"discrepancy" poems
There is an inherent discrepancy
'twixt the World in One's Mind
and the World that simply Is.
That is, however,
no intrinsically bad thing.
For, I find, that the world Within
needs the world Without,
though they inderdepend
and thus are not mutually exclusive.
There needs to be a discrepancy
for the pressures, as it were,
to have any room or excuse
to neutralize:
to move towards equilibrium;
however,
it is not linear,
nor is it parabolic:
this, I believe,
is where Calculus
becomes a valid allegory
for Life,
itself.
Apr 9, 2014
Apr 9, 2014 at 2:54 AM UTC
She keeps
the photo to herself.
Sometimes
she shares
with me
the memories
when she goes.
And
among all
that
is stored,
her names
are the things
that cannot
be forgotten.
She keeps
her heart to herself,
and my heart to myself.
She keeps
the things
I shouldn't.
I keep
the discrepancy.
Oct 17, 2021
Oct 17, 2021 at 5:40 AM UTC
Umbrage ultraism infrangible extemporaneous incognito edition
Penumbral platitude platonic proxy photics rendition
Interface fenestration imbroglio pandemonium inducement sedition
Wretched infelicitous extant trajectory sordid intuition
Scandalous scavenger squalid anomalous punitive condition
Panacea chiaroscuro parallax emanate imminent perdition
Equilibrist revision exertion suborn temerity imbues
Indulgent zealous discrepancy apparentness cogitation accrues
Heuristic noumenal psychokinesis extrapolation incursion construes
Aura auspicious primitive prism processional reviews
Obstinate tenacious preeminent edificatory omnipotence eschews
Equivocal gumption ratification constitutional manumission ensues
Delusory apparition extravagance peccavi verity tempestuous
Obtrusive obtusely overt indemnities sagaciously obliquitous
Ephemeral anxiety antonym existential exigency alacritous
Fortuitous emendation phantasm ontological ontogeny acuitous
Indemnify veracious infernal infidel impunities iniquitous
Meritorious fulham presumptive extrication expiation indigenous
Jan 13, 2013
Jan 13, 2013 at 9:20 PM UTC
So many succumb to Group Think
in such a way that it is dangerous.
From a young age, though I knew not yet of the notion,
I rejected opinions passed to me as fact
for the reason that opinions are subjective:
I did not hold as 'beautiful' what they told me I ought to.
I did not hold as 'wondrous' what they said was so.
I did not hold as 'difficult' what others had not yet accomplished.
I did not regard as 'easy' what others had yet done.
I was not serious when they told me I must be.
I made jokes when they deemed it distasteful.
I laughed at the hypocrisy, right in it's face.
I didn't just lay down and accept it as fate.
I did not like the music they told me to like.
I did not believe the biased history they taught as absolute and true.
I did not worship the mythic Gods they made to be literal.
I refused to pledge my allegiance in a brainwashed mass
to any flag of any nation under any God with Liberty and/or Justice for merely a few.
Over time I acquired my own taste for these things:
I grew to appreciate the discrepancy
between what I was told
and what I observed.
From there, I formulated my own opinions,
I became an Individualist.
A Heretic.
They sure don't make it easy.
Individualism, to me, does not connotate isolationism,
though with isolation can come self-awareness and self-discipline.
Individualism, to me, refers to finding one's own Path;
being a Heretic; staying true to your own Path.
To be a Rebel to undue Authority.
To not be afraid to defy your peers.
To be an Anarchist within one's self.
To practice Civil Disobedience.
Plus, the friends you will make if you live this way
will blow your ******* mind
and last you a lifetime.
-
Opinions are never concrete; they must curve and morph with the ebb and flow of your particular life.
Opinions and Taste must be relative to one's own personality and life if they are to be genuine.
Even still, the pull of the social tide is not so easily resisted:
You are succumbing to Group Think
even more than you might think
but I think, or at least I think (that) I think
that we can all overcome Group Think
if we would all just stop and think.
Don't you think?
Apr 10, 2013
Apr 10, 2013 at 5:54 PM UTC
Forgiveness, to forgive (for me)
Is essentially subtle- to a fault,
Beautifully it's practiced,
Yet inherently mistaught:
To ask of anything more
From the person you've done wrong
Is blatantly selfish, at its core
Pressuring them along.
Unless exactly, specific and honestly, you reiterate once more.
All the reasons which you petition forgiveness
And what you're sorry for:
To draw conclusions, assumptions and things, without the facts in place-
Was to right out start off in
an Unreasonable head space.
Furthermore, my tone of voice
And the disrespect it achieved
Is not what you- Alena, not at all
From me; should've ever recieved.
Lastly, explicitly I have to say;
I'm sorry for my aggressive words.
And the fact I reacted that way is
absurd
A retort- as a minuet or two, voice note
Deserved the block- and what you wrote.
*I'm sorry about this- discrepancy
I actually enjoyed you working with me.
I'll leave this here for you to find, &
Hope these words were worth your time.
When you read, know these are sincere; my apologies- true.
Not just mere pretty, fluffy words for you.*
Poetry's something I, almost know, you appreciate~ so heres an apologistic-free vers hyphenate.
Nov 21, 2023
Nov 21, 2023 at 5:56 AM UTC
They say follow the rules
There's a predetermined path
Disregard the heart
Obey the minds morality
But choose your own destiny
No more cliched love stories
No xy algebra , but 1+1 math
Go back to a more simplistic start
Monopoly of cloned society slaves
Working for similar goals until their graves
Discrepancy is rejected
Individuality gets neglected
Pour your soul into the ocean now
The deeper it goes
The safer it gets
Watch it fall as the sun bastes on the waves
Aug 1, 2013
Aug 1, 2013 at 2:17 PM UTC
Hi! I’m a hamster on a Wheel!
Gamely running on my bony little legs
[I’m getting somewhere! I’m getting somewhere!]
Every once in a while, I look left or right
See my **** and my compressed pellet food sitting in the same positions
as an hour, a day, weeks ago – and I realize:
IT APPEARS THAT I’M ACTUALLY GOING NOWHERE!!!!!!!
Which surprises me each time it crosses my little hamster brain, until I’m distracted
By my pellet food, the call of the Wheel, and other sundry carnal desires
Roiling superficially in my hamster-angst
While working the Wheel, surrounded by the detritus of my saccharine prefabricated life
I fail to notice
Outside my cage
Hands, lifting, carrying
Thousands of miles traversed
Steaming deserts
Steaming jungles
Steaming cities
Brutality, kindness, sensuality, love, hatred, atrocities, age, youth, heat and cold
All flashing by my glass shell as hands carry me towards a final resting place
Until
A jarring, toppling blast shakes my world
Tearing me from my Important Work on the Wheel
I look up, pellet crumbs falling from my mouth
Just in time to see my cage tumble from hands
Over a rail
Down
Down
Flash of blue
Flash of brilliant light
Flash of blue
Down
Smacking into a vast expanse of water
Unimaginably immense
Outside of my realm of comprehension – I mean, I’d never seen it in my hamster cage before, so why should I even expect it to exist?
What is it’s purpose?
It makes no sense!
It has no place in the world!
And as I slowly drown in the secret withheld from every hamster since the beginning of time
I take one last longing look at the Wheel, the cage, the pellets
And curse them
Curse the Deception that told me they were all that mattered
Dec 15, 2013
Dec 15, 2013 at 9:15 PM UTC
all too often
we carry the
inexplicable burden
of perfection,
the weight balanced
upon our weakened shoulders,
we can hear our hollow bones
cracking like fallen leaves
under the pressure,
and still, we ignore it.
we see ourselves
through a looking glass
of social comparison
and self discrepancy.
she can't be better than me.
we want to believe that we are beautious beings.
we criticize what
intimidates us,
hatred falling from
our tongues
without a single,
rational thought.
it is then that we become wolves in sheep clothing
but let me tell you this:
you and i, will never be the same
my hair will never
fall the way yours does,
clothes will never
rest that delicately
upon my frame.
there is a divergence
in the way my
hips sway
and
that is okay.
i've a geyser
in my heart,
rosebuds in
my soul.
the faults,
crevices,
canyons in
my flesh
tell the story
of where i am
and have been.
i've inextinguishable embers
inside of me,
things that no other
being will
ever see.
and you,
you are
a monument,
too.
so, though
we all aspire to be
that image seared
into our minds,
from the cover
of that magazine
we read when we
were thirteen,
we will never be the same
and
that
is
incredible
Feb 5, 2018
Feb 5, 2018 at 2:19 AM UTC
The only difference
between who you are
and who you want to be
is what you do
Oct 16, 2015
Oct 16, 2015 at 11:19 AM UTC
my rhymes, they're supremacy, while they need consistency, yours the are unwanted clemency, mine requires ability;tremendously, you rhymes, low volume low density, D=m/v, ***** that, im all about chemistry, chemistry between the bonds of my melody, while yours are useless discrepancy, perform reverse polarity, while you're searching for popularity and keeping your rhymes up breathlessly. hey, i'll give you a break; temporarily. i'll come back later; sequentially.
May 7, 2015
May 7, 2015 at 10:08 AM UTC
Umbrage ultraism infrangible extemporaneous incognito edition
Penumbral platitude platonic proxy photics rendition
Interface fenestration imbroglio pandemonium inducement sedition
Wretched infelicitous extant trajectory sordid intuition
Scandalous scavenger squalid anomalous punitive condition
Panacea chiaroscuro parallax emanate imminent perdition
Equilibrist revision exertion suborn temerity imbues
Indulgent zealous discrepancy apparentness cogitation accrues
Heuristic noumenal psychokinesis extrapolation incursion construes
Aura auspicious primitive prism processional reviews
Obstinate tenacious preeminent edificatory omnipotence eschews
Equivocal gumption ratification constitutional manumission ensues
Delusory apparition extravagance peccavi verity tempestuous
Obtrusive obtusely overt indemnities sagaciously obliquitous
Ephemeral anxiety antonym existential exigency alacritous
Fortuitous emendation phantasm ontological ontogeny acuitous
Indemnify veracious infernal infidel impunities iniquitous
Meritorious fulham presumptive extrication expiation indigenous
Oct 12, 2017
Oct 12, 2017 at 9:10 AM UTC
Forgotten memories remain to be a significant part of the rich tapestry of contemporary establishment, just like an Indian summer which dries the drab and weary soul of those who are ******
History reveals that the Spaniards sold Erythroxylum Coca to Bolivian and Peruvian populations, whilst tyranny exerted its illegitimate dominance.
So, the quest for power and social control remains to be exploitative in the guise of jovial and seemingly convincing salesmen. Just ask the shamans of traditional cleansing.
The pulsating groans of ancient civilisations will never dissipate, despite the lusts of mankind to establish grandiose constructs.
Oh great and mighty spirit of the land, we need your residence amidst our conceited political climate, because you have truly won the war even though our realisation is blinded by fierce presumption.
I desire to take a bite of historical and gourmet delicacies, and to swallow the diversity of gustatory brilliance, because their remains to be a discrepancy between Spanish and Portuguese validity.
Nov 6, 2013
Nov 6, 2013 at 11:51 PM UTC
Somehow
Stuck preaching from a throne of steel and
Spokes and wheels
Bound to machinery and cogs and breathwork apparatuses to assist in feeling chemicals fill your lungs You
showed me how to Walk
silent and
Listen
To the Woods
Trees
Two- and four-legged beasts of earth and Sky and
I
am made aware
In context of discrepancy and disconnect connect ed
How painfully
Truthfully and all-encompassing in harsh unforgiving reality
I
am
Dirt, and, soil, and peace, and, turmoil
Sep 22, 2023
Sep 22, 2023 at 7:52 PM UTC
*There’s a funeral across the road today.
Despite the freezing temperatures and impending storm, the car park is full. Friends and family fill the church to say a last goodbye to their lost loved one. At the end, the church bells toll, mournfully. The honour guard of veterans file out and line up behind the hearse, saluting as the casket is brought out.
It never ceases to make me think how that little wooden box is smaller than you would expect it to be. It never seems big enough.
I always look at the coffins and think, “I’m sure he was taller than that.”
But the real discrepancy is not in the stature of the man compared to the size of the coffin, but of the life of the one being carried within it.
Does it really come down to this?
One man’s lifetime of love and adventures, more than most judging by the honour guard, the average age and the number of mourners. Does it all it come down to wooden box that seems too small?
But then I realise something I hadn’t thought of until I sat down to write this.
The measure of this man, the measure of his life, isn’t to be found within that box or even reflected by its size. His life can be measured by those that came to say goodbye. By the sorrow on their faces for the loss of their friend. By the honour guard, standing proud and straight and stronger than their years, to escort their comrade from this world to the next.
And as the snow begins to fall, I can’t help but think, who will be there to measure my life for all to see?
*
Jan 6, 2011
Jan 6, 2011 at 8:31 AM UTC
Rocking my snap back, blowing up like a bellow back, juggling bars like it were a hacky sack. Life tries it’s best to give me set backs, but I just sit back and get back up for a comeback. Underdog from the underground, not here to blunder around for I want to be glory bound. Bound for glory, can’t keep me downed man for this is my heroes story. Story of my life, story that almost ended with a knife. Had enough of being left astray, for I no longer was going let myself be treated like an ashtray. Going into the fray, going in but this time I promise I won’t lose my way. Weighed my options, weighted the choices, and now they come to flourishing motion. I only listen to my own notions, and I will sacrifice anything to succeed even if I end up like the borthans. Death stares through the stars, but I won’t be taken by no Death Star. Starting ground up, for you gotta do what ever it takes to get to the top. Toppled the haters and the fakers, for my bars are like eating a snickers. Keep yawl satisfied and I’m so grateful that my effort has been gratified. Bonified dignified undenied modified undefined went in applied and rallied from a moral guide to tear apart the diseased hide. Government conspiracy, government deemed freedom of speech as heresy. And here I see the flaws, and here I came out of the depths with my claws. Clawed for my dream, dream of attaining cream. Escaped the depths of the Demi-gorgan pit, because it’s all about survival of those who are more fit. Fit to be a decency, but because I’m different I’m deemed a discrepancy. So I’m going in like a ghost doing recon call me Tom Clancy, exposing all these ******* fallacies. Falling down an icy slope, and for the longest time we couldn’t open up because we was introduced to dope which was anything but dope. Dopamine filling my being, neurotransmitters firing so fast that I attain this happy feeling. False perceptions to stimulants, false ideals gotta use discretion’s before I end up in a addiction predicament. Moving fast, moving slow, the ride won’t last, so I always gotta have me mo. Self medicate self evaporate self ********** which leads to self hate and broken fate.Too long since I noticed anything but myself, feel like a ***** villain man so should I arrest my self. I just long for rest myself, and maybe it’s time for someone else to assess myself. Maybe it’s time to visit the mental asylum
Feb 22, 2018
Feb 22, 2018 at 2:45 AM UTC
In my book
You are far from bad
Thoughtful at day,
And sweet at night.
You try to include me
In your decision-making;
Because I have a voice, surely.
In my book
I am never waiting by the phone
Do not expect much,
And you will not hear me groan.
Not once I have to shrug,
Because at any given time
You shower me with hugs.
In my book
I am not taken for granted
You value my love
And I am not left feeling stranded.
There is no discrepancy,
Need not fight for attention
Because you say what you mean.
In my book
My heart is still;
Neither on ice nor fire
And not a bad feeling to ****
If only I had the chance to rewrite
Because what is really wrong
Cannot bring you to make it right.
Mar 9, 2012
Mar 9, 2012 at 5:25 PM UTC
The minutes and hours drench and drift
like evaporating mud-rain keening through the sides of my fingers
seamlessly
And my belly is warmed at the beigest radiator's synchronized glow.
"Without a dream in my heart, without a love of my own."
Such were the words that glimpsed
at truth, that attempted such sweet
transparent reflection upon
my runaway-from-home boy-adulthood
daydreams.
Whimsy scored without the tears
but also without a grasp at love.
Without a chance of knowing all its disappointments,
co-dependencies and retreats.
Hubris instead flanked like steam rising off morning windows to ward off the cold.
Alone, (a recurring fantasy), I placed myself battle-rigid,
regarding only what was then contemporary
keeping a trench against the adherence of life's timepieces
Allowing only seized elation of thought to cluster and ferment out of
the ruins of the world.
Reporting on all but life's safest discrepancy,
the fear of ageing further,
Everyday.
What active pursuits had I, to locate and chase these memories with?
If memory would challenge my conviction,
these ballbearings, by talking back
to disprove the self-image as being merely selfish?
Will I feign to remember these words, nevermind the images, in fifteen years time?
Perhaps only a spark (an imitation of: Gaslight, Phone Charge, Sun) is ever needed
Chore-empty afternoons spent as if waiting in art galleries
for Rothkos to explode, to echo, to ignite something catastrophic,
Something permanently invigorating, that damages,
that which further longs to fall apart.
Jan 23, 2014
Jan 23, 2014 at 9:38 AM UTC
He steps out for air
It is time for a smoke
He craves the nicotine
Yet what he exhales
Is electronic.
It is Thursday night
Happy hour about to start
He is not allowed to drink
It has the same color
Apparently with the taste
Of what he is aiming for.
What then is the point
To root for a substitute
Is it so hard to swear off
We need familiarity that
suits.
A discrepancy between
What is and what seems.
Using this word to replace another
Perhaps one to soothe the torture
Finding excuses to justify actions
A lie in disguise enough to comfort.
He decides to go cold turkey
It is harder but at least
He is not pretending
He feels his truth, forgets the substitute
He learned what passive smoking means
And as of late,
Apple juice had become his drink.
May 27, 2014
May 27, 2014 at 4:42 AM UTC
We are so fragile, us humans
it can be realised in the blink of an eye
a bout of sickness
a terrible accident
yet at the same time
we can endure so much
pain, suffering and loss
sadness, loneliness and worse
our bones break and heal
our minds wither and mend
together we can pull through
the discrepancy of
our bodies fragility and the mind's will
we have strength in numbers
we find solace in companionship
we are not solitary creatures
we are man and woman
father and child, mother and daughter
lovers, friends and whether we like it
or not
we are neighbours
I cry when my fellow man dies
a part of me dies when my mother cries
I scream in frustration for my sisters
seemingly still living in a man's world
I long for success
but never at another's expense
when you suffer I suffer
when I suffer you suffer
so much suffering, so much pain
we are too quick to place the blame
and fall short on finding a solution
that works for all of us
we are individuals in togetherness
we are all the links that give us protection
and we are all the chinks
in this armour
Dec 3, 2016
Dec 3, 2016 at 9:50 AM UTC
As the Sun has its place
In the clear, halcyon sky
Your mind resides here
Please don't resist to comply
Intercept each divagated thought
Interconnect with my waves
Vibe with my presentiment
Upon each other, we're slaves
"Hooked" on each other's hooks
As our conscious rocks and cradles
Sharing minds as we flutter
Animated fantasies, but no fables
I think the way you think
You coast adjacent to my vibe
Our mental surrounds each other's
Mine and yours, a dear circumscribe
We entwine as a tightly woven braid
Entangled upon a common bond
We savor of our intuitive thoughts
Your every move, I'm surely fond
Enriched with pleasurable closure
In summer's embrace, we wallow
In this psychological playground
My angel, your position is hallow
We're two minds that amalgamate
Gratified with not one discrepancy
Only our mutual brains keep subtle
A deep, infrangible, sweet telepathy..
© Michael P. Smith
Mar 30, 2013
Mar 30, 2013 at 2:20 AM UTC
old shoes
new rules
new dress
impress
take off
fake-off
love spread
love's dead
cigarette
bowl
Jul 22, 2010
Jul 22, 2010 at 8:05 PM UTC
Is this useless?
Am I useless?
Are doubts the mark of wisdom?
As the wise sit and wait.
The greatest advice I heard,
For my family to lift my chin
For my shoulders to lift our backs,
Is that the ground has nothing for eyes.
With one last look around I noticed why,
This debris is interesting, but deprived.
Stories. From what is left behind.
The beginnings of my deductive empathy
Sound like the pauses in my discrepancy
And sure, these countless questions can lead to great things
But when should I release my reticence for my wings?
Another twinge in rhetoric,
A singe in my time's tick
I must look up from the path to see my own,
There is no use in musing at buried bone.
A miser of different dirts will become rich among rubble.
Not believing that anything is worth its trouble,
Is a mark of death, not wisdom.
I am sorry for not seeing this prison.
Aug 20, 2012
Aug 20, 2012 at 5:33 AM UTC
The two kids, rambling their murmurs away.
At the bus stop; animated, kinesthetic.
With voices that represented the curious cat.
Shall we not wonder, when the cat shall be killed.
It was not long ago, when I was in the same shoes.
Yet the alteration of taste, the mutation of size,
the change of environment, the dynamism of time…
It caused great discrepancy for a my own momentarily lack of understanding.
I could no longer put myself in their shoes.
And maybe, maybe not maybe, but definitely,
The sense of sympathy has died down and diminished,
just as society has taught me very well,
I no longer want to put myself in their shoes — ever (again).
I just anticipate in my personal phantasmagoria:
when the cat shall be killed.
All that beautiful notions and scenic illusions,
the illuminated views of the world (then), from my (then) tainted glasses.
I wonder when the kids will remove theirs soon.
I wonder when the kids will eventually lose their secluded eye sight,
as their vision become clearer with age.
In my thoughts, at that moment:
Would everything that seemed too beautiful just remain as what it is now:
The past that seemed so perfect, the present that seemed so still.
Memories remain as photographs, similar, or maybe transformed into:
motionless, emotionless twirl of mundane innocence.
A freeze frame, with no emotional attachment, no true connection.
Will all these just remain as cognitive recognition,
or will I still be able to look back and find my self recognition.
Mar 26, 2012
Mar 26, 2012 at 12:54 AM UTC