"vastly" poems
The word, defining, muzzles; the drawn line
Ousts mistier peers and thrives, murderous,
In establishments which imagined lines
Can only haunt. Sturdy as potatoes,
Stones, without conscience, word and line endure,
Given an inch. Not that they're gross (although
Afterthought often would have them alter
To delicacy, to poise) but that they
Shortchange me continuously: whether
More or other, they still dissatisfy.
Unpoemed, unpictured, the potato
Bunches its knobby browns on a vastly
Superior page; the blunt stone also.
17.8k
Thyself or Myself.
Selflove or Selfcare.
Eating or consumption.
Redemption or Vindication.
Self-conscious or Self-aware.
Sounds same,
Yet vastly different!
Or might I say diverse?
Mar 13, 2021
Mar 13, 2021 at 6:13 AM UTC
A decade of silent and grieving pours
Sadly no mountains to explore
Only islands in our dreams
That are vastly full of dreary streams,
Wailing rains have stopped,
But only can I hear the sound of my clap,
This one pour of flood,
has caused many terrors and blood
- Learn your mistakes before it may cause a storm-
Sep 28, 2014
Sep 28, 2014 at 10:20 PM UTC
O
xxxXxxx
0 0
O
/ ( ( \
######
On the ancient avenue
( you are there !
I seen ! )
••
Years and years
|||||
The story is still your own
•
( I seen )
/////////
Me and the 1000 friends of mine
We surely seen you there
•••
Days of Power
days of Grace
On those ancient avenues
••
((( Weren't no politicians then )))
((( Weren't no police )))
///
Back then
Don't you remember ?
|||
Many hopes were mentioned
Many promises made
Amid the general love affair
••
Out on those ancient avenues
We
//
Saw each other truly
And were glad
/////
Home
////
Come
From these vastly polluted streets
To the strong humanity
And the pure community
Where we belong
Dec 29, 2014
Dec 29, 2014 at 12:31 AM UTC
1483
The Robin is a Gabriel
In humble circumstances—
His Dress denotes him socially,
Of Transport’s Working Classes—
He has the punctuality
Of the New England Farmer—
The same oblique integrity,
A Vista vastly warmer—
A small but sturdy Residence
A self denying Household,
The Guests of Perspicacity
Are all that cross his Threshold—
As covert as a Fugitive,
Cajoling Consternation
By Ditties to the Enemy
And Sylvan Punctuation—
5.5k
Beat-Up Old Car
Vastly under-appreciated possession
In dull blue, a MK1, no less, with original rust
Inside lingering scents of Exchange and Mart
top-notes of WD-40 and miscellaneous mix tapes
A car like this gets into your life
in lumpy knuckle-barking unsubtle ways,
stays there in subtle ones
That long drive back to Yorkshire
in the quintessential exemplar
Clutch cable snaps.
****** and Crap.
Hardly helpful but can be accommodated
with enough thought
rough though it is
on starter motor
and nerves whenever
anticipatory powers inadequate
and we are forced
to a complete red-light stop
Brakes dodgier, exhaust noisier
than ideal or legal
Gender-ambiguous
elderly tyres flirt outrageously with slick tarmac
Showing their canvas underwear
and male-pattern baldness
Keeping this unstable, unsafe, unreliable
ultimately essential lump of metal
moving and on the road
is a fine art
Engaging, fluid and intense art;
The Clash and The Specials
Costello and The Cure in support
A distraction then
getting hauled over by plod
somewhere near Bury St. Edmunds
Thatcher's boys.
Tax? MoT? Insurance? ID?
No real interest shown
Any passengers in the back?
Clearly no. Pickets?
Pickets? What?
Please open the boot sir... Oh.
On your way lad. Drive carefully
I was, officer, I was
More than you will ever know
Feb 17, 2016
Feb 17, 2016 at 9:52 AM UTC
Greetings audience.
I am off my medication now and I am feeling vastly better. Something just cleared my conscious and vascular blockage so joyously. I will not be posting videos due to my camera and devices breaking. No diatribes nor any vitriolic comments were conferred during my time gone throughout my family and my peers, assuming that is the reason I am now healthy (dropping toxic ties). Unluckily, all of my social media was hacked. Refrain from following anything linked with my name. Indeed, I am not here to bloviate, rather to celebrate. Thank you for your cooperation. I will now go play childishly. Farewell. : )
Jun 11, 2018
Jun 11, 2018 at 3:17 PM UTC
*The unpredictable hour of ebony arrives.
No choice have I but to sustain my absence from my affairs
Till the vastly capricious moment of inconvenience fades.*
May 11, 2014
May 11, 2014 at 6:41 PM UTC
no more than days
never weeks apart
never will get together
no possible compatibility
but you're interesting
vastly different to me
you intrigue my mind
and late at night
I speak to you
maybe it's not even you
i'm speaking to the idea i'm preserving
my mind is drawn to your presence
but my heart isn't
Aug 20, 2018
Aug 20, 2018 at 1:01 PM UTC
11:54
A clock glares upon me like the devious desert sun.
How many times have these hands made this voyage?
The sands seem so vastly changed from yesterday
11:55
A single minute vanished in midair so soon
Did that moment matter? Did it mean more than time?
Minutes together create time but alone stand hollow
11:57
Life slips away with this departing time
Still I sit here staring at a comical clock
The unforgiving frozen mess that is my world
11:58
A heavy awareness of time voids its' truths
This clock being watched laughs in secrecy
Moments stolen; memories changed by these hands
12:00
Another day finished and again air is stale
The time has arrived to surrender again
Seconds that will never come again have passed
Minutes that never came will come again today
May 29, 2012
May 29, 2012 at 11:02 PM UTC
LOVE? Connotative of so many different things, one conjures up vastly intricate definitions of the word. To what extent their truth reaches is indicative of their author’s own relationships, childhood, future and past. To be asked what love truly is, is to allow another to peer inside of your soul, to reach the depth and breadth of your entity and to relinquish your fears and dreams to them, simultaneously. Asked today for my opinion, I deferred my response, realizing I myself hadn’t considered a solid definition. Seemingly such a simple concept; really a foundational core, underpinning our self worth, self adoration and self identity.
Love is unique, to everyone. It can be explained through the use of analogies. Stereotypes. In some ways, our ‘idealistic love’ is a window for our selfish, impeded selves to climb out of. We expect our lover to propel us into some sort of surreal, unchallenged fairy-tale romance, irregardless of the modern day reality we’re living out. We expect worlds to stop, planets to align and stars to shower upon us in some picturesque dream come true. However, referring to love in stereotypes can be impersonal and superficial. I find love can be best defined by a persons own experiences, dreams, fears and desires.
A lover can help realize and form these definitions.
To me, love is resting my head between the curve of his shoulder and my sheets. Love is watching a summer storm roll in together, dry and safe. Love is observation; of passion, of fear and of delight. Love is acceptance. There’s nothing more beautiful than knowing and being known. Nothing more beautiful than opening yourself up to someone, being with them in complete serenity, complete coexistence and honesty.
Rolling over and looking into their eyes, and silently whispering, “I love you.”
That to me is love.
- c.m
Aug 13, 2013
Aug 13, 2013 at 12:52 PM UTC
When was the last time
I felt a raving hunger for life?
When had I but an eternity in moments,
on the edge of something vastly different?
How was it me and not you
who staked her soul high
on rolling hills of green,
took long draughts to savour, to condense
the weight of the world into one precious drink,
cup the shortest days in her palm and release them,
for her thoughts to balloon into the wild?
The delectable now—
ripe as berries for plucking in winter,
and all things, like music
must peter
into silence.
So I suppose my question to you
is not concerned with
the stack of newly-minted green in your pocket,
nor the fleet of shiny cars, but
your pure self, simply being.
It’s prodding the heart,
a tiny critter fluttering with wings, wondering:
when will you ever get a second chance at this—
all this storm
and inexplicable happiness—
or will you
go hunting for things,
whirling at mere traces
of power in your name—
or will you turn around
only to find a life
or a lie,
staring back wide-eyed
in endless shame?
© BT
Aug 22, 2017
Aug 22, 2017 at 6:21 PM UTC
I apologize - I mean no love for you in this poem - **** you
I am vastly viewing the plains of my thoughts, alas, looking for a song to play.
I will sit in my chair, pondering the notes and clefts through the day.
The song I will play only for you and you only, as I search for the note or key that sounds.
I will frolic through the keys as I know that one key is important, within the mounds.
In harmony, I will play, to match my keys to the key of our heart, only for a smile.
If the key of the heart is touched by my keys, I will await for you to dial.
I'll sing to you, as you listen, however, off the notes are, I will fulfill the rhythm of your soul, by each stroke.
Sep 3, 2015
Sep 3, 2015 at 1:55 AM UTC
We met through proximity,
but didn't use that to convene.
We learned so much about each other through a screen,
But we've let each other truly be seen.
With our many shared interests,
and our vastly different pasts,
help us clearly see our paths.
How enchanting this has all been,
to now call you a friend.
Mar 30, 2018
Mar 30, 2018 at 8:19 PM UTC
The Universe is our Kamasutra
constellations, red tailed comets
brilliant devas, divine horsemen
prance through the galactic playground
everywhere and in everything
our eyes behold a starry courtship
Romance impregnates the very air
we breathe
billowy breezes caress our bodies
and the sun does not hesitate
to shower us with burning kisses
mysterious lady of the coven night
cools the passions of the day
with dreamy moonlight and
soft melody
Innocent, pristine
we experience, explore and
enjoy the sacred foreplay
blooming in the garden
of our chakras
So vastly turned on
feeling high
expansive
all inclusive
How can we contain the
bliss that courses
through every particle
and atom towards its
ultimate collective
consummation
Lord Shiva and Goddess Parvati
locked forever in the throes of Love
“Spirit and Nature dancing together”
Jan 1, 2015
Jan 1, 2015 at 6:01 PM UTC
Morning tears trickle down my cheek as sunlight filters through
My breath catches in my throat
as nightmares bring memories of you
A single second where I'm vastly unsure
whether or not you've been hurt
A moment where my mind is flying
On edge, over worried, alert
I grasp my cell phone in my hand
your number dialed beneath my finger
And I come to realize it was only a dream
as the panic and terror linger
Sighing deeply, inhaling bricks
This nightmare grows more and more untrue
But these dreams also shed a frightening light on
Just how much I care for you
Jul 22, 2015
Jul 22, 2015 at 6:23 AM UTC
My heart's so tied up
I can hardly breathe.
It seems, to me, that every scent is yours
every sight or sound,
song lyric or strip of poetry
relates back to you and the knot in my chest.
I best recruit a young sailor
to untie and bend these cravings.
These faint and vague desires
not to kiss you
nor to **** you
but to see you, lay with you, be with you.
That is what I crave daily,
what I need to loosen this knot.
*But
the knot
just
tightens.*
I crave to see you alone on a walk
or you with others
or you with me.
I especially crave to see you with me.
O' that which I'd give
to see you with me.
It must have been the grass
or the beers
or the LSD
because no natural occasion could make me feel this way.
I first heard you before I saw,
singing across the fence.
Your voice was like cream in hot coffee
scintillating, mesmerizing
fascinating, and light;
a drop of sweet in the dark, dark bitter.
I never knew that drinking coffee black
would soon become impossible.
*Everything is
bitter
when you've tasted
sweet.*
It's something in the way you visibly think
about the world and
others actions and
everything I say and do; something in the way you care.
It's something in the way you spit,
claiming the concrete as your own, a primal beast.
You are an incarnadine being,
a vastly deep creature whose
curls I can be lost in for
hours and days if not for those eyes.
Those eyes steal me with every glance,
dark mines of copper and fool's gold.
But pyrite is the sheen to which my mind melts,
and Scorpio sun signs
paint the mystique
that keeps me awake and alert all through the night
You keep me awake and alert,
waiting for the next move.
Yes, I'd be a liar if I said I felt friendship for you
and a heretic if I
dared to touch you.
But you dare to touch me. Every day,
you brush your hand 'gainst my leg,
grab my shoulder and hold,
knock your knee upon mine,
you push me gently,
but I die when you grab my thigh,
grab my thigh and squeeze it tightly
reassuring me that you're there
you're real
you're caring for me
and when the goodbyes come
**** the goodbyes*
you hug me so closely and so tightly
that my heart,
knotted as it is,
beats faster than it ever has.
I swear that it beats
faster than it ever could.
And in this speed, this conflagration of emotion,
I feel how the knot
only tightens to where
even the youngest sailor lacks the nimbility to loosen it.
I swear that it's much
tighter than it ever was;
that no one has stressed my mind so,
kept my heart strained to where it
beats
faster than it ever could,
it beats faster yet, than the
rush of a train upon steel.
Nov 4, 2012
Nov 4, 2012 at 2:35 PM UTC
Life, vastly cryptic, within, gradually,
as drips on glass, descends,
towards gravity, till fate.
Vibrations, redundant swings,
and evaporations.
We live, pause, breathe,
we expire. That’s all.
And more than enough.
May 5, 2012
May 5, 2012 at 4:37 PM UTC
24 July 2018
2:32 PM
Sometimes.
Being with you
Is like handing you the vastly wonderful universe
And you obsess so intricately
Over one dim, long burnt out, star
That you forget to admire
The rest of the sprawling beauty
Of the sea of sparkles
That I ripped out my heart
To give to you
KG
Jul 24, 2018
Jul 24, 2018 at 9:37 AM UTC
Built up tears,
A dam released,
Violent movements,
Punching bags.
And all at once,
It liberated itself
Of its confining chains.
Alone,
An empty house,
All that movement in still air,
Very much hoping to be heard.
And the irony
of not knowing how to explain.
Harsh tears,
Ripped heart,
A voice made coarse,
Anger,
Frustration,
Fused a total meltdown.
An agonising cry,
Desparate movements replay
On days when feelings numb down,
And a hole widens from deep within,
Projecting from an empty shell,
Onto a vastly absent world.
All the kicking,
The punching,
Sore knuckles,
Aching knees,
Swollen eyes,
Dripping sweat,
An utterly spent heart.
And a hot scalding bath later,
An hour or so,
When souls filled a place called home,
It was as though nothing ever happened,
Simply a day well spent,
Rather eventful.
Jan 25, 2015
Jan 25, 2015 at 6:26 PM UTC
We’re all born with our eyes closed to what we learn to be the world.
Our sounds begin with crying, our fingers bunched and curled.
We’re taught our eyes should open and our hands should follow suit.
Our lips we’re told to quiet, our lungs we’re taught to mute.
We’re taught rules are to be followed, enforced calmly with intent.
Our freedoms and our thoughts are forced and every feeling bent.
We grow into what we are made of and what we’re meant to be
These people born with their eyes closed now teaching us to see.
A potluck set of people and we’re told to pick just one
Forever and for always our individuality is undone
Over time it comes back around and soon we have to teach
Our own little entrées that bunched up hands can’t reach
Closed eyes are not able to watch and loud mouths don’t ever listen
We bend and break and force our little dishes until they glisten.
We age and rot and give up on what our hearts once dreamed
And dying we may realize that it’s not what it had seemed.
Saint Peter looks inside his book and asks us how we are
And crying with our eyes closed we ask our lucky stars
Why never in our lives we questioned what we were
Here we are at God’s front door and we finally concur
Hands bunched up and fingers curled, eyes shut and kept closed tightly
The world we lived on and left for here was horrid and unsightly.
Yet every morning we woke up and our eyes opened to the sun
We've been quietly observing a world that’s vastly overdone.
Oct 12, 2012
Oct 12, 2012 at 4:42 AM UTC
How word conveys thine yonder form
is winter’s ice upon my ear,
No mouth can so describe the warmth
lay hous’d inside my heart endeared.
Despite all speech that one might find,
though vastly far it always spans,
your essence will lay undefined,
far beyond all ink-spotted hands.
But here I stay ever toiling,
grasping my pen yet unprepared,
Cursive paper onward coiling,
My crumpled sheets lay uncompared.
So know my love you’re all to me
beyond that which our words can see.
Feb 25, 2014
Feb 25, 2014 at 8:36 PM UTC
What if the things we see are only perceivable by us? As if we all have unique spectacles, ones that let us see what we think is normal, but to put them on anothers’ eyes would be to change their entire world, their idea of what things are. Blue is orange, green is black, trees are ugly, distortion is beautiful.
Then what is the truth? What is the tree’s true nature, the honest hue of blue, what does my face look like in reality? Suppose there is no truth. That what we perceive IS reality, in all honest hues, viewed differently in each spectacle of each individual. That it is all in the mind.
If life exists in that way, in the mere space of our minds, the vastly infinite universe that resides in all of us, then my only goal is to share my spectacles.
Feb 19, 2013
Feb 19, 2013 at 9:51 PM UTC
I'm split in two...
Entangled in my mind...
As Two forces Collide,
A predicament that should be so very simple
Yet far from simple is it
I know what I should do and
I know what I desire to do...
The Two... vastly different
Therefore I do not Know... What I shall do...
Out of fear? Not for myself but for you
For Dangerous things I've done
But in comparison this is beyond those
Because... it won't be me alone exposed
It's a bad idea
I can see it ending with heartache and tears
This might **** me but I know it's time to turn back the dial
I don't want to break your smile
I'm willing to sacrifice mine
And that.... That is fine...
May 1, 2021
May 1, 2021 at 8:30 PM UTC
The setting sun profusely
showering golden yellow
over scattered Mughal ruins,
dragged history of dead centuries
in to their conversations.
In Delhi
history rocks one back and fourth
as if in a swing, when one sees
own predicaments from different angles,
realize, the role of a rolling stone
in the incessant flow of time.
In India past centuries, co-exist
forming a deep water pool,
on the banks of which,
the cities are made.
this pool makes its presence felt
amazingly in contemporary life,
you can see your face,
and life itself reflected on its waters,
--as if walking on the shore of distant times;
an exhilarating feeling, eerie too at times.
History was a live presence,
all along with them, future loomed
with grievous air of uncertainty
he and she, two lines drawn parallel
(not by them but others, who know better!)
over the busy today of Delhi
gloriously old, yet decidedly new
and an uncertainty vastly between.
one easily gets lost in the labyrinths
unless fully imbued all this contradictory complexities.
she said, in dreams she was a princess
who fell in love with a poet penniless
but sung his songs only to her heart,
she never did want anything else
she was blissfully unaware of the
complexities of labyrinths,
the king got furious, she said
like some parents of present times
who don't hesitate a bit, to **** in cold blood
their children who cross the lines
killings in the name of honor is on the increase
every day you are informed.
in the story of her nightmares
it all ended in tragedy:
the king without mercy hung
the lovers, who preferred death
than getting separated
He walked back alone,
making way through
the ruins of past strewn
with an agitating heart,
here, the time is a still pool
that refuses to flow,
he thought
between the sunset of past glory
and an uncertain dawn
he and she stand separated
by a dark frightening night.
Nov 14, 2011
Nov 14, 2011 at 11:51 PM UTC