Tuesday, November 23, 2010

Blue, Brown Eyed Innocence

In days as bright and full of sight.
When long is short as wrong is right.
Her beauty's stride breathing
might o'er all the night .

A guide of glimmer from heavon's
tapestry of delight. When sad is
glad and pain be pleasure.

Then she appears a celestial form,
watched by the moon the stars,
and giuded by the Heavons bright.
Exalted roses, throwing wayward
their scent as beauty scaths the air.

Brown eyed and blue,
brown hair of earthly tones
thru fancy's of hearts longing to
be painted with innocence.

Like a dew that blankets a forests
floor at dawns first warmth of light.
The Blue washes over her in
wrenching waves. A storm of
sadness envelopes her spirit.

Drenching and relentless
It pounds her sensual sincerity.
Like a shore battered and eroding;
she succumbs to the tortures' of
her, blue-torment.

Her steps as quick of her retreat
From cautious lives she will
never meet to anxious suitors
whos hearts she aimlessly
shall defeat.

The nook of sanctity's sane-
comfort and of melancholy
joys, the fruits of sorrows past.

Her boosom thus a shrine
to love. An awkward place
where none abide, and she
alone does pay a price of
lonely splender; she keeps
where not a sound is heard,
in a boosom- deaf, to feel.

This apparition drifts alone.
a ghostly figures sillouhette.
Soft It's outline vague,
over cast in sight.
From loves muted- chorus
of right. A singular past.

Brown eyed and blue;
brown hair of earthly
tones thru fancys
of hearts longing too.
She bides her time till life
runs softly thru.
And keeps the promise that
she pay her', loves eternal due.

Sunday, November 21, 2010

Watch for Me

The world and everything in it feeds me with a passion to know it. And the way we use it to get from one place to the next. Planes, trains and automobiles move us from one point to another in our busied lives.
We Communicate with cell phones and computers anywhere and at anytime making distances and the spaces between them insignificant . Yet, we fail at times to hear what others want us to know, and what we  can share, to help us feel with them for a time.

Here on the internet our words; become the,” things we drive” , to get us from one place to the next. The vehicle that carries our thoughts and ideas to each other. Sometimes the engines that drive them end up being to loud with the sound of their momentary importance and they keep us from hearing, “the who”, of what we wanted to feel and then we lose,” the with”, of the thing that moves us all-LOVE.


Pushing keys to convey to you what I want to say gets,” lost in the here” and drowned in  the realism’s brought on by everything that catches my attention and diverts it before I can say what I mean. Instead  I start feeling and end up dreaming.
Then I am taken to this place where I need to own your nature and command its innocence and fell your inhibitions till you consume me so completely that,"my mind knows what to feel and my heart what to think", and then the things onward delve from the pleasant bliss of my time," up there" where the rocks and the beasts of the field are beautiful, where the music and every word radiates from my dreamy notions of you while the central tenets of ;  time, reason and rhyme flow with me.
Lyrics of songs, ( I can take the rain…every once in a while… I pretend I’m ok…never knowin what coulda been…) take on the meaning of your image. All I see when the words reach my ears are you and hearing my fingers at this moment orchestrate the symphony of the labors of every thing I feel for you while its played out through my soul. Things flow to my mind, “ like a fluid in movement ” then splash on the screen and  stain it with the pain,  pleasures and triumphs of my motions in this celestial state, to leave an imprint of you here for the world to FEEL as I do now. Blinded with emotion and painting you on the canvas of forever so future generations will  say,  “Surely this poet lies. Such touches, never touched earthly graces”.

Monday, November 15, 2010

The Rush of Needing to Feel

Purposeful passions pleasantly painting pictures playing a profound ponderousness with your pulchritude give a flow to my thoughts and feed me with an actionable passion to paint you with, “words“. Each stroke when placed together in gestures of selfless adjuration, force in me a rush of needing to feel. Thoughts pass from my heart to my mind and then are placed here by my hand as they; become at times a ,” flowing rage of emotion”. Like a river that runs deep and hard, leaving its edges and flooding the screen in front of me. A torrent of current sweeping me with it in the seconds and minutes that pass while the,” wondrous gracious nature of you”, inspires me in the ebb and flow of the moment. Through it- I am funded with the torturous tastes of a ,“sweet innocence” I can never own.

Now after I have had another springtime of my loving, a worsening season I am soon to know. When the seeing to feel you, with most of my being. Starts to calm like a subtle rain bringing the, quiet comfort of the known, while a storm is moving away in the distance.

Caring cautions calm callous codifications causing complications change  my expectations of passions rationalizations and lead me inside myself. Thoughts tempered to guide my reflections are moments I live to know. The was of then I now drink with my pains pleasure. Reliving in fine detail hurts drenching flow, falling down and running  over me.


                                             






                                                                   
                                                                       

Sunday, November 14, 2010

I Wonder

I wonder what I said? I wonder what I did? When I did it? Stupid me!
I know nothing of the nature of this cause and its effect on my simple character or for the discomfort you may have. So I languish with an ill feeling of loss for direction and a longing to that calmer respite brought about by your friendship. Which since has been eroded like the shores that meet at the waters edge. Knowing your here gives me some small comfort ; still I find it hard to keep my fingers from forcing the keys to message you; yielding to my desire, "to not place my trust in my feelings again", and pushing you further away. I just keep coming on here and- I WONDER.
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I hoped the earnest praise of your pulchritude and a shared affection for the mutual newness we had along with the kindness and care of a friend would be enough to, help you feel with me for something new and exciting. Instead It made you withdraw to your inner self, away from the prying eyes of this," praise foolish affectioner". Help me understand angel - Do you bore from the suggestive ramblings of this half hearted muse caught up in a moment filled with the sound of his own delight? Then again; as now - I Wonder.
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You resist my frail attempts at holding your attention for very long and guiding your emotions for our mutual benefit. Your very bright - as well as a warm soulful personality ; but its your weary self deriding passion that’s got me puzzled. I know you feel, I just don’t know what helps you do it. Still though I wonder and I hope your passions have faded and you find comfort in the new quiet of separation. I am trying to cause myself to lessen those fancy notions of your image and the rush of my wonder for and about you.
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My wonder brings me back here again ; to,” when I could feel you posting”, and see your emotions in the threads. Here in this instant, among the letters and words that make up your thoughts. I am drawn to the ,“light” of your personal touch. “The familiar”, of a bright warmth that washes over me in waves and falls around me and fills this place with the comfort of wonder for you.
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Giving rise to,” the needing”- I ponder in the sane recess of my mind away from your ephemeral luminosity. Posts roll past me, unable to affect my conscionable self interest ,”you“. Logging into another sight I hope for an accident that will catch the fray of my wonder lust and give relief to this blight. I am unable to find a replacement or a momentary diversion for this longing : To know you, as I feel you. So I wander. Until the wonder of your personal touch draws me back to the nearness of
“This Place”.
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Hi angel. I missed you and the light of your passion and the touch of your nature and its cause on my simple character. And the rush of needing to feel with you for a time. This was a work of pleasureable wonder for me. These many labors of knowing you and helping you to be the canvas of my prose. Using our words to form pictures into meanings, and making each one from strokes painted with your beauty so that our care and kindness could keep the portrait of this, “Our moment” a thing that will last beyond the treasure of what was.
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This was supposed to be like , "This Place". A refuge both real and elusive that bound us to the affairs at heart and helped foster a trust that grew beyond our experiences and back. Help me to understand - What constitutes rational passions? I have to know you? I have to feel you?I have to tell you? These things I considerd, and find to me so personal - " Yet ours" . You I must share ,"a friend I can never know".
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Willful intentions turned to misspelled needs and a storm of togetherness moving off in the distance.
Leave us helpless, in the wake of a moment per chance, bathed in happen stance and lost to the conduits of fortune and pain .Work produces error, its labor seems for little. Still your beauty captivates and behaves in me the wildest fashions I have- never known. I must beg to take an absence from the follies of this- OUR WONDER- and calmly insist the job of binding our trust can best be performed by a division of labors, each attending to the other .
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You asked me once, “ Why Me”? I thought it was your steps away from the storm of my wanting that caused this preoccupation with , the reason of you. Like the woman in the poem : “Her steps as quick of her retreat from cautious lives she will never meet to anxious suitors who’s hearts she aimlessly shall defeat.” I found the answer in a time when the wonder-ness,“of this” was struck with contemplation and shown in the reflection of truth . It is,"Because you let me“.
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Soon with, time, distance and shielding we both will be protected from each others seething passions and the,"then of what was",will be a place in time that exercises its hurt when we have occassion to let it into our thoughts. Don't let the fallout ruin your image of , "that moment when best you felt and let down the will to your sorrows", and gave love a chance to heal the nature of wounds since past, that gave you hope, and still showers us with- WONDER.
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NOW I am the one who feels lost, rejected and in despair from your," chorus of passions and their muted delight". Spirals in lessons that only bring states lower and still less, than before. Depths to which I am unaccustomed in my personal experiences. These teachings mostly ready one to be lead; because of desire and want of submission or be held in contempt for retributions sake. Then I say, down we must go. Confronting our wonder.



Saturday, November 13, 2010

Changes In Waves

The flux of now is a constant movement that’s back and then away
eventually coming to be the time we will soon live, made rational thru our past.
In waves things change moving us in the sway of the was an soon to be. Gentle motions of being in the here and now cause us to respond to the forces and events in our lives. Ever changing from the past to the future we move in it , like a sea of grass. Constantly swaying , our motions total a rhythm metered against the,” sand of life running thru the hour glass of time". Waves of change from one person affecting another till taken as a whole,” we are likened to tall blades standing together in the field of the human condition “.
Forming torrents of unison and rolling with and against the specter in the splendor of life, we ultimately act together. Living separately and causing our changes to come in waves.