"appraisal" poems
Miscommunication
serendipity, anticipation,
blurred reality -
lost in the dialect
of a dream,
in pursuit
of Love
find callous irony;
subversion of desire
what's it all about?
to know and be known.
Mere seconds
of scrutiny
inferior,
I am shown.
Her appraisal
eviscerating
my warm flesh,
her tilted criteria
supplanting the interior,
voluble with
saccharine neologisms
and preferences
for the exterior.
(not mine)
Ironic was my
attraction to
her brain.
Lines, features
and symmetry,
image - the commodity,
aesthetics, the
currency
in this transaction,
cursory liaison,
incendiary,
collapse of the
insurgent ego -
there was no
us in the
the affair of
nothingness.
Bruised in
abasement,
I'm not the one -
I thought I was.
Hyperbole -
the center
of delusion,
a curious
diversion -
avoid my life.
The allure of
the illusion,
transference,
the ordinary to
the romantic,
the perfect other.
Searching, the
absorbing project -
aquiring wholeness,
did she reject me?
I rejected me.
The escape into
fraudulent
sadness,
to mourn,
is to displace,
the disowned heart
by self is tragic.
Should
I not mourn for
the one I'm
deferring?
Inside of me
It's safe,
to lament
the loss of
identity -
tension is agony
without resolve
sequestered,
in my pain,
self-imposed
familiar terrain,
upon retrieval,
awaking in
renewal,
mystery and destiny
providentially,
I am free.
Feb 14, 2012
Feb 14, 2012 at 8:08 PM UTC
I'm just a simple person, just like the rest
Well, not entirely simple, but nonetheless
It's like society and the media just say what they want
To create new forms of discriminations, that will forever haunt
As if the already existing ones weren't bad enough
They must make sure that you feel flawed,
and make your life tough
I'm just another person; I removed the word simple
People nowadays even get trashed for having a dimple
"HA, it's just a deformity on your face!"
Well, I hope you trip and fall on your own shoelace :)
I'm just another person, with a not-so-great vision
I need glasses, so that I don't squint at the television
It makes my life easier, but the media has made it tough
Their influences and the consequential societal mentality,
has made my childhood rough
Beauty is said to be in the eyes of the beholder
Yet friendship is considered beauty,
when it gives you a shoulder
To cry on, is what I meant
Not literally
I mean it could
Just didn't want to be misunderstood
Why are glasses objectified,
like in The Princess Diaries
Is it not considered dignified
to not want your eyes to get all fiery?
Trust me, I'm just another person;
who needs the help of glasses
Media's interpretation has ruined this too,
to profit their theatrical farces
This is not an appraisal piece
for the object that makes us see well
This is a shoutout to those,
who feel pressurized by this societal shell
To define beauty may be complex,
but it should not be controlled by someone's interest
You're beautiful the way you are,
to have you the world is truly blessed
Jul 20, 2018
Jul 20, 2018 at 9:46 AM UTC
My recollect is of the each,
The Two
And within the Two
One is the One
Holding and using our lead and ink utensils
as if they are weapons for winning at Love,
and reasoning for our written duel
Expressing desires the voice would customarily sever into dissection
Permitting authority to the crafted scripts *********
and may it’s barrier lay
over the possibility of a broken and scattered tongues communicate
Giving our internal intent its day
the way hoped it would speak
Expecting the requited, the return
was a pesticide over wide horizon,
Where the organic surprise of rainfall kept us neutral and thankful
And apart,
our minds maintained with
and of our other
With no need for philosophical proofs only the inner felt proof
Of forwarding shards of sentiment
with compiled assurance
and a dispatched formula
the best way we could phrase
Alongside images
that came in and held tight
in sectors tucked away and reserved from the cherished
to this day are still to be amazed
Spontaneous placement of universally synchronized jewels and stones
Of not have to have
[Only the simplified, pushed down and planted fact]
Of want her to have
So when away,
You feel a personal, singled-out
appraisal of praise
Feb 20, 2019
Feb 20, 2019 at 9:07 PM UTC
I am 6.3 miles from home on an 11:30 night stuck worrying about the same thing of perspective.
The way I feel about you has driven deeper than casket nails in the past 10 hours. I know 3 weeks of my time will be a Friday night to you. Maybe it's more lopsided than my asymmetrical eyes, but these emotions go unrequited because of someone who is not me.
It's nothing of your persona, only your perfect idea. A philosopher doesn't fall for the thinker, only the thought. You're the vessel of my one flawless mental creation that came as a broken jar in an antique clay shop. I could have been born decades earlier and I still wouldn't have made it in time to tear you from something you never had to be attached to.
But now as I clarify my final statement on engineers and metal pieces, does the idea of me linger more heavily in her mind than yours in mine? I need a new appraisal and I've got 3 weeks and 18 miles. I have no expectations but I expect the world from you.
Jun 9, 2014
Jun 9, 2014 at 11:13 PM UTC
If you wanted privacy,
you might have closed your blinds from time to time.
The devil doesn't knock upon entry.
He knows where he's wanted.
I've heard your conversations--
The bigotry,
the loathing.
I've ****** up filth through your floorboards.
I've tasted your tears,
mingled with sweat
from sins of the flesh,
cascading down your drains.
I've stepped through the hillocks of cigarette butts
you discard as carelessly as your dreams,
a little measure to meld your
environment and outlook:
the world as an ashcan.
I know you better than I'd ever know myself
because my assessment of you is
not gilded with pride or egotism,
not tainted by self-pity.
I know that you wanted this,
in spite of pained cries to the contrary.
I know you really wept for the innocence
you lost long before I let myself in your *****
You let the world in--
you offered yourself up with impunity for far too long.
You valued your life so little
as to put it on display for anyone's appraisal.
You were waiting on catastrophe
to prove you were worth saving;
I was merely the instrument.
I took nothing that wasn't proffered by your unlocked door.
Your home and your body share sentiments--
I simply took the welcome mat at its word.
Sep 20, 2012
Sep 20, 2012 at 12:18 AM UTC
i am a predator,
preying on my self interests,
allied with wounded
spiritual ninjas,
seeking absolution,
ferreting out truth
and substance;
a live action rat
dragging the world's
biggest piece of stolen cheese.
What are you that is better?
Oct 5, 2013
Oct 5, 2013 at 2:54 PM UTC
Imagine the first rumor. The first grunt of gossip
The first finger-point of prejudice. It was probably
like noticing the sunset for the first-time. How it
stretched out across the entire scope of your vision,
peeled back into a city that wasn’t the one you were in,
like an orange peel, one skin at a time. Eventually,
the world rounded, the ice melted, homo-sapiens
grew taller. Our voices deepened, bodies thickened.
We learned to survive the cold, the floods,
the irrational wars, and crescent-mooned nights
underneath tinned roofs. Then came the enlightenment,
the evolution of speech. The first cousin of Germanic
languages; the second cousin of Romantic languages.
And then the first rumor. The first appraisal of good
or bad actions of people hardly known. I imagine
my ancestors, 1.9 million years ago, grunting
with raised brow in her partner’s direction. Pointing
at two men crouching behind a large, fallen boulder.
Pointing at a man who belongs to her neighbor,
crawling out of a cave that doesn’t belong to him.
They are probably turning over in their bone-filled
graves as I think of what to say next, laughing at how
far we haven’t come from the ghouls of gossip,
discussing how out of all the occupations in this world:
bricklayer, lawyer, educator, their descendant chose
this noble profession, this calling up of events.
Oct 5, 2016
Oct 5, 2016 at 7:00 AM UTC
in dreams i met the fox again
this time i asked him to use words
grabbing sandcastle fistfuls of his fur
until the tide swept in
and i howled.
i asked him for the essence
secret ingredient
that made him a fox
as if it could be answered
= fur. paws. snout.
so we built a den of bricks
and i seal it over and over in vines
-just hold this together-
in thin flora we both know he could tear down
(if he wanted to)
the fox and his mystery mortar.
one day, the fox opened his mouth and said:
"wait".
do i ask for his appraisal
or do i riddle me for mine?
tearing down the wall to qualify
my own little bits of stone
twist my silver hair
because maybe i'm not half as scared of knowing the fox
as i am of knowing
the wolf.
May 3, 2012
May 3, 2012 at 10:25 AM UTC
The carpenter in one glance
undresses the house
with his eyes.
She, a Victorian dame
of voluptuous frame
in faded, ragged dress
seems to blush
at his appraisal.
He yearns to explore
intimate spaces,
strip her pretension,
commit filthy acts
hammering skillfully
with strange pleasure,
the work of hands,
attention to detail,
rubbing sweet oils
her inner beauty revealed.
It will end in soft strokes
a thoughtful cleanup
leaving an afterglow
of rejuvenation.
Her timbers moan
with anticipation.
Mar 28, 2017
Mar 28, 2017 at 4:01 PM UTC
Marriage as a choice,
Needs a voice...
A voice I have found in myself,
A prospect I found in yourself...
Do not be deaf as I recite my proposal,
Do not be dumb during the appraisal...
If you preplanned rejection,
Consider this my swansong...
Come on now,
Know me more...
Read my poems and stories,
Listen to most of my songs...
Know me more,
And forget yourself...
Leave your ego behind,
Welcome my love in your mind...
Make space for me in your life,
I am not fat, I am not huge...
I am confident of my art,
You will find me straightforward...
Straight and ****
That's how I operate...
Nov 28, 2020
Nov 28, 2020 at 1:35 PM UTC
"Why, you know's a spoken spell, a prayer for reason",
The magician said,
"I wanna think God's thoughts", and Mr. Newton, Issac said,
"After him". I stood the queue, knowing why, I kept silent.
Fundamental heretic is what I am.
Jesus was such a heretic. Ask any Pharisee.
Evaluation and appraisal, worship and praise,
who told you to do that? A shepherd kid?
A lonely boy under the stars in a peaceful valley,
beside still waters. Like Bob Dylan at twelve. Singin' along.
Worthy, so worthy, sang the boy, never knowing the role of
y after worth in setting the appraising price or prize
What's it worth to know death has no sting? A song?
Then sing, soft, don't wake the dead.
Oct 11, 2018
Oct 11, 2018 at 6:41 PM UTC
Written not to thine appraisal accord;
Words that aim to torch the infernal loom,
Seeking the world of sorcery and sword
Unconfined to thine astringent courtroom.
Methinks thy hackles must surely be raised
For hours laboured, tempering such sleight...
Yet adamant this pen, wielder unfazed
Mirrors many thou haplessly indict.
Scholars of insight construed only thee-
So feebly traced was this artistic lie;
A labyrinth from which my muse soars free.
Minoan mentor, dare not I deny:
It may be an Icarian Ascension,
But stands it staunchly, lacking pretension.
Jan 20, 2015
Jan 20, 2015 at 6:32 AM UTC
The sparkling galaxies lie within
Your mind is stuck on a glittering pin
Your shimmering elegance and enamoring presence wins the hearts of all
For fear lioness do not fall
Into the ego
Your pride taken by sips
Your eyes revealing eternal bliss
Your mind is one of a kind
Stepping in the appraisal - golden, green, glamorous
Your youthful gaze and childish ways don't rust
You puff and smile
We're drawn - taken
You create the most wonderful stars
We'll gaze at for eternity
May 10, 2016
May 10, 2016 at 7:38 PM UTC
That old clock is ticking away,
the days bleed on one into another,
mostly all the same, nothing much
new to report here. I do what I can,
what my aged body will allow.
A limited return on my investment
I guess, but still finding little joys
that sustain me, mostly given up
on big dreams and illusions, anyway
being rich and famous was never on
my wish list agenda, all in all it's been
a very good run, with strong family
love given and received, our linage
prospers and continues, that is after
all the only real reason any of us,
human, bird or beast were put on
this earth.
To believe otherwise is but a
uniquely human delusion that
in the end matters not in the
least and changes nothing.
Sep 30, 2024
Sep 30, 2024 at 2:11 PM UTC
A stone terrain waits
A landscape deserted
Devoid of real
Or imagined explorations
For it turns inward
At a tangent that
Precludes inquiry
It has an articulation
Of slow deliberate movements
Where particularized
Geology has painted it
Cut off and disconnected
By an estrangement of creation
Other existences only serve
To magnify its sense of isolation
Its blank uncaring non-geometric
Dimensions of observable
Unquantifiable location is obscure
And unrealised
Producing an immediate
Initiated sensory experience
Of unreleased silent appraisal
But why does it wait?
What for
Does it anticipate or foresee
Some expected prediction
Of apocalyptic presentiment
Is it recalling color?
Or is it experiencing
The present like floating in a dream
Alas there is no clue
To its tilted yet frozen expectancy
A stone terrain waits
Feb 8, 2013
Feb 8, 2013 at 4:29 PM UTC
High above the teetering mast
A shout long awaited is heard at last
"Land ** Land ** Straight ahead"
Across the sea, the mariners sped
The mass of land, close in range
Ominously, the winds have changed
The ship drops anchor a hundred yards out
Rowing in without a doubt
Making landfall, the ****** cheered
A great appraisal to Brown Beard
Gallivanting, their songs sung loud
Roused, the sea soughed
Ripping from the strenuous tides
The monster emerges, the sea divides
Crashing down upon the ship
Fearful men tighten their grip
Threshing about as the beast descends
Into the depths where the mirk never ends
Duped, the mariners take their last breath
Inhaling, the seas grant them their death
Bloated corpses resurfacing
The dubious island repositioning
Full, the gulls await
For the next to take the bate
May 10, 2010
May 10, 2010 at 8:44 AM UTC
I look and stare at the beauty of your pair—
so new, their intricacies I now study.
The color is subtle and quite comparable
to my desk’s dark grain where sun and wood have lain.
Lost am I, in those eyes, such that senses die.
Eyes pull away, gazing now at that smile’s stay—
it’s kind and shy, and encages butterflies.
My heart will palpitate with a feather’s weight
each time those lips take rise— such, is love’s reprise.
My mind rests on you, and tranquil thoughts ensue.
For you I pine, with your hand clasped in mine—
these feelings transcendent of lovers just met.
Your eyes—a spark—inspire love and fire.
The latter I fight, thus this verse I indict
for its aesthetic appraisal. Your Musal
qualities mold my virtues to grow twofold.
Jun 7, 2012
Jun 7, 2012 at 12:18 PM UTC
bleeding comments on a scribble pad
interactions regulating a previous history
in words of spontaneous repeats
projecting the colour of dreams
in a world of violet sky
that has dispensed with night and day
in elliptical words that dilate
to a lacerating urgency
where apocalyptic statements
unleash in silent appraisal
a symbiosis of male and female
the creation of a new species
survivors of anaemic journeys
where one does not need to search
for identity in the other
but experiences that freedom
from the strain of isolation
and pieces together the fragments of
a once thought insoluble puzzle
that is disturbed in hidden speech
in bleeding comments on
an unruled scribble pad
Aug 12, 2013
Aug 12, 2013 at 8:59 PM UTC
not until
not so long ago
I recognized
that saying thanks
only with wordless deeds and gestures
may not be enough
we need to
hear
GRATITUDE
spoken out loudly
in words
silent appraisal
is not enough
over time
so I speak out
in deep appreciation
of your hard work
to make us
stay together
against tall centrifugal forces
the division of
distance and time
distress and separation
barriers of the quotidian
multiple obligations
I thank you
for being with me
even at times
when you are almost
beside yourself
I thank you
for being with me
and being you
* * *
Aug 28, 2015
Aug 28, 2015 at 3:50 PM UTC
I can't list them,
they are too many
sorted into too few ways
They are the little things
the day to day, the worst,
the amazingly great, the mundane
I see them never all at once,
just a few here, some days tons
others none, of any shade or shape
But they are there I understand this
the little things that irritate and cause drama
the little ways one can show how he loves another
in simple actions, or thoughtful vigil
I sometimes celebrate, or at least pretend
To love the good, done for another,
but inside I am wondering what about me?
Oh, these little things
they complicate you, and they get in... so deep
So in, where you believe that it is your own agenda
but you are ninety percent programmed to love your self less and less
and ten percent willing to participate in that corruption
These little things will define you through your failings,
as well as your leaps and bounds of personal appraisal
Forget what you hate, and love what you don't want to
The little things change, and control and add chaos to your life
and it's these this little things that will **** you.
Oct 23, 2013
Oct 23, 2013 at 3:57 AM UTC
Please accept the attached the original, as yet not published work written by G. David Schwartz - the former president of Seedhouse, the online interfaith committee. Schwartz is the author of A Jewish
Appraisal of Dialogue and Midrash and Working Out Of The Book
Currently a volunteer at the Cincinnati J Meals on Wheels, Schwartz continues to write.
His latest book is Shards And Verse (2011, Publish America).
Names are not real people
G David Schwartz
[email protected]
Four For Glory
The Night Was Cut Off From Smiling
G David Schwartz
Oh, I will not die
The night was cut off from smiling
I sat there crying
Broken Wings Fly Upside Down
G David Schwartz
Whether red or brown
broken wings fly upside down
Do not touch the clown
I Hear The Firer Frying
G David Schwartz
I hear the frier frying
I hear the burgers burning
I also here the wind
Early out this morning
I Am Not Ashamed
G David Schwartz
I am not ashamed
I will do anything with you that you wish
except of course
eat some uncooked fish
Aug 6, 2013
Aug 6, 2013 at 10:42 AM UTC