Deafly Attuned | Poetry

The following are the first compiled poems articulated by Robbie Reamer. The original works are facile and provide minimal emotional enlightenment. Instead, they are the beginning of querying oneself about purpose, soul, and future. Their disposition focuses on the author’s personal life. The relative observations develop into inquisitions that the reader must intently consider for themselves. The poems will cultivate creative outlooks for mind’s seeking deeper but unexplained feelings. Altogether, bringing a compilation of cognition and awareness into ubiquitous, but overlooked, everyday emotions.

Amazon (kindle):

https://www.amazon.com/dp/B0C2QHQ8CS

Google Play:

https://play.google.com/store/books/details/Robbie_Reamer_Deafly_Attuned?id=E3-6EAAAQBAJ&pli=1

Also found on Poetizer as physical hardcover copy.

Thank You!

Example Poem (inside book):

My Today

I stand in complete daylight,

warm rays glimmering relentlessly,

overwhelming oranges and yellows paint the atmosphere,

the spews incandescently renewing the terra.

-

My face is hot with the slap of heat,

I feel my body releasing newfound energy,

the plants around me surface to bathe,

viridescent swards gesture mighty blades.

-

All the while, the sky shines cerulean,

scattered cotton balls uptaking its vast space,

globules split into brisk and beautiful streaks.

-

The ambience is tranquil,

backdrops of chirps and whooshes,

the effervescent flora and fauna all harmonizing,

playing perfect pitch.

-

My figure fits in the frame,

this welcoming environment beckons me to beam,

the grass is soft, the air pristine.

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With eyes faintly closed,

body gently sprawled,

the turf soothes its hold around me,

while the crisp breeze settles upon my surface.

-

A cloud briefly absorbs the sun,

A quietness overtakes my ears,

this wonderful feeling washes over me,

as I lay in complete calmness.

The Oranging Butterfly (Not in Book)

I lay on this vine,

I am a yellow ball beckoned to burst,

oranging to maturity, a pulpy mass ready to awaken,

avoiding nature's wrath, unbeknown to my unconscious egg sack.

The vine that was before me, grown from sullen soil and rainwater,

given as my birthplace, a fate that would prove itself fortunate.

Hardly woody, an herbaceous stem, viridescent and dangly,

I hang unreadily, the wind blowing over the glossy pill of prosperousness.

A fulfillment I could have never predicted, a spot not predetermined but destined.

An insurmountable responsibility to my world like an endless staircase to a totem of happiness,

I knew I could not walk there, that my lifetime was short and impermissible to my state,

that first I must grow, mature, morph into the body that was meant to me.

So I burst, a great behemoth emerged, a freshness meant to explore the world,

still orange from my nascency, brighter and entrusted with generations of work.

I can see my long vine rising from the far brown ground and the leaves powering my home,

I feel the soft texture of the leaflets and an insatiable hunger to devour years of flora,

I hear the birds cawing, the trees rustling with unknown species of fauna.

The urge inside me like a suppressed volcano,

an innate purpose to survive, a will to move, to discover, to erupt.

All new, perceived in seconds because life happens in milliseconds.

I wring and wiggle, scrunch and extend, uncovering my mysterious new form.

Now I accept my duty, as the being of creation,

I eat the leaves of my plant, tasting familiar,

palpable, the passion flower leaf, not acrid or saccharine, but simple.

It fuels me, empowering me to evolve and create a satisfying existence.

Where I can make my vine proud, a betterment of the earth.

I understand my full belly, the verdure being digested like coal in a train.

My eyes are discerning wisely, my legs run faster and my ears are keener.

I am being pulled to advance, beyond my larval stage,

something seemingly impossible but completely plausible.

It must be this way because even with all these legs,

And my spiky body, and bright orange worminess.

Despite my abilities, I can not crawl up the perron of success.

I would surely die of exhaustion, or outlive my mushy self.

Therefore, I allow my metamorphosis,

I choose to become a cocoon of the future,

from there I could learn the novel world,

rupture, defy tribulations and flash my greatness,

I have patiently waited my whole life to undergo the change,

The moment has finally arrived that I shed this shell of creation,

That I escape from my passion flower plant who has cultivated me.

My pupal stage is coming to a halt, a place where everything is supposed to converge and diversify. My body is ready, but I am renewed to a stage of inexperience.

I am out and I flaunt my great wings,

shiny, apricot orange, speckled with deep dark holes.

Long creviced flaps filled with lustrous scales,

altogether derived from my lifetime work of consumption and assimilation.

I see now in my refreshed state that I can fly,

that my dry pattern is purposeful and presents a bright path.

The stairway is meaningless now, I can fly with the power of a plane,

but still the delicateness of a paper lantern.

I glide today charged with motivation,

a million cells imbued with impetus to perform

I no longer have to wait or sliver, I am afloat in the air of time.

Each stair is left unfelt and passed, I feel like a magical boat flowing up the perron.

It is now if ever that I flap my way to success, that all I have done is not in vain.

I must find my passion flower, and carry on as I was always supposed to…