|
|
|
|
|
| Abstract Rhythms
Posted: 6/5/2007 9:53:04 PM | I’m but a naïve spirit…
Looking for the wits to betray
My better senses…flirting is too
Trivial, if I could touch, I surely
Would. I caught a smile, in the month
Of riddle. I wanted dearly to become
Human…to shed the caution, to smell
Her essence, to visit the sacred womb
Of fecundity. I am naïve! I sit watching
The fruitful heart tear, the wailing soul
Dance, as many apparitions visit the
Tabernacle on our behalf; right before
The seven candles that burn aside the altar.
I now segue! Into the vestibule I walk, though
But a vision, I can feel you, in spirit we touch
Making love forever. I am but a slave to this
Vision; the spectators watch, and in spirit, they
Begin to make love also. My strength is
Marcescent, but you revitalize me in chants
That besprinkle my mind transcending me into
A trance; we, there in this permanent trance…
Crossing over together locked forever as one…
Mystically transformed into Divinity’s elixir. | |
|
| Abstract Rhythms
Posted: 6/5/2007 9:57:58 PM |
Mystically transformed into Divinity’s elixir. You magnificent man you. | |
|
| |
| Abstract Rhythms
Posted: 6/6/2007 5:57:22 PM | no tear falls harder than the tear of a child
no sound tears deeper than the cry of the child
no truth strikes deeper than the words of a child
no smile is more contagiuos than that of a child
and no loss lasts longer than the loss of a child
strike hard thy hammer blow to the heart
rear back and throw the mass
behold my heart blackened now cast to glory of suns rays
and know what pain you spill with each ounce of blood that falls
for my pain is bore within my beingl
carried as a sorrowful reminder
forever a weight keeping me from flying with the night stars
an anchor as it be to the grave of my child
sollemn vessel resting deep within me
mere memories of the life that should have been
awaiting the day
when I shall rise to meet his soul
and my tedious journey shall end
shadowriter | |
|
| Abstract Rhythms
Posted: 6/6/2007 9:39:06 PM | Casting eyes forward trying to perceive
A glimpse of the future, a past to grieve
Hoping the future is better than that of the last
Or must we remain in the torment of a terrible past
The world is crumbling beneath our feet
There is contention of times and nothing’s complete
The world is at war and lives have been lost
Powerful men think they are right but the messages crossed
Each has a theory…beliefs of their own
But there are still markings on each tombstone
Like the past, it looks like the future remains
There will always be soldiers searching terrains
Chasing the men that have their beliefs
Books will fill with the history of these many motifs
Motifs of the powerful who think they are gods
Standing on the settlement of their unspeakable frauds
 | |
|
| Abstract Rhythms
Posted: 6/7/2007 7:31:17 AM | Ain't that the truth.
You speak for a lot of us TBP, I just hope that it is enough of us. | |
|
| Abstract Rhythms
Posted: 6/7/2007 8:52:33 AM | Shadowriter, once again, a most thought filled poem.
Triplebp: faceless and wise; this poem is powerful.
I thank you both for sharing here. | |
|
| Abstract Rhythms
Posted: 6/7/2007 10:09:17 AM |
There is an old medicine about how the bad reality can be flipped into the good one.
tell us a story, Ravin.....I love parables..... | |
|
| Abstract Rhythms
Posted: 6/8/2007 11:42:10 PM | Forgive me for then…
Nicotine sought repentance
Lost in wrecked nerves, breaking out
In hives, eczema inflamed arms
And a scar that assaults the gods
But still the ashes besprinkle the mind
With peace, though she was my needled
Filled vein, I loved her in the core of
The darkness, even unto her bed made
In the farrow, where the pigs find comfort
In the mud
Benumbed, trekking upon aporetic mazes
I find mother’s soul afflicted by dementia
I’m too young to find father, and the rail
Road tracks are far too dangerous in the night
Through the alleys I trotted, mental spotted
Allotted the Arhat inheritance, but still thirsty
For a fountain that no longer lingers along side
The purities of the calm, this is my paradox
Exhumed from my decadent cabinet in the woods
I sought out perfervidly the last saint to ever
Afresh the earth, in awakened spirit, I heard the
Ascetic wails, the unutterable tales, I met the face
Of hell | |
|
| Abstract Rhythms
Posted: 6/9/2007 3:33:37 PM | Here!
In the achromatic projects,
Somewhere yonder the
Forgotten people; here,
Heaps of trash Just festers
In the parks. Here, there are
No lotus flowers! And
Enlightenment, nirvana,
Freedom from the slums,
This is your reality, not ours!
I’m a child here,
Rummaging freely through
The neighborhood’s abandoned
Buildings here, here where the
Echoes of Gregorian Chant are
Foreign, abstract to the ears of
Impoverished children.
Here, whereupon broken glass
Lay open, hope-filled bibles
Which speak upon miracles,
Promises, and the freedom of a
Heavy laden people from the
Great Diaspora.
Yes, here, the bible is open as
Mother leaps from the fifth floor
With her new born baby gripped in
Her screaming palms, headed for the
Pavement of the projects, here, the
Revolving memorial…where one
Candle burns, burns!!! until the flame
Is quenched! | |
|
| Abstract Rhythms
Posted: 6/9/2007 4:14:34 PM | Wow.........
I am speechless ......that write above me is powerful, heartwrenching.....first time in here "niave".....looks like I have some reading to do. | |
|
| Abstract Rhythms
Posted: 6/9/2007 10:13:43 PM | And here at this place....
Foolish pride
packed up long ago...
No room inside....
Left on the doorsteps
that others use as a welcome mat
as permission to dominate
towering above
overshadowing
all that lies beneath....
And here at this place,
feeling confused and torn
by the social winds
that only touch down
just long enough to toss
the extended hand into orbit
with unearned immunity
and freedom to ignore....
And here at this place
on a nearby nightstand
one may find a book
of poetry,
inspiration,
hope,
philosophy,
morals and ethics...
all beautifully woven together
in one...
And here at this place
where the table is fully decorated
with adversity
through life changes
in a world where change is inevitable,
balance is a life lesson learned
with every storm endured....
And as the child sits at this fully decorated table
embracing the spark of hope through a mother's eyes
here at this place
is where heroes are found...
heroes,not for the way one died
but heroes because of the way one lived....
And here at this place....
because of the wounds
of the one that has gone before us....
there is hope
in moments of despair
and one is healed....... | |
|
| Abstract Rhythms
Posted: 6/9/2007 10:19:27 PM | Absolutely fabulous casheyes...truly a wonderful write....each line took me to the next wanting to read more. Great piece of work.
Bravo.....bravo!! | |
|
| Abstract Rhythms
Posted: 6/9/2007 11:08:13 PM | God and Goddess i love this thread. Wow. I sooo needed those reads tonight. I'm in one of the bad ones.
But I know what to do here. I have lots of Grandmothers.
So a parable.
The Grandmothers tell us
That there are infinite possibilities around us
That surround us
With choice.
A choir in all one voice
A great revolving
Evolving medicine wheel
That you can feel
Moving within all
Kaleidoscopal
Visions.
And there are divisions
Between each reality base
Membranes held in place
By beliefs and attitude.
No longitude or latitude
But space infinitely alive
With awareness.
The grandmothers tell us
That our intentions can shift us
From one cell they lift us
To another, good or bad
Like frogs on the lily pads
The lotus leaves of gateways
Rising from the mud they show
Us the uncharted waters below.
And we flow with our senses
Build up defenses
And try to gain control
Of our realities
Forcing banalities
And sleepwalking upon ourselves
No one delves
Into the Gap far enough
To ever find love
Again.
We’re scared stiff to move from here
There’s too much fear
Of flying
Or dying
Again.
The grandmothers tell us
That there is always a moment
When the sharp pain in your heart could be
The heart attack striking and this would be
Your last day, your turn
Or it could just be heart burn.
A moment when the call in the night
Was a wrong number called
Or the police involved
In an accident with your son
And no one
Can turn it back once you’ve gone
To the wrong
Reality.
You just got to stumble your way back out
And do not ever doubt
Your ability
To spin reality
Around.
The Grandmothers tell us
We are here to flip realities
Take our light out of the bad ones
The sad ones
Where horror grows fat on the feast
Sign of the beast
Devouring light.
And it’s a fight
To get your light
Out of there
And back where
It belongs. We all have to make a bridge
It’s a privilege
To do so
To help show
A way back home.
Because you see it’s this way
Those places only stay
When we feed them our fear or our shame
And when we use blame
To escape it, it backfires
And all desires
Are extinguished forever
In that never
Ending hell of despair.
So be aware
That what you’re doing there
Is getting you out
And never doubt
Your way back in.
The Grandmothers tell us
We are light weavers weaving
Molecular patterns by believing
That we can. | |
|
| Abstract Rhythms
Posted: 6/10/2007 9:40:14 AM | Ravin...if that's what comes from a "bad one".....I can't wait to see what follows a good one!
another beautiful write...loved it totally! | |
|
| Abstract Rhythms
Posted: 6/10/2007 9:56:39 AM | | Cash Eyes and Ravin, wonderful words of truth......very well put!.......Naive, truth too, but sad truth......I'm hoping we can change the world one day, so no one despairs to that extent......... | |
|
| Abstract Rhythms
Posted: 6/10/2007 10:01:38 AM | Torment
lament,
political upheaval,
like a boweevil,
in a killing ground,
found,
yet cloaked in mocking
talking,
to suppress
the mess,
and throw off
the hounds
out of bounds
of the truth. | |
|
| Abstract Rhythms
Posted: 6/10/2007 11:33:43 AM | Thank you, Wicked Wabbit: you are such a vote of encouragement and motivation.
Casheyesblond; it’s amazing what the eyes can actually see…penetrating the appearance, thus, tapping into the reality. This is a marvelously wonderful poem.
Ravin;
‘space infinitely alive
With awareness.’
‘The lotus leaves of gateways
Rising from the mud they show
Us the uncharted waters below.’
‘sleepwalking upon ourselves’
‘You just got to stumble your way back out’
These lines hit hard. And every line concerning light hits hard. I know, I believe, I know, which grandmothers you are referring to; May the Mother of the Universe soon lighten the load.
Brizo. All of these dear to heart poets are truly mind blowing!
Mandrake; you are the political one. There’s a bite in your poems; an eye opener in everyone! | |
|
| Abstract Rhythms
Posted: 6/10/2007 11:47:17 AM | | Thank you NW. Everyone here is a teacher, and you are one of them. I am still learning and feeling my way. | |
|
| Abstract Rhythms
Posted: 6/10/2007 7:51:34 PM | | Me too. Thank you so much for the heart here. Faith restoring, waterfall to a thirsty desert tonight. | |
|
| Abstract Rhythms
Posted: 6/10/2007 8:03:30 PM | derailed rhapsody of fallen foe
twixt the realms of light and darkness
in the plaines where shadows cast long in faithless diment
wrapped deeply in the shed skins of yesterdays serpant
release thy passions upon the bearer of the fruit
the the holder of the apple holds the truth of the world
fallen angel of blackness soul
reahing hard from his fiery home
burning hand branding the souls of all he touches
fleeting moments temptuos thoughts
silent weapons the snare thee of little faith
thunderous glee of victors song
derailing the fallen foe
of when'st there be of doubt in tempation lie
lead forth the faith in angel wing of micheal's tune
behold elcahs raging horn
defening out the drum roll of the viper of the garden
tempation cast as is he who tempts
fallen anger fall harder upon the rejection of mankind
and feel the anger of the chekanah chairs fury
fire down on thy bitter tounge and blinded eyes of resentment and fury
resist the soul of the fallen serpant and taste not of the fruit
but rather the glory of the gifts that mankind does bare
in the garden of our birth
in the garden of our decent
shadowritter | |
|
| Abstract Rhythms
Posted: 6/10/2007 8:24:58 PM | A shadow cast within my eyes
Shading darkness memory lies
Lost deep within a broken heart
Looking for somewhere to start
Carrying forward lost in time
Forgetting love’s fatal crime
A crime of passion within its right
Holding on so gently tight
To a past…locked within
Hoping for a new love to begin
Wanting, waiting for all measure
For that distant past’s gentle pleasure
To begin and become something new
A tender love so gentle…so true
Offered to so very few…..
| |
|
| Abstract Rhythms
Posted: 6/10/2007 9:05:47 PM | Mandrake, Ravin: believe me, us being able to share this space together is totally amazing, I get a great deal from what we have here. I thank you both in return!
Shadowriter; I thought to myself just now, while reading your poem: ‘this poet must have an extensive background in classical studies’. You place in your poems so many allusions! It’s difficult to keep up, but I enjoy investigating, and learning different pieces of literature. It’s always a pleasure!
Triplebp: I’m thinking this poem has a great deal to do with forgiveness!
It most certainly has to do with love, and the rarity of one finding true love.
Love is a spectacular feeling, somewhat frightening, but so rewarding. | |
|
| Abstract Rhythms
Posted: 6/10/2007 9:29:48 PM | N&W sometimes I get lost in the words and forget that I am writing ...more so the words ussually come as mere thoughts that evolve as I write.. I truely adore the works of Milton...Keats...and Longfellow ... and also the old testiment.....
I sense a strong background in your works also there are occasionaly references that I too need to research...thanks..I always love learning new things
here's a little something not of the norm for me
as fallen dew forms crysteline bead
cast in shear gentle reflection of the passing moment
a serene mood settles also upon the heart of the lonely soul
reflections of life shine deep in the drop
a kiss
a gentle carress
of life against living
sweet moment
carry forth this heart
into the realms of unknow hope
forgotten past and
forever dreaming
falling deeper into the moment
gently awash within myself
shadowriter | |
|
| Abstract Rhythms
Posted: 6/10/2007 10:49:47 PM | Shado...dear old friend,as always^^^^....kewl writes everyone...alot of energy
Just like a fine instrument
that plays a beautiful melody,
one always anticipates the sound....
But sometimes natural faculties
overshadow
those things that only the spirit
can hear and understand... | |
|
|
| Page 38 of 73
|
33, 34, 35, 36, 37, 38, 39, 40, 41, 42, 43, 44, 45, 46, 47, 48, 49, 50, 51, 52, 53, 54, 55, 56, 57, 58, 59, 60, 61, 62, 63, 64, 65, 66, 67, 68, 69, 70, 71, 72, 73 |
|
Home
login 
