"appraising" poems
Eve of Holi
A spring eve that’s all different from others
Zephyrs blowing away the leaves
Orange sky adding the flavours
Blooming flowers nodding in a rhythm
So Ironical is nature of this evening
That all these beauties act as ornaments of Kali
On a normal evening man would work
They would work appraising weather
They know it will not last long, they enjoy
Today they as if ignore it, of morning celebrations
Morning is gayest morning of the year
Every reason to see every man
Mankind being unanimous
Evening on contrary balancing it to a usual day
An unexplainable soundlessness, vacuum of thoughts
A day depicting environment without men on work
Streets still hold colours on their chest
But this colour no more is a sign of happiness
People meet each other, everyone has a smile
But that doesn’t match with nature suit
There smiles have scope within its sight
Body of people walking on street enjoy zephyr
Their mind stay startled of unusual quietness
Standing on my entrance, I observe
A swinging litchi tree, missing sound of saw mill
Smiling flowers, orange cloudy sky
Empty streets, parked wagons, and utterly silence
Aug 8, 2014
Aug 8, 2014 at 4:09 PM UTC
Silent and alone, I flow through shops with so many
windows, but I see nothing except the faces around me, the ones
who might believe I'm more gossamer than the shawls and tunics
meant to disguise us all as ethereal hippies in the New Age.
Silent and alone, I stand by the fountain, waiting
for something to break the sleepiness of solitude when
two men spot me: mouths parted, eyes appraising, judging, appreciating my physical worth. Rooted in place, I smile.
Only when they look at me do I have purpose.
Jul 8, 2015
Jul 8, 2015 at 4:16 PM UTC
I don't trust myself
when I promise I'm fine
I don't believe I could ever let go of you.
I will never stop thinking
appraising possibilities in my mind
about what would have happened
if only I ... never kissed you
is it true that you would have wanted me more?
maybe if I were an expert
at some love mind game
we would be sitting by each other
instead of me lying by myself
writing this attempt of a letter
which by the way you will never read.
I don't trust myself
when my mind is filled with hopes
and in my dreams I breathe you in.
I don't trust myself
when you are nearby
because I'm afraid I might reveal
those angry, desperate feelings
that make you run away.
I don't trust myself
when I've had too much to drink
because I always blurt out this mess of a mind
and I'm always on the verge of either slapping you in the face or...
trying to kiss you.
I don't trust myself
when I'm around you
but it's all because of you.
You manipulate me with your words
but you make me fall in love with your eyes
when you look at me across the room.
I don't trust you
because everything you do or don't
makes me believe in a yes
but it always transforms to a never.
I don't trust myself
because every time I try to move on
you come around and clutter everything up.
Oct 3, 2013
Oct 3, 2013 at 12:08 AM UTC
Behold the King!
The Monarch, he comes.
Men of High birth to bow at the waist,
Head down, avoiding direct eye contact,
Less the King perceive from them a threat.
Women of the Court a deep curtsey,
Eyes lovingly appraising and focused on his Majesty,
That he may appraise them in return,
Maidens in hopes of finding his favors.
Common people, to sprawl prostrate on their Faces,
Eyes always down cast, to never look upon his Royal Presence,
Thus in turn, never to be noticed by the King.
Alas, though commoner I be, I peeked a look and beheld,
To my surprise, the mighty King was completely naked!
Shocked even more to see, His Majesty publicly exhibiting,
His oh so, insignificant manly short comings.
That indeed, this so called Princely man was in truth,
No more nobler than me!
Jan 11, 2014
Jan 11, 2014 at 1:10 PM UTC
Check it out see what melanin is about
To shine you embrace you
With multiple clues
That'll stiff you like a statue
So I'll be black as the sun and black as the moon
Black as Saturn rings and Jupiter's moon
Black as the Hennessey and the shadow in the room
Black like a smoking heart that can no longer consume
Black oxygen soon to be a black death
Lost breath finna be cooked like a black chef
Cajun fire blazin' So I can climb the
Ladder of black steps
diggin' deep formulates my black concepts
Black as Madonna tongue swift as an Iguana
Tail no fairytale black as the prison system filled with with
black hell
Black sin casted since our souls blackened
Black like thoughts you'll see once the skulls get the cracking
Black like the Vietnamese burned into the ashes piles of scented death just stacking
Black like the smoke from a chimney
So ya know fire is what's happening
Black like deaths clapping
Appraising souls swarming black hole
Preparing for rapturing
Black capturing black like the Billy Lee
Leading Washington
Fighting the Great Britain
During America's revolution
But no black solutions
Still tryna climb into a black institution
Black intuition
Hidden deep within wondering
If the Black Lord will forgive me of my sins
Let back of the black souls be watered and cleanse
Black like Boyz II Men tryna find a road that doesn't end
Black like storm pushing strong winds
Black like my ancestors forming hurricane across the desert ends
Black as Mahogany angled to perfection with black geometry
Black with knowledge of Dogon
Black Sirius like the Dog logo so long gone
Cuz black love is gone black vibes made from black lungs
Fill with black vibrations from.the mental gongs
Black like the law canonical stolen from my ancestors manual
Europeans ain't nothing but savage animals known to be cannibal
Check my black cerebral digging from my black celestrial
Dropped the sugar now I see the black extraterrestrial
Waving so I can jump into the black.mothership
And dip where no other brother live
Black as night sky line
black as heiron cooked under a spoon
Black as blueberry pie
Black as darkness in an empty heart filled with gloom.
Yo talk to em Yosef
Dec 31, 2017
Dec 31, 2017 at 6:38 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
where both left
and right
form the bowl,
appraising
pale cream or pink
seductive space
between,
a slight break in
a seamless join,
catch your teeth
on to break
resistance and
free the
shy but
meaty pearl,
exercise with
a muscular finesse,
salty taste,
kernel shape,
wanting more,
the
pistachio.
May 12, 2015
May 12, 2015 at 1:26 AM UTC
We come from power.
Our ancestors dealt in wiles,
Appraising glances at the world around
Lowered gazes and eyelashes that cast shadows
Hiding minds sharp enough to slit throats.
We come from deception and
Seduction.
Glittering eyes and soft thighs
Sculpted cheeks and long necks
Smiles that could cut
Diamond.
As you toil through the world,
Know that your body is the most dangerous weapon
These men have ever seen.
Know that you raise hairs on their arms.
Do not forget where you came from-
Generations
Of women who sold their bodies and their lies
To marriage or to strangers
But never sold their souls.
Women who used
What they had,
Ruthless and unapologetic.
This world has fangs
And we come from the women who said
I will strike first
Rather than be devoured.
We come from power, not ruin.
Just because we have been hidden away
Silenced and enslaved,
This does not change.
We hold something in us that temples have been built to
Stones slick and red with the blood of violent sacrifices
Made
To our full lips
Our *******
Our dancing eyes
Wars have been fought
Cities have burned
Civilizations
Have crumbled
**For us**!
And good.
Good, they will.
Good, bleed for me.
Kneel for me.
Pray to me.
Call me
Sacred
And lay awake nights dreaming of my flesh.
This world has changed
But not so much as you think.
Do not forget that you come from blood
From steel
From a survivalism that only we carry pounding in our veins.
They locked us away, and we sang through the bars
Sirens who needed no weapons to break our shackles
They told themselves they used us
While we bled them dry for the pleasure of it.
We come from power!
Power that cannot be stolen from us
No matter what happens.
They looked at us and they saw
Gods.
They saw
Death.
They saw
Salvation.
They saw
The Morrigan,
The Furies,
They saw
Kali,
Destroyer of Worlds.
They fell to their knees
And in their awe
Could only name their ships, their weapons, their
Deities
For us.
Your holy lineage
Beckons.
Take what you want
And don't forget that you were born to do it.
Demand worship.
Demand
Blood.
They deserve it
And they know it:
They fear us.
They've always feared us.
And they should.
Apr 3, 2017
Apr 3, 2017 at 6:56 PM UTC
the osprey flys overhead, but the baby rabbit trembles not
~for any grandparent-poet lurking about~
the osprey overflies, a regularity scheduled patrol over
our backyard emporium and all its hors d’oeuvre creatures,
***** has parental responsibilities, beaks to feed, PTA conferences,
the pilot, a wary watchful animal-his-rights guy, catalogues their still living existentialism, for though they are not fish, his diet of preference, but in a pinch a rodent or rabbit stew will do, if the fish are running too deep for no warming sun beckoning them to the surface.
Motel^ the baby rabbit, who lives with his parents,
(who doesn’t these days?) beneath the deck,
chews the clover overnight sprung, blissfully i g n o r a n t,
unawares or ignoring the poet be-laureating (him-her) but a mere
few feet above and away, pays no attention to the Poppy’s (grandfather) lecture about the rules of the animal kingdom,
who, eats whom, and to be more attentive to flying raptors.
thunderstorms forecast for the afternoon, severe say
the textured textual phone-netical all green messages, which
of course is a signal signal to the sun his job is done and can
leave the untanned poet in his state of original sin, soooo deliciously
white that he earns an appraising glance from eyes of the osprey,
a privilege he would happily tan away to promote equality ‘n stuff like peace on earth.
Motel, with his thermometer-humidity nasal instrumentation twitcher, decides, after chewing it over most carefully, time to go underneath where the white half naked people domicile, in order to avoid bathing, not his fav pastime, but making the osprey quitter le ciel, which is French for get out of Dodge, they got babies of their own to shelter and protect, even feed.
The Poppy, contented, thinks to himself, god couldn’t be everywhere,
so he invented grandpas to be “En Loco Parentis” which
Does Not Mean Instead of Crazy Parents,
but easily could,
for who else writes
poems like this?
Jul 5, 2020
Jul 5, 2020 at 1:08 PM UTC
The silence grows deafening,
and the stillness screams;
the darkness over powers me.
i look all around and i see mirrored walls.
and in them the eyes!
eyes that bore into mine seemed to accuse,
they seemed to resent being trapped in here;
along with the very ghost.
i whirl around and see another pair,
appraising the view and seemingly smug.
so terrible yet so beautiful,
and wondering when the show ended.
i close my eyes, my heart speeds up,
i turn slowly and find another image.
hungry and dangerous the eyes came nearer,
with every step going backwards,
the ravishing the ravenous eyes came closer.
till i could smell her breath on mine,
intoxicating, alluring and beckoning me,
till i could fight it no more.
i tried to turn my face and again,
she smiled and waved at me,
she trilled a little laugh;
at my terror stricken face.
the sound reverberated off the walls,
that were also mirrors.
"why are you scared" she looked at me,
"we are all a part of you,
we sleep with you and wake with you,
and eat with you and we watch you ****
we are your nightmares revisited,
we are the unspoken dreams,
the tales untold, the songs unsung.
all your deeds good and bad,
come undone with us.
for we are your friends and family,
we are only, you."
she bared open her heart
and i saw that it was mine!
and i heard the songs of the requiem,
or was it only my scream?
trapped within my own mind,
with the inner spirit.
she tortured me and tormented me,
till i was no more.
but when i start to think of it,
was it all just a dream?
but then she comes at night to me
and then i see it was me.
Nov 14, 2013
Nov 14, 2013 at 10:57 AM UTC
sunlight reflected in broken
jagged fragments
on the wings of an aeroplane flying north
deep in the valley of organs and
warm trickling blood.
she haunts my thoughts as a distant terror
a threat to the happiness
weaved between weathered fingers
she'll take him away
take away
with the fluctuations of her voice
cutting raw wounds in the back of
my throat.
//calmly wait
passion resonates with a sticky wet
presence
clinging wet clothes to curves.
he sees my thighs
with appraising eyes.
you must belong to me::
to my sacred heart beats--
no thoughts of california and the wreckage
she should bring
Jul 14, 2013
Jul 14, 2013 at 11:27 PM UTC
The day was young and bright when we first met,
She had stared at me,
appraising.
Her eyes had set.
I was an alien,
an invader.
She had to search my eyes,
to check that I, too, was homo-sapiens.
I thought she was done,
for she accepted me then.
But I was wrong.
She peeled at my layers like I was an onion,
discovering who I was. I hadn't known what I was concealing.
My life was a charade
till, like a lioness,
she had begun ripping, revealing.
I was no longer an alien,
She had heard my tale, both the sorrow and joy, and I hers.
Yet she searched my eyes again
and discovered that I, too, am homo-sapiens.
Oct 23, 2012
Oct 23, 2012 at 2:26 PM UTC
I dream about her and see
a metamorphosis beneath
the ****** woad
I dream about her after falling
into a bed that has held the shape
of my irregular body
I dreamed about her
She is the only morning star and too
the black caterpillar in dye
below the leaves
Does her repose animate me?
I think and think I do
the thought extending to my limbs
somatic skin and the receptors in
my eyes appraising the world
In every moment of sleep and dream
where I could be awoken
from the impairment of unconsciousness
there were moments of sleep
where I did not dream and
the butterfly was not me
Oct 14, 2011
Oct 14, 2011 at 2:22 AM UTC
Lisa and I played a round of frisbee-disc golf today—let’s reminisce.
I love the ‘live performance’ of sports, how you must physicalise
discipline. You get this instant feedback that you have to own and
lean hard into. The being present to adjust, the internalised mechanisms of performance—the ‘liveness’—is the most exciting thing about sports. And, of course, the one who does it best wins—there’s a simplicity to it.
Being Sunday, the course was crowded with guys. Most of the groups were college teams of five or six guys. Since there were only two of us, we were playing faster.
I don’t like going up to a group of guys and asking to play through.
They always let us but we get these appraising looks—not strictly golf related—that you can feel. So we skipped around the guys and played open holes—still playing 18—they just weren't contiguous and it took a bit longer.
It was great to get out in the sun. The course was all rolling fairways, there’s no grass greener and no sky bluer. I came in 14-under (straight brag). I’m a little competitive, my ego loves to be placed in a hierarchy, and winning seems to give form to me, it’s such a pleasant and coherent narrative.
As we were leaving our escort Charles stepped away for a minute and a couple of Yale looking guys offered us a ride back to campus—which was all very innocent and chivalrous—to save us waiting for an Uber or something—I'm sure (we were all sweaty and looked like drowned rats).
‘Sure,’ I thought, ‘let’s run off into the sunset.. not.’
But I said, “No, thanks, anyway.”
.
.
Songs for this:
Golden Boys by Res
Fruitcake by Subsonic Eye
Apr 14, 2025
Apr 14, 2025 at 12:34 AM UTC
An anxious amortal
archnemesis
affectionately
allowing an amoral
animosity
achieve an attitudal
agressive and aversion against
any and all
annoying,
aggravating,
afflicting,
and almost annihilating
alliterations,
although all
aforementioned actions
are absolutely
artificial.
An amiable
abomination
and architectural abuse
at an alphabet achieved
after aesthetically
arranging ample
arbitrary
alternatives alone,
amounting an acclamation.
An affinity at
awkward avante-garde arts
arising at
an astronomical acceleration,
aside an archaic
argumentum ad
antiquitatem argument
awfully appraising
an atheistic and agnostic
apparition,
anthrophomorphically
alive and apparently
alright after asphyxiation,
alluding an astral authority
absolving accusations
and all allegations.
An advantageously
astute and adroit assassin
always actively
acting and assaulting
alone, ain't assisted
anyhow,
already
antiquating auxillaries
altogether.
An alliteratious afterfocus:
Aborting all anticipations.
Anticipating affirmative antagonizations.
All are alright.
Already airtight.
Adios, amigos.
Author: anonymous,
an acorn-afflicted,
assassinatrix affiliate.
attributed as Agent Argent.
Aug 16, 2017
Aug 16, 2017 at 11:54 AM UTC
I knew you then,
Yes by sight, little more,
Strangers on a common ground.
Children in the same town.
Exchanging appraising glances,
Given and quickly shed,
Reduced to but a few,
Written words in our Year Books,
No time for more.
An all too brief encounter on a train,
Sweet kisses given and accepted.
Then total disappearance,
For fifty long years.
Separate lives lived,
Marriages come and gone,
Beloved children, Grand children born.
Some bumpy roads traveled,
Individual journeys taken,
Knowledge and maturity hard earned.
After all that time and distance,
Fate returned us to each other.
Happenstance some might say,
Something much more, my answer.
In a room filled with many people,
We two magnetically drawn together.
Second chances almost never come,
Yet it seems we have found one.
Laughter like I've never known,
It almost seems incredible,
All this profound happiness,
You have brought me,
When perhaps we both thought,
Those days and emotions dead.
Now I feel so young, all over again,
As if 50 years had never been.
Jan 28, 2014
Jan 28, 2014 at 2:26 AM UTC
i. I’d tell them of the moment you spoke about your favorite cartoon characters, and the way your face flashed when you described them to me. How innocent that brilliance was and how guileless your mannerisms were. And I’d wish they understand why I fell in love with the feeling of your innocent enthusiasm about some nonsense cartoons no one else cared about.
ii. I’d show them all your worries and troubles stacked on top of one another in a carelessly balanced house made of playing cards. And while they were appraising these I’d point out how selfless you are. How your troubles were never centered around your own joy. And I’d wish they see that the house of cards I showed them is a reflection of the person you are. The kind of person who’d knock those cards down if they had your name on them instead.
iii. I’d paint them a picture of your mind as I see it. Full of intricate ambitions, contradictory emotions, unreasonable doubts and absent-minded memories. I’d use black and blue pen to dot your journey here. And bright red to show them the great places you are destined to go. And I’d wish they stand back and appreciate the amalgam of colors instead of questioning why. There isn’t a single spot on the canvas I seem to fully understand despite being the artist.
iv. I’d take them on a walk to the place we first met. I’d make sure it was a sunny day first, just like that one. I’d tell them I didn’t think much of you at all when I first met you. I’d make them sit in that same spot, and feel the same way we felt as indifferent strangers. And I’d wish they understand that despite the seeming insignificance of that moment, I look back and am convinced I see a halo of light above that place and the beguiling simplicity of that day.
v. I’d tell them how tightly you hugged me when I was sad. How softly you touched my arm when you assured me that nothing was wrong. How quietly you showed me an overflowing friendship that’s waiting to combust And I’d wish they understand that it’s not just how wonderful it was breathing in the smell of your old jacket. It’s how wonderful it felt, feeling the weighty presence of a thousand words unspoken.
vi. I’d warn them before they meet you, this is what I’d say: “It’s easy to make that boy laugh, but it’s hard to win him over. His love is not on display, his mind has been sent to the dry cleaners. His laugh has been blocked with by caution and logic. But don’t ever say you don’t understand that he’s a wonderful human being”, I’d hope they understand your appearance is all pretense.
vii. And if someone asked me why I love you, this is what I’d say: It is hard for me to imagine going through the rest of this life and meeting another singular human being like you.
Jun 18, 2013
Jun 18, 2013 at 10:59 PM UTC
Flying so high
Up in the sky
My wings spread out so wide
Heeding from height
Appraising the sight
My heart ensue astride
Whizzing through
The bright sky blue
No thought of perch reside
Decline I may
I won't dismay
For crave for flying won't subside
For thousandth time
I'll do this crime
Just to spread anew wing wide...
Aug 23, 2016
Aug 23, 2016 at 8:53 AM UTC
I'm sometimes in the limelight
Not by my own request
But there are young observers
And I must pass their test
They'll be evaluating
The character they see
And some of them may imitate
The side I've shown of me
So let the smile be friendly
This helping hand no less
And let my legacy be one
Of having shown my best
Feb 6, 2012
Feb 6, 2012 at 5:56 PM UTC
Twenty Ticks and eleven tocks into a man’s day, the seventh of seven days for him ponder the last seven decades of his life. He studies the recollections kept logged within his cerebral diary, appraising the significance. Always learning, continuously evaluating and never mastering.
A journey seeking purpose, finding love, gaining rejection, surviving war, cherishing losses, and receiving forgiveness. Laying down upon his experiences, watching day fade slowly towards night. He receives a gentle kiss from the lips of Serenity as his soul is nestled in the ***** of Peace.
The seventh day provides a man rest and his days are now complete.
Dec 14, 2011
Dec 14, 2011 at 2:26 PM UTC
he stares at me,
silently appraising my every feature,
critical glances along the lines of my body,
looking at every angle,
seeking the nuances of me,
giving me the once-over,
like i am a piece of meat
and he looks for the best cut
at the butcher's shop.
his gaze travels over me,
and i watch his eyes,
staring back at me,
boring into my very being,
until at last i am forced to look away
from the man in the mirror.
Jun 19, 2015
Jun 19, 2015 at 9:07 AM UTC
Thursday, October 11, 2018
6:01 AM
I wanna think god's thoughts, and Mr. Newton, Issac said,
After him. So I joined the queue.
Fundamental heretic is what I am.
Jesus was 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.
Jan 5, 2019
Jan 5, 2019 at 4:06 PM UTC
I'm a mountain man
Far from my range
Surrounded by seemingly endless
Flat plains of sugar sand beaches
Here I am alone
So out of place
While all the waves keep crashing
Reminding me of a Blue Ridge song
Calling my soul farther north
To a place where my hearts match
Is beating along
To the melody
Of high winds
And granite peaks
So I sit knowingly
Appraising the horizon
As I miss my home
In Tennessee Rising
Apr 16, 2016
Apr 16, 2016 at 4:32 PM UTC
They said it was a category five
Thank god its roar
Turn into a category four
Laying waste to many a life
Wiping away the property
The Caribbean’s sign of liberty
From the mishap of Grenada in 1983
10 dead
They can still look ahead
But the thoughts keep going to Florida
But didn’t think Trump kept you in his thoughts did ya
Took you a while to get the evacuation through
As the political tensions grew
And Trump declared it as not good not good
The closest you can come to trifling is by saying that Irma isn’t the result of a good mood
But enough chitter chatter because there is an SOS on the rise
In such a situation climate deniers consider climate change to be the reason as their surmise
Rush Limbaugh cannot see the truth
Because his face is buried deep in the smoke that will pollute
Hurricane Irma I pray the woman in your name understands and leaves the children alone
Because there are no sins to atone for if they are orphaned and dead alone
They’ll be on the prowl for food and money and liquor and ending up appraising the days that are sunny
But funnily anyway they are because you business ******* have increased your influx of money from the disaster stricken many
Water, air trips you’ve been taking business studies from **** Cheney
Sep 10, 2017
Sep 10, 2017 at 2:23 PM UTC
I opened the leaflet
By what means did we get
To shore in a matter of months.
Oh heat from exhaustion
And meat from the lost bin
I’m captain on all equal fronts.
So sure of the story
By some things that lure me
I know by a flagon of beer.
So false are the reasons
But yet we’re still seasoned
To occasionally stumble upon here.
Real Estate at the
Top of the lake is well aware of
Equilibrium
Tell my Dad and my
Brother too and you might as well
Tell the rest of them
Capture and conquest and capital clues
All by nature as conceptually true
Canceling cannons and appraising for food
Can’t consistently measure the facts from some fools
Mar 27, 2013
Mar 27, 2013 at 6:50 PM UTC