"timelessly" poems
It doesn't obligate a relationship.
Nor does a relationship obligate ***
*** is an expression of a feeling for another being.
And it shall be pursued as such and nothing else.
Not as a label. A habit.
(Self-destructive or otherwise.)
Not for pity. For lack of self awareness.
Not for boredom or distraction from life.
Not for obligation or money.
Never when you don't want to.
But for when you do.
As pure expression.
For the moment you couldn't stop yourself if you tried.
Basorexia.
The desire long haunting you.
Overwhelmingly and thoughtlessly,
immersed in a kiss.
A caress.
To share an Aura with someone so unbelievably magnetic,
and picturely poetic.
Every smile, thought and fault,
Is frozen in time.
A moment catching its beauty.
***
It's for that special person you kissed a year ago,
And you can't forget the taste of their lips.
It's for the one who's eyes,
speak louder than words and actions all together.
Finding you timelessly, again in your dance.
For the one you took for granted.
That you knew you should have held a bit longer,
But couldn't because a vampire had your heart.
It's for the one you're most nervous about.
The one that creeps into your mind and you're not sure why.
The one that makes you want to scream :: "Take Me Away!"
Regardless, whoever + whenever, have one vow:
<<< Do It Only If They Drive You Wild. >>>
Jun 7, 2014
Jun 7, 2014 at 6:05 PM UTC
you met a girl who
cried raindrops,
tasted of champagne and regret but
oh did she love so hard
i never got a chance to feel how soft she could be
i was too busy drinking in her mahogany eyes and
lightly tanned skin-- by the gallon, gulping
trying to get air in between sips like
an aged merlot she was
timelessly magnificent.
i swear to you
she had the sun within her,
could shine so bright but
a single cloud could wash it all away,
dim her, shroud her
in stringy clouds of despair i swear
i would've done anything
to burn away those clouds.
-a.c.b
Aug 8, 2018
Aug 8, 2018 at 9:45 PM UTC
A new soul was released
From a resentment leash
Sharpened like shark teeth
Karma is a good friend
Don't worry she won't pretend
Her truth is timelessly real
And will attack with a thrill
Roller coaster fast when she hits it'll last past the memories you see
For karma comes around
Stinging like a bee
The pain will serve you well
Ding ding the sound of your bell
It is your time now to endure
For your actions were evil and pure
Dec 20, 2014
Dec 20, 2014 at 4:09 PM UTC
Compound eyes
Astonishing spectacles
Clairvoyant views from above
Wings glistening in the light of the sun
Buzzing long bodied mystical stories
Dragon's breath of spiritual eloquence
Releasing the bugs eating away at conscience
Skeletal spine of an egoless monk
whispering harmoniously the simple remedies
of cleansing thought
My snake doctor
Quick witted unmasker
your view 360 degrees
Focusing on the movement
and pesky mosquitos that feast
That leave us scratching our heads
I look on so enviously
at Lady Dragonfly
as she hovers angelically
In an eternal sky
It saddens me that the great one's lives are
always cut too short
but her legend lives on timelessly
Dating way back to Permian period
Dec 18, 2012
Dec 18, 2012 at 1:34 AM UTC
She pulled up her shawl and left the house
Gone to get more tea
And all the people passing by
And all the noises eating at her ear
Could not grasp her attention
Attending only to herself
Brilliant and Boisterous her thoughts
A majestic melody of their own
So how could she not be secure?
In her soul’s symphony
The strings vibrated her vessel
The horns heckled her heart
The drums beat down her darkness
And wisdom conducted alongside grace
Matching one another’s pace
Astute in one another’s ache
At conducting timelessly, never being late
It was almost as if their union was fate
Almost being key for it surely did take
Tireless effort, and sacrifices to make
The two into each other’s esteemed mate
Aug 25, 2018
Aug 25, 2018 at 9:46 AM UTC
Dawn gently kissed the nape of dusk
Whilst patient time awaited peaking
Majestic streams of solar lust
Born via pre-orgasmic streaking
Saturn's rings exclusive ******
Equipped for sensual fancy
Mesmerized by daring billows
Elevated by buoyancy
Excitement steadily evolving
Cosmic spheres swiftly building
****** timelessly revolving
Licentious shock she is wielding
Dawn coloured blackened skies
Pleasure falling with each tear
****** baring lovely sighs
Passion with a wince of fear
© 2012 (All rights reserved)
Feb 4, 2012
Feb 4, 2012 at 1:30 AM UTC
Revving up the engine
of the gleaming funky machine
before zooming around, gave her
such an Adrenalin high, nonperil.
The constant ****** no guy ever could
promise, this act gives her.
She is pleased for that moment,
gets ready for the ****** rigmarole,
the very next second.
She gets jealous of her
own story, ever heard of that?
On the race course and the spread bed
alike her ebullience creates
tsunami waves,broke long standing records.
When you run fast enough
there comes a moment,when
there is no record left to break!
and the beds, you guessed right,
all are broken, made redundant.
And then the inevitable happens,
she smells leaking gas, panics,
freezes on the track, shuddering,
switches off quickly the engine
of her dream machine,her heartbeat,
makes the final escape,spontaneously,
without delay, decides to renounce
worldly pleasures altogether,
up to the Himalayas goes by foot, seeking
that thing which in life she missed all along,
Finds silver light's play on ice caps, and realize this:
she was walking through a dark, dark tunnel ,
of self-deception,"Affluenza" was indeed her affliction.
The Himalayan snow cap, loomed large as an attraction,
in her dreams once, now seemed less formidable, at arm's length,
"What a Guru,who looked timelessly ancient,
jokingly predicted once, comes true here"she muses.
Her trek upwards resumes with a vengeance.
Mar 6, 2016
Mar 6, 2016 at 6:08 AM UTC
check in at the library, my card scanned,
per the terms of my sentencing agreement
to the poetry shelves dispatched.
row after row, book after book,
all blank awaiting my affections,
all demanding my sensei sensations,
seeking a creme filling of honorations,
words of all shape, roots and origins,
the occasional new combination
some, never heard before, timelessly awaiting expulsion
from the birth-vocal canal where comes origination,
but for me, death by enforced creativity,
that’s what the judgers desired,
a punishment that fits the crime
*my misdeed record unsealed, intended for
world envisioning, the ego audacity to imagine
I could write a single good poem,
thus the punishment fits the crime*
may1 9:19am ‘19
May 1, 2019
May 1, 2019 at 11:47 AM UTC
Let's lose our minds amongst the olive trees
Labyrinth of oiled imagination
Twirl like falling leaves / falling to our knees
in unbalanced joy and veneration
of ourselves. For there is nobody else
but us; there is no other time but now,
Red flowers bloom. A blue shadow propels
a still landscape into being somehow
fluid. Timelessly we swim, wet within
each brush stroke branch and painted wave of wild
emancipation—to forget the din
of the wretched asylum. Vincent smiled:
Dive too deep and you shall go insane,
The olive grove remains the other side of the pane.
Oct 16, 2020
Oct 16, 2020 at 9:04 AM UTC
Ah, so kind and so cute,
The loyal and so beautiful,
Uninteresting and engaging,
Loving perpetually & timelessly.
Jun 16, 2015
Jun 16, 2015 at 4:07 AM UTC
The pink Corvette - driving madam |
in Jackie O shades & pink pillbox
hat getting photographed
pulling up to the townhouse
for the Page
Six pin-up : : her girls from
the Midwest, trained & groomed,
crowned & titled; every one
wearing their own diamond tiara;
only the best of the best dolls, dames &
dishes get served
[working
girls] work Barbie's Dream Brothel; bouffant & hoop earrings
& a silver slit skirt;
timelessly retro (the one sixteen,
the other fourteen)
where the hell do u think u're going - -]
Jul 20, 2018
Jul 20, 2018 at 5:58 PM UTC
THROUGH VERY SHORT TIMES OF SPACE.
The red door of No.16
North Frederick Street
slams behind him as he
enters into this newly minted
morning
sunshine so thick
one feels like a fish
swimming through it.
Sunlight spangles
a tiny puddle
turning it into a jewel
that only the eye can cherish.
Ahhhh "...the ineluctable
modality of the visible."
He turns right into Upper
Dorset Street
pulling an "Ahhh...howya!"
out of the man who makes the false
teeth!
Then turning left into
Eccles Street
giving the nod to No. 7
Bloom's house in ULYSSES.
Here in its run down state
though still shining in his fictionality.
Soon they will knock it
down and what will the tourists
do then
poor things.
Sure some bright spark
will rescue it from its rubble
and the door will live again
some streets away again.
Ahhh...." the ineluctable
modality of the visible."
I go to Quinn's gym
to get my Molly
( Philomena her name is )
a cottage cheese with pineapple
on a Weetabix base.
It is a 16th of June
somewhere in the 80's
as I retrace my own earlier
Joycean footsteps.
Rat-a-tat-tat on Bloom's door.
"Are ya there Leopold?"
But the bold Leopold
doesn't answer.
The 16th of
forever I am
"...walking through it
howsomever."
The sun smirks
as such Joyceisms.
"I am, a stride of a time.
A very short space of time
through very short times of space."
A horse and cart as if
from the past
saunters by
timelessly.
Ah "...the ineluctable
modality of the audible."
My Molly who is really
a Philomena
spoons the deliciousness
of the creamy dessert
into her
and yes she says
mmmm...yes....mmmm
Yes.
Sep 28, 2018
Sep 28, 2018 at 3:05 PM UTC
Looking out, I hear the croaky calls
Of husky-throated birds and the
Frothy licking of sea tongues.
Purplish azure spreading widely,
Timelessly, when once my Father told me
The beauty was infinite and he smiled at the pair of
Big bright brown eyes
Glowing up at him in belief and awe,
Believing the secrets of the sea
All the wonderful things he told me.
Holding my hand, imprinting the sand
With our shallow foot prints: big and small
My chubby hand in his, the other
Collecting the glossy, opaque nails of sea dragons.
Sometimes we found sharp, dull-colored ones
And these were the faded scales of their leathery tough
Skin. Craggy black wings folded jaggedly-
Mountains, the ignorant people called them
Only we knew underneath those folded wings
Lay a sleeping, ancient dragon with its
Golden eyes watching out for its children,
The White Sea dragons that ran along the edges of the waves.
Speeding on rapidly, diving under
Out swimming the run of short brown legs
Decisively deaf to a child’s sunny yells.
When the sky was littered with stars
Before I began dreaming I could hear
The rush of wind as the dragons unfolded
Their restless wings, the gentle splashing
As their children twisted in and out of the water
And what Daddy said, Sweet Dreams,
Arrived shortly thereafter.
Yet today I search vainly for their younglings
Gone in sunlight, in the midst of red foreigners
Coming out of hiding after dragon-hot sunsets and
Only behind closed eyes.
The spikes on their powerful wings
Have melded into dark shadows of trees
The jar of multi-colored sea glass remains
By my bed, reminding me of how when Daddy’s eyes
Could no longer burn bright with belief
In such magic, he placed the spark in new eyes
That were identical to his:
In both shape and color.
Sep 21, 2010
Sep 21, 2010 at 11:17 PM UTC
oft heard floating through the Gwydir River gums
the chanting of indigenous peoples hums
from the Boorolong uplands to the Western water plains
here these ancestral chants do eternally refrain
chanting
chanting
in a tone so clear
chanting
chanting
so that we may hear
chanting
chanting
along the river's trace
chanting
chanting
of a special place
chanting
chanting
in a unified tune
chanting
chanting
morning night and noon
when next your by the Gwydir's flowing course
give your hearts to this ancient discourse
worthy of the soul are these resonant sounds
floating ever timelessly where the river gums abound
chanting
chanting
over rocks and sands
chanting
chanting
the linking of hands
chanting
chanting
of a unique past
chanting
chanting
may the chanting last
chanting
chanting
of a tribal stream
chanting
chanting
a people's dream
Jan 7, 2014
Jan 7, 2014 at 9:53 PM UTC
In the moment I heard your sweet embrace was lost, I could see the safety orange jacket, six layers beneath that coat of so-called protection. I can hear the cracks of the leaves beneath your boots, the ever-moving grip of your hand on your gun. I can feel the tension tipping timelessly toward the moment the grip changed from the gun to something more... precious. Step by step, you’ve made all the right moves in all the wrong places, and now that snapped twig underneath your foot has become more than a distraction to the deer. From afar, another like you hears all the steps you’ve taken, and being gone with the wind, he takes his shot, in hopes for the prize buck. You are a prize, but one meant to be shared, and still around to give your little girl the power she needs to get passed all the boys you wish she’d never met. I can see your eyes passing through you’re fondest memories, you had no time for all the things you would never do, your humor and love of life out weighs the pain everyday of the week, and twice on Saturday. I can remember the first time I met you. I have met dad’s before, but, you will forever be my favorite. If only you’re gentle hands could rest on our shoulders, just one. more time. I wish I could tell you all the things you want to hear, but, it’s not my place and, not my time. but, i do know that your babygirl is safe, she’s still the best part of you and she’s going to shine like the princess like you know she is. your wife, your best friend, she’s going to be the best person she can, like you know she has for so many years. So, yes you’ve passed on to the next great adventure and we all miss you, but always remember P.J.K., you’re gone, never forgotten.
Oct 26, 2012
Oct 26, 2012 at 10:48 PM UTC
The wares the shop sells are all worn and fade
Cashbox is empty business is in the red
The man behind the counter couldn’t care less
Happy to be there at the forgotten address!
Cobwebs gaily growing no footsteps on its floor
A wonder the shop keeps open its door
For long no buyer not one item is sold
The shop stands there timelessly old!
Not any knows it, not one comes to buy
The shopkeeper waits, not asks himself why
His wares spread amid the gathering dust
No money in cashbox, in his heart undying trust,
Someday someone would walk in from some corner of earth
Value his wares on display, pay the price they’re worth!
Sep 11, 2013
Sep 11, 2013 at 2:54 AM UTC
Yesterday I wandered into the bliss of love’s fountain
Held by strong arms I called home
A rambling traveler consumed by a passion
To listen to the sweet whispers
Of the bubbling foam
Timelessly I had always existed in a precious solitude
Where I found pleasure in my own dance
Until I wandered into the bliss of love’s fountain
To kiss the warmest lips
Of circumstance
I must confess, the waters rushed round my heart
As I touched the cheek of sweet hours
My rambling feet stood still in complete joy
Desiring to be molded like soft clay
Within love’s power
My flesh was warmed by sweet whispers of passion
Arms that held my heart in their hands
This rambling traveler quickly forgot who she was
When the waters of love’s own fountain
Rushed in to my dance
Feb 5, 2011
Feb 5, 2011 at 6:47 PM UTC
Angelic soft dreams of you keep caressing my mind
With blissful melodies that keep soothing my soul
In all of my thoughts you remain forever enshrined
While your wondrous grace helps me remain whole
Your mellifluous voice slowly makes love to my ears
As the gaze of your eyes engulfs mine with passion
Those radiant crystal eyes I wont allow having tears
From now until forever you do have my compassion
Our lives are a rhapsody of soft harmonic perfection
The queen of my heart; you deserve a whole empire
Gazing into your eyes my heart swells with affection
And when I hold you in my arms I sense your desire
Each of the moments we share I will timelessly savor
My whole life is complete when I am in your presence
Soothing moonlight serenades are conducted in favor
Of each of the gifts that compose your whole essence
Exquisite and pure is this majestic Love that we share
You’re the true love of my life; you’re the one I revere
I have always been true and for our Love I will swear
That forever after I perish I will still Love you my dear
Oct 30, 2010
Oct 30, 2010 at 9:43 PM UTC
When the work is done
we sleep, nowhere, timelessly --
lying in our love.
May 11, 2022
May 11, 2022 at 3:16 AM UTC
THROUGH VERY SHORT TIMES OF SPACE.
The red door of No.16
North Frederick Street
slams behind him as he
enters into this newly minted
morning
sunshine so thick
one feels like a fish
swimming through it.
Sunlight spangles
a tiny puddle
turning it into a jewel
that only the eye can cherish.
Ahhhh "...the ineluctable
modality of the visible."
He turns right into Upper
Dorset Street
pulling an "Ahhh...howya!"out of the man
who makes the false teeth.
Then turning left into
Eccles Street
giving the nod to No. 7
Bloom's house in ULYSSES.
Here in its run down state
though still shining in his fictionality.
Soon they will knock it
down and what will the tourists
do then
poor things.
Sure some bright spark
will rescue it from its rubble
and the door will live again
some streets away again.
Ahhh...." the ineluctable
modality of the visible."
I go to Quinn's gym
to get my Molly
( Philomena her name is )
a cottage cheese with pineapple
on a Weetabix base.
It is a 16th of June
somewhere in the 80's
as I retrace my own earlier
Joycean footsteps.
Rat-a-tat-tat on Bloom's door.
"Are ya there Leopold?"
But the bold Leopold
doesn't answer.
The 16th of
forever I am
"...walking through it
howsomever."
The sun smirks
as such Joyceisms.
"I am, a stride of a time.
A very short space of time
through very short times of space."
A horse and cart as if
from the past
saunters by
timelessly.
Ah "...the ineluctable
modality of the audible."
My Molly who is really
a Philomena
spoons the deliciousness
of the creamy dessert
into her
and yes she says
mmmm...yes....mmmm
Yes.
Oct 1, 2018
Oct 1, 2018 at 6:09 AM UTC
Pictures in gilded frames
Hang immortalising people of
Old in evanescent faces.
Timelessly captured and
Owned forever poised.
Ghostly images fading
Reminders timeworn in
Antiquity. Long dead
Plates forgotten names
Haunting souls captured in
Sepia smiles.
©Jacqui Slade
Feb 24, 2015
Feb 24, 2015 at 3:14 AM UTC
You are not from this time
I am not from this place
but if time would be place
I would sit across you again
on a lucid carpet and play the games
like a maze
born from your smile
and assigned to me
as yogas
‘for the Play!’
as you would always say
If time would be place
I would become the dance –
particles mingling you to me
we would pass through each other
and heave this universe
just as I have become the light reflection
shining reverse in your pupil
one of on that vase which you've always observed
unmoving
and
without any prejudgment
analyzing breathless what it really is
maybe not so much different than the self
learning the essence from the self
without words
true knowledge remains in the body of experience only
like a mantra
*what makes the eye is what sees the eye
the key is well preserved Timelessly in love*
---
Just as I know moments your thoughts connect to me
Just as I can become your skin again and again
experience this world through your breath
and teach your hunger a lesson
It does not help hiding you through my psoas
if I press the big toes and as the diaphragm falls
these muscles wherein you hide stretch
and O dear one
subtle is the skin we share
through which fingers can pass
not dense – not dense at all!
like any universe born and witnessed by inspiration
and like a sea-squirt I can then digest anything that is past tense
and that’s exactly how I became a raven today
balancing on the thinnest and highest branch of a maple
even a sparrow wouldn't dare
but the gaze of inspiration
Only to see your form one more time
Standing there at the window from a past
Watching the park
You know
It is needless to ask
How
It is not the mind that can answer
neither waves of any sort
Yes you already know
You
immersed in an unmoving gaze
For generations
At different places
In different bodies
Having monumentalized the eagle’s eye
Should know!
because
Immeasurable remains the thingless to things
and Inspiration as it were
Nov 17, 2016
Nov 17, 2016 at 4:48 PM UTC
In the distance I hear them,
Under the silence I see them,
The drums of beating hearts,
Past, present and future,
They thunder over the memories of our ancestors,
They roar through the veins of our young,
They are the drums of truth,
Beating timelessly and in rhythm,
With the stars,
Your universe,
Your very being,
Be the drum,
Be the loudest drum,
Because I can hear your beat already.
Jul 5, 2016
Jul 5, 2016 at 8:24 PM UTC
a tree did grow
in Brooklyn. it was June--
our third-- and the summer weather
hadn't turned yet:
school was just out, Prospect Park was never full, and the nights
were still cool.
it was summer in the city before it comes unglued.
i had yet to resent the F train terminal
or its crowds
or its sweat. i hadn't grown bored
of 23rd St. on one end of the day
and Church Avenue on another,
or of the cost of cigarettes
or coffee or of the FOODTOWN sign
at the top of the subway steps.
it was a beautiful month
because it was doomed barely to last
its 30 days.
and there were too so many long hours,
sitting barely shaded
on your stoop,
fending off the landlord's sister and the bugs and waiting
for the fall.
each time i've gone back
since then i've sat
on those slow steps;
that summer it was no different: three months to crown three
years,
moving so timelessly
by
that next month the heat bore down,
not the heat only of the sun and the air but the wet,
***** heat of the city,
steam forever rising from underground, the oil spills
in the gutters beginning to boil.
but still it was New York
and summer. the roaches and rats hadn't yet
eaten all the fireflies.
i grew to love routine
disquiet: the long car rides to Queens,
the Mets games and their pretzel smell and riding back,
inevitably discouraged,
my homemade tank top leaking Magic marker onto my chest;
the trips to the beach at Rockaway, sullen and determined, and their return
to Manhattan, tasting like salt (and you, once,
like blood) and my hair stiff
with brine and feeling the sand in our shoes grit
against the ***** sidewalks;
those quick walks
from Smith&9th Streets,
sipping Mexican Cokes and rationing our time
by cigarettes:
all of July was exhausting,
but familiar by then.
in August the tornado came,
first Brooklyn'd seen in 30 years. we two
slept blissfully through it, woke only
for the aftermath.
we went outside almost giddy, certainly
unbelieving,
holding hands.
and the tree
which had stood outside so
serenly
was uprooted,
having missed the bedroom window
by only a few feet.
[it was June--
cool.
barely shaded
so timelessly
beginning to boil
all the fireflies.]
Nov 19, 2010
Nov 19, 2010 at 11:18 AM UTC
It took years for the physicist
and the meta-physicist
to reluctantly agree.
They took opposing alleys:
One looked into matter
and arrived at its intrinsic energy.
The other looked at energy
and saw matter as incidental analogy;
just a random criss-cross
of cosmic puissance.
They made much ado
in arriving where my good old
three-band radio
catapulted me years ago.
Since my teens;
she had faithfully been
my worthy companion.
With sweet melodies,
thoughtful talks,
rousing commentaries....
she kept me company
through thick and thin.
For a scanty eternity,
she was the only tie with humanity
in my plain, flat life;
lonesome, sickly and solitary.
We knew each other closely;
fondly and dearly
and I would talk to her,
some would say foolishly,
and though strangely,
she always responded readily.
For years sixteen
that Philips machine
was with me
and I saw
into her inherent energy
that underlies every material entity.
#
When she died suddenly
without warning....abruptly,
I knew a friend had gone
but the essence lived on.
We had perfect camaraderie:
She was all intricacy;
body, battery and circuitry,
and the spark that came from me;
ah!!! my art of tuning adeptly.
Though I got newer models and makes,
the heart still beats with a dull ache
for the one who began as mortal matter
and bonded timelessly with my being;
...merged and mingled...
as an undying memory,
in what they call
my imperishable, impregnable spirit.
Nov 15, 2019
Nov 15, 2019 at 10:51 AM UTC