"retina" poems
*Gentle drops of Love
Slide down my heart
The foggy waterfall grows
When the drops gather in one.
The reflection
Of the crystal clear lake
Which resides at the bottom
Of the heart in tears
Is formed in the retina
Of the lucid eyes.
The lake is icy and cold
When the drops are frozen
To melt again in the warmth
Under the tears of Love.*
Jan 22, 2015
Jan 22, 2015 at 2:22 PM UTC
Never what you were,
my retina dulled your rays.
Optics adrift in poetry, prose,
charity shop sweaters.
I spoke of dreamed ambition.
You nodded, morose.
Eyes chasing space.
Never what you were.
Bookshelves, potted plants, a bicycle bell ringing.
Coffee steam clawing New Zealand winds.
This and more flickered in our hazed tethering,
only snuffed when the tap of illusion ran cold.
Jul 17, 2018
Jul 17, 2018 at 7:38 PM UTC
Light , curvy rays,
bending,
while traveling from air to water world.
My eyelashes - window wipers.
Crystalline lenses,
sending lovely
but blurry pictures
wait.. let me focus my retina,
underwater dream,
or is it really you?
Dark, straight silhouettes,
frightening,
falling from the busy water above
My chest - darkened vents
reaching far,
wanting lovely,
but faint pictures
I can’t wait any longer,
for the dark room to lighten
I need you to show me
I take a deep breath
And dive in again.
Debrees of scars
And piercing pain.
Your soul still mauve and blue.
I press my lips
respiring pure love into you.
Breathe your best
into the spine of my life
Expelling fortitude
And forgiveness
Hidden in this deep blue
Revitalized for the first time
This moment opened its eyes
to see the beauty
of what beneath the surface lies
Nov 15, 2014
Nov 15, 2014 at 3:03 PM UTC
Einstein's Relativity tells us that time slows at fast speeds,
So much so that it stops when travelling at the speed of light.
As you look up at the stars tonight think of this:
The photons that travel across the universe to your retina,
Are created in the depths of a star and destroyed within your eye,
In the same instance.
Dec 22, 2014
Dec 22, 2014 at 4:18 PM UTC
i walked in a garden
i saw roses, daisies, bougainvilleas
pagoda and peonies too
and somehow they reminded me of you
the roses reminded me of your lips
how it's so red and lovely
how it curves whenever your smile along with your eyes
how it separates when you laugh
the daisies reminded me of your eyes
how it slowly blooms beautifully in morning
how lovely when it slowly closes at night
how chatoyant it was when touched by light
the bougainvillea reminded me of your being
how you stood strong despite everything
how you stayed lucent and beautiful
how you let yourself bloom in many colours
the pagoda reminded me of your skin
how it's yellowish and eternally beautiful
how smooth and soft it was
how selcouth it seems in my retina
the peonies reminded me of your heart
how it's still exquisite despite of its fragile figure
how it's still eesome even though it looks wrinkled
how it stays strong and pulchritudinous
walking in the garden felt serendipitious
it felt like walking
inside your existence
and i liked it.
Jun 7, 2014
Jun 7, 2014 at 3:45 AM UTC
*ask your blood
your limbs, your breathing feet
what Poetry is -
a phylogenetic anomaly
in light’s discontinuity
or just…
the strange yearning of hematopoiesis
ask the silence in your lungs
the bursting DNA, reinterpreted
how it allures memory inside your bones
how it treads conventions of sleep
with the weight of a sigh
if you ask me
what Poetry is
I’d say: breath calligraphy
a winged dream of depth
on enchanted retina
the bitter-sweet art of airy harmony
ask your hands
what Poetry is
perhaps they’ll take a moment
to bloom*
May 12, 2014
May 12, 2014 at 1:31 PM UTC
*Cast out entirely this time around.
There's a beautiful world waiting,
But it's easy to be blinded by what you think is beautiful in a beautiful world.*
In the dark for so long.
The retina I own captured false images
Of what i once believed in.
So much effort stored in a mirage,
lodged in doubtful recollections.
I want no sympathy,
I can only evolve through the chasing of symphonies.
Villainous, aren't you?
The conflict is the enemy.
I'll do away with this blame game,
You're just so awfully gifted at how you play.
I was the warmhearted prey
Fooled into what appears to be defeat,
Due to stupidity.
I saw what I wanted to see,
And clearly my vision was wrong.
(c) 2014 Brandon Antonio Smith
(Originally written 10/31/10
Revised 9/27/14)
Oct 2, 2014
Oct 2, 2014 at 2:48 PM UTC
Maybe we should sympathize
with the tiny waisted girls
that cake their face with a layer of colorful protection
that wear jeans tighter than the sealed bottle of meds
they take to stay skinny.
They cheat their way to the idea of beauty its true.
Pills to take away the fat,
painting their face to attract the opposite ***
Cloths that might as well be a thinner second layer of skin.
Its disgusting, what we consider beautiful
It's sad that girls aspire to achieve it.
Its sad that some do.
I envy maybe, their happiness, but
what if its not real?
What if secretly they feel as we do
the "average" crowd they are "forced" to coexist with
I do wonder, but then and ice cold snarl
from perfect straight white teeth hits me in the face
burns my retina and forces me give an equally evil shot from my
painfully normal features.
And I am reminded of the god awful truth.
They do not wonder what we think,
as if we were a separate species,
they look more alien than we.
God made man in his image
and I'm almost positive
he didn't look like plastic.
They desire to look like the air brushed figures seen in magazines
Something only wishes can achieve.
Something only paper thin models on paper can look like.
Something only a computer can achieve.
Its sad.
I do not envy them.
May 7, 2014
May 7, 2014 at 9:16 PM UTC
Eyes wide
you do not allow
oblivious sleep
shadows branded
on my retina
reveal all contrast
tattooed on my shoulder
a skeletal hand
*this illusion
pins me down*
your questions
have no answers
questions remain
asked again and again
*I swear
I know nothing*
You say everything
*is immaterial
subjectively real
ideas existent
in the mind
of the perceiver
I am*
(you insist)
a true believer
Parched and shrinking
I ask for mercy
you bring the cup
to my fissured lips
but it is empty
a vessel of air
you murmur
*there is only enough
for one
what will you give
in return?*
Heavy metal
arpeggios of wind
head bang
petulant faces
inured to rain
a repeating refrain
in falsehood
lies your truth
but even you
cannot halt the dawn
a dark horizon
pulls the strings
powerless
you sink
behind the cloud-
wall of your storm
is it safe now to close my eyes?
three times whisper
*be gone
bright fiend*
a weary incantation
spell of protection
the yawning wind
done with howling
hums reassuringly
*“a change is gonna come
imagine
peace in our time”*
Apr 10, 2017
Apr 10, 2017 at 9:58 AM UTC
The moon a bright, fat cauliflower in the early morning sky
Blistering cold seeping into the skin on the thighs
Burning in your fingers
A profound quietness blankets 7 am
Much like the soft snow blanketing the jagged black ice
Sky and ground synonymous hues of bluish white
Sleepy bark naked trees jut up from the ground
Whispering hushed things
Of frigid beauty frozen into the retina from a snowy night
Feb 3, 2015
Feb 3, 2015 at 7:07 PM UTC
dibalik jendela pesawat terbang, ada bulan purnama
bulat dan terangnya sempurna
malam ini saya mengarungi awan
yang bentuknya jelas karena pantulan cahaya bulan
bergumpal, halus, keemasan
indah
terpantul pada retina mata, menakjubkan
lalu saya tertidur
dalam mimpi saya berkereta menuju cahaya bulan
saya akan sampai disana, dibulan
turbolensi membangunkan saya tepat pukul 11.42 malam
diluar bayangan samudra masih gelap, tidak terlihat
1 jam lagi saya akan sampai di negeri cina, kata seseorang dengan pengeras suara
tidak jadi kebulan?
tak apa, berbeloklah dahulu
baru ke bulan
Diatas awan, 26 Februari 2013
Mar 10, 2013
Mar 10, 2013 at 1:34 AM UTC
Red is the color of apples so delicious
Orange is the color of oranges and fishes
Yellow is the color of the sun in the sky
But don't look at it now, it'll burn the retina of your eye!
Green is the color of the grass and trees
Blue is the color of blueberries
Indigo is just a name for really dark blue
And Violet rhymes with nothing
But neither DO YOU!
Nov 12, 2010
Nov 12, 2010 at 8:18 PM UTC
566
A Dying Tiger—moaned for Drink—
I hunted all the Sand—
I caught the Dripping of a Rock
And bore it in my Hand—
His Mighty Balls—in death were thick—
But searching—I could see
A Vision on the Retina
Of Water—and of me—
’Twas not my blame—who sped too slow—
’Twas not his blame—who died
While I was reaching him—
But ’twas—the fact that He was dead—
3.2k
Do you like science? Cause I've got my ion you
we're a dance of subatomic particles, you get my cardiovascular system worked up
"Nerd," you declare with a smile sweeter than C6H12O6
I glare at you and giggle louder than 194 decibels, we break all the laws
I'm so attracted to you, scientists will have to make a 5th fundamental force
we fit together like sticky ends of DNA
I fall in love with you every time I see you, faster than my DNA replicates
being in your arms feels like homeostasis, we'll last longer than thorium
I think I'm kinda maybe trying to say
every time light reflects off of you and onto my retina the sudden protracted cardiac arrhythmia I get tells me that gulp Iloveyou
Aug 10, 2016
Aug 10, 2016 at 11:01 AM UTC
There are metallic, life-like statues of human figures scattered through my city, often on park benches. You must look twice the first time you spot them, and sometimes, each time, as they are so nat-ural, that they fool the retina image of man.
The traffic light,
red to green,
yet my limbs,
froze fruit solid,
release catch stuck,
unflippable,
somehow plastic freezes,
mobility skills rusted
by December's hampering
cheeky cheeks,
a seasonal reddish copper
discoloration of the extremities,
a harmony of no sensation
A comet stuck in
pedestrian neutral,
collided/jostled by
starry eyed
Fifth Avenue
street walkers and tourists.
my presence sensed,
touched, yet avoided,
unnoticed,
like streetlight,
lamppost, mailbox,
I am, a body,
at rest,
unseen
but on display
in the art gallery of
Manhattan's Lost and Found
In the section of the paper
where the
unimportant local news is
sliced n' diced
into single paragraphs,
of human interest,
tidbits, amuse bouche,
items of
major minor interest,
The New York Times
reported the discovery of an
unauthorized lifelike
bronze n' copper sculpture.
eyes of polished nickel,
heart of stained steel,
rendition of a man
so lifelike y'all do a
triple take, smile,
take a cell photo,
phone a friend
his embodiment can be found
on the rounded corner of
Columbus Circle, @59th St.,
where you enter Central Park.
upon a bench,
man clutching Sunday newspapers,
a pair of scissors,
coupons cut,
scattered at his feet.
a homely but comely,
****** expression,
one of bewilderment.
A tiny plaque on a brass plate,
at his feet,
hints of his progenitor and human origins.
Artist: Unknown,
Materials: Organic Metals
Title: A Living Finish
Nov 18, 2013
Nov 18, 2013 at 5:38 PM UTC
**Yo! Yo! My Drug of Choice **** Poets)**
Yo! Yo!
Member of the troupe?
You up all nite?
You always hungry,
Making trouble, rite?
You one of those?
**** poets!
Exist on strict diet?
Pleasured-pain,
Constant-continual surges
Turn into urges,
Full-time suspense,
Juices always flowing.
**** Poets!
Yo! Yo!
You one of those?
Never knowing,
What? When?
The eyes gonna invert
Retina images into words
Brain signaling, semaphoring the fingers
Yo! Yo!
You don't get nine months,
Maybe nine seconds,
Then mother-birth another verse,
****** poets!
Yo! Yo!
Remember your first real high,
That moment
No absolution, no return.
That moment
When you admitted, confessed,
to yourself:
*I am
Forever forward,
A home-grown poet.
I am
Soul enslaved to words.
The alphabet - My oxygen molecules,
I am both,
Addict and dealer
A ****** poet*
Yo! Yo!
So you do recall,
The exact moment,
God-spark-within, ascendancy gained
You lost control,
Wept words instead of tears!
A ****** poet ******
Yo! Yo!
Sophie's Choice.
You chose writing over breathing,
Worshiper of the purest pleaure,
******* in deep the smoke-high of
Head-nodding discontented contentment
Stealing anything you saw
For to satisfy the need, the craven
Craving.
****** poets!
Yo! Yo!
Don't you're ever sleep?
Hear that the city, the state,
Gonna methadone your kind
In a special program
Teach you only language to sign.
**** poets!
**I am a ****** poet.**
*The first step taken.
Admission.
Poetry is my default rest position,*
My drug of choice.
5:07am
June 12, 2013
Jun 12, 2013
Jun 12, 2013 at 5:12 AM UTC
.
*Light hits my retina
through the prism of a tear,
distorted faces pass
with images fragmented
inside out
and the smell of tallow
as a candle splutters,
falters and winks out
for the wick collapses cruel
like a hamstrung dancer.
The tear exits stage left
and rolls down the wings
of a thoughtless cheek,
teeters on the brink of catastrophe
and falls upon a blank page,
reviewing its brief life
as a lazy metaphor,
so I look at the remaining solitary candle
and grieve for the lost tear,
as an understudy takes its place.*
© Pagan Paul (28/05/19)
May 28, 2019
May 28, 2019 at 7:34 AM UTC
I dream about you
When I'm completely awake
I see you every time I close my eyes
And every time I open them
You're burned into my retina
Like I've been staring at the sun
Jan 20, 2018
Jan 20, 2018 at 9:26 PM UTC
My body rots away
Before my very eyes
Skin falls free from flesh
I reek of decomposition
Carnivorous I have become
I hunger only for meat
Raw and ******
I can not satisfy these cravings
As I walk bones break
Jutting through tattered clothing
I drag them on, unaffected
I am death reincarnate
Hair peels away from scalp
I am far beyond sick
This sickness is not cancer
I am not dying, I am already dead
Retina dangles freely from socket
Yet I still see clearly
I see a future full of those like me
I am the beginning of the end
Teeth rest loose in gums
Sinking deep into purity, humanity
I am the second coming, apocalypse now
I am zombie
Nov 27, 2012
Nov 27, 2012 at 10:59 AM UTC
body genre
at a carnal address
sensory and sensuous effects
materiality
digital images
anthropology of desire
she tied a knot around his ****
a wedding band made of licorice shoelaces
for the art of tongue and ****
driving it in her pink throat
back and forth
like a shift stick
flared for the retina
a puzzlement and fascination
haptic screen of fiction
adventure of being pinned down
an unpremeditated punctum
fucktum sucktum
the stadium of desire
a shop window
banality transcending banality
the literal transformed
into the ******
a ****** smiles red
girl in a suitcase
with a hole to ****
a treasure chest
the leaky boundaries of erotica
sing in
musical blood whistles
I packed her up
limbless and threw
her on the bed
and with tender kisses
of endless
wet permutations
banged
three oozing holes
into finger ponds of oblivion
she taunted
age play- ageless
***** class
a weird ethnicity
from Timbuktu
racially motivated lust for a
conveyance of
fleshy intensities
way past help
a big **** dips
a tender dimple
like a barnacled whale
in a deep dive
the violence of
a preemptive strike
for everything imaginable
across raw lips
in her cosmos
of swinging hips
and cross bone riddles
oh happy *****
suicide ******
at the computer screen
**** bullets birthday cake
in a River Styx of flames
Jun 21, 2020
Jun 21, 2020 at 4:40 PM UTC
I see people stare into it
It reflects in their eyes like pools of hope
I make glances at it
A glimmer traces my retina
I process it in bits but never see a full picture
I've seen people reach and be scorched
I'm too timid
Maybe if I waver through it fast enough
I won't be burned
Nov 4, 2012
Nov 4, 2012 at 3:17 PM UTC
My room has five walls
(and yes, I am not counting the ceiling).
Wall one!
It is the one with door which opens only from the inside.
So you gotta knock first to get in.
Advance apologies; You might not be entertained.
Wall two!
A window, the oldschool metaphor for freedom
with its thin iron grills and a broken pane
now serves ventilation purpose.
Wall three!
Useless it may seem, but this one is the most equipped.
With its big pale switch board crucified on it;
This walls commands the life here.
Wall four!
The proof of my existence,
this wall holds the old photographs with the pride of an artist.
I hate looking at this wall;
“Staring directly at sun may cause damage to the retina.”
Wall five!
This one is my favourite.
I could doodle over it again and again
and then hide behind the screen of my laptop.
Facebook! It’s funny to think about sometimes.
Jun 29, 2015
Jun 29, 2015 at 4:43 AM UTC
i loved making you laugh
your clouded eyes like a thousand skies
sewn together, seamlessly
& im floating through them, aimlessly
lost inside them, namelessly
my anonymous exploration
of your pupils' dilation
i wonder how wide eye can make them...
playing with the petty words
your eyelid's optic prisoner
Feb 7, 2010
Feb 7, 2010 at 7:53 PM UTC