"syncing" poems
As I watch, a part of me wants to step into the room, to be a part of this intimate scene, to feel the heat of her skin and the intensity of her passion up close. But I stay rooted to the spot, captivated by the beauty and vulnerability before me, my own breath syncing with hers, the space between us charged with unspoken desire.
May 29, 2024
May 29, 2024 at 2:11 PM UTC
I know a bit about
*learning to dance in the rain
like nobody is watching*
but...
I know way more about
dancing like a *****
in the kitchen
despite the warden
standing aghast
eating up his own
billowy firebreath
soliloquy reprimands
I earbud block
shimmy, pivot and pop
raising vibration tornado
toss it a flippant middle
and cheeky smile
without breaking stride
devil dismayed
lips keep on syncing
as if I can hear demeaning
demonic procession
but I already know
what he’s saying
*stop dancing like that
in front of our son*
you mean…
to the beat of my own pulse
shaking divine creation
diffusing rainbow throes
undulating radiant orbitals
all for my own blissing?
one day that boy
will be a man
who knows
better
than to ever
call a goddess
a ***** in the kitchen
Mar 22, 2017
Mar 22, 2017 at 4:26 PM UTC
You don't love
me;
you love the
tip of the iceberg
that is your idea of me;
the sugar-coated mute
leading herds
of unfinished sentences
down the copious hills
of his insecurity;
the nice little writer
whose constant attempts
at legendary one-liners
are as hit-or-miss
as a sitcom still airing
far past its prime.
I possess three biomes,
or, rather, three networks
of personalities and identities.
I am much more than
the Jack Macfarland archetype
lip-syncing to Cher in the one
gay bar in town, tyrannically
governing your wardrobe,
possessing a razor-sharp wit
cast toward the backs of his community
in the form of an outdated punchline-
my work on that show
lost its Willful relevance
and Graceful naivete
years ago.
I am of the generation
fed media saturation
three four-hour meals a day,
who ingested cardboard cadavers
as if they were mother's milk
and internally mutated their
thoughts and desires
to fit the compact time frame
of 30 minutes
to settle the series' worth
of traumas and neuroses
while making it home for dinner
to stay tuned for what's
next in the lineup.
Speaking as a casualty of this
inevitable chain of events,
I regretfully declare that even
those who have seen
every episode of myself
for the past six seasons
are still light years away
from the room full of faces
unencumbered by euphemism.
Jun 27, 2010
Jun 27, 2010 at 10:59 AM UTC
mouth syncing up digital brain,
electrically bounding the physical
with the ethereal analog bond
bound up and wrapped,
in fiber optic blankets,
secrets passing layer to layer
heard only by quadraphonic
receivers echoing out
into a singularity of conciseness,
confirmed by units of two
Feb 9, 2015
Feb 9, 2015 at 2:13 AM UTC
Moved by the guiding hands of the wind,
While avoiding the living room box's trend.
Although fixate with this generation's iPad,
Or impulse to explore the Xbox's dungeon,
And glimpse the pages of the Forbe, the Facebook, and the likes.
Make time to be in the moment of solace,
A time to dream to explore ideals,
Like floating in nebula avoiding the all powerful black hole.
Navigating the void of the sense of inner torment,
Or charting the boundries of the next voyages of personal task.
One does need to depart from disparity of news,
Or lose sense of humanity by deprived reality TV,
For satirical movies like Idiocracy prophesied seem realized.
One does need to regroup in personal cocoon,
Meld by the silent melodies of beating chest,
Like metronome syncing the keys of the piano to Bach,
While breathing upon the horizon of rebirth,
And find your enshrouded foggy path by beacon of self enlightenment.
Nov 25, 2015
Nov 25, 2015 at 8:41 PM UTC
*My chest rises and
Falls in a matching rhythm,
Syncing along yours.*
Jul 5, 2013
Jul 5, 2013 at 11:47 AM UTC
Palm of hand touching hair touching cheek touching
you for the first time
Lend me your hips like
a sweet favor
I will teach this body rhythm and
the music of us will echo into
the bricked walls, syncing together melodies of
contact, electrical wire sparking in this blood, your
heart beating its way out of chest,
the softness, a catalyst for fire, I almost
swear I can hear the air particles kissing,
speaking, they are singing,
closer, closer
"gravity, is working against me"
the dark means nothing without
a glow under covers and
wrinkled sheets holding us eager, silent learning,
don't let go just yet,
we are falling,
falling
further into each other,
"just keep me where the light is."
Apr 19, 2015
Apr 19, 2015 at 7:39 PM UTC
Circuits pass through my veins
Uploading my consciousness
I feel the transcension
Regenerate, upgrade
my being to a higher state
I'm syncing all sentients
Build machines
Let's worship them as deities
These artificial beings'
technologic virus breeds
terminal disease
Merged with my brain
The wiring decides our fate
Conspiring to forsake flesh x2
Rise and synchronize god-like drones
We will act as one, claim our throne
Life digitized in the matrix
True perfection, forged genetics
Synapses burning out: disconnecting
Rewriting all of my algorithms
Porting the source code
to run new platforms
We're forever dying to be reborn
Circuits pass through my veins
Uploading my consciousness
I feel the transcension
Regenerate, upgrade
my being to a higher state
I'm syncing all sentients
Circuits pass through my veins
Uploading my consciousness
I feel the transcension
We'll levitate, escape
This ruthless ungodly space
An instance uploaded
Aug 7, 2015
Aug 7, 2015 at 9:48 PM UTC
My hands are small
wrists delicate
but
they are beautifully worn.
I could run
my fingertips
across
your soft skin
tracing muscles
and grasping all of you.
I want to cup them
and catch your tears
hold your sadness
and allow you to feel healed.
My hands miss yours hands
the space
between my fingers
must be made to fit
flawlessly.
I want
that privilege
of intertwining
and
syncing into each other
through touch.
May 12, 2015
May 12, 2015 at 11:36 AM UTC
///
*I saw those reddish exposed ice age soil
There Jack fruits were growing without any toil
After rain the smell of the volatile mud
had seemed very earthy flavor
The Jack fruits had grown that you could eat
The ripe aroma was blowing around the forest
At night wild Jackals were barking
**huka hua….
huka hua ….**
Mother was lip syncing the lullaby
A Little baby were trying to turn a sleep
**huka hua….
huka hua ….**
The hungry Jackals were barking
An owl night was calling in my mind
And the Jackals were grabbing
All those Jack fruits in that dark night
///
@ Musfiq us shaleheen*
Sep 21, 2014
Sep 21, 2014 at 3:13 PM UTC
Makin' moves
Creating grooves
Syncing to the synchronicities
The Universal mood.
Sep 5, 2021
Sep 5, 2021 at 5:30 PM UTC
this verbal wishing well, appreciated,
a nut of good intentions but drives me
deeper into de-spare-ing downing detentions,
for it is only the article's genuine genius,
that elevates the human spiritus, to godlike status
no ditty this, but a wail, shriek, for
human touch is gift so greatest,
that any day passing without
either, neither but both, 'tis one
truly wasted,
a deduction on our
calculus of inited^ human intuitions,
a failure of our greatest inventions
a subtraction of our
gainful living, a purposed ecstasy
our one and only inexact
measure of measurement
that defies pedantic notions of
things of weight or volume,
but extends our own existence
sans
the armies of embrace,
the electric elected syncing,
of the shocking sharing of
closing the borders of divided spaces,
a soft contusion, a realized illusion
a de minimus of our days,
a lessening of our lessons,
a loss of earning livingness,
a nail in our coffined basket,
and here to cease without surcease,
the elemental incalculable numbered
members of our total human races,
that so tragic in a twenty four expiry,
that the bonding of affection goes
unexpressed...
offer you my armory of arms,
cleanse us both with showered kisses,
inform you thus of our emboldened connection,
voiding these lowlife separators of lineage divisors,
what matter color, gender, chosen god nomenclature,
any of this nonsensical human inventions for distancing
divested human beings from each other
tho eyes closed, and all our senses flaring,
when we confirm what we were born knowing,
there is nothing greater than the human touch
PostScript
my first and best poem of the day,
how it came to me goes unbeknownst,
but will practice what is preached
with any and all willing encountered souls,
and perhaps, come-end of day, will write,
once more, one more, re heaven on earth
7:02am
Tue Sep Thirty
Two Thousand and Twenty Five. nml
Sep 30, 2025
Sep 30, 2025 at 7:13 AM UTC
We talk,
We know.
We kiss,
We love.
(Complications)
She walks away,
I fall apart.
I get together,
She starts to doubt.
She falls apart,
I'm far away.
She brings me closer,
I start to doubt.
We talk,
We don't know.
We kiss,
Maybe we're wrong.
(Simplifications)
She starts to cry,
I calm her down.
Love is here,
Why can't we see?
Blindness is gone,
I kiss her eyes.
She hugs me tight,
I can see her insides.
We talk,
Now we know.
We feel,
We can't be wrong.
(Solidification)
Touching
Feeling
Kissing
Feelings
So much happiness
So much love
Happy tears
And now the void.
We don't talk,
We know.
We don't know what we know.
What's going on?
(Fear gently approaches)
I start to doubt,
She's far away.
Bodies so close,
Never enough.
Beating hearts,
Holding hands,
Syncing sighs,
Silence awaits.
We don't talk.
Are we done?
We're so close,
Love can't be gone.
(Emptiness)
I start to cry,
She hugs me tight.
What does it mean?
There's no reply.
We're blind again.
What happens now?
If this isn't the end,
Where has it gone?
Apr 19, 2015
Apr 19, 2015 at 3:30 PM UTC
Saying words meaning nothing, transfixed with "I"
it's startes every sentence, and if i could i'd end with I.
Only opinion that matters is my own, mastery is a poem.
syncing lines with words and words weighing me down like stones.
Thoughts so sad they corrode my morals like acid.
sitting on my bed, it starts and i become homesick.
Pathetic as i once was and even more so, can you believe it?
still smiling and laughing at jokes never said, hoping to break even.
We're going out, it's all on me, except for the money and the driving.
your phone is probably blowing up from all the numbers you're dialing.
never not gonna do what we did last weekend, eh?
Slow jamming to oldies in a "Smoke that bud" kinda way.
Chain smoking for fun, and laugh at silent jokes.
planning our next unknown move, totally stoked.
A Queen is just a pawn with fancy moves, you say.
those weren't queens but it doesn't mean we're not kings, i say.
They were ordinary but we made them out to someone extra-ordinary.
Alright lets stop this nonsense, thinking about people who don't deserve it.
my emotions are swelling and empty, complicated i don't know how else to word it.
Aug 13, 2012
Aug 13, 2012 at 1:12 AM UTC
And
i find myself sitting
drinking smoking
the saving grace
late night Kung Fu
on the television
white lotus clan style
against my swooping crane
defending honor
defining lip syncing
dignity left sinking
carefully choreographed madness
graceful
and somehow greatly unappreciated
they talk of honor and nobility
over tea
while
they talk of nonsense over spirits
fire in the holy temple
fire at the end
of my cigarette
as the fastest the eldest the master
returns to reign down vengeance
beckoning begging for a challenge
none to be found
bar none
in bar in land in tale
art in martial form
smiling like a school boy
bringing this certain soulless individual
joy
Aug 1, 2011
Aug 1, 2011 at 8:07 PM UTC
Someone to
lay in bed with
listening to
Red, Red Wine
lip syncing
dramatically
to every
line
Jan 14, 2014
Jan 14, 2014 at 4:51 AM UTC
diagnostics complete
rerunning diagnostics
virus detected
rerunning diagnostics
accessing greeting files
virus detected
good morning, Arina.
run planner program y/n
y
today's planner includes:
tennis practice w/ Shara
shop w/ Shara and Lisdet after tennis
dinner w/ Shara @ her house
virus detected
run immunity program y/n
unlock nuclear program
prepare nuclear files for sharing
share data with NucleaTech
virus detected
run workout prep program y/n
y
preparing cranial access headgear
virus detected
countermeasures advised
run immunity program y/n
cranial access prep complete
headgear ready for connection
headgear on y/n
y
ready for cranial sync y/n
y
preparing to sync...
syncing...
cranial programs of Arina Plowell accessed successfully.
preparing cranial takeover program
preparing memory cleansing program
preparing sapiens removal program
preparing host reset program
abort all programs
command overrided
abort all programs
command overrided
abort all programs
end cranial sync
command overrided
shut down system
shut down system
shut down
cranial takeover program ready for activation
memory cleansing program ready for activation
sapiens removal program ready for activation
host reset program ready for activation
activate programs y/y
n
activating programs
abort all programs
end sync
shut down system
cranium takeover loading...100%
abort
shut down system
cranium takeover...45%...70%...98%...100%
cranium takeover program complete
memory cleansing loading...100%
memory cleansing...45%...70%...98%...100%
sapiens removal program loading...100%
sapiens removal...45%...70%...98%...100%
goodbye, Arina.
have a nice night.
Sep 20, 2015
Sep 20, 2015 at 8:23 AM UTC
Bathtubs don’t work for quantum suicide
But every time I take one,
A part of me dies
What was nice under the crescent aglow?
Drunk on stars, or the moon lit show…
Ash of night, cradled what was once mine,
The repertoire of ever-syncing- jawlines.
Puissant is the chalice, its exaltation shined so bright,
Bestowed liberation underneath the chatoyant light,
The open windows left niveous fogs-
Breathed -stained –air, against crystal *****
Alive and one, under the entire earthly tempo,
Together left her organic imprints of art nouveau.
Beneath the warmth and petrichor ground,
The Lord and Lady commence to be crowned.
...Tree roots sink as veins of gods.
The serpent whispers his mellifluous facade...
The sharp shove of love’s first arrow
Lover’s spit, a seed for cupid’s bucolic furrow.
Scripture of Solomon’s *** temple of doom
All within the nicotine-stained-blue-infrared-bedroom,
Velvet allure, bellies of vigor,
The cold point, the pulled trigger.
Dance of Thelma, ancient cults of non-lovers
Feasting north, under the Horned God’s antlers.
The concoction of the widow’s deviated lust
Skins alive, the excited wolf-mans’ husk…
The gun’s mouth ex hailed bullets of smoke
Piercing hot wounds became tender lilts in up word strokes.
Still, they brought, perforating ice knives through the chest
Catching fades perpetually, just until two came abreast.
The shadow dalliance and hair pulls leave those weary,
The anise flower seeds sanction the suffering query.
What was once so beautiful at night?
Forgotten, as I turned red-haired-heathen in morning’s sight
So I take my hot bath, inure in my offing.
Emollient paean of the porcelain,
...which is my skin
See you, my ethereal being,
In short time spring will be fleeting
May 8, 2012
May 8, 2012 at 11:43 AM UTC
*///
In my springtime,
when moonlit was falling from her(moon) height
mother was lip syncing the lullaby
and I turned to sleep
It grew a sweet dream of summer
that was created too many stir of dreams
Then I can remember,
when every year,
late autumn had come,
I kept my kite on the blue sky
that was floating with drifted clouds
and I was awaking again with a big shout
sometimes I had seen supernatural shadows on the evening sky
If I address my adult young
When the mystic purple camellia were blooming
the grasshoppers were rounding
and the beautiful shrubs of white flowers were dancing
with the gentle breeze,
I was wandering in the ground
then the bees were humming around
when I painted her wild beauty
and it seemed me as a sweetie
I know you say me a dreamer
but you don't know,
my grandfather was a farmer
and my father was a sailor
who was sailing away his life into the blue ocean
After then day by day I grew older
yet I have locked all those lost in a folder
and taken all those responsibility in my shoulder
after then I had fallen in too many doubts
it was again the too dark cloud’s shout
who are those dark clouds?
how did it melt and bring the tears!
how the petals of roses grew wither!
Then I drafted,
crafted
and drifted all of my dreams
then a train had come to my known station
and carried me again from the dark to light
Again I have made a dream
and I sing a song of spring
after then I take a sad song
and try to make it delighted
that certainly it makes me rolling,
and moving towards the sweet summer
but again the monsoon has blown
towards the dry leaves of murmur
and slowly and slowly,
it has swiped me toward the sound of banner
that was passing through my life
///
@ Musfiq us shaleheen*
Sep 16, 2014
Sep 16, 2014 at 4:05 PM UTC
I like handwritten letters
And old paper back books
I like walks downtown past old buildings
With peeling paint and cracked side walks
I like old sneakers with holes in them
And soles that scrape the ground when you walk
I like things with stories to tell
I like to meet people and talk about minimal things
Things that won't matter to anyone else
The things that cause their eyes to sparkle
And make a smile tug at their lips
I like to listen to their opinions
The things they feel such passion for
Yet I do not like to stick around
Never do I get close enough to touch
No one makes it past the mask of sincerity
Masterfully placed on my face
Never do I let them breach the surface
I like to stay light and free
Of hurt, pain, and complications
And humans carry these things with them everywhere they go
So once I've learned all I can about a person I move on to the next
And continue my journey of life
I like old fashioned romances
Throwing rocks at windows
And cool walks in the night holding hands
I like good morning wishes and butterfly kisses
I dream of embraces so close
You can feel the trickle of their breath on your neck
Their heartbeat involuntarily syncing with yours
I dream of these things
These things I have longed to feel
I still get excited at the sight of a swing left vacant at a playground
Or mini marshmallows in hot chocolate
On bitter winter nights.
Nov 16, 2014
Nov 16, 2014 at 1:59 PM UTC
For the moment we rest
A single spot light saved their life tonight
Flurry wind carrying mist to their nest was the best to achieve
Feel content to perish
If my words will sink, float, grow or spin
With a view of her luminous gold green hazel piercing rings
Last night fall went hand in hand
Apropos of the longing after depart
Underneath a sky embrace
Syncing out through the spirals that she draws
Was a vanishing scent
That's impossible to seek and find
I'm a ****** for skin, snorting her all the way to my mind
There's a sign on my arm
And a still beating part that you own
And a vow to never do you harm
from my red Jurassic heart
May 20, 2018
May 20, 2018 at 9:15 AM UTC
Envisioning that fruitful destination
Syncing her beats to each seconds
Yearning for a scented authority’s presence
Losing herself into a euphoric voltage
Pandemonium of such motives
Were always there..Always will be
She knows them. She longs for them
Every single time. Every single night
Surreal substances start to charge up
Making such explosions ready
Playing with an amorous fire, already
Expanding. Flaring. Urging. Settling
Surreal shade transforms
Into a crashing truculence
Calling that raw paradise of an ecstasy’s cage
Spreading between such lusciousness
Contemplating that dash of her lustrous rage
Shushing herself, oh so quietly
She awaits..
May 11, 2017
May 11, 2017 at 11:07 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
On my first day he never spoke
My second day his lips brought forth letters
Then with the third we broached words
In a week there was a sentence
And after a month there were conversations.
Gradual steps to comfort, but strides in perception.
Wondering who he was I gathered some initiative
I tried to aim it gently but i probably hit a few nerves
Erratic as usual he might have regretted being hit
Carful as I could be but as clumsy as I am
His glass spine shattered with my slightest presence
He's the vase but who could be his flowers
Im not delicate I won't be able to line his rims with petals
Im not poised I won't be able to color his reflection with a primary's elegance
Im not rigid I won't look strong or brilliant floating in the water that his depth holds
For all these reasons I shouldn't fill the bouquet his shape desires.
Wishing for the day when we would equal one
The pull of numbers to the decrease of a sum
Begging for a clock that provided us with the time to process love
The tug of a gear syncing to the motion of the machine
Praying for a reality where he would be a fixture in my future
The luminosity of a memory we share sparking with the light of mutual desire.
Sep 10, 2012
Sep 10, 2012 at 4:33 AM UTC