"ruminated" poems
To be imbued with the conviction that empathic listening is a panacea,
by the surreptitious, murmurous harbinger and his mellifluous words,
provoked brooding that my comprehension of his susurrous eloquence was a mondegreen,
when this scintilla of sagacity left a fetching ingenue crestfallen.
By the surreptitious, murmurous harbinger and his mellifluous words!
I adopted a propinquity to this furtive, ephemeral epiphany,
but when this scintilla of sagacity left a fetching ingenue crestfallen,
I discerned this lagniappe beleaguered our dalliance.
I adopted a propinquity to this furtive, ephemeral epiphany.
When she became inured to petrichor I knew my method pyrrhic,
and when I discerned that this lagniappe beleaguered our dalliance,
I vowed to rectify the imbroglio for my quintessential cynosure.
When she became inured to petrichor I knew my method pyrrhic,
and I ruminated that her insouciance was only forbearance.
I vowed to rectify my quintessential cynosure of the imbroglio,
and fabricated a denouement to return her to halcyon incipient.
I ruminated that her insouciance was only forbearance,
until hearing her state our conflation made each a moiety of our own panoply.
She fabricated a denouement to return us to the incipience of halcyon
with ineffable felicity, and I remembered with ebullience my inamorata's words.
Hearing her state our conflation made each a moiety of our own panoply
provoked brooding that my comprehension of her susurrous eloquence was a mondegreen.
With ineffable felicity I found ebullience in my inamorata's words
and was imbued with the conviction that empathic listening is a panacea.
Nov 26, 2013
Nov 26, 2013 at 4:58 AM UTC
The pebbles of your core
shine in ruminated scores
like a sorcerer spiking more
unlisting storms and ores
Smile dear rock, from a mile
touch the source of love ice
melt those gorgeous pure eyes
to the specks of the shiny shores
The rocky waves smell of testicles
Vestibules and alleyways of fertility
sung by Cronus as he holds a knife
eager to mutilate from a skyview
The sandy waters sink in Gaia hymns
as the scythe shed the slices of foams
where scattered sperms stays awash
to wish swimmers an eternal beauty
Ohh sacred gods on the aphrodite hills
Spread love unseen, unknown,unheard
stain the precedent of the flowing wind
give me the hint, a seat on the sainted scent
Jan 29, 2017
Jan 29, 2017 at 2:40 PM UTC
Pining to be loved
I sought asylum within these pages
Every line, every word, every rhyme
Was a reflection of the sorrow that ruminated
Beyond the looking glass.
Yes, I fathomed I was alone without a
Guiding star, without a lodestar to lead the way, O, but now I am liberated
By The Sovereign of Songbirds
Who solaces me by his mellifluous musicality.
(Yes, I am free)
Soaring beneath the stratosphere, thermosphere, mesosphere, and exosphere
I saw all the suffering underneath the sun
And remembered what it was like to slumber.
Rest is something I took for granted
Feeling it was only forged to flee lament; oh, but that is only half the freedom
Of truth: Yes, we are reborn when we slumber.
So lull me and lead the way; furthermore, I am liberated.
The Sovereign of Songbirds enspirits me
By the clairron lullaby, by His voice.
(O, I am free)
Dreaming, I lost sight of all that made me human;
Limitations forgotten, I drifted heavensward. I forsook
All I held beloved.
Why must phantasy mean sacrifice? Must the fantast
Be sundered in order to claim transcendence, ascendence?
Yes, I was burned by The Incendiary Sun but
My heart has survived. It leads the way to liberty.
I am risen by The Sovereign of Songbirds who resurrects me.
I am summoned from the ashes like a Phoenix Rising.
(O, I am free)
(Se’ lah)
Apr 9, 2021
Apr 9, 2021 at 7:49 PM UTC
as a whole I have
{been listening to your godawful racket}
ruminated
for an entire rehearsal number
{though it felt like six}
and have a few things I would like to address
as a
{brutal bandslaughter}
kindly input
for your improvement
flutes
{come on now,
have we ever heard of a tuner}
great job, watch your pitch on the A, though
again
{scratch that, where's the shotgun}
...right.
clarinets
first parts play
{no, stupid, you are SECOND part
you got demoted last week
when you couldn't play the riff in
measure nine}
wonderful, now could we take it from letter B
just first clarinets, okay
{FIRST clarinets
FIRST FIRST FIRST
god where's my coffee}
right. let's just move right along, shall we
oboes
oboes, I--
right.
let's have that F again
{you're flat you're sharp and
both of you
just plain ****
okay, one at a time
{oh my LORD my ears are bleeding
who the hell invented this thing}
you're a little sharp
can you fix that
...your reed is old
{you bought it last week}
...you've got spit in it
{you just took an entire twenty measures
of the last movement to
pull out your swab}
...someone broke your horn.
right.
okay French horns
let's hear the G
Apr 27, 2010
Apr 27, 2010 at 1:44 PM UTC
Would you be my Ava Gardner
When I submit myself to the darkness?
The madness of my own racing thought theatre
In my mind
My own sacred sanctuary
lost
Somewhere between the ruminated past
And a catastrophized "way of the future"
Where I presently react
Would you ever bring me back?
Before bath times
And fetal positions
Back into the arms
of infinity, space and all in between
'Cause all I feel is scared anymore
Washing my mind clean with your cosmic touch
From a black hole back to star child
Whispering,
*You will emerge beyond The Phoenix and The Full Moon.
Just rise, My Sun*
Exploiting my inner madman
with all the right intentions
Little death in the dark
Reborn illuminated
*Way of the future
Way of the future
Way of the future...*
Jul 30, 2013
Jul 30, 2013 at 9:09 PM UTC
What was it jogged my memory
what was it filled a gap
when as I sat and ruminated
this forgotten thought came back
from long ago when I was ten
I stood alone outside
the stars were coming out
the Jotunheimen land of giants
was lit by northern light
far off their ghostlike splendour
fair took my breath away
such mirage-like illusions
were real for me that day
Margaret Ann Waddicor 25th April 2016
Apr 28, 2016
Apr 28, 2016 at 1:47 PM UTC
Stage lights burn out.
I am left agog.
Eyes drop
incredulously
as what I saw before me
was very restoring.
A story of humanity,
a Shakespearian epic,
a turbulent tempest
that hit me with
the fierceness of Hamlet.
As Othello’s hands
wrapped around
his beloved neck,
as Thibault killed Mercutio
As Ariel and Puck
played their trickster games,
as Prospero planned,
and Oberon dawned
his elvish Armor,
as Titania loved an ***
and saw false love pass;
As the thorny crown
of King Richard passed
then passed again
whilst he ruminated
nearly naked in a cell of
dirt and stone, alone,
halfway mad before
he made it there.
As Caesar bled
betrayed by Brutus
in the Ides of March,
I await more wonders
for Shakespeare
has so much more
I have yet to get to.
I am descended
from that poet’s heart.
who passed down his purchased arms
of false nobility
to become a man of property
not knowing his plays
would make him greater
than any noble man of his day.
After all the pleasure
I sit in awe and ponder,
what if he had the eyes to see
what faces us presently
would he wonder at the cleverness of us
or cower at the current level
of our stupidity?
Jan 23, 2017
Jan 23, 2017 at 9:25 AM UTC
I awoke to the realization that today was my nineteenth birthday
I laid there for a moment recalling how I felt when I awoke on my eighteenth birthday
Nothing felt out of place,
nothing in the air had been charged,
and nothing in the air begged me to inhale it more graciously, as if my ascent to real adulthood required more oxygen
As one does upon their birthday, I reflected upon the previous year
I ruminated on the places I'd seen-
lakes of the midwest, dark hallways with strangers I was supposed to know, funeral homes I wished didn't exist
The places I'd waited-
the concrete carpet with friends for our favorite band, the stoplight of a town 400 miles from home, and calmly on a bench to call off a relationship with a guy I had just met
The people with whom I'd shared my voice-
fellow feminists, 5 year olds with autism who just wanted a piggy back and a hand to steady them on the hiking path,
my dad, finally
The places I hid my voice-
my brother's fraternity, a breakup text dripping with humor
I dwelled for a brief second on the men and women I had exchanged my touch with,
and with whom I had woken up without
As I flipped on my stomach
I could feel my swollen brain, gorged with knowledge, begging me to do something with it
I looked at the polaroids I had hung above my bed
and comfortably remembered the unrequited love
I had come to halting terms with, but now rested with like cozy pillow under my stomach
I looked at the faces of friends whom I would now consider long distant friends. I wasn't sure if things would settle with them in the same way they had for 3 sensational months of summer
I shuddered at the toxins I had so willingly placed in my body,
pills, alcohol, drugs, unnecessary self-criticisms
I considered my weight-
a number that had risen and fallen due to over-eatting on the weekends and the daily under-eatting to compensate for the liquid sugar from the night before
I saw pictures of my hair, a foot longer than it is now and considered all I had put it through
I thought about my brothers
I wondered what they were thinking about when they woke up one year older
I do not feel older, I do not feel wiser.
I feel fine.
I am nineteen and I feel fine.
Apr 14, 2015
Apr 14, 2015 at 7:49 PM UTC
A knight in shining armor bright
Rode along the river's snaking trail
He ruminated on the ensuing fight
To his mind came a flash of light
Employing tactics of skill he'd prevail
A knight in shining armor bright
On display all his bravery and might
The opponent he'd courageously assail
To his mind came a flash of light
Atop a gallant mount he'd flight
Speeding with his lance's piercing nail
A knight in shining armor bright
Defeat entered not into his sight
Victory being well within his bail
To his mind came a flash of light
He'd conquer the opposing knight
With battle flair which wouldn't fail
A knight in shining armor bright
To his mind came a flash of light
Apr 22, 2014
Apr 22, 2014 at 5:24 PM UTC
I knew you before we ever met.
I felt our feelings,
Ruminated over our thoughts.
I clung to our convictions,
Was crucified for our flaws.
I didn't write for you,
Yet was delighted
When you understood.
I gave you my hard copy,
Creased down the middle and bent from nervous energy,
Typed twenty-six point font
(These drunk eyes of mine strained for less).
You gave me your hard copy.
I never saw it coming.
Neatly kept,
Typed with handsome typewriter slab serif.
Bursting with honesty,
That person-to-person
Truth that I value over all.
The occasional typo
Revealed to me the process,
The ecstatic pleasure in creation
That I've felt before.
You on your typewriter,
I in marker on the window's glass canvas.
The next night
We joined you for drinks and for good company.
Talked poems,
Talked Whitman,
Talked dumb society,
Talked records.
In drunken elation seven true hearts
Howled to heaven,
Played music,
Performed clumsy art.
I had more drinks.
Relished the night
Shared with kindred souls.
The night went on.
You asked for your coat,
Which I mechanically retrieved.
Stepped out and into the cold
With no coat of my own.
As you nervously lit your cigarette,
I knew something
Was amiss.
"It's nothing."
That's how I knew,
It was everything.
Nov 24, 2010
Nov 24, 2010 at 6:43 PM UTC
Tiny moving parts,
A spirit of synchronicity
That I had ruminated on:
How it starts,
And they stop
Wrought of genius
And simplicity
The dawn and fall of humankind
All seated on a wrist
Swinging forward and behind
In whose fate
The hands so twist.
Dusting charcoal from glitt’ring grin
Mocking in a single prayer
Each second, loud
And growing gayer
Penitence for that second’s sin
For blank, so empty
The vessel sat
Covered, not covering,
In the grayish-black
Wasted time in unused power
The watch but looks away
Meager, sour
Persistent still
‘Till wakened by the rested hour
Where dawn illumes
The hideous sight: a failure
A void in Dis’ sweet hall
God’s hand stained in graphite
And no grace upon creation
Did any of it fall.
Aug 14, 2014
Aug 14, 2014 at 8:36 AM UTC
Transcendence into the 7th circle
The emptiness a grave remembers when a funeral ends.
You looked into my eyes and promised me we would douse together.
Vanquish together.
You forgot about me
how deeply I cherished you.
How could you forget.
No nights moves past me where your presence refrains from haunting my thoughts.
The crying of a violin in an empty vessel.
You deceived the entity out of me.
You writhed into my soul, quietly, but still, like the grim reaper lingering at my bed side.
The snake ingesting it’s own tail.
I can show you emptiness like you’ve never seen before.
The hesitation to bear something.
Clever in hand, you painted my throat.
It spilled deeply, it spilled sweetly.
A cue to the abyss.
The return of the foul mouthed fool.
They whispered rot.
Their heads turned as they danced around my carcass.
They bathed in my blood, as they felt rejoice.
I’ve been worn as a pelt.
I’ve been made a sap to the sickly.
The raven of death gorged my eyes.
The marbles that reflected my pain.
I was blind.
A blind sore stumbling over disparity.
I ruminated into sorrow.
I ripened death.
I married it in a vail of red.
Vows made in blood.
Rebirth.
Mar 22, 2019
Mar 22, 2019 at 3:01 PM UTC
'Be there, in the park by the lake. by three
Or we're through'
I paced my room
I ruminated disconsolately,
Would being through be so bad?
Was I squandering my life?
It came quarter to and I left
I thought 'If a bus comes,
And I get there on time,
So be it'.
The bus came, and I turned the other way.
Feb 4, 2015
Feb 4, 2015 at 9:39 AM UTC
Every night, I think about texting you again. But will you reply? Absquatulated. You absquatulated me. You left without saying goodbye.
I ruminated everything. Did I do something wrong? I'm waiting, but I shouldn't be.
Sometimes I think, "I'm glad you let me go, cause I wouldn't." But I realized how many times it happened to me. Those little times felt like a million times.
I wish to the heavens, "I hope he see something that reminds me of us, so that he will know how he broke my heart, so that he will know how it felt when he broke my heart."
I cried for the first time writing on my diary. When I wrote something there, it's just anger. But finally, there's another emotion. I cried when i wrote you in my diary, knowing that nothing ever lasts, and you're one of it.
Maybe at the start, you loved me, but little by little, you'll start to hate me. I still love you, but don't even think of me wanting to see you again. Because everything I loved will fade away.
It always crosses my mind, "Do people only love me cause they couldn't find someone to love?" I knew you would do the same thing, but I still chose you. Atleast you know how I love someone, right?
I feel like, I'm just someone's short happiness. When they get tired of it, they leave it and let it be abandoned.
Don't worry, I'll forget you like you forget me. But I feel like it would take a lot of time to forget everything about you.
I miss you, but I hate the fact that I miss you.
Aug 30, 2024
Aug 30, 2024 at 10:49 AM UTC
Five straight saturday mornings
the fishy monks stood on the stile
eating salubrious fish.
It ruminated health from the rostrum.
Jan 23, 2015
Jan 23, 2015 at 2:22 PM UTC
A deft ripple from my thumb flicked
ash to the wooden slates under my feet.
With a joint held between two numb fingers
I ruminated over the many things in life
traveled down the haunted hallways of my mind
all the while musing over the fact that
we don’t know what we don’t know.
Each thought was accompanied with
the exhalation of smoke and a dropped
bit of spent **** every now and then.
With the pain smothered
beneath a blanket of smoke
the Oregon’s early morning chill
the remembrance of past things
failed to sting as severely.
In the end a pile of gray soot lay at my feet.
Maybe I should get an ashtray
and use it to store my thoughts.
Jan 2, 2015
Jan 2, 2015 at 2:40 PM UTC
Recently we cut a large holly tree down. It had given access to the roof of a mother raccoon, who burrowed into the attic to begat her progeny. It was sad to see that superior glossy leafed beauty go. Full of blistering red berries, it attracted a multitude of feathered friends, who would be spied from a window near where I would rest. Still, the unwelcome problem of a gang of masked furry bandits, meant the holly could no longer stay.
It was no easy task, falling such an old growth. The tree was at least close to the eaves when the home was purchased nearly twenty years ago. Now it had risen well past the peak of the roof. Though with steadfast ingenuity, and agile elbow grease, down it came in four large sections. Branches would have been perfect for wreaths and garland, should it have been closer to winter. The trunk, at its base, was ten inches in diameter.
Holly wood is a hard wood and would be perfect for sculpting something unique. I ruminated keeping some to dry for this purpose, and it most certainly would have been saved for the fireplace, had we not the intention of moving and the need of keeping things tidy be present.
This all plays in my head, the purposing of things and such. It is not in my nature to waste. However, all the extra effort of putting things in a proper place for future use, cannot be afforded at this crucial time. Oh hell, now I suppose offering it up to Internet scavenging, would be more ecologically sound. Come and take, please help yourself. The Ad appears on Craigslist Free Stuff.
Aug 4, 2016
Aug 4, 2016 at 1:13 PM UTC
I have ruminated,
Many a time,
Over the sheer wickedness,
of men;
With guns the take life,
Not offended, unprovoked;
They fill our eyes,
With painful, hot tears:
parents and loved ones,
left to mourn and grieve;
Where is your humanity?
Elected, employed to guard life,
You take wantonly, brutally;
We shed many a tear,
daily,
The day cometh,
When this half-full gourd,
Will spill crimson content,
And hell, in all its fury,
Will have never witnessed,
Such a thing...as that;
When the night becomes day...
...and the day refuses...to be born.
Feb 27, 2013
Feb 27, 2013 at 9:41 AM UTC
I trekked a trail in a grimy wood,
Pursuing destiny, fate behind me stood
I hummed a tune of great remorse
And ruminated a late divorce
Then
I found a man in a half-burned astronaut suit
The lining was charred, he only had one boot
No ship near, no crew—a sole soul
Lying in the middle of a crater; a grain of rice in a salad bowl
He spoke to me through strained speech,
Telling secrets geniuses wish to teach
He said the stars of dreams were within his reach
But the bounds of worlds are ones men cannot breach
This astronaut
Had his suit tied with barely an Ashley knot
I’d just shipwrecked, floated ashore at half a knot
I asked him to tell of his ship, he said “I’d rather not”
But his tongue had no fetter
To quell his grand eloquence, for worse or for better
Nebulas in the wind,
Spires on the moon,
Galaxies in the horizon...
He muttered of such as though humming a tune
As I sighed a breath of great remorse
And contemplated the great divorce
He pulled a smile then grabbed my hand
And said, “The future is the greatest land.”
I tried,
I tried to stay by his side,
But my every insistence was denied
He commanded to be left to roam
The lands and worlds that he called “home”
But never has it left my mind;
My only encounter of this kind
To this day I don’t know if they were things he’d seen
Or fancy thrills he had dreamed
But I’ve never known a mind so keen
To make fables real as his words seemed
And since that day I’ve sought to find
The experiential treasures he had mined
See, never has it left my mind,
That day my near-death was left behind
Yes, never has it left my mind
Because he illumined the darkened eyes of mine
Or perhaps it has never left my mind
Because when I found him
He was blind.
Jun 3, 2018
Jun 3, 2018 at 12:40 PM UTC
I woke up with your smell lingering on my skin.
I woke up and felt warmth where you'd been.
I rolled over ruminating on the nature of existence.
Life. Love. Birth. Death.
I ruminated myself into a headache.
Heartache.
Jan 6, 2014
Jan 6, 2014 at 9:33 AM UTC
Being or seeming?
At first I was scared.
I was timid.
I tried to please,
but got in trouble anyway.
But when the changes came,
I was empty.
What you see is the real me.
I was worried.
I hated my image, but I ruminated.
I did things that should have been unspeakable.
I felt guilty. I felt free.
But I was still looking for the real me.
Aug 6, 2022
Aug 6, 2022 at 10:14 PM UTC
Were it my duty to con vince a fool I would try
To understand my own reason before answering
Lest I be like the fool met in his folly.
Experience vicariously pre carious edge standing
I know chaos never resolves into synchronized living systems.
Never has. Never will. Still
You can think differently.
Find a way any thing can be
And being, come to,
eventually, be a part of you that works.
A chloroplast
Or some thing, mechanical, inside a cell inside of you.
Chance, bon chance, sunbeams captured in greens ground
To ruminated mush in bovine bellies find their way in
Packets of protein to
----
One of the things that loved enemies do is provoke you
To good works, to right use of the talent found
beneath the rock that crushed you
Like a bug.
Aug 21, 2021
Aug 21, 2021 at 3:34 PM UTC
Kaleidoscopic Whorled Wide Web.
Against light source well crafted
tubular structure appended with eyepiece gazing
offers viewer eye-opening, mind boggling
instantaneously birthing then vanishing
resplendent myriad colorful geometric
awesome shifting shapes hypnotizing
sight seer into a whirling ******
where multifaceted fractals display pin-wheeling
arithmetically perfect triangulate squarely
with proportionate arcs astounding
with blind faith on microscopic scale
analogous to cosmic big bang spell-binding
mankind from time immemorial when
her/his gaze turned heavenward peering
into the azure vault – one macrocosmic
hint per the origin from when on-looking
proto-humans ruminated inscrutably
enamored at the spectacular eminence grise
forever holding mystery of
universe evolution in shrouded secret
continually mystifying one generation
after another until twenty first century astro-physicists
begin unravel evolutionary tale
writ small on planet earth yet storied tome
pried open from scientific revolutions
enabling birth of cosmos honed with more
fine tuned precision to zero in
on precise second whence explosion filled void
with nebulous material coalescing
into rudimentary galactic masses generating
vast surfeit of globular structures evincing
conically swirling
millennially futuristic clear cut entities
upon which one – namely gaia
finds this sole member **** sapiens
reveling in his makeshift primitive contrivance
teasing ocular sense with visual *******
begetting thought provoking questions
into this eternal wonderment
that perchance some intelligent deity
willfully rotates planet like some plaything
synonymous with mere mortal peering
into magic of kaleidoscope!
Apr 18, 2018
Apr 18, 2018 at 2:29 PM UTC
I picked up my pen today
and wished to write something
that would make you smile.
I ruminated for hours
about laughter and beauty
to cheer you up.
I stared at the blank sheet
as I thought of you.
What good would love
make of a girl who's nothing
but a blurred phantom?
Nov 16, 2016
Nov 16, 2016 at 12:10 PM UTC