"revelatory" poems
You know what I realized? How fantastic a thing realization is. Like, nothing particular or anything. Just, that moment when you kinda stop in your tracks for a second and go, "Huh. You know what?" Even the simple things are revelatory and what a great way to accidentally give yourself an unexpected better day. Wow, you know what? Today, I was keen enough and let my busy mind relax just enough to touch the universe again, and in that moment touch myself from the outside so that I remembered something I'd forgotten or before had never known. What is that, like the human singularity? Feels like it. QUICK, GRAB ON COMMANDER AND ALL YOU SPACE CASES. **** IT, GRAB ONTO THE WORLD BY THE ANT HAIRS! DIG YOUR FINGERS INTO THE GRASS! Let go and fall because you know it's better for your eventual grip on the state of matters in the laundry list you ordered with tasks representing your life. Am I better if I have one, I usually ask at the grocery store, to myself as I bag and then I get distracted by the sign for $3.99 pizza.
May 10, 2014
May 10, 2014 at 2:50 PM UTC
You'll be initiated,
when you are ready.
Life knows,
and the initiation rites
are waiting.
Where you are holding,
you will be broken.
Where you've lost heart,
you will be shaken.
Where you are careless,
you'll meet your neglect.
What you are averse to,
will be total and stark.
What you are attached to,
will be pried from your grips.
Ignorance will be
wrought with vision,
a burning,
to make you see.
You are loved so much
that you will be engulfed in
the flames
of loves fire,
in order to
ignite your own
hearts flames,
and fulfill loves destiny.
Alchemical change will ensue,
destroying you,
to make way for
new love.
Licked by some Hellish ordeal,
Ambivalence gives way to Engagement,
Rage engenders Clarity,
Anxiety becomes Inspiration,
Apathy roars into Feeling,
Melancholy imbues it's Depth,
Licked by some Heavenly delight.
Phoenixed, you'll fly,
the hero of your own journey,
wielding revelatory fire,
with great Wisdom
and Compassion,
a Gestalt,
anew.
The circle closes,
it is a spiral,
to the beginning,
of another
Circle.
Mar 17, 2014
Mar 17, 2014 at 1:24 PM UTC
she’s out there on the ice again.
holy night &
positioning the gas-tanks just right.
joseph is her father, and his father,
even if not by blood,
raised flame.
foot to throat, brother remains
in the city working.
he is building a rocketship
in the basement of his apartment
complex.
back to town and dying houses.
foreclosures and fences.
lake of fire.
lights: she lingers in lights.
something so true and alive about the revelatory
of color,
of the world when lit and hit by sun
or our artifice.
her lovers: one dead by heavy
lumber, the other rewinding videotapes
in chasms of the library.
she thinks on his lips.
her dog tracks wet prints
across the carpet and floors.
wish list:
mittens
huckleberry jam
iphone solar charger
explosives
Feb 16, 2016
Feb 16, 2016 at 1:35 AM UTC
*magdalene just wanked off st. peter, and i’m like...
magdalene just wanked off st. peter.,
the pope was caressed by tabloid headlines...
and jesus did a miracle streak of shit-smear in leather,
gagged the dsm iv into s & m translation;
i used to play the guitar once... but i got choreographed
into a back-up dancer / mimer role -
and then i sold 1million singles in the first hour of the realese.*
self-love amiss is a potato patch of the revelatory,
self-love quotes from what the greeks missed
in threes: the furies stagnated into the eye of the graeae;
i can write about my **** life
in the same way you write to idealise your **** life,
9/5 on the black mustang... who ran out from the better’s
sardine packing of expected, tight...
he’s got life... not a reminder of a cloned bricklayer
for a bricklayer just to suggested a bowtie of an accent:
i will not make england my home just because i can speak it...
i’ll speak english so well i’ll make the english feel
like lower class... if not migrants;
and i did... some boy from cyprus thought i was posh
enough to practice conservatism at a private school teaching
that mathematics using a, b c, d, semi-colon... ah... grammar;
unless of course it was all rather unnecessary,
then i abide by the law of knock down ginger...
and walking beneath the a12’s batty man’s legs sign for gills.
Nov 25, 2015
Nov 25, 2015 at 7:59 PM UTC
Revelatory refractions held in the disco ***** reflection, glancing off the wall.
Dim-lit dreams tilt forward, spilt into a paper cup, bounced backward and sprinkled up.
******* synonyms from the cold, dead pages of the riddle’s mask.
Breaching spatial avenues left for those who understood the task.
Taking hits from a dry-lit flask, leaving windows closed to bask
Clapped the snap back bass kit as it turned Wallace snitch.
The Wire drawn and laid on lawns boundless in the ditch.
Deaf to congruencies of affection, brought about by an adolescent ********
Blind spot in the centre of view. Rhythmic dancing, oblivious to the pew
Unplugged mixing, interlocked twisting
Pulsing in tune with distorted computation
Dehydrated seizures next to the watering station
Molly Mary caught in the flashing lights, blinded by the car’s brights.
A necklace found, nothing else around.
Body grasped for fun, stuffed, mounted, late night pokes meticulously counted.
Nov 4, 2014
Nov 4, 2014 at 12:37 PM UTC
contradiction, sorrow, and vulnerability,
a trine labeled as all mine,
yet, this triumvirate, well know & shared,
but more and moreover,
set aside if/when well dared
this comatose trilogy that so oft astrides,
when the beacon moon stands us up
with white lightening,
after hope has washed away,
out to the sea deep of
crusty sleep,
newer versions of older stories uncovered,
re-revealed,
warmth, golden light and
hope above hope,
in the weakened human heart are,
must be,
unsealed...
a lovely one, a rising one, a revelatory,
a poem releasing secrets,
we can all, with time, all of us,
be healed...
1:40 am
nyc
one new day,
today
Dec 5, 2015
Dec 5, 2015 at 1:42 AM UTC
A shocking revelatory letter is presented
The tone goes from thanks to regret
while the hurricane spins in her head
The pharmacology reconnected synapses,
morphing her soul, keeping her in bed
He realizes she’s letting go for him,
she’s done this before
She can’t figure out how to love him any more
Months later he realized the person
he thought he loved was just a mirror
She never knew her true self
Maybe she never will
Jun 29, 2019
Jun 29, 2019 at 1:21 PM UTC
Thirteen thousand strides progress
Blind leathern tread with gritted teeth
Stride hard rough bracken heather strive
Incipient thought embrace the scarp
Bent shoulder strain web strap entrench
Sharp body lean oppose the wind
Slow pitch forward cold lash rain
Pause..Shrug pack .. Lurch on again
Rough rock scrape pass
Sharp edge hand scrape
Each tread ascend dull lactic ache
Stone eyes cast up
Embrace dark peak
Surge on .. Dig in..
Embrace the pain
Aggressive stance.. find strength begin
Engage the enemy entrenched within
With comrades in adversity
Side glance reveal
Grey brother tight
Mordant ploughshare gleaming bright
United thought strong purpose right
Grim grimace glower grinding on
Helping hand support and share
Exchang-ed glances sing the pain
Relentless climb advance distain
Strong ******* stride bogged into mire
Grappling cragfast handclasp dire
Entropic spirit brief despair
Revelatory cause unswayed
Each cloistered personal crusade
Burst upwards into sunlight flame
And stand with vision intertwined
Each grim companion lasting friend
Eyes meet brief recognition shout
We know what it’s all about
These clasping minds
Empath embrace
Profound cognitive self aware
To follow where few others dare
These comrades in adversity
Oct 30, 2009
Oct 30, 2009 at 7:24 AM UTC
Distilled concourse, the deep black sheep of space itself...
pin-pricked with breathing holes that burst light.
Everything lives inside its head...stars, star as proof
positive of other mentation.
Serenade their indelible station with Unknowing-Knowing...
mantric mothering.
Victors of the immaterial thumbtacking grayest matter.
Unshaken eyes cast for seership...voids swath and drown
in trying to connect them.
There you are...a starry entelechy...revelatory
inky night lo Light, showering your outer eyes instantaneously.
Beaming up an effigy of your earthly clay--encasing you in
the experimental color coursing a bubble greater than
a galaxy.
A supernova radiating your inner eyes.
Feb 23, 2015
Feb 23, 2015 at 2:33 PM UTC
It must be a sign of growing up
When you no longer have to respond
With formulated laugh-out-louds
Oh, the awkward feeling
The simulation of being real
They don't know how to take it
When you used to be a clown
And now your world surrounds
Neither you nor them
You're spinning on a different axis
And it's so peaceful
And they feel threatened
But it's ok
Somebody somewhere was on to something
When they wrote words of a pro
But echoed thoughts of digression
It's not ok to be weak
Within the frame of a square
But being down's never felt so
So, revelatory
And their worries surround
A schedule of hurries
A cell for a box
A box for a cell
You choose a space filled with nothing
And that's ok
Stayed so long in the blue
Your world turns red
But it's ok
Your slang is from no dictionary
And that's ok
Flummox your way
To a cantankerous position
It's ok
The world has always been a little bit off
And you're the world
And they're too on
On like an insect trapped in glass of honey
Stay sweet
No matter what
Stay sweet
They're a dime a dozen
And you're less endangered
Than you think
Nov 25, 2011
Nov 25, 2011 at 9:27 PM UTC
*the Leukocytes, white blood cells, mass for attack,
shock and awe is the plan,
find, incinerate the
splinter inside me
but when at the GPS coordinates inside the heart’s marrow,
all is quiet functioning and no contamination source uncovered
the alert false, the Hawaii of my body is still standing
wrong
the absence of love is an invisible infection that can be
heard (groaning), tasted (raw horseradish),
touched (wet cheeks), smelled (perfumed hope in secret spots)
but cannot be seen and therefore, thereof, destroyed,
so toxic, it can eradicate the fleshy soul, and no
phoenix resurrection possible for you cannot erase
what never was
or can you?
the splinter of losing hope is so real it is unreal
except only you know where it’s hid,
and the false alarms are your revelatory reminders,
you need*
to believe in onlylovepoetry
Jan 13, 2018
Jan 13, 2018 at 2:24 PM UTC
SILENCE
(Bijoylakshmi Das)
Silence is the Best
Silence is sublime
Silence is Vast;
Silence is all-transcending -
Beyond mortal acts.
It too is profound,
Makes us spell-bound,
Even though unexpressed
Reveals the Supreme Blessed!
It is the One unique existence
In its inane solitude -
Sends message of greater depth,
From Soul even when Being is asleep
Beyond Space and Time,
Cause and Effect ;
Wins the heart of Godhead
In her sweet soft golden glance! !
Silence is the celestial bridge
Joins the amazing heights
To Earth's forsaken soil,
And her attempted flights,
To reach the Unknown height
Of the underlying Godhead.
All vain desires and toil of the Brown
Meet Decadence -
Along with Ego's sky-touching crown
Man's arrogance and ambitions
And his derision of self-asserted pride,
To make Nature serve to his indomitable will,
And insatiable greed!
It never succeeds!
Inner silence is lost
As it served as the Golden Bridge
To meet the Supreme Will!
Which in each moment sees,
Our every act even if we hide;
His eternal Gaze -
Writes on Silence's page.
We humans create chaos -
Everywhere around us
To devastate the inner harmony.
Blind and deaf to mankind!
We have lost silence of our inmost mind!!!
Silence communicates the best,
Transfigures the language of the Lord,
In Nature's heiroglyphics
And Her innumerable ways.
Like when Dawn descends upon Earth
Heralding the joyful birth -
Of a vernal Creation
Awaiting to meet Humanity in the higher illumination!
The Soul's awakening -
Where only Silence reigns.
Dialect fails,
Speech loses semblance
Silence deciphers Creation:s unending rhyme.
Repeats in ceaseless Harmony!
We are born in Silence,
And to that Sole-existent Silence -
All have to go
By our Ego's transcendence!
Life's journey brief,
Ends in silence deep.
In Silence we must live,
And to it we must give -
Our listening ears in Knowledge's
Revelatory ascent!
We must make our life the greatest success -
In Supreme's Blissful Art!
(Bijoylakshmi Das, Anand Utsav Ashram,
Haridwar. 31.05.2019)
Jan 2, 2020
Jan 2, 2020 at 2:35 AM UTC
Soul shattering, self shocking aches of inner turmoil.
The triumphant shell has been torn open.
A magnificent essence of self loathing, is slowly drifting past, as if to say, "I'm of no use to you."
An end to a bitter chapter once held so dear.
An open mind is a lead to an open heart, which drives one to seek the same.
Its perception can be deceived, as that heart is pulled into a journey it has prepared for, although, inevitably unaware of...
The song was soft and comforting, yet abruptly shrewd, and misleading. A piece of ones seemingly gentle soul, is still warped by this loathing; still ravaged by entitlement seeping from all sides of an unsolvable panoramic puzzle.
Whats left in the final passing of selfish thought?..
Soul shattering, self shocking aches of life changing, moral moulding, gratuitous, inner revelatory..
Peace.
Sep 6, 2015
Sep 6, 2015 at 12:24 AM UTC
Oh this miracle of movement, the bird in flight, its bright all-seeing 180 degree eye, black brown bird against autumn’s revelatory colours, you can feel you’re outside in an October wind, but the leaves are hanging on still, and even a cobweb laces through this morning image (it can only be morning with such clarity of colour). This collaged picture lithographed full to the brim with autumnal shades and that rising up of things despite nature’s time of fall. The bird backlit by a cloud-feathered sun, circled in movement. Berries bright red against the black brown bird and such shades of green, impossible colours though they are everywhere in Bawden, Piper, Nash, those English colourists who remind us how light amplifies what our country’s weather reveals. Not a picture to live in the imagination and ponder at, but to look at, marvel at, and then go outside and look and look at those symmetries and repeats, and such colours that even on the darkest winter’s day are there in a corner of the sky, the crack in a wall, a leaf speckled with frost, a white flash of the magpie. And by all accounts this artist is one himself, magpie by nature, collecting the not properly beautiful but when surprisingly placed becoming more than its sole self could possibly be. Unsophisticated. Playing with tensions of different material. Collage. Improbable museums. Lumber rooms even. No mystery, just things collected as they are, for the sheer joy of it all.
Dec 27, 2012
Dec 27, 2012 at 2:15 AM UTC
Upon Reading a Patronizing Review of Ferlinghetti’s Delightful and Revelatory Entertainment, Little Boy
The only problem with the Proletariat
Is obeying the pretentious ***** that
Insist on calling us the Proletariat -
Resist their Insist!
For I will not be labeled by some artsy-crat
Apr 4, 2019
Apr 4, 2019 at 6:09 PM UTC
i was blind before i wrote this
pitch black
behind the keys i found sight
finish
not the land where we
as people
loose ourself
its finished
the arguments
the loose ends
its over
my way and yours have inexorably been enter-twined
chuckles mean no more
and i write
and you clean
and worship moments when you lose it
and chuckle
and clean
save me
you have the coins
to place on my eyes
and you clean
and i chuckle
and it is solved
and then it isnt
and then it is
and then WE are
and then it never was
and you talk back
and i win
and you lose
and it stinks
to high heaven
my heart beats at your pace
everything around me throbs
with the patience of your rhythm
and you
like the drum major
stomp with the purpose
of creating the tone
for the crowd
playing your song
as boisterous as it is
its still a song though
sweeping and beautiful
revelatory
weep-worthy
its a song.
Dec 5, 2013
Dec 5, 2013 at 11:27 PM UTC
Shy, half-disguised light
Lying silently by my side
Arrogant, self-absorbed noise
Doesn't care about my voice
Crawling, crumbling air
You're not really going anywhere
Growing, shadowing grey
You're taken over the day
Total acquiring love
You're never gonna stop
Rhythmic, but unsteady heart
You are tearing me apart
Faking, acting lust
I guess you are a must
Cheating, overwhelming despair
If you only did never care
Cutting, biting cold
If only you could be sold
Frozen, transparent ice
Could you be a little nice
Revelatory, amazing joy
Why are you so easy to annoy?
But here you come, you lavish, revealing beginning
Go with me for the winning
Jun 10, 2012
Jun 10, 2012 at 7:02 PM UTC
what we become in
rejection to the templates
we succumb to
a positive negation of what
we once believed to be our
being
cast aside even the idea
of a revelatory rebirth
silence and space do not
describe it
emptiness, void - they too fail
the more i write about it,
the less i say about it
Sep 28, 2019
Sep 28, 2019 at 11:11 AM UTC
I met someone exciting the other day. We’re in an English class together, twenty of us, the class is really about chaos. Attraction can spring from nothing (talk about chaos). We had split into discussion groups and we were next to each other.
The abruptness of it surprised me - I felt the realization, a tingle that ran through me like a wave. I actually twitched, shivered really.
I’m still getting used to people, after the great pandemic separation. I know there were people who carried on as if it weren’t real. My parents, both doctors, took it very seriously. I was “sheltered in place,” like Rapunzel, with shorter hair. For over a year - it seemed longer.
So I haven’t felt this way in a while - this crushy feeling. Near him, my whole body is a receptor, very aware of everything about him - the smell of him alone saturates my senses. Everything about him seems vibrant, revelatory.
He opens doors sometimes, he brought me coffee - twice. He’s started covering the seat next to him and clears it when I arrive so I can sit next to him. He asks questions about my life. He’s polite but persistent, like a newspaper reporter. He’s from Nebraska, a farm boy (19, a man?), he has a dreamy accent and he’s funny.
I wish I could be around him more. Even thinking about it makes my heart race as though I were confessing a secret. But the fact is, it’s impossible. It’s too soon, we just got here. The wish itself is a burden.
Why do I have to be ruthlessly practical all the time? It *****
Oct 19, 2021
Oct 19, 2021 at 6:26 AM UTC
Words can bite.
Mostly just a nip — easily forgotten.
But sometimes an injection of neurotoxin,
whereby you lose your nerve.
In the night-time woods, small life scurries in the undergrowth,
mostly unseen by human eyes.
But sometimes moonlight is revelatory,
striking a shaft of momentary wonder.
Do not give in, fellow scribbler.
There is something extraordinary to see.
You are in the best position to see it,
and make others wish they had seen it, too.
Re-assess your wound, and its author.
Probably just a ***** best ignored.
Apr 14, 2014
Apr 14, 2014 at 7:43 AM UTC
The camera is rolling, incessantly capturing every moment of our lives, leaving us with a world that never stops recording, where privacy becomes a luxury unbeknownst to us. In these private matters, we find ourselves stripped of any semblance of secrecy, exposed to the prying eyes of an ever-watchful audience.
As we gaze upon Mother Earth, we see her through an unsettling lens, viewing her as a captivating entity, akin to a seductive **** who has birthed and nurtured countless lives. Yet, contrasting our admiration, there persists an underlying desire to possess and consume her in a primal, carnal manner. It is as if we hold a fetishistic fascination with her, using fiery words to address her before we even think to disrobe ourselves from the layers of convenience and comfort, leaving her vulnerable and exposed.
This portrayal begs the question of how mankind perceives themselves amidst this intimate performance. Are we mere objects to be stripped down and devoured for the amusement of an unfeeling audience? Stripped of our dignity and possessions, we are left bare, vulnerable, and at the mercy of those who derive pleasure from exploiting our vulnerability. It is akin to a mesmerizing striptease, a tantalizing display that leaves us yearning for something greater.
In the face of such exposure, we find ourselves humbled and powerless, compelled to seek solace and redemption from a higher power. Constantly begging to be bathed in the love and mercy of a divine entity, we yearn for a respite from the unyielding gaze of the world. It appears that the world derives pleasure from witnessing us in a state of vulnerability, reducing us to our weakest form, our knees bent in submission.
In this revelatory expansion of the original sentence, we delve deeper into the implications of a world that ceaselessly records our actions. We explore the complex dynamics between humanity and the environment, finding parallels in our treatment of Mother Earth and our own susceptibility to exploitation. The expanded content retains the core meaning and context, while elaborating on the themes of vulnerability, power dynamics, and the search for solace and redemption.
Jan 8, 2024
Jan 8, 2024 at 3:43 PM UTC
*perfomrer between recitation:
the crescent moon chin between recitation
revealing smug*
(huh? blue = noun, bluish = adjective,
but smug = adjective and smugish = noun,
even though smug is closer to verb
of the doing part that modifies itself: a noumenon,
and smugish is a name of a quality kindred...
but blue, and bluish?! yeah,
smugish, wrinkles nearing the comedy stretches
marked by consistent smiles...
yes smugness is a definite article
and smugish is cryptological half-revelatory
indefinite articulation);
*poet between recitation:
i’ll just fill up vanity with as many heart attacks
to **** me as i have hearts.*
Nov 27, 2015
Nov 27, 2015 at 8:12 PM UTC
Into deeper darker depths I'm drawn
Inch-filled every way in wondrous sight
Of life, unseen, unknown, mysterious
Yet a familiar revelatory strangeness
The prompt blindly followed proved true
Echoed in surprising whispery sighs
As speech goes forth before hearing
So too the way walked then revealed
In mutual affirmation I'm given speech
In human tongues to craft the ineffable
That We hear, know, and acknowledge
Thus not hallucinations of wickedness
In ecstatic drunkenness I will sleep
For tomorrow to greater depths I go
Jul 18, 2025
Jul 18, 2025 at 4:52 AM UTC
When they taught me to fear the world
I listened.
I read each revelatory word
and strained to cherish
and bury it like treasure.
What I didn’t realize
was that the field I buried it in
was meant to grow little tomatoes.
What could be more wicked than
the engorged flesh of a red and watery orb
that gasps and stretches to caress
a cow’s steaming pile
of ****
Jun 15, 2016
Jun 15, 2016 at 1:51 PM UTC
The word "love" there is no doubt
gets bandied all about
You use it as an epithet
and yet this moniker bestowed
Does nothing to whet
My craving, desire
to explode with the revelatory
notion (and I bemoan) that your devotion
is
to the word alone.
May 20, 2017
May 20, 2017 at 11:15 AM UTC