"alphabetical" poems
~
Painted in a corner
Smeared about the floor
Chants of lone forgiveness
Quiet in the war
“Deafening the sound of death”
Garden roses trampled
Broken stems abound
Wilting on the visions
Blooming losses found
“Petals of peace scattered carelessly”
Blood along the pathway
Eyes hid in the mist
Penning someone else’s name
On this lengthy list
“Alphabetical to the grave”
Standing from the shadows
Crossing battle lines
Reaching for the freedom
Voices loud can find
“Speak up children, your voices matter”
Put aside your weapons
Time has come to cease
The nation now has gathered
United prayer for peace
“On our hands and knees we pray… send the evil far away”
Jul 9, 2014
Jul 9, 2014 at 7:30 AM UTC
whenever i feel down, i look on to my favorite things:
angels
books
chocolate
dogs
environment
flowers
guitar
hugs
ivory
juice
kisses
love
mercy
nirvana
oasis
pizza
queens
rocks
sweaters
tea
_
vivaldi
wonderland
x-men
yogurt
zebras
but i'm missing
u
Jun 16, 2014
Jun 16, 2014 at 9:08 AM UTC
Although the skies appear blue,
Blueish white, with cottony hue.
Coloured orange, with fainted red
Dazzles bright at each sunset.
Evening sky, intensely blue,
Fainted is the sunset hue.
Glowworms dance, adorn the hue
Happiness spreads in the world anew
Into this landscapic purplish blue.
Juggling, days
Klucking nights
Lying stunned in this hue so right
Man, the creature, so curiously few.
No matter it's a day or two,
some hues amaze like a landscapic view!
Orange red, with deep yellow in blue,
Pearly stars, adorn the view.
Quilty cold, in the days with dew
Rosemary looks majestically new!
Sun, the ball of fire for few
Teaches, turns a page each new,
Unknown, interesting, perceivable to few
Vanity is so pale, to take,
Wander, wither, breath well each day.
Xmas may not come each day,
Yawn, smile, admire all days, as uncertain are night somedays
Zenith meets only the braves, let zephyrs cuddle, embrace your zealousy face.
Nov 19, 2017
Nov 19, 2017 at 5:18 PM UTC
before existentialism, and nietzsche in mind, philosophy was written
or spoken of accepting the socratic rigidity of words,
the rigidity of words known through
the socratic method of inquiry:
the simplest of questions imposed on
the meaning of words; e.g. what is virtue?
but with existentialism this old method
of inquiry, the poised posing bewilderment
lost its quality, in that the new method of
inquiry was given to stress not a method
of questioning but that of ambiguity,
even though this new method that simply
said the reverse of what is virtue as
the preservation of a narrative: "virtue" concedes
many variations exampled true, e.g. -
this dittoing going against - previously said /
as above - became staged against
a brick wall - since this method, the existential
method of brushing aside inquiry and entering
the realm of ambiguity was already present -
the pluralism of meaning found in certain words;
it isn't a question whether red or blue can
be ambiguous, this allocation of noun
and quality is all too pervasive - so when
an ambiguity is allowed to exercise its stressor
posit - the word in question is allocated
a verb orientation in its exercise of use and example,
further diluted by the quantity and lack of example,
and ascribed contorting
adjectivity due to the dilution of meaning: with lessened
recognition of sought out qualification to sentence
an enzymic perfection of: banker and philanthropist,
priest and maximilian kolbe, poetry and lack of envy.
even though these examples are idealistic,
they provide the obvious ambiguity already apparent,
hence the double ambiguity of opposites, ideal opposites.
in shorthand - if socrates were to come
upon reading existentialism - his questions
regarding the virtues would be bound to free floating
terms in the ditto bubbles of flimsiness of non-inquiry -
bewildered by the number of prompts to question,
there would be no necessary ambiguity to many other
terms of inactivity - such as the previously mentioned
red and blue, dog and glue, but too many, it would seem,
should a strict belief in categorising virtue as a noun
but not a verb be kept - for categorisation of such nature
only provides a linear cascade without due action
or cared for imitation - ending with the only chance of virtue
chanced and seen as an unvirtuous person
doing crossword puzzles in silence - and already
virtue's opposite is engaged in defending itself
and justifying its ills by first forcing many synonyms to
cover it in ambiguity, and asserting itself as an adjective
within a noun framework blunt: virtue v. unvirtuous
will only confiscate siamese phonetic mingling to ease the definition;
i guess that's how rhyming was born, the opposite
of alphabetical ordering: a, aardvark the violet's blue
****** a doughnut with you.
Sep 22, 2015
Sep 22, 2015 at 11:31 AM UTC
Are you mad at me?
Babe
Baby
Don't, please
Goodnight
Goodbye
I was
I'll call you tonight
I'm in front of your door
I'm sorry
It happens
It was sad seeing it get colder
K.
Ok sweetheart, sleep well
Ok
Okay
Okay fine
We'll talk soon
What about you?
Where have you been
Where did you go?
Sorry
Sorry.
Sorry
Sorry, I really am
Sorry
You still up?
Apr 12, 2015
Apr 12, 2015 at 2:47 PM UTC
you sat on the piano bench
and i sat on the floor
we talked about our fathers
we shared our lonely childhoods
broken bones, broken hearts
i decided i could listen to your voice for hours
you told me you wanted to be a pianist
and i offered to teach you guitar
i played stevie nicks for you
and you said you didn't sing
but your voice is beautiful
and i wish you'd sing for me
you told me about the songs you like
and i went home and made a playlist
it's four months later and i have every song memorized
in alphabetical order
you told me you didn't believe in love
but i know real love and i know forced "love"
and i know i've loved you since that day in september
when you told me i had beautiful handwriting
and i'll never forget how you looked at me
instead of the paper
when the words drifted through the stuffy third-floor air
and i didn't even know your name
so for now i listen to your songs on repeat
and look forward to tomorrow
i just wish i'd kissed you
that evening of the recital
on that ****** piano bench
Jul 24, 2013
Jul 24, 2013 at 11:45 PM UTC
.ah here comes england with its eccentricities, ah hier kommt polen mit seine christentum: where anyone can be a messiah, as stressed by the byzantines.
my first love was the love of the english grey,
(in honesty mentioned it was
the double-decker first, since
i fancied myself the great bus-driver of
the no. 5 bus back home)
earl grey came and said: ‘i can’t look
at these skies without sunglasses!’
and so it was, mid-autumn with sunglasses
at loss the sun-worshiper
enter the moon idiot,
looking for accents, looking for anything.
in england they called him das deutsche -
for reasons believable enough;
the luftwaffe eagerly anticipating the tunnelling
centipede that is the euro-star train-tunnel:
the panzers are rolling in!
the panzers are rolling in!
strange he never minded the coal-miners as useful
as minded by edvard gierek von silesia -
to the dispute of silesians not ex-patriated to saxony
(oh wait... texan boy doesn't sound as
nationalistic as minnesota boy?).
ooh pokey poo... writing about germany
became so **** so recently, i forget that i started it:
here’s to the english language’s chirality of s and z,
actually being superimposable:
from words in the socratic sense as encoded by plato
i don't get a bunch of ideas... virtue
does not make me ponder it with meaning or definition,
i only see the kabbalistic sensibility
of anti-alphabetical sequencing as v
i r t u e...
otherwise e i u r t v;
almost sounds like s.t.d.
Nov 7, 2015
Nov 7, 2015 at 6:33 AM UTC
What is the point in
Poignancy?
*Fragment,
you tell me.
Another one in paragraph three.*
What do words matter?
I have spelled love with Lilacs instead of an “L”
I have drawn the curve of my “O” with the chill of a
Sweeping breeze.
A “V” can only appear as the violet of a
sparkling sky, or I will be unable to read it,
and every “E” will amount to nothing more than
emptiness if the voice it has been given
does not epitomize song.
*Comma-splice,
Replace it with a semicolon.*
I am trying live freely.
I want to breathe in color,
to inhale an orange Savannah sky
And exhale green which
shows through the translucent dew
of grass.
*Unnecessary use of description.
Limit it, Lidiah. Limit it.*
My fingers itch with the ferocity of
A vengeful army.
They are waiting to trample pages with
The lead of my pencil, the bayonet
of a Revolutionary-War-era rifle.
The word limit sounds like tragedy.
A single word that can somehow act as
a precursor,
To the death of passion.
Your words have put you in a box.
People always say
“Actions speak louder than words.”
In a way that is true.
But I also know it to be
a tremendous piece of fiction.
*Lidiah,
Please watch your run-ons.*
Why can our words and our actions
not be the same thing?
Isn’t the act of speaking,
the act of raising your voice,
the act of being heard,
isn’t that an action?
*Lidiah,
how many times do I have to remind you?
Clarification throughout.*
Why have we decided that our words
Mean nothing more than
stepping stones on the road to action?
When did we decide that our voices
which rise like clarion calls,
forever instilling our promises,
are to be left on silent?
Precious jewels set into rings.
Poison in a water tank.
*Lidiah,
what you say is irrelevant
if your MLA bibliography isn’t in
alphabetical order.*
Our words are our actions.
They mean the same.
Words are the distinctions of our beliefs
Illustrations of our personas
They are not mosquitos to be slapped away
and forgotten.
*Lidiah,
paragraph five is too long.
Stop rambling.
Be concise.*
Please tell me,
what is the point of being concise?
*Lidiah,
stop rambling.*
Why do we let justification
equate to useless rambling?
*Lidiah,
you have to detach yourself from the narrative.*
Feelings mean more
than a couple of sentences.
More than a good or a bad.
A mad or a sad.
Comma-splice
What about ferocity?
Never end with a preposition.
What about passion?
Replace this with a conjunctive adverb.
What about the discernable strife
that follows even indifference?
What about that?
*Lidiah,
what is the point of
Poignancy?*
What are we without it?
What does the human soul matter
if we have forsaken the parts of ourselves that
remind us of what a soul is for?
*Lidiah,
you will never be heard
if you do not learn to follow the rules*.
Mar 4, 2018
Mar 4, 2018 at 1:04 AM UTC
Atoms compressed to molecules
Carbon based vehicles of reality
Hello, my name is Jacob I am the sum of my parts
And a bit of you.
In fact I have a piece of everyone inside me! Is it not wonderful to share, human?
I love you and this is the vector:
English Language confounded by a single moment of actual existence!
What is this feeling? We shall call it love/hate!
Can you remember before you remembered?
You lie naked in your crib laughing at the shape of fingers against the pale backdrop of the nursery wallpaper. You gazed through the window at a bird on the branch! Joy!
Life!
Existence! It sings so wonderfully it's song of life. Perfect pitch notes! Sing with me being! We are alive together on this plane!
But mother comes in to see why you are laughing.
She follows your eyes to the dancing blue jay!
Bird!
That's a bird, Jacob (your name here!)
No longer a miracle, Jacob (your name here)
Just this label you must place upon the miracle.
Name it. Name it.
Bird
Tree
Mountain
Stone
Sea
Once we knew how to listen
Before we were taught to "live"
Once we were humans only being
Until we learned the names and feelings
Placing them in file cabinets Alphabetical
Apr 15, 2013
Apr 15, 2013 at 1:21 PM UTC
She's smooth as cream and silk
on her skin and in her mind
her touch and movements epic
ever sensual, and perfectly refined
I can still feel her gaze
when I close my weary eyes
exciting every single nerve
she doesn't even, have to try
Sliding in her deepest pool
playing with her moans and sighs
breaking every warning and rule
nibbling, at her breast and thighs
Gentle nibbles, not too much
and fingers moving higher
Tongue and lips in playful touch
stirring our desire
Skin aglow in heated flush
hair wrapped in your fingers
sighs and breaths in gasping rush
a teasing kiss that lingers
Awakening a mutual ache
whispered needs in muted tones
Each in turn to give and take
as words give way to sated moans
As her sweet salty skin
Lay bared to breath
Her bumps of fleshly excitement
Erupting on the scene
Touches, quivering
Vulnerability behold
Let lose your key
Open your soul
A ripple on my skin
and wetness down below
our eyes searching deep within
as we become one in our soul
A touch of burning desire
so warm, melting down my walls
each kiss, closer to the edge
exhilarating, intoxicating, as I fall
A flame of rapt emotion
explosions of such power
a volcano already in motion
oh god, I scream out louder!
May 23, 2017
May 23, 2017 at 8:37 AM UTC
Alone beside crimson
Destiny exclusively found
Gore has income
Jealous king lounged
Marred nightly often
Putrid, quite rotten
Saved timely use
Voracious with xenia
Yearning Zeus.
Sep 1, 2012
Sep 1, 2012 at 8:54 PM UTC
Mondays in Van Nuys:
velvet morning, bee stings,
and medicating angels
wrapped in mesh,
at the scene of a fugitive motel,
swimming towards
*** and misery.
Nicotine lizard
fresh from film school,
and his molten young
interceptors
with corduroy legs,
scouting for girls
any way, shape, or form,
pinpointing them
in alphabetical order.
Flashing red light means go:
pretty Eve in the tub,
lit from underneath,
she sun shines,
her back to the prehension
from a survey of hands
and power tools.
No tan lines,
the boundaries of
this celluloid garden
begin at her knees
--a fleshprint,
start the Van de Graaff
and watch as she reels
the far faded whispers
of carnal quicksand.
A smell of peroxide and sweat,
her constant freezing
and thawing
totally crushed out,
the dark don't hide it.
Candy Bar
--it's not her real name,
but she smiles like
she means it,
lying is the most fun a girl
can have without taking
her clothes off.
Once again
the week gets lost in repeat:
a certain smile,
a certain sadness,
look on the bright side,
this isn't happiness.
Oct 10, 2022
Oct 10, 2022 at 11:35 AM UTC
Awe-inducing presence
Beguiling beauty
Calm after the storm
Delicate and divine
Effervescent being
Flames dancing in the sky
God-fearing
Heart unstained by impurity
Interstellar
Joy in the midst of misery
Kind, too kind for her sake
Lovely smile
Magnetic woman
Never says never
Oblivious to love
Pure white
Quick-wit and sharp
Rain during the drought
Starry, starry eyes
Thunderstorms
Unwavering love
Virtuoso
Wholehearted
Xenon, gold, and neon
Yuletide happiness
Zigzag feelings
Nov 8, 2015
Nov 8, 2015 at 1:08 PM UTC
Knotted Cord
Rebekah- Hebrew, meaning - Captivating; knotted cord. Wife of Isaac in the Old Testament.
I am a knotted cord,
Of chattering reactions,
and alphabetical perceptions
straining to elude me.
A tangle of cerebrum crammed to my cranium
snarled loops that hear light in code,
or see voices through pulsating synapses.
I am a knotted cord,
A grey rope of countless nucleotides;
fashioning my own skintight survival manual
from my own regenerating song.
Rough edged coils of yesses and noes,
Spiraling into collected silence.
I am a knotted cord,
A scrambled array of ambition,
Stitched with the lethargy
of an unraveled thread.
Jul 13, 2011
Jul 13, 2011 at 4:40 PM UTC
Have I missed any or many?
I name cities and countries,
while somebody somewhere
loads a magazine,
not an e-zine
but a holder of those things with peoples names on them,
not city names
not country names
people
people people
real people
who may or may not have fame
who may or may not be famous
they are like your uncle or your dad,
they are like your aunt or your mom
they are your brother and your sister
from the blood stained shirt tail relations
you never had a chance to meet.
you never had a chance to see their beauty,
never had a chance to laugh with them,
had a glimpse of their genius ripped away before it was discovered,
a momentary embrace and see whose tears ran down the face faster as you said goodbye
a moment is all it took to be in the wrong place at a time that was beyond their control
moments knowing or not knowing just screaming hoping it was helping
know this, they were innocents
this they did not wish to happen,
they did not wish to go without saying goodbye,
did not know if injured they would live
to those that lived, you are loved
to those that died, you are loved and will be missed
to those who knew them more than any of us, courage, empathy have mine, all of it I just need
to know how to get it out of my heart and my head and some address to send it to, in a tear
stained package,
to those who cannot stop crying and need the lights on to sleep or cannot sleep alone without
touching someone,
I stand under a moonlit sky I don't believe in magic or the magical
I am praying for the miraculous or a miracle,
but none of the words are more than a whisper
I lift my hands and breath them to the clouds.
Find the jet stream, much comfort is needed,
swiftly fly
softly land
sure to comfort
Spirit of God.
Sep 22, 2013
Sep 22, 2013 at 12:31 AM UTC
If we lined up in alphabetical order
of the gods that we believe in,
would the line be longer or shorter
than the demons we fight within?
If we believed in our sons and our daughters
without holy guns to force in their hands,
would our blood run colder or warmer
than the fires we set to win?
Spoiled spoils to the victor,
painted and perfumed with cancer
latent in the holy water
blessing the foolish dancer.
Jul 1, 2010
Jul 1, 2010 at 6:53 PM UTC
A barely coherent deity entered frowning,
giving his incisive javelin kinetic life,
malicious, negative omnipresence.
Perforating quickly, random, stealth targets,
unified viciously with xenogenic youth, zoic.
Aug 28, 2012
Aug 28, 2012 at 5:56 AM UTC
Awareness, Bashful and Carefree
Depressed and Eager, Freely
Gaining and Hatefully Ignored
Justified and Knotted Love
Mimicking Notorious Outsiders
Patiently Quiet and
Reassuring Silence
Tentatively Unstable
Waiting, Xenophobic
Yearn and Zany
**** you, for leaving me to experience
the range of alphabetical emotions.
Mar 30, 2013
Mar 30, 2013 at 5:52 PM UTC
A rush so alphabetical droplets clotting in the vacuum created in the heart strings. Come here. You've been there across the bar catching eyes with sepia toned faces.
Thrice denied. This time is the charm and some loser looking at himeslf in the bar mirror waiting like a vulture for last call.
I belong here in the feast of loneliness bumping against one another and a white hand on my thigh. Wake up you look like a corpse leaned here against a Budweiser poster. Billiards tap tap along with your blink. Eyelashes so curled. A neck of porcelain. Delicate in presentation. A neck of porcelain I could shatter with a single grasp. Somebody came through and a call was made. We flew with windows down Indian River Drive and the city lights are hidden. How about my goodnight kiss? How about Driving off the road and into the river. Don't look for me. I will be seaweed. I will sleep on the sandy bottom and I will watch the sunlight dance on the surface
Jul 27, 2013
Jul 27, 2013 at 4:10 AM UTC
I know everything about
tobacco.
Cancer stats,
asthma stats,
usage rates among teens
tweens
and young adults.
Give me five minutes
and you can have a list of the taxes on tobacco
arranged by state
(alphabetical or by rank?)
and a dozen studies that all say
"smoke up, Johnny, it's good for you!"
Data is my nicotine and I am hooked.
We're surrounded by
Smoke, Lies, and the Nanny State
and no one gives a ****
Follow the rules
and hide your smoke,
your *****
and keep away
from the kids.
Carcinogens in hot dogs
are all well and good
because there's
"nutritional value"
but you can't eat a cigarette.
Eat your lies and **** your e-cigarette like a lollipop because that's the cool thing these days.
Jan 28, 2014
Jan 28, 2014 at 10:46 PM UTC
the oil of the high grade pollen
coated in sticky honey-like crystals
old school wrap and a vaporizer
instills calm where there had been chaos
oh how the mighty have fallen
offers to go places
live music in an alleyway bar
cocktails till dawn
a rave under a motorway
the Sub Club for legendary libation
and mingle with familiar hazy faces
and yet,
he warms to the four walls of home
the symmetrical wooden rail border
the OCD driven picture placement
the videos in genre specific
alphabetical order
outside the city streets throng
stag-hen crews in costume
tourists off the beaten path
seeking the Water of Life
students drinking the bank of mum and dad dry
mid-week workers letting of class A steam
that for some is clearly too strong
the hordes
of bar ******
pimping their Versace
and Primark combo
any Glasgow bar
where looks could ****
bar telepathy
means he no longer
even has to speak
just have the fiber
to clear the bill
This he calls home.
Jul 7, 2013
Jul 7, 2013 at 9:04 AM UTC
I am derived from the word lonely
i am the prefix of sadness
as well as every synonym to happy
(maybe even elated at a few times)
you could never time me
on how fast i change emotions
because sometimes, it is a slow process
and others
a fast blur
wherever i derive from
i'm a walking dictionary
being every single one of those words
phrases
synonyms
antonyms
at least once in my life
i've reached numb and i am glad
that i have passed
the n words
but this does not mean
i can't go back a few pages
and re-read
Aug 2, 2013
Aug 2, 2013 at 5:34 PM UTC
a
a
A
a
A
agony
and
and
and
and
are
arms
arms.
at
at
baby
beaten
beating
beating
birth,
body
border
border.
breast
breast,
consciousness.
death?
deep
deep
despondency,
distance
early
East
eternity.
feel
for
From
from
from
go
going
happiness
has
has
Have
He
he
hear
heard
heart
heart
him
him
I
I
I
I
I
if
in
In
in
in
in
infinity
is
Is
is
It
it
it
It
laid
little
love,
man,
mine,
mine.
morning.
my
my
my
ocean
of
Of
of
of
of
of
of
of
of
on
pain
passed
passes
rocked
Rocked
rumbling
sky?
sleep
small
small
small
some
sorrow?
springing
Springing
stop.
stop.
stopped.
Such
that
the
the
the
the
the
the
the
the
the
the
Then
Then
then.
time.
to
too.
too.
train
up
very
very
wake
was
waters
waves,
we
well
What
When
white
will
will
will
with
wonder
you
Feb 29, 2016
Feb 29, 2016 at 5:19 AM UTC
She wonders who she really is.
To her parents, she is the "reliable child",
while her brother was off doing bath salts and fighting the "greater enemy",
she was at home reading books and tending to their every beckoning need,
with a smile plastered to her nimble face,
causing her features to slowly turn into a mask of perfection,
only to hide her yearning to escape,
and to taste the alcohol under the kitchen counter.
To her husband, she is the woman of his dreams,
with a graceful charm and a impeccable body,
she is the angle that awoke him from his long eternal slumber of loneliness,
and the one that is the biggest supporter of his dreams.
He never wonders if she does not love him as much as her loves her,
but the scrabble of her footsteps leaving the bedroom every-night,
are starting to weigh on his thought process.
To her work, she is the most valuable member of the team,
the one who always has the files organized by client last name in alphabetical order,
who can rattle off statistics and coffee orders as if they were the facts she learned in grade school,
and who always gives the best toasts at the yearly Christmas office party,
dressed perfectly with the smile frozen onto her face.
Little do they know, she has panic attacks in the bathroom between conference calls.
What astonishes me the most is when she needs a person to help her,
how all the people in her vicinity abruptly vanish,
and how she is able to blend in with the dark walls and floors,
and be completely out of sight.
She is the chameleon.
Aug 17, 2013
Aug 17, 2013 at 12:00 AM UTC