"inconclusive" poems
I'm hearing these alien words that terrify me.
Terminal, seroconvert, infection, inconclusive, possibility.
They say stay strong, keep your chin up.
They don't understand just the possibility is enough.
Who wants a woman you can't take to bed?
Who wants to fear when I bled?
Alien words, alien feelings, foreign bodies inside and out of me.
But don't worry, they say.
It's controllable, a pill a day.
Pills. That's what they give me.
For the depression, the infection, the anxiety.
I feel as helpless as the child I will never bare.
"What the hell is going on" I blare.
Testing, testing, testing they say.
As I ***** to cope and my legs give way.
Fragility, infertility, susceptibility.
But don't worry, it's all just a possibility.
Dec 6, 2014
Dec 6, 2014 at 10:45 PM UTC
*** stick #1 says positive
#2 from the dollar stores says negative
but #3 from the grocery said positive
and #4 from the general was inconclusive
the #5 from ER was intrusive
#6 from the gas station didn't work
#7 from the immediate care center hurt
so the clinic tells me they don't know for sure
and ultrasounds aren't yet insured
I guess I can wait
If it isn't too late
I feel my belly
guess I'll see when I show
But here comes the blood
it just never will grow
May 6, 2014
May 6, 2014 at 11:28 AM UTC
You are the brainteaser for what all the intellectuals have become somnambulist
Still you are inconclusive;
All the linguists have become asinine
Since the language of your eyes are indecipherable
Every single iota of your heart is a nuclear
And all men are in love with nuclear
When they burst, burst in silent
You are the only cloud
that brings rain in the heart
For you all sins seem Romantic
And all catastrophes are Dramatic
All lovers watch, and remain as a sparrow alone upon the house top.
Oct 1, 2014
Oct 1, 2014 at 10:26 PM UTC
As I go to sleep
Dreams come knocking
My subconscious mind
In a rendezvous with me
Am I asleep?
The REM phase kicks in
What do I want to view?
I do not have a choice
I am just a spectator
For another movie
Do I know the cast or crew?
Is it a blockbuster or horror movie?
The conclusion is inconclusive
I may not be a protagonist
Maybe a figment of my imagination
Or, a vivid description of my days events
It requires psychoanalysis
My subconscious mind is in control
Why can’t I have control?
It’s not within my control
I am asleep and my mind is awake
Freud wrote extensively about it-
In the ‘Interpretation of Dreams’
But still, outside our realm of understanding
The symbols and motifs can give clue
Ancient cultures have recorded on clay tablets
But we may not be ever sure
Or maybe the soul is guided somewhere
Or it could be our inner desires
Maybe it’s an unknown world
Where we go out to venture
Let there be beautiful dreams
And dreams that inspire
Sep 25, 2014
Sep 25, 2014 at 10:46 AM UTC
Growing up is finding out the real world is cruel
Growing up is finding out what you once knew isn't real
Growing up is realizing a movie or fairy tail
Growing up is learning to hurt, and learning to fail.
Growing up is truly learning how to fake a smile
Growing up is finding out your grandfather is a *********
Growing up is finding out your family hates you for something you cannot control
Growing up is going to the mines so you can support your hateful family by mining coal
Growing up is coming to terms with death
Growing up is learning your mother does ****
Growing up is realizing your father is abusive
Growing up is forever being inconclusive
Growing up is pain
Growing up is hate
Growing up is raze
Grown-up is a four letter word.
Feb 1, 2019
Feb 1, 2019 at 7:02 PM UTC
Inconclusive patterns
Form indented regularity
In flowing drifts
A panoply of tropical orchids
In my mind
A menaced distortion
Straining forward
Like an isolated image
In an old photograph album
Disclosing only the fragments
Of an insoluble puzzle
Its atmospherics of frequency
Disturbs me somewhat
It is identical to hidden speech
Or the resistance to time
Of exclamatory reminders
Of forward motion
That momentarily fascinates
Then falls through a hole
In a central vortex of vision
This is the architectonics
Of a thought
That can never be articulated
Feb 9, 2013
Feb 9, 2013 at 11:38 AM UTC
Romantic arson,
a thousand lovers burning
to the blooming flowers
of my accelerant:
amoral, senseless rage.
Because I do not
or will not consider
another vice
for your confessional.
Come shed indifference.
Thumb the holy water font.
Theorize inconclusive evidence
of life apart from love.
Crawl into
the vacant church
which is my heart.
Idolize Me.
Jul 6, 2010
Jul 6, 2010 at 3:05 PM UTC
it's embarrassing but it's true.
i just googled "how to fall in love".
and i googled "how to fall in love" because i am not in love right now and i really, really want to be.
my google searchings were inconclusive and i am just as unsatisfied
mind, body, and spirit
as i was when i started typing "h" into the search bar
there is nothing in my heart right now.
my mother knocked and no one was home.
it makes me anxious:
how did i go from someone so overwhelmed by the enormity and ever-presence of her emotions
to someone so void of them that i feel an echo in my chest when someone says my name?
i've also googled sociopathy,
but apparently i'm not one of those.
so here i am, somewhere on a sliding scale
between all or nothing.
and i report from the field that it is not, in fact, all or nothing.
i know i'm not alone out here,
but it sure does feel like it,
when i reach out and even shadows don't reach back.
it's not like i've already accepted dying alone but it's not looking likely that i'll be marrying my college sweetheart, either.
i just want my feelings back.
is there a link to that in the first page of google results?
i'll even pay for shipping, i guess.
Nov 19, 2017
Nov 19, 2017 at 7:05 PM UTC
Look far beyond your nose
Imagine the wording prose your mind recites despite the fights between the lights;
Stand-back to back with your enemies
And believe that you are safe,
A mistake;
Craving knowledge of everything from your existence
To your beliefs
I believed I was falling down the trail
And all hail the misguided princess;
She's so misguided the North Pole becomes south
And the south;
Exiting from her mouth
With a flow; the beautiful candles of her heart.
The beautiful candles of her heart
Those that lit stormy fire inside mine
Those that lit up the dark pits of something I forgot about,
And all about my whereabouts
I see the signs of inconclusive doubts
Over my forehead, reflected upon people's faces;
And eyes look at me with non-empithetical sympathy
The symphony of eyelashes flapping over a lost identity.
I'm lost.
All those spiritual stoppages
Are causing my hands to shiver
All those figurative speech as she caresses her words
Preparing mine to stutter
Are making my eyes darken
And my faith to dismay;
I may,
Or may not be the person you want to find
But I find you the person I was never looking for
Yet I still crave the carves you carve on my hands.
The snapping bones of anger;
The cracking knuckles of regret;
The apprehensions preconceived with the threats;
The young man lost his track
The young man lost in the wild
With ideas even wilder
And actions that do not convey his messages
For the circles of bees become limits to his being;
For the frontiers of fighting lions
Become barriers to his block,
That upper corner in dying arteries; hidden
Way over the Mediterranean seas forgotten,
That young man is creating chaotic cancellations,
Phones typing messages of hesitation,
Brains articulating pieces of his own creation,
A salutation be upon my buddy
The young fellow who got lost facing everybody,
And everybody cheered as they watched;
His being stepped on, and heart being stabbed
The chats between the minds
Become cramps
The cramps in his existence become fatal agitation
The agitations in his life become psychiatric misinterpretation
For he got it all wrong
Everyone got it all wrong
But does that stop him?
Let alone
Does that stop all the fake men who built their empires upon forged pillars?
Killers,
Of characteristics;
Followers,
Disciples and students
To a dark lady
Typing her last words of goodbye
Over a phone that’s found in her palms
Yet lost,
In a young girl's heart.
Jul 28, 2013
Jul 28, 2013 at 10:06 AM UTC
I was lost
Missing in the act
I try to be someone
who i can never be, in fact
Changing myself to someone's liking
Walking on shards
I panicked and can't breathe
when will it end, i wish to know.
I quiver in fear
and all alone
Losing my voice
To which i saw a glimpse of light
She guide me to my once forgotten self
"you're not design to everyone's liking"
Is what she said to me
Just be yourself is all you need
So inconclusive to this poem
I do not wish to make another personality
To which suits the other persons taste?
That is just not me.
Some people might mind
Some people might not
But all you have to remember
Is this poem to yourself.
Forget about these negativity
Forget about these problems
Opinions will be throwing itself in your way
A life problem is never ending
So stop wasting time and think about it
Treat yourself fairly , BE YOURSELF.
Remember this poem
Remember this faith
Just think of the present and the future
Which will dictate.
Aug 15, 2015
Aug 15, 2015 at 11:16 PM UTC
My Apologies, Sona
by Gulzar
loose translation/interpretation by Michael R. Burch
My apologies, Sona,
if traversing my verse's terrain
in these torrential rains
inconvenienced you.
The monsoons are unseasonal here.
My poems' pitfalls are sometimes sodden.
Water often overflows these ditches.
If you stumble and fall here, you run the risk
of spraining an ankle.
My apologies, however,
if you were inconvenienced
because my dismal verse lacks light,
or because my threshold's stones
interfered as you passed.
I have often cracked toenails against them!
As for the streetlamp at the intersection,
it remains unlit ... endlessly indecisive.
If you were inconvenienced,
you have my heartfelt apologies!
Come!
by Gulzar
loose translation/interpretation by Michael R. Burch
Come, let us construct night
over the monumental edifice of silence.
Come, let us clothe ourselves in the winding sheets of darkness,
where we'll ignite our bodies' incandescent wax.
As the midnight dew dances its delicate ballet,
let us not disclose the slightest whispers of our breath!
Lost in night's mists,
let us lie immersed in love's fragrance,
absorbing the musky aromas of our bodies!
Let us rise like rustling spirits ...
Old Habits Die Hard
by Gulzar
loose translation/interpretation by Michael R. Burch
The habit of breathing
is an odd tradition.
Why struggle so to keep on living?
The body shudders,
the eyes veil,
yet the feet somehow keep moving.
Why this journey, this restless, relentless flowing?
For how many weeks, months, years, centuries
shall we struggle to keep on living, keep on living?
Habits are such strange things, such hard things to break!
Inconclusive
by Gulzar
loose translation/interpretation by Michael R. Burch
A body lies on a white bed—
dead, abandoned,
a forsaken corpse they forgot to bury.
They concluded its death was not their concern.
I hope they return and recognize me,
then bury me so I can breathe.
Keywords/Tags: Gulzar, Urdu, Hindi, Punjabi, Triveni, translation, life, death, love, ghazal, couplet, mrburdu
May 1, 2020
May 1, 2020 at 6:18 AM UTC
put down thy pen,
it is in disrepute,
smash thy tablet,
crack its glass...
house the mouse,
don't be an ***
genus human,
you have been
antihero morphed
anthromorprophesized,
****** simply, replaced
you poem prophecy
returned,
stamped,
Unneeded, Unread, Unheeded
you have been excused,
you have been recused,
jury, a chamber of inconclusive noises
dismissed,
the judge will digitally
write all
from now on...
submit your selected tags
for laughs,
a different poem returned to you,
by a digital "humanist"
what do I crave?
give me your youthful typos,
let me literate critique
the good, the bad, the
trite repetitive and especially
the ugly
poetry,
the kind only
humans can write
so I love or hate it,
your literacy,
with impassioned dispassion,
the kind no machine will e'er transcend
pull the plug on your random alphabet generator,
Eliot of York,
or you might find yourself
upgraded into unempoement!
Apr 11, 2014
Apr 11, 2014 at 12:54 AM UTC
Be it ever so elusive
Be it ever hard to gain
Be it ever one step further
Be it one more ounce of pain
Be it somewhat inconclusive
When I want to know for sure
It is still not so intrusive
When my dreams become a blur
For if I never stopped to wonder
If I never stopped to think
On each tough or tender morsel
On each sip of such I drink
How could I still undiscover
Such a dark, yet lovely truth
Sometimes we will grow much older
Reaching for the dreams of youth
I am ever so impatient
I can wait a few more years
I sustain myself with smiles
While I drown myself in tears
I look forward to tomorrow
As I’ve yet to seize the day
Every time I dare to reach out
Something always blocks my way
I’m so tired of being surrounded
I’m so tired of being alone
I’m so tired of being so tired
When I’m inspired to the bone
Such depth in shallow waters
How I soar with broken wings
Finding something in each nothing
As I tread the in-between
May 6, 2014
May 6, 2014 at 2:31 AM UTC
The fire sparkled a watery light
As the moon soothed time into oblivion
And a faint recollection of yesterday lay dizzy at their feet
Her afterthought was inconclusive
As to whether the cup in her hand
Had elicited an exuberance
Sufficiently encouraging to make her face the dawn
On their playground of broken bottles and burned out branches
The chords of melancholia clung heavy to the night
The sweet sounds of memories they had relived
And strung together into an utterly unruly melody,
Seemed to push the sunrise back
Under the horizon lying looming out of reach
Smoke rising up from the last of their dampened pine branches
Laid a murky gloom over the glaring view of an inescapable morn
The clouds rolling in ****** them back into darkness
Hiding an unwanted future from sight
Allowing an indulging as sweet as the drink
That still lingered on the lips that spoke of never wanting to go back
The rain-burst covered their world with a wafer-thin film of glistening protection
Every thunder bolt momentously holding off dawn
But the fire that had fuelled their careless lazy limbo
Hissed under the abundantly extinguishing streams coming down
The spark that had lasted them all through the night
Melted into a shocking sense of reality
Quenching her parched desire
To dance in the rain
And run towards the sunrise with arms wide open
Sep 17, 2015
Sep 17, 2015 at 11:26 AM UTC
Happiness is a concept so elusive
that many a search for it is inconclusive.
Happy moments can show their faces
in a subtle instant, in many places.
Those who recognize the fleeting seconds
notice they happen more often than one reckons.
Those who are able to add them all up
little by little fill their happiness cup.
Ending the day with a list of gratitude
will slowly but surely change your attitude.
Jan 17, 2010
Jan 17, 2010 at 2:26 AM UTC
"Ill do that" she said
She was so always eager to please
But then quick to anger
"No worries I'll fix it"
She always said
In return she got a warm smile
"I'll babysit for the coming years"she said
"I'll be a listening ear" she said
"What do you need help with " she said
"Have you eaten " she said
"You sick we need a doctor" she said
Then her cup got empty
She couldn't pour anymore
Yet she felt guilty that
she couldn't give,
That she blamed them for it
Her path became thorny
In return she tortured herself
Became her worst nightmare
And then she met him
He promised her love beyond this realm
That she was the purest soul he has met
What she was,still is ,is a torture device designed specifically for her
She should be validated
And he would make her understand that
He became he refill
A therapist she could divulge her secrets to
But she forgot he was human
She forgot her touch was sinister
She tainted him too
And he threw that to her face
And she couldn't blame him,or them for that
Because there is always more to the story
She might be her author
But what she paints,what she writes
Would never be the full story
Because even she alternates between being a victim in her story
But what stays more constant is she must be the villian in this story
Feb 28, 2025
Feb 28, 2025 at 2:58 AM UTC
i wasn't quantifying, i can succumb to the parasite, which means that i either die, or the parasite dies with me; might as well call that a five o'clock shadow.- i have my insanity plea, what do the contending parties' have? an assumption? a Cluedo guess-grime rather than guess-work? no wait, make that a **** South Korean was the size of South America? i wish it was, taxes inconclusive? might posture for a yacht... and t-total a banana republic for all legitimate purposes for a shopping spree on coca - or is that's how taxing is done in this fair and decent country of Scandinavian restrictions concerning the feeble minded daddy-fuck-cares? Thailand was always the option with the quasis, ball sacked and tit-wanked-able: like am Englishman in Thailand, wanky-faced, with the Jersey Boys were moving beyond the Orwell parameter, i say Panzer, you tell me the **** brigade; you tell me pretty boys, you regurgitate me the ******* Bubonic Plague! am i understood?
Jun 11, 2016
Jun 11, 2016 at 8:49 PM UTC
George came by bus everyday
From Alvinston;
A No-Daddy community.
I've heard that town
Should be fenced
And re-named a Zoo.
During a power outage
George was suspected
Of being the dumper
In the middle of the gym floor,
During class. He was present.
The evidence was piled against George,
But inconclusive.
When George brought
A bag of **** to school
I called his mother,
A worn-out, retired pole-dancer.
When she arrived I showed her
The bag. She was pleased
I didn't turn George over to the cops,
But roundly upset with George
For swiping her good stuff,
And not the skunk ****
Some kids' parents.
May 22, 2015
May 22, 2015 at 9:22 AM UTC
what is love?
the soul of happiness
or the essence of pain
could it be fictitious?
created by the mind
but still...
The weight of love
against reality
is close to nothing
basically...
take your mind
add your heart
subtract a pain
add a smile
and try to balance the equation...
but i deter from my topic...
my postion's love not math
so basically
the balance of love
and life
wrong or right
fact or fiction
equates to be
inconclusive...
Sep 12, 2009
Sep 12, 2009 at 4:18 PM UTC
Here I am, dancing in the wind
I've got this mental journal in my head
it's filled with lines of sonnets and verse
The only thing I love to write about
is time being turned in reverse
Creativity is like a jungle cat
She comes and goes as she may please
and well, that is that
Creativity is a near ghoul in my mind
she disappears, comes and goes,
lately she hasn't been so kind
Because Creativity is a relentless ghost, she is
She creates and destroys,
envies, and produces
She tosses and turns,
her results are invisibly inconclusive
because she is so fluid-like
She seldomly hides
or at least to others
I call her name,
it's just her game
"Red Rover, Red Rover!" I call to her,
"C'mon, come out, Creativity!"
But during the day she always sleeps
And at night,
well at night,
she plays.
Jan 18, 2015
Jan 18, 2015 at 2:23 AM UTC
Cutting you open just to see,
What the cause of death could be.
Lets open the chest and try to find,
What killed this person. Death of what kind?
Spread those ribs a little wider,
So we can see what's inside 'er.
Use a saw on that skull,
Not a hatchet or a maul.
Remove that brain and check it out.
Tell me what they were thinking about.
Cut some more. Into the belly.
Is it full of bread and jelly?
Did they eat some chicken soup?
Did they have to take a ****
Is the liver nice and clean?
How's the kidneys and the spleen.
Where's that blood work and tissue sample?
Your time for analysis has been ample.
The end results are inconclusive,
'Cause all your parts are unobtrusive.
The only thing that they can find,
Is that death is never very kind.
Nov 26, 2012
Nov 26, 2012 at 4:58 PM UTC
Drowsy despair,
Not a care in my heart.
Affairs with my rest till my
Death does us part.
And that's the best part,
That I swear I can snooze
Anything away that I
Care not to lose.
I'm an opportunist,
So if I ever lose it,
I'll just grin in my sleep
And play it so elusive.
Ever count sheep?
They seem so abusive.
You never really rest, man.
Sleep's inconclusive.
Nine, one, one or--
One, one, nine.
I can never stay awake.
Don't you ask me the time.
Don't you ask me a thing.
I was never good with questions.
I'll repeat what you say, then
Dot--dot--dot the sentence...
I can't...
Form a sentence or,
Fathom lessons, I'm
Too **** tired to
Pay attention.
I would pay attention, but it
Interferes with sleep.
Codeine got me in my sheets
Buried so deep.
Jul 24, 2016
Jul 24, 2016 at 10:39 AM UTC
The temptress zigzags into the barracks
And makes off with the subservient uniform wearing rifleman's milk money
To buy a swimsuit for her ephemeral summer body
That will sag to the floor by the first few days of autumn
She hacks the submarine's sonar system
And lets the current take her to a cedar river bend
Where she sniffles while polishing her handgun
Reserved for all those who lag behind in the arid region
To release them from their contractual servitude
Causing a ripple effect
Of inconclusive prospects
Etcetera , etcetera
Jun 28, 2014
Jun 28, 2014 at 9:03 PM UTC
a conscious thought stated:
don't write another love poem
but his words are vanilla to my ears
the smoothest silk texture
spun from his consonants and vowels
running from his lips and melting over my flesh
you can see where i get distracted...
because infatuation and intimacy intertwine
spinning a tangled web
woven from the strongest thread
and your fingers are musicians magic
strumming on my heartstrings
playing chords on my heart
carrying a tune that would make Celine Dion quiver.
it made me quiver
but there aren't six degrees of separation
from lust to love
there's one degree
but a thousand steps in between
the chemists couldn't explain
why our chemistry combined
in such an intricate way
and all the experiments were inconclusive
because only we are the mad scientists behind our insanity
and while the scientists tinkered
the mathematicians drew up an equation
insert me and you
into x and y
but x and y don't define hidden variables
that even we had to search to find
the eraser's been rubbed raw
against the paper with a hole in the center
they'll never solve their invented equation
because mathematics aren't involved
just a finely designed road map
tracing your veins and mine
from fingertip to fingertip
eye to eye
an artists divine sight
i'll be the paint to your brush
your lily pads to Monet
if your words are paint
my body's a blank canvas
i'm a writer
but even i'm struggling to find the words
that may as well be hidden in catacombs
but we don't need Edgar Allen Poe
to quoth the raven "nevermore"
nevermore shall i search for this unicorn of words
mythical in that they don't exist and yet somehow you do
we'll resurrect Charles Dickens
because he's the only man who would even make an attempt
but even his hands are trembling
with the pressure mounting of a lost word and a quivering pen
thunk
as we watched him dissolve into the pen and ink that created him
this conscious thought beckoned forward in my head
do not write another love poem just yet
for who will scribe the words to fit our facets
when the skins withered, wrinkled and dry
but our hands still twine like grape vines
maybe by then they'll have written another edition of the dictionary
May 31, 2014
May 31, 2014 at 1:12 PM UTC