"transmit" poems
I feel jailed in my own body
socially forced to conceive
emotionally sick
hurt within
Scared to transmit pain
in this age of depression
reminding my ancestors' culpability;
will I also hurt my descendant?
Struggling to finish a phd
in this age of precarity
thinking it might push me;
Or, will I fail it all?
Aug 3, 2018
Aug 3, 2018 at 4:46 PM UTC
Cast out were his alien dreams;
Aspiring and confident he did leave.
Fiery ground of thunder burnt his home;
As he alone cast out for that void,
perceived through his singular glass dome.
Adventure had caught him lonely
But peering out from his craft
his pupils did glow!
Circling fiery molecules hovering to and fro!
How could he now transmit and show
Reflection of scale small and macro!
Fumbling, his fingers did try
To articulate the machines
Imprinted of his native language.
"Calling Cpt. Crow!"
Sending the signal the results did show
A break in the wire and a fuse did blow.
Barricading that soul far and deep,
A minuscule solar flare
Emanating a glow!
And from that earth looked upward team and crew
Saw idle in that gigantic void a singular golden hue
Distant but true was the connection they all knew.
Oct 16, 2014
Oct 16, 2014 at 1:10 PM UTC
Bring to an end of this
Game of killing!
Bring to an end of this
Game of power to exploit the hard-up!
Bring to end of this
Game of censure each other!
Starts and look forward for opulence of all and sundry
Standing hand in hand
Working with head, heart and hand
No one can stand alone!
Give us a chance,
to live in concert !
Bring everyone closer!
Bring new trust to moving together!
Transmit and get going vocation for concord and goodwill!
Dec 24, 2014
Dec 24, 2014 at 5:19 AM UTC
What is it about this chase that eludes me
That runs away from me
That seeks to experience and then flee me
Until I get hijacked by another
Consenting to my own free fall into ignorance and bliss
Conditioning myself to transmit
Abundance without reservation
Until shot at the knee
But dragged along for a while longer
By the chains I so genuinely let bind me
And even before the wounds have healed
I don't stop running, I won't stop running
Resolute in a chase that targets me
I do so unconditionally
But you can't hijack my senses
I am not an experience or experiment worth having
I am not a temporary treat to be improperly digested and defecated
I am not an amber that ignites upon initial contact
To then be mediated or extinguished if the temperate is not right
I am not the holy water that you colonize
And shower with to cleanse you
To then invalidate that sanctity
When it falls down the drain
I am not a barometer that reliefs the labor
Needed to challenge the aberrations
Of your colonized and colonizing tendencies
I exist
Physically insignificant
As the earth that birthed me and will bury me
But eternal in essence
I am a permanent presence
I am an unforgettable imprint
I am your equal, no less, no more
The moment that we mutually acknowledge
Each other's existence
I have bound myself to you
From that moment...loved you unconditionally and eternally
And expect no lesser commitment
From you to me, or any other person you meet
And even after the wounds have healed
I don't stop running, I won't stop running
Resolute in a chase that targets us
We must unleash our abundance unconditionally
And when we leave
We will have given
Absolutely everything
That we had to give
During that time of our existence
Mar 6, 2015
Mar 6, 2015 at 8:07 PM UTC
A sparkling key shimmers in the haze beyond my nightmares,
A key to life made of light sets off a conquest,
Mirroring it is the key of the dark,
Which allows my red eyes of illusion,
to haunt someones death or life.
I have been looking for an answer,
Some truth that determines my paths, my ways,
While wandering about aimlessly,
I can sense the trillion elements
Getting entangled within my thoughts.
This silver city of my thoughts,
In in a chaotic state of order,
Spiritual pain breaches its walls,
Guilt and sorrow rain down, corroding the structures I so proudly built.
Where would I be, I wonder,
When this city finally falls?
Unknown, misunderstood,
Book of life, to which I hold the key,
What is the price of a soap bubble?
What is the cost of the first rain drop on the barren earth?
What is the joy in a newborn's smile?
Key to life,
These hands which are weapons which wield weapons,
Can you transmit my sorrow beyond the walls of my heart?
Unknown to life, ignorant of death,
Would you delude me with hope?
And then there is you.
With what reason do you smile,
with such gentle eyes,
Drawing me closer in the web of your love?
I think I can now unlock the door which was always locked.
Because you are the spirit I need,
The demon of pain encased within the angel of love,
You can provide my soul the element of pain and warmth,
Listen to my heart, o Goddess,
Transmutate what I was.
The hand of the Goddess echoes out,
Your love changing my past, present and future,
The burden of my sins replaced with joy,
Which key do I deserve to hold now,
Now that the heartbeat of destinies untold, beat within your womb.
The key to both life and death is slowly being born,
Growing its wings in the loving glow of your flesh.
Developing, as our bond reaches its peaks.
Key to life, I thank thee for this,
For invoking desire and passion in me/
Light and darkness consort eternally,
Angels flirting with demons,
The keys to both life and death hide now in the complex codes,
In the memory of DNA, surpassing time.
It is there sons of Adam and Eve, where my truth lies.
Jan 5, 2014
Jan 5, 2014 at 10:59 AM UTC
a quote of Bernard-Henri Lévy
~~~
the divers’ recovery, diverse,
shipwrecked salvage from different locations,
auctioned to the highest bidder,
tho the excised excerpts are exceptional,
none come to do the bidding,
for the provenance of words
belongs to all, and to none
~~
“so oft we trifle words,
expel them from the country of our body,
without passport and earnestness,
as if they were the cheapest of footnote filler,
day tourists, to be treated as leavings,
refuse for daily discardation,
barely noting their fast comings and faster disappearance,
but leaving not, a mark of distinction”
“the addicted pleasure words granted to we privileged few,
like every enslaved soul to the mind, which I am, I am,
evening dreams, midnight thinkings, sunrise seeings,
how can I infect and thus protect the young to the liberty
to love the crafted content of our human essence to better
comprehend that a moment caught on tape of our shared
words is a holiday, a celebration for the ages...and every molecule,
becomes a human tuning fork in concert, in pitch identical, in blood tainted with the simplicity of we are all the same, only words, this will transmit”
“murmur me, with soft downy charms,
these words discovered
recoursed and intended well to
pointedly offset and contradict
their very own tumultuous discovery uncovering,
tear tongue me
with calming, lapping word wages,
hymns harmonious and fine homilies,
a call, a request,
a bequest
to sedate my shrill life
“some cells, microscopic, preserved digitally,
aged to imperfection, thrash my eyes,
making me speak in tongues I do not recognize,
but fluently possess, no wonder there,
the memory place fairly empty,
room aplenty for passerby's and the imagery
of the vaguest of dearly departed
skin is not the only mot shed,
sloughing of woeful words”
“speak them slow and distinct,
for they arrive slow to you,
a trickling of refugees for your sheltering,
harbor them as full companions,
protected by natural law,
provision them well,
prepared and ever ready for a quick departure,
moor these words at the embarcadero,
for the next restless leg of endlessness,
which they themselves will inform you
will last longer than eternity,
long after there are no humans to speak them”
Mar 27, 2019
Mar 27, 2019 at 4:55 AM UTC
Loving someone is a confusing task.
Its that point of time when people don't really understand what they are upto.
Maybe its because, when we fall in love, we are not only driven by the modern world instincts, but also by traits which we've inherited from our earliest ancestors.
Its an amalgam of varying emotions resulting from numerous hormones.
We get involved in the act of love either to enrich out lives or to generate lives...its all logic.
However, the simplest act of expressing or explaining this strange feeling, appears to be a mammoth task for most.
We call it 'love' just like we call God 'God', but its just a verbal pronunciation for things we don't understand, for things which are much greater than just the words...
We say 'I love you' but we mean so much more, even the most beautiful poems cannot possibly explain it properly.
Hundreds of letters written by a lover cannot compensate for the lover in person,
10000 words cannot compensate for a simple gesture or an act of love.
Words are just sounds which transmit thoughts from one mind to the other,
But in order to touch the deepest core of the brain, which is the heart, one must go way beyond the thoughts, way beyond those 10000 words.
May 3, 2015
May 3, 2015 at 2:40 PM UTC
Born to an Italian father
and a dreaming,
wide-eyed American,
travel was my fortune,
my life before I chose it.
One late September evening,
my wide-brimmed
velvet hat and I
discovered
what it was to fly.
Surging through moving sculptures
of clouds,
riding the Pan Am night
flight to London,
I was nine, and I was hooked.
Peter Pan was my secret love then.
I had saved my loose tooth
for the English tooth fairy, wishing
and hoping for an English penny.
Scones and bridges from my books
were real now to taste and see.
I began to write then, mostly
in my mind.
That was how I lived then,
and still do.
Finding and forming
words within for everything.
A sacred artesian spring,
i Fonti del Clitunno.
Perfection at Paestum.
Stonehenge,
when one could still
walk among those holy stones.
The early church of Santa Sabina,
whose high windows
transmit light
through membranes of mica.
The abiding silence
of these ancient, sacred places
held me transfixed.
Continuity of time flowed,
like invisible honey,
all around me.
I wanted to taste it with my mind.
Know it with all of my being.
And one day, find the right words.
Aug 28, 2015
Aug 28, 2015 at 9:06 PM UTC
•<>•
*the addicted pleasure words granted to we privileged few,
like every enslaved soul to the mind, which I am, I am,
evening dreams, midnight thinkings, sunrise seeings,
how can I infect and thus protect the young to the liberty
to love the crafted content of our human essence to better
comprehend that a moment caught on tape of our shared
words is a holiday, a celebration for the ages,
scar of pleasure, a forehead Cain mark, scarlet letter of pride,
for this reliving of our stories retelling is the skipped beat
of our connection not born from practical reason,
but from truths we own equally and though reason says
mine, it is not, it is only to be yours when the sharing
resonates resonates resonates resonates resonates
and every molecule, becomes a human tuning fork
in concert, in pitch identical, in blood tainted with
the simplicity of we are all the same, only words, this will transmit*
July 4th, 2017
•<>•
"If you spend enough time reading or writing, you find a voice, but you also find certain tastes. You find certain writers who when they write, it makes your own brain voice like a tuning fork, and you just resonate with them. And when that happens, reading those writers … becomes a source of unbelievable joy. It’s like eating candy for the soul."
And I sometimes have a hard time understanding how people who don’t have that in their lives make it through the day.
David Foster Wallace
Jul 4, 2017
Jul 4, 2017 at 10:47 AM UTC
Do I sense them flying all around?
Just a possible outcome
of neurons criss crossing
into paranoia.
How do I transmit these frequencies?
If not I, then why you?
Each proportional stance,
attempting to make an advancement.
Sounds more like daydreaming,
but you hear me in your head,
Right?
Poke. Poke. Poke it goes.
Invisibility makes its stance.
The body can wither,
but thought
Now
Are outside and
Non physical
Forgive me..
I lost my train of thought.
May 19, 2018
May 19, 2018 at 4:46 AM UTC
sun scorches the earth,
grass get dry and turn to dust,
rocks transmit their strength,
trees drench in illusory rains.
Mar 15, 2012
Mar 15, 2012 at 10:01 PM UTC
Her eyes transmit, his nerve ends become receptors.
Blood pumped in to his veins demands"Bring her closer"
His nostrils flare, lips get swollen,a tingle spreads all over.
A hotblooded woman, instinctively sense such moments.
Her eyes are now lit up by desire, laced with refined lust.
And lips acquire a luscious pout,colored a shade deeper.
Her eyes wink involuntarily,can't hold it there, they droop.
In a sudden weakness of eyes,both touch the waterline,close.
He could hear his heart beat faster,mercury rise is palpable.
From his inner sanctum,the beating of the drum is now louder.
Her eyes flare in the tremors that rock her to her very roots.
Those eyes are wet,the erupting spring of lubricious intent.
It's out in the open, neither him nor her could now pretend
Furtive glances do not ignite anything other than coy smiles
Jun 22, 2017
Jun 22, 2017 at 8:36 AM UTC
We are like resonating strings
We crave what resonating brings
Matching our vibrations
With audiovisual sensations
Rapid reverberations
Expand and cross nations
Transmit like radio stations
These vibes deny explanation
We seek community
Where we can truly be
The truest form of “me”
Totally friction free
Grooving to the moving
Jiving to the beat
Dancing to the music
Feeling so complete
We are energy looking for a path
A certain resonance frequency
That could be conveyed with math…
But that would be indecency
Instead we name it differently
We call it personality
But to put it honestly
We are atoms in reality
A pattern, a frequency
A string reverberating
Looking to vibrate freely
Liquid, liberating
So go with your intuition
Follow the beat of your own drum
Find your ideal situation
Your part of the continuum
Jun 24, 2019
Jun 24, 2019 at 11:19 AM UTC
Imagine life as one long dark night
Inconceivable, a life sans Light
Heat came with the Light
The earth and the oceans
giant sinks made with great insight
The light turned green with leaves
giving birth to thousands of trees
that served to keep very clean
the air for life to breathe in
The trees also made flowers
and fruits as food in their bowers
to transmit the Light and heat
to diverse forms of hearts that beat
Recycling was cleverly inbuilt
Light, a genius to the hilt
But alas arrived on the scene
the naked ape in all his sheen
He was the proverbial monkey wrench
born with a fist that he would often clench
Although he arrived
late on the stage
the ape thrived
under the delusion
he was all the rage!
Morning and evening
this biped walked
tall his shadows
made by the Light
and foolishly thought
he was bigger than
The Light
With his puny little brain
this ape wore a blinker
And started to tinker
calling himself a thinker
Many inventions he
did make
his own unquenchable
thirst to slake
he never thought beyond
the me
for he was all
he wanted to see!
Now the modern ape dwells
in a world
of his thoughts
dark are his thoughts
for his mind is a closed sky
he lives unconscious
always in deep slumber
till the day he goes under
What a wasted life
he leads
Without living the life
of consciousness
given only to him
by the Light!
May 9, 2015
May 9, 2015 at 11:32 PM UTC
We cannot
Talk
Because we seldom share
Language,
The token tongue,
But still,
We conquer –
Communicate.
We transmit
Smiles and fingers
Pointing towards
Needs,
Wants
And what’s, “next,”
Egg cakes, soy and tea
For the son she’d never
Expected –
He who’d lose a tooth,
He who’d hold her daughter,
He who'd love
Eternity.
Jul 1, 2016
Jul 1, 2016 at 11:18 PM UTC
Polished black
granite floor,
like a man's
muscular ***
craves for you--
for the heat
your lotus feet
transmit on it.
Generous,
you gift
a linear array
of foot prints
diagonally
across it.
Following
close behind
I step aside
not to walk up on
your foot prints,
fearing diffusion
of the epigraphic
arrangement .
Inward curve of your feet
and shape of the toes
make vapor contoured imprints:
cryptic love messages
for my pining heart--
seeing the easy dance
of your feet ,
captured on the floor,
I imagine.
Oct 21, 2011
Oct 21, 2011 at 8:06 PM UTC
Caution, lost in the motion,
The tender lapse of green sea waves
The scent that has become you,
Sweet, sweet summer rain.
Like magnets, the polar pull, subsequent and building
The silent seize of your stomach muscles
Oh honeycomb.
Wrapped in cellophane, and the fleece in our ears
Your chin, the small hollow in which rests my head,
The cradle of your Adam's apple.
For hours I studied the color transmit in the darks of your eyes,
Of subtle change and shade
The soft, downy wool of your legs,
Warm blankets rescued from the creaking loft.
And your slow, sleeping breaths, of wind whistling through wheat fields
Shared dreams of barefoot gardens, sweet peppers in springtime
The gentle obstinacy of your fingers,
Extended forward in the thaw of shallow slumber.
The difference between oak and pine,
This nest you constructed, we lay in.
Nestled underneath the galaxy you installed, pin by pin.
Jul 11, 2011
Jul 11, 2011 at 2:58 PM UTC
so
people say that there are things
objects
abstracts
other people
earth's natural boundaries and bounties
that urge or maybe converge the mind
into action - though most probably think the act,
they reverie in what they dream as exceptional.
so
here is an ideal,
a prototype esteemed
like that emblazoned scrap of paper
with the birth names and letters
dotdotdot etc ...
so, tell me
are you aspiring
or laying deep
in the molds ?
will it buy you a ring for your trophy ?
will it make you prolific ?
we would not know happiness,
if only for the grand stories
told to us of our entitlement
to enjoy our senses. well,
look at this container,
you were perfectly crafted
to roam
with intention, across all spaces
conquistadoring and
expanding and
'destroying to create'
whatever the **** that means
and never learning not to rear our ugly heads
to the paradise
breastfeeding
us,
or to the processing
keeping us bred
nice and tidy.
so
there is the ambiguous person again,
and is there something wrong with monotony,
does it imply a good in consistence
does it lend translation to the static
(coming up and out of your roaring mouth;
he is an angel, i grant it worth.)
so
be inspired by feeling.
that dumpster over yonder is what it
is, as your lobes transmit
and lucidly self actualize ::
i am not here to convince anyone
but myself.
Aug 22, 2012
Aug 22, 2012 at 2:20 AM UTC
Rubicon on broadway
young and beautiful
in white Cadillacs and Buicks
audio pop gods transmit
preludes for the night
through hair waves
and satellite finger tips
Buried souls are only resurrected
among friends
at Shakespearian rags
at 10
in mind
with wine, no whine
oh mine, oh mine
no more golden toads in Costa Rica—
the planet is a metaphor for the body—
old spice and white gum
our everyday gospel
Jan 11, 2016
Jan 11, 2016 at 9:08 AM UTC
See the moon in all its glory
Underneath unfolds this story
Milky thighs mane of red
Aroused only word needs to be said
See the wise in devilish eyes
Touch me..feel this demon rise
Tasting lips twisting tongues
Between your legs a river runs
Nature brings out the beast
Adventure when our bodies feast
Tribal drum creates the beat
Sacred ancient ritual complete
Hold my hand enter my mind
Energy increases as we climb
What we become can't be defined
I am yours you are mine...
Unconditional union within an illusion
In each others presence we are the solution
Spells unleashed motion is magic
Collide connect chemistry ********
Transmit love vibes from the static
Tantra poses muscles spastic
More than a dream is our scene
Share with you my primal scream
Words I write to make you swoon
Waxing..Waning like the moon
In your presence hear me croon
From my heart this melodic tune...
Jul 7, 2024
Jul 7, 2024 at 3:54 PM UTC
I want to paint a picture with words
So you can see what I see.
Let you see all of the art work
That hides here inside me.
The darks and the lights that glisten
I want to share colors and shapes
And the music, so you can listen.
They make up my internal landscape.
My canvas is time, sight and sound
And the aromas of my world.
I want you to see the way the smoke
And all the clouds get curled.
The hills and the valleys have views
That make you want to be there.
The trees and the flowers delight;
All inside my memories somewhere.
The stories would keep you transfixed,
And the people, creatures of fascination
Would make you laugh or maybe cry
If you could only see my imagination.
I am using rhyme and meter to depict
As the artist in me articulates dismay
That these simple words must transmit
As I can only tell you about it this way.
Nov 25, 2017
Nov 25, 2017 at 11:39 PM UTC
Memories, corpses, decomposition
Making love to Earth’s arsenal genitals
A colorless tapestry, a scar unyielded
Well I only wished to eat a bowl
Of insomnia yet, in the youth of
Every midnight lotus; we eat each others
Emotions; drink each other’s thoughts
A banner of wordplay, a stream of cement
Transmit mystic oracles
Apr 8, 2012
Apr 8, 2012 at 7:15 PM UTC
I am sending a parcel on its wings,
Be careful when you open it.
It has full of beautiful things inside,
108 of waves, you are searching for.
The true colours you love, wrapped up in a blissful layer by layer, our doorway to knowledge path,
Expounding the absolute power,
As committed and receptive naturally.
The parcel I am sending you, to say how much I miss you.
Holding the heart- " the mystical heart",
Where you always remain, beautifully inside it.
I am sending a parcel on its wings,
Be careful when you open it.
The remaining just flower for you, the way the potters wheel is,
Opens up various levels of perception,
Everytimes puts out, when it silence, gets hurts.
I am trying to be flower for you to your potential, external and largely fortunately internal.
I am sending a parcel on its wings, be careful when you open it.
Better to maintain conducive atmosphere
Is called KAVACH, create a cocoon energy inside,
That simply transmit that you wish.
The parcel , it has , things inside, full of beautiness
That you had initiated into meditativeness,
generating receptivity , you transmitted into me,
In a short time,
as a doorway to knowledge.
I am sending a parcel on its wings,
Trying to praise your emotional integrity,
Whatever i send, be careful when you open it.
The beautiful things inside it, The thought
Quiet powerful transforms spiritual process.
Starting the aware of kundalini with the help of ganapati.
I am sending a parcel on its red wings.
Grounded bases of balance emotional issues.
For reduction of anxiety to energize your powerful spirituality.
With another parts of parcel on its orange wings.
Which help you to open up for the feeling of
Maintaining harmoneous relationship together.
Because of human beings being empowered with this.
To promote your beautifully things, self confedence and
To be continued effective manner in which you are travelling miles and miles,
See in this parcel.
I am sending a power with its yellow wings,
Be careful when you open it.
It has full of beautiful heart , the mystical heart..
On its green wings
Having full of love , kindness, experiencing compassion which you opened a balance of sympathetic love.
During our conversations.
I am sending a parcel on its blue wings .
When you open it carefully, you will find positivity,
Singing a song that you most love.
It has also contain a indigo one called 3rd eye
Helps you to visualize inside
And connected the way the path of spiritual heaven.
I am sending a parcel on its violet wings
The crown you will find,
When you open it carefully.
Enjoying with spiritual connections.
Creation of emotion, bonding meditative path.
Melt completely wisdom.
Leaving probably me alone
In the world a path spiritual
Where we will be reunions
Our soul again and again.
Dec 22, 2020
Dec 22, 2020 at 10:53 PM UTC
Tell, if thou canst, and truly, whence doth come
This camphire, storax, spikenard, galbanum,
These musks, these ambers, and those other smells
Sweet as the Vestry of the Oracles.
I’ll tell thee:—while my Julia did unlace
Her silken bodice but a breathing space,
The passive air such odour then assumed
As when to Jove great Juno goes perfumed,
Whose pure immortal body doth transmit
A scent that fills both heaven and earth with it.
1.4k
i first decipher
then transmit like a strumming messiah
wasn't i an emissary of dancing pianos a moment ago
i wish for free will
some dumb sounds keep me reverberating
and i think my subwoofer aches when i have to play screamo
i'm thirsty here
a maze of wires screaming for peripeteia
why must selfsame songs ceaselessly flow
how about something more ill
some sick stuff keeps me entertaining
the endless crowds the endless - wait, where'd they go?
oh, i was thirsty for sweat
and when you leave the room
just try to convince yourself
that i don't still boom
Jan 1, 2014
Jan 1, 2014 at 7:44 AM UTC