"denotation" poems
all is well
only time will tell
is she well?
do you ask to define her
or to further understand
why she no longer can confide in others
attempting to define intimacy
placing love in several endeavors
she has lost the denotation
of a natural organic salvation.
who let you define her
without her did you know
they would be lined up.
you don't know her true value
and now she can no longer find it.
I now know none of us do
real love never fails
and not one of us prevailed.
dear future self
love has failed you
recollect because in the end
you were still you
without it.
Feb 13, 2020
Feb 13, 2020 at 2:40 PM UTC
College dreamers,
trust fund seams broken down
like veins after repetitive prods.
Drinking days
are alliteration accented
because two
dollar drinks deserve denotation.
A hangover that brings
clarity is irony;
a sad realization made
after a night of excess.
A drop of vulnerability
and personal accountability
is desperation, and preference
at this point is permissible,
yet premature.
Face buried, between the sheets, wrapped in legs and lust,
books thrown against a wall.
Classes are dropped faster
than broken furniture
and one night stands.
And **** the taste.
We're all chasing that last sip
that brings a confidence
to think rhythmically.
Sep 23, 2015
Sep 23, 2015 at 12:47 PM UTC
Almost like playing a movie from the middle
And trying to understand it as it plays.
It is quite impossible to understand some scenes
From the play unless you watch it from the beginning.
Sadly you can't rewind life
And you must stick to
What your conclusions have gotten to.
You may guess, but never be
Sure of how that person
Has gotten where it stands.
So until that person elucidates its timeline,
Or you simply comprehend them as they are.
•
As humans we are persistent to
What we want or need.
It may be material,
Or a simply contentment inside us.
You perceive someone's gloom in their senses,
But not the denotation.
This may come to another term named "love."
And understanding is the main key to show affection.
Just as logic is the key to be a genius.
Aug 12, 2014
Aug 12, 2014 at 1:20 PM UTC
Warning:
All of hells angels reside behind this very denotation.
Caution of disturbing material.
Her body an empty cavern,
Her face; sunken bambi eyes,
Her bones, dark, deep volcanoes filled,
To the brim, ashes, dust,
Splintered souls, falling prey,
To lost caves, bearing dead bodies,
Where smiles fade, drooping through,
Skulls & crossbones, signifying,
A poisonous addiction to,
Hells aftermath.
© Sia Jane
Jul 29, 2014
Jul 29, 2014 at 3:54 PM UTC
All of us write,
late into night,
Simple rhymes becomes prose,
As night draws to a close,
Connotation becomes denotation,
Expressed or implied,
Painting pictures with words,
Of a world much denied,
Of heartfelt regret,
Or anger or pain,
We elude to the simple,
And write about rain,
To illuminate others,
Of that which we see,
Another perspective,
Of what may be,
We invite opinion,
Of comparitive worth,
The definition of judgements,
Are all that we need,
So bleeding and ugly,
Take care to impart,
A wonderful meaning,
To a forlorn heart.
'...He went like one that hath been stunned...'.
Oct 11, 2012
Oct 11, 2012 at 6:18 AM UTC
Buddha taught
about "mere words"
since words
in one sense
are like numbers
without any real meaning
like they're all Greek to me
but I think
being something
like a poet
that words
can be powerful
with the capability
of transforming lives
by the process
of the links
that occur
in the mind,
connecting a myriad
of connotations
and denotation
that set off
a potent brain chemistry
that can make the difference
between a kind of sanity
and a kind of madness.
Sep 28, 2011
Sep 28, 2011 at 10:38 PM UTC
There is no connotation nor denotation to a word in existence among us retched mortals that can be used to describe the superlative nature of my goddess' supreme and utter beauty.
May 5, 2014
May 5, 2014 at 6:24 PM UTC
“You look pretty”.
It is a cage I have adorned myself within.
In my nineteen years of living,
I never thought there could be a greater compliment than
“you look pretty”;
“you look beautiful”;
And, my personal favourite,
“I bet you look good
Under all that clothing”.
This is a cage that I have locked myself in.
The walls are made of crystal,
But no one who presses their hand up against it
To steal a glance in
Ever sees me.
I am what I will become,
But to the crows that surround me,
I will never be more than the pretty object
Waiting to be snatched up from the filthy floor.
In my nineteen years of living,
I have been conditioned to believe that my worth
Is solely based around
How pretty I am,
Or how good I look in that dress,
Or how I beautifully paint my face to become
Your doll.
I never have believed that I could be
Anything more.
When you gaze upon me,
With your starving eyes searching my body
For something that does not exist,
Do you not see me for my true worth?
Is my capacity for kindness and
My loving nature
Not something which is destined to be adored?
Will who I am
Ever be enough for your ego to coincide?
Whatever it is that you decide,
Your choices will not persuade me.
I know I am worth more than an idle compliment
Which holds no weight or denotation.
I know that I am worthy of a love
Which sees all of me,
And not just the crystal cage
That is shattering in my wake
Around me.
Sep 23, 2018
Sep 23, 2018 at 2:40 PM UTC
There is something there, in the essence of this, something that i tasted, salt and sweat, dripping from your fingertips. There is footsteps in the stairway around my heart, i hear them creaking in the moonlight, as you find your way in the dark.
Where is my vision?
I don't tend to look at your eyes, i cannot, i do not have to be that strong. I found a million pardons, when i was asking if there was something i did wrong. I feel the scoop of your hand on that familiar place on my back, and i headily breathe you, as i hear your knuckles crack, from the weight of my familiarity.
Where do i come from?
What is that whisper in the ****** air. The dreams that i have are so absent and so bare. I lost and i lose and try to walk again, on broken ankles, with broken toes, my legs have the strength of ten men. And i am lost, i am lost, and i will say it again. But i am lost in being lost, so is this my religion, my prayer and my a-men?
Where is my heart?
Free me, throw me into the air, shoot me, ****** me, act like you don't care. There is no obligation in an ounce of your tone. Your music is denotation, your heartbeat becomes a microphone. And you sing, you sing, a love song to me 'Dorothy you are home'
Where is my place?
Dreaming of second comings, and i desperately seek your face. I want to kiss you, to kiss you, with my lips, i will erase. You are nothing more to me, than a seeker in this battle of sun-down to sun-up. Find me, come hide me, come fill me with your cup.
May 20, 2013
May 20, 2013 at 6:05 PM UTC
we know how those doctors about to retire type:
index punch, index punch, left hook index tap,
brawler's right kiss index tap -
thumbs are for the spacebar!
but this little oddity got me thinking: i can tell
you that my grandfather had beautiful handwriting,
and a massive library, and all of this... under
a communist regime... more books than
the modern capitalist household, let me tell you -
oddly enough i followed suit, never truly recognised
my father aged eight at victoria coach station -
4 - 8 under my grandfather's construct -
6 - 8 psyche of a child given a doberman by
his mother and left, upon return asking
for a devil's mask in warsaw, the same devil
mask a furore at a fancy dress party in school
ripped by friends all wanting the share of
suffocating under plastic.
but this got me thinking, i never had the
proper handwriting fluidity for an A grade in
english during examination, that's always a grade
more than anything you put your mind to
in terms of content. so... on handwriting fluidity:
omega alpha beta flows nice, because the greeks
managed to convene that letters had to
have names, no wonder the export of greek lettering
into mathematics and science...
imagine if it was the romanic letters:
that's *** arr squared: peeing on the arc of triumph
seeing sqaures?! bonaparte with a bunch of pirates?!
no! πr2, the area of the ****** circle!
never mind that, that's just me overstepping
the giggles, but i think because of the non-complex
denotation of the romanic letters we have terrible
handwriting, just like it sounds, punched in by dyslexic
judy separately: look - a' b'e c'e d'e e' z'ed.
no wonder the alphabet turned to programming
and cyborg fancies - plus it's no fun trying to remember
alpha bravo charlie... i mean, it's a bit **** that nato
phonetic ******** over the phone: oscar v. ω?
ω! romeo v. ρ? ρ! sierra v. σ? σ! let's face it, greek
too ancient and romanic trying to speed up... no wonder
there's a bit of charlie and the x-ray;
or maybe this whole phoneticism is a way to say -
keep that ugly so we can lego it into beautiful stances
of the fencing tongue.
Sep 16, 2015
Sep 16, 2015 at 12:15 PM UTC
A friend told me today
that what you hear or say
can be read
in many ways
Denotation - the thing your brain understands
Connotation - when you get it out of the way
to find what someone
wanted to say
when they repeat
what you hear every day
Aug 19, 2018
Aug 19, 2018 at 4:13 PM UTC
You gave me your heart in a poetical way.
I figuratively hold this anatomically incorrect symbol in my hands…where do I put it?
For though it terrifies me, I know it is precious. I am worried of it…but I can still feel its warmth and I want to keep it close.
I cannot carry it. Absentminded as I am, I will place it somewhere and it will be gone forever.
I cannot keep it in my pocket. It will go through the wash and I will get it back shrunk and shriveled.
Maybe I will open a door in my breast and place it with my own heart…
But that is grotesque.
This perfectly symmetrical, immaculately red symbol cannot sit next to my own, lopsided, beating flesh!
The juxtaposition would unravel the facade and leave me with…what?
Nothing?
A puff of smoke?
A second heart, beating opposite my own, wearing me down?
Or would the disappeared symbol instead free its meaning throughout my body, disintegrating into tingles that run along my spine and down my arms and legs, that make me shiver imperceptibly as my motion is suddenly guarded, and yet pull up at the corners of my mouth, causing me wary warmth, this oxymoronic push-pull
- -
this feeling that makes me want to fight-or-flight to attack or recede inside myself that starts my adrenaline rushing from unwarranted panic yet also makes me want to freeze time as I close my eyes and smile slightly to bask in the redolent warmth to pull my extremities close in order to let them experience what starts in my chest and then stretch into a star for this feeling to extend its reach to my edges and further
- -
Then this symbol, this encasement of hard metaphor, becomes unwanted.
Its protection, previously so needed, becomes unbearable.
How can I hold it in my hands, in my pocket, coolly perfect, frozen in shape, knowing what it holds inside?
How can I not grit my teeth through the disquiet, the sweaty palms and surge in my gut, knowing the halcyon happiness that lays beyond?
I will not suffer this symbol to stay intact!
I will scratch lines in its colour!
I will peel its icy layers off one by one!
I will ****** it to the ground, and **** its sweet juices from the cracks!
I will descend upon it until it bursts, its shards transforming sweetly into its message.
Connotation broken into denotation, truth unobscured by this superfluous poetry.
This sensation, this meaning, this feeling, this actuality, this state, this phrase
- -
this i love you playing across my body running through my hair
- -
It simultaneously freezes and thaws me.
Jun 22, 2010
Jun 22, 2010 at 1:28 PM UTC
The difference is me
I am forever
I am never
I am a paradox
I am infinite
I am not
I am
Thus you can't
Thus you won't
Thus you will
Thus you aren't
AND I AM KING HERE
AND SHE WILL NEVER BE MY (queen)
Sour-sided-denotation
Keep quiet and maybe I'll let you go
Scratchin' till' ya' BLEED
Salmon tasted like lips of Lucifer
Lucifer growl
Show yer' teeth
Let em' know
My name is yours
Your name is mine
Universal federation of lack-luster-star-clusters
FREAK
I AM A FREAK
All of you freaks, geeks, fuck-ups, n', poets
All of you nasty-anti-good-doin'-thieves, n, troublemakers
All of you down-to-earth-yet-out- of-this-world-semi-psuedo-sacrilegious-punks
I call to you to know me
Dec 2, 2013
Dec 2, 2013 at 1:07 PM UTC
I like sending you notes
in my fast
misspelled scrawl
yet you always so elegant
with perfect grammar
oh such denotation
who knew? punctuation could make me swoon
-Katherine Baldwin-
Feb 6, 2013
Feb 6, 2013 at 10:41 PM UTC
unconventional, to say the least
on Sunday, love your neighbor
peek out her drawn shades, secret belabor
not in nature, nurture's the blamed beast
preference, peculiar;
she's stuck in her ways.
cover stories will guide her days
both victim and defendant, scared for the future
together, we're stronger,
and petty we fall.
to love my black soul, but her skin appall
bizarre assumptions grow longer
to feel, to know, to look beyond
eccentricism; How will you respond?
Jun 22, 2015
Jun 22, 2015 at 3:30 PM UTC
We delve down deep within
To decipher dreams and demons;
To deduce the true denotation of our decisions.
Diminishing greatness
Derived from the dead and done.
What we must discover is that we are
Dimensionless; dissolved.
We are individuals as a device.
Devised and intertwined.
Mar 15, 2014
Mar 15, 2014 at 10:12 PM UTC
2/19/2015
The hurt is not enough.
the Frost crawling on the window keeps me grounded
on this sickly saccharine reality,
i'd once described a bedroom in July as an example of
the sucrose candidity of the human condition,
sticking bobby pins in my hair i'd realise in January
that the Chelsea Hotel #2 scenes were as well,
sticking to a sort of geniune artistic integrity
come to bed, hey hello to my friend afterwards
and how was it's? with little no big toothy grins
but then I would remember
sitting under elm trees at Fitzrandolph drinking a cold
coffee, because it was hot then! and it was sunny then!
and the weather conjured sweet artificial caramel flavorings-
sitting under the tree and thinking about how good life is or
was. And when I realize that the forest is as dead as it ever was
and I look at pictures of trees with leaves fully on, maybe in the
forests of Alabama or Georgia,
I realize that I haven't seen a life in a long time- but
when i burn my hand with the lighter the butane glaze on my skin
i don't really mind it that much because i think of it and quite frankly
I like to say i'm as pure as I always was but,
what burns me now: Desire desire desire
and back then the museum was talking about Roethke
and it was all I needed I didn't mind the
idle cab drivers that would call me Angel by the gates.
and my Mennonite father said I need to
repent. I don't even want to go to
church but that is all I end up doing nowadays anyways.
Thinking about the sun, and falling over a piece of ice and seeing the
red scarlet (connotation vs denotation?) on the
white of the ice i cannot help but think that once again *the
hurt is not enough.*
Feb 20, 2015
Feb 20, 2015 at 9:32 AM UTC
The bold and delicate trees bow down beckoning me.
We are all in one bundled in a grand emporium prolific cornucopia.
My pudgy feet make acquaintance with your smooth clay ground.
The understory of shrubbery demure and quaint basking in the sun.
We are all in one.
The inhabitants below the ground tunneling and supplementing your crust with nutrients whilst my furled brows arch up towards the halcyon sky.
I can't pin a denotation of what life is, but I can utter a word that resonates in my purest of minds.
Connect.
Only connect, and all will be fine.
Oct 2, 2016
Oct 2, 2016 at 7:03 PM UTC
rich folks can do whatever they want
and it’s illegal to be poor
that’s connotation, not denotation
but slap me if i’m wrong
all men are created equal
and women are free to jump off the boat
and find a dolphin to ride
Sep 9, 2018
Sep 9, 2018 at 8:08 PM UTC
softly spoken
he and me
gentle
kind
always our
vibrations aligned
in smooth
rythym
we
syncopate
to each others
peaks
and
f
a
l
l
s
a binding occurs
smoothened
signalling
on rippled water
from pebbles dropped
moonlight dances
on repeat
repeat
shimmery light
in perfect oscillation
undulating
with varifocal
denotation
* * * * *
nebulae burst
high above
as if
to celebrate
this love
a coupling made
binary
orbiting stars
he is to me
my magnetar
~~~~~~~
as for fresh pastures
lush new beginnings
blade upon blade
from fertile seed
lays a soft green
pathway
to true loves garden
where hearts are freed
past well trod paddocks
across faraway seas
where love lays waiting
on her gentle knees
* * * * *
©J.C. tiger-baby 11/08/2019 4.44am
Aug 10, 2019
Aug 10, 2019 at 12:51 PM UTC