Showing posts with label Expression. Show all posts
Showing posts with label Expression. Show all posts
in my
fragility
i often bereft my very breath of life
of all the wonderment left by dreams--
induce myself
into a tragic, tragic beauty
echoing my heart's sheer deservings
immortal tracings of longing
somehow aurify the crevices left in my soul
by all i have ever known simply
to versify their very essence
to the surface of each willing page
i sense far more in only
the most romantic of poets:
days of yore when the Promethean bard
[Shelly] crossed in his own self
the fine line between heaven and earth,
Keats with his melancholic breathlessness still rests
deeply within my heart;
oh, how they remain my unsurpassed favorites
and so, you see
i am but a humble man whose been bred
completely in the pulsating depth
of poetry
may i pertain to this
forevermore.
i often bereft my very breath of life
of all the wonderment left by dreams--
induce myself
into a tragic, tragic beauty
echoing my heart's sheer deservings
immortal tracings of longing
somehow aurify the crevices left in my soul
by all i have ever known simply
to versify their very essence
to the surface of each willing page
i sense far more in only
the most romantic of poets:
days of yore when the Promethean bard
[Shelly] crossed in his own self
the fine line between heaven and earth,
Keats with his melancholic breathlessness still rests
deeply within my heart;
oh, how they remain my unsurpassed favorites
and so, you see
i am but a humble man whose been bred
completely in the pulsating depth
of poetry
may i pertain to this
forevermore.
"oh, how i long solace enough to release
all the beauty i know i have to offer. unfortunately it doesn't work that way...
i can only offer fragments at a time. now, consider what i had just said and ask
yourself: do you think you could handle all my inner allurement were i able to
grace it in a single poem? would it be far too overwhelming for you? or for
anyone?"-- Robert Anderson
"the treasure trove of a poet is that we
can easily discover a piece of ourselves in the next bewildering voice."
--Robert Anderson
"the discovery of the truest poet
is...
to sense the convulsions of one's
secret self that may propose unrivaled beauty to its admirers." -- Robert
Anderson
"isn't being able to write poetry divine?
imagine an obsession which can alter into insomnia until the fine line between
sane and insane become utterly blurred. i love being a poet!" -- Robert
Anderson
"for every one of my quiet moments i must
leave no stone unturned to repose my sanity; this is as much for me to wed my
blurry soul with my brawling heart" -- Robert Anderson
"i can never think of poetry along the
lines of "better" or "worse" but rather the word i choose is "different". to say
"different" when discussing how one poet may or may not challenge the next can
only mean one thing: there is variety." -- Robert Anderson
"a poetry critic more often than not
focuses on the attributes of no real distinctive worth while grazing through a
poet's soul. maybe their obligation should be to take focus away from the way a
poem is shaped and immerse themselves into the way it can caress." -- Robert
Anderson
when asked of his method to express
himself:
"it's complicated. i want to compose art
and not just scribble whatever might be on my mind down. that's the key to
writing good poetry, i think. i have to "feel" what i'm thinking or else it
won't work for me and i'll just end up throwing whatever piece of trash i wrote
away." -- Robert Anderson
"for boastful intellect should be foreign
in the art of poetry; why do we feel the need to process thought when we write?
we should feel compelled to have the words process us." -- Robert
Anderson
"i've been told that i should be the most
egotistical person out there for my natural ability to express myself. i see it
more as a gift and you mustn't squander your gifts for the sake of
self-admiration." -- Robert Anderson
"Although unveiled it will never be
perceived in similar light by two different people... my soul is a diverse
nudist." -- Robert Anderson
"we poets are all wingéd creature's
flying blindly to an audience who would love to forage off our souls... like as
a moth to the blistering flame is how it generally goes." -- Robert
Anderson
"you're only as old as you are
in soul." -- Robert Anderson
"i'm like the Rubik's cube. colorful yet
complex" -- Robert Anderson
"i am the breath of
life
proposing love's unrivaled
beauty" -- Robert Anderson
"i don't know what i believe in and
that's the truth. read my poetry... i believe in whatever i write blindly
about." -- Robert Anderson
"...and so, i spend much of my time
dwelling on the most beautiful things to preoccupy my heart. how i often pray i
can scribe them in perfect symmetry." -- Robert Anderson
"in regard to the affectionate thoughts
that drown my soul: this enslavement is beautiful" -- Robert
Anderson
"...and through a curious enchantment,
which in time aroused my secret self, i was at once acquainted with my heart's
eternal dreams" -- Robert Anderson
"i loathe the feeling of being confined.
at intervals it turns into an asylum of the mind." --Robert
Anderson
"i have tragedy in my soul but in my
heart... there's love" -- Robert Anderson
"Somewhere in an alternate universe i'm
crying "what if..." over the life i have today" -- Robert
Anderson
"my mother is my arch demon. she haunts
me and i never knew her." -- Robert Anderson
"and as much again i would like for my
soul to find her own, i would rather unveil the reasons my heart impassively
dotes on her abstracted love" -- Robert Anderson
"yesterday i thought of today as
tomorrow
regardless of the fact that my time is borrowed" -- Robert Anderson
regardless of the fact that my time is borrowed" -- Robert Anderson
"i've recognize jealousy in others who've
crossed my path but paid no regard to them. they always claim my poetry's
pretentious or whatever term their little minds can conjure up in that
instant." -- Robert Anderson
"i'm an old soul and not even this fucked
up exterior could deny me my true self's brio. i shine no matter who i am in
life. i suppose this all comes down to reincarnation. i'm stronger than i
seem." --Robert Anderson
"someone once told me that the way i
write is a bit intimidating. for that i can honestly say that i feel like such a
freak. sometimes this thought haunts me so much so that i fall quietly into
loneliness. see, poetry is my way of gaining peace of mind and if you fear my
peace of mind, you give piece of mind to my fear." -- Robert
Anderson
"while standing at the skirts of all my
sanity i speculate whether or not i should jump. ironically, i'd have to be
insane to do so." -- Robert Anderson
"i consider you in a light that i
secretly hold in my thoughts. when i visit this place i find it to illuminate
with an intensity that only intimacy rules. you're beautiful here." --
Robert Anderson
"my muse has altered her visage... she's
ever enchanting and whispered softly to me as an apparition "i am Moira sweet
poet... you shall be my aftermath" then gently crawled into my soul." --
Robert Anderson
"do you think you're just an average
person? i don't believe in "just an average person". i think everyone is
bequeathed something special before they're born and, whether they know it or
not, use it in their every day lives. consider this the next time you look in
the mirror." -- Robert Anderson
"i always thought myself as the first of
a kind. others may say "one of a kind" but i refuse. one of a kind? no, no, no
it seems too much as though that could be anyone. there have been others who
have walked in your shoes before and you are echoing their very individuality.
originality is breathing its last. when an infrequent life is noticed too many
feel they MUST destroy him or her and haters flock. yes, we creative spirits are
hated." -- Robert Anderson
"i watch the night sky while standing
before the ocean. have you ever thought what they both see? while gazing upward
the ocean has a perfect view of all of heaven. and heaven? well, when you
consider what she sees it's like she staring into a mirror. both attuned to each
other only not... heaven is all they both really see." -- Robert
Anderson
oh night, with dreams that blessédly entwine my soul
with all the beauty here beneath the clouded skies
you bore my truest senses to inspire the toll
that beckons me as i brim over all my cries
and thus distinguishing my growth from my own death
in such regard to what you've always meant to me
oh night, with dreams that blessédly entwine my breath
with such existence i confess i'm free
my thoughts linger
ever often
during hours in which
the world seems
to doze beneath the moonlit skies
i'm alone, while waiting for...
something. anything.
and i cry to the stars for your
amorous touch.
where are you and
do you think of me too?
days when we were
so fond of beautiful sunsets
haunt me.
my eyes veiled.
oh, you seem so near, yet
so far, so far, so far.
how has it come to this?
i need you.
while this bares
in a tone of blue-gray it
lingers of nothing more than
silence
it's emotionless and
embraces me within the absence of my muse
a secluded whim of
dispassion slays my artistic
alchemy
oh
i mourn
between each despairing breath
and readily surrender my heart
for the price
of ullage
drowning, drowning...
i curse the heaven's for such an unfathomable
curiosity!
where are the days that have
never dreamed of quarreling with my soul--
when life bequeathed to me a beauty
of such imaginings?
how i cry out
to part with my seducing gift but,
through chicanery, my voice perfectly fails.
i am
utterly
dead.
in a tone of blue-gray it
lingers of nothing more than
silence
it's emotionless and
embraces me within the absence of my muse
a secluded whim of
dispassion slays my artistic
alchemy
oh
i mourn
between each despairing breath
and readily surrender my heart
for the price
of ullage
drowning, drowning...
i curse the heaven's for such an unfathomable
curiosity!
where are the days that have
never dreamed of quarreling with my soul--
when life bequeathed to me a beauty
of such imaginings?
how i cry out
to part with my seducing gift but,
through chicanery, my voice perfectly fails.
i am
utterly
dead.
my ears ring so often
and i wonder
do you think of me
while swaying in the memory of our last encounter?
i didn't sense i really knew you and maybe
you only thought you knew me
time stole it all away
when you believed me to be
nothing more than an apparition
and now i trust
when you secretly recall
you will never linger too vaguely
but think only that i have always thought
you were simply you
for the sake of me being me.
and i wonder
do you think of me
while swaying in the memory of our last encounter?
i didn't sense i really knew you and maybe
you only thought you knew me
time stole it all away
when you believed me to be
nothing more than an apparition
and now i trust
when you secretly recall
you will never linger too vaguely
but think only that i have always thought
you were simply you
for the sake of me being me.
slowly I graze
against the shrouds of my youth
embracing what it had already meant
embracing what it had already meant
to scribe
when rain was just as sweet as light
and gray overshadowed no beauty
fairer than my muse
and gray overshadowed no beauty
fairer than my muse
and through that curious enchantment,
which in time aroused my secret self,
I was at once acquainted with my heart's eternal dreams.
which in time aroused my secret self,
I was at once acquainted with my heart's eternal dreams.
i sense
tragedy
in my soul i know,
i know we were meant to be and yet
i'm so damn vacant and oblivious that
you would have never accepted it
(at least not for long)
time seems to drift away;
it's no longer of any concern,
why won't this leave me be...
leave
me
be
and
let me sit here,
so lonely and oh, so much further
from this world
than i have ever been before,
thinking only of you
you must have thought the worse
for my abandonment,
for my fallible nature and
for my ignorance;
i wonder if you can hear me
whisper
how so sorry i am
how could i have been so
uncaring in that last moment?
God, i'm stupid.
i'm stupid because
you were more of a gift to me
than i knew
and now i'm left wondering:
'do you echo my sentiments?'
as i think more, and more, and more;
deeper and deeper,
i wish so much
that i could utter to you,
through these tears,
how truly 'i still love you'
and how...
i will
till hell freezes over
and you're reawakened
'my eternal breath of heaven.'
tragedy
in my soul i know,
i know we were meant to be and yet
i'm so damn vacant and oblivious that
you would have never accepted it
(at least not for long)
time seems to drift away;
it's no longer of any concern,
why won't this leave me be...
leave
me
be
and
let me sit here,
so lonely and oh, so much further
from this world
than i have ever been before,
thinking only of you
you must have thought the worse
for my abandonment,
for my fallible nature and
for my ignorance;
i wonder if you can hear me
whisper
how so sorry i am
how could i have been so
uncaring in that last moment?
God, i'm stupid.
i'm stupid because
you were more of a gift to me
than i knew
and now i'm left wondering:
'do you echo my sentiments?'
as i think more, and more, and more;
deeper and deeper,
i wish so much
that i could utter to you,
through these tears,
how truly 'i still love you'
and how...
i will
till hell freezes over
and you're reawakened
'my eternal breath of heaven.'
the faintest hope
here by my view
which i have bled
through shades of blue
a seldom touch
a seldom touch
when my soul mourns
a lasting dream
in which i'm scorned
when my thoughts ebb
and flow toward
and flow toward
this feeling draws
like as a sword
then penetrates
into your heart
then causes me
to fall apart
like as prayer
i call to mind
your every whim
and how we'll bind
forevermore
into a sea
of nothing new
obliquity
obliquity
when His own voice from mountains high
reflects the sense He is bereft
of all the goodness angel's cry
by and by and with every step
He'll journey throughout this mortal realm
with peace deep in His heart - content
with more to give while overwhelmed
it 'tis the aim of His intent
no one may see Him, no one may dare
for those who often do forget
are frightened, lost and in despair
and by their sight - blurry and wet
He knows what lies within their hearts
He knows their pain, He feels their grief
He whispers soft 'oh leave the dark'
despite the lack of their belief
she is my everlasting obsession
i could love her as though
i were existing as her favorite flower
she would never bear to see my soul wither
and beheld by her meticulous eyes
i would be the one
who'd brighten her day
my obsession
whose smile can place the sun's brilliance
into such shame that sweet heaven's angels would weep
her heart is perfectly divine
and when she speaks it dear Euterpe
becomes envious of the music
that echoes
she is my everlasting
obsession...
my obsession
i could love her as though
i were existing as her favorite flower
she would never bear to see my soul wither
and beheld by her meticulous eyes
i would be the one
who'd brighten her day
my obsession
whose smile can place the sun's brilliance
into such shame that sweet heaven's angels would weep
her heart is perfectly divine
and when she speaks it dear Euterpe
becomes envious of the music
that echoes
she is my everlasting
obsession...
my obsession
beckoning for me are
the remains of a darkened day--
shards of a mirror hieing
to remind me
i look down to them and find
my distorted gaze..
my eyes sicking with a soul
simply yearning to be
the feeling,
oh, the feeling that emits
from all my wonderment and my pain
should i turn my head away and claim
i now know bliss,
and deny the inner chaos
which consistently remains?
the remains of a darkened day--
shards of a mirror hieing
to remind me
i look down to them and find
my distorted gaze..
my eyes sicking with a soul
simply yearning to be
the feeling,
oh, the feeling that emits
from all my wonderment and my pain
should i turn my head away and claim
i now know bliss,
and deny the inner chaos
which consistently remains?
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