"benefitted" poems
you are inches
measured by miles away
bulldozing oriental food
you don't intend on eating
around your plate
and i am imagining
the translation of asking
for a broom in a foreign language
for when you shatter over small talk
or the first sentence to start with "so"
breaks you into shaking
that i can feel from across the table
and i am thinking now
about tectonics and how you must be daydreaming of being submerged in a book
back home or gripping tightly
to bedsheets begging for familiar warmth
i can tell by the way you are looking at me
that you are feigning our salutation embrace
seconds drowned in ankle deep water and i wonder if you see my hands
as jackhammers and if the reason
why you hug so hard
but only for a moment
is to be as sharp as possible
so that i do not smell your perfume
or notice that you aren't wearing any and why
there are few suprises
in the safe you claim is a mouth
where shades of plush pink
hide a sickly pallor
and i continue to look over
brick & mortar borders
and think how maybe
she is thinking of kissing
but certainly not me
not these apologies nailed to my face
i give myself a moment
of benefitted doubt that you sometimes
picture your frame under mine
and if your clavicles would crack
if i were to touch them
i am sorry that i am a victim of imagination
but i swear i chalk it up
as the forgotten feeling
for when you look up
and the person you are looking
at is gazing directly at you
you have painted yourself
as a mosaic in my mind
as a mess of dust & incoherent words
that all sound like please in my ears
but that doesn't explain why
my hands are the ones that are shaking
when i imagine you
imagining me
in the spaces of yourself
where you've forgotten
you could put someone
Feb 26, 2014
Feb 26, 2014 at 7:32 PM UTC
Don't believe, for one second,
They'll hear nice things from me.
Were you dying for some kind of originality?
Well, let me just say,
It's still death by stupidity.
I'm telling you now,
I have nothing to say.
No one will hear of your generosity
(though we all benefitted);
Or your loyalty (of which I know firsthand);
Your discretion (none ever accused you of less).
I can't find the words. I'm speechless.
I warned you.
Stop smoking (both)
Stop drinking (especially every morning, afternoon and evening)
Stop being idle (and your posture *****
Stop being a lap dog (stop licking boots)
Stop this slippery slope of a lifestyle (there's ground below)
Stop taking bad advice.
You didn't Stop.
Now you're stopped.
That's all I have to say. Not much. Is it?
Jun 28, 2022
Jun 28, 2022 at 7:31 AM UTC
It was the early days of the organic food craze
and my wife, ever a slave to the latest fads
(which disposition sometimes benefitted me pleasurably
but mostly cost me dearly)
made me run on an errand
(like: “Fido – go, fetch!”)
to get some organic vegetables
and arriving, I blurted out to the produce guy, stumbling:
*“Some ****** for my wife”* –
and that wise guy, Oxford-educated as he was
(though a failed Professor, so ended up at the greengrocer’s)
he said: *“That you must induce or encourage in your wife, Sir;
I cannot and will not be of service in that connection.”*
And I slowed down and I said:
“Well, dear fellow – for my wife, have you any organic vegetables?”
And Oxford-educated as he was, he did not understand such fads
having mostly a sedate and Classical demeanour
and he pointed his most English nose to the air;
and so I attempted again to sensible-phrase my inquiry:
*“Are your vegetables -
and this I ask on account of my esteemed wife -
sprayed with poisonous chemicals?”*
And the Oxford guy apprehended now, and he pronounced:
*“Poisonous chemicals for your spouse
you must procure yourself, Sir”*
Now, that was an idea. I knew Oxford-educated guys
were smart in some way or other.
And since then I have been free of my wife.
I have no need to run on errands for no baby, no more;
though I do have to count bars,
limited as my numerical skills are,
as is my verbal proficiency.
And the Oxford guy, meanwhile, I have it from the grapevine,
has set up an ******** Food Chain Store*, worldwide;
I knew he’d go places, sooner or later, far and global
Jul 9, 2013
Jul 9, 2013 at 8:06 AM UTC
Sometimes I have to cry.
Not because I'm sad.
Not because I'm happy.
But because I live in a shaded grey.
Always in between and never touching the end of each extent.
And when I think of you,
I cry.
Maybe I cry because I'm not with you at the time.
Maybe I cry because I miss you.
Maybe I cry tears of relief,
Thanking this universe for giving me love like this.
Because I've been neglected.
And torn apart like paper.
Maybe I cry in fear of losing you.
Maybe I cry in fear of having you.
Maybe I cry to relieve my anxiety.
My anxiety from an unknown cause.
I never know why I cry.
Maybe I never will.
But maybe,
Sometimes I have to cry.
Just because my twisted mind enjoys the feeling of these sheer tears that are filled with so many emotions as they're strolling down my face.
These mixed, jumbled emotions I can't sort out.
Some people say that black and white is all they know,
But I never knew black and I've never known white.
But grey...
Grey has walked beside me for years
Letting me taste each extreme,
As if that ever benefitted me.
And I,
I always stay in this area of grey.
It's the only place comfortable for me -
Someone who has felt both sides of two opposite ends.
Cause if it would let me leave, it knows I'd remain here.
Not because I'm sad.
Not because I'm happy.
But because it understands
That sometimes I have to cry.
And I'll never have to give a reason,
Because I live in a foreign place of unmade up minds and mistakes.
This place I like to call grey.
Which has gave me a home to store my imperfections.
May 10, 2014
May 10, 2014 at 8:33 PM UTC
Before you call me patient, maybe step in a little closer;
continue your inspection.
What you'll find is this: my tolerance stems more from letting people trample over me
than from any conscious effort to be kind,
so take caution.
You've become so casual in your continuous disrespect; it's building a
fire of aggravation.
I didn't love myself and I didn't believe I deserved to,
but I'm learning - and I still have a tremendous distance to go - that I am worth much more than
my previous prediction.
Moving on from you seems so foreign. Your loss would be the weirdest mixture;
an excited lamentation.
All I hope is that you benefitted from my so-called patience
and that the world I showed you was a step up from reality - almost like a
temporary life promotion.
Apr 16, 2018
Apr 16, 2018 at 1:36 AM UTC
Jim
To start I am amazed and baffled why such a loser as myself has had the privilege of knowing so many uncommon people. If nature won’t tolerate a vacuum then God will not allow a deficit life so if one is incomplete he will surly surround it with the right amount of good people.
Old Abe said it right ‘It is right and fitting that we speak these words here to honor these lives so honorably lived. I can say that about Jim and this also he was a prince among men if I do this right the words will convince you.
He had a gentle way and nature he spoke softly but a softness that flowed to you like ribbons that bounced in a little girl’s hair how delightful. He should have been a doctor his hands his mannerism was ideal for that job. I guess thats what made him stand out so strongly like a gentle calm breeze if you came in a panic his soul would float down around you like a parachute first it safely brings you from great anxiety and exaltation to a graceful landing then gently envelops you in its silken embrace. I had this privilege of watching him inter act with his wife as I said and truly he was a prince and I was the beggar that benefitted richly from the sidelines God knew my needs.
He was called from this life but all the days he filled before his home going are the sustaining force noticeably seen felt with keen awareness you know that a gentleman passed this way. In the lives left behind there is a blend of sadness and astonishment you realize you are looking at the work of a master workman who left behind a tightly and perfectly fitted family this unfortunately is sadly rare in this society that boast of its accomplishments.
As a friend his breadth and depth was sufficient you weren’t a burden he had a way of dispelling trouble making you understand with wisdom and unerring judgment then with ease you could extricate yourself from the problem. His heavenly father filled him with tenderness it stood him and others well in a somewhat crabby world. If you’re pressed and anxious about life take from this life expressed. A portion of the good will you need use it as a defense Jim couldn’t be everywhere but God saw fit to make an original that you can duplicate benefit from and be a part of his ongoing legacy. Thanks friend for a life lived well.
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haldenton › Portfolio › Jim
Jim by haldenton
Jan 7, 2012
Jan 7, 2012 at 2:48 PM UTC
Eyes have been following me all day long
So many different shades, uncountable pairs-
But so few variations of the looks given
Some haunting, some giving companionship
But unoriginally, both provoking emotion the same.
I was blessed by just a mere few individuals
Who caught my eye momentarily in unnoticed secrecy
Gesturing appreciation for what I loudly stand for
And continuing my flow of happiness for others to share
But some currents were stopped.
The waters halted in tracks dried up
By desertion of carriers unwilling and uncaring
They pushed the shared joys out to dry land and their imagined flames
And waded to the company of criminals targeting me, and me alone
Latching their imagined fangs to the very passage used in good intention.
I caught a thief in the act
Though she didn't care about concealing her hateful crime
Nor the enjoyment benefitted from reactions provoked
In fact, she reveled in feigning attempt to hide her malice
And went so far as to turn away to sneer.
She drained me today, and drains me still tonight
But, I'm still winning this game I don't play
Knowing that when she turns to marvel at stolen goods
Her lifeless eyes will be met by a familiar pitiful failure experienced earlier today
When my smile, although quivering, remained unturned.
What was leeched out by this parasite of a woman, is not what was sought
I am well learnt in the tastes of beings undeservingly living
And remained lifetimes ahead of her worthless scheme
My dear, I live with the devil who's art you mimic quite insultingly
And tonight, differences aside, we turn together to sneer.
Jun 27, 2013
Jun 27, 2013 at 4:43 PM UTC
In the darkest days of our humanity
I often wonder why we thought not
To turn on the lights
Why we condemned wrongs and injustices
To small rooms
And only entered them through back doors
Why the judges of damning deeds
Didn’t dismantle the decay done by guilt
And instead locked that guilt away
Not erasing it but not affording it the right
To catharsis either.
Keeping it in the dark leaving it to fester in and from itself
Why not expose guilt?
I asked
Then thought it strange the answer was in the question
Who does that help?
When has the airing of guilty feelings brought on by damaging deeds
Benefitted the one who owns no stalk in guilt
It is the guilty it helps
It clears their conscious and frees their soul
But so
If theirs is the one tainted shouldn’t it be they
Who have to live with guilt - a punishment
That doesn’t have a casualty count.
Mar 8, 2014
Mar 8, 2014 at 10:24 PM UTC
I stumble in the haze,
Facing the grainy ground
No passion, no craze
Not even a sound
People tell me they see light,
Some more I must walk,
Be ready to fight,
They don't come in with a knock.
But for some the haze never existed
Stopping only when they attain
Then why can't I be benefitted
By knowing the destiation needed to sustain.
Aimlessly walking in circles,
Look how far I have come
But the real hurdles
Only bend for some
Make my soul successful,
Give me the spark
I want this journey to be blissful
Don't swallow me in the dark
Why can't I decide
The easy route or the rough?
They said "Leave the latter aside.
It was only made for the tough"
I fear the unknown
But I must carry on
Seeds of opportunities will be sown,
Grab them before they're gone.
Sep 2, 2016
Sep 2, 2016 at 1:20 PM UTC
In this unknown world of knowledge hilly,
You came as a Mozart in disguise dolly
To teach all teachers how to teach fully;
Benefitted though sad – not meeting daily.
Daily meeting not possible, gave a pulley
Of google drive and we see, hear our folly.
Giving a chocolate, taking note of us, O Alley.
A corollary we get makes us gorgeous frilly
No obfuscatory with him: sometimes chilly,
Times cold, but a hunky-dory, a true deli.
An accurate hortatory for English holy,
Teaching precise pronunciation alley
To improve us from state utter nugatory.
Encouraging, gave chances to all my folly;
Novel, pioneering, predicatory. Never did dally.
Blessed to have such a trainer as lovely lily
Had been an orator, excellent energetic filly.
Marwadi University is blessed with hilly –
The persons so high, so intelligent, O Molly!
Wish to have such a guide in my life daily
So that saccharin be added to life’s chili
And lethargy, fatigue, lassitude goes dully.
Let it be Surat or Morbi or Rajkot or Delhi
Dhanajay, Viral and Brij sir be with me fully.
Apr 19, 2018
Apr 19, 2018 at 8:36 PM UTC
Dear Swamiji,
How I miss you
Since you've gone away
I know you are in a better place.
How can I begin to describe
How much you have meant to me
Your calm voice
Your touch
You have been my father
You have been my mentor
You have been my friend
I am a grateful recipient
Of your unconditional love
You have been my spiritual guide.
You have taught me relaxation
You have taught me meditation
You have initiated me into the Tradition
You have taught me Yoga Nidra.
Thought your 83 year old body
Was wracked by illness
You never suffered
And you always had an easy smile on your face
My last lesson, which is how to alleviate my suffering
Was never completed
And now you are not there
To teach me.
Not in corporeal form, anyway
You spoke of Will and it's a Koan
I have not found a resolution to
You have forgiven all my many flaws
You have forgiven all my mistakes
I have have been filled with plenty of both
You never rejected me
Nor did you abandon me
I came across your teaching
At age 19
And then studied with you directly
For 20 glorious years.
And for 33 years I have benefitted
From your sacred words.
Somewhere a lotus flower
Grows in the mother Ganges.
It is blooming for you
And bears silent witness
To the legacy of your life
Death has not set us apart
You will live in my heart forever
Truly, you will be the jewel in the Lotus
And i will continue the work.
I will continue to study your teachings
And I will live the way you have lived
To the best of my ability.
Dear Swamiji, I love you and I miss you
~Arianna Darshani
Sep 7, 2015
Sep 7, 2015 at 9:28 AM UTC
No. Worse than that.
She loved you in every single one, just not ours.
She cared for me once in all my life when it benefitted her.
And cast you out when it was convenient to save you.
She loved us in all but one.
And we got the shortest straw...
Apr 27, 2025
Apr 27, 2025 at 10:58 PM UTC
you never read my poems.
did you even know I wrote poems?
you knew I wrote short stories.
you wrote with me.
but poetry?
my very soul?
the thing that makes days, weeks, months, years, bearable?
you never read any of it.
you didn't care.
holly jeanette (you loved my middle name) you need to write more!
I wrote tons.
you didn't mean poems.
you meant stories that benefitted you, not me.
you never cared.
I was so afraid to share that big part of myself.
but you never asked.
I dropped subtle hints.
ugh, need a new poetry journal
I prefer poems to stories.
and once, hey babe, wanna read this thing I wrote?
but my poetry never appealed to you.
my poetry didn't do anything for you.
mís poemas te dejaste friá.
you never cared about the thing that made me happiest.
you cared only about the thing that you thought made me happiest, you.
Mar 7, 2014
Mar 7, 2014 at 9:47 PM UTC
Our so called love was rushed
It was throw together so quickly neither of us had time to adjust
We became so close and quite dependent
But of course reality came faster to taint it
I will always remember the sweet caress of your kiss on my lips
Though as I look back with a clear head the facade slips
You needed someone to be strong for you while I needed someone to be strong with
You benefitted from my strength and support while “us” withered to ****
You took what you needed then promptly left
So while you slip back into your bad habits and commit your love theft
I’ll still be here growing and thriving off the support we gave each other
And if you try to reach out to me again, well...don’t even bother
Nov 14, 2020
Nov 14, 2020 at 11:16 PM UTC
Broken promises left my focus anonymous til life sent its consequence
pretentious postures kept my thoughts unconscious
a prominence to be full of confidence
and an ominous apparel to your provenance,
your body language was taught differently than what I’ve heard
speaking in foreign words
from the painted nails to the forced curls
killing a canvas created for diamonds and pearls,
It's what the world prefers but love begs to disperse
but whats love to a lustful mind,
like obsessions are where your worth is clearly defined
your lust goes beyond approvals of mine
you need attention of those on the outside
like what I say can’t align with the amount of likes that they provide
I feel like I couldn’t matter less,
I'm a personal therapist who tries their best
who gets blamed for the things that cease to rest
who gets pushed under the bridge when things get stressed
you say you’re depressed but your sympathy for mine has digressed
your symptoms are contagious when you tell me i'm selfish for wanting better than this
I'll remember to shut up next time I ask for happiness
Who you are to me isn’t the same as who you are to with anybody
you pick moods like they’re choices
like the person you’re around is what affects how your voice is
you never wanted happiness when I was in your presence
pity is what you love more than the betterment of our essence
putting you first is what benefitted
You is all that mattered
my heart was a broken platter
swept away by filters I held over
my mind felt shattered
my hopes and dreams clattered
the foreclosure of who I was for who you wanted me to be
My hearts in a different place now
my mind is full of spirits now
I lost who i was in an act to please you
I regret sacrificing myself for you
I hate the way things turned out but I'm learning who I am now
Im learning what it means to be me again and that’s something ill never give in
I hope no one has to experience the torments of losing self love again
Apr 8, 2019
Apr 8, 2019 at 5:26 AM UTC
no memories of doing good could possibly exist
if they do then they are tainted with the "self"
only truly good actions are selfless
and remain only in the memories of those who benefitted
Jul 9, 2014
Jul 9, 2014 at 10:57 AM UTC
What I've Learned:
Go be what you want to be.
Octopuses live in gardens.
***** aren’t meant to be that big, anyway.
I love who I am.
**** after school.
Ass-wiping is important.
Consistency is for the norm.
Octagons will serve me no purpose in life.
****** isn’t a good word to say in public.
**** isn’t, either.
Except for *****
Parents aren’t there to hear it, of course.
Things happen for a reason.
Batteries lose their power after a while.
Your wallet will not always be full.
Wearing clothes is good.
Hiking naked is good, too.
Indoors, of course.
Curtains closed, as well.
House is also empty.
Weird people get things done.
Excellently, I might add.
Music is the ultimate healer.
Eating is good, too.
After going to sleep, dream good dreams.
Silence is a gift, but so is sound.
Uranium never benefitted me.
Radioactivity is a force to be reckoned with.
Elements are of the past.
Oil is running out.
Uniqueness is a treasure.
Rock n’ roll will never die.
*** isn’t an alternative to joy.
Acoustic guitars sound nice.
Intelligence only goes so far.
Nukes are a symbol of everything I want to rid myself of.
Sep 16, 2018
Sep 16, 2018 at 10:03 PM UTC
Underneath a sun baked deck in San Jose
A flower was born.
Sun dappled, it unfurled its small green hands toward the lawn where
Globes of water still sat on the shoulders
Of green grasses to catch a glimpse of the sky,
who's cool breath had so recently whispered them into being.
Every day, as the sun peeked through the
Slats of gray wooden decay, the focus of it's impeccably golden eye would enevitably fall upon the delicate petals of a small blue flower.
Where had it come from, such a flower? Fallen out of its sleeve on the way to the garden? Had it been blown astray in one big gust? Where were the other flowers then?
They are gone. The Partridges disbanded long ago and left in their place a corpse
of tortured cedar, concrete, and angry hot metal. All now home to one small blue flower, who dances whenever given the chance in the spotlight of it all.
I only tell you this because because I watched that flower die this summer. After a gaggle of men pealed back the carcass-home, a flood of light came tumbling down upon all that had unknowingly benefitted from its protection, mostly weeds.
I should say, the lawn was the first to fall, well before the house itself, though it fought valiantly.
Hoisting its mystical morning globes skyward, like an offering. Golden death still spread like a flood across the lawn, catching every unshaded corner until all was bleached and unremarkable to look upon.
I remember how odd it must've looked, one blue flower shooting up from the grey mounds and yellowed grasses. How excited I was to see something so small and beautiful set free. How long I lingered there waiting for it to die.
Aug 20, 2020
Aug 20, 2020 at 8:25 PM UTC