"foreseeable" poems
•helping the kids with homework•
no one told you,
was part of the job description
paycheck earner a-ok,
gruff but tender lover,
knowing her special places,
building a tree swing,
a tree house safe and satisfactory,
one the neighbors envy
taking them to the hospital for
broken arms and chemotherapy,
part two of the non-routine but a very possible foreseeable,
going to school to give that principal a look
that will make him think twice before suspending
one of his for defending himself
you remember your daddy doing the same for you,
forgetting to repeat the tar and hiding that came later
the tucking in, the pretense ouch
when your end of day
scratchy beard ruffling the skin of babies,
carrying tissues in a toolbox,
never heard of, nevertheless done,
tho not a memory defining the future inclusive,
definitely a learning ability, a likeability
doing homework, nuh uh,
no way jose, don’t dare let them
know how you never got a gold star,
always sat in the back row, outta sight,
all day dreaming, chemistry rhymes with mystery,
and poetry is rhymes needing a big vocabulary
which means lots of words for a man who don’t talk much
ain’t exactly his strong suit
sure, heard of Shakespeare but never met him,
know where the on/off computer button hides,
the rest is up to them;
got no email address, but taught them sir and ma’am,
how to address humans with respect,
i’ll promise them anything
but not doing any homework,
unless it the kind that that makes
“a home work”
Jul 22, 2018
Jul 22, 2018 at 9:20 AM UTC
This planet orbits a yellow sun like ours.
It is in the Optimum Zone to support life.
Sure enough it has a wide variety of flora and fauna.
Highly intelligent life has evolved in its seas and oceans.
Its continents, however, are dominated by a species of primates.
Over the past 300 of the planet’s years they have developed
Some fairly high technology.
But they remain carnivores
Who regularly commit genocide.
They cut down swathes of natural forest
To grow chemically protected
Genetically modified nutrition-sources.
And they mine their planet empty
Of its mineral riches.
The planet’s ecosystem is being rapidly destroyed
By them.
Socially and psychologically they remain primitive.
Yet they possess the means to blow their world
To pieces.
With heavy heart I have to advise
We sign this planet
“No Entry”
For the foreseeable future.
“Forbidden” indeed.
A planet we call MW Orion 8478-3
That its natives call
That ever so common name:
“Earth”.
Paul Butters
Aug 11, 2015
Aug 11, 2015 at 10:07 AM UTC
The Picture Window
The vista view never changes but daily.
The naked eye, registers the same distances,
resting objects unmoved, modest alterations
by wind and water are noted, but for intent,
for purpose, the watercolor one would paint
be invariably unvarying as a Swiss Alp.
The subtle nuanced worldview, where the sky
stretches from ceiling to a foot above ground, as
I lay prone neath the coverlet, vista always subtly differing,
from its prior reincarnation, self-reflection demands to know.
Alive & Awake? Yes.
Breathing steady? Yes.
Toes? Still can wiggly to & fro.
My soul?
Presumably ok, as I write, because I write, the
picture window into to my insight, though oft blurry,
yet intact, making discernible the changes in light,
temperature and heart rate, as the body/soul contraption modulates, just as the gradient of daylight shifts lighter and higher, with a rising sun bringing more clarity to our interactive encounters with our environments..
The picture window internalized, much the same,as
the vista, subtle modest changes, colorations variegated,
are registered. Today is mostly cloudy overcast, and shall remain so for the foreseeable future, which be about two days hence. Not unsurprisingly, methinks, the future tends to be cloudy.
Beyond that peripheral, no one can say, our macular envisioning only gets weaker,time is a tough taskmaster
and uncertainty is it’s own principle.
But I can say, forecast from well under the comforter,
that more than less, where less is more, this picture window,
ex and in, shall remain, unchanged for the remainder of my years that fortune shall provide, and will & would grant me awakenings to the ex-sight and in-sight of a sculpted landscape, of negative entropy, where disorder minimal.
My musings end here, unless you still wish, come the morrow,
what the marrow the day reveals, what the window will spill,
new and exciting, subtly unchanged, and always different.
Caution: The injection of caffeine may dramatically alter
the windows perspective, as the exogenous always trumps the
endogenous.
5:50 AM
P.S. Making coffee clarifies: If the vista in +/- unchanging,
then, all my personal, own horizons are immortal as well.
Jun 4, 2023
Jun 4, 2023 at 6:34 AM UTC
You mimic the Moon
Twelve foreseeable phases
Infinite faces
Nov 14, 2021
Nov 14, 2021 at 7:38 PM UTC
Master of Arts
The soul of mine, I cannot find!
I’m lost in the ocean, amongst crashing waves — I’m almost blind!
Mastering of Arts, I beg of you — let the fates be kind
I have been good, haven’t I?
I’ve fed my body well and kept my healthy veins —
... my mistake was that I hadn’t fed another
anything but grains —
But, I don’t understand? I too am a man!
with needs of my own, and I support a wealthy land!
I have wives that lay by me, I feed them well with my hand
Is that not enough for you master? Sight o’foreseeable! What comes of me now? too lay like a fish? I hope that comes by faster!
The waves ripple,
the water crashing by at my feet
I scatter away, frightened by the coming dribble
The sky was turning dark — an upcoming storm was to pass by, I had no shelter and nothing here to eat
My stomach growled, too loud of a sound
It had been awhile since it’d done that, I was always kept satisfied
Now, nothing’s here — not fishes nor ground
The sky roared, electrified
The storm was approaching too soon!
No blues, No light loomed
Overhead. Only the thundering boom.
Too much to bear! Too much too weigh!
Oh Master of Arts!
I’m sorry I hadn’t looked down the lanes!
I saw them too, Ah! They had been too frail and somber!
Starving all day!
Forgive me, Master! I won’t make another...
the seas are crashing courses with their waves,
Stronger each time, “I don’t have all day to be saved!”
But lightning struck, and I swore to keep my place in line
now isn’t the time to be a swine!
Selfishness is another seed to be taken, enough to make you blind
Master of Arts
I swear to you,
I’ll pay more mind
to the frail, aching bodies of the souls
in need
I have enough — I swear it! — to feed!
Master of Arts,
Let the fates be kind..
I swear I have changed, my mind, my acts, my scroll
Amidst all
I have realized
My role
May 7, 2021
May 7, 2021 at 11:32 AM UTC
.
*These thoughts
are a haphazard
tessellation
of moments,
sounds
and scents -
caught in a
persistent loop…
Such it is,
that they herald
no known beginning,
and yield
no foreseeable end.*
.
Jun 28, 2022
Jun 28, 2022 at 7:44 AM UTC
Sometimes I just want to see another way of being me
Another way of being free of all insecurity
But there are times when that is hard
And there are wounds that have been scarred
And now I'm trying to get by with what in my life has been marred.
I keep trying to escape all of the lies that cover my eyes like tape; such a disguise, I can let out only sighs.
It's hiding all of my fears deep inside all of my tears that never flow, I don't let them go, so I keep moving, I reap what I sow.
So no, I'm not fine, I walk a fine line between peace and what is at least my foreseeable destruction.
And I know I'm laughing and requesting you leave it alone but what is worse is the curse of knowing I am and will always be unknown.
All weight will drop off my shoulders, but before, it gets much colder,
So cover me in this vacancy of emotion and make me bolder.
Make me able to stand under the pressure of the hand that smacks my hand and tells me "Man, it's just a phase." which does the opposite of
Raising me up and making me new, so if you only knew that what you do makes me rue the so-called man that I've become and now
The future man that I will be will never rise up from his knee
So I'm left stirring in this mind of never-ending insecurity.
Aug 28, 2015
Aug 28, 2015 at 10:32 AM UTC
trending
trending
trending
the collective's trending
is unending
this form of trending
has proven to be mind bending
trending
trending
trending
it's as though the collective's trending
won't be ending
nor in the foreseeable future
will it be suspending
trending
trending
trending
would appear that the trending
is always ideally lending
to the collective's
trending befriending
trending
trending
trending
aren't tales of trending
made for those
who enjoy the extending
of a happy ending
trending
trending
trending
Sep 28, 2016
Sep 28, 2016 at 3:04 AM UTC
cracked out
humble with heaps of pride
braggadocio Pinocchio
I haven’t slept in days
so watch the hours turn into haze
blown out of barely open windows
hide me from the world
I’m making a pristine machine - unbreakable
foreseeable as a weapon of poor taste
chasing wasted with chasers
are you shaking?
only with excitement
rage
hunger
My dad says get a job, get an education
so I chose a dead vocation with no hopes of vacations
and everybody is talking about the future as if it exists
it only exists in clenched fists and endless lists
of all the wrong turns you made on the journey
from then to now
I’m eating sacred cow meat - medium rare please
coming up with ways to scare these dumb ******* kids away from apathy
to put the shield over their hearts and the rifle in their hands
but wah wah nobody understands blah blah blah
shut the **** up for once
act like you actually have a pair of *****
even if you don’t
back in the day when we used to rob neighborhood garages of beer
and played with pills like candy
nobody threw tantrums about how unfair it all is
so you think the world owes you something?
the only thing it owes you is one death
so why are you wasting all of our time with your I could have saved the world
cry baby ********
I’m looking for slutty girls
pearl necklace on her checklist
so I can slam her on page verse
me versus the world, right?
left out by all the cool kids
drinking boohoo flavored kool-aid
so I made myself a parody of pretension
cunning, coming, ***********
you are the joke so I guess that makes me a punchline
I’m running sprints from the baseline until I’m throwing up the right choices
so continue with all of that angsty impotent sadness
so long as you stay out of my part of town
Mar 17, 2014
Mar 17, 2014 at 1:31 PM UTC
She is fond of sunsets,
yet prefers sunrise.
She cares about the weak heart,
yet is uncaring about her own.
She is surrounded by devils,
yet manages to find angels.
She is kind all the while,
yet mean at times.
She is faithful to the windy winter,
yet admires the soft summer.
She is passionate about her love,
yet apathetic in an irregular manner.
She is roughly foreseeable,
yet effortlessly unpredictable.
She is able to be whole,
yet unable to have a piece.
She is easily melted by the fire,
yet controls the tough cold core.
She lives in her own fantasies,
yet awaits an unpoetic reality.
She is a prepossessing paradox.
- Aishwarya Kulkarni
Nov 9, 2020
Nov 9, 2020 at 2:26 AM UTC
Crossing the Limits: An Unforging Wasteland
Boom goes the economy
Blooming a shade darker every full moon
Ragged wires and broken tires
All we ever did was try to sustain
The pain of a million pesticides
In our food, in our dreams, in our sleep
Open your eyes and realize
The harm of every arm cut up and torn apart
Trapped in corrupted media
Brainwashed by subliminal messaging
Lend an eye for an ear and save our economy
A foreseeable wasteland near to come
Once true to youth
As with the endangered animals
Prone to extinction
And breeding babies to come
Rising with hysteria
Completion for resources, affluence, sanity
An ecological disturbance hard to ignore
Deterioration
Depletion
Destruction
Truly, the origin of the storm.
Mar 4, 2016
Mar 4, 2016 at 10:37 AM UTC
no one believes in me
no one thinks that i can see what i want to be
no one thinks i can do even one thing on my own
they say i have no ambition
that i left home with no ammunition
to fight in a war of attrition
with no foreseeable outcome
but i'm not cattle to be herded
i am a voice to be heard
and listened to
i will accomplish so many things
i will set out to be anything
i will be set on the highest pedestal
my life will not be some humorous spectacle
my dreams are so much more than skeletal
i'm more than the hollowed out bones that no one knows
where nothing but emptiness grows
because you don't know me
you don't see that i'll be free to scream
so take me from these demons
i am no longer the old shirt
left hanging in your closet
i am no longer a speck of dirt
floating aimlessly for you to witlessly grasp at me as i head to see the minds that i can change
my voice will be heard from the high heavens to the depths of hell
my words will mend the broken skin that we all live in
my ideas will free us from the suffering and the covering of our eyes
and i will not just be believed in
i will be known
and you'll wish i could see you
[holyoak]
Nov 3, 2014
Nov 3, 2014 at 9:34 PM UTC
A ****** of Crows delights in death.
Now they can come out, in novels and
poems and such, ominous and black.
For a moment, or many, a Crow is the center
of the universe. Perched on its pole, an eye
sees and its pupil becomes more.
Telephone-pole cities sprout from the earth,
each Murderous populous digs with hollow
claws, making their wooden crosses bleed.
Woodpeckers poke holes while Cardinals
warble nervously, the network is failing.
Communication begins to falter and cede.
Rotted from within, cables splice and
beams splinter. Crows, whose claws were
too embedded, struggle to break away.
When the last of the Crows have flown
away, gone, the earth flat is barren.
Tiny antennae peek out between the dirt.
A muster of Storks delights in birth, bearing
little yellow Finches to their new home;
easily foreseeable babes born to grow black.
Feb 24, 2012
Feb 24, 2012 at 3:02 PM UTC
By Elizabeth & Arcassin
**by the gurgling stream
he fell into a deep dream
of a beautiful girl who
had eyes so pretty of gleam
how she did make
his heart sang with delight
as her image reflected
in the stream's
bright crystal light,**
What's darkest may come to light,
Fly from graduation or tutors,
Hurricanes ruin cities,
Mixed with high jackers,
Free loaders,
But in the dark,
Run to the light,
Trauma stricken,
In the foreseeable future we need to fight,
**the dreamer's perception
of beauty is wiped out
in the environs so broken
and torn horribly about
the shadowed lamp
of fantasy which offers unto
us the mired mirror
of malcontent which is
in this our abysmal society,**
If you come to a conclusion,
And have sense to maintain the illusion,
You can make it a reality,
Also to institutions,
Beautiful stages of goals to be made,
Grow a flower,
Open a door,
Influence the shade,
**we are capable of making
change
our purpose is to
bringing into existence
the mind of the dreamer
his purpose is to see
that by all humans
working together
they can solve the ills and inequities
which plague our earth,**
Success runs through the heart of people that are determined,
Trial and tribulations are sold separately,
Achieve,
Believe,
And don't a servant,
To people that don't wanna see you,
Give and succeed,
Your dreams.
Feb 23, 2015
Feb 23, 2015 at 3:51 PM UTC
I am a beat, I am a clock,
I am a rhythm of some sort;
I’m a carrier on a mission;
The byproduct of an invention;
A battery that is being charged
And depleted low and large.
I am a ball, I am a cell,
I am the will of higher selves;
I’m a layer of the kernel,
Flying on seat "57L";
I’m a letter that was sent to mail,
Set outbound when rings the bell.
I am a curve, I am twirl,
I am sustained motion still unfurled;
I’m necessity in the system;
Of absorption I am the emblem;
I’m a branch of fractal downward;
Of struggles past I ain't no award.
I am a beast, I am a fork,
I am a breach through inert soil;
I’m a head of the hydra snake;
Consolation in all of mistakes;
I’m the blood of the wounded,
The brain of memories faded.
I am a blink, I am a cause,
I am the storm after the pause;
I’m the pity for the angered;
Whose duties have been tempered.
I'm the eye that's about to drool
And the tooth that's bound to fool.
I am silver when I am gold,
Yes I am pale when I grow bold,
Like an etching on a clean surface
I'll be sanded just to be varnished;
I'm the most certain of prediction,
Foreseeable beyond provision.
I am ludicrous, I am lukewarm,
I am commitment amidst cold wars;
I’m the frontier around the form
And the earth that drowns the worm;
Of victory I am some defeat,
Accomplishment left incomplete.
I am a meter, I am a yard,
I am pain that causes no harm;
I'm the scepter of the peasant,
The suffering in the pleasant;
I'm everything that's ever been said,
All that's forgotten once it's been read.
I am a sin, yes I am sought,
I am a child yet to be mourned;
I’m resistance to the inevitable,
Recurrence of the unstable;
I’m the distance of departures,
The first minutes of final hours.
I am a beat, I am a clock,
I am a rhythm of some sort;
I’m a carrier on a mission,
The byproduct of an invention;
A battery that is being charged
And depleted low and large.
Jul 14, 2019
Jul 14, 2019 at 1:26 PM UTC
Referees mismanage oversight
incorrect calls lower credibility
faith in justice dissolves into the ice
agency is taken into padded hands
vigilantes slash and spear.
Hip check leads to cross check leads to fist check
malignant hostility boils over
leather armor is removed
interphalangeal joints meet mandible
type O negative paints a jersey
haymakers take bizarre trajectories
to avoid helmets and visors
the face is homebase to ingrain pain.
Violence subverts gamesmanship
players must be taken off ice
to be put on ice
otherwise brawls become overabundant
and destroy the integrity of the sport
yet each transfer of agony is euphorically satisfying
—considering the context—
so fist fairs continue for the foreseeable future
we organize an impenetrable perimeter
once we've acclimated to penalty kills.
Jan 11, 2021
Jan 11, 2021 at 4:01 PM UTC
With passing days queued up
for the forecast foreseeable
Tuck into the routines' reserves
deplete when permissible
Shot through the feet
with what we can't forget
run on through the limp
past the end of the sentence
and sit
In the glow
remain undeveloped
stay unreconstructed
drop the curtain
on scenes interrupted
Dot your i's
with up-slanted slash marks
sparks fill my eyes when
I read through your retorts
Blank page.
Blank page.
A waltz through a minefield
reeling jigs over headstones
when digging through
plain white lines
Aug 15, 2014
Aug 15, 2014 at 6:37 PM UTC
~~
First & Foremost
~~~
a friendly competition,
not of erudition,
more a contest of
speedy eruption
*who will be first,
for quenching their thirst,
on not any but only
every,
day of their togetherness,
to declare, swear, affirm,
that their love for the other
is the greater*
a race
where both win,
by crossing the
ever-moving forward,
the unfinished line
a never static series,
much more than merely being
a claimant of a trite first place,
more akin
to momentarily being
at the head of an unending
mathematical
progression,
(1 + 1 > 2)
solvable if and when
leap frogging
over each other,
extending their combined reach
*when one is
first
to pronounce
this daily blessing
at the
beginning of the
new awakening twenty four,
of their joint custodied
imprimatur,
silently implied,
I love you
with a simple syrup summary*
first and foremost
one, if by pillowed whisper
two, if by text
*a succint messag to the other,
their love is coming fresh direct,
with an invading intensio,
deserving recognition
that a new edition will be
published
on this very day,
with the
same exact
freshly steaming coffee'd,
bannered headline,
that my love for you,
my darling sweetheart is*
first and foremost
condensing with a
yellowing smiley face,
in these illiterate days of emoticons,
unacceptable,
yellow carded,
though summarizing acceptable as
**F & F
or
1st/most**
formats
that have been adjudged
to be
an A-Ok entry,
in the contest
without a foreseeable ending
and
*that no one,
but only both,
can possess
the winning record*
~~~
Jan 9, 2016
Jan 9, 2016 at 3:41 PM UTC
Why do I feel nothing inside except a swelling?
The swelling of my thumping heart, the swelling and contraction of my lungs as I attempt to steady the breathing that could either enslave me or, again, save me from his temperamental turns, and the swelling of my stomach - punished again in a cruel 'twist' of fate that has, in reality, turned out not to be so much a twist, but a vile habit.
Isn't it an awful thing when you know exactly what the problem is and exactly how to fix it, but matters out of your hands mean that you will not be able to save yourself for the foreseeable future?
Perhaps, in the knowledge that you are a lost cause, you may jump, for a person with nothing to lose surely has nothing to fear.
Jump from where, though? That is is the question. To jump from a height may be foolish, but to jump from ground-level is absurd.
"Listen to me.
You can see nothing from where I am standing.
I am in the hills, beyond your visibility.
It strikes me that I may be able to see more than you ever will.
I straddle the past, present and future, and any other dimension of time that exists beyond your perception. Understand that you need not understand. Place your trust in my words; my wisdom, because I can see. I can see it all.
You are man, designed simply to live in reality, not in the acknowledgement of the complexities that lie beyond your existence."
Jan 7, 2014
Jan 7, 2014 at 11:00 AM UTC
Tables have turned.
Seas have parted.
Cracks filled.
Edges filed.
Tempestuous weather
has been bestowed
upon the misanthrope.
Red, once white bandages,
cover up the cut throat.
Naivete is labeled onto
those who seek hope.
Never showing is worse
than time taking its course.
Hoping that a course
is precedent in the time
of a foreseeable corpse,
of course.
Eyes closed,
a young man close by
exclaims, "Fresh to death!"
Rotting flesh, covered
by a Maker's Mark,
or a Target,
never something seen Beneficial.
It's not like we could ever
Shop Rite.
But as this young man
exclaims a new age adage,
I close my eyes,
and hope and pray
that he's right.
Mar 28, 2013
Mar 28, 2013 at 12:40 PM UTC
~~
A wreath was
made in this garden
which I was left
on your feet
I tuned up all
in the world of music
will this burn clear
after the death
when you went through
I wrote a song
in the dark
Though as much as
I drink nectar
will ever this insatiable thirst
be satisfied without you
You kept best in tune
Ah! Ever it honey
Today the pain is lorn
If any foreseeable Regret
Even the river,
Flowing beyond
I know, you do not turn
do not play that song again
But the heart
wants a little bliss
I'm wandering lonely
In the obsessed of
known tunes
Stand at the gloom night's
On the shore of the past
~~
~মুশফিক উস সালেহীন
Mar 5, 2016
Mar 5, 2016 at 2:12 PM UTC
burdens carried are behind me now
fleet of foot, my steps tarry not
freedom from all that
far too long
beset me
clamor no more
for my attention
thoughts lightened
spirited forth, future
foreseeable, my soul soars
like an eagle assail in seas of
cloudless cerulean skies and ...
burdens I carried are behind me now.
Oct 24, 2014
Oct 24, 2014 at 3:14 PM UTC
Awoken I receive a sight of celestial beauty,
Awoken, I gracefully lie safe in your affable aurora,
Awoken, our fluent dance of both heart and mind appears only eternally foreseeable.
Awake, the mere construction of you dwindles,
It was just a dream, I should have known.
Apr 23, 2017
Apr 23, 2017 at 8:08 AM UTC
sizzling hot, melted rock
rise up
from the earth, split twain
a cracked moon, breaking soon
resting neatly
overhead
the sky turns purple
the stars go out
it is night
for everything foreseeable
Jan 29, 2021
Jan 29, 2021 at 10:10 AM UTC