"foregoing" poems
Tempestuous longings from behind the screen of life’s moving picture
You stare back at me, in a glimmering, shimmering afterthought
Laid low by foregoing passion
In a moment’s torrid glimpse from our hollow reflections
Fragrant evenings during seasons of filming
Solemnly captured and revised then experienced
The all encompassing struggle with context and setting
Abides a steely night, in the rustle of autumn branches
Requiem for an unremitting beloved!
Sung in the valley between piercing peaks of sorrow
She floats through the scene as distinct aura and vague essence
An embrace from the trail of vapors and misspent gestures
All emanating from a glass of cider beneath nostrils
Gracefully, you embank on the wind of time’s shadow
And nudge my cheek with impetus and vigor
Lashing out at my skin in ambivalent revelry
As if my follicles were vacuous caverns
Catching the callous moments which flutter the ***** of hillside tents
The unearthly gusts of banality extinguish the projector’s gleam
While nature embodies your beauty furthermore
Toward the end of the pathway
And the credits of the film
And the allegro of the score
And the solitude of eternity
And the rustling of the branches
Aug 30, 2010
Aug 30, 2010 at 12:09 AM UTC
O Chansons foregoing
You were a seven days’ wonder.
When you came out in the magazines
You created considerable stir in Chicago,
And now you are stale and worn out,
You’re a very depleted fashion,
A hoop-skirt, a calash,
An homely, transient antiquity.
Only emotion remains.
Your emotions?
Are those of a maitre-de-cafe.
3.1k
Half calf with a twist
As the line stands
Thinking she is a superimposed *****
Foregoing on
Barista
Waist like an elastic band
Hair waving hello in it’s pinkness
Homeless man coming in
Screaming
Obscenities
Something about Romans and Euripides
As if in a round about
Circle the store like a hovered cloud
Then out again
The rocker dude sipping his tea
The older man in the corner
Who constantly leaves
Wandering where one can’t see
Trailing behind his laptop and keys
Somewhere in this madness loop
Latte’s and Macchiato's brew
And I
With a child's flair
Take it all in, while I throw back my hair
Oct 25, 2018
Oct 25, 2018 at 11:28 PM UTC
Dear simple girl, those flattering arts,
(From which thou’dst guard frail female hearts,)
Exist but in imagination,
Mere phantoms of thine own creation;
For he who views that witching grace,
That perfect form, that lovely face,
With eyes admiring, oh! believe me,
He never wishes to deceive thee:
Once in thy polish’d mirror glance
Thou’lt there descry that elegance
Which from our *** demands such praises,
But envy in the other raises.—
Then he who tells thee of thy beauty,
Believe me, only does his duty:
Ah! fly not from the candid youth;
It is not flattery,—’tis truth.
2.4k
As everything comes to a close, the end is dawning upon thee
I thought I was prepared with my farewells, apparently not sadly.
recent events made it difficult to say goodbye
to all the things I love no matter how hard I try.
I deemed the thought that I could face this with pride
yet I seem to have so much things to hide.
Perhaps the fear hindered me from saying all that I need to say
to settle unfinished businesses and things left unsaid, array.
I therefore realized that I have a lot of things to express
and I just can't settle with foregoing it all, I can't suppress.
Boldly as it may seem, it easier said than done.
I just can't find the right time to say it, how it should've begun.
My mind consumes me with this unsettling thought
leaving me baffled, confused on what I ought.
it's easier to shun it away, long forgotten,
but escaping doesn't fix anything does it? I guess it shouldn't happen...
Say I were to express these unspoken of truths
that confined me and hindered me to show myself, soothe.
Will the opportunity to speak of be bestowed?
Am I to be strengthened, courage, bravery endowed?
To be granted this desire to behold my insights
is the greatest blessing to be bestowed by the above lights.
Give me the answer I ask of thee!
Should I speak of this or flee?!
I yearn to tell the truth and the whole truth to thee.
for clarity and liberation from this for me...
Feb 15, 2013
Feb 15, 2013 at 11:50 AM UTC
Black lake reflects a trail of ivory plumes,
Cockatiel's alabaster tail of feathers.
Such loveliness can only be the moon's,
Which skinny-dips in lunar altogethers.
Raccoons catch fish along the shore,
Fastidious paws clutching their prizes.
She paddles her canoe with silent oar,
Observing nature's soft nocturne disguises.
Silhouetted loons rock low upon the waves,
Asleep till sunlight sets them to their songs.
Her wake bisects the path the moon engraves,
As wilderness whispers tranquilly she belongs.
She'll stay the night foregoing comfort fire,
Moonlight enough by which to pitch a tent.
And come tomorrow should anyone inquire,
No trace reveals her overnight encampment.
Feb 20, 2012
Feb 20, 2012 at 5:23 PM UTC
Scientists made a lofty discovery
The universe continually expands and contracts
In the exact same manner absolutely
So we ultimately live the same lives for all eternity
So we devised a way to send a message to the next universe
A message that would stay in place
Even without the existence of space
A message that would survive time
Even through the end of our line
The message conveyed:
Don't make our mistakes
Correct our sins
Our universe ended
The new one began
The first humans mindlessly worshipped the message
Hearts of the willing sacrificed
They killed for control of its mystic power
It belonged to whoever owned the ivory tower
Until religions were developed
Although they were all somewhat derived from the message
People began to see the message itself as a pagan hieroglyph
An incoherent interference
They killed all that worshipped it
Senseless slaughter
Things got hotter
When people were finally intelligent enough to understand it
They saw all the things we did wrong
And how to avoid those mistakes
But the things we did that were wrong
Seemed much more convenient and easier
They used the weapons we told them not to make
And the ideas we told them to steer clear of
Swords became guns
Racism became genocide
Love became hate
More direct ways of imposing their vision onto the world
Foregoing empathy and compromise
They submitted to the fascism of their subjectivity
And were plunged into the Dark Ages
Steel ***** and chains
Followed by bullet rain
Humanity was lost and found
Humanitarians gagged and bound
People had to make mistakes for themselves
Until they decided to stop living in hell
Humanity collectively decided to follow the message righteously
After they saw hope for the future
Through the vision our message provided
And they realized they should write a message of their own
Jan 26, 2018
Jan 26, 2018 at 7:33 AM UTC
One mile down the drunken river
I lost my mind in her midday yellow haze.
Residues of the river-wind-kiss lingered saline on my face,
Wild sun on the wild river scathed my skin copper,
And I glided upstream in blurred eye sweat
Losing and finding the river’s mangrove shore.
My mind in delirious mess wondered
What it was that wined the river, made her a swirling detachment,
Bearing all with the endurance of a drunkard
But embracing nothing like an all foregoing monk.
I dreamed adrift one more mile and then another
Till I was windswept and wined like the drunken river.
Sep 24, 2013
Sep 24, 2013 at 3:27 AM UTC
I'm just one of the thousands
Of monkeys, who sit
At their keyboards,
Typing away,
Typing away,
Typing away,
Foregoing food, water,
*** and even love
Typing away
Typing away
Not to create some masterpiece
Which will immortalize me
Typing away
Well, maybe that
But, it is my hope that in
This typing away
I could capture
The most elusive of prizes:
Truth
Feb 16, 2013
Feb 16, 2013 at 8:49 AM UTC
Michael Morton is his name
He was wrongfully convicted
For the ****** of his wife
25 years in prison, he did
You don’t want to imagine that life
An innocent man
In a horrible land
Christ, it’s so terrible
DNA rescued Michael
And fine lawyers who believed in his innocence
Turns out the prosecutor, Anderson, was corrupt
For sure
He withheld material evidence that would have eliminated
Our hero — for he is one — as the perpetrator
That’s the real crime
There is more
Anderson was so out of line that it cost him his job as a judge
And he lost his law license
And he went to jail
For ten days
First time in American history a prosecutor went to jail for misconduct
There is more
Michael found the Lord in prison
Which greatly helped him so
On his release he found a church
Invited to speak about his experience
He told those assembled if they wanted to know what prison was like
They had to ask him out for coffee
So Cynthia did
It went well
They talked and talked
There were many dates
They are now married
Michael reconciled with his son, Eric
Who was three when his mother was killed
And thereafter wrongly believed it had been by Michael’s hand
The real murderer was convicted and went to prison
They passed a law in Texas to ensure this travesty would not happen to another
It’s named the Michael Morton Law
They are going to make a movie about these facts
Count your blessings
The foregoing is a true story
Aug 23, 2018
Aug 23, 2018 at 8:38 PM UTC
Angels, who are my Gods; winnowed curves & a nucleus | [Local]
Always riveting [ ]; &
those who do not see the higher angels | [It] | |
human kidney damage leading to distress
& the cave's heat cries out of nothing;
& from him that hath loved him:
Sisyphus' mistake; [Passion
The acts; although in whose care he was given;
the doctor does not seek external things;
oath]; Telling of the ages of gold and silver;
Man is evil from childhood
thereof, and one kid of the goats, a male one,
whom his master, he has promised
unto me for ever unto the ages; this is the first,
What is the one thing
in her womb,
who has more, Me & all the walls;
The devices, which are separate
preceded him: Feed my lambs;
St. Thomas is the most avant-garde Angel,
who are my Gods;
w/ winnowed curves;
as a nucleus | [Local]
Always riveting [] and
those who do not see the higher angels; | [It] | |
human kidney damage; distress
and out of the cave of the field, and that,
heat from a nothing; and from him, who loved him,
Sysyphus is a mistake; [Passion
given the acts of his deeds; for the doctor;
EXTERNAL seeks a miracle
oath]; Tells the gold and silver;
Man is evil from childhood
his, and a young goat, which he acts,
I promised forever
ages; This is the first time
the rest of it is in the womb of its possessor,
scattered in the hedges: for all things;
In the foregoing St. Thomas feed;
my greatest concern is the avant-garde,
Angel, who are my Gods;
winnowed curves;
as a nucleus | [Local]
Always riveting [ ] &
those who do not see the higher angels; | [It]
| | | | || | | |
human kidney damage; distress
The cave and,
the heat out of nothing; from him that hath loved him:
Sysyphus errors; [Passion;
through whose care he was given; the doctor
It asks for foreign
oaths]; Tells the gold and silver;
Man is evil from childhood
his, and a kid of the goats, for one, whom his master,
I promised forever
ages; This is the first time
The other is a pregnant woman;
All the fences that separated
the foregoing, Feed St. Thomas;
the sum of the avant-garde
Sep 14, 2018
Sep 14, 2018 at 1:40 AM UTC
The universe
A master poet in her own right
Writes incredible stanzas regularly
Crashing majestic seas through gentle breezes and
Curling tree trunks through Earth's crust like calligraphy
So effortlessly forming wondrous deeds
But even the universe
Fails to comprehend someone as remarkable as you
You inhibit the laws of gravity
Allowing me elevation to previously unreachable heights
Which presents the inevitable question:
If you resist common law, how could I resist you?
Looking for a simple answer
To a question that prevents casual introspection
I realized reason would never understand you
That no precedent has been set for someone so passionate
So foregoing any common thoughts one may endure
I recklessly accepted my place right next to yours
"The law is reason, free from passion" -Aristotle
Nov 6, 2013
Nov 6, 2013 at 1:14 AM UTC
*Dragging my soul through the mud
Alienating the spirit out in the cold
No steps taken, Not even to think of it
Countless attempts have been taken
Mind foregoing experimental drugs
A weeks worth of ******
Slapping myself in the face, regretlessly
No control taken, Losing sight of reality
Realms coming unreal
Relentless faulty wire crossing the line
Unattaching all emotion
Unlatching all sympathy
Disarming defenses
Throwing the towel in on the offense
Letting down all guard
Forgetting all abilities
Giving into senility
Darkness draping over me
Out of touch, Out of reach
Returning to sender
Zone unheard of
Addressing the unknown
Nailing shut the coffin
Six foot under tow*
Rusting In Pieces
Dormant Grave
Forgotten!
May 31, 2010
May 31, 2010 at 12:35 PM UTC
This indecorous partnership
a bottle of whiskey and hands tapping
making the tapping on keys
sweet musical melodies
Living on the edge looking in
waking and shaking
always wanting improvement
turning away from disillusionment
Foregoing the pain
just forging forward
making law to mine self
being what I believe in
I am a stupid *******
on a suicide mission
this my small life
this is my omission
By Christos Andreas Kourtis aka NeonSolaris
Nov 2, 2013
Nov 2, 2013 at 1:36 AM UTC
Oh how my heart grows fond
Oh how it wrecks my every bond
It fails my lungs
It endorses my wrongs
It drowns my heart
Pulling my limps apart
Ohh, how it closes all doors
And so much more
This sickening melancholy
This universal unholy
Attached itself to my brain
Tries to prove myself insane
Oh how it makes me want to go berserk
Puts my mind out of lurk
Ripping all ties to pieces
Figuring it'll bring me to peace
Oh but all it does is spread
All corners of my soul blue or red
Oh how it ruins me
Foregoing all the good I was supposed to be
Oh how this loneliness is addicting
This melancholy is growing
This bittersweet agony
This sweetbitter happy
Is it me?
Or
It is it apart of me?
I wonder
Oh how I wonder
-fir.m
Sep 8, 2016
Sep 8, 2016 at 11:10 PM UTC
A ride today in Des Moines
that appraise law and counteract
any that country may enact
where Wichita lineman forthwith
and mackinaw shall really embellish
furthermore with Granny Smith
awhile down stream on a riverboat
that foregoing is never behind
where a river is always wide
and bourgeois with a paddle wheel stride
why his atropine smile
reach the delta with such desire
and let him take the home route
in an abode of parish shanty
where river dance makes day long
a simple beast, a man
with chinchilla wrap round his neck
that sweep her off flourishing deck
these stratospheric ideals now
for sovereign witness entail campaign.
May 29, 2017
May 29, 2017 at 6:52 AM UTC
and they couldn’t afford fifteen
dollars. they couldn’t afford the
news. neither could i, and the reali-
zation that feeling alone is not being.
when comments on survival, i see
only a frozen bridge and man wrap’d
in tatter’d seat cover. he stuff’d new-
spaper from feet to neck. using
others’ trash to survive, staying warm
thru mans’ attrocities document’d.
by the news we couldn’t afford. and
i see all the faces i used to recognize.
i remember now of the familiar faces
but don’t have the time to justify
their lies. nor do i have the mind. it’s
been a minute, and lions flood a
room advanced from normality.
regain control.
and my name is
Ziun,
and my words are
**** it,
and my thoughts
cryptic,
and my body
homeless again.
found in transition, runoff from
times of scavenging and foregoing
shame. found in transition from times
of the blood-flood’d valleys of dest-
roy’d lips. found in transition,
head’d from reliance to other
persons. to other substances. found
in transitions and the wind has rav-
aged my body. and i’d wail, wail in
spite of lazed vibrating chords.
his vocalizing:
– don’t forget to sneak off and
get rid of it. just show up with
wine, then we're *******
and this cat knew my first girl after
she was no longer; and this cat knew
my first girl of regret after i pass’d
her up.
– calling sister midnight
a first time thru, palms face opposite
as we extend right. to feel in diffe-
rent tones as this train of thought is
derailing, digressing, regressing to
swastikas.
(lemme redact that)
and please think no less of my words
based on the words chosen,
based on these infinite love-affairs.
Feb 3, 2013
Feb 3, 2013 at 8:55 AM UTC
Photograph
I looked at a face
no longer there.
A frozen smile,
familiar and warm.
Once young,
now old.
Gone with time and
long forgotten.
Eyes lingering on
pasty ink
paled by rays of sun.
Cradling a frame of a
foregoing time,
fingertips brushing
against a landscape once familiar,
now faded.
Sep 25, 2017
Sep 25, 2017 at 4:45 PM UTC
'So easy'
some would say,
the one who never had his day spin in a silent night or turned
his back to find he looks upon himself.
So easy,
like the spasms of the first ****** the beginning of the fall
and in the falling getting smaller, smaller but finding as the crow flies South in fact you're getting taller and the circle that you're in is the thing that's getting smaller, so you flex your limbs and climb and it's easy climbing over, getting over walls that try to keep you in, they never get to teach you that in colleges or seats of learning,
it's like they'd rather leave you yearning, wanting more and burning with the want of it.
But you never pluck your eyes out to see what lies behind because those learned fellows tell us that to do that makes us blind and if that's so and we take heed we'll never know, I'd rather bleed to death than waste my breath and then again I know that breath is just a roundabout of which a death is just one turn-off,
several light years, where the teardrop drops and all time stops to catch another breath and death is just a taste on the palate of some ancestral waiter,
I wait another turn foregoing all the pain and pleasure of that once in a lifetime final seizure,
I am my own and I am Ceasar in my home, a caliph to sit upon the throne and who can tell me no?
even so
I fall and fall and small or tall without a doubt it evens out
in the end.
Jun 14, 2015
Jun 14, 2015 at 7:13 PM UTC
~another love poem~
In the thousands of years of Earth’s foregoing,
marking the reign of humans, all seek sapience,
knowing full well, neither first or last am I to mark
this day’s commencement with a need, a desiring,
to notate this not unusual but definitively unique
calendar notation with a tribute, neither requested
but freely given to the person who lies beside me.
*Did I wake commanded or so compelled to scrabble
a collection of words, sequences, initially disordered,
into a shape, to chisel these sendings of a chest into a
living disbursement, a statute, a marbleized creature,
that empties and releases a sensory disposition rumbling
into a messy, mediocre utterance of sentience while they
sleep quiet, pockmarked by dreamed mumblings, dreaming?*
No, I did not.
News headlines come demanding see me, insistent that
I am urgency, but one displaced by the next, making them
instantly stale by pealing replacements. This poem, a self-
appointed task is now eased, spent and spurted into an
lifespan of a length unknown and untold. Here I end, ceased
and resisting, demurring, desisting another stanza, The hour
approaches the seventh hour before noon, rising time. Go now.
*The choring chords of fibrous tasks that stitch existence into
a sustaining impertinent permanence, list-crossing-off, a-nagging.
The itches of living, ask for scratching, 1st cup of coffee making,
but smile bemusedly that this first and freshest to do, newly added,
is done, dispatched with a line-sworded satisfying crossing off.
She sleeps on, while I soon to rise and quiet paddle to the
kitchen where kept the utensils for sustenance,*
I am contented, miraculously, simultaneous,
emptied and fulfilled.
4-14-2021
NYC
7:18am
Apr 14, 2022
Apr 14, 2022 at 7:30 AM UTC
i desire for your
inner light to awaken:
itself, a budding flower—
growing roots in my silence,
foregoing the panache of air.
your petals assist my peril
into a curtain's closing.
what transparency does my hand hold
clearer than any day when you
look at yourself within my eyes,
dizzy with the image i give back,
a startled child?
the Earth's jar topples, waters breaking free, loosening its girth wily against stone, rinsing us both with purity.
Dec 20, 2015
Dec 20, 2015 at 8:57 AM UTC
To everyone who believes
Have faith in your work
Admire the hearts of others
Never quit, always strive
Keep God first
You are self-made
Outstanding and omnipotent
Understanding and foregoing
THANK YOU
Jul 28, 2015
Jul 28, 2015 at 3:00 PM UTC
Playing life's jazz with fingers on a tabletop ,
Tilting the balance between the carefree and non-sensical
with whimsical raven feathers of thought ..
The curator of his minds pale luminosity , foregoing
the feast of worldly carrion for a few bits of droll grain ,
god ****** this drudgery labeled mortality ..
Mar 16, 2016
Mar 16, 2016 at 8:48 PM UTC