"heedlessly" poems
I apologize for my thoughts and my actions
But you must understand that I am what they call a man.
And no matter how perfect any woman thinks iam,
I might as well be nonexistent.
For women are the most alluring, sinful ,angelic animals on earth.
I am simply bewitched by your existence.
I can not resist directing an ****** daydream,
Every seven minuets.
The being of your facts,
Makes me want to fall to my death beneath your feet
Something about those hills
That makes my teeth want to sink into my lips.
That voice makes me want to do one thing:
Hear it moaning.
No matter how hard I attempt to be an angel,
My devil enduringly conquers.
We refuse to admit that a
woman is stronger than a man.
We could easily succeed
in having a human being develop
Inside of us and painfully ****** it out of a diminutive hole
Nine physically and emotionally draining months later.
“We could probably do it better than you can.”
We just act ignorant and
Heedlessly assume what is logical;
However, in the reaction center,
that every man denies,
lives the manifest verity that:
Women.
Are.
Stronger.
To be born into a stormy emotional spectrum
With color and darkness
Alone shelters the truth for you.
Fact: A man does use his small head much more often then
His actual head, simply, because men don’t know how to use it.
How convenient it is to be born with two heads.
let its roots anchor into your minds and consume your conscious.
-Arizona
Jan 12, 2013
Jan 12, 2013 at 8:42 AM UTC
My back is laced with scars
Given to me as a parting gift,
As a symbol of the love-that-never-was
Some have already been fully absorbed
Just their tips sticking out,
Forming a grotesque picture
Others, still fresh, still being taken in
Just their tips are slightly embedded
Another one would hardly make a difference
Might wring a cry of pain but nothing much afterwards
-
The glint of the tear as it slides down,
silently,
heedlessly,
into the black abyss,
threatening, wanting,
desperation lacing it's movements,
-
There's a silent 'plop!' sound as it touches
The floor so far below.
So far, so far that no one can see it.
So deep, so deep that no one can hear it
She hardly notices the spare, the extra
There have been too many for her to care
For one more.
A dozen more land in her back,
Angered by her impassiveness
She swivels around because she's still savouring
The ones that are there
For a minute, time stops, the blades stop
The girl's heart, or where it should've been...
That empty little space, occupied by three long
Swords stuck in it's place
They pierce right through her body,
So different from those knives that decorate her back.
Their tips face your eyes
The sword entered her through her back
It would've been a tragedy if only her eyes...
Oh, if only her eyes were something more
Than just endless holes
( - deeper, darker, blacker
more despairing than
the black abyss under her
very feet
- )
Aug 6, 2012
Aug 6, 2012 at 8:00 AM UTC
Day versus night and hope versus despair,
Born to live, live to die, die to relive.
Came from the last fear not this world of care;
Still striving towards the life yet unlive’.
Autumn leaves must fall; undone lies the past.
Unfading scents, frozen hearts come to life,
Hope’s endless tide makes fleeting passion last;
Be the heroes of time as in the strife
Fate has no beginning and knows no end,
And still the souls heedlessly await her.
Behind the curtain haze sets to descend
A sweet thereafter or endless torture.
Time stops at nothing, but it dies for love,
And memories forever share thereof.
Nov 24, 2018
Nov 24, 2018 at 5:17 PM UTC
back from the brink
of blindly falling;
back alone again
in a crowded room
there is no bridge
over troubled waters,
no way to purge
vast oceans
when deep rivers foment
pitch black
swallowed by an insatiable sea
no good shepherd to gather
an abandoned black sheep
cast heedlessly away
from the fold
unbefriended
like a dogless bone
a stain on impeccable sublime
a hopeless wanderer
stalled on the brink
of a threshold lost in time
purge me from your poetry
so I won’t remember
the insatiable ache
of inerasable words
left unsaid
you lured me out
from the cold & darkness
to freeze my heart
in naked light of day
purge me from your poetry
like you spilled me
from your heart;
don’t come back here
to this slippery, lonely edge,
just to bid adieu
as if I didn't notice you were gone
purge me from your poetry
so I can accept without
sorrow's ache so deep;
in unbroken silence
a heart silent atones not pretense,
and yet,
the only lie you whispered was "friend"
November 2016 ... wild is the wind
Nov 9, 2016
Nov 9, 2016 at 7:32 PM UTC
"The last time I broke someone's heart"
It was stupid;
It was staring at the night sky
Covered with rainclouds and lightning
Patiently waiting for a falling star
Despite the chaos we were in
It was reckless;
It was breaking the traffic rules
Heedlessly beating the red light
It was choosing to drive forward
Even when I knew it wasn't right
It was foolish;
It was picking up fragments of glass
Trying to mend what couldn't last
It was getting my hands scarred by trying to grasp
What I know I couldn't have
But in the end, it was selfish;
It was choosing happiness over pain
Because the last time I broke my heart
Was when I chose to never let anyone break me again
Nov 9, 2017
Nov 9, 2017 at 12:05 PM UTC
I open the blinds and see the world - in return, what
does the world see? It sees me, and all my splendid, split
personalities, living these amazing times, of amazing
pleasures, in which we tweet tweets, and post posts re
ego-trips and copyrighted links, videos and things; and,
as stray dogs, we ramble randomly, and all the time,
living in our infinite worlds, of infinite lanes, till infinity;
yet we suffer so much pain.
Our Shih Tzus take us on extended walks, firmly leashed
to our Koss plugs, as we drone cool tunes on multihued
iPods, iPhones buzzing ringtones of tittering babies,
stolid kings and hyperactive frogs, which would all make
my eighty-six year old dad want to gag; we fly
ultralight megaplanes at the sonic sound of speed,
through virtual and real space, connecting dots at low-
cost prices, while we belt-up, gear-up, gulp Gaga and
gorge heat-inducted meals of deer, horse and over-
promoted crap; and then, wow surprisingly, we are all
so unsatisfied.
We consciously all move-in together, and **** on end,
like statistical sheep, pre-married, unloving, and broken
up, and justify it all, to ourselves, with our fully
stretched spandex morality, over low-carb brunches
@Starbucks, two 14” screens of separation; we paint
pornographic images of virgins, all called Mary, in the
name of art, and, white-clad, **** babes and alter-boys,
and penetrate each other, first with our fingers, deeply,
then superficially, without even wondering, for a
zeptosecond, why we can’t stand one another any
longer.
We crank-up dependencies, like high street mainliners,
shamming and slaughtering for neurotoxic fixes of
smileys and Crystal on billion-dollar Kogo yachts, while
we all just pedal on, dispassionately, down and over
interior canals, to the core of our hocked, abbrev lives,
chronically connected and severely distracted, in
aromatic polymer bubbles, heedlessly cruising through
comic-strip farms of mock vegetables, surely to nowhere
and towards no one; and quite frankly, the world laughs
at all this, and sobs, and so do I.
May 5, 2012
May 5, 2012 at 4:08 PM UTC
Whales were,
above all else,
deliberate
about the pace
with which they
moved through the world,
conscientious,
perhaps to a fault,
about the economy of movement
required to propel
such incredible mass over such
enormous, empty spans
of open ocean.
Here is a humpback whale
resting, face-down
staring into the cerulean
abyss, alone
but singing, perhaps for
enjoyment, perhaps out of
boredom, or perhaps due to
loneliness and longing.
She twists
and turns a single eye up toward
the surface, her iris catching
sunbeams and contracting,
as she gauges
the gargantuan effort she must exert
in order to gain her next breath.
In this case, she concludes that, yes,
the effort will be worth it.
But what you must know about
whales is that
on rare occasion,
they would cast these concerns
of intentionality and efficiency aside,
and choose to
activate the entirety of their being,
from the sinews to the soul,
and propel themselves,
heedlessly and at top speed
toward, through, and past the surface of the ocean,
as though they were attempting to
fully take flight,
to escape, with finality,
the cold confines of their known existence,
the omnipresent, furrowed gaze of the void below.
But invariably,
and in spite of their best efforts,
the whales would be pulled
back downward,
by forces they could not
fully comprehend,
sure as the tides would fall shortly after
the moon passed overhead.
Yes, the physical impact of colliding
with the surface of the ocean
would be painful for the whales,
but what hurt
so much more than that
was having to return
to the stark, lonely calculus
of whether or not
to keep going.
May 22, 2021
May 22, 2021 at 11:55 AM UTC
*I once had my mental faculties in check
And my heart’s pacemaker functioning relatively normally
Didn’t know you’d be a pain in the neck
Causing my heart to oscillate solemnly
From acute insanity to imagined bliss
Gravity’s power rendered dysfunctional
And I plunged heedlessly into love’s abyss
Evidently an amateur radical
My ego prostrated
My emotions infatuated*
Am indeed yet another statistic
Of cupid’s uncanny antics.
Aug 27, 2013
Aug 27, 2013 at 8:48 AM UTC
There have been times in my life
Where I have been selfish, cruel
Wandered my own path
Heedlessly needlessly
Burning bridges
Now I am older
Slightly wiser
I choose to gather friends
Not enemies
Think of others
Sometimes before myself
Because honestly
I have found
Altruism is good for the soul
To give of oneself for no return
Or quid pro quo
Ultimately I've found
You reap what you sow.
Aug 18, 2016
Aug 18, 2016 at 10:44 AM UTC
Part I
The fragile, forgotten arctic perseveres; the white snowy tundra wrapped in a blanket of darkness.
The buried threads of memory under hardened, ice plastered arctic waters.
Why always to be submerged? Can you feel the freezing?
As if only icebergs can gather the brine of the ocean to itself and never let go.
What does not return fungal and muddy in more corporeal climes travels toward the poles.
Is there an alternative to ice bound quiescence?
As if what has passed to the extremities of mind is not forever lost.
And so I follow the leads, swimming in the cracks of what forgetting has not claimed.
Will even these channels soon freeze over?
As life travels northward intent on testing the conditions of existence.
Part II
Under an icy sheet of polar sky; fissures of light weeping through an immovable, immeasurable surface.
The strongest force in the universe embeds the foundation of our undulating, fractured lives.
Does that which holds us together also keep us apart?
As light is held in tension between being and becoming, revealing and altering.
Our wavering hearts like solitary planets seek orbit around a suitable center.
Do we choose the star which gives light to our days?
As our gravity reels, heedlessly casting for moons or meteors in passage.
And so the hushed wall spreads a river of blazing reds and somber greens.
Do the gaps in our comprehension expand imagination or despair?
As memory embeds each frozen expanse, touching where the horizon unfolds.
Aug 20, 2013
Aug 20, 2013 at 9:31 AM UTC
among the lean and
narrow hours
when the brutal minutes
aggrieve
like the protruding ribs
of an emaciated animal
abandoned things shuffle
into dark unkempt little rooms
littered
with the manifested debris
of a life
unspoken thoughts
in rusted cans
stacked heedlessly
on overused shelving
bowing perilously under the weight
mangled hopes
kicked into the corners
stuck to the floor
foul and fetid
vitiated with wasted time
black mold
leaking from dilapidated hearts
creating pointillism art
across the sagging plaster
overhead
consuming an ersatz
Sistine Chapel ceiling
saints and angels
prophets and devils
sepia toned
in their water stain media
disappearing
into corruptions artistic virtuosity
only God remains visible
reaching out
to give life
if any are left
to receive it
Nov 28, 2023
Nov 28, 2023 at 10:23 PM UTC
At the same time of year
cold winds bite down and continue to blow
my knuckles encounter these tearing gusts with ripped chapping
Alone together
As the moon veils through the curtain
and the only noise outside
are echoes of crickets chirping
Embrace is proffered
Under a dim glare from the lunar glow
a lucky duo who are in need of an other to bestow
Heedlessly collect the offer
she coats her fingers and palms in oil & aloe
one at a time our hands begin binding
regarding this oil from plants insides refined
creating a mirrored rhyme
Her hands of wisdom take on a placidity
when combing over my wounded misery
I can see the searing adopt a soothing
Into every finger
she sends the technique of love speak
what it is to see in motion and defining
...the endearing
Mar 8, 2019
Mar 8, 2019 at 10:22 PM UTC
There isn't a girl in the world
without an incurable,
everything but unlovable,
psychotic or neurotic,
unique, personality trait.
I prithee, Lord, my soul to take.
Maybe I shouldn't mention it here:
But supposedly you have red hair.
I dunno though, a rumor maybe only.
I do know the thought makes me crazy,
and there's other colors there.
I know a strong urge to find you out slowly,
to see you undone in some solid morning.
I bet you see as little me as I hear you talking,
but I guess you can't know an intention,
any well-rounded notion goes flat.
in the absence of presence
Have to brave it with hardon and hardhat
'cause what brings things together's tension.
In the wain of the week,
we both get to drink.
Then dreamless sleep?
Or so I would like,
to pass heedlessly the night.
Or as I now imagine yours,
Scandinavian shores,
I don't know which I like more.
Jun 11, 2013
Jun 11, 2013 at 4:23 PM UTC
Heedlessly, do I wonder
if perhaps you, too, are alone this night;
gazing beneath the veil of a starlit sky
gliding in the vast emptiness
between the starts.
Apr 26, 2017
Apr 26, 2017 at 3:16 PM UTC
To,
All the flowers whose petals I have plucked,
If I only knew He never really truly loved,
To all the tyres I burned,
If I only knew they wouldn't change their minds ,
To all the trees I had cut down,
If I only knew my book wasn't to be published.
Therefore;
To all the mothers that cried because of me,
If I only held patience rather; when their Child bullied me,
To all my loved ones I say sorry,
If you only knew I could never change truly,
I'm sincerely sorry.
No,
To all the teachers I spoke behind,
No, You were never that; of an ingenious mind,
To all those friends I lost, because of my losing temper,
If I only knew, you weren't as forgiving as my mother.
If only,
All the loss my body had to bear,
And the Childish trinkets my body had to fear,
How heedlessly and needlessly wasted, were my tears,
I knew,
I'm deeply sorry.
To all my guides who thought I aimed at nothing but the best,
If they only knew how afraid I was of my everyday life test,
I'm but sorry.
Aug 4, 2014
Aug 4, 2014 at 11:31 AM UTC
Father fell for fancy,
And announced amorousity.
Today, though, transferred to tree,
He held hope, heedlessly.
Enough, eight eves exit.
Rejoice - rather, reap retrophilia.
Nov 6, 2015
Nov 6, 2015 at 9:09 AM UTC
there were preparatory notes
looping an alleyway
wind's pipe dream...pages
of your hometown's paper
blowing heedlessly on your
birthday.
Jan 9, 2014
Jan 9, 2014 at 11:48 PM UTC
On a quiet night in late November
I fell in love with a sunset. I grabbed ahold and rode
him into the night, but gradually he shed his vivid garb as if
it clung too tightly to his celestial frame. It’s nothing short of a shame because
what I adored the most were the enthralling ways his hues danced
pirouettes with precision,
softly staining my skin and sinking downwards and inwards,
tinting my innards with his alluring, warm palette.
But temporary tattoos wash off with time and cold water,
and the most psychedelic of colors will one day fade to a prosaic shade of grey.
I wanted to stay
But the starless black sky that he raised before me was filled
with unknowns and I’d rather be left alone than let down,
because I am only human.
So mortal that when he abandoned his dazzlingly
colorful mirage, I sabotaged every flicker of light that I’d learned to hold on to,
heedlessly metamorphosing until his dispirited shades of blue
became one with my shades too.
But I want to thank him for letting me in.
Because before him, I never knew how a color felt
or how it tastes.
And as I chased him across the horizon,
he taught me that yellows and reds taste like eating candy for breakfast
and feel like soft skin, akin to his own.
And when he let his blues and blacks linger on my tongue and
occupy my lungs, it felt like tumbling down the most precipitous ravine
where at the bottom, unseen, the flavor of dirt overwhelms
your palette. Like choking
until you’ve a head bursting with fears and muddy tears in your eyes,
obstructing your view of the most beautiful sunset our Earth has seen
in it’s years of being.
Thank you for helping me see.
And I can only hope that one night when the sunset has begun to die down,
you choose to wipe the dirt from your eyes and
become the sunrise.
Because just as colors fade, with time,
mud will wash away.
Apr 1, 2017
Apr 1, 2017 at 8:38 PM UTC
You cannot know
the sting of your
haste-made blades
as you cut my threads bare,
as you clip
my long, lovely locks
clean through
and take my power with you.
This is not what should be-
the metal-wielding villain should be me-
this is not how the fable that
bares our names wrote it.
It was me in ancient texts
that brought down the
selfish blade
to trade your love and curls for coins.
But in my stead, it’s you
cutting strands, heedlessly,
for the currency
of foreign flesh.
My thoughts race as
I lay my head down
and watch as I am shorn
by loving hands.
You cut the ties-
rip the seams
of braid and scalp.
My disorder screams of
your betrayal, this-
your shearing burns
like hot salt
searing down my cheeks.
Oh my friend, were you afraid?
Did you doubt my trust
as I lay in your lap to rest,
eyes lidded heavily in dreaming?
Did you notice that,
my sweetest friend,
my softest side was upward, turned
to you?
No, treachery is blind
and an uncovered heart holds
no more weight
than the severed mane that kills it.
So snip!
You cut my hair.
Clip!
You burn my skin, and muscle, too
and bid farewell
with sharpened scissors
till I am not but a scalding,
scratching, naked head.
Aug 6, 2010
Aug 6, 2010 at 6:19 AM UTC
Her eyes are endless pools of rich earth
The glitter and sparkle ever present
Stand against them I cannot
Letting go, I am lost eternally
Ecstatic
Her lips are the magnificent hue of the dawn
Forever burning with sweet desire
Dent their attraction I cannot
Release my hold, I fall heedlessly
Helpless
Her skin is as soft as a whispered breath
Warmed by caress with unmatched invitation
Resist temptation I cannot
Open my grasp, I leap happily
Exuberant
Her mind is a deep as an ocean of thought
The spark and fire rampant within
Ignore the connection I cannot
Surrendering my stance, I stumble
Gratefully
Her embrace is as calming as a moonlit eve
Comfort enveloping in wordless love
Scorn my smile I cannot
Shedding my burden, I stand
Apr 8, 2014
Apr 8, 2014 at 3:17 AM UTC
“Our apparatchiks will continue making
the usual squalid mess called History:
all we can pray for is that artists,
chefs and saints may still appear to blithe it.“
W.H. Auden, “ Moon Landing”
<>
Let us happily and heedlessly
i.e blithely
send the pundits, panderers, and pussycats
and and the ill tempered ones,
the “like~seekers”
whose factual are not actuals
But
opinions gussied up
as itter-bitter-litter factoids on opioids,
of little value
*yeah
they’re history*
seek not likes or to be liked,
make your own history or herstory.,
and you will be admired
'tis a far far better thing…
Jul 31, 2025
Jul 31, 2025 at 12:26 PM UTC
I'll keep you only in my thoughts and poetry.
A word of you will not leave my lips but only through my fingertips.
For you are better to stay where you are
deep inside my strings of vocables and empty speech bubbles.
There won't be a trace of you to find,
with the exception of my mind and the words I'm unable to hide.
No one needs to know that you are mostly what occupies my attention,
you'll be my secret and I'll pray to be your revelation.
I'll fill my day dreams with your defeat of fear and discovery of me.
No one will see you heedlessly stealing away my sanity.
The simple mention of you, invades and makes its home like a bittersweet infestation.
I can't find away around you, I have to remember to ration.
Yet on the outside no one can tell that my head is oozing through the seams
For I have perfectly locked you away in verses and memories.
Oct 31, 2013
Oct 31, 2013 at 12:15 AM UTC
*
the problem is..
being a poems in yearning..
in the silence of solitary nights..
i still wander heedlessly..
upon the pleats of my papery heart of longing..
besotted by the fragrance of a garden of love..
that we never planted in a distant desert..
is that you savour and trust each words your lover has..
but without question..
the problem with..
being a poet in conscience..
so skillfully that i have crafted the art..
to carefully lay the beats of my heart..
to sleep between its folds and pleats..
O’ this Origami of my heart..
how well i have mastered the art..
and it's all about you..
we are simply in love..
with bare literature...
spoken from the mind of someone we hold in higher regards..
and then ourselves sometimes..
in the stillness of serene dawns..
i still walk barefoot..
upon the folds of my rugged heart of yearning..
looking for the footprints of a shore..
that we never cared to saunter together..
when you love a poems..
each word you utter should be a piece of artwork..
Still..
Oh, still at the very thought of your figure..
i hold this creased paper in my palms heart..
and still..
still before you come to know of it..
i gently fold it away..
and hide it in the voids of my *****
along with the paper jasmine,
paper flowers,
paper stars,
each sentence is a highly thought out structure of awe and beauty to leave us seeping..
in the warmth of your voice and caressing such fine words..
meh...
along with the few crumpled angels..
treasured to forget for sure..
between the pressed beats..
of your flimsy heart..
so when deciding that you love someone,
who writes or reads for it..
just go for it..
fill their souls with beauty,
memories,
and truth especially,
for a poet's heart breaks at ease..*
┈┈┈┈┈»̶·̵̭̌✽✽·̵̭̌«̶ ƦУ »̶·̵̭̌✽✽·̵̭̌«̶┈┈┈┈┈┈┈
Apr 5, 2014
Apr 5, 2014 at 10:08 AM UTC