"configure" poems
Befrilled Godfather, why tune Yours to mine
These Rightful Verses your Country observes
I, an Eastern Bun's Lord in Mind consign
Put my Pun in-place for their own Reserves
Now this, a Muse if your Clock does witness
Would burn me at stake or hang me condemned
All because such Organs defy Fitness
And thought the ****** I will reprehend
I grow tired of this evident Trough
Whilst you once scribbled Trademarks with your Quill
How, my Heart-Nosed Configure such enough
Yet wish to join you in your White Pipes, still.
Your Epitaph stays; I dare not complete
Just press these Roses your Approval, meet.
Mar 13, 2013
Mar 13, 2013 at 11:23 PM UTC
Always which the Human in me surpass
When Trite Reunion comes to much Expect
Between us, Birth-Father, the Heart must last
And configure our Values circumspect
After seeing those skinned neighbours battle
And DAD the Inspiration I preserve
Comes your Striking Counsel; Which I rattle
And reimburse the Love you so deserve
But, if Favour pleads, renew the Bald Man
Whose Birthdate his Arm's Course Affection share
Teach this Tanned Diver; To widen his span
Knowing such Open Hands breed Anywhere.
Circles are Dangerous, if Minds are locked
He needs to KNOW that; From his own Best Hug.
Mar 15, 2013
Mar 15, 2013 at 3:15 AM UTC
Take away my pain and leave me in a state of pure ecstasy. Make numb or make me *** I'll vibrate to the enticements. I'll learn from these exuberant dispensations and try to configure our despicable conversations and discover the inequities of our relations.
Oct 4, 2014
Oct 4, 2014 at 5:37 PM UTC
i want to lay with you
in the quiet
and watch the fog configure around us
as the world moves
we're still
because we have no need
to move
we're together
and all i need
is your hands rubbing my skin
and keeping me warm
while your green eyes
remind me of spring to come
(s.q)
Jun 18, 2014
Jun 18, 2014 at 9:57 AM UTC
Cloaked by the veil of night I ready myself for what is to come. Fear is not recognized on this side
of the shroud, for it is this fear that is my most useful and treasured tool.
Footsteps approach the alleyway, I see my target pace forward towards his end, illuminated most
benevolently by the blush of his own burning cigarette end.
In his own world he lays claim to control and intimidation, a brave and dangerous man by his own
words. Words I shall later configure to be truth or allegory.
It is a simple matter to terrify someone prone to be terrified, is a different course to set the same
action upon he who does usually initiate the afor-mentioned phrase.
As the victim looks up into the eyes of this purveyor of violence I suspect it true that fear is well
presented to his visual inspection and it goes without saying it adds to his delight.
I imagine in other venues the same is said of myself but I would very much disagree with this
evaluation. Fear, Intimidation is not what I represent, they are just tools in an arsenal, I am just
simply here to reek good old honest revenge..
You do the deed, you pay the price, Simple as that. No forgiveness passes through this alley-way
this night, just utter, complete and total retribution. A gift from me to all those whom have been
bitten.
As you walk through the valley of the shadow of death you will indeed fear evil, for I art with thee
and this rod of correction is indeed not one of comfort
The scatter of burnt ash bouncing off the alley wall signifies the conclusion of any remaining
illumination as he throws the **** of his cigarette away, darkness prevails once again.
As I strike, screams of pain shatter the silence and echo through the narrow passageway. The
****** body of this victim slumps unceremoniously alongside garbage bags, a fitting end for such
*******
True and honest folk can breathe a sigh of relief, to them I am vigilant. If you swing the other way
however, BEWARE.
Sep 7, 2014
Sep 7, 2014 at 1:31 PM UTC
A storm blew through early, left frost
etched, lit, glistening, on
a window's waking surface.
I sit framed by that translucence,
my daughter aligns, orders
mirroring matroyshka doll members.
I reflect on an essay*, how
poems are a symbol of will,
concluding a pact, perhaps
achieved in diction, image metaphor,
adherence to structure, rhyme, form.
Might these devolve to decoration? Or,
trace the transmission of "will to
commitments," expressing “intent”,
"weakly lost or strongly spent?”
Frost etchings fissure, shift, glint, slide
on their emergent effluence,
configure in gusts of cognition.
I sense a covenant in these lines.
my daughter adjusts her doll's placements,
the promise of one revealed in the other.
Copyright © 2004 Gary Brocks
——————————————
Attribution:
Stanzas 3, 4, and 5 are greatly influenced by my reading the Robert Frost essay titled *THE CONSTANT SYMBOL.
The short phrases in italicized quotes are direct quotes from that essay.
Aug 28, 2018
Aug 28, 2018 at 11:18 PM UTC
I really, really don't like myself sometimes. Most times. I like coffee, books, birds and flowers so much better. I've been listening to Ready, Able for the past four years. I'm still not alright. I'm no good at most things. Introspectiveness is not a talent. If I were a porcelain centerpiece, I'd scoot myself to the tables edge. My mum has reassured me that my head is not on right. My head, my least favorite accessory. I've yet to master the proper way of sock-folding. I've yet to master how to configure my heart. In less than five months time I'll be twenty-one. I get stupider with age. I like it when wine makes me dizzy. I wear old crazy-cat-lady coats in the summer because I can. My noir Remington is starting to build up dust. What use is it if not put to use? Useless, useless, useless like a harmonica without blow holes. I want to melt like ice cream in the sun of your pupils. Instead I sit here far from absent-minded, alone. I cannot be held still or perhaps I simply choose not to. If you wait too long for the others, I'll still be right here. Here, in the corridor of the memories we never had. I close my eyes in hope of seeing matters clearer. The world is composed of messy closets and ***** hands. Many youth wasted behind closed doors. Can we ever be sweet again? Will you hold my hand and mean it? Hollow voices frighten me but not as much as hypocrisy. I don't need to understand you, but I want to.
Lover, it's worth crying in your sleep if you've got somebody to dream about.
Jul 7, 2013
Jul 7, 2013 at 5:04 AM UTC
when I see you
I want to strum a chord
water flowers
make footprints in the sand
when I see you
I want to write write write
and let the silence of my vocal chords
make room for truth
when I see you
I want to create something beautiful and lasting
to show the world what its missing if it doesn't know you
to fill every moment that lacks eye contact with warmth
when I see you
I want to configure a new word
a word no one has heard or read
but everyone has felt and attempted to explain
when I see you
I want to see you
with your eyes and my eyes
window through window
to try the depths of our increasingly less imaginary story
when I see you
I want to paint a portrait of my heart
only using every shade you've caused me to blush
and pin that canvas to my sleeve
when I see you
I want to fill my lungs with oxygen and you
allowing the pressure on my ribcage
to prove this is real
Feb 6, 2011
Feb 6, 2011 at 8:04 PM UTC
keep this.
it's yours. you might enjoy the rambling brook with both toes.
we can't sleep now. this is how jailbreak is **** Salomon's Mines, all yours.
say what you will. i got you. relax and configure
the dark nook of my profile...
come at me at an angle, and i'll arrive untethered; coping with real ****
stitching heirlooms to re-breathers... pinning neon
to your gold tooth.
all dribble. no bib.
just an avalanche of weightlessness, jamming signals. a sumptuous void,
undulating in indefinitely... keeping me sane and losing my things.
in ivory towers of strange radio
this is eclipse....
gone nova.
Oct 27, 2012
Oct 27, 2012 at 12:26 PM UTC
The fact that he only made you more lonely should have been a clue,
sweetheart.
Stop trying to configure yourself with someone else's body parts,
they won't fit right
leaving you with a phantom limb here
a vestigial ***** there.
You thought it was love because he paid for your meal
and called back when you slammed the phone down,
but this was just because he was even lonelier than you.
He has only ever loved one girl
the last time he saw her she was holding a gun to herself
appointing herself the victim.
She was a tragedy of the most catastrophic kind
and he wasn't ready to be a refugee just yet,
but he let you shelter him.
You became the glaring neon sign, flashing "loneliness"
You took the bait, and he kept reeling in the line,
but was disappointed with what he found at the end.
Mar 20, 2015
Mar 20, 2015 at 11:04 PM UTC
This fish bowl I'm in
I am a speck on the bottom of it: I am gullible
Mom tells me I'm special: That's not true
It was all a ******* lie
papers I produce are mediocre
comparatively: I don't do jack ****
they make art: speak beautiful words
compose music: research human trafficking
discuss what the person is: what god is or isn't
look into the depths of what it is to be alive
configure ways to improve their environment
discover and decode molecular diffusion
unearth social constructionism
link biomechanics to psychological transfer
is this wall red?
do you think it is red?
is this vein blue?
do you know why it is blue?
is this cup green?
do you care about being green?
is this person yellow?
how is this a historical conflict to be yellow?
is this plaster white?
how can we transform the white?
That's right, now everybody go change the world
dive down to the depths of human evil
your letter of recommendation will get you
real
deep
however I,
I will not even get past the glass
the bowl is too shallow
I figured out bull ******** a long time ago
but not well enough to understand things
It was more one of those move your fins
and then some how you will be able to breathe
That's what happens when you spend too much
time
inhaling the wrong things
you sink
Dec 4, 2013
Dec 4, 2013 at 1:31 AM UTC
I’m rummaging through the sounder parts
Of my brain trying to find
The important parts of
Where I touched you and where I felt you
How I touched you and how I felt you
Like old photos
I’m trying to configure every speck
Of color in your eyes that I saw when you looked
Into the sunset through the window –
There were blues and greens
And everything in between
When I roll over
To lie face down in bed
My sheets smell like the warm parts of your neck
So I reach down to grab your hand
And lace our fingers together
Like grape vines
But all I end up with
Is a fistful of duvet
This morning I woke up with the echoing
Of your voice calling me “honey”
Tonight I will fall asleep with the echoing
Of your voice saying my name
In the morning I will warm up
With a cup of coffee
And with the image in my head
Of how bright your eyes become
And wide your smile gets
When you talk about the ocean
And how the barnacles would get stuck to your feet
And how beautiful
The colors of the sunset
Looked against the evening sea
Dec 10, 2013
Dec 10, 2013 at 4:28 AM UTC
stencils of my mind are placed onto parchment paper
they slide off the wax like bold black drops of ink
they roll and wobble to the perimeter of which jagged teeth have bitten the sheet
thouroughly slipping. thouroughly off. complete.
a flicker instant shadow peers over drawn lines
confused of which is north and which is south; tangled in yarn and straws of twine.
configure me a format of what you think is necessary
for me to harness and cultivate like grapes of wrath and frida's portrait of sorrow and conformity.
Oct 28, 2012
Oct 28, 2012 at 6:06 PM UTC
If the area is clear
I will let my mouth speak
The struggle Ive been through
I will make it known to you
Pls, allow me to grab the mic
Just for this time
So that you will not be confuse
In what am I going to say
I will lay down my heart
To avoid pride and selfishness
For this will be my greatest confrontation
Ever in all of my life, Im so nervous
Let me configure the wrong things
The puzzle which running inside me
For a good reason to value
Over this case named life
I wanted to breathe again
Without this barriers that I set in
Long, long time ago in this place
Called the body of Christ
Forgive me, I admit that I made
A lot of mistake, unnoticeable
Imagining things which unpleasant to you
All my yes were all in vain
I know I broke your silence
Your world seems avoiding me
As I saw it, clearly in my both eyes
I sigh, how can I step out from this?
Great is the mess that Im building
It is much taller than skyscrapers
No aroma of blessing can be smell
Instead, burden like a pieces of log
Hope this will be a tool
For us to meet like first time
Forgetting the past faults
And continue living in Agape
May 7, 2010
May 7, 2010 at 1:12 AM UTC
First I Imagine
Then I Explore
Work It Till
I Create Form
DLR
08/09/2016
Sep 8, 2016
Sep 8, 2016 at 5:17 AM UTC
Can I pry
The gates open
And abstain
I want to be free
Maybe gay
Not sane
I can't configure
The shapes
In my mind
So am I gay?
I love a man
Desire a woman
Contained
And afraid
Of my choices
Nature and pawn
Or creation
And spawn
He sings
She cries
I can only sigh
The walls collide
I crumble
Air unpurified
It will take a while
Maybe a retry
But why?
I'm not a woman
Nor a man
Just a guy
Without time
No crime
Inside
Lust is dust
Plans turn to rust
Turning out to be a bust
Jan 25, 2018
Jan 25, 2018 at 12:04 AM UTC
O Darling,
let me configure your world
with my saucy liberties.
Let me paint you a picture
of what you may be lacking.
Let me describe in
cryptic sensual-detail
some escapades you may like.
'Cause in doing so,
you allow me the privilege
to display my talents,
the sensuous-things
I've so desperately been
in need of,
yearn for &
dream about.
You are My Dear,
a Precious Sweet-Angel,
for your allowances
given to me.
Jan 1, 2014
Jan 1, 2014 at 5:54 AM UTC
do you feel that when we touch?
the feeling like we're two cars on the freeway,
about to collide head-on,
going 100 miles an hour,
and we don't have our headlights on,
and we don't see the impending mess we're about to beautifully configure.
but,
we keep driving.
i feel it when you look at me,
with my favourite pair of eyes.
i feel this rush of naive mystery,
i know it's going to hurt like hell when we collide,
but i keep driving.
i do not slow.
i do not falter.
i just wait for our impact,
and for all our pieces to go flying.
a.m.
Sep 21, 2015
Sep 21, 2015 at 8:30 PM UTC
audrey rarely got the mean reds
but when she did, the answer was never to stay in bed
she would grab a cup of joe
peer out the window
nibbling on her breakfast treat
while sparkling jewels radiated so neat
the sight would replenish her mind and warm her heart
after tiffany's, ms. hepburn's day would happily start
this was HER solution- here is mine.
the mean reds are affecting me as i type
my method of distraction always gets me out of this hype
simply put- i need a steaming cup of gypsy green tea
a warm blankie and dimly lit room help the thoughts start to flee
then all it takes is a song to set me in the mood
typically "find it" can configure a less shaken attitude
then i drift away and think of all my blessings
the mean reds are gone and my life is less distressing
thank you audrey.
Sep 13, 2014
Sep 13, 2014 at 1:07 AM UTC
It's 4 a.m.
I have spent the night
Trying to write
A heartfelt phrase of clever verse
Each stanza is just worse and worse
I fail to create
Anything of worth
How can I describe
How I basically
Want to tear out my heart
To give to thee?
I want to pull out the gory strings
And write you a ****** love song.
How can I transcribe
The look in my eyes
As they blink when
You're away from me
They flutter open and close, as a sign of hope
That you might be there the next time.
I have tried comparing you to a summer's day
But a summer day does nothing for me-
I want to compare you to a tempest of force
That has swept me into a lovesick fantasy.
I have tried composing some poetry
That could attempt to configure
The colour of your eyes
But all I could come up with
Were ****** metaphors and signs
That simply would not
Do.
Their presence is not "you".
You are you,
and you are far away,
Doing something with someone else.
I write for therapeutic torture,
Woefully convinced that should I be able to craft something
Reminiscent of this attraction
It might be generated right back.
I would be rightfully wrong.
And yet I continue to write.
Jul 9, 2016
Jul 9, 2016 at 9:09 AM UTC
I never walk through a crowd without scanning for the back of your head.
Those beautiful black strands dancing just above your shoulders
lure me to those blades
that you sharpen during the day and you pull out at night.
They threaten but their beckoning is stronger.
When I squint hard enough, I can see the magnets in your hands.
Your fingers brushed mine enough to configure my blood to run in your direction.
Like the river you are everywhere.
Every branch sways with your rhythm.
You have a beautiful act. And you never revealed all of your secrets.
I am here
and you are here
but we have disappeared.
Apr 8, 2012
Apr 8, 2012 at 2:05 AM UTC
There's something about reading your tongues that keep me entranced;
that I know, but you will surely deny, as denial is your self-hatred.
You'll pass the time in every day finding new ways to fulfill it,
and once you've come to another ultimate conclusion, you'll leave
all of it up to somebody else to configure.
Dec 29, 2013
Dec 29, 2013 at 5:56 PM UTC
I'm the verses others
wish to syllabise,
But I'll be to wordy to condense
into rhyme or reason..
I never configure to a word
count,
To abstract for other to realise
the meaning of my existence.
my lifes just to complicated to put
into any kind of words.
.
.
.
.
.
.
.
Nov 2, 2019
Nov 2, 2019 at 7:26 PM UTC
This time there are no rules
For with rules come restraint
And now is not the time
For such things like ink
Require restraint.
Let repetition sing in snare
As sky freshens air
With every new drip
We could all take a tip
But difference is in those
Who listen,
And those who can only hear.
Fortunately the only test for water
Is want or not to drink,
But when it comes to testing ink,
We would have to ask,"What do the others think?"
Configure the pen,
Color it red,
And say it is just for emergencies.
Sell it again and live to do it again
and improve it again and sell it again
and trim corners again and justify again
And.
Sure, I could play that 'gain game...
However I decline. Because this time
There are not any rules
Jan 17, 2013
Jan 17, 2013 at 3:01 AM UTC
Windows ***** or clean
Each tell a unique story
Depending which side you're looking from
Are you looking from the outside in
Or from the inside out
Every soul has two eyes
Two windows
Together they talk about a journey
A journey that started a long time ago
Like the glare of the sun on a glossy window
Some try to hide their transparency behind tinted glasses
I've been there
Prevent the world from seeing inside
Kindness mistaken as weakness
Silence as a lack of confidence
When in essence silence speaks louder than words themselves
What shall we do with all the cracked windows
Broken and smashed
Lying on the ground
Stripped bare of value
However an oasis of splintered pieces
Could configure a formidable mosaic of Love
Sep 28, 2018
Sep 28, 2018 at 5:19 AM UTC