"considerably" poems
Isn't a fresh start
A beautiful place to be.
Isn't a warm heart
Much nicer considerably.
Tell me, when I smile
Does your whole self smile too?
Cause when you stop to look my way,
That's what I can't help but do.
Jul 16, 2014
Jul 16, 2014 at 8:31 AM UTC
we've been playing for months, yet
i am no longer the master of my own game.
i sit and wonder, "how did i get here?"
without ever truly questioning myself.
simply because i knew.
it is as though I am currently without a name.
considerably since "This" is no longer Me.
who I am, who That is,
I am no longer certain.
I have simply become a replica of Its impression on Self.
"tick tock, tick, tock."
the arrogance of time refuses to stop,
and "now" becomes a fleeting "then"
as My life slips through "Her"
into a dazed, drunken phase.
time only lingers in the present
for those who are truly Present.
Her time is lost, so what is My time
when the days blur together?
"Her" memory sanitized and wiped cleaned.
***** cleans wounds, right?
Dissociation to self, the insouciant desire to care.
an erratic, chaotic, tumultuous torrential downpour.
I'm theatrical sure, but passionately so.
"Passion," i'll drink to that.
"Pain" has me pouring another,
and another.
"Reward me," and we'll cheers to the clear liquid that
warms my throat with each increasing gulp.
"Relax." you worked hard, take one or two.
Six deep, Seven's the magic number,
plus, what's one more?
yet one will never be enough. "sleep or shoot."
don't forget to swallow.
you know you love it.
stop saying no when You can say "yes,"
and stop holding back, when I'm telling You "NO."
stop fighting...
...succumb to the misery.
besides, just one pour will make it all better.
Feb 1, 2022
Feb 1, 2022 at 2:23 AM UTC
All of a sudden,
something is aloof
The air becomes stale,
like the bread of sourdough;
you refuse to walk through
the garden overgrown, infested with
insecurities and a plethora of doubt
I believed you to be
a recipe I figured out
I'm left teetering on my toes
as vehemence in me grows
and the mystery within you
is unfortunately never shown
Riddle me your chivalry's
whereabouts as of late
You're good at concealing
all that you're feeling
I remember when you were sweet,
like the aura we would create
like the donuts you brought me;
a dozen sugar-coated holes and
one lone blueberry
My insides have been fried
in a hot mess called love,
and a dozen-sugar coated holes
from you my dear, was
considerably enough
Jan 12, 2012
Jan 12, 2012 at 2:39 AM UTC
I have let my nails grow some
they are well over the tips of my fingers,
i’d say considerably long.
noticeable is their length as i text smilies
type similes. sincerely, i am apologizing now
and well in advance for any future scratches,
scrapes, welts. any body mods. highly probable are scars to your skin too,
later revealing themselves, after a bath like a photograph
being developed. i dig deep in the heat of-brushing, my lips
will serve as nurse, medicinal in purpose.
so there is no need to worry.
Nov 10, 2011
Nov 10, 2011 at 5:04 PM UTC
I abuse words verbally like my voice is Bobby and the dictionary Whitney/
Like a literary hyperbole properly arranged to explain this deranged brutality perfectly/
Force the English language to work for me like a particularly dark time in history/
Optimistically take the tongue twister trickery and aggressively attack a vocabulary vocally and personally/
Not physically but a barrage on your psyche, almost psychedelically/
Use words medically, like a surgeon I expertly plant thoughts whispered softly but assertively/
Moving letters like chess pawns to express thoughts masterfully and creatively/
Gruesomely grotesque but gorgeous thoughts written down beautifully/
You can't help but hear the perplexity of mythoticly placed words with comradery/
An oddity with the audacity to raise the bar and up the capacity/
Because what comes out of me has to be exactly what you see because it is me/
Not just a part of me but all of me/
I'm not a fallen tree sitting in the forest silently, quietly all by my lonely/
It's just the opposite actually and factually/
I will attack with a dialect so violent you violently retract causing you to react cowardly automatically/
I don't even have to lift a pinky, leave it stinky/
Let my words linger there in the air like **** smoke, thick and sticky/
Periodically come back to peek and see if you've figured out the mystery and found the key/
One that'll decipher decisively what it is that I've let out of me and spread to all humanity/
I could never have planned it, see, it had to happen naturally, organically if you will/
And not to build it up falsely but I honestly, back then, didn't have the ***** to let it out of me and it cost me considerably/
So now this mastery I hold of word delivery bestowed to me gets jotted down feverishly/
With an intensity equal to none inside of this ******* century, can't censor me/
Got a consistency that forces me to constantly cross the border of insanity repeatedly/
Time only to watch my talents as they literally wither away for all of eternity/
Such a tragedy to see such agony but please, no apology brought on by sympathy/
Just let me be as I drift farther out to sea to a place you'll never see/
To let these words mold me into someone you could never be/
©2018
Apr 6, 2018
Apr 6, 2018 at 4:00 AM UTC
Uniformed in creative black
Marlboro scented
Wonderstruck
Deliberately
Deliberate
Random
Pixie haired
Angel eyed
& brave
Daring herself to be
Enchantingly urbane
Zeitgeisty
Considerably
Considered
Aware
Pale skinned
Quaintly styled
& risky
A portfolio perfectionist
Absorbing influences
Ferociously
Delicate
Delicately
Persuasive
Scarlet lipped
Crystal tipped
& scared
Feb 17, 2011
Feb 17, 2011 at 6:43 AM UTC
Where I grew up
We didn't celebrate celebrity
And weren't slaves
to the cattle-drivers of the masses
Where I grew up,
We were just young
And free
We toiled on train-tracks
Inventing troubles requiring
A daring escape.
With our stick-strapped-satchels
We foolishly mocked the local bums
Jealous of their freedom.
Ignorant of their pain.
Imitation is the hallmark of love
And yes, we loved the bums
And we were thorough through it
Where I grew up
The incandescence of the late afternoon
And early morning suns
Drew in a vibrant orange
Cast as paint on pale walls
The apartment... and eventually... the house
Shone brighter for it;
Though it seemed to struggle less in a house
That was considerably more empty
Especially around the holidays.
Where I grew up
We were taught racial and radical equality
Exacted with extreme prejudice
At every pep rally and presumably PTA meeting.
And while neighboring towns held race riots
We were racing our bikes, well...
I do miss my rollerblades
Where I grew up
Every girl was pretty as a movie star
And chased the bad boys
Like in every story I'd ever heard
And those boys won by popularity and power of presence
Girls they never deserved
Where I grew up
In winter we built massive palaces
From the winter's teardrops that huddled together
For warmth after the plow
Where I grew up...
I grew up too soon.
A little more than a little at a time
And it became clear
I had to move.
Oct 22, 2012
Oct 22, 2012 at 5:59 PM UTC
somethings really
gripe customers to excess
and in the griping
they seek redress
a box with five tablets of soap
isn't as it used to be
the size of the tablets
have been reduced
quite considerably
in years gone by
a bar of soap
had a fuller dimension
but nowadays
there is only smallness
in a tablet's dimensions
the customers are paying
a mint
for an undersized lathering bar
manufacturers of soap
must bring back
the larger bars
as customers
are voicing their valid
nah
nah
nah
nahs
Apr 30, 2014
Apr 30, 2014 at 8:59 PM UTC
~
*This level crossing--
stick,
sand,
and broken glass,
from naming to numbering,
names tend to define,
numbers are neutral,
they count the roads, follow their failings--
flow,
force,
and absorb,
dictated by a headlight,
I feel nearer to the surface of us,
motion made of visible memories, arrested in space,
mere unorganized explosions of random energy,
and therefore meaningless--
to fall in love with our progress,
and yet be outgrown by it.*
~
Mar 10, 2021
Mar 10, 2021 at 7:33 PM UTC
I once met this girl with dark brown hair and tanned skin. her smile was so bright it could blind you if you looked too close. when she laughed you could see the sparkle in her big brown eyes. despite her harsh and slightly mean personality, she radiated a welcoming feeling that so many of us need. she was fearless and never cared what others had to say. so long as she felt happy, she didn't feel the need to prove anything to anyone. from time to time the sleeves of her jacket would slide up and countless lines of dried blood could be seen littering them, when anyone pointed it out she said it wasn't any of their business what she did to keep happy so everyone let it be for the most part. I once met this girl who's hair was dyed half blonde. her skin had paled considerably and the dark circles under her eyes couldn't be missed. her smile was so big that anyone could of been fooled by it, everyone was. when she laughed there was no sparkle in her eyes and her sense of humor had changed. alongside her slightly rough personality came a cold feeling of distance toward anyone who tried getting close, something most of us never wish to experience. she seemed fearless and tried her best to make sure people thought she was unique and that she really didn't care. from time to time the sleeves of her sweater would roll up and small, barely visible marks covered the surface of her wrists, very rarely could the dry blood be seen, but she didn't care if it was. when people pointed it out she simply shrugged. I once met this girl who had dyed dark red hair and pale skin. her smile looked forced upon her tired face. when she laughed it sounded like it physically hurt for her to force it out of her. her mean personality had disappeared and was instead replaced by complete indifference and this feeling of carelessness which a lot of us fear. she had completely given up on caring what others thought. from time to time the sleeves of her sweater would slide up and nothing could be seen covering her wrists, except the quickly fading scars. I once met this girl with dark black hair and pale skin. her smile was enough to fool anyone who didn't pay attention. her laugh became a faint shaking of her shoulders and a strange sound that resembled a real laugh. there was no sparkle in her eyes, which were baggy and dark at the bottom. she didn't notice what people said or thought about her because she was too busy trying to calm her racing thoughts. when her sleeves rolled up there was nothing to be seen. when she walked she faltered a few steps because her thighs were so so sore from the multiple deep cuts covering them. when asked about it she simply said she liked it and that it really didn't matter. I once met this girl who took so many pills her stomach didn't sit right for weeks, in hopes she wouldn't wake up in the morning. I once met this girl who told me that there was nothing she wanted to live for, that the people worth fighting for would be better off without her. I once met this girl with a haunted look in her eyes and demons in her head. In four years the girl with the bright smile and happy eyes became a haunting memory of a time that seems almost impossible now.
Jun 16, 2015
Jun 16, 2015 at 11:50 PM UTC
Workers migrate for the coast
At the first hint of holiday,
Winging their way past lorries and vans,
And coaches coated with spray ochre tans,
Flying along motorways in single file,
The music of freedom for mile upon mile.
Father steers straight with his eye on the road,
Insisting on mix tapes he made as a teen
While necking sweet girls in his imaginative dreams.
Kids shriek games on the warm backseat,
While air hostess mums offer peanuts
And cushions, and packets of sweets.
They arrive with a fuss, and a sigh of relief
While father shakes his weary feet
And the mum takes the girls for an ice cream treat.
They unload their bags of shorts and vest tops,
And the hotel looks grand, at least from the side,
But a moment of doubt creeps in, I confide.
It can’t be this nice, thought the father too late,
I bought it for tuppence, or at least so I thought,
As he read the terms of the room service bill;
The cost of cool water was like climbing a hill,
Just when you thought it couldn’t get much higher…
But I digress; it gets considerably more dire.
The room was a state and mum had a fit
Cleaning up tissues and strange looking stains,
And the girls were fighting and being such pains.
Father took a beer from the fridge,
Ignoring the cost for the sake of some peace,
And stepped on the deck to get some release.
Five seconds later he was running indoors
As the clouds broke their cover in heavy downpours.
Expecting a break, they were fooled once again.
The weekend was spent in the room like last year,
While rain and thunder spoiled all their cheer.
There’s only so many board games to play,
And the food gave the girls a sore and sour tummy
And turned the grand weekend into a desperate plea.
Please let it end, I want to return
To the office of slaves who make my life fun.
Workers return from the coast
On the third day of rest,
Splashing their way past lorries and vans,
And coaches coated with burning red tans,
Dragging along motorways in single file,
The sound of the rain for mile upon mile.
May 4, 2015
May 4, 2015 at 4:30 PM UTC
Considerably penalties
For early withdrawal.
Sending more advisors.
Vietnam redux 1954.
Reactionary by poll #s.
Afghan half stand.
Unemployment
Slow Redeployment.
You pick.
Sep 20, 2014
Sep 20, 2014 at 1:11 PM UTC
perhaps it is the weather
a prolonged absence of the sun
or presence of the winter cold
or just a temporary fashion
the media as well as many webbéd sites
simply abound with dreary blather
of lovers lost and death so cold
the lonesomeness of every single soul
and how s/he suffers when s/he writes
spelled out at length with no discretion
we know that people suffer from depression
or unquenchable anger at the world
and how through proper treatments
you can considerably relieve the pain
fix them in words is one of them
but may not be enough
sometimes a mix of pills and pen
may do the trick and help you
write yourself through your misty prison walls
discover unlocked doors hidden in plain sight
step out into the sunshine
from the darkest night
you are the sun
whose radiance illuminates the world
lends brilliance to your life
sheds light on everything you’ve done
and soon you’ll notice
even the weather is getting bether …
Feb 22, 2016
Feb 22, 2016 at 12:39 PM UTC
A beautiful place, filled with flora and greenery,
Where nature’s daintiness at its best you can see…
I sit by the roses, at my favorite spot,
Pretty much confused, lost deep in thought…
All around me are flowers and trees of every shape and size,
A kaleidoscopic foliage appeasing the eyes…
The rustic elegance forms a romantic view,
If only I could share the romance with someone I knew...
There’s a reason this place is called Cupid’s arrow,
Its to contemplate, and come to know,
If love has struck you,
And if that love is pure and true…
After which its for spending quality time with that special someone,
To pass love around and have some fun,
To fulfill your romance’s every desire,
And stoke your heart’s burning fire…
So I sit there, wondering, pondering,
About him, and if it was love he did bring,
He entered my life just a short while ago,
Until then who he was I didn’t in the least know…
That he likes me he has made it passively imperative,
And in certain subtle ways I find him attractive,
But do I truly love him? That I do not know,
And it is this answer I want Cupid’s arrow to show…
Whether by destiny, or by chance,
It was here that we had our first fling of romance,
All it was, was that we passed each other,
Each staring wistfully at the other…
But for these few fleeting moments time slowed considerably,
And I remember each moment, vividly…
How entrancing his brown eyes were,
Ad how the rest of the world became a blur…
And just as we were crossing each other, the blissful trees
Whispered romance through the pleasant breeze…
And rained a shower of flower petals on the two of us,
It seemed over our infatuation nature did dote and fuss…
Which is why I took this as a sign,
That maybe, maybe this guy could be mine..
My once chance at true romance,
I really want to take that chance…
But what if he were to break my heart,
What if cupid’s arrow tore me apart,
I’m smitten, but I’m not sure I love him,
Because hearts succumb easily to materialistic desire’s whim…
And what would happen to him, if it didn’t work out…
He too, would be heartbroken, no doubt…
I care too much to affect him in any way,
If anything happened I wouldn’t live to see another day…
So I sit wondering, whether I ever dare,
To even try and lay my heart bare,
Open up and confess everything,
Or just let it remain a fling…
All around me, nature portrays romance,
But love, it’s a double edged lance,
The trees are rustling again, I see him walking towards me,
I have to decide if Cupid’s arrow has struck righteously…
Nov 18, 2010
Nov 18, 2010 at 4:03 AM UTC
She made you her priority
all she wanted was your honesty
you could have also shown your loyalty
but you missed the opportunity
now she's gone for good for treating her so ******
the girl just wanted a little consistency
could have been more heartily
boy all you showed was just atrocity
and you thinking it was some sort of comedy?
that girl has no more patience and generosity
at least what you could do is give her an apology
treat her more equally
act more responsibly
show her some harmony
stop showing her hypocrisy
and maybe, possibly
she'll considerably
forgive you for your cruelty
but this time, treat her more like royalty
she'll be yours significantly
Aug 13, 2013
Aug 13, 2013 at 3:12 PM UTC
Intertwined within us are our souls desires
We've become thoughtless consumers
Our eyes have overtaken our hearts
Countless evocation and solicitation cravings
What's the true essence of life
We must credit ourselves with a virtue of constraint
Consciously aware of the folly of greed
Competing for the consent of the masses
Continually corrupts our untainted soul
For without a soul what's the essence of life
Desire for credit has circumnavigated our default setting
Considerably actively commandeering our human condition
We've become complicit in this annihilation of what we hold dear
Our individuality disputed and tarnished
Lives crushed beyond recognition
The wide-ranging impact calamitous
What's the true essence of life
Thine benefits are transient
Yet the impact will leave an indelible mark
Preceding generations trod carefully
Afraid not to let the mud stick
We've been tainted by horrors
Yet we chose to flirt precariously with its allure
It's experience is of a blissful kind
It is however prudent to navigate cautiosly
Jan 12, 2016
Jan 12, 2016 at 6:16 PM UTC
Harvested-
a basket
of ruby jewels!
Here I stand in the kitchen,
a chilled mother with warm thoughts,
easing tissue-thin skins
from slithers of moist flesh.
Birdsong.
Peaceful solitude.
Time unrolls its red carpet.
Considerably reduced,
I slip a few scarlet streaks
into a bone-white bowl.
A familiar voice calls me to the garden.
"Tea dear!"
but I hunger for something stronger.
A rush of love
flies like an arrow
to pierce silence
May 16, 2010
May 16, 2010 at 4:05 AM UTC
If I could stop
This life's relentless clock
And split my very being;
Then exactly one-half
Would stay right on this path
All the while freeing-
The other part,
With a more curious heart,
And considerably bolder.
It would be content to sit,
Study the curve of your lips,
And rest its head on your shoulder.
Mar 3, 2013
Mar 3, 2013 at 10:58 PM UTC
This crazy conundrum has been conspicuously contrived quite cordially. Of course, one could concede this cordially contrived conundrum could carelessly conflate the countless quandaries causing quintessential quantities to question the conspicuously questionable conspiracy. Conversely, carelessly questioning conspicuously contrived conspiracies as cordially quantitative quandaries could create considerably confusing claims countering the critically acclaimed crazy conundrum so callously clarified as to continue to count as cordial. Consequently, with careless acquiescence, I must confess that the conceptually contrived conspiracy, so inconspicuously inconsistent, conflated considerably contrary quandaries quite questionably and continues to confuse the crazy quite cordially. To conclude, the crazed conspicuous conundrum confuses the cordially questionable quantities of conceptually countless claims clearly clarified as conflated quandaries continuously contradicting a considerable count of conspiracies.
11/2/16 11:59 p
Nov 3, 2016
Nov 3, 2016 at 11:21 PM UTC
If there is none that makes up our souls
then why does a little bit of you make me considerably whole
If there is none that bridges our hearts
then why does yours beat together with mine from the start
And if there is none that needs to be heard or said
then why does each word revive a spot in us that has long been dead
Nov 27, 2015
Nov 27, 2015 at 6:29 AM UTC
The second hand a rapier
The hour hand, a longsword
And the minutes are my claymore
Armored with the twelve as I push forward
The face is the shield
The gears inside by my command spin or yield
My arsenal is time itself, ticking as I walk
Slaying all of my fears with each sound of a tock
The seconds are my soldiers, loyal and true
The hours are my guardians, great, but few
The moments are precious, hold them dear
Time is the ultimate force, weild it to control eternity
Take control of your destiny
Reinforceing dreams considerably
There is a person and future for which I weild tick and tock
And I have the aid and power of an ever revolving clock
Apr 12, 2016
Apr 12, 2016 at 12:25 PM UTC
(tripping gracefully over her gory visage,
she bashfully, covertly unveils her
untruthful veracity,
invisible in all things seen)
her phantom form surrounds me and
slides her arm between my lips, into my mouth
finger - after - finger;
i slowly swallow her whole
(she leaves me no other choice)
the quick fog forming in my eyes
threatens to spill
(i think it does)
i choke, my teeth grazing her entangled marble limbs.
my once untarnished tower of a neck
now a blemished python, bruised by suffocation
finger-painting, hand-print impressionism in
russian red and prussian blue and palatinate purple
my angry lungs drink her in
the space between my thoughts and veins becomes considerably smaller.
(i am crowded,
i am
o
ver
whelmed.)
exhausted, i gasp for words
but those too have left me a while ago,
when her impact carved that permanent indent on my chest:
i can never rest.
Nov 3, 2012
Nov 3, 2012 at 8:13 PM UTC
Looking out my bedroom window
past the bluebirds and cardinals
vying for position on the seed-filled feeder,
past the doves and the squirrels
shamelessly settling for the leftovers below,
past the obligatory but unused lawn furniture,
past the turtles and storks and herons, and
past an alligator swimming slowly, but purposefully,
toward his place in the sun,
I can see the second green and the third tee
of the golf course where I live.
In these days of pandemic and social distancing
the golfers each drive their own cart.
On the putting green players stand six to ten feet apart,
no one touches the flagstick,
there are no high fives,
no shaking hands.
The green carts are driven
down the cart path
one-by-one
from two green
to three tee,
like four green baby ducks
following each other,
identical, synchronous, six to ten feet apart.
After teeing off
the players in the carts
again follow each other
one-by-one to the end of the path
before scattering
to the fairway or the bunker or the woods
or the edge of the lake
where the alligator has fallen asleep
in the sun with his mouth open
as if he is warning the golfers
to maintain the appropriate social distance.
Considerably more than six to ten feet apart.
Apr 23, 2020
Apr 23, 2020 at 11:53 PM UTC