"denoted" poems
You wish for me to put in words
What I have to say
Like the answers that I've given
On their own
Could never relay
They come and go
Touch on fate
Dissipate and replicate
The disingenuous nature
That you frequently necessitate
Extend your olive branch
Then act like you feed me
When the branches are famished
Needy, condescending and deceiving Conceiving that I'm the villain
When I don't respond to how you react
Like you could perpetuate in me
The supposition for your tact
The fact that you lack any original clarity
Is the reason I'd never reach to you
Like I was Seraphim
The simple reason
That I'm writing all of this
Is simply just to prove to you
That I don't have to convince
I don't have to persist
Rehash, then reminisce
Like treading through faded memories with you
Will satiate my daily fix
I resist
Because I know exactly where I'm headed And you insist because that truth
Is what keeps us separate
Every second
You playcate on a pretense
When your intentions are crystal clear
And I can't provide that service
Or serve that purpose
While I'm standing here
To be perfectly honest
I never promised you anything
All I did was sigh and reply
To how your heart would so readily sing
Then you project your insecurities
Directly to my face
As if I was the one who gave them rise
Within the first place
Protecting your manipulations
While contemplating your motives
Are exactly the reasons we're done
Before we even started
I'm sick of being a punching bag
For someone acting devoted
And now it's been denoted
I've written you off, this story is done
This time you're in the subject line
Because you are truly NOT the one
Apr 9, 2019
Apr 9, 2019 at 12:45 AM UTC
I think it's sorta funny
how when you pay with plastic
they ask you: "Debit, or credit?";
because,
as denoted in a dictionary,
they are polar opposites;
yet,
as connotated in popular culture,
they differ
only in the time it takes
to be charged,
that is to say
to incur a loss.
So,
in certain ways,
it can be said one is wiser
to chose "debit";
which, I find, deeply ironic:
In our culture
One
gets to choose
either debit
or credit;
and,
in our culture,
One
can be wiser
to choose
debit.
This, and more, withstanding;
I tend to try to use cash.
Sep 25, 2013
Sep 25, 2013 at 11:32 PM UTC
Jigsaw-
Noun
1. A lively handtool dance for cutting wood or other hard materials with leaping movements, typically with a long, thin serrated blade.
Rhythm denoted with the phrase 'Rashers and Sawsages'
Oct 7, 2014
Oct 7, 2014 at 7:12 PM UTC
In the caste of what the fir trees denoted what should be or what should not be,
I clasped the fig twigs and watched them split as if to say that all must come to an end.
And in the end, who can the charred leaves blame if there should be tire rods and hubcaps strewn
across the forest's floor?
After totaling the costs of what should not be,
the last mast of yesterday's trade boat could skiff along the shore,
with flag flailing like the playground children's hands.
Irrationality piquing: birds dip and dive like a boxer's fists made of shadow
from one powerline to the next.
Training for the changing, biting winds, watching the unconscious cars staring.
And the skiff oozing through the unmentionables littered in the creek : what will
become of him?
Lodged in stale, fossil bones -- floundered between the swingset and the droning, dusty traffic at 3 a.m.
Metamorphic scarabs stolen from the gusts and pants of too much play.
Basketballs stained with carrion, precarious gusto in the wake of money suckling and ripping alongside
the skiff.
Cross here with two pennies.
Goaded by the solitary abandonment of the 1930's, the used condom's mouth gaping open like hungry carp, dusty trails of light from the past lamplight hanging in the air
Birds measured up along the powerlines, moving mindlessly along with the flock
Bird drones, feathery spines
Birds perched along the playground.
Bird play so far as to say
does this not look familiar?
Bobbing, weaving, slathered in cadence and involuntary muscle jerks.
First we were here
Then we were not.
Jan 14, 2013
Jan 14, 2013 at 8:33 PM UTC
Another haunt is arriving, feverishly fast tonight.
Somehow I managed to delay the feeling, briefly,
as it usually takes the manageable Subway and begins to fester around high noon, but today I skipped lunch,
and the feeling didn't go underground for her mode of transport.
"Maybe I hit the lotto?", I secretly questioned,
and the haunt would forget her requiem, passing over me
like those lucky "Kennedy Husbands" during the sixties' draft.
But I was getting divorced while all the other couples
were on a faster track heading in the opposite direction.
Tonight the haunt is traveling 248 mph,
on the Fùxīng ** bullet train from Beijing to Shanghai, en route to Vietnam.
The conductor yelled, "All Aboard."
and as if that period denoted a punctual mark,
everyone manically crammed into the narrow vehicle.
The first influx of lovely passengers to board were,
Missus Anxiety, Sir Prior Transgressions and Dr. Heartache.
Unlike Dr. Feelgood,
They had been waiting in line from the previous night,
like those idiots for last week’s black Friday sale.
Mr. and Mrs. Payments Past Due cut in front of
Bills Esquire and Judge Job Insecurity,
for the Belmont Superfecta win, I guessed the right horses, just didn’t box my bet.
Congressman Careless and Deputy ******* nearly trampled Senator Surrender on the way through the turnstiles,
while Mayor Moan was flagged by security for groaning
and pulled aside for a pat down and wheelchair inspection.
The Mayor was found to have ******* residue on his sleeve, but legitimate prescriptions for his aches and pains,
so TSA
wheeled him through the crack rocks
Analog veins pump analog blood to my analog heart;
traveling for the journey and not its hasty destination.
My analog heart will eventually be shelved,
as it still salutes the Subway on its journey to my soul,
but like dusting off an old Coen Brothers flick,
my analog heart is still entertaining its vintage tick.
Nov 27, 2017
Nov 27, 2017 at 9:23 PM UTC
325
Of Tribulation, these are They,
Denoted by the White—
The Spangled Gowns, a lesser Rank
Of Victors—designate—
All these—did conquer—
But the ones who overcame most times—
Wear nothing commoner than Snow—
No Ornament, but Palms—
Surrender—is a sort unknown—
On this superior soil—
Defeat—an outgrown Anguish—
Remembered, as the Mile
Our panting Ankle barely passed—
When Night devoured the Road—
But we—stood whispering in the House—
And all we said—was “Saved”!
1.7k
In a Christian world.
The star an ensign.
A symbol.
Pointing out wicked wounds inflicted on Christ .
While was crucified.
By ignorance cruel.
The points denote an insult on his tragic dying soul.
Our saviour saved by pointed pain.
Babylonians long since gone.
Showed Heaven in four quarters.
Jupiter, Mars, Lady Venus and Mercury.
Houses in which archangels dwell.
Quarters denoted by a star.
Ishtar at the top.
Five points, a symbol.
The Grecian star divides by elements.
And beautiful phases of the moon.
Breathe in the air.
Walk on earths mantle.
Let fire not tempt fingers.
Water to extinguish.
Vision on the facets of the luna moon.
Seasonal in phases.
Young moon in spring, with water brings..seen in the West.
Vernal equinox provides the life rebirth.
Moon in youth is the summer brings..Second quarter in the South.
Autumn comes with harvest moon.
Middle age of lunar cycle.
Dry as earth.
Almost barren beauty.
Three quarters of the cycle.
Arises in the east.
During autumns changing face and fruit filled feast.
Coldness carries death in chains brings winter.
In the North faces of the moon.
Hidden in winter nights of death.
Bring on the winter solstice.
The final point I bring to you.
Is in spirituality.
Inspirational!
By ladylivvi1
© 2013 ladylivvi1 (All rights reserved)
Nov 21, 2013
Nov 21, 2013 at 3:38 PM UTC
The Newfounlander,
Wrapped in her blanket,
Was laid behind the new shed.
The hole bled with water.
She rose as Lazarus,
Caked with dirt.
The shovel mixed her in with earth.
A Christian marker denoted the place
Where lovely Ete lay.
But the girls were coming home,
Unaware of the interment;
Katie asked George to dig,
But George had been a farm boy,
So Katie manned the *****
She was bloated,
Washed and brushed;
Then viewed on her clean blanket.
The shovel was in the shed.
Crazy Katie took the family
To the Vet's for cremation.
George followed silently,
With ***** boots and blisters,
And not a whisper
To the sisters
That Mom's gone dog-gone mind.
Jan 21, 2017
Jan 21, 2017 at 2:14 PM UTC
Oh, many bounds I've beaten well,
And many more I'll drub,
But through this maze I'll take the ways
That lead me to the pub.
Where worries may be left behind,
Where life's despair may fail,
Where peace has smiled on pints of mild
And blessed the winter ale.
Where folk may laugh, where folk may spend
A moment free from fear,
Where smiles may bless a game of chess
Beside two pints of beer.
And in my mind I see the bar,
The beers' familiar names!
The window-seat where old men meet,
Where children play their games!
Where still you'll find a Sunday lunch
On Sunday afternoon,
And God's own pie, denoted by
A number on a spoon.
Oh, many weary miles I've trod,
All filled with life's alarms,
But in my brains it still remains
My local Carlton Arms.
Sep 24, 2010
Sep 24, 2010 at 9:39 AM UTC
All this poetry I write
is here for a reason.
I am feeling rather nostalgic tonight
my room is clammy and hot
whilst on the inside, I'm in a freezer
unable to move from the isolation
I am currently listening to a song
it is singing me to sleep
and singing all my consciences
without me having to think too much
philosophising everything
I'm tired of being here
alone all the time, and
I can't carry on being second best
even third, fourth and so on
like a never ending cycle
the term 'wallflower' is so perfectly beautified
and evokes imagery of aesthetically-pleasing nature
but I find this so hard to believe
as I feel like a wallflower
but certainly the opposite of beautiful
more like the uninviting sight of a prickly ****
needing to be dug up
because nobody likes its presence
irrelevance is probably the only term I can use to describe
just how things are
no one wants the companionship of someone
who perceives others' opinions as negative
all the time
and their own thoughts are just as diabolic
the thought of myself
ever being denoted as beautiful
is at the height of impossibility
Jul 7, 2013
Jul 7, 2013 at 8:14 PM UTC
Time is a number,
A value we have denoted to a moment perceived as the now,
Its presence doctrines society and its functionality,
A fickle means of conceptualizing the abyss.
Time is but a construct,
A bid to control what is everlasting,
A scattered ploy to compartmentalize actions and obligations,
A means of justification.
Time is arbitrary,
For the essence is eternal,
Our soul is formless,
As the creation is infinite,
Relinquish your mind to this celestial current,
And harmonize to its flow surging within.
Mar 5, 2021
Mar 5, 2021 at 11:28 AM UTC
Circular in motion,
but not in body.
Many have lost the gleam in their eye
that denoted it.
Many more havens are left untouched
.../by a bleak bystander's world.
Try as I might I cannot know whether I had it in the first place.
Jul 4, 2011
Jul 4, 2011 at 12:36 PM UTC
Patience, fate
Trees and treasures of kind
The tale of inclined sate
Has a sunny disposition, as if time
Care for a threshold of dissuasion another day?
Real regret, is the purpose behind our musings
Anger and delves of uniqueness, are to begin with may
A choice of shoulders, save itself for what patience looses...
Salt, is a final run to safety, a hug in the wind?
Curious speed, the irony of candor, to exist
Bred upon balance and the common, the tone of a new voice
That was a care, the towardness of you, an embarrassed list...
With no man's land, came the wish of potential
Sulking and denoted to be, the vice of remembering
The otherwise certain specific, the tongue of quintessential
Looks of responsibility for a question to guidance, sometimes humbling...
Will you marry me?
Places of blossoms, and the callous through and due, today
Of a quiet simplicity, for the anecdote of when boding is anarchy
Isn't a world of itself, the only reason a challenged voice, was anyway?
Persist and pout
The devil and the deed of the bluesy's...
Right to contain and contemplate another good intent, shout
Upon a caring rainbow found in the mere, all more, and me...
Oct 12, 2022
Oct 12, 2022 at 10:24 PM UTC
I've tailored so many suits,
Switching out mismatched buttons for shining brass,
And restoring fabric worn thin over years of well-loved use.
But I cannot tailor this traitorous skin to fit me right.
In some placed it's too lose,
In others too tight…
I cannot switch out the pieces of me I'd rather live without
For new pieces shining with pride.
There is no way to restore a body to what it should have been,
Or even to the simple majesty of what it once was.
Young and ignorant of its uneven seams.
I've hemmed ladies' skirts to the perfect lengths
So they no longer need to worry about tripping over the excess.
Hemmed them to show just the right amount of ankle
Or perhaps none at all..
But I cannot hem myself..
This excess emotion staining my voice denoted me as "she."
And I trip over my own voice that no longer fits in my mouth..
While gorgeous girls in gowns show off thin strips of themselves,
I am left trying to hide every piece of my skin.
This is why I have risked sunstroke in the dead of summer
Wearing a hoodie and jeans to keep me safe.
This is why swimming pools are often synonymous with nightmare.
I no longer know how to wear this body with pride.
So when they ask me when I knew I wasn't a girl…
I have to restrain my urge to laugh and cry all at once.
Because when do we know that something is not as perfect as we once thought..
Only once it has been shown to us and we've been told to fix it.
I wish I could go back to being ignorant of my uneven seams.
These uneven seams that I cannot rip out unless I want to bleed out.
These uneven seams that I will never be able to fix to perfection.
But maybe…
Slowly,
Ever so slowly,
We might be able to stretch the seams of this world.
So that no child has to learn to hate or fear
Their jagged edges
Their unhemmable spaces…
…
…
…
…
But I cannot be one of those children..
So I will use chemicals to hem my voice..
Readjust my buttons…
Stretch my seams…
I will find a seamster more experienced then I
To rip out these traitorous strings
And rearrange the fabric to a more seemly drape.
I will use new fabric to cover up the patterns I am no longer proud of…
The patterns that cloud my days…
I will mend my ways
Learning to live in a patchwork maze
Until my spirit can return to where it truly belongs
In a beautiful blaze.
- EPL 11/6/2017
Nov 6, 2017
Nov 6, 2017 at 10:41 PM UTC
This Time It's unbelievable
Seeming So Solely when Inconceivable/
I can't imagine take that in account/
No concept of time A chasm
You cash in I'll take time it's the only thing that counts/
Insipid as risk it sit in/
just watch
On my wrist for minutes sucking time/
Ticking/ analog digits/
First off Can I Get Second on
In a-bout/
Fighting time but it won't counter clock/
Wise Attrition Man
Once upon a time young fool/
Wouldn't say I'm obsessed
But stuck On time Consumed/
With no further delay shall I say ado/
Tardiness nah Not first but the latest
Big Time You can Assume/
As far as I'm concerned Not a near worry
I presume/
It's assign Denoted was it an era?
Pondering for ever
Focused/
I took time/ For myself Deep down In the Depths/ Of my mind Searching
For lost time the results? / Circles
Therefore I'll be a round
The world in 24 flat One day renowned/
Reverberate or verbally permeate resound/
Internally propagate populace the underground/
Then surface/
This Time what I found
Perfect /
you've payed time for worthless/
It is worth less this time
A designated Design/
Trying to understand what It Is
Because It Takes Time/
I may need rest Up but I decline/
I could go on forever but I'm over-Time.
Jul 27, 2016
Jul 27, 2016 at 10:54 AM UTC
The Days were cursed when gybe of akin
Bond were confined, thou compelled him to thee will,
Treachery define thee as my reason to cry,
Your eyes denoted evil in our first summer,
With warm hands I took you as my own,
You were dispatched to excavate the pain I ever wanted to feel,
You extirpated us since from the winter
With your eager to whack innocent souls,
You are obliged to your intent demigod,
My parents divorced for him to be your own,
He cries for his past that denoted ardour as you tear him apart,
If there is any part of you as human I doubt it,
You are cranky to know his secret those are your differences,
He is warm and you’re cold
Mar 2, 2015
Mar 2, 2015 at 7:15 AM UTC
The crescent moon had a silvery glow
lowly set on the dark shielded horizon
upon the clouded patch of glowy stars
towards the vast fields where cattle gaze
each with a light on pitch-black alleyways
following the muddy patterned paths
in the countryside of Burstall, we hustle
rumbling in hay sheds, beside the puddle
where torrential rains settled in a wrestle
It's been a 100 years since the war erupted
trenches charged with championed fears
cannons eroded with plentiful hopeful tears
The vicar of Burstall collared and robed
in front of masses with declarations of peace
lease of the acquisition, long-live the empire
denoted by the pitched but fading trumpet
off -keyed to the shrine of the beaconing light
where a chair is set fire-up high, in a glorious chant......
"Anna, stop giggling...we shall remember them Anna"
Nov 12, 2018
Nov 12, 2018 at 7:07 AM UTC
For her
he had spent all his time
building that perfect house
his brothers had all chipped in
We had children helped pick wallpaper
tiles, curtains, floors
it was all perfect
even the street name denoted idyl
It was summer when we moved in
we loved that house immensely
but she, my mother
did not move in
we would visit her over the weekend
at his best friend's house
our house was sold
with loss
to everyone
Apr 29, 2013
Apr 29, 2013 at 12:05 PM UTC
most oft, the
wherever I write,
is duly noted,
it is a due,
due you,
and hopefully,
the why I scribe,
arrives ‘pon your eyes
with Steuben glass,
of diamond tooled curettage,
a clarifying visual of
beauty,
but always
with fair detailed precision
is the
when
denoted,
for it is the timing
of the mining the specificity,
of the exact momentous,
a precious decision
taken by you,
when to turn words
of a few seconds
of a heart’s unburdening,
with
an inescapable reminder,
of the
thereabouts & the whyabouts
the very verity of a serious
causality
that parented the
casualties
we call
our poems
join me then,
in the processional
of denoting the origins,
linkage contained therein
to the work we
c r e a t e
*•for in the recording of the reckoning•
•exactitude of the longitude•
•and l’atitude is the truest revelation•
•of yourself•*
Jan 3, 2025
Jan 3, 2025 at 11:21 PM UTC
I’ve toyed with fight or flight,
Had it freeze me in a nitrogen bath.
At the very innocuous sight of a face.
But the face just denoted
The crushing fear, that swallows me whole.
So I’m a runner and
I’ll hide in anything, including a frozen mind.
If I could I’d fight
One of these days I will fight.
But, battles of the self, need to be chosen carefully.
So I’ll just keep toying with flight
Until I’m sure that fight won’t end me
Mar 26, 2018
Mar 26, 2018 at 10:46 PM UTC
motłoch: meaning rabble, disfranchised mob -
the affix -ch, denoted as a hark -
motłoch etymology isn't a history:
młot = hammer
Loch, i gather means congregation,
Haggis or czarna kiszka...
(blackened intestines)...
there be i to befriend
a Malcolm or a Macbeth -
there i interim dwell:
abiding i, Cnut of the north,
or as some care to say
escaping the ᚠ (the Iron hur!),
there be lots chosen and every
turn at a choice a roundabout
with ᚠᚨᚱ - ᛝᛟᚱᛞ -
far njord or
njordé - variant softening of consonants
heading toward variant of theta / phi;
sigma and south
enigma and epsilon and east,
westward and Y....
there we were confidants in
absolved stresses, and there once more:
revisionists, mavericks,
befriending
frying, flying,
flay thru the fathom -
or the she sells sea shells on the sea shore
θought: φaθom? luckily it wasn't
****** nor condor;
but enough diatribe wording to make lecherous
scavengers congregate and feast.
numb numb nibble nibble, pecking yum;
i always loved hyenas,
i ascribed foxes to be akin to them,
less grey and more orange...
but the laughter twinned them together:
and the night really belonged to them,
and i belonged with the night.
Oct 15, 2016
Oct 15, 2016 at 6:07 PM UTC
"A great artist can make art by simply casting a glance" – Robert Smithson
Not by drawing a glance,
but casting.
Imagine the studio. What
Molten materials, what
Molds needed?
Who models, and will they
Recognize their eyes, or
Is it their object reified –
The signifier or the referent
Denoted in this indexical
Congealing.
Shy, illicit, bold, flirtations, imperial,
The variations and series of directed looks,
Is this the content, or is the captured casting
The direction - just the path of pointing:
A laser beam, redone in spider web, then
done again as differentials of the air?
And what of the early work, the
Imperfections, who filed down the seams?
And would cracks in the mold shift
The glance askew, revealing
A pliers, a heater, a
Reader’s thought?
Dec 6, 2015
Dec 6, 2015 at 5:05 PM UTC