"submerges" poems - Hello Poetry

"submerges" poems

The artichoke With a tender heart Dressed up like a warrior, Standing at attention, it built A small helmet Under its scales It remained Unshakeable, By its side The crazy vegetables Uncurled Their tendrills and leaf-crowns, Throbbing bulbs, In the sub-soil The carrot With its red mustaches Was sleeping, The grapevine Hung out to dry its branches Through which the wine will rise, The cabbage Dedicated itself To trying on skirts, The oregano To perfuming the world, And the sweet Artichoke There in the garden, Dressed like a warrior, Burnished Like a proud Pomegrante. And one day Side by side In big wicker baskets Walking through the market To realize their dream The artichoke army In formation. Never was it so military Like on parade. The men In their white shirts Among the vegetables Were The Marshals Of the artichokes Lines in close order Command voices, And the bang Of a falling box. But Then Maria Comes With her basket She chooses An artichoke, She's not afraid of it. She examines it, she observes it Up against the light like it was an egg, She buys it, She mixes it up In her handbag With a pair of shoes With a cabbage head and a Bottle Of vinegar Until She enters the kitchen And submerges it in a *** Thus ends In peace This career Of the armed vegetable Which is called an artichoke, Then Scale by scale, We strip off The delicacy And eat The peaceful mush Of its green heart.

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Ode To The Artichoke

The artichoke With a tender heart Dressed up like a warrior, Standing at attention, it built A small helmet Under its scales It remained Unshakeable, By its side The crazy vegetables Uncurled Their tendrills and leaf-crowns, Throbbing bulbs, In the sub-soil The carrot With its red mustaches Was sleeping, The grapevine Hung out to dry its branches Through which the wine will rise, The cabbage Dedicated itself To trying on skirts, The oregano To perfuming the world, And the sweet Artichoke There in the garden, Dressed like a warrior, Burnished Like a proud Pomegrante. And one day Side by side In big wicker baskets Walking through the market To realize their dream The artichoke army In formation. Never was it so military Like on parade. The men In their white shirts Among the vegetables Were The Marshals Of the artichokes Lines in close order Command voices, And the bang Of a falling box. But Then Maria Comes With her basket She chooses An artichoke, She's not afraid of it. She examines it, she observes it Up against the light like it was an egg, She buys it, She mixes it up In her handbag With a pair of shoes With a cabbage head and a Bottle Of vinegar Until She enters the kitchen And submerges it in a *** Thus ends In peace This career Of the armed vegetable Which is called an artichoke, Then Scale by scale, We strip off The delicacy And eat The peaceful mush Of its green heart.

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Fred Gorgeous works as a Valet at a reputable tall hotel with pools with marble bathrooms and those marble bathrooms have marbled ******** marbled sinks where the elderly pinch out blood from their lungs Fred Gorgeous is balding he wears glasses Fred Gorgeous isn't gorgeous at all Fred Gorgeous listens to love songs in spanish alone Fred Gorgeous has a Dog his dog barks at nothing his dog never sleeps his dog is ugly too his dog has brown black eyes and a blue collar Fred Gorgeous has eyes too his eyes are green Fred Gorgeous lives in an apartment downtown Police sirens quake through the city atmosphere like World War 1 **** chemical war fare Fred Gorgeous submerges himself underwater in his un-marble bath tub Fred Gorgeous can still hear the Police Sirens they have tainted the water too Fred Gorgeous was in love once many times but mostly once Fred Gorgeous smokes cigarettes Fred Gorgeous listens to Spanish music in the afternoon while the city is at work while the kids are at school while the drunks are drunk in drunk encouraging residents Fred Gorgeous buys cheap wine 3 dollars a bottle Fred Gorgeous isn't gorgeous at all Fred Gorgeous is 34 years old He is bored He is not tired He has 3 pairs of shoes All of them leather Fred Gorgeous gets drunk and lays in his closet the size of a Coffin and smells his shoes Fred Gorgeous enjoys the smell of leather and shoe polish Fred Gorgeous isn't special Fred Gorgeous isn't great Fred Gorgeous isn't brave or a hero Fred Gorgeous isn't anything at all Fred Gorgeous has a painting of a tornado on his wall.

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Mar 24, 2013

Mar 24, 2013 at 3:51 PM UTC

Fred Gorgeous works as a Valet at a reputable tall hotel with pools with marble bathrooms and those marble bathrooms have marbled ******** marbled sinks where the elderly pinch out blood from their lungs Fred Gorgeous is balding he wears glasses Fred Gorgeous isn't gorgeous at all Fred Gorgeous listens to love songs in spanish alone Fred Gorgeous has a Dog his dog barks at nothing his dog never sleeps his dog is ugly too his dog has brown black eyes and a blue collar Fred Gorgeous has eyes too his eyes are green Fred Gorgeous lives in an apartment downtown Police sirens quake through the city atmosphere like World War 1 **** chemical war fare Fred Gorgeous submerges himself underwater in his un-marble bath tub Fred Gorgeous can still hear the Police Sirens they have tainted the water too Fred Gorgeous was in love once many times but mostly once Fred Gorgeous smokes cigarettes Fred Gorgeous listens to Spanish music in the afternoon while the city is at work while the kids are at school while the drunks are drunk in drunk encouraging residents Fred Gorgeous buys cheap wine 3 dollars a bottle Fred Gorgeous isn't gorgeous at all Fred Gorgeous is 34 years old He is bored He is not tired He has 3 pairs of shoes All of them leather Fred Gorgeous gets drunk and lays in his closet the size of a Coffin and smells his shoes Fred Gorgeous enjoys the smell of leather and shoe polish Fred Gorgeous isn't special Fred Gorgeous isn't great Fred Gorgeous isn't brave or a hero Fred Gorgeous isn't anything at all Fred Gorgeous has a painting of a tornado on his wall.

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Into the valley of unicorns, with innumerable horns protruding, a plethora of dazzling white mass roams the grassland,so pure,so innocent, the abode of dragons,the red-winged beauty concentrating their breath on a cave high above the snow covered mountain, and beyond it’s fiery veil rises the freedom of a thousand phoenix which soar high above the violet sky. O my beautiful mind,to whom do you really belong? you surpass all my narrow visions and bring me to this paradise,I get lost. In the ocean of pearls and diamonds glittering in the sunlight,my torn and tattered body of Desire submerges- like a salt-doll,my docile materialistic Self who came to measure its depth,dissolves, I cry with joy. It is then that my Independence breaks the barriers of a century’s history, and my Bliss is cursed with the most horrific beauty.But O my beautiful mind, how do I sustain you? for I am again awake in my bed,left only to savor the token of Freedom that you leave by,I wonder HOW?

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Mar 24, 2013

Mar 24, 2013 at 12:43 PM UTC

Into the Valley of Unicorns

Into the valley of unicorns, with innumerable horns protruding, a plethora of dazzling white mass roams the grassland,so pure,so innocent, the abode of dragons,the red-winged beauty concentrating their breath on a cave high above the snow covered mountain, and beyond it’s fiery veil rises the freedom of a thousand phoenix which soar high above the violet sky. O my beautiful mind,to whom do you really belong? you surpass all my narrow visions and bring me to this paradise,I get lost. In the ocean of pearls and diamonds glittering in the sunlight,my torn and tattered body of Desire submerges- like a salt-doll,my docile materialistic Self who came to measure its depth,dissolves, I cry with joy. It is then that my Independence breaks the barriers of a century’s history, and my Bliss is cursed with the most horrific beauty.But O my beautiful mind, how do I sustain you? for I am again awake in my bed,left only to savor the token of Freedom that you leave by,I wonder HOW?

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Her intense presence does something tender, to his heart; that eludes words. When she speaks, in a soft soothing tone, the pain she suffers, submerges, goes missing. How much she endures, how long, he can't fathom. A silent grief binds them together; he is the mirror that faithfully reflects. He feels now the gentle spread of moisture enveloping them both; dried up skin on his face comes to life again. Lips, curled up dry leaves, are pumped up with chlorophyll, turn towards her, the sun. He dissolves, in the thought of her pain, becomes her tear drops, roll down and fall one by one.

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Jan 23, 2013

Jan 23, 2013 at 2:05 PM UTC

Her intense presence does something tender, to his heart; that eludes words. When she speaks, in a soft soothing tone, the pain she suffers, submerges, goes missing. How much she endures, how long, he can't fathom. A silent grief binds them together; he is the mirror that faithfully reflects. He feels now the gentle spread of moisture enveloping them both; dried up skin on his face comes to life again. Lips, curled up dry leaves, are pumped up with chlorophyll, turn towards her, the sun. He dissolves, in the thought of her pain, becomes her tear drops, roll down and fall one by one.

Continue reading...

Rachel Ray is speaking. The room in which he lays, passed out, continues on without his permission. Dead moths feather down from the less-than-steady window unit. A cockroach delights in the cabinet. The peanut butter the man swore he wouldn't touch, on account of his lack of self-discipline, self-denial, self-awareness--maybe just self--is not sealed, the lid at an acute angle, the cockroach rubbing its antennae together. Gluten-free fish fry with a modern, chic potato salad, Rachel Ray says. Easy to make on a work night or after the kids get out of soccer practice. I like easy. Do you like easy? What about fast? That's what I thought. The power flickers as the power always does when someone on the first floor of the apartment building starts a load of laundry. The man does not stir; he dreams. But more than that, more weighty a subject than one two three lovers or falling from heaven, the muck of common dreams, submerges the dreamer. The scene is this: The man is a boy again, three years younger than his waking self. He is in military file with boys his age. It is raining; it is night, the sky a starless miasma of electric blue. There are men, old men, flat-topped and heavy-browed, walking the rows, handing out hammers. The dreamer receives his. Now, a man the dreamer knows--just knows--to be the general says, lift up your hammers. On the count of three you will strike the boy in front of you. If you should survive, congratulations. You're now a man. If you shouldn't, we say thank you and goodbye. One, the general says. The dreamer does not lift his hammer. Won't lift his hammer. Two, the general says. In anticipation of three, boys start striking, skulls fracture, an odd harmony rides the air, hundreds of arms bringing down hundreds of hammers, hundreds of minds punctured, spilling hundreds of future glories and failures. The dreamer still stands, hammer to his side. His peers groan at his feet. He is alone. The general, taking long, purposeful strides, approaches the dreamer. He, the general, lifts the hammer in his hand, and with a singular word, three, strikes the dreamer in the forehead. And it's just as simple as that, Rachel Ray says, presenting the boiled potatoes, baptized in mustard and vinegar, topped beautifully with celery and finely chopped shallots. Now back to our fish.

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Jul 15, 2014

Jul 15, 2014 at 12:33 AM UTC

What Goes On, With or Without Your Permission

Rachel Ray is speaking. The room in which he lays, passed out, continues on without his permission. Dead moths feather down from the less-than-steady window unit. A cockroach delights in the cabinet. The peanut butter the man swore he wouldn't touch, on account of his lack of self-discipline, self-denial, self-awareness--maybe just self--is not sealed, the lid at an acute angle, the cockroach rubbing its antennae together. Gluten-free fish fry with a modern, chic potato salad, Rachel Ray says. Easy to make on a work night or after the kids get out of soccer practice. I like easy. Do you like easy? What about fast? That's what I thought. The power flickers as the power always does when someone on the first floor of the apartment building starts a load of laundry. The man does not stir; he dreams. But more than that, more weighty a subject than one two three lovers or falling from heaven, the muck of common dreams, submerges the dreamer. The scene is this: The man is a boy again, three years younger than his waking self. He is in military file with boys his age. It is raining; it is night, the sky a starless miasma of electric blue. There are men, old men, flat-topped and heavy-browed, walking the rows, handing out hammers. The dreamer receives his. Now, a man the dreamer knows--just knows--to be the general says, lift up your hammers. On the count of three you will strike the boy in front of you. If you should survive, congratulations. You're now a man. If you shouldn't, we say thank you and goodbye. One, the general says. The dreamer does not lift his hammer. Won't lift his hammer. Two, the general says. In anticipation of three, boys start striking, skulls fracture, an odd harmony rides the air, hundreds of arms bringing down hundreds of hammers, hundreds of minds punctured, spilling hundreds of future glories and failures. The dreamer still stands, hammer to his side. His peers groan at his feet. He is alone. The general, taking long, purposeful strides, approaches the dreamer. He, the general, lifts the hammer in his hand, and with a singular word, three, strikes the dreamer in the forehead. And it's just as simple as that, Rachel Ray says, presenting the boiled potatoes, baptized in mustard and vinegar, topped beautifully with celery and finely chopped shallots. Now back to our fish.

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yellow is a colour that goes nicely over another; the halo surrounding the saint's head on a stained glass window; watery yellow acrylic pressed onto cream canvas with a soft, wide brush; yellow-tinted glasses pushed too far up your nose, that make you see the sky hazily; sunlight that envelops us all, submerges us all, makes us warm, makes us precious, covers what is underneath with the gold it is worth.

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Jan 17, 2021

Jan 17, 2021 at 6:46 AM UTC

202801 (paper gold)

yellow is a colour that goes nicely over another; the halo surrounding the saint's head on a stained glass window; watery yellow acrylic pressed onto cream canvas with a soft, wide brush; yellow-tinted glasses pushed too far up your nose, that make you see the sky hazily; sunlight that envelops us all, submerges us all, makes us warm, makes us precious, covers what is underneath with the gold it is worth.

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In misplaced demographics, an underlying figure Gets lost in the middle of double-helixed bound’ry lines Dissolving past parameters, confounding to the mind, A deadlocked debate decides if pain or love is bigger It’s like the world’s hardest riddle, answers buried deftly That no savant or prodigy is able to surmise And the truth does differ from what words can now describe. I’ve learned that one can tread life’s forest with a steady course And with the best of intentions and stark, concerted path Turn winding bends ambiguous: mistake a birch for ash So to end the tiring journey in tangent to its source The nature of the Earth is neither white nor black It’s more like the palate used when blue becomes grayish sky But, then again, it’s not this easy to describe Inside my head there lies a circuit, closed unto itself So, through this loop I’ve learned to see the difference between Progress and regression, what has been and has never been, Is like finding from a deck why each hand differs that is dealt But the answer matters not, for the circle spins again It’s kind of like the ocean where the calm and break collides But, then again, it’s not this easy to describe. I’ve watched a daunting fog descend upon my clouded eyes It curbs the hue of ev’rything to darker spectrum shades So this shroud submerges light until definition fades, Frustrates the sense of passion; luster steadily subsides When the mind’s only window is comprised of rippled glass, It’s like a drunkard’s double vision having not imbibed But, then again, it’s not this easy to describe. Each step I take grows even more uncertain than the last If I could convey to you the shape of this confusion If I could draw a diagram or picture of delusion Then you and I might, together, construct and raise a mast So with to steer life’s wayward ship back toward a purpose At times, I’m unsure if living’s just learning to survive So, in this pall, I reach you now, and in you I confide.

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Feb 20, 2013

Feb 20, 2013 at 4:34 PM UTC

In misplaced demographics, an underlying figure Gets lost in the middle of double-helixed bound’ry lines Dissolving past parameters, confounding to the mind, A deadlocked debate decides if pain or love is bigger It’s like the world’s hardest riddle, answers buried deftly That no savant or prodigy is able to surmise And the truth does differ from what words can now describe. I’ve learned that one can tread life’s forest with a steady course And with the best of intentions and stark, concerted path Turn winding bends ambiguous: mistake a birch for ash So to end the tiring journey in tangent to its source The nature of the Earth is neither white nor black It’s more like the palate used when blue becomes grayish sky But, then again, it’s not this easy to describe Inside my head there lies a circuit, closed unto itself So, through this loop I’ve learned to see the difference between Progress and regression, what has been and has never been, Is like finding from a deck why each hand differs that is dealt But the answer matters not, for the circle spins again It’s kind of like the ocean where the calm and break collides But, then again, it’s not this easy to describe. I’ve watched a daunting fog descend upon my clouded eyes It curbs the hue of ev’rything to darker spectrum shades So this shroud submerges light until definition fades, Frustrates the sense of passion; luster steadily subsides When the mind’s only window is comprised of rippled glass, It’s like a drunkard’s double vision having not imbibed But, then again, it’s not this easy to describe. Each step I take grows even more uncertain than the last If I could convey to you the shape of this confusion If I could draw a diagram or picture of delusion Then you and I might, together, construct and raise a mast So with to steer life’s wayward ship back toward a purpose At times, I’m unsure if living’s just learning to survive So, in this pall, I reach you now, and in you I confide.

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You sow these words in a graveyard. They sprout in deep darkness, never to see the light of day. It drains you to plant only nightmares. Your heart submerges. Do not expect to live long.

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Mar 8, 2017

Mar 8, 2017 at 7:14 AM UTC

You sow these words in a graveyard. They sprout in deep darkness, never to see the light of day. It drains you to plant only nightmares. Your heart submerges. Do not expect to live long.

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when the soul possesses goodness straight simple focus clear virtuous ethical moral sincere a kaleidoscope of forgiveness but evil exist submerges constant jealous envious lurks behind every door every nook and cranny and i am still sure while evil curious envious yet opposes the thoughtfulness of goodness once more

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May 11, 2017

May 11, 2017 at 11:43 PM UTC

The Thoughtfulness Of Goodness Once More

when the soul possesses goodness straight simple focus clear virtuous ethical moral sincere a kaleidoscope of forgiveness but evil exist submerges constant jealous envious lurks behind every door every nook and cranny and i am still sure while evil curious envious yet opposes the thoughtfulness of goodness once more

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Your crowd submerges me, it makes me wish I was not here, but I am safe you will not untie me, I should feel safe but I am insane, your crowd shouts words I will never get, my seven lives my chains to the backdrop, your crowd submerges me, It makes me wish I was not here, but I am safe I never meant to care

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Oct 30, 2016

Oct 30, 2016 at 5:39 PM UTC

Your crowd submerges me, it makes me wish I was not here, but I am safe you will not untie me, I should feel safe but I am insane, your crowd shouts words I will never get, my seven lives my chains to the backdrop, your crowd submerges me, It makes me wish I was not here, but I am safe I never meant to care

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Staring out that great big window- with a slight sight of my boring reflection, staring up into the giant grey clouds engulfing my sunshine-my rays of life, Darkness creeps over the land, submerges everything that you know The building's turn gloomy, the power shuts off In the shadows i sit-the darkness is kind of familiar now. There wasn't even a suspicion of light. The murkiness of this ill light room was often friendly to me, it shared secrets of other peoples night life, and how they spent it- peeking in through the closet, he tells me- describing all of my unfortunate neighbors I'm lucky i befriended the darkness instead of abolishing it with- left on bathroom lights, and those jack-o-lantern night brights Each night he comes back with more smudged and smeared information- that he shares with me and only me. When i sleep he watches over me like a guardian demon- i wake i find no trace of him except under the bed and in that dark closet So i decided to board-up all the windows to never see the light of day again, in this dark temple i shall stay, to never speak of light or even think it In three weeks time The darkness overwhelms me, i can hardly see the light So i sit in my dark room and conjure up every terrible creature i can think of- hoping they come to life, and destroy this dark room The darkness feeling more and more like an addiction everyday- Two months now- all traces of life in me, in this house are forgotten The only memory i have is that of light peering in the darkness through the cracks in the boards-glowing, begging to come in and fill me with brilliance, but the darkness radiates through me- fending off the insight and intellect.

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Apr 2, 2010

Apr 2, 2010 at 9:24 AM UTC

seth-garrick-hayhurst

darkness- consumes

Staring out that great big window- with a slight sight of my boring reflection, staring up into the giant grey clouds engulfing my sunshine-my rays of life, Darkness creeps over the land, submerges everything that you know The building's turn gloomy, the power shuts off In the shadows i sit-the darkness is kind of familiar now. There wasn't even a suspicion of light. The murkiness of this ill light room was often friendly to me, it shared secrets of other peoples night life, and how they spent it- peeking in through the closet, he tells me- describing all of my unfortunate neighbors I'm lucky i befriended the darkness instead of abolishing it with- left on bathroom lights, and those jack-o-lantern night brights Each night he comes back with more smudged and smeared information- that he shares with me and only me. When i sleep he watches over me like a guardian demon- i wake i find no trace of him except under the bed and in that dark closet So i decided to board-up all the windows to never see the light of day again, in this dark temple i shall stay, to never speak of light or even think it In three weeks time The darkness overwhelms me, i can hardly see the light So i sit in my dark room and conjure up every terrible creature i can think of- hoping they come to life, and destroy this dark room The darkness feeling more and more like an addiction everyday- Two months now- all traces of life in me, in this house are forgotten The only memory i have is that of light peering in the darkness through the cracks in the boards-glowing, begging to come in and fill me with brilliance, but the darkness radiates through me- fending off the insight and intellect.

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Autumn breeze frigidly touches ailing dreadful lives Harshly darkness quietly surrounds the broken souls Mellow serenades that once played between hearts Pathetically have transformed into bitter sad songs Somewhere beyond the flossy clouds Cupid has lost his romancing arrows Plays sad sonorous tunes on his bow Dedicated to all weepy lonely hearts Howling chilly wind blows through the mist Sounds of sorrow spread allover the place Fuzzy humid air submerges the inner lust Lives decay slowly as the autumn leaves fall...

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Apr 24, 2012

Apr 24, 2012 at 12:29 AM UTC

~Autumn Leaves~

Autumn breeze frigidly touches ailing dreadful lives Harshly darkness quietly surrounds the broken souls Mellow serenades that once played between hearts Pathetically have transformed into bitter sad songs Somewhere beyond the flossy clouds Cupid has lost his romancing arrows Plays sad sonorous tunes on his bow Dedicated to all weepy lonely hearts Howling chilly wind blows through the mist Sounds of sorrow spread allover the place Fuzzy humid air submerges the inner lust Lives decay slowly as the autumn leaves fall...

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My mind's flooded with heavy currents. I'm drowning in these thoughts, As I search for a deeper meaning, The unknown depths of "Love." But I'm barely treading water. As your waves crash into me, More questions emerges, But before I could see it, The answers submerges. Then before I know it, Unknowingly and unconsciously, I landed on the shores of "Love." Wondering how did I get here? So I wander off to the winding road for an answer. But I can't ever seem to find a concrete path, All I could find in the end was a mountain, And so I climb to the top only to find, That the answer is just to simply enjoy the view.

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Sep 16, 2013

Sep 16, 2013 at 11:47 AM UTC

A Journey Through My Mind

My mind's flooded with heavy currents. I'm drowning in these thoughts, As I search for a deeper meaning, The unknown depths of "Love." But I'm barely treading water. As your waves crash into me, More questions emerges, But before I could see it, The answers submerges. Then before I know it, Unknowingly and unconsciously, I landed on the shores of "Love." Wondering how did I get here? So I wander off to the winding road for an answer. But I can't ever seem to find a concrete path, All I could find in the end was a mountain, And so I climb to the top only to find, That the answer is just to simply enjoy the view.

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A hammock in your balcony hovering, Windchimes tinkling Rain outside The word submerges there Oblivious,you turn.

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Mar 10, 2019

Mar 10, 2019 at 2:39 PM UTC

The submerging worlds

A hammock in your balcony hovering, Windchimes tinkling Rain outside The word submerges there Oblivious,you turn.

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rainfall creates wreckage on sleepy country towns the river submerges roads and houses they're searching for higher ground the pubs and the stores on Main Street all normally alight are drowning in Muskoka river through water they must fight back roads are gone all washed away the Big East River is rising state of emergency declared the town will survive for help is soon arriving

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Apr 21, 2013

Apr 21, 2013 at 10:58 PM UTC

rainfall creates wreckage on sleepy country towns the river submerges roads and houses they're searching for higher ground the pubs and the stores on Main Street all normally alight are drowning in Muskoka river through water they must fight back roads are gone all washed away the Big East River is rising state of emergency declared the town will survive for help is soon arriving

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My life is spent treading water, trying to keep my chin high enough to evade the water’s cool grasp that traces swirl patterns along the side of my face and beckons me to come under. I kick my feet harder against the feathery current. If I tilt my head I can see the horizon, a faded pencil line sealing the corners of my vision, grey and smudged from too many attempts at erasing it. My legs go slack. My entire body submerges, succumbing to the riptide. It throws a dart at my head and all the thoughts burst out : I breathe them in and blow out bubbles. They tell me to bid adieu. I do, I do. His children’s feet pitter patter and I hear their laughter, mellifluous ha-ha’s coming straight from their bellies. An adieu is too harsh, too grating against the mouth. So I murmur a soft auf wiedersehen and let the water fold me into its embrace.

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Aug 2, 2015

Aug 2, 2015 at 10:08 AM UTC

Mirrored Pools of Thought

My life is spent treading water, trying to keep my chin high enough to evade the water’s cool grasp that traces swirl patterns along the side of my face and beckons me to come under. I kick my feet harder against the feathery current. If I tilt my head I can see the horizon, a faded pencil line sealing the corners of my vision, grey and smudged from too many attempts at erasing it. My legs go slack. My entire body submerges, succumbing to the riptide. It throws a dart at my head and all the thoughts burst out : I breathe them in and blow out bubbles. They tell me to bid adieu. I do, I do. His children’s feet pitter patter and I hear their laughter, mellifluous ha-ha’s coming straight from their bellies. An adieu is too harsh, too grating against the mouth. So I murmur a soft auf wiedersehen and let the water fold me into its embrace.

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I'm not trolling for feed back No that's not why I'm here Yet I appreciate your kindness... My good Sir! Your words are sweet music... My Dear! Actually your love is the reason Why I'm here... Through the buffer of these circuits Your avatar submerges Your words inscribed in mysteries As scanning eye's converge It's now or never now To bring your words to light Post your creative thoughts Before you say good night Words can love Words can heal Words can touch And we can feel So give us your best If you will!

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Apr 10, 2021

Apr 10, 2021 at 8:52 AM UTC

Low In Intensity

I'm not trolling for feed back No that's not why I'm here Yet I appreciate your kindness... My good Sir! Your words are sweet music... My Dear! Actually your love is the reason Why I'm here... Through the buffer of these circuits Your avatar submerges Your words inscribed in mysteries As scanning eye's converge It's now or never now To bring your words to light Post your creative thoughts Before you say good night Words can love Words can heal Words can touch And we can feel So give us your best If you will!

Continue reading...

The night holds secrets of hidden longing Flamed circling desire til the break of day Agony of conscious denial whispering Wordless tales of thoughts coming to play Depth bearing are the quicksands of lust Arcadian sinking of silenced urges Yearning of ferocious recurrent thrusts Quick wave of desire submerges Trembling, aching fingers, dried lips Sentient drift with every passion Hand craving the tender capture of hips Fossilized moment of flowing emotion Yet a barren field of frozen reflection Forbidden path we like to borrow Sweet devilish temptation Filled with ecstacy but sorrow...

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Sep 17, 2014

Sep 17, 2014 at 5:59 PM UTC

The night holds secrets of hidden longing Flamed circling desire til the break of day Agony of conscious denial whispering Wordless tales of thoughts coming to play Depth bearing are the quicksands of lust Arcadian sinking of silenced urges Yearning of ferocious recurrent thrusts Quick wave of desire submerges Trembling, aching fingers, dried lips Sentient drift with every passion Hand craving the tender capture of hips Fossilized moment of flowing emotion Yet a barren field of frozen reflection Forbidden path we like to borrow Sweet devilish temptation Filled with ecstacy but sorrow...

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I sip the red wine and place it back on the table—Eyes fixated on the tiny gnats attracted to its sweet aroma. They dance around the rim. Curiosity and temptation controlling their every move. I watch a little longer As one submerges itself into this warm pool of red. Suicide. My mind wanders further. To what lengths are we willing to go to In order to acquire our greatest desire, No matter how destructive it may be?

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Sep 15, 2018

Sep 15, 2018 at 9:45 PM UTC

EverythingIsEnergy

Desire//Destruction

I sip the red wine and place it back on the table—Eyes fixated on the tiny gnats attracted to its sweet aroma. They dance around the rim. Curiosity and temptation controlling their every move. I watch a little longer As one submerges itself into this warm pool of red. Suicide. My mind wanders further. To what lengths are we willing to go to In order to acquire our greatest desire, No matter how destructive it may be?

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By the sea, I saunter and think of her, The tides slip into wild coves— Like my own desires under moon. I search the skies, emptiest horizons, As the gawking gulls circle in windy Tempests of confusions. Shy stars appear as the sun is destroyed And the sea sprays like a bursting fire— Plastering rocky crags. The long night that always, was coming, Has theived its way from white hope, A shroud for a sea journey. A lone osprey shuttles a fish to its nest, His heart— soaring on high— While mine submerges at edge of sea.

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Jun 21, 2015

Jun 21, 2015 at 1:30 PM UTC

By the sea, I saunter and think of her, The tides slip into wild coves— Like my own desires under moon. I search the skies, emptiest horizons, As the gawking gulls circle in windy Tempests of confusions. Shy stars appear as the sun is destroyed And the sea sprays like a bursting fire— Plastering rocky crags. The long night that always, was coming, Has theived its way from white hope, A shroud for a sea journey. A lone osprey shuttles a fish to its nest, His heart— soaring on high— While mine submerges at edge of sea.

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beginnings plunged into deep water cannot overcome such recompense time’s reserved healing of endless slaughter cannot believe in such cold evidence if i could i would i’d know this right away, until a wave holds me and submerges my thoughts and hands that hold onto the bay close to whatever home this really is. if then yelling ‘the world is too much with us’ (and if i could i would see right through you) an abysmal submergence in the mess (then whoever could call this ‘what i’d do’) whatever this is, in the end it’s something to say: so yes, in the end, i’d wish it all away

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Dec 18, 2013

Dec 18, 2013 at 6:51 PM UTC

An Excuse for Your (My) Failure

beginnings plunged into deep water cannot overcome such recompense time’s reserved healing of endless slaughter cannot believe in such cold evidence if i could i would i’d know this right away, until a wave holds me and submerges my thoughts and hands that hold onto the bay close to whatever home this really is. if then yelling ‘the world is too much with us’ (and if i could i would see right through you) an abysmal submergence in the mess (then whoever could call this ‘what i’d do’) whatever this is, in the end it’s something to say: so yes, in the end, i’d wish it all away

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She submerges us in a great deluge of words -- We're completely soaked.

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Nov 30, 2023

Nov 30, 2023 at 3:54 AM UTC

[ She submerges us ]

She submerges us in a great deluge of words -- We're completely soaked.

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So I ponder an empty box, Of brown and a simple ribbon, And I contemplate its contents For when I bequeath it to you. Betwixt jewels and valuables, I leave within a mere mirror. And fill the box with my essence Wrapped with forever loving care So when the gaze enters the box There through the box’s essence, eyes Meeting themselves through my own light Open up to another’s world There she dives into the mind’s eye, And submerges into beauty Of mind, body, spirit, and soul Inside an angel in disguise A potential unknown hiding Behind her deep blue sea eyes In knowledge, in love, in caring, Deep sea of everlasting warmth For every gaze into this sea, Warm smiles grow across my face, And every laugh, embrace and more Brings supreme happiness within My heart and soul.

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Feb 13, 2010

Feb 13, 2010 at 1:31 AM UTC

gary-w-weasel-jr-1

Through the Fog of My Eyes

So I ponder an empty box, Of brown and a simple ribbon, And I contemplate its contents For when I bequeath it to you. Betwixt jewels and valuables, I leave within a mere mirror. And fill the box with my essence Wrapped with forever loving care So when the gaze enters the box There through the box’s essence, eyes Meeting themselves through my own light Open up to another’s world There she dives into the mind’s eye, And submerges into beauty Of mind, body, spirit, and soul Inside an angel in disguise A potential unknown hiding Behind her deep blue sea eyes In knowledge, in love, in caring, Deep sea of everlasting warmth For every gaze into this sea, Warm smiles grow across my face, And every laugh, embrace and more Brings supreme happiness within My heart and soul.

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Your head submerges into the Deep Dark Blue abyss There is silence True silence Underwater is the only place where true silence exists Your once formless breaths of air now take shape And every next bubble is another bubble closer to death You could die right here right now But For once in your life you dont feel like dying Your head comes back up You gasp to retain all the bubbles you lost You hear tiny annoying little voices Screaming Yelling Crying You start to wonder if you made the right choice You chuckle at the thought Something misconstrued as a sin You submerge your head To part from the noise For the sweet sweet silence Of water again

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Apr 16, 2016

Apr 16, 2016 at 10:27 AM UTC

Your head submerges into the Deep Dark Blue abyss There is silence True silence Underwater is the only place where true silence exists Your once formless breaths of air now take shape And every next bubble is another bubble closer to death You could die right here right now But For once in your life you dont feel like dying Your head comes back up You gasp to retain all the bubbles you lost You hear tiny annoying little voices Screaming Yelling Crying You start to wonder if you made the right choice You chuckle at the thought Something misconstrued as a sin You submerge your head To part from the noise For the sweet sweet silence Of water again

Continue reading...

By the sea, I saunter and think of her, The tides slip into wild coves— Like my own desires under moon. I search the skies, emptiest horizons, As the gawking gulls circle in windy Tempests of confusions. Shy stars appear as the sun is destroyed And the sea sprays like a bursting fire— Plastering rocky crags. The long night that always, was coming, Has theived its way from white hope, A shroud for a sea journey. A lone osprey shuttles a fish to its nest, His heart— soaring on high— While mine submerges at edge of sea.

0

Feb 14, 2015

Feb 14, 2015 at 5:50 PM UTC

By the sea, I saunter and think of her, The tides slip into wild coves— Like my own desires under moon. I search the skies, emptiest horizons, As the gawking gulls circle in windy Tempests of confusions. Shy stars appear as the sun is destroyed And the sea sprays like a bursting fire— Plastering rocky crags. The long night that always, was coming, Has theived its way from white hope, A shroud for a sea journey. A lone osprey shuttles a fish to its nest, His heart— soaring on high— While mine submerges at edge of sea.

Continue reading...