"wonderings" poems
I feel strong tonight
A hundred songs burst from me
In colorful bloom
The darkness holds fear no more
I laugh in the face of death
Dreams cannot threaten
I fear no nightly phantom
Day will come with joy
But until then I will sleep
And rest my wearied body.
My mind is awake
Thought after thought captures me
Musings, wonderings,
Daydreams before I slumber;
Life is bright and wonderful.
Yes, I feel strong tonight.
Apr 30, 2014
Apr 30, 2014 at 12:04 AM UTC
~
Weeping hydrangeas spill
sapphire tears falling,
drenching grey scale gardens
suspended, free flowing
a mobile of distractions
on tiny threads scattered
above clouded daydreams
Worded floating silent streams,
spinning slowly, creating phrases
on whirlwind petals,
browned edges frame
whispered wonderings
sans answers
upon somber breezes
of yesterday’s questions
or
A cappella Hydrangeas
send harmonic petals floating
upon melodic wind chime breezes,
suspended soft concerto clouds
on love sonnet strings
tuned to a spring day,
as flowering symphonies,
acoustic mobiles of emotion
bloom within a garden
of daffodils dreams
in unison with lyrical
compositions of nature’s
enchanting song
Jun 2, 2015
Jun 2, 2015 at 10:14 AM UTC
my heart is so full
it's bursting at the seams
I dont know how it happened
and i dont know what it means
but i think
we were all put here
for such a time as this
there's meaning to our living
there's a reason we exist
and I think that you
yes you
were meant to meet with me
that we were meant to cross our paths
and be changed gradually
you've made me into the person
who i am today
you've left your maze, your soul's fingerprints
on this person, on this clay
because we were there before we were born
and we never really die
because you can blow out a flame
but you can't shut out the light
and i will fight to show you
that you matter
that your smiles change the world
same as your tears
your wonderings
your pains turned into pearls
and I just wish i could say it all
in a single word
that I love you
that you're beautiful
like a shot heard 'round the world
people may forget
but once in a lifetime comets
still come around again
and you deserve to know that
you are precious
and that
you are my friend
Oct 16, 2014
Oct 16, 2014 at 6:10 AM UTC
The fallen leaves
are gauzing thin
as they lay decaying
on the forest floor
and the frost that formed
crystal by crystal
slowly in the night
with the morning
sparkles to become
the jewels of fairies.
She is fluttering
her feminine silhouette
flirtatious against the grass
so distorted
that your eyelashes
can not catch her
but only a gleaming hint
of gossamer wings
delicate and ethereal
is reflecting in the morning's
slanting sun.
You are tempted
into probing under a leaf
with a broken twig
seeking her soft footprints
but they make no mark
on the fragile leaves
or in the softened grass
and her clandestine space
is too elusive
for your eyes.
She is hiding
veiled and disguised
carefully concealed
and you can only see
the glittering cobwebs
formed by a hungry spider
into a intricate misted mesh
catching careless flies
and morning dew.
She is fooling you
once again obscure
and her transparent laughter
like the soft spoken sound
of a faraway subtle pan-flute
is floating with your
sheer wonderings
in the waking light.
Nov 14, 2009
Nov 14, 2009 at 10:43 AM UTC
.
1
In the corner stands
My blue guitar,
Mirrors my grimace.
2
I have played you
So like dream was the dear song
Where you playing me?
3
Your body makes mine
Shudder as I imagine
A woman in my arms.
4
At the top of your body
Are keys unwound at the ready,
Silver spirals of tunings.
5
My soul is near hollow
But the blue guitar
Is filling in the foundations.
6
What makes the blue guitar
So shining in the mundane,
All the world is makeshift.
7
My fingers wet with you,
What water sounds like,
As it kisses the earth.
8
Deep in the strings
I summon my being,
Always blue as sheer sky.
9
Blue guitar, silent, singing,
My fingers ***** your neck,
Never do you scream.
10
Once I heard music,
The sweetest tabulations
Of sorrows in rosewood.
11
My fingers ache on steel,
These are your moved guts,
Strings that I borrow.
12
At an open window,
All the day obtuse,
I hear birds in your vibrations,
Untouched air of blue guitar.
13
I do not know anything,
Music is lathed on an open fret,
The heart is beating to a note of bliss,
Hole set in the body braced by wood,
Time cuts as it is sectioned, a staff fires,
All the chords are listed in primes,
Is the ear a window or is the eye,
Blind in the choral songs we make,
All things are ephemeral, wonderings,
Variations we work as structure fades,
As the blue guitar is touched, turning light.
Sep 27, 2015
Sep 27, 2015 at 9:37 PM UTC
.
1
In the corner stands
My blue guitar,
Mirrors my grimace.
2
I have played you
So like dream was the dear song
Where you playing me?
3
Your body makes mine
Shudder as I imagine
A woman in my arms.
4
At the top of your body
Are keys unwound at the ready,
Silver spirals of tunings.
5
My soul is near hollow
But the blue guitar
Is filling in the foundations.
6
What makes the blue guitar
So shining in the mundane,
All the world is makeshift.
7
My fingers wet with you,
What water sounds like,
As it kisses the earth.
8
Deep in the strings
I summon my being,
Always blue as sheer sky.
9
Blue guitar, silent, singing,
My fingers ***** your neck,
Never do you scream.
10
Once I heard music,
The sweetest tabulations
Of sorrows in rosewood.
11
My fingers ache on steel,
These are your moved guts,
Strings that I borrow.
12
At an open window,
All the day obtuse,
I hear birds in your vibrations,
Untouched air of blue guitar.
13
I do not know anything,
Music is lathed on an open fret,
The heart is beating to a note of bliss,
Hole set in the body braced by wood,
Time cuts as it is sectioned, a staff fires,
All the chords are listed in primes,
Is the ear a window or is the eye,
Blind in the choral songs we make,
All things are ephemeral, wonderings,
Variations we work as structure fades,
As the blue guitar is touched, turning light.
May 5, 2015
May 5, 2015 at 5:23 PM UTC
It's quiet in my house,
except for m o v i n g air.
Soft snoring from distant rooms,
and bedspring creaking under
s i t n weight.
h f i g
My mouth is bruised and swollen,
from teeth ripped from gums.
But pain meds drift me far away,
from everything I know.
Though sleep does e-v-a-d-e me,
I am bothered not with that.
For some of the best WoNdErInGs
happen when you're ******
Jun 26, 2012
Jun 26, 2012 at 2:50 AM UTC
.
1
In the corner stands
My blue guitar,
Mirrors my grimace.
2
I have played you
So like dream was the dear song
Where you playing me?
3
Your body makes mine
Shudder as I imagine
A woman in my arms.
4
At the top of your body
Are keys unwound at the ready,
Silver spirals of tunings.
5
My soul is near hollow
But the blue guitar
Is filling in the foundations.
6
What makes the blue guitar
So shining in the mundane,
All the world is makeshift.
7
My fingers wet with you,
What water sounds like,
As it kisses the earth.
8
Deep in the strings
I summon my being,
Always blue as sheer sky.
9
Blue guitar, silent, singing,
My fingers ***** your neck,
Never do you scream.
10
Once I heard music,
The sweetest tabulations
Of sorrows in rosewood.
11
My fingers ache on steel,
These are your moved guts,
Strings that I borrow.
12
At an open window,
All the day obtuse,
I hear birds in your vibrations,
Untouched air of blue guitar.
13
I do not know anything,
Music is lathed on an open fret,
The heart is beating to a note of bliss,
Hole set in the body braced by wood,
Time cuts as it is sectioned, a staff fires,
All the chords are listed in primes,
Is the ear a window or is the eye,
Blind in the choral songs we make,
All things are ephemeral, wonderings,
Variations we work as structure fades,
As the blue guitar is touched, turning light.
Feb 8, 2016
Feb 8, 2016 at 11:22 AM UTC
I wonder what chocolate rain would taste like.
Would it fall from chocolate clouds?
And after it dried, would it leave a thick sweet brown coat on the world?
I wonder if my secret love loves me.
Would he ever want to hold me and caress my cheek?
Kiss and touch me as I would him?
I wonder what would happen if I lit the world on fire.
Would anybody notice?
Or think it was a new quirk of nature to ignore?
I wonder if the sun shines more dimly than yesterday.
Would it even be measureable?
I wonder how long we can last, and if an apocalypse would **** us all.
Would there not be a survivor?
Would there not be a fight for life?
I wonder if there is or was a god, and if so, for how long?
Would he create himself?
Could god even have a ***
I wonder if this world is a construct.
Perhaps a mental image stuck in space?
But if so, whose of?
I wonder if a butterfly flapping it's wings in China truly creates geographic ruin here.
And if so, on what scale?
I wonder if what we do in this world truly affects our afterlife, or if that even exists.
Will this compilation, this assembly of words make any impact on anyone's life?
Sep 23, 2012
Sep 23, 2012 at 10:36 AM UTC
I went up to the hill
that Jack and Jill
once tumbled down
quickly becoming the talk of the town
a terrible reminder of youth
the scene from this hill
one fall down this grassy slope
and your life
becomes the tale of legends
of stories
of perverted wonderings
one tumble down this metaphorical hill
and you leave the land of butterflies and fairy wings
and hit your childhood crown
on the rock of adulthood
Jan 25, 2015
Jan 25, 2015 at 4:17 PM UTC
My pockets hold coarse wisdom stones
that have yet to be eroded and known.
No deed has been done with many tears,
and my matter has yet to turn gray.
Except for two dark circles
wrapped snug around no-sleep eyes,
I am pristine, I have soft skin,
no chips or scratches to bear.
So I sought erosion and tragedy
to inspire wise and epic truths,
but to my dismay! all that I found
was that these only come with age.
Constantly, all day and night,
wonderings overpower my sleep;
I fear these truths, that they might burn
the darling rosebud life I built
into a cynic's deadbeat embers.
So to the stars! I beg to see
if even a fleck of goodness
exists past youth's gilded screen.
For I hope that even through cataracts,
the world will still be good,
that wrinkles will forge deep valleys of love,
that gray hair will be streaked with joy.
I hope my dying hands will hold tightly
to my death bed's plastic sides,
I hope to look in terror at Heaven above,
to whisper, with wide fearful eyes,
"Please, I don't want to go"
But for now, I am young and unknowing,
and I embrace my rose-colored light.
The thing is, though, I must know something,
you can call it naivete,
but whether it be with gray hair
or smooth skin, no matter what,
even if I had nothing left,
I'd still use scotch tape to hold back ****** rivers,
to prove to you that there is love.
Mar 12, 2018
Mar 12, 2018 at 3:02 PM UTC
ferries cancelled, the wind wins today,
plays with the sea, while we watch on,
banished to our terrestrial wonderings.
The wind is a wild jealous playmate.
Oct 13, 2023
Oct 13, 2023 at 5:54 PM UTC
Several tries
Blurple skies
Fluffy wings
Someone sings
Apple pies
Second tries
Silver rings
Slimy things
Salty fries
Funky dyes
Wonderings
Doorbell dings
Your demise
Poor disguise
Ancient mings
Infant clings.
Jul 9, 2010
Jul 9, 2010 at 7:18 PM UTC
My consumption is somehow sinful but in a fabricated way that makes honey seem like cyanide, or perhaps just the opposite (, I'm not sure in truth). Delight is suppressed by my self-skepticism working to root out my faithful and trusting naivete. Somehow skepticism gets lost in my incessant wanderings and wonderings and surely in my pensive ponderings. I debate what your truth is and if you have seen the same paintings that hang in my walls and in my memories. It must be acknowledged, the chance that you have forgotten and remembered the entire Nothing. My only prayer is that you might have insomnia.
Apr 29, 2015
Apr 29, 2015 at 11:50 PM UTC
Be what you are!
Be a moving picture star
if you want to take it that far.
Drive a huge fancy foreign car.
Or write a great book
All about the chances you took.
Sit beside a picturesque brook
And immortalize how the trees shook.
Go on and tell!
Say who you are as well.
Don’t wait for the final bell
You won’t get to hear the knell.
Chose the right words.
Set them and you free as a bird.
Make people know what they heard.
Create awe with what has occurred.
Maybe you can paint.
And let people see what ain’t
Or the halo of a beloved saint.
Maybe just to trigger critical complaint.
Or maybe you carve things
Complicated stuff like angel wings.
Carve so you feel the joy that it brings;
To stir the inner soul with wonderings.
Be what you are.
Even if people stare at a scar
Or run away as fast and as far.
Those shallow folk will end up in a bar.
Or maybe you stammer
When something makes you stutter
And people laugh at every word you utter.
What you are made of is so much better.
Dec 10, 2016
Dec 10, 2016 at 6:15 AM UTC
My incoherent rantings upon this white,
tainted by my virulent thoughts expelling out.
I leap at echoes of what may have been cognitively
expelled but never given true form.
*"I just lingered my mind in the air like a net catching
stray speculations that were never musing,*
I never understood why infuriated wording
was not given form, why I lingered outside my
window like a peeping tom. Waiting for those
Drifting inconsolable lost thoughts never given form.
Some were so sullen a tear would edge closer to
my yearning of falling but then I'd catch and devour
it. Swallowing that sorrow to feel that pain needed
to ink better vocabulary then I had penned before.
"I hear things in the night, feverish dreams of inscribing,
I understand my conclusion of what I am spilling in
irrational contemplations, that wield meaning of
what should lucidly be realized within my words.
But my ink is waved upon as to complex in thought.
"I am a man with no water yet I am drowning,
Can I be enthusiastic in my wonderings of captured words,
expelled but never used. I hoard them within me, so others
may not take what I thought what I took from the breeze.
I think I'm cognitive, but others think I'm rabid in inducing.
Jun 12, 2016
Jun 12, 2016 at 3:22 PM UTC
And now the light of the little globed sun
Guides my waking fingers over stiff keys,
(Stiff fingers over waking keys)
Now I begin the hellos and the wonderings
Each day brings - the bottom of my head
Reminding me "Ask him about his aunt,
His toothache, her boyfriend, her
Overdue college application."
Infinitesimal checklist of maintenance.
Though I don't know what the hell I'm maintaining,
I tiredlove it and work at it and maybe
I can get my 10000 hours from a screen -
Maybe I can be perfect from a screen,
And one day I'll open the door
For a stranger and see a keyboard...
Ridiculous. Room's a mess.
Room's dark except for the sunglobe,
My sun, my determiner of days
And with a click the ordainer of nights.
Ah, it's a tiny world, I can fit it all
In the bottom of my mind when I sleep,
But I'd never tiredleave it,
I waking/sleepinglove it,
And if you'll just shut the door again
I can be tinyperfect.
May 27, 2012
May 27, 2012 at 8:17 PM UTC
My little dear
Is that you I see running
Up a creek
Past splashes of blue
Through blends of green
In the heat of the black night
Laying out crumbs
For me to see
As the creek creaks
As you dear dares
Wandering wonderings
In a lea of clovers
You pull my fate
Two leaves of effigy
I love him
I love him not
Pluck, peel, pass
Shuck, seal, stress
Why, my little dear
Do you bob your tail
Pass the buck
Flutter those chocolates
And you love me
And you love me not
If only
If only the creek could sing
The music calming the blues
The grass is just as green on my side
And the black of the night
Had a new day
... And dawn
For us,
My little dear
Do-re-mi-fa-so-la-ti-do
So-do!
Logan Robertson
9/18/2018
Sep 18, 2018
Sep 18, 2018 at 9:03 PM UTC
Wisps of memories grace my mind
Like a cold mist in the morning
Upon my skin.
Phantom sensations of lips and hands,
Threads of touches that grazed my face
Make me smile.
A voice deep and comforting in tone,
Whispers of sweet words ringing like echoes
In my ears.
Images of you, fading and blurry,
Stand where you stood, smiled where you sat
In my mind’s eye.
Dreams of fantasies that never came true
Haunt me as I struggle between what was
And what wasn’t.
Wonderings of where you are now,
How you feel, and if you think of me
Often or never.
Realizations that goodbye was inevitable
And hurt because you disappeared so quickly
Like a ghost.
Jun 11, 2013
Jun 11, 2013 at 2:01 PM UTC
*
~Love~
I never knew that feeling
A word without meaning
…A stranger to what I felt…
Thought it’s strange that I knew it so well
~Life~
I walk by with you as I talk about you
…Existence is a mere essence…
It’s the life underneath my roots
My whole being is defined of what I decide about you
~Choices~
I kept on thinking of you
A mystery in every event I stumble upon
Nonetheless your part of me that i fully submit
Facing and standing still
In all the consequences and risk
I have brought upon,
In the end
Despite all those obstacles
I know deep within me
There will come a time
I’ll be able to dance
…In rhythm of contentment…
~Dreams~
You’re in my fantasy
…You’re in my Jar of unfulfilled wishes…
I walk in your clouds of heavenly sky
Reality slaps me too many times
Yet no matter how painful reality is
I still go to your realm
And dream an endless dream
Of my unfulfilled wonderings
Wishing & hoping
~Alive~
Living is as much as fading
Purpose of what I suppose
Is just another make-up prose
Of my days
Principles are timeless
…Endless…
Old yet golden
Though some are forgotten
throughout the pages of history
faded
But then they're relived now
Through experiences
As life goes on and on
As you live by
In its circling Journey
~Freedom~
I can’t be with you
as I am chained
Much controlled
Much reserved
Much more refined
…As if I’m bound to be blocked…
Locked within a nut shell
I guess being free isn’t allowed
without hard labor
© 2013 Pax
*
Mar 1, 2015
Mar 1, 2015 at 7:40 AM UTC
...the dusty road, wearing a sombrero,
i saw a chained monkey in the middle of
the road...under the heat of the sun,
its eyes seemed numbed, as visitors
gifted it with bananas and other foods...
was the monkey bored?
tired of watching people come and go?
day in, day out?
what if it rains? it has no roof above its head...
where does it sleep?
i wondered why, from the door jamb
where i stood, there exists
another door, smaller upon sight,
and another...and another...and another....
i was accosted by an endless series of doors...
what lies at the end?
is there an end to these succession of doors?
what could be its purpose?
i wondered about that reason....
i wondered...why the pathways
ahead, left side, and right,
involved going high, then low,
so you go up, then down...
you get used to its rhythm,
to the practice of going up, then down,
holding your breath,
grasping for a post to hold on to,
if and when you lose your balance...
you assume on what is to follow,
you are about to take a step forward
and you'll be surprised....your next step,
...............could be fatal....
you would expect a set of steps going down...
but, there are none...you're inches away
from the end of the ledge.....you stare
at the ground....from where you stand
......there's nothing there
........just an assumed fall..
............if you had been a fool...
these temples, with countless, endless
steps and doors, radiate with wisdom,
offered to us...right in front of our faces..
we just have to be keen...be perceptive...
be able to discover...and learn, before a fall
occurs...
i walked away from these walls and stairs,
tired...sweating...my knees aching......but,
with my wonderings............waning......
Sally
Copyright January 31, 2017
Rosalia Rosario A. Bayan
Feb 1, 2017
Feb 1, 2017 at 10:41 PM UTC
My eyes are flooded with tears unshed,
My mouth overflowing with words unsaid.
Words of happiness and tears of sorrow,
Are threatening my vision of the morrow.
My heart is empty, numb, and dull,
My brain a desolate prison cell.
No temptation, incentive, motivation,
Could ever get my heart to feel emotion.
The ceaseless creaking of my bed,
The endless wonderings of my head,
As I toss and turn at night,
Debating whether I should want the light.
Mar 28, 2018
Mar 28, 2018 at 11:49 AM UTC
One query that I have today,
Is why do we look down to pray?
And when we wish, we raise our eyes
Heavenwards, beyond our skies?
This troubles me, and I'll explain:
Tis the principle that brings me pain.
In prayer, should we not face our Lord,
Positioned there to be adored?
And shouldn't shame lower our gaze
Towards the roaring souls ablaze,
Crushed beneath the Devil's dancing,
Should we not face him in fancy?
Jan 16, 2015
Jan 16, 2015 at 10:46 AM UTC
when the night plunged
darkness took me in its closet
i begin to vouch for the taste
my delights, my dreams
we've got nowhere to go
we've got no secrets
and i stand alone with solitary soul
its a consolation
where else you see real picture
the dusky shadows
and murky humor ..
it does not submersed me in its charm
neither voices
nor people..the happening
it never has..it never did
living in cracked life is a joy
pursuing myself
day by day- endless
to get what i lost
i thank heaven
for the mercy he bestowed me with
staying with me..in my worn out heart
it did mend..it did get widen
and the songs of my wonderings persist
without a desire to be heard or
to be understood
it was a solitary ride
about a soulful thought ..forgetful of any cares
they all turned out to be my weary companions
my the loyalist- the friendliest of all
i slowly took everything out of me
minute to minute..it profoundly wounded my affections
and pinched my soul; all my profane profanity stir up
I refuted with all my confessions; and made it be absent!!
Nov 17, 2014
Nov 17, 2014 at 6:07 PM UTC
twin coke bottles
stare down from atop
the tv cabinet
snug in the back
corner
that I look at too
often
tomorrow she’s coming back
but don’t take that to mean
something
I just realized I wasn’t doing anything
so I called her up
and asked her over
and tomorrow she’s coming
over
my poetry has been…
off
lately
people scream at me about punctuation
about their disagreements
and their confusions
and all I can do is stand there
wondering how to bring back to
them
yet
my heart has been on a cloud
thinking happy thoughts
dreaming happy dreams
wishing happy, hopeless wishes
and tomorrow she comes over
and I want to show her my
poetry
so now I wonder
at myself
and
at my art
and
the lines in the palms’ of my hands
do little more than laugh
at my conundrum
Mar 28, 2011
Mar 28, 2011 at 3:02 PM UTC