"separations" poems
I'm thankful to be alive.
I heard parents separations can tear a kid apart.
Im thankful to be alive.
I heard bullying can lead to suicide.
Im thankful you are alive.
Because I know how much it hurts watching your parents split up.
Im thankful you are alive.
Because I know how much bullying hurts.
Nov 23, 2014
Nov 23, 2014 at 8:51 PM UTC
Unshared memories,
is there anything that’s worse?
Unshared memories
separations final curse
Unshared memories
highlights of yesteryear
Unshared memories
bring to my eyes another tear
Unshared memories
of us dancing in the rain
Unshared memories
just one more “never again”
Unshared memories
of the way we used to laugh
Unshared memories
become the painful aftermath
Unshared memories
at least no more with me
Unshared memories
now he’s where I used to be
Oct 24, 2010
Oct 24, 2010 at 1:58 PM UTC
(From a Persian Carpet)
Ash and strewments, the first moth-wings, pale
Ardour of brief evenings, on the fecund wind;
Or all a wing, less than wind,
Breath of low herbs upfloats, petal or wing,
Haunting the musk precincts of burial.
For the season of newer riches moves triumphing,
Of the evanescence of deaths. These potpourris
Earth-tinctured, jet insect-bead, cinder of bloom—
How weigh while a great summer knows increase,
Ceaselessly risen, what there entombs?—
Of candour fallen from the slight stems of Mays,
Corrupt of the rim a blue shades, pensively:
So a fatigue of wishes will young eyes.
And brightened, unpurged eyes of revery, now
Not to glance to fabulous groves again!
For now deep presence is, and binds its close,
And closes down the wreathed alleys escape of sighs.
And now rich time is weaving, hidden tree,
The fable of orient threads from bough to bough.
Old rinded wood, whose lissomeness within
Has reached from nothing to its covering
These many corymbs’ flourish!—And the green
Shells which wait amber, breathing, wrought
Towards the still trance of summer’s centering,
Motives by ravished humble fingers set,
Each in a noon of its own infinite.
And here is leant the branch and its repose
of the deep leaf to the pilgrim plume. Repose,
Inflections brilliant and mute of the voyager, light!
And here the nests, and freshet throats resume
Notes over and over found, names
For the silvery ascensions of joy. Nothing is here
But moss and its bells now of the root’s night;
But the beetle’s bower, and arc from grass to grass
For the flight in gauze. Now its fresh lair,
Grass-deep, nestles the cool eft to stir
Vague newborn limbs, and the bud’s dark winding has
Access of day. Now on the subtle noon
Time’s image, at pause with being, labours free
Of all its charge, for each in coverts laid,
Of clement kind; and everlastingly,
In some elision of bright moments is known,
Changed wide as Eden, the branch whose silence sways
Dazzle of the murmurous leaves to continual tone;
Its separations, sighing to own again
Being of the ignorant wish; and sways to sight,
Waked from it nighted, the marvelous foundlings of light;
Risen and weaving from the ceaseless root
A divine ease whispers toward fruitfulness,
While all a summer’s conscience tempts the fruit.
2.6k
from these rays
brilliant at sunrise
and sunset
from holes in low clouds
below the horizon emerging
we learn
they are really parallel..
only our perspective
makes them diverge..
what of our lives
many divergences we see
separations and frags..
might we change
our perspective..?
might we wish to
do that..?
Aug 21, 2012
Aug 21, 2012 at 11:49 PM UTC
<Sun May 14 5:00 AM PST>
Let us be smart about this departure,
time unscheduled, yet leaving inevitable,
the sound of fabric torn, a rent performed,
a ripping, a release of the gripping, connecting
tissue of weft and weave tying parent and child
*(All of us poets, all of us comprehend,
there are two points, two buttonholes
that offer escape or farewell, when we
commence on something new, when we
pen our chest’s demands to exhale, cease the hammering*
*Perhaps, here, just after the third stanza,
the brick enormity of our selected task, on chest,
weighs heavy, boulder difficulties ahead, now fastened
and faster and faster realized, begs us, quit this essay,
return to placid, from an arrhythmia of imploding loss)*
So many fabrics, so many tears, wet and dried,
but upon commencement, the only finish line,
is another commencement, when the (mine-own) rendering
is finalized, beyond repair, when guilt gulfs overflows, flooding
plains of forever pain officiated by signed scar, “here was”
So many separations, varied and variegated,
surficial shallow surgical or plunges, widths of trickle,
depths of deadly plunges, records of inches, dates,
names, new heights inscribed, measured on a door jamb,
lost, erased, when child’s door closes permanently
Came today to the West, to Pacific Ocean entrance,
to celebrate a good boy’s ritualized threshold crossing
over into manhood, both symbolic and and realized,
but tear-up seeing the small child-man leaning in and on
his father’s larger frame, a coinciding giving & taking
no bonds are eternal, for such is life, the weft must be
warped, sundered and separated, so many reasons,
experience speaks, scars are like bandages,protecting
but deceiving, what they cover can never be excised,
a space created, that only oxygen can touch both sides
but never, ever be reperfected, mended,…or finalized
2023
San Francisco
May 14, 2023
May 14, 2023 at 10:07 AM UTC
Last night I found the troubles of the irony of my life
The fascination of non-fictional figures and new strife
I ask death to keep his promise and bless those who took me out this earth
And if I die....by my own hands don't bless me but replace my curse
See when the lights are down low is when the truth stands behind
But lies of us is better in the light of the shadow we like to disguised
And she once asked me whats love with out recognition
And what's hurt with out any truth behind the decision
And what's your hurt.....
Or are you to ***** to express that emotional feeling
I look at her with pain and a disgusting illing
Because only me and the ones that hurt me no's the horror behind my revealing
My brother and sister promise that they will sing about me
And if my girl is dieing of thirst they will refill her with me
The story's we kept and the memory's we felt
My sister is my number one love
It's crazy how much emotions we delt
And I never new I had another part of me that was older then me
Met him when I was 5 now he's apart of my history at 23
All we shared .. was gun shots blood cots abused and welfare
And as it got better our separations will never compare
So where's my promise .. World where's my promise
You promise me opportunity and equal values
But curse from being called ugly and now handsome limited my statues
So you can understand that my middle finger is the only way I show my gratitude
And what happens when the lights are up high and the smoke is down low
Cuz gun powder is what I saw when I road on east New York streets
And who would believe a good kid like me
I was more into bitxhes **** history and open heart poetry
But mistaken and moved to the south
Showed me new patterns so I had to finish my own Brooklyn's route
I did....Taken what I learn in NYC and planted into these tre4 kids
But I never got caught but I guess I got caught for what I use to do did
And challenged me to fix the out come of a new level grid
Now I'm better off in the books of lost souls
And the scriptures of old scrolls and new roles
Still catching duty of my past fixtures in my head
And I can't seem to let these demons go even if I was dead
But ill follow these angels to see the games they play
Cuz ill never fade away... ill never fade away ...ill never fade away .. Ill never fade away....
Just sing about me
Just sing about me
Just sing about me
Just sing about me
................I promise
Aug 25, 2013
Aug 25, 2013 at 1:05 AM UTC
Catch the motes of dust in light
To feel the threads of time suspend,
In serenade of life’s allure
Where precious moments never end.
Silver tears run down the cheek
In swift departures curled embrace,
Poingnancy for moments few
Of entwined limbs and whiskered face.
Separations loneliness
In gnawing of the very soul,
The wish for time to dissipate
To make the separate halves a whole.
Anticipation’s rawness now
Throws arrowed light to early shroud,
The eagerness to touch and kiss
Brings clear blue sky to morning cloud.
Rationalize the wonderment
Of slender fingers through your hair,
In fantasy of sheer delight
Her silhouette reflected there.
Hold the tantalizing heat
Of tender fires of passion bound
In throngs of longing, deeply felt,
Within the belly’s tufted mound
Exhaustion in the tangled sheet
As bands of sunlight kiss your hair,
Gently now, in drifted sleep
And gales of pleasure fill the air.
Catch the motes of dust in light
To feel the threads of time suspend
In serenade of life’s allure
Where precious moments never end.
Marshalg
Victoria Park tunnel
Auckland
24 July 2010
Jul 23, 2010
Jul 23, 2010 at 12:27 PM UTC
The spirochetes of the ages embellish themselves in a mystical quartet, as our respirations reverberate across sanctimonious plateaus of Oedipus and Electra complexes.
Your celestial convictions are tasteful as they wistfully meander through the fuselage of hydrangea bushes and ***** foxgloves.
I can feel the beat of your apprehensive pulse.
As we applaud the demise of this psychological stage-show, where connected separations unravel their shameful mysteries into a vortex of deluded academia; it is evident when someone communicates deep convictions across pulsating swamps of cosmological hemispheres.
So, as we merge into this cataclysmic vortex of enshrinement, let us embrace the past understanding of future ambivalence where the beginning can only be understood within the context of the end.
May 24, 2015
May 24, 2015 at 12:19 AM UTC
Half past twelve. Time has gone by quickly
since nine o'clock when I lit the lamp
and sat down here. I've been sitting without reading,
without speaking. Completely alone in the house,
whom could I talk to?
Since nine o'clock when I lit the lamp
the shade of my young body
has come to haunt me, to remind me
of shut scented rooms,
of past sensual pleasure - what daring pleasure.
And it's also brought back to me
streets now unrecognizable,
bustling night clubs now closed,
theatres and cafes no longer here.
The shade of my young body
also brought back the things that make us sad:
family grief, separations,
the feelings of my own people, feelings
of the dead so little acknowledged.
Half past twelve. How the time has gone by.
Half past twelve. How the years have gone by.
1.6k
And as fairy tales go,
This one was the best
The Story of a silly-dark-brown haired girl
Who never strayed too far away from strange.
And of a short-light-brown haired boy
Who was nothing but strange.
A pair of star-crossed strangers
Who never realized how strange they were
And as far was fairy tales go,
This one made no sense,
You see the silly girl and the strange boy looked everywhere for someone as strange as they were
They looked everywhere for the person at the end of the red string
But whenever they saw each other,
Deny
Deny
Deny
Blinded by their strange ways,
They looked pass one another
And didn’t stop to find each other.
And as far as fairy tales go
This one has no end.
An infinite loop of separations,
And meetings
Denying everything in between.
They may go on to their separate ways
And meet once again,
But as far as fairy tales go,
This one was the best…
Because there are infinite chances to always meet,
And someday soon,
Their fates will intertwine,
Together forever,
Is the best ending line.
Jun 18, 2012
Jun 18, 2012 at 4:43 AM UTC
Blackbird, blackbird, whither 'way
Don't come down this way in
Sleek sails of five and six
Hither here, two and three
Come forth and fly in
Through the broken glass
Onyx separations carve
In six wings lost to starve
May the host slight the royalty
Blackbird, blackbird, whither 'way
Don't come down this way with
Sacrificial dust from seven circling
Hither here, two and three
Come forth and fly in
Through shattered self
Onyx separations carve
In six wings to starve
May the way be paved
Blackbird, blackbird, will I?
In the serene sloughs, call
Out from the dusk, ten sails high?
Blackbird, blackbird
Come around, see my gift
And sing your song
May 9, 2019
May 9, 2019 at 9:00 PM UTC
It is painful to die...
That's one thing that pops out of my head when I think of dying.
Before, I always think it was easy; or easier
But it was selfishness.
Daily separations made me numb, or rather; pulled me away from selflessness
But everything is different, from a different eye.
Dec 1, 2015
Dec 1, 2015 at 8:31 AM UTC
up on Boot Hill
the sun sets early
the soaked anguish
of grieving mothers
swaddled in
twilight's vestments
mourn the death
of another murdered
child
we roll our eyes
and speak in tongues
tiny prayers
incant
RIP
these reflexive bits,
our shattered votives
litter city boulevards
on each solemn
street corner
new alters
of desecration
are erected
then despoiled with
the wasted wax of
misspent novenas
our extended families
are bloodlines of fear
spawning
prostrate men
tattooed with
multicolored pain
who refuse to cover
body marks
bespeaking epic tales
of sorrow,
divisions
countless separations
also marking
righteous reasons
of seething
resentments
eager to settle
accounts
sweet vendettas
clever ambushes
carefully deliberated
for generations
by discordant clans
believing in malice
exalting guns
shared loss
is our
common
affliction
uniting everyone
in envelopes of sadness
becoming live
Dear John letters
bearing news of dearly
departed loves
atop the coffins
of dead children
votives pile high
with scrawled eulogies
of fevered graffiti
solemnly pledging
“gonna make someone suffer
gonna even the score
never forget you
RIP”
and we all die
looking stupid as hell
lamenting
love don’t rest in peace
hearing
it scream from the grave
witnessing
the hallowed earth
churning with revulsion
accepting the bitter ashes
of another dead child
for the love of you
is your funeral march
love don’t RIP
it stalks the tomb
of indifference
it mourns
the ambivalence
of its devaluation
it haunts the
day dreams
of what could
have been
it restlessly
flits among
the playgrounds
of our minds
cluttering the rooms
of our homes
with grief
up on Boot Hill
we clasp the
small hands
protruding from
shallow graves
groping to find
a graceful sleep
for love don’t
rest in peace
Stevie Wonder:
Love Is In Need of Love Today
Written to honor
Love Appreciation Day
jbm
Oakland
1/19/13
Feb 18, 2013
Feb 18, 2013 at 5:45 PM UTC
The light bright and lime,
It was there but dull.
You found the chime,
And found your own light full.
Shining brightest among the best,
In spirit, I must confess.
Known far and wide,
To be welcomed with pride.
Telling stories, memories,
To pass, what I call, inspiration.
Tales to bring back humanities,
In times of such separations.
Keep singing your heartfelt songs,
And giving love deserved.
Hope will bring those bonds,
Your time is being well served.
Nov 25, 2020
Nov 25, 2020 at 8:24 PM UTC
These words have survived separations
Faces I can no longer remember of loved ones
Poetry has transcended my decades
Spacious and fluent like a last reminder
Of why truth is no longer as important
As beauty, inner beauty of a spiritual quality
Alphabets now shelter this candle
This life that was my hopes and dreams
These most intimate self-deceptions
Wildest faith of wonderful illusions
For a moment still I am there
With moons and roses, aware of nothing
But the shine of creativity on our inner cheek
The mineral blossoms and lotus of our imagination
It’s pure there to write like drunken water
In a light of its own color, reflecting the pauses
Silences, spaces in-between relationships and solitude
That was the best quality of the life I lived.
Oct 15, 2014
Oct 15, 2014 at 10:29 PM UTC
attained vibrations
absorbed by self-reflections
through unification
separations, self-selection
distanced by dreams
grounded by moonbeams
illuminated by the skylight
inwardly screaming for me
i'm just a set of bones
surrounded by organs
wrapped in skin
i'm just a skeleton
proctected by image
Sep 24, 2012
Sep 24, 2012 at 7:53 PM UTC
They say we are Different;
But how can that be true?
*When all I see,
Is me and you.*
Earth is but a ball of dirt,
Devoid of man's treaties;
Still, it sustains within itself
Thousands of different species.
So why by them were these
Distinct separations made?
Why were colours distinguished,
And Humanity left to fade?
What is their purpose
Of praying to God above,
When his creation of a Heart,
They condemn without Love?
*They walk the same soil;
They breathe the same air;
They drink the same water,
Then why do they despair?--*
It's not Faith as they call it;
It's Vile Hyprocrisy redefined,
That leaks Doubt and Angst
Into a perfectly Tolerant mind.
*For they frown at our Choices,
They mock at our Bruise;
They scorn at our Differences,
But our Similarities they refuse!--*
It's a matter of the mind,
That plays forth illusions;
*Differences are evasive maneuvers
Against mental intrusions!*
Jul 9, 2014
Jul 9, 2014 at 3:19 PM UTC
i find myself exhaust'd
without words to fill
the gaps between breathes
standing in a garage
scavenging ashtray for
more cigarette than ****
feelings of a cut and run
history. always cyclical, always
flooding. again, repeating.
i may not be able to
tell the future, but
i will laugh should we make it
together. my memories
have been lost before, never
quite wiped clean.
i once could live.
these days writ of longings,
of fated desperations, writ
of corner'd separations
while eyes haze and lids droop.
while connections are made
between the breaks in
statements you had to say.
lemme be straight, i am done.
taken to apathy. absconding
with nil thought of leaving
negative remembrances behind.
leaving yellow-paged notebooks
of a past life.
days of the deifiers, days of their
fat-trimming inquisition. For
the flesh lusteth against Spirit,
and the Spirit against the flesh.
and those were scrawnier days.
Jan 25, 2013
Jan 25, 2013 at 8:40 AM UTC
breaking rituals
of ups and downs
encounters and separations
peacefully we roam streets
paved with hopes
they hide mud of distrust
in conflict with the wind
with the sun and the rain
we carry umbrellas
sunglasses
and wind jackets
always on alert
we walk
step by step
sometimes with our head down
quite unaware
and suddenly stand amazed
as if facing the abyss
just a step from loneliness
Mar 30, 2013
Mar 30, 2013 at 3:22 PM UTC
In final autumn heat,
Two weeks after apple picking,
The bushel baskets sag,
Laden with the summer's pickings.
Growing sadness clings to me.
I sort the dead and dying
From the thinning lot,
Fearing loss of all to rot.
The first to go,
Soft and brown,
Nearly fall apart,
Require gentlest touch;
Dripping cadavers
Leave healthier neighbors
Wet, in danger of early death.
In separating them,
I hold my breath.
On spotted skins I then
Must concentrate;
Look for inner decay:
Sagging indentations,
Fallen stems;
Hollowed caverns
From bird bites and beetles;
The evidence of worms'
Varicose trails, faintly brown,
Just visible beneath the skins,
Revealing company within.
My eye looks inward first, then out.
I know what this malingering's about;
The cankers that I seek may find me out.
Hesitation clouds my separations;
I wonder what a paring knife might do
To save some portion,
To spare the summer work
Of apple trees.
I wonder, does the apple
Dread the knife, considering strife
As much as I, when I confess my sin
And writhe beneath the penance
My sinning puts me in?
Sep 23, 2017
Sep 23, 2017 at 11:36 AM UTC
The separations between
time & space
grow a little bigger,
the further I am
from your
face.
Relativity,
lost
with no trace.
*everything you do
drips with grace*
love bearing no exclusivity
it cannot be
misplaced
Souls intertwined
leaving
little
space
for things
I once called
mine
caught in your arms
there is no race.
Remind me again
where we are...
What is time?
What is space?
Oct 30, 2014
Oct 30, 2014 at 2:48 PM UTC
he goes
swinging arms set on
leaning shoulders and
feet that climb pavement
every step
taking inches before miles before the span of her heart
infected with a childhood
an unfitting frame for
such words and
sometimes he feels sick,
at the size of his own hands
isthmus, island
sick at the foreignness of being
skin native to all the touches
but blood that tastes only enemies, shies away
she thinks how, how,
beautiful the white skin
light strains he looks at nothing, not her
dull eyes, white eyes,
never enough of night,
eyes
he will bend and glance
deep, to taste a bit of his own death
trapped in his clutched palm
annoyed,
she thinks what sweet bitter held hands
I don't want to be your friend
don't want to lose a friend
the child builds love where it doesn't belong, everywhere
stacking towers against God, unlearning,
the child fights, he fights
they resist and scratch and embrace
and he bends
his fingers
May 29, 2011
May 29, 2011 at 9:26 AM UTC
era generation
For your Owen preparation
i got message for you nation
We are not the generation
You think we are
For your own information
I am explain to you so stop the investigation or the thing you call survey youth
Stop blaming us for your destroyed imagination
That got destroyed by your application
These time is the time you sit your *** down listen
And Stop talking of how your generation was better than these generation
Let me start by saying we are
The result of the combination of your fuckt up generation
So forgive us if we did not respect the invention
Forgive us if we did not do first the presentation
**** your forgiveness
Clear the board
I am educate you all
Since you call it education
All the war decisions
That cause the separations
Between son and mother father daughter wife husband
All the colonisations
Over taking sociocultural evolution
Cultural lost identities
Change history even the cover of the book
All cooperation and organization standing
To remind us the limitation
Depending of our identification
That led to these civilization
Answerless, ignorant,
Observe but no comment
Why and answer most called out vocabularies
i don't know has been their most replied
But they forgot they define our mind galaxy
And you can’t colonies galaxies
All the corrupt systems
In the name of salvation
All the company build for production of destruction
Industries of Capitalism
Creating the classes of
We rule you
We fool you
We shoot at you
We eat for you
And you work and i think it said we feed you too
All your fuckt up ways of your legislation,
How one get up and one thrown down
And we both know which one is who is asking why
Which one is doing his work and sleeping in the house don’t even know what is the house made of.
How to blind to the one who see
Make the blind believe he can see twisted ****
All the discrimination
That's keeping us no elevation zoon foundation
And it funny how
Every time they say there a solution
At same time there mission
For different condition
Empowering deferent situation
Violation the untold and modern view of justice
Justice of the peace no promise you fool us
Now we are in darkness why do you look nervous
**** the immigration and their regulation
So my advice is
Don’t **** with our reputation
Because our equation is
e.r generation
Extend and release
We gonna extended and release our creations
And release with new operation
Of liberation
So stop ******* blaming us
For our ways of adapting to observe
From The system that you create to block our observation
Jul 20, 2015
Jul 20, 2015 at 9:12 AM UTC