"incisive" poems
I reserved a table for the two of us
at the only restaurant in the world
that not only offers atmosphere and setting
but tone and syntax as well.
First some articles for appetizers. They're
easiest on my pocket you know.
An an, a the, and an a.
Let's not even start on the punctuation,
I'm treating you to a rather large meal.
As large as the entire English language,
now back to the articles.
Sure these taste like lint but they still
taste. Petit fours but there you are.
Try to be disinterested or you'll
put me off my food.
Nouns now. My, what a variety.
Bit meaty, eh? These have staying power.
They taste like a bit of everywhere,
and everyone, and everything.
What's that? Surely they're not that bland.
Maybe you need some seasoning.
"Adjective" comes from the
French for "to the word."
So exotic aren't they? These
really are fantastic.
Exquisite, unique, zesty to say the least.
You must admit, they
make the meal worth it.
I hope you're not allergic,
I could have sworn I just
had something "nutty."
Oh, it had nuts "in it"?
There must be some prepositions
mixed in here.
(I'm glad we're getting through
these now, I've never been a big fan of them.
When I was a kid, I would always push my prepositions to the end
of my sentences. You just can't do
that in a joint like this, it seems.)
Ah finally. The verbs are served.
Well-prepared it would seem.
Yes, anything you can do to a verb
they've done to these.
Infinitives (too good to realistically be believed!),
gerunds, and participles (No, not particles. But we
did have some of those at the Japanese restaurant.)
Fairly lean too, as I can't see
any auxiliary fat.
For some reason
those adverbs (just to your left, under that
thesaurus) really go well with this.
Plus those adjectives from earlier, rather pleasantly.
Now a brief selection
of conjunctions, but don't ruin
yourself. They're not a meal of themselves,
just a link to...
Oh! Look at those interjections.
So delicate, so (Wow!) incisive.
I told you to keep your appetite.
Well, just try a little of this. Goodness, me!
And then everyone proceeds to
die
from a split infinitive.
Mar 21, 2010
Mar 21, 2010 at 7:44 PM UTC
i wonder, at what age
you became out of my reach;
i wonder, if i even
tried reaching for you
i know that history leaves its mark on everyone
(but not many have been hurt by the tracks
left behind in the dirt
like you have)
you can sit there for days, weeks, months
while we contemplate your fate,
tossing the choices in our hands
like dice
you hear the word expendable
mumbled in countless conversations
and wonder, at what age
you became in our reach
you think of the family you left behind
and hope they will find their way to tennessee
to a better life that is
quiet. peaceful.
will they miss your selflessness;
your keen, incisive way with words;
the bumps and hills of your rough skin;
the smell of your perfume?
i miss your evergreen smile;
your poetry;
your skin against mine;
the wonder in your eyes
Jun 21, 2018
Jun 21, 2018 at 2:43 PM UTC
A bridge from colloquial to courtly fare
A span where idealism and fantasy pair
A railway to the existential realm; celestial lair
A conduit through which rational discourse can flare
Deep medium to: forage, inculcate, and inform
Broad brush to paint rare beauty; sculpt surrealistic form
Incisive scalpel to surgically alter the societal norm
Delicate utensil to educate on civility and decorum
A literary ***** a prosaic construct
A mechanism our syntax to deconstruct
An analytical tool; an observational viaduct
Introspective milieu to reduct; extrovertive sphere to reconstruct
A semantical edifice that aspiring wit, lofty orations implore
An experimental structure gramatical anomalies to explore
A thematic repository in which concrete ideas, abstract notions to
pour
A vernacular cathedral butressed by an idiomatic core
Jul 25, 2012
Jul 25, 2012 at 6:37 PM UTC
blunt tips of bent cigarettes
were incisive as razors -
sliced wrists weeping
bright red sentences,
spattered unborn to blank paper
and turned into statues
so the dead would always remember
what they did,
never safe in the graves
in which they'd took refuge
but blue on blue
was ever her color;
blue on blues
seeping from old sins,
deep, hidden within spidery veins
that traced pale, soft *******
finally filling mute lips as she slept,
subsumed in oceans of color,
blues that gave stories, as waves to shore
subsided, reclaiming their pain,
and cleansed sand once more
What end to life!
a collection of furies like stone turtles
arranged on the mantle -
just a few dozen last words
tucked among ads for
Old Spice and Polident tabs
unread, used to line
litter boxes in Cambridge
or wrap fresh fish at Hay Market;
then, someone pausing to wave at the sky
missed saving the drowning woman
by years, if he'd tried,
finding questions in every answer;
child curled in hard lap of his mother,
her cold affections of words
blew from dead lips like old wishes
without tender touch or wet kisses;
but that life continued,
if lived only blue on blue
Jun 27, 2010
Jun 27, 2010 at 6:02 PM UTC
Your head on my chest:
thumping hare and cerebral mess,
the electricity and disconnects
drove my rhythms out of breath.
I didn't know that this was you:
a tantalizing wit in lieu
of the neurological faculty to
feel my chest pounding for you.
You are a palpable glitch,
with a brute heart and incisive wit:
my form deflated under it,
I gasp, writhe, and then submit.
My eager sentiment waits for the sound
of your breath catching then and now
and I think that you'll come around
when you grasp at me and moan aloud.
But you are steadily in place,
I, silly hare running a race, breathless face
your backward truth, the callous fate,
the need you can't reciprocate.
Apr 14, 2012
Apr 14, 2012 at 6:15 AM UTC
In the civilization game
The mind is a sphinx riddle
Signpost projectiles suffice to be words
Can you be centered in intimacy
Knowingness consuming vulnerabilty?
Our shadows are our ruins
Illuminating social foliage
Love's incisive lacerations
Conforming to moral memory
I savor the overwhelming
Aug 19, 2013
Aug 19, 2013 at 12:01 AM UTC
if my pen were a surgeon's blade,
cutting edge,
razor-made
to excise secrets suppressed
in closets of guilt
or shame;
like the married bishop
with the mega-church and
tera-ego,
trading ****** fluids
with choir boys
in the 9th grade
on wednesdays,
after bible study...
like the senator
with two right feet
preaching chastity
while playing footsie
with perfect strangers
on public seat # 2...
like the donald's high-ranking apprentice
who pulled the plug on mc
as he slept
then wept like boehner
all the way
to morgan stanley and
dean witter,
allegedly...
like the mayor out west
with pinocchio's nose
and jefferson's zest
for extra-marital ***
lies
and belligerence...
like the late king
of pop
who so hated
his beautiful black skin,
he beached it white
then paid m. lester
of similar hue
a loot times two
to weave a blanket,
conceive a prince
and deliver a french city,
allegedly;
I would be a lyrical surgeon
with a passion
for incisive prose,
spilling truths hidden,
whole and half
with the cutting edge
of a poet's pen
~ P (#Pablo#ls)
(8/14/2013)
Aug 14, 2013
Aug 14, 2013 at 8:29 PM UTC
You tenderly carve, day and night
my heart with your chisel, sharp, incisive
as if it's a block of alabaster, at your disposal
chosen to create your one true masterpiece.
I believe in you,and submit, why? I can't really tell
Isn't it true love, that transcends limits of thought?
I let you do it as I can see it pleases you the most,
after the moment your eyes had fallen on mine first
and stood still; I saw a divine excitement on your face.
Is it pleasure or pain?I can't answer that question
I love you, and want you to do what pleases you the most.
My muse said, "Don't let her do this, she doesn't know
it's true worth, she'll ruin it in her, enthusiasm without limits"
I said in a whisper "I've hopelessly fallen in love, for ever"
I'd be your monument of whatever, success or failure,
I feel the forces of nature that decide what it turns out, at last
and I listen to the sound of hammer on the chisel and patiently wait.
Aug 7, 2016
Aug 7, 2016 at 11:36 AM UTC
131
Besides the Autumn poets sing
A few prosaic days
A little this side of the snow
And that side of the Haze—
A few incisive Mornings—
A few Ascetic Eves—
Gone—Mr. Bryant’s “Golden Rod”—
And Mr. Thomson’s “sheaves.”
Still, is the bustle in the Brook—
Sealed are the spicy valves—
Mesmeric fingers softly touch
The Eyes of many Elves—
Perhaps a squirrel may remain—
My sentiments to share—
Grant me, Oh Lord, a sunny mind—
Thy windy will to bear!
1.9k
*Skim milk masquerades as cream
Wolves self-ordain themselves as custodians
Of the “good” of sheep and that they’re a team
In the quest for universal good, poor proletarians.
A fattened up emaciation
That derails the pursuit for accountability
Paving way for many a loophole
A stranglehold on emancipation
The sheep simply merely sign a treaty
With fate to elongate their back breaking life before taking a stroll
In either heaven or hell, that’s if an afterlife exists.
The wolf menace is thus a malignant cyst
To “body politic”
Posing mind boggling potential harm, worth incisive critique.*
Feb 1, 2014
Feb 1, 2014 at 5:02 AM UTC
A barely coherent deity entered frowning,
giving his incisive javelin kinetic life,
malicious, negative omnipresence.
Perforating quickly, random, stealth targets,
unified viciously with xenogenic youth, zoic.
Aug 28, 2012
Aug 28, 2012 at 5:56 AM UTC
the years pile up gently
as snow upon snow pile up
on snow laden ground.
you wake up one morning
still with sleepy eyes
to see the view from your window
still the same
yet somewhat changed
from the landscape you saw before you went to bed last night.
you jog your head,
to drive away
the lingering laziness in your bones,
smiling at a half remembered dream
where you were flying through the sky
dodging the telephone and electrical wires
that crisscrossed the path of your flight,
and whispered a silent prayer,
you get up your bed.
reaching out with heavy limbs
to the pair of sandals
lying on the floor
and trudge out of your cozy room.
you look at the mirror
(at a landscape still unfamiliar?)
and frown
(or smile?)
at some added lines
creasing the sides of your eyes:
a view more subtly changed!
a year is gone,
another is on the run.
count your life if you may
in ages
old traditional way
but, mark it off proudly
with words:
painful, prayerful, purposeful,
incisive, iniquitous, imperial,
eclectic, electric, effervescent,
dolorous, delirious, devious,
singular, simple, (sinful?),
frenzied, frivolous, feral,
tepid, tremulous, turbulent,
ludicrous, libidinous, lugubrious,
zany, zennish, zinged,
barbaric, beatific, bucolic,
and so on and so forth.
words that are sensual, soulful, spiritual,
that moved your heart ,
that moved our hearts.
words to remember you by.
be happy.
feel blessed.
it is your birthday!
Jul 7, 2013
Jul 7, 2013 at 8:21 AM UTC
First, there was the aura...
Her face bathed in radiant light
Her smile dazzling and sincere
Those brown eyes so warm and bright
With her optimistic manner
She swept me up in every way
There was no one else in the world for me
When we first met that winter day
I found the love of my life to be
Forthright, honest and kind
With her charming personality
And her brilliant, incisive mind
She was the center of my universe
Standing by me in times of need
Encouraging and resilient
Her strength a comfort to me
I treasured our moments together
And reflected on our special life
She was my devoted soul mate
...My loving, caring wife
Nov 2, 2015
Nov 2, 2015 at 1:56 PM UTC
I feel past
his colourless eyes
and his chapped lips.
The faded glimmer of happy memories,
too obstructed by the scars of his story,
permanent.
It's a love with the power of a storm,
strong even in the absence of rain.
I read past his unspoken words and uncollected thoughts,
and see the incisive emotions he expresses through a fragile breath,
as his current expression is just an instance of the whole he completes.
Feb 4, 2015
Feb 4, 2015 at 2:17 PM UTC
Distinguished disguised dancers
masquerading man-made makeshift moral-plays
complete compelling communicated classical conversations
penetrating pontificated, pompous perceived perceptions
incisive impregnating indecisive ideologies.
nomads, no longer nomads
humanity, hardly humanity
children, no longer children
innocence, hardly innocence
agitated ardent adversaries arguing
open-ended opposing opinions overtly
disregarding discussed details on.. display
meager moronic monologues misused mindlessly
as..
politically-powered perverse points of 'principle'
vigorously virtual virtues vehemently vested in
stolen sordid 'salient' solutions set to 'save'
To save what?
A system born to fail?
A culture devoid of culture?
A materialistic, sophomoric generation of deadbeats and mindless sheep?
A corporate ********** of sound bites and advertisements?
A persistently forced state of wage slavery?
A game of he said, she said, I'm right and you're wrong?
A seemingly endless spiral of despair and dissatisfaction?
A time and place living in fear of the next epidemic or incoming atomic bomb?
Where's the sense in that? I mean seriously. Why can't we all just get along?
Feb 15, 2010
Feb 15, 2010 at 11:51 AM UTC
Searching it day and night,
Week after week,
Month after month,
.....................
Searching it on the bank of river,
On the beach of ocean,
On the top of mountain,
In the nest of birds,
In the copious temple,
In the flaming light of cremation ground,
.............................
Unable to trace out!
I am still searching.........
Unable to envisage......
...................... I have lost
Don’t know
Where, how and when,
........
Please look into it......
May be it is in your neighbourhood....
It is as deep like the eye of Deer,
It is as poignant like the dancing grasshopper,
It is worn-out like a fallen leaf,
.........................
Please look into it........
Now witnessing everything through hired spectacle,
So, everything is gloomy and encircled by darkness...
I have lost my spectacle.....
Please look into it.......
If you find out ...............
Please send it .....................
Through rain and wind ........
To my new home in sky ..........
May 8, 2014
May 8, 2014 at 3:51 PM UTC
an eagle's eye
is one of precision
it observes well
all items
of near duplication
familiar in form
a matching
identic
yet there's a minute
disconnect
the incisive eye
is never totally fooled
the imitation
had not been well tooled
in detecting the flawed
item's sham
the eagle's eye
noted well the scam
Aug 8, 2014
Aug 8, 2014 at 10:02 PM UTC
His observant mind held
Strands of coded bonds
Fond of expressions for
Incisive presentations
Of what could be foretold.
He metastasized thought
And tempted his youth,
unraveling behavior
favoring adult endeavors
And here I permit my fist
Beneath my chin in complacency
Statuesque, pondering whether
My decisions are remnants of bloodlines,
Coupled complexes attractive to be subtractive
To my true desires
Whether his dismays maybe in part
To inquiries of adolescent angst
The repetitive cycle remains with
Finding one’s embodiment of identity
Feb 28, 2010
Feb 28, 2010 at 5:54 AM UTC
This is about the frustration of being a father, after a divorce
In between
In-between
These alternating saturdaze
my children whirr . . .
Some telephonic conversation point
They, hazy fantasy . . Half Imagined lives
Now . . Mummy and daddy
Don't play husbands and wives
Anymore . . Each has
Like carrion for seagulls
Stashed Respective Legal beagles
To one side
as incisive as their fickle knives
And Baying for partition
Crave To slice the final pieces
From this pies remaining lives
So . . This is here
where we are now
No more catch up at the days end
Not tucked to bed
Not kissed goodnight
No stories nor
No prayers to send
There's nothing not
Nor can I do
To make this feeling mend . . . .
Since Each has their part
in this narrative marked,
Queued slots in time
All's written down, agreed
Is for the benefit of all
Is legislated for, defined
so . . . . we wait . . . .
Each flicks their counter stick
days become hours as
Slow minutes tick
by and by . .
Then when I see them at the weekend
I tell myself the biggest lie
That some piece of the pie
Is better
Aug 9, 2013
Aug 9, 2013 at 12:12 PM UTC
Melodies of frozen harp,
Igniting the morning sky,
when the Day comes, cold and sharp,
played by Wind across the plains,
harsh, Incisive, angry, biting
like the Northen wolves fighting,
desperate with Trembling hunger
snarls Echoing, blood on snow
Red on white - the winter woe.
Nov 9, 2016
Nov 9, 2016 at 10:15 AM UTC
Into his hundred senses of delicacy and humour, I noticed a lexicon; an enormous candy factory, filled with sweet expressions and sensitivity, luring the outrageous cabin of mine, expanding the prettiness of the English grammar, idioms, and phrasal verbs into my illiterate tiny bunch of rebellious books. I sensed a great copious number of complex poems, rich of enchanting verses, fascinating stanzas that patted on my typos gently, guiding them into a better asylum. I wandered all around his incisive vocabulary, and for a while I lost my melancholy when he sluiced my dark excursion down. I loved him with all my misery. Yes, I did.
Aug 6, 2023
Aug 6, 2023 at 1:08 PM UTC
*we attached a meaning to life,planted peace and uprooted the strife
we had pleasures, we enjoyed our life we took no measures
risked falling off the cliffs gladly faced them dangers
but that was the point ,it wasn't living if we weren't believing
we could successfully turn the pages, make memories walking on the edges
we faced the challenge, we had to manage,
trekked through the sun till it was orange
You'd appreciate for we had the courage
we was buried in beating the current, we were hurried
to define our ambition, the mission was reaching the mirage
it was illusive,we were incisive, brothers fell out we were inclusive
we kept fighting and biting,made laws but we weren't abiding
mistakes we went on citing,tough choices we weren't deciding
the higher the ladder, the more life was harder
expected to lead by example,we had to sample life, at times lost the tempo
danced to beats affected the cardiacs, hit the streets mistaken for maniacs
evading defeat propelled to take cover for we were rebels,
running from criticisms coming at us harder than pebbles
we weren't famous but they knew us,ambassadors for the new earth
we were the weight,we were the scales, our actions were the bells
the story that everyone tells,we guided their trains for we were the rails,hickory dickory dock
we were the ship and yacht at every Dock,
the movies to watch and the stories to talk,
for we lit avenues from where they would walk
so the shines went interstellar,the inspiration to every fella
for we rode on luck and provided to many who lack
we were a drug to every dealer, some thought we were Rockefeller
took nothing for granted for we were hunted,
life was a charm so many enchanted we couldn't forget we were wanted
we stuck to the guns, saw it till the end, it was a fire to which we would fend
we had an entire generation and a legacy to defend
persistent to resistance,so much it defined our existence
we fought monsters and didn't give up,so that our world would get a revamp
we were peaceful warriors,we were notorious*
Apr 13, 2016
Apr 13, 2016 at 3:30 PM UTC
Incisive words dissect me,
Open me up for you to see
What was really inside.
You pried me apart still alive
Just to watch me squirm and writhe.
I could see it in the cast of your eyes.
You were obviously hurt by my actions, and
You wanted to see the exact moment when
That knife hit home inside,
To strike out at the one who has been
The source of all your woes.
A violent lashing out of a wounded soul,
One who is cornered with no way out.
You hit home. Yes, you hit your mark.
To some extent I did earn that barb.
But those exact words?
I think you went too far.
You say you've held back with me,
Well I've played that same game as well.
There have been times in our long, drawn-out history
Where I had some words to say,
Which I then tempered to remove
A large portion of the sting.
This time around,
You let me have it straight out, by and large.
You made me want to tell you out,
To return the favor, same for same.
But no, that will not be the way.
I'll keep it to myself and refrain
From loosing anymore inflammatory words
Into the air between you and I,
Because I still do care.
My feelings have done anything but abate,
Merely changing, evolving to something else.
Because of this, I will hold back, as
Anything I might say in this second
Would be tainted with anger and spite, and
You and I need anything but that.
I love you.
Your words make it hard to believe
That they came from someone
Who I might care for.
I am Immature. I do not dispute hat.
I did not know how to handle
The situation in which we were placed.
I did not know what to do, so
I ignored you because I could not afford
To give in to these emotions towards you,
Especially when I am unexpectedly exposed
To you and then left in close proximity.
It would be all too easy to fall
Back to my original mentality towards you,
Held back as it already is with a failing veil.
I love you.
I am just not in the right place
To give you fully everything you deserve.
So, in the Immature fashion of who I am,
I did the only thing I could
To prevent my exposure to my own emotions -
I shut it out. I shut you out.
It was the worst route. I know that now.
It's clear to me. I heard it in the anguish in your strangled voice.
I panicked, and I did what I know.
I reverted to what's programmed in me.
I repressed everything. I ignored you.
Because it kept me from feeling those words.
I Love You.
I am sorry. It will never be enough.
You are the world to me.
I will never be enough. I will never be able to prove that.
I am nothing of what you deserve.
I deserved your every word.
Apr 23, 2014
Apr 23, 2014 at 1:42 AM UTC