"indicative" poems
When did things change so much?
When did I get so encapsulated
Into the world of technology?
When did I stop listening
To myself and my own thoughts
And instead add another view
To some article or YouTube video
Just to reach some spoon-fed "opinion"?
When did we stop engaging
In life and with ourselves?
When did playing video games turn to
Watching other people play them online
Numbing our brains to the world
And "filling" our social needs digitally?
When did watching television turn into
Binge-watching an entire series in one sitting?
With this much constant stimulation
It's no wonder we're bored so easily
And that no one goes outside anymore
And that I don't feel alive anymore
Because one of the first things I do
When I get home from work or the gym
Is turn on the smart tv so it can warm up
Because the apps on it take time to load
And I already know that my free time
Will be spent in front of that screen
Lately I've been nervous about
Eventually moving in with new people
Primarily because I spend a lot of my time
Passively using the television
I was concerned with how we'd balance our usage
Instead of considering changing the way I spend my time
When did I start placing my use of technology
Above my own self-care?
When I spend hours watching YouTube
But still forget to take a shower sometimes
And I truly wonder if my recent urges
To leave the state to work on a farm for a month
Are more indicative of some deep desire
To unplug and reset my energy and priorities
Than my interest in agriculture or
Learning to live off of the land
When did I start to feel the need
To take such drastic measures
To change something so simple
Something I could choose to disengage with
At the simple touch of a button?
Feb 27, 2019
Feb 27, 2019 at 10:51 PM UTC
Many of the most profound pieces of poetry
May not have been dreamed and transferred
In particular manners professional,
And many of the most practiced writers
May not have been as noble nor indicative
As their readers would imagine and preach.
This concern thus produces a humorous conclusion
That through probability, possibility, and realism,
Many of the greatest and most inspiring words
Passed down to our misguided generation,
May have been conceived, scribbled, and explored
From the humble origins of atop a toilet.
Apr 6, 2016
Apr 6, 2016 at 11:39 PM UTC
1. Fallow brown, like he's poured his whole soul out through the gold sieve and lies in wait to be replenished.
2. The color of the ocean. Blue, I guess, but that’s not even the half of it. All the ruggedness of the waves—forming up, breaking, and forming again like life is only the motions. Her eyes are blue, but you could hardly tell.
3. A hand-painted bowl of fresh chocolate frosting from which the most immature hands soonest get a mouthful.
4. Beautiful. Like, drop dead gorgeous. I’d dig my own grave and stick to rolling in it if she ever looked at me some type of way. Their color? I don’t know. But most of all, I dare to wonder about the bludgeoned scar between them.
5. Sturdy cobalt. Far more indicative of her steady heart than gold could ever hope to be. Still susceptible to tear, but not so easily warped by heat or stress.
6. Simply brown. No, red? It’s always been hard to tell through the fog. Truthful like the rawest earth, I’ll call her mahogany.
7. Faded blue spray paint over a slate gray wall. Forcibly muted after her years of blasting music, but there’s still that rogue twinkle to them that I pray slips through the cracks.
8. Coffee, with all the vim and vigor to make you click your heels and fall in love.
9. Unripe lime seen lazing in the shade. Not fit for a margarita just yet, but straining at the bit nonetheless.
10. Hazel, although I still don’t know what the **** that actually is. Whatever. It looks nice on her resume.
11. Green. Or were they blue? The memories of her were too wonderful, too important, that I had to let the littlest details fade away first.
12. The crystallized seafoam that made me realize I deserved to feel alive, too.
Jun 24, 2018
Jun 24, 2018 at 3:09 AM UTC
Selfishness is the most indicative sign of immaturity.
Like the way my little sister
couldn't be bothered
to regularly take our dog for walks
because it mattered only how much it inconvenienced her.
When your own feelings hold the up most importance
and everyone else is placed on this planet to play a role in your existence
kids are selfish
some adults are immature
Growing up has little to do with aging
rather, realizing that every living creature holds value;
Leaving the bulk of your ego behind.
May 12, 2014
May 12, 2014 at 9:31 AM UTC
The literati are moaning
about the crowning
of a comical smiley-face
with tears of joy
springing from its eyes
as Oxford Dictionaries 2015
"Word of the Year"
it's historic
indicative of a generation
raised on media shorthand
though some people think
the distillation of thought
to acronyms, symbols, emoji
is a bad thing too
but in these icons
heavy black heart
face throwing a kiss
reversed hand with middle finger extended
even the simple : )
I see emotion
stripped bare
the whole gorgeous
heart-rending, horrible
hateful range of it
illustrating the dark
and light
of who we are
as a human race
So I say hail and welcome
to the "tears of joy" emoji
may his vivid counterpoint
shine around the world
eclipsing all the words
we've learned this year
for hate.
Dec 29, 2015
Dec 29, 2015 at 11:29 AM UTC
2 years, 5 months, 19 days.
That's the last time a man
Looked me in my eyes
And told me
He loved me.
Nearly one thousand days have passed
Since someone looked at me
Like I was his whole world.
And now I'm at the point
Where I wonder if I'll be alone
Forever,
Not like the cliches,
The woman who chooses a career over a family,
Or the crazed lady who clings to her cats...
No, just a girl
Growing into a young woman
Who doesn't even remember
What it feels like to have someone
Love her.
Not sure if I've really ever even been loved,
At least not like it happens in the movies.
I've continued to pine hard,
Chasing the affection of conflicted souls
Who never bother to appreciate me,
Those cliched types who are
"Too damaged" to really love someone.
Sometimes I wonder
If I'm gonna be able to accept love
If I finally find it,
My fragmented soul having grown
An allergy to kind gestures,
Compliments,
Or anything that actually might be deemed
Indicative of affection.
Slowly sinking down to the baseboards,
Rotted and gnarled roots
Clinging deep to the underground,
My body dissolved into an anterior realm of
Cynicism
As I grasp the realities of my own
Unrequited love,
My yearning to demand more,
Tied up and twisted with my
Fear to stop settling
And actually obtain
"better."
2 years, 5 months, 19 days.
I'm just hoping it doesn't take me
As long
To look at the
Golden brown eyes that I
See in the mirror and tell me
I love me
Enough to not care who
Else might.
Dec 5, 2014
Dec 5, 2014 at 12:58 AM UTC
LOVE? Connotative of so many different things, one conjures up vastly intricate definitions of the word. To what extent their truth reaches is indicative of their author’s own relationships, childhood, future and past. To be asked what love truly is, is to allow another to peer inside of your soul, to reach the depth and breadth of your entity and to relinquish your fears and dreams to them, simultaneously. Asked today for my opinion, I deferred my response, realizing I myself hadn’t considered a solid definition. Seemingly such a simple concept; really a foundational core, underpinning our self worth, self adoration and self identity.
Love is unique, to everyone. It can be explained through the use of analogies. Stereotypes. In some ways, our ‘idealistic love’ is a window for our selfish, impeded selves to climb out of. We expect our lover to propel us into some sort of surreal, unchallenged fairy-tale romance, irregardless of the modern day reality we’re living out. We expect worlds to stop, planets to align and stars to shower upon us in some picturesque dream come true. However, referring to love in stereotypes can be impersonal and superficial. I find love can be best defined by a persons own experiences, dreams, fears and desires.
A lover can help realize and form these definitions.
To me, love is resting my head between the curve of his shoulder and my sheets. Love is watching a summer storm roll in together, dry and safe. Love is observation; of passion, of fear and of delight. Love is acceptance. There’s nothing more beautiful than knowing and being known. Nothing more beautiful than opening yourself up to someone, being with them in complete serenity, complete coexistence and honesty.
Rolling over and looking into their eyes, and silently whispering, “I love you.”
That to me is love.
- c.m
Aug 13, 2013
Aug 13, 2013 at 12:52 PM UTC
I, the optimist,
am hopelessly in love
with thinking that the past
is not indicative of the
future
I, the optimist,
cannot dream of a future
where I am no more
and my children are no more
and we,
as a species,
are no
more
I, the optimist,
look into the future
and past grimly
but even as the grime
grows thicker over
the things already
happened
and even more so
over the things yet to
come
and
I, the optimist,
do not doubt that they
will work out for the best
in the very, very
end
Mar 28, 2011
Mar 28, 2011 at 3:02 PM UTC
She met him in high school
there was a motorcycle
her pink shirt
Thirty
some-odd years
He has a divorce and a half
She has a tumor and a laugh
indicative of decline.
Three kids on the line
What's the price of a tickle to his parts?
Five hearts.
Jan 31, 2013
Jan 31, 2013 at 10:07 AM UTC
They stopped making Pennies out of Copper here in the US back in 1982 because it was literally too expensive per Penny to mint them; now they're Zinc with a very thin copper plating.
Pennies made between 1909 and 1982 weigh in at 3.1g: 95% Copper; worth 2.5 Cents.
Pennies made after 1982 weigh in at 2.5g: 97.5% Zinc, 2.5% Copper; worth .45 Cents.
They started to lose Money on the minting of Pennies;
I feel that this is indicative of a deeper-rooted problem
than can be fixed by switching the composition of a Coin.
Pennies now are worth about a fifth of what they were just over Thirty years ago;
Yet they still represent the same integer of Currency.
The American Dollar has seen better days
The American Dollar seems on it's last legs.
Back in the day, money was fixed to mineral values,
but it seems now that Money is in the Eye of the Beholder, rather than the Hand of the Holder.
Jun 26, 2013
Jun 26, 2013 at 11:13 PM UTC
Sapiosexuals^
she quoted Shakespeare most appropriately when needed,
her fevered fervor scientific was the non-fossil fueled engine that STEMed her quantum analytics of NFL football,
as an intellectual amuse bouche, that was uncannily correct,
on FIFa she passed it was just too corrupt, but Wimbledon was”fun”
we all bet her predictions for her error rate was insignificant
she claimed her knowledge of a cure for Alzheimer’s was done,
but bio-pharma suppressed, and a single pill existed taken once, could cease and desist the brain for craving ******* but the politics were too complicated and really boring to explain
instead she preferred to wile the hours hanging with
lesser poets, to see if taking them at their word
was an accurate indicative of their professed prowess in bed
but when she sampled my wares regularly,
I called her study statistically biased,
to which she replied,
“ain’t you the lucky one,
that my standards are lowly rigorous,
and you possess a mighty cute bi-assymetry“
in Croatian or Mandarin (unsure)
smart lassie indeed
Jul 22, 2018
Jul 22, 2018 at 2:04 PM UTC
This story contains a hidden message. There is a purpose for the message, so try to figure it out. It's nothing stupid, I promise. The key is fairly obvious. If you can figure it out, send the message back to me and I'll tell you what to do with it next. If you need extra clues, just ask.
Here it is:
The sign said to beware, but Julie didn't listen. The girl stood before ancient symbols, of which she recognized three. “How beautiful! They're, they...are just magnificent! Look at the detail, so exquisite, nearly divine themselves!” They were only Five small pieces of rock. “Is that Isis? Where is the legendary ***** of her man, Osiris?” Oh, the naivety of youth! She admired the woman for a moment, until six tiny shadows fell across the caves entrance. A strange number of shadows, indeed. Indicative of the beast, destroyer of enlightenment, killer of divinity; the seven, it's immortal enemy. Obviously, the unholiest of all the number realm.
Julie, in awe of all she saw, absolute nirvana enveloping her being, didn't know of the danger that these Omens presented. The six things, growing, began to move and slither towards poor Julie. You would never want to know what these things are.
Love entered Julie's mind. Unaware humanity had deserted her, Julie is. Her last moment was love.
Mar 28, 2012
Mar 28, 2012 at 9:40 PM UTC
One must believe in something be he misanthrope or gambler
In tomorrows omnicience or the future proof of God
The penance in a drunk's decay sets self destruct's imposer
Wether speakerphone's on disconnect or cellphone's in the bog.
Conveyance of a threat to adherants of St Selfwise
Show athiest's are proof here, in belief of disbelief,
Haunted by the images painting painfull retribution
Picture sympathetic **** star's allocated hand relief.
A moments allocation of a syllogist abstraction
Shows perspective of the calibre we now reserve for Saints
A paradox regarded as autistic fascination
In a one act play of living disregarding all restraints.
Deliberately indicative of fraternal heat's expression
Notebook at the ready and deep frowning at the brow,
Question definition's collage of confusion's contribution
Do we sit it out pretending or just catch the late bus now?
Marshalg
13 February 2014
© 2014 Marshal Gebbie
Feb 12, 2014
Feb 12, 2014 at 8:53 PM UTC
We should never envy the happiness of others just as we would not want them to view us in
the same vein. How is happiness quantified? Who knows the extent of other people's happiness? How do we know whether they are really happy? Are we conjecturing?
Leave others alone. It's totally futile to make any comparison between our state of happiness with that of others.
Let us learn to be content with our happiness however tiny that is. Aren't we lucky not to be living in pain or sorrow? To wish to have our happiness augmented is indicative of our discontent. A true malaise that would be.
No one can be totally happy neither can we have the same degree of happiness all the time. Our happiness has its ebb and flow and this duality we should always remember.
Happy people also have unhappy days just as unhappy people might have some happy days. Life viewed from this perspective is an alloy of happiness and sorrow.
With that in mind, we can assuredly say that happiness and unhappiness are not mutually exclusive.
If we can understand and accept that life is never perfect, that our happiness is only a contingency as all other aspects of our life are , we would have done away with that which unsettles us and would be a step closer to achieving contentment and tranquillity in our individual life.
Oct 3, 2017
Oct 3, 2017 at 9:12 AM UTC
Rattan letter rack stuffed
with hundreds of coupons
like requests to the Gods
sits under shrine
called the spice rack.
Little bottles
as dusty on outside
as within,
have no aroma left.
This temple's kitchen counter
top is mustard asterisks on
ivory laminate, so reminiscent
of ancient wonder.
These late '60's early '70's
design elements, lacquered
over with grease of yesterday's
din-dins, are only indicative
of where the resident wished
to be.
Now, even India, has lost
authentic texture, alluring space
and line, in these Internet times.
Though he can still smell cardamom,
nutmeg, and cinnamon waft from
Southeast. It is stuck in his mind.
Yet, since time of his dearly
departed's passing, no sandalwood
has been burned and he only
eats corn flakes.
America has changed him so.
Mar 25, 2016
Mar 25, 2016 at 7:38 PM UTC
Collaboration's implicit excitations explicate expectations
Unity's myriad augurs geomancy's indications
Demagoguery's ostensibly intuitive impetus coordinations
Extravagantly exorbitant panaceas appreciate exaggerations
Prolifically profuse profundity's autonomous gestations
Empirically emulate epistemology's exogamous creations
Intrigue's imperative promulgation's quantum fecundations
Fealty's ephemeral enunciation's explicit complications
Hypercritically exponential prophylaxis protocol's interpretations
Sacrosanct unary's preternatural predilection's extrications
Eventuation's evocative illuminism avant garde's ostentations
Corrupt costume counselor's indicative explications
Assimilation's synthetic synthesis' ascensional implications
Ominous phenomenon portrayal detinue's integrations
Umbrage ultraism's penumbral platitude's objectifications
Futurity's spontaneous flamboyance's apotropaic expiations
Nov 30, 2018
Nov 30, 2018 at 7:53 PM UTC
On the riveting tiger skin,
intricate tantric motifs
nature has deftly sewn,
indicative of the mystery
of communion predicted
by the stars, the fish in
intergalactic oceans
that dream beyond time,
her lush, **** body spreads
in anticipation of the union
foretold,in palm leaf scrolls of yore
the ancients wrote, as revealed to them,
defying all human logic.
Shiva, merges with Shakthi
Lingam, the ******* plough of creation
seeks Yoni, the fertile awakened
feminine soil that awaits sowing.
The churning of the milky sea begins
in excited, repitative, motions
till nectar secretes, bringing sublimation.
Then begins transformation,
she becomes the devine lust
of the universe, the receiver of pollen,
to create, proliferate, sustain and spread,
the circle of mystery widens every moment.
The tiger skin on which she lies
before him assumes its grand version now,
it's the sky, without a beginning or end,
she now is the drawing of the universe
reduced to the symbolism of female body,
a pure white piece of cloud, taken by wild wind
above hills, dales, that in course of circumnavigation
gets pregnant, then, rains in torrents over the earth.
the union, an energy in waves, spreads
creating fertile imagination, in all beings
earth in green pulsates, with the universe,
the rhapsody resulted is in all colors.
Jun 17, 2015
Jun 17, 2015 at 8:19 AM UTC
The world hangs on a thin thread,
the psyche of the mind.
And lets be honest,
we know nothing of it.
The way in which a person behaves,
is indicative of an archetype,
a way of presenting oneself.
But what if that self is so sensitive to rejection,
it rejects itself consciously,
with such fearlessness it assumes a fluid
transformation of self.
Patterns of energy from which everything is drawn,
from which everything is made.
It acts as others would like it to appear
as it has seen their hidden fantasies in and of another,
all because it does not believe it is who it appears to be,
all because it feels who it appears to be.
Jul 16, 2014
Jul 16, 2014 at 2:56 PM UTC
He stands
A silhouette against a lifeless flat expanse
His flaccid tallow-yellow hands clasped awkwardly across the rails
The skin is white beneath his nails
The fear beginning to ferment
His shallow-knuckled grip indicative of lunatic intent
Intent to finally insuate his end into the books
To compensate for all the awkward silence and dead looks
Insinuate himself amongst indifferent carbon molecules
His skin and sinew separate from all the inconsistencies
Immortalised in asphalt now
A martyr on the asphalt now
Away from death and listing eyes.
Jul 2, 2012
Jul 2, 2012 at 12:02 PM UTC
I tried to be a girl today
Painted my nails red and blue so I’d stop biting them
Tried to be pretty
With unbrushed hair and acne and calloused fingers
The nailpolish chipped off and I peeled it away
My hands wrecking the paint in place, colors end up beyond the lines of my hand, its everywhere, its ugly, Its suffocating, I take it off.
I want to say its a metaphor,
Something about how I cant cover up what I am with pretty colors and shiny surfaces.
It’s got to be indicative of future and past behavior about how I mess up preconceived ideas or something about how I break the molds that others try to put me in,
It happens every time.
It smudges, curve of fingers, grooves imprinting the paint with traces that I am there
Breaking the construct of beauty
I feel I cant say its anything more than smudged paint, despite how true the metaphors would be
Nothing more honest than the disfigured coverup and what lies beneath
I tried to be human today
Felt alien in my own skin
Wounded as I fought the judgement of a species I dont feel I belong to.
According to my mother I am an enemy of God for finding a temporary yet more beautiful love with her than I’ve found with a man.
I tried to be who you wanted, it never worked then, dont expect it to work now.
The mold that was casted does not, has not ever fit me.
I’d apologize for failing your expecations but theres no apologizing for finding solace amidst the storm.
Apr 29, 2014
Apr 29, 2014 at 8:22 AM UTC
.*oh i've seen the face of horror, on the face of strangers i've encountered in the middle of the night, governing the scenario with a puritanical good will... no... the look on their faces is hardly bemused... people face the mask they're about to wear, that of παρηγοριά (Parigoria - **** along with Skia... that's two demigods in one afternoon's worth of sitting), unorthodox parrot demigods, **** no, i've seen their faces, when i volunteered to steer a van through a speed barrier, just up the road... whoever jumped out of the car to counter my initial claim: to help... photographic memory... he looked like he was about to **** himself... i've seen the face of fear, but not an indicative fear, of per se... more... a confused, fear... the huh? approach... i never thought in a million years that goodness, selflessness could be so terrorizing; guess there's always a place and time, to be proven wrong.*
and when the ape became
man, where did it look?
it domesticated tigers,
shrunk them into cats...
and figured:
**** it... let's have a mentality
of a lion...
after all...
the females of the species
do all the hunting,
the males are nothing more
than a ***** bank...
whenever useful...
although:
i'm pretty sure...
that the construction
industry will not be infiltrated,
quiet as much,
or not at all,
as the army has been...
**** what a sexist
environment... no women
carrying bricks,
or buckets of hot roofing tar...
WE SHOULD DO
SOMETHING ABOUT IT!
sense the ridicule?
i hope you do...
because i'm far from,
giving into the giggles.
Oct 10, 2018
Oct 10, 2018 at 7:55 AM UTC
What is the greatest gift of all?
You can think of a lot of things
A house, a car, a mobile phone
Money, power, fame
Food, drinks, sweets
And I can go on and on
However, as you all know
All these are indicative
Of a materialistic state of mind
In my opinion, the greatest gift
That a human being can receive
Is none other than empathy
There is nothing quite as impactful
As putting yourself in the shoes of others
To show love, you need to show empathy
Imagine the struggles your loved ones go through
Every single day
In order to be successful
When a friend tells you her problems
Listen, not simply to provide solutions
But to understand her perspective
And it doesn't apply only to family and friends
It can apply to anyone
For instance, if you are a counsellor
You need to put yourself in your patient's shoes
And understand why he reacts the way he does
So that you can advise him suitably
If you are a doctor
You need to think the way your patient does
So that you can reassure her
Therefore, it is very important to be empathetic
Because you will then be doing your bit
To make the world a better place to live
Of course, it will not happen overnight
But slowly and steadily
The impact can be felt
However, not everyone is blessed with empathy
There are so many of us
Who think of only themselves
It may help them in the short term
However, they will not be able to find happiness
In the long run
What's the use of wealth or power
If you are not surrounded by people
Who will stick around
Even when the going gets tough?
Hence, as I've said before
The greatest gift
That a human being can receive
Is empathy
Full stop
Sep 19, 2022
Sep 19, 2022 at 1:24 PM UTC
Jealousy, a final decree.
Admittedly a fallacy submitted formidably... impervious?
She'll move onto sea.
Move on from those who can't see.
They'll show us what it means to see.
Presently a mistaken alignment of aliment, yet so indicative of the deceptive.
An intervention of emancipation requires degradation of the love that relegates, brainless.
Vindictive of the culture, fault, to penance, too addicted.
Somehow she heads an isle of the vile whom are consumed by denial.
Normality brushed aside with the hand whom highlights brushed, melting eyes.
Life, an achievable yet inconceivable lie shrouded by personality.
Subjective to the respective hospitality.
"Aint no love for thee..."
Dec 11, 2018
Dec 11, 2018 at 2:25 PM UTC
Signals are indicative of current warnings, just like a beacon of light which penetrates the abyss of parliamentary speeches which are designed to evoke contemptuous laughter.
Such animated gestures are not dissimilar to crumbled biscuits which are catapulted before throngs of anticipatory populations.
However, there are varying degrees of rectitude, where the graded fraternity assume grandiosity as they lodge in the fabric of society with loyal deception.
Lurking in the esoteric shadows with the adorned regalia of blatancy and defamed characters - our captors are hidden in plain sight with political sanction.
Gestures are a form of non-verbal communication, where specific messages are planted in anthropological soils with intended purpose.
Jul 29, 2014
Jul 29, 2014 at 11:19 PM UTC