"impractical" poems
i'm broken spaces,
unnamed multitude faces:
see wholes as fractals.
i'm rubbed raw and sore,
i'm ***** waves on the shore:
rampant and rascal.
lost in the spotlight,
yet so defensive for fights:
though impractical.
i'm wanted by you,
yet i question what is true:
you falter and stall.
Jan 8, 2014
Jan 8, 2014 at 3:58 PM UTC
Your morbid reassurance to a impractical salutation hurts us both.
sleeping outside is gonna get us sick.
Your insecurities lead you to my confidence that sank us both to vulnerability.
Not only did you abuse my well being, you drained it.
Look at my victimizing face and tell me this isnt your fault. It takes two to devastate one.
We both deserve to sleep in the same bed
Come inside
We have a stoic endurance for each other.
You're not wrong for anything
Dec 2, 2015
Dec 2, 2015 at 2:59 PM UTC
Your Style Can Not Dominate
Not Being Crude, Not Spreading Hate
I'm Just Spreading The Word, Going To Radiate
Even Without It, You'd Probably Meet Your Fate
Taking You Down Has Become My Mission
Going To Split Your Mind, Sanity Fission
And Your World In Two, Territorial Division
I'm Coming At You With Insane Precision
Not Going To Rush, Going To Be Tactical
Make Sure My Plans Are 100% Practical
Attacking Aimlessly Would Be Impractical
Give My People A Show, Theatrical
I'm Flawless, You're Flawed
When People Hear My Words, They Applaud
When They Hear yours? They Call The Firing Squad
I Don't Think Inside The Box, I Think Abroad
I'm Guessing By Now You Must Be Hurting
You Coming To Me, Asking For Some Kind Of Converting
The Topic Kills You, You're Diverting
To You. I'm Quite Alerting
Aug 28, 2014
Aug 28, 2014 at 8:51 AM UTC
My girl don’t like
To read these line,
You see, she like me
To talk straight,
She like to see rain
Not jus’ cloud dance,
Me – am not
Impractical,
Though, cloud, are
Beautiful:
Rain, no rain;
But I need to write,
‘Coz I mus’
Anguish soothe
Love stir and heart
Overflow,
Emotion: I pour
My heart out
In these line –
Nobody read’em
But:
Beauty in echo –
You gotta see,
Yea, silence smile.
Jul 27, 2012
Jul 27, 2012 at 7:22 AM UTC
I adore women
I refuse to apologize for it
I like the way their voices squeak in the upper registers
I like the fashions
I like the makeup
I like the aromas
Not the silly runway catwalk Biz that relegates them as awkward mannequins
adorns them in the impractical
and cloaks them in the absurd overreaching of the tired clamoring for something
new and unique
that which exploits their lithesome anorexic perplexing job requirement
I like the way they can shape shift, alter and assume new identities
I like the fact that some have mood swings and ***
I marvel that they can give birth
I like being aware that their 'water-weight' make's them grumpy
I'm astonished that they innately ovulate with the cycles of the moon
and that the Huntress Diana inherently acquired her namesake
Doesn't bother me a bit that "it's a lady's prerogative to be late"
or that opening a door for them is considered 'sexist'
I was raised with a sister and a mother
with lace and dainty frilly things
I caused them a lot of aggravation and consternation
I think they enjoyed it - nonetheless
somewhat
I refuse to apologize for it
May 13, 2013
May 13, 2013 at 12:00 AM UTC
*As a kid when I heard the stories
Of heavens and hells
And gods and ghosts
I thought of those to be true
But as I grew
My education warned me
Not to trust that view
As a child when my elders advised
Do unto others as you would have them do to you
I thought they were impractical
Ignorant of smartness required
To manage things through
By far I thought I was the wise
To have known it all
Realized late in time
How great was that fall
Superficial logic, intellectual materialism
Cloaked my natural state of true mind
Boosting desires, sterile opinions
Leaving the true sense behind
I am thankful to the nature
For giving me an opportune
To study the greatest reality
Why humans are marooned
Time and space are eternal
I am just the part of that infinite
The one awarded with human form
For some past intentions right
I should not take pride in that
For where I am today
Later might be someone else’s part
Man who decoded the mystery of mind
Taught this decades ago
Guard thoughts, actions, and speech
To reach the real goal
Not judge anything and any being
Instead focus on developing clear seeing
As everything is ever changing
Including ones birth realms
A full mind just exhibits knowledge
Only in empty mind wisdom reaps
Don’t get swayed by extremes
Middle way is the path of keep
Now I understand
Message behind the moral stories
What one sows is what one reaps
One gets heavenly pleasures or hellish pain
Exclusively based on law of deeds
One gets what one deserves
For law of nature never fails
But latent power within
Can turn it all around
If not enlightenment
One can at least find in life
A decent ground
Now and in future!*
Mar 5, 2016
Mar 5, 2016 at 1:18 AM UTC
Serenity my impractical refrain
What oceans I have seen could not contain you
Still from long ago
You sleep with sediment in caves of night
Aiding my excuse not to come rescue
While only you could rescue me
And iron out my body crumpled
To let us sleep with tidy sheets
Relived of grime and filth that has compiled upon my years
Believing I can live with out
A single decent peace of mind
Oppression now has swam up stream
And lurks between resembled shadows
Of the memories adhering only to your name
Oh serenity my impractical refrain
Through fault, from which I’ve been delivered
A bitter place I’ve built around my self
Know that amends are only spoken towards your name
Depleted, torn and strewn I simmer
Swept a ‘withered, for oppression now lies within
Arise a faint acknowledge towards me
If ever you wish to return
And I will tend my bed so rightly
For our sound sleep, together, healing burns
Feb 1, 2015
Feb 1, 2015 at 5:48 PM UTC
A worst-case-scenario mentality
Breeds emotional nightmares of what-ifs
Methodically feeling the pain in each possibility
Preparing for Hell, knowing it is impractical, improbable, and unkind
Each reaction gauged
Smiles erupt in each better choice
A familiar road traveled often
Lead only by a history of pain
It ebbs and flows, bobs and weaves at will
This reality is organized, easy to understand
Random thought of an unlikely, unfathomable future
**Vivid like a film
Unwavering, persistent
There is no control**ling its outcome
Forced to watch the images forged in a broken mind
Tears burn flesh and a naked heart bleeds
Stop rolling, just...stop
No amount of pleading slows the images
The pain is overwhelming
Far beyond self-inflicted, torturous, methodical thoughts
Uncontrollable, inconsolable
True and real
So very real
There is but one way to stop that future
The one shown in visions of just deserts
The future that smolders through present joy
Preemptive pain is just not an option
I've seen the future my heart has built
**The shards of a shattered soul
Offer no comfort**
My worst-case-scenario was but a benign freckle on the elbow of a body invaded by metastatic melanoma
Apr 3, 2015
Apr 3, 2015 at 5:00 AM UTC
impractical is the path
where wrath meets satisfaction
with hands too fast to smack
we are the captors of our actions
not adapted to the math
understanding the subtraction
with a stand that is my last
i am ****** by my exaction
with a plan so crass
like a romance with reaction
impractical is the path
where wrath meets satisfaction
Nov 19, 2015
Nov 19, 2015 at 11:05 AM UTC
Someone once asked me If I had,
A heart of glass, paper, stone or air.
A heart of glass I bear,
So you can see right through me.
Whether this means you can see through my love or,
That there is no denying my love is there.
A glass heart is more fragile than others,
But I bear one so you may understand the trust and faith I hold,
In you as the one who holds my heart.
A heart of paper I bear.
So you can see the words written over my heart,
Whether this means you can see pain, sorrow or,
That there is no denying your name is written all over.
A paper heart is more impractical than others,
But I bear one so you may understand the meaning you hold
To me as the one my heart yearns for.
A heart of stone I bear.
So you can see how strong I am,
Whether this means I am cold and loveless or,
That there is no denying my ability to be strong and not falter.
A stone heart is more lifeless than others,
But I bear one so you may understand I can't be hurt and am strong,
For you who my heart beats for.
A heart of air I bear.
So you can see every breath, is one taken for you,
Whether this means my heart is not a physical thing or,
That there is no denying I would love you until my last breath.
An air heart is more infeasible than others,
But I bear one so you may understand I live and breathe,
For you the love of my life.
Dec 16, 2015
Dec 16, 2015 at 3:07 AM UTC
Today I found myself in this coffeeshop
Its not actually my thing
I always thought it's impractical and just a waste of what little fortune I have
But I needed to get out
Have a breathe of fresh air
Much needed walk
See humans
Hear them talk
At least
While I
Alone with my thoughts
Not a single audible word
Though there were few interactions
Glimpses
Minimal smiles from the crew
Some thoughts still suffocates me
Especially when I think about
How I am just nothing to you
How it all was just wishful thinking
How it had all ended before we even begun
How it was all just for fun
And when I caught myself
Drifting in these toxic thoughts
I get back to my reality
Alone but not totally lonely
I just have to get used to this
Be comfortable in my solitude
Learning to enjoy this process
Of self exploration
And mastering the art of letting go.
May 2, 2018
May 2, 2018 at 11:45 AM UTC
You see a kaleidoscopic spongesque speck pushed into a blur over your vision,
Sitting on air & feathers.
You sit on air rather than feathers,
Incased in drywall,
Surrounded by your worldly possessions,
Drowning in sweat,
Suffocating from air,
The hum of coupled fans waltzes’ into your skull,
A metallic mind prints mass media
Via a melodramatic faux-vintage situation into your skull,
There’s the pitter-patter of post-traumatic pondering in your skull,
A Mexican Coca-Cola clutched in your left hand,
Phillip-Morris owns the pocket on your breast so that they sit closest to your heart,
Pabst Blue Ribbon has carved rights to your liver,
You have an over analytic sense of humor and well-being.
Now you decode your day.
Now you chastise your intuition for lustful engagements with shadow people.
Though you have no qualms with this,
You enjoy yourself from time to time.
But cannot you imagine a more climatic proposition,
In a less disposable universe?
Where corners are cut,
Shoving dignity & quality out the door
Is where impractical risks are made.
However,
All you ponder now is the blur pushed into the edge of your eye.
Perhaps it is a microorganism rendezvousing with another microorganism.
Though they would have no concept of predetermination.
Jan 24, 2013
Jan 24, 2013 at 11:04 AM UTC
Chances!
Faith in an empty space.
Blazing maybe,
After a perfect kiss.
Loving perhaps.
Given half chances.
After gone issues.
Spent like chocolate pennies,impractical.
In wild romances.
Chances are wishes and kisses are dreams.
Nothing at all is what we perceive.
Chances are odd.
Not even the evens.
Dressed up to the nines, but only find sevens
Where nothing else matches.
When nothing else matters
In the sentiment from the diligent delicacy.
As only women bleed.
****** tears bless face.
Enigmatic smile retained!
By ladylivvi1
© 2013 ladylivvi1 (All rights reserved)
Sep 5, 2013
Sep 5, 2013 at 5:40 PM UTC
Debtors and creditors
Declining stock
High sales
heartless flock
Profit is aim
Impractical gain
Weather is good
Never cared to enjoy the rain
Captured soul
Under the debris of files
Running one after the other
Honesty dying in front of lie
Stylishly tucked in suits
And heart tailor made of wood
As only then will justiy
What we did and what we should
Hitting hard with financial indicators
Stock in hand or sundry creditors
Breathe out this craziness
Seek pleasure in the little things
And make life a lot better
Manisha
Aug 3, 2015
Aug 3, 2015 at 10:23 AM UTC
It was fleeting,
But impressive.
It was impractical,
But not impossible.
Today I entertained the thought
Of leaving behind everything I know
For a chance at something
I don’t.
I’m still here.
May 25, 2012
May 25, 2012 at 12:59 AM UTC
You useless man, Socrates -
I think you need a shower…
I don’t know what the Athenians
find in you but as far as I can see you’re just wasting time
hanging out in the market places
and at dinners and symposiums
where all you do is stay late drinking nights
and talk about philosophy, and ideas
and of origin of things and justice
and nature of human beings
and such useless, impractical things;
and you bring not a cent home
and I can’t count on you for regular support
as all women and good wives might expect of a husband;
and you can’t even hold a good argument with me
for all you do when I use my Xanthippe’s questioning method
against your so-called Socratic method
all you do is mumble and tumble
and use words like shrew and nag
when all I’m asking of you is for you
to keep your part of the implied bargain in marriage
to put some food on the table
and bring some silver coins for the future of our three children:
Lamprocles, Sophroniscus and Menexenus -
have you forgotten them? Do you even remember their names?
And so you bring no money
but instead all you give me are empty words
and lofty words and airy words
and words coined in your head
and you put silly ideas that’s just confusing our children
and if not for me taking the children under my wings
they’ll just turn out to be mere
talkers and market-place prattlers
and hangers-on and leeches at other men’s feasts.
They may have a place in misguided history
if they follow your way
but they will bring weak bodies to their wives
when it is their time.
I don’t want them to be talkers,
and idealists and philosophers, Socrates –
I want them to be responsible
and I want them to bring meat and coins home
regularly and steadily, Socrates.
Socrates, you old man, I don’t care what they say of you
in the Greek world –
I haven’t had proof of your worth and value
here at home, especially in the kitchen.
You useless man, I think you need a shower;
maybe this water from the chamber-pot will wake you up.
Oct 3, 2010
Oct 3, 2010 at 1:27 AM UTC
Dreams Flutter,
twirling inside,
the chimerical mind,
of a dreamer;
my head soaring up,
to meet the clouds,
dancing among the stars.
Being a dreamer,
I am no stranger,
to listening to the lyrics of my heart,
perrsuading me to obtain,
a bouquet of hopes and desires,
that resonates with,the strings of my soul.
"you're impractical",
taunts the voices,
weighing my spirt down,
as self-doubt lingers,
upon my lips,
tasting the return of the bitterness,
a brackish inferiority,
leaving the gulp of confidence,
a difficult pill to swallow.
The shackles around my legs,
forces my choices to decrease,
as the chains of the past,
stifle the ability,
to utilize the clouds,
enveloping my thoughts ,
as stepping stones.
The sight of Intuition,
a gift of the prophets,
allows me to tap into,
talents of Creativity,
skills of persistence,
painting colors,
saturated in intellect,
concealed by a youthful demeanor.
The corset of Thorns,
pricking my torso,
a garment I reuse,
to wear upon my frame,
the suit of torture,
entrapping me within,
a plague of atrocious remembrance.
I return to the physical world,
abandoning my environmental prison,
to bathe in a hot spring of Lotus Flowers,
soothing my exterior form,
as I conquer one element,
of my internal Struggle.
I rise from the plethora,
of Lotus Flowers,
basking in the dawn of my metamorphosis,
gaining ecstasy,
as I arrive one step,
closer to reaching the biggest desire,
of this dreamer.
Jul 15, 2012
Jul 15, 2012 at 2:47 PM UTC
I have only seen myself as a beautiful artwork once in my life,
It had been the advent lovely Spring of sweet sixteen,
There is a photo of someone else’s mind in which I am the subject, rife
With calculated gorgeousness, the white blouse and powder blue skirt
And I had been wearing black ballet flats; a day upon my feet had left me hurt
But the enchanted, oil forest before me had healed my eyes and entranced me
That pose, holding onto myself with ribbons in my hair, someone could see
A beauty that which I have never known since.
Into the heart of the Prince
Into the hearts of all the folk for she was a fairy tale heroine,
Cinderella, lovely lady of ashes, had glass slippers
And upon such toity-toity footwear, she had slipped
Yet, it had been such fragility that would unite her with her love
Will I be united with such grace, such love for myself, if I hold onto my ballet flats?
After all, I have not once seen this grace, such love for my own self since sweet sixteen
Since the foolhardy winds of chilly, oceanside Spring;
Where upon the Museum modern, I saw myself as timeless artwork
Admired and appreciated by all; much like the lovely lady of ashes whose slippers
Have walked her beloved soul into the hearts of all; into the best of time
Yet, these beloved shoes of mine
Have seen so much better of time
For I can see through the soles wherein holes
Have shown where I have worn my own souls
In bitter wanderings and light-hearted adventure; so many type of walk
For a single lass, I could not talk
Of all the places and thoughts these shoes have led me astray within
Of the beauty that had once sunken in
How am I to part?
How am I to part with such faithful companions through all my wanderings of
Yonder years soon to come asunder as I am no longer sweet sixteen,
As I am no longer before entrenched trees of oil, elevated in buildings upon
A chilly, Springtime by the sea I’ve only known in passing afternoon
In black ballet flats; not unlike the glass gussied slippers of lovely cinders
Am I not unlike Cinderella?
For whom would she be if she had not received the night of her life
As carried upon the fragile spurned glass of her magic slippers
For whom had reunited her with her love, the foot fetishist Prince;
Lovely lady of ashes would be just that: lady of ashes,
Worked to beyond the bone; dressed in rags, head in clouds,
Dreaming of opportunity squandered in her slippers of magic glass
She would be like me.
She would be like me, contemplating her toes in birdsong prose
She would be like me, wondering when she would feel as refined as a classic artwork
A beautiful timeless painting with grace and poise without rival supposed
If I part with these worn soles which have born my souls cross
My journeys long, will I ever be at loss
Over mine own image rendered beautiful: my own body rendered beautiful to my eyes?
How can such skin-deep bliss exist without my black ballet flats?
How will mine own eyes recognise my beauty
If it were not for dainty small feet slotted into impractical, magical glass slippers
In want of my dear and precious black ballet flats.
Feb 8, 2018
Feb 8, 2018 at 6:53 PM UTC
Recreational Insanity
Unconditional Inanity
Impractical Commonality
Warm Welcome to the Family
Aug 4, 2022
Aug 4, 2022 at 9:14 PM UTC
we were an impractical nothing.
a shot in the dark that missed its target.
we were clouded whispers and secret kisses.
and then we were nothing.
nothing when all i wanted was something.
how can i let go when what could have been is
still
so
tempting?
Jun 19, 2011
Jun 19, 2011 at 1:49 PM UTC
rekindling lost love is like teaching a flightless bird to fly.
the wings are wounded as are we,
but we still try to reach the sky.
we have dreams of what we could be,
even if they are impractical.
love equates to delirium,
and I don't wish to see reality anymore.
Oct 25, 2017
Oct 25, 2017 at 10:02 PM UTC
humorously ludicrous.
the lunar rock flickering
& all that
co$mic glitter
pulsating
almost saying
I should return to the
wretched place
whence I came.
phoning home.
captivated
the moon's only reflecting
radiation from the sun
& some of those ancients
thought that ball of gaseous hell
was god himself.
I am now these clouds
of heaven chemicals &
other toxic emissions &
I am in awe of all of this.
there was an epic in the sky
& unfortunately I am limitied by
a lack of understanding of the
technical jargon.
the sad fact is to me
real ideology is not possible
& nothing but impractical knowledge.
.... and I don't follow.
I'm afraid
I don't follow
Jul 3, 2015
Jul 3, 2015 at 3:25 AM UTC
The snow makes this humming noise
Can you hear it?
It’s the noise
That people described
When they were huddled
Around the campfires
Telling ghost stories
Back in the day
When the ground was soaking dry
And the tank top filled days
Ricocheted off of the boys
Chasing Bigfoot thought the cornfields.
The reflection of innocence
Left my mind
When reality kissed me
With her cigarette filled breath.
Leaving me
Cold,
Rusty,
Flaking away
From the radiant skin
That brushed off the cornfields.
The snow makes this humming noise
Can you hear it?
It sounds like my friends
Moving away
From the innocence
And transferring
To the school
Of harsh expectations.
They were forced
To take daily vitamins
Consisting of impractical expectations
Left by the people
Who said that they just couldn't do it.
You see,
My friends didn't follow the boy scout honor,
They left traces of themselves
Behind the cracks of my skull.
The snow makes this humming noise
Can you hear it?
Its sounds like the snow
Is giving a close shave
To the power lines
That crackle with apprehension.
I walk about the desserted Ice cream
That has foamed over the cornfields.
My feet seem to stick
To the people who wants me
To be just like my brother,
Whenever I creep
Through the creek of snow,
I get trapped by the vacant wasteland
All I can do is wait
For I am waiting for jack frost
to **** up my last breaths.
Crushing my soul
With the rhythm
of this humming noise
The snow makes.
Nov 15, 2014
Nov 15, 2014 at 9:30 PM UTC
broken heart mended from outside
hiding terrified inhabitants
staring, watching from one way windows
afraid to venture beyond the door
a heart remake into illusions from impractical pinterest
to hide the truth of pain
pulling people closer, desire love and friendship
push way for fear of destruction when leased expected
overspend budget on security
life inproper but needed for survival
Sep 12, 2013
Sep 12, 2013 at 5:10 AM UTC
I found myself missing you the other day,
So I made you a little figurine
Out of clay.
It was a little soldier, his sword drawn in
Triumph.
It was just the type of thing I knew
You would enjoy.
You could put it on your bed-side table.
I painted it to match the color scheme of your
Bedroom.
I know you told me never to give you anything,
Since you knew you would feel the need to
Reciprocate.
And I remember how you said you hate doing that,
For fear of rejection, perhaps.
Your pride is inconceivably fragile.
I felt this the moment before we
First kissed.
You stood stoically, waiting for
Me
to move closer.
Waiting for
Me
To initiate.
So I did.
Months pass by,
And I figure that giving you my little soldier,
A tangible token of my affections,
Could serve as a similar
Initiation.
Because really,
It is far too late to prevent me from giving you anything.
Such pride-salvaging boundaries are impractical when
I have already given you the most
Intimate part of
Me.
It was merely my body’s warmth, at first.
A throbbing desire,
A muscle spasm,
A rapturous aftershock,
And then, unwittingly,
Those things transcended flesh,
Becoming the reality of my
Soul.
So you see,
You have already given me more than you
Intended, either.
And I just needed to give you something palpable,
So you could see me, and touch a piece of me
Even when I was away.
Because I was hoping that you were missing me
Too.
Until this morning,
When I clumsily knocked my little figurine
Off of the kitchen counter.
All I have to give you now,
Is in dozens of
Irreparable pieces.
So I am inclined to believe
That the reality you kindled
Within my soul,
Was too fragile and too fleeting
To be
Initiated
In your own.
I picked up the shards
Of clay, and
Cried in regret.
Knowing that you would really have loved what I
Made for you,
Had you ever gotten the chance
To see it.
Dec 28, 2011
Dec 28, 2011 at 11:55 AM UTC