"admittance" poems
A moments shy smile,
Two guppies intertwined
Crafty hand work
With something swimming viciously through your
Dark eyes
I long only to ask;
Assist you
As you've done to me
But I know you'd only close me out
Bashful Mr Pisces
Weakness is not defined by the admittance
To not being strong
For I've seen terror and sorrow
In your gaze
For far too long
My concerns and listening soul
Will be postponed until next week
For I cannot bear to see
Your frosted eyes melting
&
The Ice Queen making you weep
Nov 27, 2013
Nov 27, 2013 at 7:47 PM UTC
It is like some steampunk nightmare
Where working overtime is a racket
When what was time and a half pay
On the day I get my check, I make less;
Some kind of tax bracket scam thing
Where working extra hours put me
Into another category and increased
The tax they use to grease the wheels
Of a bloated government that hates me.
Maybe that dates me and it isn’t true;
That things have changed and it is
No longer arranged that way. And maybe
The way things became done was that
I got it all back as a refund. But isn’t that
Redundant, that I had to pay it to them
To use it like per diem for their games?
The shame is that I chafed and did nothing
Besides ******** and frothing at the mouth.
It’s not like I could go south to Ensenada,
Buy a piñata that looked like Mickey Mouse,
It was just that the house always wins.
But I have to pay for my tiny, mundane sins.
Why don’t they? Why does it go on and on
And then the money’s gone and I pay more
The next time some fat ***** of a politician
Begins a petition to increase their slice
And nicely reduce ours to a pittance
So low there is no admittance to a show
Or enough to replace a car that is a wreck?
The albatross around my neck gets larger
As it I move farther from the day it died
Even though I have tried standing up straighter.
It’s The Grand Guignol Theatre that life is
And the strife is to not let it get me down;
To be the happy clown and not the sad one
In a game that was begun to make me lose.
I am not confused. I see it, but it seems
Even in dreams I get no kind of relief
From a governmental thief with immunity;
The pillages with impunity and teases
That he does what he pleases. Neener, neener
What in hell could possibly be meaner?
May 3, 2015
May 3, 2015 at 6:32 AM UTC
My body has not once been a temple.
I remember years ago,
sitting poolside with my grandmother,
her spidery, veined hands touching my knee:
"Your body is a grand temple,
only those who are holy are worth admittance."
And her stern sincerity made me laugh.
My body is a wet, lush jungle.
My body has been trampled through and lived in.
Destroyed, burned,
yet always continues to rebirth itself from the rubble and debris.
Am I any less for this?
My body is a mystery,
a slow wafer on the tip of a school boy's tongue.
A dark, cool place to rest your weary head.
A place to let your feet press into the rich soil
and feel like maybe you can call this home.
I think one time,
a man with dark hair and light eyes thought he could
reduce me to mere trees and rain,
not knowing the jungle is not a safe place.
Unlike those with temples for bodies,
my heart lives deep in a hidden cave guarded with
sharp memories that feel like claws.
My memories have teeth,
and my heart has a brain.
Oct 4, 2015
Oct 4, 2015 at 10:41 PM UTC
Descriptive words could not say enough,
Informing you without any expectations,
A simple need to express the damage,
Of not meeting your qualifications.
You're ignorance; both gift and curse,
False belief from your deception,
Subsequent pain leading to anger,
Infiltrated like an infection.
Valuable lessons learned from you --
Benefit of the doubt should not be given,
Further regret seeped into life,
Now that my demons have arisen.
Plunging into bitter sweet weakness,
A temptation I could not resist,
Pathetic attempt at leaving flesh,
As the blade split open the wrist.
Consumed at my loneliest moment,
Tired of giving without receiving,
Defeated by my persistent demons,
Manipulated by thoughts of relieving.
Perception changes with reality,
Enlightened by harsh, clear thoughts,
A choice to no longer be controlled,
Thus, the day that I fought.
Strong desires to be able to forget,
Lips softly speaking lies after lies,
Though admittance was not achievable,
The truth came from your eyes.
Care was not something of existence,
Simply sheets and pillows,
Know that in the end it will be you,
as sad as the leaves of a weeping willow.
Aug 14, 2013
Aug 14, 2013 at 12:17 AM UTC
Began with an emotionless admittance of a fact of attraction
I never imagined that even this would happen
But then emotionless admittance because emotional satisfaction
Desires I didnt remember could feel different in action
Fact is hearts never had to have
hope, to hope, to happen
I already knew that affection runs in all directions
but to realize that for it to be tinted ****** did not mean it was an infection,
that essentially it was all aimed at knowing your perspective and introspection,
and has become the spectacular insight that
between two people so alike and different as you and i,
this weird state of existence in ****** desire and friendship,
is beginning to be the exceptional exception to my age old misdirection.
I dont know if its just because you were there for the discovery
but i think for sure it has to do with your desire to discover me
so
when i begin to remember
how uncertainty and smiles slipped
across your skin the same way
blue silk did,
How uniquely i get to discover
the willingness to take leaps of faith
in my seeking faithless friend
How remarkably shocking it is
to see you lay yourself bare before me
and that you, to me
are such much more than half naked.
I get to see you.
I get to know more of you
than i ever have before
I get to discover so much more of who you are
when your plush pajamas hit the floor
Jan 29, 2013
Jan 29, 2013 at 3:23 PM UTC
In admittance,
In ecstasy,
In guilt and in anxiety,
In the gutters of Yuexiu,
The plains of Tamaulipas,
My precious mountain top
Near Calgary,
Or this flat, honeycombed and
High above Kyoto neon,
I’ve finally lost;
I surrender.
I surrender to –
Wave a white flag in comfort,
In defeat, and a first, when I warm,
Come this newer blanket,
Whilst we dance,
Come a first smile, decades, and
Finally to fathom,
“Embrace,” eternity, this
Hold opposed pierced when –
Swords eventually rust,
But fields forever bloom.
Mar 31, 2016
Mar 31, 2016 at 11:13 PM UTC
He slumps, grumbling at the air
a grunt, no more
admittance of awareness
minimising risk
of developing interest
grunt
the glow across
his face pale
a reflective pallor
shows us his day
has spent him inside
grunt
nourishment calls
a gutted feeling
deeper than his alienation
as food is not forthcoming
he tries to sing
grunt
in letting go
his newfound voice
an interrupted squawk
so disgusted he uhgs
hiding himself again
grunt
daily untouched
but for lonely nights
when in consolation
he hands himself to the
bounty of the sickened screen
grunt
and gurgles
in unity, at one
with images which champion
his waking hours, forcing him
unconsenting
and confused
grunt
May 14, 2013
May 14, 2013 at 9:14 PM UTC
An exit for expression
An admittance with no fee
A mind free from excluding
An exhibition without end
The centerpiece- an installation
Ever moving within its frame
Its contents constantly disappearing
To reveal a blank canvas to be filled once more
The artist turns out to be me, and me alone
Leaving my post is an improbability
As the gallery holding me hostage is my own mind
Yet in truth, I find happiness in this prison cell
Without sleep I find energy from passers by
Who refuel my passion with their coins
Thrown into my hat beside me
Tokens of positivity that they cannot directly give
The door is always open
Even to those who find fault with the artist
Who tease me in my chained feet
And hurl their abuse with intent to delay completion
Yet still, I welcome companionship of viewers
Without noticing the deviants who scratch away at my painting
My selflessness renders me unable to notice evils
Blinding me with the future I paint before my eyes
My piece is never mastered
For I am distracted by evils constant approach
Presenting me with gifts of seeds, that grow in my soils
Only to blossom as weeds, and eat away at all goodness
But my grounds are open, and my job demands time
Rarely do I have the time to look upon works accomplished
But I steal a moment as sun and moon change shifts
Only to be met a view that gives no happiness as before
My stubborn positivity keeps defences up
Protecting myself from taunters and ghosts who take refuge in corners
I am distracted by my own optimism, the joy of what I do
But it hinders me, in ways I cannot defeat
My ability to seek vengeance was never yielded nor encouraged
So instinctively as always, I turn not to the voices behind me
And paint upon the canvas once more
The doors still open
Jun 25, 2013
Jun 25, 2013 at 4:33 PM UTC
Sun Set Love Letters
Saw the sun set on Venice Beach tonight,
first time in awhile,
I’ve just returned from a trip overseas,
still in a constant state of both admittance and denial,
after awhile,
we realize nothing really matters,
at the same time that everything does,
so where does that put us at this point in the equation,
well here I guess,
with me writing you more love letters,
anyways where were we,
I don’t seem to be able to remember,
lately my memory hasn’t been so great,
my health has begun to deteriorate and I see everything in patterns,
oh yeah,
I remember now,
we were where I tell you of how,
I saw the sun set on Venice beach tonight,
and the tide or rather waves,
were bigger than I’d ever seen them,
and I’m struggling to stay alive,
I take it one day at a time that’s right per diem,
and I’ve got businesses all over the world,
but all I really want to do is write you these love letters,
because I still love you even after all we’ve been through,
and I vowed to stick with you for worse or for better,
even though after awhile,
we realize nothing really matters,
at the same time that everything does,
so where does that put us at this point in the equation?..
∆ LaLux ∆
Oct 5th 2018
Oct 5, 2018
Oct 5, 2018 at 10:12 PM UTC
I've found that to live life
sans every regret
takes detection,
admittance,
and the strength to forget.
Jan 15, 2013
Jan 15, 2013 at 8:47 AM UTC
mercy
you're rising now
tempting the lines
of personal decadence
uneducated
with numbers
just feeling
and wonders
unearthed and exhumed
by treacherous admittance
four years of commitment
composed of sinful self sacrifice
caused us unrest
left us unchanged
corrupted and pleading
for lampshades and cradles
nesting in suffered sheets
why are you alone?
beginnings break free
when you battle the best part
mercy
you're alive yet unwell
in your dreams for fair weather
Dec 11, 2009
Dec 11, 2009 at 8:26 PM UTC
Cheers to the race that doesn’t have a heart,
No reasons, no morals, no souls, no scruples,
But piles of lies, tons of deeds, all perfectly unabashed and splendidly aghast.
Cheers to their courage to walk unhesitantly in the crowd,
To stand with a stride and to converse with a pride,
And just in case their secrets revealed, to their dignified admittance clear and loud.
Cheers to their score that keep augmenting every day,
To their pleasures, to their amusement emerging from despair,
To their delight, to their bliss, to their ability to rejoice every time one cries in pain and dismay.
Cheers to their shamelessness, cheers to their sins,
Cheers to their disrespect for fellow human beings,
Cheers to the vanished humanity in their souls,
To the way their conscience has drifted in black hole,
And cheers to their skill of turning hearts into stones,
To their abhorring thoughts and to the way they never atone,
Cheers to the way, in this world, they sustain,
Cheers to those monsters, cheers to those beasts, cheers to those incredible demons again.
Dec 28, 2012
Dec 28, 2012 at 4:49 PM UTC
You stay there and i'll stay here
we dont even want you to get near
block off the front and the rear
make sure no entry is clear
put a fence around our own land
make all other nations banned
shoot to **** so they understand
our walls must never expand
i'll stay here and you stay there
there's just no more room to spare
dont even try to breathe our air
we stole this land fair and square
==========================
Monorhyme
So much talk about immigration
causing fear and frustration
are we fair in our filtration?
while we let the rich vacation
humanity is lost in translation
causing a hateful sensation
just looking for some salvation
leading to their migration
some are looking for vocation
a better life is their fixation
then they meet our damnation
no admittance to this location
Aug 14, 2013
Aug 14, 2013 at 11:40 AM UTC
Used to be convincing, now I'm word mincing
Funny guy telling lies, stop that face from wincing
Shut the word forge down, absurd surge start to pour out
Brain matter splatter in colored conviction, how I rattle off with four dimensional diction
Once this **** was scripted, now these lips don't do cryptic, legendary fiction, not yet mythic
Contemporary Christians sit listless, labeling those they hardly know
That's we, people like me, as infamous and wicked, can you even conceive
Not that I need the acquittal, never say please for a spoon full of ******
Hate this human disease; doubtful economic, muted mumbles of Ebonics, questionable hearts freeze
Turned cold-blooded because violence it seems is our cure all reprieve
Instead of honest admittance, no room for forgiveness, when we elect politics that lie
Ignite the engines that chain drive, infernal furnaces of the reapers design
Calling out to the sky; "forgive us were blind!"
Upon final inception, the birth of nightmarish conception
Awoken to world of hard line lesson, seasons of trick testing
So tell me then, can you live with A or B? dip those toes into sea and you'll know what I mean
Dare you to please.
Jan 10, 2014
Jan 10, 2014 at 12:43 PM UTC
With honesty
hiding under that
Big breathe filling both cheeks
That you can’t seem to
Fully exhale through
Tucked between
Two shaking hands
As you realize
Your power
To change the world
With vulnerability,
Just behind that
Wall Of fear that you can
Unlock
By meeting someone eyes
And simply letting them
Love you.
It’s there
In that moment
Of admittance You're not
Invincible
And allow a
Loving hand
To help guide you
Through
With Forgiveness,
Of the woman
Who told you
You couldn’t,
The dad
That chose alcohol
Over you,
The girl
In middle school
That had you hiding
In the bathroom stall
Crying to your mom
With Christ,
Who has felt
It all
Gives you
A place
Where you’ve always belonged
Of love
Courage,
And Strengrh.
Healing,
Redemption,
And understanding.
Feb 2, 2014
Feb 2, 2014 at 3:49 PM UTC
A recipe
I wrote one of those in my head today;
some of it was half-baked,
but what is edible will say:
something about instructions,
something about parts making a whole,
something about convection,
something about mixing in a bowl,
something about dough
and something about kneading
something about confections,
something about breathing.
An epitaph
I wrote one of those in my head today;
some of it was rotten,
what wasn't will rise and say:
something about a journey,
something about fate,
something about love and
something about hate,
something about laying on a gurney
and something about decay,
something about destiny,
something about history,
then it might yawn
and lay back in its grave
A pamphlet
I wrote one of those in my head today;
some parts were mute,
others that weren't will speak and say:
something about tolerance,
something about abuse,
something about inhalants
and something about a noose.
A brochure
I wrote one of those in my head today;
some of it was fake,
but what is real will last and say:
something about a lawyer,
something about curruption,
something about justice
and how it serves a function,
something about admittance,
something about plastic surgery
and breast reduction,
and a catholic priest mumbling
something about perjury.
A eulogy
I wrote one of those in my head today;
some of it was dead,
but what was alive will stand and say:
something about a life
and something about living,
something about a wife
and something about a thing worth giving,
something about a family
and something about foes;
something about winning
and something about woes.
A book
I wrote one of those in my head today;
some of it was filth;
but what was clean will shine and say:
something about character,
something about freedom,
something about development
and something about respect
something about supplement,
something about unity,
something about revolution
and how I think the world should be.
A song
I wrote one of those in my head today;
but it was a bird and it flew away,
If all that's left is just one dying wing
it would flap around
on the ground
and try to sing:
something in near-pefect pitch
something bluesy and
about a *****
then probably something about flight
and finally something about a
bright white light.
A poem
I wrote one of those in my head today;
the lines were seeds
I planted before the cold;
some froze out, some took hold
but what remains grows bold and will say:
something about a heart,
and how you had it from the start;
something about sunlight,
and how you make it seem less bright;
something about the wet wet rain
something about willingness
and something about refrain.
Oct 16, 2011
Oct 16, 2011 at 7:12 AM UTC
The king of cover-up is at it again,
Downplaying financial ties
And close connections with other countries,
Especially when questions arise.
First it was with Putin and Russia.
How much collusion remains to be seen.
Conspiracy in election meddling?
Whitewashing is now routine.
And then there was the hush-money
To cover-up some hanky-panky.
Dissimulation's easy when
You've got money in the banky.
It looks as though you must deny
And try to hide actions you rue,
But calling your fling "horse face," is that
A gentlemanly thing to do?
Now the cover-up deals with the Saudis--
With the crown prince and the Saudi king.
Denial…admittance…rogue players…
It has such a familiar ring.
After bragging over and over
About the millions of dollars he's made
From wealthy Saudis, his words are now
Exploding like a hand grenade.
When the leader has conflicts of interest,
Critics, pundits, and others who know
Where his interests really lie,
Shrug and say, "We told you so!"
He says he has a "natural instinct
For science." Isn't THAT a joke!
I wish his "natural instinct" was for
Telling the truth whenever he spoke.
-by Bob B (10-18-18)
Oct 18, 2018
Oct 18, 2018 at 10:34 AM UTC
He took issue with the small gestures in life. The birthday message from a friend not seen in a decade, the idol chit chat that filled the cafe's, cinema's and other such places, proclaiming them fraudulent unthinking habit, a motion with no true sentiment and in return the followers of such social constructs took issue with him - or worse, pitied him.
He despised most human interaction because of this. Often being told that he 'rubbed people up the wrong way' or was 'too antagonistic' He just saw this as another excuse to expel him from the group (whatever that group was) All because he didn't partake in the usual social etiquette and fakery of the masses- this view only led to him being mocked further and neatly labelled as a stroppy, teenage rebel. His thoughts and voice cut down with replies of "Aaah stop feeling sorry for yourself!" "Stop going on about it!" " You're soo negative!" Because in all honesty nobody wants to be around a down in the dumps, killjoy, party pooper right?
He could find no solace in the little things nor understanding in the greater questions of life, so he drifted along. Bitter onlooker to a species so separate from his own. Desperate to somehow integrate into their ranks but convincing himself that such thoughts were mere acts of desperation.
And he was a desperate young man, desperate and despairing at his separation from the world and all others in it. Yet admittance to such feeling would rarely depart his form. No, he would mock and ogle at them from afar.
He would rather be Outcast than Cast Out.
Apr 8, 2015
Apr 8, 2015 at 11:39 PM UTC
Proclaimed the paper-cutout placard on the table:
Clothless gray plastic-surfaced round.
In this immense faux-stone (concrete?)
Faux-English country house
We escape to the top of the stairs:
The no admittance sign is no deterrent.
The iridescence of your skirt is captivating
But all I can remember is living in a castle like this one
When I was a little blonde nothing
And feeling the way I do now,
As if there's been no transformation, no progress.
Maybe there has,
And this band must be pretty great
To keep this many old white people dancing so enthusiastically
For such a long time:
An ancient one with a Christmas-themed vest
Foxtrots with a once-lady in a polyester pants suit
Thin hair dyed roofing-tar black, suede kitten heels clacking.
The world's a **** strange place.
Even if we feel like we aren't quite awake,
We'll adjust our stockings and fill our plates
With that mystery-shrouded gelatinous citrus dessert
And our plastic cups with apple cider, light beer, 7-Up.
Endure a few more minutes on this rented dancefloor with me
Because they're playing love shack
And who doesn't smile at the mere notion of the B-52s?
Dec 5, 2010
Dec 5, 2010 at 3:10 PM UTC
In left footed underwear,
Left on the floor,
My legs can't find the way out, my palms hardened from the mans work;
Dark and ***** the floor is full of ash,
From a fire we had in front of a fight,
That was lit from the fire in your naked belly,
And the golden spark of guilt in your darkened eyes.
And there is a threadbare mattress that was once clothed,
By our bodies and our sweat, and sleep,
And on the wall in the night, as you vehemently slept,
A thousand decisions were written on the peeling paint,
In calligraphic cursive writing, 'A medieval love affair',
As the heart drew breath in doubting love across the air.
Bare legged jeans, double ending tshirt and a naked bra,
An imprint left on your floor; a lack of interest,
Makeup left in a leather bag,
primal ****** a primary requirement of admittance,
A threadbare rug holds the handprints of many girls before,
Raw knees scuffed the richly spiced darkened stained wool.
Walking away with a left footed boot and a right handed eye,
Casting a backwards look from behind a blue glassed veneer,
Left with a scuffed heel and Viennese waltz dancing in my ears,
The last doorknob I ever touched, wonderland being left to the Cheshire Cat.
Drink me.
Eat me.
Swallow me.
And as I fall he demands,
He said,
'Where are you going?'
'Down the rabbit hole"
Aug 10, 2014
Aug 10, 2014 at 1:09 PM UTC
I'd rather not do anything today.
leave my plans to figure themselves out
let them forget about me, no more missing.
I'd like to excuse myself from today's torturous repetition.
It's all my fault, admittance of solitude!
what happened to the practice of things I care about?
my cares have shifted, hearts been lifted, yet there's something
still missing: Motivation.
ahhhh, no more worries.
ahh, why should I?
Oct 8, 2012
Oct 8, 2012 at 3:01 PM UTC
Loft for the weighted memories still stuck to earth by way of highways in mind deciding worth lost to the odds just might light your best and not the worst to leave you burned and make you hurt with a hole left mid breast so the whole heart started at first sight turns wild in flight and down to depths of stress plumbed once per month while you cry out little droplets blessed with time passed and spent at life's expense, listless and bound to recollect proud moments of ownership, passe notions of leadership, the one who leads and was led is nondescript, if it's turbulence or asphalt smooth to speed in sleep in place of days waking, walking two by four recede to dream where you toss and kick fears and pain away under thick rain you'd rather dry with orange rays and haze of heat, one mute mouthed faux biker writer always at the call though no admittance, transmits recognition of what feels like martian love at collision where no rocks were hit but rifts roared and wracked the soaring sky, pyres and stars reflected in moist eyes at night with even gentle wind or slight breeze, these fragments of us chipped off at cycle's start darkness whether live or lie, do not comply to be cautious when the very thought, though heavy, brings loft for the weighted bevy of ties that chain what happiness we weep to celebrate.
May 10, 2014
May 10, 2014 at 6:55 AM UTC
i.
a hand towel
over the lid
of any
stubborn
jar-
a mother to a father
or less frequently
a father to a mother
I don’t know why this is
but either way
a gentle admittance
to couple
as if passing beneath
the singing voice
of statue…
ii.
that stage
where a baby
is all
head
Mar 28, 2014
Mar 28, 2014 at 3:26 PM UTC