"conventionally" poems
the young egoist licks a blunt blade in the wall
until his tongue bleeds, to feel, yes to feel, feel anything
in these fettid depths where splinters of light
find themselves lost in the subterranean gloom
of his bedroom
where on occasion when it presents itself
listens to grotesques, yes listens with an ear
a plain nasty and unfeeling ear
yet it listens without any phoney, putrid arty language
he hears old irregular clocks
feels the smells under the ground
drinks unquenchable angers
citing their antique tonal ability
to create magic words out of rain and mist
then screaming his voice starts oozing and undulating
creeping through these slow subterranean pampas
compressing and expanding themselves never and at once
he believes it is an unsafe place of frighteningly sincere dangers
then thinks is danger a place, licks the blunt blade in the wall
for even in this desperation
it makes him happy when his tongue bleeds
he tries to perfect conventionally generous impulses
the spit of dreams, his dreams as he dons his mask
his mask of foolscap to write a poem
then encounters angel-devils and demons
who he has the power to deceive
and thinks to himself as he licks
the blunt blade in the wall
finish it, finish it
then realizes it's unfinishable
Oct 6, 2013
Oct 6, 2013 at 7:18 PM UTC
A timely observation; complacently inscribed,
finding truth in aberration and restitution in denial.
So long conversely spoken, unmentioned but believed:
to live without intention and die conventionally.
With wide consideration, the bearer must unload
a prideful commendation: what glory in control!
Internally awoken, vehemently believed:
to live without conventions and die intentionally
Oct 16, 2013
Oct 16, 2013 at 7:56 PM UTC
The reason on this trip we came
was to forget about superficial dames
chasing money and fame
Our senses piercing through the veils of reality
stuck in a vortex of time and perpetuality
questioning the true nature of reality.
Seeing things for more than what they seem
like how rain resembles life’s intricate themes
and our union, God’s great schemes
Forget the scientific name
and what love looks like conventionally
for LSD means love, serendipity, and dreams
Sep 29, 2016
Sep 29, 2016 at 5:32 PM UTC
if we would've met at 16 our lives as teenagers would've been worlds different. we'd meet in the parking lot after school and we'd drive for a little, then hotbox in front of the pacific ocean. i'd play you all the stuff that i played on my weekly radio show and i'd ***** to you about how i was done with the world and every single lululemon wearing, frozen mocha drinking girl who thought i was inferior to her because i wasn't conventionally pretty, listened to anti-establishment punk rock of the 1970s and refused to straighten my hair even if my curls wouldn't quit that day.
i didn't know you four years ago. you were the exact opposite of me, and honestly you probably would have avoided me - you put gel in your hair and you played sports, but you seemed like you might've been angry and sad for no apparent reason too. you were the same as you are now in some ways, you had the 24/7 off-duty model thing, you were smart, you bumped old school tunes, you knew old school sitcoms. i would've 100% been in love with you but i never would have done anything about it. all i wanted was someone that i could tell everything to, but nobody cared. knowing you could have eased the pain of the period of time in my life where i spent all my money on dime bags and twelve dollar packs of cigarettes and stability was the last thing on my mind and all i really wanted to do was dig a grave for myself. you probably would have never talked to me, but we would have been the coolest kids in the parking lot.
and can i tell you like, the cheesiest sounding thing in the world? yeah? okay. i can't wait to run into you on a beach on the north shore of kauai in 50 years. "shawshank redemption" style. i hope we're friends forever.
Mar 8, 2018
Mar 8, 2018 at 2:35 PM UTC
I'll always hold you, when you feel down
I'll cheer you up, to defeat that frown.
I'll always care for you, when sickness settles
I'll bring you flowers, with the prettiest of petals.
I'll always make you laugh, when you're in need
I'm extremely crazy, that can be agreed...
I'll always stumble my words, when you get me going
because I have so much to lose, this is me knowing.
I'll always act like a dork, even unintentionally
this is just me behaving conventionally
I'll always write silly little poems, that aren't even good
because I'm trying to impress you, just so I could.
I'll always love you, with unconditional love
for I believe we fit perfectly like a glove.
I'll always be around, to love you with my all
and I'm very sorry when I drop the ball.
I'll always love you, because you're perfect for me.
I'm not the greatest person, but please don't flee.
I'll always look back and ask "How I got you?"
A perfect lady so sweet, looks **** in blue.
I'll always remember you when you aren't around
because I am missing you, and always proud.
I'll always look at you with fire in my eyes
the passion burns as my heartbeat begins to rise.
I'll always be sad, if you were to leave
for I could not handle all of the grieve.
I'll always love you for who you are
because you are definitely the brightest star.
Feb 7, 2017
Feb 7, 2017 at 2:04 PM UTC
another ten thousand microwaved meals hit the sewer system
twice as fast as conventionally cooked food(this could be a fact)
poems the microwaved speech of poets hit the streets
ignored by the swirling masses catching trains and busses
on their way to somewhere else to escape what they cannot
fast food for fast lives fed on the go, forever on the go
wrapped in the verses of poets, disposable love songs
digesting molecules micro organisms to a shared sewer
running thick and stinking just beneath their feet.
Jan 17, 2017
Jan 17, 2017 at 2:52 PM UTC
i am not a man
--conventionally, one considers me as one;
for many purposes
i am a man--
at long last as a 'compliment'
; as a stoic ideal
; or as pejorative
; as body.
but i am not conventional:
i am not a man
Oct 14, 2015
Oct 14, 2015 at 6:25 PM UTC
I once met a girl in Paris, a local
She accidentally brushed the injury on my elbow.
When I looked threateningly, all she did was smile
She was beautiful, that girl
And not in the way that beauty is conventionally defined.
She did not have full lips or arched brows or rounded *******
She was skinny and pale and her cheeks were hollow.
She was beautiful.
Her smile was beautiful.
In the way that lovers hold hands
In the way the first rains dampen the earth
In the way the sun sets in the orange sky
She was beautiful.
Her smile was beautiful.
Its been four years that I've met her and I still find myself writing poems about the way she smiled
Sep 15, 2014
Sep 15, 2014 at 9:27 AM UTC
please tell me i’m beautiful
just once, in any language, and i can carry it with me
i can carry it with me in the lines of my hand
that once pushed paper with a beautiful man
conventionally beautiful. there’s no interpretation.
you’re a mother-in-law’s dream and a teen sensation
—-
please tell me your secrets
just one of them, in any language, and i can carry it with me
i can carry it with me in the back of my mind
remembering dress shirts and forearms and nickles and dimes
i’ll guard the gate as you send me to sleep
with tall tales of the shamans, your spirit i will keep
—-
please pray for me
just a prayer, in any language, and i can carry it with me
i can carry it with me in the valves of my heart
stained with india ink and dynasty art
my christianity is calligraphed in confusion and sin
stand at my threshold. let me color you in.
—-
i want you more than currency can borrow
i want you more than i want tomorrow
but not with the linen on the bed.
only the libretto inside your head
of montana roads, memos hidden on the run,
and doorknobs shining like the sun
Jan 22, 2015
Jan 22, 2015 at 3:47 PM UTC
Compared to a lot of things around me.
I come from a different world, a world within their world.
A third world.
I come from struggles
From contentment
Wonky neighbors, communities, and families.
I’m a result of conflicts.
Of trivial desires and strong feelings.
Of a moment.
I originate from peaceful sights on Golden Beach
From bustling streets with peculiar smells
Sweltering summers and rain invested winters
I originate from Red, White and Blue.
From the lone star.
I am the effect of hard work.
Of a fighter
A single mother.
The repercussion of strict rules.
Respect branded in me
Obedience molds my body.
I am an original stereotype, insanely mindful.
I strive to forge new roads.
I am conventionally unconventional
I walk the unpaved jungle lighting my own way.
No matter where I go
There’s one thing I’ll always for sure know
I come from a different world.
A world within their world, a third world.
I will always have arms to return.
A culture that is my own.
A sense of self that is me.
Jun 27, 2017
Jun 27, 2017 at 8:26 PM UTC
We were sitting on the swings
when you looked at me
and you whispered my name to yourself.
When you sat beside me
I could hear your heartbeat
and you told me the beating was a song.
I listened conventionally
to the drumming in your chest.
You pressed your lips on mine,
but we were too young
to know how to move our mouths.
So, we sat there
with our lips
pushed against our faces.
You fell and scratched your knees,
and you blamed it on me.
I ran cause I was much too weak.
But, I can still hear the sound
of the beating song
when I let other boys push their lips against mine.
Sep 18, 2012
Sep 18, 2012 at 4:50 PM UTC
Reclining ****
For a scribbler in that art magazine
“…bodiless heads, green horses and violet grass,
seaweed, shells and funguses...conventionally
arranged in the manner of Dali.”
-Evelyn Waugh, Put Out More Flags, pp. 31-32
Making messes is but poor huswifery
Tie-dyeing creativity into
A finger-painting school of assemblage
Asymbol’d: “Reclining **** with Pet Frog”
In praise of working people and, like, stuff -
Your comrade cleaners whom you claim to love
Could tell you what a simp you are. They won’t
Because they need their jobs, dear precious ****
So, disappear your selfies into your ‘phone -
The 1960’s are over and gone
Oct 4, 2019
Oct 4, 2019 at 3:46 PM UTC
She was always concealed
in the graceful mystery
of the way that she carried herself
Seldom found conventionally attractive
but ultimately possessing the unrivaled beauty
one only realizes
when dreams of a one way hurt
come crashing into their reality
and scatter that
subtle something about her
that they will never get back
Jan 10, 2017
Jan 10, 2017 at 2:08 PM UTC
You Never Know
You never know
What phrase will take you
To a place – what shall we call it:
Your mentality,
The frontal lobe,
The hippocampus,
Heart or soul?
It’s hard to say in words & sentences
Conventionally milked, been said,
And you don’t want to be a part of it:
The hackneyed, trite, cliché, banal -
Repeating news old hat and stale.
You have the need to speak anew,
Speak up in ways that freshen,
And you never know what sparks a notion,
Crumb, soupçon, a healing potion
(oxymoron opportune).
What matters is that it,
It comforts by the letting out,
The routing out
Concealed crypts of knowledge.
You Never Know 8.20.2017
The Processes: Creative, Thinking, Meditative II; Revelations Big & Small;
Arlene Corwin
Aug 20, 2017
Aug 20, 2017 at 8:59 AM UTC
the state or quality of conforming to conventionally accepted standards of behavior or morals.
zero to self esteem
numbers left at home
street signs missin
new car smell cologn
therapy an white pills will take care of me
i am a mess when driving and drunk hysterically (now drive)
im squinting more then your hearts cry
while private ryans sipping and riding the bike
not from the movies but only our ride of life
its tragic to see someone leaving this fight
trowel waving in the ring while im dying with pride
**** this inheritance ill be lucky to make it to 25
3rd street and feeling the heat
creep through sleep cuz my eyes
they barely catch peeks of the lids that shut from the kids
that run there mouths too much im a different chapter
spoken in dutch
or smoking a ducth
what way will let me feel new
a town that grew and surrounds our faith body and rules
the state or quality of conforming to conventionally accepted standards of behavior or morals.
Aug 17, 2014
Aug 17, 2014 at 7:41 PM UTC
It’s easy to feel beautiful
When you look conventionally attractive
So how does one feel beautiful
When they don’t fit the narrative
Sep 19, 2021
Sep 19, 2021 at 4:51 PM UTC
the rat is belly-up in my hands. breathing is hard due to the plastic vat of formaldehyde-drenched vermin on the desk next to me.
seeing guts open on the table is reminiscent of lying skinless on my heavy bed, organs wet and bloodless inside my body cavity.
combing through the rat, i find i'm peeling back my own painless ribcage, tasting defeat in my own clawed fingers.
it's like selling the fur off my body for the sake of extra credit points, tossing my own torn-up skeleton
into landfill, flopped belly-up below blue plastic gloves and bits of my own drained flesh.
seeing the divide between gory body and vague fishbowl conscience is so much
stickier than i ever would have imagined;
my arms are covered in it,
the ends of my hair drip
with stomach acid. the bisection
of my own blue heart exists tangible in my live shaky hands,
the coil of my intestines curled helpless
in my poxy palms.
how ugly, to dissect for commodity! how ugly, to dissect for the sake of distance, the sake of false superiority over animals that twitch!
how strange to rip my own body open, how repulsive to lie suffering under the cast of my own disease-ridden hands!
Jun 13, 2018
Jun 13, 2018 at 1:51 AM UTC
I’m not conventionally nice.
I don’t throw glitter in smiles and love by eyes
I don’t ask if you need help, because I know you don’t
I know I’m not conventionally nice
But I will ask you how your day was and what troubles your brain at night
I will let you talk about what keeps your eyes glistening and what allows your smile to last
I will let you hold my hand as you go through unbearable times
But I’m not conventionally nice
I will love you and when I do, I’ll never stop not because I’m nice
But because if I’m committed to you heart, I’ll forever remain committed
You can’t expect me to seem the sweetest, because I will disappoint you
But you can expect little notes of poetry and small love letters
I’ll will always remind you to eat and sleep well
And I’ll always tell you when something isn’t good for you
Because even if I’m not conventionally nice
I’m full of love and life for you
Nov 26, 2020
Nov 26, 2020 at 12:13 PM UTC
this year I learned that people will call you beautiful yet will never hold you together once the stitches fall out of place,
applaud you for being so **** strong
and that's all they will do, sit in the sidelines, marvel at the way you take every blow,every cut,every burn
maybe you really are just another exhibit for lost souls
months have slipped from my grasp,all that it taught me is you will be adored for your ability to find sanctuary in your solitude,everyone too oblivious to notice maybe there are layers to peel,there is a glass to break,there are barriers to crush
remember the stories you told, how they treated your words as gospel but sin against your name,stain your pages recklessly aware that guilt and hurt could be cleansed with forgiveness
someone will admire the spaces between your fingers yet will never fill them, look into your eyes to compliment them but not enough to see you
and maybe you sang them a lullaby, whisk them away to sleep that will take away the ache in their souls
however, not everyone stays like you,they will wake up and chase their real dreams—which you were never a part of
maybe you painted away all the silver clouds in their skies
maybe you wove warmth and comfort on their sleeves while yours were just tattered and torn
you will be told that you are not alone
you are loved,you are wanted
you don't have to be on your own
you are the best ******* friend in the whole ******* world
you matter
but you really don't
since words are just words
their power I could easily dilute
break them down to what they really are:
reflections of the beings that utter them
that is it, sums all of it up
happy ******* birthday
happy ******* new year
I hope you live a long,happy life
I hope you don't spend sleepless nights,asking over and over again why it hurts the way it does
when all you wanted to feel,all you wanted to do this year is know how it feels to be truly loved, not just for the sake of the things that make you who they think you are
I do not want to be beautiful nor graceful
I do not want to be strong, conventionally admirable
I do not desire to be smart,to be the good daughter
I do not wish to master any of her art
I do not long for her traits that makes you want to hold her
I do not ******* want your compliments,I have no ******* need for your encouragement, there is no room in my heart for your good words
- W.
Dec 30, 2017
Dec 30, 2017 at 10:59 AM UTC
She was beautiful
not conventionally so,
sort of lopsided
big ears
blue hair,
but
I want you to know
she was beautiful.
On a parquet floor
(waxed)
behind her closed door,
she would dance
like
Anna Pavlova.
Things being as they were
she had no one
to watch her
no one
to share in her beauty.
Ah,
but I'd watch her
aware of her
wanted her
reached out to touch her,
not much there to hold
anymore.
It was Summer a long time ago and
much more have been since and gone
she lives on,
on the floor
dancing some more
and I watch
as I did so
many times
so
many times
before.
May 12, 2016
May 12, 2016 at 4:12 PM UTC