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ryn Feb 2015
the comforting warmth of the morning sun,
like I had known it from the days of yesteryears.
the familiar scent of dew-kissed grass,
a fresh aroma that brought forth the tide of gratitude laden tears.

I had foreseen the day to be just as before...
I had planned to play out my morning as I had rehearsed.
but your message had foiled all that I thought I knew...
it brought about the smile that eternity had kept pursed.

your words were laced with the flowers of spring...
they set at ease the unapparent apprehension I've always kept.
they spoke of compliments meant only for the worthiest quills,
I've read them in disbelief as I think not of myself, an adept...

truly you are one that's generous and so very kind.
for your words flew off the page and had struck home;
bearing the stoutest of hope and most selfless of wishes.
they had provided direction in these vague circles that I roam.

so now allow me to thank you dear poetess...
for drawing the sunrise clear into my view.
I shall revel and bask in its delightful rays...
because your words had painted today in the brightest hue...
For Pamela Rae.
Descend from Heaven, Urania, by that name
If rightly thou art called, whose voice divine
Following, above the Olympian hill I soar,
Above the flight of Pegasean wing!
The meaning, not the name, I call: for thou
Nor of the Muses nine, nor on the top
Of old Olympus dwellest; but, heavenly-born,
Before the hills appeared, or fountain flowed,
Thou with eternal Wisdom didst converse,
Wisdom thy sister, and with her didst play
In presence of the Almighty Father, pleased
With thy celestial song.  Up led by thee
Into the Heaven of Heavens I have presumed,
An earthly guest, and drawn empyreal air,
Thy tempering: with like safety guided down
Return me to my native element:
Lest from this flying steed unreined, (as once
Bellerophon, though from a lower clime,)
Dismounted, on the Aleian field I fall,
Erroneous there to wander, and forlorn.
Half yet remains unsung, but narrower bound
Within the visible diurnal sphere;
Standing on earth, not rapt above the pole,
More safe I sing with mortal voice, unchanged
To hoarse or mute, though fallen on evil days,
On evil days though fallen, and evil tongues;
In darkness, and with dangers compassed round,
And solitude; yet not alone, while thou
Visitest my slumbers nightly, or when morn
Purples the east: still govern thou my song,
Urania, and fit audience find, though few.
But drive far off the barbarous dissonance
Of Bacchus and his revellers, the race
Of that wild rout that tore the Thracian bard
In Rhodope, where woods and rocks had ears
To rapture, till the savage clamour drowned
Both harp and voice; nor could the Muse defend
Her son.  So fail not thou, who thee implores:
For thou art heavenly, she an empty dream.
Say, Goddess, what ensued when Raphael,
The affable Arch-Angel, had forewarned
Adam, by dire example, to beware
Apostasy, by what befel in Heaven
To those apostates; lest the like befall
In Paradise to Adam or his race,
Charged not to touch the interdicted tree,
If they transgress, and slight that sole command,
So easily obeyed amid the choice
Of all tastes else to please their appetite,
Though wandering.  He, with his consorted Eve,
The story heard attentive, and was filled
With admiration and deep muse, to hear
Of things so high and strange; things, to their thought
So unimaginable, as hate in Heaven,
And war so near the peace of God in bliss,
With such confusion: but the evil, soon
Driven back, redounded as a flood on those
From whom it sprung; impossible to mix
With blessedness.  Whence Adam soon repealed
The doubts that in his heart arose: and now
Led on, yet sinless, with desire to know
What nearer might concern him, how this world
Of Heaven and Earth conspicuous first began;
When, and whereof created; for what cause;
What within Eden, or without, was done
Before his memory; as one whose drouth
Yet scarce allayed still eyes the current stream,
Whose liquid murmur heard new thirst excites,
Proceeded thus to ask his heavenly guest.
Great things, and full of wonder in our ears,
Far differing from this world, thou hast revealed,
Divine interpreter! by favour sent
Down from the empyrean, to forewarn
Us timely of what might else have been our loss,
Unknown, which human knowledge could not reach;
For which to the infinitely Good we owe
Immortal thanks, and his admonishment
Receive, with solemn purpose to observe
Immutably his sovran will, the end
Of what we are.  But since thou hast vouchsafed
Gently, for our instruction, to impart
Things above earthly thought, which yet concerned
Our knowing, as to highest wisdom seemed,
Deign to descend now lower, and relate
What may no less perhaps avail us known,
How first began this Heaven which we behold
Distant so high, with moving fires adorned
Innumerable; and this which yields or fills
All space, the ambient air wide interfused
Embracing round this floried Earth; what cause
Moved the Creator, in his holy rest
Through all eternity, so late to build
In Chaos; and the work begun, how soon
Absolved; if unforbid thou mayest unfold
What we, not to explore the secrets ask
Of his eternal empire, but the more
To magnify his works, the more we know.
And the great light of day yet wants to run
Much of his race though steep; suspense in Heaven,
Held by thy voice, thy potent voice, he hears,
And longer will delay to hear thee tell
His generation, and the rising birth
Of Nature from the unapparent Deep:
Or if the star of evening and the moon
Haste to thy audience, Night with her will bring,
Silence; and Sleep, listening to thee, will watch;
Or we can bid his absence, till thy song
End, and dismiss thee ere the morning shine.
Thus Adam his illustrious guest besought:
And thus the Godlike Angel answered mild.
This also thy request, with caution asked,
Obtain; though to recount almighty works
What words or tongue of Seraph can suffice,
Or heart of man suffice to comprehend?
Yet what thou canst attain, which best may serve
To glorify the Maker, and infer
Thee also happier, shall not be withheld
Thy hearing; such commission from above
I have received, to answer thy desire
Of knowledge within bounds; beyond, abstain
To ask; nor let thine own inventions hope
Things not revealed, which the invisible King,
Only Omniscient, hath suppressed in night;
To none communicable in Earth or Heaven:
Enough is left besides to search and know.
But knowledge is as food, and needs no less
Her temperance over appetite, to know
In measure what the mind may well contain;
Oppresses else with surfeit, and soon turns
Wisdom to folly, as nourishment to wind.
Know then, that, after Lucifer from Heaven
(So call him, brighter once amidst the host
Of Angels, than that star the stars among,)
Fell with his flaming legions through the deep
Into his place, and the great Son returned
Victorious with his Saints, the Omnipotent
Eternal Father from his throne beheld
Their multitude, and to his Son thus spake.
At least our envious Foe hath failed, who thought
All like himself rebellious, by whose aid
This inaccessible high strength, the seat
Of Deity supreme, us dispossessed,
He trusted to have seised, and into fraud
Drew many, whom their place knows here no more:
Yet far the greater part have kept, I see,
Their station; Heaven, yet populous, retains
Number sufficient to possess her realms
Though wide, and this high temple to frequent
With ministeries due, and solemn rites:
But, lest his heart exalt him in the harm
Already done, to have dispeopled Heaven,
My damage fondly deemed, I can repair
That detriment, if such it be to lose
Self-lost; and in a moment will create
Another world, out of one man a race
Of men innumerable, there to dwell,
Not here; till, by degrees of merit raised,
They open to themselves at length the way
Up hither, under long obedience tried;
And Earth be changed to Heaven, and Heaven to Earth,
One kingdom, joy and union without end.
Mean while inhabit lax, ye Powers of Heaven;
And thou my Word, begotten Son, by thee
This I perform; speak thou, and be it done!
My overshadowing Spirit and Might with thee
I send along; ride forth, and bid the Deep
Within appointed bounds be Heaven and Earth;
Boundless the Deep, because I Am who fill
Infinitude, nor vacuous the space.
Though I, uncircumscribed myself, retire,
And put not forth my goodness, which is free
To act or not, Necessity and Chance
Approach not me, and what I will is Fate.
So spake the Almighty, and to what he spake
His Word, the Filial Godhead, gave effect.
Immediate are the acts of God, more swift
Than time or motion, but to human ears
Cannot without process of speech be told,
So told as earthly notion can receive.
Great triumph and rejoicing was in Heaven,
When such was heard declared the Almighty’s will;
Glory they sung to the Most High, good will
To future men, and in their dwellings peace;
Glory to Him, whose just avenging ire
Had driven out the ungodly from his sight
And the habitations of the just; to Him
Glory and praise, whose wisdom had ordained
Good out of evil to create; instead
Of Spirits malign, a better race to bring
Into their vacant room, and thence diffuse
His good to worlds and ages infinite.
So sang the Hierarchies:  Mean while the Son
On his great expedition now appeared,
Girt with Omnipotence, with radiance crowned
Of Majesty Divine; sapience and love
Immense, and all his Father in him shone.
About his chariot numberless were poured
Cherub, and Seraph, Potentates, and Thrones,
And Virtues, winged Spirits, and chariots winged
From the armoury of God; where stand of old
Myriads, between two brazen mountains lodged
Against a solemn day, harnessed at hand,
Celestial equipage; and now came forth
Spontaneous, for within them Spirit lived,
Attendant on their Lord:  Heaven opened wide
Her ever-during gates, harmonious sound
On golden hinges moving, to let forth
The King of Glory, in his powerful Word
And Spirit, coming to create new worlds.
On heavenly ground they stood; and from the shore
They viewed the vast immeasurable abyss
Outrageous as a sea, dark, wasteful, wild,
Up from the bottom turned by furious winds
And surging waves, as mountains, to assault
Heaven’s highth, and with the center mix the pole.
Silence, ye troubled Waves, and thou Deep, peace,
Said then the Omnifick Word; your discord end!
Nor staid; but, on the wings of Cherubim
Uplifted, in paternal glory rode
Far into Chaos, and the world unborn;
For Chaos heard his voice:  Him all his train
Followed in bright procession, to behold
Creation, and the wonders of his might.
Then staid the fervid wheels, and in his hand
He took the golden compasses, prepared
In God’s eternal store, to circumscribe
This universe, and all created things:
One foot he centered, and the other turned
Round through the vast profundity obscure;
And said, Thus far extend, thus far thy bounds,
This be thy just circumference, O World!
Thus God the Heaven created, thus the Earth,
Matter unformed and void:  Darkness profound
Covered the abyss: but on the watery calm
His brooding wings the Spirit of God outspread,
And vital virtue infused, and vital warmth
Throughout the fluid mass; but downward purged
The black tartareous cold infernal dregs,
Adverse to life: then founded, then conglobed
Like things to like; the rest to several place
Disparted, and between spun out the air;
And Earth self-balanced on her center hung.
Let there be light, said God; and forthwith Light
Ethereal, first of things, quintessence pure,
Sprung from the deep; and from her native east
To journey through the aery gloom began,
Sphered in a radiant cloud, for yet the sun
Was not; she in a cloudy tabernacle
Sojourned the while.  God saw the light was good;
And light from darkness by the hemisphere
Divided: light the Day, and darkness Night,
He named.  Thus was the first day even and morn:
Nor past uncelebrated, nor unsung
By the celestial quires, when orient light
Exhaling first from darkness they beheld;
Birth-day of Heaven and Earth; with joy and shout
The hollow universal orb they filled,
And touched their golden harps, and hymning praised
God and his works; Creator him they sung,
Both when first evening was, and when first morn.
Again, God said,  Let there be firmament
Amid the waters, and let it divide
The waters from the waters; and God made
The firmament, expanse of liquid, pure,
Transparent, elemental air, diffused
In circuit to the uttermost convex
Of this great round; partition firm and sure,
The waters underneath from those above
Dividing: for as earth, so he the world
Built on circumfluous waters calm, in wide
Crystalline ocean, and the loud misrule
Of Chaos far removed; lest fierce extremes
Contiguous might distemper the whole frame:
And Heaven he named the Firmament:  So even
And morning chorus sung the second day.
The Earth was formed, but in the womb as yet
Of waters, embryon immature involved,
Appeared not: over all the face of Earth
Main ocean flowed, not idle; but, with warm
Prolifick humour softening all her globe,
Fermented the great mother to conceive,
Satiate with genial moisture; when God said,
Be gathered now ye waters under Heaven
Into one place, and let dry land appear.
Immediately the mountains huge appear
Emergent, and their broad bare backs upheave
Into the clouds; their tops ascend the sky:
So high as heaved the tumid hills, so low
Down sunk a hollow bottom broad and deep,
Capacious bed of waters:  Thither they
Hasted with glad precipitance, uprolled,
As drops on dust conglobing from the dry:
Part rise in crystal wall, or ridge direct,
For haste; such flight the great command impressed
On the swift floods:  As armies at the call
Of trumpet (for of armies thou hast heard)
Troop to their standard; so the watery throng,
Wave rolling after wave, where way they found,
If steep, with torrent rapture, if through plain,
Soft-ebbing; nor withstood them rock or hill;
But they, or under ground, or circuit wide
With serpent errour wandering, found their way,
And on the washy oose deep channels wore;
Easy, ere God had bid the ground be dry,
All but within those banks, where rivers now
Stream, and perpetual draw their humid train.
The dry land, Earth; and the great receptacle
Of congregated waters, he called Seas:
And saw that it was good; and said, Let the Earth
Put forth the verdant grass, herb yielding seed,
And fruit-tree yielding fruit after her kind,
Whose seed is in herself upon the Earth.
He scarce had said, when the bare Earth, till then
Desart and bare, unsightly, unadorned,
Brought forth the tender grass, whose verdure clad
Her universal face with pleasant green;
Then herbs of every leaf, that sudden flowered
Opening their various colours, and made gay
Her *****, smelling sweet: and, these scarce blown,
Forth flourished thick the clustering vine, forth crept
The swelling gourd, up stood the corny reed
Embattled in her field, and the humble shrub,
And bush with frizzled hair implicit:  Last
Rose, as in dance, the stately trees, and spread
Their branches hung with copious fruit, or gemmed
Their blossoms:  With high woods the hills were crowned;
With tufts the valleys, and each fountain side;
With borders long the rivers: that Earth now
Seemed like to Heaven, a seat where Gods might dwell,
Or wander with delight, and love to haunt
Her sacred shades: though God had yet not rained
Upon the Earth, and man to till the ground
None was; but from the Earth a dewy mist
Went up, and watered all the ground, and each
Plant of the field; which, ere it was in the Earth,
God made, and every herb, before it grew
On the green stem:  God saw that it was good:
So even and morn recorded the third day.
Again the Almighty spake, Let there be lights
High in the expanse of Heaven, to divide
The day from night; and let them be for signs,
For seasons, and for days, and circling years;
And let them be for lights, as I ordain
Their office in the firmament of Heaven,
To give light on the Earth; and it was so.
And God made two great lights, great for their use
To Man, the greater to have rule by day,
The less by night, altern; and made the stars,
And set them in the firmament of Heaven
To illuminate the Earth, and rule the day
In their vicissitude, and rule the night,
And light from darkness to divide.  God saw,
Surveying his great work, that it was good:
For of celestial bodies first the sun
A mighty sphere he framed, unlightsome first,
Though of ethereal mould: then formed the moon
Globose, and every magnitude of stars,
And sowed with stars the Heaven, thick as a field:
Of light by far the greater part he took,
Transplanted from her cloudy shrine, and placed
In the sun’s orb, made porous to receive
And drink the liquid light; firm to retain
Her gathered beams, great palace now of light.
Hither, as to their fountain, other stars
Repairing, in their golden urns draw light,
And hence the morning-planet gilds her horns;
By tincture or reflection they augment
Their small peculiar, though from human sight
So far rem
Victoria Kiely Oct 2013
The rain beat the pavement as the man ran to a nearby bus shelter holding a newspaper over his ragged hair. The rain hitting the glass was nearly deafening, but there was comfort in the sound. A public transit bus comes and goes, recognizing the bleak figure immediately. This was, after all, his commonplace - the closest thing he had to a home in the past two years.
"Get a job", people would say, as if it were ever really that easy.
He had been diagnosed with depression after his wife’s passing nearly four years ago and suffered alone as he mourned and pushed through what most people see as a normal life. On the outside, it was unapparent how miserable he had become, unable to share the world with another as he had now for so many years. He came to his cubical on time each day, he worked until the late afternoon had came and went, and he left without a word. He was the unnoticed face in a crowd.
All at once, he lost his drive to live his life. He stopped showing up to work, he did not pay his bills, he didn’t answer the door or the phone. The clear print reading “EVICTION NOTICE” had meant nothing to him. He took only the essential things with him as he left behind an empty house behind. The last thing he put into his bag was a copy of the Odyssey, worn now after so many years of attentive reading.
The tattered copy sat open on his crossed legs, the moment passing by. The walls of the shelter sheild him from the wind and welcome him into their embrace. the adequecy of lighting was questionable as the sun descends and the world loses its colour. A streetlamp flickers to life and casts an ominous glow onto the street beneath it. He continues to read about the long journey of a man trying to find his way home, not unlike himself. What’s happening on the page is disconnected from thepart of the world that he is trapped on; he watches his secret world become a vivid painting beneath his hands and turns the page.
"Hello," said a man waiting for another bus to take him to a far off place.
He didn’t respond.
"I take it you like the book, judging by the condition…" The man tried again to grasp his attention. His dark figure loomed on the other side of the glass.
"I do", he said.
"What’s your name, son?"
He paused, turning to fully look at the man. “Its Tristan,” he said, contemplating the man as he stepped into the light. The man shuffled into the shelther gingerly, leaving behind the loud clack of his cane. His clothes chaffed against the skin on his legs, and he carried his fedora in his hand. He creased his face in pain as he sat beside Tristen.
"My name is Connor Wright", he breathed heavily, struggling to continue. "I have a spare copy of that book myself, laying around at home. No use to myself. Would you want to have it? I can bring it to you the same time next week"
"How do you know I will return it?"
"Perhaps I don’t want it back"
The silence stretched. “I would like that very much, sir” replied Tristan.
A dark blue bus pulled up to the stop without warning and stirred the stillness in the air. The headlights shone in their eyes and caught the edge of the mans thick-framed glasses. “I will see you next week then”
Each week came and passed as Mr. Wright began to bring Tristan books frequently, exchanging each new book for the last. “Why do you treat me with such kindness when I have nothing to give?” Tristan would ask him each week, never recieving an answer.
A year passed by in the presence of the silent agreement. Mr. Wright would often bring Tristan a warm container filled with soup, or a sandwhich left over from lunch to accompany his reading for the night.
On a cold night in april, Tristan waited at the bus stop for the greying man. He spotted him across the street as he waved to him. Tristan, flashing his increasingly more common smile, returned his vivid wave in the direction of Mr. Wright.
"Hello Tristan", he began as always with a bright smile. His distinct aroma filled the hollow bus shelter - a mix of burnt wood, but also new paper and musk, and apparent paradox. After a brief conversation, Tristan took the book out of Mr. Wright’s frail hands.
The bus arrived shortly thereafter and Mr. Wright borded the exhausted vehical, taking his time going up the short stoop of stairs.
This book was rather unlike the other books that Mr. Wright had given him in the past months. His books had usually been full of journeys abundant with creatures, or filled to the brim with a quaint scenery, embodying an allegory in a far off place. The book he held in his hands was called “Darkness Visible”. It was a self-help book for those in the winter of their lives, much as Tristan was, though he hated to admit it.
He opened the page of the book and the spine cracked as the smell of fresh ink and paper filled his senses. This book was new.
He read with curiousity at first, which later turned to deep interest, and later still, turned into inspiration. The following week, Tristan returned this book to Mr. Wright as he told him that he would not be returning to the bus stop with any more new books. “I wish to see you again in the future”, he said, handing Tristan a slip of paper with his name and phone number on it.
Many years passed by and the two men kept regular contact, discussing the endevours of Tristan and his success in his new life.
"Doctor Spense, you have a visitor" his secretary informed him in her usual airy tone.
"Send them in, please"
A man with strong lines creased into his face turned the door handle and entered his office at Kingston University. Commonalities were exchanged and the man fought back a solemn look as he took a seat across from Tristan. The armchair engulphed him.
"Doctor Spense, I’m sorry to inform you that Mr. Connor Wright passed away this morning as he succumed to his long fight against cancer", he spoke as though he had said these words in practise. "I am here because you were included in his will and we need to speak about legalities".
Mr. Wright had left him his entire collection of books, including that first copy of the Odyssey that Tristan had cherised so many years earlier when he had had nothing else. As he opened the familliar book, an envelope fell to the ground.
He stooped to the ground to pick up the white sheet and put it in the pile of other loose pages when he saw in handwriting, “To Dr. Tristan Spense”.
He read the words and tears filled his eyes, prickling at the corners and pooling in the clear canvas of skin before his jaw.

"The greatest disease in the West today is not TB or leprosy; it is being unwanted, unloved, and uncared for. We can cure physical diseases with medicine, but the only cure for loneliness, despair, and hopelessness is love. There are many in the world who are dying for a piece of bread but there are many more dying for a little love. The poverty in the West is a different kind of poverty…" - Mother Teresa
I treated you kindly holding the knowledge that you would have nothing to give in return because I saw something I once saw within myself during the darker days of my time. I helped you because I knew your soul would rot and perish in a sickly way should you go unnoticed. I helped you because I hate faith in you and knew you had the kind of illness that could be taken away with the love of a friend. I hope that I have been able to give you the medicide loneliness, desparity and hopelessness and that your cabinets are stocked full. Remember where you have come from, and remember that it is always darkest before dawn.
Your friend always,
Connor Wright
Gita Jun 2015
I crave achievement, but my body aches from failure.
From constant wounds to my frail skin, courage is beyond reach.
It is elusive, distant, away from my ***** hands.

I want to fulfill my ambitions, but my mind wavers from success.
From procrastination and the dark holes of depression, my conquest of dreams is fruitless.
It is shameful, humiliating, disappointing to my household.

I wish to express boundless love to the world, but my small mindedness has failed to grow beyond ignorance.
From lack of effort and unapparent care, I am a disgrace to my well wishers.
It is sad, dismal, sorry to see such a being alive.
Where does one start if not with the absolute I,
Beginning with sight,
The sun kept clockwork in check.
The kids kept their songs in their heads
The parents kept photo albums full of smiles where a split second
Becomes the cover letter for years of dread.
The page kept condensing life that is better left unsaid,
While the reader kept considering the page a part of him.

Beginning with sound,
The ocean kept grinding the ground.
The guitar kept articulating the waves that come from
A place that can be found
In the engine of muscled bone,
Arriving at what you know
Through nature's transient code,
Read between simultaneous consideration of scope
And a song that keeps you on your toes.

Beginning with touch,
The cage kept the prisoner condemned
Who was slave to the ego's violent whims.
Hunger ravages the idealism of men,
Who kept on believing in sensory over stimulation.
While rapid eye sleep kept fostering shackled sheep
Towards their only release.

Beginning with dreams,
I start to seem incomplete
Fuzzy puzzles kept flagging themselves as urgent but unapparent in meaning
And even faster in disappearing
To make room for me.
A resurgent thief
That kept insisting on stealing a mind's freedom to be.
J H Webb Nov 2015
Dec. 30, 1989

In the valley of the angels
In the fields of broken snow
On the mountains of the warriors
Where the devil fears to go.
In the passions unapparent
In the tears of a restless child
In the calmness of the country
In the cities growing wild

Wherever love lies sleeping, whenever hope is lost,
A gentle heart forgiving will rise up from the frost

In the heart of bitter conquests
In the nights that never end
In the lies that hold the moment
dangling from a liar’s thread.
In the eyes of well know strangers
In the looks of friends that care
In the path of eminent danger
In the light of all that’s fair

Wherever love lies sleeping, whenever hope is lost,
A gentle heart forgiving will rise up from the frost

In the never ending stories
In the poems of bitter youth
In the ravings of an old man
Who has never faced the truth.
In the silence of the villain
In the victim’s callous laugh
In the arms of lover’s smitten
In the families torn in half

Wherever love lies sleeping, whenever hope is lost,
A gentle heart forgiving will rise up from the frost

In the bending of the willow
In the arrow’s perfect path
In the breath that any minute
Could always be your last .
In the patience of the hero
In the soul that takes a stand
In the seizing of the moment
When the moment is at hand

Wherever love lies sleeping, whenever hope is lost,
A gentle heart forgiving will rise up from the frost*

*J. H. Webb
Sean Fitzpatrick Nov 2018
Green to the eye
begets the visage: life-
Startlingly simple,
a color tells it all.

So ‘tis with the note
and the morning earth is smelly-
I ask,
by what happy accident
is everything made plain?

Like a dog bearing its belly
or a moth sleeping in daylight-
the unapparent thing of life
these words just cannot say.
Scott M Reamer Aug 2013
I was never moving backwards, in fact I never moved at all.
Here; among the markers and holy proof, have I, the path finder always sat.
Body stoic, thoughts dampened, eyes crossed spying wide but, ever wise?
Atop the two inch tower, in the humid shadow cast neathe the pine and needle.
Silas Wright Dewitt, my company unapparent, December fourth, 1844 was he bore
November tenth , 1904 is he born.
Allison Rose Sep 2013
One day I am walking, walking past a stone
I see a painted pattern undiscerned.
A marbled sort of mess, in shades of grey and brown,
the mass before me wears a cloak unlearned.

And to pass it by I am so apathetically inclined…



But upon closer inspection, I am surprised to find
a stone more tightly packed than first imagined.
The  large  and  solid  mass, from  distance looking  pure
Brought to light is seen to be deception.
The pattern I first saw, of messy marbled streaks
reveals to be of more compound complexion.

I feel the want to approach it closer…


When I with curious eyes delight to look more closely
I  can  see  the tiny  bits  of  rock  and bone,
sand  and  shining  mica, and shards  of  shell infused  
bits and pieces all combined to  solid  form.
I recall the recent past, when only grey had cloaked this rock,  
A spot that from a distance yawned a monochrome,
And I see this spot is parcel of a hundred tiny pieces–
An unapparent universe in stone.

I am now a nose’s length from this sight superior...

The closer that I draw to this planetary exterior
The I more I see each particle discrete.
I think that if I took a hammer, and blasted it apart
Each sediment could be a stone complete.
If I am solid body, what is to say
That I could not be so composite underneath?
I could be a thousand microchosms, from the inside out;
My solid form is only the relief.

And yet that I would find companion in this ordinary stone
Is destiny of day quite unforeseen
Discovered by surprise, while in this boredom’s hefty hour,
Retracing over simple path routine.
But more surprising still, while I’m comparing flesh to earth,
I can’t decide if it more likely seems seems
That stones resemble bodies, pieces making up a whole,
Or if bodies help us view the Earth extreme.

I think I may be too up close to see.
I am walking past this stone to let it be.
vircapio gale Oct 2015
the bigotry in me
proclaims you bigot-this-or-that
a silent death forgone before be met

the unapparent--yet habitual--whole you are
prereduced in pornographic quips
or tongue-slips given over to a politician's herd

remains in static symmetry's conclusive wan
sinks in double-speech's soft caress:
single, oceanic oil spillage shrug
,the value dancing buzz--
atop sommellier ****
Allison Rose Sep 2013
One day I am walking, walking past a stone
I see a painted pattern undiscerned.
A marbled sort of mess, in shades of grey and brown,
the mass before me wears a cloak unlearned.





But upon closer inspection, I am surprised to find
a stone more tightly packed than first imagined.
The  large  and  solid  mass, from  distance looking  pure
Brought to light is seen to be deception.
The pattern I first saw, of messy marbled streaks
reveals to be of more compound complexion.




When I with curious eyes delight to look more closely
I  can  see  the tiny  bits  of  rock  and bone,
sand  and  shining  mica, and shards  of  shell infused  
bits  and  pieces  fused  in  solid  form.
I recall the recent past, when only grey had cloaked this rock,  
A spot that from a distance yawned a monochrome,
And I see this spot is parcel of a hundred tiny pieces–
An unapparent universe in stone.



The closer that I draw to this planetary exterior
The I more I see each particle discrete.
I think that if I took a hammer, and blasted it apart
Each sediment could be a stone complete.
If I am solid body, who is there to say
That I'm not so composite underneath?
A thousand microchosms, from the inside out;
My solid form is only the relief.

That I would find companion in this ordinary stone
Is destiny of day quite unforeseen
Discovered by surprise, in boredom’s hefty hour,
Tracing over simple path routine.
But more surprising still, while comparing flesh to earth,
I can’t decide if it more likely seems seems
That stones resemble bodies, pieces of a whole,
Or if bodies help us view the Earth extreme.

I think I may be too up close to see.
So I am walking past this stone to let it be.
M Clement Dec 2013
If I secretly wanted to explode
Would you tell somebody?

Pass center-left
We're strangers now
Happiness?
Not really
Contentment?
Maybe.
I can't help but feel we're better off
No we...
You
Me
Separate entities

Backside volley
To the side of the valley
Favorite my tweet
And I'll flip-flop my meat
Meet me at the grocer's
Five-dollar Tuesdays
Make sure it's ******.
Unapparent Appalachians
I spelled it wrong initially

Thought-o-sphere
To drivel near.
I got stuff to do.
I got stuff to do.
I got stuff to do.

Just touch me,
Somebody.
Alexandra Mar 2013
When nobody cares what's going inside
your heart in moments you need to feel care
when you are supposed to be satisfied
at least when somebody notice you're there...

and you want to scream and let go the fear
but something has hanged in you on a string
and you want to feel the hug, and comfort
yourself with the same bizarre haunting thought

that you lead a life, full sunshine and light
that cannot be led by someone who's blind

you comfort yourself that you hear the birds
and voices, and music a deaf person don't

you comfort yourself you can easily achieve
the peak of a hill of which ******* dream

you comfort yourself that you feel the life
with all its misfortunes and cravings and trials
and when you're sitting at sunset on shore
you know the path of the sun's chosen your
unapparent figure as aim of its tour

and feeling of life can pierce to the bone
when you tries to fancy where're people who've gone...
Scott M Reamer Aug 2013
I was never moving backwards, in fact I never moved at all.
Here; among the markers and holy proof, have I, the path finder always sat.
Body stoic, thoughts dampened, eyes crossed spying wide but, ever wise?
Atop the two inch tower, in the humid shadow cast neathe the pine and needle.
Silas Wright Dewitt, my company unapparent, December fourth, 1844 was he bore
November tenth , 1904 is he born.
Mateuš Conrad Oct 2018
well...
                                  the bonus points
concerning keeping
                                                       cats?

you can best pet them...
but / by ignoring them...

i like thinking of...
keeping crazies on the lose end
of the, "spectrum"...

nouns, oh so, misnomer prone...
and we keep the freaks
on leashes,
  mad bank barking saliva riddled
fiddles of
        that, obnoxious rabies scandal...

life, love, and the closed closet...
skeletons do the dance?
sure as hell whittle Woger...

             Ranger..
crazies on the loose /
freaks on leashes...
which barks first,
   and... which bites first?

i said:
which barks first,
     and which... bites first?!

last time i "heard", or rather, saw...
the little pooch does all the barking...
but the big dog?
the big dog does all the biting...

little dog barks,
big dog bites...

       and why would my neighbor
knock on my door, asking...
'i'm going round the corner
for some fish... would you like
some extra chips?'

a kind reply of: no...

      i'm still apprehensive about
the normy routine surrounding
the misunderstood status of
a revised cartesian duality,
moprhed into a dichotomy...

sure, once upon a time,
you cloud cure both the mind utilizing
the body, and both the body
utilizing the mind...
but... those days are over...

you can't translate the mind to a body,
while pivoting on a mind-body duality...
you can translate the mind to a body,
while pivoting on,
                    a mind-body dichotomy...
which gives you the focus on
the physicality of the mind,
i.e. brain...

                and what the 20th century
scientists call:
the chemo-soup...
    or... what's that? chemical "imbalance"?
i've heard that... i've heard that
my brain is a chemo-soup...
        
    no... because if you can take cheap-stabs
at some of the mental illnesses...
i can do the same... right?
                   cancer?          ah ha ha!
this really ****** me off...

         if you've never been to Disney La-La-Land...
how do you know what is,
and what isn't, what ought to be,
or rather not ought to be?!

current medicine borrowed from
philosophy the unhinged performance act
of treating the mind as not unison
with the body... into...

the mind is of its own accord...
the body is of its own "self"...
   the brain is the current dualism of
convening to marry the two
with a relation of, shared, "interests"...

but cognition is unrelated to the body,
or aa part of the body, namely
the congregational ***** of the brain...
thinking is not related to
the unconscious automation
of the heart's heartbeat...
i don't exactly think by automation...
i can't automate thinking,
i can subvert it and create a subconscious
narrative...
   the... lost voice of consciousness...
the, unapparent narrator...

but mind cannot replicate an
unconscious-consciousness of function,
comparable to the unconscious
function of the automated heartbeat
of a heart...
              
given the "fact" that the brain...
as a "source" of cognition,
    is given into the same alive-dead matter
status of every other *****...
the brain might have an inbuilt
concept of orientating consciousness...
but...

   last time i checked...
does consciousness precursor the need
for the existence of, thought?!
i'm not here to prove anything,
in terms of the utility of using
language, proofs are like...
do i believe in Darwinism?
is... is that really an argument
to finalize itself with a, belief?
i don't require a belief in Darwinism,
what i require a denial of Darwinism,
to juggle the other-timelines
and keep myself orientated within
the macrocosm mesh of
seen bodies...

             a belief in Darwinism is on
par... with the negation of God...
both observations seem to borrow something
from your, atypical take on
the infancy of atheism...
just about hitting the hip-majority
expression status...

i know what the problem is...
the proximity of words...
built upon a close relativism of synonyms /
antonyms...
   and the whole... prefix jargon...
even i'm fooled...

self-conscious...
                but the brain must be conscious
of itself on some level...
the heart is...
             if the heart was not conscious of
itself, it would have the free-will
to suddenly stop working as a blood-pump...

of i'm pretty sure the brain is
conscious of itself,
  i'm starting to see this whole
existential conundrum as...
consistent of being combined of
unitates per se:
         units in themselves...

i can classify a consciousness as the, unison,
but... i can't classify a unison of
consciousness, given my split orientation
regarding the, unison of the unitary per se,
somehow segregated, yet placed
together...

               the brain has a per se membrane...
the heart has a per se membrane,
hence anatomy,
cardiology, neurology, psychiatry...
the mind has a membrane...       thought...
the cancerous growth of ego,
whatever...

                and as the microscope proved to
the telescope...
  both extension of interest seemed to
be looking at some variant of an adhesive /
glue... sniffing it to boot?
perhaps...
                                unless i'm mistaken...
gravity is pretty much non-existent on
the microscope level of...

matter... anti-matter...
there's a second type of gravity...
i'm sure of it...
         gravity might be a grand force on
the macro-sized events of observation...
but... what force is keeping the atoms
in line?
        just... magnetism,
the proton +, the neutron 0, the electron -?
i'm starting to find
the neutron suspicious...
really suspicious...

                      if i had the money,
i'd study the neutron...
so "simple" magnetism explains the counter
force of macro-objects that's gravity,
within the confines of atoms?!

sure... gravity explains the interaction
of macro-objects...
but sure as **** gravity doesn't
explain the interaction of micro-"objects"
(micro-nouns)...

i'm not buying it...
atoms do not know what becomes
the Copernican post-script
of n.e.w.s. (north, east, west, south)...
finding those coordinates
in the universe? good luck.

  i'm still thinking that the neutron
is suspicious...
i'd bank on finding something
suspicious about it,
a sort of +/-              -/+
                       enzyme mechanism of
quantum *******...
between the proton and the electron...
something that encompasses
a variant of the sort of gravity
observed in readily observable objects...

the neutron...
   when observing a neutrino star...
there must be something quantum about
the atomic neutron...
that converts with contradictory
   parameters,
the           proton / electron base for
existence being observed,
and not being observed / automated -

         there must be something
akin to this...
     how... the proton contradicts the + charge
and is negatively charged when
unobserved...

                   and the whole disappearing
act of electrons?
how they behave like magicians...
whatever the hell that was,
clouds rather than orbitals?
if that's the case?
isn't that due to them exchanging
handshakes with + / - charges?

let's just say...
theoretical science, while drinking?
no chance in hell in me reading
science fiction.
Electric Jan 2019
The admiration lark is falling, the unasked skirt is crawling,
The writhes are swelling, the self-haunting is knelling
The unapparent showers are thrown, and the interventions each stiffened
Let your duskier perils play:
And make her polluted insufferable with tear on tear.
Robert Brunner Jul 2021
It kept burning.
one candle that
held the wish.
maybe to keep
the others from
the dark.
A shrug unapparent
to most,
for the gift
with your name
on it.
Maybe to build
humility.
A heart may
hold me along
with another.
One
anxious child
amongst the smiling waves
on the gangplank
shudders, color of
the white life saver.
Maybe it hangs like
decoration not
to bob in the cold
ocean.
Andrew W Oct 2020
A token of humanity wrapped in innocence
An idea of morality that exists in only openness
A broken idea of warped unknowingness

A faith of unapparent that lurks below
A naivety broken in harshness
An unspoken vigilance
A film protecting light from dark

A cellophane heart

I see you appear
As unconsciously as the tide
You conjure in my head
Like the poltergeist of my psyche
Your voice rattles the wall of the castle my mind calls home
Books fly off of shelves of knowledge into the array of ambiguity
A certain fear of uncertainty builds into a tower of the unknown
The novels telling histories of us
A history of war and **** that exists in grisly repetition

A fear I can place
One that belongs in the deeps of the ocean
Next to a jetty lies the remains of my innocence
The despair of recurrence in a daily scene
Only recognizable by whom it passes through

An image of the possibility of the future that man holds
The woman you pass on her way to work
The boy riding his bike around the culdesac
The little girl you see holding her mother’s hand

the recurring possibility of the purge of innocence
It lies beneath the skin of each body
Creeping in the crevice in the sidewalk
Looking up the skirt of humanity
Waiting for the opportunity to strike
A slithering creature lying in wake
A creature that is man

And I am ashamed to be seen as one of them

Andrew W.
10-20-20
All Poems are in chronological order from earliest to latest. For reference, my birth date is 3/24/05.
Michael Marchese Jan 2020
No ghosts of Christmas
Long deceased
Could bring this
Bitter recluse
Peace
Can’t make me feel
Appeals to reason
Nor good tiding’s
Seasons greetings
Leading to
My guilt admission
No persistent
Apparition
Yields my penitent
Submission
Crippled-Cratchet-crutch
Contrition
Errant in my unapparent
Heir
I bare
The lion’s share
Of wealth, it’s mine
I do not care
Of other’s health
Or ill-repine
No petty pity
Robs me blind
Nor filthy pauper’s paws
A dime
Shall ever from mine own
Divest
So spooks
I beg you
Let me rest
And leave me to
My undisturbed
Lamenting torments
I deserved
Accursed by misfortunes
Earned
Still haunted by
The lovers spurned
Hellfire hath
My bridges burned
So turn from me,
Depart,
Be gone
Fell spectral fiends
Before the dawn’s
Unbearable
Arising heralds
More unwelcome
Christmas carols

— The End —