"assertion" poems
We're here!
No party?
Ha!
Who’s ugly?
Leave your pity
I'm not afraid
Everything’s primitive
New Mother's old
Father's cold
A universe of historic shame
Casting shade
The assertion of intolerance
Blocking righteousness
Grabbing ignorance by the pores
Let infant nails dig for evolution
The bold face of madness
Biting to be truly free
Sanity expands
-ism’s explode
Pushing hearts
Forward
Moon Star Traveler
Be you
Be here - with me
Against hate
One with the human faith
One for love
Mar 9, 2019
Mar 9, 2019 at 2:03 PM UTC
Light train chugging, working to outrun
Over exerting, pulling along your freight
Sand is running out under the diminishing sun
Fastidiously you tug on your enormous weight
Segmented equal in seven hulking proportions
Weaving between sleeping rocky giants
Assertion in your drive gifted from the high heavens
Borne of light your cargo load of tenants
Silver blurred rays glinting back as reply
As you power your way through
Defying seconds, before the last rays should die
Against odds, delivering what is due
Questing to alleviate my inflicted darkness
Spear of brilliance slicing through my mind
Illuminating the farthest and tiniest of crevices
Nook and crannies that willed me blind
Careful manoeuvring to keep your balance
Through scenic views fraught with treachery
Furiously working to keep your cadence
Hopeful of unloading the load you carry
What lies dormant in that cargo of yours?
What sleeps easy within those boxcars?
What stokes the fire to diligently run your course?
What promises you bear, travelling near and far?
Bales of hope and crates of strength
Supplies of kindness and self-worth
Reside within your immense length
Intact and lay quiet within your formidable girth
Reliant on the light that fuels and feeds
Your axles seem tireless guiding forth those wheels
Thundering over land with the power of a thousand steeds
Armed to your teeth with alloys and steels
Expelling grit and dirt as you pummelled across
Grey-white fumes, shoot up to the sky
Flag flogged by wind, billow and toss
Blaring your whistle as you race on by
Propelling forward, horizon up ahead
There it is...in all its tenebrous glory
Darkened locomotive seething mad with dread
Brace for the clash and the loads the two carry
Sep 28, 2014
Sep 28, 2014 at 8:03 AM UTC
together paradise,
nearby connection;
distance vanishes,
real-time embrace;
coincidental timing,
inarguable intersection;
fated misfortune,
mutual blessing;
soothing aura,
blissful homecoming;
affectionate cradle,
passionate possession;
fervent assertion,
warmly pursued;
together forever,
resurrected relation
Jul 26, 2015
Jul 26, 2015 at 1:55 PM UTC
“Amanda,” she said, in a bold assertion
“We really are the same
Person.” Limp in the dew and
Wise like a sage, no wound cut
No blood shed, yet,
There was something this
Bandage shut,
Something yawning, gaping
But I don’t know what…
How sad! She’s crying, that Amanda,
Shrugging ‘gainst the colic rain
And almost lost in the copes-y veranda,
Weeping softly on
Those concrete flats, wearing “Red Tom’s
And” both “Dating Matts” while
I saw her fear in that moment, appalling, stalling
With soroitous heart, “and fear of falling!”
Binding them tightly: “That’s US haha!”
How many laughs does a limp spirit draw?
—(a disparaged few or none at all…)
Still, she writes, “I am so glad” (a huff annoyed
From Amanda, distant and sad, that I
Can’t tell why “you” ever “joined.”)
But this is not my place, a passerby,
To pick up trash, inane and lonely,
To cast my judgments and inquire—why?
To heal the unbroken with words unspoken
But scratched on refuse, she may
“[heart] you” but refuse you, too
The spirit of [heart] in Amanda awoken
—(But she refused it, too!)
And then be a token
Some stranger takes home.
Apr 8, 2014
Apr 8, 2014 at 7:52 AM UTC
As I contemplated the project of writing a persuasive essay I discovered that I would have to have a topic upon which to practice my persuasive techniques . After much cogitation and enumeration of my possibilities , pursued with such zeal that it soon resembled pedantic ostentation , I concluded that the most positive prospect I could pursue in this endeavor would be an attempt to prove irrefutably that I deserve a grade of A in this class ; if not for the undeniable excellence of my effort , then at least for the unadulterated audacity of my pretentious assertion .
In order to perform this feat first I must overwhelm your developing consternation , the frozen mastodon of your auspicious judition . To accomplish this I will cite my impeccable attendance ; which although not perfect was indeed a valiant effort in the face of public opinion whose abstinence approached epidemic proportions . I will expound on the effectual and pervasive inspirations of my in class commentary , which sparked many a heated argument or thoughtful conjecture ; and comment on the polished precision of my in class narration . I will reiterate the diversity and intrigue of my subject matter and the competence of my delivery .
Next , with all the dynamic aggression of a wind-up tyrannosaur , I will recapitulate and exemplify my arguments ; until the ramifications of my inductive collusions exceed the boundaries of your psychic phenomenon and you are forced to acquiesce into impunity .
Yes I will indeed proceed to exceed the parameters of your mind , until mesmerized by the multitudes of analogous content you find yourself , disguised as captain corpuscle , floating euphorically down stream in a think box mind gram dingy towards a sea of Colorado cool aid . Then as if all that were not enough to thoroughly torque your ringer , adamant and tenacious I will portray realms of intellectual austerity so intriguing you will be raised to new heights of enigmatism , and then I will leave you , enraptured with your own anonymity , at the edge of the new world freeway .
Jan 13, 2013
Jan 13, 2013 at 8:03 PM UTC
The optimistic existentialist
getting by on
the vapid knowledge that
nothing has meaning
but thinking it might
someday.
The shallowest
deep-thinker you’ve ever met
in a constant war
between vanity and philosophy,
drowning in mirror-hating narcissism
and my humble ego.
Introverted loud-mouth
socially inclined,socially incapable
assertion-loathing people-person.
Vengeful peace-maker,
violent pacifist
fists littered with deceptive,
fallacious,faint purple bruises.
All these things are the
drip drip drip
of drops in the bucket
of a level-headed psychopath.
I dare you
to dive into the water,
headfirst,
of my mind
where I constantly contradict myself,
like it’s a game.
Nov 17, 2012
Nov 17, 2012 at 10:44 PM UTC
~
*Here is an assertion
and showiness
in the expanse
of white skin – from her
high forehead,
down her graceful neck,
shoulders, and arms.
Although the black
of her dress is bold,
it is also deep, recessive,
and mysterious.
He stalks her
as one does a deer,
his palette composed of
lead white, rose madder,
vermilion, viridian,
and bone black.
A dash of light rose
over the former
gloomy background,
you see, and
the élancée figure
shows to much
greater advantage.
Her body boldly
faces forward while
her head is turned in profile.
A profile of both
assertion and retreat.
The table provides support,
and echoes her
curves and stance.
One strap of her gown
has fallen down
her right shoulder,
suggesting the possibility
of further revelation;
one more struggle
and the lady will be free.
Everything converges to
imply a distant sexuality
under the professional
control of the sitter,
rather than offered for
the viewer's delectation.
Her untamed wilderness
remains unseen.*
~
Aug 4, 2021
Aug 4, 2021 at 9:59 AM UTC
i must be the only one
who finds sparrows
amusing outside my window
filled with song,
the same in me trying to imitate
their song with a range of onomatopoeias
never written (thankfully, poets
who write sparrows' song, may you
be disgraced, chirp chirp,
beat-box that **** elsewhere, where
you're welcome by admirers),
the same in me laughing
at the kangaroo hops
unable to use both feet to walk
in the guttering of the carcass plateau of crows...
but there my laugh,
like the last whims of a pope when a robin presides
over the ritual outside the window on the sill...
i find pronouns unable to capture
timing, a class of words for standing still,
they just can't capture timing, they're space
orientated, a man of 70 will say the same
of a man aged 20 about a woman,
but both will be idiotic about the size of
her earrings concerning her promiscuity:
bigger the earring, the bigger the need to feed
her juiced up genitalia lips...
warm **** and cold mouth,
some say in reverse: getting ****** off
is like ice-cream being eaten...
and cold in reverse would give you circumcision
defined lawfully as **** a cold genital
assertion of womanhood will peel the skin
right off... ask for a cake you''ll be welcome
away from the bony **** of your hand's embrace...
perhaps marriage... and that cold mouth
that encompasses all hidden glaciers;
still, the **** is about sparrows in rain rain gutters
hopping along to the orchestra playing only
one tune that's ha ha ha.
all in all, when aroused, one hole warms
up the other cools down... the third?
don't know, don't care, apparently it's exhilarating,
trying to turn men onto all three
and away from homosexuality,
with the fourth (woman's ego) being missed...
could never equate that to a phallus and a hole...
i always felt ***** by that thing, the fourth dimension
once the **** was explored... it's all Dostoevsky after that...
everything is permitted, no deity exists,
i guess a the end is required of such a poem as this.
Feb 14, 2016
Feb 14, 2016 at 10:20 AM UTC
"YOU SHALL NOT PASS"
lord of the rings fanatics, typical
Somehow controlling thousands of people turned us all into Gandalf
I guarded the food, you two the door
Most people don't tell you how healthy it is to assert yourself,
They crave passivity, fear aggression
Assertion doesn't mean aggression
Patriarchal society
How good it feels to stand tall
Huge like a mountain, wise like a wizard
If we are Gandalf you're the ring
I hope you get thrown into the pits of Mordor
Sep 30, 2014
Sep 30, 2014 at 12:50 AM UTC
so... it's no longer enough that
i learn your language,
into a p.s. of conversational
etiquette -
addressing the confrontational
assertion of the existence
of orthography,
minding your, Germanic,
metaphysical ********
and then...
i'm, supposed, to,
listen to your average citizen,
dictating rules,
like some sort of king?!
i'll drink a beer, walking
past the east ham central mosque...
and i'll be like:
getting the **** eyes ******
you stare -
in reply: you know what?
do it... **** it... do it...
make me a ******* martyr...
but i'm going to drink this beer,
feeding a solidarity of the 7/7 commuters...
hence my teasing...
once i'll burn scissors and
craft a tattoo on my arm...
once i'll put out a cigarette
on my left hand's knuckle...
the everyday englishman who "thinks"
he's king...
i'm thinking... plum hues
to replace mascara... with a *******
fist...
no... private property,
is private property...
now i'm gagging for a fist
frisking! i'm less trigger happy,
and more, european,
i.e. knuckles itchy!
i want to juggernaut something
down...
and then start biting into it!
any obnoxious englighman,
being a **** will satiated my
palette.
GNASH GNASH GNASH...
i want... a chance...
to scoop clean...
the "riddle" of meaty chicken
schnacks of drum-sticks...
fiddle fiddle, fiddle me something...
i want to engage in a 1, 2,
punch & bite something...
attempting to relieve itself
from physical confrontation,
having exhausted its verbal allowance.
Aug 7, 2018
Aug 7, 2018 at 10:03 PM UTC
*We will grieve not, rather find
Strength in what remains behind;
In the primal sympathy
Which having been, must ever be.*
William Wordsworth
stunning and stunned,
perhaps even life momentarily,
stunted angry but enraging confusion
this notion, stirs a commotion,
primal sympathy, spawns poem
not a broken totem
not a stolen token
hand writ, inked in pen,
no golems in a modem
to assist
this just pure human spoken
an omen giving,
notice total,
this is one true ether,
or either it is not!
this primal essential assertion
a conditional propositional
that it is natural for man
to be deep sympathetic to his kind,
*for which having been,
must ever be*
in Syria, snipers shoot children for sport,
in Nigeria, young girls to slavery sold,
the list, matter of many facts, well known,
needs not embellishment or addition,
the history books teach the children well
so vaunted primal atmosphere,
in these places,
are you absent, non-existent?
when primal was pre-creation,
spelled first as primeval,
in the era before the appearance of ratiocination
of life on earth
Prime and Evil,
was a combustible fuel of necessity survival
primeval became primordial,
man essayed to improve,
aging onwards himself to enlightenment
yet rooted in this prime number of humankind
is a cellular tissue that springs to life
in those who allow it, residence of the remnants,
original origin of the evil that can subsume
and assume
do not allow it
I can tell you I
will not lay quiet
for the murderers of children,
I have primeval hatred
the rage of primal sympathy denied
unleashed ten times greater
be wary when the best of us rises up
the snipers and the enslavers will die
by their own weapons
Jun 13, 2014
Jun 13, 2014 at 6:20 PM UTC
there are those
who read this stumbling
bumbling
work who are truly
beautiful
compassionate
people
thanks beforehand
for understanding me
without judgement
IN SEARCH OF THE LOST CHORD
i've been searching
all my life
for the lost note
there is a chord in the
cacophonistic chaos
which is my
existence
i simply miss
my otherwise
nimble hands simply
can't bring out
the magic
the music
the majestic
harmonies which
i hear in my mind
but are not translated
to my fingers
i believe it
is due to my assertion
that i was unloved as a child
i was not a planned
pregnancy
my mother fell
on her stomach and
i was a preemie
I was not touched
as an infant due to this
i was in an incubator
i was also
severely neglected as
an older child
due to my mother's
inability to cope
with two very small children
(I was born nearly one year after my sister)
I have also been
TARGETED
for twenty years by
by the
"CHURCH" of SCIENETICS
(name has been changed)
so if I am
slightly dark and
seemingly insane in
certain respects this is why
ONLY GOD CAN HELP ME
I've already learned
not to play my music
drunk or ******
but i am still
in search of the lost chord
♡ love ♡
Catherine
Dec 9, 2015
Dec 9, 2015 at 1:05 PM UTC
Lexical littorals illiterate foal
Talus and cirque shore and shoal
Iconoclast anarchy vortex knoll
****** matrix vertex peak
Semantic regalia flux and seek
Torrid allusions own and keep
Dichotomy paradox surge and swell
Primordial integumence purge and fell
Contiguity confluence dirge and knell
Reliquiae requiem show and tell
Accession assertion deliberative need
Transcendent ascension expiate seed
Subordinate ancillary exigency deed
Subliminal subjunctive sensorium seethe
Uxorious usury detinue blithe
Contiguous currency decimate tithe
Tractive proximity critical lithe
Delusory phantasm futurity kithe
Alacritous tactile acuity interstice
Accidence ambience resonance quipy pith
Scenario synopsis resilience gist
Endergonic protensive progressiveness rift
Prestissimo preterite retroactive gift
Poignant puissance piquant myth
Fable fantasticate legend list
Preternatural gesticulate proclivity pith
Propensity assimilate diabolical mist
********** fornicate zooidal mist
Parenthetical erudite erumpence fist
Quiescent gossamer lecherous wrist
Militant mercenary actuator aorist
Jul 8, 2015
Jul 8, 2015 at 8:04 PM UTC
In an age of persecution
When Christians died
For their beliefs
Apostle John wrote
Revelation
To encourage and
Bring relief
First century folk
Who held Jesus' tenants
Were martyred in
Most horrid ways
But John wrote about
His coming
Christ described the
End of Days.
The early faithful
Found their solace
In the Gospel
Sweet & pure
The Bible's WORD
Was ever spoken
And its precepts
Still endure
Modern man cannot
Believe it
Because he has
A hardened heart
But when tribulation
Finds him
Rest assured he'll come apart!
So we put our trust in Jesus?
IS He simply "fairy tale"?
Why did Christians
Sing their hearts out
When lit on fire and impaled?
How could they endure
Having their heads drilled
Molten lead then poured within?
How could could they
Be so calm & joyous
When lions tore them
Limb from limb?
Their contemporaries
Could not believe it!
When Christ was preached
It was received!
The Gospel forwarded
By each man dying
By their blood
The folk believed!
Now Christian people
Won't mention Jesus!
They give sin a little wink!
They're afraid of persecution
By caring what the
Lost may think!
Wake up, folks!
The toast is burning!
Give witnessing
The college try!
There are hearts
Who're out there yearning!
Cap'n Crunch waves us goodbye!
I may get flack
For this assertion
I may get comments
For to spare
I may get called
A backward person
People... I don't really care!
If I don't warn of
God's Judgment
Tribulations in this land
I'm not a Watchman on
The Wall here
And
your blood is on my hands!
I'll read & preach
From Revelation
The ending always
Helps us cope
Read the outcome
Of our suffering
It will give ETERNAL HOPE.
SøułSurvivør
(C) 9/27/2017
Sep 28, 2017
Sep 28, 2017 at 1:41 AM UTC
Yes, kiss my neck.
No, don't go back to my lips.
Give me more of your warm, wet air against my goosebump covered neck.
Bury your face into me.
More!
let me show you
just how much.
Yes!
right at the base of my neck where it meets my chest
Don't be shy,
I don't care if the world can see this tomorrow.
Actually, bruise me,
make sure
they all can see
it feels so
much better with that
assertion.
I don't need to see anymore, just let me relish the bright blindness of eyes shut tight
I'll figure you out with my hands.
Yes! press your tongue against me in that seal you made with your lips.
And yes, the only time I want you to stop laying those kisses is for
an audible breath.
Better yet a small moan
when my hands slide under your rough denim and past your soft jagged ridges of lace,
a strong grip and squeeze of your ***
That's it..
Now you're setting me off.
Yes, I want flesh on flesh.
No, I'm done with this hesitation
and your shirt.
I don't need mine either.
Actually, you can stop making my blood rush
through my neck.
Better only be for a moment though
while our hands grasp
for whatever part of our shirts to pull them off.
Yes, crawl further up me
let me feel your heating skin
against my blood boiled body.
No, don't just crawl-
straddle me
like this.
Actually, that sly lick against my earlobe made me groan.
Better yet
move your hips like- yes! just like that.
And Yes, we're still wearing too many clothes.
And yes, exactly, fix that problem.
No! I'm not done with those lips quite yet.
Exactly. That's the spot and don't you stop.
Actually-no-yes!-what was I saying?
Oh- that's right,
better yet,
turn around-but don't let go of me with your tongue and kiss-
my tongue also wants a taste. Y-yes..!
Apr 30, 2015
Apr 30, 2015 at 1:42 AM UTC
inverted purpose, a hurting version
verses for this urban exertion
first curse, the burdened dispersion
unworthy service of incursion
perverted circus, a working aversion
reversing their verbal coercion
the first thirst is the verse's assertion
immersed in an urgent excursion
May 17, 2016
May 17, 2016 at 1:33 PM UTC
The echo of centuries-
screams of a tortured mind
reverberate through the souls
of a thousand lives.
The sitar strings vibrate
the ecstatic harmony beckons
life surging though them.
In assertion of existence
the sounds drip slowly through
seeping into the pores
of a clairvoyant history.
And the ghosts in the walls
polish their stifled voices
to speak their stories
Memories ooze through cracks
and are trapped in cobwebs.
Truth hides in dark corners
and seeks hellish deliverance.
Vijayalakshmi.R.
12/11/06
Copyright © Vijayalakshmi Harish
Oct 31, 2012
Oct 31, 2012 at 12:59 AM UTC
Crackling. Rocking. Crackling. Creaking and oscillating, a century old Mahogany Wood seceded to the paSsage of time.
Particles of sand, confounded by the Peninsula’s chaotic, blasting breeze now revealed a shade of burnt tar.
Outside of the second floor Maissonette, sways the rocking chair once warmed by Grandpa.
A Tactless, impatient, rhythmic Requiem Bashes near the wiNdow pane as the sunset falls Under the frame.
Empty Folklore presides like the Residue of a once lambent effigy… SwOosh. Hush!
Cocktails were a Preamble to lunch like diabetes to Nephropathy.
Corrosive Rhetoric seeped in to expose the ego of a Sommelier.
A smile would Parachute down when you needed it like Nicotine to remind that no Precedent had been set, just an Anomaly.
Cutthroat beginnings, this was no Analog man.
In grade school his Cosmos found Zion and “The world to come”.
This baby’s Cradle, abandoned High atop a mountain was blown by a Chinook towards the Atlantic.
“I was found swallowed in a stained Table cloth by Balkan children on a treasure hunt, with no Guarantee and no resignatIon. "
The boTtle narrates these chronicles and a smile parachutes down when you need it like nicotine.
Dionysus Crafted his accounts while most Garnered his spiels with Snide. As they witnessed dream remembrance; he thought his memory was Presumably accurate, and although his tales were triFling to the gathering audience, they became his Heliocentric history.
Calling me a young Galleon and handing me a map, Grandpa scanned his hand across the vast land
guaranteeing trEasure would be found if I had no resignation.
This Asinine assertion to my teenage sister Symbolized the Barring of her unheeding imagination by time and then a smile parachuted down just when she needed it like nicotine.
_TRF
Dec 14, 2016
Dec 14, 2016 at 11:13 AM UTC
Your reality controls my life
With something, which binds
My fleshly existence and my third eye,
Despite self and despite logic,
Your sharp-edged screams
And this love focused
Only on materially living things
In self-assertion
Keep me locked
Within whatsoever limits.
Your emotions and conations
Are the embodiment of your ideas.
Your love is enclosed within them,
They are inhabiting your life.
You are the follower
Of your own creed.
You need to be
Freed from your own illusion
And from your own constraints.
I can see you
Between visible and invisible,
Ceaselessly aspiring to universal Divinity,
Trying to reconcile your inner contradictions,
Absolutely saturating your feelings,
Your intuitive vision
And your vibrational essence of thought.
I can see your realm of realism,
Imprisoned in the identity of your thought.
I am the object of your senses
And the essence of your beatitude,
While you try to keep safe
The word's meaning.
Dec 17, 2011
Dec 17, 2011 at 4:52 PM UTC
To love life, a gift from Creation
Is a duty we too easily forget
Misunderstood is the wonder
Lost in suffering, is the gratitude
But friendship with life, is so
Essential to finding beauty
Learning like a child, so fundamental
In our ability to appreciate circumstance
And paramount, in the capacity
Of limited creatures to choose free-will
And exercise their soul, in blossoms
Of experience, in honest affections
In pure becoming, that’s the philosophy
No trials can censure love out
There are these holy attractors
These metaphysical magnets of bliss
They are quantum fuel for the sensitive
Not only to be sensitive to suffering
But sensitive to virtue, open to kindness
Giving and receiving, without judgement
Participating in harmony spontaneously
God knows you are apt to enjoy suffering
But to make it a habit would be an absurdity
Make love the habit you base your life upon
To walk a golden path with a smile
To find your dreams on a sunlit assertion
That your life is what you believe it can be:
Life is a perception of how you reinforce the positive.
Oct 27, 2014
Oct 27, 2014 at 7:22 PM UTC
she colored space-time
into her hair
using only a paintbrush and patience
strand by strand she formed it:
the glistening planets and stars that are
of her own mind
neurons shooting like rockets
envisioning the galaxies that, built from her hands,
exploded from nothing into everything,
tangible but free, whispering red gold light
she wrote out the oceans
using her hands
lakes rivers and streams, and the lands along the edges
word by word she poured it:
the life of each puddle turned into clay creatures
that breathed reality
existing like trees on the vast new savannas
living freedom that, carved from her fingertips,
developed happiness and sorrow,
careful but real, eating their new knowledge
she gave birth to gods
from her parted lips
speaking out deities and auras
making the small assertion:
that life came from her and all things by her
but the life she loves had long since forgotten
the green of her eyes
and the red rock of her skin,
her writings and whispers
floating throughout the summer smog
so she roared in the thunder and the rushing waves
for her children and worlds to listen
but they could no longer hear, and she was left
lost and awaiting, wrapped
in her own space-time hair
Apr 11, 2014
Apr 11, 2014 at 3:18 PM UTC
I
am of
vulnerability
authenticity
empathy
fun and
assertion.
I
am of
devotion
humbleness
health
tolerance and
skill.
I
am of
perseverance
learning
pathology
deviance and
contrivance.
I
am of
purging
expanding
contracting
worth and
contrition.
I
am of
polity
deference
you
me and
verbosity.
I
am of
humour
kindness
kindred
kin and
Ki.
I
am of
the earth
the wind
the fire
the driving rain and
the glaciers crevasse.
Who am I?
I
am
one of your tribe and
I need you tonight.
Feb 16, 2019
Feb 16, 2019 at 2:13 PM UTC
character styles, characters we’ve missed
attempted to put on pedestals
characters whose wits got them out of the worst situations
or whose worst qualities got them into the best ones
who have been balding and have ended up heroes
who have overcome obstacles, some
some who had less and and achieved more
but achievement seems to be the underscore, yes
of nationality? of pride? of masculinity? of assertion? hard to say
do we need more stories in more forms or fewer stories and more individuality, more self-awareness,
awareness, awareness, awareness, funny word thrown around a lot
do people even know? most of the time they don’t, they are staring down at their shoes
or some characters are looking up at the sky
anyways, they don’t understand the issue, what is at stake, stop celebrating! start studying!
or you are studying too much! the wrong drugs, the right drugs! too much of the right thing can make anyone go insane
or the other way around, the right amount of the wrong thing can make anyone go freely about their day, and
achieve, back to that word
and what does it even mean? to achieve something? greater than yourself? for yourself to be a reflection of that thing? or that thing to be a reflection of self?
man, we could debate about this for hours, where’s my coffee? or beer, or wine, your choosing
man, what did I have for breakfast, I honestly forgot
or no, it was toast and cofffee, yes I think its time for a stiff drink now
and then another hour to achieve something, to write something, to widdle something, to create something that was not there before
but some say GO, ** BA HA! to hell with objectivity, everything is recycled, nothing more
and they wave their hands about as if it was borrowed from a magician, and their hearts flare up with some sort of richeousness, and they achieve…rightness?
back to that again…achievement…what does it even mean?
Mar 10, 2015
Mar 10, 2015 at 8:35 PM UTC
I'll trawl the squalor, if you like,
stick blinkers on to hide the fact
that my life has so far been a charmed one.
I can conjure a face,
small, forgotten
black against a duststorm sky -
There's your poverty for you,
And yes, I was there
And sure, I smelt the days old sweat
and can remember hunger as a curiosity
The boy's name is known to me
but I won't share it
Because he was real
but I missed his reality
and I have no right to it.
***** hands notwithstanding
I was just a tourist,
a passing mote of dust
in his drought-stricken life.
I was there for me
collecting picturesque snapshots
which would inform my return
to an undeserved comfort
(but only slightly).
To say he was important,
totemic, symbolic,
is false.
I remember him, that's all -
My boys,
my clean, happy,
here-now boys
eclipse that shadow in every respect.
An honourable assertion
only in that it is true;
and a brief regret that I made no contact
flickers out before
a blaze of contentment,
a bedrock of good fortune
with little to offer
the vicarious seeker
of hard-won wisdom.
Dec 27, 2011
Dec 27, 2011 at 4:31 PM UTC