"forgoing" poems
Two fine films: The Lost City and Blood Diamond.
I joined Blood Diamond during a village massacre
and said to my wife A gun in every home.
Those devils would think twice
before razing the village and seizing the boys.
A well-regulated militia.
The local militia the most interesting moment
in a strong film with motive (economic, emotional), action (chases,
fights) and a **** sexless love story.
Use of violence by the local militia for a limited purpose: protect the
community, the young
from the janjaweed. The crop from the ****
Limited scope and defensive posture
but armed and coordinated, cooperative, the men (and the women)
side by side.
Warriors at the gate, you will not run, you will not bargain.
Just violence = limited scope, defensive posture.
Great music. Cuba, Africa.
The Lost City, when the communists tell the club owner under threat
of violence
No saxophones in the band. The saxophone!
Invented by a Belgian--Look what the Belgians are doing in the
Congo!
When the state's violence is turned against the citizenry
for non-violent acts.
This quiet neighborhood, July,
undergirded by violence, force. That's a given--
any farmer, custodian, EMT will tell you that.
Without just violence
Gandhi's scope, and King's, might be vanishingly limited,
negligible (but not non-existent)?
Regarding King
the matter is simple -- he was non-violent but dependent upon
federal force to counter the South's violence.
No doubt without the larger force, the non-violent would be
overwhelmed by southern violence.
Here, non-violence was a tactic, not an ethic.
Gandhi, however, had no violent partner to protect him from the
British. Or did he?
1. There was the potential violence of the population, which Gandhi
restrained but could release which the British feared, and
2. It was the restrained (limited scope) violence of the British that
allowed Gandhi to exist rather than be extinguished--this restraint
was a (British) cultural imperative (limited scope) as well as
emanating from Britain's view of India as a protectorate and
valued citizen of the United Kingdom (defensive posture).
What about violence or threat of violence to compel compliance with
community
as in mortgage foreclosure, driving without license, drug possession.
Perhaps it is necessary violence to maintain orderly commerce, the
common space, and preempt bad behaviors associated with
otherwise neutral, private acts.
The defensive posture is the common good; the limited scope is
forgoing deadly force.
But the citizen, too, must maintain a disciplined, armed non-violence,
in case the state (the janjaweed) engages in an unjust, autoimmune
violence.
Hence, a gun in every home.
Aug 11, 2015
Aug 11, 2015 at 9:56 AM UTC
I smile at you
Watching me
Watch you
Smile right back at me,
Sharing the briefest of secrets.
Well ZOWIE KAPOW!
That's all it took.
Suddenly your mystery compels me
To tell you
Things you wouldn't understand.
Like how your salty wet leather scent
Keeps fragrancing my dreams.
How we may be strangers,
But our making native nasty
Knuckle noose love
Keeps coursing, red-roaring through.
And when I come to,
Forcibly forgoing my fantasy of you,
I exhale my ethereal bliss,
Left savoring only this:
Your wicked wiles, whispering winks,
And God in the curl of your lips.
Mar 4, 2010
Mar 4, 2010 at 12:19 PM UTC
Cakes & Ale
I woke up in a bakery they do start early, the aroma of bread
is wonderful, they were also making cakes whipping creams.
Napoleon cakes and Danish pastry, black forest gateau and other
pastries I have as a child looking through the windows of bakery
shops admired. Too much, I walked outside and lit a *** inhaled
deeply and the tobacco soothed my mind, giving me a feeling of
fullness. It was only then I remembered I have diabetes, a heart
problem and have not smoked for 15 years. Has it been worth it
this forgoing of the good thing in life; I’m not sure, it may extend
my life for a few more years of pain and misery, will I die regretting
the cakes I didn’t eat and the **** I didn’t smoke?
Jun 5, 2015
Jun 5, 2015 at 4:09 PM UTC
Cakes & Ale
I woke up in a bakery they do start early, the aroma of bread
is wonderful, they were also making cakes, whipping creams.
Napoleon cakes and Danish pastry, black forest gateau and other
pastries I have as a child looking through the windows of a bakery
shops admired. Too much, I walked outside and lit a *** inhaled
deeply and the tobacco soothed my mind, giving me a feeling of
fullness. It was only then I remembered I have diabetes, a heart
problem and have not smoked for 15 years. Has it been worth it
this forgoing of the good thing in life; I’m not sure, it may extend
my life for a few more years of pain and misery, will I die regretting
the cakes I didn’t eat and the **** I didn’t smoke?
Jun 13, 2015
Jun 13, 2015 at 3:04 AM UTC
First Date
You took me home
To meet your paintings.
At the door,
I shook your hand good night.
Second date,
You came to my house
For tea and conversation.
Sent you home with a smile and a
Godspeed, tho in god you don't believe.
Third date,
You bought me socks,
Which I immediately lost,
At the movie house, forgot.
You were not upset,
Impressed me greatly,
So I took you home and
Ravaged you with tender delight.
I never knew that
I had your heart,
After out first date,
When forgoing peck on cheek,
I shook your hand
And won you over
Right then and there.
4:45 am
July 2nd, 2013
Gotta get some sleep,
Happy that five years later,
My midnight poetry coding,
Disturbs you not,
Like losing those socks with which,
You, bought my heart.
Jul 2, 2013
Jul 2, 2013 at 4:53 AM UTC
Were’t aught to me I bore the canopy,
With my extern the outward honouring,
Or laid great bases for eternity,
Which proves more short than waste or ruining?
Have I not seen dwellers on form and favour
Lose all, and more, by paying too much rent
For compound sweet forgoing simple savour,
Pitiful thrivers in their gazing spent?
No, let me be obsequious in thy heart,
And take thou my oblation, poor but free,
Which is not mixed with seconds, knows no art
But mutual render, only me for thee.
Hence, thou suborned informer, a true soul
When most impeached stands least in thy control.
2.2k
hedonic adaptation
living, breathing an
idealized state
transparent powers
an aesthete with an
affinity for anarchy
shamelessly insinuating
fatal errors in identification
extraterrestrial ***********
at the core of our unity
probing at a molecular level
damning the will to connect
a creative protest against
the artificial
daydreams bleach
inferiority complexes
and insight breaks through
dark and damaging
sacrificial secrets
thrusting toward the deep end
forgoing progress through
flawed perception
the bright light shining through
your self inflicted wounds
cannot be ignored
Jan 21, 2015
Jan 21, 2015 at 4:24 PM UTC
If one word was to define who you were -
Not what you were like or how you come across -
But what and who you are,
I would strive for sincerity.
Capturing the nuance of being counter-cultural
(stark against the world we live in);
Honest to the point of perfect precision in what I say and mean;
Genuine in openness and lacking deceit;
Firm and unmoving against the tide;
Secure in the validity of that on which I stand;
Disciplined for integrity and truth;
Heartfelt and reliable (despite frequent shortcomings);
Prepared not only to go the distance but to run it,
To invest and care through thick and thin,
Not to forgo earnest in the buffering and buffeting;
Wholeheartedly honourable, the man others would wish to be;
Virtuous and steadfast in quality and character,
A rock to hold onto, a solid foundation,
A dedication to being authentic and true.
No false wax to the visage you see,
An artistic and inhuman ideal.
-
Sincerity has been under attack, besieged as an unachievable goal
In a world focused on the self - to be selfless seems foolishness.
Attention in this life lasts the sum amount of difficulties;
We flee from the floodplains when the river comes
Rather than endure and be refined by rich streams.
Sincerity does not crumble under commitment,
Nor erode in the face of effort:
Prepared to invest, forgoing instant gratification,
Persevering under pressure whilst all else fades.
It does not shrink from the fight but turns its cheek,
It forgives the slight and suffers for the lost,
It carries the cross for the rejected and the weak,
It sacrifices all it has at great personal cost,
It stands up to scrutiny when it stands for truth,
It lives and dies in unfathomable love.
Dec 30, 2016
Dec 30, 2016 at 3:16 PM UTC
Addict is someone addictedly
addicted to an addiction.
And you need a new addiction
For letting the addict escape
the addiction.
Forgoing addiction is a
different kind of addiction
when you need a non-addictive
to ignore the former addiction.
Jun 16, 2020
Jun 16, 2020 at 11:08 AM UTC
I do not exist.
I am nothing but water
Sad songs
Brittle bones and fading memories.
A string of notes
Discordant
Unharmonious
Chaotic and beautiful.
Vibrating
Exposed
Bouncing off of everything
Absorbed only in the subconscious.
We do not exist.
Beyond ego
Extending into the world
Known by none.
Permanently adrift
Alone
Struggling to love
Confused in its definition.
Closed eyes
Captured
Characters in each other’s story.
Propelled into life
Forgetting our time is limited
Forgoing experience
Creating a novel
Ultimately disappearing and being forgotten.
Jul 28, 2011
Jul 28, 2011 at 11:15 AM UTC
One would think it's passed
an era of repression and commitment
commitment to repression
how hard we dry our eyes by forgoing blinking
still in shackles we don't cry
we are this by our own device
So when hearts beat hard and heavy
Find a reprieve as a slave of your own emotions
and let those carry you
The others on that chain gang let them in
to love is to have family
to love can make one grin.
Feb 4, 2013
Feb 4, 2013 at 12:12 AM UTC
Dear Mr. Cupid,
I hope you are well. Please forgive this letter’s intrusion. I know you are busy, preparing your bow, and planning this season’s collusions. I’ll remind you though Sir, of the issue I had with the last year’s arrow consignment. Your aim was amiss, and I’d be remiss if I failed to seek your reassignment. I’d like somebody new to deliver my true - love for which I have been waiting. For it has been so long since my wife ran along, and everyone says that I should be dating. So please, if you would send somebody good to shoot Love's arrow at me. Thank you in advance for forgoing this dance.
Sincerely,
Mr. Oso Lonely
Jan 26, 2017
Jan 26, 2017 at 4:19 PM UTC
Standing beneath black skies' hush,
cold rains' fall a stimulating touch
bringing rise to forbearance
forcing stormcells to pressured positions
above our expanse.
These words escape to nothing.
Thick air mixed in
with each vowel of smoke,
straining to glimpse beyond
those choked fragments.
I caught your shadow
skirting the edge of visions
and slipping past my bounds.
You were cloaked in millennia,
time soaked from downpours
seemingly lost of origins,
be they long past
or still forecast,
you were,
falling drops rolling
from silken hair
still bruised in memory,
forgoing present presentation
to reacquaint opportunity
with overlooked encounters.
Soaked to soul,
the ripples spread quick
stepping to the plane of...
...wait,
where are you...
when are we...
...will you be?..
...or have we been
lost in relativity
and escaping in
each word I breathe.
Comprehension critical,
compassionate clouds constantly
reminding of drowning you out,
professing this changing view
in hallowed hurricane whispers.
An angel you became,
living upon these grounds
your plague, living on,
earthly existence anathema,
each second foreword
another progression of
decreeing beating heart
a final concerto, Ava Maria
your soliloquy, serenading
dreams in a missing tongue,
with dying tone
and a pulse set out for loan.
Loneliness my investment,
appreciating until the light was blinding,
pain breaking anthems,
scaling back to feed off
what was left.
I missed our true nature until it was reflex,
illumination only brief glimpses of a passed future,
grief developing to timelines sutures,
bleeding blending was
and has,
with will be still the memory
I'm forced to foresee.
Broken in neutrality,
droplets still caressing the shadow
skirting the corner of my eye.
Your life was short,
I let us die far too young.
Consider it your sacrifice,
the reason for the crying clouds
whose pain soothes these brainstorms
vented through cigarette breaks
wasted pouring words
to howling winds.
Aug 29, 2012
Aug 29, 2012 at 6:06 PM UTC
Don't waste perfectly good loneliness.
Don't waste it on the wrong person.
Don't even waste it on the right person.
Don't waste loneliness during the day,
When there are things to be done.
Don't waste it in dreams at twilight,
When there are dones to be thinged.
Don't waste loneliness at night
When your time should be your own
And could be filled with anything
Other than everything you're not.
Take your loneliness
And denigrate it.
Crumple it. Crush it.
Throw it in a blender.
An industrial oven.
Take it out
For a few drinks too many,
And a few more after that;
Lull it into a false sense of security
That congeals with its drunken state
To create a blinding dichotomy
Of vulnerability and arrogant invincibility,
So it suspects nothing
As you lead it
Down a dark alley
And beat it to death with a brick.
Have a too-close-to-call
Fight to the death
With your loneliness
In a public toilet,
With it almost getting
The better of you
Until you smash it
Teeth-first
Off of a porcelain
Sink basin,
Before dragging it
By the hair
To a cubicle,
Where you hold its head
Under the toilet water,
Long after its body stops convulsing.
Do what you can
To transmute
Your loneliness
Into solitude,
And wear it.
Inside-out.
Back to front.
Upside-down.
Right side up.
Wear solitude so well that
It ends up wearing you,
As its skin.
Use solitude to learn thyself.
To feel thyself.
To know thy changing self.
Let solitude remind you that
The existence of loneliness
Begets the existence of
The antithesis of loneliness.
So definitely don't waste
Perfectly good loneliness,
Especially if you're forgoing
Perfectly good hope.
Jan 30, 2020
Jan 30, 2020 at 2:30 PM UTC
There once was a girl
Not just any ole girl (as if there's such a thing)
She danced and sang and smiled real sweet
She shouted
I have this light!
It shines real bright!
Do you see this shine?!
This light of mine?!
Her light was smothered
Her innocence lost
She hid for awhile
until her wings took flight
Then there was a teen
A sullen fine pearl
With smarts to envy
And a body out of this world
She whispered
*I have this light
Squint your eyes real tight
Do you see the glimmer
This luminous shimmer?*
Adolescence with a blanket of fear
and an edgy exterior
She hid for awhile
Until her wings took flight
Then there was a young woman
A **** clever sweet thing
A studious charmer
with her dreams shelved on a ring
Could have studied rocket science
or aimed for the moon
*Aren't I supposed to get married?
Strike a pose at noon?*
Some years later
She questioned,
*Do I still have that light?
What happened to my fight?
I feel so alone
And not really fine
I need that light keeping me warm
and my spirit alive*
There was no burn
No oxygen breathing new life
She died for awhile and
cried and cried
Until her wings took flight
So now there is this woman
with a mind of mush
She schedules and delivers
but forgets so much
She fights like a champ
Gets up like Sugar Ray
She swings but can't punch
Each day is a heavy weight
Forgoing her passions
she leaves her soul on the floor
Her heart hurts leaving her wounds open and sore
She sighs,
*There is still a light
a tiny lil flicker
I know that it's there because
a blow becomes a flare.*
Nowhere left to hide
With tots' tantrums, earning keep,endless laundry, and late fees,
She forgets to eat.
She learns to stay quiet when
they knock on the door.
Holds her breath
and sometimes cries on the floor.
YET
She laughs
*I'll hide in the bathroom
blowing quietly on the smolder
You never know
I just might ignite
That light of mine
That bright light that died
Could come back to life*
May 3, 2014
May 3, 2014 at 4:59 PM UTC
Underneath blankets masked with lions,
Sheets twisted and tangeld from different limbs angles;
Bodies contorted to fit even the shortest,
And a faint moment where breath catches lips and eyelids flicker about...
Dreaming of simplistic bliss.
There lies a giant and a butterfly,
Peacefully sleeping and dancing upon each others minds,
Carefully finding a place for the other to occupy.
Struggling with their own stories;
and own reservations on loves that were never really love at all,
Both hesitate taking the bitter, beautiful, wonderful fall.
To imagine themselves in such a place,
That would take away the past and put a smile on each face,
And watch each other grow together,
Whilst needing to become much more than just a hidden treasure...
She whispers to herself, "I couldn't ask for better"
But the sleeping giant dreams,
While the small butterfly waits;
Each are contemplating how it is they wish to seal their fate.
Under galaxies it must have seemed,
That it was the mountain or the meadow that brought the two together,
While intoxicated by the sun, and anything else they were after.
"Nothing else matters"
The giant still holds this butterfly tight each and every night,
Escaping to a place free of the stinging strife.
As fate would rather have the two not question,
The butterfly cant help but wonder when the moments they share,
Will become a reality over suggestion.
When will the sleeping giant lay his armor down to her wings
Surrendering the double edged sword he carries right at her feet?
When will the butterfly tear down her self-contstructed wall,
Forgoing her formers and be willing to risk it all?
The butterfly mouths, come back as he gently rolls away,
Her whispers hold hope that tomorrow will be the day...
Sep 21, 2011
Sep 21, 2011 at 6:52 AM UTC
listen to the sound of me
screaming, aching, begging
for something, anything
pleading to simply be
listen to the sound of my feet
pacing, back and forth
questioning everything
refusing to understand
listen to the sound of my heart
trying desperately to keep me alive
despite my many attempts on ending it all
listen to the sound of society
telling me i'm wrong, broken
that my choice to love is sinful
that i'm forgoing a place in 'heaven'
listen to the sound of me
telling the world i don't care
that "if i'm losing a piece of me
maybe i don't want heaven"
maybe all i want is to be
Feb 14, 2018
Feb 14, 2018 at 1:56 PM UTC
*a poetic collaboration
with Elizabeth Squires,
(thank you for the privilege)*
high in the infinite skies,
above the clouds.
where no, naked eye can see
particles in the ozone layer,
bounce around.
in a manner, most carefree.
these minute, wee, little things,
e'er bobbing and moving,
so happily.
we on the ground,
would delight,
in their existence of joy.
but we're tied to the prosaic, daily grind working,
in our nine to five,
coalface coal mines.
with axe and pick,
we chip and hack away...
whilst our minds delight,
in front-lobal play.
of waxed wing-ed flight,
of acrobatic, aerobatic display.
whilst working,
in the cramped and dubious
spaces we inhabit....
we dream, of spaces, blue, boundless and arcing-wide, forgeting, forgoing, forgiving the mindless, daily grind...
we leap,
with fragile hope,
into fledgling flight....
up to the ozone,
up toward the light...
there, in the freedom,
of this spacious playground,
we're at no command,
of employer's tools,
of work.
on our faces, we'll wear
those effervescent, unfettered smirks
hopping in rambunctious
fun
in the ozone's air,
upon the weary brow of labor release, is found.
in it's mirthful atmosphere,
which eliminates, our obligations, to our bosses.
we then farewell,
with liberating tosses.
and so we soar
in insouciant grace, unfettered,reckless,feckless
freedom, sliced and pared, away across our wings
and faces,
joy ungaurded,
is this moment's prey
unbidden, unbound.
no longer hearing,
the sound of the grinding axe.... at play
we soar eagle high...
we soar to the sun's eye
but we are not made
for such undulterated bliss our wings of feather
and wax....
become, around us mist
and to the ground
we do spiral....
into our adult occupations,
where there is little time.
for us to be engrossed,
in exuberant glee.
we're shackled
and yoked to,
our heavy work day shrouds.
but our dreams of play,
with those ozone particles,
seem too impractical.
happy little vegemites
we'd be,
if our days were free.
take heart, our days off,
are nigh and on the lounge
we'll sigh,
a well earned sigh.
Jun 11, 2014
Jun 11, 2014 at 7:58 PM UTC
Silently, I wade through a dead sea
Forgoing the attempts, forlorn-
At regaining what I once believed:
To be real, to be deceived
The gambit run, when
Hearts are burning.
The faults of our stars,
Are that they linger
So far away.
And the crux of our minds,
Their aptitude for replay
Aug 15, 2023
Aug 15, 2023 at 2:53 PM UTC
A double sided day.
One of joy,
one of pain.
The torrential ticking
of time passing.
The never-ending questions
of what to do,
what to say?
Never mind and ignore
that which makes you sad.
Instead remember and wish for
that which makes you glad.
One plan,
one goal,
battered and beaten
it still holds strong.
Forgoing loneliness
for internal company.
Ignoring those around
for sheer simplicity.
But what can you say?
“It’s better this way”?
As perpetual concern is raised
for a clearly addled brain.
Longing for that one redeeming moment
of and otherwise bleak day.
As the minutes begin to stretch
and hours fade away.
Can’t anybody see
how demoralizing
such a day can be,
or how much pain
a lonely face
has had to face today?
Nov 21, 2014
Nov 21, 2014 at 2:15 PM UTC
I see you walking, seriously, quickly,
You catch my eye or maybe I catch yours
And we know.
That somewhere in the smile we share there is a solution
To the problems we’ve made in our own heads
About what is right, what is proper
How we should conduct ourselves in our love
So that it does not offend the people around us.
We find our solution in ignorance.
The total forgoing of social acceptance
And the ignoring of mandated protocol
When we see each other it’s like we’re hold hands in public.
Like we’re kissing with open mouths our hearts visible
To other people it looks like we are too exposed in our glances.
Like we are heart transplant patients on etherized hospital beds
We are eerily fragile and beautiful at the same time
But only to us who have stronger stomachs
Than the general public who gag at the sight of blood.
We embrace it with a smile
And overlook pale faces who can’t see the
Public displays of affection we can flaunt
By simply looking at one another.
Nov 13, 2012
Nov 13, 2012 at 5:54 PM UTC
DRINKING NEW DAWNS
Foundations forming as minds wide open are blindly accepting of challenges or change
Unestablished, not even finding middle ground, lost in between either up or down
With no guiding light loose minds quickly become lost in the dark ,scruples are still not trained
Slowly feeding the frenzy finding bright while blocking out black,washing memories before they're allowed
Rituals become normal with time, as simple as walking new desires can be stalking but reality can not be feigned
Well laid plans systematically rundown,lost perceptions now lounging,responsibility now so easily disavowed
Reckless rambling instead of learning to live ,strategy's played out in days forgoing any planning while existing unconstrained
Now lost never knowing the promise that could have been ,unpaid debts to yourself don't carry much clout
Bargaining with time is certainly not fine,life slowed down enough to see some light relax the fight and define constraint
Now with new beginnings realizing how far behind we have fallen,rising daily to find a new route
Life opening up, stalled visions now surrounded by light, a better bet when we know the odds,new views to be entertained . R.C.
Sep 5, 2018
Sep 5, 2018 at 10:44 AM UTC
~~~
*it as if I am blinded
by the perfection
of the moment
all sensors singly loaded,
yet interacting,
in a buckshot of common cause
my eyes suffused
by sun scattering rays uncovering a day's birth placenta gleaming
amidst the glaring shadows of the refuse of nature's yesterday's
discarded leavings
my eyes reversed,
unsuffused
as it they were a gift,
waiting all this time,
forgoing-opening until
just this moment
my ears suffused
by soft sounds and
swirling ripples of calm waters,
the wind teasing, saying,
move like me, but just so, barely,
the real sounds of the quietude heard
as if for the first time
my tongue tastes you,
wrested from my mind's eye, you are given,
in the everything, skin creme of lapping waves, in the everywhere,
uncovered from within the sun's own departing shadow
my smell
is the smell of life,
nostrils flaring expanding with no limit
to take it all in,
completing, unifying,
a puzzle that never was,
that is now forever solved
my hands fuse
the tingling of life given from wet dewy grass,
shiny and reflecting,
the roughness of the bark,
a natural protective coating,
combining soft caresses and confirming
the necessity of both
perfectly still
I sit amidst
the perfect stillness,
all movement unnecessary,
all my senses reach out and return as one,
bringing me presents of knowledge,
more than suffused, I too,
am trite but true,
dearest god, can it be true,
rebirthed, renewed
this ordinary day
is now extraordinary
solitary figure staring gaze steady,
a perfection ******
impatient for the
suffusion fix
of this day, and the morrow*
~~~
**August 6, 2015
Shelter Island**
Aug 8, 2015
Aug 8, 2015 at 10:58 AM UTC