"twines" poems
A clock ticks time by tirelessly
Gears winding like twines of string
With quaint clicking quickly quieting
Until finally time stands still
Broken glass of a smooth clock face
Gears halting in deformity
Glistening shards like the sands of time
Ceasing in their downward flight
A once beating ticking heart of life
Now is lost within a sleepless night
Once a momentum to continued light
Now falls to the ringing silence's might
Time broken into shattered deaths
Until there is simply nothing left
Sep 1, 2015
Sep 1, 2015 at 8:44 PM UTC
Far on a lunatic sea, filled with tranquility and serenity, love and devotion, some flowers have made it their goal to bloom in purity,
Innocent looking, sweet and with a scent from amongst the heavens,
Tricking their foolish, mindless pray to come closer to them while seeping in spite and hatred, longing for revenge for their reflection,
A soft breeze accompanies the starlit sky, transient moonlight lurks through in a ghastly, bluish horizon as it rises to claim the heavens for his own once he had reached its fullest phase, ahh those phantoms,
Gone mad through a night full of punishment and bloodshed,
Before the petals can scatter in a dawning sky they seek for an intent,
Finally an attempt would be able to be made, a pity human draws near, weeping in sorrow and grief, causing them to shake excitedly
As then their roots would rush out of the ground and imprison him,
Twisted illusion of diversion, as they pierce through skin and bones, dragging his struggling, flailing body underground,remaining unseen
Feeding on his blood, using his corpse as a fertiliser they stay pure,
Moved for one instant, they dive deeper into the soil of this landscape
Hatred twines around them, causing disturbance in their memories,
It is alike to be left in an accelerating world of recurrance, everlasting,
Until the sunrise has dyed the sky in red and everything replicates
~ Umi
Mar 19, 2018
Mar 19, 2018 at 8:43 AM UTC
Your spirits strength I've seen,
More amazed, never have I been,
It reverberates from the lion roar,
Echo (echo) to the core,
Inside the mane you reside,
Yet ever so bravely; playfully you stride!
Swinging madly on Gods dreadlocks,
Your pendulum of ethereal knots,
Twines of love mirroring yours,
Synchronized rhythm, an unstoppable force.
Dec 15, 2014
Dec 15, 2014 at 2:25 PM UTC
I
Whispering winds whip the lake's eastern shore.
The towers above stand still,
gazing upon the infinite individuals below,
within the concrete maze; this city speaks to me.
It utters thousand of voices simultaneously.
Some unfamiliar to me,
all keep the labyrinth in mind.
Each voice different,
each voice similar in its journey
to conquer the labyrinth.
I too share the same goal,
but in the labyrinth, most don't know what I know.
II
The river twines around towers
creating the famous "loop."
The river's end irradiated for man,
until we flipped the flow in
labyrinth's past to avert windy shores.
The once river's end, now a beginning.
The labyrinth's bourgeois lie due north,
It's extravagance exemplified by magnificent miles
where whimsy wanderers flaunt status
and to the west and south,
an eternal siren's call resonates for all voices to listen;
urban decay haunts the once prosperous.
III
For only collectively can the labrinth be tamed
and imminent ends for those unworthy.
The lake, the river, its towers and people
shall never be neglected.
For only collectively can the labyrinth be tamed
and this labyrinth is all that I know;
this labyrinth is Chicago.
Apr 26, 2015
Apr 26, 2015 at 1:38 AM UTC
I'm half in love with you
And I'm half in love with him
But this story twines two ways
So where do I begin?
I knew you first
Loved him later
Emotion, confusion
Is this fate or
Something else,
To consider
Because my heart won't belong
To random bidders
I know this is cheesy
And probably cliché
But I need to find some sense
In all this fray
So bear with my confusion,
And my state of mind
I hope only for love,
And one not unkind
Oct 24, 2012
Oct 24, 2012 at 8:43 PM UTC
When you come to my thoughts
You are none other than the billowy embodiment of a reminiscent memory
and also a current everlasting longing
You are the memory of a being or idea
one can feel and remember vividly
but can not zero in on,
for you are the intangible
the winding wind
You are those spiraling twines that place intermittent along grapevines
You are the ancient scrolls from wise days before paperback
You are the spin in the reaching center of a handcrafted wreath
And within all these
individualities and collective,
Lies your scent comprised of multiple scents
You are the mighty togetherness
Your arrival to earth escaping from birth
gave these words to the minds of the kind
You are the winding wind who spins and twines, wreathes and scrolls who lands from time to time and when you do drop for a spell
This location of harboring landfall
is a day of new tradition,
the first step you take on new land on that new day
Becomes the origin of a new holiday
In my thoughts you are the mortar of the earth
Dec 19, 2018
Dec 19, 2018 at 9:21 AM UTC
Planks, splintering in solidity
Together twined in tedium
Curving cords of mated metal
Lost in ludicrous loops
Twines of tetanus protrude
Danger danger
Rising flying roaring floating
Above the stillborn trains
Arching acrid aerial arms
Lazy concrete spiral, neighbor snail
Inverse slide with railings
Rumble rumble try and grumble
Jitter in jumpy juxtaposition
Guts of grotesque giants
Flayed flawed under flaming flight
Blink away oblivion
Orange and omnificent, opaque concern
Useful hangnail, table scraps
Rise above
Shocked stillness soon stumbling
Ornamental oasis for the oracles
Unseen unheard untasted unsmelled
Unfeeling unused to understanding
Carry me across
Fly me over
Lift me beyond
Suspend.
Glimpse the unparalleled phenomenon
Ribs of steel, rain has parted
Seeping to the soul
Buzzing through the boards
Immobile, cradle in the wind
Twist
Take off your sunglasses
Be sure to look around as you pass through
Oct 20, 2012
Oct 20, 2012 at 10:30 PM UTC
My God, how perfect are Thy ways!
But mine polluted are;
Sin twines itself about my praise,
And slides into my prayer.
When I would speak what Thou hast done
To save me from my sin,
I cannot make Thy mercies known,
But self-applause creeps in.
Divine desire, that holy flame
Thy grace creates in me;
Alas! impatience is its name,
When it returns to Thee.
This heart, a fountain of vile thoughts.
How does it overflow,
While self upon the surface floats,
Still bubbling from below.
Let others in the gaudy dress
Of fancied merit shine;
The Lord shall be my righteousness,
The Lord forever mine.
3.1k
.
When a
twister a-twist
ing will twist him a
twist, • For the twist
ing his twist, he
three times doth
intwist; • But if o
ne of the the twi
nes of the twist d
o untwist, • The t
wine that untwist
eth untwisteth th
e twist. • Untwirli
ng the twine that
untwisteth betwe
en,• He twists wit
h the twister the t
wo in a twine; • Then twice
having twisted the twines of the twine,
• He twisteth the twine he had twined
in twain.• The tw ain that in twining
before in the tw ine • As twined we
re intwisted he now doth intwine
Aug 12, 2015
Aug 12, 2015 at 3:40 PM UTC
Passion drives us to great heights and achievements
The passion drawn from the ****** position
The will to survive to take our first breath, to know life
The passion that lingers and stills the heart for a moment
To stand and stare at the passing wild flower
Passion shared by two in the throes of ****** hunger
That connects and binds and twines beings into one
Passion so felt within a heart
will make a simple person extraordinary
Passion to live beyond, just over the line
Taking risks, taking chances
Passion to love, to live, to dance, to eat, to laugh, to cry, to feel
Passion makes the difference
Between the millionaire and the pauper
Passion – everyone has it
It’s whether you want to use it or save it for later!
Jan 3, 2013
Jan 3, 2013 at 4:46 AM UTC
Tell me why
the ivy twines
and slowly wraps
around her neck.
Through pain
came pleasure
from hate
came love.
She didn't see it coming
Thought for thought
as it was brushed aside.
I caught the scent
of jealousy.
Again
with the melodrama
Oct 3, 2009
Oct 3, 2009 at 5:52 AM UTC
I remember that Day when we sat
(side by side)
On those Stairs
(Waiting for our Train)
And you bought us Miso Soup
(It tasted like Tears)
The Sun hit my legs
(With all the force of sepia toned Nostalgia)
Covering them, bathing them. glorifying.
The traffic was the push and pull
(To and fro, magnetising, Synchronising)
Of waves.
Harsh, solid, mechanical waves
(Full of the force of Human Atrocity)
Japanese Culture was "in" and everything was "kawaii" and sweet
(With the underlying disturbance of Sexualisation - *** takes pride of place in our Civilisation)
I thought I was eating the sea.
(I could see the tiny fish Nibbling us that time we went snorkelling. We saw a Sting Ray that reminded us of Steve Irwin: Danger; Barbed Wire)
The Snow-flakes
(Fish-flakes)
Swirling in the snow globe of my Polystyrene Cup
(A new kind of Fish Bowl, A new Exposure)
And they swam around and around, Hiding
(Cyclical, controlled by Lunar Activity. Natural?)
If I stared hard enough I would, no, could see myself
(Floating, Filleted)
Amongst those Ribbons of Sea ****
With each Salty slurp
(That tasted of you, of the bitter Crust that Crowns your body in Heat)
I expected saltier Bladders to Burst in my Mouth
(Drowning me in Poison; Poisson)
I imagined the Japanese fisherman Catching Sun-Warmed Sea
(In a Polystyrene Cup)
The thousands of fish, tiny eyes that Blink, tiny gills that Palpitate - Suffocating in Air
(Aboard his boat, that Famed boat: "Daigo Fukuryu Maru")
Harvesting Silken Strands of Sea **** that Clung to its Crate
(In the same way that his Wife's Freshly washed Hair Twines about her Body. Static, Electric, Alive)
We didn't finish the Miso Soup;
It tasted too much of the Tears that I Cried.
Jul 6, 2014
Jul 6, 2014 at 9:52 AM UTC
A teardrop from a woman's eye,
contains a magic so immense,
to shake the stars out from the sky.
A man may unceasingly try
yet fail to match one as intense--
a teardrop from a woman's eye.
It matters not if truth or lie,
once one among the men is sensed
it shakes the stars out from the sky,
and men will rage forth low or high
to save the damsel from distress.
A teardrop from a woman's eye,
which can be conjured with a lie,
un-twines sinews of muscled men,
and shakes the stars out from the sky.
Her greatest weapon is to cry
and warriors will jump the fence.
A teardrop from a woman's eye
can shake the stars out from the sky.
(C)2008, Christos Rigakos
Oct 16, 2012
Oct 16, 2012 at 10:18 AM UTC
Now,
We are mellow.
Having spent the evening exploring the threads of friendship.
That had come adrift of warp, weft and weave.
Time and distance had
silks, snag-tagged-torn,
on the bustling-busy,
hectic-hustling of work
and family.
Teasing-taunt,
needle-gnawing,
small, gap-rip-rents
in the snug comforter
that is... the wonder of us.
Us, so many secrets woven. So many, nights of tissues and sobbing tears.
Darning in daring exploits. Cutting away knotted,
fear-angry-scream-fighting feuds.
Cutting work, for days of delight and nights of desperate yearning.
We used anything at hand, rough wools, pieces of string and twines.
To weave a blanket,
to hide us from life's storms.
We were,
so young, so strong, recklessly-brash,
stupidly-joyous
and braveheart-fools.
And now, time and age,
has softened our work. Felted and fuse-melded,
the fibres into a beautiful entity.
That we store-save in the heart's cupboard,
of special and precious things.
It is an heirloom of sorts.
We bring it out,with occasional, humble-grace,
to be dandled and stroked with reverence.
Caressed and cossetted are our memories held within the abstract weave.
We are the dwindling
of a youthful exuberance
flung-thrown-heaved
to the wild winds.
So now, we are grateful to be curator-custodians of the retrospective nature
as we augment-append
and reiterate-repair.
A new thread here,
now,
embellish-embroider,embed
and tatt-stitch.
My son and your twin girls, squeezed, splashing
into your tiny bathtub
big-grin-giggling in the gurgling water.
Our future, here and now,
is the brightest of silks,
Our past, mellow and yielding in,
the luminent opulence,
angelically-asleep in,
the other room.
May 31, 2014
May 31, 2014 at 6:30 AM UTC
The old wooden steps to the front door
where I was sitting that fall morning
when you came downstairs, just awake,
and my joy at sight of you (emerging
into golden day—
the dew almost frost)
pulled me to my feet to tell you
how much I loved you:
those wooden steps
are gone now, decayed
replaced with granite,
hard, gray, and handsome.
The old steps live
only in me:
my feet and thighs
remember them, and my hands
still feel their splinters.
Everything else about and around that house
brings memories of others—of marriage,
of my son. And the steps do too: I recall
sitting there with my friend and her little son who died,
or was it the second one who lives and thrives?
And sitting there ‘in my life,’ often, alone or with my husband.
Yet that one instant,
your cheerful, unafraid, youthful, ‘I love you too,’
the quiet broken by no bird, no cricket, gold leaves
spinning in silence down without
any breeze to blow them,
is what twines itself
in my head and body across those slabs of wood
that were warm, ancient, and now
wait somewhere to be burnt.
2.1k
From the dusty mesa her looming shadow grows
Hidden in the branches of the poison creosote.
She twines her spines up slowly towards the boiling sun,
And when I touched her skin, my fingers ran with blood.
Sep 6, 2014
Sep 6, 2014 at 7:39 AM UTC
A couple of valentine ago
With seeds of love that we sow
A billion hues from rainbow
In your eyes I saw it glow
Still and will forever that shine
Twines strong our love divine
A world away I think of you
My heart beats I feel the blue
Wishing I can hold you tight
This valentine could only write
This poem for you my valentine
But know my heart is always thine
Feb 13, 2022
Feb 13, 2022 at 11:36 AM UTC
Shiver past my page
While I collect my thoughts
Shimmer in the moonlight
While I retrieve my box
Of empty threats
And unpaid debts
I owe myself.
My emptiness paints a dark line
Down the broken field of my mind
My shadow dreams
Run through quiet streams
That whisper.
There isn't enough music
To describe how I walk
There isn't enough paper
There isn't enough chalk.
You couldn't begin to comprehend
Who I am,
You don't know me.
Don't defend
Your wild thoughts
On how I should be,
You don't know me.
Angry burning lines
And ugly spoken twines
Defines
How I feel.
Broken, shattered windows
That used to speak of warm glows
Fill me up inside
Where I can't hide
From the darkness.
You thought you had me cornered!
You thought there was no escape
You thought me a quiet thing
Full of fear, full of quake...
A lake
Of emptiness.
But oh no,
I'm wild and bold
My eyes are old
And what you SEE
Isn't what you've GOT
I'm NOT
What you think me to be
I am
free.
Feb 20, 2013
Feb 20, 2013 at 12:47 PM UTC
there is one point of no return
an escape from the usual routine
drawn by stir, shattered by reliance
acquiring such thing isn't so easy, but the conclusions draw to the final proclamation
disjointed wisdom of a young porcupine
kidnapped fugitive released... and *****
by the laws of nature and their own stupidity
they stood next to each other and turned their bodies into two viscid twines, let alone be tangled
the pair of two, an insoluble equation
touching.. feeling... nothing but them
the bodies are lost and departed from society
leaving them both for themselves, acting like ***** dogs, they begun to slowly achieve their amusement
Dec 1, 2017
Dec 1, 2017 at 10:54 AM UTC
The waves dance lithe against the sullen shore
Brushing my feet with deep aquamarine
The air is sweet, the gulls among clouds soar
To take their place mid this tropical scene
The breeze is cool, the tide is calm, amid
The gold, gold sand hides lustrous ruby *****
The sun is high, between the palms it hid
Where soared and flapped snow-white the clouds like flags
As we sit on the beach, a place of bliss
I kneel closer and place a gentle kiss
The waves, like white horses gallop across
The soft, swishing sands, a castle of gold
Rises above the sand to many awes
Of those people who this palace behold
A lovely grandeur built by you and me
With love, a rope that twines our hearts as one
With threads of truth, of trust, of harmony
With the outlandish thread that old call fun
And we would sip cocktails, refreshing
As eventide came forth on her bright wing
And then we would walk cross the folding white
Of the pure, stainless, foam-washed, serene coast
Bespattered with the paints of evening, bright
Before the night shall come just like a ghost
And then when the moonbeams kiss the sea, deep
We’d go back to our hotel room where we
When all things are now quick and sound asleep
Will look up at stars from the balcony
And we’d kiss there beneath the silver moon
A sweet, last ending to our honeymoon
Oct 14, 2013
Oct 14, 2013 at 12:11 PM UTC
Curious to watch
one over another;
their love is good luck
The caretaker
being cared for
by the caretaken
Yet this old mom
still gives in sound
"Son, get home safely"
Her voice, to there,
shares space with
empty chairs,
and where once
were shrugs and eye rolls,
patience twines subtly into silence
Jan 11, 2014
Jan 11, 2014 at 9:41 AM UTC
I was content when the house burned down
and melted silicon pasted the walls with portraits
of everything I left pending.
I know fear isn't what we're taught to embrace
but when I can place it by my bed and sing it a song
I feel happy.
Two years ago my future was an old rope with coarse twines
protruding from every angle.
Before the scars on my hands formed,
it burned a lucid orange and left no ash.
Feb 1, 2013
Feb 1, 2013 at 6:12 PM UTC
This truest love, triumphantly
is a bird of prey
marauding 'twain these grayest skies and tenured gain
dine with blessed distinction,
feathered queen!
And any mice caught in between-
For does my love in summer's rain
prey on the solace of my nightly dreams
Do gauge my love as span of wings
the distance 'tween each finger
Her wings are spread and through the sky
she soars in arcs and swirls
Each and every blissless night,
she passes coyly o'erhead,
The curtain in my blood unfurls
and this presence ever lingers-
Perched aloof and tauntingly in a bending oak
she says: "These stars that hover
above the sky I disbelieve-
Their palaver, quaint and lasting,
I disbelieve-
They grip and guide my flutters as an ever-tightn'ng yoke."
Each hand I place o'er the other,
'til each branch is a rung, ladder to the moon.
Said: "And coldly does this horrib' moon smile,
she laughs 'til my tail is the dust
each stroke of hours and minutes speak to me
this cunning moon pours in our hearts this lust-
How could these shambles any trust?"
This sky, though blacken'd,
cannot rend apart what's happened,
and all it sees with terrible eyes
can prevent not this love fore'er mend-
She glode politely out o' reach,
To soar delightly by me-
Said: "I see the jilted morning glory
bowing to the moon.
Each stalk twines traitoriously
a capsulating swoon-
Each fruit it bears bequeathes 'nto me
callous forms of elliptic bracts,
eats as nothing more than flax-"
For every morning glory's betray'l
I'll harvest ten thousand Orchids from the meadow's fringe,
plucked from the margins of the bog-
This love is not a passing arc
that follows does that jealous moon-
I'll trek the acid, foy an' dinge,
and, if those mice do not erstwhile dine on this orchid's seeds,
that which lays dormant, 'neath the leaves
will send up freshly blooming stalks.
May 22, 2010
May 22, 2010 at 6:59 PM UTC
She's all sharp edges
And geometric lines
Bold colors
Unraveling in twines
Touch her
And she'll fold up
Like a flower
Dec 7, 2012
Dec 7, 2012 at 12:08 PM UTC