"rediscovering" poems
In all my iterations, and my frequent reiterations,
Introspection reflection, run a muck, I find it unnecessary
To talk to God; the reason being quite simple, is
It and I are in constant dialogue, nary a pause, chattering
Round the clock, 24 seven, night and day, sleep interruptus,
I think to myself God has some nerve,
why can't he bother others?
in other parts of the world…
And so he does!
Visitors from far away lands, and languages I do not understand, but applaud their attempts to decipher the English one, that we share in common; if the lands are exotic, the names are more delightfully so, almost ****** It excites and titillates, to greet these kindred souls whose words be greeted by puzzlement, intrigue, like the delight of rediscovering vanilla, it's the same language spoken differently!
and god smiles and says:
"knew you would eventually speak my soul language!'"
Jul 29, 2025
Jul 29, 2025 at 11:23 AM UTC
I lost myself in boredom
Lost myself in the bitter and sour patches of life
Ripping myself free from the death grip of the vines that hold me down
I can see the sun shining through the leaves and thorns that cover my eyes
My sad, torn aching flesh screams out as the rain softly falls on it
Stinging the gaping open wounds as I search for reconciliation
As I slowly stumble back into my reality
Rediscovering my inspiration, surprise and happiness
I have come to my crossroads once again
Not looking back, I proceed on my path of hope
Living like I am dying and regretting nothing I have done
I may be scarred from my battles but that does not mean I have lost my virtue
Aug 22, 2010
Aug 22, 2010 at 9:24 PM UTC
The clock gets me.
It comes to me in the middle of the night
Pulls back the sheets and says, "Hey fucko."
Then it lifts open my sobby wet sand-encrusted lids,
It knows when I'm trying at sleep, pumping quarters
Like I was swallowing yawns, sometimes I try to squint
Harder and take a dream to the next level, whatever
The next level is. It's like Friday night when I wanted to go
Out to do something, whatever something is.
Because I know that if I don't I'll miss that thing that's so
Important that if I were to miss it the clock wouldn't come for me
Again.
And on Tuesday's when I'm knotting a dream around 2 o' clock
In the morning, my web-footed adventure, say, killing your
Boyfriend, say
Fighting the Nazis, say,
Rediscovering that you sent nudie pics to
That rando guy we met in that club that lives
in Prague-
I throw the clock at the ******* wall.
Because who knows, I make the bed wrong
Or maybe I don't cook right, or look right, or
Smile the right way at the right
Time. And you start thinking that I have to die.
The bane of my existence is an imagined feat in your
Walnut-sized brain, slowly numbing us while we're
Supposed to be, say
Listening to the rich, Oxford voice of
David Attenborough.
Instead you're thumbing through that index
of CVS cashiers, just trying to find a scruffy face
To flip your digits to, your homemade justification. It becomes
A feat, an unjust cause of mine to
Get it right, that imaginative and artificial bit you've
Been sewing up Monday twilight.
That's when I go out and jaw your sister, somewhere between
A smirk on your face and a bit of anger at the end of your sentences.
May 2, 2014
May 2, 2014 at 3:19 PM UTC
emptying out boxes
discarding things I no longer need
rediscovering treasures
I had frgotten I had
as I break down each empty box,
I feel a little lighter, more free
soon the things I have been hoarding
are all gone, and I can't rember why held on so long
one room down, few more to go
I wouldn't miss it for the world
Jul 26, 2014
Jul 26, 2014 at 2:18 PM UTC
tonight a girl stands on a bridge.
the midsummer breeze dances around her curves.
it begs her to come play.
her heart beats steady.
her gaze is motionless.
the changing air steals a whisper.
"we are moving into the house of Aquarius"
under the bridge a man sleeps.
in a few weeks he'll turn fifty-eight,
but he doesn't know that.
he hasn't had a birthday celebration in years.
he hasn't had anything to celebrate in years.
the bridge is home now.
above him,
a girl is rediscovering herself.
a girl is rediscovering her fear of heights.
she looks 25 light years above her, at Vega.
in a way, she thinks, she is like this star.
she is about midway through her life expectancy,
but her light died a quarter century ago.
the man sleeps soundly.
a smile is spread across his face.
he is dreaming of his dinner,
a footlong sub.
extra olives, just the way he likes it.
it was his first meal in several days
but tonight, his stomach is full.
he has come to like the grease on his face.
it shows he has survived many challenges.
the hardships have only made him wiser.
the girl, she minored in astrology.
she was fifth in her graduating class.
debt lurked deep in her mind.
it polluted her every thought with
reminders that she was not in control.
now, she tries to justify her current position.
on the bridge.
looking out at Lyra, partially hidden by clouds
"nothing I do will matter."
she reconsiders.
she recalls an anecdote she overheard
on the subway, or somewhere:
"when you're dead, you're dead for a looooong time"
she smiles. kids say the darnedest things.
tonight she curses her 'lucky stars'.
nothing the girl does will matter.
tonight she will become a woman.
tonight she will give herself to the wind.
the man will find her in the morning.
the man will chuckle to himself.
"they always make it down here,
one way or another"
Apr 3, 2014
Apr 3, 2014 at 1:23 PM UTC
There is something
in your presence
that makes me feel
like I am returning home,
as though I've
traced the outline of that sparkling smile,
anticipated your kiss,
and recognized the whisper of your voice,
long before now.
Instances,
in which we have known each other
in some other
existence.
Times,
when I am acutely aware
and can sense
your disposition, cravings and
aversions
simply by looking into your eyes, hearing your voice,
or contemplating your touch.
Our paths in this life,
of course,
have simply not allowed this to be
imaginable.
But its in those moments,
serendipitous moments,
when I feel like
I am rediscovering you,
instead of becoming acquainted with the essence of you.
And it makes me wonder.
Dec 2, 2014
Dec 2, 2014 at 7:30 PM UTC
So what is recovery?
Is it that tingle in your cheeks
When the corners of your mouth meet
Upwards.
Is it that sparkle in your eyes
Because they're no longer suffocated by your cries and you now have the potential to realise
You are strong.
Is it that glimpse of light, that for so long had been out of sight, that you cling onto tight, through fear
It's only temporary.
Is it rediscovering yourself, rebuilding your health and developing a new wealth
Of coping mechanisms.
Is it realigning the chemical imbalances in your brain, so you no longer feel insane, so there's not less pain
But a mind that can handle it.
Is it the glimpse in the mirror where you don't turn in horror but you greet and honour the person that you are.
Is it the fear, that's consumed you year by year, that's brought the end so near,
That starts to evaporate.
Is it eating a meal, and not having to feel like
You need to punish yourself.
Is it hearing voices, but no longer allowing them to dictate your choices,
Because they don't own you anymore.
Is it putting down the bottle, because you're fed up of the throttle
It had you in.
Is it the feeling when you finally win
Back your own heart and mind
When finally you look inside
And don't find
Darkness but light,
When the night no longer scares you
And the days you can finally pull through
Or is it simply a phase
A gaze at what could never be
For there is no clarity,
No prospect to be free
In chains and nooses
And scars and bars.
In bodies that fight to survive
Trapped inside a mind that fights to take our lives.
Some of us; shall never be undone
We fight a war;
That could Never be won.
Dec 6, 2014
Dec 6, 2014 at 6:46 AM UTC
somewhere between the
first date and the last date
Joni Mitchell,
she, me
encapsulates
I'm remembering well,
pounding the dashboard of a red Jag,
laughable now, mocking this fool's need
for a middle age conceit,
his heart to restart,
reactivate
in enthusiastic lockstep with the voice of the
Joni, the blonde goddess of his youth,
foot falling in love, with the accelerator,
speeding along
at a
joyous sixty five,
in places where the signs said,
"thirty five to stay alive"
this aged Rip Van Winkle teenager,
in reverse osmosis of Big,
an old buck, come back to antlered life,
singing along to the CD disc
set on
backdate
*I could drink case of you,
and still be on my feet*
and he could
rediscovering the champagne taste
of a great first date,
feeling the heated blood and fevered mind,
symptoms of the pleasures of a robust
anticipate
thinking she's the one
who will make him great,
happy greater, greater happy
than that one ever, ever,
he thought was roulette~wheel possible,
landing on the red of hopeful for a
floodgate
overture spilling
months, days, minute minute moments (tiny time intervals),
of the fated faded last date later, the next eve, next day
or the next of never,
comes the
deflate
but then,
Joni singing comfort words,
reminding him that he would be,
wisely, sadly seeing, feeling,
both sides now, and yet again,
getting his mind back to
straight
*I've looked at love that way,
but now it's just another show.
you leave 'em laughing when you go,
and if you care, don't let them know,
don't give yourself away*
a grown man punk'd, blasted,
dumb and dumber, dumped,
a feeling sorry sad sack self,
until he himself
reflates,
drink another case,
onto yet another
magical mystery first
date
pounding that dashboard once again,
believing it's not too late
that perfect roommate heart's to find and
captivate,
to attain, invade, acquaint and laughingly...
serenade
Jul 5, 2016
Jul 5, 2016 at 8:38 PM UTC
Deep in the alcove
Of my being
I find an image
Within an image
Rediscovering myself
A facsimile
Adding only strength
Small
And still sure
That is my endeavor
I look within
For amity and strength
For conversations
With only me
As an audience
I find myself and
Smile…
I am the Matryoshka
Wooden beauty in the outside
Subtlety and charm
Moisten my core
On the inside.
Feb 4, 2013
Feb 4, 2013 at 11:32 PM UTC
**At first light I made a gift of coffee
it’s aroma stirred just one long leg
I lifted her naked into the wet warmth
to bathe awake and wash long hair
carrying her towelled wrapped form
bowed lips now sip then fight me
as I dress her in jeans, socks and top
beauty made calm and simple
Drunk sad at her leaving party
keeping her warm I had let Lust sleep
now still lolling in grief for dark peace
my selfish need drags her ****** up
into light trapped by the green valley
walking on along its grass path
the canoed river spits past a-whirl
rediscovering the torn through pocket
her hand delves questioning
to withdraw unhurried, stroked
by a flicking fishing rod
Recovered now leading me
over the bridge above the Boat
then on up the steep valley side
we arrive at the Ostrich for beer
then to dine on fish in the open
feeding and sharing her lips
we consider audaciously
the little garden’s potential
she hums prayer murmurings
pleased by the moment
On into the nearby woods
high above the Kings trail
to slowly descend hedged paths
we return to the river valley
slipping between shop doors
lifting a book we idle along
a new couple enjoying life
taking tea under waterfalls
back besides the Boat where
her beauty is now Queen
She leads me smiling by the hand
along both banks in the setting sun
till we near the Abbey's stone ribs
skipping around it's green shadows
a bank helps us to vault within
Fenced alone
ignoring distant figures
jeans and top colour
the darkening lawns
beckoning me closer
Lust now sits astride
the grass and stone
an open ****** grin
A week only, no more
I am left alone in her bed
on this smaller island
she ashore in another
busy - separated by a day
we talk lovers spells
and write away our hopes
Three months and two days
a call **** you we were....
pregnant” her sacrifice ours
on a stainless alter of
that new god Career**
.
May 12, 2010
May 12, 2010 at 2:45 AM UTC
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
TO SMILE BECAUSE EVERYONE ELSE DOES :) IS:
- An act of anarchy, especially if you don't have any teeth :D
- Because all beings are blessed Bees
- Certain sign of cretenism or genuine Charm
- Denominative sense of digestion is Disturbing
- Ethically wrong Endeavor
- Fascinating and freeking fabulous if you intend to F. . .
- Gorgeous as Geometry
- Hot on Hotties
- Imature and implies lack of Integrity
- Jibberish
- Keen rediscovering so many Keens or Kens
- Lovely on Lovely ones (once)
- Magnificent Mimicry
- Negating the jokers(or your own) inteligence / numb is Numb
- Onthological urge to survive among jungle beasts - fangs are
quintessential urban asset. .or. . Smile-The-Power-Wilder-Open
- Pertinent in Parliament
- Quiet resistance behind a cold minded rebellions league - quitting in few minutes kicking some mthf harassing ****** pervert - to hard Quiver
- Real lovely strenght to feel and see each other happy
- Stupid on jokes = Joke Stupid
- Tactics to climb up the social ledder or/end further down the Thongs
- U can't admit you didn't get it; u2
- Violation of virtues as (in vino) Veritas
- Wonderful! To see people happy is healthy, positive and Wise!
- X times better than being in low energy
- You love your beloved and you are loved by your beloved love
- Zooming at the ' zoo' of human behaviour -
Amusing as Zorro-Art-Is-MusssssssssseumZ
Jan 21, 2015
Jan 21, 2015 at 5:11 PM UTC
I was crazed
As the moonlight blush my skin
In a crowd of deception
Finding that spectacle of color
In a short time
People dancing in the streets
As music plays on to dusk to dawn
To a carnival for the ages
The energy generated between men and women
As the their bodies heat up
Rediscovering their destiny
With costumes so glimmer and glittery
No one knew who exactly they can be
A mystical trip to Brazil
Is a realm of festivities
To strangers of beloved passion
Oct 12, 2009
Oct 12, 2009 at 12:55 PM UTC
reading this morn's newspaper was different
said the father to his son
the prints are loud and bold
alphabets glitter as gold
crystal lucid is the page
and from the balcony,
whee, i can see every tree
without the haze.
the next twenty four days
he was joyously rediscovering a world
in the exuberance of one reborn
only missing the car that ran him down
on the twentyfifth morn.
Sep 30, 2015
Sep 30, 2015 at 10:01 AM UTC
My tongue flicks
Absent mindedly
Discovering and rediscovering
The new sensation
Of a missing tooth
Or a kernel of food
wedged in my gums
Or a ****** cheek
Bit ferociously while chewing.
In my same manor
My thoughts stroke
the idea of you,
Feeling for any new details
i may have missed
My first time
across your surface.
a mark, wrinkling
beneath your eye
a small tattoo
above your elbow
a delicate crease
where your head
meets your neck.
Subtleties of self
are everything to me.
you hold your cigarette
between hits,
bent backwards between
thumb and middle finger
as if subconsciously,
you know
you’re damning yourself.
You hold your elbows
When you cross your arms
As though you are afraid,
Should you relax your grip
The contents of your chest
Will spill out before you
Like a toppled canister
Of produce remnants,
Juicy, sloppy, and sopping
But you speak quietly,
like a discarded bag
of shredded documents.
Rustling with partial importance
I try to piece together
your comments
almost as though your words
hang beneath the weight
of your breath
as an afterthought
of your exhalation.
I watch you
watch me,
calmly calculating
baiting conversations
with tactful insinuation
and later,
in deep rumination
they replay.
I select the moments
That fit the narrative
I've created,
rummaging through
until what I want
you to mean
is all I hear you say.
Mar 1, 2017
Mar 1, 2017 at 12:19 AM UTC
That simple glance didn't suffice
I had to SEE you
One caress wasn't enough
needed to FEEL you whole
A brush on the lips
& in unison
we made a home
Funny feeling of familiarity
wrapped around curiosity
for the unknown
Like forgetting your
greatest LOVE
& rediscovering it all at once
Sep 16, 2015
Sep 16, 2015 at 12:41 AM UTC
Maybe happiness is
Rediscovering parts of yourself
That were buried long under
The murky abyss of conformity
Maybe happiness is
Finding the long lost faith
Deep inside your own self
The naked flesh of your mind
Maybe happiness is
After all a state of your mind
That you have to accept
As it swivels in rhythm
A playful youth of ecstasy
Mar 5, 2023
Mar 5, 2023 at 2:23 PM UTC
how nice would it be
to
rediscover you
while you
rediscover me
you talked about
it
rediscovering love
while we
rediscover us
I laugh because
I
rediscovered you
while you
lost yourself
Mar 7, 2014
Mar 7, 2014 at 11:16 PM UTC
Packetfuls of some morning long gone
Celebrations of some relations long lost
Appraisals of youth long withered
Dying of some laughter long forgotten
Yellowed photographs newly rediscovered.
As if after the hesitation of two decades
They’ve resurfaced out of a rusty old box
Freshly etching old patterns, repainting innocence
A revision of life… what if….what if not….
Some strange spirit of myself smiles back at me
“Is that me?” leading on to “Who am I?”
Existential discomfort set alight
The sleepless questions- twisting and turning
Memories in my head- swimming and swirling
- Vijayalakshmi Harish
16/06/2007
Copyright © Vijayalakshmi Harish
Aug 13, 2012
Aug 13, 2012 at 12:40 AM UTC
…rain, rain, red rain, scarlet rain, ochre rain, incarnadine rain, rain driving in torrents unseen in millennia, pounding the desiccated earth in a frenzy of hydration...
I... I never dared hope to see this. In the last days... let me see now... this is so difficult that even my recollection grows dim...
In the Last Days, Council met and planned. We exhorted the brightest, challenged the greatest minds. We sifted through aeons of knowledge and philosophy, searching for the key to our salvation. Plans were made and discarded. Theories expounded... and proved false. In time, we came to the inescapable conclusion.
Our seed had grown thin. Hundreds of generations of advancement, fine-tuning, and engineering had taken its toll on our people. We had become threadbare; the canvas of our soul stretched beyond the limit of its frame. We had become a doomed race.
(...rain from pole to pole, reaving nature through force of Will, rain into rivulets, rivers cascading into falls, scouring terrified hillsides, on an unstoppable charge to the lowlands...)
The inevitable demonstrated beyond doubt, some lost all reason. Others chose their own end; marching calmly, in ones and twos, or in families, into the hopeless portals of Ra’k Tanar. A few of us chose to carry on, in the hope that something might be salvaged.
(...rain like the fury of a spent people, a whirlwind railing against futility, rain coursing and surging, hungrily rediscovering its soil, its flood-plains, its oceans, rain urging defiance, blood-red rain on blood-red clay, a million screams and a million years out of time...)
And in a way, we forged a kind of victory. Ruined as we were, we were not without Craft. Our best we gathered to the Hall of Treasures, under the icon you have only just uncovered. We laboured hard, so that even with our passing, the land would not forever wither. The seeds of your future were planted long in our past. You are coming into your inheritance: now, under the deluge...
(...rain like a thunderstrike echoing through the centuries, life-giving rain, angry rain, rain like the tumult and violence of all the wronged and lost, breathing, raging life into possibility all around, and with one last, weary, sigh, I leap into the heavens, rise up, become one with the sky, one with the rain, and fall in a billion crimson teardrops
Feb 14, 2013
Feb 14, 2013 at 7:56 AM UTC
this is how it is.
lover of the moon, red nail polish, and my body
poetry passionate
anaemic
patient listener
book worm
creature-infatuated
exotically home made
gutter-student
in-toe walker
ignorant genius of nothing and everything
insignificantly significant
this is me.
Dec 1, 2010
Dec 1, 2010 at 4:38 AM UTC
1. When you break five beer glasses at work
do not berate yourself
imagine yourself as a young child
she is with you for this instance in your life
would you be as cruel to her as you are to yourself?
You have as much right to let thins shatter at your feet as she does
Do not take this as a mistake
Take this as a subconscious act against the addiction that held you parents in its ugly hands for years
2. If you want to find your joy in speaking to strangers
then allow it
hang out with the boy in Hawaii at 3 am that you just met
discover that his leg resting on yours feels like the warmth of the island
even in the depth of the night
realize that you do not have to miss the cold skin of the boy who was your first everything
you are a girl who needs warmth,
and you are a girl who can find this warmth in others
3. I’ve learned in the past month that the best way to figure out who should be in your life is to love yourself harder than you ever have before and watch for who resents it.
4. Do not apologize for your emotions
You are human
Do not allow someone to tell you that you are lesser because you are angry
Because you are sad
Because you just don’t know
5. Teach people the acceptable way to treat you by reciveing nothing less than what you need
Wear your self-love for all of them to see
Scream it from the rooftops
You are a goddess
You are not to be underestimated
Sharpen your eyes so well that a look will keep them in line
But do not forget to keep your softness as well
Do not harden your heart
Just because they fear your fire does not mean you should douse it
Do you not realize how many other people it keeps warm?
Oct 24, 2014
Oct 24, 2014 at 3:26 PM UTC
The places I feel it when you're gone.
I didn't know you could.
It's like vertigo,
Like that sensation when your chair tips,
Only in the oddest places.
In my hands, and they go a bit limp,
Unable to hold things like they should
As if they've forgotten how.
Sometimes my teeth ache, like I've just eaten something sweet and cold, and it spreads down my jaw and makes my head spin.
Things that shouldn't have vertigo- my bones,
My feet,
My lungs.
It's disorienting. It's a little scary.
But at the same time I hold onto it,
Proof that you mean something,
Proof that you have changed me inside
So drastically
That nothing knows how to work quite right anymore.
I have rarely ever needed comforting like I need it now
But how to ask...
And so I sit within my strange new body
That seems to be rediscovering the entire world
At a pace a bit too slow
To seem normal
And I wait for you
And I know that the second I see you
I will be on solid ground again.
Sep 27, 2015
Sep 27, 2015 at 7:03 AM UTC
On a Saturday morning, one unnaturally warm for the usually brisk Pacific Northwest region, a girl woke up early.
Her first thought was not of the time, 6 am. She had woken up at this hour many times before, every Saturday in fact. Nor was her first thought about the unnatural warmth of the air seeping through her window. Her first thoughts were not of her legs tangled in her blankets, of the large breakfast she wouldn't eat, or of the last remnants of her dreams.
Her first thoughts were of a boy.
As were her second.
Her third. Her fourth.
Her fifth however, was that she should probably get ready to leave.
That summer, the girl had spent every Saturday morning 3 miles up the road at a small farm owned by a family from her church. Her father, the pastor with a history of dairy farming, had encouraged church goers to head up to the farm to help pick the bushels of fruits and vegetables being grown for his churches personal food bank. The girl simply assisted him.
The boy was on her mind every other minute, as she dressed, washed, loaded her allergy medication into a bag and trekked out the door into the misty morning heat. All through the drive she was silent, wondering if he every thought about her. Her father was all but indifferent, speaking of little but weather patterns and permaculture.
The farm was large yet quaint, owned by a woman who evidently had an unfulfilled dream to become a Barbie doll. Farm animals were littered unnecessarily around the property, serving little purpose but to appear cute. The girl supposed they succeeded.
45 minutes of plucking kale leaves offered little satisfaction to the girl, her fingers shaking and ***** aching for contact with the boy who she admitted to herself had probably never given her a second thought. However, this thought was in fact her 67th consecutive such one about the boy. She was unaware of how her 79th thought about him would happen to coincide with the gentle vibration in her pocket. A small blue box with an early morning greeting would appear on her cell phone screen, making her dirt covered hands oddly still.
She was unaware that the boy was motivated to send this particular message by his 104th consecutive thought about her that morning. She was unaware that, much like her, he had thought of little else over the previous month. She was unaware that hours of conversation would lead to revelations of startlingly similar music preferences, opinions and thoughts.
She was unaware how deeply he felt for her. Yet she was all but unaware of how deeply she felt for him. She was unaware that two years from this warm Saturday morning she would be laying in bed at 1 am, rediscovering her writing talent while recounting the beginnings of a love story. Her own.
Jul 27, 2015
Jul 27, 2015 at 4:06 AM UTC
I love to look far in the distance
to discover new things in existence.
Exit my own body, my life.
Fall prey to rude world.
Gaze upon myself.
Graze my wild imagination.
Dwell into darkness, find the light
and rediscover my life.
Mar 30, 2010
Mar 30, 2010 at 5:57 AM UTC
I caught you in the dark.
The reeds bending with my footsteps,
the wet grass chilling my toes as my
breath hung thick- close to my face.
I reached with the glass jar that my parents gave me and caught you.
And closed the lid.
I took you into my room
-the place I'd never let anyone go before-
where you lit up the dark
and made shadows dance on the ceiling.
I kept you safe a snug in that jar
watching your controlled beauty light up
my dresser,
then my bed,
then my jewelry box,
and showed you all the prettiest parts of my room-
they got even lovelier in your presence.
but then You got out of the jar
And flew around my room- rediscovering
my dresser,
then my bed,
then my jewelry box
with a celestial freedom and a fullness I didn't know was possible.
And it was beautiful.
But then you flew into my closet
and under my bed
and behind the doors I keep closed
and buzzed around my ***** laundry.
It was ugly.
But I couldn't control you, and I couldn't put you back into the jar again.
While you lit up my entire room, my shame grew larger than the night sky looming on the other side of the windowpane.
So I opened the window
and waited for you to fly away from my ugly
believing that you would join the stars
Oct 10, 2011
Oct 10, 2011 at 9:37 PM UTC