"absently" poems
I simply love blue.
It's the sea we plunge into.
The constellations absently traced.
Tremors of ice around my waist.
Hushed oblivion anchored in sleep.
Fragile tears we openly weep.
Canvas skies with crystal cotton.
Oceanic tides that calm and soften.
Jun 21, 2014
Jun 21, 2014 at 1:35 AM UTC
Outside,
the snow is serenely falling
its illuminated resplendence
vying with that of the full moon
suspended in the silent night sky.
Inside,
it is just as silent
the only sounds the occasional spark and crackle
of the logs in the fireplace.
And two hearts harmoniously beating.
Wisps of smoke coyly rise from the sandalwood incense
gracefully whirling in the air like dervishes,
the room redolent with the fragrance of serenity
As I repose on the couch,
your head upon my lap,
you hold one hand against your rhythmically beating heart;
while with the other
I absently play with your hair.
There are no thoughts,
only heart thinking.
There is no speech,
only heart speaking.
There are no words,
only heart spilling.
~
You slowly rise from my lap and look through my eyes
and into my soul.
When I come to speak,
you gently place a loving finger against my lips,
whispering
“shhh“
Time revolves all around us,
yet within us — stillness;
the silence palpable.
Our souls become one
with the other,
with the tranquility of the night,
with the gently falling snow.
Our breathing falls in sync to a rhythm known only to the cosmos.
At the end of our inhales,
there you are.
there I am.
And then you speak..
three words..
Three words that contain the universe within them:
“This is bliss“
Jan 9, 2015
Jan 9, 2015 at 9:44 AM UTC
Sensation, intuition, feeling, and thinking,
Is wrapped inside a ball,
A small pink ball inside our head,
That won't stop till we're dead,
Analytical bedrock inside oozing theories,
Elemental atoms sizzling logic,
The imaginative stranger,
One abstracted and eccentric,
Walking with shadows,
Talking and mocking,
Through these theories inside us,
Tilting our caps ‘til we’re shaking our heads,
Pensive love in storming analysis,
Sapiosexually excited, piqued interest,
Unemotional and thoughtfully attuned,
Absently minded, always condoned,
Unconventional and impartially stringed,
Weirdly wired in auxiliary functions,
Misconstrued and misunderstood,
An ****** intelligence bleeding paranoia,
Knocking unto me,
Into you, inside us all,
It’s something we all yearn to be,
And when you fail and prevail we laugh,
Crickling crickets thinking nothing,
Washing down the storm drain,
With no thoughts fluidly sliding down my throat,
Pop goes no questions into absolute concise words like freshly broken glass,
Again shadows await, but different shadows,
Blinking at me staring at you,
Wondering what’s what, inside this dementia made sense of a lovely afternoon,
Inside your sane, autocorrected, predetermined, twitching, little…mind.
Inspired by Myers Briggs Personality Test
Tyler is INTP... Logician (Introverted INtuitive Thinking Perception)
The drifter, dreamer the absent minded professor!
SassyJ is INTJ... Architect (Introverted INtuitive Thinking Judging)
The starry-eyed idealist manoeuvring life as if a giant chess board!
What Myer Briggs personality type are you?... See link below
It would be great to know.Please comment!!
http://www.16personalities.com/intp-personality
Jan 11, 2016
Jan 11, 2016 at 10:30 AM UTC
staring at the blank page
i find myself thinking
quite low of myself.
wondering to myself
absently muttering out loud
as if adding more sound
to the white noise
will give me a sense of validation
that i still exist.
the hum of the laptop
and turquoise hexagon sun
mixes with the sound
of the car doors closing outside
and the people sitting
in their chairs, lazing about
staring at the television screens
what else can i hear?
closing my eyes, i stop
taking a moment
to let my worried mind rest
forgetting about my financial crisis
to bathe in the sound
of my silence.
with my eyes closed
i type with confidence
i don't fear my words
when i can't see them
my eyes feel hot
under my dark eyelids
as heavy as they are
i am surprised i don't
slouch and fall into slumber
right here in my chair.
in the second it takes
to flutter open my eyes
and reread the words i just wrote
i have to remember
to stop myself before i nitpick
and change what came
from my heart
and at the time felt right.
if only
i went through life like this more often
then maybe i wouldn't feel so down
or hard on myself
because honestly i'm not that bad
nor am i as dumb
or silly as i feel
and maybe next time
when i go ice skating
i won't be such a little *****
about how i look to other people.
Nov 6, 2012
Nov 6, 2012 at 9:07 PM UTC
The descent into madness is all i’ll ever know.
The voices in my head will never let go
I stare absently at the wall
While I hear them and their call
They won’t let me ignore them, believe me I’ve tried.
They tell me they’re really angels, I get caught in their lie.
Reality checks in and I realize I have been fooled again.
I feel like once again I'm in the lions den.
They’re really devils whispering sweet nothings in my ear.
Sadly there’s nothing I can do about it. I wish I could just disappear.
I succumb to their voices and I talk with them, for if I don't they don’t quit.
It's a terrible thing to go through. I must admit.
The only way to silence them is if I'm sleeping.
For the moment I wake up I feel them creeping.
Speaking to me as soon as I open my eyes.
I really wish to them, I could say goodbye.
If there were a cure I'd want it badly.
But alas! There’s not. Only more voices I reflect sadly.
May 4, 2021
May 4, 2021 at 11:04 AM UTC
1062
He scanned it—staggered—
Dropped the Loop
To Past or Period—
Caught helpless at a sense as if
His Mind were going blind—
Groped up, to see if God was there—
Groped backward at Himself
Caressed a Trigger absently
And wandered out of Life.
5.1k
I am not well suited
To existing in silence
White sheets in plastic bags
Absently turning printed pages
Scrolling through screens
I find nothing
No, I am not well suited
To these silent hours
That I fill restlessly
With hopeful solitude
And shivering despair
All to find nothing
But old flaking paint
And old mistakes
Jan 28, 2013
Jan 28, 2013 at 10:03 AM UTC
Mirroring what's bright
With dead unassuming eyes,
Its life dwells only out of sight.
Swallowing the blackness of the room
It appears to writhe, silently shifting,
A child's gaze on a rotting face
Waits patiently for something
It doesn't know, and absently scratches
Deep gashes into its cheek.
Mar 1, 2015
Mar 1, 2015 at 5:14 PM UTC
I can’t sleep on my side
because the moment my ear
hits the pillow, my heartbeat
hits my head
and an image hits the backs
of my eyes,
of you talking about lies
and absently stroking your thumb
across your wrist,
feeling for your pulse
like a child searches the skies
for a wish,
reminding yourself that you
are alive.
your heartbeat is the shooting star
and mine is the emptiness it left
behind.
I can’t sleep on my side
because existing gives no breaks
and my heartbeat
and your far-off hand
make me so tired that I
stay awake.
Sep 1, 2014
Sep 1, 2014 at 12:01 PM UTC
Wildlife has a way of returning to the forest once it's been burnt to the ground
The death and decay are cleansed this way
And life vindicates itself of the indignities it has suffered
It is this perfect symmetry
This cyclical harmony that nature is blessed with
Fell short, the night you burned my house down in departure
November of last year, you were crying and screaming on the sidewalk
And this November I didn't sleep a single night
The floor is littered with garbage and clothes I'll never wash again
And the shower I passed out in, let the washing machine turn the water cold to wake me up
I couldn't stand to touch the surfaces anymore
They can't ever be cleansed
I can't scrape you off the floor, or the shower
The couch, or the insides of my eyes
And the bed, where you told me to never forget
Maybe I'll crash my car again, maybe you'll come home
There's an apartment in the city I always imagined
And it's a real place, I'm sure
I'll probably never see it
With your clothes and mine on the floor
While you're making breakfast, humming and smiling absently
And I have the first cigarette of a new day
Light streams in the blinds and cuts the room in half
And I always imagined that being there
Would make me realize that it feels **** good to be alive sometimes
The winter is coming back now
I wake up uneasy in a haunted house
And last week I saw your mother
Buying groceries
She told me to take care of you, once
And she smiled sadly at me and gave a small wave
Some days it gets easier
Some days I collapse entirely
Some days I think I should burn my house down
Literally this time
I've had enough of metaphors and cliches
For a lifetime, at least
Dec 3, 2014
Dec 3, 2014 at 2:35 AM UTC
The world always revolves
Current disasters always unsolved
Runs from dawn to dusk
The world under chaos
River of tears surround those lost
Not all can be saved
The world turns gv-hna-ge (black)
River of red is absently lay
Runs through the broken heart
The world waiting for light
Current hopes search for such a sight
Nov 14, 2012
Nov 14, 2012 at 3:14 PM UTC
You glow with happiness,
I hide in darkness.
You are so full of life,
I live in eternal strife.
You are your friends' darling,
I'm a lonely soul absently wandering.
Your face is a painting of a thousand lovely colours,
mine is an utter blank ever.
Compare and contrast, our match seems impossible,
Is this why I find you so irresistible?
Apr 3, 2015
Apr 3, 2015 at 12:47 PM UTC
*This is what it feels like to be furniture. *
Doors open and close.
I am here,
Silent, eyes open, unmoving
Only the steady rise and fall
Separates me
From the inanimate crap cluttering our house.
*This is what it feels like to be furniture. *
You see the back of my head
I try to keep myself steady
I hear you turn around
And walk away.
You have better things to do
Than ask why I’m not speaking to you again.
*This is what it feels like to be furniture. *
You mention absently that
We need new couches,
You don’t want to continue trying,
And that the toilet needs to be fixed.
I can’t be bothered to fight with you,
After all, the couch isn't objecting to you throwing it away.
Dec 17, 2014
Dec 17, 2014 at 9:39 PM UTC
~
Look at this girl
With wildfire eyes,
Beautiful flames
That will burn you alive.
Look at this girl,
A tornado in skin.
She tears through hell
With a bone chilling grin.
You think you know
That she’s numb to the pain,
That novocaine
Somehow runs through her veins,
But her wildfire eyes
Hold tales she won’t tell.
Her bone-chilling grin
Is just to spite hell.
You’ve become passive,
So absently blind.
Her fiery facade
Has convinced you she’s fine.
But her wildfire eyes
Can’t relieve her lament.
Her bone chilling grin
Can’t change hell’s torment.
She’s dying alive
As the fires of hell churn.
She’s not fireproof,
And she feels every burn.
This girl that you see,
And her wildfire eyes?
They’re beautiful flames,
That burn her alive.
~
May 17, 2021
May 17, 2021 at 10:09 PM UTC
Lamenting lost love
hidden behind harmonies,
(synonymous to symphony)
resonates absently.
Like making love
to a stranger.
Like you make love
to me.
Void of all passion,
like revenge of apathy.
Apathetic entirely,
the emptiness that fuels you
emphasizes decrees.
Standard-less standards
validate your need
to dismantle the mantled,
and devour the diseased,
to command and to seize,
to exploit the exploited,
and explore every scene—
every pelvis, and every scream.
How did I fall for such a—
loveless being?
Better yet,
How do I disintegrate re-memories,
Or abolish aplitic fallacies,
and survive soullessly?
(How must I do these things!?)
Here I plead
surrounded, unattentively,
summoning recognition
for the being
whom resides in me.
Resurrecting old wounds,
(chore almost seems daily)
almost seems like it’s alive,
like maybe one day
it might save me.
More likely, one day
it will concave me.
But without knowledge
there is no upset.
And no upset means
no you and me.
Mar 9, 2012
Mar 9, 2012 at 9:03 PM UTC
Thunder resonates throughout my entire being
If there's rain,
I can't feel it
But I can taste it
As it slithers past my parted lips,
Cool against the tip of my tongue
Absently, I watch it caress my skin
Slowly pouring down,
Like tears across my face
Briefly revealing my bruised soul
And I wish I could describe this ache
I hate the terror in my head
More than I could ever possibly say
I doubt anyone will ever have the patience to break through my walls
After all,
Damaged goods are still damaged
No matter how attractive they might be
I can't ****** my way into a happy ending
© 2014 Peach
Aug 11, 2014
Aug 11, 2014 at 3:47 AM UTC
The warm, chocolate gaze in your eyes,
promises safety, love and home.
Laughter lives in there, too, but also pain,
and mysteries of unknown size.
While quick with a smile or a laugh
and born to protect,
at times, when unguarded, your face reveals
heartaches, kept hidden away.
On rare occasions, a word will be spoken
and a glimpse into the pain is shared.
Callous, ignorant remarks made to a small
impressionable child.
Scars carried over time through the years.
Shaping. Molding. Into the man you became.
Even as an adult, racial slurs slung absently about
by so called educated men.
Always driven to do better, be better than everyone else,
because of one thing.
Always harder on yourself than anyone else.
Driven to excellence by prejudice.
Aug 9, 2010
Aug 9, 2010 at 11:18 AM UTC
Ashen leafs cling absently to sleepy trees
Hiding behind hues of asphodel and pink
Clouds danced across the morning sky
The enormous pillows slowly changing shape
Across the day they are loosely draped
With meaning in every morning
And all the varying shades of light
I marvel, what a sight
So sparkle! A state of fabulosity
My drunken heart beating crapulously
Oh all the colors of this world
Such a treasure to behold
More precious to me than diamond and cold
More sacred than any stone
My heart hopes this will not grow old
The magnificent light, oh behold!
Oct 27, 2014
Oct 27, 2014 at 6:53 PM UTC
Today
for the first time
I felt my own mortality.
Before, I went through life
deliberately ignoring death and its couriers
absently aware but blind
to the dangers of life.
Today
I realized that life
is nothing but a quest
to escape death
neverending, never ending
until that day
when everything stops.
Before today
I never had to evaluate my life
in a split second
but today I had to remember anything and decide
(not like I had a choice)
if I was ready or not.
Twelve more inches and
who knows what I would be
saying now.
Nov 13, 2014
Nov 13, 2014 at 12:34 AM UTC
Handsome shades of murk crackle the joints in your bony fingers while she drapes purple towels over a broken window no one has bothered to sort. It's a quiet and moldy sort of night, with even a starry sky lying shamelessly over tranquil lakes under closed willows. There are no secrets though between her eyes and yours, who find joy in absently breaking the bleached porcelain cups your in laws bought, on this blood stained floor. With all this abstracted silence dying to burn your dog hearing thoughts, she finally manages a whisper.
'Dare not let the light in and wake you from this memory.
It might be putrid but it's the best you'll ever have'
Leaning back, the chair you sit on sobs wordlessly about the strain of living and the piles of laundry no one has bothered to fold. The moon overlooks your surroundings, watching pine trees in the distance exhale their last breath and drop weights of hope omitted from the stars for this Earth. Perhaps ignorance is bliss or someone cut off her ears and yours because no one turned to notice while those same pasty fingers count back the pages ripped out of old journals, all meant for her. With all the trains missed and reminders dismissed, you realize who's caught in a fog of sighs.
She paints your portrait in distress because she'll never finish what once was. Termites are biting the wooden legs of this chair and rotting is the flesh on your arms. Reflecting back on your life is worth nothing more than a refrigerator note she scribbled on for last weeks groceries and now she sleeps in a place far more silent than in a coffin deep under roots where some proud oak trees once stood. Being found in the middle of a lost labyrinth with her hand no longer warm, you finally manage a sentence.
'Who cares about the dying trees, I'm running out of paper.
She might be dead but well alive in a writer's promise'
Dec 16, 2013
Dec 16, 2013 at 6:20 AM UTC
It begins innocently, just a twitching
Behind the tip of my nose
I absently rub it away
Still present in our conversation.
The sensation grows into a relentless itching
Unleashed upon the roof of my mouth.
I chastise the insolent itch with my tongue
And return to our earlier discussion.
A sudden complete blank, I can only anticipate in futility
Waiting at the edge of my breath, i wonder
'Is this it?', as I wait for it to take over
But it subsides just as quick, leaving me gasping for air.
Tears come to my eyes, I feel it return again
And the unholy violence held in that second
Makes me heave and convulse momentarily
As my body betrays me to a more primal instinct.
Its over, I look up to see
A grimace and my sneeze plastered across your face
"Excuse me", I mumble shamefully
"Bless you", you mutter behind your tissue.
Jul 11, 2014
Jul 11, 2014 at 10:25 AM UTC
He touched our hands
But unconcernedly this famous man
And would not look us in the eye
For fear of contact or what might be worse, connection
And we could hardly blame him, for after all
He had each day been singled out for close inspection
By ones like us, in awe of his celebrity
Circled in the shade of his perfection
Hoping for the star-dust sprinkle of acuity
Or sparkling eyes, admission to his inner cult and clan
He wore blue jeans
And scuffed sneakers as a badge of proof
Of his coolness and unconcern
While we his audience with concealed attention
Enviously eyed his hairy confidence, unconsciously
Imitating in each phrase that low convention
Made small adjustments to our store-bought suits and ties
And nodded several times in bright pretension
Made small amendments to our smiles and lies
Flicked photo-phones in pursuit of custom and routine
He gave a speech
A flippant interview, this famous creature
A well tossed phrase, a rounded cliche
Poured forth like brandy in a glass, convivial
Or apple cider-ed vinegar in pewter mugs
A sardonically French-accented phrase habitual
Well humored, heavy lidded with testosterone
At interlocutor women with the pens and pads
Delivered in a low and purring monotone
For all the world as lovers, each to each
He stretched a smile
A modulated shift of teeth and beard
"Genius? Not I" with deprecation
"My shallow intellect, so poor and so ephemeral"
Delivered in a tone that mocked inclusion
While we assumed an elegance, unintentional
A nonchalance that shields the wide charades
Unmoving in our breathless, but conventional
Genuflection to the the notion that pervades
Our addictive appetite now sated. For a while.
He kissed their cheeks
And stroked their arms, with sensuous ambivalence
But absently, as if he cared so little
In his farewell. 'A bientot' he said and 'Au revoir'
And slipped away amongst the moving Milan crowds
Creative and creator, irredeemably a star
With, in his wake the smiling scriveners staring
At his retreating back in Stark excitement
In the middle of the circling and squaring, at
The alpha-wolfic effigy. The Shepherd and his sheep.
May 6, 2013
May 6, 2013 at 6:46 AM UTC
Walking in the garden,
I stepped onto the grass
Barefoot,
And revelled in the tingles
On the soles of my feet
That made me smile.
The grass was wet.
Absently, I sat myself down
And felt the grass in my hands...
'The grass is wet,' I thought,
*'It feels nice, cool and peaceful,
But water doesn't catch fire...'*
*Can the fire inside me burn in serenity?
Or will it burn out my peace
And c
o
n
s
u
m
e
me?*
Apr 18, 2015
Apr 18, 2015 at 3:10 PM UTC
The grass bends down beneath my feet accordingly, only to rise,
rise again
The waves break on pebbles, sand, only to crash again on
distant shores
Pulled back through quiet memories, the soft smoked smell of
mesquite & juniper
Lying in the heart of a gray metal shell, laid length-wise, molded into
a mad-mans image
Falling through old, tired, lives, with such innocence, clean &
unburdened by life
Accumulating this tiredness, begrudgingly ground down, absently
tossed aside
Never asking why, like beasts led to slaughter, not of flesh & bone,
put principle & ideal
Dreams of silver, fading into tarnished piles of rust, distorted image,
mocking faded beauty
Quiet nights spent in the shade of moonlight, watching the stars go
down with you
Dreaming of sunshine as the dew collects on our sleeping
faces
Awakened by the fleeting song of cardinals, staring into lattice-work
clouds
Feb 25, 2012
Feb 25, 2012 at 1:36 AM UTC