"explanations" poems
Do I relate to the post-postmodern
True-life voodoo incomes are hard-earned
If I put a hyphen between words
Does that spawn a new one like lovebirds
Isn't love the same word that I saw
Don't crows live like bandits and outlaws
Don't they have the outlook of bourgeois
Carry stolen crackers in their claws
There's no change that I couldn't change
Every change that I change always stays the same
I wanna sing with a slingshot serenade
I wanna donate change to a masquerade
I wanna die while I'm in the spotlight
I want my death to inspire a rewrite
I want to blur the lines of insight
I want to make them think that I'm their height
So give me all your red green yellow blue
If you can find a pool then I'll refract with you
You're a mirage and your favorite color's see-through
You're my fata morgana from this point of view
Are there any words for my freakshow feelings
Isn't sugarcoated terminology appealing
Wouldn't it be easier to represent the meaning
Of a hard to swallow concept with an arbitrary ceiling
Cryptic cultish crease in the catalog
Paranoia backtrack to analog
I can run much faster than I can jog
Magic circle summoning Chernobog
I can break the barrier of sound and space
With these essential elemental explanations in your face
But it doesn't matter everything I say will go to waste
Because the power of the mind is putting power out of place
Hindsight reflecting, teenagers texting
Late to the punch with the big money flexing
Let's settle this with a match in the ring
Or a match to the rope of a cannon firing
I wanna die while I'm in the spotlight
I want my death to inspire a rewrite
I want to blur the lines of insight
I want to make them think that I'm their height
I wanna hypnotize and paralyze
I wanna make them think that I'm their size
I wanna break their spirits drink their blood
I wanna **** their souls I wanna **** them good
Dec 18, 2013
Dec 18, 2013 at 7:58 PM UTC
To disguise our sin of greed
We debate philosophies
And justify our economies
Our sins cannot be covered
By shouting explanations
May 31, 2014
May 31, 2014 at 2:48 PM UTC
Put your head down
and werk.
Put your feet up
and twerk.
Run quickly
and watch the
pavement blur.
Don't ask questions.
Love you answers,
and explanations,
your valuations,
and justifications.
In the mood for pizza?
Cause the shop's on your left.
In 0.5 miles, it will be on your left.
ON YOUR LEFT.
YOUR DESTINATION IS ON THE LEFT.
Rerouting...
the protocol is exactly THIS,
not THAT.
So just do it.
checkmark.
Nike said so.
Just buy it.
we suggest it.
Just try the Quesarilla
#tacobell #mexicanfood #foodporn
#pleasegetmemoreviews
How bout a selfie
where you look miserable
and unhealthy.
But you're a celebrity.
Rub your likeness
on me and
I'll get you publicity.
#fire
#ice
#rain
What happened to real pain?
And did dissonance disappear?
Why must I hide my tears?
And be bright and happy
And ogle guys with fohawks
trimmed so carefully.
And live a lie,
of numbers and rye
bread is the worst,
sandwiched in bursts.
We all live
and we all hurt
and we all deserve
a life like hers.
who you say?
Kim Kardashian,
of course.
Jul 31, 2014
Jul 31, 2014 at 12:08 AM UTC
To disguise our sin of greed
We debate philosophies
And justify our economies
Our sins remain uncovered
Despite our explanations
Dec 17, 2013
Dec 17, 2013 at 12:52 PM UTC
She stands before the class
Her voice rings loud and clear
Each word beautifully enunciated
For all who wish to hear
The perennial English teacher
She reads with such dramatics and flair
Such a pity that its only noticed
by students in the first few chairs
She's reading out my poem
She paints pictures with her words
But honestly? Sometimes I find
Her explanations quite absurd
No, That's not what I meant!
Dear teacher, stop twisting my verse!
Dear students, please notice the flaws
In the story she so carefully rehearsed
It's amazing how sometimes she understands
The thought and feelings of what I wrote
And sometimes she gets it so very wrong
That I want to strangle her throat
She continues unperturbed
By the lack of interest in the room
Students only see her smile and energy
Not her disappointment and gloom
She worked so hard to teach them,
A little appreciation would go far!
But they just sit and pretend to listen
As they wait for the end for the hour
Finally, she comes across
That fateful line
The one that sparks a discussion
I watch the class come to life
In a tsunami of opinions,
She smiles proudly, riding the wave
She launches into her explanation
And it's the completely wrong one she gave
Its one of many misinterpretations
Of my carefully crafted work
There! That student! She understands what I meant!
Now now, don't tell her she's wrong. Don't be a ****
A debate ensues and words fly
The classroom divides into two.
Half are on my side, dear teacher
And the other half believe you.
Out of the blue, the bell rings
For once the students want more time!
A pat on the back for the English teacher.
This victory is both hers and mine
So what if she gets it wrong sometimes?
So what what if she's too dramatic?
Sometimes she's just unreasonable
She's your average literature fanatic
She always gets her point across
Without having to scream and shout
She teaches the students the value of words
Isn't that what it's all about?
Aug 21, 2014
Aug 21, 2014 at 10:21 AM UTC
Hello Old Friend,
I just wanted you to hear me.
I think you heard every word, but I see you now fear me.
I used to get nostalgic remembering our talks under starlight
When we idly spoke of dreams, and other things, and the world felt peaceful at night.
But today I spoke of blood and smoke, and of human violence,
and watched the widening whites of your eyes within this smothering silence.
I apologize for pretending we could carry on as before.
You say you don't condemn me; they shouldn't send me off to war.
I wanted a friend's reconnection, not hollow pity.
I now recognize you can't sympathize with the dying of a moral identity.
In grief, not guilt, I sought my friend. This was not a confession.
No vain imagining of a simple moral or life lesson.
Don't wanna' hear soulless, canned regurgitations
Of your textbooks' and professors' second-hand explanations!
You avoid my eyes, staring intensely at the floor.
We both can list my sins, but why is it only I can list yours?
Solipsism and narcissism.
You live a predatory lifestyle, ***** you're bored and wanting more.
That's it, then. Goodbye, Old Friend.
I feel worse having spoken, and I won't speak to you of this again.
Aug 30, 2013
Aug 30, 2013 at 11:08 PM UTC
I was very young, when I first faced change.
A life altered by someone else's mistake.
I hid the tears and the worry, but the pain still lingered
And it left in no hurry
You ran willingly out of my life,
Just as fast as you ran in.
I watched you run straight out the door,
There was no turning back.
You left us all unsure.
Where were you tonight?
Were you alright?
Were you thinking of all the missed “good nights”?
A little girl just sitting at her window,
Hoping and praying to see that truck pull in,
park where it used to be,
Where its always been...
And it never came,
No it never does...
So all that's left is the memory...
Of what your love used to be.
They say you have to lose to realize what you had,
but I lost everything and all I see is the bad.
Are you lost out there?
Are you tryin to come home?
Did you want to leave us here, without you, all alone?
No explanations...its complicated...you're just a little frustrated
That's all you had to say, before you made your way
Lost in your own world, you have left your little girl.
Daddy, will you ever come home?
You just miss more each day that I grow.
Will you come home? This I need to know
because I am growing tired and I need to let go...
Apr 18, 2015
Apr 18, 2015 at 12:05 AM UTC
Faintest escape
Like sand through fingers
Unnecessary explanations
As to why you disappoint me
Speak the truth, worm
Your locket heart withers
Releasing the picture of abandonment
Fool, I am no fool
I am above your rule
Jun 17, 2014
Jun 17, 2014 at 8:59 PM UTC
to more than I can be...
a sad isolated man,
throes of an agonizing,
stretched by her for painful
revengeful gain,
kissed with pointless avarice, divorce.
children deeming
him alienating, his faulty
insensitive sensitivities,
to easy blame
little do they know of the
piercing lowliness, the looniness of
nights he listened to sad-eyed singers,
and his late-of-mid of night scribbled scripts,
where he
off loaded the agonies of a midlife
disaster, not entirely of his-own
sown making,
but still his to bear and bare alone...
some accidents happens for unintentional,
unintended intentional new seasons appear,
stumbled, tumbled, fumbled his way onto
this H~oly P~lace, where someone might listen
to his explanations, expiations, excoriations
of his all too common tragedy, and said:
this broken human, he's got his reasons,
read his overly long treatises, his entreaties,
to those that prowl, rowing, in this corner
of the silence of the internet, where only the
trolls, the cold, the easier to-be-meaner oft thrive,
and found none of that, but an oasis of sheltering,
embracing comforting, those who actually admitted
his writings could be loved, and perhaps the writer
himself, was
deserving
of a second chance, a verbal embrace. a rereading forgiveness,
a pat
on his natback, a sympathetic sensory intaking,
and perhaps-this debt, eternal, that put the
for and the fore in a new baby born, named -
new forever
came into existence
the very same
e
that begins those conjoined words
***e~ternally grateful
"and now I sleep in peace when the day is done"
but the night time
is still the
write time
Sep 13, 2025
Sep 13, 2025 at 11:42 AM UTC
My lips can no longer hold back.
The muted tones cannot bring out the infinity that hides
discretely
points
to an exit sign.
Certainty waves goodbye. My only function now is to collapse it.
To put the past behind.
The barred doors allow the bottleneck to tighten for a few hours,
but memory has a way of sounding the alarm in the morning
when the early birds rise,
armed with ancient lessons
that remind me they're the ones who are eating well.
I want to come up from the dirt and drink from the well.
My low-life self can no longer heed the worm's advice:
"Sleep all day and you won't get eaten."
Out.
Out with your tepid voice and halfway disposition.
Out with your elevated mind, your profound commitment to the mediocre task
of enlightening the little people.
The empire you fabricate may stay stitched for a while.
But the clothes of emperors always burst at the seams.
A workaholic, addicted to the common
you're winning your converts with tired dreams, vicarious imaginings of those finer roads, well tread by shoes that are not your own.
You don't believe in the masses. Fine. But get the **** off
your throne.
Reciting badly drawn poems at four in the morning
(it could have been worse e.g. I could have wrote "mourning")
looking to insight myself,
not into a passionate frenzy
like Bacchae drunk on the moonlight.
No -- I want piercing red. That's what I want to be.
Want to show the heavens how I use the precious wine.
Sip it.
Out the undulations go.
Sweating out the great myth that time forgets when it flows.
My pagan-witch ego has put me on the hunt for blood tonight,
and the full moon is giving rise to ****** undulations,
washing up teeny-book explanations
of loves once lost.
But I'm far from my being,
and from the infinite ocean.
And the only sound I can hear right now is my one hand clapping at the curtain call,
retiring my broom,
bowing goodbye.
Sep 25, 2014
Sep 25, 2014 at 12:23 AM UTC
I want a country boy,
who picks me up in his beat-up
hand-me-down,
lived-in pick up
a football-playing
Sunday morning worshiping
second son of a tight-knit clan
that looks at me
with his unclouded blue eyes
not searching for faults
or explanations
no need to foresee the future.
And I'd look up
grateful to some glorious power
for giving this country boy,
this southern-drawl using
sweet-tea drinking
yes-ma'am-answering gentleman,
just to me.
Sep 16, 2013
Sep 16, 2013 at 9:11 PM UTC
**Have patience with us.
Have patience with me.**
I am,
like my species,
young.
Naive in mind,
Reckless in heart.
Wild in thought.
Spontaneous in action.
Good and evil are not born from sunlight.
They did not emerge from the soil.
Whether through confusion or fear,
we created it.
**Have patience with us.
Have patience with me.**
We build and oppress ourselves.
Constantly raging violent wars.
Closing and opening wonderful doors.
Heaven and hell
exist
inside of us.
It's our choice which one
spills
into the universe.
Though our history seems so vast
so countless,
we are still
young.
**Have patience with us.
Have patience with me.**
Singing and screaming into a sky full of stars,
hoping that someone will take pity on us,
will understand us.
will guide us.
So far no one has.
So we build our own towers.
Fabricate our own explanations.
Dig our feet in the dirt and defiantly say,
"We know the truth!"
*Forgive us.
We are young.
We know nothing but think we know it all.
I think I know it all, but I know nothing.
I am young.
Forgive me.*
**Have patience with us.
Have patience with me.**
In the quiet vastness,
our planet was born.
We crawled from the sea.
Filled our lungs with oxygen.
Molded our bodies to the craft.
Forged our minds to the art.
Millenias of trial and error,
leading us to this moment.
Never forget.
We are young.
Though cruelty persists,
virtue exists.
Always remember.
We will survive.
We will overcome.
We still have a hopeful spark
in our dying world.
A species of dreamers
whispering into the unknown,
**"Have patience with us.
Have patience me."**
Apr 9, 2017
Apr 9, 2017 at 9:19 PM UTC
That tapestry,
Red, Black, Gold
A Celtic Circle--
silently bearing witness
to the proceedings
of that smoky room:
The aquariums--one with
the large eel who seemed
to barely fit the tank
that took up half the wall;
and the smaller, vibrantly
colored fish in the
aquarium with the eggshell
colored coral.
The remixed music played
at a comfortable volume,
by the DJ we knew
so well, together;
as many times
it hardly seemed like
he was working at all,
as he just sat down and
talked to us, for hours.
Looking through
those over-sized books of
old advertisements,
and explanations of
historical artwork;
discussing the contents
with strangers,
who became friends
in the process.
Smoke billowed, enveloping
the atmosphere and filling it
with the smell of many spice
racks, pleasantly rolled in a
shell of a soft breeze
flowing from the oscillating fan.
The smell of joy,
of a relaxed sense of mutual
understanding; that it was okay
not to say a word, because the
atmosphere did the talking
for us.
We just enjoyed sitting
on those red pleather couches
that your **** sank back into,
not allowing my feet to touch
the floor; so they often just
dangled, legs swinging
to the tempo of the music.
As I took a hit
of the hookah,
I manipulated the smoke
into O's, puckering
my lips, trying not
to laugh as you
gazed at me in a
shy sense of wonder.
That face always made you
want to kiss me.
Feb 5, 2012
Feb 5, 2012 at 3:38 AM UTC
I only keep track to Perpetuate
An Example like yours so I could Earn
Though Enclosed, your Devotion I Emulate
Like HIS Legacy this Sour World should Learn
If that in my Posit I should just Thank
For birthing Inspiration on normalcy
Yet Primed to smooth himself in Frank
And be at his Finest Consistency
Since when was that Plan to borrow his Dreams
When even our Maps plot Indifferent
Though such Direction is not what it seems
That Human Bond - Divine in Heaven's Spent.
That said. The Reason on this Latest Hour
Having Tamed Intentions to spread by far.
Mar 14, 2013
Mar 14, 2013 at 3:21 AM UTC
My tires went over the cracks in the road
As I drove by people standing on the sidewalk
Exchanging words, emotions, dreams
I passed them on my way to the cul-de-sac
To exchange money, drugs, humanity
The pedestrians penetrated me
With piercing eyes of persecution
They thought they hated me for being there
But their hatred is what led me there
They injected hatred into my life
The way I injected ****** into my arm
They injected banality into my life
The way I injected ****** into my brain
They injected austerity into my life
The way I injected ****** into my heart
They prayed that my sedation was of a more permanent nature
Before that they prayed for the permanent sedation
of my ****** nature
Wanting me to be fully awake
But not fully alive
They snuck into my mind
And exchanged emotions with emptiness
I snuck into their house
And exchanged furniture with emptiness
They exchanged words with the police
Who exchanged my freedom
For everyone else's peace of mind
But the exchange between the excommunicated
Exacerbated my exiled existence
The steel bars placed before me
Paled in comparison
To the bars that surrounded my heart
And faded from memory
When the Xanax bars entered my system
Until I couldn't walk anymore
Making me Professor X
Hiding out with the other mutants
Trying to lecture the world
That zombies turn to demons
If the exchange isn't examined
When they exit their enclosure
Sidewalk standers turn to explanations more elementary
Eliminating empathy
While elevating themselves above us
This is the epitome of our exchange
Jul 7, 2017
Jul 7, 2017 at 3:55 AM UTC
In a golden glow,
while you slept,
I strung together
a few haiku
for you
and sang them
to a sad tune,
the only one I knew.
Your words are like clay
before the kiln,
I try to mold them
into thousands of different shapes,
and it's never right.
But I don't
like to complain
and I'd have to say,
I think I handle pain
pretty well,
wouldn't you agree?
Your explanations
need explanations now.
You speak to me
in worlds,
I only know the smallest words.
Your mouth races my heart,
I always give you a head start.
I will chase you all the way home.
Mar 26, 2012
Mar 26, 2012 at 9:45 PM UTC
oh, lovely –
another of my ugly insecurities has come undone –
unraveling from my heart, tumbling across the space between us,
ungainly in its amble towards your feet.
if i’m sorry, will that be too little? if i perform an even bigger act of affection
(not always only for compensation)
will that be too much?
was it too much the last time?
as you watch me scramble for words, for explanations,
for comprehension of my own actions,
are you sick of me?
does it make your stomach turn to see my flaws? it sure does make mine.
i can’t tell you 𝘪 𝘸𝘢𝘴𝘯'𝘵 𝘢𝘭𝘸𝘢𝘺𝘴 𝘭𝘪𝘬𝘦 𝘵𝘩𝘪𝘴 without lying
that 𝘺𝘰𝘶 𝘤𝘢𝘯 𝘭𝘦𝘢𝘷𝘦 𝘪𝘧 𝘺𝘰𝘶 𝘭𝘪𝘬𝘦, 𝘪 𝘸𝘰𝘯’𝘵 𝘮𝘪𝘯𝘥.
anyway, would you like some tea while we watch this show?
this tragedy of errors on an endless timeline?
anything else to make your experience better?
am i condescending when i ask for concern? is it fun to battle my quiet anger with your quiet neglect?
i’m sorry, maybe i assume too much. actually, i’m sure i do.
it’s so humiliating to find meaning in everything even when i know better.
oh, lovely –
yet another insecurity.
Jun 28, 2022
Jun 28, 2022 at 1:47 PM UTC
I like to make lists,
of things I've lost, assignments I've missed,
Of people I want to meet.
And I admit, most of those people are poets.
And I know how typical that might seem,
aspiring poet looks to understand a greater inspiration,
be enlightened by the sound of their voice as humans,
not the voice they use on stage, a made-up persona, a super hero.
And all of that? Is true.
I want to ask questions, I want to hear about their triumphs and their regrets and try to match each one with things I've heard from other poets, relate it to myself.
I'd think maybe I can be great one day, display one of my own poems on a trophy shelf.
And for every person on that list I have another someone,
on another list labelled People I am Proud to Know.
And all of these people are poets.
People you will probably never hear of,
And if you have, you still can't possibly understand the origin of their stage names,
The inspiration for their concepts.
And I will try, with every ounce of my being to spill out the trivia into a fishbowl as if these people were goldfish. As if I could ask you to stick your hand in and try to grasp the idea in your bare fingertips with my muck of explanations as your only net.
But its hard, because not all poets have pens, not all poetry is built with words.
It is built with sweat and and laughter and pride.
In name calling I wish I could go by on stage.
There is poetry in the way she kisses her boyfriend,
There is poetry in the way Malawi still sparkles in her eyes,
There is poetry in our long nights and jokes and the way they tell me to shut up simultaneously.
There is poetry in our dances on the sand.
I will forever follow in their footsteps.
When we were little, they they used to make me cry just so they could be the ones to tell me it was okay.
There are still days I cry. There are still moments I feel homesick no matter where I am and feel like it'll only get better if they let their baby sister crawl between their sheets.
I follow in their footsteps because it makes me feel like I know where I'm going,
through sand or snow or mud,
there will always be poetry there.
I feel it. Its all I've learned to know.
Feb 3, 2013
Feb 3, 2013 at 1:34 PM UTC
When all of a sudden,
A person makes you feel so comfortable,
That you start and end your day with them.
You have got no idea about what's going on and you end up being more than best friends.
There is this relationship,
Which is more of understanding,
More of emotions,
He knows what I want without me saying it.
The very eye contact we almost everyday avoid so that non of us could see that we adore them.
The silence is more than enough to say words.
I know you are a bit more sensitive than I'm,
I know you are a bit more hurt than I'm,
But trust me ,
I would love to heal all your pains,
I would love to spend my life with you.
But the fact is contradicting.
I know you respect me,
I know you adore me,
But at the same time you think I'm far too perfect to be with.
Which at some point hurts me.
But still there is some hope,
That one day you'll understand the love I carry in my heart for you.
I may not say things,
But I care,
I may not show,
But I feel.
This relationship is way ahead of what is called a "relationship".
It does not needs any words, any explanations.
All it needs is time,
Time which we spend together,
Emotions, emotions which are buried deep inside.
And the love , love which is in our hearts, unconditional.
And so there I'm with some hope inside, that someday you'll understand.
Sep 28, 2015
Sep 28, 2015 at 11:39 AM UTC
Moving again.
Packing and suffocating
just to hoard awhile.
Unleash and prop in the next chapter.
How many more times
will I have to revolve around the clock timer?
Displace my comfort.
Stir up and riffle my stability
just to watch for the final sunset.
Until the explanations to my pebble have to dust
out of my mouth again.
A gypsy life not for three.
So hard to handle for anyone but me.
Practice, practice, reset and stay.
It's a cycle I'm tired of.
Grown accustomed to delay and anxiety.
Longing for roots and more tomorrows.
Fly me away with wings of fire.
To disintegrate left behind memory
that's tying up my feet.
To ignite a blazed landing...
To grow from,
to be content on.
A place to be when my pebble wants to fly.
© NDHK
Sep 15, 2012
Sep 15, 2012 at 3:59 AM UTC
tonight the sky.
dark palette.
the stars are projectors.
the paintings of them are in
perpetual motion,
carry the zero.
conflicted still life.
of spathodea.
of pomegranate.
of her own folded-up *****
it's all in how you interpret
the brushwork.
girls can tell.
a reassuringly dull sunday
turns to intrigue.
the busy girl buys beauty.
people are places and things.
lost affections in a room
in need of images
or at least explanations.
she looks for it.
she listens for them.
the sound of existing.
the sound of a quiet room.
a rainstorm or possibly the sound
of someone taking a shower.
blind little rain.
autosleeper lowers her head.
the economy of sleep patterns.
and little else celsius.
tonight the sky.
tomorrow a place where
one can ruin oneself,
go mad, or commit a crime
with paint.
Aug 15, 2022
Aug 15, 2022 at 9:07 AM UTC
"the words you found yourself exploring
are curdled old decayed & boring
i haven't heard one spoken sentence
but i enjoy the broken remnants
because then i can place & rearrange
the lame explanations on blank pages
replace the phrases i don't care for
erase the reason they were there for
display them as a euphemism
more mistakes to be forgiven
you're pathetic i'm the greatest
you're regretted i'm replaceless
i'm incredible you're a waste
i'm sensible you're outrageous"
Feb 7, 2010
Feb 7, 2010 at 7:29 PM UTC