"doubtlessly" poems
This letter is truly and doubtlessly a letter to the only person who will be left when everyone else is gone. To the woman of my life. To my love, my life, my everything. To me.
Dear me,
You, the way you are, are perfect. You, with your little struggles you bear, with all the strength you carry so desperately around, finding a way to use it in your everyday life. You, with all your words stuck in your throat that you are so scared to say out loud – so you write them down.
You, with your smart-ass-mouth trying to make this world a better place. You, who has already realized that you must better yourself first to better others. You are all through perfect in your own way.
And yes, times were tough back then, but you were tougher. You mastered to overcome your biggest fear – the fear to stand for what you want and to love yourself entirely.
And even though, your selflove has improved so much over these past few years, you must learn a lot, you will have to endure a lot of pain and gain a lot of strength.
Selflove is a lifetime process.
My wonderful, beautiful love,
You carry mountains on your back and universes in your mind.
And every single day you wake up you are a better version of yourself.
Whatever you wish to do – do so! This is your life and you have to hold the upper hand in it. You have to be your own master.
Yes, let life be taught by others. Watch them live, but never become someone else while observing.
God did his best in making you special and unique – do not destroy his work of art in imitating.
Learn.
Observe.
Master.
Once you can rely on yourself, you are ready to change the world.
The world is waiting for you to make it the place it deserves to be.
A good place, a place with no fear, with no terror.
A place people can feel secure and loved.
Make this not only a vision but the reality.
Do your best and whatever you have reached at the end of the day – you DID your best.
You were great, and you could not have done any better.
I am proud of you.
And I love you.
To the dearest, most beautiful person on this planet, me.
Feb 8, 2018
Feb 8, 2018 at 2:15 PM UTC
I shake awake in the sleep…
The invisible dialogues, unable
to distinguish from darkness
vexes me...
I have heard the sob of the horn bill of the freedom
throughout the half broken dreams…
you also may blame me like my mother
that it’s because not pray to God when I go to bed…
For how many ‘freedoms’
I've been kept decorated
in the living room?
the fishes in aquariums
are not the beauty kept in the glass pots
but freedom closed in the glass…
While the fishes argue that
the three quarter of the world has made for them,
looking towards the open canopy of freedom,
the love birds, quibble me from the cages
that what I caged is the word of ‘freedom’ itself.
Doubtlessly, creating Auschwitz cells in living rooms
how can I speak about the freedom?
Having exempted the birds towards canopy of indulgence
the fishes to the sea of the rights,
I went to fly in the freedom of sleep
forgetting to pray to God…
then, I know
the birds from the canopy of indulgence
and the fishes from the sea of the rights,
are praying God for the sake of me…
Aug 29, 2014
Aug 29, 2014 at 1:54 AM UTC
gallows on the rooftop
where window washers go
to suspend
metal gibbet
quick hinge, raise and lock
secure against the weather
whipped
combed and packed snow
ice crusted dunes
strain the winds over the buildings roofing
an extreme combing exposure
doubtlessly
they'll be no labor done today
On the seventh floor
i watch from behind
an environment sealed window
wolfing my lunch on a short break
in the warm fire escape
i watch
a solitary worker is ejected from a hatch in the exterior wall
cuffed by a spasm of wind
he descends a short bolted ladder
and makes a geared approach
crouching
his weight against the wind
he drags a heavy kit
mummified in protective clothing
passing my spot and he then heads outward
towards the bounds of the rooftop
he mends a stable stance
one foot close to the edge
the rest of him
in a low defensive pose
clips his harness to the gallows
stands to take a confident beating
of the breath stealing
brawling winter gale
he radios for the gantry to be raised
Mar 10, 2022
Mar 10, 2022 at 2:07 PM UTC
Whimsical youth
absentmindedly fell -
cliffside,
abruptly.
Love to the stars,
oath taken to stone;
to help you,
instruct me.
~
Stillness the moorland
of cherry pie kiss,
unwilling
fruition.
Patience, wise virtue
foremothers instilled,
jeune fille
in submission.
~
Tame was the Beast
at the mountain's heart deep,
lethargic,
sleepwalking.
Wild was the Princess
in her dreams of pink sweet
sins, secrets,
unspoken.
~
Long were the years
under fallen rocks over.
Now doubtlessly
older.
Black was one night,
set her sadness alight,
but the ash left
her colder.
~
Monsters awakened,
set the footpath ablaze,
hopelessly
grieving.
Freedom I call
you, trying to persuade
you, truth
unforgiving.
Mar 18, 2021
Mar 18, 2021 at 7:03 PM UTC
******* in a car,
Screaming Matty’s lyrics,
An angel placed before me,
With a voice not meant for the ears
Of mere mortals like myself,
The chocolate ocean of her glistening eyes,
Swallow me whole in a Marinas gaze,
But for once I can reach the floor,
Able to stay afloat and no longer
Battered by titanic waves of chaos,
The sweet glow she resonates
Illuminating every dark corner of
My mind,
Once an inescapable void,
Now filled with the fruitful warmth of love,
For the person who surely came from above.
Before me stands a towering figure
One that is doubtlessly divine,
Her shadow consumes me,
But it’s warmth is surely a sign,
That she is the one that all the hurt was for,
And how I just want her to be mine,
A single tear seeps from my eye,
Graced by your beauty,
Unable to make a sound
Out of my corrupt lungs,
Speechless until I force the words out,
“You really are the one, aren’t you?”
Dec 13, 2018
Dec 13, 2018 at 8:52 AM UTC
coffee house is a place where you doubtlessly see all the people being swept away in an invisible connection you can not see--sometimes, there are also some people who get caught in discussion and stuck by diffusion. the coffee that you drink often converts you its energy to analize your life's difficult problematics.
coffee house is a place where you will genuinely feel sane if you see some people reading their own scripts or feel well-earned if you witness the self-interested people--where they hear their own tunes just for themselves, where they do not want to give you the same opportunity for joining them in thrilling your cochlear, even through the air filled with whiff of vapour. vapour which doesn't comprise the fumes of nicotine, but there is just a little amount of caffeine in its womb. however, vapour is vapour. it has its ability to serve you an effect to crave which oftenly makes yourself lose its excuse to refuse.
coffee house, is a place for the people who are looking for identities. coffee house is made for the people who keep analizing the layer by layer of their lives, for the ones who keep hunting the nucleus of your providence's atom, for the people who keep ripping apart their particles. not dalton, neither rutherford, nor thomson, not even bohr, as the ones who might be able to serve you a soup of theory which if you eat it, you might be enlightened and your life might suddenly be well explained. the chaos of your life can not simply be explained that way.
coffee house is a place where you will find the lonely people whose lives will always be tossed around, the people who keep glorifying the fumes of caffeine that can hit you back to the point where you can be boiled by new hopes. and it remains that way all the time.
coffee house is a place for them who are hurt and diseased, but feel like hospitals are not the right house to canalize their moans. precisely, they will find their house here.
in a coffee house, you will learn to be yourself, and you will never find the lesson at all schools.
in a coffee house, you learn how to admit your predestination as the Audience of Lives.
coffee house is a place where you will always find your own cinema seat.
Stefan Sagala,
February 4th 2017.
Jun 26, 2017
Jun 26, 2017 at 1:35 AM UTC
You gave me a Friday feeling continuously
Yet I was your Monday morning blues
I incorporated a substantial amount of effort to reveal my love
You thought I was persistent
I arrived on time after anxiously waiting around all morning
You turned up carelessly late to minimise time
We laid upon your bed huddling like innocent penguins to keep warm
I was oblivious to what the upcoming week would bring
I lost the love note which held only a lie
I threw away your lighter as the spark had vanished, just like ours did
Your comforting clothes and plush toy are now doubtlessly collecting dust and cigarette fumes from inside of your closet
You furiously broke the bracelet which I gave to you in pride
You deleted our memories held in pictures
You replaced me in less than 24 hours, so I thought
The truth is, so the fault in our stars quote, I fell in love the way you fall asleep, slowly; and then all at once
I had thought previously that you no longer required my unconditional attention
However I fail to believe this when you are knocking at my door at 3am whilst you're calling out to me in my dreams
I fail to believe this when you start conversations late at night, when thoughts are deep and emotions are raring
Whether we were once magnets facing the attracting way, or you were just a lost soul in need for company I shall never know
But what I do know of, is that today is the day I am fine and content, and one day you will be hurting just like I once was
Sep 23, 2013
Sep 23, 2013 at 6:50 AM UTC
I live in a city of salty people.
We are all
at times
mean
crass
goatish
people. Like grains of salt
in a salty sea-
-or a salty lake.
but, we are not ever
boring.
we may be salty
but we are doubtlessly very flavorful.
we have more personality
and *****
and character
per square inch
than most of the cities in the world.
most all the cities I have been to, anyway.
anyway.
I am a salty son of a *****
at times
and I have discovered that I
need
a grain of salt in my life.
cold mornings.
a shot of whiskey.
Something to push back
against.
For fighting fake conflict is just
flailing.
I’m trying to tread this
salty
water and keep oxygen in my lungs
just like all the other mouth-breathing saps in this salty pond
pushing each other down to get a breath of fresh ozone and carbon monoxide
and I guess that means I’m fighting
for something.
Oct 29, 2013
Oct 29, 2013 at 10:12 PM UTC
I would say I love you to the moon and back
but that isn't nearly enough
I could spend twenty-six years of your life
on another planet just for the
hope that I could still return to your arms
and tell you that that is at least how much I loved you.
I could sacrifice my heart because I know that
every part of my body will be infatuated with
your touch even without the heavy breathing and
powerful pumping of your compassion.
I will love you doubtlessly.
Feb 22, 2016
Feb 22, 2016 at 9:12 AM UTC
Stolen words from my mind
Quickly turn to make me blind
With fear in my eyes I turn away
I’ve lost all the words I wanted to say
They reek of death and disease
Then again it’s the dark side I please
If darkness could speak would it be my voice
If life were mine, would it be my choice
something dark within me seeks its way out
could I stop it if it made me scream and shout
in agonizing pain as my insides decayed
would I turn to a husk, gruesomely displayed
upon some freakshow wall above a fire
or would I be made into piano wire?
put in tune with others like me
as we played a dark gloomy symphony
while a vampire danced with his soon-to-be-bride
would I find courage to jump out or hide?
doubtlessly now you think I'm insane
otherwise you'd have words to blame
but you know by now they cannot control
the entity me, though I am not quite whole
speaking of holes, why six feet under
its not like the dead would awake with thunder
enough idle chatter, I know why you're here
to take me away from my mansion this year
shackle me up like my words said you would
tie up my wrists to posts made of wood
i'd laugh in your face and declare you a fool
your torturous ways will only make me look cool
Feb 24, 2013
Feb 24, 2013 at 9:22 PM UTC
feline princess,
with lithe, agile limbs
mistress (with/of) dark instincts
tormentor of my libidinous dreams,
perpetually under the spell of
your radium eyes,
experiencing , in every sense
your nocturnal effervescence,
I would doubtlessly testify anywhere:
your day light innocence,
is the act of a cheat.
(would I ever do that? you know, it is just a joke)
I am bit confused, still
why should you behave in that way?
you are indeed bold, barbarous in an amorous sense
in that you are proud, as any one would understand.
your thorny nails
hidden under soft paws
plays with the ups and downs of my body
both ways, some times it only tickles
and at other times, plunges deep, draws blood
I am a sinner with clean conscience
you can tell me all your desires
dark, white or purple
we would be together
in that boat to the dark dark shores
where you promised to
make me inhale the imagined flowers
of flesh with the scent of fulfillment.
Nov 25, 2011
Nov 25, 2011 at 6:23 AM UTC
doubtlessly swallow the certainty that
i was nothing but necessary foundation
nothing but your essential stabilization
for your cruelly selfish character to devour
i will continue to conduct my silent sorrow
you couldn't even start to comprehend
so obviously unbeknownst to you,
that this, is the heart, that you grew
and if you ever bother to read this,
it will still be inaudible to you
i condemn my miserable heart
for individualizing this devious,
oh so lonely creature
Feb 27, 2018
Feb 27, 2018 at 7:42 PM UTC
Sat on the bridge.
Legs dangling, swinging in the breeze.
Look closely and little skittish fishes flying like sunlit darts.
Throwing twigs in, so naughty is what we are.
We just love watching them drifting and riding the tide.
Oh look, there's a bigger fish, not a minnow or a stickleback, a little trout maybe.
Gone to quickly, won't be tonight's tea.
A flash of vibrant colour.
Faster than light.
The strike of the kingfisher.
Doubtlessly he caught our trout.
(c)Livvi
Apr 25, 2015
Apr 25, 2015 at 9:05 AM UTC
Who am I
but what I am?
Not quite just
a simple inquiry.
So please reply
distinctly specific
while abandoning logic
Yet please most
definitely clearly.
When am I
but where I am?
A notorious
questioning query.
Quietly sneering,
laughing, awaiting
the one obvious
reasonable answer.
Why am I?
Put surely, not simply.
Only to be?
A rhyming riddle
playing a crescendo
cadence of rebellious
Rock 'n Jazz
and Reggae rhythms?
Yes and still no
but much, doubtlessly,
even much more.
A man is to live!
Truly, inescapably,
always, yet certainly,
only nothing
but far beyond
day to day.
-R.
(06)
-TX
Sep 12, 2017
Sep 12, 2017 at 3:18 PM UTC
The metro station caged the slumbering metropolis
From this dingy mid-March town fridged in January wind
A ******** clad explorer marches in mellow strides
All the way to you
To back the lover's whisper spoken by static selfies
With fleshy whiffs, a borrowed jacket and a gawky face
Blind to but maybe fiddly pepples on the ground.
Down at a backstreet diner, its locked out doorstep,
A hygge cover made for two,
Humming low is the city's nocturnal remains' dubstep
Coming from an illuminating exit,
Luring the busy hands and buckled excitement, whereto ----
Whereto the vacant main street glides them
With the at ease traffic,
Down loops of everextending branches
I followed you
To the roundabout between
two surrounding glassware towers
Where gleaming sparks ***** on each other's windows
Divining themselves by lighting up pavements, entrance signs
and glooming heavens.
Corridors, lawned with clutters from refurbishments,
Lead to glassrooms of suspended business meetings,
And that cozy cavern,
Where you flump into a swivel chair.
Your inhibited expression unwinds
As my curious caress explores
The damp torso slumping deeper into the pliable seat.
And a devoted twitch of ecstasy, blossom unexpectedly
On your face,
Which already shied itself away from its audience,
Doubtlessly, for way too many times ----
A candid sight I could only cache from you,
Because I intend to see it again, your effortless reaction.
The sarcoma-like lump left uncut at the bottom,
Wrinkled like wind waves in a Ukiyo-e drawing.
I scoop the saline ripple, so you can taste it beforehand.
Our bodies started gravitating
onto each other or all over the place.
And lips, they startlingly perched,
out of wills, like magnets
For the very first time.
I've been feeling patient.
And I love taking my time with you
Nov 29, 2018
Nov 29, 2018 at 1:13 AM UTC
I think you are beautiful.
Dawn-kissed river hair
Conceals porcelain visage.
Perfect lines,
Perfect angles,
Heart-shaped lips,
Golden rectangles.
Each laden with
Stoic apathy.
Only we know
Their secret fallacy:
Time.
Between us.
A year,
Feeling like a few.
Other lands tread upon by weary feet.
Your body shakes,
And my heart trembles, too.
Limpid pools of green-blue extravagance,
World withdrawn soul,
Spilling emotion,
And truth -
Fully.
I think you are beautiful.
-
And if love had any explanation
It would begin with your name.
I must have recited a thousand times
"You and I."
"I and you."
And love.
I love you.
Just like that,
In exactly that way.
Purposely
I suppose,
I left the feeling alone;
Doubtlessly fearful -
The two of us at home
With green-blue rivers of our own.
Mistakes we had made,
Truth unspoken,
What little we had gained,
From the things we had not shown.
I love you.
And already
I have more.
Aug 15, 2012
Aug 15, 2012 at 6:15 AM UTC
Sometimes, I see your skin as very, very dark. I know it makes little sense, because even if you weren't
Snow in the Sun
and
Fire in the Gloaming,
it's hard to think of overall You without seeing the
Angels of Light
that doubtlessly dance in your
Irresistable Aura.
No, poetry cannot be put aside; it is my medium, as I know yours. And yet, I would never say this. In all honesty, I would prefer this entire affair without talking, or, for that matter, sight. But to just
Hear
you, and
Know.
I would never mar this by letting you know me.
All of it is for you. I take the gift only if it can become more of my gift to you. I wish to own, but shall not. It is enough to be
Possessed.
It is true. My boldness? It would not exist without your ownership. All for you.
Oh yes, I think I'm so very bold. At least "I flatter myself" that I peak your curiosity. Well then, maybe not so bold. In any event, I am at nothing less than your
Mercy,
Your Call,
waiting to see
Your Skin turn dark--
Dec 9, 2010
Dec 9, 2010 at 8:40 PM UTC
Waiting for what?
Nothing much is happening here.
Still, there’s nothing wrong
with waiting around for a while.
The air is amazing tonight.
Damp,
cool enough to make
the earthen odors
mean a little bit more
than they might otherwise.
There were two ravens
on the street lights
earlier this afternoon;
we looked at one another for a minute.
They had their sodium lamps
to roost on,
passing judgement on us below,
but there were other errands to run,
no time for further inquiry
as to the harshness of the gaze they leveled.
Still, we looked upon each other,
it was like they knew something unknowable
to anyone else at all.
We ate a tripe supper,
with beans and onions.
The smell of the tripe was a pleasant,
but readily acknowledged
barnyard smell.
As I chewed, I knew doubtlessly
what I was eating.
It tasted fine.
After supper came a pair of cigarettes,
some time to walk.
There was no real destination.
The only task was to avoid the torpor
that comes all too readily
once the belly is full.
Now,
the house is asleep.
All but me.
I can still smell the lingering smells
of fried ***** meat and onion.
Now harsh,
a bit unpleasant.
I’ll make enough use
of such a small displeasure,
so as to stay awake just long enough to finish these lines,
take another short stroll
into autumn’s savory fragrances
before sleep steals what’s left
of tonight’s living wage.
***
-JBClaywell
©P&ZPublications 2018
Oct 27, 2018
Oct 27, 2018 at 1:19 AM UTC
It can't be easy
being the patron saint of sinners
but ****** all if you don't make it seem that way.
You look so good in blue,
as you serenely sway along the streets
touching the eyes of blind
just like Christ's own messenger.
The dirt and dust that coats us all
never seems to stick to you,
the disease that cripples us
you cast off with a twist of your
white hand.
You're silhouetted form
against the wall,
cast from an acrid fire
gave me some kind of hope.
A soft whisper of a word
that you produced from nowhere
made me feel like I could be you.
Wars seem to die between
your lips
and so could I.
You might as well have wings.
But where are you tonight?
Apr 16, 2011
Apr 16, 2011 at 11:47 AM UTC
Asking the valleys & the mountains around,
Beautiful snow-clad slopes of the mountains,
Chilly winds pierce our ears as we ski along,
Downwards the hilltop carefully navigating,
Enjoying doubtlessly you smile bright at me,
Fiendishly slide downhill smiling nervously,
Great speeds involving both our adrenaline,
Hanging in midair momentary in our jump,
Incorrigibly we pull each other ever closer,
Juggling feet & hands when we ski forward,
King o' the land o' your heart I am rejoicing,
Leisurely spending my life solely loving you,
Man of your dreams I secure you in my arms,
Nearing the future rendezvous both of us are,
Oath of unity has been pledged by both of us,
Prancing upon snowy slopes in fuller control,
Queen of my life you are already in my heart,
Rising like moon in the sky of a snowy night,
Smooth is our opera-like love-slide downhill,
Tinkering within our tired selves is a thirst,
Unlike every other feeling is the feeling I get,
Very sweet are the dreams that I have seen,
Wings of imagination may impart us a flight,
Xmas flavoured new & recycled happiness,
Yule ball-like balance does indeed give safety,
Zion of our love is gonna be what it must be...
Feb 22, 2014
Feb 22, 2014 at 1:02 AM UTC
I need patience
Fighting for peace
But there is the silence,
The Darkening Abyss.
I used to dream
How we would kiss,
But there was that dim
And Frightening Abyss.
I used to look
For will without haste,
But You cruelly took
Me away from my place.
I used to think
That there was a thread
Which definitely linked
Mine and your head,
There was that cut
Right in the middle,
So I had to start
Resolving the riddle.
I used to dream
That you're standing near,
But things that I feel -
Are despair and fear.
I used to hope,
But now I do not,
I had to stop
Tying the knot.
How come I mistook
My Love - with fear?
I dared not look
On my face without tears.
I tear apart
Your image within.
I knew from the start,
I never could win.
...
I need patience
To lower the risk
But there is the silence,
The Darkening Abyss.
The Darkening Abyss
Negates all my will.
Each second we kiss
My heart is in thrill…
I fall in its depths,
The Frightnening Abyss.
I can hear your steps,
Don't let go of me, please.
I fell in Abyss
And found there a thread.
The moment we kissed
I knew where it led.
Mistaken was I?
Or purely naive?
I didn't know why
I didn't just leave.
Totally captivated
Your arms within.
I doubtlessly stated -
I never could win.
Dec 8, 2020
Dec 8, 2020 at 10:45 PM UTC
I have always trusted you despite the burnt flowers that I saw. We've eaten together in lonely parks with broken spoons and we've walked on the same path that had no excuse but to let us make a move. The hurricane of troubles and tsunami of dissatisfaction that tend to sweep away our allegiance will forever remain cursed. And any finger pointing at the soul that holds the truth will doubtlessly be broken for the fear of expression. Fake people will always be like dead horses, more like written off ferraris. No rerun needed to prove all I'm saying is pure victory, and when I wake with the sun in the morning, I hope my words will radiate with the rays in a prose that will make you understand that I still love and care. Tonight the moon fell between my feet and I thought maybe nature was cracking a joke. Hand on my chin then pondered! I pondered like in my brain wild flowers were sprouting, then something like a plague, but with a sensation of a neglected wise notion which flashed before my cerebrum and decoded itself as wisdom, then in a shimmering technique took captive of my thoughts about you, then transmuted every idea to a loving feeling ready to be expressed in a manner that will never run out of style just like champagne to a ******
Nov 22, 2013
Nov 22, 2013 at 4:10 PM UTC
To the Dear People Who Ask If I’m Okay
Oh I am definitely okay.
I’m okay with being alone.
I’m okay of feeling lonely.
I’m okay of feeling depressed.
I’m okay about being compared to everyone around me.
I’m okay of feeling isolated.
I’m okay of crying myself to sleep every night.
I’m okay of having to wake up and see myself covered in wounds because of the works of my own hands
due to the nightmares that creep into my mind each night.
I’m okay with being misunderstood.
I’m okay about not being appreciated.
I’m okay of being just okay.
I’m okay about being trapped in an enclosed box with tapes on my mouth and tears in my eyes while I cry for help.
I am okay with not being heard.
I’m okay with pain being my companion every day.
I’m okay about getting used to just being okay,
But I am never happy about just being okay
Because “I’m okay” does not say “I’m happy”.
Yes
Being okay does not mean you’re happy.
Being okay means you’re just trying to look happy
Because looking happy is better than explaining yourself every time your eyes fail to hold your tears for it shows how fragile you really are
But they don’t know how long you’ve been fighting your own war.
They don’t know how long your heart and head have been shooting bullets at each other.
You,
don’t know how my mind shouts at me to force me to be okay while my heart whispers to me how I should just let myself be happy.
Everybody around me is saying
that happiness is a choice because if you choose to be happy, then you will be happy.
But, is it my fault
how my own family does not even see how they push me to the edge of the cliff giving me only two options?
It’s either to learn how to fly without wings or to quit and just fall to the deep deep ground.
Is it my fault
how everyone sees me as selfish and worthless when I am giving the best that I could?
Is it my fault
that I am just a human being fighting my own battles just like you?
I’m sorry, but how is it my fault?
So, to the dear people who ask if I’m okay,
Yes I am okay, but I’m not happy.
I’m not happy with how I am drowning in pain
even if happiness has always been my first choice.
But,
I am going to be.
And I’ll make sure that the next time you ask me if I’m okay
I would doubtlessly answer,
“NO, I am not okay,
because
I am done being okay.”
Oct 19, 2015
Oct 19, 2015 at 3:34 AM UTC
Rude transitional
Vessel conquering
Reaching deeply
Trying each level
Time succession
Rapidly grappling
Softness intensity
Discharging ether
Fuel dark whisp(er)
Paint syncopated
Drawing transition
Hole opens deeply
Perceptional peep(s)
Doubtlessly abated
Strings form syringe
Encapsulated chords
Rupture stagnate air
Steering mind's Roar
Jan 28, 2016
Jan 28, 2016 at 8:55 PM UTC