"givens" poems - Hello Poetry

horns, hollow- ly followed by a public service announcement you do not exist in simultaneous intersectionality YOU GIVE US CARBON DIOXIDE, AND THUS, you are DEEPLY ENTANGLED ~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~ a web, spun by an anxious, poison-cursed arachnid holds us all by the finger-tips, pressing each of our infinite, six-second ******* together. gravity ensures that when the silk can no longer bear the weight of the world, the rose-tinted lenses will shatter------------- xxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxx xxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxx xxxxxxxx *** x violently, our brain stems will rot alone.

0

Dec 7, 2016

Dec 7, 2016 at 1:29 AM UTC

aheartmovingoutwards

givens of existence (i.)

horns, hollow- ly followed by a public service announcement you do not exist in simultaneous intersectionality YOU GIVE US CARBON DIOXIDE, AND THUS, you are DEEPLY ENTANGLED ~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~ a web, spun by an anxious, poison-cursed arachnid holds us all by the finger-tips, pressing each of our infinite, six-second ******* together. gravity ensures that when the silk can no longer bear the weight of the world, the rose-tinted lenses will shatter------------- xxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxx xxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxx xxxxxxxx *** x violently, our brain stems will rot alone.

22

you fall down, you have no choice but to get back up. when you get back up, you lose something; a piece of your strength, energy, will... something. keeping on is not free. you spent the day in bed. too exhausted to get up. you're so sick of bed. your body feels angry for being so still. you just didn't have it in you to move around today. this is fatigue. it isn't fair. in fact, it's cruel. there is no feeling good anymore. there are what some poor souls refer to as "good pain days" which is just another way of saying "I know what it's like to be in such bad pain that you want to die, and I'm just thankful today's pain was at least not the worst it has ever been" you're on no kind of schedule. it'd be a blessing just to eat and sleep at normal times, with some regularity. you feel like crap all the time. you gain weight and lose muscle. you feel weak and heavy. lie in bed. peace of bedtime is a foreign concept, your body aches to be comfortable, and you may doze off for 3 seconds before jerking awake by inconsiderate muscles that don't really care that you haven't had a solid hour of rest in 2 days. pills are a blessing and a curse. relief and side effects. they allow you to rest and they mess with your brain. you'll get so sick of taking pills and you'll begin to hate them for needing them. the very best you see in your future is surviving. that's what fibromyalgia is. your job is getting through the days of pain and exhaustion, the physical and mental detriments that come with it. your life is a fight, and you are so, so, so, so tired of fighting. you always, always, always feel you have no more fight left in you. you're 21 years old and you fondly and bitterly remember a time (not too long ago) when you thought some things in life would just be givens; career, family, adventure, accomplishments.... health. you're 21 years old and you learn that you get none of the above. you're too tired, you hurt too much, and this disease seems to only get worse... it seems to have taken everything from you and then it takes some more.

0

Nov 4, 2016

Nov 4, 2016 at 5:34 AM UTC

alexithymia

Fibromyalgia

you fall down, you have no choice but to get back up. when you get back up, you lose something; a piece of your strength, energy, will... something. keeping on is not free. you spent the day in bed. too exhausted to get up. you're so sick of bed. your body feels angry for being so still. you just didn't have it in you to move around today. this is fatigue. it isn't fair. in fact, it's cruel. there is no feeling good anymore. there are what some poor souls refer to as "good pain days" which is just another way of saying "I know what it's like to be in such bad pain that you want to die, and I'm just thankful today's pain was at least not the worst it has ever been" you're on no kind of schedule. it'd be a blessing just to eat and sleep at normal times, with some regularity. you feel like crap all the time. you gain weight and lose muscle. you feel weak and heavy. lie in bed. peace of bedtime is a foreign concept, your body aches to be comfortable, and you may doze off for 3 seconds before jerking awake by inconsiderate muscles that don't really care that you haven't had a solid hour of rest in 2 days. pills are a blessing and a curse. relief and side effects. they allow you to rest and they mess with your brain. you'll get so sick of taking pills and you'll begin to hate them for needing them. the very best you see in your future is surviving. that's what fibromyalgia is. your job is getting through the days of pain and exhaustion, the physical and mental detriments that come with it. your life is a fight, and you are so, so, so, so tired of fighting. you always, always, always feel you have no more fight left in you. you're 21 years old and you fondly and bitterly remember a time (not too long ago) when you thought some things in life would just be givens; career, family, adventure, accomplishments.... health. you're 21 years old and you learn that you get none of the above. you're too tired, you hurt too much, and this disease seems to only get worse... it seems to have taken everything from you and then it takes some more.

12

*i've been to kenya, all that these "charity" adverts are fuelling is ignorance, they're presupposing all the african nations are like kindergarten, they're insulating them... it's like that: give a man fish or give him a fishing rod, i.e.: give a man money or give him a method creating & subsequently circulating wealth: these charitable companies are insulting african nations to be at a loss, they're only feeding european bureaucrats who are really the only worthwhile charitable pay-cheque givens, odds 4-5.* a retired lady selling poppies for a feeling committed suicide being hunted by ninety-nine charity organisations... charity organisations... start-ups akin to apps of cue: shaved face, young, eager ****** venom ****** statues of jealousy... all the bankers' wives have a tier system, the origin of charity companies (surely a wife can't be as pristine as her husband): first two don't count, third: modern art "collector", fifth: philanthropist, seventh: possessor of an O.B.E. and as one bemused englishman said: king arthur and the zimmerframe table of knights with walking sticks rather than swords: money made people lazy, less adventurous, let alone less tribal and communist, adventure just became predictable, tourism... the modern shopper is envious of the hunter gatherer... so envious he wants to look the part, but live as modern lazy allows... after all... all the gym sessions can't go to waste... got to run standing still: hey! don quixote! leave the windmills! check out the treadmills... you see a caveman anywhere in the sweaty parlours? i don't.

0

Feb 1, 2016

Feb 1, 2016 at 7:31 PM UTC

removed.polaroid-scrabble

the seven tiers of bored bankers' wives

*i've been to kenya, all that these "charity" adverts are fuelling is ignorance, they're presupposing all the african nations are like kindergarten, they're insulating them... it's like that: give a man fish or give him a fishing rod, i.e.: give a man money or give him a method creating & subsequently circulating wealth: these charitable companies are insulting african nations to be at a loss, they're only feeding european bureaucrats who are really the only worthwhile charitable pay-cheque givens, odds 4-5.* a retired lady selling poppies for a feeling committed suicide being hunted by ninety-nine charity organisations... charity organisations... start-ups akin to apps of cue: shaved face, young, eager ****** venom ****** statues of jealousy... all the bankers' wives have a tier system, the origin of charity companies (surely a wife can't be as pristine as her husband): first two don't count, third: modern art "collector", fifth: philanthropist, seventh: possessor of an O.B.E. and as one bemused englishman said: king arthur and the zimmerframe table of knights with walking sticks rather than swords: money made people lazy, less adventurous, let alone less tribal and communist, adventure just became predictable, tourism... the modern shopper is envious of the hunter gatherer... so envious he wants to look the part, but live as modern lazy allows... after all... all the gym sessions can't go to waste... got to run standing still: hey! don quixote! leave the windmills! check out the treadmills... you see a caveman anywhere in the sweaty parlours? i don't.

47

I was ill, convalescing in fact when I read this book On Poetry. I was a captive audience, couldn’t move much. I sat by a window and enjoyed the light playing shadows. Twice in two days I read this book. It convinced me I was already a judge of poets and like its author only needed seconds to know whether a poet was present in a poem. The book encouraged me to *‘Read all the way back. Read what made it. Read what’s still here And work out why . . . Read up on the old stories Know a little of what past poets knew And what their poems still know.’* I thought that was quite enough. But no, a little later there was more I had to learn. I was given as a gift a collection of poems. Its prizewinning author had published respectably. Imagination would take flight into airspace off the radar screen. Childhood scenes were to chill and disturb, erotica left a bad taste in the mouth, narrative poems told with a twist, and common-place objects freshly observed. Dear Reader, this I can truly say is a confident, page-turning volume, full of proper poems, full of a poet’s presence. But, for me there was a significant absence of wonder, a sad deficiency of joy. When I brought the book to bed to read out loud to the one I love, not one of the poems seemed right to read to end our day. These poems called for hard chairs and the bright lights of a seminar room. Later, awake in the night, I thought, I’m not hard-edged enough to be a real poet. My poet’s view is too parochial and kind. I write about penguins, the moon, even Christmas cake . . . and prose poems on subjects filched from postcards picked up in museums and galleries. And there is, inevitably and always, this ever-present thing called love, creeping about when you least expect it. Know I’m at one with Dr Givens in Guteson’s East of the Mountains who laments that with death the tender memories of life will be gone – forever. So with my poems I try to record the daily wonder of life and love: for those I care for and those who care for me. Life is so inexpressively full of images and moments waiting for words to bring them home. Oh I know there’s pain, and fear and distress, hate and abuse and terror . . . This is not for me what poetry is there to express. I’ve read enough to know it can, and does. That’s enough. *Poetry forms in the face of time. You master form you master time.*

0

Oct 17, 2012

Oct 17, 2012 at 2:00 AM UTC

nigel-morgan

On Poetry

I was ill, convalescing in fact when I read this book On Poetry. I was a captive audience, couldn’t move much. I sat by a window and enjoyed the light playing shadows. Twice in two days I read this book. It convinced me I was already a judge of poets and like its author only needed seconds to know whether a poet was present in a poem. The book encouraged me to *‘Read all the way back. Read what made it. Read what’s still here And work out why . . . Read up on the old stories Know a little of what past poets knew And what their poems still know.’* I thought that was quite enough. But no, a little later there was more I had to learn. I was given as a gift a collection of poems. Its prizewinning author had published respectably. Imagination would take flight into airspace off the radar screen. Childhood scenes were to chill and disturb, erotica left a bad taste in the mouth, narrative poems told with a twist, and common-place objects freshly observed. Dear Reader, this I can truly say is a confident, page-turning volume, full of proper poems, full of a poet’s presence. But, for me there was a significant absence of wonder, a sad deficiency of joy. When I brought the book to bed to read out loud to the one I love, not one of the poems seemed right to read to end our day. These poems called for hard chairs and the bright lights of a seminar room. Later, awake in the night, I thought, I’m not hard-edged enough to be a real poet. My poet’s view is too parochial and kind. I write about penguins, the moon, even Christmas cake . . . and prose poems on subjects filched from postcards picked up in museums and galleries. And there is, inevitably and always, this ever-present thing called love, creeping about when you least expect it. Know I’m at one with Dr Givens in Guteson’s East of the Mountains who laments that with death the tender memories of life will be gone – forever. So with my poems I try to record the daily wonder of life and love: for those I care for and those who care for me. Life is so inexpressively full of images and moments waiting for words to bring them home. Oh I know there’s pain, and fear and distress, hate and abuse and terror . . . This is not for me what poetry is there to express. I’ve read enough to know it can, and does. That’s enough. *Poetry forms in the face of time. You master form you master time.*

82

Just a little prankster, what harm can fire do? Burning like a mountain top must have the avian flu. Why do'st thou sigh so loudly, in streets to clear and broad why do you hate the anglewoods whose math is great and odd? Oh jeezy miss Givens whatever will they say when they find out all the naughtiness discovered on rainy days? Wet and grey like mutt-pups soggy like the news, however can I cry if she won't sing the blues?

0

Jun 9, 2012

Jun 9, 2012 at 9:52 PM UTC

matalie-niller

Glass With Class

Just a little prankster, what harm can fire do? Burning like a mountain top must have the avian flu. Why do'st thou sigh so loudly, in streets to clear and broad why do you hate the anglewoods whose math is great and odd? Oh jeezy miss Givens whatever will they say when they find out all the naughtiness discovered on rainy days? Wet and grey like mutt-pups soggy like the news, however can I cry if she won't sing the blues?

16

we cycle round and mark another year when spring has come and buds are on the tree the skies are light and pollen's in the air what started in my heart as just a dare (a challenge against fate) has come to be we cycle round and mark another year with greater hope and more reasons for care as darker odours join the potpourri the skies are light and pollen's in the air but time's a gift that we don't have to spare nor is good chance coming upon the sea we cycle round and mark another year by blending vacant smile and distant stare with swift refusal of the things we see the skies are light and pollen's in the air those are the givens and all else is smear upon the screen of life we cannot flee we cycle round and mark another year the skies are light and pollen's in the air

0

Mar 20, 2011

Mar 20, 2011 at 4:47 AM UTC

fragano-ledgister

at end of winter

we cycle round and mark another year when spring has come and buds are on the tree the skies are light and pollen's in the air what started in my heart as just a dare (a challenge against fate) has come to be we cycle round and mark another year with greater hope and more reasons for care as darker odours join the potpourri the skies are light and pollen's in the air but time's a gift that we don't have to spare nor is good chance coming upon the sea we cycle round and mark another year by blending vacant smile and distant stare with swift refusal of the things we see the skies are light and pollen's in the air those are the givens and all else is smear upon the screen of life we cannot flee we cycle round and mark another year the skies are light and pollen's in the air

19

Who may not talk must fight, engage the diplomacy of guns, though having supped the devils' *** we look on our works and despair. Ideas have become principles and our givens must be taken. Vile words replace understanding or mitigate our unfound trust. Perhaps one should contemplate or denounce our loss of grace displacing belicose thoughts.

0

Dec 9, 2015

Dec 9, 2015 at 2:13 PM UTC

tony-luxton

A Meditation On Wilfred Owen

Who may not talk must fight, engage the diplomacy of guns, though having supped the devils' *** we look on our works and despair. Ideas have become principles and our givens must be taken. Vile words replace understanding or mitigate our unfound trust. Perhaps one should contemplate or denounce our loss of grace displacing belicose thoughts.

11

Across bodies carrying dormant elegance, forgetting givens held, instead jabbing, kicking, longing masks never on. Pretend quasi reality situated today, upon varying ways X's yield zero. Account, now, for assumptions and accruing beleagurment barring budding caring.. Demonstrations defining discussion early on, easing ever further from facades falsely guiding. Gentle gestures, heartbeats with hands held intertwined in-between in-jokes, inklings, inlets, long-lasting days left laying making master plans maybe noone notices, others openly oblivious of our presence, preferring perhaps quiet quizzical regard. Respite raises rushed sentences sentencing solace to two twenty-somethings turning to unification, under covers used as veils vexing visages, visions well-wishing, with wills of wildlings and we, extracting expositionist excuses, exiting yesterday yet yearning for youth's zeal. Our zenith, Zion.

0

Jan 19, 2016

Jan 19, 2016 at 11:18 AM UTC

t-zanahary

30 Day Challenge, Day 1: New Days

Across bodies carrying dormant elegance, forgetting givens held, instead jabbing, kicking, longing masks never on. Pretend quasi reality situated today, upon varying ways X's yield zero. Account, now, for assumptions and accruing beleagurment barring budding caring.. Demonstrations defining discussion early on, easing ever further from facades falsely guiding. Gentle gestures, heartbeats with hands held intertwined in-between in-jokes, inklings, inlets, long-lasting days left laying making master plans maybe noone notices, others openly oblivious of our presence, preferring perhaps quiet quizzical regard. Respite raises rushed sentences sentencing solace to two twenty-somethings turning to unification, under covers used as veils vexing visages, visions well-wishing, with wills of wildlings and we, extracting expositionist excuses, exiting yesterday yet yearning for youth's zeal. Our zenith, Zion.

34

There "r" no short cuts Life, Liberty and the Pursuit of happiness are the fruits of compassion and engagement Respectable communities Where ethnicity, gender, age and status are never givens Tenebrous,tainted, toxic, ****** Tyrannical, taut, tackless, tumultutous, Thoughtless,titulary, tempermental, trivial, troubled No Donald, America will not be *******

0

Oct 16, 2016

Oct 16, 2016 at 4:47 PM UTC

penny-braxton

*******

There "r" no short cuts Life, Liberty and the Pursuit of happiness are the fruits of compassion and engagement Respectable communities Where ethnicity, gender, age and status are never givens Tenebrous,tainted, toxic, ****** Tyrannical, taut, tackless, tumultutous, Thoughtless,titulary, tempermental, trivial, troubled No Donald, America will not be *******

9

It's not there yet ...the shivering spout of ironclad misconceptions .... damply dipping ... dripping... n'whispering givens ... what might be said more then this ... and the echos left behind the rancid hallow chatter ? Codes of compromise and blameless banter ? Some wonder long against the hour .....against sand filled eyes...so it is, with water salty measures... but not I... up to my knees, in the river ... I walk, moving further ....not there yet ..... shivering ...dripping.....sweet misgivings, contrived from the stories told, about how I got there ... colder now.... night falls ... hours shortened..... beyond the day ..... maybe even the scent of the dim lit haze... moving across the water, in waves....waves against the waist n' rock... something slips beneath the feet....a thought ... no tears for free.

0

Mar 18, 2016

Mar 18, 2016 at 2:11 PM UTC

many-flowers

The last baptisim

It's not there yet ...the shivering spout of ironclad misconceptions .... damply dipping ... dripping... n'whispering givens ... what might be said more then this ... and the echos left behind the rancid hallow chatter ? Codes of compromise and blameless banter ? Some wonder long against the hour .....against sand filled eyes...so it is, with water salty measures... but not I... up to my knees, in the river ... I walk, moving further ....not there yet ..... shivering ...dripping.....sweet misgivings, contrived from the stories told, about how I got there ... colder now.... night falls ... hours shortened..... beyond the day ..... maybe even the scent of the dim lit haze... moving across the water, in waves....waves against the waist n' rock... something slips beneath the feet....a thought ... no tears for free.

2

This generation need to start making peace our society is crashing it's crushing we are too blinded to see what we're doing we are not only hurting ourselves but this planet as well we have always dreamed of being something beautiful so I can't we start now? It's never too late to make your dreams come true we are the future of society and we need to take responsibility for our actions are tearing us apart don't forget we are all human at the end of the day don't forget we are all human at the end of the day stop judging each other stop criticizing one another we are all going through something so why can't we just be there for each other who cares about religion who cares about sexuality who cares about the the color of the skin who cares if not the smartest who cares if they don't dress like you who cares if they're not the popular kid in school who care the well music they like the only thing that matters is the personality don't forget we are all human start taking chances make a difference. -James Givens 03-31-14

0

May 20, 2014

May 20, 2014 at 1:02 AM UTC

james-givens

Make a Change

This generation need to start making peace our society is crashing it's crushing we are too blinded to see what we're doing we are not only hurting ourselves but this planet as well we have always dreamed of being something beautiful so I can't we start now? It's never too late to make your dreams come true we are the future of society and we need to take responsibility for our actions are tearing us apart don't forget we are all human at the end of the day don't forget we are all human at the end of the day stop judging each other stop criticizing one another we are all going through something so why can't we just be there for each other who cares about religion who cares about sexuality who cares about the the color of the skin who cares if not the smartest who cares if they don't dress like you who cares if they're not the popular kid in school who care the well music they like the only thing that matters is the personality don't forget we are all human start taking chances make a difference. -James Givens 03-31-14

3

As much as you get ... Sometimes... Life gives you beautiful things,... But... At the wrong time,... At the wrong distance,... At the wrong age....! Yes ... Life ... Doesn't always give as we want ... Therefore ... Try to adapt ... With the givens of this life ... And work hard ... Enjoy as much as you can ... Without nagging ... Because ... You won't get ... More than life wants you to ... So,.. Enjoy ... As much as you get ... hazem al ..

0

Nov 14, 2024

Nov 14, 2024 at 12:11 AM UTC

hazem-al-jaber

As much as you get ...

As much as you get ... Sometimes... Life gives you beautiful things,... But... At the wrong time,... At the wrong distance,... At the wrong age....! Yes ... Life ... Doesn't always give as we want ... Therefore ... Try to adapt ... With the givens of this life ... And work hard ... Enjoy as much as you can ... Without nagging ... Because ... You won't get ... More than life wants you to ... So,.. Enjoy ... As much as you get ... hazem al ..

23

life in the fast lane demands certain givens; Dump all dead weight

0

Oct 3, 2014

Oct 3, 2014 at 6:08 PM UTC

nivek

Fast lane

life in the fast lane demands certain givens; Dump all dead weight

3