"availability" poems
The levels of loneliness of a poet of longevity
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
The levels of loneliness of a poet of longevity.
Have I been there today ? But it’s easy to be.
Ever heard the expression “ idle hands n devil”
Loneliness fills the empty void if you are idle
Expanding loneliness to fill that barren space
Virtual reality I know that’s not the answer
Ever watched the kids these days at play ?
Levels of loneliness expand within availability
See when spare time gathers you start to feel
Occasionally being reminded of those bygones
Friends and family you’ll not see again is real.
Let that not bring you down, try meditation.
Only then can you believe you are in control
Not giving yourself time to be at all maudlin
Each day loneliness can be kept at bay.
Loneliness is a dull sloth that can be tamed
In not letting things get to you in any way.
Not giving up to the inevitability of old age.
Even if bits keep falling off your body ev’y day
Stoop n build ‘em up again with worn fingers
So many times in life you seem to hit the rocks
Oh yes I know ,you say , “ tell me how you feel”
Feelings ? Well I’m pretty sure you’ll fill y’socks
Anyway , they all can see that you’re still real
Poets are a very special breed of person.
On a scale of one to ten I guess a nine.
Experience fills their minds to overflowing
To the point where they’ll burst or put it right
On that occasion best sit an’ write a poem
Friends can then receive it straight overnight
Love each friend you have “Without condition”
Only then can see that friendship is alright
Nothing ventured,nothing gained , a fine ideal.
God granted us the sacred power to choose
Ethereal guides stand there in our background
Vicissitudinous opportunity presents itself.
I as a poet and friend I know this to be true.
True as the nose upon a happy poets face.
Yours is the life , yours the opportunity anew.
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
Written by Philip
November 18th 2018.
Nov 17, 2018
Nov 17, 2018 at 7:43 PM UTC
Asking a question does more than fill open space.
It expresses curiosity.
Devolving into things not easily expressed.
Given our availability.
It expresses a deeper need for connection.
Whether we are open to what we desire most.
Closed off to preference.
The right time of day or night we can de-clutter.
Taking in what we give out.
Asking a question isn't something done out of boredom.
Or merely because your there.
It expresses a thought that requires action.
That I've thought of you.
That there is a desire laid bare.
An anticipation that builds until the next time
I am able to hear your voice.
For the more serious moments require a deeper tone.
An ear that senses deeper need.
Responding to this deep need of connection.
A need of care.
A need of longing.
To respond to this vulnerability not out of responsibility.
But in the openness of being
Sep 25, 2018
Sep 25, 2018 at 9:58 AM UTC
“I’m just confused.” You say.
“About?” Is all I volley with, throat still clogged with tears.
“Your writing, I feel like I know you, then suddenly I feel like I don’t know a whole part of you.”
How do you think I feel, Love? I thought you only had pretty words for me, then surprise, and your doubt, fear, lies, love, are all exposed for the world to see. My faults and yours for everyone else. Our relationship falling apart as your fame grows greater. Pain gets reads.
“I don’t know where it comes from.” I say.
Silence.
“It’s like I put my pen to paper and it pours out.” I continue.
Your brow furrows, digging for something more.
“It’s not even just that, It’s how you act around people it’s different with everyone. I don’t know if you’re real with me.”
I don’t either, I think as the tears spring forward faster. I’m frantically searching for a shade of me to hold onto, one I like. It’s hard to find, personas slipping through fingers like sand.
“I just…” I trail, hoping for an interruption, but you wait.
“I’m a people-pleaser; I know what makes them feel good. I can read them well, I can understand their wants, so to ease some pain, I’ll be what they need.”
Still Silence.
The fullest, noisiest silence.
Am I real? I thought so, with you, yes. With others? No. My parents need a good girl, who loves them like a child. My roommate needs someone to ***** with her, bend to her will, be her punching bag. Your roommates need a girl with ***** someone to shoot **** like they do. Someone to ignore sexism, and racism, hate speeches, and ***** jokes. My school friends need a quirky weird girl who’ll never say no. My teachers need a hard-worker. My boss needs more availability.
I need quiet. I need love. I need to find myself in a maze of personas. Each only slightly different. Then I realize, I’m me already. I don’t need to find myself, I’m here waiting, I just need room to grow. RoomToBreathe. So I light a match, set fire to the maze, and watch as all the lies go up in flames.
Aug 2, 2010
Aug 2, 2010 at 11:45 AM UTC
Due to popular belief. I believe that certain things are due to happen naturally.
Like all other things it's bound to grow. This thing, love.
We are due to become obese to this organic, homegrown feeling.
The initial look that begins as taste. Naturally we are starved.
Aroused by the scent that lures us close. This thing, love.
One thing we must learn is self control. To not over indulge in the primary reason it exists.
To selfishly take because it's there. This thing, love.
Effort exudes as it becomes habit. Being placed at a table readily available for what portion comes next.
This need becomes confused with want.
To please others before our need in unselfish manner. A straight forward response to habit.
The rising availability of also being taken for granted. The insurmountable outline that defines lust.
Our intake becomes higher attempting to justify the difference. Thus we become lazy.
Reacting in ways we normally wouldn't. This thing, love.
This scent acts as incentive, instantly attracted by which we over indulge.
Searching for this thing, love.
It's a reasonable thing. Knowing when to reach. When to pull. When to give and sacrifice.
Almost always all of these happen, learning self control, vocalizing when we've had our fill.
Else we will continue to eat until there is nothing left.
Grown obese. This thing, love
Apr 19, 2018
Apr 19, 2018 at 2:49 PM UTC
We don't appreciate what we have
until we lose it
We don't see the glow on the skin
until we bruise it
We don't believe in miracles
until we need it
We don't appreciate farming
until there's famine
We don't appreciate water availability
until there's water scarcity
We don't appreciate wealth
until we see poverty
We don't appreciate good health
until we experience infirmity
We don't appreciate democracy
until we see tyranny
We don't appreciate loyalty
until we see jealousy
We don't appreciate liberty
until we see slavery!
Sep 3, 2018
Sep 3, 2018 at 7:32 AM UTC
Existing in this infinite stream.
Observing the towering waterfall above me.
Seeking a peaceful habitat,
liberation and re-birth anywhere except here.
This excessive baggage I bear,
fighting against the current.
Wondering why I started at the bottom of this waterfall,
while others, at the top.
Detained by unrelenting forceful water,
drowning me to the shadowed ground.
Rubble marking and defacing my skin.
Hiding and scared from the revolving threats.
Burdened by understanding my surroundings.
Currents throwing me around with availability.
Examining the colors of life sparkling through the reflection of my water.
Trapped in chaos,
Starved for happiness,
Losing hope in this dark stream.
One day I will see the calm sunlit waters,
I will swim past this abuse.
© Jl 2015
Jan 22, 2016
Jan 22, 2016 at 10:15 PM UTC
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Nov 29, 2013
Nov 29, 2013 at 2:12 AM UTC
oh what sustains this mind
a mind that teeters
on the edge of a spiral vertigo
that sways and rocks
in an unease of palpitations
attempting to escape
from the brutal insensitivity
of the granite faces that occupy the streets
a mind of hallucinated perceptions
with a constant stream of imagery
that finds a difficulty in the self negotiation,
the articulation of its inner geography
where a frightened availability of disturbance
in the vocabulary of its chemical graffiti
leaves speech vacated on the tongue
where eyes are pushed to see
a discord of sympathies for different dimensions
that has one disassociated, cut off from the immediate
living in an inner dialogue
of rebellious and unconventional preoccupations
a self alienation that heightens
the poetic colouring of the imagination
causes a ************ of the mind
that makes me cripplingly aware
of the abyss at the heart of my inner disquiet
makes my toes hover on the jagged edge of the world
yet I jump choosing discovery over societal dictum
to do rather than be
Nov 14, 2013
Nov 14, 2013 at 9:00 PM UTC
I am a certified expert in the sequential pushing of buttons,
this pushing performed, on a good day, in concert with the
expensively purchased, somewhat rare mental model of
the workings of a recently commonplace variety of machine
dependent at its core on the minuscule presence of increasingly-rare
earth metals allowing for the conditional flow of groups of electrons.
These machines, like their precursors, are further dependent on
the supply of slightly less increasingly rare combustible material
for which armed conflicts are routinely fought and many have died.
My interest in the machines began at an early age,
enticed by the illusion of control, and on the whole,
I think, motivated by the idea that these machines
processing information, the core mechanism of reality,
might be used to create understanding.
In the interceding years, it is increasingly apparent to me
that while some are used for this purpose, most,
like most things around me, are controlled and engaged by
multi-personed organisms concerned primarily with:
1) self-preservation AND
2) the collection of, and limited divestment of,
unit notions of rarefied value, insured by the
existence of another similar organism valued for its
1) self- and nearby-environs preservation AND
2) recent track record of insuring continued relatively easy access
to the aforementioned important combustible materials.
—it is generally considered to people's credit that this notion
of value is thus-derived and no longer as frequently derived by virtue
of possessing a metal which, while of certain non-combustible use,
is basically just pretty rare and really, really shiny.
I find myself again shortly in a need of convincing such an organism
that my button pushing is of sufficient quality,
on sufficiently frequent good days,
that it should consider me a temporary part thereof and divest,
of itself to me, sufficient units of value that I might happily
continue to push buttons on its behalf in the pursuit of further units.
I am, for some reason, somewhat less than thrilled with this prospect
finding it, despite its marketability, a maybe less than important enterprise.
I am existentially concerned by the idea that my whole value may derive
from my button pushing, and is thus further dependent on
the availability of rare-earth metal and also-rare combustibles.
In some delusion of importance amongst 7 billion plus similar primates
and a unfathomably vast universe,
I thought you might be interested to know
Jan 21, 2014
Jan 21, 2014 at 4:56 PM UTC
The movement of speech,
speaking swiftly with eloquence
alliterative, quixic, elloqution,
enunciation, pitch, tone, intensity,
sensivity, proper, and evident,
prosody, and brilliant speaker,
followed by a brilliant speech,
we all would love to listen to
a great idea. Or write down
the secrets to success, to pay
bills and not get hit on by voodoo.
I heard them lye, lie, and then lie.
Lye like ***** hands needing soap.
Lie like there are no stars ever in the sky.
Lie like in bed with a ghost,
and then a ******* mindful of racists
with a passing grade for the bar exam
treated the 3 above outstanding resources
to the trinity to tell us to work with an Oath.
The availability to be independant is a solvency
to a cross examination, and the property of freedom
is a handsome reward if you can pry open the
jar of Trinity. We wanted a badass to be the President
and I know, that we just might get what we ask for.
Remember to study your own favorite poets
a dedication to a life in the fast lane of the
most Amazing manner of all time.
We may just be the newest monastery in the world.
So when we all say something, like all 7 billion of us.
We GET it.
DO NOT F&%^$^$ TOUCH ME, EVER! Lol.
Jun 22, 2014
Jun 22, 2014 at 1:23 AM UTC
Distance knows, as distance grows,
It's short and long
It can raise the stakes and hopes.
It can make you long for the edge,
For the thing at the other side.
Distance doesn't have to be in miles or in feet.
Distance could be attitudes, expressions;
In class, availability...victories or defeat...
You are out of my reach, a distance away.
I can't help but look your way and pray
Praying you would notice me
You may glace toward me, but its not what I want
I just wish to gaze into your eyes
And have you smile at me...only me.
But two inches between us,
Make it as if we have nothing to say,
And we really have miles between us,
And this distance grows each and every day.
You're the king, the prince of hearts,
While I a simple pawn who would melt
to just get a glimpse of your face.
This distance knows, and oh how quickly it grows
At the end of this road...
We'll never see each other again.
Feb 24, 2012
Feb 24, 2012 at 3:37 PM UTC
Maybe I only think I want you
Because you're the only one
Who's likely available to me
But you're not him
And I can't take advantage of you like that
Apr 13, 2014
Apr 13, 2014 at 12:19 AM UTC
David Farrier shoes horses for a living
Found himself in a life worth giving
His whole life to see them from the gate
And finish in life still believing that this race is not just worth trying
But a pursuit of passing on the baton of Faith!
He may pound it and nail it hard but David just won't let you run with your hooves dusted
Oh how he used to shoe us eight times but be filled with the greatest gratitude as he was healed and learned that our hooves are two-divided
Oh I think I need a pat on the back
My hair doesn't feel like feeling the wind against it
Oh that doesn't even rhyme
But a few knows the songs of David as he was born in Rock Bottom
He circled the town eight times and washed his hands as he allows himself very often
Born with a so-called 'natural blindfold disease' he found himself a Savior clothed in the purest of fleece
He asked David to hang for a while and His hand shaked with eternal availability
While His friendship promised milk, cookies and eternal security
Oh I might need a pat on the back
The open gates of change welcomed by a gunshot noise usually freaks me out
Oh can someone get me a rhyme book?
May 10, 2014
May 10, 2014 at 11:24 AM UTC
1: an economic good: as
a : a product of agriculture or mining
b : an article of commerce especially when delivered for shipment <commodities futures>
c : a mass-produced unspecialized product <commodity chemicals> <commodity memory chips>
2 a : something useful or valued <that valuable commodity patience>; also : thing, entity
b : convenience, advantage
3 obsolete : quantity, lot
4: a good or service whose wide availability typically leads to smaller profit margins and diminishes the importance of factors (as brand name) other than price
5: one that is subject to ready exchange or exploitation within a market <stars as individuals and as commodities of the film industry — Film Quarterly>
May 27, 2014
May 27, 2014 at 12:47 PM UTC
You know, I started smoking because of you.
The availability of the cigarettes you had on hand when I saw you
To be fair, when I was with you, you’d try your best to not smoke as I’d get dizzy
But somehow I always gave in
I asked for one while knowing this
You’re just an analogy to cigarettes
I know how bad you are for me
Yet when I see you I can’t but help to dive in again
Do it over and over again because as good as it feels it is so unhealthy for me
I do it over and over again and I know it’s unhealthy but it just feels so good
It’s toxic through and through
The smoke etched on my lungs
And I drown in you
Now every time I’m offered a cigarette I can’t help but think of you
I smoke them knowing they’re bad for me
But somehow it gives me a connection to you
Somehow smoking one makes me miss you
It makes me feel you again
And I hate it
Oh how I hate it
I know how bad it is for me — how toxic it is
But somehow I can’t stop
You’re just as bad for me as the cigarettes you once looked at me shocked by me asking for some
Smoke fills my lungs and you fill my heart
But as you keep coming back
As I will keep getting cigarette after cigarette
This feeling of self destruction is unfortunately never ending
And truly, how does one find a conclusion to something everlasting?
This pattern is circular. I stop and when I see you it starts again. I probably won’t ever cut you off. This pattern of self destruction will consume me, just as cigarettes take their victim
(12/24/22; 12:45 am)
Jul 11, 2023
Jul 11, 2023 at 8:35 AM UTC
Guns
Slick metallic
Fully loaded sidekicks
A right held higher than most
Opinions vary, more or less
For laws and restrictions
For availability and freedom
A country divided, a hot topic debate
And while you ponder your side of the fence
Remember that the leaders and lawmakers
Prefer prayer as a means to relieve such tragedies
There is no plan to change how things are
There is no answer from the left
There is no answer from the right
Accepting complacency and prayers
Prayers, which have done nothing, not a thing at all.
Nov 28, 2016
Nov 28, 2016 at 1:06 PM UTC
.
I'm one tissue shy of calamity,
next to the last soul in humanity.
I am one ounce of pride short of dignity,
and one mph away from velocity.
I'm in one town, you're intensity,
a Master Charge away from identity.
One aching tendon from flexibility,
and one arc'd degree from the university.
Happiness has lost it's frivolity,
I have narrowed down my availability.
Gumby has lost all elasticity.
Will we live beyond infinity?
I've never crossed the lines between serenity and insanity,
has a poet's moon lost it's sensuality?
I am one drink ahead of sobriety.
The second to last to stand in society.
The unforgivable sin elbows my morality,
your pen sells your individuality.
One jail bar between your vulnerability.
Your down to earth qualities mock your vanity.
My daddy never claimed me through paternity,
I was the last kid standing in the maternity.
And just when I thought this poem was through,
you asked me to spend eternity with you.
Apr 11, 2010
Apr 11, 2010 at 9:11 PM UTC
Young chicken turned into fricassee
How hot is your gravy?
Such sizzling goodness
Smells so fresh in the pan
Having a fry
Don't really know why
Cooking at such high temperatures
Makes me crazy this way
But I've got to have you frizzle
Cut tenders spitting grease about
Think I'll dice up a side of
Turnips, greens and roots
There's an unwritten law about it
Even so
Availability finds comfort in handiness
A little splash of wine on that
Ought to make it all
Come together
Dec 5, 2015
Dec 5, 2015 at 10:28 PM UTC
Re: Your Availability
Is it this yours or mine? Only time will define the kind of charm that you chime when you're dropping your line in my ears
I will find.
Jul 13, 2014
Jul 13, 2014 at 7:12 PM UTC
Organizing books
Answering calls about the availability of books
This is the role of the librarian
I am watching them in action now
Looks like a fun position to have
I don't have a position
I just wander from place to place
May 13, 2015
May 13, 2015 at 3:29 PM UTC
Navigating these new age jungles
City species run through the curious dark
Thinking now is the time to be alive
As we stay out late enough to watch the sunrise
From suicidal heights
We stay awake to watch our minds commit themselves to their ultimate demise
Once bustling brains become a barren tundra
Their city thoughts die
Bodies still moving with the beat
Thoughts experience defeat
Conquered by the never ending
Availability of bad decisions
We are the buildings with out ceilings
We want another round
We are badasses without feelings
(At least we pretend to be with our looks and our sounds)
~
Messes in dresses running through empty city streets
After the voices of those we love whispered
They would never let us go
And proceeded to do just so
Learning to articulate from rap songs
Not resisting the urge to emulate our bad influences
Lot of love
Lot of hate
**** karma when you can’t discern
What’s good from what is wrong
It’s all going to break
Down the hollow factory’s stairs
Where we ruin our lives without compunction
And brag about who we will impress
With the mistakes we said we’d made
Feb 10, 2016
Feb 10, 2016 at 11:22 PM UTC
Multiple beautiful faces,
immaculate complexions,
and precise, practiced grins.
It's easy to understand
why it makes me thirsty;
they invented bottled bliss,
eagerly and professionally selling:
beauty, happiness, companionship---
all for the price of $1.50 with tax
at the cost of only my dignity.
Affordability and availability,
it's no wonder it's high in demand.
The American success story:
to sell simple desires
to the lazy, naïve man,
who believes he can't
obtain them otherwise.
Apr 7, 2016
Apr 7, 2016 at 12:31 AM UTC
Each new vision of a sunset inspires a glimmer of hope
Illuminating the depths of darkness
Reminding us of the availability
Freely given by mother nature
Encouraging us to nurture the soul
By finding peace and tranquility
Resting in the palm of such beauty
Jul 26, 2013
Jul 26, 2013 at 10:30 PM UTC
digital availability
around the clock
after a while
begins to feel like
permanent responsibility
your friends expect you
to be online all the time
whether you like it or not
so they can share with you their daily trivia
of personal condition, discount shopping, their dog’s health,
the children’s good, their problems with their partners,
etcetera etcetera
I know it’s nice to hit a button
and hear the ringing of the other’s phone
the voice responding to your call
it’s fine when there are no alternatives
and yet
somehow the electronic chat
confirms more than redeems
presence of absence of the person
I feel like talking to an avatar
a disembodied voice
that has a virtual existence
yet whose life in the real world
still needs to be asserted
by meeting – and talking –
in a café
or simply on the street
May 24, 2016
May 24, 2016 at 10:39 AM UTC
On a trip ship to Saturn Nine
I met this chick on the gunner deck
she was a class one warrior, just like me
we kissed and showed our availability
She took me there and then
I hoped it would never end
she slapped me around
and gave me such a licking
I drop kicked her over the dining table
and she nutted me in the face
you have to be hard core military
when you are fighting out in space
All the grunts were cheering
giving us the go go go
that day fired me up, I was in such a stupor
that's when I lost my virginity to a starship trooper
Christos Andreas Kourtis aka NeonSolaris
By NeonSolaris
© 2013 NeonSolaris (All rights reserved)
Aug 9, 2013
Aug 9, 2013 at 1:18 PM UTC