"immediate" poems
little dark girl with
kind eyes
when it comes time to
use the knife
I won't flinch and
i won't blame
you,
as I drive along the shore alone
as the palms wave,
the ugly heavy palms,
as the living does not arrive
as the dead do not leave,
i won't blame you,
instead
i will remember the kisses
our lips raw with love
and how you gave me
everything you had
and how I
offered you what was left of
me,
and I will remember your small room
the feel of you
the light in the window
your records
your books
our morning coffee
our noons our nights
our bodies spilled together
sleeping
the tiny flowing currents
immediate and forever
your leg my leg
your arm my arm
your smile and the warmth
of you
who made me laugh
again.
little dark girl with kind eyes
you have no
knife. the knife is
mine and i won't use it
yet.
368.9k
My nutritionist told me I need to increase my caloric intake and eat more carbs. I asked my nutritionist, “aren’t carbs bad for you?”
She said, “No. Carbs are not bad for you, carbs are an immediate energy source for your body to use, what’s bad for you is not eating enough and passing out at the end of the day like some ***** ***** Now eat some carbs and get some meat on those bones before I order you a ******* pizza myself.”
I should mention that my nutritionist is also my best friend. I call her Lady Reptar, because she is one. A lady, not a reptar, even though she’s twenty times more awesome than a dinosaur and fifty times nicer. She’s beautiful like a ************* daisy in the woods and she’s sharp and wittier than her cooking knives and she’s warmer than her father’s woodstove.
"So, do poppy seeds count as protein?"
Jul 10, 2014
Jul 10, 2014 at 11:53 PM UTC
I'm in love with modern technology,
computer screens
& push buttons,
it's an age of immediate gratfication,
carefully calculated
to **** the dopamine
right out of broken hearted lovers.
I'm in love with modern technology
I can't get no satisfaction
& I try
& I try,
not to cry.
May 4, 2014
May 4, 2014 at 3:15 AM UTC
say goodbye to the bucolic summer
the rafts of winter are upon the banks of your desire
please placate the wild streets of abandonment
let the edges of your neediness
take you into independence
i am less dense than a fly
and more round than the sky
i am a shade too dry for some people's liking
are you wanting a more permanent vacation
the icing on the cake is the real equation
immediate desires all forsaken
our love is worth practicing non-anticipation for
if you kiss me now i’ll be forever liberated
if you show me how
i’ll take you to the 9th dimension
seventeen floors above the world
and we are standing on
an indefinite embankment
i am intimidated by your perspicacity
as the persimmon sun sets upon the horizon
Jul 23, 2018
Jul 23, 2018 at 3:01 PM UTC
With all of the technology that's around these days
have we not in fact become enslaved by its ways?
It should be used towards the immediate benefit of all mankind
eliminating poverty, hunger, disease and to enlighten the mind.
Oct 11, 2011
Oct 11, 2011 at 10:47 PM UTC
extra long vintage convertible car.
notice my big shoe size,
do I know what that really means?
extra little lies on top of giant whoppers.
the number of figures on their W-2,
and my measurements and cup-size, please.
please treasure
their perspicacious needs.
what’s with the obsession with size?
won’t sleep with them on the first date,
they are shocked, just shocked,
when informed on the dotted line
that a hundred dinners won’t turn me into their
personal come-when-called *****
at nineteen, by now,
I should know better,
do as I’m told
what’s this obsession with hurry up, immediate satisfaction?
and patting my head like i’m their favorite pet,
mansplaining me how the world works,
cause at nineteen I don’t know ****
just listen to the know-not-a-damn thing
arrogance of knowing it all impress themselves
what’s this need to be superior but a huge (size) coverup?
yeah yeah, get me a better class of men,
like my literate professors who will improve my grade
for use of the insights of my mouth on their poetic gestures.
I can wait, till I find a right sized human being,
in every which way,
especially
if he shows me the true love poems writ
for other girls,
then I may even trust him,
sooner
than never
Jul 21, 2018
Jul 21, 2018 at 4:30 PM UTC
*** stick #1 says positive
#2 from the dollar stores says negative
but #3 from the grocery said positive
and #4 from the general was inconclusive
the #5 from ER was intrusive
#6 from the gas station didn't work
#7 from the immediate care center hurt
so the clinic tells me they don't know for sure
and ultrasounds aren't yet insured
I guess I can wait
If it isn't too late
I feel my belly
guess I'll see when I show
But here comes the blood
it just never will grow
May 6, 2014
May 6, 2014 at 11:28 AM UTC
caricature fiction like a functioning don't-ask- but- I'll-tell
it was a clover and a daisy's birthday by way of default and
Jesus Christ, this girl likes Terrence McKenna? In all immediate alleyway stores of coke and ketamine is the period at the end of every written sentence,
so the wait is something beyond me. the slate is a cleanliness devoid of practice
but whose really watching, kid.
you? or the television?
Dec 9, 2013
Dec 9, 2013 at 4:53 PM UTC
He almost let out a sigh of dismay,
Knowing this stint would be short lived.
The common sense in his head seemed to say,
"No one could be this lucky, don't have yourself deceived".
His wheels wobbled and shook; squeaked and wailed,
Under the collective weight of the two.
Screaming threats from worn bearings that ailed,
He did not want to appear weak so his legs pummelled on through.
The ease of cycling was only temporary
He pedalled harder to gain more speed.
Then the ground began to slope gently
His lungs felt like bursting as he pounded his iron steed.
The journey uphill had been more laborious than he had expected.
All the while, the beauty hadn't uttered a single word.
His mind had drifted off even though he was worn and ragged,
The thought of emerging as a couple seemed less than absurd.
The crest of the hill was a cool, long anticipated welcome.
He could finally ease up on the pedalling.
The view from there was nothing short of handsome,
The downhill would take charge and he could catch up on his breathing.
The wind met his face and whistled itself tuneless.
The bicycle rattled as it rolled down the uneven trail.
He felt a sense of flight, there was an air of calmness,
Almost had forgotten about the quiet guest on his tail.
At the bottom he thought he should check on his passenger,
He looked ahead as he addressed the lady.
When he had expected an almost immediate answer,
No response came, despite his calls for her repeatedly.
He pedalled with little effort as if there wasn't added weight
The bicycle slowed down to a clearing where it was dim.
Fatigue was setting in as the night stretched late
His curiosity won the battle and got the better of him.
He stopped his bicycle and maintained balance with his feet,
He twisted his torso so he could speak to his fare.
The moment he did so, his heart had almost ceased to beat,
To his horror, he found that the lady was no longer there...
Feb 4, 2015
Feb 4, 2015 at 12:00 AM UTC
I think Poetry found me very early,
From somewhere in mama's womb.
Hooked to her umbilical cord firmly.
I heard something like a tiny bomb.
It was the sound of the talking drum,
Heralding the arrival of another grio.
So with gratitude, I said thanks mom,
And to the world, I said a very big hello.
Of course, I used the language of babies,
I cried and breathed in my very first air.
This was my first sight of the ladies
They smiled as they washed my hair.
My very first poem was a sad prayer.
It was written when I was very hungry
I was hopeless, I had only one dollar,
And no real prospect of ever making it.
So I took out my old used notepad,
UnfortunateIy, I had no pen to write with.
I wrote with a charcoal found in the yard,
And I wrote many long lines on my wall.
I wrote everything I had to tell God
Sadly, I couldn't write them all.
I cried in anguish to the Lord,
Asking If He had forgotten me.
Of Course, I got no immediate answer,
But years later my answer came.
It came in the form of a letter.
Addressed to me, ten years later
It came later but it felt better,
Instantly my struggle was all over!
The first love letter I wrote was poetry,
It was childish, unstructured and ugly.
It was written to a girl, she was pretty,
She read it and smiled, I wasn't so lucky.
Crushed, yet I pretended to be strong
I walked away but ran all the way home.
I cried in anguish and wrote a love song.
The lines were very sad, I felt all alone.
But I knew it was my first real rejection.
So I tried writing again, this time to me.
I was very focused, I was on a mission.
Finally, it finished and I wrote my name.
Unfortunately, the answer was the same,
There and then I knew I had no game,
So I reconciled and just took the blame.
Fast forward,and many years later,
I found the subject of my love letter.
I wrote a note to her on messenger.
I was optimistic because I wrote better.
I was emboldened by my poetic power.
Once again,the reply came to me later,
This time it was a resounding yes!
It felt so wonderful, thanks to poetry
And the universe I didn't make a mess.
#IvanBrooksPoetry©
7/22/2018
Jul 21, 2018
Jul 21, 2018 at 9:11 PM UTC
The man in the moon
has a big conundrum
cause he can't always talk
to his good friend the sun
for he is tucked away,
kept out of sight,
for when the suns out
the moon sees the night.
There once was a time
he was part of the earth,
till a comet collided
for all it was worth.
The earth was surprised
with the immediate shock
and the loss of a massive,
great big piece of rock.
That great piece of rock,
far off it did zoom
from big brother earth,
now the man in the moon.
Every time
the sun comes to play,
the moons bigger brother,
'the earth's,' in the way.
His brother of course,
will pass messages on
but it isn't the same
as a chat with the sun.
But once in a while
the moon he can mix
with his good friend the sun
in a total eclipse.
When part of the earth
he saw the sun once a day
till that comet then crashed
and sent him far away.
But somehow they managed
their friendship to fix
and all with the help
of the total eclipse.
They get to catch up,
but not for too long
for they soon take there places,
go home where they belong.
The total eclipse
is a lifeline that ends
but for a short time it helps
puts together two friends
Jan 3, 2015
Jan 3, 2015 at 4:06 PM UTC
Steam rises from the blocks of industry
beyond the immediate trees;
a thin white veil
cloaking the city like a bedsheet.
And you waking, displacing
your head about apathetically
trying to light a smoke
with sunlight -
this linear love on a tangent,
golden, some ornament.
Everything up then falling
each morning, with light
tethered to the ceiling
while you lay still
dazed from dreaming,
the day breaks unassuming.
Nov 4, 2016
Nov 4, 2016 at 10:46 AM UTC
There once was a little beagle who was stuck in a deep puddle of mud.
The puppy struggled and struggled, only to become more exasperated.
Crying and pouting, the beagle finally gave up and let himself slide neck-deep into the mud.
He laid like this all night, until the next morning, only his brown-speckled head was atop of the mud pile.
A small child walked by the puddle and to him, he saw a giant mass of mud with a head.
The young boy screamed in horror, but ran closer to get a better glimpse. To his surprise, the beagle woke up and yelped to be free from the mud. The little boy felt an immediate affection for the puppy and jumped into the mud puddle and pulled the dog out.
The lesson?
I'm still trying to figure this one out, too.
I'll let you know when I figure out the lesson behind this one.
Nov 18, 2014
Nov 18, 2014 at 2:38 AM UTC
The light pollution
from the lives of little people
in the big city
reflects off the lowriding clouds,
the same way my knees reflect
in the little puddles
from the big rains.
It hurts my eyes to look up
without sunglasses,
hurts my lips to think of tasting
the subway oil that
drip
drip
drips
I speculate at the transformers,
part automatic, part people
in their pre-ripped jeans,
learning to get their Ns
to drive themselves away,
yarn trailing from their sweaters
like parade float streamers.
Citizens run so fast
to catch the early train home,
freefalling down the stairs
breathing in the exhales
of the other racer’s exhaust.
Marking their triumphs
with participation ribbons.
The pacific pants at toes,
a puppy that only occasionally misbehaves.
Impatient for attention,
waves wagging back and forth,
up the imitation river,
past the downtown.
Kicking the sea wall with it's gravity boots.
The geese are on hiatus
until they can take back the city.
Making the drains overflow,
creating their own habitat,
they’ll strut their haughty markings,
distinguished from orcas,
away from any saline nonsense.
Were we to retrain the population
to turn blind eyes,
we’d be much more efficient,
stop wasting time contending
to society’s obsession
with documenting itself.
But then, what would we do all day?
Creating light pollution
must give immediate gratification.
Once all the lights are turned off,
the influence won’t continue,
creating a lack of permanence,
making our need to be remembered
seem trivial indeed.
Nov 11, 2013
Nov 11, 2013 at 1:57 AM UTC
Dear diary,
I just can't explain the amount of thoughts that I have daily!,
that continuous mind charter that I have daily....!
I'm filled with thoughts, every minute, and every second of my life.
My mind just keeps switching from one thought to another,
& The amount of day dreaming....
well!!!
you know my silly screaming ??!!!
Sometimes, they are really funny!
And they keep making me smile,
so that I keep glowing!
But some thoughts...,,,
They are really too dark,
That ,when I confront them,
it breaks my heart apart!!
I'm like a confused soul,
who's in search of meaning of life...
Who's in search of peace ,
Who's in search of shine!
But the moment I start thinking,
ugh!!!My head starts cracking!!
I just can't concentrate on one particular thing !
Today, if I feel like being a doctor,
Tomorrow I might think of being an engineer,
& If today I feel like being an accountant,
Tomorrow I might feel like,
" I just need an Oscar...!"
An Oscar for what??
I don't know ...!!!
It's sounds too cool and looks good to show !
Will I work for that award?...
honestly, I don't know !
I'm so lazy,
I don't even get up to "shoo" a crow !
But hey!...there's one amazing part about me,
Guess what ?
"Anyone can come and speak to me."
Being an overthinker,
has also opened up my mind,
I don't form immediate opinions,
till I get a clear sight !
I really don't know this journey of thoughts well??!!!
Will it ever be stable ?
Will it ever end ?
But ...If it ends,
I'll die for sure,
But hey!,
I'm sure there is some way to cure!
Which way?
Hey !...I don't know again !
Is that way gonna be simple
or another amazing pain!
But hey hey hey!!! I don't know why did I write this ?!
Was I trying to find a solution
or was encouraging my thoughts already in a continuous motion?!
But hey!,
it's ok if you're an overthinker,
Try to be amazing my friend,
even if nothing is clear!
Jul 29, 2020
Jul 29, 2020 at 5:28 AM UTC
Picketed, another generation pushing for advancement in the age of reason,
Logical, radical movement
Trying for less invasive measures of medication
To take the blinders off the prejudice of non-conformity and reach the masses
A promise to ease the pain, promote healing, the overall good
Met with violence, verbal slander, from mommies and daddies afraid of a world outside their white fence,
Fearing independence, the expansion of the mind, an openness in their youth to allow radical change.
The bloated belt bent backwards, white collar replaced by hedonistic practical libertarians in pursuit of happiness for all
Sick, disgusted with the man, the one behind the podium whom allows for this animosity on a group that did everything right, legally sound
Tired of hearing the whispers across a university, the hopeful gushing’s of elated individuals bright- eyes naive
Of a system that won’t allow something this controversial into the public, afraid to lose their hold on a potential capitol
On something that should be as easy to find in a free market as Captain Crunch, Coca-Cola, and Rice Krispy Treats.
Grinding down, fluffy-green-crystal bud
Dank yellow smoke smoldering out of pipes end, seeping out of closed lips billowing out of nostrils
Dragon fire down a throat coated with a week worth of soot, and experience
Choking, coughing, laughing away the misery
The disappointment in her fellow man to refuse to even consider the validity of a proven product
Knowing that if it was anything else a miracle drug composed of fairy dust, unicorn hair and the ***** of a thousand angels; approval would have been immediate.
Whip lash.
Flick, flame, fumigating
Baking myself into a calmer state, watching with ****** off grace
Twitching with the need to take action
To control this negative reaction, to slap the of face limp **** conservatives
So consumed with themselves, blind to the pain of people who have lost hope in other forms of relief
Alternative therapy shut off by a system obsessed with its war on drugs.
Sep 20, 2012
Sep 20, 2012 at 12:13 PM UTC
She says she doesn’t have the strength within herself to write poetry.
Yes, her. The one who so often nourished me with song
til my soul began to learn how to hunt for itself,
whose word carried weight in leading me to pick my own instrument,
albeit one of a different tone,
as the key in keyboard became prominent for the first time
and the sound of purposeful fingers upon it could be considered,
only in the right light,
synonymous to the plucking of strings, just as rooted in emotion.
Yet she's the first to say that she herself can't do it.
Thing is, I suppose we’re politely at odds on the matter.
She favors poetry that’s sharper, with a cleaner cut,
that’s message is immediate and jarring
as a conduit running from soul through skin,
or a loose-lipped diary finally freed from lock and key.
And when she declared it, I started to consider what my poems seem to me:
Blackberry bushes (but kinder, I hope)
that snag and immerse just long enough
to make me feel I’ve had an effect.
I’ve used writing to expel my most gnarled feelings
to any passerby who’s maybe felt the same.
Like crying in a mirror:
alarming, but oddly refreshing,
and an indefinite reminder that our aches are never only our own.
Still, I'm not sure why it blows my mind
to hear that even the most glamorous hearts,
who wear confidence as a summer breeze that's always in their favor
and who inspire, from beau gestures to sleight of hand,
are included in those who find themselves pacing back, back and forth,
begging curbside at the dime store
for a scrap of the same feed that convinces a heart to pump ink.
But she says that any art that's enjoyed is worth it.
So while she seeks out words that bare the bones,
I’ll stay and make a meal of the marrow,
hollowing them so that the poetry may have a rightful place
to reverberate as hymns in a universal monastery.
But hell, like I’m any old soul.
I dress nicer than I otherwise would,
turn to the mother who told me I don’t meet her lowest standards,
and ask for a critique.
All for the moment when she greets me at the door with a legendary G#.
...Now please, could you spare a dime?
Jun 28, 2018
Jun 28, 2018 at 2:27 PM UTC
Looking back, memories distort.
Replace damaged nodes with something similar
Perhaps reconstructed
From previous set-up before
X and Y parameters Report
Step One:
Check patient notes to self
Re-calculate from de-constructed
Inject imagination
Respect self-defence mechanism
or immediate virus node termination
(a response attack organism)
Re-calibrate instruments awareness
Strip upgrade
Love version 4.1
Reboot only in emergency
Refer to install options
Error:
Temporal Lobe Anomaly
Virus detected
Internal nodes infected
Import Rejection version 3.2
and couple with
Lets Be Friends upgrade 1
(Advanced program)
Monitor assimilation
Danger!
Overheated components -
Re-inject Memory Node
Objective Hindsight applet.
Refer to Step One
It is now safe to shut down
Should you wish to.
Nov 15, 2012
Nov 15, 2012 at 8:09 AM UTC
I. Herself
To be a sweetness more desired than Spring;
A ****** beauty more acceptable
Than the wild rose-tree’s arch that crowns the fell;
To be an essence more environing
Than wine’s drained juice; a music ravishing
More than the passionate pulse of Philomel; -
To be all this ’neath one soft bosom’s swell
That is the flower of life:—how strange a thing!
How strange a thing to be what Man can know
But as a sacred secret! Heaven’s own screen
Hides her soul’s purest depth and loveliest glow;
Closely withheld, as all things most unseen,—
The wave-bowered pearl, the heart-shaped seal of green
That flecks the snowdrop underneath the snow.
II. Her Love
She loves him; for her infinite soul is Love,
And he her lodestar. Passion in her is
A glass facing his fire, where the bright bliss
Is mirrored, and the heat returned. Yet move
That glass, a stranger’s amorous flame to prove,
And it shall turn, by instant contraries,
Ice to the moon; while her pure fire to his
For whom it burns, clings close i’ the heart’s alcove.
Lo! they are one. With wifely breast to breast
And circling arms, she welcomes all command
Of love,—her soul to answering ardours fann’d:
Yet as morn springs or twilight sinks to rest,
Ah! who shall say she deems not loveliest
The hour of sisterly sweet hand-in-hand?
III. Her Heaven
If to grow old in Heaven is to grow young,
(As the Seer saw and said,) then blest were he
With youth forevermore, whose heaven should be
True Woman, she whom these weak notes have sung.
Here and hereafter,—choir-strains of her tongue,—
Sky-spaces of her eyes,—sweet signs that flee
About her soul’s immediate sanctuary,—
Were Paradise all uttermost worlds among.
The sunrise blooms and withers on the hill
Like any hillflower; and the noblest troth
Dies here to dust. Yet shall Heaven’s promise clothe
Even yet those lovers who have cherished still
This test for love:—in every kiss sealed fast
To feel the first kiss and forebode the last.
5.7k
There flows an invisible, river of subtle emotions he felt,
separating the immediate reality and the realm of art;
gazing the reclining nude,with a pair of eyes conjured,
he levitated to the other bank of reality as if by magic,
while she waited and waited,somewhat perplexed,
then her eyes intervened, made him cross over so fast.
Nov 11, 2015
Nov 11, 2015 at 2:49 PM UTC
you were there on his last night
and was there on the night
we stumbled upon
an unfamiliar house
the creatures were making
a peculiar sound
it was the strange place we inhabited
for as long as we could be brave
you were with me when i lost a limb
you saw grief and tropical storms
right through my eyes
you heard words come out
of my mouth, they were all
in past tense and shaky
the best four years a teenager could have
i have spent them with you
i gave you my trust, my blood
and our promises
you met the 3am version of myself
which i believed that is ours
only to keep
i could not fathom the grief
of losing a limb
nor the grief
of seeing our strange house
collapse right in front of me
but the concrete was made of trust
you contended that you were here
to extend succor, immediate aid
to a grieving soul, to your friend
you came in crowds extending
sympathy as how i've seen it
little did i know that succor
meant pulling the trigger
when the tectonic plates
and the seismic waves
bends the buildings
and crumbles to the ground
when the tropical storm
named after me
pull the tress from its roots
floods the households
and all the different routes
or when your 3am uncertainties
scare you, and you would howl
and howl and howl
but who will you run to?
Nov 5, 2016
Nov 5, 2016 at 2:36 PM UTC
People say, "Count your blessings".
I say, "Give me a break!"
Tell me something I haven't heard...
There's only so much I can take.
People say, "This too shall pass..."
I say, "Oh please!"
That'll happen but in the future,
What I needed was immediate release.
People say, "Oh I've been there..."
I say, "Oh really?"
But last I checked I was talking about me.
When you asked, I thought you wanted to hear my story...
People say, "Hang in there, the light will come".
I say, ***** the light! I just needed to vent!"***
You wanted to hear my thoughts...
So listen and allow me to rant!
People say a whole lot of crap.
Because they don't know any better or what else to say.
When all they needed to do was...
Be there and listen... I promise it won't take all day.
Nov 21, 2014
Nov 21, 2014 at 10:47 AM UTC
Fashion’s symbolic sensuality draws eyes, stir passions and maybe even resentments! =]
Of course, maybe you’re above worldly conceits, above fashion. YOU, go through life as unaware as sinless Adam and you’re excessively handsome, or pretty, obviously.
But for the rest of us - fashion is the medium of our beauty and God created Paris for fashion.
We’re pretending we’ve come to Paris (our immediate, pandemic safety-pod-family) for a family reunion - but REALLY, we’re on safari - a freshmen, college-wear, “back to school,” ensemble hunt (for meeeeeeeeeeee!).
Step 1 (there’s only 1 step) - go to the Rue Saint-Honoré.
This year, I like-like Anna Molinari - most of the ready-to-wear daily-trash I snapped-up is hers - all hers. It didn’t start out that way - but she sould me on an uncharted course at first sight.
Other designers seem to be pushing old-lady-looking floral prints this season. Eeuw! Why?? DIAF.
My gran-mère (grandmother) told me - 6 days ago - as she attempted to tame my run-away hair: “You need to be unpredictable, petite beauté, not some comely young automaton. Then everyone will find you interesting and watch to see what you do next.”
Thank you, gran-mère - I’ll settle for looking interesting any time.
Jul 30, 2021
Jul 30, 2021 at 8:42 AM UTC
You are the elixir
of overworked men
a companion
for lonely souls
and a boxing ring
for the fighting spirit
Your camaraderie
leads to immediate
regret
but such pain
forces peace
in the new day
Mar 26, 2022
Mar 26, 2022 at 1:26 PM UTC
practicing mental gymnastics
insipid memories
seeping their way past
defensive buffers
remembering repressed poisons
as a catalyst for making
wiser decisions
lackadaisical reactions to
sharply defined parallaxes
warrant an immediate shift
fractal spectacles
the labyrinth of my innards
inhale the cosmological smoke of suggestion
words become meaningless
when repeated exhaustively
semantic satiation
slicing away at true intentions
paving the way to
false inventiveness
shallow river beds are loud
prouder than their counterparts
insecurity overshadows
a lack of faith in the faint of heart
everything worthwhile
falls apart
Sep 27, 2014
Sep 27, 2014 at 1:38 AM UTC