"vortexes" poems
Go away little wisp.
I know what you are up to.
I pay the slightest notice,
you morph into an innocent, seductive puff
strutting to and fro
offering companionship,
comfort,
yes, even love.
I admire you; you gust, fat and fluffy.
I compliment; you explode into a cumulous mass hovering ominously above.
I worry; ashen gray lithely overtakes beguiling white.
Rumbling belly fills with rage and swells with forboding.
There is no longer an escape.
My thoughts
are pulled into shadow
and slapped onto earth
in torrents of unrestrained rage.
Completely engulfed, I choke, and
swirl in great muddy vortexes down lost drains.
Who am I?
Who are my thoughts?
I only have you to grasp onto,
and that is no solace.
Nov 4, 2012
Nov 4, 2012 at 2:37 PM UTC
i was beefing with another girl
in a two year old inconsistent blip
summer by summer, mad then silent
churning of the rapid water hourly
get nothing done at all, but fall into
a rotation without a darker cause
simply forgetting what it was
exactly that started it
whatever was curved
around the dusky breeze, bro
overtook the over the shoulder look
vortexes into a lazy bubbly whirl
in the lake we would hang out by
i’ll come around if you do
but we don’t talk
like we used to on the way
to the supermarket
but i’m on my way
to the “lost and free as i could be
me”
it’s as all i’m meant to be
supposes me, supposes you.
May 1, 2018
May 1, 2018 at 3:18 PM UTC
His eyes were galaxies reflected in the vortexes of her heart
Shimmering nothings she loved to be lost and found in
Whenever he gazed upon a horizon or tabletop or cup of tea
She could almost see
What he saw set off the foreshocks in her own soul
Capricorn kaleidoscopes and faerie fliers
Of flaking eternities and sauntering demises
Eyes brimming with the untold fantasy of the pinned butterfly
He could see over the folds of Time
(carpet smothering bodies of resistance)
Second hands writhing from the slither of reversible realities
Eyes dripping smoke from the burning within him
He had a beauty no one could envy
For he was the eighth wonder
That he managed to survive in this world
Jun 18, 2013
Jun 18, 2013 at 8:01 PM UTC
like some jealous future self,
my writer's clock balks at this moment with you,
i can't explain, so i give up listening. (i have an app for that)
the writing only stops as degustation ends ~
thank you, though ~ i'd like you to hear
regardless of the meanings lent ~
the gymnolexical fear
appearing ornamental far and near.
google files us away, omniscient
acumen of o's and ones ~
words sing to me their luring promise of a lasting hold,
but less and less
as plastic griming fingers sync
with what it seems to be,
a new world search-
-engine culling info freely
do i still believe in order?
striving for the fitted words,
a love imprinted input thus on crystal pixel page,
your effect on me distilled--
refracted throng associational
fantastic server metacomfort
for an audience
swimming past into this,
now always
ever-new you appear, bursting
at the seams my vision churning
...effluent sourcing, blurry self of others ~
heart-charming river-nymphs!
bolt-hurling sky-satyrs! reeling nations are subtended by your words
that walk, trod, swim across what poetry,
dance with this ever-blooming techne-earth
as i mark your plasmic eyes
we flow and let flow,
we dance our farmer's mud
into the beryl-winding paths
of othernets and cyberplay,
the restful ends reborn bright white
lacing lattice-scopic fibrous
scatters of another wi-fi interlife ~
we stream and let stream,
river-tress girl, your eyes summon
a great coalescence in me,
we dance into the channeled
delta of spring beauty here across the keyboard;
it cascades a slow attentive phosphene
striking pointed notes of color,
ring beneath and through the
green, sylvan silicon throw of mossy html
so that even rocks and sprawling
tree-trunks sing within the disembodied
vortexes of arrowed imagery to browse
my virtual belongings to you,
alone in your sorrow-joy fighting
free love in an all-world-breath
before the screen
Aug 1, 2012
Aug 1, 2012 at 11:40 PM UTC
Beautiful soul
The carrier of hardships
You are the spawn
Of proud ancestry
The source of awe
The muse for my desire
Your dark skin
Is my heart's awakening
Yet you are not for me
You are not for me
You are not for me
Distance remains a consistent
Impediment to my sacrilege
Travesty of a face of empathy
Sadly I'm less than eyes can see
Yet more beneath is left to greet
My ears hear psalms mourning me
Tears leak upon my pale cheeks
Speeches are given casually
Venom spews through the loose
Vortexes of speaker-box booths
The black hole that once controlled
My inner intuitions and sold soul
The owner being you in truth
Sweetly scented lullabies shoo
Away doubtful tunes in bloom
The replacements are couth sleuths
Meetings seldom meet fruition
Meat meets my mouth in suspicion
Meaning I'm once again a victim
Meandering through prisms
Restaurant owners are slower
To greet me at the doorway
Knowing fulfillment of my order
Won't require a table for more
Not for the kind of man who
Stands and is hardly understood
Also seemingly oblivious to who
Is true and reluctant to face proof
That you are not for me
You are not for me
You are not for me
Beautiful girl
You are the grains
Beautiful girlfriend
You are the coastline
Beautiful woman
You are the ocean
Beautiful wife
You are the Earth in whole
Yet you are not for me
You are not for me
You are not for me
The tremors
The whispers
The night terrors
The torch bearers
The dark caresser
The static selector
The burnt dresser
The hell blesser
The black lipstick wearer
You are for me.
Nov 18, 2013
Nov 18, 2013 at 11:36 PM UTC
All is well except
That the wall is made
Of perspex, transparent
And her wings hit against it without
Making any sound
While
The rift she treasures on her sternum is
Cicatrizing under the sun at seven o’clock
In the morning, while
The smell of flowers is piercing through the path of cold and
The smell of *** the memory of the stolen candle, twenty
Meters running under the pouring rain, inside
My ears, the city is swimming in
The dark
And it’s ours.
Dismantled.
It hurts.
The taste of the broken tooth, the
Badly stitched dream, and no need to say it:
the waiting.
While the hand is pushing, the shouts
Are drawing strange vortexes
Under the hair and
The air continuously recycled
Is ingesting
Massive amounts of
Darkness
As
You advance
Defying the butterflies
Adjusting your heel
From time to time.
Nov 22, 2013
Nov 22, 2013 at 11:18 AM UTC
*awakening autumn air
absorbed with thrown caution
a penchant for yawning leaves
an affinity for desiccated hearts
stirring lakeside willows
whisking emotions away
wafting feminine fragrance
in walking women's wakes
moving to its own designs
gusting in pursuit of change
swirling clouds of romantic disarray
into dizzying vortexes of possibility
expanding the bellows of intimacy
lovesmith for glowing molten souls
passionately ignited, vulnerably cooled
forging bonds, tempering existence*
Sep 12, 2014
Sep 12, 2014 at 12:49 PM UTC
there are some folks living in my bathroom
from the in-between world
like a trailer park
for toilet home bodies
it is where some
of the the dead living habitate
gnomish broods who feed
on the mist of mold
and fecundating aberrations
of **** and excrement
where the difference
between objects and souls
blur
sinks and toilets
flapping opinionated vortexes
of gloom brooding
walls wave and warp
like angry water
and howling wind
they are living creatures
animated bodies electric
crying mouths
without breath
fierce undulations
animated denizens scowling
rattling like bricka bracka
used shaking chairs
always steaming
hysterical
daring you to fight them
sometimes between sleep and wake
i enter their dimension
unable to break free of my sleeping self
held down
paralytic
like a narcoleptic slug
inching its way
through a puddle of warm oatmeal
last night i found myself
in the in-between world
to discover some desperate hollow woman
barricading the bathroom
i pushed hard against the door
and heard her sonorous groan
as she collapsed
into thin air
i think i love her
Mar 19, 2017
Mar 19, 2017 at 5:16 PM UTC
I feel the curve of your palm
Like a phantom ache,
And know that this impression
Has permanence.
Pondering the dust devils
In mid-fall
Your presence coalesces
Like those phenomenal vortexes
That spring up unexpectedly
Swirling pieces of a world
That is slowly falling
Asleep.
Snowflakes drifted in winter
Occasionally catching mates
To dance to earth with,
And alone I traced
And remembered patterns in the ice
With initials scrawled.
The world was a contradiction
Of flowers and ice
And I marveled at the strength it takes
For a tiny seedling
To briefly break through the
Weight of the World.
One more glimpse,
One more chance, when the sun bathes the earth
And children robed like a flock of crows
Take a stretch of paper
Relinquishing them
To the real world.
One more moment to see
How the span of seasons
Can change everything
And nothing.
Apr 11, 2016
Apr 11, 2016 at 8:29 AM UTC
We fall hunting for laurels,
shredding
our purple bruises
into rose hips.
Our silversmith rings lose their fingers,
cracked irreparable.
Our lives of lavish luxury
lives as lapis lazuli.
The banks of the Ipswich
call out:
silhouettes behind birch bark.
Remember
how we used to swim
her waters;
tread her auric ebb?
We aim at deer, at ripening
persimmons. They chew
the fruit pretty.
We aim at killdeer.
Kiss a wasp.
We were dead fireworks
under Laniakea eyes.
As midnight, we are
films noir:
we imagine *******
Lauren Bacall from behind,
speaking and kissing in tongues,
her mouth tasting
of unfiltered smoke,
breathing the snow
melting
down her rose hips.
We stuff the stuff of nightmares
into a cardboard box.
We howl at solar winds and polar vortexes.
We are a vesica; both/and.
We fall hunting for laurels,
adolescent pulsars with persimmon eyes.
Feb 26, 2015
Feb 26, 2015 at 3:46 PM UTC
Actions speak louder than words
So let me show you i love you
instead of tell you.
Let me kiss those perfect pastel pink lips
Let me slide my hands down over those beautiful hips
And pull you in closer.
Let me softly trace the back of your spine
Let me show you just how badly
I want you to be mine.
Let me take you out of your comfort zone
And colour you in shades you never even new existed
Let me bring you alive
Show you the life, you never new you could have.
Let me caress those gorgeously proportioned thighs
wipe away tears from those enticing vortexes, you call eyes
That lure me in,
Like a bird of prey,
You can have your way with me.
Let me hush away your fears
into a little black box
to which only i have the key
and i promise to keep it locked.
Let me take you to the mirror,
and give you my eyes
so you could appreciate and realise just how beautiful you really are
Let me undress those scars with tender loving hands
Let me fulfil all your wants and demands.
Let me be your ear, whenever you need someone to listen
Don't be ashamed of those battle wounds, I will never be ashamed of you or the marks you bear.
We'll take them out into the moonlight
And watch as they glisten there.
Ill take you to the horizon and you can stand on the beach
Anything you want, let me show you is within your reach.
With your feet just touching shore
You let me know
If you ever want more.
Let us wash away your insecurities in me, in a sea of love, laughter and late night phone calls.
Let me show you, that you deserve it all
And more.
Let me hold your hand whenever you feel as though your falling
Let me be the voice that guides you home, when you're calling.
Let me show you that i love you
that no pair were made as exclusively for each other
As me and you.
Apr 28, 2014
Apr 28, 2014 at 3:17 PM UTC
I stalk through the dark hallways
Drifting through remnants of a sun.
Spirals into vortexes, cascading shafts of light on
Brief transits inward, where time falters.
Forces push & pull and all around
The tide of the cosmos envelopes me,
Wading through the static sea
Waves come in crashing-
Laughter, screams
And yet, no sound escapes the vacuum
Jun 17, 2024
Jun 17, 2024 at 10:57 AM UTC
i wish my words could reach you
because maybe then
you would open your eyes
and see
that you deserve every compliment you get,
and that you are a product of the gods;
that the sun's gentle kisses have seeped into your bones,
and that stardust is in your veins;
that your blood is divine and oceanborn,
and that your skin is the sand of that very same ocean;
that your eyes are vortexes of mystery and desire,
and that your smile is the planets aligning;
that your mind is a beautiful enigma;
and that you are simply
miraculous.
but i don't think my words reach you,
and, honestly,
i'm not sure they ever will.
but in the meantime,
just remember that your skin is the sand,
and that the blood of the ocean doesn't deserve to be spilled.
just remember that your eyes are vortexes,
and that they don't deserve the tears that so often fill them.
and,
if you will,
just remember that i love you.
(a.m.)
Jul 24, 2014
Jul 24, 2014 at 8:13 PM UTC
Her eyes are black holes.
swirling vortexes of emptiness,
capturing everything in their path.
Her smile is a comet.
beautiful and inviting from afar,
yet terrifying up close.
Her words a supernova.
mystifying and awe inspiring,
capable of causing so much pain.
Her emotions, solar flares.
fleeting yet intense,
unpredictable and inexplicable.
She is the universe.
vast and incomprehensible.
I am the heavens.
bringing love and light.
...if only she believed in me.
Aug 1, 2017
Aug 1, 2017 at 11:35 AM UTC
We are nothing but the interweaving of bleak and hopeful threads that we fasten around a branch to hang the ones we love and cut free the ones we loathe, so they may prosper and thrive from our anguish. Never focusing on others, we are inaudible to their cries in the dark stations that we possess as they morph into cavernous cancer vortexes that absorb their happiness into our misery. There is no reward at the end, there is only the validation of endurance and the uncertainty of purpose. We are loveless quasi-predators that want to be mistaken as selfless and proven important.
Mar 10, 2014
Mar 10, 2014 at 3:12 AM UTC
I feel the changes.
They’re scary but I’m keeping calm.
Panic is good for no one.
Life is exhilarating.
You have to move with it, not against.
The hard part is figuring out which way you’re going.
But it doesn’t matter; we’re going wherever the hell we’re going,
so you’d better pay attention to the ride.
You mustn’t fight your unique way of life.
It is yours and you chose it for a reason.
Accept that you are exactly where you’re supposed to be.
All is well in the universe.
Suffering is the struggle to accept change.
Accept change with an easy laugh and the suffering goes away.
The synchronicity of life is part of the joy of shared existence.
It proves to us daily that solipsism is but a selfish naiveté.
We have never been alone, even in the depths of our loneliest nights.
True, we feel apart,
but it’s merely an illusion,
the sleight of distraction
spurned by our need
to generate income, which feeds
our fears & desires,
coddled & enflamed
by a fierce media
creating dreams
for others to buy or believe in
but hopefully both
because then
the machine
churns
faster.
No blame.
Forgive, then remember.
We’ve a break, a recession or depression,
or whatever session you want to call it,
it’s reality — you get what you pay for.
You make an honest living or invite problems down the line.
A problem is still a problem even if you postpone it.
They don’t just disappear; you fix them.
Each problem is unique in structure,
the way it weighs upon you,
the ins & outs of unknown routes
& dark “what ifs” that persist like cysts
in the back of your mind, little vortexes
spinning wildly about, ******* us in
when we get lazy & distracted.
But it’s not all hard, not all the time.
Some problems are like puzzles that are fun to solve,
which may be why we have so many lying about.
The problem is that instead of solving puzzles
we should be loving each other.
Unconditional love isn’t easy, but that’s part of the work.
Some say no good deed goes unpunished.
That’s part of the work too.
Invite the life you love,
not the one you hate.
Every choice you make in life
carries the balance of this weight.
Aug 20, 2010
Aug 20, 2010 at 11:32 PM UTC
“Deep breaths”
That’s what I tell myself
Every morning when yet another day has slipped from me.
The cacophony of the day slams into my body
The moment I open my eyes.
The bewilderment enters my heart the moment sleep leaves my body,
As I realize yet again that my clock is ticking
And nothing has been finished.
Tests have yet to be taken
Jobs have yet to be accepted
Homes have yet to acknowledge our existence.
I cant help but feel the shore line slip from under my feet,
Exposing such pretty distractions of shells and ocean life,
Only to have a wave building in mass and volume
To roar over me in a tsunami.
Covering me,
Swirling me in endless vortexes of deadlines
Pushing the air out of me.
Only releasing me every night feeling dizzy, tired,
And not prepared to do it all again tomorrow.
-ALC May 11, 2017
May 12, 2017
May 12, 2017 at 12:56 AM UTC
Walking around amsterdam airport with a bag smelling like tea tree oil a flight, a bus , a coach and a 25 min walk to go ---
but for now,
I'm standing in the wrong line.
Twice.
He calls me out in 53 seconds bursts/
Stinging laughing tears trickle jump ooze --
It was only a matter of time until he would see this deeply,
only I didn't think it would feel so much like
questioning what it is I actually want from my actions and why I'm destroying so much to get there.
Or finally knowing that my self consciousness manifests as a narcissistic, heavy missile on the other side of existence.
Or that I'd be thanking him, even through this blurred pain in my chest.
That I would push away just to feel that tidal pull of love's metaphysical gravity spool and spin , turning vortexes, drawing me back to him as the worlds we built burn , rendered to fragrant ashes.
Some where else
it feels different,
lighter...
In the world behind my eyes
landscape weather systems....
swierall /
cloaouudss! We are playing
despite the uncertainty
still,
life lives her vibrant hues through me.
watchu playin at fool !!
Dance where the music is , let her 10pm sunset strokes caress you to sleep.
My centre's essence clear water sustenance
ready to flow through these charred veins,
giving myself over to mystery,
you are further away then you've been still
geographically I'm the closest I've been to you since last.
board the plane
love rushing forth for the angered tiredness from your voice runs rings round my mind,
prompts me
I'm praying now, in ernest, to Great Spirit that I may have the humility and strength, humor and vision in this becoming....
time is shushing me now,
give yourselves the healing space, she croons as I sleep sailing through the atmospheric ocean.
May 23, 2015
May 23, 2015 at 2:55 AM UTC
How does one measure the value of a poem?
Is it in the amount of letters, or metaphors, or analogies?
Is it the underlying meaning of the poem?
Is a poem relating to Plato better than a poem of love?
Is it not in how it makes us feel?
How can we 'Grade' a poem, when a poem isn't meant to be graded?
Poems are simply meant to be felt.
Is this poem worthier than any other I've written?
How can I know? And why does worth matter?
Isn't worth relative? What is relative, what isn't relative?
Is poetry even relative?
What of me makes myself relative?
What makes me relevant?
Then, what makes my poems less relevant than one another,
when I'm not even sure any of us are relevant at all?
What makes this all worthwhile? What is our end-goal?
Nothingness, empty vortexes of desolate hopelessness:
Therefore, why must we justify writing, when we can't even justify living?
Jan 27, 2012
Jan 27, 2012 at 11:20 PM UTC
Bathtub overflowing
Spilling
Spitting
Spinning
Giant vortexes
Consuming the bathroom
Where a single candle burns,
Where a single candle is put out.
Where the rubber ducky floats
But then sinks.
Nothing stays afloat forever.
Apr 4, 2013
Apr 4, 2013 at 8:32 PM UTC
My soul thinks it's starving to death.
It's opened up a space just below the meeting of my ribs.
And as I pass by
Things get pulled in- whoosh:
Hungry.
Empty.
It's trying to fill the spot you've hollowed out.
I could tell it not to bother-
My stomach's full of sinkholes.
Has been for a long time,
Tiny inward waterfalls of non-energy,
Pulling,
Trying to **** the world in like vortexes
Each the size of a grain of sand,
Yet insatiable,
Unsatisfiable.
Little pinpricks of "I need, I need, I need."
Gasping in the universe like vapor
As if the whole thing could live in my belly
And I'd still feel incomplete.
It makes me feel like I am constantly a minnow
Flopping on the beach,
Inches from a billion times more sustenance than I could ever hope to use up,
But
Very significant inches from it.
I take steps
And sink feet
As if the sidewalk isn't quite dry
Like it's quicksand
Echoing the way every bit of life I ******
On the way by
Slides through me and slips away,
Hourglass skeleton
With the smooth grains trickling through the centers of my bones
And out through the soles of my feet...
There's an undertow in my lungs
And it's churning me like it can swallow the sky
And stop that clock
But no-
I'm not running out of time
Time
Is running out of me,
And I
I
I
I
Miss you.
Feb 7, 2014
Feb 7, 2014 at 1:36 PM UTC
the ideals of chemistry say that
the spaces between particles are
negligible.
the crinkles, vortexes are nothing,
distance between skin and hands,
insignificant.
the matter doesn't matter, yet
i feel the chasms growing wider,
gaping.
we are both naïve
but only i detect our ground
splitting.
Oct 31, 2016
Oct 31, 2016 at 1:22 AM UTC
I heard a voice
It called me from the deepest greens of the ocean,
It allured me.
It called me again from the distant vortexes of darkness.
It sounded so familiar, so intimate.
Silver ***** promenaded along the shore, scribbling poetry on the wet sand.
A distant Gandharvan threw light on them, their shells gleamed.
There is silence all around, and darkness.
The air is filled with nothingness.
In me froths a cold sea.
The waves roar against my eyelids and die a shameful death.
A million dreams swim in them.
Days pass by,
I stand here waiting.
Alone.
Come closer, dear voice.
Apr 1, 2021
Apr 1, 2021 at 12:52 PM UTC
People quarrel about being
Single and committed like they know what love is.
Love is something that you can only understand through grief,
It is a discovery of voids in yourself, voids that vortexes into your soul shattering all you've ever felt,
You ll never know what love is until you lose someone you love.
Feb 24, 2021
Feb 24, 2021 at 2:29 PM UTC