| Abstract Rhythms
Posted: 11/11/2007 5:06:01 PM | Photic motion
Restoring what was once asthenia
The aplomb sought without grasp
This Karnac walk through the cave of you
Every step is a cutting twinge
Tearing soul asunder
But seismically the motion wends
Making sulphur that once lingering Laodicean
This cul-de-sac the shattered romance
The apogee of torment
This non-disconnect of us | |
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| Abstract Rhythms
Posted: 11/11/2007 9:40:17 PM | I need a hatbox
don't box me in
the confines of
your squared edges
too sharp
to suit
my curving
morality
don't you know
complacency
is a
bondage?
made small
by comfort
my mongrel heart
discerns the trap
snatching bait
before the latch
is snapped
LS 11/04/07
om's palms, daily poet | |
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| Abstract Rhythms
Posted: 11/12/2007 8:19:15 AM | | hey brizo! i was snatched into this one. i thank you for stopping by. it's always a pleasure. | |
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| Abstract Rhythms
Posted: 11/13/2007 8:37:34 PM | Life it seems turns in time
Lost in motion of the gentle grind
Spinning in the cosmos belt
A spinning motion never felt
Circling worlds we may never know
Amongst the stars and a blinding glow
Warming up the sands of time
Conjuring up the mind’s sublime
 | |
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| Abstract Rhythms
Posted: 11/15/2007 8:09:19 PM | accendent demise
raise the arms of prostrate void
across the gaf to toward the skies
in search of creadulous repentend toil
demise by day fall
death by night
eclipse of reason and glorious spoil
there by lies the gate to time
across the desert sands
Erg Chebbi remindent sight
of demise of weary mothers plight
awaken sun to pewter skies
where truth ecapes deminished hopes
away upon the desert sands
barren life
leppers hands
useless tools to ply the earth
demon cast of scurgeous curse
alight the nighfall sunrise hopes
acendent weath of measure post
demise by thy own define
tunic soiled in bloodfilled dreams
where lambs blood flows across threashhold
escape demise
by angel told
arise again in glorious name
accend the sunrise on gloden clouds
rise in accendent demise | |
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| Abstract Rhythms
Posted: 11/15/2007 9:47:48 PM | The Depth of Emotion
If I could only measure the depth of my fear
I know its measurements would astound oceanographers
If I could record the elevation of my hopes
I am sure it would baffle the greatest geographers
Who have analyzed the breadth and height of the himalyas themself
And have climbed the rockies and slept in her shelves
I know the knowledge found therein would break new ground
Unravel new energies besides light and sound
The depths of emotion are a power unto themselves
Still wild and unharnessed, true natural wealth... | |
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| Abstract Rhythms
Posted: 11/15/2007 11:01:48 PM | The earth moves with tremendous force
Spinning through space maintaining its course
Sheltered in rhythm through space and time
Movement so effortless as if in its prime
To the contrary of its ultimate age
Glancing forward the future to presage
Within a million or a billion of years
Blazing the future of countless frontiers
This is the vigor within the universe
Contained in the mind for all to traverse
| |
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| Abstract Rhythms
Posted: 11/17/2007 9:41:20 PM | and again, here i sit musing over the art herein depicted.
these writes are mentally moving. and i thank you each for posting them here. | |
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| Abstract Rhythms
Posted: 11/17/2007 10:32:50 PM | Retrospective digress!
Words became the study of me,
My private Aristotelian contemplation.
But too, NeoPlatonism furnished the mental.
Hence, Armageddon’s revelation.
The envy of the dark is
The light of the soul
Striking throughout the
Intellectual snows
Where hatred is stoned
In hearts of men
The demon’s home
Within the crimson glen
Do tell of a vine
Designed unto life
In midst no strife
Of light given wine
The sought of insight
My conventional climb
We thought it glee
To see the touch of self
Without the evasive cling
The unsung Tao of help…
But only embraced
The skeleton faced
The walk of water
Through slaughter
The ascending faith
And I search
The awaited birth. | |
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| Abstract Rhythms
Posted: 11/17/2007 10:53:30 PM | Despite emancipation.
Thoughts -
They walk arrear me -
Unpaid for -
The open sore of me.
Let repent the culpable
Path through aftermath
Of woe - let the signet of
Sin perish beneath his bask -
Let the flower atop the sun grow.
And I thought forevermore -
Espying the symbol of wisdom
Lock’d within the crystal prism
Of mythical folklore the spirit war.
Thereafter Satori
Unexplain’d
The broke of pain -
But the linger -
It’s there -
My specter’s flame. | |
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| Abstract Rhythms
Posted: 11/17/2007 11:05:43 PM | yes
... so is the flame ignited in it's initial death
unknown
before this quench
we run
in from pain
sane with burning
to set us free...
everything
| |
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| Abstract Rhythms
Posted: 11/17/2007 11:27:53 PM | ^^^wow! you see! and everything there written affected the heart.
i do hope to read your work again! | |
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| Abstract Rhythms
Posted: 11/17/2007 11:28:14 PM | Woman of intellectual passion.
But an idyllic climb from touch –
The rush of streams unseen but
There – right aside the heart of us.
Without the fear we stare into motion –
And though we lust the essence –
We avoid the potion –
The quintessence of agony borne.
I mourn this shattered pause –
Gleaning the crops of mirages
Camouflag’d within the wombs of mistresses.
I kiss of what’s invisible – hook’d to the sky –
Descend’n rapidly from illusion… – the
Disillusion’d of me!
Grasp a tear of awaken’dment –
The only nonword the give of light.
She smiles without movement –
The heartfelt plight in the eyes of glint –
And herein was the sought of sight –
Our passionate blaspheme upon the day of lent. | |
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| Abstract Rhythms
Posted: 11/17/2007 11:38:11 PM | there settles an alchemic day
where the elixer is
trickster
I fear
therefore returns
false with recourse ... approaching mad
really...
this is only
the beginning
of something...
bigger
I'm afraid
. | |
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| Abstract Rhythms
Posted: 11/17/2007 11:46:22 PM | Unanchored soul the I
Search’n afraid to see
The truth
As it appears in riddle
my first breath | |
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| Abstract Rhythms
Posted: 11/18/2007 12:35:49 AM |
abstract my resolve
find my utterly inescapable
soil
rich with weeds
and wildwood ways
and then
hold it against me
for it is the most beautiful thing
to become
resolved
. | |
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| Abstract Rhythms
Posted: 11/20/2007 5:07:09 AM | ^^^^^^^^ you have me wondering. i thank you.
.....and i sit in ponder
the mental galaxy
sweet to a thought
afloat the last prayer | |
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| from the attic
Posted: 11/20/2007 5:12:21 AM | Poetry 2
Cold and fickle,
Feckless and subtle,
It’s a vibe, a chide of
Review thoughts; and
I laugh no more. | |
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| from the attic
Posted: 11/20/2007 5:18:09 AM | We smile through
The many fukk yous.
And I felt prickles.
We are but philosophers…
A twisted lot!
Through sleight we vex…
We affront… it’s an
Intellectual flex. Have you
The subtle skill? It’s a
Phrase. It awakes the mind
Hours later. It’s the
Psychology of epiphanies!
He said something. She
Meant more than said.
And rhapsodic we are
To distort a sentence. | |
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| from the attic
Posted: 11/20/2007 5:27:31 AM | Philosophers upfront!
Recondite language
Roué gestures
And risqué innuendos
It’s the raiment of banter
Quasi-offensive deliveries
The appeal of hostility
But grip to poise
Stare upon a thought
Capture that said
Then ask for clarity
The aforesaid usually
Reverses the unease
A countenance sheds
Pride easily
It’s called discomfort
| |
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| from the attic
Posted: 11/20/2007 10:57:00 AM | Lets call it " Wheres the Beef "
All that ever fell wasnt rain, or too old to kiss you back
All we never tell or explain, lies in living or the lack
more than once we find ourselves while chasing down another
like dogs and cars, the new a lure, .god or demon under cover
what more we find to matter makes us see,
the path what is .must take to what will be | |
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| from the attic
Posted: 11/21/2007 7:46:03 AM | | Transcend.... greetings! i enjoyed reading the intricate expression above. i'm sure to read it several more times. | |
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| from the attic
Posted: 11/21/2007 6:59:42 PM | Truth.
The smell of musk, is
within my petit dream;
an unsilent scream made
silent, my petit life…, and
the deposit of misery at
its origin…, it’s a smile
that cracks to me…, a motion
that pauses…, the sorrows of
a child’s heart to me…, and
I can but help to find it…, my
petit thirst for truth. | |
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| from the attic
Posted: 11/22/2007 5:55:52 AM | ii
The shed of the dead…
Something deep within
My scream… be it art that
I die to…. Be it poetry,
That I resurrect within. | |
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| from the attic
Posted: 11/22/2007 6:02:18 AM | iii
No more the lust/
Let it perish/
But still/
Therein I touch/
That, that has no grasp | |
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