#extract
2 times 2 is four, as my life path
always wonder if I am on the right path
wish I could calculate my path, extract the unknown
prove it with words and numbers, not just inner knowing and tarot cards
math is more believable to the severed body
I use other means to understand my body
holistic, artistic, there's always another way
deterministic, statistic, no place for the grey
calculate how best to waste your days
Apr 21, 2022
Apr 21, 2022 at 10:15 AM UTC
~~~
Vanilla Extract
under extreme duress,
word-boarding extreme,
she issues up reluctantly a true confess
her secret ingredient
in everything is
vanilla extract
*where do you source this
in quantities so ample,
keep it well hid,
for all I see
after cupboard investigatory
solitary tiny brown bottle
shelved alone, forlornly?*
wearing a vanilla smile,
that persists for quite the while,
she crinkly eyed laughs
“I extract vanilla
nearly everyday,
for when I awake to a
fresh poem from a poet
who loves me,
I draw all the vanilla out,
then feed it back to him
in the foods I supply,
so his poetry is for ever
sustainable”
Jun 6, 2015
Jun 6, 2015 at 11:37 AM UTC
Short on words
But long on wisdom;
You are my very own
Sound-bite poem.
Jan 6, 2019
Jan 6, 2019 at 1:04 AM UTC
I loved til I was black and blue
without much right or reason to.
I loved you soft like morning dew.
You'll fool me once but never two.
May 13, 2018
May 13, 2018 at 1:32 AM UTC
I remember reading somewhere that one thorn
can be used to extract or take out another thorn
which has pierced the skin and body of a person
so the pain experienced for a while does worsen
and only after it has been taken out is heard a sigh
of relief regardless of the method used to come by.
________________
Feb 21, 2018
Feb 21, 2018 at 9:24 PM UTC
This world is so centered on take
Love and romance:
It's never give or create
Love is seen as property
This broken world
Demands intimacy
Extracting from every being
Now love is nothing
When it used to be everything
May 7, 2017
May 7, 2017 at 11:02 PM UTC
Innocent Hyacinth tinted with mint
Tingèd grey hinged on stem singed
With chestnut leaves flowing, to me a fair hint
Of off-centred carousing, black eyes perusing
Wares of all sorts and stocks of all shares
The leading on of a pleasure most gracefully enthusing
Drops dews of all shades, of selfsame structure
And we full of rowdy Sedition;
But Wait! Recognition.
In my hopes and tired efforts, a puncture.
Music blaring loud, aftertaste of rejection
And full on full strand of all smoke addled people
Oh! How great Quasimodo I fell off my steeple
In the midst of the crowd, full dejection.
Mar 24, 2014
Mar 24, 2014 at 4:03 PM UTC