"reversion" poems
Hypotonic collusions
Rising in osmotic lesions
An eruptive soul reversion
Emissions of embered logs
Each lightening with a glow
A youthful straw of clemency
Pollinated sandals, handled
Gripping the flesh in vessels
Houses of lost and unreal dreams
Vicarage gardens of suppression
Masticated in delegated abstractions
A surmise of death and redistributions
Each a beat rise, slide on frosty ice
Un-enveloped in seasons of erosion
Delusional commotions sprawled
In the dance of the ecstatic programming
The body waved and led in hypnosis
********** with the intangible essence
To make sense a revised tense,I fence
Straying in lenient lunacy to fields afar
A merry to ferry the phoenix dance
Rattles shaking in transit translations
Drums pause settling in finesse pond
A coitus of dimensional valour and vice
Feb 25, 2016
Feb 25, 2016 at 9:37 AM UTC
This will be the best poem
I will ever write.
Who's to say if it will be my last, but one thing it is not is a first attempt at finding the right words to convey to you.
And finding the right words
has never been a challenge for me,
but ********* if you aren't giving me a run for my money presently, insufferable me with bleeding
tongue resentfully.
I say that word with an intrepid disposition, because I do not resent the person, but the action: The act of unwarranted silence.
I'd like to think you have a limpid conscience of the beautiful woman you are, at peace with yourself, when at the present time you are consumed with future maybes and counting seconds. So maybe adding myself to your equation was selfish, and brought complications when thinking about anything linear, considering all of the variables.
There was only intention to
rhapsodize the zealot I met on a mutual wavelength, a double helix we all share that some of us forget about, yet here is the reversion, the Neanderthal, the ******* who grew a beard to expose himself, looking at this whole experience all wrong.
Instead, there is Royal Purple Prose to look as extravagant as you are stunning.
Now all that's left is cognitive dissonance to later become
addictive retribution.
Sep 28, 2015
Sep 28, 2015 at 7:16 AM UTC
How could you Think,
Believe,
Dream,
That you do not
Matter?
It is
All
You are made of.
Reversion of Nature
Causing
Pluralities
Where none of us are
'Enough'.
Where do these stipulations come from?
What 'is' Enough?
What is Ethnicity?
What about the Asian woman with a
Jamaican Accent?
Born and Raised.
How is she Stereotyped?
Why this need to Classify?
Sort?
De-fine.
STOP.
You.
Were born.
Enough.
Choose what your
Ears are Privy too.
It is Known.
Who you Are.
Why Hide?
Why Change?
Do Not
Blindly Follow.
Turn Around.
Give your
Soul
F L I G H T.
A beaming
Shadow.
Not soon
Forgotten.
Matter is
Nothing
Until Observed.
Observe Self First.
Decide the Definition of
'You Matter'.
Do not
Cower.
Express...
All have
Reasons.
You.
Were Not.
An
Accident.
Dec 2, 2013
Dec 5, 2013
Dec 5, 2013 at 9:23 PM UTC
The big bang was your conception.
The expansion of nutritive gases and stars
filled the womb of your pregnant mother.
As barely an earthed fetus, you seemed an animal.
As a newborn, you grew primitively, slowly rose.
Enlightenment when you came of age
to discover yourself human.
Now, in your Twenty-First, the century
of drugged science, you live like a half-god
in ever-questioning evolved reversion,
in a contradictory asylum of paralyzing speed,
rising steep to its ringed peak funneling fumes
that revive the smell of your instincts, primal and fiery.
Then, in one final breath, in the outpour
on volcano’s point, melting and bursting
in radial gasps once again, will come your death
in a matter of ours, the eschaton, a new bang
desired and conceived anew, so that in rebirth
will be your survival, in rebirth our continuity.
Mar 27, 2012
Mar 27, 2012 at 7:35 PM UTC
there is cotton in my mouth.
my fingers become tweezers, plucking, yanking, culling;
but there is still cotton in my mouth.
it reminds me of the time the spooky man from the shadows called me sugar
and then called me over like I was a cheap doxy.
avoiding him was obvious, but then dodging him became obvious and
the moment I felt ***** hands brush my left hip,
I knew I wasn’t safe anymore.
there was cotton in my mouth.
fragile like a pretty doe with a wounded hind leg,
I could not scream or attack; for there was jelly in my bones too.
but tonight, there is cotton in my mouth, again,
for different reasons; though, the same.
fear.
and while there is no bête noire with a knife
clutching onto my left hip, calling me sugar;
there is this certain bête noire I had neglected,
to discover radiant lights dancing above
and rich, resplendent tickles and tingles coming through my heartbeats.
I found a black spot; a hole or tear; rip in the curtain; stain on the carpet.
a darkness, a moon gone missing; a reversion to autopilot; comatose, asleep.
there is cotton in my mouth and my fingers still
cull the plush barrier; but it grows like a monster
and I have nothing more to say anyway.
Aug 30, 2013
Aug 30, 2013 at 5:22 AM UTC
I never saw it coming,
but once we had our start,
I knew it wouldn't be long
before you had my heart.
You made me laugh & smile;
the way you showed you cared,
& then I went and ****** things up
for what? 'Cause I was scared?
You never could deserve
such pitiful treatment,
and now my tasteless soul
you will sooner resent
than I could have imagined,
or anyone could write.
I wish that I could change it;
go back and make it right,
but I don't have that power
and sadly no one can
revert to times before,
back to when we began.
When all was new & blooming;
when all was innocent,
before it all went sour
repent, repent, repent!
I promise that I'll fix this
& everything will be
back to typicality.
Back to you and me.
Oct 25, 2010
Oct 25, 2010 at 4:18 PM UTC
Have we upset this chance at true love
Exhausted our emotions, experiencing so much loss
A feeling entrenched, eternal self loathing
With no signs of escape, or reversion
An endless cycle of misfortune
Take the chance and chase desires
Until we venture through frontiers,
Leaving gardens of earthly flowers
For in the darkest light
Our souls can still find flight
Let us gaze upon celestial spheres
We are just circling in an endless odyssey
of emotions
Until we find our reason
For true devotions.
Sep 14, 2013
Sep 14, 2013 at 1:15 AM UTC
Known, let it be--of sight inhaling the fragrance
of roses...of touch hearing the impactful sounds
of stones sacramentally tasted.
The senses shall be as misappropriated goods
in an open air market--coveted by a Singularity
that shall bore them away.
By blameless necessitation what sense took its
turn of sense...called upon by a thoroughgoing
life.
That life solemnly sworn to solidified places of
light--whose need of need, aggrieves not its
reversion to light, but shines upon flesh's folding.
As every burden reaches for its reason, reaching
what's unburdened by virtue that reach.
As Virgil guided Dante through the dark wood,
he was once guided to offer guidance, the
unbreakable watchfulness of crossing paths.
Of guides, there are many--untold many, that the
idea of emptiness at any given moment, is merely
an interchangeability from fullness...ebulliently so.
The senses shall be as misappropriated goods
in an open air market...coveted by a Singularity
that shall bore them away.
Nov 23, 2016
Nov 23, 2016 at 1:00 PM UTC
Known, let it be--of sight inhaling the fragrance
of roses...of touch hearing the impactful sounds
of stones sacramentally tasted.
The senses shall be as misappropriated goods
in an open air market--coveted by a Singularity
that shall bore the away.
By blameless necessitation what sense, took its
turn of sense...called upon by a thoroughgoing
life.
That life solemnly sworn to solidified places of
light--whose need of need, aggrieves not its
reversion to light, but shines upon flesh's folding.
As every burden reaches for its reason, reaching
what's unburdened by virtue that reach.
As Virgil guided Dante through the dark wood,
he was once guided to offer guidance, the
unbreakable watchfulness of crossing paths.
Of guides, there are many--untold many, that the
idea of emptiness, at any given moment is merely
an interchangeability from fullness...ebulliently so.
The senses shall be as misappropriated goods
in an open air market--coveted by a Singularity
that shall bore them away.
Oct 20, 2014
Oct 20, 2014 at 1:14 PM UTC
I’m drowning in your holy water
Though you got it from the tap.
I’d pray about it, but why bother?
I’d be just another kind of sap.
I’ve heard your words for a lifetime
And they still don’t make much sense.
They seem to support your lifestyle,
Earn you enough to pay your rents.
I’ve read your documentation through
And I’m not buying the whole deal.
It may sound good to people like you
But, I am convinced it is not real.
You take the words of millennia ago
And interpret them far too liberally.
You brag about caveman miracles
And quote from them too literally.
Then changes happened the time
That Yeshua guy hit the world stage
And things switched from god, to
The 'worship of a human being' age.
That’s a reversion back in time
To when we knew so little about
What lightning was and also how
Babies got started and came out.
Now, twenty one hundred years
After our Anno became Domini,
People are still bending down
To kiss a ring that means naught to me.
I have no trouble having reverence for
People who act like a holy spirit
But rockstar status for preachers?
I want nothing more to do with it.
As long as the poor and weak starve
Churches don’t need my wherewithal.
As long as the downtrodden suffer
True abomination is a huge cathedral.
I know this will offend some of you
Who find gods in the clouds comforting;
Believe slick tent preachers and priests
Deserving of mansions and gold trappings.
Apr 6, 2018
Apr 6, 2018 at 10:52 PM UTC
Subsistence defined by need, not want
A time when provisions made to survive
With no barriers; wealth not reality
Now a time when commercialism shadows death.
Purchase for consumption; nothing is free
Their poisons inserted, to see growth spiral
Populations diseased; their hunger satisfied
Success not a work of art, but a measure of worth .
Inventions praised; expense raised
Weapons more devastating, eyes only faucets
The world's end bound; prophesied by man, knowing his own hand.
Science a technicality of beauty; life not learned
Math bewildering; love confused
Reversion, a must; humanity's teachings before papers'.
Jul 23, 2016
Jul 23, 2016 at 1:08 PM UTC
For all your intellegence
You are ignorant
Speaking from a position that
Finds its footing in false Gods
And the reversion of faith
How you gladly slaughter religions
Whom don't speak towards your grand morality
Because like a child you hate
What bred you
Murdering God with your righteous fury
Scorned injustly by a few
Who claim to uphold something beyond themsleves
Speaking like a sage the words of a wisdom you do not understand
Or could possibly embody
Your hate, fury and dogmatic refusal to see anything
Good that doesn't fit your dated
Greek mentality
Of which you in your ignorance
Have no leg to stand upon
Do not with your pious
Bigotted bile rail against something in which you do not know
Do not claim knowledge
When you a child
No not what you speak
A fool
You become
A
****** fool
More ignorant by your expression of opinon
Because you know not what all goes into
The reasoning
The why
The how come
You become what you so decidedly hate
That overly righteous
This is the way of the world
I AM GOD
Mentality consumes you
Becomes you
The mask of radical minded beauty
Comes off
What a sick creature you are
To see the Good
And know its name
But not what it is
Your ignorance blinds you
But your pride makes you a fool.
Nov 25, 2013
Nov 25, 2013 at 2:10 PM UTC
My personality has receded to the point of unrecognition
A theoretical reversion into equilibrium
Coalesced with the collapse of certainty
And Compounded by a conquered concentration
Jun 18, 2014
Jun 18, 2014 at 8:54 AM UTC
close-knit but tongue tied
these knots have formed around my limbs again
and all I seem to want is to cut ties
but I keep running in circles
the rope gets tighter now
there's nothing strong enough to cut
close enough to break from what brings me down.
There are days when I don't see myself too clearly-
I make a mockery of all this progress
and reversion encases my jawline
builds a fortress around my cheekbones
lets these tears I own fill an arc all the same.
Never sane in what I am saying
never too close for comfort
never still
always silenced.
See this mind of mine has torn in two
and I am seeing stars again
I looked too closely into the light
that became of me
and now I have trouble seeing anything.
Blind optimism has turned a blind eye to currently
to the reality I live which feels nothing short of a fiction novel
but these spells are not long enough for many chapters
So I fill this shell casing of who I am with novellas
and hope the print isn't too small
and the dialogue isn't too excessive.
Feeling apart of something bigger
has always been my call-to in this world
has always been the north star guiding me
to the place I want to be.
See I've never really felt the words "family"
warp around my skin and make a home inside of my psyche
but it's the only word thats ever meant anything to me.
Which is why these words turn to a warm gun
and I hold it close to my chest
inching to pull the trigger
in hopes more of me will scatter onto the floor
and into the world.
But I strive for consistency and stability
so the gun is just a way to protect me
these words will always be there to protect me.
When I grow old-
when the color fades from my hair
and you can no longer see the outline of my youth
etched inside these expressive tendencies
that is where you will find my happy
in the names of every offspring
and every person I've ever loved-
every good deed I have ever done
that is where you will find my happy.
I have lost myself inside the toxicity
and it clouds the mirror on most days
but sometimes the smoke clears
and I can see who I am again.
Repeating "I am here"
until I convince myself it's true.
Dear me-
I lost myself inside of you
and I will be coming to collect soon
Sep 15, 2015
Sep 15, 2015 at 8:27 PM UTC
The dots do I join, to rediscover
That which was forgotten, remembered through continuation
Naivety had my youth shown plenty
Lines of love, professed lies
My aspirations stemmed, by a being not noticing.
Time has it stopped not for my admiration
Its progression I cannot prevent
But my mind's reversion, has already occurred
That which had been lived, is lived again
Her entrance I appreciate once more; the essence unfound.
Events are offered no change, by memories
Questions unthought than, asked now
The height of my feelings, a hyperbole
A chance doomed by an evasive reality
Her beauty existent; I chose a figment.
Each confidant, hearing more passion than the last
If doubts were raised, my words were shown
A destiny I sought, with a name with no letters
My stare, affording no return glance
Her interactions echoing no friendship; my ignorance deflated.
A work I had begun ardently, not knowing
My return home , a return to future synonymy
Pages torn, to drown in cliches
Her rejection, could not disconcert
The dots I made, do I join to know.
Nov 11, 2016
Nov 11, 2016 at 1:19 PM UTC
I have a secret which feels so wrong.
There's this very beautiful lady
Who sends me photos in her thong
Morning and night, every day.
Her salutations comes via text
I haven't yet the courage to reply,
To ignore her makes me really vex.
This is reversion, a deadly play
With unknown consequences,
What do I do, how long can I resist?
I see not far through these righteous lenses
Yet without these secret messages, I cant Exist!
I caught myself secretly praying for her to stop
Another part of me doesn't want to let her go,
Maybe I can intentionally let the phone drop,
Or find a bourbon and drown my ***** ego.
Even that will not help change a **** thing
For I will still wake up to the daunting reality
Of the dilemma that has changed everything
Which is my deep little secret with this thong lady.
©️IB-Poetry
2/23/2018
Feb 23, 2018
Feb 23, 2018 at 6:07 AM UTC