"implausibly" poems
I wrote this poem just for you
With my mind racing and my heart beating
Among amorous feelings and thoughts of you
My love for you is and always will be true
You are my eternal sunshine of the spotless mind
You are the one I can never leave behind
When I first met you I knew it was a sign
You are so implausibly beautiful to my eyes
You deserve the world's grandest jewels
Emeralds, diamonds, sapphires, amethysts
And anything else that money can buy
When we met each other some time ago
From the first time we said 'Hello'
I knew you’d be the one
To bestow my life with love and fun
My words forever fail to express
What I felt when you said ‘Yes’
To a Taco Bell hot sauce packet
That said ‘Will You Marry Me?’
And when I held you near
On the coldest day of the year
When we both said ‘I Do’
And you became my wife
I knew that our love was true
That we’d always be together
To see this movie we call life
All the way thru
We’ve had our ups and downs
But eternal bliss is where we’re bound
Together in each other’s embrace
Everything we long for will come around
You are the only thing I need
I’d sell my words, my talents, and me
If you’d agree to proceed
To be mine everlasting
And never sever our affection
And always retain
This one piece of information:
No matter what comes our way
I will always love you
Each and every day
Oct 11, 2011
Oct 11, 2011 at 9:22 AM UTC
I still feel your breath on my neck sometimes
With that stiff, clinical hand that you placed upon my spine
Examining my face for harsh, worrisome lines
As I walked the chemical tightrope that exists only in mind
Now, still precariously balanced, still unanimously blamed
I'm holding out for your smile in each passing face
Though it's been years since they burned you in cold Virginian flames
I can still see you watching me through the windowpane
My name displaced in your mouth like some placid stone
The weight on your tongue silencing thoughts unknown
As your fingers nimble upon needles, weaving our winter clothes
Once slept in a box where your ashes now are stowed
You held no Catholic reservations, nor illusions implausibly sweet
And left me with no bullets to deliver from stolen grief
But sometimes, in my dreaming, you offer me reprieve
With skin so milky white, loose and starch like a sheet
I watched you behind that curtain, with satin on your back
In the flickering light of candles, where shadows often pass
And criss-cross in patterns, over blue eyes watery and vast
To ignite a glowing smirk, whose teeth do shimmer like glass
Your hair still wispy and short, the color of strawberries faint
Fallen in a gossamer crown, to covet your wrinkled face
You would take to me like a feather, and swath me in your immortal embrace
Speaking divinely of Heaven, and all your ghostly grace
With that kind, melodious laugh I have so terribly missed
Pressing rosebuds to my temple in a matriarchal kiss
A dream we were in, your wings reverently clipped
For a time, if only, I felt within your loving grip
You warned me not to be fooled, to make no mistake
You would have returned to your grave by the time that I should wake
With trembling fingers clinging tightly to your remains
Standing in your old room, the bed forever made
I remembered whispering in your ear, as your conscious mind wore thin
Life support wailing, the color drained from your lips
My fingers searching desperately for the pulse that was buried in your wrist
I told you I would never forget you: my precious, parting gift
Oct 28, 2011
Oct 28, 2011 at 7:39 PM UTC
this time different,
the crafting, the words knitted,
care taken, no quips or easy rhymes,
metaphors few, but the stitching is yet
rhythmic, disciplined,
beholden to its construct
~~~
yesterday,
spoke of the more and the ever less,
and the alpha seas restorative,
today,
*the ****** quick and the ever still*
the beating of jumpsuit orange fabric, wind-whipped,
musical homage to the terrifying
silence of a battlefield,
your utility belt,
body parts and soul silences,
a composition of what was
and what will now never be
you were there
you are there
witness-combatant,
no denying the voyeured carnage
of a human self destructing,
or being destructed in a way
**********turned you on,
worse, temptingly familiar
the horror meets you, it recognizes, locates
its place within that is stored close by,
where you keep it just close enough to surface
for quick retrieval
you postulate, pose, clap hands to heads,
make groanings awful, rethinking fearful pictures
I don't believe in free will
I don't believe in free
I don't believe in will
there is good and there is no good
there is the quick and the still
the still comes fast and stays longer,
the quick lasts longer, the obvious now
always seconds of too long,
all implausibly undenied and factually reversed
I hang myself crudely,
my throat slit quick,
and the still images that follows
everlasting and unerasable,
no matter how quickly,
how often temples hard squeezed
I see the images,
the quick and the still
they won't let go of me
text me that you know,
exactly what I mean,
know what I know
Aug 20, 2014
Aug 20, 2014 at 11:27 PM UTC
A stock image that shows a loading dock partially covered in sand:
A dock rises from dirt to bridge an entrance
The surrounding lake seems placid upon first glance,
But the dilapidated boards clinging to one another in desperation
Allude to the perpetual motion lying beneath the water’s surface
A body of water that at once stretches through an implausibly limitless space,
Past the tattered wooden frame
This spurious snapshot of serenity was developed in black-and-white,
Like my worldview,
And speaks to my sense of limitations in life
To the boundaries of my capacity to exist
Boundaries outlined only by a finite ability to push back
Against the infinite possibilities of every other force
A reminder of how small my life is
In comparison to the universe
Maybe this does mean I am uncomfortable in my own skin after all.
Nov 27, 2012
Nov 27, 2012 at 11:24 PM UTC
<>
(for patty m)
*"always love hearing from you,
it's like a kiss in the wind"*
we are intimate
though never ever close,
but faithful closer
familiar,
though our convivial roads
are uncrossed, except and accept
in the delicate pearl inlay
of our poesy path
our common way station,
where can we exchange private confidentialities
publicly, above and beyond,
the plain and ordinary everyday
intimacies
from the balcony of the sixteenth floor,
I can see the horizons holding
our shared land together.
the wind blows by,
from the Atlantic crossing,
continuing on its
westward ** way
wind comes inquiring as is its wont,
as a faithful and familiar evening-tide messenger,
desirous, needy for its wantings fufillment,
to be a deliverer of
deliverances and
all kind of tidings,
sent by the
in absentia
I post a poem
the letters scatter heavenward,
no worries,
the amorphous wind,
will Oz like
reassemble them
in holy order and
brush them
across your face,
tickle the lips and eyelashes,
still moist from
missing a man who was
intimate different,
in a lifetime way
and that kiss,
that postage paid,
the meager cost
the wind receives,
for a mission well accomplished,
is transferred to you and yours
to enable you to decode
this implausibly but-all-to
plausible,
devoted message
Jul 12, 2016
Jul 12, 2016 at 7:03 PM UTC
can’t you see how much you want me?
how much you crave my essence?
open me up, open me right now.
caress me with your tongue.
ogle my perfectly shaped bars;
lick my wrapping.
are you dying yet?
tear me apart, take in my implausibly deep flavor;
eat me, eat me, eat me like you’ve never tasted me before.
Aug 5, 2010
Aug 5, 2010 at 1:41 PM UTC
The feelings are both happy and sad
So I am writing again on my pad
Those things that were colossally bad
How I wish I was that rad
He just cheated on me
It was too late to see
So I went to the sea
To think and have a cup of tea
I didn't say anything
but my heart wanted to sing
the promise of a ring
and the moments it bring
"It's the end", I said.
"Please, stay" He led.
"It's getting dark. I wanna follow you but I won't. I'll be safe here. You broke me yet in the end, heart reigned." Words that I should have left unsaid.
He implausibly said "All I can do is cry on my bed"
May 24, 2015
May 24, 2015 at 6:15 AM UTC
The sound was sonorous
and never loud.
It carried casually, reverberating implausibly through the marrow;
Echoing off edges, imperfections and cavernous recesses.
it sounded softly, spreading through the soul’s spaces.
It had charisma.
Attraction.
Punctuation.
It sung in silence, basked in pauses.
It had powerful movements,
a flame brought to fruition from
single ember to raging forest fire.
The sentences beat strokes
and fanned the inferno of thought.
It was heat to power cogs.
Each phrase moved mental turbines
to power lights in neural cities,
to pass as a light through darkness.
As much as it ached with fire of meaning,
the chords of vocal music flow long,
like rivers strummed by fingers strong as giants.
Its sound undulates among the minds terrain.
With the waves of simple symphony,
a single voice can deluge on the ocean of thoughts,
washing out weaker words, weaker voices,
and erode the heart of society
leaving the sediment of something new
to glimmer in the river bed.
Oct 9, 2014
Oct 9, 2014 at 10:28 PM UTC
I found a bud,
among nothing but grass
in my garden mud,
which has not been tended as
it should.
But to pass
and awe in this flower’s beauty
is the sentient’s only duty:
to stop and to admire
as we do
with a house on fire;
and you
who bring my being to a place higher
than anywhere a thought can to –
but still you are a notion,
a sight with which my mind is in motion:
a controlled
chaos, that causes
speech slowed,
implausibly placed words, and losses
of thought. I mowed
the grasses
where I found the budding flower,
and no longer think of beauty’s deep power.
Sep 22, 2012
Sep 22, 2012 at 2:44 AM UTC
I am the destroyer of worlds the crasher of dreams the inevitable that will and always have eternally be
I am a creator the beauty of life the maker of all things the eternal clock
an infernally holy device I've caused more death and pain then any man could ever dream i've achieved the highest highs of pure ecstasy implausibly i am the only plausible because i am a force of nature of essence of your very sentient being a part of the core the root cause of all in the nether and aether but to such ignorant fickle beings i am just a double edged sword another in the arsenry of the entire complexless complexness of the universe I'am in the beginning and end both black and white
Jan 30, 2014
Jan 30, 2014 at 10:30 PM UTC
He nurses his coffee, by himself most days,
Occasionally with the one or two others
Constituting the bulk of the clientele of the diner
(Low-slung building both faceless and nameless
Although those who remember a day
When the village was at least borderline prosperous
Still refer to it as “Kitty’s Place”,
Though its namesake has been dead and gone some two decades)
One of the few going concerns which implausibly remain,
Seemingly through nothing more than sheer inertia,
In the drab little downtown along Canton Street.
He languishes over his cup for as long as the mood hits him,
There being no discernible reason to hurry
(Indeed, the diner itself, once open before sunrise
Now dark and silent until a leisurely seven-thirty or so)
His place not really a working farm these days,
Just a smattering of beef cattle
(Milking and stripping out more than he can manage now)
And what acreage of corn he can get in the ground.
Eventually, he totters out of the front door,
One sleeve of his shirt rolled and pinned up
(Its former occupying member removed
After the incident with the ancient and malevolent corn binder),
Moving toward his truck with an all-but-one-legged gait,
His left-leg jigsaw-puzzled
By an overturned Farmall some time back
(Most days he reckoned he’d tipped the tractor
By failing to shift his balance to accommodate driving one-armed,
Though if he was in a black enough mood he’d put it down
To an old Iroquois curse placed on the entire St. Lawrence valley.)
One could say, if he was a poet
Or some other **** philosophical fool,
That these partial sacrifices served
To ward off some even more awful finality.
He would have none of that, of course—in his own cosmology
The gods and demons most likely have bigger fish to fry,
And, as to the prospect of some inexorable wreck and ruin,
He is of the opinion that what he was given up to this point
Is both ample and sufficient.
Oct 3, 2018
Oct 3, 2018 at 12:10 PM UTC
We’d made things once, things of substance:
Copiers, straight-sixes for Chevelles, Novas, Impalas,
And tons of film, of course, loaded into tiny Instamatics
Which accompanied us to everywhere and everything
(Unless they mystifyingly scampered away from pocket or purse,
In which case we drove, cursing and volleying blame to and fro,
Fifteen, twenty, maybe more miles to retrieve them
From the kitchen table or back of the toilet)
To document births and baptisms and weddings,
The in-betweens and hereafters,
(Renderings of children and dogs
Sitting under trees with blossoms of pink and red
The blooms implausibly bright, child and beast stolid yet smiling,
Or tableaus of tux-clad cousins and brothers,
Squinting blankly in the aftermath of a visual right-cross
Courtesy of the supernova-esque emanation
From the blue cube perched on the camera’s top)
So they would not be victims of the vagaries of memory.
All of that is gone--no, taken--from us now,
The means of production having embarked for Memphis or Mumbai,
Those things which sustained us now simply vestigial curiosities,
Like hand-cranked presses or ancient milking machines
We’d tittered at on long-ago school field trips.
The march of time and technology, to be fair,
But it has left us obsolescent as well,
Stranding us without context or clarity,
With access to neither advance or retreat
(The old photographs simply mock us now,
The red-eyed images fading to the soft tones
Of a rose at the end of its summer,
The name of the third man on the left,
Who’d worked on the line with us nearly three full decades,
Refusing to be conjured out of the thin air)
Leaving us diffuse and unordered
As the old and cracked negatives
Stuffed higgledy-piggledy between old snapshots
In an enveloped at the back of an old file drawer.
Feb 21, 2017
Feb 21, 2017 at 7:30 PM UTC
( )
( )
( )
/----\
•
Pure
///
The darkness is everywhere
We all see
////
We see death everywhere
•
We remain so implausibly silent
///// wuss warriors /////
////
We don't want to offernd !
////
We don't want to hurt their feelings !
•
We betray ourselves when we water down
The absolute purity of what LOVE is
///
Wuss warriors !
•
We fight the paper tigers of
" insensitivity "
while drowning out the sounds
Of death !
////wuss warriors ! ////
/////
Wanting lovers
Without love
Dec 15, 2014
Dec 15, 2014 at 12:39 PM UTC
heraldic entry (ii)
god is the secret god wants us to keep. I hold onto my leg because you cannot return without it. children drop in on women men murder. this, I share.
heraldic entry (iii)
we junk the stove by not thinking about it. I hide my gun inside and then find you doing the same. we survive and believe it’s a sign from television.
heraldic entry (iv)
the wee sharpshooter is scratching his ear with a sprung mousetrap. you tell me, listen, when I am not.
heraldic entry (v)
the healthy son has a sick. well I’ll be. of all the implausibly hedonistic, god is the one who didn’t get away.
Aug 1, 2014
Aug 1, 2014 at 3:23 PM UTC
I'm imagining infinite instances, inspiring insatiable insanities, inside implausibly intrinsic ideas, increasingly infiltriating inner ideals
Feb 7, 2016
Feb 7, 2016 at 1:59 AM UTC