"causal" poems
I don’t think you understand,
because I don’t, this wasn’t what I planned.
So I’m wondering how you can understand, when I don’t.
I won’t lose myself loving you, I won’t.
You’ve got me feeling too many different things,
got me contemplating cutting our tethered strings.
Falling in love has me tripping
over my own two feet? Maybe. All I know is I’m slipping
face first into this tangled mess
and now guilt eats at me as I slip from your arms half dressed
in the mornings when all I want is to escape,
wishing I was Wonder Woman with that red cape.
I slip away, but it hurts-
but I’ve seen it; my family, we’re cursed.
Concerning love, we’ve had no luck
I can’t lose you, so I’m labeling us a causal ****
I hear you yelling now that you know my reasons,
promising our love could survive even the coldest season.
But how can he be so sure?
Doubts plague me as I slip toward his front door,
because love didn’t come with a brochure.
I hear you figuring aloud that I don’t love you enough.
You come to the conclusion,
“if this is how you feel, then I’ll set you free”
I got in my car, driving around till the clouds were dark and the clock said three.
Your words had been like knives,
but then I started thinking about my dad’s four wives.
My brain’s all jumbled,
it’s like there was one second left, I was on the one yard line, and I fumbled.
Is the risk worth it?
Could my heart even take the hit?
When I got home, in the dark I saw you standing
my heart was demanding
that I make my way over to you
but my brain said these feelings needed to be subdued.
I heard you say “I love you too much to set you free”
It was then when I looked in your eyes, love was all I could truly see.
My scalp tingled in realization,
as I floated toward you with some type of natural gravitation.
My heart had already taken the risk, without permission
and that’s when I mumbled my belated admission;
“I love you too and I’ll take my chances,”
My brain finally conceded to your romantic advances.
But really, truth was, I’d been under an illusion
because our love had always been a foregone conclusion.
Jun 30, 2015
Jun 30, 2015 at 4:31 PM UTC
It is funny to see banners wishing Happiness displayed with cinematic glamour,
the pictures and hordings of Banner heroes.
The one at Tannery Road junction was peculiar to mention.
Here it was common
The captions "Happy" used to summon names of sundry festivals-Local and national, even internstional.
What's uncommon was the bold prints
of a hero's name ARUMALAI outshining
The caption and his larger than life picture establishing the photographer's digital brushing skills.
A passer by wondered who'd be this Arumalai,
Is he so great as to be advertised in polivynil?
His glorious deeds may be what they want you to heed
Still never ever seen or heard of his manners
Anywhere than in these motley banners
Just as a function
at the Tannery road junction
Each one passed by this colossal glance attracted provoking protracted ruminance what do this expensive banners really mean?
In another occasion
the glaring glorifying picture
of ARUMALAI followed the tag
Corporator,
Below the man posing a DICTATOR.
That was a period to a period of mystery!
Banners changed with seasons
with greetings on religious occasions
Festivals of importance
Birthdays of men even
with crowded profiles of hailers
Whose unrully manners
Too clogging up the banners
Like a wanted list of jailors.
One day a strange banner
hooked by the Tannery cross over
Spooked and shocked every passer-by
There the usual banner cut out
the larger than life image blings-out
Arumalai the BBMB corporator
Posing as dictator!
There was no wish of any kind.
It was a notice startling any mind
The sad demise of ARUMALAI
The BBMB corporator
Still possed as dectator
By his living promoters.
"He was sick and the local dispensary advised a minor operation.
He was administered
the necessary treatment.
Was referred to a super-speciality
centre and was declared dead.
His sad demise was advertised, he was forty.
His chummies complained of medical negligence", was the only news summary
in major news papers...
What was the reason for the minor surgery
What're the preparations
for the corporator's operation
All are mystery for a causal itinerary
passer by crossing over the Tannery Road junction, wondering at the strange envountering with banners
that come and go
Keeping no annals
Floating on the mind for a while
Stopping at the red's knell,
Moving with the green signal
The rise and fall of heroes
As binary one and zero
The banners tell a story tertiary
Of the rise and fall of a luninary
Within a plane ofmomentary
Variation of red and green
On the Tannery road's screen.
Dec 7, 2018
Dec 7, 2018 at 5:13 AM UTC
”against your will were you created,
against your will were you born,
against your will do you live,
against your will will you die, and
against your will will you stand in judgment before the
King of kings, the Holy One, blessed be He.”
Rabbi Elazar HaKappar (C.170 - C.200 CE)
(Ha Kappar: the one who made and gave atonement)
<§>
***in these, the years of my erosive declination,
when the noble prize, time for introspection,
once was a chore of delaying, now no longer can be off-put,
the certainties of Elazar, offer guidable satisfactions***
***the nighttime review, resurrecting my life, the gaps,
the untaken actions, those dream-schemes speak loudest,
memories of what should have been, are a litany of what ifs,
prosecutorial accusations of crass wastage***
***against my will, the charges brought,
against my will, plead guiltily my innocence,
against my will, knowingly, time’s erasure judgment,
secures my fate, all the granular cells causal dissipation***
***my warped willingness to be a coward,
it was my meditative, to natural be the lesser man,
choosing the safety premise, the road most oft trod,
the addition of my meager totality, willing given***
Even if all these land mine/roadblocks
and summary judgements are against my will,
willingly do I confess, in all innocence, my guilt,
“if it be my will”
Apr 4, 2021
Apr 4, 2021 at 2:45 PM UTC
Empyrean Heaven (there is no promised land)
there is no promised land)
the promise is where you stand
at this exact moment, where you
stick the landing every morn best,
best you can, assess the window’s
first delivery of the status of where
you are, whom you are, bent or *****
empty or full, impoverished or worse,
sated, foolish or brave, (dis) believing
the top of world is planted beneath your
feet; but above, at this the fiery places of
Empyrean Heaven.
Empyrean Heaven, nearest to me, thy there~thee
will find, beyond the heaven of the air and the
heaven of the stars, no land, the incorporeal
existence, carefree, know this you-human,
an unpromised state is the causal residue,
of actions between human to human,
not thy god, irony delicious, earn it
with every thought, instinct, act
deserving of this, this
“unpromised place”
G.
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
There was, declared Saint Basil, a certain condition, older than the birth of the world and proper to the supramundane powers, one beyond time, everlasting, without beginning or end. In it the Creator and Producer of all things perfect the works of His art, a spriritual light befitting the blessedness of those who love the Lord asks of you~human.
———————
Jul 3 7:59am
Jul 17, 2023
Jul 17, 2023 at 6:34 AM UTC
You've done it again! Time and again
First hook and then reel
Then hurt and release
Lay the blame squarely on me
You take me for a fool
A gullible idiot!
Who'll swallow your lies
And buy your story each time
I am not part of your life anymore
but I need to get on with mine
So be sure to burn the bridges
Cause I am not turning back anytime.
You will always do what it takes
To hold my heart ransom
Cause that's such a causal approach
It doesn't take much to strategize
I struggled each day and night
To swallow my pain and get on
But depression sunk its deadly hooks
My flesh was skinned and bare
My groaning heard none
Cause outwardly I appeared just fine.
But you conveniently forgot what u had done
And walked back without a care
For a doormat you take me
So can you step on my despair
You think I am waiting around
For you to do the same things again
Forgive you, for your wrongs and
get back from where we left?
Change your thinking!
Cause that's never gonna happen
I have forgiven, but forgotten not
I cannot forget or let go
For your lessons are deeply entrenched
And well learn't
One that has a lasting impression
My mind wont let it go.
Subconsciously I know your capacity
to hurt me time and again
Cause you feed on my feelings
To supplement the ones you lack
Grow up, own up, about time u realized.
You can't play me and think its fine!
Jul 14, 2014
Jul 14, 2014 at 5:02 AM UTC
on the paper
newly minted,
first time printed
causal pausation
assessment momentation
review, the second inclination,
then scrap-heaped,
in much bad company filed
retained, reserved, preserved,
for another go round,
another someday
you look at your hands,
telling them straight,
not good enough,
is not good enough
anymore
do try, so try,
three lines, four stanzas,
elegies and funerals
don't become you,
go into labor,
write labored
and birth free flowingly
knowing,
that all knowing glowing,
of a poem child,
product of
good enough
Nov 22, 2014
Nov 22, 2014 at 5:38 AM UTC
Mon aux deux tiers divine,
Toute laine et marjolaine
De douceur et délicatesse,
Courrais-tu, bufflesse, les steppes
Avec ton ombre d'argile
A la recherche du plant de jouvence
Semé aux Treize Cyclones
Qui hantent les îles-fleurs du bout du monde ?
A chaque cyclone aux ailes brisées
Qu'offrirais-tu, Gilgamesh, mon ombre immortelle
Dans le nigredo causal et a-causal où se fond l 'abîme ? ?
Au Cyclone-gel, la baguette et le cerceau ?
Au Cyclone-mauvais, le taureau céleste ?
Au Cyclone-tempête, la Forêt de Cèdres ?
Au Cyclone-rafales, le corps de la Joyeuse ?
Au Cyclone-tourbillons, les hommes-scorpions ?
Au Cyclone-du Nord, les cyprès ?
Au Cyclone-poussières, les gazelles ?
Au Cyclone-du Sud, les Enfers ?
Au Cyclone-de l'Est, le Déluge ?
Au Cyclone-de l 'Ouest, la nuit d'étoiles ?
Au Cyclone-tornade, le sourire des hyènes ?
Au Cyclone-mortifère, le feu éphémère ?
Au Cyclone-souffleur, le feu éternel ?
Aug 23, 2019
Aug 23, 2019 at 2:44 AM UTC
Are we to wither away, say goodbye to the remote possibility of everything or the acceptance of nothing, damaged as we are from life and what it has thrown at us and how we have adapted to it, where is the strength we thought nothing of when we were young – everything was possible, anything could be overcome.
Now it is harder to start from the beginning to rise from the detritus that has left its smudge on this human plane, to feel warmth from one’s own heart, passions that used to run deep are locked away lost from the moment, will they ever return or are they buried from this reality – what is this reality?
Pure and without stimulus our bodies weak from over indulgence become but empty vessels for our pain to adhere to, but yet exists this mind of memories that fail to disappear.
These very memories fight with the functionality that we accept as our living life mixed with dreams and our experiences laid bare to improve upon the quality of our anger, frustration, pleasure and happiness that engages us again, enabling us the advantage to overcome our apathy and withstand hardship and discomfort, both mentally and physically.
And once again we shout from the highest imagined ground our intentions and with our determination set to turbo drive, we move out on to the superhighway of our existence, battling our demons to achieve our presupposed goals, is this living?
Or merely homage to a bygone set of loosely interpreted doctrine absorbed from our greater consciences. Individuality what has this become? – A freedom to define ones uniqueness?
Is it truly accepted or is it frowned upon, an illusion perhaps, to be held high then massaged by ego, manipulated by the wannabees and dismissed by the pseudo intellectuals for their contrived ill-gotten gains.
Or is it puerile credo that mutates in to a complex melange of all things material, a substitute for the happiness that existed in a previous incarnation of existence, without doubt a causal effect imploding, oblivious to the damage that is caused by the ignorance of consideration and distillation of emotion from love, to the banality of acceptance.
Once again the circle is circumvented and the cycle is begun in earnest until the finality of death is welcomed unto the midst of longing from the soul, in repose before its journey to dance amongst the cosmos.
Nov 25, 2012
Nov 25, 2012 at 6:53 PM UTC
Freedom is the urge
That breaks out inside of us that makes us want to run.
An unseen Parkour of hands and feet.
Covering the threshold of walls and windows.
An key to an apartment
Of untold potential.
Seen as a window,
A causal gaze.
Things once seen as 3-D now seen 2-D.
Coming to the realization of just who we really are.
The desire of choosing to see things as brand new
A stillness of sorts.
A new brand of simple.
Holding on to a rail debating on whether or not to jump or hold on for a moment longer.
I.
The infinite compliment of the heart.
Choosing instead to run escaping,
The unfortunate pleasure of being chained in schizophrenia.
Gorillaz beating an untamed drum.
A constant pound, hands and feet becoming the ultimate form of expression.
The scuffle of feet over the sound of concrete.
Lost somewhere in the city.
Gorillaz beating an untamed drum.
Holy **** my thumbs are up.
Unpaused ****** expressions, Revealing perhaps way too much.
A cup of cold noodles quietly waiting wholeheartedly.
Next to the gorillaz loudly stating otherwise.
Them.
The painkiller to an over twisted wrist,
Procrastination is a *****
Oct 18, 2016
Oct 18, 2016 at 9:31 PM UTC
for the tricycle of a night, I conclude my life is becoming a literary event and I feel the poetry seep through every moment tinged with a beautiful narcissism some would call belief in myself or self-love self-help I'll-help-myself, thanks. I finally discover a glancing insanity of charm and wit- liberation, insanity, perspective, depends (on what) ?
I am slowly a freeman working freely in the free market freaking out in ecstatic *** for the world as a whole and even being kicked out of a pretty girls room for obnoxious insomnia gives me a reason to kiss the clear sky of melancholy happy-sad with another 'thank you' for making me *whoever the hell I am, GOD, THANK YOU*
it's another beautiful day in paradise, tossing dice to skew the probability in the direction of it's the beautiful whatever and you're welcome for everything
Nov 4, 2013
Nov 4, 2013 at 3:25 AM UTC
Born free,
what have you been branded to buy as truth?
You couldn't help but consume the prime conditioning,
angelic thing, they manipulated your blank, slated value with price
Impressionable infant, deficient heuristics anchored in tradition
were all you were given, they represented trend's definition of right
Blind to blinders set by frames,
you will never long for sky you've never seen
While you've been growing, who's been leading?
Who's been sowing, who's been reaping?
Now you are as you're told.
Now you are as you're sold.
You didn't see how your movements were determined: causal reinforcement and cogged belief systems
Hunters exploit the needs of the herd and they traded you meaning for all you were worth
Customerary compliance made you meek and the markets less violent
Your standardized schema had felt so secure, while their fashion pruned passion's significant core
Blind to blinders set by frames,
you cannot be free if you don't see your cage
While you've been growing, who's been sneaking?
Who's been sowing, who has been reaping?
Now you are as you're told.
Now you are as you're sold.
They'll come as salesman, promised happiness in their wares
They'll come as preachers, with taxing cross for you to bear
They'll come for your time, your money
They'll come for your life, and your sunny days
will be grey without that which you never knew you needed
No, you never ever needed
What have you been branded to buy as truth?
You won't choose to see your reflection on the discount shelf,
reduced to pelf, you let them establish the goods so you could be saved
from spending efficient economy, it's ironic that you're their battery
and though their floor is your slaved ceiling, you give your Self away
You won't see your light inside
if you're guided by other selfish minds!
How did you begin?
What have you been?
Who are you now?
Jul 5, 2011
Jul 5, 2011 at 7:27 PM UTC
There are far more painful things than loneliness,
Like being surrounded by the deep,
Gnawing feeling that nobody quite understands.
It's hard to escape, this ambiguous notion of longing
For something that isn't quite there.
It always shows up, rubbing up against the edge of causal conversations, late night musing and crowded coffee shops,
Bearing it's ragged head in the reflection of silver spoons and tap water.
It's easy to lose yourself in it all,
To forget the subtle way you shuffle your feet,
And even the final vowel of your name.
These things seem so miniscule in comparison
To the wide empty feeling you get
When surrounded by a crowd of all the wrong people.
Mar 4, 2013
Mar 4, 2013 at 2:26 AM UTC
The transgressions of utter here and nowity
Unbeleivable longing for a collapsing norm
On the altar of self destruction and causal
Reciprocity fluttering on rebirthed dreams
You can sing and love these colorful birds
Vibritang meticulously with rare palpitations
Of greater bodies, which dust is a part of us
Delusional creatures, flying on the grandeur
Non reachable to written words, stellar ink is
Spilled, playing on the shores of ever returning
Waves of transformation; Shapes dance within
Your gaze, telling the story of water coy stillness
Unmovable we move on, unlovable we love hope
Clinging to tree roots and blood veins as clothes
Warm our trembling fragile figures travelling on
And on into the higher realms of transfiguration.
Apr 26, 2015
Apr 26, 2015 at 5:09 AM UTC
Loving you seemed effortless
I was beautiful
Even with the strands of hair out of place
I was funny
Even when it was just a causal comment I thought of halfway
I was clever
Even when the things I said were never always quite right
Loving you seemed effortless
I never had to wake up early to pick my clothes
I no longer worried about the zit on my nose
I didn't feel the need to tie my hair
I just came as I was
And you accepted it there and then,
Magnificently
Perfectly
Loving you was effortless
How our conversations continued tirelessly
You knew just the right things to say
And I did too
we could understand each other
Magnificently
Perfectly
Like a whole new language
Only we understood
And how you told me I looked beautiful
Even though I was not
Then loving myself became effortless
Aug 20, 2013
Aug 20, 2013 at 10:44 AM UTC
As I start my day waking up from bed,
I would start my daily routine of dread.
"I woke up yet again,
From my slumber of ten."
My ten hours of sleep from waking up dead.
Jan 5, 2017
Jan 5, 2017 at 10:43 AM UTC
there is a broken thing
reformed in amber
disarranging the spectrum
of sensical causal motion
nail biting following
migration patterns of neural
activity and we bless the few
who cut clean and learn early
those bespectacled masses
cannot intuit the limited scope
of aversion to blurry pink clouds
gussied up in peripheral vision the
pineal gland controls circadian
rhythms gushes dmt when
we die i wonder i
wonder what that (vestigial)
little pinecone knows
that we don’t
cased in spongy
grey matter and i don’t think
much of time as metaphor but
my watch strap broke
yesterday i hope
that is
important i do
nothing so simple or complex
as love but(i carry it in my heart)
Nov 1, 2014
Nov 1, 2014 at 8:44 PM UTC
I could tell you if I could muster the courage
How your words cut me deep
If a weapon more sharper than a tongue could be forged
Metals weapons could cease to exist!
For what cuts a human down
Is not the might of the steel
More fragile than your resolve
Is the balance of your will
When you decide to let the negatives lie by the wayside
A causal uncaring word seems to seep inside
Then like a venom its spreads out
To snap and **** your life and drain
Till your battling your mind
And scream you'll go insane
Your resolve has lost its test
Because the venom has killed the will.
Struck at the roots the evil knows its strength
Your heart is an unsuspecting victim
Your mind a playground vast and bare
Start from the heart where emotions stems
And spread to the mind and ****
The battles lost dear friend
At least momentarily
Dark clouds gather fog the space
A silver lining is hard to see
Chill out, wait out, hold on, stay low
No other weapon works against it
Perseverance is the only antidote
Let the storm abate, lower yourself
Hide yourself, gather yourself
NEVER did it last long
YOU (on the other hand) always will!
Aug 10, 2014
Aug 10, 2014 at 12:34 PM UTC
pour her slowly onto the page
each inch of her soft skin released in liquid
onto the ambiguous background
sharp and clear
her features worn with the hours
seems bleak to the touch
seems to be a long distance to travel for a tear that never falls
a bitter moment
pour her essence onto the deep white page
and she fills the void
she is the void
with alive colors
with dead space between her words
and i lean on her ear
but the things i say evaporate
and the things i feel become whispers of smoke
that she puffs on with causal care
tenderly caress my mind
as i pour her out
eclipse her with brush
overshadow her with shutter speed
and wait for her to capture me before i can flee
i poured her onto the page
every soft inch of her skin
a liquid flowing careful and easy on
the white portrait backdrop
i capture conifer scent
and her profile lanced by pine needles
leisure in the wood
her voice a narrow sharp instrument
her wide hips
swinging slow and ****
packed in skintight jean
and making my mind hazy
with things i shouldn't feel bout a friend
but she moves back and forth back and forth
and the thoughts wont leave me alone
she is a portrait i saw today
and i loved her
as she was seen
and i knew her as she was meant to be
forgiven and forgiving
in an endless night
Sep 4, 2013
Sep 4, 2013 at 8:54 PM UTC
What have i become?
a throw of the dice
nonchalant mr.vice
casual & causal
but spare me the price
would you...
life is unpredictable
and I
a spectacle
through me
the suns ray
setting flame to my schedule
this cannot last for very long
depleted
no fuel to move on
insomnia's run its coarse
and its only getting worse
Who will i become?
the father from a son?
i know of what you seek
make bread from a crumb
...so to speak
paper mache however
is not concrete
but that's just me
being discreet
Apr 29, 2011
Apr 29, 2011 at 5:42 PM UTC
my heart ticks with the punctuated rhythm
of a girl busy with embroidery
i see a corpse and scrutinise all its secrets
it lingers with a purposeful dexterity
a tenacity that resembles autocrats
of a starved third world country
a dangerous presence that underpins
a blank prism
my reconnaissance reveals a frenetic arc
orbiting, humming as it does so
with intricate nightly returns
travels between light and shade
where black shadows tred
forming a link in the great causal chain
of human destiny
it is a place where stone ghosts welcome me
with threatening indifference of magical
incantations
i roam through deserted streets
with an inherent clumsiness
like waves on dark coastlines
that in hypnotic deception
form groups of disorientated sadness
where clouds of black crows fly around
sinister watch towers in the dark
Jul 28, 2014
Jul 28, 2014 at 11:29 AM UTC
Why do you think you’re so weird all the time? it’s nothing more than insecurity
*not entirely, it’s society mainly, social norms can’t be something I accustom to
you know that flaley
spellcheck made it difficult because it changed your name to flakey
which would be accurate in description but from depiction you’re
there as can be which most of the time makes people think you’re
creepy which maybe you are or maybe you just care too much*
stop getting my ******* in a bunch
you’re not an uncomfortable pair of overalls
i like writing: i like
and stuff i feel it makes living seem real and etherial ******** like those rambles and made-up words like quwanamble
*this is probably why you didn’t make it to the second round in the poetry slam
and why you’re so embarrassed of your poetry because you know you go ham
in the most personal narcissistic way, kinda puts the bad at bay
but only until the vyvanse wears off and
your **** jar is empty
and your cigarettes have been smoked
and all your klonopin has been digested
and your bank account is empty
and the only thing left to take out your self pity on
is this poetry*
i like writing words like cigarettes
and rhyming them with causal **** like
regrets
i miss my studded cardigan, i regret leaving it at toads place
i regret smoking all those cigarettes
but that doesn’t mean I won’t smoke another one
Nov 4, 2014
Nov 4, 2014 at 10:10 AM UTC
What is happening right now
Is there a chance to understand
How everything is linked somehow
And nothing random makes more sense
Prophetic lines – poetic rules
If there’s a future left to know
I’m lost with writing as a tool
Which does affect the very show
There is no way to understand
In causal terms or logic laws
Somehow we are creating sense
That weirdly frames its very cause
It seems that we are woven in
A thought becomes reality
Are minds the place where we begin
To make us dream what we could see?
Is everything deluded signs
Adapting selves in unknown ways
To things that are from some behind
As long as each belief betrays
By making aspects seeming real
Independent from our views
We seem to act just to reveal
The context we’re forced to reduce
But how to think of such a place
Such a condition makes minds sick
We are a knot of time and space
Reflecting within a broken trick
It seems there is no way to know
Whether there’s another way to go
Or not
So are there new realities
Beyond those trenchant causal chains?
Are these new patterns that we see
Or just misread coincidence?
Are we fooled by how we feel?
Constructing by using minds
Interpreting what’s hardly real
How to decide what we could find?
We are unable to describe
What is outside the way we think
We can’t grasp things that we wipe
Out with our mental way to link
We are unable to decide
If there’s another truth that hides
Or not
Abstract thoughts can only reveal
an abstract world to understand
we cannot say what is real
how to detect beyond our sense
Aug 13, 2014
Aug 13, 2014 at 11:55 AM UTC
How does one go upon forgiving
something they never faced?
Avoidance is a forbidden fruit that yields
only bitter aftertaste.
Do we mislead to be okay,
just to elude the debates?
Do we ignore the pain,
just to keep up the harmonious masquerades?
And these contradictions we face:
Of loving someone so much we
disregard our own aches,
even when they are those causal to this fate.
This is a forgiveness we do not create,
this is remembering what we cannot erase.
Mar 16, 2018
Mar 16, 2018 at 12:48 AM UTC
I like myself, I hate myself,
Push, pull, crack
His steps dance around the edges of my mind,
One step in, I shove him back,
The ferocity and causal pain,
Now I seek to bury him,
And not look at where he’s lain,
I bite my tongue, I whack my head,
I think that I am dead,
I don’t know what to do, as all memories turn to shame,
My mouth can’t speak the name,
Which I so glibly said so much,
Oct 14, 2014
Oct 14, 2014 at 7:36 PM UTC