This Tragic Lovelife

Because I love my life,
all my secret dreams are shadowed in my reality Now
and I see This-a secret I keep,
I feel its loss and know This solidifies This sentiment.
I cherish the fragility
manifest in created destinies, like these
small acts greater than one's capacity,
to acknowledge
-This is Happy-
and Then
there is little me in big denial
smiling from year to year
at the missed opportunity
of being present-ly and ceremoniously
single.

Because I hate myself,
all my good intentions rot and fester in Dis-regard,
and I see that I am not alone in this,
that makes me yearn for more silence
and To Be Better
than I am
to me
We should agree to disagree
like both sides of me
in equality.


Image By Currier & Ives [Public domain], via Wikimedia Commons.

Sharp Nows

They lived and died this way
worried all the while
about living right
and terrified of dying
and yet full motions
are always only temporary.

Just like thoughts
are born and die too soon...
So they too dreamt the night away
where nobody could say
it was impossible.

Living for today, they say,
be in the moment,
where you are contained
and less than aware
of faces, that look-
like yours.



Image by Howard Pyle (1888), [Public domain], via Wikimedia Commons.

All in a day

Will it ever cease?
The stars don't give up to-day.
Lumens were simply a clue
of brighter futures
not a past promise
for ever.



Image By Internet Archive Book Images, Cornell Poetry Anthology, 1920 [No restrictions], via Wikimedia Commons.

Blending in

Greyscale is more than
black and white values, showing
a com-par-i-son.



Image By Internet Archive Book Images [No restrictions], via Wikimedia Commons. 

Life and letters of John Constable, R. A (1896)

Quicksand

Since poetry is up to interpretation, meaning-wise-
how does the poetry reader understand the Poet's intent
with certain-T's like Truth and Tale
divided unevenly...
Mostly, we knew the poet forgets these two
So how does a semblance come together as a sense
of justice, (common sense) or was it just us
who smiled at the cool plums...

Electromagnetism asserts its charge,
Gravity resists a zero,
the Poet's ears are taut
the words that wobble and worry
about none
poetic and pathetically undone
in ink.
Welcome All.
Let that sink in, a lifeline.
Try this barefoot
with a poem,
touch the earth with your toes-
read it again, it will tell you
its potent-ialities
softly, poetry
tart and juicy.



Painting by Ilya Repin, Tolstoy Barefoot, 1901 [Public domain], via Wikimedia Commons.

Orbit-uary

This again,
In
and spin-ning helix twirlex wound around
centripetal journeys sheered off at the base.
A tetrahedron and gone on and on
as origami is.
Ripples widen the longer we wait,
the in-between
to each his own vibrational state,
one is a wave of itself of
meeting ledges and
recombining in rings
that sing all the chimes notes
and signals the fade away
into the end of the echo,
just so
we should know
it was all said before
ideas take in shapes and sides
based on the circumsphere
we hear-
here ehoes.



Image created By Perditax (Own work) [CC0], via Wikimedia Commons. (Gorceixite crystal).

Cryptic

The higher you rise
up where
the air thins out-
this is where the words find shape,
and demonstrate a sense of self
in clouds, collectively
condensed.
As stars do-to become
the letters eloped without utensils-
or implements, lightly
from thin air, trace
this thinking feeling is rain...
Astrologically out of touch
with dark matters, in suspense
hanging on the line-
elliptic.
I will wait and watch warrily,
until next time.
See you
around.



Painting By Henry John Stock (1853 – 1930) (Blouin Art Sales Index) [Public domain], via Wikimedia Commons.