"soulfully" poems
Strolling through the park
With humans, dogs, and birds,
Pink leaves make their mark
As they hover down in thirds.
Drifting along lazy airwaves,
An amplified guitar echoes
As a band soulfully misbehaves
For all nearby bedfellows.
Apartments loom over trees,
From a place of urban gray
As blue air works to appease
Spaces between dusk and day.
Sturdy street lights rusted and old
Accompanying a worn path ignite,
One by one flashing dark to gold
On a normal Wednesday night.
Oct 4, 2018
Oct 4, 2018 at 7:03 PM UTC
Tossing and turning.
Unlearning abusive systems and relearning loving skills.
Becoming a dream keeper as a rebellious angel child anything is possible.
So I am very soulfully strong and heart-meltingly adorable.
I provide nightmares for my worst enemies.
And sweet dreams for my dearest friends.
Anyone in the middle is going to live with their political aspirations.
May 31, 2022
May 31, 2022 at 3:07 PM UTC
Every brush is a first as a spark to a fire;
though the ashes still fall from limb and leaf,
each blaze sizzles an original melody:
forever unique and soulfully sole.
A delicate comfort envelopes me,
wreathing my pieces with a gentle autumn breeze,
mending me whole when I was never broken.
Her ambiance dances as rays of shattered moonlight,
slipping beneath a sky of the arctic dawn.
She gathers my fragments,
even when they had never been chipped away.
I lay unprotected, yet entirely safe.
She bends until the space separating us is airless with tender yearning.
I taste a thin sea-foam of maple sugar.
Dyspnoea remains fluid in our slumberous desire.
When I close my eyes, submitting to the quiet rush,
I am welcomed by an island universe.
Stardust spirals as the cosmos beams above our heads.
A sylvan petrichor swirls about the fall
as I am consumed with pure euphoria.
Jun 26, 2014
Jun 26, 2014 at 11:29 PM UTC
~for the one who will know it was written for her~
muddy verb and adjective,
muddling and muddled
have you ever seen a pas de deux/deluxe,
one dancer, proscriptive,
and her partner, prescriptive?
the stage, of course,
exactly the width of your head,
from ear to shining ear
this couple o’muses dance en concert,
though their very natures are anti-logarithmic,
the value of their exponential activity is a
descriptive nomenclature
I am overly abstruse this Saturday morn,
mushing mathematics and ballet, verbal word games
as is my wont wanted,
everyone sleeping while I rise at 6am,
doing ablutions, seeking absolution,
pulling weeds from our respective gardens,
answering old friends I have yet to meet,
to whom I answer,
“still here, though long time no see,”
which is of course hysterical funny, inherently contradictory,
as the brain grasps well my
Red and Dead Sea brain cells, a splitting motif
muddling and muddled,
proscribed from getting on transport,
to deliver to you the proper healing prescriptive,
as if I had in my possess to diagnosis and correctly assess
even though one of my many passport names,
a requirement, to visit,
this inter-netting ether, that both combines and separates,
permits me safe passage,
over the historical lineage of borderlines of land and sea,
to deliver this message,
to you
woman
*I am here, waiting patiently, though long time
no see
like ever,
absentia, dementia,
both self-censure:
here, then, my cadenza,
dedicated solely soulfully for you,
as the sabbath sun rises over the East River,
saying, laughing unto me,
“still here, though long time no see,”
for though I cannot look upon her,
my sun, my sun, my son,
yet she, as well,
is everywhere-inside of me,
warmly illuminating
my muddled mind*
Mar 23, 2019
Mar 23, 2019 at 7:57 AM UTC
Have you ever felt that your life is wrong?
Like you're suppose to be somewhere else?
Like while you're mopping the floor of your lowly dishwasher job your vision blurs and the world around you convulses turning the mop into a spear swirling the sea of bubbles into blood and the far off voice of your boss mutates into the sound of your fellow warrior?
Or maybe when you walk into rain and the soft sound of the droplets on your skin turn into the rhythmic music of things against armor.
And as you look to make sit you're not going crazy the roar of an engine turns into the bellowing of dragons, horses and more.
These flashbacks transport you to another time where the world is mystic,
The pavement transmutates into dirt as the air around swirls into sudden shrills of strengthening speeches spurring you soulfully into skillful battle.
And as you speed forward leading the charge
of your battalion of skilled men a thousand large,
The flashback stops and you're in your time,
No armor on you skin..
Or lives on the line..
But your heart is still racing,
And you remember their names,
Of the boys you were leading,
On to glory and fame,
So was it a dream?
Or a memory from the past?
Or maybe it was from your life last.
Jun 13, 2014
Jun 13, 2014 at 12:10 PM UTC
Your voice, like a river rippling,
waves of goose bumps,
awaken my inner spirit,
fill me with delight.
Your gaze, magnetic, blue
moonlight bright,
clear as the evening night,
gently captures my inner light.
Your heart, speaks softly, soulfully,
whispering faithfully,
sometimes silently,
but never in spite.
Your touch, captivating, tranquil, slight,
caressing me slowly,
surrounding me,
with all of your might.
Your smile, brilliant, bright,
tantalizing, on a steamy summer night,
summoning me gently,
to be your wife.
Apr 11, 2010
Apr 11, 2010 at 1:57 PM UTC
he stood before them
lifted his flute to his lips
soulfully inhaled
they waited for the magic
he played not a single note
he stood there as if
********* passionately
with body english
the crowd paused for a minute
suspended in the quand'ry
the light bulb came on
and they busted up laughing
as he continued
in his silent happiness
he loved the "gotcha" moment
Del Maximo
© June 13, 2009
Feb 15, 2010
Feb 15, 2010 at 5:57 PM UTC
Who said
sound is a vibration
that travels at a bizarre speed?
I saw it softly floating
ensconced in bubbles
to a celestial gravity
that pulls them up
to the realm of idyllic bliss.
Bubbles exude the
brilliant hues of my yearnings,
wrap me inside
their merino fleece warmth,
hold me to their *****
with the tenderness
I ever cherish in my soul.
Sound nestles in its heart
a mesmeric glow of music
ordained to play
the salute note
to augur the birth of a
new hankering.
The woeful flute
of the gypsy maiden
soulfully sings
a melancholy melody
for her lost love
to get a phoenix’s wings
under the silver mist of the
new moon’s splendour.
Sep 18, 2018
Sep 18, 2018 at 12:52 PM UTC
When I first saw you, you stood before me and I breathe you in.
I took a deep breath… blew out any fears and concerns, I breathe you in, innocently, care-freely and wholeheartedly.
You held my hand and I breathe you in. I blew out every memory of any other before you and I breathe you in innocently, care-freely, lovingly, and wholeheartedly.
You rubbed against me and I breathe you in. I blew out hot mist, letting go of any weakness. I breathe you in, innocently, care-freely, lovingly, completely and wholeheartedly.
You looked into my eyes, I stared into yours and I breathe you in. I blew out my wants and needs and breathe in yours, innocently, care-freely, lovingly, completely and wholeheartedly.
I felt your pain from miles and miles away. I could even smell the salt from the sea. I breathe you in innocently, care-freely, lovingly, completely, soulfully, wholeheartedly.
Never could two be more connected or so I thought.
Now, I stand here confused and alone with your soul and scent entwined in mine, I breathe you in, but now, I’m breathless.
I can’t breathe... Instead of oxygen, my lungs are filled with toxic carbon dioxide, yet, I breathe you in and your breath is mine, innocently, care-freely, lovingly, soulfully, and wholeheartedly.
In the end, it turns out, I was yours but you were never mine – I exhale.
Nov 6, 2014
Nov 6, 2014 at 3:59 AM UTC
To be, or not, to be...
That is plagiarism.
Although, the rested see..
It's the only "ism"
Will I do?
Or, will I do not?
Will I place soulfully, the life before me?
Or, will I defy my end with bitter, confusion.
I doubt them both.
Within my heart,
I chase a rope.
About a time,
When rhyme and cope.
Are one, the same,
Rewrite my hope.
Can one remain,
While others greave?
Burn the bridge,
And meld the seam.
Amassed awake,
Your idle dream,
Don't mind the pain,
Rewrite and leave.
Aug 12, 2017
Aug 12, 2017 at 8:18 PM UTC
It is where it is, not where you are...
Switched this week from ice coffee,
Back to hot, on September Thirteenth.
The chain busted,
No Adirondack throne, no audiences of
Southbound geese, my new ******** fans,
No **** arrogant deer
Pitying the stupid humans,
Occupying their lands.
No racing rabbits, crickets underfoot,
And in the house,
No raccoons bigger than a colt.
No just living, breathing eyes, seeing paradiso,
No place for god to come visit to chill,
And ask for atonement for chemical weapons
No bay waves soulfully soothing,
No sun, no cherries by command,
The breeze, voila, a nasty cold wind,
The bath-waves ain't no **** substitute,
Not-Near good enough,
No matter how hard I splash.
**** right I was worried.
I lifted up my eyes to the mountains—
From where will my poetry come from?
From men.
From women.
From you-reminding me,
It is where it is, not where you are...
It is here in the unread tragedies,
The wails so plain, repetitive,
The screams that never cease, the
Poems, yours, that deserve ten thousand likes,
But die ignored, despite, my best efforts.
It is in the newspapers,
Chroniclers of our daily,
Inhumanity,
And papal words, that lift a jew's heart,
That poems get birthed.
It is in the woman's dictums
About doing this and that
And where that is most preferred.
Point made. Quitting time.
It is where it is, not where you are...
Sep 21, 2013
Sep 21, 2013 at 10:37 AM UTC
Flawless frequency
How can you conceive thee?
Dripping into each piece
Sweet moonlight cry
Fluid honeycomb high
Sensational pulsating glow
Genuine in each
Subtle divine reach
Each way unknowingly perfect
Unexpectedly urgent
Long lost and forever found
Soulfully free and heart achingly bound
Blissful blues
I found you
Flawless frequency
You move thee
Nov 5, 2012
Nov 5, 2012 at 2:07 PM UTC
Don’t come home late she says
As she always says
Her heart beating a drum inside her chest.
He looks into her eyes soulfully
The soul of innocent intent
His mouth promising he won’t
She believes him
As she always believes him
Her soul praying that he will.
Please don’t drink too much she begs
As she always begs
Her stomach cramping from the shame.
He touches her face with his fingertips
and with promises of eternal love in his eyes
He tells her that he loves her.
He means it.
He never hits me she thinks
I know that he loves me.
Except that she doesn’t.
He never hits me she thinks
It’s not that bad
And wonders why
She
Always
Feels
So
Empty .
Sep 23, 2023
Sep 23, 2023 at 11:51 AM UTC
The libraries and bookstores of the world
Are stocked with pleasantries:
Prim, proper, peach juice-oozing volumes
That made the grade.
These books are all well and good,
And are not unworthy of examination,
Simply because they were deemed so
By a jury of your peers.
Make note, however,
Of the myopia inherent
In limiting yourself
To the savoury.
Observe:
Past the shelves of
Well-lit,
Worn-covered
Thoroughly thumbed delicacies,
There is more to be seen.
Do not hesitate to approach the shelves
Wreathed in thorns and security tape
And kept under dim bulbs.
The books that lurk there
Are sealed tight
And wear jackets plastered in sludge:
Sludge laid thick by heavy-handed brushstrokes.
Prying open the padlock
Will sometimes reveal
Further grime coagulated upon the pages.
Further prying, however,
Will split open tomes
Scrawled with fractures of light,
Lending to the eye
An illumination unique
To such tarred works.
Do not fear these banned books,
These veiled wonders,
For they contain pure, unscreened scrawlings
Soulfully wrought upon simple scraps of paper.
It is within these that truth can be found.
May 8, 2015
May 8, 2015 at 7:58 AM UTC
Poetry, the reason we are all here.
Writing words that we hope someone reads and hears
Hears in the sounds of the words, them coming alive
Vocally there is a potency to written words
Say them out loud, hear them, feel them form in your mouth
Soulfully continue this aged tradition of story telling
Poetry, is known globally, it transcends diplomacy,
it reaches souls, hearts and minds.
Like a minority,poetry is seen as weak and bleak,
but then life is not a bed of roses, there are thorns.
Reproachfully it is scorned, 'poet? Try writing a novel'
Wrongfully seen as the poor man to a novelist, poetry
at its best conveys, more in a few verses than a thousand
pages of a novel. Lonesome is the poet, that sees truth.
There is merit in poetry, the continuation of odes told by
the fireside, Viking, Persian, Celt, all historic bardic civilisations.
Purity in poetry leads down a path least travelled these days
but tales of yore still prevail, and Beowulf still roars.
Canterbury tales still elicit smiles, cries and woe.
Shakespeare, Dante, Poe, Neruda, Thomas, Petrarch all Poets with soul.
So, you tell me, and all of us poets are we the novelists poor relation?
Or, just reclaiming our station in life as the purest storytellers?
May 26, 2014
May 26, 2014 at 10:39 AM UTC
This to shall pass
leaving it’s impurities
a quag·mire of injustice
on a path of tyr·an·ny
At the counter
I paid my fine
a blessing the judge
didn’t give me any time!
Nov 22, 2021
Nov 22, 2021 at 8:52 AM UTC
As I ***** the streets of town, buildings made of grey and brown
Speak to me of people and events I still remember.
Steps upon well-trodden ways, rain makes blacks upon the greys
Painting scenes among the maze, from a long lost warm November.
We once lived on this side-street, our apartment there, small but neat
Moving in we fought the snow that came early that November.
We didn't have many things, but winters all gave way to springs,
And summer nights gave us wings to launch us into each September.
Many of them passed that way, weekdays of work and -ends of play,
Camping on cool clear autumn nights warmed to fire's final ember.
Years passed by uncounted then, new homes we found on new streets when
Our spaces seemed too small, and to the movers we'd surrender.
Walking round I see them all, the homes we made in this town so small
A lifetime spent and good times to remember.
Finally I walk o'er the hill, past the campground now quite still
To a peaceful lot just past the mill, where she went to rest one cold December.
My footsteps give me some small peace, how happiness came with such caprice
When we lived among these streets that I soulfully remember.
We loved the leaves and cool of fall, the change of seasons, first snow squall
And the love was greatest in our very last November.
The change of month took her away, how lost I felt on that sad day
How can I but hate the first day of December?
I miss her arm that fit with mine, I miss the way that her eyes shine
Just every second of lost time, since we loved our last November.
Jul 28, 2014
Jul 28, 2014 at 11:01 AM UTC
That little star
on the bank of milky way,
watching the flow with wonder filled eyes,
is my unborn daughter.
In my dream I see her
crying to sit cozily on my lap,
with her winks of starlight,
she pleads with me to tell her
sweet stories till she sleeps.
Soulfully she sings for me
the songs my beloved brought
from distant eons.
A ray of light from her
becomes love itself,
a flood of tenderness
sweeps me off my feet.
Sweet transcendence
binds us together
across light millenniums
that had come and gone.
I am delight personified sitting
on the lap of limitless universe;
I am a dream that conjures up,
whatever seems real in my mind.
Sep 30, 2013
Sep 30, 2013 at 7:44 AM UTC
Efficiently expanding enchantress;
ingenious and charismatic -
expressing soulfully rich facets,
stitched with ancient fabrics.
Mar 22, 2015
Mar 22, 2015 at 11:51 AM UTC
Where are we, Kaya?
Landscapes pock like amanita muscaria, fly agaria
the long-legged mushrooms, scarlet
and foot-cloven
and languages rage and quicken like seeds
Seated at the empty table
bloated from unrequited intentions
we refrain from embrasures
Your Garingau voice & throaty laugh
ripple over our eyes
Ha liya youn dabib?
You ask: Where
are we
going?
from here, with Lighthouse Caye in sight
on this sea of blighted corals beyond Seine Bight
where you were born as a footling--
inked though it became-- sole dark, Soul bright
emerging from the long dive
talismans training in your toothless mouth
foretelling the deeper plunges
off Billy Hawk Caye at Solstice
soulfully spearing our Sole--food without strife
And there is richer fare
where
we
are
going
into the night Kaya.
~ Lin Ostler
December 23. 2011
all rights reserved
Mar 18, 2012
Mar 18, 2012 at 3:14 PM UTC
HEY YOU! STOP, LOOK & LISTEN!
Whatever, I don't care if you pay attention
I'm prone to come, **** **** up & just leave
& yes, im well aware at the glares I receive
I'm tiny in size
But that's quite obvious if you have ******* EYES
There is more
Just wait for it, it's gonna POUR
The shadow lurkers , those who live in the darkness ..
Their PAINFUL screams forever echoing, maliciously & voiceless
They never just go away..
they just endlessly stay
hisses & shouts, salt unhealing wounds with every word
& STILL undefeated, I'm prepared to battle with what is yet to be heard..
I have no choice but to continue
**** IT! I gotta do what I gotta Do!
I won't quit, I plan to go hard & attack...
The Shadow Lurkers left me with a cold heart
& I'm giving that **** right back..
Feb 17, 2016
Feb 17, 2016 at 2:16 AM UTC
i soulfully wonder
of these devoted feelings i have.
because the quality it posses
is abysmally surpassing
the extremities of emotions.
simply to tell that,
i am madly
attracted.
Sep 28, 2023
Sep 28, 2023 at 2:54 AM UTC
~ You're the living breathing soul of my every word ~ ♡
Aug 20, 2015
Aug 20, 2015 at 9:20 AM UTC
a song sung soulfully,
for souls saddened severely,
can sooth such sickness,
and sate such sadness,
that saddened souls sing,
a sweeter sounding song.
Dec 23, 2012
Dec 23, 2012 at 10:31 PM UTC
Do you peacefully dream of me in my warm embrace
As I peacefully dream of you in yours
Are you walking with my tender hand in your own
Gazing into the eyes, you love to adore
Are your dreams filled with visions of a heaven
We created, soulfully, united as one
Do you joyfully dance with me to the music we make
Revered even by the radiant sun
My dreams are always filled with your striking visage
There I gaze into your eyes of crystal blue
While joyfully dancing with your strong hand in my own
My heart overflowing with love for you
Are your peaceful dreams filled with me, just the same
As you lie here asleep in my warm embrace
If we opened our eyes and left our peaceful world of dreams
Would I see the same look of love on your face?
Aug 24, 2010
Aug 24, 2010 at 12:46 PM UTC