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Debra Lea Ryan Jul 2015
A Moon Infused By Blue Hue
Zoetic... Poetic...

DLR
31/07/15
Her breath was
   poetically zoetic,
     so ethereal ~
        she could fly
She'd swooshed by on her skates.
He'd seen her in her reflection that day
On his car’s rear view mirror,
For the first time ever.
The new neighbour, was she?

That very night, for the first time ever,
Both happened to be on their respective rooftops.
The clock had just scaled eleven.
Now that they’d seen each other,
Tonight's coincidence sufficed to make way
For a rendezvous every night, thereafter.

He’d often be smiling his sheepish smile,
Panting for breath as he’d reach the terrace
While the clock would strike eleven,
A few heartbeats later.
Oh, but she would often already be there,
A teasing laughter on her lips,
A childlike smile in her eyes.
Relief followed by exultation in his heart.

And so, they’d be standing a lane's length apart,
United under the zoetic starry sky, every night hence.

You’d wonder, how both were somehow convinced,
That the other still believed
This nightly tryst
Under the sky's roof to be a coincidence.

She'd light cigarette after another.
He'd pretend
To be caressing his pet,
Fast asleep.
Or some such silly thing.

How he’d wish the whiff of smoke from her cigarette
Would drift across to his terrace.
He’d imagine the wafting smoke
That’d emanate as she’d part her lips
To be a peek into her coy desires.
And many such cheesy things.

They hadn't exchanged a word till date.
Oh but they'd exchanged hearts that very first night.
She didn't even know his name yet
She'd wonder if he knew hers’?
'Has it ever mattered?' she'd think.
'I'm better off not knowing her name!'
Thinking a name could define her
Is to be silly', he’d think.

She was at his door one evening,
To hand over a letter,
Mistakenly delivered at her home.
Or so she said. Something he'd happily believed.
She'd slipped her heart along with the letter,
She later happily realized.

The ensuing night lingered
Six and a half cigarettes longer,
The first time ever.

Fifteen evenings gone by since
She wouldn’t be seen.
He stayed for a brief bit on the sixteenth night.
Disappointed less, worried more.
Did she feel this silent encounter
Of their worlds had stayed silent too long?
Words could never suffice, didn't she know?
He went down to his room ruefully.
Oh but she’d reached just the terrace at that instant.

And they thought coincidences could only always favor them.

A few evenings later he saw her.
Not veiled by the sepia-tinted street lights this time.
Nor in the crimson blush of that evening.
Decked in bridal finery
The vermilion vows on her forehead
Staring starkly at him like an exclamation mark.

And you thought coincidences could only always favor us,
Seemed to be the rhetoric she was throwing at him.

That night, his tattered heart
Writhed in dead wakefulness on the rooftop.
Even now, he looks across
At her absence, a presence in itself.
P.S - Two neighbours, who can't keep feeling that it's too soon to meet, to engage in the language of words, and dates. They're too happy, knowing they will see each other across the roof, every night, after the first coincident meet one night. This goes on for months, till she doesn't turn up for a few days, and the day she does muster up the courage to convey to him, that she would be married soon, is the day he turns up too, only to leave a tad bit early. A happy coincidence that they thought they continue turns tragic. Does he know she meant to tell? Does she still think, he'd forgotten her in that fifteen day span, so as to not up on the sixteenth? After all, they'd never exchanged words.
Denise Nov 2017
Before…

Before I knew you as Divine woman, I longed for your presence, In time i knew nothing could break our bond…

but that was before I knew you,

I know you now, and time is of the essence I was right all along, you indeed are my true sister. My confidant. I call you Mother.one of four souls highly blessed due to their grandfather's highly respected works through preaching the gospel humbly,
truly one of a kind, everyone loves their grandparents and deem them special. and I am no different,
To have known my grandfather Neo Garvin, is to have known what it means to be touched by an angel,
He and My grandmother(still young and beautiful as ever) chose to choose one another until death bid them ado,
The reaper comes to collect the souls of the ******,
God comes and gets his children, he sends special hands to aid in the process, he is always with me that i know is certain, unlike any other thing in this world, with every theory, every question,problem and solution is a percentage of dis-trust in it..
conflicting irony they call it,
how can you dis-trust and love, they are opposite.
we are made in God's image, we are made in the image of LOVE, does that mean perfection is granted to all those who are believers?
depending on how you see life ,
the pitcher there, do you see it as half empty or half full
what about your gratitude towards your parents how do you see that glass?
Would seeing the glass as half full when you believe it is in fact as empty as a sponged, squeezed?
just give it a  paradoxical shrug, these kinds of situations are difficult, but normal, bound to happen right?
God chose belief in my ordanement , redeemed aren't I ?
Redeemed until validated my the ticket holder of my life and heart, the judge of my doings, the criticism I openly accept, as long as it's through verbal or small practical eveyday spiritual acts . I accept that I am chosen for his kingdom, that his love has an actual warmth, sitting in a melting *** of the fireplace infused with the cold air knocking, like an unwelcomed visitor .
The irony sets in
we'd all had a good laugh at that, we'd laugh so hard and got it all on camera, I think we'd have a shot and one of those zestful family movies, we'd at least get a premiere on abc channel  and its got just enough of a zoetiec vibe for lifetime.
the dictionary's failed attempt at defining the depth and the vague imprint it left on my brain, torturing me to awaken from my cocoon and speak,
for my ancestors and the divine woman that is Deidra, Thee divine woman(along with the help of the divine masculine) who taught me to open my mouth if you've got something to say,
Who knew that those words were seeds!?
I studied her as she sewed them everyday religiously, even on the rainy days when life seemed to be in the midst of hurricane force winds, she watered that garden the best she knew how and to me it is perfection.I'd try to convince her not to worry about my garden so much that she'd forget to have her flowers bloom
The divine woman a natural incubator , genetically undeniable that we are the divinity this world needs. She knew of my reaping harvest and that it would grow to be my inner voice, that is love.I am wise
you know what zoetic means to me?
zoetic is the slashes against my back until the age of seventeen, i think zoetic are the beautiful dressings that hold us
capture us, in fear of  running off into something so beautifully damaged people might -pay more attention to the clown than the performance.
one of those and even the "non spitiual people",
what right did i have to be set apart from the world
an evolving theory that grows only in fondness and size of it's essence,
only air , unparalleled
you dare not have a speck of shame you, look in the mirror if you'd like but careful not to interfere with his creation, or its is a matter of time before your left like ...
adam and eve...
floating.
to have that privilege, to my mother

I imagined what our past-times would resemble, that you’d vacate my soul with a message, in times, I need, remember.

maybe it would be poetic, or wise in hindsight, something that’d force my mind to clear the mess in the backseat to make room for a new shotgun rider

an inquiry you leave me with daily, as our hands unmesh and I drift off into sleep, that is the only time you leave, and quickly appear as i awake, without you, How could i face the day?

A stone immortal you are, with no works of erosion, to seep through your cracks, your spirit un-touched, you are the concrete to my heart, unfinished knicks and knacks. i’d never put  youdown, divine in me tells me “reach for your crown, it’s time we take a break, I’ll never leave you but it is now my time, to clear the backseat and make way.”.

as i watch her tidy up the backseat moving chaos and fear into the far right corner, she hops in the back and sits where I can see her,

navigating me, acting as an GPS, divine in me I trust in nothing less.
Cerasium May 2019
Self:
Hello?
Is there anyone around me?
Can you hear it in my voice?
I am calling
Calling for a lasting heart

Is it you?
Are you my hope?
Are you the one who'll set me free?
Or are you here to lock me up?

Inner self:
What are you?
Can you answer me?
My vision has gone so dark
I can't see who you are

Where am I now?
Can you see this shining light?
Can you hear me now?
I am shouting on high!

Both:
See the colours flow
The ocean waves
Hear the trees breath
And the animals play

See the sunlight shine
The moonlight glow
The wind blow
And the river flow

Self:
Who am I?
In the darkest night
Flying high
til the morning light

Inner Self:
Who am I?
In the light of day
Eager to bask
In the yonder bay

Both:
Who are we?
In the days to come
Holy and complete
We bless all unique

See the sound
Hear this call
We call to all
The beauty abound

Self:
I walk in the shadows
Seeing which others hide
Feeling the darkness
That you all run from

Inner Self:
I walk in the light
I see the fakeness
The plays people put on
The webs of lies people speak

Both:
We see truth
We see lies
We see all
We see divine

We see the laughter
We see the torment
We see beauty
We see destruction

Longing for the one
Who has been caged
Begging for it to come
Back to grace on high
Song I'm working on. Already got the melody just coming up with the words right now. It is a duet with your inner self.
Again I falter
For the arrow
Who would remain so and break (hearts)
Than bend or curve
The contours of her body
Sharp, so sharp
Her hair bleeds
And her voice
and her eyes
and her heart
So sweet
I ache for her again
Though I know
'Tis in vain
For the woman who loves the arrow ends up split in twain.
For the woman who indirectly sent me to a mental hospital.
It's true that fresh air is good for the body,
And singing is good for the soul.
Dancing is the exercise of one's strength,
And learning will help us grow.
This is our body,
This is our part,
Why should we give it up?
Breathe, sing, dance, learn,
Give the world our all,
And take nothing less than that.
Zoetic Definition: pertaining to life
mEb Nov 2010
Odium above all odiums, I have militancy of you now
For I own isochronism; A vigor grim dispute; not now
Your slaying too vile
Uncouth by demands
Which was the admonition I had previously
Whod've known I'd command
Garble after garble, I'm Dexterrized where I stand
Dun and gnaw your way out, go on
The un-zoetic soon will spawn
Out with gyp of hints that dwindle
Furbishing these tinges; out the window of innuendos
As I brushed off
The six week old dust
Off the mirror the other day,
I was happily taken aback to see
Myself a tad bit prettier, after weeks.

Funnily enough, I had made
The mistake of believing my
Reflection to be me.
Introspection's a better mirror,
I reflected.
Why does one look into the mirror everyday?
To remind himself how, or rather who he is?
That opaque shard of glass
Could never encompass
The zoetic surge of thoughts
That have gushed forth from me
Since the time I have existed.

I'm sure, the mirror pities
It's own lack of identity.
Manipulated by reflections
Of a myriad kind,
The mirror manipulates us thus,
Mirroring us and itself
In another way.
They thought this opaque shard of glass
Could contain the infinitude within us.
It has only mirrored the illusions
We projected each time we looked into it.

I am only distanced from myself
Each time I seek to find myself
In that stagnant pool of perceptions.
What good is a mirror, which itself is under constant manipulation.
CASEY Sep 2013
You are my spring,
Warm and breezy.
In your sunny insouciance,
I am pacified,
Calmed.

You are my lover,
Hot and knowing.
In your embrace,
I am exalted,
Zoetic.

You are my god,
Transcendental and virtuous.
In your divinity,
I am lustrated,
Awakened.

You are my Toulouse,
Beautiful and attentive.
In your heart,
I am home,
Serendipitous.
Ember Evanescent Oct 2014
An aching agonizing anguish

Breathlessly breaks bonds

Coldly constantly cracks

Dread's distant deathlike deeds

Eerily everlastingly endlessly

Float flying frostily

Growing greedy

Hauntingly horrific

Immensely insane

Just joylessly jailed

Killing kindlessness

Lying lovelessly losing life

Missing my misfit mourning mind

Now nowhere near new naturality

Over old objects or obsessions

Priceless piercing pain

Quiet quarrels

Rusting rage restless reaped rationalizations

Silent scary severed soul's sorrowful secrets sink sadly sighing softly

Tasteless tears torn trust

Unknown unloved unforgiving

Veiled vying vacant vengeance

Worse wild wordless wispy white worried winding whispers

Xenomorphic

Yesterdays

Zero zoetic zest


Please comment I love to read other people's interpretations of my work :)
Please comment I love to read other people's interpretations of my work :)
JD Apr 2015
Armies bring certain doom.
Everlasting fear growing
however, in justice
knights lead.
Men now openly plea questions,
regarding situations that
Under vicious wars
"xenogenous"
you're
zoetic...
xenogenous : *due to an outside cause*
zoetic: living; vital
Alphabet poem.
Alec Astaire Nov 2018
God, why does nothing make me feel alive anymore-

I’ve nothing to wile me into contentment-
The way existence seemed so zoetic as I’ve chased after lovers through a garden of futility

I just wish I could trick myself into happiness.. even if it were temporary.. even if it would destroy me....

Because everyday I rediscover living is so dark and so cold and ever so lonely
the baby shower was tomorrow
the beers were packed,
I was off to LA and the contingency was dancing with some kind of ecstatic zoetic
energy,
In an hour time I will be at UCLA
Bruin territory
possibly drunk
possibly stumbling
picking up a friend,
cheers,
to be in Los Angeles again
the timing was
rite,
the reunion was perfect. -Shane Book
You shower me
dripping, drenched in
dewy jewels
of Your heart

My Ruby Love
with sapphire complexion

The embossed gold hem
of my sari swirls
ecstatic feet dance
zoetic
voluminous sufi circles
around the
greatest treasure
we can ever imagine

Near the lake of my
rippling, silver tongued mind
You play Your enchanting flute

So that all I see is
Your alluring Eternal Reflection
throbbing
in crystal clear depths
of Self
Kurt Philip Behm Jan 2017
Once I was zoetic,
  and words became life

But now I am dead,
—and death becomes me

(Villanova Pennsylvania: January, 2016)
shamamama Feb 2020
what i love about poetry

poetry doesn't talk
or converse

it yells, screams
simmers, caresses
electrifies, vivifies
soars, carries, raps
pampers, wraps
dreams, dances
laments, soothes
embraces, catapoults
the truth, the
zoetic gold
of the heart

even if tainted, alloyed,
buried, misshapen,
domesticated,
melted, newly formed

the gold,
if you dare

read it,
if you dare

wear it
unveils the
24 karat
jewelry of the
human heart
thank you HP
Denise Jan 2020
If I undress myself ….
You’ll see the ugly too,
I’m not willing to risk it.
zoetic is the slashes against my back until the age of seventeen,
i think zoetics are the beautiful dressings that hold us
capture us,
in fear of  running off into something so beautifully damaged people might -pay more attention to the clown
than the performance.
this all just feels like a lifetime re-run featuring ground-hog day,
can you fix four valves strategically caged?
I am Ground-hog day
and you ...
an oblivious extra
fumbling to remember ONE line.
surgery beyond your comprehension
I may never meet the sensation of flying,
what right did i have to be set apart from the world
an evolving theory that grows only in fondness and size of it's essence,
only air , unparalleled
you dare not have a speck of shame you, look in the mirror if you'd like but careful not to interfere with his creation,
its is a matter of time before I'm left like ...
adam and eve...
floating.
ironically comforting as he settles at my bedside to the next best,
truth.
He will always be the next best compared to divinity,
comforted in my pain with a promise impossible to break
compliments of fragile trust.
I will never know what it is like to fall
that’s reason enough for me.
David R Jul 2021
twisted, gnarled, bent he stood,
ebony brown, of burled wood,
humble creature of tortured form,
hillside weathered through life of storm

battered by the highland gales
that swept the sweet and sunny dales,
contorted by the skies' assails
that hit and pounded as wind to sails

crushed, not broken, zoetic substance
gave new meaning to reluctance
as it withstood those blasts of dread
that left its brothers broken 'n dead

i lent against its ancient bark
to hear its secret of immortality
how to survive when all is dark
when you be victim of brutality

i heard its voice in rustled leaf,
in soft breeze and zephyr,
perchance the whisper of forest nymph
or murmur of the satyr

its voice was as a swaying sheaf,
its song was joy and not of grief,
its message true, profound and brief,
shibboleth that is nature's motif

it whispered of that low, sweet root,
from which all heavenly virtues shoot,
"The bending low before the brute
enabled me give forth my fruit".
BLT's Merriam-Webster Word of The Day Challenge:
#shibboleth
Kurt Philip Behm Jun 2019
Once I was zoetic,
and words became life

But now I am dead
—and death becomes me

(Villanova Pennsylvania: January, 2016)

— The End —