Contracting Poems

that’s all it takes

soft murmurs of the heart concealed
allowed not the soul to be healed
contracting its heart day by day
yet displaying persona steeled

bleeding hearts see blue skies as grey
sit beside them, for a while stay
offer a healing transmission 
touch of love, warmth of a sun ray

the paradox

a heart contracting thought arises
we know it should not but it does
it is delusion of course, we know
because we know truth of Self
yet we are anchored in form
did not Jesus too cry out
when he was crucified
our anguish is lesser
yet it does exist
so we weep
and pray
for light

Your red dress

#Your_Red_Dress!
That red dress, illuminates you, setting all your curves and edges, from bottom to top, on a scale, my reality falling blatalantly to reach, it makes me lick everywhere in my satisfaction realm.

Thought to have met the climax of your gorgeousness, until tonight, Dzamn! lady, have mercy on my intake. for tonight, you braking gauges of my perception, a sigh in my reaction, sending palpitations to my capacitation, got no spaces inbetween my pulse, caught on an unbrakeable chain of one heart beat, its all tap dancing floors everywhere in my body, all surfaces damp with sweat. 

My voice catching waves of hic-ups and staggering simulteniously. Its getting hot in here, don't know whether this sudden temparature changes affects me alone but so certain I'm contracting fever of your beauty, 

I mean, the simphony your body playing to my focus, sweeping me off my grounds on an infinite routine, 

I just wanna hold your hand and bow; Thank you for looking this beautiful tonight.
#Poetic_Ink

Time Bomb

Has the new year brought me love,
Or just more solitude and misery?
    Can it give a glimpse of happiness,
    That's not inclined to a forgery?

I suppose that time will be the monitor,
As days, weeks, and months become the year.
    Yet I am left to wonder and inquire,
    Towards the pace, fast or slow, that I fear.

Often, there's a fuse to trigger an explosion,
Though it is difficult to know if it's been lit.
    So while the seconds tick away in anxiety,
    The minutes blow right on by and won't quit.

Such is the nature that time possesses,
Whether expanding or contracting in space.
    Not to mention all the bending and gravity,
    It's no wonder it can blow up in one's face.

Kitschy-Kitschy-Coo

   Mona Lisa’s crooked smile	
      on a half-crushed Campbell’s Soup can

   Joe Dimaggio reciting his pronouns uneasily 
      then lowering his batting hand
         into a scalding hot cup 
             of ‘Mr. Coffee’

    Where have you gone, Mrs. Robinson?
       Where else? to the bathroom
             ~ Hemorrhoids again

    Barney Fife whittling Andy’s image to
       sawdust with a rusty pocket-knife
          -- contracting tetanus in the process        

    Andy Warhol grinning madly as the 
       word ‘culture’ is finally eliminated
          from America’s lexicon


    ~ All hail to pink, plastic flamingoes! ~

Thought of the day

if we be not cursed 
why then this strange thirst
contracting our heart
driving souls apart

Return from Desert

Back from the desert and loving it
both the visit and the return.
The powerful plane deiced in Chicago.
Brittlebush, difficulty distinguishing acacia from ironwood.
Mesquite, and plenty of paloverde.
A good jazz band in Phoenix, their own style, no apology.

Could you also love your cancer? The vicious attack of a hedgehog
      cactus?
The winter storm that kept us on the tarmac three hours
followed us home. Used to be
when weather made the headlines, that was good news.
No more. Those melting icecaps and incoming meteors. 
Some pray, some stay still, some keep playing.

Anyway, notwithstanding inexorably expanding or otherwise rapidly 	
      contracting universes
I saw cercocarpus, phainopepla, tomentilla, saguaro, and a great guitarist. 
      Prayers were answered.

The haunting

Head
is where
ego dwells,
cajoling soul
to negate silence
and indulge in desire,
that our fickle attention
remains fixated in deep fear,
thereby confining us in darkness,
a triumph of sorts, since we’re living light.

Strange it is, that soul pays ego homage,
trauma bonding with demons conjured,
though but a thought form illusion,
haunts us moment by moment,
contracting consciousness,
veiling light of God,
ever aflame
in the cave
of our
heart.

Spring And Summer Seasons

Spring And Summer Seasons

To come across the transcendent traces of nature.
The flowers dance with their curves.
Nature's apostolic colors unfold.
The desert wind is migrating.

He watches beyond the day.
The sounds of bees nourish nature.
It absorbs the seasonal water.
He smiles like the creatures around him.

Plant roots are spreading from under the ground.
Spreading roots filter the soil.
It gives off the smell of filtered earth.
It showcases images of love.

With their pollen sticking to our skin.
With our breath.
With its stunning appearance.
Nature loves our soul.

By the power of our hopes seeking new love.
Our body is contracting.
The excitement of happiness is in front of us.
The goal we face is blooming in season.

Sea Pearl

I'm fifteen   darkwater dreaming or drowning
adrift and alone on the ocean of the bathroom floor
tossed on tidal waves of pain   pearled with perspiration
a clattering clutch of shells contracting
shingle shushing stifled shrieks
the shucked shell of my womb
emptying like an oyster snared
by umbilicals of seaweed   Far away
hazy-faint through saltwater mists I see
a little pearl glistening   floating and rocking in red sea

I'm all at sea   without anchor on tides   a boat floating free
seeking a mooring in the harbour of the doctor's consulting room
her voice a deep dive   anchoring me with subtle sympathy
through muffled underwater sounds   sea-shadowy fog shawling me

I want to tell her about the dream   submerged stories of a tiny pearl
maroon-mangled and foam-spangled   slipping slowly from me
into scarlet sea   drifting away   sinking to darkwater depths

Driving home my mother's rings clink like shells against the steering wheel
and a shaming sea of silence fills the car   pretty shells shucked and shocked

The Unsupervised Stop Sign

Alone with our thoughts, with no witness in sight,
soft whispers of our conscience wave a red flag,
contracting consciousness that we feel contrite.
Soul’s truth impulse continues to prick and nag,
asking us to discern between wrong and right,
warning waywardness comes with a high price tag.
We have been granted free will and so can choose,
deeds that shape our soul and flavour of heart’s muse.

God’s vibration is love, that employs no force
and though for most part, leaves us unsupervised,
manifests clearly as sharp pang of remorse,
whenever we find out we were ill-advised,
in following cravings of lower mind coarse,
thus falling from grace, soul growth compromised. 
Subtle is love’s scent, to steer our soul’s ascent,
requiring but of us, to grant it consent.

How All This Came About

with nothing to reflect upon
self-existent light pulsated
renewing itself within itself
ineffable peace prevailed
in a realm without attributes
complete yet strangely inert

one became two polarising
tango dancing with delight
lost in trance, amnesia set in
flawed perception and stupor
became cause of suffering
until souls befriended silence

descent followed by ascent
thus became the need of Self
by contracting and expanding 
by concealing and revealing
itself to itself in a lucid dream
which the ego believes is real

Trojan Horse

PythonPotamus, "Abaddon" Quetzacoatliciously rises from the pit. 
Helliopolis' ruins remains; "in the thick of it."
Ra, "Familiars the breeze" a God-imposter, sedicious, piece of Set. 
Set Ing the diodes of scene.
All the same, on demand- 
quid pro troll for human sacrificing... 
icing in their assumed, -
exhumed names of representation-glands, 
Idols in strange hands.
Decorating blue, 
filling with strangers to one's own land.

Paradise Lost, seeking ills, -ills, ill gotten gains.
Kismetic Frosts relations 
of cover-incestuous-religions 
summoned in symbiotic trends, 
of the means of the end. 

On Alien soil, Ra, soon to return 
to asphyxiate freedom's change, of wind, 
whisping death's-bloom. 
DeCoffinated break, drink !
Skywriters, Contracting...
Watching in aiding abetting, the elites. 
The discreeted
scuttled upon the otherworldly-
Chariots called PleasureCrafts and Triremes and Juggernautivity Nets. 
Lasers to strain in loom, everything you say or do- 
you... buy, sell, eat, drink, breathe, think?
Utopia, Trojan Whores Riding a Beast.

Zen Mode

concealing and revealing
contracting and expanding
the pulse of life renews
game of hide and seek
the joy of union
anguish of separation 
which nonchalance views
as unending celebration

element of surprise
each breath’s prize

Skull of a Skeleton - Van Gogh

form dies yet addiction torments contracting consciousness that laments

• Short Contracting Poems
• Famous Contracting Poems
• Best Contracting Poems
• Read Contracting Poems
• Long Contracting Poems
• Contracting Quotes