"definitive" poems
Before there was anything that mattered everything that would ever be existed , it was the essence of totality , it was without dimensional constriction or necessitated form . Optimistically speaking time had no relative realism to it’s progression because realistically nothing had happened yet . As it continued it became according to it’s innate inflections as a functionally integrable form . The questionably understandable nature of it’s conjunction was an omnipotent directive beyond necessitated action or morphological construction . The enigmatic consciousness of it’s relatively interrelated conception was spontaneous and yet it continued without elemental omniscience.
As the relative complexity of it’s interrelations evolved dimensional consistence was born. Humanly understandable laws of physical integration governed many facets of it’s conjunction yet the totality of it’s ramification was beyond humanly realistic conjecture .
The organic morphology of biological ontogeny was a conceptually reflective derivative of functional physical mechanics yet it’s diversity exceeded it’s physical complexity , understanding evolved . Relatively extraneous interpolations of adhesively practical extremity succeeded in a hierarchy of functionally integrable forms .
Retrospectively speaking pragmatic practicality is a humanly rational possibility . Rational logic can conceive of individually totalitarian structural forms , yet the implosive nature of their rational cohesiveness becomes a practical partiality due to the diversity of their definitive impetus .
Perhaps the essence of our being is the logical counterpart for the matrix of our subjectively conclusive social fragmentation , or perhaps we are evolutionally incapable of cumulatively rational correlation. Problematic diversity could be perfectible on an individually infinite level or contrarily perhaps ubiquitous causality is the ultimate survivor.
In any case it is beyond our subjugatively rational cohesive coercion to intercede en masse on our own behalf as an integrated unit. Our conceptual abilities have been thwarted by the unmitigatably individual nature of our extraneous conclusiveness .
Aug 12, 2018
Aug 12, 2018 at 5:15 PM UTC
a lady lights a cigarette
glowing red cherry
lips, puffing without
regret
a cigarette, burning
smoking, grey breathing
choking and
tap tap the
falling ashes
it is over with
a definitive flick —
a lady lights a cigarette
she can see her spirit
dancing in the smoke
May 7, 2014
May 7, 2014 at 12:26 AM UTC
A constant is control
Your every surrounding contains a constant
Constantly ever changing
in what ways are we shaped by our own constant?
Our society?
How does it mold our perception?
it is but a constant
I am who I am
I can only hope that
creativity defines me
As my flaws weave through each definitive line of my life
And My colors define me with each shade of its own
It was once spoken that
“Imagination was greater than knowledge”
Because It is all its own.
Creativity is freedom 🖤
Jul 17, 2018
Jul 17, 2018 at 9:19 PM UTC
When I was cold,
my surface was so predictable.
An icy land allowed me
to be alone, distant, safe.
One day, the sun came,
and changed my frame.
The warm wind melted everything.
I became defenseless saltwater.
Untamed tears,
chanting my past lives
hidden in the drops
of who I was
and what I longed to mean.
With time, the calm waters
turned clear and soothing.
The particles of light shimmered silently
in the fractured space,
being so gentle, like a healing touch
lost in the dark past.
Now, when a strong wind blows again,
I'm so afraid of my untamed waters.
I don’t want to hurt,
I don’t want to be hurt.
Without shape, without frame,
I’m so strong and fragile
in perfect duality,
like a fierce ocean seen in fulfilled light.
I hear this endless symphony
calling me to the definitive solution.
Apr 25, 2025
Apr 25, 2025 at 5:57 PM UTC
though deep he sleeps sometimes,
combining this exhaustive restorative
of old age, that alternates with a restlessness
rest of old age ~ the brain's nightly self-cleansing,
both necessities absolute
so he be unsurprised, by a parallel process,
occurring beside him, as woman rumbles, mumbles,
all the while reenacting the things we dare not acknowledge
in the waking hours, much too painful, much to fearfully real unreal,
but, best unrealized
she bolts upright, looks around, attempting to cross back,
looking, investigating, ascertaining time and place, localizing
her orientation, while assessing external+imagined dreamt threats,
till satisfied sufficient that whatever dreamt, realized or dreamisized,
before, going prone once-more
the watch man observes, the critical threat level, doesn't
approach the red line, not requiring hands-on interventions,
and relieved, that she has expunged and expelled the mind's many
molecules of memories, true or false, real or revisionary, making clean
white tissued neuron+cell for the morrow
and thus he reminds himself, that he be watch man, observing, uninterfering, is too, is also, a definitive infinite
only love poetry
Jul 29, 2025
Jul 29, 2025 at 6:59 PM UTC
Before there was anything that mattered everything that would ever be existed , it was the essence of totality , it was without dimensional constriction or necessitated form . Optimistically speaking time had no relative realism to it’s progression because realistically nothing had happened yet . As it continued it became according to it’s innate inflections as a functionally integrable form . The questionably understandable nature of it’s conjunction was an omnipotent directive beyond necessitated action or morphological construction . The enigmatic consciousness of it’s relatively interrelated conception was spontaneous and yet it continued without elemental omniscience .
As the relative complexity of it’s interrelations evolved dimensional consistence was born. Humanly understandable laws of physical integration governed many facets of it’s conjunction yet the totality of it’s ramification was beyond humanly realistic conjecture .
The organic morphology of biological ontogeny was a conceptually reflective derivative of functional physical mechanics yet it’s diversity exceeded it’s physical complexity , understanding evolved . Relatively extraneous interpolations of adhesively practical extremity succeeded in a hierarchy of functionally integrable forms .
Retrospectively speaking pragmatic practicality is a humanly rational possibility . Rational logic can conceive of individually totalitarian structural forms , yet the implosive nature of their rational cohesiveness becomes a practical partiality due to the diversity of their definitive impetus .
Perhaps the essence of our being is the logical counterpart for the matrix of our subjectively conclusive social fragmentation , or perhaps we are evolutionally incapable of cumulatively rational correlation . Problematic diversity could be perfectible on an individually infinite level or contrarily perhaps ubiquitous causality is the ultimate survivor .
In any case it is beyond our subjugatively rational cohesive coercion to intercede en masse on our own behalf as an integrated unit. Our conceptual abilities have been thwarted by the unmitigatably individual nature of our extraneous conclusiveness .
Mar 8, 2013
Mar 8, 2013 at 4:14 PM UTC
Since Love is a word that is clearly defined,
I was sure it would be much less than easy to find.
But please decipher it’s meaning be my Rosetta Stone
How to manifest in person to keep me from alone
The one I’ve wanted and needed to fill my vacuous soul,
One whose substance would fill my red but black hole
My collective attention would never escape her.
How can a concept so complex be drawn out on paper?
We’d be perfect and free we’d be perfect as “we”
But love is too broad for such specificity.
I’ve hoisted my thoughts until they were too high to still see
Wondering how love could even be in the dictionary.
Alas I’ll search ‘till transformed, my hairs all turn grey.
The only place I’ll ever find love is in the section after “K”.
Apr 17, 2014
Apr 17, 2014 at 12:20 AM UTC
Once when I was young, I was told you could swing so high you'd be able to just fly away.
I learned early on
That not everything we're told is true
The fantastical can sometimes amount to a pile of plastic bags scattered in the wind
The end isn't always happy and there's not always closure
Punctuations are more often question marks than definitive periods
And looking for a definite explanation took prevalence over allowing our imaginations to fill in the blanks.
Play time was replaced with study time,
And before we knew it, it was time for work
We strayed from the playgrounds of our youth,
Never returning to the top of the slide, we'd hit the ground a bit too hard to keep the enchantment of seemingly endless possibilities going
Carriages became pumpkins long before midnight,
And the school bell rang before we could finish our fun
But to tell the truth, sometimes,
When everyone else has gone inside, back to the real world, full of logic and banalities,
I sit on the old swingset kicking my feet
Hoping it will let me soar
Jun 8, 2016
Jun 8, 2016 at 5:05 PM UTC
drenched in wax
flakes reveal new skin
untouched, unharmed
i wish to feel your teeth
dig soft marks
upon me to remind me that i feel
your definitive brand stands firm
your clarity
generous to my affliction
Feb 28, 2013
Feb 28, 2013 at 4:45 PM UTC
Substantial quadrants of hate
Throughout these veins circulate
Spiraling in frenzied states
Adrift an ailing coma
Infinite corruption clawed my corneas
Birthing the erasure of euphoria
Imprinting trademarks of memoria
Leaving in wake vile aromas
All confidence dissolved to solvents
Due to definitive involvement
Susceptible to gaunt installments
Marring my skin with melanoma
Mother Earth serves as a mime
Humanity must be refined
© 2012 (All rights reserved)
Feb 4, 2012
Feb 4, 2012 at 1:23 AM UTC
see I wrote my pains plain because I know the struggles real well,
now the only shells I see are seashells,
now we pass the days surfing wave breaks no emails,
and all seems swell as we swim out when the sea swells.
Swimming in an ocean,
in a rainstorm,
lightening lights the liquid horizon, thunder cracks waves crash,
beautiful chaos,
within and without,
choppy waters commanding currents,
no definitive lines everything’s blurring.
She’s with me,
an angelic beauty,
fittingly,
from The City of Angels,
as am I,
we find,
we’ve found,
beautiful chaos in this ocean and these thunderous sounds...
The H Trilogy
Volume 1
7/7/16
∆
Jul 1, 2016
Jul 1, 2016 at 5:30 PM UTC
If you are empty
Run faster then the movement
For smiling organs may only be found tucked
Can you sweep these walls away?
It isn’t quite right
A definitive chill visits
Unwelcomed, just as the pierce
Tripping my feet
Lids flutter into a new kind of reality,
I think white canvas surround me
Awaiting bloodstained questions
Patience isn’t among them, they bleed first
Who are you to tease?
You haunt me in my day
You appear among fog
As light as the whispers that dance
Visible only above compact shadows
Nov 4, 2012
Nov 4, 2012 at 10:36 PM UTC
where to begin?
let us acknowledge
the responsibility of our actions,
and the titles and duties,
and the unexpected,
thereof.
I was a son, till this year,
still, of sorts, but no longer,
traded it in for
orphan.
are you still a child,
when you have no parents?
are you still a parent,
when a child lost?
I am a father, and grandfather.
this definition of me,
extant, future seeded,
perhaps permanent,
perhaps not.
the product of
actions more than
thirty years ago,
and events yet-to-be thirty years
hence.
titles claimed and granted,
partial, not finite,
not definitive, nor infinite.
partial, but part and parcel,
these titles, of you,
yet
they are not the totality, of you,
but very much part of you,
for you possess precious,
The Imprint - The Gift.
the child lost,
the parent found,
the newest coming,
the oldest gone,
all imprinted on your hands,
just look at them!
there are lines on your palms
you do not know the meaning of,
you do not yet know the ending,
they are in your cells,
as you are and were in theirs.
The Imprint
is The Gift
that is
non returnable,
non refundable,
nor is it
diminished by
any stone marker, measurement
of a day, an uncertain,
certain moment.
Look in the mirror.
see them in you,
as they saw themselves in your
reflection.
ah, reflect.
acknowledge that the
absence is pain,
but look at those hands,
that face, your face,
see the
The Imprint - The Gift
permit yourself an easement,
for it the season of
recollection.
ah, re-collect, recollect.
let the story.
continue, by the retelling.
find that palm line,
find that psalm song,
where the babe lost,
the mother lost
is the babe reborn,
in new faces, forever contained in
The Imprint.
we all ken loss,
we all keen know anguish,
different kinds for different folks.
do we not all have blood?
but are there different types,
and yet,
all still blood related.
prepare yourself
for more sad to come,
and some to never,
woebegone.
but do not forget,
nay, you cannot,
for seared it is,
this imprint,
a two sided copy
of a single document,
you on them,
them on you.
~
an eyelash falls
upon the poem.
a decorative reminder,
a stop sign,
a decorative remainder,
that it is time,
to recall,
to be unafraid.
now, now, right now,
is the time to remember,
that very eyelash,
the cells that are
therein,
the eyes that it has protected,
saw, know, well recall, gave,
gave part of you
and smile,
yes, smile,
for in them,
in the lines around your eyes,
the crisscrossed cell map upon thy hands
is the
The Imprint,
The Gift.
where to end?
This imprint upon your body exterior,
part mark, part stain,
part badge, part medal,
part cain,
part ribbon black pinned.
it is twinned,
for the match, the mate,
of this gift I printed,
is still in your living cells,
and thus knowing
the imprint is yours forever,
they are not lost,
you are not lost,
for Their Imprint
is a gift that
is
never ending
shall eternal be a salve this
happy, sad, melancholy,
holy
morn, day, season.
Dec 24, 2013
Dec 24, 2013 at 8:21 PM UTC
I am in love with an invisible string
as it moves around in motive motions
swinging my heart to extreme lengths
singing a song in definitive heights
tounging it's mouth in unknown breadths
I am in love with something peculiar
it moves in people and street pendulums
in cities it drives a longing restless soul
it's inside the trees and soaked in barks
It's paradise taste is an eternity paste
I am in love in a dream that will settle
as we chase to the end of broken seas
where we wrestle, crest in chutes we rest
as we make love soul to soul, word on word
on the cross of pens and canvassed fends
Jan 11, 2017
Jan 11, 2017 at 7:50 PM UTC
Having a Coke with You
is even more fun than going to San Sebastian, Irún, Hendaye, Biarritz, Bayonne
or being sick to my stomach on the Travesera de Gracia in Barcelona
partly because in your orange shirt you look like a better happier St. Sebastian
partly because of my love for you, partly because of your love for yoghurt
partly because of the fluorescent orange tulips around the birches
partly because of the secrecy our smiles take on before people and statuary
it is hard to believe when I’m with you that there can be anything as still
as solemn as unpleasantly definitive as statuary when right in front of it
in the warm New York 4 o’clock light we are drifting back and forth
between each other like a tree breathing through its spectacles
and the portrait show seems to have no faces in it at all, just paint
you suddenly wonder why in the world anyone ever did them
I look
at you and I would rather look at you than all the portraits in the world
except possibly for the Polish Rider occasionally and anyway it’s in the Frick
which thank heavens you haven’t gone to yet so we can go together the first time
and the fact that you move so beautifully more or less takes care of Futurism
just as at home I never think of the **** Descending a Staircase or
at a rehearsal a single drawing of Leonardo or Michelangelo that used to wow me
and what good does all the research of the Impressionists do them
when they never got the right person to stand near the tree when the sun sank
or for that matter Marino Marini when he didn’t pick the rider as carefully
as the horse
it seems they were all cheated of some marvelous experience
which is not going to go wasted on me which is why I am telling you about it
by,
FRANK O'HARA
Mar 13, 2013
Mar 13, 2013 at 12:27 PM UTC
people have their god
and
people have their no god
but
neither has solid proof
nor
the definitive answer
only
what they truly believe in
and
they’re so sure of themselves
that
they’ll defend and protect their beliefs
if
any differences are shouted at them
and
they’ll hold and cradle their beliefs
tightly
like a security blanket
and
they’ll preach their beliefs
to
any pair of ears they come across
it’s
the never-ending game
straddling
the on-going centuries
if
you have god, go with god
and
if
you have nothing, go with nothing
just
leave me the hell out of it:
your beliefs
my beliefs
his beliefs
her beliefs
their beliefs
were never a certainty.
May 29, 2025
May 29, 2025 at 1:42 PM UTC
ABSOLUT 0!
the greedy trees
liked to bleed the green
to spite the leaves.
they seem to be
pretty pleased by
believing in a
definitive middle.
then **** soon
flew off the richter
cause it wasn't so simple,
1 to 3 easy.
when the police
beeped the gentry,
oil already leaked
on the scene
even though
hunting season
was ending.
&seeding; season
pleaded for
beginning
& forgiveness
for bearing false witness
to a new system called
self sufficience.
take one leave one
break one mean one
make one be one
of what.
May 11, 2015
May 11, 2015 at 8:36 PM UTC
nothing is ever finished
do not believe in the definitive
life is a spectrum
black and white exists
to those who live fixed
wander
grey is the colour
of a question
that has no answer.
Apr 26, 2014
Apr 26, 2014 at 10:54 AM UTC
it's contradictory
the way she acts and what she says to me
*But was it a definitive answer?
You should go back and ask her.*
**Don’t tell me something
Unless you realize there’s nothing
I could ever possibly care about
That could come out of your mouth**
Was what she said
So thanks, man, but I think it might be dead.
Why is 'might' your take on that?
I know how they work, she'll crawl back.
clearly
beer me
May 12, 2014
May 12, 2014 at 1:48 PM UTC
blekk, this ******* ragoon man
crab paste yuck
my stomach is festering in wounds of American Chinese
they put poison in my foods and I indulge and this is the result
final laid down rest
it feels
as
if
blekkk
the white rice is nice and the lo mein, don't even get me started
i Love it
noodles and rice covered in grease
spied on from a box of spare ribs
they saturate in Sat Fat, check the label 781 SAT FATS PER SERVING
Looper was good, and I was stuffed through all of it
grease traps, formed from my age of 5, filled to their brim this evening
starting a day with number 10 from Macdoe's: poor choice
smoke some grass and write a bit
that settles the swoosh of pirates fighting in my intestines
i give bloating a 75% definitive yes
25% maybe
reality is
I poisoned myself
don't do take out
don't eat what is not from its own country and made the same way
you know those ************* who make it are not eating the same **** thing
point is, I feel like Wesley Snipes and Sylvester Stallone are DEMOLISHing within.
Feb 25, 2013
Feb 25, 2013 at 11:30 PM UTC
How could I forget,
for even a breath?
Slowly it slips
away into spaces
hidden in me
and I forget that it is there.
Watching over me.
Waiting on me.
To take it back into my lungs.
Into my eyes.
Into my touch.
Waiting for me
to expel it in every way
that I experience my daze.
This Universal Love...
My soul, it bathes in this
and yet,
my feet will step,
my body will move,
and my mind forgets.
𝘉𝘶𝘵 𝘩𝘰𝘸 𝘥𝘦𝘦𝘱𝘭𝘺 𝘐 𝘥𝘰𝘯'𝘵 𝘸𝘢𝘯𝘵 𝘵𝘰 𝘧𝘰𝘳𝘨𝘦𝘵...
I want to remember
all of those moments
when love was what carried me
over mountainous hurts;
through wastelands of self-hate -
self destructive tendencies
were buried by this
ever-knowing love.
And that is what brought me
this far.
That is why I've conquered
my war.
𝗟𝗼𝘃𝗲 is why I know in
my heart.
That everything is beautiful,
𝘢𝘭𝘭 𝘱𝘢𝘳𝘵𝘴.
Universal Love
𝘐𝘚 existence.
And all parts
of my resistance
were so I could learn
of Love's persistence.
So,
May we never disregard the beauty,
simply because
our minds feels threatened.
May we see past the veils
that keep us guessing.
And may we remember:
We can find perfection
only in the definitive acceptance
of all that is,
𝙖𝙨 𝙞𝙩 𝙞𝙨.
▪︎ micalight ▪︎
Mar 8, 2016
Mar 8, 2016 at 12:15 AM UTC
Like snow,
a blank page tantalizes me
fantasizes me
luring me into the vastness of its grip
and asking
What will you do with this space?
But unlike Creators,
my art provides no function,
serves no definitive purpose
other than to sit in awe
and appreciate
the Art of Others.
It's hard -
I'm overwhelmed by the potential of
the unexisted,
by the grandeur of what could be
that I sometimes slip
forget
that I don't have to do anything with it;
I just have to witness.
That,
that space between
Standing
and
Wondering if peeing my pants is a work of art
is slick.
But as the place between
Stagnation
and Movement,
Sanity
and
Peeing your pants,
Grave is only achieved by Balance.
Jan 18, 2015
Jan 18, 2015 at 7:19 PM UTC
**Mauve is my favorite Color
A sister to Burgundy,
dusty Rose, soft Purple hues..
Love variations of Creams,
buttery Golden Yellows,
Blues, Teals, Pinks and Crimson
Not so much..the Primaries.
So very saturated and bright,
What captives my attention
is the endless, sumptuous possibilities
blending of spectrums and
hues providing me the most delight
Huge fan of Black...
A non-color
the definitive definition defining
lack of all Color.
Which is actually a dichotomy...
As to create black is to chose a base tone
Then blending a series of other Colors
So that every black
The exception being formulations
becomes a variation of a theme..
The debate continues,
If Black is truly the definition
of lack there of, therefore not deserving the title
of being a Color, where does that leave those that insist that Black is their's (favorite)?
Hmmm, maybe Black is my favorite Color too...
Nov 29, 2014
Nov 29, 2014 at 10:58 AM UTC