"attachments" poems
Touch it: it won't shrink like an eyeball,
This egg-shaped bailiwick, clear as a tear.
Here's yesterday, last year ---
Palm-spear and lily distinct as flora in the vast
Windless threadwork of a tapestry.
Flick the glass with your fingernail:
It will ping like a Chinese chime in the slightest air stir
Though nobody in there looks up or bothers to answer.
The inhabitants are light as cork,
Every one of them permanently busy.
At their feet, the sea waves bow in single file.
Never trespassing in bad temper:
Stalling in midair,
Short-reined, pawing like paradeground horses.
Overhead, the clouds sit tasseled and fancy
As Victorian cushions. This family
Of valentine faces might please a collector:
They ring true, like good china.
Elsewhere the landscape is more frank.
The light falls without letup, blindingly.
A woman is dragging her shadow in a circle
About a bald hospital saucer.
It resembles the moon, or a sheet of blank paper
And appears to have suffered a sort of private blitzkrieg.
She lives quietly
With no attachments, like a foetus in a bottle,
The obsolete house, the sea, flattened to a picture
She has one too many dimensions to enter.
Grief and anger, exorcised,
Leave her alone now.
The future is a grey seagull
Tattling in its cat-voice of departure.
Age and terror, like nurses, attend her,
And a drowned man, complaining of the great cold,
Crawls up out of the sea.
41.9k
When you love someone who doesn't love you back your world ends.
When you love someone who doesn't love you back you keep pumping love. You are so oblivious and eager that you give them so much love. No matter what they won’t give it back.
When you love someone who doesn't love you back. You feel nothing but absolute pain and sorrow. You feel like there nothing left except the love that won't be taken. Your love is so strong and there’s so much that it floods you.
When you love someone who doesn't love you back. You feel hopeless because of all the love you gave this person and how much you'd do for love in return. You'd give them all the time in the world, all the love in the world. You still do this relentlessly even though they wont give you five minutes when you need that five minutes.
Being in love with someone who doesn't love you back is a burning red pain. It's a pain like nothing else because no matter what you do, no matter what medicine or treatment you give to that pain it's still there. It's there when you see his face, hear his voice, remember his touch. It's always there.
When you're in love with someone who doesn't love you back, you don't have to worry too much about them intentionally hurting you. That's because everything small memory you've over analyzed hits you across the face over and over. You're constantly hating yourself because this one person was so important to you and now he's gone. “I should've done..” “Why was I so..” “No wonder he doesn't..” Those thoughts are toxic and seizes up your body.
When you're in love with someone who doesn't love you back, you get so ******* close to hating them. You hate that they've ripped you open, eaten you up and have left you to decay. You hate that they have let you hate yourself more than you could ever hate them. You hate them because of the things they gave you which weren't all good. And the things they stole. Like crying on their shoulders which they gave, but your pride they took.
When you're in love with someone for the first time and they don't love you back, you never want to fall in love again. You never want attachments with anyone because of this substantial pain that is constantly there. You never want to kiss with love, talk with love, witness love. You never want love unless, it's that one person you love. That's the only thing that matters. Love had a horrible reputation, it's either make it or ******* break it. Not take it.
When you're hurt by someone who can't feel pain, you wish you never fell in love. Never in lust, never started talking, never meeting. You wish you could erase their smell so you wouldn't ever have to think about why you remember it so well. You wish you can't vividly remember how their arms felt and how they were once so welcoming.
When you love someone who doesn't love you back, you are pathetic. You cry in bed while replaying your first kiss, first date, the time you fell asleep together. You can remember every feeling from the first time you felt love to the first time your heart skipped a beat because, well, it was ending. You remember the goosebumps running down your back when you last touched his hand as you left his car. That was the last time you'd be in his car. And that was the last time you touched his leathery skin that was wet from your tears. And that was the last time he would know how much you loved him.
You replay every memory over and over until they're worn out. And after they're worn out you can't ever get new ones. You love this person and you will for a long, long time. But they won't ever love you. They won’t get those stomach tickles when you hear their name. They wont miss having their chapped lips against your neck tickling you elegantly. Because to them that doesn't matter, they didn’t feel love.
When you're in love with someone who doesn't love you back, it's almost impossible to stop loving them. No matter what you do. No matter what they did. No matter how it hurts. No matter what, you will love them.
When you love someone who doesn’t love you back, you are incapable of stopping because you are paralyzed.
Mar 24, 2017
Mar 24, 2017 at 9:59 PM UTC
_“I dont know”_
was my response
when you asked me if
I still love you
the world stopped
for the both of us
as I wondered on the thought
of me, being selfish
or being true
and yours upon the
realization that
_maybe, just maybe_
my love for you
is fleeting
neither of us was speaking
and the silence echoed
through the depths of my head
and you uttered
_‘oh’_
that moment, I knew
that you gave up
on me, and my inner
indecisiveness
I crumbled upon
the guilt of telling you
those words, so instead
I let my tongue do
the talking and said
_'maybe'_
cause it was never hard to say
but it is always hard to face
the reality of being responsible
to someone
as if I have to breathe
through somebody’s pair of lungs
and scratch the loneliness
with someone else’s fingers
we parted
I changed numbers
cause I had to stay afloat
on the clouds of solitude
free from attachments.
Aug 27, 2018
Aug 27, 2018 at 6:14 PM UTC
Spy on this
not because I'm a deviant "ist"
of some dangerous ideology
No, I cannot hold on to anything so strong
What a scary time for those alive
whose key logs match that terribleness
just a little bit
"Oh, but she was so non-violent"
No, it's media martyr silence
Freedom of speech?
See how careful I am - just typing?
But for most the danger is in all our numbers
Algorithms for shopping patterns
voting and religion too
We give our attachments to them freely
so I say "hello there," maybe lone computer
or programmer
soulless, or believing Brother's benevolence
-Not here for the poetry
Jul 7, 2014
Jul 7, 2014 at 12:48 AM UTC
Moments of grace, moments of glory
times I can be myself and not be sorry
but they never stick around never seem to stay
unlike the clouds hanging in the skies on a rainy day
Clarity has become rare since silence became violent
when I said that I love you, but you remained quiet
reeling from the knife you twisted in with force
from my attachments to you I need a divorce
I've never been one to gripe or complain
but lately the way you've been saying my name
has left me completely drained
and there are terrible thing Ive wanted to say
but karma's a ***** i don't want to **** (with)
so I'll sing sad songs like you keyed up my truck
in a bad country love song
gone so very wrong
left here a knight without a kingdom
fighting for nothing just like Don Juan
But growing up means letting go
I hope you find love
some other place, someone else's arms
but never mine
I'll attempt the same and I just know we will be fine
Apr 16, 2015
Apr 16, 2015 at 9:54 AM UTC
Are acceptance and approval synonymous terms? It is important that we give adequate definition to that which blocks our winding garden path, where foxgloves, lupins and a multitude of botanical dreams can blossom into a gorgeous array of ****** captivation.
If we embrace that which is repugnant, then possibility may not be confined to the cradling arms of the mistress of death.
So, my judgmental and moralistic companion from the sands of Jupiter – if your daughter is a raunchy stripper, then keep your expectations on the leash and preserve your anthropological connectedness, otherwise you may veer into prickly thorns of certain detriment and thereby lose her attachments.
It is incumbent upon us to nourish those fragrant plantations with a careful approach, so that beautiful reproductions will abound in a bouquet of resolution.
Nov 7, 2013
Nov 7, 2013 at 12:23 AM UTC
Unconditional love
Amazing journey above
Truth or Lie?
Or just one more catchphrase?
.
Freedom or the Cage
Freedom in a cage
Hard decision
We have to make
.
Complexity and fluidity
Loving without condition
Behavior versus a feeling
No more restriction
.
Non-attachments
No chains or anchors.
Spread your wings
Start to fly above
Sep 13, 2018
Sep 13, 2018 at 12:49 PM UTC
*flowing rivers simulate the virtual reality of love
warriors topple over forgotten
like cartons of used milk
silk worms speak sovereign messages and warn us of our fate
are we ill or are we healthy
stealthily imprisoned by our visions
finish the sentences and sever your attachments
respecting tradition leads to detachment
a semblance of serenity
the giver of the dawn used shards of standard force
hover in the mind’s sky
houses pass you by
in finite allegories
gardens blossom
governing movies and seating our jobless
go outside now
remove the shades from your eyes
breathe in soma and drink from the sky
sightless sorrow forges on towards tomorrow
art is a balancing act
she came out of her shell in order to tell you a story
of garlands of silver and gold
woven finely into ribbons
greased with oil from a rare toad*
Oct 31, 2017
Oct 31, 2017 at 11:33 AM UTC
We create our own stories,
our own gods and reshape our own peoples
We also create our own demons and enemies.
An old retired fighter once said to a traveler,
"we learn not run from the enemy, but go towards them."
In learning, his new pupil destroyed his heart
and his lovers. And them, destroyed their own in turn.
The traveler sits with piles of stories of all kinds now,
from all over the world, in a library shelf
like a white elephant of impotent rage in his room.
For decades the populations of the world
have been subject of mass experimentation by its overseers.
In other stories, a people's Creator has gone mad
working for his human creations
which required using toxic chemicals to turn
their raw materials into life, while working to
reveal our own gift of growth from attachments
and into self-knowledge, compassion.
For decades also, populations of the world
are kept apart from their own full living potential
not because of some evil or mad Creator
or some insanely depicted required competition towards
reproduction or respect.
Rather, because we continue to face our tasks
through our mistakes and failures, knowing
our deadly blows from through those we reject,
shame and escape from, as our teachers of compassion
if not more than those that we gravitate to
or already belong and accept as our own.
Thus continues perhaps the stories of people's
potentials outside of their fear's many
perverted versions. #
Sep 8, 2018
Sep 8, 2018 at 2:42 AM UTC
Thirty three years we go back,
Of course I think of you when I hear it.
Thirty three years of listening, questioning, understanding...
Of course I think of you.
My mind isn't a spigot I can turn off
and forget the water that flowed through.
I think of you when I was proud to be your wife,
proud of your accomplishments.
What does she know of those?
She doesn't know you.
She doesn't know you.
She hasn't loved you through the rages and disappointments,
through the utter giddiness of new fatherhood,
through your father's death,
your mother's pain.
She didn't thrill with each promotion,
plan homes,
plant gardens,
hope for thunder,
dance in the rain,
live on bagels for lunch,
play badminton in the dark.
She hasn't dried your tears over a son's illness.
She didn't play bridge with friends
or know their son who died,
the tow -headed little boy who made us think of becoming parents.
What comfort can she give?
She doesn't know you.
She knows this creation you've become
in Hollywood jeans
and weekend hikes without attachments.
She knows your daughters as bait--what a great dad--
your sons as accomplishments;
your wife as an anchor
who held you down, held you back
when all along I thought I was your support.
She doesn't know you.
And neither do I.
Apr 19, 2013
Apr 19, 2013 at 11:09 PM UTC
How this could have
happened I will
never hear again
but it happened
all the same
exactly this way.
I was walking in
Prairie Creek
surrounded by my
soon to become silent
companions
when I noticed
events so
strange.
I dug my feet
into the dirt
they soon dissolved
and roots were
sprung
a nervous system extending into
the soil, oh the sounds the
smells I felt.
Where my skin once was
bark began to emerge
my fingers became tiny
clones of myself
each speaking different
tongues I could not comprehend
I made out these
words "our time has begun. "
I became a Buddha
on the road
a three quarter
smile on my lips
as my body grew
towards the sun
a thousand years
was now mine
and to it I did
succumb.
I watched the
generations pass
Christs come and
go and come again.
It all meant nothing
to me at all
as long as I have
this fog that nourishes
me and creatures living
in the canopy.
I stand at peace
for centuries
a thousand years
and still my life
is a five minute
dream filled with all
possible intensity
and former attachments
as the impermanence
of the illusion of
time was plain
to see
as human lives whirlwinds of
experience
dust devils
blew by me.
Lightening and fires burned me
but I survived.
Now that I stand in
this silence
lost in the meditation
of dreams
a solitary tree
the last standing
a brand new species
born of evolutions breeding
runs on the ground
dancing on my grave
I remember that
first day
the beginning of my
thousand year awakenings
I think it was only
yesterday.
Jun 12, 2014
Jun 12, 2014 at 10:31 AM UTC
evening
Maria and Mr. Riner are sitting on my bed
tied up like garlands, against the wall
the words stew inside and I can't seem to
pour them out
but we three fools, sit and scribble regardless
staring blankly at the drooling clock
(persistent, in our memories).
the whitewashed cinderblocks are testament
to the number of walls
the quantity of clocks
this series of chairs
and if we close out eyes we expect to
wake up in heaven
but it's just the same old hell.
she says, keep writing
(if you feel inclined)
and slides her back into mine
but I've got no more letters in these fists
(so I'll lie and think for a bit).
she says,
I've never been a 'she' before...
morning
my coat sits in a bundle near the door
I've been trying to find a way to hang it
but I'm having mixed results, in fact
all this month I've been trying to make attachments
to these white,
white,
cinder block walls
with all manner of adhesives.
but these nightly sessions
have been ******* with the humidity
and every morning something new is on the floor.
all I can do is put them back up again.
try and
be a little more constant
with these climate fluctuations.
try and
sleep a little more, sweat a little less.
Nov 9, 2012
Nov 9, 2012 at 5:43 PM UTC
A microcosm of the world was what I would say
and the hurt kept coming in every way
Money religion and all that can divide
it was all used to hurt my pride
Friends, parents, and heritage were to blame
When love is not love its all the same
Where is the "for better" where is there "for worse"
believing more of what's out there, that's the curse
Lied about, framed, and hurt deeply with neurological drugs
aligning herself with common thugs
Thousands of magical moments they really did bring joys
even though they are now used for other people's toys
Deep in our hearts they'll never go away
How I love you in every way
I don't care what anybody will say
More Roses from me to you on more of your special days
your are of my greatest gift s in my life and our moments I will always cherish
there are no words, no actions, no charades that can blemish
our bread is buttered today that's what we say
some creativity will find another way
so many things remind me of you
not the worst human being alive deserves what happened in lieu
In my mind I gave more than I ever I could
The drugs made hardened feelings do what they would
stock market losses another reason to blame
moving and changing lost much more just the same
but all the justifiers come out to make sure she disapproved
when all our lives were changed with her horrible moves
when all chances taken were for love and generosity
and all she could see to make her right was animosity
No human being could ever bare to hear the pains I suffered
and to even reveal the truth takes all I have to muster
but the truth is that I would do it all again
if that was the price for you to see
the beauty beyond all attachments and the splendor in thee
Nelson Mandela, Martin Luther King, Socrates, Galileo and more have been jailed
and what were the greatest truths ever and how they later sailed
Unconditionally loving you and that is what will always be in me
and for that I am the luckiest person I can be
Jan 3, 2014
Jan 3, 2014 at 8:53 PM UTC
This is a verse, not a song,
Let's gaze on the face of Agamemnon,
For ten years, he had stayed away,
Finally, he arrived home one day,
Yes, away to Troy he'd roamed,
The warrior king made it home,
But, he had been playing away,
His Queenie had a bad hair day,
Her axe did have a double blade,
As in her spa, she made him lay,
She drugged his wine, a loving cup,
Then proceeded to chop him up!
Off with his feet, for roaming so far,
Queenie really messed up her spa,
Off with his cheating hands,
He brought home ho's from foreign lands,
Off with his attachments,
You can guess what that meant,
Shoved them in his mouth,
as his head went south,
"Feed him to the swine!
It's pig feeding time!"
She yelled at the serfs!
"That cheating dud got his desserts!"
Queenie was having a bad hair day,
Warrior king had been playing away,
But, Queenie had a toyboy anyway,
She always kept smiling,
Looked for the silver lining,
Queenie's wealth was a'piling,
She was a keeper,
Old king now a sleeper,
Queen kept the kids, gold and slaves,
She did get hers one day,
Yes, Queenie kept the lot,
Or was it all a plot?
Queenie's bad hair day,
Warrior king had been playing away,
This is verse, not a song,
Let's gaze at the face of Agamemnon.
May 16, 2016
May 16, 2016 at 4:21 PM UTC
I feel like the faded part of love;
it feels like the end even before it had a chance to begin.
I feel like the faded part of love;
An invisible longing from a lover,
unsettling and echoing in the dark.
A conastantaneous pain that slowly crawls into my body and engulfs the soul that seeks freedom from all the humanly attachments.
I feel like the faded part of love!
I feel like the faded part of love!
Aug 29, 2022
Aug 29, 2022 at 1:21 PM UTC
It only takes one second
For me to become attached
And it only takes one second
For us to come apart.
Ripped at the seams,
This attachment.
Something that started so small,
Ended so devastatingly.
Jun 13, 2013
Jun 13, 2013 at 4:57 PM UTC
When you are swept over by sorrow
And your night is forlorn
When your hours are reigning pain
My compassion will be there.
When everything is taken
And your attachments are all broken
And you've squandered your daily bank of seconds
My compassion will be there.
When rage and retaliation strike home
Alienation, isolation sings loud
When the thoughts are like a spinning whirling twisted train with the most perverse of engineers
And the tracks lead to endless night
My compassion will be there.
When love has slipped through your fingers again
And you're in the deepest hole you've ever known with only a shovel
And your fingers can't grip
And it can't be fixed without a ladder
And there is no ladder anywhere
My compassion will be there.
Whether you're too young or too old
Whether your world is
Expanding or contracting
My compassion will be there.
Countless life stories
Many echoing rooms
The human condition played out
In infinite permutations
When I have nothing else to say
And nothing else to give
As best I can
My compassion will be there.
Jan 13, 2019
Jan 13, 2019 at 1:15 PM UTC
beauty is in the heart
freedom is within the mind
and peace is found
when we unbind
from our earthly attachments
reconciling, that sparse is our time
there will come a day
where youth will pass away
convictions, less in the sense of values but crime
you'll have wished you spent your earlier years
with a nose fixed to the grind
wouldn't that have been grand
in the latter part of your life
to have no worries on the mind
no cares, but for
time time time
May 15, 2021
May 15, 2021 at 12:42 AM UTC
Once a hopeless romantic
Gazing upon yellow skies
Oh, what warm sensations filled this soul
Not even the coldest of night could chill
Once her lover
Her one and only
Who carried her in his heart
Embedded in his soul till the end of time
Once true love
Till the words spoken pierced the soul
The simple words to change one forever
“I never did love you.”
Once, the words were spoken
During the intimate time of love
A pain unlike any other
To change one forever
A once hopeless romantic
Now, a fearful nervous mind
Unable to form attachments of love
Rather, paranoid ties of abandonment.
Aug 29, 2018
Aug 29, 2018 at 4:36 AM UTC
My emotions have spilled
In the form of paint
Onto masterpieces of old
Plastered on my face
Is a smile that hides
All negativity inside
I isolate myself
Far from attachments
I fall for art instead
Dec 9, 2014
Dec 9, 2014 at 1:03 PM UTC
I just wanna talk
until the world dissapear
until the air gets thin
until the figures and shapes that form men and women head off to another dimension
until the stars flee off to another galaxy
until the states split into islands
until the words dissolve by using them so much and by a kiss
until gravity pull us together and not our desires
until we both know is time to stop talking
just talk and talk and talk and talk
I lost the feeling of only talking without any attachments
of opening my soul without saying something embarrasing
without being weak
I just wanna talk
until my eyes close peacefully
by fatigue and by the struggle over the years, while you hold my hand.
keeping you close forever, with your warmness and peace of mind
even when I know you're crumbling inside
a helpless selfishness
Jan 22, 2011
Jan 22, 2011 at 4:14 PM UTC
I think we get attatched
and we need something to coax us off of love
We go from heartbreak to happiness
Only because without it, our hearts would give up
Our minds wouldn't think straight
Our mouths couldn't utter words
We are not living unless we are constantly fearing the loss of another.
Mar 14, 2015
Mar 14, 2015 at 12:26 PM UTC
I believe
in attachments
like sitting in a chair
smoking and drinking
while thinking about stuff
and I believe
in sleep and laziness
and I don't particularly
like purity or wholesomeness
and I don't even
exactly practice
moderation
so I guess that makes me
an anti-zen buddhist zen buddhist
and I am a good Buddhist
even if maybe I'm not.
Jun 29, 2011
Jun 29, 2011 at 9:20 PM UTC