"foresaw" poems
When we met, love Obnubilated me.
I became bananas about you.
I wanted to be luculent.
Just to be Pauciliquent.
I however felt like a blatherskite.
You probably thought I was a glaikit.
Did I sound like a meacock instead?
If so, it’s due to kakorrhaphiophobia.
I might have operose my feelings.
Did it seem like I wanna mamaguy you?
You behaved like a frondeur.
Your callipygian body looked extramundane.
Your hair looked ulitichous.
Did you feel like I lusted your Callipygian shape?
I foresaw a love that won’t flatline.
If it does, it will be eucatastrophe.
Now we’re together, I’m disenthrall from Misogamy.
You’re a deipnosophist and a mixologist.
I’m edcious.
To keep you happy, I share a boffola.
To me, love felt like a Humdudgeon.
Apr 10, 2018
Apr 10, 2018 at 6:46 PM UTC
"Whist," is what Mammy said,
As she whisked us off to bed.
Usually we'd go quietly.
But a gypsy woman sat at our table,
Reading tea leaves,
Pouring prophecies.
Guests were few, and she I knew
To be a special one.
She saw dark clouds in a cup.
My sisters, past the tender age,
Stayed up longer to hear her say,
"Tall dark men are on their way."
I pricked my ears from upstairs,
Tried to put both on the vent,
Both of them were forward bent.
Just then my father
Climbed the stairs;
I saw the dark mop of his hair,
He was tall,
He wasn't humming;
No one else foresaw his coming,
But I vanished off to bed.
Jul 20, 2014
Jul 20, 2014 at 9:23 AM UTC
At least with Solemn Differences sing
Honouring Friends of Great Cheer celebrate
Your arm on her lap; The other on him
And with a Flash these Blue Knights consecrate
Jolly, so Potent turn Tan into Red
That pleasant alarm Blue Oracles see
And guess which Debate your Incarnate fed
Whether you are or whether not to be
Ready for Cause to the Next Big Event
Telling yourself to Inspiration run
Foresaw this Scope: Friendship and Teamwork's meant
But all of this time it was just for Fun.
Seriousness Adore, Someone licks the Tip
In your Patron; Which was really your lip.
Mar 13, 2013
Mar 13, 2013 at 2:23 AM UTC
My stomach is uneasy from the **** I was fed for breakfast.
You saw that I was disoriented,
Its why you chose to strike.
Though you foresaw that I wouldn't break,
I cant help but hate the hand I was dealt.
I will continue to choke down what you've prepared for me, O Master Chef.
Eat and grow strong,
young one.
You've a ways to go.
Oct 7, 2015
Oct 7, 2015 at 11:37 PM UTC
NURSE
Our mistress bids me with all speed to call
Aegisthus to the strangers, that he come
And hear more clearly, as a man from man,
This newly brought report. Before her slaves,
Under set eyes of melancholy cast,
She hid her inner chuckle at the events
That have been brought to pass--too well for her,
But for this house and hearth most miserably,--
As in the tale the strangers clearly told.
He, when he hears and learns the story's gist,
Will joy, I trow, in heart. Ah, wretched me!
How those old troubles, of all sorts made up,
Most hard to bear, in Atreus's palace-halls
Have made my heart full heavy in my breast!
But never have I known a woe like this.
For other ills I bore full patiently,
But as for dear Orestes, my sweet charge,
Whom from his mother I received and nursed . . .
And then the shrill cries rousing me o' nights,
And many and unprofitable toils
For me who bore them. For one needs must rear
The heedless infant like an animal,
(How can it else be?) as his humor serve
For while a child is yet in swaddling clothes,
It speaketh not, if either hunger comes,
Or passing thirst, or lower calls of need;
And children's stomach works its own content.
And I, though I foresaw this, call to mind,
How I was cheated, washing swaddling clothes,
And nurse and laundress did the selfsame work.
I then with these my double handicrafts,
Brought up Orestes for his father dear;
And now, woe's me! I learn that he is dead,
And go to fetch the man that mars this house;
And gladly will he hear these words of mine.
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Long hours, late nights, many sleepless nights
Tired feet galore
Dorothy’s discarded her Ruby Slippers for shoes of glass
But Glinda kept the magic
The feminine Tin man with his girlish heart and voice
Has had a *** change now
And how a dress of mesh fits 'em oh so well
Toto was put down for eating one of the slippers
Been replaced by house keeping mice
At least they can't chew glass
Scarecrow gained prestige and balance
Those things of which he lacked
The Cowardly Lion shaved his curly mop
We still haven’t seen him since
Aunty Em gained the crown she very much deserved
Uncle Henry preferred the merchant life
Since the Wizard foresaw their separation
Now Cinderella’s in a tizzy
Her stepsisters make her dizzy
And truth be told, you never hear
She had a bit too much to drink, so near
to the ball, first dress was ripped
The other slipped far off her head when she tripped
One shoe on, the other gone
And the rest….
Well, you know.
Apr 13, 2010
Apr 13, 2010 at 6:12 AM UTC
It is not attention that I want
Nor attention that I crave
Disdain and pain are not to blame
For the way that I behave
I pantomime the life I want
I advertise the life I own
When inside my deep dark chamber
I find comfort being alone
By myself I still feel joyful
Reading, drinking coffee, or tea
The absence of friends, the feeling of loneliness
Had simply, never occurred to me
Instead I look forward to these solitary rituals
They come with no surprise
I admit I never foresaw
These tendencies becoming my demise
For I grow attached and bound
To my special time on my own
That it is not until I am in the company of friends
That I truly feel alone
A habit turned addiction is to blame for my disease
My loved ones on ground level as I swing from a trapeze
My loved ones all together
My trapeze floating in midair
They laugh and feel at rest
As I hang, alone, up there.
Jun 1, 2010
Jun 1, 2010 at 10:09 PM UTC
A smile spreads along my face at my audacity to think I could put together a string of words and say I wrote a poem for you
To say I'm sorry and please forgive me.
I knew what I was doing but to lose your love is not what I foresaw
But sorry had become so ordinary in our love it will not soothe your soul but smash your heart again.
Your heart with the Midas touch returned all the innocence I once possessed before life stripped it away and left me naked.
I could sit here and recite a bible of soliloquies about a doubled edged sword of I love you I hate you.
But I won't.
I mutter your name in my sleep and morrow they will ask what I said and I'll look up with an iron curtain around my emotions and say a nightmare I will myself to forget.
Because you are a constant reminder of how I infamously ruin any good that comes to me.
I am fathers daughter after all , I conceived in a woman the joys that lit her face in the darkness and kept her fears at bay.
I took the promise of forever and obliterated the light in her eyes and walked away leaving her alone with a broken life.
And now I am barren like women who can't give birth and empty like a woman who said yes to abortion.
And I'll never know what love means
Nov 1, 2013
Nov 1, 2013 at 9:53 AM UTC
From the wetted womb
of a season's mother
a raindrop bloomed
to a planet's whisper
As the eyes of the drop
glimpsed its world
foresaw the remorse
its life devoured
As the raindrop struck
the whispering grounds
shattered to droplets
a million around
The death of the drop
but certainly quenched
the thirst of a planet
from a martyr's lament
Dec 28, 2009
Dec 28, 2009 at 8:45 PM UTC
It’s so sweet,
how you held my hand in yours
and I could tremble inside.
It was a basic touch.
Not at all very much,
but I could feel your warmth,
your fingers caress my hand
as I surrendered to the dreams of you
that night.
And a new revolution ticks over.
Begin again.
Brighter and stronger as a flame,
you are drawn to the light.
This cycle, I can feel your lips meet mine.
The gentle press of your mouth, slowly
quickening as of a new blaze.
It was a larger gift than I foresaw,
but it left me aching, desiring more.
We are both not left wanting at all.
Tick, and a new revolution greets me.
To begin again.
You cradle me in your arms,
tight and close and I never want to let go.
Feathery touches tracing my body,
up and down you caress,
as soft yet powerful as spider’s silk.
We kiss and it leaves us out of breath.
I’ve never wanted you like this before,
leaving me craving for what’s in store.
Before a revolution takes hold.
A fresh morning, a new start.
I seem to float beside you;
you leave me drifting after you,
a ghost still attached to its haunts.
You are still as warm and beautiful as I remember.
You still leave me laughing and my
soul singing like no one has before.
But it strips me down to the core,
waiting for a new revolution again.
These little revolutions.
New cycles happen all around us,
to us;
weaving, pulling, cleaving and breaking;
lifting, strengthening, soothing and exciting.
All these little revolutions.
Aug 4, 2016
Aug 4, 2016 at 2:30 AM UTC
So many worlds, so much to do,
So little done, such things to be,
How know I what had need of thee,
For thou wert strong as thou wert true?
The fame is quench'd that I foresaw,
The head hath miss'd an earthly wreath:
I curse not nature, no, nor death;
For nothing is that errs from law.
We pass; the path that each man trod
Is dim, or will be dim, with weeds:
What fame is left for human deeds
In endless age? It rests with God.
O hollow wraith of dying fame,
Fade wholly, while the soul exults,
And self-infolds the large results
Of force that would have forged a name.
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Senlin sat before us and we heard him.
He smoked his pipe before us and we saw him.
Was he small, with reddish hair,
Did he light his pipe with a meditative stare
And a twinkling flame reflected in blue eyes?
'I am alone': said Senlin; 'in a forest of leaves
The single leaf that creeps and falls.
The single blade of grass in a desert of grass
That none foresaw and none recalls.
The single shell that a green wave shatters
In tiny specks of whiteness on brown sands . . .
How shall you understand me with your hearts,
Who cannot reach me with your hands? . . .'
The city dissolves about us, and its walls
Are the sands beside a sea.
We plunge in a chaos of dunes, white waves before us
Crash on kelp tumultuously,
Gulls wheel over foam, the clouds blow tattered,
The sun is swallowed . . . Has Senlin become a shore?
Is Senlin a grain of sand beneath our footsteps,
A speck of shell upon which waves will roar? . . .
Senlin! we cry . . . Senlin! again . . . no answer,
Only the crash of sea on a shell-white shore.
Yet, we would say, this is no shore at all,
But a small bright room with lamplight on the wall;
And the familiar chair
Where Senlin sat, with lamplight on his hair.
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One could might hypothesize
That the tears would have
Drained more than
The veins drawing out
Of the confines of the muscle
Pumping sweltering anger
On such a transportation
Of creating a new home
Out of one recognized for three years.
The stacks upon stacks
Of emotional drainage
After the physical had worn out
From problem after inconvenience
After incompetency.
A departure I wrote an outline for
Before I stood at the border
Of goodbyes,
I quickly threw out.
The itch and discomfort,
The aching and drainage
The constant questions in my mind
Throughout the entire time
Divorced me from the clouds
That I foresaw above us
Hugging goodbyes.
The storm was in the lies
That made me hurt
To see such discomfort in your eyes.
Here’s to the storm’s dispersion,
No good deed can split the coming tidal wave.
May 25, 2021
May 25, 2021 at 7:34 PM UTC
Bewildered he stands in night time mist
then he wonders as he clenches his fist
how he'd arrived here, with a brain twist
rooted, planted, his reality is dismissed
early onset, gray matter's soon demise
bothered by his failed attempts to recall
his memory's been faltering by degrees
it was nothing he nor his family foresaw
he turns to see a car with an open door
and found car keys in his pants' pocket
it seems he can remember a little more
he's electrified as a plugged in socket
There was a large note on the car's dash
with his name, address, cell, and phone
in case he was ever in an accident crash
all would know the facts will stand alone
Oct 21, 2014
Oct 21, 2014 at 2:36 AM UTC
**I woke up and looked around
Waited for the sun to come up fully
Waited for the morning to blossom
If all the positive energy I have been harnessing pays off, then truly...
This day has got to turn out to be just as awesome
Just that nice
Where contentment with anything and everything around me is key
No need to try to be that which I'm not
Today, just being 'me' would suffice
It's a Saturday... and oh what a glorious one it is
Let it continue to be so... please
Let me not fret about that problem that I so willingly forgot
Let me jump up at some point and do that happy dance that I foresaw
The joy of living life to the fullest today is a luxury I cannot afford to forgo
I feel truly blessed
I feel like the Almighty is planning to answer all my prayers with yeses
I hold the key to all these desired successes
Like I'm standing at the door... and I pick up a tiny rock
They have to open this time... come on, I've got quite an interesting knock
I'm the one they've been missing
And didn't even know it yet
I tell them "receive me"... and they will do so with handshakes, hands squeezing
Clap for my 'show and tell' project, when I haven't even shown it yet
I feel like I should let loose, maybe even spend this day shirtless
Allow Jah to bless
Worry not, fret less
It feels like everything's going to turn out okay
In a nutshell, I have such high hopes for this day.**
Apr 27, 2013
Apr 27, 2013 at 5:16 AM UTC
I am no longer captivated
by this element
of surprise
I foresaw it within your
sea storm eyes
the crystal clarity only
assisted
but don't you dare get
it twisted
my veins course with
resistance
in this the game where
the rule book is
laden
with blank pages
love, I swore we left
our cages
& traded them for
passion
but no one taught you
how to ration
& I'll still melt within
your smile
if you'll still mold within
my wild
May 9, 2018
May 9, 2018 at 1:11 PM UTC
I've always believed that I needed you,
That I had to be validated,
That parentless children could only be the sum of their genes. That my two shadows foresaw my only hope: a shadow myself. She, a mother who cant love, shown me her care recently.
But I no longer needed it.
I no longer craved it.
Her words though sweet - no longer held so much meaning.
Because I've met someone whose teaching me to validate myself.
To not speak so unkindly about who I am.
They tell me that I'm not a monster, and am special.
I've never felt more free or happier.
You, though someone I love,
cannot be my reason for living.
for you've proven untrustworthy,
In your lies and how my time is unimportant to you.
And so I shall learn to love myself.
I no longer need to attain that which is unattainable.
Jun 19, 2017
Jun 19, 2017 at 10:01 AM UTC
*Lets take a walk down memory lane.
Let's go back to when this all began.*
I remember your sweet lil face once so radiant and full of life. Your eyes wide open waiting to see what the word had to offer. Playing with rocks and chasing lizards. You closed your eyes and swung as far as you could. You climbed the highest stairs and made it to the top of the largest slide. Oh darling…you felt brave at that moment. Those were the best days off your life. They were quickly shadowed by the darkness you never foresaw.
*Lets take a walk down memory lane.
Let's go back to when this all began.*
You see you built this wall around you. Not to keep people out…but to keep yourself locked in. you feared the imperfections would show. Don’t blame yourself lost girl. How can your innocent soul know? You were tricked. They said it was a game and why wouldn’t you trust your family. You were a child, less than ten years old. You did what any child would do: You played. One by one they would take their turn while you were positioned on your knees as an animal. That was their game…It was a game that all animals play. Oh sweet girl. Your innocence was ripped from you. It was torn apart and destroyed. You had no hope at this point. You realized the cruelty of the world was that someone would always come along and hurt you. If it wasn’t them someone else would try.
*Lets take a walk down memory lane.
Let's go back to when this all began.*
You were taken from the harm and brought to a whole new world. Those eyes wide open looking to see if there was hope in this world after all. For a while you believed there was but you couldn’t be sure. Something told you not to let you guard down. You taught yourself that there was one person you could trust everyone else could potentially hurt you. Your cute face disguised the ugly truth. You were worried that people would suspect. Often described as a handful wreck less and impulsive. You owned up to all of them. They kept you safe for a while. You see what you didn’t know at the time was that the wall you had once built was now starting to crumble. As you got older you regressed. You became a frightened toddler who needed protection. You began to throw tantrums and more than anything you wanted to cling on and once more feel protected. Your insecurities would always be there creeping in the dark. Hold my hand dear girl. Let me help you.
*Lets take a walk down memory lane.
Let's go back to when this all began.*
Remember the girl with hope in her sight.
Remember the world still has a lot to be seen.
Remember the lizards and remember the rocks.
Beauty is an imperfection. Peek from the crumbling wall. Look out and see that this is your life.
It’s scary but it’s also filled with beauty.
Jan 16, 2014
Jan 16, 2014 at 3:39 AM UTC
Spice may entice a not-so-nice chunder
Nay twice, nay thrice, an undoubted blunder?
As he threw - as He did chew - we all foresaw calamity
Then we knew - as He did spew -
This is ******* hilarity
Sep 30, 2015
Sep 30, 2015 at 6:30 PM UTC
burst to the slow summit of motorways at dawn
there's a freedom here
golden sun off blinding laurel bridges
people with no need to rise so early
no greater need than you
do you ever think it
when you're going so fast
do you ever think that you could die
do you ever will the combustions
and metals that carry you
to meet their absurd shadows
stretched out before them
faster than you, but getting shorter
and getting slower
roll away the glass
embrace the roar
magnify it
and feel the chill that is not.
the light washes the trees of who they are
the avenues of salute
from obsolete lamps
that draw you into these little cities
whose peoples are the steel and the concrete
whose bridges are megaliths
that ancient whispers foresaw
cutting brilliantly through seafoam wheat
my mother always looked at me peculiarly
but, god! - she tried
i fall to reality with the rising sun
but not of loosening night
simply of greeting stasis
anaemic-light-tunnels
built in visions of what the future used to be
false days in darkening motion
that make the tundras seem so small
and marries the hue of beauty, of brutality
here, upon a hill, something red-brick
there, beyond the mist, something stone
perhaps a church
i care not
the age of the concrete speaks to me
the distances wrap around me
Aug 14, 2013
Aug 14, 2013 at 8:31 AM UTC
Wasp addendum
More than out of and
Quote the finality, well to avoid...
A sting that churched a brassy man
Wasp substantial
Adding the heed, of couth and comparison
Does a reach for time, understand arousal?
Quiet time searching for youth, that knows the question...
Wasp divine
Kiss and kindred, the tools of solemn tone?
Enchastened with a host, too cursory to be orders vision
We hear the spoil of the wind, become a new loan
Wasp merciful
Craving a thought, to tell a tale kept
By the unity we foresaw, a heard bliss still...
Was a chance meeting with a yearning fate, bereft?
Wasp earthen
Where souls intertwine, the taste of home
Is a careful wish, foreseen in the earning?
Or should might, take the time to intend guidance as done?
Wasp witnesses
The tow of commonness, in the voice of salutations
Memory served, the break of justice in a winds shade
Here to fore, timidity is a challenge, for a truer intuition...
May 9, 2023
May 9, 2023 at 9:29 PM UTC
Mammy had a cauldron of stories,
And Mammy never lied;
Strange tales about the living,
Still touched by those who've died.
She spoke of a friend who read the leafs:
When babies died, she heard banshees;
She foresaw the cornice collapse,
Saved me when I was three.
She whispered these tales
Through pressed lips,
Would pause to sip her tea.
Seers told her of her one-legged mother
Standing guard at the foot of her bed,
Long after she was dead.
One prophet spoke of an open door,
A one-way trip to a foreign shore,
And agonies she'd bend to endure.
For me, these stories rang so true,
For mothers wouldn't lie to you;
Yet Father said she was a sinner,
Spinning yarns against God's will.
That's not the story in Bethany,
Or the fairy homes beneath the hills.
Are there ghosts under our beds,
In the closets in our heads;
Hovering over marked graveyards,
Abandoned houses and Tarot Cards?
When the unknown night tore at me,
I'd been told I could pray
To the Father, Son and Holy Ghost:
Now they're the ones I fear the most,
They're the stories she often chose.
May 13, 2019
May 13, 2019 at 10:02 AM UTC