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Ceida Uilyc Jul 2015
I could tell you,
But you’d laugh at me.
Because it is bare, raw and pure.
You gloat on the preservatives.
You discard the genuine.
Listen to me, my friend, there is a part of the world, where even a bulb is never, ever, witnessed in real, but reel of the sanskrit Cartoon slots. The peppy  and ‘lone B-grade Cartoons .
Filled with Flesh.
The stories of tantric mantras, with a sliver of diminishing hearth,
on the
Dimensions and depth of the Yoni in the resin of shellac
on the Immaculate ceremony,
In a woodpecker hole just underneath the sealed power of the Yakshini who truly screws it up if you have taste of her once.
the one who harbingers drunk loners of Kavadiyattom alley after 3:20 am.
She takes them to the crown chakra of palm trees.
Shows them the world.
she pushes them off the crown and the falcon falls in endless spirals of a inhuman push that pushes the concrete innards to a danlgling mass of amoebic copulation.
Breath comes back.
It is a big nauseating gag of Kumbhakarnan's long sadya that lasted for half a decade.
Of the soma saras that made the entire India go, ga-ga and believe they've seen the god.
But not one nor any saw the same face, colour, shape or even vibe of the god they had seen alone.
They agreed in unison that all their hallucinations of beautiful humans in Flower UFO s and high-tech cloning, were a vital hair in the nostril of the cosmos.
They made, each a god out of their genuine mix of memories.
Or in the, priest's ways,
Hence, the 2.3 Billion populous of the country had the same, well, odd Spiritual benefactors.

Keeping it all aside, lemme be honest, I'd follow many a fairy god-mother but give my milkey teeny tooth to the special one.
Hinduism tells you God is omnipresent.
Hinduism tells you God is within you.
It also says, there is no God.
The clipper to snap off the confusion of this, lies in the same cheap stained-yellow cliche of love. It entails everything. You, me, animals, plants, cosmos, vibes, thoughts, dreams and the universe.
It tells you to live with your body mind and soul.
From Kamasutras that teaches sense.
The excitement, control and breakthrough of it.
Like tao did under his exposed roof without the sacred dung of from Hindu Land.
This is the secret of a rumoured Mohini,
Of her 1000 per hour ******* during the her/ his/ its 352 incarnations.
which was the reason for Big bang.  
Amidst the sultry scant of the voluptuous *******,
Their skin,
a vernacular reflection of a dusk on the Japanese gold beaches, And the mounts,
firm and glowing with the rusty shade of pharaoh’s Gold anklet.
The gooey glaze of yesterday’s glamour in the wink of a gay galore.
Paulo Ceolho’s Holy Communion with God,
Or like the Japanese Tengaman says,
Or rather screams,
That all it it takes is a little *******.
So, yes.
That precise art of attaining a consciousness, from where your mind was
Afloat
Wild
Free
Satiated
By yourself
You’ve just consumed the essence of you
Your Ojhas
And the tiny matter that teaches the universe
Of a Shunya.
That, momentary sense of lapse of your body mass,
Or the breakthrough into your eye of the crown.
Only to join the mundane bustle of the 10,00 speakers on all four
JBLs, Boses and Pioneers live looping the zillions of sanskrit mantras under one roof.
In your Ear drum.
A synechdoche of the Gods and their jacuzzi of amphetamine bubbles.
Splashed from a white Elephant's bejewelled Snout, which has the
crowned ring in your pineals.
Secret lies under
the rotten bone chip of Hussain Sagar
deep under the ***** green lake,  
drowning the rainbow Buddha in the city of slimy immortal maggots on ham.
Open your eyes.
For the Gods will
Else
Cut your eyelids off
to show you that
the city's shardminds await you.
roaring
Playing close to the fire demons of Redland
A nail close to your wide open lid-less
White flowing eye.
Hear the city scream.
The deafening chaos,
In unison,
Intoxicating their venomous fruits
of the delirious worlds
Or simply put, divine prayer and offering
for
the Omnipotent,
Omniscient
And the
Om.
Shunya.
Or the cyclic abyss of meaninglessness.
But,
Like, the wilted azures
that seduced those flies,
From a far far away,
To come the praise the combs of their bellies,
Filled with the red from the omnipotent, dead, weak and evil
In one little fly belly.
They came from the
land called Lullaby.
To go there
from here,
But, first,
bear the Weasleys' infamous extendable ears and heed me now, for I say twice and See him Come.
The snake, the tangy smell of goated black rub and blueness.
Siva shouldn't come?
Not yet. A little DMT more in the brain and perhaps the spark will happen.
Better than the potions of those gigantic forest priests.
No, Heed me, now.

3 Dodos Walk-afar,
And, take the lone left-laden log
the one that is,
limitless Long
loyal and  let alone
By those
languors which
Killed
Lord Leopard Loot'.
While,
Lord's Lass
Lays lolled lambs,
Lolled ‘long le ******,
Leech on the laiden log,
leading to Lord Lava,
Yes.
The bridge of Casilii Po.

Of the Lord.
Guarded
By these bubbling bellies with a drop of the world's make.
Assassins.
the Fly, flies.

retain the scarification of theolden curse,
Older than the rocks underneath this gurgling lava,
On which reincarnation steams.

As destiny should have it,
the astrologers had seen,
3 centuries back
That at a Sphinx’s Wedding,
a war of Vision,
will break.
It will
Bring the Stars
Out of those melting blue nightsky of Neruda's wails;
And the diabolic estrangement inflicting Eagle,
From Meena’s vibes,
that rubbed of a distinct scent of Malabar embedding a little of everybody in the village,
on its Kasavu lines posing
at the focus
of Sahib's Ferguson or Baker.

The gold turned white.
A liquid white, like that of the sap,
For that,
***** on a parrot green rubber plant
And work your fun with the white gluey milk,
fragrant than the sap
Like the  Ylang Ylang buds freshly kissed by the drooly dew,
sealed away
elegantly in a crystal Indigo bottle by the pen stand.

One that glitters if you look at its surface, but smells of naphthalene ***** in the sink
in
that
creepy trailer in
mid salem night of the tut.
Colourful.
This is colorblind.

White is motile.
White is wriggling.
White is life.
With a **** of Eve’s fabric-less
Skin.
White is divinity
feeding you excess of everything,
With an tenfold over dosage injected intravenous, by a silver-haired-glow-in-the-dark-dodo-cupid;

She is divine.
**** Her.
**** her on a Pyre.
**** her innards on a fire.
inflame the bubble
of her her oily effluent you found on the toilet seat
Instil in her, the seed of your sodomic occult,
Not by compassion, but through a hiss and sting
of the
flawless venom of the diabolic.  
Then. Disinfect your fruit that you flicked off the paradise.
And bellow to the blowing gurgling below.  
A reign of ****  nihilism,
moaning the mood-swings-of-a-98-year-old-menopausing-Bhairavi of the Indian Aghora Tales;
And Shelly, fueled in his undiminished hearth with the help of his impetous West Wind,
dreaming lucid,
on a flight in the sky for one week,
with Lucy’s sewing  sequined buttocks,
Stinging their luminescent, lactating, lustrous skin,
Like a tatto machine, lifting rays into the epidermis
So that it roasts, burns a soot and neonifies the only colour
A shade of
The rave, rainbow-red karmas of human existence,
Its little greedy quantas waltzing around the matter
And of its unleashed illuminations
That fuel the same vessel in the universe,
infamously known as,
the
black hole.
Uggh!!
All characters and plots are fictitious.
Your nightmares are yours, not Caesar's.
This is truly the fruit of my insomnia. I have been awake 52 hours now. Had to rant the wakefulness out.
It is unedited. All those offended, I didn't mean it, you did.
Of Man’s first disobedience, and the fruit
Of that forbidden tree whose mortal taste
Brought death into the World, and all our woe,
With loss of Eden, till one greater Man
Restore us, and regain the blissful seat,
Sing, Heavenly Muse, that, on the secret top
Of Oreb, or of Sinai, didst inspire
That shepherd who first taught the chosen seed
In the beginning how the heavens and earth
Rose out of Chaos: or, if Sion hill
Delight thee more, and Siloa’s brook that flowed
Fast by the oracle of God, I thence
Invoke thy aid to my adventurous song,
That with no middle flight intends to soar
Above th’ Aonian mount, while it pursues
Things unattempted yet in prose or rhyme.
And chiefly thou, O Spirit, that dost prefer
Before all temples th’ upright heart and pure,
Instruct me, for thou know’st; thou from the first
Wast present, and, with mighty wings outspread,
Dove-like sat’st brooding on the vast Abyss,
And mad’st it pregnant: what in me is dark
Illumine, what is low raise and support;
That, to the height of this great argument,
I may assert Eternal Providence,
And justify the ways of God to men.
  Say first—for Heaven hides nothing from thy view,
Nor the deep tract of Hell—say first what cause
Moved our grand parents, in that happy state,
Favoured of Heaven so highly, to fall off
From their Creator, and transgress his will
For one restraint, lords of the World besides.
Who first seduced them to that foul revolt?
  Th’ infernal Serpent; he it was whose guile,
Stirred up with envy and revenge, deceived
The mother of mankind, what time his pride
Had cast him out from Heaven, with all his host
Of rebel Angels, by whose aid, aspiring
To set himself in glory above his peers,
He trusted to have equalled the Most High,
If he opposed, and with ambitious aim
Against the throne and monarchy of God,
Raised impious war in Heaven and battle proud,
With vain attempt. Him the Almighty Power
Hurled headlong flaming from th’ ethereal sky,
With hideous ruin and combustion, down
To bottomless perdition, there to dwell
In adamantine chains and penal fire,
Who durst defy th’ Omnipotent to arms.
  Nine times the space that measures day and night
To mortal men, he, with his horrid crew,
Lay vanquished, rolling in the fiery gulf,
Confounded, though immortal. But his doom
Reserved him to more wrath; for now the thought
Both of lost happiness and lasting pain
Torments him: round he throws his baleful eyes,
That witnessed huge affliction and dismay,
Mixed with obdurate pride and steadfast hate.
At once, as far as Angels ken, he views
The dismal situation waste and wild.
A dungeon horrible, on all sides round,
As one great furnace flamed; yet from those flames
No light; but rather darkness visible
Served only to discover sights of woe,
Regions of sorrow, doleful shades, where peace
And rest can never dwell, hope never comes
That comes to all, but torture without end
Still urges, and a fiery deluge, fed
With ever-burning sulphur unconsumed.
Such place Eternal Justice has prepared
For those rebellious; here their prison ordained
In utter darkness, and their portion set,
As far removed from God and light of Heaven
As from the centre thrice to th’ utmost pole.
Oh how unlike the place from whence they fell!
There the companions of his fall, o’erwhelmed
With floods and whirlwinds of tempestuous fire,
He soon discerns; and, weltering by his side,
One next himself in power, and next in crime,
Long after known in Palestine, and named
Beelzebub. To whom th’ Arch-Enemy,
And thence in Heaven called Satan, with bold words
Breaking the horrid silence, thus began:—
  “If thou beest he—but O how fallen! how changed
From him who, in the happy realms of light
Clothed with transcendent brightness, didst outshine
Myriads, though bright!—if he whom mutual league,
United thoughts and counsels, equal hope
And hazard in the glorious enterprise
Joined with me once, now misery hath joined
In equal ruin; into what pit thou seest
From what height fallen: so much the stronger proved
He with his thunder; and till then who knew
The force of those dire arms? Yet not for those,
Nor what the potent Victor in his rage
Can else inflict, do I repent, or change,
Though changed in outward lustre, that fixed mind,
And high disdain from sense of injured merit,
That with the Mightiest raised me to contend,
And to the fierce contentions brought along
Innumerable force of Spirits armed,
That durst dislike his reign, and, me preferring,
His utmost power with adverse power opposed
In dubious battle on the plains of Heaven,
And shook his throne. What though the field be lost?
All is not lost—the unconquerable will,
And study of revenge, immortal hate,
And courage never to submit or yield:
And what is else not to be overcome?
That glory never shall his wrath or might
Extort from me. To bow and sue for grace
With suppliant knee, and deify his power
Who, from the terror of this arm, so late
Doubted his empire—that were low indeed;
That were an ignominy and shame beneath
This downfall; since, by fate, the strength of Gods,
And this empyreal sybstance, cannot fail;
Since, through experience of this great event,
In arms not worse, in foresight much advanced,
We may with more successful hope resolve
To wage by force or guile eternal war,
Irreconcilable to our grand Foe,
Who now triumphs, and in th’ excess of joy
Sole reigning holds the tyranny of Heaven.”
  So spake th’ apostate Angel, though in pain,
Vaunting aloud, but racked with deep despair;
And him thus answered soon his bold compeer:—
  “O Prince, O Chief of many throned Powers
That led th’ embattled Seraphim to war
Under thy conduct, and, in dreadful deeds
Fearless, endangered Heaven’s perpetual King,
And put to proof his high supremacy,
Whether upheld by strength, or chance, or fate,
Too well I see and rue the dire event
That, with sad overthrow and foul defeat,
Hath lost us Heaven, and all this mighty host
In horrible destruction laid thus low,
As far as Gods and heavenly Essences
Can perish: for the mind and spirit remains
Invincible, and vigour soon returns,
Though all our glory extinct, and happy state
Here swallowed up in endless misery.
But what if he our Conqueror (whom I now
Of force believe almighty, since no less
Than such could have o’erpowered such force as ours)
Have left us this our spirit and strength entire,
Strongly to suffer and support our pains,
That we may so suffice his vengeful ire,
Or do him mightier service as his thralls
By right of war, whate’er his business be,
Here in the heart of Hell to work in fire,
Or do his errands in the gloomy Deep?
What can it the avail though yet we feel
Strength undiminished, or eternal being
To undergo eternal punishment?”
  Whereto with speedy words th’ Arch-Fiend replied:—
“Fallen Cherub, to be weak is miserable,
Doing or suffering: but of this be sure—
To do aught good never will be our task,
But ever to do ill our sole delight,
As being the contrary to his high will
Whom we resist. If then his providence
Out of our evil seek to bring forth good,
Our labour must be to pervert that end,
And out of good still to find means of evil;
Which ofttimes may succeed so as perhaps
Shall grieve him, if I fail not, and disturb
His inmost counsels from their destined aim.
But see! the angry Victor hath recalled
His ministers of vengeance and pursuit
Back to the gates of Heaven: the sulphurous hail,
Shot after us in storm, o’erblown hath laid
The fiery surge that from the precipice
Of Heaven received us falling; and the thunder,
Winged with red lightning and impetuous rage,
Perhaps hath spent his shafts, and ceases now
To bellow through the vast and boundless Deep.
Let us not slip th’ occasion, whether scorn
Or satiate fury yield it from our Foe.
Seest thou yon dreary plain, forlorn and wild,
The seat of desolation, void of light,
Save what the glimmering of these livid flames
Casts pale and dreadful? Thither let us tend
From off the tossing of these fiery waves;
There rest, if any rest can harbour there;
And, re-assembling our afflicted powers,
Consult how we may henceforth most offend
Our enemy, our own loss how repair,
How overcome this dire calamity,
What reinforcement we may gain from hope,
If not, what resolution from despair.”
  Thus Satan, talking to his nearest mate,
With head uplift above the wave, and eyes
That sparkling blazed; his other parts besides
Prone on the flood, extended long and large,
Lay floating many a rood, in bulk as huge
As whom the fables name of monstrous size,
Titanian or Earth-born, that warred on Jove,
Briareos or Typhon, whom the den
By ancient Tarsus held, or that sea-beast
Leviathan, which God of all his works
Created hugest that swim th’ ocean-stream.
Him, haply slumbering on the Norway foam,
The pilot of some small night-foundered skiff,
Deeming some island, oft, as ****** tell,
With fixed anchor in his scaly rind,
Moors by his side under the lee, while night
Invests the sea, and wished morn delays.
So stretched out huge in length the Arch-fiend lay,
Chained on the burning lake; nor ever thence
Had risen, or heaved his head, but that the will
And high permission of all-ruling Heaven
Left him at large to his own dark designs,
That with reiterated crimes he might
Heap on himself damnation, while he sought
Evil to others, and enraged might see
How all his malice served but to bring forth
Infinite goodness, grace, and mercy, shewn
On Man by him seduced, but on himself
Treble confusion, wrath, and vengeance poured.
  Forthwith upright he rears from off the pool
His mighty stature; on each hand the flames
Driven backward ***** their pointing spires, and,rolled
In billows, leave i’ th’ midst a horrid vale.
Then with expanded wings he steers his flight
Aloft, incumbent on the dusky air,
That felt unusual weight; till on dry land
He lights—if it were land that ever burned
With solid, as the lake with liquid fire,
And such appeared in hue as when the force
Of subterranean wind transprots a hill
Torn from Pelorus, or the shattered side
Of thundering Etna, whose combustible
And fuelled entrails, thence conceiving fire,
Sublimed with mineral fury, aid the winds,
And leave a singed bottom all involved
With stench and smoke. Such resting found the sole
Of unblest feet. Him followed his next mate;
Both glorying to have scaped the Stygian flood
As gods, and by their own recovered strength,
Not by the sufferance of supernal Power.
  “Is this the region, this the soil, the clime,”
Said then the lost Archangel, “this the seat
That we must change for Heaven?—this mournful gloom
For that celestial light? Be it so, since he
Who now is sovereign can dispose and bid
What shall be right: farthest from him is best
Whom reason hath equalled, force hath made supreme
Above his equals. Farewell, happy fields,
Where joy for ever dwells! Hail, horrors! hail,
Infernal world! and thou, profoundest Hell,
Receive thy new possessor—one who brings
A mind not to be changed by place or time.
The mind is its own place, and in itself
Can make a Heaven of Hell, a Hell of Heaven.
What matter where, if I be still the same,
And what I should be, all but less than he
Whom thunder hath made greater? Here at least
We shall be free; th’ Almighty hath not built
Here for his envy, will not drive us hence:
Here we may reigh secure; and, in my choice,
To reign is worth ambition, though in Hell:
Better to reign in Hell than serve in Heaven.
But wherefore let we then our faithful friends,
Th’ associates and co-partners of our loss,
Lie thus astonished on th’ oblivious pool,
And call them not to share with us their part
In this unhappy mansion, or once more
With rallied arms to try what may be yet
Regained in Heaven, or what more lost in Hell?”
  So Satan spake; and him Beelzebub
Thus answered:—”Leader of those armies bright
Which, but th’ Omnipotent, none could have foiled!
If once they hear that voice, their liveliest pledge
Of hope in fears and dangers—heard so oft
In worst extremes, and on the perilous edge
Of battle, when it raged, in all assaults
Their surest signal—they will soon resume
New courage and revive, though now they lie
Grovelling and prostrate on yon lake of fire,
As we erewhile, astounded and amazed;
No wonder, fallen such a pernicious height!”
  He scare had ceased when the superior Fiend
Was moving toward the shore; his ponderous shield,
Ethereal temper, massy, large, and round,
Behind him cast. The broad circumference
Hung on his shoulders like the moon, whose orb
Through optic glass the Tuscan artist views
At evening, from the top of Fesole,
Or in Valdarno, to descry new lands,
Rivers, or mountains, in her spotty globe.
His spear—to equal which the tallest pine
Hewn on Norwegian hills, to be the mast
Of some great ammiral, were but a wand—
He walked with, to support uneasy steps
Over the burning marl, not like those steps
On Heaven’s azure; and the torrid clime
Smote on him sore besides, vaulted with fire.
Nathless he so endured, till on the beach
Of that inflamed sea he stood, and called
His legions—Angel Forms, who lay entranced
Thick as autumnal leaves that strow the brooks
In Vallombrosa, where th’ Etrurian shades
High over-arched embower; or scattered sedge
Afloat, when with fierce winds Orion armed
Hath vexed the Red-Sea coast, whose waves o’erthrew
Busiris and his Memphian chivalry,
While with perfidious hatred they pursued
The sojourners of Goshen, who beheld
From the safe shore their floating carcases
And broken chariot-wheels. So thick bestrown,
Abject and lost, lay these, covering the flood,
Under amazement of their hideous change.
He called so loud that all the hollow deep
Of Hell resounded:—”Princes, Potentates,
Warriors, the Flower of Heaven—once yours; now lost,
If such astonishment as this can seize
Eternal Spirits! Or have ye chosen this place
After the toil of battle to repose
Your wearied virtue, for the ease you find
To slumber here, as in the vales of Heaven?
Or in this abject posture have ye sworn
To adore the Conqueror, who now beholds
Cherub and Seraph rolling in the flood
With scattered arms and ensigns, till anon
His swift pursuers from Heaven-gates discern
Th’ advantage, and, descending, tread us down
Thus drooping, or with linked thunderbolts
Transfix us to the bottom of this gulf?
Awake, arise, or be for ever fallen!”
  They heard, and were abashed, and up they sprung
Upon the wing, as when men wont to watch
On duty, sleeping found by whom they dread,
Rouse and bestir themselves ere well awake.
Nor did they not perceive the evil plight
In which they were, or the fierce pains not feel;
Yet to their General’s voice they soon obeyed
Innumerable. As when the potent rod
Of Amram’s son, in Egypt’s evil day,
Waved round the coast, up-called a pitchy cloud
Of locusts, warping on the eastern wind,
That o’er the realm of impious Pharaoh hung
Like Night, and darkened all the land of Nile;
So numberless were those bad Angels seen
Hovering on wing under the cope of Hell,
‘Twixt upper, nether, and surrounding fires;
Till, as a signal given, th’ uplifted spear
Of their great Sultan waving to direct
Their course, in even balance down they light
On the firm brimstone, and fill all the plain:
A multitude like which the populous North
Poured never from her frozen ***** to pass
Rhene or the Danaw, when her barbarous sons
Came like a deluge on the South, and spread
Beneath Gibraltar to the Libyan sands.
Forthwith, form every squadron and each band,
The heads and leaders thither haste where stood
Their great Commander—godlike Shapes, and Forms
Excelling human; princely Dignities;
And Powers that erst in Heaven sat on thrones,
Though on their names in Heavenly records now
Be no memorial, blotted out and rased
By their rebellion from the Books of Life.
Nor had they yet among the sons of Eve
Got them new names, till, wandering o’er the earth,
Through God’s high sufferance for the trial of man,
By falsities and lies the greatest part
Of mankind they corrupted to forsake
God their Creator, and th’ invisible
Glory of him that made them to transform
Oft to the image of a brute, adorned
With gay religions full of pomp and gold,
And devils to adore for deities:
Then were they known to men by various names,
And various idols through the heathen world.
  Say, Muse, their names then known, who first, who last,
Roused fr
WS Warner Mar 2012
Secretly bending glimpses,  
When pine and survey align
In tortuous accord –
Reflections of you,
Are not enough
Drew Barrie;
To insulate my heart
From the cleft between us.
Perennials, the color of
Periwinkle,
The smell of rain
And crayons
Return you to me,
Lend presence, vestiges,
Invoke
The gift of you,
Fortify my resolve
To one day reunite.

Numbness and ache,
Lavish tears set
Against the
Unimpeachable light,
Held in the glint in your eyes
Unequivocally green,
Each blink evokes allure,
Found in
A blushing smile -
Little one,
I observe in quiet
Adoration, amid
Our segregation,
Ardor undiminished,
Prayers give permanence
Uttered in a pause
Each
Breath drawn;
Ephemeral visions, alive,
Ballads and rhyme
Memories aflame, occupy
A sacred canopy,
Internal; profoundly
Savored
Never to erase.

Searching for treasure,
Collecting prized sand
And stone,
Your pockets, heavy
With plunder.

Somber tones fill
Gaps in our history,
Find new contrast,
Certain hues
Oscillating shades of gray
Stirring cues
Dearth of winter blue.
Trees bare, secluded,
Known in the bones,
This crisp boreal air —
February.
Moisture absent,
Like a father's words
Laconic;
Your irreducible gaze,
In the
Opaque imagination.

Oddly arid season,
Aloof precipitation,
The will of the wind
Indefatigable,
Sonnets of euphony, leave me
Undone,
Permit me to grieve,
Another year - gone.
Nervous Squirrels, sedentary
And quiet,
As if to mourn with me,
I miss my daughter.

The spring equinox,
Poised pavilion blended
Unfolds in bloom,
Elucidating
The approaching day
Of your birth.

Stunning you were,
Your prominent
Entry into creation,
Tiny noises,
Nestled and snug.
Reach
My effusive heart.
You are here,
Equipped with an
Absorbing mind
Wrapped,  
Perfectly  
Designed, in a petite
Fashioned frame.

Emotions, elastic -
Diffuse and Compress,
In distance friction
Attenuates,
Time and eternity
Extend to the periphery,
Agony
Absorbed into Zoe.
Grace and peace wash
Ashore, rinsing
Poetry pure;
Cleansing, with surprise
And vigor
Recall the loftiest
Of tokens.

I too
Encountered
An esteemed rock,
Smooth and orbed,
Summoning  
Long thoughts,
My citadel made
Of three,
Uniquely ensconced
Inside -
Priceless gems,  
Sustain me.

Enclaves of privilege
Gratified each vacant
Mirror,
Until notes and
Words gather to form
Your story,
Emergent,
The world shifts,
Altered anew.
Resurrection,
Simile to
Our reconciliation
Visceral and singular,
Exuberant teardrops
Flood, fall deeply
Approximating mercy,
Severe, sudden as
The April freshet.

In the lavender garden.

©2012 & 2016 W.S. Warner
The onion, now that's something else
its innards don't exist
nothing but pure onionhood
fills this devout onionist
oniony on the inside
onionesque it appears
it follows its own daimonion
without our human tears

our skin is just a coverup
for the land where none dare to go
an internal inferno
the anathema of anatomy
in an onion there's only onion
from its top to it's toe
onionymous monomania
unanimous omninudity

at peace, at peace
internally at rest
inside it, there's a smaller one
of undiminished worth
the second holds a third one
the third contains a fourth
a centripetal fugue
polypony compressed

nature's rotundest tummy
its greatest success story
the onion drapes itself in it's
own aureoles of glory
we hold veins, nerves, and fat
secretions' secret sections
not for us such idiotic
onionoid perfections


Wisława Szymborska, translated from the Polish by Stanisław Barańczak & Clare Cavanagh
Wisława Szymborska (2 July 1923 – 1 February 2012) was a Polish poet, essayist, translator and recipient of the 1996 Nobel Prize in Literature ("for poetry that with ironic precision allows the historical and biological context to come to light in fragments of human reality"). Her work has been translated into English and many European languages, as well as into Arabic, Hebrew, Japanese and Chinese.
Tongues Dec 2014
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My soul is still
As slow as light grows
Over forested hills

My eyes are wide
As oceans that cannot
Contain their tide

My heart is silent
Though the love it holds
Is nearly violent

The revelation
That It Is Finished
Has left the wonder
*Undiminished
Robert Ronnow Sep 2023
On one of the myriad bays
along the Maine coast. Keep the holocaust
at bay I said to Dave because
you’ll spend all day gathering
2,000 calories and still be miserable hungry.
An undiminished population of humans is risible.

Black spruce and balsam fir,
you can eat the inner bark
in a starvation emergency.
There’s plenty of Cornus—bunchberry—
each orange pith around the stone
worth maybe a quarter calorie.

Lots of sarsparilla but the fruits
not out yet and to date I have not
savored one. Let’s see—dandelion
of course and huckleberry but
the most important source of sustenance
would be seaweed.

Learn your mushrooms! for the protein.
Accept the situation
come the apocalypse.
I struggle against my insignificance
but it would be better to struggle
against my ignorance.

Less effortlessness, more fishermanliness.
That’s the lesson of this Maine vacation
there’s a lot you can eat when in need—
the hips of roses and the pips of grasses.
And an endless supply of seaweed—
bladderwrack, dulse, kelp and thin green lettuce.
Michael John Aug 2018
some of our teachers were awful nice
and the harbour of sweet peccadillos
(having to deal with us every day
would make anyone crazy..)

and i suppose they took refuge in
their insect collecting in abyssinia..
(pasttimes tinged in the exotic
and a nod to the sadistic..)

but  love of keats and wordsworth (etc)...
miraculously remained undiminished..
(while demonstrating lethal aims and
a plethora of different pain..

one used the leg of a chair and another
gave his weaponry girl´ s names..
i guess they were just as bored as we were
how the season´ s waxed and wained..)

they still retained their soulful natures
a wonder of testament to the great genius
of elliot yeats and so forth..!
their fundamental faith undimmed...
Tony Luxton Aug 2015
'I'll see that plate clean,' she said,
'Or I'll send you straight to bed.'
Liver and onions lie in wait,
two choices up for debate.

'I won't hear a word till you've finished.'
It lay there still undiminished.
It's cold, unfit to eat, congealed,
and nowhere can it be concealed.

'You should have thought of that before.'
When I grow up I'll eat no more
of that cabbage, liver - lousy crud.
Give me sweets and crisps, perhaps rice pud'.

She should have thrown it in the bin.
Now I'm stuck, a locust for my sin.
I must eat all, my waists expanding.
Though Mother's gone, her ghost's demanding.
Cam Apr 2017
On the sixth day of the month,
Being the fifth one of the year,
We congregate to celebrate
The wedding of the year.

Not a week too late (that was Wills and Kate)
But our own dear Phil and Gemma,
Who, in ceremony, have duly vowed
To be as one forever.

But the two of you may be asking,
On this happiest of days,
"How do we keep romance alive?
O tell us of the ways!"

Well, the secrets of a happy marriage,
They are a secret still.
But these few tips may bring success,
So heed them if you will.

If you fall out in bitter temper
Don't  go to bed at night.
It will be far worse come morning,
So just stay up and fight.

A man should keep romance in bloom
With flowers and gifts that gleam,
And also, most importantly,
Keep his internet history clean.

A woman should pay attention
To those little things that matter,
Like vacuuming and ironing,
And when football's on, don't chatter!

And if your husband's eye might stray
Upon a lady passing by,
Why, 'tis only to remind him
That you're much fairer to the eye.

So it is said by those that know,
With certainty undiminished,
That two in love are incomplete,
Until, in marriage, they are finished.
This poem was originally written for a relative's wedding, a week after the Royal Wedding of Prince William and Kate Middleton.
K Balachandran Mar 2016
You sit in silence, on lotus
deeply meditate, in the end
recount the tale of life, simple
for a moment,in a nutshell,
the sky of your mind is clear.

But materials of millions
of light years in our tale
is beyond retrievable limits,
on that no confirmation
is needed, simple logic will
tell you that the life you live
couldn't be an isolated one
every one of the neurons
of your brain, is a star in this
thickly braided, interwoven 
 universes, that die and take birth.

Before and after simply
must be there, but, as it is
out of bounds for the senses,
limited to a time and space
we are groping in the dark.

So what now, don't you
want to go beyond --
in to the ocean where
human logic can't stand,
and end the intergalactic
expedition with light
and darkness as references.

Break the final barrier
exploring  the universe within,
decide to be the light
undiminished for ever;
embrace enlightenment
breaking the golden chain
that ties down,  desires.
Del Maximo Dec 2013
ambience and warmth
elemental, mysterious, aglow
the scent of beeswax or fragrance
mesmerizing drips and puddles
a flame’s pin point
a keyhole in the darkness
opening to another plane
where memories breathe
and flicker within the light
like an old time frame by frame movie show
playing back the details in your mind’s eye
anniversaries commemorating lost loved ones
undiminished pain sheds yesterdays tears
in the stillness of your heart
churches light candles
symbolizing God’s presence
people light candles
in memory of loss
expressing the present tense
of their love
© 12/15/13
Rob Apr 2015
So tell me what you want to be
And what you think you need of me
For what you do
You will become
As habit makes it part of one

For habits grind and clearly shape
Rough edges smoothed,
some dreams may break
Then, from time to time
There’s someone who
Will melt or break a part of you
So once again your shape does change
Though it may feel you’re just the same

It may take another, looking on
To see the shape that you’ve become
So maybe that should be my role?
Some sort of yardstick of your soul?
But then again, I will change too
So perhaps we’d better muddle through
And focus on the spark inside
The flame that undiminished shines

And if, as said, that change is certain
It will never be the final curtain
So embrace the change in me and you
And love the flame that shines on through
RD©2015
Travis Green Aug 2022
Enfolded in his steely strong sculpted arms
Makes me feel the sweetest and most vividly pleasurable sensations
I take pleasure in his closeness
Feeling his tender comfort and hotness
Sinking into the incandescence of his heavenly passionate galaxy

He is so unbelievably rhythmic and thrilling
Seductive muscle-flexing delectableness
Enthrallingly gaudilicous bearded machoness
Saucalicious pink rose lips
Riveting peach iced tea eyes
Every eclectic edible sector of him entrances my emotions

I scroll through the amorous scintillating pages
Of his captivating groundbreaking tastiness
Pure poetic prepossessingness
Silky mystical heavy hitter
He unravels my thoughts and feelings
Delves in my consumable creamy confection

So rich, romantic, and intoxicating
So fresh, velvety, and extra exotic
Swirling smooth sumptuousness
An enjoyable blissful beauty to see
Honeylicious hot boy, take me inside every dimension
Of his wildly gratifying dreams
At the entrance of treasured pearly passion

Feel the mesmerizingly delicious slickness
Of his hardness against my hands
His lush, expressive, and manly center
Enormous arousing girth between his tight, taut thighs
Press my hungry hot mouth on his ****-smelling piece
Lick it, wet it, relish the *******

Create a magical dancing wave
Of essential undiminished sensuousness
Feel me reach beyond the barriers of time
In his unconscious mind, acquiring my prize
I devour his mightily mind-blowing magic wand
Spit on it, slurp on it, work my hands up and down
****** with his full, fun-fulled *******

Get lost in his slithery spiffing succulency
Feel it all over my mouth
The essence of  transcendentally poetical ecstasy
Tasty oval-shaped crown
I savor its lickable ***** length
How my tongue creeps all around its astoundingness
How it navigates to my throat
I am so sexed up, stranded in his sexaliciousness
The way he sticks your astonishing pocket rocket
In and out of my mouth

Leave me in an immaculate crashing path
Of breathless, irrepressible, and poetic rapture
Endless sweet and heady fragrance
How it screams around me
He plays with my hoppingly ****** hemispheres
Pull on my proud pebbled points
While I give him ultimate satisfaction
Kiss his ***** hair, admire your smoking macholicious abs

Explore his extraordinarily capital allure
Mister feelable freaky finesser
**** my mouth remorselessly
Spread my world apart
Grip my aromatic aristocratic neck
Talk desirable foul language to me
Plant long and ardent kisses all over my face
****** me, bright and revitalizing smoothie

Let me feel the compellingly wicked weight  of his captivatingness
So delectably exhilarating
How he reaches a deep, covetous crescendo
And pump out foamy white pudding
On my keen fine-featured face
Philip Lawrence Jun 2017
Though I tremble now, and my eyes glass,
And my words wander as they
Search for a final sense of this world,
Dare look beyond, for I remain
Young with joy and foolishness,
And I am stout of heart and limb within,
My passion undiminished, my love unshaken, if unspoken.
And when I am finally gone,
Immerse in the warm breeze between the leaves,
Smile at the robins chirp,
Be mesmerized by children,
For I will be there,
Incorporeal, ubiquitous,
To envelop you as I have in life and will always,
Without limit.
Atoosa Feb 2017
You don't even know you failed your spiritual test?
Treated me like one of your side projects –  left unfinished
You were surprised to find my self worth undiminished
You only devalued yourself and now your charade is finished
So take off on some other vision quest

You'll never even see how much you were blessed
Given so much more than you deserve
You could've had it all if you'd found the nerve
To keep the true course instead of swerve
Break promises and pretend you've done your best

Tore open my eyes and showed me you're no better than the rest
Just another coward claiming to be strong
And you proved to me that my heart was wrong
For my fire in your cold world cannot belong
You're not the hero I deserve and I won't settle for less!
#IntuitionFAIL (I should have heard some alarms, right? Maybe love is deaf as well as blind....)

Free Will overrides destiny
K Balachandran Jan 2014
With my hands around you, I slept,
and drempt we acquired wings,
flew up hovered above the clouds,
followed the white storkes that seek
far away lands that are still warm.
Sky was the world we always eyed
as we wanted to live closer to it
with the wonder remaining undiminished,
we noticed the white clouds turn pink
flew above the extended meadows of clouds,
saw they change colors as time
travels with sun, then moon appears,
making us feel we need to drink
the milk she graciously sheds all over the world.

Now, we went closer to the valley of night
and heard rounds of gun fire unawares,
unmistakable smell of blood followed,
war cries heard aloud, followed by the cry of wounded people.
you were frightened and lamented,
like a dove in distress,"Why did we fly?
could have contented with what we have,
look at the humans, they ****
and feel happy that they could ****
the other person, fantastic!
but why don't they see,
that they shoot themselves, not others.
I hate this though we inhabit a world beautiful.
but who gives his whole being to beauty?
and just love one another, see that we are not separate!"

I woke up with my hands around you,
and found there was distress in your face,
wasn't it yet another bad dream, I wonder,
It's past midnight, but the gunshot, I heard-
still resounds outside,
      I can't sleep any more...
Alan McClure Sep 2016
You wear your presence lightly,
you politely undermine it
for the folks who'd find it fright'ning
in the normal daily grind
You are jocular and flighty
wear a self-effacing grace
although your shoulders might be mighty
were they not so undermined

We met at a rehearsal
for an amateur dramatic act
to shrink the universal
to a comfortable size
They took a work of genius
the timeless peerless grandeur
and they whittled it to meaninglessness -
There I caught your eye.

"I hear you need a drummer!"
you intoned in toffee baritone
and sad, diluted Shakespeare
did evaporate tout suite
"We're gigging in the summer!"
I replied in my delight and then
I knew I'd found a friend
who might just help me keep the beat.

I found you were an artist
of broken, brittle beauty
who believed an artists' duty
was to challenge and defy
Who had washed up in the genteel
artists' village of Kircudbright
where the art is safe and snooty,
boats and trees and sunny sky

But your canvas is elastic
is electric and eclectic
as you drastically cast an angry
eye across it all
Any prettiness is sitting
on a nauseous unwellness
where the skeleton of Elvis
boogies by a butcher's stall

Well we found some fellow feeling
in our mutual defiance
casting darts at art and science
and amusing just ourselves
Made some music, sank some bevvies
wrote a book, got raging drunk
but what we managed withered, shrunk
by what we planned and simply shelved.

Well it seems that I've been hoping
that our business was unfinished
that our plans were undiminished
by the passing of the years
That some catalyst would manifest
and shake us into action
dissipate the dull distraction
of the daily hopes and fears.

But it seems that you are leaving
that your talent, brightly blazing
and the fact that you're amazing
has been missed by this wee town
Well I undersand it, ******
but I'll miss you now, my brother
and the tumbled jumbled colour
that you spun from Solway brown.
Ylzm Jan 2021
a soothing constant rush
of rain falling undiminished
without break from before
the new year dawned

comforting yet unease lurks
uncommon for years and then
unexpectedly markedly today
thoughts compelled to wonder

you cannot learn from history
habits persist even in futility
mindless virus greater than
resolutions and national budgets

man plan and vow to change
enslaved to happiness and fear
his hope in his little money
adorned in cheap empty wishes

I shall be still and imbibe the peace
cloaked in the gloom's cool assurance
all the world may flood or be scorched
I'm unmoved for my flight constant
David Watt May 2011
Unchained and unbound,
I'm running to no finish.
Famous loved fury,
Blood is running undiminished.

With these teeth,
The flesh I tear.
With these words,
In anger I share!

Twisted and peverse,
I'm enjoying every second.
Delicious pure obscenity,
The fires burn and beckon.

With my eyes,
I consume each emotion,
My presence is toxic,
Like an unlabled potion.

Till chains reach in,
Constrict and bind.
The passion dwindles,
Moralitys so blind.

In my mind,
I'm scared to find,
The damage that is now entwined.
In corners where no light has shined.
I had a nightmare the night i wrote this, it was a rather terrifying dream, I didnt feel myself throughout the whole thing. It was like I was myself but with no inhibitions, just pure desire and limitless anger, though it was scary it was strangely addictive, at the same moment I was desperate to wake up, but equally so confused that I wanted to stay dreaming....I am never going on a coffee binge ever again.......
James Gable Jun 2016
Who on earth would stack books like sticks?

Who would sit turning white-paper-pages
With blackened fingertips?

You should know that awaiting fire is nothing of a joke
Have you not heard of witches
on fiery trial, spitting curses
That just tightened the rope

And did you know
That the pages
Of every history book ever written
Once went up
In ancient whispers of smoke?

Every manuscript
Chronicling man’s unscripted
Fighting progression
It was
reduced to ash?

So we wrote it all again…
The Romans, messy, careless
And surely barbarians
We’ll adopt them as our
Ancient parents
Invaders of course,
Progressions must not
Be stifled by sentiment or remorse
The druids and their hoods
They left them among the leaves
In the woods
Before that
Well
No one can prove us wrong
We’ll say that humans
Hunted similar races
That were
Uglier but strong
Defeat, even eating them
Of course
That which stands before you
In physical form
Surely it cannot be wrong
Our history,
As far as we know
Is a tale of endless glory,
Since they tell of victory
In every song

So we’d made a start
The scholars are desperate
To start memorising the dates
Of all the events
That we are still
Required to create
Keep the candles burning
This could go on rather late

The bridges of London
We’ll say were built by English men
And when some malevolent
Invaders burnt them down
We built them up again
We’re resolute by nature
Bordered on two sides
Our land it does not shrink
We have intimidation in our eyes

Well we have all these haunted castles
Shakespeare used them in his plays
Let’s say we were conquered
By Normans
Hand-fought battles went on for days

We should be modest and believable
So let’s say they conquered us, so what?
If our past shapes our future let’s show
The things we are and what we’re not

We’re are a thing that empires covet
Some have tried many times
Our ships with crews that never sleep
Their cannonball
trajectory does not fall
They fly in a straight line

A book that chronicled a fire great
Reducing our capital to a raven’s nest
Sadly it was lost, Pepys wrote so well,
So we’ve told Dickens to try his best

We recreate from memories of books
The pictures help as well
Medieval times were all heads on sticks
It resembled what we’ll call hell

Heaven, that’s where the noble live
Those that were so gallant and brave
falling in their tons on the battlefield
Winged skeletons rising from their remains

The bible, as you know, survived the fire
It continues to teach us and guide
Reminds us of the elasticity of time
And encourages a most conscientious mind

We made adjustments, here and there,
Lazarus rising for example, readers in mind
We couldn’t let that tragic scene end
Without him delivering his warning on time

We think of the greater good you see
For the good of you, and the good of me

The plague, bubonic, spreading like fire
Is a fiction covering something dark and twisted
I can’t begin to describe how as the death toll rose
Our king fled for Belgium as the demons persisted

The history of London is actually unknown!
Well you would moan, but what did you think?
The Thames is a man-made canal they froze themselves
when ice skate sales were on the brink

And bodies that fall in, still alive or dead
They scoop them up, make wigs and cut textiles
The ones still breathing are given the job of
Gathering the bones of the executed neatly arranging them in piles

Jack the Ripper, Member of Parliament I should say
Was in charge of cleaning up east London crime
His method was questionable, objections from
Speakers in parliament, but murders in a year went from 38 to 9

Henry, yes he was large, rotund, had his fun with women,
But each of his wives was ensnared by courtiers in cloaks
They were promised recompense, rewards that never materialised
When they killed him, each time, they picked a lookalike from the village folk

And I’m no historian, but why assume
That soldiers marched all the way from Rome
To what was of little value,
Cold, wet, a far cry from home

No evidence of course,
They just put themselves about
And there’s a good chance,
The Vikings came, you could see bridges,
Burning in their eyes, they arm-wrestled
Journeying on longboats of considerable size

King Charles II had an imagination alright,
Kept the wine flowing alright,
Enquiring minds and lips
Were busied gulping it all down
And kissing women who span madly around
Their cheeks
The colour of rose hips...

Who are these men that hold books under their arm
In such a way as a woman clutches a purse?

They arrive in endless streams conversing in their
Small groups, absent mindedly
Opening and closing books that are in
Different languages,

My turn to take five, look after this place,
I’ll be just out back, chewing my wife’s sandwiches.

I eavesdrop a little, a vice of mine,
Hear them talking about their jobs
On the factory line
Men and machines, men as machines
Or machines made by men, machines
That dream in factory nights,
Locked away and out of sight,
Quietest place you’ll find

But they’re restless,
I’ve seen the machines sigh
I’ve seen the steam that shoots out
As the whistle blows calling time,
They are restless machines and

—The whistle blows and
The machines are wandering home after
Getting blind drunk,
Dreaming…

In a few hours they will be woken
By a jangling set of keys that
Starts them up an hour or two early
So that they are fully operational
When the hungover workers arrive
Beating their chests and
Stretching their lever-pulling arms,
The machines grind their gears in protest,
Become confrontational,
Grinding the axe for a while now,
They’re all worked up, high pressure,
And yet no one takes notice
The steam flowing as promised
The men are ready in wait
A little release of steam
Machine’s are functioning well today


Factories like these run themselves
With their routine set in stone,
you can whine and moan and they will,
Mostly to their wives on the phone
During their allotted break,
You can come back early, but never late,

Echoing a cuckoo-clock world
Of perpetual motion, the machines
Dream of a life outside, they have heard
So much about irons and their boards,
And baths with plugs on a chain,
Manhole covers, oven doors and drains,

The machines do what they were made to do,
Workers too, this job chose them
For their durability, stocky build, the confusion and
absence of revolution in their eyes,
Life’s lustre hides in Friday’s pies,
Yawning men find it in the coffee
*** as it boils on Monday morning,
On Tuesday it will taste like soil again,

And on rare occasions, you’ll see it
When the sun comes through the
Highest window, and eventually,
On the right day, the right time,
it reflects and refracts,
The whole factory is scattered
With light artefacts, as if glass was
Raining down from the sky,
They take five, in celebration of
Their planet’s undiminished charms,
And though a bit longer to enjoy them
Wouldn’t do any harm
They are ordered to resume order
Belts and levers and rivets and arms
Must pull, a few more hours of life
Set to whistles and alarms

Creak! *There’s another dodgy floorboard!

How quaint, we’ve gone back in time,
I can’t reach the books...
*Shall we walk past the pond
On our way to the tailors?
A fine suit, perhaps we’ll
Also need a coat and a pair of shoes
SøułSurvivør Jan 2016
I am sorry I'm not reading
I am acting by the Spirit's leading
I have a project yet unfinished
my need for completion undiminished
a Christmas present for a friend
I need to frame it for to send
I think of poets while I do
and I pray for all of you!

So while I work and seek God's face
please be patient

*gimme grace!
My art project is taking longer
than I thought
I MUST FINISH IT
AND GET IT IN THE MAIL!
Travis Green Oct 2022
Your gentle, sensual chemistry
Sends my succulent steamy dimension
Grabs my attention, activates my engine
Exhilarates my inner space
Manipulates my gayness
Operates and stuns my motor functions

Hairy, hunky, and fun-loving stunner
Your gaudy naughty kingdom turns me on
Makes me bow down to your high-quality
Piping hot powerfulness
Worship the ardent macho volume
Of your dancing and enchanting hotness

Bold bangin’ brick, wicked oil-slicked litness
Your grandiose, mind-blowing, and poetic potion
Has me mad diving into entertaining top-flight wildness
I am caught up in your throbbing thunderous jungle
Of fiery eye-grabbing crunkness
Masterful tattooed soother
I wanna feel your delectably desirable game
Your playfully passionate muscles
Coalescing with my rich, sleek flesh

Delve into your gorgeous galactic grandeur
Bask in your endless and fantastically magical earthiness
The sheer sight of your geometrically
Impressive and freshalicious physique compels me
Propels me into a state of disorientation
Drive me to shake down your tasteful estate house
Embrace your undiminished and stupendous affection
tip of the flame
is lucid blue
it’s nucleus a
golden spiral
of undiminished
rapture
look at all your bright
faces
there is an incredible sovereign joy
that dances independent of
earthly suffering, sorrow and pain
W D Haven Nov 2014
With silent tears
She begs forgiveness
From one she has never wronged.
Dressed in silver and black,
With green on the inside
She closes her eyes
Swallows her shivering soul
And clutches peace
Her beauty undiminished
Clodagh Jul 2015
Everyone laughed,
'A younger man?'
'By how much?!!'
Jealousy,Envy,
even Pity,
abounded.
I was surrounded,
By doubters.
Waiting for me to fall.
Well,
I did.

We tied the knot,
It felt forever,
An adventure into
the Land of never.

Oh! how we loved
right from the start,
couldn't stop
the beat of our Hearts.

''You maybe older then me''
He'd say,
''Beauty undiminished
You don't look a day,
older.........''
It didn't bother him,
then.

He really gave me his all,
in words,writing,
lovely cards,
whole being,
in thrall.
We were so happy
at the start.

I never tired of gazing
at his face,
incredible Grace,
His sureness of pace.

We moved and traveled,
all over the place,
two Nomads seeking
a secure haven,
to be.

Here, there, everywhere,
no cares.
I managed it all,
Never thought I would fall.

Then one day we kissed,
It was wanting,
His cell phone rang,
the sound was haunting,
strangely.

No one there,
He said,
Yet had murmured
in a language
yet to be learnt,
by me.

Slowly by degrees,
He slipped from
my arms,
took his Heart with Him,
to bestow upon,
who knows?
some others?
Lovers?

I clung on and on,
not seeing the truth,
that somehow,
I was deceived,
then bereaved
finally,
by this youth.
for the loss of Him.

I don't regret it,
not a day,
I'd chucked  all
that came before,
for Him.
But worth it,
happy from the off,
in between.
Thankful for what
we had,
What has been,
Now gone.
Copyright Clodagh 2015
I was traveling along a road at night.  Itt was in an area without street lights. An unidentified person was in in the passenger seat.  I felt like I was on familiar road from the past.  All at once we came on a a guest area it was brightly lit but more than that the light was a chromatic radiance gold firelike  and as if the diviseable spectrum was seen  I drove on into the darkness complaining to my companion that the brightness was too much.     After a little while we we came to another brightly lit roadside settlement, it was similarly lit and this time I noticed that as I passed the light did not fade but passed through the atmosphere undiminished by the distance-a bright  amber fire that was immediate even from miles away.  I said to my traveling companion that it was a new light  unlike any that I had known before.  Thinking I was complaining he said yes it was new.  Then I said that it is beautiful -the most beautiful light I have ever seen. He said: Thank you   It was then very early morning and I awoke feeling a sense that having seen the light even in a dream that I had been healed.  But  I remembered that it might be wiser  not to  hope.  
Mica is fools gold but it glitters not less for that; and the sea with diamonds sparkles with praise no less as it give its kisses back to the sun.  If a promise is not kept is a rose arose that promises less; can I then give up a  love that is too little? So I look back and forth upon a dream for  all that is yet  to be ..
betterdays Jul 2017
the ache in my heart
remains undiminished
pressed down by daily need
compacted into that small blemish
that scars my soul, the tattoo of emptiness
written upon the reverse of my eyelids

this is the season of loss,
the time of letting go
yet in my heart I cannot,
I acknowledge the leaving
partake once again in the grieving,
but still I know
my heartstrings still seek yours
and now people wonder,
which lover have I lost
no lover no,no, in one sense, more indeed
but we both know if we were of Sappho's breed
we could have, no would have been each other's creed
the north south and compass complete..
but we were not born that way,
the gods at play made us for different fellows
so we became friends then sisterkin,
we were joyful for each others loves, each others success,
we were together blessed with understanding deep, deepest, over tea smoked and steeped we leapt
and climbed to highest heights
and supported each other when
we fell to the depths below...
we gave each othermgrace and kindness,
perfected the art of compassionate blindness,
and then you had to  up and go,
leaving me bereft in a way
that sees life in a far more muted way

so on that day,  the aniversary of sadness
which even if the sun shines bright,
still to me is tinted grey,
I will again take myself to a quiet place,
and drink lots of gin and a little tonic,
smile cry and become slightly, mildly histronic,
you see now three years on I just discovered
whilst your face is clear
I can hardly hear,
your voice in my head,
it is now like a whisper in my ear,
and so it appears the world,
sisterkin dear,  
is making itself abundantly clear....
you are dead,  lying dead in a box...
and again I am left to ponder,Stoppards thoughts
" Dying is not romantic, and death is not a game which will soon be over...Death is not anything...Death is not...It's the absence of presence, nothing more...the endless time of never coming back...a gap you can't see, and when the wind blows through it, it makes no sound"
(Rosencrantz and Guildenstern  are Dead, Tom Stoppard)
Keith W Fletcher Apr 2018
Irony often oozes the blood stain
That history will use to paint
An honest portrait of erstwhile deeds
Or to turn some altered soul to saint
Few are those that exist within the mist
Who loom larger than the shadow portrays
And seldom does a shadow exist undiminished
By the dreariest of all darkest days
So when seeking blood in passionate resolve
There comes a mordant aberration of unheralded stature
Rising to fly above mortal attributes into unremitted immortality
By assiduous conviction born of monstrous evil of unparalleled scale

Born among the Carpathian mountains
From the ancient and mysterious Transylvanian forests
One who seeks blood for righteous alliterations
Not for glory but for the saving grace
A quest to alleviate all alien allagory   alligned along the meandering memories of non-mordant minded men

No imagery conjured by Bram Stoker thru Van Helsing
Encompasses the unmitigated reality seen
The lifelong - still beating strong - near century long shadow of the denizen of our brightest outlook

The creation of circumstance as much as man ( unkind ) made

Maybe unheralded by too many
For such a knave am I so sorely cursed now...
With shame
I ...who have always strived
to drape myself
in the raiment of the eternal optimist
Now pay overdue homage to the true and absolute optimist
     BEN FERENCZ.... Is his name
Seek out his story now ..
.while he still lives
Reach back ..
Into those dark, dreary days
To share what history gives
and you will see what he means
    when he say's     
" I'm Right. "
     For I truly know that he is!  
     
 Keith w. Fletcher
      Humbled by the humanity exhibited.
betterdays Apr 2015
when the world was flat
and we were few,
we looked at stars
and made them gods

to help explain the difficult truths,
to give us some measure of understanding to those concepts
to large to be held within our hands.
to find beauty in desperate times
to watch over us...

now the world is round
and we are many
most can no longer see the stars
we look to the internet to explain truth
and concepts seem to be shrinking,
to the size of a tablet screen.
times are becoming more desperate
and we watch each other...

yet the stars are there still.
behind the smog,
beyond the city lights
they hold their sentinels gaze
their beauty is undiminished.

they,for the most part are
still enigmatic, a mystery,
to be unfolded.
and we,
for all our advancement
and trappings
are still looking up....
seeking but not truly finding.
B J Clement Jun 2014
Some thoughts I have I cannott put to paper,
they are too sad to read or hear,
Iv'e carried them inside for ever,
yet  sadness lingers, as at the start,
undiminished- hard to bear
wounding the heart.
Timmy Shanti Oct 11
for every thing, there is a time
for every song, there is a fitting moment
for every angel, a wee devil lurks
for every spring, its autumn

for every taste, there is a canvas blank
for every brush, there is a stroke unfinished
for every soul, there is a soul to spark
for every universe, a mind undiminished

for every beating heart, there is a dream to dream
for every happy day, there is a week of sorrow
for every wicked game, there is a sumptuous scene
for every yester-day, a million of to-morrows

for every tear you cry, there is a genuine smile
for every doubt you shed, there is a triumph to follow
for every faux pas, there's a saving grace
for every second gone, a million of to-morrows
can't help falling in love
10-x-24
dean evans Jan 2015
It seems I am restricted, in sedentary pose
Unable to incite physiques agreement to disclose
My physical impairment has done little to my mind
But lost to me is the memory of how and why I find.
My heart still beats, and I can feel it pounding in my chest
The only movement left to me, the remainder is oppressed
It seems that I am locked away, somewhere in my mind
Although the world is passing by, I abide confined

My vision now is crystal clear and I can see it all
But somehow recollection of what happened not recalled
Some sort of accident perhaps, has left me thus afflicted
My intellect undamaged, though my body torn and twisted
There are those who look at me, and I see that they’re unsure
Though I attempt communication, my eyes remain demure
I wonder if they wonder, is my mind yet undiminished
No thought I have can contact them, they leave when they are finished

Nighttime is the worst for me, when evening takes the day
Dreams are chosen well each night from horrors dossier
I scream my thoughts although in silence, no one there to hear
It leaves my heart the only sound, although my mind austere
If only one of those who pass me by without a glance
Could see I’m sound inside my mind, It may give me a chance
To again communicate with those who are unfrozen
And learn the reasons for my sudden physical implosion

I hold no memory of the past, my future now uncertain
Recovery unknown to me, the present undetermined
I only wish to see the sun, and know the world exists
The window sits behind me, so thoughts of death persist
But I am not the kind that will give in to circumstance
I still recall a girl, with faded memories of romance
Was she once my only love to know my true devotion
Is she one that passes by?...it seems a pleasing notion

To think that there may be someone who loves me as I am
Who sees the light that's left in me, to know that I’m a man
And not to leave here alone, in silence and heartbroken
Who knows I feel love that for her however, never spoken
At times I sense her love for me, however tears are rare
I dream I stand and walk to her, and she is waiting there
To realize I am intact, though physically afflicted
Who knows I love inside my mind,
so tragically restricted...

I just want someone to know
I am here....

Dean Evans
5-09-14
Jeffrey Pua Nov 2015
I longed for love but never lacked,
Perhaps an ounce of you
     Way back when I was yours
Seemed sufficient for me to show
Such affection until now,
     Undiminished, and have endured,
A sign, a shoot, a sprout,
The rewarding cause or curse
     Of resiliency,

For we can never un-love,
     We just forget.

Seasons, and poems
     And poets passed, yet,
Those withered leaves might have
Outlived the weeds around, so I can say
For another day, another month,
Another year, and though I fear,
     Be it a lifetime, that I have loved,
And will always love
Until this heart
     Speak no more,

For it will have become dust,
Waiting for your breath...
     ...to have it carried.*

© 2015 J.S.P.
Edited.
Jamie L Cantore Nov 2014
Moving slowly in artistic Excellence,
Like clouds in the distance,
With embellishments
Such as sequins,
Eloquence comes in my Presence
With surprising elements
Of elegance.


Thus soft sweetness
-Full-flavored ripeness-
Received fondest sentiments
Because I focused
With
My senses undiminished
And experienced.

I haven't an impaired sense
Of these moments,
Not one single hence
Or thence,
And I never condensed
A solitary instance
Of a meaningful circumstance.

However Indulgence
-Brethren to Tolerance-
Had no patience
For her innocence
By consequence
Of her silence.

— The End —