"riffles" poems
Science says that there's a mathematical equation that explains everything in life.
But I say that not even physics bears an explanation for...the guidelines of attraction.
Our primal reactions are multiplied in...the highlights of passion.
These laws of love that linger like a lanterns lost illumination...
Like the campfire light on a clear night, leaves coals of culmination.
Sweat beads lead to bare threads and bare bodies.
And oh my, how bare bodies lead to imaginations running wild.
Cold winds inspire warm kisses and close skin.
Sincere actions aren't sins.
Bodies wound in union, formed by light and tightly bound.
Together, these twisted vines penetrate the hardest ground...
Together, harmonic souls produce passionate sounds.
Yet, still somehow, love gets lost more than love gets found.
This equation is unending...like numbers off lips that kiss the air.
Body language spoken...Our physical bonds parallel eternity and pi squared.
And you know that every moment that we share is nothing short of...molecular love for the masses...
Now held captive by gravity and magnetism...
See, the last full moon marked retrograde...and if the moon affects the tide of the ocean...and our bodies are roughly 75% water...can we assume that this is the only body powerful enough to keep ours apart?
This gravity...
This pull...
It's pulling me apart...so let me pull you closer, stop pushing me away!
Hold on tight, dont let these planets drift away into a dark rift of decay.
Let your love lap upon this solid stone like a river riffles smooth sandbars into hills of higher ground.
Because baby, without your water on my beach...
I'm nothing but a desert, dry and deserted.
Nov 15, 2010
Nov 15, 2010 at 10:53 PM UTC
After decades and decades of distance
I've found you
The sluggish, torturous moments of the laps
have finally passed.
Time has bruised me, pounded me, bled me
to the core.
Hours spent as a pack of wolves,
howling for a soul.
I've hunted, starving in my travels.
Searching for you.
Me, a pack of hunting dogs not just stalking
quietly through still woods....
but bolting with snarling furled lips....
exposing razor sharp fangs to sink deep within
the throat of the love I long for.
Hold tight until the struggling gazelle gasps its last.
The hunt is over,
the heart full from the gorging.
Purring in each others company.
While resting tranquilly on the aromatic clover.
Riffles unable to focus, our stripes blending,
as our bodies merge.
The great cats we are, no predator to fear.
We slumber and bask in our regal glory.
Our cat eyes fixed on each other!
© Crystal Erickson 12/14/07
Dec 24, 2014
Dec 24, 2014 at 3:49 PM UTC
Are we the sum of our experiences?
We are not the sum of our experiences
When we live in the moment, we become that moment
It’s in the now; in flow
Where our authentic selves are found
Past eddies, riffles, or undulations
Of our lives have as much meaning as we choose to give them
Meaningful or meaningless is moot
If we’ve found our authentic selves
And are willing to let that Self drive
To be in tune with Tao or Source
Or whatever you want to call it
Find your authenticity and live it out fully
My guiding virtue and vice is to
Remember that I am always accountable for my actions
We live in a realm created by our actions
Creation can be tumultuous
Spring storms are balanced with spring flowers
Remain calm while in the storm
Step into the third eye
Stand next to those who steady you
There are others who gather in the eye of the storm
These are good people (usually); mentors and friends and peers
How do you find these gatherings?
In my experience, you have to come in through the out door
Oct 23, 2014
Oct 23, 2014 at 12:43 AM UTC
"O GOD ! only hand--- only leg
bleeding, hanging to the chopped body --o god !?!"
enough ! to discharge the debt of the soil.
"o god!
these little babies who are supposed to be the metaphor of passion,
are forced to be the product of flesh trade !
these tender hands , supposed to paint the alphabets
are made to clean the riffles !
o god !
they are eating mud--
they are drinking the ***** of animals...."
yes! the survival is important
to break the shackles of this soil.
"O GOD ! O GOD ! O GOD ! O G>>"
no !. no!. sympathy? charity ? i am not the beggar !
do not come on the wings of eagle holding the dove.
if you have a human soul..
demand those who are shedding crocodile tears.
i demand the answer , not the bread of consolation.
do the sons of my soil robbed these big-brothers at any time?
tell them not to declare the renegades as the protectors of my land.
**** **** ***** **** **** **** ****
tigris and euphrates, ganga and godavari
amazan, dandakaranya
somalia, rhodesia---- red with blood
santiyago, madrid, -- echoing
tahir square, beijing, brasilia... burning--
**** **** **** **** **** **** **** ****
i may be falling down-- but i will rise ...
o big brother... you are not god
you can declare yourself as jesus
i am the child of spartucus
"o god ! are you a terrorist? are you a revolutionary?"
ha ha ha--- let it be.
now , the deserts having oil in lap
the forests having minerals in heart
the voices demanding the natural justice
are these the shelters of terrorists.. revolutionaries ?
let it be!
i am a revolutionary........
to discharge the debt of my soil !!
Nov 27, 2014
Nov 27, 2014 at 10:15 AM UTC
I befriend the antonyms of the light
Now the face of the night won't let me go
No matter what I do, even with all my might
So have no choice but to dance with the flow
I am a man who ate the forbidden apples
Indeed the wisdom of the dark was among the highest
Definitely a door to the unknown, until I am longing for riffles
Because I can take the lies of reality no more, such lunacies
Life was supposed to be a thankful journey
A sweet dance from hello's to farewell
Lucky are those who've found serenity
Who hasn't heard the music of hell
I've been too far, my clock is ticking in a cycle of forever
I need a reformat not just a simple reboot
Do not save any good files, that's not so clever
All parts of me was already been infected even to the root
I befriend the antonyms of the light
Now the face of the night won't let me go
No matter what I do, even with all my might
So have no choice but to dance with the flow...
Written: March 4, 2015 @11:00am
Mysterious Aries
Oct 14, 2015
Oct 14, 2015 at 9:07 AM UTC
Our dog, Hannah and I wended our way
across the Moraine highway
that winds west toward the park.
The front range, rising to our right
and Lumpy Ridge to our left
were shrouded in the post-dawn mist.
A short walkway through speckled fields
of Asters, Mexican Hats and Gallardia
led us to the tall gray slat fence
that lines the path down the hill
to the Big Thompson River Walk.
Hannah and I took copious notes
each in our own way as we took in
the sounds and sights along the trail.
The morning lights danced over
rock-strewn rocks and riffles tumbling down
from the mountain rains and melting snows
and the sweet music of the river
assured us that tranquility exists even
amongst the jagged rocks of a troubled world.
Estes Park, August, 2016
Aug 8, 2016
Aug 8, 2016 at 11:02 AM UTC
*He lets me get broke...
Just to make me richer
He lets me get weak...
Just to make me stronger
He lets me look foolish...
Just to express His wisdom.
He crushes mighty-warlord Goliaths
With a shepherd boy, a sling and a stone!
He frightens entire Syrian armies
With four lepers, no RPGs, no riffles!
He teaches kings "Humility For Dummies"
By making ***** out of Nebuchadnezzars.
I ponder some of the things He does
Terrible! But I find them amusing
And while I chuckle at His wondrous works
I'm reminded that He loves me dearly
And He added a touch of humor to the bible
To express His lovely smile on my unworthy face!*
© Raphael Uzor
Mar 19, 2014
Mar 19, 2014 at 6:56 PM UTC
The soft touch of morning
Rises to meet the late breaking day
Covered up and clouded, and looking lonely.
Dark birds and their shadows fly low, and South, in a hurry,
Sounds are loud and crack the mornings air, with their breaking,
And ice pops and water wheezes beneath the shallow pools,
With air moving quietly up and out,
And winters grass riffles, with the cold air moving in and around,
And the seed of this morning, that shall become the plant of the day,
Can see the sun, and feel its' warmth, even in the cold.
Nov 29, 2011
Nov 29, 2011 at 9:19 PM UTC
~~~
*bathed by breezes of southern gentility,
sun soaped by eye-prickling,
star twinkling glints,
shampooed in delicious waves
of white sno caps,
my crazy wild hair,
conditioned by the foaming bay's riffles
dappled waters transformed into a
Van Gogh glow of
The Sower
sprinkling golden seed
upon fields of summer wheat glorious
my little yellow rubber duckies,
are now blue white snow geese alive,
down from Nova Scotia,
where August is already
emboldened colden,
so they non-stop honk
tho mere passerbys,
everybody is seeking a place in history,
the surety,
that this poem,
by their inclusion herein,
promises posterity
the grass blades wave with
endless swaying applause,
at yet another attempt of poetic tribute,
for once more,
spell bound
by the bounty of the moment,
enslaved happily to the idea
there is no satiation possible
from the earthly satisfaction of this place,
this sheltered isle
the leaves are cappuccino frothy performers,
unison shaking just like a roman legion of stadium fans,
they offer me untold numbers of
likes and reads,
and other candied goodies,
promises endless to root for my winter dream teams,
if their presence is here
prominently included,
until they too
fall silent, grounded,
shed by their rightful owners
every time I think the well is dry,
swept under by a rip tide
of drowning overwhelming gratitude,
for here I come to a place.
a station for repair,
where poems are bandied about,
summer fruits ripe for plucking
sunroom lace, summer curtains,
will hide out here in my absence,
the lace, turns into snowflakes crystalline,
by icy waters and gusts,
that will be both
untrodden and unadmired
for when the poet is clad in the
damask drapes of winter's inevitability,
will close his eyes and
will hide out here,
right here,
in this one of his never ending
prior~poem~prayers homages,
until next year's
can't-come- too-early spring arrives,
sparked by tendrils of meeting markers,
noting that
new poems have been fallow fallen,
winter seeded,
awaiting your
watering and writing,
of the appreciation
of the
simple majesty
of this small corner of the earth*
Aug 15, 2015
Aug 15, 2015 at 9:18 PM UTC
"I've been told that to fix the problem, you must first find its root... But you can't fix something that's not broken. I am not broken, just slightly damaged. My mind is like a thousand year old oak tree, and my facade as fragile as porcelain. My emotions act as a wrecking ball and when the night hits I'm nothing but a decaying mask. I fear pain, so I don't welcome love. I turn it away; a ruthless rejection, and send it back to where it came from. It haunts me, and in the night my own demons become insomnia. To fix the problem, I must first find its root."
Or perhaps I mustn't focus on finding the root, I think the real issue might be that I am conscious that there are monsters in my head and my insomnia is result to the ongoing battle I have with myself and those monsters. Weather to love them or hate them, I do not know. They save me and protect me, yet they seclude me from the rush of risk and beauty of bewilderment. When I lay in my bed my body feels great fatigue but my mind and my eyes are wide awake; ready to run circles around the world if they could. I no longer think that the solution would be to find a root or a specific turning point, but to end the battle of contradiction with the monsters that have taken over my thoughts and stolen my sleep. So do I love them because they protect me and have made me a smarter person? Or Do I hate them because they are the bricks that make up the walls I have built and they are the guards holding the riffles at the top of the walls shooting every single beautiful daring soul in their attempt to reach the real me? I will hate them. Yes the souls that have hurt me right after gaining my trust are the reason to my hurt and the nutrition to the growth of my monsters, but the very own monsters themselves are the ones responsible for my inability to recover from the inevitable hurt. They have Inprisoned me in this constant dark and uttermost thick desolation. It is because of how overpowered I am by them that I fail every single time in my attempt to breath. They are suffocating me and burying me in a state so dark I fear the incapacity to get myself out. It is a journey of endless work, the wounds i have will eventually heal, but there will always be scars. It's like an addiction, even after being clean and sober the want of the drug will always be as great as it was the first time. So the fragility of my scars is so great it is completely capable to revert me back into the dark whole if i get hurt or scared again. i need to realize and accept that these things are inevitable and not close myself but open myself even more for the next person. The final solution will be to accept that the mosters?they are their, acknowledge them, deal with them, and never let them take over and do what they want with me. Then and only then will I be able to sleep.
Sep 2, 2014
Sep 2, 2014 at 9:27 AM UTC
Only yesterday that your glass blew
The flame was burning untouchable
The disk spinning fast, un-reversible
No home in a town so inhospitable
A world where questions are daft
Drafted to unravel an inbuilt psyche
I stand out in the jungle countryside
Strumming listening to “wild world”
Each rhythm a wavy walk on a path
Steps and strolls always sidetracked
The poppy field faded in sheen redness
When it turned cold and bled sourness
It was me who was left by the riverside
I sat by the bank and dreamed away
Then viewed my mirrored reflection
Melted in indecisions and intricacies
Extreme ongoing cognition appraisals
Silenced in the sound of the stillness
The flash of the grassed field called me
Embraced me as I paraded on the verge
A resolving embrace of a stab erased
I plead not to be understood or wanted
For these riffles are fixated on our heads
Bolted in our thoughts, wants and desires
Mar 25, 2016
Mar 25, 2016 at 9:30 AM UTC
Sometimes, I cannot help but sigh
and wonder--
wonder deep inside of me
whether I could ever be like you.
I riffle through the pages of my soul
and find a lot of them empty
Unlike yours, which seem to be bursting, blinding,
bursting, and still continuing to burst with brilliance...
So much so,
that your soul's light
has spread far and wide,
very much like sunlight's fingers
opening the morning sky curtains,
touching and warming
those who need it.
Tanglaw
each step that you take,
each breath that you exhale,
each prayer that you whisper,
each beat of your heart
Tanglaw
I receive a smile,
and chat
with that man
who you've helped change...
Because of you,
the silent man now speaks, smiles.
You sit down to rest,
I see you talking to someone,
and I am almost fooled,
since you seem like old friends.
Because of you,
the lonely strangers become kindred.
It mystifies me sometimes,
of how you never seem to get tired.
It seems like I am the one who gets tired for you,
who gets worried for your own strength...
Then I see that glow from all around,
and I am reminded how you glean from this glow.
I see you as this beautiful ball of energy--
Never static,
bouncing from soul to soul,
illuminating parts of themselves
that even they never knew existed.
It is so amazing seeing this at work,
since the next thing I know,
the place is lit up,
Alive.
...and it is all because of you.
It makes me feel unworthy at times,
but oh how it also makes me feel so proud,
that I am a part of you,
and you are a part of me.
I have a lot of catching up to do,
since it seems I am lightyears from where you are
But I will try.
I will catch the tail end of your light,
clutch to it with my life, winding it around me,
let it embrace me--tight, so tight.
And I will never let it go. Never.
Until I also begin to glow.
Until I too, become that ball of light.
Hopefully when someone
riffles through the pages of my soul,
they will not find it blank,
but filled with gilt pages of light.
Just like yours.
Bursting and brilliant just like yours.
Jul 12, 2012
Jul 12, 2012 at 12:59 PM UTC
Sweet things, Soft things:
Fingers brushing clean counters.
A skirt spread neatly over a lap.
People dreaming together, in a morninglit room where a fan blows,
And riffles papers.
Closed eyes.
Cats' paws.
Quiet steps mindful of a sleeping house.
None are important,
They are hardly original.
But often I close my eyes,
Let soft light filter through the capillaries,
And dwell on them so that I may
Escape that which is bitter,
That which is hard.
Jun 15, 2014
Jun 15, 2014 at 5:18 PM UTC
Inevitably we will erode,
but for now, smooth and unfeeling
you lie beneath my feet
as I rock-hop across rapids
and the current threatens to
topple me into icy riffles.
you sit with a thousand of your brethren,
who though now solid
will soon enough return to sand,
and I will wade away,
forgetting I ever felt you on my heels.
Feb 18, 2014
Feb 18, 2014 at 3:32 PM UTC
It's all fine and dandy until someone says three words
i love you
are you okay?
i miss you
It's all fine and dandy until someone says four words
you are my everything
it's okay to cry
come back to me
stop talking to me
It's all fine and dandy until someone says five words
i love you too much
please stay with me forever
what went wrong with us?
i don't recognize you anymore
i can't ******* do this
It's all fine and dandy until the words that leave your lips tear holes in my stomach
Until the syllables that were once flowers become a bouquet of riffles
Until the letters in each word are strategized military formations
And each necessary breath is a cease fire
Until I'm a captive to your speech, tied up by your comments,
Your voice slicing up my wrists like old rope
Until your smirk is the queue for the canons,
Your tongue an airborne dagger
Your lips a false surrender as your teeth hide behind with drawn weapons
Your body language leaving me to bleed out as you standby for further instruction
Everything is fine and dandy
Until you open your ******* mouth.
Sep 14, 2015
Sep 14, 2015 at 10:16 PM UTC
Cool
Water
Splashes and
Riffles over
Submerged rocks and shelves.
The river’s cheerful songs
Echo across the valley.
Snow melting from the distant heights
Wakens aspen boughs and crocus buds
From their long winter slumber once again.
May 24, 2025
May 24, 2025 at 11:46 AM UTC
Bullets with my coffee/Aks on the table/I don’t see a problem with me being cable/spray your house to get the smell out/cause human life I don’t care about/AR-15 with a scope/I use it even its joke/entry wounds for those who assume/that my methods are extreme/when guns are as American as the dream/from early days/guns were used to get land, milk and honey/so why y’all look funny/when I shoot a bunny/cause at the end it all equals money
Strict gun laws?/naw we need to bare arms/before the only thing left is bear arms/NRA said it best/guns don’t **** people **** people **** people/I take one step forward/guns don’t **** people it relaxes all evil/cause mental health isn’t pulling the trigger/it just says go bigger/ so I need my assault riffles and extended mags/why not/it’s not like I put it in a bag/then carry out plan all because people don’t understand/then get on a stand/just to say I’m not your man/while y’all make a movement and shout/no body cares/because lobbyists have the most clout
Aug 28, 2018
Aug 28, 2018 at 6:42 PM UTC
Burnt sugar spangles
checker a green wall
the morning I'm on
an emergency call
with my former therapist,
who calls you my
major adult relationship,
& she is right.
_Of course it hurts,
to lose that.
There's her, and then
there's everyone else,
& it doesn't feel close,
does it?_
We're in a strange place.
I'd give anything I own
to board the next flight
from Dulles to Dublin
& nestle into the crook
of your arm over coffee
& almonds.
_You put everything
you had into this one..._
Instead I'm selling
this condo so full of you
that I can scarcely breathe,
moving back downtown
where the whitish blots
dip back and forth,
& waiting, waiting,
for something to change,
_You just have to be patient
until she is ready
for one thing or the other._
& then it's noon,
& the call is over,
& the bobbin of sun
riffles back its little coins.
One thing, or the other.
Or the other.
Feb 25, 2021
Feb 25, 2021 at 11:39 AM UTC