"twinning" poems
*to further my point, as an eager reader in
a catholic school, reading about
the gnostic heretics, wondering
with my theology tutor upon the question
asked: don't you think the gnostic heretics
influenced mohammad on the sly?
i mean, they too believed a phantom walked
among men, and a phantom was crucified?*
my confirmation didn't take place
in a cathedral, as was due course for all of
us in being schooled, by a bishop
in brentwood cathedral,
i opted out... my confirmation came
in a russian orthodox cathedral,
in st. petersburg, when i watched
people standing for a scrap of iconoclasm,
with the priest mumbling
toward a golden altar, as typical in
the tradition, buttocks towards the people
or as in the western tradition
reciting in latin, before the nationalists
came and spoke the gospel in each
designated tongue so people understood,
a bit like having your back turned
against the people - speaking in latin -
and when i sat i the church
to listen to the choir singing,
some lesser ecclesiastical prompted me
to stand up, and pay respect to the golden
altar... he told me to stand up!
what cheek... what barbarism... only
in russia... i had to stop being bewildered
by the beauty of song and listen to
a priest knock-down-ginger on a palette of
gold... THEN i was confirmed...
donkey's ******** to this **** i'm leaving!
mind the fact that i've seen the greatest
degradation of mysticism take place...
the tetragrammaton was being defiled all along...
in catholic bureaucracy it has been there all along,
the idiots reminded me of it...
you're born: first name, baptismal name, surname...
you're educated: confirmation name...
that takes four spaces of consideration...
so by catholic definition of sharpening pencils,
folding pieces of paper, filing the folded pieces
of paper, bending paper-clips i'm god...
but only in writing... first name, baptismal name,
confirmation name, surname...
a bit like a clone... a clone indeed in writing...
same d.n.a., same bone mandibles of the jaw...
but experience-wise... un-original to the ****
not even a clone... not able to experience major
historical figures... a soul in a twin body by itself...
a twin without twinning, segregated by ulterior
if not auxiliary motives... clone on paper...
clone by experience? i don't think so... impossible...
too many inter-actants along the way
can't possibly replicate thinking in a clone...
different mr. john smith... NEXT!
Feb 4, 2016
Feb 4, 2016 at 2:18 AM UTC
*how this came and come to be,
from gone to come to gone rediscovered but unreleased,
a passage thematic that birthed
fully formed, formal in its inception,
contented in its first appearance and
its primary coincident deception
who wrote this? not me? could not be!
yet a scented hint of
eau d’familiarité
suggests that I may have
inadvertently
plagiarized
myself
this old poem mine,
we certifiably have never met,
but nonesuch a hail fellow met,
that upon our (re?) acquaintance,
the heavens marked the occasion with
hail and neither of us deemed it strange
so we well recall our ancestor’s words*
”there is nothing new under the sun”
adding our brand new imprimatur
”not even June or the Moon or other iconic loons”
*we may have borrowed from the insights,
recollecting what happened to us when separated at birth,
envisioning like the prophets of yore what was implanted
long before we remembered it well
upon its birthday
our intertwined twinning
fate befallen*
postscript
**quaking heart, trembling pointer
dawning and dying
simultaneous
neither tissue, cell, molecule,
i am but a composite of
letters, alpha bits and bets,
recirculated songs and tunes born
like me,
compromised, bridged,
newly un and recovered,
lengthy and unabridged,
my appearance faulty,
my eyes ****** ruddy and red,
my fingered tips blend and bleed
words acquired, words invented,
marching before me,
old lands recaptured,
new ones set free
take and give -
there’s no difference -
intimation, initiation,
all
bring me home
to where my boundaries begin**
<•>
this one, for the ladies who loved its
predecessor
https://hellopoetry.com/poem/2367267/the-temple-of-you/
Apr 8, 2018
Apr 8, 2018 at 1:45 PM UTC
I am
Casting down imaginations
To the pulling down of., strong-holds
Gearing up for the.. long term
But from the outside looking in?
May seem bold
or quite
MAD*
[ Well ]
Just referring to the thoughts
that I have
that are really not that far- off
while dreaming of., REVELATION
No.. fabrication on my part
As I try to separate the Light
from the Dark
with high hopes and
Aspirations
Which is.. a sen-sational sensation of flying high
as I'm being
vated
ele-
Elevelation
High on
Or something like a planned
Evo-lu-tion that is so
True
[while]
Staying true to my elevation in 2020
leading into 2020 one
[while seeing] Dou-ble
Vision
( Although )
Some might try to fix it?
[ Yeah ]
But I would beg to differ
Cause it would take [twice] the listen
Care to listen?
Just to see things
Different
And at the same time?
Shuning the carnal mind's version
of seeing Dou-ble
Vision
May call it [ Twinning ]
Which is.. the true definition
of being Dou-ble
Minded
So.. to combat this?
I would just
never
Mind [It] ( meaning )
There's no rules or
bars of
Confinement
For no 20 or Eye is missing
from my
INTUITION
Raised suspicions?
Well., Just hoping that you will
tread.. carefully
And stay
Centered
As you enter my center of words
and.. penning
As I write the vision
I'll make it plain and simple
No Subliminals
Or either I'll keep it at minimal
While maintaining the
Visuals
As usual
As I keep on gaining in
WISDOM
Jan 3, 2021
Jan 3, 2021 at 11:47 AM UTC
I miss you.
I know that is not
what you wanted
but, I miss you.
They told me life
wasn't a wish granting factory.
If that is true,
how did you cease to be?
Leaving no memory or trace
of the broken heart that
could have healed mine.
I think of you.
I know that's not
what you wanted
but, I think of you.
I see you in the mirrors
in my eyes, although you are free
you scream and scream and scream
begging to God to erase your existence.
I wonder if you are me.
I know that's not what you wanted
but, I see myself in you.
I hear the words you once screamed
yet never screamed at all,
my grandmother said that
God doesn't always give us
what we want but always what we need.
So, I wonder why he took you,
and every memory you had imprinted upon this earth.
16 years earlier,
your mother holds what was once a positive,
but this time around it is not.
I know this is what you wanted.
so why do you weep twinning tears,
to match those of your mother?
Jan 10, 2015
Jan 10, 2015 at 12:43 AM UTC
Sun is up, expansive, out, and enveloping
Moon is down, within, internal, and intuitive
These two inside you are constantly connecting
It's impossible to be just one or the other, but if you're not, then punitive
measures will be taken to ensure we're protecting
that ******* marriage covenant, a twinning of sun
and moon; a ********** that's worth correcting:
those couples that are neither, or only one-
Women are 'supposed to be' moon,
Men are 'supposed to be' sun,
But femininity and masculinity into our genders aren't hewn
There's some that are neither and none.
This isn't just one culture, not just one idea
The yin-yang is Chinese, the Word God's favorite son.
Within the human soul is the forbidden black María
we all know within us what is true and to be done.
Although I'm not of that culture, 'Two-Spirits' were a boon,
To hold a special place, set apart, but the white men have begun
A regime of 'this is it, this is you, you cannot sing your own tune,'
But lately, the real ones, the humans, we've won.
Hey, guess what? I'll break it.
Not sorry. I'm sun.
Feb 26, 2014
Feb 26, 2014 at 9:41 AM UTC
Chaining the muse to his glass desk.
The poet can write
with ease.
Deft fingers un-stitch
antique silver;
Twinning his soul...
Letting passion
ignite,
as essence flows
on reeds
*[magnus
opus]*
which bloom,
in each wound
laid bare;
As whispers
escape
her shade.
Feb 26, 2013
Feb 26, 2013 at 8:30 AM UTC
I have too many words to say
And I just want us to be friends and play
I'll share with you my lots of chocolates
From my mom out of the country working so late
I want her here to take care of me
But instead she's out there taking care of another baby
She can't play with me I feel so lonely
And I wanna ask if you could maybe a bit make me happy
I'm sorry I can't say these to you
I wanted to, I really really do
I want you to hear me I even want to hear my own voice
I want to say we can share my things, play my toys
Maybe next time you'll accept my offer
Maybe you'll like to have a piece of my burger
Maybe we'll do those bestfriends twinning
Maybe we can be out playing and running
Nov 13, 2017
Nov 13, 2017 at 7:51 PM UTC
She was only in the mid of her age
When her womanhood was in the prime
That her husband died, died in the bush
He was fighting guerrilla war, for freedom of his country
Freedom of fatherland Africa, when the snake sank its fangs,
The two deadly poisonous fangs in to the flesh of his thighs,
The puff adder poison overwhelmed his blood, he dropped dead,
His ***** instantly erecting with the last bullet,
Bullet of fertility which he had preserved for her,
To fertilize her egg for the last chance,
On which they could sire a child of freedom
And call it Uhuru, liberte, Freheit or Freedom,
She heard of it and she mourned, with deep grief
Fearing for her future life without the husband,
The only one, father of her five sons,
Him who broke her virginity in one afternoon
In the fields under the canopy of a bush thicket,
He broke her virginity with electric like energy
In the stiffness of his ***** African *****
She wailed with sweetness of sensuousness
Clinking on his muscular and warm body,
Twinning her legs around his wonderful waist,
In libidinous foretaste of her soon wedding,
She remembers all these in cacotopian bitterness.
On getting news of his death, in the bush,
She swore to herself to remain pure till her death,
She kept on washing his clothes for years and years,
Preparing and preserving food for him every evening,
She often played *** with him in her sweet dreams,
She ironed his clothes and brushed his shoes for years,
He often came in the night, to give her baby talk,
She still wrote love letters to him via the address;
Po box, care of death in the city of his grave,
She did all these for decades after his death.
Mar 18, 2014
Mar 18, 2014 at 9:25 AM UTC
all i want to be in life is a bit of colonel tavington;
i executed loosing my mother
tongue and when i gripped
the new diacritic i earned a famous colonial greed,
even though i was lied to,
because polish diacritic was there in ś
while english was yorkshire nudist blank slacked
so i had to go back to augustus looking over my shoulder
utilising the d but not the ∂ like chiseling a v for a u in marble
to question the existence of parabolas easier.
i mean, i like that arrogant frown and i’ll admit it
unabashed into liking it, i want that ******* twinning
to pop that corn into popcorn for goo awe ah of the cinema goers.
i can be silent throughout the day,
but at night i lose the lazy drunk and soak the soap in carbonated
and bubble the words out: vengeance! thrill the jaw to munch on un-edible edibles! crack the bone **** the marrow!
all i want to be in life is a bit of colonel tavington,
very few sentiments for being loved and loved in private,
loved i can handle but only in the public domain
as prime antagonist.
Sep 28, 2015
Sep 28, 2015 at 8:03 AM UTC
twenty wiggley toes,
twenty mischievious fingers,
four active legs,
four swinging arms,
four wandering eyes,
four listening ears,
two perky noses,
two pouty lips,
two hungry stomachs,
two learning brains,
two loving hearts that beat to my own,
two loving souls that could have been one,
two beautiful children that I love a ton.
Nov 17, 2014
Nov 17, 2014 at 12:59 PM UTC
if you're sober and giving out
a spiritual message -
if you're sober and not intoxicated
you're just a charlatan
and easily degraded
to corrupt people's fanciful aims
at contra-globalisation arrangements -
hello, me the lesser jew
on the geographic platter,
a pole, missing for about 240 years,
ah not comparable to the jew, but still,
a twinning with other nations askew
in colonialism's ****
me? after half a bottle of ***** five beers
with one at 8.5% and now a whiskey mixer,
what do you think? imitation of soberness,
plus the additive fact i also fasted all day
and i'm hungry? **** a doodle-do.
Mar 8, 2016
Mar 8, 2016 at 7:25 PM UTC
The twig and the fig formed a twinning and became snooty.
Jul 17, 2022
Jul 17, 2022 at 3:40 AM UTC
and so the syrian "samaritans", as the twin satans rose against king solomon's profundity in praying for wisdom but only unearthing the woad pigment for his people on their faces, striking a river-flow where no water should have abounded for them to congregate, yet congregate they did, as immigrants, to a flow of awaiting mingling of metaphors, such that the amassed people turned into a river, winding northward into the womb of the holocaust; and among many the lament, while sylvia took to expressing a stoic end, ending it all by amassing a respectable readership... she still reminds me of Eva Braun... who, after all, geneticists proved to be a Jewess - indeed that twinning of dichotomies against the practical linear expression of reincarnation disproved - the linear parallels of: one life, one life, this world; that, whatever that is, you name it god, you name it heaven, you name it hell... forget that, take hold of this.
i am fasting all day,
but i drink,
i get the calorie intake
of fire first,
then i stuff my stomach
like geese or turkeys for
slaughter;
apparently i'm purified
that way;
no, i don't take lovers,
i take prostitutes into
the garden...
less hassle; they're like socks,
i'm the shoes with
that magnetised quote:
never judge a man by his shoes,
or try to wear them;
you might get a hex of excess
skin - basically wear your own
and leave a river of echoes where
you might.
Mar 26, 2016
Mar 26, 2016 at 11:12 PM UTC
Our life is like, an empty book
Each year, we print a page
The story, of our life we write
With each year, that we age
Some books are short, others long
All based on what we’ve done
Every journey made, and challenge faced
Each ordeal, we’ve lost or won
The good we do, or love we share
Is set in bright, bold print
Each wrong we’ve done, or didn’t care
Is veiled, in light, grey tint
Then when complete, each page is bound
With a cover, that won’t bend
The front engraved, with our NAME
The back inscribed, THE END
OR
Then when complete, each page is bound
With a cover and its twinning
The front engraved, with our NAME
The back inscribed, BEGINNING
WIZDUMBs BY JA 338 30-04-2014
Aug 18, 2015
Aug 18, 2015 at 11:54 AM UTC
my mother I made her
black
so I would be humble.
I went as a soldier
into the silence of women
and found it lacked the peace
afforded hell.
I gave my only word
to my son, and he went off
with his sister.
I returned from the war
(took up with a man)
I was born with.
Jul 1, 2012
Jul 1, 2012 at 2:54 PM UTC
And all the walls they look the same
as they go rushing past
Both my eyes they stay the same:
Pressed shut against the glass
Brick by brick and brick by brick and
brick by brick I go
On twinning tracks that take me further
from a place I do not know
Wrap my arms around myself Pillow hands against the shelf
Close my eyes to the raging world. . .
Look for me— Arizona heat, Cali drought,
Oregon rain
When you think you know you've lost me
find I'm sleeping on the train
Now the fields whip past the glass
my lids stay together
Cannot see the way ahead; cannot
spy the weather
Day to night and day to night and day to night
time flies
The grouped, chain-smoking pistons softly
exhale to the skies
Your arm around your shoulder
Remain as though a boulder
Close your eyes to the raging world...
Jan 25, 2021
Jan 25, 2021 at 12:04 AM UTC
She's got her hand out the window
as cars speed by and she's
moving too while
her fingers are going
numb out in the air but it's better
than only twinning them
with the warmth of her own hand
she knows it's safer to keep
her palms at ten and two
but she's still
caught trying
to decide if she'd rather
cut the air
while her delicate fingers dance
or if she likes the challenge of
fighting the breeze
and making her own path
with the sort of
strength
she always had in hand.
Apr 24, 2014
Apr 24, 2014 at 4:06 AM UTC
Stood in the line at a time when they should let me sit
Young people don't care a bit that I'm aged and careworn
It's dawn or thereabouts and the roundabouts are turning
the wheels are spinning
and the underground system is thinking of twinning with a sardine factory in Sarawak,
that may or may not be true but I do know it would not be my first choice to come and go on this antiquated service.
If there's a god and he gave us wings
why can't I fly ?
I think i'll be down here until the day that I die and then I'll be down here some more.
I refuse to mind the closing doors,
or
watch my P's and Q's
I absolutely refuse and then I do what they tell me
because I am a product of my environment
put upon by this government
stood here as a monument
to all that has gone before
mind the doors?
**** orf.
Oct 25, 2017
Oct 25, 2017 at 1:09 AM UTC
every painting in the house is
modestly crooked due to the
twinning effects of
vibrations and moon-full
spoonfuls of gravity.
causing the tensile strength of the wires to
pensile (1) slowly surrender to point downwards.
It occurs, perhaps
it’s me that’s crooked,
but that’s just plainly
in depth insanity,
like writing a thousand poems
in one 14 day
long sitting.,
now that’s
croissant curvey crazy
nah, not me,
not totally nuts yet,
after all these years,
though not for crooked trying.
Jul 23, 2023
Jul 23, 2023 at 10:45 AM UTC