"corrective" poems
It's not OCD
I'm just anal-rententive.
There are two
coffee urns
in my office kitchenette.
Each urn has
a spot to place your mug
beneath the spigot.
Each of these spots has
a circular insert
of gridded plastic
to mark the mug-placement area
and allow spilled coffee to flow through
so this spot
doesn't become
just a puddle of coffee
soaking the bottom of everyone's mugs.
Each of these inserts has
three indentations:
one on each side
at nine and three o'clock
small, arcing parabolas
like reversed parentheses
there to allow someone to
get their fingers into the
coffee mug spot
and under the insert
to remove it
and, presumably
clean it
and then another indentation
more like a groove
or a notch
much smaller, thinner, and deeper
at the top
that fits perfectly with
a matching
small plastic protuberance
jutting from the coffee mug spot
where the insert goes.
In an almost ****** fashion
this protuberance fits into
this last indentation
this notch
this groove
to secure the insert in place.
For some reason
I've never known
perhaps laziness
perhaps inattentiveness
more likely simple
couldn't-care-less-ness
this insert never seems to be
placed into the mug spot
properly.
It is always placed sideways
rotated a quarter-turn
so that the larger indentations
on the side
meant as finger holes
are placed top-to-bottom
noon and six
the small plastic protuberance at the top
being swallowed whole
by the too-large indentation
and its mate
the groove
meant to hold the plastic piece
so tightly
is left alone
to one side
empty
and useless.
This has always bothered me.
Bothered me more than I would like to admit.
It's such a simple little thing to get right
it would take almost no effort at all
and yet, day-after-day
someone
I don't know who
whoever is in charge of these things
insists
on doing it wrong.
And I cannot abide it.
So, day-after-day
when I go to get my morning coffee
I fix it
I twist the insert ninety-degrees
and secure it in the correct position.
Lately
I have noticed something.
Sometimes
when I go to get my coffee
one of the inserts
will already be
fixed.
Someone else has seen
what I have seen
and felt the same
had the same response
took the same corrective action.
This feels like winning something.
I don't know what
but it definitely smells like Victory.
And Conspiracy.
And it makes me happy.
Happier than I'd like to admit.
Feb 6, 2013
Feb 6, 2013 at 10:32 AM UTC
I could never work out why my cheeks went so greedily red when you showed your teeth.
Heather says it's because I get nervous too easily - anxiety, she said
I think it's the opposite
your white lies have a familiar milky hue
And I like contrast.
Dec 1, 2014
Dec 1, 2014 at 5:19 PM UTC
Eyes
reflect love and laughter, create a window for the world to view a beautiful soul, perceive so much light, see the vivid brightness of everything around
but what I choose to focus on is how they barely function without corrective lenses, the color of the iris is too bland, and they allow too many tears to fall.
Hands
sweep away tears softly, give love the opportunity to be tangible, rest upon a friend's back to support, sweep across the ivory to make emotions audible
but what I choose to focus on is how they shake when in social situations, the lack of length in the fingers, and the obvious absence of another hand to hold.
Legs
support my whole structure, provide transportation for adventures, serve as a resting place for his weary head, function each day without conscious effort
but what I choose to focus on is how angry red stretch marks line the skin, the way my fat calves get stuck in jeans, when they fail to endure the miles to run.
Nov 16, 2017
Nov 16, 2017 at 4:18 AM UTC
please-please add your waxy scrolls
truths to the panic pyre
madden an inflamed swarm of intelligence
worm warrens into the collective of our brain
maybe
having been riddled
it'll collapse under the corrective strain
and start blinking a genuine signal
process recognized compassionate inkling
Aug 8, 2022
Aug 8, 2022 at 9:12 PM UTC
So today my first visit to Dr Steven Eppel ( a physiatrist )
As I have identified issues I have with trust.
And hence have managed to swallow that ego and take on my flaws!
Oh yes we all have them and it’s how we choose to better ourselves or not in identifying, admitting and taking a corrective course that really matters!
I have come a long way with great heartaches and many a mental anguish!
He has helped me identify a great accomplishment I have achieved already that I feel with maturity I have learnt Humility for only in humility can we acknowledge our flaws !
Humility sounds so diminutive in its description, yet holds so much value in character!
I identify with scriptural teachings, of God teaching us humility,
Now I understand its depth far more.
Through humility I have put pride aside and accepted help!
Through humility I allow growth!
Through humility I will find healing!
Accepting growth that with time allows trust to be forged to bring far stronger unions than we have allowed before!
Healing brings new freedom to the soul!
If anything is to be learnt from this.
Firstly never be to proud to learn, to see your flaws and accept help, there need be no shame at all, however I for one admire those striving to better themselves!
Aug 1, 2018
Aug 1, 2018 at 12:54 PM UTC
To exist is to change, to change is to mature, to mature is to go on creating oneself endlessly.
Think like a man of action, act like a man of thought.
The eye sees only what the mind is prepared to comprehend.
The only cure for vanity is laughter, and the only fault that is laughable is vanity.
The present contains nothing more than the past, and what is found in the effect was already in the cause.
Religion is to mysticism what popularization is to science.
Spirit borrows from matter the perceptions on which it feeds and restores them to matter in the form of movements which it has stamped with its own freedom.
There is no greater joy than that of feeling oneself a creator. The triumph of life is expressed by creation.
Laughter is the corrective force which prevents us from becoming cranks.
Intelligence is the faculty of making artificial objects, especially tools to make tools.
**** sapiens, the only creature endowed with reason, is also the only creature to pin its existence on things unreasonable.
The present contains nothing more than the past, and what is found in the effect was already in the cause.
It seems that laughter needs an echo.
To exist is to change, to change is to mature, to mature is to go on creating oneself endlessly.
When we make the cerebral state the beginning of an action, and in no sense the condition of a perception, we place the perceived images of things outside the image of our body, and thus replace perception within the things themselves.
The motive power of democracy is love.
Read more at: https://www.brainyquote.com/authors/henri_bergson
Apr 3, 2019
Apr 3, 2019 at 8:53 AM UTC
defeat is only an objective.
as I lead I gain prospective
haters hate through being deceptive
the envy spreads like sheets infective
while they creep
playing detective
wolve in sheep
until their accepted
their reasoning is subjective
I just wait until they reach
then disconnected their connective
I'm a beast, I can't be infected
work off pure instinct
raw fear instantly detected
human nature,
to be expected
my only actions
moving forward is corrective
i exceed all expectations
with standing ovations,
use to bring power to foreign nations
outworking occupations
make so much sense
i get paid vacations
my buildings, block foundations
I empowered nations for generations
Feb 18, 2016
Feb 18, 2016 at 10:59 AM UTC
the view
stands beneath
the carousel efforts
to blast through
impregnancy aBLOOM!!!!
(w)ith feral legacies
aligned intimately ornately
posthumous adulterer
awakens in need
of
****** corrective agency
towards Fenitbow
and Glightrovee ab-surd as
qua as qua
asqua aqua qua
a^s is trite melody infer[no]
t a x i yellowing each pavement
by truth in yo ' fa ' ' lo ((lo))
i by horns and turns
in plyable waves arrest
what justice juices
freel_y
obligatory
antecedent
quai noyh thlume
ye
HEaVY
Sep 26, 2020
Sep 26, 2020 at 6:17 AM UTC
Birthed purely of Godly intellect.
Words of a language, perfect;
Curved from the divine alphabet-
With not a single flaw or defect.
Like wordy pieces of fine fabric-
Not too light, yet not too thick,
With every rightly purposed stitch-
Making me more and more unique.
Like the footprints of fate's pen-
Trekking down pages of life's lane,
I'm those words; that mark; that line-
Fathomed solely by few special men.
Fluent rushing blood, surging dreams,
Like waters down divine streams,
Hopes and wits like emptying seas;
Into lifeless pits through many limbs.
I'm the very primary meeting spot-
Of ink and page, deed and thought.
The expression of genuine mental might,
The last puzzle piece, the connecting dot.
I am food for thought in every verse.
The right for wrong the better for worse.
I am a reflection of power and greatness,
The written miracle, the lift of a curse.
I'm a sweet ballad, penned just right-
With a touch of metaphorical insight.
A metred meal for a hungry mind,
Corrective lenses for mental sight.
I'm the union of ugly and beauty;
The matrimony of wish and duty;
The product of pollute and purity;
Black on white, from God to men,
I'm poetry.
Keep Smiling
Nov 19, 2013
Nov 19, 2013 at 2:39 AM UTC
By: Cedric McClester
Since when did she become
A ***** expert?
Her Facebook comments
Only served to hurt
She talked about us
Just like we were dirt
She lacks the knowledge
But her opinions remain inert
As an anchor of the nightly news
We thought she was objective
Despite her personal views
Which have proven quite subjective
Fortunately her employer’s
Action was corrective
And she was immediately fired
Once her comments were detected
How can she talk about
People she doesn’t know
That just goes to show you
How deep racism can go
Now she no longer has
Her own TV news show
And Pittsburgh’s better for it
As the fair-minded know
Tell me what qualified her
To be a ***** expert
With no ***** experience
For her to assert
Yet she chose a stereotype
To place us on alert
It had to be her own bias
She used to disconcert
Cedric McClester, Copyright © 2016. All rights reserved.
Mar 31, 2016
Mar 31, 2016 at 10:15 AM UTC
yeah we're getting drunk at four in the afternoon
we don't have anywhere to drive to.
we have no class
no responsibility
my city's filthy
I live in the art district
nobody else anywhere else in the world can say that
Richmond knows how to lay it down
how to make the children feel invincible
how to make the women feel like super models
and the men like long lost kings
don't like my poems?
that's fine
we flow to a different drum beat
yeah we are a bunch of
PBR swilling hipsters in our non corrective lenses
but we know how humanity dances back and forth
like the flickering of candle light
and I've never felt out of place here
only just as weird as everybody else
we are pathological liars and sociopaths
our apathy is only matched by our endless empathy
My Mum thinks I am a hell of a writer
endless support
but the anonymity never ends
a scroll from God to lead us to death
and the transvestites are polite enough
*boy you smell ****
they blurt out as I walk past in a cloud of old spice
the art school chicks make me feel validated
when I find myself sneaking out of their houses in the morning's yawn
come to Richmond if you want a good time
if you're fake you'll make it
but if you're bitter and jaded
you might pass out of interest
like cartoons to a 15 year old
I could talk **** on this city all night
but truth be told
I love what I hate
and truth withheld
don't tell my English friends
that my heart beats
solely for that
RVA-lution
Nov 6, 2013
Nov 6, 2013 at 7:55 PM UTC
the lumy screen
x-ray mission
counting ribs
but courting what's in-between
trying to salvage disease
from the pardonable cage
use corrective attractors
drag them on the screen
and mould a mange of the dark spots
humble in an alcove
zoom in on the spot
take out your little skin leafed
pocket book
clean the cough from your throat
and sprout 'the working words of God'
a congregation of cancer cells
put in their place
medicine
Mar 27, 2022
Mar 27, 2022 at 3:24 PM UTC
What do you want me to do about it? You're acting like, like we can't
do anything about this, Nandu. Like you're, I mean you're acting like,
this is my fault, here. What was I supposed to do? I mean, I had no way
of knowing, man. Oh **** might have to shok this guy who's ****** little
kids -- wait a sec, better not say anything about ReFresh water! I mean, what the ****
I am blaming you because that was the worst joke I've heard.
In how long, ever?
In a long time.
Look, I'm sorry, okay? I'm sorry. But this is not my fault. We should fight this.
They're doing what they're doing. If you do something like this again, I'm firing you.
You're not gonna fire me.
How do you know that?
You're not gonna fire me because, people make mistakes. And you know that.
Jun 3, 2014
Jun 3, 2014 at 4:26 AM UTC
I've been searching all life long
Placing my bets
Amidst all my missteps
Listening to the same ol' song
Dancing on gass soaked briquettes
Risky as it gets
Find me between right and wrong
Racking up debts
And future regrets
My self hatred is strong
Setting precedents
With no true benefits
Only ever told I'm wrong
No corrective steps
Only more empty threats
Just wanted to belong
But that's too complex
Don't want to know what's next...
...out beyond the smouldering bridges and life threatening safety nets...
...my residence
©2024
Jan 1, 2024
Jan 1, 2024 at 6:38 PM UTC
Mediums,
I need mediums!
Incomplete mind, bisected by blurs
********* my sight, halting my stare
Corrective action taken?
Turn off heart,
Maneuver hips,
Eyes ajar
Moves made to past
We need to go back
Nakedness without regret
Willing to be the only one that likes me
She screams electronically
Feb 21, 2013
Feb 21, 2013 at 7:45 PM UTC
my moat wet eyes
focus free
with the manner of a poisoned animal
those feedy gemini apertures
fidget inward
upon an open wounded view
unclothing a filmy slick
so very faithful to the dead
ripples cross my bed of sails
i set pale
in my atrophy
each signal blunted
i am greatly wilted
sat planted
lazily hazed
a vehicle scuppered
riddles prate at my bed of veils
i set sail
in atrophy
each signal bloated
fully unloaded
a barrow at your feet
i truly wither
what power may you beam my form ?
i'm frail in heart
atrophy
between stars and the sea
a failed flicker of no pity curses
a matrimony
all signals mar
and spar out blotting
a missile
misguided ?
; it preys on my trail
misdeeds played a trophy
a lit penalty
i am most deletable
piteous
i pray for the guff
to raise my head
filled to the tax of my atrophy
dissipated
oh mother of pigment
lovingly wigged murderer of woes
why can't we abstain from human directive ?
forever foaming something criminal
flunked corrective of the species rudder
idle by into an atrophy
a perishing menace
pungent
- fade out
Jul 27, 2021
Jul 27, 2021 at 10:32 PM UTC
Monday
with no arms
reminds himself
of the seemingly endless
sleepless night
forming from and into
a nightmare day
and daydreaming's
of nothing
from everything.
Tuesday
finds himself
in no form and with no focal point
for walking which way in a drunken haze
and equipped with no corrective lenses
to correct the blur
between the images
bent by the past
Of the present.
Wednesday
are the collective
active corpses
listening to the
ins and outs
about a street corner
filled to bursting
whose tired stares
through hired sires
steep in grim life
all want to sail towards
the tale of man's hail-fire
that's just around
the right angle.
Thursday
was the child
whose malignant aggression
against his mother
****** the earth
with fire
until the reflection
got the best of him
as he turned to see
something
that started
to make his
eyes bleed
Friday
is the three legged dog
trotting about the lawn
in circles
looking for a sign
from God
that when this mutt dies,
though it won't be long,
all the lies
he barked
might not try
and follow him
Saturday's
the monster
who starts
to take care of himself
the moment the wealth
of this world was found
beneath his worn clothing
in the beating *****
of his very own soul
May 2, 2010
May 2, 2010 at 5:59 PM UTC
It's far easier to hate than forgive, can't give myself a break when the case study's retrospective
I hate that it's easier to die than to live, pull up just shy and see it all fall in and out of perspective
To be here, right here, year after year is the objective but the inner chatter from my dark passenger is persuasive
Life escapes through each back stab wound like a fleshy sieve, how much can one individual give
Just meaningless crumbs aren't attractive, I'm a no good, very bad human representative
So primitive, the smooth brain collective not selective enough to be proactive instead of reactive
The crazies run the nut house and the clubs exclusive, drunk off two fifths, the front doors elusive
I'm no detective, I just hope my karma is something I can outlive
Dark thoughts are combative, my own mind is abusive, held captive with no clear motive
The rush from anger becomes addictive even when self destructive
The me I want to be has lost all adhesive and every step towards a concept that moves forward feels counterproductive
From my perspective I should embrace the paradox, go back in time and hand my mom a contraceptive
I'd rather not exist than to be a relative to this bloodline that feels radioactive
But what's the alternative, trading one mess for another is gonna get repetitive
And every time, the byproduct gets more carossive, the rust forms a husk that falls away exposing the explosive
One that goes off erratically 'cause real change isn't a newspaper, or soothsayer, real help is expensive
Hand me that sedative, this repetitive narrative is too intensive, Lucifer's obsessive and I, compulsive
Destructive to a fault and so one sided I'm not even competitive
A cognitive function nowhere near adaptive, straight to punishment, bypassing corrective
Leaving me to always be on the defensive but that alone will fail to be effective
At least for the collection of the negative that is a bigger percentage of the me that's reflective
One of a fugitive on the run from my formative years, all the hardwired fears still active
Each with a different authoritative directive and all for the worse, who the hell's even driving this locomotive?
My words sound figurative, at least enough to label it an overactive imagination, so creative
But it's imperative that this is looked at as informative, a documentary type narrative
CAUSE I SWEAR IT IS
©2023
May 9, 2023
May 9, 2023 at 6:38 PM UTC
So the time has now come
It's over for you
You're gonna be gone
And there's nothing to do
You always loved hate
You never were known
To be the very best
And you've certainly shown
That your evils and wrongs
Can never be ceased
Always turn the living
Into the deceased
And though it's amoral
And never corrective
I fell it's important
To be reflective
Of a dead lack of mercy
And an ignorance of shame
So that you may be ended
And formally defamed
So here I stand
And not a moment too soon
A squeeze of the trigger
You begin to swoon
You buckle your knees
And fall to the ground
I rise up and scream
"Eternally bound!"
Jan 2, 2013
Jan 2, 2013 at 6:04 PM UTC
ROAD TO GLORY |2|
Those who
never made
mistake haven't had
anythang learnt in life.
Nor gather
any experience.
Mistake
uncovers enormous mystery on the road to glory & Inside the belly of mistake hides the corrective tools for success. Right every wrongs.
#c9_fm
Apr 10, 2021
Apr 10, 2021 at 8:18 AM UTC
Teaching the eyes to shift
To relax and see the world differently
To observe the world not through
Tired shapes we're conditioned by
But to change the observation
To recognize the realities
Our experiences have clouded
Quantum theory accepts that
There is more than matter
Composed of particles
The observable though easy
Is too simple for the complexity of reality
The underlayment of reality
Is waves of energy
Rising and falling through
Time and space
The 4 dimensions of life
Can be cataloged and understood
But is woeful understatement
To the depth of mystery
If we are willing to observe
Nothing in the universe
Can be predicted with precision
No outcome predetermined
Only the frightening sum of
Infinite chaos systemized to
Appear comprehensible.
All we can predict is probability
Banking our future on possibility.
So then how do I exists
In these two states
Seemingly so far apart
Yet muddled by entanglement
How do I both long for
The possibility of seeming greatness
And cower in the fear of those unknowns.
There is no quantum vision
Only hope and action
And corrective lenses when
Our myopia prevents
Us from seeing the beauty
That is just a single look away.
May 9, 2017
May 9, 2017 at 5:30 PM UTC
I have no wisdom
of my own; borrowed insight,
hindsight of many.
Mar 21, 2016
Mar 21, 2016 at 3:59 PM UTC
Upon (die) re rhea ding previous poem
All In The Name Of "Progress" zen
a glaring, leering,
and twittering left par wren
dared to a right (i.e. bribe)
corrective punctuation measure
slyly slipping Special Ops symbol ")"
for so many yen,
thus see slipped thru my excellent
proof reading, when
lo and behold consternation,
inconsideration, and perturbation
I thought to take a page
from playbook of Sylvia Plath,
and stick my head in the oven
but lo, a sardine recipe
(though a bit fishy),
could be found necessitating cauldron
only available for purchase in Turin
thus donned with a shrouded cape,
aye didst make whoosh,
hence, went there and came back
and frankly tubby earnest,
thence began stir'n
a bubbling concoction brew
though duration for perfect consistency
aye lacked any clue
thus, needed to contact
Hannibal the cannibal
asper what to do
in order (I explained)
to sever livingsocial,
and forever hang my head in shame
cuz, accidentally omitting
one right parenthesis too few
hence, esteemed flawless glory,
(sans error free grammarian
reputation pitched downward
where careless evinced
Kamikaze nosedive, where
matter of fact gross humiliation
instantaneously grew
and the only viable option
forced me to hew
admitting to egregious, fatuous, abhorent
and readily confesses
compunction viz, grievously
blatant Anglo Saxon
Horrifying transgression
involving backward curved "C" sin bent
a most execrable,
incorrigible, and unforgivable
literary faux pas incurring
major cosmic event
stripped of title special
Das Scribe double bubble "A" gent!
* * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * *
Upon complying never to err again
Matthew Scott Harris since
accepted plea bargain
accepting sentence resting his chin
til indelible necklaced "U" lettered grin
forever visible to kith and kin.
Jun 26, 2018
Jun 26, 2018 at 3:45 PM UTC
It is almost refreshing to sink into what I once was
To feel myself stagnate and lose interest
It's somehow relieving to meet my old feelings again
To feel both exhausted and restless
I am not doing enough yet, have not achieved
I am not trying hard enough, haven't put in my all
I am not reaching far enough, am not throwing my weight
I am not enough to climb over this wall
A wall between myself and motivation
Between creativity and creative endeavors
Between myself and my dreams and wants and hopes
A wall between stagnation and corrective measures
It feels like coming home to a house I never intended to buy
Like opening the door to dust and checks to pay off bills I forgot to write
Like finding my bed a collection of moths and holes
Like seeing where I was and intended to be until I was old
However
It is also like entering an old home never put up for sale
A space that I know but a space I dislike and won't return to as well
Like feeling the nostalgia from a bitter memory in some bastardization of regret
But moving on because you have moved on and don't plan on turning back yet
Aug 26, 2016
Aug 26, 2016 at 7:27 AM UTC
I’m tired
tired of trying to be strong
of not being allowed fall
on the ground and cry
for as long as
I need
working and living
with those who are thinking
everything that’s wrong is so right
leaving me to look forward to
alcoholism and depression
in no particular order
the powerless letters I carve glow in inappropriate spaces
withered clouds humming a fluttered contribution to naught
I wear a jacket, once loose and hungry, begging for release
from the corrective lumbering of my contrived conceit
this is not the girl I was looking for but
this is the girl that I found
my tumbledown baby
waiting to drown
beneath my warm butter breath
a half sunken death
of drunken larceny
and all the while I am growing
out of the conventions of relationship
the paper smoothed, green,
drink and drugs exercised
in a push for contaminated revenue
maybe this is why
the coffee tastes like **** today
and all I write are
three white wisps
the smile wiped off a blue faced sky
ignored by the Berghaus couples
matched down to their laces
each distraction disguises the bestiary that is civilisation, ironically splashed upon an earth that, like me,
has no interest, that grows bored waiting
for the next great extinction
the helium has already had enough, every party breath inhaled in jest lost to space forever,
it won't be back could I un-dream it all
I would, in less than the spurt of my heart,
and wrap it all in the bloodied rags of
your disgraceful god
Mar 2, 2015
Mar 2, 2015 at 3:15 PM UTC