"disprove" poems
Ove
As love remove the glove from my eyes like dark See's the light
In the journey of disprove by true love
So as fox glove can not hold a ladylove from the light in mourning love over me
In a selflove state
I began approve my love with reprove pains in my eyes,
I switch.
Oh your love is sad ,she said "badlove is not mad ,"he replied"
So ,farfad people had no love by their dad
JUST to be grad that my hands is on a footpad or a lush
No love on ove.
Dec 31, 2017
Dec 31, 2017 at 4:48 AM UTC
it was the moon that fell through. a lump of gray astronaut
pale acne-blasted, an orphan of the dome, floating in a pond
face down; gasping... green brass minnows surge through diatoms
that have no word for moon; a legion of blind unicorn gall stones -
invisible to naked eyes; uncountable geometries horde the dark waters
they cannot disprove or disobey. large mouth bass inhale calcium polygons
they have never met; that have no word for large mouth bass -
that hasn't always been unknown as september is meaningless
now, even more so, the meaning is less,
without the moon... so
the last tide is false. a satellite has lost it's grip and displaced a placid
jewel of ice cold pause. in the backwoods of these. words. a. moon.
is. breathing. in. a. void. teeming. with. ancient. life.
it is a void, unfamiliar to a native of heaven. this void used to rise and fall
in obedience to the wax and wane. in accord with her orbit.
but now it burns the ocean of serenity with irony's forge.
pounding the stainless steel of unfathomable loss;
even the dross sustains a shape of things to come undone -
when the hammer falls and the blacksmith is a poet
born to ****** fables from mayflies. a natural.
the hammer was in the hand before the moon gained
a face or an ocean to adore it. it was there,
ticking like a season, burgeoning with locusts -
holding off the mob; the moon was long ago, slipping off the roof -
long before firemen met lightning.
the tide was a pious fool.
the measure was not the span of the impending verse, but the hour of it's
callous beauty, assembled. a lunacy, stripped of all moons.
and only the sun remaining -
to behold the uncanny descent of a faithful, vestigial goddess.
a yellow throne. a yellow eye. and the sun's first chill...
as wave after wave of syllables sum succulent sorrows -
savoring sacred symmetries, asymmetrically... summoning -
super luminary strawberry switchblades,
saving sanity for questions with question marks.
this poem fell through. a lung collapsed or not.
and the moon is at the bottom of my heart.
Oct 17, 2012
Oct 17, 2012 at 11:17 AM UTC
a bodhisattva can fly
a thinker can sink
a buddha can be happiness
an existentialist can try to disprove it
on a walk, a stroll on a path littered with questions, a man asks himself ‘why?’
on that walk, a woman answers ‘there is no ‘why?”
while swimming, she drowns and asks ‘what is death?’
during that swim, a fish answers ‘there is no ‘death?”
while sleeping, the fish asks ‘who am i?’
in that dream, i answer ‘there is no ‘i”
while living, i ask ‘what is it to be happy?’
during that life, the sky answers ‘there is no ‘happiness”
i said ‘thank you. thank you, sky. you are too kind’
i will breathe you up and know that there is nothing. i will be content. nothing.
Nov 5, 2012
Nov 5, 2012 at 5:50 PM UTC
here i'm and not here
alone i am in head mine yet live five others all who mill around live.
told what to do i am and approach how to the unknown.
no decisions i seem make myself yet speak i from the soul.
soul exists whether or not another question is. determine grammar does
not punctuation, as determine faith does not god.
disprove understanding
ignorance does not, blissful as ignorance is not always.
was wish i for i ignorant.
k.g.
Mar 16, 2015
Mar 16, 2015 at 5:14 PM UTC
Little pieces of paper
To threaten the existence
of Little girls
Why know English?
To comprehend a language
That many of us already speak ?
Why learn Math?
In ten years' time,
I don't see myself
doing set theory
or applying circle properties to my occupation
Its' called common sense
And this common sense will lead me to believe
and to perceive whatever I have to do
In ten years' time
At this juncture, I must ask
Is common sense being taught?
Why learn Science?
Yes understanding the world before us
Humanities?
Science and Humanities
Common foes
Threatens each others' existence
One looks at human conditions
The other make theories to "disprove" that human condition
Love is blind, says one.
Love is Everything,
"This bud of love, by summer's ripening breath,
May prove a beauteous flower when next we meet"
The great poet has uttered.
Pieces of paper
With marks scrawled in red
Threatens my very existence
Live your life to the fullest.
Becomes a misleading statement.
And then again,
exams seem like a milestone
And many of us frogs
Which leap from one to another
Drown in the middle
Hop up to another
A never-ending series of jumps
All the way till I'm 22.
Little pieces of paper
To threaten the existence
of Little girls
Sep 1, 2013
Sep 1, 2013 at 9:18 AM UTC
it was the moon that fell through. a lump of gray astronaut
pale acne-blasted, an orphan of the dome, floating in a pond
face down; gasping... green brass minnows surge through diatoms
that have no word for moon; a legion of blind unicorn gall stones -
invisible to naked eyes; uncountable geometries horde the dark waters
they cannot disprove or disobey. large mouth bass inhale calcium polygons
they have never met; that have no word for large mouth bass -
that hasn't always been unknown as september is meaningless
now, even more so, the meaning is less,
without the moon... so
the last tide is false. a satellite has lost it's grip and displaced a placid
jewel of ice cold pause. in the backwoods of these. words. a. moon.
is. breathing. in. a. void. teeming. with. ancient. life.
it is a void, unfamiliar to a native of heaven. this void used to rise and fall
in obedience to the wax and wane. in accord with her orbit.
but now it burns the ocean of serenity with irony's forge.
pounding the stainless steel of unfathomable loss;
even the dross sustains a shape of things to come undone -
when the hammer falls and the blacksmith is a poet
born to ****** fables from mayflies. a natural.
the hammer was in the hand before the moon gained
a face or an ocean to adore it. it was there,
ticking like a season, burgeoning with locusts -
holding off the mob; the moon was long ago, slipping off the roof -
long before firemen met lightning.
the tide was a pious fool.
the measure was not the span of the impending verse, but the hour of it's
callous beauty, assembled. a lunacy, stripped of all moons.
and only the sun remaining -
to behold the uncanny descent of a faithful, vestigial goddess.
a yellow throne. a yellow eye. and the sun's first chill...
as wave after wave of syllables sum succulent sorrows -
savoring sacred symmetries, asymmetrically... summoning -
super luminary strawberry switchblades,
saving sanity for questions with question marks.
this poem fell through. a lung collapsed or not.
and the moon is at the bottom of my heart.
Feb 12, 2012
Feb 12, 2012 at 11:07 AM UTC
Some women smile because they’re excited to see you.
Some women smile because they’re expected to.
I’ve been trained to see the difference.
Some women will say they love you, because the first date
didn’t go so well, and they want to scare you off.
Some women say they just want to have fun, then cry
on nights when they’re alone.
Some women just want to be left alone.
Some women go out to the bar for girls’ night,
but really are just there to pick up guys.
Some women pretend not to care about Valentine’s Day.
Some women are actually ready at 8.
Some women will buy me dinner, and I feel
grateful but still somehow less of a man.
Some women remind me of my mother.
This terrifies me.
Some women think I’m gay.
My ******** begs to differ.
Some women are just too fat.
Some women can pull it off.
Some women commit, only to ****
your best friend the next day.
Some women love *** more than me.
Some women want to be saved, others
want to do the saving.
Some women see my *****
as an act of hostility.
Some women wish they had my eyelashes.
Some women, I wish just had an instruction manual.
Some women will never be content.
Some women remind me sanity is not
gender specific.
Some women disprove this argument.
Some women complain about money, then
yell at you for working too much while
spending $800 on a Gucci handbag.
Some women understand a Sears purse
works just as well.
Some women have been deceived one too
many times by men.
Some women believe the right man will
behave like Matthew McConaughey,
or at least the McConaughey
they see on screen.
Some women prove that nice guys
don’t always finish last.
We’ve been raised to think otherwise.
Some women wait at home at night,
wondering if he will ever arrive, knock on
their door, and show them that not all men are bad.
Jun 2, 2012
Jun 2, 2012 at 3:11 AM UTC
Thesis:
There's an easy way to disprove
that ignorance equals bliss:
Your eyes
were puzzles of space-time,
studied through conversations
fervent in their background noise-
where I looked for one single oddity
in what might have been the ordinary,
except it wasn't. Space-time
distorts around things of great
gravity
and your light-consuming pupils
pulled me towards you. Complexity,
hidden in some unsuspecting darkness
that I was dragged into...
things I didn't understand
until I reach our event horizon
and you and I are one.
(As for my thesis: what great Nothing would we have been
if I skyrocketed away
for fear of the unknown?)
Sep 1, 2014
Sep 1, 2014 at 2:52 PM UTC
i know this is just what i'm like because this is how i've felt every time i've gotten emotionally close to someone and i don't want to tell you what's wrong and i don't want to admit that i am sad inside because you like me well enough as it is and i don't want to ruin that. i don't want you to worry about me because i know i'll be fine and i'll be better and this sadness i've felt inside for the past six years doesn't define me and doesn't determine whether or not i should be loved. if anything love is something i know i deserve and maybe will help the effects the sadness has on me but i know how it feels to be hurt and my mind tries to pick and choose certain moments to try and disprove everything that you've told me because how? i look in the mirror and i can't see what you see and although that doesn't mean it isn't there they say seeing is believing and how can i believe something i don't see? my legs ache and my stomach hurts and the emptiness in my chest wants me, begs me to find some sort of control and i can't. this isn't something that is able to be controlled or manipulated. it happens or it doesn't, and that's just it.
Jul 29, 2014
Jul 29, 2014 at 2:16 AM UTC
I've been searching, and in my tone of lost hope, I call for you
Many have answered, claiming to be my heart's Spartacus
They battle for my love, only to show they aren't you
Like a famished agnostic peasant, I question your existence
With every experience, it becomes easier to disprove you
Are you really there
Will I ever find my matching pair
Is it true
That it's in the darkest hour, the light will shine through
Is this a test of my loyalty to your love
If it is, I must admit I will fail
I've soared higher than any bird in search for you
Only to share the mistake of Icarus, and fall back down
I've swam deeper than any fish in search for you
Only for Poseidon to help me drown
Traveled the driest desert in search for you
Only to be revealed that you are an emotional mirage
I've been blinded by faith
Deafened by tales of you
Devistated by love
Jul 28, 2013
Jul 28, 2013 at 7:27 PM UTC
1238
Power is a familiar growth—
Not foreign—not to be—
Beside us like a bland Abyss
In every company—
Escape it—there is but a chance—
When consciousness and clay
Lean forward for a final glance—
Disprove that and you may—
2.2k
this world deserves to be loved
is lovable
no scientist has managed to disprove this
May 28, 2014
May 28, 2014 at 3:25 PM UTC
Sometimes I tap my cigarette in time to the syllables of the numbers nine through twelve.
Sometimes I wonder if anyone knows what the hell I'm talking about.
So I walk around outside to try to understand my mind
just to get lost on a journey and leave it all behind.
If you could join me, I'd show you all of the lights.
The ones with deep meaning that make everything all right.
But it's times like these that I'd rather be by myself:
Nine, Ten, E-lev-en, Twelve.
As a kid I always lived inside of my head.
Backyard battles with demons were always so vivid.
One time I stuck a bunch of duck feathers into the back of my shirt.
I ran around the pool jumping -
just trying to leave Earth.
As I grew up, I maintained my thirst for adventure.
Fell in love with facing fears -
succumbed to a lust for danger.
Always trying to disprove my doubts.
Nine, Ten, E-lev-en, Twelve.
Fell into doing drugs and developed a taste.
Having fun with a new crowd.
Learned to deal with disgrace,
but sometimes I'd catch my reflection in a mirror
and couldn't recognize my own face.
But all the while coming closer to achieving my dreams.
Knowing one day I'd fly away on my wings.
Came to find out the true nature of the place that I dwell.
An angel can't fly when he's trapped down in hell.
Nine, Ten, E-lev-en, Twelve.
Jul 23, 2013
Jul 23, 2013 at 10:42 PM UTC
The man who lives in a mailbox
Sings his song alone
The rent he says is reasonable
And he likes the tone.
He sings:
I possess but what I have
That time does not remove.
All the castles all the kings
Are never here alone.
Brave parades and cheerful tunes
Do not the truth disprove.
We are each a single soul
And never here alone.
Never here alone.
His song is sung to passersby
Always much surprised
To pass a mailbox, hear a song
Coming from inside.
He sings:
I possess but what I have
That time does not remove.
All the castles all the kings
Are never here alone.
Brave parades and cheerful tunes
Do not the truth disprove.
We are each a single soul
And never here alone.
Never here alone.
Now, some protest, they say he’s mad
They tell him he is wrong
And some ignore his choice of home
And listen to his song.
He sings:
I possess but what I have
That time does not remove.
All the castles all the kings
Are never here alone.
Brave parades and cheerful tunes
Do not the truth disprove.
We are each a single soul
And never here alone.
Never here alone.
Apr 24, 2016
Apr 24, 2016 at 5:08 PM UTC
do I speak in riddles? Or just in rhyme? I have no time for rhyme, so I speak in riddles so riddle me this do you play with a fiddle? Or a flute on a lily pad with soft clouds in mind? Or do you play for the devil in own spare time. Well I tell you this sir I play in my mind, with thoughts of demons, not angels, not heaven. heaven I can question, disprove and not find but demons oh demons they're real in my mind.
Feb 27, 2015
Feb 27, 2015 at 4:06 AM UTC
Nothing to prove
Or disprove
About yourself
Or to yourself
None of us
Have to
"Go to" anyone
And the idea
That we do is
A mental illness
We can't keep
Going to
Each other
Until we learn
To go to
Ourselves
Stop making
Our hatred of
Ourselves
Someone else's
Job
Aug 28, 2023
Aug 28, 2023 at 1:28 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
Will The Lord of the Apes un-blend his Tan
Then apply his Conscience for Vines approve
To collect more Dames with his Knife in plan
Though Twelve Pistolled Lords amount their Disprove
It's been this Way since: Open for the Hunt
Such as Testosterone is wont to do
That among Bonobos his Gift for the Mount,
Waves his Carrot at them and Wins their Soft Plume
So Soft, that which caused to wiggle his Ferns
And Spread his Wings for his Flavours to Fly
Be it Shake or Spout such Passion still Burns
As the Pen his Lord's Author yells out a Sigh:
"I Cry," he Writes. "For Youth lost in this Tale,
Forsake his Courses for a Film's Lost Vale!"
Jul 26, 2013
Jul 26, 2013 at 2:42 AM UTC
You read to understand,
Not
To prove or disprove,
One opinion of a matter
from another,
All stories that take their place in our hearts
and transcend time,
Are told from the soul
Dec 25, 2023
Dec 25, 2023 at 1:12 AM UTC
**So we're all free, eh? If you start thinking outside the box,
Going against societies grain, then you are snuffed out,
Never heard from again. You can "whine and moan" all you want,
But you'll soon be cancelled out, bad manners are a fine reason
To throw you into the frenzied crowd.**
Freedumbs indeed
**Your days of voicing your thoughts are through, they've "solved
Everything" by letting laws even go into motion that simple sanity
Can disprove. These laws they always pass, your voice is never heard,
Democracy manifest's evil will soon turn your life over to the birds.**
Oct 20, 2015
Oct 20, 2015 at 4:38 PM UTC
You ripped the wings off of her so suddenly that, **** I didn't see it coming.
Well, to make it fair, I wasn't there. **** that's so unbecoming
of you. Well, **** you. How could you?
She used to soar into her dreams a lot—her dreams that featured you.
You and her, together—storming all the weather, and all the idioms I have wronged before.
I'll be frank, kid, I've always known it was so much much more.
I'm a cynical ******* but I know beauty when I see one, recognized hope—
as hopeful as her hope could get, despite all the steep, slippery slopes
that could have, should have pushed her off the edge, but didn't.
Because she believed in you.
She believed in wrapping oneself in soft flimsy shell, and waiting for it to harden
until it can finally protect you—metamorphosis was what she believed in.
Like the monarch butterfly, she believed in it all.
She believed in larvae and crawling for the emerald pupaic goal.
She believed you'll grow wings one day, for you're only just a kid
She kept waiting and waiting, won't let you open the lid
of her jar. She loved her jar but she loves you more.
You love her, too, I can tell. Don't tell me otherwise.
I'd be insulted, little kid. Oh, but wouldn't it feel nice
to disprove my accusations, Mr. J the Ripper?
For months, you pulled her wings apart ever so slowly
So slow, in fact, that I somehow hoped you would stop and proceed to sew it back
But you never did—no, you ripped her ******* wings off, bones fractured with loud cracks!
YOU RIPPED HER ******* WINGS OFF, YOU ******* WATERSAC.
I've only seen the horrid wound once and I can still smell the ichor from her back.
I must commend you though, since decency was something you lived not to lack.
I just wish you'd grown the wings she wished for you to have.
But that cocoon must have felt cozy, so you never really left.
I'd like to be polite now so beware of your first steps.
You'll see the flesh whose skin you tore enough to expose.
You'll see her face everywhere, in poems and in prose.
(Now, I must bring my poem to a close.)
And like the monarch butterfly, dear, she will remember—
not just one, but all of it: all the pain you caused her,
hurt you chose not to lift—dreams that used to hold her adrift
Young lad, she'll remember everything
I assure you: She will remember every. Single. Thing.
(I wish your heart the heaviest of anvils, your mouth the tightest of zippers, your limbs the strongest of chains. I wish you luck, lad. I sincerely do.)
Nov 14, 2013
Nov 14, 2013 at 5:47 AM UTC
Don't get too confident
Somebody will make you tumble off to the side
It's just how this ride
Of the wave and momentum goes
You have to embrace it
Or it will devastate anything you thought you had
Don't question it
Just imagine yourself as the best you can be at the moment
Ignore the other lights
Just ingest and harvest the energy you have
To illuminate the rest of the space
And become a better version of a flawed creation
Improve your relations
With the neighbors
They might be a good reason your future
Improves
Don't try to disprove
Me
You know if you keep comparing
You will be staring
At only the dirtiest pair of eyes
And the sane humans can only handle the most devious of eyes for only so long.
Add your own theme
But do not fall for the scheme
That tries to entrench itself within everyone.
You might find yourself feeling like a trillion
Or a praised pavilion
But one day you will be intimidated to such a point that you'd question your worth with the very bottom layers of the dirt
My one condensed way of shortening this piece
Don't.
Life is all about mentality and choices.
Aug 2, 2016
Aug 2, 2016 at 4:38 PM UTC
I hear talk, of the cruelty, and heartlessness of humans,
but I see things on a regular basis that disprove this.
There is no cruelty in a childs kiss, the gently caressed cheek
that puts a smile on your face.
But, today I saw the clincher,
a RIP sticker,
for
A Squirrel...
It hit me like a punch made out of "What the ****
I didn't know whether to smile and break into tears,
or shake my head in curmudgeony disbelief.
A memorial sticker for a road ****
Would an animal do such a thing.
I think not. They'd eat the thing
or just as some leave it to rot.
A Road **** memorial sticker
is about the craziest compassionate thing I've seen...
Animals don't memorialize us when we die...
Of course, that's not true.
I remember my dad's old mangy bloodhound...
and how, after he died, she moaned everyday, at the time he used to come home from work.
For weeks she did it, just sitting by the door
and moaning.
Until the sun set,
then she would slink and lie at the foot of his chair..
She died two months later.
And if that isn't mourning I don't know what is.
Maybe animals and humans aren't all that different,
we just mourn differently.
Sep 21, 2012
Sep 21, 2012 at 2:30 PM UTC
Reality isn't what it seems to be
it isn't touch, nor sound
it isn't a taste, nor is it visual
reality is what is perceived
what is believed
what is understood to be true
even when the memory is not
when the heart makes up its mind
and the mind draws up its own conclusion
then that is reality
even when its wrong, unjustly created
what is real? what is not?
why what one person sees isn't the same
as what the next person saw? felt? heard?
is one of them wrong? if so, than how is it proven
or how is it dis-proven? video tapes and voice recorders
can only prove or disprove the event.
not the feeling that was felt, or the mental strain
that was placed. How can something feel so right
to one person, yet complete tear down another?
one thing felt so good, yet it was so bad for you?
there is no spoon, nor is there a hand to hold it
for as your mind bends to the force of your own thoughts
the labyrinth that it creates spins your reality into something
different, irrecoverable, irrevocable, irresponsibly
I stand here, looking terrible in your eyes, and with love
mirroring the effects of the icy stare
I stand here, looking terrible in my own eyes.
this is reality
unfixable? unforgivable? unimaginable?
maybe
but if there is a chance to fight the reality
to bend the spoon
to show you that my reality is not your reality
then...maybe
for this is real, with two different realities
Feb 12, 2011
Feb 12, 2011 at 7:28 AM UTC