A Poem Thread

God I'll Breath Life Into You

Sometimes
I look to find you
And something like a fire
Rises in my heart

Godshine
Lift me higher
Spark these embers
through dancing flame

shimmer me
into tranquility
of ethereal frequency

one taste, conciousness wakes
in transcendant space

this grace
I seek to realize

Godshine
light me through
unto bliss consistency

Spark these embers
through dancing flame
 
A REVISION

Panthalassa

There are oceans of the mind,
where gyres of fiercest frenzy
swirl, and thickened thoughts
turn waterspouts to snake the
dreams of voyagers there.

Amidst, the maelstrom’s serpent
touch, the eddying winds whisper
wild, carrying fork-tongued
promises, down to the lapis
sea.

Promises unreachable, promises of
shore, fathomless to fathoms it’s
singular and vast, one iris in an eye
of oceanic art.

And as the maddening motion dies,
there’s an ebbing of this Tethys tide.
And whitecap whirlpool, rapids ride
the passing of the storm.

On currents of cognition from watered
breaching minds; with wept storm,
sunken certitude as continents divide.

Possibilities float on to Pangaea in the east,
beached, beyond the limit of the ebb tide
of thoughts reach, to lie amongst the
whispers from the starfish at our feet.
 
If I could

I'd disappear
Evaporate
Into the wind

And there would not be me
No memories
Accumulated junk
Bad paintings
or wasted dreams,

One less broken being,

No useless potentials
and pointless sufferings,

Nobody to miss me or mourn me or long for my useless, weeping, and agonized presence.

One less waste of energy evaporating into the empty air with a broken sigh.
 
Conditions of Integrity.

Time you are difference,
hallows pretend.
once said 'good morrow' with housekeeping
masterie.
Relativity died..
the people were all people, some and
some and,,
hallows pretend,
of relativity as a god?!
Who said good morrow for justice sake once
was
he was a lonely candy
she was a telling actress...
tripping dishes..............................of
hallows pretend...

Time you are difference!...
i'll turn the pages'
of hallowed fiction
To be of your statis..Time
"good morrow" with relativity dead.
 
Lacquered Fingers

In a city, in a room, a bogong beats
the bulb; fluttering frenzied shadows
cast upon my yellow walls.

A counter point to metered thoughts
and silent primal screams, a moth blur
of like mortality within an amber dream.

Brush your hand against my face, my
forehead’s hot and sore. Let lacquered
fingers cool my toll of tired tendons
torn.

Kiss away my nightmares, cast your
fist against my storm, your sweet breath
is a tonic in this jaded maddened maw.

A young girl’s gasped desire in a room,
where shadows dance, to the beating of a
bogong against a lustrous filament.

And in the street, the summer heat will
meet the gloaming sky. Sending wafting
zephyrs to make our curtains fly.

Cast your fist against the wind let wicked
feels fly, let lacquered fingers draw
impassioned words on tendons torn.

The moth beats its head, until it’s all but gone,
it flutters as it dies, beneath its lustrous ball.

Burnt out with mortal certainty to our mutual
primal calls, echoing off the amber beams upon
my yellow walls.
 
Atomic Billiards


necessity & affordance asks

Choice is not want

Desire is to long for
Desire doesn't exist 'tis resolute mockery.

Passion is resolute of discovery
Passion doesn't exist 'tis
innocent function.


words create and destroy
reaction is theatric...what is answer.........................


Empirical studies of text,
interrelationship,
what is true...


Structure killed guilt, siamese twin of ethic
twin of kinetics.


Did Affine and to like replace love.

did resolute mockery kill a man woman or child in
innocence without structure..

Is longing convict,
and the theatre too dead or alive

Choice is not want
 
Oh God you bore me
could you quickly restore me?
I am calling the whore, me
no, don't let me score me
I am the so much better me
and you don't even want to see me
I'm just going to die to be me
You are nothing compared to me
you see? you see? you see?

:D
 
A Scotsman who lived near the Clyde
Fell into a cesspool and died
His less-than-smart brother
Fell into another
Ther verdict in both–sewer-cide.
 
The Kestrels Spiral.

Crystal bright in kestrel climes, a raptor
adapter for chivying minds, the chickpea
of a Horus eye; a kite fixed in my Austral
sky.

Tri-spiral grapnels will slide the breach, of the
lighthouses beaming lantern sweep, and rake
a lustrous rundle reach to feed a flighty falcon’s
beak.

The Southern Cross soon will frame her span,
above the cliff walked paths of man.
And when she dives down, when she lands:

She’ll take her kill in spiral hands, circled once
in a kestrels glance.

O’ turquoise is the Tasman Sea, where sea gulls
and cetaceans dream and ships will spy the
lighthouse beams, beyond the reach of kestrel
wings, and shouted cliff top suicide screams.
 
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Around the
Corner I have a friend,
In this great
City that has no end,
Yet the days go
By and weeks rush on,
And before I
Know it, a year is gone.
And I never see
My old friends face,
For life is a
Swift and terrible race,
He knows
I like him just as well,
As in the days
When I rang his bell.
And he rang
Mine but we were younger then,
And now we are
Busy, tired men.
Tired of
Playing a foolish game,
Tired of trying
To make a name.
'Tomorrow' I
Say! 'I will call on Jim
Just to show
That I'm thinking of him.'
But tomorrow
Comes and tomorrow goes,
And distance
Between us grows and grows.
Around the
Corner, yet miles away,
'Here's a
Telegram sir,' 'Jim died today.'
And that's what
We get and deserve in the end.
Around the
Corner, a vanished friend.

Remember to
Always say what you mean.
If you love someone, tell them.
Because when you decide that it is the right time it might be too late..

Seize the day.
Never have regrets.
And most importantly,
Stay close to your friends
And family, for they have helped
Make you the person that you are today.
 
REVISION


The Kestrels Beacon

Crystal bright in kestrel climes a raptor
adapter for chivying minds. The chickpea
of a Horus spy, fixed within in my Austral
skies.

Tri-spiral grapnels to slide the breach,
of the beacons beaming lantern reach.

It rakes a lustrous rundle sweep, spotted prey
to feed this falcon’s flighty beak.
The stars soon frame her feathered span,
above all-maddening paths and plans.

Till when she dives down, when she lands,
she’ll take her kill in twilight hands.
Early stars soon light a killers glance,
on this cliff top kestrel span.

Beyond this is the turquoise Tasman Sea,
where sea birds and cetaceans dream.

Where ships will spy these lighthouse beams,
beyond the reach of kestrel dreams, and shouted
cliff top suicide screams.
 
Operator

The fibers storm
as the theories form

At the intersection of A and B
characterized by uncertainty

Securing set after set
but have we met

Emma Nutt with ease
number please

Connect me to the Druids
through the extracellular fluids

Shall we expedite
from left to right

Yes, yes strum-strum
the corpus callosum

Sorry, but you’re of time
deposit another paradigm

Oh ye King of events
The Ruler of Malcontents

The electrical source
with chemical force

Your clouds lie low
as loops of causal flow

Attracting the dusty flux
but here lies the crux

A thought once taught
is a plot all for naught

There, there, Rafael
“All is Well”
 
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Hellenologophobia-
"tweaking paradigmns" is something I have written
-I liked Operator it is a crunchy poem :)
 
Prospect Street

There’s a One-Way sign on Prospect Street,
and a tabby cat often sleeps, on the genteel
window ledge with an overview.
On this glassy prospect seat, he spies the lonely
passers by, as springtime’s scented smiling sky
meets his honeyed diamond eye.

Deaths patrols this thoroughfare, he waits beside
the One-Way sign, and catches an occasional life
on Prospect’s junction every night.
Users steer up prospects climb; they screech their
frenzied diatribes. In which place does their essence
lie? It’s stardust in their veins.

May the mighty mind this curb; the prospects are
good. I have heard. But the dreams of avarice aren’t
enough, to stop the ticking of this clock.
Children run the pavement line. They play hopscotch,
clap and rhyme. They’ll skip before a fatal sign,
smiling as dark shadows climb.

Kisses too, have oft been spied, as couples walk this
meagre mile. But in the end, more tears are cried, on
a pavement by extinction’s line.

There is a sign on Prospect Street, and no one walks
against its tide, but what’s forgotten still abides within
the stare of a diamond eye.
 
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Connect me to the Druids
through the extracellular fluids
Click to expand...

You called?

My standard response to those who try to convert me to their belief system, is that I am a pagan druid. :D
 
Trooper said:
I love your play on words (Emma Nutt), well done.

http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Emma_Nutt...Nice!


I love poetry, Anew, and I’ve thoroughly enjoyed yours. Can you link me to "tweaking paradigms"?

Thanks for sharing.
Click to expand...
Thanks Tropper. :thankyou:
scheherazade said:
You called?

My standard response to those who try to convert me to their belief system, is that I am a pagan druid. :D
Click to expand...
But, but you didn’t include a sexy picture of a druidess.
smiley-sad023.gif
 
Hellenologophobia said:
But, but you didn’t include a sexy picture of a druidess.
Click to expand...

LOL.......I am sure that you are well able to google that. :D

Here are a couple of images that one might associate with a druidess. 'Sexy' is a subjective evaluation, which some characterize by display of physical attributes. I would suggest that 'sexy' is a function of mind.

druidess_by_orbisdeignis-d3dpwop.jpg


goddess-epona-amulet---celtic-horses_2.jpg
 
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