"disinclined" poems
My words have just been ramblin',
I left the rhyming state of mind.
The ace of spades is gamblin',
but the rabbit's now on time.
Elevator going down,
catching buses to the sound.
How do I know that I am late?
Time exists in spite of fate.
We're racing, now, against the clock
in circles, 'round the spokes.
I've forgotten how the ticking tocks,
for the gears have been long broke.
Darlin', won't you take my hand?
They're try'na pull you under and
together we can leave this land,
but you must know just where you stand.
-
This shortcut leads to trouble,
but you'll get there on the double.
Bad ideas, I've had a couple;
my shattered thoughts within the rubble.
Broken fragments of my mind,
my fate's aligning just in time.
To the past, I'm disinclined;
looking down an uphill climb.
-
You're sending me a message
about the faithfulness of love;
the white rabbit left me breathless,
I still don't know what you speak of.
"I chose you, please choose me, too?"
I'm running, but I don't know what to.
I've fallen down the rabbit's hole,
into a world without console.
Oct 16, 2014
Oct 16, 2014 at 6:02 PM UTC
Sometimes you see her admiring herself
In the mirror that's hanging next to the shelf.
And when she does it, oh, how she shines!
Is that, dear cat, how you practice your lines?
She seems not to care if we pay attention,
But maybe right here I ought to make mention
That being an actress, she's disinclined
To always reveal what's going on in her mind.
And she'll never, never tell you her age--
Aphrodite, the cat of the stage.
She says, "You know…I'm not one to cuss,
But when I am hungry, I WILL make a fuss."
Yes, she can certainly put on a scene
And act as though she's an importunate queen.
She says, "My dears, if I'm weak or mild,
I'll never drive the audience wild."
That critical scene is repeated each night--
A regular tour de force all right.
Yes, it's best to try to assuage
Aphrodite, the cat of the stage.
Her eyes were surely her greatest feature;
She THUS scoured the town for a drama teacher,
"Who," she says dolefully, "told me one night he
Could make me a star. ME: Aphrodite!"
But as it turned out, ol' Mr. Mittens
Made her instead a mom of eight kittens.
"But," she says, "THAT'S between you and me.
You know how I like my privacy."
It's good to always be on the same page
With Aphrodite, the cat of the stage.
One thing you learn is for her it's the norm
To act a bit slighted when asked to perform.
She must be totally in the mood
Or else she behaves in a manner subdued.
And heaven help you if you are neglectful
Of if her audience is disrespectful.
She'll exit the room like a "cat" out of hell,
And you may not see her for quite a long spell.
You never want to see her rage--
Aphrodite, the cat of the stage.
She sighs and says, "It's such a shame that
Few playwrights write good roles for a cat.
My friends say--when they see me upset--
'Commercials might be a better bet.'
My talents, however, as you might have guessed,
Best fit the stage. But now I must rest."
With that she lifted her nose in the air
And strutted out of the room with great flair.
It's always nice: advice from a sage
Like Aphrodite, the cat of the stage.
-by Bob B (1-24-20)
Jan 25, 2020
Jan 25, 2020 at 8:44 AM UTC
sleepless
empty
unknowing
disinclined
goodbye
restless
thoughtfulness
remembering
gone
absent
betrayal
angered
hatred
torn
lunatic
anxiety
doubtful
tormented
delusion
unsettled
fear
lonely
apathetic
envious
optimistic
hopeful
eager
reliving
lies
affliction
constant
end
Dec 12, 2013
Dec 12, 2013 at 3:08 AM UTC
An Aussie digger
killed in battle
but disinclined to die
returns to the front line
as a spectre
wearing a slouch hat
and a larrikin grin.
Draped in a tattered flag
he yells
'Remember Korea, lads
and Vietnam
and how we went
all the way
with Menzies and L.B.J.'
'Don't forget Gallipoli
men
or the fight for peace
with George
in Iraq and Afghanistan
against Al Qaeda
and the Taliban.
'Defeat the enemy
mates
to secure the future
as our heritage
of service
patriotism and pride
in U. S foreign policies.'
Jan 7, 2015
Jan 7, 2015 at 5:11 AM UTC
life and its glitters, the boredoms that seek to write
the inspirations of death with its healing joys
and life with its uttermost sorrows
i, a fractured sky, disinclined to move,
divorced from shadow and voice
unwoken by the mild pull of the earth
an old romance of ears and eyes, yellow and round,
heavens-hopes the goals of a lifetime
waiting innocently for the rain.
i waited and the shadows of the earth
grew long until they were armies
sleeping near the bleached rocks
believing they were the blanketing dark,
breathing beside autumn’s haikus of
slumber the sharp fall of love, the
intense tide of low grass and high wall.
dreams rushing like princely streams
a beginning of clouds, clouds of black air
sweeping clear, like valleys of the wild
a wilderness so tender it could speak,
where the mighty waves froze the shore-line
with the hints of winter's first kiss
and the magics of the stars cried into fire,
not knowing the flower-beds or the laughter
or the crazy tears of a humble man.
love poured sapphires from its streams
glass-houses of light, where the oceany
air believed in vertical caves, monstrous
caverns of hopes and dreams, marble
statues with broken jaws, unearthly
branches that rose like strange trees
combing the wind into tangles of tide,
hollow night, with its breathing and
mights, its desires, its poetry of mind.
Dec 5, 2016
Dec 5, 2016 at 2:46 PM UTC
A slice o’ pie
ya cut me a slice 'o yer liljeeezus pie,
a religious high, - "oh my oh my,"
ya pour me jug, o' yer godly whine,
inebriation fer the disinclined,
ya sugar it, with sweet salvation
roast me 'bout my masurbation,
cream it off with liberation --
all ya needs my soul donation,
but I'll not eat yer pie - yer religious lie,
'bout some meta -- weelllll -- sss-super guy,
Alan nettleton.
Apr 29, 2010
Apr 29, 2010 at 9:34 PM UTC
I was finally getting over this stupid thing called love
But something happened on that day, during that encounter,
However disinclined I was , I couldn't help myself
It was a moment of weakness and I gave in
Was it desire or was it the feeling of love I felt for you
Whatever it was I was under your spell and I guess I could say
you were the spark that rekindled the flame in my aching heart
(MSM)
Aug 21, 2017
Aug 21, 2017 at 9:54 AM UTC
don't look forward
don't look behind
don't dwell on things
and don't be blind
stop to think
but don't get stuck in your mind
use necessary force
but don't become unrefined
find a route
but make sure you are not confined
know your limits
so you don't find yourself disinclined
don't blame yourself
especially if you find yourself inevitably intertwined
and most of all
find time to unwind
Jul 16, 2017
Jul 16, 2017 at 4:03 PM UTC
The breeze sweeped my face
The buzzing of.childrens muddled language
The roses smiles could even make the slightest of noise
The holding of eschothers hands vibrated the rustling of life
Conversion of the normal
The disconnection of the seasons sweepings
The grounds blanketing leaves
The ducks spoke in a friendly tone
We must need nothing else
The grandparents of old school disinclined and teachings echoed just enough for me too hear
We just need to listen
And we will learn all we need in the world
Jun 8, 2015
Jun 8, 2015 at 7:24 AM UTC
Stand firm young explorer, our reality is before your eyes. The path of least resistance comes and goes with the reading of the signs. Do not reach beyond their grasp dear astronaut, for you can only hold what you must. And your disinclined stance may start to sway, towards a book of spiritual trust. A compass of lost translation, which has been tattered by the evolution of our time. Sown together by imperfect hands and tongues, of the righteously divine. Or instead you stumble towards numbered texts and the collection of mans thoughts. Classified, organized, and defined in complex logical knots. A thorn bush of intricate perceptions of our multifaceted human condition, subjected to nothing more than our screaming birth and our timely decomposition. But fear not my naive trekker, for the decision is yours to hold. Either with nail in hand or the hammer made ready, may your heart be ever so bold. And though the philosophical plates of these worlds seem to diverge from once connected fates, the heavens you come to find as a result may be behind different gates. Only you hold the key to open your ever changing mind, one carved by humble carpenter hand or molded by mankind. So step lively youthful sailor for the winds are at your back, and the house from which you build your truth comes of brick or with cross-bared plaque. Worry not of your inaction little voyager, for the world will not react. The world remains in constant motion, and will force you to interact. Whether several days of creation must pass or a bang of creative juice, it is you who must chose to dive in the water or walk above man’s made truth. So good luck my inexperienced hiker as the waves of decision roll in. May the solace you find in the choices you make be without regrettable sin. I pray the stars you look to at night point you toward your goal, and that you find a balanced understanding of the earth and your spiritual soul.
Mar 18, 2014
Mar 18, 2014 at 9:33 PM UTC
Of all the trials, struggles, battles I’ve faced,
none have struck me down, pulled me in
swallowed, no, crushed me in the depths of darkness
splattered my will against the “extraordinary” stone fortress
the way You have. You’ve stacked the ramparts
so full of honor, or, hate? So high, I’ll never conquer.
There should be stars for great wars like ours
An endless struggle to be separate, better
“not like them.” Toe the line, rarely falter.
A constant voice murmurs, concealed in solitary psyche,
disinclined to utter in my own favor. Your mind, unwavering.
The stone towers, soundless, yet booming against my plight
as if your soul’s bones are ****** clean of empathy.
Yet I dare not utter the slightest contention, only to be
ostracized, pushed further from banks already hazy in the distance.
There should be stars for great wars like ours.
Realization, this doesn’t define me. I am more
like those within your guarded walls.
Throw me a gamble, open the sacred gate,
I’ve followed the path straighter than many of Your own
Yet, You let it define me, did I even stand a chance?
No, Your stars don’t shine for the ones like me.
There should be stars for great wars like ours from “One Last Poem for Richard” – Sandra Cisnaros
Nov 1, 2013
Nov 1, 2013 at 1:53 AM UTC
Doth you malign me
with virtuous intent
your design upon me
is a malignant bent
If, after being bound
by silver motes of rain
that soaked not unto my skin
but which quenched the fire
that I writhed upon in pain
had I ripped you from beneath
my own eager breast, you surely
would not rest but proudly
would have died, alone, on a street
but would you have found rest?
Dare not you parlay with me!
I still have eyes, a mind, a soul
you see. As adamantly that you
try to leap from my body to be
independent, you bleed, fresh,
from my flesh.
Unable to breath outside my body
So hush and do not fash so
Hold your peace and pray
I am disinclined to end it this day
just so you know
Apr 3, 2012
Apr 3, 2012 at 8:58 PM UTC
Given my very own
matrices of philosophy
'pon the very topic of Authority,
why should it be
outlandish
for me to claim
to have an inkling
of understanding
as to how it is
that my Dog, perchance,
may feel?
For,
I am sure,
were I in her situation,
and indeed I could,
I would be thinking:
"I find myself disinclined to obey thee,
for, if thou art in such need of a leash,
then, likely, ye don't deserve me
to be thy loyal follower.
Though, Food-man,
were thee to lend me thy trust,
were thee to unleash me,
I may begin to respect thee
and therefore
lend thee some justified Authority
and thereby
may my loyal Allegiance be with thee."
Such teachers can animal companions be,
if only we are to allow ourselves to learn.
Apr 30, 2014
Apr 30, 2014 at 8:11 PM UTC
Against the hazy sky
Mountains, seen grotesque
Frightening monsters, poking out
Here, there and all around
In the glinting darkness
The ravine, like a mythical snake
Gapes its mouth
Mist hovers,
Spider webs hang
As dew spangled veils
The leaves are tears stained
By the Night’s frozen grief
In stealthy steps,
With the jingle of anklets,
The wind comes to shake off the drops
And down they drip one by one
As the grass below shiver
At the sudden shock.
The leaves, rid of the load, flutter-
Faint stir of life!
From a distant habitation
The rooster in sharp notes
Sounds the siren
The East bleeds
As shafts of gold cuts through her breast
Darkness recedes,
Birds begin to chirp.
Slowly,
Slowly, parting curtains
The day emerges
Like a lazy boy
Disinclined to be roused from sleep
Jul 8, 2021
Jul 8, 2021 at 9:44 AM UTC
Down in the dark,
What some call an art,
Really just a start
To keep her from falling apart.
Brought up to make her decisions smart.
Doing what she does puts pressure on the heart,
Though it goes unnoticed like a sly, snide remark.
For most men's eyes her body hits the mark,
These men in her eyes would not be disinclined to bark.
Still the dance continues until one day she has a spot to park.
A simple means to an end
Don't get caught in the wind,
Not on the dark and the poles for her freedom depend
Anyone please but her Daddy to send
The suit she wore out of the womb is likely to offend.
The curves of her body don't seem to cease,
From the red eyes of the men that seek a release,
Pains from the past that don't ever cease,
Even dreams provide not one moments peace.
Only her fulfilled dream can make the dance halt and cease.
Nov 11, 2012
Nov 11, 2012 at 7:00 PM UTC
Once again I’ve made a fool out of me
I believed every word you laced with chocolate affection
What I'd have given to have you mine for just one night
Love, you stifled me with your harmful confection
The hope one day you’d care has died
Instead of holding you, I’ll hold my head up high
I only cry on the inside
To think that I knew better than you
You’ve played the game a winner from the start
Every argument you make drives the stake in deeper
Words of wooden indecision in my heart
You don’t even care as I leave disinclined
A lover and friend you’re unlikely to miss
Take no notice as I slip into the darkness alone
One last reluctant smile, one final goodbye kiss
Let me leave
Make me stay
I remain yours
Either way
Aug 22, 2010
Aug 22, 2010 at 7:51 PM UTC
Dear north star in the sky
I'd like to understand why
These feelings I can't ignore
My heart won't let me show.
I'm lost inside this score
Unwilling my heart wants more
Than what is expressed
Simultaneously in duress.
Disinclined to show it's spectrum
Before it truly becomes numb
My lore has been disrupted
But slowly I have mended it.
Dear north star I ask only for one aspiration
Allow me the fortunate situation
Of joining with this beautiful soul
Which rekindled that which was a dark hole.
A sudden twinkle in the night
Coming from the north star's light
I know that those feelings might be the same
As those you already feel and tame
Among all the stars in the sky
Grant me my wish and see why
Granting this wish of mine
Will be to see you happy all the time
Allow me to end this rhyme
By saying that throughout time
I'd like to court you to be
More than just a friend with me.
Dec 7, 2014
Dec 7, 2014 at 10:52 PM UTC
You go out of your way to change yourself for them this time.
Well we never thought there was anything wrong with who you really are.
You put yourself in a store-bought box,
Dust of your shoulders,
Commit to sell yourself again.
You've done it seven times so far.
People come, and they pick you up,
They turn you over and upside-down.
They don't care what's inside.
Head over heels for an idea you can't wrap your head around,
Head over heels for a feeling that's not mutual.
You're out of this world, but you hinder yourself
When you're all cooped up in a box on a shelf.
Wonder what made you so **** ashamed of mind,
It was something of beauty, but your so disinclined to show it.
Jan 9, 2013
Jan 9, 2013 at 10:34 PM UTC
Living in a sea
boiling everything but fear,
bodies of memories,
people disappear.
Engraved in my portrait,
your crystal chandelier,
loud and uncanny,
as the smoke begins to clear.
the ticks I don’t hear
stir the bleeding in my ears,
and the love that wont appear
surely contradicts my tears.
Its all too ‘perfect’ in here.
I begin to melt
the hope that felt
all too real
to be anything else.
Imposter!
Unwilling to forgive,
disinclined to help.
I thought I was a friend
but you only wished me hell.
Repent!
You don’t consume me that well,
drown someone else with that sedated swell.
Melancholy about how this came to be,
your nothing more
than another sick memory.
Jun 22, 2010
Jun 22, 2010 at 2:28 PM UTC
*
there's no earthly muse but from God it is
for whatever is by the will of His
all of beauty by His Divine demand
is it not exactly how He has planned
there are no deep oceans 'n' no high hills
for all of my writings in all its skills
would come from none other than God alone
'cause inspiration by Him only shown
upon me no revelation be sent
for my time mostly as sinner been spent
could be mercy my words shall never find
it's my inner fear to be disinclined
i say my lovely Muse, my lovin' God
tho i am not of those walkin' the shod
**
..love always...*
عرفان بن يوسف © AH 08/05/1437
**
Feb 17, 2016
Feb 17, 2016 at 6:22 PM UTC
black
the sky above so far reaching,
but disinclined
to become involved
in petty disputes
that night.
red
glowing the fire of sugar cane cleansing,
smoke thick,
billowing greasily
black
clouds covering
angry thoughts,
brought to bear
in closed fists.
beating sense into her
until,
red
flowed down
cheek and chin
absorbed by skin
and hair
and the little
black
dress he bought
for her to wear,
with
red
stilletto high,high heels. lipstick too for pouty lips,
now
black
and blue.
red
her thoughts as she lay beaten, but not
broken on the warm
black
asphalt tar, leaching
red
the cigarette end
showed
as slowly she stood,
fixated
black
the hilt of the knife protruding from the white dress-shirt
red
the lifeblood spreading
black
dress walking to
red
porsche,
his last view .....
........fading to
black.
Mar 31, 2014
Mar 31, 2014 at 12:31 AM UTC
I don't know why people read my poems.
I really don't.
And I am disinclined to believe the numbers that come up,
"600 people have read [insert poem name here] since 4 o'clock".
It seems absurd that people would devour something created by me.
But,
See,
It makes a bit more sense when I think of it the way I always end up thinking of it:
They're not reading me. They're reading you.
It's really terribly true, you know-
Never let an artist fall in love with you.
Everything they do will be you, for heaven knows how long.
(They don't even know.)
In fact, I've yet to find a piece of art of mine that isn't everyone I've ever loved, just a little.
They leave shockwaves in my life, and it comes out through my poetry and my art.
These people by the hundreds,
They're not here to appreciate me.
They're here to appreciate you, my love.
It's all about you, and so they are drawn to it.
Not because I am so horribly wonderful at writing, but because
I have stumbled upon a way to explain,
In small little parts called poems,
What you are to me.
It's not explainable, not fully, but people love the trying.
I'm trying to build something, see.
A good poem,
About a feeling that cannot be expressed in words,
Does not try to name that feeling- after all, there are no words for it.
No, a good poem names everything but.
It talks around the feeling, so precisely and with such excruciating detail that by the end,
There is a hole in the middle of the words, and, reading them, people stumble across it,
And fall into the feeling uninhibited.
Because it has not been said, it has not been limited.
A good poem leads the reader to an impossible word, and makes them feel it.
You are an impossible word. But you don't fit in a poem.
That's why I'm writing so many.
I'm building something.
Something like a poem, made of poems the way a poem is made of words.
I'm trying to build it, so that when they read these poems,
(Whoever "they" are)
They stumble across the hole in the middle, the space shaped just like you and what your soul looks like behind those blue eyes,
And they fall hard, just like I did,
And they understand what it means to have met you, even though they never have.
That's why I can believe that people read my poems: They aren't reading me.
I'm only the words. The placeholder that bends around the real point of all of it.
You?
You are the impossible word. The impossible feeling. The impossible person.
And these people
Their love
Is yours.
Oct 8, 2013
Oct 8, 2013 at 12:34 AM UTC
Down in the dark,
What some call an art,
Really just a start
To keep her from falling apart.
Brought up to make her decisions smart.
Doing what she does puts pressure on the heart,
Though it goes unnoticed like a sly, snide remark.
For most men's eyes her body hits the mark,
These men in her eyes would not be disinclined to bark.
Still the dance continues until one day she has a spot to park.
A simple means to an end
Don't get caught in the wind,
Not on the dark and the poles for her freedom depend
Anyone please but her Daddy to send
The suit she wore out of the womb is likely to offend.
The curves of her body don't seem to cease,
From the red eyes of the men that seek a release,
Pains from the past that don't ever cease,
Even dreams provide not one moments peace.
Only her fulfilled dream can make the dance halt and cease.
Dec 7, 2012
Dec 7, 2012 at 5:29 PM UTC
Might I bid you farewell: madame, sir?
It is in such a way of my ways that
this farewell's come.
The presence of my absence rests
everywhere...will you feel it?
Madame, sir...are the pair of you
disinclined to gather my absence?
That is, has our supernatural
acquaintance minded the material
script, merely minded the material
script?
If so, I should take this moment, as
it surely takes me, to propose my
soul.
It is such farewells that ferry us to
the supernatural, it too will mind
its script.
It is when it has minded its script...
that you will know the presence of
my absence.
Apr 6, 2015
Apr 6, 2015 at 6:37 PM UTC