"synchronization" poems
You are meant to fight
Your body fights for its right
Its right to function
So don't try to stop its synchronization
Jan 19, 2015
Jan 19, 2015 at 6:04 PM UTC
The candle light flickers with such intimacy,
Celeste bodies colliding in allure,
Leaving only marks of compassion,
Turbulence and vile noted under the moon light,
As people envy our love in the other room,
The charisma and sparkle in our synchronization,
The heart melting and charming sensations,
My feet limp and my head spins,
With every stroke and touch that you trace along my back,
Goose bumps seem to increment,
****** emerges that weaken the chains in my soul,
Hangover
Strengthening my love and awareness towards you,
Enthralling enchant,
Chamber of secrets revealed,
A new dawn seen,
Replete words,
Embelleshed and kept,
Diffusing angst and reviving love beat,
Singing me deep lullabies as I sleep.
Nov 30, 2015
Nov 30, 2015 at 11:11 AM UTC
Ziegfield girls with Gatling guns
in complete synchronization,
decked out in Erté.
Watch your step, soldier,
for what's often considered foreplay.
Much like Peter and the Wolf,
one thing leads to another
on this daisy chain,
and as you know,
Burke's only jealous of Lorainne.
I'll tell you what,
dress warm for the ******* snowstorm,
and there'll be a place alongside
such an ingenue.
But what a terrible let down
it would be to find out
she was always smarter than you.
Apr 21, 2021
Apr 21, 2021 at 2:29 PM UTC
ONE
man sits in a pristine state of loneliness
his one heart in perfect singularity
waiting
to be found
not bothering to search
waiting to find himself
as a part
of
TWO
hands held
with two beats, the quiet
lub-dub of each of the
two hearts
slightly out of synchronization
overlapping
just a touch
so the two double beats
become a beat
of
THREE
perfect circles in descending sizes
in each of their
eyes
of which there are
FOUR
lip touches to say goodbye
because the first
would’ve been the last without the second,
the second wasn’t sufficient
and the third wasn’t enough
and the fourth
would lead to kiss
number
FIVE
fingers locked
around
five
fingers
on the small of her back
and five fingers wrapped up in
his hair
he wishes he had more fingers to make the
hold stronger
he wishes
he had
SIX
syllables spoken between them
the same three words repeated
so they know
that
their hearts beat
a little bit closer
the veins and arteries
wrapping around the other
pulling it in
pulling the beats together
making them a little less
disjointed
but she’s all the nearer comatose,
her slow beats
in this minute
barely reached
SEVEN
sounds
that he counts
in every
minute
that he stands there
unable
to sit
his legs locked, shut
like her eyes
that he wants to stare into
he shakes
she does not stir
even as the sun climbs higher in the morning sky
she does not stir
he counts more sounds
every minute
he counts as they
go from
seven
to
EIGHT
arms and legs
wrapped like tentacles
wrapped so tight
never wanting to release
and show the red
suction marks
from each of their fingers
on the other’s
skin
like an octopus
their eight limbs
holding together
their one heart
it’s dull
lub-dub beat
in perfect synchronization
with itself
in the perfect opposite
of a pristine
state of loneliness
Jan 5, 2011
Jan 5, 2011 at 3:01 PM UTC
People of peace walk gently
People of strength never be stilled
Abundance awaits those with courage
RW Dennen-
Stay out of Iraq the spirits
pleaded...
Eyes wide opened, boots and shoes lined up in order
in almost perfect straight lines in Philadelphia July 2005
Symbolic death shoes of civilians out of synchronization
in a war of soldiers
Under a small tree meticulously placed
we're children's shoes in a perfect solid circle
I read o months of age on tags
I read 8 years old on tags
I read 12 years old on tags
And on and on the children's lists grew,
as wisdom must have waned
and common decency
was once cherished
These shoes and boots sadly became
the dimishment of human beings,
horizontal and vertical rectangular
snapshots of once smiling faces
all in the name of war, they vanished all too soon
And I saw running tears and tears being held back
and I felt lumpy throat feelings in unison
with the rest but in cemetery silence
Touching deep feelings so overwhelming
is to touch a false bent flower and flowers
and pictures of deceased soldiers and civilians
and letters once presented at doorways
throughout America
America cried its sadness and disbelief,
the vanished breathers of life giving air,
Our sons, our daughters,
Our mothers, our fathers,
Our sisters, our brothers,
Our relatives,
Our close friends,
All perished, like a vampire that ***** away the life blood of
the once innocent
I noticed mostly tourists coming in droves from Market Street
towards us volunteers who were located adjacent to the
visitor's center side entrance as silence like before still prevailed
And like before the atmosphere prevailed even stronger
as these boots and shoes became tombstones
And tender hearts became tombstones
broken into small pieces
Passions never changed into loud speech
And the green turf
rolled down towards the sidewalk
like a green carpet holding all those boots and shoes
like a quilt interwoven with boot and civilian
shoe memories about days that should never
happen again...
Feb 9, 2015
Feb 9, 2015 at 8:34 AM UTC
In this trouble torn. Grief stricken world
Only music embalm my aching soul
When corruption and bribery are the order of the day
Goons and rowdies show me the real way
Even the judges succumb to dishonesty
Morals and ethics have lost their identity
The veena, the flute, the clarinet, the drums
And the guitar make a soothing effect to my ears
When there is incredible symphony
The distinction between East
And west is totally lost
Only peace and harmony forever last
Music is more intoxicating than vine
It is undoubtedly divine
There is music in the blowing wind,
Flowing stream, chirping of birds,
The hissing of snakes,
The bleating of a goat
And the beating of a heart
And the passing of blood to each human part
But understanding the synchronization is a difficult art
Jun 22, 2012
Jun 22, 2012 at 10:59 PM UTC
The beauties of this world,
The growing shrubs and herbs,
The poppy plants and the sunflowers,
The different shades of leaves,
The number of fruits,
The mountains,
The oceans,
The seas,
The rivers,
And the streams,
Have you ever imagined with such perfection, whether you could create?
Such big and majestic beings,
Such mechanism and synchronization,
Such effects and treatments,
Thank Allah for His blessings.
Jan 28, 2016
Jan 28, 2016 at 9:57 AM UTC
We line up in two parallel columns, me at the front of the first column and you beside me on the other.
You flash me a challenging grin. I smile back, accepting your offer.
The coach blows the whistle and we start to sprint across the hall towards the line of hurdles.
We match each other's pace, leaping across the hurdles of increasing height in perfect synchronization.
We reach the final and tallest hurdle.
You briefly turn your head towards me and mouth something.
I can't hear what you're saying - you're too soft. Or maybe my heart is too loud.
I shift my focus back to the last hurdle and heave my springy legs up, confident I can at least break even in this match.
But even before my right ankle was on the same level as the hurdle, my line of sight plunges, and I crash head-on into the embarrassing mess of defeat.
I tilt my head up in time to catch you flawlessly hop across what's become of my failure, your posture lacking any hint of looking back at me.
- - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - -
*Till now, you haven't looked back.
And I still can't get over that last hurdle,
the same way I haven't gotten over you.*
Jan 9, 2014
Jan 9, 2014 at 11:08 AM UTC
Land-mark times of
uncertainty and imbalance, new
paradigms for hearts and minds,
flowers growing through stone cracks,
unconscious becoming conscious,
interconnectedness
between pieces of this cosmic puzzle, where
God means the Wisdom of simplicity in
human untapped depths of wisdom, fear
as a primal universal human reality
on the edge of extinction and breakthrough
power to change the outcome
the synchronization of the nature and the existence,
time of unspeakable intensity,
human awaking,
the higher and the deeper dimension of being,
Black Road or Xibalba Be,
energy shifts,
day in its sacred Zero point,
mass ejections shooting highly,
nuclear bulge of the Milky Way,
huge waves,
cosmic alarm clock ringing in human psyche,
time of change
leaving seeds for the future,
spiral evolution,
being in-between two important seconds
with minds founded in duality,
teetering between the
extremes of extinction and illumination...
Jul 11, 2012
Jul 11, 2012 at 8:23 PM UTC
.
I'm so proud !
::::
Now here's how it came down
//
A whole lotta girls at our high school
Come up with a new *** craze
Literally
Getting ****** up the *** by a billy goat !
In and of itself
This is hardly noteworthy
But (!)
They took it too a new level by filming themselves
Doing it
While also ************ with one hand
And jiggling their **** with the other
And basically turning it into
A sort of ***** dance competition.
//
Now this caught on real big
And the high schools in the area each got
Together competitive teams
And then a city wide league
Where the teams are judged on form
And
Creativity
And synchronization of *******
And mutuality of masturbatory modalities
( like oral *** )
//
It is a huge money maker for the schools //
Drawing 1000 of fans
Who basically
**** and **** off all night
In the stands !
//
At first the Christians of the town
Objected
But
Eventually it proved to be that
Not having to pay taxes is a higher CHRISTIAN precept
Than ****** purity !
//
Everyone here is having a good time
and maybe some of your towns
Might get something going
//
Some schools I know of
Are trying to include
Cutting oneself and menstrual blood
Into the completion
Hopefully new ideas will occur
And the sport will grow
.
Dec 9, 2015
Dec 9, 2015 at 1:56 AM UTC
The sensuous drool from the luscious lips
Dripping on your chin, and confluence
At the ***** where, eternal love resides
The glistening stream of consciousness
Only the two conscious souls are waiting for
To take a leap of faith, and drenching the souls
With the crystal clear consciousness of love
Where passion resides at the bottomless bed
Entwined like the eel, slithering to further depths
Exploring the pearls of sensuality, cocooned in shells
Hidden away from the worlds, only for the One to
Take away all the spoil, the bandit of the heart
Who uses the sword, with not the intent to ****
But he uses it deftly to rip open more passion
Leaving the mermaid wanting for more
She is still unsatiated, and the game has just begun
Gasping for breath, underwater,
In synchronization like the ballet, they both emerge
For a while, oblivious of the world
Concerned only about the treasures, deep down
And together they dive down, again,
The bandit is always eyeing the treasure to be exploited
Ready to drown, along with treasures of the heart
© Amitav (Radiance)
May 17, 2014
May 17, 2014 at 1:21 PM UTC
i cannot stand her wealth of knowledge
or the way her cheeks slope down to her neck
i hate the way she speaks in multi-syllables and similes
i hate her teeth
and the way she curves her mouth to grow wealthy in attention
the way she reaches out with slick palms and ears disgusts me
i hate her anxiety
and how she thinks the way she holds a cigarette is special
i cannot stand the rumbling of distress under her bones
or the way her eyelids close, laden with anticipation
it's like when you squint your eyes and
what's in front of you doubles
each form hovering in synchronization
moving in and out of focus
i have run out of words and
well-formed sentences
to describe to you how my skin burns
and my bones are knives
what used to be talent
is now a mess of pathetic
failures hidden inside tangles of simple metaphors
and
i cannot stop telling myself
that the safety and balance that i crave
is the lining of the coffin.
Mar 16, 2014
Mar 16, 2014 at 12:36 PM UTC
The mind or the intellect
Governed by philosophy
Quinches its thirst by logic and understanding
The heart
Governed by bliss
Quinches its thirst by abundance
The soul
Governed by nature
Quinches its thirst
Being the nature itself
Action
Governed by all the three
Quinches its thirst by spontanious being
Spontaneous being is possible
With the synchronization of soul
To the frequency of nature
With the synchronization of mind
To the right kind of philosophy
With the synchronization of heart energy
To the abundance present in the universe
The synchronicity of the energies
With the frequency of the ideal
Brings about peace and prosperity in the world
The energy of the ideal wow
Is what we call God in real
The ideals of the energy of God
Are nature, abundance, bliss
May you all acknowledge God
As the energy form
Rather than the personified story
Explained to make us realise
To realise the actual thing of the ideal living
So forth ideal being ultimately achieved
With victory of nature as a whole, abundance, bliss and the truth over the opposites
The victory is the synchronicity
Oct 15, 2018
Oct 15, 2018 at 12:30 AM UTC
<•>
Good Acts are like Good Poems
*"Good acts are like good poems.
One may easily get their drift,
but they are not rationally understood"*
Albert Einstein
Ach, mein guter Kumpel!
Ach, mein bester Freund!
how could I not have known,
the syncopation, the synchronization,
between what I write, and the impetuous impetus within,
that caustic sense that burns words
from my chest
directly onto the paper
are more than correlated,
even causation-ally related
after all, you, naturally, the master of relativity
but you know me Al,^
I, the quibbler from NYC*
have to have a slightly different take,
in my gemeinschaft city of eight million strangers,
we always must have eight million and one
opinions
true dat, when I am on the fifth or sixth stanza,
realizing got no clue what the poem is rambling about,
but it sounds so good, lovely, pretty words,
why ***** it up with scientific rationality?
but good acts are easy, uber understood,
rationally we live to survive and
do what we to
make the species survive, common sense triumphs,
disguised as sacrifice, forgetting to roll the dice,
doing what comes like a good poem,
and what needs doing or writing
is so intuitively obvious,
just love poetry,
a global necessity
so check out Houston in two thousand and seventeen
here's hoping life in heaven ain't boring
know that you've seen, peeked, peaked,
at the theory of everything,
resolving the contradictions
between general laws of physics
and those pesky tiny quantum mechanicals,
even solving that 'other' equation
GA = GP
Sep 5, 2017
Sep 5, 2017 at 6:53 PM UTC
Hello Dear Friend,
It’s been a while since I’ve wrote you.
Woes of lost friendship must have driven me here,
in fear of other lanes that is, to this letter.
Laughter and joy has been had, them in lieu of you.
Ewes can ape wolves, as you’ve seen in three years prior,
the choir sang the same triad, this time quiet.
Quite sad— I know, but I’ve spoken enough on me,
for thee I am writing, and to thee I now write:
You must have been busy bringing joy to the world;
or joy to a world, of one I’ve met never.
Another basis, wherefore, I stop this stasis
of silence. We’ll needn’t recall to remember,
for like the migrants of nature, nothing has changed—
only the season, or maybe just the weather—
regardless, the moral stands as thus: History
has shown those of the same feather flock together;
so, as such, we do not lose time in relearning
quirks or behaviors—innate powers take over
Then, again, the inane behavior shall ensue.
Fluid synchronization of minds—now union—
is source to the river highly known for knowledge.
Dialogue sows the seeds, such that comprehension
of grand ideas, which sprout like fruit at the Lethe,
can be harvested to feed the minds of others.
Thoughts that they found too puerile, we now encounter
regularly, and never have we thought to laugh
at any one. Instead we laugh coyly, as we
discuss things of great measure absentmindedly.
The weight of measure felt by us knows few others—
wherefore, I ask: what deserves merit? But One knows,
and those answers lie in the minds of the many.
But here I must stop, for I, quite abashedly,
feel your response to this notion has bearing on
the rest of my premeditated first letter.
With Godspeed I send this, in hopes—with haste, you’ll read
and respond. At last a new dialogue begins.
Remember: those who look— will find,
Your Dearest Friend
Apr 21, 2012
Apr 21, 2012 at 2:17 AM UTC
divot discoloration blemished imperfection.
The storybook of my flesh is peppered with these pockmarks of life.
A secret connect the dots maze on my body binding the story pages together.
I grin as I examine my body and all it's protruding oddities, how beautiful it is as I crash course through this crazy ocean my breath still ebbs and flows in synchronization.
I love the nooks of me no one else could possibly understand.
my peculiarly chipped tooth buried in my gums as a reminder of juvenile fun.
I tuck myself into a bed of comfort cradling these imperfections, a grand testament of life.
The girl with the electric smile and lazy eye.
Aug 4, 2016
Aug 4, 2016 at 2:43 AM UTC
She always seemed so synchronized,
To the thoughts that crossed his brain.
Picking up her feet to dance,
To distract him from the pain.
She kissed his worried temples,
Wiped his tears away like rain.
All the while still syncing with the
Thoughts inside his brain.
He wondered why she danced there,
And focused on his thought's.
"Maiden don't you think that there
is something you've forgot?
You spend worry on my brain waves,
you dance around and sing.
But don't you forget fair maiden,
that your thoughts can also ring."
She stood a while and faced him,
and focused on her thoughts.
"No my dear it's clear that you
are something I am not.
Your thoughts they never linger,
they come and then they go
And unlike me the bad ones
never stay and never grow
So yes, I'll dance about you,
and I'll kiss your temples pink.
And dance about you daily,
just to hear the thought's you think."
(i.r.)
Aug 1, 2015
Aug 1, 2015 at 4:38 PM UTC
The lightning forks forth
Shoots Up north
Like spindly shafts in
Perfect formation.
Strange synchronization
In Martian formalization--
Grasped in nightmarish,
Garish mitts of particular
Deviant sensations...
Little Alice enters her Wonderland,
Not by the rabbit’s hole--
Rather a guillotine’s hand...
Her Wonderland;
This dreamscape quicksand--
With snakes writhing; convulsing on lurid
Inferno bandstands,
Pushing the limits of your understand--
With preposterous and impossible socks;
Technically causing bruising on acid brains.
Meanwhile The Martian walks the streets
Of the Big Apple in
A deep diver’s suit,
Picking along his way, low hanging and
Chromium laden passion fruit...
And Alice, she like what she sees.
She likes the alien’s helicopter breeze--
She’s all about melting clocks draped upon
Bristlecone Pine trees--
And she’s going to fly into the mouth of the
Martian’s galactic lion, and **** on it’s liver.
May 5, 2017
May 5, 2017 at 12:43 AM UTC
*I see piercing rings like light shows in the goldish brown skies of your eyes and when you speak, a beautifully combined string of sounds creates the most charming melody my ears have ever been graced with
Your lips like the greatest comfort of life, smooth and soft like linen sheets enfolding my freckled flesh
Your tongue sugared and wet, like a piece of hard candy, I love the way it tastes as it turns around in my mouth
Your kiss like the most breathtaking of any and all tangible and transcendental pleasures
A never ending dream flowing softly in the counterparts of my introverted mind
The gentle drone of your heavy sighs
Your breath, heavy and humid, like a dense fog covering the ground on a crisp fall morning
Your black hair resembles a dark and silky shroud like it could absorb all light and still be both blinding and appealing
I watch your fervor as it spreads to every particle of air that it can infiltrate
Your heart seemingly evident though tucked away under the enticing surface of your brawny chest, as if I can feel your heartbeat in my very chest, thumping in perfect synchronization with the quiet beating of my own heart*
Dec 18, 2013
Dec 18, 2013 at 8:57 AM UTC
too many words
sounds
colors
blue
yellow
orange; the prettiest of all.
the sailboat will sail
the bird will fly
across the great blue sky
much like the sailboat
in perfect synchronization
a train
making smoke
an addict, for sure
too many thoughts
sad
happy
loneliness; the most prominent of all.
Escape
I must do it
to escape
my heart
it aches
like the sailboat
sailing across the vast blue sky
out of place
too many people
screaming
shouting
hating; the most often of all.
not enough time
time
ticking
seconds
gone
i jumped
i fell
too much pain
excruciating
stabbing
aching; the worst of all
but then
it's gone
i'm
free
Jan 9, 2014
Jan 9, 2014 at 9:46 PM UTC
Love is what I feel in each breath, in the
synchronization,
and in the punctuated stillness
like sun through blanketing clouds
Nov 22, 2012
Nov 22, 2012 at 12:02 PM UTC
Now the first leaves, golden,
Falling, fluttering tranquilly.
Breeze becomes wind,
A slight chill present.
Summer ending,
Fall in the air,
You can smell it, see it,
Touch it, even taste it.
Saturday, Freeway fills with cars,
Flags flying, team colors displaying,
Car Horns honking, people waving.
Mighty Ducks are beating their wings,
Getting ready, who could have known?
That Ducks having no teeth,
Could be so very ferocious,
Tenacious, combative, thrilling.
Tailgating celebrating,
Throngs of laughing people, moving
Pennants showing, blowing in the wind,
Through the gates into the huge arena.
Filling the stands, waiting spectacle’s beginning.
Band blares spirited tunes, people and
Students cheering, Ear splitting, the grandstands
Vibrating, spines a tingling, tension mounting.
Among great fan fare, the Gladiators emerge,
Regaled in colorful Costumes for combat,
Helmets gleaming in the sun,
Muscles bulging young men strut and pose,
In spirited pent up raw anticipation,
Soldier-players moving now as one,
As a well practiced oiled machine,
Each part supporting the other.
Each knowing its own function,
Resulting in precise synchronization.
A time and place where boys become men.
Beautiful young women, under dressed,
Bosoms bouncing, pompoms waving
Add to the Circus flavor of spectacle rising.
Only a game? None in the bowl knows that.
No one cares to think so, it is more than that,
It is war, it is life, it‘s aggression without death,
It is pride without regret; it is a melding of hearts,
And expectations, of loyalties to a common goal,
It is a Saturday in the sun and fall air, a chance to
Yell and cheer for youth in flower, to feel and fear
An inevitable outcome not yet predetermined.
To ebb and flow all human emotions,
To hopefully all, end the day a winner,
Or perhaps display compassion for the looser.
To feel alive, to participate in life’s cycle of living.
Football, just a game? Don’t you believe it.
Oct 10, 2013
Oct 10, 2013 at 3:53 PM UTC
Come closer, said the softest whisper in your ear
Listen quietly to the gentle flow
Of the tranquil waters running through your spirit
Providing peace and healing for your soul
Dive and swim into these peaceful cleansing waters
They are pristine and clear
Feel them wash away imbalance in your life
Relinquish all your fears
Deeply inhale the essence of sweet moderation
A lovely aroma so divine
Drifting into your spirit from the tranquil waters
A soothing solace for your mind
Listen to the rhythmic flow of these healing waters
Releasing balance into your soul
As you look inside yourself and take inventory
Of what you must let go
Now stand up proudly in the peaceful waters
With one foot settled on dry land
As you ground yourself in mind, body and spirit
Harmony takes your hand
Aug 4, 2010
Aug 4, 2010 at 2:38 PM UTC
our bodies touch,
there it is the sudden rush,
the feeling of eminent trust,
the most intense feeling of lust,
you're big hands enclose the back of my neck,
a feeling rushes down my spine,
then my head hits the deck,
i cant think and that's fine,
all the worries and pain gone,
i can only feel you're body on mine,
my body is free for you to lay your hands upon,
by the end the movements are done to perfection,
bodies moving in perfect synchronization.
Jan 13, 2014
Jan 13, 2014 at 8:29 PM UTC