"resuscitating" poems
Around me is dying another day
silently falling in surge of emotion
in the mournful dirge of the dusk
dropping on the black drongo
flying home in dream of dawn
beneath the first star of twilight
blushing in the kiss of sky
heralding another earth evening
celebrating death in the dire need of
resuscitating life.
Feb 8, 2017
Feb 8, 2017 at 8:36 AM UTC
Poets...writers...artists...musicians.
Those who eat their words,
bleed their colors,
breathe their notes.
Only dreamers
of no consequence.
Only lovers of life
who write, paint, sing to live.
Movers and shaker
laugh at the starving artists.
Few will make money,
fewer still reach fame.
Many reach the hearts
of other lovers of life,
resuscitating dying dreams,
breathing hope and beauty,
singing glory and brilliance
into dark, cringing corners.
The bleeding hearts begin to heal
and beat, beat, beat as one;
a marching tune, a clarion call
to gather into thunderheads
to storm toward the movers
and still the mighty shakers,
a deluge of words and images
the music of the multitudes
come down upon the leaders' heads
to swallow them whole
and let digestion take its course.
Apr 24, 2011
Apr 24, 2011 at 3:17 PM UTC
We are in the ungodly hour again,
that sixty-minute stretch,
embedded in the nighttime,
of undisputed stillness.
A fracture of the evening
occupied by deep breaths
and oddly-human silhouettes.
The town butcher spends overtime
breaking bones, working
on the swine, and counting
the progression of the night
by the swinging bodies.
They’re cold and sinuous
but he likes their company.
The town preacher wastes time
as he knows to pace himself
by half hour intervals,
squeezed between nightcaps.
In every period he remembers
slightly less that, a boy
is to be buried by the morning.
The town beggar walks towards nowhere,
he blows an alcohol breath
into his clasped hands
like resuscitating a needy mouth.
from his ceiling-less living space,
he looks into black windows
just like we would look out of them.
The town dealer is on nothing
living back some hours he lost
Inside his head, looking, from a distance
through his eye sockets.
Now he’s on a strange sobriety and with a text,
the Londonese and the hood come back up.
In the ungodly hour,
no storm makes an eye around me.
In an un-pretty always, things just happen
to fill the timeless time.
We all assure ourselves
we’re all alone.
Dec 9, 2015
Dec 9, 2015 at 3:28 PM UTC
Passion of this night is blooming into
What we would only know as love
Naked bodies clutching to each other
Satisfied, resuscitating from unison ******
Never thought that deepness of your eyes
Would convince me otherwise but
**** baby you got me falling
Throwing fear and caution to the wind
Never wanna lose the the rhythm of
Hearts beating as we lay chest to chest
Souls are morphing into one as
I feel your lips on mine
Taste so sweet so right
Never felt more real as I do with you
To you my dear I wish to say “Hello”
Cause in my heart I know that
With you is where my heart
My soul
And
My love
Belong.
Nov 20, 2018
Nov 20, 2018 at 8:21 PM UTC
i will never stop saving you. i replay it in my mind, my hands on your chest my mouth on yours and they call it cpr they call it resuscitation i'm resuscitating the flowers in your lungs watering them with my breath as i give you my breath i give you all of me i pour into your corners and where once was darkness is all lit up like a ballroom and every word you speak is now a melody and your thoughts twirl around gracefully to your tune. i have turned a broken violin into an orchestra and now i ask you to sing i ask you to harmonize i ask you to live and with every fiber in my- our blood vessels i scream you are loved.
Nov 12, 2014
Nov 12, 2014 at 9:47 PM UTC
If harmony in your life is what you truly aspire
bonding of mind and body you must first acquire
when they have become joined, unified as one
know, only now, your journey have you begun
Removing yourself from materialistic desire
is a necessary condition that you will require
enhancing your ability to more easily find
this true wisdom embedded in your mind
Illuminate your way with this one light of truth
for the wisdom residing therein needs no proof
an internal voice proclaims its veracity above any other
your inner sanctum is impervious to any false cover
The heart is the battleground, a place where all is contained
where you find pain, ultimately you will find what is gained
no person can ever perceive, nor has he ever been shown
this place that awaits him, forever it must remain unknown
So too your heart, its real location is in your own mind
this true happiness we all seek, it need not be defined
only first we must truly begin to know how it is to be controlled
otherwise to be defeated by fear, and in need to be consoled
Fear for the most part, belongs to the forces of evil and is their tool
used for the purpose of confusing one’s wisdom, attempting to fool
while the forces of good have the power to enlighten, resuscitating the mind
strengthening those wishing to be saved, as well as giving sight to the blind
Yes good and evil will, necessarily, continually strive
if evil overcomes, it will be your soul that it will deprive
and when evil reaches that point beyond redemption
only its complete destruction will remove all contention
This reality, perhaps, is why as human beings we are truly bound as one
despite our differences, it is G-d’s will that evil must ultimately succumb
when this final day approaches, He will allow us to collectively deploy
united as one to execute G-d's command, and evil will we finally destroy
Jul 24, 2015
Jul 24, 2015 at 6:55 AM UTC
Impervious to the time of day
and suffering the idleness
of sitting in a near lifeless limbo
I am at last compelled
to take up my pen
in the almost vain hope
of resuscitating an interest
in the rhythms of the joyful
side of life.
But being of a disposition
that too easily dons the coat of distraction
my attentions are soon reduced:
to impoverished thoughts
and reflections concerning small talk
about the weather
while standing still in lifts;
to thinking about the same old heads
nodding to each other
in rain-soaked streets;
to pondering greygreen corridors
that stretch the imagination
into cheerless silences
of absolute emptyness.
Aug 4, 2010
Aug 4, 2010 at 9:17 AM UTC
expectation's hope rising, pulsing
as you bring the warmth and joy
that only a bright summer day
presents on a picnic blanket spread
filled with goodies and laughter
neatly packed away in a picnic basket
expectation's hope realising
as you take my hand in yours
thru the threshold of our home
prancing into the breeze and light
filled with memories and plans
lovingly packed for a rainy morn
expectation's hope resuscitating
as your soothing breath caresses
taking my longings into belonging
perfecting inner transformation
filled with songs and dreams
movements in blissful harmony
Apr 13, 2015
Apr 13, 2015 at 10:33 PM UTC
I find things ending, bending, breaking
And not the way they're suppose to be
My love that was transcending
Hit the brick wall that was reality
In my inebriation
I found myself separate from reality
My love hospitalization
Came to a point where there no resuscitating
Feb 7, 2014
Feb 7, 2014 at 1:09 PM UTC
At 13 she wanted to breathe
live the life the media
exposed on the T.V.s
Her heart and head without rest
all dead-set on becoming the best
Her motivations to do and believe
loving daughter, do good deeds
get good grades before school's end
find a boy to help play pretend
Years had been and not-so-suddenly
shifted
Doing the norm, the drugs
the insecurity temporarily getting lifted
Spirals are so cliche,
addiction is so normal
why make a scene of something
now so informal?
So she's overdosed on the affection
of her friends
their suffocating, being strangled
the means to her end
But her pride and her misery keep her locked
she likes the collapsing
Resuscitating is the last option
so she'll be eternally relapsing
Mar 3, 2011
Mar 3, 2011 at 5:51 PM UTC
I am haunted, I think
By the ghost of you
It lingers in hallways
And in the corners of my view
The faint outline of your head
I can see, lying on my chest
Ethereal hair brushing my skin
While I lie with someone else
It is worse when I am alone
Staring at the space between my hands
My delusions resuscitating
The memory of how well you fit that span
Jan 22, 2014
Jan 22, 2014 at 11:58 AM UTC
Wondering if this is the day
Maybe you decided to just slip away.
You haven't called this morning to simply say.
Have a good day bae.
I call but there's no answer.
Guess your too busy today to be there.
Guess today you just don't care.
Emotions are left suspended where.
Just hanging somewhere.
If you find it difficult to say goodbye.
Still doesn't mean my heart won't cry.
Resuscitate.
When ever I thought we were doing great.
The sweet way we like conversate.
Seems we be getting along well able to relate.
Next thing I know you'd say you'd call me back in a few minutes.
And it'd be many hours after pushing me to the limits.
Feelings of us ending revisits.
Feelings of losing is like dying.
Resuscitate.
Shallow emotional Breathing.
Then your calling like all is fine again we're talking.
Never admiting.. Pulse and respirations needs to be taken.
Palputations..Resuscitating.. Rightly breathing breaths shaken.
Thoughts of leaving. who will be the first to make it a goodbye.
Resuscitate before its too late...Beautiful conversations are all a lie.
Stumble.. rocky.. deleting..unfriending..unbelieving ..Today!
Do Not RESUSCITATE..
By SelinaSharday all rights reserved. S.A.M 2018
Mar 25, 2018
Mar 25, 2018 at 2:38 AM UTC
Her soul's poetry
Written in deep dark ink,
Gushing through her veins
Etched across her bones
A tale untold
The world rebounds on touching her surface
Nothing ever leaves a mark
Or atleast
That is what she makes believe
Breathing life ,
She walks into the crowded room
Hidden behind her jokes and laughter.
Comedy weaving up the tragedy .
Humour , the only link to her sanity.
She breathes
Broken, unnoticed.
The world brushes past her touch
Blind.
Oblivoius to the struggle.
Her mind, toxic to her soul
Her skin, her veil.
Yet, her pillows talk of red swollen eyes
And endless nights
Gazing at the moon
Half hidden beneath the clouds
Reflecting light
To cloak the darkness seeping within .
She draws her blinders shut
While her guitar weeps her wounds
The cadence of misery
Into the world of rhythm, she slips.
When shall the masquerade end ?
She walks away
Into the fog
On her own
Brick after brick
A fortress she built
And locked within her own incarceration,
Short haired rapunzul
Afraid to let the knight reach within .
vows of saviours, never heed.
Her facade, flawless
Yet not deceiving those little eyes
Searching for the truth beneath the illusion.
Decrypting the inscrutable dissimulation.
To those pair of eyes,
Slowly fading into oblivion
Lost within it's own ceaseless blue
Seeking for the line between the black and grey.
Her voice , liberating .
Finding its way within the chaos,
Resuscitating.
Giving life to a long forgotten voice
which whispers,
"Take off the masque, You're beautiful. "
Jun 22, 2017
Jun 22, 2017 at 11:45 AM UTC
you will only look for which road i have
passed, with girth of oceans startled
to hip-curve, bow-legged darling
hiding behind pretense of rose frailty.
when words ripen, they fall.
from vaudeville of fools to silence
in all its exactness, i take my place
amongst people in stations, machines
adorning rotundas, courtyards to a flourish of twilight-bells, the men with retinas spry behind cloaks of smoke—
plain, **** drunkenness assaults
the billion-blooded sea, each line fraught
with inebriation: a god is borrowed with
what light fruits from a slow nature, quick
to burst and torturously maimed in stride.
fated to arrive at one morning —
being in total placeness and making merry
once again, the dreary face waiting at
the portico of days collected.
when these words start to wind-hover,
a string of birds will appear clearer,
mounting umbilicus of lines.
as in hounds shear the metastasizing dark,
going back to chagrined kens,
i make truth out of the tragedy:
trace the source of this stream and find
my trampled body, floating with
the sandalwood. when the still, clenched hand clock-punches,
make real the insignia of my arrival:
words start with limbs to cross
this scalped Earth which moves suddenly naked, leaning in, gropes you
in stillness, resuscitating the moon from
the working of insolvencies we rear
in derelicts of days.
drags it closely to ends — left trundling
in woe's wearisome vessel. and if in
this newly thatched home it screams,
let this voice deftly shred
so i may once more lie straight to your
half-illuminated faces, a call i
only hear.
Dec 4, 2015
Dec 4, 2015 at 10:02 PM UTC
Buoys up she from the sea I sail
What poetry can’t address
She serves me well.
The sailor’s misery she knows
His journey’s perilous waves
A rope for me she throws
Dragging to shore she saves.
Watches over her caring face
Suffers the navigator what distress
Resuscitating with her sweet breath
The mariner dying from illusive myth!
This way she rebirths me
Down on earth from the high sea
And till is regrown the sailor’s wings
We talk animated of life’s small things.
Jul 1, 2014
Jul 1, 2014 at 8:24 AM UTC
Tasting the smell of you....
Feeling through your eyes.
Nothing more intoxicating,
than the blasphemy of your touch.
Nothing more serene,
than dancing beneath the diamond- flecked black of the night sky.
Your breath resuscitating,
sugary sweet heat brushing against my sensitive skin,
creamy bursts of your human breeze against my neck...
~savoring~
Each and every moment,
the ion induced second,
frozen in time.
Jun 2, 2012
Jun 2, 2012 at 9:14 PM UTC
1. We’ve made it. We ***** and moan about growing up, how we grew up, and now that we’ve grown up, what we’re going to do. Maybe the secret to surviving it all is not looking forward or looking back, but looking to the present as the only thing that can conceivably be altered in your favor.
2. Don’t condemn because of what you’ve heard from others. That quote saying “small minds talk about other people,” is cheesy, but also very true. And people, no matter how seemingly kind-hearted, have a nasty way of diverging down roads of rumor and scandal.
3. Relenquish the idea that you’ll ever be in full control. The winds of change, or time, or love, or development are always blowing; wild and strong. Don’t turn your sails the other way, stand in the hurricane and yell, “I am willing!”
4. Believing in the power of something, whether it be an object, a song, or a ritual, doesn’t make you a sucker and it doesn’t mean you are a lesser person. We all need something bigger than ourselves to fall into when the branches of our arboreal haven that we’ve built comes shattering down. Often time, those branches land in the ground as spikes and we are impaled. So turn to your dance, your god, your love.
5. Document your world. It will never be quite the same as it is in this moment. This is a singular event; a speck on the timeline, never to be recreated in all that came before, or all that will come to be.
6. Learn to be alone, and after that, learn to be alone and content. Unbeknownst to you, the face looking back in the mirror is capable of resuscitating you when you find you cannot breathe. "Fight or flight is an animal response,” you tell me, “but what happens when you cannot stand to fight or run because you are at war with yourself?” Darling, I have battled with my skeleton for years, but when the front lines cave in, the only place I have ever felt at home is nuzzled somewhere between my heart and lung. Nail down a “home, sweet home” sign and settle down within.
7. We’ve made it, somehow. Remember in third grade when your class planted beans, and you checked on your sprout every day. One day, you came into class and against the weight of the soil, your green sprout had pushed its head out and was greeting the sun. You’ve broken the surface. You’re new and green, and there’s still a long way to go. But, you made it. So, enjoy this moment, and look forward to the next one.
May 27, 2014
May 27, 2014 at 12:50 PM UTC
make me a dress out of baby's breath, woven together with 424 regrets and i will dance like the gravel that tumbles under your feet as you walk. the friction between the door and the wooden floor doesn't create a spark quite like the unheard voices that fill up cheap wine glasses with bottles of bluff. there's a table with a platter of the last goodbyes of everyone who couldn't keep their hearts on their sleeves instead of putting them back in their chests on a table somewhere, and we're eating these for dinner, resuscitating promises and lies like a new breed of bulimic.
i wake up and the room is always blue with shades of red in the corners and the cracks and i'm breaking my back to not feel so under the weather, but these days i think that even the weather is under the weather. my backbone is callused and faulty, i'm weak with thousands of thoughts of poignant disguises of love and poisonous excuses that explain why i can't find a conclusion. a disease with symptoms such as dissatisfaction with the best parts of myself and attempting to never interact with the bad that leaves a blank canvas and an invisible human in the mirror. all of the sickness keeps me from seeing past the shadows from the bars on this rusty cage.
Jan 31, 2015
Jan 31, 2015 at 10:16 AM UTC
I slipped beneath the depths of your eyes,
Drowning in the ocean of my soul;
My heart shivered in the shadow of your aura,
My mind corrupted by inappropriate thoughts
I loved at first sight. I do not know how to swim!
Breathless unable to conjure a word
You neglected my silence without a care
And ever since you've been resuscitating me in my dreams.
ELEETE J MUIR
Sep 18, 2015
Sep 18, 2015 at 6:52 AM UTC
her temperature read 102.5 Fahrenheit
after I put the thermometer in
I knew she was hot
but ****
she got all wet
and shivered
grimaced like she was in pain
called out deities names
I thought she was dying
clawing at my back
trying to take me with her
I got all concerned
gave her mouth to mouth
resuscitating
and pushed on her breast
her eyes rolled back in her head
and she came
around!!!!
Sep 15, 2017
Sep 15, 2017 at 8:39 PM UTC
Walk i in pallid weird dream
The sun was at its eclipse
Snow of ice flow in me as dead
I was confused at dream ream
Pinnacle of peak I stood in minaret apse
Everything emptying and collapsing in void pace
Many running away from self responsibility
Justice was stabbed lying dead facing impurity
Everyone seems to despise justice
On the pathway all look at injustice
Frowning at me, i was left to make a decision
The Samaritan clothe stains me with truth reason
Coming closer her countenance was a monster
Smirked of an epilepsy gushing out
I become **** dance in a wild romance Resuscitating her with my divine breathe
Giving up my breathe to bullet of injustice
For her sake as i get her clothe
I watch her resurrect and I die with smile
Horseman of life ride by rewarding me with abundant breathe that's unceaseable
by Martin Ijir
May 23, 2017
May 23, 2017 at 7:00 PM UTC
*I have gone so long without writing that the skin
on my fingers is cracking and little ash particles
fall slowly to the ground when I attempt to write again.
Writing will moisten my dried wounds and stitch my
thoughts into the crevices of my fingers so as I write
they will gently unravel themselves and fall into place.
Walt Whitman said that in order to capture the heartbeat
of life one must write in the instant, and that is what I have
been lacking to do for some time now. Perhaps that may be
the reason for the lifeless words lain strewn across the
pages of my leather bound journal. Journal? No. Coffin.
Cobwebs of lonely spiders have inhabited the thoughts
I have murdered, catching the words - slithering like worms -
that have managed to escape the death I caused.
I am capable of resuscitating my dead words, and that
is what I will do.*
Nov 30, 2013
Nov 30, 2013 at 3:07 AM UTC
'It feels so resuscitating,'
Said he,
'To be back home.'
But I stood blank-faced.
What expression, my stone-carved visage, incapable of addressing the liberty of his enthusiasm,should have expressed?
I felt nothing.
And when I could not comprehend the notion of his having this unusually intense sense of pleasure,
I, almost blushing in embarrassment,asked,
'What makes you talk of your home with this melodramatic emotion?'
'I do not see why one won't act like this on a subject like that?'
Said he,expressing an unkind surprise.
I thought it undesirable to speak of the gravity of my suffering and the generosity of the unceasing torment.
I remained silent.
But in a constant struggle to think the matter out, I talked to myself,
'I do not remember when was the last time,I saw relief-gentle and quiet-
Let alone a yet undiscovered fervour, sprouting in me on returning home.
But I,most honestly,wonder if I have ever had a 'home' or have simply kept myself deluded into believing that this fortified chamber is my home,
In which I seem to have been kept a prisoner,
Away from my parents, far away from the family I have always craved for.
My naivete tells me that I do have a 'Father'-and a 'Mother'.
But I do not have 'Parents'-as it concerns the reality of my situation.
I suppose this random assortment of thoughts might just make me seem crazy.
For all I want this very moment is,
Either a home,a true home,
Or an eternal sleep in which 'indifference' becomes the essence of my existence.
Both,I guess,are not possible-
Such is my misery.
May 30, 2018
May 30, 2018 at 4:58 PM UTC
looks happy and healthy from the outside.
on the inside though you can tell she's dying.
she's dying a slow and painful death.
everybody is resuscitating her against her will.
all she wants is to let go.
a chance to be free.
why keep her alive in this misery?
don't they see how bad she wants to let go?
don't they see that they are only hurting her more?
there's nothing they can do.
she is past that point.
help should have come a long time ago.
when she was asking for it.
when she told you how she felt.
when she was screaming for help and all you did was look away.
tell her it would all get better.
she was to young.
her favorite was that we'll deal with it later.
she's tired of waiting.
tired of acting.
she's gonna keep going back to that dark place.
why not just let her go?
it's not like you would care?
Jul 20, 2013
Jul 20, 2013 at 10:18 PM UTC