"describable" poems
There it is again. That sound you've known for so long but can never grow comfortable with. It's resonance is beyond anything describable in this world; by these means. You know it so well yet cannot fathom it. Years pass without your awareness of what this thing, this intrusively disturbing abomination truly is. You effortfully and excruciatingly ponder, analyze and rework your thoughts to no avail. You are virtually incapable—and utterly useless.
As you stand, sit, or lie, pondering your lack of discernment, you stop in your tracks.
You realize something you never have before.
What is it?
Jun 28, 2014
Jun 28, 2014 at 12:04 PM UTC
I
who am indescribable to myself
because true
am describable to you
precisely because
to you
I can only be
expressly
untrue.
Unless that I
is you
Mar 27, 2012
Mar 27, 2012 at 7:41 PM UTC
‘I need help’
I said as I grasped for words to describe the un describable
‘You’re fine’
My hands slipped off the mountain as I feel into the colorless void
Feb 25, 2019
Feb 25, 2019 at 11:08 AM UTC
You taught me that I need people who don't like Starbucks in my life.
You taught me to not believe the signs in the city saying 'homemade Italian gelato' until I had tasted homemade Italian gelato.
You taught me not to love until the only thing I can taste in my mouth and in my heart and in my soul was something stronger than any other describable desire.
Well.... I think what all that means is I need you in my life.
I need you to take me to pretty cafés.
Not Starbucks.
And I need to have gelato with you in every parlour in Italy.
Just to compare all the flavours.
But most importantly.
I realise now you want me to love you and hold you in my heart forever.
Because that overwhelming feeling of 'love' that you speak of is pretty similar to the feeling I get when I'm with you.
Oct 15, 2014
Oct 15, 2014 at 2:35 AM UTC
Everything keeps on flooding into this associative mesh,
It all reflects such involved significance
I ache to grip the essence, but settle for metaphors
pining after describable meaning.
Stretch my fingertips far, and further still
try to cradle the lattice
it escapes me, ever extending
Leaves me in a daze,
wooly and jumbled.
Obscurity is thick and difficult
Her true depth shrouded in a coolness
The perfect touch of rugged to rouse baseline beauty
compelling, titillating
Just like the divine bitter edge of dark chocolate
—how it aggrandizes the taste,
stretches it beyond mere sweetness—
she imbues my life with ***** full-bodied awe.
dark, deep
Terrifying
Fantastic.
A moment- She steals away my peace
comfortless, deserted. Cold and abandoned.
Shriveling at sheer confusion
Cant seem to understand this whole thing I’m pretty sure I’m not supposed to but it’s all a bit much the compulsive need to know plus innate knowledge that I can’t
A bit cruel
Another-She invites me into warm, multicolored awareness, acceptance
Free of cosmic heaviness
Forgetting the weight of existence and filled with bliss
I’ve got it I’ve just got to do it Just got to
Live my life
Not try so hard to understand it all.
The oscillations make my head spin.
Mar 7, 2023
Mar 7, 2023 at 12:50 PM UTC
I'm thousands of miles above the ground,
and far below me, straight down,
umbrellas are blossoming open
and doors are closing
and those who can are staying inside,
to keep out of the thunderstorm
that I'm watching from up here.
(Lightning looks very different
when you're miles above it.)
And up here, where I am,
the sky is a brilliant hue—
I don't think I could describe it with
azure, or sapphire, or ultramarine—
it's really only describable
with moments.
The sky up here is a perfect day in summer
with your two best friends
and a lot of ice cream.
The sky up here is the day after it snows
and the blanket of white on the ground
is still untouched and sparkling
in the sunlight that's returned again.
The sky up here is letting go
of the thing weighing your heart down forever,
and watching it sail away on dandelion seeds
in the minutes right before
the sun blushes red and pink
and bends down to kiss the horizon.
And miles and miles below me,
the thunderstorm is going on.
So I wish I could tell all the people
who are running to get out of the cold rain
to stop, and to dance in it,
and to make the most of even times like this,
because directly above all the clouds
that are blocking their view of it right now,
the sky is still the most amazing
shade of cerulean ever to exist,
and it always is just as vibrant
wether their situation lets them see it or not.
Nov 26, 2013
Nov 26, 2013 at 11:55 AM UTC
Lets be honest with ourselves for a minute
do you really know what love is?
What it means to be in love?
What its like to fall in love?
Sure you nod your head and think to yourself yeah of course,
who doesn’t?
But the thing is having an idea of love is not knowing
all we do is come up with ideas
nobody really knows
the thing with love is that it's not describable
we do our best but you have to ask yourself and be honest
Do I know what love is?
Have i ever fallen in love?
Am I really in love?
Well I guess those questions then lead to the real question,
what is the difference between love and lust?
Well here’s my idea
there is no such thing as Being in love
no fallen and hit rick bottom no way back kind of love
I believe that you don’t just suddenly find yourself being in love
you don’t fall in love with someone you just met
sure maybe there’s a connection
but don’t mistake that for love at first sight
it’s just more of a feeling
the kind you get when you’re around someone that seems similar to you
or seems similar to someone you know and love
maybe there’s something about them that strikes a chord with you
I believe there is no such thing as fallen
there is no I’ve fallen, I’m there, it’s done, Yay I’m in love!
No you fall and you fall and you fall
and you keep falling
everyday of every second of every moment
every word from his tongue sends you into a daze
every kiss spiraling into a pit of fire
the uncontrollable burning in your belly kind
the kind that warms you completely from the inside out
and every time you get bored no matter where you are
you can’t seem to help but think about him
all the funny things he said and did
every time he said I love you but you didn’t say it back, still he kissed you
when he held you in his arms and didn’t say a word
you laced your hands together loving the comfortable silence
knowing words are not needed to say everything
and nothing at the same time
all the times you cuddled on the couch talking all night
After he left you wrapped your arms around yourself thinking about it
your phone goes off and he’s calling you
butterflies swirl in your stomach as excitement makes your heart pound
you answer with an excited hello and a bright smile
you talked on the phone the rest of the night until you fell asleep
and you fell even harder
it’s when he brings you food and coffee in the middle of the night
because you can’t sleep
so you sit in the grass in your backyard cuddled against him
you don’t mind being alone with him because he makes you feel safe
it’s when you feel a hollow ache in the pit of your belly
craving his presence
when you’ve been around him a million times
yet each time you see him the butterflies come fluttering back
and shivers pleasantly run down your spine
he wraps an arm around you and you know you're still falling
and always will be
Feb 14, 2015
Feb 14, 2015 at 1:53 PM UTC
I have found a magnificent sea monster in the Ocean of my mind
It is tall, red, blue and gold, beautiful to free searching eyes
With scales that flash from pattern to random distortion
His once tall sharp teeth have been dulled and broken
From gnawing on my heart
Below the surface he is dark and murky
with out describable shape and with indefinite size
I give him a name, that is always different, but to everyone the same
He has swallowed up the rotting, black banner ships
Bitter things that foul in his gut
These things cause him fester from the inside
And dilate to mountainous proportions
It is this terrible Poseidon that I fear
He calls out- "Oh, my swollen, aching belly. What are these now but tears?"
Who knew that such a beast could cry
Even more so, cry in such cognate rhythm with me
And so I begin my chase, I figure something so majestic
can be both at once liberated and on display
I follow him close behind through the gales and waves of the tempest
Oh how we both loath the days that I loose the wind
He also loves to play this game
** He has led me to the edge of the infinite blue
The border of my mind
He leaps over, delivering a jubilant wail
That resonates within the falling water
He crashes hard on paper
Dying and bleeding he twists and writhes in panic
He tears through the pages, ripping holes, he leaves behind a carnage of red confetti
At the bottom of the page, his eyes close as he lies in final signature
Upon a rock on the edge, enthralled, I watch the monster's theater
Water gushing past me, waves spraying me with rapture
Then I cry out- "My friend, why did I drive you this far? You were one of
the great beauties of my Ocean. It has lost its vibrancy and energy
For you were in and of each other, composed as one"
As I breathe and find satisfaction, I steer my ship to where I began
Gazing over the liquid crystal dunes
Hoping for equal fluorescent color to match
So I notice a sea monster egg, ready to breach
Floating along the waves of the Ocean of my mind
May 30, 2010
May 30, 2010 at 10:07 AM UTC
Suddenly, everything I see from my eyes is negative.
Suddenly, everything I hear from my ears is negative.
Suddenly, everything I think with my brain is negative.
Suddenly, I block out all positivity, nothing but hostility.
This happens every once in a while.
At first I thought it was strange, you know?..
I was able to hide and pretend, but now I can barely comprehend.
My curiosity to "what are these feelings" and my thoughts about "I wonder why this is happening to me" now turned into curiosity about the afterlife and thoughts about ways to end it.
When I say end it, I mean ways to end this pain.
It's a pain that is barely describable.
It's a pain that I can't seem to understand.
Nov 2, 2017
Nov 2, 2017 at 9:12 AM UTC
The old man is in the wilderness,
His children never borne.
His parents torn.
He lives alone.
And he likes it so.
No one to tell him what to do.
No government to bore him too.
No lost or love...
Little effort, and much fun.
Yet still for this man,
There feels a hole,
Something inescapable,
Yet not quite describable,
Somewhere within him,
Something is missing.
Lacking a vocabulary,
He finds himself lacking.
So he carries on his day
Chopping wood for winter,
Eating fish for dinner,
Beating his dog for pleasure,
And sleeping for leisure,
He lives a simple life,
One away from danger.
A hatchet for protection,
And a musket for intervention.
But slowly the hole grew.
Until it weighted more than he did.
Bigger and stronger than he,
Eating him from inside.
Yet he was a stubborn man,
And he would rather die,
Then ask for help.
Or a neighborly "Hi,"
So his illness went untreated,
And his loneliness grew.
He beat his dog more,
and ate a little less.
Cried at night,
And knew naught why.
Like a black hole it consumed,
Everything it could see,
That hole slowly grew,
From out his heart it bleeds.
One Day,
Their was nothing left.
Just the hole,
In the guise of man.
It did not move,
And it did not breathe.
The dog had already went away...
Mar 29, 2010
Mar 29, 2010 at 9:29 PM UTC
High school will be
The best four years
Of your short
History
But they are wrong
To state these lies
To fill our head with hopes
Just to let them die
It is more like four years
Of mandatory Hell
In small little rooms
With small windows
Where you are told to
Sit and stay
Behave and be quite
Don't speak your mind
Tolerate your peers
Do as we say with no questions asked
Grades are everything
Forget your social life
Your happiness
Mental health and
Well being
It will not matter
High school is beyond
Describable
For I cannot put torment
Into words, it is undefinable
Jan 16, 2014
Jan 16, 2014 at 1:37 PM UTC
there were some hints of hidden plots
but I'm unable to reveal
I found some separated spots
still unable to tell which link is real
and so I try to analyze
what rather should and must be framed
since all I see creates disguise
that's much too complex to be ever named
of course it has been clear to me
that I can never understand
trapped in the wrongest strategy
but this slight insight it could never end
living within recursive strains
and sensing that there is a sense
more valid than just causal chains
but only describable as weird chance
so all foretelling must stay vague
and loosely caught in blurring lines
just guessing back allows to make
out what still must resist to be combined
seems context can produce a part
that hides some future in degrees
of freedom interpreting art
seems the mystic whole is stored in a piece
but there's no way to find out how
to find what is the fitting view
since perspectives change truth right now
and every looking back is always new
breaking habits means crossing lines
to unveil the contexted mess
just writing what my brain combines
still so far beyond my most daring guess
but this is where I cannot get
by words bound to logical thoughts
I treat them in new ways instead
where all I is weakly felt metaphors
and all I see is kept in mind
and stretching out with every verse
but well, of course no one can find
what only contextually occurs
a strange result is feeding doubts
since all is trapped self-reference
that can be clearly talked about
asking how to comprehend any sense
outside the very performed act
but what got written down at last
is a shadowed trace that reflects
translating what cannot be tracked unmasked
with or kept by well defined terms
but ambiguous metaphors
leaving space for views to confirm
spotted patterns that could reflect my course
but each changed context brings the chance
to find new ways of reading how
the world was caught within found sense
constructed just against backgrounds of now
Mar 3, 2014
Mar 3, 2014 at 7:40 AM UTC
Oh my ever fragile bird
Do not fret your lovely mind
Your hearts wandering over mine
Your words are in my head
Do not quiver your brow
Or bite your lip
Over the things we have
Not yet said
And how could I ever not need you?
With this connection so rare
Almost in describable
But I'll try my best
If you can bear
You are the crisp clean breeze of January
You are the smell of May at dusk
You warm me with your July sun
You fill me with October rush
And please believe me when I say
We'll walk through a forest on a perfect summer day
Through the warmth, recite the Decemberists
And play me your beautiful tunes
& baby stay
up
with
me
In the wake of
An
early
June
moon.
Dec 9, 2013
Dec 9, 2013 at 7:01 PM UTC
I'm a sinner, since I'm a liar
A hardly describable swirling, sickening, stifling feeling
Seething air in my lungs, and my diaphragm
I holler "I'm fine!" What a lie.
I stare at the white, flawless lambs on my sacrificial alter,
unclear about their place in life.
How was it supposed to know
that it would be scarred by something
supposedly mightier than a sword?
For now it lay half finished
stared at by me, a small girl with curious eyes.
Pessimism stood close behind me,
biting my neck and draining me of
Blood red love and inspiration
Shivery, sleety, snowy, stinging breaths of depression
Caused my ideas to slip between my fingers.
She thought, "Sometimes I wish I could right my wrongs
And fix all the broken hearts and evaporate the tears,
But for now all I think I can do,
Is write poems."
Nov 6, 2012
Nov 6, 2012 at 3:47 PM UTC
open my chest if you want to see the rod of heaven's river, while it strains in its bed,
where the white roses swim…
The hunger for beauty created canyons of longing for a quantum of moment.
Again leaving is telling me thunder as melodeon, quiver of veins and bones,
while I come to Thy meeting embarrassedly hide life's broken toy, buried in human darkness; Alas you know my pains, tears in blood percolated as black pressed grapes
While I swirled in the whirlpool of “I”-s, seeking for the spark of the of Your sight
Remained deaf for the multitude of “THEM”, and the multitude of “US”
The moon is full, the moonlight feeds me while I listen lullabys of Gabriel
To sleep the thirsty souls; the starmist flirts to my appearance as it wishes to drop its mercy, at the pain caused by human poison.
These words are arguments of the Threshold of the other side where the describable forms and the audible voices disappear, and the tongue knotted in nine knots.
The eye is stopping the sight to store its image in my consciousness.
Behold oh…”I” of the “US” while we rejoice within the White Roses and while we lick the pearly dews at dawn, and we smell the distant Neroli at dusk
While we celebrate life as cosmic minute that lasts for eternity and a day more.
Apr 18, 2012
Apr 18, 2012 at 7:29 AM UTC
Pain rockets through my body.
A new, unusual pain.
Not physical.
Not describable.
Not temporary.
My heart flutters for a moment, remembering...
The good.
The wonderful.
The incredible.
But then it comes rushing back and hits me, just like a train wreck.
The images flash by, one by one they race through my mind.
Allowing the visions to peace together haunted memories...
Memories of sadness.
Memories of woe.
Memories of misery.
Memories of hatred.
Memories of the ******
The pain is a sudden rush of sadness.
It buries itself deep into my tortured soul, etching scars there forevermore.
Making me realize... Real eyes... The real lies...
Fool.
Love is nothing more then a simple illusion.
It flusters, flushes and flatters us in one simple moment, yet the next it has vanished.
Love is nothing more than a cruel beast.
It taunts and teases.
It evades the heart when us mortals need it the most, yet pounces when we need it the least.
Love is nothing more then a mocking demon.
It allows us to repeatedly circle our true eternal other, yet it pushes us in directions we never intended to go in.
For love, is nothing more, then pain.
Mar 1, 2013
Mar 1, 2013 at 10:48 AM UTC
A fleeting whisp of eternal glory,
Developing the reflective protagonist in one's own story.
The heat and sun, describable only as warm,
Reflect youth in spirit, even when age's experience grows worn.
To subsist freely, unencumbered in an unworried state of time,
Already aware that this seasonal pleasure lies predominantly in the mind,
Remain conscious to yourself and your life's plot,
For love will last, while your life will not.
Radiant heat on the toes of my feet,
Tingling sun supplies vibes describable only as upbeat.
An unexplained aura of melodic euphoria,
Supplying the vigor emanating out of nature's own formula.
Summer's enticing gaze lucidifies the bulk of this year's haze,
Incorporating without a doubt the height of our own glory days.
A summer long repose from school and servitude.
Shape your own destiny, practicing all year to maximize the magnitude,
Of a precious few chances to make the most of something great:
The solidarity of choice, a free and open space.
The kind of unique youthful place,
Available only in summer break.
Jul 10, 2015
Jul 10, 2015 at 4:51 PM UTC
Expanding,
I see the universe
In its truest form
Of beauty,
Where I am standing
On the rings of Saturn,
Watching the sunset,
Not being able to breathe,
But embracing the silence
Of the surreal,
The ethereal image
Being projected to my eyes.
There is no explanation for this,
It is less than describable,
And few moments compare
To one such as this.
Apr 11, 2019
Apr 11, 2019 at 11:52 AM UTC
This memory keeps coming back-
us under the dining table,
our knobby knees banging together
as we whisper secrets in each other's ears
and giggle about how sneaky
we think we are being
I don't know how many of us there were-
maybe five-
our prepubescent girl bodies
hunched beneath the wood,
digging our toes into the carpet
We were neighbors,
adventuring friends
the kind of pushed-together pals
that didn't know the nitty-gritty;
the most deepest of secrets about each other
But now we shared one
I can't remember if we all kissed
or just paired up
but I'm pretty sure we never talked about it again
Shelby had said it was just practice
Erin claimed she had already done it with another friend
Let's just try it
I don't mark this moment as the one where I knew
because I didn't
but I'll always remember the way the
giggling sounded in my ear
and how the teasing that came later
stung a little too much
It had nothing to do with s*x
we were innocent children
playing kiss the girl
and my heart was happy to be with them
It wasn't even a crush
It wasn't a describable feeling
but something felt right
I always come back to that memory.
Nov 26, 2018
Nov 26, 2018 at 7:40 PM UTC
It is so pretentious to build things with the intention of sharing them with another,
to assume that we will find somebody at all.
Most everything is meant to be shared,
to be experienced in tandem;
to be seen with more eyes than you possess yourself;
felt with two hearts.
Sometimes, we are lucky enough to find but an extention of ourselves.
But that sinking, aching feeling when
that discovered extension of yourself cannot be found is unmatched,
only describable in the smallest of words - “missing you”.
Oct 23, 2013
Oct 23, 2013 at 3:09 PM UTC
everything is fiction. When you tell yourself the story of your life, the story of your day, you edit and rewrite and weave a narrative out of a collection of random experiences and events.
Your conversations are fiction.
Your friends and loved ones—they are characters you have created.
And your arguments with them are like meetings with an editor—please, they beseech you, you beseech them, rewrite me.
You have a perception of the way things are, and you impose it on your memory, and in this way you think, in the same way that I think, that you are living something that is describable
.
When of course, what we actually live, what we actually experience—with our senses and our nerves—is a vast, absurd, beautiful, ridiculous chaos.
Jul 24, 2015
Jul 24, 2015 at 10:10 AM UTC
Gods and devils are created by humans
they are the comforters
that little children take everywhere
with them and which they feel
they cannot live their lives without.
A kind of fetish with describable attributes
and predictable thoughts
conjured up by ourselves
to compensate for being out on a limb
alone in the great hall of matter
an anchor to stop us from disintegrating
a book of word- a work of art
into which we can meld our dreams
and feel energised and at ease
a 'being' to goad us into joys
and a scapegoat to blame for all our ills
a figure reflecting our own individual cravings
that move parallel and within ourselves
akin to the blood that courses through our beings
supporting our bones and tissue with its imagined presence
Margaret Ann Waddicor 4th April 2014.
Feb 4, 2016
Feb 4, 2016 at 7:42 AM UTC
There's an ominous melody playing in my head.
A kind of uncharted echo only heard in melancholy tunes.
Splitting and splattering against the walls of my soul.
Skin, skin is all we see,
not the depth of a vast ocean of emotions.
Every fiber and molecule taken forgranted.
Hearts are a dime a dozen in this ****** up world.
Bleeding hearts ooze broken fragments out of glistening veins.
Tearing up paper,
rewriting line after line until these words have been defined.
Defined to spell out emotions to a broken society outside of this vessel called a body.
Concrete cyinderblocks cemented to these feet,
casted out like a fishing line into the abyss of a never-ending sea.
Drowning metaphorically, gasping for air but no one cares.
Painted faces in a culture full of clowns.
Intentionally hiding pain but the paint is starting to crack.
Vicegrips continuously squeeze this life,
harder and harder as light fades.
A tear weeps across the moons face.
Icicles sparkle,
melting a desprate soul and the rain falls like shards of glass.
Searching for a trail to follow,
walking with many others down this road.
Yet walking empty and alone all in the same moment.
Nothing more than a shadow underneath feet.
Silence saturated with malingering grief,
torment residing deep within.
Memories clawing through nightmarish dreams,
barely describable.
Mired in debris from the past - ****** into quicksand.
Dreams filled with hope; dashed and dimmed like a flame from a candle.
A life extinguished,
a void created where a future ought to reside.
Jun 23, 2018
Jun 23, 2018 at 1:52 AM UTC
We stand back to back,
our hands clasped,
I star locking into your gaze,
courage pouring into me.
My support gives a squeeze,
My heart and I,
we are ready to take your hand too.
Imprisoned in the cell of my eye,
you are locked up deep within me.
We are not married,
that isn't necessary,
we are not of a describable relationship,
In this world riddled with titles,
ours is not a single word.
In a resolve I suppose,
my resolve would be,
that I am never letting go of you,
you are my partner,
my equal,
the last of your kind,
endangered yet secure as the last I shall ever have.
Mar 1, 2016
Mar 1, 2016 at 6:28 PM UTC