"countering" poems
( i )
I lucked out
on table 4 last night
window seat
baseboard heat
with intimate passages
from Ginsberg
in his purest
and most evident form
Cover-all Carl was draped
in his usual garb
(turning pages
of yesterday's news)
animating, culturing, bantering
on the fate of the
Greek barber
(in an accent of which
I'm not so sure)
His cronies
looked on
(with a twisted conviction)
countering
with their own tales
of ingovernance and woe
*did you know that Panasonic
lost 5 billion last quarter?*
The evening moved
in time lapse...
with painted winds,
streaming lights
and a host of
high school girls
running cold
Maleah passed
on her late shift
(checking the pile and trough),
patronized the boys
and called it a night
( ii )
The bald man
is back at it again
bickering at the till
(something about
a cold free coffee
or 99 cents
or the coloured guy
behind him who got it hot)
a kind Filipino
is trying to get it done
(at 8 bucks per)
losing her cool
and shedding a quiet tear
Wonder what the Purewals
or Haitians or Cossacks
would have to say
about this grim public reminder,
wonder what
this sad f*ck
will do tonight...
without his
bus pass
or sling sack
or broken Turkish stems
Jan 7, 2017
Jan 7, 2017 at 2:37 PM UTC
Creative expressions, examine artistic talents.
Plan it out, count ounces, keep countering the balance.
Distant planets i feel more at place with,
disgraced by the disgusting face human-race-lift.
I'm currently placed here, a pessimistic cynic thinkin
sink or swim, who cares? i'm already ****** dippin in it.
Deep thoughts dropping, with brainstorm droughts often,
countermanding clever cogitation conjured in common;
I'm om nom nom-ing, busting every ****** ******
endowed well where it counts never gave a ***** a problem.
Now drop that on an album, lay down a simple beat.
Sample the same **** over and over on repeat.
Call it a hype track, make some mixes, overlap.
Over a short duration you can claim to be savior of rap.
It's just that easy. Innovative minds depleting,
stillborn America with its heart still beating.
Patiently waiting..
I'm about to go crazy..
Basically, I better blow up or this hate is gonna take me.
Jul 24, 2013
Jul 24, 2013 at 2:43 AM UTC
Though, if you ask her name, she says Elise,
Being plain Elizabeth, e'en let it pass,
And own that, if her aspirates take their ease,
She ever makes a point, in washing glass,
Handling the engine, turning taps for tots,
And countering change, and scorning what men say,
Of posing as a dove among the pots,
Nor often gives her dignity away.
Her head's a work of art, and, if her eyes
Be tired and ignorant, she has a waist;
Cheaply the Mode she shadows; and she tries
From penny novels to amend her taste;
And, having mopped the zinc for certain years,
And faced the gas, she fades and disappears.
1.8k
Life is not worth living without love.
We squander our lives, yet search for substance belligerently.
The world wallows in indulgence, hunting for some sweet ecstasy.
Desire situated in our hearts for a thing extravagant.
What’s in a name? Not known in full, not yet complete.
Abandoned innocents, love pledged ‘until death do part’ reveals not faithful.
Is there another dirt road? An alleyway? More faithful
than the sun to go west-bound, love?
Does such simplicity exist? Revived, whole, complete?
Cries lift and salt-stained drops fall belligerently.
What is assuredly, magnanimously extravagant?
What is the original ecstasy?
Was it walking in the garden with you, this ecstasy?
With you, who, to me, is perpetually faithful?
Is it from you that that bliss bubbles over, so extravagant?
Of you, is there an undeniable, unfathomable fountain of love?
We bawl out for reply, until the abdomen aches, so belligerently.
Scars mark this world from its pursuit of the complete.
Peering through the mist, our knowledge is six feet underneath complete.
Redemption, we learn by stumbling, is the finest ecstasy.
On our toes, the paroxysm. We press in belligerently.
To raze and desolate, the swing of the wrecking ball is faithful.
But countering this, a sloppy, passionate kiss of love,
grace so abundant, so extravagant.
Trust steady, hope unswerving, love extravagant,
will be my three until the steam is wiped from my lens in the hour of the complete.
Deeply grasp though, the best of these is love,
from which comes all and any ecstasy.
Know that from the ants to the mountains, He is faithful.
So seek and swallow with all your might, desperately, belligerently.
Therefore, “what do I live for?” ask yours belligerently.
Dwell not in leisure and comfort, but in the painfully extravagant.
Zoom out, turn the merry-go-round. You will find him faithful.
Shake your tree of knowledge, an apple might fall, find yourself not complete.
If you speak silence, you will find no utterance of ecstasy.
I call upon the name, let be known this love.
The sweet surrender, the blissful brokenness, the captivating complete.
Find your absolute identity in this encompassing ecstasy.
Know that what has been done for you, is what is indeed, love.
Oct 7, 2014
Oct 7, 2014 at 9:57 AM UTC
What does it mean to lose?
What does it mean to be stripped down to your core and stand, yielding, for the entire world to judge?
I sit alone, among snowy abundance and beauty so severe, that the very thought of countering it is laughable. The sky is poised with such excellence, whilst all around me, the birds display their intentions through a chorus of chirps and chatters, and yet, somehow – all is still. I ponder the idea of loss.
And wonder if, in this noble cycle, anything is really lost at all...
May 16, 2016
May 16, 2016 at 6:40 PM UTC
Battered back
what has been
what has affected like the wind defining the shapes of rocks
Silly laws
saying you can't even feel them
my back will never go back to the other color
will never even try to counter something angry
because it has steeled like an earth
unaware of the core and volcanoes in Challenger Deep, miles past bottoms of the ocean
unaware volcanic fire in the heavist water makes it way from the bottom
unaware the terrain is never flat
your back is the most violent answer
counters things like everything is silent
but god knows and does not get angry
he kneels, more than Buddha ever could
Buddha never stood very short
sitting very tall
knees with two corners and just repeating so much.
God sees and with his shoulders drops his ears and his back
no tension of countering
but large as an elephant he shows he also has untame terrain
but done by his feet of his heart
since he does not have sad Hell inside
and then it does not seem so bad
he is this way, especially where people don't treat him like he opens flat
I am this way, eyes such lids of living sport.
We are diagnoled with burning rocks
why the most melted *** of every signal of soul and doubt?
eyes printed in like footprints of a crazy lion
this way
the night creaking with the strength of us
how much we have elephanted the day closely because we are so expensive
we just heat and motion the ground and it gets bigger
because beings cannot be slow or dull
because there is no one but spirits crisscrossing time
no one like day
there is no one little as day
we are all kneeling like true kings at the big things
there is no one as near as day
we are all in the mail flipping around up in the solar system
and all the way down, the whole thing
with every sway scooping like there's air already in every rock
Aug 14, 2013
Aug 14, 2013 at 1:10 AM UTC
become immovable,
a wall of unimaginable strength
too tall to see over and
too wide to walk around.
become undeniable;
do not mewl,
howl.
become so vast you cannot be looked past, shoulders so broad you cannot be held with one arm.
do not drown yourself in the tide of a man who would not **** on you if you were burning.
cultivate a culture of talking back. cornering. countering.
refusing and defying.
become unwavering.
become brave.
become angry.
become loud.
not because you are bitter but because you deserve the things you've been denied.
become immovable.
Oct 5, 2019
Oct 5, 2019 at 1:00 PM UTC
This crazy conundrum has been conspicuously contrived quite cordially. Of course, one could concede this cordially contrived conundrum could carelessly conflate the countless quandaries causing quintessential quantities to question the conspicuously questionable conspiracy. Conversely, carelessly questioning conspicuously contrived conspiracies as cordially quantitative quandaries could create considerably confusing claims countering the critically acclaimed crazy conundrum so callously clarified as to continue to count as cordial. Consequently, with careless acquiescence, I must confess that the conceptually contrived conspiracy, so inconspicuously inconsistent, conflated considerably contrary quandaries quite questionably and continues to confuse the crazy quite cordially. To conclude, the crazed conspicuous conundrum confuses the cordially questionable quantities of conceptually countless claims clearly clarified as conflated quandaries continuously contradicting a considerable count of conspiracies.
11/2/16 11:59 p
Nov 3, 2016
Nov 3, 2016 at 11:21 PM UTC
a slap on a face by a girlfriend,
just because she feels
like you've been cheating
on her while visiting your grandparents...
i must have looked pretty fit
for her to assume such a delusion...
and then countering...
punching yourself enough
times and giving yourself a plum
(a black eye)...
what do you think feels worse...
the 20 odd punches by yourself,
or the slap in the face?
that's not a trick question...
the slap in the face...
stings like a bee...
hones onto Parkinson's
like Muhammad Ali:
what is Parkinson's?
a bit like an animated stroke,
in slow slow motion,
over a long period of time.
- Rammstein makes a fetish
of various disorders
in the video for mein teil...
oh... lookie lookie lucky:
i've experienced the classical
bulimia of the ancient Roman
bourgeoisie...
i went to the bulimia gym...
trained the oesophagus
so well (it's not a tract,
it's a muscle) that i was able
to eat as much chocolate
as i was able to spew out...
on note: i love when Germans
sing...
that elitist part of me
disappears...
because: who the ****
had the authority to say
that opera was exclusively
an Italian or a French affair?!
- technical matters...
what is a precursor
hyphen?
a new paragraph in poetry;
a semi-colon? an elongated
pause...
backing up on
the topic of the hyphen...
point-break
(great movie by the way...
hate the remake...
Val Kilmer... Patrick Swayze...
or as i like to call them...
Valerie **** Me
and pat Paddy's back
while he swings Zed).
Nov 12, 2018
Nov 12, 2018 at 12:14 PM UTC
Lulling conversations
about ceiling fans and washing machines –
appliances I’d never think
to purchase as an idealistic youth,
because they’re included
in the best homes, a lifetime warranty.
Such as the time I learned
vinegar dissolves sweat from t-shirts,
or that nail polish remover cleans carpets.
There were occasions I
unplugged lamps during storms,
as knowledge crept upon my aging spirit,
while on others, teenage
dramatics fell solid victim to the
irate beast of lethargy, a sandman.
Can responsibility be measured
by the care I offer electrical sockets
and moments devoted to preventing sparks?
Quality versus quantity –
there’s a hearty debate, countering
kitchen tips exchanged from
housewives to sisters and the infrequent son
that I base my initial worth on,
of all arbitrary numbers.
Aug 18, 2012
Aug 18, 2012 at 3:07 PM UTC
Our evening would be filled with playful banter
Full of “hows it feel to be an old man now!”
“50 more to go!”
“I’ve already reserved your spot in the nursing home!”
“I’m so grateful to be here with you celebrating this milestone in your life”
You would say this isn’t a sad day, this is a happy day, I’ve made it 50 years countering every move made to beat me
You’d eat tons of cake and we’d drink cafe con leche after everyone leaves
Dec 17, 2014
Dec 17, 2014 at 3:32 PM UTC
symbol of contemporary life
packaged, preserved,
instructions on the side.
simplicity of modern day,
pop stamped symmetrical;
hunter gatherer.
collect them into rows
italian chopped tomatoes
best before date, barcode.
tin can still bites,
like bramble thorns,
to repel against harvest.
boxed up comfortable living
adding edge to expectancy
countering convenience.
May 14, 2018
May 14, 2018 at 6:09 PM UTC
Pull the trigger
of ***** target
victimized by displays
of fading fantasy
again, into other realms
of countering thought
what could be, what isn't
the voice echoes,
here we go, another loss
a new finding
of life's
endless surprises
Apr 19, 2017
Apr 19, 2017 at 9:07 PM UTC
Disembodied voices
Sit in a conference call
To convince tellers
To tell people
That credit cards
Are awesome
That it won’t cost them
Much at all
And they can get rewards
Not mentioning
That the percentage
Of interest
Outweighs any rewards
They claim are so great
And if the cardholder is not careful
Heavy debt waits
To chain them to
Financial insecurity
And a job that is cruel
Countering the countenance
Of mankind’s
Desire to be free
Sep 5, 2016
Sep 5, 2016 at 10:10 AM UTC
Wherefore
what we believe is what we become,
and what we Are is what we have Forgotten:
Whereas,
as Begat gives way to Self-begetting,
even Logic must be subjected to the Will:
Whereby
thoughts are things and things are waves
beyond the Father-machine's comprehension:
Wherein
faith in science and progress yield a sickly life
devoid of personal meaning, a suckling of experts:
Whereof
prevailing views are reinforced by shame,
ridicule a guillotine to stitch the countering lips:
No Reason is Pure;
Truth escapes the clutches of thought.
Every head has a mouth - and words to lie with.
Nov 17, 2013
Nov 17, 2013 at 3:24 PM UTC
the inertia of animation of Narcissus...
the water that becomes ice
of a fixation...
in visage...
if only Narcissus found
himself...
fixating on his shadow...
then again...
whatever Jung proposed,
in schematic,
and without mythological
imagery...
to propose a counter...
has been lost
to the vague attempts of
countering mythology with
mystification of the shadow...
borrowing from Kant...
a shadow is something deemed
cold...
i say... a shadow is something
deemed animate...
Narcissus fell in love with
an inanimate reflection of himself...
and this is why Jung
failed to explain the shadow...
in that...
his explanation does little
justice to mythology...
and serves nothing more than
mysticism...
how can mythology not be treated
seriously...
when the current contest
of lived to recorded time
is exponentially comical...
myth is time with the logic
of said myth, being kept as...
what coincides with
whatever happens
now to happen later,
having borrowed from
what happened in the past,
a past, that... mediates the impeccable
intricacy of scientific prodding...
to disavow a humanism of
the, "grand explanatory project"...
as if... that will not be countered
by an irrational tomorrow...
to the rationalism of...
oh... say... 3 billions year, give or take.
the shadow is too mystical in
Jungian terms...
my explanation of the shadow is...
counter to Narcissus...
the demigod who...
looking at his shadow...
made a more subliminal
fascination...
the mere form,
and how thought somehow
contradicted consciousness (dasein)...
Jung took the mystical,
archetypical route...
i took the mythological,
archaic route;
i guess we both returned to the same
conclusion...
only that...
there wouldn't be a Narcissus
without a lake,
since there would be no Narcissistic
observation on either sea
or river...
but i sure as hell can cast
a shadow onto the sea,
as i can, onto a river.
Nov 9, 2018
Nov 9, 2018 at 9:42 PM UTC
How I feel
I need somebody to peel the barriers help me become merrier
As I sip on this beer
Down my throat out of my body
I spill the emotions that have got me in a motion
gesturing questioning
countering the ideals
for the motion I feel
Is that of depression
which has been in repression
I've never been able to make the connection
to the motions I decide to withhold
but with this beer
I sneer
as the emotions come out
infecting this page
showing an age
I have gone through
I've kept these feelings in the cage
to have them all come out in one stage
one page
I find impossible
to not have them come out I find inevitable
I have the credentials that these emotions will keep coming wave after wave
until I am waterless
is that possible or will I always be this rhetorical?
Dec 3, 2014
Dec 3, 2014 at 3:46 AM UTC
I reluctantly gave my heart
To an island boy who treats people like toys
With wavy raven hair and deep emerald eyes
Who longs to learn and is good with lies
And no matter how hard I push
He'll push right back
Countering my pessimistic logic
With his own brand of truthful facts
Opposites are we
In time and space
In maturity, in race
In love, in grace
And yet here we are
Inconveniently in love
Me, the old cynic
He, the young optimistic critic
Yes, I know that my disconnect frustrates him so
His mood swings like a pendulum as the wind blows
He strives terribly; eager to please
Which makes me wonder am I difficult to appease?
Daily I question his unyielding affection
And daily he replies despite my perplexion:
"I love you, it's all I can do
Whether you believe me is all up to you"
And to myself quietly I say
"I guess it's ok; come what may"
With that he professes his love for me every single day
As his days grow longer, mine grow shorter
Mine grow colder, and his even warmer
You see, he and I are as paradoxical as they come
I am the night, he is the sun
No matter how much I wish to flee
He's always there pulling at me
I imagine one day we'd live happily
Desires of his love plague me so inconveniently
Dear sweet island boy who brings me much joy
I pray you aren't playing with me like a toy
Because my heart is quick to build walls and slow to heal
After this I doubt I'll be able to feel
Jan 9, 2017
Jan 9, 2017 at 11:44 AM UTC
(alternately titled random axe of violence)
I calculated an average
of ~10.16.... deaths per year
of mass school shootings since Columbine,
a morbid benchmark where,
iGen / Gen Z 1995 - 2012 bore significant hit,
now students require armed guards to learn - veer
really within purportedly "safe places",
which statistics tracks a unilinear
trend, and justifiably causing
absolute zero reassurance
countering alarmist state of mind dust tear
ability to accept rationale
dismissing greater probability
prevails lightening will strike loved ones,
nonetheless share
ring understandable expressing
rightful salient concerns with school board
quotidian possibility son(s) and/or daughter(s) rare
lee remain mum at every opportunity,
how second amendment does not square
with democratic e pluribus unum firmament,
lieutenant management,
quintessential reverent tenets
pointing trigger finger of accountability
at lax gun purchasing rare
lee does emotional uproar demanding
immediate controls, limitations, restrictions,
et cetera on firearms scare
the bejesus from stalwart National Rifle Association,
whence spokesperson doth prepare
convincing rebuttal (lock, stock at barrel) overbear
ring lee outgun legitimate
parental concerns, now near
daily occurrence hardly cause a flinch glossed
inducing similar reactions as
sports home team defeated, sans mere
slightly raised eyebrows while headline news
when another tragedy gets tacked
unto the 122 students killed since Columbine
took innocent lives 19 plus years ago
which ** hum sacrifice of youth or teachers bare
lee induce ripple despite an increasing number
of spent bullets fallout inflicting
more than 208,000 vulnerable
impressionable psyches sorrows need a lifetime to air!
Apr 22, 2018
Apr 22, 2018 at 9:49 PM UTC
A boxer with an undercut goes for an uppercut against his opponent
Who doesn't know the correct pronunciation of the word "sterile"
Don't you get it?
Cut the cable
And stay inviolate
Perform the synthesis
Wait for the nuisance to abate
Ride on the magic carpet
Be nimble
Pass on
Against the grain
The shrill laughs
Just make your way in the world
Through the Savannah
Going job hunting
Downplay it
A well deserved day off
Coke bottle glasses
Sleepless
Countering verbal assaults
Chopping wood and ******* blood
Oh brother, oh bother
Upstairs, down stairs
Pushed away by bad music
The barista sneezed in my coffee
I wonder what she does after hours
Mercy mild
Made from concentrate
You don't want any part of this
You poor anemic *******
You *** stirrer
Jul 5, 2014
Jul 5, 2014 at 7:48 PM UTC
Contemporary Interest disguised in shades of Grey Fog, rolling down low obscuring my Visionary Focus of what's to come ahead,
distorting the form in shifting shapes, countering Convention, confusing illusion. Abstract obscure object's tenacity of Structure.
All solidarity is slurred in deep intoxicating mists.
A pale Raven in the distance, the portal opens, much to more will come from Nowhere to Here.
My caution blows with a still wind I blew into, take me onward inwardly.
Some things must persist.
All things approach Nowhere sometimes.
I'm reminded of the Forrest Train dream I survived as a Child. It all was appearing, so fast the Air and Trees, so fast my Heart, deep beat of Fear, such Panic of what was to come, and it would materialize from Nowhere World, and manifest in the Mists, a Forrest Creature.
He jumped from the Green, out of the foggy night, and grabbed me on the moving Train. Like a Gnome from Gargoyle Land. Big Sneered Nose draping dark red cheeks, a growl of stained Teeth shook me, same as this Fog does Here.
Jun 7, 2014
Jun 7, 2014 at 11:40 PM UTC
I wish my hands had ghosts of their own,
That could pass through walls
Without chipping paint,
That could swim through oceans
Without making waves,
And that could penetrate skin
Without drawing blood
I would reach inside your skull,
No matter how far from my bed
You lie awake,
And I'd pull out all the fear
That collects in the
Grooves of your brain
And I'd drop it in the gravel,
And squash it like a cigarette ****
Between my thumb & pointer fingers,
And once it lost its flame
I'd put it back inside your
Pretty head
Just so you could feel
how small it really is,
How powerless,
How easy to extinguish
Then I'd catch the rain
That is constantly falling
From your eyes,
I'd hold it in front of your nose
So you can see
Its softness as
It drains between
My knuckles,
How it nourishes the soil,
How gentle it really is
When it makes it to the ground
You are vibrant
And you are safe
You are vibrant
And you are safe
I'd dip my finger in charcoal
And write that all across
Your windows
Until I could feel the anxiety
Slow in your heart beat,
Until I could feel the calm
Crawling into bed with you,
Cradling you to sleep
I'd trace the letters
To make the words,
"You are strong
And nothing can hurt you"
Across your chest
This may feel like a nightmare
But you are a dream
And you are made of so much more
My hands don't have ghosts,
But if there are live wires
That pump energy
From every heart
to every other,
I hope you,
Each of you,
Who see your life
Being drained of its
Beauty by the ****** hands
Of hate and bigotry
Feel the weight of all the love
I'm sending you
Even through all the cruelty
That overwhelms you,
I hope you feel the weight
of all the love I'm sending you,
And I hope you know
No matter what
That you are poetry
You are art
You are power
And you won't
Crumble
And you won't
Fade away
I hope you feel the weight
Of all the blooming
Flowers who look up to you
To keep your cleansing light
In a polluted sky
Nov 12, 2016
Nov 12, 2016 at 11:54 PM UTC
Words crashing around,
But not coming around,
Time with you, running,
That which im trying to hold on to,
To tell you all about and everything about,but you? You are cunning,
Playing countering as if we're at a war,
No, darling even if everything's fare in love and war,
But we're at love atleast i am,
Pursuing you with false hopes,
Only thinking to my self,
Stuck and froze to myself,at exaCt same spot,that you put me on,its not what i wanna blame you for,
But you are to be blamed,as
I am getting punished,
Getting bullied and cherishing these moments of events or thoughts,
By myself.which of course are mine ,
Even though i want you in each every seconds of these hard painful,full of agony moments to feel,
And here you are with rose stuck between your teeths,with its thorns stinging your skin,which i cant even bear to watch you getting hurt,
Having a laugh,and spectating not even saying a word of hope,
Even though having you here comforts me in a way ,you just cant see me alone here fighting for you,with you.
Words only i wrote,not said even though could'nt reach you, aches my soul...
Jan 23, 2018
Jan 23, 2018 at 5:46 AM UTC