"expectancies" poems
Your grandmother wants to be friends on Facebook.
hey you,
can’t recall where or how i know ya,
but your grannie is very kewl,
(we agree on the proper pronunciation)
boldly asked if that included “benefits,”
she heartily answered **** right”
“one man is pretty much as good as the next,
but younger is definitely better, and you a spring chickadee,
at age of sixty years and three,
so many years ahead to share,
your social security bene-fits,
making me swoon
and giving me ‘flashes ‘n fits’
and given your life expectancies,
spousal wud be nice,
even ain’t a necessity,
looking forward to pleasuring your company”
**remind me again,
where do I know you from?**
shoot.
HELLOOOOO POETRY!
Aug 5, 2018
Aug 5, 2018 at 4:35 PM UTC
She speaks to me through Winter's night,
At the clash of fearless winds and tides.
Within whispers of memoired days that passed,
I find myself entangled in each others grasp.
Like a summer's day I forget the tomorrows,
Unworthy challenges, expectancies and sorrows,
Letting go of my anger and unattended pain,
Her whispers are the only things that keep me sane.
I close my eyes to the sound of aquatic gusts,
Invisioning the days we've spent sharing eachother's lust.
Through a swirl of thought I sit beside you,
With petals of flowers falling upon each shoe.
My arm grips you tight as if hanging for salvation,
Yet still we hold a certain fear of confrontation.
We path our way with big and small footsteps,
Through unearthed soil, we silently crept.
The view was shallow; yellow with blue,
I gazed my eyes upon this priceless view.
Amongst an ocean of grass and rooted flowers,
Lay a lonely rose, purveying endless thorn-showers.
How risky and deep and precious the thought,
That within grass and sunflowers, a rose has been brought.
My hands reach to grip, but my eyes twinge with pain,
A sudden push through my lungs, and rush through my veins.
I wake up confused, my dream disappears,
But you my gray rose, you're always right here.
Aug 28, 2012
Aug 28, 2012 at 7:35 AM UTC
Here’s to us
to the next generation
Here’s to us
to the first generation with shorter life expectancies than our parents
to the next generation to create the most lethal weapon
Here’s to us
to another generation that is perpetuating stigmas around *** and ****** preferences
to the next generation to create cancer causing chemicals
Here’s to us
to another generation keeping racism and sexism alive
And here’s to us
to the next generation to **** up the next generation!
Yeah, here’s to us and all the distress
we cause
Yeah, and here’s to us and all the mess
we cause
No!
Here’s to us
to the next generation
Here’s to us
to the generation craving to live deeply and fully
to the next generation that will fight for our rights as blacks and whites
Here’s to us
to the generation that understands that sexuality is fluid
to the next generation to walk for; work for cures
Here’s to us
to another generation of protests agains lies and fights won with mighty pens
And here’s to us
to the next generation to create the next generation.
Mar 15, 2015
Mar 15, 2015 at 1:18 PM UTC
I leafed through the DSM this morning
diagnosing every ******* person in my life
incessent character flaws,
maladaptive responses
that ache in my mind,
and shatter my "normal"
expectancies of human behavior
In all of the descriptors
"has a strong desire to be the center of attention"
"is often inappropriately provocative or sexually seductive"
"Exhibits odd or eccentrive appearance/behavior"
"Seeks excitement and stiumulation, often acting on impulse"
the only person I could really diagnose
was me your therapist
Aug 6, 2012
Aug 6, 2012 at 4:29 PM UTC
They ask me to stand up
to exercise and play,
to run, to swim, to fly.
Very well...
One and all advise quiescence,
recommend counterpoisons, refer doctors.
they peek on me, perplexed.
"What's wrong?"
They suggest new sightings,
to try and get out, to not travel,
to cease living and to not perish.
It doesn't matter…
One and all see my struggle
for my bewildered expectancies,
the stumble of my now fickle nerve.
I do not consent…
One and all pick on my plagiarisms
with relentless blades,
judging, berating, amused.
I feel fear.
Frightened of everything,
of this morning's light, of the certain defeat.
For today I'm just a mortal,
decrepit and ephemeral.
For all this and more, on these short days
I'm not listening, I'm not here.
I yield, I strive again, I succumb.
I lock myself with and I open up to
my worst and most treacherous enemy,
"U" (my ego)
Nov 25, 2012
Nov 25, 2012 at 4:03 AM UTC
My unseen, poetic collaborator, talent extraordinaire.
She writes of the homeless man we pass on the street,
to which I add a word, a line or two, for who among us has never once wondered, there but for the grace of god, go you or I....
a tin cup, a beat up guitar
memories, all sepia colored,
little of his older life,
the few days left,
close by, not far,
the remains of the day,
he calls them,
his ha ha, happily ever after.
once he thought maybe after
the next song, he'll belong,
for his melody sung
in the key of despair,
but the refrain, sung with flair,
après la guerre,
ever hopeful, ever after
no passerby fails to stop,
penny or dollar, each produces,
his voice, so sad, seduces
each fearful of the sound,
but comforted by his
last words, that stick
to them, ever after.
yet, he's happy, he has a voice,
cold concrete beneath his extremities
reminds him of his lost choices,
a life begun, flowing with expectancies,
soon expected to conclude, yet,
he does not complain of life's inequities.
no matter what the tune,
no matter what the key,
no matter what the rhythm,
no matter what the beat,
his every song always ends
with words of no mean feat.
He sings:
**tho bad luck, poor choices
have brought me to
a life upon the ground,
yet I wake each morn,
kiss my stony bed,
for I am happy for,
just to be alive,
always happy, ever after.**
Oct 9, 2013
Oct 9, 2013 at 5:09 AM UTC
I am me. I am the girl crying on the bathroom floor wishing she never existed. I am the boring sister, the unwanted daughter, and the distant friend. I am the bitter insults from my mothers mouth. I am the guilt from my chest when I bite back too hard. I am the music I rely on to survive. I am the dull foggy days and the long lonely nights I love so much. I am the one no one can hate and the one no one can love. I am the the broken but the not broken enough. I am the tangled collection of thoughts, weaving through one another in my mess of a mind. I am the hopeless future, I am the high expectancies. I am the too-pretty-to-be-ugly and the too-ugly-to-be-pretty. I am the 3am figure stuck to the couch. I am the weight in my chest. I am the hard mornings. I am the restless nights. I am the lost humour, the lost smiles, the lost joy. I am the lost cause.
Nov 29, 2014
Nov 29, 2014 at 5:52 PM UTC
A man born without wings into the ashes of a forest
dead leaves and a valley of butterflies
Bleached to be ethicless
effortless as it is
To go without pursuit of question
A mind of matter
Wherein death lies one doesn't know
You're feeling all these expectancies
all these dependencies
Energy of yours, unhinged
The screens written
with the bastardisation of simple truths
Rhythmic as a creature
as spoken wavelength navigating
A wondering memory standing in front of the collectives
Transcendence above the impermanence
A palace on the grounds among us, but separated
dangerous minds of a phenomenon, in sequencing
Unceasing in divinity and untempered
by the indignation of his companions
Free to be, among the meadows of ourselves.
Jun 20, 2018
Jun 20, 2018 at 5:28 PM UTC
looking deep within self
I glimpse an image of
you and I, realizing that
our felicitousness
flows with the
currents; expanding to
enlighten mind and soul
alike as we fulfill its
dormant hunger, to
appreciate what our
affinity for one another
begets; as we awaken
to overindulge in the
delicacies of our wants,
fore, our desires are
somewhat demanding
in its urgency; when we
have a lifetime to savor
of one another's ardency,
without abating our
affectations; before we've
had a true feel for love's
expectancies.
Jun 12, 2012
Jun 12, 2012 at 2:43 AM UTC
The more I learn about myself, life, and all its possibilities,
contrasting trails form with each step I take.
Large or small, a choice convolutes my predetermined path.
My decisions have taken me to an unfamiliar wood,
but that's not necessarily a bad thing.
I see the already established, but with a twist of peculiarity.
The sounds of birds chirping is known, but it's a foreign flock.
Leaves on trees still rustle in the wind, but it's the color that's perplexing.
Deep breath. Take it all in. Embrace the change.
I'm not lost or forgotten, it's just a new setting.
If I was lost in seemingly a no man's land, then why am I not afraid?
I see the familiarity within the unfamiliar.
I notice the similarities of my position from wisdom granted.
Despite it all, I'm still smiling, still moving forward.
Crunching of leaves, the snap of a twig, I keep stepping.
If Life's ink is forever dried, there would be no astonishment or bewilderment.
There is no clear path in how you live. Each road will split
and from each split, those routes will divide.
From those routes, avenues of thought will unbind.
You will soon learn that you will never fully grasp your destination.
I may be a man of many, but I'll keep walking.
In the sun, in the rain, in snow, and the fog.
Through forests, deserts, and oceans.
I set sail for certain ambiguity and unpredictable expectancies.
An eager to live, and a lust for adventure.
Jan 11, 2017
Jan 11, 2017 at 2:12 PM UTC
there are not four walls.
there are no gates,
nor hedges,
nor bricks.
yet, i find myself
undeniably and demeaningly so
trapped.
this state of drowsiness
is not something
i awoke to,
but rather something
i slipped into
to get comfortable whilst awaiting
death.
i wake and
i fall as anyone else might, but
i do not inhale the gusts of warmth,
nor cringe at the bitter drops
of sky against my tongue.
an empty shell is all
i can imagine myself to be.
these curiosities and
these expectancies
were once mine, but drifted away.
their trail is buried in the ashes
of an old dream.
i'd like more than anything to
feel your gentle pulse against mine, but
i determine this heart unworthy,
since each beat has become a part
of this fated hell.
Jun 4, 2013
Jun 4, 2013 at 7:33 PM UTC
The letters are aligned for you; stay
Drumming force of an army, and thousands of soldiers yet to come
Sleep, come my way
I dread the night and the brainwork that trails
Dark heartfelt burn by each passing day
Destined to lonely confinement
Contained
Cared for and then disdained
“Beware! despairing hope, the birth of a thought!”
Full moon, pale old rock, no cause for delight
a shimmering light that of silver, soldiers at the gates!
I descended, opened the gates
now stay
O the heart, heart knows no retreat
Misplaced, has it not been the case?
Prisoned in a dying body; a cave
Sentenced to expectancies; decay
Undead
occupied at last, toasting red wine
“Never been more alive” a lie
Cure the heart with reason
revolt! shake off this helplessness
all I see is the science behind beauty and her forgetful nature
I remembered the nameless shadows they were once close at bay; treason
And he, the lingering shadow of doubt, romanticized pain. an addiction, lack of shame
While she, cloud-footed and unaware, left to become a nameless ghost
Jun 8, 2014
Jun 8, 2014 at 10:21 AM UTC
*~January~
ringing in the new
open up the tinder box
letting go the used
wake up new horizons
burning blue the flame
bring about the wonderment
where nothing is the same
expectancies beginning
toss the old without a care
~January~
breathing crisp, new air*
Jan 20, 2015
Jan 20, 2015 at 5:15 PM UTC
It's funny how fast you think life goes
Until you realise how slow it really is
So much time of ours is wasted
Life expectancies should be changed
Not for how many years we were alive
But for how many we spent actually living them
I spend so many days feeling that I am not alive
Maybe that would make my life expectancy low
I don't fear death
I fear living
Because in time everything will go
Apr 16, 2021
Apr 16, 2021 at 5:26 AM UTC
Confined in a bubble of my own deliberate making,
I realise that the world was never truly beautiful at all.
Piercing hatred lies between the common lines
Of those who never learned to love; singes the edges of the world's
Underlying issues kept hidden by men who never learned
Discipline by the hand of a woman.
Faint glimmers of unaccepted brilliance remains repressed at the
Mere thought of becoming complicated and unusual;
Incinerate the minds that cannot learn to love due to
Short life expectancies and the ever-growing lands of shadow among
Their kind.
Prickling shades of green and orange ****** at the unwanted low-lifes
And proud "healthy eaters"; questions controlling any sudden
Movements made towards what humans deem normality to be.
...And the ongoing inquisitions of both and either sides of the Earth's
Lost children and the preachers of Good News; wars controlling the
Climates of our wellbeings and identities for the sole information
Of so-called society.
All of these exhibits obvious, all overused in many ways by many
Other bubble-makers like me.
I fear we shall too be pierced one day.
Jan 24, 2018
Jan 24, 2018 at 6:24 PM UTC