"excusable" poems
drunk again at 3 a.m. at the end of my 2nd bottle
of wine, I have typed from a dozen to 15 pages of
poesy
an old man
maddened for the flesh of young girls in this
dwindling twilight
liver gone
kidneys going
pancrea pooped
top-floor blood pressure
while all the fear of the wasted years
laughs between my toes
no woman will live with me
no Florence Nightingale to watch the
Johnny Carson show with
if I have a stroke I will lay here for six
days, my three cats hungrily ripping the flesh
from my elbows, wrists, head
the radio playing classical music ...
I promised myself never to write old man poems
but this one's funny, you see, excusable, be-
cause I've long gone past using myself and there's
still more left
here at 3 a.m. I am going to take this sheet from
the typer
pour another glass and
insert
make love to the fresh new whiteness
maybe get lucky
again
first for
me
later
for you.
from "All's Normal Here" - 1985
7.9k
Hear Ye, Hear Ye!
I have never been one to do things usual,
wet down and reusable
straight up delusional,
sometimes confusing all,
middle finger useable.
So juvenile.
Between you and me,
this girl is overly irreverent,
open book intelligent,
in need of saving reverend,
whose arrogant,
most relevant.
I'm typically benevolent.
It's evident I'm heaven sent,
REPENT!
I'm unsusceptible to rules,
except on days like April Fool's.
I'm orthodox, I kid,
you wish.
Unorthodox, reborn,Jewish
Foolish.
I have never been one to do things usual,
Chained up? Refuseable,
tied down and doable,
funked up and beautiful,
French words excusable,
the next line unsuitable.
Aug 9, 2015
Aug 9, 2015 at 4:55 PM UTC
i can't believe i'm living out my life's
10 seconds of stupidity with
an un-payable debit account security
of future credit, loans, debt and moaning...
**** me double twice blind with a joker in hand...
of course i'm stupid, i got educated in
a world that pays you back with menial
labour, to look pretty... seriously,
don't do the stupidest thing imaginable and
get yourself a university degree, unless
you're a woman, that's fine, you'll get to
meet and voluntarily wet your ******
with the next president of Romania,
but we need idiot mechanics, and believe
me, i'd rather oil up car pistons like
stroking giraffe necks of Myanmar women....
from **** generals cited through to Epicurus' citation...
believe me, i wish i was smarter,
most of posthumous fame is a regard of
obstructive i.q.,
we were believed to not take offence at our
exposure to systematisation
which educated both thief and banker...
none of the two differ... both excusable buffers...
we trusted people... trust was our biggest idiotic remark...
and now the earth in spin... for endless maxims:
it's like that... and that's the way it is;
no wonder i end up watching serial killer
documentaries.
May 3, 2016
May 3, 2016 at 6:17 PM UTC
As molecules of cellophane and plastic plate mix with cheesy mire of microwaveable dinner, I make excuse in my mind and apologize to my already over-compromised liver. It's simpler this way, or at least excusable for this moment. 56 dead in Garland, Texas, I think I can be thankful a tornado has not turned my world upside down, whilst biting down on tv dinner rations. Still I think, can 2015 end any faster? These last few days counting down and the microwave's digital display bleeping, sludge discriminating who shall be taken. It's all so guarded and circumspect. Please, if there be an element of good, may the new year know it.
Dec 29, 2015
Dec 29, 2015 at 8:43 PM UTC
Are only the tools of the trade
To swinging ***** and easy Janes
Like these now attempting to muffle their shouts
In the purple suburban evening where God knows
Only all the neighbors are striving to listen;
A couple of loveless friends ********
Each other out of breath and full of big plans—
And now I’m sure that we can,
Just listen to her moan!
A man once told me I’ve got to give it to her
To stick a son in there.
I might ask, but there’s no need now to beg
Because we deserve it too much.
Our dry spell is all wet tonight;
Are those the cries of a baby I hear,
Or our bedsprings squeaking?—
It only hurts a little when he gets this excited
But instances are excusable
*** folds in memory
And ****** success caresses forms into forms
I know she will be beautiful
Her beauty will come to her as easily as it passed me by
I am not sad, neither
And the sweat, his sweat drips from his naked chin onto mine—
I tell mom and dad that’s fine,
I want another brother.
They make noises in their room
Which are so loud they keep me awake.
So they decided to make them after dinner,
When I am trying to read.
Sometimes I listen to them very carefully, but
Then I have nightmares of
Them hurting each other.
They are making noises now;
Something not good is happening.
Oct 20, 2010
Oct 20, 2010 at 6:30 AM UTC
Four life-size lipsticks jive, they
groove in tune with costumed comrades:
the monstrous tapeworm, unfitting for even
a family of whales, head held high like
homemade dragons on Chinese New Year, or
the bald man decked out in navy felt, garb
saturated with plastic spoons he
needs to get laid.
But the lipsticks in their red, red heels, with
human eyeholes hidden behind fabric, which
shows the blend of castor & chemicals, what hue:
dark crimson or barracuda berry?
They wear but a fraction of the common ingredients
used for dressing up,
makeup as the encore.
It stains the lips,
the coffee rims around the country,
the chests of restricted lovers.
Let us celebrate the metaphor of makeup
on this festus day--where it’s excusable to act out
the fantasies of being not
ourselves.
Dec 25, 2013
Dec 25, 2013 at 6:35 PM UTC
Forgiving is more than difficult and challenging
But if to not forgive or forget
You will live your life in regret and denial
Resent will build and build
For we are humans for we f*ck up and do things we deeply regret
For not to be excusable but responsible
If to imagine a world with them gone or hurt
Remorse and resent in yourself will imperfectly mix
Building a lifetime of continuous persistent regret
The question being is it worth it to not forgive and forget
For will you ever truly move on?
Dec 2, 2020
Dec 2, 2020 at 11:54 PM UTC
This is not a good poem
it is merely a collection
of scattered thoughts
that match my disorganized mind
I came home
You were one of the few people
That I secretly hoped to see
Next thing I remember
I was holding your hand
needing you to hold mine too
hands on your chest
purple dress shirt
A summer full of pent up
attraction
(for me)
(for you? Probably not)
finally
put to action
Recklessly and carelessly
I valued the friendship
the innocent connection
of our similarities
tears of laughter
and mutual respect
and now this event
has caused me some
uncertainty
It was passionate
Maybe I don't regret it
Probably I regret not remembering
How it even happened in the first place
What did I do?
I closed my eyes
the world disappeared
and when I opened them
I was looking at you
my lips inches from yours
I discovered that
you are a good kisser
be flattered that I chose you
It doesn't happen often
know that I am still
quite fond of you
And sometimes my thoughts
Travel to that drunken night once a year
when everything is excusable
and I was happy just to be with you
and even happier that you chose me too
Jan 18, 2012
Jan 18, 2012 at 2:42 AM UTC
The image isn't reflected
It is backwards,
Upside down.
A mirror -
In reality clear glass.
Alternative ending,
Like a nightmare
Everything is the same
But with hidden motive.
With clear vision
The two are obviously
Opposite.
The truth is buried
Behind lies.
If only the hiding place
Had been found
But the hand had reached
And turned the light out.
Stumbling through the dark
The idea of home seems
Comforting
The delusions which cloud the mind
Fill the emptiness
And answers the questions
Creating artificial light.
Easy enough
To mistake the small circle of heat
Which radiates from a bulb
With the encompassment
Of a roaring fire
When you never before
Experienced - warmth.
Desperately seeking,
The compromise seems
Excusable.
The only regret is this -
Blinded and tainted
The true flame,
Invisible
Because a glow had cloaked
The darkness,
Was not found sooner.
Jun 21, 2011
Jun 21, 2011 at 6:25 PM UTC
*He curses, angered as hell,
She shrugs, ready to swell,
But then pretend to melt,
And put on a ****** of well,
A technique she so manages to pelt,
But he saw beyond this belt,
Her eyes dances with the usual rhythm of hurt,
But with her, love meant no worries
For there's no ornament for beauty like happiness,
Hers was this unimpeachable dirt,
A prideful youth, that's only strong to hurt,
But she knew he might tear under distress,
Drink til ****** to depress himself,
Then pull the plug to express himself,
But she love him under all those stress,
To his heart she had forcibly pressed,
Just enough to have it eventually seize,
Still he had kept to this filthy source,
But she cast out all excusable remorse
For her, there's no love without forgiveness
To err was human; to forgive..... That's Divine
Those who dream by light were mindful of things
That escape those who dreamed at night
For her, it was beyond this very light,
It couldn't be bittersweet without the fights,
She had loved him with a love more than nights,
Till it became sleepless nights and daily fights.
That was us,
Till we felt apart,
Our arms waving and our lives apart,
Distance befriended us,
Miles stretched between us and the joy of our hearts,
Hate came between me and the deed of my hands,
Then again it strike me hard upon the head,
That I vowed till death do us part,
But it wasn't death that did us part,
It was me, my choices that
Made everything stinks from the start
I played our hearts both ways,
I thoughtfully turned away,
Left you for those perilous games,
But your heart never went astray
It became broken, till betrayed,
Forgive me
For not knowing my wants,
For being so angry with you,
Let us rewrite this story,
I now know my wants,
That's to love and be loved solely by you
Come, live in my heart and pay no rent
Take your rightful place, you always meant
In truth, I need you because I love you
You made me want to change, likely repent
You never once mind the games I play
You handled them without delay
Casting each out with a gentle sway,
Till you broke my walls apart
And hit me softly upon the heart,
Till I wish we were never apart.....
*
Sep 23, 2015
Sep 23, 2015 at 6:15 AM UTC
Being eaten alive cannot be
that terrible. It was a tempting idea,
as I thought on the vultures
that wait there upon the fence.
As I thought on the beaks
snapping at my ventricles, claws
grasping with taloned ferocity deep
into the pit of my stomach.
It cannot be so bad.
Inside the bar, I sip
on scotch and soda
I was out with a woman;
an older beaut that led me
in magnificent circles
of conversation till
I found myself drunk and
without a word to say. Slightly
later in the evening I
ran into an old flame that
I never wished had gone
out. --Yet as they do,
so did she--
This vulture was stunning
in the lamplight of the
plaza, asking me over a drink
how I came to have this woman out,
in all this time without one.
Boredom was my only answer.
Its tendency to draw me in,
with an excusable neglect to
realize the futility of such sport.
She knew, merely in the look she
gave me. She knew the ***** secret of the
skin that grasps and yearns for that almighty friction.
She knew, for indeed she played the
game well enough. Many men have found
her since me, and many more would
seek her out and find her, until I was
merely a tally on the mark. But she
knew that moment, over scotch and soda,
how bad the vultures had me, she
knew that moment, sitting there upon the fence,
that she led the charge.
She never said a word, finished her drink,
took a dance with a man I'll never know.
The woman I came with stormed home,
enraged over something I'll never know,
and the world danced around me to
a tune of which I'll never know.
Instead, I sat over another scotch and soda
and wondered how
bad it could possibly be
to be eaten alive.
Apr 2, 2014
Apr 2, 2014 at 2:38 AM UTC
She tells them all that she's fine.
She's told everyone it seems. These days, it's all people want to know. And it's not that all of them ask outright - they ask with their eyes, they ask with that sympathetic frown that makes her want to break something. Several somethings, truth be told.
And God, it makes her furious. She is no longer one of two - she's just one. She's fractured, and she's jagged, but she's one. So if they could stop bringing up that pulsating space in her chest, that would be ideal.
It's never easy - learning to breathe when your lungs are full of ash, your eyes full of the past and your heart still triumphant, but no longer whole.
And God, it makes her lonely.
She's been addicted to him for months, for years, but that was excusable then. They were indestructible. The ideal couple. They were sunlight on her hair, they were his resonating laugh.
It only becomes inexcusable when they stand next to each other, but their gazes are averted. Their hands aren't linked. When her hair falls into her face, it stays there. When his collar falls haphazardly, it stays that way.
It only becomes an addiction when she wants to whisper into his ear but no longer can. It only becomes an addiction when she forgets the touch of his hands.
So when they stumble against each other one night, and she fits against him the way that she's always done, and he holds onto her like a drowning man - she lets go for a moment. Their relationship was never built on stable stones. It was built on fire, and it was built on ice, and it was built on a length of time that made sure that one could never think back without the other being present, somewhere. He was always too old for her friends, she too young for his. But they fit together so well. Her head just under his chin, her hands on his shoulder blades.
It only becomes an addiction when they repeat, time and time again. It only becomes an addiction when his lips on hers taste of sin, and when their shared breaths are secrets to be kept.
She tells them all that she's fine.
She tells him that she's fine.
She tells herself that she's fine.
And one of these days, someone might just believe it.
Jul 8, 2014
Jul 8, 2014 at 11:29 AM UTC
As I enter the doors
I feel this rush of adrenaline
overcoming my body
I take a few steps forward,
Then suddenly stop to take a deep breath
I then start walking again
I keep my pace, with my shoulders broad
And chin high above me
I turn to the left
Oh no! There he is!
The one who I desperately would die for
I can sense his eyes skimming through the hall,
Looking for an excusable reason to be left alone
I quickly turn right down the stairs
Trying to avoid our awkward language
we call silence
Then I see my best friend
The one who I love secretly hate
We exchange hugs
Then leave unsatisfied
I keep still for a few moments
Thinking that I do not belong here
Nor will I ever
I try to make a run for it
But then my head keeps spinning
I don't know what to do
So I just sit down
Take a deep breath
And put on a fake smile
Just like the rest of them!
Aug 22, 2013
Aug 22, 2013 at 11:59 PM UTC
Fire and water have a lot in common.
They both reach for that which they cannot have,
But on whose behalf.
In large quantities, they can be seen as an omen.
They both are destructive,
And seen as beautiful.
They are impulsive,
But excusable
For they do not think.
Despite their similarities,
They are also quite distinct.
They sing the same song but with different melodies.
One burns the skin,
While the other burns the lungs.
One sings from within,
While the other beats like a drum.
Morbidly,
They both dance to different rhythms,
But in the same harmony.
Their ultimate goal
hidden
Jan 9, 2019
Jan 9, 2019 at 3:28 PM UTC
In your eyes i see life
One that I want for myself
Your internal light shines bright
While my soul screams for help
I wish to share a life of pure love and happiness
Yet I give off confusion and crabbiness
I pray for the day this rutt will be over
Or at least the pace of pain could move a bit slower
My smile will soon be pasted across my face
Even wider on the day my face is covered with lace
I pray that the time I stretch out my hand
For an intimate ceremony in a far away land
My mind will be right
And my heart would be still
Because you still stop it
An involuntary ****
I may not see clear
But i know this is right
I'm trying to fight my fear
And live for tonight
There are things in the world that are out of my hands
But we can achieve our
objectives/goals/or plans
It's gonna be you and I till the end
I just need to figure out how to begin
To start with a new and improved me
To show off the person I should be
No more sad, somber, and excusable me
It's time for real business
It's time to be the best I can be
Oct 18, 2015
Oct 18, 2015 at 11:24 AM UTC
That while contemplating the
Divine II may witness some
Atrocity and be apathetic to a
Crime against Love,to injury
Without remedy that I could
Have prevented had I been
Alert to the prowling menace;
Careless of the great voracious
Evil while I stared stunned by
A treacherous glory? Indeed
Has this not come to pass?
Yet pass me the pipe friend.
I admit that I cannot learn
Must rely on One that is so
Much greater even God to
Guard me in my weakness
To prevent this fear from
Being realized. Yes I am
Guilty, first in my doubts
That I cannot fully caste out;
Second and lie the first that
I have broken the law. This
I am told by the law is not
Excusable and it is only just
That I should pay the price.
My advocate, a jew no less
Tells me he well knows this
World's treachery. He is a
Man well acquainted with
Sorrow. He says He will
Caste into hell the illusion
And the Illusionist and all
His legions. I must trust
Him. He is my last hope.
He promises I will be with
Him in Heaven and all that
I have lost here will here
Will be there restored and
My grief will seem as but
A passing shadow when
The glory of God is revealed
To me. To which I can only
Say OJala Lord. Let it be so.
Apr 21, 2017
Apr 21, 2017 at 12:12 PM UTC
In my time, as knowledge increased,
there was a parable about boiling live frogs.
Many preachers, professional and slave,
confess to using the parable,
to this very day;
even after witnessing the death of frogs,
and the escape of frogs.
If you are one of those, repeaters,
let this itty bitty left behind idea do
true to any with a will to know,
is it so? Must you be true to you?
Think boiling water and lobster.
You know what happens,
lobsters can't jump,
but frogs can, but
not from boiling water.
That parable is a lie. It is not true,
frogs die immediately, nada im middle
splash croak. Immediate.
- ah but if the heating is so gradual,
- the frogs whole bio-tech goes gaga/
And being wired with super sensitive skin,
the itty bitty bimetalic whorls of magic metal, like the analog in frog skin,
expands, in each itty bitty frog
transistor, analog mercury switch
kinda like, trip wire and a flare, there
surface temperature measured signal
sent, spring
sprung, frog don't cook, but lives to croak
another day.
No excusable uses of the frog slowly cooking are not in actual function, lies.
Nov 10, 2022
Nov 10, 2022 at 12:18 AM UTC