It has been growing upon me,
this sense of exposure in a photograph.
Ever since I noticed that people
were as much a shadow
as the sun among dark tree branches.
It has been growing on me,
this feeling of being in a picture.
A picture you paint
wanting to preserve the color
of an ever-changing skin,
or a spark on the edge
of a fathomless canyon.
I am in this moment.
It is not a moment in time,
it is a moment in your head
where a ghost-light
haunts itself.
There is a pensiveness
where light meets shadow
as if you are witnessing
the late works
of an artist yet to be born.
It has been growing upon me,
this sense of extra exposure
beneath another picture
I’m beginning to surface
to peer out
like the moon behind dark branches.
In these visions there is a pensiveness
where light meets shadow,
an emergence superimposed
beneath my visual field
it was as if I were witnessing
the late works
of an artist yet to be born.
It has been growing upon me,
this sense of exposure in a photograph.
Ever since I noticed that people
were as much a shadow
as the sun among dark tree branches.
It has grown on me,
this feeling of being in a picture.
A picture you paint
wanting to preserve the color
or a spark on the edge
of a fathomless canyon.
There is a pensiveness
where light meets shadow
as if you are witnessing
the late works
of an artist yet to be born.
I've given myself some ideal times to reckon.
My musings meander for no apparent reason
I don't settle what to predict on the challenge.
Where I'm being idling within the lucid adage,
Notwithstanding, it is thus somewhere out there.
With his pensiveness perfectly elsewhere,
It's likely the case that this would be creedal.
Suspicions, then again, may as well tweedle.
It is helpful to inquire over evoking glints pitch.
That could only hit the one to maul his switch.
My surmise is this is a direct result of reality.
You're adding a snide view on my apparency.
From the edges of your lowly litters' haven,
It's vital to grasp I would instead foil this beckon.
Written: January 12, 2022
It has been growing upon me,
this sense of extra exposure in a photograph.
I’m beginning to peer out
like the moon behind dark branches.
It has been coming upon on me,
this feeling of being in a picture -
a picture scratched into skin,
a skin nailed to a blazing sun.
I am in this painting
where a superimposed ghost-tint
back-lights my self-image -
a pentimento emerging through.
In these visions there is a pensiveness
where light meets shadow
as if I were witnessing
the late works
of an artist yet to be born.
My last breath
Before you sleep take my last breath from my soul
For I weep from the pain
A pain so pensiveness it withers my insides away
I have lost you in a place I felt safe, now I’m surrounded by dust and fog nearly blinding my eyes
I’m scared and frightened by the rift between our hearts
I am a petrified forest with bare limbs that have been stripped and lay abandoned
You have plundered me into twisted hemp of disarray
How could things have gone so wrong?
How could we have lost the love and luster of yesterday?
Was it really a love of reality?
Clouded by desire and hunger and waiting at the gates of deception
Eyes of jewels that spill a river far and wide
Drown me in a red sticky cancer
Shattered glass a portrait preview of two fractured in half
I am floating alone in cold lonely vortex of cruelty while shards of you leave me unchanged
You once needed me and made me feel alive
Now I am dying not that knowing where your feelings really lay
You say one thing then do another
So confusing to say the least
Could you be true and honest could you be clear to yourself
Before you sleep take the ache from my broken insides
today
And breath my last breath
It has been growing upon me,
this sense of exposure in a photograph.
Ever since I noticed that people
were as much a shadow
as the sun among dark tree branches.
It has been growing on me,
this feeling of being in a picture.
A picture you paint
wanting to preserve the color
of an ever-changing skin,
or a spark on the edge
of a fathomless canyon.
I am in this moment.
It is not a moment in time,
it is a moment in your head
where a ghost-light
haunts itself.
There is a pensiveness
where light meets shadow
as if you are witnessing
the late works
of an artist yet to be born.
Tears are born
in the corners
of my eyes as sorrow
to fall down my cheeks
in grief kissing my lips
with misery in
silence to fall from my chin
as despair finally into
a pool of torment
yet my tears are not alone
they fall
evoking a pensiveness
and yearning for
a chaotic world
that has been captured
holding it hostage today
Too many lives have been
stolen this year
consuming humankind
stimulating certain
masses to commit such
astrocities now
Where has the gentle touch
of our nation gone?
Too many are being
left to swim
in this pool of sorrow
for the lives that have
been lost
We need to morph
into a nation of decency
because good does
overcome evil
Light always chases
darkness away
We can not let darkness win
Why can't we smother it
with compassion
leaving us
with tolerance and
good intention?
Why can we not
become the young
country who feeds on good
and denounces the evil?
What has become to
the kindness of mankind?
imaginations
abide in
perfection
lasting
but a moment
transitory
as snow
in
indelible impressions
chrysalis
asleep
waiting in the wings
active
benevolence&
intellectual
recreation
a future
a promise
in shades
of
pensiveness
parcelled out
&
blessed
deep glimpses
in
daydreams
silvered
fragments
plucked
from memory
sunburnt beauty
a
momentary
phenomena
of
continual
obervation
Before you sleep take my last breath from my soul
For I weep from the pain
A pain so pensiveness it withers my insides away
I have lost you in a place I felt safe, now I’m surrounded by dust and fog nearly blinding my eyes
I’m scared and frightened by the rift between our hearts
I am a petrified forest with bare limbs that have been stripped and lay abandoned
You have plundered me into twisted hemp of disarray
How could things have gone so wrong?
How could we have lost the love and luster of yesterday?
Was it really a love of reality?
Clouded by desire and hunger and waiting at the gates of deception
Eyes of jewels that spill a river far and wide
Drown me in a red sticky cancer
Shattered glass a portrait preview of two fractured in half
I am floating alone in cold lonely vortex of cruelty while shards of you leave me unchanged
You once needed me and made me feel alive
Now I am dying not that knowing where your feelings really lay
You say one thing then do another
So confusing to say the least
Could you be true and honest could you be clear to yourself
Before you sleep take the ache from my broken insides
today
And breath my last breath
The pensiveness of the sky
is broken by the cry of a crow,
by trees distilling intimacy
and moist, vibrant expectancy.
Violets, ferns, and birches
share life-giving vapors.
The chalk-bleak horizon
and pungent, poignant odors
whisper sonorous secrets.
The visitor is enveloped
in this pithy, soulful world,
all cells saturated
with a suggestive sustenance.
IMAGINATION TAKES HOLD
Like chrysalis asleep,dreaming of
its wings await intellectual recreation
and active benevolence which brings
wisdom & blessedness.Such does
the future promise in the range
of high arts,parcelled out in shades
of pensiveness by the ticking of
the clock as imagination takes
hold and abides in perfection.
Letters of Samuel Palmer 1891
EVERY DAY
Dream the daydream,feel the
poetic in art,a deep glimpse of
landscape,silvering fragments of the
moon through a lattice.Pluck from
memory the rooted sorrow
and embody ideal beauty in a sunburnt
glow.Then rising all besmirched
begin,imitating in detail and
acknowledge momentary phenomena
in continual observation &sketch.
Letters of Samuel Palmer 1891
*A Phrasis is a structured verse where the poet uses selected prose phrases of another writer’s to compile unique poetry therefrom as a tribute thereto,the word phrasis is Greek for phrase.
Listen to me recite these two phrasis of mine on youtube under name of ichthyschiro
She handed me a small box old, yet still neat; what a find
The seventies faces staring back reminded me of better times
Time to play, summers visiting grandparents and hope
The future will be amazing; just stay away from dope
Walking around in the woods up and down the hills
Time has a way of being ok then not; conflicting wills
Conflicting emotions cross my face.... should I let the box go
Or see if another day will be remembered inside that paper doll box so
I hide the box on my shelf now I look at the date and 1974 I see
I can't let go of that little girl; you see it would be letting go of me
Emotions run wild pensiveness, regret and saving grace
Happiness to see a friendly face and time travel to another place
Rummage sale keeper you are my friend
Tomorrow's memories you can lend
Words are the essence of our hearts expressed
Strolling thoughts dancing shadows
Pensiveness masks this heart
The day the songbird came
the sun shone between showers.
The silence was perforated
with melodious euphony,
the day the songbird came.
The day the songbird came
our melancholy was lifted
with his tunefulness,
his brightness lit our darkness -
the day the songbird came.
The day the songbird came
marked a sad anniversary,
but its memory is diluted with
his sweet concordant sound.
Today the songbird came.
Now that the songbird's here
a passing wave of pensiveness
is pervaded with jubilant abandon
and crashes on the shore of oblivion
now that the songbird's here.
Amazing what a song can do
to dark and sombre mood and hue:
discordant silences harmoniously
transformed to sweet-toned humour,
now that the songbird's here .......
Oh stay, sweet songbird, stay......
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