"spheric" poems
Things abandoned are
Left behind
In the darkness
Nowhere to go,
Nowhere to live,
Suffer and pain
But still,
somewhere in the darkness,
a little spheric light
fly around,
and that we call,
Hope
Behind the suffer
Behind the pain
a little spheric light
wait for our call
and that we call,
Hope
Jun 1, 2015
Jun 1, 2015 at 5:18 AM UTC
332
There are two Ripenings—one—of sight—
Whose forces Spheric wind
Until the Velvet product
Drop spicy to the ground—
A homelier maturing—
A process in the Bur—
That teeth of Frosts alone disclose
In far October Air.
1.3k
**** on my nose and question the ethereal depth of my love for Dark Matter.. the beer and the cosmic phenomenon. Ask me why you think we should love one another in the darkest prison, laughing at the ghosts, scoffing at the shadows, screaming in delight: 'depersonalized madness can't hear me now!'
Your pupils are dilated with panic. Too much coffee, you addicted, raging barista-wannabe. Too much indication that the owl whooting WHO is asking, 'who?' Or making reference to the World Health Organization and the spread of Ebola across the western sub-sahara SHUT THE **** UP, OWL, I DON'T WANT TO CONSIDER WHAT ITS LIKE TO BLEED OUT THE EYES.
Drifting along in life, driftwood getting paid to drift along as long as it can stay a bit past nine and help the boss close up shop. Dressing all indifferent as if black Urban Planet pants that require a lint roller are worth the $20 they charged or if the polo shirt you wear was really worth the 80 you spent recklessly when a previous boss hinted you'd breached dress code by showing up shirtless on the very first day.. you ate nothing but Mr Noodles and bruised apples for a week just to help a CEO make bonus on his margins and afford the violent takeover of Exxon Mobile.
SCREECH AND SCREAM LIKE THE RAGING TINNITUS YOU TRY TO DROWN OUT WITH STRANGE SPACE MUSIC from spheric-lounge. Is depression all that bad if cipralex makes your jaw clench as if it were overdosed MDMA? Perhaps I'll feel well on Welbutrin, smell putrid, feel stupid, noticed that my love life is just another betrayal by a loopy cupid, my Lawd.
Aug 25, 2014
Aug 25, 2014 at 8:13 PM UTC
Sometimes I think there is an inner earth,
that spins all widdershins to what we know;
and smoothly from within its spheric berth,
creates enchantments in our world of woe.
I almost hear the distaff and the wheel
and see the golden threads that are there spun;
as if the tapestries of life are real
and magic woven into every one.
The mural of one's life does take its turns;
one section, all bright colours,- next of dark.
The concept of these things within me burns
as I perceive the meaning of the spark.
Our tapestries are dark where we're alone
and brightest where the light of love has shone.
Mar 25, 2012
Mar 25, 2012 at 8:46 PM UTC
The room is clear and the air is filtered
Two chairs for me and her, to separate and segregate
I grind my teeth and I clinch my fist, to the point where
I experience near sudden paralysis in my right hand,
and I think to myself, "I didn't love you because you were rich".
No such things as unaccepted apologies.
Between the two pillars of our own truth, there stands 32 Dr. Phils,
and each one attempts to explain to me
on how to be a reasonable and rational man,
so I can grow old with her, and learn how to fly without having any mosquito wings.
As I sit impatiently in this draconian chair of imprisonment with no restraints,
I think of what we once had and what we can still accomplish
by not believing in things such as unaccepted apologies.
By realizing that we are no longer on training wheels,
That the jagged surface that bridges us,
From a love that can shave diamonds and convert children into angels after death.
And when we get to that bridge, we will see ourselves with our children
as they walk and crawl to our bodies,
infesting their love across our fat bellies with their eyes and their drooling mouths.
I want our children to learn their first words that signify the exact representation
of our relationship;
their vivid sounds of "mamas, dadas, goo-goos, ga-gas"
hanging to our ears like raindrops on windshields,
like a mobile softly swinging over their cribs.
I relinquish myself from this seat as I run to hers,
to grab her, to tell her how ****** this situation is.
How our internal and legal battles are astronomically indifferent
To the spheric gift from God that has shun His light to your tiny stomach,
like the flickering spark of a dying flash.
Aug 22, 2013
Aug 22, 2013 at 8:47 PM UTC
I’ve come to understand now that of course as someone is sleeping, the other needs to give respect and not wake that individual of course- It’s always been like that for in terms of that knowledge though maybe we are all simply put born as individuals where our brains do not mesh in any way shape or form other than talk about ourselves and unto ourselves to make points come across
That we are all individually intrinsic and that sleeping all together as a global spheric mannerism is just the way so that so that that can just be some way of understanding that humans are a certain way
It’s like we do this just in case the real out there aliens are alive for them to see what humanity is like that it’s its own planet meant for humanity. Other than it proves no point at all, when the lights go down low and the music begins to blare and the fireworks are in the air on a schedule that changes every, single, year
This is our Atmosphere
© 2018 Clarissa van Vreden
Nov 7, 2018
Nov 7, 2018 at 7:15 PM UTC
When I'm There
After all of the noise
Of all the days
Of the all time spent prior
When I'm there
All that's left is silence
All that's left is the sound of the wind as it breathes
Through the spheric nature of me
Nov 15, 2018
Nov 15, 2018 at 7:13 AM UTC
A life without love
Is a life without ends
Not a road
Just a stationary point
Maybe a life with one single end—
the one without love
Only one cause to strive for
And truly just one without more
Maybe a life with not one end at all
A life as a permanent “x”
One point in history
And no true value at all
A life without love
Why life at all?
Still we breathly*strive
All without tone
How can life exist without tension?
How can harmony continue to be,
Or anything without boundaries?
No limits because the limit is itself
Not even French man, Lagrange
Could solve this one life
The one without love
The one that sets itself as none
So I do my best impression of the sun
Extending its ten thousand rays through the whole
The many ends and ways I let Love create
All out me and the itch inside my soul
And I do my best impression to revolve
Become the revolution that I must long for
So I do my best impression of all that crosses my path
Wildly roaming as the wallowing water road
A river that can’t be just one permanent sea
And so I ask and plea
To excuse myself from my wish
“Dear Sky, today I want be me,
A river that obeys no one”
And I ask my spheric, life-long ceiling
“Do you have limits at all?
No corners or endings
You yourself have become one”
And today I ask for forgiveness
I do not want to mirror a limit
I want to run across the sphere
And become, until love extinguish
Aug 13, 2019
Aug 13, 2019 at 1:17 AM UTC
Momentarily we all are
As none is upon the
Spheric frozen cogs of time;
Now trow thou understanding
And ***** infinite conception,
Wishing, supernal creature-
Thrice fallen, expunging
Salvations scars deeper
Than the eternal hurt
Redeeming Gods altar;
The eventual solatium
Of oscillate lucifuguos death
Declaring defeat bearing the
Cross of extension for life's
End will never reveal
Peace to lost souls.
ELEETE J MUIR
Aug 7, 2018
Aug 7, 2018 at 4:26 AM UTC
——————————————————
midway up the alleyway
among illegal upheaval
urban street backgrounds
swell unfolding into soundscape shapes
for exchanging
cracked mufflers
and
broken English as ingredients
out in this blacktop district melting ***
ramp-up,
cascade,
clatter,
and crash
spilling out almost detuned chords of reverberated sustain
into and echo through my window
in an oscillating fling around the ceiling fan
and from there it’s on repeat until dusk begins to loom
Static sizzle begins a final crescendo
And quickly takes its medicinal weakening
inevitable low murmuring enduring
in an almost complimentary gradation
a fading to dark (so you know where we’re at)
Frogs and crickets use their voices
In nocturnal harmony
singing the daylight to rest
while synchronizing intone
all those unforgiven and withdrawn souls
can take a new step forward
walking in stride with carefree invisibility
beneath a scattershot of luminaries
that constellate a shadowy veil
draped over town
My town
and Your town
and across
in a floating waft
Dispatched via the calm blue astral spheric hue
from a lunar dome
Or
cosmic citadel
represent
Represent
REPRESENTING
for all our collective
Grandmother Astral-sphere
————-————-————-————-
Sep 23, 2020
Sep 23, 2020 at 11:45 PM UTC