"gauged" poems
“Ask me about my patches”
Was written in Sharpie on a piece of cardboard hung by string and Duck tape from
his backpack.
I didn’t dare ask.
I was late.
The image of hipster: gauged ears, lip and nose pierced, cut-off jacket vest, tight
black jeans, —and patches.
I didn’t dare ask him.
But I was forced to read the large one sewn across his back.
That’s when I realized my first judgment was wrong. Not an image: he was a force,
his patches his power.
That was all just a glance, just a memory of a patch of the face of a woman
with streaked black hair, a tear? its fading... but the words won’t.
The words that I won’t tell; the words that carry with them the power of
the history of man.
Not of humans, of man: man who has ruled this world, man who has buried mother earth
(alive) deep inside herself.
Who pinned her down and penetrated all orifices— inserting, and removing and inseminating;
making her pregnant with ********
Man—men—when did we do this? Who was the first among us to realize his
superior strength?
I don’t dare ask because I am not ready for the answer.
I am not ready to ask myself the questions that I feel but don’t know.
I realize when I pass someone on the street, I don’t know anything—every woman I see at
night has a past, every man and every child.
I don’t know any of it.
But, I do know some about the history of man.
Feb 22, 2013
Feb 22, 2013 at 4:55 PM UTC
Precarious Life
Migration in the Age of Globalization
Various Strife
Cessation in the wage of translation
Starvation in our under age narration
Is opportunity worth the cost
Bifurcation of our to be nations
Will we make it across
Vicariously rife
Location of our permanent vacation
Hilarious fife
Hesitation in the living wage stagnation
Resignation of our own home nation
Will anything become lost
Frustration in this age of relocation
Will we make it across
Gregarious life
Migration in the age of inflation
Precarious Life
Stagflation been gauged with low expectations
Automation when we enrage damnation
It shall be worth the cost
Fixation on a whole new acclimation
Will we make it across
Nov 2, 2014
Nov 2, 2014 at 2:46 PM UTC
I feel inspired.
Inspired to write about the man in line who I do not know, but I do know.
Friends, strangers, & self.
So well acquainted as a seamless stich.
I smile.
Hand touches arm.
The endearing laugh of an unfamiliar sound, but I hear you so well.
Faces around turned and gauged in.
Gravitation pull, loneliness lost in the open.
Closed by the proximity of our spaces colliding.
Today, a stranger saved me at the sound of hello.
Oct 21, 2020
Oct 21, 2020 at 4:50 PM UTC
A worst-case-scenario mentality
Breeds emotional nightmares of what-ifs
Methodically feeling the pain in each possibility
Preparing for Hell, knowing it is impractical, improbable, and unkind
Each reaction gauged
Smiles erupt in each better choice
A familiar road traveled often
Lead only by a history of pain
It ebbs and flows, bobs and weaves at will
This reality is organized, easy to understand
Random thought of an unlikely, unfathomable future
**Vivid like a film
Unwavering, persistent
There is no control**ling its outcome
Forced to watch the images forged in a broken mind
Tears burn flesh and a naked heart bleeds
Stop rolling, just...stop
No amount of pleading slows the images
The pain is overwhelming
Far beyond self-inflicted, torturous, methodical thoughts
Uncontrollable, inconsolable
True and real
So very real
There is but one way to stop that future
The one shown in visions of just deserts
The future that smolders through present joy
Preemptive pain is just not an option
I've seen the future my heart has built
**The shards of a shattered soul
Offer no comfort**
My worst-case-scenario was but a benign freckle on the elbow of a body invaded by metastatic melanoma
Apr 3, 2015
Apr 3, 2015 at 5:00 AM UTC
Suicidal
Homicidal
Alike but different
Each is permanent
**** someone in rage
Or **** yourself and leave behind a page
Your level of madness is measured,gauged
But why do I banter
Im as mad as a hatter
Nothing even matters
My life in tatters
A knife to me throat
Toss me in the moat
A bullet in the brain
Nothing to gain
Sometimes relief other times pain
The blood will be taint
Burn and Burn
Ashes in the urn
The worlds will turn
The stomachs will churn
For all you see is fake
And they will continue to take
An illusion
To launch you into confusion
A ruse
To light your fuse
Our lifespan
Throughout man
Short and bitter
So many of us quitters
The rest of us let out titters
While they gnaw on us, the critters
Bite and Bite
Fight for the light
To die in the moonlit night
To cause each other so much fright
Our 'Gods' tell us to **** each other
Our own brothers
Let the blackbird fly
High into the sky
To cause the gloom
To signal our doom
Our demise
Of the human enterprise
Oct 9, 2018
Oct 9, 2018 at 11:17 AM UTC
I like to bite,
not overly hard,
just enough to make one wince,
perhaps, a sharp intake of breath,
showing that my bite is hard enough.
I so desire feeling soft flesh,
tensing between my teeth,
especially when rounded and firm.
Neck first, working downwards,
nipping into the shoulder,
chewing that succulent muscle,
with tight, tentative nibbles.
I am even bitten in return,
my pressure gauged by intent,
taken from the one biting me.
If teeth come hard and sharp,
trust me, then so do mine,
if they are loving and gentle,
once again, so are mine.
I work across the *******
delighting in the ***** *******
chewing drawing responses,
tongue sliding over her stomach,
lower, lower, down to the hips.
Biting very hard into thighs,
making her cry, back arching,
bringing writhing gasps to die for,
reaching her vulnerable centre,
soothing with deep, heavy licks,
tantalisingly teasing, so sweet.
Suddenly, flipping her over,
rough as you like, choice slaps,
smarting on her plump bottom,
before biting, biting, biting,
taking in every curvaceous part,
devouring, chomping, so yummy!
I part her legs, diving between,
my tongue lapping in a frenzy,
deep, deep, tasting the juice,
before rising, pinning shoulders,
entering, gliding, slowly, surely,
giving long, languorous strokes.
Hips grinding, hard and deep,
circling round and round,
momentum building, building,
firm hands gripping her hips,
flesh slapping against flesh,
as we match our rhythm,
lunging, pounding, thrusting,
exploding, on and on,
more and more, until,
we are spent, trembling,
slowing, easing.
A final twisting whip,
circling the very edge,
bringing smiles,
a playful giggle,
it tickles, so nice,
I lean forward, so good,
nuzzling, caressing,
ah, all because,
I like to bite.
©Paul M Chafer
Nov 13, 2014
Nov 13, 2014 at 8:51 AM UTC
i.
he tosses you a chip,
its worth, its worth
it moons over your greedy soul
and you mask them all
with your chained lies,
to your silenced smokes
that wobbles up to your
sunken, tired eyes
ii.
you've been awake and to
the miles along the rims of earth,
your little brother's math assignment
scored over twenty out of fifty
and he told himself to make mama proud,
he, then, scribbled cartoons and addition signs
iii.
you've been awake and to
the valley gaps of the sunshine drizzles
your little sister's finding it hard to
participate in the maze of real life
unkempt to her own voices and she told herself,
"maybe I was just meant to be kept in streets-capes"
iv.
and your home rested on the mountains
of well-lived dreams gauged into your veins
you've tasted perfectly soggy cornflakes
in the morning and in evening, you
could taste the shrill of cicadas, blooming
into the stars-tied rose crescent
and it shut down, I've read novels like these
and heard Kurt Cobain sang to these
it was wonderful, but I'd liked it better
when the sunflower hopes rested into your veins
v.
the eleventh time he tosses you a chip,
it lays perfectly still in your palm
the twelfth time, it took over your greedy soul
with your tear-stained hazels, it whispered
rambling, gambling Willie,
do not let it consume you, as it did Willie
but it still echoed when you knocked on the door
rambling, gambling Willie,
"I'm home," you've been awake
but then, you've found none anymore
Jul 29, 2014
Jul 29, 2014 at 10:34 AM UTC
perhaps it is apt
the first pancake
is always
a disappointment
stodgy
anaemic
without that light
crisped perfection
we've come to expect
it is undercooked
typically
as the ideal
frying time
is gauged
incorrectly at first
it will be
plated with
accompanying pleas
for forgiveness
and absolution
but as penance
someone has to
suffer this
pariah's offering
with each mouthful
comes thoughts
of apology
of atonement
of promises
it will be better
next time
Feb 27, 2023
Feb 27, 2023 at 5:56 AM UTC
em...
what's the difference between
refugees, economic migrants...
and ex-pats?
not much...
esp.with regards the latter...
who are ex-pats?
immigrants,
from a de- host nation...
English women sipping tea
with Mussolini...
ex-pats:
out of, what? patriotism?
maybe my latin prefixing is
a bit rusty...
ginger amy adams...
by god....
if a rose... that...
that is a rose...
strawberry blonde...
mmm mmm...
kentucky fried chicken...
f'now i wish for an ***
i can ***** all day long in
Manhattan...
and be like:
yummy and **** me three ways
sinister...
because? why not?!
ginger ninja...
nunchucks up the ***
to replace the ****** or
the cucumbers...
bridegroom of
Bruce ******* Lee...
makes up for a degenerate
market...
slurp an oyster...
bargain on clam economy...
point being?
self-harming of girls
replaces
the tattoo industry...
of girls...
and the world continues
its carousel "enterprise"...
then the world dies...
and then the world revives itself...
self-harming text books...
and then comes along...
tattoo -
the spiral,
deficit woman -
her due, her, own,
her: albatross swoon -
dive into the curtailed unknown -
a woman hindered -
a woman governed by the hinterland -
a scrap of,
what became the scoop of
what later became -
the crown of Poseidon's
scavenger
ushering in...
the last, of what remained:
a peeled onion.
St. Basil -
came the crow,
came the cathedral,
came the gauged out eyes..
came the croak...
came...
the span of wings...
came...
the labors -
a mind, a lost digestion...
came...
a vision of a future...
without the fiction
of an immovable past.
Sep 3, 2018
Sep 3, 2018 at 8:17 PM UTC
eyes flicker in and out of conciousness
I stare daggers into walls
dance around chanting some heroic theme song
insert ****** babble
for those of us
who feel too heavy
like invisible chains drag across our ankles
and we hold boulders on our shoulders
that no one else can see
a curse taken from the japanese
or chinese
memory isnt one of our strong points
With razor sharp tongues we see people
sliced up
infront of us
shattering every pathetic little meaning of their existence
no remorse
turn away when there is blood
slice it up, we all have cuts
and bruises and certain scars
Ill paint my filth across these halls
and tell you about what a ***** little ***** I've been
Ill get real messy
and laugh when you call me a *****
for those of us who forget to eat
or want to forget to eat
know that , that weight will never go away
it stays at the pit of your stomach
you will never implode
always be at the peak of something like
a ****** that never happens
For those of us who drink too much
and laugh at how that sounds
because it really never is enough
we have a certain kind of grit
that never leaves our colon
stays stuck in our intestines
we have a certain kind of fire that burns
its way up our throats and into our eyes
we speak like broken glass
I clawed my demons in the face
gauged out their eyes with my bare hands
I painted victory blood on that ivory staircase
Did my little dance
And then we tasted the laughter of children
knowing we will never again know how that feels
but spend the rest of our lives wanting to
get that feeling back
stare at the helplessness
in your empty hands
these hands could hold
and hit
and cut and stab and mash and grab
they can caress, though
we break
so
easily
Jun 19, 2012
Jun 19, 2012 at 6:25 PM UTC
Could it have been love?
My on and off intimacy with a boy who had the flesh of a man.
I think of him
And the chill of daybreak that seeped into the den where we lay
Wrapped in each other, buried beneath covers from the sun
I remember how cold that den had been
To the point we searched for warmth in each other.
He completed me... only momentarily.
Then gauged deeper into my emptiness.
He sought me in winter and dumped me in summer.
Spring bared no fruit for our affection.
If love is a blossoming flower then ours was plucked early.
I know that his hands caress another
And I want to ****** him away.
Yet I don’t…. Cause if this was love
Why does it feel so unrequited?
And I won’t be fooled into seeking someone who isn’t mine alone.
But I still think of him and the weight he continuous to put on my heart ...though we no longer are connected.
Dec 9, 2013
Dec 9, 2013 at 6:34 PM UTC
On the fourth night of this sweet summer month
When I first looked into your pleasing eyes
I read a message, something deep and vulnerable
I gauged myself and my feelings even more
Saying to my heart, “it will just perish”
But days passed, I started to become foolish
I fell into likeness with you and definite I was
Contemplating and reflecting on a decision, I must!
Our fates may have been planned
Things came about though complicated but manned
We’ve placed ourselves in a difficult situation
Yet we were happy for having our feelings expressed.
I weighed things out, carefully and sure
Commitment and love for him were now more obscure
Even before you came, uncertainty was a question to be answered
Many means were sought and prayed.
You came into my life and made me realized
Something that is greater, free and more that I can take
That I’m still capable of loving somebody else
And be loved in returned and not make myself bleak.
A moment between us happened
May 15 was the date and everything was said, breakeven.
With a crying heart, I told you of what my heart was feeling
You too confessed yours and time passed even more exciting.
It’s been a week now since we’ve cleared everything between us
We’d promised each other to cut strings from our past.
The times spent with you, deep happiness felt
I wish this would last even after the world would melt.
No words could express how grateful am I to the Lord
Not even the renowned lines in prose or poetry could describe this contentment
When you came into my life, love became more defined
Obstacles may hinder our path, as a larger scheme of things is meant.
I’m just wishing for one single dream
A dream that would be achieved if strength and trust are assured
That these trials may be withstood
And someday, our love would be not anymore curbed.
Aug 28, 2013
Aug 28, 2013 at 9:52 AM UTC
Stubble mushrooming his chin
he showed up on the door
without his trademark grin
he looked clearly sore.
He motioned me to sit on a chair
in the room with low watt light
his sullen stare and disheveled hair
said things weren't alright.
I sat in the embarrassing silence
thinking what might be the cause
what lay behind the simmering suspense
why my friend looked so morose.
There wasn't a sound in the whole house
the creepy stillness was deafening
with only the clock ticking sleepy hours
carried the night on its wing.
Sensing something was definitely wrong
gauged from his eyes swollen red
his father I knew was ailing for long
surely he was mourning the dead.
Where's uncle I set words in pace
long time I haven't him heard
making a dispassionate face
he pointed his finger upward.
So proved true my worst fear
the son was mourning the demise
everything was now clear
my shock I couldn’t disguise.
*For you what a terrible blow
so early for him to have gone*
my words poured sad and slow
may his soul rest in heaven.
My friend now spoke in awed face
I couldn’t miss his perturbed glare
*My father is fine God bless
he is only resting upstairs!*
Jan 7, 2014
Jan 7, 2014 at 2:13 AM UTC
Solstice Sun.
Under a clear blue bowl of a sky
warm sea slumbers as still
scraps of cloud like spun gauze float by
to let sun shine at will.
Lazy and lapping like coloured flint
around flattened path, more
carbuncle-red light changes tint
to let tide paint the shore.
Life-symbol-sphere wedded to fire,
evening sun throws her cloak
on midsummer day's heated pyre
to let night's grey in-soak.
And I breathless absorbed sky's bold
change as cloudmass diminished
after vivid crimson gauged holes
to let solstice sun sink.
Sep 29, 2016
Sep 29, 2016 at 2:18 AM UTC
BRUSH
Brush free the carpet
of mud and fluff.
Let’s brush off the hurtful comment too,
that snide remark, those graceless words.
We’re cleaning yet collecting,
straightening up, taking out the dirt.
Repositioning dust. Always temporary,
never the same, brush, brush,
to and fro, again – again - again.
SCOOP
The ice cream tub has one
to make the portion fair
for that ever-observant,
pernickety child.
When walking the dog,
we scoop the ****
carrying the plastic bag
to the waiting wanting bin.
Yet the all-important wooden
scoop is made from a block
of a 2 by 3, with chisel, gouge
and a steady hand.
This farmer’s friend, this open spoon,
lives in darkness and under the lid
of the deep grain bin,
to feed white chickens.
POKE
Getting it out,
placing it right –
but much is trial & error.
If it won’t go in,
give it a poke . . .
and it might.
Nowadays it’s a software app
to help you cheat at on-line games
and , God forbid, an important tool
in the tattooist’s bag – the hand poke,
liner and shader with standard
8 – 32 thumb screws and
completely autoclave able.
CUT
Hogwimpering drunk
or ****** out of mind.
Seventies slang for
individual incapacitation.
A cut can hurt,
display the inner
through incision
in the outer.
Reveals, opens up,
allows a division from
one to another.
This cut of meat on the slab?
For you, madam?
I can cut it up
nice and small
for the baby to chew.
RAKE
Lying there in the long summer grass,
it needs standing up, its teeth cleaned.
When autumn comes it redeems itself,
clearing the path, letting the lawn breath.
In the hand of sculptor, ceramicist, modeller
it fashions variously, cuts, pulls away, gouges,
scrapes, a multi-purpose stick with two ends:
of wrapped wire, of ribboned steel.
LOOK
To make sure it’s right:
correct and straight,
balanced, in proportion.
The magnifier helps,
the camera too,
getting the angle,
the position , the light
gauged . . . with a little looking.
You have to look,
see?
HIT
Whatever needs placing firmly,
needs fixing permanently,
can do with a hit (or two).
A nail with a hammer,
a door with a foot,
it could be a winner,
and right on target,
strike out the opposition,
disable the enemy.
A killer noun.
I prefer the verb.
Jan 24, 2016
Jan 24, 2016 at 5:11 AM UTC
We're on single bench,
across in a single mirror.
I'm learning by heart you're curve.
1,2,3,4,5
TURNED.
Staring vacantly again,
5,4,3,2,1
LOOKED.
I smiled exclusively on my thought,
I can't make it detectable
Mirror will spy.
Gauged,angles estimated and quantified.
1,2,3,4,5 and STARED.
Our eyes bumped.
5,4,3,2,1
Ohh,beats accelerating
I am freezed.
My heart jumps out.
Sorry,I can't make it,
I am evaporating,
or falling to million microscopic pieces.
Jul 12, 2010
Jul 12, 2010 at 6:34 AM UTC
Words arranged through other’s egos
Plethora of personal shop windows
Designed by one who loves ego most
Reproduced on a sickening scale
Pictures show worthless lies
All tailored for ***
Perhaps they will grow to learn; or Die?
One of which I know will occur first.
A life like this is all but life
Existing in cruise ship grandiose
Lost in narcissism; who pays when you are a *****
Whose biggest customer is yourself?
Others feed on your looks and holes
What are you to them really?
They most certainly aren’t feeding on your mind.
Success is gauged by a bias meter
Measuring your ability to rely
Physical attributes; a smoke screen alike;
Your life but a cheap end flight
Buy your ticket! Wait in line , bland is the word of the day.
When the flight is over make way for the next
Pray your not on there when the **** crashes.
Isn’t that what you all worry? That you’ll be there,
To see how you turn out?
It’s best you continue to sleep
You would wake to find your angels and demons never were
Who would lead you then? The plane was on autopilot,
The whole **** time.
Feb 29, 2012
Feb 29, 2012 at 12:21 AM UTC
HEY GAUGED EAR HAND TATTOOED
LOVER OF THE CYMBAL CRASH
I FINALLY HEARD JAWBREAKERS'
ORIGINAL VERSION OF "DO YOU STILL HATE ME?"
I LIKE SET YOUR GOALS' VERSION MORE
BUT IT'S GOOD TO KNOW WHERE IT COMES FROM
WHERE ALL THINGS COME FROM
I GOT MY TONGUE STABBED AND A TRAIN TUNNEL ETCHED
INTO THE DITCH OF MY ARM THAT DAY, IT ALL FELT SO GOOD
I KNOW EXACTLY WHERE IT CAME FROM
BUT ITS MY TRACK AND NOT YOURS
I LIKE IT MORE
BUT IT'S GOOD TO KNOW
Feb 11, 2014
Feb 11, 2014 at 9:33 PM UTC
She counted time not,
In hours or even days
But in stollen moments
Glances, caught
From loving eyes
Graceful touches,
Deemed "sins"
The wife of a beast,
Daughter of a merchant
She, the sold wares
Counting not, the hours of absense
But time gauged in wishes,
Her scarlet letter, blackened
Worn over her breast
Scars hidden,
Beneath fine clothes
She wears the jewels given her,
To blind onlookers
To the cloaking darkness,
That covers her soul
Jan 25, 2017
Jan 25, 2017 at 9:28 PM UTC
i gave my pound of shylock... see, objectivism would like me to be accurate claiming it was not a pound’s worth, exacted to the precise .1 gram of weight... but that just breeds confusion, and where’s the joy in that?
you were already chosen as the vessel of apathy
and gauged out eyes,
heartless economics built around insects,
and there you were being told:
make not your vessel a poured in content of a *****
but a russian girl of worth,
because, let’s face it, these girls experience daily
abuse that cannot be given a historical relevance
for all of humanity... choose a ********** to enter the empty
vessel of your content worth from apathy
and you’ll have to allow a crucifix of you worth too -
choose a nobler kind of girl to give your missing beating ***** to,
so she might quench something apparent in you...
but then she does opposite and you’re left as the *****
with sweet mammon whispering into your ear
about all the glories of the staged life to receive
bounties of rubber, plastic and dust of the entertainer’s stage...
then imagine being psychoanalysed on every page turn
just so that someone can have a job without having met you...
all the local prostitutes decided to denote me as the devil...
i just started wearing sunglasses when looking out the window at night.
Oct 15, 2015
Oct 15, 2015 at 8:00 PM UTC
I've been dreaming about you
In a pool of your own blood.
I wished you screamed louder
As I whispered boo.
Your eyes gauged out
By the work of my thumbs.
I couldn't help but hide you in my walls.
Your blood running down my gums,
Your body will never be found.
I'll wear your skin as a suit.
I'll pretend to be you,
Your friends will like you more
Than they used to.
May 20, 2013
May 20, 2013 at 10:43 PM UTC
The stars above speak to me in many tongues and many ways.
I wish to know what these gods express, but what they speak I cannot say.
For alas it is only that I sense the magic that engulfs my soul,
from lengths undefined with this divine
entity that I do behold.
Their textures tease with mystic vibes,
only to know what I cannot describe.
Knowing I will never reach, never touch, never hold, never kiss.
Never…. Never.
This communal love is endless and I shall never give knee to ground,
my reach extends while they transcend,
the truth while lost but someday found.
Many moons have passed while yet I set my gaze aloft,
in faith I know not of while my hope inside be doffed.
In hopes for the unknown.
Unknown; what do I know?
The fire burning I must show,
for maybe I was all alone.
Is this right that by the nights I dream to dream a dream hath lost?
But was it waste now that that I face the dream to what that dream hath cost?
Nay….Nay.
Or perhaps I have been left astray.
My head fatigued, my eyes so weary,
my senses fade into the dreary.
This vessel is aged no longer gauged
for this world I part sincerely.
My stare now lowers to a shudder and view what be imaginary,
my reason blown, my brain has snapped, to view the scene that’s quite contrary.
Be you a star before my eyes in space no longer improvised?
I wish one kiss then be dismissed
unto unfaithfulness demise.
The radiance embraced my depth unto a fathom and time that seem prolonged,
and when I woke the truth was known that I had been shining all along.
Aug 12, 2011
Aug 12, 2011 at 5:53 PM UTC
Again and again
All over again
The same thing gets repeated again.
Agreed upon the fact that a mistakes have happened
As of now, not only in the past, but also in the present
Often it happens that when something is going on in the mind, one finds something similar to it in front of him, just before his own eyes
Possibly an intution or just a coincidence
Well, the same is true with regards to a mistake
A mistake is a mistake that tends to remain a mistake unless and until an effort is not made to learn from the mistake.
Always make sure that the same mistake is not repeated again.
It is always easy to make any mistake,
Making a careless mistake itself takes the least amount of efforts
Equally important is to make sure that the mistake that has been made is understood at the first instance itself.
The required lessons are learnt from the mistake that has been made
Correcting the mistake is definitely important,
Equally important is to keep in mind the fact that the same kind of mistake is not repeated again.
Before getting ready for executing a task look at yourself
In the mirror, look at yourself and while doing so you will come across a series of different thoughts.
Also you will find so many questions that are going on in your mind
Never mind to the doubts that have been raised over and over again
A bit of anxiety proves to be good and helpful before the start of any particular task.
What happens afterwards
What follows later is not as important as important is the fact that you know what you are going to do while executing a task.
Be yourself
Be what you are
Give your best in whatever you do
Always be positive in your mind, think positively.
No matter what happens in life, never think of giving up on anything in life
since failure is the first step to success
A mistake or two can happen, but then that must not dampen the spirit of moving ahead and getting things done
Experience counts
Experience matters
Over a period of time experience is gained
Step by step learn from each mistake
Experience will get enriched over a period of time.
Experience can never be gauged on the basis of one failure
More in particular,
The time when it comes to decide upon the future course of action
Many things are decided on the basis of prior experience then
So better not gauge the level of experience on the basis of one bad experience
On the basis of one failure.
When a mistake happens
Whether it's small or big
Nature of mistake all of a sudden does not become the criteria,
However it's important,
Never shy away from the fact that you have made a mistake
Accept your mistake
Also keep in mind
Many more number of ways will always be there to avoid the same kind of mistake.
Primarily because attitude matters a lot when it comes to winning or losing.
So always be sure that like the rest of the other individuals even you are not perfect
You can and you are bound to make a mistake, but then be firm that you learn from the same
After all winning and losing has remained a part of the game since ages.
Jul 24, 2015
Jul 24, 2015 at 1:51 PM UTC
before the stars
first flared
the ephemeral
becoming
the rising into
and slipping
out of being
is all that has ever been
an effervescent verging
pulsing on the cusp
between what was
and what will be
that place where we
experience
what is briefly
and beautifully real
but now
we have learned
how to package
even this
shrink-wrapping
and conforming
existence itself
into a virtual
and vacuous
commodity
a transaction
based on distraction
fleeting glances
gauged for profit
worth something
to someone
somewhere
a stalker browsing
for sleep-walkers
with available eyes
Tom Spencer © 2019
Mar 23, 2019
Mar 23, 2019 at 6:27 AM UTC
September 01, 2015
Cool write down the sensible list
what makes sense and what doesn’t
Life? Does that make sense right now
well in part, I mean it’s merely progression, wanting to be something that you have no certainty of yet
yes
progression
I can honestly feel it though
that gauged ache of being without you
it doesn’t wrap my throat anymore
Sleeping is easier
but later
its filled with interest of substance
of more
it’s filled with knowing
in one side of my shoulder
in waves of my head
its harmless unspoken
stumped
there’s no internet that’s the problem
Self awareness
Sep 15, 2015
Sep 15, 2015 at 1:17 PM UTC