"inconsiderable" poems
Where we shoveled coal into the furnace was an inconsiderable door. Behind it held ***** chubby cherubs with cherry tomato noses, whose job it was to keep the fires of our parent's liquor cabinets full. This they did to keep them from constantly beating us, but the happy distraction did not always work. So, we would pluckily go. Go to the scuzzy pond at dusk with kerosine lanterns and listen for croaks. We tied forks to the ends of canes or stakes and would gig bullfrogs for dinner. It became only momentarily mortifying, but was always a choice way of ridding our sisters and other clingy girls of our company. We'd fry the legs in cornstarch and pepper flakes and be allowed to share with the adults their beer if it was a good catch. Usually, it was. Most of forever we waited for teaberry season, always the best time of the year. Though it was hotter than Beelzebub's bath water we'd go swimming in that **** pond to reach our favorite teaberry patches. This ensured our riches and fame throughout our Appalachian village. Everyone would eat teaberry ice cream and sing our names and no one beat us on those days.
Mar 28, 2016
Mar 28, 2016 at 3:08 PM UTC
when the proficient poison of sure sleep
bereaves us of our slow tranquillities
and He without Whose favour nothing is
(being of men called Love)upward doth leap
from the mute hugeness of depriving deep
with thunder of those hungering wings of His,
into the lucent and large signories
—i shall not smile,beloved;i shall not weep:
when from the less-than-whiteness of thy face
(whose eyes inherit vacancy)will time
extract his inconsiderable doom,
when these thy lips beautifully embrace
nothing
and when thy bashful hands assume
silence beyond the mystery of rhyme
6.3k
Aligning every thought, you not coming across leaving me the most impatient.
I may be someone to you.
**** the though, linger on dear.
Silky shadows of you rest in my soul.
Aware of my every thought, you smile.
My unimaginable, inconsiderable, unpreventable state of mind may look at you.
Come on in and gently place your flowers on the ground.
With your unobtainable feeling, ideas wisp out.
The delicacy of this proven fact is unknown
Someday I may miss you.
Come and collect every whispering thought of this world.
As your docility frolics throughout my bones, you know exactly what to do.
You came over, oddly real. And from then on turned into something beautiful.
My sensitivity collapses.
Align everything in a lovely way.
Sep 25, 2011
Sep 25, 2011 at 5:16 PM UTC
Glancing around that neverplace, the airplane cabin,
indulging that edge-of-time feeling,
your head resting on the cool window,
you see her.
She rolls a piano onto the tarmac.
You wait to be bused to the takeoff starting line.
She's fuzzy in the distance, a soft shape getting softer,
in a blue hoodie and blue jeans, perhaps barefoot.
No one stops her.
You feel like someone should.
A dry swift wind beats across the flats.
She stops pushing, the piano in a suitable place.
A man in an orange vest drags a row of stairs behind the piano.
She sits on the third step, lifts the fall board.
You cannot see her hands. She's playing now.
A noisy collective boredom surrounds the cabin.
And yet this. Just outside.
From your vantage, it's not music, nor is it spectacle.
It's suppressed beauty, a dimmed surprise,
and your hands ache and you long for the wind,
for her bright song, for a brief dance
beyond this inconsiderable window.
Mar 9, 2017
Mar 9, 2017 at 4:40 PM UTC
Perhaps
what was lost
was never meant to be found
And after all my efforts
to forget
Here, now,
you stand before me
No longer
do I desire you
more than I do to exist
No longer
do I need you
to be with happy with my every decision
Heaven before me,
yet I remain untouched.
Considering
what I know to be inconsiderable.
Soaking in the moment
thinking of the potential
Smiling,
and then walking away.
Sating my broken desire
on this innocent moment of insanity.
May 7, 2014
May 7, 2014 at 2:42 AM UTC
My chest explodes with
joy and pride, that is,
if pride is the right word
for a sense of wonder
that seems to dominate
both my most quiet, dark moments
and shatteringly sunny seconds.
Staring at the blazing blue
of the morning sky, and the
counterpoint of cottony white,
I wonder why so much gas
and light somehow came
to inspire rather grand words in
an inconsiderable and small
speck of carbon such as I.
How can I explain the way
I see the space around me, that is,
Without pretense of creation
and acceptance of insignificance,
in a way that wouldn't offend
and could inspire even the most
singular minded mortal?
I am of only humble understanding
of much but was taught some words:
that any lost feeling of awe
cannot be nourishing to a
mature peace of mind, nor body,
nor soul, if you call the way
all things connect as such.
And if I had a thing
like a soul, mind,
at this moment,
it would be
soaring.
May 31, 2011
May 31, 2011 at 10:42 PM UTC
The brother said he had rhythm
In mind I was imprisoned with suspicion
that he had played me as if he had rhythm
Inbetween them sheets my intention was to go into a ****** dimension
(Prevention)
that's what I forgot before I found out I had a infection, no protection
You had had me then you had bag me going in I knew he was a felon,
but that attracted me and rated him to be my lucky number seven
He was curious so we agreed that this secret was going to be victorious understandably I am seductive and he was more then just impulsive he was destructive
So he that inconsiderable wannabe thought he was gone be runner up for my nominee,
But that would never happen he had ****** me with venom so I shown him door to get out and never let me see him or his so called rhythm
Aug 30, 2015
Aug 30, 2015 at 8:17 PM UTC
Two beautiful colors make something.
But taking your overbearing hand, and putting it over a rich, compelling movement of an innocent heart, and insecure, unsure man loving another.
You’re not as sure of love as he is.
So you will take your thought, and insecure mind, your voice that is still lingering for what it may be.
Your little comments are clearing out of your breath, day by day, and your inconsiderable conscience feeling the fatal thought of how he just may be feeling and what he just may do to himself, because a person like you is scared.
You’re not of sure as he is.
Sep 26, 2011
Sep 26, 2011 at 6:42 PM UTC
Each and every person who was born and descended into this world,
was raised by presumably different kinds of sentimental treatments and served by disparate acknowledgement of love.
A baby comes out of the womb not knowing anything at all.
How a human was treated in the times of past, what he has witnessed, and what he felt deeply - matters in times of present.
It was almost too difficult for some people to be considered worthy and quite deserving of love
Perhaps the insecurities were total agony
But if it were agony
Why do they feel it all the time?
I suppose there are people in the world who were taught the importance of affection
And what to do about loving another
and how to construct love to be real
And there are people in the world who weren’t
There are people who are doubtless convinced about what to make of loving a person
And there are people who do not know what to do with it
Many times I lost sleep to thinking,
What do I have to give, to make a person believe the love that I have?
What quality do I have as an individual to be seen beautiful and content, therefore I can fullfil another?
Do I have the tenderness that I never witness from the way my parents loved each other?
Do I have the patience that my mother was less likely to possess?
Do I have the humane, gentle, practices of love that I never had to see?
If I don’t, would it be easy for me to present my love completely?
Do I really need to demonstrate the way I feel about a person, so that I can be trusted?
The answer is, I believe I have what it takes to love and be loved, whether I have or have not witness the act of great love in my past.
I have ears to listen to whatever uttered by another;
To listen to raspy voice in the morning,
and to weary voice at night
To the sound of whirring spoon in the thick of milk and coffee,
and to the sound of, sometimes, slashes and beatings against the door
To hear what sort of sound do kisses make
and what sort of pain does shouting bring
To recognize the noise of a cheerful laughter
and the tone of mourning weeps
And I have eyes not for looking,
but for paying attention
to every details of such vulnerability that perhaps I cannot fix
Though I do not have the divine nature or impeccable qualities of being a decent partner,
My difficulty and persistence in loving
is why I consider myself as genuine within reason
When I love,
I love with my soul
and give with my soul by all means
I hope my tendencies of being humanely difficult
and my willingness to offer mildly inconsiderable pieces of myself
will be enough to make love lasts for once
Jun 29, 2018
Jun 29, 2018 at 5:38 AM UTC
incorrect, inconsiderable, invalid
by default, i am the bad guy.
all my efforts, sacrifices, and pain
goes nowhere
and is nothing.
the tear stains on my glasses
are simply "completely fake"
and all i feel is plastic
despite the "excuses" that i "make"
so what change would prove you?
will bloodshed give proof?
will breakage give proof?
will brains give proof?
will brawn?
of course not!
for proof is only what's tangible
because you monsters can't feel pain
your intentions are not for justice
but only for personal gain
but when say such things out loud
you tell me i'm wrong,
incorrect, inconsiderable, invalid
the list just goes on-
shut up!
for this is the reality YOU have created,
and you are not running away from it itself,
but the consequences that it brings
and my, you are a wonderful runner
and i'm tired of chasing you
but you'll wear out, eventually
you'll admit it, eventually
you'll apologize, eventually
and you'll get back up
and start running again, eventually
and there'll be nothing else i can do but chase you again, eventually
and i'll catch you, "eventually"
because good always wins over evil,
so the true question is,
in the gaslight eyes of fate,
who is who?
May 27, 2019
May 27, 2019 at 6:06 PM UTC
I fear in your mouth a single thought of power
An uncertain word yet so vast for me to ponder
An inconsiderable adverb you began to consider
That at a certain time-frame I will ease or suffer
The thrill and suspense rising
Anxiousness and nausea in me boiling
My sleepless nights never ending
My broken mind always just thinking
Have you no mercy for a feeble creature as I?
For every word is Provident as you let them fly
My poor soul aches, agony and anguish combine
In my mind helpless thoughts divide
For what may have been done is an answer
Of uncertainty and forsaking with crooked laughter
As I asked if I can have you forever
You said SOON so now I'll restlessly wonder
Dec 10, 2016
Dec 10, 2016 at 10:45 AM UTC