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CharlesC Nov 2012
a simple shape
a foundation
our stability
our confident strength..
but ask we must
ask how sufficient
for our lives in
these disturbing years..
is now our time
is our honored square
more dependable
in a new light..?

dare we let go
disconnect those corners
allow the four lines
to drift as they may..?
one mae become bold
more solid
more dark..
another fades to
a slim beam of light..

the other two
lack decision right now
end up comfortably
somewhere between..
then we notice
we cannot distinguish
which line dark
and which light..
seeming becomings
before our eye..
is our square
strong as before...?
la la la la
is this what love feels like

or what I want it
to feel like when it comes
slam-bamming in

the snigger on the stairs
first saxophone note

my throat
knows the right words
speak
of succulent fruits
count the seconds
it takes
for our fingers to crumple
in warm baths

look
toothbrushes together
own side of the bed
I have a side
where I sleep
in the madness of you

la la la la
I can’t sing
but I must have swallowed a pill
or a bucketful
of elation
look at me go ha ha

does it crunch as an apple
is it flat pack furniture

cup of coffee
in the same café
steam to sip sip sip

my temperature spiking
blood thunderstorm
in my ears

coloured hair
new language
list of I’m becomings
you’re becomings

oh darling
not pumpkin never pumpkin
lyrically I’m losing it
love like this
or not at all my love

maybe a shelf
without books

maybe a house we paint
or a song
how it starts
Written: September 2017.
Explanation: A poem written in my own time. A rare occassion where I am very happy with the end product. Feedback highly welcome and appreciated on this piece. A link to my Facebook writing page can be found on my HP home page.
NOTE: Many of my older pieces will be removed from HP at some point in the future.
A W Bullen Aug 2022
The form
the flux,
the constant
becomings

the duty,
distraction,
the running
of motors,

the quotas,
the breadline,
the rising
and shining

the hiding
a stupefied look
in your eyes
Billy White Mar 2016
you sing on and on (and on) in the foreground as
the meter aches and constricts; with its power, beauty, antipathy
searing distances between us, hearing the becomings of null somethings

we reunite with the blankness
of pristine white passages
to break free from inertia


I cannot describe my infatuation with a split second
the embrace, the longing of wordless writers
and their unacknowledged cruelties

grieving over all this birthing
objecting to their own last words
the fresh blood of teething &
the prodding of our sores
Seán Mac Falls Oct 2014
Saint sees the sun—
In every leaf and river,
Grow in bloom of sparkle,
That flows to earth
And sea, changing
The globe with rounded
Eyes and simple cloths.

But there are those—
Who label themselves
Sinner, by indifferent
Tongue of words they fork,
Vision that opens in dark,
By base industry and guile
Know their own worths.

Saint is old beginner,
Each day are missives
Of tears and joyful acts
To beauty and simple light
Becomings, pilgrims unleashed
By chains of hand and whirl
Of sun golden daisies.
vhcgjhf Jul 2015
you sing on and on (and on) in the foreground as
the meter aches and constricts; with its power, beauty, antipathy
searing distances between us, hearing the becomings of null somethings

we reunite with the blankness
of pristine white passages
to break free from inertia


I cannot describe my infatuation with a split second
the embrace, the longing of wordless writers
and their unacknowledged cruelties

grieving over all this birthing
objecting to their own last words
the fresh blood of teething &
the prodding of our sores
Seán Mac Falls Dec 2014
Saint sees the sun—
In every leaf and river,
Grow in bloom of sparkle,
That flows to earth
And sea, changing
The globe with rounded
Eyes and simple cloths.

But there are those—
Who label themselves
Sinner, by indifferent
Tongue of words they fork,
Vision that opens in dark,
By base industry and guile
Know their own worths.

Saint is old beginner,
Each day are missives
Of tears and joyful acts
To beauty and simple light
Becomings, pilgrims unleashed
By chains of hand and whirl
Of sun golden daisies.
Seán Mac Falls Nov 2015
Saint sees the sun—
In every leaf and river,
Grow in bloom of sparkle,
That flows to earth
And sea, changing
The globe with rounded
Eyes and simple cloths.

But there are those—
Who label themselves
Sinner, by indifferent
Tongue of words they fork,
Vision that opens in dark,
By base industry and guile
Know their own worths.

Saint is old beginner,
Each day are missives
Of tears and joyful acts
To beauty and simple light
Becomings, pilgrims unleashed
By chains of hand and whirl
Of sun golden daisies.
Seán Mac Falls May 2015
.
Saint sees the sun—
In every leaf and river,
Grow in bloom of sparkle,
That flows to earth
And sea, changing
The globe with rounded
Eyes and simple cloths.

But there are those—
Who label themselves
Sinner, by indifferent
Tongue of words they fork,
Vision that opens in dark,
By base industry and guile
Know their own worths.

Saint is old beginner,
Each day are missives
Of tears and joyful acts
To beauty and simple light
Becomings, pilgrims unleashed
By chains of hand and whirl
Of sun golden daisies.
Seán Mac Falls Nov 2016
.
Saint sees the sun—
In every leaf and river,
Grow in bloom of sparkle,
That flows to earth
And sea, changing
The globe with rounded
Eyes and simple cloths.

But there are those—
Who label themselves
Sinner, by indifferent
Tongue of words they fork,
Vision that opens in dark,
By base industry and guile
Know their own worths.

Saint is old beginner,
Each day are missives
Of tears and joyful acts
To beauty and simple light
Becomings, pilgrims unleashed
By chains of hand and whirl
Of sun golden daisies.
Jordana Mar 2019
I am a forest of many small fires.
Matches tossed carelessly
into tinder which waits fervently
for the touch of a sparking disarray,
I am all at once a smolder and senseless blazing flame
and the smoke which billows away from me reeks arrestingly of shame.
And so I am ashes,
purely enveloped the black sickening airs of ghastly passions,
insisted becomings and hasty stashes,
I am shame
and attempts to mask it
seem to disintegrate like the cajoles of yesterday.
I am a forest of many small fires which have melded into one,
as the blurring of myself with the long observed sum.
As dust dry bones to the carcasses of slain,
the creatures of innocence whose tried escapes but in vain,
I slough the suffering of a thousand drunkards on the undeserving lips,
of the meticulous sparrow’s sloppily incinerated nest.
I am dissolution to good and my flames stand to show,
of how easily destruction may pass for personal growth.
Renard Jackson Jun 2017
The future belongs to the strong ones who believe in their dreams. Do I? I have a goals I haven't accomplished? Well, I'm alone in my own aspiration. Dreams, Becomings, our future. Some people want to become nurses to treat illness and others desire to be a teacher to inspire. Even I, for instance, wanted to be rich and powerful. But whenever someone asks me, "There is nothing wrong with wanting" I answer. I dwell over a lot of things since I was a jitterbug, I had so many "wants"and "needs" for life but I couldn't imagine that one day, I would have to answer this question.
Ok could you let me know when you're done with the writers of your laughter. Capable and deserving.
Dennis Willis May 2019
The chain
of becomings

Opened
to here

When do we
know...

Maybe Never

Maybe Always

...anything

Seems like
both

Always sometimes

Needing
more often
Ophelia Nov 2020
Uncertainty
fretting over your midnight fantasy
wishing to just catch a glimpse
on the becomings
but life was never a simple entity

Expectation
full of the doubted notion
maybe we're still high on emotion
but still, we should go with determination
that's how we move forward in motion

Future
keep us feeling unsure
but if you'd seen the picture
it will lose its mysterious demeanor
as that's the beauty of every adventure
Robert Heller Sep 2017
Twas just a thing like Eden
That slipped from off your face,
White lilies short in season,
God's best and fallen grace.
Birdsongs greet the morning
Then quickly take to flight,
There's pain in late becomings
Through the dim and fading light.
Tis short though, the price to open
The weight of Heaven's door,
To mend what time has broken
Returning home to love once more!
R.

— The End —