"rotates" poems
There are over a million things
To do in the name of pleasure.
Over a million more that involves
Company.
The person I could be,
The person I’d love to be,
Over a million things that could go wrong.
This thought a wave pattern found
In an ocean of sheets,
The shore of the mattress bare.
The meeting of my fingers interlocked
With yours,
The earth rotates & bends sideways.
Without hesitation we are poured
Up down left & right,
Over a million things that could go wrong.
Lost at sea in complete darkness
I cling to you to keep warm.
Lost in the earth, you blush morning.
Shedding light to infinity.
Your face a cathedral of a million things
That could go right.
Smushed & paused in excitement.
Finally.
A religion that doesn’t require
A curriculum.
The earth rotates & bends,
I am baptized in the liquid from
Your lips & like a fish I am alive,
& like a fish I can breathe without fear
That you’d be stolen & renamed
Without fear that you’d be stolen & renamed.
Robbed of over a million things
That could go right,
Between the sheets we hide.
I cling to you to keep warm, lost in the earth
You blush morning.
Shedding light to infinity.
Finally.
A religion that doesn’t require
A curriculum.
The person I could be,
The person I’d love to be,
Without fear.
I wander you freely
Jun 29, 2021
Jun 29, 2021 at 11:24 AM UTC
Time seems to go by,
but pause at the same time.
The earth rotates,
but why can't we notice?
The volcanoes are erupting,
but nothing comes out.
The tides are high and strong,
but doesn't seem to impact.
Nov 10, 2014
Nov 10, 2014 at 3:17 AM UTC
When i get totally lost ,
You come and find me …
When every inch of my heart gets broken down,
You collect me out and unite me…
When everything seems to be vanish and life become trouble ,
You hold my hand and strengthen me to a next level…lllll
When my pain cried out loud,
You come to me and distribute it off…
When my shiny side capture by the darkness,
You illuminated me by Brightness of your soul…
When i am alone ,
You give me company…
Everytime when i was in sorrow and pain,
You come to me again and again ,
Rotates your magical wizard and vanishes it ,
just like the fairy do in fairy tales…
You are my strength, you are my weakness too,
I am never be able to live without you…
I am incomplete without you just like a garden without flowers and a glossy green carpet roll,
You fills my empty body with a beautiful soul…
Someone find a friend, Someone find a partner,
But you are more than that for me ,
Who reorient me and make me laugh even in my hard times,
Who celebrates with me just like a joyful fate ,
You are nothing but my beautiful soulmate…
Oct 20, 2018
Oct 20, 2018 at 3:33 PM UTC
Deeper than the captivating shape it has,
Lies a greater purpose it stands for.
So vast and strong,
It rotates laterally
and extends at your will.
It stands strong, defying gravity
cushioning you for your comfort
and holding your pelvis still.
So appreciate it for more than it's curves;
stand tall and thank your behind
when you bend.
For it is greater than
it seems.
Nov 5, 2018
Nov 5, 2018 at 6:25 AM UTC
Grumbling engine underground
Again
Rotates and repeats.
The echo
The steamy yawn
Mellow fiend unseen
Creeps
Bearing teeth in metallic joints.
A fat snake's yawn
Blows and bellows quietly.
Uncoloured ornament at ten feet
Floats through that crawling wind
Full from everything it could eat.
***** sand in the far east
Rustic in the sense of dripping spit.
The blue walls painted over the white plain
Are scratched
White walls slain.
Drilling ripple
In the black pool
Ink
Coloured the lonely riddle.
A cold under the sun
Blinds our noses
Disguising away our senses.
Oct 7, 2018
Oct 7, 2018 at 5:29 AM UTC
Feet swill the inky ocean
black night and starlight
dragonfly mate
above the crustacean
a simplicity of darkness
the breathing tide rotates
footprints washed again and again
around my hands the world
I feel I want for nothing.
Feb 5, 2013
Feb 5, 2013 at 6:58 PM UTC
See the Rabbi. See him tormented by choice. See his people. See them wracked by hate. See the others. See their anger radiate outward in glowing spokes, exploding firebrand in a tinder city.
On a night like any other, the moon at sixth house, fulcrum of pinwheel zodiac, the Rabbi, awash in lidless starlight, rises somber and makes his choice. And when the sun is furthermost, he and three of his others gather at the murmuring riverbank where the brown clay is most pliable and begin to dig, sifting rock and root from trundled earth. Hours spent exhuming the clay, molding it, kneading its muscles, tracing its veins, baking its skin in the starlight. More hours spent in whispering prayer, the words bent and somersaulting over themselves like tumbling books.
See Truth drawn on its forehead, life etched from clay and word. As the sun rises, so it does, wavering at first, but steadier, lapping at the river, and their faces move slowly across the water. See the Rabbi speak to it, his words winding its mechanism. See it stride past the ghetto, wade through the market, and into the borough, siege unto its own.
See the others scream for mercy from the kiln of its stare, from their flaming tenements, their crumpling rooftops.
See it wade back through the market, past the ghetto, back to the riverbank to kneel in the underbrush. See it tilt its head to the lilt of a stranded daisy caught in a vagrant gust. See it caught, too, and see it see. It sees the colors of Eden in the ferns. It hears the river churning sediment, fossils, gravel, whirling over driftwood. It touches moss on a rock; gently rotates its hand to let a grub complete an oblivious circumference. See it sit in silence.
See the Rabbi meet with the others, then his others. And on a day like any other, when the sun is at its apogee, they slip down the riverbank where it still sits, still. It ignores their autonomous logic, their homunculus rationale. They are perversions of variety cloaked in righteous intention. So it remains.
See the Rabbi and his others gather at the murmuring riverbank, shadow conclave in shifting sunlight, then rise somber and decided. They pin it to the earth as the Rabbi chants, invoking the void in which forbidden knowledge spirals. It squirms under the power of the Word, mind-forged manacle as incantation. See the Rabbi draw to a close. His hand is arbiter, swooping down to smudge Truth from its forehead. What is left but Death.
See its hand crumble in its passage as it reaches for the stranded daisy. See the colors of Eden darken in its eyes, its own body the dust that denies it light. See it collapse into itself, the clay that was once animate spilling onto the riverbank. See the Rabbi and his others shimmer then fade into city grey.
The daisy stands still.
Dec 15, 2011
Dec 15, 2011 at 4:22 PM UTC
Feel the heat building up inside
Steam is rising from my soul
Sweaty palms and underarms
People telling me, remain calm
I'm shaking, to break this spirit free
No one can hold me down
Don't try to stop me now
You'll never shut my mouth
Gonna take more than a bullet to take me out
You can throw me in the middle of the ocean
I refuse to drown
As this earth rotates
I push against the grain
Drenched in blood
Found strength in my pain
Now you'll see the crown I came to claim
I was underestimated
I've been underrated
This is my statement
Printed in my pages
I've been underrated
Under sedation
Locked in nightmares
Trying to find acceptance
Through somebody else's eyes
Instead of seeing perfection through mine
Doesn't it make you sick to your stomach
The feeling that we get
When we don't feel that we are getting our dues
and we've paid prices with priceless items
Laid it all on the line
In this battle of life
Hearts on our sleeve
And through the ink, I've bled
Still didn't end up dead
Sleepless nights in bed
Pen in hand
Experience my life through my writes
Through my stories, You take walks in my shoes
Fate chose me, So I chose it too
And that's how it lead me to you
I was underestimated
I've been underrated
This is my statement
Printed in my pages
I've been underrated
Under sedation
Locked in nightmares
Trying to find acceptance
Through somebody else's eyes
Instead of seeing perfection through mine
Power through perception
life lessons through direction
Emotions through connection
Love through detection
Minds were blown through comprehension
I found peace in this eternal mind
I now know that I am all that I need to be
Now I see I just need to be me
Just relax and rest at ease
They'll take you as you are
Flaws and all
Just breathe
and let them see
I was underestimated
I've been underrated
This is my statement
Printed in my pages
I've been underrated
Under sedation
Locked in nightmares
Trying to find acceptance
Through somebody else's eyes
Instead of seeing perfection through mine
©2018 Written By Benji James
Mar 30, 2018
Mar 30, 2018 at 6:35 AM UTC
Old Cowboys, forts and shootouts
Black for bad and White for good
With a spinning canvas background
And cactus cutouts made of wood
The desert sits behind them
Fifty yards away at most
The heroes don't ride horses
They sip drinks and sit and boast
About their celluloid adventures
singing songs all dressed in white
While behind them in the background
The stunt men do it right
A canvas background rotates
Through valleys, hills and streams
While the hero rides his deck chair
And the director yells and screams
Central casting fills the tribes out
With Italians, and made up stock
While our hero stops an avalanche
Of fake paper covered rocks
Cardboard Cut out Cactus
And heroes smiling in the sun
Most have never seen a cowpoke
Let alone shot off a gun
But, it's magic when it's finished
the dusters up there on the screen
All the fakery and snake oil
Are all hidden, never seen
The white hats beat the black hats
The hero sings and gets the girl
And the background on the spindle
Is still spinning, watch it whirl
A celluloid adventure
Cowboys no where close to what they were
But..watch the next show for a nickel
And don't forget your spurs!!!
Oct 5, 2012
Oct 5, 2012 at 9:22 PM UTC
there is some kindness in the way
the earth is suspended on gravity's back.
how it
rotates on it's axis,
bound by the sacred trust
that space won't bottom out &
shake us all from the earth
like crumbs in the bed.
there is little kindness in the way
the earth is suspended
in war, in turmoil;
with handguns & machine guns
& bombs strapped to civilians-
tied to the greater majority
with the intentions of a few.
there is little kindness
in fighting fire with fire-
when our own backyards are burning
&
our neighbors are to blame.
there is little kindness in the fear
of what lies beneath a burka,
a niqab,
a turban-
a police uniform,
a trench coat
or a white robe
&
a
pointed
white
hood.
there is little kindness in the terror
that sleeps in the backs of our minds
and sets up shop in our beds
& lays low
while we condemn the third world,
the local news just confirms
and confirms
and confirms-
we were killing each other first.
there is little kindness in seeing humanity
as this side of the border
or that.
the world is more of a revolving door
that spins you dizzily
& spits you back out.
there is some kindness in the way
gravity still holds the earth
like some sick, sad science fair project;
like some ****** consolation prize.
humanity is
a bed of crumbs
clinging
thanklessly
to
sheets.
Nov 30, 2015
Nov 30, 2015 at 4:48 AM UTC
don't ever question
why the earth turns and rotates
just feel the movements
Apr 11, 2016
Apr 11, 2016 at 10:49 AM UTC
perched in a thick mess of pine trees
my head rotates three hundred and sixty degrees
scouring for the vermin I make my prey
I own the night time skies
silhouetted against a harvest moon
death is coming in my dreams
and with it comes new life
wisdom of the self
aware of the lies which cover the world in its blanket of grey snow
the owl lives in my skull
The coyote stalking the empty desert highways
looking for roadkill
looking for the weak and alone
I cackle into the dead sterile air
for every pack member lost to poachers
manic laughter for every left turn which results in dead ends
stealthy patient
hungry and haunting
the coyote treads the territory of my atriums and ventricles
The hawk circles in the blinding midday sun
a deadly serrated dagger with wings
arrow let loose from the quiver of the Gods
impossible to tether and domesticate
finding ultimate freedom in the vast openness of the sky
lock on,
tuck the wings,
nose dive deep into the waters of the ****
a creator
a teacher
a messenger of truth
the hawk soars in the infinity of my soul
ID
EGO
SUPEREGO
Nov 3, 2013
Nov 3, 2013 at 10:29 AM UTC
It is a vastness of cerulean,
A pool of blue which surrounds clouds that are strewn together.
Tumbling, accumulating, towering formations of remarkable depth and awesome beauty.
Billows which blanket and envelop a sphere of life, turning the almost infinite and indefinite blue to grey,
Massed with the heaviness of forthcoming precipitation.
As time turns, and the big blue planet rotates, sunlight is reflected and refracted by particles unseen—painting swelling clouds with pale yellows that bleed into succulent pinks, deep reds, royal indigo, and then
The flowering violet of conceived night.
The sky portrays a huge entity, a formation of solidity and stability.
It does not contain, nor withhold from the terraces and crevices of the Earth’s surface.
It is as close to infinity as the basic human mind can grasp,
The uttermost extension of one’s realm of existence.
To look up at the stars is an annihilation of Ego,
A humbling reminder of one’s relevance,
Of one’s fragmentation of being,
Of one’s essential insignificance in the immortal turning of the deep and everlasting vibration of the Cosmos.
Stars, barely conceivable at times,
Act as portals to the past spilled carelessly across an inky nighttime sky.
These subtle flecks, minute glimmers of incredible explosions, are billions of light-years away
Across the fabric of space and time.
The sky is an incredible portal to those things outside of mortal grasp,
A manifestation of all that is unknown, yet shared by every state of consciousness.
A familiarity and a comforting reminder of eternity that will exist far beyond the human experience. With its undulating formations, precipitation, protection, and sheer exposure,
It is a paradoxical beauty.
Mar 1, 2015
Mar 1, 2015 at 12:44 AM UTC
What rotates the wheel?
Consider kinematics
And not kinetics
The axis is the still point
Rejoice in the revolving
Jun 16, 2010
Jun 16, 2010 at 9:58 AM UTC
our fruiterer is a riddling prankster
who jumps up from every corner
and tray and stacks, with any old silly riddle
(1)
“Looking at apples, eh?”
he approaches Sandy
*“What did the apple say to the bug?
Oh – stop bugging me!”*
And he laughs at his own humor
(or lack of it)
while severe Sandy rotates
an apple in her left palm
and he ventures to the next vulnerable customer,
who is me
“How, my dear man,” he proceeds to ask
“do you fix a broken tomato?”
I shake my head, bewildered
and he unpacks his own riddle:
“Tomato paste!”
And he roars with laughter
his chilli-sharp eyes pointed
at his next customer
(2)
And off he goes with his riddles –
with his booming voice, no pause
and wrapping his answers in cracking laughs
He jumps to an old man
and he says:
*“Why, do tell me, do bananas
never feel lonely?”*
“Cos they always come in bunches”
And the young couple he regales with:
*“Why did the tomato go out with the prune?
Oh, come on…simply cos he couldn’t find a date!”*
And to an old woman he says
in near-Oedipus style:
*“What did the Dad Tomato tell his Kid Tomato?
Ketchup!”*
And as in a light musical
he turns about and whoever he finds
he unleashes his final:
*“How do you fix a cracked pumpkin?
Easy peasy – you use a pumpkin patch!”*
Ah, our fruiterer is a riddling prankster
who jumps up from every corner
and tray and stacks, with any old silly riddle
Jul 11, 2013
Jul 11, 2013 at 7:44 AM UTC
Random Sentences
Everyday people will die,
for a moment, you might cry,
but as yourself why.
Celebrate their life, don't mourn,
think of all the new being born,
life or death, millions are torn.
Earth rotates around the sun,
just try to have some fun,
no fork in me, I'm far from done.
I have yet to get going,
like a strong wind blowing,
the future is always unknowing.
Be yourself, don't be fake,
no one likes a sneaky snake,
open your eyes, it's time to wake.
Smell the flowers, smell the coffee,
unlock your powers, don't be so bossy,
climb those towers, no need for a posse.
Nightmares used to haunt my every move,
no more fears left to prove,
my dreams are starting to improve.
No clue what I'm saying,
don't believe in any praying,
my life, I'm happily portraying.
None of us know the truth,
about how we wasted our youth,
can't remember last time, I saw a telephone booth.
No creative writer is better than me,
I even write, while I take a ***
you're lying if you don't agree.
My haters are just jealous,
I like being so rebellious,
love being so overzealous.
Way too much pollution,
no one has any solution,
that will be my final conclusion.
Jan 20, 2014
Jan 20, 2014 at 1:40 PM UTC
When I was younger:
I shuffled along,
to no urgent song,
didn't march through my day strong. When young and strong are the best time for planned convictions.
There's no acting lazy, or slowing down to the crazy, unless you want to live ungracefully in this hard unforgiving world.
When I was younger:
I lacked logic cause I didn't make clear my premise,
like a man with no plan, a sap with no map. I wandered tither and yonder like a ghoal without a goal, a ghost least of most, no future to ponder.
When I was younger:
I bogged down in metaphorical feces cause I didn't watch where I was wading, forsaking and debating, planning is for suckers, futures are for chuckers.
When I was younger:
I did nil and stood still while the city raced around me, progress to astound thee, forgetting the earth constantly rotates 260 miles an hour- waiting for no one.
When I was younger:
Like the Dodo bird I forgot to grow wings, was eatin by rats and things, became extinct and unlinked to a place run on business, consumerism and cash. On the rocks I was dashed.
When I was younger:
I became he who loses, with a broken compass and excuses, laying laggardly leaderless, with the snoozing and the boozing, and sold my initiative for a bag of grass.
That's when I was younger:
I'm older than that now. But I still remember. It's hard being younger!!
May 21, 2018
May 21, 2018 at 7:03 PM UTC
The bookbag leans
on the aluminum column.
The column is blurry,
someone cleans it
only when their are inspections.
The bookbag has been sitting
collecting the sounds
that leave the Staten Island Ferry
by foot,
for God knows how long.
When you get off,
everyone looks ahead,
but out of the corners
an entire black sea of iris'
rotates to the aluminum column.
It might be a bomb.
The girl behind the Ms. Anne's counter
is skinny almost,
but her *** is too big,
almost.
Munching on the semi-soft pretzel,
you think about empty calories
and the corners of your mouth get sticky.
The Ferry won't be back,
for another thirty or so
minutes.
Somebody takes out a guitar,
and starts playing
a little Dylan. People
form a circle around him.
This is the American Pow-wow.
You reach in your breastpocket
for the Marlboros,
but you can't smoke here,
and an official looking person
squints at you,
just to drive the point home.
******* smoking laws,
some places just feel good.
This place with all it's ringy sounds,
like the guitar,
and phones beeping with texts
and babies,
deep fathers,
and high mothers.
Just to puff and puff
and push that sugar down
with nicotine would really
up this feeling of comradery.
A guy with a gold-plated shield
on his breastpocket and a blue-button down.
Walks over to the bag.
The iris' move,
people keep talking but
they're just saying words
to make it look like they're talking.
By the time the ferry
rings in baritone,
the bag is gone;
the column is still blurry;
the man is still playing his guitar,
but there's an emptiness.
Nov 17, 2011
Nov 17, 2011 at 8:58 PM UTC
your eyes are deeper than any poetry i've ever read.
i've tried to write them in six-word poems
but it can never quite capture their depth.
i've tried rhymes
and sonnets
and haikus
but i end up dreaming of them instead.
i'm lying on the roof
looking at the stars in the skies
and wish i were looking
at the ones in your eyes.
Dec 20, 2014
Dec 20, 2014 at 9:56 PM UTC
Glass ball rotates in gypsy hands
Fortunes told of master plans
yet darkness looms behind the cloak
Untruths in words she never spoke
Laughter crackles from hollow holes
Sights unseen in distinctive roles
Light appears then dims to shade
The jagged edge of a lovers blade
She twists the cards and they reveal
The saddened loss of last appeals
Hangman, Magus, Prince of wands
Shackles tied in tireless bonds
Blatant hurt from heathen cry
Today I choose the time to die
Credence blurts it last farewell
The journey begins out of hell....
Jun 4, 2010
Jun 4, 2010 at 11:50 AM UTC
The Tenderness
My hand slow motion falls, with the soft of the gentlest rain,
sensed,
but not disturbing, nay reassuring,
by the quality of the sensation, rolling caresses over
the hillocks of her body, outlined beneath the
Sea of Coverlets
My arm rotates and reverses, back forth, up down,
as if it were a well oiled engine, the hand strokes with
a smooth four cylinder stroke, gentle coating the panorama of
her body on the surface of our Planet-of-the-Bed.
The woman does not stir, meaning the dewey doux
intensity of my touch, there sufficient to please but
not disturb, is a perfect ten, for I intuit, that she attends
to my comforting attentions, with pleasure
by the
absence of objection.
This will not be the first poem I have written on this day,
but though not premiered, the experience is newly born
with each escapade of tenderness delivered, and steel hard
iron of ironies, it please. me as much if not more, for fully
awake and alert, am receiving by the giving and though
she stirs not, my heart does, for the electrical pulses of my
soothing her, soothe me in much the same way.
This is how I make love in the morning.
This is why this Poems is well titled and entitled as
“The Tenderness”
Jul 25, 2023
Jul 25, 2023 at 6:54 AM UTC
“She who has infused every minute of my day,
Hastens through titillating my endorphins.
Absconded hiding within myself,
As blue crystals glaring teeter in the sea,
As we sanction the reticence of ardor,
While the sea eradicates its perennial effigy,
As infinite cascades eradicate beneath us,
As the water stride procures to the sandy shore,
Where the waves shatter on unsettled rocks,
As once again the clear light bursts as sun sets,
Enmeshed in a fabric of palpable vibrant colors,
Portrayed as that of a burlesque plumeria of infinites,
The plumeria burst of aureoles immortal love,
Unyielding its pedals as the devouring sea rotates,
Will ephemeral demise procure in the deep blue sea?
Over its blue pedaled face an astringent frown,
We have embarked on a promenade of love my dear,
I now stand before you no longer with emptiness,
Only perennial affection that you are mine and I yours,
In our Aureoles of Plumeria”
By AG 03/10/2018 ©
Apr 10, 2018
Apr 10, 2018 at 6:52 PM UTC
We consume this negativity
we inhale it like air
it inflates our lungs
our veins our heart
and it smothers it’s beating
controls it’s feeling
makes a hole in the middle of our soul
and infiltrates our mind
we stop thinking rationally
and start hating passionately
desperate to rip apart
anyone that seems happy
in our path
it makes you spread dismay
and ***** out gossip that decays
rotates, and changes an opinion
of a person
of a group
and it spreads like a disease
like a virus from mouth to mouth
ear to ear
hand to hand
we don’t understand how it began
it just evolves
until someone’s resolve
crumbles
because we tore them down
chewed them up and spit them out
that’s what negativity does
it drowns out all the happiness
that was in ones heart
it blackens the soul
until its done its part
then it leaves…
washes away with the eve
and your left standing with a guilty plea
of…
‘I’m so sorry’
Dec 5, 2011
Dec 5, 2011 at 5:17 PM UTC
i make love with Death every night.
during the day, we go our separate
ways, but she's always on my mind.
after work, we meet up.
same routine. dinner, occasionally.
but always drinks.
she downs a bottle
of Cabernet
with no help
from me.
the red compliments
her dress and flushes
her cheeks with pink.
i just take coffee. black.
afterwards, she needs
a lift home. i'm her dd.
the city lights blur
indigo and violet,
blossoming like flowers
in the pavement
of the night sky.
we arrive. she invites
me to come inside,
looks me in the eye,
says, "i love you."
i believe her,
even though i know
it's a lie.
the minutes hang thick.
while she sobers up,
we roll dice
and tell stories.
then, breathless and slick,
it begins in the kitchen.
gasps come in spasms, pulsing
in tandem with our obsessive—
compulsive—desire.
we continue beneath the duvet.
i sample the flesh between her legs.
she tastes like pomegranate
and bruised starfruit. her sweat
is second-hand smoke. my brain buzzes
from Marlboro Lite cigarettes.
afterwards, we lay over the sheets
as the ceiling fan rotates eternally
overhead, humming a tune we both hear
in our dreams but cannot comprehend.
her head rests on my chest,
she loses herself in the gaps
between each heartbeat.
wordless, we drift.
when i wake, she's always gone.
the space in bed beside me
has grown cool. jealously,
i wish Death had taken me with her.
Feb 1, 2017
Feb 1, 2017 at 10:35 PM UTC