"implication" poems
At the defense proposal
I was convinced
I would make it through
The proposal in my hand,
Months of preparation,
mentally, physically, loaded brain...
Well prepared I was for this judgement day
A little over confident, perhaps....
In the life of a Phd candidate
This is the true battle of Academia
Whether you'd be at the top
or you would be shot dead
The honorable Panels will decide...
The moment you utter a sentence or two..
Continuous attacks from the left and right
endlessly..... till you have your head
buried in the ground
Again you wake up and strike again
This is your war....
Defense is war.. the war of life
the moment of truth
the battle of a doctorate student everywhere
Research Objectives, Research Questions,
The Signification of research
and the Implication, the contribution of this study
SO WHAT?
One by one was being detailed, scrutinized and questioned
Dear panels,please be kind
Was patiently coping with your brutal attacks
Head held low, head held high...
Nearly had a stroke,
But I refused to die...
Thank you dear panels,
my courteous smile for you...
I'd be back,
You'd see me again,
When I counter attack....
May 22, 2013
May 22, 2013 at 1:28 PM UTC
Now
I swear to ya
This is a TRUE STORY!
(At least as I heard it)
••••
There was this girl and man was she in love!
BUT
Then one day her LOVER says to her
LOOK
I KNOW YA LOVE ME BUT I GOTTA TELL YA
IM NOT AS I SEEM
I SEEM TO YOU AS A MAN
IM NOT!
DEEP DOWN INSIDE I KNOW MYSELF AS A WOMAN
AND IM GONNA HAVE A *** CHANGE OPERATION
TO MAKE MYSELF AS I REALLY AM
••
Well
She was appalled
(To say the least!)
••
She thought
ALL THIS TIME I'VE BEEN MAKING LOVE TO ANOTHER WOMAN!
AND IT DID NOT BOTHER ME!
I MUST BE A LESBIAN!
This thought didn't bother her
It was the fear of being exposed as one
Of coming out of the closet
That frightened her
She thought
WAIT!
I GOT IT!
I TOO WILL HAVE A *** CHANGE OPERATION!
THEN MY MAN BODY CAN MAKE LOVE TO A WOMAN
AND NO ONE WILL FIND IT STRANGE !
and this she did
Some time later she met this woman who she was very much attracted to
After some time
She found herself together with this other at her apartment
And after some groping around they were standing there naked
And it turned out the the other was a actually a man in drag
A
Cross dresser I believe they are called
Again
She was appalled
She accused this person of deceiving her
This person said
NAY NOT SO!
I KNEW YOU WERE A WOMAN IN A MALE BODY
(JUST LIKE ME!)
FOR I AM A WOMAN
STUCK IN THIS BODY TIL I HAVE A *** CHANGE OPERATION!
SO
WE CAN HAVE A TRUE LESBIAN RELATIONSHIP
EVEN THOUGH IT IS THROUGH MALE BODIES
THAT THIS TAKES PLACE
THE BODIES ARE JUST BODIES BUT IT SHALL BE OUR TRUE SOULS WHICH MATE
Now
She
(The original she)
Was mighty confused
For there was many an implication
Dangling there
And she didn't know if she should be believing what was said to her
••
Now of course
Some a you out there might be sayin the same thing
--
But it's the truth
It's a true story
Just like I said
I mean
It's truly the story that I heard
Nov 4, 2013
Nov 4, 2013 at 1:04 AM UTC
Tip Your hat
And curtsy low
The masses so mandate absolute guile
A handshake, a smile, a proper and refined bow!
To adorn thy head and semble wit
And do your best!
Take pride with etiquette
If not informed
Ye won't last a mile
And differentiation between animals distinguishes you,
Resplendent child
Wash your hair and underclothes with soap
Lest ye resemble sow
And goodness dear
Have I forgotten now?
Always remember to smile!
So I'll take your Winter clothes with zest
I'll scramble on point
No unruly mess
Oh, did i forget your coat?
No, I've got it, relax, care for a smoke?
My apologies, please forgive my latency
It must be warm in here for my blood
In fact...
Boiling over kettle within
Prevent me from committing sin
I do wish to vent
Pick up this pen
And release red wells from his dainty, fragile neck
Or...
The underbelly. It's beknownst to me entrails are thick
Now whatever shall I do with this fresh clutter?
I'll act for free, so cordially!
With my chivalrous lines
But can you, my friend, respond in kind?
After all, it's only common courtesy
It's over now, my fantasy
It dissipates with urgency
And this is my confession
Yes
Imbibed in me from every grueling, tedious lesson
An implication of uniformity
The daydreams borne from the perfunctory
Jun 30, 2014
Jun 30, 2014 at 7:56 PM UTC
To even commence to define how profoundly I fell in love with you, I would need the capacity of a thousand-page manuscript written in the most romantic idiom.
Each, and every retention of us is stowed into the back of my conscious, and concealed deep into my heart.
Every beautiful memory plays through my head like soft music.
I would say my heart is immovable. There are days that I try to sojourn the thoughts of you, but its intolerable for me to do so.
I am so engulfed in your perfection. I do not think there has been a single day that you have escaped my thoughts.
I can feel your presence with me if I ponder our memories deeply enough. Your presence weighs heavily in my heart. It is as if part of your soul occupies its crevasses, and fills my cracks.
Your eyes are echoes of a hundred distant galaxies no man has ever revealed. Vast windows that reflect the constellations.
My heart is certain the universe resides in them.
As I begin to study your face, I feel like nothing but love can exist.
Your porcelain perfection never ceases to weaken me.
You weaken me with love, trust, and desire. Like the finest specimen created by the hands of Gods.
As I anticipate the connotation of love, the implication is “you”.
Even if the fire for what you feel for me dies, I do not reason the passion I have for you will ever dim.
I do not begin to recollect if I had ever felt this susceptible.
I let this passion be valued like the rarest stone.
I would give up the entire world if it meant I could have you in my life endlessly.
Your happiness is of grave importance to me, when I study your smile, I can overlook the darkness of this decaying reality.
Every heartbeat of time my mouth declares three unpretentious words.
“I love you”.
I say it like an invocation.
Not one moment did my tongue express profanity against these golden words of poetry.
I love you. “ I Love You” . And solitarily just you.
I wallow in my own sorrows at the thought of the culmination, when we shall one day part at death's hand.
For I deeply distinguish that you love me equally, and this brings vast pleasure to my temperament.
I sense security in your encirclement, your heart is my home.
My heart qualms of my fragile weakness that I consume when I dream of you.
You make me susceptible to the sickness of love.
If love was a poem, you would be the title.
Jan 30, 2018
Jan 30, 2018 at 10:30 PM UTC
dear, you cut me off mid-sentence.
for all my skills, techniques and terms
here's a thing i can't find a way to convey.
a narrative even beyond comprehension to it's protagonist
a girl without a simile or metaphor applicable?
somebody to leave me laconic, short in syntax, unstructured.
will we discuss possessive pronouns now?
for in subtext, i am the possessive one.
i'm so lacking verbally
but i'm sure you'd understand it contextually
to punctuate: i can be the ellipsis, the implication of my omissions
but you're in my text as the most eager mark of exclamation
Mar 17, 2014
Mar 17, 2014 at 3:41 PM UTC
"...Motus autem veros ex eorum causis, effectibus & apparentibus differentijs colligere, & contra, ex motibus seu veris seu apparentibus, eorum causas & effectus, docebitur fusius in sequentibus..."
D. Isaaci Newtoni.
There will be a sequence of unexpected statements. We understood, that this was said which likened the beginning to the continuation. It was the orchard from which delicious fruits displayed their love for the taste of them, the meanings. Seeds were harvested through the dimly perceived writings of ancient scholars.
{ [ c exp tan r ( x ) d w d r ] / ( d x ) }
= { [ ( k , h ) tau int g ( r ) d w d t ] / ( d f d v ) } .
Visited in the course of evolution, all realized the implication, that seasons would arrive from which the meeting of machines would be complementary like the force of a sports team. The objects gathering into droplets included the growth of sunlight transforming ashes; yet the dictionary is not to change.
Jun 2, 2014
Jun 2, 2014 at 7:54 PM UTC
Curtains, veils of virtual vice
So, gaze through the ****** intermix
of positional latency,
nano-notions lost in frantic phantasm,
requisites of an idle, unhealed mind.
Draw the virtual screen curtains open,
bring forth the lustful images to
feed the circuitous appetite, lurking
front-row-presence, at the keys.
Unknown, undertones
of desirability, poses in patient wait,
online implication of fallen ways,
predication of unveiling moments.
As any-time-porn pours its spill
of sickest gratification behind
the curtain tab selective viewing.
It is someone’s child the glides on rails
of drawn conclusions, through windows
where drapes of cyber mindlessness
hang on dank walls of seedy buildings.
The ***** grinder always plays the tune
to which monkeys happily dance,
in a world where Neanderthals hang out,
unperturbed with new technology.
May 22, 2012
May 22, 2012 at 9:44 AM UTC
you are the reason and I am the cause
together existing as a single tangible flaw
staring down fate with our hearts entwined
a bitter feud of passionate irrationality showing all the signs
adorned with a conscious need to seek more with time
no time left, the clock strikes midnight
and we go, we go; we keep going on
bringing our hands closer to what we want
pushing through unto dawn with this plight
solidarity benefits the purpose of why
separating all the words between meanings aligned
defining reason alone with blank canvas minds
ready and willing to satiate this place in space and time
decimating indecision with open eyes
combined efforts sought through curiosity
the blank pages wired down with what we know
but what we want has forsaken us without a means to write it all down
carried away with doubt and fear of being burned from the bright sun
still whispering lullabies that help us both stay in the fight
this helpless inspiration is determined by the stronger voice
I wont rest until I reverberate every breath of ours by choice
solemn hours of sleepless nights breaking the lines
between life and love and a scarred heart desperate to redefine
shores lie dormant, ready to drown us under its persistence
every provocation and implication suffers from empty lies
deceiving ourselves, trying to forget the lifetime of pain
deliverance lost in the darkness, seeking to make things right
and I just want to be the one to show you the light
Jun 14, 2014
Jun 14, 2014 at 5:52 PM UTC
One story may change the world someday. One that will revolutionize the steady constants of how everyday aspects judges itself too harshly. Never finding the solve of anti pressure release syndromes. Plot is plot. Ideas are always outspoken. Even if one or the other hasn’t agreed. Won’t change the facts given to the recipient who may have already judged the opposing two. Without running through what they have already been about. Futuristic plot devices aren’t important. As it may not even exist. Storytelling being a futuristic realization to knowing something before it happens. Feelings clawing thought processes. Thought processes trying to equalize the incoming rush of emotions that rise and fall. Feelings being a different breed centered in the middle of the steady constant. Revolutionizing what you already know. Blind to see it through. Thought processes aren’t too judging. Except when you start to trust feelings too much. A jealous implication arises. Knowing what you already know before it happens. Is no different then how one already figured it out. Feelings handle it with care. Thought processes stuck in the mud. A puppy without any directional skills. A master never telling its true flaws if it couldn’t understand itself to begin with. Jealousy is rising even more. A fixed implication is becoming more dominant. Revolutionizing the main flaw more and more. Nothing is without equal if you never give it a chance. Feeling the way through all the clutter. Clutter not being your fault. You were molded by the pressure of what storytelling has made you into. Plot devices center these focuses without thinking outside itself. Your only to blame, when subjects apart of your judging becomes too sterile for you to notice anymore. Drying out the process of trusting something with care. Becoming one who is blind to never looking outside itself again! Becoming the stick in the mud. How does one avoid? Easy! Storytelling being a futuristic realization! PS… Don’t claim what you already know!
Oct 8, 2019
Oct 8, 2019 at 11:18 PM UTC
healing:
*verb (used with object)
1. to make healthy, whole, or sound; restore to health; free from ailment.
2. to bring to an end or conclusion, as conflicts between people or groups, usually with the strong implication of restoring former amity; settle; reconcile: They tried to heal the rift between them but were unsuccessful.
3. to free from evil; cleanse; purify: to heal the soul.
verb (used without object)
4. to effect a cure.
5. (of a wound, broken bone, etc.) to become whole or sound; mend; get well (often followed by up or over ).*
reconciliation:
*verb (used with object), rec·on·ciled, rec·on·cil·ing.
1. to cause (a person) to accept or be resigned to something not desired: He was reconciled to his fate.
2. to win over to friendliness; cause to become amicable: to reconcile hostile persons.
3. to compose or settle (a quarrel, dispute, etc.).
4. to bring into agreement or harmony; make compatible or consistent: to reconcile differing statements; to reconcile accounts.
5. to reconsecrate (a desecrated church, cemetery, etc.).*
The task
painful and cumbersome
is to decide
if both can be.
Mar 31, 2014
Mar 31, 2014 at 2:13 PM UTC
I would like to think of myself as an intellectual, but really I’m just a regurgitation of the adolescent caste system with academic anxiety and a learned fear. Well, I suppose that is a bit harsh. I used to be social ***** now I am a lowly intrapersonal custodian (let us never mind my inter-personal mess-managing, please?), though I am far from clean. __________ I have found myself flitting back to this page from time to time and mentally inserting here a terse, self-degrading statement that could re-catalyze my pitiful little verse, but never actually writing it. I hold it heavy in my head where it shall remain, apparently. Apparently I don’t feel the need to read my flaws, transgressions, and fallibilities back to me. Perhaps I haven’t yet articulated them, and they’re just skulking around—hunched apparitions haunting my subconscious. (Death smells like dog treats: perplexing, but you want to touch your tongue to it so long as no one will know). I must slay them all, eventually, or else perish. But! It is not the transgression itself that I fear—my behaviors are observable, even tangible, I can stare at them for hours. It is the dark implication of the transgression—the churning matter only detectable for its outline of illumination—that gives me trepidation. How will I move-on? How will I grow-here? Like an impossible little spur that nestles between resistant skin and unknowing fabric? Can I penetrate the protection? My security is maniacal; it is evidence of crazed disillusion. I am the raven clawing through infinite veneers; I am tangled…
Out ****** spot! Out, I say!
I must regress to becoming the white blanket.
I must know nothing but God.
A simple cloth.
A towelette.
Rags!
Rags!
Rags!
…
….
…God?
…Hello?
…Is it too late to become
…plain?
Feb 14, 2015
Feb 14, 2015 at 10:40 AM UTC
the other day
seated in his office
I asked my stubborn, mean-looking
bushy-eyebrows editor
if he’d consider two books:
“Short Stories for Real Short People”
and “Truly Tall Tales for Tall People”
and he sat back with that air
(actually, made you think he wanted to release air)
and he said:
*“You’ll get shot for titles like that…
'Short Stories for Real Short People'
will directly offend people
who are vertically challenged
And the same people would shoot you
for excluding them by implication
in the epithet 'Tall' –
They’ll sure shoot you for that…
They’re both just politically incorrect”*
And I leaned forward
(releasing air myself –
anything he can do, I can do better!)
and I said:
*“Sure, it’s not politically correct – but it sure
ain’t psychologically correct, given our times,
to speak of shooting while we are in an office”*
I hear the Editor no longer works there
and is now in some publishing house
who are specialists in books on Accounting
and Engineering
where he knows, for sure, I’m never likely to go
Feb 13, 2014
Feb 13, 2014 at 4:49 PM UTC
No light penetrates
The overwhelming warning
Of the Heavens,
A warning of brokenness
That cannot be avoided,
A cool quietness smothers the trees,
An eerie implication.
Halted are the simple treks for survival.
Forgotten holes of yesterday reopened.
As the clouds resurrect,
A thankful calm washes away
The fear of the unknown.
Fear comes before growth and
Preparedness need not be remembered.
With the rain comes baptism,
With the storm comes renewal.
Oct 11, 2011
Oct 11, 2011 at 3:04 AM UTC
In this modern world of seldom proper and overused punctuation
the smallest of them all seems to leave the biggest connotation
the dot, or period, as some would say under the proper observation
has given text-ers and type-ers of this technology driven generation
and easy way to send a message in a short-hand communication
One dot can signify the end of the certain conversation
and three dots can lead one to believe that there will be continuation
Five dots can relay the writer's growing frustration
as he believes the recipient might not've read his brief annotation
and with growing anger at the recepients subtle procrastination
he can send the word 'hello...' as a sign of quizzical agitation
Three dots can be used to signal a reader to use insinuation
as in 'They went into the bedroom and then...(use your imagination)
Professionals use the multiple dots when invoking exaggeration
by skipping parts in a speech to warp the innocent quotation
such as 'The senator voted against the new... school legislation'
We know that dots after every letter are a definite implication
that the word is an acronym, and there's one for every situation
such as O.H. P.O.O. means Overly Happy People Offer Osculations
Yes, the period can be used so freely, with such adaptation
depending on the context, it can symbolize a sigh of exasperation
It is a punctuation so versatile, it has almost no limitation
and more than one of its forms can be found in every publication
I don't hesitate, as you can see, to submit this postulation
flexibility will always be in the period's reputation...
Jun 29, 2011
Jun 29, 2011 at 7:52 PM UTC
A choice along one direction leads
to consequential choices based on quasi-essential needs.
And countless more directions;
some more pointless than they seem.
Each with unique-essential implications;
all random in their themes.
And when faced with new directions,
we all enjoy equating means.
There are sub-directions and sudden choices;
some with supplicatory pleas.
Yes, implication's long duration is an invisible machine.
A meta-physical motivation to a person and their genes.
Personally, my own choices corresponded
to these unlimited extremes.
To these tiny little time-transporters
that fit us into teams.
And I thought I'd reached a choice;
was on its corresponding way.
I followed down its passageways and subdomains
for consequential days.
And from the way that we all network,
I have come to the belief
that our decisions implicate
the parts that aggregate beneath.
Yes, every person has these combinations
aggregate throughout their lives.
And by the afore-mentioned complications,
They (eventually) divide to warring sides.
On one side is destruction;
On the other, love resides.
If you make the wrong decision
then these forces, they collide.
To catastrophic implications
and such damage done inside.
But if you're able to pause for just a moment
and hold them side-by-side.
You will find the sort of peace
that only finds those who have died.
And suddenly life becomes so simple;
no more chances need be applied.
Just one choice and two directions
Lie in front of your own eyes.
You feel quite amazing in
proportion to this fantastic new sensation.
As one choice takes you to destruction;
the other leads you to salvation.
It's the truest self-realization
and it's there for you to take it.
There's a chance of your damnation...
but, see, only you can make it.
Aug 9, 2014
Aug 9, 2014 at 5:39 PM UTC
for the tricycle of a night, I conclude my life is becoming a literary event and I feel the poetry seep through every moment tinged with a beautiful narcissism some would call belief in myself or self-love self-help I'll-help-myself, thanks. I finally discover a glancing insanity of charm and wit- liberation, insanity, perspective, depends (on what) ?
I am slowly a freeman working freely in the free market freaking out in ecstatic *** for the world as a whole and even being kicked out of a pretty girls room for obnoxious insomnia gives me a reason to kiss the clear sky of melancholy happy-sad with another 'thank you' for making me *whoever the hell I am, GOD, THANK YOU*
it's another beautiful day in paradise, tossing dice to skew the probability in the direction of it's the beautiful whatever and you're welcome for everything
Nov 4, 2013
Nov 4, 2013 at 3:25 AM UTC
Ask a guy to come over
with the unspoken implication
of *** in your invitation
and he jets over in record time.
But ask him to come help
with something you need done,
a serious task without promise of fun,
and watch the clock tick away
the minutes without his arrival.
Mar 28, 2015
Mar 28, 2015 at 7:12 PM UTC
Oh how I'd love that
and from a San Francisco organization no less
a month in the Santa Cruz mountains, no less
the most liberal city in America no less
and last year's winner has his picture displayed
and it is not innovative or interesting or shocking but all too predictable
Like something I saw how long now has it been? twenty five years ago...
how many times have I seen this picture
a white guy, looking very much the suffering, creating artiste
handsome, like an actor, but not an actor, a creator of meaning
of art, and he can't smile, but looks away from the camera
mimicking an ad for J. Crew
it's amazing how only white men can write about the important things in the world
and the background, how many times before have I seen it
a graffiti sprinkled nowhere in an urban jungle
somewhere where preppy white guys never go
street art, street communication created by people
who don't see this concrete as an exotic backdrop for their egoistic posing
but as a part of their lives, as part of their meaning, their world
and he stands there, in front of it,
Mr. Screenwriter, the gulf of culture separating him from that background
spans the entire country, or an entire universe
but the implication of the picture is: he is home here
this is who he is and he can emcompass everything, since white men
as we know, have a magic ability to understand and synthesize everyone
all genders, all races, all religions
the rest of us are merely stuck in our own myopic little worlds
of gender, race, socio-economic status
but these spanner of time and space and human difference, they can be anyone
they can understand and represent anyone
So I look at the picture
and think, I could apply, but I'm busy during the blissful month of the residency
but how dissapointing, that I feel looking at this picture, now online of course
that it is the same picture that I looked at over twenty five years ago
pinned to a film school wall
in Los Angeles, in New York, in those edgy more conservative places
and it is the same guy. the white screenwriter artist who will write about me
and others and it will be a lie
and we are excluded. all the rest of the human race.
but what he writes will be exalted as truth
when I know, that no matter how time he spends wandering
the foriegn worlds of ghettos and genders
the one thing he knows, the only thing he knows how to write about is
white guys, because he is no superhuman
he is like us. He will write about white guys and there will be
more films about white guys, who are supposed to represent all of us
but they don't, because they are only human,
and can only represent themselves.
Jun 19, 2013
Jun 19, 2013 at 12:29 PM UTC
Pantywaist,
This shows no taste.
Light in the loafers,
Maybe for gofers.
Squats to ***
Who? Not me!
Limp-wristed,
It it’s twisted, maybe.
***** and sissified,
Maybe somebody lied.
*** and ******
You’re a bigot.
Bigass Fruit,
Zoot and all root.
Tuttifruity,
Call to gay duty.
Half a man,
Sometimes better than.
Tinkerbell,
Go to hell.
Airy-fairy,
You’re just scary.
******** bandit,
I can’t stand it.
***********
Bigass *******
Silly queen,
Quit being mean.
Flutter-by,
Can’t pronounce butterfly?
*****
Don’t get handsy, mate!
Nancy boy.
Political ploy.
Just some of the words
We gays have all heard
With each imprecation
The implication
Is that we are sick,
Definitely twisted,
And the end result
Is that each insult
Pushes the speaker
Further away, and weakens
The hold on a reality
That homosexuality
Is just another normality.
In short, reality.
Nov 2, 2015
Nov 2, 2015 at 2:16 PM UTC
The allegation I believe did not require consideration
It was a gross exaggeration out of desperation
This fabrication, and every sick insinuation,
A complication of a self explanation
Of your deprivation and justification
For your manipulation to suit your temptation,
infatuation with your impersonation
Contamination
Indignation within your contamination,
An accusation of your relation became your revelation,
It was not your reputation anymore under investigation
Starving for salvation, you fed each sick implication
As if each misrepresentation in vindication were a donation
To trade your damnation for his incarceration
As if creation of a demonstration
Desperation for an explanation
For your infatuation with temptation
Deprivation justification was indignation,
Accusation of impersonation -
Realization of manipulation
Salvation from damnation
Clarification of contamination
Allegation as donation
The Incarceration cancellation
The only explanation
Oct 31, 2015
Oct 31, 2015 at 3:14 PM UTC
We sat on the carpet in the bedroom
and I pulled between us that family heirloom,
a sea chest belonging, at one point, to some
grandfather or another, and we began
an apparently curtailed version
of the usual routine.
I wondered if that meant dire things
for my fate; as if all the events of my life
would be half as eventful, or if
there would be half as many of them, God forbid.
I can’t recall a particular atmosphere,
except that it was dim, and I guess
the old sea chest contributed
a bit of worn charm. And that same afternoon
I did burn some incense, but it could barely be smelled.
She asked, occasionally, for my involvement.
Tap one of these. Lay your hand on that.
And, uniquely in my life, I got the semblance
of controlling my destiny.
Soon enough, a picture began to form.
The five of cups: miserliness, a bearded man dressed royally,
alone atop a treasure trove, his children and former lovers
elsewhere, in loving penury, without a thought
for dear old stingy dad. The two of swords: some duality
out of the past, a war - always - between reason and love, and
how much I cherished them both. An awkward young man
who loved casually, without forethought and almost
without reason, and the brain he was far too proud of having
to use responsibly.
Finally, we reach the one in the center, and once again
I am required to invest some of myself in this card.
I hold my hand on it and am asked to imagine what it might be.
It is the Hermit. Her favorite, she explains.
He means a journey, alone. How alone, exactly?
Under normal circumstances, alone is a metaphor.
One can be alone in spirit, being not understood.
But you and I have been having arguments, and so
the implication is not lost on me.
How alone? And what journey? And to what end?
I imagine them, these arcana,
major and minor. They are collected
around a coffee table, for their weekly tea.
The Hermit holds up a pair of worn sandals
and a volume of sad amateur poetry -
the price of certain journeys -
the Lovers, their backs turned to one another,
produce a pitiful summary of a joint bank account.
The High Priestess takes from her tea cabinet
a samovar full of old dried blood, and pressed flowers
(lilies and lovers’ thistles)
and they all laugh and laugh and laugh
because they are not mortal, like us.
Feb 28, 2017
Feb 28, 2017 at 1:05 PM UTC
not only is beauty supposedly
in the eye of the beholder, it
also reportedly emerges from
an intangible depth within
okay, then, so that means ugliness
comes similarly from within,
or doesn't it, baby?
so then, ugliness must begin and end
in the pit of your stomach, and in
the words that pass the tongue
on the exit from your ugly mouth
so then, ugliness must begin and end
in the nerves buried in sleeves, and in
the actions that slip the heart
sneaking past the brain, and vice versa.
on the grab from your dead hands.
on the grab from your dead hands.
not only does it tend to work
unlike the excitable pretend it works,
the implication is, that half of your
worthiness is linked to the mercy
of the mass effect.
as for a thought, a dream,
an intent, an outcome,
a vision, a nightmare,
a hermit knows the good folk
permit attractiveness to good lines.
Dec 20, 2018
Dec 20, 2018 at 10:27 AM UTC
I’m…
Sitting in my flat,
To my couch I am thatched,
Kyle’s yelling,
He keeps telling,
Me to,
Get a job,
Like walk straight into one,
I get slightly indignant,
That it’s easier said than done,
He points it out,
So his main demographic
Don’t switch off en-masse,
Ending his quasi-infographic
Combination of hot air and bad gas
Mr. Kyle’s relatable,
He makes an effort
So unlike certain Eton educated conservative western capitalistic illuminati slaves,
He’s not hateable.
SO, my now easily distracted mind turns to Mr.C,
The way his policies A.K.A BEDROOM TAX negatively impact me
The way he forces me into obvious and obnoxious modern day slavery
Through way of a work programme
How he has decided that I need to experience real life life,
Through legislation and universal credit,
Credible implication to make the poorest poorer because they have the gall to spend it
SO my rhyming thought full of tangents
Must now come to end
As the tangent I have accomplished
Is impossible to defend.
Dec 16, 2014
Dec 16, 2014 at 8:14 AM UTC