"disclaimers" poems
The wind chimes played an awful tune
Off beat and so quick to assume
Consuming what's left of a peaceful night
Disturbing it with pitches too low or too high
Laughable to believe and fed to the dead
Whose lives seem better when misled
So may the birds tweet and let the dogs bark
I cant control the wind nor wish to win hearts
Oct 1, 2013
Oct 1, 2013 at 1:19 AM UTC
I live for two hours, five hours, bite to bleed.
A cryogenic coma until we begin.
Arguing in vain with the town around me,
over nothing able to be justified, and he and I don't care;
reveling in the confusion of the tri-city area—
drowning our egos and taking our time
until we truce with razor smiles; shift
to removing tongues with pliers in our words.
(living amputation and too much diet coke)
Shouted disclaimers spread to the rest of the state,
in case they never wondered how it feels
to watch a living heart exposed.
He gleamed gold with self-confidence as he cracked his knuckles.
"I'd like someone to hit me, y'know?"
Next to him, Tallahassee rolls her eyes, Tampa looks away.
(I catch his stare. Deo gratias. Deo gratias. Father, Son, and Violent Thoughts.)
Thank God, I whisper, and I am yelling.
He is split from throat to hip and I drain his open truth.
Speaker static shifts the room,
podium to floor.
This isn't over, he says, and we laugh
because nothing we ever say can be proven,
and we intend to prove it all.
Sep 21, 2015
Sep 21, 2015 at 8:37 PM UTC
Things we used to be
Or rather that which we are still
We as in I
I as in you
You as in me
Just a pair of eyes
Disembodied, disinherited
Then a word or two
Spoken uncertainly, with imperfect diction
Next came a body coated matte
Appearance totally flat
A reprisal of the reeling mind
Discontented, self remarked
Struck like fells of flak shells
Wrack
Emotive motion to inhale pain pill smoke
Foiled
Spoiled through imparts of ignorance
Palette saturated, severance pre-packed
Wheeze ever
A bio beat box, palpitate off tempo
Disharmony collate
Chaos culture, we the cancer self-castrating earth
Bastardized with sickly sounding mirth
Loudest, proudest, irreverent
Disclaimers
Naked
Reclamation
The origin known as nature
Mar 12, 2013
Mar 12, 2013 at 7:57 PM UTC
He is from the land of old souls,
from the land of the willows and ****** beer
that spills over
in manifold growths like old men's beards
or the **** that covers my living room -
a damp jungle for nightmares
and someday the final battle.
He is from the land of disclaimers,
and disbelievers,
and organic fruits.
Haikus they called pop
and he calls my eyes his muse.
The wine is self preservation
for he is from the land of do little, very little, wrong.
Where they grow the hot clarity I breath in
and weave the milky wanderings
through everything at once.
And I think of the orange lace,
like a 70s ******* bunny.
The crystal goblet that caught the light
and my lips -
but mostly the lace.
Jul 10, 2012
Jul 10, 2012 at 3:31 PM UTC
Depression,
some said that it is a problem with the mind
but for some, it is just merely a term for sadness
that taken for granted, it just became a norm,
that should have never been, because
it is more than a word spoken at midnight,
a label for the shattered concretes left inside,
not a song for the dead waiting for sunrise,
it is not even written at the back of drugs,
or *** or loneliness. It is not an alarm clock
to hear first thing in the morning because
all you ever wanted is to finish the day.
It is not even written as disclaimers
on boxes of blades, or pills,
or wishes of being gone. It is nowhere
to be found in maps for people
wishing of a home from the coldness.
Imagine, voices owning yourself
as you hear mutterings at unholy hours,
and a war inside of yourself as if
you were taught how to win a war.
Your fingers tremble like twigs almost broken
by the wind passing through.
Still, you wanted to be drifted away,
somewhere far, where you can be free,
from the whirlpool stirring inside of you.
It is not just an excuse for someone to
lock himself inside the bathroom,
and think of ways of killing himself.
It is not spoken by the sound of electric fan
buzzing to break the silence of absence.
It is not a seesaw at a park because
no one would push, and there is no force
to pull you back, and gravity
does not always keep you in-tucked.
Depression is trying to loosely tie
the laces of your shoes - anytime
you would lose at one end or another.
It is pulling rubber band, with
elasticity pulling you that you do
not know how to stand in between
because you would always fall
at one side.
And you tell it to people
not because you want them
to tell you that you are okay.
May 8, 2014
May 8, 2014 at 2:07 AM UTC
The sky is a cloudless crystal blue
with a breeze to chap your lips
I’m grateful for it, it’s heaven-sent
the dawn was a celestially stamped, angry red
sailors take warning
It’s going to get feisty cold,
I’m told
about the time we go back to school.
A polar-bear vortex with all its features
will spread its icy paws
What jumps out at me first
is how it could be worse.
if unapologetic nature
pounced sans disclaimers
with a cold worth semi-Shakespearean verse
*What follows, star-crossed
is a week storm-tossed
a winter holocaust
with heaven-kissed frost
that only madness would call a judgement*
We’re steered from harm
by precision alarms
stay warm
sweet friends
wrap up, stay in
.
.
Songs for this:
Come In from the Cold by Marc Broussard
World's A Changing by The Bingtones
Jan 4, 2025
Jan 4, 2025 at 11:23 AM UTC
i; anchor
you; featherweight
she; shore
the anchor at your neck
incessant
a drawn bow trembling
at the core
a heavy love
you once wrapped your arms around
i told you from the start
where i'm coming from
and how i am
i gave you all disclaimers
i can be a head full of maladies
and you've not enough hands
the featherweight has so much to lose
two heartbreaks in one year
could snap the best in half
but you'll always snap back
you build with your heart
you build every plan
you're even with discipline
you're sleeping alone tonight
the shore stays
even if still
it's known
please keep away
i'm so tired of drowning
Dec 23, 2014
Dec 23, 2014 at 1:46 AM UTC
2.26.18
How beautiful it is to live,
our sentences no longer abridged by disclaimers,
our tongues not tied by fear -
our hearts not interjected with warning labels
for fear of our existence weighing too much
on the minds of others,
too heavy to comprehend;
Give me the heaviness in your soul
(it's alright, I can carry it),
speak freely with me;
do not censor the depth of your existence.
Feb 28, 2018
Feb 28, 2018 at 11:24 PM UTC
the wordplay is **** serious,
fools curse us, attacking empathy
for its sensuous to their BS pretensions,
their hypertension sophistry compounds their
selling them selves as a holy sphere,
begging for attention and the approval
appetizers of meaningless internet
bacchanal celebrating
I invite you in,
where depths surface
asking you to scratch deeper
than the shallows of egoism shoals
long labored to persaude with caution,
careful disclaimers, when you enter
our first encounter, that first most
dangerous embrace, asking you
to tag along inside insights
my intent plain, secrets
displayed with increasing
the leveling tween twice
an armful of hugs
this criticism disturbs my calm,
and so I repeat twice:
grant us the write to share, in our humanity
grant us the write to share, in our humanity*
Mar 19, 2025
Mar 19, 2025 at 8:24 AM UTC
In mind of the situation
Of the darkness held within
Let me help you with your breathing
Inhaling grains of sand
Standing over the trapdoor
Hidden hands grasping the cord
Giving it another tightened yank
With the loosening of the floor
There's an echo in the chamber
Hello...is anyone home
Did you read all the disclaimers
That have left you here alone
A cold wind blows the book open to a blank page
Where there are no words to explain
The emptiness of the blank days
As shoes with no socks splash puddles of rain
Grabbing the ledge with all of your might
Feeling gravity's pull
On the edge of nowhere in sight
Giving into the scream as it lets itself loose
Sep 12, 2014
Sep 12, 2014 at 8:50 AM UTC
Plagiarize if you like
Hell, tell them these are your writes
Copy and paste them from my page
I've written of love and I've written of rage
Take your choice it all conveys...
And...
If and when you claim my words
Perhaps you'll start a trending curve
My typos need no disclaimers
Likes and comments from complete strangers
Oh yes!
The same way Traveler Tim gets his jollies
You too will be living the life of Riley!
Jun 17, 2021
Jun 17, 2021 at 7:40 AM UTC
TRAPDOORS IN OUR LIFE
Casually as we stroll to find a new view on that knoll, if the vision is blocked we won't see all the potholes
Was it truly the intention to reach a holy grail, is not achieving it a sign we may be frail
Many steps to take through overgrown fields with hidden paths,is about finding stepping stone not the pitfalls
Fun and frolic necessary parts of the play,often casually we develop habits covering our minds like a black veil
Freedom was much easier without the knowledge of blind spots, how the breezes easily turn into windstorms
How often have we overcome what could have been a block but when simply taken in stride we prevail
Peering out over perpetual pastures with unknown ditches and glitches ,beauty or beast to greet us as we crisscross
Unheard disclaimers were given for protection brushed aside nothing to break our stride blind to being frail
Once again to face a day never considering a loss, just a need to play,often staying in motion comes with a higher cost
Knowledge of others ahead keeps us from our bed,playing on our own path to find new pleasure,unknown fears would make us stale
Will we take lessons from past discretion's or become feeble as we fall
remain strong because this life testing can only be lived not taught. R.C.
Jul 5, 2018
Jul 5, 2018 at 7:12 AM UTC