"transfixing" poems
I am the lust of the universe
longing to know itself
I am the thoughts like a cascading stream
water pummeling the rock of my soul
molding, shaping, forming, conforming
I am the peace of the bamboo forest
a society of shoots
shades of green solitude
standing together, clunking hollow,
serene, transfixing parallel angles, mesmerizing
obscuring the gaze beyond, reflecting within
drops drip and fall with a shake
I am the child throwing sand into the ocean,
jumping from the rushing water
challenging fate with a raised fist and a laugh to do his worst
I am the dancer in the waves
lifted by the tides
pirouetting in the current
I am the red stone cliff on the sea shore
sovereign stratum carved
growing with green, lush yet hard
I am the buttressed black lava rock
standing in the water, remote and mysterious
accepting time and erosion, jagged
I am the new sun rising red
arising from the mountain mist swirling on the ocean
ascending from the clouded horizon
a grand illusion of motion, perception, the seer
I am the beach wood
fallen from the trees standing
as sentinels to the ebb and flow
laughing in silence with the wind and the sound of tides whooshing
I am the surfer
riding the energy of the earth
slicing across the liquid wall face
I am the flag of men
unifying and dividing
I am the sand welcoming water and feet
soft as creamy butter
I am the mother and the son
replenishing, trailing, following, playing, watching
sharing belly buttons
I am the butterfly gliding on the Kona wind
wandering immortal
Jan 5, 2014
Jan 5, 2014 at 8:05 PM UTC
Is it just I who gets that anxious, squirming
Sensational feeling? Like creativity suppressed—
But by what? My faults? The fates? My own self
For I cannot convey how positively debilitating,
Paralyzing, transfixing—
I don’t want to live in subdued twilight,
Sedated by my own ideas of inabilities,
But who or what, or what in me
Can prevent even the faintest of hindrances
From annihilating the depth of my inspirational understanding…
I’m yet to discern any of the undetectable barriers
Or is it that—metaphysics?
So engrossed, preoccupied, wearied by what
The idea that there’s something
Anything at all, preventing the finesse
As here I cogitate
Dimensions past me...
Jul 17, 2014
Jul 17, 2014 at 3:19 PM UTC
She's a strange one
And sometimes I think she likes
To play dumb
And sometimes I think she likes
To play the broken little bird
And she can twist whatever words
I dare to utter
She gives you that look, like butter
Wouldn't melt
Like all that time you spent
With her means the world
And she's a transfixing girl
She can make your heart feel alive
She'll make your soul feel numb
And I'm telling you, she's a strange one.
Feb 7, 2015
Feb 7, 2015 at 4:21 AM UTC
I love the majestic ugliness of the Eucalypt;
Aesthetically more appealing in its twisted, gnarled appearance
Than any uniform northern conifer;
Infinitely more adapted to the unforgiving antipodean climate
Than those idealised European deciduous living monuments
Still transfixing our collective view of how a tree should be.
Those dropping leaves allowing scenes beyond;
Those tendrils of bark denoting Darwinian fitness;
All tug at the heart of we new Australians,
Conflicted, as we are, by sensibilities born elsewhere,
But borne, nevertheless, into an Ancient Eden.
Mar 6, 2014
Mar 6, 2014 at 3:29 PM UTC
Did you see it?
That brother can do it
oh yes indeed he can,
like a young trout at dusk,
in a sweet still lake,
like a pouncing cheetah,
from many yards out,
like Wille May in the outfield,
for a soaring high ball,
like the most monstrous of great whites
rising from the dark depths & exploding
out of the ocean seal prey all clenched
in its merciless jaws,
like a cobra after transfixing its quietened mark,
like the most glorious of lithe pole vaulters,
like the most dandy of sweet young gymnasts,
like the great bull Magic Johnson springing over all & slam
dunkin' that rocketed ball as the whole court is helpless & the
people rock & its more points on that board,
that brother did it
just tore that Southern Hate right on out
of their White Pride hands,
brother just plain did it.
Mar 2, 2017
Mar 2, 2017 at 11:04 PM UTC
With bowed heads we genuflect before the wicked grin of the guillotine.
In my mind's eye I go to parlay with the Grim Reaper.
He is seated before me- cloaked in obsidian shadows
His ivory bones offensive against the inky darkness
His scythe glints in the candlelight
its thirst for blood and flesh almost palpable.
His laugh comes as a rumble of thunder
Punctuated by the cracking and shattering of glass (and my sanity.)
He leans close across the table, transfixing me in terror,
staring directly into my soul. He who has no need for breath breathes -
and the smell of earth and death and decay and rot and ruin
tells me that my pleas for pardon will not be heeded.
Snapped back into reality, I close my eyes in defeat.
Suddenly- the angry serpent-air
hisses
and is parted.
Garish crimson stains ivory cobblestones.
Silence.
Nov 14, 2013
Nov 14, 2013 at 12:27 PM UTC
They crest the white foam in perfect formation,
With purpose and strength they flap as they glide,
Fixated ahead in assured navigation,
Each trailing the other with nowhere to hide.
Then all of a sudden with no clear command,
They veer on some path and head for the sky,
Soaring the waves like a mischievous band,
Riding the thermals with a predatory eye.
No longer a pod but single torpedoes,
Spotting their quarry they launch with intent,
Diving at speed like rapacious mosquitoes,
To feast on that glimmering shoal now hell bent.
Again and again they dive to then surface,
Their sacks full of loot hidden from sight.
Transfixing, majestic, nature's true circus,
The curtain then falling as they once more take flight.
Florida's Pelicans, a marvelous sight,
Gregarious and cheeky with us so entwined,
Once hunted and culled as merely a blight,
Now in our hearts so fully enshrined.
Jul 5, 2023
Jul 5, 2023 at 10:06 AM UTC
Farouche people cast lethal ephemeralities, they are skittish howitzers' foreseeing
Tamper and muck around with us
Proceed please, gain potency
Address prowess, then once you've coward in a corner, strain to flee
Michka was languid sáwol (OE)
The bullied ******* not teeming by any means
Always a vexed mind, full of pillage grim
Every day the same prediction
Once the bruises turned healing yellow, they'd regain their blue gray
He walked the plank and served the steak
He dilapidated himself in vile rain
Gained no aplomb confidence
Only verbal abuse that strayed persistent
Only mental and physical wounds surfaced
Strolling down the broken sidewalk of crumbled concrete
A noticement of condemned buildings
6235 Mirnerva LN
Visions he had entering, visions he had slaying
Of the civil and socialble
Torture to the dependable
He walked inside to leaks and floor holes
Ancient 1920 furniture and stoves
More than one stove that could hold coal
To burn bodies of evidence made him feel like gold
He had a place of his own
He mirrored himself as a transfixing carver
Despersing of the bully fools
No more drubbing routs' after school
Dec 9, 2010
Dec 9, 2010 at 6:38 AM UTC
The shadows of the trees speak to me with a fearless futility
A chant to step into the transfixing traffic with a tripping twist
Fall beyond the black burnet of their being and see the beguiling burden unfold:
The sky encroaches tightening its grip, making the mind slip
Painted with a varnishing brush dipped in tenebrous charcoal
It drips a tear that plummets a ripple on the skin
A betrayal of the collapsing concealment
A desolate obsidian smeared beneath the eye, across the hand
It heeds the damage of a veil of soot and the pallid bruise of the soul.
A tangled cloud unravels from the pipe like the hum of a spinning fan,
A nocturnal whisper. Its sheen of banishment masked by the drown
Of sirens as two carnations drift down the charcoal water of a river.
Jun 18, 2011
Jun 18, 2011 at 2:50 AM UTC
Women are all such beautiful creatures
Transfixing us with their sensual features
Beautifully crafted for the eyes of man
We are hynotised by the wiles of a woman
We love the way that you wiggle
Especially that **** adorable jiggle
And that way you know how to tease
Every man becomes weak at the knees
A lady bewitches us at her own leisure
We become slaves to her very pleasure
For what would we ever do without her
Our species could not go any further
Seeing her in her splender, we rejoice
We respond to the sound of her voice
And with that kiss she will give
It gives us that reason to live
So for women everywhere, we celebrate
For to us very men, you are our fate
We crave to feel your own loving touch
That is why we love you so very much
Sep 4, 2010
Sep 4, 2010 at 4:50 PM UTC
It ain't easy...
Transponding...
Transfixing...
Trance...
What will those geese do when I see them again?
Will they still look at me as the tiger?
I sang to them.
What do they think I'm Leonard Cohen now,
Just because I sang Like a Bird?
What they should know is I ain't no tiger,
They're gonna have to go farther up the food chain.
I could **** a goose.
I could massacre their whole clan before lunchtime.
And now I just sit in my bedroom as the sun rises behind walls of thick cloud...
And they honk.
Maybe they're bored...
They ought to be calling reinforcements.
I would probably never hurt a goose.
Most likely not.
May 16, 2015
May 16, 2015 at 7:28 AM UTC
"Dear Diary" I wrote at the top of the page. I've turned to these wretched pages because I have no one else to turn to.
I have been wanting to runaway for sometime now. I have an estranged sense of nostalgia towards places I haven't even been to.
Did you know that you shattered my heart? That a shard of ***** lacerated my ribcage? & so I've concluded...
That perhaps one day, when I'm 22, I will cut my hair short and runaway to new york and try to find a big sweet apple they've always talked about.
I will disregard my birth name and I will end up telling everyone I meet that my name is Aphrodite, but I am not greek nor am I a lover. I'll write poetry. The good poetry and the bad poetry. I'll write poetry the way you called your quits, blank eyed and confusing. And may the next person to make my heart glow, be just as kind as you, minus the volatility, equivalent charms.
Laugh as sentimental as 100yr old harpist.
Smile as transfixing as a dim star, on a moonless night
Eye's as beautiful as the sun..
But just as the sun, I never could stare to long.
Dec 10, 2013
Dec 10, 2013 at 10:25 PM UTC
Learn, absorb, wonder, discover, but where?
Yearning to be where I wasn't before
Look for warm, lively, or simply for fair?
Bitter and sweet, unknown wonders in store
Passion, beauty, burning into my heart
Sleek silhouettes of towers capture my soul
Gorgeous grandure beckoning a new start
Hidden marvels calling me for a stroll
People, joyous and seductively free
Joy of life vibrating through old steep streets
Mysterious Douro, transfixing me
Majestic wild ocean your shoreline meets
The wind through your alleys whispers my name
Portuense, setting my heart aflame
Jul 14, 2011
Jul 14, 2011 at 3:57 AM UTC
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width: 100% !important;
/*Detaching and relatching,
* ever-shifting retinas
* singe the .7mm LCD,
* tattooing their reflection
* onto a surface of light.
*
* Transfixing and addicting
* but cold, barren, and void.
*
* Push ourselves inward,
* never mine the diamonds or the coal.*/
background: transparent !important;
/*This inane information tundra;
* atmosphere of global consciousness;
* comforting blanket of the uncanny.
*
* Sedated meditation works
* towards rattled harmony.*/
float: connected nirvana.
/*Plug-in, shoot-up
* Log-on, nod-off*/
display: none !important;
}
Jul 11, 2010
Jul 11, 2010 at 7:15 AM UTC
Two ultramarine diamonds
Glazed like hailstones
Transfixing and adoring
With the courage of a thousand monarchs
Peering with an immortal persistence,
Like the twirling whitecaps of the sea
And how they never forget to kiss the coast goodbye
Petrifying all nerve endings
In every gap
And every adjacent membrane ofaxons
In every gland and cell
Recepting molecules of hunger and thirst
Set aflame by
Pummels of my infant and eager heart
Both silhouettes swaying in greed
Yearning, longing, speaking,
Pleading with a meek caress
For incessant spasms of arousal,
A stifled sob made of silk
Hushed by the storm of a lull
Sapphire globes fasten once again
A duet of mercy
Cupping cherub faces
Tracing trails of promise with settled fingertips
Down chilled spines
And frozen echoes
Tangled in a warmth never wielded
Nov 26, 2013
Nov 26, 2013 at 7:24 PM UTC
Sat in the room at that back of the house.
Where all my secrets hang out.
They're hanging about.
Somewhat strung.
Hiding inside my vacant head.
T.V. flashes colours of psychedelia,
Beatles concert in full swing.
Hopped onto the merry-go-round.
Tagged on for the ride,
Thought I'd scrawl a word or two,
Before more memories invade my sorry head.
Sad because, you're gone.
Now, only tired memories hang out in my troubled head.
You know what baby, one day we'll both be dead.
I'll still have cupid's ******* arrow transfixing in my heart.
Until the day, my mortal coil sprung, at the setting of my silent sun .
(C) Livvi
May 2, 2014
May 2, 2014 at 7:21 PM UTC
There were stitches up her leg
watching her walking slight ahead
crossing the street as the skin slowly pulled apart at her seems
transfixing crimson drops
they would fall slowly I thought
I blinked
Just a tattoo nothing more
the blood was gone, I looked away
She turned the corner, I waited for the bus
I watched the edge of her skirt disappear around it
like the coat tails of the white rabbit
looking down, eyes closed
what would that be like...?
A rabbit in a waistcoat skirted the edges of my thoughts
the wind teased cool fingers at the back of my neck
Feels like flying doesn’t it…
A disembodied voice chipping away at my daydream
I ignore it, instead conjuring a hole under my feet just like Alice
What is? my voice answered for me
another chip breaking away
I started down the hole
The wind… when it blows like that it feels like flying
I wished the voice would leave
I wouldn’t know I’ve never flown…
Neither have I…
I could hear the voice smiling
a crack of light broke through my daydream
I turned away from it catching a glimpse of blue coat tails just around the corner
Why is it like flying then?
another chip…
Why isn’t it?
Go away I thought bitterly
the bodiless voice laughed softly
cool air teased my neck, back of my shoulders
I heard the bus pulling up to the stop
Be seeing you then?
My daydream crumbled away into reality
I opened my eyes still looking down
No…
the only answer
Hmm… that’s too bad
Another pause
I looked at the bus doors opening to admit me
Well goodbye then… Alice…
It was smiling again
I shivered, turning to put a face on the voice
Dress it in something more then the sound of its smiling
No one, I stood alone with the breeze kissing my skin and smiled a little
Goodbye… Cheshire cat
Mar 13, 2013
Mar 13, 2013 at 7:44 PM UTC
His eyes were stars in the night sky,
with constellations swirling as nebulas formed,
a mix of the most beautiful, vibrant colors
that collided with each other,
creating a black hole that ****** me in
and captivating me,
transfixing me into stillness.
A statue.
Those eyes paralyzed me
like the ice his eyes were made of
and the stars that created their beautiful glow.
His lips were like scarlet velvet,
soft, full and perfect.
They kissed me with the utmost gentleness
like they were handling a china doll
and as if I was fragile and breakable,
a glass menagerie.
They curled into a smile so sweet and so genuine
that he made me smile no matter what mood I was in.
His hands were unimaginably gentle.
Callused but smooth;
the hands of a guitarist.
They caressed my cheek ever so lightly,
creating an electric spark where his hand once had touched,
an ever so small electromagnetic field.
His hands held mine,
a perfect fit.
As if they were made only and purely for mine.
Him.
Making my heart stop for a second
or turning my heart into a propellor,
breathing in, out,
in,
out,
so fast I feel dizzy.
His humor, one of a clown,
his kindness, one of a kind.
His cuteness, like a puppy,
and his protectiveness,
a part of him that I am very glad for.
He can make time stand still or speed up
until the days and nights run together,
one after another,
one after another,
so quick...too quick.
He is forever on my mind
like a song stuck on repeat,
a broken record repeating my favorite line
of my all time favorite song.
Like a Black Veil Brides song
that someone won't turn off,
yet I don't mind,
because I like it,
just like I like you.
You are he
and she is me.
Nov 5, 2014
Nov 5, 2014 at 8:49 PM UTC
The purity must be cast aside to see God equal in all people.
For all are unified in station and wealth in rank before God, none more righteous nor more rich than another.
In this case God enriches all of us in our lack and withholds in our fortune.
For none is self-sufficient without Him.
Purity is more about the strength of desire.
It is easy to remain pure when its fires are not enflamed.
What does purity and righteousness hold?
It can only be detachment from the world.
The "world" meaning that which takes us from our Lord.
Is it right to delight in purity?
It seems so empty in a world with so few single women my age that doesn't have kids nor does drugs.
I actually don't even know one. Really.
I'm pure for myself then only?
To delight in my righteousness to only belittle the feeble?
To stand as a noble eunich with the ****** 40 & 50 somethings?
If I'm pure, I have no home in the dust.
I have no friend to share in purity.
Purity is outward.
How do I perceive reality with outward orientation?
Pure ways become my mantra.
Not just chaste eyes, but a pure body.
I become enslaved to worship my own body.
My outer body has no significance to me.
I smoke cigarettes to fight my eyes from transfixing on it.
I postpone workouts until not my body but my energy is in need of vitality.
I tattoo my skin to break the idol of the body.
Feb 2, 2021
Feb 2, 2021 at 4:36 AM UTC
Water white like ghosts falls
into glass. Upended,
sickly-thick liquid encircles –
a new, easy-access-brand elixir
for an old kind of contamination.
Burning more than should,
corroding boils and poxes
as it slides, falls, digs deep –
scoring chasms and lines
while falling – unanticipated –
a novel redress for an ancient affliction.
Internal temperature rising as fast as
awareness falling, composure sedate
but sentient, growing distantly fearful -
even though the snake oil accompanied
guarantee: “Whatever ails you.”
Wonder, I, if said whatever is said oil,
mentally transfixing that fast-falling cure
into a clever-cruel kind of contagion –
thoughts worsen as poison of aporia slips deep,
and hands-to-throat, digits dig deep –
archaic antidote; a brutal purge, and
mangled boils and liquefied pox
Explode
in a burning sea rising, aflame and
charring as experience-dictates-should,
while sickly-thick water-white ghosts escape,
screaming in exile –
face-to-floor, thoughts rod-grounded,
awareness – gone, snake oil - purged,
malady - sustained.
Jul 4, 2010
Jul 4, 2010 at 12:24 PM UTC
There once was a poem
Of which was spoken
Then taken away
Never to be heard of again
Jowl pressed against
Oven rack
Eyes placid
as a holy cow
Breathing whispered line
Giving
Taking life
Incantatory orbs sworn
Coursing forming
transfixing
The torpid
Into tor
One last time
One more
Poem
Hers
And hers alone
Conjured up rungs of rack
Her impromptu ledger
Bowed
By the weight the weight
Of galloping mouthed axes
Running full speed past
The rush the crush
Into the margins
A clever trick!
Gone from us
Handful of whitened knuckles
Inside usurped fist ******
******* no more
Open to the magnificence
She had had
All there ever was to be
For a time
Jul 9, 2014
Jul 9, 2014 at 6:32 PM UTC
Are they strictly local?
I wonder what, of her inspirations,
she’s seeking through the Sun
Whatever it is,
It is something
I walk away again.
Hollywood again.
He leaps down unto the glossy sheen
arms out back straight chin raised
No.
But I’ve been trying.
Or, softly pirouetting Fred Astaire
Tuxedo’d tails like bird’s wings
hang low on the body
Cuz I’ve been trying.
In turn, she’s losing the Sun.
It rests like a clear bubble
Large, between.
Amorphous.
It is,
in as much as
It isn’t.
Is she done yet?
I saunter over.
No.
Where you from?
The phone rests precariously
On the metallic lawnchair,
filming.
I have to move my seat.
LOUD is always the giveaway
What I’ve just realised is that
I have never heard my neighbour laugh.
Criticisms anchor,
Bewildering.
I wonder does
she bounce awake,
up and into the early morning
tap dancing?
An off-key bleat pierces
before even the coffee beans
can be ground down
For a long time I look out the window
standing in the place of
any and all distractions.
Pinned to the wall.
Can you ever leave Hollywood?
But, here I am again!
Splat.
I mean, really?
Since I was 17!
No.
She’s practicing her lines to the
Atmosphere.
Thrashing, like so.
Suggesting, rather.
She,
Seated in the other, resorts to
Choreography.
There she is,
Transfixing.
Again,
another one.
Sep 29, 2021
Sep 29, 2021 at 12:31 PM UTC
I’m sitting in the dark and the sound of the rain falling is just right and silence settles to whatever volume is current. And as you become increasingly aware it’s like all of the oxygen is ****** out of the world and yet you can still breathe.
The power in that grasp. Glimpse. Moment of ‘being’. An active moment of happening now. The current. And it is so titillating, mesmerizing, and transfixing that you suspend time to really see it. It presents itself in many different ways and oh how truly altering they are.
I love the ones with no talking. No words anywhere for me to hear whether I want to or not. Just colors, sounds, textiles, smells. A unique constantly changing thing.
God I love these moments and I intend to go back but the need to express it overtook long enough to use words to write this. I am now disengaging.
Feb 10, 2018
Feb 10, 2018 at 10:53 PM UTC
The leaves have fallen, the trees are bare,
snow is falling, gently swirling, in this Winters wind.
The birds are silent, the air is still, no song to lift a sluggish eye, or warm a frozen soul. I walk alone through silent streets, braving the snow clad wind, and the icy winters chill. I walk, breath frosting out in icy patterns, crystallized, hanging there, for fleeting moments, before they fall and float away, borne away by a gentle breeze, an icy touch of soft farewell. The leaves are spinning, ahead, behind. I walk through, scattering the subtle patterns of wind and leaves, to create a swirling maelstrom of snow and wind, left to find their way in the evening dark of winters day. I see her face, in the brittle leaves twisting in the breeze, and in the icy snow drifts, piled against a winters tree, features soft and crystalline, illusion drifting from place to place, born along by winters breeze. I watch her, unseeing eyes shifting, seemingly, from place to place, movement of these subtle snows. I watch her, numb, my eyes pinned to that illusion of wind and snow, a subtle torture, amusement for the gods delight. I watch her, hands straying, falling, reaching, questing fingers searching, finding, clasp that chill uncaring steel. I raise my hand, white and cold with winters frost. I see her. I know her. I am lost in this winters chill, grief and pain numbing me, stilling me, my heart is cold inside my chest. Fingers white, frozen, hand numb, rises, cold steel shining in frosty light. I am frozen, still, eyes fixed on shifting snows, her face still, sightless eyes hold mine, transfixing me in frozen space, eternity held in sightless eyes. I see her. I see her. I....know...her. She smiles gently, eyes soft on mine, black hair stirring in gentle breeze. I........see.......her. She sees me. She sees me. I close my eyes. I know her. I.............know.........I see..........I see her sanding there, pale, smile frozen on icy face. Waiting for me, alone, cold with the chill of uncounted winters. Waiting for me. I go. Goodbye..........I.........am.........going..........My frozen heart waits beyond, still, numb,....waiting. I am going. I am filled with love and loss and grief and pain. I am going. Do not.....mourn.....do not.....grieve.....I am going, the winters lie heavily, a frozen weight on bleeding shoulders. I am going. do not.......mourn me, for I go to peace and a frozen heart.
Nov 5, 2014
Nov 5, 2014 at 6:52 PM UTC
why, when asked who the most important person in their life is, do people say their mumdadsisterbrotherhusbandwifesiblingcatfriend? Why do they answer that it is anyone except themselves? because let me tell you one thing;
it's you. it always will be.
it's your heart that keeps the blood pulsing through your blue-river veins. your lungs keep you breathing, no matter how painful each breath is. your legs move you from place to place, although, really, you never even want to be there in the first place. your arms have held loved ones while they have wept and your fingertips have produced transfixing music that has caused them to weep. your liver has kept you alive on the nights where you tried very hard not to be and your stomach has demanded that you really must eat even when you try to tell it, and yourself, otherwise. your lips have brought fireworks to those of others and your eyes have been a glowing fire through the deepest of nights and darkest of times (even if you think they're a terrible, in-between sort of colour)
it's you. it always will be
Dec 26, 2014
Dec 26, 2014 at 9:40 AM UTC