"conceivably" poems
She looks in the mirror
At the age on her face
"I wonder what he thinks
of me this way?"
She considers her weight
and the pores on her skin
She thinks out loud
"I don't deserve him."
She picks apart
the woman he loves
Separating her worth
from all that she does
He looks in her eyes
and caresses her face
He sees it glowing with love
and full of grace
The lines on her face
he views with pride
Recounting the victories
each time they've been tried
The weight that she carries
is that of a mom
Nothing's too heavy
She just marches on
These bodies will perish
and mirrors offer no truth
True love abides
beyond the corridors of youth
No, she doesn't deserve me
Perhaps God can see
Conceivably, one day
I'll be as worthy as she
May 10, 2015
May 10, 2015 at 9:21 AM UTC
Gauging the time on my ever ready
Timepiece, I would be vacant without it
Guessing the minutes that miss out
As the second hand moves smoothly
Locking onto with its demonstration powers
How to mark time successfully, second by
Second, a prelude to the minute minder
Merging in with the big guns, the 'On
The hour Brigade' of salutes and silences
Schedules and deadlines.
The.....gong
The chime
The clang
The beep
The moment to be woken from our sleep
It's a curse at 'times' (excuse the pun)
The engagements starting point and
Finale. I wonder what time it is right now?
Would we lose ourselves scurrying to find
Our 'timepiece'. Do we pick up our redundancy
In favour of technological time and motion?
Even though the 'Wonder World' has not dreamt of....
And cannot conceivably equate.....powerful potent
Possibilities of fake time in an unknown spatial
Rhombus, conspiring recklessly to promote individual
Unreality; time spinning out the hour, through
The minutes, towards the last seconds.....
of our unreal lives
Nov 10, 2012
Nov 10, 2012 at 1:43 PM UTC
*The day I stop dreaming
is when I started my progress…
I never really understood to why, oh why
do we have to start a living?
In the city of progress, I became the mindless puppet
Of what we call ‘the clichés of society’
FOR NOW - I’m totally blind in all five senses
to where my love should be place in…
From a specific today, I am robbed for my silence
Totally alone never wanted nor even needed
Conceivably A misplaced person in a ‘crazy world’
- or it is just me who thinks this way.
Sometimes I would think no one would ever really captured
- ‘the essence of my heart’
Or probably it was just me, who never did take noticed.
Guessing I am too
- Perverse to feel anything within the walls of my five senses.
Despite everything else, I understood how Society lives by.
The imaginable ways it burdens and pleasure in
–> Giving –> Receiving –> Showing –> US
how life works with their walls.
I could never blame how our world becomes a harsh place,
Yet I could took the blame on US
or our humanity is too faulty consecutively.
Too many Securities from any Insecurities.
Walls upon Wall of their Owning Glory,
Almost nothing is free.
So I stand chained from cultural responsibilities,
for we were made to think this way.
Ashamed of what I discovered
So I hide in the covers of my pen
To write, just write,
A Written voice for the fallen..
*
Jun 15, 2015
Jun 15, 2015 at 2:27 AM UTC
Intentional directional frequency,
dancing in multidimensional secrecy.
I follow this ancient Red Road
because it calls to me ceaselessly.
It humbles me,
more than can conceivably be.
It empowers me,
primitively and peacefully.
Graciously, like the moon pulls the sea
Interconnected irrevocably
in this spiral galaxy of spirituality.
Sep 22, 2014
Sep 22, 2014 at 10:42 PM UTC
Whilom seafarers in rapture,
seven minutes in heaven,
then nothing but bathos,
--a woman in bed,
she and Rembrandt quarreling
over fidelity or obedience to her king?
"It is I, Seagull!"
"Everything is fine. I see the horizon..."
Night sky, a blow torch,
a golden rain flowing between her legs,
curled in the veil of imperial lineage and/or arousal,
--ballistic arc,
peering into the hand mirror,
a breach of promise staring back.
"Will the flight
affect your reproductive organs, Danaë?"
"Conceivably...
and how they shall weep
when things go wrong between us?"
Jan 22, 2021
Jan 22, 2021 at 10:50 AM UTC
I was swimming;
I was
Strong
Confident
Powerful
Treading through the only current
That was
Strong
Confident
And powerful enough
To keep up with me
And my needs
When suddenly the current
Was manipulated; as liquids usually are
Into a massive funnel
With a spout too small
For me to even kind of conceivably fit through
The current is gone
But I’m still curled up
I am still
Weak
Timid
Useless
Against this smooth, slippery surface
Still wet with that current’s touch
Yet so, so, very
Alone
Dec 25, 2012
Dec 25, 2012 at 4:58 PM UTC
on sundays i ask myself questions without question marks.
like: how did you figure out that i hum when i'm afraid.
like: why do my parents call themselves christians when my younger brothers sound racist at the dinner table without knowing the term.
like: how old is the term 'hipster', why do people name themselves after spit-upon-ground-up words, what is the number of swallows you could conceivably snap the necks of in an hour.
like: why
am i writing this.
do you remember talking about mental disorders and broken beer bottles on railroad tracks. do you remember wishing we were younger and then forgetting that in the haze of 'growing up'. do you remember asking me why i never wrote i with a capital and spewing on about the underlying self esteem issues that represented and why do you say that, you don't have any self esteem issues, do you shen. do you. do you remember talking about rubbed pink thighs and ladder arms and elbows too bent out of shape to hug someone. do you remember the month when i would only eat rosemary and olive oil bread and you didn't speak, not once.
some people write about bones and teeth and the skin scraped under nails when you blackout twice in a row. some people write about the decay of humanity, and some people blather into the air on buses, the stale air between business men and crying single mothers, some people blather and whisper and write about the space bar and aluminum foil and finding themselves when there is nothing to find, because that. that is quite a feat.
volcanoes and thunder storms, bolts of lightning and heavy clouds, heavy eyelids, lead coffin words and the whirling dervishes that spin holes into your palms sometimes. these are the things little girls are made of.
Jan 3, 2011
Jan 3, 2011 at 6:14 PM UTC
I thought I saw a ghost,
Perhaps it was just
A worn memory of you,
Akin to your favoured pair
Of tattered blue jeans,
Likewise worn
That old, deep blue couch
We once broke in,
Now nowhere to be
Found, much like
Your heart,
Conceivably occupied
By a new individual,
Or possibly left
Alongside the road
Waiting for a new embrace,
Her smile likely dimmer
Than the girl who sat,
Once beside you on that couch
In a warm grasp that has died,
Along with the feelings
We once shared
Sat upon that couch.
Aug 6, 2013
Aug 6, 2013 at 2:27 AM UTC
It's easy to believe in God on an airplane.
Mishapen rows of rolling clouds could
Conceivably be His ranks of Old Testament
Angels, the way they were before we gave them
Blue eyes and human faces.
Apr 3, 2013
Apr 3, 2013 at 10:33 PM UTC
I loved you as one loves the first sniff of a *** of instant coffee,
and I loved you as one loves a slight breeze on a slight day.
I loved you as a tree loves its leaves,
and thus I held the winter in disdain.
I loved you as one loves the artful blurs of city lights
succumbing to each other in the September rain.
I loved every slip of my tongue against my teeth
as I set your name out in the world on display.
I loved you like the last unread book on the shelf,
and I loved you like verbosity could not conceivably convey.
And though I loved not like a song, nor like a ballad or an ode,
I loved you with intensity that one could never feign.
Jun 29, 2011
Jun 29, 2011 at 6:07 AM UTC
I can feel it coming back
The hollow cavity, once again
Has claimed residence in my chest
I can feel it suppressing each breath
It weighs me down, I am carrying lead
It poisons my blood stream
I try to scream
Nothing escapes because my lungs are filling
I can’t breathe
The viscous liquid is killing
The world has drowned
Or possibly
It was me
Like quicksand, the more I struggle
The more the sand buries me
Inch by inch
Gasping for breath the small sediments
sting my throat
there’s no way out
only down
only the ground
that fills my lungs
I can’t breathe
No more sound
The world has drowned
Or maybe
It was me
The grains of sand fly through the sky
The wind picks up
More and more sand flies
It whips my hair, it stings my eyes
The wind gains strength
Calamitous glory
The grains meld together
They move together
They pulsate and writhe
Seemingly devoid of time
They fall and rise
A sea of sand dunes takes the skies
I can’t breathe
There is no more air
The world has drowned
Or conceivably
It was me
It sounds different from the ocean
I can hear the movements of each grain
I can hear their commotion
The tide pulls my legs
The wind rips my hair
The waves crash down on my body
Thousands of tiny scratches cover me
Head to toe
My skin is sanded thin as paper
The current is swirling
The sound of sand rushes
Like the indistinct murmur of hushes
The wave rises
The wave rises
If a wave rises it must fall
The wave falls
I cant breathe
I am crumpled, a paper ball
The world has drowned
Or likely
It was me
The thinnest parts of me rip
I spill out into the sea of grains
Undefinable, my pain
Indescribable
I can no longer tell where I begin
And where the ocean ends
I can now see the way the sky bends
The water becomes salty from my tears
Or maybe the salty water is my tears
My fading gaze flickers to the horizon
It is just a straight line
The world has drowned
And certainly
It was me
but inconceivably
Its all just a straight line
Jan 28, 2019
Jan 28, 2019 at 5:42 AM UTC
Don't bite the hand that feeds you
the Sun hisses at the man
spitting the strongest rays of hatred
as he conceivably can
But on Earth, man does not listen
and he wastes the world away
laughing with his light bulbs
whilst the brightest fades to Grey
Jun 8, 2013
Jun 8, 2013 at 9:00 PM UTC
The night seems much colder constrained in conceit
well ... perhaps just a little
perhaps
Conceivably
as one awakens within an echo
recollection
reverberberates throughout a constant disorder
well ... perchance just a little
perchance
Possibly
a cascading aural inevitability pervades constructive subconscious
and invades confidant tranquility
with some possibility of being the case
Perhaps
If one eliminates all the impossibilities
whatever remains
however improbable
could quite conceivably
lead
to the verbalization...
Who ****** Cares
~~~
Jan 18, 2015
Jan 18, 2015 at 7:50 PM UTC
The odist of a perfect bloom, without a doubt, with an upsurge of emancipated lust and all that was utterly free; that was you or maybe I should say, that was him.
And he was mine
He was mine…
But I did not possess him. I merely peeked in to his garden, my hands a mess of failed tries, which was bounded by the thorns I wasn’t quite strong enough to climb. I could not own an entity that made so many lust after his seamless embrace and at the same time, that which was petrifying.
Yet he felt lost in my gaze as if what he perceive in them made him fear what he saw in the reflections of his own mirror less. He watched me as though he could not believe one with so much to lose could fall in love with what he was in the most unconditional of ways.
Such a paradox.
He was perfect…
He was my perfection; the only genuine thing I could not find faults upon; a mangled piece of reality that made sense to my disheveled head. He was beautiful in a way that transcended what was ugly, what was fearful and unwanted. He was beauty that did not ask for permission or perspective but a force that was based on a whirlwind, pulling you in to his center.
He was my obsession…
For the longest of times, I did not believe there could be one as such with an absolute hold over another. It did not, nay, could not make sense for I was raised to believe free will was always at play.
Until then…
Until I discovered him…
Until I found he could be my reality and my reality could be in complete sync with his. It did not take time for my mind to wrap around this notion, because, conceivably, that is what obsession truly is, the complete loss of oneself in to the universe of another. Out of nowhere, free will was an illusion, a lie I would willingly let go; it was conundrum I found silly and not in need have. Why would I? There are non that plead fidelity and show restraint.
He made me believe he could be mine while he remained as many others and still I found no fault with his words. My needs transformed in to devotion, in to blind belief that there could not be one as graceful as he or nothing that could keep me wanting. My world was engulfed by a touch that was always so near and yet so far, just enough to have me keep the leash on my neck.
He could be my perfect obsession.
He was it.
Dec 9, 2018
Dec 9, 2018 at 6:19 AM UTC
I don't think I'll be forgetting
any time soon at least
how you laugh and smile and joke around
and how cold you were to me
I think I'll be moping and languishing
beating myself up for retreading old ground
expecting new things to spring from a well untapped by me
I tried to stay on your good eye's side
so you could watch me watch you breathe
attempt to triangulate your essence
to duplicate your whims
to unify us
or at least to create an orbit that will
(conceivably)
carry us infinitesimally closer and closer
apart
Oct 1, 2014
Oct 1, 2014 at 6:40 AM UTC
1. We’ve made it. We ***** and moan about growing up, how we grew up, and now that we’ve grown up, what we’re going to do. Maybe the secret to surviving it all is not looking forward or looking back, but looking to the present as the only thing that can conceivably be altered in your favor.
2. Don’t condemn because of what you’ve heard from others. That quote saying “small minds talk about other people,” is cheesy, but also very true. And people, no matter how seemingly kind-hearted, have a nasty way of diverging down roads of rumor and scandal.
3. Relenquish the idea that you’ll ever be in full control. The winds of change, or time, or love, or development are always blowing; wild and strong. Don’t turn your sails the other way, stand in the hurricane and yell, “I am willing!”
4. Believing in the power of something, whether it be an object, a song, or a ritual, doesn’t make you a sucker and it doesn’t mean you are a lesser person. We all need something bigger than ourselves to fall into when the branches of our arboreal haven that we’ve built comes shattering down. Often time, those branches land in the ground as spikes and we are impaled. So turn to your dance, your god, your love.
5. Document your world. It will never be quite the same as it is in this moment. This is a singular event; a speck on the timeline, never to be recreated in all that came before, or all that will come to be.
6. Learn to be alone, and after that, learn to be alone and content. Unbeknownst to you, the face looking back in the mirror is capable of resuscitating you when you find you cannot breathe. "Fight or flight is an animal response,” you tell me, “but what happens when you cannot stand to fight or run because you are at war with yourself?” Darling, I have battled with my skeleton for years, but when the front lines cave in, the only place I have ever felt at home is nuzzled somewhere between my heart and lung. Nail down a “home, sweet home” sign and settle down within.
7. We’ve made it, somehow. Remember in third grade when your class planted beans, and you checked on your sprout every day. One day, you came into class and against the weight of the soil, your green sprout had pushed its head out and was greeting the sun. You’ve broken the surface. You’re new and green, and there’s still a long way to go. But, you made it. So, enjoy this moment, and look forward to the next one.
May 27, 2014
May 27, 2014 at 12:50 PM UTC
Rainbows for chasing,
the moon for the aiming,
forming in clouds, faces
for inspiration,
beckoning, is life ahead
full of credible opportunity,
beside empty promises creating,
truthful reality.
Standing tall, girding *****
I, reached for the unreachable
so - distantly close, impulsive forward, surges.
without doubt,
or plan,
missing by the - conceivably smallest,
actually - furthest amount,
yet still moving through,
pushing the immovable, climbing
the inaccessible,
falling - frequently,
never reaching nethermost depth,
buoyed by a recognition,
realising - all this fighting - striving
failing - miserably,
doing it all - wrong,
was not failure, but a justified lesson
on coping in the mire of existence.
The rainbows beauty explained in science,
gives it simplicity. A reality water and sunlight,
nothing really to chase,
or catch.
Moon - oh moon - my most favourite, still my dreamstone,
is but a stark beautiful presence,
removing sunlight reveals a satellite bleak,
nothing is here to seek,
or take aim,
likewise our cloud perceived faces,
expectations are best - unexpected.
If controlled by endeavour and aquasition
disappointment may be somewhat - repositioned,
attainment of skills formerly devoid of utilisation
revived, re-given to make something, that in truth,
can be ameliorated.
if only to yours truly
.
Still Chasing Rainbows . Michael C Crowder 10th March 2019 @scorsby
Mar 13, 2019
Mar 13, 2019 at 10:43 AM UTC
I never found compensation
For the love I gave.
By my side you promised you'd stay.
So I question why it is that at 4am
When I'm overwhelmed and
Open my window
To jump out and run away
I remember I have nowhere to go.
Who you were before you became insolent.
I was once subjugated to all of your requests;
Selfishness has never been more alluring.
Perhaps, in a way, you've extricated me.
Conceivably, I am thankful for that.
Perhaps one day I will learn, again,
To forgive.
Aug 26, 2014
Aug 26, 2014 at 9:01 PM UTC
I get
only to have got
only to have lost
want
and O to have lost I will
only ever initiate gratified animation
when this tie of
anthropological operation
divides my
contemptuous feline inclination
where I want ease
where for scrutiny I plead
negligence reclining on any
every dream
imprudently high on benzodiazepine
I dreamt purity was conceivably
Tranquilized on
Horizons beach
applicable as subjectivity may be
the fabrication of chemical composure
has emancipated its tie
to beauty
Oct 10, 2017
Oct 10, 2017 at 3:05 PM UTC
I am a master of disguise moving in open sky.
Maybe you will see me as princess walking cross sky,
or a lion jumping through hoops golden from sunlight.
Perhaps, I’ll be a flying pegasus moving through rainbow,
or a heart throbbing in the wind.
Conceivably, I could be a bird gliding with a flock of winged beings on their way to tree tops.
I am indeed a master of disguise. I am a cloud.
Aug 7, 2017
Aug 7, 2017 at 7:46 PM UTC
We keep an abundance of boxes in the back
For the day we decide to leave the life we’ve made
Stumbling towards beginnings
That slitter away from my fingers
Before familiarity is gained
And our hearts ache from the loss
I once asked my mother
Why it was that we chased our on tails
Why it was that we run from customary things
And right in to unfamiliar once
Why we couldn’t stay and belong
While knowing it was the right place for our hearts to settle.
I once asked my mother
Why she never liked my friends
And had me cut ties as soon as possible
I asked her why she never favored any of them
Why she let me be alone with my thoughts
Until the only friends I could make
Where the squared once in my library
I once asked my mother
If what she told me about love was real
‘That it was a figment of an aching mind
Trying to make something more of its existence’
I asked her if I could love the way she loved him
Before he decided we weren’t worth his love anymore
Before his eyes fell on another
Perhaps more beautiful
Conceivably younger and better
Before we started this ludicrous run from our own emotions
Chased by a past that left its mark with ink that stung
I asked her questions that made my chest feel smaller
And its contents bloated
By hope and better things
Inflated to a point of pain and at the same time pleasure
I asked her to give me reasons
For our choices
Why we never chose to be happy
Even after we found happiness
Why we let the elephant grow in our own living room
Until it was chocking the very life out of us
And all she could say was
“Mother knows best.”
Dec 27, 2018
Dec 27, 2018 at 11:46 PM UTC
-
i submit~
they had been used to fill the balloon
in order to make it lofty, without any
regard for these molecules not desiring
a state of massed captivity,
with a clown smiling literally from
ear to ear with what he had done,
sentencing them to an uncertain fate
inside a rubberspheric prison.
floating erratically above the small child
he had given them to, they bounce up and
down repeatedly upon string as this small
jailer runs between tall ma'ams and misters
they long to be released,
but they do not desire
a wandering cell
at the mercy of
the winds—
!!! FANTASTIC CHANGE !!!
A man in dark vestiges
has wandered into this paradigm
with lit cigar in mouth, wearing a black moustache
upturned at the ends. He smiles in twisted lip pleasure
as he
POPS!!!
the key into the lock
FREE !!!
the yellow cocoon shrivels instantly away,
tiny helium souls quickly separate as they
dissipate completely into oblivion within
a welcoming clear blue sky
Free—
~so you may understand, a possible
justification exists for —conceivably—
any negative human activity...
Aug 19, 2020
Aug 19, 2020 at 6:45 AM UTC
Smile, a little
or bray, cachinnate,
cackle, chortle, chuckle, or giggle.
You can have a reward smile
or, perhaps an affiliative smile
could be a dominance smile
even the lying smile
Could be the wistful smile
Conceivably the polite smile
Possibly the flirtatious smile
or, perchance the embarrassed smile.
Does not matter!
As long as you smile with your untainted heart,
that's matters the most.
Therefore, smile
By reflecting your unsullied heart.
Dec 24, 2021
Dec 24, 2021 at 1:17 AM UTC