Best Vulnerably Poems
A tepid breeze delicately descends,
embedding a sphere of embers engulfed in saffron flames,
but intrinsic illuminations cannot soothe somber sorrows.
Splashes of persimmon and periwinkle horizons,
turn indigo, before twilight disappears into ebony hues.
Nocturnal pondering drifts to magical memories.
In the middle of the night,
when butterflies dance to the moon's song.
A plethora of elegance surrounds,
as a million fireflies prepare a path of crystal fragility.
Fate has little sympathy for forgotten symphonies.
In the mysterious music of tonight,
pearl in the sky reflects in scarlet shades,
moonlight shimmers like blood on distant tides.
Strings of sorrow serenade in stentorious stings.
melancholic mind moves like a funeral march,
yearning for veiled daylight behind mute mists.
There is an ache in absence,
a despair in distance -
reflected through lamenting eyes.
If only we could smash this cocoon,
that prevents us from floating free -
but majestic chic wings remain in chains.
My lips are like velvet petals,
forming the grandest golden sunflower,
confined behind onyx structures of frailty,
vulnerably yearning to be healed,
by tender rosewater kisses.
Painful palpitations from a pomegranate heart,
bleed in bitter shades of black.
A hollowness only separated souls silently sense.
Hope can be hidden behind
a canopy of Cimmerian clouds.
To create a rainbow,
love requires sun rays and rain drops.
To weave an eternal pattern,
where beloveds ascend in peace and harmony -
forever.
When visions, discoveries burn my soul
that which pours out of me is something forceful,
maybe CHASTE. Although it's hard for many to embrace
ideas on an unconventional level... I still knead my fingers
on paper where the language of my voice chants
or hollers wildly--these hands grasping my teacup.
Morning wakes and I get lost in drained phrases,
a blueprint of journeys imagined...they are only words,
vacant lines about nature, anguish, even love...
Yet here is life in poetry which rises above
what is expected. And I blaze unknown trails
when moonshine grants me the favor of raking this navel
and speak from a space that marks my integrity.
I believe that weaving a story is my endowment
to echoing dreams needing full exhalation;
to untold traumas masked by social graces...
more so, to all innocent wiles, tastes, fragrances
borne out of my will to convey the unusual,
deserted remembrances , where a universe
of people meets in serendipitious places--
those ardent moments defining man as a divine human.
Only then would my oolong tea blow cold,
and my moving poetry become vulnerably warm.
```*```
10/16/2020
Beth Evans' A Duty of Poetry Contest
I continue to feel
the searing pain.
ever constant.
so keen.
Not the kind
that heals fast,
open wound that closes.
But, the kind that stays vulnerably
with the passing years.
Three decades
and still counting.
Woe to this pain!
With laden anguish,
The heart's bemoaning.
Thinking it was born
without a name.
Only to find then
at a much later time;
giving in.
Oblivious now.
Unashamed
that my bosom groans,
complains.
I guess he lost his way when
he left the beaten path,
I guess he was confused when
instinct and logic crashed.
I guess he killed his brain cells
with alcohol and hash,
I guess that his insanity
held him firmly in its grasp.
Asleep, I guess his paranoia
seemed to grow and bloom,
I guess he sensed something
paranormal in the room.
I guess his blackened pupils
must have scanned and searched the gloom,
I guess he thought he heard the
icy rattle of the tomb.
He pretended to have a job, I'm told,
and daily left the house,
then sat all day in the cellar,
I'm told, as quiet as a mouse.
I heard that when she wasn't there,
he sometimes wore her clothes,
I imagine him sashaying
on his man-sized tippy-toes.
His insanity made him mad, i guess,
if that makes any sense,
I know his thoughts were warped though,
by no coincidence.
I see him in a fetal posture,
vulnerably curled.
I see him having lost all hope
and contact with the world.
I see him sitting all alone,
re-reading what he wrote,
a madman's twelve page ranting
in his sad and final note.
©Danielle White
The Old Man in the Small Square
city dirt as mask
eternal season abode
old temples his friends
cloudy shelter sky
shuffles to collect dry leaves
rusty hinge calls night
passers-by eyes down
loud crunching, act as pillow
vulnerably wrapped
© Shane Cogan, 2013
A row of marbled faces, eerily looking the same,
Vulnerably standing, with no fear or shame.
The King is calm and quiet, simple in his speed.
Short on time and energy, filled with anger and greed.
The Queen beside him controlling, no where she can't go,
She moves with mighty vengeance, a smooth ebb and flow.
The Bishop is almighty; hoping none of them will fall.
Crossing back and forth, giving his blessings to them all.
The Rook is our tower, hidden, way off to the side.
It's there our King can castle if he needs somewhere to hide.
I watch the game play out before me, strategy and endurance.
With a rhythmic to and fro, the battle is a bloody dance.
Protect the King at all costs, that is our passionate creed.
Give to him our faithfulness and he will return our need.
Everyone of us is special, we all play a key role to winning.
He admires and will provide for us, he tells us at the beginning.
When the knight stood in front of me, with his steel sword drawn.
I realized right then and there, all I was is just a pawn.
05-13-2014
Casarah Nance &
Tim Smith
All breathing
hearted
living sacred creations
are born of white light
and red power,
Of empowering transparent ecstasy
and vulnerably impassioned fire,
Of triumphant wind
radiantly communing spring tease
and slow burning
Earth-rooted
desire
To restore life-giving powers
of just-right lust for co-passions,
and to illuminate life/death
impassioned powers,
healthy white light polypathic
wealthy red powers co-empathic,
Born of illuminating sacred light
reborn of Taoist
NonZero Sum soul
empowering transparent ecstasy
and co-passioned fire
Yang white light
and Yintegral non-violent red fertile powers
ecofeminist conductive
inductive
seductive fired passions.
My latest President
also appreciated Americans
he may never meet
or hear
or smell
Not to mention out to get
ever better tasted,
with or without informed consent,
not so vulnerably seen
or transparently felt
with copassioned
trauma-free intent,
yet not actually met,
just yet
And
I am confused
that any President would feel
he needs to say this,
as if appreciating Americans
were a partisan platform
advocating politically
and economically unusual
universal health
and safe global wealth
resiliently inclusive policy priorities
Sacredly patriotic
EcoMatriotic regard
for nutrition-based
economic historical
polyculturing
cooperative space
for competing against divisive time
Wu-wei YintegralPower/YangLight
sacred/secular
transubstantiating neuro-sensory
WinWin/WinLose/LoseLose
co-mediating
eco-political communication grace
I readily concede
this unbecoming space,
I could be wrong
but I can at least imagine
Donald Trump
feeling and believing,
although jaded
disappointed
and dispassionately,
that he appreciates
all those NonWhite
NonStraight
NonPatriarchal EcoFeminists
he has never met
And would just as soon
not change his monopolistic bliss
to CounterCulturally encounter Othering
dark ignorance,
just yet.
I don't know if it is a positive
or negative coronary corollary
to further extend
this metaphoric analogy
Yet Trump,
unlike Biden,
could never get
a multiculturally gifted American
he has not yet met
But I would bet
it would be hard to vet
EarthTribe residents
too healthy to ever regret
not having had the pleasure
of meeting many Trumpian Americans
Cold greetings
likely best to forget
we all come from somewhere
Matriarchally sacred
as an interdependent
health care safety net
includes imaginatively appreciating
All those Others Othering
unfertilized good eggs,
and thus not yet met.
Toby Hemenway,
in The Permaculture City,
defines four prime health development principles,
adapted as follows:
Highest Use
orders health maintenance tasks,
ecological activities,
and growth/decomposition processes
in time and space
so the first activity in a spiraling sequence
leaves as many possible health yields
and subsequent reiterative uses
as harmonically possible.
Highest and deepest use
creates balanced wu-wei relationships
among health design elements
and wealth building processes
in and through ecologically rhythmic time
and place.
Needs As Potential Resources Analysis
identifies necessary health inputs
and wealth outputs
of many nutritional kinds,
products,
behaviors,
characteristics
spatial quantities and temporal qualities
of each subsystem in an eco/bio-system,
including humane-natural/spiritual systems,
and connects needs of one element
with outputs of another.
We thereby design harmonic relationships
of WinWin balance
among design elements themselves,
ourselves.
Zones
organize design systems
by how often they are used and need cooperative maintenance.
The most used systems
are placed most vulnerably nearest in spacetime
to the ZeroZone user
or center of identified activity.
Zones build health and organize wealth relationships
between a system
and the user of identified zero-center.
Sectors and Species
are influences from outside;
influences that cannot be altered from within the spacetime system in question.
They can be Yang competing physical influences,
such as wind and fire,
or Yin-cooperative intangible influences,
enculturing,
creolizing,
such as zoning,
care giving and receiving customs,
LeftBrain polypathic power,
and RightBrain emotional polyphonic triggers.
We place design elements
in relation to species and sectors to feed or bleed energies,
or let them pass through
with no decompositional effect.
Sectors and Species
create regenerative relationships
between parts of an eco-bio system
and Yang forces
and Yin-influences
shaping enculturation,
acclimation outside toward inside
each ZeroZone system.
In that wedding
In that piece of pandemonium
I saw him, right there
In between the crowd
Where he was performing a traditional dance
I locked my eyes on him
And God! I wondered he looked just like him
But even more beautiful, more powerful, much handsomer
I waited and waited until he noticed me
I was there, so far away, on that table
Sitting upright, eyes locked, and thoughtful
Will I ever see him again?
That shared hidden passion
That I loved to practice
The dance finished, the guy left with his crew
I sat in despair and sighed
I would never see him again
A week passed, a wedding was on plate
I attended it elegantly
Dancing with ways
It was a lady- only matter
So I took off my scarf
And lay down my hair
The groom entered the hall
We all shall put our scarf on
To his beloved bride he walked
With such intensity and pride
The traditional crew walked right in
I just sat there and looked
Until I saw him again
That guy
Whatever his name is
I lay down a smile of delight
And pointed in my mind
And said “that is him”
Oh thank you God for this!
I sighed vulnerably again to realize
I would never see him again
I hear things right side down
and bottom left side up
as I get older
so consider the source.
Anyway,
I hear Colchester Connecticut Democrats,
and some cross-registering Republicans,
want to establish
a multicultural health commission
concerned about military
and local police mercenaries
feeling discriminated against,
picked on,
unloved,
left out,
under-valued,
ignored,
neglected,
abused,
shot at.
T Rocko is concerned
such a vast investment
in multicultural respect,
solidarity of resonance,
integrity of long-term resiience
through commitment to public dialogue
rather than contentious debate,
could only be justified
with quantitative data
Adding up how much
anti-militarism
and anti-police brutality prejudice
exists
and costs
in Colchester.
In this political
and economic moment
of social cooperative distancing,
dissociation,
scape-goating,
rabid polarization,
toxic partisanship
We need a baseline,
says he,
of mutual disregard,
to measure regenerative progress
and/or degenerative retrenchment
from community integral investments
in health remediation,
inclusive wealth
for future cooperative governing generations.
"Silence to me
says it exists"
retorts our First SelectWoman
Rudko,
self-appointed sole guardian
of our public health investment purse,
responds,
Supporters of Armed Lives Matter Most
are "making a generalization...
not based on facts"
that silence means discontent,
speaks echo-chamberly
of feeling an unhealthy
lack of mutually fulfilling safety
Too risky
for speaking up transparently
to listen vulnerably
to all cooperative opportunity "Other"
and "Alien"
and "Immigrant"
And silently listening especially
for Not Straight Male Dominant
voices,
whispered narratives
about aggressive predation stories
of relentless win/lose debate
rather than cooperative win/win dialogue
with pro-social attachment,
multiculturally nonsupremacist intelligence.
I wrestle with against vulnerable boundaries
to invasive intimacy,
left unlanguaged yet right felt dismay
could not sustainably remain
without being said outloudlyish
in some bicameral bilateral bipolar balancing brainiac
polypathically left merely cooperationalizing,
creolizing Sacred Elders feeling self-righteous
matriarchal nutritionisms,
spiritual and diminished secular scientissues
falling failing OtherWise,
hypothetical proofs of co-incidence.
Knock knock.
Who's there?
Not not here.
I wish.
Go notnot away.
Where dissonance grows troubling
such dismay's source is left label searched for
within economic causes
producing secular with sacred ecological effects
to become biologically expected
in and through bilateral regenerational returns,
depending on the faith systemic word choices preferred
by All EarthLives Matter
sacred ecosystemic recoverers,
co-listening
deep mutual learners
comfortable in tranquil ponds
of lucid equal harmonies
ringing double-boundaries
singing
winging
flinging not here not now
invisible hypotheses
of Zero-Core bicameral bilaterality.
Rich loving mentors,
teachers,
but please,
not another preacher
of cognitive patriotism
against affective ecofeminist intuitive self-defense
begun against
lunar-scheduled matriotism,
offense against solar Yanger
wanger
bangers,
Pi to pay
the multiculturing pipers,
ecofitters,
multiculturing quilters
and organic happy, sometimes a little high,
farmers
of antiquity,
herstoric myth tellers
and legend gossips
and polypathic paradigming architects
exforming evolutionary incarnations
as revolutionary reverse-notnot
evolutionary
yet as now appositionally bilateral
absence of cognitive-affective dissonant
boundaries
of vulnerably echoing reiterative transparency,
both ego threat of rightwing dominant terrorism
and eco-opportunity,
left with right wing ego/eco-dominance
as positive psychology
and EarthTribe EcoJustice
complicated redisunprecovery
of often deep dense politics.
All about atomizing power
both/and wavey-linear flow.
Wherein we wrestle with,
but preferably not against,
vulnerable boundaries
about too invasive double-binding intimacy
left unlanguaged
yet right felt dismay,
sung in
and through thin
diminishing dissonance.
Indifference, if neutral,
is not hostile or inviting.
Indifference of nature,
like indifferent sages,
need not favor warriors detached from winning health
nor degenerative losing trends against healthy wealth,
cast in our 'hollow reed' self-neutral image
of empty potential godliness,
pure omnipresent transparency,
divine polypathic integrity
potential of reversed detachment.
This left-hemisphere indifference
allied with right-integral feeling,
so prominent in Buddhist and Taoist experience,
is only half our YangLeft with YinRight hemispheric history
of self and other full-governing
Our Warrior for ReAttachment
right-hemisphere half slow-grown differently interdependent,
A polyphonic harmonic web
for mutual attraction
of ego/eco-therapeutic re-attraction
to compassion's historic
muticultural
deep-learning Ways
and Means, universal-Left balancing unitarian-Right harmonic,
Yang remembering to respect WiseElder
bilateral
feeling/memory revolutionary reversions
past intuitions through nurturing interdependent future thoughts
imaged wombs for webs of bicameral balancing
hollow messianic dipolar co-arising choice
To remain fully resilient,
vulnerably listening teachers,
win/win climate committed
conflict inversion resolution resolvers,
therapeutic polycultural mediators,
not so much monocultural molestors
indifferently tolerant of aggressive
degenerative
left-hemisphere dominant wide, but not deep-learning climates
for differentially fragmenting environments
as if intended for nihilistic lose/lose,
by learning to indifferently tolerate
universal silo subclimates of growing despair,
Fiddling while our only and last Bow burns.
To redefine wealth as health
and not indifferently tolerate fake small ego-centrism
as if our larger Earth-centric healthy inviting sanctuary space
were not also our first and last hollow bowing place,
yet uniting and passionately sacred
in this our Great UnRaveling/CoGravitating Time
of climaxing Yang-health
as Yin-wealth opportunity
for polyculturally optimizing systemic
resiliently co-passionate Nature,
Time's Sage Bilateral Way.
You know, it is rather difficult to discuss mental health
The simile of the racing thoughts is a swift flight
Swift, and Intrepid like an Arabian horse,
Sometimes, too hard to decipher, even.
I face the past,
and I talk.
and I keep talking about many, many issues
And you heard me there, silently.
Then, you whispered into my ears, “Un the lib.”
Did you utter the word, “Un the lib?”
Or, was it a call for another scapegoat,
with the name Andalib?
My understanding is getting clouded, and clouded enough.
Vulnerably, and abnormally.
But there is no problem.
Neighborhood concept runs into such difficulties, these days.
They are yawning and dribbling in so many places,
chilling effects...
With the metaphor of a prophetic narration
with so many broken chains, harder to trace even.
Understanding.
It whittles down to an empty bottle of pickles, decisively.
Never tried to forget “Un the lib” though,
Never tried too hard to break free, nonetheless.
Word abandons me along the way, cult of own whims too.
Let us come to the points,
Closer enough to the bullet points,
A poet’s life, bohemian, unpredictable
A very fine line to decipher between irrationality, insanity
Nothing more than this. Just this.
“Hallo, microphone testing, one, two, three, hallo?”
Nothing more than that,
not even a one liner.
Please do return to your beloved dream.
Find your imagination in your beautiful enigmatic lover
You may fetch her, even from the farthest corner of a poem
And, please be sure that you may.
And you may do so, for me
On and on.
Is it too much of a task?
I saw you both, together, already.
Wandering around, streets imprinted you both.
Footsteps.
Muddy constellations.
Guided me through. Meticulous coldness.
May I perceive it
as a stigma?
As a cliché?
As a bubbly snow? Whistleblower?
crawling with the irrationality to linger more?
Perhaps, just so, because,
it never served me enough.
Or are there anything?
To digress with any of these?
Yes, it is better that way
Do return, please do so, earnestly.
And lame excuses are in abundance,
It will find me too, sooner or later, anyhow.
“Un the Lib,”
how far are you there, with your two cents?
The Missing Season
27/07/2020
Whiffs of summery air grow startlingly unfresh
Dying like a withering dream yet almost deathless
Ruffled by an impasse of a senescent, uncrossable viaduct
that goes beyond my knowingness, beyond my conception
Of an unknown poison instilled merely into my air
Blossomless springs, rainless winters and sunless summers
Yet the missing season is still an untold story of a tired self
Trying to winterize itself for the soon-to-be winters ahead…
All of the un/randomness -of wintry possibilities- maddens
She, all the same, awaits for thousands of summers instead
Away from the insufferable stuffiness that strangulates her
She willingly remains afar yet unwillingly she goes further
Not in the dark does she detachedly dwell, nor in a beacon
In a semi-dark room of her own, she scatters her thoughts
to get drowned into their boundless, unfathomable oceans
toward the innerness of thoughts she steps back and forth.
Dreamless nights very drearily resemble her dreamy nights
Those of the dying birds. On her own she fancies the Quail
That reminds her of the once brawny nest by the mountain
One season with an orphic symbol is still forever unfindable
And the pretermitted leaves remain rigid though shriveled
Unwilling to be vulnerably wept, they embrace summertime
A summer of their own from the figment of their imagination
Softly it drizzles upon their souls, and again they are revived.