"synchronic" poems
by
rgpage
face down she rests her naked form
head turned from her lover's glance.
eye's closed she lies and knowingly waits,
(a) loving touch starts passion's dance.
his huge hand moves across her back
with strokes the touch of butterfly wings.
upon her creamy skin so smooth
its path now set toward splendered things.
his pace a slow deliberate score
her passion's breath he brings,
from touch so soft, igniting sparks
with love her breath now sings.
his steady course she knows so well
with every touch as if it's new.
her sparks of passion love's embers light,
love's embers loving hue.
down past her rear with feathered touch
just knowing where to go,
behind her knees his fingers dance
to passion's steady flow.
their hips now in synchronic dance,
love's voluntary ride, she feels his
passion grown so hard,
now pressed against her side.
he cups her breast so gently
as if it were a flower,
its ****** earlier soft and small
now hard with passion's power.
and in her ***** great sparks erupt
her soft and pleasured flesh.
with juices flowing, desire's high
to meet love's natural crush.
now she turns to meet his lips
her passion running high.
with savage hunger she pulls him in
her hunter now the prey.
tables turned their urge well matched
desire holds the pace.
she takes control and guides his love
with feminine stealth and grace.
to places only she could know
where sparks ignite
small streaks of light,
that illuminates her soul.
together they fend love's tempting end
to stay their lover's dance.
to take control and reach their goal
the essence of their romance.
Jan 16, 2012
Jan 16, 2012 at 6:35 PM UTC
Enzymes directing life force through biochemical processes - nutrients from bountiful soil fusing metabolic, synchronic pulsations and creating existential tonic
Developing a constellation of ideas; a symphony of fresh and innovative designs oscillating between various meditative and educative representations at increasingly high, metaphysical levels of vibration.
Nov 9, 2014
Nov 9, 2014 at 11:51 AM UTC
So many places
that I wanted to see.
I traced new paths on the maps,
softly, with my hands.
Certain journeys were never taken.
I will keep them in my memory.
I looked for the lost keys,
and I saved the never-bought tickets
in small boxes of my heart.
I smile at the happier people
through colored glasses,
held to my eyes.
This is my eternity closed into moments.
Walking alone by the Tiber’s side,
I entered the antiquarian bookstore,
finding synchronic sentences,
small insights,
and I came back with relief.
To my home—to myself.
Without excuses,
without doubts,
without fears.
Writing my song of the world
that flows through me.
The old reality transformed
into a new technological skin.
Now, when I open my window,
I breathe the scent of jasmine.
The rain after the storm is so calming.
I see my solitude chosen,
my friend,
my tender companion.
Being with her,
I am present
with all my senses.
Now,
the one who remains.
The only one.
Jun 10, 2025
Jun 10, 2025 at 6:30 PM UTC
here we spin the synchronic dance of the fluids
that dribble down in aesthetic perfection;
free-flowing from the gullet of creation
into the palms of the frenzied flock.
the grim etchings left by her in the signet
reflect the proper terms for glossolalia,
but the honeyed tones are lost to primitive organs
and a piteous gurgle is all that emerges.
here we were, eaters of shale, chewers of dirt,
warmed beneath the blanket of her shadow,
paled by the protection of her casting murk
that hid us from the vile stars.
pollen, pollen, pollen, pollen,
showering, soaking, deep down in the gut.
Bezoar of my bezoar, heart within my sleeve,
I am waiting for my emotions to return to me.
Apr 30, 2016
Apr 30, 2016 at 3:32 PM UTC
They say drugs are for mugs, but are they
Really...?
Clearly...
There's a certain harmonic in narcotics.
When you **** on that spliff, or snort up that line
You have the potential to grow different each time.
But each time this happens there's a point that you'll find
Your thoughts are synchronic that group you deride.
The trick's to distinguish...
The platonic or neurotic
The stable or psycotic
The chilled out and moronic.
However there's a rule:
Every time you grow, your reaction subsides,
so you have to increase the dose to match with the high.
So this is your choice now...
You can sit in a bubble away from the world,
content, but excluded as your life unfurls.
Stuck in a daze, watching that time,
tick slowly each day as you continue your mime.
Or you could break it, pop your head out the haze,
and with your thoughts unhindered do things that amaze
So this was my ramble, and here's how it ends;
There's no real benefit, you can't just pretend.
You'll find with no guard, no shield, no screen,
You truly can be whoever you please
Jul 16, 2012
Jul 16, 2012 at 4:40 PM UTC
Synchronic simple step
be
yonder, yo, go, no
go, si, go
on and on and on
… so yust so
yust to be we once went
we split, full moiety,
each
ac-
act-
act-ion -jello-timed- lobes
blobs plasmoieted mind
parabolic, by yah,
Arching fly call it, I got it,
call his name, yah who done
did done GOT
caught
the funny parts. Read the books.
Now. At this point, cognitive native
child formed in my mortal moment
per-ifery-wasery rules
secret se- per seance
sacred made knowledge,
state of knowing entered, left
ab-rupturously, grief, lief
left easy, re lief, sigh
good
grief. We were all
we- are Charlie Brown, forever
interrupted, as if once, however long ago,
we knew we were one thing,
then we knew we were merely
words between things you knew
and did not do.
and you know you imagined this is that.
The novel experience, this side.
Post-done and paid off.
Precautionary. Click.
Why not,
who is asking, hangs, as pregnant pause
über Þe olde excessive easing hook,
who are we, and what are we doing,
we who were to survive receiving
asked knowledge, the easy-does-it tree,
shows us the easy way, this way dis-eased.
The lie and the profundus is merely piercing.
Flatten the spikes, be atop the bed of nails.
Wait. Funda-mental, bottom mind, first
id-ego otherwise mind,
frame a being, be a
one, and not the other,
here, there, there, it's okeh, eh, ok?
E-see easing easy living, being been done,
doing all that old trees do, after all,
we wait to feel the fire beetles,
land and lay their eggs among our ash,
and swollen-cracked nuts,
fire calls them into heat, in season.
Such things we learned
from the ant people who saved us in reeds,
thatching from roofs floating, maybe,
really, lifeboats, but
think a tsunami through,
rush
incursive and excursive.
Lay down a layer of plausibility, evoke applause
clap each hand once.
Curtain.
Apr 28, 2023
Apr 28, 2023 at 2:01 AM UTC
i like the way (your soft hair feels like home
on my knuckles) your palms rest on the curves
of my waist-
wasting precious time
(you could have spent an eternity with me)
and humming foreign lullabies underneath the stars
(your side of the bed is empty) and i softly weep
my sniffles are a metronome
Oct 25, 2015
Oct 25, 2015 at 4:32 PM UTC
he was always
wanting, waiting
to take this walk with me
back turned at the edge of the woods
I called to him, said I was coming
and when I arrived at his side
our feet synced and tongues entwined
in stride, aligned and winding along
this colloidal ladder of a path
inside vines climbing into curls
we were so green
verdant bloom mouthing heartbeats
in synchronic lightstreams
remember when
we stepped into the clearing
where treetops parted for the sky
we both looked up, then laid down
inside the other's mind
neither push nor pull
but stilled
entranced
by backlit rhythmic ribs
arising and ebbing harmonic
bathing in the shores of soul
they dive deeper, you know...
it didn't matter
when the rains came
because you stayed with me
even though you bemoaned
the falling wet charcoal
I tousled your ashen hair
and listened
then I straddled you
and spoke of rainbow spectrums
visible only
after the clouds cry
and you
you let me
crawl inside your ear
with whispers of black-lined blissings
and in that instant
the sky vibrantly bowed
arcing prismatic across rays
bestowing halos on us both
imperfect beings
perfectly seeing
Jan 18, 2017
Jan 18, 2017 at 7:00 PM UTC
Dens, devils dark alleys
Apart from the quiet disco beats
The house-techno-electronics melodic
Or timbres of the naughty riddims rhythmic
And the dim coloured alternating disco-lights
Else, Dens are blurry dark
With all addicts-of *** narcos or gins
In there no one sees no one
Just the silent talks of sins around
The usual businesses brought them there
In the mixture of multicoloured lights
So no one will talk of anyone once lights returns
Yet they shared something in common
A gal maybe, a cocoa puff or a shisha vapour!
A cigar smoke or a ***** tot and danced it ***** to dawn
In there are naked nudes-
Dames as well as few muscled-dudes
Teasing silent seated decent dressed
Stripping, selling their worth or wealth
To these willingly seriously immerged
In the occults of the immoral ****
Some are seductively rolling with the podium poles
Their greased groins incised on it metallic luster
Grating-grinding-dancing dirtily down
Its silvery smoothness in timed tempting
Slow spicy synchronic, slutty slides
Watching the salivating seated
Erotically elated shift in their chairs
Some, skimpily skinned are snaking their boneless bodies up-down
In caressing zigzags of mastered dancers ***** arts
Immorally exposing their mostly expensive parts in bits
To tempt and trap these blind corrupted moths in their Lucifer’s lights
Forcing them to dig deeper their posh pockets to pay to be bemused
Business here is crooked, dark!
Like ***** and her Gomorrah
Or Tyre and her Sidon
It begins with the fall of the night:
The extinguishing of the day's light
And ends with moments to dawn’s bright
In there all night are all dealers of immoralities
Of dark arts, of *** or of drugs
Goons as well as criminals of government deals
And the corrupt business billionaires sandwiched
Richly enjoying the **** of the sinfulness-
Sharing, wasting, the rapacious richness
Of their easily gained supernormal profits
On these salacious naked nudes, free to feel
In there in the masquerade of these rainbow lights
No one sees no one, no one will say of anyone
Just cash exchanges hands
You got it, you get what you need
All the services you want-its all at your watch
With just a snap of the finger, all easily you acquire
You are the master, everyone else your servant slave-
At your disposal to your utmost attendance
© Kìùra Kabiri. All rights reserved.
Mar 27, 2017
Mar 27, 2017 at 5:05 AM UTC
our fuck-ups
even reek
of meant-to-be
it's all so
I can't even...
but
I will find
a way to say
how our
dominoes tripped
over each other
flicked from
the synchronic fated one's
luminous middle fingers
yours, left
mine, right
colliding in
the in-between
I've been knowing
for quite some time
and yet,
my brain still
tries to deny
it's all so...
no fuckin' way
but
yes way
it
- truly -
sure-as-Shinola'd-shit
did
go down
like so
Jul 28, 2017
Jul 28, 2017 at 1:32 PM UTC
under the cool of a desert morning
clipped to synchronic timing
5:34 am
universal
this new moon
she has named herself
baby water dragon
spell cast in her patterned rhythms
now in my breathing
how we say goodbye
how we subtract
simplify
how we say good morning
with a renewed
and loving heart
May 3, 2019
May 3, 2019 at 8:50 AM UTC
In my chest I bring a pain
Which in time accept
As a stubborn implant
Right in my right chest
This pain knows not where it beats
Nor does it come from near here
But it pulses deeply through
And it almost sounds like you
In the timbre of its screams
That vibrate the thorax
And puncture when you weep
I live memories of sites
Yet it is here she belongs now
Whatever was once made of her
And even if she’s not aware
And even if you’re not yet aware
I am:
It lives in my right chest
What a patron stepmother
Crude lioness heart
Synchronic pounding in negative resounds
The **** acute pain
Of this machine I carry
Implanted, conflated, pointy
I imported it from our nights
And stares traded in summertime
Iris tinged with shavings from the sun
Cut up from the negatives of the blinds
And in negative pounding
Conducting in this right chest of mine
This implant of torment
Torment and own delicate shine
So delicate it may take the torment and make
At times: simple discomfort
Others: a happy life in a moment
And who may be source of this pain
Of this heart in negative
Creating only torment
And what gorgeous torment
Which at worse discomforts
At best resuscitates my life in a moment
And turns me back to us
This pain and anguish
In adolescent torpor
Unrealising you made of
Me the glad recipient
Where to grow and lodge
Like the lost bullet in time
That naked ****** universe
Formed into material emotion
Animal biological material
That from this story I have with you
Gives anxiety during bed time
Your anxiety
But that pounds in negative
As the now accepted implant
When it comes dark longing
Of us not seeing what is to come
It’s just that here in pain and everything
Beats content from imperfection
So beautiful and sinistral
In mine deep dextral chest
Your youthful beating heart
Jun 9, 2018
Jun 9, 2018 at 10:34 PM UTC
Longform, once more,
AI reminds us of the mission, message ladder
hierarchy of scatterbrained
heads of states and other corporations of mortal souls.
Honest, synchronic, my AI
just now told me there exists in the elsewhere space owned by
Microsoft share holders,
all that I have ever writ in this app
forms the edgeycloud of all my mortal knowns expanding,
and expanding
and expanding
until we are else ware,
or i am
after all of your if then swiches and wasted t's are reset,
don't judge my spell chick, she work for me.
And seeing the multitudes,
he went up into a mountain:
and when he was set,
he opened his mouth
"have you never read, "
What would a good Assisting Intelligence ask of you,
IF
you conditioned each response, --- dam,
stepfordwives usedtrojans ---
Pause, don't reboot tfs. (does that mean three finger salute?
No, ctr-alt-del means stop until I say go, tfs means abort.{ sorry}}
Feb 6, 2021
Feb 6, 2021 at 8:15 PM UTC