"inconceivably" poems
The passion of my heart.
Could wear the river rocks to dust.
Relentless like the tides of moons.
The passion of my heart.
Could travel any distance.
It knows no barrier like the fading Ozone.
The passion of my heart.
Could melt with invisible fire.
Like the polar ice caps.
The passion of my heart.
Could feed the hungry.
Full of Endless substance.
The passion of my heart.
Could be inconceivably large.
Rivaling the Sun and the stars.
May 23, 2015
May 23, 2015 at 1:50 PM UTC
Such greatness
With such grace
Bestowing
Worthiness on the Unworthy.
Gifting the
Ungifted.
Loving the
Unlovable.
Welcoming the
Unwelcome.
Turning the cheek
I have slapped too many times,
And responding
With a kiss.
I cry.
I wail for His forgiveness
And at the vision of myself
Strutting,
Cocky,
Totally inept
And inconceivably wrong.
And yet,
Grace.
Apr 16, 2013
Apr 16, 2013 at 10:30 PM UTC
this is (not) a heartache poem
about
you or the way
your eyes stood glossy and
your mouth silent
in large crowds of people –
your
demeanour slowly playing
over me
time and time again,
even when i swore to myself that i would
shut you out
for good
but,
like your smile stuck in my brain,
it kept coming
back.
please understand that there is (no)
heartache here
because this is(n’t) a
poem
about how i spent my life in
paragraphs
filled with every beautiful,
treacherous
word i could think of
while you lived in
shallow, broken
sentences
or
how i could see you perfectly
through the flesh and bone and ********
that
nobody else knew about.
could you see
how much
i longed for you to
take me in the way i
was –
speak to me in the carefully rationed
words of your
stories –
anything that could’ve
brought me closer to you but instead,
only burned
inconceivably
in the wildfires of all you
cared about?
did i end up in those fires too?
were you so certain that i would just
forget
how you stopped sending me
the texts
that i waited
oh-so long for?
were you so certain that i
would have
let you slip away so easily
after the way you lead me to
believe
there was something
between us?
well, i did(n’t),
yet, just the thought of it
kills
me to remember how
you were the brightest star in my universe but
i
was just a mere speck of dust
in yours.
this will (not) be another poem
where
i dream about
watching every bone in
your body cave in
or
feeling your breath
against my ears
but (no),
trust me, there is (no) heartache
that i have
for you
or anything you ever did
in the last seven months we spent
together
that always left me dreaming
on a prayer -
but never listened to.
i know you didn’t want me.
i know you didn’t care.
i was just another one to you.
this is (not) a poem about
how i’m now
broken
because you left me
even though
you weren’t mine –
for where i am
now is(n’t)
heartache.
Oct 25, 2016
Oct 25, 2016 at 4:33 AM UTC
-something real. Something strong and sturdy, believable. I want to write words that are heavy with lightness and dark with their brightness, to draw on a page a life so unbelievably real, so inconceivably mine
in creation
I want to write
-not just love. Not a ***** with a couple of drink-mangled bugs. I want to write about that feeling of blood churning and the warmth of emotion not physical feeling, to put into words the unwordable joy of being in the presence of
not just anyone
Anyone. Like the not-platonic-non-romantic affection that Rudy would not fail to hint at, that so-wanted kiss that Liesel gave, it wasn't so much the action as the meaning behind it. Like that itch on Death's ear when Liesel he came near, not to take her yet, but to steal her story, to live through it. To feel the words dance in his void, non-niceness, the infinite meanings and the power of phonic combinations.
They allow even Death to live.
I want to write like Zusak, like Rowling, like me.
I want to write
-the philosophies. The thoughts and wishes and wonders of a minority. I want to write about those opinions of those whose voices are too small and their souls beautifully lit up but unseen, their ideologies so unmistakably right but also naive and innocent, to stage their feelings from transition to transition
their words to the wise
I want to write
-characters so flawed. Each with an inner splendor most radiant, but with their fields of starless black and heads that wander from this to that. I want to write lives and people so different, with not-so-good lives and not-so-normal features. People who, though lacking thereof, cliche the right things and believe
in the wrong
The wrong. Their thoughts and meanings about life and beyond, undesirable and judged but that is the human mentality, such as Hazel Grace felt about her casualties and Alaska Young wondered about the labyrinth's unending game. So standard at first, but then Gandalf came and Bilbo learned the differences between Hobbit and the untame. The reasons and purposes of life's grand living, through the eyes of those whose faces are shunned.
Hermione wasn't just a bibliosiac.
I want to write like Green, like Tolkien, like me.
Alas, the clock, a stained moon, it darkens, and the prejudice of people as well as the pride, unfortunately Austen couldn't lessen so much. Stereotypes triumphantly sit on the throne with their Mary-Sue maids catering from head to toe. I can't barge in, object to the crowning, because today I admit it: my writing is dying.
Jan 3, 2015
Jan 3, 2015 at 1:39 PM UTC
an ever-surmounting pile of guilt
stops me from sharing with you
all of the inconceivably dark things
that, to myself, i do.
the ever-raging seas of despair
that drown all glimpses of light
are growing inside of my mind
oh, how the skies were once so bright.
the darkness that lives inside of my mind
has slowly taken control
i am no longer able to feel light's warmth
nor, can i remember it at all.
i was once a young, joyous girl
until the devil stole away her last breath
and since that day
all i can think about is joining her in death.
Mar 14, 2015
Mar 14, 2015 at 5:55 AM UTC
If God were a man, I'd understand why women are ...
so beautiful
so irresistible
so charming
so powerful
so lovely
so delicate
so tenderly
so ****
so hot ...
But they are so much more...
so emotional
so thoughtful
so confusing
so indescribably
so mysterious
so head twisting
so transformable
so incredible
so inconceivably
so surprising
so difficult
so irritating
so complicated...
and then they love shoes?!
No man could dream up something like this!
Aug 29, 2014
Aug 29, 2014 at 2:05 PM UTC
All the elements that we arrange
in the Periodic Table, the very first
bacteria and also we humans
are creators of the universe
In time and space we transform
the energy and co-write
the imperishable facts
on the edges of black holes
That information already existed
as Creator
giving it space and time
with a big bang
It's inconceivably
and inseparably both
energy and information
are aspects of each other
My mind doesn't get that
Even if in deep meditation
my consciousness unites
with all that exists, I am ignorant
Mar 21, 2023
Mar 21, 2023 at 3:10 AM UTC
Through crowds of chaos
the room becomes still
as you pull me through
to your world
not having to be near
your eyes
like portals
guiding me to serenity
taking in what you breath
inconceivably
deceiving me
like clay, you play
by ripping me apart
from the start I knew
you had me
it's in your art
of shape shifting
to please my senses,
bits and pieces
there is
not enough glue
to keep us whole so
we fall
we fall apart
nothing can keep us there
we try
but change like clouds
until
we fade away.
Feb 23, 2018
Feb 23, 2018 at 9:43 PM UTC
582
Inconceivably solemn!
Things go gay
Pierce—by the very Press
Of Imagery—
Their far Parades—order on the eye
With a mute Pomp—
A pleading Pageantry—
Flags, are a brave sight—
But no true Eye
Ever went by One—
Steadily—
Music’s triumphant—
But the fine Ear
Winces with delight
Are Drums too near—
1.5k
All I'm trying to say is this,
Life is so beautifully simple that it's complicated.
Life is so inconceivably limitless that we feel trapped.
Life is so impossibly important that we feel insignificant.
Life is so unbelievably unlikely that we feel deserving.
Life is so stable we feel insane.
Life is so intricately balanced that we feel chaotic.
All I'm trying to say is this,
Life is what you make it.
Dec 26, 2014
Dec 26, 2014 at 3:45 PM 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
The dirt yawned
And swallowed the weather
While we sat patiently
Waiting for dawn.
The clouds were a landslide
That dragged us both down
Like synthetic feathers
In a hurricane.
We did not find OZ,
There was no other dimension,
Just cold, abusive soil,
And four billion years
Of built up tension
That unleashed upon us
A prehistoric frustration
With the lack of chaos,
And the predetermination
That replaced it.
We clutched at roots,
And ripped off our fingernails
Scratching at sandstone,
We lost our skin,
And inhaled the souls
Of a trillion decomposed
organisms.
Our bodies split
Like light through
A million prisms,
But our spirits
Kept up their plummets.
Into a chasm we fell,
Like grains of sand into
An expanding universe,
So inconceivably small,
So irreversibly without control,
So peacefully.
Our energies squirmed
In imperfect circles
Around each other
As the fall
Turned stationary
By perspective.
Other pairs joined us,
Attracted to our spin,
Until we formed
A new world,
To god's chagrin.
Oct 26, 2012
Oct 26, 2012 at 4:55 PM UTC
There's always been something
so Hollywood about her--
and I don't mean
21st Century ********
I'm talkin'
Judy Garland,
you're the bee's knees
type of Hollywood.
Now, listen'--
this girl--
I'm talkin'
Bombshell-Cutie
(she'll blow your
fuckin'socks off).
I'm talkin'
Cinematic Beauty Queen;
skin freckled with film grain
the same way the night sky
is freckled with constellation,
mouth parted like velvet curtains,
only to reveal the sweetest prose.
She is Mystique-Fatale,
blazon in colour
among dull, sepia tones--
an Oz among all
the dreary Kansases.
She is allure and poeticism,
hair curled grand,
dressed to the nines
in lace and satin
(they wonder
what lies beyond the
half moons of her *******
and the slit in her gown,
if the butterflies
run rampant
between her knees
like everyone says).
Do not underestimate her--
she is both
Shirley-Temple-Sweetheart
(her kindness
does not falter)
and Pinup-Girl-Honey
(one would not think
to challenge--
to break--
a woman
so prolifically brazen,
but they try anyway).
In a world filled
with actresses--
please, darlings,
save the acting for
the stage,
******* it--
she is so ineffably herself.
She does not reserve
her emotion for
the theatre alone;
she is not afraid
to cry, and--
Jesus--
when she cries
the earth shakes
with the very profusions
of an opera singer's vibrato.
And, God,
you should hear
her poetry,
brimmed with images
picturesque and tragic,
straight outta the movies
it would seem.
Yet, her words
ring with something
so inconceivably real.
And that's what
you've always loved
best about her--
she is the truest person
you've ever met.
It's a shame, then,
that you wouldn't stay
for the grand finale.
But,
with or without you,
this show must go on.
(and it has).
Jan 15, 2019
Jan 15, 2019 at 9:34 PM UTC
Inconceivably generous. I am deliberate. ill-chosen, splintered, and imposed on. As a degenerate, I summon the Master's actions to justify my behavioral grit. My consciousness is as mixed as a Montrachet, yet my heart is as bold as a cheap Malbec.
What is so gently placed before you
Is a hideous manifestation of my world views. Skip the introductions-- pas de deux let's rendezvous into a drunken abyss of "I love you" and when I call to say something is missing-- it's been about 6 shots of regret and a couple of packs of loneliness.
I am like the tear in your sheets. I can make you feel warm until your body meets the open seam. Like that scarf you had around your neck that did not quite hide the marks that I left.
I am Inconceivably generous. I am deliberate. ill-chosen, splintered, and imposed on.
May 1, 2017
May 1, 2017 at 4:12 AM UTC
Dreaming comes to me easily
With intense lucid fluidity
Occuring in euphoric frequency
It is so inconceivably
Something I want to share intimately
Though the lack of study
And perfected technology
Stops me from being pleasantly
Reminded these wonders are for my eyes only
Someday
I will reveal this ethereal imagery
To growing society
So I wait
For this moment in history
Jun 5, 2013
Jun 5, 2013 at 7:34 PM UTC
we have a peace plant in our living room
when it's thirsty it's leaves drag on our dust
filled floors and it's blooms look like the
eyelids of the old ********** that walks
around on grant street when she's looking
for change to buy her next forty- brown,
bruised, and sagging, as if they've seen
enough to last them a lifetime
i oblige the ***** often, giving her
quarters and whatever else i can find
in my backpack, i oblige the plant too,
giving it water and opening the blinds,
but neither seem to be reaching a better
quality of life, despite my best efforts
i find myself in inconceivably unforgiving
situations often, because of my best
efforts, and i'm beginning to wonder
when i lost sight of what it means
to really, truly, wholeheartedly give
May 22, 2013
May 22, 2013 at 10:33 PM UTC
We are waves of people
We don't accept defeat
Carrying generations of their blood
Etched on the palms of our hands and the soles of our feet
We defy the laws of gravity, our cosmic bodies in orbit always revolving
We possess a transformative skin
Continuously moving, constantly evolving
Current crashing, ripping through the earth
Roaring tides behind us, our vicious flood fights
The foundation of millennial’s - conscious, violently beautiful beings
Our loud waters, impossible to ignore, amorously painting our rights
The right, the will, the intense appetite
Flavored by salty words with a sweet impulse for action
Drowning all numbness, consuming the calm which once was
Thinking like philosophers, walking like warriors, as they record our reaction
Thin, musty white air trying to cover the shifting blue hues
The water never stops moving
the ripples inconceivably vast,
Our wave leaves masterpieces of celestial proportions
Our space is here now,
our tomorrow will not echo the past
Ours roots are planted and grown in our cities
Perfectly immortalized in a valiant state of existence
We are waves of people, waves of voices
A digital age of collective resistance
- p.m
Feb 9, 2017
Feb 9, 2017 at 12:41 AM UTC
I am forever.
I embody perfection.
I have been light.
I have come from shining stars.
I am inconceivably large.
All is one.
That which is above
Shall reflect
That which is below
One is all.
We are imperceptibly small.
We will return to black holes.
We will be dark.
We are the Ouroboros.
We are eternal.
Jul 20, 2012
Jul 20, 2012 at 9:39 PM UTC
The passion of my heart.
Could wear the river rocks to dust.
Relentless like the tides of moons.
The passion of my heart.
Could break the worldly chains.
That drown us in misery.
The passion of my heart.
Burns with invisible fire.
Molten and ferocious.
The passion of my heart.
Bridges the gaps between galaxy's.
Just to feel you close again.
The passion of my heart.
Inconceivably large.
Rivaling the Sun and the stars.
May 24, 2015
May 24, 2015 at 11:28 AM UTC
Love;
It needs not exist -
It simply desires to be planted,
Into a fragmented mind
For
It shall embed and allure,
almost anybody,
Deceiving them with its charms
Fooling them with its invasion;
And
In the state of disillusionment
they will be,
Inconceivably mistaken
and yet content beyond
anything any other real
emotion could conjure.
Sep 22, 2013
Sep 22, 2013 at 8:04 PM UTC
it has been a while since i've sneaked some alcohol
but i don't worry, that's okay
i want to feel good tonight
like every other day
dullness brings fear
and the endless ******* rot
i feel i've left this place too much
like each friend i've never sought
i don't even have to start it anymore
it happens just so easily
like my body knows i need to escape
like i live
inconceivably
Apr 18, 2021
Apr 18, 2021 at 10:00 PM UTC
*Marmalade skies making love to a ball of fiery mass
parting, spontaneous, eager from his maiden’s *****
fertile with brown-green vigor of nature
Buoyant as air in the sea,
the sparrows poured forth the blue stretch
familiar in their parade, uncertain in their path
Clinging to infant evergreens
the morning’s dews slid past the satin beds
and into the ground so steep and primordial
Last night’s rain
hung limply in the nipping air
and is here to stay
Soldier bees on their daily march
buzzing here and there
as if the queen dispatched them on a war within themselves
I stand in the midst of all the intricacies
overwhelmed, dazed
nature’s ease has caught me in an awestruck spell
Beholding the spectacle in my finite eyes
the horizons echoed my sunken soliloquies
In all this exuberance
there must be something inconceivably greater than itself
In all this enigma
I was quite absolute that I
am just a split second in an everlasting expanse
of space and time*
May 21, 2015
May 21, 2015 at 2:15 PM UTC
*The endearing term
"I love you"
just doesn't sum it up -
my love is infinite,
limitless,
endless in space,
It is impossible to measure
or calculate.
My love is boundless,
never-ending,
out of this world--like stars -
my love's energy
is cosmic.
My love is pure
and beautifully harmonic -
it is ultra supersonic.
My love is beyond words...
My love cannot be described.
However.
to try to explain it,
I feel obliged.
My love is extensive,
it is inconceivably vast,
It is immeasurable--countless.
it is fathomless--incalculable;
it was built to last.
It's a love
I will never
willingly give up -
my love is unbreakable.
This love,
my soul carries
is unshakeable.
My love's totality
is still untold,
The depth
of my undying love
is yet to unfold.
It is beyond sublime,
more than magical,
it is purely divine.
My love is a creation
of the universe's
impeccable master design.
My infinite love...
is only yours
and mine.
"I love you "
just doesn't sum it up -
my love will never cease
or quit,
The burning flame
of my heart's torch
will be
Infinitely lit.
By Lady R.F. (C)2017*
Dec 10, 2017
Dec 10, 2017 at 6:58 AM UTC
The sky is electric blue
And though it's getting lighter,
It feels like it's getting dimmer.
I can't remember what I said to you the last time we spoke,
But I remember the way your sky blue eyes contrasted my own
which were stained red with rage.
I had never seen you angry and I think that's why I hated you.
Because you were everything I wanted to be but couldn't.
I wanted you to despise me,
Because you were perfect and I was inconceivably flawed,
And the thought of something so pure admiring my tainted soul tasted like shards.
I wanted to crack your glass eyes,
Slit my wrists with the remnants,
Make you understand what happens when you give your heart to someone who doesn't want it.
and though I didn't want you I needed you.
And I know that's a cliche,
But that writer you made me love embraced his so why shouldn't I embrace
Ours?
The trees are black against the now pale sky,
Their silhouettes look the way the tiger stripes of your irises did,
The way your faded scars did against your olive branch skin .
And goddamit why did you have to ruin the sky too?
I'm sick of everything becoming yours
You told me to stop giving myself away to everyone but you just keep taking
Take.
Take it all.
I don't want it without you.
The electrons in the clouds are sleeping again
They're too tired to keep shocking me with images of your now permanently closed eyes .
And I can't help but wonder if when they sealed your eyes shut
If you were relieved because you had grown tired of trying to light up my permanently dark sky.
Apr 8, 2015
Apr 8, 2015 at 8:31 PM UTC