"rumination" poems
"While I sit at the door
Sick to gaze within
Mine eye weepeth sore
For sorrow and sin:
As a tree my sin stands
To darken all lands;
Death is the fruit it bore.
"How have Eden bowers grown
Without Adam to bend them!
How have Eden flowers blown
Squandering their sweet breath
Without me to tend them!
The Tree of Life was ours,
Tree twelvefold-fruited,
Most lofty tree that flowers,
Most deeply rooted:
I chose the tree of death.
"Hadst thou but said me nay,
Adam, my brother,
I might have pined away;
I, but none other:
God might have let thee stay
Safe in our garden,
By putting me away
Beyond all pardon.
"I, Eve, sad mother
Of all who must live,
I, not another,
Plucked bitterest fruit to give
My friend, husband, lover;--
O wanton eyes, run over;
Who but I should grieve?--
Cain hath slain his brother:
Of all who must die mother,
Miserable Eve!"
Thus she sat weeping,
Thus Eve our mother,
Where one lay sleeping
Slain by his brother.
Greatest and least
Each piteous beast
To hear her voice
Forgot his joys
And set aside his feast.
The mouse paused in his walk
And dropped his wheaten stalk;
Grave cattle wagged their heads
In rumination;
The eagle gave a cry
From his cloud station;
Larks on thyme beds
Forbore to mount or sing;
Bees drooped upon the wing;
The raven perched on high
Forgot his ration;
The conies in their rock,
A feeble nation,
Quaked sympathetical;
The mocking-bird left off to mock;
Huge camels knelt as if
In deprecation;
The kind hart's tears were falling;
Chattered the wistful stork;
Dove-voices with a dying fall
Cooed desolation
Answering grief by grief.
Only the serpent in the dust
Wriggling and crawling,
Grinned an evil grin and ******
His tongue out with its fork.
13.4k
voices blend, a buzzing murmur
steam swirls, mocha wafts
caffeinated atmosphere
java fog looms above
steam swirls, mocha wafts
music caresses lightly the ambience
caffeinated atmosphere
lively line of addicts
music caresses lightly the ambience
softly, I fall into clouded thought
lively line of addicts
contrast my peaceful bliss
softly, I fall into clouded thought
pen the pensive rumination
contrast my peaceful bliss
busy baristas hollering orders
pen the pensive rumination
inspiration in café population
busy baristas hollering orders
while I ponder life's purpose
inspiration in café population
doodle, draw, and dream
while I ponder life's purpose
I sigh, my mind screams
doodle, draw, and dream
let it out, let me be
I sigh, my mind screams
voices blend, a buzzing murmur
May 10, 2015
May 10, 2015 at 9:00 PM UTC
what shade has come over me
to leave such a trail of steel,
the thing i live is a run-away train.
i feel so obliged to follow it,
dragging me, kicking and screaming,
didn't i once engineer this life gone insane.
pulled along behind, face hid in forearms,
ka-knock-knock-knocking my head on every railway tie.
what shade is this life that has split bean's brain?
by the wrist i am chained to this run-away train,
with traits of a hell-hound out of control,
nothing to push to stop from being pulled.
bound to lose faith at the very least,
though risk of life and limb be the final price.
what shade is this film that i have cast myself in,
what shade is this play that won't go away.
© 2005
Jun 16, 2012
Jun 16, 2012 at 6:04 PM UTC
i have been swallowed by
my own reflection;
bones protrude through
pallid thin skin,
organs caving in
my stomach hoards a
swarm of bees,
buzzing through the
empty cavern that is
my translucent flesh.
i am a ravenous dog
teeth bearing,
devouring only water and air
i purge myself clean,
spill out empty calories
and irrational rumination,
skeleton hanging out of
a hollow casket,
appetite smaller than my waist.
i am freezing cold,
lanugo littering my body,
wanting to throw myself
in a fire,
to feel the warmth
that others feel.
i am a void -
this body is not my own.
Mar 17, 2021
Mar 17, 2021 at 10:16 PM UTC
Chum floats the pool
encircled by sharks and piranha
a pity, nature's fool
as fearful teeth do their work.
Could they be as bad as I?
Apex predator, Invasive species
where it means to die
as a means to live.
Growth from a spineless cherub
to a spiteful formless entity
possessing a cunning golden scarab
controlling wheels of fortune.
Slaves to our own demands
aren't we antagonists to someone else?
With machinations of wicked plans
to justify righteous intentions.
Hypocrites line the tank
tapping their fingers in rumination
Abandoning morals, faces left blank.
I am not your foil, I am a mirror.
Aug 29, 2014
Aug 29, 2014 at 2:04 AM UTC
I pulled back the thicket
Brambles and thorns
Bordering my mind
Inch by inch
To let you slip inside
Hi
I hope you don't mind
The pestilent storm of neuroses
The angry winds whipping around
Eroding my cognition
(They all say
I ought to stop overthinking
They don't know the half of it)
Pardon the mess
The litter of apprehensions
Flotsam and jetsam of rumination
Tangles of tangents
Smog of chimeric thoughts
Sticky rambles festering in the corner
Acidic drizzle
Of obstinate wayward tunes
Insecurity and fear
Eating into the pillars and foundations
If you don't mind terribly
The clatter of sleet
The noisome fumes
The skittering vermin
The sheer clutter
That would make packrats shake their heads
If you don't mind
At all
Would you stay?
Apr 7, 2015
Apr 7, 2015 at 7:24 AM UTC
her foot never fully touched the ground,
remaining half afloat in the air--
stuck in the clouded mist of her anxious mind,
she could not grasp the full weight of reality
her dance too tentative to be considered one of grace,
she treaded carefully with each step, although,
she knew this all with a great familiarity--
a constant state of limbo and disarray,
out of touch with sight and mind,
thoughtless rumination
all gather to combine into this displacement
she leaps with hope and faith,
but unable to press her foot along the earth
she glides over the dust and ruin,
seeking to avoid rather than settle-- she survives without living
May 7, 2017
May 7, 2017 at 10:22 PM UTC
Those words created a translucent fog on my vision
Against which I would judge every misty morning from that moment on
It was warm, but the robins wouldn't play their song
If only I could have known then
Basking in your radiation, I felt simple
Contained within a bottle of lemon juice
Sewn together with white wash threads upon the presentation table
And I felt whole
A lack of lacking that filled my filling
Satisfying the rumination, you could never trip
Haven't lied before, so my thought were undeniable
Still I remained liable
When I was made of sand and toothpicks
Simply molded by circumstance
I was supposed to stand on my own feet
Not wobble upon your stilts
You told me that from the start
But all I wanted was your heart
And all you wanted was my words
For temporary fulfillment
If only I had known then
When did I realize
Unfortunately, I don't know
But the edges of my cloud were still trimmed at your feet
So that you might reflect upon your selfishness and realize I was still there
I try not to disappear
As much as I am able
Since once upon a time I shall have the potion of immortal unity
That only lasts as long as we might
But it would be enough
Not for you
But for me
Dec 29, 2011
Dec 29, 2011 at 4:56 PM UTC
Coyote’s mournful howl echoed
in the new moon’s enchanting sultry ether;
breathing the living harmony of the wilderness rhythm
He seemed to sense a soul reincarnation
within a pervasive spirit light
an oft misunderstood
common thread shared
this hallowed land’s night
An uncommon Zen stirring from within,
stifling apathy ..,
. . . of rumble deep beneath
a dormant volcano reawakening ;
that which lies undiscovered
just before the ruptured moment ..,
liberation of release ―
dust and ashes taking flight
Through open window insomnia churns
fifty shades of blue ..,
cast in shadowed hues of broken silence
Coyote stirred the stillness
with a hauntingly familiar cry
reading the ridge-top echoes
like the book of my mind
" YIP YIP A ―W O O H !!! " . . . the somber plea
For it is in these final hours chosen chore
the recurring torn
these chains and things
Coyote was going there ―
to stand these watermark crossroads
this hour of need
Accepting brother has always been lonely
sometimes anything
means something - -
and so it goes ..,
Coyote communes in pulse
from ancient realms
this sacred blood ..,
Om
the lost chord
wounded healers ,
. . . one mutual spirit
runs marrow deep
where dogs run free
The moan of doves whisper to the impending dawn
. . . always known these days
too soon do come and gone
What once was a life well lived ,
s l o w l y e v a n e s c i n g
like the summer river’s flow
some say ..." you never miss the water
'til the well runs dry "
. . . regrets a waste of time - -
Rumination, a loathsome silent reverie
a taunting unsolved koan
an unplanned oxymoron ,
beget of a deafening silence
. . . dust sleeps with indifference
veiling a beautiful handmade
unstrung guitar
muted - - abandoned,
tone poems, unsung
and so "re-begins" the task ...
come what may rise up
into the dark star's light ...
Coyote was going there - -
a dawning metamorphosis
under another nebulous sky
. . . refreshed by Luna's potent alchemy bestrewn
in her spellbinding lambent moonlight elixir of life ...
harlon rivers ... 5. 21. 2015
Oct 20, 2017
Oct 20, 2017 at 11:21 AM UTC
God **** you to hell.
You smolder inside my chest
Crying like an abandoned puppy,
Even my blood wants to get away from you.
You claim everything's yours, yours
To feel for, like a blind man, stumbling,
You are an emotional wreck. You
Brazen bull, I never cease to hear
The screams of agony that you burn.
It's so bad I could even smell the crisp
Of human flesh. It empties me of all hunger.
The air burns wherever I let it, but that
Always beats your burn, that is like the iron
At the center of the Earth. I hate you.
You burn. You burn my love notes,
My apologies, you burn my hatred,
My love, my time. You burn my dreams.
You are their crematorium. And I hate you
For forcing me around you
No matter how much I want you out.
I hate you,
And I hate you even more
For making me forget why,
My rumination seeping out
Replaced by "Fine.
Let's see how you do on your own."
Sep 19, 2025
Sep 19, 2025 at 7:31 PM UTC
The ranch-bound bovines, in dehydration,
yet wary of Kool-aid, declined to drink.
They grazed in wonder, cowed rumination:
where does “beef” come from? A herd tends to think
of pasturage, water, and basic needs.
Ranch-hands assured them all was in order;
privileged guests enjoy the finest feeds.
Cows, content on this side of the border
try Buddhism, yoga – or simply gaze…
though things in the distance loomed ominous
(those lots at the edge of the well-hoofed ways)
– and a stench wafted into their consciousness.
Yet calves frolicked on while the bulls mounted heifers –
dreamed vegan dreams as they nibbled grasses
some earned doctorates, others went clubbing;
all loosed sustainable methane gases.
Soothing their calves with fables and stories
where cows are the measure of pastured life
they deflected the gist of the young ones’ queries,
affirming that Truth means avoidance of strife.
“It’s best to just graze. Don’t ask questions dear.
We’re on this planet without any clue.
We evolved. From just what is a little unclear –
but Cow Science has proved that it’s true.”
Sep 9, 2015
Sep 9, 2015 at 8:35 PM UTC
Into the masquerade
Of her unyielding dream,
I see her flash into ambiguity.
A vestige of fluorescent
Transcendental light particles
Rising into the zenith,
Through a liquescent portal,
Into the reminiscence
Of her fanciful bloom.
I meander through the enigmatic
Labyrinth of her
Never-ending rumination.
Through the postern door,
Into a frolic of festivity;
A jamboree of her
Effervescent frivolity.
A sudden vision
Of our exuberant youth,
The romantic tryst by the fountain.
Our souls interlaced,
weaving in the wind
As we gaze at her fragrant,
Celestial moon.
The ambience of her earthly silence
Conjures the emergence of a stairway
Into her intuitive star.
Our ephemeral dalliance,
In an evaporating mirage
Of unrelenting fortitude,
Of what was once forgotten.
I take my enamoured bow,
With ardent strings of burning light
And fire fervently to seek
Her euphonious heart.
May 20, 2019
May 20, 2019 at 4:43 PM UTC
Well well well sailor
Tucked the gun back into your pants
Panting all overcome
With obsessive you don't know what
Here I am the future mermaid
Isn't it where the drowned go if heaven spits them out?
Don't know if they'd accept.
Cheers to you frightened
Never a complete silence in the open sea
Sing yourself a song of solitude
Next time you wish to put me back in place
Where you belong
With your fear of stupidity.
Or maybe... Maybe I won't leave
Yes, I probably won't
I tried once or twice before.
Alter ego is not for me to choose
My doppelgänger gangsta crazy beach.
So please, if you decide to have a snack
Out of my good intentions
May I suggest pickling?
So it may last you through lifetime
Of self imposed misery.
Add lemon so it's not too fishy
And salt generously with your f...ng tears
May 4, 2016
May 4, 2016 at 1:10 PM UTC
My thoughts are merely a tangle of non-conformant
chemicals in an ultra-responsive setting;
echoes of scarcely delayed feelings,
millimetrically placed and ready to be felt;
remnants of cromagnon desires,
keeping me occupied, unassuming and tame,
while life rolls on silently, reflexively and impressively,
with all its humiliating nerve.
Rumination is for cows, guppies, and humans alike,
and saffrons, sapphires and the snow all reason in their own way,
no less conscious than our total unconsciousness.
Like a rock or plant, man is authoritatively ignorant of his ignorance,
and in his metaphysical realism lives and loves and dies,
without a clue that he never lived, never loved and was perpetually dead.
Thought’s true thought is to block awareness
by darkening the place where true awareness lies.
We think therefore we think:
to god (I mean exact-Nature) no other valid reason exists.
We conveniently overrate rationality
in self-serving cycles of chronic urgency and folly,
leaving us continually stuck to our cyclic fate.
Life is Nature’s grunt or roar
(whatever and the same)
all just a sound, faint or not.
We are unsubstantial and chimerical animals by excellence,
and in the circle inside the box we live in, our fancy appears really real.
As a feeling awaits its chemical fate, in the millimetric second that lingers,
whole worlds are imagined, and our universe and all is perceived:
violence, joy, depression, hope, and unbearable pain are unleashed,
cities are wanted, planned and assembled,
while man, impeccably and in turns, plays god, king and beggar,
and true lives, true loves and true deities are born.
As man progresses (i.e. transgresses his own nature)
and as he overcomes thought, word and feeling,
he ceases to be restrictively alive: he is released, he is now free.
Thought stands alongside feeling,
without communication nor vibration,
and gradually and painfully amalgamate into a new corrosive mix,
directly eating into spirit, flesh, and understanding,
until our wholeness wholly disintegrates.
The world as we know it folds upon itself, layer by layer,
in an inner spectacle of perfect annihilation and renewal.
The chasm separating man from himself contracts
(eventually to nil)
and man plunges from the edge of this last plank (4).
As he falls, in mid-flight,
the ultimate metamorphosis occurs,
and an übermensch is born.
May 5, 2012
May 5, 2012 at 4:04 PM UTC
Rumination expands through the personification of strands,
through exposure to vociferous souls
Prismatic expulsion
Blinding to the eyes, but in this darkness I achieve true sight
My eyes parallel to the universe
I watch the seams closely
Fixated
I am the watcher of all that is sacred
Dec 28, 2012
Dec 28, 2012 at 8:49 AM UTC
This temple of sacrifice feeds sorrow aplenty,
To nurture its agonizing corruption.
It envelops your mind,
Breeds conformity, and peril unfolds.
The hourglass is broken, the sand was lost to conformity,
Becoming nothing more than a speck of dust in the rubble
On a sidewalk that leads the fool to paradise.
There he dwells with hopelessness,
Still waiting for the answer that he didn't hear.
The chilling sound of crushing metal was quite loud when the car radio shut off.
Mar 31, 2019
Mar 31, 2019 at 2:47 PM UTC
I am an honorific supposition
Relieving vowed perdition
Of narrow corridors
Sedition pounded
Flounders madly
Seeking loudly
A righteous chore
While resolving disputed dignity,
I know eight faces:
Soft Admiration
Rowdy Persuasion
Mighty Resolution
Orphaned Confusion
Delighted Fixation
Grand Separation
Sly Rumination
and a frequent categorical shuffling intellect
Nov 9, 2014
Nov 9, 2014 at 6:38 PM UTC
As evolution jumped from eon to eon,
the foundational hunger to remain
surpassed all bounds this great celestial
has ever witnessed in its cosmic disturbance.
How must Mars and Jupiter, these stars in the sky
view the deep blue that flooded the desolate,
a clump of collected debris basking in the ultraviolet,
unable to resist the presence of life, ever-so unwanted
and needless to exist? For our neighbors in the sky,
glancing our way in their soulless façade,
they gossip to their peers about the news over here,
the autumnal shift from emerald to bronze,
willows who wept in the heat of summer days,
dandelions dotting the ridges of a rolling hillside,
at times dipping their toes in the whispering waters
of a backyard creek caressing the moss
atop smooth and shimmering stones.
From nothing you surged as entropy evermore,
and from everything you share your entities,
the very body you call your own, the breath
you maintain in this cyclical palindrome;
as mere extensions of the singularity’s core,
you find yourself in this position of awe,
gazing at the consequences never meant to be seen.
How fortunate we are to find ourselves here
in a sea of tumultuous chaos, conscious and
ever-so present in the discovery of knowledge.
To look to the past through a tubular lens
and remain unknowing of time’s present state,
the physical probabilities of potentials unforeseen
bending the rays of time to juxtapose new and old;
reality remains a pervasive illusion
evading the grasps of human cognition. Our
consciousness supersedes the premise of us all,
but our curiosity quivers in the breath of the
meaningless; how could something so rare
and inconceivable surmount to nothing more
than the imminent emergence of an empty abyss?
We must never misjudge the reign of the cosmos,
lose all hope that nothing awaits --
this I will not believe.
From nothing I surged as entropy evermore,
and from everything I share my entities,
the very body I call my own, the breath
I maintain in this cyclical palindrome;
as mere extensions of the singularity’s core,
I find myself in this position of awe,
gazing at the consequences never meant to be seen.
Mar 6, 2024
Mar 6, 2024 at 3:22 AM UTC
After taking a second look, I have come to the conclusion that stargazing is overrated.
And after much consideration, reflection, and even rumination, I am left with the notion that whatever people think that makes them happy, isn't really what makes them happy.
If I found a door that opened to anywhere, I would step through it.
Sep 26, 2016
Sep 26, 2016 at 12:05 AM UTC
I fall
Into Rumination
The thoughts are constant
Buzzing of words
Stinging of fears
I fall
Away from here
I am gone
Into Repetition
The whispers are present
Volume of shouts
Burning of calls
I fall
I fall
I land
Into Rumination
Apr 14, 2017
Apr 14, 2017 at 11:01 PM UTC
the thing about love that seldom finds its way into conversation is the peril it carries. you surrender fragments of yourself..no, the entirety of yourself into another’s hands, praying they cradle it with reverence. yet what transpires when your devotion becomes suffocating, when the sheer intensity of your affection drowns them until escape feels like survival? they run. and you remain amidst the wreckage, gathering fractured remnants, attempting to reconstruct a semblance of wholeness.
you spiral into relentless rumination.. dissecting every misstep, questioning whether it was you, whether they’ll ever return.
and the cruelty of it all lies in the conviction since i believed with marrow-deep certainty that the two of us got it right this time around.
they said the first fracture cleaves the hardest, and they were not wrong. i wrestle with the storm until my hands are empty; in an instant a cosmos i trusted unspooled into silence. my emotions orbit without chart or tether, a scatter of constellations asking the same questions: do you still trace my name in the dark? do you love me in the quiet spaces between breaths? would you return to salvage what we built? i yearn to know.
my loving was always meant to be a refuge. a delicate harbor where you could unfurl into your truest form, not a rope to bind or a tide to drown you. it was offered to you for shelter from the world’s cruelties as a small, pure architecture of safety but never as something to drive you away. i hope in time you will see it as such. even if you never do, i can’t fault you for that.
just carry this with you like a quiet ember: my love remains and i ache for the day you remember what we once built together.
Sep 25, 2025
Sep 25, 2025 at 1:31 AM UTC
There isn't much sky
in this pallid, stale cocoon
no greens nor greys, no electric branches
searing fragile, barren walls.
But the heady, sagging scent of moisture
suggests a storm--
yes, there was once me:
a turbid bloom, an opportunist
exhausting avidity in one overarching spill.
As I rolled through your gutters,
flippant and bleeding into everything,
you rose with the dryness of the day
and spoke of your immurement,
the feebleness of my mold and mildew.
Dec 25, 2012
Dec 25, 2012 at 7:09 PM UTC