"abstractly" poems
“Some people are never far away...”
I am thinking this--
bouncing tipsy on pool floaty
at my daughter's new home
in 'burbs of Philly
Sipping wine
on a pool floaty
thinking this--
abstractly
Sipping wine
in odd peace
on a pool floaty
cool and soft, the water
Cicadas scour the air
...Knowing it's not true....
I had watched them from my porch
leaving –
since the day they came
They –
and the robins too, headed south now
tumbling in their groups
that garble time
that sketch horizon
with a maze of staggered lines
Watching
geese--
their backs and wings gleam
in golden V
across the sunset
They are honking as they rise, raucous
from river in their flight
My daughters do the same
Migrating south from Scranton
waving, honking til their cars have turned the corner
out of sight
...on a pool floaty
fully clothed
I watch them
drenched in the darkening sky
tasting salty streams
Intoxicating sounds
their laughter
their voices--
How I love....
cicada droning
in the lush of background green
I will keep this moment clutched
to me
all I have of them
between these moments
I live between moments
of nothing and everything
Sep 1, 2018
Sep 1, 2018 at 4:55 PM UTC
Film developer cacophonies, and journalistic hoarding
My friends wanted to record our last year –
Accurately – not succinctly
Abstractly – and yet, directly, bluntly
Vividly – in photography, quote notebooks, Dictaphone diatribes
That’s hilarious – scribble it down.
Can you repeat your brilliance?
If you could paraphrase that – well…what would you say?
Take another one. She wasn’t smiling.
I don’t want to smile.
My friend sidles up beside me – beaming grin
Sticking her fingers into my mouth
Pulling opposite and up
And her fingers tasted like
The musty pages of books without pictures.
Mar 6, 2014
Mar 6, 2014 at 11:53 AM UTC
The treatment of women with perfection;
Bob crazy enough to have a blanket
abstractly; it is a lamp, light
of motion Pictures and Radio;
The breeze's way was on the morning floor
Members of the pregnant girl
OS from others; Part of something is madness;
It starts at six on the impact of the person;
However, user service industry some wolves,
and if they do not wear warm socks
so to subscribe to the Senate's
Asia Cup successful story;
About this pretty color correction
Ari in a few words:
One in Windows;
dreams: The rich are always helpful;
they were; Caring for the pregnant women
with a strong shot; Bob covered the needle,
lighthouse electricity light
about collection, Depth, Method of morning breakfast;
Members of the pregnant elite, the external debt,
the urgent task in that the evil places of the
Immunodeficiency are at least six feet!
Tricks: Any light images with some worms
Your socks are of nature, and without your consent,
Asia has Achieved Eye Achievement
The color of the smile is the end of the process
In a few words, one of the windows on the mouth
is rich and useful, we are
Oct 7, 2018
Oct 7, 2018 at 9:59 AM UTC
Correcting lines,
Painting new stripes with clear coded markings,
Her curiosity is like an allergy to the heart,
Constantly craving to itch, but my reach is coming up short,
Torturing me with her innocent smile; a blushing cheek,
Eyes glowing in the direction of the teacher; an aspiring Jedi,
All I gave her was an answer,
A simple coat of honesty like armor to the Knight,
Abstractly patching together a robe of consistency,
She absorbs my words like a bubble attaching itself to another; becoming the giant,
An ever growing cloud of thought steaming fatter and fatter with the act of knowing,
I gush inside with the discovery of my own blemish to language,
My absent mind on autopilot as I glide into her turbulence,
Eyes completely stuck in this string of moments, one after the other,
I sit on my porch and wait for them to come home.
Jun 6, 2018
Jun 6, 2018 at 12:48 PM UTC
abandoned at the alter--
or just abandoned.
I have nothing to hold on to
except the tatters
of this deceased
laced satin, this crumpled
veil, covering hope and covering light.
one shoe, its matching partner had scuffs to
begin with--what a fraud.
white is supposed to be the color of new beginnings
and black is for funerals--
but I guess white is the new black,
I'm left to fend by myself, nothing
to celebrate--
the cake was too pretty to be eaten
anyway.
and don't you know it,
we're all in our wedding dresses,
looking abstractly at broken watches,
dust-filled corners,
waiting for the groom
that will never
come.
Nov 12, 2014
Nov 12, 2014 at 7:20 PM UTC
Morning Greeting to God
On waking I say (thinking, really)
“You’ve been here all night.
You’ll be here all the day,
Providing time, my needs,
And more abstractly, destiny.
The trick is to be welcoming,
A trick that makes the play of pain
More comfortable,
For comfort is so comforting.
When I say pain,
I do not mean
A shoulder ache or thereabouts.
It means the pain of all around,
An ‘all around’ that’s all unbound
Which one will never have the skill to grasp,
Or power to reshape.
The day’s blank piece of paper,
Bland or stimulating,
Filled with action or quite still –
Always etude and apprenticeship.
So I ask myself (symbolically)
What can I learn?
With no idea of what’s to come,
Anticipating nothing
I accept each crumb that falls from
Shall we call it ‘heaven’s table’
(just a metaphor.)
Heaven’s table may be fable,
Morning’s greeting, fleeting phrase;
Both are ways to start the days
With positivity, an energy
To improvise with happy creativity.
What could be better?
Morning Greeting To God 9.25.2017
God Book II; Nature Of & In Reality;
Arlene Corwin
Sep 25, 2017
Sep 25, 2017 at 5:44 AM UTC
I wish I could describe to you the dense silence when the snow had melted,
and you had left.
It was almost as loud as when you were still
here, but in a way that sharpened
the cruelty behind it.
When I walk through the river of people in the city
and I reach for your hand,
and it isn’t there,
I wonder, abstractly,
if I will ever melt into the flow of people--
until my beating heart sounds no different
than those around me, and it stops squeezing
and stuttering, inconstancies
which serve only to remind me
of you.
Mar 25, 2012
Mar 25, 2012 at 2:23 PM UTC
Perhaps the familiar yet unnoticed crevices in the walls must mean more to me than the very same crevices which will forevermore remain hidden in the depths of my heart.
They're all pieced together,
forming an abstractly numb
piece of art.
Incisions, Incisions,
Made by false, ignorant decisions.
Beautifully arrayed intervals of nothing but enigmatic space.
When you part, your soul hath but a trace.
Done caring.
About the permanent , lethal damage that has been done
By far more than just one.
Nov 8, 2014
Nov 8, 2014 at 2:02 PM UTC
That girl
an abstract beauty
with a dictionary of words unable to define her
She is perfectly imperfect
with a broken heart
that few will ever see
The way she spoke and moved
had boys chasing her like a setting sun
that was just too far away
She creates art with everything she does
and yet she remains unaware of the art
that is her own body, mind and soul
That abstractly beautiful girl
Mar 21, 2017
Mar 21, 2017 at 12:55 PM UTC
Can you hear the sound of the indomitable wind?
It breathes in great heaves
through these sun-beaten leaves,
so boisterous it could flow through ears to the mind.
The eucalyptus’ standing in disciplined lines
seem disturbed by it,
and by the sun that’s lit,
illuminating their aging signs.
From some stark desert some miles to the south
bundles of dry wind roll
up, over, and down this grassy knoll
that unknowingly beleaguers the skin of both
infants playing with their blocks on the lawn
and an older patron
visiting from Dayton
who naturally rises some hours before dawn.
The wind can easily uproot and tear the land apart;
it can dishevel
a garden neat and level,
desolating work to which the retiree gives their heart.
The lascivious sound of the southern wind resonates
past the final palm of the mind
where Wallace Stevens’ bird went blind,
lying low in the recesses of cranial plates.
I say that that sound is no sound at all,
just a loosing slip
of the cerebral lip
attached to a thing abstractly beautiful.
But it sings its song all the same.
Perhaps it is physical.
It’s certainly divisible.
It pierces the sky like a transparent flame.
Sep 7, 2012
Sep 7, 2012 at 3:30 PM UTC
I cannot deal abstractly with others.
I cannot relate to the world as an Oligarchy possession.
Unconditional Love means I love everyone in existence
while not accepting their actions. .
Conditional Love leaves me cold and disgusted.
Conditional Love means in return for loving you I can
hate you in equal or unequal proportion .
Conditional Love finds self validation in others.
Live vicariously.
Die a failure and a fraud.
A whitebread Tom Uncle
Jul 8, 2014
Jul 8, 2014 at 3:10 PM UTC
"...How terrible the stump of the woodmen,
Their blunted shapes lumped under the sheets of snow..."
--Roy Doughty
From such a wrapping, the elegy proceeded,
the last blanket tucked below the bare
feelings extended, stripped of their green fingers like perception
following thought into deflection. Abstractly, a silent museum
held power against the hill at a slope of durable rock. This
granite pulled thinking together in its form.
{ [ _ int f ( x ) d x d t = = del _ f ( x ) d g d E ] [ // ( y ; N , Z ) ] } .
It was allowed to like the experimental results of making lumps
under the sheets of summer, to be ironed and smelted
by the industry of the particular set, upon whatever planet
survival could be accepted, floating between work and the play
of its imagined universe, the sheets folded and placed
upon a shelf like numbers.
Jan 29, 2014
Jan 29, 2014 at 7:25 PM UTC
LETTER OF A MADMAN
Ayad Gharbawi
A scream
In my memory
I heard abstractly
While you talked to me
All I needed were humans
Real
How will it be
When I come to say my farewells to you
Towns you built are architecturally horrific
Expressiveness denied repeatedly
A madman spoke words none heard
Turned his brush strokes inside
Inner meanings to be meant
He spoke of love and deprivations unendurable
Killing his bearings
Christened himself as emptiness
How sad can you feel?
Can you understand, readers years from now?
Strangers coldened by life
Wrote manuscripts and discarded them
The oceans profound called out to the madman
Whose inner cadaver remained there
Devoured by existing fish
Oceans bottomless
Waters of no oxygen and light
Where fish survived in pain
Where did humanity touch with nature?
I never understood
Madman journeyed ‘neath the heavens black and starless
The ocean’s bed invited me here
Because that’s where I belong
I guess
Dec 29, 2009
Dec 29, 2009 at 7:59 AM UTC
L O V E
I thought abstractly
Whether "This is love."
or "Is this love?"
Not a sentence,
not a certainty,
not a thought
with direction.
Just love,
All of it,
As it is.
Whether it's enough or not.
Whether it's real or not.
How cheesy it gets,
or how it bent out of shape
It's still extraordinary
How foolish,
how painful,
how badly it ends
It's love.
Jan 14, 2014
Jan 14, 2014 at 4:01 AM UTC
You are not the you you think you are
Huddled close behind the scars
Out and in and out again
Still mist and fog filled frailty thin
We are not the ones we claim to be
All boasted brash and broken free
Caged, released and caged again
Our chains have traded rust for skin
It's not the place it was before
Hope and hallowed winter worn
Back and forth and back again
It cannot be it's never been
I'm not the me my words portray
Subtle perched in sainted shame
Lost and found and lost again
Make believe still not pretend
Allow me to untangle
The truth and the fable
Only the one fully himself,
Who fully "is" can fully help
This state that finds
Us undermined
So in the throws
We hide our eyes
So out of sorts
Our thoughts unwind
And fill our minds
With wastes of time
But lost and found
Abstractly bound
Can come to mean
What's seen unseen
In place of finding
release the chase
Tune the rule
The walking race
I'm not the me
I'm something else
I know the one
who knows himself
Sep 29, 2016
Sep 29, 2016 at 6:38 PM UTC
Hello there,
I just wanted to let you know – that
I’m not a number.
I’m not a shade.
I'm not your motionless debate.
I’m tinted
Tainted. With ideas and a verbal philosophy
Some atrophy.
Boxed, and gifted through sacred hymns.
My freaking nature is not in the stars
Is not in your blood.
I’m not a religion.
I’m not a hope.
I’m just trying to communicate
The air to my brain.
I’m just trying to suffocate
Indoctrinate, facilitate.
This delusion of being and breathing.
I’m not a country.
I’m not a ship.
Abstractly living within an inch
Of your picturesque life - &
Intricate ambitions of death.
I’m not a law.
I’m not a consequence.
I’m dissolving to my core
Bones lighting up in fear.
Aug 29, 2010
Aug 29, 2010 at 3:07 PM UTC
I feel like dying.
I can’t stand people.
I need to destroy
something beautiful.
I don’t really want to explain what I mean.
Take it abstractly,
like a poem.
Take life abstractly,
like a poem.
Stray between the lines,
dig deeper
than you would if
it were a narrative piece.
I find myself in a novel.
Things are more straight forward if
I tell you exactly
what to see
to hear
to feel.
It was a cold and windy day at the beach.
I think we all need
life a bit mixed up.
The wind had cold teeth
rain still soft in my hair had
the ocean desperately handing me shells.
Cover it in poetry,
decorate with words.
Open your ****** eyes,
don’t be fooled by what
the narrator hands you.
There isn’t one author to your existence.
Nov 2, 2012
Nov 2, 2012 at 12:21 AM UTC
With eyes wide open the world spins lucidly out of control
Moving faster and faster, the Earth is growing...
White blonde hair whipped passed her face would seem so far away
Like a forgotten lover's name it is so surreal...
Ideas of flight abstractly toying with the corners of her mind
Her wings are pressed flat...
A final escape from a dream which you could never wake
This is her ecstasy.
Her final curtain...
Perhaps it would seem odd that her last thoughts would be of her mother
So soft and warm...
They never did agree on anything...
Perhaps in another life they could finally see eye to eye but there would be no such luck this time around...
Her head tossed in a backwards roll
The last ten or fifteen feet seemed to disintegrate away...
A dream's sad ending could never be so uplifting
She opened her eyes for the last time to find her dream had given way to the real
She had been set free
...and had finally embraced the unknown
Dec 6, 2011
Dec 6, 2011 at 12:56 AM UTC
Not a thing you couldn't guess
don't waste a moment for
preparation.
Don't you know that it is myself
I am most afraid of?
As if you couldn't tell,
you little analytical soul!
You sacred star of my heart.
Every word I ever spoke
was evidence enough.
I lied, but you kept secrets.
Can you honestly say
that there is a difference?
We don't believe them anymore;
their words are fiction.
Clever metaphors abstractly
hidden
within their diction.
Jan 31, 2011
Jan 31, 2011 at 6:38 PM UTC
At first what did grip me I could not understand
Like everything new
One does not at first know
And as fools do I did stumble
Still, moment to moment
Always constantly
My interest seeds the path of my development
While all stimuli calls me
What I truly am
Abstractly, I will be drawn to
More naturally...
For this fool to become master
I must follow my interest
To develop my path
I must embrace those adventures
With a full heart and a brave mind
But above all else, to myself, always truthfully
Apr 6, 2018
Apr 6, 2018 at 11:17 PM UTC
If the sun also rises,
Only then does time control what
He is destined to do, one who
Knew the course of the future while
Me, a confused child stood by, watching
Jan 9, 2011
Jan 9, 2011 at 3:46 PM UTC
Boredom, as a form of torture is welcome
Brutalize us into eager lust for curiosity.
Emptiness saturates us without wonder. It's taboo to seek ideals outside of the curriculum.
However it's much more fulfilling.
The straight jacket we are in-prisoned in cripples exploration and reaching ideals that oppose your own.
Stay deaf to those that don't practice what they preach. Or those that sow hatred.
This Devine gift we are hardly deserving of must be appreciated. Gained during adolescence we neglect it.
Formal operational thought is an ability we are taught to be repulsed by. Ironic due to that ideology being repugnant and wasteful.
I've come to tears after realizing our ability to think abstractly is frowned upon by peers and society. Not only in interests of intellect.
If you speak of trying to understand real love. Especially around teen spirit. Your a *** A ***** A "freak". Of course these are untrue and you feel no propulsion to disprove them.
Why?
Because you're not insecure about your beliefs and feelings. You know your strong for that. You also feel confidence in your compulsion to coitus with whatever person you find attractive no matter their gender. As for being a freak, you know your peers haven't slowed down from partying and ******* long enough to ponder what an emotional drain their lewdness is. Besides their physical and mental exhaustion they complain about everyday. Their remedy is to repeat the cycle. Party, **** die. High school is an **** for everyone who's "popular".
It is gross to see such a majority of the population waste their psychological ability no other species owns. But through reflection and learning you need to be tolerant. You see it's futile to tell others what to do or be condescending toward them. It would drain you and them due to the repulsive nature of those acts.
Offer help and love, empathy and understanding. And stay curious.
Intellect
Great-fullness
Peacefulness
Generosity
Love
Stay curios and learn 5 more lessons on your path of personal growth.
Feb 23, 2019
Feb 23, 2019 at 2:12 AM UTC
I miss seeing your lyrics
abstractly spread about across your screen
Reading them..
not letting you know the things I had seen
Once we went our seperate ways
Dark and blurred became my days
Writing about you
While you write about her
Listening to your songs about us
And how I didn’t listen enough
And then one day..
I had to listen to your songs about her
The one whom treats you right
And deserves you,
Unlike me
Apr 24, 2018
Apr 24, 2018 at 1:36 PM UTC
From the sad darkness
A mighty cry
A sound so mind shattering
From a place on high
A single photon does emerge
Multiplying explosively
Energy coangulates
Abstractly orgasmicly
Thus the conception
Of a universe
You are the crowning inception
Of Man's curse
Or so it was when I first saw you...
Apr 27, 2016
Apr 27, 2016 at 4:09 AM UTC