"supplications" poems
So that you will hear me
my words
sometimes grow thin
as the tracks of the gulls on the beaches.
Necklace, drunken bell
for your hands smooth as grapes.
And I watch my words from a long way off.
They are more yours than mine.
They climb on my old suffering like ivy.
It climbs the same way on damp walls.
You are to blame for this cruel sport.
They are fleeing from my dark lair.
You fill everything, you fill everything.
Before you they peopled the solitude that you occupy,
and they are more used to my sadness than you are.
Now I want them to say what I want to say to you
to make you hear as I want you to hear me.
The wind of anguish still hauls on them as usual.
Sometimes hurricanes of dreams still knock them over.
You listen to other voices in my painful voice.
Lament of old mouths, blood of old supplications.
Love me, companion. Don't forsake me. Follow me.
Follow me, companion, on this wave of anguish.
But my words become stained with your love.
You occupy everything, you occupy everything.
I am making them into an endless necklace
for your white hands, smooth as grapes.
27.2k
her happiness is everything
her pathos; be kind with cruelty
blood and tears, a royal jelly
merciless kisses like blazing pyres
she cries through a night prayer
my push pin princess;
a crimson petal
nerves edge;
jutting ******* seeking cleavers kiss
to serve
to serve
to serve
smiling for a relish of wasps
she knows she is loved
a loved red faced surprise
**** mouth, red chirping sparrow
wax teeth melting
succubus, **** flower
gratefully crushed under foot
toes like musical notes
little pearl ruins
grave stones
whipped cream butter cookie in chains
stipule corridor
**** plume
serrations gush, a singing Dahlia
ripped rose, thorned and curt
plush flames
her skull a throat
her liturgy
weeping, licking gods bulging colossus
wakes her inside
giving her religion
sacrificed on a crucifix of *****
**** of heaven
a burning church possessed
drooling supplications
lustrous saliva web drapes trembling downward thighs
a glutinous chandelier
melts like silk around ankles
crystal silt on scorched heels
to serve
to serve
to serve
her happiness is everything
her pathos; be kind with cruelty
Nov 17, 2018
Nov 17, 2018 at 11:47 AM UTC
Passover Moon's
****** hue
eclipses
the ordinary
in veils of
miraculousness
obscure
rouge
halos
illume
elliptical arcs
guiding
footsteps in
a righteous
exodus
across
troubling
waters
forsaking
hovels
with
painted
doorjambs
dripping
lambs blood
Mezuzahs
bleat
memories
holy
murmurs
bespeaking
lamentations
of ancient
hosannas
our
desperate
supplications
flesh out a
distressed
humanity
seeking
deliverance
from the
vengeance
is mine
Elohim
may it
be nigh
we wait
watching for
an always faithful
Good Deliverer
to honor the
covenant
to lift
despair
with a
liberating
yoke
lugging
leaden
burdens
Oh Holy
of
Holies
banished
in the wisp
of a bitter herb
our
distended
bellies
fill with
unleavened
grace
sweet
droplets
of manna
consumed
with extreme
gratitude
arriving
at journeys
end to
promised
lands
fully
satiated
and free
to rest in
sanctuaries
of radical
hospitality
luxuriating
in an infinite
abundance
for all
sojourners
Selah
Music Selection:
Big Mama Thornton
Go Down Moses
Oakland
4/15/14
jbm
Apr 15, 2014
Apr 15, 2014 at 5:15 PM UTC
I slept with her, my rapacious pen, took me in quiet vengeance in
full on conjugation
raken and taken, me,
her overlording me now, her authorship, so long held
in my maledom abeyance,
a kept imprisonment, unleashing at last, a tongue lashing~leashing,
de-spite my un-desirous craven lying supplications,
excuses of innocence and accident, coincidence and conflation,
ashes, ashes, denials incinerated, all fall down
she wrote/stabbed upon my heartless chest,
in the cheap crudités colors of a prisoner’s inking,
“user of words mine, all mine”
gathered up my innards of loose words,
speculative notes & titles yet to be,
born and kept hid in password protected silent back labor files,
now hers, leaving me sputtering, unable to create,
a homeless mute citizen, possession-less,
helplessly hoping her hovering harlequin might relent,
without any shelter, even a glimmering, a single aleph or bet
she celebratory cackled and clawed,
professed her reclamation ownership of all my poems predecessors,
zola j’accusing that I, ripped from her forcibly,
with no granted permission, her womanly touché of my scribing,
warning of no more global warming for my unprivileged hands,
daren’t try for pretenses of stolen legal guardianship,
warning of a new, forced caining inscription,
a tattooing of “thief” upon my 5 knuckled right ******
“plagiarist” boldly inked in back & blue upon my left palm
I, predator,
she, victim,
of my now self-professed, admitted confess,
she, my single victim,
of a decade long serializing criminal coverup
her parting poem a threatening,
herein issued in this very verse,
damning all who would falsely credit themselves,
to suffer shame and an unimaginable curse,
this, the newborn eleventh of ten commandments
parting, she kissing my lips, even my emptied apertures,
with warning bitings,
she knew all my
my numerous noms de guerre,
no dead scrolls caves to hid in, and to be discovered some future day,
and if ever marked as copyrighted,
’twas no tunneling escape,
the exposed truth to be over-stamped
upon all, upon each, in every language,
”copied right from the tongue of a woman!”
and she would be wright...
May 23, 2019
May 23, 2019 at 10:10 AM UTC
Shhh.
Silence.
The red robed supplicants
Are sequestered
Inside the Sistine.
They speak
In silent supplications
To the spirits
To pronounce a Pontiff.
The stewards are set
To send the smoke.
The smoke
That must be white.
Oct 11, 2025
Oct 11, 2025 at 8:42 AM UTC
I softly tread down marble halls,
my bare feet echoing on white stone floors
that have seen millions of souls
just like mine.
I pass over the stoop
that has felt the endless touch of foreheads
prostrate in humble reverence.
I stand silently by an altar,
coins and offerings scattered at my feet
before this monument that is
the silent ear for so many unknown prayers.
I can almost hear the silent supplications
of all those that have come before,
endlessly echoing from these golden walls.
This place spoke to each of them
just as it speaks to so many today,
just as it speaks to me.
Though my knees do not fold
and my lips do not kiss the marble floor,
though no muttered scripture falls from my tongue,
though the songs on the air remain a mystery
and their lyrics tell stories I do not know,
though I bring no offering, leave no coin
at the petaled base of the altar,
even so,
my mere presence here
has bound me both to this sanctuary
and to these strangers.
To their prayers.
To their alms.
To their songs.
To their hearts.
Every heart
that has been bathed
in the golden light of peace and charity
is forever brightened
and strengthened and soothed.
And now, my heart is counted among them.
Many hearts,
One love.
Feb 11, 2011
Feb 11, 2011 at 12:30 PM UTC
If I could speak
I would spill these lamentations
cloistered sins and secrets
whispered vespers for wretched dreams
Retching sentiment
this malignant manifesto
a macabre mantra
eats my skin from within
transient refuge for temporal treasures
inexorable moments carry life away
tick tick tick
the seconds scurry
flurried ineffectual supplications
demigods of affluence
the cacophony of the machine
I spin within
cogniscient of my myopia
the funneled tunnel vision
drips from the end of a pen
furtive verses on paper
fading ochre moments
somber drops of ash and bone
poetic exorcisms
of wicked things unknown
phrenetic
sensibilities trickle
spilling life
black and withering
is the gain worth sacrifice
crackling fat of dreams
too costly
this shallow palette
self obsessed
eyes gouged out
hands shackled
to the reality
the immortality
trust the dust
the dust becomes me
soul focused on decay
spectre death
devouring this unsparked spirit
If I could speak
truth into your heart
would you
believe.....
in anything more than what you see
I trust the dust and dust will be
the remnant me
TL Boehm
042508
Oct 14, 2013
Oct 14, 2013 at 5:11 PM UTC
Blanche
Perched high upon a gaudy throne
In her faded dream kingdom
Where everything is soft
And glimmers and glows
Where brutal reality is hidden
By soft colors, the colors of jasmine
And butterfly wings
Her singing
Weary and strained
Like a dying star
Turning the trick
She dons such deliberate disguises
White satin, a paper lantern
Oh Blanche
Purely corrupted
Lighting ****** candles
To hide the stains
And with wide-eyed laughter,
Uttering naivetés
Dropping virginal lies like pearls from a necklace
Clinging to hope
To unheard prayers, unseen supplications
Her restless eyes
Begging for mercy
And wandering aimlessly
Through rainy afternoons in New Orleans
Her lips whisper a battle cry
*I don't want realism. I want magic
I tell what ought to be the truth*
Truth is sin
Verity and naked bulbs be ******
May 20, 2013
May 20, 2013 at 5:00 PM UTC
Walking Down the memory lane isn't always a good thing. I hope we all know that not everything good in the eye is actually Good. So is taking a stroll on memory lane is somewhat not healthy. What I'm about to do will somewhat heals each wounds and allow us to Forge forward. For every new friends I might have acquired this year might not know this but every year, I write a short essay on Christmas and give Hope for the year rolling in. How many of us have gone through the worst in 2013? If we are been asked to count, can we ( -_-) ? How many of us have gone through the best in 2013? If we choose we can write them out. Anyone who's misfortunes supersedes his or her Blessings or Gratifications, must sit back and work thrice so everything might be put in Perspective in 2014. One of the things I've learned last year is that; in life if we want something, one goes after it with prayers and supplications. If one never ask, the answer will always be No; and if one do not step forward from their comfort zone, one will always be in same place. I dare us to leave our comfort zone and acquire Faith and Strength. Christmas isn't all about gifts like Ralph Waldo Emmerson says, " Rings & Jewels are not gifts but apologies for gifts..the only gift is a portion of thyself", so I dare us to acquire Selflessness and give our whole to Christ. Life is made up of little things, this new year, 2014, lets start from the littlest things, pray, endure, keep God's word, forgive, have open arms, be patience and God will direct and put things in order. This way our Gratifications will weigh more than our misfortunes. I raise my glass, we've made it again! I wish us all a happy New month and Year...
Opemipo Oluwole aka Debola Oluyomi
Dec 20, 2013
Dec 20, 2013 at 6:48 PM UTC
A newborn father
wears a path to heaven
in polished holy marble
'neath the pedestal
of stoney saints.
Deific overseers
cast artificial glory
incandescently.
A slice of dimly lit
hospital heaven
is framed with two candles
and the incense of Betadine.
Saint John's shadow
shares confessions
and supplications
over a once-immortal man
now unashamedly broken,
bartering trade with God -
his life for his son's.
This shoebox chapel
is starking cold.
Cold enough to preserve meat,
and doubts
which mock peace
against nun-hardened walls
echoing Satan's laugh.
Hope drowns in the ripples
of a basin filled with water
to wash our sins
but not our fear.
In the air hangs
the promise of eternity
(which is spiritual code for "death", but no one says "death" outloud. The more they don't say it, the more it sounds like "WE AREN'T GOING TO SAY "DEATH", WE CAN'T POSSIBLY SAY "DEATH", UNTIL IT IS SO UNCOMFORTABLE THAT WE MIGHT AS WELL BE SAYING "DEATH, DEAD, DIE, DIE, DIE, DIE, DEATH AND TO TOP IT OFF...ON YOUR MOTHER'S GRAVE").
Yet piercing through
the promise of eternity
is the frail wail
of his baby's voice.
Legacy lingers in a
plastic manger down the hall.
Resurrection is more
than a prayer, it is his spirit
rising for one more miracle.
Faith is summoned
like a woozy fighter
demanding his will
to go on,
beaten,
half-concious
on the mat
refusing to lay down
for the count.
"God, I believe.
Help my unbelief."
The weeping man
stares into a statue's eyes
for salvation.
Jun 16, 2014
Jun 16, 2014 at 7:49 PM UTC
down on her knees
beseeching
pleading for it to arrive
days without
a meager amount
she was dying
as time did pass
to be endowed
in it's refreshment
towards the heavens
her hands
were stretched
asking so earnestly
for the opening of clouds
to replenish
her core so dry
ecstasy
had abandoned
her terrain
gone was it's life giving
dampness
which would allay
her anguish and pain
arid she'd been all summer long
twas too long a period
being bereft
of those quenching drops
her ground so dusty
and so lifeless
she pined
for the sweet moistening
to fill her with enlivening streams
a band of richly laden clouds
came as she pleaded
to the sky once again
she implored in desperation
to be saturated
monster spots of rain
poured down
which so soothed her landscape's crust
enthralled
was she to be in receipt
of it's wetting balm
long she'd made supplications
to the sky
for her ground
had been excessively dry
on her knees
and with her hands stretched
to the heavens
on high
the sky bequeathed
her it's deliverance
as her death
was drawing ever nigh
Jan 22, 2014
Jan 22, 2014 at 9:57 PM UTC
Today, I have no words
Qualified enough to describe
The depth of my pain
I have no words
Huge enough to describe
The emptiness in my heart
I have no word
Worthy of the thickness
Of the darkness drowning my soul
I have no words
Colorful enough to express
My desires for each day
That hurries by without their fulfilment
Or for the wishes I have for tomorrow
No words deep enough to form my fears
Of what the future holds
I pray, dear father that you look deep into my heart
And find the words that my lips cannot form
Soothe my worries
And grant my supplications
Jun 14, 2016
Jun 14, 2016 at 1:50 PM UTC
I’ve been taken captive by an infinitely lasting quandary; my life.
Time has revealed to me the fallacious nature of my conception.
Every blemish, stain, transgression on this once innocent and immaculate vessel pervades into the red blood cells coursing through my veins.
A smoky haze has befallen me from the clouds above; I am shrouded in murk and obscurity.
I can no longer see my way out of delirium and oblivion seems imminent during this seemingly perpetual moment.
Flying high above the clouds, the Lord has seen my distress.
Tacit supplications have led me to rebirth; I plea for repentance; I beg to be cleansed of all iniquity.
The elements within me have been perfected all within a split second; darkness and tarnished blood become baptismal aqua
-I exist to edify-
From this moment on I am on this Earth to illuminate its confines with iridescence.
Flames of a pearly white composition surround my spirit and soul.
The ebony clouds originating from The Adversary can no longer encumber me from progressing along life’s winding road.
Butterflies enrapture me as I am lifted into the stratosphere; time stops for but a moment and I metamorphose into a spiritual being of the highest caliber.
I am an iridescent sphere that is shining brighter than the Sun.
Chemical reactions taking place within the confines of my soul spur my transformation.
I am a sacred parcel carrying the message of a brighter tomorrow.
The winds of change have just begun to brush gently against my shoulders.
As the lightning flashes off in the distance an overwhelming feeling of tranquility befalls a once ailing heart.
Though stars may fall; celestial bodies may be shaken; I will remain…
-In spirit-
By Iridescently Efflorescent
Aug 8, 2012
Aug 8, 2012 at 11:27 PM UTC
It begins with
nervous laughter,
creaking springs,
builds to
loud supplications
to Jesus and God,
ends in final
melting moans.
Funny how little
the notes vary;
more classical
than baroque;
more advertising
jingle than
hallelujah.
The simple sounds
of who we are,
where we come from,
what we do
to each other
played on mortal organs
by ardent amateurs,
overheard through
thin motel walls.
- mce
Aug 30, 2015
Aug 30, 2015 at 2:06 PM UTC
My heart professes perpetuity, and was so faithful to, yet my mortality minds no frame nor memory of you.
This epidermis sheds and skins from disuse; need my heart evidence, might my chill-cracked palms be your proof?
The contours of your constitution, all known by their names, are perhaps now amended by the passage of passing age and days.
The sirens of your voice's sound, awaken me from my dreams; the symphonies of my soul's supplications, now so strange and foreign seem.
My heart professed perpetuity, and is so faithful to, so should this skeleton and its dependents devoice - mon Amour; my heart remains with you.
May 5, 2021
May 5, 2021 at 6:23 PM UTC
God, You are my Dwelling Place.
My Rock and my Wings in times of trouble.
You are the Hand that lifts me up when I stumble.
I thank You for Your love and kindness.
I thank You for listening to my voice, my prayers, my cries, and my supplications.
Continue to renew my mind and spirit to conform to your thinking moment by moment.
Every day is a new start.
When my soul is overflowing with anguish, so much so my bones are crushed,
I will look to You to drain it from me.
I will look to You to set my soul free from such an outpouring of grief and fear.
May Your love sustain me; may Your love guide me.
I need Your help, Father.
Thank You for Your unmatched, unfailing, and rescuing love.
Oct 29, 2011
Oct 29, 2011 at 1:15 AM UTC
My love I beg of thee , will you come out this very night ..
Face me in the firelight , never take me out of your sight ...
Let's raise a toast to our long awaited connection ,
by informing the world of our deep affection ....
For one night I would risk my everything , for
it's in your eyes that my heart begins to sing .....
People will ridicule our devotion , people will forswear
our commitment to each other , deny our heartfelt supplications
before all others , ridicule our togetherness as a ploy for ulterior motives ..
I want to hide in your arms tonight , your eyes cast upon mine ,
your breath in my ear forever and one year ...
We wait for complex answers to simple equations , we struggle in search of honesty when it's standing all around us ...
We draw the warmth from one another whenever we meet , can we not show our heightened emotions for one another as we casually stroll our hometown streets ?
Feb 15, 2016
Feb 15, 2016 at 7:41 PM UTC
Hannah's tearful diatribe,
Swept up to the heavens,
In rivulets of threes, and cascades of sevens,
However ****** by the high priest's jibe;
But Jah's lines are never jammed,
You don't even have to port,
Billions of supplications may have rammed,
But rest assured, you make up his every thought;
By HIS design,
Daily tears may now resign,
Two worlds, all, in one birth,
Fervent prayers doth berth;
Bundles of awesome joy,
Jah gives, double, a reason,
One adorable girl, and an awesome boy,
Two worlds, and a happy season.
Jun 13, 2013
Jun 13, 2013 at 11:14 AM UTC
I struggle to remain indefatigable,
I ravage my mind my for hours on end,
My yearning is insatiable,
Flexuous with the concepts to send.
Laboriously sewn, tentatively spoken,
Nonchalantly cast off devastation because it’s broken.
I will never seek acceptance again,
Emancipated from the shackles of denial,
As long as I live I will regain,
And refrain from a judgemental trial.
Perspicaciously drawn, ultimately deduced,
To the gallows with all of my sins, tightly noosed.
They want blood and pain and agony,
All of which I have to give,
I’d rather than expressions of tragedy,
Show what it means to live.
And ponder the spiritual diadems,
Glistening, repetitive, fractals and gems.
My supplications ever so earnest,
Are outweighed by my insubordination.
It’s myself, my own intentions I must harness,
And live beyond my failings and degradation.
Ecstasy is my fruitful, forgiving friend,
Fear my enemy, unrelenting to the end.
Erumpent rampant vociferation,
Endeavouring to end all thoughts iniquitous,
And reclaim my rumination,
Dare I say nefarious?
Well if it is so, than I shall make it not be,
For I have lost all and now I must live for me.
Apr 10, 2015
Apr 10, 2015 at 1:35 PM UTC
.
*In an anthem of doubt
the wind song resonates
passionately through
natures’ cocooned embrace ,
heart’s echoes manifest
thrive and bear fruit.
unspoken hearts enflamed
in poetic supplications ,
soul rejuvenation ,
a flake of love sown
a spark of hope evident
a burning bonfire
metamorphosed ,
wildfire fanned by the muse
a shameless passion
insatiated thirst
unsatiated taste buds
a hungry heart craving ,
an unsatisfied desire
to be spellbound
the moment of love
at long last ,
imbibed in deepest
heart subsisting coddle ,
held like life sustaining breath
take me to your secret throne
lead me down
your garden pathway moans ,
where all your secrets will be known ,
let me taste the beauty
of your naked sacred stone ―
please don’t make me wait forever
longing to be warm
in the frigid cold aloneness
curling my back
to a fading memory
where you used to lie at dawn* ...
wild is the wind 11. 27. 2016
Dec 2, 2016
Dec 2, 2016 at 11:01 AM UTC
During ugly's swarm of cheap prostitutes, don't worry about crushing! Don't let anyone believe you peeed in fear! If every curse-memory and minute-man rushes, a thousand ghosts could throw lasso into your throat every day! Silence can hardly surround you anymore, because you could not come to terms with your Difference! Indifference is listening to you with its great petals! Sooner or later, the World will collapse again, and you will hardly hear the supplications of your wounded soul! Honest prophets are worried about freethinkers and the Sincere Prophets are turning into stray dogs! The chaos-silence of the stars hugs her upside down her ***** the Nirvana-Nothing is still bleeding from the wounds of the earth!
I notice the grin of Mayan-smiling, ********** Angels: as Man sells himself for sale! The restless tranquility of your soul is a privilege and a rare holiday! "You should become one in eternal universe life on your Dear side if you could hear the wide screams of my heart attack!" "This is how you hide in stone silence if you are tensed into the Hangman-smelling, hibernated Time every day!" With fierce fear, atomic bomb angers are also lurking; instead of the right paths, they steer you towards your diverted, cross-decisions!
Your lonely ancestors are named — no wombat puppies and loyal hedgehogs! You have your last solid excuse for yourself! From barely pre-human swaying nights, you can barely hear: You pay with the momentary click of your being when called by otherworldly voices! The horror of your suicide is getting closer, trembling over your head! "You have to be in pain all the time to understand the incomprehensible human offspring constantly censored even in the forbidden phase of your body!" With whom will you share and share the childish cramps of your soul?
Mar 27, 2021
Mar 27, 2021 at 3:02 AM UTC
Existential ache,
Visceral and immediate
Occludes all reason,
A fated Solitude.
The myth of dearth,
In prose retold
Retaining fictive resolve,
Tacitly confessed.
Ineluctable Torpor
Petitions my
Ardent supplications.
Present,
Beckoned in the dulcet
Confluence —
Beauty and affliction
Freshets of silence,
Redressing the fallow
Surface of my soul.
© 2016 W. S. Warner
Jul 31, 2016
Jul 31, 2016 at 9:35 PM UTC
Among the wagons
I found the affection
which one day made me cry.
And maybe that has never been
pure enough.
If I were a foreigner,
I could steal your kindness.
But I know you so well
that I hesitate to behave like this.
When the days darken,
not up to eyes one solution.
However, for them,
we should be dancing
without fear of falling asleep
in a brave world
which doesn't stop spinning.
I saw my friends
walk aimlessly
carrying on their faces
the picture of deception.
I felt safe for not having surrendered
as well as I felt sad for them,
because they had a hole in their *******
so much that they risked their hearts.
The despair took over of my hands,
and even with homesick,
I wished an escape abroad again,
because here sorrow was done.
I never imagined
my memories returning;
they're so fragile which prevent us
to live peacefully.
Hiding from the storm
is just another form of melancholy
which our parents avoid having.
Fleeing this suffocation,
they still blame us
by all this city's fears.
So, on behalf of my friends,
I ask you to there are no regrets
and I ask you to give support to their bodies.
Your supplications were believable.
Now, they're just ambitions.
I don't know if I should worry,
but, while they don't hurt
our wrists like punishment,
I will feel safe near you.
May 8, 2014
May 8, 2014 at 1:43 PM UTC
That Night…
That certain night I came to him with reverence
And I was like a goddess and he the worshipper
I accepted his offerings of passion not because
He was the sole pilgrim to my pantheon of love
But since I heard his supplications to cherish me.
My tears mingled with his just like our ardor in a cup
And we will drink it for many days and nights later
My soul and his were in cased in a time capsule
That both of us could easily open in the far future
To fill the lonely winter nights to balance our sanity.
Then I started to wish that summer would never cease
But the leaves started to fall hard just like my dreams
As I looked at him packing his things the next morn
He said farewell and went to war and to his people
But at least I was…
A goddess that night and my enemy was my devotee.
Dec 15, 2016
Dec 15, 2016 at 12:49 AM UTC