"comprehendible" poems
~for better days for the poet betterdays~
mournful tunes play silently, but still too often,
eyes wet but in corners kept, recurring then the
memories, keepsakes, letters, books, small trinkets,
not dusty, but dusky, resting on in-between ledge of a
mountain-sized twilight of well lit shadowy haziness,
edgy dark brilliance, a comprehensible contrast non-comprehendible
tunes that bless with equal measures of grief,
comforting, by memorable card flashes of good relief,
a dividing line, hazy and frequented crossed, a sort of path,
with no destination signaled, as if the path itself was an end,
to a meaning, a solution, with no clarity divined, a division
of sight and insight, providing an ill fitting reconciliation
mourning is electric, morning is electric,
letters, words bottled up in evaporating perfume bottles,
seeking the comfort of dissipation unto a larger atmosphere,
the scent in everything tangible, stronger still yet, in intangibles
that can erode but never ever fail to return instantly when voked,
by vision, odor, a particular child’s smile, line in a poem volunteered
recovered, uncovered, a post first writ to be written, discovered,
when time and place coincidentally breathe together, at last,
beckoning you to places where memory serves only as a pleasuring,
upright mind marker, decorated in chains perpetual reforging,
absent pain, gleaming dreamings full-replacing longings for pasts,
new verses composed, passing, a grand addition to a child’s legacy
May 18, 2019
May 18, 2019 at 8:50 AM UTC
over and far away
across the sea
the ghosts i see
they see through me
silent mockery casts
around my steel composure
decays my hope by
truth's overexposure
i seek shelter
in my contradictions
i seek power
in my prided perceptions
raindrops on starboard recall
beat me to mud
i am blinded by
what is misunderstood
they hold me to every word relayed
always remind me with a nod
that i'm always searching
for those lost at sea
always returning
to my journey
to the dead
they're comprehendible
never moving
never touching
just between
real love
and imperfection
i coast these waters
at my own self speed
i long for something
which doesn't exist
Dec 11, 2009
Dec 11, 2009 at 7:50 PM UTC
Time spent on the current day,
Forgotten in future sway.
Lost in the moment.
For a moment and for time.
Escape is futile
The passage of time
Does not exist,
As our bodies perceive it.
Nothing short of death
Can stop its passage.
Escape is dangerous
I marvel at the idea,
Of stopping, staying,
Not having to... anything.
Not having to anything at all.
Not having to sustain or endure.
Not having to follow
The seemingly fate decided path
That is the cycle
Of the moving matter
That takes up the space
That I occupy.
That anyone occupies.
Escape is paradoxically pointless.
As everything and anything is,
Life is pointless.
As nothing but moving matter,
My only biological function
Is to further the survival of my species,
To enable more endurers of my kind
To enter, "existence".
As my mass slows,
All thought and memories
I have are lost.
To what have I accomplished?
Nothing of value,
Nothing unique,
Nothing of importance.
Whether or not I let pass
Another endurer into this place,
All I have done,
Is been part of the cycle.
Surely I would like
To leave a mark.
To better the world
Because of my influence.
However, to what more have I accomplished
Than changing the statue environment
Of those who endure.
To leave a legacy, is to extend a memory.
Nothing is permanent.
All is part of a cycle.
Nothing is of true importance.
Escape is unimportant.
Escape is inevitable,
The body cannot last forever.
The unavoidable moment will occur
In which the mind,
Due to its physical state,
Will cease to function.
Will quickly cease to exist.
Breaking down into the cycle.
No demand
Nor desire
Can stem the flow
Of time's passage,
Escape is as wasteful
As its counterpart.
To escape.
Meaning to end, stop,
Cease, die,
Or to not be,
Is a waste
Of what could and will be.
Those moments of joy
And sadness that will be lost.
The sadness spreads
Through other's mourning.
Caused by a selfish action
That wastes the time of others.
An act that steals their happiness
Without using it for one's self.
To continue is to
Pursue the earthly pleasures.
To hope that one may
Skirt the void
And it's moral dilemma.
To live is to
Selfishly seek a change
In one's state.
Be it happy or sad,
Slight or grand.
To avoid the void is to
Blaspheme. To consider one's self
Able to avoid the clutches of death.
Immortality.
For we are all immortal
Until we are not.
When we are not,
It doesn't matter what we were
Or would have become.
Once one ceases to be,
One cannot wish to be or reflect.
Do I have a death wish?
No, as it is morally repugnant.
That enough is suitable reason
To stay in the world that is
Everything other than nothing.
To avoid passing into nothingness.
In hard times we wish to stop.
To seek the relief of
Not having the stresses of life.
However, upon death,
No relief is gained,
No stress is lost,
No happiness or acceptance found.
For one simply is not.
Simply, one does not be.
Does not exist.
Being nothing seems
No better than anything.
For at least being something
Is comprehendible.
Apr 22, 2012
Apr 22, 2012 at 3:40 PM UTC
At certain junctures of a journey you feel you connect to certain people, places and situations at a different level, hardly comprehendible, quite different from the hundreds of people you've ever met and many places you've ever been, they leave you with a spirit, their inherited tastes and an obsession that you will go back to it all someday.
Nov 30, 2015
Nov 30, 2015 at 10:53 AM UTC
They will say I was only a delusion, few broken words hardly comprehendible and a room full of tobacco scent, they will execute me for my outlandish brain and hang me on public every single day . And I wont be there to tell them I was something more than few mad absinthe drops and love letters to a mysterious man, I knew it from the beginning that they will not find the secrets I hid under my curly locks.
Nov 17, 2015
Nov 17, 2015 at 8:15 AM UTC
"The worst emotion to feel for me to feel would be happiness."
Moments after I said that the words "the high is never even comprehendible to the low " came tumbling out of my mouth...
Chemical imbalances in my brain are the ones to come hurdling down at me like raindrops of thunderstorms in Kansas because I can't seem to ever catch a "good umbrella". Happiness dwindles just as fast as it came and the low is something that the doctors can't prescribe medication for. The doctors can toy with your emotions and not in the way THAT person can, but in a way that they prescribe medications to do it for them.
Happiness is the worst emotion because if your brain is as completely unbalanced as mine, (as you can see from the work previous to this) then you know the pain and aching loneliness of the low.
Aug 22, 2016
Aug 22, 2016 at 7:30 PM UTC
words in a poem
must they be comprehendible?
you'll read it regardless and get a sense
what I'm feeling is different
something you havent
I'm in a weird place
a high medium
charged by the moon
drained by you
time apart to do what we do
disappear into the day
hide in the night
don't you know that im the light?
shine bright like a diamond
atop a neptunian peak
colored skies
more power is what I seek
forget you, I've got two me's to handle
a duality of ego and asceticism
conflicting sights
one light
its time to help myself fight.
Sep 13, 2014
Sep 13, 2014 at 12:30 PM UTC
This chaos is choking me
And here I stand trying to make something of it.
The world demands order
Yet I am unable to connect these dots into a comprehendible picture.
My thoughts burst through the floodgates.
Leaving me to bear the full force of this raw confusion that is sweeping over me.
I want to be able to rearrange this disorder into something eloquent,
To be able to state it in a way that will make an impact,that's all.
I want to make a mark that will last long after my body is dead and gone,
But the marks that we make are too often scars.
The constellations we arrange in the skies too often fall apart.
It is a cruel cycle that I shall now become a victim of,
Yet hold on
Hold on and grasp those broken heart strings that I leave behind
And use them to tie the stars together and show the world the beauty I see in you
Collect the lights I found in your eyes and paint a picture
That will immortalize the way I look at you
Our time was short yet it seemed like an eternity
And I will always rest in that small infinity we shared
Nov 7, 2014
Nov 7, 2014 at 4:14 PM UTC
No mixed Metaphors involved
But our Twisted actions dissolve
Into undesirable Daydreams
We, inept Bedroom playthings
Our conspicuous Smokings
And Ridiculous sayings
Now as dryer sheets We cling
To Consciousness
Hand-holds to Simple infectiousness
Our molecular Communication of listlessness
In life, alight, Foot-falls in an empty forest
Our comprehendible Topics list lost
Sea-saws and Gravity laws
A dependable Action with no tire traction
And a Lack of retention
For the liquor You spill from your mouth
EXTENSION
Hello? Hello. Someone has to Do
The things We say we do
The legitimacy of My call
Never came Through.
Or maybe you Never picked up in the first place
I know you never Try
Like your Conspiracies
To Trace
The red Line
Up to the Top of the charts
Elevated Above average
Sweet, and Then ****
Rolling thunder Inspires art
And breaks my Bones
And my Bread
In Zeus' Bed.
Sep 8, 2014
Sep 8, 2014 at 3:09 PM UTC
do you know how to feel,
while not feeling real?
or is even feeling at all,
a real feeling?
can you steal a feeling?
can you feel someone stealing,
your feelings?
is this even comprehendible?
Apr 10, 2013
Apr 10, 2013 at 5:40 PM UTC
Times of innocence pass,
day spent running around without a fear.
The future non-comprehendible,
not that it even mattered.
It was a time of living in the moment.
Of Mommy can fix any problem
and Daddy can do anything, and knows everything.
A time of complete and utter bliss.
If only I could re-live that time
and remember the exact feeling
of Daddy spinning me around in circles.
Of feeling like the whole world was my playground
and forgetting any bad things in a matter of seconds.
Jan 21, 2013
Jan 21, 2013 at 12:02 AM UTC
How can I be there for
Everyone if my
Loneliness
Prolongs the
Morning and
Evolving into sadness,
In turn absolutely
Mortifying,
Sacredness is beyond
Common practices
Almost taboos, possibly
Rare to what the eye can
Ever deem comprehendible
Demanding of death.
Nov 4, 2018
Nov 4, 2018 at 5:55 PM UTC
I’m a bird who is outside,
born in captivity,
sheltered.
At least, that is how I feel.
But, what about my mother?
She was once wild and free,
cheerfully singing her songs.
Until one day you came.
You always speak of how you tamed her - saved her.
You clipped her wings,
claiming it will keep her from harm.
Your tongue flicks words off of its tip
like a drink spilled over the table,
the lies drenching the truth;
making them un-comprehendible.
My mother no longer sings her songs,
instead, she doesn’t even speak up to defend herself.
Your voice makes up for the lack of hers.
The room booms with lies.
Jun 5, 2017
Jun 5, 2017 at 8:49 PM UTC
Friday has approached.
The day we’ve all been waiting for.
The anticipation is spilling out of you like nothing else.
You think this is your time to let loose.
Making bad decisions because “you’re young”
Sure weekends are great,
but when you are making all these great mistakes,
imagine your mother’s face as she sees your eyes bloodshot and your tongue unable to speak a word that can be comprehendible.
Look at you.
That’s not the person she raised you to be, is it?
Be smart,
if for nothing else, for the sake of your mother.
Apr 4, 2017
Apr 4, 2017 at 8:56 AM UTC
Timing, instants are details, sfumata matter
softness sensed
you know
------------------
This treeform knowing, watching life's works
conform to species, fully capable of doing
just as has been done,
selectively by patient hopeful gard'ners
and talented statistic students,
and Bible reading reformed drunks,
who had a deal with the truth, a good one,
told as
truth, being considered comprehendible,
by any mind declared independent enough
to know, truth's held as knacks is held, tight,
-if self evidence is all you got, you gotta define.
right thinkin'
tight enough to feel the weight of the wand,
right, just enough to let the child feel the water,
feel it, there, that shush, little baby,
we didn't know, we didn't know life is so hard,
at the edge of the roads all paved and painted,
while I feel blind in one eye, from onions.
Jul 5, 2024
Jul 5, 2024 at 8:29 PM UTC