Best Imminence Poems
Tonight I’m in my element
I sense the power surging
To place of imminence
Taking control
I will whisper my demands
Into your soul
You will be transformed, Woman
I will make you
The Mistress of the Night
I start my transformation
By visiting your lips
I cherry stain them
I enable them to turn seductress
With a smile to beguile, I grace you
You will part them to whisper
Words that will render him weak
Helpless at your feet
I will bless your lips
Tonight I’m in my element
I will tangle my beauty in your hair
Leaving my essence in it
The virgin softness of silk
The scent of summer dreams
The strength of the bonds of love
The flowing movements of liquid passion
His hands will feel my presence
Drawn to these tresses
I will move them
To touch and caress
And at my height of domination
His hands will tug and pull
His lips taste the strands
Inhaling me…
Listen, I am Desire
I Speak
I am in my element
Let me caress your form, woman
Your skin I will soak with my wine
Spilling myself all over you
To make you sweet to his taste
His tongue will be filled with me
As his mouth takes you in and travels
To those places where I lead
For I know your form well
And what pleases you
With essence that inebrites
Your navel will hold him for a while
Until I move him to taste inside
Cherry sweetness of my smile
Opened wide
I am in my element
I am Desire
I speak
Woman,
I have visited and ravished you
You still quiver from my touch
I've empowered you
Made you a goddess
A Goddess of love
A Passion Queen
Conquer him and subjugate
For I am Desire
I demand it
Remember my name
You will cry it out in ecstasy
When you come into your glory
When I am fulfilled
I will quietly leave
Like a soft evening breeze
Until I visit you again
I now kiss your lips
Where his taste still lingers.
Eileen Manassian
She lets me put violets in her hair,
good-humouredly, calls me Ophelia
in such a way that I spout, But Shakespeare
pushed war, not love. Resplendent, Thalia
strolls the peaceful paths of Victoria Park,
taken with the interplay of people,
the signs of change, bridges like love at work;
Often, her hands become divine steeples
of calm prayer. Yet there is imminence
heard in fervencies, a tremendous will
wrought with words of truth and tolerance
that dare to preserve all that is spiritual.
Three share our views in comfortable silence,
Me, hope and a Goddess of Non-Violence.
*For Catie
Five after four in the morning. Night-sweats
rumple silk bed sheets. Vague cusp ‘tween night and day
blurs chiseled contours of sanity’s sharpness.
Dreams half-way loosed into consciousness waylay
snuggling comforts. Wee hours’ vague demons lurk
tucked beneath pillowcased hopes, threatening melee.
Coffee at four twenty, brewed under knee-jerk
rituals uncritically gleaned in tender years,
won’t clear the spider webs. Thinking is hard work.
Terrible, really, yet recently shed tears
obscure simple joy’s sole right to imminence,
caking like blood drawn by yesterday’s spears.
‘Til mercy’s sunbeams despite grief’s vehemence
melt bitter frostbite of long lost innocence.
The time of growth and change is done and past.
From thaw to frost activity prevailed,
And change came often, often coming fast,
Till finalizing Fall all toil curtailed.
With wintertime’s quiescence, come at last,
The old year’s final breath has been exhaled.
And now all nature’s quiet, all now still,
All bedding down, preparing for the chill.
The other seasons garner all the praise:
From sprouting Spring, through Summer’s fruiting fields,
To Autumn’s vibrant hues and bracing days,
Each one its own unique enchantment wields.
But Winter’s coming oftentimes dismays,
So cryptic are the blessings that it yields--
Yet unexpected beauty will abound
In many forms both subtle and profound.
Then gales gust frore as frigid flakes bespeak
The wintry depths which grip both heath and grange:
The rime-bound land is frozen hard, and bleak—
Yet bleakness has its beauty, harsh and strange.
And what seems dead or dormant soon will wreak
What surely counts as nature’s deepest change:
The imminence of warmth’s returning breath…
The immanence of life in seeming death.
For springtime’s semelparity is fate,
As sure as tide or twilight, and as strict.
It burgeons and it blooms, but soon or late
It goes to seed and dies. The clock has ticked
And knelled the midnight hour — but don’t berate
The seed for its mortality -- predict
Instead the miracle which will ensue:
That out of silence, life is born anew.
Tonight, I sit watching ebony skies
feeling the need for silence and seclusion
admiring the glitter and glimmer of stars
before one by one they disappear.
There's no solace found
when one loses luster and then dies.
As its twinkling torchlight flickers,
I drink deeply of its beauty.
In this haunting darkness of night
the taunting of its dimming light
once twilight's tattered tint loses its glint,
a star makes way for the moon to take flight.
I fear the imminence of its daunting death,
the last gasp of celestial breath
as it outshines the galaxy
before its flaming core collapses.
Suddenly, the night grows cold
and dire darkness holds reign
but not from a lofty throne.
Luna's halo has lost its glow.
How stark becomes the emptiness
where a star once heavenly hung.
It's not an illusion of pain...
I feel it as I feel the chill of winter rain.
It's as if into a black hole of stellar mass
it passes through mordant shadows
and I, although I fear the dark
would light a spark as it leaves
and time travel with it as luminance dulls.
If only wings were allowed mere mortals,
the portal they enter, I would breach
to reach its final resting place.
Sometimes, it seems as if in dreams
I follow where faded stars go to die.
Entering the depths of an abyss
from which they are not reborn.
I shiver while watching them flutter
the last pulsing beats
of dying hearts sputter
in demise before my eyes...
never to return to celestial skies.
A somber thought enters my soul,
that soon each dying star will depart
its shimmer veiled then extinguished
as if snuffed because of its beauty.
Stars should not be doomed to dwell
in skies with holes of desolation.
I mourn with miserable melancholy,
the glorious grandeur of its light
each time I see a fading star,
languishing as its journey ends.
A cry escapes my pouting lips
for all that's left of its existence
is stardust clinging to my fingertips.
TODAY’S WOMAN
A column can scaffold a back that is enervated.
We as women will burden ourselves with hate.
That is we will take on another’s disintegration.
All in that business is a mess.
It becomes our plight to fix.
We sing our songs while we take on the world.
We continue to overwhelm ourselves.
When we know anything, we have achieved success.
This is a formidable woman’s road map.
The lines she follows gets her there.
Intense in thought and with mind involved she forms the stratagem.
Her purpose is to inform the world.
Her future is, therefore, passed on to next baby girl.
Imminence is still yet to come.
Unless the world is in a formation discovery, we are backward spiraling.
The diffident disguises our lack of unity.
How obtrusive we are.
A conspiracy is inferred.
Reticent is unreserved.
We are a political powerhouse that must be robust.
We as women are the conditions of our home front.
We must disallow polluted waters from the wounds that bleed.
We must not be garrulous in our activism.
Cagey old women we will become.
When there is a reason, we must step-to-the-cause,
Insofar as our souls and spirit are intertwined,
As we segment, we can inspire all women to intermingle for support of universal health where women help each other to move forward.
For those aforementioned, our draft has been self-possessed.
We are women of potential acclimatization to invigorate, innovate, and to inform.
We are tomorrow and the future forthcoming.
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Penned June 07, 2015!
Touch and feel the rebirth of her heart
A new glow, magnets the stars above
Arousing the birth of an energy
That wittingly mingles with her long lost faith
An enticing yearn for life awakens her soul
She has cried many years, she has seen better days
There Is no lie in her fire
She could jump a rope with feet of fear
Or she could climb a mountain with arms of courage
Time runs with tide, she waits for no man
Under the blue sky, a stare of bewildered eyes
The unforgettable promises left unkept
Beautiful assurances of forever that will never be
Heavenly days that will never come, songs she will never sing
These are the times she longs for
Those were the days she dreamt of
Yes in the tide of time, she must wait for no man
A sweep of an eastern wind
Blushes the imminence in her voice
A timid innocence regenerates from her soul
Her eyes make love to the future
A future that holds the keys to her heart
As she kisses the moon,
Drops of Jupiter unlocks her heart
Releasing crystal lights of gifts and talents
Unborn generation waiting for seasons of conception
There is a lot to give, a lot to cherish
She is the star in her sky, the beat in her rhythm
At her site, the earth stops spinning
Yes, she is the time, she is the tide
She will wait for no man
The Passage through the Sea, Translation of Pierre Emmanuel’s Passage de la mer by T. Wignesan
It’s not enough to be torn apart from the night
The night must be made to give birth.
Now this earth’s a sealed-off orbit
This sea an abdomen without lips.
When the ground and the sky are not but one wall
When water flowing into water becomes totally welded
Death appears hermetically maternal
At the moment when one should be saved.
How many times Oh ! How many times
Fetus expelled without the feeling of your being born
Would you want to be re-engendered before being
expelled ?
You despair always you hope
Until the Day of all Days.
Here between Migdol and the sea
You said : « Was there not in Egypt
Enough graves for us to be buried in ? »
You wanted to return to Misraïm
To consume your last piece of bread
In front of your burial pit.
You know of the anguish the death
Of the infant who has to be born.
For him in that mortal matrix
If he showed more resistance
He would want to be born contrary to nature
He suffers the horrible imminence of the Wind
The space beyond space itself.
Here at least forever in an embryonic state
Without being born he is.
But the Wind endows you through all the fibers
He is of your fiber
He praises adoring blessed glorified
He forces the lips of the sea through your lips
In order to be pushed outside by your scream
You are born here.
It’s not enough to be pulled out of Egypt
It was necessary to pave your entry into the desert
Exaggerate the aridness as the promised land
In such a way that your breath surging up to the heavens
Forms with its dust a column of fire
Which never-ending
Going through him
Conducts.
(Tu, O.C. t. II, p. 549)
© T. Wignesan – Paris, October 20, 2014
Red, amber, green, blue, indigo ,violet
Each colour has its own secret
Arranged on top of each other
It is a magnificent view to the onlooker
The sight of the rainbow
Makes the face glow
Originating from an unknown surface
It moves from place to place
Decorating the sky with its magic colours
It is one of nature's wonders
A reflection produced by the effect of sun and sea
Which children love to see
A marvelous and colourable display
Tainted with a natural spray
Announces the imminence of the rain
Just like the signal of the train
Lo! the rainbow is kissing the sky
Visible to the naked eye
Though it 's just a mirage
it brings joy through its image
Form: Tanka
Passion for what still exists
Phonon of ones fists
Durance of eclectic hours
Fire on the hell gone towers
Phenomenon is.
Formality for passion
Lacks it's existence
For it's agnostic purpose
Keeps as moving in a sense
keeps as running fast.
Now we are talking about a synthesis
Signifying why all the resulting heat
Actually its how we make sense to all this
Not talking about the fire they burned at feet
For his true imminence does no wickedness
His light shines complete while darkness retreats
What will 's shall be, always will this be
That is the nature of existence
a chemical reaction insistence
A poem I wrote to my English teacher when she retired.
One amongst the multitude would gaze up in awe
And in his sight he would capture
A moment as unique as it is rare
A hovering globe
Overflowing with gold, showering the multitude with its unending contents
Inspiring envy within the rivers of El Dorado
Each droplet would sink into the soil beneath
Birthing glimmering auric trees from once mist enshrouded seedlings
And so did more of the multitude come to gather
The mulling throng stood dazed and gazing
Mesmerized by the omniscient presence looming above
Until one day
One by one,
The multitude disappeared, receding into the ground
One by one did sprout shimmering trees
Till one day did appear a clustered forest
Swaying to and fro in the breeze
In tribute to the sphere of imminence above
Swinging more frantically in the anticipating gust
And with glooming realization
They noticed a fading orb
Something is amiss, they thought
And with heart aching comprehension the trees stretched themselves to the skies
But before yearning could defeat reason
Unleashing its lassoes as the agent of reality
Gravity pulled to its mistress what still shared their roots with their mother’s womb
And only could they stare, limbs strained, as their sun faded away
And found its long awaited place amongst its unreachable companions
Stars in our distant past.
In an orb of knowledge, walks a colored girl.
Her celestial being is ethereal.
Abreast is she of her past but fragile to the imminence.
Her strides are hindered because once she was poor and her life was lost in that
remembrance.
In the present day, she is born to be a rich woman.
Her compositions oeuvres her as a legacy lost.
Her cognizance delineates her as a renowned Poetess.
She remembers herself as well spoken.
Prestige she was given by her family.
However, she was born in the time of human suffering.
An antiquated being esteemed to write is this girl in her reincarnated life.
She was born before her time and now the good Lord has revitalized.
Metaphysically she conceives vivacity.
With effervescence learnt, her vim and vigor are expressed through her lexes.
The echoes of her thoughts are parrots.
Emotionally she enters her past life and begins to compose the opus.
Her perception manifests the images of her verses.
A modern day Poetess against subversion is a Poetry Diva verge of curses.
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POETRY DIVA - OBLIVION DARK SUNSHINE - VERLENA S. WALKER
PENNED ON JUNE 21, 2014!
In Truth and Integrity, this is ambiences of the author's connection to her past life.
Bombarded daily by multiple different stimuli
Good! dynamic neurons doesn't easily die
The brain dependable enough to interpret
Though sometimes headache starts to threat
Red uni-nuclei spheres active and competent
Delivering nutrients with fine useful intent
White soldiers of the body always on guard
Combating mightily any imminence hard
Thousand yards of elastic durable covering
First line of defense: multifunctional empowering
Only some but how amazing,
truly amazing is the human body!
by
olive_eloi
02/17/2014
11:56am
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At the distant verge of horizon
Slowly submerging is weary Sun
With reddened face
Bidding grudging adieus
To his day long drudging
Brooding over mandatory next come
I stood there staring at Him
I wanted to say “don’t depart”
In an automatic reflex
I lifted my right hand aloft!
Nay! He didn’t stop! I wept!
As feared reemerging are my
Horror-ogres, with creepy insurgence
A dirge from distant mountain range
Barged inside my fragile core
With harrowing clangor
Oozing out acid-reminiscences
From burrows of my bruised past
Started corroding once more
My already well-abraded heart
The dark thickets of moonless night
Are thickening my tiresome thoughts
I wriggle on my bed like a sloughing serpent
In an insomniac discomfort getting ready
For deadly duels with my night spirits
My only hope! A quick crack of dawn!
To restart my histrionics and harlequinade
amongst my people; and dazzle one more day
Making fun and pleasing everyone
With my feigned charm and exuberance
Dreading inside the night at imminence
Love, do not waken yet
I’d like to see you dream
For the forever time:
Your troubled day is at an end,
Your frowns are gone and harmonies
Are heard in speech and word.
Love, do not waken yet.
I’d like to see you dream
Into a future filled with joy,
Where all is blessed friendship,
And tears are none and pity
Has no call upon your soul.
Love, do not waken yet.
And can there be such dreams?
They must have imminence, for all
Rest weary, searching for such sleep,
A realm of dreaming better things,
Waking from a world you may forget.