"contriving" poems
Looks I was given, words received
Sunk in deep
I felt as much use as a chocolate teapot
As resilient as a glass hammer
Looking much like a dogs dinner
As fragrant as a refuse truck.
Insightful as a blind guide dog
Buoyant as a lead balloon
I sank deep
My bounce lost,
like a concrete trampoline
Lost my grip
like a fumbling toothless vampire bat
Feeling as welcome
as a fur coat worn
In a vegan cafe.
Now resurfacing
I know that there's no use
in contriving to feel bad.
I'm going to either
line my chocolate teapot
to make it work
or savour every bite of it!
Apr 9, 2014
Apr 9, 2014 at 5:29 PM UTC
By Joseph Childress
“Habeus corpus!!!”
Yelled in court
From some youngin’
In the back row
As he rose
With a roll of parchment
The constitution laid dead in his hold
.
A gleam seen in the judge’s eyes
As he glances, quickly
Behind glasses
While guards escort
The disrupter of courts
To the unknown
.
All hail the corpse of freedom!
Warranted from the lack of warnings
All hell: The corporate companies cooperating
In coup d’etats
Disguised as peace keepings
Offering the
Sacrificial kings of Africa
Offing the
Head of state
In a distasteful display of feardom
Fear dominates
The war on terrorism
Military minions pillage the dominions
Of the defenseless
The final blow
Screams
Like the Final Call
In the falling of an empire
Protesters test the unrest
And spread
Words
That are read
In the weaving of our future
Detention
Sit-ins for those who
Speak during class warfare
Constitutions re-written
To constitute illegal imprisonment
Of free
Speakers,
Thinkers,
And believers
Citizens find it harder
To not pay attention
When the war in the Middle East
Is fought in America
Patriotic Acts to enact
Unpatriotic actions
That exact
Hate on the coward-less fraction
Surveillanced
As if ass-kissing will ever be in option
They’re warning us
To stay sleep with the rest
Those who awake
Will meet a force
Worse
Than the crusades
As they raid the houses
Of our brothers, sisters, and
Controversial, conspiracy contriving cousins
They will come
Like thieves in the night
To undue
The debt due to society
The battle begins,
And the Martyrs are ready.
Apr 1, 2014
Apr 1, 2014 at 11:12 PM UTC
I build my new life over graveyards swollen,
each journey stolen on paths walked before;
the oak church door, the adolescent postures,
first breath of **** first taste of flight
amongst grounded freedom, amongst polluted nights.
I trade eyes with women over numbered tables,
contriving fables from coffee cups, loose-tongued gospels
for manufactured apostles, remnants of mistreated advice;
last pocket of **** last drink of the night,
I have learned when to swallow, I have learned when to fight.
I found myself in the ground-zero wreckage,
last vestige of meaning and useful obsession,
those drunk-dial confessions, aftermath of silence;
first smoke of the day, last image of starlight,
I have forgiven my failings, I have kept them in sight.
Mar 22, 2015
Mar 22, 2015 at 10:44 AM UTC
Joe wants to know
how'm I doing?
an innocuous query,
little can he know,
bye bye is my merry,
marooned on a skerry,
noxious fumes in the aerie,
currently inhabiting my foreheady,
worry waves, rolling thunderous tides,
have myself beside
thus the answer to your toll,
something bad, on me, got a hold
Joe,
life is,
more than a tad
concerting
concerting?
surely you meant
converging, or perhaps,
concatenating, or concaving?
discombobulating, or more likely,
plain ole disconcerting?
indeed, all of the above,
fit like a glove,
but best combinated in steaming mug of
concerting
"to contrive or arrange by agreement: to plan; devise"
the world is secret contriving,
the world is secret devising,
a plan for my demising,
forces are concerting re me...
most concerning,
as trends converging,
concave hollow chains clinking,
a concatenating chorus
voicing their displeasure,
at my happy existence,
which now gone,
its loss, wept for, in great measure
life dissing me, in a manner
concerting and dis-concerting,
my composure,
decomposing,
the ides of depression,
hip hop discombob-
(undu)lating throb
but then again,
what's in a word,
what's in a rhyme,
jes that old timey R&B;,
rhyming and blues,
of a verbal kind
so, Joe, how'm I doing?
now that you are knowing,
as men of distinguished letters,
students of history,
part time poets,
Your Reply
must only be:
"Oh no, Natty,
say it ain't so"
Jan 18, 2014
Jan 18, 2014 at 5:03 AM UTC
I have come a long way.
Those endless nights spent clouding the mind
to a comfortable blindness
where I did not have to witness
the war at my own front door.
I have come a long way.
Locked in fear I could not communicate
with my foreign tongue;
learned that good company
was the mere salute of open arms.
Learned to swallow breath
as I once did pills, ***** and cigarettes
to find that patient calm.
Chemicals promise anaesthesia;
only pain is left when supplies are gone.
I have come a long way
from the departure lounge,
staring at heaving grey skies
and contriving a paradise
no one could hope to find.
Walked suicidal through
tourist-lit streets of central Bangkok.
Half-drunk I wondered why
I continued to breathe;
why my heart refused to stop.
I have come a long way
from believing happiness
is a steady state you can attain
through time-lapse images of victories
and failures you forgot.
Fell in love with an older woman
who would sleep beside me
when she could not see her son.
Through nights of *** and amphetamine
she would sway through each melody
even when the meaning was lost.
Taught me how to speak Thai in the moonlight,
left food on the handles of my motorbike
when I was too hungover
to face the day.
I have come a long way.
Travelled 6000 miles to learn
that home means anything
from a constant pleasure
to some happy accident.
That love is not pillow-talk;
it’s the rain on the windshield
that gives shelter from the storm.
That truth is not what you hope to find.
but the words that you meant;
fractions of yourself
you could never leave behind.
I have come a long way.
I have made love in enough hotel rooms
to tell you the ashes of yesterday
can be both the aftermath of a flame
you cannot replace
and the fertile ground
to change your name
and start over again.
I have come a long way.
I am still my worst enemy.
Every day is still a fight;
each moment filled with darkness
when I cannot see the light.
I have come a long way.
Stood brave in the entryway
of every opened door.
Made a toast for all the people I could be;
all of the people I have been before.
Mar 24, 2017
Mar 24, 2017 at 4:35 PM UTC
A boy, but more like everything in the galaxy excluding ordinary through the eyes of her and she thought he should be stared down congruently through everyone else's eyes too with his clever hands rendering sweet enough to drown you with the softest of all touches. But she crossed her heart and knelt on her knees every night that no one blinked a contriving eye at all the particulars that made him the fantasy he was; the downward flick on the right side of his honey colored mane, the lonely dimple that rested on the left side of his cheek that only came to life when you kissed him or told him how colorful the fireworks were when your hands accidentally touched; his opposing colored eyes that wouldn't be noticed by anyone who didn't thrive to admire every particle of his being, eyes that should cost a million bucks and the freshest breath of air ever exhaled just to be looked into once. He deserved the worlds audience of eyes, but she's glad no one looked at him but her because if they had everyone would want his every last piece and he would be so viciously gone and she's oh so greedy and needs his every last part; the broken ones, the faded, the pieces that could never balance quite right without delicately falling apart. He was a matchbox who never ceased to ignite more than just sparks.
Oct 11, 2013
Oct 11, 2013 at 1:00 AM UTC
In the urge of finding the secret of happiness
I went through every emotion of life
and asked each one of them to
guide me
lead me
to the treasure trove containing the key of joy
Well, every emotion led me to a newer zone of feelings
But one such emotion called 'sorrow' showed me the mirror
and said,
"While i was hiding behind your eye lids
forming a sea of pain coming from your heart
I could only lighten your ail by flowing down your cheeks
as precious drops
these drops contriving themselves to make as beautiful pearls
are my dear, the secret of your happiness"
Finally, my urge was laid to rest and i murmured
"Thank you Sorrow for showing me the mirror
and never come back again, as
I do not want my happiness to wither"
Mar 24, 2015
Mar 24, 2015 at 3:47 AM UTC
I am merely a poet
a writer
an igniter of fire
the designer of a prior desire to admire the harmonious choir
but quick to tire of contriving liars
as the potential buyers hold strangulation wires
about to lay me in a pile of blood soaked fliers until my life expires
and all this illusionary harmony is alarming me
stalling me in its comedy
they think they're disarming me with talks of peace and prosperity
as i hilariously smash their conspiracy theories
as i am seriously furious when i deliriously remove the sanctity from your sanctuaries
sketching lucid rhymes in obituaries as corrupted school kids watch me curiously
i see your timid hands when you approach me nervously
as i hiss cyphers murderously
while you atrociously fumble satisfactory rhymes
i miraculously summon these mumbling mimes
ducking before the holy and unholy shrines
no god but father time
laying low tumbling dimes
still ducking swine from misdemeanor crimes
making local news and the seattle times
as they run and hide with their nines
im packing verbal calibers of all kinds and splitting minds with my lines
enshrined
Jul 5, 2012
Jul 5, 2012 at 10:57 PM UTC
Static enough to wane,
my iotas oscillate out
as the last
eye
shuts to dusk.
Dew through a pellucid mind
collected in what was my body's basin;
This whispering pool
contriving my new face.
Where countenance radiates concentrically
Up, up into the Ibis' spacial noise
coalescing Tefnut's will and mine
to ecstasy
as rain.
Nov 20, 2012
Nov 20, 2012 at 8:03 PM UTC
I'm wondering now if
Tomorrow, when I wake up
I'll forget this day ever happened.
Its wake of consequence absently
Sounded in white noise voice,
Soft whispers of a great taboo.
Pathological History:
Even for Me there were nice things
Sociopath Society:
Persuaded subtle rejections of pain
How dense can conventional apparatus be?
Contriving comfortable ignorance,
An inconvenient dream.
Postured hope urgently praying for
Well behaved inevitable endings.
Oct 18, 2012
Oct 18, 2012 at 5:31 PM UTC
life is the sequel
after Mum and Dad
**** you into existence
you go on each day
busy in your sentient head
but your body is naturally
drawn to others to ****
whether you are seeking
to shoot ***** ovary-ward
or milk it toward yours
it is our primal procreation push
oh yes we are sentient beings
who are very clever in contriving
higher purpose for our existence
in denial that
we are basically here to ****
while we do crosswords
or sudokos
in between time
Sep 9, 2014
Sep 9, 2014 at 5:31 PM UTC
Friendly phone calls,
Simple voice-mails of succinct words,
Hmms and umms of hesitation and deliberation.
Speak it just so,
And listen!
Enthusiasm pours through one speaker,
And resounds on the other end.
An inquiry made by an intellect with intriguing intent.
Contriving combinations of causes for contacting
this woman of his wishful thoughts.
Today,
Happenstance brought happiness,
With a serendipitous sighting and salutation.
Tremors tiptoed across his voice,
Telling of his thrill at the encounter.
He ponders if there is reciprocation,
As she hesitates at recognition
That this could be more then friendly.
May 1, 2013
May 1, 2013 at 12:18 AM UTC
My soul is starving
With my spirit striving
And my consciousness contriving
For death's arriving
Heaven proclaims, my soul is starving
For even though faith resides aplenty
Of all else, I am barren and empty
For even though faith burns strong and brightly
My every action speaks contrary
Heaven proclaimed, my soul should starve.
I truly feel my spirit striving
For sweet surcease and release from the grind
To leave mortal limitations behind
For change or escape, no matter the kind
To rush to a fate, others feel resigned.
I truly felt my spirit strive.
Hopefully my consciousness contrives
For is not cessation of self, weakness
Silly, disregarding, childish quaintness
And it must be selfish to seek solace.
At the expense of kin's caring caress.
Hopelessly my consciousness contrived.
Now my soul has starved.
And my spirit has strived.
But no matter how much my consciousness contrived.
Peace has arrived.
Dec 24, 2009
Dec 24, 2009 at 12:04 PM UTC
In melodic jumps
Around rhythmic hoops
On pastels and colors to frame
Telling stories forever
With truth and shame
Contriving to mysticism
In tunes
Bladed by blues
Every ban on presence
Describes my point of view
I cast shadows
In melodic jumps
Around rhythmic hoops
On pastels and colors to frame
Telling stories forever
With truth and shame
My destiny is in.
Circles **** me
Round-a-bouts begin
I wait for the riddle.
Repetition saturated
I grab the middle.
Feb 8, 2010
Feb 8, 2010 at 7:48 PM UTC
On our journey together
Through turbulence
Of youth delight
A masterpiece
Forever contriving
To reignite
Sessions acrewing
Wisdom throughout
This journey
Gently tuck away
Locked deep within
Hearts guiding through
The darkest nights
For each new day
Comes sunshine
Glowing strength in love
For one another intertwined
Jan 30, 2019
Jan 30, 2019 at 1:45 PM UTC
Waiting around
I converse with myself
Climbed a tree today
Picked some bananas to sell
Or to barter
With shopkeepers
Down at the market
Compartmentalizing
The extra
To part with
Or keep to eat freely
As soon as they ripen
In but a few days
More of boring old life in
My site
Took a hike
To seek quiet,
Imagined these hills
Fulminating
In riot
If I were inciting
Rebellions
Contriving
An artifice to
See the fires
Igniting
But as the day ends
And the sun vanishes
From the scene
My passivity banishes
Any a notion
Of causing commotion
And looking for trouble
Where nothing is broken
Evoking instead
Of promoting bloodshed
In its stoking the furnace
Forged steel in my head
Mar 30, 2019
Mar 30, 2019 at 5:07 AM UTC
A glade in a wood,
gloaming in the
twilight. The scents
of nightflowers, subtle
and disturbing, contriving
to surround us in
heady confusion, as
we stumble through
paths enchanted, there,
in the shimmering
moonlight. There, as we
walk our ways, under
stars, under moon, in
the darkling gloom.
Sep 22, 2015
Sep 22, 2015 at 4:35 PM UTC
You drink milk
when all that’s served
is water and wine.
You ****** the throbbing
pulse of the night
with your contriving lips.
You dip into the
honey and you
bedizen your seat.
You leave a trail of blood
to lead you back to
where you are from.
You wink and
the world relents.
-
by Aleksander Mielnikow | Alek the Poet
Dec 19, 2019
Dec 19, 2019 at 2:39 PM UTC
I'm sorry I treated you like a project.
And I'm even more sorry,
That I didn't finish what I started.
I'm working on it.
Or I will at least.
I don't know.
That's what you want,
Right?
Jun 4, 2015
Jun 4, 2015 at 11:50 PM UTC
'What ifs' and 'why nots' why do you exist?
You’ve grown ever so cumbersome
Please cease and desist.
Your wants, no more virtuous than your promises, superfluous
Enslaved by your whims
We’d never be remiss.
Dancing in the shadows, stepping on toes
A million different reasons to watch ambitions run.
Depriving, contriving, playing with hope
Becoming the moon of a forlorn sun.
Fueling contrition, admonished shame
Created an ego unlike none
Alive beneath despondent veins
Ruining what’s left, and then some.
Your abhorrent fallacies, your coherent lies
Bending truths that seem hopelessly divine
Spurring tongues to whats and whys.
Still, silence speaks louder than the wine.
Doubt destroys everything it clings to
And therefore, so will you.
Simplify our misery into love and hate, we insist
Scribbled upon a clean slate, why do you persist?
Running short of derision for your provision
Regrets live as apparitions
Behind the veil of your cajoling voice.
Convince me that joy is merely mistaken sorrow,
That everything I’ve said up till now is hollow,
And maybe your words just won’t be errant noise.
Feb 17, 2015
Feb 17, 2015 at 4:52 AM UTC
It is said
we need protected.
A righteous (wo)man will do.
Across the sea comes fury
from them.
It is said
they need protected.
A righteous (wo)man will do.
Across the sea comes fury
from us.
All our eyes wide and waxed with water,
clutching love close and caged
while righteous men and women laugh above our heads.
Counting coins.
Contriving dread.
These are (wo)men of fear.
Jan 26, 2018
Jan 26, 2018 at 8:12 PM UTC
i.
I remember, when I was a much younger girl,
How my grandfather would hold a kopek in his hand
And, making it flutter slowly as if it were in flight
Would pantomime dropping it into a small sack,
Kicking a horseshoe or barrel stave against a rock
To approximate the sound of the coin hitting the sack,
Surreptitiously nudging the bottom of the canvas
To accentuate the deception.
We knew, of course, that it was mere sleight-of-hand
(Indeed, as he grew older and we less credulous,
It was fairly easy to pick up at what point
The small, tarnished piece was actually palmed),
But it was Grandfather, after all, and besides,
The invention was much more pleasant than the reality.
ii.
We were, naturally, prepared to die;
Indeed, if you wear a belt of explosives,
You prefer not to consider other outcomes.
It did not come to pass; there are, sadly, always spies,
Provocateurs who prefer pennies over principles,
And so I have come to this fortress to await my pas de deux
With the roughness of the rope and the kick of the lever.
But there shall be no death.
No death? they shall say, *Surely the gravity of your plight,
The strain of isolation has caused you to take leave of your senses*,
But I am as clear and constant
As the bells in the guard tower
Which toll on the quarter hour.
*Ah, but here is the judge,
Great eyebrows knit, jaw tight,
Reading, measured in tone and pace, from the paper
Which outlines the finality of your sentence*,
And I say it is no more than mere parchment,
His words the empty fulminations
Of an unconnected party.
But see here, Musechka, they will insinuate slyly,
*What of this image--the eyes bulging,
The face distorted and blue, the tongue blackened*,
And I respond that such a depiction,
Along with all prior inquiries and protests,
Are from without and, as such,
No concern of mine.
iii.
When, come sunup the day after tomorrow,
It is time for the law and justice
To finish going through the requisite motions,
I shall walk to the platform
Burdened with neither regret
Nor any notion of dying well
(Such thoughts are for priests, foppish cavalry officers)
And the soldiers that cut me down
Shall, I am sure, will be somewhat irritated with me
For they shall have seen I have, in a sense,
Engineered my own exit,
And that it was a trick
Which they played no part in contriving.
Feb 17, 2017
Feb 17, 2017 at 11:28 AM UTC
Like me, you entice
with sensuous-words,
contriving them
in a manner
to scintillate the senses
& the effect is positive.
Following
your sexy-verses,
word by word,
line by line,
makes things hard
to imagine them
any other way,
the way you like them,
like me.
Jan 20, 2014
Jan 20, 2014 at 2:05 PM UTC
One of the most interesting thoughts that crosses through my mind
Is am I overthinking everything to the max, or am I acting blind
Early morning, driving
Music on blast, thriving
Mind starts to wander, conniving
Nonsense thoughts, depriving
Worst outcomes, contriving
what if someone blasts through an intersection
what if i look up and im in a ditch
what if my breaks dont work
what if i crashed and no one noticed
Quick back to reality, swerve and drift
Turn the corner, random Jeep in the brush
Breaks gave out, gave me such a rush
In the trees, barely visible.
Tow truck in the road, not dismiss-able.
Real question is was my mind warning
Preventing a possible mourning
Or was my anxiety doing its diligence
Creating multiple coincidences
Or does it not even matter
And my overthinking is making it's own chatter
Jun 30, 2019
Jun 30, 2019 at 2:45 AM UTC
the haunting of your melody
hidden deep down in bonds beyond contriving
sings in the hearts of children
Jul 23, 2014
Jul 23, 2014 at 4:16 PM UTC