"reemerge" poems
Harriet turned back off the intercom and stood in the office for a few seconds. What have we done? I can't believe I let my ten year old son be the vessel to that thing. I can't believe we were stupid enough to summon that thing thought Harriet. Harriet walked out of the office and back to the worship area where Evil was waiting.
"Why do you have a look of concern on your face Harriet? What did you think I would be like?" asked Evil. "I didn't know what to expect" said Harriet. As Harriet and Evil stood eyeing each other the members of Sinister walked in the worship area.
"I'm glad you all could make it. Now sit down" said Evil. A stocky middle aged man walked up to Evil looked down at him and said "I don't take orders from children." with a smile on his face Evil broke the man's leg in half by giving him a front kick to his knee cap. The stocky man hit the floor and screamed in agony. The members of Sinister watched in horror as Evil wrapped his arms around the man's head and broke his neck. He then proceeded to rip the man's head off and throw it out the door of the worship area.
"Now if everyone would please listen to me very carefully. The person you see is not Levi. I am Evil. Your priest summoned me and I answered his call. The vessel you see is Levi but I am Evil. All of you may address me as Levi" said Evil. The members of Sinister looked at each other but didn't say a word. "Sit down. You all thought the Book of Evil was something to play with and that I wasn't real. You put the cult Sinister together to pass time and have fun. I am very real" said Evil as the members of Sinister sat down. "Your High Priest use to run the show but from now on I'll be running the show. You may now return to your rooms until I call for you again" said Evil.
All of the members of Sinister stood to their feet and returned to their rooms. When all of the members of Sinister were gone Evil looked at Harriet and said "I need for you to update me on world events. I need to know what's going on around the world." "You need to watch the Visual View Screen. The Visual View Screen is a device that show us World News, entertainment shows, movies, and music. What you need to watch is world news. Follow behind me" said Harriet.
Harriet led Evil out of the worship area and to a room where there was a Visual View Screen. She turned on the Visual View Screen, turned the channel to the world news, and the two sat down and watched the world news.
"That's it right there. It's amazing how Scientist and Bio Engeiners come up with things" said Evil. "What's it?" asked Harriet. "Don't you just love war? Your species create genius ways to **** each other. They created a virus and a cure to for the virus. The building where the virus is kept is under quarantine. We are going to release the virus and live in the underground city designed to keep the Scientist and Bio Engeiners safe if the virus ever got loose. Once the virus **** everyone on planet the members of Sinister will reemerge from the underground city and I will create a new world" said Evil.
Written by Keith Edward Baucum
Oct 11, 2016
Oct 11, 2016 at 5:22 PM UTC
emotionally drained
past calling back
echoing all around
haunting and foreboding
threatening to reemerge
or is it just past expectations
past fears,
that I place over the present
though these words
are frighteningly familiar
too close to heart
to ignore
too close to past pain
past insecurities
to not worry,
not worry that it is
all too true
not worry that
the pattern will continue
that it really is cause of me -
the mine shaft is
closing all around
Aug 26, 2012
Aug 26, 2012 at 10:07 AM UTC
Unintended circumstances brought me back
Where the wild things are. Or were.
Youthful images reemerge as I traverse my old home.
A senseless vagabond roaming former lands
With bittersweet observations and nothing short of good intentions.
Old landmarks remain, others disappeared as I did.
My room remains open and lonely with tidied sheets
And outdated athletic apparel scattered throughout.
A sign that my presence here is obsolete.
I've been dreading this day for some time now.
Not due to my father's underwhelming support
Or my mother's overbearing nature.
I've been dreading this day because of the monsters under my bed.
They don't exist anymore.
I'm not afraid anymore.
My biggest childhood worry vanished the minute
I stepped foot out of the house for good.
So when I stepped foot back into my room to fall asleep
I gave one last look where my nightmares once resided.
Just in case I had fooled myself into becoming one of
The vast majority of adults too mature for childhood villains.
And then it happened- my innocence evaporated from my body.
My sophisticated eyes were no match for my former foes.
I had confirmed the last traces of my youth had been eliminated
From my very existence- migrating under mattresses around the block.
So all I can do now is lie here and reminisce about
Where the wild things are now.
Jul 1, 2013
Jul 1, 2013 at 1:31 AM UTC
What is it about stairways?
An image of promise,
Or is that mystery?
Cascading in slanted light,
Tempting us forward,
Upward
Delivering us to romanticized paradise
Or ornamented haven.
To sanctuary disguised as a sun dusted bedroom,
Where doubtless, is a hidden love
Of the sort that once uncovered,
Will ever follow us.
Or maybe to dark wooded rooms,
Glowing with strings of frosted light.
Indigo ceilings and charcoaled walls,
Lit up
Or a creaking hallway that will usher us
To chipping french doors with a glassy view,
Where we will glimpse a new and equally hopeful vista.
Perhaps enchantment
In the form of rolling, dark green gardens,
With another Stairway that is their own, but is
Descending,
And which, at its very sight, we can feel tugging at our hand;
Breeze itself, defined and determined
It will be an alluring yet familiar pull.
Luminescence between our fingertips.
The sight a vow that will pull us down those steps
Cool stone alive with mossy cracks, that curve, disappearing from view
Laying us down to wonder,
Only in a moment to reemerge in the clearer eyes of our mind.
Where surely, round the corner, we will just be able to make out that the steps are met
With an unclouded, rosy woodland.
The aspen encompassment of a measured and ghostly chemistry;
Flourescent tree line and rocky hem,
Savage and most lovely,
If we only have the courage to climb or to descend them, a perceptual promise awaits,
An ended hunt.
The perfect tincture of Wilderness and Refuge,
That will make us feel the scope of our existence,
without ever having to doubt whether we are safe.
Mar 2, 2013
Mar 2, 2013 at 5:03 PM UTC
In the last quarter of the twentieth century, much of the world sat on the edge of an increasingly expensive theater seat waiting for something momentous to occur. Christian aficionados of the Second Coming scenario were convinced that, after two thousand years, the other shoe was about to drop. And five of the era's best-known psychics predicted that Atlantis would soon reemerge from the depths. To this last, Princess Leigh-Cheri responded, "There are three lost continents…we are one: the lovers." In whatever esteem one might hold Princess Leigh-Cheri's thoughts, one must agree that the last quarter of the twentieth century was a severe period for lovers. It was a time a time when romantic relationships took on the character of ice in spring, stranding many little children on jagged and inhospitable floes. Nobody quite knew what to make of the moon anymore
Consider a certain night in August. The moon was so bloated it was about to tip over. For more than an hour, Leigh-Cheri stared into the sky. "Does the moon have a purpose?" She inquired. The same query put to the Remington SL3 typewriter elicited this response: Albert Camus wrote that the only serious question in life is whether to **** yourself or not. Tom Robbins wrote that the only serious question is whether time has a beginning and an end. Camus clearly got up on the wrong side of bed, and Robbins must have forgotten to set the alarm. There is only one serious question. And that is: Who knows how to make love stay? Answer me that and I will tell you whether or not to **** yourself. Answer me that and I will ease your mind about the beginning and end of time. Answer me that and I will reveal to you the purpose of the moon.
-La Dispute, One
Aug 23, 2014
Aug 23, 2014 at 8:28 PM UTC
Years of brutal bruising
In my brain
Tired of the pain, but I see nothing else
Without pain, I'm nothing
Too comfortable with hurt, longing for the dark
To reemerge angry, broken and scarred
Shift.
Feb 22, 2013
Feb 22, 2013 at 1:51 PM UTC
I believe you cared no I’m positive you did
because the way you used to look at me makes it impossible to mistake it for anything but love
the way your eyes would search me
looking as if they were trying to remember every inch to reference in
the short moments we were apart
your hands were so kind back then
every movement of them was so intentional
and a complete extension of your heart
I remember the trail you followed from my eyes to my feet
the way you breathed me in
the way you completely enveloped me
it eased every muscle every complete inch of me
you had this talent to calm me down
some impressive manner to slow time down
I was so in love...I was so completely yours
I never doubted it for a minute
I hate that I’m writing in the past tense, and I hate that I remember every move you made
because each memory that passes through my subconscious leaves a
reoccurring stinging pain
a cringe and another deep breath to try to expel any
good thoughts of you any illusion that the past is actually the present
I refuse to allow my dormant thoughts of you to reemerge
an endless process to keep you locked in a place where I can't remember
I continue to fail ...and this failure kills me
every second i can feel you gone.
I can feel this hole expanding within my chest
trying to fill the gap you left with an endless stream of comfort disguised with immorality
they last for a moment but they stop the pain
ever so slightly for one moment
a moment of relief in a my world of complacency
I love you more than I can bare
But once again I must remind myself,
those days are gone.
Mar 3, 2011
Mar 3, 2011 at 4:05 AM UTC
I just want to let her sleep.
Let her rest
so she can reemerge a warrior against
the gilded masochism
and misogyny
of the office.
so her perfect vessel combats the encroaching infection
and she can breathe deep and strong
and snort in the lifeblood
of the dawn.
so she can see despite our return to dust
there is yet so much
and she must live in ecstasy
of the moment.
so she can reap the reward of a long deserved slumber
and lose the swollen circles and pains of defeat
and shake the anxieties
of her heart.
Let her rest
so she can come alive.
Let her rest
so she can come back.
Just,
let her sleep.
Sep 28, 2016
Sep 28, 2016 at 10:18 PM UTC
The starlight sings to the dead of night
crimson lullabies from times long gone,
stories of sorrow, love and might
that keep the dark entranced til the break of dawn.
Though the sun rises, outshining the stars
their shimmering voices can still be heard,
their silver tongues weave tales of Mars
the great God of War and the battles he spurred.
They croon of the lovely Venus, goddess of love
whose body beguiled the lustful soul of man,
whose beauty enchanted realms below as above
and inspired tomes of poetry as only woman can.
As the sun grows weary and his brilliance fades,
and the cotton candy sky gives way to ebony,
as the phantom moon begins her promenade,
the stars reemerge and resume their symphony.
Oct 11, 2017
Oct 11, 2017 at 7:49 PM UTC
In me there is a scourge
That I have tried to purge
But instead of fighting its evil urge
I become one with it and merge
Hoping it will never again diverge
Or take me over and reemerge
Jan 5, 2017
Jan 5, 2017 at 1:15 AM UTC
I am still inside
But, some days, the person I think I am stands back and watches the truth.
I observe a person I don't know.
She is a monster
That girl who lives in my body.
She wants to completely destroy what I carefully built
I try to scream
But, no one hears the voice of the wind
They’ve all forgotten me and are welcoming her into their embrace.
Will I reemerge
Or will that girl swallow me whole?
Is it possible to one day return to the person I was before?
May 23, 2018
May 23, 2018 at 7:33 PM UTC
You can tell me
in remarkable detail
about how you ****** that guy
not once
but twice
in the handicap stall
of the first floor bathroom.
I won't judge you
or think less of you
or even blink
as you tell me
how he finished all over your face
and you licked up
every
last
drop.
No, I'll sit there quietly,
listening intently,
because, to be honest,
it doesn't bother me.
But if you stare at me
with hungry eyes
or comment on how **** I look
or even offer to please me
without any sort of reciprocation
because you just want to make me feel good,
I will tense up,
shut down,
retreat into my metaphorical cave,
and only reemerge
when the coast is clear.
Yes, you can tell me
all about your *** life,
but I don't even want to think
about mine.
Dec 9, 2013
Dec 9, 2013 at 9:23 PM UTC
but unless you integrate
really do the inner work
not just Be Dazzle your ego
with illumination memoirs
after something
skims your surface
you might go from repping
solfeggio frequencies
to singing, *get on my level ***
finger flinging in the face
of head-spun girl wondering
*what the **** have I done*
got to Ctrl + Z
trapass stuck keys
undo
undo
undo
patterns will reemerge
unless you hack the ****
outta perspective lit up
(be it LSD or other
luminous peaks)
May 22, 2017
May 22, 2017 at 12:45 PM UTC
As I wonder, I conjure a monster with this wand and my honor.
I ponder how you can squander my genre, I'm lava.
Anacondas to lamas, venomous, I'm black mambas.
Garfield comma lasagna, that's pasta.
Comets comment on the trauma after I bombed ya.
***** iguana after the ***** in the Bahamas.
In the cabana like Osama, hide and seek, trying to avoid the drama.
but my Pride hunts and peaks when I speak,
A void, this is the 3Y3 of the BLitZ3D SAGA.
Blunts of kief while I reap, hydroponic droid.
Quick like Raffekie but I lead like Mufassa.
I'm Scar to hyenas, and yes I am Luke's Father.
Hiatus, I'm too high, I am a Sky Walker.
Hydra made, I claim Dark Mage
Use 3's when I write, and spell magic with a K.
Your gana need to come harder.
This is Tree times 3 vs Special K.
Said **** it and versed myself 3 ways that one day.
It was MagiKal, see the intentional K?
Savage truth, My pills red.
Down the rabbit hole, I'm here to stay.
Reach out an ravage your ankle.
Pull you in, M.I.B. I'm Agent-K.
Mage In Black, Dark Arts,
Matrix word play, not an absurd grey.
Prometheus, I am Predator,
A.I., I-Robot, I Am Legend,
Will Smith, Independence Day.
Annunaki I am a descendant.
The First Demi they selected,
Earths representative that slays.
An entity,
When they spoke of god, what they meant was me.
The incarnation of uncertainty.
Hell bent on carnage, feeds on false beliefs.
"The Scripture", "Birthed from the streets."
A reputation you cant tarnish.
I don't expect relief.
Mercy is for the week.
I'll die standing before I ever drop to a knee.
The first to leap.
I AM BLitZ3D.
THIS IS TH3 3Y3'S OF TH3 L3GACY THAT IS M3.
"E.T"
"A Lion, A Demon, A Creature Of Myth, An Alien Being"
Plasma is on the page but ET's not bleeding.
Thats just my pen leaking, Kracken ink can be misleading.
Submerged marines, Titanic icebergs, Atlantis reemerge on my command , sorcerer supreme, Gigantic knights Converge,
Looped in a green screen dream sequence scene theme,
"The Sheep Will Always Scream"
Eye of the storm, I am Dopamine
I am dope, I mean. Am I not dope man?
I am the dope man to the feigns
(To Be Continued...)
Feb 7, 2016
Feb 7, 2016 at 11:19 PM UTC
Tonight I have an appetite
I want to merge my body
With your soul, and become whole.
To converge upon each other and
discharge our urges until spent
reemerge, renewed, unhurt, purged.
With sleep slurred words
I tell you that I love you
You stroke my hair, and murmur
I love you too hummingbird
Content we fall asleep entwined
Our urge confirmed in love.
May 5, 2014
May 5, 2014 at 6:46 PM UTC
grains of salt slip into fractured flesh
I lay flattened into the sand as pelicans soar overhead
patiently waiting for the tide to reel me in and claim me as it's fish
my splintered skin throbs scarlet with memories
as I let the current wash my wounds and take those thoughts into the blue
cuts with contours whose rivers run red with murky mixtures of joy and sorrow
examining blistering burns that sizzle and sear
ocean waters cool the scathing brands you planted on me
in this process, nostalgic steam arises as old days are recalled
and past scars reemerge as fresh as the day I first heard those 3 words
but now it's all being washed away
all of the "our's" are once again only mine
because I no longer float in the aqua of your eyes
so in a moment of melancholy, I release my steady grip on your hand
and your fingers slide away, gliding against my palm
now, I disappear
now, I sink
Jun 20, 2015
Jun 20, 2015 at 5:27 PM UTC
Dawn is breaking like bones
against the clenched fist horizon
and the thrill recedes backwards,
thwarted and cornered
by the coming light.
It is the curse of those who
walk the alleys barefoot and
bruised to see such beauty while
in the thralls of unseen demons.
Hues of blood red and ochre
bleed through the vision as tangible
warmth creeps upwards across the
city, sick with its secrets.
I walk amongst them like a
minefield, choosing wisely
as often as not.
I watch the sun rise
over the anarchy of the night
and am confused by it.
People awake, conformed
by the coming morning.
I see a man with a shiner
walk in his suit towards the
bus stop. Those that let
control slide from tenuous
grips as the dark encircles quickly
reemerge as the professionals
they promised they would
never become.
It saddens me to see them.
Needing anything and anyone
to forget the lives they carved
out from the canvas we have
created. It saddens me
to see them, with the dawn
burning upwards and the
fevers of the evening dwindle
and smolder into the cold,
calculated face of the day.
I stare into the sky and
wonder why it is
so hard to truly
become crazy.
Oct 26, 2014
Oct 26, 2014 at 5:41 AM UTC
past lives reemerge
they pound piercingly on your door
call your number
shout your name
demanding a reaction
needing to be heard
a runner will hit the ground without hesitation
never feeling safe
a runner knows one thing
that one thing is
to vacate
however, I have heavy heels
that dig me in deep
when the runner keeps on running
I tend to sink
May 2, 2018
May 2, 2018 at 4:29 PM UTC
Holding me spellbound is the embrace of nature.
Rocks scatter and shape the banks of the river, whose rushing water plays like laughter, muffling all sound of the world in hectic pace.
Tumbling water is a beautiful teacher, with notes of what it means to flow, lessons in yielding to obstacles that impede movement and purpose.
Possessing grace of power it easily forges a new path, without concern that it has altered course. The new direction, the new way, allows it to continue on.
Cool air rises above the commotion of change, bathing my being with clean rejuvenation. I take long, deep breaths to load my lungs with freshness, my body with exhilaration.
Lifting my chin to face the sun while balancing on slick stones, the water edges nearer to my feet. I stoop to touch it and hold the coldness in my hand, fingers tingling. Both hands in, splashing the water on my face and cooling my cheeks.
I smile and stand with pause, the water is alive and shares with me its vitality, born of the elements and carried from infant streams high atop mountains. Humble beginnings grow and widen to a broader perspective.
This water knows only one way, the way forward. Yet from the rushes, small pools form among quiet coves, where water takes time to slow and rest.
My reflection is still, protected from waves that disturb the peace. No depth of thought, only solace.
From here, zen water gathers strength and momentum, to reemerge with vigor joining the river once more.
Squinting, gazing downstream, I see life continue on, dancing around rocks and skipping over sunken branches until the way forward fades and I no longer see what lies ahead, now trusting that where it goes I will find myself there.
Mar 18, 2016
Mar 18, 2016 at 11:14 PM UTC
dear
Little Thing
nestled between
two hearts
mine and his
Little Leech
latched on tight in
a valiant effort to exist
a white stick told me
You weren’t here
but Dearest
I can’t help but wonder
after three more weeks
if I’ve been lied to
again
dear Little Thing
I don’t believe
in bibles or gods
of any sort
but
I pray every night
because
I hope You aren’t here
hope the thought of You
is nothing but
the thought of an
imaginary fear
hope that You’re still caught
somewhere between
the sharp smell
of this winter air
and lullaby
and the desperate fantasy
of a happy pair
who dreams of Your coming
and awaits You with delight
and open arms
dear Little Thing,
if You can hear me…
my arms are strong
but not enough for
both of us
____
dearest Little Thing,
if You exist
somewhere cocooned
between heartbeats
and ribcage bones
and the magnetism pulling
two bodies together
please
Dearest
please know
I love You more
than anything else
already but
I love You enough to know
I cannot give you what you need
I love You enough to know
You’re better off anywhere but here
please
dear
Little Thing,
please find some way
to disappear
and reemerge
inside someone who could
want You
more than me
Nov 25, 2012
Nov 25, 2012 at 5:11 AM UTC
The sharks have been circling.
They wait for blood in the water.
The tiniest drop will unleash a frenzy.
Everywhere you go, you are questioned.
They are relentless.
It is impossible for them to understand the choice you’ve made.
For precisely this reason, the choice was not theirs to be made.
As you reemerge from the water, shock overcomes them.
They cling to God and begotten scripture.
You’ve made a choice to be this way.
“His holiness wouldn’t make you this person.”
They pray wishing it were possible to throw you back.
There is hope and recommitment in the sea.
You aren’t going back.
You are walking on land.
With head held high, you leave behind the X in the water.
For the first time, you are filled with pride and love.
Life is born anew and so are you.
Jun 4, 2015
Jun 4, 2015 at 2:04 PM UTC
4 years... Daily fears. why do I stay?
because tomorrow brings another day.
Strong to survive this nightmare
Though nothing about it's fair
counter each negative with a positive
I've always been a leader, now, submissive
ready to reemerge, rebuild, and reclaim
wasting this precious life would be a shame.
Apr 15, 2020
Apr 15, 2020 at 5:26 PM UTC
I have changed
I am not the same person
For better or worse
Only time will tell
I feel different
I am not the same
Bubbly person
I once was
But she is still there
Hiding and waiting
To reemerge
Healing must accrue
In due time
So I can go
Back to feeling myself
Once more
And recognize the person
I see in the mirror
Starting back at me
The person
I was meant to be
Dec 11, 2024
Dec 11, 2024 at 9:49 AM UTC
**I know you don't love me anymore
I am unsure whether you did before
I just want you to finally be happy
And live life filled with complete glee.
I know love is a truly complex notion
One filled with deep heartfelt emotions
You can't force love, if you do as a result
It eventually has ways to suddenly halt.
I am so glad that you found someone
I know you're feeling like you've won
But I wonder if you ever missed me
I do understand that it wasn't meant to be.
I still wonder if I recur in your memories
Or have I faded into the blue seas
Do I ever suddenly reemerge from words
Or in some of the songs you have heard.
You probably don't, but I sometimes do
I sometimes stop and think about you
I'm unsure of why I still relapse
But it felt like my heart is in traps.
I do appreciate everything you've given me
No matter how short that came to be
It felt amazing and magical the same
And I promise my heart, I will tame.**
...I bid you goodbye...
Mar 16, 2016
Mar 16, 2016 at 4:56 PM UTC
You pose him, your child, with the dog, the puppy,
the one your wife insisted you buy for him, your child,
your only son. You stand back. Your wife counts down
from three. Your child smiles in such an unnatural way
like he learned to do it from an instructional manual.
Something about this unnerves you. The posing. The
stilted smile. You made this child, your only son, and
he's five feet removed from you and his face is unnatural,
a caricature of joy. The puppy barks once. It echoes in the small
living room, and you can't help but think of this photo
as a marker, another tangible step closer to your own death.
Wait.
You reframe. You say this is a moment. This is something to
cherish. This is something to look back on. Your wife says
good boy and scratches the puppy behind the ears.
She kisses your child, your only son, on the forehead.
But, of course, one day this dog will die. With any luck, you, your wife, and your only son will live to see this day and this moment
will reemerge and your wife will say he was a good boy and your
son will say he was so small and you'll feel this same dread -- the posing, the stilted smile -- you'll feel it all fresh. How many tiny tragedies can a man anticipate? How many tiny tragedies
can a man endure?
Aug 6, 2019
Aug 6, 2019 at 3:03 PM UTC