"encumbers" poems
You’re pretty… he says
for a dark-skinned girl
I usually don’t talk to your kind.
am I supposed to feel honor?
you hopped of your pedestal, down to mine?
I will not curve my lips into the half of the crescent moon that you’re expecting
you do not deserve that.
exclusion encumbers me and I am small in your eyes.
Surely you can see that I am a dark girl, sweet berries ; color of night
the same colors that allowed my ancestors to take flight.
freeing them from *******
wounds that had them tied, without my hue, we would’ve died.
I am a stone immortal, no work of erosion can seep through my cracks.
the trials of my ancestors drawn on their backs.
so our heads, we never hang down , we are to be found.
scars to be hidden
it is the gas in a run-away car,
that last sip an alcoholic has as their arm and wrist lay dangling at the bar
this is the prestige of my hue
if I’m just pretty? then what could beauty possibly mean to you. a rare blend of history, struggle and strength.
My head will not hang, not once more
by noose or in self distress, I am history.
No more do I long to sit at a table with you,
in the wake of waiting for your admiration
I have created my own table, in appreciation of your hesitation.
To you my worth will always be in comparison to what’s missing
that being pretty for a dark-skin girl, is a blessing.
Worth far more than bedazzled insults
, convinced I was worth less
they could see it in my eyes, the way I dressed.
The hue that I am is far greater than they told me
accepting back handed accolades, that’s the old me.
This house that holds my soul is only almost pretty… they say
if I weren’t so dark I might be worth loving, caring wanting or staying.
My color, a rustic espresso, no cream.
you say I am pretty for a dark- skinned girl …
no I’m pretty and that’s it!
signed a FED UP dark skinned chick
Jul 29, 2018
Jul 29, 2018 at 1:56 AM UTC
We sing of the ocean,
start of all life.
Encompass frail creatures,
bring seafarers strife.
A mysterious womb,
God’s blessed daughter;
a mystical kingdom lies under it’s waters.
The echoes of waves run rampant above,
they bless the warm sands with treasures and love.
Cascading valleys hidden beneath,
magic encumbers each barrier reef.
Color her lure,
The moon makes love
to her everynight.
Aug 8, 2011
Aug 8, 2011 at 7:46 PM UTC
An unrequited love that still offers a seemingly patronizing hand of rapport
Is just another way to say "friend zone"
But you'll be dancing in the end zone
After you finally pay your student loan with money from the job you needed a degree to get which called for the loan in the first place
The salt has spilled off the Lazy Susan
Throw it over your right shoulder
Is this my alter ego?
Or do I have a split personality
Maybe this is my light skinned doppelganger
I've got to get these bats out of the belfry
I've got claustrophobic, roided-out butterflies in the pit of my stomach
Busted paper thin lips
A blood sport
Stop it from clotting
Vaccinate me
This vacuum is a rare find
The national demographic is going through culture shock
Assume a surname
Put on the gargantuan pennant
Go to the pulpit and beg for penance
Gridlock
The paleophone is cracked
Study the topography
And pay the bus fare
The squatters who are on borrowed time
Take a swig from the half empty bottle
After searching their whole lives for an even break
But are forced to cut ties and make a clean cut from society
All the lent hands and ears
Are lodged between ungratefulness and exclusive pity parties
Sweet nothings and forget-me-nots
Do a clean sweep
It's imperative to have a method to your madness
A portrayal of eccentric narcissist
Painting self-portraits
While on some kind of wonder drug
Longing for some moral support
Double-dealing
Double crossing
A hypocritical traitor
Who has the right away
I will watch your blood coagulate around the bullet holes
As your body goes into Rigor mortis
I will commit this picture to memory
I would have bet dollars to doughnuts that it wasn't you
But who wudda thunk it?
It's all just an impromptu turn on a dime
That encumbers you with cabin fever
When you're on display in a human zoo
Where unproductive bull sessions are a dime a dozen
Jun 15, 2014
Jun 15, 2014 at 4:01 PM UTC
I have been told that I am
An Earth Angel sent by God
To shelter those that needed
The most protection.
But, what happens when this
Earth Angel has herself fallen?
Who will be there to bandage
Her delicate wing that has
Now been broken?
The question is why this
So lovely Earth Angel has fallen?
Has she carried one too many
Burdens on her shoulders?
Has she lost sight of her own
Purpose, along the way,
That it has made her blind to
The true perils that lie
Right in front of her?
I am crying out for help
As my once and so powerful
Wing has broken under all of the
Stress of this powerful weight.
Why has this happened to me?
Did I lose faith that the people
I was sent to safe guard actually
Cared about my purpose anymore?
Or, did I just stop believing that I, myself,
Could help them anymore?
I have walked so many years of my
Own life being this angel, while forgetting
That sometimes I also need an Earth Angel
To help me find my way sometimes.
I am sure that is hard to believe that
Earth Angels can be so fragile?
Remember, these Angels are humans
With emotions and are not infallible.
Choose your words and actions wisely,
Because your perils become theirs.
Can you imagine having the continuous
Strength to be one of these Angels?
I bet not. But, understand that this
Is what I feel my destiny has always been.
So, now, I need some time to heal my
Own broken wing.
I certainly cannot fly with just one.
I pray that God will miraculously heal
My own broken wing so that I may soon
Get back to what I am needed to do –
To provide support and encouragement
To you so that you will make it past
Whatever encumbers you mind, your heart,
And, most importantly, your soul.
Vicki A Zinn
August 3rd, 2015
Aug 3, 2015
Aug 3, 2015 at 6:33 PM UTC
In a kingdom full of inclemencies my hubris does not fail me
Profuse and Fierce, Some may call me arrogant
'Hubris!' chuckled I, 'Yes Hubris!'
It's a recording of my failings.
'It's that amorality,' I muttered.
My hubris is my substratum towards my nescience.
It is that aspect that will lean me towards drowning in the sea of my own incoherent imbecility.
It's a deep program in my faulty code, a nightmare towards monks.
It's the ink on my arms, tattooed to my soul.
'Hubris!' chuckled I, 'Yes Hubris!'
It does not fail to show in my wording.
It's the ferry to sea, the net in the ocean.
It is limber as it is inventive, with every exception.
It has no ingenuousness, it is unlike modesty and threatens to surmount me.
It's a sandwich in which has caught every hitch of breath, it leaves me bewitched, no certain pitch that I can tell afore it chokes me.
It leaves no correspondence with those around me, too caught up in my own fantasies that I can no longer celebrate or verbalize felicitously.
Many times I wished that I preserved my receipt so that I could trade in my Hubris for something a little less mucusless for it is something akin to Judas, and I cannot utilize it for anything utilizable.
If I could somehow find a way that would lead me to a resilient recuperation. I would judge that to be more utilizable then this Hubris that encumbers me. No matter how many times I beat it down, it war's like a lion and a bunch of tourists on a safari.
If only this grotesque lion-like hubris was shot by the doter of a hubris poacher. Every generation would be gratified and they would find that it is much more facile to coerce without that unpleasant Hubris.
Of course, I suppose in a way hubris could be utilizable in some situations that required it. If I somehow found a way to trade my hubris for something like modestly and found that I missed my hubris quite dearly. I would laugh at my incoherent imbecility and perceive myself to be remotely mad!
These ravings of my hubris I'm quite sure because I found it so consequential to indite a poem of stark preposterousness. In a contingency like this, I suppose my hubris is getting quite polished, so sharply able to strike down any sense of modesty.
I conjecture this is the terminus of this arrangement, please omit my hubris for a moment. I suppose I should give you some tea afore I dose myself in a salubrious dose of radiation.
Apr 20, 2019
Apr 20, 2019 at 11:01 PM UTC
MINESTRONE NIGHTS (on the summer of 2018)
Deep in the incubus of fantasy
As torrid painter makes its art
Rips a flash of an epiphany
A plaintive whisper of the heart
Hobgoblin summer full of slobber
Beget febrile reveries unkind
As dance character’s macabre
A three-ring circus in my mind
Each minestrone moldy night
When body craves boreal slumbers
Akin cat on hot tin roof I fight
Dank sog my sleep encumbers
Comes morn aft time eternal
Half charged at start of day
Abscond sodden dreams infernal
Tormenting orb is up to play
I was hot before I even knew
Never really did cool down
Too warm again, for morning dew
Vague slumber’d avec frown
Haven't slept for an age or eon
Cadaver tacky to the tepid touch
Arise, trepid to perspire, like peon
Labour in this broil is just too much
©pofacedpoetry (Billy Reynard-Bowness 2018 – All rights reserved)
Aug 24, 2018
Aug 24, 2018 at 7:58 AM UTC
I visualize men sweet talking
to a girl that illuminates innocence.
Beauty encumbers her shell though
making me even want to say a few words.
I continue to watch and admire
as a tool approaches her with the typical:
"Hey babe," as he walks behind her to dance.
She lets him too!
I see the look in her eyes.
She's not enjoying it.
Luckily I'm the DJ tonight
so I switch the heavy based rap jam
to something a little more romantic.
The faces all turn to me confused
and I say this,
"What's wrong y'all?
Did we forget about chivalry?"
She smiles and I know it's my time.
I approach her and look into her eyes
and through my dart:
"Excuse me miss, I couldn't help but
notice how your eyes glow so bright
that these strobe lights have a hard time
competing. Would you care to dance?"
She takes my hand and
we walk to the center of the floor.
We are so isolated because
everyone else, "is too cool."
We put on a marvelous show
holding each other and spinning
with our eyes locked into each other
the entire time.
Apr 30, 2012
Apr 30, 2012 at 2:13 PM UTC
Let my enemies stand before me
baring their fangs like wild dogs
as they circle around
minds racing
finding a weakness
Let them establish a plan
to drench the earth before us
with the stench of scarlet blood
whomever’s it may be
in the end
For I will fight the good fight
even if the last thing i swallow
is the pain that encumbers my every fiber
my last breathe will not be in vain
but one less they will be able to take
For my last giving moments
will be tough earned
and the last thing that will slip from my lips
will be a promise of vengeance
if that is the way the earth mote it be
Jan 8, 2017
Jan 8, 2017 at 1:50 AM UTC
I lay stiff at night with my memories haunting me,
memories of lost opportunities brought to me.
I was always to hesitant follow through.
It is a disease, in some ways it has helped me,
but it still delivers a slow, painful demise.
regret
The word is daunting in it's self let a lone the meaning.
I wish for no one to have regrets,
for I most of all know its pain.
I swim in a sea of regret,
the last boat has already passed.
Now I must learn to float,
or fall to the bottom as it encumbers me.
Sep 19, 2013
Sep 19, 2013 at 1:20 AM UTC
And thus it shall Be what it has to Be:
That through Visions my Encumbers resign
Though seemingly Common such Bonds percieve
The False Consensus our Species design
Even if Lines, recycled Past Films wear
Was once which our Former States approved
Now this Film - Unique in its own Themes bear
Had my Foul Viewings with Pleasure removed
That to see Her with you; Such Cheque makes Writ
Which haply Hopeful Qualified Dames cash
Then Sense and Realise just Bit-by-Bit
Your own Individual must Grow at last.
To be Mortal - Human - Flesh-Fingered and all
Be our Courage infuse to Rise from the Fall.
Jul 16, 2013
Jul 16, 2013 at 9:52 PM UTC
love keeps you going..
it frees you… releases you… turns your world around…
coddles you… nurtures you… makes you glee…
love keeps you going…
it transforms you… converts you.. till you forget yourself…
slowly engulfs you… wraps you tight.. till u can't breathe..
love keeps you going…
torments you.. encumbers you…. makes you desperate…
breaks you…. hurts you… makes you bleed inside…
and still…. only love keeps you going….
May 1, 2013
May 1, 2013 at 2:44 PM UTC
The sun was bleeding red rivers into the sky,
Whilst the sea calm, rose glass, brushed the sand.
And on my back the rock sat, heavy and cold.
My cursed friend, whose weight encumbers me.
Distant memories wash in with the tide
Curling tendrils of days long gone through the rivulets
Of my mind, in the days before I knew the rock.
But they ebb into the distance as the shoreline recedes,
Then slowly creep back in once more with shallow stealth.
I try to grasp hold, to retain the memory pre-rock,
But it is like trying to grasp grains of sand between your fingers,
It flows back into the golden blanket without identity.
And as I sit on the infinite beach of my dreams,
I stroke tenderly my rock, massaging the granite that clings,
Knowing its suffering is mine to bear alone,
And as the sun dips its head into the sea and the stars
Flicker a million greetings to me,
I head for home with my rock and my life lived.
May 8, 2015
May 8, 2015 at 3:29 AM UTC
Within mixed company one might apprehend
Renouncing of truths which encumbers the world
Symptomatic social submission dyspepsia trend
Peripheral Cocktail conversations’ knurl
With premeditated segments pre-portioned for digestive ease.
Rambling thoughts, forego the shadows from which they unfurled
Blend they do into the abstract of popular sedition.
Modern life’s pace set to the speed of delusions,
Which shatters the barriers, setting free dangerous silent admissions.
From their recesses, where quiet hatred echoes hidden in hushed undertones,
Fed by the collective self interests’ of defensive conclusions,
The camouflage of fallacies, woven into faces we see..
PFL
Jul 13, 2016
Jul 13, 2016 at 1:45 AM UTC
Perceptions, like opinions,
are often set in stone.
Established like law of the mind
they are easy to create and laced with fallacy.
Even the widest gaze cannot see everything.
Through each strangers eye
a new “you” is manifested.
Thousands of “you” running through their minds,
but none of them are… you.
You are the master of your creation.
Based on your reality
you must adapt to cope with life.
For some the burden is less than others.
The spectrum of content and discontent
lay within the realm of perception,
and the inevitable unknown of external factors.
I once had a perception of self
too highly influenced by those around me.
Whose perceptions I foolishly held on to as truth,
for lack of a better understanding.
I self-destructed into everything
they wanted me to be.
Disingenuous and jaded
I shattered from the lie.
There is an unmistakable familiarity
with rock bottom
that I have grown to welcome as home.
The fall down is vigorous,
hitting the ground hard enough
to knock every molecule of air
out of your lungs.
You lay there breathless hoping that
perhaps this is the crescendo.
Once you decide to breathe again
you can rise up.
From the outside I am not a strong person,
about as average as they come.
I have an inexorable burden
that you cannot see.
Yet another perception
only I can perceive.
What I must do to appear normal
is utterly exhaustive.
Compile daily responsibilities of a “normal” person;
I have to sprint to compete with those walking.
In the shadows I can show the pain
but in the light I must remain in character;
an actor on a stage.
The endless mind acrobatics
twisting and pulling myself to fit this mold.
A mold I was never made for,
so it hurts to obey.
As much as it hurts, I remain silent
about the realities of it all.
Whilst I adapt to my environment,
you call me weak.
As I pretend I am not in pain,
You note I am behind.
I pour my energy into your sorrows
You consume, endlessly.
If I ask for this treatment in return
You point to my condition,
Note your perception of unsuccessful,
based on a reality
you’ve manifested
for me.
My reality is one only I can see
however, that doesn’t change the impact
of the failure nomenclature.
Comparing me to you or any other
encumbers my progress.
Your lack of understanding
is not my duty to teach you.
My façade is not for entertainment
it is for survival.
May 11, 2018
May 11, 2018 at 10:24 AM UTC
Pain is the fine line between reality and depression.
It is the temptation to pick up the blade and cut again.
It welcomes the buzz that alcohol brings;
Pain is the lighter that helps me light my vice.
Pain is the sadness that hides behind a fake smile.
It is the hollowness that dulls the eyes.
It sprinkles bitterness in my laugh;
Pain is the scars that defile the body.
Pain is the cold winter wind that blows at night.
It is the darkness that chokes me when I'm alone.
It poisons my dreams and taints my sleep;
Pain is the weight that encumbers the beginning of each new day.
Pain is the need to call you on the phone but knowing you won't answer.
It is the "seen" icon followed by no reply.
It ties my stomach in a knot when I think of you;
Pain is feeling ignored and fading away.
Feb 20, 2014
Feb 20, 2014 at 4:01 AM UTC
On my mind lately
The girl dressed in white
She encumbers me greatly
she hides out of site
On my mind lately
Our memories flash
right before my eyes
Mystery gives me this ****
On my mind lately
your beauty never ending
like one of a seducer so unclear
Of what you were intending
On my mind lately
The times shared
and the songs we heard
What made you run scared?
On my mind lately
our understanding
that was so apparent
You're not the one for expanding
Aug 8, 2010
Aug 8, 2010 at 10:01 PM UTC
My torturous fate solely seduces.
Muse, but never mate.
Dragged ashore, escaped from destiny,
To love each wounded scar.
Desire taunts curiosity, whilst love encumbers mine.
Seven years kept prisoner on the isle of endless past,
Each sensual diversion masks the drifting time,
Each embrace marks my eternal days.
Devotion flits from his somber eyes
Spirituality melting by the hour
Our interrupted unison ensnared in glances,
Past this pleading stare.
My hands built your vessel and fed your bones.
My fingertips launched the ship.
Yet I am left the sole prisoner,
Entrapped in immortality.
Poison eradicates flesh, though this hand is not of flesh.
Fire purges bone, though this hand is not of bone.
I remain the true prisoner.
Muse, but never mate.
Mar 26, 2012
Mar 26, 2012 at 11:12 PM UTC
Away into the future in days we don’t know
Lived a girl with her dear mother’s wife
And abandoned traditions of decades ago
Made no impact on their joinéd life
The profane was normal and it was expected
That gender give no weight to love
And long dead protesters long since had defected
Though they lose peace long sought from above
But this girl was among those chagrined by their fate
Doomed to carouse in shades of grey
For no matter the forward evolution’ry prate
This upon her good conscience would weigh:
She cared not for caresses of sexes together
But feigned the feeling for fear of misuse
Resignéd to normalcy’s smothering tether
For her one-sided view was to others obtuse
They did not comprehend that her dead eyes did gaze
Upon silhouette man for whom her slow heart beat
And sat quietly she for a number of days
With contemplative question, enamor discreet
‘Till her lips formed the answer with truth late in coming
With sentences all but forbidden
Breaking the chains of society’s numbing
Sympathies quoted unhinged, unhidden
A love once forbidden by color of skin
A love once forsaken for money or pleasure
No more to be bound by the horror of sin
She opened to her mouth to declare without measure:
Affection is lessened by norm that encumbers
To love someone mirroring their ways with thine
It may disgrace you that I do not count in your numbers
I’m in love with a differing gender from mine
And lo that day not a jest was utter’d
To the maiden now soaring with spirit unshuttered.
Mar 27, 2015
Mar 27, 2015 at 1:54 PM UTC
We come to terms with our mistakes
to strive, to try, then fail, to win
Seeing what bitter food it makes
tasting the tempting fruits of sin
Looking back along the past
succeeding through our strain
Makes us value life at last
with its unending strife and pain
Who once failed, find triumph sweet
where once stumbled, cry beware
To the other unaccustomed feet
victory comes to those who dare
Are we but images made of God
his work in labored progress
Made from the dust and the sod
our one sheer moment of happiness
What strife encumbers, the soul awakes
learning the errors, of our troubled route
Through sorrows, of our sad mistakes
come truths, we could not live without
Tate
May 29, 2014
May 29, 2014 at 2:36 PM UTC
The faint fauna falls behind me;
Thick coat encumbers my lumbering form
as I follow natures slightly frigid visage.
I am seeking something,
some soothing warmth
or soft storm
to calm my lonely soul.
I still seek some partner in life
but for now
I must settle for nature
as fair enough
for my affectionate love.
Apr 5, 2018
Apr 5, 2018 at 8:16 AM UTC
I aspired to draw a line in the sand
but I ended up carving a square.
It birthed a perimeter that wasn’t planned,
enclosing the emptiness of what was there.
If I could find the will to move my legs
I’d still plant my feet on either side,
but they’re dangling off each limb that drags,
dead weight bumping and bouncing along with the ride.
Stagnantly cushioning careless decisions
and finding loose lint among the remains,
stitching is falling behind the constant incisions
but surprised the pleasures match with the pains.
I’ll be going over, while falling under,
come run Red Rover, abstain or plunder.
I noticed the devolution of my skin,
in the irregular margins I jotted scribbled notes.
We could cut the cost with aluminum foil versus tin,
it could mimic barriers like our winter coats.
See my mouth refuse to further consume
my teeth are made solely to crunch numbers,
checking every inch within each room,
I can’t comprehend the routine this encumbers.
You supply the war
and I’ll supply the headlines.
We’ll follow the same pattern as before,
but now watch out for land mines
I poured the tears into stale water
and traced my hand upon the sun,
burnt fingertips but I thought it would be hotter,
and the brightness could blind if not stun.
Walk off the wounds from imagination
and get in the ring to face reality’s wrath,
I’ll take comfort in knowledge of my destination,
I never rerouted my destined path.
Feb 2, 2020
Feb 2, 2020 at 4:46 AM UTC
A readied man prepares himself for the schedule he can keep
But readied men are not prepared for the undetermined deep
The readied man will hold his page of dates and names and numbers
But those prepared for certain doom uncertainty encumbers
In I ride with fist held high
Burning gleam in either eye
Shouting upward at the sky:
“Burn the syllabi!”
Those ready men with paper sheaves, fledgling spears, and Pilot pens
Will find that with the chaos waves of fractal truth the world bends
And in the bending all exists as nothing more than blank code
So ready then your warships, but you’re tacking down the wrong road
In I ride with standard high
Burning gleam in either eye
Shouting upward at the sky:
“Burn the syllabi!”
The Four Horseman: Complexity, Uncertainty, Recurrence
Trajectory will maximise Lyapunov’s occurrence
Put on your scheduled armour and when you ride that rigid line
Remember that you penned it in and you claimed it would be fine
In We ride with fists held high
Flaming embers in place of eyes
Shouting ‘til the echoes die:
“Burn the syllabi!”
Oct 2, 2018
Oct 2, 2018 at 9:28 PM UTC