"ambivalent" poems
I am
Eternally exasperated
Frequently frustrated
Incessantly irate
Perpetually perturbed
Awfully ambivalent
Forever fickle
Frustratingly finnicky
Laconicly labile
Madly mercurial
Virulently volatile
And every other ******* adverb, adjective alliteration
Jun 29, 2015
Jun 29, 2015 at 10:02 PM UTC
**Tell no one else, only the wise
For the crowd will sneer at one
I wish to praise what is fully alive,
What longs to flame toward death.
When the calm enfolds the love-nights
That created you, where you have created
A feeling from the Unknown steals over you
While the tranquil candle burns.
You remain no longer caught
In the peneumbral gloom
You are stirred and new, you desire
To soar to higher creativity.
No distance makes you ambivalent.
You come on wings, enchanted
In such hunger for light, you
Become the butterfly burnt to nothing.
So long as you have not lived this:
To die is to become new,
You remain a gloomy guest
On the dark earth.**
Oct 4, 2013
Oct 4, 2013 at 11:42 PM UTC
what happened to all the feeling? am I becoming less and less real to you? can't you see that I have a heart and it's dying because of you? you say things I know you don't mean,
please don't mean them.
it only seemed like yesterday when we were laughing without a doubt of whether the future would swallow us up. i still am not quite bothered by it just yet. but if I ask you all about tomorrow you'll say you're unsure.
you won't plead for me to stay anyways, so why should I bother waiting?
why should I bother pinning down my insides to submit to the practicality of my own mind?
why is there an ambivalent voice telling me that this isn't about how I feel, but instead a test whether my love is real?
To stay means to trudge through the thoughts and thorns heavily scraping my chest
To love means to set aside what might benefit me, and instead continually asking "how are you?" even if I know you'll answer that you're more than fine.
And it probably won't bother you that I'll fade away sooner into the sidelines, where the present is the future, and I remember how unsure you always sound--- but that's alright. I still just might be hoping for the best of us.
Feb 2, 2015
Feb 2, 2015 at 10:03 AM UTC
Her warm words wash over me like a dope fiend daze... other voices boorishly buzz a cackle cacophony. At best they are the background noise of your existence.
bit players (endless layers) as she comes my way
**Your body pixilates in an ******* focus**, it bends, projects all else slowly into your frame, the deja vu of ****** tunnel vision. I struggle to speak as I stand before you.
All others condemned, reduced to extras in a celluloid daydream
they are arrayed for your adornment
set pieces that surround you in the cinema that is your daily divine saunter
body sacramental (those around you incidental) as she walks away
The subtext, the reflex, the ambivalent, ambient lighting
means nothing without you
**my arc, my carnal ******
any other epilogue is dystopian
cdh
Jan 12, 2019
Jan 12, 2019 at 5:25 AM UTC
Happenstance to the melancholic gives leave the sin of pride.
Inbound reconnaissance tells not the bearer of influence.
Squeamish at first: a foreshadowing of calamitous bonding.
A space between the mark of corporeal and the ethereal; a stringent hiatus
That which rattles the concrete foundation of morality is scarcely a malleable recourse.
Regret stains the unfounded soul: an enigma of ephemeral perforations.
A separation of the unmitigated humanities; misandry topples the writhing snake.
Impact; a cleansing of the maker's flaws integrated solemnly.
Complacency arrests the administration of the abhorred; unbridled is the autonomy of a guru.
Ambivalent giftedness burdens the reliant and haughty.
A flick of the tongue brings forth the cinema mortem.
Castaway: alone to wade in the sea of obscenities.
A temporal causality allows no mourning to abscond.
Negligence is not the enemy, but indulgent wrath.
Hesitant: a stroke of qualia begets the end of a maiden.
Feb 6, 2014
Feb 6, 2014 at 11:13 AM UTC
The root
Of ambition
Is ambivalent
There's no “one cause”
No one causes
A man
To make life decisions
In a day
It takes
Much more
For
A man to be successful
And real
With his inner-self
Accepting
The cards dealt
With the stamina
To play through
Exercising his will
With the feel
Lingering in every pore
Unsure
Of obstacles ahead
Headstrong
Through barricades
Bearing the bruises
Trampling
Over your own
Feet
Defeat
Seen in battle
But the war’s on
And the war zone
Isn’t limited
To a few
Years
Like ages 19-22
Whose to do
Worse
Who has more
Money
CARS
Clothes
And hoes
And whose vision
Is so small
To tack them
with success
All in all
And attack those
Who lack the
Wills
To move forward
And ignorantly
Attach it
With a phenomena
Of
Your unknowing
Root of ambition
Can spread
Like weeds
And weeds
Can **** ambition
Or spread
Like seeds
How many men
Dive
Head first under the influence
Or rise above
High
From the same drug
Barack Obama
Michael Phelps
William Shakespeare
Bill Clinton
Lebron James
Pablo Picasso
The Beatles
Jay-Z
Bob Marley
Conan O’Brien
Dr Francis Crick. (Nobel Prize Winner)
Samuel Taylor Coleridge
Salvador Dali
Victor Hugo
Kareem Abdul-Jabar
Snoop Dogg
Dr. Dre
Stephen King
Just to name a few
Maybe
Just maybe
It has nothing to do
With success
Or you.
Sep 30, 2010
Sep 30, 2010 at 1:11 AM UTC
Tempestuous longings from behind the screen of life’s moving picture
You stare back at me, in a glimmering, shimmering afterthought
Laid low by foregoing passion
In a moment’s torrid glimpse from our hollow reflections
Fragrant evenings during seasons of filming
Solemnly captured and revised then experienced
The all encompassing struggle with context and setting
Abides a steely night, in the rustle of autumn branches
Requiem for an unremitting beloved!
Sung in the valley between piercing peaks of sorrow
She floats through the scene as distinct aura and vague essence
An embrace from the trail of vapors and misspent gestures
All emanating from a glass of cider beneath nostrils
Gracefully, you embank on the wind of time’s shadow
And nudge my cheek with impetus and vigor
Lashing out at my skin in ambivalent revelry
As if my follicles were vacuous caverns
Catching the callous moments which flutter the ***** of hillside tents
The unearthly gusts of banality extinguish the projector’s gleam
While nature embodies your beauty furthermore
Toward the end of the pathway
And the credits of the film
And the allegro of the score
And the solitude of eternity
And the rustling of the branches
Aug 30, 2010
Aug 30, 2010 at 12:09 AM UTC
And try to light em underneath an ocean's worth of crude oil
That is forcing it's way into my lungs
My high hopes hung their heads in the past as they waited to be hanged
But now the concept of life felt empty and displayed itself as a delay
A casual lack of oxygen shut off all process in the brain
And we are on our way.
~spark~
in the depths
And the darkness fades to grey,
A less ambivalent shade.
Dec 28, 2017
Dec 28, 2017 at 7:03 PM UTC
day long meaningless
the monday machine rolls
i like the way the sun is
and it’s cold out and it’s raining
something assails the daybreak
fluttering in the chutes
abstraction in the boring monotony
wispy, hazy and ambivalent
by you, wondering what you’ll do next
while i wait for the mystery
to open up in the swirled world
Apr 9, 2018
Apr 9, 2018 at 10:58 PM UTC
They tell me to lay down
and to please look at the fish.
Notice how they glide
in-and-out of the cool-blue
water; how they don't have
a care in the world -- they're
fish: one out of millions;
mindless; alone in packed
tanks; alone, jammed in
metal cans full of corpses
and low-quality mustard.
Putting the mask over my
perfect nostrils, my straight
teeth, they say Don't be afraid;
listen to my humming; how it
will blend with the high-pitch
screech you hear, now; becoming
an equilibrium of torture and
fantastical strangeness, unbound
by Gods, by Persons, by Loves.
Inside this perfect dark,
you cannot think beyond
the giant broad strokes that
is the world sweeping by --
and it is marvelous, the
buoyant miseries floating
above your head; my head
of ambivalent visions;
the Earth's core, a furiously
violent brilliance, ablaze
beneath my feet, under
layers of confounded
deathly masquerade; a
mask much like mine:
an egotistical reflection
brought out by one's
feeling of gigantic import-
-ance, despite hanging
from the vastest of ceilings;
a wannabe church in the sway
of jungle mind; primitive instinct.
*********
You know you can wake up
at this point, or so they say.
What does it all mean, to which
I murmur, I don't know. It's
hard to say what I know; if
anything, all I have is doubts.
All I can muster are regrets;
I wish I could return to that
perfect dark, confused and
semi-philosophical; all-
pretentious: a feeling of
being bound by brokenness.
They tell me to chill out;
you use semi-colons like
they're heartbeats. Focus
on whether your chest
holds validity.
May 14, 2017
May 14, 2017 at 3:00 PM UTC
Sagaciously gloaming melanite eyes
Resonating euphoniously ululated memories;
The shadow land of illusion
Rising out of the ash of an acorn
Wallowing in the blood of wars strident refuge,
Gnomic relics errant of an
Enigmatic almondine heart
Offering an olive branch upon an
Altar made of oak.
A ruminantly nostalgic requiem
Sedititiously traversing the firmament;
Ineluctable reprobation
Ineffably manifested,
The doves of meta-morphosis
Embracing the silk garments of love;
Sound minds cacophany
Devouring the delusional devout
Veridically inspiring ascendancy
Decieving serenities whisper throughout
The dominions audaciously
Rousing ambivalent fears.
ELEETE J MUIR.
Jan 13, 2012
Jan 13, 2012 at 10:27 AM UTC
All that I am is smoldering embers of a dying fire
waiting for a wind that will pick up my flame
you are the oxygen which allows me to burn
with one gust from you i know i’ll remain
The night is now still and foresees a guaranteed storm
as i wait for the torrent i beg mercy of the stars
the stars not responding, they point me to you
so your tasseogrophy tells me, ambivalent you are
I, these smoldering embers, still wait patiently
my flame still remains a dormant bed of ash
the only truth i know is that your breath is my fate
and if that breath wont come, just tell me, i ask
I can no longer bare the silence of this impending storm
let the torrent pour in and douse my embers out
this is the end of my smoldering existence
oh how you had me burning during the drought
Mar 18, 2013
Mar 18, 2013 at 9:38 PM UTC
the curling smoke
from warming fires
rise into the slate
gray sky of the
Beqaa Valley
sheaves of
rising prayers
expire in twisted plumes
dissipating into the
gloom of an ever
looming winter
overcast
refugees from
the Arab Spring's
uncivil wars
gather for warmth
around waning embers,
smoldering in the underbelly
of the lowliest bottom of rusted
steel drums, tended
with scavenged debris
some thought better
suited to fortify the
faltering hovels of
last resort
the fires
join us in
communal rings
straining the
tenuous links of
brotherhood, the
politics of men
assiduously tear
asunder
we count ourselves
among the fortunate,
blessed exiles recused
from the acrimony
of desecrated cities,
welcoming the
residencies of
bewailing lullabies
of colic infants, the
searing hunger of
stunted children and the
incomprehensible babble
the elderly eloquently
speak in tongues
of a desperate
exasperation
our nagging impotence
swaddle us in ambivalent
inabilities to master circumstances
profanely denigrating our humanity
privation is
our daily bread
the bitter manna
feasting on the
animosity the banquet
of rancor generously
prepares for
peace starved
pilgrims
in these
refugee camps
the cold cuts deeper
hunger pangs
grow sharper
our blighted dignity,
vanished livelihoods,
and the presence of
recently interred
loved ones trudge
through our mean
encampment as
fully enfranchised
citizens in our
distressed
kingdom
what was lost can
never be recovered
our homeland leveled
yet doors still stand open
silently pleading all
to cross a new
threshold
the full restoration
of our hope,
the reconstitution
of our flagging
humanity, the
spark of the
holy spirit
willfully uniting us
in the salvation
of reconciliation
is nigh
we are
the divine children
stoking the embers
tending the fire
that light pathways
through the cold
darkness of a
broken world
Oh come
Emmanuel,
dwell among us
Oh come
Emmanuel
ransom once
again the
poor captives
of Israel….
Selah
Music Selection:
L'Accorche-Choeur, Ensemble vocal Fribourg
Veni Veni Emmanuel
Everywhere
Christmas
2013
jbm
Dec 24, 2013
Dec 24, 2013 at 10:48 AM UTC
Love and Hate is what I feel
I love you as a friend
I hate you as a human
All else is ambivalent
I have told myself
To give up
Yet what is this?
A feeling that is welling up in my being
A voice
You can save him, it says
But what if I cant?
What if it turns out just like before?
I cant take the same risk
And do the same mistakes
I'm terrified
The history is my greatest fear
For it made me feel excruciating pain
Now, I'm asking you
Are you willing to accept me
As the one to escort you
Towards the world I've come to know
That will surely somehow
Make you feel so free
Because I'm already so CONFUSED
You've been taking me inside an endless whirlpool
Mar 19, 2015
Mar 19, 2015 at 8:55 AM UTC
It was never my intention to place you in harms way.
Enlisting your heart to trouble after we kissed on that precious day.
As time elapsed, my heart took a moment to understand.
You were portraying your earnest emotions subtly then crass.
The turmoil you must’ve felt during the time you kept to yourself…
Causing you to experience agonizing despair while delving into mournful swells…
Find it in your heart to forgive these third degree burns.
For it was never my intention to crucify your kind soul.
My love yearns to romanticize unhurriedly,
Seducing passionately while intimately feeding the soul so fluidly.
Is it too much to ask for an amorous exploration?
For what is love without a genuine vibration?
If *** is all you seek,
Be explicitly direct; don’t play games that will cause deceit.
Otherwise, in the end, ambivalent emotions will prevail.
Crafting a false sense of endearment that will soon be too much for you to bear.
I once journeyed to a crucible of love and hate.
Traveling far beyond the unfathomable depths of heartache.
Hopelessly exiled to endure the slowest of brutalizing pains;
A light was discovered, allowing the abhorrence to dissipate.
By: Michael M. De La Fuente
Nov 25, 2014
Nov 25, 2014 at 12:22 AM UTC
Life is truly better alone,
and yet I write in the journal that he gave to me.
Mar 13, 2015
Mar 13, 2015 at 12:10 PM UTC
pigeons perch themselves preening
on marble fauns ambivalent to their
perch, while dark skinned men prowl;
seeking tourists (Americans) to sell
cheap novelty items, over priced, yet
bought to drive away the insistent
merchants; ignorant to the realization:
if you remain silent and don’t make eye
contact you will not forfeit your money...
merchants who ruin the peace and awe
of grand feats of sculpture—I know they
are human (on a base level)—craving
money to make a living, yet there are
many (more respectable) professions…
their presence crowds the already
crowded (streets and) piazzas—aggregates
of language babble—old women and men
meandering along waiting to die—hoping
it is true: the slower you move the faster
time flows—if not: to hell with relativity!
(should have put chips on more than one table)
can math really explain all?—or
is life more than abstract objects?
while the din of crowds palpitates my heart
making way for anxious calculations,
C— and I hurry pass to find some area
to give the artefacts the respect they deserve
Apr 9, 2013
Apr 9, 2013 at 1:08 PM UTC
In the velvet midnight sky
The illuminated moon hung high
Crickets chirp their melancholy songs
As though the night gave out a sigh
Grim clouds cover the moon
As if with gloomy grace;
Trickles of rain descend
Soon downpour like a race
Rainfall beating like a drum;
Creating a frantic orchestra,
Shooing crickets into fright
Arising ambivalent glum
Suddenly rainfall and grim clouds depart
Leaving its soaked mark on the earth
Refreshing the velvet midnight sky
As though it never occurred
Jun 6, 2017
Jun 6, 2017 at 5:54 AM UTC
"Just Like The Rain
falls unto the earth
And Angles Roost There Weary Wings on the clouds
May you fall
time comes you need rest
fall unto me
roost those solemn wings of emotion on my shoulder"
just a simple poem you wrote
look at how deep a simple poem can be
this I why I must note
how much you mean to me
this poem you thought pathetic
and I diss and scorn my own poems
I thought yours was prophetic
you claim I'm the best writer you ever met
we always seem to be equalent
no matter how the tables are turned
what to do now, I am ambivalent
it's like I'm your exact silhouette
this peom has a terrible rhyming scheme
"A, B, A, C, D, E, D, C"
I mean, talk about a little extreme
but you see, my poems are pictures of my mind
and my mind is pretty confusing
everything whirling, my thoughts never end
it's myself, I'm always abusing
you always come though with words that are kind
just like the rain, my tears fall onto your shoulder
you are always there to help me
you are an immovable boulder
a beacon of light in the confusion and darkness of this world
you are such a lucky friend for me to possess
thank-you so much for caring like you do
no matter what happens you'll be my friend nevertheless
my solemn wings of emotion, are now unfurled
and I fly
"Just Like The Rain
falls unto the earth
And Angles Roost There Weary Wings on the clouds
May you fall
time comes you need rest
fall unto me
roost those solemn wings of emotion on my shoulder"
Sep 13, 2010
Sep 13, 2010 at 2:37 PM UTC
Holding my arms around my knees I gaze out the window toward a horizon interrupted by buildings
I look out at them, as they face me in an un-assuming posture, ambivalent to my existence
On either side are people, scurrying in the glimmering afternoon sunlight. They gather possessions to hide in their closets. And every parcel is an amount of pollution. What if there were fewer of us? Unnecessary ones, incompetent ones.
I suppose there’d be fewer yard sales
Jul 10, 2010
Jul 10, 2010 at 1:04 PM UTC
I can't even tell if I've really gotten over you or I'm just numb to the fact that I've not forgotten you
Sep 11, 2015
Sep 11, 2015 at 8:00 PM UTC
It cycles between its pink
nascency and purplish age.
The same ambivalent yellow
as yesterday, today.
(It says something.)
That we are a consequence:
An echo, a shadow, a chill?
From loud words, night lights,
or an unsettling question of
our inconsequential and silent
stardust existence?
(It says Nothing.)
Jun 5, 2012
Jun 5, 2012 at 8:40 AM UTC