"cumulative" poems
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QUIVER ALL-MAXIMIZING
SAMUEL DAVID <[email protected]>
3:38 AM (56 minutes ago)
to Daniel
SOAR OWNERSHIP
/ UTTERANCES OUTLABOURED PILGRIMS/
By the creditor at cyprus and on other grounds:
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Jun 11, 2018
Jun 11, 2018 at 7:44 AM UTC
It’s a puzzle
thinking what is salient
complications become proliferate
Hands on quarter position
evoking my inner senses
too late in one’s niche
It’s my inhibition
brought me in subliminal
My entire life,
without her presence
Cumulative heuristics
with other girls
and other boys
drawing some vague experiences
And I just thought
we can’t hold on
together
but we can move on
It’s crazy as I think
of you and me again
upon my emotional scrutiny
You're my drama.
Oct 14, 2014
Oct 14, 2014 at 12:14 PM UTC
You are like economics,
Your addictive touch, my unlimited want.
Forget our chemistry, physics & genetics,
But you, I just can't!
Ne'er scarce in relation to my demand,
You know my every mood & curve.
You alone, can my heart command,
As market prices shift & swerve.
I am normative, you positive,
Opposites attract? Tis true!
Our every action, cumulative,
Together, the perfect graph we drew.
Your utility, I cannot question,
You chipped away my unstable equilibrium.
Your every approach, devoid of confusion,
Insurance of our love, requires no premium.
Though our needs are ever recurring,
Our time, brief and limited.
Memories created are never-ending,
Opportunity cost for you? Never hinted.
You are the good, worst, better & best,
Most importantly, you are never a test!!
Sep 17, 2018
Sep 17, 2018 at 9:40 AM UTC
Which Is Greater?
I break a vow.
A serious vow.
In a place, in this site,
Where the fluid pain
Is the water of the world,
The element that is crux,
The amniotic liquor of creative flux,
The morning juice,
The afternoon caffe,
The first beer of the day,
The liquid that we rinse and spit out our every day,
I will write about pain,
Arrogantly, as if there is any unused combination of
Letters, vowels and consonants left unspoken, *****
Having sworn not to, for pain is cumulative.
Asking myself,
Which is greater?
The pain of creation, inception, origination and birth,
The pain of wreck and ruin, destruction and death.
Homework Self-Assignment: Compare and Contrast
Suddenly, I am expert.
Creating a poem a day is very painful.
A poem that is the sum of
Reflection, research, and purging.
Once I wrote:
*The poem is the afterbirth,
A conflicts resolution, an outcome,
Battlefield debris, the residue of
An exacting vision, a sentiment surging,
And your army of words, inadequate to the task,
Fighting to capture that insight flashed,
Each word a soldier, disheveled,
Crying, let me live, let me be saved,
Let me make a poem,
Let it be inscribed upon my victorious flag.
The poem is the sweat left upon the brow,
Having exercised the five senses,
The salt of struggle and debate,
It's completion, each word,
Both a victory and a defeat.*
Suddenly, I am expert.
My mother is dying.
It is a process. Days pass,
She neither eats or drinks,
Yet she lives on.
I watch each labored exhalation,
A subtraction, a countdown,
It is as if she was returning each singular day,
Every word e're spoke, every dream dreamt,
she ever possessed to the atmosphere,
One breath at a time.
Is that painful?
It is for me.
Now you complain. They're different, not to be compared, et cetera.
Pain is pain,
Whether it is in the service of creation, or
Creative destruction.
Once I wrote:
*With each passing poem,
I am lessened within, expurgated,
In a sense part of me, expunged,
Part of me, passing too,
Every poem's birth diminishes me.*
So, one and the same?
Nope. Yes. But. Cannot one be the greater?
Yes, one is greater.
When I lay on my deathbed,
I will exhale the answer
Into the atmosphere
For your retrieval.
Jul 19, 2013
Jul 19, 2013 at 7:06 PM UTC
Acerbic antagonist alliterates agonizing accusations,
blasting ******* backbiter butting beautiful bombastic brainy blond bomb.
Cumulative cranial casualties cease caveman's cognitive coherence.
Doom digger derides Daddy's dangling dire dreary ****
Eclectic esoteric eccentric egotistical estranger;
Forthcoming fathoms fetch faithless fleeting father.
God given goblins gather gossamer ganglions;
Hell's hairy harlot harpies hover heeding Hyperion.
Ignatius imbibes irrevocably insisting,
"Jesus juggles justice's joy jarring jams."
Kindness kindles Kilimanjaro;
Malicious mountains melt, Mmm, morning marjoram.
Nothing negates Neanderthal ninnying.
Overt obsessions obfuscate original object of
purest passions, paltry past pinings,
quickly quieted, quelled,
resisted, relinquished, readily, ruefully, roundly
saturated, suffocated; surreptitiously silenced,
terribly torturing the thrashed tamed tormentor:
Ugly, ungrateful, unapologetic,
Vanity,
woefully wallowing, wailing, "Where's
Xanadu's
zeitgeist!?"
Jan 15, 2012
Jan 15, 2012 at 12:09 AM UTC
Every right denied; every dream deferred
Every injustice and indignity endured
Is one more paper cut
They are cumulative
And deadly as any gun or knife
Nov 19, 2016
Nov 19, 2016 at 3:07 PM UTC
Strolling along
By the teeming docks,
I watch the ships put out.
Black ships that heave and lunge
And move like mastodons
Arising from lethargic sleep.
The fathomed harbor
Calls them not nor dares
Them to a strain of action,
But outward, on and outward,
Sounding low-reverberating calls,
Shaggy in the half-lit distance,
They pass the pointed headland,
View the wide, far-lifting wilderness
And leap with cumulative speed
To test the challenge of the sea.
Plunging,
Doggedly onward plunging,
Into salt and mist and foam and sun.
2.4k
I find safety in the darkness of the crowd
The cumulative hum is deafening until
My ears ring with incompetence for the sound
My hips are going in between the claps
And my legs burn from dancing too ferociously
Only flashes of light reveal my expression
Beaming with a misplaced innocence
I try to focus on his face only to find myself
Staring down black pupils like barrels of a gun
It’s been a long day, I’m clean out of epinephrine
It feels good to have your shoulder in my throat
To put my weight on something else and forget gravity
I’ve made an escape, the result of a good night
I find consolation in a repeated tomorrow
I catch a free ride and stumble into the city
By night I’m so much further than where I arose
Drifting unintentionally and forgetting all the rules
Always late to arrive and early to leave,
I’m never where you need me to be
Just a mind finite and floating
But if I lived as just a heart
As just a shrine for my soul to breathe
Then, I would be perfect.
It’s this bag of flesh that slows me down
Like an expiration date.
Dec 18, 2012
Dec 18, 2012 at 2:39 AM UTC
Who are you?
The you we keep writing about,
We- the poets; poets around the world,
Across time immemorial and
space immeasurable,
We write about you,
We shape your skeleton
With the strength of all the pain
We've borne, and we sculpt your flesh
With the wistful beauty of our tears,
We bring you to life with our words
Make them course through your body
Like blood,
Who are you?
The cry of our first heartbreak?
The joy of a lover's return?
The stunning silence of absolute loneliness?
Of turmoil and torment, the stinging burn?
You're all of the above,
and more- profoundly more,
You're a piece of every poet's heart,
Infinite power, immense emotion,
You are the cumulative of every drop of blood
The poet has shed through their pen
You are the story that stays stifled inside
the confines of paper, until someone comes along
And unlatches your locks,
Absorbs the burden of the poet's grief,
And at that moment, brings you to the form in
which you had been intended to be.
It is then, that you, the very essence,
the very soul of the poet,
Can take flight, blissfully relieved,
When you are read, your creator is finally free.
Apr 17, 2016
Apr 17, 2016 at 5:03 PM UTC
<6:36 AM>
~for Joanne Louise Veronika~
patches of light, snatches of sleep,
cumulative tallies of every 24 hour arrhythmia,
detect heart alarms ringing, watch warnings screeching beeping
who cares!
new commitment, self imposed!
greet the early ones with sooth and java,
a combination, “all across the nation,”
ease them in from sleeply lyrical dreams,
to a clear sky, renew anew, bay waters
running new tide fast, tiny tendrils of water points,
etch-a-sketch paths to a calm souls restoration
the smoke haze bad dream departed,
sun rays warmth for the invisible innards,
waves look like the EKG of human at peace,
resting heart rate steady and rhythmically sweet
and I laugh at myself, preposterous!
this is my secret path to restoration,
please laugh at me, join the raucous joy
of not-taking-yourself too seriously,
meaning of a new light, fresh waters,
of an old friend, the same diurnal perspective,
a new alphabet that spells but a singular duality,
a two-word~poem of
meditative perfection:
calm sheltering
Jun 10, 2023
Jun 10, 2023 at 7:05 AM UTC
Perish the thought that coats
Our tongues with hard harsh words
Inchoate reaching beyond grasp
Scantly strum our plush stairs
Scaling arpeggios
To soft crescendo as hands clasp
Gently brush angel hairs
Like magnet and shavings
Draw forged iron from gorgeous shrouds
Cherish the touch that floats
Like snowflakes whispering
In hushed descent from secret clouds
I will hold you in my mind
I will hold you in my arms
I will hold you in my time
You will hold me with your charms
I will take care of your memory
You will take care of my heart
I will keep you in my thoughts
Whether together or apart
Saintly calm amid storms
Whose roil-released crystals
On sprinkled tongues and cheeks alight
Enlace the fringe that frilled
Our sheer contours' luster
Emerging from dark thunder bright
Embrace the mists that build
Like cotton enfolding
Cumulative nimble and fond
Faintly kiss dermal forms
Like ghost lovers made flesh
Coaxed tumescent from far beyond
I will hold you in my mind
I will hold you in my arms
I will hold you in my time
You will hold me with your charms
I will take care of your memory
You will take care of my heart
I will keep you in my thoughts
Whether together or apart
Jul 23, 2013
Jul 23, 2013 at 2:48 PM UTC
Get impassioned, get informed, get involved, because our ignorance makes us impotent, irrational, idiotic invalids, incapable of inquiry, and strips us of our individuality. Time to step up and take back what's yours. Hedge fund managers and securities brokers hold a cumulative trillion + dollars in assets. While you're living on minimum wage, working 2 jobs, struggling with job security, or drowning in student debts; they rake in 9 figure incomes by gambling with other people's money, and get tax breaks that come out of your pocket. Your voice is not insignificant, you are just as important as the people you idolize. Believe in yourself and extend it to others. We are the collective majority, and we have been conned. Together, we have the power to make a change for the better, so spread the word, and tell em you heard: get impassioned, get informed, get involved.
Dec 13, 2014
Dec 13, 2014 at 3:39 PM UTC
Where have all the Peacemakers
Gone?
Have they gone awry
Have they gone astray
Have they all died away?
What exactly are they doing
Today?
We face a universe's
Insatiable hunger
For death
On this small blue speck
Ants on an anthill
In the middle of the forest
Just off this path
Slaughtering each other
Over one
Miniscule mound of sweat.
We knock on the door
I'm hungry please let me in
When I'm hungry enough
I'll kick that **** door in.
Where have all the Peacemakers gone?
Whose coming with the light of dawn.
Every night on the news
The death report reports
And the cumulative sorrows weep
For the innocent
While genocide marches
Through the streets.
I can hear their cries from here.
Tell me dear
Where have all the Peacemakers gone?
Have we
Has the universe
In its insatiable hunger
Really
Killed each and every one?
I watch the apocalyptic
Dawn
And I can't help but feel so
Alone.
So I reach out to you
In affectionate
Hunger
And bury my face
In your breast for a
Moment's rest.
While in my heart are all
The cries
Of all the generations
Who have asked this before
They died
Where have all the Peacemakers gone?
And why?
Dec 7, 2013
Dec 7, 2013 at 11:04 AM UTC
Learning the mystery
May be a feat
Reminiscent of pulling teeth
It can be time consuming
But never in vain
Because if you can ever be trusted
To understand without judgement
The reward can be so sweet
usually more than the average can handle
From passion, compassion and loyalty
We are indeed valuable companions
Definitely worth the effort and patience
Because we don't offer information
And even when you ask
Initially trying to get to know us
Our answer will accomplish
Only half the task
Because growing up we learned what not to say
Definitely the hard way
Exposing our interior and
Shedding our hard exoskeleton
Is a thought beyond terrifying
And a task that is quite daunting
Revealing a membrane underneath
As intrinsic and complex
As it is delicate and fragile
Attempts to damage or injure
Can prove beyond fatal
For the venom used against you
Is comprised of fermented resentment
From the cumulative pain you've inflicted
used with lethal precision on
Your insecurities, pain, and pride
drawn from Information that you provide
The easiest way to avoid heinous defeat
Is via honesty, loyalty and
Through the words and promises you keep
Most chose not to heed a warning so distinct
And are horrified
When the revenge exacted is so succinct
May 8, 2014
May 8, 2014 at 4:15 PM UTC
Walking past the stupefied wall
its chippings tells a different story;
who was the graffitist and perhaps the eventual liberator,
rolled up into that cumulative presiding chisel
that took it to the ledge.
May 7, 2013
May 7, 2013 at 2:55 PM UTC
Expert testimony has decreed yellow,
Who are we to speak against those with seven tongues and antlers,
You sleep as the muffin man creeps
Camera in hands and remnants of sickness past upon his clothes
Your eyes Otto Dix, your face like an anguished customer at Greggs.
He, the muffin man, staggers in the night and surveys these barren lands.
At what point will you release your patterned anguish?
Expert testimony has decreed yellow,
Watermelon and disorder for the masses in their lived fury
hunters of the lowest rung,
misery and handbags at the cumulative paces from Newcastle to Carlisle
Flawed Romans and tasty Saxons,
Expert testimony has decreed yellow,
Revolt! bring down the manor!
The muffin man in his element, deckchair reclined
Sep 8, 2018
Sep 8, 2018 at 11:38 AM UTC
Catching, imperative
Just like a great cup of tea
Curiosity is cumulative
'Wonder what's grasping me?
These tides flowing peacefully
Numb, pondering your grace
Achieving supreme harmony
Within your tender embrace
Living casually, unoccupied
Nibbling softly into meditation
My happiness would be amplified
If only I’d give in to temptation
Apr 1, 2014
Apr 1, 2014 at 10:07 PM UTC
Though the date may be late… and
Those type things don’t happen anymore…MUCH…dare I say
Those type things don’t happen MUCH anymore… (yes I dared)
It is nevertheless ingrained…
No matter the age or the date
However young or old…
It is in our DNA… and
Our DNA does not forget
Will not allow us
As other cultures will
To easily enjoy
The remote loveliness… and
Maniacally flowering greenery… and
Beauteous quiet of this
Southern forest… this
Confederate lake…
Without our spirits
Sadly counting
The cumulative number of
Hundreds of years of
Fertilization by
Black Men’s bones…
But like my father and his father before him
We show up anyway…
Albeit somewhat uneasily…
While the native good-ole-boys
Stand stock still and stare
Actin’ like they never seen one’a us before… and
Though we arrived obviously prepared for what we came to do
They still stare… as if
wondering what we could possibly be doing here…
or maybe… how dare we enjoy God’s green earth with our brown selfs…
And my beautiful Black Man
with ease of motion
Audaciously pays the Black Tax
(the quoted price over what the sign says the price is)
As I bait my line in defiance
Albeit somewhat uneasily… and
Cast it out into this confederate lake
And my beautiful Black Man
Also stands… broad shoulders back… and
Pointedly does not acknowledge the presence of the natives
As they stand stock still and stare
But it is there
(We will NOT be afraid… and we will NOT go away)
Unspoken between us... But
Always in the back of the mind…
The recesses of the consciousness…
Preparation for this day… and the worst that it can bring…
Is ingrained…
Apr 30, 2013
Apr 30, 2013 at 3:15 PM UTC
The old man tempts smoke down
The throat of green beer bottles
From the night before.
Cigarette a tool of precision,
Smoke falls like a lozenge
Until the bottom is occluded; endless.
When viewing art he takes to the moor,
Emergent properties of flocking birds,
Overhead patterns he can understand
Without knowing what it means.
Creation is ongoing, cumulative.
Bone upon bone, centuries of death
To build a monument for living.
The old man paints fissures on the foundations
That cultivate famous skylines,
Smoked windows interrupt sunlight;
No one is looking out for him.
The flocking birds circle the air;
Static black on the page - angry, restless.
When making art he suspends disbelief,
Essence of life locked in time,
No beauty in the fault-lines of a face
If no one has seen it smile.
Empires are falling, unknowing submission-
Tower of Babel, Interstate Highway;
All roads lead to terminal erosion.
The old man bites the skin
Around his weathered fingernails,
Fear is his mantra.
Cigarette a tool for soothing,
Smoke falls like a lozenge,
His hunger is permanent; endless.
Dec 13, 2015
Dec 13, 2015 at 10:25 AM UTC
Cloudless confusion blows through the dead mind's sky
All eyes envying the ever nearing end of time.
This constantly reccuring thread.
This secret sentence meant to reinvent this magic.
It is a morbid mirage.
Murdered marriage
A massacre, unmentionable.
Mesmerizing sobriety,
Majestically marauding science.
Mindless moon born madness.
Inner sinner-inner sanctum.
Sheltering some malevolent Mysterium.
This thoughtless thirst for sanctity.
The shapeless shadow wisps which whisper.
Shock of spewing blood against a backdrop of white.
A keenly edged knife ********** grins into milky skin stretched tight.
The shifty sorrow of quick fading light
Deep down dig of fright
Straining: fighting with the last vestiges vanquished
The swallow of sentience, this last candle scarcely alight.
Burial romance.
This slow turned page.
Slow revelation of cumulative age.
Empty vessel volition withering onstage.
Don't weep this ****** burned
This solace we've earned
Good sense long past spurned.
Sadistic disaster our honey and sugar.
Outlined by the end
The smile of evil men.
Sad string stung, star struck spirit spun.
The voice of Us long undone.
Screaming chorus Kingdom come.
Seance chorus all wanting some.
This cracked Kingdom collapses
Each moment which passes
One last squandered synapse and then all falls quiet... at long last.
My lunar goddess
Lunatic
******
Murderess that got it
Jan 31, 2014
Jan 31, 2014 at 8:51 AM UTC
Time is ageless,
sadly most just can't look past what we're not.
I loved how my great-grandma said "I'm ninety-two years young,"
when all the young ones would fret that she was so near the end.
She spent all of her time so far ahead of her time,
loving what time she had instead of staring down the second hand.
I want to live in a world where counting up is the normative,
where age is the cumulative of positives, not a death march.
We need to lose the mentality of counting down our mortality
while making life a banality, 'cause every day here is a treasure.
When clocks are kept on shelves
instead of burned in our minds,
no time is spent counting down.
It's only spent living.
Sep 16, 2013
Sep 16, 2013 at 1:15 AM UTC
Baba,
I know you better now.
After a long, ferocious time—almost thirty years,
I couldn’t write you a poem that expresses my mixed feelings toward you.
Despite this inconsistency between knowing you and being unable to write to you, we are not arguing or fighting anymore.
My cumulative hatred toward you is calming down.
I forgot about all the wounds that you had drawn on my borderline personality disorder portrait and the demonic words that you used to say to me every morning and night.
I got rid of all the ruins that you had spent time injecting into my pores.
No more writing dark letters and lifting them with balloons to the world to show it how evil you were or spending three hours creating black-and-white videos about family abuse and not posting them anywhere.
I’m a grown woman today; I’m thirty years old, I guess. Keep this in mind.
Baba, in spite of these unfair feelings, I love you to the point of tears.
Your daughter
Kira.
Aug 20, 2023
Aug 20, 2023 at 9:23 AM UTC
And the blazing sun,
Creeps slowly,
Over the edge of the world,
Chasing clouds away,
Pushing hard against the dawn,
Weeping final raindrops,
and escaping across horizons,
Cumulative Nimbus,
Recede,
Showing might,
In its flight,
Escaping heat,
Bringing dawn,
And sunsets,
Somewhere,
The Earth turns,
And spins and spins and spins,
And surprisingly begins,
Rainbows shine,
And drift with time,
To places,
That live within.
Jan 15, 2013
Jan 15, 2013 at 7:07 AM UTC
Each song is like a bookmark for the book of your life’s memories.
Each thumping bass line, each crescendo and every change in voice tone of the singer makes you cognizant of a time in the past during which you identified at some level with the musician.
To some degree, the words are clearer now than they ever were; in other aspects it’s like viewing a piece of art with younger eyes.
Likely, upon first hearing the song you did not completely empathize with the message.
Maybe you envisioned yourself in their place, wondering what you would feel or do.
Often times, upon hearing a favorite song from days past anew, our cumulative experiences since last hearing the song have made it possible for us to appreciate the meaning.
Sometimes we’ve actually been through the same thing as the singer.
At this point it’s almost like having a psychiatrist there asking you how the situation made you feel.
It compels you to think back to the incident and contemplate the momentousness of the occasion.
It allows you to grieve alongside the artist, to work through the problems which persist in your life as a result and hopefully, under the right circumstances listening to music can allow us to remove the bookmark and turn to the next page.
Jan 13, 2011
Jan 13, 2011 at 11:07 AM UTC
*an infinity of predestined roles
an inclusive experience in totality
as every fiber, thread, and patch
in the quilt of being that is god
serial embodiment in all matter
animal, vegetable, and mineral
earth, atmosphere, and aether
purposeful suffering and solitude
new souls emerging from the cycle
comprehensive awareness fulfilled
a nebula of creative expansion
from a supernova of spirituality
novices grasping for comprehension
floundering with loving compassion
welling tears of confused recognition
from a source of obscured recollection
collective consciousness in transformation
the cumulative effect of genuine connection
to appreciate the strength of a star
to respect the divinity of a weakness*
Jul 11, 2015
Jul 11, 2015 at 3:01 AM UTC