"reverberates" poems
a (the) woman’s body (pretty pleasing)
is my reciprocal
her waist is my happy place
her neck is my doorway
the rest is
best when she is mirror accessorizing,
preening, **** upon first rising,
tallying the gains and the losses
unaware of my watching,
never satisfied she, tho she is 98% unadmitting contented,
as she shifts her weight,
from knee to knee extended alternating
with slow delicacy
for the pleasure is trebled
for her imagine image reverberates
throughout the house
for ever(y) mirror is pre-positioned,
accidentally angled just so, lol,
her image transported from living room to dining alcove
all the way to the kitchen’s bleacher seats
she doesn’t know and asks why I’m grinning,
answer is
no confessionary, no telling I’m swelling and
sinning
eyes scheming-dreaming of her reciprocity
she smiles and says
“good morning bad boy”
maybe she does know
but you won’t tell her,
we, you and me,
are pretty pleasing
she is 1/me
she is won over me
Aug 19, 2018
Aug 19, 2018 at 8:39 AM UTC
The Violent Storm by the Water
(Do You Trust Your Imagination)
was not unexpected
but its fury was without compare,
poet awake in semi-preparation
living by water should be a human right for all,
even a small room, overlooking, gives new meaning to
perspective
we blessed with a patio door, encased in a glass window big enough for a smallish elephant to come visit and play with children
a storm is observed up close and personal as if one was in
an IMAX 3D theater, and the edges of existence were being redefined,
sharpened by fury, tooled by tools untouched by mortal hands
miles of bay illuminated with bass drum furious accompaniment
stand before the screen,
poets arms outstretched as a supplicant,
the light of the lightening passes through him,
yet , behind me, she still sleeps
then the entire house shakes, reverberates, as if to say:
”tremble humans, cower, you are not permitted to watch my majesty, for such it was when created heaven and earth”
bold poet window worshipping
risky answers:
“but who will know
if even a poet cannot declaim sights
no one else has seen?”
”true, true, but you must choose if poet truly,
do you trust your imagination human,
to prove that the powers of the heavens are limitless?”
write of storms unseen and nature endless miracles
***”then you may call yourself
a miracle too,
a poet***”
Aug 12, 2018
Aug 12, 2018 at 12:14 PM UTC
Spirit Dolphin
To be in tune in natures light
To be in touch and resonate
Intelligent communicate
Heartbeats of love and breath of life
Superior to human sight
Your sound waves and reverberates
To be in tune in natures light
To be in touch and resonate
You touch the stars and elevate
Our spirits to become alight
Giving us freedom to ignite
Centers begin to emanate
To be in tune in natures light
Beneath the sun, beneath the moon
You teach us how to breathe with care
Oceanic friend, solar flare
Communicating our monsoon
Teaching in us how to commune
Opening our minds to beware
Beneath the sun, beneath the moon
You teach us how to breathe with care
Your innocence rests like lagoon
On the surface emotions bare
Vulnerability is there
Beneath the sun, beneath the moon
A good omen to protect us
Saving the lives of so many
Selfless creature giving plenty
From outer space some do discuss
To touch you frees us from raucous
To ride with you fulfills empty
A good omen to protect us
Saving the lives of so many
With you we find our playfulness
Self-confidence more than any
Never to lose our assembly
Connect us all with inner trust
A good omen to protect us
Helping others finding our truth
To be One Universally
What might seem strange is certainly
A reflection upon our youth
Make bright our eyes with wisdom's root
Free from shame inadvertently
Helping others finding our truth
To be One Universally
Though we may taste forbidden fruit
What we will learn so artfully
Forgives our aches so perfectly
Flipping through curious pursuit
Helping others finding our truth
© tHE tERRY tREE
Aug 14, 2014
Aug 14, 2014 at 11:46 AM UTC
I love you
because the Earth turns round the sun
because the North wind blows north
sometimes
because the Pope is Catholic
and most Rabbis Jewish
because winters flow into spring
and the air clears after a storm
because only my love for you
despite the charms of gravity
keeps me from falling off the Earth
into another dimension
I love you
because it is the natural order of things
I love you
like the habit I picked up in college
of sleeping through lectures
or saying I’m sorry
when I get stopped for speeding
because I drink a glass of water
in the morning
and chain-smoke cigarettes
all through the day
because I take my coffee Black
and my milk with chocolate
because you keep my feet warm
through my life a mess
I love you
because I don’t want it
any other way
I am helpless
in m love for you
It makes me so happy
to hear you call my name
I am amazed you can resist
locking me in an echo chamber
where your voice reverberates
through the four walls
sending me into spasmatic ecstasy
I love you
because it’s been so good
for so long
that if I didn’t love you
I’d have to be born again
and that is not a theological statement
I am pitiful in my love for you
The Dells tell me Love
is so simple
the thought though of you
sends indescribably delicious multitudinous
thrills throughout and through-in my body
I love you
because no two snowflakes are alike
and it is possible if you stand tippy-toe
to walk between the raindrops
I love you
because I am afraid of the dark
and can’t sleep in the light
because I rub my eyes
when I wake up in the morning
and find you there
because you with all your magic powers were
determined that
I should love you
because there was nothing for you but that
I would love you
I love you
because you made me
want to love you
more than I love my privacy
my freedom my commitments
and responsibilities
I love you 'cause I changed my life
to love you
because you saw me one friday
afternoon and decided that I would
love you
I love you I love you I love you
May 21, 2013
May 21, 2013 at 10:21 AM UTC
Some are born balanced
On a precipice and remain
Tethered for the rest of their days
Overlooking barely there
Mental images
Fragments of a lucid dream
Of a conjured up past life
Once etched on skin
But no longer there
They speak of
Violent reinvention
And escape
While the hollow speaks
And catapults into spaces
Better left unknown
Psyches wrapped in denial
Running the gamut of habitual sins
Perpetuating legacies of pain
With hands that carry
The burdens of forefathers
Tiptoeing
In the twilight of dreams
Willing for the heavens
To send a spring that blooms
Hearts whose pounding
Reverberates endlessly
inside of ears
Eyes that get darker as they close
Meet with ours
A look
A sigh
Ascertaining a mutual recognition
Of the familiar
Shadows that plague.
Jan 12, 2015
Jan 12, 2015 at 1:39 PM UTC
It's funny how
I cannot seem
to find a care
or worry
in the world
as soon as
the sound of
your lighthearted laughter,
your gleeful giggling
reverberates against
my eardrums,
implanting all of its
melodious magic
deep within my soul.
Sep 3, 2014
Sep 3, 2014 at 12:13 AM UTC
Your spirits strength I've seen,
More amazed, never have I been,
It reverberates from the lion roar,
Echo (echo) to the core,
Inside the mane you reside,
Yet ever so bravely; playfully you stride!
Swinging madly on Gods dreadlocks,
Your pendulum of ethereal knots,
Twines of love mirroring yours,
Synchronized rhythm, an unstoppable force.
Dec 15, 2014
Dec 15, 2014 at 2:25 PM UTC
Obscure sounds
Reverberates
Flowing through
The silence
It’s an Enigma
Waking the
Sub-conscious
Beautiful sounds
Voices ethereal
Time seems to
Flow by you
You feel submerged
In the waves
Of each note
Jul 9, 2015
Jul 9, 2015 at 1:57 PM UTC
Two teens with too much time left to themselves
Both experiences represented by flat lines on hospital machines during sad times
Flipped on it’s *** end quite literally
My youth is my virginity
Finding religion suddenly
Praying in my head “God, if you exist, don’t let the ****** break”
Her face in angst
I begin to flake
Spine reverberates
Elbows Shake
Bedside table vibrates
Text message
Receiving
Mom: When will you be home
Response: I won’t, I’m leaving my old self on these bed sheets
Send
My youth is my virginity
Time becomes an illusion
Not knowing how long we’ve been doing this
Minutes become seconds
Seconds to years
Years are months
Months.... minutes
I alone finish
Quickly getting dressed separately
Previously so ecstatic to slowly peel each others layers away
An eternity of silent eye contact jam packed into countless repetitive heartbeats
A mix of misinterpreted expressions cross our minds as we sink into the realization that we are no longer children
Our youth is our virginity
Your inner thighs have defined the ending milestone of my childhood
In return I thank you and grace you
No other person I’d rather have that connection with
Though we’ve long departed, our current standing is disheartening
Let’s give birth, not to children, but to friendships
I want to to represent my life with a cobblestone road
Being able to get to the end to find success, not regrets
I hand you the first stone
Oct 25, 2012
Oct 25, 2012 at 7:36 AM UTC
Your heartbeat,
Still reverberates,
Still rings in my ears
Thump Thump Thump
Apr 1, 2014
Apr 1, 2014 at 12:11 PM UTC
If I could have your arms tonight—
But half the world and the broken sea
Lie between you and me.
The autumn rain reverberates in the courtyard,
Beating all night against the barren stone,
The sound of useless rain in the desolate courtyard
Makes me more alone.
If you were here, if you were only here—
My blood cries out to you all night in vain
As sleepless as the rain.
5k
like the ocean on a bright sunny day,
like the winter sky devoid of the blockade of clouds.
it's the feeling of the cool breeze
and the rain,
falling to the earth
on a hot summer day
and the hot breath
that you exhale onto
the cool glass,
melting it into tiny water droplets.
and the sound of the deep bass
of the drums
in slow motion
as the sound waves reverberates
in the air and
travels to my eardrums.
it's the sensation of
the sharp-icy touch
of your skin on mine,
like icy sophistication that
later warms into me,
as i cool to your being.
Sep 16, 2014
Sep 16, 2014 at 9:45 AM UTC
60 sunshines, 59 nightfalls till I face the day
40 topics held in to regurgitate,
**** and span for the marker man to give a brother a break.
Wait, I ain't done
Got anxiety about two more chores in head
Not to ***** and moan but *******
Getting tired of this ****
What's the point to push if you don't know where to go
Blindful blissful ignorance?
They say, and you go.
What subject?
What ever is most respected.
What job?
What ever brings financial comfort.
What about this?
Nah, you ain't good at that.
And so you sulk ever so distracted
Hearing the drip drop taps, splat on to the sink.
The metallic ting of the radiator reverberates as dormant inner silence sings.
Forever more.
A didactic sore for the ears,
Apologies in advance,
Though regardless you must hear it.
Never run to please others
Rather, focus and listen to the deep.
Dec 10, 2017
Dec 10, 2017 at 3:15 PM UTC
It's as though through letting ideas slip away into nothingness
I've died countless times:
unrealised, unfulfilled, unsatisfied.
Their last scream of agony devoid of substance,
reverberates through me,
Reminding me that
I've neglected to death that which could've filled me.
I sit alone quietly watching,
An ego of sand trickles down
each grain a like on a tweet, a seen video.
Aren't they really smart? The people who make these things?
Promised to make me golden,
And I am, indeed.
Just as cold and saleable as that.
NO no,
I keep trying to claw my way out.
It's taking too long, why isn't it working?
Hands getting weaker?
Nails dulling out?
Or maybe I've never had anything sharp on myself to begin with.
The worst is that I'm not alone in this
And most of you seem content.
Living being made to obey
With grains of dopamine being thrown around
as we dance to catch each in our mouths.
Not much different from these poor animals at the circus.
Let's cut this short.
Aim big and don't expect a praise or prize soon after you start.
People aren't brands and brands aren't people.
Let's learn to enjoy the ride more than the destination.
Good luck, I believe in me,
I believe in you.
Jul 15, 2019
Jul 15, 2019 at 9:58 AM UTC
/
Many days
I do not read any newspaper
Even do not see television
At all
Many days have gone
After You
I do not read any poetry
How to feel that since this morning!
Repeatedly hear identifying tunes on the air
Your arrival in the sky,
The air reverberates
Looks like another day
In the Paradise,
In another song,
Which brings the soul
The Aroma
Everyone is coming out
From all sides
Young Old
Babies Boys
Women Men
Everyone
Everyone is clapping
Singing the song of the same tune
This song is not the song of Rain
Not even a lamentation
The Southern breeze whispering your words
Slowly Said,
The Little Tailor Bird
No, No,
Not such a summer afternoon
Not even a hurricane warning
Each of the human eye
Follow the Eastern Sky
Tireless Eye
Watching the sun,
The Red Sun,
You went to bring dreams for us
From the Sun
Hundreds of thousands of people
In his next question
Hand with Flower
Shoulder to Shoulder
Today will be the day of strangers,
The poet will come
We are standing in the flowers
Fist full of dreams to take
Float in the sky with white clouds
My dreams are calling again
Today is not such an Autumn
But Still feel like an Autumn
Indeed,
The poet will come,
A poem in the New
Where each word will be spoken dream
Love to be evacuated
Poems that will repay
The debt to my Ancestor
Take revenge on thee
For their injustice,
Torture
Poems that would bring the stars
For our next generation
A poem that would bring the red rose for my darling,
Would bring such a smile to my mother's face
As Moon that smile
And that is simply killed false dreams
Will we ever Released
Sing Freedom Songs
The Poet,
My beloved Poet
You will come,
Will surely come
And will recite your immortal poem
/
@ Musfiq us shaleheen
Jan 23, 2015
Jan 23, 2015 at 11:11 AM UTC
With a cursory press of a key and arco of the strings,
They look at each other,
Determining when to start through what looks like telepathy,
But it is instead the subtle movement of arms and chest.
They begin.
With the movement of bows bouncing on metal,
And the dancing digits upon black and white,
Sound reverberates between the audience,
With eyes and ears in tandem absorbing the scene.
They continue.
As they pass over bridges,
And draw out waves with their hands,
I listen,
Swaying and breathing and performing as though I am beside them,
Despite being above them,
Yet feeling so below.
Becoming one with their instrument,
And bringing me along,
I smile,
As just like they pull beauty out of their tools with their soul,
They guide joy out of me,
For all of us.
They end.
Then again, they start.
With new sounds from a new person,
With new intent,
And new methods.
They change.
From haphazard joy and dance,
To somber death and confusion,
They become one with the music,
And follow in its suit.
They continue, anew.
As the sound changes,
So do I.
Listening with sharper ears,
Hoping to catch a different magic in my ears.
They continue, still.
As the cello draws honey,
The violin; its dew,
And the piano waterfalls arpeggios,
I am content.
They end.
Full of the food of life,
They stand,
To let us feast with them with our hungry hands,
Giving our own vibrations to fill our drooling souls.
They leave.
And so do I.
Both of us fed and quenched,
From the performance.
Sep 12, 2022
Sep 12, 2022 at 3:33 AM UTC
"love is a losing game", but for so long
i never understood that song, until,
i became a piece that you discarded,
left scorned and broken-hearted. it was
unbeknownst to me, but you knew exactly
how to maneuver your poison into my veins
and you made your home in my bones
without requesting my permission, having no intentions
of remaining any longer than your affections,
or your hands, could stand to stay in one place.
i've heard that love, is a losing hand,
and i imagine its partner, dry & cracked -
aching, reaching, grasping, empty -
desperately seeking to be filled with any kind
of warmth or wholeness, only to be met,
instead, by astounding disappointment
that reverberates and permeates unapologetically
beneath the surface of weathered skin,
similar to that which covered your back, as we laid
in the trunk of your station wagon in the mid-december darkness.
love is designed as a fate resigned,
but i knew not what my future held.
i did not know that it was possible, for
such a tangible pain to exist inside my ribcage,
but i swear you pretended not to hear my heart shatter
from all those miles and miles and miles away.
so i envisioned the oceans inside of your irises fading to gray,
and i forced myself to ignore the lack of air in my lungs,
as i spat out, "it's fine." promising myself i'd never call you again.
unbeknownst to you, you'd just taught me how to play the game.
- m.f
Nov 3, 2013
Nov 3, 2013 at 5:23 PM UTC
Regrets, they come in waves and break around his feet
And he begins to wonder who he might have been
Had roads diverged in different woods and fields
Not yellow or yet any colour still unseen
But clearer now by day than windless nights
Still nearer than the objects of his dreams
It'd rained late into the evening, and when the lights were shaded
Around the pool outside and with the windows shuttered
He'd thrown on loose clothes, flicked open an umbrella
While high outside the stars the lightning flashes muttered
Pulled open doors that led to the veranda
And moved outside once more with all his thoughts unuttered
The smoke, from fires on Java lies heavy on his senses
An omen of the time of year and of the past condition
He shrugs, ***** in the acidic nighttime odors
Reviving lives not lived but revealing his admission
That time beyond the present that mirrors every movement
Within, without, and yet again, the flicker of suspicion.
The pistol in his pocket, illegal not unloaded
A symbol of his state of mind and by his sole discretion
He kneels beside the water, deep-set and in the shadows
Lips forming wordlessly around the last confession
Images of where and what and who and why and whether
A portent of that final action, sensing and impression
The smoke from fires on Java lies heavy on the water
The reek of cordite mixing with the smell of burning grasses
Indignant birds protest the crack of one small set expulsion
The echo round the swimming pool reverberates and passes
Nothing more and nothing less and time and space and matter
Slick red upon the treacherous tiles, the shattered bloodied glasses.
Apr 23, 2013
Apr 23, 2013 at 6:19 AM UTC
~
*Mermaid in a manhole
suffering hibernation sickness
she drinks in every sob like wine
her oceanic call reverberates
whilst speaking dead languages
into the receiver
but slipping off melancholy
and blown a wish
by hide-and-seek lips
she chooses an unfamiliar light
****** with scissors
throbs of undamaged energy
from her vernal equinox
but in love with a bad idea
and beyond the minimum safe distance
she no longer plays at fragile volumes
and careful times
hands playing butterfly
pinch nippled skin
she chooses an unfamiliar light*
~
Jan 30, 2023
Jan 30, 2023 at 10:58 AM UTC
What was it exactly about this rasta.
He seemed so to be out of time an oddity then.
He stroked the gong that resonates still
Nothing can dim his light
His message still reverberates
With all who hear his call.
A natural mystic sinking tap roots from far out.
Kaya budz meets Buffalo soldier and they journey to Transendentia.
Dread lion with Dread locks . Earth shoes and soccer socks.
Ras Nesta walking through di concrete jungle.
Nevah know what sweet rest is in disya concrete jungle.
When you think it's peace and safety.A sudden destruction
Collective security, for surety.
From the Tenement yard to a Pimpers paradise .
Lining up to run in the rat race.
Live if you wanna live .
Glazed over Duppy conqueror. Seeing past all limitations
Rastaman vibration. Positive.
Oct 20, 2012
Oct 20, 2012 at 12:47 PM UTC
Bold and blunt;
soft, and we romanticize the taste.
Tracing the curves -
valleys among mocha plains -
and passion reverberates
deep within the shade.
Innocence is corrupted
(we've all reached for forbidden fruit)
and it tastes as sweet as
You pass yourself off to be.
The draw of your baby blue eyes and
the pink of your naked lips
offer a look into what you used to be
or might have been.
But I suppose some sort of
saint
or
sin
came around and darkened the tint;
seductive and sultry,
and everybody wants a chance...
And I bet You know it.
Mar 3, 2016
Mar 3, 2016 at 11:40 AM UTC
The sound of a sigh
From a lovers lips
It echos through the night
It reverberates through every cell
Creating a hum under the epidermis
Breathing gets heavy
Inhale
1
2
Exhale
The heart only speeds
When sweat forms on their skin
Adorn by salty appetence
This is the sweetest taste
Of lips on a secret place
Teeth clamped in skin
Lovers wrapped in sin
Bodies traversing what it is to couple
They'll lay quiet for quite a while
Bodies humming and hands intwined
Feeling forever is this instant
Guiltless love
Uncontaminated by fear
They could spend eternity here
The day goes on
So do they
They hold forever
In their hearts and minds
Until after the end times
Jul 4, 2018
Jul 4, 2018 at 5:02 AM UTC
Her greatest fear was
going color blind,
invoking domino effect,
she embraced rainbow colors-
whenever a chance she found.
Now, she walks at the front
as if she is the official bearer of colors
in our frenzied blueberry hunt,
up in the high ranges of Western Ghat's
tropical rain forests.
Our nostrils are special,
"colors we see, make us madly sing"
chants rend the air when-
fragrance of ***** blooms wafted in the air.
"Just like the smell when python opens mouth"
said a voice, to the uninitiated,
"Quit white, paint everything coal black,
or is it the other way round?"
"This place is magical can't make a choice"
"Look! I found a serious irregular lake down there"
"I didn't realize I was walking in rounds, around a closed mall"
"White light is a cheat, pixie laid us is in the village green"
"Y'll fall down"
"Green was what i asked for
got thick,red, gooey mud"
"Why panic?"
"Hey meet Mr.Yellow smile,
kiss him a pretty, magenta
***** thought, good night"
"I've a deep blue psyche,
in nightmares I see ***** whales"
"Wounded bleeding heart,
she was nursed back to health
it beats me,
she limped back to her old green monster"
"Hear that distant drums?
brick red monster of the woods
mating with a black cat"
"A ritual of the tribes?
is it meant as a crude joke?"
Sitting under a tree shade,
I hear for the first time in my life,
a white ant's dark wintry song,
lilting, it spoke about the life
as the queen ant's *** slave.
**"Hey love this ***** magical feat,
anything is possible,
how reality takes a beat"
**** it, three times over,
on the bank of the river, then in water.."**
"Blue grass, blue grass
sing all the way up to the mountain pass,
where ***** plants grow thick like ***** thoughts,
a nightingale in funky dress
singing ***** songs and regale all"
"That lush lass, her hair tied with a red bandana
is a smart *** **** her"
Someone screams in delight,
evening spreads a magical light,
more laughter, catcalls,
the sassy chick just LOL
Pass..pass
A big headstrong hornbill, surveying the scene,
gives a mating call
the hillside reverberates with its sound.
(C) K.Balachandran
[email protected]
Jun 10, 2012
Jun 10, 2012 at 7:19 AM UTC
Death is not a destination.
Death is encompassing.
I smell it when I breath in the rusty stench of blood on my fingers.
I feel it in the pain that reverberates with each step
as if I had driven a nail into the bottom of my boot and I felt it every time it hit the floor.
Death is not a destination.
It's woven into the fabric of my skin,
using a thread so thin
it echoes the line between what makes me a bad person and a good person who does bad things.
It echoes the line between life and death but in a different way to the finishing line of a race because
death is not a destination.
It's the ball of rage that is fired up within me
at the slightest of things.
A reminder that I can't ever escape but can't quite tick off my list.
Death is not a destination but a feeling deep within me
and no matter how far I reach with my sharpened blade
I will never find.
Besides, I can no longer wish death upon the body I spent painful years learning to love,
the defenceless pulse nor my eager heart.
Death is not a destination,
but it is mine.
Whether it be warm or cold
it will welcome me.
I will be entering myself,
the most secret crevices that I found
the day the sadness took hold.
I will escape.
I will be free.
Sep 11, 2015
Sep 11, 2015 at 10:16 PM UTC
The tension is mounting, standing in line
Bass reverberates, the sound of things to come
Manic conversation and body language animation
Staying awake until we see the sun.
Enter the venue greeted by sticky collective body heat
The treble of the onslaught of noise now palpable
Without thinking, i begin to move my feet
Becoming one with the masses of bodies moving in unison.
The milk of the night, one in my hand from a mate
I drink it down as I become expectant
Excitedly waiting for my body to be seized
And exited by a juggernaut of positive emotions.
Every stranger is a one minute friend
Micro moments of love become my guide for the night
The music sounds like the songs of the gods
The rhythm and percussion of an underground ritual.
Every touch and taste and sound is heightened
An emanating aura of love surrounds the crowd
Smiles, laughs, hugs and high-fives
Throwing shapes and boogieing down.
As the party creator closes down the night
Masses pour outside drowned by early sunlight
All in search of a beach or after-hours haunt
To continue on their hedonic treadmill.
Feb 16, 2014
Feb 16, 2014 at 2:27 PM UTC