"subconsciousness" poems
In the place where the moon meets broken shadows, it begins with the swelling of my eyes
Tears roll across the scars, that no one else can see
A phantom’s curse
Only this place can release my from this dystopian enchantment
The sweet smell alone entangles me with feelings of safety and wonder
For a reality flooded with forest flowers and a throbbing wind
It teases my subconsciousness, it trickles down to my soul
Like a an agonizing murmur
The hypnotic web forms
In this quiet place clouds hurry across confusing shadows
Shivering in the delicious sunlight
My immaculate hour of rediscovery begins…
Jan 19, 2013
Jan 19, 2013 at 5:18 PM UTC
sacred drum thumping
ancient rhythms
living eternally
throughout earth
the sound births
a percussion
of subconsciousness.
Nov 17, 2011
Nov 17, 2011 at 3:17 PM UTC
My skin has been itching for three months
I’m not sure why this is addicting
I’ve crashed a car in my head 3 times today
My mental awareness consistently letting go of the wheel
The Anterior teeth of my mouth have started to yellow in disapproval
I’m not sure why this is satisfying
I’ve been taking toxic psychotropics in light doses more than twice a day
It’s warmth is comforting as the jittering and hyperactivity become null
Bags have formed under my eyes
If you were to open them, their roasted smell would overpower you with stimulation
Constantly on my toes for risk of Insomnia and Narcolepsy
I’m not sure why this is outstanding
Adrenaline is being forcefully factored into my body
If this is the bullet, I’m biting it after an appliance pulls the trigger
As the high passes, it ripples through my mind
An otherwise calm sea, tidal waves pound the shores of my subconsciousness
Vacuum sealed can are filled with awareness
Sleep has become a rare odyssey
Warm comforters are replaced with long trachea trips of boiling beans
I’m not sure why this is alarming
Double trips become tripled and troubling to my mother
Arguments over the hours I shall harvest from the night are increasingly frequent
Slow to roll out of bed in the morning
I don’t hit my carpet, I splash into sugared preparedness
In my backpack hides a cup full of GI Joes
I’m not sure why this is troubling
If anything, I’m drinking a medicine that prevents death by 10-15% for 13 years
The New England Journal of Medicine was happy to acknowledge my existence
Till they announce anything different, you’ll find me taking a mud bath
I’m not sure why this is disgusting
Tell me everything that’s wrong with it
Because from where I’m standing
There is nothing wrong with
Coffee
Nov 19, 2012
Nov 19, 2012 at 11:58 AM UTC
Tucked away in our subconsciousness is an idyllic vision. We see ourselves on a long trip that spans the continent. We are travelling by train. Out the windows, we drink in the passing scene of cars on nearby highways, of children waving on a crossing, of cattle grazing on a distant hillside, of smoke pouring from a power plant, of row upon row of corn and wheat, of flatlands and valleys, of mountains and rolling hillsides, of city skylines and village halls.
But the uppermost in our minds is the final destination. On a certain day at a certain hour, we will pull into the station. Bands will be playing and flags waving. Once we reach there, so many wonderful dreams will come true and the pieces of our lives will be fit together like a completed jigsaw puzzle. How restlessly we pace the aisles, damning the minutes loitering, waiting, waiting, waiting for the station.
"When we reach the station, that will be it", we cry. "When I'm 18", "When I buy a new 450SL Mercedes Benz", "When I put my last kid through collage", "When I have paid off the mortgage", "When I get a promotion", "When I reach the age of the retirement, I shall live happily ever after."
Sooner or later, we must realize that there is no station, no one place to arrive at once and for all. The true joy of life is the trip. The station is only a dream. It constantly outdistances us.
"Relish the moment" is a good motto, especially when coupled withe the Psalm 118:24:"This is the day which the Lord hath made, we will rejoice and be glad in it." It isn't the burdens of today that drive men mad. It is the regrets over yesterday and the fear of tommorrow. Reget and fear are twin thieves who rob us of today.
So stop pacing the aisles and counting the miles. Instead, climb more mountains, eat more icecreams, go barefoot more often, swim more rivers, watch more sunsets, laugh more and cry less. Life must be lived as we go along. Then the station will come soon enough.
Aug 13, 2013
Aug 13, 2013 at 2:05 AM UTC
You are my type
The time is ripe
The time for the harvest
No time to rest
The fruit is glistening in the trees
Sweet summer breeze
Sunlight streaming
Smiles gleaming
Minds dreaming
Subconsciousness screaming
Feet in the softgreenmoist grass
Time no longer seems to pass
I'm reaching critical mass
Your soft sweet smile
Your charm and guile
You've got style
Your eyes burn with such intensity
Such perfect density
Jan 15, 2012
Jan 15, 2012 at 9:57 PM UTC
Have you ever fallen into the world behind your eyes?
Tis a world beyond description, of concept and timeless colour, pure sensation.
Have you ever loved the world behind the sky?
Loved the ideas, not the people, not the grass, but the sound of green on green.
Have you ever dined in a maze of countless lies?
Seen the beauty in the words, danced in meadows made of her...
Have you ever sat and watched the darkness; the twilight, mirrored starlight?
I have and it burned quietly; quietly and softly.
Jan 19, 2018
Jan 19, 2018 at 10:00 PM UTC
i dream of you i dream with you,
following the musings of the aching poet
blathering hyperbolic verbiage
into subconsciousness
where we leave entwined mortal bodies
for the impalpable enclave
we have created.
i dream of you i dream with you,
in sleep our minds meld
over aching bodies
and lift our spirits
to the ethereal nether-realm,
where we roam
for eons
sauntering through the fields
of ecstasy.
i dream of you i dream with you,
where the groans of the spirit
and its insatiable yearnings
find solace in the vastness
of the tangent universe,
existing outside our mortal guise,
alluded in our mind’s eye—
it’s heaven
built by you and i.
i dream of you i dream with you,
in lucid dreams
where we know we are asleep,
but we just laugh whilst
walking through the gates of eternity
flourishing in the eternal splendor
we have created.
Jan 29, 2017
Jan 29, 2017 at 1:15 PM UTC
Would the World hold on
when in subconsciousness
of every homini haunts
the unforgiven horrors:
the mass destruction,
abolition, slaughter,
genocide, slavery
wages, sweat, and treason.
Please, unnamed power,
send me on another planet.
I want to resign. I want to resign.
Nov 2, 2015
Nov 2, 2015 at 3:05 PM UTC
Subdue
Imerge
Intantations
.
.
No, it is not so complicated!
.
.
An honest
Re-connection
You - a man
Me - a woman
.
.
Living, loving
.
.
Best years!
And
The tallest Thuja Tree
Winks at us there
.
.
So we stop. . .
We breath and look up
In the night sky
.
For
A while
.
.
The World seems Endless
.
.
Three Beats
Veins rhythm
Kiss on a bark
Now, dear reader! - Try to -
Correlate this dreamers shrine
.
With a dark deep ocean
Of your elusive and
Dangerously devouring
Subconsciousness
.
.
Then you might call
Me on a
Phone
.
Perhaps
I won't pick it up!
.
Occupied . . .
Enchanted
By stars up - Above!
.
.
We can share hot chocolate
at Old chic Cacao Caffe
.
.
The Orange anime
Angel was served
Water in a paper cup
Made for ice cream rounds
.
A silken coat carresed by strangers
Melting their gazes
Pouring only
Goodness
.
.
And affection
Without a leash
.
.
On a leash by my side
At my knee
Between us
Ears along
The neck
.
White paws of my
Dearest friend . . .
.
.
Running as a speed of light!!
.
.
The Train is Tchwooot
Tchwooooot-ing
.
I have a ruby ring
And white black gloves
With Stripes and
Charming finger
Holes
.
.
Oh, Holmes!
The moon is rising again -
Like inspiration
For your new novel
For another Conundrum
.
.
To solve
.
.
It is quiet in the park
Dark and quiet in the park
Feb 25, 2015
Feb 25, 2015 at 4:05 PM UTC
After the first sleep comes the second morning,
the realm of meditative calm,
gifts we forgot we left ourselves,
in the time that time forgot,
in the lands we left behind.
In Tibet, the most skilled monks cover
great distances using the mantra
of the Lung Gom, a rhythmic matrix
leap. i use a car or my
memory to achieve the same.
As a child i captured fireflies from
my grandmother's back yard,
holding them captive in a jar
until they proved themselves,
making me their Gom Jabbar.
Now later along i feel the vibration
of life in my car as i drive.
i have no wish to synchronize
with it. My rebellious days
are mostly over, or few in number.
My subconsciousness has accepted
my inevitable death. That is
alignment enough, nature's Gom
Jabbar to my neck, regardless
of what i prove before:
like the fireflies in the jar...
like the death rattle of my car...
like the memories i sought,
struggling against union,
fearing the Gom Jabbar,
mouthing the Lung Gom.
Dec 1, 2013
Dec 1, 2013 at 10:12 PM UTC
Writing a poem is about locating self.
Every facet within what you’re about to create
blooms from your consciousness, your subconsciousness
your ego, your mind, your heart
But where are those elements planted?
Where are they rooted?
They are rooted within:
your ethnocentric illusions
your lived reality
your privilege, your pleasure, your pain
your abilities, your disabilities
your socioeconomic status: have and/or havenot
your fluency, your empathy, your sense of humour
your vices and your storytelling devices
Now we've got some roots, what are we going to grow?
Let’s begin by observing, using our senses
Maybe, let’s use our eyes
Consider, the reality of how we see and sense the world
Is different for each and every one of us
Everything is tempered by the lens we use
Which is informed through the roots of our synapses
Which empirically flow from the subjective ground
On which we stand
And what does this have to do with poetry?
What you describe in your poem,
Is an interpretation of what you see (and feel)
Interesting poetry comes when
there is exploring to do
It is a poet’s imperative to
Explore the edges
Out past the boundaries of the visual and audible spectrum
If we were fish poet’s
Would we write poetry about water?
I like to toy with my teenagers on occasion
So I asked my son the other day, what his worldview was?
And I have been enjoying the vacuous silence ever since
To be fair, I have been asking myself the same question for many years
And this might have been the inciting incident leading me to storytelling
As we began this journey together, it was stated that
Writing a poem is about locating self.
Can you describe your context?
Let me attempt to describe mine:
Here I am on the stage in this ocean of air
At the Owl Acoustic Lounge
On a Wednesday night in May
Popping air with rhythm, nuance, and a certain je ne ce quoi
Although this poem is not objectively true
Let me attempt to share that
this poem blooms from my developing cosmology
From the overtures of my Overself;
from the undercurrents of the Monomyth,
From my ***** and through my groans of intercession
This poem blooms from oblivion
Threading through philosophy, to worldview, and into a budding cosmology
For myself:
Worldview fell away when I found cosmology while reconnecting with the night sky
That night sky took me places while grounding me concurrently in inner spaces
Where locating self flows into meta-cognitive health,
Well ... that is something to write about
May 24, 2023
May 24, 2023 at 8:25 PM UTC
I will not write again of you the way I used to do
you've swallowed up enough of me to last you many moons
and if you try to find me in the places you will go
you'll only test your memory against a single soul
it used to be so easy to get lost inside your head
I found so little meaning in the words you never said
it must've been subconsciousness that let me see it all
unraveled my surroundings so there wouldn't be a wall
I think it was a fever that caused both of us to burn
ignited by a dreamer and a sleepy little girl
I've wanted you forever said the maker of the dream
until you have returned to me I cannot fall asleep
I shake as all my weakness leads my body to your door
but I can't lose a battle I'm not fighting anymore
so back to the recoil, hesitation has an end
I'll always be as close to you as I have ever been
Jan 26, 2016
Jan 26, 2016 at 8:22 PM UTC
for as long as i can remember, i have always told curious souls that i am afraid of the dark. it has always been my favourite excuse for keeping the yellow light on at night. but telling people that i was afraid of the dark was also a favourite lie of mine. i am not afraid of the dark, you see. actually, i am more likely to bath in moonlight than sunshine; i enjoy the silence of the night and i find comfort in the thought of having the night all by myself. the darkness that surrounds me has never made an attempt to rip off my pale skin
the truth is that i am afraid of unspoken words; i am afraid of the thoughts that enter my mind from the darkest corner of my subconsciousness when i am all swallowed by darkness. i am afraid of facing the fears of mine; afraid of accepting the heart-bursting pain that visits me on lonely nights. conclusively, i am just simply afraid of not being able to find beauty in onyx shattered worlds and my own imagination
it was never the dark
(k.w)
May 1, 2014
May 1, 2014 at 11:08 AM UTC
Please Set Her Free, From My Thoughts.
The Walls To My Deepest Fears
Are Closing Up On Her.
She Screams Out So Silently.
But Her Voice Echo's To My
Projected Subconsciousness.
They Feel Her ****** Tears
Curl To Their Souls.
But Spare No Sympathy
For The Little Girl.
They Let Her Drown,
And Watch Her Resurrect
Into A Consciousness
That Will Torture Me
For Eternity.
Jun 26, 2015
Jun 26, 2015 at 6:39 PM UTC
I beg you to stop sleepwalking in my dreams!
Your once unfamiliar face keeps on popping up like a surprise.
I tried to shove your ghost into the darkness,
into the abyss of my subconsciousness
but you keep on escaping with the ladder my heart made.
I vowed not to ever think of you again -
to make you a stranger once more.
But the heart is cruel,
It plays and gambles
until I lose to it.
This heart is very cruel indeed.
Aug 13, 2015
Aug 13, 2015 at 7:25 PM UTC
It’s 3:30 Am and it’s rush hour in my head.
1- I’m constantly being swallowed into my own existence like an ever-looping wormhole.
2- I am trying to expand, to encounter all energy and matter with space, grace, and sincerity.. And so I am constantly bursting, going through massive explosions and extreme intensity
.3- I am trying to radiate warmth, peace, beauty, light, and love.
4- I am trying to become one with myself, and with the Uni-verse.
5- The last four sentences started with the word “I”.. HOW SELF CENTERED CAN A PERSON BE!
6- The last three “I"s were followed by "am trying”.. cut yourself some slack, Nesma.
7- Nesma means breeze in Arabic, and someone once said “surround yourself with breezy souls in hot summers”.
8- Nesma starts with Noon, and Noon stands for infinity in my subconsciousness.
9- The uni-verse is infinite. It’s vast and supreme. It must be blue, blue is the warmest color.
10- My favorite Harry Potter character is Luna Lovegood. I have deeply fallen in love with Luna Lovegood… luna love good..
11- Luna is the same Latin root for the two words “the moon”, and “craziness”. The moon has always been associated with insanity, and for that, perhaps, it’s also associated with love.
12- God I LOVE the uni-verse.
13- “I did not fall in love with you, I fell in you with love”
Apr 27, 2015
Apr 27, 2015 at 6:46 PM UTC
No, what is life without fear?
Yes, what is growth without seed?
You have been an impostor to yourself,
and the mirror is opaque.
Tremors loom faceless choirs,
bellowing runes of disjoint.
Subconsciousness cradles reality,
and awakens the false soul.
Mar 1, 2015
Mar 1, 2015 at 7:23 PM UTC
Sleep casts a spell over my eyes
Heavy eyelids caress my dreams
So many thoughts nurtured today
Sleep shall take over the stage
Laying supine, soul is in a realm
Of the subconsciousness realization
Paradise of life blooms with colors
Colors of life and beyond
Gives dreams a makeover
Apr 14, 2015
Apr 14, 2015 at 10:23 PM UTC
In my past I would gaze
with eyes so vacant
as the stillness encapsulates,
the wonderment of
what once was
a breath. Free from entrapment,
but we, still stand,
so stagnant,
in the palm of a mediocre living.
In my past I would loll
amid the sounds
of my own self induced sorrows,
while Mother Nature
tried
to
awaken me.
"Celebrate! my imaginary friends."
But alas there was no melody.
Today I awoke in an indigo hue,
a long but forgotten friend.
Converse we did through
the silence
of
my
subconsciousness -
and birth she gave
to a sight I never had.
Mother Nature greeted me
with a silky sea of sun
upon my skin.
Mother Nature blessed me
with the illuminating innocence
of a babies laugh.
My soul rid my spirit
of the ghost in the machine,
and my sorrows became -
nevermore.
Jan 8, 2012
Jan 8, 2012 at 8:12 AM UTC
She begs him to stop
Her throat raw and aching
She scratches at his face
Her strength rapidly fading
The realisation is sudden
It hits her painfully enhanced
All control is lost
He's the one in command
She automatically retreats
Into the back recesses of her subconsciousness
Her body is no longer hers
She trusted the wrong man and this is the consequence
Nov 16, 2020
Nov 16, 2020 at 3:44 AM UTC
Shall I die victim to the terrors I have anticipated
Those that creep by a scarlet moon at midnight
The terrors that return me
To the deep waters of my subconsciousness
Terrors that trickle and trail and impart no sound
Yet emphasize their dark, violent and repressive potential
Oh those terrors that stalk, that follow
Whose shadow can be diserned behind every door and on every stair
That lay me impoverished of courage and ridiculed of depiction
I shall die by these terrors who with want of word
Spread upon me such vicious energies that enact
An intence and exhausting experience
Terrors that empahasie a mind spiraling
Vertiginously toward an unknown chaos
Shall I die, victim to the terrors I have anticipated
I shall, shall I not, I know I shall
Oct 27, 2012
Oct 27, 2012 at 7:57 PM UTC
The difference between my consciousness and subconsciousness is so severe,
So severe I fear I must sever the tie between the two.
Two halves of a whole that is me.
One says, "Be happy! Why not?"
And the other says, "Be happy why? Not!"
I feel the weight of the disagreement and I can't wait for it to stop.
My left hand holds the cake,
As the blade in the right "accidentally" slices my left wrist instead.
This fight within myself has left me battle scarred,
But the battle scars on my wrists and thighs
Are no match for the scars on my heart.
Aug 29, 2014
Aug 29, 2014 at 2:29 AM UTC
I sneak inside your mind
and tiptoe amongst
the broken glass
skirting around
disassociated thoughts
watching arguments
you thought you lost
sitting in the bleachers
of the upper reaches
of your subconsciousness
I find
I'm not the only spectator
that dwells within
your mind
you sit next to me
****** bare feet
you whisper softly
*you're in for a treat
See that white knight
upon that fiery steed
that's you
waiting, for me
Waiting for the battle
sitting so calm
here I come
upon the darkest horse
ready to do you harm*
I sat quietly in the stands
of your twisted tournament
holding onto your hand
waiting for spears to rend
skin from flesh
tear flesh from bone
waiting for blood to pour
from an empty wound
but the white knight
did not advance
just sat quietly
in saddle
waiting for a chance
for the black knight
to fall, stricken by
a ghostly lance
It was the white knights
chance, to catch him
as he tumbled
and fell
and there I dwell
inside your mind
you tumbled and fell
I caught you in time
Oct 11, 2015
Oct 11, 2015 at 5:10 AM UTC
/
I
I woke up this morning: pale, blue dawn - winter comes.
The sound of your breath all around me, lingering.
Your warmth, tucked beside me.
My eyes fluttering while rolling over -
You are not there, of course.
Slowly the blinking - the glare of daylight;
Slowly the silence - warning: it's too early.
Quickly the snuggle against a pillow barricade:
Like a jolting disturbance - dreaming resumes.
Faint shivers, warm touches fading.
Sleep numbs the world into safety once more.
II
A gloomy afternoon, pouring rain,
the smell of wet streets, coolly pressing my skin.
I tug the fleece over nodding muscles: gone.
Then -
an echoing ripping me into the falling rain.
A voice that is yours in subconsciousness-
I hear you within these walls: my heart pounds.
Sleep ruptured and dreams dissolve;
You are not here amongst the rain:
And, I am not soaked because of the downpour outside.
III
There's no one here.
Just a bird beyond the window.
Where are you, then?
You used to be here, I recall.
Or were you...
were you ever really here at all?
IV
Some days are like this:
awakening, reaching for your hand;
slumbering wears off with each blinking second:
And I forget you inside fading dreams.
I get up to face my days,
feeling like there is no one I miss. \
Sep 16, 2012
Sep 16, 2012 at 5:03 AM UTC
I don't know you that well.
Aside from small brushes of conversation
and the neo-classical poetry you gracefully
whisper through whatever cloud your laptop lays upon.
I only mention this as you probably
know about 2% less about my life
than my best friend, Joshua Wade.
You have also inspired
one of the greatest Lapis Lazuli truths
from within my being to burst through
the world twirling in subconsciousness
until speaking to you Rose Quartz crystalized it...
Apr 10, 2012
Apr 10, 2012 at 10:43 PM UTC