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Umi Mar 2018
The start is empty and dark, a realm of shadows consumes your mind, your soul and your fragile eyes with no hope for light to unfold
Try leaving the rest, or better,leave it all up to your imagination,
So you may not get lost in this loitering darkness which everlasts!
As you progress it becomes clearer, the picture begins to form alike pieces of an distorted puzzle with discord in between each of them.
When you close the door and enter once more however you will never know what you find, the image truly has corrupted itself,
This place is a secret which holds no meaning; Absolutely Undefined
A shadow can change its shape, reconstruct itself and resize too,
What you get may be what you see, though is it really what you get if you aren't able to trust your eyes through this ominous tenebrosity
A labyrinth, unhinged, seemingly endless cast away in illusion awaits those who make it through without being blinded by their eyes,
But why make progress, I will send you back to the start, empty and dark so that the joy of exploring this world of change never ends.
All or nothing, what is the goal, in this undefined loitering darkness.

~ Umi
vircapio gale Jul 2012
she is my nihilistic god;

i am a stag leap.
the fainter wind-caress
felt deep in trunks and boulder bed.
i am delight for loosened thorns
that piercing underfoot will spur to run
my naked body's open-air embrace
atop the callus of my seasoned fun,
skirring flora shadow-dancing bright
descending mountainside of noon
in blurrs refracting sightful bones.
i am the sense of
transtemporal glacial moans,

the heartbeat of the soil breath
to puff from feasted log a mycophile's awe
or want for all placental webs in view
for naming earth a seeping sorrows tithe:
my consciousness of things alive.

the stinging lungs atop the path
are emblems of a winging truth
to overcome her nearing death.
i am the lingham of creations' race.
i am the sensate reeling blow by empty blow.
the gravity of light and dark;
gray theopolis of fists and falls.
envelopment of massive meanings filled
in nether-branchings' net
and mediatrix scorn: the wider world absorbs my self as ~ all~
~. .all. . ~
prating some nepenthean law
to sour our poetic hate
and deeply bury seismic seeds she wants to sow, like
ancient clues of metagender fact:
hermaphroditic **** to 'normal' eyes.
icecaps to resize and singing moralize;
a dolphin midwife toning yoni love
for labor certain nuns call "gift"
as crown of pleasure heights
on par with mysteries;
regrowing infant fingertips,
to pi recited over days,
to vaster mindscapes drawn in ways
'beyond the genius of the sea'

why wait for ease of shame?
thin veils of culture lift
and family bonds anew to tow
the peace from out irratic weight of nation rifts;
instantiations burst beyond the tunnel course~
rhythmic doomsday yearnings line the halls of humantime:
prophetic visions of a sea to come,
Utnapishtim keeps himself alive
to garden with his wife a thriving mortal line.
Quetzalcohuatl finds himself *****
to bloodlet savior sexuality,
his heart a morning star, a Mayan Venus shine.

i see the standing trees
entwine slow-love to sky
so i can swing and heave
my universe above the words,
to carry thorns as well as petals, doves.
the vision ends. the new begins
to filter dyad lies through
inter-
corporeal lens.
embodied ivy climbs the tree of death
to rewind love and deepen love,
to bound the loss with goddess wisdom ends and other ends
of ouroboros shedding clear
of limits insight thrives to near.
sunglance peeking is the hovering of me,
steady comfort crosses floating lotus feet.
the softest rock has melded under thee
to join a forest pausing here.
a berry soaks itself of all i am
while nutty chipmunks chirp in whirls;
the clouds are girls you've been,
Nephelae to tease in quenching gowns
the verdant book of men we've known, who leaf
the air to taste another form of fairness lent.
silver is the sun in times of stillness overached.
sifted tensions drift to lie awake, but
drowning in a stream of glowing calm,
i am the woody balm.
the scent of bark unnestled dry
and leaves remembrance when
the breathing stops, the final
fleshing in of nowhere, never then.
you are transcendent of transcending
pure. end, endure and lucid ending live again
in empty worship ringing plenum om.
vircapio gale Jul 2012
the perfect poem

would start by acknowledging its imperfection
and yet would bind the heart to listen
in any mood
any clime, any mind...

it would forgive contingent interruptions
in its contribution to evolution

and to grandly synthesize the facts,
it would pierce its central theme in one or so lines,
a one-stroke ******
embedded somewhere safe, an apex valley
of words and symbols to communicate
rather than excommunicate
or bemuse...

an accord of human
commonality,  invitation to wonder
or to leave off reading for later|

to wake or soothe to sleep,
it would be a poem you could wear into battle
or soft-intone to soothe a dying loved-one's breath.
the perfect poem would promise laughter
after every tear, catharsis guaranteed.
it would be godly and irreverent,
honest and veiled.
erudite, but conversational: a soul-mate in the etymons.
chalk-full of sultriness,
elementally seducing
with allure of verbal petrichor,
released from a long-awaited desert cloud,
dripping at the center aching...
and all wants fulfilled
(but for the other yearnings it instilled).

even a cursory perusing-over yields
a boundless sphere of cheer!
(you may not find it here, or anywhere)
an epic of haiku in casual/dress wear...
therapeutic, silent or aloud,
empathy in every line, attentive to the reader's work.
a collaborative lore
entwining evermore and more,
tolerant of others, wiser for their scorn --
it would shift its meaning, each read through:
twelve interpretations would do;
in fact it would take up residence in you,
it would help with shopping, too,
save the queen, start a culture all its own
a witness to atrocity and fame,
a judge of victors, the criminally insane,
an analgesic to the lame.
both densely, and loosely writ
it would be spontaneous, yet crafted by a practiced art.
it would rhyme, as if the muses commanded it to rhyme
contrived at the dawn of time
to be contrivance free...
for your particular ears, for your soul, right now
an ever-present origin of meaningfulness sent
like similes for your life only --
it would foster to create within itself
expression's manifold and measure,
in line with styles all in vogue
the global culture's wold,
hermeneutic gold.
it would be made of wood, and snow
of sun and space, the universe in tow.
it would spiral, dance and sing beneath its sounds
teach a novel lesson, for novel ears,
    each and every time
it would be memorized, and hung
glazed with caligraphic meditation
in a cloister boarding only **** monks,
it would bear no clumps.
it would smoothe out all the lumps,
it would offer more than i can say...
the perfect poem wouldn't even mind being thrown away;
it would come again some day.
in fact, on second thought, it may come a different way--
created in the fae-lines of the eyes,
the ears and mind: the double prance
of in and out and everywhere resize
the meaning-giving dance.
sinngebung: meaning giving
etymon: A word or morpheme from which compounds and derivatives are formed.
petrichor: the name for the smell of rain on dry ground
wold: a usually upland area of open country
hermeneutics: the study of the methodological principles of interpretation
Carl Velasco Aug 2017
When we lose
There comes to be a reversal process;
a rapid prototype souped into bitten rhythm.
And then you collide, like
light particles melting film to form
some replica of an inner war. What is it
about trying; what does attempt do –
Pacify? Resize? Boost the morale
of twentysomethings clinging
to past participles like the sting of a bee?
What can you do to stop the ache
of feeling like ****? What is there to grasp
when no light appears?
But then a day comes.
It’s all fine, with friends, with music, with
anything other than self-flagellation.
At which point I fight the fight not to stay
a mere summary.
it is a tiny place, look
in side and see.

go, position yourself
carefully.

dumb down, retreat,
diminish, resize
like me.

another place,
where words
affect us deeply.

voices will come
and go.      and

while the worlds spins,
this small world
remains intact.



sbm.
They will only criticize
They won't sympathize
So don't make yourself paralyze
Do something which makes them surprise
But don't disguise
Keep it real and revise
Give yourself advise
Don't you ever compromise, minimize, apologize
Come with some real **** which synchronize
Something which characterised
You can Immobilized
Your power, your trust, your belief with no curse
Just memorize, organise, realise
Please don't pressurize
You can make your life harmonize

It implies
With timewise
Don't bribe the life
It wil galvanize
You can't resize
Your effort, belief, courage only your tries
So stay, stay with god
He won't do fraud
You believe
You'll achieve.
Travis Green Dec 2022
Enchanting fantasy boyfriend
You are a muscle-bound man
Of rare and extraordinary fashion
Golden showy machoness
Interestingly eclectic and poetic

Dazzling and heavily fragrant
Sparkling, priceless delight
Flawless ardent suaveness
Surprisingly warm superstar
The purest and brightest sunshine

Your desirable powerful shiningness
Electrifies and overpowers my mind
Makes my eyes wander all around
Your bright high-powered profoundness
The insurmountable excitingness
Of your divinely delightful liveliness
The seamless, seductive scent
Of your earthy and majestic incredibleness

Hypnotic narcotic wonderment
Your sexually bewitching masculinity
Catches my eye, keeps me hanging
Gets me going, turns me on more and more
Your heavenly arresting flex
Mesmerizes my thoughts and feelings

Your chiseled kissable slickness
Fills my inner world
Immerses me in your fervency
Beckons me to the depths
Of your blazing hot major-league sensationalness

I lose myself in your high-level
Prepossessing finesse
Lean into your aggressive infectious delectableness
You hold me in awe
When I gawp into your charming dark eyes
When you bend me over

Drive your diabolical throbbing python
In my vault of hotness
Make me long for your unstoppable
Red-hot wonderment
Your flaming bang-up vitality

How you hypnotize and resize my insides
Push deep into my guts
Cause me to lust for your lusciousness
Lovingly touch your wild, hunky muscle
Feel your demonically gaudy kisses
On the nape of my neck

Your immensely skilled and strong hands
Cling to my fresh juicy coconuts
I feel the overwhelming pressure
Of your lekker pecker head
Hitting my walls at all astonishing angles

Beguile and divide senses
Let me admire your massive splashy sack
How they bounce and blow my mind
Make me sweat incredibly
As you etch your vivid and blissful dreams
Into my creamy, sumptuous dimension

Hammer me harder
Worship my bold, wondrous rearguard  
Press your muscled tattooed flesh
Against my sweetly perfumed architecture
Your soft, moist lips meshed
With my beautiful, buoyant shoulder

I feel your hardness tour deeper
Into my feminineness
The way your devouring eyes meet mine
With an incomparable assertive stare
Make me so enraptured by
Your masterfully magical masculineness

Make me linger in impeccably
Compelling dreamworlds
Stimulate my brain waves
Spray your tasty man mayonnaise
All over my bodacious and coruscating creation
Nat Nov 2020
My selves I will invite to an open air party
Only them, we are quite a crowd already
A handful of confetti
in free-style choreography
Drink to Alice and the times she’s changed since morning
Drink to the prolific mosaic of individuality
Resize
Reshape
Reinvent.

— The End —