"commendable" poems
No no no, this isn’t one of those commendable confessional rants of redounded reality.
We all know where that goes and what it leads to.
This rhetoric comprises solely of the faulty intuitive comprehension and the ******** behaviour people have while under the influence of the poor man’s ****
That could be mistaken for a typo.
Xeno-meph, would be what aliens are called if they did this too.
Extended warranty of your sinus cavity is a must.
And a mouth guard so you don’t churn away at the capricious calcium that are your teeth.
Smoke and dance till lungs and legs collapse.
Talk like you’re the spokesperson for an oil company that’s pillaging life and land.
Change your personality in a minute and become the ****** you always wanted to be.
That smart talking, **** wagging, ***** licking, *** ******* back stabbing, self serving, worthless piece of **** is now you, but it doesn’t feel like that to you.
Rational ******** your only reprieve.
Keep doing the same things over and over and over and over and over and over and over and over and over again hoping the outcome will change.
But you’re cool.
You’ve done this before, it’s solvable.
A break. That’s all there’s to it.
The itch in your nose has stopped. Your jaw doesn’t hurt.
You don’t feel like **** but you know somehow that something is amiss.
Things are not what they seem. Sense doesn’t make itself.
The dark is your sanctum. Fast is your peace.
That’s not a typo.
The world cannot slow down for you.
You have to speed up. Another gram, another line, another lie.
Control is what you say it is.
Handles are what your stomach has.
Fast forward a few months and you don’t have a handle on anything.
You don’t feel down, you feel fine. Nothing’s wrong
But just another fall, and you’re straight out of line.
Justify! Justify! Justify!
Listen, keep listening… Talk! keep talking!
Everything makes sense. Everything is a sense.
The difference is that I’m faster, quicker, sharper.
I’m handicapped.
Leverage is my mind, broken and blind.
I wish that was a typo.
Apr 10, 2015
Apr 10, 2015 at 5:12 AM UTC
The desire to become
a virtuoso and prove
that I am indeed worthy
of traveling in the pursuit
of my passions
or in the pursuit
of you--
commendable cogitation
or
fool's errand?
Jan 7, 2015
Jan 7, 2015 at 3:07 PM UTC
My poems are my children, more or less.
I care about them, want them to go far,
would like the world to love them as they are.
Or would it help if I could maybe dress
them in fancy words, improve their accent? Yes,
though a judicious measure of sobriety
might give my work commendable variety.
Alas, they're disadvantaged from the start,
these single-parent children of my art,
and I can't blame their failings on Society.
Feb 17, 2016
Feb 17, 2016 at 1:41 PM UTC
Mum, was the Messenger real when I heard
He agreed to Deal after the Event
His Five-Rings Birthday made Flesh of the Word
Jab Stings to his Leather; A Totem forms then?
Which, in Real Cosmetic, itself no harm
If rely on his Throne responsible
He has a Deaf History; A Long-Since Charm
And every Girl he knew is Commendable
This is your SON. Your Mirror's Primal Truth
And no way my Purchase must interfere
Dad did his Job to keep Tradition's Youth
So the Choice lies on the Good that is here.
Thus the Paper was signed, out goes the call
Enter Twenty Years. His Mark shows it all.
Mar 11, 2013
Mar 11, 2013 at 3:03 AM UTC
WRITTEN FOR HIS MOTHER
Dame du ciel, regents terrienne,
Emperiere des infemaux palus....
Lady of Heaven and earth, and therewithal
Crowned Empress of the nether clefts of Hell,—
I, thy poor Christian, on thy name do call,
Commending me to thee, with thee to dwell,
Albeit in nought I be commendable.
But all mine undeserving may not mar
Such mercies as thy sovereign mercies are;
Without the which (as true words testify)
No soul can reach thy Heaven so fair and far.
Even in this faith I choose to live and die.
Unto thy Son say thou that I am His,
And to me graceless make Him gracious.
Said Mary of Egypt lacked not of that bliss,
Nor yet the sorrowful clerk Theopbilus,
Whose bitter sins were set aside even thus
Though to the Fiend his bounden service was.
Oh help me, lest in vain for me should pass
(Sweet ****** that shalt have no loss thereby!)
The blessed Host and sacring of the Mass
Even in this faith I choose to live and die.
A pitiful poor woman, shrunk and old,
I am, and nothing learn'd in letter-lore.
Within my parish-cloister I behold
A painted Heaven where harps and lutes adore,
And eke an Hell whose ****** folk seethe full sore:
One bringeth fear, the other joy to me.
That joy, great Goddess, make thou mine to be,—
Thou of whom all must ask it even as I;
And that which faith desires, that let it see.
For in this faith I choose to live and die.
O excellent ****** Princess! thou didst bear
King Jesus, the most excellent comforter,
Who even of this our weakness craved a share
And for our sake stooped to us from on high,
Offering to death His young life sweet and fair.
Such as He is, Our Lord, I Him declare,
And in this faith I choose to live and die.
Dante Gabriel Rossetti, trans.
3.1k
the sum of my parts
is not greater than i am as a whole, no,
i am not simply a collection of scars
and ******** storylines, oh,
i
am more than
the gristle and bone
the fibers interwoven through my arms
my lily-white striped clavicle
this corpse is my throne
i am not simply a ******
i am a ****** with a history
i am mauve valleys' majesty,
i am more than just my regrets
and my atrophies
and if it's not commendable, well, at least it's a story.
i,
simply because of my condition,
have lived through more than you could imagine
i have burned down in the depths with fire-skinned demons-
with messes deeper than your credit-card sins-
and i
have managed to get through it
these are my battle scars
i've fought ******* wars
and yet you shun me as if i'm not a hero
as if i'm not honorable for just making it
but i know you simply don't possess the tenacity
or the strength of wit
to deal with my ****
there's no reason to reproach
the type of behavior which keeps me alive
when i've done greater things than you ever will
stop staring
like i'm some sort of reject
like i'm something to pity
like i'm something worth nothing
like i can't recover
this is just a bad habit
and though you may find it disgusting i know i
can find worse dirt staining your mind
even if i leave this life
without a square inch of me unscarred
i have never backstabbed
i have not given in
while your inky secrets stay unspoken,
mine are imprinted upon my skin
and darling, that's all there is
if i am hateful, i will show you so
i have nothing to hide
my mouth isn't lipsticked shut
so what
if i cut
i'm still a good person
and though my battle is visible
there is nothing more around the corner
i am here to stay
so are my scars
and that's all there is to say
Mar 25, 2013
Mar 25, 2013 at 2:43 PM UTC
anticipation mounts
as time lapses,
real time movement
quick, power, force
dark.
inertia spread for hundreds of miles
announcing its arrival.
its call. its loud. I feel it.
he’s beautiful.
I remember always
to look for
his speck of bright orange.
he knew a day or so
ahead of time.
since youth I heed the warning signs
signaling darkness.
my connections are sharpening.
this time I didn't need
his.
I watched the dark roll in
the darkness of creation,
of cells multiplying.
the darkness of your blood
rushing at the feel of
the storm coming in.
the task of light is commendable…
the geometric puzzle
can have no missing pieces.
the destructive force of
the storm
is necessary for new life.
if darkness is truly desired
one must dig ever so deep
beyond the identity
and the memories,
the causalities even
the perceived authorities.
to the spark that
still isn’t you.
analyze that space
darkness will truly come true.
fear not.
this darkness is you.
you percolate into
the presence as the light.
Nov 15, 2014
Nov 15, 2014 at 7:17 PM UTC
Bringing to light genuine poetic gifts bestowed upon a peculiar genius; a macrocosmic telekinesis with heterogenetic keenness
Sagacious enlistee receiving tuition without a fee - earned a transcendental degree in a ceaseless state of commendable, chimerical reverie
A golden dispensary of wisdom dramatically uplifting humanity candidly; treasure full of esoteric mysteries transporting wondrous abundance through bundles of subject matters and earning a celestial masters.
Nov 15, 2014
Nov 15, 2014 at 11:39 AM UTC
A mermaid swimming through alluring and mysterious seas with locks agleam
Encountering luminous dreams as her heart whispers ancient melodic themes
A soul beaming with brilliance; if only she acknowledged the significance of her commendable resilience
Just like the moon, going through phases; mind aiming to make sense of the manifestations articulately awakened through these audacious vibrations
Strange yet undeniable phenomenon - elegantly enduring ambivalent sentiments and soaring through desolate temperaments
Pheromones and oxytocin; the potion creating the commotion between this interwoven devotion towards harmonic onward motion
Sep 17, 2014
Sep 17, 2014 at 8:44 AM UTC
Were you always a killer,
commendable, expendable
secret agent girl?
Were you always a dancer, entrancer,
Irene Adler, romancer,
secret agent girl?
Were you smart or kind of heart,
lover of art, playing your part.
secret agent girl?
Were you feared or revered,
a pioneer of weird,
secret agent girl?
Were you a dream, beauty supreme,
eyes all agleam, more than you seemed,
secret agent girl?
Who lost you, tossed you
and at what cost due,
secret agent girl?
When did they rob you of your glory,
rewrite author, title, story,
secret agent girl?
Where did they take you, break you,
make you into something new,
secret agent girl?
Are you Cold War fossil lost in time,
too young to be old, past no prime,
secret agent girl?
Beneath the earth, above the sky,
not allowed to cry, to die, are you,
secret agent girl?
Who were you before your halo cracked,
before the fact, your devil's pact,
secret agent girl?
I'll kiss you, miss you,
this bliss is amiss,
secret agent girl.
It's time to go, leave me alone,
you broken hero,
secret agent girl.
May 21, 2013
May 21, 2013 at 3:00 PM UTC
It’s hard to tell whether it’s a blessing or a curse
To be around (just in case) someone else needs to talk:
Like a guardian angel, but let me say
After such a long time of putting others before myself
Sometimes I feel like an emergency flashlight
Collecting dust on a closet shelf.
Off to the side until it’s convenient-
But still on the line on the off-chance I’m needed.
And in the lonely hours I sit waiting and glancing at the clock
Waiting for someone to answer my text of “is anyone there?”
I begin to wonder what could be commendable
About being so solitarily dependable.
Sep 25, 2014
Sep 25, 2014 at 8:46 PM UTC
Our God is really excellent
At death and genocide.
How we love to celebrate
How many folks have died.
We always feel better about life
And the wonderful heavenly joy
When we’ve murdered some foreigner's wife.
Or when we put to death girls and boys.
It is so commendable of humans
To execute those who are different
Or if they commit the cardinal sin
Of being some kind of sick dissident
Who refuses to do what we want
Like maybe lying down and acquiescing
Or refusing to shut up and play along with
Our political posturing and window dressing.
And is is all sacred and very holy;
Every bit of it is hidden by claims
That all genocide and bigotry
Is committed in our God’s name,
Unless the genocide and prejudice
Is directed anywhere near us.
The we whip out our Bibles and cry
And make a self-righteous fuss.
The Golden Rule applies to all
Except heathens and non-Caucasians.
And then it’s a noose, SWAT team or
At least an *** for every occasion.
Because killing people is terrible;
It is simply not the proper way
To deal with all of life’s issues,
Unless we want to, then it’s okay.
And all of it is by The Good Book
If the right verses are selected.
The American Bible is written to insure
The right people are not neglected.
And everyone should worship
And join the Living God’s legions
And be exactly like he lived life:
A blond-haired, blue eyed Norwegian.
Jan 7, 2017
Jan 7, 2017 at 6:42 AM UTC
Burdensome to breathe,
Laborious to walk,
Clutch back tears as my hands tremble.
Thoughts scramble,
'I'm a failure,'
'I'll never be good enough,'
At the forefront of cognitions.
Cycling through,
Impede on concentration,
And everything done can no longer stop it.
Crawl inside.
Shrink and revert.
I become seven again.
Take each word and misconstrue the meaning,
Multiply the effect,
Undervalue any positive utterance ,
Discount any commendable contemplation.
And all I want to do is escape.
Disappear and give up,
Start over with nothing.
Nov 29, 2012
Nov 29, 2012 at 1:52 PM UTC
a grandiose stature,a pretty face.
a commendable past,a comfortable present.
you command legions,you may be the leader of the free world.
you've been told and time has shown.
you've never met an adversary who could best you.
but like maggots in a ripened apple,
doubts fester in your mind.
can i be more?
you know of defeat.you have courted her.
years have passed but its vile stench still gets to you.
you possess flaws.you're not a god.
you dont have the answer to all the questions.
you're no god.you're a ******
"you're one in many."
dull at first but soon shrill,
this thought eats away at you.
you die a man,leave behind a shell.
bones decompose and leave that carrion smell.
but in death have you solved your imperfections?
have you left the legion of men and ascended to Olympus?
you're shrunken carcass tells us all we need.
you died human.you're one in many.
Aug 21, 2014
Aug 21, 2014 at 10:05 PM UTC
Told you to leave, our lovely lord of home,
Unable to bask in your audacious pride;
You dimmed my wretched goddess—one who bore weeping life
Religion worthy, as though it was your strained role,
So let’s create a cult; a sculpted path to follow-
And our naïve leader we told you to fly
Your impressionable look at us: wry,
Partnered insanity, commendable.
My lord of home is naïve, lovely, insane,
Seed of tainted bloom; you brought painful life,
And you have sorely attempted love, the still
Blistering heat of cigarette on skin
Yet I asked you to leave without sigh,
My murderous savior of swaying self.
Oct 30, 2013
Oct 30, 2013 at 9:47 PM UTC
Of the 7846,000,000 people
Breathing on this boundless planet
Forcing hearts in homes and gripping life between decaying bones
You are the only things
I am convinced are made of
Every single commendable capability, crammed between honour and stability
Every good intention, of every promise that was meant to be kept
Regardless of whether they were ours to try and keep
You were crafted with the courage of lions
And I’ll never tire of preying on the poachers long before they dare come traipsing through our territories
You love with the ferocity of fire and on the days you fear there’s more smoke than flames and worry the pain may stamp you out, I’ll strike a match on the walls of my heart til we blaze our own trail out the dark
I love you with the loyalty of lightning and it’s devotion to the thunder that echoes between
I’m not one for holding grudges but I will never forgive the thoughts in your mind for convincing you that somewhere amongst all of the magic that is you, that it is not enough
As if enough has to be earned
As though you need to apologise for the faults that simply make you human and flaws that make you, you
As though you need to be ashamed of the history that formed you and the memories that sowed scars into our skin
I am sorry for the people who tried to convince us our best wasn’t good enough
It was never anything less
I am sorry for the people that laid land mines in our skull and made us believe that heads full of dreams
Really did have nowhere to go
Little did they know.
We are worriers and we are warriors.
So when the self doubt storms you, and your insecurities swarm you
And your anxieties wear you thin
Don’t forget about the armour and ammunition we were born with
Buried deep within
If our hearts do build homes within bones. You are always welcome home to me. ♥️
Jul 21, 2021
Jul 21, 2021 at 7:01 AM UTC
From one obsession to another
Dyslexic manic depression
Like infinity
From the ocean cool serene scene
To the traffic packed fact sack
I am constantly dead
And having to wake from this
Into a skydive
Just so I believe in the Earth
That I’m playing chicken with
May I say that “chicken ****
Can be a commendable description of character?
This whole world love love is a drug
And God the unbeknowing pusher
I felt his behemoth hands in my back
Before my fall
I think they made wings
Sep 26, 2014
Sep 26, 2014 at 12:34 AM UTC
The scars on my face
Remain intact
Its a reminder
To a situation commencing
Placed universally into
Scorn by foolishness
Adjacent this sighting
As blindness comes knocking
But did not answer
Unfortunate
Misdirected
As the red stain smears
Appearing upon my shedding skin
What little pain
Be ill to agony
Coping with
Commendable healing
With regrettable days I seek
As a Jester to sweltering oil
Dec 4, 2009
Dec 4, 2009 at 9:50 PM UTC
preparing months for an exam
for a number that supposedly determines your worth
******* up to teachers, people you don't even like
just for them to hopefully write a few commendable words about you
all for the hopes of being deemed "acceptable" to some supposed authority
for a place that will decide what you'll be doing for the rest of your life
making these drastic decisions at the age of 18
when not too long ago you were just picking out your prom dress
listing down any type of hobby or recreation you have
to make yourself seem a little more unique
since the competitiveness between you and your peers is sharper than a knife
who will make the final cut in the end and be deemed worthy?
Jan 4, 2022
Jan 4, 2022 at 2:19 AM UTC
There is nothing at the end of the rope.
Only darkness below the smell of rising disgust.
Impassively lingering in the cheap caricature of the comical impasse.
Big words yield big emotions.
The wine launders tilted sinuses with spurious empathy
While distractions become anxious attractions.
Dull is the blade that slits the wrong end of the vein.
Trying to try is commendable by failure and loathing.
Living in denial will bear sweeter fruits…. Still,
A broken man’s death is something to forget.
Jul 28, 2014
Jul 28, 2014 at 5:27 AM UTC
When muse is lost
And flair be failing
To where do I look for my mana?
In the nooks and the crannys
Are the dregs and the pale
The thoughts not so worthy of print
In my heart is desire
For words that inspire
But I’m blocked by the rustle of feet!
The hum in the air
Craves pulling of hair
When will failings desist?
-
In heart are the answers
Mature in their nature
Written in untarnished text
Virtuotous is patience
Commendable indeed
An art form infrequently found
To better myself
New teaching of tricks
No old dog here will be found
-
Content will I be within silence
Awaiting the discharge of words
Come wind, come rain, come turbulent weather
Come fill my empty page
Nov 18, 2010
Nov 18, 2010 at 8:52 PM UTC
I saw someone once question why it is rare to find a name in a poem.
More than that, in fact; they had the audacity to question a poet.
They asked them the simple question, "Why do you exclude names,
When you quite obviously write about, or for, someone?"
They responded gracefully, I must say, for someone so feisty.
Their reasons were commendable, understandable, and concise.
When we write about, or for, someone we respect their right
To anonymity. Where is the rule that we must always include a name?
I think if I were to be written about in the public domain, not that I ever will be,
Mind you. I think it would be nice. Of course I would appreciate the gesture.
I would of course appreciate it too if the poet took the brave step of delivering it to me first.
I think most of all that would overshadow any invasion of privacy.
Feb 17, 2013
Feb 17, 2013 at 6:23 PM UTC
Curvaceous fringe of her physique
Emphasized by the fuchsia garment cordially shaping her commendable Figure
Impeccable
Fortunate I am in possession of her Wondrous, voluptuous
Breath of life
Where I delicately whistled
Love-permeated air
Now an integrant part
Of me
Hue of
Voices
Sensations
Affections
Accomplished with every touch she grants
"Silence will suffice your devotion of love" I retort
When impotent she is
To declare her love
Don't complain
Don't ask
Just love me
Till I die
Jan 18, 2014
Jan 18, 2014 at 2:08 PM UTC