"spans" poems
I know not how many
million stars there are.
But I know there is
only one earth.
Maybe we have counted
the protons of the atom
as many it has in its nucleus
counted the electrons on the run
orbiting the nucleus.
But the spinning circle is a zero
yet to compute the unifying one!
It's a pattern spans the universe.
I know there are
billions of us human
out there on earth.
But all I want is only one.
Just to count on
a permanent one!
The big earth
is a bigger zero null.
Standing on barefoot
without the perpetual one.
No glue, no roof nor a sign
only on one pure rigid science!
Oct 17, 2017
Oct 17, 2017 at 1:06 AM UTC
A black crow's darting eyes
spans the wheat field
and an orange pumpkin patch.
She sees
tall grasses of brown
seedlings,
bristling in the wind,
soon to be bushels of grain
and a pumpkin pie that she never savored.
She sits, atop her tree perch,
at times warm and storybook,
hidden by tree branches,
and at times out of harm's way
and infamy.
Her friends, the sun, and clouds in concert,
dancing along.
Her other friends bring alms and smiles.
Life is so good at times.
Down the road sits a mill
next to a waterfall
and a cabin,
with reindeer horns
hanging above the doorway.
She is in her element, happy,
carrying for her nestlings.
Back and forth her parental eyes dart
the hilly fields, a smoked filled chimney, and her babies,
all crawling with sustenance and awe.
Storybook.
A mother feeding a worm to her baby.
Storybook.
Off to her side is not a blind eye
watching her,
scary stick figures of
straw tucked under red shirts and hats,
with a tied tinfoil strips dotting
her eyes and tease.
Scarecrows, cease.
At times life is good nature, hand in hand,
knock on wood.
If only life could be circumspect.
Than darkness filling the light
and a stutter of life.
For a sad page is turned,
pause
... tears.
Then, feathers fall.
Hers.
The sound of a thud.
Silence and tears of her friend's swelling.
A baby's cry, missing her mother.
More orphaned tears.
Who would be this despicable?
On that rogue day.
A kick of a donkey,
an ***
one bad rock on her path,
breaks the air,
as three little elementary kids were walking along
to school.
One, me, with a rock in his hand,
taking aim at her perch
and the death of the black crow's pages.
I confess.
... Bless me, Father, for I have sinned
it has been fifty years since
my last confession ...
a Tom Sawyer-like childhood gone worse.
I repent.
Some fifty years later I think of those first cairns,
including stealing the reindeer horns and milling
my brother and sister's storybook.
Waterfalls
stream tears, and a sorry boat
rowed downstream
sadly
thereafter.
Logan Robertson
7/25/2018
Jul 25, 2018
Jul 25, 2018 at 6:02 PM UTC
Someone is singing a song, it's somewhere written.
The ocean breaks in billowy dances, the seas open up
Get it off the chests, put a notion through onto the cloud
that won’t just fall, won’t just stop and drop: it will float
to the measured moves, only then will it roll in,
pop into the million blooms, wreathed rosy lips,
set out bowls of colours before the one is pouring in!
A song like King David sang and everyone heard.
It’s the sweet song sang in every mother tongue;
a perfumed speech is heard sweeter than the nectar,
wreaths round each patch of earth as part of a tongue.
In all different variations, directions it’s being sung!
Mathematically composed that rhythmically spans
fashion in both, or you choose science or arts.
It’s a lyric sung with finest curvy swaying dance.
Feel the thrills deep down through the atomic level.
still the variety motions in various directions turn on,
and nowhere near that looks, drawing a pause!
Mar 20, 2017
Mar 20, 2017 at 11:15 PM UTC
those **** trolls fish for gloom
baiting your roses and bloom
behind their mask and costume
a guise filled with malice loom
there spans from the beasts womb
a monster preying your doom
they take your light to dark displume
like fishes facing the jaws of gloom
eliot watches schools get entomb
like a stepping stone to their fume
it takes no rocket scientist's broom
to sweep the trolls from the classroom
nears the hour of our death, trolls resume
Logan Robertson
8/21/2018
Aug 21, 2018
Aug 21, 2018 at 9:00 PM UTC
There's a tree over there
that waits for its dreamer.
*I have survived many.
And lost much
but to tell all would encumber several human spans
because
I have lived and longed.
I have learned and yearned.
I have waited.
At the train station, where existence can only be fulfilled
via a spiritual connection.
Bounded by roots that twist and secure
Soon to be bonded with thoughts
Floating through the sky, riding the air waves, see-through till caught
in a spider's web, or something like it.
And imaginary gets real.
Take in the matter
Scrub the void with scrounged emotions and colors
Pour in materials of lint and string.
Mediums with no particular conductance,
but taught it tight
and strum till the vibrations reverberate
and bring your idea to life in my wings
Because you are my dreamer.
And I am your catcher.
Hung on a wooden peg,
in your study.
Waiting for the day you
pick me up
and all your dreams tumble out and
materialize
and you realize* who you are.
Feb 7, 2013
Feb 7, 2013 at 12:08 AM UTC
On the beach at night alone,
As the old mother sways her to and fro, singing her husky song,
As I watch the bright stars shining—I think a thought of the clef of the universes, and of the future.
A vast similitude interlocks all,
All spheres, grown, ungrown, small, large, suns, moons, planets, comets, asteroids,
All the substances of the same, and all that is spiritual upon the same,
All distances of place, however wide,
All distances of time—all inanimate forms,
All Souls—all living bodies, though they be ever so different, or in different worlds,
All gaseous, watery, vegetable, mineral processes—the fishes, the brutes,
All men and women—me also;
All nations, colors, barbarisms, civilizations, languages;
All identities that have existed, or may exist, on this globe, or any globe;
All lives and deaths—all of the past, present, future;
This vast similitude spans them, and always has spann’d, and shall forever span them, and compactly hold them, and enclose them.
4.8k
Epigrams: because our attention spans are too short for epics.
Mar 14, 2015
Mar 14, 2015 at 7:58 AM UTC
Laugh through the tears,
For life is short. Be
Quick to forgive, be
Slow to abort friendships built up
Through the years.
Be quick to forgive, and
Laugh through the tears.
Cry when you must,
For life isn’t fair. Be
Slow to give up, be
Quick to repair broken dreams built up
Through the years,
Cry when you must, but
Laugh through the tears.
Slow down, look around,
Life isn’t a race. Be
The best you can be,
Set your own pace, for life is a journey,
Which spans unknown years,
Slow down, look around, and
Laugh through the tears.
Trust in your faith,
Mortal life has an end. Be
Loving to family, always depend
On your friends; They’ll be with you,
When hope disappears.
Trust in your faith, and
Laugh through the tears.
Phil Lindsey, 3/7/17
Mar 7, 2017
Mar 7, 2017 at 5:22 AM UTC
They didn't lie
Time does fly
Yesterday had me at sixteen
Now I'm just old
Haven't been through it all
But I seen dark days
More self inflicted then not
I guess it's just life
No worse then the next
No more tears shed then you my friend
My heart breaks and the pain is the same as the rest
Don't get wrong
I had more good then bad
I love life and wouldn't change the worse of the worst
That doesn't keep me from missing a few things
How nice it would sound to hear her words
The calmness I would feel everytime she said it's going to be alright
To know the truth was being told
To see look in her eyes and see a beautiful soul
Have one last listen as she whispered
Goodnight and I love you son
The stress would fade if he was here
Hard to breakdown from the weight of the world
When he has me laughing at the world
My biggest fan who refused to let me say no I can't
My idol and best friend
A teacher who taught with actions
To be cliche
They will never be another like him
My brother left way to soon
I pray one day my son turns out to be just like him
If I could I would sit for hours without being in a rush
Born a man
You clocked more hours then ten men in three life spans
Took care of people and helped raise more kids then anyone will ever know
Life threw you some hard hits but never left your feet
You looked up to true grit John Wayne
I looked up to you John Wayne
I could go on cause theirs alot more I reminisese about
But theirs always something that tops them all
This time its
Us
I miss you and me
I miss your touch and your lips pressing against mine
Waking up next to you after falling asleep holding you tight
Your smile and the sound of your laugh
I want to go back to putting us first
I want them to refer to us as them
I miss you , I miss me
I miss us
Jul 19, 2018
Jul 19, 2018 at 1:27 AM UTC
Rose in a dew
I thought I caught
a glimpse of you.
Zooming in
I thought I can
get closer.
Only to eye on
upon a river
amid myriad
over looking stars.
A drop spans out
to be a sea
neither did it tarry.
I thought I would
give up that big
is not for me.
But yet a scene
never washed away
is intact unblurred
beneath the million
waves of the sea.
I thought the moon
will give up!
It can never touch
but always returns
over the sea
can't forget a scene.
So is me
once that
I chanced to see.
Jun 29, 2022
Jun 29, 2022 at 11:28 PM UTC
Total trust implies one must
remove all doubt that remains about
untold plans or secret spans
some past betrayals can last
that give cause for us to pause
Feb 19, 2015
Feb 19, 2015 at 10:18 AM UTC
The sakura petals, whose life spans are so short lived, begin to wilt,
and with their falling blossoms, my old love dies out,
it's flame, never again to be rekindled,
They wilt away as the breeze air carries them far from my loving tears,
he had found a new destiny,
a new love, whose petals beam a brighter shade of pink,
that wind only made me shiver in loneliness,
it's bitterness held by jealousy,
but than it brought with it a sweet sensation,
'I'm glad to see his sunny smile return'
even if another had cast it, at least he could find his own happiness once again,
farewell my dearest love,
and may the your smile never again forsake you
Feb 26, 2015
Feb 26, 2015 at 10:21 AM UTC
My life is a virtual battlefield
complete with hidden traps,
layered atop cowardly assaults
between highly guarded spans of peace,
Inside my house
chairs and walls
are coarsely blown to bits
by verbal bombs,
and stark fists of shrapnel.
Behind that simple smile,
semblance of solid love
so easily shaken,
lies a ripened mine field
I tread on tiptoes
yet it erupts under
calloused feet unprovoked,
blasting glory to grey
as sacred sanctuary
falls to scarred terrain.
Spears lodged inside ribs
I peel myself from the ground,
shake off soot,
wait for dust to settle
before I march forward, again.
yes I lose the battles
But I will win this war.
Jan 21, 2019
Jan 21, 2019 at 6:30 PM UTC
****** empowers those who flaunt
the shape imbued by deity
by wide degree that willingness
to express beauty’s form
empowerment becomes the goal
once a choice is expressed
by displaying more or less
skin’s gamut is then blessed
divestment of draped attire
spans the spectrum from slight to all
whether the ankle only shows
or lack of raiment is complete
that span is chosen by the self
society is asked to stand mute
don't suggest what should be
except to honor certitude
the superficial or complete
exhibition is the private trek
played out in public without remorse
rejoice for those who made their choice
skin as sanction to celebrate
costumes bent to serve a will
no longer hiding the natural
****** displaying love of self.
© 2018. Sean Green. All Rights Reserved. 20180907.
Sep 8, 2018
Sep 8, 2018 at 8:52 PM UTC
~
*solstice = sun stopped; in the case of winter solstice,
the moment when the sun ceases its journey northward
from the earth’s equator and turns southward toward
longer days; much like the journey our sun takes,
love solstice then is that moment of
arrest and redirect for one’s direction of travel
in life... and in this, the moment
a Sagittarian and Capricornian
separated on two sides of the solstice,
turn, collide and coalesce.*
~
hers,
the waning side,
winter's reprise,
calls to the night,
at height of eventide.
his,
on ebbing turn,
the sun's reverse,
together rise to step
as one at winter's ball.
their dance across the sky
'neath moonlit nights.
two in love,
in lockstep of
the stars above,
collide and coalesce,
their waltz amidst
the delicate pearls of
a Milky Way stage!
no more his lonely
path among the stars;
his heart she's swept,
to never dance alone;
her arrow sent with bow,
piercing to the marrow,
holds his life,
his very soul.
bold and daring,
her voice of caring,
soothes his troubled heart.
he, her promise, calls
to her adven’trous heart,
two stepping toward
a rising warming sun,
in birth that spans
the space and time between,
forever now as one;
this their solstice of love!
~
post script.
*she (late Sagittarian) is the setting-sun-kissed, rain-misted huntress,
he (early Capricornian) is the rising sun's icicled traveler.
mere days separating their arrival, though theirs could not be
more varied. their births under different signs; his in the wintry
heartland, hers in the sun-kissed southwest; individually they are fire
and ice, huntress and wanderer who together have captured,
captivated each the other’s heart. you’re not likely to see them
separately, but when you do, it’s only briefly when resupplying
their home, their hearth, their hearts. two making a most unlikely one,
but oh so surprisingly, so beautifully passionate!*
Dec 23, 2015
Dec 23, 2015 at 2:19 AM UTC
The state of being with no suffering is Shakti
The state of awakening beyond sleep is Shakti
When love matures and sweetens that is Shakti
The fullness and fulfillment of masculine is Shakti
When the sweetness matures that is Shakti
The divine which resides in the thoughts is Shakti
Whatever work comes before us is Shakti
The state of mukti, the end, is Shakti
The braveness which destroys laziness is Shakti
The flame which is instilled in these words is Shakti
When the best of fruits are eaten that taste is Shakti
When thoughts of divine arise that is Shakti
Shankara who lives on top of the huge mountains, his lovely flame is Shakti
The lap where life flourishes is Shakti
The strength which guards the earth is Shakti
The flame which stops one from falling is Shakti (denotes inner strength that averts fall/defeat)
The tapas that eliminates confusion is Shakti
The finger which stops downfall is Shakti
The one who spans the whole expanse of sky is Shakti
Her highness who eliminates karma is Shakti
The inner flame which shines from within the heart is Shakti
Oct 3, 2014
Oct 3, 2014 at 2:09 AM UTC
it,s loose cotton electric ***
copper children
husky sighing t
he
trickle of daughters into the little wet cracks
on Railroad ave. a beggars hand gesticulating empty spans
a river of grins course toward amber
oblivion and jarring rhythms. she's a white idea. a lemon dress *****
her hips are a delicious war of curving apparitions
a dearth of pleasure loaded folds. or else a caustic laceration;
some hernia of capillaries blotting ivory thighs
a
n
d all the children giggle, teeth cleaning pearly cheeks
splay the efforts of their throats all over the cobbles. it,s a night
FRIDAY
yes
Aug 5, 2010
Aug 5, 2010 at 7:36 PM UTC
Pendulum swings, beckoning time
To move along and forget.
But it can’t.
It likes to linger in the green
Meadows where butterflies
Sip on sweet nectar while
Children play hide and seek
Among the tall trees.
Pendulum swings, yet time
Ignores it at the shores when
Waves and sun hold hands and
Conceive warm hues bathing
The couple immersed in love
Which spans an eternity.
Pendulum swings, but time
Sleeps at the campfire
Crackling, cackling at the
Jokes told by the witty
Grandfather who has
Seen it all, done it all.
Pendulum swings, coaxing
Time to be on its way.
But it can’t.
It’s unable to let go of those
Treasured, magical moments
Etched in the fabrics of the
Universe, painting all existence.
Jan 23, 2016
Jan 23, 2016 at 12:16 PM UTC
indigo blue
vampire bats
with six foot
wing spans
gather in flight
before the
eyes of night
perform their
ghost dance
in flight
before they
flock to the
blood moon
Apr 14, 2014
Apr 14, 2014 at 12:19 AM UTC
‘Whenever I plunge my arm, like this,
In a basin of water, I never miss
The sweet sharp sense of a fugitive day
Fetched back from its thickening shroud of gray.
Hence the only prime
And real love-rhyme
That I know by heart,
And that leaves no smart,
Is the purl of a little valley fall
About three spans wide and two spans tall
Over a table of solid rock,
And into a scoop of the self-same block;
The purl of a runlet that never ceases
In stir of kingdoms, in wars, in peaces;
With a hollow boiling voice it speaks
And has spoken since hills were turfless peaks.’
‘And why gives this the only prime
Idea to you of a real love-rhyme?
And why does plunging your arm in a bowl
Full of spring water, bring throbs to your soul?’
‘Well, under the fall, in a crease of the stone,
Though precisely where none ever has known,
Jammed darkly, nothing to show how prized,
And by now with its smoothness opalized,
Is a grinking glass:
For, down that pass
My lover and I
Walked under a sky
Of blue with a leaf-wove awning of green,
In the burn of August, to paint the scene,
And we placed our basket of fruit and wine
By the runlet’s rim, where we sat to dine;
And when we had drunk from the glass together,
Arched by the oak-copse from the weather,
I held the vessel to rinse in the fall,
Where it slipped, and it sank, and was past recall,
Though we stooped and plumbed the little abyss
With long bared arms. There the glass still is.
And, as said, if I ****** my arm below
Cold water in a basin or bowl, a throe
From the past awakens a sense of that time,
And the glass we used, and the cascade’s rhyme.
The basin seems the pool, and its edge
The hard smooth face of the brook-side ledge,
And the leafy pattern of china-ware
The hanging plants that were bathing there.
‘By night, by day, when it shines or lours,
There lies intact that chalice of ours,
And its presence adds to the rhyme of love
Persistently sung by the fall above.
No lip has touched it since his and mine
In turns therefrom sipped lovers’ wine.’
2.7k
I entered my poem "last night I dreamed" in the Tallenge poetry competition for May 2014, which it won, it's now in the annual competition so I'd really appreciate your support by voting for it at - bit.ly/1pJ0N3z
You can find the poem down the line in my list of poems, but I'll paste it here again so you can check it out to see if it's worth a vote.
Last Night I dreamt
Of the Hagia Sophia.
Looking across
mighty Bosphorous.
In Istanbul, in Byzantium,
in Constantinople.
A prize of ages...........
In all her many's
real and imagined glory.
Man's desire,
God's gift.
Stone's testament
To my species' faith,
In eternity.
Though this Hagia,
My Sophia,
was one of my dreams
In a dream-city/state.
In a dream Macedon/Thrace,
Modern and ancient
Asian/Europe, European-Asia,
Turk and Greek
Jew and Russian
Balkan stars fall upon her'
Coloured light's
and bright vid-screens.
Amid stone and earth
Glass and concrete,
Granite and amythst
Huge, jewel-covered,
ancient beyond measure....
Not just Constantine's church,
though mighty church it was..
Or Mehmet's prize;
though great Mosque it became
Nor Theodosius's rock
Though he still fights for her
Somewhere in the past.
And no dry museum either,
Though museum she is..........
In reality.
Just an ancient place,
Euxine harbour
Cross-road of man and water,
Land and Gods
Magic and reality
Chozen by Hellas
Built and owned
by Christ's children
Subjects of St. Paul's
Holy empire.
Orthodox and sacred
To Greek and Rus.
No Latin hymns
We're sung in her walls.
Then won by Turk
In wars fierce and long -
So now Muhammed's shrine
Ottoman and Pasha
Jewel of a new kingdom
Built upon built
Myriad upon myriad
Pagan, Muslim, Jew, and Christian
And the Gods of Hellas
who dwell there still
Watch and wonder
at it all
But in my dream
She was made -
in the shape of a grassy mound
Many faceted, growing still
Amid structures, attached to her
spans and arches
Ancient wonder
Modern glory
Flowing and rising
Worshipped by all who
dwelt near her.
Grassed covered
Monument strewn
Stretching up to the dark -
Starry Sky
Arches
Domes
Butress'
Spires
Crosses
Cresents
Heart's desire
White rocks paved
And eternal grasses
Dewed by Hellene Gods
Whose light it saved
Last night I dreamed
Of the Hagia Sophia.......
Aug 12, 2014
Aug 12, 2014 at 6:21 PM UTC
How word conveys thine yonder form
is winter’s ice upon my ear,
No mouth can so describe the warmth
lay hous’d inside my heart endeared.
Despite all speech that one might find,
though vastly far it always spans,
your essence will lay undefined,
far beyond all ink-spotted hands.
But here I stay ever toiling,
grasping my pen yet unprepared,
Cursive paper onward coiling,
My crumpled sheets lay uncompared.
So know my love you’re all to me
beyond that which our words can see.
Feb 25, 2014
Feb 25, 2014 at 8:36 PM UTC
leisure up my friend !
weaken open your shellfish hinge
and wet your beak
it’s a marked holiday break
unmarred by family obligation
there’s freedom
to make the most criminal crown of mistakes
in the name
of some frown of liberal investigation
on the town
an eager squad of collaborators are on board
they have your back
desperate, sick and starving gulls
broadened to explore the deplorable
on and on to the next and the next
death defining task
a meandering stagger of a bar crawl
perpetually powering through
as the day spans a revulsion
the heat stays as the day sinks beneath
in place of the suns rays
the heat radiates
from the baked city concrete
stepping out from the shelter of the bar
the night swelter respires fiercely
not done with our steam of annihilation
what establishment would take our kind ?
city has already bowed over it's plumage
to our ******* pilgrimage
bark melts and peels in strips off the trees
(meat shaved off the strip pole)
our heels spark the pavement
vermin and jackals follow our movement
from shimmering dark spots
and our vision constricts
our aim has become clotted...
...what was it that we reached for ?
oblivions fruit seemed a doable pursuit
it's the usual downhill shambles from here
familiar yet barely remembered
a rambling guff of bad ***** comedy
there is no plucky legend
just an embarrassment
Jun 10, 2023
Jun 10, 2023 at 9:47 PM UTC