Snippets Poems - Poems about Snippets

absolute neutrality variances appear and all are neutral arising there is none as movement is absent nothing appearing that is the total message and there is no message non duality is already a gift for no one a happy tale no you is the message to the separate self in disbelief no one may appear as someone walking with fewer words nothing may be suggested the ubiquitous I-word always an appearance serving the story oops flags a mistake perhaps recovery reversing a story arising arose and arisen are not three...

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A wet patch of wa-ter glints unusual! It was my ears that it re-flected, sand or dust or what-ever it wasn’t no more, got every-where; es-pecially bet-ween my grey hairs. It didn’t matt-er, I wasn’t thirsty no more. Scurry-ing off to… what was it called again? Wooood. Yes, wood boards dis-carded, they say. May-be food? Could be,...

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A snipping of scissors The hum of the trimmer The hollow sound of an AM radio Idyll chatter Kids, grandkids The weather A quick trim of thinning hair Melancholy moments revisited No appointments necessary Just walk in Sit down Relax …And wait ...

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Snippets play inside my mind. Pieces of movies which I find Are ingrained; cinema projected... Dorment and then resurrected. Sometimes, just a simple thought Or action has the snippet caught. Often, in a single day They play - and sometimes on replay. Moments big and moments small... A century of films in all. Silver, colour, sex and violence... Even scenes made in their silence. When I'm bored,...

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A gentle breeze wafting in through the window Still, white waves lapping the seashore The sun bidding goodbye to an iridescent sky Leaves rustling as the zephyr kisses them Soft snow swirling down from heaven Stars peeping out through the darkness of night Raindrops dripping in harmonious beat Fluffy clouds changing shapes to impress Songbirds belting out melodic music Rainbows cheering us on from...

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A mother’s hand holding a child Walk of joy beaming a smile Kids frolicking on playground Happiness of innocent sounds Quarrel of two loving hearts Thunderous clouds soon pass A glimpse, if not ephemeral, Perhaps a rude, unwelcome stare Reality haunting endlessly A blemish on hope eternal Face of grief when tears cease Pain lingering in perpetuity Pink sunrise gleaming eyes Kiss of dawn blushing the skies A...

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She is very slender and her eyes are brown. Her hair is lovely, long and dark. Sometimes she wears colors in her hair or paints her nails. When I visit at her house, she often scurries away to be with her own little visiting girlfriends. Not too interested in Grandma any more, she is eleven going on twelve. Sometimes she comes with...

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That's all we have when you come right down to it: little pieces of life, random moments we dare call-- memories! But what are these fragments, these snippets of the mind? Just sort of, kind of bright flashes in the pan lighting up the brain, rolling into the mind willy-nilly, like freight cars abandoned by the locomotive? All life's experiences, both sweet...

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Snippets of sound A private concert for our ears only. Locked in an embrace like no one is around. Bittersweet shards of treasured memory. Softly we repeat the refrain. For a moment I'm lost in a reverie. Of steadfast love to remain. I look into your eyes, the world fades away; There is only you, and only me. We are transported to that sacred...

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#Snippets,Tidbits, and Pieces minus Peace... Flecks and Specks sprawled evenly and eventually...leaving no room for possibilities and puzzle pieces scattered haphazardly; no room for building inevitably, it's a choice, depending on a conclusive voice and it would be made known a Full understanding, of shards of discards desired to be left outstanding; BOULDERS BOLD OF TRUTH...

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To my hometown of the sixties, I plunge in reverie, recalling where I found myself in nineteen sixty-three. Each fall, the biggest thing going - was going to the fair. My town's the Sorghum Capital; cane fields still tassel there. Talent contests, entering pageants, gave us identity. I played piano several years; I won in sixty-three. My embroidered pillow...

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I. Bleeding -- a world without comfort -- lost without love -- no destination... silently walk without touching wounds... where is love? II. Frail fingers grope... sodden afternoons... winter fog... through gray eternity -- cold eyes, delicious mouth. Found love will laugh, desire returning. III. Making love, we deceived ourselves. Complicitors, we lied. Compliant pawns, we defied danger, practiced brilliant fabrication -- but truth was stranger. IV. Others know desire: ever changing years -- and lifetimes -- reaching towards the moon. Love, be my...

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Love it Andrea Crazy eight may win the day. I think we tap into common source. the great unconcious, unwashed horse, who blurts about with no recourse, provides the words to tickles force! :) xox Don as Johnson says, I say! Robert Haig, yes , you have the thing, great poets try to use, to flow n flow while talking...

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I. desert stillness shrouds their adversary lairs twilight's muted thunder betrays the nearby stealthy moon II. the chalky moon creases midnight clouds blue shades of lovers walk a powdery sky chortle at the other's close proximity III. pale gold ribbons fiery soft skies sea haze streaks a thin mountain path as day begins IV. kitchen pans, pity, pungent cheese and garden lace -- the matriarch dripping decay with her mild gentility V. winter snow, ice slow spring melt rain-drowned...

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snippets of light converged upon the face of the pink ash rose through the sacred night but give us this day orange snippets of light...

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