"formulates" poems
I'm a relationship engineer
Building engines to persevere
Through the loneliness I fear
That makes me panic
And seek out a mechanic
That tinkers
With my blinkers
But doesn't fix a thing
When I'm left with a sting
From what's defined as a fling
My pistons pumping
The way I'm *******
When I find a rocket scientist
That formulates the highest bliss
In his carefully calculated kiss
But I start to viciously *****
When our problems are subatomic
Because every decision
Creates nuclear fission
Which causes decay
And explosions of energy
His thoughts he relays
He sees me as the enemy
So I find a Christian
To pump my pistons
He has the morals of God
Which I figure can't be flawed
Though they may seem odd
But he doesn't love me
He feels he's above me
He acts like a martyr
Which makes me fall harder
But I'm left alone on the cross
He has forsaken me
He thinks I'm made of frost
He has mistaken me
I feel alone
In the brimstone
Of his dial tone
I found loneliness
In their phoniness
My engine needs trust
Otherwise it develops rust
But when everyone tries to act cool
Pain becomes my alternative fuel
Love once seemed like a jewel
Until my blood made a pool
I tried to get repairs
To find that nobody cares
I learned that science
Was of no reliance
And the pious life
Brought riot strife
So I find nowhere to turn
While my engine burns
Jan 14, 2018
Jan 14, 2018 at 3:58 PM UTC
A fueling, flashing fulgent, furnace, fulgurous, frothy, fumes and feathery flakes,
I do not speak of waves of snow, hoary frost, or ice, a cold gelare or even frozen lakes!
Formidable, furrows, fructifying, functioning fruition to foremost fondly found a flaming,
I revel not in such destruction but choices for my naming!
For flowers flow fields forever, forswearing funneling fjords finitely, fire fray’s forests furthermost,
Instructing in the arts of language, for I am your gracious host!
Fakir formulates factious forms fading flummoxed into fury, a fugacious fusible and furtive fleeting feigning furiosity,
A deep ditch dug, tight as pug, wrapped blanket snub though not a flub, all perspicacity!
Finds frosty frore a frozen freezing faction for fusty flaming feasance,
Fomorian fantasy of formidable faggoting, facient up to fancying, fancying, furnaced flesh fluidity finds itself factitivity, facets for fabulists from the faint familiarity,
Relating cold to heat as such, requires but a human touch, apologize I do you see for all my clueless severity!
Fans of all the falconry, who fallow fields of family, falter for a fallacy, falling into infamy as forgone flame frontogenesis, fatigues a Faustian felony, for which fate finds is fastigiated foolery, febrile features featly and yet furiously, favonian fear of fellowship fiendishly, figures foal to fatherly, finally fiddle flinchingly, although not so too furtively;
I finagle in my filigree!
Jun 20, 2016
Jun 20, 2016 at 1:13 PM UTC
."My regrets look just like texts I shouldn't send."
My heart leaps at the connection of lyrics. My depression formulates.
Reality hits me all at once.
"I got neighbours, they're more like strangers; we could be friends."
I look deeply into myself. I'm aware that I'm hidden beneath a façade. Could they ever accept the real me? Would they still fancy me?
"I just need a way out of my head. I'll do anything for a way out of my head."
Forever hidden, my emotions remain. This melody brings my subconscious to the surface. My persona preventing the reality and potential felicitations;
My thoughts scatter.
Am I still worthy of their affections?
Jul 6, 2019
Jul 6, 2019 at 5:15 AM UTC
*if an idea for a poem pops into one's head
the genie of imagination begins inking
every piece referencing an original thread
one formulates works by this unique stead
of its methodology there will be no sinking
if an idea for a poem pops into one's head
images and descriptive terms then spread
through each line noted on a linking
every piece referencing an original thread
to create one's own mixture of bread
never deviating far from the nub's clinking
if an idea for a poem pops into one's head
always keeping time with a continual tread
the blue-print imparted in one's thinking
every piece referencing an original thread
what concept may spring to one's mind lead
within the verse there found natural blinking
if an idea for a poem pops into one's head
every piece referencing an original thread
Mar 14, 2017
Mar 14, 2017 at 9:43 PM UTC
Check it out see what melanin is about
To shine you embrace you
With multiple clues
That'll stiff you like a statue
So I'll be black as the sun and black as the moon
Black as Saturn rings and Jupiter's moon
Black as the Hennessey and the shadow in the room
Black like a smoking heart that can no longer consume
Black oxygen soon to be a black death
Lost breath finna be cooked like a black chef
Cajun fire blazin' So I can climb the
Ladder of black steps
diggin' deep formulates my black concepts
Black as Madonna tongue swift as an Iguana
Tail no fairytale black as the prison system filled with with
black hell
Black sin casted since our souls blackened
Black like thoughts you'll see once the skulls get the cracking
Black like the Vietnamese burned into the ashes piles of scented death just stacking
Black like the smoke from a chimney
So ya know fire is what's happening
Black like deaths clapping
Appraising souls swarming black hole
Preparing for rapturing
Black capturing black like the Billy Lee
Leading Washington
Fighting the Great Britain
During America's revolution
But no black solutions
Still tryna climb into a black institution
Black intuition
Hidden deep within wondering
If the Black Lord will forgive me of my sins
Let back of the black souls be watered and cleanse
Black like Boyz II Men tryna find a road that doesn't end
Black like storm pushing strong winds
Black like my ancestors forming hurricane across the desert ends
Black as Mahogany angled to perfection with black geometry
Black with knowledge of Dogon
Black Sirius like the Dog logo so long gone
Cuz black love is gone black vibes made from black lungs
Fill with black vibrations from.the mental gongs
Black like the law canonical stolen from my ancestors manual
Europeans ain't nothing but savage animals known to be cannibal
Check my black cerebral digging from my black celestrial
Dropped the sugar now I see the black extraterrestrial
Waving so I can jump into the black.mothership
And dip where no other brother live
Black as night sky line
black as heiron cooked under a spoon
Black as blueberry pie
Black as darkness in an empty heart filled with gloom.
Yo talk to em Yosef
Dec 31, 2017
Dec 31, 2017 at 6:38 PM UTC
My eyes are not sunlit windows to my own self, rather dimmed and tinted blockades to never give you a full picture. They are not a colourful array of flowers, they are dull and wilting weeds.
My lungs cannot breathe in and smell the roses because they are laced with tar, and not enough oxygen from shallow breathing. They are restricted from fulfilling out their purpose so I can feel 'okay.'
My ears will not listen to the buzzing of bees and the gentle wind- they will, however, listen to the screams between them and confuse help with hate.
My tongue does not taste of honeysuckle and mint, but rather ash and dried blood from tasting my existence. It formulates words laced with too much sleep and too little self care.
My fingertips do not touch as if I am handling the daintiest of flower petals, instead they trace a gravestone between my ribs with a purpose. They tear at my own skin and hair, or at least try to.
Do not devalue my battleground of a body by comparing it to a garden
Jan 18, 2018
Jan 18, 2018 at 7:07 PM UTC
Pondering the inverse
relationship between
desire and disappointment:
After many lessons,
Anxiety answers Hope,
an I for an i.
The I formulates desire;
The i learns the folly
of attachment, and instinct
holds sway, a balloon
filling with
oxygen, a balloon
popping.
Aug 14, 2022
Aug 14, 2022 at 7:18 PM UTC
*With Wings Of Mayhem Covered In September Dew,
She Flies Under The Autumn Sun On An Holiday Overdue,
Through Holographic Designs & Trumpeting Ecstasy,
She Transmutes Her Photographic Lusts Into Riveting Intimacy,
Lightning Visions In Her Empyrean Eyes,
Dreamscaping She Drifts Through Ethereal Skies,
Of Toxic Sanctums & Pulsating Screams,
She Titillates The Trance Up In Her ****** Schemes,
Myriad Stories Of Her Sonnets Divine,
Constructing Fluidic Reveries In Her Comic Design,
Like Chemical Dispersals Veiled In Her Digital Stains,
She Formulates Aphrodisiacal Elixir In Her Lyrical Rain,
Through Dimensional Shifts Of The Fractal Waves,
Her Cosmic Prophecies Actualize Into Sacramental Raves,
A Genomic Felony Concealed Inside Her Superficial Caves,
With Acoustic Muteness In Her Green Shaded Eyes,
As She Gleams Through The Millennial Skies,
In Melodious Echoes, She Whispers Of Arcane Lies.
- 05:28 AM*
May 30, 2017
May 30, 2017 at 8:18 PM UTC
*Thee invoke Thee
The Lord God
to forge union with the Lord of Light and Darkness
Holy art Thou
The
Lord of the Universe...
the underlying emanation
animator of creation
formless, self effulgent
that i may fuse my Soul
with the Eternal Born-less One
my third eye a deafening blaze
transfixed on nuclear inner light
as my wife tries on a top at Macy's
i stand before a full length triptych mirror
entranced, scrying
staring at my reflection
an imminence white light figure
gossamer radiant expanse
emerges
and towers above my head
its feet planted
in my skull
my cranium its foot pillow
sight in its feet
my eyes its wires to the world
and the cold fields of ego
immobilized
disambiguous
thoughtless
its instrument subsumed
the voice of higher self
said unto me
*Let yourself enter the Path of Darkness
and peradventure
there shall you find the light
I am the only being in an Abyss of Darkness;
From an Abyss of Darkness came i forth
ere my birth
from the silence of a Primal Sleep*
And the voice of ages answered unto my Soul:
*I am he who formulates in Darkness
the Light that Shineth,
yet the Darkness comprehndeth it not*
as i heard my wife call out
"oh honey i like this one"
i whispered to my self
in breathlessness
*I invoke Thee,
the Terrible and Invisible God
who dwelleth in the void place of the Spirit
and in barbarous tongues of fire
i vibrated sonorous
the arcane names of The Infinite
that only initiates mouth like mad men
en-flamed
and called unto Him
make all Spirits of the firmament
and of the Ether
upon the Earth and under the Earth
on dry land and in Water,
and of Whirling Air
and of Rushing Fire
and every Spell and Scourge of God
obedient unto me*
my wife appeared
newly adorned
in a summer blouse
the color of Spanish walnut
asking hi honey
what do you think?
o yeah i nod
i love your new blouse
oh my god ,
on sale, you say
only $49. 95
such a deal.
Chinese for lunch ?
Moo goo *** pan
oh yes please
my favorite
she smiled*
Apr 17, 2017
Apr 17, 2017 at 3:42 PM UTC
I've looked up one every moment we've had together, tonight.
My mind Transforms into a theater, while my memories of you construct film.
Being with you feels as though I am walking through novels.
You are my favorite author, a special inspiration.
Every minute consumed of you and me, formulates a new page.
All these occurrences keep me turning, and turning.
Once each portion concludes, Its more I crave.
I guess you can’t spend every waking minute reading.
Do you hear that?
Reality is calling, suffering immediate withdrawal.
It’s inevitably necessary to witness the future and make it a current event.
Because I can not stand the thought of remaining, just, here.
For an instant let me glance further.
Curiosity is flammable.
I'll be sure to tip toe around the words, in hopes of not igniting anything.
I have never been so impatient and selfish.
Have you failed to mention you’re still writing?
Or, was I too deep in my head that instant?
Regardless,
You,
Take your time.
I'll be directing a movie in my mind.
Jan 21, 2015
Jan 21, 2015 at 11:55 PM UTC
Is life nothing more
than a series of moments
strung together
like a poorly crafted
beaded bracelet,
the flimsy string base
nearly broken
under the weight
of the hand-woven design?
Or is the design not even
of our own creating,
fitted and shoved together
by someone else,
our will and drive
bent
to fall in line,
in pattern
with what we are
supposed to do?
I've been here for a lifetime,
or at least a quarter of one,
but the glue that
keeps me together,
it feels sealed,
stuck together
under the command
of something or someone else,
some entity that is not myself.
Day after day
feet following
in military style march,
left right left,
pumps beating hard
on the pavement
running, propelling me forward.
My robotic heart
pumps lead,
tongue tastes metallic
as it formulates
the expected utterances
for the ambitious woman.
Yes sir, yes ma'am,
achievements regurgitated
at pairs of ears
who listen merely
at how formulated,
premeditated phrases
may prove themselves worthy.
I aim no higher
than Mount Everest,
spitting my list
of captivating factors,
of perfected musings
of this unlivable habitat
I am to call life,
when all I truly yearn to do
is scream out
the loudest yelp,
that, no,
this isn't all that fascinating,
and, yes,
I would rather
pucker my
dried, worn out lips
around a cold glass
and inhale some
clarity and serenity.
Is a life that's driven,
that's focused,
that's ****** hollow,
its meat devoured by ambition,
is that a life that's lived,
or have I given
everything
away?
Jun 21, 2014
Jun 21, 2014 at 2:24 PM UTC
The most dedicated, obedient, one who rings bell,
One mighty who formulates sentient of time shell
By ringing school bell, making us aware, alert and knell.
Vijay, our peon, a smart, vigilant but never did yell
At teachers or students who bugged in room or cartel.
Fair looking Vijay is a joyous lad who got never expel;
Nor did he remain quiet in vespers nine to spread his spell.
Caring, gentle, cherishing, poor but self-efficient in nutshell
Can be told about him in this Monorhyme – describing well?
Oct 9, 2017
Oct 9, 2017 at 8:55 PM UTC
After a long day
I lay down
In my empty bed
As I drift to sleep
My mind formulates
An image
No not fabio
No celebity
Just a man
Ordinary in looks
That is pefect for me.
Sitting beside me
Hes easy to talk to
We talk about so much
He smiles through most if it
Until he reached over
And touched me
Leaning in close
He kissed me
I felt everything
All his emotions
Just from that one kiss
"I have to leave you tonight.
I will see you again my love..
Until then I love you."
He said as he faded away.
I awoke feeling warm
As if someone held me
Throughout the night
I smiled
I feel I know him
But your name never leaves my lips
For now until I see you
You are my Dream Partner.
Aug 9, 2012
Aug 9, 2012 at 1:12 AM UTC
Imagine the mind as a tree and the brain as a seed.
The mind is made by the brain as the tree is made by the seed.
Imagine routes growing amongst hostile environments,
akin to thoughts that germinate in the mind of another.
A thought formulates from the combination of accepted truths that spirals out of control like the tree and it's roots.
Yet these moments are only revealed when the earth is disturbed,
if not they still grow but remain unheard.
Thoughts forceful through pastures,
it's in the nature of the living to overgrow and expose like an explosions aftermath.
Repressed and unchosen, but even the best storms pass,
give life to the grass and the elements that surround sound.
The seasons change like the reasons to live again.
The bony tree branches shake away the secrets of human beings leaving footprints underneath that intersperse the leaves.
Like a strong breeze.
Imagine a human being as a growing tree,
naked underneath without the leaves;
The leafs fall in time and reveal the skeletons of the human mind forgotten thoughts of friends and enemies both left behind.
Apr 30, 2015
Apr 30, 2015 at 2:45 PM UTC
The inviting face of a happy ever-after...a bubble of light fairy colours and shades.
The chasm is broken by a burning sting from a brewing *** of disbelief...”It could never happen.”
To sadly sit through reality, paging through fantasy pages and drawing the outline of each character as though they would appear before your sights, is a thieve to the present blessings.
It is a frilly beginning to the rest of nothing.
The simple gesture of a warm dashing smile creeps into the lonely heart and formulates hard to believe possibilities.
Slowly and surely the brewing *** of self-image disputes threads a thick rope of scepticism and doubt that some dreams will never come true.
The rope gets stronger each day...it hangs over dreams and unhurriedly forms a loose noose in case everything crumbles.
Yet it seems all, if not, most dreams have crumbled...yet the hope that tomorrow might bring gold keeps blood flowing, pumping life to the musty heart.
Process the “what-ifs”, birthing the idea of eternal bliss. Sadly the assured bliss isn’t tangible at the moment.
We share laughter and thoughts, a bit of this and that...playing peak-ah-boo in each other’s minds.
Yet it isn’t enough to warrant further communication. Or perhaps there shouldn’t be further communication.
The cover might be appealing but the content could very well be unexciting.
Muddled in the passing years...a change in ages each year, you endlessly look forward to your treasures.
Perhaps the eyes should remain shut and instead search with the heart, or maybe the mouth should remain quiet, allowing the soul to speak.
Well...the skies held our conversation and in the clouds it shall remain.
Aug 1, 2014
Aug 1, 2014 at 11:05 AM UTC
it is a vision. an image. a clear view from the reflection of a surface of water.
you reach your hand out and it passes through, you pull
your hand back and your memories drip into the
pool and disperse. it makes sense. it is like clockwork. in and out.
it is a vision, image, reflection that has
no shape or form, but it falls off of your fingertips and formulates
rings around your mind.
we are standing in an empty room. i tell you that you
can do whatever you want with this space and all you
do is pull me close. it makes sense. it is like clockwork. it is
less like falling in love and more like opening your eyes,
letting your fists unclench when you didn't realize how
tightly you were holding onto what hurts. that's the
problem with letting go where you are used to holding on,
like muscle memory. like clockwork. it is less like
falling in love and more like i have been here this whole time
with my hands over my chest, always just a second-and-a-half
away, just missing you, on the other side of the pool just
waiting for your hands to grab hold of me. we are standing
in an empty room and i tell you that this is all i have and
i am waiting for you to reach through me. it is less like falling in
love and more like catching up. like, *of course, there you are. finally.
i've been looking all over for you.*
and it makes sense.
Aug 14, 2017
Aug 14, 2017 at 9:27 PM UTC
In a womb of depravity I am nourishment
gravitating between the succubus of
both the linage of lambert and vagueness
that stems from the breeches of my creation.
Consciousness of what is wielding its gravity
upon my weak state, if I just let them weave
between my creativity and formation of what
is a visualization of my creation...
I'm not the centre of this reality, but I'm the
formation of bonds that predate my existence.
Yet I'm disembodied with paranoia, of those
whispers that have a rotation upon my being.
Mother can you yield to the struggle that formulates
with this interval that comes within the gravity of
my existence. I have extremities that wield upon my
presence and they make me feel a need to be aborted.
Feb 17, 2017
Feb 17, 2017 at 6:41 PM UTC
She is like a wave the way she breaks and formulates.
Calm and crazy change of state.
She moves in her own ways,
consistently different,
but the motion seems familiar to me.
Too far gone and lost at sea.
High and ready to break down.
I’m sure she’ll always bring me back to land.
Apr 14, 2015
Apr 14, 2015 at 4:25 PM UTC
He stitches his eyelids closed
And from the kaleidoscope of colors
Formulates a picture from his memory
Of his Emily.
A ballerina encased in satin
Set spinning when the lid of containment is lifted
Graceful, enchanting, alluring
Mapping the stage with movement,
Creating constellations to mesmerizing melodies
He watches from the wings.
She takes flight across the sky
And extends her hand,
Inviting him to join her,
A gift, a granted wish.
But he hesitates.
The words dangle off his lips,
And--
The seam of his eyelids is ripped.
The motion picture stops.
For he is too late.
He is always too late.
And his 'i love you' goes unsaid.
Feb 20, 2018
Feb 20, 2018 at 3:14 PM UTC
“It can be a very spontaneous state,
In restraining the inner spirit of angst,
A plethora of pain held within,
Parallels of a withering acumen,
Once in a wonderful sense of serenity,
Or was it a birth of total disavowal,
One cannot feel the venture aforesaid,
Comeuppance breath within my soul,
Need I succumb to such relentlessness?
As the inner souls foment impertinently,
Shall I reconcile to the assuage afore me,
As my soul unleashes it’s invigorating remedial,
As my spiritual guidance formulates camaraderie,
Now proficient anodyne of once a dreaded angst,
Shall I now attain that of a once absent love?
Whether this shall be for naught it is affirmed,
A reticence of my spiritual soul has been ameliorated”
By Andrew Guzaldo © 11/26/2019 #174
Dec 5, 2019
Dec 5, 2019 at 4:54 PM UTC