"tangibles" poems
Get me on my stomach and rub your stubble-like brambles against my cheek
breathe your humid heated desires on the backs of my ears
and into my coal
entangle your feet in mine
verbalize but don’t make much more than senseless noise, drag it out
sloooow
Grind that ribcage into me
As you make sweet, sweet silent passion into me
Dont get too comfortable so long as you're entwined just as me
Reel me a little further
Pull me back
don’t play too hard
you should know well
it's who we are
I'm more useful when I'm not besot by the torment
of not getting to feel the things that make me fall
Tangibles of your love, the winnings
of our games
I want to be enslaved by your grip
touched by your eyes
With tenderness to my viability
and my liability
I want to be the object of your affection
never the only one
That makes your sensible mind up and slip
Legs and bones tousled
Our heat displaced in-between
warm flesh slipping in and out
we move like one majestic animal
I'll make you move like a victim in my web
of endless sensualities
yowl like a hidden cat
in the dark
if you pounce my softness with your depths and integrity
to the moment
to what we besot
with our foolish tendencies
I'll be like talons
in your shoulders as I kiss your collar, gingerly
open me up, open me up wide
much like you, cringing by your side
let your inhibitions fall,
and your heart, next to me
your vulnerability is my sentimental call
let your head spiral
down my silhouette, hungrily
lay bare your tenderness
so I can sip, you can maul
untilll we fall
to primitive tendency
lap my primordial waters with your lulled tongue
lolling up in the cosmos
like our heroic sun
we know that we’re one
braid your fingers up into me
as we
as we
as we
loose ourselves in faceless time
loose ourselves, lovingly
I won’t own you, I don’t dare possess you outside of this bed
just give me this,
this one meaningful thing
to me in it’s stead
May 12, 2013
May 12, 2013 at 7:10 AM UTC
(Washington, August, 1918)I HAVE seen this city in the day and the sun.
I have seen this city in the night and the moon.
And in the night and the moon I have seen a thing this city gave me nothing of in the day and the sun.
The float of the dome in the day and the sun is one thing.
The float of the dome in the night and the moon is another thing.
In the night and the moon the float of the dome is a dream-whisper, a croon of a hope: "Not today, child, not today, lover; maybe tomorrow, child, maybe tomorrow, lover."
Can a dome of iron dream deeper than living men?
Can the float of a shape hovering among tree-tops-can this speak an oratory sad, singing and red beyond the speech of the living men?
A mother of men, a sister, a lover, a woman past the dreams of the living-
Does she go sad, singing and red out of the float of this dome?
There is ... something ... here ... men die for.
1.3k
You've been walking
in the same space
at the same pace
for days it seems,
or is it years now?
It makes no difference–
too afraid to pinch
and perhaps wake up,
or even worse
realize there's nothing to
wake up from.
It does not feel like real life
so far from home, far
from the tangibles that
once played strict boundaries
on your existence.
Every step you take
the dream becomes the truth
and your old life
fades from reality toward
memory–
still hoping to wake
and be home again,
back in an old city,
an old time,
with old friends–
maybe a beach in Fiji
with Kristine Kochanski
laid out beside you.
Seems like thats
how things should be.
Seems like thats the
reality
you had in store,
not tucked away
under smokescreen skies,
alienated and alone.
New friends and
New places
that are beginning to lose
that New car smell.
Pinch me please.
Pinch me,
you are asking
harder, harder,
again, again–
"Once more,"
you're begging.
This can't be it
*********
it can't be all
there is,
you'll wake up
you have to
one of these days.
Or is it years
now?
Jan 22, 2013
Jan 22, 2013 at 1:23 AM UTC
The love of my life
Is a simpleton
Lagging behind
The timeline of life
Late in acquiring ownership of tangibles
And other worldly nonsense
Society deems necessary
Making him feel inadequate
A late bloomer
With a heart riddled with regret
And hands that carry the burdens
Of his forefathers
He is a knowledgeable man
Of a quarter of a century old
Humour pours out of him
So much so it should be unlawful
He is a composer of melodies
A metal head of sorts
A homebody with an affinity for alcohol
A lanky physique
That adds to his appeal
Pale brown eyes
That glisten multicoloured hues
In the light of day
Darkening blonde hair
Coffee stained teeth
A sincere smile that warms your heart
And the most exquisite nose I have ever seen
He tucks away his bloodied
Bruised heart
Always guarded
Masking his true nature
So he can be “that” guy
The noble one
He belongs to no one
Someday, soon.. he will
I dread the arrival of that day
For he will never be mine
To worship
Jan 24, 2014
Jan 24, 2014 at 5:58 PM UTC
if i could see your soul,
i would tell it to look upon itself in the reflection of a lake,
the kind that shimmers clandestine blue
from the tears of the waterfall and the love-lost.
if i could sense your soul,
i would feel it in the light that bounces off;
the rainbows bounce off the water
as they come into contact with both the light and the wet,
the way the sun and the sea kiss every dawn and dusk.
if i could speak to your soul,
i would tell it not that it is beautiful, even though it is.
for god knows how overused that word is, how many lips has ushered its accent.
i would tell it, that it is
rich.
the wealth of owning
layers upon layers of
shimmers and shines
of tangibles and tangibles,
of the flavours i taste,
and the textures i touch.
if i could taste your soul,
it wouldn't taste salty from tears,
or sweet from tainted melancholy and forgotten memories.
it would taste clear,
fresh;
freshwater that starts from the back of the throat
whose healing touch leaks,
leaving flowers to bloom in all the places
it has traced, and in all the nooks
it has graced.
the cave just under your collarbone,
the crook of your neck,
the curve of your hip;
treasures.
if i could touch your soul,
it would feel
warm, like a fire glowing
in its hearth.
if i could smell your soul,
it would smell like you,
like
home.
Oct 1, 2014
Oct 1, 2014 at 9:41 AM UTC
make yourself glowingly present
and bow down to
higher consciousness
feel the bewildering
burning
yearning
churning sensation of
your third eye
struggling for
freedom of sight
with all of its might
it should be easier
it will soon come
naturally
if you just
follow my lead
greed is futile
let all your tangibles free
feel the sweet relief of the weight
off your shoulders
you owe yourself
that sigh of completion
the freedom of
hedonism within reason
commence the ********** of the
purest sensation of truth
you have it in you
just wake up
the apple of your eye
is ripe and ****
your vibrant brain is
a ravishing work of art
frolicking down
mysterious spiral staircases
through moments of
intensely intellectual
visionary illumination
and bioluminescence
the essence of joy
intertwined with pain
juxtaposed with
sublimity in vain
wander yonder
into the somber beyond
no magic wand
nor wizard tongue
transfigure and transcend
ascend into
the winding bend of forever
shudder with delight as
shimmering reality breaks through
with vivacious sound
color and light
conscious convergences
delicate reserves of infinite truth
the youth is not wasted
by the young
breathe deeper
your life has only begun
arrival and departure
candle lit picnics in
graveyards of forgotten dreams
the cobwebs are ephemeral
and easily defeated
repeated incomplete ideas
eventually materialize into
concrete visions
the prison gates
were never secure
the allure to venture abroad
was never ruled out
tumble forth and
discover
uncover
recover
nourishment in its purest form
reach as high as your vision spans
wanderlust for the
bright side of the moon
the stark luster of
the multifaceted sunset
tender are the
wilting worries of yesterday
the glimmering welcomes
of desire lines
halcyon days precede
wondrous adventures
transcending darkness
lanterns are unneeded
the neurons are aglow
promises of
playful rendezvous with
all species
all personalities
commonalities made apparent immediately
your mind wastes no time
reality proves
the clock is irrelevant regardless
keep your guard down
you'll be delighted to find
that you're already home
you're already found
Jul 1, 2015
Jul 1, 2015 at 4:25 PM UTC
With the absence
of Grace
or transcended
human morality
there is silence
so what do you believe
when almighty Jupiter lays
crucified in the caressing arms
of Vishnu
Christ bent
broken over the knees
of Mohammad
what do you believe in
Father?
what do you believe in
Mother?
when Absalom
ascends the throne
and Daniel suffocates
in the lion’s den
what faith holds you
speechless
and chaste
as the stories
twist and burn
to crash together
on the endless palette
of human belief
the needle’s worn the
groove too deep
now the record won't play
all we have to believe in
is silence
let the deity’s roll in
celestial graves
give me human interaction
the touch of lover’s hand
sacraments that bring more absolution
than sorrowed sermons
screaming out just to
break that silence
oh, la musique de nos collisions fabriquer
laissent peu pour la l'âme à faux
Jan 24, 2013
Jan 24, 2013 at 1:38 AM UTC
Yo que creí que la luz era mía
precipitado en la sombra me veo.
Ascua solar, sideral alegría
ígnea de espuma, de luz, de deseo.
Sangre ligera, redonda, granada:
raudo anhelar sin perfil ni penumbra.
Fuera, la luz en la luz sepultada.
Siento que sólo la sombra me alumbra.
Sólo la sombra. Sin astro. Sin cielo.
Seres. Volúmenes. Cuerpos tangibles
dentro del aire que no tiene vuelo,
dentro del árbol de los imposibles.
Cárdenos ceños, pasiones de luto.
Dientes sedientos de ser colorados.
Oscuridad del rencor absoluto.
Cuerpos lo mismo que pozos cegados.
Falta el espacio. Se ha hundido la risa.
Ya no es posible lanzarse a la altura.
El corazón quiere ser más de prisa
fuerza que ensancha la estrecha negrura.
Carne sin norte que va en oleada
hacia la noche siniestra, baldía.
¿Quién es el rayo de sol que la invada?
Busco. No encuentro ni rastro del día.
Sólo el fulgor de los puños cerrados,
el resplandor de los dientes que acechan.
Dientes y puños de todos los lados.
Más que las manos, los montes se estrechan.
Turbia es la lucha sin sed de mañana.
¡Qué lejanía de opacos latidos!
Soy una cárcel con una ventana
ante una gran soledad de rugidos.
Soy una abierta ventana que escucha.
por donde va tenebrosa la vida.
Pero hay un rayo de sol en la lucha
que siempre deja la sombra vencida.
815
*With them in his pocket he broke in swinging dance
But now nonentity two penny gets no chance*
Two penny is so poor got no clue what to do
No fetcher it can’t bring him a slice of the blue
He wanders on the way on him was fifty buck
Spent them on tangibles soon ran out of luck
Two penny is so poor can’t bring his eyes a gleam
Can’t make him a winner can’t weave for him a dream
He sniffs the evening air smells palate tickling food
But what with that two penny that isn’t any good
*Two penny in his pocket with a little try
Fetch him a little blue a piece of his sky
Where he can paint his wish find fulfilment
Fly in the happiness of two penny well spent.*
Jan 28, 2014
Jan 28, 2014 at 3:00 AM UTC
White earth bathed upon
By moonlit tangibles ; purring
Waves upon the glimmer sands
Where lovers meet for their first:
Liquid earth ****** between
The lips of night,
We shed the skin for the transparent
Soul crowding the hopes and dreams
Of the lone lovers,
The eternal moment is a an image
As naked as thoughts,
As wild as a shared fury
In the truth of our suffering;
How had one lived without the other?
There is no contemplating
Between the young and in love,
Only the ressurection of presences
Where lovers before met at the hour,
And behold the incarnation of lovers
Doing, making,
Transfigured in the truth of each other.
Oct 28, 2016
Oct 28, 2016 at 2:40 PM UTC
Whispering silk unrolls in the wind
For its binding, now undoing
Pulling hard by unseen hands
Fingers tangled in spiders' threads
Tugs, less gentle, throw it higher
Over chimneys, tower ledges below
Ginst, bricklain work, chiseled stone
Brushed now by, dirtied and frought
Spied, by sly old grey crow
Mother brings a gift, sought low
Entwined, knotted and tangled
Holds a nest until the wind goes
Finely knitted, strong long cloth
Keeps sun from cool, inside from cold
Chirps and claws, new norms anew
Life long beyond crows ago
Trees, booked, feathers few
Nest has fallen, silk askew
A child tests it's cloth
Fingers rubbing, so soft
Now to moment's a toy for you
But mommy's nose, sees age and dirt
Not for use, maybe sickness and hurt
Thrown to the refuse, lost once again
Light along its journey
It's toes tip, trip, catch the wind
Pulled from piles, playing breeze
Along town streets and dusty paths
It finds its way, fate's touch wait
Sinuously long, a finger might point
The trail it makes for blue blue skies
A ballot's initiative, beauty and far
It wraps and rolls, billows and blows
Twists and frees, darting amongst trees
Not for thee, not for thee
Back and forth, bright leaves
Far out, closer to the sea
It tastes the salt, like the waves
Breathing, snaps up against shores
Invisibles tangibles unbreakables
Another gust and its a storm to us
Up, it's taken thrown in fuss
Out, its brought, a lack of trust
And deep, it'll dive, buried amust
Apr 6, 2015
Apr 6, 2015 at 12:43 AM UTC
You talk of tangibles
I'm stuck in intangibles.
Highly doubt if you'll ever see
Questioning eyes, I can no longer hide.
Who'll believe, if not you
My smiles deceive, do you know.
Not you, but myself
Eagerly waiting, to be caught.
Nov 21, 2020
Nov 21, 2020 at 3:36 AM UTC
We're surrounded by many blessings in life.
Roof over our heads,
Food on our plates,
Clothes on our backs,
Families, friends and partners.
Yet, why are we not valuing what we have,
But valuing what we don't have?
Are they needs, or just wants?
Tangibles versus the intangibles,
Can you differentiate the importance?
Money isn't the only measure for wealth.
Switch your perspective around.
From materialistic views, luxurious riches,
To small but equally beautiful qualities of life.
Not all that sparkles are treasures,
Not all that glitters are gold.
Only when one appreciates what one has,
No amount of gifts will ever please.
"You only know what you have when it's gone".
Dec 5, 2016
Dec 5, 2016 at 3:52 AM UTC
occupy the windows things
the outside lights and fleeting visions
live like a reflection always looking out
and never in
stand in the sun and hide
from tangibles that glow in
the insides shine the
things you hide
that to everyone
are obvious like elephants
your signature your
dispositions I guess
convert and consecrations
your only sin
but you turn away when looking at the
colored glass
the cross a searing soldier told
to wipe your secondhand mind
clean and when you find
the answers I will speak in sentences
Aug 2, 2017
Aug 2, 2017 at 3:15 AM UTC
¿Mi secreto? ¡Es tan triste! ¿Estoy perdido
de amores por un ser desaparecido,
por un alma liberta,
que diez años fue mía, y que se ha ido...
¿ Mi secreto? te lo diré al oído:
¡Estoy enamorado de una muerta!
¿Comprendes -tú que buscas los visibles
transportes, las reales, las tangibles
caricias de la hembra, que se plasma
a todos tus deseos invencibles-
ese imposible de los imposibles
de adorar a un fantasma?
¡Pues tal mi vida es y tal ha sido
y será!
Si por mí solo ha latido
su noble corazón, hoy mundo y yerto,
¿he de mostrarme desagradecido
y olvidarla, no más porque ha partido,
y dejarla, no más porque se ha muerto?
423
I think about existence
And I look for what holds true.
I feel assured that I exist
But I've questions about you.
The "Row your boat" philosophy
Does nothing for my quest.
If I have dreamed this all along,
Why do I still need rest?
Forget about the tangibles.
Let's give that stuff a pass
And think of love and beauty;
Those things that have no mass.
The mountain seems so beautiful
Against an azure sky.
You might see it as a pile of rocks
Within your pale mind's eye.
Did I invent that beauty just
To fit some need of mine
Or does beauty have an essence
No matter how you might opine?
And what of love? Did it exist
Before it struck your heart?
Well now you know, without it,
Your world would fall apart.
rc
Jul 18, 2019
Jul 18, 2019 at 12:26 AM UTC
The Starbucks was torn down
where my fantasies of us
were set apart from
tangibles that shattered
my existence-
its been five years since then
and I never wrote a metaphor
better to describe the mark
that was left on that day
or in the inevitability that
all things must change
Because I once painted
a dark haired girl
the color of my world,
it was art on its way to self-demise
overshadowed by
the comfort of
those nights that we would hide,
blending into our
chameleon moonlight,
she left me with many questions
but the answer to only one:
becoming empty enough to know
how not to love
This lesson was carved
into the stone
of that suburban parking lot,
a reflection of her
succinct goodbye
that collided with the surface of
every whisk to
breakfast and sunshine
she rejected in my room,
engulfing me in combusted lies
mixed with the scent of coffee
and fleeting perfume
I was left smoldered
on concrete
with the opus of
an imbalanced soul
that reduced me to nothing inside
except reluctant aches that
ravished in our severed ties,
and all I could do was sit there
basking in the rays
of the only time
we ever shared
morning light
Mar 17, 2025
Mar 17, 2025 at 9:37 PM UTC
Deat Lord,
I know we say too much of the little some people are trying to do when we should be trying to do so much about the little we have done...help us!
Dear Lord
Though I too haven't done much about the some of the little things
I have to do, I know if I put in some work and go according to your
plan and your will, I too will begin to do little instead of talking much...help me!
May the intangibles becomes tangibles and may success become my new address accordingly. May manna pour down upon me and everyone else in times of little and may it pour exceedingly...help us!
Dear Lord
May my vile utterances to not have devasting consequences.
May my misguided friends and relatives become people of purpose and direction.May my entourages be well-meaning people...
help me!
Dear Lord
Help me to give those in need.Help me to forgive those who betrayed in my hustle and put my bread on their personal tables instead of mines.Help those who believe others to stop doing that right now...help us!
Dear Lord
My kids I present to you to be in thy care.May Ivan jr not only drive a new van but bless him abundantly that he'll be able to buy anything in this world.Bless Peter to be more like Ivan and bless Sarah too to be more like both of them.Help her dear Lord to be that lawyer she wishes to become..protect and bless them always and forever...help me!
Dear Lord,
As I lay my head to sleep, may the words of my mouth and the meditation of my heart be acceptable in thy sight... moreover, may I set foot on the right path and continue until I find gold before I become too old...help me!
Dear Lord
As I wake up from my bed tomorrow, may the challenges of tomorrow that lay ahead become my testimony for your glorification.May the impossible become possible and may whatsoever man deem undoable become doable...help me!
©️IB-Poetry
2/27/2018
Feb 26, 2018
Feb 26, 2018 at 11:05 PM UTC
There are no furrows
no laddered brow
No significant indications
Anywhere or anyhow
You are bilge
with no ship to pump
No weathered inconviences
decked for your boots to stomp
The aggies are aged . . adjacent to your dreams
A cats eye cast before the swine isn't what you think it means
A black hole exists in the balance of my thoughts
While all of my tangibles
get ****** into it's noughts
No I don't know who the Ripper really was
For he was silent whispers
caked upon the lips and
killing was his buzz
Aug 30, 2019
Aug 30, 2019 at 12:05 AM UTC