Quotes about visceral, page 3
Death-roe
~
stubbled with a wry smile
darkened character lays smudged
a charcoal embrace of humanity
burnt offerings?
run..yes..run
legs no longer capable
touched with a Pharoah's kiss
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poem by Angel ofDepth
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It Surely Exists in Her Gaze
It surely exists in her gaze, in the truth of her regard-
This bequeath, of her amity- lasting and ne'er to wither;
Shan't I envisage a thought of its want hither,
Ameliorate surely all, certain am I ne'er to retard!
Explication does escape me, to expound further its essence!
Alas, solace resides in her gaze, in her words of comfort-
Preordained, gifted me seraphically, causal to our consort
Her presence visceral, to me, an appurtenance!
Her kind, soothing spirit bestows a myriad of ease-
Sentiment spoken, oft with nary a word still!
Her aspect transmutes tumult to tranquil-
As if from a mistral she fashions a zephyrous breeze!
Endebted am I for all she, for me, doth proffer,
Mine own love and amistad- in recompense, I offer!
Maurice Harris,20 March 2009
poem by Maurice Harris
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The Night Patrol, Laos 1962
My point man had died where he stood.
The rest of my squad dove for cover.
My helmet had tumbled and fallen
and I clung to the ground like a lover.
The lifespan of a second Lieutenant
is measured in minutes I’m told.
I rolled and I rose to my knees.
I fired a mag from my piece.
There was movement out there in the trees.
Visceral fear shook my knees.
Novak had tossed a grenade.
In seconds a blast splintered wood.
The bark of three M-60's. then
cut through the growth like a scythe
The foe, in black silk pajamas,
In violence departed this life.
My radio man slid up beside me
Headquarters was on the phone.
I told them one dead and three wounded.
I sensed we were still not alone.
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poem by John F. McCullagh
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I May Not...
I may not be able to buy you a manse, but you have my heart;
We share a unity, as I am pained that we are apart;
If you experience times of joy, I am gladdened;
Should I feel grief, you too, are saddened!
You love me, I know, despite my eccentricity-
I love you-your beauty sublime, its causality!
You epitomize a nurturer, at times, I need the same;
You are fragile-to protect and covet thee always-my aim!
You were my first love-please do be for me, my last-
Though, I shan't force beauty's place, should this not come to pass!
All mine own life, my dreams contained this visceral, yet, bonnie lass-
Your form hath ne'er altered, however-formed from my past!
I may not be a magician, nor know how prestidigitation is done-
Yet, I present to you, two hearts-beginning to beat as one!
Maurice Harris,28 April 2010
poem by Maurice Harris
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In The Dustbowl
Came to the dustbowl, against the wishes
Be in bondage to the supernatural.
Saw the beast of burden,
chill wind of grinded faces,
sickening my heart and no succour anywhere
Fading out the halcyon days
Woe and visceral pain
Sprouting out the grim reapers
Aching for care, I begged for….
She smiled on me, in the hours of need,
void of any hitch.
Has become a mentor,
Helped me to light my darken path
Made me feel so special
You are there to solace me
Each words you spore,
are becoming a sleet of calm,
deep into my heart.
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poem by Jayakumar Krishnan
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Beyond Gold
Angelfish swimming like fire
Tender moments seem more rare
Mountains relish the bright moon
Sounds of the tide caress the sky
I have given up all political plans
Eternal voice seem to rise in silence
When the wind whistles there is life
Relish yellow and white
Green and blue breathe free
Meaning is visceral in daily bread
Moments connect sanity with rivers
Here and there flow seems too grow
Red apples in an old back yard
Sprawling maples in the breeze
Natural sounds that have no ghost
Squirrels forging amidst the oaks
The stars are gentle pathways
Beauty in simple awareness
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poem by Joseph Narusiewicz
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Vixere Fortes
A crossed path to pass, a false virtue,
a shadow wanders in dreams and cares,
to love my petrified smile of a statue,
and my abstract enigmatic stares.
She will come in stray paths, her soul,
dim time-entity to absorb internal whims,
one more silence will construct a thole,
a burden of tugs, to upwards hymns..
Spirit of solitude, image of form motile,
a double ax, a certainty above my truism,
her visceral caress, conceived but total,
ideal to endorse my sense of equalism.
A third destiny weaves my life's knit;
I recompense for her scythe dissonance,
a platitude to compromise in a gray wit,
my love in mind will be a senses dance..
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poem by Giorgio Veneto
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Cherokee
White solemn smoke from distant hearths rising,
Cherokee spirit of his ancestors in a white vastness,
a spotted appaloosa, chestnut-white, vapor-snorting
the snow is abundant, and the game scarce or less.
All platitudes by wise-tribes-men appear visceral,
but within he feels it.. Icy plains with an outrageous,
erasing of buffalo tracks, strange to signs conferral,
oppose of his elders sacrifices and Great Spirit's vows.
Each tree in this forest, contains an ancestor's
killed warrior's soul, inside to abide; And the souls
gathered amid, constitute a great entity to endorse,
make a continuum to accept his tribe's prayer-calls.
A brave, Long Warrior of Tanasi, a vigil for his kin,
Impertinent oracles, about altered times advent,
and a demise of a numinous endorsement to win,
mal-spirits in a cadavers dance, a warrior's abetment.
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poem by Giorgio Veneto
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Scarletts Melancholy
What did Scarlett know;
her green velvet dress
was made from draperies.
What did Scarlett feel;
hunger
more than Brett's love?
Did Love burn like Atlanta
in her breast;
did Hope incinerate there?
Or is it that flames
don't burn
because they're already afire?
Was Brett the ice and Scarlett the flame?
Does Fire Love more than it burns?
Are we all at base visceral
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poem by Lonnie Hicks
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The Bassinet
Amidst the numberless aplomb soughs
Of these gaunt trees' deciduous
And supercilious burlesque show
I don myself with pertinacious
Diffidence to a grin or moue
Clad only with apathy for my bruise
And torment for every woe
The only way I can call truce
I watched the sly sky watchers
Chime the bells of their depleted shells
But stashed their docile tinkers
With the astray echoes in the wells
Daunted to be inflected with slanders
Shrunk within their own hells
A cellar of solitude, a visceral chamber
Where they lock themselves to fiddle
Are we all betrothed to the starless sky?
Or are we one with the dark clouds
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poem by Norman Santos
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