"indication" poems
is not a disability to me
be it PTSD
or Bi Polar
or Anxiety Depression
or just riding Solo
it's not a disability to me
it may play havoc
with my everyday life but
it's not an impediment
or an indication
that you lack ability
to deal with living strife
it's not a disability to me
it's more a heightened empathy
a conscious awareness
not a disease (some cases can be)
but not a disability to me
it just means your fortitude
takes you to the next level
when the ground falls
beneath your feet
you don't lay down to grovel
you find ways to make
a near endless day
better than it was yesterday
you praise all tomorrows
because you made it today
your mental disabilty
has never been a disability
to me
in any way
Jul 23, 2015
Jul 23, 2015 at 4:14 AM UTC
Dear Dad,
That’s all I ever wanted you to be. A dad, my dad. I didn’t expect you to be a great dad, or even a good dad, but you never made any attempt to be anything close to a dad at all. You did try to be other things to me though. A dictator, a manipulator, even a ****** partner. You may say that I wanted it, you might even actually believe that, but I assure you that my compliance was not an indication of my enjoyment. Compliance was simply the only option you gave me. I saw the way you looked at me long before you ever put your hands on me, but you waited. You waited until you’d pushed me to the brink of insanity. You made me question my reality so much that I’d believe anything you told me. Then on top of that, you found a way to make everyone in our family question every word that I ever uttered in preparation for the day that I’d tell them what you’d done because you knew that eventually, I would. You planned out every piece of what you did so perfectly. Even after I’d come out with the truth you made sure that the walls around me crumbled before yours did. All I ever wanted was for you to be my dad, but you couldn’t even give me that.
May 10, 2023
May 10, 2023 at 5:57 PM UTC
The Cross, the Cross
Goes deeper in than we know,
Deeper into life;
Right into the marrow
And through the bone.
Along the back of the baby tortoise
The scales are locked in an arch like a bridge,
Scale-lapping, like a lobster's sections
Or a bee's.
Then crossways down his sides
Tiger-stripes and wasp-bands.
Five, and five again, and five again,
And round the edges twenty-five little ones,
The sections of the baby tortoise shell.
Four, and a keystone;
Four, and a keystone;
Four, and a keystone;
Then twenty-four, and a tiny little keystone.
It needed Pythagoras to see life playing with counters on the living back
Of the baby tortoise;
Life establishing the first eternal mathematical tablet,
Not in stone, like the Judean Lord, or bronze, but in life-clouded, life-rosy tortoise shell.
The first little mathematical gentleman
Stepping, wee mite, in his loose trousers
Under all the eternal dome of mathematical law.
Fives, and tens,
Threes and fours and twelves,
All the volte face of decimals,
The whirligig of dozens and the pinnacle of seven.
Turn him on his back,
The kicking little beetle,
And there again, on his shell-tender, earth-touching belly,
The long cleavage of division, upright of the eternal cross
And on either side count five,
On each side, two above, on each side, two below
The dark bar horizontal.
The Cross!
It goes right through him, the sprottling insect,
Through his cross-wise cloven psyche,
Through his five-fold complex-nature.
So turn him over on his toes again;
Four pin-point toes, and a problematical thumb-piece,
Four rowing limbs, and one wedge-balancing head,
Four and one makes five, which is the clue to all mathematics.
The Lord wrote it all down on the little slate
Of the baby tortoise.
Outward and visible indication of the plan within,
The complex, manifold involvedness of an individual creature
Plotted out
On this small bird, this rudiment,
This little dome, this pediment
Of all creation,
This slow one.
11.7k
He arrived,
late,
punctuality never his strong point,
the vernix covered head,
an indication of tardiness,
three days late,
kept us all waiting,
never late now,
those pangs of hunger,
they hit the house in decibels,
shaking the house to it's foundations.
feed him,
he settles,
sleep,
few hours more rested peace,
he is really very good,
only cries,
when he wants food!
(C) Livvi
May 24, 2014
May 24, 2014 at 7:24 AM UTC
On the bed besides me it was cold last night,
I dreamt of waking with you,
A dream that felt so right,
The loneliness inside with the darkness grew,
The loneliness without you that I now come to fear,
Wish you were here...
The solitary walks on the beach,
The ghosts if your footsteps besides me haunt my imagination,
The warmth of the sunset beyond my reach,
For you I die every moment, my aching heart the indication,
Please don't let this end in a tear,
Wish you were here
Nov 12, 2012
Nov 12, 2012 at 8:15 PM UTC
Tobacco smoke wafts through the air,
The only indication that you once sat there.
Of death and decay it does so smell,
This smell it makes me think of hell.
They say the odds are one in two,
I am really hoping the odds favor you.
But alas I know so many that roll these dice on their life,
And how, good friend, are you all supposed to be spared this strife?
Jul 5, 2014
Jul 5, 2014 at 10:11 PM UTC
And how sweet a story it is
When you hear Charley Parker
tell it,
Either on records or at sessions,
Or at offical bits in clubs,
Shots in the arm for the wallet,
Gleefully he Whistled the
perfect
horn
Anyhow, made no difference.
Charley Parker, forgive me-
Forgive me for not answering your eyes-
For not having made in indication
Of that which you can devise-
Charley Parker, pray for me-
Pray for me and everybody
In the Nirvanas of your brain
Where you hide, indulgent and huge,
No longer Charley Parker
But the secret unsayable name
That carries with it merit
Not to be measured from here
To up, down, east, or west-
-Charley Parker, lay the bane,
off me, and every body
5.4k
You say **** this" when about to quit, and **** it" when frustrated. You say **** you" whether joke or vile and **** me" when penetrated.
You put your middle finger up as a clear indication. An indication that shows via signals your current irritation.
You say **** off" meaning go away and **** yourself" means to make this clearer. ****** means persn and **** partner" a non-serious lover.
Well I say **** life, **** death, **** puerty, **** **** **** all the things that try to force me to change myself.
**** love, **** hate, **** destiny, **** fate. these things are just emtional, a way of god giving you a slap in the face.
**** dads, **** moms, **** terrorists, **** bombs. Such elements are born to teach and keep straight, yet some cause hate.
**** for pleasure, **** pain, **** loss, hell, **** gain. And from that moment, you'll fing out all the things cleared from your brain.
No, we don't hate these things, we just sometimes don't find pleasure. You'd have a ****** up" relationship when you refuse to be together.
All these things were easy to say, digging for words sometimes'll get you stuck. Which is why I believe there's no better created word than a summary word like ****
Jul 17, 2015
Jul 17, 2015 at 9:31 PM UTC
I read your body like a language
one I spoke so fluently
it could have been my native one.
Your eyes held codes I longed to decipher
and your mouth patterns
I wanted to trace.
I saw your skin like it was a map drawn just for me
every mole an indication
of where my lips were to travel next.
But you were still growing and soon you were out of my reach,
a new map replaced the old
and a new lover was found to match.
Sep 29, 2014
Sep 29, 2014 at 2:10 PM UTC
ECG
They showed the broken rhythm of my heart
With inky ripples traced in peaks and troughs
The night when sudden life was torn apart
Left echoes like a dry persistant cough
This paper trail more signature of self
Than any scribbled scrawl of given names
More indication of my vital health
Than any poet’s talk of light or flames
My quick survival charted there as fact.
“And here, you see a murmured aftershock”
The remnant spider scribe of heart attack
My ailing pulse, my brittle ticking tock
Once took a moment’s beat to catch its breath
And left me reeling at the edge of death.
Jun 27, 2014
Jun 27, 2014 at 3:07 AM UTC
Breathing in your smoke is like heaven to me,
Clearing out my lungs of such anxiety.
Your crutch and your dependence,
An endearing call of resplendence,
I think I loved you.
You make me nervous.
To the point where my brain stops,
And my mouth keeps running
Without any indication of where
the finish line is.
Where I begin to speak too fast and too quick
To know what I’ve said, and quite possibly
For you to even follow each word that
Pours out.
Yet Your heart was longing for another,
You and I were not meant to be lovers,
And We were not made for each other.
Oh, how sad times swept away the positive possibilities and the “what if?” worries,
I thought I could only hate the month of August,
It seems I now despise of July.
Stress melted away within my tears as I wept,
Sadness left the residue of itself on my pillow where I slept.
The sun bleeding through my curtains closed,
And yet my room turns an ill ridden shade of yellow.
I thought the outcome would leave me with a feeling of euphoria
Instead I look to my mirrored self, reflecting a state of body dysmorphia
I do not like the way that I look,
Comparing myself to her and your feelings I mistook.
Straighter teeth and an older complexion,
While I hide away, she only craves the attention.
You only knew her for a day and you still went away,
With her on holiday to a place so far, I can’t stay
In this state of mind any longer.
Seeing her be the lighter to your cigarette;
The founding letters to the jumbled spaces in your alphabet.
I see I am only the ash that falls to the ground,
I am not within those letters which you finally found.
Sep 13, 2018
Sep 13, 2018 at 6:25 AM UTC
All I can think to do at the table
is stare at the bright orange Reeses'
cups package and the Payday
bars illuminated by light
from the vending machine. I sit,
wondering whether they drip
inside their package. My arm drips
to my pocket. I bring money to the table,
ready to decide just what is it
that I want to buy. I prefer Reeses',
but it's been long since I've tasted the light
caramel and crunchy peanut of a Payday.
This decision would be easy if I had a Payday.
As it stands, my money is dripping.
If it's any indication of how light
my wallet is, I can barely bring one back to the table.
It's a tough decision. I've been craving Reeses'
for weeks. I haven't decided, but this is it.
I walk up to the machine. I'm done sitting,
It's a question of this or that. Payday?
Heads. I reach in my pocket. Tails, Reeses'.
I manage the quarter out. How could I know I'd rip
a dollar in the process? Back to the table
for damage control. The tear was light
enough not to be serious, just a slight
rip. It's easier to flip a coin while you sit
anyway. I toss it in the air and it lands on the table.
Heads. I smiled, my decision was made. Payday.
I walk back to the machine and drop
coins in, not making eye contact with the Reeses'.
As I get up, I feel terrible. I've betrayed the Reeses'
cups I've enjoyed since I was a child, the delight
that kept me going when there wasn't a drip
of tea left. I think I'll go downstairs to sit
and eat my new sugary master, the Payday.
This time I pass by, not return to, the table.
I look back, past the table, at the orange Reeses'
packages, then glance at my Payday. It's light,
I won't have to sit to eat it. Ashamed, my eyes drip.
Feb 7, 2010
Feb 7, 2010 at 7:39 PM UTC
This is not a poem
I am not a poet
Inspiration caught me
I am now on fire
Selfless indication
Word wasting alliteration
Help me rhyme
I'm such a wannabe
Give me
A metaphor as stupid as a simili
I am trying to write a poem
But this is not working
I know no inspiration
Can't make it rhyme
I'm pretending I'm a poet
But I am wasting your time
Apr 3, 2015
Apr 3, 2015 at 4:50 AM UTC
The search within is one’s ability
But from the story will be from the greatness letters
In order to be great, one must bring in the goodness
Greatness requires responsibility
Yet, this comes being the one’s reality
Later follows excellence
But added with essence
However, greatness established assurance
Greatness in the teaching
Also nurturing in the seeking
Having the characteristics to excel
But don’t dwell in Oh Well
Once greatness is administered, you are now a success
But it is acknowledging sustaining with a confess
Then finally, the end result reaching satisfaction
But there were nine functions in greatness that required action
I had stated adding to the indication
But it was all part of persuasion
So you are looking to be great but show the greatness of you
Examine all the words I established and carefully go through
The greatness is waiting for you to open
Are you confident, feel your ability and assured?
Now it is up to you to make it happen, but following your own accord.
Mar 12, 2018
Mar 12, 2018 at 10:44 AM UTC
Often, when I’ve escaped the strain,
The weight, the freight, burdening encumbrance
Of human society, community unleashed,
Profound distress, and a bit on the side—
I’ll contemplate
Of their judgements unknown,
Their penetrating, presumptuous eyes—
They tell me they love me, reputation irrelevant,
Trespasses, failures, habits—all disregarded,
And still I laze in my quaking of
Sleeplessness from apprehension
Pondering their thoughts obscured by their words
Heavens, a shrieking invasion!
Please don’t take that as the slightest indication
That I’m in any case a half-benevolent essence of them all
My ruminations drenched with a display of myself, my actions, my appearance
That’s proof enough that I can’t occupy a moment without me as the focal point
How can anyone be so vain
Low self-esteem shall consume my life, my breath,
And all of those thoughts,
So soon to drain...
Jul 6, 2014
Jul 6, 2014 at 7:38 PM UTC
my tongue tastes like cheap girls
and my mother’s disapproval
if I had any indication of a mind
it would be primed for removal
what a mess I’ve made of myself
and an even grander one of she
she really should have known better
I can’t even bring myself to love me
I’m vicious, and malicious
with venom in my kisses
I’m lonely and I’m listless
always your favorite sickness
seduction like it was seditious
amiable, and worse yet ambitious
sights and sickness set on you
I’m the monster inside your bed
like something similar to a siren
my songs stained inside your head
if love is truly a great battle field
no holds barred war will be waged
I will destroy and devour all in sight
no one will be saved, I am a lion caged
I’m vicious, and malicious
with venom in my kisses
I’m lonely and I’m listless
always your favorite sickness
seduction like it was seditious
amiable, and worse yet ambitious
Sep 13, 2010
Sep 13, 2010 at 9:00 PM UTC
Cliché ***** and revolutionary retards.
We cannot use an image of a stone heart in every poem.
Nor compare every woman to a summer's eve.
But neither can I stand an emoticon in place of vocabulary.
A hash tag description should not be the only ******* indication as to what the poet was feeling in the poem's creation.
Poets will not start out strong.
But they should stick to what they've been taught.
Express progress in ideas
Not in virtual images.
May 10, 2014
May 10, 2014 at 6:01 PM UTC
Imagine a map, it’s a map of the world, a giant map, placed on the wall.
There are lights on the map, some of them blue, some of them white,
some of them glistening more, some of them flickering faintly.
Each light represents a soul.
Your light is on the map and I don’t know if it’s blue, white,
if it’s shining or if it’s hiding, if it’s bruised or healing.
(If it’s healing, it’s purple.)
Then something horrible happens; a villain steals the lights.
Not the souls,
just the lights.
Blue, white,
purple.
No indication of them on the map.
The map’s plain now. That’s not nice, is it?
A plain map. A plain map that didn’t use to be plain.
A plain map that used to special!
The villain returns the lights. He isn’t a villain anymore and
once the lights are placed on the map again, they shine like nothing
happened.
The villain didn’t break them.
But the map doesn’t want them now. I don’t need the lights.
The villain who isn’t a villain anymore leaves.
The map tries to shake them off but the lights don’t badge. *Please,
get them off me*, the map says. *Please,
I don’t need the lights.*
Nobody hears the map.
Nobody will ever hear the map.
The map proceeds to tear itself apart, the small voice not loud enough
to make its presence known:
I’ll try to get off you, I swear!
May 9, 2014
May 9, 2014 at 2:42 PM UTC
Your lips never looked so beautiful,
Until moments truths exited with a twist,
When corners smirked,
Smiles exited,
and your voice flowed free.
Every indication that I could believe you,
I hated how I craved honesty,
Until I understood,
I hate the way you lie,
But I could never hate you.
Sep 25, 2015
Sep 25, 2015 at 3:09 AM UTC
Full of acceleration
Peculiar being the indication
A force of an electrical charge
The formation of changeable skies
Electricity as it soars through the air
But word of caution in beware
Electricity that excites
The skies in not wanting to be polite
The thunderstorm that had arrived
The skies parting ways in strive
The Heaven’s electrical message
It’s the Heaven’s that watch
If your soul’s not right, it is the electrical charge of catch
The skies of electrical approach
In God’s terms this is no joke
The hands of Heaven’s electrical skies
It’s the wonder’s that continues to make us wise.
Jun 28, 2014
Jun 28, 2014 at 5:10 PM UTC
Slow sips of cyanide, to complete my sweet suicide.
Adamant about absolution,
My mind has masterminded a revolution.
Addicted to anarchy and aggression,
Nobodies kept voted for nomination.
Tasty tar-treats, flavored of TNT,
Humor my hallucinations of this God-forsaken nation.
Abandoned, alone and arrested,
I give up on this Vindication
Aug 30, 2013
Aug 30, 2013 at 8:55 AM UTC
When the congregation and Pastor can get along
A feeling of true faith in knowing where you belong
The ministry must be just right
The congregation must have respect in knowing how to be polite
Privacy on every accord
All focus should be on our Lord
This means all gossip must be taken out
Plenty of praise is what faith is all about
Being truthful to the Lord
The Holy Scripture is have you heard
These are the qualities that make a good church
Then you won’t have to find a new worship search
Yet there is no such thing as the perfect church
It’s deep down in the soul from within
Then the feeling of the Holy Spirit throughout on the end
The church is simply a building where one can worship
A meeting place among saints
Praying on high in telling God your troubles as complaints
The church being a worthy place
God’s word you can’t erase
What truly makes a good church is the congregation
The Pastor being the important factor being the indication
Both have to come together to know
Then the true salvation that will show
Good church with a praising ongoing spirit
In God’s eyes a Heavenly bound merit.
Jan 4, 2015
Jan 4, 2015 at 3:21 PM UTC
Now some folks will draw their conclusion
But this is no illusion
Yet as I write let there be no confusion
The Robotics revelation has arrived
Whether you like it or not, you must take in as your strive
Technology of tomorrow with the future being today
It’s acceleration in every way
Robotics having the right efficiency
Humans will definitely be replaced
Human functions will be totally erased
It was talked about for years in the coming of Robotics
However, there was no belief that Robotics would come to reality
Human’s couldn’t prepare nor compare in being competition
It is just plan indication
I remember working at CITIGROUP, it was a Robot that delivered the mail desk to desk
The fact is, Robotics accomplish more and not have to settle for less
Now that is a testimony in confess
So I got my exposure into Robotics in the 80’s being the coming of tomorrow’s trend
Could this be the Human’s living end?
Perhaps
But Robotics has already begun
However, the question does come up, will Human’s still be among?
It’s not a Twilight Zone Door
It’s tomorrow’s Robotics illustrating a definite sure
Can anybody Human compete?
But for now one must simply retreat
Robotics shall be here to stay
I know a question mark over someone’s head thinking not ok
Though it is Technology of Electronics being a motion that seemed like a dream
It is not a myth but a fact
Robotics being your learning too late
You will have to now relate
Robotics will become the new leaders
They will be large and in charge
Human problems Robotics will solve
Conditions well again Robotics will resolve
You just got a lesson of Robotics 101
How you will stack up, but have you been out done?
Jan 24, 2018
Jan 24, 2018 at 4:57 AM UTC
Pringles with presentation in flavor
The chip itself is something to sliver
One bite and you know the taste is fresh
We look and you know you need to buy
All it takes is one try
The crispness being at its best
Other potato chip competitors in their contest
Lays with no one can just one
Wise got you in their eye
Utz we got you covered
But neither one can explain why
The Pringles P being perfection
The consumer being the indication
You will agree yourself
There is no comparison with anybody else
The goodness with the man with the beard
Pringles with how your taste will preserver
It’s the crunch on yes and the flavor that says it best.
Jul 17, 2015
Jul 17, 2015 at 5:25 AM UTC