"cluelessness" poems
I feel the breeze brush my skin.
I feel nostalgia begin.
And I just want to sit awhile
And let it all sink in.
Sit here with me
Under the shade of this oak tree,
Whose branches we would climb
When we were younger,
Long before we lost the hunger
To go beyond the world we knew.
So what do you say
We pass away the afternoon
Just staring up at the sky?
Finding pictures in the clouds
As they go passing by.
We can talk of days long gone,
The things we've done,
The roads we're on
And people we use to know.
Discuss all the little things:
Family, friends and enemies,
And see where the stories go.
We can let the day fade
As we sit within the shade.
I can feel the night time cold.
On my memories it pulls.
And the familiarity
Has got me feeling old.
Lean against the bark with me,
Where we once carved our names for all to see.
Etchings that have long since faded
Through the battering storms.
The same clashes and bashes and lighting flashes
That left us all weathered and worn.
We can name the constellations
That our memories still retain,
And make up our own
For all the stars that still remain.
Let's discuss the existential questions:
The meaning of it all.
Embrace the cluelessness in
The conclusions that we draw.
And when there's nothing more to say,
No more answers to be reached,
We can pass away the darkness
In the silence finally breached.
Aug 5, 2015
Aug 5, 2015 at 6:27 PM UTC
She’s lovely and petite,
Long flowing blonde hair,
The target of constant
Unwanted attention,
The **** of many crude jokes.
Though you can’t deny it
There is a kernel of truth
To every stereotype.
Shallow. Yes she is shallow.
Shallow as the flood waters
Three inches deep, powerful
Enough to sweep your car
Into a watery grave.
Superficial. Yes she is superficial.
Superficial as the thin layer
Of paint on a Renoir or Monet
Colors translucent and divine
Deep and lustrous
Transporting the imagination
To a world of romance and joy.
Clueless. Yes she is clueless.
Clueless as Sherlock Holmes
As he solves a mystery as dark
And complex as any labyrinth
With nary a clue, save for a trail
Of breadcrumbs and a scent of
Gardenia.
Airhead. Yes she is an airhead.
An airhead like the thinnest of air
Atop the mighty Himalayas where
Holy men choose to transcend the
Mundane and commune with
Spirits subtle and ethereal and ultimately
Unknowable.
The world sees her beauty and perhaps
Only her beauty, but they are blinded
By their shallowness, superficiality,
Cluelessness and a brain wallowing
In the clouds of misty ignorance.
Therein lies the joke.
Oct 26, 2015
Oct 26, 2015 at 11:48 PM UTC
Finally
I catch a break
from the clattering chatter
of complaints
To melt into this cozy chair
and rediscover my own thoughts,
myself,
who I have lost
somewhere in the noise
Finally
I catch my breath
and slowing its pace, I embrace
the silence
This temporary peace I seldom
catch hold of these days
And just as I finally start to see
myself...
It's taken
Shattered and scattered
like a cars side mirror
side-swiped
by the haphazardly cluelessness
of another
My reflection
My inner self
Gone
Once more
Dec 27, 2022
Dec 27, 2022 at 1:21 PM UTC
Looking back, you never really cared. All you did is strip me down naked. I gave you everything I had. I even gave you my arms and my legs and got left in the cold because I guess you're a coward. After five years I finally decided to trust someone again and I was just left the same way. I was strung along like a simple-minded fool and I was manipulated blindly so you could have me to your convenience and liking. You ****** everything out of me: my confidence, my light.. and you just left me there to look like a fool. I don’t even know who I am anymore or what’s left of me. I don’t think you really care. I mean... who gives a **** about used trash anyway, right? Promises only mean something when things are easy, right? It's my fault. I should've followed my gut while it was screaming truths I wanted to deny. I had mistaken my gut for self-destructive over-thoughts, and you for my hero. I had mistaken learned-lessons for walls. I had mistaken you for a man. I can't help but feel like you knew that.. like watching a wave crash over me as cluelessness had my back towards the horizon and my eyes towards you. My heart's freezing over again now. For better or for worse it's happening, and I don't think it will melt for a really long time. In the meantime, I'll have boy friends but I won't feel. I'll maybe flirt here or there, but I won't feel. I’ll **** a lot but, regretfully, I won’t feel. I'll keep on moving and I won't feel. I'll try to feel, and there will be a split resentment for you and myself for making me this way. At the end of the day, it's my fault for being stupid and thinking anything good could ever come out of love. They say love yourself, and love will find it's way to you. What I didn't know is that love is an evil thief that comes and then goes with every piece of you in hand like it was an insignificant amount of small change.
Sep 8, 2013
Sep 8, 2013 at 6:49 PM UTC
**** nation
Conversing with ammunitions.
Hearts that are barely loyal
Being served by humbled soldiers.
No wonder peace has been conquered
And war the man on the altar.
Her habitants live like their souls are on trial
And their god a liar.
**** nation
Her masses are speechless creatures
Ruled in cluelessness
Jubilating in bitterness.
**** Nation
Driven by greedy intentions
Stomach fed with promises
Sleeping and waking in calamities.
**** nation
The fat ones are the vultures
Termites and cankerworms haven
The thinning path between hell and heaven.
**** nation
Where the safest place is the grave
Saints nation rebirth to a **** nation
Where unity and faith are slaves.
Hmm! My **** nation of tears
Unfortunately, I'm fortunate to be born here
blessed with everything, cursed with leadership,
Born into miseries, dying in hardship.
A **** nation in a tunnel
Crowded with diverse starlets
Being forced to drain down the funnel
Crying blood for a spark soonest.
Jun 14, 2020
Jun 14, 2020 at 10:40 AM UTC
Accepting my cluelessness
Trustworthy, 100% trustworthy
Resists not helping friends
Uncommon personality
Extraordinary sense of humor
Feared by enemies
Random when needed
Insane, but not asylum insane
Even through hard times understanding
Never thought as 'pure'
Determined, at times
Mar 2, 2014
Mar 2, 2014 at 2:40 PM UTC
7/23/2014
the plane rolls over the california mountains
we pass over homes,
and stores,
and jails
we pass over the bars,
where bitter old men go
to remind them of their sorrows
we pass the **********
where 20 year old men go
to feel like lions
we pass the cloudy river,
where a man sits fishing for not fish,
but love
we pass the jail,
where a ***** woman sits
and prays for heaven to take her
we pass the hills,
where couples go to ****
and die
we pass the roads,
full of insensitive men,
crying women,
vomiting kids,
and clueless elders
we pass the land
which has witnessed the
genocide of a people
we pass over a thousand murderers,
and a thousand molesters,
and a thousand arsonists,
and a thousand lunatics
we pass over a land
founded on the color of white
and *** we pass over this hell,
I look towards the man on my left
a 40 something year old
business man,
reading a mag,
drinking a coke,
and sipping up his cluelessness
then there are the people behind me
indian
2 women, and a child
a mother,
daughter,
and grandchild
who must know all too well
how much of a hell we're in,
but they do not bite their thumb
for maybe this is meant to be,
maybe there is no way to escape this,
maybe there is no way to fix this
yet,
I do bite my tongue at the world
I do bite my tongue at humanity,
at society,
at love,
at loneliness
yes,
I bite my tongue at people
but as we pass above the clouds,
and hell slowly vanishes
beneath a film of illusion,
my thoughts do vanish,
and I no longer
am reminded of hell
© 2014 Rembrin Hawke
Jul 26, 2014
Jul 26, 2014 at 2:39 AM UTC
Senselessly,
I've fallen
for some uncertainty
The cluelessness
I feel
is equated
with sedation;
and the seduction
in those
perfect
green
eyes
make me
yearn
to learn
your entire
physique;
your entire
mentality
To explore
depths
even you have
forgotten
Apr 3, 2014
Apr 3, 2014 at 4:49 PM UTC
It is difficult
To see things
From the perspective
Of human beings
When they seem
So far from me
A bunch of extras
For an action scene
Less than capable
Consumer fiends
Confusing me
With their
Cluelessness
All replaceable
Blood dolls
Dancing
For me
With me
It is a little hard
To see
Evenly
Behind
The shepherd
Above
The sheep
Sleepily
Eating
Your heys
For the day
It is tough to see
A knife out
When below
The spigot
In a drought
Drinking
The sorrow
Away
It is a bit of trouble
To see
When you
Have played
The persistent
Parasite
To a
Pedigree
That in fact
Agreed
To give
Pieces
Of their
Love
Away
Cannot
See
When
Face
Down
On a
Toilet
Seat
Feb 25, 2013
Feb 25, 2013 at 2:24 AM UTC
You would think that by now
I’d be able to read you
but I cannot
I am a prisoner to your subtleties,
a captive of your cluelessness,
tangled so helplessly in your mixed signals
your emotions are the secrets
whispered just past my ears
so intriguing
yet
so out of reach
-h.w.
Oct 21, 2014
Oct 21, 2014 at 3:59 PM UTC
Truth lies like a truncated branch
blocking the door of a junkyard mouse's flat.
That is a very jarring notion indeed.
Hesitant to staying truth, hesitant to lodge;
the informed call on past gaze and past phase
for their feeding, the new individual
perfecting a new utility belt.
The new individual may be simple and torn.
Torn, because what is considered simple
could be pooled in the gap between the wedges
at the bottom of the Milo milkshake tetrapack
which the straw cannot find no matter how meticulously you jiggle it,
despite its stark authority, and you're undecided on
whether you should throw the packet away.
Simple, because your motor function,
simply put, needs to be less awkward.
Does not make my cluelessness at functioning any less true.
I was struck immobile because I almost got run over by a mouse
(or a rat, I have not googled their difference),
but I admire the schoolishness of that terror,
its being real.
Oct 14, 2018
Oct 14, 2018 at 1:36 PM UTC
Sustainably globally gay – we need more of it / socially-conscious progressive group-think / openness through tolerance of diversity in perversity / justice for more more more of gay gay gay / it’s progress it’s now its queer-friendly because it's sustainably globally gay / when gay gets gayer the queering gets clearer / so let's start the conversation about homo-homo gayness / inclusion through cluelessness in transparent openness / by the way - get GAY / before the homosexual conversation queers the queerness of the ongoing conversation / let's celebrate gayness, OK ?
Sep 25, 2015
Sep 25, 2015 at 11:19 PM UTC
Under the celestial heavens,
The sceptic, is so small, slight—
In a dull room, filled with gloss, vacant,
Unbelievers, hayseeds, who unbeknownst
To themselves, are all in an incestuous love cult,
A construct so vain, vacuous, of spineless comfort
And smarmy snugness, a tribe of loose, yawning tripe,
A spew of runny phlegms, a scheme of useless blue things,
Festering. What rational and clear clods, of beheadedness,
Cluelessness, in clefts of lobotomy, plain and clearly sightless,
Without seeing, they proclaim, all that their dull drivels, the dear
Elders had once spoon fed to them, preached, said— now, how,
They are sad, righteous and solemn in their preordained, oldness,
Incongruous, indifferences and prejudices. To have completely lost
Any warm, decent, actual feelings for emotion is foreign— the stars,
Do not align, the waters will not part, yet they are blind to the lies
In themselves. To have experienced— any real, beating, ******
Thing is beside the point, is beyond their ken, is not knowable,
Yet, kowtow-able, quantifiable, not actual, but unbelievable
They—the smug, slugs, under rugs, are dead, as dust,
Under celestial skies, deep, darkness inside . . .
Feb 28, 2014
Feb 28, 2014 at 11:48 PM UTC
Who,
Who on earth am I
To blame you
For the things
I, myself
Have done?
For simple humanity
Gives us stupidity
Stronger than the faith
Of our trusting,
Bolder than the hope
Of our stricken.
Yet you,
You wreak havoc
Inside my heart
Because of your carelessness,
Because of your unawareness,
Because of your cluelessness,
Because of your obliviousness.
So if I
Am able to lay blame
On you;
How can they blame me?
How can they blame you
For the same?
Is it clear?
Am I clear
To you?
Can you tell
What I am thinking?
Can you guess
My intentions?
Or
Am I a mystery,
A question mark?
But why,
Why on earth
Does it matter?
Why should I
Get hooked on
What you think
Of me?
After all,
This is humanity
Where we find
Little value
In ourselves.
So how,
How can I
Expect to find
Someone who
Finds value
Not only
In themselves
But also in me?
Is that
Too high
To put my expectations
For you?
Or is it too low?
Aug 6, 2015
Aug 6, 2015 at 5:34 PM UTC
*There is an innocence about it
A sensation which slightly glows
And illuminates, the half of it
But does not act out of cluelessness
Or carelessness
No, it's a state of care free thoughtfulness
In which this kind of being exists
It hates the plow
It hates the system
It simply is
It simply lives
It connects itself to many things
And many people
With a genuine and expressive tone
And an innate sweetness inside of it
And when this sensation sleeps
The small corners of the world as they are
In one way or another
Are at peace
And when I am near
It is the same as when I am not
Behaving with steadfastness
And as it listens quietly
It puts me at ease
As I see it now, for what it is, in its innocence
And when given the opportunity to speak
I care for it
And yet, I cannot understand it's simplicity
In sight
It is a twist of hair in the seamless breeze
How it wavers without want or will
It simply is
A mess, yet controlled
And always in its own way, and by its own will
Deep water can be cold and treacherous
But shallow water can break, be seen and is warm
I love the water, but not like this
And not to submerge
That's not for me
Though these purveyors of sensation are incredibly
Unimaginably sweet*
Mar 26, 2017
Mar 26, 2017 at 2:31 AM UTC
I've always been a fan of distress.
Maybe it's the broken words that get woven into melodies,
that I would relate to in the past, but remember in the present.
The heart breaks in hall ways and idling cars.
The bitter bedrooms, queen sized quilts of cluelessness,
Pessimism encompassing optimism as the day surrenders to night
and no aubades are sung.
I've also always been a fan of love,
A beautiful mind I wouldn't mind exploring.
Searching for love can wear a person out,
so I became my other half, and I learned to love who I am.
I fell in love with the idea of being in love with life.
And when you came into my life, etherial and honest
something out of a book I've never read.
The poems in every chapter that appear as we evolve are beautiful.
I still have a soft spot for the melancholy.
I'm still in love with the fine, light rain that falls in the evening hours,
the serenity of silence and aubades as the sun expires.
But I'm also in love with you and your undying ability to love me.
I've gotten to know your mind, your body, your countless strengths and the imperfections you see in yourself but I can't.
The way your words convey confidence and belief.
I don't know if the universe fights for souls to be together,
but I think some things are just too strange and strong to be coincidences.
Sep 6, 2015
Sep 6, 2015 at 7:35 PM UTC
They all live in their own little worlds.
A place that I don't understand really..
I mean, how can you fool yourself so completely?
How can you lead yourself to believe such lies?
They walk around as if they can't be wrong.
They can't be touched.
They're invincible.
And in a way - I envy them.
Their careful ways.
Their nonchalant attitudes.
But then their cluelessness catches up.
I know better than to want that life.
I know better than to convent their ways.
Because their little worlds are full of deceit.
Of pretty images, but no real substance.
It's just a picture.
Instead of reality - they chose ignorance.
They ignore what's right in front of them
And they shun whatever tries to show them the truth.
And that thing
That person
That very truth
Becomes nothing to them.
Instead of listening - they discard.
Instead of understanding - they throw it away.
They blame it on the messenger.
The part that threatens their "peaceful" existence.
It's all just a mask.
A charade.
They refuse to see.
They refuse to look.
They refuse what is true.
And then they act like they cannot be wrong.
And they're untouchable.
Oh - how they fool themselves.
And each other.
Each living a lie so profound -
That they ignore the obvious.
And each not caring how oblivious the other is.
As long as THEIR world stays intact, who cares about the others?
As long as they get their fix - their need - their assurances
Why bother worrying about anyone else?
It gets darker the farther you go.
The more you look at it - the worse it seems.
But no one really seems to care.
It's all about the image.
Does it look ok?
Do they act happy?
Are they showing too much emotion today?
Are they showing too much fear?
Because they all know that one day it will fall apart.
The little world they created.
The little act they set up.
It won't last.
Not in reality.
Sep 18, 2010
Sep 18, 2010 at 9:58 PM UTC
Scribbles and mess-ups and an ink covered page,
My brain is the station and my train of thought never stays.
Cluelessness and confusion are the things that choose to fill,
My mind of no rhyme in a head of no will.
So I chase down that train,
The one leaving my brain,
That fast locomotive that's driving me insane.
I find myself aboard a vacated car,
No thought,
just knowing not,
Where you actually are.
Place down the pen, close the book and lay back,
You might be on the train, but you're not on the track.
Head back to the station where you will wait for another,
Hoping then the train that comes will ride as smooth as butter.
Jul 14, 2015
Jul 14, 2015 at 11:45 PM UTC
these tears
these heartbreaks
these late nights
this laughter
these last minute plans
these honest conversations
these arrogant arguments
this angst
these failing marks
these first times
this cluelessness
this insignificance
these long days
this rebellion
this love
these feelings
these million words that we speak
in hushed tones or loud voices—
this is youth, in all its glory
and i do not ever want to let
this beautiful chaos go.
Oct 21, 2016
Oct 21, 2016 at 12:06 PM UTC
There are butterflies in your stomach?
They flutter when you see him;
a furious blush paints your face,
raw brush strokes and
unadulterated emotion
leaving behind a rich pigment
known as cluelessness.
Mix in a bit of pallor,
and it's embarrassment.
They beat their mosaic-printed wings
with a stumble of your feet
or a failed exam,
a 68 in Applied Physics
when you should have pulled a crisp 69.
They find Eden-tier gardens with excitement
on par with that of a pajama-clad kid on Christmas morning,
and I bet you relish in the feeling.
But little did you know,
Miss Little Innocent sitting there
with her head weighed down
with her heavy thoughts and knock-off Docs
pigeon-toed in a less than symbol
(don't you know that, sixty-eight?),
had elephants,
prides of lions,
*********
the whole savanna
housed inside her ribcage,
bones rattling from deafening roars;
a cognizant mind stumbling from the seismic waves
of leviathan footsteps,
shaking the ground she walks on.
The pain in her chest,
the god awful attempts to provide
for her own microcosmic ecosystem
wracked her frail frame without mercy.
She continued to bounce her knees
and answer your questions
with breathy, exhausting syllables,
but you put yourself out of commission.
You write and write about your butterflies,
but think about how
it must feel to have to accept
lionesses gnawing on your shoulderblades.
Would you ask for your beautiful ******** back?
Jan 3, 2018
Jan 3, 2018 at 9:46 AM UTC
Of the mole
I had
In the middle of my neck.
It was pea-sized,
And brown
And slightly dangerous.
So they took it off
And all that's left
Is a faint, barely seen scar.
As I examined my
Wounds Of The Day
In the mirror, I noticed
The scar again.
I had not remembered
It was there, or that there was
Ever a mole, by which
It was caused.
It's not a secret, deep and
Desperate enough, for me to
Tell my friends about, so they
Don't know I had a mole.
But it did happen, and was
A prominent feature,
Of my earlier years.
I find it odd,
That such a thing
Can be just casually ignored.
I find it logical,
That such a thing
Will be just casually ignored.
But the cluelessness
Of those closest
Awes me still.
Jan 27, 2014
Jan 27, 2014 at 4:08 PM UTC
As a girl, her hands traced it in the soft darkness of summer
And that was all it needed: the tips of 4 fingers to say, “I will consume you now,
I will overtake your everything, your you.”
She promised and she didn’t know, and it happily devoured her
She was happy, too
As a woman, her hands snapped it in the hidden places of night
And that was all it needed: the evidence of 1 act to say, “I might disappear now,
But I will continue to consume you.”
She felt her old promise, and it easily burned her
But she had been easy, too
It is a shower for one, a leftover shirt, a journal
It is loneliness, cluelessness, a hoping
It is a nightmare, a few blunt words, a knot
It is reconnection, thankfulness, a knowing
It was a day, a smell, a letter, a clover
It was joy, a warm bed, it was a kiss and a day made
It was a basement, a taste, a song, a child lost
It was pain, it was bareness, it was a declaration and tears
It can be 6 years of life and it can be a home
It can be 2,190 days drugged and it can be a prison
It can be willfulness
It can be contract
Yet it remains a system of organs, of muscles, of bones
It is held together with smoke-roasted skin
It remains a collection of memories, of touch, of letters
It is held together with never-ending care
Aug 15, 2015
Aug 15, 2015 at 9:52 PM UTC
Take your journey
I'll take mine
I pour my energy into ignoring
You, yours into denial
Oct 15, 2014
Oct 15, 2014 at 11:40 PM UTC
the ignorance of his soul boiled inside those skeletons,
radiate the gleam through his eyes,
for him it's just a meaningless phrase,
for the rest it's a displeasure frame.
he didn't realize until then;
that it is his own self that light up the fire,
and burned everything up; for him to stand alone above his cluelessness.
Aug 19, 2018
Aug 19, 2018 at 8:09 AM UTC
A life.
A fish.
Swimming through the sea.
Away from the great whites in their life.
Rustic lobsters hiding among the reefs,
from what else calls the ocean home.
5% we see explored.
5% they see invaded.
100% of sea life watching and laughing.
we think we know, but really we have no clue what lies beneath.
Boats like airplanes as they graze the roof of their house.
Starring up at our cluelessness.
May 20, 2020
May 20, 2020 at 5:05 PM UTC