"indicates" poems
I want to be your abacus baby,Oh you can count on me.
I wont say that i love you, or i heart you, I less than 3 you.
Your molecules must be moving fast,girl. Cause your really hot.
Are you igneous sedimentary or metamorphic? All i know is baby you rock.
And if god existed I'd thank him for you, but I'm rational and read a lot of Sam Harris.
Your beautiful like the font garamad,but i want to see you sandarac, take your pants off.
I want to be your abacus baby, you can count on me,
And i observe your quirks oscillating, and I'm formulating, a g-string theory..
Like an archeologist,I'm gonna try and compute your age. cause i really want to date you.
You make me feel like a male giraffe. I want to nudge your **** and make you urinate,and mate you.
Scientific fact,thats what they do.
The value of my love for you cannot be expressed exactly. More rational then Pi.
Hey **** is a legitimate word in scrabble, just FYI
I want to be your abacus baby, you can count on me.
You can **** me into your super massive black hole, the center of your galaxy. Im talkin ******
I may not be the strongest or the prettiest, but my knowledge of grammar shines.
I know how to use the words further and farther..correctly. Every fricken time.
Example:farther indicates physical distance
and further a depth or degree
example: the moon is getting farther from the earth
about 4 centimeters annually. Fun factoid,take it home with ya.
You just keep getting further into my heart.
You just keep getting farther into my heart.
I want to be your abacus baby, you can count on me,and if the situation is ambiguous, further and farther can be used interchangeably. Just a fun factoid.
I want to be your abacus baby, you can count on me.
Baby i less than 3 you.
So please take off your pants.
Aug 10, 2013
Aug 10, 2013 at 7:14 PM UTC
Though tried his level best, to pry open
the tough oyster with such might,he gets
just a glimpse of the smile of the pearl
so rare within. which clearly indicates
it's liking; love for light than darkness
But the oyster, so adamant, refused to part,
it jealously holds the pearl enclosed,within,
along with the bitter taste left in his mouth,
he learns a precious lesson, in the way worst possible.
A great one, from the oyster's closed book of life,
on possession and renunciation at right time,
managing frustration and letting go graciously.
Dec 4, 2015
Dec 4, 2015 at 10:29 AM UTC
In love with the forgiving trait of God
Falling for the immense light of His boat
The world isn't for me, nor is it's applaud
Soothes the sinning souls, that one Quranic quote
Polluted image indicates not downfall
Unity unshakable if kept intact
Recitations, revive in the great hall
Then will spread the message of the compact
If melodious young voices be raised
Absorbing the love, ignoring the hate
In the court of Allah, shall then be praised
Returning back home is never that late
The pillar of hope, all of us be bound
For the sake, placing my head on the ground
Oct 24, 2017
Oct 24, 2017 at 4:00 PM UTC
Sparrow's twitter
From the dawn of
Hearing the hassle of Myna
This morning
Or the Singing Cuckoo
Of yesterday afternoon
Read the language of their time
When they say it certainly
As the Morning
Evenings
Or mid of the Summer noon
Read their body language
When they are sounding
Beside window
Or playing
In the lake water
Draw my attention
But I don't understand
Completely
Assume
It is a pester
Argue with friends
Or by calling the dear
At this time,
We say that the Spring
Or Say any unspoken Dream
Seeking through the Bridge
That breezing over Heart
And The Soul
You invite
The spring comes
But I do not understand
So what are the
Give your tunes
I sorted the words
Whatever may be the tune
Guess again,
Or partial
But they say
We see
Hear
Their songs
Their mother tongue
They pointed out that
Indicates
Each other
To visit the open sky
Afield
Dance with the wind
It also has to
Entertained
Any pain that may be broken
Their heart
Playing a melancholy tune
Which refers to the words
Of their mother
The words
Of the Nature
Realizes that we
But never try to feel with the heart
Feb 21, 2015
Feb 21, 2015 at 1:33 PM UTC
Haiku Poetry is a very short poem with poetic images that can transcend the limitation imposed by the usual language and thinking. What if we took that imagery into the realm of human nature? While attempting to do this I tried to stay within the bounds of contemplative poetry that indicates a moment, sensation, impression or drama of a specific moment in nature. However, I broadened this framework to at times include moral, historical, scientific, legal, social, etc., issues as well. I believe, by doing this, we are introduced to a unique and creative imagery that paints a mental picture where you the reader can find much deeper meanings to personally relate.
**Cute little test mouse
caged for scientists to share
waits death, for health care**
Jul 27, 2015
Jul 27, 2015 at 11:29 AM UTC
lily is bored
she is best ignored
she wants to be adored
and so she will by sun
that adorns her skin
she will wax and in
diamond and pearl
crazy colourings
grow
suddenly say
spread
oil on herself..
indicates
her impossible
pretty
(i will grumble
for
i am working..)
shoulder
and roll a stick
of marijuana
and sundry other
stuff
and that far from
enough and now
the sun has
gone..
behind a cloud
getting loud
fire is out..
lily wears a pout
where has the sun
where is her this
and where is that..
what is she reading
memoirs of a foxhunting man
(siegfried sassoon)
and goodbye to all that
by
robert graves
two great poets from the
first world war
she acclaims..
and carol ann duffy
she is flitting like
a happy
cabbage white
tween the three
waiting for
the light
on the one hand
the death of civilization
and carol´ s fun and dark
determination
between courage and courage
i cream her smooth opal covering
and push a cold mohitjo in her grip
she wonders how life changes
she lights up and picks at the ways
that divide and separate us
just let it rip she sighs..
what choice do we have anyhows
**** hit the fan
what to do..
Sep 22, 2018
Sep 22, 2018 at 9:31 AM UTC
I would much rather think of my style of writing as "Philosomancy" than as "Poetry",
I would much rather think of my Music as "Phonomancy" than as "Music".
I think of myself as a Philosomancer rather than a Writer; perhaps a Writist.
Language is simply a mutual Medium for concepts; a means.
I think of myself as a Phonomancer rather than a Musician; perhaps a Musist.
Music is the name we call ordered sound; a means.
There is deeper Mythic significance to these things
than the mere words "Write" and "Music" lead on;
The Suffix of "-mancy" indicates a style of Divination;
a sort-of improvised Oracle.
Take, for instance,
Geomancy: Divination of Earth
Pyromancy: Divination of/by Fire
Astromancy: Divination by the Stars
Aquamancy: Divination of/by Water
By this pattern, it logically follows that:
Philosomancy: Divination of/through Ideas
Phonomancy: Divination of/by Sounds
-
Mythic Overtones are ubiquitous and implicit,
yet perception of them is more rare
due to cultural dissonance
'twixt Mythic and Logic.
Plus, Philosomancy and Phonomancy
sound so much more badass
than mere Writing and Music,
if I am to openly opine!
(It really helps to have a sense of Humour, as well!)
Jul 15, 2013
Jul 15, 2013 at 2:54 PM UTC
Snow, I hate, No,
Dislike.
Snow’s dislike originates,
Snow indicates-
The air becomes cold enough,
Pour down
White-feathered drops
Upon our heads
Snow, I dislike
Yet,
If cold is cold,
It has to be
I’d prefer
It pretty
So snow's cold I dislike,
But snow appearance
I like
Oct 31, 2011
Oct 31, 2011 at 1:35 PM UTC
The great gaudy flage is screamin' blood in the streets
loose yawn of a gob on him
all bombast n' swagger
he makes a barrage of nuisance
channels through the public
and scatters a juggler's performance spot
lobs away his change hat
then, roughly over the cobbles
he hoicks a resuscitation doll
and stamps down a posing boot
on the 'defeated form'
an unprepared scoop of tourists
a pause for silence and begins a rant
a great performance
of well harassed combustion :
"i smear to god all the phalluses
[he roars, all saliva]
i smug to god
a full jug of uglies
tug on [makes the hand gesture for male ************
i **** off the forger
would slug it in the mug
if it ever did form a tissue oath
took a plug at some drunk straggler
called the baffled *** 'god-father'
and spate spume on his fallen anatomy
[with one hand he indicates the mannequin at his heel]
amen ************ !"
he bows
a long quiet
some people clap awkwardly
two police officers appear and hook him by the elbows
(it has been this show before)
Mar 11, 2022
Mar 11, 2022 at 11:38 AM UTC
"Ah, young Sir,
indeed it is in your lines on your smooth palm
as I indeed felt the moment
when I saw your noble face
and your inimitable manner…"
"What is it? What is it?
O speak your mind, young gypsy;
speak the truth, speak with no fear"
"Ah, young Sir
this curved line that runs
across your gentle palm tells
you must certainly have
some of the blood of the Caesars
running through those bold veins of yours"
"Ah, true, true indeed
sometimes I have felt it too"
"And, young Sir
this straight line that cuts that curve
on your most delicate palm
ah – it indicates even some lineage of prophets
and a history of past holy men
which line now culminates in you"
"Oh, indeed, indeed
I have had such intimations indeed
at the House of God when I kneel
in holy prayer;
and I have had such whispers
and stirrings within my *****
indeed…indeed…"
And when the gypsy is gone
it is then that the young man
of such esteemed rank and high nobility
and of such holiness
he feels his gold ring also gone…
Aug 1, 2011
Aug 1, 2011 at 7:44 PM UTC
*White.
Female.
Middle Class.
Heterosexual.
Agnostic.
Libertarian.*
Yeah.
That's me.
That's that first layer,
thin as the paper you could
read it on.
Just a
Jane Doe,
a nameless, faceless
demographic.
But peeling back the layers,
ripping through page on page of a complicated novel,
digging
down
into
a
bottomless
hole
to
China,
unravelling
the intricate
web of
stereotypestruthsliesassumptionsprejudice
and
there you will find
me,
a colorless genderless asexual
spirit whose frame
is crafted and molded
not with how the world
chooses to see me and
who "they" deem me to be;
no.
A guy that didn't know me well
once told me that I
spoke more urban than he
expected,
and I couldn't help but wonder why
someone from an urban area
couldn't speak like they were
from a city,
like somehow what he saw in my
whitefemaleheterosexualmiddleclassagnosticlibertarian
prologue forbade me
from speaking in colloquials and
abbreviations.
Oh, I apologize,
I laughed later to my friend,
**law students are supposed to speak
with an ostentatious vocabulary and
an heir of
(superfluous) arrogance.**
I am rarely a prototype
of what it means to be
White,
of what it means to be
female;
middle-class or not,
my parents insisted at age 8
that I begin to understand
the value of a dollar;
my sexuality indicates little
about my level of attraction
to the world around me;
agnostic is really just a term
I put because I'm still trying to
figure out whether I really
believe everything I was forced to
learn at Catholic school;
and isn't Libertarian just a fancy
word for I don't want to
choose liberal or conservative?
It's insulting to
ingest how much is
insinuated about
my depth in
the shallowest of pools.
My cheeks burn hot
with frustration as I
try to balance on a beam
cracking underneath the weight of
a world that is constantly begging me
to go back in the neatly
wrapped package from which
the world would prefer I
came.
I'm not someone
you can put in a *******
box and
label;
you can't contain my
shine behind
blackout blinds;
I will burst out of your bubble
and break your glass ceilings;
I will scream at the top of
my lungs in a soundproof room
until you HEAR me.
I'm not meant to be judged
by my cover,
and neither are you.
We are meant to be read.
Mar 11, 2015
Mar 11, 2015 at 10:51 PM UTC
To be taken silently with violence
Not to utter a salutation
Just the cracking of a door hinge
And a look that indicates that stopping your desires would be laughable
An absurdity
not to be pondered!
The jolting sound of head cracking against metal
And wrist yearning to be ground to the bone
After hours of furtive clutching
The kind on nail bending fervor that just takes the taste right from bread
Grabbed into a cranium synthesis
Im am forever enslaved in the darkest corridor of your existence
I doubt I will ever be able to leave this lighting wasteland
The eagerness pounding through the point were skin meets weapon
I am infiltrated like a shanty filled village
A real slum filled valley
Hopeless against tracking systems and torture methods
You plunder my underdeveloped hospitality
Like Jesus to a farm boy
As I scream **** you Mongoloid
I am gasping into your filth
A sacrificial lamb
Bliss by the slaughter wells
Mouthfuls of disgust
As your knees jab deep into skid row
Grinding the forgotten and the deserted
Until they are flattened corpses
****** dry of the water holding them together
You are pleased
The phantom has been fed and to ask for seconds would only tease the lamb
As I lay gushing organs with a smirk
Broken bent and emaciated
I feel alive and it is wondrous.
Nov 30, 2010
Nov 30, 2010 at 9:02 AM UTC
Words. Work.
Getting old. ***** shirt.
Exhaustion remains after washing away stains from dirt.
Lower back hurts,
..but this mindstate is not where I'll stay.
Meaningless pay spending my hours when I just want to create and play.
Heavy body, cat nap after embers hit the ashtray. Astral stray.
The most nutritious are sometimes the first to decay.
Get up just to lay.
Easy to see darkness when there's no heart in the frame..
So I'll adjust how I see, and remember to breathe,
because all of life comes to us with ease.
Gonna physically release just to come back and share my dream
Yes yes, nothing less.
Do what you love
is all I can confess.
Limited time, I see that we're blessed
Hope to make the most of mine,
before in peace we rest
Death sentence. Moral Repentance.
In the age of remembrance blinded by pyrotechnics.
Embody the calisthenics and honor further than aesthetics.
Depths beyond measurement kissing anti-venom lips.
Tethered to the weather within our steady blissful trips.
The clock can tick all it wants but the hands are losing their grip. Proving nothing to be more beautiful than this present-tense eclipse
Intuition is our intangible compass
Creating a compassionate instance that can't be diminished
I am hear forever to play with the trinkets and parade those that listen
Love is all encompassing, not just a mission
Thoughts come to fruition
Extending what you envision
The Synapse fires like a piston
What you've done indicates your current position.
Think now my friend.
You are the sun shining at the podium speaking at the perceived end.
You are the sum dictating everything yet to come.
Thank you for praising the vibration connected to one.
Take a deep breath, smile, and have fun.
This strong web we've achieved can never be unspun.
Reflect your true self and know we've only just begun~
Feb 13, 2017
Feb 13, 2017 at 7:52 PM UTC
Everything indicates that collapse Is going to happen Simply because life is turning up-side-down On everyone's head ... There is not any point of return To zero ... That zero hour of that huge collapse is Going to happen anytime ...
Feb 10, 2015
Feb 10, 2015 at 3:13 PM UTC
We rush things up skipping the foreplay
I obey all your commands, as you are the only one with words to say
Your legs arched up, move in a dramatic sway
You tell me to keep hitting it, because you like it this way
Telling me you are ready
I slide into you, making love to you steady
The beating on the zinc roof indicates the rain is quite heavy
And you whisper slowly into my ears, ‘that’s it baby’
The cold from the weather could not overcome the heat
From the *** we had, after moving to the dining seat
I should ask for your name, in case of the next time we meet
This shouldn't be a fling, rather it should be kept on repeat.
Jun 13, 2016
Jun 13, 2016 at 1:57 PM UTC
Surprise shadowing
the Sun's unknowing
pain; Capturing wonderment
indicates reassurance
The unknowable Star
kissing the Earth
birthing her descendants,
singing longingly;
magnifying her Beauty
Alas,
Obliterating affliction
Prohibiting pain
with maniacal ciphering
of experimental earnestness
Jul 13, 2012
Jul 13, 2012 at 11:01 PM UTC
We have dignity, right?
Since the 1600's we've thought with minds of reason
Anselm of Canterbury created pragmatism
Out of the most sacred and holy of things
And since then our rationalism has worn suits.
War is for the common, the petty.
Let the east quarters bury themselves in poverty
Leave them to their primitive ways
I want my son's to return
They'll be studying the Romantics in the Fall
We have no need for war
I want my daughters to come back to their homes
Instead of manufacturing arms to fight
These unreasonable beasts
We have no need for war.
Let the Calvary of America flex its powered machines
We are civilized.
Poster Childs for the post modern
With the intention to overtake
Our own philospohy, that indicates-
(with the raise of a brow, a tip of the head)
That -
We have no need for war.
Dec 11, 2012
Dec 11, 2012 at 4:19 PM UTC
Forcing an alignment of corporate resources
for some theory of best fit correlation
doesn't work on Kingdom People
when using an unspoken method of tabulation.
If Life is about true spiritual growth,
then why do ministries attempt to pigeon-hole
not making any allowances for us
to develop, expand and break our current mold?
Despite multitudes of outcome possibilities
the Church seems to suffer bouts of paralysis
from the continued mashing of talents and gifts
resulting from unexplained Presbyterian analysis.
There are many ministry leaders who speak of vision -
Their tone indicates that the laity is completely blind and numb;
their message is clear - the Body is not interested
to reach the Earth before Kingdom Come.
We are souls with great, untapped potential
and not just elements of an array.
Despite our abilities and life experiences,
our dreams and desires we're not allowed to convey.
For a failure of Church motivational tricks
comes from cramming God's People into a human matrix.
Author Notes:
From the book: Reaching Towards His Unbounded Glory
The ISBN is: 1-4196-5051-3
Learn more about me and my poetry at:
http://amzn.to/1ffo9YZ
By Joseph J. Breunig 3rd, © 2006, All rights reserved.
Nov 29, 2012
Nov 29, 2012 at 7:19 AM UTC
There you are again,
you old, reincarnated love.
Showing up in new faces
and handing me a token
of your affliction:
your half-empty glass,
a leaf ripped from its limb,
your one-way ticket to a place
I won’t be.
Here we are again,
walking down the street
under wet trees and lit balconies
as if we’re falling in love.
You try to convince me you’ll
stay this time,
but I see the itch in your skin
to leave as soon as you realize
I recognize you.
And I do.
You’re a fiery first-kiss.
A five-day affair. Maybe this time six.
A reality check.
Light beams and a car horn
shake me awake.
A squeeze around the waist
indicates you’re still lying
beside me in bed.
I preemptively wince in pain.
Any minute now.
You pass through that door
like anyone would,
but I know what your
“See you soon,” means.
Mar 24, 2014
Mar 24, 2014 at 4:50 PM UTC
walked across the dunes
to the light house to
clear my thoughts.
the windsailors were
riding the sky,
my son calls them the teabag people.
but to me they are like those seed pods that coast upon the
wind in search of something
beyond.
the grass soughs and if you sit
quietly enough,
you can hear the hungry cry of
the little tern chicks.
hidden in the dunes nearby.
the sand trickles through twining, grasping, tenuous grass roots,
single grains multi-hued,
flow like minature snowboarders down the dunes,
steep slippery slide.
little metallic black ants have the herculean task,
of working this slope for
seeds and other oddments of food.
i watch one stumble,stomp past, sherpa-like, precariously balancing a potato crisp's crumb.
while scaling the acute angle of sliding sand.
the pittering of the sandy ground indicates the presence
of giant skinks, sleek glassine skinned lizards that are at home in the area.
their track patterns, remind me of those old teach yourself
to dance charts seen in black and white films,
you would now find them mostly in antique stores.
the tide is in recess
and the terns are hunting,
mottled little sand *****
in some killer, crazy
game of tig or redrover.
where to lose is to looose!
the windsailor above is surpassed by
the big old seahawk
as he stretches his wings.
it is a comparison of true mastership,
over a poor and gaudy parody.
the hawk with practised disdain, dives,
through the breakers emerging,
with his fish dinner.
as i turn toward home.
i wonder,
was it the fandango the lizards, were trying to master?
Mar 24, 2014
Mar 24, 2014 at 12:32 PM UTC
Don't cry in the whisky baby
I am an alcoholic highlight reel
mostly made from concentrated
words--
I'll quit when I'm ready
for all kinds of art
vibrating love venom,
and words like love--
I can't seem to agree with authority.
My ankle indicates some sprain or tweak.
There's plenty of beer in the fridge,
I am not going to *** my pants ever again
like a **** and bottle of bourbon.
Thanks, I'm full
but parents never cared.
The road is litered--
the marrow ****** from their veins everyday
and the gypsy whisper of "why are we?"
is in my heartbeat.
There it went, frolicking through the midnight sky
like a car wreck,
haunting, like the song "Scarborough Fair."
Oct 21, 2012
Oct 21, 2012 at 12:09 PM UTC
’
there was a comma
which was so light
it started to float;
the other down-to-earth commas
ganged up and banished
that comma that dared to cross the line
and so that deviant comma stays there in mid-air
like a feather
and you can see it if you
keep your eyes open
’ ’
and since its fall, or rise,
it’s been called the apostate -
I mean, the apostrophe
Mind you, it’s not to be taken lightly
for it can settle legal cases
as it indicates who things belong to
(like if it is John’s money
or Nicole’s )
’ ’ ’
and in matters of communication
it can abbreviate things
and make the style more conversational
’ ’ ’ ’
But I'll tell you when it’s not so happy:
if you say, for instance: “Its Monday”
or “The dog wags it’s tail” -
ah, then the apostrophe hates you
and it really wishes it could land on your head
like a bag of lead
Oct 9, 2010
Oct 9, 2010 at 11:35 AM UTC
"You know what's funny?"
--this phrase indicates that no humor lies ahead,
"He said he would die for me. . .
and now he wishes I was dead."
Dec 1, 2017
Dec 1, 2017 at 10:03 PM UTC
Pick my mind up, brush off the dust
Wait what's this I'm missing a part?
Turn it over there lays a smouldering dart
Flick it off and blow away the specks of rust
Twist my head off, place it inside
Reconnected to my neck for the final time
Flash to the stage, velvet arms wide
Nervous in the presence of grand design
A grander plan I couldn't understand
In prayer to the Devil I clasp my hands
"Please reset the face, such high demand
For just living on a home and residing on land"
Turn to the Heavens I hope you exist
Because its the last place left on my bucket list
Everywhere I go still holds zero hope
And surrounded by people I'm surrounded, alone
I'll fight my way out, only killing myself
Choke another me by whipping out my belt
Turn to a monster, the mirror on the wall
Place a bullet with shaking hands and laugh as the glass falls
Shred my skin off underneath a clear sky
All I smell is blood, my flames never die
The rage that drives me, the fuel in supply
The fact it ends me I will always deny
The only death I see is the walls around me
Closing in on my head is such a bounty
The last time I got lost they never found me
I walked back in because I felt unease
Finally I embraced it, now we are one
If my words are bullets then my fists are the gun
One follows the other, when you're knocked down cold
I laugh at myself and condemn that soul
A tremble of the hands indicates an animal
The smile on my face painted for the carnival
Makeup smudged crying against the door
I turn around and walk because I walk no more
My heart is a nade with two seconds left
The pin was pulled when you stole my breath
I felt the pain of it through my chest
You gave me reason to keep killing the rest
Every day I wake and sling my crossbow
Because when I'll see another me I can never truly know
I **** these demons, I see all evil
I **** myself because they're not real people
Oct 16, 2017
Oct 16, 2017 at 5:49 AM UTC