"recur" poems
I took care of others, walked in their shoes,
got their trivial pains and forgot my loyal legs...
If I present you the baneful thorns I have trodden,
would you be ready to follow me again and barefoot?
My mind will always be bitterly cold
as an intact valley and never understood...
Though I am sure that you do not care,
I feel well, very well, except longing.
Your dreams are flying even everywhere
while I try to stop contemplating...
You know, I am a bit chatty when I am inspired
and the poet inside me never gets tired.
You can't grasp how painful it is to emanate a poem,
how you go out of your infatuated mind...
When 'clevers' seek for justice, but only for themselves,
there is nothing else purer than the tears of madmen.
So, happiness would have been an evident injustice,
if all of the people attained their desires.
I have faced many types of mental battles,
but no war is harder than the lack of love inside.
Love is living your life for another one's sake,
sacrificing everything with honor and pride...
Now I am sure that there exists no hate,
but just does the love of hatred indeed.
Before the absurdness of irrevocable fate
only love will save us in eternity...
No feeling will help you to be deeply blessed
while mass is spurious and loners are obsessed...
As you **** your hopes you gain fake freedom,
but free slavery will still be going on,
sometimes feeling oppressed, depressed, repressed...
However,
Invincible I am before such odd jobs
and I have found ways to keep myself up.
Now I live slowly till the time begins to blur,
paradoxes take place within my dark thoughts,
I divide the time to its perpetual aeons,
all the rules and limits I swear to deny
and save the endless time when we were eye to eye...
Through your looks the heavenly sky is clear
and all the possibilities are real there...
My benevolent angel,
let the eternity recur from the start,
only the eyes of blinds do not show their hearts...
I feel very sorry and deeply upset,
when the human inside silently regrets ...
Yet I am too clumsy to move mountains,
to achieve sanctity which I want to serve.
I wish I made you happy at my any chance,
But I can only make you happiness itself...
Mar 5, 2019
Mar 5, 2019 at 1:25 PM UTC
Hubby,
Our fractured laugh is irredeemable.
It Is reinforcing the heroic microbes.
to brainstorm some tiny schemes.
with a lack of delicacy and tact
to recur the same cynic nights of devastation,
incorporate the sores into our throats; a full-time personification of tangible intrusion, directly to the full portrait of the Meningitis itself.
Distracting the law of the incubation hours for all strains, overpowering the blood cower, and hovering over our jaded hoarse, sneering at our last appalling psyche-knot
After this creative detention,
I’m invoking another forever torpor inside of our hearts' beats to pose another irrevocable damage that would perpetuate a close depiction of da Vinci’s Last Supper masterpiece.
Honey, Light yourself with a viral-bacterial whirlwind and sink into its bleakness beside my bewitching bind.
I'm still loving you despite all my infections.
amid the urge to enfold your tsunami and swallow its combination
Fortunately, we have survived so many different tragedies together, as a full piece of plague
above Utopia.
- The Poetic Soul
Jul 28, 2023
Jul 28, 2023 at 9:54 PM UTC
If, as they say, the cells
of the body are replaced every seven
years, then I'm a new being
since my sons were newborn.
I have died and been reborn
neither better nor worse yet remembering
feeding them while dancing to Moment's
Notice, as they attended with new minds.
Having died, as such, I find I do not mind
quiet living with the purpose of a cell
unbound by minutes or moments
as men know them. There are seven
deadly sins, seven ways of remembering,
seven stages in which to have been or continue being.
None of them recur after one's reborn
and none are known to us from before we're born.
Of the two young people to whom I was born,
one has lately died. I do not so much mind.
Although I do not, he believed he'd be reborn
and who can say what happened to his soul or cells?
Perhaps in Christ we continue being,
or with some other deity, as the churches claim monotonously,
momentously,
demonically and deviously. It seems about as relevant that
seven
rhymes with heaven and rhyming's a mnemonic device (for
remembering).
But remembering
what? To go to the daily discipline to which you were born?
I fought seven forest fires, took seven
lovers, my sons are seven, and my mind
is the sole owner and subsidiary of these memories and
moments.
Unless I am to be reborn
they disappear with me. Masefield's poem continues to be
the most honest and chilling assessment of our souls' and cells'
disbursement. I can imagine stem cell
research may lead to a cure for dementia, loss of memory
about who you are and where you've been.
If one's not been born
this doesn't matter. But if you're being reborn,
in the sense of "he not busy being born is busy being reborn"
(Dylan),
then it is best and most correct to consider your last moment
of a continuum with moments endless and entirely in your
mind.
The mind is made of cells and moments, seven billion of them.
Remember to be born and reborn, early and often.
Aug 10, 2015
Aug 10, 2015 at 1:43 PM UTC
Mirrors recur here frequently
In verse and lyric.
I'm reading obituaries and
Seeing pictures of what will be.
Death recurs here frequently,
And pain, lots of it.
Broken people too.
It's like we're ambulance chasers,
****** reporters running down a story.
May 25, 2014
May 25, 2014 at 10:33 PM UTC
I stand alone
Performing as one
Imprisonment
With amazement in sight
A creature far beyond
My gentle touch
Bestowing with thoughts
I recur
Reins of attraction towards
A botanical darling
In the flesh
Hearts of love sowing
Born from the roots
Arouse a daisy
A custom to static
I do not know
Shall we manipulate tendencies to others?
Another chapter begins tomorrow
As it revolves
Her mist
To a standstill
For I am worthless and self-pity
To a plate of provisions
I cannot change
For who I am?
Sep 30, 2009
Sep 30, 2009 at 2:46 AM UTC
Comes winter, walking on cat's paws
with the promises of a time different, again
Hail the **** ingeniousness of this cheat,
who arrives with a new guile year after year.
yet again I fall in to that ***** trap
winter cleverly sets for me with
her sweet nothings, falling ice flakes
and her characteristic ****** white attire,
I am seduced by her ****** virginal frolic,
snow soft murmurs that lengthen nights
hear her orchestra distinct plays without fail,
From my neurons the winters past are erased,
deeply in amour I am with her,my marrow tingles,
how do I still get entangled all over again,
in a dilemma, programmed to recur every year?
Each time this happens I'd say to myself:
"This is the last and final time this love happens
this cold uncaring cruel maiden's embrace!"
winter, beloved tantalizer,who loves to freeze me
and extract the last drop of love from me before she leaves.
Winter, I now understand,I too love your desires
that torment me all through your stay here, every year,
In your white, gilded resort,you keep me as a prisoner
where I am no different from others,in clinical white cloaks.
Jan 23, 2016
Jan 23, 2016 at 12:57 PM UTC
Hey God, you there? (If you exist)
This is a written interview
Answer as many as you can
There's a lot I have to ask you.
Some days I look up at the sky
Thinking, what do you have in mind?
What exactly are you planning?
Where are the clocks you want to wind?
Have you wound them all? I wonder
As time goes on, as life occurs
It's thrown into order, then chaos
Running riot- will structure recur?
But then again- what is order?
It sounds boring- I do think so
I suppose it brings one some calm
A safe haven from thoughts that flow.
Have you left hours free? I ponder
As miracles occur in doom
If good things come to those who wait
Must one wait long for flowers to bloom?
Jan 30, 2017
Jan 30, 2017 at 2:36 PM UTC
mossy semblances
of childhood softening
growth a reverie
nervure crisps of windfall brown
scent autumnal stillness
in the gather-warmth, beading
sweater gems of sweat--
thorns recur in green
as spiraled lusts evanesce;
bright helix rising
Sep 16, 2012
Sep 16, 2012 at 1:26 PM UTC
Sprinkled in the sky
Like sugar on the pie,
They twinkle right at me
What a sight to see.
In awe and enchantment
I stand amidst the stars
I am now part of the insanity.
A rush of amusement
A sudden indulgence
Upon me it heaves.
Shooting through the galaxies,
A time warp, so it seems.
No time to weep
Like the darker days
I feel upon me a golden ray.
A touch divine
I've crossed the line.
Turbulence ensues
What is this I'm going through?
A world of surprise
Seen through my eyes
Amazement within.
I've caught a glimpse
That will recur,
The land I call Isther.
Jun 19, 2014
Jun 19, 2014 at 11:33 AM UTC
'Eternal Return'? Why?
If things will keep recurring
why are we exerting so much?
Would I share a gleeful laugh and cry a passionate cry
Knowing the same happiness and sorrows will recur
again?
It took years to reach a summit, toiling and crawling,
A slight imbalance, and again we are hurled to the beginning.
Is, Sisyphus, only a mythical figure? If yes,
then, why I see him in me?
Take a handful of men of bygone days, and contrast with
Our time, drop the embellishments of each century,
And see the emerging pattern, ask them, what are the ways
That helps In curbing the pain, answer;
"Slowly the pain is eased but increased the suffering."
Are pain and suffering different?
When was the last time you loved someone?
Do you remember the days after they were gone? Yes?
Then, why are you in love again?
And most importantly, whom are you in love with?
The person or the suffering they bring?
If Everything recurs 'ad Infinitum',
Then can we avert the things already occurred
In past, from occurring again?
Or we have lost the aptitude for resemblances?
Invention demands an offering of natural ability,
Have we gained half of we lost?
What is the tipping point for this offering, this trade?
It's good I do not have to worry much,
For me, the world ends the day I die.
Mar 22, 2020
Mar 22, 2020 at 11:53 AM UTC
Shall I compare thee to a mysterious land
that recur in the explorer's dreams, and tempt!
When my eyes were set on you, those doe eyes flashed
a message, captured by my genes that made me set out
with a passion never once felt, before or after,
to the fecund land awaiting me with fruits exquisite,
never once touched, none ever tasted.
Those lips in the first flush of youth, told a secret, sought for long,
in bushes birds were hiding in nests, woods were gentle and fragrant,
the little spring, your lovely secret, in spate at a distant hint of rain was somnolent,
the hidden sunny meadow invited one to dance,
here the explorer's quest found its mark.
*Though his spirit quenched and at rest, never again will he leave,
this dream, will remain the admirer of this landscape for ever.*
Dec 3, 2012
Dec 3, 2012 at 12:29 PM UTC
Red is the color of embarrassment. Having to explain why my mom can’t drive or make dinner or walk alone.
Orange is the color and smell of fake tan lotion. A substitute for sunlight, and its harmful ultraviolet rays.
Yellow is the color of the sun itself. The reason for life on Earth, but also my constant frustration.
Green is the color of her garden. Still managing to grow and flourish by her hand as she withers and breaks down.
Blue is the color of my eyes. From which tears flow, but only in private. Replicas of my dad’s, which house pain and anger.
Purple is the color of bruises caused by absentmindedly colliding hips and shins with corners. Benign internal bleeding.
White is the color of the pages in books. A cheaper and healthier alternative to drugs.
A carefully crafted escape.
Black is the color of night. Where dreams so easily converge with nightmares and the mind tries to make sense of what happened today,
And what will inevitably recur tomorrow.
Feb 25, 2012
Feb 25, 2012 at 1:57 PM UTC
You are my corrupted dream.
An intended perverted fairytale.
The break rolls in.
Your fingertips white with selfish memories.
Addicted, with fabricated smiles after dark.
Time pours faster.
The embers cling to balconies and bedposts.
Stepping gently from another unwelcomed sunrise.
We sink into an inevitable blindness.
You ****** into abandon.
Awaiting a slow bitter collapse.
Full speed cold front.
No stopping the fever.
Four walls, two ways to burn them down.
One pitiful habit to sober the spell.
Melodic moments raise their weary hands
And rock the city comfortably.
Feb 20, 2010
Feb 20, 2010 at 1:09 AM UTC
Mark the day
In your calenders
Tell all of
Your many friends
Of the day Ellyn flew,
The beginning of the end
The end of the bullies
She threw out her fears
Ellyn cut out the negatives in life
The change drastic and severe
Ellyn decided that it's
The beginning of the end
She tore apart her monsters
Faced the voices in her head
She cleared out her closet
And checked under her bed
And by the time Ellyn was done
The end was quite near
The girl decided her past
Did not define her
And tomorrow is a new day
He mistakes would not recur
And now Ellyn is happy
And her new beginning glows
She faced down her demons
But there will still be cons and pros
Life is not a straight path
Obstacles you will face
But if your perspective is positive
Then you will find your place
Oct 18, 2013
Oct 18, 2013 at 1:18 PM UTC
There was blinding darkness to deal with
at first; worse, glaring light to fend off too,
I held you closely,to my heart and moved
we pledged to explore together till the end.
But the play of light and darkness recur
now with different colors and other means.
We lost the compass that point the path we sought
we parted ways smiling at a juncture, unexpected,
in silence, though still aware of our one true calling
the relentless quest to find a meaning absolute.
Now you are struck by the moment of epiphany
ask yourself about my whereabouts, perhaps fearing
I'm lost forever in some wilderness unknown,I gather
may be far far away from you, now you'd be thinking
as you had concluded I am wild, a meteor through space
But my love,never fear, find me there,within you, secure
at our old, rendezvous, that quiet,green space,eternal.
Jul 1, 2017
Jul 1, 2017 at 3:02 PM UTC
Where are you?
What are you doing now?
Under this endless sky, are you there?
A future where we all smiling and happily laughing
Is what I always dream of
Yet like the passing summer wind on that day
It disappeared
A story that just about to begin
Ended without any warning
Memories of distant past I recur to remember
Yet I can’t see your face
Like how the grains of sand in my hands keep on slipping;
You too, had slipped away
Where are you?
What are you doing now?
Are you looking at the same sky I am looking now?
I keep on praying all my wishes
Yet it seems it was never heard
As my voice was drowned out by the cry of cicadas
Returning to those times I deeply longed
The cicadas say it's too late
But still I keep on praying that I’ll reach out to you
That on the other side of this sky you are there
Please believe in me when I say
"Please be happy. I love you."
Where are you?
What are you doing now?
Even it will rain, there will still be an endless blue sky after
So let's start over once more
And hope that the ending will be happy this time
As the cicadas sing their song
Let’s go home and hold hands
Apr 9, 2018
Apr 9, 2018 at 12:58 AM UTC
Pushing through my mind
In the form of swirling stigma,
My life of such defined shape
Is slowly losing form.
My world of pain
Is hurting far more
And I don't give my time
To hypothesize
How to turn this all around.
I'm hard on myself,
But this world requires
A rough exterior to survive.
There's absolute sorrow...
The purest collapse in reason
Locked deep in my cathedral.
/FORESIGHT.
I drove down a road
Paved with asphalt as thick
As all my good intentions.
I swerved right into the traffic.
Death felt like a warm embrace
Riding the coattails of your words.
So devious now to think of you
With that halo.
/DIAMOND.
But that's all abstraction
From the roots of my mind,
Cracking like fire
Seconds from meeting its fate
On the end of the extinguisher.
And that's how I hope to vanish
From this Earth...
So bright and then nothing,
Shattering any illusion of my worth...
I'm just another diamond
Held under your sledgehammer.
/GAMBLER.
Pour another shot of your venom
Down my ******* throat.
I love how bitter
You are at your core.
I'm begging for those eyes
To turn into mirrors
As they take the last of my life
With that last cherry kiss.
My charity is death,
My donation isn't evident.
Spin that wheel again for me
With my soul on red
And yours on black,
And see if my motif of lucking out
Can recur so flawlessly once more.
Sep 27, 2015
Sep 27, 2015 at 10:09 PM UTC
I feel a burden
But that's only a reminder of existence
More so, of purpose
But Meaning is overrated
Sometimes you can be so cynical
I'm here to let you know
That your lightness, although beautiful
Will only occur now
Right now
Legacy means pain
Life is suffering
So they say
So plunge deep
And let the salt water sting
Pull your head above the water
And in the struggle for breath
Feel your lungs fill salty
Inundate heavy
Self-infliction is the most righteous
Defense is polite
Submerged, nothing is heard
Composed, silence feels
Meditations distract
This lightness is nice
And your place not too weighty
You'll rise
Salt sits on the tongue
Reincarnation is beautiful
But propagates the lightest of all existences
No experimentation
Permanent, make a decision
With only one life to live,
We might as well have not lived at all
Forces of opposition
Feel a burden
Feel a burden to recur
What happens but once
Feb 16, 2014
Feb 16, 2014 at 2:41 AM UTC
"Pop!" The sound of excitement
as the head of my enemy got off,
the last and most satisfying noise
that I thought I'd ever hear
but, I have lived through
just to hear it again
again, again and again
"Pop!" The sound that awakened
me and my fear
not so satisfying this time
maybe, this is the final one
hopefully, this is the final one
-Kaya
May 8, 2016
May 8, 2016 at 1:47 PM UTC
Years wear down
This body a rusty town
The cells fast shrink,
Yet somewhere deep within
A faintly throbbing green
Keeps us from the brink.
When it all seem to recur
Getting closer to departure
Past stories’ repeat,
Some things don’t grow stale
Their pleasures immeasurable
Memories bitter sweet.
Aug 26, 2013
Aug 26, 2013 at 2:42 AM UTC
Here it comes again, deadlines and exams.
I thought things will get better,
Reality boots me in the gut;
Expectations weigh me down.
My eccentricity, repels my peers.
How will I blend? How do I hope to belong?
Then you came along.
You lifted my angst, my loneliness.
You went your way to comfort me.
An unlikely friendship blossomed.
A bond crossing cities—piercing screens.
Academic plights tasted like butter.
Indifferent folks, spilt sweetness in their lips.
Stress, became lovely.
May hap, my silly expectations are reasonable after all.
Still, test papers are taken away.
Roads divide, split ways we go.
Now, I'm back in a rut—beatings recur.
If nothing else, at least we have journals of our memories.
Holding on light bulbs for each other,
Navigating the illusions of indoctrination.
Anxiously, waiting for our paths to cross again.
Aug 14, 2015
Aug 14, 2015 at 8:06 AM UTC
while out walking...on a SUNday afternoon...
*the senses five have vacated the premises,
sun doesn’t rhyme with June or moon BUT,
two out of three say get thee to liberty child,
go outside, find the mottled color rabbit and
smell the light, its scent arrives with hints of
old lyrics, huckleberry friend, feet humming to
let the sunshine in with “visions of harmony and
understanding, sympathy and trust abounding”*
*so you see the writing comes hard, but the knees
promise with every step to return, recur, recapture
each pleasing flag and line, every odor, all the perfectly
nonsensical so that a walk is a poem, an exercise in
harmonious...that a drifter like me, vague remembers
someone singing, like him, that he is:*
“off to see the world,
there’s such a lot of world to see
we’re after the same rainbow's end,
waitin' 'round the bend” and a moon river...*
Jun 7, 2020
Jun 7, 2020 at 3:25 PM UTC
I long for a gateway
a rabbit hole
to propel myself
through an intergalactic space
There
your hands will be warm
with pleasant promises
so that when you touch me
I can only feel
the purest kind of
wanting
There
you will lie next to me
and entwine your
veins with mine
so that we form
infinities that recur
like Mobius strips
inexplicable yet wonderful
Because
in this reality
your hands are weightless
grey shadows
only casting
an intangible presence
fleeting,
forgetting
and in this world
you press your body
so imperfectly
against mine
a vast chasm between
your lips and my lips
a distance
only too jarring to be filled
Why can't it be
that you want me
here
as much as I want you
here
Apr 6, 2015
Apr 6, 2015 at 11:38 PM UTC