"concisely" poems
I’ve been going to this boxing gym and training every week.
And everyone there is fighting something
You can see in their
Eyes
They’re punching their dad
Or they’re punching
Whoever their wife is sleeping with
Or they're punching
Their kids who ignore them
Or they’re punching
Themselves.
Their boss
Their job
Their alcohol problem
Their poverty
And every week we get to fight our problems together
And we’re exploding inside.
What?
You can’t fight your problems?
It’s not only that I can.
I will.
And do.
Because crying alone isn’t good enough
Because all that fire you build up inside you has to go somewhere
Or it’ll burn you alive.
So you throw it into the heavy bag
Or into the guy you’re sparring
Or into the ground you run on.
We’re all fighting something
So what about you?
What are you fighting that’s so god **** important?
No, don’t tell me.
Tell that heavy bag.
He listens.
He listens when your wife doesn’t give a ****
He listens when it doesn’t even matter
Tell these padded mitts.
That one-two punch says more than a twenty-four volume encyclopedia
And speaks more concisely than Churchill or Hemmingway or Ghandi ever did.
Don’t tell me how it feels.
Don’t even try.
Let that punching bag know.
Because you know he’s listening.
And he doesn’t have anything else more important to do.
Oct 24, 2013
Oct 24, 2013 at 1:31 AM UTC
Who, or why, or which, or what, Is the Akond of SWAT?
Is he tall or short, or dark or fair?
Does he sit on a stool or a sofa or a chair,
or SQUAT,
The Akond of Swat?
Is he wise or foolish, young or old?
Does he drink his soup and his coffee cold,
or HOT,
The Akond of Swat?
Does he sing or whistle, jabber or talk,
And when riding abroad does he gallop or walk
or TROT,
The Akond of Swat?
Does he wear a turban, a fez, or a hat?
Does he sleep on a mattress, a bed, or a mat,
or COT,
The Akond of Swat?
When he writes a copy in round-hand size,
Does he cross his T's and finish his I's
with a DOT,
The Akond of Swat?
Can he write a letter concisely clear
Without a speck or a smudge or smear
or BLOT,
The Akond of Swat?
Do his people like him extremely well?
Or do they, whenever they can, rebel,
or PLOT,
At the Akond of Swat?
If he catches them then, either old or young,
Does he have them chopped in pieces or hung,
or SHOT,
The Akond of Swat?
Do his people **** in the lanes or park?
Or even at times, when days are dark,
GAROTTE,
The Akond of Swat?
Does he study the wants of his own dominion?
Or doesn't he care for public opinion
a JOT,
The Akond of Swat?
To amuse his mind do his people show him
Pictures, or any one's last new poem,
or WHAT,
For the Akond of Swat?
At night if he suddenly screams and wakes,
Do they bring him only a few small cakes,
or a LOT,
For the Akond of Swat?
Does he live on turnips, tea, or tripe?
Does he like his shawl to be marked with a stripe,
or a DOT,
The Akond of Swat?
Does he like to lie on his back in a boat
Like the lady who lived in that isle remote,
SHALLOTT,
The Akond of Swat?
Is he quiet, or always making a fuss?
Is his steward a Swiss or a Swede or Russ,
or a SCOT,
The Akond of Swat?
Does like to sit by the calm blue wave?
Or to sleep and snore in a dark green cave,
or a GROTT,
The Akond of Swat?
Does he drink small beer from a silver jug?
Or a bowl? or a glass? or a cup? or a mug?
or a ***
The Akond of Swat?
Does he beat his wife with a gold-topped pipe,
When she let the gooseberries grow too ripe,
or ROT,
The Akond of Swat?
Does he wear a white tie when he dines with friends,
And tie it neat in a bow with ends,
or a KNOT.
The Akond of Swat?
Does he like new cream, and hate mince-pies?
When he looks at the sun does he wink his eyes,
or NOT,
The Akond of Swat?
Does he teach his subjects to roast and bake?
Does he sail about on an inland lake
in a YACHT,
The Akond of Swat?
Some one, or nobody, knows I wot
Who or which or why or what
Is the Akond of Swat?
3k
one would think these old owls might have learned
a hoot of wisdom, and shut off the bright lights,
concisely concession con-seceded to the simple **********
of the union of the night and moon, its sleep crowning ownership
of these particular hours
let me not false claim that I speak for all the grandfathers,
nor raise myself as a caesar among them,
for there are too many shrieking claimants of all knowing,
know-nothings these troubling days
no longer do we revere or agree upon
the certainty of any incontrovertible self-evident,
truths and beauty we from early ancestors inherited,
fore-seeing the risky possibilities of a freedom-less future,
a melting planet without enough air or water to be shared
for our fast contentedly, asleep babies
no, no, I speak only for myself, and those few million of grandfathers who message each other in the wee hours about silly trivial concerns that keep them awake and writing foolish poems
Jun 27, 2017
Jun 27, 2017 at 3:10 AM UTC
His mouth was a nuclear leak
(he fried his brain when he was 17)
And I can’t get the burning toxins off my skin
(and that is as far as he ever grew up)
Some of them have seeped in deeper, I can
(he’s amused by stick figure animation)
Hear them rupture the seams of my insides
(and the shuffling photos of his obsessions;)
My brain thankfully, is still intact
(his car, his clothes, his kids…and me)
Fighting this fight heroically
(my god, to be one of his children)
Anxiously looking over my shoulder
(he can’t keep a nanny for very long)
Refuting his demeaning accusations
(no one stays in his life who is not on payroll)
********* Narcissist
(but even they all quit eventually)
Still forgiving myself for letting it happen
(oblivious that his entourage disrespects him)
This antithesis-of-me-toxic-bath
(he is incapable of giving or deserving trust)
Disdained my beliefs and philosophies
(he still wishes he had his mullet of 1986)
Demanded my selflessness without return
(and the older woman he ****** in high school)
Reduced me to dismissible arm candy;
(immature alcoholic tantrums lie just)
The missing feature of his pride
(below the surface of every conversation)
And I can’t shake this feeling
(which speak exclusively of himself and his many impulses)
That I have truly met evil face to face
(or the stupidity of humanity who serve his whims)
Afraid to realize how narrowly I escaped
(his highest dream is to own a personal servant)
Except for the residue
(explains his demands clearly and concisely)
Adhering like burned on soap ****
(believes money and a big **** make him a man)
I feel like he will never, ever really be gone
(his reptilian brain controls every move)
That he will still try to own me or make me
(“I don’t want to be an ******* I’m just really good at it”)
Pay for refusing to surrender my soul
(funny, those words almost make me feel sorry for him)
May 7, 2016
May 7, 2016 at 12:21 AM UTC
I sat smoking a cigarette one day
on a bench inside the local park,
and some old, holier-than-thou type
came up to me, spouting some
nonsense about how "Those could ****
you, you know."
And I replied, concisely,
"Oh, I know."
"But," I continued,
"so do cars and guns
and terrible puns. So does
every poke, cut and scrape;
every bone you break;
every breath you take
and glass you drink;
every single thing you think;
every time you blink;
every scratch
and ray of sunlight you catch;
every pill you're swallowin'
and moment of sorrow you wallow in;
every religion you could be followin';
every word you speak
and meal you eat--
even walking on your own two feet.
So do hopes and votes,
popes and sore throats,
rhetoric and prose.
Everything kills, my friend,
though we only see it at the end--
and by then it's been too long
and we can no longer sing songs
of our discoveries and reveries,
and treasuries and pleasure-ies,
and best friends forever-ies.
The way I see it,
ain't no reason livin' if'n I'm givin'
two ***** 'bout all that;
I've already tossed in my hat."
Nov 22, 2011
Nov 22, 2011 at 5:34 PM UTC
When he says he wants a family
and I say I want everything is it
too much to pluck the moon from
the sky and carry it in my back pocket?
Rather than his hand there I like
the feeling of not being pregnant
I like hot air balloon rides and
sinking into the earth after rain
when he talks about the future
it's a pie chart and a clearly labeled
and concisely drawn graph and
when I talk about my dreams
in the morning they are vapors
and LSD my words mean absolutely
nothing I weigh less than a slice of
bread mostly meaning happens in
between things or when I hear Paul
Simon whispering lightning in my ear.
Our children would be green-eyed monsters
Mar 27, 2014
Mar 27, 2014 at 5:59 PM UTC
I took a walk looking for a reason to come back home,
And searched for Beatrice along the way.
I too, a wayfarer looked for a response that cannot be homogenized
And sorrowed for breathlessly asking, “Then when?”
I told another woman, “Let Freud’s analysis reach that conclusion”, but how?
And subliminal feelings become another threatening worry.
I thought a word, lachrymose, finite, and resonant. That concisely besmirched her.
And subsequently forgotten, but always tacit, “Why?”
I think about why looking for a reason to correspond becomes hopeless.
And Sisyphus falls backwards against the weight…
Dec 16, 2013
Dec 16, 2013 at 12:02 AM UTC
Imagine if any thing could bother me,
My mind would probably bloom,
If it elicits what’s inside of me; an elephants in the room,
And I can go run but if I run,
What’s under the nose concisely loops,
If I am that, then I accept,
Because it is eye whom conceptions the mood,
I can be simple if need be,
Like life; everything needs me,
Everything is me,
If I’m connected to all,
How could I ever miss me?
Don’t be silly… Wabbit,
Everything I see, I admire,
You are beyond love; if an experience with you is desired…
If it’s the moment that brings a high; dark days made us tired, our ways made the fires, and mind waves made us lighter,
I.e. if I am what bothers me,
Acceptance is how I bloom,
I find myself, what becomes evident; I’m not my current mood,
Now there’s no longer a problem in the room,
If I expressed an idiom; balance says loop,
The law of attraction and Polar Motion defines a Polarity Dispute,
This is why I advocate taking a different angle; paradox because there isn’t a difference between obtuse and acute,
If measuring for a comparison, intelligence defines a fool,
There’s no separation if it’s geometric shape expresses glue,
For what you see is truly one… until a question arises; “What Is two?”
Nov 11, 2018
Nov 11, 2018 at 10:51 AM UTC
**** do not cover yourself
your arms across
your ******* are so
nice and do not
cover them across your
body is the curving
hush of perfectly
winsome beauty(not skinny
or exactly straight
but precisely wonderful;
concisely amorous to touch).
Feb 26, 2014
Feb 26, 2014 at 4:49 PM UTC
my words are going to hit you.
so hard,
you forget your first name.
the paintings etched on your skin
will now be our story
and i want your
cigarette-stained fingertips
to burn holes into
my skin -
set me on fire.
my words are going to stay with you
while you're not
holding your breath
on bridges,
tunnels,
elevators,
traintracks...
and while my face would be turning blue,
with lack of oxygen.
my words are
so precisely
and concisely
constructed into sentences,
that are never spoken,
never whispered,
uttered,
or murmured;
but they are written down
for you to read.
so please -
touch my face
tell me you love me
then set me on fire.
Sep 8, 2014
Sep 8, 2014 at 12:38 AM UTC
Mẹ,
I am hurt by the way things have ended. How do you struggle with your second language, but know exactly what words jab at my dignity? The lack of “I love you”s as I grow up is justified, yet at the times you desire, you’re suddenly fluent in the language of breaking my heart. You articulate clearly and concisely, every syllable stabbing into my spirit as I swallow the lump in my throat. I still bite my tongue with remorse for growing into what you want to be. I choke down any remarks that would make you think less of me (less of you).
You compare me to the man who broke us, but I refuse to see him in the mirror. I have your left dimple, and my brother’s skin that contrasts yours so vividly like the branches that hold your dear orchids next to the porcelain in the glass closet that’s as fragile as your ego. My eyes come from what I have overcome, and the fire in my heart is God. I wish you saw His glory within me, and not the beast that you married.
I wish you weren’t so embarrassed of yourself. I wish you felt familiarity in a country as foreign as mine. For despite all you have done, I want to show you off. I am sorry for how you raised me. Most of all, I forgive you for all the apologies I never received. May you perceive yourself with grace.
Love,
your daughter
May 10, 2025
May 10, 2025 at 2:20 PM UTC
We are the ones who won't open our eyes,
Fearing that we will turn into cold stone.
The unknown, a dangerous mystery,
That is why we can never truly know.
Out of sight out of mind, can that be true?
No, we will always concisely be sad.
Deep down we all can feel it's just a ruse,
In the distorted nest of all our fears.
If that's not enough, the snake kissed your face,
All the saliva of temptation there.
Wipe it off quickly before you lick your ich,
Too late now the snakes know how much you care.
Medusa can't wait to have a new fool,
Trophy of a scared man, isn't that cool?
Sep 15, 2012
Sep 15, 2012 at 9:08 AM UTC
She could not concisely have expressed how it happened
How the vibrant colours of the days
She found herself living within the walls of
Had become strangely gaunt and watered down
But they had
And this man, a man she barely knew
Could not possibly know how the words he had just spoken from the pulpit
"Here we are, half way through the dark days of Winter."
Would reach inside her and stir up the winds of urgency
But they had
Amid strangers, she pulled a thorn from her self-inflicted crown
And silently began mending a life she barely recognized
With vision both struggling and skewed, she fumbled along with thorny needle and thread
Upon that which for too long, had been coming apart at the seams
Feb 4, 2013
Feb 4, 2013 at 7:56 AM UTC
Love is a verb.
An action so intense that it scalds the tongue and makes those 3 words difficult to say.
And with each broken heart, scar tissue builds up along the pallet and makes it even more difficult to say.
And the taste buds start to singe and the words taste bitter.
And then a new love comes along.
And her kisses are the aloe that opens up the vowels and consonants of the heart, and allow me to speak softly and concisely, until I am able to sing.
Feb 20, 2018
Feb 20, 2018 at 3:25 PM UTC
taught to articulate concisely
to breathe fresh air, easily
but plagued with pollution
from corporate illusion
i refuse to stay still
in the sprout of a revolution
so I am letting go
of what smog still resides
what does not fuel my insides
this is goodbye,
to everything I have that I do not need,
and a hello
to me
Jan 2, 2017
Jan 2, 2017 at 8:09 PM UTC
For you have been in my mind lately
I fell for the idea that crept in succinctly.
For you have dwelled among the posts in my tier
of thoughts that lingered a like an oasis of fair.
That I woke in the midst of a sea running dry
from a stream of paltry sum of fears I cried,
Alas, my cohorts have left me astray
left me to dwell in a running course bay.
He who dwell among the tents of the Most High
will come to know the pleasantries and the keeps that pass by.
I never did plan to include you in my decision
but the thought of you saved myself from a state of corrosion.
Henceforth the simile of my metaphorical degree,
I vaguely know how to respond to such a creature as thee.
Knowing the thread of my lips converse me to tread lightly
but the sight of you and the distance maimed me to aim concisely.
Jun 10, 2015
Jun 10, 2015 at 4:36 AM UTC
Its just me and you and everything in front of us, or behind
especially if gravity operates like chemicals.
Let's go exploring, if you'd like,
or sit like lumps and metastasize on chocolates.
The stage, the fame, the beer, the strife,
All the things we wanted don't matter in that
wonderful white space ahead. This hill can trail
off to the worlds we'll create, so utterly shapeless
– impossibly white –
yet filled with color and sound and romp.
The airplane we rode, just the first or last few frames of the film
(you should start wherever you want)
it had the new world in its sights to open up the stodgy filth
and land us tumbling into the great unknown.
We walk ill-prepared, like our fathers,
only so far as what they know.
A harsh word.
These legs will take me to Tøyengata or Nieve or Las Ramblas
and that street to the river
to the train or the bus
to a frozen tube of horrifying humanity
to land on familiar runways in New York or Albuquerque
catch you in your mother's Civic
and bound away.
Where we'll speak – concisely.
That's where intimacy lies: in codes and twitches,
and very little soft sweet words;
and, the more we love the less we say,
'cept to remind each other we're ready to go cartograph again.
Then speak endlessly, drunk in each other's words, and move brazenly, tromp the neigh-sayers and know-it-alls,
stumble our way across frail little ropes,
sprint through orchards to catch smoke.
Through the door, into bed.
past the last frame.
past that sweet little line –
to let this placid chaos slide down the hill
and trail off
into madness.
I'll be waiting by the sleds.
You know what to do.
Jun 2, 2014
Jun 2, 2014 at 5:16 PM UTC
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Nov 23, 2015
Nov 23, 2015 at 1:28 AM UTC
The air, cool and brisk
The first step is always a risk
But on my journey kept
A lonely go at this
The pier, long and dark
The first light does not arc
Engulfed in The Night
Just a rough start
The shops, full and lively
The last cent was spent wisely
All you buy you rent
Life ends concisely
The water, push and pulls
The last fog hinders an eyeful
Will the end cinder
Or does it icicle
Nov 27, 2018
Nov 27, 2018 at 1:43 PM UTC
Would've if we could've
But lust has a cost,
Shouldnt've and wouldnt've
Until trust was lost,
Contemptibly, preemptively
We forced it at first
Predictably, restrictively
Left in the lurch,
Precisely, concisely
The sneer pulled it down
Impeccably, delectably
Turned laughter to frown
Conclusively, Intrusively
We both spat the dum
Then Sadder but gladder
Decided to run.
You sprinted East and I legged it West
Both relieved to be free
Devolved and absolved now,
Both, contemptible we!
M.
North Queensland
1968
Jul 5, 2021
Jul 5, 2021 at 2:06 AM UTC
Such a crying shame
That my frail body
Could so concisely
Imitate my brain
Jul 2, 2020
Jul 2, 2020 at 4:57 AM UTC
What meaning do I wish to portray?
What ideas can I concisely convey?
To a mass who sees no benefit in abstract fidelity.
To a god with no pity
For rulers whose prime concerns lay not with the city
(only in wealth)
These days are a dormant tree
So powerful, rich with meaning.
Yet dormant and still.
A blank page with streaks of black,
enough I hope to mend a world's breaking back
Oh, I'm seeing stars.....
Oct 21, 2014
Oct 21, 2014 at 1:09 AM UTC
i'm waging wars against the pyramids, their heir of mysteriousness, I've got a little fascination with systems, with game plans, how concisely we actually grip to them? I think its likely that the team runs deep, with the alpha is idolized, but anyways I'm waging war against the pyramids, I want to make fun of those who study them, Bah!! you brush and you brush and brush but do not fight! I know I sound like a babbling brooke to you, but this is science we are talking here, What of science? when a man studies language he is convinced that the societal representations of language are everywhere, and we cannot understand the objective world. Searle, or whatever, ******* men and their books, anyways, objective world, objectivity, me and my coffee.....
Jan 31, 2015
Jan 31, 2015 at 2:56 PM UTC
Walking alone in the mist of deceit,
Heavy breathing billowing down to my feet,
The one I trust is someone I cannot keep,
Willfully complaisant in the role of a sheep,
Giving everything on this battlefield too steep,
I'm enamored to be courting, but now I weep.
Arms stretched, mind benched, legs drenched, body wrenched, my portrait of a family, a pursuit of forbidden fruit.
Her lies in thickness I can't recognize,
My cries to rid this sickness compartmentalize,
I've accomplished the impossible knightly,
She destroyed the possibility frightningly,
The children shielded of being scorn admirably,
Family perturbed and overwrought widely,
Friends preserve and safeguard concisely,
Triangulations throng her presence authoritatively,
The grimness overtaking the air forever nightly.
One domino regressed to the fallen,
bringing the collapse upon all of them,
Irony of the first domino on top,
The rest are outlined in chalk,
Holding them all up I fought,
But the pain never stopped,
I fall over plopped,
I can't walk.
Never able to achieve the masterpiece,
My soul in fleece is slowly released,
The devil has poached me from the crease,
I'll never be able to restack any piece.
Mar 6, 2021
Mar 6, 2021 at 2:11 AM UTC