"capsulated" poems
A Birthday Poem for Sally B:
what-matters-can-neither-be-created-or-destroyed
~~~
the principal thing about principles,
like the concept of time,
that in time, with time,
they come to reflect our
immutable essence's own best reflection,
come only, round or square
come only, too little too late
come, too much too soon
so the simpler, the better,
so the matter
of what really matters
needs capture in some
capsulated summary form,
a daily vitamin for the soul
so I thank you for
the gift
of your birthday,
the anibersaryo of a day of naissance,
this one solo, kakaiba,
among the many,
a present presented to the world
*so on this particular day,
we must thank you
for the wonder of wonder
that justifies existence,
for what truly matters
cannot be created or destroyed,
and your matter, mass,
your presence's Grace upon this earth,
graces the hearts of thousands,
today and forevermore
this is what matters and
can never be recreated,
can never be destroyed...
~~~
Oct 24, 2015
Oct 24, 2015 at 6:15 AM UTC
*grew my hair too long, watched it get cut and
all the snippets
fell to the floor,
decided my hair had not been
long enough
started all over again,
longer longer deeper longer,
pasting the snippets together
hoping the parts are greater than the
hole I am forever filling with
Haagen Daz vanilla buttermilk,
wise choices of words,
the satisfactory completion
of finishing and the joyous anticipatory
of starting all over again
undecided if today will be
a day where I tend my love, or,
need more being attended to
every poem I every writ
is just a
snip snip snip
of instant instances seconds capsulated
that run on into one long sentence my
gorgeous blonde 5th grade teacher, who had a crush on me,
(and vice versa)
would red ink wink critique as a
run on sentence and I could not agree more
snip snip snip
becomes a life
of one run on sentence to living larger and longer,
want a becoming life,
life becoming comely,
only commas and no periods,
period
exhausting the indecision of living
so pasting snippets seems more manageable
but not so much fun, indeed, in deed,
too much **** work, this cutting and pasting,
so gonna give you the rough and tumble of my words
as they pour out and as long as they keep coming back,
I'll keep on pouring and ******* and godpraise
this word well that runs dry never
my poems are not too long -
if you have learned to taste wisely -
how to taste gloriously languorously language
my poems are not too long,
life is too short to leave all these
demoted spaces of empty,
in between the raging and the loving,
the aching, fretting and the heaven sending thrills
of thanking the powers to be for everything
I got blessed with,
even my curses are just the flip side of*
***snip snip snip
so much from just one cup of coffee***
<>
six minutes of Aug 13, 2016 life, something you might call a
snip snip snip
SIP
Aug 13, 2016
Aug 13, 2016 at 6:43 AM UTC
I’m Up! I’m Up!
…………………
The pink rag, soaked in ice cold water flops onto my capsulated face,
Caught in between the colorful alligator whom follows me in the darkness and a temperature guage, set to a boiling point of some sort.
I’m Awake! I’m Awake!
…………………...
The grown imitation of me is dragging the arctic rug across my crusted sockets of sight,
I arise with immediate surprise,
My head cranks left- right-
A man’s best friend shaking a seizure to feel warm and dry,
I visualize the bottom of my mattress laying quiet and still above my head,
The coffee beans brew the smell of one more morning to begin the dilation of rested lungs,
Get Up! Get Up!
The executioner of rested thought is a parasite to my inability to exercise- Worm-like movements of some algorithm-
Off with his head!
The king of my heart screams as the comforter slides off of my immobile flesh and the residue from my eyes attracts plenty of oxygen,
Drifting off, I again visualize that slumbered alligator, whom is chasing my dreams into the Rubbermaid playground,
The creature sways in my knightly moat as I taunt the teeth of a smirk so envious- Opposable stumps we tag as a thumbs up,
Ten minutes with this shadowed beast is all I need to chomp down on prey that only exists in the wild jungle of the morrow,
Splash! Splash!
………………
May 26, 2013
May 26, 2013 at 1:46 PM UTC
I will take off my red shoes
dance through the streets
and unpaved avenues
of seduction and retreat
I will shake loose the wool
my skin bare to the frost
feel the rising swells
with the time that I've lost
I will feed my clothes to the fire
singe every fiber and strand
reduce the pictures and discs
to grains of polluted sand
I will unhinge the jewels
hanging dead on my skin
instead reaching deeper
to the one curled within
I spill the bottle next to the bed
pour capsulated white fortunes
into the cup of my hand
I open the bottle from last year in March
fill a glass to the top and toast
to the time that I've lost
I've flown through infinity
like wildfire through Hell
watched pieces of the past
sink as shattered shells
I've found peace and place
and forgot all the rest
held the soft hand of death
my final mortal test
Jun 11, 2012
Jun 11, 2012 at 7:12 PM UTC
*”You going away with no word of farewell
Will there be not a trace left behind
Well, I could've loved you better, didn't mean to be unkind
You know that was the last thing on my mind*”
Tom Paxton
<>
the lyrics get caught in my throat,
of Tom’s guilty confessional,
so instead of voice emitted,
the letters and words
fall to the ground en-
capsulated in tears
multicolored,
the salt & &pepper
coloration of sad regret
for the multifold &
man-I-fold
mistakes
recalled in black & white graydations
of reflections of loves lost that yet haunt
and now honored, at last,
with their very own
words of
farewell
Jun 15, 2024
Jun 15, 2024 at 10:19 AM UTC
Where’s the love I forever knew? That walked so tenderly on this plane. I saw it go down like a sunset escaping the sky. With hopes of resurrection I saw it burn and burn.
Sadness in caretaker’s eyes, resentment in tranquility. Tides come to make anew. Only for us to stay troublesome. I’ve relinquished my hate and capsulated my love. I am a lone trudgen that slowly crawls.
Hangin’ on by my developments, I hear the hopes of me, but cannot pursue. My sanctuary clashes happiness, but relapse in melancholy deep inside.
Is it the taste I sadly commit to? My mishaps, so dear that I even know not of. Why can love be so fake and hate so real. My brothers make all audacities hesitate. I feel the pain, but plunge undoubtedly inside.
Was it your departure that I crawl? Or was it me divulging through this mess. I cannot bare my stance. It seems all to routine and blunder some. Why cant simplicity embark our voyages?
Your expression dwindles with your sin. You give in excess, but take all until the end.
My mind suddenly sees, but for you only to read. Why can’t my company cause your fire? Why is our memories fogged by this current alignment?
Why must I plunge down to the bottom of every sea. Why can’t I float upon the masses? What drives our scene must be taken and smashed.
I embraced the earth as if a heartily hug. As I feel with you a bashful tug.
As I stare to the welcoming sea, I see a new set of eyes gaze at my shining light.
Aug 8, 2010
Aug 8, 2010 at 10:23 PM UTC
I'll taketh the long way home
The one where bumbleberries are lamp posts
Wherein demons shalt not haunt me
Wherein apparitions are lovely
And angels are tabled host's,
Where smoke is seen as ghost's
And images are projected by love making freak's
Wherein reflugence is indulgence
And madness is seduced by capsulated radiance
Tapered sunshine
No hit and miss!!!
Jun 7, 2015
Jun 7, 2015 at 6:35 PM UTC
Coyly capsulated,
Peel and pry;
Eager to unravel,
Encouraged to try.
Splitting skin,
Surgically apply;
Enigma extraction,
Sweetly sly.
Aug 24, 2019
Aug 24, 2019 at 8:09 AM UTC
modern manifestation of Pandora's box all pent up
illogical is the scheme of the unnecessary complexities streaming through the streets
if its still pent up than what is this we hear now
if not the lack of sincerity in our propriety and promiscuity
and if its still pent up than what terrors are in store
if not swirls of adjectives unimagined
fear is not properly capsulated in four letters
and the fear of understanding fear lingers and dances on top of our skulls
but we're toiling and boiling human existence promenade on
as if we don't know
that we're picking the lock on pandora's box
because our curiosity over comes our terror
and our faults lie in our finger tips
a vessel for the minuscule workings from our pineal gland
and we want change of our less than radical ways
so we take to slashed lines in our hash signs
imaginary walls for our feelings
for social acknowledgement
filters to play out the colors of our favorite days in ways that bring dismay when reality comes to play
press anonymity to our face as we tumble through pictures and rumble
from the upset mind to our side still continuing to fumble
with what they carry inside
oh but we're just a compilation
of
of minds gone mad
no
no of insanity gone blind
wait
wait just a combination of everything feared inside
but
but we're being picked and pried to peek out and greet every infamous lie
reality is pounding on the walls of your migraine
gripping the handles, your temples
fighting to get in again
and beat down your imagination
reality is the hammer that pressed the world
into a perfect circle
scared it to conform to the most universal undying form
but the hammer brought forth a sense of infinite unity
continuously circling the undying energy
of reality
of imaginary reality
of an infinite imaginary reality fueling our personal energy
reality snuck out of the box
slithered its way through the cracks and seams
reality isn't one form it would seem
its whatever it contorts and conforms to
to escape
to escape everything its sees in its way
oh but we're just a compilation
of
of minds gone mad
no
no of insanity gone blind
wait
wait just a combination of everything feared inside
but
but we're being picked and pried to peek out and greet every infamous lie
And im stuck in this room
insanity wrapping my brain like inescapable fumes
im trying to escape but they'll call me a loon
its such a small world i know they wont give me a break
but this inescapable tune
i just can't relate
intoxication of the soul is what im told
Im told it can't be bought nor sold
but rather found between the folds of another's soul
wait, please, please excuse me
what if the soul is caught in the box
fighting to get out
pandora's box waiting to be picked
by the handy lock smith
of life and insanity
but what's really the difference
in this careful contortion
but if caught how do I find this intoxication
everyone is talking about
Jun 19, 2014
Jun 19, 2014 at 6:27 PM UTC
i can’t peer inside my brain to check
whether my neurotransmitters make the long jump
or simply retreat back home.
but the dizziness, nausea, and exhaustion
tell me what i need to know.
i want to live in the moment.
i want to taste joy on my tongue,
not oval-shaped white chalk,
the clinical blandness of a waiting room.
i want the uncontrollable racing of my heart
and the shaking of my hands
to happen when someone gives me butterflies in my stomach,
not when the prescription isn’t strong enough.
$28.35 and a few pitying looks
are not a bad trade-off for all the answers.
or so i thought.
but this plastic bottle holds no answers,
only the capsulated remains of who i failed to be.
maybe i am my own inhibitor.
is there someone who can tell me,
before i swallow the next one down—
where do i end?
and where do the pills begin?
are my thoughts even mine at all,
anymore?
Jul 12, 2019
Jul 12, 2019 at 10:27 PM UTC
Straggler wondering a barren sea frothing at the seams,
Chatter coming from beneath the ice, hearing distant screams,
Burning freeze upon his bare feet,
Icy feeling like concrete,
Yearning for warmth as he is uneased,
No escape from frozen sheets.
He was just in paradise back and forth twice,
Closed from the mind he is now lost in time,
Intertwining thoughts just won't stop,
His propose in frost is capsulated and lost.
Once a visionary leader and naturally loves healer,
Far from the beach listening to those who screech he's now a fellow bleeder,
Lowered by others demeanor who assimilate as deaths cleaver.
The air is heavy with a deathly starry medley,
making him a shallow breather choked by the reaper,
But being a believer from ghosts past into the darkness,
perpetuates a dreadful fever upon his worn carcass.
Frozen lost slipping on froth,
His monks cloth now colored to goth,
His soul is crossed which will never defrost,
Melting ambitions are glossed by the frost.
Wondering lost and abused he is misused, his decaying flickering spirit Bemused,
Never to regain a path forward he's consumed,
Walking backwards in life his path never concludes.
Mar 9, 2021
Mar 9, 2021 at 10:10 PM UTC