"abhorring" poems
I
spend too long
pulling at my skin
in the mirror silently
abhorring my body with-
out which I couldn't exist, and I
wish I could see the beauty in the
way my joints fold and unfold but
all I see is the line across my stomach
and a decade of hiding at the swimming
pool.
Apr 21, 2013
Apr 21, 2013 at 1:32 PM UTC
****** bone feathers and yellow beak imbedded in brain
exposed an aviary corpse when the burial dust settled
the last Dodo fell with eighty eight avocado trees cut
down that day and they fell like tipped cows slow
slow fast thud dirt sprayed like winter breath
but before trees tumbled and avocados
rolled downhill north sawteeth
scratched bark and cut
at one hundred fifty
degree angles
and wedges
pried tree
trunks
while the last Dodo slept in the last inhabited Dodo nest
like the last of a long genealogy abhorring what was left
of a final family
a weak decrepit Jones or Smith
tumbles down stairs
of a two story home
in Maine.
Oct 4, 2010
Oct 4, 2010 at 9:27 PM UTC
Cheers to the race that doesn’t have a heart,
No reasons, no morals, no souls, no scruples,
But piles of lies, tons of deeds, all perfectly unabashed and splendidly aghast.
Cheers to their courage to walk unhesitantly in the crowd,
To stand with a stride and to converse with a pride,
And just in case their secrets revealed, to their dignified admittance clear and loud.
Cheers to their score that keep augmenting every day,
To their pleasures, to their amusement emerging from despair,
To their delight, to their bliss, to their ability to rejoice every time one cries in pain and dismay.
Cheers to their shamelessness, cheers to their sins,
Cheers to their disrespect for fellow human beings,
Cheers to the vanished humanity in their souls,
To the way their conscience has drifted in black hole,
And cheers to their skill of turning hearts into stones,
To their abhorring thoughts and to the way they never atone,
Cheers to the way, in this world, they sustain,
Cheers to those monsters, cheers to those beasts, cheers to those incredible demons again.
Dec 28, 2012
Dec 28, 2012 at 4:49 PM UTC
Four friends set out, all young and free,
Faith, Hope, Selfless Love and me.
Coasts, river banks we found by stream
To first set foot on country green,
Through the meadows’ flowery plain,
Downs, fragrant woodlands soon we gained,
Till in a dark and wretched time
Foul smirched us with night-black grime
The stinking noisy city of towers,
Stretched over us its binding powers.
Our friend Faith with her smile so sweet
Took a bullet in the street.
Where wealth’s gold temples over steeple
Men with guns who aim at people,
Our constant Faith lay cold and dead
Who friends us three had always led:
The thorns of life had ragged our flesh,
She lifted us each time afresh
To chase our aims so dearly sworn
Before her gaze, so clear up borne.
Shame to the creature, not saying man,
For hate or for money who laid her down.
From the city to a lair
Hid remote mid mountains bare
Selfless Love and Hope and me
Crept, far from that press to be,
In a crack a mile down
Close controlling her domain
Reigned absolute a gross old girl
The wicked witch of all the world.
Hope and Selfless Love and me
Abject subjects we took her fee.
Our mothers’ love, our fathers’ guidance
Wasted on our evil living.
Slaves of her cruel strict enforcing
But Selfless Love himself abhorring
Loved her, and upon the altar
Stripped and bare he wore her halter,
Tight restrained his naked chest
Awaited the blade her claim must test.
As she took him, Hope and me
Had our chance away to flee;
A blessed isle lies still afloat,
There we went in one small boat.
In the morning may both be
My strong companion Hope and me.
Who us three friends had always held,
Despair with tireless arms dispelled.
If the waters of the isle
Take him from me as we sail
If the little boat shall knock
On the island’s jutting rock
And we swim and he should drown
Let us both to death go down,
Not upon a beach set me
From the danger of the sea,
Paradise is Erebon
With Faith, Hope, Love gone; all alone.
Mar 31, 2015
Mar 31, 2015 at 2:51 PM UTC
It's getting kinda old,
You know..??
I'm drained and tired,
Worned out by your fights.
Our fights.
Your words always accepted,
While I bury mine unspoken.
The one sided fight,
Where the opponent is silent.
No,
This isn't fair.
But fair doesn't exist.
Fair is a word that is created in fantasies,
Fair is a word spoken only in fairy tales.
I want this to stop.
We want this to stop.
Wait, don't you.....?
You don't speak the words,
But your actions strongly differ.
With every moment we spend together,
You explain to me the answer.
Why,
Why you treat me different now.
When nothing has really changed.
Your abhorring stares and frowns of detestation.
You tell me,
I don't belong here,
I took away your freedom.
I deserve to die.
You want me dead.
May 20, 2013
May 20, 2013 at 4:02 AM UTC
inhale
exhale
skin breathes
your scent envelopes me
i'm choking on every word that
i've never said and i begin
to spit shattered shards
of thoughts into the
palms of my
hands
and this is
when you notice
me heaving and you
roll over onto your other
side facing the steady walls
so you can be a 33 year old man with no
attachment to an 18 year old who mistakenly
emptied herself into your salivating, ravenous
mouth and you inhaled me with such
pleasure it almost had me thinking
that perhaps i mistook your
distance for sadness
as soon our time
holed up in the
nostalgia
of your home town
would come to an end
and maybe your feelings grew
much taller than even our abhorring of
love and strings being tied to you and
anyone else but i think now i understand
that inside of you is a tragic, drafty cavern
filling it all the way up with every thing you're
not has become such a habit that when your wolf-like
eyes rested upon something youthful and impressionable
it was simply second nature for you to devour all of me and
then leave me with a cavern of my own, you know i've seen
a mirror since we had to part ways and if i hadn't known
any better i would've said that i've started to grey
around the edges and my teeth looked rather
sharp, if i looked a little closer i may have
even said there was a canine-like
resemblance that now suits me
beautifully, naivety is dead.
Jan 11, 2015
Jan 11, 2015 at 4:54 PM UTC
Tears of blood, predicting a flood;
Worn out soul, screeching in mud.
Splendid mornings turn out to rust;
Where shedding tears is considered must.
Sparkling eyes chasing crystals in the sky;
Thou each gaze pulls me strongly, making a way to die.
Strings of emotion tuned to deviate and devastate;
Crumbled heart seeking the happiness over-delayed.
The beauty of my soul vanishes away;
Thou enchant a spell to stand out in the breaking day.
Abhorring the wounds, all over the heart;
Surrendering to the agony, caused by the poisoned dart.
Thou snatched my life, scorned the blissful smile;
Blessing with the everlasting pain, in thee own style.
World around me perishes as thee left me forlorn;
Sweet smells bitter, flowers turn into painful thorns.
Invisible thee, but apparent to me;
Seeking thou in Eden, finding the glee.
Nov 26, 2012
Nov 26, 2012 at 1:43 AM UTC
I sought her words, but in vain.
Me seek'est her haplessly.
I hath been mute all these years.
No sign of love, yet it did languish,
Assail'd at a time to capture mine
As the soul who wail'd a thousand tears.
My words she ne'er tried heark'ning.
Resonance made still and lame.
Tatter'd notions, worded be
Abhorring yearnings of friendship's bond.
The last letter, 'tis where it'll end;
Years of joy, though for her means nothing.
'Tis now the soul's been cheated -
Loving her who loves not me.
'Though silence dost cleanse the tears,
Time will never ease anxiety
Expounded by a heart forsaken'd
Of its innermost rimes and meaning.
Jul 9, 2010
Jul 9, 2010 at 5:14 AM UTC
Natural decline, bringing about an age of being fallible,
The subtle shift from youth to middle age to being an elder,
Now using motion in economy, to prevent instability.
The vagaries of age, reducing confidence to hesitance,
as a step forward is an accomplishment once beneath notice.
Many rarely notice the shift in abilities of those close to them,
until sudden traumas occur, bringing them harshly to light.
But those living them daily, have learned to compensate as they can.
Either abhorring the day before them or embracing it as a challenge.
I pray as I move close to this eventuallity, that I see the challenge,
the possibilities for growth and learning in the subtleties of aging.
Oct 18, 2010
Oct 18, 2010 at 5:50 PM UTC
Though some believed that just as beauty
Space was in the eye of the beholder,
An abstract justification for human experience
Of matter and its motion,
An ancient thinker, by history called the Great,
Asserted with conviction, it simply did not exist.
Nothing was not a concept of nature
Abhorring vacuum, and all agreed.
As nothing came from nothing,
Nothing couldn’t be. Empty space
Out of consciousness’ reach.
Deprived of objects it had no purpose,
For what would its purpose be
If not that of being a place
To contain all that exists?
The mind puzzling game concocted
If space could exist independently of matter
Matter could not exist independently of space,
For where would it be?
So came another thinker questioning
‘Is space something rather than nothing?’
As indeed deprived of the object, undeniably
The place de facto would still exist.
Time passing by replaced thinkers with scientists,
Defining its nature for it to be infinite and absolute,
Existing independently of objects and the mind of the observer,
Observing its balancing force, counteracting that of gravity,
To keep things apart. Dark energy, Energy of space.
Now searching for particles to fill in the voids
To justify the dynamic and expanding quality
Of a Universe which might as well
Be a plenum.
Retracing back the steps to initial perceptions
Of inexistent space for a Cosmos filled
With fundamental particles elegantly orchestrating
The motion of all that ever was, is and will be.
All that exists, a plenum of energy.
Jun 14, 2017
Jun 14, 2017 at 4:14 AM UTC
#
*Praise not the barren, praise the rich consummate flower,
Fair only to those without sight, so full of internal power.
None nobler with an unlimiting petaled command,
Given by the earth’s love to all the native land.
Given a successive name, tall, short, light or dark,
Drawn from those once hidden away in the human Ark.
It is now, as when on the holiest of land
No less joyful as it spreads around my willful gland.
Covering the breach, and lengthening the strand
Rising like the Prince of Consummation’s imagined height,
Coming tumbling downward with diminished fight.
To unbetray the plot free of public scorn,
For this is our only blessing until his blest return.
To all those heaps which one petal does nigh bind,
Blown off, and scattered like tumble weeds that unwind.
What strength can you or your designs propose
With naked friends who round you upturn their toes?
If the flower is doubtful of how it should you use,
A foreign object would more satisfy its queenly news.
The proud stamen would assemble a friendship ring,
Foment the battle, and support the coming King.
Nor would this royal party ever unite
When in the flower’s arms, it strains to set it right.
Or if understood, the gripping interest soon shall break,
And by odious aid, make the reed return to the weak.
All sorts of vessels, by their successful arts,
Abhorring the panting, encountering their altered hearts.
From love’s incandescent rule, and a heart beats nature’s cry,
Thought, passion, common-wealth and health all belie
As the flower is the champion of all the public good.
As into her arms falls another chief of royal blood,
What may not the suitor hope, and to what applause
Might such a King regain by the flower’s cause.*
#
Jun 5, 2018
Jun 5, 2018 at 11:15 AM UTC
Rise in the morning,
Fall back without a fight,
Right back into the night,
Falling 'till the mourning,
As the emptiness grows,
Time simply slips into the void,
The endless repetitions only shows,
Please the people, please the android,
The rain has been pouring,
Yet, the glass hasn't filled,
Though, never has it spilled,
And the answer they are ignoring,
No one knows,
Oh, the hollowness that exists,
The endless repetitions only shows,
These the worlds, these the cysts,
There has been given a warning,
Of this their creations of great sleight,
To achieve such false height,
But, still their hearts they are adorning,
And so it goes and goes,
While they raise their fists,
Right until the final throws,
The world fades into mists,
Meaningless is this warring,
Of a world that remains untilled,
Of dreams that remain unfulfilled,
Look on vacuous, look on abhorring,
As the emptiness grows,
Time simply slips into the void,
The endless repetitions only shows,
Please the people, please the android,
Rise in the morning,
Fall back without a fight,
Right back into the night,
Falling 'till the mourning.
Jan 7, 2015
Jan 7, 2015 at 1:09 AM UTC
oft times as a child crayola crayons
occupied concentration
to color, with a hue and a cry
would erupt if the merest and faintest mark
trespassed violating
some shade dee rule, i'd decry
cuz even as a boy,
a peaceful nonconformist/
nonestablishmentarian streak
now finds this guy
proud to be among
the minority removed
from the madding crowd,
though blurt out a friendly "hi"
when within of the vast lines of humanity
entropy vies to get
the upper hand until ban ky
moon: secretary - (at time of this writing)
general of the United Nations
doth raise an hand gesticulating with lie
sense to subdue
the crowded housed planet fitness
even if his magic doth manage to ply
a temporary truce among
scrabbling mobs of hoodlums,
some regurgitating spoon fed
pablum patois bred from an era quois
wanton vengeful retaliation,
whence faux recapitulation
initially evidenced
from hooligans who try
to wrest control
with mortal kombat full commando
from elected officials,
who abhorring violence must vie
trump petting for state military
don protective gear
bound by parochial training
to counteract mutiny why
hill chaos runs amuck law man
dating rubric with force of arms
and crack of firearms,
which forced quiet riot doth aim
to don the mantle of government control,
whereby foot soldiers
i.e. boots on the ground -
operate asia single blame
less force to be reckoned with,
cuz the supreme arbiter of power -
who thru a coup d'etat did claim
sear of power forces opposition
to sing condescending swan song
toward ruler de jure,
which includes a price tag i.e.
at least one vestal ****** dame
Jan 9, 2018
Jan 9, 2018 at 12:49 AM UTC
And so he went on to take a poll, disguising his dilapidating hope as a courtesy extended to those sitting in front row seats.
All dressed for the occasion, ready to request more than an autograph - he promised a single one to whomever would shed light, offering the scalpel capable of removing (without scar ) the departure of his muse from the pages of his unaccepting heart.
Some stood quiet, others spoke under their breath, awaiting his reaction to synchronized confetti released into the air, settling at his feet and every corner of his despair.
"Perhaps, there is someone else" said a woman to his left.
Yes, there is always someone else, but she was never one to not forgive an insignificant trespass - she understood love in its raw form and would not ask for mine to fit a norm. He replied before moving on to the next confetti flake, kicking it over as if the color was not to his expectation.
Confetti flakes as those of snow
should not be swallowed whole
unless of course you settle in
the shadows and ignore your want for more.
His pen undrawn, intending to retire for the night (short of a promise to come back) he heard a voice:
"The sea cannot be his, a fisherman would know this."
Enraged, he demanded the voice come forward, repeat this abhorring claim and face the wrath of his disbelief.
The room stood silent.
Apr 27, 2016
Apr 27, 2016 at 8:40 PM UTC
Unhinged as if the veil of heart should drop.
I claim my mind to hold no gentle art.
The gears behind the rusty cage won’t stop.
Endure, my dear. Should fear appear, depart.
Uncaged, alive, abhorring some denied beat
Alone, endowed without faith to atone.
Those eyes abound, a prayer to be discrete!
So lost along the care to bear my own
What life that lusts for love could be alive?
When but the thought of pain should so impede;
And such is life for bees that leave the hive.
Alas, my friends. To dogma I concede.
Infernal light consumes the world I know,
Yet dark along the alley streets I go.
Nov 14, 2011
Nov 14, 2011 at 3:05 AM UTC
She is profoundly devoid of the human hunger for contact
Abhorring the inertia social interaction requires
Superficial chit chat just to keep a job down drains her soul
All exclaim her people artistry skill
She instinctively absorbs the form of others and their texture pervade her being
She doesn’t understand how she sees their blueprint, but she reads them, rights them and they are inexplicably drawn to her
She spends hours alone seemingly with nothing to do and finds the need of others to be with her an anomaly
Yet, give her a book, a film, anything that doesn’t need a human contribution, and she’ll cry you a river
She knows she’s searching, she knows she’s meant to be doing something
But her own texture eludes her and as she grows older her sadness deepens
May 29, 2016
May 29, 2016 at 9:33 AM UTC
The calendar shed its last leaf of chances,
Three hundred and sixty six windows shut;
The moon has undergone a dozen phases,
But no high or low tide can get you past.
Your lackadaisical methods and indecision,
Failed to find that door to a good year;
And you're suffocating in your desperation,
Like a nightmare trapped in its own fear.
Eleven disappointed months fall in line,
Even December has already accepted its fate;
Cascading like lifeless dominoes you'll find,
Scattered in the wastes of your world inanimate.
Self-abhorring like a snake biting its own tail,
Aimlessly mindfully going around in circles;
Reading rejection letters and spam emails,
Looking for false hope in a perpetual cycle.
Making a promise you know you can't keep,
Like the past new years that will have come and gone;
Where you always try to count all your sheep,
And your wolves will make sure to give you none.
Dec 27, 2016
Dec 27, 2016 at 11:20 AM UTC
Patience is a virtue,
Anxiousness’ll hurt you.
Take your time, know your lines,
So when the curtains open,
You won’t be looking for a sign,
To show the production that has been conducted
Is moving fine.
When the curtains close,
You will know that in your mind,
You played your role, made your goal,
And had a perfect score,
Waiting on the encore, the crowds thirst for more.
As bouquets of roses are thrown upon the stage,
Mesmerized how you memorized the script
And every page.
Their adornment for your performance
Makes you amazed.
Deep down their scorning and abhorring
They’re so enraged,
The love displayed was only acting on a stage.
When watching the Play of Love at its prime,
Love plays with your mind,
And the jealous critics will hate the Play (Love)
You worked so hard to create.
Oct 2, 2010
Oct 2, 2010 at 12:23 AM UTC
In an important discussion going about,
usually I tend to zone out.
Speaking in a meeting,
attending a client call,
even in a friendly discussion standing tall,
when my girlfriend blabbering on issues so small,
I tend to zone out all.
When It gets boring,
I feel like dozing,
too lazy to make stubborn people mind's restoring,
I stop explaining,
keeping to myself abhorring.
that's why I zone out, everything just ignoring.
Does that happens with everyone, I seriously doubt!
But yeah sometimes I tend to zone out!
Feb 3, 2020
Feb 3, 2020 at 1:58 AM UTC
I know you're crazy.
I know I'm mad.
But I know that we're happy,
So is it so bad?
I know that it's wrong,
I know that you warned me.
But I know that I like it,
So is truly abhorring?
I know there are limits.
I know there's a line.
But I know that I crossed it,
And I'm doing fine.
Sep 15, 2016
Sep 15, 2016 at 7:56 PM UTC
An autonomous program written for all,
The margin of error is rather quite small.
A day to day basis I go through my week,
Without any error it's bound to repeat.
The automatic smile when passing a stranger
Believe it or not the code is in danger.
A fault in the code that lies in my brain,
At first I feel normal but then feel insane.
The code is so broken that nothing seems real,
How could it be when this is all I feel?
Day in day out a feeling of nothingness,
Most mark it off as me being a pessimist.
It all meshes together and all feels the same,
All I want is to get out of this sick, twisted game.
No changes in schedule is really quite boring,
But the thought of change is super abhorring.
I look at my friends and know I should care,
But in the end my mind is just bare.
Dec 4, 2017
Dec 4, 2017 at 7:26 PM UTC
Some days I look at the ceiling.
Lay on my floor and stare at everything.
The eggshell paint chips and how they linger.
The circle where I once threw pudding up in the air with Her.
I ask it why it's so constraining,
Why everything it does makes me feel like it's raining.
Why I can't take off like the birds
And just fly free instead of living with the herd.
But flight is impossible when you have a ceiling,
mental or not it's still built like a never ending grieving.
For someone you lost,
for someone you hate,
for those people that make you insane.
Living for the future works exactly like a main
Pip bursting with water
Killing the things surrounding it farther.
This ceiling is drowning me,
Metaphorically asphyxiating the
Airflow of my thoughts
Creating a lack of creativity.
I have to destroy this ceiling,
And free myself from aboriginality.
The bereavement of society,
Is it's abhorring nature toward creativity.
Sep 20, 2014
Sep 20, 2014 at 3:37 PM UTC
He will tie the strings of the masks each day,
Waiting ‘til the set of suns to remove it from its grasp:
Tugging on skin. First, the heaviest of all,
Abhorring the world for granting him the greatest burden;
Infuriated for not gaining the choice of first breath.
Purity of immense emotion, coursing through newly opened lungs.
Second, the hungriest: Shoving the mask aside to consume life,
Delectable love filling tables, now made just to fill his stomach…
Only to fall to the ground, clutching himself at thus, no longer hungry.
Third, a mask stuck to his face and peeling skin with attempts to remove it;
Falling to his knees, he looks up,
Up to those above him, begging the skies for such a life- for such freedoms.
A wide smile forming beneath, teeth gleaming with a chuckle:
He simply wants what they have.
Fourth, the lies of all veils, God, why create such a mask?
He shall look across the room to eye the other, blood pounding in ears:
Pulsing, drumming, begging needing wanting standing to ask for just-
A dance? But he hides his soul beneath the mask and shall continue to the end.
The fifth, an arrogant fellow of such. His branch most sophisticated,
His tree the strongest but the sprouts below?:
Changing too much for his own approval, despite the brightness of their leaves,
For he was the one recognized by the sun.
Sixth, leather with a hollow beak scented with crimson carnations.
Folds and wrinkles, creaking bones soon to turn dust,
Why would he rise from his wooden chair? Rocking
Back, and forth, back, and forth and back and forth and back and forth and back and forth and back and forth-
Snap. Crack.
But he is not prepared, he is far from hopeful, the sand falling quickly.
He does not wish any longer to wear the last mask:
Number seven.
The previous six shatter and tumble to the ground, now mirrors in the soil.
He looks upon the shards, lungs gasping at the sight:
A man, yet not a man. A demon, yet far from such.
He hungers for the gift of first breath, for the love fed to him,
For the freedoms, for the dance, for the trees and for the petals.
He is not prepared to go,
For wasn’t it once said,
That hell is empty, and all the devils are here?
Perhaps the lenses in this one shall show him truth, or perhaps not.
Jan 16, 2019
Jan 16, 2019 at 6:51 PM UTC
I was just looking at some old comic art
About that time that some see as a start
And the artists all believed that we'd come together
To rebuild and outlast this terrorist weather
But looking around fifteen years later
It seems that our paranoia turned out to be greater
These artists believed that the change in the world
Would result in courage and unity untold
Well, guys, I'm so sorry that we let you all down
If you time traveled, you'd be dissapointed at what's around
Instead of becoming a United planet
Built on peace and courage unlike that before it
We've become this frightened, always fighting thing
I'm sorry for all of the things that we bring
I'm so sorry about the middle east
And about the NSA, and that's just the least
I'm sorry that techniques like waterboarding
We're used and that we don't find it abhorring
I'm sorry we couldn't look past race
To solve the hatred that we face
I'm sorry that one's orientation
Still affects how they're treated in a nation
I'm sorry we didn't learn respect
Because we hurt who we said we'd protect
So to those past artists who've come here to visit
This isn't the world you wanted, isn't it?
I'm so sorry the world turned out this way
I'm not really sure what else I can say
Oct 6, 2016
Oct 6, 2016 at 12:32 PM UTC
Everything is more beautiful because we are doomed.
You will never be lovelier than you are now,
Here, in my arms,
Asleep.
I watch your eyelids flutter.
I hope that you are dreaming
Of us
In a different world,
Where we could be happy.
Together.
And I hold you,
Abhorring the knowledge that
tomorrow
We will never be this way again.
Oct 18, 2013
Oct 18, 2013 at 6:55 PM UTC