"excising" poems - Hello Poetry

being a poet is not planned **~for Gabriella Garcia~ ~~ *a sixteen old soul says she understands, being a poet is not planned, forcing an old mans re-collection of the first time, he made love to a virginal white papyrus with muscles trembling, body bent, chest bursting a rockets red glaring, eyes marking the sheets with salty drip spots what possessed the wrist veins to wrest a cheap ballpoint pen to transfuse pain, in a semaphore of uncoded ink blotches, what was he thinking was he thinking? that it was an ejection that it was an *********** that it was a tribulation expiation that it was a tribute explanation? that it was an injection that it was a circumspection inspection that it was a circumscision surgery of emotional complexion excising an infection with a written genuflection? try, but no might, the first is subsumed by the thousands that followed dutifully though his one poem flawless, expertly recalled, it will always be the next, and unplanned just like this one too who anointed his brow, the hair and forehead, with oil pure, dripping down onto, into his cut cain marker, who is not answering a query relentless is this his plan, his appointment, is this his flawed excellence, is this his imperfect penance perpetual? knowing well and full now the unplanned is his plan, it’s his faceted flaws that refract his coloraturas* ~~ upon this he reflects, praying that god protect the young poets from planning ______________ https://hellopoetry.com/poem/2893127/unplanned

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Feb 27, 2019

Feb 27, 2019 at 1:27 PM UTC

nat-lipstadt

being a poet is not planned

being a poet is not planned **~for Gabriella Garcia~ ~~ *a sixteen old soul says she understands, being a poet is not planned, forcing an old mans re-collection of the first time, he made love to a virginal white papyrus with muscles trembling, body bent, chest bursting a rockets red glaring, eyes marking the sheets with salty drip spots what possessed the wrist veins to wrest a cheap ballpoint pen to transfuse pain, in a semaphore of uncoded ink blotches, what was he thinking was he thinking? that it was an ejection that it was an *********** that it was a tribulation expiation that it was a tribute explanation? that it was an injection that it was a circumspection inspection that it was a circumscision surgery of emotional complexion excising an infection with a written genuflection? try, but no might, the first is subsumed by the thousands that followed dutifully though his one poem flawless, expertly recalled, it will always be the next, and unplanned just like this one too who anointed his brow, the hair and forehead, with oil pure, dripping down onto, into his cut cain marker, who is not answering a query relentless is this his plan, his appointment, is this his flawed excellence, is this his imperfect penance perpetual? knowing well and full now the unplanned is his plan, it’s his faceted flaws that refract his coloraturas* ~~ upon this he reflects, praying that god protect the young poets from planning ______________ https://hellopoetry.com/poem/2893127/unplanned

47

There’s too much light deluge of photons an affront to Night’s ambiance Harsh sulfur streetlight glow: trickery. illuminating arteries of Artificial making the Night dull dark distant confined to human construct robbing Mystery masking subtlety devouring nature the Immensity the Antiquity the Beauty of Stars: gone Lost blotted out by buzzing wasp’s nest Denizens’ sting to eyes & minds inflaming consciousness no longer can you Feel small and lost under the grandeur of nocturnal sky all is set before you here to there Elsewhere to home Home? Sleep in Darkness? listening & thinking ‘til sleep succumbs No, now rather befalling Sickly pallor of computer glow we stare with blinders all else fading save the screen before us ******* us in trapping us excising thoughts keeping us from ourselves that is why we fill the night Out of fear. To hide but not from monsters nor from ghosts goblins gremlins ghouls not from lurking eldritch terror of yore but from ourselves from Feeling and Being for fear of perceiving tactile intuition in the air of what lies ahead rather than seeing for fear of walking by ourselves just ourselves with unencumbered thoughts and seeing through the facade the facade of daytime ascribed meanings the facade of of who we are the facade of light The facade that Darkness is what is lacking that light is normality That light is beauty light is hope light is life but it’s just that a Facade we plastered ourselves: an Illusion But there’s truth at Night and under stars truth in the sensation of dusky hours Artistry in ink the allure of “unknown” feeling small and lost Under soft Milky Way floating over dew laden grass caressed by cool currents There’s Truth & Beauty in the Night

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Feb 10, 2014

Feb 10, 2014 at 2:19 PM UTC

nicholas-c

Where has the Night Gone?

There’s too much light deluge of photons an affront to Night’s ambiance Harsh sulfur streetlight glow: trickery. illuminating arteries of Artificial making the Night dull dark distant confined to human construct robbing Mystery masking subtlety devouring nature the Immensity the Antiquity the Beauty of Stars: gone Lost blotted out by buzzing wasp’s nest Denizens’ sting to eyes & minds inflaming consciousness no longer can you Feel small and lost under the grandeur of nocturnal sky all is set before you here to there Elsewhere to home Home? Sleep in Darkness? listening & thinking ‘til sleep succumbs No, now rather befalling Sickly pallor of computer glow we stare with blinders all else fading save the screen before us ******* us in trapping us excising thoughts keeping us from ourselves that is why we fill the night Out of fear. To hide but not from monsters nor from ghosts goblins gremlins ghouls not from lurking eldritch terror of yore but from ourselves from Feeling and Being for fear of perceiving tactile intuition in the air of what lies ahead rather than seeing for fear of walking by ourselves just ourselves with unencumbered thoughts and seeing through the facade the facade of daytime ascribed meanings the facade of of who we are the facade of light The facade that Darkness is what is lacking that light is normality That light is beauty light is hope light is life but it’s just that a Facade we plastered ourselves: an Illusion But there’s truth at Night and under stars truth in the sensation of dusky hours Artistry in ink the allure of “unknown” feeling small and lost Under soft Milky Way floating over dew laden grass caressed by cool currents There’s Truth & Beauty in the Night

81

I’m going to each of my suitemates' rooms. One at a time, methodically. I pause, for dramatic purpose, until I have their full attention. Once I have it, I rushingly, excitedly, breathlessly say, “I’M getting pizza later, for the GAME!” Like a seven year old child. Now, my roommates KNOW we're ordering pizzas later. They’re all “on board,” everyone’s submitted their order and venmo’d their money to Sunny who will actually place the order for delivery at 5:30 pm. But I’m excited. I LOVE pizza (and American, NFL football) and I love being childish. My roommates, like my brother, sister and parents before them, know this and love my manic, overactive way of excising tedium. Besides, I won’t do this more than once or twice - ok, maybe three times today before the pizza comes. Since you’ve read this far - allow me to opine, for a moment, about “self restraint.” Have you read about how they’re using familial DNA to solve old cold-case murders? I think they should use familial DNA to track down whomever it was that invented self restraint. It was probably some old Protestant. I mean, Catholics only have sin - it’s yes or no - binary. So without researching it (at all), I think we’re dealing with someone born after the protestant reformation of 1555 - but I’m flexible. Anyway, they should track that person down, dig them up, beat them with a stick, and then rebury them, in unhallowed ground. I hate self restraint. It’s so.. restraining. #restraintsux

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Jan 23, 2022

Jan 23, 2022 at 9:06 AM UTC

anaisvionet

pizza delivery

I’m going to each of my suitemates' rooms. One at a time, methodically. I pause, for dramatic purpose, until I have their full attention. Once I have it, I rushingly, excitedly, breathlessly say, “I’M getting pizza later, for the GAME!” Like a seven year old child. Now, my roommates KNOW we're ordering pizzas later. They’re all “on board,” everyone’s submitted their order and venmo’d their money to Sunny who will actually place the order for delivery at 5:30 pm. But I’m excited. I LOVE pizza (and American, NFL football) and I love being childish. My roommates, like my brother, sister and parents before them, know this and love my manic, overactive way of excising tedium. Besides, I won’t do this more than once or twice - ok, maybe three times today before the pizza comes. Since you’ve read this far - allow me to opine, for a moment, about “self restraint.” Have you read about how they’re using familial DNA to solve old cold-case murders? I think they should use familial DNA to track down whomever it was that invented self restraint. It was probably some old Protestant. I mean, Catholics only have sin - it’s yes or no - binary. So without researching it (at all), I think we’re dealing with someone born after the protestant reformation of 1555 - but I’m flexible. Anyway, they should track that person down, dig them up, beat them with a stick, and then rebury them, in unhallowed ground. I hate self restraint. It’s so.. restraining. #restraintsux

9

Do I escape here To my cave My therapist My priest An ear Does anyone hear Listen Care Is it just minutia words that get moved around the page like dust bunnies swirling in the noonday sun why do I want you to know what goes on in here inside this cerebral mass why do I want you to witness the excising of my existence the vomiting purging lancing of these boils the expressing of **** glands emptying the dark places only to fill them up again I have always wanted to write down my feelings what I see......emphasis on “I” I always have felt that I see it differently than you Not egotistically speaking, but that I see it the way this mass of cells called Larry sees it Hello It is me in here The one speaking to you now And if you are reading this Thank you for listening

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Oct 21, 2017

Oct 21, 2017 at 9:59 AM UTC

ld-goodwin

Thank You For Listening

Do I escape here To my cave My therapist My priest An ear Does anyone hear Listen Care Is it just minutia words that get moved around the page like dust bunnies swirling in the noonday sun why do I want you to know what goes on in here inside this cerebral mass why do I want you to witness the excising of my existence the vomiting purging lancing of these boils the expressing of **** glands emptying the dark places only to fill them up again I have always wanted to write down my feelings what I see......emphasis on “I” I always have felt that I see it differently than you Not egotistically speaking, but that I see it the way this mass of cells called Larry sees it Hello It is me in here The one speaking to you now And if you are reading this Thank you for listening

30

If all appears to be harmony and coexistence in this garden enclosure, All that means is terrible truths have not yet suffered proper exposure, Might you wait a little bit and watch it completely lose its composure? Intruding into this once peaceful garden, digging down in the soft tissue of the mud, is absolutely the most maniacal bug. There he goes, he jumps he dashes, he sets devastating fires, but not the kind that leaves behind ashes. Note that this heinous invader is white and black, spots of red pepper this raider’s back. Small with spiny legs ending in sharp claws, his eager jaws ooze venom that chews and gnaws, as he ravenously feeds on the garden’s flaws. Faking harmlessness, you haven’t seen what lies beneath, like a longsword hidden under its sheath. This insect is a minion of discontent, the harbinger of torment. Every day he lurks there among the tangled grass, sinking his teeth in unsuspecting plants, to make them into his loyal sycophants, He corrupts them farther and farther, to the point where they even despise being watered, because his new instruction gives them a thirst for mutually-assured destruction. Can you see the garden deteriorate fast, the green turns brown and the fibers that hold everything together cease to last? Toxicity courses through the vegetation, and now, plants with no evil inclination are being swallowed up by fear, hate, and indignation. This once beautiful botanical cultivation has become a ******* abomination. Every vine and leaf slowly becoming decayed and grisly. Has excising the infestation become far too risky because the plague has manifested and spread, and the first wave of his victims are already dead? Definitely people will wonder, even though he’s turned your garden over and under, how could such a little insect make you go completely insane? Well because there is no garden, he lives in my ******* brain.

0

Apr 8, 2017

Apr 8, 2017 at 2:36 PM UTC

Mx7630

Insatiable Insect

If all appears to be harmony and coexistence in this garden enclosure, All that means is terrible truths have not yet suffered proper exposure, Might you wait a little bit and watch it completely lose its composure? Intruding into this once peaceful garden, digging down in the soft tissue of the mud, is absolutely the most maniacal bug. There he goes, he jumps he dashes, he sets devastating fires, but not the kind that leaves behind ashes. Note that this heinous invader is white and black, spots of red pepper this raider’s back. Small with spiny legs ending in sharp claws, his eager jaws ooze venom that chews and gnaws, as he ravenously feeds on the garden’s flaws. Faking harmlessness, you haven’t seen what lies beneath, like a longsword hidden under its sheath. This insect is a minion of discontent, the harbinger of torment. Every day he lurks there among the tangled grass, sinking his teeth in unsuspecting plants, to make them into his loyal sycophants, He corrupts them farther and farther, to the point where they even despise being watered, because his new instruction gives them a thirst for mutually-assured destruction. Can you see the garden deteriorate fast, the green turns brown and the fibers that hold everything together cease to last? Toxicity courses through the vegetation, and now, plants with no evil inclination are being swallowed up by fear, hate, and indignation. This once beautiful botanical cultivation has become a ******* abomination. Every vine and leaf slowly becoming decayed and grisly. Has excising the infestation become far too risky because the plague has manifested and spread, and the first wave of his victims are already dead? Definitely people will wonder, even though he’s turned your garden over and under, how could such a little insect make you go completely insane? Well because there is no garden, he lives in my ******* brain.

37

<> reversed a verse from “Like a Rolling Stone; ~complements to Mr. B. Dylan, a Nobel man~ you, me, hear what you’re hearing, feeling it, you, me, hear what you’re thinking, feeling that, regenerating, excising, pinching a single word of Bobby’s lyricizing, knowing, you’ve just handbag-snatched a poem full. the rolling stone sings of next meal scrounging, he’s talking to you, knowing you, you customizing his lyrics modifying-jiggering, for your purposeful brain, emotional crazed notions, your monsanto seed of needs and strains. *nah, I’m fibbing, polite-ly lying, like clover waves springing up overnight after a night’s soaking, raining, picking up hints, misdirections, clues, *** poem titles dripping from my glassy eyes! des idées for the next poem, the one, in the garden hereafter, now called thereafter, all arriving in tranches, backyard bunches, just to write down the titles fast enough, sometimes, trouble, oft easy, sometimes rough, but always a fast rush jiggling job.* yeah, I’m liking that word, scrounging, got character, internal noises aclashing, so I’m scrounging while lounging , it’s so ******* easy, it’s getting borrowed till you! steal it out from under me, like an ill reputed good poet should... P.S. don’t keep me waiting! let the scrounging commencin’ tw36

0

Jun 22, 2020

Jun 22, 2020 at 4:38 PM UTC

tom-waiting

scrounging your next poem (now you don’t seem so proud)

<> reversed a verse from “Like a Rolling Stone; ~complements to Mr. B. Dylan, a Nobel man~ you, me, hear what you’re hearing, feeling it, you, me, hear what you’re thinking, feeling that, regenerating, excising, pinching a single word of Bobby’s lyricizing, knowing, you’ve just handbag-snatched a poem full. the rolling stone sings of next meal scrounging, he’s talking to you, knowing you, you customizing his lyrics modifying-jiggering, for your purposeful brain, emotional crazed notions, your monsanto seed of needs and strains. *nah, I’m fibbing, polite-ly lying, like clover waves springing up overnight after a night’s soaking, raining, picking up hints, misdirections, clues, *** poem titles dripping from my glassy eyes! des idées for the next poem, the one, in the garden hereafter, now called thereafter, all arriving in tranches, backyard bunches, just to write down the titles fast enough, sometimes, trouble, oft easy, sometimes rough, but always a fast rush jiggling job.* yeah, I’m liking that word, scrounging, got character, internal noises aclashing, so I’m scrounging while lounging , it’s so ******* easy, it’s getting borrowed till you! steal it out from under me, like an ill reputed good poet should... P.S. don’t keep me waiting! let the scrounging commencin’ tw36

31

Isn't it fun excising polarities just to watch them wiggle back toward one another? Their vortical tumble intellectually hybridized so a "school of thought" can advertise perverse stimulation. Imagine if Yin were told when to kiss Yang, and how deeply... with no Unifying eye contact to consummate their vision. Thought...Now...is dead...not God-- as the parts of their Sum have been called Home in regard to misidentification.

0

Oct 21, 2014

Oct 21, 2014 at 12:39 AM UTC

Onoma

Vortical Tumble

Isn't it fun excising polarities just to watch them wiggle back toward one another? Their vortical tumble intellectually hybridized so a "school of thought" can advertise perverse stimulation. Imagine if Yin were told when to kiss Yang, and how deeply... with no Unifying eye contact to consummate their vision. Thought...Now...is dead...not God-- as the parts of their Sum have been called Home in regard to misidentification.

13

It is easy to forget what the heart can’t bear to remember, and every time I slip into bed with someone new I hope she unpicks the uneven stitching of thread of unfulfilled promises that “Time will heal all wounds” (it does not). But you are no surgeon, your hands are not deft but as steady as my fluttering pulse. Old wounds gape open; I am all bones and deteriorated sinew old and slow so very cold the spaces between failing organs bleed congealing dreams going stale. Still you try, with each fresh incision slicing away diseased tissue excising decaying matter, believing this patient will recover. Time might heal all wounds, yet still, let’s keep the defibrillator close.

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Dec 29, 2015

Dec 29, 2015 at 10:58 AM UTC

jasonl

Old Wounds

It is easy to forget what the heart can’t bear to remember, and every time I slip into bed with someone new I hope she unpicks the uneven stitching of thread of unfulfilled promises that “Time will heal all wounds” (it does not). But you are no surgeon, your hands are not deft but as steady as my fluttering pulse. Old wounds gape open; I am all bones and deteriorated sinew old and slow so very cold the spaces between failing organs bleed congealing dreams going stale. Still you try, with each fresh incision slicing away diseased tissue excising decaying matter, believing this patient will recover. Time might heal all wounds, yet still, let’s keep the defibrillator close.

25

the labyrinth unwinds itself and i am afforded air to breathe what once were raging storms now give way to peaceful seas as i gaze at this beauty polite air of peaceful closure i wonder to myself about your own composure resilience, compassion these words that defined you do you still exhale them? do they still ring true? for i have spent these months excising my hurts remaining thusly for me is this i feverishly wish to see now returned from my quest; your firm stance at my side we grow strong foundations not lovesick abominations a hand reaches out i look you deep in the eyes will you take it? i ask or bade me goodbye that i might be cursed forever now bereft forced to throw pennies into a wishing well

0

Nov 2, 2021

Nov 2, 2021 at 10:04 PM UTC

summersolace

wishing well

the labyrinth unwinds itself and i am afforded air to breathe what once were raging storms now give way to peaceful seas as i gaze at this beauty polite air of peaceful closure i wonder to myself about your own composure resilience, compassion these words that defined you do you still exhale them? do they still ring true? for i have spent these months excising my hurts remaining thusly for me is this i feverishly wish to see now returned from my quest; your firm stance at my side we grow strong foundations not lovesick abominations a hand reaches out i look you deep in the eyes will you take it? i ask or bade me goodbye that i might be cursed forever now bereft forced to throw pennies into a wishing well

28

help me if you can, cuz salutary hans solo impossible missions fall short asper this mwm to break free, thus Siam game for heroic measures to wrest sill loose, gnome hatter remaining time on Earth strong arm gull lancing tactics aye need to vest from perverted imps stranglehold upon healthy existence will resort to extreme thine body electric (serves as kool aid base sic acid) test hosting ocd (analogous to a suckling leech happy fiend) disallowing this mwm (similar to Sir Issac Newton) begs to take a rest nurses nourishment feeding off host (thyself) linkedin, sans sybaritic symbiotic, excising unhealthy sycophantic relationship long term ultimate quest shucking loose obsessive pest compulsive disorder moocher drilled deep into psyche tub billed a nest which bred a hardy crop that messed up with my enjoying life tooth ha max, viz parasitic, opportunistic, narcissistic fealty must stop lest asphyxiation undermines ability to jest as if deadly poison this chap (as a kid) accidentally did ingest hence this attempt at plaintive pleading for mental health professional took hum at my be hest a much more welcome guest versus nemesis grounded rivaling mount Everest that tis all i write unloading off my chest an agile, fertile, and nimble sprite who already out best this scrivener, now completed poem confiding bugaboo aye attest.

0

Mar 6, 2018

Mar 6, 2018 at 8:53 PM UTC

matthew-scott-harris2p

the mailer daemon feasts

help me if you can, cuz salutary hans solo impossible missions fall short asper this mwm to break free, thus Siam game for heroic measures to wrest sill loose, gnome hatter remaining time on Earth strong arm gull lancing tactics aye need to vest from perverted imps stranglehold upon healthy existence will resort to extreme thine body electric (serves as kool aid base sic acid) test hosting ocd (analogous to a suckling leech happy fiend) disallowing this mwm (similar to Sir Issac Newton) begs to take a rest nurses nourishment feeding off host (thyself) linkedin, sans sybaritic symbiotic, excising unhealthy sycophantic relationship long term ultimate quest shucking loose obsessive pest compulsive disorder moocher drilled deep into psyche tub billed a nest which bred a hardy crop that messed up with my enjoying life tooth ha max, viz parasitic, opportunistic, narcissistic fealty must stop lest asphyxiation undermines ability to jest as if deadly poison this chap (as a kid) accidentally did ingest hence this attempt at plaintive pleading for mental health professional took hum at my be hest a much more welcome guest versus nemesis grounded rivaling mount Everest that tis all i write unloading off my chest an agile, fertile, and nimble sprite who already out best this scrivener, now completed poem confiding bugaboo aye attest.

40

I'm gonna start excising just because I want to look like a viking warrior, something that hearkens back to absolute masculinity and where men were praised for being fierce rather for being nice. where an ugly face was a sign of strength. just an illusion that seems ideal. buff yet ugly, hideous yet indestructible, contemptible but proud. ****** but not necessarily angry- more like wise

0

Jun 7, 2017

Jun 7, 2017 at 7:24 PM UTC

Embers

hhhhhhhhhhhhhhh

I'm gonna start excising just because I want to look like a viking warrior, something that hearkens back to absolute masculinity and where men were praised for being fierce rather for being nice. where an ugly face was a sign of strength. just an illusion that seems ideal. buff yet ugly, hideous yet indestructible, contemptible but proud. ****** but not necessarily angry- more like wise

12

The indigenous Alcantara explodes across the garden floor, unwanted and unloved. Rosehips are nipped to give extra nourishment to the rose bush. The blossoming pink Tree Mallows will last to January, until then they are left alone. Brambles are cut at their base excising their climber roots, nor forgetting the unheralded demoisturising Ivy. My Cleparata Eremurus tubers are gently put into the ground.

0

Nov 14, 2021

Nov 14, 2021 at 4:07 AM UTC

Antony_Glaser

The Gardeners Perfection

The indigenous Alcantara explodes across the garden floor, unwanted and unloved. Rosehips are nipped to give extra nourishment to the rose bush. The blossoming pink Tree Mallows will last to January, until then they are left alone. Brambles are cut at their base excising their climber roots, nor forgetting the unheralded demoisturising Ivy. My Cleparata Eremurus tubers are gently put into the ground.

11