"visualizations" poems
Enough-
Its enough having these corporations run our nation while the infiltration of money making keeps destroying world peace aspirations-
Its like Satan and his manipulation keep telling me that success lies in the accumulation-
And the accumulation of that money making is what makes life exhilarating?
And the exhilaration of materialization keep growing as a representation of America’s successful creation-
And soon it becomes discrimination-
Upper class elevation vs. lower class stipulations-
The poor patient vs. Rich patience-
The barring margin of APR regulations-
Keep our nation rotating-Gaining speed and evaluating-
The appreciation of desperation is all for corporate gaming-
The memorization and commercialization keep our nation deprecating from the rest of the worlds visualizations-
Our accreditation creates frustration-
Segregation and integration by the new world organization-
Integration to a peaceful appropriation is questioned by this American administration-
AND I QUESTION IT?
Sep 2, 2010
Sep 2, 2010 at 2:04 PM UTC
Anticipation, say it s-l-o-w-l-y
Allow it to linger, feel it wholly
Place your heart upon your hand
Or the other way around
Hand over heart
Feel, hear, see your flesh pound
Rhythmic chaos contracting inside
Expectations building, rising
Higher and higher (along with anxiety levels)
Anticipation is a rude guest
Overstays his welcome, always outstandingly overdressed
Beckons silly fantasies to sit next to him on the couch
Leaves drops of contemplation on the carpet
Broken hearts, shattered expectations
Or best case scenario, a dream come true
Beautiful visualizations of contentment
The joy of fulfilled hopes
No sensation equals receiving
All the ideas you dare to believe
Can a cranium explode from the pressure of a hundred- thousand untamed thoughts?
The agony of uncertainty
Being in the pitch dark
Only speculations
No actualities
Merely the human imagination
Nov 4, 2013
Nov 4, 2013 at 12:34 AM UTC
Waters of Visualizations flow through my soul
Slumbering, peacefully, winds of energies from afar
The call and whisk me away
To those astral planes allowing us to walk
and travel without tolls. without limitations.
As I touched your hands and I looked into your eyes
Your face appeared that it was not of this Earth
It was Human in looks and her beauty was quite breathtaking
She spoke in a language which seemed as if it were from ancient times.
Beautiful sounding words.
At first, my brain could not comprehend the messages that she was trying to convey to me
After holding her right hand, a glow, to my temple
A short while later...in talk and in understandings of each other
We had no limitations and were free.
She spoke of the lack of appreciation
For the gifts of being placed in a new and beautiful world
Underappreciating the intelligence that "our family" was given
However, it had not dared to even tap within the childlike entry into such logic and learning.
How she reached out to me as I had been one of the few who tried to reach above this limits in which our family had been proud to watch me frow and overstep
I realized then.. we were not of this Earth.
We were a race from beyond the stars and were, to the openness to see such, were unwilling.
After strolling for what appeared to be many hours
It, was indeed many years on our real planet, which she spoke the name of "Xinix"
"Remain off course and watch the downfall of your world and extended family through useless wars and power greed. Refuse to see our true native tongue..not in words..but in telekinetic Communual Speech of Connected Minds."
"Spread the word. You have the brain knowledge I shared and the willingness to see our second planet grow. We shall always be in touch. Even past the measurement of stars...Through our Living Souls...
I know, Xenopus (your Xinic Race Name. To slow down or stop this infinite, childlike insanity...or be the rescued while those about you destroy their own existence."
"I'll be looking after you."
The winds threw me back into my "ordinary and Logical World.."
This time, I "knew such travels were not of a dream"
As looking at my chest in the mirror - I saw the glowing blue heart beating from inside of me...
My true Family crest of one who Shall Help Teach the world. To those who would be able to understand and listen.
So I might be able to save, much more of our family, to reach the joining of a peaceful and loving race, true blue.
Aug 5, 2018
Aug 5, 2018 at 6:52 PM UTC
the ones that constantly play on my mind,
now etched inside his head
he'd make you feel profound things
converting a blank page into a room full of thoughts and visualizations
waiting to be filled with intention
by the way his fingertips graze over canvas
strokes, hues, and lines
every exquisite detail
the lead scraping across the paper
shadows that protrude the overall portrait
contemplating to contrast the grays
forming vivid illustrations no one would ever envision
the paper comes to life before my eyes
it's like he never had to use his own hands
to touch each & every part of me
i only see him in monochrome
but he penetrates me with all kinds of hues
i hope he realizes that he himself, is art. my art.
Mar 15, 2021
Mar 15, 2021 at 11:28 PM UTC
*The cinematography, the imagery,
Visualizations, animation,
Those slow takes as the rain falls over the window
Behind which a girl rests her head
Looking out with dreamy eyes
Eyes, holding watery stories of a beautiful past
The door slams shut and
Out she comes
With winged feet and summer skin
Living in her head, she walks down by
Looks up above and smiles at the sky
She closes her eyes and the camera it shoots
How the sunshine falls on her eyelashes
Down, a perfect zoom in
Onto her lips hazed with tiny particles of light air
He blindfolds her eyes
Walks her gently all the way
The coldness increases and the noise reduces
More
He takes his hands off her eyes
And up she stares
with lips apart and stunned feet
At the gazillion stars chilled and silver
Against a black night
He smiles
covering her up from behind
with warm hands.
The rest of the night.*
Dec 23, 2014
Dec 23, 2014 at 6:58 AM UTC
There are days
When I walk out of the studio,
Disappointed with my performance,
Because today fear, not dance,
Made me finish the steps on time.
I can't mug up steps at the flick of a finger, you see.
I admit I have been lazy about self-practice.
I bet no one dances as beautifully
As I do in my visualizations
And some days I do amaze myself
As I perform the routine.
But when fear cripples me,
Paralyses my arms and limbs,
I wince at the instructor's polite rebuke
I knew it was coming.
The song is replayed,
Batchmates cheer
I wake up
My passion frees me
As I leap into the routine with a
5! 6!, and 5, 6, 7 AND. . . !!
Jun 17, 2014
Jun 17, 2014 at 12:59 PM UTC
My smile is a collapsed lung of fake-ness
that I breath harder every lingering moment
of my existence. Mutilating my cogitation
seeing the world in blurs of repetition.
I'm awoken by the pain of visualizations that
will not heed my alone time. But follow me
to that place that should be of silence. Instead
I scream in disillusion, as darkness was my escape.
There words are like raindrops of acid, and my
forest of thoughts wither upon the constant
onslaught of their needing to belittle me in the
presence of others. My branches fall frail to my side.
Others in shame, not a word spoken. No breeze to
hinder the hurricane of illusions that repeatedly
impact on my subconscious place. I'm silent like
a tomb of sorrows, I bury myself inward and deep.
I made my first mistake today, as they like a well
oiled clock, blood hound hunters of my scent find me.
In a moment I heed to my anger and clench my fist,
and then I'm blooded on the floor by there disbelief.
What is life? a moment of breathes that heed in our
existence. Is that what this is called? I collect tears in
threads of and bind them. This is my tears of pain
that I now hang from, pity me now as I only hear silence.
Aug 26, 2016
Aug 26, 2016 at 5:46 AM UTC
My consciousness has been elusive—
Most thoughts are intrusive.
Subconscious stays refusive.
I breathe in and eat up nature,
hoping it’ll be my savior—
Turn all my bad memories into
Distorted visualizations and vapors.
Jul 8, 2022
Jul 8, 2022 at 2:10 PM UTC
Directions swerve from visualizations of
reflections that are kept
within the above.
Dismay verses acute desperation,
stray reflections deflect
systematic dictation.
Where all shards of what lingers before us,
pair unto parts that collect for us to
discuss.
But eventually they show true form,
cut deeply they delegate in uniform.
May 21, 2018
May 21, 2018 at 5:21 PM UTC
They whisper incoherent visualizations upon yourself;
clinging upon you like spider webs, viscous and transparent.
A wanting of cleanliness urges you to look away from
the apparent vocalization that is perceived with their
glaring pockets of empty sight...
"A look speaks a volume of intentions,
Feb 4, 2017
Feb 4, 2017 at 5:21 AM UTC
“Where do you write? Is Ambiance Important? Do you have rituals or habits when you write?” My reply to this question is below.
Most of my writing is done in my den. In terms of “ambiance,” The space that I write in doesn’t have a lot of that, the ambience comes from within I suppose. The space that we create in is not so much that of the physical as it is of the spiritual, The room I write in has very little to do with it except that it houses my keyboard and printer. The “Room” is just another tool.
The so called ambiance comes to me in the form of my memory, of my visualizations of life, or the questions that I have regarding it. To rely in the physical space that one finds themselves in, to depend on that to create, or write what have you, I think is a dangerous crutch to lean on.
It is the mind set of the craftsperson, the poet, the artist the musician, to find the respite that lies within us all. It is those recollections, that creativity, that inner room where the true ambiance lies within our imaginations, a physical room really has nothing to do with it.
In terms of rituals, I would say that when I find a subject that sparks poetic creativity; I simply close my eyes and place my self in the scene, I attempt to use all my senses in bringing that space to life in my mind, the imagined smells and sounds, the colors, and textures… When I feel that I have absorbed those elements, I then begin the writing process. It is within the power of each of us to visualize our poetic worlds. Poetry for me is much more than meter and rhyme, it is much greater than stanza and verse. Poetry is the culmination of lives’ lived, lives’ remembered.
Poetry is the dream of higher possibilities; it is the culmination of the poet’s power to move individuals to inspiration. In doing so, the space that we create in makes little difference however, the space within us that allows us to share our gifts with the world is the best place to be, the grandest of rooms where creativity and caring abound.
Jan 3, 2011
Jan 3, 2011 at 9:45 AM UTC
Dreams.... I can't remember the last time I had a vivid dream.
As I truly feel that I'm not in understanding with myself.
Maybe I should pull out my brain, set it on fire and brand myself with the thoughts inside....clashing lines...and visions of skies, broadcasted using my mad thoughts as a mental projector.
I feel as if I'm in the wrong sector, as passer my hecklors are causing me more problems then my spider injectors.
How does one truly come to know themselves, and have those vivid thoughts, and vivid dreams, where they can imagine anything up and get stuck in there own time machine.
How does one know themselves so well that they can feel the pushing and pulling of positive and negative energies.
How does one know themselves so well that they know they were blessed by being the different seed but I know I have to struggle now for the future generation that's inside of me.
Dreams are like one in a million, but sometimes I get bits and pieces of an important image, as we will always remember the 5th of November, the gun powder, treason and plot.
For I too will have a vengeance for myself...A vendetta that's never forgot, because to truly understand myself I have to search my mind, my soul, and body.
And surely you don't expect to grow mentally, physically and emotionally without a fight.
To truly grow I have to push past points of my comfort zone, and experience uncomfortable and radical situations, with no expectations of thoughts and patterns, no blank lines and visualizations, because I'll get mad at myself and make my own accusations.
As I try and understand myself more and more it frustrates me because I understand other people more than myself, consequently the rules are broken and in my mind I'm nearly floating....washed out like a flash flood, my thoughts actions, and words are over flowing, like a water sprout that was casted over the ocean.
As my would be dreams set sail on an empty horizon, like my thoughts crash like soundless waves on beach fronts.
I'm waiting to hear over whelming thoughts and ideas roar like lions fighting over who will be thought of first.
I have to train my brain to think with my spiritual mind.
To know who you are spiritually defines a person mentally, and depending upon how your looking in the mirror reflects on the person physically.
I'm indecisive like two babies playing tug o war.
I don't know how much longer I can be for sure, as long as I feel the timing of my soul mind and body align once more.
I hope I don't become depressed and mentally shut the door, before my true awakening, so I can walk the path to be spiritually woke, but I hope I don't consume so much Information and spiritually choke.
-Emotional Man
Dec 17, 2018
Dec 17, 2018 at 8:04 PM UTC
Life is
Just as I'd
Declared it
In my scribblings.
[It is] precise to the extent
Of the [now] most appealing and repulsive
Contours and intricacies,
Some overwrought with older etchings,
Made darker by attempts
At rubbing them out-
Of where, pray?
[The eternal itch of perfecting the complete, you see.]
I'd dropped them
Into a box called time
Shuffled into compartments
Of past, present and future.
We mistake dreams for reality.
And then
Do you mistake imagination for imagination nowadays?
In your sleepwa(l)king consciousnes(t)?
The weaved hollow of Empiricism,
The added undulations of space and duration.
Somewhere, one's interpretations
Sewed into another's visualizations
Vis-a-vis
The maze you charted for yourself
To be/get lost
Where all that has existed yet,
Is the reality of the imaginary.
Knowing there would arrive a juncture
When you would be breathing
Into a kaleidoscope of chaos
Waiting to wade into patterned perfection,
Eventually, when; Alas!
You fell for time, again, time and again!
And shifted to the infested realm
Of hackneyed manifestations.
As the universe thrusts that sheet of paper
On to the pen in my hand,
In my quest to trace and quench
The voices sketched somewhere
In the white void of the sheet,
As I pen verses of salt & pepper.
May 1, 2014
May 1, 2014 at 2:09 PM UTC
-------- tea and Sisyphus
Bruno paused, at his interface
with the printable word form,
he paused thinking in writing
"this is so important, I must underline it."
I thought it, of first importance.
The concept of all fruits freely eaten from,
but one, knowledge, right of all sorts,
all species fruit, branch, root and leaf,
all intervvining chthonic molds to make soil,
goodgottamight jus' gimme a blackland farm.
let ol' pharoah done be drownded
goodgottamighty , oh yah,
jus' gimme a blackland farm.
Science, long now, sudden
eruptions of just too much to think about,
like the size of the Earth in his hands,
relative to the post JWST visualizations we share,
bring it in, too wide, ballein, throw out a thought,
an Earth baseball sized, no problema,
in your hand, your mind hand, your typist hand,
keyboarding second nature, like a callous
on the middle finger
of a scribes writer hand.
Often offered up as proof, see this finger,
this proves I wrote the whole pile crushed,
in the shipping and storage of Ashurbanipal's
collection of books, which Solomon told him,
when they were swapping wives and concubines,
was a vanity and a vexation of the spirit,
But this calloused finger, the mused mind reminds,
this finger proves I came through history,
I did not make history.
Feb 15, 2024
Feb 15, 2024 at 5:43 PM UTC
He pledged to woefully accept
The broken lullabies
That cradled his stone heart and
Locked itself deep within his soul.
The vow he heat pressed straight into his mind
Had left a scar wounding the very depths of his madness.
He swore to the heavens to ignore
Such sensitivities for the sake of another light.
Yet, his senses scream for some sort of release.
Caresses.
Essences.
Savoring.
Listening.
Visualizations.
The desperation grew immensely like that of a saint
Who hath willing succumbed to ideals of sinning
And nightly creatures pieced his demons back together.
As they added weight to his already blood stained wasteland
I begin to wonder...
Who is he now?
I am merely the vessel of what use to be.
Unless, of course that man...
Is the one I see in the mirror.
Nothing but a silent reminiscence of what was...
Human.
- Rayvn St. Claire
Jul 21, 2017
Jul 21, 2017 at 8:29 PM UTC
I got my eyes on you
visualizations of us expressing love in an empty field
Your boundless beauty, your perfect body
Your whole being sets my soul on fire
Every inch of your body is what I desire
You look even more mesmerizing from your bedroom window
it pains me to see you with another
I don’t know what it is about you, you got me feeling feelings i've never even felt before
but when you broke my heart
It made me want you even more
You never notice me when I’m outside your house
I’m too shy to even knock on the door
But until I find the courage to talk to you again,
I’ll be right here, looking through your window
Oct 19, 2015
Oct 19, 2015 at 3:12 PM UTC
I can't figure out
if I'm supposed to be
an oddball Eros-laced
poetic artist of sorts
this revolutionary
evolution redesigner
with wake-the-fuck-up
typographic punches
or a sower of seedlings
via silly rhymes scheming
with wacked-out visualizations
for story-time imaginations
to mold future generations
ideally,
I want to do all three...
praying for the mind
time and energy
to manifest all
I can
Be
(including
rocking the ****
outta this day job
that's molding me
into a better model
who knows how to float
merrily upon her dreams
obsoleting false me)
happythankUmoreplease
Jul 7, 2017
Jul 7, 2017 at 11:23 AM UTC
...is like accounting.
Is more abstracting of the brain than calculus.
What's missing from it are the visualizations of what is being mentioned.
Like working with a space in the mind that can only make one or two changes at a time - giving logic but not seeing the big picture.
Unless the big picture is really only those one or two changes in the symbology and equalities.
But these only tell relations of 1-2 changes connecting and spreading like a web.
Mar 11, 2021
Mar 11, 2021 at 11:49 PM UTC