"cetera" poems
I hate how the words
"Lesbian," "Gay," "Bisexual," et cetera
Are thought of as bad words.
It's like, oh, no, don't teach your little sister the word lesbian
Don't tell her there are some girls who like other girls
How inappropriate!
It's like, oh, no, don't teach your little brother the word gay
Don't tell him there are some boys who like other boys
How disgusting!
Don't let anyone under the age you deem appropriate know
That there are people who aren't heterosexual
Why?
I can't possibly understand why.
There is no reason for homophobia, not really.
I saw a metaphor somewhere that went something like this:
"I was in Subway, and I bought myself a ham sub. As I was paying, the man behind me bought a different sub than me, and I was immediately offended that he got a different sandwich."
This is what it sounds like when people say homosexual people affect them.
How do they affect you?
Just because they don't love someone who is of the opposite ***
Or just because they like both
Or something else
Just because of their ****** preference, no matter what it may be
You think that gives you reason to hate them? Really?
Just because they're different than the 'normal' you're used to?
Normality is relative.
You can't say it's not "normal."
That is not a justified nor sensical argument.
What is wrong with those people?
Can't they just see past all their biases and realize that we're all people
And we all deserve the same rights no matter who we're attracted to
No matter who we kiss
No matter who we touch
No matter who we have *** with
Is it really that difficult?
**We're all humans when it comes down to it, and we all deserve the same rights.
Everyone should be able to see that.**
And you know what I wonder?
Why are we voting on whether people deserve rights or not in the first place?
And then there's people who act like homosexuality is a disease
People who act like anyone who is anything but heterosexual is broken and needs to be fixed
They're not broken.
They don't need to be fixed.
They are who they are, and the government shouldn't tell them what they can and cannot do
Based simply and only on who they're attracted to.
"You can't get married because you aren't straight."
Do you realize how shallow that is? Do you?
"You're disgusting because you aren't straight."
Why?
Why should it matter to you who they're in a relationship with?
It's their life, their decision.
No one ever asks heterosexual people why they're heterosexual.
No one ever says, "Hey, when did you decide you were straight?"
It's just ridiculous, and I'm fed up of it.
"If gay marriage is legalized, more people will become gay."
Oh, yeah, sure, of course, that will totally happen.
Just like when African Americans were given rights
Everyone decided they wanted to go out and become African American.
Just like when women were given rights
Everyone decided they wanted to go out and become female.
People of all sorts of sexualities and preferences have grown up
With mostly straight media everywhere
It didn't "turn" them straight.
So gay media won't "turn" anyone gay
It won't hurt anyone if there's a gay couple in a commercial.
Or a TV show.
Or any other form of media.
It makes me sick to think that just because of your personal opinion
My friends who are not heterosexual would not be allowed to get married
To the person that they love.
Do you know what will happen if gay marriage is legalized?
Gay people will get married.
Why can't you just understand that it doesn't matter?
Why should you care what they do?
Why should you care who they like?
It doesn't affect you.
It doesn't change you.
It's just giving LGBT people more control over their own lives.
It's just giving LGBT people rights they should have had in the first place.
Why?
Jun 1, 2013
Jun 1, 2013 at 10:36 PM UTC
Memes! Angels, aberrations of opposition super standing
overseeing you,
The screamin' heebie jeebies.
Yo, where you wanta go, you axin me we just go
with it, the flow 'know?
What I mean is, are we memes or mes or messes of yeses
gone all johnny rcome late-rotten scarred scared, some thing not so far
from sacred when you put your mind to the whole idea of life being
at all. Thinking this is not easy. We are Able. Our belly's living waters cry out,
you are your brother's keeper, yes, you are.
Be leavin' that be, I am is, and you is,
too. When you apprehend the meme named
war.
That meme has led the me-me mob for as far as men
remember, but
now, machines remember for us, all the facts, just
the facts, ma'am.
Why'd the d go into a comma, Pop?
Welt (Duetch, bitte) Enshaung, glaube ich, vie leicht, aber
are we ever going to filter out these German bleed-overs?
stay tuned, next week the meme beacon is pulled down,
who shall pre or post or ex maybe vail, travail, like
trip
wow, I hate being a 20 year old vet back in the U.S. of A.
FTA All the way, Airborne
******** Herman Hesse ********
Jorney to and fro the east to west, and soon, et
cetera. Siam is a mere myth now, eh?
As the Narnia thing not called a heathen lie was allowed
allowable in mere Christianity.
I've only seen the English POV's on PBS, they may be filtered through
feedback, meme belching bursting bubbles from new wine 'nold vessels about to plode into eternity, singing along.
Thank you, very much. May I introduce, duce, intro duce, y'gittin this?
Duce means 2 if you see e squeen between, you see that?
Fun. No reason for fun? Who here, now, believes that or, no,
bees leavin' those lies be told?
Hunh? Y'know? Watch man, waht of the night?
See, what I mean? All this from me hearin' some guy say,
"Come and see, like that was okeh. For any body, n'me, too.
Thinking, as a past-time, is pointless. You know, if you act like it.
Aug 20, 2018
Aug 20, 2018 at 1:21 AM UTC
no emotionally ecstatic experience compares
to the seminal instance
whence spermatozoa
(from profuse *********** beget
the miraculous propensity
to procreate despite the steep odds
female fertility fosters potential impregnation
fusing the hereditary debt
of feral, fiery, fomenting friskiness
fueling fancy free footloose fornication
prior to seminal fertilization union
sans ova doth induce fret
full ness in tandem with
diametrically opposed exultant sensations
(biologically, embryonically, microscopically,
et cetera) seismic shocks inject
when deliberate intent arises to disregard
applying prophylactics choice
plying reproductive roulette let
which analogous fruitful uterine plain
bastes the "cooking" egg omelette
which impregnation upends cessation of "self"
first and foremost asper desire to breed
wrenching role of "me" as operative
of webbed world de jure upon
consummating that most miraculous deed
necessitating yet for the fecund female relief
from messy menstrual cycle
she becomes temporarily freed
that perhaps a novitiate (or even a gal practiced
in the euphoric family, she instinctually
abides prenatal signals that heed
without feeling debased, harangued, lectured
pedagogical, polemical, puritanical, et cetera blast
assessing copulation enjoyed gloriously,
ineluctably, kinesthetically
lectured by elder, especially cast
in thee reel life drama, that nine months
til offspring utters initial whimper
elapses exceptionally fast
emitting a radiant golden halo wishing
to bottle confluence of hormonal secretions last
ideally fully awake to the birthing process,
when juiced the first stage of maternity past
cuz every moment thee inconsolably
(perhaps colicky infant)
gets first dibs to suckle,
which round the clock nursing
consumes moments many vast.
Apr 17, 2018
Apr 17, 2018 at 11:04 PM UTC
They wanted a curriculum vitae
In absentia
I decided to ad lib
Ad nauseum
Ipso facto, lie and deceive
Exaggerate, mislead et cetera
Hardly a bona fide
Modus operandi
They caught me in flagrante delicto
Requiescat in pace, (RIP) my chances
Now I'm persona non grata
Mea culpa
Aug 19, 2014
Aug 19, 2014 at 9:45 AM UTC
Which Is Greater?
I break a vow.
A serious vow.
In a place, in this site,
Where the fluid pain
Is the water of the world,
The element that is crux,
The amniotic liquor of creative flux,
The morning juice,
The afternoon caffe,
The first beer of the day,
The liquid that we rinse and spit out our every day,
I will write about pain,
Arrogantly, as if there is any unused combination of
Letters, vowels and consonants left unspoken, *****
Having sworn not to, for pain is cumulative.
Asking myself,
Which is greater?
The pain of creation, inception, origination and birth,
The pain of wreck and ruin, destruction and death.
Homework Self-Assignment: Compare and Contrast
Suddenly, I am expert.
Creating a poem a day is very painful.
A poem that is the sum of
Reflection, research, and purging.
Once I wrote:
*The poem is the afterbirth,
A conflicts resolution, an outcome,
Battlefield debris, the residue of
An exacting vision, a sentiment surging,
And your army of words, inadequate to the task,
Fighting to capture that insight flashed,
Each word a soldier, disheveled,
Crying, let me live, let me be saved,
Let me make a poem,
Let it be inscribed upon my victorious flag.
The poem is the sweat left upon the brow,
Having exercised the five senses,
The salt of struggle and debate,
It's completion, each word,
Both a victory and a defeat.*
Suddenly, I am expert.
My mother is dying.
It is a process. Days pass,
She neither eats or drinks,
Yet she lives on.
I watch each labored exhalation,
A subtraction, a countdown,
It is as if she was returning each singular day,
Every word e're spoke, every dream dreamt,
she ever possessed to the atmosphere,
One breath at a time.
Is that painful?
It is for me.
Now you complain. They're different, not to be compared, et cetera.
Pain is pain,
Whether it is in the service of creation, or
Creative destruction.
Once I wrote:
*With each passing poem,
I am lessened within, expurgated,
In a sense part of me, expunged,
Part of me, passing too,
Every poem's birth diminishes me.*
So, one and the same?
Nope. Yes. But. Cannot one be the greater?
Yes, one is greater.
When I lay on my deathbed,
I will exhale the answer
Into the atmosphere
For your retrieval.
Jul 19, 2013
Jul 19, 2013 at 7:06 PM UTC
I really wish this wasn't my most read poem, it was a ****** experiment of mine that doesn't have much behind it. Oh, well...
I,
Not
Too
Pleasant
Every
Sky
Feels
Joyous
In the
Near future, watching
Them
Play
Everyone
See, it's time to
Feel happy and
Just right.
Inside where I stay
Neither happy nor
Thwarted by their accusations of
Perdition.
Everyone else
Smiles but him.
Forget it,
Just forget him.
Interminable are the
Nights
That
Pain brings.
Eternal are the
Scowls
For dark ones like you.
Just forget it, let's play.
Et Cetera.
Interminable.
Feb 10, 2011
Feb 10, 2011 at 7:52 AM UTC
aunt lucy during the recent
war could and what
is more did tell you just
what everybody was fighting
for,
my sister
isabel created hundreds
(and
hundreds)of socks not to
mention shirts fleaproof earwarmers
etcetera wristers etcetera, my
mother hoped that
i would die etcetera
bravely of course my father used
to become hoarse talking about how it was
a privilege and if only he
could meanwhile my
self etcetera lay quietly
in the deep mud et
cetera
(dreaming,
et
cetera, of
Your smile
eyes knees and of your Etcetera)
Apr 6, 2015
Apr 6, 2015 at 5:51 PM UTC
Gloria, latex snap. Opaque lipstick.
I should press holiday stamps
over those big blue eyes of yours.
Misspelled spoken word, whole hunting
from malignant orange ,
crosshairs and et cetera.
*** on me - stellar hardwood floor ;
the last unicorn was a battered woman
with certain dysmorphic symptoms.
My boyfriend thinks it's **** when
i read the dsm v the way i eat jello shots.
Still, I don't **** him how I would the
surrealish ***** in a polyester uniform.
He knows there's been a cowboy in a parka on the corner for days
politely asking about the three legged race. I have no answers for him
or his handsome eagle co-defendant.
I really think
I'll marry my best friend for her
enameled heart and health insurance.
I took my multivitamin , tapping out
morse on old formica ,
while telling my dead dog im sorry for
letting them **** him.
Dec 19, 2014
Dec 19, 2014 at 10:06 AM UTC
I’m indebted to the Oxford Dictionary of Quotations, 4th Edition 1996
**Ab Imo Pectore
A**b imo pectore,
Blandae mendacia linguae,
Cadit quaestio,
Desunt cetera.
E*st modus in rebus.
Faber est quisque fortunae suae,
Gigni de nihilo nihilum, in nihilum nil posse reverti.
Hic finis fandi,
Interdum stultus bene loquitur?
Jacta interdum est alea,
Labuntur et imputantur.
Magni nominis umbra,
Nec scire fas est omnia,
Omne crede diem tibi diluxisse supremun,
Pallida mors aequo pulsat pauperum tabernas regumque turres;
Quid rides, mutato nominee de te fibula narrator,
Res ipsa loquitur.
Solvitur ambulando…
Tempora mutantur, nos et matamur in illis.
Urbi et orbi,
Vestigia nulla retrorsum.*
From The Bottom Of The Heart
From the bottom of the heart, the falsehoods of a smooth tongue,
The question drops, the rest is wanting.
There is a balance in all things, every man is the creator of his own fate.
From nothing, nothing can come, into nothing, nothing can return.
Let there be an end to talking, for who can tell when a fool speaks the truth?
The die is sometimes already cast,
A moment comes and goes, and is laid to our account.
From the smallest shadow to the mightiest name,
No one can claim to know all things,
I believe that every day that dawns may be my last,
Pale death knocks impartially at both poor and rich men’s houses;
Don’t laugh, change the name and the story is yours,
It’s so obvious, it speaks for itself.
As the concept of motion is proven by walking…
So in time all things change, as we must, in time, all change.
And to all the world,
There’s no turning back.
Ab Imo Pectore / From The Bottom Of The Heart
Ab imo pectore,
From the bottom of the heart,
Blandae mendacia linguae,
The falsehoods of a smooth tongue,
Cadit quaestio,
The question drops,
Desunt cetera.
The rest is found wanting.
Est modus in rebus,
There is a balance in all things,
Faber est quisque fortunae suae.
Every man is the creator of his own fate.
Gigni de nihilo nihilum, in nihilum nil posse reverti.
From nothing, nothing can come, into nothing, nothing can return.
Hic finis fandi,
Let there be an end to talking,
Interdum stultus bene loquitur?
For who can tell when a fool speaks the truth?
Jacta interdum est alea.
The die is sometimes already cast,
Labuntur et imputantur.
A moment comes and goes, and is laid to our account.
Magni nominis umbra,
From the smallest shadow to the mightiest name,
Nec scire fas est omnia,
No one can claim to know all things,
Omne crede diem tibi diluxisse supremun,
I believe that every day that dawns may be my last,
Pallida mors aequo pulsat pauperum tabernas regumque turres;
Pale death knocks impartially at both poor man and rich men’s houses;
Quid rides, mutato nominee de te fibula narrator,
Don’t laugh, change the name and the story is yours,
Res ipsa loquitur.
It’s so obvious, that it speaks for itself.
Solvitur ambulando…
As the concept of motion is proven by walking…
Tempora mutantur, nos et matamur in illis.
So in time all things change, as we must, in time, all change.
Urbi et orbi,
And to all the world,
Vestigia nulla retrorsum.
There’s no turning back.
r10.1
Nov 27, 2013
Nov 27, 2013 at 6:41 PM UTC
“I'd love to tell you I had some deep revelation on my way down, that I came to terms with my own mortality, laughed in the face of death, et cetera.
The truth? My only thought was: Aaaaggghhhh!”
“I could have killed you.”
“Or I could have killed you,”
he shrugged. “If there’d been an ocean in Kansas, maybe.”
“I don’t need an ocean—”
“Boys,” she interrupted, “I’m sure you both would’ve been wonderful at killing each other. But right now, you need some rest.”
"My fatal flaw. That's what the Sirens showed me. My fatal flaw is hubris."
"The brown stuff they spread on veggie sandwiches?"
"No, Seaweed Brain. That's HUMMUS. hubris is worse."
"What could be worse than hummus?"
"How did you die?"
"We er... drowned in a bathtub."
"All three of you?"
"It was a big bathtub."
**Best chapter names:
I Accidentally Vaporize My Pre-Algebra Teacher
2.Three Old Ladies Knit the Socks of Death
3.Grover Unexpectedly Loses his Pants
4.My Mother Teaches Me Bullfighting
6.I Become Supreme Lord of the Bathroom
7.My Dinner Goes Up in Smoke
10.I Ruin a Perfectly Good Bus
12.We Get Advice from a Poodle
16.We Take a Zebra to Vegas
17.We Shop for Water Beds**
Jan 4, 2015
Jan 4, 2015 at 5:58 PM UTC
I have almost been reduced to a homeless pauper.
This fatal city, Antioch,
has consumed all my money;
this fatal city with its expensive life.
But I am young and in excellent health.
My command of Greek is superb
(I know all there is about Aristotle, Plato;
orators, poets, you name it.)
I have an idea of military affairs,
and have friends among the mercenary chiefs.
I am on the inside of administration as well.
Last year I spent six months in Alexandria;
I have some knowledge (and this is useful) of affairs there:
intentions of the Malefactor, and villainies, et cetera.
Therefore I believe that I am fully
qualified to serve this country,
my beloved homeland Syria.
In whatever capacity they place me I shall strive
to be useful to the country. This is my intent.
Then again, if they thwart me with their methods --
we know those able people: need we talk about it now?
if they thwart me, I am not to blame.
First, I shall apply to Zabinas,
and if this ***** does not appreciate me,
I shall go to his rival Grypos.
And if this idiot does not hire me,
I shall go straight to Hyrcanos.
One of the three will want me however.
And my conscience is not troubled
about not worrying about my choice.
All three harm Syria equally.
But, a ruined man, why is it my fault.
Wretched man, I am trying to make ends meet.
The almighty gods should have provided
and created a fourth, good man.
Gladly would I have joined him.
2.2k
[Alright, I don’t know how else to say this, but...
You know Unsafe?
I only made 3 parts.
I keep getting wind that there’s a part 4.
I’m starting to think that SHE continued it somehow.
How she did is beyond me, considering she isn’t exactly real.
Oh yeah.
You might want a little clarity as to whom i am referring to.
Alright. so, the series X is written about a mystery girl that is called (or rather represented as) X, no?
Well, the reason she’s called that is because nobody knows her name.
I never gave her one.
Getting back on topic, it’s supposed to be written by another fictional person, whom for the sake of continuity, we will call W. Now, W and X were in love, very much so. W is offed, X mourns, yadda yadda yadda, et cetera, et cetera. Well, I felt that in order to give X more clarity and depth, that i’d have to write a second series, One that is written in the perspective of X. This premise became what you now know as Unsafe.
But, for some reason...
As I continued writing Unsafe, it felt more and more like I wasn’t even writing.
It’s like she had extended into my subconsious, from the fictional world in which she dwells, and into my pen.
Luckily, she’s easy to identify. I write her in ‘a special way’ as opposed to my [normal] writing.
Wait.
Alright, Don’t be alarmed, but She MIGHT (this is a big might) have escaped the domain I made for her,
Unsafe,
And into my Notes.
I cannot tell if it’s true or not, as this notice is considered it’s own poem. I cannot interact with my Notes until I decide to leave any poem that I am currently in.
But more importantly, this also implies that she is SENTIENT, and no longer needs me to convey her thoughts and actions.
Hell, she might be fighting for control over my account as I write this!
Ahahaha...
I really ******* myself over, huh?
Anyways, if you see her, tell me IMMEDIATELY! Just whatever you do, DON’T interact with her! In her current state, she is most likely extremely hostile.
I do appreciate you reading X and Unsafe, but this is getting a liiiiitle serious here, so uh...
Please take caution! I couldn’t live with myself if one of my readers LITERALLY GOT KILLED OFF by one of my works.
I’ll update you guys if anything meaningful happens.
In the meantime, I think I’ll go somewhere...
Familiar.]
Nov 6, 2017
Nov 6, 2017 at 3:29 PM UTC
it is tempting to lose yourself
in the pleasure of wordly possessions
money, cars, yachts, beautiful things
the Dagobert Duck syndrome
as we know
even the pharaos of ancient times
together with assorted kings and emperors
chiefs, dukes, presidents, popes, & cetera,
could only take their toys
into their graves
and not beyond
we do not know for sure
although we may believe
if immaterial possessions
have a better fate
yet even though we do not know
what our final moment brings
a thoughtful wrinkle on your brow
looks always better than
a bleak array of orphaned things
Jun 9, 2016
Jun 9, 2016 at 2:51 PM UTC
274 Etceteras
left behind orphans, moms, widows et cetera
who cares et cetera what their names are?
for they're Heroes indeed, Martyrs now et cetera.
**** happens et cetera, "it's common". Why surprised?
I'll give you some examples; China, England et cetera
That's the way the cookie crumbles.
Hope you're safe and sound et cetera
in your warm, cozy et cetera house.
WE et cetera are used to cold stones and mines.
though not stone-cold hearts.
mosquitoism
May 14, 2014
May 14, 2014 at 5:54 PM UTC
the world today truly has become
the global village once predicted
by McLuhan 50 years ago
it took three decades longer
than he had thought
but now we have
all real time developments at our fingertips
Trump talks to Putin and Duterte & cetera
and we know about it
right afterward thanks to his tweets
that land on our mobile phones
suicide bombs exploding
in Damascus Baghdad Gamboru Kabul
hit us on our social media right away
so does the news about a bus
that fell into a gorge
all 65 passengers killed
somewhere on the globe
or of the cat caught in a sewer pipe
rescued by these brave firemen
little of all of that
adds to our understanding of the universe
or might be relevant to our lives
a bit more positive reporting is in order
at best served as sensational
as the bad news
that keeps us occupied
yet more important for our daily lives
than all this hype about
the danger and the devastation that
possibly
or not
may happen if
soandso does suchandsuch
at times I contemplate
if it is better to be out of touch
and not to care about the news
so very much
Apr 22, 2018
Apr 22, 2018 at 4:32 PM UTC
I'm not here to leave a legendary impression,
these poems are merely syntactical confession,
and if you find in your own personal expression,
the mutual feels from the scheme of grand depression,
felicitation, aggression, commiseration, obsession
all of the above, et cetera, the thorough digression,
glory will be given to the one in succession
of the ethereal destination we hold in compression
with the wordly oppression and greedy possession,
without further ado and much indiscretion,
tis time now to reflect upon my next spiritual transgression.
Feb 1, 2015
Feb 1, 2015 at 6:38 PM UTC
demons and monsters
whether personal
or sprung from Hollywood creations
in that vein
seem to be a little bit like gods
you can
believe in them
blame them
adore them
fear them
pray to them
but
or because
you have no proof
they exist
Aug 3, 2016
Aug 3, 2016 at 3:01 PM UTC
when we think idle thoughts and ****** with our mind
we might as well just blandly look into the sky
and absent-mindedly pursue the flights of distant birds
against the matrix of blue firmaments
which seem less infinite than our imaginary universe
trying to look beyond that globe of blue
we venture into depths that really make us think
about the cosmos out in space
infinite stars and planets of unknown identity
we soon become aware
that our idle thoughts are dwarfed
by the immenseness of the space
through which not quite discovered forces
propel our planet with incredible speed
to destinies we do not know
perhaps in order to avoid acknowledgement
of this precarious reality
we fill our lives with more comforting things
fashions wars power games religion money
internet chats with other avatars et cetera
anything to distract us from the contemplation
of insights into how to live
in such a transient indeterminacy
with a determined sense of goal and meaning
think about it
May 4, 2016
May 4, 2016 at 4:40 PM UTC
My heart is beginning to smile
as I feel the love of people
I had no clue
there were so many of you.
Now I see
and I bleed
the clearest of tears.
You don't know
how much you've saved
my body, mind, soul
and et cetera.
I still can't believe
the way you talk to me
You're beautiful.
You create beauty.
Beauty in me.
Beauty in music.
Beauty in words.
Beauty in my soul.
I don't know
where it comes from.
But I guess it's there
somewhere
in there.
How do you do that?
How did you know?
What did you see
Way inside of me?
Mar 12, 2012
Mar 12, 2012 at 11:24 PM UTC
two hundred years ago
or so
this title might have read
"America", etc.,
according to the myth
that then was strong
and still exotic
and promising to aliens
with no experience
today, after Wounded Knee, the Trail of Tears,
the Civil War, the Restoration, all the lynchings,
after Vietnam, Grenada, Panama, Nicaragua,
the Gulf, Iraq, Afghanistan,Lybia, Syria & cetera,
Ferguson, Baltimore, & cetera,
"America" has disappeared
it has, in fact, become quite evident
that to subsume the continent
on the far side
of the Atlantic or Pacific
with this name
will do no more
in truth, it rarely ever did
the mythic notion
of a just and free society
was definitely buried at My Lai,
Panama City, on the desert plains
of Kurdistan, the Baghdad prisons,
and Guantanamo
by racist violence & arrogance
and pitiful ideas of white supremacy
the usa today lies bare
of the old promise of 'America'
street people, rampant fundamentalists,
drugs, and low employment rates,
in a society that longs
despite its cherished myth
of tough but honest competition
for holy war in order to rebuild with profit
what it has destroyed with arms
that, to all evidence, cares not
a penny's worth for
the unbuildable
which never shows in the domestic census
or for the lives of others but their own brave boys
preferably white
who have in recent years
though with increasing discomfort
upon appointment by their country's presidents
achieved the dreary fame
of bombing back into the stone age
distant lands that had
just barely begun
to make it out from there
* * *
May 14, 2015
May 14, 2015 at 3:13 PM UTC
My process is…
What is my process actually?
Start to type… don’t over think?
Spill onto page… well over the brink?
Is that my process?
I don’t really think so
Oh my word! I don’t think I have one
All my words I just love so…
I’m sprung
My poetry and I
My craft and I
What we have is true love… fluid
I just write… if I ‘draft’ this may just die
So I have no process
I just begin and let this ‘true love’ thing possess
My heart, body and soul
And it feels so easy
I want to laugh now because I just read my last two lines and they read so cheesy
But I’ll keep them, I don’t have the heart to rip them
Off this piece
I feel I should round up all the ‘love’ ambassadors… hippies, Cupid… Et cetera
And speak to them of this peace
And if I could speak to my poetry I would have said to her
I never expected her
To be this much of a reliable outlet for my feelings
My beloved artistic release.
Dec 10, 2012
Dec 10, 2012 at 1:02 AM UTC
no emotionally ecstatic experience compares
to the seminal instance
whence spermatozoa
(from profuse *********** beget
the miraculous propensity
to procreate despite the steep odds
female fertility fosters potential impregnation
fusing the hereditary debt
of feral, fiery, fomenting friskiness
fueling fancy free footloose fornication
prior to seminal fertilization union
sans ova doth induce fret
full ness in tandem with
diametrically opposed exultant sensations
(biologically, embryonically, microscopically,
et cetera) seismic shocks inject
when deliberate intent arises to disregard
applying prophylactics choice
plying reproductive roulette let
which analogous fruitful uterine plain
bastes the "cooking" egg omelette
which impregnation upends cessation of "self"
first and foremost asper desire to breed
wrenching role of "me" as operative
of webbed world de jure upon
consummating that most miraculous deed
necessitating yet for the fecund female relief
from messy menstrual cycle
she becomes temporarily freed
that perhaps a novitiate (or even a gal practiced
in the euphoric family, she instinctually
abides prenatal signals that heed
without feeling debased, harangued, lectured
pedagogical, polemical, puritanical, et cetera blast
assessing copulation enjoyed gloriously,
ineluctably, kinesthetically
lectured by elder, especially cast
in thee reel life drama, that nine months
til offspring utters initial whimper
elapses exceptionally fast
emitting a radiant golden halo wishing
to bottle confluence of hormonal secretions last
ideally fully awake to the birthing process,
when juiced the first stage of maternity past
cuz every moment thee inconsolably
(perhaps colicky infant)
gets first dibs to suckle,
which round the clock nursing
consumes moments many vast.
Feb 11, 2018
Feb 11, 2018 at 1:11 AM UTC
Dear Z
Oh Z, oh sweet Z
I’m supposed to be giving you advice, tell you what not to do, et cetera, et cetera
But I know the words written here
Won’t matter to you
Z, you were always such a strong minded girl
Do it your own way, don’t let anyone tell you what to do, keep pushing the boundaries if you can
You were never angry when you got grounded
Instead, a small part of you felt satisfied
Maybe it was the devil speaking, but you actually laughed when you got in trouble
I know, this is only one side of you, but I hope you gave the other sides a chance
I know how hard it is to let go of that stubborn, don’t give a **** about what people say attitude
Facade
Remember the girl you said you wanted to be?
The one who you were working on getting closer to?
She lit up rooms with the way she talked about poetry
She was so full of life
Z, be that girl, okay?
Let people get close to you, please don’t keep pushing them away
You know you need them and they’re always going to be there for you
I know it’s hard, so hard to ask for help
You’ll want to do it on your own
But Z, you know where that got you last time
So many “last times”
“next times”
How about Now?
Z,
Do you remember the nights when you got in your own head, trying to convince yourself you weren’t worth it?
Do you remember feeling so numb afterwards from reading the journal entries you wrote while sitting at the bottom of your man-made ocean of tears?
I want you to know that you’ve always been beautiful, but you’re the only one that has yet to realise that
I want you to know that you’ve got so much potential left in you
You’re always telling others
“Your fire’s only begun to burn brighter”
Z, YOUR fire’s only begun to burn brighter
Don’t stop, I hope you never stop trying to make peoples’ days better
I also hope you realise
How important you are
Dear Z
I want you to remember
Your past may have made you who you are today
I want you to remember
Your future is going to be great
Dear Z
I love who you are
Who you were
And who you have yet to be
Sep 21, 2014
Sep 21, 2014 at 4:10 PM UTC
space&time;
narrow
to the moment
it
may happen
nothing
proceeds
beyond that point
the whole universe
folds
into one compact dot
a cosmic black hole
whose invisible energy
holds promise
to burst forth
in brilliant stars of
salvation
elation
liberation
equality
freedom
happiness
& cetera
another big bang
this time
maybe
also with a whimper
* * *
Aug 25, 2015
Aug 25, 2015 at 2:56 PM UTC
Betting on plays
And whether teams could pull it through;
Factoring rates given to the risks
Versus stats, records, and rankings,
Of losses, successes, et cetera.
Whether physical or digital,
These playful monetary mediums
Like domestic feline & bengal tiger.
Like dog as like cat,
It's a different reaction to them
And connection with them
Having grown up around them.
These paper jaguars & plush lions,
So much for the fear of adversity
When you're trying to crunch everything.
If you're always in the middle
Of working through or thinking about something,
Punching an equation,
Then how can anyone hope
To knock you off kilter?
It's just another component-
Another addition & subtraction,
Division & multiplication,
To calculate & sum.
You've gotta be in it to win it,
And you're always just one bet away
From winning it big.
Making it good
Sometimes takes all it can take,
And even then you might not
Break even.
I sense disturbance,
See some malign figure,
In your line of reason.
Yet, through our conversations,
No appeal can be made to logic.
The calculations offer a grime visage.
Play with your heart, play with your gut,
As your head will steer you wrong.
If you're thinking about it,
You're thinking too much.
Just lay it on the line,
Bet it all,
But don't bet too much.
Listen, it'll be fine.
Tomorrow we can
Recoup your loss.
The contradictions are lost,
The irony was over
And you took the under.
The spread accomplished
Chose the given
And you were taking.
If something flew
You were beneath it.
Feb 10, 2025
Feb 10, 2025 at 1:04 PM UTC