"vividness" poems
You loved her vividness.
She loved your darkness.
You admired her strength.
She embraced your weakness.
You wiped her tears of happiness.
She mourned your tears of sadness.
And when you saw her flaws,
You suddenly changed.
Dismissing the fact that she first loved your imperfections
Above all your lovable complexions.
Jun 12, 2019
Jun 12, 2019 at 10:39 AM UTC
the earth shook the neighbors again today
but truly, i can't say that i felt it.
yours is the only one that still hits me.
your earthquake spirals through my veins
interrupting the day, awakening me by the night
i await the tremors with anxiety and need
disrupting intellectual thought, curving daily motion.
absence of your presence denies me
everything, yes, everything.
grasp ahold of me, my love, and shake me
shake me from the depths of this nightmare
return, return and make this right
troubled mind shrouded by memories
that which flow to my very core
this dark red heart beats for you
my courageous veins are your love's roots
weaving through flesh and blood
daring to grow more and more sturdy
your earthquake scares me, my love
for i cannot control it.
your memories will not crumble with the earth
shaking and trembling, i'll stand my ground
holy is your image, voice, and touch
hot is the molten passion, coursing through my young heart
rupturing from the only place that i know
your earthquake, my love, determines so much
faulty is the mind and brave is the heart
crazed intuition lurking from daily interruptions
my love, continue to shake my world
for i know you are still there
my love, continue to shake my world
for i know nothing else
if a day pass where i cannot feel that vividness
all will be forgotten. all will be dead.
my love, i beg of you---
send me that earthquake today.
Dec 12, 2011
Dec 12, 2011 at 1:10 AM UTC
IMAGINE
Just imagine loving someone just looking at them
observing their smallest gestures and acts
& getting excited like a kid
where you never found yourself like this before
laughing just because they are laughing
getting touched with their words which were actually so usual
sometimes being lover feeling proud
sometimes feeling like a mom who is proud of her child
finding the cuteness in their hotness
finding the vividness when everything was blur
finding the similarities knowing more as if like a serious PHD
and
and that smile when you watch their pic
where one day suddenly finding out that you can hear pictures
finding out that their name had became an emotion
and finally accepting the truth that
they actually don't even know your existence
but also accepting that this will be the love till eternity
May 23, 2021
May 23, 2021 at 8:42 AM UTC
To Struga Festival Golden Wreath Laureates
& International Bards 1986
Stand up against governments, against God.
Stay irresponsible.
Say only what we know & imagine.
Absolutes are coercion.
Change is absolute.
Ordinary mind includes eternal perceptions.
Observe what's vivid.
Notice what you notice.
Catch yourself thinking.
Vividness is self-selecting.
If we don't show anyone, we're free to write anything.
Remember the future.
Advise only yourself.
Don't drink yourself to death.
Two molecules clanking against each other requires an observer to become
scientific data.
The measuring instrument determines the appearance of the phenomenal
world after Einstein.
The universe is subjective.
Walt Whitman celebrated Person.
We Are an observer, measuring instrument, eye, subject, Person.
Universe is person.
Inside skull vast as outside skull.
Mind is outer space.
"Each on his bed spoke to himself alone, making no sound."
First thought, best thought.
Mind is shapely, Art is shapely.
Maximum information, minimum number of syllables.
Syntax condensed, sound is solid.
Intense fragments of spoken idiom, best.
Consonants around vowels make sense.
Savor vowels, appreciate consonants.
Subject is known by what she sees.
Others can measure their vision by what we see.
Candor ends paranoia.
Kral Majales
June 25, 1986
Boulder, Colorado
5.5k
Neither in the vividness of the arches of a cathedral,
Nor in the dangling bells and echoing rituals of a temple,
Neither on the holiest banks of Nile or Ganges,
Nor among the peaks of the grandest Mountain,
There is no augury, there is no God, is there no God? And if there is,
Why are the eyes of lives haunted by the cruel dreams of disbelief?
Why is banishment tangled around the feet of a truth seeker?
Why the perverse thoughts and deeds ruling the Mankind?
Why the pious body and mind are today full of grief?
If there’s God, Why is this sea of cold blood on a high tide?
If there’s God, Why are the innocent lives being wasted?
If there’s God, Why are the good being handcuffed?
If there’s God, Why the darkness is today the source of light?
The slaps of violence on the face of peace is a sign of doom,
If there’s no God, then these drops of bloods cry for whom?
But GOD is that moment which is beyond knowledge and wit,
That one cipher which has taken centuries and yet not deciphered,
That one point of thought where the minds seize to think,
That one decision which stops a man from giving up,
That one drop of tear from the eyes of an Oppressed,
That one source of energy which makes us to take a stand,
That one voice of truth which demolishes the works of lie,
That one smile of innocence which equals a million shouts,
That one silver lining which makes us believe in ourselves,
Calls Aloud and makes us believe, that there is A GOD,
And He’s Everywhere, With everyone, and Will always be.
Mar 15, 2015
Mar 15, 2015 at 7:33 AM UTC
*You used to paint pictures
with me. You were always smiling
when the brush glides on paper
as the colours spread everywhere.
Patiently, you'd recreate every
bit and impression of reality,
and add a version of your own,
until the picture will be perfect
with magical meanings
only we would have known.
But patience is a virtue
your self never learned.
One day, you were snapping photographs,
capturing moments, developing pictures,
pasting collages -- a panorama of
life you chose.
For weeks and weeks on end,
I went to those places where we used to paint;
Time is such a mystery to have put distance in a memory.
I would trade my whole life just for you
to colour it again. Like old paintings,
bring back its vividness; restore it.
And now, I am on this bus.
In transit.
A gift-wrapped box inside my bag.
I am sending it to you personally.
Take pictures with it and
live a happy life.*
Dec 26, 2015
Dec 26, 2015 at 4:45 AM UTC
You could desperate hear me start weeping
Ruckus started to crying to crack tangerine
holds one still upright auburn
as an immortal's loneliness fogged or condemned
stays a Sahara burnt hot tambourine
a hangover led Arabian
a broken record
some shattered the bathroom bar.
I wonder for my brother's dowry
on beds too kempt to be called beds
and doorframes and lamps set never high enough to hit again,
to stand to kneel to lock to lash to hold to my brother's body
now felt to me like the female sold fragile to the greater cities with
a vote,
he clearly left his Argentina behind no matter
how she paled, ended struck.
No longer a child or sister to pass as
to take guests in alone
to stand our married couple's cries an unmuteable radio
can't go back to playrooms for imparallel dignities' sake
that made all the noise at night worth it to deal with
I, don't want to play the rook
if no horse of yours' beside.
Now once the scarcity of your voice,
if even morbid,
is to be greeted by me alone,
Adam and Eve we have unable to see,
just for the empty halls of your decision just for me to hit,
your turned leaf hidden agenda of relief,
I recognise my faiths of the old of your endless
mornings supposedly killed by snoring and your
vividness to my thoughts a foreign concept,
to note you resurrected out of mind and out of sight
the congruence picks me out and slaps me that
our cocoon and safe designed for you
was nothing short of a coma web in your eyes
to begin with instead.
...
I look out to my brother's dowry
to hold stubborn, fainted in my nook the head of my brother's body
to sit on his old air this house keeps like a sari gem
he will never long for
again.
Dec 14, 2020
Dec 14, 2020 at 10:10 AM UTC
Blood-soaked blue sky
Smell our vinaigrette of helplessness
The honey crying chords of a zillion golden cubs
Roots that won’t die
Bursting through us
Dark crimson walls high
Too shame our innards
Tear-drenched rain
Draining our conscience
Pulling us toward the marble migraine
Where blinded gerents continue the measured deterrent
Of life desperate
Keeping hearts from heads
And minds from mouths
Away from this marble pavement
High up top, in cobwebs of restitched tapestry
Skeleton beast, less beastly in breathlessness...
A surge of sun spurged light in clustered cusps
Blows into this lecher
To carry our vividness
Like pappus in great gusts...
Aug 20, 2025
Aug 20, 2025 at 7:42 PM UTC
I apologize if my eyes,
Tend to wander into your worlds.
Penetrating the walls you’ve built,
To get a sneak peek into your last nights
And next years
And what are you doing todays.
I apologize,
If my ears air-waved into your waving dictions,
Dropping tones,
Dimming voices,
Dictating the peace you want yourself to attain
Through the side conversations
And the cocktail effects
Attending, to what you’re not aware of.
And I wasn’t aware that you are going to treat me that way;
I gave you my heart over dinner
Last night; under the table your family was sitting on-
As we put on our decorous smiles
And threw our shy giggles;
Cracking up with strong inner laughter within,
Because the same
Lost, upset, wild
Shoot first ask later couple
Are pretending to blush over “grown up” jokes
Made by our fathers
To test our inner surfaces;
I gave you my heart over dinner last night,
And that was
THE last night;
Because my heart and yours
Stopped exercising their vividness
On a Tuesday morning.
They, stopped writing musicals of us,
For my heart was executed
And yours got shattered-
Nowhere to be found;
Martyred in between the lines of a political message
They wrote with your blood
Forgetting about mine,
They carved their letters
With the nymph in a black sweater;
And the river that she used to own,
Took her away
Before anyone can see,
The disfigured goddess now list in the sea
Of blood-of my thoughts and reflections.
My voice,
Now layered into dissimilar tones;
The lowest, is the one I use to constantly pray for you
And the highest is for me to scream for your fallen eyes.
I stand steady
Against the tidal waves
And write on the walls
The poetry I kept inside,
The walls you’ve built;
The walls everyone builds
And I try to penetrate
To get a sneak peek
Of their last night’s
And next year’s
And what are you doing today’s.
Because my walls are destroyed
My pillars are demolished
My life is but a living memory of hers,
And my eyes are nothing but thieves,
Staring their way to steel the words
From the faces in the crowd
In order to write something
That can get me to forget
That I am mourning;
That in my head plays a sad guitar,
With a silent base
And a lost drum beat.
I apologize for writing this,
For letting your eyes conquer these papers
For letting your ears hear those words.
I apologize for feeling the urge to apologize
But that’s what I grew up on
And no one can seem to get rid of their bad habits…
Nov 19, 2013
Nov 19, 2013 at 6:04 PM UTC
There is a transect from colour to colourless,
There is a traversing from sunup to sunset!
A track from vividness to lifelessness!
****
Morning brings colour to life
Birds sign and fly, hark back splendour of work,
Butterfly invigorate redden of existence
Existence of life in the doodle nature
Every one blossom for breathing!
****
But we are waiting for dusk
Becoming everything murky
Than eliminate nature from life
Carnage everything with our manliness
and swollen with pride!
Feb 8, 2016
Feb 8, 2016 at 11:04 AM UTC
Death a wassailing shadow
The cosmic kindler
That announces itself
Like a slipped coyote
Out of the black eye of day
Spanning the vast vividness
The tenebrous surreptitious
Abode of God, agape
The lurid womb of chaos
Corrupting whilst demons
Manifest under the new moon
The lustre of their wiles
The illusory horological
Machine of imagination
Conjuring the temporality of eternity
Delighting lamentably upon
The smitten truth of truths.
ELEETE J MUIR.
Jan 13, 2012
Jan 13, 2012 at 9:06 AM UTC
she is coming to our gardens very soon
she'll have a paintbox of colors so bright
her vividness will be a spectacular boon
she'll splash some purple and orange light
on trellises and pathways to add her glee
she'll have a paintbox of colors so bright
pink blossoms she'll place on the plum tree
twill make the bees hum a happy refrain
on trellises and pathways to add her glee
spring's lively lass is returning once again
every part of our gardens beautifully decorated
twill make the bees hum a happy refrain
birds shall twitter at what she has painted
her glorious canvas shall be a delight to see
every part of our gardens beautifully decorated
she'll have a vivacious palette to spree
her glorious canvas shall be a delight to see
she is coming to our gardens very soon
her vividness will be a spectacular boon
Jan 27, 2014
Jan 27, 2014 at 4:49 AM UTC
Today you were like my hair,
wild and on a mission.
Tomorrow maybe you will be like my perfume,
spritz spritz spritz.
I am envious
even when you're ashy
and whirling in your catharsis.
You're beautiful when you're mad.
At dusk you are my favorite.
You bloom into fiery tulips and burnt hibiscus.
The sun falls
and takes with it your vividness.
The moon rises
and you fade into ghosts.
Apr 28, 2011
Apr 28, 2011 at 9:53 AM UTC
I drink aurora till my thirst satiates.
Eyes shut, I drink till the gulf widens whilst every spark in me is painted dull
Till no eye sees vividness in the flittering of butterflies,
Till throbbing fades and rumbling becomes melodic,
I drink till my covertness is colourful,
Till my eyes redness is painted
For bereft I am but I'm a fighter, a believer
I drink aurora till my soul is filled
Till transcendency becomes my fortune
And then I'll dance not in colours, but colourful my immortality would be.
Oct 5, 2014
Oct 5, 2014 at 8:18 AM UTC
*Shall I dwell in a blob of paint
Something so fickle...
With flailing arms I'll try to swim
in something so little...
Colored and indigenous
My thoughts will trickle...
And in this petty vividness
My eyes shall twinkle...
Till I create a river so infinite
So I never again feel belittled...*
●●●
Sep 30, 2017
Sep 30, 2017 at 3:58 PM UTC
As I rise, cumuli are my clouds
Purple rippling through hot pinks and gray
Waving to me in tattered shrouds
Above horizon of shadowed trees, come day
Commit to memory ether and solar play
For never could a photograph
Or great master’s paintings depict or imply
Phenomena of heaven’s autograph
Inferiority, obscurity shadowed in my sky
What wondering adrift, now present to eyes
Sensational this morning’s vividness
Ballyhoo applauds first light of dawning
Awestruck I am within this immanence
Call forth flash of conception spawning
Clearest notion of earthbound belonging
Apr 22, 2016
Apr 22, 2016 at 4:58 AM UTC
No one can love you the way that I do.
I can,
Decipher the codes on your finger nails
Never painted
Because you can be beautiful without it.
I can,
Make you laugh
When you’re too close to crying
And you have no energy left
To lift you back up.
I can make heaters out of my hands
When you are cold,
And lyrics out of my love
Because no one can love
You the way that I do.
I can make you feel comfortable enough
Until you realize
That you should’ve felt insecure.
I can, give you promises
That will cut parts of my heart
And I will keep them
Because I like my new heart
Even better that way;
I can talk to you.
I can talk to you.
I can talk to you until we run out of water
And fresh juice
To nourish our mouths
And even then, I would still have more to give,
I can talk to you
At midnights and early mornings
Until our eyes
Are but seeds
Watered by the burning droplets of rain
Over the oceans of emotion over flowing between us.
I can listen to you,
I can hear your words
Like your heart was tapping
On my inner soul
And my heart opens the door
And tells you
“I know what you mean”
I can listen,
To the silence in your eyes
As they speak to me
I can listen,
To the depth of your soul
I can listen to that burning fire of yours.
That vividness.
That rage.
That triumph
That fervor
That love
That pride,
That vulnerability,
That, and all that aside
No one can love you
The way that I do.
Dec 7, 2013
Dec 7, 2013 at 8:13 PM UTC
is it the paradox of construction
of an unseen core or a painful interiority
with an insistence on a dark meloncholy
which is it, which is it, oh which is it
is it unreasonable I ask, to persist obstinately
in sorrow
or is such a cause a despair of bitter corrosiveness
centered on that very paradox
who with astonishing vividness
conveys the spontaneous rhythms of the mind
a mind in motion that preserves unprcedented intensity
that reflects disturbing exchanges of intimate encounters
intertwined in unresolved vagaries that present themselves
with the passage of time
and view these dark attractions in the same moment
the same moment of becoming, yes at that moment
the moment of our death
Nov 18, 2012
Nov 18, 2012 at 4:03 PM UTC
I am stuck in the darkness
A world so bad it has to be real
My dreams never cease to surprise me
in thier vividness
I wake up to my relief
Only to be ****** back into terror
Long shadowy arms extend from my ceiling
And hold me down
I can't move
I try to shout for help...
The shadow covers my mouth
...I live alone anyway
The fear creeps through me
as the electricity of this
shadowy intruder
keeps me still
Panic
And just as fast as it began
the shadow creeps back to the corners
it grew from
and I can move again.
It's three in the morning.
But I am not going back to sleep
I open a book and read instead.
Oct 9, 2014
Oct 9, 2014 at 7:37 AM UTC
Middle of nowhere, I am still standing
Layers of faded mountains, across the withering cloud-gazing
Tell myself I was wrong, the light sky almost gone
Blocks of buildings, relinquish all the shades
North, South, East, West; tell them it was haul fate.
If creeks sound as scary, it would rings no more fury
Let the memories knock on your magnetic parietal door
Speak of colors of vividness, occasional emptiness
Cherry-blossoms feeling gone, yellow Autumn looks as fine.
Every light, turn on the fight
People jump over the stepping river by the mountainside
Greet, kindness will never ceased.
26th September 2016 - Kyoto, Japan
Amiera Sh.
Apr 11, 2017
Apr 11, 2017 at 8:52 AM UTC
Sensations that urge the detection of the greatest restraint and circumspection; the abruptness of spontaneous interruptions sprout volcanic internal eruptions full of relevant abundance
Flummoxed by the changes in the script; engaging wonder as suppressed thoughts are written on your face; withholding the ache as ebullient vivacity shakes you awake
Carrying a mischievous vividness full of cogent stimulus – fruitful affirmations of levelheaded, sanguine acceptance and unalloyed quiescence
Redesigning aspects of existence with unabridged persistence – receiving silent guidance from above by the means of scintillating messages lighting the living flame of love.
Nov 19, 2014
Nov 19, 2014 at 12:20 PM UTC
she is coming to our gardens very soon
she'll have a paintbox of colors so bright
her vividness will be a spectacular boon
she'll splash some purple and orange light
on trellises and hedgerows to add her glee
she'll have a paintbox of colors so bright
blossoms of pink will be radiant on the plum tree
it'll make the bees hum in a jovial refrain
on trellises and hedgerows to add her glee
spring's lively lass is returning once again
every corner of our gardens beautifully decorated
it'll make the bees hum in a jovial refrain
birds shall twitter at what she has painted
her glorious canvas will be a sight to see
every corner of our gardens beautifully decorated
she'll have a vivacious palette to spree
her glorious canvas will be a sight to see
she is coming to our gardens very soon
her vividness shall be a spectacular boon
Nov 23, 2013
Nov 23, 2013 at 5:10 AM UTC
She sat up, drenched in sweat, panting. A cursory glance out of her window presented nothing but darkness beyond the fluttering white curtains, the cool night air seeping into her bedroom. She shivered and pressed herself further into the blankets, wrapping layers of warmth around her like a fluffy cocoon.
With a forlorn sigh, she tried to coax herself back to sleep, trying her best to ignore the bright red numbers of her alarm clock that flashed a disappointing 4:00 AM. She knew this would be pointless. She could never sleep on this night- this night where she was annually plagued by a steady onslaught of nightmares on the anniversary of that grim event. To fall into the foreboding arms of sleep meant to curl up in a flurry of gaunt eyes and hollowed skin among other things- terrible things that slowly slunk back into the light, try as she might to push them into the back of her mind and deprive them of memory or existence.
The worst thing she dreamt about, though, was his face. It rushed into her consciousness like an angry dark secret with blinding clarity and startling vividness. She counted several prominent wrinkles on the yellowing, sickly skin. His hair was thinning, falling out in wispy clumps. Perhaps what bothered her most was her recollection of the eyes. She had looked into those eyes much like one would peer down into a chasm: knowing that there was a place down there deprived of light or joy or laughter, simply an empty void. It had been painful to look into those eyes and realize that there wasn’t any hope left for him. And so she had held the withered hand connected to the emaciated excuse for a body, and the eyes looked towards her one last time, remorseful and hopeless. Then they had closed and he was gone.
Dec 30, 2013
Dec 30, 2013 at 2:16 PM UTC
The leaking beauty such as rebirthed life
And of the muddy earth slowly reclaimed
Persephone’s return, a dance of strife
Returning vividness, again, unmaimed
Escaping the monochromatic cell
By return of green, such luscious pigment
By Flora’s grace and by the Shepherd's bell
Revive events long free of merriment
The songbirds relearn their forgotten tunes
The bees prepare to collect flowered boons
Hibernation ending, returns routine
With warmth radiating, freely flowing
Crawling from thy shallow cave, sunlight seen
Flecked through dewdrops caught in Spider’s sewing
A land of new dawns, forgiving thieves
The fruit yet unblossomed, life is still ripe
The tree naked, still missing its leaves
Coverings absent before the first gripe
The animals hunger to end their fast
Humans hunger to remember the past
Come, serenity destroying pigment
Rend the ebony earth delicately
Spread your lovely, inebriating scent
And thus, set every fashion of life free
Free from that immaculate white prison
Free to frolic in fresh fields, unrestrained
The sun, in more wakefulness, risen
To maintain, nature’s mischievous work reined
In preparation for the coming time
The time of heat, growth, and color sublime
Jan 11, 2015
Jan 11, 2015 at 9:43 PM UTC