"thalamus" poems
If I were to mindlessly meander the streets
That you told me were all in my thalamus, I
Would find the edge of Earth, devastated
And barren. Then I would contently sit on the
Brim and toss broken asphalt into the somber
Chasm and listen for echoes that remain absent.
I would welcome the silence into my
Lonesome and say, “Thank you for
Reminding me that this is all my imagination.”
Nov 6, 2013
Nov 6, 2013 at 12:23 AM UTC
If I could pick the menu,
I'd choose a tasty appetizer of Hendrix pituitary,
& a huge salad covered with Joplin cortex.
Plant's gray matter for the main course,
sides of Jaggar & Morrison stems,
along with a bottle of Springsteen spinal fluid.
I'd definitely have to order
an ample sweet-portion
of Daltrey thalamus
& sprinkle it with some Cobain lobes.
A shot of John's cranium
with a nightcap of Townsend cerebellum
would surely hit the spot.
Aug 18, 2014
Aug 18, 2014 at 10:10 PM UTC
I have all the reasons to believe,
All the evidence to give,
That Faith of all after Eve,
Came to my soul to live,
To hold my hand to the wedding eve.
A women from another mother,
Assumes her class for this poor thing,
Whose several proposals have yielded nothing,
Perharps for poor presentation,
And presumably doubts of my being.
The pics you sent me the other time,
I find my eyes gazing at them more often,
Whenever you call or I do,
Learns soul and body gets alert,
******** not to forget.
How you start a conversation,
Always with a calm noncholant voice,
Makes my thalamus restructure its pitch,
Just to make my vocals present a fair draft,
All in a bid to impress my one in a million.
That birthday surprise,
Left me mouth agape,
The concern and commitment in your voice,
Have made me harden my stand,
And declare a love sentence .
The later promise,
To me equals a nightmare ,
Like a Christian to rapture tale,
My being awaits affirmation,
Of your mouth watering promises.
I love it when you say,
"Omi chonjo"
Its a reassurance,
That liberates my heart ,
From fear of losing its queen.
Jun 18, 2018
Jun 18, 2018 at 2:10 AM UTC
I knew it was you
the humble and the companionate
the inspired by love
sending a wave of appreciation
descending from the Thalamus
to the pigment of my Iris
Seeing you pass by
I hid my sorrows under my eyelids
You poked both eyes gently,
My closed eyes, mine and their secrets
Opening up to you, and I can feel
my tears falling down, one by one
like a flimsy leaf
gathering at the ******
street corners of a heart
that have no homes, not even
a room for a guest
or a ‘welcome’ mat
a deep voice, came from within
saying to happiness
‘visitors are not welcome’
some of us are
content with the sadness
because at least, the blues
never departed,
since it first
arrived
Jul 8, 2018
Jul 8, 2018 at 4:32 AM UTC
Heavy is Head and Heart
No crown weighs them down
Yet they sink at the bottom of an endless sea.
Cluttered by memories of past passes.
Of opportunity squandered because of fear.
Because of the past pain that lingers
Somewhere near the tear ducts and rooted in the thalamus.
Still sinking,
Filled with the tears of a thousand pains that were bottled up.
Stocked in the recesses of neural mass and cardiac muscle.
Little did Head and Heart know that by releasing what they had stored.
What they had carried
To these depths.
They could be free.
It would hurt
And that's what they knew.
So they sank,
Memories and pain dragging them further from the surface.
Further from
Another second chance at something.
Something real.
Something true.
But unwilling to feel briefly
And release
To be free.
They sank.
Further.
As if caught in a net of chain and concrete.
Their baggage sunk them
Quickly.
Faster than their past pains could stabbingly flash before their eyes.
Faster than a memory of a first kiss forgotten or misremembered.
Faster than the memory of the scent of wintergreen gum,
Wafting through their nostrils,
Coming of the lips
Of their high school crush who never knew.
Faster.
And faster.
And they reached bottom.
Head and Heart trapped
On the rocks.
Their own doing.
They struggle to no avail.
But you know what they say,
About rock bottom.
There's no place but up from here.
If they can only
Let go.
Jun 9, 2015
Jun 9, 2015 at 1:11 AM UTC
Note to Self:
*"Dear Self;
GET OVER IT.
GET OVER YOURSELF.
For fuck's sake, man.
Why is it taking so long
to get this out of your head?
What corrupted seed
is planted in your mind?
It isn't worth the Energy you sacrifice."*
Re: Note to Self
*"To whom it may concern:
I know, but it isn't that easy.
I can't just pick up and move on, like you.
I can't just forget the good times and the bad, like you.
I can't just ignore the feelings that flood forth from my Amygdala,
coupled with the memories within the Thalamus and Hippocampus.
It doesn't work like that;
I have to work with it
to worth through it
and I cannot rush it;
You see, I must be patient with you,
and you with me,
Self."*
Sep 15, 2013
Sep 15, 2013 at 9:13 PM UTC
You’re a safe haven,
blessing me with great vastness,
imagination.
Mar 2, 2021
Mar 2, 2021 at 9:55 AM UTC
Please open seal
gently, the general
surgeon commands
his general army
No more hesitation:
The first incision
made at the
proper perforation
The code is embedded
deep in the thalamus
between -before- us:
A carrier pigeon
bringing his
message
He does not
stop to rest
on his way
Feb 24, 2015
Feb 24, 2015 at 1:46 PM UTC
5 years and 1 month
that's 61 months
that's a total of 1,855 days
of me waking up next to the smell of you
a smell that will forever linger in my nose
I learned that this is called the Proust effect
certain scents bypass the brains thalamus and go directly to the smell center
causing them to trigger the most vivid memories and emotions
on that note
I found your shirt the other day
as I was trying to purge any evidence of you from my life
But I could not toss it aside before holding it to my face and inhaling your all too familiar smell
as the scent filled my nose
the flashbacks began
and now I can't sleep
May 15, 2022
May 15, 2022 at 7:48 PM UTC
I think I may have
an aboulia
maybe even
aboulomania
but I'll give this a
pirouette
with panache
unless I come down
with
asthenia
I'll set up a balize
to guide my figurative
calamus
as words debouch
from
my thalamus
words that have been
in the eccaleobion
for a time
aeonian
it won't make much sense
as these things seldom do
a blague is a blague is a blague
completely
all the way through
Apr 5, 2018
Apr 5, 2018 at 12:09 PM UTC
fMRIs of brains under emotional pain show neural activity in the exact same regions (insula, dACC, and thalamus) when physical pain is felt.
Nov 16, 2023
Nov 16, 2023 at 11:29 AM UTC
i open my eyes,
each sunrise
to feel
his warm breeze.
i walk the pavements
of wisdom
just to sense
his saturated touch.
i look up and witness
the horizontal thin layers
of autumn skies,
forcefully done
like his breathless goodbyes.
yes, there were
ambivalence
at first.
or maybe,
there weren't
who knows?
i had to
do
what i did
just to
dissemble
the fact that-
that there were fear
in her eyes,
yours truly,
and yes,
i was able.
although
languor
caressed my cheeks
like no one else did
my mind
my heart,
up to my thalamus
down to my tummy butterflies,
i was filled
with
mild
jubilation.
felicitous
thoughts
overflowed,
like halcyon notes
and waves
refracted on the walls,
and scenic moonshine
and sun rays
draw my days like
it was them
asking me
to saunter,
and to murmur
the words
"you" wanted to hear
but the sound
the keycaps make
doesn't end
with simple
"hey and hello"
it actually started
with a "ping"
and there she goes:
"hey, i have
a not-so-huge crush
on you,
a tiny little crush,
like vapors
no roar."
thirteen nights passed,
thirteen days trashed,
she thought t'was done,
over, capped,
she thought that
it was just a snippet of
likeness and will
soon conclude.
so, step 1: deny? maybe
i was wrong? or was he?
step 2: wrath! rant?
oh trust me, she had
thirteen people to chat
step 3: no more bargains,
no more trades,
no room for sadness
just proceed with
step 5: acceptance
but.
he said but this:
"your name, yes yours
were the first
to enter in this
quadrilateral dialogue
box, and yes
thirteen moons passed
and still, you're
all that "cached"
in my memory,
not too blurry to skim
and not too
drunken to spill."
there he and she started
typing the cynosure
story.
maybe i like you,
or maybe i don't
and today,
this day,
this night,
is when you'll see
and
when you'll hear
with your human lens
and mundane ears
what we are
how we are
and what we may be
and that is the
denouement
of our story,
so,
this is my proposal:
thirteen days sketched to three
Nov 3, 2022
Nov 3, 2022 at 9:20 AM UTC