"reflectively" poems
Time is...
a gift, barely examined
a present, rarely opened
locked away in a strong box
its key cobwebbed under
the dust of procrastination.
In disbelief
we feign ignorance
mentally banking cheques
signed:'all the time in the world'
Yet we drink reflectively
from warm comforting
fragile glazed cups
filled with the brazen solution:
'no time like the present'.
Perhaps we all 'need a break'...
_________________________
'in a jiffy' may be too late.
© Qwey.ku
Sep 11, 2018
Sep 11, 2018 at 3:22 PM UTC
Hero got a phone call,
From the being with three eyes.
So often his existence,
Could be validated by advice.
It is then organised by rhythms,
So that the words solidify,
If the chaos cant be structured,
Then all vision is blinding light.
Hero said to the being,
“I fall in to infatuation with such ease.”
The being said, “You’re seeing,
Your own love reflectively.
“Your brains mirror neurone system,
Causes you to smile at a smile,
This mirroring of others,
Allows for formation of a tribe.
Now you know this wisdom,
Think of your romantic life.
The subject of your infatuation,
Did not cause your love inside.
The love all humans seek,
Is already in your possession,
Which is why the search feels bleak,
You’re hunting the impossible obsession.
You’re all looking for your lost keys,
Tearing everything apart,
All the while they’re in your hand,
Or your breast pocket by your heart.”
Hero nodded rhythmically,
But found it hard to understand,
“If the love’s inside of me,
Then how has any love began?”
“A lot of love is a product,
Of false infatuation;
Two people seeking it from each other,
And thus there is divorce and separation.
But true love is the love inside of you,
Which is the love of the universe,
If you can learn to embrace this,
Then it will free you of your curse.
The mirror neurone system also detects,
The love inside as if it was a grin.
Within another, you’re existing love will reflect,
And embrace and share this world that the two of you are in.
It’s not a swapping of hearts,
But a pressing of them together.
The look in her eyes was not the start,
The start of love was forever.”
Nov 23, 2014
Nov 23, 2014 at 4:55 PM UTC
Tee hee, look at me!
Tight little ***** hey can you see?
Not a tan line on me!
I bask nakedly! Tee hee, tee hee!
Pay attention to me!
Tee hee hee, bikini hangin' free
Grab that thing of sunscreen oil
And rub it on freely!
Now I shine reflectively! Tee hee!
Tee hee is not just words to me
It's more a way of life, you see
Each **** that bounces bouncily
Says to the world, tee bouncy hee hee hee
So please upvote my poem, it's free
And score a point for li'l ol' me
Being so single hurts sorely!
Help a girl out, tee hee hee!
Jan 9, 2015
Jan 9, 2015 at 6:44 AM UTC
Pertinaciously vituperative irrefragable determinism. Inscrutable axis of spontaneities’ imaginative. Perplexity’s prognosis to prospectus. Elan vital’s preternatural perpetuity. Cohesive coherency’s opaque opulence. Space-time continuum’s natural induction expressed as identity. Exponentially tangential imagination’s immaturity. Entropy catalyst blonds. Spaciotemporal telemetry tactician’s tellurian terrene. Protractive analyses dimensional delineation. Reflectively refractive positional empathy. Prophylaxis protocol. Objectified manifest's self inductive diminutive minutia iotas of interstitial edict. Graspy greedy stingy frugal mingy minions. Manumission’s indentured servant sail.
Feb 5, 2016
Feb 5, 2016 at 12:52 AM UTC
MY DARKEST DESIRE COULD IGNITE ALL OF HELL’S FIRES.
WITH MY SELF-SERVING ACTIONS THAT TWIST ALONG MY JADED INTENTIONS. MY DARKNESS HIDES IN PLAIN SIGHT AND WILL NEVER BE MENTIONED.
OUR EYES MET THROUGH A CASCADE OF STRANGERS, MY DEMON INSTINCTIVELY RECOGNIZING YOUR OWN.
IT’S UNNERVING THIS KIND OF LOVE..
UNKNOWN TO MOST AND INTIMATE WITH EVEN LESS.
DESCRIBED ONCE AS A LOVELY AFFECTION THAT CAN CUT BONE GIFTING A LINGERING CHILL.
PURE FREEDOM IS WHEN YOUR EVIL EXPERIENCES ANOTHER’S..
WICKED PLEASURE.
BOTH FIENDS WELD TOGETHER TINY PIECES OF THEIR HEART. A BOND CREATED OVER THE FIRST WICKEDLY SHARED SCANDAL. LINKING ONE TO THE OTHER FOR ETERNITY-PURE UNDYING FREEDOM.
THERE IS NOTHING AS TRULY FREE AS BEING YOUR ABSOLUTE WORST VERSION: THE NIGHTMARE YOU.
KNOWING THERE WILL NEVER BE LINES DRAWN OR REPERCUSSIONS FOR CREATING CHAOS IS LIBERATING. IT’S OBSESSIVELY TEMPTING ALL YOUR THOUGHTS. EVEN WHEN YOU YOURSELF KNOW NOT TO WREAK HAVOC.
EVERYTHING IS ALWAYS AN OPTION WHEN BEING CATASTROPHIC WITH SOMEONE REFLECTIVELY FRIGHTENING. THERE ARE NO SHAMEFUL SECRETS, HALFHEARTED LIES, OR EXPECTATIONS. IT’S INSPIRING.
MY SHADOW SELF WAS WORSHIPED AND EMBRACED FOR IT’S WILD WICKEDNESS.
YOUR DEVIL IS IMPOSSIBLY SATED AND CONTENT WITH THIS FRESHLY ALTERNATIVE HIGH. BUT THERE IS ALWAYS A SECRET TO TELL, A PROMISE TO BREAK, AND AN ITCH TO SCRATCH.
LIKE ALL MONSTERS, MINE WANTS TO LEARN, NAY IT CRAVES! TO CONQUER THIS SEDUCTIVELY STRANGE SIN.
ALL SKELETONS OF EVIL LEARN THEIR WAY AROUND THUNDERSTORMS OF CHARCOAL RAINBOWS. A DARK DEFORMED BOW IS A TRUE IDOL FOR ALL IMMORAL ACTS, CRIMES, AND TRANSGRESSIONS. THE ONLY PRIZE THAT WILL BE FOUND AT THE END OF THIS DARK RAINBOW IS THE BLACKEST OF HEARTS-SYMMETRICAL TO YOUR VERY OWN, A PERFECT MATCH.
WILL I WIN YOUR BLACK HEART OR WILL YOU WIN MINE?
LET THE GAMES BEGIN,
IN LOVE TO BE LOVED BY A SAVAGE LOVER.
Feb 26, 2015
Feb 26, 2015 at 7:27 AM UTC
there is a numbed feeling
one of exclusivity
that suggests
a solitary reconnaissance
one of orientated purposes
where moods are reflectively animated
in individual focus
in order to infiltrate
a non sharing experience
but the feeling abruptly stops
it is a synchronized wound
it is the assassination
of the distant and complex
terminals of the human mind
i am irretrievably shocked
poeple live
but there are really no survivors
Apr 20, 2013
Apr 20, 2013 at 1:32 AM UTC
Slipping off the luscious ivory
Tumbling fingers melting to nature's symphony
A dip here, a hustle there
The strings bent in their own misery
But a gentle uprising, still beginning
Coursing
Burning
Waiting
The pulsing anger in the soulful sound
Ebbing away gently to be bound
By the shackles of self, isolated limitations
Flowing reflectively in its melodious imitations
A broken heart looking for solace
But finding music instead
Tinkles hopefully
Chiming
Turning
Realizing that it's too soon to be dead...
Dec 22, 2013
Dec 22, 2013 at 7:03 AM UTC
Down a spiraling, dark hallway.
Riddling became an entrepreneurship.
A business for those who simply,
Exchange what they came,
And nothing changes.
Epiphanies of cushioning vibes & cold drinks,
To remedy forgiveness,
Life was seen a different way,
And constantly revisited under cleaner light,
& reflectively needled into natures weathered materials.
There was a blitz of fire in the incoming storm.
A candle, without a plate, or a plan.
A transition of emphasis,
To unifying actions.
Like being tossed a faith,
from the origins of man.
And being told, who not to be.
Nov 1, 2013
Nov 1, 2013 at 1:30 PM UTC
She stood as she always did,
at the sink in the tiny kitchen.
Wearing that apron,
with all the little red Tea Pots,
scattered around on a field
of white cotton.
Tied with a big bow in the back.
Gloved in yellow rubber,
to protect her hands and nails.
I stood a moment in the doorway
and we smiled at one another,
the way Mother's and half grown
children do.
Reflectively she reached up and
brushed back a brownish-blond
lock of hair that had straggled
down too close to her right eye.
A frequent and oft repeated
movement that always made
me smile.
I passed by her and briefly,
touched her shoulder,
As I went.
She patted my hand,
in a simple gesture of
returned implied affection,
Like we always did.
There was the sweet scent
Of Lilac hovering around her.
"Hi Son". She said barely
above a whisper.
My Mother died that next year.
She was only 54.
That was 46 years ago this month.
And yet, I still see her standing there.
Nov 2, 2014
Nov 2, 2014 at 3:45 PM UTC
Sometimes I talk to you the best when you're nowhere around. Like there are things I can't address with an audible sound or an eloquent progression of adjectives and nouns when I feel the weight of eyes running across my face.
It's just the space in which I reside, communication commits suicide and I'll slide out something sly or a bad joke and try my best to let it go, because I know you don't hold it against me.
It's not that you make me nervous, I just render myself wordless. My vocal chords are worthless when the sensations are so heavy. Concepts seem obscure and on the tip of my tongue, but too scared to take the plunge. They turn back and run and my silence seems dumb, distant or despondent.
Sometimes I have too much to say, so I'll stutter to articulate a notion that would take me all day to actually feel like what I wanted to convey was done justice, or worse, I'll reflectively reiterate and ramble redundancies, rearranging rhetorical rumblings, remorsefully reaching to recite a redeeming rendering, like an OCD patient switching her light on and off endlessly because it didn't "feel" the way it should have in her mind the first time, the tenth time, the hundredth...
Though when I'm alone, it's a completely different scenario. Someday I hope you hear me speaking through the speakers of your stereo, and my words will flow and show concise precision of a vision with intention and you'll know, I sat there for hours to bring you that message.
I'm either speechless or I bleed an abstract sequence, the in-between is when I sing to apparitions or rewrite things I've written just to interpret my own cognition. There are no translators or subtitles for my kind, whose vanquished language is transmuted into music, tunes, or incoherently scribbled lines. Though I guess I should confess, sometimes I feel like you decode me nonetheless. I'm blessed to have a friend that knows the truth about my essence, beyond flesh, beyond silence, beyond expression. It's not like my thoughts are oh-so-profound or some ground-shaking revelation too complex to pronounce. But it's something about myself that I've found. I speak to people best when they're nowhere around.
Nov 14, 2015
Nov 14, 2015 at 8:44 AM UTC
Contrary to what is known
About Tunguska’s hellish blast,
Contrary to all the dread
Engendered in those deeds of past,
Despite the anger close at hand
When loathsome fiends encroach thy space,
Regardless of the fury felt
When malcontents spit in your face.
Go gather up your fortitude
Hold all that’s dear, close to your chest,
Contain the beast you’ve locked within
Adjust till you’ve maneuvered best.
Then….
Unleash the very gates of hell
To vanquish those who would intrude,
Break the carapace of blood.
Then stay thy hand, preserve the crude
For them to agonise, reflectively,
Decisions made too cheap
And actions, injudiciously,
Commited indiscreet.
Marshalg
@theCoalface
Victoria Park Tunnel
7 April 2010
Apr 11, 2010
Apr 11, 2010 at 12:09 AM UTC
The darkness surrounded her
She found such comfort in it
comfort in the elements
so raw and enriching
The breeze cooled her warm skin
and brushed through each curl,
carelessly
How freeing the sensation
With bare feet
her delicate impressions
visible
for only moments
as the moist sand
recovered its composure
Sitting reflectively
at the closest point
to the waves,
they kissed each toe
Nothing could ever feel
this natural to her,
a welcoming and wonderful calm
Isolated, yet surrounded,
by so much
Mar 22, 2015
Mar 22, 2015 at 3:13 PM UTC
He walked to the gate while the soft summer wind stirred the oak,
and the sun reflectively smiled in the ruts on the road,
to greet his brother Ted who’d languidly move across
so that Vic could companionably lean and look at their cattle
grazing under the Breckland pine, and reflect.
He drove his tractor and tended his fields,
enjoying the changing seasons but moaned about fen blows,
and unexpected showers which slowed the combine,
good naturedly grumbling with other farmers
about the price of fat cattle, the return on wheat,
and how many potatoes are in a packet of crisps,
when at Bury market on a Wednesday.
He’d sit to the left of the door of the Cricket Club
contentedly watching Lakenheath bat,
and readily smiled when they’d hit a six,
bringing his big brown hands together
to join in the ripple of applause.
He’d bring his prince of a Yorkshire to where
his grandchildren drooled ready for turkey
with all the trimmings, and fresh vegetables,
hearing the microwave hum, cooking the pudding
whose brandy sauce bit, before heading the evening games,
candidly laying a domino, announcing to all concerned
"Another fifteen."
He’d talk about the little black pony he drove as a youth
over top Maiden Cross Hill to Brandon,
with a cart full of produce, hating the finicky woman
who always made him eager for home.
He hoed his little bit of garden, and happily cut a lettuce for his tea,
another to pop round a neighbours' with a hand full of beans,
and a third to lay with the sack of spuds waiting for his children.
He watched the Weakest Link, and commented
on the stupidity of students, and foolish woman
wishing to spend a thousand on a handbag, and reckoned that:
“If there were more men like brother George,
who was straight and true, the world would be a better place.”
He laid in bed in the moonlight, listening
to golden oldies of yesteryear, and Victor Palmer,
the father of five, my dear Father, a gentle giant of a man,
a man of the soil, dreamed of his garden…
Jul 31, 2025
Jul 31, 2025 at 12:15 PM UTC
there is a feeling
one of exclusivity
that suggests
a solitary reconnaissance
of self orientated purposes
moods reflectively animated
in individual focus
in order to infiltrate
a non sharing experience
but the feeling abruptly stops
it is a synchronized cyber wound
it is the assassination
of the distant and complex
terminals of my mind
i am irretrievably shocked
there are no survivors
Feb 26, 2013
Feb 26, 2013 at 6:31 PM UTC
reflectively i
opened &
closed
regularly,
i was
petals blushed
in the
height of
summer & a
frostbitten
bud
in the throes of
winter, except this
year
the sky not
grey brought
a heat everyone
could feel
except me,
i waited
for an
opening that
didn't come,
a flower
refusing to yield
to sun,
limbs
staying firmly
crossed, lost in a
place where
nothing
warm survives
for long.
Jun 10, 2016
Jun 10, 2016 at 3:43 AM UTC
The sea is rolling in
wishing to gently greet me
wanting to speak softly
in a voice so inviting
Like angels wonderful whispers
to my eager ears
kissing sounds so soothing
to kindly quell my fears
Milky liquid movement
silky to the touch
it's where I should always be
here, the only sound is 'hush'
The sun's shining and twinkling
reflectively on the ocean
like an angels azure eyes
filled with wondrous notions
This is where I'm at home
welcoming me each time
a spiritual and heavenly sea
peaceful waves rolling rhyme
after rhyme
Apr 17, 2014
Apr 17, 2014 at 10:10 AM UTC
For all the years I live,
Add an eternity to that number,
And surely I won’t forgive
The missing dreams of untried slumber.
Radiant light becomes forgotten
In a darkening flit of mutiny,
The core of hope left rotten,
A result of bitter scrutiny.
Mixing up a varied blend
Of failure and of loss.
With distaste for what I cannot mend,
The torments of my world to toss.
My time rests in the shade
Of towering walls that barricade,
To protect the solitary blade
That unaware I myself had made.
As I watched reality slowly fade,
With wishful thinking that allowed—decayed.
A stubborn refusal to catch the hook,
Blinded, for my gaze I took,
Away from fortunes streaming brook,
To settle in my troubled nook.
Reflectively my head I shook,
For all I had to do was look.
Maybe another world exists,
Pure joyous and limitless,
Where I’ve chosen to resist,
The lonely climb of rigidness.
My soul to shine with light persists,
Expose my dreams and with it bliss,
Without regret, without a miss,
Under the veil of a hopeful mist.
It’s always time to contest
The false projections that manifest.
Finally with a subtle moments rest,
To ponder interests that were in my best
And heed self afflicting plight, lest…
We not forget how much life is surely blessed.
Jun 7, 2018
Jun 7, 2018 at 11:24 AM UTC
Indeed
this important and yet impotent word,
sometimes hurled with mighty scorn,
or quiet whispered ruefully reflectively,
empowering, yet so weakly confessional, that
it is a word equally reveling in overarching wonder,
or a summarizing a simplicity of inability,
to surrender by weak agreement…
indeed,
that selfsame word,
indeed,
I’ve employed usage unthinkingly casually,
mis-appreciating its power of causality,
used so often in poems, slipping it in to the
hilt, succinct dagger of irony, killing easily,
and yet only 17
thousand
poems of the mega-thousands here,
have been designated with the honorific
#indeed
Jan 20, 2024
Jan 20, 2024 at 2:30 PM UTC
Silvery, essentially base gray, with a light it's own…
reflectively, moon bounced sun light, becomes
the moon's own light, so,
with a light of it's own, akin to a gleam in an eye.
"Beans, ear beans, gitcher ear beans renewed,
booster ego. Umph your trial,
trade the beans you grow with these
for a grieving
Moo cow, and your future is secure."
{the beings who heard Sarai laugh,
those were fed the milchfed calf.}
Moo cow,
eyes, mournful, udders about to burst,
makes you wonder what in hell,
could cause so strange
a mind, cow conscience wise
holy private Brahma
meeting, minds in rumination,
shifting sacks of cellulose being processed
for a few with the guts to get passed through.
What would you think, my friend, if I were
to say I know
life, the whole, life, per se, life, itself, you know,
produced from
the standalone tree, that, as it hapt,
could not hold it's own standing,
so, it spread wide, clinging snotwise,
pre-mucus, ever ago, in the billions of years,
too long to imagine, so, take it by faith,
scientists built the James Webb, and
placed it,
right there, where the utterly invisible force
that holds the sun in place,
holds our distance compression device, right there
at a perrenial loop around the hoop
around the belly of the earth, so
we may see, how utterly cosmic life is,
with us,
here, between the extremes of infinity, just
in time.
--------- Paid for
by anonymous bulls opposed
to artificial insemination, in
Consideration for Carnation Cows contentedness,
which has waned after science convinced us,
the holy cow failed
to hurdle the moon, thus halting a travesty,
regarding the dish and spoon escape diversion,
it did not work,
thus the dish and spoon, did not spawn,
and sporks did not happen on this time line.
Jan 26, 2023
Jan 26, 2023 at 6:20 PM UTC
Have you ever noticed how when two professionally involved individuals shake hands,
their respective hands remain congruent,
synonymously shook,
right meeting right....
meanwhile, when couples hold hands,
their respective hands remain mirrored,
fingers reflectively intertwined and interlocked,
right meeting left?
Is this a testament to “opposites attract”?
Is this what they mean?
May 7, 2018
May 7, 2018 at 3:01 AM UTC
How Many People Would You Have To Change To Change The World?
How many people would you have to change
To change the world?
The other day the man I love,
One who has faith in God above.
Declared the impotence of man.
Insisted phrase by rehashed phrase:
“This world has never been so bad.
It’s getting worse and worse and worse!”
He feels so helpless. What a curse!
Has no belief in his own richness;
Can’t understand the reach
Of butterfly’s effect: the flap
Of wings in Florida
With vibes that stretch to Africa.
How does it work?
You find the thing you’re born to do.
You do it hour by hour by hour.
Work through the furor,
Take your power,
Use it, focused on the now.
There’s nothing more.
That small series called your life
Is quite enough to end all strife.
Not instantly, not right away -
For life takes time.
But yours is prime:
A mix of self-esteem
Humility and bravery,
Seeing life reflectively
With love and strength
The length of days.
How many people would you have to change
To change things?
Think of wings!
How Many People Would You have To Change To Change The World? 3.2.2018 Our Times, Our Culture II;
Mar 3, 2018
Mar 3, 2018 at 2:27 PM UTC