"relinquishes" poems
A solid center presages
two generous edges
to shoulder the weight
of the curve: the bow
relinquishes tension
to the anchors of the
taut bow-string.
The wayfaring archer
tends to the curve,
notches the arrow,
selects the target,
gauges the wind,
surrenders --
*Riding like an arrow on the wind,
sure to find its mark in Breath,
and the end of Breath it portends.*
A reveler
abiding the flirt
of angle and arc,
finite and eternal,
arbiter of the holy
moment, the dance
linking death with life;
So unbearably
near the horizons,
desire yields its grip
to the coaxing
womb of the curve: tension
sighs into the space
between arrow-head
and its mark.
*And in the transmission of feeling
is the spirit of Life,
clinging - so gently - to free itself
of its own burdens.*
A sudden violence
voids archer and stag:
Continuity rushes forth
to meet the sacrifice.
The heart of the bow
resumes its tension.
And the curve
evaporates,
all but a trick
of Timing.
Dec 28, 2015
Dec 28, 2015 at 11:33 AM UTC
A little oasis occupied in a cafe
that approaches capacity.
Three opposite, two adjacent,
a couple at the windows to the right.
Six or seven more around the corner, out of view
Early twenties guy, has a slightly too-small zippered sweater,
with head down and a two-handed hold on his phone
the left relinquishes its grip for a minute to wipe across his face.
Late fifties man in a blue,zipped, baggy, sweat shirt
and early-nineties hair gone grey.
A phone too, but of a more palm-and-fingertip interaction
with pursed lips and an occasional surveying of the room.
A quiet girl at my right leaves and four chatty middle-aged yoga ladies
squeeze onto the table for two.
They obliterate my concentration
and I resort to a cocoon of headphone noise.
Their too-strong perfume forms a veritable blue cloud
and leaks into the taste of my tea.
Jan 6, 2015
Jan 6, 2015 at 3:40 PM UTC
The bitter heart eats its owner
It's a fearful thing to love what death can touch
Their goodnight kiss felt like two blind animals bumping into each other in the dark
She felt in that moment that she loved him as much as it was possible to love anyone
What she felt was something like hard rain; violence
and brightness
and beauty
What formed in her mouth were the words,
Which of us is flawed?
He began to feel anger at the peace he found here and the complacency of the blue sky and quiet roads
His fists were in his eye sockets, his head exploding with the ruin of lives
As he set out, he felt a kind of happiness
He fell
and he fell,
and the earth that we call sweet became his executioner
There is a point when the body relinquishes its pain
and waits dumbly
The savage animal eating his heart would someday grow weary
When do you stop being
human?
When the body is so befouled, when you have groveled so deeply, when bitterness eats your
bones?
The birds move from one tree to the next, building nests
This is how we live
The wind erases our footprints as we move
And then one day, we are no longer alive on Earth,
And the footsteps are gone forever
The land is our blood, the clouds our hair
We are doorways, openings into something greater than ourselves,
Something that we don’t understand and will never understand
One cannot know why things happen as they do
We have nothing precious in and of ourselves
We are only precious that we are part of something too big to know
Every person alive thinks they are the center of the universe, that they are everything
When in fact each of us is less than nothing
Liquid, like a river
Season by season
Hope,
and hope again.
May 23, 2015
May 23, 2015 at 5:13 PM UTC
The poet tries
with her words
to create something new
something hitherto unconsidered,
unthought, unspoken
She rakes the dirt for language
that is inimitable and rare
Fighting her way out of
prosaic platitudes
Searching deliriously for
a sharp-edged jolt of ingenuity
that will
awaken and inflame
In this great pursuit of something
clever
to say,
she overcompensates,
birthing a few stanzas
of exaggerated hogwash that inspires
more dismay than satisfaction
Out the window
her poem goes
A little crumpled ball of melodrama
and stale cliché
Then the poet sits in silence
smoldering with displeasure
wanting nothing more than
to finally write something that
works
It is when, radiant with disappointment,
she relinquishes her fantasy of excellence
that the true
poem begins
With rosy wings and
eyes like screaming bullets
it sails forth to proclaim
to declare
to profess without apology
or contrition
the wildest truths of her
soul
It is out of this realm of
deflation and defeat that
true originality is bred
Just a murmur at first, just a glint,
but listen, listen as
it swells into an exquisite roar
and watch,
watch as it rises from
the decay of the past
to flare
in a new light
Apr 21, 2014
Apr 21, 2014 at 8:36 AM UTC
There's the seer of frolicking clouds posed:
Suddenly, the sky's streams -
Made of melt that the sun creams,
They gloom her dull eyes with dreams
While the umbrella relinquishes closed.
There's the little gyre of a colour:
She'd made the choice of shade -
Brought, no silence, no parade
Or a lively barricade,
While she lived in natural poise, solar.
Apr 28, 2021
Apr 28, 2021 at 8:18 AM UTC
*children gaze
and light tenderly refracts to the image
children smile
and time relinquishes its dimension
children speak
and air becomes oxygen enriched
children laugh
and matter matters not
children paint
and elements fuse
children dance
and life flows*
Jun 13, 2014
Jun 13, 2014 at 11:58 AM UTC
~~~<¤>~~~
the stars back away
in deferance
the moon
spreads a skein
of peacock silk
from sky to sky
and
Venus
relinquishes
her
diadem
in
homage
to the
SUN
soulsurvivor
6/12/2015
Jun 12, 2015
Jun 12, 2015 at 8:04 AM UTC
There’s no respite
from this spectre
from memories dead.
There’ll be more moons
before vigil relinquishes
its stead.
Aug 6, 2023
Aug 6, 2023 at 12:47 PM UTC
I have been depressed. I will not say am. This is a six year ongoing illness that is formed itself into a personality trait, and now an uncomfortable, casual day to day topic.
I wish I could take the heaviness out of the words “I want to **** myself.” because they have never felt like a heavy sentence to me. They are words that string themselves through my brain at least twice a day and occasionally can be formulated into joke at my expense.
I tried to **** myself when I was twelve. It was a two week long ordeal. I was a hospital project for a week, an out of home charity case for a week, and after that, it became a running joke.
“Do you still have a few screws loose?”
“Are you still a basket case?”
“How many pills you think you could swallow?”
Over six years, I have become a great actor. I am best at holding my tongue, swallowing my spit when my throat is closing, and pretending like I am breathing steady. I often laugh in the face of my problems and I distance myself from people when I feel rocks sitting on my chest so they don’t smell the rot of a dying conscious. I have never been untruthful either. Just honest in a way that wears a theatrical mask and relinquishes an audience from an awkward state of “wow, I’m really sorry.”
But some nights are the farthest things from jokes.
Some nights are all choking up on words that don’t make any sense and some days are “nobody actually likes you.” Some days are not having enough energy to do laundry or dishes and then hating yourself because how could you, you’re so lazy. Most nights are complete self hatred and manic heaving into a wet pillow while your brother sleeps quietly in the next room.
The worst thing about depression is that it’s so uncomfortable. It’s become such an awkward conversation to me. It’s like coming out as something that nobody has ever seen before until it’s living in front of you. It taints everything I do with a feeling of disbelonging with the people that love me because I don’t believe that my depressed presence is comfortable enough for others.
But I am trying. Tomorrow morning, I will wake up to a sun that still shines, even if it is covered by clouds and I will still be depressed. I will pick up a book that I haven’t started, and wait in a sitting room full of other people who are emotionally sick. I will be the same person that I am, and have been. And I will know that right now, I am also trying very hard to become so much more.
Dec 8, 2016
Dec 8, 2016 at 9:46 PM UTC
you are the cigarette i pull out of the box every other evening
after fourty-six and five thousand strides, three underpasses
and one last pedestrian crossing
as with the cigarette, i look forward to you, look forward to
the high derived from the very presence of you
of your enigmatic entity misting through my lungs like
a sick, heady liaison akin to that of beer and smoke
but as with it which stubs out before the junction of bartley
relinquishes within me a curt perspiration, a heightened vision
you ravel my walk, desiccate my lips, augment a melancholy
that after muddy fields and an overhead bridge
initiates yet another discretion away from blurry headlights
as with the two sticks, tuesday and friday
five~, but only in selected amity
you leave traces of tobacco and filter paper
grinding between my newly dentalised set
as the zephyrs of the monsoon season **** against the spark
the bitter aftertaste of something so wrong, accompanied by
the warmth in cold of something so right
Dec 13, 2013
Dec 13, 2013 at 2:34 PM UTC
*
Melodious tides serenade along a foam dipped coast line,
we drift as a single composed symphony,
seduced by a pounding surf, its sensuous rhythm pulsates
flooding our hearts, aching to collide
in the tempo of a lone torrent’s embrace
Scorching August passions seize the moonlit sand,
palm tree shadows dance atop sultry weathered dunes
of lemongrass and saw palmetto,
on saltwater breezes moaning our names, mellifluously
from a distant cantata's horizon
Warm dark *** skin intoxicates, I stagger,
lost in hypnotic topaz eyes, reflective pleadings
of deeper desires sought, fingertips probe sun softened locks,
nightshade tresses, mingling with a rippled surf
as stardust illumines moist swollen lips, parted
Harmonic waves wash atop entwined silhouettes
nearing a crescendo, a pinnacle of pleasure,
where secrets are revealed in half swallowed sighs
on this coastal haven when voices sing in
throaty whispers of impassioned ecstasy
Now as heated breaths hover beneath the moon’s glowing stare
we too build and recede, feeding our amorous desires
as the fading night relinquishes its hold and dawn cracks the sky
Our tide becomes one, our union remains unbroken,
our love, eternally bound by the melody of the sea*
Aug 5, 2016
Aug 5, 2016 at 7:03 PM UTC
Strangers by day and lovers by night,
you can’t make your heart feel something it won’t.
I am alive, yet I’m dying.
Dancing looks right through me. Dancing round in circles,
creating like minds that desire to stand by me,
for all I want to do is dance.
Someone asks what death has got to do with it.
Yet I see the true color as I whirl and swing my image.
Inventing the future wouldn’t be a problem.
Things stand *****
Thank you for the thrill not the standing ovation.
All I want to do is dance not die.
Just the way a discovery can change your life
a mistake can alter it.
Are these the best days of my life?
How do I convince you
that seeing through my eyes aint natural for me
but my steps don’t show it,
even as my passion relinquishes the spotlight?
Yes, the spotlight.
Am I going to die or am I dead?
I have been dancing too long to die now.
No, I have been dying too long to dance now.
Dance has an appointment with death.
Pouring on the dance floor; aspiring to reveal what I feel.
I think I just have to go further to be seen clearer.
20 bucks I say you don’t feel my pain
yet you read my aim, seeking my name.
What I am isn’t what you need.
When the music plays everyone knows its time to dance,
everyone wants to dance with me.
How many of you don’t want to have some fun?
When the sun goes down,
how many of you would want to die with me?
The feet lead in dancing.
They trust each other.
They dance together & die together.
You dance with me but won’t die with me.
I am dying yet I’m dancing.
Jan 15, 2014
Jan 15, 2014 at 8:52 AM UTC
It was just fuel added to the fire,
a burning sensation throughout my soul appears.
Once a pure heart of gold,
now slowly turns back to a dark, black heart.
And the mind which believed again,
soon relinquishes back to it's corner.
And on the brink of the breaking point,
you live and learn.
And people come and go,
and someone will come and fix you,
To only leave you more broken than before.
You learn that you can't trust anyone, anymore.
And that's just how society works,
because the cold truth is you can only rely on yourself.
If you give someone the pleasure of being your only
spark of hope, they take it and they crush it,
and leave you with your back against the wall
and bloodshot red eyes,
and tears streaming down your face at three in the morning,
and you're whispering to yourself "why?"
And you start to doubt your worth and purpose all over again,
and soon the walls will feel like they're caving in,
and your lungs will feel like they're closing up,
and your breathe will start to run short,
and the waves will start to collapse over you.
And in the end you have two options, do you sink or swim?
Jan 23, 2016
Jan 23, 2016 at 6:15 PM UTC
A rusty razor blade
embedded in the gap
between your two front teeth.
The sound of wet suction
when you pull the sticky caramel
apple out of your mouth but
the razor blade remains.
A caramel apple, a malevolent oyster
that relinquishes its
browned and jagged
pearl at the small and tempting price of a bite.
Jul 22, 2014
Jul 22, 2014 at 6:06 AM UTC
A jump rope lisping
Through loose gravel and rhymes.
Resembling orchestras and rapidly
Scratched-out novels,
Evolution of an indifferent ******
Delicate lacework stitched
Beneath the youthful
And frail. Disintegrating
Like a bird’s nest, once
Air conditioning expires.
Scampering between markets,
Wavering while waiting
In redundant lines, as you
Carelessly caress outerwear that you
Waited in line for yesterday.
Placing yourself professionally
On seats, beside plainly colored
Briefcases. Quivering arms
Tingle, as the blood
Relinquishes.
Wordless entities fill
Empty rooms, as pressure
Builds from the exterior and in.
Tarnished sneakers sink and slip,
Amidst cunning quicksand.
Mangled and thrashed,
Fabrics that used to be
Accustom to merry-go-rounds, and dry
Eyes. Gently laced hemming,
Lacerated at the seams.
Stroll down whimpering sidewalks
That sting for vibrations, fixed
By a stranger’s oblivious feet.
Jerking outerwear closer
As no emotions pass.
Synthetic joy overcomes
You, when droning
Minds think alike.
Wriggling and skulking
To cease the crunching of time.
Jan 30, 2012
Jan 30, 2012 at 12:40 PM UTC
Run away to a foreign country, one with plush yellow green pastures. The grasses hiss soothingly as the breeze brushes them down this way and that. My home, a simple one room shelter built atop a broad and wise dark leafed tree who has welcomed me to its strong open arms. The skirt of my plain brown dress tickles the tops of my feet as I step down onto the soft soily earth.
There are no people here but I am not alone. The wind is here to lift the overflow of thoughts from my ever questioning mind and the water is here to soothe me and commiserate like an old companion purified from the complications of humanity. The dirt is my mother and my father, providing for me. Nurtures me with its succulent plants and cups its hands so that I might take a few small fish from them now and then.
A spotted sun perch hangs behind me as I perambulate meditatively. I see a few delicate vibrant blossoms on the side of my arborous home. They chime a brilliant tune that I will later compose onto a clay canvas. The afternoon is spent cleaning the small token and then toasting it over fire. I tend the patches of nearly wild vegetables and fruits. The most desirable ones plucked for my plate.
Guardian stars begin to dot the serenity of a dazzling dusk that demands my awe. I am aware of my tiny existence and its grand insignificance yet at the same moment I feel as though I was specially chosen by the cosmos to witness this perfect event. An intoxicating shiver grips me suddenly as a gust flits up my spine and through the back of my hair. Slowly it falls and the lulling chirps of a million violinists begin to play to one another. An admiring amphibian adrift the pond lilies relinquishes some commending croaks.
As the dark begins to settle in I climb to my aerial cottage to lie down. The rustling of my nest-bed reminds my neighbor owl of the time and she hoots appreciatively before flying off to begin her hunts. The splendid nocturnal symphony soon sends me to my dreams.
Jun 16, 2016
Jun 16, 2016 at 10:01 AM UTC
Sitting in an open meadow
To the call of whipper wills
He places his pen in motion
As the winds calm to a still
Nature turns to bend an ear
To what he has to say
The stream near by so crystal clear
Slows down in its wake
The words flow out in rhythm
As mighty eagles soar
Distant thunder clouds cry out loud
Urging him for more
He is natures poet
Brought forth at this time
To bring nature back together
In simple poem and rhyme
But the poetry isn't so simple
As rhyme flows through near by wood
Mother nature relinquishes the reigns
All for the common good
Every living thing feels the power
In this poets pen
Waiting for the perfect timing
To where all can begin again
With life back in balance
He travels to where it is he came
Until we are in need
Of natures poet once again
May 17, 2013
May 17, 2013 at 7:01 AM UTC
From the bottom of my heart i hate thee,
I wish you're dead so in peace may rest we. -
Like a fox perfidious you are,
my hateful sight on your face,will leave a scar.
The perfection of thy duplicity
doth not relinquishes my mind in serenity.
That mockery in voice of thine,
cannot vindicate -not even a ewer of wine.
In my eyes,you wear the gown of blame
and no God will divest from thy face the shame.
It is not placebo,this hate of mine
it will-towards you-forever shine.
Sep 6, 2011
Sep 6, 2011 at 7:06 AM UTC
For my 2016 writing project, I’ve decided to write a single line of poetry every day for an entire year. Below, is August’s poem. Enjoy!
We are wrapped in the heat of summer.
The sun's rays stab at our exposed backs.
Fall offers temporary relief.
An explosion of color everywhere we look.
Winters here are brutal.
The rain never seems to stop.
Finally, spring brings forth new life.
Something is reborn within me.
Another trip around the sun.
Nothing quiets the soul like the cosmos.
Eternal darkness sure feels small.
Maybe we are alone.
Staring across the passage of time,
Nothing could be further from the truth.
Not even at this moment
Is the pain of alone ours.
Our lives are intertwined.
We are stars filling the void.
Soon, we will realize this truth.
Hopefully, before it is too late.
Our moment is short.
Time never relinquishes its steely grasp.
So love...
Love with all that you have.
Before you know it,
Darkness will consume.
Be assured of your place in history.
Know your legacy.
Let time pass.
Be the best you.
The seasons of your life should reflect that.
Sep 19, 2016
Sep 19, 2016 at 1:49 PM UTC
I dream of a better time, a woman who not only entices me, but eases my mind. A woman who's long ebony hair flows past her shoulders, who's eyes are as big as her heart. She is the one whom I've set apart.
I dream of a better time where I am her's and she is mine, where she is the one who keeps me sane and relinquishes every ounce of pain.
I dream of a better time where I wait for her in this oh so tedious line, every word that dances from her lips is witnessed in the rhythm of her hips. To the world she may seem as some unfortunate dream that would usually be unseen, but in my hopeful eyes she is the truth beneath this cacophony of lies that we have deemed to be life.
I dream of a better time where she has given even the most foolish of men a deeper mind.
May 13, 2014
May 13, 2014 at 8:16 PM UTC
~
The Ocean’s Melody
As tides cast their net along a patient coast,
we lie entwined ~ adrift as a single composed symphony
tempo’d by the pounding surf ~ its constant sensuous rhythm
lulling our hearts, aching, to collide
in one beat’s embrace
Love upon a moistened sandy shore
your swollen lips offer a glistening enchantment
with fingertips delicately seeking ~ caressing ~ stroking
feathery lashes grace twin demure windows
of tender need
Velvet waves wash along our bodies ~ gently
merely to touch you ~ hold you ~ kiss you, is my coastal heaven
With arms of cradling strength ~ kindness ~ ecstasy,
my voice becomes a throaty
whisper of passion’d affection
Now as wandering shadows cross beneath the moon’s glowing care
we too build and recede, feeding our amorous desires
as the fading light relinquishes its hold
and dawn cracks the sky ~
our tide becomes one
Our bond remains unbroken ~
tethered to the ocean’s melody
Apr 24, 2014
Apr 24, 2014 at 6:40 PM UTC
Night Thrill
Opened eyes see unseen things,
different worlds revealed all at once,
can’t you hear them?
Coming to life with ease,
breathing and living just as anything else.
The trees begin their dance,
flailing their arms,
leaves falling to the ground,
patterns making stars, snowflakes, simple beauty.
Walking through the hollowed buildings,
silent and empty in the lull of the night,
only soft cries and yells can be heard
as the beasts run wild.
In an amphitheater, vast and desolate
darkness captures the hardwood floors
and renders all life from the place,
moments from collapsing.
Footsteps across the dusty stage,
squeaks and creaks heard as the curtain rises,
a rusted chair decays on the surface,
the once living prop, struck from its glory.
A strong gust begins swirling,
rushing over the cracked floorboards,
bringing the stage to life
under the feet of a Shakespearian player.
The scene is set and not a moment too late,
a motley audience of demons and ghouls,
witness the defining moment,
a humble servant of the stage
relinquishes mortal form and ascends.
Apr 28, 2012
Apr 28, 2012 at 9:37 PM UTC
The library smells
like ginger and coffee
and books that haven't seen the light of day since they were published
the sour scent of unopened pages
and the bittersweet commercialized coffee
diffuse throughout the building,
procrastination,
this is the smell of procrastination.
the air is swirling,
whipped along by the passers-by
its cool embrace is welcoming
gently blowing through me, onwards
cooling my mind as i brace
for the swell of tests and
tests and
tests
The coffee scent relinquishes,
as well as the task at hand,
and my dorm is calling me
Dec 6, 2017
Dec 6, 2017 at 2:55 PM UTC