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Advent Oct 2014
when the clock ticks at 12,
another minute has passed and another day has been renewed.
it replenishes an entire moment that separates yesterday from today.

when the clock ticks at 12,
a part of me has left something for good.
something that could only be retrieved by the nostalgia
of the passing hours that gives a pang of discomfort and dismay.

when the clock ticks at 12,
a fairy godmother is there waiting for me to move past everything and start fresh,
like nothing has ever happened from yesterday

but when the clock ticks at 3,
my emotions are scattered,
eating me alive.
it kicks me out of the zone - exposing me to a world of nothing but things to hide.
it haunts my core, dwells with my demons,
building up emotions that don't seem to collide

and at 3, I find you - once again with all the sublime images we’ve captured
and grand words we’ve uttered.
i find you, drowning from the roots
of my memoirs... and there I see how midnights took parts of me

because at 3, I’ll always remember how I grew with thee


a.t.
Anthony Williams Jul 2014
Somehow your heart enzymes inveigled a way into my system
I surmise it was your energising tongue which smuggled them in
my pseudoanaphylactic longing to snuggle in vein against your protein
its aim a happy interaction tugged by frenzied polypeptide chains

when your petite triglycerides coil avidly around my pH changes
hydrolysis replenishes steroids to stop any pleasure level plunge
so that functional-group transfers may intervene at all active sites
supervising where coenzymes await love's coursing stem cell sights

that photosynthesise my eyes to sensitise to you despite the dark
dancing in all my living cells with infectious smiles an epidemic
when your DNA can't polymerase enough of the audacious lipids
pleasing as they kiss the density away of fatty acids on soft lips

that release protease inhibitors in ways not too selective
so our hearts find their metabolic pathway audaciously live
and offer themselves completely to a frolic in love reactive
by Anthony Williams
Enzymes are protein catalysts that, like all catalysts, speed up the rate of a chemical reaction without being used up in the process.
M Feb 2014
To tell you exactly, specifically, precisely why I love you
I'd have to reinvent an alphabet, create a language, learn to sign
The feeling that bubbles within when I look into your eyes cannot be captured or explained

I feel like the world stops moving
My breath struggles leaving my lungs
All my fears, worries, washed away

What is so powerful about loving you
is the way you love me in return
I feel confident, unstoppable, beautiful
You tell all the dark parts inside to quiet
whispering, no shouting to them:
I am worthy of love

To be worthy is all that I have ever wanted,
needed,
cried for in the middle of the night

Although there is still so much to learn about each other
Adventures to be had, moments to share
I am giddy with anticipation
your love gives me strength
Replenishes me
Fulfills me

I have yet to really write down how I feel about you until now
I've been afraid words would take our magic away
I'd wake up one morning and realize is was a mere dream

You steal my chapstick with your kisses
Put up with my sassy abrasive nature
You encourage me to work
The way you look at me sometimes gives me the courage to begin to look at myself the same way

With your arms tightly around me, our legs intertwined, I begin to imagine what heaven could actually be like

When I'm with you, I say I love you honestly
Eeach time is unique.
I realize how incredibly lucky I am to have you
to be loved by you
every syllable is as sincere as the last

You make it okay
All the bad, dark, sorrow filled places within me that sometimes consume my light.
You accept those places,
You make me forget they even exist
You make my light shine brighter

We joke about my ego
but since you have been in my life, I feel okay
Even when I'm not, I know I will be.
Granted, it's not solely what you do for me but what you let me do for you
You allow me to love you
Accepting my love
welcoming it like you would a long lost friend
you do not turn and hide
you embrace me with arms open wide

It's magical
It's what I've waited for my whole life

What I spent so much energy convincing myself I could never have

It's everything that I'd ever want and more
It's love
It's life
It's you
Nat Lipstadt Feb 2014
The Sounding Foam of Primal Things

*(The title and the poem, taken from and inspired by
Carl Sandburg's "Who Am I?")


wind and rain pound the surf.
snow falls on the beach, on the shore.
man-observer cannot tell:
has the earth gone mad, all wet?
do the seas rise, whipped up, filling the heavens,
or does the white rain replenishes the very body,
from whence it came, and now returns?

this matters greatly, yet nothing answers this, his question.

the furious soundings, the green foam churn,
the silence of no response inebriates,
drunk on the tempest's hard wet liquor,
weighed down, sodden with the despair,
solitude, silence, absent answers,
his natural walking companions!

No Stopping signs on almost every corner,
Do Not Pass, Do Not Enter,
One Way, Two Way, No Thru Passage,
but the one sign he seeks,
"Stay On The Path" absent.

Eluded,
dispassionate endings,
the essential quietude among
furious surround-sounds of creative destruction
he ceases to ask, for unanswered, undirected.

Concluded,
either
their is no one listening, or,
there is no one caring, or,

Deluded,
illusion is truth,
he is an illusion.

------------------
Who Am I?
By Carl Sandburg

My head knocks against the stars.
My feet are on the hilltops.
My finger-tips are in the valleys and shores of
     universal life.
Down in the sounding foam of primal things I
     reach my hands and play with pebbles of
     destiny.
I have been to hell and back many times.
I know all about heaven, for I have talked with God.
I dabble in the blood and guts of the terrible.
I know the passionate seizure of beauty
And the marvelous rebellion of man at all signs
     reading "Keep Off."

My name is Truth and I am the most elusive captive
     in the universe.
Nat Lipstadt Dec 2018
Her Name is Woman


~for Woman~

The body replenishes, even the signs of decay
that come for reparation,
Positive confirmation
her organism survives, alive,
tree circles yet measuring time,
Till a devitalizing time comes, when,
this cellular process concedes degeneration

Then the wondering shifts; new facts sifted;
now the reckoning is not a calculation of
Mortality but of her living immortality;
dive to divine neath her black cloaking, reading
Wounded word revelations, her own Bible stories,
giving nomination to Woman-name

The long shadows that her souls excavations cast,
costs of her stories individual,
Highwaymen robbed her with glass knives
but each remaining black hole lights a story, lost, but
Burning icy inviting, pulling us into book boxes inside,
compost of sheets of composed white clarity

Care not that each riddling reference is obliged to be
oblique, inexplicit,
Woman her name, all encompassing,
her views codified in lines of faith,
Woman, is that not
a mining, and a manifest,
of hidden birthing,
comforting us in warm shades of
Human courage


12/26/18  5:51pm
For the poet Woman
Korey Miller Oct 2012
i was reborn, like a phoenix
but without all the glory.
i didn't set the hospital on fire; i struggled  
to pull myself from the ashes
of a former prodigy,
one entwined with madness
in all the right ways
laced with misery like a noir heroine,
so sexily depressing-
whereas now i am just empty

i did not emerge unscathed, no,
not like the fledgling, i
am covered in scars and faultlines from where
the sorrow tried rip itself
from my sorry body
and the crimson glue holding me together
replenishes itself more diluted each time

before i died
i swung through technicolor
episodes of scarlet, rose,
ecstatic white, and the
sapphire blue to haunt my dreams
waking and at night
but the color leached away,
the antiseptic began to pervade, refilled my veins
and purged me of everything but grey.

before my death,
i reigned over the darkness, banished it
when it did not suit me,
manipulated reason, lived in a waking dreamland,
in complete control of my life-
but now, when i am fragile as eggshell,
it's the only place i can hide,
a haven where i can act like the lack of light
masks an imagined vivacity and not a skeleton in flat black and white,
disguises and emboldens me,
allows me to be whole again,
to forget the borders, my limitations
indiscernable in dusk

i used to cast my own light-
now i am my own shadow
and in the dark i fumble for
what i used to be,
reconnect myself with the world
throw myself from the cliff
and hope to find my wings again
Emily Feb 2014
I'm as happy as a clam
Laid-back
Replaying my favorite track
Feeling high
From the flowers I smoked
Just took a small ****
To loosen myself up
I feel like a whole new me
Totally free
From pain and anguish
And anxiety
I relish these precious moments
They don't last forever
But they come along
Because my life is getting better
And soon enough
As my soul replenishes itself
From all the damage that's been done
I'll feel this perfect bliss
Every single day
I'll thank the heavens
For my recovery
The smile on my face
Will become permanent again
© Willa 2014
As the crystal-clear freshwater
trickles steadily off the glazy rocks,

The sound replenishes my soul
with vitality - on my heart,
serenity, it knocks.

As the dying rusty leaves
float along
the heavenly stream,

My peace-filled mind
goes off into
a beautiful, sweet daydream.

I ponder over recollections
of all the precious magical moments
that together
we have both shared
over the years,

All of the memories we have made -
all of the beautiful words he spoke,
they were all remedies,
conquering all of my fears.

The struggles and the challenges,
together, we took them all on,

Hope, love and faith
were the tools we both used,
hand-in-hand, to rid them
and have them all vanish and be
forever gone.

As the birds flutter in the branches
of the giant trees above my head,

In my mind,
like a delicate melody,
I hear all of the beautiful words
he has said to me
over the course of our lives together,
as far back as the day we met -
before we wed.

Like the crystal-clear freshwater
rushing down the heavenly stream,

All of the amazing moments
and the not forgotten good times
flood my beautiful sweet daydream.

And once again,
revitalized by the serenity
of the heavenly peaceful creek,
the incredible amount of love
I feel for him increases
once more,

My undying love
is born again,
I am to be in love
with my beautiful man
infinitely - forevermore.

By Lady R.F ©2017
Joel M Frye Sep 2017
Neck-deep in the business
of business,
only his head remains sleepless
in the dark of early mornings
to enlighten those
who sleep in, and spotlight
his peers who delight him.

His capital investment
is love and empathy;
he replenishes the funds spent
on an island of shelter,
the helter-skelter of Monday-Friday
a Distressway away.
North Country chair on the dock
over beckoning waves
sounding their Circe song,
drawing him to the bedrock
of peace
with himself and others.

Generous with his words
his head runneth over
and verses cascade down,
filling one from another
like a mountain of flutes
poured from a veritable jeroboam
of the muse's vintage.

Only love shows as he writes
doing the poetic hokey-pokey,
left foot in, left foot out.
He has turned my world around...
and that's what it's all about.
It's about **** time you got your own tribute poem.
michelle reicks Oct 2011
I realized today

That I can never live

in a house
that does not contain


a bathtub.

I like showers
they're lovely little self spaces
sure,


i like the feeling of
fingerblades
little
rain droppingingingings
singing

over my skin

but there
is definitely something


about being
wet
every inch of your


body
covered in water
and all of it is touching you

at the same time


it replenishes me

dipping my hair under the sweet salty
sweat mixed liquids

it gives me life

in a way
that no one but i could ever

understand
xandria May 2017
after the last time I made the foolish mistake of believing that everyone has good intentions
I promised myself I wouldn't trust anyone again
but, you see
the thing is that I didn't have to.
there's something about those eyes that reminds me of the way mother nature lovingly replenishes the earth's soil with rain.
and the first time I saw them, I knew I didn't have the option of loving you.
upon meeting you, I immediately fell in love with you.
trust me, I curse at myself every time I sleepily type "I love you more" at 1 a.m. when we're both too **** stubborn to close our eyes and drift off. but, for once, a large part of me believes that you'll stay.
Ken Pepiton Oct 2023
National mindsets self interested suffer
forms of dementia as the order all confessed,
demands of each a concentration of self worth,
you bet your soul, but only in the spirit,
step into the fray, say, let me lead you,
say let me take elected office,
democratic to the edges, being your voice
in a popularity contest, not an intellectual joust.
Tutelary deontology 101.
Governing is managing the labor. Ask the king.
Any flock in the system, governs itself.
Business is business.
Some arrangements are always secret. All
grown ups are in the business of war supplies.
Let your children's minds be at ease.
Trust the checks and balances history proves,
have never worked on balance, for the poor.
Get rich quick as one can imagine, on a bet.
War meets Peace, like it is the storm
that left Greenland, a legend until now.

Easily intreated innocense, who could know.
Prosaic first morning pizz to prime the pump.

How deep is the generational debt due to war?
How many bonds have been sold to pay interest?
How many times has the national debt ceiling failed?
You know.
Every time.
"Each major conflict in U.S. history
has been accompanied
by a sharp rise
in debt as the government raises funds
to pay for the fighting."

But laws do exist…
"Without a declaration of war
to put the country on a wartime economy,
Congress paid for Vietnam
by increasing the national debt.
Over the course of the conflict,
America's debt nearly doubled, growing
from approximately $317 billion in 1965
to $620 billion in 1976."

Now the debt is rising
on interest alone. No need for another war.

And America's trade balance is hinged,
on the point of war.
The ideal centermost irritant, war's hate pump,
pain expanded by generational trespass acts
likened unto the pea
under the stack of feathered beds,
or the bit of grit forcing oyster stress
that has made the misshapen pearl sold
to sovreign entities, those colors on the map,
these mental aggregations called nations,
by nationalist mind frame riveters,
foundational eye beams, remove before demoting,
ah, slow, riveted beams spanning ferro-concrete tech- think.
Building a reasoning trap, children,
ask your fathers to whom we owe our national debt.
Ask also who sells the weapons to the world at war.
Semper fi,
no offence, but… holy hate is as crazy as hungry hate.

A voice from a song, from nowhere,
you just could rethink, or did, that first time think
a bridge over troubled waters being a truly old good idea,
come to rescue you,

in the early days of Boomer parenthood… being grown ups,
we never missed a Disney Movie, though by then,
they were losing the gnostalgia, old knowns to be like so,
were no longer even imaginably so.
Old Yeller,
Childhood's end, the separation
from hearth felt comfort,
to the class rooms and hallways
of massive cold concrete schools… where on day one,
the child pledges with its cohort of coeducatables,
the ancient bond of aliegiance...
I pledged mine first in 1954, the year "under God" was added.

In the just now settling down towns along the great freeways,
there has been no peace on earth in my generation,
at the level of military minds in conflict caused by stories,
boys bred with old hates just waiting for a sigh-psignal
sci-revealed to those willing to become Jason Bourne,
to the best of your abilities, ring the bell, any time.  

Welcome to the front. Sanity is on the line.
There is no conspiracy, we sell our souls for what money
can be demonstratively proven to allow and even augment.

War is all we sell. There is another game, it's a liar's game.
Many famous authorities have filled the space at the table.

Take your hat off, Bartholowmew, she does not understand you.

------------
Daily communication with myself,
one person, with no power to use
save the early cultural confidence;
sworn to tell the whole truth,
so help me, God. Yes, your honor.

Except we reactivate the curious why,
functionally suppressed during the standard
test taking by the proximate others
diligently filling in the blanks,
with graphite rounded just right, one swipe.

Except we see that hanging senselessly realized.
Each problem, one answer, not one option.
Only select correct answer.
Tell the child learning the pledge,
God is on our side, emphasize
how exceptional those who know so are,
extremely discriminatingly,
arranging the economy around
the great decussation at the air gap,
at the back of our national neck.

In this time,
thoughts and prayers, we hear
spoken of as easily done,
almost without thoughts, who
responds?, who, has ever responded
to the said to be going out constantly
thoughts and prayers, asking truth
to intervene and call the liars liars?

God is not angry, nor without resources,
according to the cultures now at war--
¿
Whose mortgage was not paid with earnings
from war readiness industrial complexes?

Whose talent was left with the userers,
because the Bible says y'sposed to earn interest?

Whose 401K deflated to oops?

Business begins with informed agreements.
Let's make a deal.
No killing, stealing nor needless destruction.

Minds join eye to eye, one mindwise agreed,
we become an entity, a being essential
to the parts, a mind in harmony, rank and file.

Greedy men with no agreement. Hmm, who loses?

Line up, not by rank, single file, fall in,
first and following, get in on the end,
and wait for the circle to close,
re done dances, life going wild as
we celebrate our circle, we sing of it
being unbroken in the sweet by and by…

The land of those who talk back to El,
yes, yes, we do, to honor Iyobe,
who first called for the Daysman,
who first
told reality, with all it's evil potential,
you cannot not be true, you know, in form
as spirit and truth containable in words, logos,
logos of all o-logies,
so powerful as to allow, in fact, cause, new mindforms,
species of thoughts that function as a system to make
sense, discernible, bits of valuation determinable in agreement.
--------------
Contractual obligations religiously adhered to
just between us, we take advantage for the nation's sake.
Madrassahs and aliegiance pledges set habits hard to break.

Set the cost of goods, lower than replacement cost of the price.
What does it cost a state to rear a warrior class individual
that self replenishes?

What does it cost me to scatter confusion in profuse create-ifity?
So, add a proper tip,
and pay the cost to ride this line to the next re-entering angle.
Middle east,
cauldron of all the holy empires thus far into the age
of entertainment so vast,
wise men can imagine, some day
there will be a war, and no parents will have
offered children to the infantry or made
righteous indignation acceptable national pride to k-ill for.

There Hamas, holy brainwashed haters of hatefulness.
Repents and perishes the very thought of peace.
Repay in kind, here, swear undying obediance,
fear not death, this is Allah's Promise, die killing Jews,
turns on the monstrous virgins awaiting you…
in post mortal walled places,
where the oldest civilizations occurred,
as God's great idea, I'll
empty the center of me, and seep
back in through fractured rationality
along trade routes between Africa and
the forested north above the desert.

Me, there, in mental efforting, thinking
thoughts, not prayers, but wishes, hopes,
thoughts that prayers attach to, as evidence.

"Ask and ye shall receive."
Love those who call you enemy, can you?

Face me, Mr. Nobody, the essence of other,
I declare peace, where none is, and you laugh.

No ritual, no enchantments with promise,
no sacred making of secular deaths, just
just just adjust the justice aspect, blame
the holy haters whose God dispenses vengeance,
at the behest of warriors fitted with military minds.

As when holy Americans gather to offer military aid,
blessed by the congregations alerted to intercede,
on the side that denies Jesus was God,--- ah, both sides,
in this case…
whither turn we, do we face Mecca, or Jerusalem,
or Petra or … Sol or Luna, all our enculturated faith,

blinks, a lense clarifying effort, rub the crust
of sleep fallen into while mourning, unsealing eyes
to see again, a war between two national identities,
both with warrior glory emulation traditions,
one with money as first de-fence, the other with hate,
nothing less than pure hatred, Cain to Able, sorry bro.

Old mean spirits.
If the hate can live in any man, wombed or un, it will.

Willingness to hate enough to k-ill a stranger, will
manifest as holy terror… enough to make Jesus weep.

--- and those were a few of the local thoughts made prayer,
seemingly automatically, as mysterious as most final secrets.

Part three, deeper, faster, harder… or not

Doings in the dark, are done by feel.
One, you or I, or some other sapien
augmented with the messiah's mind, feels the need for the deed.
Take the message from Garcia.

Mystic experience in story realms,
holding all the visions taken raw,
as revealed… as when a curtained
entry way is opened for inspection,

are we ideas in bodies?
are all ideas spirit in form?

Inhale an intuited absence of evil,
breathe the air of answered prayer.

Imagine that, let fly the idea of you,
beloved individuated potential saint.

Here is your sentimental inner edge,
your gnosis pressed flat as you see in.

The edge of this bubble, is distant
only to the holy cloaked in asceticism,
twisting wicks
for someday light in someday night,
circulate one way then the other,
rethinking perfected emptiness,
there are no others, up or down,
to and fro, vectors tie targeted states,
spider kites form single ray classic webbing,
slim banner, a flag unraveled long since.

Follow me, I say to me, follow me,
I say to you, saying back, I am not you.

My option.
Turn on, sit back and watch,
evolving cave wall interesting hooks,

look around, nothing intersting, eh?
Television as imagined by petrified apes,
during the peak preserved in history,
when men like Franklin and Voltaire,
met to share secret meanings of things.

Previous to any whole story that remains, as when any mind mistakes
tzimtzum inside as first occurrence,

total emptiness, pre space, one time
this instant accepted as audience

in true gaseous we form, auto informing
the vegetable phaze passed eons ago, life
tells tales too esoteric for novices
to notice, in the ideal state, active
imagining, as with a child's mind, yours
since ever was, so far as you may wish
to remember,
a time when the state was deemed
comforting and beauty filled, chaotic
process of floating lipids, in form of air,
light has not dawned on us, we are
night scene setters of settings, nodes
of potential anything you can imagine,

level with me, even, straight, right… yes it
is the optional meandering mind engine,
an idol, or a daimon, madness of sorted
degrees, a little bit off the charts, sorted
out.
Not in, the bubble being becomes,
when one emerges in a self…

subtle is good, right, we agree?
Jesus, before Christianity, as a kid,
instructed with his cousin John,
likely by his temple servant uncle.

That can be imagined, projected
on the outerwall of this bubble we be in. At the moment, on an Earth wired

for sound, elephants agreeing to meet,
to follow the pilgrimage, pilgrim beings
activated by stark necessity successful
to this degree…

by the reader's time's at tension, pull
release
snap back, at what ifery, at once, push

most bottom centered point once sitting
in raw time thought processing, in
and out, efforting
- slightly off, not fully on
uncomfortable impression of holy
you better get better or else. Holy

blank slate, bubble pop, soft wow

Now, we're in the swirl, in the spin
toward, froward lips sealed, golden
silence,
subtler than any beast, creature,
living thing in the ruliad, am I? No.

BUT, you know, those penance prayers,
given you as a child, enchantments,
as with all your renouncements of evil
and pledges under God, in your child mind.

Look. To your own self, be true.
You still have private interpretation access
to your child mind.

If you put your worried mind to work
on some thought too deep to ponder then,

The idea of punishment by the Creator
of all that is not God, but was deemed good,
by God, because I said so, said the father,
in the child mind.

To know good and evil knowledge,
that talent, initial mark on our blank slate,
to know, not what you know, but ask
your child mind, how does it feel,

flat on your back gasping as others laugh,
and your child mind blooms an entire eon
- just to catch a breath takes for ever
and there were others, the whole family
of mankind of your kind, to your child mind,
stood laughing at your attempt to perform

a first flight, from an edged bet with an
I think I can virus perpetuated in ever after,

since mind made time make sense in chaos.
Instantly, things start to take shapes, in mind.
Non sense. Since. Processing time. Go.
Instants out of mind, in atari.
Fog of unknowns. I used to play the game.
Not really, only, one off thought forms,
cloudlike in symmetry, no clear tongue
and groove, fitting our pro-posed… pose

supposed, to listen and while listening,
learn the use of any knowing, can be
taken as granted possibility by your self.
- distant sound of light sabers actuation
Your blame and shame catcher, out front,
as we steam ahead across the gap,
thoughts made prayers must leap.

Keep your eyes on the prize, three
walnuts and a split pea with a hair, fine
infant hair, see it there, your old minds eye.

The unveiling of an artifice, an angle
greater than straight, from this point…
a re-entrant angle, like a point, banked shot.

in
Thanks, I needed you to ready become... said the little blue man... whatsoever we agree... indeed. Let us see...
Emi Mar 2014
I haven't held your hand in
10 weeks
they say the human skin
replenishes every
27 days
you've never touched this skin
and I'm scared that you never
will
Nature sings a song, melodious and sweet
In colours brown, yellow, green and
blue
Resplendent the rainbow arcs
In every hue
Replenishes the soul
Joyous, the heart
Dances to Nature’s Beats
Poetic T May 2016
Little winged one of murky wings
do flutter in origami folds. To glide
in endless times engulf that needing
of seeing where in twilight all is a
shadow and all is seen within the night.

Quiver unseen but felt unto the breeze,
a shudder unfolds on their shadow in
ease, you taste upon droplets of fear.
Little origami wings do grace into
the flightless moments their but unseen.

Your shadow convulses in its presence,
Knowing subconsciously what it needs.
But you are but connected separates that
Could not be further apart. Like a puddle
swimming, nearly drowning in your depth.

It unfolds into form, for unseen like an
extension not noticed by self, a shadow
not as should seen. tiredness as into shadows
Of lost moments its delves ever deep. unravelling
it seeds into the darkness a continuation breaths

It departs for a shadow replenishes and its parts
Now origami folds in need of shadow will dance
upon every motion to unfold and feed, the cycle
is ever in motion, for twilight is its birth and life
its nourished in obscurity forever to feed.
Dam muse 2nd try at 75word prompt over again....
Jammit Janet Jul 2021
#91
Pleasantly content
Full of love
Full of commitment

To go above and beyond
Make you feel the beauty of passion
Provide you with the warmth
From my love

That replenishes my being
Recharges me
When I’m done.
I always feared thunderstorms
Lightning has killed many trees I loved

I understand that lightning
is a necessity as it replenishes
the nitrogen in the soil

But it destroys to create life

Tonight the thunderstorms roll
The thunder remains high
just growling low
as the lightning skips from cloud
to cloud

Then all at once
a bolt hits close by
and the thunder
kabooms . . .
rattling windows
Making your heart
skip several beats

The wind picks up
the sirens go off
and you chek out the radar

You breathe a sigh of relief
as the approaching storm splits
and goes around you .

It rains hard . . .

Then it stops . . .
so has the wind

Aloft the clouds
are race horses
galloping away as fast as they can

They have business elsewhere

Now all is quiet
a feeling of relief
soaks in unlike
the water running
rushing down the sides of the street

An after the storm moment
of peace when the air feels as clean
as the thoughts you . . . you don't have
A moment tonight between rows of thunderstorms rolling through
RyanMJenkins Sep 2013
Not gonna lie, I've been having a hard time.
Gonna be another night coping through life with a rhyme.
It's how I provide zest and flavor with a squeeze of lime.
About to be, twenty three, but still don't feel I've reached my prime.
The growing process never ends, always here to hear but it's always hard for me to find an ear that'll lend time when I'm not fine.
It just falls in line, with the proper arrangement of events.
Looking back I never wonder where the tick tocks went.
This is me, cuz I needed to release, like the cool air from a vent.
Reaching out to some seemed like ill moments spent.
Yet, the care was there, no denying or trying to prevent.
I love you all, but don't you see?
I'm just tired of all the superficiality.
We grow to infinity, we are souls of divinity,
Connectivity replenishes me, but these times
Make me realize it comes from more than just people.
The nature of everything gets me higher than those churches' steeples.
Aerial view, seeing perspectives askew.
My only problem is not knowing exactly what to do.
I have so much to prove, and I'm not one to lose
So many substances have been used, my body's abused.
But I am here alive, seeing the new,
and it was based on every choice I decided to choose.
So I'll draw sunshine, even when feeling blue.
In a bout with doubt, taking a higher route
True in that I'm here for you,
But I need a special kind of rain,
from a special wave's spout,
And proper sparks in my brain
That'll bring about life in this drought.
Paul Celano Jun 2012
Looking down at empty pale feet
Pure crystal water
Kissing the gaunt quivering toes
Like tiny nipping lips

An intoxicating dewy tickle
Replenishes the ulcerated legs

Thin iced glass brushes the face
Coating it in a soft chilled frost

Salty needles pinch the eyes
Making vision blurry yet refreshed

To blink would be a miss
A loss of excessive sight
An immense beauty gone

A crawling land of beryl
A saturated endless terrene
An ocean
I went on a trip to Florida for business.  I didn't get to go in the ocean, but I got to look at it.  This is what my mind was imagining.
Renee Danielle Jun 2016
every 28 days,
the human skin replenishes itself.
my hands are tired of building new homes
on top of old eviction letters.
I am aching for a body
that treats me like a cure,
and not the disease that needs it.

I live as a counterfeit version of myself;
I am a kleptomaniac who steals the breath
from people that would have found a use for it.
tell me how to refund
what I didn't buy.

my veins are a breeding ground for despondency,
my bones a shelter for malaise.
to try to be kind to myself
is to cauterize a wound
after the infection has already spread.
Lucky Queue Apr 2013
Here, hold out your hands
Don't drop what I give you
Please don't be repelled
See? It's not so bad
Mucous and slime won't hurt
Blood and water won't burn
Do you feel it beating?
Can you sense its pulse of life?
It's living because of you
It feeds off of your emotion
But don't worry, it replenishes
What it takes, and more
What you give it will take
And what you take it will give
It will not strike out and
Will not harm you
You are in complete control
If you so deign to **** it
Then do it and swiftly
It will follow you and be yours
Forever and always
So as you receive my gift,
I ask you, please be nice
After all, it is my heart you play with
Shawn D Smith Feb 2016
I see your courage, to push though and persevere no matter what difficulties you may face. I see your great sense of humor and how it makes people laugh beyond comprehension.. I  see your intelligence  it builds your understanding and appreciation for life. I see your spontaneous nature it is what takes away your fear for the uncertainty and destroys your doubt. I see your strength it sends chills down my spine and brings me to my knees in awe..I see your energy it replenishes your very soul and opens up your mind to possibilities.I see your faith and confidence it guides you though obstacles that you would never be able to face alone. I see your intuition its keen to deception which keeps you out of trouble! I see your smile it can illuminate the dark world we live in and makes life worth living.. I see your heart, is it my home where I feel safe and comfortable. I see your beauty, you are the most beatiful creation in the world to me...Its not only my eyes that see you its my heart and mind.. Its every atom that makes me Shawn that sees every atom that makes you Bethany
Its a poem I wrote about someone who will never read it.
Jay Dec 2016
Something about this winter seems colder than ever.
Late.
Sudden.
All at once.
It's the type of cold I haven't felt in a long time. Lingering.
Something you can't get rid of.
A breath of fog in the air.
Old memories.
Air that replenishes you. Making things new.
Air you don't mind suffering for.
Chilled to the bone.
Fingers numb. Toes nonexistent.
But sometimes still, I stand on my porch, cold, dreaming of blankets, and cocoa, and you.
Snow falls on my skin. Chilling. A reminder of how cold it really is, and I have to pretend that you didn't cross my mind.
It's freezing.
d w Stojek Jul 2018
Nature adorns her vacuums:

               Eden, in lieu of Gardener or Keep, overdrives the breach;

    garland wreaths, julep leaves, Clover carpets

          the well-dint of the fleeing heel,    

             just as Vitality, from Lushness, deserts to humbling Humus.      

                                     I bargain that We will        

                 be survived by teeming hosts of white Chrysanthemum.        

  Our grim miracle resembling, so, fish and loaves;    

                of Manna eked of Woe.



Staid amatory shall cater the craving of a brood;    

        from our tears rich elixir brewed,      

          our tender flanks yielding stew.    

         Scarcity is Her own aphrodisiac,    

      abused in company of more than two.      



    But sure as Man, worms lapse at their hour      

      and they, their own kind, must consume  

            giving back Space, where is room.      

        So, must we, our own Passion’s devour,

   that made manifest they replenish their expanse,      

            as when a hand replenishes a glove--      

     it first breathes upon the absence of Absence.    

           Let us, then, dine. Let us then, Love…
John R Pettigrew Aug 2016
I am homesick for a place I have never been
Where my spirit is high and my soul is clean
Away from the apathy and the resentment that I can only describe as obscene
I look to within as no outer energy can cleanse my aura
Mother Earth replenishes me and helps secure me
But keeps my crown open to receive his power
Living with hope I once couldn't cope
On my knees my soul had broke
I was lifted,guided and behold
He lead me to a word that saved my soul
The word is namaste the soul is Devine
giving me a new look on reality and helping my light shine
But I allow others to shine the light on me from time to time
I try to be free from fear resentment and live for now
For now I have been blessed with light and love
Love and light to all of you
Amitav Radiance Aug 2014
Water mirrors the inner feelings
Travels a tranquil path between woods
Ablution of regrets and negativity
Carrying away with it the heavy feelings
Replenishes the dehydrated soul
A leaf falls on the water, carrying my message
Helena Feb 2013
there is this thought that swarms between my fingers and my door handles. there is this notion that all things connected are intertwined. and these things, as fruitful as they may seem, are false. a figment in my own perception of how i think we should rotate. a perception of integration that, in a few words, can completely derail reality from desire. there is this idea on the sides of my thumbs, calloused from thinking of it too often: an idea that one receives what another wishes to be given. we are loved the way the ones loving us yearn to be loved. the affection we receive is that of a mirror of what they want. this callous hardens with each moment until it becomes a wall. an animation of something staying perfectly still. we speak so clearly in our attempts to tip the scale one way or another. but there is the swarming of these moments where what you give is what you get. one, simple, pure moment of equality. a golden ratio of intent and regurgitation: we place our hands out, opened wide, full of our own bits to the flame and we receive a hand full back. no burns, no blisters, no empty handed response. a simple passing chance that allows us to neither inhale or exhale. you needn’t air in this moment, you needn’t the sense of left, of right, of inside or out. because in this numbing sense of bliss there is a revival of passion. and passion, that is the idea. that is the thought. the hive that replenishes each unit of coming and going, the wall that resettles at any given chance on either side. but also the notion of humility. on the sides of each thumb, the tips of my fingers are walls of dead skin that are devoted to this intent. they are constantly pushing against it, forcing passion to overlook the rest of what’s left.
Chloe M Teng May 2015
Our life a canvas
Renaissance of emptiness & bare
Waiting in wanting of a change
Of colours & sketches to wear

Our acrylic a creation
Clothings of words & expressions
Replenishes the canvas in colours
In boundless strokes of desires & justice

Our paintbrush the world
A place so tiny yet so vast
with people in shades of rainbows
A true necessity in life

We are the painters
Our dexterity a masterpiece
The one that the canvas relies on
The master of our own paintings

*We are Picasso
"Life as though it were an art."
BungeeGum Dec 2018
Scribble, scribble, I write notes after notes
Click, click, on the web ,I research more and more....
Tick-tick, I go to bed at 4 in the morning
Beep, beep, My alarm wakes me and I'm still tired and yawning
Open, open, my eyes, I feel as if I'm in a game and respawning...
Ready, ready, is what I am for the day...

So...

Let me make so more tea, that weirdly replenishes my energy and then continue on the grind...

Back to constantly working on the ideas on my mind....

Back to working on my self ,the new year is on its way, the new me resumes it's hardworking today

Although the new year may be a month away, today marks the last month of the year, the last month before a new transformation flourishes

I say flourish not start , since it has already begun..... 2019 is steadily on the horizon so sit back and enjoy the fun....

2019...

What becomes of the year?
What becomes of me?
A new step closer to making my own history, maybe ?
Enough questions , for now I will wait , watch and see....
Let her take control over your mind
She full of happiness no thoughts of suicide
Or homocide
Which shed on the earth since my birth
I got no worth held on to then what i thought was girth
Asking myself? What am i living for?
And why must i chase the dough and remain *******?
Its just an image that blemishes
Use her as my cleansing as she replenishes
My mind body and soul then she grabs control
Take over so i feel superior and bold
She has no silence beautiful & dangerous to all her rivals
Demons cant even see her her sight
Is more beautiful than an early sunrise
Uprise
I think about her night and day
Til the day that i die looked in her eyes
She got me hypnotize as i rise
She told me to just keep it a surprise most won't realize
What's going on? down and under sound the thunder
She makes rain drops with no clouds in sight
Shes not profain shes not a dame
She uses parables to explain
Her intellectual frame faceless
But i feel her presence
Everywhere i go she's there so prepare
For the ultimate lesson put down my smith n wesson
Light up my incense for a smoke session blessin'
Fall down out of the heavens
Then all of a sudden i get a flash
Picture perfect like Van Gogh
Midnight summer dream no longer chasing the cream
Im all about wisdom cuz its seats
Higher than gold and silver
For they nothing but clay and sand
Made by mans hands stand
All alone on the battelfield
Shedding my tears for my comrades who aint here i fear
None but the Most High the closer i get the more he mutiplies
Her to my mental state of mind as i shine
Brighter than sun everyone
Look at me like an italian don an enemy on the run?
Dont care who feels this or dismiss this
Ya cant deny her existence
She'll be there to ride for you die for you
If only you treat her like you suppose too
I been touched spiritually since i was kid
Didn't understand the wages of sin until i took a bid forbid
Once i partaked in the garden of eden
Original mark of sin before she entered in
Instincts was her game
But we always choose pride and our own fame the game
Is designed for them to win
She might not give your earthly riches
But ya mind will be healthy and wealthy
For the Most High say don't be like the critters of earth
For they boast in secrecy and wickedness
Surrounds thee
For the devil aka lucifer was the Most High first rebel
He used to be married to her then divorced by her
Cuz he choose will over living eternally
Sin casted through the heartz of men
Listen to how he speaks verbally
Everything is lost from what was once was gain now all i see is generation dying in vain
Got homosexuals tracing back to the roots of ***** and gemorrah how can you ignore the
Media when they all over your face she braille the darkness for me
So i can light up my trace
Path of righteousness leads you alone
But if you take the path of darkness
Ya get alot following demons swallowin'
Every march of ya footsteps
Crazy! how this world loves God
So much
But it makes sense cuz "god" switched around is "dog"
Short for dogma im speakin marxism and communism
And all those locked in a spiritual prison
Wake up before it's too late she could make mountains shakes once she awakes
She doesnt hesitate
To those who wanna learned ya might get burned for telling the truth
See all these stage events
That's a sign of repent
No remorse when i see sinful corpses
No hate in my heart she wont let me part
Of her ways
She even shown me brighter days even though it was a cloudy day
Hold on steadifast cuz she only.will last
To those who choose right over wrong
This ain't a song they say in wrong
But im right so please listen to me before death angels sound the gong and we long gone
Killuminati Veteran Lives KillEvil LiveLlik
Kelsey Erin Jan 2014
i know it's been 8 years and i know
the skin replenishes every 27 days and
i know that every molecule and every atom
that was present when you took my freedom
from me and replaced it with guilt does not exist
anymore but somehow through all the showers so
hot that satan would hiss at the contact and scrubbing
so hard at my skin that it's raw and bleeding, i can still feel
your sinful hands ripping the only thing i ever believed in straight
from me without even breathing
a word.

and sometimes,
at 3 a.m. when the
memories come flooding
in, when i can't cry because
i am not sad, i am angry
i wonder why if my bones
and my liver and my
stomach and every atom
and every molecule and every
bit of my body
can be renewed
at least every 5 years, why can't my
memories change too?
michelle reicks May 2013
to shed one's own skin
is a painful process

letting go of something that was once a part of you
makes you question your existence in the world

who am i

i peel this layer of skin away
leaving paper thin paper white patches all over this house

the skin underneath is red and raw

in some places, i peeled away too much
and the skin bleeds

but the pink flesh is so beautiful

I am so beautiful

i have removed and discarded the shell of me
i will start anew

skin replenishes itself
and i will be a new person

but

i will also be me



the skin will fall away and grow back
and
this new skin will be untouched

by you


but for some reason
no matter how much skin is peeled away,

these scars are always visible


i desperately search for ways to speed up this process

to change into a new person
a person who knows how to be content

a person who has never known you,
and therefore will never miss you




but as it is,
my body is bleeding
my hair falls out in clumps

and my heart aches
for you

underneath these broken ribs
Mateuš Conrad Oct 2016
if a tree falls in a forest and no one is around to hear it, does it make a sound?

and a decent poem this could have been, but then two
distractions came -
       one of less concern than the other:

a. a program on u.f.o. sightings,
         not so much the subject matter,
but the journalistic ridicule of what was later
    translated into a "sensible" branch
of phenomenology - the branch filled with
awe and fear - unlike the branch that deals
with: 'oh, there's but a simple explanation
behind it all',
               the hardship of seemingly
good intentions in making others believe
something tends to end with a crucifixion in
one way or another - the lesser crucifixion?
evidently stigmatism -
                      perhaps a more unfathomable
experience - no hand in the cookie jar
but nonetheless the hand being caned -
later, much much later the talk of
ostracising ostriches - ducking for cover
   when a less mainstream scientists comes
along and takes out equipment to
understand certain phenomena -
          perhaps without the layman's blinking
incomprehensibility - but at least
         not journalistic poking fun off -
     or how the ostriches always talk about
the faculty of imagination overpowering
the senses - casually phrased: you must have
been imagining things... well... **** me!
why did they invent hallucinogenic drugs
given that imagination can suddenly invoke
a hallucination so potent?

b. first it started with your face,
                 then it started with a mirror
and a face in it in some nightclub bathroom -
some look terrible in mirrors
       the movement disguises the many
apparently or non-apparent imperfections -
that trick of morality that beauty (is but
a short lived tyranny) needs to almost
nervously twitch for the participant in
a brief spell of Narcissism,
  so they take the photo, call it a selfie and
say: if i look good in a selfie, the image
in the mirror doesn't matter...
                           they actually look better in
the mirror than in the selfie -
   but then i decided i had enough of the culture,
only a day before, started to look more and
more at my shadow - maybe the
shape of the nearly skin head made me curious,
so i said to myself: tomorrow night,
   when you're sober, go out and make an
album of photographs.
              hence the distraction b... putting the album
together... from colour, to b & w aesthetic,
   fiddling with enough exposure and contrast
to get the shapes out (not a brilliant camera) -
but apart from my anti-selfie i
took two photographs of modern relics -
    they having dismantled them...
                 *phoneboxes
!
  i remember walking home with a few beers
when it started raining... good thing that
      one of them had the top glass window
smashed and it wasn't there...
              a great bar it turns out...
yep, a beer or two in a phonebox and
the nostalgia of having pockets filled with coins -
   and that ramous number oh eight-hundred
    R E V E R S E        0800 7 3 8 3 7 7 3
(just like the American say it) - on the other line
a person would hear the automated message:
someone is calling you from... would you like
to pay for the call?
             relics, truly... or minibars when it rains
or cubicles to **** in... why not? anyone using it
for anything else?
                  and so it was today,
after watching the vice presidential discussion
i picked the quietest moment in the night
3:30 a.m., the quietest moment in the night -
30 minutes out, started counting the number of
steps it would take for a concrete shadow
under a streetlamp would fizzle out and become
less and less visible, until another streetlamp
gave back a full-bodied concrete form,
the less blurry and fizzling out after ~34 steps...
it takes about 34 steps for the shadow to fizzle
out when looking at it when created by
a passed streetlamp, as said, another streetlamp
replenishes the lost density of the shadow.

which brings me onto... overpriced books.
        now, stopping drinking could help me buy socks,
or a new pair of shoes...
  but...
                              i haven't picked up a book
recently that would grab my attention...
                 and the last time i wrote poetry while
also reading a book, not since the time of Ezra's Cantos,
and that's donkey's years away, it would seem.
     but by chance i came across one...
the most expensive book i ever bought was in
Edinburgh, £28.50 and in brackets
             [cheapest online £60.30 inc. shipment]...
but the book i'm going to reference seemingly
fell from the sky... Ponderings II - VI:
Black Notebooks 1931 - 1938
by Heidegger -
which stands at £30.10 from a second-party
retailer on Amazon... otherwise it's £50.00!
i am mad enough to buy this book, hence the strict
regime of alternative drinking nights...
           but that's beside the point...
i don't care to compliment the translation,
       this is the first insight into Heidegger stripped
bare from what i consider to be the hardest books
to read - the devilishness of youth -
2 ****** years and a few good books and much
poetry in between enabled i finished that
   monstrosity that is being and time -
but these ponderings? a complete and utter
revelation! well... it's no good looking at it
if you haven't read the magnum opus -
        i can say enough in that he does treat
aphorisms with a slight disdain, or rather as stepping
stones to create an alternative narrative,
    aphorism that have a different impact in a sense
that they are not isolated to just one isolated incident,
     i guess it's phenomenological in a sense
that phenomenons weave a narrative whether in
a cause and effect scenario, alternatively
        either cause, or effect; i thought i write this
poem before writing something less lucid when
relaxing with the whiskey during the end of the shift...
   and all because what's revealed from this
is how to answer the above question -
      if a tree falls in a forest and no one is around
to hear it, does it make a sound?
    if you look up all the Anglophone answers to
the question, you end up reaching the escape
route into buddhism, pop culture jokes
          and a general impracticality of it all
being related to perception and that horrid word
reality.
                i don't like this approach at all -
the easiest escape route is to approach buddhism -
that's the standard practice in English societies,
to escape into buddhism and chime jar jar jam and
joe who was later known of om -
     the book in question (ponderings ii - vi)
shows the skeleton of what is otherwise an Alcatraz
of prose in that systematic height of composition,
and that's how the concept of dasein enters
like a behemoth - in these ponderings dasein
is stripped to the bare essential of: being & there -
that's how i saw that ****** question answered -
it's not really a question of perception
    but a question of concern - and i have started
to really adore how the Germans always manage
to provide a higher tier of logic than the English,
the de facto argument of logic is:
   if i use words, i am logical -
   which doesn't not mean i categorising further
and suggesting i'm also rational,
          because that's beside the point -
illogical expression is something incomprehensible
for a logical person: sign language -
        but that's not to say something illogical
is irrational -
                    what i am suggesting is
that by using words i am logical -
            i can also be irrational, but nonetheless logical,
in the same way as i can be rational
    using the same starting point -
                                but in saying that i can be irrational
cannot mean that i'm illogical -
       because i am still using the basic blueprint: words.
this is the avenue where this £30.10 priced book
on Amazon leaves you wandering -
              but not on its own...
   as already stated...                   and i never
thought i'd be able to say it: reading philosophy
in English has suddenly become comprehensible
and rather enjoyable to me...
         by the looks of it... this will be the only
book on philosophy in English in my library
(the history of western philosophy doesn't count),
given that all the rest of them are in Polish...
      well... with the exception of Nietzsche,
he's pompous enough to be read in English,
         reflections from Scotland,
        on the faded and ever more fading former
Empire.
Stranger Blue Jul 2016
I look into a violet sky,
traveling through the years
of chaos and peace.
Searching for clarity, as paisley tears
seek release.
I'm gone I know.
But to know yourself,
there are places you must go...
I have a hard time leaving.

Wishing for rain...
Yet lady precipitation doesn't
seem to know my name.
Of me, this is a selfish act.
For as she replenishes the earth,
she restores emotions I lack and...
have a hard time retrieving.

As night falls,
the stars become clear.
An angel whispers sweetly in my ear...
"I am by your side."
I have a hard time believing.

I'm gone I know.
But to know yourself,
there are places you must go...
I have a hard time leaving.
Egeria Litha Jul 2013
Nature's indifference demands acceptance from conscious minds.
Have you ever seen a snake eat a mouse in a cage?
Somebody has to die for something else to live.
Somebody has to take in order for somebody to give.
Emotions contradict this.
We could deny it all and hide in our remote corners of the world.
Until death knocks on our door as we take our time to open it.
one step closer... I should have held my lover closer
2 steps away... What didn't I say?
3 steps near... and we search last minute for something that will soothe our ears.
"Believe in God so that you may go to heaven and have eternal life."
4 steps go by and we close our eyes.
Our hearts and minds shut off and we die.
Nature takes our bodies and replenishes them into the Earth.
Our opinions long since evaporated from the final tone of Nature's moan.
This is what we dread, but this what we know.
Renee Danielle Dec 2015
they say that every 27 days,
the human skin replenishes itself.
how nice it is to think, every 27 days,
I have another chance.

this is not the end.

this is the beginning of the next few weeks
where my skin will turn
bruises into flesh,
scabs into scars,
hurt into healing.

where my words will change
apologies into appreciation,
anger into tolerance,
hurt into healing.

where my mind will change
imbalance into equilibrium,
and bury the person I am now
underneath the person I will become.

I just have to be here to see it.
I just have to keep waking up
one more day.
Celine Nguyen Mar 2015
You couldnt tell me all of your [sea]crets, So shore it would encase me in an ocean of hell 
that I wouldn’t want to sail amongst



Where I lost myself in your he[art], For all I ended up with is a heap of your [pain]tings



It was I, that has fallen for the idea of you
 through the sin[sations] 
and proclamations of something abyss

As for this Fountain of youth which never 
dictates our age just replenishes 
our space
, Calcium is what
 makes bones stronger but the Milky Way 
isn’t a piece of chocolate that can
 satisfy such a sweet tooth



Such as the moments that 
you sought [***]fort in me.

— The End —