"wherefrom" poems
Thinking About …Jealousy
I don’t sense envy in me -
But sense jealousy
Given the right (or always wrong) occasion
Why?
The past disloyalties?
A guilt? The lies?
A deep and hidden narcissism?
Is it them that I surmise?
A sickly need to own –
To call someone my own
When I, in fact have known
That no one, nothing is my own?
Does it begin in fantasy?
One asks the question
Wherefrom, why from
Comes that special gallery
Of idle fancy?
If the simile is ‘green’ with envy,
What then color jealousy?
Red, brown, orange, pink or blue?
Perhaps there is no hue
In color’s range
To chronicle that landscape and its danger!
Thus adding one more deadly sin
To slot into the other seven:
Is it…could they be akin
To chilling, killing, love destroying jealousy?
Thinking About…Jealousy 9.18.2016
Pure Nakedness;
Arlene Corwin
Sep 19, 2016
Sep 19, 2016 at 5:39 AM UTC
Why do we feel so compelled
to stratify ourselves above the natural World?
What it is that justifies
our Cult of Humanity?
Do we seriously believe
that our gradient of experience
is so much wider and more rich
than are those of dogs, or cats,
or fish, or bats, or lice, or ants,
or spiders, or birds, or trees, or flowers?
Wherefrom do we think
the notions of faeries, nymphs, sprites, and our Gods arose,
if not for the Natural world
as well as the traits of our psychology
made anthropomorphic?
Who are we
to suppose such things
just because we are us:
be this not the same sort of exclusionary cultism
whence are born sexism and racism
and ethnocentrism?
Anthropocentrism?
Who are we to belittle
any one thing on this God-given plane of Reality?
Are we really that caught up in ourselves
that we forget whence we've come?
All is but Energy
All merely is.
We are a part of that,
as it is a part of us.
All
is a holistic system
not a stratified hierarchy of experience:
that concept is artificial.
Is it so hard for us to see?
Is it so difficult for us to be humble about this?
Is it such a blow to our such delicate psyches
that we cannot concede such universal harmony?
Or is it that it is beneficial for some
for the many to remain deaf and blind
to this wonderful, liberating truth?
I think we all know the answer,
we just forget to look for it
and if we find it,
we become too distracted to embody it.
I know we're better than that.
I know we know better.
Do you?
Jun 8, 2014
Jun 8, 2014 at 8:46 PM UTC
Have you ever heard in your mind
the sounds that silence makes
the silence that spreads like music
as in splendor a dewy morning breaks
silence that clings to a Florentine fog
as lone cyclist a cobble street snakes
the silence that hangs heavy
after a heavy down pour finally ends
or await with it for the moment
when heaven its pearly reward sends
they sound so different and surreal
like life’s ethereal myriad bends
the silence that weighty dwells
in wisps, rises from vacant eyes
the silence that fills to the brim
dole, of a beggar’s ripping sighs
silence that hangs like a sword
on fears of unsaid distant byes
silence o endless tormenting silence
you play on a piano’s dusty keys
from a chair that rocks in howling wind
on a lifeless verandah, distant sees
from a score of such like mends
wherefrom one has drunk to ones lees
it speaks no man’s earthly breath
yet heard in shattering numbness
in ache and blight so steeped
in rustle of a long gone worn dress
in raucous merry gay proceeds
or the mirth of a child’s bless
in the time of a frisky bloomy day
or gnaw of a long starry night
the lullaby of distant streaking trains
or the gondola’s reflective sight
the cavort of journeys done together
Echoes the hush of a soundless blight
original
saadat tahir
22nd July, 2k13
Islamabad.
Jul 22, 2013
Jul 22, 2013 at 11:59 AM UTC
Please read the notes first.
Tally time, conclusion forming,
"Some day," grown nearer.
Tree's longest branch,
Coming to reach, reaching to come.
Soon to beat and plead upon
Cottage window and door.
Rooted whisperer, jealous reminder,
Revered warning, timely sounding,
Your time of Reckless Choice arriving
Destination's unnamed coordinates, uncoordinated,
Journey from wherefrom to wherever, unrecorded,
Observed by silenced overlording sky,
Testimony of the seeing voiceless clouds,
All nought and to no avail, destination head-shaking,
These white witnesses,
Muted, deaf, dumbfounded,
Knowing, yet incapable of telling
State of sated steady staid,
Sundered by sharp silent sounds,
Reckless surpasses Riskless,
Life is a recitation, an enunciation
When my less to say is soon none,
My Reckless Choice, now chosen,
Unforced but enforced,
I shall be gone
Feb 26, 2014
Feb 26, 2014 at 6:55 AM UTC
For, lo! All now merges into Energy,
A wild mass of liquid Rhodium,
Incorruptible,
Wherefrom, behold ye!
A novel Frame of Body,
It rises again! It rises again!
Dazzlingly gleaming
Wi' thousand sacral wounds.
Dec 30, 2020
Dec 30, 2020 at 5:10 AM UTC
*I was there within a lil tropic dale,
Marrow of one lil 'ol stealthy vale,
I hearkened of a grand titanic tale
'Midst two Midnighters loud speil.
The spat was pitiless & oh! strong;
Faint 1st was their spoken old song,
Then harsh as each bird had swelled,
To rage the strife away which dwelled.
The warbler led the great speech,
Easeful in a nook of a wide beech;
Perched on a pulchritudinous bough,
About her were burgeons florid now,
Utterly in a downy, substantial hedge,
Intertwisted with buds and new sedge.
Happier she was for having the sprays,
Sing she did for gladness in many ways.
Yet was there an old prong lying beside,
Wherefrom an old owl came and cried;
The branch w/ climbing vine overgrown,
And here this owl sojourned quite alone.
The warbler did after not so long espied,
And looked upon her w/ confuted pride.
Many were her scoffings 2 the jejune owl,
For to the warbler was she loath'd & fowl.
The owl stayed in her place till eventide,
Not a moment more did she there abide,
So thrived her ***** with flowing wrath
That she could hardly even regain breath;
Say that I grasped thee in my sharp claw,-
Would that I may do so here in this shaw!
And thou wert torn from off your spray,
Then we shall see who sings a nights lay.
And with that... the warbler stole away.
To hang her shingle and head in shame.*
Feb 27, 2017
Feb 27, 2017 at 10:29 PM UTC
O there was good fortune in the winds that wafted thru her hair that day, a cortege that graced her lovely cheeks and seemed to know the charm it did to we two lend. From the whispering meadows and the lofty heights, its gentle caresses were to no others more welcome; escaping from the torrents of the crowded streets wherefrom we yearned to be free, free as the breeze which comforted us at will. What den, we wondered, shall we take for our homesite? Which valley shall be our very own? Within which clear river stream shall we bathe each fine early morn? O the world was not the world in those moments, but rather the earth, a garden paradise which did before us lie.With trembling hearts we ventured on without a clue as to our destination, with nothing more than cloudscapes as our lodestar. The heavy burdens of our former lives were no longer ours to carry, but rather ease and joyous delights were promised in prospect, each to each. Thus far, O Lord! did we make flowing forth that experience our souls in measured hymns: to the open vales we sang out our hearts clothed in not a thing, two separate shades, renovated umbrae we were in that time, such Utopia was ours! We came upon a shady place with ardent steps and sat beneath a laughing sycamore, settling into gentler merriment. 'Twas perpetually autumn, never an unclear day did we come to know during our stay; and yet many were our thoughts, until we gazed into each other's eyes for the first time since our arrival, and thus long did we desire one another with growing love until the sun nearly touched the horizon -and we awakened to the busy hum of the city.
May 21, 2016
May 21, 2016 at 12:28 AM UTC
One heart, one heart is all I’m dreaming of
One heart upon this sullen earth I seek.
A heart to tremble with my heart in love,
So that I be a meek one mid the meek.
One pair of lips, wherefrom my lips for aye
Would drink the drink of joy with no constraints.
Two eyes that I could marvel at each day,
And see myself a saint among the saints.
One heart I need, two hands both soft and white
To veil my eyes and gently bar the light,
So I may fall asleep and by a touch
Of an angel’s cheek be carried to the sky.
One heart, one heart, so little though need I,
I see and know that I demand too much.
Sep 15, 2014
Sep 15, 2014 at 5:41 PM UTC
Were you well as sunlight's ascendancy left darkening footnotes everywhere?
Their cerebral pitch and polish--
non compos mentis, were you well?
Stalactited as Nostrefaru's leaking enamel...emergent, crooked shape of a shifting focal point overspread to no more of itself.
Your sun hissed as it plumbed its depth...covert feelers circumscribed the injunction of tongue caught at speak, bifurcated and serpentine.
Wherefrom runnels of india ink ran, corresponded with stones to their haphazard period, numb with duplication...broken down nervously.
Feb 16, 2017
Feb 16, 2017 at 1:27 PM UTC
Somebody I never knew
already passed by here.
Myself a traveler,
a stranger local,
told me so, my dear.
I long to meet,
and retire at last
into your willing arms,
wherefrom then, my friend,
will we await the end.
But for now,
I travel on, in search of you,
my dear, whose soulful gaze
has drenched my soul
into the continuing days.
Nov 13, 2018
Nov 13, 2018 at 1:18 PM UTC
In a vast courtyard
surrounded by columned
portico ,
on one side a tall cylinder
made from the finest
Egyptian glass .
☆
There in was the sensual
dark
blue liquid essence of his
soul .
Blueprint of a challenged
path
and where one was never
as another .
☆
Ahead a towering vulture
six feet high ,
with wingspan over
thirteen feet ,
atop a high golden plinth
of light ,
one last witness of Nature
before beyond .
☆
Till finally the Alter of Fire
where
tiny lizards licked and
stripped his skin .
Numbers , lines , stars and
a red light became
blue ,
drenching him in dread
and dearth .
☆
Where the caressing velvet
blackness
met newly dead souls on
the shores of Acheron ,
Abandon all hope ye who
enter here ,
the grey gloomy path of
torment .
☆
Now frozen and outside of
Time ,
a boundless lake of violet
light ,
wherefrom a giant dolphin's
head
is birthed a new galaxy of
pure thought .
☆
The perfect sword of
surrender
in Tree of Life and mirrored
reflection ,
became The Eagle , high
above the mesa
and saw where the futures
had been sown .
☆
Then he heard her voice
" It is the Initiation of
Destiny ! "
And so fulfilling the sacred
contract
he sat down now , in
prescence of the Great Scribe .
Sep 29, 2024
Sep 29, 2024 at 5:07 PM UTC
The eternal source of brilliancy is provided the province of
thought as it cycles thru the organized conscience which you
might ought come to know by it's role of a being that's being
rolled into one, a sole entity with a constant vibrancy that
Genius lent, wherefrom laborers working with hidden aims
and methods can cause dissent amid the source if not well
done: but the tribute paid by a splendid poem repays the
loan without penalties,
( or punishment.)
Nov 17, 2014
Nov 17, 2014 at 10:48 PM UTC
At dead of night in the muteness I sleep,
And set I my dreaming imagination free.
"Will these visions pass to where by Death
Victims think -held captive by their depth?"
'Oh what a shame is a wast'd mind, I think!'
The landscape of our dreams needn't blink
So dim, so dull -subjacent and sunken low!
'Wherefrom comes such limits in the skull?'
My mind aches to be in the know -not now.
"Could I endeavor to provide it somehow?"
I dream all things: Past, Future, & Present;
And if I could I'd project it without lament.
All that I see to thee, profound as that may
Be: but at least we would be on one page.
Jun 27, 2016
Jun 27, 2016 at 7:14 PM UTC
Wherefrom this echo?...
I can only remember,
not hear at all...
An autumn leaf
falls to the earth from this tree
and explodes...
Oct 17, 2017
Oct 17, 2017 at 12:15 AM UTC