"immortalizing" poems
Pigeons shake their wings on the copper church roof
out my window across the street, a bird perched on the cross
surveys the city's blue-grey clouds. Larry Rivers
'll come at 10 AM and take my picture. I'm taking
your picture, pigeons. I'm writing you down, Dawn.
I'm immortalizing your exhaust, Avenue A bus.
O Thought! Now you'll have to think the same thing forever!
New York, June 7, 1980, 6:48 A.M.
5k
I couldn't compare
The way your light brown eyes
Light the whole totality in me
As if nothing the light couldnt touch
It's filling up the darkness in me
And stop giving me the smile
That stops the ticking clocks
No matter how i beg to be in your forever
As i couldn't resist the tempation to live and let die in your embrace
I wouldn't want to trade
Your chilly touch
With a burning ember
Or any comfort for change
Let the frostbites seal me in your arms so i can stay and please, just stay
Its the way you move
And the way you talk
That takes me on a joy ride on my mortality
This is how your beauty is immortalized
When it is no longer in existence
Or when it is forgotten
By me or by you
At the end of the day
It is not how the moonlight
touches your enthral scars
Your best beauty is
How it brings out the best of me
Within you
Oct 3, 2018
Oct 3, 2018 at 8:55 AM UTC
I'm sleepless in your soothing arms tonight
Immortalizing this moment as I write;
I'm not sure
not quite
but I'll admit
It feels right
Aug 27, 2015
Aug 27, 2015 at 8:44 PM UTC
Let Your Words Flow
From Deep Within.
Let The Ink Smear Across The Page
From The Tip Of Your Pen.
Feel Every Emotion,
Hold Every Feeling.
Entice The Reader's Eye's,
As They Skip Along Every Line,
Dancing.
Then
Once Your Story
Sadly Reaches
It's End.
Leave The Readers,
Locked Within.
Forever Immortalizing,
The Words Your Heart Bled.
May 7, 2015
May 7, 2015 at 12:09 PM UTC
If I'm being honest
I'm tired of being a poet.
I'm tired of findig meaning in everything from the lines of the sky to the cracks in the side walk
I'm tired of using extended metaphors to explain how overwhelmed or angry or sad I am
I'm tired of immortalizing the people I love or hate in half assed lines of poetry
For once I would like a good day just to be a good day or a bad day just to be a bad day
A landscape to hold no higher meaning than to magnify the glory of existence
For the people I know to hold no cosmic significance in the fabric of time
I would like to sit and be quiet
To write and be at peace
For the storm to pass over
And to find some relief
This is not a game for me this is how I breathe and I am tired of having to hold meaning in every crack and every crevice
My poetic nature has become a menice in my tired skin
I'm tired of letting the light in
But this isn't something you quit
This is something you breathe
This is something you are
This is something you need
Even if it doesn't make sense all the time
This is the one true thing I know that's mine
My sense of rhythm and my sense of rhyme
And it isn't easy all the time
Because these days life moves faster than I've even known
Faster than I can process what I've been shown
These days it's easy to feel the weight of all of my time spent alone
My mind isn't home
I'm chilled to the bone
These days I'm tired of being tired and tired of writing about how tired I am
Like I'm six feet under but I'm not yet dead
Using poetic devices to say what's already been said
I'm tired of playing this game
Imortalizing name after name
I still feel the same
Even though I still keep writing
So what I'm trying to say is that I need poetry like I need water but sometimes if you drink too fast or you drink too deep you feel like you're drowning
Out to sea in familiar surroundings
It's astounding how tiring being a poet can be.
Feb 15, 2016
Feb 15, 2016 at 4:48 PM UTC
i have no tragic epic to force out of my palms for you
i gave you a blank page and
you chose not to be a part of my narrative
i will spend the rest of my life trying not to blame myself
for my bad editing skills
and red pen i miss you marks
maybe these letters would feel more natural
if my writing was neater,
my words were easier to read
or they sounded nicer falling off of my tongue
i write and recall and revise
and try to come up with a story about
how i could’ve made you stay
if i gave you a pencil
and some paper
would you put me out of my sonnet-style misery,
take the blame out of my cramping hands
and tell me there was nothing we could’ve done?
let me stop searching for words that are
synonymous to the way you looked at me when
i told you i loved you for the first time
take these cliches off of my fingertips
let the writer in me learn to
grieve its muse
instead of immortalizing the pain of loss and tell me
we never even had a chance
Jul 16, 2016
Jul 16, 2016 at 11:43 PM UTC
My mother orders a smaller size
for my leotard so I ***** in the gym
bathroom, in the last stall.
Later, I put on the outfit: small, shiny,
with cutouts for a fashion statement,
but I draw red circles around those patches
of flesh--mistakes to fix.
Every day in the car, Mom gives me a lunch
she packed: two rice cakes, peanut butter measured
to exactly one tablespoon, carrots and ranch dip.
Accepting her boundaries seems weak, so I never
eat at all, my only spot of control set against
the nightmare of a needle spinning around
numbers in a sickening game of roulette.
She kneels in front of the stage during
all eight routines that thinned me into a figure
worthy of her photos, immortalizing
me with vague curves, a slim face replacing
pink round cheeks--
but that was enough for my mom
because I know she sets the scale
five pounds above zero.
Inches disappeared, until that needle,
sharp like her eyes, aligned
with the big 85, causing mine to
open in a room with blank walls
and sterile-smelling sheets, the place
of rest.
Nov 17, 2014
Nov 17, 2014 at 10:49 PM UTC
I’m watching you from the top, as I’m
Sitting down on the floor, where I
Did most of my talks, in the
Past turbulent months, I think
From the way you stretch, and the
Funny way you flinch, to the
Way you act after meeting
New friends – they call it creeping
I’m immortalizing you, as I’m
Writing all about you, while I
Sit way across the room, but I
Can’t help but look, though rue
Oh, all our idiosyncrasies, though I
let mine fuel my eloquence, though I
Don’t know you super well, but I
Think that you might be the same
As me like the
caterpillars in my garden, who are
urging to thrive and bloom
I write about you, till the
Evening sun has to cut through, and I
Can’t catch a clue, I can’t see anymore
As the
Sun dies to let the
Moon breathe
In the night
Oct 17, 2018
Oct 17, 2018 at 7:40 AM UTC
Rumor has it one takes pictures of stuff
that one is afraid of losing.
The girl who captures moments with her camera
seeking the company of entangled dwellings
beneath the womb of nightfall
for the city is silent
in this witching hour of her heart;
her misbegotten heart which,
with - step by step - every beating
also grabs, in her own way, fragments of reality.
So, she wanders through the whisper-lighted streets
by taking pictures and immortalizing shapes,
searching for a dead-end for finding a living door,
a door, which she may be able to preserve,
to his sorrow-sealed soul.
Apr 23, 2018
Apr 23, 2018 at 3:31 PM UTC
while out and about
an unexpected over bare ring bout
to defecate arose,
where sphincter asserted clout
and would excrete
despite without doubt...
if closing distance
(to reach rental abode)
beaten out by loosening sphincter muscle
transmitting excretory code
set sights on prowl for outlawed, secluded,
and wooded make shift commode
and essentially for naught negating
toddler toilet training, sans
getting ***** trained undone
via my ***** ready to explode
and blast immense solid waste byproduct
(oh...close to the size of Rhode Island)
thus a marathon race against time
found immediate readiness to pull off roadside
to access make shift water closet
generating image firmly in pooping mode
grabbing hold of a tree trunk
(a mini rocky horror picture show, -
this analogy included for no particular reason
other than as a non-sequitur)
and also to convey, how I tried
to allay distractions
while painful contractions flowed
(perhaps approximating a woman
on verge of giving birth)
but...no matter, aye could envision,
an ever increasing heavy m**f*** load
hence approaching Highland Manor Apartments
this chap abandoned
prior simultaneous evacuation plan
starkly aware probability for secluded spot sunk
(nonetheless, thy darting darting
anguish, futile lizard like lookout,
a geico Gekko whose cheeks did blush
even for a measly Georgian bush
quickened nsync with ****** spasms
visual scouting industrialized
where backhoes didst crush
once a time sacred happy hunting grounds
of native Americans, now flush
with newly built vinyl city re: urban sprawl a gush,
where cookie cutter houses long since bringing hush
puppies muzzled, yet never the less and mush
a doo doo about nothing) except sprint
ting to a void push
immortalizing indigenous tribes ghosts rush
peopling infrastructure affixing
urbanization with their warrior whoosh!
Apr 19, 2018
Apr 19, 2018 at 4:25 PM UTC
there's frost growing from my fingertips like prickling moss and i can feel it stinging on my lips, the heat of my body lacks aggression, as do I, and so the cold things grow, immortalizing me in their crystalline life.
Dec 8, 2016
Dec 8, 2016 at 12:40 PM UTC
Feet reclined near water's edge,
the warmth of the Sun,
coolness of the breeze,
Hmm...a little yellow flower.
Standing all alone,
so small,
so proud,
so beautiful.
For a moment I'm reminded of you,
I shall pluck it for your enjoyment!
But wait- maybe instead,
I should leave it alone.
Yes, I'll leave it where it be,
so I can return each day,
and have a pleasant reminder of you.
Perhaps I'll write about it,
maybe in a letter,
and send it to you,
immortalizing its brilliance,
the little yellow flower.
Mar 19, 2025
Mar 19, 2025 at 11:24 PM UTC
You are you
You are the unusual; like a noontide dew
You're birth of this fertile soil
Who else should you be but you?
Be yourself,
let everyone in trying to be you, toil
Don't try to become anyone but you
Be the main character, let everyone be a foil
You're greater than you think
Why have you chosen to join the queue?
Don't be to yourself a turmoil
Of your kind, if there're any, they're but few
You're you
That is truer than true
You are an exceptional aesthetic
There's no one alive who is youer than you
You are an extraordinary piece of the greatest artist
You're one of a kind
There's no one like you.
—JIBRIL ABDULMALIK ©2019
[DR. SEUSS]
“Today you are You,
That is truer than true.
There is no one alive who is Youer
than You.”
Apr 19, 2019
Apr 19, 2019 at 3:07 AM UTC
Every once in a while, it becomes clear to me
that I've been walking a mile with a horse by my side.
A symbolic journey, with my pockets filled with Trojans.
Perhaps prepared to protect myself and take risks in
my love life.
At times, I might have felt confident and ready for excitement
a couple of nights before, attempting to shake things up
and still maintain the stability of my love affairs.
A delicate balance, like walking a tightrope between
passion and commitment.
There is a cause for concern underlying my seemingly
carefree facade; pretending to own my emotions and
express them through words, yet I owe so much to truly
convey how I feel.
It leaves me quietly standing with a muted passion, akin
to a jacaranda tree with its purple blossoms. I am trying to
defy time itself, hoping that my thoughts won't easily be
blown away like your hair caught in the wind.
It's not in my nature to capture every moment with a camera, constantly immortalizing you in photographs. There's an underlying insecurity within me, wondering if any of those snapshots would truly capture the essence of our connection. Yet, deep down, I yearn for everything to work out in the end. Even if we may appear to have vacancy eyes, who's to say that we'll see it all working out until the very end?
Perhaps, when I say __"I love you,"__ it feels easier when I say it
as if I'm expressing my feelings to a dear friend.
When I profess to __"always protect you,"__ it is reminiscent of
how I would watch over a little sister, ensuring their safety
and well-being.
When I claim __"I can't live without you,"__ I compare you to my
bed, a place where I find comfort and solace. In this comparison, I acknowledge that if I were to lose you, there would always be another place for me to rest my heart.
Despite my attempts at navigating love and relationships,
I find myself entangled in my own mess. It's a mess that I continue to explore, experimenting with different connections and learning more about myself through my interactions with others, particularly women.
Jan 9, 2024
Jan 9, 2024 at 3:18 AM UTC
a name engraved in soft grey rock
immortalizing the remaining award
the door is shut, the key is gone
the thing inside, safely forever stored
once a grand and favorite treasure
it outgrew its use once adored
only a mistaken sense of memory
makes it the stone's favored ward
it is nothing but misplaced hope
that one day it will be restored
but it is simply barren ground
that is lost without its lord
May 26, 2010
May 26, 2010 at 4:36 PM UTC
Each time I say it,
She brushes off my seriousness
With a careless laugh,
But I swear her body
Emanates this enchanting waft
That comes from no other.
It's exclusive, it's divine,
The language of her apocrines,
That's mine,
Just mine to understand.
And if I could, I'd take all that fragrance
In my bare hands,
And securely I'd preserve it,
Immortalizing in my possession,
Her- in all her glory
Her- in all her heat.
Nov 21, 2013
Nov 21, 2013 at 3:31 PM UTC
I tried
With all my heart
To weave together
A poem worthy of
The life of which
You have happily lived.
But I failed
For I do believe
There is not one
Living poet today capable
Of immortalizing such vibrancy
Within permanent black ink.
-ARI
Nov 16, 2015
Nov 16, 2015 at 4:42 PM UTC
Do you think
I am immortalizing you too much?
Do you want to rest in peace?
My hands want to rest as well
But the heart never stops.
To me, the one grieving,
Nothing can ever replace you.
Not another person,
nor your favorite song.
Not a picture nor a place.
Not your sweater
nor your favorite weather.
Neither your favorite book with
the highlights of your favorite quotes,
nor the words
I speak of you.
Not even more time,
nor the memory of you.
Jan 10, 2018
Jan 10, 2018 at 6:06 AM UTC
I love how this town empties out at night.
How the buildings take on a life of their own.
With all the people gone they can
Breathe
And finally so can I.
Ironically
I feel a lot less lonely when I'm alone.
I wonder if someday I'll turn to stone,
Like Lot's wife turned to a pillar of salt.
Only, I imagine it would be a bit less dramatic.
More like falling asleep and becoming part of a park bench.
In any case, I think I'd like that.
I wonder why I write these things
And who I am writing to
Immortalizing my thoughts here
In black ink on the back of a used
Envelope.
I guess I hope someone will find it someday.
I just wish I had something more profound to say than
That tree had blossoms on it last week
And now they've disappeared.
May 19, 2012
May 19, 2012 at 11:25 PM UTC
One, two, three, persist.
Spin, spin, spin, retain;
Under our spotlight of Exception,
A standstill of colors occurred-
So vivid, it was almost blinding.
Amidst the hollowness
Seeped a shadow,
Reaching out to every
Memory locked away.
Familiar Stranger.
Tracing lines of comfort,
Running down heaven,
Dropping weight on unknown territory;
An interminable candle is lit.
A leap of faith.
A thread connected two points-
One side smiled, the other feared;
Two paths were walked on-
Only to become the beauty they call Sunset,
Or the terror they call Tremor.
Collision, destruction.
Fear enveloping, merging into darkness;
Silent night screaming, absorbing the emptiness;
Finding tranquility in expression
And freedom in escapade.
The thread is broken.
Search for ignition,
The stars have only just begun to shine;
Search for boundlessness
Sedating every boiling point,
Aggravating every sparkle,
Immortalizing intervals.
Transience is defeated.
Oct 14, 2014
Oct 14, 2014 at 6:07 AM UTC
I am used to everything being difficult. For quite a while, I have accepted that I am not like others who find it easy to find love here and there. The people that I had fallen for were so good, so electrifying, but never quite right for me. Still, falling under difficult circumstances was the only thing I knew; winning the affection and approval of someone who does not love you back felt like the only way to go.
That is why when you came into my world, it felt like a beautiful, terrifying surprise.
For the first time in a long time, there are no worries and fears. At least, there are no real fears. For the first time, I did not enter someone's life with fears of being uninvited. You reached out for me, arms stretched wide and open I was beginning to wonder if they were arms or gates to the home I had never known before. For the first time, I do not want to speak in the language of flowers filled with poetry; I am scared that immortalizing you in exaggerated love sonnets would make you only a figment of my imagination. Your laughter and jokes and the way you wrap me in your warmth are far better than any poetry I have ever read; I do not need them anymore because for the first time, what I am experiencing is real.
You are not making me fall in love with you. Falling means landing on the cold ground, bruises and wounds all over me. Instead, I feel like I am walking into you, perhaps even crawling, in a slow and careful but steady motion. You do not make me feel like I am flying; I am standing on solid ground with my heart flying into the skies and my head blissfully resting on your shoulder. You make me happy, far happier than I thought I could be, but I do not feel like I would lose myself without you.
You found me and for the first time, I am not falling. I am walking.
Mar 16, 2017
Mar 16, 2017 at 2:07 AM UTC
Mark Kozelek sang about it for his first album as Sun Kil Moon, to remind himself of lost loves.
So did Modest Mouse, probably in a methed-out spark of inspiration.
And Neil Young, immortalizing Kent State.
And Damien Jurado, going back to love.
What is the draw for Ohio? Is it the landscape? The memories? The people?
A couple of friends of mine moved there not long after getting married.
She is from Cincinatti, he's from Hattiesburg, Mississippi.
Oh, Ohio! Maybe one day I'll visit you to try to understand your lure
Why so many musicians write about you
But I'll have to come in the late spring or summer, otherwise
Your winters will be a ***** for this Louisiana boy.
Mar 20, 2015
Mar 20, 2015 at 3:07 AM UTC
It is safe to say you have unraveled
In a way some may view as cumbersome
I can only find brilliance
for what remains is just short of divine (carefree?)
As your head touches down
the moonlight plays its infamous part
Of bathing the admired in a immortalizing glow
while the nights symphony lulls
Anxiousness no longer lingers your brow
And your hands lay luxuriously still
While dreams take your eyes
to what I hope to be safer shores
than those I know you to have already traveled
Apr 11, 2013
Apr 11, 2013 at 1:54 PM UTC
rummaging through the ruins
of the landfill, his sole fellow explorer
a cur, content when his snout sniffed mold
blissful when he discovered a can
his aspirations grander than the canine,
he hoped to find artifacts of the ancients,
and digging deep he did, an Apple, one of Job's
first magical machines, the monitor
dull but without a solitary crack
then a turntable, its diamond stylus
long turned to nub, veneer half peeled
by the blade of time--its final symphony spun
eons ago, or at least two dozen years
finally a Dr. Pepper sign, an old as time,
its 10, 2 faint but still there, its 4 long gone
the masterpiece's artist never lamenting
its weathered fate: he too had his time
his labors filling his pockets, pleasing
his eyes, and immortalizing him
in the open bowels of the earth
Dec 21, 2015
Dec 21, 2015 at 10:23 PM UTC