"impassible" poems
Love is a rare and dangerous creature
That only shows face when the time is right now
Lust is a complimentary feature
Which keeps lovers guessing til both settle down
Not to say everyone settles for less
Love doesn't lie, but it leaves room for choice
Those who are willing to give it their best
Keep Lust in its place and let Love be the voice
Love is adaptable, constantly changing
It morphs and it breathes like a woman or man
Lust is impassible, always deranging
It puts up a wall and masks what it can
Nobody knows what happens to Love
When distance requires the mind to have faith
And stare at the images Lust conjures up
Alluding ideas of mistrust and distaste
Isn't it better to let Love be free?
To keep it confined would just let it die
Allowing the chains for which Lust has the key
To govern the feelings of comfort and pride
Be free, my love, to run through the brush
But always remember where you were at peace
And hurry on back when you've had enough
For I may not be here when your venture has ceased
May 6, 2016
May 6, 2016 at 12:50 AM UTC
keep doing things like you are now,
and I hope to see you get pushed even further down,
by the ones who are supposed to help pull you up.
I will and have always been here to help you,
and have,
but one day that's going to stop.
and that's going to ****
when you learn how much the world ***** first hand.
because no one holds your hand.
and life,
its not one plan,
its full of little things you eventually fall into,
but what you have fallen into,
is a sick and twisted pattern,
my old friend,
you gotta get out of this monster,
You know me,
by god,
our house,
everything's a ******* open book,
and sometimes I feel you don't even look,
but maybe your over looking,
or not looking close enough,
Because you were the one whose always had more then enough,
I don't say that to make u feel sorry for me,
but I say it so maybe you on top of everything,
Don't also have to be someone who is mean,
Having a knowledge about me,
you know how,
kids can me cruel,
and your constant put downs,
are no better then the ones I get served at school daily,
from teachers students and friends and now I guess my family,
Being told theirs nothing wrong,
like lying to me,
telling me my dreams are now a reality,
BUT THERE NOT,
because there are too many things wrong to name,
and my dream wont ever become more then a game,
because my mind is being told lies to feed my flame,
and you can call me the lier,
and call it my own game,
ad that I'm only looking to gain,
But I only want to gain,
What I've always been denied,
And that used to be the help I needed in school,
But as you said,
Like everyone else too,
I'm going no where,
So all I ask for,
Is my happiness they robbed me of,
but that's impassible to get back,
Just like love,
But I can at lest act loving,
And pretend happiness is a thing that exists for me,
because I don't know,
What else to do,
because I've missed out on so much,
and for you to tell me I'm stupid and don't know ****
That's ********
you don't know ****
Our house was and always will be an open book,
my life's been discussed openly,
you know everything about me,
so I'll ask you this,
Why didn't you chose,
to look closely?
Apr 29, 2015
Apr 29, 2015 at 3:15 PM UTC
after the Anacreontea
Liberal Nature did dispence
To all things Arms for their defence;
And some she arms with sin’ewy force,
And some with swiftness in the course;
Some with hard Hoofs, or forked claws,
And some with Horns, or tusked jaws.
And some with Scales, and some with Wings,
And some with Teeth, and some with Stings.
Wisdom to Man she did afford,
Wisdom for Shield, and Wit for Sword.
What to beauteous Woman-kind,
What Arms, what Armour has she’assigne’d?
Beauty is both; for with the Faire
What Arms, what Armour can compare?
What Steel, what Gold, or Diamond,
More Impassible is found?
And yet what Flame, what Lightning ere
So great an Active force did bear?
They are all weapon, and they dart
Like Porcupines from every part.
Who can, alas, their strength express,
Arm’d when they themselves undress,
Cap a pe with Nakedness?
2.1k
Some recite distant waves of their time lines in a scatter
Repressed memories that come and go and fluculate with chaos
Mine are in order, like a precise file cabinet of a New York court house A through Z
1 to a million plus more filed in rigid manor
The room they lie in remains untouched on most occasions
It’s rare for me to make a visit,
But the grey cast of pulverous dust keeps people away
Including myself
Oddly enough, I wish I had the time to extinguish those files,
And completely erase everything that exists
And co-exists together within label
To revive and produce anew set of secrets
That bask in a solar energy structured room
With windows of 8 feet in height or more
So that the sun can give off a plentiful suppelment of vitamins
To keep the energy alive
To have nothing to hide
And showcase my pieces elegantly
For everyday shoppers to stop and glance,
A few applauds here and there as well
To jazz the setting up a tad
But unlike like most
I place the past so far back
It’s like the Rossetta Stone
Before she was found
All over again
When it’s finally discovered, I warn,
It will be rickety and impassible for any eyes,
News papers,
Or media to surpass
Almost as if a high ranked prison
Has just unshackled it’s most dangerous inmate
Set free on good behavior
How unfair the system can be, let alone unnerving
For now my files stay clouded and sunk
Farther than the Marianas Trench
With thousands of species undiscovered
Inaccessible to even think about attaining
So don’t worry about my inner demon being unleashed
Good behavior on good,
It's always on it’s worst.
Sep 22, 2010
Sep 22, 2010 at 1:41 PM UTC
Travel the deserted mountains?
That I will!
Travel the emptied fountains,
To get mine queens fill.
Travel to ghetto's and dark Alley's,
I must..
Travel to hell and back and purgatory,
Crawl through the dust!
Travel the bane quarters, through shallow wiss,
I shalt,
Travel the churches, mosques and temples?
A holy one I please!
Broken legs, and blistered arms,
I'll do it hence I'll bleedeth ...
Travel through impassible reticent,
No holding all back..
Travel to countries foreign,
To mansions and sleek tidy shacks!
Travel to her home, where ever she may be?
Oh I'm dreaming, tis I'll travel back to me!!!
May 12, 2015
May 12, 2015 at 2:03 PM UTC
i remember days smoking cotton candy blue rollin papper j's
while always rockin my fitted cap forever tpronto blue jays
taking my last shot of golshlager
just as how robert frost iterated nothing gold can stay
14 in a deep depression my family said was just a fase they said its probibly because i dont see enough sun rays go outside today but in my mind i was trapped looking out and others laughed lookin in seperated by the impassible glass
finding little pills to snort the pain away at 14 i could allready finish n eigths of gin by now a forty at a party is only where i begin finishing more *** till the room spins on my face only n empty grin learning the joke, how could anyone love me when underneath my clothes im covered in cuts skin deep to symbolize the cracks in my soul and sanity baneith
Jan 14, 2014
Jan 14, 2014 at 9:38 AM UTC
i remember days smoking cotton candy blue rollin papper j's
while always rockin my fitted cap forever tpronto blue jays
taking my last shot of golshlager
just as how robert frost iterated nothing gold can stay
14 in a deep depression my family said was just a fase they said its probibly because i dont see enough sun rays go outside today but in my mind i was trapped looking out and others laughed lookin in seperated by the impassible glass
finding little pills to snort the pain away at 14 i could allready finish n eigths of gin by now a forty at a party is only where i begin finishing more *** till the room spins on my face only n empty grin learning the joke, how could anyone love me when underneath my clothes im covered in cuts skin deep to symbolize the cracks in my soul and sanity baneith
Jan 14, 2014
Jan 14, 2014 at 9:38 AM UTC
When dinosaurs walked the land,
Africa and the Americas
Fit together like it was planned.
And, still, to this day,
It seems like you can tell,
They were built for each other,
They fit so well.
I think that’s a bit like you and me,
Though I’m not sure if there’s destiny.
Cause our fingers entwine,
And I hold your body next to mine,
It seems to me like we were perfectly aligned.
Like some tectonic force
Separated us long ago.
Only to unite, here,
For reasons we’ll never know.
But now I wonder,
Seeing how lonesome the lands seem
To be separated by such an impassible sea:
Whether we’ve already crossed ours,
Or whether an Atlantic Ocean
Still lies in the future
For you and me.
Apr 10, 2016
Apr 10, 2016 at 1:54 PM UTC
I'm looking down a forested path
Winter white
clings to the rich brown branches
And misty fog
hangs like heavy hope in the air
sun shines
seemingly brighter
than its typical summer rays
As it is reflected
in crystalline daggers
The atmosphere
is set for a jovial run to the end
But I only wish
that I was at that foggy gray expanse
between the trees
seemingly too tight together
farther on
I want to be there
Yet the trip is unimaginable
The snowy ground
sparkling in the sun impassible
Clinging snow
sure to weigh on my feet
Causing me to break
one more perfect surface of white
as my last act
Apr 5, 2015
Apr 5, 2015 at 4:52 PM UTC
For starters I thought it was basically all dating and going out with
a different girl every night, little did I realize I would go to a high school with
like one hundred twenty girls total. Subtract the seniors who are leaving soon,
and you have around 80 or so, then you subtract the girls who have no interest me in,
even as person and you have maybe forty or so, then you subtract the people who have
no interest in a boyfriend, and maybe if I’m lucky there are twenty five girls who
could have an interest in me.
Yeah needless to say I got that pretty wrong.
Also the speed in which “Yeah she’s cute please ***** off” goes to
“madly in love he wants to *insert ****** act that we are supposed to call gross
and sometimes is gross* her.” elevates is shocking, now that girl
thought I would do anything for her.
I didn’t realize that middle school would continue, just with people
making out in the hallways.
Trolls and fun sponges slides up to the new guy and look for a mole hill
to make into an impassible mountain range.
Also I just realized that to “ball with us” does not mean play basketball,
and is not something that saying you are “all about that bikelife” is not a way
out, its just I’m really not a fan or wasn’t the biggest fan of the obsession with stats,
I make my bad habits nintendo to avoid things like the rather depressing news
anyway I think “ball with us” means get ****** with us, it took only about
half an hour of thought but I think I got it.
I never thought I would get mildly drunk to avoid racing the next day.
I never thought I would be sixteen and have a grasp of the world that I consider to be
nuanced enough, of course there are still things like red lights mainly just colored lights
that are very much below my age, yet I never would have thought that I would be sixteen
and still have my virginity, my mouth virginity, yeah.
I’ve heard girls talk about me, mainly not “oh my god he is so hot” but more
clueless about who the hell and what ever the hell was said about me
or videotaped,
like so what I listen to a song that was proud to have been current in 2008,
its a good song!
Or that I played Lady Macbeth in a play! I’m ******* proud
to be me! To be state champion (I know so subtle right?)
to have seen the weird wonderful things that I’ve been blessed to have
been part of, to have you as my reader I’m proud that somebody is seeing
this.
I’m not complaining about my life its just I thought
my love life would not be on life support at the age of sixteen.
Though maybe it would ****
Apr 7, 2015
Apr 7, 2015 at 9:04 PM UTC
When is when is when is
The next moment I will stand on this shore, looking out into the bay?
Who will I be and how will I see this same scene then?
How will I see again, the morning rising illuminating the tide, it’s misted glow refracting in all directions?
How will I hear again, the gull’s cry, a higher song hovering over the soft sway of the water, it’s lapping connection to the shore, gone now but always on its reverberating journey back?
How will the water feel on my feet, in early spring and then in ebbing twilight? Will I stand strong and blooming, or will I hunch and wither in decay, in memories of a long forgotten brighter day?
Will the salt spray still fill my nose, will its memory be etched in me always?
There is no sure way to know, no sure path we can follow, I say to myself.
When I return I will be him and he will have came from me, formed in the bubbling foam of my memories of this swaying sea.
But in my melancholy daze upon departure,
a vision appears to me as if a dream:
“Be gone!”
A mirage of the goddess Brizo comes to me, sitting alone in a galley bobbing along with the waves.
“Be gone! Hold not your journey in contempt, be scared not of the changing tides!
You have your vessel as I have mine, the sea is strong but not impassible!
Adjust your sails, redirect your mind, the wisdom of the sea follows, to any height you can climb!
The power is you, shed light on what you know to be true, look in the water and be calmed, know that you are you!
Be gone! Go from me, away from this fading part of your journey,
There is still much of the world to see!
Do not linger, do not hesitate,
Do not be contented, with a hazy view of the sea from your seat on the shore!”
Mar 8, 2021
Mar 8, 2021 at 12:54 PM UTC
Your hair is a taste of paradise.
Impassible honey river
The Eden of working bees.
Those dreamers of dreams,
From rivers like yours
To more plausible streams.
Cascading sunshine:
Golden rays curl about your eyes
Light lending life to color.
A sweeter gaze,
Melting cores of sugary sentiment.
Still sour judgements
Pursue the insecurities
Of the worker bee.
Sha Ka Ree?
Oh he dare not dream!
Yor hair is a taste of paradise.
Aug 14, 2012
Aug 14, 2012 at 9:54 PM UTC
Was I ten?
I think?
Was it December?
that I became distracted
by the snow's
falling
silence?
The Dingle's hills lure me
off
the curving path
toward home--
I surely know
my way--
though
path invisible
snow beyond my knees
Now
but for the patterns of the trees
that etch the skyline
I would be lost...
My love....
...were it not for those
I would be lost
My feet lift depths
Impassible
The snow
impossible--
could it be this deep?
could take this much?
should trudge so far?
beyond
my depth
my breath
a fog-- of
all
I own?
I am wading in the white
down-warmth
Sweat
in spite--
of freezing
of parental threat...
Wind brings tears
to reddened cheeks
Toes, long since numb
...and I am late-- as always
Wipe my nose on sleeve
Pull mittens with my teeth
fumbling
tissues damp in pocket deep
I have gone so far
too far
into the Dingle's windings
with my mind
and night is falling
Night is watching
from the hemlocks
now behind
my purpose--
only
in
the gray of sky
the ghostly silence
of the moon rise
I don't know where night came from
How it got here
why I came
only that I want to linger--
longer
than that twinge of fear
Listen...to
soft tick
of snow
against itself
Wind in white pines
saddest of living things
begs a loan of winter winds
Dec 2, 2018
Dec 2, 2018 at 6:01 PM UTC
I’m trapped under earth
The sheet of crust
Is too thick
To pick through
Too tough
For hands
Even as rough as mine
I climb
But reach
The impassible
Layer
And pass out
Like faint
Memories
Of times
Overhead
Now I’m under
Stand in
The depths
Of below
Unbeknownst to those
Higher
No one to excavate my soul
They don’t know
What lies beneath their feet
They tread on me
I’m responsible
For this
Reverse archeology
I put my future
Underneath
Only
To fight
With a lack of energy
Lost
From digging
To deep
If it’s true
That you’ll sow
What you reap
I hope
These seeds of me
Will grow
Into something deeper
Than
What lies beneath…
May 13, 2014
May 13, 2014 at 1:52 AM UTC
In the sanctity of silence
The mountains breadth is great
And her teachings salient.
To the lone wanderer who marvels in her peace
Ants stand huge
And clusters of swirling air mob gusts
Upon resilient Green totems
Who whisper to each other
“When will we reach the stars?”
The Sinking sun beckons
And down the valley the noise is impassible.
Tired thoughts skip past traffic
And trying times await.
Nov 23, 2012
Nov 23, 2012 at 2:45 PM UTC
I, myself prohibit
myself to reveal our secret,
to say your full name,
or even write it when I write.
A prisoner of you I am,
Searching in the shadows the caverns of my agony.
When I invoke you when I am alone,
In the dark rock I touch your impassible company.
Dec 6, 2014
Dec 6, 2014 at 9:57 AM UTC
You once asked me how I made sense of anything.
Most people think in terms of files and boxes,
where they store the contents of their head.
I have arrows that point up-ways and down-ways,
left-ward and right-ward. The things that I can deal
with disappear into vapor and the things I can’t stay
chasing each-other around—names, faces, and words
that are stuck—impassible, unmovable,
and what I am against such a force like that?
I don’t even know what the hell I’m supposed to be doing—
you keep telling me that if I applied myself I’d be great,
but I don’t want to be great because great people
always die terrible tragic deaths because that’s just
how the story’s supposed to end and all I want is to be
un-confused and not uncertain and straight and narrow
on the straight and narrow, but I can’t because paths
don’t work like that, not real ones, they’re twisty
and uncontrollable and I just keep going until I don’t know
where I am anymore, but it isn’t Kansas, except I don’t
know that because I’ve never been to Kansas,
although I don’t think Kansas has the monsters that crawl
around in my head or the skeletons buried in my eyes,
but it doesn’t matter because I’ve got a road to walk and
I won’t even try and make sense of any of it, ever,
because like a dead great person who died a terrible tragic
death once said, that way lies madness.
May 25, 2012
May 25, 2012 at 11:42 PM UTC
How do you like me now?
Now that we've reached the end of suffering,
the end of angst and self-loathing?
How do you like me now?
Now that I've broken through the ceiling,
the ceiling you painstakingly built,
the one I watched you nail into the beams,
***** into the posts,
and board with plywood,
as my red puffy eyes stared in silence?
How do you like me now?
Now that I blare my music through the hallway?
Now that I can tell you what I write?
Now that I smile back at you while you yell,
while you grimace and shriek at my defenses?
How,
How do you like me, now?
I've lost without loving,
and I've loved without losing,
accomplished without trying,
trying without accomplishing,
I've betrayed time,
I've backed our enemies,
betrayed our allies,
Why haven't you let go yet?
I'm happy,
I'm smiling,
I've even began to exercise again.
Impossible,
or impassible?
I guess you'll always be here,
teeth sunken into my limbs,
claws tearing my notebooks apart,
But I've learned the right formula,
and this substance is more than tangible.
It's a cure.
And I'm ready to release it,
for a price.
Jan 1, 2013
Jan 1, 2013 at 3:23 AM UTC
I
Write parnassian verses under my skin,
because today I don't want something meaningful,
but detailed and rational.
I'll be impassible, but objective.
Nobody was never as memorable as you,
maybe for having been someone sincere.
So sincere that even I recall your poems:
loose phrases in old papers.
I feel like we've never met
when suddenly we began
to seek perfection of words.
I feel like we've been lost
inside a world
which doesn't value us.
II
Write symbolist verses under my skin,
because today I don't want something realist,
but dreamlike and mysterious.
I'll be suggestive, but subjetive.
Nobody was never as sentimental as you,
maybe for having been someone crazy.
So crazy that even I admire your lack of lucidity,
declaimed by sung verses.
I feel like we've never met
when suddenly we began
to reject our own reality.
I feel like we've been lost
inside a world
which doesn't satisfy us.
III
There's no perfection in those verses
just like there are no colors in that life.
And I feel like we've been lost
when, in fact, we've been free,
because we're freer
when we're alone.
May 8, 2014
May 8, 2014 at 2:04 PM UTC
Rancune,
Renflement d'un cauchemar vampirique
Je me ronge les ongles, puis
Je ferme les yeux
Que vois-je?
L'art
Le virevoltant vert,
Mousse et fougère
Puis le sang,
Une éclaboussure de mort et d'entrailles de poisson
Nourris-moi aux vers
Laisse mes yeux aux corbeaux
Pissenlit maléfique
Une odeur impassible,
Dans une nature grandiose
Quoiqu'incompréhensible
J'inspire la poussière,
Épine d'une plante pacifique, inondée
Au bout du rocher là
À l'horizon
Rejoins les étoiles
La noirceur d'un épilogue,
Continuation de mille contes
Sans transpiration d'une réelle émotion
Remue les orteils de ta jeunesse,
Et réinvente l'univers
Être à l'abandon,
Isolement et sacrilège d'une fréquence,
À pain garni de sucré
J'imagine une confiance
Enfuis-toi,
Enfuis-toi **** de moi
Avant que je te défigure,
Avant que je te coupe,
Avant que je cherche à l'infini
Pour l'affection d'une malheureuse
Dec 12, 2020
Dec 12, 2020 at 4:27 PM UTC
there are brief moments when I can smell death
for a second, ******* I can taste it
and it makes me believe that it is preferable
to whatever the alternatives are.
never can I sense the aroma
when I contemplate suicide
with hot tears running down
my impassible face covered by the shade of night.
it is when I am in fair spirits
then suddenly someone laughs
and more someone's laughs
and I do not
Why hasn't joy infected me, too?
Then is when I taste it
A bittersweetness that is better
than bland that I've been tasting.
Or perhaps when someone asks me a question
seconds pass and I've opened twice only to shut it
I don't know… is all I can muster
because my mind is stimulated by sweetness again
by death
Mar 8, 2014
Mar 8, 2014 at 2:55 AM UTC
I am waving at you across the dark.
I tried screaming but your ears were trained
To happy melodies,
Better sounds,
And all in the reception of G-d.
I tried reaching blindly for your arm
But only grasped the warmth
From where your body had been.
I am always holding out
For thin air.
I tried conspiring potions, pheromones
To dethrone you from your impassible place
Amongst the glory of creation.
I was always terrified,
Too scared to walk amongst the living.
I tried to lace your lips with my promise
So even when I cannot kiss you
I steal your words,
your taste,
your lipstick..
I am still waiting for you.
I fumble at the switch
In a room of locked doors and iron windows.
Too scared to let the light in without you.
Too scared that when I do
You will be gone.
Jan 23, 2018
Jan 23, 2018 at 2:12 PM UTC
I've been traveling,
Trying to return to my roots,
So return I did,
Returned to the woods,
That carpet the mountains of the Appalachian.
Up the mountains I climbed,
An old rifle slung across my back,
Boonie cap keeping eyes free from the harsh glare of the sun as it filters through the canopy above
Trying to find on the mountain that I've been lacking in the North..
Wildlife is active all around,
A breeze is flowing up the mountain,
Whisking the settling heat up and past the peak,
My footfalls soft and sure.
I come across old trails I haven't seen in years,
Mostly washed away and rendered impassible.
On the eastern face I find the remnants of a forest fire.
The field that once held nothing but cinders littered with healthy saplings,
Already taller than I,
New deer trails and bedding areas,
The old ones I discover to be abandoned and the new roost of varmint.
It finally strikes me,
As I descend off of the old mountain,
The truth of what it was I lacked,
I fell into the trap that ensnare many a men down in the South.
The trap that the Mountains lay,
From the Adirondacks to the Allegheny,
Of being a timeless place,
Where you are unplugged from the rest of the world,
And everything is simpler,
It's a trap that had not chains to wrap around arms and legs,
But to encase around the mind.
It is easier to leave than last time,
For I know I shall return,
To this little retreat,
In the Daniel Boone National Forest.
May 22, 2017
May 22, 2017 at 5:08 PM UTC
C'est une grande allée à deux rangs de tilleuls.
Les enfants, en plein jour, n'osent y marcher seuls,
Tant elle est haute, large et sombre.
Il y fait froid l'été presque autant que l'hiver ;
On ne sait quel sommeil en appesantit l'air,
Ni quel deuil en épaissit l'ombre.
Les tilleuls sont anciens ; leurs feuillages pendants
Font muraille au dehors et font voûte au dedans,
Taillés selon leurs vieilles formes ;
L'écorce en noirs lambeaux quitte leurs troncs fendus ;
Ils ressemblent, les bras l'un vers l'autre tendus,
À des candélabres énormes ;
Mais en haut, feuille à feuille, ils composent leur nuit :
Par les jours de soleil pas un caillou ne luit
Dans le sable dur de l'allée,
Et par les jours de pluie à peine l'on entend
Le dôme vert bruire, et, d'instant en instant,
Tomber une goutte isolée.
Tout au fond, dans un temple en treillis dont le bois,
Par la mousse pourri, plie et rompt sous le poids
De la vigne vierge et du lierre,
Un amour malin rit, et de son doigt cassé
Désigne encore au **** les cœurs du temps passé
Qu'ont meurtris ses flèches de pierre.
À toute heure on sent là les mystères du soir :
Autour de la statue impassible on croit voir
Deux à deux voltiger des flammes.
L'esprit du souvenir pleure en paix dans ces lieux ;
C'est là que, malgré l'âge et les derniers adieux,
Se donnent rendez-vous les âmes,
Les âmes de tous ceux qui se sont aimés là,
De tous ceux qu'en avril le dieu jeune appela
Sous les roses de sa tonnelle ;
Et sans cesse vers lui montent ces pauvres morts ;
Ils viennent, n'ayant plus de lèvres comme alors,
S'unir sur sa bouche éternelle.
501