"enumerating" poems
How to get a good night's sleep--
Instead of enumerating endless sheep,
Reclining beautifully with Aristotle,
Don't decline, hit the bottle,
What does rhyme with Aristotle?
I ponder parades of passing Axolotls,
Maybe Australia's golden wattles,
Driving by, foot on throttle.
Yes, they all rhyme with Aristotle,
Maybe I shouldn't drink that bottle,
Musing thoughts philosophical,
Aristotle waxing lyrical and logical,
I'll curl up with this learned book,
"What is beautiful?" at Aristotle I'll look,
Far different from enumerating sheep,
Drifting into a good night's sleep.
Jul 13, 2015
Jul 13, 2015 at 5:02 PM UTC
Tucked away
ribcage-bound,
each rib enumerating
a decade or a time
the heart retreats
to lick its wounds
If I tuck my heart
deeper, will you
excavate back to Eden
the origin of emotion?
Nov 3, 2012
Nov 3, 2012 at 8:25 AM UTC
When she spoke of birds and bees,
She wasn't speaking about ***
Enumerating about leaf and trees,
Twinkle over a topic quite perplex.
When she spoke of rain checks,
She wasn't speaking about shopping,
Instead fretting over the birds in the nests,
Trees that perish by wood chopping.
When she spoke of a branch,
She wasn't speaking of business,
She spoke of destructive avalanche,
That pressure trees to diminish.
When she spoke of wood,
She wasn't speaking of phallus,
Or a portrayal of manhood,
She expounded on nature's palace.
When she spoke of nature,
Her passion burned hotter than a bushfire,
For she witnessed creatures endangered,
And the animals that suffered in our crossfire....
....Our crossfire between money and satisfaction...
Feb 12, 2016
Feb 12, 2016 at 2:52 AM UTC
Despite what even the most may modest say,
there is always an element of narcissism in art, the vanity of preference.
Be forewarned the parts of myself I want to show the most here are meticulously vain.
There is a whole lot of preference in my language.
In the way the carpenter is with his tools
I want to carve into you with some hardened truth.
Taking lines, forming letters, producing sounds and pictures
touching a place in people that exists
before words.
The closest thing to us being all
right here,
feet planted, on the same world.
Of course, then there is the sad reality of countries.
Borders for what you belong to.
Tourist! Do not bother,
only the homesick may enter.
You won’t find this sort of thing on any map.
Pens aren’t so precise, our hands too clumsy
all our tools right down to the thumb incapable of enumerating glory.
What with all of it’s digits
tightly wound around it’s bigger stick
the only kind of glory that is heard of
simply because it kills.
But my kind of glory is dying to meet you
somewhere inside, under, between, around, outside,
after, during, before my language..
With that said,
Here is the mission statement;
I pledge to be right with this moment.
To cast myself out the furthest a mind can carry one in any given
instant and bring back more of the goodness that serves
instead of white noise that moves nothing
or clutter that just makes it hard to move.
As I realize we are objects being moved by all that is around us,
for instance;
thinking of the same person every time you enter a particular room.
Romance does happen to those who know how to look.
You do not look by containing anything with separation.
The walls must heave and collapse like lungs
because my body is mostly dead things that are just now
learning.
Nov 5, 2013
Nov 5, 2013 at 2:05 AM UTC
The pathways of time
Blending hours
In a mixture of
Light and dark
Casting shadows
Into a homogenous
Stew
And yet time moves on
Like a river without end
Forging a course
Of its own making
Burning in limestone
Hard as granite
An eternity forsaking
All boundaries
Black holes notwithstanding
The empty void
******* time into a vacuum
Frozen in the universe
And still time finds a way
Penetrating reality
Bending light for its own purpose
Into the unknown
Never showing itself
Never enumerating
Its variations
On a theme of its
Own making
Hidden within the
Pathways of time
Aug 1, 2018
Aug 1, 2018 at 7:40 AM UTC
a Saturday afternoon love song
<>
finally the breezes have sheared the humidity,
away, away, out, out sluggish, do nothing thoughted spots,
so peculiar to a Saturday August afternoon,
passing like a last exhaling breath,
quiet like, no receipt, no return, no raising of the turgid, languid lungs
one more time
alone with quiet contemplation for sole companionship,
observe a regatta of sailing board boats, silenced passerby's,
orderly and regal, the wind keeping them tidily single filed
their empowering wind makes me prone to
thoughts of singing,
Leon Russell's A Song For You,
up next on the playlist,
but the squirrels beg off,
the rabbits hide away 'neath the deck,
the craven ravens retreat to the highest branches,
alone, laughing at their impolite, unsubtle slipping away of the
dearly departed
earbud a semi-solo performance, a duet,
me backed up by
Leon and the river-baying waves,
a city boy singin$ rockily,
in a place where a city boy has no earthly business to be, ^
especially singing,
chanting to everyone, no one in particular,
listening real careful like to the words of two oaky, growly voices,
leftovers from the Sixties, sing a song to the ones they love
*"I love you in a place where there's no space or time,
I love you for my life, You're a friend of mine
And when my life is over, Remember when we were together,
We were alone and I was singing this song to you"*
sometimes it just doesn't get any better,
under the wings of the sky and its multi-shaded blue blessings,
don't need counting, enumerating, all kind of blending going on
the old alone days been on the mind,
those laser clouded future gazing hazing days,
when you listened to music non-stop, but never sung along,
strange though, I wept then, and weeping now,
can't quite make the connection...
*guess my singing is still
just that bad*
<>
August 13, 2016
05:50pm
S.I.
Aug 13, 2016
Aug 13, 2016 at 5:38 PM UTC
One year later, I'm still where you left me.
Tired, undone and unfinished.
Untangling the knots
Of disappointment.
Two years later, I'm halfway there,
Still holding on,
To the promises you made.
Nearly forgetting,
You were never there.
Three years gone,
There's love for me to feed on.
Roughly recollecting the sense
Of your touch.
Four years lost,
There's so much I've gained.
Strength and happiness,
Unduly maintained.
Five years remained,
I've lost count now.
Too busy enumerating,
Favours of people
Who've loved me,
helped me,
And embraced me.
Tell me,
What won?
What gave in?
May 17, 2019
May 17, 2019 at 8:00 AM UTC
The accusations, interrogations,
The threats of ending us.
Lamentation, of an aberration
Of love that lived alone, so long.
The blood that pumps, your cause,
Does not dry, but ebb and flow.
But interruptions, from obstructions,
Can lead it to die instead of grow.
Without communicating,
How do we form our interpretations?
Absent enumerating,
What is love? But an unsolvable equation. And if all we are is wrong,
The only answer is separating
Jun 21, 2023
Jun 21, 2023 at 11:27 AM UTC
Am light headed while unwedded unselected is directed too affected by rejected then came one,
Heavenly sprung son has come to do what couldn’t be done before the opposite age of sixty-one, now he has won, valuing he, relating to each other that the time is where we see, can it be, that the time is here, while we are separated my dear, picture isn’t clear while our relation is near to a merely abstain if were physically together I couldn’t restrain to obtain all that we again could gain.
Enumerating agitating pass the waiting over rating, but he, is more I could see, after we became, we made a pact to not restrain, from all we could obtain and do, executing false truths of me and of you, became tipsy when had met, everyday I reflect, and then that day we kept directly set, oh how could we ever forget, is why we don’t we only float upon a picture perfect hope to devote him I quote, without a boast I love him most.
Summing up to submitting our relationship is never quitting only winning early on, where is it that the days have gone, echelon has dawned this is where we belong, underage deprave derange of blessings he gave without demising ever, couldn’t turn out better when we are together, no shame for he has perfect aim what it has brought have never fought, only re caught each other’s
sight I delight in him each night as we reunite our right to, would like to, we fight to, bring light to, might do.
Oct 17, 2011
Oct 17, 2011 at 1:39 PM UTC
-
Momma died two decades ago,
she would have turned
seventy-eight to—day
i woke up and spoke with her
this morning, imagining her
with a long red Irish mane
about Daddy being laid up in a
nursing home, my brother and
i hoping to fix him before he
finally gives up
she said— "_nothing_"
i think maybe this is because
she long ago saw the lights
up ahead, in a place where
human conversation would
be considered archaic
and birthdays rendered
as undefined
she is illuminated within it now,
there to later show the way for
the rest of us who continue
marking our calendars
as we persist here on Earth—
still enumerating yesterday,
to–day, and tomorrow...
s jones
30 Dec 2021
.
Dec 30, 2021
Dec 30, 2021 at 9:11 AM UTC
He loves art
He talked about it with glistening eyes and a smile painted on his face
I asked him the names of the masterpieces he like
He talked and talked, enumerating the things he love
I stared at him and waited to name himself
Sep 5, 2018
Sep 5, 2018 at 7:58 AM UTC
Turtle in your shell,
reading a book or writing a tell.
Experience scared across your back.
But...
‘Tis it a waste to wash in what’s fell?!
Stagnancy is hell.
Exploration, brings novelty.
Are chains made of poetry?
Be elegies you write, or dancing in meadows.
Your pen takes time,
and mortality slowly ticks to reality.
Is this how you want to spend, the last breath from your bellows?
Is it really worth its hold?
The relationship with time is abusive and finite.
Or tis it better to go out and be bold?
Make sure you don’t waste your limelight.
However, reflection is illuminating.
And one might find a place on stage with a mirror.
A gaze into which could change your fear.
To each his own, possibilities are enumerating.
Mar 8, 2020
Mar 8, 2020 at 1:37 PM UTC
Why do I love you?
It's simple, because you are you
You said there's nothing to like about you
But you don't see yourself as I do
You don't see how you shine through my eyes
Whenever I'm talking to you, time always flies
You don't know how you make me feel
I was wounded but you helped me heal
Your voice is my favorite melody
And together with your heartbeat, they make the perfect symphony
Your laugh is the cutest
Your smile is the best
I love calling your name
And I love it when you call my name
I don't know why I'm still enumerating these
Cause I can I just say that I love everything about you
I just want you to understand
No matter how stupid it may sound
You said you are imperfect
But to me you are perfect
You have your insecurities
But I love all of your qualities
So please believe me when I say
That I love you and I want to stay
And be a part of your life
I will follow you, even on the afterlife
Nov 25, 2018
Nov 25, 2018 at 7:58 PM UTC