"cataloged" poems
If ever I thought I was
worthless
useless
an empty vessel to hold the blame of the world, I was ignorant.
In the shadow of others I did not realize I was outgrowing the limited social garden bed of my ‘friends’ and companions. Friends would be an overstatement and a title many of them have never and will never earn. As a Scorpio my trust is not easily gained, and one lost, it is gone forever. Something in me, though, always forgave, but kept the trespasses against my trust cataloged, loaded, waiting to fire across my synapses is self destruction.
If ever I took your interest as a sign of friendship, I was a fool.
If ever I opened my heart to you, if ever I extended an almost maternal hand to you I was an idiot.
My body has been run ragged with its attempts at pleasing all and apologizing for its darker nature. My narcissism has become a survival mechanism that I once thought needed you.
My soul is weary of your needy hands, your open-bird mouth that I keep feeding more and more of my soul. Compassion has an end with me. In this game of survival, I will always be the fittest and you’ve stopped entertaining the animal within me.
I am worth so much more than being drained of my entirety. I am manifest energy as you are, as the earth is. Like the Earth my resources have been tapped and I can give no longer. Like the Earth I shall strike with ground shattering vengeance.
If ever I thought friendship was giving you everything for nothing in return, I was blind, for I am a Goddess as you are. I am a Goddess as you are a God, and your meager offerings of passing interest and constant need are insufficient. My inner patriarch has fed of your male-centric patterns of thought, and the women of my past lives are too loud in protest for this to continue.
I deserve much more than “friends” like you.
& most of all
If ever I thought my thighs were a sufficient reason for me to hate myself, if ever I thought they were an excuse for you to disrespect me, then I was a *****
Because you are an *** hole.
And my body is rad
Nov 12, 2012
Nov 12, 2012 at 4:59 PM UTC
What is 1 to 1.5
currency to relativity
urgency brings negativity
It's not about new tools
it withers your tools bring productivity
The way you slap that old guitar, the way you drive that beat up car
How fast does it run? How long does it last? How fast does it charge?
New can only take you so far
Let that distance your reach be derived from a skill, not from how rich or famous your are.
I often walk, even though I own a car...I prefer feeling the wind, the open-air, it makes me feel like I'm apart of something
The emotions I feel are driven from an organic substance, the dirt that I see the wind that I feel..these constant conflicts between what is man-made and what was here.
The stare of a deer, the tree was its friend, it's now been destroyed to make a path of cement.
That path of cement created a state of solidarity, urban prosperity, violence numbified by media regularities.
Civilizations become the norm, even though we all barely speak to each other physically
Digital formats become our literal floor mats, every result you leave results in a digital footprint, cataloged for the marketing lab rats
Too complex to understand like a physical labyrinth, Let me elaborate
So let me ask you ?! What is 1 to 1.5
Can you live without your social media vices, multimedia devices, tell me the definition of what "like" is
Currency, urgency, thumbs up if you feel like every part of your life is an emergency, if so then share it,
so the world can see
Then watch your conversations about fashion turn into a targeted ad about a jacket that is burgundy
Invasion of privacy? Not if your privacy is for the world to see.
Coincidently that jacket is on sale, so if you buy it this theory will not fail, and if you don't the media will still prevail, it's presence is an entire quarter, meaning it's heads or tails.
That's urgency hiding behind a veil.
Oct 19, 2016
Oct 19, 2016 at 1:32 PM UTC
You are the worst kind of monster.
Not the kind that hides under the bed,
Or in the closet,
Or even in the dark.
Because you did not hide.
You lived in my neighborhood,
In the daylight.
Unsuspecting. Watching. Stalking.
You watched us for weeks,
Two ten year old girls.
Cataloged every step we took.
Ignorance and innocence blinded us from you,
And our lives were beautiful.
Until you decided to take one.
Ending. Ruining. Stealing.
When the news broke,
You hid.
But you did not hide your tracks.
And they found you.
And I was told the truth,
Shes never coming home from that walk.
You stole more than a girl that day.
You stole her innocence,
Her virginity,
And her chance to grow up.
You stole her entire life,
And that was not yours to take.
The court charged you with second degree ******
But who cares what that really means.
All I know is you will spend the rest of your life
In this cell.
At least it is better than no life at all.
Rotting. Pacing. Thinking.
There were crimes you made that day,
That you will never be charged with.
You took more than one life on
March 28th, 2006.
For you have taken my life too.
My innocence.
My happiness.
And my sanity.
And that was not yours to take.
I have not been alive since I was ten years old.
Another life you stole,
But one that you cannot be punished for.
For I am
Rotting. Pacing. Thinking.
Over that day too.
I relive those moments every day.
And what gave you the right
To take our lives?
You are the worst kind of monster.
You did not come from a horror movie,
But you do reside in my nightmares.
Jun 27, 2013
Jun 27, 2013 at 1:21 PM UTC
I like to
kiss your
liquid
lovers
lips
dissolving sugar sweet majesty
your highness
kneeling to the
queen of
centuries
I live in first quarter of the moon
mixing tapes
to match
the rhythms of the maiden
with the
melodies of the mother
I will love you in secret
Of it, the state must not know Out, the fire must not blow
*do
not
let
them
burn
me
alive*
I promise
to keep
my commitments
cataloged and
separate my
chastity in one drawer
my sensuality in
another
I can be both
I can be both
I can live on as an empire
and exist as the city in ruin
I will bear the sword and
wear the heavy paws
in the belly of the Colosseum
I will sit on the balcony
bored and eating grapes
calling out
"Execution!"
Feb 8, 2015
Feb 8, 2015 at 10:01 PM UTC
Sometimes my identity,
Feels like my enemy,
A charred carcass of the artist with Bohemian symmetry,
It feels like my brain leaks from my ears,
When anxiety has poked holes,
My nauseous kicks gears,
But in the sky,
I study these black helicopters circling ,
A merchant clergy demigod machine that can grant me serendipity,
Am I that peanut gallery displaying a wickedness grimace?
At the show where the iceberg never sunk relationships?
I'm just poorly cataloged,
And I'm here with a lion in Oz curse,
Dispersed into realms where courage is brought in a hearse,
Now let me wish these helicopters,
Were an implied gesture,
Mankind and nature divorced in court,
That's why I'm messed up,
So to the wings of machine mystique please come true,
I am desolated greatness on the apocalyptic ground below you,
Mar 31, 2015
Mar 31, 2015 at 7:00 PM UTC
Today three hundred gather recalling to the World its’ shame.
They’ve come once more to Auschwitz on a more comfortable train.
The youngest, in their Seventies, were children at the time,
when Russians overran the camp and exposed the Nazis’ crimes.
If you were gypsy Gay or Jew incarcerated there
They starved and worked you unto death-
Your grave was in the air.
The walks were paved with bits of bone from those who died before.
These lives and deaths were cataloged for the ***** Chancellor.
All who remain now gather for this last and final time,
to testify to their suffering and rebuke those who deny.
Jan 27, 2015
Jan 27, 2015 at 3:40 PM UTC
Lost and Found
A labyrinth ever darkening passage man’s impossible journey and quest with the back drop of rich vibrancy of life being expended at
Every turn the steps consume time the natural life cycle is the goal live it up push the boundaries but never stop and really see where
The twist and turns are leading they lead you on but they are not delivering you only bound for the burning now lost yearning.
The soul the great empty store house neglected only holds cobwebs and loose memories this royal holy sacred place
There are drawers where just air exist these were made to hold garments made of spiritual golden thread derived of what he said
Glass cased cabinets were to hold awards and trophies never realized the soul held subject to the body grand deeds it misplaces
Scrolls gather dust just minor writings allowed poking out of a cubby hole the great treatise that marks and maps heaven are lost
Sundry bowls goblets dishes made for feasting on divine meats and delicacies still wrapped there delights never enjoyed
In them would be found nourishment the making of muscle vigorous activating power over powering mans outer appetite
He could store those weighty words that could sway hearts of others by the truth how greatly they should be employed
Only silence answers arguments reason divine instruction missed life’s activity saw no need for quiet mediation soulful empowerment
Slip among the vestiges of lost opportunity they stream out like empty gowns out ward winds only they do fill saddest waste
Contrary beliefs to what are plainly shown the entire fulfillment a wayward life craves to be entertained not instructed in what’s right
The truly dedicated have their soul’s store house abundantly crowded with spiritual food all cataloged ready for any and all taste
Subject to the demands of an orderly disciplined mind and heart you find richness in this walk and in forever’s sublime state
Nov 24, 2011
Nov 24, 2011 at 3:05 PM UTC
Lost and Found
A labyrinth ever darkening passage man’s impossible journey and quest with the back drop of rich vibrancy of life being expended at
Every turn the steps consume time the natural life cycle is the goal live it up push the boundaries but never stop and really see where
The twist and turns are leading they lead you on but they are not delivering you only bound for the burning now lost yearning.
The soul the great empty store house neglected only holds cobwebs and loose memories this royal holy sacred place
There are drawers where just air exist these were made to hold garments made of spiritual golden thread derived of what he said
Glass cased cabinets were to hold awards and trophies never realized the soul held subject to the body grand deeds it misplaces
Scrolls gather dust just minor writings allowed poking out of a cubby hole the great treatise that marks and maps heaven are lost
Sundry bowls goblets dishes made for feasting on divine meats and delicacies still wrapped there delights never enjoyed
In them would be found nourishment the making of muscle vigorous activating power over powering mans outer appetite
He could store those weighty words that could sway hearts of others by the truth how greatly they should be employed
Only silence answers arguments reason divine instruction missed life’s activity saw no need for quiet mediation soulful empowerment
Slip among the vestiges of lost opportunity they stream out like empty gowns out ward winds only they do fill saddest waste
Contrary beliefs to what are plainly shown the entire fulfillment a wayward life craves to be entertained not instructed in what’s right
The truly dedicated have their soul’s store house abundantly crowded with spiritual food all cataloged ready for any and all taste
Subject to the demands of an orderly disciplined mind and heart you find richness in this walk and in forever’s sublime state
Aug 29, 2012
Aug 29, 2012 at 2:24 PM UTC
On Knees, was taught to prey.
The concept of religion,
Learned as a small child,
Later replaced with actual knowledge.
Discovering then that,
The “Soul” of Bible Talk,
Does indeed exist,
Within all we humans.
Neurons, tangled nerves of
Electric arc, impulses sent
And received, thoughts formulated,
Visions seen, recalled all in an instant.
Memories cataloged and stored.
The original Grey Matter Computer,
Our Humanity the result of all this,
Wondrous, remarkable activity.
Love, Thought, Empathy, Kindness,
Knowing Right from wrong,
Rational Reasoning, Humor,
Ingenuity, Creativity, Forgiveness
When needed. Pride exceeded.
Yes, we have a soul, it lives within
Our Human Intelligence,
And all the abilities it affords us.
Without this Brain, this our Soul *****
The body, our very existence is nothing.
Feb 4, 2014
Feb 4, 2014 at 9:44 PM UTC
A labyrinth ever darkening passage man’s impossible journey and quest with the back drop of rich vibrancy of life being expended at
Every turn the steps consume time the natural life cycle is the goal live it up push the boundaries but never stop and really see where
The twist and turns are leading they lead you on but they are not delivering you only bound for the burning now lost yearning.
The soul the great empty store house neglected only holds cobwebs and loose memories this royal holy sacred place
There are drawers where just air exist these were made to hold garments made of spiritual golden thread derived of what he said
Glass cased cabinets were to hold awards and trophies never realized the soul held subject to the body grand deeds it misplaces
Scrolls gather dust just minor writings allowed poking out of a cubby hole the great treatise that marks and maps heaven are lost
Sundry bowls goblets dishes made for feasting on divine meats and delicacies still wrapped there delights never enjoyed
In them would be found nourishment the making of muscle vigorous activating power over powering mans outer appetite
He could store those weighty words that could sway hearts of others by the truth how greatly they should be employed
Only silence answers arguments reason divine instruction missed life’s activity saw no need for quiet mediation soulful empowerment
Slip among the vestiges of lost opportunity they stream out like empty gowns out ward winds only they do fill saddest waste
Contrary beliefs to what are plainly shown the entire fulfillment a wayward life craves to be entertained not instructed in what’s right
The truly dedicated have their soul’s store house abundantly crowded with spiritual food all cataloged ready for any and all taste
Subject to the demands of an orderly disciplined mind and heart you find richness in this walk and in forever’s sublime state
Apr 26, 2013
Apr 26, 2013 at 1:54 AM UTC
Inspiration blossomed
Between the layers of experiences
Cataloged in the folds of her mind
It extended down
Rooting itself behind her deep eyes
And brightening them until they outshone
Any star that graced the evening sky
Pigment leeched into her cheeks
And pulled them back revealing a brilliant smile
As the tendrils of thought unfurled into her body
Her shoulders slumped
Her arms relaxed
And she wrapped her infected fingers around the paintbrush
Which began to dance
And the only sound heard
Was the bristled feet scuffing the white canvas floor
Leaving tracks of royal blue, rich purple and green
After hours of their tireless dance
She released the brush and stepped back
Her imagination had splattered her clothing and hands
And slowly she allowed her eyes to roam
The workings of her mind
Jan 24, 2013
Jan 24, 2013 at 8:58 PM UTC
there’s that sinking feeling again—
a disease of stories about growing up
spread from mouth to mouth
like fever blisters being passed around a school,
but you don't believe them.
don’t worry,
later they can cut it out,
surgically replacing inhibition
and the feeling that we’ve already ruined everything
with hope,
a reverie waiting to be end.
spools of yarn roll out from the old textile mill.
we gather them and
store every bit behind our teeth—
leaving us deaf and dumb
with little to do
but watch and wait
for that queasy feeling to leave.
it never does,
and i’m tired.
so i’ll swallow the knots that form in my throat
and let them cluster together
into a confused mass
that grows
malignant.
every moment cataloged and thrown away.
residue collecting in the grooves of a worn limbic system.
May 15, 2019
May 15, 2019 at 12:27 PM UTC
We had quite a run old girl,
nearly all of it was fun.
A rose is my final gift to you.
I, too, am nearly done.
For sixty years we played the songs,
the stuff of memories.
Our audience has greyed or strayed,
now you've abandoned me.
Our house is like a record store-
Ten thousand old L.P's
Each song labelled and cataloged
-memories in melody.
I did our show that one last time
for those fans who still care.
The truth is I cannot go on
because you are not there.
Beside my bed, your photograph,
You're ever on my mind;
a single rose named Dorothy
whose melodies were mine.
Sep 4, 2013
Sep 4, 2013 at 9:31 PM UTC
If I could, I would unbutton
every cell in my body;
spread them out,
indexed and cataloged
for an easier read.
All of my secrets,
my dreams and quirks,
and the chemicals behind each action
laid in array for you
to decipher as you would.
When you had finished,
I would button each one
back into position;
one beneath the other,
snapped back together.
Then my secrets would be yours.
Sep 5, 2013
Sep 5, 2013 at 8:24 PM UTC
Leaves in trees sing sweet and sharp breeze,
Iced dew on trilliums with spring freeze.
Hushed omens of rooted deer femurs,
Rushed growth of leeks and small rivers.
Hiss of cricket and cracked, damaged
Branches that creek above in suspension,
Poised avalanches.
Moisture wicked off budding ferns down
Stems like ballpoint, quill pen turns.
Blankets of moss overtop cedar gently padded
Our toes between sock and polyester.
The smack of coyote howl hacked
Like woodpecker thwack through antlers and
Tree trunks tracked by my own ears,
And I twist each string of melody into my
Cataloged years, so I never forget the swift lifting
Spell of days when red robin throats first swelled.
Dec 1, 2015
Dec 1, 2015 at 4:07 PM UTC
Teaching the eyes to shift
To relax and see the world differently
To observe the world not through
Tired shapes we're conditioned by
But to change the observation
To recognize the realities
Our experiences have clouded
Quantum theory accepts that
There is more than matter
Composed of particles
The observable though easy
Is too simple for the complexity of reality
The underlayment of reality
Is waves of energy
Rising and falling through
Time and space
The 4 dimensions of life
Can be cataloged and understood
But is woeful understatement
To the depth of mystery
If we are willing to observe
Nothing in the universe
Can be predicted with precision
No outcome predetermined
Only the frightening sum of
Infinite chaos systemized to
Appear comprehensible.
All we can predict is probability
Banking our future on possibility.
So then how do I exists
In these two states
Seemingly so far apart
Yet muddled by entanglement
How do I both long for
The possibility of seeming greatness
And cower in the fear of those unknowns.
There is no quantum vision
Only hope and action
And corrective lenses when
Our myopia prevents
Us from seeing the beauty
That is just a single look away.
May 9, 2017
May 9, 2017 at 5:30 PM UTC
Who knows how I'd gotten the courage,
or where it came from?
But somehow, I found myself on the stage
Mic in hand
Palms sweating
My toes tapping nervously on the wooden floor.
I didn't have anything prepared.
Just half-formed shower thoughts,
and the hope that I'd be good enough.
This was the start of a potential career,
or the end of one.
A career I'd dreamed of,
taken classes for,
watched videos and taken extensive notes for.
A career that occupied my thoughts with the constant
"Could I do that?"
I did my bit, mostly with my eyes focused above the heads of the crowd,
and I cataloged the responses.
Out of 6 jokes,
I got two half-hearted chuckles,
and one almost complete laugh.
I bombed.
As I walked back to my car,
your hand tapped my shoulder just once.
Firm, but hesitant.
"I liked your bit. You've got some potential."
"I took some notes, if you want them."
I'd seen your stuff on youtube,
recognized you immediately,
fought back the star-struck numbness of my mind
and said "Thanks, I'd love them."
Before you turned away, you gave me one last comment.
"Maybe I'll be opening for you in a few years."
Apr 26, 2017
Apr 26, 2017 at 9:30 PM UTC
A labyrinth ever darkening passage man’s impossible journey and quest with the back drop of rich vibrancy of life being expended at
Every turn the steps consume time the natural life cycle is the goal live it up push the boundaries but never stop and really see where
The twist and turns are leading they lead you on but they are not delivering you only bound for the burning now lost yearning.
The soul the great empty store house neglected only holds cobwebs and loose memories this royal holy sacred place
There are drawers where just air exist these were made to hold garments made of spiritual golden thread derived of what he said
Glass cased cabinets were to hold awards and trophies never realized the soul held subject to the body grand deeds it misplaces
Scrolls gather dust just minor writings allowed poking out of a cubby hole the great treatise that marks and maps heaven are lost
Sundry bowls goblets dishes made for feasting on divine meats and delicacies still wrapped there delights never enjoyed
In them would be found nourishment the making of muscle vigorous activating power over powering mans outer appetite
He could store those weighty words that could sway hearts of others by the truth how greatly they should be employed
Only silence answers arguments reason divine instruction missed life’s activity saw no need for quiet mediation soulful empowerment
Slip among the vestiges of lost opportunity they stream out like empty gowns out ward winds only they do fill saddest waste
Contrary beliefs to what are plainly shown the entire fulfillment a wayward life craves to be entertained not instructed in what’s right
The truly dedicated have their soul’s store house abundantly crowded with spiritual food all cataloged ready for any and all taste
Subject to the demands of an orderly disciplined mind and heart you find richness in this walk and in forever’s sublime state
Dec 17, 2012
Dec 17, 2012 at 3:31 PM UTC
The crazy world moves in nanoseconds,
mountains, terabytes of nonsense
move at supersonic speeds
along the info-highway,
traded between
infinite faceless entities.
What of our raw emotions,
those fleshly feelings,
the electrical synapses’
causing such great commotion,
stirring the wildest imaginations!
And who really reads philosophy anymore,
what person respects the words of a poet
when it seems to be all about the net these days?
For after all, everything you read there
is surely the gospel-awful-truth,
such total madness
exploded into a billion+ clusters,
cataloged into whatever floats
our boats.
It seems the real world is sinking
into advanced technologies,
synthetic pied pipers ply us
with their artificial intelligence,
humming dangerous notes that taste metallic,
with everything made somewhere else.
O human-kind,
my kindred,
please tell me,
where are the true artisans,
where are the keepers of the authentic minds,
where are the hopeless romantics with beating hearts?
Where are they?
Feb 10, 2014
Feb 10, 2014 at 11:20 AM UTC
We all have a view
Produce and direct
But the red tape
I just have to eject
Im black you see
In the deepest darkest part of me
A slave now freed
Friends of color at highspeed
Lenses retracted
I do not like how you acted
Playing a part
Roll on cue
Cut
Scene 1 is done
And its cataloged for the masses
But assuming just makes both of us *****
Film classes my glasses
Are foggy at best
Take the best negatives
And discard the rest
Measure your footage
And highlight the schemes
But from one to another
I was only pertraying my dreams
Dec 13, 2014
Dec 13, 2014 at 5:59 PM UTC
Show me a good book and reference materials
They all are cataloged in serials
I will show how researching should look
It’s a matter of organizing and that’s all in took
The library has books and magazines on various subjects
It’s the reader’s find in elect
Knowledge and understanding in illustrating the proper effect
Books and magazines help one relax
A journey beyond but getting away from feeling perplexed
The library offers wonders in revolving chapters
Just like a book what happened after
Pages turning mystery into theory
A past in what happened in history
I am the Librarian to help you expand your mind
Watch as knowledge becomes the twine
Now knowledge will take you far
It’s not something one can get to by car
As a Librarian, I know the way
I am here daily every day
Who says a library has nothing to offer?
Then you really haven’t read a book or magazine
Think of the library being a lean and clean cuisine.
Mar 14, 2018
Mar 14, 2018 at 12:38 PM UTC
Come with me
we'll take the tour
then you'll see
not hidden or obscure
confirming all for free
and then you can be sure
Words and lines
stacked and sorted well
cataloged and defined
one side heaven one side hell
sometimes I combine
and ring a different bell
Down to the vault
reeling locks and pin
no stop and no halt
peering deep within
poetry I store, exalt
bringing them back
once again
Mar 13, 2018
Mar 13, 2018 at 3:06 PM UTC
I never used to feel haunted.
Until I lost what made me whole.
On my arm, she I flaunted.
Now she's gone, where is my soul?
Where is it? Where is the music?
My foot lies flat, no way to use it.
Now she haunts me day and night,
in the hollow where I hear the blues.
There's no music, like a funeral,
still, she plays the blues.
I'd held out hope still knowing all,
until I heard the news.
She's dead, not the way I am inside,
because I can still kick buckets
and there are no more dreams for her.
It makes the haunting deadly
what if we were wed? hic!
why aren't I dead, too? hic!
We'll never be together now...
Who is she, you ask?
She's my muse, who sang the blues.
She kept my feet and hands in tune.
My muse knew of all the birds in June,
their calls cataloged in stacks like dunes.
I don't know where she went,
but the haunting is severe.
She speaks in the hollow of my soul,
but, if I'm alive, why can't I hear?
Aug 4, 2016
Aug 4, 2016 at 7:16 PM UTC