"touchstone" poems
Call it touchstone, cause I tinge you gold
Rub my face against your chest like a noble metal
If it weren’t for you, I wouldn’t discern my value
I’m a diamond in the form of a petal
Tears of joy make the finest jewelry, so do the raindrops that dot my forehead, running home to ya.
I await the comfort of spring
Months pass as I blink
The fuller the moon, the more I seem to love ya.
A shoal of stars passes above Calabasas and the peaks that reach beyond
The Hollywood Hills is where I go
My life is a love song
I’m a diamond unburned by every storm
I’m running for my life from my life
I’m running home to ya
I bathe under the moon under stars
I don’t know what to say to ya
I don’t know what I’m feeling when I’m with ya
But one thing I know
Is that it feels good
So spin me ‘round in the ocean of galaxies
Twirl me now straight into your deepest fantasies
Call it even, cause I need it all
Call it touchstone, cause you tinge me gold.
Oct 3, 2022
Oct 3, 2022 at 8:21 AM UTC
What had happened tis ecstasy
i know what my limit and limitations...
even i am not perfect in this language
I never laugh at any one......
i know someone misunderstood about me
but i was true
my feelings were pure
...............think again
don't judge me wrong
you are the one i love and will ever love
i feel ecstasy with your thought
mere passion is not enough in relationship
.....relationship is very conscious one ...;
.......i know HISTORY
true love never run smooth
i never would like to insult you
....................think again
what you and your reputation is
i much careful about it .
I never break heart ....
never deals in disguise
forever i liked your manners
.............think again
how could i give touchstone
to my milkmaid sweetheart
never ;
no ;not ;
never in my mind.
How could i forget
you taught me MILTON
john Donne and all...
how could i behave like other passionate shepherd
like them
those who tries to tempt love with beds of roses;
fragrant posies ;fair lined slipper and so on....
......................think again
i know my LOVE was pure and now it is.
Not count me in any psychological theory
it was all humble feelings of my heart..
....you ask your heart
it will give you real answer.
WHAT IS LOVE?.....its philosophy...
is it beyond the physic ?...yes it is metaphysical love.
i tell you my feelings were pure
each and every gesture of mine was pure
i never supply often unrealistic emotional response
to you.....
.......cowards only sin ;
good man
never.....
no ;not ;even in my mind.
o sweetheart please ....it mind.
Oct 29, 2012
Oct 29, 2012 at 2:14 AM UTC
Whatever you do
don't defrost Walt Disney
I hear he was not a nice man
even could be part of the clan
Please don't bring him alive
a brain in a robot he would reside
and if you gave him glaring laser eyes
all at Touchstone pictures would have to die
So please please
don't defrost Walt Disney
By Christos Andreas Kourtis aka NeonSolaris
By NeonSolaris
© 2011 NeonSolaris (All rights reserved)
Sep 13, 2013
Sep 13, 2013 at 1:17 PM UTC
Tribute to my childhood hero
Joni Mitchell
The album covers beaten
The player old and worn
The needle barely tracking
From all the scratches borne
Upon the vinyl surfaces
Of albums that were stored
Unlocking wonderous worlds
Of music I adored
I would lie in cloistered darkness
To hear a voice so sweet
There I'd usher in the nighttime
To worship at her feet
Struck by earthy lyrics
But somewhat strange
Unearthly tunes
To trace with disconnected fingers
The most sensitive of wounds
How sad that good songs
Unsung heroes
Like "Morning Morgantown"
Wouldn't live forever
To "buy your dreams a dollar down"
Recall "Big Yellow Taxi"?
You can rest assured I do!
And "Ladies of the Canyon"
And her epic album "Blue"
Most folks recall a song
Entitled "Both Sides Now"
'Bout clouds and love and life
But they do not know
Her poetic expression
Unearthed deep jazzy riffs
Elitism. Hypocrisy.
And "Summer Lawns" that "Hissed"
At the pinnacle of greatness
Her album "Court and Spark"
Will always be a touchstone
For purity in art
A deeply troubled woman
At certain times in life
Loving truely... deeply
In the "Industry" meant strife
A versatile genius
Her lyrics resonate
Fot the very thing that scarred her
Also made her great
---
At times I'd sit and ponder
A self-inflicted crime
But I would postpone the act
To hear her one last time
Her songs touched me so deeply
Places only she could know
With her voice to guide me
I found a place to go
She became my inspiration
My metaphor. My muse.
Joni Mitchell told my heart
To write of its abuse
I aspire to higher standards
A perfection as it were
And should my work be recognized
I owe it all to her.
Though endlessly I search
For perfect sense of art
It's brought on by
INPERFECTION
But a kind and loving heart.
What I saw in her self portrait
Was a humble, gentle face
She was the greatest mentor
a human life could grace
SoulSurvivor
(C) 10/14/2014
Rewritten
(C) 7/17/2015
Jul 18, 2015
Jul 18, 2015 at 1:07 AM UTC
*Stone cold eyes once joined
Light in crowd to flame was forged
Touchstone in mid air*
Jul 3, 2015
Jul 3, 2015 at 10:12 PM UTC
for L. J.
<•>
first time my heart crushed, and
pieces broke off,
and rode the interstates of my body,
the very real kind,
was somewhere
in my later teens.
many breakings came
all life long later.
remember each face.
different kinds of breakings.
some mean and ugly,
but the ones,
that made me weak and mournful,
those hurts are in a steel case kept
near my left ventricle, with copies in
my sewing box
full of handwritten poems.
you want to know if there was (like yours)
that one, that still sneak peeks
into your eye's fantasy
when you lie next to
your woman of the last decade?
thankfully, no.
but the flavors of the regret,
the highs of
pain so awful, never forgot,
are ensconced, recalled, memorialized
only in my love poetry.
touchstone ribbons and knickknacks,
I have hid so well, don't remember where,
but not the who or the when.
*hear your ask, the answer plain
the title encapsulated.
but when I accidentally hear
Johnny Rivers sing
"Baby, I need your lovin'"
strangers do not understand
why this man who has
seven decades and a day of poems kept,
walks down the street weepin' and smilin',
but you will ken, as I well ken your askin'.*
amend my title.
easier, someday. easy never.
ever.
5:58am
10/1/2017
Oct 1, 2017
Oct 1, 2017 at 6:19 AM UTC
— and the rickety ferry-boat “Arden”!
What an object to be called “Arden”
among the great piers,—on the
ever new river!
“Put me a Touchstone
at the wheel, white gulls, and we’ll
follow the ghost of the Half Moon
to the North West Passage—and through!
(at Albany!) for all that!”
1.5k
What had happened tis ecstasy
i know what my limit and limitations...
even i am not perfect in this language
I never laugh at any one......
i know someone misunderstood about me
but i was true
my feelings were pure
...............think again
don't judge me wrong
you are the one i love and will ever love
i feel ecstasy with your thought
mere passion is not enough in relationship
.....relationship is very conscious one ...;
.......i know HISTORY
true love never run smooth
i never would like to insult you
....................think again
what you and your reputation is
i much careful about it .
I never break heart ....
never deals in disguise
forever i liked your manners
.............think again
how could i give touchstone
to my milkmaid sweetheart
never ;
no ;not ;
never in my mind.
How could i forget
you taught me MILTON
john Donne and all...
how could i behave like other passionate shepherd
like them
those who tries to tempt love with beds of roses;
fragrant posies ;fair lined slipper and so on....
......................think again
i know my LOVE was pure and now it is.
Not count me in any psychological theory
it was all humble feelings of my heart..
....you ask your heart
it will give you real answer.
WHAT IS LOVE?.....its philosophy...
is it beyond the physic ?...yes it is metaphysical love.
i tell you my feelings were pure
each and every gesture of mine was pure
i never supply often unrealistic emotional response
to you.....
.......cowards only sin ;
good man
never.....
no ;not ;even in my mind.
o sweetheart please ....it mind.
Oct 29, 2012
Oct 29, 2012 at 2:16 AM UTC
what is the measure of sorrow
is there a standard unit
against which we may rule
an overladen mind
and a heart demolished
graphing with infinite precision
each shattered hope
and marking the dimensions
of dreams ground to dust
are tears numbered
or more properly
and accurately accounted
by volume
or weight
shall we assign a value
on a sliding scale
to the mutilation
of a human soul
can we make comparison
among various torments
or attempt to visualize
in a chart of bright colors
splashed on a screen
the lifelessness of one person
to that of another
is despair loss
or hope denied
might it be joy withheld
does suffering
have weight and volume
that we might
determine its mass
is it instead a void
where something which
was present
has been removed
is it possible to create
an image of wretchedness
a ruined and rotting
playground of lost innocence
a charred and crumbled husk
of a home shattered
an arid uninhabitable waste
of aspirations unbirthed
with what pigment
shall we produce such art
which color wheel
will be used
in what earthly perdition
are the gauges found
reading the depth of misery
or the height of anguish
what is the magnitude
of the grief
the touchstone of devastation
against which all other grief
must be measured
Mar 8, 2022
Mar 8, 2022 at 9:45 PM UTC
When I first met you it was dark
underneath the society in which you favored yourself the plague
I shook your hand and smiled
but you already saw through my mask
I was never good at lying
and I would never be close to lying to you
I watched you from the passenger seat
the rain pelted my windshield but all I could hear was you
You spoke in big ideas, like stars and planets
you wanted me to picture myself among them
but I was rooted into the ground like the old oak in my backyard
turn left, then right
the pavement dancing past so thoughtlessly
it had no idea of the brilliance that drove upon it
I loved you when you weren't listening
when you were laughing to yourself about your own joke
and I joined you
hoping you would understand
but you never did
I bought you coffee and knew your order
Hours with you felt like minutes
and when you left the hollow in my chest grew
I loved you so heavily with every hug and hand hold
every minute of every day
but nothing seemed to show you how I was feeling
I lost you too many times to count
Sometimes it was on my terms
other times it was on yours
but bullet wounds hurt no matter which way you shoot
When I lay in bed and watch the ceiling
I think back to when I first met you
I wonder what I could have done to convince you to join the real world
but my world had become you
and yours me
and in that light, I didn't want to go back
Feb 23, 2016
Feb 23, 2016 at 12:43 AM UTC
Light through and through
Heavy extensor to the peach
Occlusion in the blue graph.
Stem toward the finger,
Clasp the little star
That looked so ghostly to her
And the sphere spears
Through and through us.
Because it isn’t the dreams
We look for in the sea that will
Matter. That hardly matters at all.
A hand might part the sand, but a fall
From the sky
Can **** The water ought to part easily
But won’t move for a measly body.
The living touchstone shows us just how like the sea
A stone can be, and so a man to poetry.
Mar 5, 2011
Mar 5, 2011 at 8:17 AM UTC
God bless you,
(I think),
You kept the peace,
Mostly,
For forty-five years,
World wide peace,
Anyway,
You were our tool,
Your threat of white heat,
Kept us off the edge of
Madness,
With MAD,
We carried you everywhere,
In the air,
On the sea,
Under the sea,
Under ground,
Over land,
We protected you,
As we protected
Nothing else,
You were our magic
Touchstone of safety,
Our ultimate security blanket,
Whose security was
Unknown,
But
Whose safety might turn on us,
Vaporous,
In the flash of the
Moment,
Now you've become a *****
Over bred,
Your power unwelcome,
Desired only by your
Fellow lepers,
Sorry,
But you're done,
Thanks,
(I think).
Copyright 2011 by Gary L. Misch
Oct 7, 2011
Oct 7, 2011 at 11:30 AM UTC
*“when down dreaming ups” (Pradip)/
a mysterious phrasing sent,
the meaning devolving, beyond the obvious,
but slow like, as the mind turns and tastes
these words in different places, ways
when I lay me down to keep,
the dreaming up-ramping, the poems,
don’t know of absent muses, inspiratory lacking,
tongue tied eyes, all banished from the dream world,
where the poems come more than regular,
uninhibited and restless,
begging to be easy birthed,
oh please, oh please!
when down we lay,
up tempo do the brain’s creation ports
turn fiery red, agitated, masses of
tired, poor poems, yearning to be free
disembark all seeking a touchstone statue
to set them free to liberty
my speaking eyelids rapid typing,
placing whole writings in cracks in
the wailing wall, on my own temple mount,
where Hindi letters become stick figures
dancing praises to the lord and stars and
crescendo crescents interlock their tips,
until one dream complete is downloaded
to moistened, ready lips, for I am up, up,
from my down dreaming
10/20/19 8:54am
Oct 20, 2019
Oct 20, 2019 at 8:58 AM UTC
I'll tell you a story of a stony Island which had a beautiful beach.
In search of a touchstone, this secluded place some determined men used to reach.
This touchstone used to turn ordinary metal into Gold
Men came to search this stone to increase their wealth manifold.
Touchstone was there hidden within pebbles and stones and its colour was shiny blue.
Its greed used to effect adventurous souls like some dangerous and contagious flu.
A man with great difficulty reached this promised land
Next moment he was on beach searching stones and sand.
stones which were not blue were straightaway thrown into the sea.
He developed this habit of throwing and was never seen free.
He continued with this habit without any complain or fear
This went on till days became month and months became year.
One day after throwing a stone he stood stunned as if he was struck by thunder.
Because of his habit he threw touchstone whose colour was blue, what a blunder!
Now replace 'sectarian fights' with 'habit of throwing' and 'sects' with 'pebbles' and 'Islam' with 'touchstone'
All you wise men and women do I need to clarify any further, hold on to Islam your blue stone.
Nov 13, 2014
Nov 13, 2014 at 5:39 AM UTC
I like my old house, with the big
backyard, on that lonely little
road: home, a touchstone.
Wrapped in my duvet of silence,
tracing the bumps of the popcorn
ceiling with glazed eyes while she
brushes hair behind my ear.
"You may be depressed, but you're
not crazy crazy."
Thanks Mama.
So I don't tell her about my road
trip with psychosis, or the pile of
suicide notes rotting in our county
landfill.
There are some things she doesn't
need to know.
Blue insides, I always thought I'd be
quick enough to catch the blood
before oxygen claimed it red.
Light bulbs flicker for days before
they go out, but knowing the warning
signs has never changed this relentless
ending.
This wallet is special, I remind myself.
It has my brother's preschool graduation
picture tucked inside,
his smile, all teeth, with gaps he pokes his
tongue through, and bright, clear blue eyes.
He has never seen a scar in his life.
When I start to wonder why I bother,
I make myself look at the photo.
May 18, 2017
May 18, 2017 at 8:49 PM UTC
Sifting through your words,
anxious to find a nugget of truth.
Chipping away at your facade,
desperately searching for a vein of hope.
I was a fool for mistaking hope as precious,
trying not to rub you the wrong way.
You barely allowed me to scratch your surface,
which should have told me everything I needed to know.
Apr 29, 2013
Apr 29, 2013 at 5:31 PM UTC
.
Grasping to the sky
With ever reaching
Branches, leaves spirit
Themselves to sacred
Airs.
Old tree, a star set
Truncated with sprite earth,
Stolid, touchstone spark,
Place, feeling all waves
Dripping by like clouds.
In some underworld,
Bathing with Gods,
Are immortal roots
Divining water, laid
In ceremonious soil,
Digging out golden,
Unfallowed tombs.
Old tree in the sun,
Great soul barking
Skywards each day,
Joyous arms clench,
Lansing, higher out,
Embracing heavens.
May 17, 2017
May 17, 2017 at 4:49 PM UTC
Dear Jack,
It’s been so long,
Yet we cannot let go,
You are our touchstone,
Our Icon of perfection,
You did so little,
Yet your smile,
Set upon that charismatic face,
Gave to oh so many,
A stunning vision of things
Yet to come -
Perhaps.
Your three short years
Grew in our minds,
To a giant’s legacy that never was,
‘Til you could do no wrong.
Now everyone,
Knave and angel both,
Fight to have you as their own,
But no one knows
For sure,
Just what you might have been.
Nov 21, 2013
Nov 21, 2013 at 4:06 PM UTC
My secret flame has kindly eyes that I have learned to trust.
Let the world praise Nefertiti but remember she is dust.
No, she is not beautiful in the way the world decides.
Yes, my heart is on fire when I behold her with these eyes.
She is my muse, my Touchstone, my constant evening star.
She is ever on my mind, though often from afar.
Keep Helen with her thousand ships, such beauty is but vain.
A poet is much better off who has a secret flame.
Jun 5, 2016
Jun 5, 2016 at 12:16 PM UTC
Suddenly You define me;
The epitome of life,
You ask me:
What are your criteria
For quality?
For comfort?
For life?
You scrape a bit of me
off onto You every day
Test the purity of a
golden heart against the
black stone of suffering
I bleed in streaks of silver
You are my touchstone now.
Oct 14, 2018
Oct 14, 2018 at 2:13 AM UTC