"habitually" poems
His father reminded him of the giddy times,
As if he forgot them.
He does this habitually,
Implying that a lot has changed.
Of course, because today isn't yesterday
And the present isn't the past.
He wishes it was like before.
He can't recognize his son
As if he's wearing a mask.
Grew through adolescence without him
As he put on his mask.
He can't recognize him,
But he'll continue to remind him
That they are
Growing distant,
Without being literally far away,
It seems like it though.
Separated like fission,
And the miles grow and grow.
The true colors faded,
After they were shown.
The underlying tone of it all,
Segregated by a labyrinth of walls.
While we were wearing masks
We couldn't recognize each other,
While we were wearing masks
We couldn't recognize each other anymore.
Growing distant,
Without being literally far away,
It seems like it though.
Separated like fission,
And the miles grow and grow.
He remembers the connection he had with her,
As if she forgot about it.
He speaks of how spending time with her elated him,
Implying that he misses her.
Of course today isn't yesterday
And the present isn't the past,
But he wishes it was like before,
So he asks if they could return to what they once were,
He asks if they could return to what they once were.
They're growing distant
Without being literally far away,
It seems like it though.
Separated like fission,
And the miles grow and grow.
Separated like fission,
And the miles grow and grow,
The miles grow and grow.
It seems like it though.
Growing distant,
And the miles grow and grow,
The miles grow and grow,
Growing distant.
(c) 2014 Brandon Antonio Smith
(Originally written 12/1/10,
Revised 9/23/14)
Oct 2, 2014
Oct 2, 2014 at 2:18 PM UTC
grow a beard...
buy a jazz double-bass...
start stroking it...
attempt to look
pensive...
and then write some
Cockney
comedy... and?
**** Oxford.
**** 'em good;
can't be,
******* arsed...
where's a *******
jazz double bass
the kind i need to stand up
to play?!
where?!
gone, "nowhere"...
Achilles would sooner
find a tortoise,
you ******* half-whit
bull bullock base catcher...
yummy yummy...
no ******* double whammy
if there ain't
a greasy dough nnnnnnnn
in my mouth oozing a squid's
mating call...
from the Jules Verne estimate
of how...
big the ******* could become...
oh please...
**** is a conjunction
word...
akin to and...
spew effect,
regurgitation, founded upon...
so...
so... farting in a public place
is less offensive than
uttering a word of oath?!
**** me...
more ****
less ***** images...
i guess that's how you
habitually attack Christian
h'america...
**** **** **** and impose
a curb of a ***** show me the puppies
kitchen ***** Kentucky style
****
******* wankers...
dreaming up some ****
in long lost Cockney rhyming
slang for some:
willkommen zu verirrt amstetten...
....................
...................................
..............
................
SCHMILE...
boorish ******* gnomes dancing
the leprechaun gamblers' dance...
skivvy *************
sure...
censor the words...
but god forbid you censor
showing all the *******
because... if you do?
guess what...
i might forget my farming impulse...
of imagining a
a cleavage to also imply
a pork buttocks...
funny...
how a show of cleavage is synonymous
with a show of pork
buttocks...
and then i begin thinking of
milking...
which throws a ***** **** out
with the baby and the bathwater
and... i'm shinging...
what's that name of the place?!
New Orleans!
yeah...
like some minstrel in that
part of the world that
part of the world that's
a ********
what?!
you spew on me...
i spew on you...
we can at least exchange...
what we "love" about each other...
but i implore!
i implore!
visit Warsaw!
alone... no, not with other people...
ah-loan - a-l-o-n-e....
i'll be your companion,
when you peer at your shadow,
and attempt, to pretend,
to disappear.
Sep 11, 2018
Sep 11, 2018 at 8:48 PM UTC
"i don't wanna have to be the one to tell you this,
but you're no foodie; you're just a ******
who's too cowardly to take an honest look at yourself.
It's okay to be whatever you want,
just don't lie to yourself proclaiming to be a foodie
to justify late-night trips to Jack in the Box four days a week,
or eating a whole jar of Tostitos 'Salsa con Queso' every two days.
Are you trying to mummify yourself with all those preservatives?
Y'know,
just because you blow most of your paychecks
on gasoline, **** food and overpriced coffee
pulled to the most pretentious of standards
doesn't at all begin to mean that you've got any class, taste, or style,
let alone that you're a foodie.
At least recycle all the paper products your pseudofood comes in.
Moreover, your thighs aren't ******* gluten,
they're all that other junk you eat habitually
while watching your oh-so-edified selection of films
before sleeping it off until 3 in the afternoon.
No wonder you're so full of ****
you are what you eat, I suppose.
Pull your head on out your ***
All that fat and cholesterol isn't for the faint of heart."
Feb 13, 2015
Feb 13, 2015 at 1:38 PM UTC
Blessed with matchlessly magical Parents,
Their supremely good, serenely happy raising,
design our thought processes.
Their loving, comforting storytelling skills,
leave indelible footprints and heartprints.
Thankyou God for this Benedictory Love!!!
Blessed with a bombastic Brother,
self-styled natural, perennial itinerant,
Sentinel of sisters life-long.
Sentiments flow unabatedly,
for our illustrious, boisterous beloved younger.
Thankyou God for this Blissful Love!!!
Blessed with delicate darling Sister,
who wears expressions benignant perpetually.
Wiitty, gritty, easy-going habitually.
Evident protected favourite of all surely.
Fondest moments born in her queenly company.
Thankyou God for this Harmonious Love!!!
Blessed with solicitous Husband,
His silent romanticism, macho protective ways,
smoothen tumultuous paths.
Terribly correct and sober better half,
Brokers peace, plots life's happiness graph.
Thankyou God for this Angelic Love!!!
Blessed with an endearing Child,
Whose arrival, auspicious, momentous and miraculous, Rearing the divine and sublime born,
definitely, a definition for the guardians.
Our child, our panacea, promise of better tomorrows.
Thankyou God for this Supreme Love!!!
Oct 1, 2020
Oct 1, 2020 at 2:06 AM UTC
ever
the disappearing man
habitually
vanishing
he stays disappeared
as this
be his will
he'll never appear
ever again
disappearing
is his lasting refrain
his disappearing act
doth aggravate
as he cares not
to be noted on the slate
he vanished
some two weeks ago
and since then
hasn't put in a show
should he decide to reappear
in the coming days
he'll be greeted
with a none too
congenial hooray
Nov 26, 2013
Nov 26, 2013 at 9:48 AM UTC
When she speaks,
She speaks the truth
Listen.
When she hopes,
She hopes with all her heart
Hear her out
When she laughs,
She can brighten up any room
Laugh with her
When she cries,
Her pieces thought to be glued together come apart
Hold her
When she loves,
It's like no other feeling
Love her back
When she writes,
She writes out her story with beautiul words
Read it
Because when she writes,
She's writing the words she can't find to speak
When she loves,
She's loving like she yearns to be loved
When she cries,
She's letting out everything she's been holding inside
When she laughs,
She is reminded that in reality, happiness is still so very far away
When she hopes,
She hopes in vain;
For every 11:11 wish,
Ends in tears spilling,
And broken promises,
But when she speaks.
It is rare-
She is habitually silent
For when she speaks,
No one listens.
May 22, 2015
May 22, 2015 at 12:13 AM UTC
Bad habits are unhealthy.
Breaking habits is hard.
But. Actually. In reality.
One must start a habit
to break a habit.
One must habitually try
to break their habit.
That's their new habit:
Breaking their old habit(s).
So. Is that unhealthy?
No. Bad habits are.
Breaking habits is a good habit.
So try not to break that one.
Jul 22, 2010
Jul 22, 2010 at 5:35 AM UTC
The curious activity of men/women
makes me wonder precisely when
both will learn how to conjoin
with rabbits, geese, bull and lion.
Talking incessantly like birds,
roaring like lions. However absurd!
snapping like crocodiles
or habitually waiting in human files,
torturing like cats
water-boarding rats,
rolling like logs
snarling like dogs.
snorting like pigs
gobbling up figs
In everyone an animal lurks
whether saints or jerks!
Feb 9, 2017
Feb 9, 2017 at 5:31 AM UTC
Looking forward at what my life could be there is something so poignant about this quote. There is a recurring sensation I experience in life, that we are all forever lying in some way. A white lie. A huge suppression of the truth so that the lie that is told, is told so habitually, that it is the truth. Lies that mean nothing to those you tell them to, serves to anger ourselves . Twisting the truth, torturing what is true until it squeals out a lie. Though I am an honest person I lie constantly. About what dreams mean, about my future, about my fears. I analyse my dreams generously, I talk about my future optimistically and stifle my fears quickly. I am predisposed to hide to be human, but what I have found is that hiding the truth in the convenience of a lie is not a full life. When life delivers to you a fragment of time where you are in a blissful ecstasy, you see the stupidity of protecting yourself in an armour of lies. Having stripped down to your natural form you can feel your skin breathe. Film is more than an art-form to me, it lies about details, places and names, but if it finds truth in these lies I am naked again.
Jun 12, 2013
Jun 12, 2013 at 7:52 PM UTC
Habitually smoking your gear
Drowning your natural drive of energy
So soon, a year becomes a week which lasts towards a
day.
Trying to reach a high you had in your teens
Sitting there watching your life go by
Until you're ******** by marijuana poisoning
According to your friends you don't
Have any
Straight people industrialise their circles
And despatch you into a corner
Where they keep the addicts, tortured and isolated
Within the buzz they experienced a decade
Ago.
Paying a fifty or more on something
That causes you loss of memory and an idle psyche
If you are not going to credit your ****
People will look beyond you
Even when they need you.
You are elsewhere in the invisible car-crash.
The relief of escape
the brave gunja smoking cool Mr Frosty
The idea of talking to someone like you
Has really lost me. He hides his snide profile, behind a ******
I just have a smoke now and then.
It depresses me just enough to be depressed.
May 2, 2014
May 2, 2014 at 2:40 PM UTC
This is the song of the handsome people
bleached white bones
dark red flesh
with wrinkles deep and old
as the desert.
Their arrows having disembarked
have faded into the
molten clay of the
mean-spirited earth.
Their heritage having been
habitually crushed with cause
for hatred has been
enveloped in peace and pride
and is cloaked in
dry hides.
Feathered in cold trails of tears
to match trails of aging
they have covered up their
misfortunes with song
and smoke.
Their rainbow carried by the wind
to some far-off pasture
rides on the backs of deer
and dead bison
to be consumed in smoke
and black flame.
May 16, 2014
May 16, 2014 at 3:21 PM UTC
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
I am a sheep wrought with steel wool that’s coarse and painful to the touch
It erupts anything that touches me into a throng of agitated skin disease
So I habitually avoid anyone and anything that nears me with my terrified animalistic eyes
For fear of watching some curious creature bleed because of me and my dangerous idiocy
However as a sheep with sheep tendencies I can’t help but follow after the herd of my family
From a distance; trotting over trodden grass that’s easier on my hooved feet
Than other paths that are less traveled, more dangerous and more interesting
Instead staring at my family’s tail ends with an envy too poignant for my age
As they baa and cackle and coo over their own amusements and mutual understandings
And I find myself wishing woefully that I wasn’t just a sheep with steel wool
But a ferocious wolf, independent and beautiful; merely hiding within an ugly costume
Jul 1, 2013
Jul 1, 2013 at 1:30 AM UTC
Boy: I'll pay you 10 bucks to climb up the flagpole.
Girl: ok.(climbs the flagpole)
Girl: Mommy Mommy a boy paid me 10 bucks to climb the flagpole. Mom: He just wanted to see your underwear!
...Next Day...
(Same boy): I'll pay you 20 BUCKS to climb the flagpole!
Girl: OK thanks! (climbs the flagpole)
Girl: Mommy Mommy today the boy paid me 20 BUCKS for climbing the flagpole, but today I tricked him this time I wasn't wearing underwear.
Mom:
A **** has a sad life. His hair is a mess; his family is nuts; his next-door neighbor is an ******* his best friend is a ***** and his owner beats him habitually.
Sep 27, 2015
Sep 27, 2015 at 4:24 PM UTC
My desire:
When you danced your way
into my life,
you brought with you
a light;
one which illuminated
the scene around it.
A world -
which was previously
burdened
by imperative darkness -
now exposed to my sight.
Your magnificence
consequently
revealed
the beauty in my own world:
one which I had forgotten,
one which I had
closed the doors upon -
deeming happiness
impossible to find.
I suppose,
what I'm trying to say
is:
you are the light of my life.
But somehow,
those words don't serve justice.
None of my words
serve
justice
to how I feel for you.
Those
nights,
the
music,
mood,
dancing -
are what
I imagine
my heaven
would be.
We could be anywhere -
I could have
nothing
to my name
except black lipstick
and a tenacious heart -
whenever
I'm with you,
I know it's the only place
I need to be.
I wish I could tell you
how you take me
out of this world -
but habitually,
I find it
difficult
to communicate
the music of my heart.
Perhaps,
it's because
alongside
my poor choice of words
and
jumbling of sentences;
whenever
I look into your eyes
the only thought
I can be sure of,
is that
you have the most beautiful face
I have ever seen.
And when you smile -
forget anything
I had on my mind -
your smile
is the kind you read about;
one that makes people
want to do right,
one that
melts away worry;
one
that makes people
fall in love.
Jul 3, 2017
Jul 3, 2017 at 5:43 PM UTC
"I'm loving you",
she said.
not "I love you",
which is what most people say,
which is what I would have said --
"I'm loving you."
because it was an ongoing action,
not just a passive state,
because she was loving me
while I was reading, or cooking.
it wasn't something like
"how do you feel?" "I feel good."
"what do you love?" "you, dear."
-- no.
no, loving is a verb, an act,
one that takes patience and time
and perseverance.
"I'm loving you", she said,
and her tone was casual or
almost indifferent, maybe,
as if she had said "I'm cleaning
the house", as if it should follow
"what are you doing today?",
she said the words as if they were
positively ordinary, but they weren't.
people tend to ask
"do you smoke?" or "do you drink?"
or "what do you believe in?"
-- habitually, passively --
and she said
"I'm loving
(and loving and loving)
you."
Sep 20, 2014
Sep 20, 2014 at 1:47 PM UTC
On this anopisthographic format,
Seems contradistinguishable
To my previous puerile verses,
Disharmonising against contrivances
To be intelligibly indicated,
Through dimunitive confabulations,
As habitually optated by
My personal preferations.
May 18, 2016
May 18, 2016 at 11:57 AM UTC
Why does nobody do anything?
Why does nobody do anything?
Live for the weekend
Watch TV
Live for the weekend
Watch TV
Out on the town for the weekend
Watch TV Watch TV
Why does nobody do anything?
Why does nobody do anything?
Escape into your escapism
Get lost in your escapism
Trust in your escapism
Get trapped into escapism
Escape from your escapism
Escape from your self made prison
Escape the acceptance that's arisen
Why does nobody do anything?
Why does nobody do anything?
We're
Drones Robotics
Clones on antibiotics
Zoned hypnotic
Habitually ******
Artificially exotic
Why does nobody do anything?
Why does nobody do anything?
You're watching your *** life on Tv
A package holiday - pretend to be free
Post on Facebook how life should be
Focus your kids on getting a C
Lurching towards you - Hollow eyes
Pale Gaunt - Fed on lies
In systems that we all despise
Because you sat at home on your own
Or In a pub over grub
Or on a phone having a moan
Or a coffee shop pontificating
Or a lecture cleverly debating
Or an artists studio 'creating'
But you didn't ******* do anything did you?
You thought about it
You talked about it
You sat and maybe wrote about it
But you actually DID nought about it
Why does nobody do anything?
Why does nobody do anything?
What if we in our liberal pomposity
Followed up our curiosity
And put an end to a small atrocity
Instead of deliberating the big ones
Stop ******* telling people they're wrong and get off your **** and prove it.
Do something.
May 26, 2016
May 26, 2016 at 7:38 AM UTC
amid scurrying feet
in the whirling humanity
with divided aims
and sizzling brains
she paused with singularity of purpose
never in a hurry, more at peace
on a park bench, alone
bent and weird, she sat.
when she moved
her bones creaked
on rusty hinges!
ragged in dress, torn in body,
face scourged by Time,
its contours deep like ravines
her withered *******
hanging like nests of tailor birds
hair lying disheveled,
with eyes shrouded in mist
she looked out into the sinking sun,
never dreading the darkness that falls
the park bench was her temporary halt
she sat there every evening
determined to live on,
with the coins habitually dropped
into her outstretched hands
by those sailing past her
unobtrusive self.
like a monument of patience
she sat.
sat, so alone!
Oct 1, 2017
Oct 1, 2017 at 8:58 AM UTC
As a child I always covered my ears
whenever I started to hear my
parents fighting about whose weekend it was
And I hated that term
Whose weekend it was
Like they owned me
As if I was nothing more than some
quarrelsome barter being habitually swapped between living quarters at the end of every week
Sometimes I wished nothing more than to be
invisable, camouflaged along the wall
of dusty old antiques
Because the only ones you ever saw
fighting over them were old people who smelled
of pastries and lilacs
But I got tired of waiting for that
And I got more tired of the ********
small talk and forced awkward smiles
and when push came to shove,
At eight years old I was tired
of being handled with kid gloves
I grew up feeling like a token of fair trade
And in school I learned that fair trade
really wasn't fair at all
Some were taught to run while others
are forced to crawl to cross the finish line
but even that can't buy you time
Because at the end of the day
I still find myself coming back to that
original thought of the antiques along the
wall of items that nobody bought
And when you see that your only
company is dust and stale air,
life finds another way to remind you
that nothing is fair.
Feb 7, 2014
Feb 7, 2014 at 2:50 PM UTC
She stares down through the open window;
sheer ragged curtains flap gently inward,
casting thin moon shadows on linoleum.
Her bare toe traces the square pattern habitually,
with the slow sensuous movement
of a crooning night melody.
She watches the dark contour of a man in the street,
barely illuminated by the dimming lamp;
watches as he turns and clicks down cracked pavement.
Her brown chest constricts, sigh persuaded forth,
and deep eyes follow his swaying walk
as hope fades.
In her hand is a reflection of the moon on metal,
curved to the shape of the barrel;
her finger strokes the trigger.
She raises her hand, pulls;
the melody reverberates on the window panes
an unforgiving song, an irreversible song.
She stares down through the open window;
sheer ragged curtains flap gently inward,
casting thin moon shadows on linoleum.
Oct 25, 2012
Oct 25, 2012 at 11:41 PM UTC
The birds in the backyard often look there for food
and it seems they're doing so lately in a happier mood;
it was just the other day when I mowed the grass
so now they can move easily over it again and pass.
Their activity is done habitually each and every day
and watching them closely seems as if they're at play.
They scrounge on the soil with their beaks and feet
competing at times for some bite and morsel to eat.
When disturbed by a sound they fly up into any tree
away from the threat of danger they scamper and flee.
A human presence would be enough to get them going
particularly when heading in their direction knowing.
It's a bit of a delight to see them at play in their quest
doing what they all have to do to survive hunger's test.
I used to feed them some crumbs on a regular basis
which became a habit for me to them as in an oasis.
Together with water left in a plastic bowl for a drink
they'd a few things going for them one would think.
It was only after the local cats caught onto the idea
with their basic instinct, that food or game, was near.
One of them would come around and hide in the grass
crouching there patiently for the right moment to pass;
if the birds were unaware they would fly down to eat
of the crumbs left for them so their hunger could beat.
The cat seizing on the opportunity then would by surprise
spring up and race after them as food or game in its eyes.
There would be a mad scramble and loud flutter of wings
as the birds, escaping from that danger a predator brings,
would scatter and fly away as fast as they could to where
they'd be relatively safe from the clutches of death there.
Sometimes when looking out the back window I'd see
a cat roaming in the backyard in the shadows of a tree;
this would be enough warning for me to raise the alarm
and get out to try and keep those local birds from harm.
I would do this by chasing the cat away over the fence
so the area would be clear again for the birds I'd sense.
_________________
Jan 31, 2022
Jan 31, 2022 at 5:02 AM UTC
Even nirvana must be empty.
Even silent revelation must allow herself to be taken, afterward,
by noise.
Kept, perhaps, might be a few
thoughts—the principles of salvation, maybe, easily incorporated
orts
soaked up, scooped with bread.
Chewed, passed—as everything, habitually—disintegrated into in-
visible
fuel for the festering divisions.
(Precisely those divisions sought to be stilled by breathing deeply,
crossing
the legs of, still, a body.) But
even nirvana must be swallowed by the Buddha’s gaping mouth
of transience.
For afterward, must it not stay,
still, the same? After achievement? Yes, I like to mock as I loll, in
naivety,
but I am also a talented nurturer
of it. I know behind is something quite valuable. A transient irony,
perhaps.
Mar 27, 2012
Mar 27, 2012 at 5:37 PM UTC