"indeterminable" poems
All it took was three steps up
Doors swung open before me
I approached Him, who sat still and unmoving.
unaffected by Time but ravaged by the pain of doubt and ignorance
All it took was three steps forward
Then, strength and courage left me
Worn-down
Beaten by life’s merciless hand
My knees sank as Life’s hand grasped my shoulders and I felt his burden
My whole being collapsed upon the marble floor
The sound echoed and cruelly dealt a strike to my ears,
My senses and my soul
As if Moses struck the rock with his staff
The water came forth
Flowing freely from my soul against sallow, weary skin
Hands trembling
Body aching
I closed my eyes
I saw darkness but an image appeared
****** and bruised
It took all my strength
To utter three questions:
Why (to the Father)
Why does the grass grow, rich and fertile
only to provide for those that destroy it?
Why does my neighbor strip me bare and steal my coat
To leave me unsheltered from the cold wind’s bitter punishment?
Why must I walk this lonely and sullen earth
While the black crow pecks violently at my flesh?
Why? For I have loved but have been despised in return.
Who (to the Son)
Who is the snake that lies?
The brother that prays and the brother that kills?
The husband that beats and the wife that endures?
And the ****** Mother that reigns over all, even you?
Even me.
Who? For I know none and all of them.
Where (and to the Holy Spirit)
Where does the sky end and the Earth begin?
Is it where the body ceases to be and the soul takes over?
Is it where I made my first steps
And tumbled right after?
The indeterminable line between sea and sand;
Truth and lies
Where? For I have looked and looked.
My lips, salted and mad, trembled
Pain pierced my soul
I felt it all
And felt it again
My body began to thrash
I felt it upon me
Misery, sadness, death, despair
I became Samson, tearing down the pillars upon the accursed Philistines
I raged and roared
For hope, wisdom, strength, and faith
I opened my eyes
And Light filled me
Nov 2, 2012
Nov 2, 2012 at 2:27 AM UTC
winter's after-the-noon shadow lights,
fused-tinged with early-onset grays,
harbinger of one for whom death
detaches the answer from that question
too soon asked, so long unanswered,
why me?
those gray lights, a violin accompaniment,
mourning pitched wailings unasked for,
yet always in attendance, court courtiers,
feelings of insufficiency, angry angst insects
envy days when simplistic unknown fears
were the worst enemy, never lingering,
for unknowns have no answers and
cannot obtain permanent resident visas
but reality, another matter, mad hatter,
asking repeating what is this, why is this,
even comprehension partial gives
no comforting answer satisfactory logical
envy innocence past, for newer questions now *****
comfort by the lies in the essaying, trialling,
if, but, for, the distractions most affordable,
so grasp the pen that is the envy of thy companions
let the ink wail louder than you,
make paper shed what you have used up,
let envy of lost and found, found, yet still lost,
salve, but not solve, soothe, but not save
in the winter afternoons, those shortest days
of indeterminable longevity, words received,
offer little, but words self-conscripted,
a mortal transcript of pain immortalized by pen, relief will yet be,
for the pen is the envy of all
Feb 5, 2015
Feb 5, 2015 at 6:10 PM UTC
Where does solitude end
And the beauty of love begin?
We must allow our emotions to permeate
Our spiritual vestibule
Before rapture dawns
Like an empyreal gust
Within, upon, and throughout us,
Then our bliss will no longer be ephemeral,
It will be everlasting.
Someone on this existential expanse
Loves you
Beyond words, Beyond thoughts, beyond
Time & space,
With cosmic understanding;
Like, age-old supernovae
Radiating with stellar light
Until their macrocosmic romance
Waxes nebulous:
—Dust to dust.
You who are gleaning these words,
Contemplate your immortal value
As a living legacy
That Burgeons & blossoms beyond the day
Of your exodus from the Earthly Plane
For the soul is a seed
Radiating with the Eradia of Ages;
Therefore, shine
Until The Flora of Yore, Yggdrasil germinates within.
Lamentation makes you more loving,
Just, wise, and strong;
Yes, embrace every moment
That life brings
For Providence safeguards you
Within His Celestial ramparts.
"But the path of the righteous is like the bright morning light
That grows brighter and brighter until full daylight."
(Proverbs 4: 18) (NWTSE)
You have an undying will within you,
You are a vessel of sanctity
Intemerate & hallowed;
Yes, you have been set apart
For an ethereal crusade
With no known beginning &
An indeterminable end;
Exhale, you are Life, Love, and Liberty,
And a Spark of The Divine.
It is true, that you are the experiencer of
Your joys, your sufferings,
Your exultation, and your woes,
But you must ne' er forget
That you are not alone;
Therefore, walk forevermore
In the Baptismal Rays of The Sun
For you were borne with purpose,
O, Warrior of Light.
Jun 4, 2021
Jun 4, 2021 at 1:48 PM UTC
submerged in a life with no todays
a submarine dive in dank water
a muck and a murk that can’t be shaken
awakening to a déjà vu
unviewed in an era or two or ten or when or
then but not now and never next
electrical fences building themselves
unyielding as we scale
flailingly failingly toward
a date and time and place indeterminable
subliminal signposts spray-painted by
anarchists railing against awareness
obscuring and obfuscating
translating into languages undocumented
concocted from alien metals and foreign shrieks
weaknesses in the armor show like
rusting bruises on the intangible
cruising through an imaginable maze
while memory like a rabid wolf bays
submerged in a life with no todays
May 30, 2012
May 30, 2012 at 4:53 PM UTC
Find the hardest possible thing
you could do,
and do that,
the heaviest possible thing
you could lift,
and lift that,
the most taxing responsibility
in your grasp,
and take that on.
Do you think it is by pure chance
that warriors are forged in fire?
What of their blood sacrifices?
Challenge your barriers;
do not let them sit indeterminable.
Life is not the pursuit of happiness;
life is the pursuit of the cessation of suffering.
Do you think love is a blessing?
In some ways, perhaps,
but let's not forget the responsibility
we must bear
when another soul is entrusted to us.
What greater compliment is there than that?
To say, you, no matter your faults and troubles,
you are the person in which I will spend my life with,
come hell, come the high waters of the flood,
you are the only one I want.
And to bear children, to bring children into
a dismal world such as this,
filled with wretched suffering and anguish,
such a thing is not an act of foolishness
when undertaken voluntarily,
it is an act of supreme courage.
We are not meant to be happy in this life,
we are built for struggle,
to strive and to break through the top soil
and reach the light of day.
We must bear our cross,
however heavy,
however unfair,
and continue on.
Jan 8, 2019
Jan 8, 2019 at 4:49 PM UTC
O Human Evolution
of indeterminable joys
This is the first era in History
Where the Girls behave worse
than the Boys.
Young Irish Women
Finally free of the past...
In the heat of the City,
At the stroke of One-Thirty
The truth emerges
Thick and fast.
But don't put me down
as some frigid Boy shrew
You need to put yourself out there
to know
What you're getting yourself into.
Jun 6, 2013
Jun 6, 2013 at 6:53 AM UTC
Her, never having known ‘her,’
the idea,
‘her’
becomes an irregularity for me.
it is not part of my schema. that vantage of man,
as the synthesized post-coital.
nevertheless,
her frame rises up stairs,
petaluma sad wink
watch her disappear behind the half wall.
furtive glances into you.
lone, and left wandering.
when we travel along our vectors,
we fail to consider that our bodies are not whole, complete entities,
they are porous, and the closer in,
do we realize that borders of flesh and air,
are indeterminable.
Jun 18, 2013
Jun 18, 2013 at 12:30 AM UTC
*Stares at him a blank page
Stares at him a blind rage
Stares at him a maddening pause
Stares at him an indeterminable cause*
It seems so unfair
Before him is only laid bare
A taunting silence
Tearing into his patience
Dragging him down to bottom
Raising him up the cliff
Tossing him in the storm
Showing him no relief!
And it’s precisely then
Over the shattering pain
Emerges a newly born light...
He feels a palpable might.
He rejoices in its voice.
*Past the night’s turbulence
Would be revealed at the dawn
The hidden shapes in the silence
The picture fully drawn!
A picture sans all flaws
For you drawn on the canvas
Making redundant a cause
For effects that far surpass!*
Jan 29, 2014
Jan 29, 2014 at 10:04 AM UTC
Your strength
Is indissoluble
And absolute
Like the weather
It may change
And fade away
But it will
Always return
Its shape
Is indeterminable
Its weight
Is unmeasurable
Its power
Is invaluable
Its presence
Is indissoluble
Feb 17, 2021
Feb 17, 2021 at 12:43 PM UTC
Have you ever had a dream that takes up twenty-three hours
Of your daily twenty-four?
And it follows you to work, to get-togethers, to school,
All the way back home.
You want it so badly, would give your heart and mind and
Your uppermost third of your leg on the left side.
And it makes you smile when you think about it because it's amazing.
And you think, you hope, you know you'll make it happen.
And then you come down and remember who and what and why you are.
And that dream is mocking and jeering at you.
That dream is picking at you and you don't have the energy to bat it away
So you let it and it picks away more than you would have given.
You wake up in the morning thinking your whole life's been wasted and,
From the other side of the bed, that dream agrees.
You look at all the people who did it and have it and made it and,
From the other side of the bed, that dream is still mocking you.
When you go to work the dream drapes itself over you, broken and nasty
And no one mentions it because they all have their own dreams
That are doing the exact same thing.
Neither do your friends, or strangers, or family.
When you go home some indeterminable amount of time after that dream
Broke you,
You wrestle it to the floor and fold it three hundred times until it's barely a
Speck.
And you pop it into your mouth and swallow it whole
Pretending you can't hear it screaming and fighting all the way down.
You digest that dream but it's still there, ready to be taken up again but you won't
Because you won't get it now and you won't have it later.
On your way to wherever and whenever you see children laughing
And they hold their dreams up high. They love those dreams and those dreams love them.
And your stomach twists and turns as your dream beats at it
But you keep walking. Keep driving. Keep moving.
You close your eyes and scream and cry but you don't get your dream back
Because it hurt you before and you're not fool enough to try again.
When you go to sleep, it will haunt you.
When you're home alone, it will torture you. You know this.
You go home anyway and it stabs a knife through your abdomen and
You don't flinch at all, it was expected.
And you go to your room and lay down to stare at nothing for an hour or two
Until you think that, maybe, crying will ease the emptiness.
So you think of the saddest things that would send the hardest heart into waterworks
And you wait because, two hundred and eighty-eight hours later
Because one million three hundred and sixty-eight thousand seconds later
You still haven't shed a tear.
Nov 27, 2014
Nov 27, 2014 at 9:29 PM UTC
preserved breviaries Catholic, properly categorised
plenty of answers many questions added to, juxtaposition
of many images, a precise definition
of antagonisation, sycophantic normal positions despised
totally, military misers accused of ensnarement orderly memorialised
properties properly improved, revealed superstition
and suspicion, doubtfully splendid spirited perdition
distinguished, heirs of documents are identified, minimised
images and boors' occupied regions, grandiose
sciences are indeterminable, safely secured benefits
for runic understandings pretentious
obstinate beasts acquire in disruption, types of otiose
considerations ill-prepared to deal with credits
and debts for answering questions licentious
Oct 18, 2020
Oct 18, 2020 at 6:48 AM UTC
epithets ethnocentric, writ or summons, the birth
and beginning of pataphysics, dreary ideas set aside
and conditioned, concurrently indeterminable, evils betide
man, noises and bones ossified, the mirth
of cheated demons frequent places, papers roseate worth
reading seven times after millions of chancy exasperation, qualified
soldiers groping in darkness, towns allied
with veterans, read oceanic maps and maps of the earth
are complied, pious assumptions of diverted water, patchy
knowledge of metaphysics coupled with slaves'
science ravaged, rulers' sacrifice reduced and sacrificed
rulers mediocre, rusty straps of metallics hold stones, catchy
choruses are mere repetitions of no one craves
dignity, waives privileges highly priced
Oct 3, 2020
Oct 3, 2020 at 4:28 AM UTC
I sit idle,
awaiting
life – life
on a loading screen
inching forward
at indeterminable increments
one fraction at a time,
waiting for the screen to load.
What
could it
be – be-
yond the loading screen?
404
object not found
please return home,
your mother is waiting
for you
there
for you
to become
something
or other. Or other-
wise – wise
guy – you would have wasted her time.
For God's sake what is living for
– loading
?
You can
abort program at any time
and stop the loading
the result,
in
the end
is
the same,
it's
the end. The end.
Jun 9, 2022
Jun 9, 2022 at 10:54 PM UTC
I’ve gotten pretty good,
at tricking my self to sleep,
make believe i’m really tired,
and how i really want those dreams.
Everyone else is sleeping,
or trying to be awake,
but here i am now,
consciously alone.
The ambient noises,
and vibrant colors,
of shapeless existence,
and indeterminable wealth.
somber scents,
and weightless thoughts,
about heroes dead,
and gone.
As time slips by,
i am only aware,
as best i can be,
of these breaths.
As it is,
Inspiration being,
the only thing,
which hasn’t left this eve.
Oct 15, 2013
Oct 15, 2013 at 9:08 PM UTC
the way out now
is only through the dawning
of the darker dream
the twisting of the spiral to
an indeterminable point
the realization of a magic balance
whereby opposites are well
positioned though never gaining
sight of one another
doomed to drift in undulating
furies ever further from themselves
never to escape
the way out now
is through the collapsing
kaleidoscopic door of time
the biological rhythm of a
living universe whose name
is indecipherable except
is on the tongue of each and every
hungry soul who's ever tasted language
Jan 29, 2017
Jan 29, 2017 at 1:48 AM UTC
Backed into a corner.
Folded over four hundred times.
"I thank whatever gods may be"
for my indeterminable mind.
Thrown about like little Jack Horner.
I've never cared much for pie.
Christmas either, for that matter.
"If you are me then who am I?"
Somebody sent on a suicide mission.
Grand plans of livin' but doomed to die.
She smiled wide after I delivered that line,
and a small part inside of me died.
I'd be better off if I could get paid to cry.
I'll try not to be so stubborn about it.
In forty-two seconds I'm bound to forget.
Wait, what were we talking about just now?
How much of this have I already said?
If there's bliss in ignorance then there's sadness in truth.
I once loved a girl whose mother's name was Ruth.
It's a Biblical thing.
She was mostly Adam and I was niEve.
I sometimes get lost when walking down familiar streets.
It may not be the greatest thing,
but hey,
it's still pretty neat.
Mar 27, 2015
Mar 27, 2015 at 1:43 AM UTC
I have become the cartoon of misery. Meditation only goes so far before western medicine is needed, before old Johnnie Walker comes to visit me at my desk. He does nothing but sit and keep me company, faithful friend, whilst I go about polluting the internet. I have let myself go. I think Johnnie helped with that, for better or worse. I bid him goodnight at my bedside, faithful friend, knowing that I'll not want him there in the morning.
I have become something wasted. Old pill packets pile on the side, ailments beyond cure or at least, beyond care. Hats scatter the room, never to be worn but optional costumes for future selves. Change collects in big proportions in a coffee mug, left to waste in rust as another day passes in daily interviews with the mirror and no plans. It's crazy, I know, spurning vital energy in not exerting any of it all.
I have become the morning after. Eyes buzzed with new light, temples now ruins of Dionysus, I search for the window of perception. Roman blinds flirt truth in waves of indeterminable information and so I call up old Johnnie to help me understand things again. He flavours ice with half-truths and old, old cravings. I dial in old numbers, old, old, old, until I feel new again, once I realise they can't talk to me anymore. I have become the teenage dream realised as I take to independent waste and whiskey slur, long-shot attempts at fame and periods of silence with the family.
I have become the cartoon of misery with no audience. I can live with that.
Feb 24, 2014
Feb 24, 2014 at 11:06 AM UTC
Waiting, impatience, nervousness.
Imagination too broad to bare with this moment.
The sound of sirens ringing in my ears,
announcing awful news.
Vehicle passing, rising filth,
indeterminable urgency.
Drops of sweat, one by one,
drift down my forehead, cheeks, neck, back.
Paranoia causes dark horrific stink of blood in my nostrils,
goose flesh spreading rapidly from head to toes.
Burning ache around my heart,
every throb seems like the last one.
*
Five minutes after agreed time, you came running to my side under the Central square's clock.
"Sorry I'm late" you said, hugged me and kissed my cheek.
At the last moment, I stopped tears from overflowing.
Worriedly, you asked: "Is everything okay?"
Sheepishly smiling, I replied: "Yes, of course. My brain's just playing tricks on me."
Like nothing ever happened...
Jul 27, 2017
Jul 27, 2017 at 9:37 AM UTC