"ceaselessly" poems
I binge eat on all possible junk food,
It inexplicably elevates my mood,
Now trapped by people ceaselessly commenting on my increasing weight,
Does anyone else feel like they are putting food in a body they now absolutely hate?
I can’t stop.
May 30, 2018
May 30, 2018 at 2:47 PM UTC
for Harlon Rivers
the river potion,
the river portent,
the river potent
it is all of these and not one
he is bank sided,
observing the false idols,
the image mirrored
in the glass of the river
transfigured molecularly
he becomes something ferried frothily, forcefully
as if a twig
or a small thing of human manufacture,
an object tossed up airborne-repeatedly
his poetry:
the clash of particles at the many junctions
of objects and water, eddies and the currents,
ceaselessly circumnavigating,
searching revisionary pathways
directed,
but randomized,
prisoner of the flows,
servant to the wind's directives and the
earths magnetic indivisible undulating waves
thinking,
this life,
its unsteady gait,
the irreverent wavering of drunkenness
resultant from potent potions,
portents of inopportune position
in him,
my own histories,
my poetic recordings
also become
water borne,
watermarked,
replayed back for me,
for erasure, censure, closure
and rededication
this River
is a tapestry,
a torn map,
drawn on broken shards
of slivered water,
living with all the others
but we,
are the untitled,
we,
are the un-entitled,
and he is the
Rivers
<•>
Aug 17, 2017
Aug 17, 2017 at 2:36 PM UTC
Lost to backdrops scrolling past,
She sits knitting
in the carriage of a train.
The vague needles
They scintillate and glimpse
With the cadence of the wheels –
Upbeating ceaselessly.
Strips of tiny loops
And eyelets like dewdrops
Of condensation
Grouped on the superior rim.
Once in a while,
She gives a heave
To loosen more yarn from the skein
Of Filipino-made wool,
brushed worsted weave.
Spun and carded
from the richest fleece,
Deeper in the wicker basket by her feet.
The needles flash,
With ancient rhythms and attack
Of duellists in their chainmail coats.
With little hesitation she can tack
From plain to purl to blackberry.
Count back by rote or slip a stitch
While the fish-eyed gimlets gleam.
All gather profusely in her lap,
As windfall trove, rich-patterned
And warm with peach-fuzz nap,
All crafted from a single line of yarn.
Marvels fall continuously from wise
Spell-binding hands and all is well for now.
(9/11/13 @xirlleelang)
May 27, 2014
May 27, 2014 at 10:10 PM UTC
Will you love me if I said
I have AHDH
(attention deficit hyperactivity disorder)
That I will jump before you speak
Will be impatient to get my way
I can love u and hate you at the same time
I will nod, but not understand.
Will you love me truly, even then?
Cause your love will make all the difference.
Will you love me if I said
I have BPD
(Borderline Personality Disorder)
That I will be so drawn to you
That I'll throw myself at you
That more often than ever
I will question you if you me love too
Then I'll doubt you if you do
I'll accuse you of using me
Then I'll offer myself to be used
I will shunt between 2 shades
There is no grey for me
Will you love me truly, even then?
Cause your love will make all the difference.
Will you love me if I said
I have Bipolar (Disorder)
That my mood swings like a pendulum
That I will drive you mad
Or make you sad
Or I'll laugh till I drop
That you will never understand
Who I am today
Dealing with my situation
Will depress you.
I can literally **** your life out too.
Will you love me truly, even then?
Cause your love will make all the difference.
Will you love me if I said
I have NPD
(Narcissistic Personality Disorder)
That I will always think of me
That my dreams and aspirations will be so big
I wont have time for empathy
That I left my childhood behind
So don't bug me with sensitivity
I am afraid of your committment
Cause no one can hold me still
Will you love me truly, even then?
Cause your love will make all the difference.
Will you love me if I said
I am terminally ill
That my pain is unbearable
My hope has dimmed out too
And I can see no end to my misery
But even though my life's a thread
I really want to have a full life again
I want to be able to trade my pain
If someone would only be game.
But I know it is not possible
Hence I ask for what is
Will you love me truly, even then?
Cause your love will make all the difference.
You see this world's bursting with people who ache!
You and I have the difference to make.
It is so easy to empathize
With someone who pain is visible in daylight
But spare a thought for those who ache inwardly
Trapped in a battle with their minds eccentricity!
If your courage be so strong
That pain not withstanding you choose to bond
Live that life that gives glory
Share that love, that speaks a story
Love ceaselessly, love like it truly is!
Love above humans no one can
Cause loving like HIM,
Needs a supreme hand!
Jul 30, 2014
Jul 30, 2014 at 5:09 AM UTC
There is witchcraft in the skies,
as the clouds swallow
the empty spaces in between,
consuming it like a lover.
There is witchcraft in your eyes;
as they burn through mine
impatiently, ceaselessly;
a forest on fire.
Jul 28, 2015
Jul 28, 2015 at 12:52 PM UTC
for my mother
the lioness is both a fierce protector
and a gentle nurturer
nothing escapes the gaze of her amber eyes
but she seldom feels the need to roar
she hunts with unmatched precision
but still has the patience to teach, and work with others
she understands her role in her pride
but is never proud
she possesses unparalleled strength
as well as the wisdom to know when to use it
she won't hesitate to grab her cub by the scruff of its neck
to keep it out of harms way
she is more than capable of working alone
but understands the importance of community
she never loses her spirit of playfulness
and her primary habitat is in the grasslands of Africa
but there are some things about the lioness
that you can't learn about by reading
she will wait up for you, when you're out past curfew
just to make sure that you get home safely
she will always be a listening ear
but she will never judge you
she loves others without condition
but knows better than to feel before she thinks
she will encourage you ceaselessly
and tell you you're more than good enough
this lioness, of which i speak
has not claws, nor tail, nor fangs, nor paws
but she is far more powerful
than any jungle cat could ever hope to be
- m.f.
Oct 28, 2013
Oct 28, 2013 at 9:14 PM UTC
I've been ceaselessly sweating since June
And without fail every day around noon
My arm pits are sopping
My ****** are sodden
I feel about ready to swoon
It’s been glorious weather since June
I’m not sure if you’d think it too soon
But top up the icebox
For Pimm’s on the rocks
And celebrate all afternoon
Jul 25, 2018
Jul 25, 2018 at 4:20 PM UTC
American Democracy
is setting a trend:
American Democracy
is a Sitcom, or perhaps a Game Show
of demagogic, narcissistic sociopaths
tricking and manipulating the Public
via various sources in a highly consolidated Media industry
into thinking they vote for a particular flavor of Tyranny
when in reality Today's flavor of Tyranny is all decided for you
because the burden of Choice is far too stressful
for the Moderner without proper medication,
and the power of Choice may require some sort of educated critical Thinking,
some sort of re-edification
which is far too much for us to handle
in this socially sanctioned doped-up state
and with such an intentionally failing Education system
from K through 12 and beyond.
With American Democracy,
We have a grand Illusion of Choice.
It's so convincing that many believe the Illusion is True.
(Sort of like hew we think of Reality, but with Choice of Government!)
For American Democracy,
They don't want mass Education.
They don't want mass Edification.
They don't want Critical Thinking;
Those things prevent a Control by few.
In American Democracy,
They intentionally destroy progresses made, like Rights,
They perpetuate stigmas about things like genders and the concept of "race" itself
They propagate Terror as their Sheeple scream from the sidelines for more
They defile the sanctity of Human Experience, of Reality itself
and chain us to a system that benefits only a few
while destroying everything else,
like Climate and Environment.
These Demagogues are Satan, if Satan is real:
They tempt us with the things we don't need,
filling us with Stress, Desires, Prejudices and Fears,
and ceaselessly wage war on institutions of Education,
all the while keeping us from finding the things we already have within each of us.
This System of American Democracy
has degraded into a corrupted fractal
of the ages-old ways of Tyranny and Terror:
Aristocracy, Plutocracy,
Patriarchy, Oligarchy,
Kleptocracy, Demagoguery,
Bankocracy, Corporatocracy,
Fascism;
Tell me,
What is the ******* difference?
I mean,
even Adolf ****** was elected democratically
under the pretense of "Change"
then, for weeks later, suspended civil rights indefinitely
after a likely false-flag 'attack' on the Reichstag in 1933,
(for which the Nazis blamed the communists.)
under the pretense of "Security":
Demagoguery runs Amok
Among disedified Minds.
They say "Freedom" and "Democracy"
as if it vindicates their Totalitarianism.
Jun 2, 2013
Jun 2, 2013 at 10:36 PM UTC
Men my brothers who after us live,
have your hearts against us not hardened.
For—if of poor us you take pity,
God of you sooner will show mercy.
You see us here, attached.
As for the flesh we too well have fed,
long since it's been devoured or has rotted.
And we the bones are becoming ash and dust.
Of our pain let nobody laugh,
but pray God
would us all absolve.
If you my brothers I call, do not
scoff at us in disdain, though killed
we were by justice. Yet þþ you know
all men are not of good sound sense.
Plead our behalf since we are dead naked
with the Son of Mary the ******
that His grace be not for us dried up
preserving us from hell's fulminations.
We're dead after all. Let no soul revile us,
but pray God
would us all absolve.
Rain has washed us, laundered us,
and the sun has dried us black.
Worse—ravens plucked our eyes hollow
and picked our beards and brows.
Never ever have we sat down, but
this way, and that way, at the wind's
good pleasure ceaselessly we swing 'n swivel,
more nibbled at than sewing thimbles.
Therefore, think not of joining our guild,
but pray God
would us all absolve.
Prince Jesus, who over all has lordship,
care that hell not gain of us dominion.
With it we have no business, fast or loose.
People, here be no mocking,
but pray God
would us all absolve.
5.4k
What is Poetry?
When your legs are numb,
Blood parching in your veins,
Throat choking from the pain,
And the fingers hitting the keys of the keyboard ceaselessly,
Trying ever so hard to create something impetuously,
Its poetry, you type.
When you dream of the possibilities,
And in what was once unimaginable,
You make the reader believe,
And change the way how their life, they perceive,
Its poetry, you dream.
When you play with words,
Just as an artist would play with colors,
To create a masterpiece,
That reaches the depths of the reader’s soul,
And burns them inside like coal,
Its poetry, you paint.
When you thread
Your fears, your desires,
Your insecurities, your pain,
All just to stay sane,
Its poetry you weave.
When your heart is melting
Like wax candles once lit,
And drops of tears smudge the ink,
To your knees you sink,
Its poetry, you bleed.
Jul 26, 2018
Jul 26, 2018 at 9:27 AM UTC
it's 2AM and I can't sleep
because once again you've found a way
to sneak into my dreams
through the back door
and appear when I don't expect you
in the depths of my subconscious
to make me fall
time and time again
for the danger in your smile
and the gentleness in your eyes.
you've occupied every corner of my mind
so that anything and everything
can remind me of you
and send me reeling backwards
on a tidal wave that I've created
and let grow
until the only thing I can think about
is the tsunami of you
that knocks me down ceaselessly
and holds me under so breathing is
impossible
and never lets go of me
as it tells me letting go
is the only thing that can
get me out alive.
Aug 31, 2013
Aug 31, 2013 at 6:37 PM UTC
I wander.
Endlessly, I wander.
Ceaselessly, I walk.
Forever more, I go on.
How many ways can I depict my unrest to you?
Footprints are the timeline of my life.
Where I’ve been, the mistakes and wrong turns I’ve made.
The people who have walked in.
The people who have walked out.
They are etched in the ground, broken in by my feet.
Every so often, a second set of footprints joins mine.
Some go on for months, years.
Those are my favorites.
But they never really last.
Most dip in and out of my path.
Some lead me in circles until I have to leave them behind.
You never know what steps are the right ones
Until you’re looking back at them, behind you.
I wander.
I search.
I trust.
And then, I hurt.
Of these steps I am sometimes wary,
But the set of prints next to mine makes me sure footed, now.
I squint to look ahead, but my vision is terrible.
I can’t be sure, but it seems that there are many sets of prints ahead.
Strong, deep, sure-footed paths are carved out in the future.
Please, take me there.
Please, do not lead me astray.
I don’t want to have look back to judge the way you stroll by my side.
Do not waiver now; I haven’t got time for circles any longer.
May 20, 2014
May 20, 2014 at 1:55 AM UTC
A noiseless patient spider,
I marked where on a promontory it stood isolated,
Marked how to explore the vacant vast surrounding,
It launched forth filament, filament, filament, out of itself,
Ever unreeling them, ever tirelessly speeding them.
And you O my soul where you stand,
Surrounded, detached, in measureless oceans of space,
Ceaselessly musing, venturing, throwing, seeking the spheres to connect them,
Till the bridge you will need be formed, till the ductile anchor hold,
Till the gossamer thread you fling catch somwhere, O my soul.
4k
#*Tears flow
Tricky tears they know
They know, they have it their way
They know how to trickle down
They flow
They flow ceaselessly,
Unsightly, unexplained,
at the slightest of pain
Discomfort their name
They lie hidden in the depths
In times of despair
To your rescue, unperturbed
They surface Unrushed
They can be trained
To Master the art of deceit
Shrouded in lies
A weapon, honed with might
Held in disguise
In their master’s eyes
They stand as warriors
For emotions left unsaid
A paradoxical deluge
No ocean can hold
An unstoppable wave
Tears of joy
Tricky tears they know
They know, they have it their way
They know how to trickle down
They flow*#
Aug 28, 2025
Aug 28, 2025 at 11:25 PM UTC
The tears of love in my heart can neither human nor spirit understand,
for my heart is bruised in grief.
The pains of love in my soul can neither words nor speech utter,
for my soul is soiled in sorrow.
The wounds of love in my spirit can neither care nor treatment heal,
for my spirit is sealed in distress.
My heart desires you though you have refused to change your mind.
My soul seeks your love though you have refused to come back.
My spirit cherishes your love though we can't be together forever as lovers.
But,
lf we are not meant to be together as lovers,
why then does this feeling hurt so much?
If we are not designed for each other as one,
why then does my heart cleave to yours?
If we are not destined for one another as soul mates,
why then does my spirit cherish your love?
It hurts to know that we can't always be with the ones we love.
Seeing that we can't be together forever as lovers,
for my inability to change the destined destiny;
and my inability to change your mind.
My prayer is that you find the love of your heart.
My desire is that you find the desires of your heart.
My passion is that you find the love of your life,
someone who will love and cherish you.
The tears of love in my heart, you alone can clean.
The pains of love in my soul, you alone can stop.
The wounds of love in my spirit,
you alone can heal.
With tears in my heart will your love be seeked,
though am bruised in grief.
With pains in my soul will your love be cherished,
though am soiled in sorrow.
With wounds in my spirit will your love be desired;
though am sealed in distress.
My life was lived in loving you, now you leave to love another.
My heart beats for yours, knowing you alone can clean my tears.
My spirit seeks your heart, knowing we shared so much.
Oh! The days of sorrow and loneliness has caught up with me.
A broken and wounded heart you leave me with.
A new path you are treading without me.
A new life you are moving to, without me.
Nevertheless,
my heart frees you without any guilt.
But remember it hurts to love and not be loved in return.
We promised each other to live together forever as lovers,
you assured me of dying by my side.
All these promises are now forgotten.
Goodbye my friend.
As you leave me to groan in tears of loneliness for love,
remember my tears are ceaselessly running;
wailing and waiting for who will clean my tears of love.
Aug 13, 2013
Aug 13, 2013 at 11:32 AM UTC
Walking alone
with some music
breeze whispering to trees
stars winking ceaselessly
alone with nothing but you
I have always thought
Why is mind so fond
of nights at dawn
of moon behind clouds
of clouds that has fallen
of face behind veil
of things we lose
of feelings untrue
What is so precious
about stones that shine-
only on light.
May 4, 2014
May 4, 2014 at 6:16 AM UTC
"Will you leave me then?"
The leaves blew North
"After you fly?"
"After your documents?"
"After our children?"
"After my youth?"
"After my life?"
The leaves flickered in a circle
"When will it be?"
They quickened, spinning, filling the atmospheric pressure
"Please tell me when you do"
A hurricane ceaselessly swallowing all the forests surrounding its vision, carried the world with it, and the sun
Nov 3, 2022
Nov 3, 2022 at 7:39 PM UTC
I don't ask you to be faithful - you're beautiful, after all -
but just that I be spared the pain of knowing.
I make no stringent demands that you should really be chaste,
but only that you try to cover up.
If a girl can claim to be pure, it's the same as being pure:
it's only admitted vice that makes for scandal.
What madness, to confess by day what's wrapped in night,
and what you've done in secret, openly tell!
The ****** about to bed some Roman off the street
still locks her door first, keeping out the crowd:
will you yourself then make your sins notorious,
accusing and prosecuting your own crime?
Be wise, and learn at least to imitate chaste girls,
and let me believe you're good, though you are not.
Do what you do, but simply deny you ever did:
there's nothing wrong with public modesty.
There is a proper place for looseness: fill it up
with all voluptuousness, and banish shame;
but when you're done there, then put off all playfulness
and leave your indiscretions in your bed.
There, don't be ashamed to lay your gown aside
and press your thigh against a pressing thigh;
there take and give deep kisses with your crimson lips;
let love contrive a thousand ways of passion;
there let delighted words and moans come ceaselessly,
and make the mattress quiver with playful motion.
But put on with your clothes a face that's all discretion,
and let Shame disavow your shocking deeds.
Trick everyone, trick me: leave me in ignorance;
let me enjoy the life of a happy fool.
Why must I see so often notes received - and sent?
Why must I see two imprints on your bed,
or your hair disarrayed much more than sleep could do?
Why must I notice love bites on your neck?
You all but flaunt your indiscretions in my face.
Think of me, if not of your reputation.
I lose my mind, I die, when you confess you've sinned;
I break out in cold sweat from hand to foot;
I love you then, and hate you - in vain, since I must love you;
I wish then I were dead - and you were too!
I won't investigate or check whatever you try
to hide: I will be thankful to be deceived.
But even if I catch you in the very act
and look on your disgrace with my own eyes,
deny that I have seen what I have clearly seen,
and my eyes will agree with what you claim.
You'll win an easy prize from a man who wants to lose,
only remember to say, 'I didn't do it.'
Since you can gain your victory with one short phrase,
win on account of your judge, if not your case.
3.4k
Why,
When words calmly manifest the intimacy,
Our hearts render them asunder.
In just a sliver of time.
How,
When surrounded by souls dimly lit,
Do I feel as a death moth fluttering near a lamp.
Ceaselessly eternal.
What,
Can my lips say when my heart is burnt by fire.
What words?
When all are mean.
Where,
Are the seconds of every day gone?
Swallowed;
Except in frivolous pursuit or meaningless drudgery
When,
Could I raise my arms up without fear of falling,
Or be swept by Lethe.
Aug 5, 2014
Aug 5, 2014 at 11:39 AM UTC
on the night train to Vienna I dreamt
as the soft tangerine light bled into the windows,
tumbling down infinities of Italian countryside
absorbing into my retinas in summer shades
of dusk-colored haze
entranced I was--
a nervous girl of sixteen years,
uncharted valleys sprawling ceaselessly
at the beds of my fingers,
love languages my tongue could not yet
stretch its fibers around
freedom forming its hunched silhouette
just outside of thin glass windows
cooled by the night’s apprehensive breeze
endless, it seemed
the rumbling blur of possibilities--
my hands sedated for the first time in years.
quietly existing in the jolt of a moving cab,
the subtle ricochet through the faint lamppost glow
of fragile Austrian dreams.
home-- four thousand and forever miles away
and yet here was fine, just fine
a girl with stringy hair and a steaming cup
of midnight European tea
as her mother sighed to herself in the
peak of her American afternoon,
wondering whether her baby had found sleep
in someone else’s morning.
Nov 2, 2016
Nov 2, 2016 at 9:22 PM UTC
I am the Reaper.
All things with heedful hook
Silent I gather.
Pale roses touched with the spring,
Tall corn in summer,
Fruits rich with autumn, and frail winter blossoms--
Reaping, still reaping--
All things with heedful hook
Timely I gather.
I am the Sower.
All the unbodied life
Runs through my seed-sheet.
Atom with atom wed,
Each quickening the other,
Fall through my hands, ever changing, still changeless
Ceaselessly sowing,
Life, incorruptible life,
Flows from my seed-sheet.
Maker and breaker,
I am the ebb and the flood,
Here and Hereafter.
Sped through the tangle and coil
Of infinite nature,
Viewless and soundless I fashion all being.
Taker and giver,
I am the womb and the grave,
The Now and the Ever.
3k
the cold breeze crawls against his skin
powerful enough to give him goosebumps
but not the kind he's been searching
he treks against the snow, hurriedly
as if time is passing by too fast
and he's afraid he might fall behind
his constant worries trail him
like an unwanted game of hide and go seek
except he is always being found
he longs for the sun, an image
destroyed by the constant winters
that ceaselessly plague his mind
but he doesn't need to hunt for
what he already has in
the palm of his hand
all he must do is wait
for the snow to melt
and spring to come again
where i will welcome him
with open arms, like the ones
he so desperately yearned for
Dec 18, 2017
Dec 18, 2017 at 9:22 PM UTC
Like barley bending
In low fields by the sea,
Singing in hard wind
Ceaselessly;
Like barley bending
And rising again,
So would I, unbroken,
Rise from pain;
So would I softly,
Day long, night long,
Change my sorrow
Into song.
3k
***** ***** ***** ***** ***** and moan
about us drinking all the milk
that you didn't help pay for
and then drink each last beer
that you didn't help pay for
while the guy who bought them and got to drink none
is busting *** at work
making him able
to buy yet more things
for you to take for granted.
With friends like these..
By the way,
where's the last few months' rent?
You know, for all the months sense your parents stopped payin' it?
Oh, I'm sorry,
I didn't mean to assume
that you would assume some responsibility
like the rest of us
to whom you ceaselessly complain
about how un-fucking-fair
your spoiled ******* brat lifestyle is.
You can't even keep a plant
you want for personal reasons,
so how is it even fair to assume
you could get and keep a job?
How foolish of me!
At least you can roll a good joint
with **** you didn't acquire
and papers you didn't buy.
A ******* professional, you are.
By the way,
that soldering iron
you neglected to leave the house to pick up
would be ******* fantastic to have,
but even a walk half a mile to the post office
is too ******* strenuous
for you.
By the way,
do you want ants?
Because your heap of cans, bottles and dishes
is a great way to get ants,
but you get all vindictive and indignant
if anyone tries to clean "your space"
in my ******* house
you haven't even paid to live in
for many months.
While Money is far from everything,
and I wish it was a non-issue,
kindness and good intentions
will not even begin to pay
the bills, the mortgage
or these exorbitant Californian property taxes;
and, even if they did,
I fear you'd still fall
rather short.
Perhaps-
no, not even perhaps:
I've been far too nice far too long
to people who couldn't be ******
to show some ******* respect.
Nov 11, 2013
Nov 11, 2013 at 12:50 PM UTC
A skeletal stag standing ten trees tall
Hanging moss adorning His wide antlers, patches of rocky lichen covering His driftwood bones
Large cloven hooves stepping carefully yet purposefully among the bleached remains littering the forest floor
He alone reigns here, in this place beneath ours
Even the pines fall silent as He passes
Even the stones
The air is old here
Thick with a power lost to time
Only He is left; a dimming flicker in a collective consciousness
Keeping a lonely vigil in an ancient forest a thousand miles deep and a hand's width beside us
No breath is drawn here
The soft rattling of His timber ribcage is the sole sound as He moves
Ceaselessly
Without rest
To a place always changing, never quite there
The ossuaries lay in a heavy silence
He assures the eternal slumber of all who rest here
The hollows in His skull seem to observe them, undisturbed
He moves on
His name has been forgotten for millennia
This sacred ground has become but a fleeting memory
Few old gods remain, lost to the quickening of time
He remembers, as He stands keeper of this place
Of an age before ours
When they would polish the skulls of the hunt with holy oils in His name
Dancing wildly and unburdened around towering flames
Primal sounds ripping raw from reverent lips
Now He is all but a wavering in the annals
He pauses in His endless march
Raises His great antlers to the thick canopy above
He listens
Feels the shift -- another one has faded
He will most likely be the last of His kind
A somber sentinel tasked with ensuring the dead wake not from their final sleep
Ensuring the silence is suffocating
A deep, weighted vibration
As if the place under ours was itself thrumming with power
Though none remain who once spoke His true name in fearful whispers
He will outlast
For all will eventually come to know
The one they now call death
Nov 6, 2018
Nov 6, 2018 at 8:14 PM UTC