"capacities" poems
There is a painful vacuum
Not a naked desire but still
A longing unfulfilled
That hollows the soul
It is why babies wail
Why old men wake crying
From beginning to end
We evolved to be touched
Skin on skin does not need to be
A ****** frenzy
A hug, a handshake
And pat on the back
Or a hand on his shoulder
The old man waits
The silence of isolation breaks
Oxytocin rushes through his system
Rebooting forgotten feelings
Restoring diminished capacities
It does not return all abilities
But enlivens deadened synapses
Yes it is very cerebral
Without it we wither away
Stewing in mental and physical decay
So, have you touched someone today?
Jul 6, 2015
Jul 6, 2015 at 12:41 PM UTC
You love to get the words out of me
The words I wouldn’t use, they sound *****
You love the way I look at you
I look into your eyes, and something sets free
You love the way I listen to you
I remember everything, Mr. Perfect doesn’t
We both love crushing
I crush on you
And you crush me
You call me your tomboy
And get so possessive
You say that you need me
And then act submissive
I adjust your dresses
Sometimes your shoe laces
When you keep me waiting
I say you are allowed
Don’t call me bro
Babe, what is the ground
We both love crushing
I crush on you
And you crush me
You say you love me
Every time you text
I say, “I love you”
You shoot hearts and rainbows back
You want to know about my crushes
If I ever loved a girl
You wink and dance with me
Say I’m the only one to make you twirl
We both love crushing
I crush on you
And you crush me
You love when I play gentleman
Opening the door
Letting you lead
Walking you back
Paying you heed
You gush about my skills
The way I move the swords
The way I calculate
The way I play with words
Close discussions and debates
And then we discuss
How Mr. Perfect and you are hanging
We both love crushing
I crush on you
And you crush me
We are best friends
And you want us to be, forever
You want to hang out
And go abroad together
I would stand by you
In all platonic capacities
Even when Mr. Perfect marries you
And claims you stupidly
We both love crushing
I crush on you
And you crush me
May 25, 2020
May 25, 2020 at 11:39 PM UTC
At Nineteen,
I bore witness to the live Birth of my Son.
He was adopted out via Open Adoption
to a very nice Family a few Hours away in Ukiah.
I'm still in contact with them, I get pictures every six Months
and I'm very happy to also be able to see Him every so many Months.
At Twenty,
I lost my Father. I found him on the floor and called 911. I paid for his Cremation the next day.
It was what he told me he wanted; his ashes are in a box in my room.
Perhaps even moreso than he was my "Father", he was by best Friend;
for better and for worse.
At Twenty-One;
my Girlfriend of Five Years, who was also Mother of the aforementioned Child, and I
broke up on Friendly terms. Now she lives about 200 miles away.
We're still cordial, and I'm glad we still speak.
Eternal Allies are rare to come by,
to say the least.
So far, Twenety-Two has been rather turbulently eventful, as well.
Between Family and their lack, personal choices and relationships,
and the furtherment of my Self as well as my expressive Capacities,
it's been a hell of a Twenty-Two so far,
to say the least.
All of these things leave me with an Understanding
that I cannot ever judge anyone, for I know not of their struggles
and that no One can ever truly judge anyone else,
for the same reason.
Through all of this, I feel evermore
that this Life is ******* great,
and that's no sarcastic remark:
Life
is a trippy and tumultuous Journey
and I'm thankful for this opportunity
to experience this Holiest of Realities, to say the least;
though it is a Lesson in Humility, to say the least.
And thus:
Thank you for reading my writings.
Thank you for taking time out to read what I have to bring forth.
Thank you for existing and expressing.
Blessings upon thy Paths;
wheresoever you've been
wheresoever you're going
thank you just for Being.
Please be your Self; you owe it to your Self,
for that is all you ever have, to say the least,
and so, once more:
Blessings upon thy Path.
Jul 28, 2013
Jul 28, 2013 at 8:24 PM UTC
Deep out on the rim of the galaxy
there lies a tiny place
that no one knows about.
It’s the place where all good things come from.
All the generations of and for love
and kindness and bliss and forgiveness
root at its source.
It is the ultimate destination
among our solar heavens.
Try to imagine a lost vessel,
isolated and tired,
hiccuping between the suns,
then finding the Great Milky Way's secret place of joy.
Our undisclosed place of love.
The place we all forgot.
Earth.
These occupants of the ship would be lost to reveling
at our earthly capacities for tenderness.
OH, the total bliss they all must feel!
Ahh,
be careful now you.
I've gone and caught you being optimistic.
Try to remember this solid truth.
Equally hidden in the stars,
there is a place of evil.
One where the tempted souls
and sinners place their geneses.
A place of desperation and angst
and fear and segregation.
There is always a little a yin to the yang.
There is no one with out the other.
Jan 2, 2014
Jan 2, 2014 at 5:41 PM UTC
They hide behind
A masked impunity
One that loiters on the lips
That gathers dust
While proclaiming
A nightmare of angels
Who haunt derangement
In startling blasphemous hullucinations
Which excite to the point of delerium
Who menace with grandiose examples
Which surpass all human capacities
Renouncing indisputable rights as heresy
Keeping their stones not cast, unthrown
Aug 8, 2012
Aug 8, 2012 at 3:04 PM UTC
∙∙∙◦◦•◎•◦◦∙∙∙
Loneliness is the name we gain
Abandoned in attics of despaired shame
We might not know who our maker is
Nor even how we're birthed without a single kiss
Sailing shore to shore of no causing way
We fly, we glide, we slip away
Each day is our rite without rights
Pondered those colors from black to white
And out our interluding charades
Oh, how we are judge by senseless mocking jays
Enraptured by our capacities we can engage
Still we leered showing a zealous face
From dust, A man was oddly fabricated
A tapestry of wonders to show its vivacity
He's so different from our Avant name
And has a thought that could seize a luring day
But if he never saw how wide the narrow he'd take
From dust a man shall die ever the same
Jun 24, 2017
Jun 24, 2017 at 10:55 AM UTC
I need as many bullets I can have
To stuff them down
Packed in my mags
So I may say so valiantly
You cannot take my guns from me
Because you see,
You better leave me be
For I have weapons
So I must not flee
And leave my pride behind
I need capacities for a war
To take down my hunting prey
So if you come door to door
My guns are mine
And if you try
I will bring you a civil war
Do not take my guns from me
The second amendment does decree!
That I have the strict liberty
To protect myself with unstoppable force
The government wants my guns from me
So they may enslave my family
Big Brother is watching so carefully
But my guns will deny them victory
My guns will revolt against them fast
Take those guns from me, put a time limit on my play things
Because surely that will make me less of a man
Without his guns he is hopeless
Apr 29, 2013
Apr 29, 2013 at 9:44 PM UTC
How strangely coincidental,
it is, how nothing inspires you
with age,
that a shy, withered leaf parting sedentary waters,
is dewy-eyed dead yet unconsciously graceful;
such profanities of nature,
no longer expands your soul
like a burgeoning bubble which whisks you to write
carelessly-composed poetry over forgotten dinner plates....
it's a tragic symphony of desperate piano keys,
a blurring condition of blacks and whites,
age, and nothing but overused, age, is.
And so on lonely train journeys,
you craft a smattering of shorthand poems,
about how crackled, aged people on trains only have capacities
for whimsical jokes,
and nothing but dear,
dear whimsicality as life's
gilded philosophy,
when their bodies are no longer covered with
magic leaflets of hand-strung poetry,
for they are barren,
and if gods were gods of stanzaic hymns,
they'd open bloodless wombs of literary nymphs,
or so boldly believed,
the aged once-artist say.
Mar 18, 2015
Mar 18, 2015 at 9:25 AM UTC
time changes
and I realize the world needs my LOVE.
so I want to write more love poems
and infect heartstreams,
bursting valve seams, repairing flows.
carrying capacities need expanding,
deep breath felt.
simplicities stacking, and all else is.
decension, the reflection of ascension,
is being dug.
the perspective has always been from above.
time to root down, bury down, dig deep
in the ground and bring the LOVE down.
in the darker side, where light struggles sometimes,
here, this minor level, that many feel is
real,
this place needs the panting of love
to be rained down.
souls duped to believe
evil is abound.
cycles are always dark and light
and layers are thin.
pay closer attention to the place
where to the two meet again,
that point, moment, peace.
listen to its speech, the flow of a new
sprout on a tree,
the fungus sprawl through its wood.
stretching its love from underground,
above, to feed and seed and heed
the lessons here.
biodiversity, nourishment, interdependence,
just being loving. nurturing,
to your self, the total inclusiveness...
our carry capacity for LOVE is infinity.
eights will flow infinitely, so we just let it be,
walk easily, stop and discover those on our path.
discover the magic of home.
Oct 26, 2015
Oct 26, 2015 at 4:34 PM UTC
frustration
************
she'd make love if she knew
if she could
if she would
when her life seems to spiral down
mental capacities limited more and more
she sips a little 80 proof
packs another bowl and waits for
life
to
BEGUN
listens to music that reminds her of beautiful boys
that have long gone
moved on
beautiful boys they dance and sing play music together
in her dreams all of them
together smiling faces
cheating messes
probation
with some hesitation
she'd make love if she could
life
frustration
make love to a bar of soap
it's all you got
they ended short short relationship with a parting wish
"go **** yourself, *****
...and as she stands in shower
wonders if they'd feel satisfied
if they knew she did exactly that
it's all she has
one parting wish
and a bar of soap
Feb 23, 2010
Feb 23, 2010 at 6:18 PM UTC
standing on the love-lock bridge in paris
i felt the hope secured in each metal contraption
thousands upon thousands
every link of fence occupied
sharpie and custom prints
revealing the names of lovers,
dates
some present, some new
a timeline of love
efforts to have
some minute, impossible
control over fate
thinking lifeless objects
and cast away keys
will keep people together
May 12, 2013
May 12, 2013 at 8:43 PM UTC
Stoplight Lynching,
Drive-by Reaping,
Soul snatching police officers,
Throat tearing teacher’s with a theme
Violence in the genes,
Scheming while masquerading what you are to be,
Playing charades because social acceptance is in,
Evolving from barbarism to greed,
Juxtaposed Imposter,
Judicially Jaded,
Think you can wield a blade,
When congressional dribble will bleed you away,
Martyr Mishaps,
Minds without maps and easy to catch,
A congregation in need creeds,
Stoplight sinning,
Drive-by finishing,
Soul savoring deities,
Throat slicing teachings,
Ignorance is a conquering king,
All encompassing,
All controlling,
Ignorance is a conquering thief, compromising our mental capacities for the sake of Almighty Themes.
Apr 4, 2013
Apr 4, 2013 at 3:15 PM UTC
Fatigue is setting in giving my affect a kind of relaxed
hereness, because there is very little energy for anything else
Tomorrow remains a mystery, but there will be a battle, I know
the forces will arrive, armed with ipads or paper or their phones
and their judgemental brains of varying sizes and capacities
I am tired, and I need to avoid the unecessary confrontation and most
especially desist from worrying about anything that isn't happening in the moment
the battery is low, I have no grenades only a small shield and that's
not really enough to battle with, and really, I've always been out armed
and totally outnumbered and overpowered and yet somehow I'm still here
through sheer cleverness. But I make mistakes and there is so little power left now at
the end that I must be shrewd and watch them like a lioness watching a herd of gazelles
Dec 2, 2012
Dec 2, 2012 at 9:33 PM UTC
Death
is
subjective.
Harvests
of
thought
which
stir the
midnight
consolations
churn
and
turn
empty
capacities.
Emotions
which
awaken
yet
cease
all
in
the
space
of
30
spent
seconds,
little
slaughter.
Equinoxes
sprung
and
autumnal
spines
break
flooding
in
a whispered
annihilation.
Expiration
morphs
wasteland
into
sentience
as
Darkness
of
a post
apocalypse
draws
and
sketches
on
a
spent
sheet of
paper.
Jan 26, 2016
Jan 26, 2016 at 5:52 AM UTC
nobody was who they claimed to be anymore
they changed, mostly rotted
everything is rotting and i wanted to run away
i did not want to become expired at this age,
decomposed into an attitude of egocentricity and midnight humor,
i did not want to ridicule those around, spewing venom consistently
making someone feel less and causing them to decay
i wanted to love everybody despite their capacities, their intelligence, their attitude
i did not want the trend of hating the human race
i cannot stand "i hate everyone but myself" anymore
its time to put an end
i refuse to live my life with negative energy hovering around swelling me up into a mound of stress and forehead wrinkles
hear me out
i need to leave
don't rot me too
Jan 27, 2015
Jan 27, 2015 at 5:59 PM UTC
You are the bright place for me
Who made me think there are thousands of capacities even if you're unaware
You've made me lovable and it's lovely to be loveble to the one I love
You've painted my life with full of colours more than in your own canvas .
You didn't take anything from me instead you've left intense emotions in me .
You've made me believe in uncertainty , because at the end of the day it is memories we cherish not dates .
You've made me notice small beautiful things
You've made me rational and emotional at the same time .
You've made me feel I'm not disappointing .
You've showed me i don't need to stand on a mountain to feel I'm at the top of the world , but I need someone to love who will stand beside me .
You've shuned my intuitions beyond i could've imagine.
I am scared to be ordinary and you are interesting , wanderer , different and that's why I love you .
And in some moments i fear losing hold of your hand .
You know how much terrible i feel when I can't be there for you to make you put to in a peaceful sleep .
In the midst of imperfections , you've showed me there is such thing as a perfect day .
I have these feeling's as if I am waiting for something , and when I see you i realise it's you .
You are my escape , you are the bright place where I wander . A place uncountable things to notice and I have all the time in the world to look closely to them .
But One day you left , because you were bright place not with lights but with fire .
You we're buring brighten up other's lives .
But the difference is i am very close to you and you know when we get close to fire ..🖤🖤
May 12, 2020
May 12, 2020 at 3:23 PM UTC
every woman out there wants to be with a guy who treats her right, showers her with love and would do anything just to see her smile. A gentleman would be perfect for that. Being a gentleman is about so much more than just opening doors and sweet talk. He could be doing all those things just for one reason. Being a gentleman is more about character and integrity. He’s someone who’s above everything else, a decent human being. He treats everyone with the respect they deserve, and is especially considerate of his girl, in every regard.
Let’s look at the 4 signs of a true gentleman;
4. All women are honorable for him
The women in his family, at work, his friends, his girlfriend or even the women he doesn’t know all that well. Each one of them is respectable for him, in different capacities, but respectable all the same. He’d never do anything to disgrace them or hurt them in any way. He acknowledges their worth and appreciates them for what they all add to his life. He’d treat his girl a little differently, but holds all women in high regard, in spite of how he may be related to them.
3. He constantly reminds women of their true value
Simply put, he’s anything but a chauvinist. He doesn’t merely claim to think highly of women, but proves it time and again as well. With everyone trying to bring women down, he’s the one who truly believes that they ought to be treated better, and does so himself.
2. He prefers intelligence over power
He knows the kind of woman he wants. While some of them may want to be with him for his money or status, he’d never settle for someone with superficial precedence. He thinks intellect is something that can help you even where power fails you. And he’d appreciate someone who shares a similar view. He chooses his company wisely. His circle would be comprised of people who challenge him and inspire him to be his best and add to his wisdom.
1. He is good with money
Handling money can be tricky. If he doesn’t go overboard with his spending and is careful with his funds, he’s definitely dependable. The source of income and his spending habits should be noted. How, where and who does he spend it on?
To sum up, a true gentleman is reliable in every imaginable way; ranging from being emotionally reliable to financially reliable. He’d be the living example of everything a woman could ask for. He upholds his values, respects everyone equally, is considerate of other people and is never selfish.
What is your definition of a true gentleman? Have you found him yet? Does he have any additional qualities? Looking forward to your input.
Oct 23, 2015
Oct 23, 2015 at 6:59 AM UTC
They tell us of places and theories
speak of the radicalness of our flesh
say that we must take responsibility of ourselves
as they sit behind their hard earned desks
they speak of their authority
and empowerment through words to the point that I wish to acquire such audacity
isn't that what our liberation is all about?
Recreating patterns of oppression
reach elitist capacities
sound … well structured and become one of the prodigies they can throw in their collection of so called advancement
I no longer seek validation of my processes through your bureaucratic systems
my knowledge does not emanate from intellectually justified sources but from las historias passed down to me by my fore-mothers
keep your favors, sympathy and unreasonable accommodations
yes, I will move on
but con un nuevo entendimiento:
de que ustedes no dictan las bases del feminismo
ni la capacidad de mi criterio
resisto sus juicios
y no acepto sus terminos
no firmo
por que mi educacion
no tiene fecha de expiracion
ni es un producto o contrato
al mejor postor.
Jan 19, 2014
Jan 19, 2014 at 3:32 AM UTC
Subtle message
Instantly symbolic
Transferred it to the long-term the moment I got it.
I'm taking a pause
Living, slowly fulfilling my cause
Paying attention, in a state of awe
Not waiting for any particular call
Blessed with a canvas,
Where the only law is to draw
Head in the air,
Feet on the ground
Realities, only differ based on what we allow
I've found peace
That travels with me when I hit the streets
Exhale for a gentle release
Break your soul free from the mental capacities' fees
Do what you love, please
I want us to walk away happy,
With ease, away from our shells like a feather in the breeze~
Apr 6, 2014
Apr 6, 2014 at 7:45 PM UTC
In a vast canvas, human mind could never fully conceive,
life is unfolded as a moving picture, a chain of events-
intricately webbed, beyond the capacities of calculation
of even the most sophisticated super computer,
when the story proceeds act after act, note without fail,
a fog, descends from nowhere, one even fails to notice its role,
it cleans up the canvas, for the movement forward,
without any order, dissolves part of the canvas in to the background,
don't expect fire works, thunder or lightening always
the fog that makes the marked parts disappear, keeps its mystery in tact,
there appears a wound somewhere, blood spurt,
then without much tending the mouth of the wound closes,
perhaps a faint scar will be left, but no one will notice,
life and death close each other's mouth in a conspiracy of silence.
Dec 11, 2013
Dec 11, 2013 at 12:41 PM UTC
what is it like to
sit
on laundromat tiles
with fish eyes blank
slack jaw
words coming out
"you're too young"
my porcelain skin
isn't china doll thin;
i've felt things inside that rupture
stitching
that morph into a blazing
hot sun because i feel
it's burn in every molecule
thrown under microscopes and watching
the chemical reaction of knowing
you're in love and being in love and always wanting love
with the one person who gives you love
as amebas you can't
measure the age
"oh yes it's love, no
doubt about that"
scientifically proven.
but when you add a
slight skeleton
skin with cuts and scars
from off balanced racing on concrete
with feet that feel every
material of every terrain
and wide eyes that smile
because
life can truly be beautiful.
when you add all that-
love somehow becomes less potent
as if the inner
bonds of feeling
are taken less
seriously.
tell me this;
my lips curve around his name
and my voice box softens
and slows,
dragging out letters
like they hold a story in each one
and to me they always will
should that change with age, should it lessen?
my heart pumps in the same rhythm that
it will 20 years from now.
love has no age
it exists in timeless capacities
and does not know numbers,
it will not see them
it sees two hands
holding one another
gently like
sacred white doves
alighting on aspen
branches
with roots that bury in deep-
but bark as tender
as newborn babies
Aug 19, 2013
Aug 19, 2013 at 12:52 AM UTC
From parturition to bereavement
Your destiny is there
To gather to embrace
Or discard without a care.
From the moment that a father
Holds a newborn in his hands
And dares his thoughts to venture
To his baby’s future plans.
From the little boy who ponders
How to scale the mountain high
And sets his sights to conquer
Till he reaches clear blue sky.
From the moment that a damsel
In her frilly party frock
Plans a life of strutting catwalks
Clad in classy, fashion stock.
When a young man battles conscience
In his fight with lust’s hot sin
And temptation’s call to deviate
To ******* or crime or gin.
From the sloth of doing nothing
In letting time just trickle by,
To the driven soul who strives
To win each challenge with each try.
From the numbness of exhaustion
Clad in cancer’s deathly quilt,
Where the chance of a tomorrow
Depends on, largely, how you’re built.
As the cloak of family mantle
Shoulders mortgage, wife and child
With responsible compliance
To secure commitments filed.
And the burden of an aged life
When capacities do fade,
There’s a burning need to champion
The good destiny's, displayed.
Wherein to demonstrate the honour,
To the new incoming teens,
In showing destiny’s importance
To fulfilling our bold dreams.
Through the realm of our potential
In the great unknown ahead,
The joy of running with our destiny
Makes the future read as read.
Marshalg
@thebach
27 August 2011
Aug 26, 2011
Aug 26, 2011 at 7:57 PM UTC
Dear therapist once said, "Once you stop trying to escape yourself, you will have won a big phase of the battle because in reality there is no one you presently have to escape or fear. One, because you are no longer a child, and two, because you have more, much more, personal power and capacities to protect yourself then in the past.”
It was so many years ago when I bought a costume of a confident woman with no history of abuse. I was the only one who knew it was a costume, and when I looked in the mirror, I longed to be that woman, the beautiful, confident woman with nothing to hide, and I never took that costume off. I pushed away the thoughts, the disgust that was of the past, I could do it…it was easy. I just had to stay busy, and not leave time to think about it. But one day that all came to a screeching halt and suddenly my life was so painful, and the pain was so intense…I wanted to be left alone in my pain, I did not want to share the pain I was feeling. I was afraid to explore the darkness that dwelled inside of me, the darkness that I had ignored and pushed away for so many years. I was afraid if the things that lived in my darkness were exposed to light, they would grow out of control, and overcome me, make me weak and afraid, **** me into the darkness until I no longer existed.
But the darkness was not to be ignored, it snuck up on me during the night, it rattled my windows, and wrote ****** bitter graffiti on my walls. There was no escape, I could no longer outrun my past, it had caught up with me, now ran beside me, and I knew it would soon overtake me. I began to have panic attacks, waking in the middle of the night, unable to breathe. I needed a coach, a life coach, and I needed one fast! I needed a coach to teach me to run faster, to escape. So I began to search for a coach and when I found one, but rather than teach to me run faster, he wanted me to slow down, to look…he wanted me to feel. What? Why would I allow myself to feel, it would just hurt, cause me pain. He told me that I could run until I wore myself out but I could not escape my past or my pain. I had to learn to face my past in order to move forward and heal. When I told him I was scared, that I didn't have the strength to face it, he told me that he would 'train me', stay with me, and help me to find the strength within me that he could see. The strength I saw in him was a reflection of the strength I was seeking for myself.
I have been hit time and time again in this process. I have had black eyes, bruised and cut skin, broken bones and a shattered spirit. And when I could not find the strength, he would help me, encourage me and cheer me on. I am moving forward, and I am starting to see my worth.
Nov 12, 2013
Nov 12, 2013 at 11:10 PM UTC
milbrightlions of December —
you come announced in multiplicity.
even the night-herald blooms through
the beams of astounded simulations.
buoyantly uttering a word
of light, stilling itself in the sky,
unasked for.
surmounting the Narra and the mangrove,
sieged to a halt in its exactitude
like the uncomplicated machination
of what makes fire simmer in a wick.
all of its brazenness hearten
in easily toppled altitudes — even our
battlements scar our unexplained
liminality we grieve at first glance.
airless are the spaces we lean on,
testing their capacities. shrills bloom
clearer. our mouths plump and glazed.
our flesh hurtle all incarnadine, all true
unlike the twining of roads lit like
faces in the marketplace —
a dynasty of brokenness.
Dec 3, 2015
Dec 3, 2015 at 6:17 AM UTC
To my Turtledove in residense.(1)
The Almond Tree of my garden.
Hiding gently behind my hanging baskets,curious ,well aware
On this very fresh,pure and lucid morning,I guess you unaware
Was scouting around the blue sky,well perched quite proudly upon
The branches of my rich “Almond Tree”,loaded with fruits anon.
Gentle Turtledove, you and I are blessed to be sharing,in our bosoms
With pride and joy,this holy instant perfumed by the almond blossoms,
That feeling of bonding made me suddenly aware that we could all
Enjoy these moments of closeness with each of those around us all.
You would agree gentle Turtledove,that warmth is a skill,alike love,
For sure,and should be spread around and shared around with love.
Capacities for magic powers of tolerance,acceptance,understanding,
Are there,imbedded cautiously within our soul and heart,hearing
The multitude of suffrance,despair,and injustice,upon then we could
Move mountains,all obstacles against all odds.Lending a hand would
Aliviate pains and incertitutes,stretching our magic powers we could.
Thank you my Turtledove
Geneviève
Jun 8, 2015
Jun 8, 2015 at 11:25 AM UTC