"conceptualize" poems
The sunshine melts in from the dark.
The summer sunflowers start their morning yellow glow.
From the dark of nights despair and suffering.
The light of questioning wakes up,
I begin to ask why the pain?
Did I, or do I have the capacity to be optimistic of my will? Over matters of the past?
Shame, denial, self- soothing, trying to escape emotional pain through all varieties of addictive responses to life.
Understanding this new target for my heart, mind, and body gives me optimism of the will while
knowing
there will always be suffering.
I ask myself, what is my capacity? As the light rises in the morning I feel more air to breathe in.
Aware of the air inside of me whether in dark or light, carries some vessel of hope
to help ward off the strength of suffering.
I am not the wave. I am the ocean. The womb. Conceptualize
the possibilities in this morning dry landscape,
before abandonment. Conceptualize having what you need. Ease and compassion enters. Possibilities move through with ease and healing is within reach.
The capacity to heal needs warmth like the morning globe of light.
Sep 7, 2023
Sep 7, 2023 at 9:17 AM UTC
come, come with me
on this backward path
of shattered mirrors
and sidewalk cracks
walk, walk with me
and listen to the sounds
of the wondering birds
and things the wind found
dance, dance with me
at a bashment of bashful bows
wild twists, sylph-like twirls,
and elegant falls
lay, lay with me
in a passage of dreamt things.
i will place my heart
in your palm and try, try to breathe
breathe, breathe with me
can you not let me go?
melt away the malarkey with silence and
cure the angry thoughts with “i don’t know”
speak, speak with me
confabulate, but don’t ask what i feel
for i’d be reticent, or worse,
pre-occupied from thoughts by what’s real
meet, meet with me
can you find me halfway
in a field of resplendence
at the end of the day?
run, run with me
get you wild (like untamed flowers)
make you leave
(he’s a forest fire)
fall, fall with me
Wonderland doesn’t hurt if there’s two
when the Queen of Hearts sees ours
she won’t even conceptualize what to do
sink, sink with me
when i’m drifting, drowning, and there’s nothing left
but promise me you’d swim to shore
if it was between loss and loss of breath
leave, leave with me
and shall the world pull you away
in my heart, I’ll keep the pieces
of the promise that you would stay
scream, scream with me
tell the air and the dirt and the weeds
what is dry, what is broken, what is hurt
what you need
hold on, hold on with me
to memories and tales of the trees
of climbing limbs
and freedom in little things
stay, stay with me
in this bleeding, beating, of hearts
don’t get too close, but
don’t go too far
trust, trust with me
though it's complicated
and whims take the garden signs
and try to repaint them
pray, pray with me
see, the petals scattered to the breeze,
are not a concise coincidence
but the story of an averred belief
grow, grow with me
i hope that love will show us how
it starts as a seed, then a bud
then a vow
dream, dream with me
of crepuscular magic and roses in June
droplets are constellations
and irises the moon
feel, feel with me
in your embrace i seek shelter
hands like daisies in my hair
feet intertwined, we're ivy, but better
wonder, here with me
we don’t know what we’ll find
but if you keep me safe, dear one,
i’ll keep you wild.
Jul 31, 2018
Jul 31, 2018 at 10:20 PM UTC
I **** on your grave for I have had too much to drink!
A glass 'o ginger beer and shrimp crackers I ate today.
Thou art not to fall! To tartuffery for a drink is as good as the last.
But alas, I am not to drink.
For my heart is heavy with woe.
Those stoics! They bring me much misery.
Oh the stoics, with their logically given truths that are naught but prejudice! Prejudice in truth they claim, liars.
Oh the stoics, with their ****** analogies of nature and so fourth.
To be! Like nature, is to be indifferent and prodigal.
That's probably why we love the intelligent uncaring character. He is nature.
She too! O' who's heart is full of love! She brings me roses and kisses upon my lips. She too, is nature. Stupid also, unbelievably crass.
Is crassness then, what we call nature? Then it is he! He! Who bring us our daily news who is unnatural. But then who is the preacher?
No, nature is to live. To live! Hah! A joke! To live is not a command for you cannot conceptualize living without living.
You'd do better as a pretty little scarab, but he doesn't drink ginger beer.
So too, our conclusion is to be natural. But not the scarab. To live, obviously. To be correct! by our own prejudice. And to reject divinely given truths. I do not know how I would feel about children of my own, we'll see when I have one.
Nov 9, 2016
Nov 9, 2016 at 5:21 AM UTC
It's hard for me to conceptualize the expectations you try to hide,
You're all so sneaky when you ask for my side.
When I say no, it's as if you think I'm being snide,
But all I'm trying to do is make strides.
Understanding that "no" is a full sentence for me,
Grew difficult as it was never an option, you see.
Anytime I could refuse, I would with glee,
Seeking control, even when tempted to agree.
The lack of boundaries harmed our natural bond,
I search for our connection, but when you're around, I tend to fawn.
I dislike this transactional, distant bond.
I ask for quality time and am met with fees,
Being fed a lie that your love language is acts of service, please.
Because I do nothing to help you out, it's decreed,
I must not care; I feel like a bad family member indeed.
Oct 12, 2023
Oct 12, 2023 at 8:43 AM UTC
My artistic tendencies have been asleep
Wake me up
Confetti coming when the cake is cut
Make sure to rake it up
Taking puffs to feel the same only made my visions change
Still mixing liquor, rain and other liquids To **** the pain
Plain paper bag with the key to life inside it
Problem being I only conceptualize it when Im high
Trip and fall and lose altitude
The earth is coming fast
I'm bout to hit rock bottom still praying my high will last
Jul 24, 2016
Jul 24, 2016 at 5:49 PM UTC
i am trying to come to terms
with gravity
as i fall toward the floor
with the awareness of the your
face framed in the hall door.
that's an exaggeration—
there's a certain inaccuracy
in conversations about bodies,
personal and celestial, revolutions one around the other,
that is unavoidable due to limitations
of the form. so i like to be precise
where it can fit in between the
cumbersome dances we do.
i'm not falling toward the floor
but i might as well be. i can't tell you that.
what's wrong you ask again
but something i read about planets
is that they're much farther apart than the human mind
can even conceptualize. that most of space is empty
and cold as we dare to spin through it.
i'm thinking of the audacity of revolutions
and you just wanna know why i'm so sad.
i think about bodies. sinew and joints and the red
****** meatstuff that fills in the places in between.
a heart pumping blood and a mouth that refuses to admit it.
about the physicality, the weight of it sinking
into beds that aren't mine, bodies that aren't mine.
you're not standing in the doorway anymore, no one
stands in doorways forever. especially not
for someone who refuses ownership
of the space taken up by their own body. constellations
are outlines of disparate points someone tried to find a
story in. i'm not much better.
i think of heavenly bodies, i think of stars
but they don't tell me anything
i wasn't trying to deal with already.
Apr 17, 2021
Apr 17, 2021 at 3:50 AM UTC
You remind me of a spicy wasabi mango
Just like ice cream covered in lobster shells.
So hard and spicy on the outside.
So soft. So sweet on your inside.
I really want to ask you if you had a good day.
Longing to be the good of your day.
We are not different.
We are not the same.
Do you ever muse on how tight we..... could be.
Conceptualize a wasabi mango embrace.
And see in your minds eye...........
it's only you and me.
-Jennifer DeAngelo
Copyrighted 2016
Aug 25, 2016
Aug 25, 2016 at 10:33 PM UTC
I am not the author of my thoughts nor am I the poet whose poems you read.
I am only a vessel through which life exists; a witless witness of what befalls this body and mind.
Please excuse my false pride,
Forgive me my claims of titles and names.
I am merely the ghost in the machine within which I experience taste, touch, sight, smell and the chaos of clarity of mind.
I once knew with the certainty of the lost that I was the master of this universe,
Now I bow my head in pious recognition of defeated acceptance. Life is not to be lived,
Life is to be survived.
Free will is a conception of man's need and desire for order in a land where particles too small to be seen or felt rule with the supremacy of god.
We are nothing more than fish in the sea unaware of the ebbs and flows of the ocean around us in response to a moon we cannot even conceptualize.
There is peace in that thought;
If you can accept your insignificance you will realize how little that lost love matters for what is love but a micro atomic reaction to a cosmic event that happened light years from earth,
In which you were the victim of a joke you can't even understand.
Jul 26, 2014
Jul 26, 2014 at 3:34 AM UTC
I had this notion of wanting
to be more like oldself–
not more like myself, because myself
has become too sad and too hurt;
I remember oldself being so much more.
But where does one look for one's oldself?
It's not like I just hanged it out to dry
or hung it up on the wall next to a poster.
No, oldself has been scattered and beaten,
tossed along the path of nostalgia.
Bits of oldself linger among
sketchpads and sneakers, SEGA
and Lego sets and Star Wars.
It's back there with s'mores and scouts
and bonfires and books and
the belief that the big, blue world
was a place where dreams came true.
Oldself thinks that optimism
is the only option, myself makes a
note to self: that matter mostly
isn't true, as a matter of fact.
I can't always see oldself, it's buried
beneath six feet of dirt, gossip and rumors;
there's tons of stress and anxiety weighing
on its chest, dressed in a halcyon suit.
Oldself never used to worry
like myself does so often nowadays
but he also couldn't sing like myself can.
He had a wilder imagination than
myself could ever conceptualize,
yet I've exceeded so many of the dreams
that oldself had for my future self.
I often think to myself: what would
Oldself think if Oldself met myself?
And although I may not have turned out
exactly how Oldself envisioned myself,
I've grown and learned from Oldself
and now I'm proud of myself– a place
that my old self never thought I would be.
Jul 25, 2017
Jul 25, 2017 at 1:39 AM UTC
Late last night
Some sadistic succubus cursed me,
I entertained a horrific vision.
An enraged young man held a grudge
Like a passionate mother holds a new born.
The grudge inspired the shedding of my blood,
Murdered before I realized,
That I could no longer conceptualize
What I was.
Was what I saw suggesting that
The proceeding day will bring a new pain?
If not a new pain for me,
It could be for someone out there,
Somewhere out there,
An incarnation
Of lost generations.
Originally written 4/29/11
Revised 10/20/14
(c) 2014 Brandon Antonio Smith
Oct 21, 2014
Oct 21, 2014 at 1:54 PM UTC
Forget Forsaken, Lose Lost
Since this Connection, there's no Desertion
Reminisce in this:
Neglect the Past but Embrace this Present
I'll say it as long as you can hear,
This friendship should cast out every one of our fears.
I may bring stress
But I'm not always going to be your mess---
Understand I wear frowns not tears.
You may worry and I may give you reason
But don't ever take it as treason
Im here and let it be clear
I Love you, Dear.
The Glass Shatters
A Reflection cast in each other,
Myself Projected in your eyes.
Acknowledging the Resemblance
Still Seeing the Difference
While Appreciating this Coincidence.
Love bread Consistency
Constancy created Honesty
Close from Compassion
Dedication by Devotion
This is Dependable
Since this is nothing short of Remarkable.
Affection Motivated my mind
Want wrote what needed to be Expressed
But neither could convey this Blessedness
My aim was to Memorialize
Even then no one could begin to Conceptualize.
Who would I Be
Without You and Me
Never forget this "We"
Despite the distance between Seas
Even if it's more than just You and Me
This will always remain to Be.
Don't Doubt what you know
Don't Question what I've told
Don't Worry I will leave
Because I'll always be here for You and Me.
Mar 21, 2012
Mar 21, 2012 at 5:31 AM UTC
Freedom lies in my ability to conceptualize
Armed with weapon of sentences…I am feared
Such power propelled me beyond your projected limitations
Standing outside your walls of prison-
Dreams breathe air of reality.
My skin grabs your attention
But the blast from my canon left you trembling.
By: Andre' Pinnock
Apr/10/12
Nov 19, 2013
Nov 19, 2013 at 6:54 PM UTC
I was youthful then,
My expectations and understanding of the world,
not in the slightest developed.
To me.
The immensity of a common situation,
Perhaps,
One you take for granted,
Put my mind, body and soul in peril.
Weird how time develops a mind.
Youth searching for answers,
Does.
One day find the keys to his doors.
For many of mine were locked,
but light doth shine fuller and brighter each time the key turns.
In those days,
It is most unfortunate the limited expanse of my mind;
For if I had been more developed,
the severity of such a situation would have been extinguished with care.
And diligence.
One can not conceptualize HELL,
Unless one has lived it.
Situations exist where evil lies,
We must do our best not to disturb his slumber.
He sources the weak.
The undisciplined.
Those who cherish raw emotion and think only of pain.
Such was my experience...
and try i have,
to forget the days where I burned inside;
my brains melting outside my head,
spinning,
falling,
crashing into the depths.
Jan 18, 2019
Jan 18, 2019 at 8:57 PM UTC
She writes with a poet's passion
Emancipating her strong feminist emotions
The reader's filled with ecstasy
Simply in love with her rich vocabulary
Her words so strong
Her rhymes, shares a rich bond
The ebullience with which she writes
Graceful, always with a smile
Her devices so prepossessing
Simply mesmerizing every being
There is nothing she can’t conceptualize
There is nothing she can’t contrive
Her every world is magical
Her flair, simply phenomenal
Her ingenuity is myriad
Her world is simply red
Her creations, so enthralling and ardent
It can send people into a dreamland
Her eyes sees a different world
An enchanting, mystical land of words
Her rendition is stupendous
Her imagination is tremendous
She illuminates like an anecdote
Capturing the reader with her word
The writer so passionate
Her works, so easy to impress
She’s the poetess of mine
And she writes this rime
Feb 27, 2014
Feb 27, 2014 at 6:48 AM UTC
I write poetry,
some say it is bunk,
It lifts my spirit,
some say that it's junk.
Writing poetry clears my soul and sparks a journey,
A foray into the deep depths of thoughts and sometimes worry.
I hope that those who understand,
will take a moment with pen in hand,
To be creative and play with words.
An afternoon spent in thought and contemplation,
can be the best way to dissolve stagnation.
A poem can be heard by others who do not seek to criticize,
who wish to relate and sometimes wish to conceptualize.
How can passerby's stake claim
to something they do not understand.
It is me and I who shall say **** off,
taste, touch, and smell, if you don't like it then go to hell.
May 12, 2016
May 12, 2016 at 7:19 PM UTC
Bay Street Bus Terminal at 2:23 PM
A small bird travels between the feet, one joyful hop at a time. It's accustomed to the careless giants that move about,
and it knows nothing but doors and trick glass and steel and cement. I doubt
it's ever seen a natural, unabashed forest in its lifetime. Nor have I, but I belong to
the rapists of land, molesting everything natural that should ever cross our paths. I'm not an exception, I type poems
on my smartphone and wear nothing but name brands, I travel by burning oil and I consume everything from plastic cases and my protein comes from animals
that sit in cages, their feet crushing old food and new **** but I don't like to think about it. So I won't,
and I'll keep on enjoying the company of a small bird that can't even conceptualize a forest.
Jan 31, 2016
Jan 31, 2016 at 2:31 PM UTC
Eyes can lie but mouth is more sinful than eyes
Words can be bright but it can paralyze
Eyes can smile but mouth is more deceitful than eyes
Words can fright but it can conceptualize
By staring at one's eyes can see some feelings
An expression that can't be uttered through mouth
Minimal can do it
But not right at all times
Dec 23, 2015
Dec 23, 2015 at 4:50 AM UTC
Lawrence Hall
[email protected]
https://hellopoetry.com/lawrence-hall/
poeticdrivel.blogspot.com
Untied Healthcare
Your feedback is important to us important
information Notices and Disclosures
Provider Data Information [Opens
in a new window] Legal Entities
[Opens in a new window] Share My Health
Data [Opens in a new window] Help
& Contact Us SYSTEM ERROR Share Feedback
LOGOUT [Opens in a new window] Medicare
Complaint Form [Opens in a new window]
SYSTEM ERROR Share Feedback LOGOUT Help
SIGN IN I am not sure I understand /
am able to conceptualize the issue
I would recommend contacting Did you know,
if you have any other questions Would
you be interested in taking a brief survey
clicking the Message Us button on the Help
& Contact Us SYSTEM FAILURE Your call
is important to us...
(Can anyone who spells “health care” as “healthcare”
Be trusted with anything?)
May 17, 2022
May 17, 2022 at 11:38 PM UTC
Time after time I find myself within over lapping paradoxes, which most do.
The past
The now
The future
What distinguishes the duration of each? How do we know tomorrow is indefinitely tomorrow.
Time is vaguely defined yet daunts our very existent. Time comes in thousands of forms and is applied in immeasurable theories. Philosophers and scientist believe they have it figured out. Bringing ‘enlightened’ books and articles to sedate the natural benumbed fear and anxiety time itself brings.
Time ends, we know this. But what about life after death? This question is vulnerable. Like time there is no concrete explanation, therefore many use this as a platform of interpretation. Almost as if we all are apart of an improv sitcom… waiting …who can conceptualize the most reliable, relatable, and comprehensive. Without this stage of influence we would all share a parallel mind. There would be nothing of political parties, nothing of beliefs, and nothing of morals. Time continually constructs who we are. Without this who are we really? Does time consume us or rather support? Should I follow what the great dalai says? Am i becoming the eternal slave of time?
STOP
do you see what you’ve done?
Now you…
your self is lost
Feb 17, 2015
Feb 17, 2015 at 1:20 AM UTC
One circle returning a spiral
No beginning or end
The origin is forgotten
The end is to come
Unending unknown
The cycle spins in orbit
A known side and a dark
a duality is studied
But like quantum physics
Is just a theory
And great minds
Get dizzy
conceptualize if you can
spirits and ghosts
Afterlife and life's beginnings
Your own end And
grieve while you live
Make habits and poems
Rhyme while you're capable
Of watching
Sunsets
Make haste when you are hurried
Make love when you're worried
Make songs to be sung
And diagnose the worlds wrongs
But make something round
A mouth puckered up
A ball bouncing over
The world spinning round
And you will realize that sides mundane conceptions
We live uneventful Like days
will always go on
The last thing we should study
more the right than the wrong
we should play ball more
life and a metaphor
Its all coming round
Jan 7, 2019
Jan 7, 2019 at 1:27 AM UTC