"divisible" poems
So I'll have mine
and you'll have yours?
who could ask
for anything more!
grey beards march
the union jack
build a wall
and send them back!
Grudge, sludge
a sanguine view
****** off
and take the cue
hide, plunge
aristocrat
run the field
like an old tom cat
Narrow pass
and capital flow
falling crude
and currency woe
deep depression,
mutineers
the mastermind
of project fear!
Silver spoon
at Hampton court
madness waits
in Davenport
divisible
and off the grid
**** it up
100 quid
Helen’s horsemen
unified
the springbok club
will never hide
plebiscite
in deep despair
an open scroll
Trafalgar square
Grapple, grovel
sentry shame
along the shore
of river Thames
king of wankers
lord of beat
break the rule
of old elite!
Stone the posse
bullets bare
load the chambers
fists in air
voices, faces
haunted souls…
should i stay
or should i go?
Jan 15, 2017
Jan 15, 2017 at 2:21 PM UTC
I asked your mom for pictures of that
New Years Eve, and yeah, I'm kind of sorry,
but I don't think I'm at fault.
You were cute before I met you,
and you're cute now, so forget
about the camera, and sit back
and talk like Moses talked to God,
and talk like Mom and Dad would talk
before they found out she was pregnant
with the worst and best two decades
that she still feels were a dream.
And talk like we do; talk like one
of two identical, divisible
denominators stuck inside a
textbook made of dances.
Please
excuse my dear Aunt Sally for
forgetting how to knock.
Nov 29, 2014
Nov 29, 2014 at 2:34 AM UTC
I am the equation of infinite outcome.
Why then, do the sum of my actions divide my attention from the equation itself.
Either the theory is flawed or the law is wrong.
Don't quote this quotient it isn't divisible.
It's almost as if this is an inverse operation.
The properties aren't proportional to the level of difficulty.
The answer is adjacent to one before.
The problem is,
I always get the same answer.
Aug 27, 2015
Aug 27, 2015 at 10:26 PM UTC
In the face
of radical Christianity,
a devout pagan stands.
Where religion
aspires to govern,
spirituality
must voice its protest.
"One nation, under God..."
turns out to be
easily divisible.
All is not forgiven
when wrapped
in flag and cross.
This poem a futile gesture,
message lost amidst
the knee-jerks.
So long
as speech is free,
it must be said.
Jesus was a
great, holy man;
Herod was the governor.
For God's sake...
stop trying to turn
Jesus
into Herod.
Oct 14, 2017
Oct 14, 2017 at 10:23 AM UTC
It takes three days to pick up a habit.
How sound this is, I'm not sure,
because some habits seem as inconsequential
as a statement regarding time and vice.
It makes one wonder how long it takes
to believe a statement to be true.
Possibly as long as
a *** of coffee to be brewed.
Surely the amount of time will
vary by the weight of the statement.
But even a measurement is prone to
be thrown off by unforeseen additions.
Eight cups of water, and four scoops of grinds,
you're bound to have a little too much or
a little less than expected.
It becomes harder to tell
when dealing with a slow drip.
Brewing coffee may be completely divisible
when dealing with a recipe, but
hardly unequivocal when
the time comes to measure up.
This follows suit with patrons
and their proclivity.
Only in fiction is the coffee shop patron enigmatic.
Only in fiction can the patron enjoy a cigarette indoors.
Men and women wake and
head to their cubicles,
coffee in hand,
five days a week.
By the third day
a habit has formed,
and maybe that is why
acceptance is had midweek
and why the first day of the
nine-to-five seems so everlasting,
if not inscrutable.
Oct 11, 2013
Oct 11, 2013 at 3:29 PM UTC
I pledge allegiance to the flags of the divided states of Africa, and to the republics which barely stand, many nations divisible, suffering, Ebola ,no liberty , no justice, for all.
I stand at attention.
Sep 17, 2014
Sep 17, 2014 at 3:25 AM UTC
It’s only a short straight hill
(First Poem.of the Year)
“I'm 69, newly homeless, and can't wait to start the journey of a creative life after being asleep for so long. It's only a short straight hill and I'll be on a path into a new life.”
Jeremiah B Xxxxxx Jr.
<?>
it is
4:11am
on the
first day
of a new
year.
a year
is a unit;
mathematically
measurable,
defined,
calculable,
divisible
by seconds,
minutes,
hours & days,
all artifices,
mutually
acknowledged.
you,
& others,
remind
me too easily,
that the
creative
is the only
path
to endless,
(a unit immeasurable)
reinvigorating
life.
your fragrant
optimium optimism
is stun
gun overpowering,
the ill defined,
but instantly
understood,
immeasurable
distance,
you foresee
to life better is
conquerable!
”only a short straight hill”
imbues me to lift
head, heart, arm
& unloved dried ink pen,
to pen,
to unpack,
to speak,
of all that
needs climbing,
over the
artificial lines
of the first unit
of time:
a new year.
thank you.
Sun Jan 1 2023
NYC
Jan 1, 2023
Jan 1, 2023 at 7:54 AM UTC
fill the entire page
with snowy enlightenment
fool nobody else
five five five five five
seven seven seven oops
five five five five five
contentment I guess
can only be recognized
from its shadow, cast
direction is offered
by the learned minds afar
it’s a time machine
a houseboat with pool
a brown pigeon on a leash
a dumb dream again
snows a comin’ up
a ledger of snow, in banks
I now coin this phrase
so bright very white
crystals fall from the gray sky
shoveling diamonds
pick an argument
forget yourself for awhile
then just go away
too many people
smoking piles of well meaning
it tempts the silence
sixty divisible
one through six ten twelve fifteen
twenty and thirty
imagination
a substitute for answers
all we do is dream
Dec 15, 2013
Dec 15, 2013 at 10:56 AM UTC
There have been orientations
I've attended
that hit home, hard.
Ones that were held in auditoriums,
which brought outstanding projections.
Of voice and talent,
speaking to talentless voices that seek
increments of the number ten.
Tens of hundreds, speaking excrement.
Cause **** even a ten is divisible by the number two.
There have been orientations
I've attended
that hit home, hard.
Ones that were held in back rooms,
with walls plastered with common sense.
Of apologies and service,
speaking to employees that service apologies
to miserable men waiting for change.
Tens and hundreds, purchasing excrement.
Cause **** even the box that holds an engagement
can be discarded.
Orientations are set up.
They're made to entice and integrate,
but in all actuality they're erroneous and agitate.
They speak fate,
but hinder the great.
They mark you.
Like I've previously stated:
Orientations are set up.
They're not a debate.
Aug 9, 2013
Aug 9, 2013 at 6:05 AM UTC
Can you hear the sound of the indomitable wind?
It breathes in great heaves
through these sun-beaten leaves,
so boisterous it could flow through ears to the mind.
The eucalyptus’ standing in disciplined lines
seem disturbed by it,
and by the sun that’s lit,
illuminating their aging signs.
From some stark desert some miles to the south
bundles of dry wind roll
up, over, and down this grassy knoll
that unknowingly beleaguers the skin of both
infants playing with their blocks on the lawn
and an older patron
visiting from Dayton
who naturally rises some hours before dawn.
The wind can easily uproot and tear the land apart;
it can dishevel
a garden neat and level,
desolating work to which the retiree gives their heart.
The lascivious sound of the southern wind resonates
past the final palm of the mind
where Wallace Stevens’ bird went blind,
lying low in the recesses of cranial plates.
I say that that sound is no sound at all,
just a loosing slip
of the cerebral lip
attached to a thing abstractly beautiful.
But it sings its song all the same.
Perhaps it is physical.
It’s certainly divisible.
It pierces the sky like a transparent flame.
Sep 7, 2012
Sep 7, 2012 at 3:30 PM UTC
Inglorious light
To strand light from darkness the greatest victory Jesus said I am the light of the world it was fixed and
Sure no dividing nothing to confuse but then man’s desires arose as in all instances when he would
Dismiss God’s sovereign authority honesty is missing they don’t say initially the truth spoke thusly no
They craft well their superimposing disfigured light it has to appeal it must have the essence of
Misrepresentation with this you will be enlightened and thankfully you can do it by a measure that you
Can control you will be god and have the authority see all the lights draw them together into a super
Beam they are outer bold strokes of genius variable dreams exists in this bright coexistence with
Darkness you can blatantly satisfy all manner of appetites and keep you heart from alarm you are
Walking in light there is a supreme being and he too is known as the angel of light that is filled with all
The arts of deceit he will dazzle and from his inner light you will fall from heavenly heights the same as
He there is no end to your trouble nor his but what a ride to control thoughts and destines of others that
Innocently trust your words the breach know the true word was abridged to fit a morality that didn’t fit
Into true and right nobility no matter substitute your own please make it glowing the greatest
Subterfuge must look closely like the original we are speaking of eternal verities fine tune the sphere it
Must pass the acid test for the casual adherent only the best divisible means must be employed you are
Substituting bedrock truth with the illusion of truth never say the devil won’t give you your do even he
Plays fair to a point you are giving up a kingdom your right as an heir not to mention love will be changed
To murderous intent the death of a soul is not a minor undertaking you laid the ground work so expertly
Now to keep up the pretense it’s not really like its hard we are all rebels just play into the general feeling
That is maximized when you add the poison of deceit its the drug that will never fail love be dammed see
You in Hell
Jan 9, 2012
Jan 9, 2012 at 7:17 PM UTC
Falling Down Fast! (ANOTHER DARK POEM)
I'm falling apart,
I'm splitting,
Divisible into,
Two fine halves,
Not sure where I'm at,
Torn as crevasse breaches my soul,
My soul,
She's more in control than me,
Weaving chaos while she parties hard,
Fought, the strong ,
Desire to die,
Hell is here,
I won't fight,
I'll sit and cry,
Will ride the tide of tears,
Or maybe drink them dry,
My paradise is lost,
At what cost,
Self assured,
Still keep my dignity intact,
Underneath facade ,
It's just an act,
She fits,
Myoclonic,
Confused,
Flits as Pipistrel,
Through twilight night lights,
Whirling,
Turbulent witch,
Fingertips alive with pain,
Cauldron bubbles,
Filled with heart's dark art,
While piranha eats her heart,
Body stripped to the bone,
Clean to bone,
Nothing left to fear!
By ladylivvi1
© 2013 ladylivvi1 (All rights reserved)
Jun 1, 2013
Jun 1, 2013 at 7:00 PM UTC
Borges Arte Poética
Un breve mármol cuida su memoria;
Sobre nosotros crece, atroz, la historia.
Pienso que si pudiera ver mi cara sabría quien soy en esta tarde rara.
pienso y solo siento al pobre soñador de su propia persona el que no pierde ni un segundo en escribe, el escritor mas puro de el mundo, un elegante señor bigote, un montrou poeta, que para por momentos a sentir su corazon que siente el soñante de este mundo minisculo, que se hace cuanto los dias ya no son escrituras y las escritos no pueden recitar, recuerda el recitar, de el hombre invisible, el unico, el terrible infant born inborn wild man of the corn, he partakes indefinitely, he was nevertherland, he was norse, he was el bewolf olvidado, el fue irlandia, el fue prague, el entendio a kafka, fuera el pratimonio a el. tengo algo que te sorprende harvard boys, que piensan de virtudes, que es el intelectual en este mundo, gira y no alguien lo compro, se sabe que el mas sabio se retira y no dice nada, huevo de pascal, huevo de wells, huevo invisible, hombre divisible. moneda, oro, maya, azteca, o inca, enblema, de nativo que es la pena de vivira, existera, existera. vara till, uthärdar.
Sep 17, 2021
Sep 17, 2021 at 11:36 PM UTC
oh the world
(smoothly electric)
which turns 'pon
a thread divisible
assumes such shapes magic
(hurling singly rotund)
to smash by impulsed fabric
with savagery so sublime
fists should
(uncurling)
turn from bruises
into wine
Oct 16, 2013
Oct 16, 2013 at 3:49 AM UTC
See the enemy is they that hide behind the screens
The enemy is we who fall for the same things
The enemy walks by you each day and hears every say
The enemy tells you to walk away but has gun play??
The enemy tells you do right over wrong
The enemy still playing hells theme
Song
The enemy smiles at you desperately plotting secretly
The enemy knowing which keys to tune
The enemy loving every war slanging bloom
The enemy isnt Trump it's the people behind him
The enemy only wants you focused on him
The enemy says times are tough but they just bluff
The enemy doesn't care about you or your family
The enemy only truly cares about your energy 💯
May 31, 2020
May 31, 2020 at 8:29 PM UTC
Divisible only by degrees of filth
The hated cohabiting the trash bin, the beloved just as broken (seperate and unequal)
Tie a noose for yourself with string theory, multiple universes just mean multiple graves
May 11, 2015
May 11, 2015 at 12:11 PM UTC
one … is
a whole number
unto itself
divisible
only by itself
to remain whole,
complete
within itself,
there is only
one
Oct 10, 2012
Oct 10, 2012 at 5:18 PM UTC
Before Green and old cricket take their leave and presume
We distinguish between absence and loss
A thing like belonging absorbs.
The screen door out back, and light among talk
Between friends, why, memory seems safe
Of the past, pricked by sounds soft as Soon
Will be gone or seem so when sharp
In simplicity – no longer opaque, now eased by
Riches of trees, In winter I become divisible,
Cold sharpens being, spaces between,
Movement should be easier
Yet burden is defined by plummeting
Mercury – the symbol of flight. Ah, yes I shall miss you too?
by Lois Kackley/www.netpoem.wordpress.com
Sep 30, 2009
Sep 30, 2009 at 9:18 AM UTC
I wave but you can’t see me
I speak but you can’t hear me
We touch but you can’t feel me
I’m getting panicked now
Why can’t anyone recognize me?
I scream but you won’t turn to me
You search your memory
for any remnant of our history
but you seem to come up… empty
I finally realize
I’m missing from your memories
You don’t remember
all the times I’ve wiped your tears
You don’t remember
all the times we’ve laughed together
You don’t remember
all our peaceful years
I know this is just a waste of time
but it’s hard to watch
your future sprinting past our crime
We were always easily divisible
but I didn’t realize
I was so invisible
Jan 26, 2018
Jan 26, 2018 at 3:51 PM UTC
Reflections invisible, O self, eternal, rising forever high,
Wings of Justice, Wings of Darkness, in ether, forever fly,
At any age at any stage,if Kindness is our roots, Heaven's our Ally.
Light in-divisible, seeing both just and evil, forever reflecting in the sky,
Time forever passing, Eternity contain both truths and lies,
Evil time shared, Of all truth beware: Illumined Minds cry,
For a Caring Heaven, Watching all men. A Mighty Mirror in the sky,
reflective and cool, all men were once fools, yet successful when they try,
Be yourself, Love yourself till death, enlightenment comes in time...
someone dies, A Soaring flame, now becoming wise,
an image imprinted, now in the Mighty mirror ...
forever watching from the sky.
Jun 6, 2016
Jun 6, 2016 at 12:23 PM UTC
Her eyes are in the skies
of the town I grew to despise
The appetite of the mind, seems sublime
but over time...
it all faded, and so the mills stopped turning and like so many machines in the lace houses I too became a sedentary one
The gentle hum of railway hydrogen bombs bicker over sounds of birds in the morning beams of a British summer morn
but along the tarry scarred roads of every little town lay a thousand lonely suicides aided in deeds of governmental scorn
and the requisite notions of sanity are held only to the regards of glossy magazines stacked high in a disappointed dazed newsstands and corner shops
where young kids once stole *********** and snacks, and milk
where lonely old men buy scratchcards and lottery tickets
where the mothers of the young hide their bruised faces in soup can solipsisms
and where the working migrants use ticker-tape guns to price the worthless and mourn their homeland
I saw you, walking lonely as a cloud
William Wordsworth of the wonderful beard
and I saw them laugh and point and deride
I saw you too, in vagabond virility
stalking the girls in summer dresses
down on bended knee, at the bus stop in the heat
I remember the old car, burned out shell
under the bridge near the shops
that I passed before school
who was it too, that I recall
stood by the wall
with eyes to sky, and in some cosmic free fall
and you, who read Proust by the canal
listening to birds twitter
and the gentle wash of ducks paddling nearby
I am all your faces, divisible by none
when the exasperated winds of some folly of the season
comes rushing through the alley by a brick house
and in some provincial moment in time
I believe we are the same
I see you as myself in simultaneous existence
but soon we leave, and in the proverbial ether
my soul will forever be intertwined
Jul 19, 2014
Jul 19, 2014 at 8:56 PM UTC
I am not exotic
But I am ******
I’m not this flesh
Or these bones
This body is
My home,
My temple,
For I am
******
Mother and
Sacred Crone
I am not exotic
But I am ******
I am the fire
Of Holy Desire
I am kundalini Shakti
Sacred Power
Life Force Energy
What you cannot
See in thee
You project
Onto me
I am not your
Mother Wound
Projection nor
The cause of
Your demonised
********
Open your eyes
To the lies
You cannot
Cage me
By category
Tick me off your list
Make me invisible
Divisible by
What is not true
For I am
Another you.
Reclaim your Desire
This Holy Fire
This creative force
You're not seeing
Is what birthed you
Into being
Embrace your Passion
Let your tongue
Kiss the truth
With compassion
Proclaim your name
Without shame
You are not toxic
You are ******
Let your desire
Flower
Own your
Power!
We need to change
The conversation
Between this nation
Of women and men
Generations of trauma
Perpetuated
In the name
Of some sod
They call their god
Defy the lie
Don’t comply
With temptation
They control
Our needs
To spark their
Insatiable greed.
Don’t cage
Your longing
To feed your
Belonging
This individualistic
creed
Consuming
Subsuming
To fill the void
Left by
the ban
On Pan
Earthy
deemed *****
Horn scorned
Turned into ****
Scapegoated
Emasculated
Devil
Demoted
Goddess
Demeaned
Rise up
Open your heart
Resist the force
Tearing communities apart
Face your fear
Shed those tears
Cause a commotion
Release that emotion
Lets change
the agenda
That segregates
Our genitals
From gender
Refrain
Unchain
Shiv Shakti
Eros Aphrodite
Mars and Venus
Liberate your *****
Own your passion
Penetrate compassion
Don’t measure
Your Pleasure
By some
prescriptive
Fashion
Embrace your
Inner lover
Honour our
Earth Mother
Stop blaming
Shaming the other
Let’s form a union
Let love be the sacrament
The Holy Communion
For we are ******
We are the fire
Of Holy Desire
Let Compassion flower
Let the power of love
Banish the love of power
Nov 23, 2024
Nov 23, 2024 at 6:10 AM UTC
I believe in poetry tho most do no not.
that it is a special social way of
communicating that kidnaps the heart,
seduces the soul, best when whispered,
tho the cadence is the key, lesser is the
volume
we do not teach our children well enough,
the hows of it, for if we did, the whys would
surely follow; no one can be a bully, or give
in to overwhelming sadness entire, if a line
of the spoken can yet bring forth a tear to
the most hardened of hearts
the high heat of the first sip of the day
asks for encapsulation, rememberance,
insignificant as it may be, it dislodges
the stale of sleep, stimulates the muscle
fibers of the tongue. snaps open our now
wide eyed eyelids, and lets us appreciate
a poem of our existence by its poking us
from homeostasis to, by the slightest touch,
the slow running of the tongue upon the
lower lip. the eyes filled to the brimming
by your beloved deep dreaming … and so,
we break our day into sequences of fragments,
though sometimes fractured and divisible,
if not even divisive, yet each a stand alone
momentary affirmation that though our
natural state is still homeostasis, it is the
highs and lows of our minuta of minucia,
that mark our minute minutes of never
ending poetical composition…
Apr 24, 2024
Apr 24, 2024 at 1:50 PM UTC