"equivocally" poems
I dream about writing you a love poem
One that is not misted over.
One that is not about him
But you, my beloved,
Because you are the only thing that I have ever wanted and I am tired of being so shy.
But this is hard.
This is even harder than I thought it would be.
I am staring at the her at the end of my first sentence and trying to figure out how it will sound when it finally breaks free from lips.
I imagine it will coat my tongue in a strange new liberation and we will both rejoice.
I refuse to write of you equivocally
And blend you into a neutral they
Or let yet another poem fall to chagrin.
I will not let shame cast shadows on our glorious love
No declararion of the truth could ever be an aberration.
So I write this love poem to you.
I do not scribble you deep into the binding or dust you lightly across my untruthful words.
I want to stain these pages with the red ink with our love.
You are not my secret to keep anymore.
You are the color I want to paint the sky.
Dec 13, 2014
Dec 13, 2014 at 2:25 PM UTC
*reality abruptly removed the veil
realization mercifully provided the light
a binary being seeking his own level
attempting to rise to the surface of himself
if peaceful existence is based on choice
then personal dogma tablets need chiseling
if afterlife is fashioned from belief systems
then intimate mysteries need conceiving
dialogue of a dress rehearsal for an actual life
faithlessly hidden within lines of complexity
alliterated ambiguously, expressed equivocally
setting the stage for reincarnation's passion play*
Jul 8, 2015
Jul 8, 2015 at 11:03 AM UTC
As she lays down in a state of bliss,
It's only after the reality hits.
She's harbouring life inside where her demons resides,
She can't afford but she won't abort; she will save a life.
What is life if happiness isn't part of the equation?
How do we validate and justify our questions and frustrations.
Is allowing life saving life? Because in happiness life resides,
She can't afford but she won't abort; she will save a life.
She's now a Mother of some standard,
Equivocally she tries and **** those demons inside her.
Her daughter finds no joy in the mother who's smile lays no happiness,
Her laugh croaked with the remanence of a pied piper.
With no food or knowledge to consume she will surely be laid to doom,
Because her Mother died as the demon who consumed her wore her skin like a prize.
Giving life isn't saving life,
Because happiness is where life resides.
Jun 5, 2019
Jun 5, 2019 at 8:07 AM UTC
The name stood tall, long, indifferent, but beautiful
He was equivocally terrified
But equally, at peace, at the sight .
She was an angel,
she was a transcript from a beautiful future
She held his fingers from a silk rope
Calling
Flabbergasted, you realise how simply wet around the ears you are
© Copyright David Bosworth July 2013
Jul 5, 2013
Jul 5, 2013 at 4:12 PM UTC
I miss the silhouette of your curves in front of the window
The way you smiled at me as if I was the only thing in the world
The way I craved you like an addict craves a drug
I miss loving you lucidly and equivocally
The moment you touched my skin
Creating an electricity
A spark
So close
A mere synapse away
Almost but not quite
When you left I felt the pain
Sharp and undulating
It didn't stop for weeks
The ache and the want
Pulsing through me with every heart beat
Ice cold running through every single vein
Seeping into every cell of every tissue
Numbing me to everything warm
Everything that mattered melted away in spite of the persistent cold
The bitterness still lingers inside me
Deep in my bones I can still feel the presence
A tumour that now does not spread but will never go away
No medicine can fix that
If you remove it, you remove me
Mostly it removes you
And despite that I think I'd keep it.
Maybe I'm still in love with you but I hate you
Despise you
Yet still I want you.
KG
Apr 10, 2017
Apr 10, 2017 at 6:24 AM UTC
to you,
I'm writing a letter for you
keep these words close
lend these images solely
to those mismatched times
i speak with not much grace,
drink water in due respect -
look away yet return,
to your company.
equivocally
i wrote these words
on scattered note cards
learning from the floor
on what should be said
as each possibility
seemingly aligned
i threw away
these 3x5 letters
endearingly followed
by sincerely,
but clearly
i have thought
too much
worried little
than usual
perhaps,
a meal
at your leisure
with my words
now infront of you
but truly
in regards,
to that smile
Jan 27, 2010
Jan 27, 2010 at 10:30 AM UTC
Let those words spill from our
eyes.
As light drops, scattered across
what used to be
Home
now a prison
to those of us suffering.
Having to equivocally smile
against all the odds
just to survive.
Being expected to show no sign of
Feeling.
Only vacuous faces
willing to take
and take
and take
whatever abuses come our way.
Having to hide the
Fear for our lives,
Anger for what they’ve done,
Sadness for the lost,
and Pride for when there is a moment of triumph
against that
overhanging cloud
where sunlight hardly
ever leaks.
Maybe not here.
Maybe somewhere-- maybe
even the moon--a happy life for us
exists.
Not here.
Never here.
Where we’re being hunted
just for attempting
to love
while they tell everyone
else that
we don’t exist.
How could we exist in
a place that is no
Home?
Feb 19, 2019
Feb 19, 2019 at 6:33 AM UTC
Writhing with anxiety,
He hesitantly walked ahead,
He equivocally looked beyond his nose,
Whimpers of tired sobs,
Followed him to the door,
‘Please, please,’ her tired voice begged,
‘Do everything you can’
Everything I have done thus far,
He thought,
Is the best I can,
But still,
He never blocked the ray of hope,
In her path of darkness,
As he moved to and fro,
Time flew by fast,
Any glimpse of a break through,
Uneventfully shut in his face,
With nowhere to turn,
He remembered gentle words seldom heard,
As in entranced, he listened carefully,
Guilt of sins past imbued him,
But strutted on with faith,
He desperately made his plea,
‘If you will do just this one thing for me,
I promise…’
But now,
Everything is back to ‘normal’,
The desperate times past,
Promises made broken, again.
Dec 15, 2014
Dec 15, 2014 at 6:59 AM UTC
It's a beautiful confusion
From one simple conclusion
I made up on the spot
My life has changed equivocally
And here I find myself
...
/:
a little
Lost.
•It's a beautiful confusion•
It's a mess up in this noodle bowl
Of wet spaghetti, out here trying
To just
Figure it out dude,
Jesus Christ!
Just stabin' with a fork for thoughts,
Trying to get em to wind
But they just keep slipping off
And falling back in line
-But also-
Like Spaghetti Junction at I-20 and 35 (that might be just me
Who calls it that, but it fits the mind
That locked it in. A six year old old boy, visiting his dad in Dallas for the first time)
A mass of twisting
tangled lanes merging
in chaotic looping interchanges,
where ideas collide and collude and rearrange like pissed-off commuters
late for their day
Through exits and on-ramps,
flowing freely at times,
and then stopping
dead still
for an hour or two,
every day,
twice a day
...
and when it rains
... Or when it's too full of vehicles
to fit in the lanes;
'cuz you can only fit so much
in a physical space.
And a brain is thing
That really needs a case.
It's bounded and confined
by the number of lines
it can build in any direction,
so it gets backed up
from too much thought traffic
trying to merge too fast,
causing collisions and slow-downs,
and hitting brakes,
and
and
And the slow-down echos back
through the increasing stack
of moving parts in red-light cascades
and honking, squealing aggression
Like compression waves,
But like...
... At the same time!?!
Jun 8, 2025
Jun 8, 2025 at 8:18 PM UTC