"decipherable" poems
Eyes open
Upon the silent abode
Marvel at me
The heavens echoed
Predicaments dissolve into the trivial
The mind is spotless
You forget the greed, the hate
You remember only the love which intoxicates
Their watchful eyes
Shining upon us since antiquity
Embedded into the skies
An ever lasting source of serenity
Their melody decipherable to wanderers
Providing solace to the adrift
A message from our ancestors
Whispering that clear will be the mist
Jun 1, 2017
Jun 1, 2017 at 10:57 AM UTC
The light dims, the night darkens
Hardly anyone's on the streets now
We are sitting back, our bellies full
Barely a thing left to talk about
A comfortable silence forbids our
Tongues from wagging with their
Usual tenacity. Your eyelids droop
With sleep. The stars and moon can
Be seen 'cause only the street lights
Are on. The music is the only
Decipherable sound in our vicinity.
We'd get up to say our goodbyes
But we're too comfortable to even
Think about moving. The glowing embers
remain. The fire died a long time ago.
Sep 2, 2012
Sep 2, 2012 at 2:34 PM UTC
I am a simple bystander.
Upon my slightly rough surface rests libations
Libations sometimes full of color
and others devoid of any light
Along for the ride one minute he or she is calm or quiet
Quiet, and the next moody
Moody or wildly mad with passion
Passion for words sometimes strung in nonsensical or hardly decipherable sentences
Sentences forming the harmonious song of social interaction
In this I delight.
On my course surface games are made,
Challenges are placed,
Games and challenges are played, and it all ends with uproarious laughter.
On my grainy surface words are sometimes written
Written along with shapes and symbols
Symbols which for reasons unknown increase my value ten fold
In the morning I am desired and required
Desired and required I am sought
In the morning I am loved.
I am a simple bystander,
In this I delight.
Jan 7, 2016
Jan 7, 2016 at 10:10 PM UTC
The Internet, for a good helping
of the American demographic,
is the highest-rated of sanctuaries.
I use "sanctuary"
in a filthy and blatantly pornographic manner,
for every time
we post on our nicotine-scented Facebooks
that we're "so ******* bored" we "could die,"
there's at least one other
hand snaking you along
those fetishes you stash beneath your sleeve
like black silk underwear;
and no matter what you do,
nothing will explain away
those two consecutive Youtube videos:
"Black muscle man in blue thong"
followed spontaneously by
"12 year old boy sings Judy Garland!",
each, to the innocent bystander,
juxtaposed like two opposing ******
in one ****** up candy shop.
The grotesque meat show,
always the same introduction,
always right on time with the
churn churn churning of his
loneliness his rage his silence
onto those sheets
with no regard for the family
and friends of fibers.
It used to be hilarious,
perfect lunch table standup,
but once you learn
that with *** there might be
signs of love in the decipherable thrusting,
that a plot is swimming helplessly
in the oceanic camouflage of loveless living,
sticky hands can really start to sting.
Apr 29, 2010
Apr 29, 2010 at 10:54 AM UTC
Some poets have degrees,
Be they Bachelors or Phds.
But a poet, a poet is really qualified by experience,
And the ability to distil language to the dance of written form,
To transpose observations into song.
Etching stretches of moments too short,
Into something long enough to match the longing for it.
Weaving yearning with touches of genius,
Abstracting epiphanies from cracks in the pavement,
Extending the halls of learning by
Stencilling truths onto toilet walls,
So that even to **** is to experience the profound.
A poet is one who can make meaning out of madness,
Pluck obscurities from the air, exposing the bindings of being,
Or explain how words, in their whirling make the world go round.
But a poet, a poet does not understand that ache inside,
That ache that drives them to write, to whisper and to yell
Words, metaphors and similies, in the constant attempt
To quantify that special kind of hell,
That haunts them, as ravings in their head,
That inspiration that is their constant torment.
And sometimes, sometimes its heaven instead,
But that’s when it’s hardest to write
Because suffering, when transformed to stanzas,
Is somehow easier to ignite
Than that intangible something we call joy.
For something as simple as a smile
Cannot be matched by any extravaganza
Of words no matter how we try.
But a poet, a poet will spend lifetimes trying
To describe that very sensation, that fleeting
Sense of something greater than oneself, greater,
Even than the offerings left in ink at the poet’s
Altar of a page.
And sometimes it will be so hard, this attempt to transcribe
Emotion into a form decipherable to others
That the poet will feel only rage,
And exhaustion,
Till even the point of the pen begins to expire
But a poet, a poet, even in the pits of despair,
Does not retire,
For there, lingering somewhere
Above in the air, is a glimmer of truth
Just waiting to be shared.
Jun 1, 2012
Jun 1, 2012 at 8:06 AM UTC
*You wrote in Braille upon my heart
tattoo'd black etchings darkly lit
echoes of what was once impressionist art
vanquish'd with a glance of thy sword
words not decipherable in the name of love
inscribed delectation's sans an endorse'd mark
vintage designs deleted of scroll'd scriptures expression
signature'd confessions bestowed within crimson's pen
hush'd in unsettling breathless interpretations,
blindly I followed til you resonate'd in barely touch*
Feb 10, 2014
Feb 10, 2014 at 12:26 AM UTC
"preyed upon by
a decipherable
stranger,
mapped in
déjà vu. a
prophetic bang
of sublime
yesterday's
& objects in
mirror are
closer than
they appear.“
|| shoo.shu ||
Jan 1, 2016
Jan 1, 2016 at 10:34 PM UTC
Nothing nears perfection like your smile; it is believed to be the make- up worn by angels,
Your face; ethereally lovely; perpetually graced with the touches of angels.
Your breath- taking beauty walled the template of my thought; enough not to forget how Heaven glows in your radiance,
Life in its erratic form makes perfect sense in the ambiance of your presence.
You are such that the planet is created around your meticulous tenderness,
Waxing strong at your ambiance; such to believe in its ineffable gift of weakness.
When you talk, no bird sings in the planet; every living entity stops to pay attention,
The earth rotates in congruence to the luxuriant wave of your voice; dancing to its sublime perfection.
Your laughter reverberate in such a melodic tune that the angels dance to its rhythm,
Joyfully bonded in congruence with its flow; adoring every tune of its appealing beat like the psalmist hymn.
Your lips deposits sweetness like pollen on stamens and pistils of my lips,
Enough sweetness to inundate my worries and fears at a glimpse.
You look at me with your serene but yet decipherable eyes and mitigates the stillness of loneliness in my opaque heart,
As a lady, you are an ideal sample of perfection; as a human, you are the integral part of Gods finest art.
I just can’t get enough of you; your love blooms with such sweetness like a long fermented wine,
I can drink and drown in its taste of breathtaking sweetness; get tipsy and still feel absolutely fine.
Your allure is offbeat; as indefinable as the coefficient of your inexhaustible beauty,
You are attention calling, extremely attractive to the dense bones of my cardiac cavity.
I love you and every unspoken word that you’ve ever thought of and every inch of flesh that is yours,
Your kiss is life to my cells; no such lips multiply cells in a single touch like yours.
My love for you is as indefinite as the sea; as vast as the galaxy of existence,
My love for you continues to grow just like root of plant grows beneath the soil with sublime resilience.
Like a Heron on fire; like a creeping mountain magma; my love blaze with such realness and sincerity,
And can never seize to end; be conquered by life’s challenges or drown in the depth of eternity.
Am stuck on you forever; forever bonded and inseparable like the Siamese twin for real,
Because baby; my love is forever; always have; and always will be.
Dec 29, 2016
Dec 29, 2016 at 4:01 AM UTC
I write poetry
Because it is easy
Mix metaphors
With simple similes
An awesome analogy
Don't let the diction get too decipherable
Don't let the fiction get too ****** up
We all know how a story should work
Make me emotional
Make me feel something
So I can feel human
Because I'm a lazy
Emotionally repressed
Kid with a shoulder full of chips
And a mouth full of ******** jokes
So make me whole
Mr poet
While I fantasize
About all the ways
You could die
Jun 2, 2014
Jun 2, 2014 at 1:30 AM UTC
When the faucet breaks
And the head is in the whirls
Your eyes are red from the cold
Slices of orange and pearls
Not in this am I holy
Nor in the street outside the window
Where thought is fast
And people many
No one has time for each other
Can I see through the walls of it?
Are they glass?
Am I here?
Is there simply not enough time for any of it?
How sorrowful a burden
To be plagued
With the need of proof of
A good, long life.
How short we come to where
We think we should be and
Where we actually
End Up
The cream is in the bottom of
The cup masked in sugar, in
Hard pressed facts as is the
News of the world that spins
Like an echo within a cave
Vaguely decipherable but still
A mystery still
Uncertainty
Has the feeling ever hit
You
When you see yourself in the
Mirror
And see who you really are?
The one you should be
Can be
Want to be
And the only act that disturbs
This moment
Is a footstep out of yourself
The magic in the world is
Cloaked in the infinity of
Sunlight shining on streets that
Were once dirt and dirt that was
Once covered in snow flaked grass
Soon to recover if we
Should ever choose
To abandon this place
For something better
Though talking through
These facets of formulaic
Fantasy make for dull Spring afternoons
Make for strolls through the questioning phase
Allows the mind to drift and wander when
Life itself is to drab to engage in
Silence with noise
Repetition without monotony
Heart break with heart
Tears without sobs
Death with life and life
Without
Death
Nov 15, 2011
Nov 15, 2011 at 12:40 PM UTC
*it’s not perfect... but **** me... there’s a life to be lived... even if it’s just defined as walking the dog, or drinking a pint! let’s just rearrange the solar system spheres with a game of snooker to make summer random with winter of the least expected follow-up.*
you catch me playing with my fox / cat
purring his ***** slingshot
arousal
just where the spinal cord in music begins
and the evolutionary testament ends...
you catch me there in the drift of night...
and i’ll bet you 5 quid to have found quantum physics...
a particular instance in a universe of innumerable
stasis plurals of decipherable energy
to pluck and theorise, like autumnal flowers readily drifting
from the tsunami of green of summer to brown mahogany of autumn.
here’s one for the puppet engineered to dance
tugged at with its tail the solitary cursor;
paw print dot dot dot? i had my two thumbs on it,
squeezing out the hallucinatory juice of neglect,
with scoffer ready bouncers of peeled wallpaper about to
tattoo me in political conversation of slime slogans to shout!
i heard squatters were about... i didn’t hear anything from newcastle,
i guess the second mongolian invasion / investiture
came from the north... rather than east anglia / saudi arabia.
Oct 20, 2015
Oct 20, 2015 at 6:33 PM UTC
The meaning of the Universe
Is Love's Philosophy
Decipherable to astute hearts
That strive for harmony
Dec 17, 2016
Dec 17, 2016 at 11:36 AM UTC
i'm on 25mg amitriptyline
(god, why do chemical
nouns almost have to be
compounded thick and un-decipherable
in terms of syllables
like standard german words?
use, the, ******* harpoon! / hyphen)
and 500mg of naproxen...
baby (i never said a word during ***
i never said oh baby or anything like
that during ***********
i was so silent you probably didn't
even hear me ******
and alcohol (of course), the cure for insomnia,
i guess not saying much during ***
is a kabbalistic exclusion of satan,
the defender of the tetragrammaton,
it's almost like you wish to relive the silent
movie era... all that helium and picture-perfect
faces, but the helium though...
you know why i love sci-fi? the voodoo of
the vacuum, not a single rotten tomato or cabbage
thrown at you, the forgotten echo...
indeed, the voodoo of the vacuum, and
the atmosphere of sounds, an entire earth
encapsulated in an astronaut's aquarium of a helmet.
Mar 22, 2016
Mar 22, 2016 at 4:46 PM UTC
My words are so maniacal
My phrases so decipherable
The places and the races
Are spaces you and I should go
But then am i reliable
If you and i should die before
We return to an ever resideable
Earth thats so excitable
Tripping over syllables
Will i find the will to do
What it is that needs to be done
I don't know if I can go and
Try to be responsible
When we're dancing on the sun
Nov 7, 2012
Nov 7, 2012 at 12:56 PM UTC
In the complex fullness of moments, even a hesitant step can tread on a butterfly carelessly! With a swirling, frightened rainbow wing marching richly into proud freedom! Hesitantly tumbling, the lonely silence can also hurt: the eye perseveres searching for punctuation engraved in a wall, while the claw rays of the accompanying moonlight appear on a ominous veil of nights! We also deliberately closed the proud sighs of our eloquent words to our hearings!
In no man's land a wreath of thorns has been woven out of sorrow! Wounded resentment is more easily absorbed into the depths of the Spirit; the burden of accents can permeate every well-groomed, spicy sentence because it is throbbing and present, like a sick plague! As a child orphaned by ugly deeds: I am embarrassed with terrified eyes at the same time, and I do not know if you will be complimented by a merciful, angelic goodness in the manner of Don Quoijotek. "I can only let silent anyone I sincerely want!" My melancholy pleasure, immersed in lethargy, would still be good to share with the babysitter; in the captivating Universe, we could all be together even in the moods we can experience, and it would be unnecessary to further complicate the rules of our secret childish rhymes in a hundred ways!
The smallness of our details is often heard through the purities of decipherable communications; the latent curses of envy-jealousy are already crystallizing in the marshland of hateful temper! There is no longer much meaning in the word consolation, where human intention alone can make up tempers! - Disembodied anxious, great dreads in the depths of eternal-childish souls: the smell of rotting rot flows in prodigal hearts! Even in my few minutes of imagination, it was enough to marry misleading lies! It is better to get out at the very beginning from the protection of conceivable emotions, and let the snowman alone melt into the beautified memory of summer!
Mar 16, 2021
Mar 16, 2021 at 1:19 AM UTC
Found; a dying *****
Plays an off-key tune,
It's muscles are all torn or missing,
Has a hole the size of the Moon,
It's tubes are shredded and ******
Has no Rythm to it's pounds,
Just lays on the floor barely moving,
Unsafe and structurally unsound,
There's evidence of attempted repair work,
Covered in stiches and staples that ooze,
Patches and droplets of salt crust,
As well as the faint reek of *****
There also seems to be a label,
That someone has recently tried to remove,
Appears to not be surgical precision,
But that fact still has to be proved,
What is decipherable reads as,
"Please call if found"
I tried, dial tone, "number disconnected",
Seems no one wants it around,
Was left this way before Tuesday,
In the skip of apartment block 4/2,
No one has noticed it's missing,
There is nothing more that I can do,
(12/03/15)
Found; a dying *****
Left alone, not wanted around,
Desperately needing stiches,
In hands where none can be found,
(15/03/15)
Lost; a dying *****
I stopped trying to help it survive,
It's been a while, and no one has claimed it,
Now it belongs in another life,
(10/06/15)
Lost and Found; a dying *****
A vital one so it now seems,
Went back to the skips yesterday,
Found; a dead girl, late teens,
Found; a dying *****
Singing an off key tune,
Her muscles are all torn; One's missing,
Left a hole the size of the moon,
(27/07/15).
Jul 27, 2015
Jul 27, 2015 at 7:08 AM UTC
I look at the massacre around me
and see.
I see battalions of men and women fighting.
I see the corpses of the defeated
with the memory of blades on them
and the gratification of the victors
with their bloodstained swords in hand.
I see friends and family weep for the fallen
and swear to avenge them.
I see mothers hold onto the cold bodies of their sons
and fathers getting ready to bury their daughters.
I see orphans too young and innocent
to fully comprehend what is happening.
Some fight out of anger and spite
and others out of pride and duty.
Some say it is for their kings and religions
others, for their honour and blood.
On either sides, pain and grief
outshine triumph and satisfaction.
Amongst the combatants,
A man sits on his brown horse
watching the massacre unfold.
Hair and beard like flames,
scars on his face
and eyes the color of the blood being shed before us,
he stares straight at me
as a man is stabbed in the back right in front of us.
His face is expressionless,
almost like a mask,
and the only decipherable emotion
is the burning rage dripping from his gaze.
Apr 28, 2019
Apr 28, 2019 at 11:57 PM UTC
*What could this mean?
What could it be...?*
Could I be interested?
Not entirely likely…
Maybe a little orderly bee could tell me,
inform mee of what places to put my ***
or what organizations I should reject.
Like anyone knows for themselves…
An opinion removes itself.
*How insufferable.
How decipherable.
How it comes from a disciple...*
*Shows you up.
Shoes* you wrong...
Puts a word to another song,
but for how long…?
*Until the cricket croaks?
Until the cheep chokes?*
In notes...
nine to say the least;
she tells me of a beast.
How wonderful she is,
I can’t deny,
but still that little voice—
HAS TO DIE.
Aug 15, 2016
Aug 15, 2016 at 2:12 AM UTC
.
***
Goodnight,
Hushhh...
Loving care...
Sleep tight,
Or a
night sleep
after a fight..
This night we slept together,
In morning you are gone..
Life's so unpredictable,
It's hardly decipherable,
Difficult to digest
You are gone,
We will never fight again,
We will never cuddle again,
We will never laugh together again,
Why, is life like this?
Why don't we both with expiry date?
Why are we not prepared for the worst?
Why do we have to live alone?
***
Sparkle In Wisdom
Jun 30, 2021
Jun 30, 2021 at 11:45 AM UTC
*for my father's heart i'd sever a thousand hearts,
and think nothing of your digital bombast,
in expression, and in your understanding
a careless use of punctuation,
for my father's heart i'd sever a thousand
heads from able limbs, into that tabloid care of
your to passively brush... with your
assimilated parasites, lost bilingual ********
oh scare me with your turbans and lost tongue?
scare elsewhere, you equal among colonisers!
ignore the irish, they're just like dumb swedes.*
the ugliness of the english publication scene,
the too "risqué", i could integrate, but couldn't
assimilate, i couldn't do that passive-racism of
fake brits akin to: egyptians,
indians in the highest hierarchy of the Raj..
i couldn't do that...
they integrated & assimilated
like barren ****** they basically
did a Michael Jackson of migrating;
**** them all!
and they laughed at someone who
was almost killed;
thank god i received the laughter and
not my mother & father,
for my father's heart i'd sever a thousand men
from their torsos...
and i would do more, should my father's heart
not shine in emblem of riches
akin to my would-be murderer's mother's
tongue not dripping out honeyed words:
as i read, most hate their fathers, as the old
testament says, and as christianity proclaims
the Bethlehem star proclaim the baby owner
rather than Joseph... most hate their father...
and like slithering parasites without congregation
await the Samuel fingerprint of passing....
they laughed when i said i was almost murdered,
they laughed so hard they sentenced me for
psychiatric inspection to be able to write a book,
a common monetary generator that madness was,
but look at my legion of those readied to ******
look at it! ah, i see, no more great wars to be waged...
i laugh too, at their export of values to foreign
lands then now fear to contain...
a friend in iraq just said: p.p.s.
and i retorted, what about the p.s.?
and he said: i meant your signature, you know,
write something like resembling english humour,
un-decipherable, i.e. not funny, and when funny
thought idiotic, because too much lee evans puppetry.
and i said: ah, p.p.p.s.
Mar 11, 2016
Mar 11, 2016 at 11:23 PM UTC
Do it now
Keep going
Never stop (repeat)
**** the consequences
Don’t slow down
Live fully in every minute
Expect everyone else to
Hold them to impossible standards
So much to do
So many ideas
No time
Who sleeps anyways?
This energy builds and destructs
Explodes into my life in a rash of impulses and hurt feelings
My mouth ****** off more people
Get kicked out of another bar
Alienate another friend
Write more checks that bounce before the ink is dry
I am stuck in a prison of abstract ideas,
And overpowering emotions.
A random coagulation of quickly scrawled,
Half formed ideas
Spewing from unimaginable imaginary conversations
With people that never existed
Scribbled incoherently with no regard for structure or form.
Then reedit, again and again,
Until the nonsense is decipherable to normal people.
I am afraid of stopping
Of being too slow
Terrified of complacency
Get happy
Sad
Angry
Don’t give anyone a second to catch up
Moods change with each tick of the clock
ADHD…Nah.
I can focus
Hyper-focus, intently
So much so that I forget to eat, sleep, breathe
Forget that time and the world exists
Was this what Picasso was like
As he obsessed over a canvas
Or ******* as he whipped paint across the floor
Chain smoking his life through his fingertips
Casting the spent matches into the paint
I can’t stop once the adrenaline starts
My head is a toxic chemical soup
The only antidote is a massive rush of endorphins
If you catch what I mean
Here’s all this information
I’m going to keep bombarding you with it
Make something out of it
If I’m satisfied
Maybe I’ll stop
(I won’t)
Jul 4, 2016
Jul 4, 2016 at 10:57 PM UTC
when the mind becomes numb
a skull can be dissected to show its cavities
cavities are the orbit of the eyes
an old Indian saying?
I noticed you really just want to annihilate me
not comfort you.
There is a blood meal in me
ready to explode
a tombed implosion
an imprisoned womb.
But it's too late for that
time is personal
and lately, voices.
I fear the indecipherable is now decipherable
I see in Moriah, Jonah, and Tyler, incredible nations
Cree, why didn't you listen to me!
can you taste my saliva?
get over it!
you know
the skull was dissected to show the cavities of the orbit of the suns.
Mar 13, 2019
Mar 13, 2019 at 6:16 PM UTC
.
***
Goodnight,
Hushhh...
Loving care...
Sleep tight,
Or a
night sleep
after a fight..
This night we slept together,
In morning you are gone..
Life's so unpredictable,
It's hardly decipherable,
Difficult to digest
You are gone,
We will never fight again,
We will never cuddle again,
We will never laugh together again,
Why, is life like this?
Why don't we both with expiry date?
Why are we not prepared for the worst?
Why do we have to live alone?
***
Sparkle In Wisdom
Jun 30, 2021
Jun 30, 2021 at 3:39 AM UTC
I yearn only to be
understood,
each action
decipherable,
each sentiment
understandable.
I do not yearn to be loved,
just understood.
Jul 13, 2021
Jul 13, 2021 at 2:19 AM UTC