"circumspection" poems
I tore the fabric of space
Interrupting my affectionate stalking
Spurts of longing, interspersed
with spasms of premature *****
In vain, hankering to attain that next level rush
*Oh you're a ***** girl aren't you*
That's when I was discovered...
Her shrieks royally flushing my cheeks with shock
-Superseded by pallid chagrin
I fumble to bail,
Pants entrenched around my ankles
Premeditative,
Of absent-mind, in haste
Prime directive a method of escape
Evasion failing
Detection:
Imminent
Reflecting a grim lack of circumspection,
accursed **********
Trying to conceal my turgid ********
Her father particularly beyond reason
And not fond of my indecency for his daughter
Proceeds pummeling me to death with my beloved binoculars
Devoid of clairvoyance;
I am coincidentally sent
outward toward oblivion
Bon voyage through the portal
Falling facefirst into an abysmal wormhole
Its then I voyaged backward through time
To the moment of Creation
And witnessed the universe
**** itself from naught to existence
Spewing forth such cataclysmic splendor
Jan 12, 2014
Jan 12, 2014 at 10:48 PM UTC
being a poet is not planned
**~for Gabriella Garcia~
~~
*a sixteen old soul says she understands,
being a poet is not planned,
forcing an old mans re-collection of the first time,
he made love to a virginal white
papyrus with muscles trembling,
body bent, chest bursting a rockets red glaring,
eyes marking the sheets with salty drip spots
what possessed the wrist veins
to wrest a cheap ballpoint pen to transfuse pain,
in a semaphore of uncoded ink blotches,
what was he thinking
was he thinking?
that it was an ejection
that it was an ***********
that it was a tribulation expiation
that it was a tribute explanation?
that it was an injection
that it was a circumspection inspection
that it was a circumscision surgery of emotional complexion
excising an infection with a written genuflection?
try, but no might, the first is subsumed
by the thousands that followed dutifully
though his one poem flawless, expertly recalled,
it will always be the next,
and unplanned just like this one too
who anointed his brow, the hair and forehead,
with oil pure, dripping down onto, into his cut cain marker,
who is not answering a query relentless
is this his plan, his appointment,
is this his flawed excellence,
is this his imperfect penance perpetual?
knowing well and full
now
the unplanned is his plan,
it’s his faceted flaws
that refract his coloraturas*
~~
upon this he reflects,
praying that
god protect the
young poets
from planning
______________
https://hellopoetry.com/poem/2893127/unplanned
Feb 27, 2019
Feb 27, 2019 at 1:27 PM UTC
What's your take on walking?
My body serves my soul
and tells me how to go.
My heart, affixed -- aims to show.
These ways I’ve walked in my shoes and stockings.
I've looked to heaven’s stars, to daylit clouds,
when I've stepped out, or dropped my gaze
to track the ground.
Yes, it is true—whoever passed me by
could have taken offense and supposed
I lacked my confidence.
And ofttimes, I strode out straight and true
as if toward a far mist horizon.
Un-manifest future,
even peek-a-boo,
could be comprehended?
I should doubt it.
And if I wished to address an occasional
in-the-dumps, lost-at-sea feeling,
I'd shut my eyes, and walk backwards --
owl-like, swivel 360 my head.
Backwards blind circumspection seemed worthy my try;
Ask--Who am I?
I would story where I’d been.
In my most spontaneous of nature foot-trafficking,
in roulette walk; my spin of gun chamber click--
ant, spider, beetle, and the occasional sighing snail
had fled my shadow shoe?
As slow drift clouds in a sky game would play
with the sun to hide—creatures had sought me out,
sung their farewells? (it was an excellent day to die)
Let me tell it, as it had happened today,
and truth says how.
My feet, they had gotten to waltz-walking.
O how my body and soul
danced a-fancy free.
Love was brimming out of me; happiness
whispered her wordless name; and
my tongue tripped nonsensical.
So if, at last, you've kept a-pace with me
in sympathetic striding, then perhaps
you would surmise:
there never could be a flat-footed me,
when I spout off with poem-talking.
Now, what’s your take on walking?
Oct 31, 2015
Oct 31, 2015 at 12:12 PM UTC
If charged particles are not guilty of existence, why would anyone be? Man who holds book or man who holds gun, the choice is neither obvious or attenuated. Reactionary causes rash tactlessness. Still, proof must be exposed. Who will avenge a payback unpunished? How to take satisfaction in evening the score, when so many more will fall before any justice will cure the lure to revenge? It depends, on how charged particles defend, or how you decipher foe from friend. Call upon prudence, or we shall see no end. Precaution is canniness in your own circumspection. Please use forethought for neither the neutron or proton are happy with these electrons.
Sep 22, 2016
Sep 22, 2016 at 10:30 AM UTC
A moment’s inspiration to grasp a building thought,
A panicked, surged excitement, now achieved, where once was naught.
In plucking crystal thought from the yonder crisp, blue air,
And coalescing mishmash into meaningful repair.
To seek a path of verbage realigning phrases bright
And feel the resurrection of creative works this night.
In pulling rich vocabulary from within the concrete hash
Concocting circumspection in this brilliant verse from trash.
Annunciating clarity and a purity of class
To haul yourself, abruptly, to get off your lazy ****
To burst forth in immaculate and spontaneous wordage clear
And blithely blow away your critics on their loathsome, leering ear.
Marshalg
11 September 2013
Sep 11, 2013
Sep 11, 2013 at 12:10 AM UTC
Locked in the wintertime of life
Transgression's grip as cold as ice
A dark'ning garden filled with strife
There planted every form of vice
A thorny bush, of bitter hues
I was a bramble so depraved
I wanted naught but to eschew
My life and press on to my grave
My life and press on to my grave
I had no willingness to live
My body bloodied, crushed and sore
No circumspection did I give
The full weight of sin I bore
And like a tyrant my disease
My drug addicted frame of mind
Like a briar wrapped and seized
My heartbreak in a fatal bind
My heartbreak in a fatal bind
Then like the warming light of spring
You came my precious ray of hope
O'r my bramble bush You'd sing
A bud came up to reach & *****
Warmer, warmer was the sun
Birds sang with You in the air
It was then I had begun
To leave behind my sin's despair
To leave behind my sin's despair
The tender bud it thrived and grew
Through deepest drought and bitter rain
And a bright bloom of awesome hue
Burst forth in glory that remains
That beauty is of Jesus Christ
It is to HIM all glory goes
He was the One who took my vice
Now looking down God sees a Rose
Now looking down God sees a Rose
SoulSurvivor
(C) 4/15/2016
Apr 15, 2016
Apr 15, 2016 at 8:07 PM UTC
I curse the mind's divine plan
as I lay in valley's low
gazing upon myself a god
and a perfect smile aglow
whilst I toil in my misery
my soul tied with stones
my statue's likeness stands above
revolted at his lesser clone
Look at how he humbly gloats
His skin golden perfection
A mind more clear than unstained glass
A body crafted in circumspection
but though I pull my nails
with a revised renewed edition
with every labored detail
capturing perfection
this tortuous image
calms my heart
stabbing it with hope
for a better start
and I hear whispers in my valley
selling nectars of complacency
spinning truths from fantasy
of how I too one day may be
but as my hands try to summit
the hill soars ever higher
and my mind it pities me below
Remaining on my pyre
and my blood steams
and irrational rashes grow
as I come to realize
I'll forever remain below
Jul 14, 2019
Jul 14, 2019 at 1:48 AM UTC
i do not love you like simplicity is my end goal
under duress I might fall prey to convention, but here
my bliss is unencumbered; i look to you, and there are shadows
spaces to be overlooked and re-examined
little things too precious for a first glance
i do not love you in order to be loved
it isn’t in me, to hope for exchange
a burden falls, but it isn’t hope
i do not carry wishes on my shoulders
i do not fall under the weight of expectation
if you were to love me, i would
be constantly surprised, even if you kissed me
a thousand times
if you reached for my hand, i’d jolt
in happy astonishment
when our skin touched
even if my mind grew to know you as home
each touch
would set my heart staccato
each year would slip by
and i’d stare at my hands
wondering if i’d been the one charged to hold it
but:
if every time we spoke
the world faded, it would be no less than convention
i suspend disbelief when you laugh
sometimes your questions are darts through me
arrows of lost circumspection,
i do not love you to hold your heart in my palm
i would let more melancholy soak through me to
hold your ear for an hour without fear of faltering
i do not love you to give myself up
i love you like i could never say the words
only smile at you i know you know i know you know
i do
like a secret between the two of us
and everyone else i’ve ever told, unabashed
it’s not hard to see you and wish for potential to turn into kinetics
for you and me and this to move
it’s almost become routine
i put a foot forward and walk
i breathe in and back out
i reach for a real smile when i see you wrap arms around her waist
it’s simple
i love you because it makes things brighter
Dec 13, 2012
Dec 13, 2012 at 5:51 AM UTC
2nd to rise, she enquires
you ready for coffee?
it's only 6:22am
if you're having, I'm having...
she quiet disappears
thinking coffee's coming,
when to this layabout,
it occurs,
she's making
coffee in the ****
get up, make myself presentable,
track her,
the coffee aroma pulsating,
radar signal emitting
sure enough,
coffee in the ****
grinding, dripping...percolating
but what I see is
contrast and
definition
appliance white
stainless
steel chrome gleaming,
walnut wood cabinetry warming in
Vermeer sunlight window in-streaming,
a Chagall and Botticelli duet,
freshly filtered
thru a Manhattan sky
and flesh,
freshly filtered
flesh
is not a Crayola color,
or
if it is,
it's more a spectrum,
than a single shade
but this moment morning
flesh is more realized,
as if recognized for the first time,
by a newborn old timer,
who senses the
comprehension tension of circumspection
circumcised differentiation,
flesh knowledge gradation gained
this poem,
a first attempt at
painting a ****
in words
appreciating task enormity,
for there are currently
insufficient words,
too many striations,
all cannot be straitjacketed to the
vocabulary palette
this then,
but my first definition of many,
of
flesh
so many canvasses,
so many undiscovered shadings
awaiting
****** recognition definition,
composition
Jul 24, 2015
Jul 24, 2015 at 6:27 PM UTC
Fugit Fumus dived into a basket
of oysters just to make the ***
the underbelly of transformation
bodes unwise for this colloquial soul
Cloistered Lisa lost her circumspection
when she settled for dystopic Dan
from such a wretched family
with pneumatic drills
they'd rather shutter than amend
Jun 18, 2014
Jun 18, 2014 at 4:05 PM UTC
Sensations that urge the detection of the greatest restraint and circumspection; the abruptness of spontaneous interruptions sprout volcanic internal eruptions full of relevant abundance
Flummoxed by the changes in the script; engaging wonder as suppressed thoughts are written on your face; withholding the ache as ebullient vivacity shakes you awake
Carrying a mischievous vividness full of cogent stimulus – fruitful affirmations of levelheaded, sanguine acceptance and unalloyed quiescence
Redesigning aspects of existence with unabridged persistence – receiving silent guidance from above by the means of scintillating messages lighting the living flame of love.
Nov 19, 2014
Nov 19, 2014 at 12:20 PM UTC
Inflection detection in wording circumspection.
Emotion induction from sentence construction.
Thinking,reckless, breathless.
Intrepid interpolated meaning interpretation.
Conclusive concussive membrane concussive.
Paranoid, panoramic, irrational.
Dogmatic denial Vexing act servile.
Divisional divisive delusional decisive .
Thinking,reckless, breathless.
Paranoid, panoramic, irrational.
Mar 29, 2016
Mar 29, 2016 at 5:56 PM UTC
Harriet! to see such Circumspection,
In Ladies I have no objection
Concerning what they read;
An ancient Maid’s a sage adviser,
Like her, you will be much the wiser,
In word, as well as Deed.
But Harriet, I don’t wish to flatter,
And really think ‘t would make the matter
More perfect if not quite,
If other Ladies when they preach,
Would certain Damsels also teach
More cautiously to write.
1k
To see you is to look at a band of winds sharing their realm
Comprehending which one flows the best
While voices stroke the air with waves that overwhelm
Removing all the distance from the rest
To see you is to look into a house of joy where all lamps are lit
Full of many soothing hearts full of life and love
Containing familiar scents of which I admit
Must be from heaven up above
To see you is to see a thousand years of golden days
In all my many thoughts divided by the sea
Knowing you have always lived within the rays
Of these dreams held inside of me
To see you is to see a power that for a moment smiles
Summoning a protective destination
Never conferring with that which is not worthwhile
In the dawning of circumspection
Nov 3, 2010
Nov 3, 2010 at 7:50 PM UTC
hearts,
shaped awkward
and angled into points,
drop like hair falling on a gown
graceless as feathers in rain
molted from birds leaving home
one season too early
and one morning too late for the worm…
black bend shadow in a corner facing left,
when she peeks,
her face
like her handwriting
curves
and her contour becomes his detour...
when he speaks,
his lips move like typewriters.
the smacking,
like fingers on rusting, archaic keys,
turns her mood
‘67 radio dial style:
up
L O U D E R...
but she is slow motion,
soft, surreal and in fear of circumspection
and he is a reel,
black and white and in need of projection…
May 22, 2011
May 22, 2011 at 6:09 AM UTC
I’m always waiting for perfection
But when something shows direction
I look past the connection
And make up an objection
I can’t handle rejection
If I’m not your selection
I can’t look at my reflection
So instead of showing you affection
I make a projection
That has a defection
Love is an infection
No matter my introspection
I need protection
I wish there was an injection
That causes more circumspection
Because you can see in my complexion
The result is my subjection
Which leads to eventual dejection
Mar 29, 2015
Mar 29, 2015 at 8:09 PM UTC
Alone, as he needs it
Detached from his outfit
Alter-ego of the perfect mate
Man, to admire and date
Delivers devices and desires
Alma-mater of circumspection
Loyal and trustful in all fires
Gentle but firm in intention
Lovable mind, deeply unknown heart
Investigator of the best branch
Enchanting, ingenious, smart
Shines in most low-profile
Handsome and elegant with a vile.
Nov 1, 2019
Nov 1, 2019 at 6:36 AM UTC
Her parentage was a thing of considerable comment
Though a good deal less circumspection,
Mama's identity relatively sure, as everyone knew her mama,
Her father one of a laundry list of unpromising gardeners,
Yet she was a child of grace--no, more than that
An outlier in every sense of the word,
The dazzling unintended consequence
Resulting from a series of unwise and unhappy choices.
She sauntered (though there are those romantically inclined sorts
Who would insist she outright floated,
Her feet rarely if ever touching ground)
By the courthouse in Okolona most afternoons,
And though her dress was from the house of Ralston and Purina
And her jewelry courtesy of Sailor Jack and Bingo,
She neither shrunk nor slunk self-consciously
Nor walked with eyes ablaze and fists clenched,
In a manner asking Mebbe you wanna make sumpin' of it?
Simply walked her own walk,
Such things as poverty and pedigree
Trvial matters beneath her concern,
Though she was always provided for, as a seemingly chosen child,
Judge Hibbard giving her a store-bought doll from Jackson
When she turned seven, others providing her pop and bubble gum,
And later Miss Lucille Brisker sewed her a bright-blue silk dress
Plus gave her forty-two dollars for a Greyhound ticket
To Los Angeles via New Orleans
(When she hopped the bus in front of the K &B,
She gave her a peck on the cheek, and said
*Miss Lucille, you take care, but I doubt
I'm much likely to pass this way again.*)
Her whys and wherefores after that were lost to time and tide:
Perhaps she made it in L-A, perhaps she thought else-wise
And hopped off the bus in Hattiesburg or Bogalusa
Though most were of the opinion that it mattered little if at all,
As she allowed them, leastways for a little while,
To be in her orbit while she shone in such a manner as pleased her.
Mar 26, 2018
Mar 26, 2018 at 4:27 PM UTC
everything becomes mercurial,
across the land tempers rage,
the king has made his declaration,
subject only to the gods of the land;
for when you fail to truly educate,
the mind absorbs whate'er it will,
discerning between intent and action,
is necessary for reaction or circumspection;
but here we are,
yet again, at the familiar crossroads,
to the right or to take a left about-face,
to kick evil in the rear or kiss the devil.
May 31, 2023
May 31, 2023 at 7:32 AM UTC
For Mark C. who kept the pride.
What we've been is seldom seen
Through circumspection's view,
More's the like the broad's a ****
Before we seek anew.
Tunnel vision's sought derision's
Always hard to take,
Providing you too, seek anew
To give this guy a break!
For to dwell in negativity
On confrontation's rim,
May well court condemnation
From both noble and the grim.
So bite the grit n' cut the ****
And climb aboard, my friend
For one and all respect this call's
Rough justice in the end.
M.
Apr 16, 2016
Apr 16, 2016 at 12:00 AM UTC
' Hell is other people'
Sartre's famous dictum
Someone else could say that of him
He would himself by an object of public odium.
What if he won the Nobel?
Every statement we should with circumspection read
Who says the wise have the final say?
Too often they confuse and mislead.
Dec 25, 2015
Dec 25, 2015 at 6:54 PM UTC
It's cold for August, we say, hiding in air conditioned
negative pressure controlled light high rise rooms;
"Be good", my mother used to say, "or they'll take you
to the 9th floor of Ruby", except now you're here:
After having done nothing so crazy that I can notice
as might merit the magnitude of our current incarceration.
But August is like that, hot or cold, and cruel all the same:
It runs past us before we notice, shoving us clumsily away
from the salvific summer and into the scorching one, subtly
insinuating one's whole life has been prelude to hellfire;
It reminds us what an apex feels like when it's seen
from the wrong side, bitterly recalling greener grasses.
We haven't the fortitude for all this sweat–we who're made
of blood & bones, all full of fat & sinew and circumspection–
I might say we're not august enough for August, if I were
trying to be clever, which, so far it's seemed, has served
as a milky, generally inadequate substitute for real intelligence.
There's no time now, a supermajority of months behind, to vote
for a better life, notwithstanding November's fine shadow or
October's spectral quietude, or the laborious catharthis
of September rains. No. It's time to get ripe. It's time to take
the yellow bus to school and back home. It's time to sweat it out
while we still can.
Aug 26, 2014
Aug 26, 2014 at 2:50 PM UTC
Overwhelmed by so much to do,
And concerned that things would only get worse,
God decided to reevaluate
And take stock of His universe.
“I know it’s small in the scheme of things,
But I have to say, for what it’s worth,
One of my favorite projects was
A little planet known as Earth.
“What a beautiful place it was—
Forests thick with towering trees,
Emerald valleys, golden fields,
Crystal lakes, and unspoiled seas!
“But, oh, my goodness, look how man
Has managed to the nth degree
To sabotage my work of art!
Good intentions backfired on me.
“Majestic forests: disappearing;
Gorgeous valleys: barren mounds;
Lakes and seas: polluted waters;
Golden fields: dumping grounds.
“I gave people ears to hear with,
But no one listens anymore;
I gave people hearts to feel with,
Yet feeling has gone out the door.
“I gave people eyes to see with,
Yet so many folks are blind;
I gave people brains to think with;
What has happened to their mind?
“Instead of helping their fellow man,
Out of anger they hurt and maim.
Instead of peacefully living together,
They fight their battles in my name.
“WHY is there such reluctance
To offer aid to those in need?
Generosity and sharing
Both have been replaced by greed.
“The measurement of countries’ success
Unfortunately corresponds,
Not to taking care of the people,
But to GNP and stocks and bonds.
“People also use my name
To justify their cruel hate.
Why can’t more see me as LOVE.
Now THAT truly would be great.
“They love to put words in my mouth
And claim to know my secret thoughts;
Then they try to control others.
People, you don’t call the shots!
“Having had so much to work with,
Folks should easily get along.
So either this was meant to happen,
Or my experiment went wrong.
“When considering the laws of nature,
I included circumspection.
HA! I guess that we can say
I’m perfect in my imperfection.
“There’s one good thing about this, though:
All things must pass. So maybe I’m
Going to have much more success
When I make an Earth next time.”
- by Bob B
Oct 4, 2016
Oct 4, 2016 at 11:43 PM UTC
It's late. /awake
unbroken Moebius, (of
"look what you did) "look what you said") hated)hated)hated)
i remember carrying on like nothing was wrong with me.
they wouldn't meet
my eyes./
I am
being
carried
away—
to that terrible world of my thoughts
, alone;
if i can survive this
circumspection,/evade reaching tendrils
I may fade
into black—
May 28, 2018
May 28, 2018 at 1:25 AM UTC
I write poetry, least that’s my aim;
enjoy the challenge: think it a game.
Although some follow rigid rules
I tend to think that’s for fools,
and break them as and when it suits.
This is one of the literary pursuits
which I enjoy, for it suits me well,
as fans of mine will often tell.
Others of a different persausion find,
I’m possessed of a deviant mind.
When a phrase or a single word
I’ve used, is seemingly absurd -
perceived within my poetic lines,
you should take note of subtle signs,
for you’ll find my intent oft changes direction.
It's best you read my words with circumspection;
knowing all may not be as it first appears,
when perceived rationale ostensibly disappears.
When this leaves the reader wondering “What?”
Further reading suggests that what they’ve got
are random meanderings of a Polyglot,
or a deviant wordsmith, like as not!
But it’s my way as a perverse Poet,
possessing some acumen, and subtle wit,
who uses allusive methods to lead
and delude, those who blindly read
each word as though twas cast in stone!
Be aware, every word used, I hone
keenly to achieve my desired effect!
Being critical of all the words I select,
is vital that each one fulfills my aim.
Being pernickety, is to me, a game
that fulfills a purpose. By this exercise
I achieve satisfaction, and can fantasize
about reactions I might possibly receive!
Ergo!! My purpose, is simply to deceive!
Rhymer. July 10th, 2018.
Jul 10, 2018
Jul 10, 2018 at 2:20 PM UTC