"furthered" poems
She paves the path
Of dynasties carved
With buckets of sludge upon back;
Bent, not unlike her mother’s limb,
But under shinier red flags,
Cloth coated, with lesser blood.
She’d had a hint of gray
She’d not had last time,
She had a newer limp
She’d not had last time,
Her ***** furthered from firm,
Reaching for the ground, a promise,
In years to be wed with,
And yet the underneath
Of it all remained as radiant
As any sun’d ever been;
And come the cloudy day she leaves,
Even mine own eye
Will remain far from dry
As I’d remember freshly cured bacon,
And her tender chopsticks offering life;
She’d saved me once, she’d save me again.
Aug 1, 2015
Aug 1, 2015 at 10:05 AM UTC
Love is sharper than stones or sticks;
Lone as the sea, and deeper blue;
Loud in the night as a clock that ticks;
Longer-lived than the Wandering Jew.
Show me a love was done and through,
Tell me a kiss escaped its debt!
Son, to your death you'll pay your due--
Women and elephants never forget.
Ever a man, alas, would mix,
Ever a man, heigh-ho, must woo;
So he's left in the world-old fix,
Thus is furthered the sale of rue.
Son, your chances are thin and few--
Won't you ponder, before you're set?
Shoot if you must, but hold in view
Women and elephants never forget.
Down from Caesar past Joynson-Hicks
Echoes the warning, ever new:
Though they're trained to amusing tricks,
Gentler, they, than the pigeon's coo,
Careful, son, of the curs'ed two--
Either one is a dangerous pet;
Natural history proves it true--
Women and elephants never forget.
L'ENVOI
Prince, a precept I'd leave for you,
Coined in Eden, existing yet:
Skirt the parlor, and shun the zoo--
Women and elephants never forget.
2.5k
I get scared easily.
And I always have persisted to allow my mind to be torn out when I let it affect me.
They say, "Worst case scenario is rare." in most situations.
I have yet to seek why they ignore worst case, become it, leaving nothing left for the worst.
Habitually it creates an aggression with associates: replacement and correlation.
Without me noticing inevitably.
Behind.
This shadow that follows, desires its personification;
Consequently the main man must fall,
He will dissipate towards the rock where the one before him stood.
Rather take a spot of one greater, it is that of less higher.
A demotion of sort.
In order for it to transpose into progression, a compromise is of order.
The compromise of time, itself, playing the waiting game - (let us back step)
…replacement…correlation…
The understanding of this is of which I no longer feel that emotion;
It is configured by the other, making a statement which is unrecognizable.
So much, not even I, the speaker, can do anything to prove to you what I mean.
--For keeps sake--
This is no where near a poor pardon for my actions.
They are far from a credible stature. Far from a pity fete;
Indeed a fare apology is in par.
Yet this is a means of report to say in far value: worry.
It is of pure arrogance that I state this claim. Keep this in mind.
That I fear the replacement emotion shall take place in fair time once more.
As the tail is coming back again, second time to be specific.
And your steps in self-fulfillment climaxes,
The steps to which I take are mimicked to that of the first tail.
(The apex forms and your entitlement proclaims its spot.)
I wish it not, to be furthered in my rut.
As of the annum before, was explained by dis-valued ties.
This is not to which I think.
It is your confidence which speaks and separates your feet.
Placing one foot in one path, far ahead from the other.
As I stay with the other, while the other one is altered.
Being free as it walks along with out I.
I wish for an ignoring of replacement, and to this I will forcibly try.
For you, my love.
Jun 29, 2012
Jun 29, 2012 at 5:48 PM UTC
Ink in the bowl goes on to skin
Culture from Africa to Americas Indians
Ink that is absorbed into the mind
Held in place forever in time
Ink that controls the blood in veins
Moving through the pulses and chains
Not strong enough to hold the soul
Ink that lives infinite in the world
Smooth grooves in nights and bars
Jazzy blues, singing croons through guitar
Villages and huts where elders bang drums
Leaders dance songs for rain and sun
Music through words transferred through ink
Thoughts held in mind brought into links
That form into the soul of the world
Blood that stains as ink swirls
Tantrums and storms that guide the spirit
A spirit so combative you can't come near it
It won't come if you hear it or read it
Learn to live the life, words true when you feel it
Artist from autism, loose thoughts bridge cataclysms
No cure for the self, wealth grows, pace kept slow
Races to save victims and glorify human conditions
Giving thoughts and heart to help, it is felt, is it felt?
Writing soul, from heaven to hell
Spiritual fire, culture is furthered
For my blood flows parallel to ink
Ink that flows and grows from me
Me goes to you, then travels beyond
We show growth, all faces of God
One voice seeks to speak
Through songs, poetry, love in the ink
****** lovely ink
Muddy purity links
The ink the ink
The ink the ink .
Jul 21, 2013
Jul 21, 2013 at 7:27 PM UTC
*concerning the last lines... all we can do with the Cartesian Libra is add adjectives to it, which is contrary to what the existentialists did by simply modifying a furthered abstraction of the compounds 'i think' and 'i am', via the inverted comma(s), otherwise known as dittoing, sic, prior said, or re-, true to the oddity; a king will continue to question his position / being a king by not thinking about it, hence his uninhibited delusions, hereditary, very much genetic; and hence someone who precursors his being with much concern for thinking, the inhibited delusion, self-serving - both are adjective expansions of the Cartesian Libra, just added qualities, given both are facts requiring a slab of marble to look like Rodin's kiss - or approximate, with therefore being the chisel, and so dependent the end product, indeed a slab of marble at first, but not necessarily Rodin's kiss at the end - perhaps a Notre Dame gargoyle...*
i am what i think,
that's what i came up with after
reading some of the bio sketches -
even though the truth is that
i am what i own -
thinking is the part that comes last,
if i own a bed and a roof over my head,
i end up i thinking about being
homeless - but sometimes you do find
the ones that are inclined
to be what they think, the extremes
we call them - supreme anti-materialists,
it's not satisfying to own a house
or a phone, more is required,
something tinged with transcendental
counters - they "own" a home
but rather not live in it, already the
looming fairy of heaven tells them
of an unnatural life expectancy -
some might say thinking a form of
uninhibited delusion sketches,
like i'd be a venture capitalists taking
a weekend away in Hawaii while
some ridiculousness of poverty in India
was to blame for my jet streams and
carbon footprints - they keep the
inhibited delusional in cages without
a chance to sketch - because the uninhibited
delusional have all the freedoms
that Versailles could allow - or...
uninhibited delusions of non-thought,
inherited, hereditary,
versus inhibited delusions of thought,
mutated, self-invented...
this could very well be a "magic" square
with two further variations, i.e.
uninhibited delusions of thought (psychopathy)
inhibited delusions of non-thought (coma?
Jun 19, 2016
Jun 19, 2016 at 10:11 AM UTC
.*but i wasn't obviously going to go far down this "worrisome" route for too long, maybe like ten minutes... i had to think of something relaxing to do... i looked in the mirror: **** the wild-man of Essex! beard, shaggy, the neck barely visible... hair like Mozart composing, or as the Poles say: hair like a wkuriony Chopin ****** off Chopin)... **** better do something about it... ah... there's only one thing that can lighten my mood and this whole, tirade... a visit to the local traditional Turkish barbers... so i ****** off... in went the wild-man of Essex... out came well-groomed human being, not a sign of his werewolf past to be seen on him... ah... this is the 4th time, proper, that i visited the barbers (prior to? long hair... after? a shaved head like a Buddhist monk)... god... just sitting there with closed eyes... i'm starting to think that going to the barbers is better than ***
i was never into blocking someone,
esp. if someone is liking your stuff,
but it happened to me with
that poetess on here,
i wanted to know how it feels,
to just randomly block someone
who really enjoys your stuff...
and then... **** gone, never
to be seen again...
Wattpad is basically a fascistic website
to boot this thread of thought...
who the hell gets booted off a platform
for starting a cordial conversation?
- but i really did wake up with
a moral hangover...
excuses?
irritability...
there's just a certain level of
conversation i can take,
i can't get the pedant
out of me... i really can't...
i tried and i tried,
notably because when speaking
to natives, i see them lazily doing this
or that, while i come with an acquisitive
perspective, hence the furthered
acquisitive impetus to further this
acquired language... while the natives
are like: blah... it has been given to them
from birth...
and conversations,
after having completed a...
well for me it was an exhausting poem,
the desire to finish it before off
the rails with the bourbon instigated
a thirst, matched with irritability...
**** i hope i can unblock the guy
and apologize...
spare of the moment thing...
well... if i can't...
i know what it feels like:
not being on the receiving end...
so... that's one plus from all of this.
p.s. that sort of direct messaging language,
aged... 40?
how can i talk to someone
who's older than me, on that level...
(looks up his profile page)...
huh?
so i didn't block him?
*Dennis Willis's profile is not
visible because they have blocked you.*
and i still have the block option
handy...
mind you... i didn't wake up today
recollecting some pretty
trippy ********
Nov 21, 2018
Nov 21, 2018 at 6:33 PM UTC
A Mass Inversion.
I have lived to witness an Apple
become a juggernaut
see the followers nod their heads in belief,
walking segregated on the streets
unaware of their own worship.
We have not yet realized
that the largest religion in the world
is no longer faith based,
technophiles fill our rural
and metro quintessential sprawl.
Their numbers swell
and burgeon with new converts
that give funding rank and file,
whom are taught to know indulgence
in name only, mistaking desire for need.
This technology based obsession
is without age or gender restrictions,
without race distinction,
it asks not for ethics,
pride,
morality,
intelligence or privacy.
It is all-consuming
just as any ideology-
as any religion,
answering the same fervent questions,
demanding tribute and changing the way you think.
-
The View Outside.
Among the whole, the slow mass conversion,
there is occasional dissension,
some who glorify a golden era or fill with nostalgia
for something they may not have even experienced,
an immaterial escapism of the present
furthered by a childish inability to accept ephemerality
and our irregular morality.
Sometimes amid this denial,
this abstaining,
there is a seed of anger that grows with gnarled roots
that twist throughout with nary a cry or shout.
It is a quiet anger,
unconditional and baseless but for an intensity,
a burning sense of being wronged,
an infection that spreads without exception.
And when your self-righteous halo eventually slips to catch
in your now flapping jaw,
your anger will fade as you choke on hard etched resolve.
Dec 21, 2010
Dec 21, 2010 at 9:29 AM UTC
1
There are more penetrating people if not the death of, as in living in this very livid moment of the unsure which is a surety.
Falsify me. Growing heavy with the absurd. To face you, me -- more mirror the blank end of a chamber, or if that you must **** me, do it at the plaza in front of my mother. That if you must lament me over the lapped up moment of some false life the invented and wrong, do it. Do it. ****** me the unassailable truth that is, I am capable to splinter this moment and that it still lives like a sprawled body spilled from the mouth in the bathroom -- it still lives: you have to be quick.
2
Once have you been startled by the form of absence as a letter slid underneath the soft and warm pocket of your mouth like it was the first time to have a naked body pointed at you, all with it trying to predict you in a sterile room, and is more shattering than an aggravated twilight.
Who, at first thought, was there behind the trigger, and was ***** drunk with any other pretense apart from the face that ***** hates that common meeting within the day’s fine-tuned crosshair?
3
If you listen to it carefully, the music is a mosaic shifting the hypothesis into a pallor of a question back to it again with its basic agony of becoming so bent and so small on paper – which is to say, that we are, if to listen to a droning sound, becoming of it delving deep into the center, checking our own weight like our name after a fall from a high place, they said they would.
4
I have left something in Baguio that I cannot take back – a monochromatic caricature of my face shoved into a crevice waiting for a revision. What have I furthered into?
Jun 13, 2016
Jun 13, 2016 at 9:54 AM UTC
When I was just a child, they were just a married couple;
Older, middle-aged, nothing distinguishing about them at all.
I loved swimming in their swimming pool,
Until they upsized, to a glitzy neighborhood of rambling,
Ranch-style houses.
And they upscaled, to exotic, foreign vacations.
Brought me back a Hawaiian volcanic stone, with emerald flecks,
A salt and pepper shaker set from Israel.
She was a clothes horse, always kept her figure,
Dressed slinky but classy, for an old babe;
Visibly stood taller, if another woman
Ever complimented her clothing or style-
And they invariably did.
My dad said that when alone with her husband,
That man would brag about daily ********
From his office receptionist, at the end of the workday
Before going home. I was older then, tried to imagine
How the shared exchange could have furthered
Some ancient, nightly excavated ambition?
Alone with her once, my dad said he made an innuendo,
Some playful joke which he had since forgotten the point of,
Probably due to the more stunning reaction it caused.
He had always loved teasing with words,
But he said that she had dropped all suggestion of pretense,
And she had told him then, You couldn't handle it..
He still chuckled about it, long after the fact.
Funny how for all those years, what I remembered seeing
Was a mostly colorless couple
Who always drove large Cadillacs.
And how in the later years, he could only move
While tethered to his oxygen tank,
Though it never hindered his smoking.
Aug 23, 2010
Aug 23, 2010 at 12:11 PM UTC
A stern Russian ruler named Vlad
made his minions and satellites glad
when he told them to choose
between true and fake news
(but the fakers still furthered the fad).
Jan 21, 2017
Jan 21, 2017 at 9:40 AM UTC
Broken Spirit
As I watch the water flow from my hands
A glance in the mirror reminds me that I’m still human
& the heart must break to heal.
Graphic and detailed memories
Of a broken Spirit. I’ve succumb to the darkness & of the pain I felt, losing my breath was the easiest thing to do. Walking amongst the crowd pity was not felt! Truly deserving ROARS of laughter
Foolish Broken spirit
The L on my forehead would depict a loser so I was marked and shamed named a *****
For a performance held behind closed doors
Embarrassed and Broken
Cause lack of knowledge furthered the humiliation of this woman
The anticipation of anxious hands grasped this angelic ***
And once more giving into a lie as I laid there naked and confused
Broken Spirit
A mouth full of *** not swallowed bothered me as his lips curved happy
Was he, I lost my respect somewhere on bended knee
And so unsure was he as he pulls his pants up and walks out
The door leaving me with this Broken Spirit…
I’m keeping my head up!!!
Thanks for the advice(M)
Written By Monica Chrisandtras Hines
Sep 21, 2015
Sep 21, 2015 at 10:38 PM UTC
Garden afternooning
People all around
Music in the air
We're chilling on the ground
Popcorn and coffee
Guitars and Ukes
Picnic blankets
People sitting in twos
The sounds are warm
Resonant and rich
Filling the air for the sake of the poor
Hearts gathered together
From all walks of life
To find out how we can give more
New connections made
Awesome talent shared
A good cause funded
Now we're more aware
So the garden was filled
Our hearts were grown
God's Kingdom was furthered
So little hearts will know
More love of the Father,
The Author of this show
Jun 27, 2015
Jun 27, 2015 at 12:39 PM UTC
i'm dead serious about conceptualising a su doku...
i'm on the basis of fractions...
praxis 9
/ 4
optical coordination of stressors of furthered insertion
for some reason i cited:
9 x 6 = 51
and then 9 x 9 = 81...
**** 1 is such a difficult number to muster /
master in a goemetric class...
1 isn't exactly geometrically "sound" -
hello φoνoς -
alternatively, when you're doing a really hard su doku,
quote this quasi-copernican interpretation,
i.e. doing the puzzle "lying down"...
i dunno(h)... when complexity arises
numbers "lying down" makes perfect sense...
su doku?
it's like onomatopoeia in terms of arrangement...
81? and it's still a perfect square?!
o.k. o.k. (leo getz style),
ω
3 ß
m
what the **** was alternative to the said?
u p
d
o
w
n p
u
d o w n
by now you're ****** kidding...
M
3 Σ
W my name's matthew,
so you can imagine why i get all hot and bothered
about this variation.
now for some dead etymology (i,e,
i don't give a **** where the words came from,
i just like the way they sound) -
poligon,
okop.
all, if any, emotional intelligence equates
itself toward an intensity status...
i.e. the more you feel, the more
your emotional competence...
for sure... apathy is the "placebo" guarantee
cure for any type of pathos -
or the λoγoς of guaranteed explanations.
to be honest?
λoγoς has been reduced to a suffix status
with that basic "accomplishment" of -ology.
another "funny" word... by was of saying:
it's actually a city...
Płock -
Łódz*,
alternatively? let's juggle
ò (grave) & ó (acute)....
now i see the funny side of the tetragrammaton
concept... it really is omnipresent...
between ò & ó
you want the sort of incisor that's basically |
straight...
something that really might **** off god
once and for all...
with nietzsche it didn't really happen...
i mean an |
o
that would get rid of god in
the classical roman sense of: oh...
and return to the omicron basis
for having revealed a phonetic encoding
that's simply O... and that means doing away with
the god's portion of a hammer (H) -
or the second syllable of the name:
η - weh...
eta weh...
i'd start translation phonetic encoding if i were you...
that variant stated? eta?
it's also called: a short e....
the opposite like loki to thor?
epsilon... and it's called the long e...
in greek it's ε, in latin it's the basis for avoiding
diacritical confrontation / application...
i.e. ee in the word keep, e.g.
Apr 20, 2017
Apr 20, 2017 at 1:35 PM UTC
♛ ♛ ♛
Martin Luther, righteous King,
made the Reformation sing.
Popes and peasants, out of key
turned it into misery.
German beer and Roman crimes
made for most uncivil times
much like our own. We must confess
rights and wrongs we yet possess...
Half a millennium later on
a Baptist pastor and his son
took this noble Saxon name
and furthered the Reformer's fame.
Some revisionists deny
St. Martin Luther's role, and try
to minimize theology
in civil rights chronology.
The second Luther of my song
inspired—but did not last as long.
Social Justice notwithstanding,
King's successors need re-branding.
Politicians steal his mantle,
cloak their lies in his example;
agitators claim his glory
pushing God out of the story;
educators sing his praises
but some people's conduct raises
doubts about that dream of King—
and hope... and change... and everything.
Jan 13, 2017
Jan 13, 2017 at 9:05 PM UTC
as if anything could ring true to a fanciful melody
with chain-mail and crockery,
but not in the symphony of snoring harps
and whistling trombones as much as:
falling asleep as quickly as the tailing off of the song
looking through a woman (christopher young,
hellraiser ii, hellbound soundtrack)
and entering the realm of dream with something to think about...
and in dream, to stand outside one’s own body,
and peering through the window
to see a lightning bolt strike the ground... and instead
of disappearing due to crap wi-fi
begin to dance... moving with heavy crackling sounds
as if a man walking on autumn leaves or crisps
thump, thump thump an electric heartbeat with a sort of
freezing of water glow that expands to diamond diadems of ice,
surely no better compliment to the poem picasso behind the window...
no critical comment, no lovely jubbly one pound fish sing-along in east ham,
no... none of that... the best compliment... a furthered meaning
away from the act from the night... not so much
picasso behind the window... but a bolt of lightning, dancing
a dance of icy luminescent silver in ultra-violet x-ray.
Oct 29, 2015
Oct 29, 2015 at 9:24 AM UTC
Her roots are growing upon your being,
waiting for the warmth of your presence
and the drops of your attention.
As it grows,
she begins to demand more
her appetite to sustain grows.
But slowly you’re furthering away
your radiation no longer reaching
upon her bare skin
as the trail of your shadow is left behind.
Just like the rest you’ve furthered,
leaving her parched and left to thirst
the reservoir that has stopped flowing.
Grief tastes like fear,
for attachment is the synonym of fear.
To be intertwined and interlinked,
to give and expect —
but to receive less
with the passing days.
The experience of the past
harbors fear,
tremble at the feel of attachment
that is ripped away
to leave her bare.
Before you leave
Before you detach
She will leave
and disentangle herself.
Jul 25, 2019
Jul 25, 2019 at 4:16 AM UTC
i find it bewildering that the greeks,
know as the byzantines are known for no name,
but a date: 1453 (the sacking of Constantinople),
while greeks per se, are known for the philosophers
and the mythology prior... thus the timelessness of
the latter... and the insignificance of the former;
the latter have been simply bleached,
a milder ethnic cleansing to erase their pre-history
with a non-history that history is said to
have taken place, even though it has;
one greek i met at university
said the pride of greece was Constantinople
rather than Athens...
how unified Greece and Turkey now seem
when having to ***** the Syrians
and wonder why the plagiarism of Trojans
(that's Rome) seems to be caught unaware
to what further ascription of furthered
plagiarism is necessary to keep a vitality.
Feb 12, 2016
Feb 12, 2016 at 9:46 PM UTC
oddly, but not odd enough
bilbo baggins fared
a better adventure than
frodo baggins... complicate
your psychology further
why so many more hobbits
were involved,
and why samwise gamgee
accompanied the anti-hero
to dissolve gollum thus dissolve sauron.
Feb 22, 2016
Feb 22, 2016 at 10:05 PM UTC
children need villains -
as much as adults require heroes.
that doesn't exactly mean
that there's an inherent malign
to treat children as
a care for: investment...
it's just the benign
ambivalence
of someone sacrifice themselves
to save someone from a passing train
who's racked themselves on the train-tracks...
so what better form of acting,
what better form of the thespian
is not in pretending to be evil?
i watched two mothers
and a girl walk the street today...
when i walked past the baby girl and looked
her in the eyes... she stopped walking...
and began clinging to her mother's
leg...
it's nothing as such, but when
you're observant of cats at the barometer to
anything autistic... a baby girl looks you straight
in the eye, and she's horrified to walk a step further
and clings to her mother's leg.
the beard? the body? what? what?!
cars need petrol... children need villains...
i'm sure: the ones that are faked
are scarier than the real ones: because they
have a dimension that allows them to
become myths, i.e. disperse and acknowledge
a greater number of the phobia-riddled...
but at the same time:
adults need happenstance heroes...
nothing achilles-like to be frank...
something exemplar in the realm of the mundane...
adults need something to match
up to the child's need for a villain...
point is: when the child eats away at what
provoked fears in him to begin with:
and starts becoming a villain, himself;
that's just called a point of realisation:
realisation furthered as: continuum.
Mar 31, 2017
Mar 31, 2017 at 4:55 PM UTC
*pseudo-aristotle said: life happens between verbs and nouns... all that trivia in between is left for ensuring the bus stops with precision of the timetable at quarter past seven, for you to travel to work in and say your logical approval of i and: telephone, paper-clip, paper, a4, copying machine, coffee, banter / (σ-noun) - well obviously i'm the one to support designation and furthered usage of names! ah... you deal with the vierte *****
germans: the people to be easiest rallied,
and the leat able to be easily taught thought,
given kant, given bach, given etc.
ars grammatica?
you only invoked nouns & verbs in matters
that are not required,
and leave the rest for pause, other people,
the populace easily forgets and therefore acts
upon the impulse of a tsunami of action and naming,
without the lodged interlocking chains of usage
that does not care for action or naming:
die neu wende / wir den leute des *****
Nov 29, 2015
Nov 29, 2015 at 12:15 AM UTC
opposing teachers teachers opposing
teach a culture spoon fed
students lacking passion's filter
unwilling in effort to discern for self
preaching to a people with
little practice to understand teaching
beautiful words
dangerous in their difficulty to comprehend
messages manipulated, agenda furthered
easily misconstrued by a
culture angry mind
frustrated people
disconnected from guideline's intention
their failure—to seek understanding
wisdom extension, ethereal knowledge, instead
posing philosophers
thought too shallow to
penetrate armour of their consideration
an axe too dull
unable to bite beyond bark
giant impossible to fell
mountains unmovable from footing
hatred
spread under guise of
love
chains
jewelled clandestine
everywhere everyone making claim of truth
though never their own, always
second hand told to believe
yet hypocrisy hating a world of sheep
between two teacher's twin lies
lies our truth
to find them who seek to find
not secret not taught, but
contemplate philosophize
answers dangle from line
of them who learnt to fish
Nov 17, 2014
Nov 17, 2014 at 4:40 PM UTC
I've been a mess
ever since that one night we stood next to each other
you were just so close
and all I wanted was to touch you
to remember how we used to be
and because of that night
I was truly able to reflect our relationship
it started out like a dead fire
barely burning but smoke emerged
and I was the one who fed it leaves and branches
and you were the one who told me it wouldn't work
sometimes you would help it grow
and I thought finally
you were giving it a chance
but as soon as the rain came
or winds raked through the trees
you would flee into the tent
and I would stay by the fire
hoping it would last the night
but one morning I woke up
dirt on my face
twigs in my hair
and I saw that the flame had finally died
and for a while
I sat poking at the ashes
hoping it would come forth
but you noticed it was gone too
and you just sat next to me
reminding me that it wasn't coming back
and when I left it was almost laughable you were surprised
so when I think back to that night we stood next to each other
and how much it affected me
it only furthered my resolve
so when i see you now
and see how you have improved as a person
I can feel my heart ache
for the love I should have received
but now I only give a small sad smile
I can't ever go back to you
to feeling like a shell of a person
a person that felt that
she should have been better at loving
and devoting her entire being to someone
who didn't deserve it
Jul 22, 2014
Jul 22, 2014 at 3:34 AM UTC
From the warren I view the world;
From the warren I venture timidly,
Ready to rush back to its relative security.
It's not my warren, but I'm comfortable -
Well, not exactly comfortable, but secure.
Made not for me, although it has a familiar scent;
A temporary sanctuary - a base from which to venture forth.
And from within its warm depths
I've furthered an internal warren,
Full of rooms connected by labyrinths
Of hallways still tunnelling unheeded
Into a myriad mysterious locations:
Twisting, turning, looping, surprising, revealing.
Both the warren I inhabit and the warren I've developed
Help to cement this reality; Help to appease;
Allow me a freedom to explore my environs;
Explore local watering holes and those further afield;
Explore inner landscapes, disconnected and relevant.
Mar 7, 2014
Mar 7, 2014 at 5:04 AM UTC
The shout travels up the narrow valley
furthered faintly by the sheer rock face
to the ear of the man stacking shooks
he heaves the last sheaf into place
and walks to the shade tree
for the lunch brought by his wife
“It’ll be a fine harvest if it stays dry”
“Happen”
May 4, 2016
May 4, 2016 at 10:34 AM UTC
no, possessing eyes, no, possessing my eyes filled me with dread at possessing a stomach, how stomach or even imply digestion of sunrise or sunset? how?! it's impossible to convene or communicate... if i were to ordain life a will, i'd ordain it without a digestive system, for spent gluttony, for untamed gluttonous peoples carving hope in nearing the grave, housing themselves in resembling structures, as of life in life and furthered thrice enclosed off life; they say you're a scot nobleman using a semi-colon living in a semi-detached house going bankrupt because of the heating bill! well, close proximity of words and no nearer the lives of those using a method of kinship.
my diet? like that of a wild animal,
i live for alcohol,
i eat to keep the nutrients in balance,
i grab a sand-witch in the dark,
and then like a rat jumping off
a ship or treadmill i
imagine a sponge trapped in
my stomach soaking up acids
while being digested without bloating up;
i don't like eating, true enough,
i wish eating wasn't part of life...
but hey... so the story goes...
you got to eat and get fat and get bulimic too.
Mar 3, 2016
Mar 3, 2016 at 7:40 PM UTC