"wittingly" poems
A Poem in 3 Parts by Sara L Russell, 4/6/15; 00:51am
I
There is a grey area between
this world and the next.
People can be foolish; they dabble in ouija, in
dowsing, in automatic writing;
and - wittingly or unwittingly,
they may open a portal
to the other side.
That is how they enter.
Beware of inviting them in.
Shadow people are there
where needle pierces skin; where the ******
sits, glassy-eyed, on the precipice of oblivion;
they lurk in unholy places where godless
politicians declare themselves to be
speaking for God;
they haunt the dreams of drunkards,
schizophrenics, junkies
and the paranoid.
But they are not spun out of dreams,
they are real.
Shadow people were there
when the ancient pharaohs of Egypt
were interred, with all their gold;
they took them to Hades
for also burying their wives
and servants, alive.
They were there
in **** concentration camps,
sitting on the left shoulders
of those who blindly carried out
orders of death and torture.
They subsist in underworlds of catacombs,
they lurk in the spaces between
our conscious and unconscious minds;
In blackened mirrors they seek out a vortex,
My friends, be the light that
keeps out the darkness,
Do not seek to question the dear and foregone,
No matter how much they are missed;
for there are others lurking in the shadows.
Be not the portal inviting them in.
II
Did I see you in Bohemian Grove,
smiling at the Cremation of the Care?
Were you there,
and did you have more than one shadow?
Did I see you in that Great Hall
with chequered floors,
where the Eye of Horus
watched over a pyramid of gold?
Did you lift a cup of
the good red wine,
did blood brothers drink each other's health,
gazing through a glass darkly?
Did we toast the Cremation of the Care,
and how many others were there?
III
Sometimes we visit Hell in our dreams,
though we may fervently pray before sleep.
There is no shame in sleeping with the light on.
Wear a cross, if you think that it will help.
Sometimes the citizens of Hell visit us,
in that stasis between sleep and wakefulnes;
they are only ever seen at the outer periphery of our vision.
It's never a good idea to look at them directly.
Sometimes they venture a little closer than the rules allow.
Sometimes the line between their domain and ours is blurred.
Occasionally, the breeze seems to whisper your name -
only, it's not the breeze.
Be vigilant.
Always try to see them first.
Jun 3, 2015
Jun 3, 2015 at 7:55 PM UTC
I wonder about,
the human beings;
Why they don't
think twice, about someone's mistake?
Haven't they any time
to think twice?
or Are they
very evil?
Mistakes aren't done
Wittingly;
Mistakes are
just MISTAKES!
If human beings begin to think twice
about mistakes, one day,
The whole world
will be a fiesta.
Mar 8, 2013
Mar 8, 2013 at 11:00 AM UTC
together we sit and scan through pages
searching for knowledge of savants and sages
apart by wires and spaces deemed cyber
together in some places besotted by desires
for that which you seek and that which you share
your hasty interests may lead you to stare
into the abyss of the nets' unending
the maelstroms vortex you'll soon be winding
going ye here and going ye there
hopeful your meanderings
shall leave you fair
for within some sites there's the inveigle snare
ultimately constructed to leave you bare
go wittingly into the all- electric fray
some sensitive toes you'll invariably belay
don't fret over words harmlessly mislaid
to err is only human, short-circuits allayed
Apr 27, 2013
Apr 27, 2013 at 9:39 PM UTC
Time flys without a destination as mankind searches for longevity in this wild race, while others sit and wait trying to set their own pace.
Time gluttons every sad and happy memories like a lioness attacking her prey and devours, enjoying every second of her meal within a hours.
Time has no fault nor vain, but for those who live and die inside the circle will suffer nothing but pain.
Time allows nature to decay on earth the dead is useless and dross, by the token of time through the ages, Lo! man is in a state of loss.
Life depends on time even from the womb, no one can escape time nor does time warn us before we're consume.
Mankind seeks knowledge of time through manipulation like the hour glass, but wittingly time is in controls of the entire mass.
Mankind seeks longevity never wishing to become old and weak, a deficiency essential in this life and the hereafter without critique.
Time an undefinable phenomenon mankind longs for its infinite bliss, overwhelming ourselves with divine perfection, or perhaps an endless abyss.
God is the Creator of time with His signs and wonders, time the indefinite relentless progress of life and death as we all ponder.
May 3, 2012
May 3, 2012 at 2:20 PM UTC
Bath times as a child were
a mixture of joy and fear,
Lulu remembers, rubbing
her neck dry after her bath,
holding her long hair out of
the way with her spare hand.
You must wash under the arms
and your neck and between
your legs, her mother said to
her as a child, leaning over her,
pouring hot water over her head,
feeling she was drowning, she
remembers, sitting on the edge
of the bathtub, almost seeing
her mother standing there with
her usual critique and that wet
hand slapping her legs or hand
if she missed an area of skin.
Lulu rubs under her arms, raises
her hand upward as if reaching
for the moon or stars. As she
leans forward to rub her feet,
pushing the towel between toes,
she recalls her putting her feet
into her mother’s lap as she dried
them with harsh rubs, pushed
the towel between toes roughly,
causing wittingly or unwittingly
the long after remembered pain.
Her mother, hard as granite,
with reddened hands and stern
stare, cursed in the bed of her final
days, glared at Lulu as she blanket
washed her mother in the last weeks
before death came for her and carried
her off with her foul words filling the air.
Lulu lays the towel over her lap, sitting
still she leans her elbows on her legs
and hides her face in her palms, wishing
her mother could have gone out not
with curses or swear words, but psalms.
Feb 24, 2013
Feb 24, 2013 at 2:22 PM UTC
Trudging through space in time.
Some memories remembered.
Some memories forgotten.
Something about this place was always rotten.
Watch over me as I wash the years away.
Wittingly vulnerable, as the fairest figment of the
Fragment that made me who I am today.
To wake with renewed resolve is a dream;
A shift in sensations awakened awareness.
I’ve never felt so complete as now, in all fairness.
For better, not worse, I’ve broken my curse.
But I’m the first to admit I’m still growing.
So thank you for endlessly showing me why
You are the reason I’m glowing.
Fear no further. I’m yours, with fervour.
Aug 20, 2021
Aug 20, 2021 at 4:16 AM UTC
Maybe we will be together someday, when I have moved away, and when we have become strangers once again.
Maybe I can manage to conjure up the words to once again speak to you, and maybe we will have small talk; you will say you're fine, and I will lie and say I am too, but in my heart I know i will still hurt for you.
Maybe I'll walk by your shop, and you will be standing outside-smoking a cig, watching and wondering if we could've been something big.
I remember the day I met you, it's still as vivid in my mind, you drew a picture of a bird with a clock, you asked me what you should title it and I wittingly replied. "Time flys."
Just like a bird, with a familiar tune, our love and our life flew by, all too soon. That picture entailed how it would end, it meant that one day, you would just be an old friend.
I'm no scientist, or mathematician, but the only thing I know is true is this: every 7 weeks, your red blood cells die, and new ones form; eventually I'll have a new body that you will have no longer touched.
So sip your tea, and splurge in your wealth, one day you will look back, and wish you had changed yourself.
Jun 10, 2015
Jun 10, 2015 at 2:30 AM UTC
You can feel my wistful and grateful looks
Following your silhouette along Boyukshor
In one of the dreamy days, we'll abruptly meet there
Very deeply I believe and I am sure.
Ah, my lake, I see you through her shiny eyes...
She loves you and I love both of you in turn.
I feel I was a bit late to love the life,
In revenge, my feelings it'll wittingly burn.
The last joys are shining out in a glow,
Is there a chance of constant unity?
Just virtuous Boyukshor always stands by
At least for calling up dreams of you and me
Having three lines and points of feelings,
I tried to match them from any angle.
Among me, Boyukshor and your existence,
I could not create a triangle.
Either me - standing lonely on its shore,
Or just you - wandering along by your own
And Boyukshor can't see us together just yet
One of us incessantly has to feel alone...
Feb 20, 2018
Feb 20, 2018 at 3:15 PM UTC
She is the Flower Amongst the Flowers©
Like her fellow kind she is graceful as her petals reach for
the morning sunlight
Soft and gentle in the cool morning breeze she sways
In that moment there is calmness that belies her truth
For she sheds the morning dew drops like the tears of someone
you hold dear
Her long slender neck carries the heavy load which grows
with time and maturity
If she had lips one would need to be cautious for she is
laced with thorns
Thorns that can stab you whether wittingly or unwittingly
and make you bleed
The cuts sharp and piercing and not something to be taken lightly
They will leave you in pain like a heart that has been torn
Her beginning is like most from a small acorn of a seed,
she begins to sprout
Only a glimpse of what she will ultimately become shows
in those early days
But one day her long stem like the legs of a shapely woman
will be firm and supple
Time will pass and she will outgrow many of her family
She will be more popular and hold a special place
When selected for meaning in people’s lives
Like the moods of a woman her colors are varied
And carry with them the potential for an array of emotions
The deepness of meaning representing the well of life
Sometimes half full and sometimes half empty,
but always refreshing
Each color part of a spectrum and the bounty
of feelings it can bring
The folds of her blossom are complicated and intricate yet delicate
From a distance she stands out to your eye,
her beauty catching your breath
Her shapeliness recognizable on sight like a familiar friend,
relative or lover
She is the flower amongst flowers
She is the rose
Andreas Simic©
Sep 22, 2017
Sep 22, 2017 at 11:01 AM UTC
gOd put a smile on your face
your eyes (half-thrush like two beings in the dark
and a gladiola of light spurns to chide in its bickering excess,
birds, birds of morning and paradisiacal streets half-wittingly
fork to single-handedness, a star is uttered and altars sing
rarely-beloved, a dance-song of soul) and their parenthetical
rush to what continues to live suddenly as if to say its conscious
death is a room without flowers.
Jan 8, 2016
Jan 8, 2016 at 6:27 AM UTC
I used to think the pinnacle of elation
Derived from you so wittingly
Conjuring my laugh,
But I must attest,
The sincerest bliss occurs
After I induce the same--
Witnessing your face illuminate
Is a gift unwrapped
© JL Smith
Aug 8, 2018
Aug 8, 2018 at 2:04 PM UTC
Even the sun
bends his knees
before the unforgiving
presence of father Nycto.
He adorns himself
with the crown of dusk
and the cowl of twilight
whenever everything seems
like a great firestorm of misery.
From then he slumbers.
Gradually regaining vigor and intensity
from the warmth of his star-filled garments.
Wittingly, he knows,
that in one exuberant day,
he will get back on his feet,
with his chin held highest amongst all,
and radiate vehement warmth from his broken heart.
Without darkness,
stars won't shine.
Oct 9, 2017
Oct 9, 2017 at 2:35 PM UTC
Your hair is longer than before,
Mine is shorter than the last time,
All our dyes have ran out,
Into our natural brown.
Your a little taller now,
With a head,
not hanging as low,
A tighter spring in your step,
As you wittingly walk toward me.
I hated waiting,
But I've never stoped.
Eager, I can not help becoming,
In the shadow of our showdown.
Modest mercy is all I ask from you.
As we fire our double barrelled Deringers,
Bullets that shoot tangible mementos,
Pierce worthless wounds you have opened before.
-Jamie F. Nugent
Mar 26, 2016
Mar 26, 2016 at 8:50 AM UTC
The river was,afraid you see
That it wasn't destined for the sea
So the sea replied wittingly
"I am you,and you are me."
Aug 10, 2016
Aug 10, 2016 at 11:04 AM UTC
I have heard the word as a condemnation
by a religious hierarchy
which meant a severing of ties with a wayward sinner,
ostracism the worse thing for
one interested in staying -
this loneliness and pain desired by the keepers of the norm.
But I think of those with whom my communication is ex.
Al, my former close friend who turned his norms onto me
Jackie, a good and loving woman now gone
James, a man who no longer wants to have lunch with me.
There are a few more
who’ve wittingly or not
closed the door
but in every case a kind of sad weight
abides near my heart, a pain that literally aches
with tears just behind my eyes.
Sep 19, 2022
Sep 19, 2022 at 5:46 PM UTC
Ode to a Cough
😷
Ahem!
Oh cough, that small expression of relief
an echo of congestion in the throat.
A hack, ahem, that passes through our teeth
Emotion swells a lump that I may choke.
What calls thy siren to my attention?
A blockage thus, of phlegm, a chesty rasp,
or narrowing of passage void of breath.
The air about you holds itself agasp
I fear you are brought into contention
and brought about a certain kind of dearth.
A cuckoo lays an egg within your nest
and harbours you a master of disguise.
You tickle and tease, leaving me to guess
the nature of your lyrical reprise
To fear or not I ask you to discern.
They flee, they flee, at what you may become.
Such power, I can only show respect,
lying low, to elude your stealthy roam.
Who are thee to show such little concern,
to all the lives you wittingly infect?
Your path floats on an air of discernment,
moving forward a mutant in our midst
that begs me to doff my hat, your servant
and smell the poisoned scent that you have kissed.
Are you thus a never-ending terror?
What distance do you give for me to make?
Will your repertoire ever be enough?
The future holds such chances there to take.
I cannot hide my face from you forever
because sometimes we cough, sometimes we cough.
May 8, 2020
May 8, 2020 at 4:09 AM UTC