"brainstorming" poems
Nothing rhymes with birthday,
It's really not my fault...
I've been brainstorming since Thurthday
In my sad poetic vault,
And still NOTHING rhymes with birthday,
Though I plead and cry and moan-
I'll be sitting here 'till Earthday
With this sad pathetic poem.
Birthday, birthday, birthday--
I think it's quite absurd
That no one thought of "birthday"
When they made up rhyming words.
So when people have a birthday
All poets do is sit
And try to think of what to thay
'Cause they can't think of... it.
So it's not for lack of talent
Or money, means, or time;
This birthday poem is ******
For a lack of words that rhyme.
Feb 4, 2015
Feb 4, 2015 at 8:12 PM UTC
*The time honored
brainstorming
collective planning
a filling blackboard
is now denounced..
storming is thought
thought on thought
wrinkle on wrinkle..
what goes begging
is quantum's leap
a leap waiting
for solitude and
an empty slate...*
May 13, 2013
May 13, 2013 at 11:19 AM UTC
it is done differently - more is not necessary - more of this -
is too much;
the kissing is an exploration - to a polar destination of
virtual whiteness -
to discover more than this. the kissing is not an end in and of itself - but a fjord unexplored leading to what? yes there are many different kinds of kisses - adaptations to a changing terrain - but the face, the face, the face (not just the lips),
the head entire -
is the first battle in a world war where the
opponents strengths and weakness are
literally uncovered and shape the nature of the war of the worlds
yet to come.
more than kissing, it is a speech and an interrogation;
an ********** revelation
of fine lines and small scars, a writing of a history, a history that existed unbeknownst to the explorer and thus interesting and dangerous - a history composed in a different time and place and almost in a vacuum - for kissing is impactful - outlines of footsteps on never before trodden lanes - but who prepared these paths in advance of my arrival, and was my arrival forecast or just imagined?
first time kissing oft portrayed as excited glee - but this is a grievous error - a wild display of wasted resources - it is not to meant to be pesky single shots of damp I was here where next? it is a drawing, nay, a sculpting of map to be reproduced in limited quantity for only the map rooms of the greatest museums.
each individual kiss is more than an act, but a marker
connecting the previous
to the future next -
exactly a map drawn by an explorer - meant to be shared with others who love history, discovery and women creatures.
be wary of unmarked crevasses and pools where
no one has measured the depth -
novice sailors without proper charts upon unfamiliar faces -
too oft drown or are somehow sail as lost forever.
but the notion of being the first, even if you are not the first,
is so intoxicating
for the brainstorming it provokes - the envisioning of
more than kissing but of unlocking
a new nature, creating a creation born in the intersection of two waters - where fresh waters joint the brine of the ocean -
and there are untold different kinds of waters and no two terrains though similar - are ever exactly the same.
here does my entry in my log - my journal - end - though the notation of than
is comparative and therefore unending.
Jun 22, 2019
Jun 22, 2019 at 9:46 AM UTC
first musical memory
playing Mary Poppins
over and over on my portable suitcase
phonograph
not convinced that
a spoonful of sugar helps the medicine go down
went over to my friends house
to play Barbies
heard B-B-B-Bennie and the Jets
on her record player
began my life long
love of rock music
grew up attending a Southern Baptist church
if my faith continues to evolve in and out of specific creeds and dogmatic beliefs
right arm will never fail to involuntarily rise
towards the Heavens
whenever i hear
How Great Thou Art being sung
parents were in their late 30's
by the time i was born
was exposed to big band music
show tunes
mom's favorite
French operatic singer Edith Piaf
Riverview Elementary
in music class
taught how to do The Hustle and The Bus Stop
to disco records
got to bring in
on Fridays
love of guys with
long hair
blame
on the big hair
bands
the 80's
the 90's
such a kinship to the dark depressing sounds of grunge
believed Scott Weiland
Kurt Cobain and
Jerry Cantrell
plagiarized my thoughts
mad or need to clean
my house
the 2 often go
hand in hand
heavy/nu metal blaring
at maximum volume
Currently
am at a crossroads
need of direction
helps me to undergo the deep soul searching
inecessary
major life changes are required
give myself vehicular therapy,
driving around Wilson Lake
symphonic classical sounds from the radio
surprisingly
maybe not
blaring
maximum
volume
brainstorming
my options
to the
music
overheard
ppl say
they wished that
their life
came with
a soundtrack
Mine does.
May 30, 2015
May 30, 2015 at 6:07 AM UTC
Silence is needed .
Silence is a massive part of your brainstorming session .
Let it be your studies , your workspace , your next project session or about your love .
And by love I didn't mean it to be a human being only .
Love is a strong possession , which can be about your newly bought Fountain pen or can be about your new social innovation .
But silence is needed , for making you stronger and your presence to be valuable .
Silence should be there as pure bliss , to give you a thought of match making .
Do you remember , how much you inhaled with silence and those breezy nights ?
Just cherish once about them and think where you were before some days and where are you now ; standing all alone and strong challenging all the facets of truth and society .
Yes , silence is needed .
Chaos can't always bring you to the path where you desired to end up with .
Silence doesn't make you socially introvert . It gives you the space for differentiating between you and what you will be .
Ask one poet or a writer or any person who loves to think at the end of the day , 'what is silence for them ? How much does it matter to them?'
Then come back to me and say again .... " I hate silence."
Silence is subjective . It is needed , but not always . And that also doesn't signify chaos should occupy the space .
Silence is needed to make space in those beautified chaotic nature .
Sep 25, 2014
Sep 25, 2014 at 11:38 AM UTC
We became nobodies
though we started as heros
of our own stories
to be written by our small hands
brainstorming the possibilites
If only we knew
how to start the thesis
someone somewhere made us believe
this world is all into shatters
let the mirror inside your soul
give you the key to find your role
we fell so hard for this lying
we all broke, shattered trying
as we became older and older
our dreams got much smaller
and the earth caged the falcon
while the lion met the mirror
a cat was staring right back at her
the dove's happy ending arose
with the vulture's ample smile
and the vulture dies not surprised
dreaming not of high flights
Nov 29, 2012
Nov 29, 2012 at 12:48 AM UTC
Waking in darkness to brainstorming moments
Warm under covers on this freezing morn,
Recalling the instants of yesterday’s sequences,
How they developed and how they were born……
*“Moving with grace in a form fitting garment,
Curves in the shadow light tauntingly near,
Beautiful lines in a moment of weakness
Titillate senses erotically clear.”
“Watching the mouth of the bigoted warbler,
Watching him spout his idolatry spiels,
Rhetoric of mind bending, **** licking garbage
Image of self is the place that he kneels.”
“Urgency now with insurances deadline
Making provision for payments now due,
Juggle the baksheesh for paying the piper
Or the cruelty of bankers will cauterise you!”
“Laughter arouses the happiest moments
Merriment opens the faces so well,
Emotively gracious the giving of laughter
Contagiously, wonderfully ringing the bell.”
"Uncomfortably caught in the midst of an untruth
Unconscionably really, can’t call it a lie,
Got caught in momentum of tale in the telling
Upsetting me now to the point where I cry.”
"Can’t recall why, but I know there’s a matter,
Ripping my britches to try to recall….
Something importantly, now to be dealt with
Frustratingly lost in the fog of it all.”
"Harmonies rise like a mist in the temple
Delicate cadences rise and they fall,
I wonder why God allows this unbeliever
To sing with the Angels in his Holy hall?”
“Running my fingertips over her curvature
Feeling the ***** line plummet to fall
Knowing the thrill of elicit collusion
Anticipate promise of wanting it all.”*
Sudden alarm in the midst of a waking
Urgency calls at the dawn of the day,
Heaving my soul into frost waiting fingers
Leaving my dreams in the warmth where they lay.
Marshalg
“Pukehana Paradise”
Auckland NZ.
22 June 2013
Jun 21, 2013
Jun 21, 2013 at 6:40 PM UTC
I treasure your thoughts for they mirror mine
and I often feel like the sky
So blue
but I am
just another reflection of you
the true source of life and all I can do
is jot ******* drops of truth
frigid fractalized isolated idioms
Verbose vapor flakes seeking fictional synonyms
headlong ing to be with you
more than me and I am not really blue
This much is truth
pooling thoughts in my planetarium booth
brainstorming ways to lightning youth
But I am not You
I am see through
a satellite out of view
conduit of the more true, Luna
who is more of an effec-tionate of you
morpheous of midnight master of black, whole, new
presenting red eyed roses nightly reflected by you
(but see me I am through)
Liquid glass
Preview
The deep the blue
and I am not blue
scratching the surface and rippling clues
like Voyager's travels
I am echoing shadows of the beauty
you innerview
snapshots of interstellar War Stars out of sight
I am through, see
you hold mysteries I only understand by sky light
when I move you move and you move with might
the final frontier is my domain but you hold many more
leagues unknown and forget me knots
Consider me the wife of Lott
in the massive wake
a primordial parking lot
present yet nought
Blue
In my ever reaching expanse
am just fuel for flame
fleas and moth flee in the aether of my veins
Which provide little shelter
From larger wings of change
While great and small exist in all
your leagues of superfluous membrane
Cool azule from whence life can be sustained
Be Tickled by the fingers of my admiration make waves of mutual celebration
But do not be humbly demurred
Be for me what I can not be
Blue
Jan 2, 2017
Jan 2, 2017 at 12:16 AM UTC
All I know of you
is the love I had for you
when I fell into this dream.
You were beautiful,
the way the sky turns orange and pink
at the end of an exhausting day -
slowly revealing a sky of starlight
that has taken years on end to reach my sight.
There was a sudden pull -
whether I toward you or you toward me
I'm still not sure -
but I know it was there.
You were swaddled so tight
in a blanket that bowed to your beauty.
Warm, needy eyes peeked
from behind peachy little eyelids,
laying full trust in my hands.
Before I knew it,
you were gone.
They took my baby.
Her name
is a bittersweet taste in my mouth.
Their words are
branded on my face -
"Ma'am, please sit down.
You're not being rational."
"There is no baby."
There is no baby,
but I feel her.
I feel her like a twister
pulling me in,
but I've been put in restraints.
Regardless of the ache in my bones
begging to be with her,
they've locked me up.
I am detached from reality.
Everything is wrong.
No one can tell me where she is.
They act as if
my eyes are turning to goo
and sliding out of their sockets -
avoiding eye contact
in fear of sympathy rising in their souls.
They stay on my trail,
dabbing away anxiety
as it seeps from my pores -
hoping I won't see or feel it.
I smell their fear
as I pace back and forth,
brainstorming my escape.
My dear Astrid,
where could she be?
I feel her tugging at my heart,
begging for a heroine.
Adrenaline is burning through me -
screaming at my body,
demanding I run for my baby
find my baby.
And my dream ended.
I've spent every day since then
looking for my baby.
I feel her in my heart.
Maybe she's real
and maybe I'm crazy -
either way,
I will never forget
my beautiful, stolen, and forgotten
daydream baby.
Jan 7, 2012
Jan 7, 2012 at 11:16 PM UTC
brainstorming
i sit down on a bus ride home and there’s this idea swirling in my head. i thought to myself,
“this actually sounds right. i should write this idea down.”
i took out my phone and wrote the first few words this idea in my head gave me.
i know I’ve written something. i know i’ll get back to it when i get home. i know there’s more to this idea in my head that will turn this few words into a sentence. to a paragraph. never ending word structures until i see fit.
i know i’ll finish this soon.
i put my phone down and stare outside the window. the view is nice. thousands of cars passing by as the traffic goes smoothly. another idea comes to mind. this time, it’s longer than a few words. it’s a jumble of thoughts. thoughts about cars moving, sound of traffic, the love of movement, and time passing. as these thoughts swirl like storm in my head, i pulled blinds of the window until only a slit of light passes through, a line of moving light flickering, i reach for my phone and open my twitter. i scroll through my timeline until the storm turns to rain, to drizzle, to quiet raindrops and at last, to a calm sunny day. thoughts i wish i’ve written, now long gone thrown in a heavily locked safe inside my head with the password written in a paper inside of it.
i scroll through my timeline again and i came across a poetry slam. as an emotional person, i cry at his words as if it actually was meant for me. as i continue to listen, the sunny empty day inside my head starts to create dark clouds again. it growls and rumbles, spewing lightning bolts down and i quiver. i am afraid. i know it wants to be heard but i try my best to ignore it. thunderclaps. it spoke. it rang my head till it couldn’t be ignored. i gave in.
i wrote. this time with all the words this dark cloud in my head gave me. there was no order. no structure. no idea. just words and pure emotion and i wasn’t stopping.
my fingers became a whirlwind. the storm in my head in sync with my whole body. i tremble. i am the storm. i stormed down the emptiness of a blank note page with thunder of words. rainstorms of emotions. lightning bolts of phrases, of sentences.
as the storm inside my head slowly turns to white, wringing its clouds to drizzle light rain. i add the finishing touches. the storm knows our work is done. it bids goodbye and gives me the calmness of white clouds and sun. i became calm and the bus stops.
Jul 18, 2019
Jul 18, 2019 at 2:35 AM UTC
I've been crying since the day
your tongue turned into
a stage of dancing lies
my hair pulled back
to hide the smell of
dead thoughts of us
of how leaves look prettier
when they're dead in autumn
of how I would be prettier
if I were dead too
the way your fingers lit in passion
whenever we touched
the way your fingertips sparked the fire
of cigarettes smoked to the bone
I remember the smell of your hands
danger with a glimpse of loneliness
I liked it
I loved it
The day your tried to bottle up
all the love I had for you
and the glass didn't resist
the day I stole your gun
to make you say you loved me
the way you took it from me
the way I understood you'd never catch
the stockholm syndrome from me
I'm sorry
I'm so sorry.
Sep 21, 2014
Sep 21, 2014 at 4:37 PM UTC
It's 2 am still not home
I know she hates sleepin alone
callin my phone
I don't reply
Brainstorming up, another lie
So much to hide
Never found
My minds blank, heart pounds
I hear the sounds
Of war
Love battlefield with who I love as I adore
Knees hit the floor
Drugs just hit
Do I get up?
Or do I quit?
These four walls moving in quick
Stomachs sick
Why can't I Handle this!?
An addicts mind
Creates u to be blind
Pills workin fast
Running out of time
(footsteps down the stairs)
Here she comes
To only see
The man she loved
Or....what use to be
Swore I thought she was a sleep
Dying slow
My heart deceits
Faking the truth
To console me
She touches me
Hugs me
Whispers that
She loves me
I tell her wait
Hesitate
Feel the rush of novacane
Bodies numb, Pulse cold
Lost our bond
Where did It go?!
Heart beatin faster
Close to my disaster
This fairy tale
has no Happily ever after
Eyes slowly shut
Before I leave
Her cryin face, Is what I see.
My final words to her were
Don't touch me.
In heaven I cry
Wish I could change time
Can't believe that I actually
died by a lie.
Jul 17, 2013
Jul 17, 2013 at 2:37 PM UTC
While jaye threw to stephanie's house, shane was brainstorming a tropicana plan. jaye the Brendon Urie's toilet decided to go for a shipping. shane and his friend cat, a cumquat, met jaye at Texas. cat snatched jaye's a ball, his most prized possession. jaye BANGARANG, but shane just laughed and said, ""your mother"". shane and cat married away, leaving jaye stranded. jaye dropped to the ground and EEK CHUK BEEK BANG. He was very confuzzled.
Mar 6, 2014
Mar 6, 2014 at 2:08 PM UTC
I remember when I didn't like your boyfriend and you said that I couldn't tell him I hated him anymore because he was important to you.
You were never apparent enough because you never told me that I wasn't.
The days always dragged on and we would commiserate on the lack of family.
We were never a family.
But it was always my fault, wasn't it?
Solitary nights, I found myself accompanied by the ticking of an alarm clock made of metal that wasn't quite as cold as your heart.
I spent those nights alone brainstorming efficacious ways to **** the pain but I never got too long of a list. Mainly it consisted of picking up a blade.
You never noticed the pencil sharpeners suddenly missing. You never noticed that I only wore long sleeves, even during the summer. Now that I think of it, you never really noticed anything. But I can't really blame you when you were never home to see it.
I remember wondering why you loved him so much. The scent of alcohol constant on his breathe, quick with his words like sharpened scissors. Your sword turned into a shield made of paper. Fire and fire, but I was the one who got burned. I never understood why he loved you either.
I remember when I came home from school and the boxes were stacked to the ceiling with his name printed neatly on the sides. I thought maybe you two had another fight, but it wasn't that at all. It was me.
"I can't deal with that for another four years!" he shouted.
It was ME...
But even when he left nothing changed. In fact, I think it got worse.
I remember screaming at you that you made me want to **** myself. I remember it because I was shaking, tears rolling down my cheeks. It was the first time I had ever verbalized something like that. And with such anger and pain, but mostly fear.
You didn't hit me though. You didn't pull my hair like I thought you might. Instead you grabbed your car keys and you didn't come home for awhile.
I remember sinking to the floor, back against the wall. I cried for a bit and held myself. Mostly because I knew you wouldn't. You never did. I never wanted much, but maybe I asked for more than you could give.
Every day in that house, I felt unwanted. Alone.
Unimportant. Unappreciated. Unloved.
You were never a parent enough because you never told me that I wasn't.
-k.d.
Dec 22, 2013
Dec 22, 2013 at 12:30 PM UTC
The time we spend on
Blank pages and paper
Is like throwing money
Into empty spaces.
Minds racing and clocks ticking
Pen on paper
Fingers on home row keys.
Scrolling and spacebars
Ink and led.
FOCUSED....
The next thought
Is the next word
Pronouns, adjectives, verbs
Periods, commas, question marks.
Proofreading and backspacing
Fiction or fact
Intensity and excitement
Intelligence kicking in.
All day long phrase catching
All night long remembering
I can do this, I can do this
I will finish what I started.
Brainstorming vs distractions
Silence vs noises
FOCUSED.....
Speaking without talking
The passion of your work
A thousand pages
A million words
Pen down
Typing ends.
Time to rest
The body and mind,
It's done....but
More on the way.
Results, two thumbs up
We think
We work
We spend time
We fill up pages
We....WE ARE WRITERS
Jul 28, 2015
Jul 28, 2015 at 12:46 PM UTC
Being poor takes time
Years before you were born
Decades after
Being poor is hereditary
Dad ignores your call all day
He knows you are calling for your school fees
Then, being poor becomes analytical
You keep brainstorming in church
Is it a good idea if I pay this offering
Being poor can be romantic
You share a plate of rice with your girl on a date
You dare not order for two
Being poor is a war
An endless battle between your stomach and your pride
Stomach always win
Being poor is observant
You stare at the green Nike footwear in the store everyday
With all lust and faintest of hope
Being poor is emotional
You get mad at complete strangers for not giving you a free ride under the scorching sun
Being poor demand self control
You fight the urge to buy new shoes
Who want to walk miles to work
Till next paycheck?
Being poor is knowing how much everything cost
Being poor is no child's play
Dec 14, 2017
Dec 14, 2017 at 4:54 AM UTC
You are wafting above my carelessness like an aged, crafty hope.
Bearing in mind that, starting from this verse, I'm utilizing as much tenderness as I can, tolerating the brainstorming of some beautiful expressions I had saved, on the American manual lexicon that I craved, your mushy wings are too soft to ponder manipulating the ruin's hell, keep your baby heart classy and friendly so you can dwell.
There are days that you are glinting like a concealed jewel, joining the stars through their ceremonies, acting cool.
I'm too rigid and miserable to smash. Your whole integrity dares not mess with the unsolved poetic puzzle in its cache.
Aug 4, 2023
Aug 4, 2023 at 12:50 PM UTC
In my bed,
I am falling into fantasy,
face down, plummeting
into my pillow.
I am dreaming to escape reality,
and escaping reality to dream
and contemplating,
brainstorming,
things I’ll forget by morning.
Nov 25, 2011
Nov 25, 2011 at 11:04 AM UTC
I'm brainstorming up a riot.
One where people will die
When they're asleep
And quiet.
I'm brainstorming up a riot.
Where you can hear all types of war cries.
One where all types of people will die
I'm brainstorming up a riot.
With lots of fire and guns.
One where all you can hear are
The traumatizing sounds of bullets being released.
And the blood curdling screams of people dying.
I'm brainstorming up a riot.
That the government can't handle.
With bombs designed as food,
And no ruler is there to rule.
I'm brainstorming up a riot.
To where when you step outside,
There's a 98% chance you can die.
I'm brainstorming up a riot.
Where all you can see is blood,
And corpses.
And all you can smell is the putrid scent of rotting flesh and dried up blood.
I'm brainstorming up a riot.
One that can't even compete with war.
One where peoples hearts are took over with hatred.
And the only thing on their mind,
Is death and ******
You read it right.
I'm brainstorming up a riot.
And the funny thing is,
I don't even know why.
Dec 15, 2019
Dec 15, 2019 at 11:48 AM UTC
I am thinking, like always
No filters or analyizing
Pure, raw, thoughts
Dancing together around a bonfire
The embers popping
and the smoke stings
But I am happy
And my mind is evidence
I'm thinking with no restrictions
And I know you are to blame
I am feeling orange today
Because I woke up before
My alarm; 7:05
And my mind is lighting
Sparklers because its the 4th of July
Even though it's November
Because right now
I am free
Nov 19, 2012
Nov 19, 2012 at 10:30 PM UTC
Holding the telescope
Of the past...
As I journey down the
Memory lane of my life
From the day of birth
Every action seemed serene
Until a certain moment
Behaviors changed to me
...Love was not aureole...
It was cloaked and serpentine
The chords that bond
Were now blanch and vile
The rain bursted upon us
"Pain and Strife"
Withholding the harmony
Of strings and lines
Enthusiasm was totally lost
And energy restrained
Brainstorming in vain
Seeking ideas for a change
Knowing I could be the
Catalyst who will pave the way
Though the visions seemed blur
Hope drew a "Bigger Picture" with faith
Imaginations I fantasized
Of my home soon arised
Thoughts spinning through galaxies
When we finally unite
To my family, a bond
That will never divide
Even through our broken hearts
..We Will Surely Be Alright!!!...
Oct 2, 2016
Oct 2, 2016 at 7:46 PM UTC
if you look into the mirror
and you don't break down and cry
you better thank the so called god above
that you don't want to die
you are blessed
unlike the rest
who cry themselves to sleep
because they hate their ****** reflection
they just want to love themselves
sick and tired of all the objections
why is it that
I see deep inside
I am nothing but worthless
why am I even alive?
Dec 5, 2013
Dec 5, 2013 at 11:47 AM UTC
I once had a flash of inspiration
To birth a new invention
Did a lot of investigation
Gathered a lot of information
Saw positive indications
Boosted my motivation
There was a team formation
People of same dedication
We had brainstorming sessions
Listed all the specifications
Began the implementation
Encountered a few obstructions
Made necessary modifications
Noticed a couple defections
Applied the proper corrections
And we had a successful completion!
Sep 20, 2018
Sep 20, 2018 at 6:33 PM UTC