"regenerative" poems
i was born at the heart of a ribbon jam
my analog pulse
tap
tap
tapping
out the lyrics of my fight song
since day one
india ink sludge blood has flowed
from my dog-earred heart
straight through to my ball-point fingertips
my DNA lays in cursive wait
leaping from the pages
into the light
at every aching plot twist
card catalogued depictions
not of how events factually unfolded
but of how it seems they could have unravelled
if this were a paperback i'd planned to read
and re-read
alike
but alas
when the lights go out
that's it for this round
and i'll be down for the count
no matter how hard i fight
but words...
words know not death
solely evolution
they change their shape
their time
their place
a word can only fade
like aerosol on dust colored cinder
a single word will outlive one hundred empires
one thousand governments
ten thousand authors
and so
it's within articulation that my loyalty lay
and in my words that i'll find my home
here
in the lowercase swoops and loops
of the 'A's
and the 'E's
and the 'D's
and the 'G's
...and those little cursive 'Z's that hang just the same as mom's old hammock
yeah
home
with every inhalation of stale inhabitation
i'll exhale a poem
my regenerative reincarnation through catalytic creation
Jul 8, 2013
Jul 8, 2013 at 4:34 AM UTC
A certain quality of softer light prescribed, two points in the day are offered to allocate.
Regenerative from the back of each eyelid,
heat fed into the veins as it self designates, this heavenly state settles our frame of mind.
You can pause, vacate or choose to meditate as reflective thoughts are caught through play.
Seconds lost merge into magical moments, when there is no cost to slip away outside. Pupils dart and dilate as we contemplate, bright beams of yellow turn amber red on sight. Watch in wonder at the view from our third eye, helping transport and connect us to the divine.
Jan 11, 2022
Jan 11, 2022 at 3:12 PM UTC
Of late:
this "silence" conceptual haunts,
an irregular daily daunt,
coming evenly but oddly timed throughout the 24 hrs.,
writing Psalms and Sonnets demands sacrifice, sweat,
tears, no blood as of yet,
but who's to say, that it will
not be eventually requisitioned
in my life,
there are long intervals of intramural silences,
when afforded,
the art of contemplation assumes templar control, and my senses
to overdrive go
somber somnolent,
ironic that,
in the periods of deep surficial calm, creation is raging
in the fibered tissue of my neuronic cells, and though,
outwardly still, my heart chest pounding me to emit the
inner contents and context
of the 4 W's of every moment of my existence
(who, what, when and why)
the quietude of silence
is never whole, notions fly in, runabout, then depart, without a word of farewell, leaving not a trace behind, and the potential poems shrivel into stillborn drivel, leaving only an undisputed but an undistinguished stain, a fact that they was, were, conceived, but the mind's body was not fertilized sufficiently to see them nurtured to expulsive birth fruition, a less than subtle reminder that even and every state of being is regenerative even unto the very last breath,
when it is no longer...
Jun 9, 2025
Jun 9, 2025 at 11:54 PM UTC
Left to remain
Anything to quell fear
Seized opportunity
Sold soul to fear
Parallel vision
Past and present collide
Time recalled of time without fear
Haunting specter
Wild cry
Wild sound of devotion
Old quest uncovered from the dust
Old wilderness restoring to old glory
Firing from old expended
Reservoirs transferring water
Into coffee grinders, to dust
Chained in a crab *** at the bottom of the sea
Pelted with repeated blasts of particles of light
Until the matter is compressed into a singularity
Or breaches on the matter anyway besides
Unleashing rather than a sinkhole trap,
A flash flood over everything
Coating vision with a venereal sheen
Inundated in a fluid silk connective fabric bond
Until the matter reaches
Into pockets of relief
And miracles of situational
Restorative advance
Particulate regenerative
Relationship encounters
Debris from space accumulating
Hoping in some arcane sense
To be reformed together into beasts anew
While similarly fossils of
An ancient swarm of locusts
Are unearthed
They’re met with magnets
Positioned counter to the flow of electricity
This array is aligned to the magnetosphere
Of that old planet
Where I have lived before and left kinsmen behind to grow a colony of their own
But my own magnetism is calibrated today
To the wildly different magnetosphere of my latest home
To put it mildly, out of wild instinct, exiled from an old society
Of innocence/intelligence
A pretense over bell curve
Environment restrictive of
Fraternization ***********
On a day too perfect for itself
The stage-play left upon my table
All the actors meandering about
Chance encounters replaying dramas.
Jan 22, 2011
Jan 22, 2011 at 8:00 PM UTC
By Arcassin Burnham
TRAI only feel that your complete,
Too good be true or believe,
Seeing milkyways from twenty steams,
To feel the love all over me,
I only feel that you find peace,
Tribal dance , come dance with me,
Mind and soul to feel alive,
Only if you feel alive with me,
W&F;started with a whisper,
Now a blank tease,
Living life to the fullest,
Comes surely,
But very slow,
As a snail,
We play with it til it's frail,
Summer sun on our skin,
Beaches can fulfill,
And if we'd run out of process,
To think,
The sun refills,
Regenerative and generous,
They lay besides us in dark times,
But you need the help of your friends to take up all your time,
Real ones will do the most for you if they got the time,
Time is on our side,
Let's live it right.
Jun 15, 2015
Jun 15, 2015 at 6:37 PM UTC
Can you believe that in some counties here in the Bay Area, a six-figure salary is considered ‘low income’? Hell, if Silicon Valley was it’s own country it would be the second richest country in the world, just behind Qatar.
So tell me why, being in such a rich part of the world surrounded by the latest technology that instantly connects you to people and resources there are kids that live on the street with no food to eat, or clean clothes to wear? Why are teachers reaching into their accounts to provide those same kids and others with tools, knowledge, wisdom, and hope to persevere and overcome these atrocious adversities? Why are communities and cultures that have been deeply rooted for generations disappearing in plain sight? Why do people live in tents and some in cardboard boxes? Why, with all the money, power, and resources at such close proximity, do “invisible communities” exist? Let’s face it, if six-figures is considered low, then the average person must be nothing.
Sustainable regenerative models have an underlying sense of belonging. If we, and willing we can, cultivate real relationships with our neighbors we can work together to create a community - a society - that is nurturing and beneficial to all.
A tree works best in a forest, not alone nor in a grove. Alone the tree can only do so much and a grove is much to similar and demanding. But a forest however is diverse and naturally connected by way of life, never taking more than than needed, but always giving more than expected. A natural ebb and flow inclusive of all in proximity and beyond.
But what do I know. I’m just a tree planting a seed among a forest that could be.
Oct 6, 2020
Oct 6, 2020 at 2:24 AM UTC
A symbol of hope,
During this trying time.
My Superman.
Honest,
When my world is deceitful.
My Superman.
Forthright,
When others are secretive.
My Superman.
Humble,
When you can be arrogant and proud.
My Superman.
Assertive,
When I go timid.
My Superman.
Regenerative,
After the damage suffered.
My Superman.
Honourable,
When others turn crooked.
My Superman.
Inspiration,
That lifts me after a shutdown.
My Superman.
Respectful,
Even when contempt is felt.
My Superman.
Kind,
Even when you should be inconsiderate.
My Superman.
You may not be able to fly,
But you are the good I can truly believe in,
For you are,
My Superman.
Sep 27, 2020
Sep 27, 2020 at 12:00 PM UTC
We pair of home-comers
built from painful baggage a water-tight dream,
we painted an idyll of walled delight.
A bright corner where care could cover old scars.
Oh that happy hand-in-glove fit of regenerative
pleasure which we dared to admit
into the picture of autumnal love.
Such easy laughter sparked need to spend more
new-found treasure in glad togetherness.
Fresh as youth the stream we dug from aridity.
Your tenderness stoked heat
in forgotten feelings, blazed pathways to places
I had never been
and seared heaven into every greeting.
So gentle our mountain
of unleashed freedom that time gave us
chances to climb to new heights.
I thrived in sweet air of acceptability.
You re-sculpted sallow existence, blushed my
palid future, accessed the girl inside
and unfastened this
latched-up former conformist.
You let loose love's abandon and I did not refuse.
Beautiful man your breath
warmed every fold of compatible essence, toned
any slack in my short-sighted outlook
and de-misted
smeared myopic signals.
Duo-passion soon oiled and honed rarely used
adaptability so we could reach bliss.
Our joinings were something greater than flesh
and that better otherness I shall
always remember.
No ocean of parting can break devotion's deep
integrity and I know for certain
we shall meet again.
Oh unforgettable man
you stole into destiny, captured my soul
and now you hold it forever.
Jan 16, 2017
Jan 16, 2017 at 9:53 AM UTC
A spinning
Arched
Emboldened
Shimmering
Figurine
Ice reflecting a sacrosanct vision
Mortal coil stretched to breakdown
Regenerative and discourse stoked kama
Death spiralling trust placed in your hands
Crystalline evoking emotions
Materialising within our mind
Fingers feeling through the foggy delirium
Cut deeply by the double edged blade
Evocative endorphinal spirits bled
Behind us we leave a trail
Etched through our souls
Graffiti of memorable days
An ever present high pitched grind
Get up again and again from that icy stromatic bed
May 8, 2022
May 8, 2022 at 6:40 PM UTC
Did you hear about the stark raven?
A conspiracy they got to know.
Heard of the lonely crow?
****** killed what was alone.
The orphan doe?
A stag that grew antlers.
Hog runt of the litter?
Boar of the bog - grew tusks & got a bit bigger.
The tiniest elephant?
Trunk like a trumpet, ivory like horns.
The smallest hummingbird?
Sharp as a dragon in precision, quick as a griffin.
As for the prairie dog?
Town; coteries & clans a̲r̲e̲ the wards.
Of the marmot?
A burrow whispers of whistles.
The tortoise galápagos?
Variability shines spectrums of different rays -
Amid waves, like amber will age.
The Axolotl?
Regenerative & able to metamorph -
Like a phoenix.
Adaptation is their wisdom.
Jul 26, 2025
Jul 26, 2025 at 12:41 PM UTC
Teach me to be human
to shake and take stakes
to be vulnerable and regenerative
to stay calm as the sun sets
Is human living just vanity?
a trespass of mindless thoughts
colluded in a pathway of the burnt
enlivened by the patterns of the world
Bring me to a beautiful shore
where I boil before the simmer
crawling to the rise of existence
hurt and disapproved by meaning
Teach me to be human
as the soul unveils the way
responding to a youthful mind
where right and wrong is an illusion
Aug 16, 2018
Aug 16, 2018 at 6:19 AM UTC
The golden egg
congeals
on a car after our
mischievous
midnight's vandalism
It leaves a trail of pubescent
nonsense
yellow stains marking our
English
classroom past
We find childhood artwork
pinned
as a patchwork of our
Hester
scarlet badges
Down the historical spinal
cord
mini trophies become our
reactionary
silver astrocytes
who make scar and transgression
fasciculate
into fuchsia bundles in our
new
Hope homes
A Technicolor Dreamscab
preventing
the regenerative return of our
plastic
polymer Messiah
Nov 7, 2017
Nov 7, 2017 at 11:17 PM UTC
I sit betwixt the laughters,
The margins in between,
Moments unnoticed,
Those easily ignored.
Attention is drawn to instance,
But must be dragged to dereliction.
Worming within words woven,
Cowering in the safety of kissed teeth,
Solace secured as someone scrutinises how to silence the silence,
Grateful for the respite.
Squeels from the pit of my stomach,
Causing only echoes back from my tongue,
Trickling crude treacle, trawls south back through my throat,
Finding no refinement, reclaims residence in my centre.
Waiting to rejoin the cycle and another all clear for launch.
Traceless transaction as interactions lapse,
The regenerative amnion of your “awkward silence”,
Perspectives polarised,
Unwittingly burying me in the hole you endeavour to fill,
Unable to comprehend the precipitous crevasse simple shovelling could not plug.
The ever exhausting pantomime,
forcibly cast.
So I take shelter in intermission,
Where no one need pretend,
At peace in my own trenches,
As unpleasant as it seems.
No need to scale the embankments for a fool’s run at no man’s land.
Though still a subterranean prison,
The siren call of Stockholm glistens in the gloom.
My magpie’s eye lays yellow bricks forward,
Through a self destructive syndrome,
Easing the path with each retreat.
Remortgaging contentment,
Time and time again.
Addicted to appeasing that tidal will: subconscious.
Welcome the bailiffs later,
To collect debts of regret,
Postponed event horizons,
When I’ve no injunctions left.
If only absence bellowed as loud as laughter.
You would hear me.
Apr 11, 2019
Apr 11, 2019 at 4:48 AM UTC
This morning before my body woke up
my mind was unleashed in a dream.
I was back in a classroom
at an college campus somewhere
in an inconceivable city.
Not totally unlike my actual classrooms
of decades past when the culture was in ferment
and freedom reigned
rained a storm of acceptance
beyond tolerance where everyone
had a chance to become great.
This dream was a pulsing field hospital
where healing permeated everyone present
where our combined body heats generated a sweet aroma
of intellectual and spiritual sweat
that transported each of us beyond
the confines of our individual biographies
and stories of human suffering
We heard poems and songs composed
by students eager to learn from the oversouls
of everyone present there
students of every background imaginable
we were a single body
a collection of lungs breathing as one.
Thank you Great Dream Weaver
only you could extend my soul to the Universe
in one glorious magnificent moment
greater than time itself.
This old teacher was young again
in a mutually creative minute of sleep
regenerative and artful
beyond the confines of flesh and blood.
Gratitude is such a weak word
for what I feel
now for this marvelous scene
more than any puny fact or actuality.
Feb 19, 2024
Feb 19, 2024 at 4:50 PM UTC
never catch me alive
in so many ways
I have tried to lose my old selves
to leave them behind
shedding skin
I’ve tried to get it ****** up
leave it behind
on the dance floor
I’ve tried secretly
pawing off
my old selves
to innocent bystanders
relationships
with the lost night
it comes back in my sleep
in my dreams
it says I am still here
nice try
you’ll never catch me alive
regenerative self destruction
shows up again
old self
like everything is cool
of course I laugh and snuggle it
like familiar fire
I saw you conspiring
with my old selves
against me new
so I got rid of you too
never catch me alive
Oct 12, 2018
Oct 12, 2018 at 10:02 AM UTC
The natives knew
how to only ****
certain things
Regenerative
Now everyone
is going to ****
each other
P.s.
this is metaphor
And literal
Dec 7, 2018
Dec 7, 2018 at 9:59 PM UTC
Regenerative,
My little sea star,
Your vast tide pool home
Shows you beauty of
The sun, so distant,
Yet so warm.
Extraordinary,
My little dreamer,
Your thoughts of the sky
Show you glorious
Relatives, bright stars,
Your namesake.
Jun 2, 2025
Jun 2, 2025 at 10:45 AM UTC