"venerated" poems
It's not usual for me to be writing a poem this early
But since I can't sleep yet and my soul seemed empty
Here I am typing the words that came out eagerly
The concept that was pushed out of bravery
I lost my Sunshine and so darkness evaded
Ate my emotion and in Heaven I was rejected
On Earth I stayed trapped, bruised, and depleted
Away from the jewels all my life I have venerated
Pain is inevitable but at the same time curable
To a heart that is wounded, aftermath is memorable
Recovering from the incident is somewhat imaginable
Though at times it may seem unfathomable
It's hard to understand when your mind is shut
And the only thing that's open is your mouth and a "but"
A hint to a conversation is all but a gut
To start things through from where they should start
I would like to apologize to those I've caused hurt
With those words I've uttered and hearts I may have burnt
An instance wherein I lose control of my emotion
Such a lame and deep sign of depression
Before I end this short release
I thank thee for the glimpse
Writing this gave me peace
And hope it did give you ease
May 2, 2011
May 2, 2011 at 8:43 PM UTC
A dozen fellows draped in threadbare tread densely,
Profligating goons in obsidian gowns
gathered under rainbow
moonshine shaking bronze hands,
howling and ****** in the shambles of the moon,
rap'n and nod'n to the notes of midnight.
The mellow marines mourned over malice,
lionizing over lost ones,
many howled venerated, exalted in wonder
in favor of their thrilling grace, and delight,
and brilliance, and might!
but some neighboring sticklers,
behaved haughty and in disdain,
of the crowdy Cavaliers bellowing echoes
signaling out
to the seers of the sea,
singing to the wands overwatching the wedding,
and ravens listened,
roving like noble patrolsmen.
Traveleres and trainees at sea
humble and bright
niave, and frieghtened
in traverse,
volatile and toiling,
tireless,
Lunatics, (laughing, laughing, laughhing,)
Rumaging through rain,
fireciely,
rallying and rableroused,
through towering halls of mohogony,
hefty and wholesome were their hearts
though, beast of the woodsy edifice
were foul and benumb
scowling with contempt,
haste to devide and devised to hindrance.
Hence the heroes heed
to the valleys of rose, and violet,
and strawberry fields of forever,
seeking Saint Nicholas,
in the bustling Byzantium,
in the murky shadows of doubt.
Sep 18, 2018
Sep 18, 2018 at 10:08 AM UTC
i given nothing
i abandoned
i adopted
i dropout
i garage
i Apple
i NeXT
i Pixar
i Apple
i pilfered i
i invented i
i produced i
i market i
i retail i
i am i
i am
i
i tech beauty
i consumer fetish
i whom you love
i sleekest widgets
i Toy Story
i Macintosh
i macbook
i Lisa
iTunes
iPod
iPhone
iPad
i more
i rebel
i genius
i visionary
i entrepreneur
i world changer
i exceptionalism
i capital market hero
i bigger then business
i cool capitalism
i myth
i "the man"
i worker
i employer
i boss
i thief
i savior
i billionaire
i venerated
i vanity
i Buddhist
i prophet
i redeemed
i 1 in 300 million
i America
i sing the pathos
i am the creed
i define the ethos
i Steve Jobs
i amassed riches
i accolade crowned
i ingratiate world
i virtue
i success
i creativity
i favored
i Midas
i bedeviled
i tested
i afflicted
i retire
i human
i mortal
i succumb
i eulogized
i leave legacy of i
i am an MBA case study
i employed workers
i peddled intrepid product cycles
i subject of amusing anecdotes
i am heroic corporate folklore
i grew pods full of music
i incite kids to thumb phones
i captivate consumer imagination
i built rock solid balance sheet
i erected toxic Chinese factories
i enriched investors
i am the cool corporate brand
i inspired a million unused i apps
i hipster capitalism
i imposed my will
i insisted
i am that i am
i cannot take it with me
i leave blue jeans
i leave NB sneakers
i leave black collarless shirt
i will be asked what
i did with the time
i was given?
i did the best i could
i played the hand dealt
i parlayed it into a royal flush
i filled it up with i
i ask why
i am no more?
i leave the world
i am no more
Godspeed Beloved
Steven Paul "Steve" Jobs
(February 24, 1955 – October 5, 2011)
jbm
Oakland
10/6/11
Nov 4, 2011
Nov 4, 2011 at 10:40 PM UTC
My shattered soul is
Scattered throughout space and time
Infinite fractals -
Holographic pieces
Containing the Whole
I am stardust in a faraway galaxy
And the warming rays of the sun
The blade of grass on a meadow
Gently undulating in the breeze
The refreshing rain on an arid plane
And the tree that has seen it all
I am the mountain standing firm
In neutral observation
I am the waves on the water and
The teeming life within
I am the Sirian in human disguise
And the quantum of light -
A traveling photon shooting through
An ocean of emptiness
Heralding change
I see myself reflected
A thousand times
I read my words
In other poets’ poems and
Hear my song sung
By venerated voices
My hopes and dreams are
Imagined into reality
By actors calling themselves human
Unaware of their role on
The stage of life
I am the little girl
Scared to face the world
And the Amazon with eagle eyes
And heightened senses
Confident about my next move
The grandmother burdened
By a life of suffering
And the one crouching behind
The eyes of the beggar
Beholding the careless passerby
Who is
Oblivious of my existence
I am the ****** on the roof
The killer and the killed
The mother tenderly nursing my child
And the little boy lost in ecstasy
When I see the ocean
For the first time
I am the light
I am the dark
The poet and the poem
The muse of the painter
And the color on her brush
The blank canvas and
The piece of art
Everything and nothing
A paradox of the universe
So I am sending out
A magnetic pulse
Spreading love through all of existence
Thus calling my shattered pieces
Back to the
HEART
© Jasmine, Amsterdam, October 2013
Oct 2, 2013
Oct 2, 2013 at 12:11 PM UTC
that Scythe has rent my heart, i'm penetrated
the blade's removed yet its cold steel remains
our spirit's gone, our breaths remain abated
upon us both the crime's been perpetrated
and though the blade is marked with just his stains
that Scythe has rent my heart, i'm penetrated
his essence from my own's been dislocated
my life remains with only his remains
our spirit's gone, our breaths remain abated
my soul's been scraped, upon my thoughts' been grated
his blood powdered, mixed with my tears, i'm stained
that Scythe has rent my heart, i'm penetrated
and as grief's torments whip my heart striated
all joy swirls round and round a filthy drain
our spirit's gone, our breaths remain abated
i frame my memories,they're venerated
as cries repeat in minor key refrains
that Scythe has rent my heart, i'm penetrated
our spirit's gone, our breaths remain abated
(C)2010, Christos Rigakos
Apr 4, 2012
Apr 4, 2012 at 3:06 PM UTC
I'm a writer writing about a writer who writes about
stories told at cocktail parties
and spirits in the hotel
a beautiful woman
an innocent child
lust, love, out of luck
the death of a venerated character
stories much more popular than my own
I'm a writer writing about a writer who
is an alcoholic
who has a beautiful woman
and an innocent child
and a knack for neglect
Oct 2, 2014
Oct 2, 2014 at 4:11 PM UTC
Ditty This, Little Boy: Venerable Auntie
My Gf's nephew came for a visit,
Teased her that night,
Bowing ceremoniously,
In the Chinese manner,
Addressing her slyly, impishly,
Oh hell, teasingly, as,
Venerable Auntie
She smiled, but said little,
The next night,
When to Argentine Tango dance she must,
In the Chinese manner,
Wore a dress tight fitting,
Her poem, she called it,
With slits up the sides,
To facilitate her swoons and slides,
Leaving the imagination to take care of the rest
As she left, o'er shoulder she called out,
(To me)
Good night little boy,
Don't wait up for my return,
Auntie has gone to play
she won't be back till
Her bad boys have venerated her,
Sufficiently...
6:10 AM
June 11, 2013
Jun 11, 2013
Jun 11, 2013 at 3:49 PM UTC
I need a vacation.
Maybe a trip to Italy.
I gotta revitalize.
Maybe, Pompeii.
I am feeling starved of my vim and vigor.
My words are lukewarm.
There is only one option:
rekindling my virility.
I could vivify myself vicariously:
the sensuality of the city's verve,
all the daily livings of people,
venerated in an intense blaze;
might make me vivacious again.
Input daily routine.
Output socially valued norms.
My vivid, vermillion passion
has been layered with ashes.
I am desperate for veracity.
Did my igneous, poetic life temper
to an obsidian verse?
The beat in my heart
has felt industrialized,
monotonous,
a steady assembly line of chaste gray;
a vexing variance of my vitals.
Revive me: my virtuosity
will ventilate me with
venereal voraciousness.
What is left to me,
a choice of perspective:
a plunge in to the devouring,
a dive in to the radiant;
both, a swim through a viscous sea of wildfire
in Mount Vesuvius.
Apr 9, 2016
Apr 9, 2016 at 5:45 PM UTC
Writhing slimy slick snakes of oil
Around the Gulf of Greed now crawl
What we sought will consume us all.
What before was venerated
Our pristine world penetrated,
****** bodies violated,
Writhing slimy slick snakes of oil
Changing the name and so despoil.
Gulf of America? Recoil.
A despot who's addlepated
Corrupt, old, and dissipated.
Land and water desecrated.
By writhing, slimy, sick snake oil.
Jul 11, 2010
Jul 11, 2010 at 12:19 PM UTC
Could you contain my sighs of solitude
by harboring the anxiety in this fragile sea?
On your streets lies the tenderness, aging,
incandescent wind shelters and recalls
them in the distance
the flame anchored in your colors.
Habana,
Lucid, shadowed reminiscent garden
in an infinite insomnia
harnessing the dawn.
Throbbing uniquely,
uniquely understanding,
following the beat, freshness,
watercolor eyes of the city.
Giraldilla, proclamation, mystery,
chaste voice in a calm urge.
I consecrate your vitreaux,
sensing your baroque capitals,
Dusty, unraveled.
I'd like to talk:
Game, rainbow, love,
People, noise, cars;
Essays on flavors.
A captivated rumor,
your arbor dances a naked certainty:
A park, a cloud, summer, God.
The boundary hurts the clef,
the litany resorts to music,
when the stars nurse your elusive chant.
Far… blood calls for your passion,
Languishing, nobody edifies it,
in the absent dwelling of your sun, your moon.
The corner dwellers come to my mind,
the adjacent towns, trembling bedrooms.
I seek within you, dear city,
that home, The Cathedral,
that childhood, concrete flesh,
mother's kiss fading goodbye:
upholds my venerated memories.
Translated by Vanessa Cresevich
May 22, 2018
May 22, 2018 at 2:05 PM UTC
You came to me a morning star
You offered me infinity
I, bedazzled,
took your hand
We revolved around the sun
You ushered me to
an endless sea of possibilities
That was how you called it
That was how you used to tell me
You held me,
playing careful defense
A paladin
A sparrow to her nest
I, affected with great wonder
Mindlessly bathed the silken water
Drowned myself in the soft
bubbles of the crashing waves
Not bedeviled by troubles
nor disturbance, nor distress
You walked ahead of me
As if protecting me
from the swelling crests
or from the cold, or
from the salt that filled my chest
I, spellbind
influenced by your charms
and your incantations
Moved rakishly along
your convivial course
Unto your heavens
Unto your hell
Into your fire
Into your soul
that was what you said
That was how you used to tell me
I believed
I accepted in veracity
And I watched, a sentinel
As you moved in rhythmic steps
and playful gestures
Until I was confounded by
your intricate motion
I, caught in a whirling sensation
Imperiled by a tendency to fall
Was carried into your
nauseous complexity
I, paralyzed by my perplexity
You venerated me, you said
Or that was how you used to tell me
Yet, I was disconnected and
I, an amazed audience,
stood enthralled
Or was I merely standing in stunned silence?
Stupefied
Yet disconnected?
Jan 11, 2013
Jan 11, 2013 at 12:49 AM UTC
One feverishly feigned embrace
And struck with hand, dagger graced
Though the votive venial
It precipitated the coup de grace
Ignorant stood captivated,
Discourse evaporated
As conspirators followed suit
Silence serenaded the orchestrated,
Symphony of treachery accentuated by sovereignty's strikes, resolute
Although he knew the fate awaited
And pain he could not substitute
The fight he would not forsake, and so suffered mute
Until his soul was devastated by the visage venerated...
The coda extricated,
"Et tu, Brute?"
Apr 2, 2016
Apr 2, 2016 at 9:36 PM UTC
That soft symphony enchants my senses
Spiraling my emotions each out of control
Amatory temptations blossom ever more
With every second she caresses my soul
All of those words charmingly resounding
Written carefully from the outset of the nib
Impeccably sung by the heart of an Angel
Yet composed sweetly by a young cherub
Soft and yet graceful this Angel sings forth
Pure elegant tunes coming from her heart
A sacred seamstress of poetic perfection
Her voice, purity - a Heavenly work of art
Venerated forever, she sings melodiously
Using all of the notes I have come to love
Gazing at her singing I then realize slowly
This Angel is more than I could dream of
Celestially precious this Angel I have met
Angelic perfection upon me she bestows
May the spirit she bares always be eternal
As the seraphic heart that within her glows
Oct 25, 2010
Oct 25, 2010 at 2:56 PM UTC
She,
voracious reader, nearly a book a day,
she loves Rushdie, Ishiguro, E. Stout,
and so many, many more, a daily add
to an ever growing list of auteurs, all
venerable and venerated, my little bits
pale, don’t even qualify to compare,
so what’s a poet to say, or feel, beside
tears in his eyes, so hereby withdraws his
awarded accolade, HGF,
His Greatest Fan
now that there is a vacancy, looking for
fufillment, now that there is a hollowed
hallow plus a clogged artery, side by side,
both within,
even
an officialized fossilized a
doctor declaration of “chronic heart failure”
who knew docs still diagnosed love sickness?
loss of love could manifest
itself so decisively physically,
and yet I blame her not, and
thank her for the inspiration,
for all the poems birthed in
her presence, and what swill
will /may follow will never be as good,
for memories inevitable yellowing,
discoloration infestation inevitable,
earn my pallor palest poverty
and like a used car, good enough
for daily trips to the office, but not
for cross country trips,
and perhaps
that means,
only smaller,
somewhat
used up,
and e v e n
not only,
only love poetry
open to direction
road trip to
Sweet Sorrow Land
Feb 15, 2025
Feb 15, 2025 at 2:54 PM UTC
The devout of Saint Sophia, the ones who prayed
Venerated, virgin-martyr, holy hunger
The priestesses, vestal tombs. Virgins of Etrusca
What do they know of me?
Waifish, heart-sad, victim of ill womanhood
Persecutor, rejector of the womb,
Denier of her blood.
Apr 27, 2018
Apr 27, 2018 at 7:01 AM UTC
MOTHERS
The cycle of life would have ceased to exist,
If there were no mothers.
Hard working they are,
Good discipliners they are,
Doctors and caregivers they are.
Praises I give to all mothers
Through all their days,
They’ve raised and fed the world always.
Light they are to the darkness of life,
To husbands they’ve become good wives.
All mothers should be honored,
and venerated,
For these days they have been daunted.
Husband or Wife?
Yes!! You can get another,
But you can’t get another mother.
So let’s know and show our gratitude,
And let their very reward be in multitude.
Apr 13, 2016
Apr 13, 2016 at 3:54 PM UTC
Africa's venerated literary
icon with words of eloquence
esoteric to the blind.
Distinguished in letters
for ages infinite.
Unparalleled in intellect,
and a gadfly of constructive
dissenting views.
Soyinka,
You are indeed a priceless
asset to the black race.
The wise grey-haired doyen
of literary geniuses,
whose ingenuity is in a century
once seen,
and in a Millennium, ten times.
Jan 20, 2018
Jan 20, 2018 at 8:34 AM UTC
Have you seen the Hills of Eden
They just lay beyond the grove
Where the beauty of the pasture is matched only by the snow
In the season of coldness when the hemlock starts to grow
Have you seen the Hills of Eden
Where the mass graves lay untouched
It was only for the purpose,man is always in a rush
Hush now children, don't be foolish
It's only tales of ghosts and goolish
Yet the weary be aware , above the graves the grass it fairs
Fairly poor from lack of sun or food I know not
yet for purposes the grass is dead above those spots
where dead are laid atop of dead
Like flesh was spread, and nothing said
It is the manner of our ways and still the Hills of Eden fair the same.
Like the rose flow
The lush exterior
Beneath the thorns that cower?
or the beauty of the rose is venerated from its lush exterior
allowing the unpleasantness of the thorn to contain an essence of beauty
thus the beautiful will bare the cross of the wicked
and the wicked will be better for it.
and say i have seen the Hills of Eden
Jun 24, 2013
Jun 24, 2013 at 3:21 PM UTC
Fine things lining pockets
And flawed gems from a faucet
It took a month to mar the clauses
long forgotten fiends and flowing
Nature lost scenery
It might be menial, but if I don't like the imagery
I'd use a run on and run on, running on
Fumes like carbon clouds, bowing at the center
Of the hopelessness I've found
Of moths and flame, danger and wanting
Nature and harboring diseases and watching
Crystalline precipices overblown from cold
Rain, eroding stone long since lain
Homes blown through in half a day
Another half century laid waste
Forage a new course for the streams
The selfish, like me only disagree
Despite the discontent
Restless nights and fires burning low
Into the biting air, a show of flair
Its not right, or fair to vent
Hollow, it would seem
Still stable, the ecosystem of
Constant change
Trying to be heard over a flood of filth
Tidal waves painting fields
Recessing long since venerated guest
Retaking ocean lost to sandy beaches
And kids with half a dream left in them
I spent my last penny on a whim
Dec 6, 2017
Dec 6, 2017 at 7:43 PM UTC
Aphrodite of the Immortals
on magmatic throne aloft
ruse rummager God’s daughter
shield not my fury or pang of demur
my spirit’s empress eternal
desired goddess, appear
seal rank in the corps of my heart
from gilded kingdoms above
fling thyself to this tenebrous earth
atmospheric reentry – to me
jovial thy ****** bequeathed
known by heart, my splits and seams
my bedraped innocence and tears
to spill my trusty soul secure:
why is thy countenance amiss?
who has entranced thou in her arms?
whose caresses does thou shake?
venerated queen so valiant
dilate my love, dwindle my pain
free up my heart to love all embracive
comrade goddess, be mine
be thou, my ally
Jun 22, 2014
Jun 22, 2014 at 4:47 PM UTC
The saline in your teeth bestowed us life
Your canopy of wisdom billows like
death billows the soul
Your memory grasped into our veins like Wysteria
Dropping one by one, wilting
Into the eyes of the crows
that ate the eyes of your dying children
you engraved your name
so that every child that dies
Remembers
Unto the sea of wheat we spew
our rotten teeth so that they may blossom
And the seeds shall be fed to our
wavering kind
So you will be remembered
Behold!
Lotuses of swamps long been forgotten
Blooms that may only blossom within blooms
Whom that dwell in the mud of the ancients
Yet unstained
In our being, a black pearl
that grows from the fields of Israel
So that we, lotus lover
Are worshiped, venerated
and will be remembered
Jan 10, 2013
Jan 10, 2013 at 12:35 AM UTC
The Sadhana of God's Love
is a blissful employment
from rising sunlit tides of dawn
to iridescent dusk
my hymn floods
the rubescent horizon
Spending time with You,
Divine Self
soothes the furrowed brow
heals the broken heart
Lilac shadows steal through the
Prayer room
delicate footprints
Gods and Goddesses
make their presence
known
Happily I ignite
warm, inviting glow
candlight and camphor incense
while settling down softly
in
the blue meditation chair
my gaze ascends
venerated, timeless vedic scriptures
unfold
beautiful words, fragrant pinions
waft through the universe
recalling God's majesty and glory
Hari
!
Your myriad names and leelas
a glorious testament, celebration
to all that is good and virtuous
dances
across my japa mala
anointing body, mind and spirit
with true peace
Gossamer wings brush
past my flushed face
shimmering in the quicksilver luminosity
I feel You so radiantly near
Yes, it is possible
with dedicated devotion
and spiritual practice
for us to experience the
ineffable Presence of God
Feb 14, 2017
Feb 14, 2017 at 11:54 AM UTC
Anupshahr disharmonies approaching midnight now
A festival, a holiday, perhaps a sacred cow
Is to be venerated piously
As custom will allow
To Mumtaz-Mahal Calliope
That Shah Jahan’s my vow
Unto unveiling a society
That forces her to bow
Her brow, avert her eyes
From thoughts of impropriety
Oh how she tries, but can’t revise
Disguises hiding womanize
Abusing them in privacy
As Durga roars and Sati cries
I’m left to worship silently
Nov 3, 2017
Nov 3, 2017 at 3:38 PM UTC
*
Religion watered lies with cultivated fears
Pure liquid guilt methodically poured down ****** ears
Harnessed young thoughts to grim shadowed years
Harvested dumb belief in blood, sweat, and tears
Constant torture over the soul's fate
Hideously murdered that innocent state
Contrivances uttered with no trace of hate
Whose venoms still stain now balding pate
Taught to fear what we fail to understand
The devil himself possessed the idlest hand
Preferring instead to let us hang ourselves
Ironclad morals dragging us down to our hells
*
May 28, 2021
May 28, 2021 at 4:38 AM UTC
Those sash windows rotten in their frames
the venerated better placed,
to observe the desperation
of others,
once laughed back erstwhile,
but its always the emptier pocket
that question the affordability of repairs
as the day is long,
the overgrown bramble in the parterre garden
obliterates the rectangular lines
a vernacular happenstance
socially trailing backwards
Jan 16, 2014
Jan 16, 2014 at 5:28 PM UTC