"copacetic" poems
A joker
A partner
A friend
A lover (?)
Suave
Too copacetic
For even you
To handle
Yet
When I am in your presence
I cannot help
But feel
The inferno
That radiates
Through our bodies
In astonishing harmony
So much so
That a single graze of your skin on mine
Sets the entirety of my figure
A blaze
Nov 17, 2013
Nov 17, 2013 at 5:22 PM UTC
My copacetic life:
Boring, plain, safe.
I am only resting and waiting
To just stop existing
I never waited for you
Or the fear you instill to me
Because why would I
Angel/Devil
I do not know you
But I want to
Jul 11, 2016
Jul 11, 2016 at 7:38 AM UTC
Let's boogie
in the electric synaptic light show club
called "Us."
Jackhammer legs quake the place
as everyone hums to the rhythms of their synchronized eyelids
and lungs pumping out golden dolphin breath.
Together copacetic drinks are raised and clinked
echoing like a hummingbird's wings shimmering in the afternoon sun,
Great Spirit, the bartender serves up a round on the house
of midnight snow owl whisky
for those ruminating Rumi and Hafiz's poetry,
the ones already beaming crystal quartz incandescence
from their heart and minds being present in the swaying
space that is the sacred spiral grouse dance.
Some peeps puff tree in the maui wowie mahogany lounge,
the prairie dog smoke carves the air
as these folks reflect and stare at their streams of consciousness
like a blue heron waiting for that third eye fish
for dinner.
The mirrors reveal our inner higher self children
of the moonrise kingdom building the iridescent
bridge to the rainbow road.
When when it's last call
we shall tiptoe home like drunken mice
stumbling up the melting sphere clock
to rest upside down opossum comfortably
giggling giggling thunderous heyoka whispers
into each other's shoulders
until the aquarian dawn.
Feb 18, 2015
Feb 18, 2015 at 9:52 PM UTC
I keep the details dim
So on the outside looking in
Nothing is as at seems
Everything just beams
It all seems so copacetic
But it's really so pathetic
Before long I'll need a paramedic
Mar 18, 2016
Mar 18, 2016 at 10:42 PM UTC
I've always been wary--
and celebrated my potential
Betrayal
and
Certain
death(.) (oh)
At The Juice Joint.
All wet. (incorrrr
--ect.)
Applesauce. (non
sense.)
All dolled up. Showed off my
Gams
And Big Jazz
(eyes).
Wanted to get spifflicated with some
Dolls
and
Jellybeans.
...my fella.
?
Didn't have enough clams.
Any of us.
We
're the new
Lost
...generation.
I thought I'd keep the bank open,
but
interest wasn't given
Cash or Check:
didn't really matter.
Might've been
the
cat
's
meeeeeow.
And
how.
Ahhhhh...
we all had our glad rags on.
the Daddies hit on all sixes.
Let's get ZOZZLED on some
jag juice,
dewdropper.
Deeeeeewdropper. ~errrrrrrrr.....
Though giggle juice is more apt
...for me.
Leave the Mrs. Grundys at home...no fire extinguishers allowed.
How ironic.
You were the extinguisher.
Bring Your Own Knife
, we said.
It's a Stabbing Party
, we said.
I didn't want to handcuff you. Didn't want to exchange manacles.
("No, I'm no one's Wife, but OHHHHH, I love my Life.")
I percolate.
I percolate.
I percolate.
I'm not your quiff.
...not your sheba...or a vamp.
Just admire my
chassis
if you will.
they
all
do
The engine'll purr
for you,
~~if you turn the keys just so
Everything was
Copacetic.
Copacetic...
For a time.
(get'hotget'hot!)
Caesar's here.
Hussssshhhhhhhh...
...speak
~~eeeeeaaaaassssyyyyy.
And then I realized.
I'm tired of being Caesar
( . )
Mar 17, 2013
Mar 17, 2013 at 7:32 PM UTC
it's been a journey hasn't it?
fascinated by differences that revealed our deepest secrets
that we told no soul yet felt consoled by the meanings
of each others thoughts, opinions, ideals; now I'm dealing
with this crazy sense
that I'll never find anything as fascinating again.
I admit, I was a little over my head
trying to be Superman
tackling problems I didn't even understand
I was your biggest fan, of your ideals
the way you could comprehend
what I tried to explain
when I didn't think anyone could or can.
It's bothering me
that you might not comprehend again.
I guess it's on me
for being too blind to see
that we couldn't be on the same team if I tried chasing a different dream
that I believed was the key for me.
Now I'm sitting here hoping the combination is correct
"only time will tell"
well
while time drifts us afar
just know I'm wishing we'll float back together
some way, somehow
and if you comprehend this
I'll know the magic hasn't ended
between us... whatever it is.
So
until our friendship is mended
I'll be in the distance
my copacetic presence
waiting for you to become my yin again.
-Me
Jun 17, 2013
Jun 17, 2013 at 12:54 AM UTC
You remind me much of myself.
You remind me much of myself except, more together...
You remind me of myself every time I see the words "Midnight" "Haiku"
All of your words are golden bright,
a white knight righteously marching
for truth.
Optimistic Siddhartha--
A Copacetic Beyonder
back again to remind man
it's all going to be allright, man.
Apr 10, 2012
Apr 10, 2012 at 10:58 PM UTC
When people ask what I do for a living,
I respond
“*Listening to my heart ******
as my mind garden blossoms
incandescent indigo constellations
humming the songs of nature’s entirety.
I sensually embrace the entirety’s
divine lips kissing my spirit
with sacred words
merging into me—
a blissful osmosis of neurotransmitters
waltzing with my consciousness
flowing liquid electricity
and molten rhythms of oxygen
in kinetic unison through moments
of subjective apocalypses
slowly returning to yugen.*”
When asked where I see myself in ten years,
I respond
“*Copacetic contentment—
having surrendered my life
to more than just the digital currency
of likes and retweets
and the constantly dissolving paper coins
because I chose to see people
as breathing pieces of naked art,
in progress,
stripped down to their thoughts
jettisoned through this spherical time
of infinite space and possibility
slowly accepting there is more out there
beyond traditional political religical flimflam,
beyond abnormal logicality,
beyond nirvana.*”
Oct 26, 2015
Oct 26, 2015 at 4:56 PM UTC
I want to meet you.
On a cold, rainy afternoon.
When the dew caresses our world with wet, unsolicited kisses.
One of those days where nothing seems copacetic.
Your eyes, like pools of liquid sunshine.
Saving me from the turmoil.
What a beauteous star you are.
It’s unsettling,
Not knowing when and where we will meet.
Maybe I will bump you as I rush onto the train,
Just barely avoiding the pincer-like doors
As they snap close with a vice grip.
Or maybe our eyes will lock from across a crowded lecture hall,
With pupils that tell the sincerity of our smiles.
Who knows where it will be.
But when the time comes,
I hope to have the courage to utter the words
Beautiful enough to have you shed protective layers
That will allow me to bask in the ambiance of your benevolence.
Aug 17, 2012
Aug 17, 2012 at 4:30 PM UTC
Your world belongs to me now.
I can take over every aspect of it, 24/7,
Stopping just shy, by a few micrometers, of what the law allows.
I'll accompany you now on all shopping trips
Offering my advice from, oh, forty feet or so away.
I'll utilize binoculars to make sure you're not doing anything unsafe.
Amazing how well those things work sometimes.
Especially at night, eh?
I might have to replace your dog with a smaller, less intimidating unit;
Of course; you're free to keep the replacement or do whatever you want with him.
Don't want to risk a serious bite on my intrusive forays after darkness..
Call forwarding; amazing cool thing that is!
No questions asked; just need a few minutes time on the telephone!
And pictures; I'll be taking loads of those.
You never know just when a particular photo might come in real handy.
I carry around bird-watching paraphernalia, so anytime I get stopped,
Everything looks copacetic, even the binos.
I also carry groundwater test kits, along with shovels, rakes; boring stuff like that.
You never know when you might need to test the water in an area.
The test kits are out of date by a decade or more, but who's checking?
Had to duct tape that old broken out back window.
I know, I know; it's unsightly and makes me highly visible,
But they'll never raise an eyebrow now, on seeing that fat roll of duct tape.
And you will always have peace of mind, since you can readily identify my car
And know for sure that I'm on the job, around the clock-
Working only for you, babe.
Oops; time's a-flying. Have to get downtown to the city before they close.
I've requested to take a peek at some publicly viewable records.
Amazing what you can find out there, that you never would have expected.
Isn't it?
Bye now; catch you later, ok?
Mar 12, 2010
Mar 12, 2010 at 5:36 PM UTC
I look past your face—
traveling deeper inside
through your consciousness
passing the galaxies in your eyes
farther beyond—
abstract psychedelic dimensions
of understanding in your brain
surpassing—
our comprehension
of time,
words
& the divine
as I continue traveling
to the vast, farthest
parts
of you
where there is
just a weightless
Nirvana of nothing…
Here, there’s just a void,
devoid of any life,
or, remnants of
sound.
There is
complete, nothing.
There is more copacetic bliss here
than any imaginary world,
or ***** fantasy
we’ve created.
Dec 20, 2011
Dec 20, 2011 at 8:15 AM UTC
Copacetic:
attempts of levitation
Elevation to levels you did not wish for
I ignored
My truth in relentless
ruthless pursuit
of symbolic status demonstrating my supposed worth.
Copacetic:
Severed the lock and
opened my box of tools
to set the rules
for a game
I had said I never wanted to play.
Copacetic:
transformed myself
conformed to roles that fit like satin gloves
- if only in my own screenplay -
Downplayed
insincerity
Role played
authentic individuality.
Copacetic:
gulping misconceptions and
Mutually accepting regression to places
we thought we had
grown past and
persistently masked our intuitions.
Copacetic:
We departed
- no verity given or received -
with hearts decreased
in clarity and size
Our journeys lie ahead of us
respectively-
Collectively there's no decision
but to scurry on our own ways
And presently
your days look quite different than mine.
Aug 5, 2013
Aug 5, 2013 at 12:56 PM UTC
Clearly I'm self-aware, copacetic with myself.
Can't help lying, slyly sneaking words in with stealth.
But if I told the truth, I'd find it hard to just continue
living each day revolving around the same issue.
There's a time and place, I'll just let it fall into that.
Slowly bleeding out though, health is ruining my stats.
I wake up every morning like I'm somehow surprised.
The hardest part of doing that's to open my eyes.
I let go of everything that gets too close to me.
It's not really hard when all they want to do is leave.
I can't keep a straight face while my heart beats,
like it's just a joke, or some sick kind of make believe.
I guess my life just likes it to match my humor;
dark, sinister, perverted. That last one's just a rumor.
I ruin lives like addictions to a bad drug,
disconnected mothers that never gave their children a hug,
accidental situations replacing limbs with awful stubs.
The only difference is that I just make it easier to love.
I provide the tools to lose yourself within the moment.
When its gone, I only have one rope, i guess i can loan it.
I need it back though, never know when it could be useful.
Youthful euphemisms hanging from the ceiling, plain beautiful.
Will I ever see the brighter days before my last comes?
Raising my standards after each and every "last one."
My life is like Detroit roads with all its holes and bumps,
dumpster diving bums searching every scrap and crumb.
I can't interpret karma, reasons why it put me here
living life as less of a person than my surrounding peers.
Clouded judgement, but my intuition's much more clear.
I can't find the road, with abundance of potential to steer.
Jul 20, 2013
Jul 20, 2013 at 3:02 AM UTC
Sometimes she smells like roses and coconuts...
Everyday I bow to the eons and ions and atoms
within and surrounding her
for guiding me to the reality of which I enjoy being inside.
My life wasn't meant to be boxed into a 9-5 soul-sucking vacuum office cube
trying to convince folks to buy bread with "homemade flavor" or fizzy brown corn syrup. That's how alcoholics are born.
My living spirit is is supposed to play
like my inner child
at 2am smoking something
and waving to stars that might be spaceships
and singing songs to the silver moon.
I have to live like poetry in order to write.
Maybe not drink like poetry...
let's just say my time in Atlanta
might put Dylan & Edgar to shame.
And she allows us to love like poetry,
our minds travel to soothing lands
where words mean nothing
and the only way to communicate is through sacred azure moans
of hyper-iridescent effervescent ecstasy.
That's what the truth sounds like.
I'm unchained,
back into the wild of myself,
unfettered from the confines
of a story or musical piece,
instead allowing my self and body
let the words and music play & write through me
like some fleshy electric with a hint of indigo flute fountain pen
so that others may know this glorious living that is poetry.
Mar 3, 2014
Mar 3, 2014 at 2:20 PM UTC
Impetuously copacetic,
as a zephyr to the soul,
with chills she'll send,
feels good till end,
but soon you're left there cold.
Sep 13, 2011
Sep 13, 2011 at 12:22 AM UTC
I like the way your words taste
not nearly copacetic daffodils
but a boisterous bouquet of
letters tied so neatly
so crisply
that I dare not close my ears
even just for a second
because a time without you in my mind
is one I'd rather leave behind
Jun 23, 2017
Jun 23, 2017 at 9:46 PM UTC
like clock work i pace this spinning ground,
summoning up these imaginary fallacies-
figuring out this forever changing world,
as i spin round and round-
clock wise, i think i've got it
counter that thought- i think i've lost it,
losing all grip on life-reality,
irresponsibly wandering through this lost life,
searching for meaning in these sandwich bags,
filled to the seal, with these evil prescriptions-
relax, everything is copacetic
i whisper into the empty bag;
in complete agreement with my two sides,
unanimously deciding against all odds-
to end this unrealistic dependency;
reliance on this rare but prominent object,
would be a complete and utter disaster;
among both sides they would bicker,
until they recreate that clock in my head;
spinning out of self control
i will patrol this empty room.
Mar 31, 2010
Mar 31, 2010 at 11:29 AM UTC
We'll all live on forever..
Like the energy within us,
never ending...............continuous.
Weaving and winding forever on end,
coming and going, colliding, again.
Thru all probabilities of chance,
like a copacetic electric dance,
connected eternal we're never alone,
it's just for a moment this instants our home.
It is, what was, has been, will be,
each step we take is destiny.
This is just my point of view,
but you are me and I am you,
Our essence one but many too.
Simply like a shooting star,
a piece of it within my heart,
another piece is within you.
Perhaps that star was us that flew.
The meaning of this life to me,
is very simply just to be.
Complacent, yet eager to learn,
to feel, to live, to love, and yearn.
To look inside ourselves and see,
That God is you and God is me.
Tho, we go, we GROW, a p a r t.
A path that goes without a start.
With each new breaths a new begin,
within this loop we're spinning in.
Jan 18, 2012
Jan 18, 2012 at 12:52 AM UTC
Lovely thoughts are shackles.
They invoke what even the microscope
omits from the commentary
Well-prepared cups of tea on Sunday afternoons
The dragging of fountain pens retracing ornate loops.
Each a relief from the threat of whatever crisis interred
by the quiet of a room
The practical, the indulgent, without progression.
The contemporary pastoral
is to be found
Amongst old boxes
of boy's adventure paperbacks
and girl's glitterworn and broken hairbrushes
Shooting the mind off to tragedies
whirring still away at even further distances.
Memories, like sentiments
when copacetic
Provoking always the invasive link
the dependent, the pathetic.
A picture of a doomed ship in storm
Hung on the red carpeted wall of a restaurant
A jar of olives
left untouched
for decorative purposes
in the old grain store
which now serves unfiltered coffee
and plays loud but pleasing music
'til 6 p.m.
What I have spoken of are McGuffins.
The mind distracts.
Yes, the mind encounters,
we discover, we make lists.
But if you can remember
minutiae, try then to remember
History is the repetition of revelations.
The reel does not cut off.
In short,
don't congratulate
Yourself about life
until you've at least seen the nursing home.
Apr 7, 2016
Apr 7, 2016 at 12:53 PM UTC
im captured
stuck in this fen
this fen of confusion and hurt
we had to absquatulate
im wishing for a thaumaturgy
dont they see we are copacetic together
this selcouth relationship we have
i zetetic some way out of this
a way for this to be excepted
but this is just the ord
the ord of a trail of upturned beaks and hateful sneers
the ord of what we call fate.
why must there be this unwanted wrath
this unwanted hurt
why are we so unwanted
this is us not them
this is a relationship no one can understand but us
this is something worth fighting for.
Jan 19, 2012
Jan 19, 2012 at 4:25 PM UTC
Taking walks. Daydreaming. Stickers. School Spirit. My friends. Living in a small town. Japan. Singing. Painting my toenails. Pranks/ practical jokes. Painting. Stretch canvas. Costumes. Dipping my fingers in melted wax. Style. Soda. Spending an hour typing at a coffee shop. Musicals. Back to school season. Mopeds. Good hair days. Naps. Not walking up but looking at a beautiful staircase. being alone. My ankles. Playlists. Spending entire days in pajamas. Holidays. Telling stories. Spontaneity. Theme parks. Bookshelves. The word copacetic. Boxes. Empty journals. Surprises. Doing things in groups. Doing things alone. Getting real mail. Decorating. Small forks. A good hug. Gift cards. New Years Goals. Going out to dinner. When someone else remembers some great story about me/us that I’ve forgotten. Toy stores. Fireplaces. Breakfast foods. Journaling. Crying for a good reason. Doorbells. Pointless adventures. My birthday. Reasons to make wishes
Mar 23, 2015
Mar 23, 2015 at 11:07 AM UTC
How am I to know
when it's okay to surrender?
My body begs me
for sweet relief,
to let my limbs, my digits,
all of my organs,
to let them go numb,
falling deep down
into a dark place
where I have vehemently
refused to
stumble
for many moons.
I keep my carcass
a hollowed shell,
swearing off any inclination
of relaxation,
of letting down my guard,
forbidding myself
to wander to the place
that frightens me most.
My beating chest,
it fights back
with fierce vigor
against my head's resounding no's
as your lips,
soft and succulent,
beseech my own,
our tongues
exchanging salutations
in a hushed, velvety
vernacular
that seems completely
of our own creation.
As my brain runs hurriedly
a million miles in a direction
somewhere southwest of here,
my figure melts,
oozing
into your muscular hands
as they caress my face,
sweeping my hair
behind my ears.
Panic sets into my mind,
my breathing grows heavy,
but instead of bolting for
the door,
I draw your frame closer to mine,
wrestling a copacetic convulsion of angst and jitters
as your fingernails
gingerly
scrape
down
my
spine.
Jun 16, 2014
Jun 16, 2014 at 11:18 PM UTC
For me, everyone can be beautiful
It really all depends on them
And if you judge yourself
By means of eyes which do not
Belong to you, you're doing life incorrectly
Beautiful people are the honest ones
They are unapologetic
They love themselves and we know it
I'm talking about true love here
Not fake eye lashes and fancy cars
I'm talking about those who use
Their imperfections to build
Those who say **** yeah, that's me
When others just look away
People who accept what they can't change
The people who know that once in a while
People NEED to be offended by
What they say or think or act on
You're bat **** crazy if you try to
Get it all correct or all copacetic
You'll fall very short "pleasing" others
Beautiful people just are
Beautiful people are rare
Feb 14, 2019
Feb 14, 2019 at 1:59 PM UTC