"salutation" poems
you are inches
measured by miles away
bulldozing oriental food
you don't intend on eating
around your plate
and i am imagining
the translation of asking
for a broom in a foreign language
for when you shatter over small talk
or the first sentence to start with "so"
breaks you into shaking
that i can feel from across the table
and i am thinking now
about tectonics and how you must be daydreaming of being submerged in a book
back home or gripping tightly
to bedsheets begging for familiar warmth
i can tell by the way you are looking at me
that you are feigning our salutation embrace
seconds drowned in ankle deep water and i wonder if you see my hands
as jackhammers and if the reason
why you hug so hard
but only for a moment
is to be as sharp as possible
so that i do not smell your perfume
or notice that you aren't wearing any and why
there are few suprises
in the safe you claim is a mouth
where shades of plush pink
hide a sickly pallor
and i continue to look over
brick & mortar borders
and think how maybe
she is thinking of kissing
but certainly not me
not these apologies nailed to my face
i give myself a moment
of benefitted doubt that you sometimes
picture your frame under mine
and if your clavicles would crack
if i were to touch them
i am sorry that i am a victim of imagination
but i swear i chalk it up
as the forgotten feeling
for when you look up
and the person you are looking
at is gazing directly at you
you have painted yourself
as a mosaic in my mind
as a mess of dust & incoherent words
that all sound like please in my ears
but that doesn't explain why
my hands are the ones that are shaking
when i imagine you
imagining me
in the spaces of yourself
where you've forgotten
you could put someone
Feb 26, 2014
Feb 26, 2014 at 7:32 PM UTC
This sunlight shames November where he grieves
In dead red leaves, and will not let him shun
The day, though bough with bough be over-run.
But with a blessing every glade receives
High salutation; while from hillock-eaves
The deer gaze calling, dappled white and dun,
As if, being foresters of old, the sun
Had marked them with the shade of forest-leaves.
Here dawn to-day unveiled her magic glass;
Here noon now gives the thirst and takes the dew;
Till eve bring rest when other good things pass.
And here the lost hours the lost hours renew
While I still lead my shadow o’er the grass,
Nor know, for longing, that which I should do.
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I wandered lonely in a crowd
a ghost among the people
whose arms were raised and heads were bowed
in solemn salutation to the gods
of contemporary communication.
She didn't, did she was the cry.
I'll never know. Why should I?
Jul 10, 2015
Jul 10, 2015 at 6:00 AM UTC
Your morbid reassurance to a impractical salutation hurts us both.
sleeping outside is gonna get us sick.
Your insecurities lead you to my confidence that sank us both to vulnerability.
Not only did you abuse my well being, you drained it.
Look at my victimizing face and tell me this isnt your fault. It takes two to devastate one.
We both deserve to sleep in the same bed
Come inside
We have a stoic endurance for each other.
You're not wrong for anything
Dec 2, 2015
Dec 2, 2015 at 2:59 PM UTC
Please forgive my hesitation
at instigation of flirtation.
Did I ensure my elimination?
My romantic assassination?
I'll gladly partake in any placation,
for any chance of indoctrination
to the centralization of your concentration.
An operation of admiration.
A correlation of inflammation.
Your gravitation brings animation,
exclamation and elongation.
My specialization is duration.
Not to hint at a connotation,
but I feel a certain **********
by an obligation to a certain destination
where your presentation gives me restoration.
Petrification?
Total mind evacuation?
Would clarification bring fascination?
Stimulation!
Salivation!
Gratification!
Insinuation of fornication?
A simple salutation to syncopation.
Would a single bright carnation
be enough of a motivation,
for a two way relocation?
Would poetic recitation
be sufficient lubrication
for collaboration?
A consolidation?
Or an exacerbation of isolation?
Please hold no reservation,
I've only got one aspiration.
To achieve a higher elevation;
by means of inhalation,
or a certain recreation
involving a bit of perspiration
along with physical communication.
Does this seem such a bad situation?
Or are you ready for pure elation?
Feb 18, 2010
Feb 18, 2010 at 12:56 PM UTC
Alexander K Opicho
(Eldoret, Kenya;[email protected])
let me begin my salutation to you
by expressing my angst about your ghastly night experience
that you go through when in the hands of the policemen
who often walk around in the name of security patrols
while in truth they bettle terror in the show of evil mighty
they swop you down and arrest you spreadeagled
asking for bribes substantially the money of your proceeds
from the ware of your trade your body the temple of christian God,
Wherever your lack money
your beauty saves you as they go on to **** you in circles among themselves
as they glorify the power of your bossom in their policeman's slang,
where beauty , tyranny of bossom and your bribe is absent
you are forlornly arrested from the streets of Nairobi and Lagos or Johannesburg
then rounded down to a dingy police cell to be charged
with heinous crimes of prostitution and vagrancy,
when the true origin of your fortune's tomfoolery
is powers that be as they glorify anti woman crude cultures
beseeching a girl child into despair and depravement,
they are these men who refused to see you as a beacon of glory
they always link you to the filthy bedrooms from which you ennoble not.
Jan 27, 2014
Jan 27, 2014 at 8:52 AM UTC
grey and worn
the lawn chair has dead leaves stuck to it
its one bent arm an expression of pained indifference
mud clings to its feet
and a single vine like a thin snake
wraps its way across its frame seeking the sun
i pull at it to set the chair right
to seat myself
and **** at the breeze from the open field
marvel that a cow stands not five feet away
silently watching my every move with a wary eye
lunching on the grass and ****
but the chair now uprooted from its long held position
seems more than ever a proclamation
of mans intent to be seated here on heavens lawn
clear illustration of the intent that you are supposed to
take this bent greasy seat
sit at your leasuire
in the bountiful sunshine
it is one of a dozen in the field
in this beautiful slice of heaven
the lawn chairs
litter the field like broken teeth
set in a line that wanders across the wilderness growth
each having suffered from years standing in the open field
two almost completely consumed by bushes
one had been tossed into the tree
where time had swallowed it into the bark
this broken and brutalized fence of chairs
these lawn chairs of heaven's field
sit in this beautiful place some would say eyesore
i say artwork of life's randomness...
what party of fools once sat here
dressed no doubt for the occasion
perhaps celebrating
perhaps mourning
then got up from these plastic seats
and left them behind as testament
to that forgotten day...
so i sit in heavens lawn chair
a mute salutation to my unknown compatriots
who painted this pastoral scene
of plastic in a field
Oct 4, 2014
Oct 4, 2014 at 2:08 PM UTC
Why Men Like to Load the Dishwasher
We are the artists of shape and configuration,
puzzle masters solving riddles of physics,
worshipers at the altar of labor saving devices,
this is a love poem of sorts, a Bazinga salutation,
to men and their undying love
for **** machines.
were it in my power
all cups would be handle-less,
the dishwasher time-space continuum
would be non-interrupted by black holes
where handles pointlessly protrude,
requiring endless rearrangement,
a soul destroying exercise.
bowls of any sort should have bottoms that retract.
indeed, the capacity increase, a visible fact,
is so enviro-friendly, eminently sensible,
that the loading for mechanical scrubbing
is deserved of a wing in the Smithsonian.
perhaps the budgeteers of Congress
should be tutored in this artistry,
how to make any limited resource,
better used.
the rub, as the bard would have writ,
is that this roaring tempest-tost,
our love for hard labor lost,
secret sacrificed behind a locked door,
of a Sanctum ********
is entirely due, all glory to,
the secret society of fairies who
hide-reside inside,
freeing us to write more poetry.
in so many ways that I cannot reveal,
less the other gender members squeal,
men live to love to load the dishwasher,
for the ingenuity challenge, and of course,
the side benefit of the excusing coverup,
"I helped clean up," a relationship saver,
proof positively that the dishwasher inventor,
was surely a brilliant woman
May 25, 2013
May 25, 2013 at 8:26 AM UTC
Big Four Railroad
In the past a little one had an interest in this story and one of the racers and the longest freight train
The race team was in the living room and their story was being read from the paper mother clueless
We laughed and snickered about our secret that old engineer was proud of us we were not vain
Down the hill we sped past Bino’s station across Jackson the B&O; he was high balling we had to pour it
On between the two tracks he was closing the gap he had nothing to lose but his pride for us it was
Curtains the long black limo a one way ride we streaked the line fifteen feet to spare we just stopped
And turned what a salutation from the engineer half hanging out the widow of that great engine his
Balled fist a shaking you sons with the deafening roar of that train so close we didn’t get to hear the rest
And the train carried him on down the track so Jerry and Larry and the other guy continued on to the
Swimming pool pleased with our speed we forgot about it until on the front of the paper in the bottom
corner it read three Pana youths out run train I guess the old engineer cooled off as he sailed on down
The track we didn’t know he talked to the tower as he passed so we didn’t get first prize or a blue
Ribbon but in a small way we entered into the great and wonderful tales of train lore along with Jessie
and Frank I told you when in trouble I had three actions fight talk or run that day the running won the
Day for these three amigos this memory was triggered by that same old paper this time it was talking
About the Amtrak detour I remember those passengers all those years ago setting there in their seats
flying through our town and the hook and the mail sack from the tower where that old bakery could be
smelled all night all the way out at the park as we watched tables for old F.S. Refinery I’m glad we didn’t
race a passenger train or this would be a hamburger story enjoy G.H.
Jan 8, 2012
Jan 8, 2012 at 11:53 PM UTC
We link our minds
you are our mother
Direct us to the sun
Art, Love, Music, Rebel
a Warrior, eyes open
Wide mouth muse, give us our religion
Moon salutation, give us new praise
Reconnect, Brothers
Sisters, Reconnect
All the people of the earth
come greet your creator
The sun made stars on her cheeks
and eyes as dark as her skin
Sweet fire of the spirit
you give us rebirth
you give us ***** baptism
Shake free your slave name
follow the beat of the drum
the universal rhythm
She screams and blood runs hot
She lowers herself to the ground
She stand high with the masses
A teacher of humanity
of jazz and blues
hip hop rimshot soul
Culture that may not be ours
Still welcomes you
if you learn to feel
Feb 24, 2016
Feb 24, 2016 at 9:16 AM UTC
*
*The one who LOVEz
Their name is LOVERz
The one who is LOVED
Their name is BELOVEDz
LOVING is both's religion
LOVE is their essence & spirit
The same LOVE for which
...
Radha-Krishna
Romeo-Zuliet
Shireen-Farhad
Layla-Majnun
Rumi-Rabya
Heer-Ranzjhaana
...
Became the fragrance of
Everything that represented
LOVE in nature
The same LOVE for which
Farhad cut a mountain to
Carve out a river through it
The same LOVE for which
Majnun searched a dew drop
In the parched deserts of Sahara
The same LOVE for which
Zuliet picks up a dagger to die
Along with one's
LOVERz-BELOVEDz Romeo
The same LOVE for which
Radha danced the whole night
Around the trees of Vrindavam
Singing the songs of Krishna
Today the world remembers their
names, date, time and place
"Immortal, Eternal LOVE"
For the same "LOVE"
We all are born again
To honor and fulfill
The existence of nature
For blessing humans
The manifestation of LOVE
The moment we are born
The battle lines are drawn by society
To keep us away from LOVE & LOVING
The struggle of life is to fight
An eternal holy war for LOVE
Yet, against all dire circumstances
The LOVE within all of us
Brings with itself
An inner strength and belief
To go ahead on the path of LOVING
Because history has shown evidence
Time and again...
That one in LOVE
Is always "right" -
A Winner
From centuries
That is what has happened
For centuries
This is what will happen
In the surrender to LOVE
In the kneeling of LOVERz-BELOVEDz
The victory of LOVE is destined
The triumph of nature is fated
It is LOVE that
Lights a candle in a storm
It is LOVE that
Sails a drown person to ocean's shores
It is LOVE that
Rises a fallen in the valley to its apex
That is what exactly NATURE wishes
To illuminate the darkness of LOVE
Within the eyes of LOVERz-BELOVEDz
**Oh
The one I wonder about
The Nature
The skies and the earth
The universe and the galaxy
I bow to YOU -
In salutation
For making us born here
To realize LOVE***
*
Jun 7, 2019
Jun 7, 2019 at 11:16 PM UTC
Water the Greenhouse
Water the plants on the deck.
Walk Autumn Moon.
Salutation to the Sun
Yoga on the deck
Prayers
Angel of Air
Reading & Study with Ken
Sipping herbals & he, his coffee.
Pick up.
Moving the living room furniture
Rearranging. Sweeping. Mopping.
Clean the kennel.
Fresh bedding for Autumn.
A break for Sevenfold Peace in the sunshine.
Listening to the Holy Stream of Sound.
Playing with Autumn.
Laughing with Ken.
Continuing with rearranging & cleaning
Done!
Another break
With Ken, Autumn & Habibie
By the firepit in front of the shop.
Auti chasing water up and down and around.
Walk to Alli's, talk and pick up the key.
Cut broccoli, cabbage, carrots, & kale
Add a few pods of peas
Drizzle poppy seed dressing.
Two bowls with 1/2 cup of rolled oats each
Add cinnamon.
Taking a teaspoon
Half full with honey.
Dipping it into the center of the oats
Pouring boiling water over the honey.
Into the oats.
Stirring and stirring
Watching the cinnamon spirals
Mix into the sweet porridge.
Small cacao chips, sunflower seeds
A few raisins
Sprinkled as garnish.
Eating together
Smallville, playing with Autumn
Habibie resting near by.
She maybe carrying kittens.
Too early to tell.
Tired. Good night. Sleep.
2:30 am.
Ken up watching a movie on is phone.
My, my, how times have changed.
Return to bed.
Writing, writing, writing….now it is done.
May 16, 2021
May 16, 2021 at 1:07 PM UTC
O generation of the thoroughly smug
and thoroughly uncomfortable,
I have seen fishermen picnicking in the sun,
I have seen them with untidy families,
I have seen their smiles full of teeth
and heard ungainly laughter.
And I am happier than you are,
And they were happier than I am;
And the fish swim in the lake
and do not even own clothing.
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young lovers enthralled
in a passion that can
melt the deepest
Alpine snow cap
announce an intention
to join as one
till death do you part
the elders smile
at the audacity of
your grandiloquent
proclamation
youthful optimism
expressing pollyannish
sentiments born
of wistful hope
yet to learn the rules
of the vows of matrimony
and the endless sweet labor
required to keep it alive and well
thus i pass on this sage advice
when the baby cries at night
when the car won't start
when the rent bill is due
and you find yourself
a bit short
i wish you love...
when the cupboard is bare
and the desire to satiate
swelling hunger pangs
is overwhelming
i wish you love…
when you find yourself travelling
through roads that are
unfamiliar and foreboding
when you are hopelessly lost
in the darkest reaches
of the Black Forest
i wish you love…
as you grow as individuals
straining your relationship
when in laws become outlaws
and the pulls and pushes
of family and friends becomes
unfamiliar and misunderstood
i wish you love…
when resentments and insecurities
conspire to undermine trust
when greener pastures
pose a mirage of better things
i wish you love…
when oversight and neglect
leave you empty
when the luster of the
edelweiss bloom fades
when exasperation melts
the Alps greatest glacier
flooding everything you have
when the untended furnace
doesn't fire and the last
log is consumed
be patient
be diligent
be expectant
be kind
hold on to it
believe in it
practice it
trust it
may it bind you
in a perfect circle
and all your fondest
hopes and wishes
will be yours
i wish you love…
Stevie Wonder
Signed Sealed Delivered
Salutation for
Engagement Party
Maxine Lintel and
Glendon McCallum
Munich
11/29/13
jbm
Nov 30, 2013
Nov 30, 2013 at 12:09 PM UTC
Joshua tree
Across the high California desert you stand with lifted salutation off the beaten path the drift
Of sea moisture mingles with tule fog rising from the desert floor you have briefly entered an alien
World a brooding connection develops with London’s fog shrouded streets or the Arden with its
Identification with It being the one natural barrier to the advancing Roman’s might and Shakespeare’s
Play the woods for him was familiar but a place where change to ones fortune could occur and one
Could find love mist is one of the times that a magic wand was effectively waved it produced a myriad
Of realties notable connections a display that reaches the far borders of wonder pleasantness infringes
On the harder order of the desert’s hotter principles farther east the great desert sentry looms above
All else the saguaro cactus also raises its arms as the Joshua giving thanks for life in a stark and
Burdensome land rock and scrub fills this place it takes time to appreciate such bitter circumstances
But you can sink thoughtful roots that will play a symphony between sun and shadow and all the living
Things that eke out a living there are a breed of people that thrive here also they can teach a lot to
Others live on less you would be amazed how refreshing simple living can be get to much you find
Fun squeezed out of the seams of the so called good life just think in this term when does water taste
Like heavenly nectar when you have been deprived and are at a loss to find it the abundance of anything
Can temper its value death swiftly occurs when the spirit of taking things for granted pervades those
Times that are riveting and create completeness in us are by nature rare and treasured you don’t have
To trek to far off deserts or faraway places a child’s youthful smile that is slipping away When tenderness flows and she makes your heart glow know my friend you are blessed with God’s best for all of earths time a husbands
Gentle laugh his look that stirs you deeply these are but three of rarified finds that are in your life
Enjoy treasure them they are personal gifts you possess today
Jan 9, 2012
Jan 9, 2012 at 6:51 PM UTC
Thy lips of espresso gold,
Convey to me,
Your desperado untold.
Thine eyes for your own,
Merriest of forbidden
Pleasures,
To hold.
Your supple smile upon
Thine own,
Reveal.
Amidst only
To conjure,
To conceal.
Parlay, if I may,
To implore
The keenest sense
Of your fulfillment,
I adore.
Gently now, our merriment. . .
Embarking upon salutation.
No more our desire,
Of infatuation?
Apr 3, 2010
Apr 3, 2010 at 2:45 AM UTC
You were the bowl of oranges.
Lilac skin and a blue heart
On your sleeve.
The lights and colours that erupt
In stars behind closed eyes:
I saw you even when I drank myself blind.
You were the solution of words
Once all the chemicals lost their kick.
The Truth was out there,
We stayed inside sheltered routines
Which blacked out the skies,
Cast a ceiling on our dreams.
You were the Earthly phenomena
That kept me from drifting to the stars.
The coastline in my breath,
On my tongue - to everyone.
You were the name my friends
Were tired of hearing;
The name I cannot forget.
You were red wine;
On my lips and on your dress.
You were... Late-night farewells,
You were the sun salutation,
The birth of a nation
That could blossom into colour in my mind.
You were beautiful in the cloud forests,
Astral depths: we never had to speak.
What age did we reach
Before that daydream started to ache?
You were the faded fantasy
That I held like sand in my hands.
When we kissed I would tremble,
I would lose a little more of you.
You were sad singers.
Old souls that tread the line of their sanity
In fine-point precision;
You were the art that coursed my veins
When surrounded by grey food, grey rooms, grey walls.
You were the messenger with an olive leaf, a blue feather;
A signpost for dry land. You were the panic button
That would take me to the safe place in my mind.
You were the way I said ‘I love you’
In a voice that was finally mine.
You were my lighthouse in the distance
And all the words I cannot find.
Dec 18, 2015
Dec 18, 2015 at 8:49 PM UTC
To be taken silently with violence
Not to utter a salutation
Just the cracking of a door hinge
And a look that indicates that stopping your desires would be laughable
An absurdity
not to be pondered!
The jolting sound of head cracking against metal
And wrist yearning to be ground to the bone
After hours of furtive clutching
The kind on nail bending fervor that just takes the taste right from bread
Grabbed into a cranium synthesis
Im am forever enslaved in the darkest corridor of your existence
I doubt I will ever be able to leave this lighting wasteland
The eagerness pounding through the point were skin meets weapon
I am infiltrated like a shanty filled village
A real slum filled valley
Hopeless against tracking systems and torture methods
You plunder my underdeveloped hospitality
Like Jesus to a farm boy
As I scream **** you Mongoloid
I am gasping into your filth
A sacrificial lamb
Bliss by the slaughter wells
Mouthfuls of disgust
As your knees jab deep into skid row
Grinding the forgotten and the deserted
Until they are flattened corpses
****** dry of the water holding them together
You are pleased
The phantom has been fed and to ask for seconds would only tease the lamb
As I lay gushing organs with a smirk
Broken bent and emaciated
I feel alive and it is wondrous.
Nov 30, 2010
Nov 30, 2010 at 9:02 AM UTC
My sun
Light of my day
Star of my world
So far yet near
You bring me joy
You warm my soul
My sol
My morning call
My prayer to you
My salutation
My bija mantra
Surya Namaskar
Namaskar
Ardha Chandrasana
Padangusthasana
Surya darshan
Purvottanasana
Adho Mukha Svanasana
Shashtanga Dandawat
Bhujangasana
Adho Mukha Svanasana
Surya darshan
Padangusthasana
Ardha Chandrasana
Namaskar
r ~ 9/15/14
For my good friend Pradip's call for a sun poem.
(Poem by Pradip Url : http://hellopoetry.com/poem/856652/write-me-one/)
Sep 15, 2014
Sep 15, 2014 at 5:55 PM UTC
(Ain’t “They” Great!)
Now watching 13 year old grandkid live-on-streaming-Internet,
playing Little League baseball in California, pleasantly surprised,
No, not by the amazing technology, or his super great play,
but the laugh-out-loud accommodation to the “au courant”
Game announcer, a soulless robot machine, stupid-smart, without exception, employs THEY pronoun for all, which after 10 seconds thot,
of serious reflection is a brilliant deflection, a solutionary salutation!
We come to see kids play ball, care not a whiff (double entendre),
re identity politicized insanity, machine makes everyone truly equal,
robbing stupids of a phony, proclamation of self-righteous “individuality”
God Bless No-Brainers!
Ain’t They Great!
~Postcript~
Introducing a newly Recomposed Natty:
still an OWG
(old white guy)
but now a Proudly, a gaily machine-made, in the USA
They.
May 30, 2023
May 30, 2023 at 10:46 AM UTC
No latte
no "three men walked into a bar ..."
no sun salutation
can give me that reinvigorating boost
no melody
(and for that matter no harmony)
no pedicure
no crisp fall walk
can ease my anxious state
I am unsettled, trying to find a surface to settle on
so I settle down to the lowest parts of Maslow's mountain
searching for comfort in edible bites and physical bits,
deep in the valley where I should not be
"How ya doin'?"
"OhI'mgood!"
Ain't got time for the real answer
Ain't got time
Ain't got time
cause I won't give it to myself
I was never good at prioritizing
Cause if I knew my priorites
I would remember what a priority it is
to bend to my knees
sink into the ground
and reverently gaze UP
I have not imagined the answers and peace I have recieved
You have to open your mind to see His work
He is visible
in earth and sky
Sometimes He has to remind me
but when He does ...
well, I can enjoy the melodies
and lattes
and jokes again
P.W.C.
Nov 9, 2012
Nov 9, 2012 at 5:56 PM UTC
Look far beyond your nose
Imagine the wording prose your mind recites despite the fights between the lights;
Stand-back to back with your enemies
And believe that you are safe,
A mistake;
Craving knowledge of everything from your existence
To your beliefs
I believed I was falling down the trail
And all hail the misguided princess;
She's so misguided the North Pole becomes south
And the south;
Exiting from her mouth
With a flow; the beautiful candles of her heart.
The beautiful candles of her heart
Those that lit stormy fire inside mine
Those that lit up the dark pits of something I forgot about,
And all about my whereabouts
I see the signs of inconclusive doubts
Over my forehead, reflected upon people's faces;
And eyes look at me with non-empithetical sympathy
The symphony of eyelashes flapping over a lost identity.
I'm lost.
All those spiritual stoppages
Are causing my hands to shiver
All those figurative speech as she caresses her words
Preparing mine to stutter
Are making my eyes darken
And my faith to dismay;
I may,
Or may not be the person you want to find
But I find you the person I was never looking for
Yet I still crave the carves you carve on my hands.
The snapping bones of anger;
The cracking knuckles of regret;
The apprehensions preconceived with the threats;
The young man lost his track
The young man lost in the wild
With ideas even wilder
And actions that do not convey his messages
For the circles of bees become limits to his being;
For the frontiers of fighting lions
Become barriers to his block,
That upper corner in dying arteries; hidden
Way over the Mediterranean seas forgotten,
That young man is creating chaotic cancellations,
Phones typing messages of hesitation,
Brains articulating pieces of his own creation,
A salutation be upon my buddy
The young fellow who got lost facing everybody,
And everybody cheered as they watched;
His being stepped on, and heart being stabbed
The chats between the minds
Become cramps
The cramps in his existence become fatal agitation
The agitations in his life become psychiatric misinterpretation
For he got it all wrong
Everyone got it all wrong
But does that stop him?
Let alone
Does that stop all the fake men who built their empires upon forged pillars?
Killers,
Of characteristics;
Followers,
Disciples and students
To a dark lady
Typing her last words of goodbye
Over a phone that’s found in her palms
Yet lost,
In a young girl's heart.
Jul 28, 2013
Jul 28, 2013 at 10:06 AM UTC
THE CHICK in the egg picks at the shell, cracks open one oval world, and enters another oval world.
"Cheep ... cheep ... cheep" is the salutation of the newcomer, the emigrant, the casual at the gates of the new world.
"Cheep ... cheep" ... from oval to oval, sunset to sunset, star to star.
It is at the door of this house, this teeny weeny eggshell exit, it is here men say a riddle and jeer each other: who are you? where do you go from here?
(In the academies many books, at the circus many sacks of peanuts, at the club rooms many cigar butts.)
"Cheep ... cheep" ... from oval to oval, sunset to sunset, star to star.
1.7k
a salutation, a benediction, a good wish
yet one so troubling, not from a lacking,
of sincerity
but from opacity
opacity~ the quality or state of a body that makes it impervious to the rays of light; the condition of lacking transparency or translucence; opaqueness
"Because space is a vacuum,
these good wish waves
can travel unimpeded and at
a constant speed through empty space,
eventually interacting with objects like
planets and telescopes upon arrival"
but I am not a vacuum, a void, and
do not exist within one,
here in my surroundings,
is much interface interference,
the light you send, has
bounced around endlessly
forever, till it may have hit
its intended target,
me
within, without,
and surely has picked up
some tagalong
amoeba, bacteria,
outside contradictories
that may have changed its very nature,
its purity disturbed,
"Pure light" contains a single wavelength or frequency
and cannot be broken down into other colors
but my confusion is indeed a spectrum of Joseph's many colors,
clashing and thrashing with each other,
cohering but not of necessity,
cohering, this a metaphor,
you so lightly send my way,
let us redirect its warm sensibility sensitivity,
let us take an /our inner glow; diffuse
if one cannot send light across the cosmos,
maybe across the Interpet, but just verbally,
send to me
please, absolutely,
tagged "for immediate delivery"
and I will store
all of it,
in my glass jar,
next to my heart,
and just
glow from within
to the with out
Sep 30, 2025
Sep 30, 2025 at 5:04 PM UTC