"recrudescence" poems
I shall love diners after Death
Famished from a million mile trek
Soft dances, whimsical, flowing
All in time and in step
Effervescent in its antiquity
Light penetrates the vociferate soul
A blinding silhouette Reveals the true physique
casting no shadows
back, at last, back to the harmony &
surrealism of our sacrarium, our home
no more hours to waste away
nothing to signifying
night from day
no need to search for words to convey
As we began we return just as we should
our recrudescence revivifies our sainthood
with No judgment charged upon us
with no reward for the good
neither condemned are the noxious
immoral nor the many many absurd
For those deleterious malignant calamities
must remain incarcerated on Earth
from whence it came
As we Return once again
soul cleansed in beatific death
The physical abandoned with sin
The dead left unknown,
un birthed
Shut in
Aug 10, 2011
Aug 10, 2011 at 8:49 PM UTC
*There are times when
you are not yourself.
You blend into something
unwantedly & unwillingly.
Something that is
too distant from your
psyche & guise.
The transfiguration makes
you a whole another person,
one beyond your bridle.
But you always hit back to
your archetypal persona.
The endeavor to recrudescence
is always tenacious,
summating unscrupulous inscriptions to your crasis.
People will judge you
on this substructure of your psyche.
But this is not who you are
& what you are!
It is mere an icky phase.
Your elucidation lies beyond
this transfigured self.
Never relinquish your
pristine pneuma.*
Jun 1, 2015
Jun 1, 2015 at 6:40 PM UTC
I shall love diners after Death Famished from a million mile trek
Soft dances, whimsical, flowing
All in time and In step Effervescent in its antiquity
Light penetrates the vociferate soul
A blinding silhouette Reveals the true physique
casting no shadows
back, at last, back to the harmony &. surrealism of our sacrarium, our home
no more hours to waste away
nothing to signifying
night from day no need to search for words to convey
As we began we return just as we should
our recrudescence revivifies our sainthood
with No judgment charged upon us
with no reward for Good neither condemned are the noxious
immoral nor the many many absurd
For those deleterious malignant calamities must remain incarcerated on Earth
from whence it came
As we Return once again
soul cleansed in beatific death
The physical abandoned with sin
Jan 1, 2010
Jan 1, 2010 at 7:03 AM UTC
Surely in the distant future historians will find our civilization
Appalling, destructive, gluttony,
Stricken.
Receipts of items that once fulfilled our temporal desires will fill earth
creating a toxic compost for life
To nourish upon
They'll blame us for the decay
And devolution of man
They'll duly note our fascination
With stimulants and violent trends
And most of all, they'll be unable
To comprehend our impotency
our hubris our clemency
They'll construct theories
That moor our cultural malaise
To each recrudescence of tyranny
In essence they will despise our very nature.
Not out of contempt but out of fear that they too will fall
prey to the plague.
Dec 25, 2012
Dec 25, 2012 at 5:27 AM UTC
I notice her.
I watch her press on her nails
And whiten her teeth,
Put on that bleaching emulsion before she goes to sleep.
She has thick braids, pinched into her tender scalp
Then has Brazilian hair woven in on top of that.
I see her look in the mirror satisfied because she now sees beauty,
She purses her painted lips,
Closes her eyes as if her looks are her duty
To this world,
That she so desperately wants to fit into and stand out of.
This magnificent girl,
Who's capabilities are unheard of.
She suffocates her essence
To be accepted in facades presence.
I notice you darling, in spite of your recrudescence.
T.S.
Sep 9, 2013
Sep 9, 2013 at 9:51 AM UTC
So you Republicans hate Blacks, Jews, Latinos, Asians, yet so many of you go to your churches on Sundays and pray to God. About what? About what Jesus preached? About how he said to love one another? Hardly! You may mouth these sacred messages, but do you live them? I think not. VOTER SUPPRESSION is equivalent to heresy. Republican politicians across our nation, under God, in over 40 States are bringing back RACISM in full force. Are you not repulsed by this immoral retrogression? WHY DO YOU NOT SPEAK OUT!? My only conclusion is that you are gutless. You are moral hypocrites. You are racists of the first order and human beings of the last.
TOD HOWARD HAWKS
Apr 7, 2021
Apr 7, 2021 at 12:49 PM UTC
This life is all greed,
hatred, anguish, joy,
betrayal, hope, hurt,
loss, deaths, failures,
luxury, pain, happiness,
melancholy, helplessness,
habits, hobbies
and a curse called love.
It's called love
because they named it wrong.
We're cocooned in paper thin walls,
tearing through
and ripping them apart
and stitching them again
when they see our dark sides.
We're sunburned
and blue-veined,
and the recrudescence
of these scars spills
nothing but blood —
frozen blood
breaking into incandescent shards.
And we're bleeding,
we're bleeding with tears
and we're bleeding with screams
and we're a destruction
destroying others
and destroying ourselves.
We're a wave of hate
swallowing those
with a difference.
Gray haired people
tell us we're too young
to know the world,
but they won't ever see
the rivers like we do.
They tell us
the sky is colored blue
but our wild imaginations wonder
if sky could be pink and green,
and it is.
Where we shattered,
the pieces are still lying there.
Someone else picks them up
and solves the puzzle we are.
Some breathe
with broken hearts
and some walk
without leaving footsteps.
We are so different,
all of us,
looking back again and again
and again
and hoping again,
and we wonder all the time,
what I would be like to exist
in a different place.
Somewhere far away
from this present
spreading darkness
until we're blind —
so blind that we forget
what light feels like.
In the end though we'll
know we're fallen.
We're fallen faiths
and fallen dreams.
We've fallen into a phoenix called life.
We're different.
Maybe it's time we accept.
Sep 17, 2016
Sep 17, 2016 at 5:03 PM UTC
New hands smoothly grazing
Where yours once were
Finally the feeling
Of a fresh start
And the sound
Of a brand new laugh
That makes my heart skip
In a different way
Than I felt before
With the adrenaline rush
And wine stained
Chapped lips
Came a warm feeling
And a new comfort
Intertwined on the couch
And white smoke
As I fell into her smile
With my head in the clouds
And arms wrapped around me
A safe new home
Precious and untainted
By old memories
Dec 7, 2017
Dec 7, 2017 at 4:06 PM UTC
Drops of tears
Moved down her chin
But the brightness
In her eyes..
Indicated...
She's not perturbed..
rather firm for way forward....!!
And then the smiles
A smile of sweet revenge..
And a sign of determination..
to keep away at bay the
recrudescence of any pain...
and she stepped ahead
With hope ....!!
Nov 30, 2022
Nov 30, 2022 at 7:57 AM UTC
Shell-cased in soft power
Arms races
Like Carter
I break it down harder
Than kami wind martyrs
With ardor of green cards
Discarded
In red
Apartheids
On the rise
To Partition again
The expendable lives
Buying lies as they trend
From the ones who pretend
Like they too
Don’t depend
On the never-ending
Yellow journalist’s
Pen
Telling them
It means war’s
‘Round the corner
Drug store
Selling them
Echo chambers
Of peace and secure
Insecurities
Dangers and angers
And more
Of the brink
Of extinction
Addiction
In sync with
The small fortune,
Scorching-earth
Failed-marriage trinket
Don’t blink
Or it’s on
To the next
Recrudescence
Perplexed
By how many world hungers
To solve
Could be left
Since the right
In its free-trading slave
Not-so hidden agenda
Still plots its crop
Stockpile
Encomienda
As super-tiendas
Wal off reservation
With always low prices
Conflating inflation
Displacing the plantation
Haitian
Still shaken
By ground-breaking
New innovation
Starvation
And scarce information
Pertaining
Distorted
Contorted, deformed
Or just goes unreported
For more entertaining
Brain-draining discordant
Conformists in torrents
Stream only the terrorized-truth
Water-boarded
Reform is aborted
The right to choose
Thwarted
The norm is a misleading,
News-feeding
Horde
I abhor
As I’ve poured it out,
Sorted out
This horrid, sordid crowd
Doubting that anything reel
Is revealed
To be real
Or just part of some heartless king’s
Artifice
Art of the Deal
Nov 29, 2019
Nov 29, 2019 at 3:49 PM UTC
revision April 27 2001
Recrudescence
(Recrudesce: to break out
again after lying latent or relatively inactive)
My friend,
There are doors which even you and I
have never opened. Shut for so many
years I am slammed back against
the sink of meditation.
Drawers unopened, their loneliness
stuck shut, slipped behind hinges.
Whole cabinets of dust. I wore many
selves. Stains hang here so far
removed from conversation
as to be little calciums. Calculi.
I rattle with little bones.
But since you ask….
Viz.:
When the gun was pressed against
my head I sat more still than a
fig on a summer tree, more breathless
than a whisper, more quiet than the
center of that fruit, It’s stem
my hair, I felt it's roots
take. I was sixteen.
I always wondered if the red dye
of my fear rubbed off on him.
He was silent, his face the only light
in the room, the phosphorescence of
madness. He couldn't find
me I guess, inside my aubergine
stillness.
He was a steel shaft in
his hand. At last he slipped
to the door.
In the end, unbreathing,
I saved him.
Ego te absolvo.
I was so afraid he wouldn't
like me anymore.
Apr 18, 2023
Apr 18, 2023 at 9:30 PM UTC