"abstaining" poems
Up early as usually but this time with a mission to complete Halloween Costumes.
Not a pain free day most definitely, but have kids who rely on me to be a good mom.
Everyone has haters; the two faced, "your girls" wanting your guy or envy clothes style,
or randoms you never met, desiring your life, home or new car bought with hard work.
Most days what's posted on sites about me makes not a bit of difference in my world,
I ignore and move on with my life, know haters have nothing better to do than gossip.
No news is good news and nothing from my usual "Town Criers" saying "Guess What?"
One day got messages in text, "You have been labeled Babylon's ***** by Craiglisters!"
Not a "lol" nor "Roflmao" situation. Thinking, What in the world? and How in the world?
Me, Ms. Abstaining and they, who love assuming and posting drama without thought.
Their world; small town America and believers of truth in "all" internet rumors and media,
not willing to give benefit of doubt, once minds, so limited in thought, have been made up.
E-mail inquiries from potential employers I never met from destinations far far away,
asking and informing that person with such low morals shall never be part of their world.
Drama finds me and neither welcome nor do I seek it out, way too emotionally draining,
believer in live and let live, authored "Celibacy" poem to stop jokes made to my kids.
Who knew that trying for your dreams could bring forth bringers or illogical pure hatred?
Who knew that emotions of my children whom I love, would be affected by narrow minds?
After family conference and with full support, by the way, had to explain ***** to son,
this mom carries on and still on second journey pursuing dreams and making realities.
If I give up dreams it will never be because someone posted bold faced lies on open forum,
it will be because I choose to do it with good reasons and those reasons are mine alone.
Pitfalls? Have been numerous. Will? Strong and still determined to see this through to end.
Tomorrow isn't promised and hear my dad say, "Daughter, go forth and let haters be fuel!"
Oct 30, 2013
Oct 30, 2013 at 4:01 AM UTC
Light cresting the horizon, she reveals herself to me.
Her brilliant beauty shining, enlightening me is the Sun.
Leaving me blind eyes for it's long since I've seen the light.
As my sight returns, I see a smile upon her glowing face.
Happiness and warmth shines through, but also sadness.
Such a cavernous sorrow only matched by mine.
She speaks to me of a wish to be with the Moon once more.
Like when the land was warm and both did linger in the sky.
A brisk winter wind now engulfs the Sun.
Yet still she shines beautiful life, given to all that behold her.
I have felt her kind light on me, and I have come to cherish the feel.
Memories of my unending midnight that left me cold and bleak, evaporated;
replaced with joy, for returned have the young embers of feelings.
With the presence of the Sun I have been brought back to life.
And I wish to covet her, like the day does the light.
I whisper a wish, a pining desire to share that heavenly grace with the Sun.
But I may only behold her poetic wonder with my eyes I fear.
Far to deep is her flame, which I still yearn after.
Trudging forth is a feeling of looming disaster,
for her thirst is of the Moon's accompaniment alone.
Who am I to stand between the Sun and Moon? Gods in the sky.
For I do not reside above the clouds; I am but a mere observer far below.
Enchanted by the mellow glide through the heavens that they shared.
The Moon should feel her kind sunshine upon his face again.
He knows little of the night that I have hid in for ages repeated,
for he is not charged to linger in darkness for all eternity, like I.
A reluctance I feel to accept the truth, but I may not escape it.
Though, should my heart be tamed? Which is so full of longing.
Ages have passed since my bones have felt this empowering warmth.
I find my mind imagining, dreaming, wandering;
into a place it's far too long since felt any comfort in.
Only to be brought back to the present by the warmth of her smile,
a glance from her beautiful piercing eyes, to hark of her divine laughter.
Remembering that happiness is felt in the presence of a flower,
yet to pluck it for ones self, would begin an end to its beauty.
Whatever may be the desire of the Sun, I share for her too.
For she has shown me life like I've forgotten was possible.
A gift of the like that I could never return with all of my days.
A lost soul in lingering affection of a star, to be looked upon as a fool.
Though a fool for attempting, rather a fool for abstaining.
So return to the dark I will, awaiting in hope for my day to come.
The day that the Sun should like to illuminate me again, and fill my soul with warmth.
Yet I am terrified that day will never arrive for me,
for I've known not but this tragic desolation that has consumed my heart.
Until I met the Sun.
Jan 13, 2014
Jan 13, 2014 at 1:34 PM UTC
I was walking through the grey rainy streets, another melancholic day.
Proud English flags hung up in the windows of council houses.
What are we so proud of anyway?
A country run on ignorance and blaming the minority, the government wonders why we have a problem with authority?
So we will focus on the youth that are disengaged and abstaining from voting. Don't mention those who are hungry, unemployed and hurting.
Ssh, if we keep it quiet then maybe nobody will notice.
Close your eyes while the darkness approaches.
May 10, 2015
May 10, 2015 at 4:38 PM UTC
Loving but never loved in return
loved but never returning
Same difference; no wait
who's foolingwho?
Learn to bear with it- the unpleasant shades of love
Stronger it will make you
or braver your heart will be
Yearning for its lustful desires; passionate kisses and rhythmic heart beats
Or is it broken hearts and cursed kisses?
Never last until eternity, promising to be until the infinity
still abstaining from reality
Truth is; your time has not yet come
Aug 18, 2016
Aug 18, 2016 at 11:33 AM UTC
Wrestling with his conscience
Abstaining from verbal exchange
Regretting his words
Offended by obscenities
Forgetting his ticket
What is happening?
Obnoxious little men
Rallying in no mans land
Dire consequences
Spasmodic verbal abuse..
© Hazel
Oct 23, 2012
Oct 23, 2012 at 1:26 PM UTC
I guess if it was just about *** for you,
You would have ****** me and
Left, right?
And the fact that you
Didn't do that.
And that you
Called me back late at night
To sign up for abstaining
From something we both
Really like means
Something
About the way you feel about me?
I have a feeling it does,
Considering the way,
You kissed me before you left
The other night
And turned from the door
To tell me to look right at me and
Tell me that you
Loved me
And that you
Hoped I believed you
-How are you feeling now, about this?
(no reply)
Another thing
is when you told me that you warned me that
feelings might fade
while I’m away, which
is 2,875 miles and for 71 days
which is
a long time and far far away
another is when
you said quite
matterfactly
that what with the way you felt now
that wasn’t an issue
anymore
-How are you feeling now, about that?
(no reply)
Even if it happens
that's ok
all I can say is “ok ” and continue on with my life
so the stakes aren’t so high as they feel
in the bottom of my stomach pointing up
to puncture if I exhale deeply
so it’s ok,
for that to happen
it’s ok
for you to fall in love while I’m away,
in a way
it would be a little like a
premature death,
plenty unfair and filled with sadness
but also with the
relief
of absence, of the weight of the potential of
something newborn,
lifted.
you don't have to care for
you don't have to raise a
dead baby.
How are you going to feel about (this) (that) me?
(no reply)
Aug 23, 2016
Aug 23, 2016 at 1:42 AM UTC
If you've wondered why I shy from bathing in your eyes
-it's because I'm terrified of where you'll drain me.
Refraining
Abstaining
From explaining why my brain chains itself to the thought of you.
The thought of you-
Remains coursing through my veins like heavy doses of *******
I can not restrain the rain that steadily maintains its downfall along the inner walls of my thighs
If I jump inside your eyes,
Will you bathe me?
Feb 21, 2013
Feb 21, 2013 at 7:38 AM UTC
Jackie read from my grey iris prompter.
With dew covered eyes, she explained
the suffocating moss of her past life.
Jackie told me she was ***** at thirteen
by her brother.
"I didn't know you had a brother."
Jackie then said, "I have a half-brother."
Jackie told me she cut her wrists to feel alive.
"I thought you said you had never handled a knife."
Jackie then said, "I handled shaving razors."
Jackie told me her father was a drunk.
"I thought he was a minister."
Jackie then said "My father is a drunk minister".
Jackie told me she had an abortion.
"I thought you were abstaining."
Jackie then said, "I've had *** and those times didn't count".
Jackie told me she loved me.
"I thought you moved on."
Jackie then said, "I'm allowed a past and present."
Jul 12, 2011
Jul 12, 2011 at 3:21 PM UTC
A Mass Inversion.
I have lived to witness an Apple
become a juggernaut
see the followers nod their heads in belief,
walking segregated on the streets
unaware of their own worship.
We have not yet realized
that the largest religion in the world
is no longer faith based,
technophiles fill our rural
and metro quintessential sprawl.
Their numbers swell
and burgeon with new converts
that give funding rank and file,
whom are taught to know indulgence
in name only, mistaking desire for need.
This technology based obsession
is without age or gender restrictions,
without race distinction,
it asks not for ethics,
pride,
morality,
intelligence or privacy.
It is all-consuming
just as any ideology-
as any religion,
answering the same fervent questions,
demanding tribute and changing the way you think.
-
The View Outside.
Among the whole, the slow mass conversion,
there is occasional dissension,
some who glorify a golden era or fill with nostalgia
for something they may not have even experienced,
an immaterial escapism of the present
furthered by a childish inability to accept ephemerality
and our irregular morality.
Sometimes amid this denial,
this abstaining,
there is a seed of anger that grows with gnarled roots
that twist throughout with nary a cry or shout.
It is a quiet anger,
unconditional and baseless but for an intensity,
a burning sense of being wronged,
an infection that spreads without exception.
And when your self-righteous halo eventually slips to catch
in your now flapping jaw,
your anger will fade as you choke on hard etched resolve.
Dec 21, 2010
Dec 21, 2010 at 9:29 AM UTC
I felt like I cried too much just then, with my head in your lap and my cheeks stinging with salty tears.
I want to die today, but I can't bring you with me.
I can't bring you with me in the bleak narrow curvings of my soul absent doubt.
I hate hating myself so much.
When I look in the mirror I judge from predisposed and painted self doubt.
I trim my frame with unrealistic absurdities that make matters worse by setting them self up for failure to begin with.
I do not think one should continue to prevent them self from cutting off their own airflow to preserve another being's feelings.
Though the act of suicide is selfish, and abstaining from the act to keep others from blaming themselves is in fact selfless; however perpetual self loathing is almost as demanding a lifetime of guilt that comes out of wishing you could have done something to help.
I sit on the inside looking out. And more of the time I am perched in there, I am looking around, from within.
Disolving the interior and remembering the good old walls.
What happened to those willful walls and forgiving storage areas? Nothing is ever good enough; like a mingy white room-once coated twice, but over time has been repainted in folding colors, creating a texture that was not meant to gain, nor pleases as a result.
I want all of the excuses and laziness and hastiness to melt away and the chaos that sits with darkness at the corners of everything, to fall away as toxic as they are, and I want to sit outside of myself and watch in praise and humble patience.
Jan 18, 2010
Jan 18, 2010 at 1:21 AM UTC
The glimpse-
Grasping, it slips.
Abstaining, it tempts.
Alone, it is.
My childlike eye:
Raw, clear, liquid cry.
Shining sight so bright.
Serenity of sky.
Blurry but keen,
On seeing things yet unseen.
Light travels to my eye-
The glimpse of a queen.
Jul 15, 2014
Jul 15, 2014 at 6:40 PM UTC
One whole years of abstaining
now that is a record for me
and I am growing strong
without the want of flesh
Something within me is coming out
the change of the powerful sort
all is going to plan
each word a grain of sand
This is the power of celibacy
the pure frame of soul
I am becoming a disciple of light
it builds in such a holy way
I am stronger then I have ever been
a storm is coming
and I will dance
to the sound of it's thunder
By Christos Andreas Kourtis aka NeonSolaris
By NeonSolaris
© 2011 NeonSolaris (All rights reserved)
Nov 24, 2013
Nov 24, 2013 at 2:55 PM UTC
We sat
on the deserted
air-raid shelter
in the grass
by Banks House
it was Saturday afternoon
the sun warm
I may want to be a nun
when I leave school
Fay said
I looked at her
why would you want
to be one of those?
I said
I think I may
have a vocation
she replied
looking at me
with her blue eyes
what's that?
I said
a calling from God
to serve Him
in a religious life
she said
I looked at her fair hair
the way she had it
tied in a ponytail
what about us?
I said
I thought we might
get married years to come
and move away
from your old man
and see the Old West
she frowned at me
nuns can't marry
she said
they have to be celibate
I lowered my eyes
to the yellow flowered dress
she was wearing
what's celibate mean?
I said
turning to look
at the coal wharf
where coal lorries
and horse drawn wagons
were being
loaded up with coal
it means abstaining from marriage
and ****** relations
Sister Jude told me
Fay said
but we're not ****** relations
I'm just a friend
I said
turning back to look at her
but why not marry?
Fay gazed at me
because Sister Jude said
we marry God
marry Our Lord
I sighed
but you're only 12 like me
how can you be a nun?
I said
not now when I'm older
when I'm 16 say
she said
you said last week
your mum might take you away
from here away
from your old man
and brothers what then?
she looked at her hands
in her lap
don't know
have to see what happens
she said
she looked at me
don't tell anyone
we might be leaving Benny
it's secret
she said
I won't tell a soul
I said
she kissed my cheek
and said
thank you Benny
I took out a packet
of football cigarette cards
from my jeans pocket
and showed her
my favourite
which was Stanley Matthews
she took it and stared at it
then gave it back to me
she had tears
in her blue eyes
and they seemed as if
they were in water
I wanted to tell
her mum
not to take away
her little daughter.
Jul 6, 2016
Jul 6, 2016 at 2:57 AM UTC
You've got a flat screen mounted
on your kitchen wall with zip
ties and chewing gum.
There's an ashtray by your left
wrist, and a tattoo on your right
of a midnight street light sunshine
shine
down
on a reupholstered love seat,
only used twice: once for the Eisenhowers,
once for last weekend watching Seinfeld
reruns, putting out Sonomas and *** talk
on the twill-like cushions in that dank
basement apartment w/ poster'd brick
walls.
Slayer, Sinatra, Sabbath, Springsteen,
a Space Cowboy, and something Sanskrit
above your box-springless mattress
about the cosmos spitting hellfire
next month because we didn't sacrifice
crumpled dollars yesterday, or Clinton
in the '90s. There are masses of humans paying
for the market collapse that sent 800,000
oranges rolling into the street, cold.
God-fearing couples are abstaining from ***
to save their souls from the ******
Rapture. Cable cords are being unplugged
in the middle of A Christmas Story so people
can hang themselves from church steeples
to avoid ruining their Chuck Taylor Loafer
Tennis Shoes in the molten **** suffocating
saplings and parking meters. Christ'll save
the righteous ones, the ones strung up closest
to the bell tower.
The parish hall radio says salvation's
only as good as a new haircut.
And that we should all pick up the warped
acoustic guitar in the cellar, and try
to form barre chords with our swollen
knuckles and arthritic wrists now
because punk music will be dead tomorrow.
Hell, the postman will be dead tomorrow,
and every little postcard, paycheck, and print
coupon he's carrying will be dead, too.
There is an ashtray by your left wrist,
and a tattoo on your right.
Mar 11, 2015
Mar 11, 2015 at 9:27 PM UTC
I'm as important as necessary
as important as I let myself be
but necessary isn't necessarily
the right way to go about wanting
cool noon breeze, sweet scent that stings
a cushioned step for hardened feet
whereas the place heart & mind meet
i've long loitered that corner on the streets
senses that sting and a mind that sings
in madness, sadness, delusions and things
adhering to horrid truth in meaning
abstaining from animalistic need
though greed feeds on what it needs
in between the solid blurred lines it reads
that time is a vision pain is a choice
there's grace in sorrow & reason yet to rejoice
i sit now in stillness and wanting and need
love as a shadow to mask my greed
tormented by want, of things far away
still I long for virtue and truth in the day
Jan 13, 2015
Jan 13, 2015 at 2:22 AM UTC
I don't require complete perfection,
Authenticity would suffice...
The two swords of mind
Are constantly dueling
Within the hearts of men.
Accept what is,
Tame the ravenous inner beasts,
Forgive your brother
For his fallible, carnal nature.
Also forgive yourself.
No man alive escapes desire,
Jealousy, anger, greed.
We all have known pain,
Mourning and loss;
To understand this with compassion
Becomes the test,
To embrace ourselves with lovingkindness
Is the goal.
This accomplishment supersedes merely abstaining,
Transcends our transgressions,
Licks the wounds of fate,
Heals the darkness.
Enter the perilous eye of
the storm ahead,
Unshakeable in faith.
Brimming with confidence and joy,
Humble and grateful.
Stand, immovable, in your divinity,
Protected and guided
By the highest order of knowledge.
Take every step.
Grow, love, learn, teach, trust,
Yet remain unafraid.
Fortitude and courage will reveal
The true Warriors.
Sep 27, 2015
Sep 27, 2015 at 5:11 AM UTC
Glancing in glass, monster appears
Hidden was she for many years
My face distorts, double mirrors
Long lived self control, burried fears
Dealing with this all alone
Luscious burning ***** sliding down
Warmed thoughts and gut without a sound
The judging makes me tremble round
Numbness prevailed,wanted to be drowned
Where is family, my home
Remember this like yesterday
Cascading my life to decay
Withhold inclination this day
Keeping mirror-monster at bay
Practiced abstaining finely honed
Aug 27, 2013
Aug 27, 2013 at 12:43 PM UTC
Every one of these girls.
Wants to be my muse.
But baby I ain't ready for that ****
I'm just way too confused.
I could take you in.
Swim in the hearts I've collected.
But baby in the end.
You might find yourself rejected.
I'm a dangerous mess.
Never was good at abstaining.
You can be my addiction for tonight.
A sweet affliction I ain't restraining.
I know all the right ways.
To do the wrong things.
I know how it feels.
To have a heart that stings.
Am I the worst?
Or just worse than you expected.
What if it was reversed.
And it was my mind you infected?
Jul 4, 2015
Jul 4, 2015 at 1:18 AM UTC
Black Gold, liquid energy, a morning obsession;
that here is the question, can we have another session.
Coffee is the great brew to share, an obsession,
with friends and family; and just to re freshen;
The time for the Saturday morning training,
just one-and-a-half hour remaining.
I am not complaining to be abstaining,
and refraining from the brew so sustaining
but it has to wait till one pm, after training.
So, i will see you, after the training of kung fu,
for this liquid black brew and something to chew,
today with my mordi kung fu crew,
so until then when i see you, adieu
Jun 19, 2015
Jun 19, 2015 at 8:04 PM UTC
I snap elastic bands around my wrist
as retribution for craving food; eating I must try to resist.
I spend hours in the cubicle purging everything from within,
this monster attacks me from inside and ignites beneath my skin.
I cry when I look in the mirror and see my grotesquely fat reflection,
and my cheeks are red and extra puffy and I have a pale complexion.
I weigh myself at every opportunity that I get,
and if I haven't lost a single pound I break out in a sweat.
I exercise and exercise until I feel faint and dizzy,
and run around abstaining from eating by keeping busy.
It's sleepless nights with painful tummy twinges,
writhing in discomfort and filling the air with screaming whinges.
And it's dealing with comments like "you don't look like you have an eating disorder"
because I am not stick thin, no - I am a normal weight and on the other side of the border.
Oct 30, 2015
Oct 30, 2015 at 1:24 PM UTC
Is war coming? Are we headed for another crazy cataclysm?
My sons, draft age. Only now can I appreciate the pain
so sharp it drains the color from one's eyes, your reason
for living gone in a spasm of violence to be forgotten
never by survivors. This fear could become real as no movie
is surreal enough to distract attention from the certainty
you did not do enough to deflect man's trajectory.
All could be well in the end but history portends
a periodic bloodletting followed by a quietus
without mercy. What's the best that can be said:
he died beside his friends and buddies. Steady
on to your own inquest and rest. A perfect rest
that improves upon the inadequacy of your efforts.
What solace can be found in the remains of marriage.
So you better fight back now even if that means
war comes sooner. At least you're fighting back, but how?
Take a minute to meditate on purpose. Science
cannot save you, neither can religion. Abstaining
from violence with love, letting prisoners go, detaining
no one at the border, inviting Chinese and Russian
scientists to our shores, defusing your own anger before it detonates,
none may be enough to save your sons.
A war president needs war, whatever. A trained
and deadly warfighter. You become what history wants
you to become. You survive if you're lucky, if not
so what, your old parents will be alive only briefly to mourn.
Then they too go to their good graves and the pain dies down.
In the meantime a new generation builds a new space station.
Since the vortex will be ******* up the poor,
let's not let the rich escape untouched. All go down
together, no one hoards gold or gets away with fiction.
If we have to fight let's make sure we fight as one,
the sons of the rich side by side with the poor's sons
and their daughters. You want slaughter? Then
let every city and back road know the new order.
I would rather watch Lalaland ten times over than have
to write this poem. I can leave home and live
in a tent or bunkhouse, eat dinner out of a tin cup
and drink water from a wooden bowl, give up
music and most of my memories to save my sons,
to save the world and avoid this war.
But that rarely happens. One is lost and found in what happens.
Jun 3, 2018
Jun 3, 2018 at 10:09 AM UTC
So this is love? I’ve asked myself so many times over the course of my life. I really didn’t have any examples of what love should look like or feel like. How do you know when it’s real. How do you keep fear from creeping in and spoiling things before you get a chance to understand the feeling. So this is love.
I’ve never been in love but I imagine it’s something beautiful like yellow tulips still closed up so that only I can witness them blooming. Could this be love? I really don’t know because I’ve never had a love like this before.
Maybe love is ink spilled onto cards, poems to paper, words buried deep inside the heart or whispered so low that only God can hear it, “please god don’t let me mess this up. Teach me to be the woman you want me to be for this man but I don’t wanna get my hopes up too high.” Could this be love.
Learning to be patient because you just can’t rush forever. Abstaining in secret because attention from anyone else just won’t do.
Some how I get the feeling that love comes to teach and uplift. Perhaps she brings healing to whomever she touches, Calms all fears and isn’t quick to run away but she is surprisingly quick to forgive.
Love will no longer hide from me. She surrounds me in her warmth and the fear that lies deep in my heart melts away. I will dance freely in her touch and the one who sees my heart will meet me there.
His smile will grab my attention and I will be truly enamored by the sound of his voice and his powerful yet tender demeanor. So this is love, I will say to myself as I am drawn deeper into his embrace, afraid but there is no turning back.
So this is love.
So this is love
So… this… is…
Love.
Feb 28, 2022
Feb 28, 2022 at 11:22 PM UTC
When you love life itself,
The very act of sitting passively
Contains feelings of contentment.
Harbor love by abstaining from harm.
Refuse to defuse pain.
Leave pleasure as a passive gain.
Rejoice that you can remark,
"I have lived";
That is a truth
The mystery of Consciousness gives.
When the blood and the lungs
Pump and respire
With a warmth in your heart
That sings like a choir -
When the silent moment is sweet,
Light and complete,
How much more can you be,
How much more can you seek?
You are already Love
Every moment you breathe.
You are Love on a journey
To manifest dreams.
You are already a dream
Within a dream.
Now experience fully
However your story proceeds.
Jun 10, 2018
Jun 10, 2018 at 11:34 AM UTC