"brainstormed" poems
Momentary
mourning peace.
Mama pours a glass of mulled wine,
lights a scented candle
(- "cherries on snow" -)
and drinks to ol' Joan.
Passed down with the jewellery box,
somewhere in the will, the daughters
receive the annual chore of roasting
the turkey (delicious!) and the veggies
(good job!) and (could you pass the?) breadsauce
for their brothers and husbands huddled
on a threadbare sofa -- and a younger girl,
barely there, staring at a laptop screen.
Mama's not festive - always too tired -
barely celebrates, but orchestrates.
Years barely there 'cause she's needed in their kitchen
and someone's gotta cook can she please get a hand? and
one chivalrous male puffs out his chest, takes one for the team, gestures to the girl with no discernible attention span and
half-laughs an "ay, one day this'll be you!
Best get in there while you're young!"
((A baritone chorus of laughter.))
"You outdid yourself on the turkey."
"S'great, ain't it? Pass the potatoes."
Sometimes here, sometimes Spain.
We stay over. It's tradition: we're
scattered across the country,
maid duties are the least she can do.
Never our kitchen or living room.
Tiny. Messy. Unwelcoming.
Come Boxing Day, Mama gives
a bear hug goodbye and an
"it's good to see you";
Because it is, she thinks.
Thank you for inviting me
to carry out your labour.
I'm just grateful to be needed.
A month of red 'SALE' tapes
scouring the clearance shelves;
overtime for extra cash
scraped to afford the food she cooks you;
paying half for gifts she'd brainstormed
while Dad buys partial credit on the gift tag.
We vanish from your house
- like elves -
by morning.
Dec 7, 2018
Dec 7, 2018 at 8:17 AM UTC
After a long day of 8th grade,
she came home to be greeted by her two dogs.
Rushing straight to her bedroom on a friday afternoon
just to open her laptop and put on her favorite pandora playlist
While flowing all her brainstormed emotions into her “poem.”
She remember hearing a phrase for the first time
that changed her to a more mature mentality.
Some crazy lady her mom forced her to weekly
always asked her, "any suicidal thoughts lately?"
She ignorantly answered “no” not understanding.
that next week the Lady asked if she had "suicidal thoughts"
Her stomach rages with anxiety as she finds the courage
to ask the Lady what it means to be suicidal.
The Lady’s eyes filled with empathy.
Google defines it as "Suicidal thoughts, also known as suicidal ideation are thoughts about how to **** oneself, which can range from a detailed plan to a fleeting consideration and does not include the final act of killing oneself. "
She thought about ending her life for the first time
with understanding of what she was doing.
6th grade lunch time.
Her eyes were drenched with sadness
while her stomach filled with discontent feelings.
She told her friends she wanted to die.
They filled her ears with temporary healing
to mend her mind and wellbeing.
She did not really understand what she was feeling
but with goals to not have to feel anymore.
She takes a handful of over-the-counter
painkillers with temporary joy
that it was all over.
She awoke the next morning with guilt and shame.
After reminiscing on this story,
She realizes she feels the same feelings
but has already accepted the help she needed
to try to be able to accept these feelings.
She wanted more than ever to not feel anything but
found value in who she was.
Still confused, but understood enough about who she was
to just be able to feel the pain and move on.
She had never admitted this story to anyone.
Not even her loved ones or counselors.
5 years later.
She finds this writing on a random spring night.
She is grateful, encouraged, and empowered
for the growth within herself that she was able to witness
She found purpose for the bad days and loves more.
She stays busy; works part-time and goes to school full-time.
The best part is she does it with happiness in her heart
and with loving and encouraging people surrounding her.
She became stronger than her bad days, allowing herself to fight.
She is proud of her story.
Apr 6, 2020
Apr 6, 2020 at 9:27 PM UTC
words.
i just
love
them.
big ones,
little ones.
just love them
they are like
honey on my lips,
poprockz candy to my
brain.
they crackle and fizz:
igniting,
exciting,
vibrating,
reawakening...
synapses too quiescent;
jiggling,
wiggling,
slapping,
trappin,
thoughts....
caught snoozin and napping;
flip flopping
flim flam-ing
photograph
framing...
opinion only halfway dressed;
jitterbuggin,
jiving,
striving
sometimes conniving....
fighting for a voice;
half formed,
brainstormed,
uninformed,
spoken on a baited breathe,
giggle, gaggle,
gobbledegook...
given egress;
hornswoggle,
bing bang boggle,
lolloping through....
galumping,
triumphing,
tree stumping....
both
me
and
yoohoo
too!!!
zip
it,
zinger
coming
on
thru.
my
mind
a
veritable
word
zoo
where i
graze
and nibble
and
nab
a
theasuarus
or
2
.....
words.
i just
love
them.
.
Dec 9, 2013
Dec 9, 2013 at 4:14 PM UTC
i don't do poetry
because i want to look intellectual
well-read
intelligent, thoughtful
or impress
people by my words
or take anyone's attention
i do poetry
because i am often alone
left alone
all and out
on my own
to submerse within my own
i crave for existences
no one appears
all stay distant
like a thoughtful absence
i have no harm
confessing in need
words are too deaf to make any sound
other too busy listening to
other songs
of other people
they must be harmonious
cheerful and dedicated
mines too glum
too sad
as i refused to give up
nor to be brainstormed
i go on my own
so i live like this
yet poetry comes to me
like a bereaved friend
it's with me when i sleep
it's there when i laugh
even though
i try to avoid of it's comings and goings
poetry's intensity sits in my heart
like a fog in early morning
but i am not sure
what to do with it
how to keep it
will this stay like an adjourned bond
poetry exists through me
like a thread in fabric
cutting every little piece within me
and i hear
'what a thoughtful presence'
May 8, 2015
May 8, 2015 at 10:56 AM UTC
You never knew your stooges, did you?
Never paid your dues
Never brayed your lone wolf howl
Never even knew which moon to send it to
Sharp of razor not felt
As it cuts meat
Drawing no blood
You should have got to know them
Stooges have a lot to teach
When they wield the blade
To cut meat
The flesh is severed
And the lesson learned
You really should have listened to them
For now the time has come
When the blood becomes vital
The razor selfish, thirsty enough on it's own
All those little pithy ideas that run amok in your brainstormed heart
They do you no good
They cut no meat
The twinkling stars and light bulbs bursting in your imagination
As a new idea is born only to be cast into the furnace
Given up on, no chance
A dud
Third trimester abortion
Tapped it's head just as it poked it's way through the door
No need for another one
Defective products
It only wears you down
******* on the memory of the last one
That proved to be worth a ****
Born 25 years ago, already on it's death bed
But your's
Straight from your soul
Arranged on a plate with a charming garnish of parsley
Soul food from the ghetto
Where hungry mouths don't get fed
You'd think they would devour your gift
As their hunger burns
But rather to learn how to steal
But rather to learn how to fight
Than a single disgusting taste
Of anything you have to offer
From a mind
Soft and cushioned
Spoiled and molding
Too weak to ever understand what it means
To survive
Barely able to get by, this is what it's worth
All it's worth, and no more
Something you might have known
Had you learned something from stooges
How to cut meat
Jan 6, 2012
Jan 6, 2012 at 10:28 AM UTC
Theres no word for this feeling...
No name for this emotion.
No way to describe,
Exactly what is on my mind.
Sprawled upon the hardwood floor,
Laid a girl with sandy hair.
I wanted her when I was drunk.
The only change...
Now I'm sober.
We spent too much time trying to catch a buzz
At too many parties with not enough *****
We played our games to contain my head.
Every kiss was backed by Burnette's.
I'm so in love with what I've found.
Where was I?
Cuz she was always around.
And Ill sing for you untIl I die,
I'll write you songs 15 minutes at a time.
I'm so in love with what I've found.
Too dry to be brainstormed, but perfect like a plot lines
We were deep in drought, now she's all mine.
It was written in humidity.
Our summer romance in calligraphy.
Oct 13, 2012
Oct 13, 2012 at 2:23 PM UTC
mind drifts within evolutions
pull; enclosing thoughts in
earth's many wonders, causing
brainstormed emotions into
ideative air pockets; casting
kaleidoscopic prisms to realms
of life's many gifts as we
intellectually ruminate cognitively
Jul 18, 2013
Jul 18, 2013 at 8:20 PM UTC
Absent
resting on a crippled pillar
bringing back words-
from your mouth
and rain
sprung in
so I brainstormed you
residing in secret of
raindrops.
tumbling like envy
whereas the smoke is clear
of all memory
that hope is colorless
but clear of design
words that belonged to you
squint in doubt
in vascular pressure
like fidelity was found scared
from heart to bone I'm shaking
in a brief time period
yet, you are the storm
descending
in the vicinity around me.
and out on crippled pillars.
hair soaked in deep shallows
I'd be banished in present
-calculating
one plunge after another
of water in reunion with salt
feeling you submerge
right through my skin.
- it's the kind of lost
I have grown accustomed to.
(INCREDIBLE INK)
© 2015 S.T. Rebel of Eden
Jan 29, 2015
Jan 29, 2015 at 9:11 PM UTC
His vision was distorted so he could only see a bent road.
With his bent brow he couldn't help but wonder how.
The wonders of the world being broken down into pieces of nothing.
No longer fertile pieces of land available for use.
He began to lose hope in his ability to avail this world.
Looking six stories down the ground felt as low as his smile.
He grew tired of the seeing the pain these pathways caused.
He brainstormed a plan to create new roads for people to travel on.
Roads that would not corrode and change shape.
Dedicating his whole life to creating beautiful detours to enchanting destinations.
May 11, 2015
May 11, 2015 at 8:47 PM UTC
Within Pantheon Of Classical Gods
stricken with affliction,
sans amyotrophic lateral sclerosis
(also known as ALS,
or Lou Gehrig's disease)
in the prime of his youth wrought
underestimation, vitiated termination,
targeted sequestration,
solidified rigidification,
rendered quandary,
per paralyzation obliterated,
nixed navigation,
morphed motivation,
marked limitation
kickstarted infatuation,
jinxed immobilization,
induced intellectual hyperfunction,
garnered fundamental fascination,
fanned fabled exploration,
devastation demonstrated
delectable declaration,
cosmological constant comet
clinched, chained certain capitulation,
brainstormed benefaction,
benediction attribution assured.
- - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - -
his longevity (marked by bing permanently
linkedin, hitched, drafted
to a custom made wheelchair,
his brilliant unsullied scientific genius)
endured seventy six orbitz veer
ring round the nearest star,
though seemingly motionless, he freed their
ret tickle physiochemical insight
encompassing, revolutionizing,
and jaw-dropping, revelations
with mortals he did share
transcendent seeded plentifully
mental limitless groundswell
fed his fecund rare
if eyed cogitated, formulated, insulated
(infinitesimal nook and cranny) force queer
lee disproportionate overly endowed capacity
bracketed with mar ching madness peer
ring with laser, razor, and taser sharp mind
(or a minuscule approximate near
facsimile thereof) scrutinizing, positing,
and discerning astronomical phenomena mere
via concentrating gifted limned, and rapacious,
though processes affixed
with a visage mordantly like King Lear.
Mar 14, 2018
Mar 14, 2018 at 11:55 PM UTC
Collectively
We brainstormed
The universe seemed like one giagantic
Possibility
We were the greatest minds
Working together
To create history...
To live on mars
We followed behind
Many
Gigantic footsteps
The voyage ahead
Seemed daunting
But not impossible
It wasn't getting there
that would be hard
It was living there
That was impossible
Feb 8, 2017
Feb 8, 2017 at 10:03 AM UTC
born
named after a three,
a brainstormed term
or the same old family name
celebrated
bred
thrown out in the open
eyes widened by the true visions
of the world
self confessions,
both harmless and self deprecating
the only answer to be given back
are tears out of the lack of reason
make a stand against the machine
with trembling
limbs, having courage is absurd
but to live it out is a choice
leave a flower for a few days
without water and it will perish
at peace
at ease
easier to let go
harder to leave
you just don't gather these,
your dissatisfactions in life,
distractions, warning signs,
long durations of time,
probably months without
someone to do,
you keep them until they hurt
why do you keep them
all to yourself?
do you know these people?
they're always right huh?
they're never wrong.
that's why you're there.
I'm here.
we don't resist.
we just want to live in our
own way of how the world
could attain peace,
then we die silently soon after.
Aug 2, 2019
Aug 2, 2019 at 5:07 PM UTC