"deductions" poems
Seduced
by the
school
shooter
singing
siren
songs
of
shotgun
blows
to the heart beat
of the wet American dream.
It's the human interest
horror allegory
The hero doesn't even get
15 minutes
But the shadow has
got a gun fetish
Counting bullets as
They're counting blessings,
numbered 1-27
3x his pump action
Light 'em up
***** 'em out
Some head-sick self-entitled
monster in a mask
on a mission of mass destruction
Cashed in on their
little tax deductions
The most sacred snuffed out
before the light could become them
It's the darkness that dominates
As the dragon **********
Witch inside
The mind
displacing emotions
away from the art of
living
loving
and losing
You're the submissive
Ascend the divine madness
or find yourself in shackles
in the machinery.
Humming
hypnotizing
hymns
of conformity
Another one's lost his mind
Descended
And the scapegoat
is mental illness
We all know,
The media is the medium
is the message
The subliminal secret passage
to the shared skewed subconscious
Planting ideas of bloodshed
Like evidence in the
Bodies of specific demographics
Demonize
Pack the prisons
Capitalize
And cut the blood losses
Here we are now
Hopeless
It makes for great entertainment
Oct 18, 2014
Oct 18, 2014 at 5:13 PM UTC
Folds, fur, creases and greases on your clothes
Have you had a nice breakfast?
No, no, it doesn't seem so.
You've had a bad day since you've risen from your bed.
Your hands are shaking and don't even notice it,
Probably because of the nicotine hidden in the left pocket of your jacket.
Ahh! Shut up! You were thinking! It's annoying!
Get out! Get out! I need to go to my mind palace!
Also, if you think that I'm a psychopath,
I'm just a high-functioning sociopath.
With your number! -smiles-
Oh, John Watson? You've got a limp from your last war from Afghanistan.
Your hand stays steady when you're suspicious or feel like you're being threatened.
Hmm, you like the battlefield, don't you, John?
Ahh, you can be my colleague! Come on, John!
Wait, what? Who are you?
The name's Sherlock Holmes and I live on 221B Baker Street.
And, I'm a consulting detective who uses,
The Science of Deductions
May 17, 2015
May 17, 2015 at 9:38 AM UTC
"Don't leave out the graphic details."
Oh, trust me. I won't.
The gruesome, disturbing, intimacies.
The bone-chilling, hair-raising fragments.
It's almost too much to bear.
But not quite.
This vulgarity is just enough to keep them on the edge of their seats.
Every tiny, twisted moral of the story.
In between the cracks, find shining slivers of redemption.
Only to immediately cover them up with rotten deception.
Good, ***** flair. Scummy additions. Sick annotations.
Keep the masses rollin' in.
Complexity, concentration, then chaos when they want more fear.
The blood-curdling, stomach-churning truths.
The disgraceful, distasteful deductions.
We've come to the conclusion they crave this coagulation of ****
Dark disdain eating away at the corpse of wellness.
Vermin, pests, gnawing, slobbering.
Choking on the bones of prosperity.
The decomposition of this life is what they love.
Flies, gnats, swarm. Maggots clump.
Crack, rip, slurp, gag, choke, ******* die.
Sep 8, 2010
Sep 8, 2010 at 6:57 PM UTC
Our forward motion is only
Contradicted by the backward
Thoughts that trip us over on the
Journey of what should be strides.
But we must learn to face the
Deductions that minus every
Second motion. Limiting us to normality.
Where born to be more.
So never let ourselves be
Testament to others regression.
We will always step beyond the safety
of ourselves and fall like petals.
Jul 27, 2018
Jul 27, 2018 at 9:07 PM UTC
Nobody mourn,
nobody get hurt
We just project
redirect the blame
and sink back
into interactions
with coping devices
of mass distraction
The artificial womb
of the masses
Tethered by an invisible
umbilical cord
feeding us way
too much
information
Like hungry ghosts
salivating
the next notification
We can’t run.
We can’t hide.
There’s a threat to survive,
But we’re so ******* desensitized
Seduced by the school shooter
we don’t hear him coming
singing siren songs
heart-beating shotgun blasts
That leitmotif
in sync with
The American Horror Story allegory
Just forget it
Too much in the queue
Too many new things
We can’t reject this reality
It’s really ******* broken
Em, I’m sorry we’re descending
Much Madness has lost its meaning
It’s just the means to
unlock an achievement
Emulate another scumbag.
romanticize a villain
amplify the bodycount
Like how many do you need to ***** out
before they give you the cover
of the Rolling Stone?
It's comedically-tragic,
Stranger than satire.
The Judge, the jury
Executioner cutie
cut all your losses for ya
cashed in your lil tax deductions
The most sacred snuffed out
before the light could become them
Get woke a-f,
This is enlightenment!
Come on get
your mind blown!
He’s the one who loves
to shoot his gun
But he knows not what it means
knows not what it means.
Do you know what it means?
Oct 22, 2018
Oct 22, 2018 at 11:02 PM UTC
He itemized his medical bills,
Maxed retirement deductions.
He's given cash to charities
and Democratic functions.
This scion of the one percent
knows its his cash they're after.
Manipulating tax returns
will keep him the last laugher.
A death this year is profitable
before tax cuts expire.
While he'll probably miss his parents
Still he set their house on fire.
He hates to see the old place go
but still he watched it burn
while thinking of deductions
for the Estate tax return.
Dec 11, 2012
Dec 11, 2012 at 9:42 PM UTC
You are Sherlock Holmes; cold, unyielding
I'm here just praying to be your Irene Adler
We match in intelligences, looks and laughs
I keep up with you while you spit theories and deductions
Even when you poke holes in mine
You make me better smarter faster stronger
....I make you soft...
There are alot of poems about unrequited love
This is not one of them
This is not one of them
I knew you loved me;
Since that day on bikes
Well aware of how the sun shone
Through my hair
But... Backed away at your advance
The rejection, to hard for you to handle
And as you peddled, away, uphill...fighting
With each pump of your legs
I wanted to say
I can't
Because just one kiss and I'll explode with love for you
I saw through your reasoning and never tried to fix you
This is not a poem about unrequited love.
This is a poem about when to realize some characters and some ideals are fiction for a reason
Oct 6, 2013
Oct 6, 2013 at 3:09 PM UTC
My life is well documented
on thin strips of paper
usually thrown in a trash bin.
My attachments
are well preserved
in a thin sheet of ice
covering an overflowing trash bin.
So when its time for taxes
I thaw out the bin
and re-record the trail
of 20's and 40's
60's and 80's
pulled from my account of time been in passing
I shake my head and laugh
at the time I spent trying to change the end
to Tuck Everlasting
Knowing now that when you tucked me in
it was to say goodnight,
not good-morning.
A foreshadow that you would be passing
and I would be lasting.
I've crunched the numbers
made the deductions
and came out with a lengthy profit.
Thanks to the money I've invested
in being possessed,
with the best
intentions,
paying attention to you
So when I file my W-2's,
I can do them with a smile knowing
I never wasted a dime on you.
Jan 4, 2013
Jan 4, 2013 at 3:06 AM UTC
It all made sense now, the road map of my demise.
You could've **** me with your longing heart.
How could you let a broken painting get in the way?
How could you presume, a friendly rapport was feigned?
Why did you have to wait, till the dam can contain it no more?
I felt fate yanked my heart's strings, tangling it.
My brain, rupturing from the cruel deductions.
Tormented cranium—screws gouging out of it.
It all made sense now. Anger draws me towards retaliation. However, I choose not to bear arms; forgivness cries out.
I sever my hand against you, for I will not let this get in the way of our longing for each other.
I abhor hatred against you, because our sweet memories overwhelmed me; because I love you.
My exquisite geyserite, blossoming middlemist, and my Alma mater. I have never forgotten you, I never did—I never will.
Aug 25, 2015
Aug 25, 2015 at 9:31 AM UTC
hey, god,
can you explain this artificial, chemically grown form of love?
if this love thing's so wonderful,
why is it assigned like some ******* chore?
some combination of cells grosses from your genitalia
and now you have some new tax deductions and soccer games to see.
is love an emotion?
you endure it and feel it like it's turned your bones into wind chimes?
is love an adjective?
does that soup taste of love? does her hair reek of love?
is love a noun?
can you hold it and touch it? can you sew it to your t-shirt?
is love made in a factory?
a touch of obligation, a handful of selflessness?
is love a seed that's planted?
does it break through the earth and climb towards the sun?
is love a song you write?
do a few measly chords grow into music after time spent strumming your heart strings?
the earth is coated in conditions,
so how does this conditionless concept thrive
in an atmosphere that condemns it?
and why, god, why,
do i appear to be the only one who questions it?
why can't i feel it, understand it, grasp it,
when the rest of the world breathes it like oxygen?
the faithless can mold it,
the faithful live for it.
so what catastrophic flaw is lodged into my brain that disables me to feel it?
to comprehend it?
to accept it?
how can it exist in so many dimensions?
is it like the flu, do you catch it?
is like a piece of art, do you create it?
is it like your mother's crooked nose, do you inherit it?
and how
can a mother look at her newborn
not knowing its intentions, its personality, its thoughts
and feel sunshine that
is rooted in the bottom of
her soul?
Feb 1, 2013
Feb 1, 2013 at 9:30 AM UTC
Enclosed within a vagrant expression
Contemplating the outcome of It's social reply
Thought patterns hinder my dormant intuition
A speechless absurdity and the feedback I deny
Passively containing a rant of insanity
Left with naught but the extent of my vanity
An articulate diction holds no worth in the shy
Hesitantly pondering if the words will come out right
Choking on the pretense failure of what I don't apply
A decomposition of deductions may cause some delight
,but what is the purpose when I fail to confide?
All the comprehension and reflection that I hold inside?
Jun 2, 2013
Jun 2, 2013 at 7:25 PM UTC
beautiful blue
the sky seems everlasting above me
the clouds desperately reach for each other
like they may never meet again
like they may never feel love again
i sympathize with them
the longing for love
the yearning of partnership
my perception of what that is
forever twisted by this shadow
casted upon my life
why cant i be happy?
why do the people who
are supposed to love me
despise me?
i am reduced to bones by their deductions
i am nothing but a shell of their projections
ive been persecuted to this living hell
with their reprehensions
i look to the eternal sky
standing on the edge
nobody knows what resides in my head
maybe its better that way
my thoughts need not be said
a choice between two paths
to be alive or to be dead
Sep 12, 2021
Sep 12, 2021 at 2:44 AM UTC
mirrors,
marble floors,
windshields,
ice,
metal and painted surfaces.
comments, hockey pucks, bullets
and tossed horseshoes
that changed direction.
need to know, blackout
censorship, who you know and what
you said to whom.
could be logic, could be pay,
could be power, could be it ends this way
light or images
veering and twisting please redact me and let me go
for I don't want to be in the
dark and treated like a
mushroom anymore.
from the gross
left with a net
and you have earned your trap.
on reflection, deflection
redacting, deductions
a quiet pool of still water will give you
a clearer image and rocks won't shatter the water,
they make waves and rings and distortion but ... watch and learn and return to the truth about
you!
©ClemC012014
Jan 21, 2014
Jan 21, 2014 at 11:06 PM UTC
My name is JP
And I'm 23
I live somewhere in the Philippines
Where tropical birds are singing
I finished a Computer Science degree
And I currently work in an I.T. Company
As a Spiderman
Developing web programs
I earn about fourteen thousand pesos per month
Depending on the deductions my employers' cut
And the expenses I have to pay
Because I have to support my family everyday
My objective for sending you my résumé
Is to apply for a position, if I may
I am applying as your forever, if that's not too cliche
I am very serious, don't think of it as a play
I am not that hardworking, but I can work smart
I'll make your every mornings a great start
You cook and I'll go wash the dishes
I'll hug you from behind, and shower you with kisses
I am a good singer, I'll always serenade you
I am a good dancer, let's sway and dance tango
I am a poet, I'll dedicate poems for you
I am a dreamer, let's wake up our dreams for two
I'll let you indulge with wanderlust and see the world
I'll keep surprising you with small gifts tied with a ribbon
I'll keep my vow that there will be no one but you
I'll pledge with full loyalty that I'll always be true
I can list down more if you'd like to
But that'll be too many, so I'll stop with these few
These are my assets, things I'm good at
I'm introducing you to what I have and what I got
So, please carefully review my application
This won't be enough proof, I know
But as our relationship grows as lovers
You'll see I'm worth your forever
For character reference, here's my number
Let's go to dinner, I'll give you a call
Sincerely yours,
Your soon-to-be future
Jun 16, 2015
Jun 16, 2015 at 4:52 AM UTC
Eternal memory atoms from the atmosphere
Ignited vertically by the forces of nature
Phrases to praise in paradise
An over populated population
Genetic modified body of Christ free in a positive gesture
Pause for a moment and lay on the ley line for the healing features
Ant on a rant
Thus writing style might make your head crack
A humans spare time should be spent evolving
Just another between life and death psychographical entry
These poems are a reflection of my infestation
Alive living with life but on Sundays i can't take it
No profanity please
We have children on here networking
College felt like lithosphere service
Dial up process
Wireless receiver with brain control remote viewing
Caught at the inner section of breathing
Lead to gold begins with the figure of speech
So i drop a few jewels on your bloody knees
Meditating inbetween Porch pillars astral projecting
Behaved addict ruled by tainted genetics
You only live once in the third dimension
Life is eternal but only in spirit
Trapped in a dazed vision for no hallucination
Criminal minded thoughts and i never been caught
Doubt the instruction begin the destruction
F@ck your government and all deductions
Die rich?
What for if in the next dimension money doesnt exist
Untll next time brethren of the wordsmith fellowship. ..
Jan 30, 2015
Jan 30, 2015 at 5:12 PM UTC
Tax Time
It's that time of year.
We all dread but wait for.
Tax time has come once more.
The mind goes in to number mode.
Deductions and credit
What do they mean.
I feel a headache coming on.
Social security numbers are in the right spot.
Now to the bank for a refund I hope.
Oh no , No refund this year
There goes my house
For Obamacare gets it all!
Jan 13, 2015
Jan 13, 2015 at 4:05 PM UTC
Here's an adage to evaluate:
God helps those who help themselves.
Allow me please to start debating,
Speaking first on race relations;
Then you might go on on tax deductions,
And I'll rebut with school age shootings,
And all the *** and moral misconduct;
But the pinnacle's reached
With hedonistic fate,
The Oval Office of those United States.
Feb 20, 2018
Feb 20, 2018 at 9:25 AM UTC
*Allowing one’s thoughts to go haywire
To traverse the perverse
Odd and uneven terrain of perception
Neutralizing the amorphous tidbits of "migrainous" quandaries
Coalescing into mind boggling quagmires
Underscores the need to appreciate the wonderment that’s reverie.
The need to take some time to ruminate blindly over anything and everything fanciful.
To laugh even smile at one’s own grandiose deductions
That’ll never achieve the high threshold of logic.
This indeed does crystallize in distinct perspective
The wondrous phenomenon that’s daydreaming.*
Jan 27, 2015
Jan 27, 2015 at 4:34 AM UTC
There is symphony in this tyranny,
You play me like the ghost notes,
Unheard yet ponderous, it signifies,
If not so try letting me go.
Into the unknown we travel untold,
Bright nostalgic colours blind us,
An orchestra of emotions flow
And into the infinite we want to go.
Dreams do differ, beings do alter,
Only to chase the hope in life,
The quintessential amour,
Nowhere can it be found than in us.
The unbiased tranquillity through hope,
Raises impudence.
Not a speck of qualm can I raise for this perseverance.
We're bound by no ambit,
But only that of the tender attachment,
Lets try and keep what we've raised,
Hope it doesn't erase.
Banish those dark deductions,
Help yourself with bright inclinations,
Life's all it, to crawl through the clouds
To see a bright tomorrow.
Dec 6, 2014
Dec 6, 2014 at 8:09 AM UTC
This world’s a plum blossom
Bound to fall in its blooming.
Ten thousand leaves shivering
for the trunks sappy *****
In attempts ill, to arrive:
A syllogism, best left unsaid.
Peace known only by the dead
And those that cease their striving
For the fall is easy, the road
Slippery. To abstract in words
Seems simple, yet birds
Don’t cling to their branched abode.
Nor should we, our own constructions
Lest we rouse misconception from its place
Kiss it square on its blemished face
And with it, bury our logical deductions.
For the Zazen mats are warmed
Not by the coals but fact:
The world is burning with emptiness
What’s left to do, but the dishes?
Apr 13, 2014
Apr 13, 2014 at 9:34 PM UTC
I woke up thrice in a dream.
Hell, t'was scary!
Faces pretending, all peeking,
Surreal in every way...
The mind fears itself,
causing illusion, making conclusions.
It kills itself,
giving deductions, testing constructions.
Here, my words are proof
That if ever I'm still sound asleep
Then I'm with you, thus
Will never count four from three.
Apr 9, 2015
Apr 9, 2015 at 1:56 AM UTC
A man got lost in the thick of the city,
A forest of people or the walking trees,
He wandered around, for hours and days,
Yet couldn't find the moss to guide his ways.
He looked up at the stars,
Looking for direction,
But all he saw,
Was the light of delusion.
Our man was no hero,
Nor a person of the people.
He knew what he learned,
Through his own deductions.
No signboards guiding,
No hotspots lighting,
Just a lost sense of direction,
The type that leads to conclusion.
And through these lost days,
Did our anti-hero find,
His unpaved road,
His route home.
Jul 4, 2016
Jul 4, 2016 at 6:42 PM UTC