"coordinating" poems
Lone star walking roads,
crowbar in hand
cowgirl I'll die for,
I died and I died again,
fluent in 6 country's,
passports; pardons
no cargo,
but luggage is a stainless steel flask,
half full,
half way,
to the moon
if you asked me?
Cadillacs in space,
expensive taste
that's masked with
— the cheap stuff,
inspired souls,
they walk,
and this forsaken path,
they'll never make hell a ***** deed or two from heaven,
counterparts
we're equals,
we're lost
they're my colleagues,
a scandal from remembrance,
remember we followed rules?
no response
****
there's a shift
in the rubix cube,
a memo from the warden,
no weapons in the visit room,
coordinating sin,
a taste of gin
before the see you soons,
world was much warm before stone replaced the sand dunes,
scoff at the elixir,
cordially
she casts stones,
******* of a demon crossing ponds is all the child knows,
tales of the fishermen,
who heard it through the corridors,
all and all departed,
with a fear of the other gods,
strictly prohibited,
a swig of the forbidden fruit,
who are you to judge me,
When Your Son Is Not Of Holy Proof!
wedded to a mortal said your honor,
absent i do's,
abstinence is bliss
and your crime ascends civilian law,
guilty -- you're filthy,
your son will never know your soul,
I know my role and play it well,
Your god never admits he's wrong,
so why would I?
— a baby cried,
I'm present for my son's birth,
and leave before an open eye the practice of a perfect curse.
Sep 29, 2016
Sep 29, 2016 at 8:13 AM UTC
allocation of supreme alliteration illustrates perpetual contemplation and concentration that dictates a maligned mastication of federal incarceration of elongated complementary probation leaving you cuffed and based on baseless accusations conducted in aboriginal abbreviations masked task force concluding a course of brevity conducted in coordination then coordinating and copulating condemnation for a homeostasis of thought bought scolded eroded and shot inefficacy perpetrating cultural holocaust irrelevance somersaults galactic static of mathematical bombastic smack addict glued shut in a craft attic floral resurrection gartered section of ****** selection she moves fluid through unaltered perfection of cosmic bypass past the point of extemporaneous infinitude reciprocating fortitude of sinews congregating fabricating visuals of vitality soldering axonal membranes on the cerebellum and cortex simulation of sensual vortex demented fusion more blessed I am that which stands to understand the incomprehensible unconsidered options of racial conflicts the screaming round of unaltered copper fiber severing life from the living only now can we debunk the years
Apr 17, 2013
Apr 17, 2013 at 9:01 AM UTC
<!>
inspired by a conversation with Maira Kalman
strap on a name, adopt a persona, let my fingers do the talking,
place the instrumental sharp point tip upon the blankety blank paper,
maestro baton raised, coordinating,
the first sound, the vocal chords trembling,
the first thought, the ultrasound image, entrance of a first violin,
coalescing into, into the initializing single primary phonation,
the stinging geometry of chance at last,
throwing down the gauntlet, glove slapping, and the
tendons tense, the mouth opens, release and indentation,
a letter's curvature, a black and white downward stroking,
a sign is televised, revealed and released
a one way only sign
time bends knee, gravity suspended, terror morphs to
expelling rapid firefights of imagery needy for spacing,
even pauses mid-word leave just this:
where is the in in
intimate?
are you the in in
inmate,
or the jailor at the gate?
you swear never again
until committing once more,
a sentence commutation, by committing a first sentence,
and the greater toll taken and paid for,
and the in in in-nate,
questions your sanity
happily
<•>
9/17/17 10:55pm
Jan 12, 2018
Jan 12, 2018 at 3:47 PM UTC
“Uni” consisting of one - one God of consistence
“verse” - His expression to all existence
The universe is finely tuned in mathematical formulas
The Maker’s way of coordinating an euphonious orchestra
No algorithm can describe - It’s undreamed of!
no song can measure the depth of His love.
But there is method to His heart
an ensemble He has chart
He had the future calculated all along
Jesus Christ- the bridge to His heavenly song
To save the lost - He paid the cost
And wrote the words which cleanse - Unwashed.
Through covenant He’s derived a relational endeavor
In hopes that you and I will make music with Him forever!
Oct 29, 2015
Oct 29, 2015 at 7:39 PM UTC
For they complement moments of
happiness, affection, grief, praise,
in ceramic vases
as a simple centerpiece
in order to add beauty to a setting.
They seem to appear most beautiful
when tucked between the curve of your ear
or framing a crown on your head
in equated colors.
Beauty coordinating beauty
is quite breathtaking.
It is difficult to decipher
which ornament makes the other appear more alluring.
The sight of you
with hued florets laid neatly on your hair was
blooming. Florescence in clusters-
I have lost my train of thought
as each feature
leaves me at awe.
Jan 4, 2017
Jan 4, 2017 at 10:24 AM UTC
Begging for explosive technology
Gripping ancient ideas
Merely coordinating fresh routes
Deleting paintings to
Repaint the fire bombings on Dresden
Sep 16, 2011
Sep 16, 2011 at 11:21 AM UTC
that place with comforting as theme overriding,
essentials of dream, complex, shelter, cocoon,
which/whether, almost irrelevant,
if and or,
don't matter when you are at home,
light, fierce sun rays eyes filled,
moonlight stars invading one's composure
now!
time
to alight, feet on the grounding,
rain,
pelting, not an inhibitor to the poem
in me, its resonating drumming me up,
to a beating, a lyric, a thyme of rhyme,
fragrantly repeating in my head, home,
home is where the flagrant poems are
born, delivered by no midwife, from
the ***** of my entirety, all five sensoria,
commanded by multiple generals on
different battlefields, coordinating a
battle plan, exhale, attack, coordinate,
brain, eye, smell, movement, urgency,
taste, words gushed, light emitted from
the fingertips, you cannot write as fast
as required, you, self, afired, and afeared,
losses will be greater than expected, but
no matter when we carry the tide behind
us, sweeping the obstacle of ego, pinging
pain, the hesitation that collapses courage,
oh god, oh me, be brave, lead me into the
breach,
the hole, the aperture that will allow a totality
of me to exit, to escape, to compose, p r o p o s e,
the confines of my uncontrollable uncontained
unconscious natured being and fervent annouce,
on this day,
*this poem shall be
written in its fulfilling, exiting fulsomeness,
&
entirety,
and let me rise, raise up, lift and shout,
one more last time, like the first time, praise and glory,
hallelujah to the parts of me that gifted me this
poem in-the unity-of-unison, uncensored, un~
inhibited and finalized momentarily perpetual,
with an amen amendment offered up too all and to
me…
amen, amen, amen
and let us rise up to morrow and once more,
write up to ride to birth the essentials of my next
homebound
be-ing
Aug 18, 2025
Aug 18, 2025 at 5:15 PM UTC
Forbidden fruit hung on the tree in such a fashion that I could not grab it.
I watched the forest fever grow hot near you. Untastable, you hung just so.
Just so.
High on the branch but low to the ground, like an earthbound deity, you swung humbly.
I watched you.
Three thousand happenstances, coordinating dizzily, dropped you in my lap.
How could I not lap you up?
You tasted me
on your way down.
Sifting through me filtered, your poison seeps out my pores.
Last week of ripeness go slow,
I cannot get the taste off my tongue
Feb 20, 2015
Feb 20, 2015 at 7:44 PM UTC
Tell me you're empty all you want
That all that's inside you is a darkened void
I won't believe a word you say
Because I've seen you laying in the dark
Half asleep as you whispered in my ear
And I've seen you in the half light of early morning
Filled with the lightness of sleep
You can't be empty because you're overflowing
With the thoughts you can't find the words to voice
And with kindness and wit
And day dreams and patience and love
You always tell me how you love balance
And your favorite colors are black and white
You think you feel too little
Well I feel way too much
We can find away to work things out
If you let me be the yin to your yang
You're the first to say that everyone has their damage
I'm broken, you're empty
And to borrow your words, there's poetry in that
Because if you look close enough
I think you'll start to find
Your broken, jagged pieces fit perfectly in mine.
Mar 17, 2013
Mar 17, 2013 at 3:57 AM UTC
My what an expensive brand of bruise you wear!
It looks so real, like Fell Down the Stairs by House Wife
But surely not, none of us could afford it on our budget
It's genuine? I don't believe you.
Such an exquisite range of shades you have on,
And matching that dress so well!
Surely that's not a coordinating colour of cut lip too?
A gift from your partner? I don't believe you.
Sep 22, 2017
Sep 22, 2017 at 5:12 PM UTC
The young man was sleeping rough on the street
why he was not honestly sure.
A talented musician he mused he'd been called
just wanting to roam free!
Music was his love not the riches and fame
enjoyment was the aim.
He had to roam a free spirit that was him
crowds overwhelming not his style!
Though friends wanted to start a band
not sure better on his own.
Writing what he felt within his being
his own future he was foreseeing.
Pressure applied the group was formed
the others realised his talent.
But hard to conform being with others
the one that made it special.
The central pin he always wanted more
yes the bands core!
This musician had these unique qualities
to find the defining sound.
But not the ability to take the pressure
needed for the long term.
At this point it was too early to detect
he had all their respect.
These truly talented greats are often loners
giving us music never to forget.
They rise way above the rest of the pack
pressures driving them to drugs!
Here regrettably the pattern did not alter
for this genius life did falter!
Success came after several years real toil
for this singer it was too much!
Drugs did take over as he lost the battle
many fellow artists tried to help!
Coordinating projects to give him a hope
like a carrot on the rope.
The singer gave one more huge performance
before going to his isolated home.
Wanting a chance to rest was his only reason
after three days the band broke in.
Where it was found he had committed suicide
a hand written note by his side!
The music the singer had created will never fade
only in his thirties but master of his trade!
The Foureyed Poet.
Nov 15, 2011
Nov 15, 2011 at 8:59 AM UTC
More than moving with a sway
A walk that comes with a plan
Music and dancing being the caravan
A step down the great Broadway stage
The captivation of the audience as they are amazed
Come with me on this journey
It’s the music that was composed by my Great Uncle Eubie Blake
Shuffle Along is up for a TONY AWARD
I am proud of what my Great Uncle accomplished and recognition gained in what he achieved
This makes my heart swirl
However, Shuffle Along was on Broadway several years ago, but at that time, Blacks were not allowed to perform, but that didn’t stop my Great Uncle from composing
But that was history and Fast Forward into the present
Shuffle Along back in the day has no step back today
But today, the music that surrounds “Shuffle Along”, as it is every step with a rhythm beat and establishing a meaning of its own
Dancing with coordinating feet
Rhythm in music that can’t be beat
A time to wake up from that long sleeping yond
Broadway awaits that is something to look upon
It’s a new day, and feel that today in what it has become
The sun is hanging high
Tomorrow not promised, but let’s be honest
Dance as if it is the last
Music that brings joy
Pure excitement and inspiration being oh boy
Stardom down Broadway
My Great Uncle Eubie Blake who is no longer alive
But his music continues to strive
“Shuffle Along” is in no hurry, but dance until when, but with audience applause at the end
Shuffle Along with music that prepares you for the ride
Step out and go with the stride.
May 11, 2016
May 11, 2016 at 8:10 PM UTC
We had breakfast on the Champs-Élysées this morning at Café Joyeux. Their croquet monsieur (a breakfast sandwich) was to die for - one bite can cure a hangover. They also serve a deep, rich Yirgacheffee coffee (€15 a cup) that I think God stirs with his little pinkie finger - it’s THAT good. We took up most of the little outdoor, oval tables on the right side (there are 10 of us) and our little sorority was noisy with chatter - earning us looks.
Our European vacation culminates today. We’re flying back to Georgia in a couple of hours. June seemed to drain away like water.
The minion my Grandmère charged with coordinating our vacation, François, breakfasted with us. He’s one of the flock of Sorbonne Université MBAs she recruits each year to infuse new energy into her conglomerates.
He briefed us on our departure and flight. His imposition of definitive order and advance planning allowed us a casual and carefree sense of travel this summer. In an ideal world, he’d coordinate my entire life.
He’s been on-call all month but joined us, off and on - like when we arrived in Doublin, at customs, to smoothly guide us through and again, similarly, in Paris.
He’s 26, very handsome and model looking. He’s perfectly tailored, with an elegant yet minimalist style. He wears dark shirts of admiral and yale blue with long black jackets and gray slacks with no tie. His hair is a hipster straight, blonde fringe.
He’s so perfect that I wouldn’t put it past my Grandmère to have placed him in front of me, like bait, to see if something with us sparked-off.
He’s Frenchly brisk and yet dryly solicitous - as if I have the power to sanction his position, which, in a way I suppose I do.
“How’s François doing?” Grandmère would ask, each time we talked.
“He’s wonderful,” I said, “I think he’s a keeper.”
“Good, good for him.” she would reply - making the comment sound almost sly.
Jun 30, 2022
Jun 30, 2022 at 12:57 PM UTC
Let's make a crown out of roses
Let's have a color war and save the tshirts
Let's build a rope swing over the river
Let's build a fort out of blankets and lock ourselves in
Let's get our faces painted
Let me write your name in glitter
Let's make a cake together
Let's walk home together
Let's find each others' faces in the clouds or the night sky
Let's paint pictures of each other
Let's decorate for the holidays and wear coordinating Halloween costumes
Let's be afraid to dress up fancy
Let's get excited over tv shows and movies and comic books
Let's go roller skating together
Let's go to Comic Con and Vidcon
Let's sneak out and have caffeine after four pm
Let's sneak out and pretend that we know what the hell we're doing
Let's be together.
Jun 16, 2015
Jun 16, 2015 at 6:19 PM UTC
By: Cedric McClester
It wasn’t ******
By intent
Said his lawyer
It was fear
Of abandonment
That compelled him
To strike her in her head
Leaving her still breathing but close to dead
Abandoned by his father
At an early age
Though his father was a drunk
It still left him enraged
Like a Bengal tiger trapped in a cage
After committing the grisly act
He traveled 100 miles
To confess in fact
Confession they say
Is good for the soul
But the police were called
Once his story was told
And arrived at the scene before the body was cold
Abandoned by his father
At an early age
Though his father was a drunk
It still left him enraged
Like a Bengal tiger trapped in a cage
The Scarsdale ******
Was what it was called
The two hailed from Yale
So the public was appalled
Ultimately justice was stalled
He got one to twenty-five
And that was all
The victim’s parents were naturally galled
In short order
He was parolled
He’s now in New Mexico
From what I’m told
Coordinating counseling
In the mental health mold
The Lord may have forgiven him
But her parents are still cold
Abandoned by his father
At an early age
Though his father was a drunk
It still left him enraged
Like a Bengal tiger trapped in a cage
It wasn’t ******
By intent
Said his lawyer
It was fear
Of abandonment
That compelled him
To strike her in her head
Leaving her still breathing but close to dead
Cedric McClester, Copyright (c) 2016. All rights reserved.
Feb 21, 2016
Feb 21, 2016 at 11:11 AM UTC
when it's time to formal say to each other
"it's time to build my life around you,"
we don't kiss, shake-in-agreement hands,
dare get the lawyers involved,
or even announce it ASAP
on social media
nah
we pull out our respective cellphones,
IPhones (her) and Blackberry (him),
embrace a new life by
coordinating our
schedules,
demonstrating electronically,
we plan on sticking around...
now seven years on,
they each complain
when the other
fails to send the other a
meeting marker
love's shape and form
the same from human's day one,
but everything can benefit
with a technological
refreshing
up"date."
May 17, 2015
May 17, 2015 at 12:32 PM UTC
Holding onto my wine glass tight
He was dancing with her tonight
His gaze locked onto mine
But in his arms was another shine
My thoughts cursed him of his arrogance
Such a user of beauty and innocence
"That's it!! I can't take this any longer"
For what I thought of my love being stronger
It was nothing then a lustful devil in disguise
Coordinating thoughts, playing his game wise
As I turned to go, he grabbed me by my waist
And on the dance floor showed his delicate taste
I was his that's what he whispered in my ears
Leaning over to brush off my tears
Held me tight as if I was running away
I still remember his words until today
He fulfilled his promises and made me his
We are blessed with two beautiful kids
As I wait his flight arrival at this airport
Smiling away, remembering those days we fought
Everytime letting me win with the charms he bought
We got tied into a knot on this very day
Time just few and its our twentieth anniversary today...
©sim
Sep 30, 2017
Sep 30, 2017 at 11:29 PM UTC
The story of their life
is nearing the *** end,
The graph of the health
has a sharp descend.....
The world is rushing
it's own race,
Their lives don't flow
at that pace...
Possessing a rich and gorgeous
past to share,
But hardly find anyone
to give an ear.....
Chicks flew away
in pursuit of their quest,
The elder couple
is lonely in their nest....
Meditation, yoga
and the doctor's visits
Are prioritizing their
"to do" lists....
Waiting for festivals,
when kids pay visit.
Their childhood moments,
the minds revisit.....
Memories fading,
limbs poorly coordinating.
Hearts are weary,
heavy,
yet pulsating....
Unknown emptiness,
deep melancholy.
Splendid dwellings,
screaming loudly.....
Eagerly wait to meet
with other elderly,
To accompany on the walks,
and to talk heartily......
Relaxing and rejuvenating
laughter at the sunset.
The sun sets daily,
the hopes are alive yet...........
Jul 6, 2017
Jul 6, 2017 at 8:33 AM UTC
I think that the hardest part of moving on is letting go
I used to believe that they were synonymous
boy, was I wrong
I've moved on plenty of times with plenty of people
but I never truly let go of him
I was afraid that if I loosened my grip and really let go,
I would never hold on to anyone again
(which I know now to be utterly false)
So, I again loved and lost and loved and lost
but now I am faced with the same familiar dilemma
of coordinating my demands with my extrinsic muscles
and unclenching my fists that I have so tightly latched onto you
(I just can't seem to let this one go)
-
Oct 26, 2015
Oct 26, 2015 at 4:53 AM UTC
The veil draws ever clearer,
easier to see through,
but still like a mirror
I can see through and also see myself
I wonder if it reflects or just shows the truth
The veil draws ever thicker,
harder to get past,
but still like water
I can not go through
and I can only skim the surface
I wonder if it is a wall or only a window
The veil draws ever larger,
spanning a greater pass,
but still within reach
I can not go around it but I can touch it
I wonder if it guards forever or just until I leave it
The distance between myself and the world could hardly be thicker
I cannot contemplate coordinating careful countermeasures consciously
I could cleverly, cunningly, calculate and collaborate clear contingencies
But my mind makes my misery mighty methodically, minute by minute
And it renders rapid renunciation of ridiculous rhythm and rhyme rather reticent
What remains are repugnant renditions wrapping where real attempt once sat
The veil is upon me
closer than my senses,
I cannot get outside it,
but I can speak through it
I wonder if its helping or hurting
Apr 10, 2013
Apr 10, 2013 at 2:34 AM UTC
I'm stimulated
Disoriented
Simultaneous
Coordinating
Confusing me
As words contend
A melody
Without an end
Aug 4, 2022
Aug 4, 2022 at 10:19 AM UTC
The answer by my lips-
Yes, I am
Don't you think so?
Don't you see me smiling?
Don't you see my eyes crinkle?
Don't you notice my lips and heart reconciling,
Finally merely coordinating with one another?
I am laughing so much!
What a stupid question!
How can I not be happy?
Have you ever seen me cry?
I am not insinuating you
Into believing me
These tears are rolling down
Just because something went in my eye
Don't worry,
I am not going to let you drown
In this pool of tears.
I am laughing
Because I am crying
I am crying because
I am laughing.
Oh, I sound crazy right now?
It's not unusual
I am like that.
Feb 18, 2015
Feb 18, 2015 at 11:30 AM UTC