"supine" poems
***Soul supine solitary
Senses serenity
Sensual serenade
Striking silhouette
Seeking soulmate***
Mar 6, 2015
Mar 6, 2015 at 10:50 PM UTC
Lovesick and you've got the cure.
Got all these symptoms. You know what for.
Don't be afraid of this contagious disease,
Just take my requisition form.
I've made room for you in my atria and ventricle.
You're the capillary to my arteriole and venule.
You're the amniotic fluid to the child in my heart.
I find you even in the interstitial parts.
Treatment like uours is like a centrifugAl force.
So be the **** stasis my heart is longing for.
Some homeostasis is what we need.
We will make compromises to succeed.
Lay me supine and you in prone.
Sensory neurons fire
Exocrine glands make to pressure
Spark endocrine glands to hear you moan.
Without your heart I'd be anemic.
Withiutbyour arms I'd be half a paraplegic.
Your kisses give me air, without them I'm cyatonic.
You're the fibrin in my veins, to my pain an anesthetic.
I'm ready for some long-term care and affection.
Got a chronic condition that needs your attention.
I k now I'm concluded, parts of me sclerosed.
Don't wait post mortem to know that you're the most.
Aug 1, 2014
Aug 1, 2014 at 3:51 PM UTC
the average cost of a funeral is
$8,515
death is unaffordable for me
put me in big oblong cardboard box
2 feet by 3 feet by 6 feet
packing list enclosed
fragile (not really)
please handle with care
keep upright
or
supine
send me to the
grande vide
postage due
Jul 30, 2019
Jul 30, 2019 at 12:55 PM UTC
Side by side, their faces blurred,
The earl and countess lie in stone,
Their proper habits vaguely shown
As jointed armour, stiffened pleat,
And that faint hint of the absurd -
The little dogs under their feet.
Such plainness of the pre-baroque
Hardly involves the eye, until
It meets his left-hand gauntlet, still
Clasped empty in the other; and
One sees, with a sharp tender shock,
His hand withdrawn, holding her hand.
They would not think to lie so long.
Such faithfulness in effigy
Was just a detail friends would see:
A sculptor's sweet commissioned grace
Thrown off in helping to prolong
The Latin names around the base.
They would no guess how early in
Their supine stationary voyage
The air would change to soundless damage,
Turn the old tenantry away;
How soon succeeding eyes begin
To look, not read. Rigidly they
Persisted, linked, through lengths and breadths
Of time. Snow fell, undated. Light
Each summer thronged the grass. A bright
Litter of birdcalls strewed the same
Bone-littered ground. And up the paths
The endless altered people came,
Washing at their identity.
Now, helpless in the hollow of
An unarmorial age, a trough
Of smoke in slow suspended skeins
Above their scrap of history,
Only an attitude remains:
Time has transfigures them into
Untruth. The stone fidelity
They hardly meant has come to be
Their final blazon, and to prove
Our almost-instinct almost true:
What will survive of us is love.
8.8k
A solitary wanderer
Guided by the winds
Through lonely valleys
Sipping from streams
Sleeping under stars
Night’s canopy as tent
Rolling on soft grass
Lay supine, dreaming
Of the sparkling stars
Holding them in the eyes
Life sparkles with glee
Solitary wanderer
Waylaid from the crowd
Greener pastures
Greets the wanderer
Solitude is bliss
Wanderer finds meaning
Finding ones purpose
Turning away from the crowd
Apr 18, 2015
Apr 18, 2015 at 2:00 PM UTC
Sun up till sun down
Trapped in a perpetual frown
Moon comes then she goes
Drops free fall from my nose
Waking hours in the daylight
Aimless motions; clumsy, puppet-like
Waking hours in the night
Uncomfortable in my own skin and psych
Sleeplessness be my companion
Restlessness be my actions
Despondence be my demon
Crest fallen be my reason
Frantically sifting through my head
Vertically upright or supine in bed
Compartmentalising might be key
To fend off self inflicted insanity
Desperation hangs overhead; ripe and bruised
Excuses upon excuses ridiculously overused
Furiously typing before my mind curds
Hopes of finding peace in these unspoken words
Sep 16, 2014
Sep 16, 2014 at 10:45 PM UTC
A supine position
upon my bed
and a slow turning
of my head
I look out through my window
and by chance
LISTEN!!
Hearing the howling
and chilling desultory gusts
of wind
Noticing seemingly deceptive
immutable muffled
grey-white
low hanging clouds
enveloping everything
in its heavenly path
with coinciding
feelings
of being enclosed,
a slight hint,
the oncoming winter
A sunless sky also
matches the early November mood
as virtually motionless
elongated pearl-grey-clouds
having distinct
wind-kissed
topsy-turvy-wavy-ruffled bottoms
that travel and permeate
onward
across the heavens
These eerie vapors
s t r e t c h
from north to south
east to west
casting Buddism's
grey colored shadows
upon the earth below
while not permitting
any sky blue
to peek through
A distant howl and barking
of
a dog,
my inner volcano snuffed out,
the tranquilization of Hercules...
Time seemingly
stops altogether
and hangs...
... heated feelings
dissipate
into
cool nothingness...
Sep 20, 2014
Sep 20, 2014 at 4:27 PM UTC
So it came to pass at last and sad to know a Timber has fallen
It stood in strength tall and strong for over seven decades
Resplendently toned it spread an uncompromising foliage
Masterly in domain magical in reach attaining untold grades
Humble in origins yet grew with endeavour and knowledge
Distinguishably it cut sway in tundra and in lush green glades
Son of sons of the Land held roots countenancing no crawling
It reached for the stars and danced reasons with every shades
Ran with the sun and sat with owls and vipers for tutelage
Sweeping the very highs and the lows in communal trades
In the jungle of sharks and vipers it be known who's in Charge
A Timber has fallen while the rains falls and blue clouds fades
There's now a mighty hole in the earth and rivers are swollen
Leaves scatter and branches beckon hundreds of onward bridges
Leaving best Princess, flowers and saplings for love and largesse
A notable trunk laid supine free to roam without worldly cages
Odes will enter dancing in guises and tears flow without finesse
A Timber has fallen and dirges will ring out for a man of all ages
Yemessia bows and says Adieu My Senior, we will meet again.....
[email protected].
Aug 20, 2018
Aug 20, 2018 at 10:29 PM UTC
Aquiver mellifluous ineffable hiraeth nefarious somnambulist epoch sonorous serendipitous limerence bombinate luminescence ethereal illicit petrichor iridescent supine aurora solitude syzygy phosphenes oblivion ephemeral incandescence denouement vellichor eloquence defenestration Sondra effervescence cromulent cellar-door debridement
Illustrator icon verdant cerulean aeneous albicant amaranthine azuline argent chartreuse damask ferruginous haematic hyacinthine ibis ochre primrose russet sanguineous virescent mystborn transcendence
Mar 20, 2015
Mar 20, 2015 at 10:31 AM UTC
-
*****************
(haikus)
***********
Wine glass lay empty
toppled on the ground...its edge
smeared with red lipstick
Luster braved the dark
opals, sapphires couldn't hide
a face...so lovely
Stilled...supine...voiceless
stripped of fame...name...evil game!
success? envy? shame?
Opals, bright sapphires,
graced her neck...muted...like the
doe-eyed beauty...dead.
Sally
Copyright April 2015
Rosalia Rosario A. Bayan
May 1, 2015
May 1, 2015 at 5:00 AM UTC
Two billion years ago
the river we call Colorado
opened a **** in the Kaibab Plateau
sculpting sandstone, granite, and limestone spectra
on the rugged canyon walls -
reflecting the seering Arizona sun.
Millennial torrents scoured the surface.
Juniper and Aspen, torn from the expanding banks,
****** into the river's red-stained vortex.
All the while the restless Colorado,
obedient to gravity's law,
scoured its bed a mile below the rim.
The last dinosaur perished - choked by volcanic soot.
Pangaea rumbled, groaned and split
and an eye-blink ago our African parents
stood to take their first faltering steps.
Their progeny crossed the Bering bridge
roaming south to build stone shelters
tucked against these canyon walls.
Did the Havasupai huddle in fright
of the jagged firelight searing the skies -
pounding the air across the hollows?
And emerging at storm’s end
did they gaze at the rainbow mist
spread over the buttes and valleys?
After dusk, with fires withering to embers,
did they rest supine,
heads pillowed on their arms,
pondering the jewel case universe above?
November, 2006
Jul 4, 2015
Jul 4, 2015 at 10:51 AM UTC
My fingertips will never let me forget the scent of stale cigarettes.
I was a fool in London. All the friends I made had better accents than me.
I dreamed of Bulgaria and Brazil.
I walked through mud. I waited for French tides.
I trudged in heavy water waders.
My hands built a house with stones older than the country on my passport.
The etching of cement on my boots still reminds me what we carried there.
We drove along tired volcanoes and craggy cliffs in the dark.
I never learned how to drive manual.
We flew further south. I dried out in the sun.
The glands of Spanish streets pulsated
citrus mist into the air, my lungs.
I never did remember the difference between limon and lime.
We stayed in a haunted castel but missed Halloween.
The upper peninsula, where Napoleon dreamed of a better dinner.
We moved to Shangri-La. Even in Eden, people still snore.
But there were cakes laced with flowers. And I was over the moon.
Then, a dreamscape. The closest to the Arctic I’ve ever been.
We ate deer for dinner. I baked Danish pies. I slept supine in a smoke-filled yurt. It was all peace. It was all over.
Jan 26, 2015
Jan 26, 2015 at 3:49 PM UTC
Nights pass and I pick away at my skin.
Supine in this hallowed hollow of unwashed bedsheets and detritus
Spending my time, the most precious currency to date, trudging through virtual stacks of head shots of those I've known or half-known.
A healthy reminder that you are alone.
You are behind.
You ****** up early, kid.
You are behind in some sense, even if half the acquaintances pleasant or otherwise in your class are working jobs not much better than yours.
What I really hate is seeing joy.
Seeing these people and their ****** happiness, it's great.
Really strengthens the misanthropic beast I've been feeding all week
And it feels good, anger
Especially when the only other things I'm used to feeling are
worried or
bored
So its nice to indulge, I guess
I don't have to look for something to fuel my complaints, my bitter unwarranted jealousy –
that's an annoying component –
the awareness –
this would all be much more enjoyable if I didn't notice these things about myself
but noticing is a habit I've nourished
for years far exceeding
the time spent with a cigarette between my fingers
Dec 20, 2012
Dec 20, 2012 at 7:59 PM UTC
Slowly comes the heavy lid
thoughts of supine slumber
restless dreams abide me now
leave me peaceful pines my sleepless
two shoes quiet another step stop
touching barefoot ocean shores
afar the crack of crashing waves
the splash of sea salt sings
Sleep jumps over the moon
Oct 12, 2014
Oct 12, 2014 at 2:51 AM UTC
Somethin' about an empty room, depending on how the light asks to be let in on its edges.
An empty room don’t expect you to do nothin' whatever. And its floor responds in this kinda lilting relief when you tap-dance barefoot upon it.
If you sit in all its corners, with your eyeballs (try it!) you can trace the refractions and suggestions on the wall, 'specially the places where paint and odd plaster stick up like little men and cast shadows all their own.
You can spend hours doing this.
You, the impressionable film upon which the world's projected herself—you turn the world upside down and make sense of the image in this empty box.
You
Make art here.
Shout here! Run and kick and punch through the walls and
Love them as you do so, kid.
Something about emptiness itself, gets a lot of flack, you think,
cast as grave.
Hell!
Emptiness: potential,
Emptiness: casting being in sharp distinction.
Emptiness: sensual, like breath before the
action of the human magnetic.
You: the one alive in this your empty room and therefore acutely aware of
what you chose to project in such vibrant relief.
Today, it is newspapers and magazine clippings and a notebook and a blue pen and a book by Susan Sontag.
Today you lie on the woody floor, supine, eyes wide
and become part of it
your lungs breathe life into this ancient emptiness. And the air between its walls vibrates, and sighs, nascent, ‘thank you.’
Feb 18, 2017
Feb 18, 2017 at 3:01 PM UTC
The color of the night
Watched wide-eyed
Solitary comfort
Warmth of darkness
Stars as witnesses
Stripped of inhibitions
Laying supine
Neath the night sky
Night regaling me
Magnetic presence
Attracts my attention
Only me and night
The other half of life
Nov 1, 2014
Nov 1, 2014 at 2:13 AM UTC
We are imperfect products
placed in the midst
of an imperfect society,
a vicious cycle of perseverance
and failure:
constructed,
broken,
fixed,
and fixed again.
Airbrushed and painted
to perfection:
pale skin
flushed cheeks
slim legs
and a smooth mindset.
Opinionated only
on the matter of
superficial products –
glamorizing and embellishing.
Deteriorating enamel –
cracks in a varnished frame.
A scratched surface,
damaged to the core,
polished and glazed over.
Skin made paler,
cheeks more flushed,
skin and bones,
and a mind wiped clean.
Unachievable expectations
and inevitable failure
are enough to b r e a k
even the toughest material
d
o
w
n.
May 10, 2014
May 10, 2014 at 12:11 AM UTC
Naked and fierce,
Burning with anger,
Stands the Goddess,
Great is her hunger.
Machete in her hands,
Slashing at her will,
She knows no bounds,
And runs around to ****
She can't recognise,
Sinner or saint,
In her mission to **** the evils,
She has lost her restraint.
And then she steps on something,
What is it? She looks below,
To her horror she finds her Lord,
Supine, lying beneath her toe.
Great is her shame at what she sees,
In her great fury she had spared none,
It needed Lord Shiva to stop her rage,
She bites her tongue at what she has done.
And thus we know the great Maa Kali,
Ashamed, repentant for being blindly furious
She stands for the two sides in ourselves,
With the good trying to rule the evil in us.
So every year we worship her,
Each year we pay her our homages,
And this is how "Kali Puja",
Goes on and on for ages.
Nov 10, 2015
Nov 10, 2015 at 11:31 AM UTC
Never behaved in the school porcine;
Had wise words for everyone to opine;
Full of wise thoughts and memories refine;
Rachana Sharma is ready without any supine.
An eyesore progress she achieved school in
Even the trustees could no longer decline;
Her help for others whenever did she design
Was a feast – a great help and fun to dine.
For 8 years was she my dear mentor fine
From whom I learnt how to continuously grin
In adverse situations and start from begin
So that new fight and efforts lead you to win.
Earlier she was looking like a pumpkin
But now she managed her past confine:
Looking beautiful, smart, nifty and divine
Is ready ever any problem to define.
She is my inspiration, she is my Kline,
She is the best lady as a helpful friend in.
With her I developed Monorhyme fine;
And defeated many enemies malign.
A good mentor and nice for nation mine
Is none than Rachana - a brave feline.
Aug 14, 2017
Aug 14, 2017 at 6:51 AM UTC
She is spontaneous poetry, no need to be written,
a dam burst of emotions subtle,on what I float along,
a whirlwind at an unpredictable time of the season
looking for an intimate space to churn and churn and churn.
By now, I know this without her even hinting,
all her dark clouds will rain in torrents nonstop
in to my landscape, sultry, broad and tranquil
I am an open sky, a stage ready for changing realities
a cloudless calm now in meditative expansiveness,
ready to change from dark, cloudy turgidity
to it's contrast, white feathery fluff that's dreamy.
This time round, when she visited,she did lie naked
on my bed supine, looking at me wistfully for a while
in my mind's sky beams of morning sun criss- crossed
all the nine openings of my body tightly shut, I sat meditating.
But I felt her chaotic presence in the energy field spreading,
she hurriedly removed her clothes one by one,smiling
in the buff she alights on my lap,a butterfly on a flower was her,
by and by a sweet heaviness enveloped my ***** in union with hers
I hear the primordial boom of the big bang, refining as an "Om"
travelling sans any medium it goes outwards to expanding universe.
to the 1"Chidakasha" where everything begins and go beyond.
Her storm energy, Tantric, seeks alleviation of existential pain,
I hear my glowing inner eye whispering in light to the far galaxies,
In one form she is so much, past present and future converged,
She is 2"Mahatripurasundari", great enchantress of the three worlds.
Shakthi, the feminine energy that moves earth, heaven and hell,
Kali, the dark energy, seeking sublimation through catharsis.
On me she moves like a tortoise deliberately,my nervous system reads,
She would defeat the hare and win the laurel, in yogic, trance I discern.
Nov 18, 2015
Nov 18, 2015 at 12:46 PM UTC
,,,"---"",,"",,---,,,"""
palpable piquant
pastel scream
surrounded by
portentous
dream
seafoam and symmetry
loquacious land
shuddering snow
and
sibilant sand
caustic, cocaphonous
calypso clouds
awed by the
eloquent
elongated
shrouds
burnt to mere
nothingness
negated, naught
turbulent
truculent
trickling
thought
dense and dowdy
docile and dubious
rousing and rowdy
quiet and studious
grating, gallumphing
gruesome
ground
supine and succulent
*asymmetrical
sound*
soulsurvivor
(C) 6/22/2015
Jun 22, 2015
Jun 22, 2015 at 5:54 AM UTC
Taking place where you calumniate
with hidden mask behind interface
An embolism hidden behind your lines
Where a falsetto lies your charm
How you create isobaric pressure degradation between your monodical screaming mee-mee's
Creator of sheol , abode of the dead poets
So supine in way and thought
Where will your Valhalla be
You valetudinarian
_ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _
Caluminate - to utter maliciously false statements .
Interface - a shared boundary across
embolism - a swelling of a blood vessel due to blockage
isobaric pressure degradation - lines drawn on a weather map marking increasing or decreasing air pressure
Sheol - the place of the dead
supine - failure to act due to moral weakness
Valhalla - Norse hall of God's where slain hero's are received
valetudinarian - one who shows unduly concern for their health
Apr 13, 2015
Apr 13, 2015 at 10:17 PM UTC
*love is a rhythm i choose not to edit
burning serpents in syncopated tones
stolen vibrations from conquered nations
i am amazed at slavery's undertones
doomsday hypothesis
insufferable hypocrisy
is this the way we are meant to perceive
reality's final throes
perhaps a last attempt at infatuation
another insurgency toward our situation
there is music in the millipedes
1,000 feet stomping on the hot pavement
midday heat is burning the gentlest of trees
and yet saving lives of anteaters in need
grief is complete and not wasted
never jumbled by threads of frailty
insipid lipids deftly crawl upon caterpillars shoulders
starry eyed soldiers
sold to the streets in shivering brokenness
i am madness incarnate
the west is a spectacle of insubstantial lunacy
if you wish to conquer this reality
open your heart and kiss the feet of kindness
blindness is worshipped as if it was wisdom
sincere victims of another’s prison
simpler lives define simpler times
keepers of the rhythm
keepers of the rhyme
i dine on salamanders and supine slivers of the moon’s heartbeat
fault no one but yourself
gifts are wealth
i am salt and sulphur is the mother of the soul
loose cannons explode
she rode the wild shadows
and took the backroads all the way home
infinite living history
his memory serving beauty forever
for a lifetime i am looking for truth
in shattered space and respecting the face of the ancestors
self aware shades of solidarity
harvested by hands made light with clarity
is this music
is this meaning
her openness is our healing
this majesty surrounds us all
resolve to rise and your bound to fall
small instances of randomness daily
semantics are happenstance
you graduate from school with a bouquet of flowers
that rot in the morning’s splattering of paint
as garbage heaps resist ***********
issues of power and surface tension
i am dreading the exceptions
give love now or move out of the way
stay awake and aware
while sadhana is beckoning to us all*
Feb 23, 2017
Feb 23, 2017 at 2:58 PM UTC
each night I stare down at my love.
supine, she lies
staring into the sky above.
with the melancholic hues of her eyes,
tear tracks reflecting in the light
and sweet little lips that told sweet little lies.
why does she come out here late at night?
for her longing expression could be my demise!
oh, but how beautiful a demise that would be!
though that means I can no longer be in sight...
that we could never be her and me..
but at least then I couldn't taunt or smite
and take away her small feeling of glee!
but with silent ideals - we are two worlds apart.
and I could never be a true devotee..
because our star crossed love is a tragic work of art.
Sep 27, 2021
Sep 27, 2021 at 6:57 PM UTC
*The night’s ramblings
Whispered incoherently
Hearts synced forever
Can comprehend them
It’s a winding labyrinth
Hand in hand
So as not to lose each other
By the moonlit path
Incoherent whispers
But meaningful conversations
Laying supine under starry sky
It’s a dream together
Preparing to fly to destinations
Night’s ramblings
Have given a new meaning
To the adventure of life*
Jun 22, 2015
Jun 22, 2015 at 1:51 PM UTC