Elevation Poems

Alone, perched upon the precipice, The Thinker, swathed in Olympian bliss, Thought thoughts of Truth and Power. The din to his ears did not rise, He did not witness Mankind’s demise From his lofty ivory tower. He fashioned fantastical fancies,

Far away from mankind and society, far I wandered. Through bleak plains and screeching drums, Dragging along my body, weary from the residues of development, My eyes are sore from enduring all this mortal architecture that’s slowly diminishing in my rear

You feel you have conquered it all. Your big ego still feels small Look man … The mountain still stands tall. You blast your way up to the top But you know not now … Where to stop The hill

Lighter than a feather, when weighed on you though, never heavier, Rain in the storm, blown away I’m torn, open up, it’s not like the norm Adored but not shown, praises that become worn, Show me the love, where’s the

So cold But so still Will my well Begin to kill my Own selfish ways Or should I just stay Frozen in order to decay In the mist of the bay May I fly to die? Or soar to become

I approach the 160° turn to the left, The public toilets, still there. Those strange, Striped warning poles and a sign in Old engineering font (like London Underground, but rusted) saying ‘STOP WHEN BELL RINGS’. Up its gentle elevation to

Her severed head she carries, from the Sant’ Angelo Bridge, surrounded features bring her near, so small in comparison, drawn to the Tempietto, she’s associated with this reminder overheard, from my conversation with Paul from the ceiling, conveyance from scripture,

A look past the glass I can see my past Now freed from the disbelieve One can start to relive Though what can I gain? Still I am in pain Maybe with just a wish I’d change my accomplished dish

A cascade of vibrant pink Flowing through thorny boughs Not just a vine, not just a bush But a perfect treat for the eyes Blossoming freely round the year As a real all-time pleasure Be it the scorching summer blaze

We wake to the rumbling thunder of blood, Pumping hearts, twisted hearts, this shadow and I Squeeze into the thick silences of trees. Now the dark lights of Christmastide afflict us Twilight memories drift, flux and flicker In this breeze

Corrupt the desire “to be” has made me so lost my “Querencia” in transit the crack in my soul ( for the light to get in ) has been filled-up with “God knows what” where is my Elysian that I

The last signs of man’s existence, Are a full forty miles away. The flowers blooming in nascence, Are scattered all along my way. The last thing from out yonder, Is this serpentine stream beside, Leaving me and I to ponder,

Tired feet, aching head, teary eyes, weary heart’ I don’t need another heartbreak, I can’t take another heartache but we need one another. There are things you remember and there are things you can not forget like when a girl

On a rock near the lake Sitting silently I was Dangling my feet in Waters, disturbing it Just for pleasure’s sake. Seeing terrified fish I felt an urge to muse What right I have to My liberty’s misuse? Shivering stars

After seeing you again yesterday I just can’t think of anything else but you, oh your beautiful face your pretty eyes and your wicked little grin makes me wanna get to know you better if you know what I mean

The night was at its depth I sat alone in the dark I felt lonely and sad My mind traveled all around I felt like trapped in my body. I wished I could run back- To my blooming youth With

Night enters into the drift. I get through a fossil, quite beyond the light, a search begins for a tortured being in some ideal’s mire. The battle begins, of fears and doubts and upon the trampled sun-blind truths of past

Dear Jesus, My enemies have brought me to my knees. Now I am down here asking you please. I know you have no reason to answer my pleading call. I know you could stand back and just let me fall.

I met her few days ago In a beautiful garden May be a new friend though face was unknowable, but as if we were known to each other from time immemorial Innocent face, solemn lines on the forehead, eyes looked like

Manipulating grief, dirty hands – open the lid, release images. Eyes are blank. You unravel the last of roses. Surface tension wavers. An imbecile sky pours the eyes, nose and ears. Courtyard fills again, morphed resurrection. I am persona non

Cast through the trees I’m standing alone I then feel your presence You slowly make it known You raise up my chin I capture your glow My eyes seal shut As you radiate my soul The warmth of your touch

(With a cup of coffee in my hand, looking out the large window, there could be no other thought on my mind, but to write on this beautiful vision) The dainty flurries, swiftly flooding the skies… Snowy pearls, golly what

If she knew my pen moved The way her lips do Like love keeping others. How my neck leans To the pulse. Words too fast to slow My animal ready Abusing life Skin grows I hope it’s a sweet night

Mom said girls are meant to be patient, But i am not… Girls should be sweet, but i am not.. Girls are not supposed to get angry, but i get.. Girls should not have short temper, but i have.. Girls

I’ve always prided myself in being eloquent with the English language. Present perfect tense, Present Perfect Progressive I never did get around to understanding what the present tense was Or rather, being in the present. Most of the time I

It takes relentless effort to form new neuron connections for higher order thinking And without pain there is no gain no matter how badly you try tricking Only the most difficult of experiences teach the highest order lessons in living

The silence shattered like a crystal glass on a marble floor And every splintered diamond shard glittered like a newborn dream, As rising sun fingers trickled over them in blood red and gold contusions Dawn was the servant who had

Why do we feel love? Do we even know what loves is? How do know when we’re in love? Does anyone really know? Songs have been sung about love for thousands of years. Stories, poems, books and movies flood our

If not for that pitcher of ugly beer, We’d never have been in love. You for once would never have Made sense of my drunken chatter. Nor I found your stubble anything to Die for, considering how they prick My

Our tryst in time, a happenstance gone by, Went all so well and sweet, but very swift, My heart, in sorrow did nothing but cry, On rivers of its tears it’s now adrift; Short were those days, the sun made

With their backs to the sun They ask “why” and “where” Focused on having fun They refuse to even care I tell them “turn around, It’s closer than you think” But they continue to look down Without a single blink

In a world of dreams and imaginations, There’s perfection, make-believe stories. All’s the way, we wish life to be. With equality, without disease, Over populated places. All reside in mansions, have beautiful bodies. Love is as the Cinderella story. King

A dialogue with fear, to end the thought, was walking alone on the edge of death. All the mercy of life was with it. Gone were the waves, whispering, back to the sea of mundane paucities. The sky and the

I wake up from my dreams. Standing in front of the mirror, I watch my sad face. my watery eyes call for u, my heart aches. I teach myself to smile. Not so small, not too big, I wear this

Where he fixed the features of his mental image what he thought and what tells vividly his visage He planned a journey of progress for present to start When his country would cover that with spirit of heart In future

I lay in bed all morning Crippled with a yearning Turned to my left, then right Couldn’t find my love, nowhere in sight You hadn’t come over, you weren’t supposed to Yet I had this feeling, a sense; I could

Shiny little lights on the ceiling reflect intermittently what’s within There’s no space for our bodies to gasp and that crude cry’s lost in the making. Shiny skin on my arms potent with sweat and charms of tonight we twirl

I do not want to take you, either the road ahead, or lovely gyrations on low stage of voicelessness. The swoop of eagle on a little bundle, of chromatic fever: was it unbirdy? The tree of death grows taller than

The wind rushes through the fields I am but an object that sees and feels The landscape changes as weather does the deals I want to sail on clouds that blow by like Catherine wheels The light across the long