"improbability" poems
The probability of me being improbable is highly definite.
The statistical occurrence of randomness
Is proportional to the flow of consciousness.
May 3, 2014
May 3, 2014 at 5:19 PM UTC
there's ethical idealism:
where ethics is discussed...
there's ethical relativism:
where ethics is practised...
there's ethical realism...
where ethics is quantified
as an improbability;
and then there's ethical
absolutism,
where we supposedly
"progress" -
in this scenario are
the laws of physics actually
suspended:
whereby oculus qua oculus
is replaced -
a loss of an eye is "relative"
to 10 years in a cage...
really?!
ethics is
ideal, realistic, absolute or relative...
we're encouraged to live
in "realistic relativism"...
never in an absolute realism,
since realistic relativism
only compares itself
to ideal absolutism...
and nothing more...
ever watched that film
secrets in their eyes?
you ever wonder what
ethical idealism is to the ethnical
consequence that can absorb
a realistic libra?
i can only believe in
ethical absolutism,
ethical relativism is horrid to me...
relativism adorns idealism,
absolutism adorns realism...
a life sentence is worse than
a death sentence,
whether justified or not,
prison is sadism,
but at least ****** is simply ******
a space-time intact,
a ****** penalty is not
inhumane, nor a ouija board...
it's time for time,
space for space,
the actual punishment comes
with the missing adrenaline rush
of the unexpected reception of the wielded
weapon...
either send these jealous plonkers to
siberia, or sentence them to death,
for you are no more than they are,
nay, you are more...
you're akin to cats toying,
playing a sadistic games with half-mutilated
mice...
this is why i abhor
ethical relativism of the crucifix...
hence my belief in ethical
absolutism in the paragraph of realism,
which is perfected, by
being exacted, and never, ever,
being leisurely discussed,
on a farcical palette with a grimace
to boot: ******* a lemon;
compensating the horrors within
minutes, is never compensated
with ordeals that last years...
which is why i find the death penalty
an act of authentic humanity,
and not this quasi-humanitarian
act of pardon, ******* hypocrites -
i abhor the caged rat
more than the rat gladly nibbling
on a dead corpse...
at least there was passion
in the ******
waiting for death penalty is like killing
a vermin with poison,
disposing them with nonchalantly...
the wise maxim states:
ledo ferrum sicut id est calidi -
strike the iron while it's hot...
death is the dawn-broker -
a new tomorrow promise -
left intact, the fermenting process
of ethical dynamism takes over...
then again,
the supposedly "evolved"
preferred moral relativism to moral
absolutism,
because there was no
moral realism to speak of,
since morality could only
be talked about in ideal terms of
the supposedly so, supposedly
fashioned via: it ought to never happen to
me...
and then it might, and then:
oops... argument sinks like a wet fatty ****
into shambles of keeping up with
the presupposed pillar of argument
being "impenetrable";
hey, genius, back to the blackboard!
Nov 11, 2017
Nov 11, 2017 at 8:50 PM UTC
Lightning strikes and we're at it again.
fingers tracing faces like fire.
Breath short and sweet like so many
whispered words and unwatched movies.
Finger in the socket and we keep
laughing those laughs that only
we can remember.
Smiling those smiles that we hide
now from everyone and each other.
Toaster in the bathtub and we're lost.
Separated by a sea of improbability
and spine
less
ness.
Feb 21, 2011
Feb 21, 2011 at 9:53 AM UTC
what happens when you are so in love with a thought you could never dream.
not like being on a timeout, or friend zoned.
like wishful thinking of a perfect scene, or being.
Can most of us say that we ever truly fell in love at first sight, i can.
i can tell you how the sun shines for the birds and blooms. i can tell you how the diamonds are hand painted into the night sky and even have their own stories.
i can tell you all the angles of the prisms, in the colors of a rainbow.
i can describe in perfect detail sculpted cheekbones and a smile so warm everything
melts inside.
i can say how my heart aches to even be known. in the world, in the universe,
in the front of someone's mind. not just known but really, and truly known by something, anything, anyone.
i can tell you that my soul aches for more...
i can tell you how my life essence is tied to more.....
after everything so far.
i can also tell you that i doubt if anybody even knows my name.
Sep 17, 2018
Sep 17, 2018 at 2:03 AM UTC
With no expectation all's novelty
The new patterns don't astound us
We can stay in the middle of the river with our heads above the water
And safely watch the coastline pass us by
The outside world an ocean of television static
The signals painting pictures of entropic holograms
That interlock and correlate
Until the ghosts of time are churning out
Like geese into a a tiny hole
In an orange plastic fence
Fleeing mischievous youngsters
Who love to watch them funneled in
Like grains of sand in an hourglass.
We too live in an hourglass
And the grains of sand empty out the bottom
Floating aimlessly through an unending void
And the ultimate improbability
Goes through the formality of actually occurring
When the grain of sand finds itself at the beginning
Passing once again through the hourglass
Undivided, indistinguishable
Nov 28, 2012
Nov 28, 2012 at 10:12 AM UTC
Waiting for that paper, a light
A cursor that keeps blinking for the next word
Even when the screen arranges to sleep in daylight
Fingers begin to itch and start being febrile.
An email, such a pity,
is more accessible than
a post box.
All the handwriting fonts that I did try, couldn’t,
Just possibly couldn’t mirror the impeccable tries
To struggle to be parallel to the top
Or bottom of a page.
The improbability of what the next thought would be
The prediction of where the addressee would smile
Or frown, or pick up eyes to stare at the wall for a while,
To embrace what had just been conveyed.
Letters are like light, they reach us later
From when they were born, but the spaces
they illuminate or burn on their arrival!
I wonder if our pupils shrink.
They more than just tag along, they tap in,
They’re the result of cleaning the ink from
the nib, a thousand times, over thousands
of sentences, or maybe just a few, but they do.
And don’t dare ask the pen for proof!
It’ll track down wrinkled pages
Who had their thirst quenched by
The swipes of fountain pens’ fountainheads,
And pictures of the fingers
Bathed in red, and black, and blue,
And occasionally of table clothes
Spilled over by the consequence of imperfect handles.
Imagine if light came as soon as it was made,
It would be difficult for our eyes to handle such bait
Sometimes, a pause is necessary,
Imagine a world without commas!
I’d like to peek into the writer’s letters,
Not to read, but to sense the shapes of emotions
And stretches of As and Ns, or the reach of commas
On the next line, and then, close my eyes
And shove my nose in it, to sniff hard
The paper and the blue smells,
And die doing so if it was eventual.
Jul 5, 2016
Jul 5, 2016 at 3:13 PM UTC
An exit for expression
An admittance with no fee
A mind free from excluding
An exhibition without end
The centerpiece- an installation
Ever moving within its frame
Its contents constantly disappearing
To reveal a blank canvas to be filled once more
The artist turns out to be me, and me alone
Leaving my post is an improbability
As the gallery holding me hostage is my own mind
Yet in truth, I find happiness in this prison cell
Without sleep I find energy from passers by
Who refuel my passion with their coins
Thrown into my hat beside me
Tokens of positivity that they cannot directly give
The door is always open
Even to those who find fault with the artist
Who tease me in my chained feet
And hurl their abuse with intent to delay completion
Yet still, I welcome companionship of viewers
Without noticing the deviants who scratch away at my painting
My selflessness renders me unable to notice evils
Blinding me with the future I paint before my eyes
My piece is never mastered
For I am distracted by evils constant approach
Presenting me with gifts of seeds, that grow in my soils
Only to blossom as weeds, and eat away at all goodness
But my grounds are open, and my job demands time
Rarely do I have the time to look upon works accomplished
But I steal a moment as sun and moon change shifts
Only to be met a view that gives no happiness as before
My stubborn positivity keeps defences up
Protecting myself from taunters and ghosts who take refuge in corners
I am distracted by my own optimism, the joy of what I do
But it hinders me, in ways I cannot defeat
My ability to seek vengeance was never yielded nor encouraged
So instinctively as always, I turn not to the voices behind me
And paint upon the canvas once more
The doors still open
Jun 25, 2013
Jun 25, 2013 at 4:33 PM UTC
Until I met you
I scoffed at cinematic romance
So extra and unrealistic
Utterly improbable
Completely dramatic, unreal
Coincidence is never that perfect
And yet
I met you by accident in empty hallways
I talked to the universe for months
Asking her for the chance to connect
Day after day
I couldn't find the courage to speak
I didn't know you at all
But our souls felt like magnets
Being around you is electric
Paradoxically calming
Falling in love with you was unrealistic
As we were both dating another
And despite the improbability
Polyamory was the wild card
From bridge walks to car talks
This flame burned right through me
From 15-minute cafe conversations
To our first kiss under a bell tower
Our passion raged in waves
Ripping apart everything I thought I knew
An emotional monsoon
I swear this is a love like no other
Kissing in cars and wrestling on hotel beds
I breathe in your love and your light
Cherishing your soft skin against mine
Exhaling gratitude and peace
It's a feeling so surreal
No words feel right to describe it
But I do know it's a blessing
That every single day
I get to fall in love with you all over again
Dec 18, 2021
Dec 18, 2021 at 12:16 AM UTC
*[Note: Not one of Subject B's 17,891 journal entries found
mention anything about Why Time itself had stopped.
Refer to Subject X's Archival Journal: Chapter 16
Science of an Improbability (pages 356- 387) for further research]*
___________________________________________________
February 14th, 1955
Dear Dr. Einstein,
What's up Doc? I decided it's Valentine's Day. Unequivocally! And it's a Saturday! Saturdays are my absolute relative favorite. Always have been, I think...
See, up until "yesterday" I thought it might have been almost a year since the whole time thing. I look older, that's for sure. Measured myself up on the kitchen notches and I'm just about as tall as Derrick was when he was 13-- which isn't much, we're a short family. Dad topped-off at 5' 7" and was super lucky to find my mom. She was 5' 7" as well but hated heels. Anyway, though, it could be less than a year. It gets really confusing with the sun always in the same spot, which is why I decided it's Valentine's Day. And it's Saturday! I've already cut a picture of Howdy Doody and put it on the TV.
Okay Doc, that's all. Just wanted to wish you a Happy Valentine's Day. Might move my bed up to the attic to get a better view of the everlasting day.
Sincerely,
Robbie Wilson
Jan 13, 2014
Jan 13, 2014 at 12:34 AM UTC
To tell the story of the nice-guy
is to tell a tale of unlost innocence.
There is no complexity that circumstance can’t remedy. There is no effort
to niceness; only a ****** world that blossoms
on genetically mutated ideology, growing larger than generations past.
Tomorrow, in Houston,
a butcher will wake up to slaughter a cow he may have named.
There will no be no tears when he grills steak for the wife he wooed
and the children he prescribed himself.
Three daughters,
from fifteen to twenty-two.
Tiramisu for dessert.
Ten guns in the cabinet beneath the stairs
and innocence buried behind the woodshed.
Pretend now, that you are forgiven.
Mistakes fade like snow angels, regrets
float like chemtrails.
You love you as much as the world always did.
You have not seen friends struck down by powders or lunacy,
you have only lived in the glow of their light. Hearts remain full.
The word swagger hasn’t been hijacked by hip hop
and bluejeans still mask imperfections. Sunsets are memorable,
and so are first dates and last kisses.
Sun won't blister fragile shoulders.
Fields blossom just in time to suit your irregular taste buds,
satisfying sweet corn cravings on Christmas.
Forget your father’s words
or a stranger's hand.
Forget improbability, impossibility,
impotence, importance,
impatience
and improper goodbyes.
Forget the tears cried alone
into ***** filled sheets at midnight.
Forget the effect but remember the cause,
camouflaged like a landmine of good ideas.
Forget the fights and slow-turn walk-aways
that turned words flaccid.
Forget friends ******* ex-girl friends
and amphetamines crashing into hallucinations.
Nice-guys vanish like good ideas,
lost in the shuffle,
looking for pen and paper,
just like house cats die
on the forth of July,
and all that’s left are ashes
on a mantel
alongside fraudulent grins.
Oct 29, 2011
Oct 29, 2011 at 7:42 PM UTC
i tried to write a poem that wasn't about you
but nothing came to mind
so i climbed up on top of my mom's roof
and puffed smoke signals towards the moon
in hopes that they'd take my thoughts with them
before i knew it
i was counting sattelites
the same way that i'd count your breaths at night
apparently everything marches to the same measure as your sunken sternum
"sunrise, sunset."
somewhere in orion's belt
hides the same gleam as your moonlit grin
and i'm back at it again
twisting up sweet leaf in the appologies you'd sling
and hoping you'll think of me
when you wake from coughing in your sleep
as i scortch my fingertips
maybe you'll be reminded
of that first campfire kiss
we shared in the sticks
was it five years ago
or was it six?
****
i just can't think of anything but our tangled hips
the way they read just like a star chart's dots and trailing dashes
and the astrological improbability of celestial bodies managing to gracefully merge
Apr 8, 2014
Apr 8, 2014 at 7:46 PM UTC
Do you ever stop to think about it?
The improbability of you and I?
Like a summer snowman, or an autumn breeze in the spring.
That what we truly are.
A pair of snowmen holding hands as we stare down the sun,
Daring it to try and melt us.
But the autumn breeze is strictly you, my love.
Tossed leaves stuck in your hair
As you look off at something that has you distracted.
Such beauty you hold, such elegance.
How shameful it must be for the other women,
That day that they realized they aren't you.
The leaves cling to your hair, but you don't mind.
You're looking over the water in the glistening lake.
I brush your hand and tell you we should go.
You come back to reality and see the sun beginning to set.
The day is done and we have things to do.
Filthy responsibilities and abhorrent work.
Not yet, you plead. Just a bit longer.
The sunset is so beautiful.
Perhaps the sunrise will match it as well.
Oct 19, 2013
Oct 19, 2013 at 3:54 AM UTC
Do you ever think about the boy who loved you with his whole heart?
Do you ever think about the boy who let you turn him into a monster?
Do you ever think about the time when you yelled at me for getting my hair cut?
It was over skype, while you were on vacation with your family
I wore a hat for three days to try and hide it from you because I knew you'd be mad.
Do you ever think about the time you told me I was selfish in bed?
Do you ever think about the time you told me I made you feel like **** because you were a grade above me but we were taking the same biology class?
Because I quit taking science classes that year
And recently I took one again for the first time since we broke up and I realized that I'm good at it and I like it, but there's no time for me to catch up enough to study it in college.
Do you ever think about all the times I tried to get my emotions out on paper and how you either laughed at the improbability or told me it was disgusting?
Do you ever think about how you told me to stay in the closet so that your parents wouldn't be upset?
Do you ever think about the night when you called me a monster and screamed on the floor of my bedroom, beneath my desk?
Do you remember how I held you for hours on the floor, even as you clawed at my arms and legs?
Do you ever think about how you taught me that love was giving up everything, becoming some guy I never was, to make somebody else happy?
Do you ever think about how that could have ****** me up?
Do you ever think about how we had *** every time we were alone together but you never once kissed me?
Do you ever think about how you couldn't tell me you loved me unless you called me Chauncey?
Do you ever think about what you did to me?
Because I do.
Oh my God, I do.
Apr 24, 2017
Apr 24, 2017 at 9:55 PM UTC
You have to lower your
expectations for life.
It probably didn't help
being fed clichés for breakfast
like strawberry pop-tarts
throughout your
adolescence.
Middle school only
made it worse, when you
discovered words could
describe sadness. You learned
about math and the
improbability,
statistically speaking,
of your dreams.
The sadness picked up speed
in high school, and the teacher
you loved who smoked,
who cursed and made jokes,
who taught you how meaningful
words can be, has already
forgotten your name.
The university did not help
at all. Your tall, lost professors and
brilliant lovers
only added to the distant,
dream-like ego
of the future. Piling hopes
one on top of the other
accumulating mass,
collecting nothing.
Your dream is a tidal wave
and we are nowhere near
the sea.
If you could, please,
lower your expectations
of me.
Jan 22, 2013
Jan 22, 2013 at 9:18 PM UTC
i wish to remind you:
a single drop of beauty
can make the entire
ocean worth swimming.
this is the divine alchemy
that guides our footsteps
in a seemingly dark world.
the courage to speak of
hope while standing at
the edge of improbability.
it is irrational.
it is insanity and madness.
but it is what we are.
so rejoice;
and stand above the chains of
fate.
~ z.s
Aug 1, 2015
Aug 1, 2015 at 4:59 PM UTC
Welcome to Catharosia
Come and succumb to our pitiful wail
An allegory written with paints of girded soul;
There, we drench ourselves in colorful shivers
Here, we cleanse our soul for the joy of the universe;
Another day to create
Roses of the night that result in heavy dreams,
Sorority flies, and dead passions of desperate poets;
In the world where we purge ourselves,
Sanity is not our company—
To the torn pages faded by the light
To the worn out tales dimmed by the dark
Here is our salutations and solitude;
Our words untangled and jumbled tears
Will serve you deeds of crumbling back to a piece;
She oozes blood and agony
He ruptures terrors and improbability
They ***** contemplation and daydreams sewn
We engrave beautiful macabre and adored pain—
Where clowns shall dwell and kings lay to death
Where sins tremble and tragedies rejoice
Jolly remains of the day are what we produce
Masked by anxious sorrows and fear so erudite
Nov 26, 2014
Nov 26, 2014 at 9:41 AM UTC
Western star
I set for hours in the darkness spellbound you held my gaze
The trees and night darkness completed the picture
Your mind races ever higher quiet etude the engulfing blaze
Silver light breaks all captivity you to are suspended held amidst glories brow
Within darkness you are the cloaked sojourner destination improbability
Somewhere in the mix of thoughts for a brief time you are free of all concerns
All that exists is the span of distance in all this voluminous emptiness lies compatibility
Measureless void you wash in great waves against my enthralled soul
You give abundant texture to the wall and windows that I view this indispensible wonder
Because I know you seem localized but half of the earth at least can be held in the same awe
The earth when viewed aright by going to the edge and then stepping into space unchained bounder
Do you affix your very being to channels that gird the heavens go beyond be spellbound at long last right living
You’re tenuous diminished life will catch space in the raw your life will begin at long last to thaw
Your views will startle and alarm those not yet up to the throttled speed found at every level life should be lived
Adventures have for millennia shown the way over and beyond the darkest expanses victory without flaw
Table your defeated hand speak with dignified power as you break the common tide thou conquer who envisions stars as friends
Jan 10, 2012
Jan 10, 2012 at 1:20 PM UTC
My strength has gone,
My soul has perished,
I lost my home,
The Light was vanquished.
Dystrophic sounds,
The brutal cacophony
Of silence and longing,
It's a bludgeoned symphany.
-
Caressing the cheek,
Fingers through her hair,
Smiling subtlely,
Then I awake without air.
The wind eats at each bone
The rain chills them still,
And what good is this home
Without her will?
The imagination runs wild
With dreams of perfection,
The qualities of flaws,
The insurrection.
Grieving turmoil and, alas, it has,
Been determined to happen as fast,
It creeps along its vertices,
Stoking fire of improbability,
Fending for myself, alone,
It seems to me I must here drone,
Wasting away every single chance,
To break free of a pallid trance,
I've always escaped my heart of thoughts,
I've always ended what all have brought,
I've always ended what songs she sings,
I've always brought about suffering,
I've always snuffed my last candle-light
I've always gripped the ledge too tight,
I've always choked the life from myself,
I've always drowned my sorrows in Hell,
I've always heard of my downfall,
I've always scorned the love in all,
I've always been plagued with bitter hate,
Although,
I'll always hate love, and love it still,
I'll always wish for someone until...
I'll always lust for something great
I'll always rush for my own fate,
I'll always need the hand to hold,
Whatever in my life may happen in the cold.
May 30, 2013
May 30, 2013 at 12:17 AM UTC
my life is a million things or a million and one look at this situation words dribbling from my fingers like raindrops I want to feast
on every piece
you are willing to display to roll out and reveal
no matter how fragile
I feel my bones groan for you but I all I have are these syllables stationary on a screen
the idea of something more an improbability
we can share our language and breakfast cereals and our feet will rest
on the table with the murmur of the TV in the background and oh my god I am sprinting through a blizzard as fast as I can but I was never a good runner my toes are almost numb but I want want want to experience it all
ripples of reality it has bypassed me
carved a pear-shaped
lump out of me I am tied up in string
I am oblivious to kisses and loving and intimacy
the rush the blinding delirium I see everybody glisten it seems so but every person is ravaged
by a manic voice flaws written high and glowing
I try to explain but my handwriting
indecipherable
a blister-free relationship glorious silence delicious shiver
of something like love between us over our shells I am out of it in a make-believe land
drag me to real life and I’ll burn like a slab of meat before I trip
into a lake of salty worries
Nov 13, 2016
Nov 13, 2016 at 4:21 PM UTC
I've never met anyone like you before
Anyone so clear, so simple, uncomplicated
Black rolled-up sleeves bare your heart
Pink lips that trip over incalculable risk
You are a cosmic irregularity
A consummate anomaly
A grammatical inconsistency
A mathematical improbability
The type that always knows what it wants
And that, you say, is me.
I've never met anyone like you before
I don't know if I ever will again
I didn't know what I wanted
Now I know
It's you.
Jul 10, 2013
Jul 10, 2013 at 5:11 PM UTC
--For my Mother.
Insert another Day in the slot machine
Betting on happiness
Waiting for the stars to align
the wild lights flashing
Toss aside the mathematical improbability
You know the possibility:
Quarters dancing in the metal pan
Soliciting shrills of joy
Such a simple game
between you and the button
trapped in this 11 by 11 casino
All you can do is wishing
Cigarette smoke making you teary-eyed
Stench of alcohol making you nauseous
You get up to leave
But the machine is screaming:
“What's one more day?
When you are betting on happiness?
Don't you hear the laughters?
Don't you see the lights flashing?
Tomorrow is the day,
that I can't promise.
But sit down one more time
All you can do is wishing”
Wishing, pushing
Hoping , waiting
Dreaming, waking
Crying, leaving.
Oct 24, 2011
Oct 24, 2011 at 12:00 AM UTC
This erratic soul of mine
As found myself in awe
Of everything you are
Your spirit has caught me
Like a fish to the sailor
You've reeled me in so fast
My mind adopted insanity
And my heart is pounding
But my ***** are settle
I've found a certain calm
That allows me to breathe
When I see your gentle face
I am falling without understanding
I long to know your very touch
But laws divide this yearning
I'm left to feel pure insanity
For loving something so quickly
I am the crazed and vulnerable
You've made me find hope again
I've been saved by you
Yet you have no clue of this
And so I will wear this guise
You shall not know of what I feel
But I'm sure you see my affection
It's a puzzle to be solved
This inexplicable care for you
That I hold close to my spirit
I wish you knew the truth I see
That you have brought to me
In my time of darkness in the spring
So I conclude with all of this
I am with you at all times
Through thought and mind
My dear I long for your happiness
And I desire all the good for you
I dream that one day I'll feel you
Yet I acknowledge the improbability
Of all this that I yearn for with you
But I'll give fate the upper hand
And allow her to work her ways
For I do not know what will be
But I do know I only want you
May 27, 2015
May 27, 2015 at 12:32 AM UTC
The improbability of you,
Shooting star,
Birthed in the caldera
Of a winged widget
Ejecting celestial dust,
Now your dance floor
Is the Universe.
And you dance and dance
to the delight of your seasons,
Inspiring your myriad friends.
Jan 25, 2012
Jan 25, 2012 at 1:09 AM UTC
Their existence was
an improbability.
an extravagance of fortune.
They were
spider-woven
and fragile--
each breath pulsing them
closer to oblivion.
Nothing about them
was built to last.
In the blinding imminence
of destruction
they were ******* beautiful.
Jun 19, 2013
Jun 19, 2013 at 3:21 PM UTC
Ideas are bulletproof that is why they are harder to win over,
Especially when affirming instances come one after the other.
The body succumbs while the mind knows better,
Hopping from one stone to the other hoping we get to a constant somewhere.
Throbbing wind whispers a beep,
Rushing cars swooshing their trip,
Her voice looking at me knowingly,
“You know it but here’s the story.”
The high improbability and the comparisons,
The stretch that echoes unfounded sounds,
The conversation that could’ve been,
Shall and must remain as a romanticized fiction,
Started, peaked, jumped, risked, failed, hoped, failed, and left for the conclusion.
As you have absolutely no choices,
To raise your eyes and ears is something to give your best.
Everyone’s kinda moving,
It’s not a race but for everyone the road is ending.
I would still have that grin, whisper, and crookedness,
Inasmuch as nothing of those are even close to any semblance of realness.
I must remain the best parts of what I have to offer,
A refined, mature, swaying, itching, panacea of everything you wish I wish I could cater.
Sep 11, 2018
Sep 11, 2018 at 1:14 PM UTC