"visioning" poems
For Al, who left us
With each passing poem,
The degree of difficulty of diving ever higher,
Bar incrementally niched, inched, raised,
Domain, the association of words, ever lesser,
Repetition verboten, crime against pride.
Al,
You ask me when the words come:
With each passing year,
In the wee hours of
Ever diminishing time snatches,
The hours between midnight and rising,
Shrinkage, once six, now four hours,
Meant for body restoration,
Transpositional for poetic creation,
Only one body notes the new mark,
The digital, numerical clock of
Trillion hour sleep deficit, most taxing.
Al, you ask me from where do the words come:
Each of the five senses compete,
Pick me, Pick me, they shout,
The eyes see the tall grasses
Framing the ferry's to and fro life.
Waving bye bye to the
End of day harbor activities,
Putting your babies to sleep.
The ears hear the boat horns
Deep voiced, demanding pay attention,
I am now docking, I am important,
The sound lingers, long after
They are no longer important.
The tongue tastes the cooling
Italian prosecco merging victoriously
With its ally, the modestly warming rays
Of a September setting sun,
finally declaring, without stuttering,
Peace on Earth.
The odoriferous bay breezes,
A new for that second only smell,
But yet, very old bartender's recipe,
Salt, cooking oil, barbecue sauce, gasoline
And the winning new ingredient, freshly minted,
Stacked in ascending circumference order, onion rings.
These four senses all recombinant,
On the cheek, on the tongue,
Wafting, tickling, blasting, visioning
Merging into a single touch
That my pointer finger, by force majeure,
Declares, here,
poem aborning!
Contract with this moment,
now satisfied!
Al, what you did not ask was this:
With each passing poem,
I am lessened within, expurgated,
In a sense part of me, expunged,
Part of me, passing too,
Every poems birth diminishes me.
_________________________________
(this poem more than most,
for its birth celebrates
my loss, your loss,
which cannot be exonerated 8/7/18)
_________________________________
written at 4:38 AM
September 8th, 2012
Greenport Harbor, Long Island
May 21, 2013
May 21, 2013 at 7:07 AM UTC
The Roman Road runs straight and bare
As the pale parting-line in hair
Across the heath. And thoughtful men
Contrast its days of Now and Then,
And delve, and measure, and compare;
Visioning on the vacant air
Helmeted legionnaires, who proudly rear
The Eagle, as they pace again
The Roman Road.
But no tall brass-helmeted legionnaire
Haunts it for me. Uprises there
A mother’s form upon my ken,
Guiding my infant steps, as when
We walked that ancient thoroughfare,
The Roman Road.
2.7k
man or machine is,
a world of science
man or machine is,
a world of madness
a machine is a mechanic science
a machine is a mechanic madness
mechanic is mechanic of a man or machine
science is a mechanic of man or machine
science is a mechanic of science
vision is visioning man
vision is visioning a machine
vision is visioning a mechanic world
a vision is a mechanic world
a vision is a mechanic science
man or machine,science is a vision of a man
a galaxy is a vision of a galaxy
a galaxy is a vision of man or machine
a galaxy is a vision of a mechanic world
science is a galaxy of a mechanic world
science is a mechanic world man or machine
science is a mechanic world science
Sep 27, 2021
Sep 27, 2021 at 3:40 PM UTC
With each passing poem,
The degree of difficulty of diving ever higher,
Bar incrementally niched, inched, raised,
Domain, the association of words, ever lesser,
Repetition verboten, crime against pride.
Al,
You ask me when the words come:
With each passing year,
In the wee hours of
Ever diminishing time snatches,
The hours between midnight and rising,
Shrinkage, once six, now four hours,
Meant for for restoration,
Transpositional for creation,
Only one body notes the new mark,
The digital, numerical clock of
Trillion hour sleep deficit, most taxing.
Al, you ask me from where do the words come:
Each of the five senses compete,
Pick me, Pick me, they shout,
The eyes see the tall grasses
Framing the ferry's to and fro life.
Waving bye bye to the
End of day harbor activities,
Putting your babies to sleep.
The ears hear the boat horns
Deep voiced, demanding pay attention,
I am now docking, I am important,
The sound lingers, long after
They are no longer important.
The tongue tastes the cooling
Italian prosecco merging victoriously
With its ally, the modestly warming rays
Of a September setting sun,
finally declaring, without stuttering,
Peace on Earth.
The odoriferous bay breezes,
A new for that second only smell,
But yet, very old bartender's recipe,
Salt, cooking oil, barbecue sauce, gasoline
And the winning new ingredient, freshly minted,
Stacked in ascending circumference order, onion rings.
These four senses all recombinant,
On the cheek, on the tongue,
Wafting, tickling, blasting, visioning
Merging into a single touch
That my pointer finger, by force majeure,
Declares, here, poem aborning,
Contract with this moment, now satisfied.
Al, what you did not ask was this:
With each passing poem,
I am lessened within, expurgated,
In a sense part of me, expunged,
Part of me, passing too,
Every poems birth diminishes me.
___________
4:38 AM
September 8th, 2012
Greenport Harbor, N.Y.
Mar 26, 2014
Mar 26, 2014 at 5:06 PM UTC
Am I a man, or a liability
Visioning myself out of home
All my walls taller than me
And the unescaped feeling of being alone
I sit there like a garden gnome
Staring my fate right into its soul
Thinking I’ll start sipping that Styrofoam
Cos it’s home where I bear the insult
“It won’t work out, it never does”
So much for your encouragement
Wish I was with the clever ones
Running free like a thoroughbred
Preaching at me about having patience
Look at you, you’re full of it
What’s that word you’ve never experienced?
Another one comes to mind, cough cough ‘hypocrite’!
I can’t move on from your effluences
I’m reminded each time I try to forget
Back engaged within those experiences
Then you go and ask why I’m upset?
Wish you could see what I wish
That age doesn’t define anything
The opportunities that went with the mist
When all my friends had everything
Seems like my words make a stain
All I ever do is to be wanted
I have the strength of an aeroplane
That goes towards the wind and not with it
Tonight I’m lonely I can almost cry
In the wake of my very absence
But around you, I keep my cheeks dry
For the sake of your obedience
Nov 22, 2018
Nov 22, 2018 at 10:27 PM UTC
Time an temperature...bottom right of
tele-visioning screen.
And now...torrent crystallized vertically, horizontally.
Fixity of the epochal grope--aegis to the
refining floodlight.
Reflected back to virtual reality, Jacob Boehme's
pewter dish.
Numbing, the iced pillow of cold illogic...slid
the presented head...melting.
Warming up and up to harmony and chaos--
reintegrated by and by Now.
Nov 1, 2013
Nov 1, 2013 at 12:31 PM UTC
With each passing poem,
The degree of difficulty of diving ever higher,
Bar incrementally niched, inched, raised,
Domain, the association of words, ever lesser,
Repetition verboten, crime against pride.
Al,
You ask me when the words come:
With each passing year,
In the wee hours of
Ever diminishing time snatches,
The hours between midnight and rising,
Shrinkage, once six, now four hours,
Meant for for restoration,
Transpositional for creation,
Only one body notes the new mark,
The digital, numerical clock of
Trillion hour sleep deficit, most taxing.
Al, you ask me from where do the words come:
Each of the five senses compete,
Pick me, Pick me, they shout,
The eyes see the tall grasses
Framing the ferry's to and fro life.
Waving bye bye to the
End of day harbor activities,
Putting your babies to sleep.
The ears hear the boat horns
Deep voiced, demanding pay attention,
I am now docking, I am important,
The sound lingers, long after
They are no longer important.
The tongue tastes the cooling
Italian prosecco merging victoriously
With its ally, the modestly warming rays
Of a September setting sun,
finally declaring, without stuttering,
Peace on Earth.
The odoriferous bay breezes,
A new for that second only smell,
But yet, very old bartender's recipe,
Salt, cooking oil, barbecue sauce, gasoline
And the winning new ingredient, freshly minted,
Stacked in ascending circumference order, onion rings.
These four senses all recombinant,
On the cheek, on the tongue,
Wafting, tickling, blasting, visioning
Merging into a single touch
That my pointer finger, by force majeure,
Declares, here, poem aborning,
Contract with this moment, now satisfied.
Al, what you did not ask was this:
With each passing poem,
I am lessened within, expurgated,
In a sense part of me, expunged,
Part of me, passing too,
Every poems birth diminishes me.
_________________________________
4:38 AM
September 8th, 2012
Greenport Harbor, N.Y.
May 20, 2015
May 20, 2015 at 4:49 PM UTC
A thousand miles west of me
She lies in a nursing home bed,
Oxygen and medications
Prolonging the end of a well-lived life.
This night, the weariness settles around me,
A grim comfort promising sleep,
If only I may close my eyes in surrender....
As if my staying awake somehow sustains her.
Eldest of her sons,
Sometimes wise,
Sometimes wiseacre,
Sometimes a visioning prophet,
Sometimes a fumbler in the dark,
I am empty of words tonight.
What wisdom have I now
When wisdom's called for?
Decisions to be made, and naught to say:
I'd give my kingdom for the wisest way.
Oh, I have prayed,
Have pleaded with the skies....
I suffer in the silent darkness.
Knowing Mother's youth and strength are spent;
Time's inexorable turning pulls her in,
Body nearly gone, reason razor thin
Tell me her fight's a battle Time will win.
But now, while the hovering remains,
The wretched anguish overhangs my soul,
And memories of Mother, young and strong,
Tireless and loving, industrious, filled with song,
Make poignant my pre-mourning hours.
Nov 12, 2018
Nov 12, 2018 at 7:31 PM UTC
Ordinarily able-bodied,
stop me in my tracks
I don't mind
a few days rest
weekend plans
you wreck
Detours don't phase me - obliterate stigma, my response
I'll walk or crawl or submit to the sidelines
I'll ride or sit or be a tour guide
Attendance, no question
my life's purpose
in one day gathered
I go, no hesitation
re-visioning the day
lesson learned, past mistake
Detours don't phase me - obliterate stigma, my response
different, I imagined the scene
life's greatest mystery:
reality versus dreamed
unseen struggle, just as real
ridding shame and damnation
love is the answer here
Detours don't phase me - obliterate stigma, my response
Apr 27, 2015
Apr 27, 2015 at 11:22 PM UTC
I want to be awakened from this nightmare.
Deep into the darkness dreaming.
God listen to my prayers
the when the tears start streaming.
The article of sorrow
brings with it pain until tomorrow.
The land is a solitude
Suddenly I heard something visioning
Up from above death’s view.
He was conditioning.
The Ifylls remained forbidden,
And hope remained hidden.
My heaven, I could not awaken.
You were a prophecy.
My heart broken and mistaken.
New world awaken a new possibilities.
Down a new deep dark whole.
In there stepped a darling soul.
Feb 7, 2019
Feb 7, 2019 at 11:56 AM UTC
me : “hey what does love mean to you? how does it make you feel?”
him : “Love is something two people share, it’s not something only one person can find. Love is zoning out of reality to find yourself subconsciously visioning you and that person building a life together. Love is taking a chance and giving up the one thing you can’t live without, to build a life around something else entirely. Love makes me feel as if I’m going on an adventure where my safety and well-being cannot be assured. I’m setting out on an adventure where the possibilities are endless. I feel like Bilbo Baggins signing that contract. Towards love I feel nothing less than thankful because I’d not be who I am without it today.”
me : “i love you”
him : “I love you too.”
Dec 9, 2013
Dec 9, 2013 at 12:58 PM UTC
little daddy waddy
******* his thumb
just like a stuck up little brat
i am a man, ya know, run of the mill
though i am penniless, but
that doesn’t stop me from being talented
but dad teased me like a stuck up little brat
is what he looks like to me
yeah, he helped me
but i wasn’t his cool kid, back then
what is wrong with me
to him, i was trying to be a cool kid
dad, to me was a nerd
cause he probably only liked together people
i tried to gain his respect
but i learnt together means theory for *****
i am never going to grow up for dad, but he isn’t around anymore
i am a real real man and dad was like a little baby wa wa wa wa wa
i liked pat in my head, because i didn’t want to pick fights with dad
i was visioning dad as a perfect little gentlemen, what’s wrong with that
i probably hear laughing at my mental health TV station idea, what is wrong with that
that’ll be fun for the poor and suffering to have a mental health TV station
mentally ill people love entertaining
i hate voices in my head saying to rob my stuff
i was a little young dude, who isn’t too woosey for life
who’s a little young dude, who isn’t too woosey for life
brian’s a little young dude, who isn’t too woosey for life
ha ha ha, i hear voices of old mates protecting me
they look like geeks who are trying to be like little homely kids
dad never understood that i was trying to be nice
he didn’t understand i liked partying at shopping centres
i wanted to be a real hotshot cool kid, to all the party young dudes, i liked that
i chucked a tantrum because dad wanted me to be with disability workers, i wanted more
ya know mucking around in groups with them, yeah they are nice
but i am an independent artist and writer aqnd youtube entertainer
mind you carers are helping me be an independent artist and writer
i was having delusions that my mates pat and lyle were treating me like a little cool kid, they ain’t my daddy’s though
dad was, i never got on with him, i wish i did
dad tried to say, your one of the young dudes, treating me like him and mummy, i hated that, but i tolerate that now
i heard old mates saying, leave the more big bad brainy winey, your not like us, NEVER
when i committed that awful act on an 11 year old boy, i heard my mate pat say in my head
you are not ever going to be treated like one of US young dudes ever again
the voices say to me, i am a cool kid to the young dudes, but i ain’t better though
then the voices say, ***** are better, i told the voices, i am not a criminal, i am not a pheadphile
i am party loving, poetry loving cool man, dude
the voices can say **** till they are blue in the face, i ain’t getting worried, but the voices are annoying me all day, I HATE THAT
i tried to be a little cool kid playing cool for people going to bed, and dad said, uhhhh! get away from me, kid
dad was a man, and now he’s little betty campbell, see ya betty from cool man brian
you see dad up there in NIRVANA, i am the only disabled person in our close knit family
and you are being forgotten too, in a way, in the cool way, dad did say, he doesn’t wanna be cool
well, this affects betty’s mojo
Jun 11, 2015
Jun 11, 2015 at 5:06 AM UTC
*Whispering willows,
slowly singing a euphony.
Cries loud enough to hear through soundproof walls
and covered vents.
Leaves that fall to their death.
Only to be then shattered beneath a plastic,
sadistic platinum foot.
Sad trees no longer visioning its "Great Perhaps"
A cup of tea sipped every second to Pluto,
who has tragically been disclaimed as a brother,
and back.
No long wondering who and why,
when and where.
Indebtedness being a rare occasion.
The colors of summer,
adapt to the mourning sun.
Fall has come.
Where reincarnation is now the cycle of life.*
Oct 26, 2013
Oct 26, 2013 at 2:51 AM UTC
standing on the inside looking out, the psych ward story
standing on the inside looking out
standing on the inside looking out
standing on the inside looking out
in the psych ward trying to get better
you see i was visioning i was in glenelg bay
but instead you get doctors saying how are you enjoying your day
i wished i was well and enjoying my life
instead of being in here wasting away
then i called out to almighty god
and the best i can get is a man who claims he is jesus christ
i said, no, were you nailed to the cross
and he said yeah after i rode in on my horse
and i said wasn’t it a donkey you ran in on and i was
standing on the inside looking out
standing on the inside looking out
standing on the inside looking out
in the psych ward trying to get better
i was getting bored, so i asked the nurse
to give me a pass out to the cafe
because i was starting to lose my mind
and when they said no i let out a little wine
i said please please please, mate, this place is driving me mad
the inmates here, smell really really bad
so the nurse made me a banana smoothie and i said thanks
and took it away to my bed, walking past every room before mine
i even tripped over a piece of fishing line
then i sat down in my glenelg bay apartment sipping my smoothie saying
standing on the inside looking out
standing on the inside looking out
standing on the inside looking out
in the psych ward trying to get better
dinner time came and i had fish and chips
it was ever so discusting, ya know like hospital food
i opened my orange juice and gave it one almighty sip
and i ate my chocolate mousse, yeah it is as tasty as
when dinner was over i went to the TV room
to watch the news and home and away
then some dude came into watch it with me
and he said, did you know i was GOD, i said, no
as i sat there thinking i was
standing on the inside looking out
standing on the inside looking out
standing on the inside looking out
in the psych ward trying to get better
standing on the inside looking out
standing on the inside looking out
standing on the inside looking out
in the psych ward in the psych ward
in the psych ward trying to get bet-ter
Jul 23, 2015
Jul 23, 2015 at 4:42 AM UTC
Left here with options,
Falling from fate.
Never did see them,
Til' it was too late.
Saw it in her eyes,
Colors of fantasies.
But she never knew,
She lacked the keys,
Unlocking my door,
Finding my splinters,
Locked in my core,
But never is in her.
Her eyes spoke of hope,
Faith in her dreams.
But she’ll never know,
She’s not what I see,
When I look at my future,
Seeing my beauty,
Visioning of her,
She’s all I see.
Caught in the middle,
Of all these affections,
My conscience dwindled,
My phone’s dead reception.
I want to leave,
This place full of greed,
Only to bring,
The girl of my dreams.
Feb 22, 2018
Feb 22, 2018 at 10:57 PM UTC
Had him since he was a baby sitting on my lap until he grew up
What a baby dog he will always be
This curious Airedale who befuddles me
Outsmarts me
Friends, oh he has friends
Especially people
What a cute face they always say
As he looks at them quizzically or innocently
I don't always tell them that his brain is working overtime
And this seeming charm is a facade.
Escape artist watching me garden and taking off to visit the neighbors
Once ran away during a thunderstorm down a busy road
to be rescued by strangers and taken to a nearby town's vet
Heartbreaking, wondering where he was
Not the last time he disappeared
Once on a mountain hike where only the visioning of a friend brought him back
Now he is twelve
How much longer do I have to be with him
To sense his vitality
His love of life
And love of walks
And love of chicken stuff
He will always be special in my heart and the hearts of others.
Sep 26, 2016
Sep 26, 2016 at 8:28 AM UTC
Ever walk into the dark hoping you'd get grabbed?
Ever held a knife's blade dreaming of the stab?
Visioning all that's wrong,
And all the ways to make them right.
Staring into the night sky waiting for the first glimpse of light.
Suddenly the light hits you,
The moment you look away.
Reveling all the scars,
Reminding you of the old days.
Each one of them was painful.
Each one of them made me smile.
Now I wait to be finished off,
Covered in oil,
Ready for the fire.
When I ignite my eyes will be on the night,
Standing there motionlessly on fire.
The unending pitch black night sky won't look as bad,
As the smoke raises higher.
This is my revision of the dark,
Picture a fire in a park.
Peaceful,
Indifferent,
Ignored by all.
A child watching,
Holds her doll.
And in her eyes,
There is the sun.
And the revision,
Has begun.
Sep 2, 2012
Sep 2, 2012 at 12:00 AM UTC
wholesome love sits here
in the many "may's"
in the hope for what can be cultivated
and in the hope of what can come about
in the staircase of thoughts
and in the apex of
/\ \ / /\
/ s \ \ self / / s \
/ elf \ \ lo- / / elf \
/ - \ \ve/ / -acce \
/ value \ \/ / ptance \
stacked up against each other in the form a trapezoid
\ /\ /
\solid/&\stro-/
\ / ng \ /
\/ \ /
we share mantras her and I, sisterly maneuvering through this life
"We want to feel better" & "we want to be better",
...and so we set about finding the right equations
stacking meditations upon visioning upon affirmations upon counseling upon books of poetry, and teary-eyed artworks that carry our twisted knots that do not undo with words or the spitting out of crunched up syllables onto the ground
so we make shapes, some geometrical like the ones above
Jul 18, 2020
Jul 18, 2020 at 3:54 AM UTC
Green radiance surrounding atomic red
Twist and tie through the fabric of time
Mind visioning a corpse in its bed
A sole luxury without a fine
Acquiring a will
And possessing a mind
Let go and be still
For there's an answer to find
The day will come
When the disease will parish
And vibrate a beautiful hum
To such a day we will cherish
May 2, 2014
May 2, 2014 at 9:19 PM UTC
Every second of every hour, my heart lays heavy as thoughts of you race through my mind,
Oh my son how I am missing you.
Hours turn into days, days into weeks, never a moment passes by, I try to chase a happy thought visioning your beautiful smile, it never lasts long enough and once again I cry, Oh son I'm Missing You.
Hearing your voice on the phone is a blessing every time, I never let you know that when we speak your voice tells it all. I can read you like a book just by your tone. Some days I hear a young man grown up so much but other days I can hear your pain and sense your fear and I know how bad you wish you were home. Oh my son I'm Missing you .
Every Holliday is sad for me as I know it is for you. Sweet baby boy of mine, two years have passed, it seems like forever since I've seen you. If we can just hold on a little longer, this uphill battle we've been on is on the down hill side of over. My Sweet Boy God only knows How Much Your Momma is Missing You..
Apr 1, 2018
Apr 1, 2018 at 4:36 AM UTC
By Your Faith
You Shall Know Me
Yes.
IAM
Rise Now, Oh My Soul
As the Illuminated Voice
Of Harmonizing Blessing
Be Love In All That You Do
Color the World Beautiful
And Know Peace
Love Grace Well
By Her Law Resurrection
Is
Life Abundant
Visioning's KingShip
True Compass
For The Direction
Of The Earth
Sep 26, 2016
Sep 26, 2016 at 4:43 PM UTC
To adore a person so much so that they become part of your will, part of your strength and weaknesses. A tickle to your delusional ego,powerful enough to even give you a little of a cocky glow. An influence to your evolution for you've been in visioning your future self thru them. As they ignited and excited your thrill of life, It could only be one hell of a being that attracts without literally attracting. A creature of natural pure seduction without even much of any given effort. A woman - Swoo
Aug 9, 2023
Aug 9, 2023 at 9:50 AM UTC
i always imagined my first love, how i'll meet them, what i'd be doing. most of this i've just interpreted from reading books and what i see in movies. what can i say, i love all that cheesy romantic, "love at first sight", crap. i've never imagined what they'd look like because it can literally be anyone, i think that's both beautiful and nerve wrecking.
let me paint you the vision i've been visioning for a while, or at least one of the visions.
it's autumn or winter. i'm in a coffee shop. all you can hear and smell are normal coffee shop things. orders being made, names being called out for those orders, chatter, keys from laptop keyboards, and of course the smell of coffee dancing in the air. the smell under our noses and eventually, it sticks to the clothing i'm wearing.
i look up and there they are.
beautiful and completely ordinary. but not ordinary to me,
they're light and everything in between and out of this world.
absolute perfection.
Sep 12, 2018
Sep 12, 2018 at 4:06 PM UTC
Till today I'm still sitting alone the place where we both sit at every evening.
Those hopes and wishes made up at one green evening and those hopes still alive in my heart.
Even today's tempest can't washed off
The tree that we both planted at that very evening , reaches its full growth with full of red flowers.
Visioning to those flowers
Thinking that it was you
Is it will be the content of my heart?
My heart that flies when i see your smile
But today no wing to fly as you have taken my wings with your pass.
The thirst of water can't be replace by any other liquid.
Let all my sorrows, mournful events be all washed away by today's
tempest.
The dirt that remains at our body can be washed off
But the color of past that colored in my heart can't be washed
Now the tempest has over but small drops are still falling.
When the Sun is about to set a series of unending question rise in my mine
Will the mysterious breeze be blowing again?
Will that powerful rain be return again?
When I was about to returned home an Unexpected wind blew out all the pages of my poem
All loss
All gone
All Washed?
All Washed ! All WASHED!
------------------------------------------------------------------------------
must read this:
I wrote this poem at a lonely ground where wind were straying around me with a dark clouds above me. When I complete my poem i stood up to head towards home at the very moment wind blew my all pages and washed off.....
THE ABOVE PARAGRAPH is actually not the theme of the poem. Its only my vision related to my beloved Sir.
In my poem I used the word "Tempest" giving the striking similarity with our presents youth and all who are all busy with their works so they got no enough time to read my poem moreover most are not interested in reading poem instead of it they think only about the business for the profit, So, I know their is no one who will interest in my poem. Therefore it is useless. So, I conclude the poem with such five words and too to the title, My WASHED poem.
Aug 1, 2014
Aug 1, 2014 at 3:46 AM UTC