"curiousity" poems
Ay, mine eyes be such, the great admirer
Taking your words to heart?
Truly
Though, understanding them?
I believe i have a skewed view of the true layers hidden beneath the rows upon rows of your starlight garden.
I am but a bird above your garden, admiring the upper beauty shone brightly in the starlight.
I have but the faintest clue about the memories and experiences that root so deeply into your poems,
Nor the meanings behind the words that hold the earth so tenderly.
Ay, mine eyes be such, the great admirer
But as the greatest trees stand tall in their royal crowning, their historic roots support them whole heartedly, with their focus all upon the lifting of the grand finale.
Deeply do your roots reach down into thine heart. And deeply so.
For how can one reach the stars without a strong story below?
Ay, mine eyes be such, the great admirer.
I cannot be so bold as to claim to know what each poem means, for that would be to have lived in your story with each passing breath.
Nay, i can only express the emotions that these words give me in relation to mine own,
curiousity, like flower garden, grown.
Ay, mine eyes be such, the great admirer
Aug 23, 2016
Aug 23, 2016 at 1:40 AM UTC
Dear life, what is it that makes you take on a journey which always leads towards an unavoidable, devestating yet resenting death ?
Since I cannot understand it fully I wander upon this world without finding any clear answers to satisfy the curiousity my heart bears.
In the realm of dreams I find rest, as my mind engages into this illusion and frees me from this reality for as long as my body pleases.
Awakened by loitering darkness, these questions are repeating themselves on a path of recurrance, without decreasing in strengh.
As my breath dies while feeling the agony, flames of hatred are seeping through my fragile, delicate existence, giving energy.
Rumbling, boiling in sadness I tell myself that anyone's forgiveness is not neccesary, losing control over this riot of pure fury without heart.
Looking back a thousand times, it remains as my very best choice.
Letting these emotions race, rage and rampage uncontrollably
Whilst losing ones self within a lunatic laughter to release pressure
I cannot stop these tears, pitying the past long gone rolling down my cheeks, moistening the very soil I am growing on, as a pure lily
Until the moment comes in which my body exhausts itself and allows me to enter the world of dreams, where despair fades into happiness.
Until the sun rises once again
~ Umi
Mar 10, 2018
Mar 10, 2018 at 6:23 PM UTC
The anxieties are there
about meaningless things
and the meanings behind them
Time is spent
wondering
What he's thinking?
What he's doing?
What he remembers
and holds on to?
If any?
If all?
Why he's with her?
If he thinks about me
like I think about him?
If he thinks about my touch
like I think about his?
If he yearns for me?
If he wants to taste my kiss
and all of me
again?
So many musings
driven by curiousity
by desire
by a muse,
in every sense of the word
Awakening something deep
within me
deeper than lust
deeper than longing
An intensity
that's intoxicating
addicting
terrifying
An insatiable hunger
to search and swim
within his soul
one touch,
one moment
at a time
Only felt
never acknowledged,
engulfed in secrecy
engulfed by secrecy
Drinking each other in
between nuanced subcontext
one moment
at at time
Setting each other on fire.
Jun 20, 2018
Jun 20, 2018 at 5:47 PM UTC
Curiousity killed the cat,
What of it?
I am not a cat and neither am I curious,
I think.
I want to know and see, but few things hold my interest.
Lately I crave being craved,
Lately I hate that I love the concave of my stomach when fasting for a smaller waist to contemplate in my mirror before going to work,
Lately I’m waking up moody,
Lately I’m grateful.
Lately I need more sleep,
Lately I’m not quite in the place I used to be,
Lately I think I must be growing or changing because this new sense of knowing is gnawing so softly on my skin it feels like luxury.
I think I must be on the edge of an expansive biosphere of me, complete and untouched, because the vision of her is fading as my ten little prints and their oblong archless counterparts bring me closer to the edge.
Staring boldly, daring no one proving nothing peering down into my canyons.
Just on the edge of this cliff, feeling my wind my edges my rivers holding me up,
And up,
And up,
And down so far below.
Though it’s not down that I will go.
It it through.
And richly on the other side I will emerge.
But for now that is not my concern.
Standing on the edge, arms spread wide, I’m alive.
Quite Grand Indeed.
Aug 20, 2018
Aug 20, 2018 at 12:09 PM UTC
Mediocrity
Mediocre
No good melody
A definition stained on the upper region of my brain
Actively producing fungi fumes
Nauseated, you are excused
Instant hate when uttering its name
It makes our hands shake, to be displayed in such a way
It has no purpose, only an intention
Killing curiousity, by outlining others self righteously
Mediocre is my creative space for acceptance and I have requested an invitation to everybody
No reasoning just letting go of expectations consuming
Hope to see you soon
Jun 4, 2016
Jun 4, 2016 at 4:00 PM UTC
You never looked at me like that...
Together I see you
I try not to stare
That girl do you love her
Or simply not care
Attention focused
On one another
That boy do you love him
Or does it not matter
I don't care and it doesn't matter
Maybe you two will be happy together
For
You never looked at me like that...
Jan 7, 2015
Jan 7, 2015 at 4:28 PM UTC
Gratitude holds their breath
Memory runs a marathon
Exaggeration shares the news
Truth watches their actions while writing silently in a black and white notebook with grey ink
Mystery peaks behind Truth
Curiosity is right behind Mystery without seeing Truth's scribblings
Rest tries to pull Gratitude out of the sea while unfounded Criticism stabbs curiosity in the back
as Curiousity cries out Care embraces the culprit
Love holds Curiosity in their arms
Who will resucitate curiosity?
Inspiration
Inspiration comes to the rescue
Oct 27, 2021
Oct 27, 2021 at 7:18 PM UTC
You laughed awkwardly
Sorry I didn't mean to
Asking who you like randomly
Was a weird thing to do
Curiousity gets ahead of me
So I let it out of me
Wondering who you like
Could be a pain or my happiness
May 8, 2015
May 8, 2015 at 7:48 PM UTC
Chests rise and fall
Hearts exchange in each others eyes
Whispers leap into gaping ears
A hand gestures a new idea
Body presses closer in acceptance.
One more whisper leaps-
But lands with a pound
Bruising the sound of a pleasantry
A **** back.
A blank stare.
A tight jaw.
Exclamation points,
capital letters etch across the mind.
A desperation for distance,
seperation,
withdrawal.
Assemble a new language to be decoded.
A worry,
A curiousity,
Voices dance in irregular beats.
Then seize.
Clasp.
Waltz.
Sep 18, 2013
Sep 18, 2013 at 5:58 PM UTC
Corrupt the innocence
Poison the sanitized
Intensify the danger
Dischevel the brain
Starve the greed
Feed the curiousity
**** the clock
Ignore the hours
Bury the body
Cover it with flowers
Forget never the philosophy
Of the need for power
Apr 22, 2014
Apr 22, 2014 at 10:05 PM UTC
Curiousity lasted across an expanse
Venality put chastity in a menacing trance
The future once appeared open and vast
The ecstasy vision of childhood never seems to last
When its' beautiful stainlessness begins to slowly fade
Irretrievably lost in an unfair trade
Approval rushed and reproach is strong
Is it possible to recover something once its gone?
Aug 15, 2014
Aug 15, 2014 at 12:13 AM UTC
you enter my dreams with such audacious curiousity;
examined the void with intellect- deprived precision,
inspected every crevice painted in colour.
you left the blue for last because you say
the amphetamine matches my eyes.
you sample every syllable ever borne from my mouth,
denude the metaphors to their unchaste nakedness,
reach inside for unfleshly meaning.
you say all my filthy secrets implode into
ugly saliva bubbles on the brim of my tongue
and that is why you bite it off.
you make the drain spin out water. you make reverse hurricanes.
you euthanise my suffering mind with vulgarity and sliver-veined chalks.
i like it when the moon is yellow and not white.
spread me across your bones, you make me cold
**** in flesh. you wear me on your head as you would a stubborn fever.
you lick the lily, burn away its petals and
then you use the ashes in your next drag.
there are ghosts in your hair, they want idiosyncratic judgments.
they want anatomised angels and amputated wings.
they want ribs, signals, vessels and chlorine and aileron segments.
and electric ***
i am thinking of lexemes and lycoris, the vulnerability of artlessness,
prosthetic fingers and cigarettes, the umbrella under metal rain.
i only remember realities when they are expired.
the ribbon between cognition and the ventriloquist.
the psychology in undesired sentences.
this is the only immortality you and i may share; amongst ourselves
like teenagers filching answers before algebra, like dealers exchanging
eight-balls, pipes and profanity, like animals in chemical heat.
this vanilla immortality that we no longer need.
i'm watching the end of the world
from underneath your clothes.
Nov 1, 2010
Nov 1, 2010 at 6:42 AM UTC
You keep a garden
Some of your arrangements are to
Boast and show off
Delight in and keep for yourself
Alter with curiousity and growth
So you keep this beautiful garden
With every right intention
For leaves to sprout with confidence
For stems to hold firm and sturdy
For flowers to flaunt beauty and rich color
But do you see your precious garden
Is so riddled with weeds?
Weeds that expose iniquity
Weeds that slowly eat away
Weeds that make your Father frown!
Try as you may, in your garden
To hide or otherwise ignore your ugly weeds
But your leaves, they will crinkle
Your stems will fall short and break
And your petals will surely wilt.
Feb 9, 2011
Feb 9, 2011 at 8:26 PM UTC
My reader, looking at the ring, have ever you been caught
On efforts, spent to make it, sudden flashing thought?
About sifting through waste rock to find the rare gem
Where mother-nature hided it from curiousity of men.
About jeweler's stone cutting skillful labor duty
To grind the gem, exposing all it brilliance and beauty?
About ring design, embodying stone in golden artful frame
Creating masterpiece to glorify forever craftsman's name?
Likewise, in poetry, the sense of being attempting to extract,
Bard feelings puts in words to shows time's connection act.
May 5, 2016
May 5, 2016 at 10:39 AM UTC
Looking up at that big yellow star
the one that lights the sky throughout the night
it can be seen from where ever you are
shining ever so bright
You look so close but yet so far
Sirius A the brightest star
The skies are full
but not all can see
the curiousity that exists within me
Feb 13, 2016
Feb 13, 2016 at 9:51 AM UTC
And earth is its own god,
A very confusing thing to wrap our arms around and call home.
I try, but its never worth breaking my back over..
I point the finger at myself once more.
I admire this bird I had once seen..
All shunned to a cage,
but still managing to sing.
It was so hopeful...although most of the day was him staring at himself in a mirror that was placed inside his forever trap.
He was fighting to stay sane.
That bird and I, we aren't so different.
There is a horrible longing tattooed in my mind, for some divine sign.
Some worth.
I feel as though we all look for it.
Its in our curiousity, only to be let down.
Forward ill go...
Just believing in what I believe,
In hopes ill find another who believes in most of the same.
(Note to Self*)
Godspeed Darrion.............Godspeed.
Oct 30, 2013
Oct 30, 2013 at 2:55 PM UTC
one o'clock in the morning
switch switch clack clack
there's a train and it's streaming swirls of
steamy illumination
clack clack
eyelids drifting; icebergs, somewhere, melting.
there's a part of my brain and it's
it's drifting back to you
you're walking on those steaming lights
palm on palm and eyes on eyes on faces
creased and turned
with curiousity
and the beginnings of devotion
there was a past, storied; perhaps too complicated
and it's faded; I have managed to turn my head
painfully removed,
toward blue jackets being pulled on
blue and maroon
blue and maroon
you're different, and she's absolutely different
I do not know how I missed the mark
(but oh I hope that she does worse)
blue and maroon
when patched together minds of mine
**** backwards and--
I can't feel you anymore, I can only think
so maybe this is better
blue and maroon
he's getting better; he's not perfect in the same way
but you weren't either in a big way
his faults don't rattle my teeth in my head
and blister my fingertips completely out of bitterness
my eyes don't bleed of acid when he strikes an ill-planned chord
you're gone
and I am staring at this train
eyelids drifting
thinking of blue and maroon
Nov 25, 2012
Nov 25, 2012 at 6:30 AM UTC
My sweet Jasmine Pearls
has touched the hearts of many
So now I wonder
Would you like more of
free-verse poems about teas?
Please do let me know!
Aug 4, 2018
Aug 4, 2018 at 6:02 PM UTC
She is a chaotic mess
Who is a genius yet makes no complete sense
She is weak but willing to fight the war
She constantly asks herself, "How long and how far?"
How long until the storm ends?
When will her thoughts finally be her friend?
Because inside, it's a monstrosity and it's killing her with curiousity
Consumed in her chaos, in her little paradox.
Sep 2, 2015
Sep 2, 2015 at 3:48 AM UTC
some nights I stay up way passed the time you fall asleep just to listen to whether you'll scream to get out of a hidden reality of if you'll moan fighting to stay in one.
some nights I'll be kissing down your chest, no matter how content you'll look, my hands still manage to tremble down porcelain skin like the first night I ever touched you. glancing up because you're a horrible liar with the most stunning eyes and unwelcome hands are nothing more nothing less they are unwelcome and to think my hands could do more harm than good and I could not even know it.
you are art work. you are a story.
everyone near you is always eager to know more, dig deeper, find out what pushes and pulses through your veins
curiousity didn't **** the cat, a greedy society killed the cat.
always begging to know more, thinking there's entitlement and deserving throughout their blood like what is yours is theirs for the taking.
I want to walk in the sun with you
I want to kiss each of your fingers over and over
I want to remain what you want but I know how unwanting makes you rain guilty, I will run before I become another bullet point on why you keep screaming
Jan 30, 2016
Jan 30, 2016 at 1:19 AM UTC
I sit here and wonder if you're reading this-
If curiousity overcame you again recently, or not.
Its that time
Where im too exhausted to sleep
And all there is, is the music
And I wonder if you're reading this-
Will you have been part of this moment?
Whenever for you this moment might be.
Connected now, I feel it through-
You infinitely odd ball - creature
Thank you for all you normally do- I acknowledge it through this poem's feature:
So of my art unto,
I will become the teacher
to share with you creations new
as haines floats from the speaker.
Aug 19, 2018
Aug 19, 2018 at 6:58 AM UTC
He opened the binding of The Weeping Book
curiousity piqued, he needed to look
but how he wished he had never seen
the horrors therein that were so obscene.
The guilt of man along the passage of time
senseless slaughter without reason or rhyme
each page he turned ill had been done
by book possessed he ventured on.
The **** and pillage of those years before
children the victims of violent war
races were mixed, the one good thing
vicious hecklers of bigotry sing.
On and on through the pages now
the hurt caused pain behind his brow
saints and sinners all listed here
their sins for all to see quite clear.
He saw the vilest sins of history's pain
enslavement of those for other's gain
let loose man's done some terrible things
hope's voice is quelled by vicious stings.
The Weeping Book so perfect in name
from front to end it's full of shame
and he a priest of noble birth
would find before day's end, his worth.
No water passed his lips, nor food
his mind so troubled by soured mood
and then the page on which he gazed
revealed the future of a man gone crazed.
No change could he make to the book
transfixed at his poor fate he'd look
and as he pushed the dagger deep
as fate revealed he went to sleep.
The Weeping Book then slammed tight shut
till guilty man next came and put
his hand upon the tome's dark cover
then his sad fate he'd soon discover.
©Joe Wilson – The Weeping Book…2014
Dec 23, 2014
Dec 23, 2014 at 3:36 PM UTC
I guess, if you would ask me
"Do you smoke?"
I would probably, jokingly say
"Yes, I do"
Because, I have this need to have it
in my lungs once in a while
(the smoke, I mean...)
Especially, when my lungs
couldn't handle it anymore
and the overbearing stress
overwhelms me
I have my "cigarettes" with me
all the time
and when I need to take a break
I would usually pull it out
and take a puff of the bittersweet
air that fills my lungs
There's that satisfaction whenever
I'd take a puff
It's like my lungs finally breathed in
real fresh air
Sometimes, when I need a stronger dose
I would resort to a more "mechanical"
kind of cigarette
Kinda like your bongs and ****
I too make those ephemeral patterns
most of the time, from my mechanical cigarette
and sometimes, with my mobile one
just for fun
People do worry for me as well
the "non-smokers" that have that
same curiousity of
"What does it feel like?"
"How often do you take a puff"
"I wanna try, but it seems dangerous"
And I too feel that annoyance where
people tell you to take better care of
yourself whenever you'd take a puff
So, I guess..
Yes, I do smoke
Just a different kind of smoke
You take in your smoke
I take in mine
The only difference is
I'm not killing myself
Jun 30, 2015
Jun 30, 2015 at 8:11 PM UTC