"furthering" poems
Sorrow filled heart
permeates throughout
a broken soul.
The body reflects
inwardly out
all the pain felt.
Solace sought
but not found
furthering their agony.
Too sad to live
too broken to move
they lie there
numb.
Struggling
barely getting by
yet somehow
finds the strength
to carry on.
Sep 5, 2014
Sep 5, 2014 at 12:25 AM UTC
Making the most of my day
Riding back and fourth from station's
139 poems wrote
But the route never changes
Blasting pop punk anthems to get me by
Instead of dwelling in my room furthering connection with the outside
On mission with no destination
To find the people or place that feels like home
A community found when the lights go down and the band starts to play
My 140th poem wrote on the same bus heading the opposite way
Slightly less lost
Sep 17, 2018
Sep 17, 2018 at 7:31 AM UTC
we escaped
the ravenous crowds of the beach
the secrets seagulls screech
that discussed the implausibility
of you leaving with me
you walked
with the sound of the coast
the deep ancient sea
clearing its throat
to call you home
furthering the distance
from me
to you.
Jan 15, 2011
Jan 15, 2011 at 9:49 PM UTC
And - yes, you're right of course
She should have stopped the cough
Before imposing it on you
So sleep was killed;
So furthering your grinding sisterhood
That you were stealthy-taught
By raising villians dead,
Whose ghosts still shade your brows.
Dec 27, 2012
Dec 27, 2012 at 2:40 AM UTC
building purist æsthetic
proselytizing solar-powered heliolatry
commemorating historic concert
sensing dark forces
fokken lekker antwoord
pumping sensory overload
featuring high-tech dee-jay
admiring gelato micro-truck
laxing laying lazing
"doing something nasty"
continuing quality content
entering another cathedral
journeying without borders
"exactly one year
since visiting vatican"
appreciating full-time gigasphere
awaiting pyongyang performance
depicting unlikely crowdsurfer
foreseeing exponential improvements
furthering esoteric agenda
sensing profound incompatibility
data-mining people's infidelities
anticipating futuristic caffeine
perfecting invisible propaganda
researching mind-control techniques
polishing psycho-social weaponry
sensing social embargo
flourishing frantic fanfare
admiring longitudinal monument
parodying marketing slogans
cycling through österreich
eyeing dystopian disneyland
streaming crosswords extended-play
herding glass kittens
deleting idiosyncratic fragment
loremipsum-ing laconic loudmouth
receiving ultramodern telegram
eigo-ga wakarimasu ka?
guzzling duck-fat fries
encouraging panic selling
(juxtaposing past incarnations)
getting black-and-white privilege
renewing boutique account
relishing cinema poutine
re-entering hibernation mode
opening old windows
continuing zoo motif
absquatulating excessive excesses
nullifying originality claims
proliferating protean persona
disappearing sidewalk alphabet
shrugging opprobrious moments
enjoying vertical alignment
re-entering cyberpunk paradise
approaching island sun
soaring beyond monoliths
trivializing extraneous argy-bargy
decreasing character limits
dumping generic accounts
uglifying commit message
escaping into idiosyncracy
moonshining great lake
exuding idiosyncratic propaganda
living nineties' dreams
making occidental cuisine
envisioning idiocratic president
expropriating your time
ascending homely helix
singing fat lady
Sep 12, 2015
Sep 12, 2015 at 12:12 PM UTC
oh such few words are minded,
no bravery apart
from the homosexuals
as skeletons in the chronicles of Narnia
being discovered among
the skeletons of tyrannosaurus rex
making a bed with its wheelchair able
paws - and the flag of the Cymru
fire-breathing turtles before excavation
and the myths of the mandarin too;
now tell me the sub-human plot with the
Normans when the anglo-sax reigned
to teach me to unlearn english
to avoid assimilation,
like you taught your former colonial subjects
to integrate and to alievate keeping assimilation:
which you taught to unlearn the mother's
tongue and learn a discrimination
against furthering the multi-cultural project...
which you taught to integrate and
keep at loss a sacred soul of never assimilating
akin to jew...integrate i must,
assimilate i care not for should i be totally
albino or asserting bleached with peace:
albino oder beteuern gebleicht mit frieden.
integrate i must to utilise the coinage
but to assimilate i must turn into a reggae african
with roots in the Caribbean than the Ivory Coast...
and god willing i will not claim to be
an arab's brother to settle karma over
uplifting the curse over Mecca with ibn Saud's
clock-tower; burn!!!
Apr 22, 2016
Apr 22, 2016 at 11:07 PM UTC
Reading the other day,
an article about some,
Renowned fellow's notion,
On the study of "Human,
Productive Locomotion".
A reputed Authorty,
of "Time Management",
His main proclivity being,
The belief in his increasing,
Other peoples productivity.
Modulating their all too,
common Human tendency,
For naturally wasting time,
and non productive energy.
Him asserting himself to be,
a self styled know it all,
Bonafied Expert in Efficiency.
Now I can see,
How it might be,
That this type of study,
Offers some relevancy,
For the Barons of Industry,
What with them regulating,
The flow, While streamlining,
and furthering the advance,
of all things, relating to commerce.
A purely Scientific belief,
For the primary benefit,
Of the Time Clocks sake,
And all those Bosse's
Emotional financial betterment.
But what on earth,
did that have to do,
with an old retired,
fool like me?
What matter that,
I merely sit and think,
for hours at a time.
Read the paper,
or a book,
Computer chat,
or cook?
Putter in my garden,
Or gratefully just stare,
at big billowing clouds,
or rainbows in the air.
Or perhaps I choose,
to hug my wife,
Or chase my Grand
Kids up a tree,
Maybe grab a nap,
Or even take a ***
Pet my dog,
Or have a Beer.
Watch the Tube,
a little bit,
Or congregate to meditate,
with a convivial group of friends.
Maybe take a walk,
Down by the river.
Get out my old,
Bow and Quiver.
Wash my car,
Cut some grass,
Go to my writing class.
Slip on down,
to the " Red Dog Saloon"
Where I'll promenade,
A little Texas Two Step.
Come home in time,
To unwind and,
watch some David Letterman.
What's efficient,
and what is not?
Clearly, that interpretation,
Is completely up to me.
No Efficiency Expert needed.
Aug 28, 2013
Aug 28, 2013 at 4:33 PM UTC
sledgehammers finish off the drudgery
some moments are pounding
others are cool like the crystal ocean
a depth of vision is necessary
if you wish to transcend
the edges of your inevitable vulnerability
i am in need of shelter from her fire
a muse that burns all that she inspires
a silent lover of beauty
furthering her art
between the spaces of dreams
our fingers slip into everything
and become entangled like twine
rest here and unwind your heart strings
the scintillating heat is blinding yet rejuvenating
if you are my love then uncover your soul
give naked silence a chance to grow
surround my faithless jungle
with your vines of hope
i am conscious of the lack of rope
this happiness is binding
like kindness climbing invisible ladders
you shatter the silhouette of my perfect idol
i sneak a peak at a photograph
that you have kept hidden
silver visions destined to uncover
the lust of beauty
smiled in my direction
if we wish to dance then circle around the fire
aspire for magic to abolish your name
switch places with your shadow
and feel the earth within your skin
give god a better reason than your sadness
and she may even begin to sing again
Dec 7, 2018
Dec 7, 2018 at 5:15 PM UTC
Tick tock
rapping of the clock.
A cold dead sham
of another mans cog.
So lay it down
on the hangman's block.
To sick to see
how it shepherds its flock.
It holds no rime
masquerades as reason.
A facade of truth
Yet I call it treason.
It puts up the walls
to the common man's prison.
A tool to be used
for a stronger man's mission.
Time
a device of unity.
Implementing science
bordering necessity.
Auctioned off
by the leaders of economy.
You always work hard
but are left no time to dream.
Dreaming costs
who ever owns your time.
They look down at you
and threaten your life.
So you numb yourself
just to make a dime.
Soon you grow cold
lost in the grind.
In youth
there is imagination.
Unhindered
not subject to discrimination.
As they grow
so to do their nations.
Furthering thoughts
yet short lived contemplation.
For as you grow old
you give your time to corporations.
The more things change
the more they stay the same.
from the dawn of man
to the information age.
More time spent
till your in your grave.
Yet time well spent
promises better days.
So dont sacrifice
your life for time.
It all stands short
in perspective eyes.
A relative thought
not a device that binds.
Spend it happily
for every day of your life.
Jan 12, 2013
Jan 12, 2013 at 9:23 AM UTC
When the thieves broke in,
They broke my mother’s heart,
They broke my naiveté,
They broke my maternal lineage,
By making her closet bare,
She stood barely recognizing it,
Stared at her safe,
Her
Bulletproof
Fireproof
Apocalypse proof
Safe
Code c r a c k e d,
Deadbolt door eerily open.
“It’s just jewelry,” she muttered,
[Passed down from one generation to the next,
Dating back to an invaded India,
Surviving six hundred soldiers,
Smuggled within folds of saris through seas,
Stories etched in souvenir gold].
“At least we’re all safe,” she stated with conviction.
[Yet I couldn’t help but feel,
A physical furthering,
From my immigrant ancestors,
Who passed along secrets with every pendant,
Who whispered hopes in every ornate hairpin,
Who stored their aspirations in every accumulation:
Real riches knit with poetic prospers from the past].
How funny
To imagine the thieves
Pricing a priceless object --
Ironically making it worthless
Because the burglary left behind
The heritage.
Jul 30, 2013
Jul 30, 2013 at 12:50 AM UTC
Make my heart stir once more
Furthering a silicon sickness
Unreachable this time
Sworn from these graces so long ago
An immense melody scarring reflections
This too will haunt our past
Speaking with bruised wrists
All roads home are now erased
Mountains yielding permanence
Emerging with gorgeous anticipation
Shed their fallen attempts
For your eyes are not green
They were born from the most ancient of moss
Wrapped in a dripping globular of starlit jade
Sep 14, 2015
Sep 14, 2015 at 7:09 PM UTC
I didn't throw you aside
Not the way that you imagined
I put you gently next to me
So that I could see ahead
But you thought I threw you away
No, I just kept walking
You stopped, furthering yourself
So don't say I threw you away
Just because I wanted to marvel at a different painting
I was a piece in your museum
But the art work has changed.
Apr 8, 2016
Apr 8, 2016 at 10:10 AM UTC
*children the happy idiots, secondary children doubly idiotic thinking of love idealising via Darwinism, must be a toast... well surrender you and i, i'd too be ably nimble, but i got Mandela on my back quacking: you?! what the **** yeah, they said till the field and laugh and pretend. brain dead you ***** BRAIN... DEAD! they didn't hear you, they're english, try Celtic.. Brie anomaly of Normandy... nothing... what about egyptian? sha shoo shisha collar coo coo? hey... that works, lets give the flapping owl a cuneiform signature worth a sunset!*
love it,
slightly drunk,
got a bottle of whiskey ready,
cried listening to a horror film
soundtrack, got over 200 reads on a poem
of mine,
got hooked on a pope song
from the early millennials,
when i was a teen hammering leftover
refrigerators on the sly with a tourist
as a party was taking place,
and the un-lived the happily ever after
with the suicide of the Grimm brothers
for subsequent pressures that demanded
attentive dissatisfaction marginalised
into concrete paragraphs sentenced for a grade
for a furthering from schooled to schooling.
Feb 28, 2016
Feb 28, 2016 at 9:57 PM UTC
Morning was sudden-made as an onwardness of hills,
Meant for donning crusade in chainmail glistenings,
The sun visored in misty slats of cold steel,
To glimmer fusty through the godded grove,
A holy sepulchre, earthly-dim to its rafters of oak,
Where the forest-fall of sunlight shed its rosework,
And a red-breasted bird, its song-flight of dappled gleam,
And in the meadow, where colorful whorled the tale of Saladin,
Wayside flowers shook beneath the destriers' cloth caparisons,
A sunny fullness of vales for the crusaders' forest-heartened lungs,
And when this furthering of sights was sunken from,
Still an onwardness of hills to Jaffa like steppingstones.
Apr 16, 2023
Apr 16, 2023 at 10:11 PM UTC
Her hands shaking like the bedpost,
Springs are sprung in a similar way to how I am for her,
Bending over effortlessly to feel the sway of her remarks.
If only her remarks were as sweet as her accent,
(If only she had an accent.)
Brave wake-up calls furthering our existence.
Memories lost at the bottom of half empty bottles & at the top of the ping-pong ball's curve.
The sky has been dark for a few hours & the back seat is really the only place we have ever found coherence at.
Tears. Lots of tears.
"Forget about them, take a little chance with me."
The friction,
the faulty red cups,
the unforgettable music,
the fair use of things that are older than our grandparents,
the flavor of her lips, (which makes me think of home, which makes me remember what shattered glass looks like on a kitchen floor & helps me remember what hands that would grab my arm too hard felt like) nostalgia in a pair of lips,
the fruit we were all too eager to try,
the fall of our bodies & the rise of our voices,
the few times we actually would like to remember,
the famous upside-down sip,
& the four words that I could never say in her presence again:
•Light
•Deer
•Exhibit
•Hello
"Promise me you won't forget me."
Misunderstanding her voice never helped me until now.
We're very tired.
We're very sleepy.
But yet our lips aren't.
They seem to forget their purpose once they have a taste of sin.
"Please don't tell anyone I did that."
We're too young for this & I think that's why we do it.
Purposely persuading your every step.
"Don't tell her I said that"
Home is now haze & books are now blur.
More tears.
"I'm not ashamed of you, I just like keeping everything a secret."
We're too old for mistakes & I think that's why we choose to make them.
Calm nerves make her nervous & so do unsteady pens.
"Please don't be mad at me."
We're too smart to be stuck on the same chapter & I think that's why we close the book instead of continuing to read on.
We're all just accidentally sinking to the bottom of the ocean.
Jun 29, 2014
Jun 29, 2014 at 5:44 PM UTC
It's not necessary
To walk through a cemetery
We'll still get graveyard dirt on our boots.
There are billions of bodies
Innocence buried everywhere.
Just take a step.
They are the foundation of things
This hopeless empire built on corpses
Wine-drunk time well spent
in cheap shirts
with ring around the collar.
Sweating. Sobbing.
Furthering the stains and their hidden agenda.
I have a nice watch though.
It was a gift. From the cosmos.
It’s this inside joke we share and
we're laughing at you because
you don’t get it.
Apr 6, 2016
Apr 6, 2016 at 5:50 PM UTC
One question is almost always answered dishonestly. And most times with the dishonest answer, “I’m just tired.” But we aren’t. Not in the way we want it to sound to the person asking us if we’re okay, and we even lie with that a little to ourselves because it could be true- we are tired- but not from lack of sleep, rather and more truly from lack of belonging. A lack of enthusiasm for people, a lack of togetherness, a lack of luster for the world that we find ourselves in. We are stuck in a paradox of our own making, sometimes we feel so empty and disconnected from the world that when we feel that way we lie- furthering our own disconnect. Perhaps, if by some great grunt of force we were able to lift the weight of fear that is is our perceived weakness off of our backs maybe our voices would be less strained and more apt to answer honestly about the disconnect we feel rather than perpetuate its existence in a lie. We are the hands that feed our own loneliness and we bite ourselves time and time again because we can’t admit there is a problem. We can't be seen as weak. We condition ourselves to believe loneliness is a disease and it can be spread with a single sneeze that could lead to the death of our strong egos. So we use lies like tissues and cover up the fact that we feel alone forever fearful that someone else will catch it and reflect to us our own emptiness. Why condemn weakness and the feeling of emptiness to the fate of a negative connotation? Cry in public. See how many strangers comfort you. See how human this feeling is. Embrace it. Answer that person honestly. Hug someone who is sick from loneliness and catch their illness and let that be a bond that in itself cures the disease.
Jan 16, 2013
Jan 16, 2013 at 4:00 PM UTC
Welcoming me through that stuckfast door
into your roadworthy womb, cigarette in mouth,
you tell me Socrates was right;
that suicide is so logical;
that no man knows;
that humanity, having spread,
denies a further virus.
A bottle of ale there on the hearth -
the nutty yeast of the head still brewing.
I bring out my gift for you -
a loaf of bread - and remind you,
my wander-weary brother, how yeast
multiplies and multiplies,
furthering itself, and no man cares why.
Apr 4, 2013
Apr 4, 2013 at 12:54 PM UTC
**** I did not get good sleep last night
Actually, I hardly even slept
Days have been stressful
Seconds have become burdens
Tasks I once anticipated with glee
Dissipated into mundane labor
I'm not going out as much
Life has become a bit more difficult
5 years ago I did not foresee
That this is where my road led me
I spent a lot of sleepness nights
Dreading my past failures
My missed opportunities
How did it come to this?
Why has my demorilization superceded
The calmed demeanor and self esteem
I had once possessed
I feel like I've been living life without
Consequence and lack the responsibility
To turn things on the wayside
Furthering my progression to return
To that road of calmed demeanor,
Rational thinking and love
The love I once had for myself
I need some fresh air
Nov 17, 2016
Nov 17, 2016 at 11:50 PM UTC
much of j. r. r. tolkien is unoriginal, the dwarfs are basically jews, thrór is simply king solomon, amassing great riches, the dwarfs are exiled; it's a clever plagiarism of historical events.
for the ones that say: too see patterns in holes
in phonetic units, too see
lions in zoological enclosures of curiosity,
to craft orbits of curling lips
and numbed tongues within trebling
kabbalah is the forgotten anatomy
of only the mouth, the gate into the mind,
find the mouth a curiosity, you will enter
solomon's mines of wealth, where each
thought an idea, the constantly pressurising
scalpel furthering you on: it was islam
with the gift of the holy graffiti of scribbles
on walls: their verboclasm that pursued us
to abuse a fondness of erecting statues no more...
to copyright and trademark an arrangement
akin to coca-cola with hope of lettering
a statue into motions of nonchalant waves
and lashes...
to abandon representation of chiselled cheeks
and foreheads to carve into marble
and other stones the phonetics while
leaving the many ignorant and dyslexic
is too a blasphemy on the original demand
of the commandments: this engraving of
the tongue's recognition of sounds is equally
abhorrent.
Mar 3, 2016
Mar 3, 2016 at 12:09 PM UTC
my condolence to my heart for witnessing
the pain of a broken desire
where was i when the shot rang out
those years ago?
distance, lover
you have played the part so well
i feel so sick to discover
you don't care
that every word from my heart
decodes into your name
with a decrescendo
by your reaction
was all of me wasted
when my life will dedicate
to honoring your name?
i just lost all feeling to logistics
example: i look up to you
but when i was lost
where were you?
you didn't even post a sign
return my love with none but empty words
and seduction furthering...
distance, lover
you have played the part so well
i feel so sick to discover
you don't care
that every word from my heart
decodes into your name
with a decrescendo
by your reaction
persistance on my part has shown me
i've wasted yet another breath
insistance to be yours has brought me
yet another wasted breath
but it's okay
i've got more cool
to focus all my energy
into something i can hold
after all... it's just the loss of a love
May 6, 2013
May 6, 2013 at 9:10 PM UTC
Night flashes as time passes
Treading grasses seeing through various glasses.
Why would anyone want to mask this?
Track this through blackness
With the shades pulled down.
Bask in it,
Just don't postpone the practice
For whatever the task is.
The fact is, bliss gets
Every moment you're aware of.
When peace is released into the vibration of your soul
You emit what some call, love.
Energy bursting out sends a shockwave
Into the universal consciousness.
A deep seed in your being is where this blossom lives.
Other fields are affected furthering spiritual growth.
It would change our worlds in ways unbeknownst.
Nurture the inner child
To experience the wild and exotic.
You can come to my mind's garden,
Free from what's chaotic.
What I give you though,
is more than you can take in with your optic.
Transmissions from divine places with feelings kaleidoscopic.
Staying on topic
There's no use in trying to stop it.
Give in to the frequencies and I guarantee you'll profit.
I will too, rich in experience.
Let's explore the catacombs of each other's pyramids,
Past, present, and what we manifest to be,
From divinity to infinity let's live life supreme.
Wrapped in a dream and we're lucid miracles
Transcendental guides furthering what is mystical
Jul 10, 2013
Jul 10, 2013 at 1:21 AM UTC
one perfect painted picture
hung crooked on the wall,
one day it will completely wither,
and it will die and fall,
a new picture will be painted
and hung in the same place,
its memory tainted,
by a once dead space,
it too will one day die,
and another painting
will be hung with another sigh,
furthering the tainting
of another painting that will die
Mar 14, 2010
Mar 14, 2010 at 12:49 PM UTC
conventional ideation of where consent ends
and timbering begins.
intertwine your lips with my thoughts and call me friend,
your edging is the cruelest of all your sins
pull my contentment by the collar and let me know i’m still alive
****** my peace like a rug beneath my feet, begging for your intervention,
your blatant apathy is not furthering my goal to survive.
Jul 10, 2018
Jul 10, 2018 at 12:35 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