"dispositions" poems
Sometimes I ask myself
when did my thoughts and hopes of blue and green
turn into violet worries, violent dispositions
When did this soul with its empty bookshelf
burn all its unwritten scripts of things yet to be seen
and my steady solace turn into a contradiction
I know what I want in life
when I see my favorite pieces of art
scattered accross the canvas of my solitary nights
my cold fingers once touched it and I can count it on all five
I want to believe that I'd be content with really only a shard
to know my dreams aren't just made of imaginary sights
My open heart drives me
in uncertain directions with clear aspiration, sometimes just insane
but always looking, always wanting, always one heart ahead
If my eyes could only look beyond uncertainty and I'd finally see
a way that goes far and will let me travel along a green country lane
If I could feel as if I'd know why it seems so difficult not to be dead.
In everything that had to be broken and shed
these distant promises on remote and empty shores
For only the contingency of all that could be good and whole
Truly not knowing where this road might have led
and still keep my hands open and reaching and breathe in deeply through all of my pores
let me just find one wholesome and abiding content in this burning library inside my soul
Jul 14, 2018
Jul 14, 2018 at 1:50 PM UTC
Extra Extra ...Read all about it!!!..The time for the righteous ***** is dead...You claim Your stature of limitations..But all you got is knowledge...Let me reconstruct the past...That the ones you preaching to don't see...Slavery...to share croppers.. to steal mill workers...Cotton pick en...to bootleg ‘en...to crack rock..slag ‘en...They got Aids from monkeys..So lets give it to all the monkeys..They know to much lets bury the smart ones under all the dummies...Rise up you righteous *** Shabazz..With more medals then Marcus Garvey...but this dispositions is thicker than the stash on Steve Harvey. Cuz the kids they love the Wiz...and all the green he smoke...Forget the yellow brick road...its these white bricks they see as Gold...But you so righteous with black power on Your bumper sticker...And so sweet that your water start to be thicker...then blood...with a hood that attack your own progression..You Been righteous for so long..with hope you feel depression..that you accuse your brother of mental retardation...urban gentrification...when he still live in the same house he did the year before...but you been moved to the east side on the top floor..You righteous *** ***** you been pronounced dead...back when them bombs hit over Bagdad...they waved the white flag..but you just made it easy...cuz you still so righteous...you done Got Fat, Turned Gay...and rallying for pride marches...Cuz you don’t know what else to do...your time is over..Them black cats use to be panthers, now you dress them up...and placed us all in a new minority...just to keep your righteous priority...Are You still looking East, or have you finally excepted the West..
Nov 20, 2012
Nov 20, 2012 at 1:02 PM UTC
I kept oscillating;
in and out of love,
in and out of emotions,
between the familiar realm of raunchy young adult literature and
the new, slightly uncomfortable realm of raunchy young adult life.
I oscillated between dispositions;
between pensive and restless,
***** and
not remembering what kissing feels like,
between the doldrums of despair and the
weightlessness of bliss.
My center of gravity oscillated, too-
from my head to my heart to
my thighs
to the cavernous void in my amygdala that was once abuzz with stupid chemicals brought out by the hysterics of infatuation
Sep 20, 2013
Sep 20, 2013 at 11:16 PM UTC
My creativity has created this creation.
The outcome of my creation reflects only to the Creator.
The inner Narrator narrates a repetitive monologue.
Believe me, I've seen the films, and I've read that ******* blog.
Long logging of nights.
Internal.
External.
Fights.
Anger lasts.
I employed that past to take power away from fear.
Aware now of being here.
Consciousness.
Humbleness.
This doesn't come from admission.
Remission of a previous mission.
My dispositions constriction from speaking up.
**** that.
That cup.
That rig.
Spoon.
***
Drug.
Love is what I need.
Love is what I give.
Creating only a creation to love to live.
Apr 28, 2015
Apr 28, 2015 at 10:44 AM UTC
Is this how we were mean to live,
to die,
to take care of each other?
The woods and open space.
To observe the ant and its care-free life?
To love nature the way we so selfishly love ourselves?
To caress the earth like we would our loved ones?
Maybe, we secretly indulge in such biological dispositions
by planting flowers in the souls of men.
-m.c.
Mar 8, 2014
Mar 8, 2014 at 4:46 PM UTC
When i read your poems
I am happy to see
that love is still among many
even though it may be hard to see…
striving to make sense of our feelings
our deep and inner dispositions
when we are presented with this thing,
this thing, someone named "love"
because people
with there beaten and broken hearts
the medication, alcohol and ailments
do not heal or stop this predicament…
it is so hard to see the light
my friends, look beyond the situation
everything is as meant to be.
though hard to see
your life is held in the palm of a hand
whose gentle care will never end
so raise your head
and stand up tall
you are one among all
whose hearts have been broken
but you, this individual
my friend, you are
for I am a witness to say,
you are a blessing to me every day
Jan 13, 2014
Jan 13, 2014 at 10:04 PM UTC
Your love is one that does not age
Like the lilac wine that blossoms Into a beauty over time
Time and timelessness will bind
The vines of this enchantment
A dichotomy so intertwined
Like the asphalt in the ocean
As we float above the waters
In ceaseless beating motion
Our dispositions secure
We live in spates of wake
In homes built with our hearts
We bend but do not break
In a distant possibility
Perhaps an ending looms
Though ours is no exception
We love what we can take
Of smiles and half-creased wrinkles
Of tears and jumping lakes
These ribs protect intrusion
But lungs are built to fail
Yet though the heart is naked
Fragilities prevail
I love you with the ticking
Of clocks that won't rewind
For the first time you left me
Our cross became a line
Sep 26, 2014
Sep 26, 2014 at 8:14 AM UTC
******* on the lozenge of illogical orbit, we whirl like intergalactic pinwheels.
Metamorphosed , we are Martians—caring not for mortal notions.
Celestial beings with curt dispositions,
Making men the cynics that they are.
For that which exists is doomed to be doubted.
So it seems our duet is the demise of devout humanity, my dear.
Us, in artless cotton blankets,
Inhaling the infectious essence of
Eros.
Dec 25, 2011
Dec 25, 2011 at 1:13 PM UTC
“Too Little Too Late but we don’t say no…”
Why is it too much to feel?
I thought you had always known,
isn’t what scares you what makes it real?
Away, solemnly, while I now go,
a fleeting dispositions appeal;
too little too late; I still say so
as were crushed beneath the wheel.
not meant to be, when we’re not enough,
half of every truth, a hand to cuff-
*Too Little Too Late but we can’t say no,
what prospects can you see?
If we both see it comin’ but still don’t go,
It’s not far enough for me;*
Too little too late but we can’t talk about, the rite of ritual haze
1 on 1; start putting out, dance to dazzle and daze,
Addicted to, know I’ve become, ourselves lost in the maze
of
Burnt paper fingers,carpeted hallways,as
our heavy heads still tour the room-
tie my right hand to the ride,
too little too late, but never too soon
Sep 28, 2019
Sep 28, 2019 at 9:26 AM UTC
Our quiet dispositions made for a double-edged sword, as we sat on blood-stained sheets, littered with stems and shredded tobacco bits.
Listening to "Blowing It" by Dinosaur Jr. I realized I, too, didn't know a thing to say to you. We seemed similar, in a way to a certain extent.
He had a stick and poke on his thigh that said "NO"
and we ****** Casually.
========================================================================
"I think you're cute and I like that you're tall."
"I think you're cute too and it's nice that you like that."
========================================================================
We smoked spliffs and talked about how it was nice to be dating multiple people.
And what it's like to have a sugar mama,
And that crack is an underrated drug,
And that I should meet more people who like The Velvet Underground,
And how we both like beer, IPAs,
And how I smelled nice,
And how I shouldn't have chosen "Women" of Bukowski's to read first,
And that he should read "Slaughterhouse-Five", and I was willing to give him my copy
(The blood on my sheets wasn't mine, he had skinned knees.)
It was odd, but also nice, to meet someone with a similar disposition to me,
but there was nothing incendiary to hang on to, more just a slow warmth.
Jun 14, 2013
Jun 14, 2013 at 2:27 PM UTC
Trembles commence beneath the exterior
An eruption blacker than a hollow wails superior
All light alienates,
Obscured by manifested immorality
Only spared by vast vitality
Virtuousness defended,
Intended to liberate slaved maliciousness
Autonomy of the anima was the consequence
A union through yielded yin and panged yang existence
Sep 20, 2011
Sep 20, 2011 at 8:57 AM UTC
Considering belief, dispositions dutifully mixed
Two fingers of skepticism, with ample deviation
Followed by a pony of existentialism riding in
Mad man's drink is bitter but,
At this point all he can accept
Chin deep in the highball glass
Sinking amongst the buoyant
Gulping down helplessness
Yearning for the forgotten island
Where belief was once believed
Apr 13, 2012
Apr 13, 2012 at 11:59 AM UTC
Let the blood pool beneath me
Let it burn me for my sins
All that I could ever be
Destroyed by dispositions
So tear the vengeance from my flesh
And sear me to the bone
Let me rot as I regress
Burning within my home
Peel my skin off of my morrow
Yank nail from fingers until
My pain echoes into tomorrow
And lay my body still
For all the sins that I have done
Excused not by pain endured
So much better for everyone
If I were simply killed
Aug 31, 2015
Aug 31, 2015 at 11:50 PM UTC
Benevolent, blurred and undefined:
cocooned within eloquent dispositions
linen nightmares
threaded fingertips
escape to dizzier stars
tightened, suspended,
a constellation of misplaced stars
burrowing for warmer skin,
slack.
Mar 15, 2015
Mar 15, 2015 at 8:22 PM UTC
I am seeking an unspeakable beacon--
that which defies not solely the misty discontents of mine own
but the time-wrought err of man:
a taut reminder to cross the burgeoned blur of millennia
up and down the current and the tides
of an ocean to quench such fiery dispositions,
inspiring a shanty not for sanctuary
but for the cleansing of such tarnished deposits
clinging steadfast to the side of aching vessels
harboring, hidden, a virtue free of salted regard
and an anchor to an oft ennobled canon.
Jul 15, 2013
Jul 15, 2013 at 8:15 PM UTC
The form and nature,
Of a person,
Or something associated with them,
A very peculiar notion,
Distinguished from other beings,
With kind feelings and mild dispositions,
Sympathy and benevolence,
Politeness as well,
Learning and concerned,
Reflections and opinions,
Meditations of oneself,
Principles and considerations,
Engrossed in truth,
We trifle,
Without knowledge of meaning,
In an all too abrupt life.
Sep 30, 2012
Sep 30, 2012 at 7:33 AM UTC
Life is a Masquerade Ball,
People hide themselves behind masks,
A confusion of hidden faces, CHAOS,
Was it you?, Was it me?, Was it he?, WHO KNOWS!
A succession of colourful masks,
A sea of hidden identities,
All with mysterious dispositions, Who can you trust?
NO ONE!
Release a phantom from its cage,
To see behind the placid masks,
Sink into the sullen shadows,
Dissolve into the darkness.
All who risk immolation,
To save from you fading into the background,
They remove their masks,
And so it ends, the masquerade.
Oct 22, 2014
Oct 22, 2014 at 10:35 AM UTC
Pre disposed dispositions
Lying scared beneath revisions
Frantic follows death and sorrow
Living free is a dream we borrow
Sep 8, 2014
Sep 8, 2014 at 11:23 AM UTC
Have you ever had one of those days
Where you just feel sane?
No reason to why
The clouds just withhold all their rain
And you're sailing on your way...
Have you ever had one of those days
Where everything feels strange?
Like nothing is original
And passing thoughts cant be tamed?
Have you ever had one of those days
Where the suns rays penetrate and renovate
Invigorate your being
Leaving you feeling as though you can touch the highest of ceilings?
Have you ever had one of those days
Where everything thing happens all at once
One minute your napping
The next your arms are flapping
Getting stressed and restless
Relentless flitting decisions
Narrowing tunnel vision
Hearing that's constantly shifting
Contracting and relaxing
Entangling webs and..
Have you ever had one of those days...
Where you wanted to write about it?
Apr 16, 2022
Apr 16, 2022 at 5:49 PM UTC
From Grassy Fields to Azure Blue
Albuquerque a special time soulful sojourners came to release aloft what others find easy to scoff oh
Thy heavenly breeze from earthen habitation all sounds are found in thee laughter and tears the
Sobbing Goes to throbbing depths clouds pewter gray they show your needs and how hard you pray
Some are blessedly light others are weighed and bowed there are streams of air but the spirit too has
The lift and fall some is shear others are tender they hold all that is dear love hopes and dreams in them
You see the atmosphere as if you were sky riding at fiesta time strings of silver red golden black ribbon
They represent light hearted feelings the gust of joy that blows across many a yard and home from this
Dispositions of those that live there are discerned and carried outward and upward into playful days
Bathed in sunlight recharged with all the embodied love that continues through mankind dark shadows
Also are known their gloom are forever fixed with heartbroken tomb but just from earth the higher it
Rises its burning tears begins to fall as tender rain that mixes with tears and it not to be explained
But from this mixture golden memories derive their uncommon essence the loss is then to celebrate
Tendrils that drift across the sky when they briefly touch the ground though it be tearful a smile is
Left and in it the loved one is blessed honored and assured the swirling wind holds so many promises
Of happy tomorrows where the word separation has been expunged it no longer is a part of reality
You crossed the night train trestle your voice was the mournful whistle that announced the dear passing
Of love that went higher you were given a gift wrapped in pain but within it explained far greater truth
Than the limitation of earth’s love alone you are now aboard these sky ships as you rise your burdens
Grow Lighter your vision is enabled to see grandeur and great vistas the pulsating earth winks from
Homes far below you appear as bubbles on the wind in the moonlight glow in it is you’re refreshing
Enjoy the ride
May 2, 2012
May 2, 2012 at 4:05 PM UTC
reasons, i find them faltering
with their own ego,
some self destructive arguments
and many left aside repercussions
how would we survive,
their trifling stages and colluding rage?
and would the Content be able to contain
them under the shaky sky of our dispositions
how would things resolve themselves
how would everything that's out of order
restore itself precisely to where it belongs
for the typhoon knows only the change
for all the things that matter,
would prayers, good wishes, and our will
anymore matter to the effect of anything?
they too stagger sideways, here come reasons.
Sep 22, 2012
Sep 22, 2012 at 1:48 AM UTC
When last I had seen merry England
It was tattered with midnight soot that beckoned the denouement of the human condition.
Begrudgingly, the people meandered with heads held low
And dreams held lower.
The simplest way to determine the societal standings of each and all was by their clothing; save that all of their dispositions were ones of the played out and spent.
Happiness lay mountains, valleys, oceans away.
Aboard this great ship,
This hulking bumberdun of wood and steel,
I felt at ease.
Even upon these hostile tides did I feel an unraveling away of the self imposed mummifications that I had attached to myself.
I arose when I pleased,
I dined when I pleased,
And I drank as I pleased.
And not one such "captain" ****** himself with the responsibility of slavedriving.
No one had to.
For the man that suaded the great ship was John Franklin,
A man who commanded as much respect as we could muster.
And who deserved more honor than existence could give.
Franklin was never seen out of form,
Perpetually at the fore and scanning the horizons
Seemingly as if he could see beyond what that of a mortal man could,
What that of a mortal man should.
When we happened upon the mouth of the passage,
Naught but a slight smile escaped him
As the crew drank and shouted with jubilant glee that one might expect from a cathedral when the Lord Almighty had fell upon that place.
For this was Franklin's church
And this was his religion.
Had he believed himself to be God it would not have seemed so far fetched that others would not be led to believe.
But then a tear,
A small and just single tear,
Lazed from his eye
Leaving a trail that one might expect from a dove with no concrete destination.
A hush fell over the men.
All merry making ceased.
All stared in wild-eyed awe towards the regal, icy mountain ranges on the horizon.
Lush, full meadows blanketed the grounds along the mainland.
Whatever paths we had followed to this point were routes well cut.
The sadness,
Sorrow,
Joy,
And loss,
All things fell by the wayside.
Some men prayed,
Others began singing.
Regardless of religious preference,
Each man joined in,
Not so much singing as it were wailing and graciously weeping Amazing Grace
As Franklin led the choir.
God is a mountain in the farthest north of the Americas
And Heaven lay in his valley.
Aug 13, 2013
Aug 13, 2013 at 12:51 AM UTC
Nights spent with fingers crossed
make it hard to return texts
but the message I forgot?
Whilst occupied with shit-talk
and sliding 'cross these frosty sidewalks
was you won't be forgot
Coughing, choking down this spite I chew
I'm through with slowly dying here
and rotting out my youth.
I know this stream of epithets
pouring out my mouth
sometimes missed its mark
and unfairly wet you down
I'm letting this town down, now
But it always did the same,
and shame's the only lesson I have learnt.
So, with bridges burnt, I leave behind
these Dow and Main Street blues
Shoes worn through, I bid adieu
to Broadway and Alger
to the lumps in my throat
on the 5th Street bridge...
Forgive me my distractions,
dispositions and my scowls
I'll reposition my tongue, now
for milder words
But still...
This place will ******* **** me
if I don't leave, right now.
So plant one on my cheek,
or clasp my arm and see me out.
This ghostly whisp of smoke
has found its proper breeze
and punched its ticket
to touch nostrils in a new locale--
--Punched its ticket to say, **** it."
and pull a solid form
to cover all this ether in.
The granite sky's eroding
--finally!--
Rocky dust falls down, lithic snowflakes
But I'll shake it off my shoulders, now.
I'm sick of sighing, sick of shame.
Fed up with guilt, I settled my bill
with all I can't forget
Because,
"My kids will never scrap **** 'round here,
And I won't die crying in a pint of beer..." (McGowan)
I'll turn my back all fondly,
But sneer into the wind.
Apr 2, 2013
Apr 2, 2013 at 1:11 PM UTC
There are people I miss.
I miss their touch and the physicality of it all.
However, now I have a profound peace
Of the presence of Baha’u’llah.
The Spirit of patience, of wisdom.
It pervades my heart
And I say to myself:
“How long will you sulk over your ex?”
I have less than I did when we were together:
In the physical.
However, I have more spirit in my heart now.
I’m stronger for putting up with your weakness,
Your vanity.
However, I see I have the same vain imaginations in me.
Will I ever fall for a spiritual person
Without needing her to be able to fulfill my chemical desires?
I want to throw away the possibility for another relationship
And cling to the idea of singleness.
But it is the incessant inclination to create offspring and secure love
That drives me crazy still.
Who will I meet?
I don’t want to desire another woman if my search will end without promise.
But I continue in my folly.
Alas, day by day my desire pulses
And it is still greeted with empty dreams.
I’m packed full with opposite dispositions
Subtle ones.
I progress towards the Maker
One dark bedroom at a time.
Jun 4, 2014
Jun 4, 2014 at 10:02 PM UTC
You can lie in Wyoming,
they don’t care in Arizona,
you can mislead them in Mississippi
but don’t mess with Georgia.
You thought us “hicks from the sticks”
but we were wise to your tricks,
we just recorded your words,
now you’ll get what you deserve.
Your threats and fraudulent incitements,
have earned you several indictments.
You came down with your whole freak show,
so they charged you under RICO.
Come back to Georgia, Mr. Trump,
it turns out you were the chump.
Because we’ve got lots of new prisons
and DAs with surly dispositions.
In Georgia we don’t mind high flyers
but man, we hate traitors and seditious liars.
While many, it seems, fell for your blusterous aura,
you ******* yourself good by messing with Georgia.
.
.
Aug 15, 2023
Aug 15, 2023 at 1:46 PM UTC