"acquaint" poems
I
A playing raging guitar
Of a kid with taboo thoughts
The first cigar
Who fired shots of dots...
Don’t care and
The revolt of caring
Be scared and
Be the scare!
The acquaint of survival
The wrath of revival
Is everywhere
Anywhere, not visible too
The wrath is the root of trouble
But the root of solution is not wrath
II
A desire so
Excessive,
Rapacious and
Overweening
Of wealth
A pursuit so
Excessive,
Rapacious and
Overweening
Of status
A need so
Excessive,
Rapacious and
Overweening
Of power
A greed so greedy
III
Slaves of virtual reality
To whom dictatorship is not real
To whom liberality, brutality and unreality
Is not real
But the ticking clock is not sloth
Tick-tock, Tick-tock
Men who walk toward sloth
Tick-tock, Tick-tock
'till old growth
Tick-tock
Loath
Tock
IV
Sit idly-by low self-esteem
Caused by lack of ******
Translated to scheme
And unfortunate dream
For achieving an alleged excellency
Or a lengthy and empty possession
What frenzy
And all for envy
V
Advertising
On bus stops
On train stops
On metro stops
On everything that stops
To make you stop
And start
Over-consumption
Over-indulgence
Over everything
Obesity!
Wealthy
Withholding from the needy
From what they really need
Advertising gluttony
VI
A feature of abstinence
Leads to a lack of extravagance
But there are no angels
Only fallen angels
Or angels about to fall
A feature of desire
Leads to an higher feature
Noisy or hushed
It can't be crushed
It's just fuel swallowed
A tool for lust
VII
Pride is divergent
A dreadfully enemy
Or an inside allied
Pride is divergent
Mar 25, 2012
Mar 25, 2012 at 2:40 PM UTC
Why search for an identity?
You can live without one, right?
False.
Living is not synonymous with time moving forward while you
haven’t moved a single muscle.
Time runs even if you have no identity
but life? It can’t start until you’ve found one.
On a day when everyone puts their identities on display
I am left out of the exhibit
“Sorry,” says the museum, “but I only want art that has meaning.”
and I suppose that’s fair…
Yet as fair as it may be, I still want to be a part of the museum
I want to be able to present myself proudly with the other brilliant
works of art
Tick. Tick. Tick.
When Time passes by the museum my heart skips a beat
because one day he could decide to shut the establishment down
before I’ve had my chance.
On a spectrum commonly interpreted as binary
where will I fall?
Am I plummeting towards my identity or my death?
An army of questions are ready to fight
and the little clue I have stands no chance.
so I pull him back and I keep him close
and acquaint him with good ol’ mr. Time.
It’s fine that I’m frozen
Now that I know
that patient time
is helping my little clue grow!
Apr 5, 2015
Apr 5, 2015 at 10:41 AM UTC
There are parts of her
that are unfamiliar to me
that I would like to acquaint
May 20, 2020
May 20, 2020 at 4:43 PM UTC
I bring Vitality
That who Faint
And in Jollity
The war Acquaint
~
They can Understand
My whole Night
For the Land
Thou shall Fight
~
With my Light
Have no Fear
Future is Bright
Trust my Dear
~
You have Lead
Not for Long
There are Greed
For the Wrong
Odin is Proud
Valhalla awaits You
In a Crowd
Sees the True
~
With no Flu
We will Feast
Hint a Clue
For the East
~
Be the Fist
Of the Lust
Make a List
For the Just
~
Do not Entrust
Be in Despair
Is a Must
To be Fair
~
With no Flair
They will Lose
Show no Care
Bring the *****
Mar 10, 2018
Mar 10, 2018 at 1:19 PM UTC
How can I thank you, little green leaf?
You give me something
tasty and nutritious
to eat.
You grow in the ground, by the light of the sun.
You fill my belly
and give me strength
to run.
You are planted and harvested by my own timid hand.
You teach me of dedication
and give me patience to love
this land.
I often acquaint you with a nice onion and tomato.
Then, dress you all up with some vinegar and oregano.
If not that, then I set you atop,
a spicy black bean burger and engulf you while still hot.
And, if I have no bean, or onion, or tomato to pair you with for lunch,
then I simply peel off your layers, and munch, munch, munch.
Yes indeed, you did guess it.
This is just a silly poem about
Lettuce.
Dec 21, 2012
Dec 21, 2012 at 1:45 AM UTC
All that I owe the fellows of the grave
And all the dead bequeathed from pale estates
Lies in the fortuned bone, the flask of blood,
Like senna stirs along the ravaged roots.
O all I owe is all the flesh inherits,
My fathers' loves that pull upon my nerves,
My sisters tears that sing upon my head
My brothers' blood that salts my open wounds
Heir to the scalding veins that hold love's drop,
My fallen filled, that had the hint of death,
Heir to the telling senses that alone
Acquaint the flesh with a remembered itch,
I round this heritage as rounds the sun
His windy sky, and, as the candles moon,
Cast light upon my weather. I am heir
To women who have twisted their last smile,
To children who were suckled on a plague,
To young adorers dying on a kiss.
All such disease I doctor in my blood,
And all such love's a shrub sown in the breath.
Then look, my eyes, upon this bonehead fortune
And browse upon the postures of the dead;
All night and day I eye the ragged globe
Through periscopes rightsighted from the grave;
All night and day I wander in these same
Wax clothes that wax upon the aging ribs;
All night my fortune slumbers in its sheet.
Then look, my heart, upon the scarlet trove,
And look, my grain, upon the falling wheat;
All night my fortune slumbers in its sheet.
2.4k
A gaze.
A silver line between
love
and terror.
A silver line of contentment,
of complacency,
of humdrum mediocrity.
A gaze,
too afraid to gaze
lest we acquaint ourselves
with gold
or bronze.
Too egocentric,
too self defeating.
A silver line of contentment,
of complacency,
of humdrum mediocrity.
A silver safety belt,
clip the lines,
halt the grinds,
lest we acquaint ourselves
with loving gold,
or terrifying bronze.
Lest we stray
from the silver line,
the safety belt,
of contentment,
of complacency,
of humdrum mediocrity.
Lest we stray,
forever shall we stay.
A silver gaze,
humdrum days.
Neither here, nor there,
forever
and perpetually,
'ere'.
A gaze.
Mar 3, 2022
Mar 3, 2022 at 4:54 AM UTC
somewhere between the
first date and the last date
Joni Mitchell,
she, me
encapsulates
I'm remembering well,
pounding the dashboard of a red Jag,
laughable now, mocking this fool's need
for a middle age conceit,
his heart to restart,
reactivate
in enthusiastic lockstep with the voice of the
Joni, the blonde goddess of his youth,
foot falling in love, with the accelerator,
speeding along
at a
joyous sixty five,
in places where the signs said,
"thirty five to stay alive"
this aged Rip Van Winkle teenager,
in reverse osmosis of Big,
an old buck, come back to antlered life,
singing along to the CD disc
set on
backdate
*I could drink case of you,
and still be on my feet*
and he could
rediscovering the champagne taste
of a great first date,
feeling the heated blood and fevered mind,
symptoms of the pleasures of a robust
anticipate
thinking she's the one
who will make him great,
happy greater, greater happy
than that one ever, ever,
he thought was roulette~wheel possible,
landing on the red of hopeful for a
floodgate
overture spilling
months, days, minute minute moments (tiny time intervals),
of the fated faded last date later, the next eve, next day
or the next of never,
comes the
deflate
but then,
Joni singing comfort words,
reminding him that he would be,
wisely, sadly seeing, feeling,
both sides now, and yet again,
getting his mind back to
straight
*I've looked at love that way,
but now it's just another show.
you leave 'em laughing when you go,
and if you care, don't let them know,
don't give yourself away*
a grown man punk'd, blasted,
dumb and dumber, dumped,
a feeling sorry sad sack self,
until he himself
reflates,
drink another case,
onto yet another
magical mystery first
date
pounding that dashboard once again,
believing it's not too late
that perfect roommate heart's to find and
captivate,
to attain, invade, acquaint and laughingly...
serenade
Jul 5, 2016
Jul 5, 2016 at 8:38 PM UTC
I met you.
You were a stranger.
A stranger that I needed to acquaint.
Soon, your voice was enough to make me forget all that haunted me.
Now your voice is the ghost.
Maybe it’s the lack of sleep.
Maybe it’s the last traces of THC tickling my senses
Or maybe I really am crazy
But I can’t finish a ******* thought without another coursing through me
Everything about you courses through me.
Your stare
Your touch. Your soft, gentle touch.
The way you perform magic on my body, just because I know you’re on your way.
Today, you sat next to me.
You sat close which was nice.
You could have sat farther.
But instead your knee touched mine. Your shoulder touched mine.
But still, I couldn’t look at you.
Before I couldn’t look at you for fear of blushing.
Now I can’t bear to look you in the eye
For fear of you knowing just how much I care.
And not seeing that same deepness in yours.
Now, every once in a while I get a glimmer of hope.
Just a bit.
Enough to know what we had wasn’t a hoax.
But then again
Every once in a while I also feel a stab
Right in the heart,
Every time I feel your rejection
Perfectly sober now.
And I still can’t think clearly
Some say you’re an *******
Some say you’re great
You think you’re terrible.
I think
I think
I think
No.
No one really cares about what I think.
They understand, yes.
But it doesn’t matter.
It doesn’t matter that I’m in love with you.
All that matters is that you do not belong to me.
All that matters is that you hurt me.
Why do these things, the things that are the only ones that matter to others,
Get pushed away by me?
The one that does matter?
I guess I might be losing control every day.
Losing you, losing the feelings you had for me.
Losing my sanity along with it.
I guess I shouldn’t give you that much credit though.
You aren’t all that makes me Krayzee.
Exams, dwindling of grades, and being broke probably have something to do with it too.
However,
I’d be lying if I said that ghost of a voice didn’t make me shiver
That just the memory of being in your car didn’t make me quiver
That every time I made you smile didn’t make me feel on top of this demented world.
They say people’s opinion of the world reflects their opinion on themselves.
Demented.
Definition?
de·ment·ed [dih-men-tid]
adjective
1.crazy; insane; mad
How ironic.
Guess I am Crazy Kara.
But I guess you’re already there as well.
Mar 7, 2013
Mar 7, 2013 at 9:43 PM UTC
Such an abatement of voices creep sparingly, verily I tell you, they shall be accrue in the mornings dew!!
Acquaint me on mine wrongs, thank me for mine songs I subdue!!!
They are just registry's of what's real and what's not!!!!
Must you haveth natural air to breathe? Annotater of annunuity. Apprentice fakes overtake innocent babies where the unnatural scabies infest the freshest of human skins.
Carrouse all your symptoms away. You leader, you fearer, you murderer by day!!!
Your one charitable cent gives to noone, for someone in thy heavens watches your do's and donts!!!!
Sure you won't infest beyond breed. You striver to succeed, your alive today aren't thou?
Grant it, you don't look it....
May 12, 2015
May 12, 2015 at 5:50 PM UTC
I meditate upon shore of thoughts;
washing over my countenance, caressing
my soul.
as he forms verses in syllabic count, fore, his voice
ebbs in tidal waves, teasing with submissions of
cognitive chains of thought; where bated breath
pounds against my peninsula
open to laps in hunger, tasting passions complaisancy;
each rush, mouthed in a sauntering flow; touched
in currents of his thoughts; I absorb bittersweet brine
as there's no lack of verbiage, threatening consumption
of uttered articles of enticement
like driftwood floating; his words glide as tides drag
mind, to and fro with each affluxion, I acquaint
thoughts in odes
his sung ballads brush against me like seaward
breezes and I consume his melody in swelled seas
of delicacy
in harmony and bouyancy of song; I surrender
within his thoughts, relishing serenity; upon his
island of passion, wrapped within his poetry in thought
Feb 19, 2013
Feb 19, 2013 at 12:49 PM UTC
You speak to me of beauty, as you breathe what you will
Laughing when no stir of air lingers on the way
Thinking I will call you master and my eyes with tears will fill
While your fragrance, disunites my senses
In unfair play
You show yourself as mightier than storm clouds sweeping by
Yet do you love me as the water falls below
Is that sieve for your protection to sift out the tears I cry
So that you will not see them falling
Or where they go
Did you hear me say I would follow wherever you may lead
To any land where your sweet flowers grow
Perhaps I should acquaint you with this beauty you misread
She heard every word you didn’t say
About the lands of not and so
You speak to me of beauty, when you can’t will what you breathe
See me laughing when no air stirs your way
I will not call you master, when you ignore my tears you see
Smell my fragrance disuniting your senses
In my fair play
Nov 7, 2010
Nov 7, 2010 at 12:30 PM UTC
How many friends do you have in total,
Not a question for me because I'm antisocial,
Or how many people do you acquaint with,
Not a question for me because I'm antisocial.
What about the new people you meet every day,
What do u say, are they your friends,
No a problem at all for me because I'm antisocial,
Mar 4, 2019
Mar 4, 2019 at 12:48 PM UTC
My heart is clear and my plan is simple.
I will work for 40 years
in a job I may like.
Acquaint myself with worldly individuals
who will share stories of
love
fear
hope
and
pain.
I will acquire a disease
for the transgressions of my bygone times.
I will lay in my death bed, grasping for air, and only succeeding with the help of modern technology.
And I will close my eyes
and reminisce of the few hours at your house
that one summer afternoon
when our favorite movies were watched
when our most cherished songs were played
and when my favorite version of you laid your head on my shoulder.
Then
and only then
will I accept my fate.
May 12, 2014
May 12, 2014 at 12:43 AM UTC
I stole a sliver of
your breath
& tucked it underneath
my pillow
for safe-keeping
you know, sometimes I think
I'd like to watch you
as you're sleeping
so I could acquaint myself with
the arch of your
brow
& know there are times
when you're as
scared
as me now
my dream was that with
each kiss
you transform -
cold and unforgiving
thus my lips brushed upon
your frozen hand
to assure myself you were
still living
Nov 12, 2012
Nov 12, 2012 at 1:12 AM UTC
Divinity is all around us, yet no deity is to blame.
A world of wisdom is there to be explored
both in the outside World and the universe Inside
if only we allow ourselves to break our fixations
and to overcome our own shortcomings
and forgive those of others.
Empathy. A word created by it's absence.
Compassion. A word fortified with guilt.
Enlightenment. A word used as a carrot on a spiritual stick.
Virtue. A subjective and metaphysical code of honor.
Love.
Words are but tools. Signs upon the path.
They weave into an intricate map of reality.
A subjective map. A distorted map.
The map is not the territory.
One must acquaint one's self to the territory
before the map can be put into it's proper context.
Words are funny tools.
Used for every purpose.
By both good and evil. Truth and lies.
Profit and charity. Prophet and atheist.
They are limited. They are imperfect.
Such is our Communication,
Such is our Perception,
and thus
Such is our reality.
Life without death is non-existence.
Jan 20, 2013
Jan 20, 2013 at 7:39 PM UTC
_Surely, this life is but an aberration. For have I not been oblivious to the heraldry of the firmament for far longer than I have craved to acquaint myself with its mystery; of the moon and stars to know their secrets.
Gazing in awe at the doorway to infinity whence I have so recently arrived, it seems unimaginable that I should recollect nothing of the stepping through, the horror vacui of my incarnation, the shuffling forward in the queue.
My existence a blink of an eye; my non-existence the remainder of time.
Is it any wonder - glorying at the night sky - that I am confused as to whether I am on the inside looking out...or the outside looking in?_
Apr 25, 2020
Apr 25, 2020 at 11:32 PM UTC
Please tell me your name...
You're always around me, I feel we should acquaint.
I think I've known you a long time, a look, a glance and a funny feeling in my stomach when joy sparks.
Are you within me or from some external flame?
A strong internal burning, not fire but shame.
Jan 3, 2023
Jan 3, 2023 at 5:47 PM UTC
Shock me soundly, brittle bird
crunch me under stained glass shards
crash my plane of what's unheard
breaking me hard.
Acquaint me soundly, brittle bird
make the song of an empty sea
strip me bound of all I learned
falling me free.
Sleep me soundly, brittle bird
dream me of hallow and point crest
squeeze and shake out saintly words
filling my rest.
Jan 3, 2015
Jan 3, 2015 at 10:42 PM UTC
Cerulean;
How I shall never find myself
So fortunate an opportunity
As to see the clouds part.
But I still hope they do
Nov 2, 2023
Nov 2, 2023 at 4:21 PM UTC
"Faithless is he that says farewell when the road darkens."
- J.R.R. Tolkien
The irony of it all is the loneliness of a star.
Not noticed in the nebula, she glances from afar.
At her neighbor’s neglect, even in nature of quasar.
The irony of it all is the silence of the owl.
A lot in the gloom it used to hoot and growl.
Prior to the onslaught of looks with a scowl.
The irony of it all is the frostiness of the blaze.
A fire that only freezes surrounds me in haze.
My friends, the flames, their stare a cold gaze.
The irony of it all is a bird that wants a cage.
Astounding is the absence of his own faith and sage.
To acquaint with his habitat, he is afraid to engage.
The irony of it all is a knight with no one to save.
To issue a kind aid, insignificant it is to crave.
So the importance of his ideal is dug into a grave.
The irony of it all is an unbreakable heart.
Tired of trying, it is an insatiable art.
That Heart’s betrayal splits the soul apart.
The irony of it all is the kissing of the hated.
Love was hostile, but the exes again dated.
And my heartbeat for her was hasped and gated.
The irony of all ironies, a phantom of tangibility.
Roaming amongst humans, champion of inutility.
Is the ghost of an emotion, the dust of heart’s fragility.
Jan 14, 2021
Jan 14, 2021 at 10:46 AM UTC
"Have you ever seen someone create a rainbow with a 12-Gauge shotgun"
10
I'd thought about that new year's kiss
even during the months no one cared
about the holiday
Only to find my crush
with her ex, trying to decide
who's tongue tasted better
9
And while my ex
is receiving cute texts
from a new man,
I'm higher than I've
ever been
nurturing a borderline
****** relationship
with a bag of Doritos
8
And my friends were laughing
in the back seat
because I said
"The moon is sideways"
and I guess
they couldn't see the
poetry in that.
7
And though I didn't receive
a midnight kiss,
I'll most likely be receiving
a ticket for Indecent Exposure
in the mail.
So it wasn't a total loss.
6
And instead of wishing for happiness
I wished for the ability
to properly express the rest of my emotions
in hopes of achieving it.
5
And I hoped to dis-acquaint
myself from feeling lonely
in rooms so full of people
I can't even move
or think
4
And my friends are close
and I think they were
expecting more
3
And my sister
inadvertently became the
goddess of drunk girls
2
And seeing love fail
in nearly every direction,
I closed my eyes
1
People shout Happy New Year
but only truly wish it on
themselves
Jan 1, 2016
Jan 1, 2016 at 6:05 PM UTC
I. Loathing
i would’ve torn you
a few new
if you knew
what i’d seen,
with eyes sewn
when i was shown
too soon.
II. Contrivance
The substance i walked through,
in dream this morning,
was most magnificent in composure:
crunching under one’s foot
like snow, or like sand,
but not cold to the touch,
nor did it stick when wet,
&& although the white tiny particles
poured out of the mountain,
on the side of it we walked,
holding your little hand.
I knew down the stretch was a beautiful beach,
where this substance,
met a glistening body of water.
Your animal was loving, just as you,
&& although your name surprised me,
i was in love to hear it nonetheless.
Your father had not yet arrived,
&& in your absence,
i left a tiny piece of my heart,
in your notebook.
The sign on the bus said “Omaha”,
and it seemed so familiar,
but my memoryscreamed
somewhere like Mqt, Ca.,
&& although i didn't acquaint with the other troublemakers
on the back of the bus, as i waited, i watched.
You came up to me, and our embrace
was so warm, your tiny ribs against mine,
beautiful brown hair in my face.
How strange it was, in this sun bathed dream,
when you should tell me your name,
i should not understand it at first,
&& asking again, focusing within your fortunate eyes,
you told me exactly what i should need to hear.
&& ponder i did, although
not without first telling you how lovely it was.
III. Realization
It seems you and i
have both fallen short
of our prospective places
in Babylon.
For i have not grown
into the man
you once dreamt
i should be,
and you are no longer
the lovely girl
i once thought
i would marry.
You and i are free to be
what we are; without
persecution or judgement
from one another,
but we both must understand
the waves we created
when our dreams and realities
did not actually coincide,
&& perhaps the dreams
that i have had, and still am having
are just ripples
from a past that didn’t happen.
IV. Peroration
You're no longer the dreamer
i fell in love with,
&& i am no longer the dream
you thought you once loved,
but please may we
free our hearts and release
all the contempt
we hold one another in?
It’s not your fault
you were everything i wanted,
and it wasn’t enough
to quell my soul.
please know though,
we need not hold knots,
and let our cold spots,
and ill thoughts rot; within.
it’s not my fault
you dreamt me so;
with weight unfelt in this world,
but i am only a feather.
We are free to be
if we only freed ourselves to be,
We are no different
if only we freed ourselves to be.
Jan 1, 2014
Jan 1, 2014 at 12:11 PM UTC