"contrived" poems
man (?)
the tomatoes?
patty m.,
a grievous error thy commissioned
tomatoes are the quintessential feminine fruit
red juicy, round, curvy, sweet
with a flavor at once the same,
yet never again always different, diffident,
asized, and blonde or red, never contrived
without it,
would pizza be pizza?
without it,
would **** ***** love,
be merely a good salad
or a poem
ever be the same?
“me love tomatoes”
cookie monster
Apr 19, 2018
Apr 19, 2018 at 11:33 AM UTC
The belated summer sky is alive
with a D r a g o n f l y ballet
Beneath,.. the rain parched sod
lay sullied, cracked open
by an unsated thirstiness
awaiting the painted autumn days
and the cleansing rain's renewal
A lace-winged hatch rises skyward
— meandering airborne —
drifting upwards like a burst of dust
dissipating in an invisible cloud
of eventide's silent breath
Darting shadows hover
above a seeker's curiosity
just this side the
softening sunset backdrop
A synthesis of fluid motion
– darting kinesis –
swift agile fliers
steal away over the thirsty pond;
their mesmerizing beauty enchants
as the dimming dusk falls silent —-
embellishing the unrelenting ending
another summer's
imminent curtain call;
reminding how inexorable-time
is only a contrived human notion,
a recurring extrapolation
of passing seasons
Heightening awareness:
how we too are only
passing through these
unholdable moments
coming to know
we cannot stop
how life unfolds
The raindrops will quench
the pond's aching thirst
again one fall someday...
— hereafter —
there will be another
beauty of dragonflies
some other eyes will see
preying on another burgeoning
gossamer-winged hatch
and
another beckoning autumn
when the dragonflies hover
below the gazing totems
in the treetops
Jesse Stillwater ... September 2018 .
Sep 19, 2018
Sep 19, 2018 at 12:52 PM UTC
This thing I thought I could grasp,
Desperately I try to hold on to it,
This thing I never had,
I knew this illusion wouldn’t last,
It disappears as soon as we reach for it,
It’s as thin as the mountain air,
For a moment we lie to ourselves,
placing it securely and safely on a shelf.
Even though it is a forced perception, A contrived illusion.
Once we leave the room...
As soon as we lock and bolt the door...
we wont see it anymore.
We never realize the freedom there is in letting go,
We would be happier admitting this concept is completely fictitious.
We could break this circular pattern, this cycle so vicious.
I've spent too much time trying to hold it in my hands,
Making myself the victim of my own laid out plans.
Jun 10, 2018
Jun 10, 2018 at 6:48 PM UTC
Some People Are ... EVIL ... !!!
Some People Are ... Nice ...
Some People Believe ...
In The Lies They Contrive ...
Black People ... White People ...
Yes ALL TYPES of People ... !!!
Don't Think You're EXEMPT Most People Tell Lies ... !!!
Some People Want TRUTH These People Are Wise ...
These Are The People Who Use Their ... 3rd Eye ...
I'm Sick of These People Whose Lives Are Contrived ...
Like Poets Who Act Like Their Words Breed Insight ...
MAN These Are The People Who Lead A ... FAKE Life ... !!!
Because They Can't Deal With ... What's REALLY INSIDE ...
INSIDE of Their Minds ... INSIDE of Their Hearts ...
See These Are The People Who Fall At The Start ... !!!!!!!!
They STAND By Their PRIDE ...
But Pride We All Know Comes Before A FALL ... !!!
How Many of You Folks Are Playing That Role ... !???!
Let's Go Toe To Toe And See What You Know ...
Because I GUARANTEE ... You'll Be A NO SHOW ... !!!
See They ... Like To Deride ...
Their Comments Are Snide ... !!!
MAN These Are The People I CANNOT ABIDE ... !!!!!!!!
They TALK A Good Game But Have NO **** SHAME ... !!!!!
Because These Are The People Who DON'T Deal With Pain ...
They Pass YOU The Rope ...
And Then Say ... " TAKE THE STRAIN " ... !!!
See These Are The People Who Need Their Blood DRAINED ... !!!
They ARE The Bloodsuckers Who STEAL From The Sane ... !!!
They TALK About TRUTH But Soon HIT The Roof ... !!!
When Truth Is Thrown At Them They're QUICK To ABUSE ... !!!
"I'll issue court action, I want a Retraction !" ...
Well Here Is My View ...
These People Are FOOLS ....
Who've Got Some Screws LOOSE !!!!!
Deal With YOUR ISSUES I've Been In Courtrooms ...
Don't EVER ASSUME I'm An IGNORANT **** ... !!!!!!
This ISN'T ... Pulp Fiction ... !!!
Don't Think I'm ... The Shepherd ...
I'm NOT Samuel Jackson I'm Ready For Action ... !!!
You Will Be Collapsing When I Start Reacting ... !!!
Don't EVER Presume I'm Into ... Play Acting ... !!!
I'll Leave That To You And Your Idiot Crew ... !!!
Cos' These Are The People Who Don't Give You Clues ...
Cos These Are The People Who Simply Aren't TRUE ... !!!
They Like Their Doors OPEN ...
So They Can Walk Through ...
MAN These Are The People ...
Who Walk In ... DEAD SHOES ... !!!
Now I'm NOT Making Threats ... !!!
But On THIS ... You Can Bet ... !!!
Messing With Me ...
Means You're Messing With DEATH ... !!!
Cos' I'm Ready And Willing To Take Your LAST Breath ...
Cos' People Like You Are ... Humanity's DREGS ... !!!!!
But Enough About THEM ... Society's Phlegm ... !!!!!!!!!!!!
Some People ARE NICE These People I Like ... !!!
Cos' Some of These People Do Use The Mic RIGHT ... !!!!!
They Talk About Things That Affect Peoples' Lives ...
Without EVER Thinking Their Wordplay ... DELIGHTS ...
These People Are Humble And SHUN Foolish Pride ... !!!
Cos' These Are The People ... Who Look DEEP INSIDE ...
INSIDE of THEMSELVES And Find Love of The SELF ...
Cos' Love of The Self Can Preserve Mental Health ...
And Help You To Deal With ... DUD Cards You Get Dealt ... !!!!!
These Words Are ........ HEARTFELT ........ !!!
Good People DO HELP ...
WITHOUT EVER Thinking of Helping THEMSELVES ... !!!
Good People Are VITAL For Human Survival ... !!!!
This Is Now The Reason I Do These Recitals ...
I'm Trying To Put .....
Something GOOD In The CYCLE ... !!!
The ... Cycle of Life .....
That Has MANY Good People ... !!!
But TOO MANY People Are Now Doing EVIL ... !!!!!!
Which Is Why I'm Relating My Views About ...........
......... " People " .........
Sep 24, 2014
Sep 24, 2014 at 4:31 PM UTC
this door exists,
stately and staunchly it stands,
disheartening and terrifying it remains.
the door is unlocked, yet cannot be opened,
for in it, a path in time...
one decision that can affect everything
[such as my choice to wear the necklace you adore,
which lead to you noticing me for the very first time,
or my idea to play you the song that you fell in love with,
which i can no longer listen to]
...for in this door, one path
is intimidatingly located.
every bone in my body,
every last muscle, tendon, ligament
each artery, each vein, each capillary
every single nerve,
even each microscopic cell,
implores me not to open this tempting door...
[it is almost as if my hand refuses to grasp the handle,
to unleash the unknown upon me,
the colossal chain of events that would ensue]
the immensity of the unfamiliar,
the unexplored,
tends to perturb me.
change is unnerving
and is almost as chilling
as an abandoned graveyard at midnight.
but i bring my mind back to the door,
yes! this preposterous door that i have contrived for myself.
why is the **** so easily turned?
why does it not put up somewhat of a fight,
at least jolt me suddenly,
as to frighten my curious heart?
it is a constant battle between my body
my mind
and my heart
as to which doors to open
and which ones to leave ever so steadfastly closed.
but never once has there been such a struggle
for them to reach an understanding.
somehow my heart,
[even though a fraction of me,
a fist, dripping in blood]
is prevailing for the moment.
my heart reaches for the handle,
attempts to unclose the door...
yet, with the best of its ability,
withstanding my strong-willed
and obstinate heart,
my powerful body and commanding mind
overcome this hostile takeover,
and the door remains shut.
it is my body,
my skillful mouth,
my soft, rose lips,
my elegant tongue,
and my vocal chords...
all of these pieces must
contrive the words,
conceive the change,
which will unveil the path that will forever alter us...
slowly, opening the door.
being as in love with you as i am,
i will not let you slip away from my arms right now.
but when we are not together
[*i wish you’d have been there,
i needed you there*]
i stare at this humbling door.
if i wait too long, i’ll forever lose you;
for it is you who will make this choice for me,
opening your own door, fearless and dauntless.
Nov 11, 2012
Nov 11, 2012 at 2:40 AM UTC
****** affliction of a lack of affection companion
Hand and hand strolling greater than syrupy plunging
and even sometimes buddy shrugging over wooden noisemakers
We whistle with their metal strings
and through the pasta soft ones in our throats
but no nest colored mares seem to hear
our flamboyant feather calls for future fondling
So I scribe slight implied short letters
invites to drink joints and nature jaunts
All too well thought out
hoping your advanced technology cannot trace
the time I spent to type
The overanalysis of our psych: her and I’s
wondering why she doesn’t have an inkling
for a cute fall date where we attempt to bake apple pies
It’s all too contrived, I know
I’ll strive for delusion
Accept a useful interpretation for our chemical inflammation
and let sparks pass it by
Like itsy bitsy flies laying eggs in a wound
for stagnant water maggots
They’ll eat away the thought well
where all my cranial zaps seem to dwell.
Dec 14, 2013
Dec 14, 2013 at 11:00 PM UTC
Ask...and you shall be given answers
seek...and you'll be told where to look
knock...say, hello?...hello? hellooow?
a voice named siri replies:
"is it me you're looking for?"
i think,
the eyes, the mind, even the heart, need
clear, goggle-like glasses, for 20/20 vision,
to grasp, to discern, be forewarned,
not to be overwhelmed by whatever
data unfolds on the screen
they say, there are contrived solutions,
for life's every complication
search engines are accessible to all
just press specific keys, and, Voila!
surf, play...easy games, easy friends
but, can they really answer all questions?
every human question?.........like,
do elephants really cry? how did it occur
that they have excellent memories?
is Timbuktu modernized now?
are there still surviving cannibals?
will the remaining Bee Gees member,
tell us how to mend a broken heart?
do rosicrucians really possess secret wisdom?
what happened to you and me?
how do i save myself from emotional vampires?
how do i cook pad thai?
...and how do i get you out of my mind?
why does the rooster crow after midnight
how does logarithm work with poetry?
do dogs have souls? do they visit their
masters?....i miss my dogs Misty and Tiny,
...and i miss you...what's wrong with me?
God, why do i even bother to ask?
my goggled eyes are blinded by grief
my goggled mind refuses to forget
this goggled life of mine feels empty
and it has nothing to do with technology...
Sally
© Rosalia Rosario A. Bayan
July 23, 2018
Aug 5, 2018
Aug 5, 2018 at 10:50 PM UTC
I'll be completely honest but not completely true
I'll be true to my heart but not always true to you
some of my words will reflect much of what I feel
while you'll find that other lines are more contrived to conceal
you see a poet can use their words to bear their deepest feeling
but look again and you may see something deeper redder bleeding
read again between the lines of the fresher tender cuts
and you'll brush a slower finger over old wounds long untouched
you may disturb my untold stories seeping through the pages
and find a heart much like yours where an older passion rages
Aug 1, 2018
Aug 1, 2018 at 5:43 PM UTC
I ask you, I beg you…not break my heart
Not now, this time, I break apart
The past doth visit, this night of all
My heart, responds to whom that call
Though you no longer walk this land
My heart remembers each grain of sand
That time when you have grasped my heart
Our dreams we swore we’d never part
Almost one year, you’ve asked from me
To take your hand, so forever we’d be
And Yes, I said...my heart spoke true
That forever, I will stand, and always love you
And so we dreamed and planned our lives
With child and more, our hearts contrived
Alas, God spoke and needed thee
To take you early, and set you free
From life on earth, where you’ve made your mark
To Heaven you land, new roads embark
God recognize your worth so true
And so he made known his need for you
Up there you shine, and your heart is known
For all to see, how you have grown
For me, its clear I've learned some truth
Though I have lost, God has me soothed
To know you serve our Lord with trust
And be the Light, to fight for just
So do not see me as one that’s broken
I know that you and God has spoken
I will soon take my place along your side
As we have planned to be your bride
And so I shall wait the time ‘til then
Know that I always love you, until then end
For now, I bide the time I’m here
No obstacle, nor hardship shall I ever fear
For I know in the end, I will meet you there
When God, shall agree our time to share
The love begun at the first hello
Through time, shall be clear, we both shall know
Forever, our love, forever we last
Through millennia, and more, whatever past
Nov 15, 2012
Nov 15, 2012 at 1:26 PM UTC
A Serotinous Pine there,
Where winter snows soak into thirsty soil but relentless summer sun bakes motionless
Every plant a tinder held close to conflagration,
in a season's Russian roulette of forest fire.
This pine seals precious seed away from every spring’s promise,
lest burning destroys every one.
Only searing heat during torched consumption triggers the last gentle act,
At the knife’s edge of apocalypse itself,
opening cones of seeds.
Fluttering down to new life on the other side of time.
Tiny bright green amid black ashes.
Swimming Penguins
Birds evolved to fly in ocean.
Wings to flippers, feet stepping clumsily from water.
Yet eggs must still nest, their babies still breathe.
Safety is the very precipice of existence, on bitter ice at 60 below,
Sheltering their young clustered from blistering winds,
fasting from sustenance,
While heaven’s glorious Aurora flame silently over their winter dreams.
So what then are we, on This Earth?
Cerebral Creatures, Storytelling Animals.
Minds created to sense spiritual constructs.
Living is the method of our creation,
Sheltering each other from inherited trials
With contrived joys and sufferings distracting each other
from the soul freezing fearful cold of the Empty Void
And consuming fire of electric chaos.
In the End, our sacrificing gift for our children
is God.
Dec 13, 2012
Dec 13, 2012 at 1:37 AM UTC
The deadly air of autumn’s blow
Empowered winter’s cold to flow,
But spring’s warmness began to grow,
Releasing summer’s smoothing glow.
It started out as a mer gaze,
Bringing my lonely heart ablaze,
We were lost in a lovely maze
Surviving the long autumn days.
Can we handle the freezing cold?
The one that wraps us close and hold
Unto each other like glimmering gold
As time stops, turning us into winter’s mold.
We slit in half, when spring arrived,
As I believed love was thrived,
I felt you had my heart revived
But it was clear you were contrived.
Now summer begins to boil down,
I can see all your endless frown,
You indeed fooled me like a clown,
So I watch our affair slip, drown.
Summer was to bring us together,
But spring showed we’re light as feather,
In winter we were twined with tether,
Did you enjoyed autumn’s weather?
Apr 18, 2015
Apr 18, 2015 at 9:12 PM UTC
Hear ye, hear ye
hearken from the medieval times of old
where knights in the round once roamed
jousting with deeds fought in truth and honor
to protect the weak, the helpless, the oppressed
with an ideology lurking since the dawn of time
that all are born free, unshackled from contrived ordeals
only to soar high with the eagles to become one with the heavens
and bask in the glory of serving the frailty and holiness of mankind
Hear ye, hear ye
it’s Merlin conjuring a magical spell for the spirit
to behold, to marvel, new stages of self-enlightenment
where the essence of the King invades sleeping visions
possibly foretelling ominous events awaiting new missions
or predestined journeys one must endure to become so bold
in knowledge and wisdom offered, living in this world’s mold
not necessarily realized, instead shrouded with unimpeded urges
akin to the signs found in youth, immaturity, the close-minded
Hear ye, hear ye
the quest to sip from the Carpenter’s silver chalice
and taste charitable love for family, friends, and foes
where reckless pride and hatred are speared with the arrow
forged in devotion of a noble belief, tempered with selfless feats
where the sun rises and sets on the wicked actions of human nature
slaughtering the divine lights prematurely, locked within many souls
yet crusades against evil continues, no retreat, no regrets, no surrender
price to uphold the spirit of Camelot, payment in full, services rendered.
Jul 9, 2017
Jul 9, 2017 at 1:36 AM UTC
Scars, like yours, mine, and ours
The ones that bled, now you can never discard
Scars, time to relive the past
It just happened to be,
Within in my grasp
Scars, a reminder of will
Remembering a loss,
A void to be filled
Scars, I’ll never forget
A map of the journey
No pain filled regrets
Scars, a feeling contrived
A time in my past
Grateful; alive
Our creator, a leader of men
Scars are a reminder
That symbolizes the dead
Scars, one last debate
How am I supposed to feel
When we can’t relate?
I don’t want to hear it
I don’t want to know
Don’t keep me waiting
With no dial tone
Scars, like yours, mine, and ours
The ones that bled, now you can never discard
It’s a badge of honor
I survived death!
A merit of completion
Having been put to the test
Got me in a fight for land
Where men now lay dead
Bloodied and red
These scars on my body
The voice in my head
Telling me you are the enemy
No longer my friend
Scars, like yours, mine, and ours
The ones that bled now you can never discard
Scars, yours, mine, and ours
Scars on your leg, on your chest, on your head
Scars, when you decided on ink
Instead of lead
Taking a bullet, they pronounced you as dead.
Scars
May 8, 2019
May 8, 2019 at 7:43 AM UTC
Could not my mind have conjured this?
Could this not be all a dream?
I cannot identify illusion
is nothing as it seems?
Could I so lonely be
that I've contrived this world alone?
And everyone I've ever loved
A creation of my own?
I don't believe you're make believe
Of you I'll always ponder.
I need you real, here with me.
I cast aside my Sonder.
May 28, 2014
May 28, 2014 at 11:56 PM UTC
Lacquer metal, finest degree
Eggshell maiden dancing, skirts turned free
Tossed leaf nestle, a glory in a hidden theatre
Dark privileged passions creep in and listen.
The dirt around your feet compacted,
The dress around your friends contrived
But you look so natural in those seams of transplacental
Defied by the native over-leaf
What privileged thought found comfort there
What Rubenesqued dresses blushed in joy
At white marble hugging thought
And privileged smells adorning your excitement
The path beyond your feet leads nowhere
For your sight spins where your eyebrows lead
Round and round in close circles
Amongst those eyes who cracked your paint
Aug 30, 2018
Aug 30, 2018 at 5:12 AM UTC
My cousin told me that I am a good storyteller, but I should write something about me, about real people and a time that I was scared "shitless". Well, I can only think of one time of a real life shocker that shook up my young world. It's nothing suspenseful. It probably wouldn't win any contests, but it isn't contrived. It's a snippet of the first time that I encountered the raw reality of death.
What did I know about death at eight years old? Our parakeet, Perky, died. My grandparents dog, Bruno, had to be put to sleep. As a girl, I vaguely recall seeing a dead man in a coffin, and that was at the funeral of my mom's aunt's husband. This was only an introduction of the temporary world we live in.
Well, then there was an older couple two doors down from us. They had two grandchildren that used to come and visit them, a sister and brother. When in the neighborhood, they would play with my older brothers. I cannot even recall their names. I cannot remember what they looked like or what they said.
What I do remember is the news being on in the living room, and I was eating dinner in the kitchen with my mom and brothers. Suddenly, the faces of that brother and sister were on TV. It was reported that their mentally troubled mother had killed them. I think it was because she was denied custody of them in an ugly divorce. Doing a little bit of digging in the Michigan death index online, I rediscovered who they were. They were Susan and Richard. They were ten and nine-years-old at the time.
I surely don't remember plenty of details, as this was in June of 1973. Over forty years ago, it's a much faded memory now. I only know I did not go to the funeral home. If I did, I am sure I'd be horrified to look upon those children who were robbed of their lives. Death was no longer just for pets or old people. It wasn't fair and it didn't discriminate in age. And if it could happen to someone as young as them, it could come knocking on my door.
Perhaps, that was the beginning of my fear of death.
Mar 14, 2015
Mar 14, 2015 at 11:43 PM UTC
We are all animals of a baser kind
elementary creatures, reveling in our complexity
an assembly of simple machines, each playing part
in an inseparable chorus of flesh and ego
Boastful beings, claiming we are contrived by gods
fashioned from particles, or the dust of dead giants
though truly, we are merely creations of vanity and chance
the eyes of a universe looking back upon itself in awe
How grand and vain, this cosmic mirror!
****** upon eyes that only stare in wonder*
Sep 21, 2014
Sep 21, 2014 at 8:52 PM UTC
The Emperor's new shoes
Painted imitation leather, polished and treated with care
admired and envied, all eyes drawn, especially yours.
Look at me, envy me, look how I dance.
Look at my silhouette marvel at how I make you feel,
Throw yourself to me, l make you feel so true
We are elite .
Walking stronger, dancing so much faster
How fanciful I am you,free unaffected
How do I make you look and feel, the emperor's new shoes,
Legitimizing your nobility
But how I pinch, and how I hurt you, how contorted you’v become,
How you twisted and bent to fit with me,
contrived , like me ,our artificial natural .
Your need for me and performance reflecting my own.
This illusion , only granted by me.
You never really chose, i led you to believe you are some king.
Your allegiance will not be rewarded the crest has to fall,
You can not always dance for me .
Remember i am painted and cannot become worn ,
I will not become comfortable for you,
I will not become misshapen from accommodation and give.
I will not shine if you dull me, my radiance is painted ,
Only you my emperor masked our deceit.
Now i leave you barefoot .
Jan 27, 2014
Jan 27, 2014 at 4:11 PM UTC
to hold a photograph in my hand
and believe what is presented,
take is at it already is – why not?
if I close my mind’s shuttering eye,
will you be as candid as before?
unrestricted, unsorted from the hullaballoo,
you, freer than what is imagined, closing
in like a bullet from yesterday shot out
of the sky’s contrived clearing –
to hold a photograph in my hand
and tug closer by the mouth of the fringe
as if to pour water on a broken glass,
slithering now, a shadow of moon
at the very dull end of my cup;
you are closer than any rehearsed moment
ready to catch the inner canthus of the eye:
this relentless picture-passing, tense and
fervent, avid like bankiva to air,
water to chrysanthemum: behind thick shrub
of crepuscular, an arboreal locomotion
shatters loose, your frantic figure.
to hold a photograph in my hand
and size it down to the dimensions
of this home – there is potential in this
comparison: flaring out like smoke from
where it infinitely burns, I seek an ache
and hence place a finger to shush,
to hold this photograph in my hand
and confabulate a soft blow to the gut
and feel it realer than any dagger or berretta
held at one’s life-edge: this delusory intimation,
a slipshod work of feeling. to feel it rejoin
me somewhere I ought to be back again.
Jan 27, 2016
Jan 27, 2016 at 2:48 AM UTC
the gentle lapping of salty waves, break onto the shore,
The wave of change is coming fast-
into the tide contentment's cast
it's the only way to sail from past
to brightest futures; A risen mast...
**and a seagull, somewhere, sings in F minor.
no human can ignore:
no matter race, religion, class,
that the waves propel us, or
drowns us beneath their mass.
The wave of change's tolling tide
has come again for us, we tried
to keep using whatever we
contrived,
to surf change's wave,
wildly we ride.
Jun 6, 2019
Jun 6, 2019 at 2:28 PM UTC
You
The real you
The pain of your words cut deep
Not in retribution or contrived delivery
But by the agony behind them
Conveying raw emotion
Your bleeding heart exposed
No frills
No fuss
No 'woe is me'
Just soul wrenching honesty in each and every line
The heartache and pain, flowing like a raging river
Across the page and beyond
Reaching out, begging for recognition
Of the person behind the crimson tide of verse
I hear you
I see you
I heed you
And I feel you
I am drawn to you, drawn to your words
To the man behind the words
And I care
Enough to offer friendship
More to offer love
To know you need not be alone
For I am here
For you
With you
A shoulder to cry on
A chest to lean on
Arms to enfold you and ease the burden of heartache
So powerful is the pull
To be that friend
I cannot ignore, I cannot fight
I surrender to it
I surrender to you
To the beauty of a new friendship
So pure in its infancy
With a lifetime of first and forevers
This I pledge to you
Apr 29, 2017
Apr 29, 2017 at 2:24 PM UTC
Pet was never mourned as you,
Purrer of the spotless hue,
Plumy tail, and wistful gaze
While you humoured our queer ways,
Or outshrilled your morning call
Up the stairs and through the hall—
Foot suspended in its fall—
While, expectant, you would stand
Arched, to meet the stroking hand;
Till your way you chose to wend
Yonder, to your tragic end.
Never another pet for me!
Let your place all vacant be;
Better blankness day by day
Than companion torn away.
Better bid his memory fade,
Better blot each mark he made,
Selfishly escape distress
By contrived forgetfulness,
Than preserve his prints to make
Every morn and eve an ache.
From the chair whereon he sat
Sweep his fur, nor wince thereat;
Rake his little pathways out
Mid the bushes roundabout;
Smooth away his talons’ mark
From the claw-worn pine-tree bark,
Where he climbed as dusk embrowned,
Waiting us who loitered round.
Strange it is this speechless thing,
Subject to our mastering,
Subject for his life and food
To our gift, and time, and mood;
Timid pensioner of us Powers,
His existence ruled by ours,
Should - by crossing at a breath
Into safe and shielded death,
By the merely taking hence
Of his insignificance—
Loom as largened to the sense,
Shape as part, above man’s will,
Of the Imperturbable.
As a prisoner, flight debarred,
Exercising in a yard,
Still retain I, troubled, shaken,
Mean estate, by him forsaken;
And this home, which scarcely took
Impress from his little look,
By his faring to the Dim
Grows all eloquent of him.
Housemate, I can think you still
Bounding to the window-sill,
Over which I vaguely see
Your small mound beneath the tree,
Showing in the autumn shade
That you moulder where you played.
3.4k
Composed of the opposition,
I am too afraid of the meanings
within the reasoning and
extremities of polar ends.
Ex.
steadfast vs. capricious
sincere vs. contrived
sadism vs. masochism
expansive vs. nonexistent
(circle one)
Frankly, between my want to know every
cloud-breaking peak and sunless crevice of my animal, me,
on this circular search for a emotional enlightenment,
I am exhausted, from the in-between.
Mar 19, 2013
Mar 19, 2013 at 8:07 PM UTC
I shall forget you presently, my dear,
So make the most of this, your little day,
Your little month, your little half a year,
Ere I forget, or die, or move away,
And we are done forever; by and by
I shall forget you, as I said, but now,
If you entreat me with your loveliest lie
I will protest you with my favorite vow.
I would indeed that love were longer-lived,
And vows were not so brittle as they are,
But so it is, and nature has contrived
To struggle on without a break thus far,—
Whether or not we find what we are seeking
Is idle, biologically speaking.
2.9k
He drew a figure eight on my spine, absentmindedly,
and traced the nape of my neck with his fingertip when he said,
“You are beautiful to me.”
But the ellipsis in the silence spoke louder than he did, and the look in his eye was not born because I was lovely;
It was not because he loved me.
A thing too small for love-
But far too large to be lust;
Simple. Ugly.
He looked at me like he was hungry.
So sweetly he critiqued each curve, every line, blurring my edges with the images of every bent perception pulled from the mire of his mind;
and I
could not
satisfy
Pretty innocence diminished in the grip of his vice,
Pressed tight against my body, despised in dark eyes.
I am not the inhuman creatures you contrived in the middle of the night.
I am not the feminine expression of your ********* pride.
What a wicked crime,
to take a woman’s body and leave the woman behind.
Oct 23, 2017
Oct 23, 2017 at 3:29 PM UTC