"yoking" poems
A thousand love poems yoking to pages you will never read.
Though some have slipped from my reach,
Seeking refuge from the muse, responsible for their existence.
L is for lion.
And is what you are.
Oct 14, 2014
Oct 14, 2014 at 12:54 AM UTC
Throned in splendor, immortal Aphrodite!
Child of Zeus, Enchantress, I implore thee
Slay me not in this distress and anguish,
Lady of beauty.
Hither come as once before thou camest,
When from afar thou heard'st my voice lamenting,
Heard'st and camest, leaving thy glorious father's Palace golden,
Yoking thy chariot. Fair the doves that bore thee;
Swift to the darksome earth their course directing,
Waving their thick wings from the highest heaven
Down through the ether.
Quickly they came. Then thou, O blessed goddess,
All in smiling wreathed thy face immortal,
Bade me tell thee the cause of all my suffering,
Why now I called thee;
What for my maddened heart I most was longing.
"Whom," thou criest, "dost wish that sweet Persuasion
Now win over and lead to thy love, my Sappho?
Who is it wrongs thee?
"For, though now he flies, he soon shall follow,
Soon shall be giving gifts who now rejects them.
Even though now he love not, soon shall he love thee
Even though thou wouldst not."
Come then now, dear goddess, and release me
From my anguish. All my heart's desiring
Grant thou now. Now too again as aforetime,
Be thou my ally.
6.1k
We gather together to
form one elastic skin,
to create a blank moment
embossed in all we can't say.
and like glass, this gilded action
provides us with little reflection
wrapping and yoking
our clear and carnal intention.
Mar 13, 2015
Mar 13, 2015 at 9:42 PM UTC
∙∙∙◦◦•◎•◦◦∙∙∙
In a world of turmoil’s
people in strife
black and gray, a syzygy
warring here and there
striking each other's knife
love one's left
friends flog then fade
yoking, the loneliness came
broken, it's even hard enough
—to fathom or wade
On a cliff
some of us wish to fall
like ecstasy to forget
to mark nothing from all
a road was gifted
and ways of life would recall
in the verge I might lose
so, a verdict, my heart had chosen
to live rather than to die
I would go
to tread a path, a great unknown
long long journey still I would go
a grasp of hope I'll forever hold
as I walk all alone
Sep 18, 2017
Sep 18, 2017 at 2:46 AM UTC
It's blinding
how many stars there are.
Not just millions,
but trillions of blazing specks
that are just floating,
burning in absolute nothing.
And they do it for no reason,
there's no goal that unites them,
no yoking drive or resolution
other than the pure instinct to just do,
to just be.
And despite all this
purposelessness
they still burn with the hottest of fire,
unfathomable fire.
Kinda makes me jealous.
But somehow
people only wonder how.
In fact, they dedicate their short lives
just to answering that one tiny question
about these things we see at night.
But what I'm wondering is why.
Why so many?
Why trillions of these things just there burning?
You'd think we ought to have figured it out by now.
Mar 7, 2013
Mar 7, 2013 at 9:16 PM UTC
It was a wild alto-wielding sax man, screeching with halted notes and dissonant disregard for the folks and their fortune that awoke the birds, and the unyielding flock would mask the sky as two lovers kiss on a bench with flaking paint. The shores are prevailing, the yoking eggs would seep through cracks in the counter while children squeal and leave stains on the walls. Walking through forsaken habitats and dingy rats are bastardising the progression of time and in turn, they confuse a poet as he composes the castigated texts of his forlorn memories.
It was here that piano keys shook the core of the Earth with trembling recompense, and furthermore would eventually seek to unify the tribes of long suffering lands into the rambling herd that stampede through river basins, with alphabets falling from their back pockets. Ah black sky, with your inherent displeasure and disquiet, why are you crying on me tonight? The stars are as despairing as I.
I take your hand and lead you through green-light flickering corridors, as the rats are congregating and confusing us once more. Water drops overhead and we fall into chasms of disparity, holding onto piping that scolds our waning fingers, leaving us foreboding and dumb. Numb to the illicit sirens and the implications of urban living. And your body is sullen, as the Antelope are liberated, but with woe I could feel the icy chill that radiates from you and your once heated body.
Tire tracks, hurried, and the rats find no suspect, so with wringing hands I step into the sunlight and feel the blue sky ramifications and remember your name.
Gravel track buried, the flocks would return to nest in romantic trees, and I find myself alone as the sun rescinds its gaze, placing me in darkness once more.
And the alto-man continues to sing through tubular declaration, as the steadily raging war provides rhythm to the desolate streets and I feel disconnected.
May 30, 2013
May 30, 2013 at 12:51 PM UTC
any holiday can go on and commit suicide in some old ****
coconut
postcard, I reckon.
it’s alrite here.
it’s not burning and the sand is a lame type of concrete, but
it has a lot of life. there’s even coral here, I probably need you
to call me up and have you explain it to me
but it’s here
all the same;
there’s howling monkeys that can open yoking orange suns, that
don’t know what to do, we wont ignore them though;
they keep on skipping around
pulling
the tide up to our seats-like they like the raw smell we give off
its normal in the city but unknown here
we fight- nothing
the world dives into itself
and see’s that it still sings
the resort keeps on beating behind the eyes of the falling sunset
the calls of our skin are catnip to the flying things and moving things
we walk across the beach as it follows from 11 to 3 and 4am.
it dies and leaves the moon screaming
in sirens within the black distance of the shore
the vehicle that comes as we sleep
holds open the road with our eyes
and remains eternally as we wake.
Jul 18, 2013
Jul 18, 2013 at 7:55 AM UTC
Primordial chants
YAH VEH
YAH VEH
YAH VEH
meditating in the soul of the black onyx beads.
Frozen drops of bliss nestling in the sinews,
soaking me in its sublime stillness,
leading me to its philharmonic depth,
yoking me to its cosmic vibes.
I sublimate
to become the chants
that pulsate in the soul
of the black onyx beads...
Sep 18, 2018
Sep 18, 2018 at 4:22 AM UTC
Unfaithful marital transgressions
self admitted indictment,
crime and punishment,
no longer think high lee
entailing no mister re: demeanors,
I searingly weathered
(George by bushed, albeit thankfully,
no unwanted child left behind),
nonetheless one unforgettable
indelible, execrable, and abominable
professedly owned his
civil warring battle of life
transgressions undeservedly heaped
(Uriah hit about that)
(carnal feral hormonally seething
gone astray nightwalks)
woven by basket of deplorable
emotionally painful selfish object lesson
forever etched upon mine psyche
(left by one bobbing sponge -
cheeses crust station of his life
within sea of human life now
affixes moniker re: mister *****
inflicted courtesy yours truly
said marital indiscretion (philandering)
one among many issues discussed,
during treatment plan earlier today
February eighteenth 2020
concerning complex edifice
regarding mein kampf
existential bleak house
(figuratively crowded cheek to jowl)
with and hard times
fraught with many
unattained great expectations
unwittingly accepts psychological fallout
(among kissing kith and kin,
a shellfish chicken and hen thing for sure),
despite years elapsed ex post facto
deploying, incorporating, narrating, signifying...
narcissistic, opportunistic, and phlegmatic
self incriminating doom
visualize deus ex machina
betrayal rendered adopted smugness
invariably set in motion domino effect,
whereby emotional alienation
devastation, humiliation, maturation, suppuration
(yoking impossible mission
to shuck off penitence, the price to pay),
thus rightfully, truthfully, and veritably...
ably, readily, and willingly
allowing, enabling, and providing
incomplete resolution, (hence iresolution)
thwarting rancor thy deux daughters
(livingsocial many time zones distant)
embark quest to guide their own
metaphorical maiden voyaging ships of state
countless transpired hours
at counseling facility, where poetic papa
aired and mulled over bothersome
anguish to complete requisite treatment plan
to receive psychiatric appointment
next (and last) Tuesday of February 2020.
Feb 18, 2020
Feb 18, 2020 at 10:43 PM UTC
After about fifty years as married wife
the last three fraught with strife
obvious telltale signs of terminal illness rife
hysterectomy irrevocably didst jackknife
at the least severely incapacitated
think pitted, riddled,
and rounced her tortured life.
Ovarian cancer affliction
on par with megadeath
bald pate (color of bleached skull),
and crossbones characterized mortal death
oxygen tank to sustain each measured breath.
Nonetheless her angry spirited accursed
ferocity, ejaculatory, denunciatory burst
expletive and epithet
peppered preponderant rant,
(no kidney you) laced
and dull livered worst
fulmination, exasperation,
(albeit feebly faint)
damnation well versed
lips mouthing implacable thirst
to defy grim reaper uber
lyft driver analogous hearst
jubilation immune to
interrogation and/or humiliation
diatribes interpreted glorification,
remained scythe lent bore
scathing rebukes hurled regarding
her sole son (courtesy
miraculous biological reproduction)
dogged with financial perdition
eased series of unfortunate events narration
blessed nonagenarian widower husband
generous father gave male progeny
eased (his/mine) absolution
availed immense monetary boost,
she (envision banshee)
voiced abhorrent objection
regarding liberal outpouring
triggered her vitriolic remenstration.
Similar with pointed gesticulation,
excoriation, cannibalization, abomination...
against reducing his albatross
yoking penurious defeat
her livid hostility displayed, decried,
****** how Matthew Scott,
(I shoal mussel metaphor
without clamming up, how
said offspring coasts) along easy street,
while she sorely protested (thankfully in vain)
even after succumbing to painful demise,
she vehemently, obstreperously and helplessly
loathes handsome handout
to yours truly forsakes Pete.
Jan 16, 2020
Jan 16, 2020 at 5:55 PM UTC
the new boyfriend
now the gone boyfriend
such fun we did have
that first morning
what is your name?
I can't remember yours either
how much fun is that
after a crazy night
barking dog
wandering paws
such delight
hotels, bars, roads
in common
lives lived in parallel
at the same time
movies, songs
memories
laughter, yoking
such great fun
chasms of differences
matriarchy patriarchy
making someone into
what you like
i've been there too
how funny to have you
do that to me too
endless days
and nights
of talking
dancing
voraciously consuming
one another's forms
ah the adventure
ah the divine touch
seeing yourself in
the other
duality at its
very very best
duality at its
very very worst
you can't save another
nor fix them
the road
is a solitary one
the work is hard
and it plumbs the depth of your soul
of who you are
don't waste your time
in this life
recognize who
and what you are
we are ALL
the ONE
see yourself in
each and every creature
each and every being
every tree
every star
every celestial object
each and every drop of rain
and every body of water
laugh like a child
cry like a child
love like there is no tomorrow
nothing is ever lost
only changing form
om mani padme hung
Dec 17, 2022
Dec 17, 2022 at 10:10 AM UTC