"unobserved" poems
my Mumbai woman
~~~
to my Indian poets & friends
all be advised,
my piety, my muse,
has decamped me for weeks on end
to your
yon far and fair lands
the red dot beside her
electronic signature
a sign of her absence,
seemingly to have been
magically transferred
to her forehead
so perhaps my love poetry
will become absent, reticent,
quiescent
or perhaps
it will build brighter, effervescing
in my very own Taj Mahal,
an edifice built by great love past
and yet ever still present,
for I testify,
I have many times it,
seen imbued,
lovingly observed
between a certain
men and women here writ large,
who there permanent reside,
and in my heart as well
spend a minute many,
all my fingers and
toes employed
how many, so many,
Indian fellow travelers
on poetry lanes and yellow dust encrusted roads,
in cities unpronounceable
that this illiterate literary fool
has come to know and multi-arm entwine
to you,
I commend and command to you
her safety,
asking immodestly for
an imposition, an interference
pray to the local gods,
your heads of state and highest nature's,
that they be her
beside,
her unobserved
safe-keepers,
as she treks your country's
Northern pastures
let her skin glow from
your brighter rays,
eyes even wider~wiser opened
by the newness of your antiquity,
your glorious,
poetic place
in our world
of words
Mar 6, 2016
Mar 6, 2016 at 2:17 PM UTC
1363
Summer laid her simple Hat
On its boundless Shelf—
Unobserved—a Ribbon slipt,
****** it for yourself.
Summer laid her supple Glove
In its sylvan Drawer—
Wheresoe’er, or was she—
The demand of Awe?
3.2k
Caged in a prison, high on a hill, actions ensued but didn’t quite fit the bill
Words of not-always transformed promises to forever,
Side by side, naught to hide,
despite the cloudy weather
A friend, a rock, a ship almost wrecked was looking to dock
Alone in the harbour, under the moonlight,
Ashamed,
The half-wreck shone bright for what it was famed.
Tough stains were covered, remains left undiscovered to be smothered by another
Heart still full of what was before, keen, loveful pursuers already knocking at the door
Cabin wide open: “Ahoy mateys! Ahoy!”
She soon set sail with the innocent boy.
Tides were rolling on peacefully by, some of them were low tides but mainly they were high,
When in need there was a shoulder upon which to cry
And the girl thought the boy would help her get by.
Way out at sea on a tropical isle the boy showed the girl daemons not seen in a while
Opened her up and dove right in, illustrated the flaws of reacting to whims
Open
Broken
Alone at sea,
the boy turned his back as she fell to her knees
Floundering, drowning, thrashing in the waves
The girl succumbed to what her daemon craves
Underwater tears remain unobserved
A not-so-sly Fox spoke of acts undeserved
An unsure girl, curled up, abashed
Covered up the act and watched her daemon be tamed
A ship in the darkness, a ship under the stars
Saved the girl and craved the girl and hoped she knew right
And Oh! How she flourished in this dependable new light
“Love and peace, me mateys!”: a new reason to fight
The boy on his island, soon to return,
Will see that the shipwreck upon which they met, though
not
yet
quite
perfect
Trawls the coast to find an isle of its own
And though different to first-envisaged, Bristol shall be its home.
Feb 20, 2013
Feb 20, 2013 at 11:27 AM UTC
From all I've done and all I've said
let them not seek to find who I've been.
An obstacle stood and transformed
my acts and way of my life.
An obstacle stood and stopped me
many a time as I was going to speak.
My most unobserved acts,
and my writitings the most covered --
thence only they will feel me.
But mayhaps it is not worth to spend
this much care and this much effort to know me.
For -- in the more perfect society --
someone else like me created
will certainly appear and freely act.
3k
I almost died the other day
And I came back to this place just to say
That you never know when it all can get taken Away
All your life's lessons suddenly play
like a highschool production through your mind's electric grey clay,
a mind managing to keep itself oxygenated enough to operate even as consciousness fades
A body lying there, blue as a mid summer's day, gasping
For breath, and for a chance to stay
Alive.
I woke up, having almost died the other day,
To a room full of strange faces, whose eyes all aimed my way.
A room full of strangers,
My vision regaining clarity,
I see equipment of many types, lying around a well decorated living room, it seemed out of place,
devices dreamed up by engineers a few hundred miles away,
At an elite institution, of mechanical engineering and science, engineering devices that now lay about my horrified friend's living room,
Then the puzzle regained its shape, and I was graced with the understanding that it was all going to be okay,
this time, anyway.
the first responders,
My saviours.
Real heroes,
Who wear no capes,
Nor spandex,
But who know their job well,
And do it without delay,
And these people who saved my life today
Are out of my life now forever, and onto saving another fragile life, on some other street,
On some other day.
I saw people in blues, reds, and greys, yellows and oranges, and then the light of the day.
The light of the day on which I did not die,
But I could have, had it been another time,
Another place.
My stretcher was bright yellow, by the way...
I almost died the other day, and its implacable oncoming rush scared me.
The fear of not having lived a worthy life, an unobserved life,
Of dying too soon, with things left to do
Of leaving people behind,
Of wrongs left to right
Of lying here blue
On my dear friend's plush carpet,
And her child witnessing it as he comes home from school. Innocent as day, then scarred for life.
Luckily I have a few friends and modern miracles on my side.
I almost died the other day, and I came back here, having missed all the poetry, that makes life worth living, day after day.
Beyond the biorhythms we must feed
In order to stay
Alive.
Peace.
Love.
Breath.
Focus.
A good enough mantra,
Wouldn't you say?
I almost died the other day,
But I didn't. I breathe
in with gratitude,
And I exhale with relief,
that I still got the knack
for it.
Dec 9, 2022
Dec 9, 2022 at 10:52 AM UTC
Crawling on all fours, traffic drags its bleeding body forward.
Men with collars of lipstick tap tap tap their fingers against steering wheels.
Time slows, cars inch, passing hands find cigarettes, cigarettes find fire.
Tap ash tap finds tap pavement.
This is the unobserved hiatus of daily routines, the dreaded stretch of heaven that separates from and to.
During such moments of inertia
thoughts drift through open windows
forming a cloud for bargains, regrets, wishes, doubts, prayers, and curses to perform cotillion upon.
Faster, faster, so quickly now, oh, change partners, switch lanes, spin, oh baby spin, fasterfasterfaster, until differentiation is impossible, until drivers become one with this steel river, until minds make their essential switch that makes home a bearable punishment.
Someone has broken down.
Do Not Stop.
They are shunned from the sweeping mob of machinery. Necks swivel in uniform towards this abomination, how dare they, how DARE they outshine our misery. Perspiration works its way down backs and pools into leather cracks.
Will it ever end?
Do we want it to?
Finally,
regrettably,
the final exit, the last few feet of purgatory.
We descend into the next inferno where we leap through fiery hoops of interrogation—
yes no it was fine yes okay.
We are exhausted.
If only we would have stopped.
If only we would have hit the brakes and remained in our haven of anxiety and lust and confusion and endless searching.
Our love affair with traffic can only last so long.
So we make solemn promises to ourselves to appreciate tomorrow’s,
to run our fingers along the satin thighs of the freeway,
to plant a rubber kiss upon the ground.
How tap long tap until tap five?
Nov 25, 2012
Nov 25, 2012 at 11:44 PM UTC
At the going down of the sun
will the world be less complete,
the cinched robe of night less intolerable,
as she ebbs away on cosmic string,
emulating a massless, dazed neutrino
blinking in and out of existence,
unobserved and uneffected,
liquored and unloved?
In the wake of a June flowering,
when foxglove lures the honeybee
in six day flash, bud to corolla,
blossom to blossom, parade of stigmas,
digitalis stamen braved, anther at his back,
the bee comes gathering where none else dare.
Mar 3, 2012
Mar 3, 2012 at 2:08 AM UTC
Stone Love : A Building Named ‘Linearity’.
Unobserved I lay my hand on your limestone wall and feel the rough surface as my fingertips touch the stone slabs and junctures of your construction…
Gently pressing my cheek against your sunlight- warmed, stony skin.
Veiled in concealment, just you and me, right here….
Being with you, so near to me…
No one else but you and me.
In this very special love affair we share together.
Your comforting presence, so mild and so compassionate….
Gazing at the elegance of your architecture with its majestic interplay of razorsharp outline patterns in a merciless contrast with the soft spindrift twilight clouds in all serenity above us….and I feel so protected….
Staring at your powerful black silhouette as it rises up into the sundown skies….
Mesmerized by the grace of golden sunray reflections stunningly glistening, dazzlingly shimmering in your numerous windowpanes as the sun sets unhurriedly, while the mauve, lavender and scarlet clouds make the perfect composition for our undetected wonderful moment….
Oh, ‘Linearity’,…
Your stone wall feels so warm when I think about the coldness of people.
Oct 16, 2012
Oct 16, 2012 at 7:09 PM UTC
I guess it was the acid
Frying your brain
You thought you'd just try it
For the thrill, start to drill
In my membrane
I must admit, I starved for it
But alas you pass on by
Leaving only footprints behind
And though I've always known
When rolling dices made of stone
To count those blessings I'll always have
So losing ain't that bad
And on this cycle goes
Keep racing on this very road
In search of ways to fill a hole
The bottomless pit of my soul
Beware this trickster, out to bewitch
She crawls into your bed and it makes you itch
Dim-lit may be my lanterns
Imagination figments
Accompany, me in my sleep
Willing suspension of disbelief
I had it coming
My snow blankets are melting
Your garden's disappointing
As are you Sir Dementor
I see now you're grey and decayed
Not worth a single cent paid
Fungi verses my bouquet
In Some Unholy War
I guess it was the acid
Frying your brain
You thought you'd just try it
For the thrill, start to drill
In my membrane
I must admit, I starved for it
But alas you pass on by
Leaving only footprints behind
And though I've always known
When rolling dices made of stone
To count those blessings I'll always have
So losing ain't that bad
And on this cycle goes
Keep racing on this very road
In search of ways to fill a hole
The bottomless pit of my soul
Well yes I know of the animal
In me a smothering towel
Bursting at the seam with fever
For an artist unobserved
A false representation
I guess a mirror reflection
Of funfair loving children
Now in my veins desire
Is spreading like wildfire
But we're dead in the water
All life left on shore
Warnings so deafening
Have broken all of our strings
Shelter from electrocuting
Of Some Unholy War
I guess it was the acid
Frying your brain
You thought you'd just try it
For the thrill, start to drill
In my membrane
I must admit, I starved for it
But alas you pass on by
Leaving only footprints behind
And though I've always known
When rolling dices made of stone
To count those blessings I'll always have
So losing ain't that bad
And on this cycle goes
Keep racing on this very road
In search of ways to fill a hole
The bottomless pit of my soul
A. G. R
Dec 19, 2012
Dec 19, 2012 at 5:59 PM UTC
no one really understands
but i get it
i dont understand either
why this ghost in my body
why this ghost in my body writhes
and tosses
and turns
and makes me sob and weep
shrill and high
yet silently, unobserved
i dont really get it either
why this ghost in my body falls in love with everyone it meets
and makes me green with envy
and a chilling blue of loneliness
that makes it hard to see anything
other than red
and rose
no one really understands
but thats okay
i dont understand either.
Jul 21, 2021
Jul 21, 2021 at 2:17 AM UTC
My body temperature rises like the moon.
Odd that the sun is the symbol of heat,
yet, most heat is felt at night.
Subtlest of sighs and I am undone.
Buttressed and encompassed by you.
I want to bite, nibble, peck at your neck
Like an artist with granite I want to carve into you
I crave you, I want to market our practiced need.
Subtle yet lulled, our lust will be boundless.
Founded on our need to keep our word.
We together are a force, a natural force.
Unreserved, unobserved, unconcerned
I allow you to flood into me.
Hazily, I am drawn to the figure on the floor,
we swore no more, but the thrill of the slow ****
allows us to be enthralled, exhilarated, liberated.
The moon wanes, the body grows cold, we soar
as we clean the gore.
We swear 'nevermore' but are we just Poe's distraught
lovers, falling into madness?
The madness of the bloodlust, ******
May 20, 2014
May 20, 2014 at 6:53 PM UTC
This pearl. Ah, this beautiful, precious pearl.
Creamy, buttery; rich and velvety.
A teardrop. Wrought beneath the churning swirl
Of a deep and unfathomable sea.
A tear shed for unobserved injury
Penetrating calcareous armour;
Weeping silently; seeking serenity
And embracing quietude with ardour.
The injured life gives way to a treasure
Near unimaginable. Beguiling.
A jewel in life beyond true measure.
Natural and pure. A gift of being.
The world is our oyster. Imperfect. Whole.
The pearl - a lithe and unencumbered soul.
Nov 22, 2010
Nov 22, 2010 at 6:00 PM UTC
We steal like thieves
In the shadows of night
you and I...
these stolen moments
more prescious than gems
these stolen kisses
more valued than gold
we live like kings
in this fools paradise
you and I...
Where laughter is our currency
with an exchange rate
of forty giggles to a chuckle
or 100 chuckles to a smile
We are as one here
unheard and unobserved
you and I...
where we spend our time together
snuggling close, holding tight
wishing time too would let us be
as so hard to say goodnight
to
You and I
Oct 13, 2012
Oct 13, 2012 at 2:19 PM UTC
Crashing surf on roiling sands
Bouldered with volcanic might,
Westward storms howl from the sea
Battered seagulls shriek in flight.
Pale dune grasses thrash to leeward
Scattered shafts of milky light,
Wild and storm caste portraiture
Of cruel sea's eternal might.
Searching eyes across this tumult
Reaching gaze amongst the foam,
Sodden gown to clinging body
Frantic eyes in cold waves roam.
Desperately she seeks the lover
Hauntingly she calls his name,
Writhing seas consume her words
Crashing surf dispels the blame.
Sad solitude in loneliness
Outstretched slender arms so frail,
Yearning for that tender kiss
And for his cold, dead features pale.
Rain soaked girl on lonely outcrop
Railing at a raging sea,
Lost within unfeeling vastness
Unobserved by all...but me.
Marshalg
On the wild & remote, black sand beaches of Taranaki
20 November 2010
Nov 15, 2010
Nov 15, 2010 at 11:06 PM UTC
*alas, the same promise,
yet again, broken, no more writing of
the lightness of perfection so real,
it cannot be a truly,
a man's one more poetic homage to improve upon nature's gift,
nary a single craft to be seen,
tho somewhere, a motor hums nearby,
a mechanical reminder that men
will intrude, even if unobserved,
not necessarily then,
a picture complete
the sun 7 o'clock afternoon sky low,
warmths the world, as did its AM reciprocal,
a dozen hours earlier,
both on a low heat,
a sky stove top
'keep warm' setting,
a desirable global warming temperature
that promise not to burden you
with a hundredth scribing of his
lottery luck, this poetry nook and the
idyll of its surround,
it's childlike insistence,
stomping on the greenest sea grass
of this portly world,
"write of me, attention must be paid!"
the lightest breeze of excellent sufficiency
asks the trees to shake
their compatriot leaves
as if to applaud,
one more time, a lord of the ring serenade,
an evenstar song of
the solstice of perfection
a cloudless night but for
an occasional wispy white blemish,
hinting that the orb's final bow will be
a forever remembered,
standing ovation performance
in an hour, to the dock we'll go,
joining the congregant gulls
in appreciating the edging lower of
an immaculate inception
of a dying day's deceptive departure
my troubles, those that
furrow and till the brow,
105 miles away, as the crow flies,
for now suppressed into non-existence,
as we drink to
la vie en rose,
our wine, snatching the salmon pink
of suns rays rippling and reflecting
upon humans, who too reflect,
upon their good fortune,
this single and singular
peeking at the peaking of their perfection,
each wishing this be
their journeys end, their final solstice,
to walk into a funnel upon the water,
into the sun and the
horizon in attendance faithful,,
alighting upon the wings of the most glorious of inviting, dying rays of setting,
answering the question, a long last finale,
here, here is shelter!*
Jul 22, 2017
Jul 22, 2017 at 3:03 PM UTC
The matter is that the matter is that
breaking from the constant that is
breaking from the constant that is
constantly breaking constantly
patterns into even patterns into even
language of odd symmetry in the
language of odd symmetry in the
symmetrical language symmetrically
recreated again and recreated again and
seeping from what is unobservably
seeping from what is unobservably
unobserved seeping unobservably
over layers folding over layers folding
the matter over the foldings over
the matter over the foldings over
folding matter folding.
Mar 27, 2012
Mar 27, 2012 at 7:46 PM UTC
Security was not tight staff numbers very low
nobody saw them go in.
An unlocked gate that was not secure
a camera not checked.
The suspects just walked in unobserved
nothing was seen or heard!
Upon their backs suspicious brown rucksack's
no soul around to challenge.
This action would bring so much regret
as several hours later.
In the railway carriage their bombs discharged
they would never be charged!
No discrimination for any of those injured or killed
from different backgrounds.
Hopelessness added to the chemicals in the air
silence followed the bang!
The innocence of the victims and their kin
the aftermath would now begin!
The Foureyed Poet.
Jul 21, 2012
Jul 21, 2012 at 6:19 PM UTC
Like the music that echoes, among the songs unheard,
The face that smiles, among the pictures unseen,
The words that appear, in letters unwritten,
And the rainbows emerging in the sky unobserved,
I know for people I do not exist,
But there’s bugging confession that I cannot resist…
“Who said I am not there around anymore?
Everytime you call, everytime you do, I am there always, standing at your door.”
Like the flowers blooming in the plants, ungrown,
The images flashing in the dreams unseen,
Colors glowing in canvas left blank,
And the rooms resting in the houses unbuilt,
Its true I am gone, and I won’t be seen,
I have left some mess, that can’t be cleaned,
And that’s precisely, why I am not worth your tears,
Neither do I deserve your dreams or souvenirs,
And it’s a well known fact that I do not exist,
But there’s bugging confession that I cannot resist…
“Who said I am not there around anymore?
Everytime you call, everytime you do, I am there always, standing at your door.”
Burn me to ashes that’s what you need to do,
And I know, precisely, that you don’t have a clue.
Why should you cry and pray for me to come back?
Your life is complete, there’s nothing that you lack,
But still I am here, yes, I am right here.
I am here always, I will never disappear,
But I won’t be seen, and I won’t be heard,
You have had enough, I won’t say a word,
But in the chirps of the birds, you will find my voice,
In the light of the sun, I will help you make a choice,
In the darkness of the night, I will be the moon,
And in the sadness of melodramas, I will be your cartoon,
In the greatest of your times, I will be your smile,
And I will be in your hope, when life is fragile,
In the beats of your heart, in the memories of our past,
In every second of your present, I was never outcast,
So wipe your tears, I am not gone,
The night is over, and there’s a new dawn,
“So, the who the hell said I am not there anymore!
Everytime you call, everytime you do, I am there always standing at your door.”
Dec 8, 2012
Dec 8, 2012 at 3:01 PM UTC
i
this parody of life beyond
a roaring loom of time
like an embrace
momentous
through the battled equinox of chance
the stirrings and strivings
born of earth and sky
toil, whine, whimper, moan
wait and tremble, hope and pray
then
the clear shining after rain
we sail the lifetide
on leaky bottoms
never to sight dry land again
ii
behind
the shards and wrecks
of innocent vagaries
of wayward plunges
that flee the point
beside
unobserved but observing
a sentient mould of slime
raddled
at break-neck hurry
before
is wrinkled wisdom
mellow laughter
a hand-made unborn
of a callow womb
hereafter is ever
now is gone by
past is prelude
iii
snowwhite or pitchblack
lowly or lofty
free-born or fettered
yearling or aging
worms shall feast
upon thy flesh
to elements irreducible
and in thy nakedness
come face to face
with thy maker
May 2, 2015
May 2, 2015 at 11:24 PM UTC
She have created a world,
that she did not know.
have appointed a pawn,
to build it for her.
Waited until it's done,
never ever sat on it.
No worries and second thoughts,
trusted on her mighty wits
thought this was good,
Will make her the master.
To go with the trends,
of this fast phased ambience.
Did not care on the work,
Showed a little effort.
while the poor pawn,
was proving his humble worth.
stayed late,
worked overtime.
to polish the demands
of the demanding divine.
while Time had flee,
the so-called universe was done,
completed the systems,
of holy progress crowned.
Yes! she was overwhelmed,
without knowing the details,
as she takes the merit,
the deed and the title.
Not until a flaw,
was shown and highlighted,
because of her ill leadership,
issues have ignited.
why and why,
are the repeating questions,
all thrown to the poor pawn,
gazillion revisions.
Yes she knows why,
but she never cared.
you can't approach and talk,
but the mood was always there.
All the issues,
resulted from the unobserved.
Scattered around,
up down onboard.
And you can see,
the blame is always there,
for the incomplete universe,
she want's to give and share.
as she pushes the pawn,
off the high cliff,
with spikes and swords,
sinking quicksand beneath.
as the Queen wants it,
the fame and popularity,
easily shifts mood,
cannot adjust to scarcity.
As she blames it,
to the skilled pawn,
turns to her scapegoat,
to protect her own
to misguide and uplift,
one's own selves.
to project a good image,
and please the elves.
as she was pressured,
by his lord King,
yes! she's pressured,
without a wink.
and she had slaved the kingdom,
for a long long time,
oh darkness ruled,
as she drinks her wine.
Until the pawn had chance,
to gather alliance,
break free from slavery,
come and hear the mob's chant.
Until they realized,
that they are abused,
given a title,
that is always misused.
Until the pawn reacts,
had the ultimate break.
saw an opening,
and it's zap, it's checkmate .
Feb 23, 2011
Feb 23, 2011 at 5:37 AM UTC
A closed door is a simple premise
and you should know
That when I do this I'm not being rude
I just need my room to be empty.
If you do decide to knock
Please have something more poignant
Than seeking reassurance that I like you
Or to ask me if I want food
I know that I forget sometimes
And I'm six foot two of bones
Right now I just want to be alone
I'm not swinging from a rope in here
I have rope yes, but no rafters
So respect the distance, act as
if the door doesn't open.
I'm not unhappy, my opus
demands solitude, my beating chest
Is uncomfortable with guests.
Your intentions an unwanted anchor
sinking the sofa I'm sailing
to nowhere special
in my own good time.
I'm not being crude,
But I swear I might be ****
************ to pirate ****
or watching Pokemon
These are things I do
and I don't need you for them.
If you must come in, don't hover
like a beast without thumbs,
at the edge of my awareness,
I can hear your footsteps wanting
to talk, please just keep walking.
I mean I DO like you,
probably,
but understand that I don't need
to say goodbye and hello,
to stand at the door and watch you go,
The demands for connection
undermine my withdrawal.
I don't need help,
to be dragged with the herd
I'm an introvert and I like,
unobserved, quietly judging you
without needing to actually be at the party.
Contrary evidence might suggest
That you're welcome
Because I invited you here
Or promised you dinner,
you can stand to be one meal thinner
Because the door is closed;
I'll see you when I come out
And I'll come out when I'm ready
Dec 25, 2015
Dec 25, 2015 at 1:23 AM UTC
I think of you
crocheting words,
quietly,
unobserved
by your husband,
watching TV,
in **** gray socks.
Jan 7, 2011
Jan 7, 2011 at 8:44 PM UTC
In that moment, her face is so close to mine.
She’s talking, and she’s talking, in a softer than native tongue,
and though I understand, I am not listening.
I’m preoccupied,
slowly watching the last of my oxygen float away,
brushing across my cheek until slowly,
it drifts to the surface of her eyes, surrounded by blue, and an inklike iris.
below these puddles on her face was milky skin,
dotted with molecular shades of auburn spilled across cheeks, and a nose crinkled in laughter, spilling from the curve of slightly chapped lips
Hair the yellow-white of flutterbye roses laced between her fingertips in brief waves, rolling past her shoulders and resting softly by her side.
But this is all but a moment, worded as a stare
a moment unobserved, and unrequited by the girl who for an instant took away my air
-
Apr 12, 2016
Apr 12, 2016 at 3:10 PM UTC
I want to hold the moon, in the stillness.
As a newly healed being, forgetting his illness.
With transcendent secrets, long lost, and unheard.
Converge with the earth, my body returned.
It's not just the glow that my soul truly seeks-
But the calling of a gnosis, at its brilliant peak.
The kind that would nurture without word or touch.
With pulses divine, surging through me in flux.
I want to push oceans, form the tides Mighty sway.
As nova's light the way, even brighter than the day.
Not where I am dying, but drifting sublime.
Through a cosmic stimulation of emotions and mind.
To hold the moon is to be as the dark,
The Infinite void with no ending or start.
To weave through galaxies in quantum ascent.
To be untethered, unmeasured, and unbent.
For there's a place where echoes of gnosis still call.
Where darkness is divine, as it stands without fall.
For when all existence comes to end, as we know it.
Darkness not only lives but will thrive by the moment.
The stars told a secret, the divine know our depths.
Our intentions are gold. We're not at fault for our steps.
I want to walk where quantum waves ebb and flow,
And merge with the calm, only the moon has ever shown.
To hold the moon is to live as the night.
No longer chasing myths of a misguiding light.
To rest with the shadows, unobserved in their allure.
My failing charred heart, reborn by the nights cure.
♦ Đerek Λbraxas ♦
Mar 31, 2025
Mar 31, 2025 at 3:52 AM UTC
TUESDAY Aug 9 2022
05:59AM
(for you)
*silent alarm trips me up into a dawning at with a five o’clock
wakefulness, (‘woke,’ cancelled) that comes with morning daylight,
this is the likely culprit~catalyst, for the sky is traced,
blending multi-palest shades of whitening blues,
crowned by toppings of baby orange + pinks of faun~sun arrays*
*an hour prior, my 1st day-view,
is of mine eyes popping corn open to Peconic bay waters,
waves moving actively, not yet rascal-frothy winded,
meanwhile the woman*
*an hour later deep dreams of what I know not,
but rumbling and mumbling
and noisy shuddering combinations course through her frame and
whatever turbulence she’s experiencing is plainly nothing good*
*my apriori
training kicks in and a tender embrace and the be-not-afraid caresses work quick, restore her own waves to a comparable calmer current*
*now, she sleeps peaceful, breathes in easy quiet as I, writing, memorializing the moment, all else can wait, and Tevye’s prayer~
memory comes pinging, re the powers of it who makes all via a
“vast eternal plan,”
*crinkles my smiling eyes and my fingers begin to radio-receive the signal of dash dot dash of words you currently are reading/imbibing
something unknowable raised me up
amidst the all-quiet of the first watch,
thus I, was snap ready to ease her troubles, at the very first moment…
<~>
now I am cellular~level conscious of witnessing and feeling
each of the trillions upon trillions of minuscule defractions
of light bendings that will populate, articulate,
the entire world’s rolling day,
give them to me, please,
the causality source of millions of minor miracles that will go unobserved, unrecognized and unrecorded
I rise from the bed needy, urgently seeking them,
your adventures, their earthquake interactive tremors,
the raw minerals of what will be all the future poems of our lives,
but, first,
coffee.
06:49AM
Shelter Island, N.Y.
Aug 10, 2022
Aug 10, 2022 at 8:19 AM UTC