"chronologically" poems
poetry is photography:
the photography of your soul
it begins as an observation captured in stuttering syntax:
the lens of your soul pointing towards a subject, a metaphor, a line
within you, within the world, within the two.
if vague and smudgy this image at first,
the lines rearrange themselves, the grammar settles,
and the image comes into focus - sharp and still.
as you would a camera, approach things at angles,
you flood your poetry with perspective, with self, with distance,
stamp yourself onto it, and you know it belongs as yours.
and you know you have captured that pearl in an oyster,
those millions of dying stars exploding within you,
an image of yourself.
yet, sometimes, you're out of film and however you click the shutter,
your words fall off the lines, burst into dissonance, or finds itself unwritten.
like photography, you do not expect a stable yield of inspiration.
then, with the years, you lay your poetry on a wall -
chronologically, alphabetically, thematically, or anything -
and you will step back to see a montage of your life in eloquent snapshots.
if poetry should ever be photography - then -
it would be the photography of one's soul.
Dec 29, 2011
Dec 29, 2011 at 10:05 PM UTC
artifacts arranged
chronologically -
flint and wood
allied with cordage -
sharp-edged bronze and iron
- a skull with cut marks
beside a copper
-tipped alloy bullet
on the shelf between
war and peace
and anthropology -
an anthology
- details emerge
in the painting
- killing is our nature
and dying
- a still life.
r ~ 10/26/14
Oct 26, 2014
Oct 26, 2014 at 9:44 PM UTC
Brains constantly devoured,
Forged as the unknown.
Intellect decieving creative diction
Pardon errors and revise.
The hours you spent
Absorbing anything but sleep,
Piles up to the layers
Of stars and air.
Stop being the person
You thought you were.
Brush off values you knew,
Learn to teach something old.
Tear ducts flood out
Sodium enhanced contracts,
That binded you to affliction
Yesterday, and all hours that remain.
It doesn't have to stop,
And it doesn't have to start.
Sit through the releasing
Of depressing minds.
Cope with the contract
That you desperately signed.
Let them hear you weep
And see your pathetic eyes.
Stars shine with hope,
You shine with sadness.
Thirsting for more oppertunities
That allow you to feel something.
Now that there is nothing left
To feel, and nothing left
To hate, forgetting them
Is chronologically ensuing.
Nov 10, 2011
Nov 10, 2011 at 9:43 AM UTC
I would sit in a cave if, I could sit,
I would stand into the wind if, I could stand,
I would lie beside you if, I had you.
My logic is so, so pitiful,
I place expectation upon expectation upon demand,
My illogical answer is, I don't even know you.
If I could dance it would be for joy
If I could fly it would be into the sky so very high,
Then so low along the nap of the Earth.
See?
This how I try to impress thee,
For I am not joyful, therefore I cannot dance,
I am unable to fly so I don't stand a chance.
But these words, an intimate dialog, 'tween ye
And me, I take the time and chronologically
Realize already I am the one unhealthy...
Wait, don't go, let me start again, and when,
wait, why are you crying, I am unhealthy not dying,
I am unhealthy for us...
I will take you this one time to places where,
where are you going, how will we be together,
if you leave, I think your telling me I failed the test
That okay
that is alright,
I will wait till your
outasight
then move
onto my next
conquest.
Apr 29, 2013
Apr 29, 2013 at 11:35 PM UTC
Realistically
this delusion
could become
our source of inspiration
but chronologically speaking
our chronicles
could never combine
because destiny penned
a rhyme where I'd say
goodbye too swiftly
Dec 23, 2013
Dec 23, 2013 at 9:20 AM UTC
I think i may be falling in love with people
all too easily
I see their faces and their clothes
but i know there is so much more
I make up the stories of strangers who pass me
I imagine their heartbreak, i can taste the sadness
I know the pain that they feel
carrying their dead around with them
everywhere they go
so do I
I carry you, I carry my memories
they slouch around nosily behind me they will not leave
some are small little moments which i sort chronologically
some are wrapped neatly into small bundles
some are fiercely independent and will not be wrapped
we are all so similar, we all feel the same things
we love we hurt we breathe we walk on
how can we choose to close ourselves up
when we are all the same on the inside
Aug 22, 2014
Aug 22, 2014 at 7:52 AM UTC
Lucky
Is what you are
So lucky your life
Seems happy and complete
You have three sets of grandparents
Your own mother and father are still married
You have two younger brothers
You've had so many boy friends
You seem so happy and normal
Your life seems so perfect
Reality is, my life is far from it
One pair if grandparents
Lives in the town over
Grandpa molested me
And grandma is still married to the SOB
Another pair in Illinois
Another right with them
Both love me with all their hearts
Both 2000 miles away
My mother had two husbands before my dad
One abused her and she was told kids
Were nothing but a big dream
And then she found my dad
That's when I came into the picture
They fight and argue
I use to wish they would just divorce already
But yes, things are better
I shouldn't be called a big sister
I am terrible
Always screaming and yelling
But my love for them is infinite
I just wish they knew it
One boy friend abused me
Others broke my heart
And secretly
I am dating a girl
I have so many brain issues
You want me to list them
Alphabetically
Or chronologically
My life isn't perfect but I try
You don't know the whole
You shouldn't judge anyone
On what you've heard from foreign ears
Same goes for me I guess
Nov 3, 2013
Nov 3, 2013 at 9:13 PM UTC
There were
Words upon a page
Written chronologically.
Chronically illogical
Logically impossible
Possibly an anomaly
And that would be
Phenominal
"The fate of failures, is perfection"
Attempts at great
Aren't practical
Without practice
Wrong turns had to be made
To find a new world
Order a new atlas
Errors addressed
At last
We find where to go
Because of someone's
Shortcomings
Trials
I err
Human is what I prefer
It's a blessing
My preference
For learning my life lessons
Is by living
Yes, I listen
But I'm missing the point
I have perfect vision
But Im def-
Finitely trying to zero in
Do you hear me?
Or at least see
Where I'm coming from
Nothing
The only option is more
If I plunder then fall
I'll spring
Before summer
Without having cold feet
Cowardice
Never climbed mountains
But a wise guy
Kept his toes
And still walks
The open road
Success
Is but a mile a way
My failures
Are just footprints
It's easy
To see
Where I tripped
But know
I never tripped
About it
When I reach
What seems to be
Overnight success
Just know
How you see me
Is the night before
And it took me
Ten thousand miles
To get to this
Opened door
Sep 30, 2010
Sep 30, 2010 at 12:59 PM UTC
I made a friend that no one can see. Not imaginative, he's quite real like you and me.
He's not the nicest person but I tolerate his presence. Then again...he's the only one who remains present.
He's been chained to my ankles since my infancy. Dragging him has grown tiresome for his weight is congruent to my own.
My days of sharing a cup of tea with him have risen. Sometimes I think he leaves when I'm with you.
But I wake up the next day to see him sitting at the edge of my bed. I sit in solitude knowing he's right next to me.
He holds the memories of my rejections in his backpack, chronologically organized for me to mourn over repeatedly.
Sweet sips of bitter beverages I endure as much as I can, the only substance that drives away this being.
Curling vapors caressing my lungs throw a curtain over my grieving.
As long as I'm alone, he will never free me from these chains. As long as I'm alone, Loneliness will remain.
Jun 26, 2014
Jun 26, 2014 at 12:51 AM UTC
Dancing by,
A dead eyed darling,
As passersby cry out her praises:
"Such energy!
Such passion!"
She shrugs out a smile
As her shoulders start
Collapsing in on themselves.
Wear long sleeves
To disguise decaying flesh
And frankincense and myrrh
To disguise inevitable death,
Shaking hands with toothy monsters
And hand-made paperweight professionals
Who enter the threshold of accidentally
Pulling off a frail finger.
Pinned to a board of ages,
Chronically captured chronologically wrong:
"You seem so much older! You are so mature!"
Placing, onto fifth-grade-science-project bones,
A corset of expectations and
A garter of gold,
The tiny bird of a girl
Can't hear her songs over the
Sound of her body giving up.
Bury your wishes for me next to my corpse.
Nov 12, 2014
Nov 12, 2014 at 6:26 PM UTC
We all have our demons
That we attempt to bury
In the depths of purgatory
But like these sins
The path to cleanliness
Of the soul
Requires us to confront
Each individual devil
On that sanctimonious ground
Where every decision
Is laid out in well ordered
Pews
Both chronologically
And systematically
Arranged
So that each ghoul
Sits and stares at you
Silently reminiscent
As we ponder their ghosts
Apr 16, 2016
Apr 16, 2016 at 11:48 AM UTC
It may necessarily be so,
It may necessarily be so,
The things that you're liable
To read in the Bible,
May necessarily be so.
Moses was found in a stream,
True for the times, it seems,
They foundered kids in fields and streams,
For the crocodiles to take them,
Yes, Moses was found in a stream..
It may necessarily be so,
It may necessarily be so,
The things that your preacher,
Is liable to teach you,
Read it all in context, you know,
It may necessarily be so,
Jonah could have lived in a whale,
Yes, Jonah could have lived in a whale,
Not in the abdomen,
The gastric juices would have taken over,
But it could have been the mouth of the whale,
People were much smaller,
The whales were much larger,
May necessarily be so,
May necessarily be so.
Then there's the parting of the Red Sea,
Chronologically sound, you see,
Thera erupted,
The Red Sea parted,
The Tsunami swept away the Egyptians and the Pharaoh,
May necessarily be so, don't you know,
We may be small plebs,
But oh my,.
We have a powerful God, don't you know,
The things that your preacher
is liable to teach you,
May necessarily be so....
May necessarily be so....
Yes, the things that you're liable
To read in the Bible,
May necessarily be so......
Mar 15, 2017
Mar 15, 2017 at 8:15 PM UTC
Ordinary day, lonesome happening
Quiet as can be, here I sit
In this uneasy office chair, daydreaming
Of what can be, pretending to be
What all I really am, Imagination set aside
Desire catches my eye, Endearment blessing me
On terms anyone could really conceive
What is in a thought, a process which can be deepened
A simple second can change anyone’s life
Whether it be for the better or the worst
Life is what we make of it, use of the proper tool
A lesson to be taught or learnt
Determination of one pure decision
Decisive declaration over biorhythms of allotment
Chronologically prepared to make right
Stepping one foot in front of the other
Tend the watchful eye as it shows you
A golden path through the toughest resolution
Building brick by brick along pastures of purview
Now come to your senses, strike a pose
Propound on this glorious insight
A betterment for which you will carry on forth
Entering the approachable endeavor of life’s greatest mystery
Setting sight upon goals to live by
Be free to understand the lesser of evils
As your mind yearns for enrichment
That of which comes from the power of virtue
Apr 6, 2010
Apr 6, 2010 at 11:25 AM UTC
While I myself do live myself simply,
I am not simply living for myself.
Living is my most ambitious art-piece to date;
to be the author of my life's story
takes a tedious amount of charging
buffalo stamina & alligator patience.
I'm making sure you've not heard a story like mine
because
countless friends, family, misfits and strangers
have lost the passion for their stories,
instead turning over
*their heartbeat
blood spilled pens
& mind jazz
slamdance typewriters*
to some schmuck to write their story
in a vacuumed & pristine chronologically ordered
paint-by-numbers cookie-cutter drivel.
I live
because
my mother ended
the chapter of her burgeoning artistic career prematurely
thanks to her parents telling her
what can you do with art therapy?
I live
because
there's something about that jazz,
& a candlelight bath.
I live
because
far as I know, my father is learning
lasting relationships of which his charming self
struggled to maintain with an in-absentia momma
that moved around to a new school each year
and father who vamoosed shortly after birth.
I live
because
when the mouth of my love
splits into a smile, her eyes
flash pink lemonade and rosemary bebop
in a way which synchronizes to my heartbeat.
I live
because
clouds, especially at dawn,
soothe and dissolve any anxieties
of the day or weeks or months or whatever.
I live
because
I didn't know the smell of cypress,
let alone cassia or frankincense
until I arrived in Toronto which has me curious
as to what other scents I have yet to experience.
I live
because
I'm not yet finished
laughing.
I live
because
words won't stop wafting and wading
around my being until I swallow then sing
their messages aloud,
on paper,
on a park bench,
in someone's eyes.
I live
because
I live.
I live because,
I live.
Aug 2, 2014
Aug 2, 2014 at 9:35 AM UTC
The colours of life all seem bleached out now.
At the edge of euphoria, we deepen our curiousity.
Our need for fresh evidence and knowledge is the river from which the liqour of drive is fetched
And the sands of time are the canvas on which our deeds are etched.
Life births curiousity which in turn births passion, then purpose, drive and accomplishment chronologically
Adam must, however, remember not to forget to keep his feet grounded and not get swayed by the swift tides of this river of knowledge for it is a never ending one that flows into an ocean only swam by the dead and supernatural.
For the ones that matter the most at death are given at births.
It is then, when we've circumvented life and must leave it behind, when we boomerang to the dusty point where it all started, that we have a full palette of rainbow colours where our *** of golden knowledge is found
And not a single shade shall be missing from the crayon box.
This is fulfillment.
This is Legacy
Dec 4, 2015
Dec 4, 2015 at 4:18 PM UTC
I met you when we both were in recovery, sitting in a waiting room,
while Dr. Limbo shuffled our papers and told us it'd be awhile.
You were in with a heart defect. It has a hole, you said,
that nothing so far can close up, and you're not getting any younger.
I suffered from chronic chills, the kind that make people cold to the touch,
hugs are like a trip to the morgue, I said, and you nodded thoughtfully.
We discussed the articles in every dogeared magazine they had laying out,
folding back the pages and pointing at the pictures.
You explained to me the inner-workings of the common espresso machine,
and I named all my favorite cathedrals in Europe, chronologically.
When we finished with that, we checked for the doctor, but he was busy.
You nursed the weak part of your chest as I ran my hands over my arms
You know, I think the hole is getting wider as I get older, and someday it'll eat
me away like cancer. As you speak, I see the slight depression near your sternum.
Well I fear that I'll never touch a living person, I'll only touch rocks.
And my capillaries will forget how to fill, and I'll freeze from the inside out.
We looked at each other, and I thought you might try to kiss me, but instead
you wonder if the doctor is a good one; and if they'll call our names soon;
and you turned to face the door.
Oct 1, 2013
Oct 1, 2013 at 2:42 PM UTC
Chronologically, the life force of upward momentum
Eratus, irrigated field leaves at the backdoor
Leaves in the mailbox
Always upward, from below, the deepest place
This may have been out of my frame of reference though
Did you see the half-mast falsehood
Up the pole, down the hole
Listen to the secret word
Monitor of the algorithm
Apr 12, 2016
Apr 12, 2016 at 9:52 AM UTC
dear next boyfriend-
you better hold her tighter than hands grip the wheel of a nascar vehicle as they approach the final turn and that checkered flag.
and hope that I'm not waiting for her at the finish line with a Sprint Cup trophy containing champagne that tastes like
a house,
4 kids,
and a life filled with a love that would make Shakespeare put his pen down.
it wouldn't fit on the page.
in a book.
in a library.
in a poem.
in a song.
in an album.
you need to hug her like you are trying to prevent her body from exploding into a vast constellation of a million stars.
Nova bright.
Nova? Right.
a light her bright can shine without it being night.
cherish her noise.
her laugh is an anthem.
her breath is enough music to lullaby you to sleep and get you through the night.
her cry..
her cry...
her cry.
watercolor tears, they will stain your soul.
pick your battles.
and remember that she is on your team and not your opponent.
her heartbeat sounds like thunder.
because it's ten sizes too big,
in a world that models their own after the Grinch.
she's Cindy Lou in her impact.
she will change you.
cherish her touch.
it's a gateway to a whole new world.
it's like meditation and the most violent storm happening all at once when she kisses.
I hope you like the rain.
her hands are long,
slender,
with fingers like piano keys.
I can still remember the songs she played on my skin.
Love is my most convincing proof of God,
and Dear Father;
you tell us not to covet thy neighbor.
but lord have you seen her smile?
Dear distant love,
geographically and chronologically.. distant.
if you ever find yourself alone at the Verizon center.
with sad eyes and a heavy heart.
and a craving for breakfast food for dinner.
whisper my name into the wind and know that a voice that sweet would never miss my ears.
not even from roughly 1,053 miles away.
not a chance.
send me a letter.
addressed to the boy with a love for panda bears and the way of the samurai.
and a you shaped space in his heart that is still waiting for you.
Sep 28, 2015
Sep 28, 2015 at 12:28 PM UTC
Optimism
The dogma that is oh so self-assured of the contingency
proclaiming the prevalence of good over infamy
as though it is incontrovertibly concordant with factual certainty
'tis merely a fallacy or an element of a fantasy in which people live in harmony
Life
But really, in this cruel realm, the mistakes of our forefathers
manifest themselves as demons hollering at us to notify us of the need to be better in this endeavour
or we'd get slaughtered with the blade of a knife comprised of their defeats altogether
forged into a skin piercing crystal reminiscent of their congealed sweat that perspired from the extreme pressure
stimulated from bottling up anger and restraining themselves from speaking up against transgressors
nevertheless, we make the same mistakes to pass it on to the next generation deeming them the successors of displeasure tolerators
Death
What are the benefits of labouring through a 9 to 5 job if its eventuality
is the same as that of lying on the ground all day? It will all come to a finality
the universe is indifferent towards our actuality. It will continue expanding until it reaches the point of totality
emotions are nothing but particular sequences of electric pulses in wads of matter, faulty physicality
any memory held by any entity will eventually be lost at the end of this simulation played out chronologically
Dec 4, 2017
Dec 4, 2017 at 2:10 PM UTC
in everlasting dreams i am returned
walking the timeless halls of feelings past
here; paintings decorate every inch
artists' feeble attempts at recreating immaculate imagery
a boy's youthful rhapsody of love
chronologically juxtaposed
glean now habits gone unnoticed
decades of emotional ignorance
toil, the highest classification of.
ahead, lie blank canvases
empty works of future choice
and me, stopped to consider
a crossroads in my heart
do i declare willful dominance
a leash-led endeavor of piety
or take the road less traveled
littered with all i have to fear
& ending with all i have left to acheieve
a left turn, i take.
Nov 24, 2021
Nov 24, 2021 at 8:20 AM UTC
Yeah so **** you….
Im tired of your space bound ********
alienate yourself or get a grip
I dont wanna hear your irrate comments
they pass by like comets
unnoticed and unmentioned
pushing harder for the dig
digging harder for that trigger
im not gunna flinch
cuz i got that vigor
You trying to get that dose of jealousy
but let me give you this dose of irony
Your dig’s like a rig
trying to pull me like a pully
im unattached
so when you pull as hard as you do
your gunna crash
in a flash, your smashed, patched and stuck with a past
Speaking of which, ive got a word for you too..
I think you owe me an apology.
This shift in your etymology,
has shifted my idealology.
Chronologically,
that hasnt worked out well for me.
Spitting **** about philosophy..
questioning my theology.
pretending it was all for me…
Im not some experiment
to understand psychology…
Man, **** your methodology.
Jan 18, 2013
Jan 18, 2013 at 5:25 AM UTC
A time traveler's going in opposite directions.
Sometimes for the future, sometimes for the past.
Desperately trying to find a way to stop.
To live normal, as everyone should.
To go through-out life chronologically.
To see each moment as it is.
Not what could be or should've been.
To realize no matter what you do in every second,
you are you.
Humans as a self-identifying and somewhat egotistical species are especially bad at this.
We think in terms of "im this, im that, i can correlate to these people"
and sometimes we're right.
But a lot of the times a much simpler answer is needed.
"I am me.
I am not you,
I am not a thought,
I am not a theme nor a palette.
I only exist within this moment."
Jan 2, 2016
Jan 2, 2016 at 5:50 PM UTC
I used too think the word was stupid
That you should only show it instead
And people only said it to get each other in bed.
Meaningless and absence of it causing stress
But now it's obvious
That the word's stronger than a bus
It stays the same but never weakens or rusts
And it's not just a product of lust
Because it's liberating
To be feeling and be stating
The status of your soul
Defining the connection as a whole
Giving it strength
And extending it out to great lengths
Chronologically
it doesn't actually produce melancholy
The word itself is lovely
Now I see why I love the word
And I'm forever grateful to the person who showed me
Jan 19, 2015
Jan 19, 2015 at 5:24 AM UTC