"convoluting" poems
She labors to smile,
irony draws lines
on her embittered face,
thick dark iron bars,
temporarily cage pain;
yet the risk
the two run is toxic.
soon they 'd have to face it,
unmistakable indications reveal,
her velvet voice over the phone,
conjured up an image,
drastically different,
a sadness now faintly asks
his permission to spread quickly,
confused he postpones, buying time.
guilt, a shaggy, smelly, hound
suspicion, its dominant trait,
lurks sniffing around,
the table they mutely sit,
like prisoners of unburied past
convoluting the plot,
by playing ***** tricks.
the air thickens
chocking both,
the haunt leers, licks its paws in glee
what is its intention?
"You look more or less
like him, my former lover-
I try to erase from memory
by every which way possible,
sorry about that, but i can't help it,
he traded in pain of many kinds
ingeniously, nothing else he did"
she shoots from the hip.
memory of an evil genius
was quickly resurrected by him
from the assortment of stereotypes,
vision of caravans transporting
gun powder kegs of bad memories, flashed
he had a match stick handy.
soon, everything exploded to culminate;
darkness devoured all, breaking limits.
caravans slog towards horizon, one after other still.
Jan 24, 2014
Jan 24, 2014 at 9:26 AM UTC
Oh there is a ball in my stomach
a tight knot of anxious confusion.
It circulates and undulates
dilates and twists
throbs
grows...
absorbing my life's energy.
"Let it free and watch it"
It emerges from my stomach...
the twisting blue-black mass
convoluting, churning
in the space in front
…and in a moment it dissolves…
My mind is clear
the rain falls gently outside
almost like snow...
Moving with the gentle breeze...
What power in coming into awareness,
Into relationship with
those things which pain me.
Feb 17, 2023
Feb 17, 2023 at 7:15 AM UTC
The trees sway soothingly
Dancing about to silent music.
You can almost feel the static.
The vibrations in the air.
Wrapping its distant arms around every sense present.
what an intriguing notion.
Laughing at nothing.
Crying.
As the imaginary knife slides into flesh.
Deeper.
What a distraut wind to be stumbled upon.
Pushing everything further away.
Without thought.
Nor care..
With the flavor of blood convoluting the atmosphere.
Does it begin to make sense.
Tare and wilt.
Each leaf does know.
For the new season is upon us.
Ready to waste.
Another melodic year.
Jan 28, 2016
Jan 28, 2016 at 1:01 PM UTC
Thought catalyzed by stimulus.
A change in electrical impulses which burst and branch from outstretched, pink-tipped fingers.
Signal which travels thousands of multifaceted miles that curl and weave amongst themselves as highways of
Impulse.
Nerves act as roads that facilitate reaction.
Conception born from vibrations, undulating and deepened waves.
Concept begot from color gradients.
Cones, rods, and darkness absorb light into their small oblivion.
Each detecting.
Reflection and refraction of pure white—
Energy
Electrical signals, as firecrackers, flicker and ignite a flame within the mind,
The cytoplasmic, grey mass.
A paradoxical recognition of self.
Beings of electrical processes and mechanics.
The subconscious acts as a blueprint in its seemingly endless convoluting of chemical coding.
Consciousness spirals out to the depths within what is unknown,
A place with no agenda and no aspiration.
Until the mind recoils back to the comforting space which encompasses the forefront of one’s faintly
Surfacing thoughts.
Mar 1, 2015
Mar 1, 2015 at 12:46 AM UTC
The synapses have been coagulating
Not stopping
Convoluting
Insanely stretching
Misconstruing
The neurons movements inhibiting
Receding
Freezing
Burning
Silently screaming
Not standing
But fleeing
Already caught
Pleading
To itself...
An intemperate sword strikes
Not once, nor twice
But strikes ever so endlessly
Not merely metal but freezing ice
Burning bright
Filled with conflicting atoms
Each atom appearing small and identical
And yet so volatile
Once the other is brought to the other's presence...
The heart sits in it's seat
At the centre
Watching and yet
Suffering the pain
Begging for balance
And yet
Also understanding each
Being struck repeatedly
Without a sound...
Two atoms meet.
Opposing each other,
They compete.
To occupy the space,
They must defeat,
In order to hold victory
And overlay deceit.
And in their wake
They left behind destruction.
Just as wars leave destruction,
So do conflicting perceptions...
Oct 14, 2016
Oct 14, 2016 at 7:53 AM UTC
Fiery expressions beckon to the lover,
Churning oceans lost within his eyes.
Wrapping him in vines, to pull upon his heart,
Convoluting lines that kept their lives apart.
Burning cheeks that call out to their beauty,
Sirens to his love upon the waves.
Opening his iris to the sunlight,
Blooming forth, his pupils seem to ignite.
Flame tipped tongue she tipped towards the lover,
Raindrops flung against her open touch.
Overtaken with the bowing petals,
Not confusion stuck between the metals.
Still her eyes get larger and get hotter,
Still her boiling liquid yearns for touch.
Only if the roots could feel the beating,
If not for the lovely veins retreating.
Feb 23, 2011
Feb 23, 2011 at 3:34 PM UTC
Have you ever felt so distant
You just couldn't connect
Lethargic and emotionally inept
In Financial and moral debt
So to me to welcome death
Would be like I over slept
Theyre called nightmares when asleep but awake it's called regrets
So it's hard not to be depressed
stressed wonderin if my birth today
Made a difference or am I just a spec of dust under trumps toupee
left with nothing deep to say
No courage found to encourage me
to the world im just a villager a 3rd
Worlder, cuz life Honduras'd me
humbled me, it's humbling,
but still I fail to be artistic
Being a human full of temptation
Still erroneously narcissistic
Convoluting what's simplistic
And wanting, to want, so filled
Of **** As the void shifts to over flow the emptiness til unfulfilled
Am I, a contradiction, like I con with diction, as my description
Paints poetic, how pathetic, like **** smelling cologne my depiction
Will still smell like a pool of stool
Can't justify bein my flaws, victim,
When really the fault of addiction
Is self inflicted a decision
Welcoming, compulsory prison
But I rather insult your intelligence
By making *** ups sound elegant
But the truth is there less Eloquent
So every room I enter the elephant
Is an element like it's on salary
That I feed with **** talk like I lead
As the Head of the peanut gallery
Who feeds religiously, hourly
Like bush wit twin towers I grieve it
In pain by its tragedy, but in secret
I Caused but sadly they believe it
When I lie to myself and others and do it Much, I forget what's true
And hoping you'll be less like me
... Is why I confess this to you ....
May 2, 2016
May 2, 2016 at 2:11 AM UTC
Your moped.
disgusts me
Sometimes you take the 271 bus- passed, remorseless
You horrify me. Disgusting
Your nasal voice is your fault
You take computing while I'm convoluting
Over thoughts
Why couldn't I take computing
I saw a homeless man outside CIDA
I saw a homeless man outside CIDA
Why couldn't I be the homeless man outside CIDA
Your moped
Your lies
You disgust me, Liam.
Apr 30, 2015
Apr 30, 2015 at 3:35 AM UTC
Convulsing Pleasures
My woman passed me by
Some years now
Years ago, yes
I suppose
I believe in the wilderness she lived through
Winds that haunted her explicitly
Insisting on delivering anguishing pains
Somehow, un-nurtured, unrestrained
Exactly as her will, lust and flesh were
Well, for me, I - unbelieving - saw it too
Wherein threats threaded their fearsome paths
Gathering ever mightier forces
And exploding within all her convoluting
And yet expanding endlessly passions
Within violent quivers and contortions unseen
In God’s history
In one finale crescendo, I swear
Fearful, it can be to you
But fear not, I say
Fear her not
For, you know naught of her carnal resilience inner
Triumphs savagely over her entirety and existence
And what then
Will you think as you behold
What then will you dare to relate unto unknowing others
Will you, can relate on her
Her pleasurable gasps of madness
Her convulsing, frenzied satanic sublime ecstacies
What, then, can you dare say unto people
I know
Nothing
Perhaps
Little, or else
Insane fugitives, eternal
We too shall
Forever be
Apr 13, 2015
Apr 13, 2015 at 5:45 AM UTC
Another ***** piece of **** believe he can in rap,
Writing as convoluting lines as rivers on the map,
About white oppression, ebony **********
Or is it vice versa? Oh, and don’t forget the cursing;
But I can’t, I simply can’t stand for my land
Or fend for myself
Without a hand of a true friend
Imma man, without a gun in his hand
So when they knocking at my door
all I can is scream « **** »;
So everything what’s left to me is to blend
Till my ascension, where will be no aggravation,
Hesitation, ‘bout whether it’s right or wrong to be against your nation
If you see her burning to the smold’ring ashes?
Apr 27, 2020
Apr 27, 2020 at 5:46 AM UTC
Small hands with its deep small palm lines
Watching you grow
Inside out
Small hands as in the womb they first folded
Small hopes, small fists
I watched you grew up, you watched me grew
Small hands, layers of fat
Lines perfectly aligned, perfectly etched
When the soul inside felt too big for the body
When the soul inside wanted to break free
When the soul inside wanted to cover the whole world in its palms
Within the small hands,
that's what the soul inside thought
Small hands fine wrinkles
Find solace in moistures
In the midsts of convoluting mist of daily life
You watched me grew up, when did you grew up?
Small hands,
'til you find another ones to hold,
going through every single wrinkle fold...
I'll hold you up
Jun 10, 2018
Jun 10, 2018 at 3:33 AM UTC
I'm not always good to her
but she's always there for me
I pour my wretches into her white
and she just takes it
without flinching
I only come to her when it suits me
because sometimes it's just
so hard
sometimes there's just
too much to say
I don't know where to start
and it gets so loud
convoluting in minor keys
I leave her behind
because she knows
I can't lie
she ***** the truth
right out of me
I can't smile and nod
glaze over as disconnect severs
the feelings I'm fleeing
so I avoid the conversations
that are dying to get out of me
but it's just so hard
to say some things
even when you know
after there will be relief
and weights tied will unbind
and release
and you may yet float
and breathe
so thank you, P
for giving all the unsayable things
air and wings
Sep 28, 2017
Sep 28, 2017 at 8:31 PM UTC
Messy and unforgiving,
the convulsions of life.
Breathing life in through limbs outstretched.
Waiting for the savior,
convoluting realities.
Past and present are in the waiting room,
thoughts and feelings untethered.
Patience forgotten,
the doctor long gone.
Oct 25, 2014
Oct 25, 2014 at 3:39 AM UTC
I tell my sister that reading makes you psychic
I tell her that reading gives you the same clairvoyance that French Quarter fortune tellers get from reading tarot cards
She asks me how
She is a skeptic and she demands to see the author
I tell her publishing dates are lies and that the past and the future consort like elusive lovers, and literature is their unfortunate paparazzi
That is the truth;
the past only the past in calendars and we are obliged to imitate it
again
and again
Books simplify by complicating,
convoluting their intent into distilled metaphors,
paradoxes
so you’re forced to read with your intuition
you’re forced to feel
Reading dissolves your physical body
it exposes the simple intricacy of humanity’s interactions:
conflicts
relationships
loves
hates
triumphs
failure
reading lets us hear the single pulse that ties humanity
past and present, far and near
into one body
Reading bestows upon us a profound sense of insight into ourselves and the world we inhabit
Sep 9, 2016
Sep 9, 2016 at 11:47 AM UTC
in a memoir of contemporaries,
of trite and clichè
polluting a stream of profound musings,
of forgotten music and hymns
of convoluting expressions,
of white noise and hissing frequencies,
an audible noise as cold as the breeze:
a humming sound that puts the world at ease
Mar 26, 2018
Mar 26, 2018 at 8:16 PM UTC