"accommodations" poems
Candlestick lit,
predatory form divorced
Daybreak take your feet
Assault me with rough dissonant hands
Take from me your bright request
Down in the valley curtains part
The thin plane light overflows
Without light-seeking caresses in the clear sky
Bold accommodations of the sunbursts
To Save
Appalachia
The displeased living hear of me
With Vivomantic symbols
After blackened nights begin
Fornicating on your birthday
Off his downswing that has passed...
"How the call it is unfulfilled
your mind, thoroughly healed
Terrestrial white feathers
And tame plains lament
Yet less tame after
His darkness heals you".
That summer day when the rain shaded shallow
And as dull walls divorce the Bejeweled earth.
You don the nakedness of supernatural awakendness
Painted by these symbols Aiseralam spoke...
Appalachia
The displeased living hear of me
With Vivomantic symbols
After blackened nights begin
Fornicating on your birthday
Off his downswing that has passed...
Candlestick lit,
predatory form divorced
Daybreak take your feet
Assault me with rough dissonant hands
Take from me your bright request
Down in the valley curtains part
The thin plane light overflows
Without light-seeking caresses in the clear sky
Bold accommodations of the sunbursts
To Save
Jul 25, 2012
Jul 25, 2012 at 9:02 AM UTC
I strive to be…
a transcendent being…
armed with fearless questioning
powered by
Love and light.
A transcendent being
...is not lead by ploys
to keep the world separated.
..does not judge others
In order to feel better
about themselves.
A transcendent being
is comfortable in their own skin...
therefore …
ego and envy
are taken out of the mix...
A transcendent being
sees through fearless eyes
the beauty of the rest of the world,
A transcendent being
carries with them
their own personal joy…
excited by possibilities and purpose
their world becomes full of adventure.
Problems do not disappear…
They simply become a challenge
Fueled by what could be
inspired by justice
distributed with integrity.
Without fears…
transcendent beings see
what is truly needed…
… a system designed with
the realities of the present
and accommodations
that are handed out justly…
distributed with intregrity.
Ushering out "should's"
And “should not’s”
Replaced with more…
fearless compassion...
and why not's.
Imagine then...
what you would change...
and join me in striving
To be a Transcedent Being.
Jun 6, 2014
Jun 6, 2014 at 8:32 AM UTC
the nest did lack space, accommodations were crammed
the nest did lack space, accommodations were crammed
sardines in a tin, the plot needed thinning
sardines in a tin, the plot needed thinning
the plot needed thinning, accommodations were crammed
sardines in a tin, the nest did lack space
they sighted a surplus one, tossing overboard
they sighted a surplus one, tossing overboard
what clutter it did cause, heave ** out you go
what clutter it did cause, heave ** out you go
they sighted a surplus one, what clutter it did cause
tossing overboard, heave ** out you go
the place twas less congested, not a tight squeeze
the place twas less congested, not a tight squeeze
elbows were able to span, more roomy
elbows were able to span, more roomy
elbows were able to span, not a tight squeeze
the place twas less congested, more roomy
the plot needed thinning, they sighted a surplus one
accommodations were crammed, what clutter it did cause
sardines in a tin, the nest did lack space
heave ** out you go, tossed overboard
elbows were able to span, the place twas less congested
more roomy, not a tight squeeze
Nov 17, 2014
Nov 17, 2014 at 7:34 AM UTC
Too many Black bodies,
Know the unwelcoming
Pavement as their home.
I can smell the sadness
That seeps through their pores.
Sorrow that furiously
Enters my nostrils
Like tornados yielding eviction notices.
Pupils that beg
For eye contact.
They are empty change cups
That fill to the brim
Through the locking of retinas.
Begging,
More for the reminder
That they too are human,
Than for the change
That will provide little of what it boasts.
Open caskets
With the bodies of suicidal souls.
Lifeless faces rearranged
To show a glimpse of joy.
The scene is rich with irony.
These dead are smiling.
While the barely living
Don't have the same luxury of tranquility.
Words claw their way outside of mouths,
Fighting
To reach a listening ear.
Suffering
Such alienation,
From being unaware
Of their origin or direction.
When the body and mind lose
Their living accommodations,
Words still yearn
For a home.
Black bodies litter the streets.
And sanitation crews wonder
Whether to place the lifeless bodies
Into the truck’s trunk,
An open casket.
I wonder,
When was the last time
One of their names was
Spoken into existence?
How difficult is it,
To forget who you are?
Mar 23, 2014
Mar 23, 2014 at 8:00 PM UTC
They tell us of places and theories
speak of the radicalness of our flesh
say that we must take responsibility of ourselves
as they sit behind their hard earned desks
they speak of their authority
and empowerment through words to the point that I wish to acquire such audacity
isn't that what our liberation is all about?
Recreating patterns of oppression
reach elitist capacities
sound … well structured and become one of the prodigies they can throw in their collection of so called advancement
I no longer seek validation of my processes through your bureaucratic systems
my knowledge does not emanate from intellectually justified sources but from las historias passed down to me by my fore-mothers
keep your favors, sympathy and unreasonable accommodations
yes, I will move on
but con un nuevo entendimiento:
de que ustedes no dictan las bases del feminismo
ni la capacidad de mi criterio
resisto sus juicios
y no acepto sus terminos
no firmo
por que mi educacion
no tiene fecha de expiracion
ni es un producto o contrato
al mejor postor.
Jan 19, 2014
Jan 19, 2014 at 3:32 AM UTC
I am at my best at early a.m. when I click
the radio on and listen to NPR
interviews of people from
countries like Scotland, Nigeria, and Italy;
not long ago I heard a Swede tell how
he pickles Harbor
seal meat, and a day ago a Mexican
who was shot through the tailbone
by a child with a .22 rifle
argued her country has pitiful
accommodations for
the handicapped.
Learning of the Swede, Mexican,
and slain seals liven me;
and then the sun rises.
Oct 19, 2016
Oct 19, 2016 at 7:53 AM UTC
"You are one in a million."
- Then you realize
that means there must be
THOUSANDS
Just.
Like.
You.
So you worry,
You fret,
You wonder
What it takes to
stand apart.
Youtrythingsyouwouldnototherwise.
U do thingz you can never 4get;
All just to be
original.
You write and profess
about matters you hardly understand.
You torture yourself
to
s t r e t c h
your limits.
You educate yourself
So to think
Like no one el$e ha$.
You adopt strange habits
In fluctuating,
foreign
accommodations.
Then you
r m e
u l
c b
when it all
slips...
You almost feel
Original.
...away...
You change your name,
Take on a new identity-
One like they've never seen.
Bleach your personality
And sulk behind lifeless, purple hair-
Garishly placed among a black and white world-
While inhaling toxic fantasies
That suffocate-
No, wait, perhaps they liberate-
Those things that make you feel
alive
and unique.
You are the Original.
You are unlike any force ever know. You are the thunder's roar and the wolf's howl.
But you can't shake this ominous feeling:
You've become unoriginal
Dec 4, 2015
Dec 4, 2015 at 12:51 AM UTC
Tiny blocks of sky-bits
Got locked behind my eyelids
I'm blinded
I'm trippin
I watch you live
I give in
But hell - I don't listen
I'm ****** cause of this
I'm not dumb
I've been dumber
Cause you got other loves
Our loves lost like -
Time for slumber
Making moving forward
Feel more like going under
This is the story of my
Life
during this god awful summer
I'm struck
& you
You're like thunder to me
So loud
It's astounding
& you remain unseen
The reality of this is clear -
If I've got nothing to lose
Nothing to choose from
I got nothing to fear
I just want to believe again
& you knock like it's easy
To turn this ****
& let you back in
But you run
Deeper than blood
In this skin
I'm pushing you out through a vein
& we can't even be friends
We can't even be NOTHING
a race that ended weeks ago
& I'm still out here running
It isn't fun anymore
I ought to be done with with it
I wanna slow burn you off of my tongue
With some *** and sit
Quiet
No drums
No lines to spit
It's time to do me
Like where I come from
The sun is lit
And I'll just follow the sky
Like a crow
With tunnel vision
Jul 16, 2014
Jul 16, 2014 at 10:15 PM UTC
I’m sorry
If you thought I was smelling you
I have a cold you see
it's winter,
and it would seem the life
that once graced the limbs of trees and the buds of flowers
has taken up residence
in my nasal cavity.
the sniffles you may have heard
were not an attempt to steal a piece of your essence
but merely the feeble accommodations of a person with
a virus.
of course, none of this is to say that i wouldn't want to smell you.
whereas the life of the trees and birds and flowers
has become my enemy
it seems to have been kept in you.
you remind me of daffodils.
i think of you and my eyes feel as if they are welling up
i am allergic to daffodils, you see.
i do think they are quite nice to look at though.
every time i am around them however,
i become nature's fool
i'll never see you again.
my words are falling on the deaf ears of nature
in the winter when sounds seem to be hushed
but please know
i really wasn't trying to smell you.
i couldn't smell anyways.
Mar 24, 2010
Mar 24, 2010 at 12:53 AM UTC
Do not be afraid of my honesty
Every concern you harbor is tied to my mast
I’ve decided to listen to a French woman sing
Though I do not understand, she shares my past
It’s not so hard to know
Listen to her voice, the softness
While music suggests how we should feel
Only a singer can live within our sadness
What exists in the unconscious is fully developed
I don’t need any more time behind the mask
I’m only obsessed with the knowing
Of who I am or who I should ask
I live outside my own mind
Leaping fences erected to keep me out
I need to know everything about you
For mystery is not intrigue but instead doubt
There is no time for tradition
Or the fears we both know
Though I possess seeds of passion
I cannot wait for something to grow
You must not think of what is to be built
Or why it is that I noticed you
You cannot be offended that your beauty
Preceded what may come to be true
It’s all very simple now my love
It’s an either or situation
Either our hearts are right for each other
Or they must find other accommodations
I live within my own reason
From you I expect nothing less
And until we able to reason together
I will own only one wine glass
Dec 21, 2014
Dec 21, 2014 at 2:58 PM UTC
If electric bicycles
Are not technically vehicles;
Then they are subject
To the same rules, protections, and treatments
As that of pedestrians & traditional cyclists.
If electric bicycles
Are technically vehicles;
Then they are subject
To the same laws, accommodations, and treatments
As that of operators & traditional motorists.
You can have elements of either
Without the full embrace of one,
But this creates confusion.
Not only on the part of the individual,
But legislatively & judicially.
May 17, 2025
May 17, 2025 at 10:20 PM UTC
I may be the monster chasing you in your sleep, now, or all the sea shells that you collected as a kid and eventually lost. I may be just another blurred face in your dreams, or, the first touch of sunlight knocking at your windowpane. Or maybe, I'm just a dusty album thrown carelessly up in your attic- not useless enough to be dismissed, but useless enough for you to no longer know what to do with me. (Or I'm just a jammed door whose key you still keep with you in your pocket, your footsteps halt in front of me once in a while, but the moment passes and so do you)
Or, maybe 10 years from now, in your mind and heart, I no longer register at all.
You and I, we are the children of the same paradox. A fragile thread hung above a horizon-less sea. Could we get what we wanted while being who we are? Do I not belong as much to the thing i left behind as I do to the future that I'm seeking? How to acknowledge your hurt without having to apologize for who I am? Can I ever find home if my heart is always curious about what's beyond? How could it have been love if I had to keep breaking pieces of myself to make some accommodations for you? Why, after all this time, it still feels like it was? Could you really find love in the arms where you lost yourself?
And this is what you're to me. 5 years from then, you're still the headache I get at 2 am and the bloodshot eyes. The thought processes running in circle. You're the human embodiment of my life-i could create something with you, something out of you but I let the idea of it consume me. And sitting underneath the ocean, before oblivion hits me, I imagine asking to your fractured reflection- have you ever wanted to be the universe - something so grand- that you settled down in this abyss- and became nothing.
Dec 6, 2018
Dec 6, 2018 at 10:52 AM UTC
Into the darkness I have ran
To hide my sins from the things I have done
They say God keeps track of my sins
How does Satin tally them
I personally have lost track
But in this week alone, I have many sins
I think about confession, but I know no prayers
Am I condemned to hell because of this
I have played with fire all my life
I now must burn in the fiery pits of hell
I often wonder if I will be
provided with special accommodations
Apr 1, 2015
Apr 1, 2015 at 6:50 PM UTC
guilty guillotine
cut the cordiality
decapitate my capital
bereft of debt but dead
sins cashed out
at the redoubt
the readout states
he served the state medium-well
high stakes games
never play out
prime timely
passed the ball before his
(half)time trials in the hall
of Hades' heroes
trophy case cages commemorative
accompanying accommodations
on company A's dime
dyed (c)ammo/comedy gold
commies died in red tape
holding back third wave
tsunamis made by little boys
and fat cats in league
of farms with the pigs
beating b(l)ack the blue
in the faces of pro-testing
human lives in danger of
aborting the right to ask
who's right?
__do not collect/make cents/money ☞__
unmarked graves
poor marks/low grade
explosive yields in fields of
gilded grain against woods
buying forests by the tree
swaying serenely, at peace
like only broken bodies can be
felled for freedom from failed
harvests, too costly
inflating lives now worthless
revolutionary's revolting; reminding readers
read the red print
for Jesus wept
'cause Lazarus died again
and this timestamp
demarcates the end
of resurrected american dreams
democracy demands your undecapitated capitulation
live free™ or die
Jun 17, 2018
Jun 17, 2018 at 6:06 PM UTC
*iv'e have not quite come to terms
with that dark thing that lives within me
oh lord
have mercy upon ophidian's soul
have you not enslaved me
with desires despicable
drawn darkness over me
with a black wands curse
into
feral gates castellation
as I sleep
towards mournings flaring sun
with aches infernal ****
i behold images of
hung women sway-less
heads pressed firmly against stone walls
legs and feet splayed behind
squandered treasures
******* yellow soaked with *****
so ghastly
my darling
so touching
oh lovely horror
she said
to die that way
in a little room somewhere
would be perfect
so easy
even pleasant
as lips brush caressed
she cooed whispers
protect me from
from the cruelty
of grizzled age
and heaped infirmities
like stones on threadbare silk
that unravel and tear souls
sorry and dull
until collapse
standing tippy toes
her head on my shoulder
arms around my neck
my soul her mausoleum
undulating as if a rounded wind
eyes like rushing poems
pleading
a bloodless brain
she mused
better than the delirium of
glittered fizz
cocktails
we could do it in easy stages
all tender accommodations
as you lasso the rope
gently around my neck
and attach to a sturdy handle
then lay me firm upon white linens
with wet-lipped kisses
and let me drop weightless
like a slipper off a foot
into sweet
night tides
nirvana*
Jun 29, 2017
Jun 29, 2017 at 7:18 PM UTC
I wasn't waiting here
You found me where I come to, strange
To behave as if by locating
Me at home, it warrants change
Expectations of accommodations
Making room and rearranging
Feb 3, 2016
Feb 3, 2016 at 3:31 PM UTC
1. The only escape from this nightmare is death
But that’s not escape - it’s nothing but a blackout.
The only hope left flickers and dies
Like an ill-tended summer campfire
As the lucky numbers refuse to compute,
And all that’s left is sand and sun
That scorches all attempts to find a way
To make accommodations to the heat.
Safe for now inside a fragile stucco igloo,
What will happen when the statement comes
That says we can’t afford the ice
That’s needed to stave off the burn,
And there’s no shady place to go and hide.
With no escape to dream filled sleep
There’s only counting minutes on a clock that never moves.
2. The ragged sleeve is not caught up at night
And the road ends at a chasm of despair.
The winds and tides are out of sync
And morning comes at midnight.
Writhing in the tangled sheets, I’m
Thinking thoughts with no way out,
Of what was always bound to come,
Riding on another bad decision.
3. Death will not lure me this night -
Too cruel to leave him here alone
Without the necessary tools to live
And find a road that leads to hope.
If only slumber was my friend
And I was not out counting stars
When it’s too dark to find my way
And all the nearby world is snoring.
4. Huddled in a corner with a pen
The paper blots up tears and ink
And offers no hope of surcease
To seeds of panic poised to grow.
If only a little rain would fall.
ljm
Mar 18, 2019
Mar 18, 2019 at 11:13 AM UTC
launched Meghan Markle into royalty
American divorcee
catapulted from “AA” to “Zed”
at break neck speed, and with cachet wed
Prince Harry, and soon
twill begetting, bestowing,
and bewitching her
chromo somal thread
(complementing, furthering, and
weaving together "Quod Erat
Demonstrandum", or QED
for short) within United Kingdom
coat of arms, perhaps
naming the first heir Ned,
and according one online
dictionary definition and ken
translates as French
(Old English) name Eadmund,
meaning rich or happy,
and protective akin
to a mother hen,
not just mollycoddling
hatchlings, but even
shelling out care
on a wing and a prayer
long after offspring
fly the coop and been
fending for themselves,
perhaps merely earning
chicken scratch wage,
assigning doomed fate,
sans cooked usage
if perchance "chick(s)"
go thru a foul stage
within their duff
fenceless hierarchy,
where pecking order doth rage
worse case scenario, would presage
finding errant peep(s)
sent to gaol,
not much bigger than a bird cage,
unless they comprise
noble henny age,
ideally taken in as a pet
by newly bridled
Duchess of Sussex
treated like totally
tubularly true blue blood
with opulent accommodations
(cheaply) tricked out
with life size Tyrannosaurus Rex
(spoiler alert: actually done
with special effe Hex
with latest computer graphics
showing rippling reptiles flex
sing and holo
graphic smoky mirrors)
intending "FAKE"
balances and checks
to boondoggle aggressive paparazzi,
one of whom includes
Meghan Markle's ex.
Aug 9, 2018
Aug 9, 2018 at 7:29 PM UTC
My entire adult life spent through selfies adorned with false smiles, vanity portraying the "best version" of myself.
My own body delusions still presented without filter, although masked.
Raw, vulnerable photographs through my weakest moments, tear strings, pink cheeks and red eyes aren't something I've felt comfortable posting.
However posed my photos are, they still aren't altered.
Playing up my own dysmorphic disorder from youth yet grasping my own beauty seen as overly vain.
Early youth Ex boyfriends told me selfies were extremely narcissistic, and made me seem rampant for attention.
But does a girl who has such little following still seek approval of others when they don't like photos?
I'm not sure.
My instagram feed is dull.
It's not uniform or beautifully choreographed.
I often hide photos, as I too enjoy hiding myself from time to time.
I intended on leaving an imprint of all these useless photos I've taken over the last decade. Physically I no longer share similar traits to younger versions of myself, though mentally I've changed overall time and time again. People have called me iron-clad, the strongest person they know.
But am I?
My body embellished with secrets of a personality I used to be too afraid of showing men until this fall.
How many basic accommodations I've missed out on, how my body soaks up the granules of this love.
My being is a season, wise in my own way and mystic in terms of value.
Windows beaming with warm midday sunlight, and crispy fall mornings.
Evolving rituals, moonglow and warmth. Certain darkness like still plotted night skies. Teetering vulnerability, and overstuffed closet.
Days less spent pining over lost dysfunction, and moreover trying to figure out who I have become.
Perceived destruction of oneself versus proverbial Phoenix reconditioning.
Warrior ignite.
This winter's met with welcomed warmth though grazed heartache and sadness.
Dec 27, 2019
Dec 27, 2019 at 2:32 AM UTC
Dear Happily Ever After,
I regret to hear that your arrival will be delayed
That the circumstances weren't right
I hope that we can come so some agreement
And make adequate accommodations
I hope that when you do come
That is if you so chose
You may perhaps decide to reside
Permanently
And bring what we may be lacking
Wistfully yours,
Tomorrow
Sep 28, 2014
Sep 28, 2014 at 12:13 PM UTC