nightmare
To be changed into my greatest weapon
Pre-chorus
I understand what breaks your heart, in breaking mine
Change my every morning from endless mourning
Thanking you for the reconstruction in my destruction
Verse 2
Am I whole to you father or a mistake
Did you forget to finish this masterpiece
You don’t make flaws in your paintings
Your every brush stroke made with precision
Guide my decisions choosing you over my own will today
Chorus
You are my way
You are my truth
I will forever hold onto you
And your promises guarantee
Saying the past me is nothing
Compared to your blood stains on me
Bridge
My testimony hunts down the enemy
I speak it proud
My breaking point is your starting point
All darkness hides from the savior on the tree
Jul 7, 2018
Jul 7, 2018 at 7:04 PM UTC
I want to know more than one
Haitian
I want to know more than three
Jamaicans
I want to meet Nigerians that speak
Igbo
Kenyans that laugh at the Swahili I learned in Berkeley
Ugandans that correct my Mandarin
Tanzanians that teach me how to say it in Cantonese
I want to tour the holy city Ile-Ife
trace the pilgrimage path of Mansa Musa
then circle back to Timbuktu
See the reminders of Aksum
See the remainders of Kmt
Touch the Earth and envision the buildings that my ancestors constructed
thousands of years before they were invaded thousands of times
leaving the still standing walls that others never believed were thousands of years old
till their, “science” said so
I want to board a barge in the south and flow north with the Nile
I wonder what eight others will join me
I want to walk the same trail
that was the first trail
compare my foot print
to the first foot print
The vision I see
The things I want to do
The escape I want to take
Isnt one that is new
Its one that is old
so old that its in the blood
in the very fabric and design
of all that claim
Human
What I want is a realization
no
a reawakening
of my genetic inheritance
of my ancestral birthright
What calls me is the land so old
its true name
its original tongue
is the only
can only
be labeled
The First
There
that is what calls to me
There
that is what pushes me
that is the very intangible force that pulsates my heart
pumping the blood through my veins
That place that is forever older than old
yet
In a constant state of
Reconstruction
Recreation
Revelation
Renovation
Revitalization
Revolution
I want to breath the air in that place that is always in a state of newness
I want to feel the frequency in that place
where there are as many words for new
as there are people to speak them
That is the place
That is the space
That is
© Christopher F. Brown 2015
Nov 27, 2015
Nov 27, 2015 at 11:36 AM UTC
You looked beyond my hideous smile.
A smile with a history of broken scars.
I was living under a world where there
Was no love , no sanity of the mind.
Broken patches on my veins .
Hard to sewn , hard to rebuild .
But you stayed....
My heart was in debt , you stayed.
To pay what was lost , to gain its strength.
I was unfixable ,so I believed.
But the truth sank with your touch.
Your touch deposit little wires
To make my dormant heart reignite
With the fire it once reigned.
I could be rebuild .
You stayed
You look beyond my almond eyes .
There were tremendous waves of memories.
I was looking at a world with love tragedies.
Right in front of me , you made me believe.
Rebuild my eyes , to quit being blindly impaired.
You stayed
You tasted my pink subtle lips ,
Your mouth tasted a mouth full
of broken stories to share .
With every taste, I was sinking in my own spit.
Ruptured taste .
Easily to fix with your love.
You stayed
Round and round of long night
Endearing my pain , my broken heart
You taught me to be sane.
You rebuild my cracks
Reconstruction my pavements.
I fell in love with you over and over
Because you stayed through it all
I stayed to learn your flaws .
Who knew you were so close
But in reality so far ....
I still stayed
Through the nights where you found yourself afraid , I stayed .
I was the courage light.
Through the nights where you found still unable to breathe.
I was your oxygen.
Through the nights you need someone ,
I was your muse.
I loved you more than I loved myself.
You rebuild me to become the person
I should have always been .
Only to know you came to fix me .
Only to fix me in order
To be sane for the
Love I truly deserve .
I really want to ****** you with the
Shattered pieces of my heart.
Mourn your silhouette,
I only say this because you made me
See for my own kind .
I can't hate you for that , or depise you.
I looked at the mirror and see
What I am capable of ,
and how hard I can love.
And any one who is lucky to replace you
Will live in world where there is love .
Where my eyes will see hearts .
Where my heart will beat endlessly for him.
Where my lips will taste heroism.
Thank you for rebuilding me for the future.
Jun 6, 2015
Jun 6, 2015 at 12:51 AM UTC
The epiphanies of my failures
and the reaper of reputations
strip me to the bone
strip me to the bone, and leave me bare to dry
licked repeatedly by the incinerating
UV rays of humanity.
Care not for me.
Care not.
Hold me never.
Laugh, laugh and walk away.
Left to my own, my ingenuity.
I build myself, I create myself.
I unbrainwash myself!
Years of reconstruction.
I succeed to emerge a greatness.
An inner entity of amazement.
No one understands.
Failure? I wonder..
Pain always lingering in the depths.
Inadequacies, ********
I push past, deal with, and battle face to face.
To leave dismembered on the floor.
Step on it, stomp it deep.
plunge it down to surface again in light.
ME
hold me, love me if your able.
Never take for granted,
my soul, not of this life.
This place, these people, this society.
I am light.
Capable of so many inconceivable things.
I am light
I need only when I let myself need.
I need you, only if to see me.
The true me,
The me no one can possibly see.
I cry, I love, I feel, I am awakened!
© Crystal Erickson 11/24/07
Dec 17, 2014
Dec 17, 2014 at 9:27 PM UTC
Dmt and lsd are cousins.
Lsd pure drip's to candy my perceptions change so vividly.
Every thang is ultra crisp and brilliant.
Noticing my life is full of great thangs.
Limits scatter as I push threw the curtains.
Going past the realm of occucerences.
Seeing from all points of reference and creating ideas with pure imagination.
It's said life's like a dream we our experience all our extensive outer layers.
Habits are formed with great success.
Yet pull away from the rest and summit your own version and test.
Lsd and dmt mix with grade a ***
Seeing perception of all life and forms.
Each instance, all life is equally the same.
God is creation, big bang is creation.
Holding your own reconstruction of belife.
So as feet patter on a wooden floor.
Your mind starts wondering what else there is.
Beyond are place in the vast expansion of the black space.
Do you love your life is it flawless.
Or are there blushes and bumps.
Mar 23, 2017
Mar 23, 2017 at 12:26 PM UTC
Life descends into the vice of those who judge...
Unconditional opinions give those the nudge...
The nudge into darkness we ride...
Back into the corner we hide...
From those high on life's pleading destruction...
It's hard for us to begin our reconstruction...
People unable to enter society's plains...
Due to the judgmental's menacing claims...
It's time we stop listening to those of scorn...
It's time to know those are the ones truly torn...
For we are all beautiful in our own little ways...
It's time to realise it with no more delays...
-Joseph B Schneider
Jan 25, 2015
Jan 25, 2015 at 3:19 AM UTC