"formulating" poems
I want to be your abacus baby,Oh you can count on me.
I wont say that i love you, or i heart you, I less than 3 you.
Your molecules must be moving fast,girl. Cause your really hot.
Are you igneous sedimentary or metamorphic? All i know is baby you rock.
And if god existed I'd thank him for you, but I'm rational and read a lot of Sam Harris.
Your beautiful like the font garamad,but i want to see you sandarac, take your pants off.
I want to be your abacus baby, you can count on me,
And i observe your quirks oscillating, and I'm formulating, a g-string theory..
Like an archeologist,I'm gonna try and compute your age. cause i really want to date you.
You make me feel like a male giraffe. I want to nudge your **** and make you urinate,and mate you.
Scientific fact,thats what they do.
The value of my love for you cannot be expressed exactly. More rational then Pi.
Hey **** is a legitimate word in scrabble, just FYI
I want to be your abacus baby, you can count on me.
You can **** me into your super massive black hole, the center of your galaxy. Im talkin ******
I may not be the strongest or the prettiest, but my knowledge of grammar shines.
I know how to use the words further and farther..correctly. Every fricken time.
Example:farther indicates physical distance
and further a depth or degree
example: the moon is getting farther from the earth
about 4 centimeters annually. Fun factoid,take it home with ya.
You just keep getting further into my heart.
You just keep getting farther into my heart.
I want to be your abacus baby, you can count on me,and if the situation is ambiguous, further and farther can be used interchangeably. Just a fun factoid.
I want to be your abacus baby, you can count on me.
Baby i less than 3 you.
So please take off your pants.
Aug 10, 2013
Aug 10, 2013 at 7:14 PM UTC
he won't shut up
when he's around
he wants to write everything
keeps on formulating phrases
hallucinating
couches into flying carpets
swearing that he's seen
the ground from the sky
The Poet
we never know what he's doing -
turning black sheep
into heaven
he's stuck on the inside
looking out
The Poet
he won't shut up
but when I really need him
he's no where to be found
when he wants what
he wants
in these poems of his
I know I'll wind up
embarrassed humiliated and forlorn
The Poet
when he's around
he won't shut up
he keeps going on and on
And when he's gone
Silence.
Mar 21, 2017
Mar 21, 2017 at 9:33 PM UTC
I got out of bed with a bit of uneasiness,
I decided that it's been too long since I've written.. I think the last time I did was last week
...or the week before ?
I looked at the date, and make me twitch,
Made a tear, or two fall
Made my heart break in a few more pieces.
DID YOU KNOW THAT IT'S BEEN A MONTH SINCE WE MET ? Figuratively that is ..
DID YOU KNOW, that you've broken me into minute pieces ??
Pieces unable to be detected by microscopes ??
Pieces that can't be felt or touched with your naked hand?
DID YOU KNOW ?
No you don't.
You've been too busy missing her every second, like you did with me.
Been too busy upset with her, like you were with me.
Been too busy telling her how much you like her like you did with me.
HECK, YOU'VE BEEN TOO BUSY WORSHIPPING HER ANGELIC FACE, LIKE YOU DID WITH ME !
YOU'VE BEEN TOO BUSY BEGGING HER, TO SEE HER FULL BODY, LIKE YOU DID WITH ME !
YOU'VE BEEN TOO BUSY telling her of your childhood, and how you missed your dad
..too busy telling her how suicidal you were, and how placed a gun to your head.
And you're probably too busy, telling her of me.
YOU'VE BEEN TOO BUSY, SITTING, FORMULATING THE LIES YOU'LL TELL ME NEXT, AS TO WHY YOU'VE HAD NO TIME FOR ME : "I was helping my mom with the Christmas tree" "Someone was using my phone" "Sorry I was sleeping" - (WAIT DIDN'T YOU SPEND NIGHTS UP WITH ME TELLING ME YOU HAVE INSOMNIA ? ) "Sorry I was out" "Sorry I was on a call" . AND I DON'T CARE IF THEY'RE TRUE, I DON'T CARE IF I'M EMOTIONAL BUT THAT'S TOO MUCH 'I'M SORRYS' . TOO MUCH EXCUSES, TOO MUCH LIES.
And I'm sorry that I made a mistake and liked you so much. I'm sorry for letting you taking up my phone space,
With pictures of you that an artist would find hard to formulate.
Sorry you were my screensaver.
Sorry I told my sister about you ..yeah I told her how adorable you were
And I told her you were my ''soon to be boyfriend" ...
And I'm sorry that I pushed another into the fire because of you
Yeah I'm sorry I pushed him aside.
But karma's a ***** and I knew it would get me, I told you it would AND I TOLD YOU IN THE END I'D BE HURT, and you told me no, and I would be.
Darling being replaced doesn't bother me, it doesn't make my bones crack,
It doesn't make my heart cry ..
It's the mixed signals.
Today you're all flirty with me, tomorrow you're calling me names.
WHY DON'T YOU MAKE UP YOUR MIND ?!
I know you no longer need be, and to be honest you never did,
So be honest with me and let me leave you alone ??
I'm also sorry for listening to your lies.
I should've known though, by the signs you gave,
"Let's be friends with benefits?"
FRIENDS WITH BENEFITS WHEN I WAS HOPING WE'D GO SOMEWHERE ?? F.W.B, WHEN I WAS HOPING WE'D BE TOGETHER ONE DAY ? F.W.B, WHEN YOU SAID YOU LIKED ME MORE THAN YOU SHOULD'VE ??
Special to be used then thrown aside ?
What did you want ? A piece of me ?
I should've have know when you said I was special, after I said you were my "soon to be boyfriend "
And I'm sorry you'll never get to see this.
But I hope you suffer from your mistakes
And rot in the arms of any other you come across,
Because no one will EVER adore you like I DID.
Dec 14, 2014
Dec 14, 2014 at 5:48 AM UTC
Waves crash on the pier,
Pure force, a violent bludgeon,
An entity of rage; never ceasing,
The earth in a hopeless war with the sea,
Sediment crumbling; drifting into the expanse,
It is over; it always was, the land in inevitable doom,
The sea has victory, basking in the ruins of ravaged land,
But there emanates a sliver of hope, of rebirth, of prosper,
Ample time has passed; the time has come for a new beginning,
A rumble, a blast, liquid earth explodes out,
Out of the cone, the cone created and of the land,
New earth is born, standing proud, a symbol of persistence,
But the once victorious sea, it is maddened, frustrated, upset,
It is preparing, formulating a new attack,
Thus, tis a cycle, a cycle of create and destroy.
Oct 16, 2012
Oct 16, 2012 at 10:07 AM UTC
i collect patches of poetry
and pluck them out of day-to-day musings
of a woman born before her time,
as she leisurely runs her hands
across and over too ripe fruits.
i do not complain nor place them
in tattered and worn baskets.
instead, the fruits of this history fall to the ground.
unabashed, they line up with blades of grass.
the wind is strong,
there is a clash.
my words tangle like the branches of unkept bushes
- poetry is enough, i know. i see.
a silhouette of bible verses and revelations coming
from inside me.
reverie and rhythm, festival sighs.
it takes 20 years worth of courage to stay still,
upright.
the berries would taste wonderful, i know.
but the soil is hungrily swallowing my ankles -
serving justice for my leaving,
for my formulating, and then abrupt untangling.
my adoration turning into a mirage of nothing.
the retribution is famished yet true.
and so in my head, it grows, and grows, and grows.
but i can taste the fruits now.
no rhythm, no rhyme,
no muse.
i walk away barefoot, onwards, where i am deserved
where i am worth fighting for,
where i am buried but not so i could die,
but so i could be planted.
Jan 5, 2022
Jan 5, 2022 at 6:30 AM UTC
Coffee, I adore thee,
somehow you never bore me.
Bold and dark or mild and smooth,
you get me up and on the move.
In warm embrace or cool frappe,
mocha, french roast, or tall latte,
crema, sospeso or con panna,
you never fail to make my day.
It’s the best thing ever manufactured,
without it, my mind is slow and scattered,
for a quiz or formulating I’d be knackered,
every morning the Keurig is where we gather.
You pick me up and keep me keen,
in complementing any cuisine,
by delivering a dose of sweet caffeine,
you are the original magic bean.
In doses quick or lingered over,
on mornings with a hangover,
I reach for you, your warm embrace,
the morning fogginess to erase.
The flavors, the scent, which is the best?
They are of compound interest.
French press or espresso - take your pick
- they all provide that delicious kick.
Jitter juice, rocket fuel, cup of joe,
cuppa, morning brew or ristretto,
your flavors please, your scent rouses,
a coffee shop is where the crowd is.
In slang they call it Mormon-crack,
but sugared up or with a snack,
with creamy art or straight-up black
once I’ve got it, you won’t get it back.
Jan 27, 2023
Jan 27, 2023 at 9:27 AM UTC
A mournful air beyond the fog,
Death can meet among the poisonous rubes,
Beyond the trees and past the deformed log.
The Knight in Shining Armor comes to save the day.
Bearing healing potions from afar in pewter tubes,
But he is much too late; the Fool has already faded away.
His tears are many, for the loss of a brother,
They are heavy and murky against the dreamscape.
Now for his revenge, he seeks a strange other.
On his new, and strangely enlightened quest,
He feels transparent ghouls kissing his nape
Little does he know it is the sign of a Witches test.
Maneuvering among the empty placed grave,
He keeps his hopes on a looming tower.
He approaches his becoming of an honest knave.
He must be quick and tighten his saddle,
Because a pursuing evil is a deadly power,
And this Knight in Armor must be ready for battle.
The danger of our Knight is not known to man.
To survive, the he must unlearn his past.
This evil he faces is formulating a plan.
The towers close in as he passes their gates.
A spicy chill, creeps up the Knights spine,
And he finally grasps the terror of what awaits.
Inside his mind, he questions going back.
But dismisses the though as a man on wine.
He secretly knows this creature is on his track.
As he pushes himself onward,
He reminisces on his brother, and his life.
The only defining thought for him is froward.
He takes his final turn around the final corridor,
Quick on his feet and ready with his knife.
At first sight, he though his vision must have been poor.
A woman whose beauty surpassed any he had ever seen,
Stood with her naked eyes set firmly on him.
This was the witch who had killed all he had been.
Unable to take the life of any woman,
The soldier took a last and final look
And plunged the knife into his abdomen.
The beautiful witch had won yet another soul,
She knew why it was his life she took.
Never mind the Fool, the Knight had been her goal.
May 24, 2010
May 24, 2010 at 3:20 PM UTC
I love the way, I love the way you work it...baby drop it slow, the vibe is so perfect,
Her body proves to be worth it...skin butter cream...she enhances every fantasy, a real life *** dream…she's arches her back, then pushes back, slow it down girl, just like that...damn Im gettin weak...toes curling on my feet, she moves to the rhythm, thrusting to the bass of the beat.
Kisses to my chest, all the way up onto my neck...her nails diggin in, I'm holdin the back of her neck...(tap,tap,tap) she screaming "oh god!" Her pleasures she might confess..like "your love is the best" "babe! Hold on...I can't catch my breath"
Swimming all in her ocean,
The scenery turns wet,
I just realized I can't remember her name...guess for now ill call her regret, or maybe first date *** Or maybe one night stand?
9months later ill call her karma, when I hold a child in my hand...
Stories of ****** encounters
Keep the mind, blind and not let it think it through...I was infatuated with her she was lusting for me too, things can get so crazy out body temps rising got me confused...was this all a mistake? Or something I was supposed to do?
I snap outta my daydream, I got caught into a stare...
She's still on top of me, should I tell her that I'm almost there?
My body feel like novacane, her pink matter offered a exchange...for my solider to cross the land...in which this new land he will claim...my nightmare is formulating from this sensation she's creating
I only wanted just one night...she treated it like we were mating..
Decisions are weighing, all on my brain
I know 15 minutes of pleasure, just made a lifetime change
We finished, she put her arms around me and then slowly whispered, "my name is the one to blame" she closed my eyes and made me kiss her.
-Dougie simps
Aug 20, 2013
Aug 20, 2013 at 2:44 PM UTC
As an atheist I doubt the existence of celestial beings, but if ever there were an angel, I know it’s you.
But perhaps it’s time to rethink my beliefs, because you too give the impression of a Greek God: statuelike, sculpted and beautiful beyond belief.
I have found myself to care more about your entire being; every hair on your body, every freckle on your skin; more so than I have cared for anything.
The sonorous sounds you make when formulating words and meanings are melodic, marvellous and my favourite song.
Your eyes have the power to captivate even the most apathetic of beings and challenge anyone who looks into them to evade falling in love with you.
Your love and care cannot be comprehended. You make everyone you encounter feel distinctive and special which in a world of 7.6 billion, is not an easy feat.
Your enthusiasm for your passions is tangible and infectious. And you bring a bit of the Sun with you everywhere you go.
And were our time together to end tomorrow, I would be grateful for what I had. I hope you know how much of an honour it is to have you in my life.
You make me feel safe and sound,
And content when you’re around,
And I can’t wait till the day that your art is renowned,
And I am just so glad I found...
…You.
Because as soon as I see that smile, I know I’m home.
Jul 20, 2021
Jul 20, 2021 at 6:53 PM UTC
R~, a name so vibrant,
Teeming with endless vitality,
She was named to flow through the ripples of the stream.
Lacing within the folds of clear liquid,
Weaving through the movement,
Breathing in, out.
Unconstrained, forever free, traveling with currents.
Spilling, gushing out from the motion,
Rising above to disappear,
Breathing in, out.
Formulating in little crystal droplets,
Swirling into cotton candy in the sky.
Transforming into birds, fish, happy things.
Breathing in, out.
Shapes churning into sudden wisps of thick gray,
Consuming brightness, leaving darkness.
Deafening booms of anger, bursting streaks of blinding white.
Pouring from the sky, endless invisible beads,
Heavy, weighing the petals of flowers down,
Collecting in pools of reflection.
The soft pitter-patter, a lullaby to the ear,
Falling once again upon the stream,
Merging with the currents of energy,
then slowing to a calm,
Breathing in, out.
Oh so vibrant,
Teeming with endless vitality,
Flowing through the ripples of the stream.
Mar 26, 2017
Mar 26, 2017 at 10:27 AM UTC
__Chapter 1: Evening__
Your attire is a thin veil; underneath the silk
is a reach within my arms, to grace a warm touch
passion's burning flame, that can make snowflakes
melt away so fast
Romance, over all parts of your attractiveness
tall, shapely, and sturdy— as my presence is in
the presence of a jungle, for an Amazon queen
Once warmed, from head to toes, fingertips,
to lips galore; quiet conversations that eyes speak
of love so deep and fulfilling
Eager breaths thrown back in my face, also, the love
I keep safe, so carefully, cautiously; secretly locked
away in a heart cuddle you warm, wrap you as a blanket
that provides the body’s heat
__Chapter 2: Morning__
How would you shepherd a tongue into speaking
the heart’s deepest secrets— at early morn underneath
the rainy skies; I will wake you. As the clouds grow
heavy, and heavier; the slightest sunlight parts them
open, as perfect affections open you wide.
Sprung out perfectly; an inviting posture, there
where you reside— kisses that fall like the rain
Downward falling; your love a juicy fruit, that will
eventually fall- ripen my eyes to feast on your desires
As we’re both lost in the warming memories of this
blanket’s sun
__Chapter 3: Afternoon__
I think about the rain that fell on your hair,
those tiny bouncing raindrops on your coat-
Coating the memory in such a raging joy;
as the gaze of noon, painted your honest form
A man formulating his words to a first meet;
hoping it may not be short lived
A tongue ensnared by its own words, trying to
savour the novelty of my excitement, all the
pleasures and first feeling— that sensual honey
of our first moment, alone together
The eve is looming over our eyes, for this day
do not chase it, as I’ll catch you by your skin
Gain that glance of a climactic prelude into
another restful resolution of a long night
As the stars are dressed with light; and I sit
with these thoughts on my mind, of how you’ll
choose to dress yourself tonight…
Aug 22, 2024
Aug 22, 2024 at 1:49 PM UTC
my inner demons are awaiting to shatter your anima with
cacophonous whispers and shrieks from their bad foul maws
they are lurking into the shrubs as its branches creeps onto the
ground anticipating your arrival on the crepuscular side of the train track
they are lingering into the dark as they rub their hands together,
formulating the perfect crime scheme to strangle your throat with words you've left unspoken
so be aware, my darling, for they are biding their time for your arrival
be careful yourself out there, for they want you to be as dead as a doornail
May 10, 2015
May 10, 2015 at 6:02 AM UTC
A mournful air beyond the fog,
Death can meet among the poisonous rubes,
Beyond the trees and past the deformed log.
The Knight in Shining Armor comes to save the day.
Bearing healing potions from afar in pewter tubes,
But he is much too late; the Fool has already faded away.
His tears are many, for the loss of a brother,
They are heavy and murky against the dreamscape.
Now for his revenge, he seeks a strange other.
On his new, and strangely enlightened quest,
He feels transparent ghouls kissing his nape
Little does he know it is the sign of a Witches test.
Maneuvering among the empty placed grave,
He keeps his hopes on a looming tower.
He approaches his becoming of an honest knave.
He must be quick and tighten his saddle,
Because a pursuing evil is a deadly power,
And this Knight in Armor must be ready for battle.
The danger of our Knight is not known to man.
To survive, the he must unlearn his past.
This evil he faces is formulating a plan.
The towers close in as he passes their gates.
A spicy chill, creeps up the Knights spine,
And he finally grasps the terror of what awaits.
Inside his mind, he questions going back.
But dismisses the though as a man on wine.
He secretly knows this creature is on his track.
As he pushes himself onward,
He reminisces on his brother, and his life.
The only defining thought for him is froward.
He takes his final turn around the final corridor,
Quick on his feet and ready with his knife.
At first sight, he though his vision must have been poor.
A woman whose beauty surpassed any he had ever seen,
Stood with her naked eyes set firmly on him.
This was the witch who had killed all he had been.
Unable to take the life of any woman,
The soldier took a last and final look
And plunged the knife into his abdomen.
The beautiful witch had won yet another soul,
She knew why it was his life she took.
Never mind the Fool, the Knight had been her goal.
May 24, 2010
May 24, 2010 at 5:26 PM UTC
Do I still call out to the saints?
If my nightly prayers remained
Unanswered
For the longest time
For how I longed
To hold her hands
To gaze at her eyes
To be eternalized as one
But my delusions
Were always shattered by the faint of heart
That weighs, unsteadily heavy still
Cause everywhere I go
I’m confronted by my fears
And everyday I hoped
That even after all these years
That someday, you’ll be mine
I keep on formulating
Various questions in my mind
But I’m too scared to know,
Of the answers I will find
If ever, you replied
But I’ll find, the words, to say
I’ll find, the words, to say
Someday
Regrets come to play
At the form of actions undone
That up to this day, still religiously haunt me
As shadows of the past
Her, being a constant audience of one
In my theatric, electric dreams
Looking up to that fictional stage
With diamond eyes that seem to gleam
A bitter reminder of what could have been the sweetest tale ever told
Oh, what I’d give for her to be mine to hold
Keep your distance away from the bright burning lights
Give me a sign that you will be all right
Let me have this dance to show you the wrongs and rights
Although the lessons can't be fit into one night
Aug 10, 2012
Aug 10, 2012 at 12:47 PM UTC
He smashed his toy gun in seventy four.
Desperation - his face soured.
The shopkeeper knew he was more than kaput
and as for missing the xmas disco ~
he world never walk under the moon of love
from that day beyond.
The bullies had ran their cause
carefully formulating the groundswell.
Who were they his enduring question?
.
Jun 6, 2013
Jun 6, 2013 at 2:10 PM UTC
experiencing myself
empty of desires,
yet continuing to fulfill my promises
and keep myself alive and active.
hard work
isn't as bad if you meditate,
formulating ideas while sifting through memories.
a strange form of meditation while cleaning houses,
yet all the same distracting from the present reality
until you're on your way home with the funds to
provide healthy food, shelter, and a bit of recreation.
hard work
is barreling towards me.
I am planning to jump over and on top of that wheel
which I was in constant fear of and conquer it.
Not only for myself, but for the ones I care for.
If I cannot be there for myself and conquer my
own demons, then I cannot be there for others
to help them conquer theirs. If I am a poison I
shall only continue to seep into those I hold closely, I
refuse to any more. I'm
withstanding.
I will fight the major influences which rest within my being,
I will trim down the fat to create the muscles to carry myself.
No more leaning.
I am standing on my own two feet.
Until I can control my desires,
I cannot stand with you. Until
I let go of desires and just be.
Strength will help me to let go of the
poisonous cracks in the morals I have
so easily let sink beneath me.
I recognized myself as the person on a horse,
while the horse is up to it's eyes in mud, as
I continue to whip the horse to move forward,
rather than getting off and helping it out.
I realize now that I am the only one who can bury my strength,
just as I can choose to let it carry me. I have found that perhaps
instead I should be carrying my strengths so as to only grow more
powerful, within and without, so that if I need to set it down to
help rescue another's, I shan't be just as helpless.
here's to building on top of what is, rather than taking apart
what was, so as to create something new out of the old.
creation's purpose is beauty
destruction is wasteful
let us create and if we are finished
move on to the next creation,
rather than continuing to
poke and **** at the old.
May 31, 2013
May 31, 2013 at 1:46 PM UTC
I Imagine
I imagined in my recollection,
my friend staring in awe of red clovers -
as the sun let loose ruby drops of blood.
Crying out like tears to be heard.
The dust settles as the orphan stares at the sun with green eyes.
Green eyed jealousy stirs as she stretches to remember what its like to have parents.
All the while I am worlds’ away
Spoiled, yet still stretching out my hands towards substance.
I dare not speak of freedom,
because I have already known of it,
And thrown it away mindlessly.
It even has its paid spot in some alley where it’s
Slowly dissipating alongside nostalgia.
I imagine formulating lines brick upon brick
but chaos conforms to life and the structure goes away.
So, I let my words and thoughts sift beyond my fingertips.
Falling onto new porcelain
Creativity escapes down the drain
along with the dirt wrestling itself off my dry skin.
And finally I imagine skies splitting into oblivion,
and rearranging gradually like a ****** Rubix Cube.
Jul 16, 2011
Jul 16, 2011 at 2:37 PM UTC
a toast,
a toast to every moment of clarity forgotten,
to every splendid line i put off writing down
until i could conjure it no longer,
to every sentence i should have spoken
and every silence i should have kept,
a toast to every deception i miscalculated,
to every promise broken, every bond neglected,
to every question i failed in formulating,
to every time when i should have wept
and every time when i should have refrained from weeping;
a toast, a toast to every embarrassment, every disgrace,
every regret,
to every time my hand should have been extended
and to every hand i stubbornly refused to accept,
and the rest, too, a toast to all the rest.
what else is there to do on nights like these
if not to get drunk
on memories,
the stronger the better? every spectacle
of microcosmic tragicomedy,
that makes up the vortex of my life,
is sublime before these disordered senses,
before it's revealed to be
pathetic and melancholy in the morning's lucid, lurid light.
a toast, then, that the night last the longest
and the next day pass by quickly enough.
a toast to every moment of clarity forgotten,
to every splendid line i put off writing down
until i could conjure it no longer,
to every sentence i should have spoken
and every silence i should have kept.
Sep 7, 2015
Sep 7, 2015 at 8:12 PM UTC
See I'm shy and I'm meek because I think before I speak
I'm the head of the Indians so they call me head chief
smoking on that natural but I'm far from the natural used to be a skaterboy so you can call me Mr radical
I'm broke to society no money in my pockets but that could never stop the blasting of my rocket
no man can hold me down no women will lift me up I'm just a man thinking of a higher plan where we all stand hand in hand
I'm baked my eyes heavy from the weight dreamin up a better place when I think of the words my minds soon erased
why are we paying to live when life was givin to us freely I may sound a Lil crazy but I think were all missing some screws
I dnt run with anybody I'm not bangin no crew I'm jus young man trying to spread the truth
its not something that's taught but is inside of you its the Lil voice that's always calling you to stand up and say *** your job and do what you really wanna do
so maybe we're all shy and meek but that's OK kuz we all jus been Asleep listen to what I'm saying life ain't cheap but life doesn't have a price if you get what I mean!
We all are one being searching for the same things besides the ones in charge shitin on our dreams
they don't want us to change kuz were ****** with there scheme they got you believing everything on the screen instead formulating your opinion and chasing your dream
we are in a stream of delusion tainted with illusion causing mass confusion religions misused to keep us confused and infused in a certain set of rules
if heaven were real we'd all miserably fail but because of the divine were all posting bail only you can free yourself from a life of hell its within all of us
we are the keys to our cell!
Jul 17, 2014
Jul 17, 2014 at 12:25 AM UTC
Isn't it funny how we underestimate the power of our voices?
this sound that emanates from our throats, formulating words...
...are not just noises
Right?
I'm guessing it's pretty silly to assume that our voices are just perfectly placed noises, combining to converse with others, argue with others, woo others, defend others, offend others...
And it occurs to me that my voice, is not used the way I want it to be
instead, it's being limited. Limited to the sombre pleasures of others
entertaining people who probably don't bother, much about me
instead my voice is caged up, way up in my own thoughts
They say talking to yourself is the first sign of schizophrenia
do people who fear talking talk to themselves? Glossophobia they call it.
I say talking to others contributes to our enraging insanity
the society that conceals my voice, taints the will to be heard.
One day I got up from my seat in class to say a speech
I was surprised with what I was about to meet.
first came the silence, then the bafflement
people for the first time got the chance to hear my voice
Bewilderment? yes, Endearment? no
for what they heard was not the sound of a nightingale in the forest
but rather the sound of an emancipated prison screaming to the reaches of the farthest
The scene made me sit back and assess
my life looking back needed to be addressed
A voice isn't supposed to be internalised, is it?
But why do I struggle to break out?
Why is it so hard to let people hear my voice?
Why, why, why
My answer?
That's what you get when you underestimate the power of your voice.
Mar 5, 2014
Mar 5, 2014 at 6:14 AM UTC
for Kitty Prr
there is no boundary,
Mason Dixon Line, 49th parallel,
uptown, downtown grooves,
separating human from poetry,
but there is living, daily scorekeeping,
push/pull of taking each breath
in a right mannered way
sometime you gotta dig a ditch
to learn to climb a mountain,
pay dues and even get paid back
for living in a wrong mannered way,
which requires laying down of the pen,
doing shovel ready projects
needy for completion,
yet-to-be plans needy for
formulating details,
forethought and caring, putting the
poetry aside,
on top of the dusty piano
sometime you gotta drink it black,
pass on the milk, cream and the sugar,
even if the waitress just brings it,
pour ice water on top.of your head
just for yourself alone
the how-to-cleanse the eyes and head,
sometimes you got to let the
poetry stand aside
sometime you have to open that
black briefcase^ treasure hoard of
all things soured and soliloquy of
missteps and judgement errors,
letting the
poetry stand aside
sometime you gotta do the laundry,
rediscover the bottom of the sink,
watch the washing machine movie screen
picture making,
asking for its very own poem,
but you know this day,
gotta let the
poetry stand aside
and you stand up
and climb,
straighten up,
back creaking,
joints cracking,
first find the place to rest the body safely,
and when the chores of living crossed off,
then only
ready and somewhat good,
dust the piano,
dig out pen and paper
from the kitchen drawer of miscellania,
and let the reign of poetry
rekindle the Phoenix's ashes
Sep 27, 2014
Sep 27, 2014 at 8:57 AM UTC
hypocrisy is something that comes easy to me.
often feel the words falling out of my mouth but never taste what they mean.
lips know exactly what words to whisper when tear stained cheeks and broken pieces appear;
spent years formulating the right kind of glue to put them back together.
i find myself throwing out a never ending supply of lifesavers,
without even a cloud of thought to what might happen to my small boat with all this extra weight.
sometimes, little holes emerge on the worn down wood,
and suddenly all my passengers jump ship.
stuck figuring out how to fix them on my own,
most often they are covered up with only bandages.
every so often, my procrastination becomes bad karma and we both sink.
thoughts heavy like an anchor, my body lies contently on the ocean floor.
water filling my lungs like the feeling of giving in fills my frame.
self love is the biggest storm i’ve ever had to deal with.
lost at sea since i was ten years old,
it was then that i became acutely aware the space i took up.
had rolling hills occupying places where my best friend had only plains
and my smaller self never really felt small.
fast forward to the present,
where i’m often not present because i have made myself little in the only way i could.
now made up of whispered opinions and avoided eye contact,
i wonder if my younger self would smile at the thought of being slight.
i can teach you how to be content with yourself.
i can talk you through the motions.
i can tell you that i wouldn’t change a thing about you and mean it.
i can love everyone but myself.
Feb 20, 2016
Feb 20, 2016 at 5:23 PM UTC
Half-asleep on my lap, embraced against me
The dim light of a soft box paints your face
Formulating the perfect pose
Preserving the unspeakable beauty in my arms
Silence.
Except for the constant clicking of the camera
A few flashes and wham your eyes open, a shred too wide, too curious
And you smile your best
I wrap myself around you
Three clicks happen real quick
My smile mirrored in yours
Pictures of us together
Glimpses of real love caught in the moment
Mine. Yours.
Pure and true
Perfectly happy
Then you go waka waka on the giant bean bag
Sprawling around, contouring its shape, expelling your body in all directions
I holler your name from the top of my lungs
You respond with a scream displaying two pearly whites and a hint of bare gums
As the breeze cools your skin, you splash into the inflatable pool
Rubber fishies swim along, you dunk them one by one
Soapy bubbles blown in the air circle around you, gleaming in the sunshine, revealing your face and burst with a pop
Still unable to sit unassisted, bam you fall into the water
My heart escapes my chest
There is water dripping all over you
I comfort you and brush hair away from your eyes
But I wasn't quite finished yet
You curl up in the fuzzy charms of a teddy
A new found hero in the making
My darling then arrives as a prince entering his humble kingdom
I fall in love with you all over again at the first glimpse
Bitter, reserved, aggressive, brisk, fresh, strong, assorted moments
I said one last photo
The softness of your young skin glowed in a playland of toys
I sit, stare and sigh at how delightful you look
Capturing candid photos of your innocence at play
The evening was getting tired, you drifted back to sleep
It wasn't easy as one would think
I saw you coming from the start
I rewind the times in my heart
A whole world of just you and I
I want it to be more than just a memory
A reminder of the road taken
Here I am, taking in every bit of you and smiling because I know you are all mine
Dec 30, 2014
Dec 30, 2014 at 12:13 PM UTC
I'm now in a position,
To embark on a journey that terrifies me, leaving me sleepless without a dream
Making the blood pressure rise
Allowing my mind to start to believe..
As we grow older, wishing on promised luck and wanting to achieve
Formulating our individuality, searching for ignorance to please,
Paying amends to our regretful past, mistaking our wants from our needs.
All while only healing our flaws, when the wounds start to bleed.
I can't aim to please,
No, not anymore..
How can I want to be rich, when internally I'm morally poor
With goals I talk about, when I never played enough to score
With my eyes on the rearview mirror, when there is so much more to look forward...to.
*A story we all have, hard times we've all been through
It's how you write you're ending,
The outcome of your book only can come from you.*
"Never erase, never stop writing your story, never give up on what you do."
Apr 14, 2014
Apr 14, 2014 at 12:17 AM UTC
Loose congregation of words ,mixed syllables,sounds ascending to an annunciation made upon announcement
Clashing conundrums of verbs accented with adjectives ,while crashing and dashing looking for a place to stay
Confections with conflictions searching for reasons to become more easily resounded
Papier-mâché used as the blind box waiting to reveal its hidden appeal ,will we use sticks for new words fray.
Teachers use their rulers to help crack the skin or layer of drooling uninterested information gatherers
Finding synonyms is easier with a hungrier fool ,yet opposites distract if paying pledges to the papers
Finding the unknown fabulous riches still hiding inside is best without the blindfold ,hearing proper direction is what matters
Cracking the outer code ,scattering packages of messages is titillating especially if involved as crossword players
Clarification containers from Macmillan help refine an ongoing array of writing gone astray
Pulling new or familiar sounds to another level ,hollow waiting to filled with tasty sweets
True copy that has been pasted,not wasted gathered into changing shapes in a new way
Can make our day, just right for many to explore the contents, blindly poking formulating new treats
Thesaurus as a party tool could it be taking on the shape of a walrus
Antonyms with many wrappings ,nuggets or nougats of wisdom
Wordy party favors masked new flavors seeking to be savored ,hidden like walnuts
Players programmed with reading ritual learn to approach life with new optimism.
R.C.
Aug 18, 2016
Aug 18, 2016 at 4:57 PM UTC