#ii
https://hellopoetry.com/poems/5116875/jesus-never-said-solve-for-x
~~~
Parterre* II
went o’class today,
that is to say.
upon awaking to new dawning day,
someone reminded me of the ongoing, continuing
Needed Necessary to Solve for X
thus birthing in my own private mental manger,
a first feeding of a poem this day,
Thu Apr 23 7:33am
this searching for the illusive X,
is a serenading story never ending,
a toute~tour of the world, for
X
is everywhere.
without passport, sans country,
monseñor X is quite
une célébrité internationale,
if not even,
une chaussée (causeway) internationale
These pesky X,
with boon buddies, the squared
Y, A, B, C!**
All permanent shipboard residents on a worldwide cruise,
so to the point then:
<>
Problems are unique,
but yet,
just varietals in a well grounded
garden parterre,
in the back of the Opera house,
where the perspective is long distance,
and opera glasses a must have,
plus a good mirrored microscope,
for X’s need a multilevel examinations,
one is en courage to pick up X
with both microbe infected hands,
for X’s are not only always clean,
requiring grit to comprehend,
they come in all sizes
even body scan sizes, if you gather my meanings
so examine yourself frequently,
for not only is
X
evolving,
your peculiar solution
is a
flux capacitor
with no warranty
ergo
fix or repair daily…
Apr 23
Apr 23, 2026 at 5:53 AM UTC
back in the day. when I knew better,
the hows and whys of only love poetry,
was rewarded by her tears free flowing,
sniffling and slip~sliding from ducts to lips,
perhaps it was just the newness, of a man, just,
writing to just her, love poetry, like to be thinking,
skill and insight feelings peculiar inserted, may have helped
but even poems grow worn weary from too many readings,
and emotions exposed grow protective armor, containers,
that hold back emotional response au naturel, willing
suppression of the freedom to expose the infinite
capacity to let the guard down, show the raw,
the impulsed, the unguarded emotive we
become more expert markswomen to
coverup with makeup, polite words,
find/inside the superfine letters that unlock
the immediate, contemporaneous, pure unguarded,
freely released, stored weaknesses of the heart, eyes, leaking,
the physical evidence that the boundaries breeched, the fortress
penetrated, overcome, the inescapable captured realized
emotions unvarnished, getting away, just a little
embarrassing that just once more I, poet,
touched her in a way my fingertips
know all too well, with words,
kissing the back of her neck.
weak kneed, pleased,
distressed, letting go,
one mo' time,
making her cry again, pleasured tears, released,
her will power surrenders to what she must confess,
that only love poetry is a force undeniably that must be
surrendered to freely, willingly, and confessing by her lips
why not?
Aug 4, 2025
Aug 4, 2025 at 4:28 PM UTC
long after these thousand days of
passing years, the eyes will feel a
sparking, I will remember you,
my dear old friends, reviewing
the where, the when, which will
flush, outing the whys
from my
memories
more than the poetic liturgy composed,
but what felled me to my knees,
yearning,
for the soup of love and passion,
pain+no gain, euphorias rising at the
trenching lows of depths
newly explored, hope returning after a
long time abandonment, the
excruciating ecstasy
of creating, the killing tedium of
months of no inspiration but the
glint of a possible tomorrow
but you knot all this,
so come to tell you,
long after the poem
encased in yellowing
emerald unwrapping
aging megabytes, more
than any old poem itself,
I wil remember what you
wrote in return, with insight
all we are, we are an interaction
a petrified yet living petri dish of
creatures re/anew,
r e n e w e d, and I am
young again
and the tears of yore no more,
fresh flowering droplets of
a longer than believable age,
factuals of the sweet,
you will move once
more, remaking me
your lover devotee
and I wil stumble;
the woman enquirer
am I ok, whimsy
respond never,
never ever better
my darling
and I lift a tissue
to erase the evidence
of my happy melancholic
existence, and start another
conversation with you, but no!
one of us long gone, name
erased, poems left behind,
orphaned children, them
and me left alone while
I will be remembered,
by remembering you,
our second of union
as it
reverberates, our amour
reunion is a wetting,
giving forth a burst,
a fluid sac,
again
Sep 20, 2024
Sep 20, 2024 at 7:51 AM UTC
Elizabeth;
Of immensely esteemed birth.
Highly respected in life,
but more respected in death.
Having a crown that ceased to decay
for many decades long.
A queen of kings, but still a wife,
custodian of traditions strong.
She that saw historic anniversaries,
She that saw millennial discoveries,
She that transcends previous monarchies
in length of days and pivotal reign.
Queen of a realm of historic gains,
where the sun never sets on their plains.
All to Westminster their griefs convey
to our departed who countless smiles gave.
And for your funeral would many for death crave.
Dec 12, 2022
Dec 12, 2022 at 3:09 PM UTC
the nation's pride in graceful wave
delivered 'fore the thousands
the millions as they roared 'n raved
in worship smiles that roused them
from those ever graceful lips
kissed by Jove 'n Venus
that spoke the majesty of queenship
of love above sweet Eros
the smile that shone out from her eyes
with sincerity none could hide
of interest and intelligence wise
up welled from deep inside
no mawkish sentimentality
nor false, nor common rot,
her smile bespoke reality
a truth that G-d begot
Fare thee well, O gracious Queen,
never from nation forgot,
Farewell in flight to Heaven's Sheen,
To bind Celestial Knot
Sep 13, 2022
Sep 13, 2022 at 10:16 AM UTC
Your love is a music box,
a melody that surrounds me;
it intoxicated me.
Love me now,
so that I can feel safe
Love me now,
so I feel complete
Love me now,
so all worries bid goodbye
Love me now,
so I won't be wanting things;
Things I can't have
Love me now,
so I won't be paranoid
Love me now,
so I can escape this everlasting winter snow
Love me now,
so I can be in your arms
Love me now,
so I won't feel like an empty vessel
Love me,
like those people with happy endings
Love me,
so I can feel warm
Love me now,
so I can breathe
Love me now,
so I can see
So I can live...
Yet I can't force you, not because I know that it is wrong
I'm just too tired now.
Feb 26, 2021
Feb 26, 2021 at 6:11 AM UTC
I began to weep seeing horrors
outside the Urakami Cathedral
amid skeletons of the horrific explosion,
that scarred innocent faces,
burnt patterns on human flesh,
and melted eyes of the pure
on that August day in 1945.
The day the bells did not ring
for those disfigured by flames,
charred by unseen radiation,
or left wandering among the dead.
My tears became fears
outside Nagasaki Peace Park in 1956
seeing the insanity of igniting the air.
Aug 3, 2020
Aug 3, 2020 at 4:31 PM UTC
I know Simon’s a court poet. To dedicate
Odes to monarchs’s survival. Raymond as
A philosopher valued life’s democratic state,
I honour monarchy as any man, at last,
In whose heart the Empire’s spirit beating,
Long live the Commonwealth for time all!
By Nika for all time became blessed Britain,
The country army scare foes all!
And the Queen is the brand for all the world,
All ministers’ll retire but not the Queen!
I have not seen a monarch nobler from of old,
Who honours just so traditions’, honour’s being.
Thank you for giving inspiration to the poet
For his poems, by your own greatness.
Thus, rule for the population’s good great,
Setting an example for other rulers.
{2019}
КОРОЛЕВЕ ЕЛИЗАВЕТЕ II
Я знаю, что сейчас поэт придворный Саймон,
И оды посвящать монархам – прошлый век!
И как демократизм ценил философ Раймон,
Монархию я чту, как каждый человек,
В чьём сердце бьётся дух Империи Великой –
Содружества Союз да здравствует в веках!
Британия всегда благословенна Никой,
И армия страны врагам вселяет страх!
И Королева есть как Бренд международный:
Министры все уйдут, но Королева есть!
Не видел в жизни я монарха благородней!
Кто точно также чтит традиции и честь!
Спасибо Вам за то, что дали вдохновенье
Поэту на стихи величием своим!
Так правьте же ещё во благо населенья,
Давая так пример правителям другим!
{11.11.2019}
Translator - I. Toporov
May 11, 2020
May 11, 2020 at 10:17 AM UTC
it's as if our eyes hear the wail of each other's hearts.
but i can't talk to you when you're drunk.
because you're irrational and angry,
and i'm argumentative and stubborn.
May 10, 2020
May 10, 2020 at 12:31 AM UTC
**“for when the mind has no solution to the rough and tumbling lives,
lived in glass shackled confinement, the poet’s desperation equals theirs”
The Bus Poet Stop “The Glass Shackles” ^
<|>
~this one for Eliot York, who gave us a great gift - opportunity~
§§§
The mandated city buses are largely denuded of passengers,
so the drivers, peruse the enriched, enforced silenced life of the
streetscape, and as they pass, call-out a fisherman’s plaintive wailing,
“here we are, where are you, do we exist?” Too few nibble “I am!”
Bus Poet Stops, stumbles on an older writ, now seemingly prophetic,
once again, he is back, living in a glass shackled confinement,
his 16th floor perch, besmirched, the mirthless empty outside well matched by the isolation inside him, a new kind of shackling bereft.
For these glass shackles are not new, but different, the glass is poorly blown, cloudy, pockmarked with air bubbles entrapped, useless
for fresh breathing, many containing a question mark, some ask
what, others when/where shelter, all, harsh pleading tones, why me?
“For when the mind has no solution” poet wrote in twenty eighteen,
unaware that this predictive value would return to rent & render mean,
his composure, no longer a savior, now he weeps copiously for thee,
those that he, in prior life, came to save, now too, another faceless face.
no, no!
Your writing saves self, and a thousand more, you infiltrate, penetrate our conjoined quiet, giving name to each of our unsalted tears, no fear poems that make us say, Merry, Merry to us all; God bless us, every one! Bus Poet head-hung, shamed, pained, looks away, mask-covers-gratitude.
Rough and tumbling times, we discount ourselves blameless, but voices
say time for gifting varietals of solace mysterious, this! is your business!
words, instruct to touch, to transport us on a poet’s bus to Delirious,
enable arrival+survival to destiny’s destination, “for all, a good night!”
May 1, 2020
May 1, 2020 at 2:08 PM UTC
She shines like a rainbow in the night
a light, unbounded and free
Her warmth is a welcome respite
thawing the deepest freeze
Her lips a red velvet chorus
I can't help but overhear
She glows with the translucent aura
of a picturesque sunset sea
Buttercups turn to greet her smile
she'll lift your head with ease
Trees send their leaves for thousands of miles
just to be in her breeze
Her eyes are an ocean of opalescent truths
inviting the bold to dive in
and swim to a world of untold hues
one night inside a diamond
In her violet dress and violent heels
The Devil would bare his soul for free
and so might I, for just a taste
the chance to lay her light to waste
Jul 14, 2019
Jul 14, 2019 at 5:05 AM UTC
Part II of "Got 0 Followers"
aim high
to keep
it low
expectations
such an
Awesome Awful
curse
others infect
you with
don't, yada yada,
ya wanna be like
Tom, **** and Jane,
even Harry, a transgendered
friend and fellow (ha) outcast,
all with a good job
prospects of a
goodly tented long life?
so ya write poems
to nobody
about nothing and
you are pleased
to be pleasing just yourself
in writing you have
nothing to prove,
so read them
like keepsakes
ya like,
keep 'em & me hid,
in the shoebox
under the closeted
pile of ***** clothes,
special designer outfits concocted
so they keep my remains,
privatized and unsanitized,
my equity,
hidden,
disguised as disgusting
but for god-sakes
don't follow me,
unless
you want to curse us
both with
Expectations of Expectations,
then comes with
illiteracy of
Affection
then the literary
pre-tension
that always follows,
leading to
Affectation,
the first derivative of the infection of affection
yeah,
then comes
caring
and it instantly it's too late,
you're *******
right up the mental heine,
lost condemned
ruined annihilated
crushed subverted
crushed into
mental death camp suffocation of more, please ma,
can I have some more?
crap, why did you have to go and follow me?
Mar 8, 2015
Mar 8, 2015 at 8:14 PM UTC
We were buried beneath the footsteps
of generals insecurities.
Like dominos ready to fall when we
climbed the wall and fell
before our time...
But we where the steps of others
collecting behind our graves
of flesh they hid.
Ricochets flew past those
hid behind the regrets of friends silently
shielding there dreams.
Please let our steps be counted,
no matter how many never
fall to the beat of the drums..
Ours are silent, never to tread once again,
we are the fallen.
Like leaves we decay in the ground.
some buried some never to be found,
Just blossoms of white buried beneath the earth.
Apr 6, 2019
Apr 6, 2019 at 4:42 PM UTC
I am so ******* done.
I am now a loaded gun,
So you’d better ******* run.
I am hateful, like a forsaken son,
I am spiteful, like the blazing sun.
An appetite for self-destruction,
Akin to handling dynamite without any instructions.
The chaotic disorder that runs amok,
The scavenging hoarder pillaging dead schmucks.
This language is those dark corners left unilluminated by love,
A savage from unknown lands coming over the ridge,
That unsated, insane impulse that turns push into shove.
Throbbing veins and demonic thoughts,
Sobbing dames and manic frauds.
Your mental kingdom, your palace of peace –
It all falls apart, piece-by-piece.
Hate is like a saboteur, sneaking in,
It robs life of its grandeur, sinking its teeth in.
Rhythm just doesn’t happen,
You feel stricken, like you’re borderline bed-ridden,
Feeling as used as a ***** napkin.
You see hate in every pair of dead eyes,
In every new set of ******* lies,
Whenever another inner child dies,
Whenever another bomb-dropping jet flies.
We have two languages, in this life –
The language of love, and the language of hate.
Which one do you want to speak?
Which realm do you seek?
Choose wisely;
Mistakes are not taken very kindly.
Nov 29, 2018
Nov 29, 2018 at 6:23 AM UTC
Thinking back, it makes a lot of sense...
The well-hidden rage.
Minor outbursts here and there.
The silent plea for help.
Drowned furth by the shower head.
Spurting cold, cold water.
The numbness that comes afterward.
The beating of a heart calming down.
Echoing in your head.
It comes in waves, ya know?
They're not always soft,
Against the shoreline of your inner mind.
Instead, pounding sharp and icy,
Jagged rock and coarse sand under your palm.
Other times it catches you in your sleep.
Completely unaware.
Sometimes mid-sentence.
Your mouth left half open.
Eyes faded into the black tunnel,
Where all words seem to have disappeared into.
Brows furrow in confusion and loss.
Bam!
Sudden tears spring forth like a broken faucet.
There was no trigger this time.
Nothin to push you over the edge.
And yet...
The screaming doesn't help.
The rage building in the pit of your belly.
Stoking an agonizingly acidic fire.
Which spreads like a virus into your veins.
Vibrating under your skin.
Hyper-aware now.
Thoughts fluctuating so quickly your mind spins.
Unable to catch words, phrases.
So fast they sound like another's voice.
Right in your ******* ear.
Another itch altogether.
Options, throw the good crystal across the room.
Pray your mother forgives you from the grave.
Knock a chair over.
Pull your hair.
Grab the largest kitchen knife.
Blood staining caramel skin.
Unmarred in years.
The old ones faded with time.
But you can still see them.
Drip. Drip. Drip.
You close your eyes against these visions.
Breath.
Calm.
Continue.
"Don't forget to take your meds tonight."
You tell your reflection.
She nods trembling.
"Okay.
Aug 30, 2018
Aug 30, 2018 at 8:11 PM UTC
*I need to confess
That I'm not giving my best
Sorry not sorry*
Jan 12, 2018
Jan 12, 2018 at 8:41 AM UTC
You knew that for such yearning thirst
No sunlight rapture would suffice
When you created these poor eyes of mine
You were thinking of that eternal gaze
Enraptured by the endless deep
Sep 5, 2017
Sep 5, 2017 at 9:12 AM UTC
Se da água limpa dos rios
o poeta alcança - incólume
as fontes d'água viva...
Oh, claro lume: dela bebe.
Sedento à sanga clara colhe
a água c'o as mãos.
Na vertente rara, sequioso
estro não se abaixa,
à flor d'água, feito cão,
lambendo a lótus n'água.
É de Gideão soldado
entre os trezentos.
O que não lambe a água
O que usa as mãos.
Bebe e proclama:
- Eis a água!
Água da chuva sempre exata.
Água da fonte sempre basta.
Água que a todo fogo apaga,
Limpa água que a sede mata.
Apr 21, 2016
Apr 21, 2016 at 10:44 AM UTC
Have you ever had a Dream?
Something you wanted to get done?
Something that made you smile inside?
Something that sounded like fun?
A dream that inspired you to reach for the stars.
It could be finding someone special or driving fancy cars?
Maybe completing a degree or getting finances on track.
Maybe going on a cruise or traveling the world round and back.
Helping those less fortunate by giving of yourself.
Or just moving up the corporate ladder instead of sitting on a shelf.
Our dreams should inspire us to be our true I&I.;
They should encourage us to be authentic and not live a lie.
They don’t always come easy and the work might not be fun.
But the most fulfilling feeling is when the work is all done.
What happens to a dream that we have placed to the side?
Was it our own decision, or did someone else decide?
Our dreams are our very own requiring our own blood sweat and tears.
They propel us forward along the way dispelling many fears.
The dream thing may seem daunting with the goal seemingly so far.
But in actuality they are sometimes nearer than we think they are.
Don’t lose hope and let your coveted dreams go to waste.
Remember they were the very future that you once chased.
Brush off the naysayers and pursue your dreams with steadfast vitality.
For one day your very dreams will become your own reality.
Aug 28, 2015
Aug 28, 2015 at 10:50 AM UTC
I love you like the day
I imagined that we'd meet
I stared at you with wonder
You took me for a creep
I want to tell you
Just how I feel
But then this life
Might come to feel
Real.
Jul 31, 2015
Jul 31, 2015 at 4:38 AM UTC
What will you do when the trains went by?
It was a cold winter during the War
It was Germany and the trains kept going by
How did they know the box cars were full of people, stacked like bags of flour?
Going to their death? Screaming for help...
What can I say?
What would we do when the trains came by?
And heard what we thought were cries for help
Or the wheels rubbing against the cold metal tracks
One Church, by the tracks, in this small village, even planned the hymns during the times the trains went by near this sacred place; no one could hear the cries for help...
What about the trains that goes by for us these days
The person of color, the Muslim, the Hmong family down the block
The gay or lesbian teen that lives in fear of his or her classmates & parents and church, mosque or place of spiritual practice...
What are we doing when the trains go by?
Jun 16, 2015
Jun 16, 2015 at 4:17 PM UTC
It's November, I feel the war is almost over,
Poland will find peace again. But the war has taken me,
for I only feel the blackness of sorrow,
all of my strength is falling apart.
Oh, my spirit is falling, falling like the purple sunset,
My beloved,
I'm fading in the cradle of your prayers
All my soul is hungry for strength,
the sweat under my side
and the thorns of confusion and heaviness
are only growing stronger.
Keep me awake, dear.
Tell me about when we met, when you
smiled with curiosity when you first saw me.
Tell me about the time when we hid and laughed
behind the schoolyard,
right by the flower fields where we played hide and seek.
The time when our souls only sung with power and laughter.
Now beneath our old house, our home, I can't hide anymore.
I can't hide the hurt, the pain, the sorrow, but I do know
the flames of grace burns over and over, so don't you cry.
The psalms we use to sing, they also heal, yes, they also heal.
So remember me,
and the star I gave you, for then I'll be with you,
near the altar of your heart,
by the silver rivers of memories and love, because then
I'll always be your hero and heart,
your wildfire within.
May 20, 2015
May 20, 2015 at 10:42 PM UTC
It's late enough already.
Scrubbing your gamepad, salty at A.I.,
thinking of cleaning metaphorically;
Scrubbing behind your ears.
Scrubbing behind the skull.
Contemporary 80's synth-rock in both ears,
I wish I knew what you were singing about.
I wish I knew who you longed for,
I wish I knew what you did, where you were,
on evenings like this when you can only
think
of the people you wish you were closer to.
Skin and talk out of touch. Imagine;
Conversations imagined aren't enough.
Words you wish were out loud
will eat your sorry *** alive.
16-bit racial stereotypes onscreen
pummel each other to mush faced
ground meat caricatures.
Groove like a shark trapped in a box,
make yourself sharp to the touch,
then make yourself tangible.
Absence lets the shoulder grow colder,
but this?
Things imagined and wished for.
Fantasies a child would seek,
pulling the words off of your tongue
An apology, a love letter, a eulogy
/vulgarities and praise as bedfellow.
Words you wish were spoken
will eat your sorry *** alive.
May 2, 2015
May 2, 2015 at 8:24 PM UTC
It was a hot day in mid July heat;
the city in decay, its asphalt melt’d–
hurry-hurry said my feet in a beat.
In mid July city heat, she depart’d
Still, the cicadas kept on buzzing, and
the city kept on living–the city nev’r
stops living–while the hot sun always lend
its rays: on this day, she left forever.
But she wasn’t the only one who left–this time
not on life’s watch, this time she really went.
This goodbye was the most sour lime–
the most sour fruit life has fed me! This meant:
when one leaves the world, other trips have start’d
when love leaves you, so Dearly Depart’d!
Mar 5, 2015
Mar 5, 2015 at 4:20 AM UTC