"certifying" poems
1279
The Way to know the Bobolink
From every other Bird
Precisely as the Joy of him—
Obliged to be inferred.
Of impudent Habiliment
Attired to defy,
Impertinence subordinate
At times to Majesty.
Of Sentiments seditious
Amenable to Law—
As Heresies of Transport
Or Puck’s Apostacy.
Extrinsic to Attention
Too intimate with Joy—
He compliments existence
Until allured away
By Seasons or his Children—
Adult and urgent grown—
Or unforeseen aggrandizement
Or, happily, Renown—
By Contrast certifying
The Bird of Birds is gone—
How nullified the Meadow—
Her Sorcerer withdrawn!
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1685
The butterfly obtains
But little sympathy
Though favorably mentioned
In Entomology—
Because he travels freely
And wears a proper coat
The circumspect are certain
That he is dissolute—
Had he the homely scutcheon
Of modest Industry
’Twere fitter certifying
For Immortality—
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I’d been reading about boy insemination in the Sambia, Papau New Guinea. As a ritual rite of passage in this war-torn enclave, boys aged 8 to 10 were taken from their mothers to become men. This ritual included things a Westerner couldn’t fathom doing to a child - shoving sugar cane up their noses until they poured blood, forcing them to **** flutes to mimic ******** and ultimately, swallowing “male milk,” their sponsors’ ********* which according to tradition will rid them of their evil mothers’ poison and make them warriors.
Heavy ****
You know the response that happens in your body when you experience the luxury of your food begin too hot? You kind of breath in and out, rapidly, mouth open, until the food cools down? Sitting in the cafeteria, eating a bowl of vegetables and quinoa created in a vegan space certifying no cross-contamination, I found myself making this face. This stupid, ***** “oh no my mouth may feel weird for a day or two” reflex that immediately made me sick.
I decided to close my mouth. To lean into the fleeting, no-more-than-inconvenient pain instead of running from it.
I think it may have changed my life.
Mar 6, 2016
Mar 6, 2016 at 5:23 PM UTC
I gave it my all
That’s what you said to do
You said one hundred and ten percent
So I did it for you
That was fine
I was alright
Until someone else said those same words
Again, again, again
I thought I could handle it
At first
But slowly I drained myself
Like a battery
You gave me handshakes and high-fives
Awards and degrees
Certifying my excellence
Molding my existence
I pushed myself
I met my deadlines
I did what you said
I did what all of you said
After a time
All of me was poured out
Scattered
Empty
Everything I had held
Fell broken and scattered
And frantically I tried to rebuild it
From what was left
My hands shake as I try
To put the pieces back in order
A desire, a compulsion
To control my storm
Anything
Everything
Hold it together
Hold something together
I can’t, I can’t, I can’t, I can’t
Echoes in my mind
As thoughts spin and whirl
A tornado of expectations
I should…
But I can’t…
Well of course not
You’ve been drained for years
“Shoulds” and “oughts”
The poison in my thoughts
I just wanted to do what you said
To show you I had listened
I always had something to prove
I still do
But now it’s not about you
It’s about me
Now, I excel when I can
When I want to
If I don’t,
It was my choice
I don’t care what you think.
I value your opinion
But now I also value my own
I know my limits
There is so much me to explore
I can’t believe I let you drive so long
I missed out on me
And so did you
So when you say to give it my all,
I might
I might not
That’s my choice
I know how much of me I have to give
Only I can portion my time
You don’t know everything
I am strong, and I have limits
I have the power to say, “no”
When you ask to take from me
But I also can say, “yes” graciously
Knowing that I don’t need it
See, that’s what’s changed
I know what I need
I don’t rely on your knowing better
Because I can decide for myself
Rather than giving everything my all,
I give it my best
Knowing that I need to save some for myself
A bit of extra bandwidth in reserve
This way, you don’t own me
But I can offer myself to you
I can still give with grace
But I can withhold with wisdom
I give it my best
Mar 1, 2019
Mar 1, 2019 at 5:38 PM UTC
next to never (a pair of ones)
squeezed between nuh-uh and fugetaboutit,
is that long gone notion in the nation of concepts,
like one true love, the connected lines on each of our
bodies, certifying we are a pair of ones, a strong hand.
there are chores to be done:
reread Guy de Maupassant,
delete two thousand unread emails
cry for my so lost children
let Walt Whitman wash over my body like oil
kick the guy out of bed so he can make us coffee.
a ton of stuff to do, good thing, we got a strong hand,
that pair of ones.
which I am now informed is called a pair of
Aces.
Who Knew?
7:51 Sun Jul 12
Jul 12, 2020
Jul 12, 2020 at 8:06 AM UTC
1.)When imagination became infiltrated by sounds of the nocturnal
—— —— —— —— ——
2.)When negatives sabotage the nocturne to infiltrate imagination
—— —— —— —— ——
Did...
Your wonder ever waver
from reflecting on the wholehearted feature in your possession,
then retreat back into fixed permanence lining every pondering moment with conditions?
If...
Disbelief loomed in your direction,
accompanied by a voice speaking phrases that shock...would you barter?
Over the most rigorous of hand in hand tribulations
Your hand picked heart continued on the loyal
As precursive voices shock that faith
Be open to obtain verbalized through summoned thoughts,
or whisper,
or even murmur such a combination of letters squeezed together
you wouldn’t barter your set mind
For the widest of riches or a trickling scrap of any gossips current scoop
you wouldn’t barter your set mind on
anything open ears didn’t hear
Focused eyes haven’t seen
In order to accept another truth that has no traits of convinces
So much they are willing to pay you a premium of immeasurable value
to reflect on
And waver wonder from wholehearted feature
This is now the lost swamp of fright that begins the next chapter non-being existence vacuum
Sadly there aren’t any shortcuts around this living read
Only the path of lonesome
Unraveling and hurling pelts of disgraced immediacy at your thoughts,
Your appearance,
Your confidence, and trust
running multiple scenarios through chronological process
Trying to spot the precise moment of derailment
internal bitter aggression is crowned result
Because your mind is doubtless
Based on your belly that’s taken confirmation
By your unhesitating heart
Supported by the goddess
you began outlining on canvas
since your ears took in this echoing pain of disbelief
Certifying to the Triplex Elements
That your love runs deeply,
unconditionally,
unnoticed...
The triplex elements throughout our
seeing
being
meaning
(Mind)Restless with doubt and demands believing
(Heart)Personal justice pulsar until dotage rings out with excess
(Stomach) When swallowing ethos emits bubble gutted pathos pay no attention to almost
you wouldn’t barter your mind and open ears
For the widest of riches and a truth accepting order undefined
Nov 16, 2019
Nov 16, 2019 at 2:09 AM UTC
*the body is atrophying,
rising from the bed is an
exercise in handholds, comedy physical
wall-grabbing, flail to fall, laughing at myself, still
my super quiet whispers in the bed
of imminent death go unheard,
as somewhat desired, but not entirely,
3/4 tween unsure and surely and surly.
the blood don’t circulate fast enough,
streams slow, sad songs Pandora accumulates,
and Spotify artificial intelligence finds more,
certifying a usual unusual, feel dust mites breaking off of me
<>
*mind running in rivulets, fear floes,
courage-drowned, easy stuff
impossible, hard, beyond pale, summer melt,
drowning in self-disgust, hapless hopeless harmonic wastage
every deadline passes, dying,
easygoing no screaming, the
minimal, hard, past the behind, the pale,
the poetry is untraceable, untranslatable and never-good-enough*
*the easy out is steps away,
illusions are illusory, delusions offer no comfort,
stories you tell for amusement, leaving whimsical
dreams are practice runs, for the longer run, will shortly come do-due
the poem words die on the vine,
scorned silence, best is past,
appropriate ignominy is red-facial iced,
so it goes, no minyan for the funeral, no ten friends*
*the query repeatedly reappears,
how did I mess up so bad, some part
lazy, part afraid, humans, so much effort,
the voices-in-head saying, we’re plenty good enough
shelter can become a prison, an island,
fortress or prison, a salvation pretense,
osprey overhead, preying, feeding next gen,
hear-’em discussing options when “sleeping,”
his affairs in order?, which smile provokes the provocateur*
my affairs long dustbin guests,
sand and atmospheric disbursed,
your next poem probably, granules contained,
for this is how all life is transferred, I’m in a tiny minute, in you…
Jul 17, 2021
Jul 17, 2021 at 11:31 AM UTC