"comprehending" poems
When the night wind makes the pine trees creak
And the pale clouds glide across the dark sky,
Go out my child, go out and seek
Your soul: The Eternal I.
For all the grasses rustling at your feet
And every flaming star that glitters high
Above you, close up and meet
In you: The Eternal I.
Yes, my child, go out into the world; walk slow
And silent, comprehending all, and by and by
Your soul, the Universe, will know
Itself: the Eternal I.
Mar 25, 2014
Mar 25, 2014 at 6:39 AM UTC
Last week I was taught that
no matter how complex an expression may seem
if you multiply it by its conjugate pair
you will always end up with a non-negative real solution.
That is a metaphor for how we have learned to love.
I used to like mathematics, as strange as it may sound,
because memorising the value of pi was
somehow easier than forgetting the notion of you
and I thought maybe comprehending the mechanics of the universe
would lead me one step closer to cracking the combination.
In a world that spins at the rate of 27,900m per minute, a constant can prove tricky to find.
Hence, there is solace to be felt in knowing that even when it is all said and done –
when the final bullet has slipped from our tongues and we are left trembling
upon nothing but the rubble of our own destruction,
two plus three will still be equal to five.
In an attempt to clarify a theory to the class, my teacher analogised
that mathematics is like one big giant jigsaw puzzle:
everything always fits together perfectly in the end
Since then I have learned it is the method without the madness,
the passion for the predictable; it is everything - that love is not.
Not even the greatest mathematician in the world
has been able to measure how much a heart can hold.
There is no algorithm for how to make you come back;
I cannot draw a line graph on the speed at which love left
and even if I could, our gradients would never be the same.
I may have both halves of the bed,
but there is never enough space to fill it with.
If a task takes four hours for ten people to complete
and the same job takes five people twice that time,
how long will it take for a human to feel whole again?
Sometimes I think we are nothing more
than two parallel lines that accidentally crossed paths.
Jan 14, 2015
Jan 14, 2015 at 5:47 PM UTC
a birthday poem for S.
perhaps, this is the responsibility, the purposeful gentility,
that poetry engenders, that thwarts the impulse to anger,
guiding away, finding a way, to temper the temper, to out
and joust away our basest, our first, but never our foremost
nor finest, succinct instinct, yet terrible human nonetheless...
perhaps, this is where we hide, neath our carnival masque,
our-would-be better selves, and struggle in this, this intensity intentional,
the season's change is subtly blatant, not obvious 'cept to those
who have a front seat, a well worn Adirondack chair in the nook
where the airy breeze offers fruits of words so easy, pluck words
as easy as breathing, and the slight gradation change, in the light and
temperature, and yet, the suns cares not, for it still warms my body,
though lower and slower, nonetheless, when the heat invades my soul, confirming my, our, existence,
burning off the fog of our contradictory confusions,
and eliciting an unsolicited
"thank you god"
for my, our personal miracle of re~birthing
and better comprehending,
that other
miracle we can embrace
never enough
loving kindness
sun~mon
sep 14~15
twenty twenty five
Sep 15, 2025
Sep 15, 2025 at 8:33 AM UTC
You could careless about another
You just fiqured, why bother
Your only out for yourself
You have no conscience
And show no emotion
The only time your nice
Is when you need something
You play games with peoples minds
But its coming to an end and i promise you
You won't like what you find
There will be no mending
And no comprehending
You may have won the battle
But the war is just begginning
Oct 1, 2010
Oct 1, 2010 at 4:57 PM UTC
Living on borrowed time
Decision at drop of a hat
Down an empty vandalized street, I walk
through the horror of silence
and silence of serenity
perdurable pathway of life
The ghastly sights
and the rustling gates
scattered people with unknown tastes
emptiness in their eyes, anger in their words
void is profound
down the perdurable pathway of life
Bifurcated roads upfront
my perception, one to hell and one to heaven
the other end of roads, a mystery
I stood there comprehending, while
my mind harks back to before I came
down the perdurable pathway of life
Endurance of a toiler
Stoicism, a rare trait, out of gratitude to employer
pain and suffering he undergoes for common good
loyalty to his master, inspire of hardships
sincerity and humbleness of the bloke
will inspire me, down the perdurable pathway of life
Deprived of education
desolated on streets laboring
disparate from parental love, subject to father's fury
fractious relations but still ignores himself, for family and domicile
The kid's love and determination, will inspire me
down the perdurable pathway of life
Spurn love took her down
Her heart wrenched and pushed her beyond limits
killed herself, leaving her parents to sore reality
not a wise choice, but courageous
I ponder upon courage, rather than cowardly suicide
Death is not an option down the perdurable pathway of life
Happy faces around taunt me to do simplest
Reality speaks otherwise
Reckoning on past, the pathway is wrought
conscious and hard choices right ahead
The bifurcated roads to heaven and hell?
I've seen it all, down the perdurable pathway of life
Aug 2, 2012
Aug 2, 2012 at 4:52 AM UTC
Protest it.
Unless you employed by the government.
Rules are totally different.
If officers violate the laws they serving to protect us.
Stand up for your rights to protest.
We in America not one of that dictatorship country.
Why?
Do people feel athletes can't protest?
They go on strike for various things not right to them.
Not one stated the protesting the anthem.
Not one.
They protesting injustice.
And rightly so.
So fans are mad than many probably never saw the youth that protested in the sixties against a war.
Whether you agree or don't.
Always stand up for your rights.
So a so-called billionaire never paid taxes and won't reveal his income tax forms using idle threats.
The only one filling the role of kiss-up is the owners.
Without comprehending, if there is a sporting showdown the most likely won't win.
Most likely to be the losers when Coke, Pepsi, Nike, Papa John and host of others clients profits fall.
A business suffers highly when there no solution solved.
Most fans that go to a sporting event are a great majority of whites and be the ones crying the louder.
If ever done wrong and need attention to get people on board.
You protest, you stand up and stand out.
A small church pastor rose to be great by taking on a segregated system.
The only one mad about tearing segregation is who?
The race need not be mention for a majority hardly stand up for anything.
Well, unless it's the NRA.
Even with violence in school from high powered weapons.
There they go defending the NRA.
And the weapons they protesting against isn't truly needed unless you at war.
But they standing up for their rights.
So players, stand up for your rights.
For CBS/ESPN/ABC/NBC stands to lose too.
If a majority of players stand strong against wrong.
Aug 11, 2018
Aug 11, 2018 at 11:45 PM UTC
I'm not a prophet.
No proclaim to be.
One thing I do know.
The experts can't declare ways to prevent a single thing.
When tragic happens, we see many pointing it out.
Except, it's like saying you're aware when someone's about to shout.
Prevention can't be addressed, without comprehending the now.
The now that stupidiy will override common sense.
And create more problem than was meant.
We know prevention to halt mistakes.
Which all humans still continue to make.
Technology comes and claim to improve.
Except, we know the harm it still do.
Dec 18, 2012
Dec 18, 2012 at 12:03 PM UTC
The tapping
and rapping
of which you believe to be rain
striking your glass
belongs not to nature
but of the rocks which
my hands hurl
Drowning in rain
and thoughts of you
driving me
placing me
a few feet below you
as you dream
the shouting of mine
is lost in the whirling,
whipping rain and thunder
pronouncing and proclaiming
true feelings
i somehow seem weightless
under the window
which i hope to glimpse your face
but... asleep you stay
comfortable under sheets and covers
with eyelids tightly sealed
dreaming away
white noise the only thing
your ears pick up
After hours of waiting
throwing and screaming
i quit
not wishing to awake the unwanted
i leave a simple note
tied round your mailbox
and let the rain
push my head farther into sorrow
walking away
not even comprehending
the fact
that the same rain that
drenches me and,
falls on your window
is blurring the ink
of which i confessed
truly and completely
i love you
Mar 27, 2010
Mar 27, 2010 at 1:16 PM UTC
The fabric of my life is a tapestry
Woven together with tragedy
There are black threads of loneliness
Blue threads of sadness
Red threads of the angriness
Yellow threads for my minds sickness
Orange threads for craziness
Purple for my madness
Gray threads for deeds of heartlessness
Pink threads for those rare moments of tenderness
Of course there is clear, see through thread for the emptiness
Now look really close, fine little silver threads can be found of happiness
As well as shiny bright golden threads of hopfulness
It's what holds it all togeather
So no matter what storm I must weather
My beautifully tragic tapestry will be wrapped tight around me
The picture in the end will be so wonderfully sad and beautiful, it will make your eye's tear just to see
Your mind will have trouble comprehending how something so sad and tragic
Can create something so darkly beautiful, it seems like magic
It's because I've lived in the dark so long
I've learned to see beauty were it seems to not belong
Out of place and wrong
But in the darkness the silver and gold threads shine so bright
You would of never even seen them in the light
May 15, 2016
May 15, 2016 at 2:20 PM UTC
Kaleidoscope eyes
Telescoping with time
A tumbling jumble of colors and feelings
The quivers, the shakes, the shudders and reelings
Understood by the one with a blank expression on his face
Wide and bewildered eyes caught in her's embrace
Patterns colliding with no rhyme or reason
Deceiving her reflection
Just one more act of treason
Selfishly looking on over the bridge from her perch
Not comprehending the magnitude of her worth
A girl, a child, left out in the snow
A story never left behind
Now we'll never know.
Aug 7, 2014
Aug 7, 2014 at 1:20 AM UTC
Dreams are an instant in reality when your mind pushes past the barriers of the mentally sane.
Dreams are not fake, they are real.
Dreams are your mind, processing the higher functions, and comprehending a higher reality.
I know this because I've done it.
I know this, because I pushed past that mental barrier, and I found you.
A girl that has only existed in my subconscious; my imagination...
A perfect girl.
I pushed into my dreams, and unlocked that higher reality, where that perfect girl exists.
That's where I am now.
That's why I have you.
Jul 27, 2014
Jul 27, 2014 at 3:28 PM UTC
Mystique
- a framework of doctrines, ideas, beliefs, or the like, constructed around a person or object, endowing the person or object with enhanced value or profound meaning: "the mystique of Poe."
- an aura of mystery or mystical power surrounding a particular occupation or pursuit: "the mystique of nuclear science."
the mystique of Poe,
the mystique of nuclear science,
don't you see the irony extraordinaire,
the perfect intersection of
human and science?
atoms of a poet.
what, who better to
radiate
the profound complex meaning of
mystique
smile while
commencing the
delving, inhaling,
comprehending,
subsuming the
aura of human cells
odors of the atomizer
flavors mellifluous
chain reacting
the set theory of all my senses,
at the ultimate overlapping
of the primordial intersection
of the nucleus.
I am the living scientific proof,
the written poem,
the
realization of mystique,
the enhanced value
of the human you.
Jan 14, 2014
Jan 14, 2014 at 1:28 AM UTC
The Allusionists (Mary Winslow and Jeff Steir)
these two allusionists (not illusionists!)
composition is a criminal sentencing, a full-time sensitizing,
a never ending t/rue seeing, recalling, photography by word.
I am a career criminal. I know.
these two retranslate by digging into word wells and
well hid storage closets under stairs so that we,
the not-in-attendance may envision their sightings with
two hands clutching, comprehending almost better than
the one who is actually there.
for our version, the one they provide is,
coffee with cream,
scotch with a beer chaser, tea with honey,
all to be, sipped slow, so
the hot frost on my the chest, infiltrating nostrils,
Vaporub-spreads slow and easy, brainward.
the allusionists.
the habitual employers of this
specific filter,
(word weavers, I call them behind their backs),
weaving is not in my eternally planned skill set.
I do so admire their tapestries
that guilt alone demands tribute and obeisance
and this poor imitation.
I do so admire their tapestries.
Nov 25, 2017
Nov 25, 2017 at 11:12 AM UTC
Persistent places
Sequent occupations of the landscape diachronically
Consisting of Action, Search, and Awareness Spaces
Action Spaces
The foci of people comprehensively
Interacting with their place
Search Spaces
Where people go
To fulfill specific needs
Awareness Spaces
Those places people are aware of
But do not interact directly
These spaces that appear as palimsests
Accumulated layers of action, search and awareness
Comprehending persistent places is to understand the past
r 30Oct2013
Oct 30, 2013
Oct 30, 2013 at 11:06 AM UTC
Something simple, something sweet...
Something magical, my souls favorite treat.
The calm before the storm. A captivating blur,
Of feelings no bystander could infer.
A magical intensity of silent poetry.
Bittersweet bliss manifesting inside of me.
Spontaneity whipping through the air.
All sense of reality halts in the company we share.
Clouds of the past dissipate,
With each ray of sunshine you create.
A roller-coaster ride lacking a safety belt,
Surpassing any type of affection ever felt.
Like riding a wave, yet a board would serve no purpose...
If you have me constantly floating above the surface.
Reality holds no depiction to genuinely describe,
The notion of comprehending all that is inside.
Foraging for a taste of your soul, my eyes are met with a blue abyss.
Shaded ripples of Nirvana, too precious to resist.
Drifting towards the center, a black hole draws me in.
Here I realize I had found my key to explore within.
A whirlwind of beauty emerging from every angle.
So engulfed in the chemistry, I am now comfortably tangled.
Smacked with a supercharged rush leaving me numb, frozen with awe.
Eventually revived, your lips casually departing mine...the first thing I saw.
Apr 9, 2014
Apr 9, 2014 at 1:08 AM UTC
I'm surrounded by the sounds of ******* idiocy
The television that never shuts off or up
The moronic laughter at the low brow sit-com
Do you realize the sound you emit
Your double digit I.Q. on display, gleaming
Made almost brighter in the technicolor
Not knowing, comprehending that it should clothe and hide
Itself
Mouth agape, eyes X-ed
Until the simple comments on the banal commentary
Start spilling out the neck
I can smell it and I want to wretch
May 22, 2010
May 22, 2010 at 4:56 PM UTC
My Woman, My Partner
we need today it seems identifiers moreover,
as we slice, dissect, and categorize the W’s of our
individual experience,
by defining ourselves as pieces of categories
Today, woke with this title-to-be-poem in my head,
My Woman, My Partner
I like particular, individuating descriptors that distinguish
rather than categorize, summary’s that capture the
roomy broad and small strokes, the subtleties of capturing~
encompassing an image total, and yet intuitively tasting and
comprehending the depths and flavoring of our totality,
a combinatory humanity
my choice was My Woman, which was comprehensive
and distinguished, yet upon consultation with said person,
for pre-authorization approval, it was returned to me with
an engine-heart additive, that was both a word that denotes a
binding, ties, equality, and takes it to another, even ever
highest level,
*this essay on how I came to title this poem, well, is the poem
in its entirety, it is the process, the point, the summary and the
minutiae of all I wished to convey.*
Sunday Aug 13 8:03 AM
Aug 13, 2023
Aug 13, 2023 at 8:11 AM UTC
The phone ringed, I gazed at the screen.
I had never seen the number before.
Baffled, I handed it over to my handsome husband.
"Answer it," shoving it towards his head.
He hurried and said "hello, who is calling."
He looked at me blank and weirdly saying "I will grab her. Wait briefly."
His eyes blazed into me, "it's your grandma."
Shaken, I said, "Hello."
She did a joyful, "hello Kara Jean."
Determined to figure out what was happening.
I proudly said, " you must have the wrong number both my grandmas are dead."
She replied "I'm so sorry what a coincidence.
My granddaughter is also Kara Jean.
I swear we've been here once before."
Giggling I commented, "that's remarkably crazy. I'm not remembering."
Silence hit the air.
The old cracked voice women said, "or maybe it's just your grandma calling from heaven to tell you she loves you."
My throat being choked nothing would really be announced.
Finally my voice complied, " What did you just say I'm not comprehending."
An earth shattering laugh went over the phone, "You sound pretty amazing.
I know if you were my grand baby,
I would be proud to be graced by you."
Words failed me being a first.
Before I could get it together enough to say what the hell is happening.
She exclaimed hastily,
"I must be on my way, "know your grandmas undeniably love you."
Click went the phone gone with no trace.
Uncontrollable tears gushing out of my face.
Reacting as if everything was falling away from my body.
Was I hallucinating.
Could someone been playing a cruel joke?
Who would have the audacity.
Considering, could it have truly been a toll free call from heaven.
Jun 16, 2016
Jun 16, 2016 at 10:07 PM UTC
We place more burden upon ourselves.
We places plenty upon him.
Without comprehending he deals with more.
Cause he doesn't place anything in your life that you can't handle.
We panic.
We stress.
We complain.
We confess.
But the burden doesn't fade.
With rationality, we realize things aren't as bad as they seem.
Burden just's apart of life's things.
He listen.
He guides.
He's the best counselor of depression to be by your side.
Jun 23, 2015
Jun 23, 2015 at 9:56 AM UTC
What is a man, if not a moment of time?
A moment, lived truly alive,
Soul dancing to the hymn of life,
Pure, lucent, the chains forgotten?
What is a man, if not a drop of rain?
Falling into the sea's might,
Together with so many, and yet alone,
Not knowing, or comprehending, yet putting up a fight?
What is a man, if not a child?
At the quest of a treasure, mundane,
Laughing, crying, at a moments rest,
As the waters of his mind rage disdain?
What is a man, if not a childish dream?
A glimpse of the truth.
A picture, divine.
What is a man if not the truth inside?
What is a man, if not his deepest fear?
Monsters which under the veil, hide,
What is a man, who knows not,
The darkness is all but an absence of light?
What is a man, if not a closed fist?
Clutching, hanging on to an illusion, vain,
"To let go would be absurd", he tells himself,
As the other hand wipes tears from the pain.
What is a man, if not a fool, sly?
Calling the truth too fantastic, the song too sweet?
A fish afraid of the sea, a bird fearing the sky,
What is a man, if not his spirit, indeed?
What is a man, if not a writing in dust?
Words, which in the next moment, cease,
What is his life, if not a delusion?
Erased from existence, come the breeze?
Dec 13, 2015
Dec 13, 2015 at 12:18 PM UTC
(Dedicated to Stephen E Yocum)
You who have spent time on this planet,
That you can count your annual growth rings,
By just employing a combination of
Fingers, toes, eyes and nose,
Stop and think, after reading on.
Forty years on, what are the words, the titles,
The honorifics that you would like to see
Next to your name?
There is a yeoman Yocum in our midst,
Who has collected a few adjectives,
The sum total if additive,
Is a resume most complete,
One you should envy!
Able Friend,
Lover of Dogs and Humans,
Gentleman Farmer, Decent Photographer,
Spinner of tall tales, woven for his
Grandchildren.
A writer, a poet,
He says "a would be,"
I say, one who attempts,
Puts his name on writs public,
Is no would-be!
Who here would dare disagree?
More than all this, unlike so many,
Grateful for everyday of life,
Even those ****** full of strife,
And who served, a grunt,
One of the proud, the few.
I salute, you, and call out,
Attention Poets, Marine On Deck!
But no stuffed shirt ,
A man of soil and earth,
Who can laugh at himself, and write,
*"My driving experience feel greater,
Would be to speed down the road,
Behind the wheel of my little Red Racer,
Completely **** naked,
And of course,
Feel the wind in my hair."*
It is easy to be some things.
It is hard to be many things,
But it is the hardest, and the best,
When you look back,
And laugh out loud, admit,
The funniest thing you know,
The one that keeps you sane,
The one-thing, hardest, and the best,
Is to laugh at yourself.
So stand attention,
Go to the mirror,
Tho you might not like what you see,
If you focus, and really look tight, squint,
Do not be surprised,
If, in a few minutes,
You burst out laughing,
Especially if you do it in your
Birthday suit!
Maintain this perspective,
Forward and retroactive,
And then perhaps,
You will be able to write
These words...like he did!
*Where upon, sheer elated emotions,
Of this my journey of self discovery,
Began to sink in and I started to cry.
There are times is one's life,
when lessons are taught,
When almost no words
need to be spoken.
And the best teacher's are
our own Brain and Heart,
Comprehending, embracing
Life's many shared Lessons.*
Marine Slocum, Stand at Attention!
There are Poets saluting you.
Sep 5, 2013
Sep 5, 2013 at 9:24 PM UTC
In the midst of nothingness
Searching through darkness
Embracing loneliness
Comprehending vagueness
Befriending uncertainties
Playing with vulnerabilities
Absorbing obscurities
Appreciating difficulties
Drudging malfunctions
Living with illusions
Addicted to intrusions
Slave of temptations
Colors of dark grey and black fill the world in which I live
No other feeling could possibly be worse than this
Where once was a room filled with laughter & Cheer
Now stands loneliness, emptiness and despair.
Memories of you seem to creep around the corners of my mind
Endless haunting images of your face that won't decline
An overwhelming of emotion that my body can't contain
Fills my soul with unbearable grief, sorrow, and pain
Oh, How I long to hold you in my arms just once more
And tell you that things will be again, as they were before
But, as reality sinks in, I know that will never be
For the choices that I've made in my life have sealed our destiny
No one could ever fathom how wretchedly my heart aches
And how I greatly regret that you've had to pay for my mistakes
If I could go back in time, and change only one wrong that I've done
I'd go back to the Hour, to the second, on the day I lost you.
Mar 4, 2014
Mar 4, 2014 at 1:44 AM UTC
reteaching myself artithmatic
variables and integers and invisible numbers
no longer the wallet or the will to return to university
instead resilient effort
of comprehending without hand
and now I can feel the ethic in the space resting between the cap of my pen
and
my curling lip.
feeding on knowledge
sustiaining dissatisfied soul.
maybe,
im just fuckin' tired of being an artist.
Sep 20, 2012
Sep 20, 2012 at 1:26 AM UTC
Aging Poetry Well (proving the valor of writing poetry)
no more write, post, establish
to your immediate satisfaction,
what you are
what you think
is an amazing piece of
just you,
plus+comprehending
the world needs it, you,
ASAP!
needy for the
cosplay contemporaneous sharing,
curse of our
instantaneous time
from now on
deep down, gonna let it
casket age,
let memory
of the intensity
rust sufficiently to
get some time~plied
rusted accurate actualized
perspective
maybe trash it,
maybe tinker and
spot-check edit,
but if it is going
to stand
time testing,
let it pass a
first Herculean
examination of
fire and forget,
returning later
to collect it,
the wounded
that,
refusing to die,
thus proving proof,
the valor of
red badged courage of
writing poetry
is it worthy long after
the internal commotion
has passed,
just like
an ordinary
but very first
"I love you"
forming and reforming
then blurted in
a wunderkind awkwardness,
that can't be
taken back,
well, *** and all that
put me aside,
could be weeks,
months,
researching
the thing I love most,
waiting for the day I
need it worse,
a lot less,
so I can
do it better
maybe even go back
look up them
odd old folks,
written in
longing ago high passion,
and come at them
differently
or wistfully,
not
and like me,
age
for better
or
for worse
Mar 14, 2015
Mar 14, 2015 at 10:31 AM UTC
There is no reaction except to disagree
Loving words, wasted on useless ears.
Mind not comprehending, loving melodies
Dead space,
Nothing.
Words of encouragement cast aside
Insecurity races forward and dominates
Cry inside, left alone to contemplate relationship.
a hint of love would satisfy emotions
Nothing
Sitting at dinner with nothing
Random useless conversation, filling voids
Carelessly spewing obscenities at behaviours
Seldom stopping to understand
Nothing
I love you a ton, maybe two, noooo maybe three
or maybe not at all, No reaction
Said to loud , others may hear, whisper sweet nothings
to empty space. mind strays to other possibilities
Nothing
Personalities clash, opinions are pointless
Care or dare to care, who's winning
Walk away slouched shoulders, broken inside
No more feelings, numbness
Nothing.
Rage at the nothing
Find answers as to why.
But, there is anger at the nothing
There must be something.
Feb 23, 2013
Feb 23, 2013 at 12:06 AM UTC