"transits" poems
They bribed me with promises of Audis and poverty reduction.
A six-figure salary, insurance, and free weekends.
They lured me with Prada bags, Chanel Shades and scarves by Hermes.
Vacations in Nice, transits in Paris, and business trips to Beijing.
They said I could meet the Dalai Lama, Bill Gates and the Queen of England,
have wine with Sarkozy, break bread with Al Gore, and kiss Prince William.
They dangled real men, real love and post-marital affairs in front of me
and gave me dreams of seven husbands and no divorces.
They convinced me to grow up and walk across the stage,
and their promises made me smile as I crossed over to the other side.
Today, I lay in my hammock wishing they’d promised me a job as well.
Dec 12, 2011
Dec 12, 2011 at 11:22 AM UTC
They crawl hands and knees!!!
Lacklustered fanatic's,
Groupies of needleshooter's and powder transits,
Their noses they wipe off fairied dust!!!
Their skin fragile and delirious!!!
A spoon to copper boil,
Eyeglasses to split the sun ,
Sticky fingers to stop and go..
Bloodied toast!!!
They cringe their pearlies,
And wobbled by to and fro waves,
Their here for today,
Gone for tomorrow!!!
A vein full of sorrows!!!
A hitch hiker of fertile roads,
Though,
Thy load leadeth one down to the pit!!
Within millipede's of Spit,
To drippeth the argot that slurreth them!!
Taketh thy hector out of thy baggage,
Thou serf of emptiness!!
For thy plentiness thou seeketh,
Lies beyond the ark,
Behind the purple shroud!!
May 28, 2015
May 28, 2015 at 9:12 PM UTC
Continuous ebbs and flows,
Ongoing transits on the way home,
Nights of burned candles shine,
Gaining new insights all so fine.
Rainy days and espresso on the nose.
Afterglow outlines turned backs.
Trudging through piles of books,
Untangling webs of teachings-
Laughing through triumph,
Answering through ones and twos,
Thundering through the syllabi,
Information would gradually fly!
On nights you sleep distraught,
Nigh morning comes not for naught!
Stand proud in togas and caps!
Pressed flowers make for good bookmarks.
Riddled with nostalgic scents of days gone by.
Intrepid you stand as you close this chapter.
Marching onto the next page of your life,
Onto the edges of this pen shall leave a mark.
Jun 30, 2022
Jun 30, 2022 at 10:25 AM UTC
I stalk through the dark hallways
Drifting through remnants of a sun.
Spirals into vortexes, cascading shafts of light on
Brief transits inward, where time falters.
Forces push & pull and all around
The tide of the cosmos envelopes me,
Wading through the static sea
Waves come in crashing-
Laughter, screams
And yet, no sound escapes the vacuum
Jun 17, 2024
Jun 17, 2024 at 10:57 AM UTC
A room full of women and i'm the only male, should have a minor detail that entails
Last one to enter the room and the last one to exit
Different locations-principal stays the same.
Between airplane bathrooms and transits
The woman must be the first one that exits.
Any woman apologizing when you wait for them to leave first is not around the right men.
Dec 2, 2015
Dec 2, 2015 at 9:42 PM UTC
7,670 miles you said,
12,343 kilometres to be exact I added.
Yes, it is not fair!
It is not fair,
it is not fair of how
we just let the distance simply comes between us.
Been 4 months since I was laying next to you,
I cannot complain to these 18 hours of flight with two transits;
knowing that I am trying to make it home with you before the weekend.
Because years from now,
this will be a story-
A story of how a foolish traveled thousand miles to see her beloved one,
or a story of
long days and lonely nights,
lack of sleep and midnight dissertation,
followed by expensive airplane tickets and long flights
to make things work between us.
How can we live each day having intimately known the pain of 12,343 kilometres?
X, Reisedvn
Apr 28, 2015
Apr 28, 2015 at 9:10 AM UTC
Is there a God?
In the coldness
Within the breeze
Does God live?
In the underground
the entwined rumours
On my rebirth
The ashes spread
On the unkempt grave
God wasn't there
To whisper and talk
Inside the iced casket
Illusionary transits
When all turned and ran
The wind doubted the rain
The mystic of cold air
Touched my soul
Pierced my memories
It's all within us
Unending strength
To exist and resist
It's in the rythym
The silenced naunces
Granted meanings
Let life be life
A catch of floaty breath
The blighted depth
The divine is within
Unconvinced and alive
Reasoned and in-tune
Our life is a leaf
Green and bare
Free to give and bear
There is a truth
Inside the flashy rainbow
The smiling whole moon
Jun 26, 2016
Jun 26, 2016 at 6:58 AM UTC
summer pendulums
in pink from
pints of rainbows
scuttles, yellow, drop
fine strands of
honey in bins
transits of ochre
dead spill
wads like corn
hot and popped
in a bucket
brush loaded wet
recovers wall
shimmered wet
erratic and fast
ivy pullovers
race crazy leaves
volumes of cloth
wrap neutered
the wildest cotton
print detail
in Paisley
or frond
birds brown have
red berries as
cheeks
radiance picked
bright
in late autumn light
on our colour street.
Oct 14, 2016
Oct 14, 2016 at 2:15 AM UTC
Right now
foresight and wisdom
seems to be more
complex
than the fifth dimensional prism
It's a system
Finances provide answers
only if you can provide
their transits
their means of making
their planning and paining
So draining
Think of the time
think of the place
think of the meaning
that you will take
Why do you want it
why do you need it
what is the way that you will ask
why you will take what you ask of them to relate
It's simple
It's a system
Write it and roll it
that's what she says will fold it
Prodding
and planning
your productions and provisions
your margins and makings
It's a system
It's simple
It's not ones and zeros
You see
It's twos and threes
Don't you see
Be like me
Be like him
Be like
those three
You don't see
Plant your trees
they grow for fees
in twos and threes
Look
Take a step
Take a break
See your wealth
Make it break
Make it ache
Make it work
See the growth
Take the oath
Make it croak
Make it soak
Take a sip
Save the rest
That's the game
That's the play
See the wealth
It's simple
It's a system
May 20, 2021
May 20, 2021 at 5:14 AM UTC
This is my real talk, just hope you like it.
It's a bit lengthy, but give it a shot please.
✅
I live for the future I'll be making, who made that future which is my present?
Am I responsible?
Am I held guilty of the life I think is miserable to me?
I control my actions, though some things make me have no say in them, like they are merely ought to be, but are they?
I don't believe anything is written. We just rewrite everything assuming it's imagination; the power of The Mind, isn't it ephemeral? Everything? Time?
What is the destination we are colliding into? Should we move along every particle flying towards nothing? There is no real escape.
As I rabble the riverside and dunk my feet into its soothing, should I let go?
Move along?
Or might I stand still, held by my own weight down, like those pebbles in rest, nestling beneath me,
what is flowing has to return to rub against them, why should I meander aimlessly, come back to what I am?
Travel so far for what I am now. Searching for what I need everywhere else,when it is me I need to be.
Should I not proceed?
What is beyond me?
Or is there just me?
Because when I'm gone, there really is nothing for me.
I am and I was, but can I say for sure that there will be a me?
Something radioactive degrades, transits into another form. Is the time that's degrading, being formed somewhere else?
Is there another life exploding? To be heard?
Or to just be left as it is, untouched by our Midas one?
Is that other time nearby, few steps from our physical self; light years away,
Or is it yet a million years to go?
Because I don't have a million years to live,
To stay, to define my destiny.
The pain of the past won't leave so I'd have to,
To leave behind me,
My legacy.
Apr 26, 2018
Apr 26, 2018 at 2:44 PM UTC
and last year's
barometer
now transits
to a changing guard
a new season of four
shall play-out
on the planet's yard
Dec 31, 2014
Dec 31, 2014 at 9:05 AM UTC
a marble statue carved of stone
fluttery etches in malachite graves
sweet fertility frozen once roamed
this marble statue a beloved rave
wisps of cloth transits deposits stone flesh
slivers of cloth entails upon breath
sleek shoulders rising abreast
hence majestic tragedy rendered afresh
ivory veins, a ripples of waves
cracked splintered hopes endeared in stone
lost imaginations wandered restlessly, now shaved
for historical miracles etched forever away
May 22, 2015
May 22, 2015 at 8:12 AM UTC
Fall Leaves Fall
by Emily Brontë
<>
*Fall, leaves, fall; die, flowers, away;
Lengthen night and shorten day;
Every leaf speaks bliss to me,
Fluttering from the autumn tree.
I shall smile when wreaths of snow
Blossom where the rose should grow;
I shall sing when night’s decay
Ushers in a drearier day.*
<>
the summer visage long faded from caramel,
to a bastardized version of ugly dirt brown,
the streets empty of traffic and the silence
is a sadder shade of lesser peace, the vibrancy
given way to sharper clearer long division disagreement
my worrisome peaks when the trees
denuded, less shelter than ever.
no cover offered, we stand divided,
visible lines of demarcation,
unable to hide, from each other,
unable to hide, from our selves,
the briefer day transits quicker
into night’s decay, and the words
we utter and state,, hollow sounded,
have no echo ability, no resounding,
and we all grow silenced, partly in
shame, partly because partisan words
bring no gain, or the satisfaction of a
response that makes us say ah ha! you see!
the leaves crumble breneath tired treads
and forested footsteps long ago forgotten,
beige dust that the wind swirls, delighted
by its new power to spread its grounded
memories of human interference into
a coverlet of dust
this fallen solitude hurts me, for it is in
opposition to the joy gay screams of children
in to water running, the oohs and ahs, of freedom’s fireworks gloried colors proclaiming we are “one Nation under God, indivisible, with liberty and justice for all”
Nov 5, 2024
Nov 5, 2024 at 3:13 PM UTC
Night is your "Hair" with a silver there is no despair.
Arms are the branches your matter is a tree swaying in the ice cold breeze.
This fantasy is moving and jumping.
Held green light for the animals to walk threw to get a drink of water as the machines halt until the next day at noon.
Trees screaming for help a smell was contrasting all senses.
There alive as me and you are and with out them a planet turns to dirt and dust.
So hinder there strives is some what of a must busting there medal hulks are our diffusion sketches.
An artist only sets with a brush and his thoughts to examine a fair leaf fall his path of imagery ideas.
Off he goes to explore, its landing with an ideal he transits its area
Flairs filled the sky hammers slowed there strikes in boarders of agreement.
Bigger machines with solar panels came in with drones of saws for higher yields of wow.
A budget was none for there pockets were ships and canals.
The wolfs and deer cast a moon kind of spell with there egos on edge they'd beyond there hunger for flesh.
Men what's in our sky, I see its blue and crystal and mist in a breeze.
The men all ran fast he couldn't believe then the machines rusted every so instantly.
His plains were erased it was to be seemed and then on he could weep.
Nature is not like "Gold" it does bring money although it will slow breathing when gone.
So maybe this could become a song when paper planes are all that's left.
And medal doors and medals shelves.
Medal scathes your face when you open up your door.
And a melody is produced and nature smell like s'mores.
You hear it now at least for now.
The sounds of tents unfolding and being set up.
Because its summer again and smells of nature that are unbending.
Arousal your heart beat with astounding.
Your skin gets goose bumps the first sight of deer dropping's strange at fact no its just appraising.
Ants and stick also insects climb trees in fun surviving.
When a man in a beard came up hiking.
He seen this tree man was it becoming his exciting.
The insect move faster from this man of in freighting.
And hunker down and give off a sting of flight to give him something he would much not find he like.
Jun 10, 2017
Jun 10, 2017 at 2:43 AM UTC
Mottled paints mixed
cold wind on a palette
daubed on the gray sky
where cold wind transits
clouds
a touch of winter
people on the bridge
counting birds
silently.
Dec 5, 2017
Dec 5, 2017 at 10:33 AM UTC