"turbulently" poems
Selene.
By the sea, I have been staring,
at your bright colours change.
Erythematous, murderous intentions of
a disease disseminating
on your surface.
The slow, penetrating anguish
tearing the guts,
a one-sided, disdained,
newborn sadness,
I am welcoming in my arms.
On the operating theatre of life
white and now dead moths,
stillborn butterflies
inside the flesh removed,
drowned themselves in a pool of blood.
They, an absurd joy
that never stood a chance
inside this cyanide prison.
Portals of loaned,
disillusioned happiness closed.
The liquid that raced turbulently
through my vessels, drained on a half-filled
with tears palette.
With menacing, impasto knife-like strokes
on the body
Morpheus painted the shadow-covered moon
with memories that refuse to be forgotten
from purulent, open wounds.
'Those worlds you will (never) see.
The people you will (never) meet' he said.
Soul chemicals eroding
the behemoth sky,
as the paint dries out.
Ashes of my Dreams (Not) Achieved,
astral remains;
everything I silently kept inside.
Jul 28, 2018
Jul 28, 2018 at 11:31 PM UTC
At Nineteen,
I bore witness to the live Birth of my Son.
He was adopted out via Open Adoption
to a very nice Family a few Hours away in Ukiah.
I'm still in contact with them, I get pictures every six Months
and I'm very happy to also be able to see Him every so many Months.
At Twenty,
I lost my Father. I found him on the floor and called 911. I paid for his Cremation the next day.
It was what he told me he wanted; his ashes are in a box in my room.
Perhaps even moreso than he was my "Father", he was by best Friend;
for better and for worse.
At Twenty-One;
my Girlfriend of Five Years, who was also Mother of the aforementioned Child, and I
broke up on Friendly terms. Now she lives about 200 miles away.
We're still cordial, and I'm glad we still speak.
Eternal Allies are rare to come by,
to say the least.
So far, Twenety-Two has been rather turbulently eventful, as well.
Between Family and their lack, personal choices and relationships,
and the furtherment of my Self as well as my expressive Capacities,
it's been a hell of a Twenty-Two so far,
to say the least.
All of these things leave me with an Understanding
that I cannot ever judge anyone, for I know not of their struggles
and that no One can ever truly judge anyone else,
for the same reason.
Through all of this, I feel evermore
that this Life is ******* great,
and that's no sarcastic remark:
Life
is a trippy and tumultuous Journey
and I'm thankful for this opportunity
to experience this Holiest of Realities, to say the least;
though it is a Lesson in Humility, to say the least.
And thus:
Thank you for reading my writings.
Thank you for taking time out to read what I have to bring forth.
Thank you for existing and expressing.
Blessings upon thy Paths;
wheresoever you've been
wheresoever you're going
thank you just for Being.
Please be your Self; you owe it to your Self,
for that is all you ever have, to say the least,
and so, once more:
Blessings upon thy Path.
Jul 28, 2013
Jul 28, 2013 at 8:24 PM UTC
I have been insulted for sharing out
my peasant songs, pataphorical poems,
on the table of the cultural patriarchy
the insults have come in a serial flow
into my dark soul a basin of condemn,
it began as my duty to take my poetry
to the bottom of African latrine,
followed by volley of insults like ;
cerebral panicking insensitive idiot,
a gifted ******** of arsolian poetry
One other contumely went aboveboard
to announce me a better dead ******
i wondered how much one can ****
without erstwhile duty of creation,
now i have been condemned in starkness,
to be a beautiful walking ghost
of William Seward Burroughs,
Uhm! folly of eugenics, No! i am wrong,
this accolade, i seriously decline to take,
my innateness is not wounded at all,
by anything near to genetic disorder,
i am only conscious of my luckless past,
of Slavery,colonialism,wars,re-colonialism
Then poverty spiced by open ridicule ,
And partly trenchant and half-honkey tease
firmly fuelled by racial intolerance,
i have now been mistaken in awry,
to be a looming ghost of William Burroughs,
and i am not
i am purely my self,
without imperious wide blood
any where in my by black veins,
i may easily have chimpanzee blood,
Flowing turbulently through my vessels,
but no tincture of white blood in my zoo,
Burroughs broke his virginity with a *****
i have remained a ****** for three decades,
As African virgins marry only virgins,
Burroughs was the king of underworlds;
chasing lessbian prostitutes and gays,
to quench his mad erotic appetite
the turf in which i am a better sham,
Billy was a serial criminal, ever on the run,
my soul is clean as new pin,
in fact gorgeously dressed
in the unique royal attires
of as a Bristol pin merchant,
Billy worshiped crime and drugs
my piety is anchored on freedom of all,
Billy went to Latin America for *****
i have been there to mourn Gabriel Garcia,
the Nobelite who was alone in deathly solicitude
Billy never lifted a finger against tyranny,
my arsolian poetry is center-pieced on nothing,
other than African chantings for liberty,
freedom for the white and black peasants
perhaps to unyoke themselves,
from the yoke of vicious human avarice.
Sep 9, 2014
Sep 9, 2014 at 9:03 AM UTC
You and I grew
up by the outskirts
of their society, with no other
choice, but to observe…
We pretended to hide
from a cruel
and indifferent world,
that was never looking
for us to begin with.
Turbulently, we grew
into erratic teenagers,
pillaging our world
with a vengeance.
My youthful rage dulled
with the waning of age, but
you never ceased to seethe.
I stumble by a lake
to find you there;
flinging pebbles to break
the surface, distorting
the reflection of yourself
you’ve never wanted to see.
In the settled water I greeted the
uncertain face, solemn as I was
to share a likeness…
And hesitantly I asked you
what brought you here.
We both said nothing
(we knew you had nowhere else to go)
All we could tell the world
they stole from our tongues;
The reflected face distanced her glance
from you, an aloof and bitter woman
of the rest of society,
and beyond your bent knees
the water had never settled,
revealing cryptic shards
of a jigsaw puzzle face.
Yet in that water I had drowned
a part of myself;
my animosity, and pride
against a mechanical world
that never pitied me…
Your vengeful heart
stayed forever smoldering,
never forgiving a careless god
that let you suffer, blinded
by the walls surrounding
your lesser world.
Nov 4, 2011
Nov 4, 2011 at 11:48 PM UTC
The Cannibal’s dream and the inverse conclusion
Twist of the seam, sunken scattered illusion
Shouts of the spy fastened tight to the pylon
Sacrifice sweating; bygones can’t just be bygones
Mustard gas moans, whip lashed in the fire
Cunning glass masters burned alive at the pyre
Miscarriage minister delivers the sponge-bath
Alive at the eve of divination, the wrath
Blasphemous cries vindicate putrid powder
Sweet crystal cradling, swaddling sheets on the shrouder
Arcane sessions in the cavern deep
Turbulently righteous ideas to reap
Divine purification at an alchemy flame
A zenith of nostrums, bad medicine, blame
Strip off the layers and chant benediction
A hand, from the mind, reaching out for conviction
Sharp swords of lead, heavy, shifting to gold
Sentient beings search for truth to behold
Excavate, deviate, a stranger to demonstrate
Colloquial séance with panic to elevate
Head leads body, a path of insurrection
The soul and the mind at war for correction
The crotches of branches, slits of the eyes
A crevasse of lonesome; wedged in, we writhe
Anticipating the sting that comes with the change
Of transforming the cave into a mountain range
Jul 14, 2012
Jul 14, 2012 at 1:04 PM UTC
I can savor
The taste of fear
Riding upon the wind
As turbulently
As your troubled mind
Seeks desperately
To understand the mortality of this moment
The life and death mechanics of reality
The realization
That we are to die
As evident of the staccato pant
Of your futile labour
Frivolous at best
Arouses a sense
Of ******* justice
Hard truths
Brought to bear witness of
Your infidelities
Your betrayal
Lies
Aborning of arsenic
Sputters froth
From your womb
Searing traces of bitterness
Cascades a corrupted truth
Transformed into an ugliness
That has become us
Two hearts that once beat as one
Cast fervently
Into a cold war
Unrelenting hatred
Reciprocated
Ricochet
Unmitigated threats
Wounds
That cannot be reprieved
How did we get here?
Do you even care-
To ponder the thought?
How
I once loved thee
A dream shattered
By the realization of now
But
The now I can live with
The thought of losing you I cannot
**** this relationship
Endure
I must
For the taste of you
Is the sake of me
My sustenance
I close my eyes
In perusal of happier times
When life was bearable
Abruptly
I'm jolted out of my reverie
By hilt of your scorn
Protruding from my chest
Animately
I touch
As if to confirm its legitimacy
A reason for its being
Overwhelmed by solemn peace
I collapse in passive supplication
And as she turns and walk away
Contemptuous
Of the final utterance
To flee my lips
I forgive you
I ponder
If she ever
Loved me at all
Aug 3, 2016
Aug 3, 2016 at 12:20 PM UTC
when our mind is full of great ideas
we want to write them down
yet there are times when we discover
that there is no connection from our brain
to all the instruments we use
to transcribe our flighty thoughts
to give them shape on paper, screen, or in the sand
sometimes it helps to pause a bit and reconsider
what we do really want to say
focus and concentrate
articulate precisely yet suggestively
our indomitable urge to formulate
the turmoil of emotions we may harbor
our wild ideas of revolution
the overbearing pain of loss and separation
grey landscapes of depression
attractions of dramatic suicide
also the joy and pleasures of deep love
of unexpected friendships found
where even angels fear to tread
the happiness of our children
the love we recognize
often too late
our parents have bestowed on us
et cetera et cetera
the catalogue of our themes
expands through our lives
so do the challenges
of how to tell the tale
it helps to aim for clarity
we have to let our instruments of writing know
which of our turbulently swirling thoughts
should earn the privilege
to become words
and be communicated
to people who
before they read our verse
have no idea at all
that we exist
Feb 6, 2016
Feb 6, 2016 at 3:58 PM UTC
I sit still and stare secretively at your fragile figure.
Your shivering skin screams while you sleep in your twin sized bed,
As your blight bones rapidly rattle with fevering fear.
Your exasperating eyes open to expeditiously escape your nauseating nightmare.
But
Instead.
You awake to a repulsive reality worse than your immense imagination.
My heartbeat exhilarates excitedly,
When the damaged door frantically flies open,
The shrieking sound of wood carelessly colliding with the wall,
Is intentionally ignored by sleeping ears dreaming in denial,
As I wildly watch him stormily stumble like a gigantic giant,
Into your room.
Your battered body quivers quickly like an anxious animal.
You are the petty prey and he is the havoc hunter.
You use your cobalt comforter like a shield, to protect your shaking skeleton,
As you try to hide from the morbid monster who sedately sleeps down the hall.
The sour scent of bitter beer fills my nose as he places a filthy finger on your trembling lips.
He tragically tears the blue blanket away, destructively destroying your shield.
His terrible touch turns you hard, like a stiff statue,
Resulting in fierce feelings of shame and guilt, to wash wildly over you like a titanic tidal wave.
He painfully penetrates and turbulently thrusts into your collapsing core,
Annihilating,
Your illumined innocence and your beauteous body,
As his monstrous moans carefully cloud your cries as he explodes like a boiling bomb.
Once he leaves your blemished bedroom, you savagely grab onto me.
"I wish I was a superhero, like you Spiderman."
He cries as terrified tears tear across his face,
Leaving salty streaks and creating secluded scars.
But I cannot protect you.
So I am no superhero.
I think to myself.
As I let you cry onto my stuffed shoulder,
The only thing I can do,
Because I can't talk.
I can only keep sinister secrets.
Feb 3, 2017
Feb 3, 2017 at 9:08 AM UTC
*Further down the river
is a quiet island,
my hideout in days of yore
when love as a narcotic
seeped in to my blood streams
coursing wildly to the beat
of my thumping heart.
Tides from the estuary
never touch its shores
waters are wave-less there,
nature is at her fecund best.
We rowed and rowed
but found nothing there,
turbulently lashing waves
told us a story different
from the one for long
in my mind encapsulated.
I stood for a moment, accepting defeat
and felt the maelstrom of time
swirling around, emphasizing on
the irrevocability of the things past.
From where does this pain come?
Once close to my heart,
the island in my mind's stream,
though I left behind and
swam forward not to look back,
is still there, though not here in space.*
Mar 9, 2014
Mar 9, 2014 at 10:18 PM UTC
Trees that are rising, with trunks fading to black,
Before you were woven from wood, now of the rocks that crack.
With you standing tall, and always the shade to rest my back.
From then til' today I could never repack,
All the sins, that you devour on track.
Since long I have not wronged by the stars of that song.
Maybe I should numb what was strong,
Because the silence of your breath becomes flat.
With leaves of wide shape and shining colour.
Reflecting the shadows and its silhouettes.
Home to different creature of its lore.
The furious, silent, and respectful.
Like the ever changing skins of your growing fruits.
From remedies, poisons, and delicacies just to fill.
Giving abundances of gifts but nonetheless it is you who takes it.
Time moves forward,
It is seen that yesterday is tomorrow,
The ebb and flow is very evident,
What was calm,
Turbulently testing today,
Gathering all its forces,
While throwing what is wasteful and foolish.
Feb 16, 2016
Feb 16, 2016 at 5:23 AM UTC
I miss your breath after
a few shots
breathing on my neck
Corroding my skin
Leaving wounds the shape
of your mouth
the size of continents
seeping down
in to my bones
like radiation ,
rusting them
grinding my knee caps
my elbows
shifting the tides of
my blood
your fingers sail down
my spine turbulently
I could feel arthritis
On your lips
Taste myself on
Your tongue
and feel the collision
of a car crash being
pressed against me
everywhere
May 28, 2014
May 28, 2014 at 8:55 PM UTC
*It will never be clear to me,
If stars have shadows,
Or was it the deep, dark night
Altogether, proud
Of its profundity?
If so, then
Why do I wait for you, you,
Who turbulently loved me?
How come each of my night
Has to be for star-gazing,
And yours an early sleep?
Why do I bother,
Staring
At your closed eyes?
Tell me, why do I dream
Ahead of you,
Miles, lightyears,
A future away?
Love, perhaps, is a journey
To contentment. It is either
I am looking for it, or, with hope,
Finding someone
Who will be contented
With what I have.
So, If I will do this, bravely,
Just this, just this one kiss,
Will you kiss me back?
Because if you do, dearest,
With an impenitent sweetness,
Then I would be running out of queries,
And it will all go down
To one last question, graceful,
Unfurling,
Which I’d rather not ask,
That I’d rather leave answered.*
© 2015 J.S.P.
Jul 16, 2016
Jul 16, 2016 at 6:31 AM UTC
Cacophonous waves smash the ever-breaking sides of the boat
And there is nothing but doom on th' horizon
Rain soaks the faces of men and women as the ocean rocks us ever so turbulently
Not letting go of the new wooden toy, she's found in her hands
The sails give way
The ship cracks and creaks
As water pours into the, now, frail frame that was once, long ago, so strong.
There's nothing but peace among the peoples; however, and this so delicately contrasts the violence surrounding.
Gripping crosses, Bibles, family, Love.
Love and Peace surround the peoples with rain soaked faces
There's light in the distance
And no one feels cold
There's light in the distance
"It is well with my soul."
May 6, 2014
May 6, 2014 at 4:39 PM UTC
A ship sailing in the pale blue
Waters of the placid sea;
We hold our lives and
Float in the world similarly.
Sometimes the moon enthrals
And the stars shine, its heavenly.
Other times the sea snarls,
And the waves thrash turbulently!
The challenge for us is to accept
Both occurrence with equanimity,
For the power that rocks the ship,
Is the same one that holds it steady.
And our faith will help us in
Overcoming every adversity.
Nov 17, 2020
Nov 17, 2020 at 1:16 AM UTC