"definitively" poems
In my hour of childhood
I was simple-hearted and free.
The notion of existence
Intricately confounded me.
The true nature of my essence
Was not of my discerning.
To be—right here and now
I did not find such concerning,
If existence is a concept
Then I am the spawn of chaos.
Truly, those of lack of truth
Cannot bear what is definitively best
Existence is brief, and life is a flower
Prepossessing and free, but gone in an hour.
This was my cognition set
In a world consumed with children's life bets
There is nothing in my trials,
Nought in my sentimental thought
Nothing in my possession, not at all within pure dreams
That has the strength to restore my blessed, beloved simplicity...
Jun 28, 2014
Jun 28, 2014 at 12:14 PM UTC
Parents:
Overbearing,
too
controlling,
always
out
of
line,
demanding,
embarassing.
Cruelty
undefined,
liars,
protectors,
lovers,
homewreckers,
caring, kind, considerate,
bossy,
loving,
sweet,
caregivers.
And definitively
Mine. <3
Jul 24, 2012
Jul 24, 2012 at 9:38 PM UTC
My feelings are like dandelions.
Like ones in the spring
they can be linked
together in a chain
loosely held together
in a moment
tenuously connected.
but they are more like their fall counterparts, seemingly rooted, but blown away by a slight breeze
a field can be covered by hundreds yet they do not define the field
nor does the field define them.
what are my feelings if not definitively me?
like wispy dandelion seeds, soon to be more
but perfect in their imperfect potential
they are ephemeral fragments projected by heart and mind
my feelings are dandelions. i am not a dandelion.
i am a creator of dandelions and of fields and of breezes. of chains and of seeds.
i am the master of my universe.
i am the master of everything and i am the master of nothing.
i am the master of dandelions.
Mar 21, 2012
Mar 21, 2012 at 11:38 PM UTC
If I told you about the fifty mile trek I took,
with ice accumulating on my beard,
and shivering to sleep in the tiny hollow,
would you believe me?
What about the time they thought I was a terrorist
trying to assassinate the queen?
Or the time they took everything away from me;
my clothes, my hair, even my name?
Would you read it as fiction?
"That kind of thing doesn't really happen" you might say,
and I no longer care to argue my case anymore.
as you explain to me how, in a modern day society,
these kind of things things really work.
I wonder whether I should care,
as I nod dumbly to your every point,
telling me why you know, definitively,
that I am lying.
This is why my poetry shall refer only to emotions.
Nobody reads emotion as fiction;
you can feel it as they tug at your own-
A broken heart, a smile, a stray giggle.
Whether I made that journey is no business but my own,
but the cold I can describe perfectly;
Not biting, but stinging, and numb in every other sense.
The fear giving way to tears, which froze on my cheeks.
Besides, if this really is fiction, if I had really
made all of it up inside of my head,
would I still lie to you?
Of course I would.
Jul 18, 2018
Jul 18, 2018 at 11:24 PM UTC
I see a Woman eating her muffin
looking at Man who is looking
looking into the depths of his paper cup
and the wrinkles and rivers on the back of his hand
thinking When did I get those?
Coffee Cup looking at the blue bin in the corner
Coffee Cup thinking Well, I guess this is how it goes
The secret force that wrenches eyes upward
from the secret morning monologues
happens like electricity happens
and Man sees Woman's eyes and frowns
and can't tell whether they are blue
or brown.
Crumbs are on her lap.
Man doesn't notice but Woman thinks he does
Moving imperceptibly and not wasting a calorie
she flutters her hands over the warm loaves of her thighs.
Man notices an ephemeral strain Simon and Garfunkle and
becomes aware of a softening within his sternum and
electrons slowing, softing, into a May spring aesthetic
Woman rubs her finger which does not have a ring
and Coffee Cup wonders if it will still
have sentience within the bin or if the world
with all its broken beauty and mornings and warm hands
will suddenly just stop everything?
I look at my keys. The sort that express, not
the sort that open doors and drawers
but even these, time to time, will
fall beneath the wooden floors.
Man pulls his long coat off the back of his chair
without ceremony rises and turns to go
leaves his cup on the table for a coffee girl to attend to
and exits as the rain turns to snow.
Woman sits. And sits.
Woman might order another pumpkin muffin.
Her knees are chilled, watching her pinkly from the edge
of a pencil skirt like children's faces from a blanket.
A moment later she makes that same comparison
and laughs internally without gesture or sound.
And Woman looks around.
Woman smiles. Not because of Man or muffin
or the secret life of a Coffee Cup
but because she is Woman
struck lively by the sudden meta
fleeting passage of The Bigger
and her eyes, definitively brown
spark like bumper car antennae
and struck by magic, the same magic electricity
for an irreversible instant meet mine.
And for one fourteenth of a moment
Woman knows Me with all her life.
I shiver and she lobs me the red bean bag
and I hold the image in my mind like
a relic of the living divine.
The Bigger, the morning
the secret was mine.
Oct 22, 2012
Oct 22, 2012 at 11:44 AM UTC
I can say definitively
and without reservation
that I once had more to say
and once I said it well
The taste of the words
of the children in flux
the ex-children
the children in recovery
leaves an aftertaste of
sweetness I can mimic
but cannot make my own
though I know I have
the recipe
somewhere
Their words tumble
like dusty pebbles racing
downhill rebellious
ebullient and unruly
avalanches to ants
while mine drag
the feet of their tiny
y's and g's
p's and q's
like rainy-day-slogged
future people
wending their way through
weeds and reeds of
bullies and written responses
The taste of the words
of the newly-minted
suddenly people
with centuries-old ideas
cellophane gift-wrapped for their
daily birthdays
beribboned and bowed for
kindergarten picture day
leaves a memory of
butterscotch and peppermint I can imagine still
but cannot make my own
though I know I have
the recipe
somewhere
Mar 19, 2012
Mar 19, 2012 at 8:58 PM UTC
and I loved it...
the efficacy,
the efficiency,
obeying, used,
the being used
to muse,
all in one word,
verbed and j'accused,
identifying the culpritess
(for my M-use is
definitively a woman),
I say:
Please baby,
Please bossy,
Please sir,
muse me some more?
M-use me, use-me,
accuse-me, heck,
abuse-me,
my tongue, my lips,
(especially, my lips)
your devoted
poet-servant.
give me spiel,
words to make
them laugh,
groan and squeal,
do me baby,
one mo' time,
the big reveal.
you know I am
exclusive to you,
others get my body,
but only you
get my
my poetic
streams of screams
things I can
never confess,
peeve but at the hinted
whisper of them,
things that weaken me,
in the places
where poems
umbilically
die stillborn,
the chord
connecting
just us two,
it, that chord,
wrapped round
my throat
choking off
my special voice,
cause you want
just those words,
My Muse,
all for yourself
and I can't say no
to
My Muse,
My Conscience
Mar 18, 2014
Mar 18, 2014 at 10:24 PM UTC
I know what we have is really quite solid.
But today I convinced myself of an earthquake.
Perhaps it began on screen
Some distant, modern tragedy.
I felt
The gravity
You know the kind
Some feel in a theme park ride
At first
It was a calculated calm
A day in the park
Vision shot through
pixilated
Bedding me
under
in **** fixation.
Such is my kaleidoscope to our collective,
defecate,
fantasy.
When the world turns 'round
those candy colors
dissolve into perfect fractals
geometry.
Single-file they beam--
pushing out
pop-cultural enemas
like frosting.
And then— too bright!
A riveting newsflash
the kaleidoscope
is
cracked.
flickering
gasps.
We watch
a city as
its body's streets--
collapsed.
see the banner of
blood now runs
down the news anchor's face:
There's been a
catatonic quake.
Interrupting this program
the woman
with a saccharine smile
makes A Devastating Report:
Yes.
We're all undertow
Evacuate then buy this ****** cream
move and upgrade your resume
The water broke and the oil spilled,
but the economy is definitively
under control.
This puppetry is
sedation by generalized asphixiation,
this American Dream glaring from the T.V. screen
is mindless work
-our salvation-
Harder work? Isolated suffering.
What with toxic invasion,
designer cantaloupe to nuclear waste,
more storms and third world turnover rates.
Higher and higher inflation,
predatory insurance claims-
minimum wage won't cover my education.
Bloated babies
not on T.V. and not in Africa
but holding Mamma's hand
loitering downtown,
near the grocery chains.
See the quake perpetuate:
These are American hunger pangs.
Occupy for Change.
Aug 3, 2011
Aug 3, 2011 at 1:22 AM UTC
Someday
He will forget
The bottle
And his
Reflection
Will make his insides
Scream
Shattered winds
Of vanished youth
The life drained
Definitively
From his very flesh
Pale and vacant
Void of
Everything good
He once had
In total awe
Due to the liquid’s
Draining
Power
Hollow
But sinking
Numb
But hurting
Weakness stands
At the door to where he
Once resided
It’s come for its
Fix
Thirsting for it
Burning under the
Control of
Its Addiction
But
He is
Nowhere
To be found
Lost
Somewhere else
Consumed
By something
Far more
Intoxicating
Feb 13, 2014
Feb 13, 2014 at 4:24 PM UTC
cramped in the close quarters of my logic
there's a painting party going on.
but i've brought some shellac to seal
the tender places, the cut out picture postcards
of memories i saved, savor, slave over so carefully.
their disconnected connections splayed upon my walls.
i should paint over them, i know.
i should cover them over with a nice, bright white.
but the colors, the patterns, they
are a blueprint on the bones of my house.
they are my proof, my logical proof of illogical theories.
my picture postcards of impossible possibilities.
the decoupage of dreams' dalliance
dances upon these walls, definitively,
the cogent evidence of our coup de coeur.
Nov 29, 2011
Nov 29, 2011 at 10:27 AM UTC
they say home is where the heart is
well my heart sits inside this
war-torn body going through the motions
breathe in
breathe out
smile
suture together the gaping hole
that screams from the center of my mass
tugging on the ragged edges
trying to fold in on myself
my own ouroboros
subsisting off my own flesh
eating my muscles
a supernova collapsing with a crushing
blow that rattles my bones
and reverberates through my heart.
so this is home
the lodging where my
beaten soul and battered consciousness
have wiped away the dust
taken the sheets off the unused furniture
and curled up with their feet tucked up
underneath their body
paying no attention to the
leaky roof
pitter patter of water droplets
heavy with the chaos and ire
of the outside world
as they land definitively in pots and pans
littered throughout my body
lingering in my liver and
sopping up moisture that springs
traitorously into my eyes
burns straight through my retinas
and reminds me of my weakness.
how can i be my own big bad wolf?
alternating between a warm bed
and hearty meals that
bode a bountiful harvest
suddenly replaced by howling wind
and razor sharp rain drops
cutting into my skin
and i welcome it.
i let myself be cut to ribbons
until all that remains is
shredded flesh clinging precariously
to ivory bone
hanging by a thread
an elephant at the edge of a cliff
tail tied to a dandelion.
i relish the destruction
in razing my corporeal temple to the ground
reducing myself to ash
and scattering to every edge of the earth
until I burst forth from this atmosphere
this geological prison
my dermal incarceration
and fly as star stuff
to become a distant universe
for didn’t the liquid power of the stars
always run through my veins
an oil fire burning higher and higher
until the black acrid smoke
consumed the entire world
and absorbed the sun’s rays
to bring about a never-ending night.
close my eyes.
it doesn’t matter if it’s dark outside.
May 8, 2015
May 8, 2015 at 1:51 PM UTC
Haydon! forgive me that I cannot speak
Definitively of these mighty things;
Forgive me, that I have not eagle's wings,
That what I want I know not where to seek,
And think that I would not be over-meek,
In rolling out upfollowed thunderings,
Even to the steep of Heliconian springs,
Were I of ample strength for such a freak.
Think, too, that all these numbers should be thine;
Whose else? In this who touch thy vesture's hem?
For, when men stared at what was most divine
With brainless idiotism and o'erwise phlegm,
Thou hadst beheld the full Hesperian shine
Of their star in the east, and gone to worship them!
1.2k
If death did not wear black would he be taken so seriously?
If one literally wore one's heart on one's sleeve what would be the medical implications and would your friends still take you seriously?
If it is true that 'the beat goes on', is it any wonder that 'the rhythm is gonna get ya'?
When Dana sang 'All kinds of everything remind me of you', did she include rubella and death metal in this?
If a tree falls in a forest and there is no one to hear it fall does it make a sound? If a man plays cello in a forest do the trees mark him out of ten?
If the simulacra is real then surely all one needs to do is to pay more attention? If one pays more attention, how much should one tip?
Descartes stated "I think therefore I am". What on earth was he thinking?
Mans awareness of his mortality created the need for a divine being in order to facilitate the concept that there is life after death. No one can say definitively if there is life after death. Does this paradox create a dizzying confusion? Is this confusion a lot like spending too much money in a carnival?
Britain's Got Talent: in a population of approximately 60 million, one would certainly hope so.
Is the concept of the omnipotence of god applicable if priests are unavailable for confession?
Is this a question?
Is the presence of a question mark the only thing required to ensure that something is a question? Seven cherubs aluminium? Is that a question!
The concept of 'keeping ones feet on the ground', by which we mean to not get carried away with success, for example, can never be difficult if one accepts the laws of gravity.
What sounds lie in the spaces between keys on a piano?
Any identifiable stimuli?
Apr 15, 2012
Apr 15, 2012 at 6:01 AM UTC
You are my doctor
keepin health up ,
gimmie what i need, when i need, without me even knowing i need,
letting me breathe.
easy rest, easy sleep, easy feel, slightly queasy or uneasy, steady me in the storm.
dock into harbour
take off the armour
hear my thoughts like no other
baby you my one time lover but my full time homie
you show me you care in the slightest of touches followed by dancing on clouds and deep sea trenches
we do the things for each other , your home is mine and mine is yours
this is what we feel like when we touch , to me ,
agreement in decisions - trust is golden
coffee and tea , gin and whisky , choice drinks
share a plate
share a bed
share our bodies
share our minds
share , share , share
to infinity and beyond !!
when we out - everyone knows it , we are a pair of lovers who love everyone
because we love ourselves , definitively.
True Aim.
Aug 17, 2013
Aug 17, 2013 at 3:26 AM UTC
Let's give form to a thought at the back of my head
And let it grow, let it drag me away from my body
Let it stretch me out into the past and future
So I lose sight of what IS
Which is here, which has always been
It speaks to itself, playing that it can't know
For we know that all that we can know is but
Difference from Oneness,
And we know that inside ourselves
We are each other, nothing separates us, no,
We haven't yet identified ourselves definitively but we are
Stuck inside the ego while we play the game of time
But we're not going to get rid of it
We'll need it if the Saucers come
Or dead men rise to eat our brains,
But it remains, and as it should
A dormant tool that reawakens
Whenever the need emerges
Why not take these forms that start to rise and amplify themselves in feedback loops
********* them on the page and leave them there,
Outside the body,
Use that action as the symbol of our casting out, not our denial but our separation
From the notions that emerge of perceived
Injuries from outside parties;
All the pain is caused within
And comes from giving shelter to those forms that form their feedback loops
Demanding our attention, and insisting we'll be incomplete
Until we can fulfill their fantasies of pasts and futures
May 1, 2013
May 1, 2013 at 12:22 PM UTC
Do I Take You For Granted?
O yeah,
You are taken.
Definitely, definitively, infinitely.
I take you to be my lawful Grantor.
A gift to myself, from you,
Gave, given, taken.
You are the grant and my giver.
My past, present, and my present to my future.
Tenses confused.
But I am not.
You gave me a gift.
My gift was you.
I take it.
I accept, accepted, and continue to
look forward to answering when inquiring,
most assuredly,
I do, I do.
I do take you for granted.
Jun 21, 2013
Jun 21, 2013 at 5:04 AM UTC
So here am I, and lot's lately, it's where you can find me,
Hoarse, atop a building, none can hear, no one can see.
But to the sky, to winged passers-by, I let my voice ring free.
Most of the time, I find, they chime "don't let it get you to worry,
obviously, you're just in the wrong city."
Oh Serendipity
For birds to say, it's so easy, unwittingly
They add to my jealousy, till my fight may make me we.
And yet I, find ways, to keep smiling
Though sometimes, the shine, comes right through my front teeth
Try learning from these creatures free, so someday, like them I will be
Oh Serendipity
Serene, I'd die of pity, make it heard from here my city.
Something witty, something witty, god **** I miss your pretty.
Fighting, soon you'll see me, my heart's pounding, getting giddy,
Giddy-up this hoarse I'm picky, take me to the streets of windy.
Impossible definitively, yet I climb, forced to fight to find, my serendipity.
Oh Serendipity
Please come back to me.
Dec 22, 2013
Dec 22, 2013 at 7:26 PM UTC
Love always has two angles
Whenever two people are involved.
From one perspective,
***** is here out of kindness,
One of many old lovers & confidants
Who know how far down the other can go,
Whenever in-between relationships.
Each knows, has learned
Through many silent ghosted months,
That the other will always,
Will eventually need them again.
He loves me, she loves me not,
Either one, just freaking terrified.
Never giving one's self completely,
Just one more lobster for the steamer,
"Scuttling across the floors of silent seas,"
One more sacrificial lamb,
First to the shearing house,
Ultimately, the abattoir.
One more cavalier mariner,
Crossing oceans of time,
Carefree swashbucklers are we,
Boffing whomever, at times
Dismal enough to fall in love.
And vice versa, of course,
Thinking about putting down
Shallow roots again.
(Ghosted: A term used to describe when a man (or woman) you've been seeing for a while stops taking your calls and answering your texts. These actions are usually preceded by many a broken promise to "hang out" "have a drink or two" or "catch up" on the part of the Ghoster. The Ghostee is left wondering whether the person just beside them two weeks ago is now alive or dead. Neither can be definitively proven. "I had been sleeping with Vicky/Jack for about a year and a half before he Ghosted me. Even a **** You" would have been better.")
Mar 9, 2017
Mar 9, 2017 at 5:33 AM UTC
I guess, I haven’t handled
complex operations, like
the removal of you,
before:
maybe that’s why I didn’t get it
right,
and now,
there are still suture stains,
scalpel tips,
leaf litter,
floating amongst my workings,
etched with your syllables.
I suppose I’d thought of
what I’d say,
if you said “come back, please?”:
if I could, no.
most likely an uncertain shrug,
before resumption,
again, following each of your tender footprints.
but, no. definitively, no.
sure enough as the sun eventually slips,
I’ll find another shadow to drag across my aching heart,
no matter how your remnants last,
stinging, to remind me,
of what I had once wanted.
another quiet song I shall sing,
this one, upon newer ears.
hopefully, not another deaf set.
Apr 25, 2013
Apr 25, 2013 at 3:20 AM UTC
"Where is this going?"
you ask me, breathless
I know you are inquiring
about the next 5 minutes
but I cannot help but consider
the next 5 years
as I spill out words
that affirm the next move
you have been patiently waiting to play
for months
and the word friend
flashes in neon lights
behind my eyelids
as I think about your arm around my waist
in the bar just a few hours before
and your mouth pressed to my head
aggressively whispering
"Stop."
on the way home
when the heat in my chest
started to build
after looking at your phone
"We'll talk about this later,"
you tell me definitively
and so in the cold December air
you tell me that I deserve better
and that you do not deserve my suppressed tears
that might freeze if they fell
As you turn on the lights
so you can see what you're doing
I lie in your bed
now knowing
what it is like to be in a relationship
(but please don't use that word)
Dec 14, 2014
Dec 14, 2014 at 6:18 PM UTC
A complete state of well-being
Is something we all hope to achieve
Though my mind constantly questions
If it's nothing more than an idealistic belief
What is truly well
What definitively is not
How does one get better
When the mind intentionally forgot
Will I ever find what I'm searching for
Will I set my demons free
Can I allow my will to loosen its grip
Just enough to find inner peace
Somewhere there must be a blueprint
Stamped upon my soul
The mind and body connection
That can one day make me whole
For now, I ponder the questions
Cause answers I have none
Yet staying true to my intent
Of finishing the journey begun
Jul 24, 2017
Jul 24, 2017 at 3:47 PM UTC