"indicator" poems
The constellation that speaks my name is the opening line of the zodiac.
I am an Egyptian golden ram, and in ancient Egypt, Aries was the indicator of the reborn sun; I’m a never-ending fresh beginning of a mass of fire.
I am a self destructive flame, constantly setting myself on fire, and you caught on it.
So forgive me, and then admit the truth that we both know; Flames are the ultimate spring of warmth and light
Apr 27, 2015
Apr 27, 2015 at 6:43 PM UTC
‘…. and now, here’s Rick with the latest Market news…’
‘Val, trading was very brisk today, with a number of influences
that set the market off to some defined trends and statements.
Of course, the Human Virtue Exchange always seems to rely
on the volatility that resides ‘between the ears’ as noted
by the veteran brokers on the floor, but the sharp ranges
of prices offered versus profit taking has set the bar
very high in the relative value of Basic Human Virtue.
Now to the numbers: Courage [WHOME], Patience [PP],
and former market darling Perseverance [GULP],
all varied widely today on news from Washington that
their value was doomed to fall in the light of the expected growth
of Persistence [IAM] which history has shown to be a marked drag
on just about everything. Outside of the self –efficacy bazaar,
old standbys Ambition [HVY], Curiosity [WDF], Industry [HAHA] and Temperance [BFD],
continued their free fall into uncharted areas of cost and return.
Some analysts feel these virtues could be a real bargain in the future
despite their history of poor performance. Could a comeback not seen
since collapse of the Protestant Hypocrisy Era be in the works? We’ll see as the lack of movement in the Kindness-Generosity-Forgiveness-Compassion Index [FARAWAY]
leads many to believe that the end of Politeness [UPYRS],
Un-pretentiousness [ME-ME], Self Control [NWAY] and Sportsmanship [LONGONE], may lead to a complete miss-understanding between casual market players and devotees to the cause. The ratios cannot lie.
But without a doubt, today’s big winner was Self Respect [YUP]
which jumped and amazing 40 points before active trading ceased at the bell. So people feel real good about themselves for reasons
that cannot be explained by the Ego File Indicator alone; this causes this reporter to predict that Naval Gazing [MOM] remains a ‘Hot to Trot’ stock fund
and the Vanity market is always a good bet.
Now, here’s Carl with
today’s Human Emotion Exchange report……’
Mar 1, 2013
Mar 1, 2013 at 12:19 PM UTC
Packed like sardines
inside a jeepney—
Too full,
with a jeepney strike going on.
Rushing,
mother and child ride along.
Greasy, ***** malnourished…
The woman holds a can—
a makeshift drum.
Little boy hands out envelopes,
he looks like he's 3 years old,
he's most likely 6.
Woman beats her drum,
nobody listens
chatter drowning out the rhythm…
Invisible ears to go with
invisible envelopes
His head touches my legs,
dissipating heat—
an indicator of how long
he's been under the sun and smog
The thought chills me…
He stares at my sister's shopping bags
with searing eyes…
Windows that I can’t bear to look into,
afraid to see my reflection of clouded guilt and frustration
I shake my head, no food to share
but my hands reach out to his,
to give him some money.
My sister remembers a bottle of iced tea,
and hands it to him.
He has a hard time opening it,
and asks for help from the school girls…
Invisible again.
I reach out and get the bottle from him
Temporary refreshment
for a body that is parched,
for a soul who is thirsty for so much more.
I cannot help but gulp in guilty air.
He sits on the aisle,
savoring the tea
as his mother thumps on the can.
The little boy retrieves envelopes, all empty—
as hollow as the sound of the beating drum.
What do you do,
what can you do?
The jeepney stops.
They alight from it...
The mother looks back
and says, "Salamat."
It goes straight to my heart.
Her eyes move me most—
one eye is cloudy, grayed out,
perhaps a manifestation
of the storms in her life?
That single word seared through me,
and I felt how much she meant it…
Her thank you
made me want to give so much more,
to call out to her and give whatever I had at the moment
but they are gone...
Lost in a crowd of faceless people,
and I myself want to get lost,
hide my face in shame…
What can you do?
Jan 25, 2012
Jan 25, 2012 at 1:06 AM UTC
laying in his arms, huddled up right beside his chest
next thing you know we're kissing, while he's touching my breast
grabbing onto my waist, his hand running down my back
he's playing with my hair, while whispering down my neck
sirens going off in my brain, telling me to run
"run as fast as you can, you are not the only one"
his touch was an indicator for me to leave, but i didn't know how
temporary affection is what held me back, so i thought "it's only for now"
his hand was like a vacuum, every touch ****** bits of my soul away
i knew deep down his desire for my body was the reason he wanted to stay
the more he said he "fell" for me, the more i became sweaty
sweaty with genuine anxiety, for the fact that all i felt was empty
i gave every reason i could to leave but he twisted each excuse in his own way
"it's just a phase of emptiness & numbness you're going through, please stay"
every opportunity i grasped onto to escape
just led to me having my mouth covered with tape
not even self sabotage could free me from his control
so i decided to permanently walk away, but in my heart remained a hole
i constantly asked myself why i stayed when i couldn't feel a connection
but i realized he gave me what daddy didn't: just some affection
Aug 16, 2021
Aug 16, 2021 at 2:39 AM UTC
He fly above the same airport
Waiting for a chance to land on the runway
The runway of her heart
Nobody knows how long he waited but the Lord
That airport have only one parking spot and one runway
And occupied by one aircraft
It's hopeless
To wait for that parked aircraft to take off and gone forever
He began to feel desperate
All his patience, all of his waiting, gave him a mental break
He opens his sectional
Pull out his plotter
Change his heading bug in his heading indicator
He finally said, with a smile
“It’s time to divert”
Waste of fuel and time
Waste of credits and dimes
Too long he was holding
Now it’s time for leaving
He will never know
How does the runway and the taxi light glows
After sunset and before sunrise
He will never feel
The satisfaction for using the service
24 hours everyday and night
He will never see
The runway decorated by green grass, flowers and trees
The beauty of the airport’s sight
But it’s for the best
Jul 18, 2018
Jul 18, 2018 at 3:30 AM UTC
It's year 2050
Every human was born with a symbol etched onto their skin.
you may be asking what do the symbols represent?
Each symbol is an indicator of your inevitable death.
I am Cole Adams and I've been an outcast my entire life
and its sad since I am merely 17 years old.
My symbol has a gun and its very uncommon especially since
I've never seen a red gun symbol before, which is confusing.
We grow up accepting our death and understanding it can be horrible, or for instance
if your symbol is a bed, you die in our sleep.
The people in my school who have the bed symbol are 'popular'
meanwhile loners like me who have the not so popular gun symbol OR symbol containing
a lightning bult. Its the rare ones like us who are subjected to being laughed at, which I don't understand.
Anyway I am just writing my story to explain my life.
I was 15 years old and I had fallen madly in love with a nymphet gorgeous girl, the stained pink dye in her hair with her chipped black nails struck me, I never thought to fall for a girl quite as unique as her.
I'm simple, brown hair brown eyes 5'7 and I never thought she would fall for me, but yet, she did.
We had a beautiful teenage love. We lost our virginity to each other, and in our world its not common to lose it early, just because our deaths could happen anytime.
Her symbol was the cancer zodiac sign, and it did mean the illness. It was uncommon for a girl with such a popular symbol to fall for a boy like me, but she loved me anyway. Her dark empty eyes glowed when she would look at me, she made me forget about my symbol, my thoughts would be gone around her. I loved her.
10 months in and she began to be distant, she didn't kiss my cheek and ruffle my hair. She didn't shoot off love signals as she once did. Her touch felt unknown. She fell for another person, she loved him like i've never seen before.
I never would of thought my symbol meant suicide, but it did.
With my last breath I still loved her, I loved her forever.
This is my suicide note/ story of my life.
I died on April 10th, 2051.
Dec 2, 2013
Dec 2, 2013 at 3:19 PM UTC
On occasion,
I dream about drowning at least once a week
And when I drown
I always expect to choke under the pressure of the ocean
That the salt stings my eyes shut
But I am always surprised at how easily my body sinks
And how buoyant it can be under water
And it makes me think of all the slaves
Who threw themselves overboard
How they thought themselves fish before slave
Did they grow gills?
Were they grateful for the mercy of erosion
Under salt instead of whips
Did they backs bend like dolphins do?
Did they build an underwater city untouched
By brutal hands
Do they know, that I see them sometimes
The ancestors who chose water over land
And they are not bone and marrow stacked
At the bottom of the ocean
They are not corpses who chose the easy way out
I see them
They have built an underwater world from their bare hands
They laugh and bubbles exit out their mouths
Even now my family would not mourn my departure
If I were to be called by the waves
For the water has a language that some
Of us have an ear for
It is not the place of mortals to tear up
When one of us africans drown
Because to sink is to find new life
Is to be in the hands of those who control their own destiny
I know them, the water people
They call me during the night
And i don't fight anymore
I laugh with them, and live
And wake angry that oxygen can suffocate me
That I suddenly become flailing fish
That my home is not this land
That I find comfort in ocean floor
That is where my ancestors speak to me
Console me
Teach me the ways of spiritual healer
At the bottom of the sea
And it is not a dream although I wake from it
It is a reality that is bestowed upon
The xhosa shamans from birth
The western world does not have a reality like that
So they will argue it does not exist
They will be quick to diagnose my mental health
Call the act of reuniting with my own
An episode, a stress indicator
A sleeping pill prescription
These are the same people who believe in
Three day resurrection for death
But cannot fathom an african never dying
And we don’t die
We do not die.
There is life for us elsewhere.
And when we are ready
The waves will welcome us home.
Apr 29, 2016
Apr 29, 2016 at 5:50 PM UTC
This is first and last time I’ll write something for you
Remember the time wherein you promised to be with me?
Or the time when you told me you’d be there when I need you
I was so confident and assured that you won’t leave.
Still you left with no clues left behind
Wondering what might be the reason why
I thoughts I was blind
Blinded by the emptiness of anxiety
Never have I thought you’d leave me hanging
In the middle of nowhere
Confused, Scared and with the feeling of Longing
Walking and waiting alongshore.
A thought came rushing, telling me to stop
Cuz the person I’ve been looking for
Will never ever drop–
Even a single hint of indicator
But after all those things that happened
I’ll never forget the love you showed
The effort you gave,
And the sacrifices you made
I am here – still waiting for you to comeback
Wanting to know if you’re alright
As the girl you used to cherish, I want you to know I’m fine and well
And I’ll always be your ‘Best’
Aug 20, 2017
Aug 20, 2017 at 2:17 AM UTC
we are constantly in a game of chicken
trying to get across how we feel
it's easier when the feelings are written
but saying them aloud is much more real
i might say something kind of flirty
in hopes that you might flirt back
but i always worry
maybe i have feelings that you lack
maybe we're just both hinting around
trying to get each others' attention
but we avoid what might be profound
oh and did i mention
i have a few things i wanted to tell you
maybe i'll tell you later
actually they're a bit overdue
but i've given you many-an-indicator
i pretty much adore you
as if you couldn't tell
yes, yes it is true
i know exactly how it all befell
Oct 7, 2013
Oct 7, 2013 at 2:05 AM UTC
There is no such thing as adulting
There is no such thing as growing up
Biological age cannot be an indicator
A source of income cannot be a dictator
The drama that disguises you as a sufferer
is apt for twitter and synonymous with tumblr
You can look like 50 but still behave like a toddler
Age, intellect , experience and memory don’t matter
Clarity of thought , clarity in action
is what everyone wants, just pay attention
Stages of life are only byproducts of imagination
Jan 21, 2019
Jan 21, 2019 at 11:34 AM UTC
I don't know why I like the floor so much,
Maybe it's because you taught me that
This is where I belonged,
And where I was the most productive,
As though pleasuring you from my knees
Was any indicator of my worth.
But I have discovered many things
From this vantage point.
I have noticed a crack in the floorboard
Beneath which I hid every love letter
You ever tucked into my mailbox,
I have discovered a locked box
Hidden beneath my bed
And I don't know what's inside it
But it shakes and rattles and screams
Every night around two am,
So I'm afraid to open it,
I have found a marble under my dresser,
One of those clear ones
With something colorful inside,
But it looks more like blood and tissue
Than anything, in my opinion,
I have also came upon a spot
In which the floor does not creak,
And it always seems to be cold,
A perfect place to rest my cheek.
But the last thing I uncovered
Was a skeleton in my closet,
Folded and tucked into the corner,
As though it didn't want to be found,
So I found the strength,
To lift myself to my knees
(It was always a powerful position)
And I pulled the skeleton out,
And despite its efforts to clamp its bony fingers
To my wrist and never let me go
I threw it in the dumpster,
And rediscovered home.
Aug 13, 2013
Aug 13, 2013 at 3:08 PM UTC
Grandpa Ody retired, content
Worked at GM all his life
The entire family drives Opel
20% discount with a form
Provided by Ody
Now my stepdad married my mum
Making me his daughter
Through their union
We drive an Opel too
Many sets of Opel keys on the dinner table
It may serve us to know
That we recognize our keys
By one glance, one main indicator
For most of us; the Opel car key
Who knows the difference after a few drinks
And so I switched our keys
With those of my stepdad
He glanced at them a few times
Something was wrong
"Nah it must be in my head"
We've payed for our drinks
Thanked everyone
Three kisses in Belgium
Our cars are parked across each other
Click says the lock of our car
Quickly we unlock the other car....
We say goodbye...
"Who took my keys?!"
Apr 25, 2015
Apr 25, 2015 at 6:42 PM UTC
Moby **** geometry, physics.
Study every subject everyday.
Homework is an indicator of future success.
Success is not necessarily happiness but it helps.
Freedom is to formulate your own definition of success.
Happiness is an imaginary tree, its own reward, and a fact.
Facts and fiction may be memorialized in memos or found in dreams.
The story starts thus: Each summer the honeysuckles and the
huckleberries . . .
The web is that extra brain we've all been dreaming of having.
Like jumping 4 meters or flying without a plane.
To fly like that must one first have homework?
Some say yes, some say don't. It depends on how you vote.
Happiness is what happens when everything that happens
Fits the time perfectly and it's all out of your hands.
Not exactly. You don't let go of the steering wheel while driving fast in
the passing lane.
You look left and right and check your blind spots.
Homework is an introduction to everything you're not
And all you do not know. It's supposed to help you learn to know where
you want to go before going where you have to go.
Otherwise you end up on Ulzana's raid
Bleeding, without a bandaid.
All the achievement in the world won't relieve your loneliness
Or satisfy your ****** longing. What girls are like behind their eyes.
Survival, procreation. That's all there is to love.
But the loved one is the one who can be trusted with your life.
Whether Christ or your wife. The Muslim moms.
On my walk in the woods I come to a sitting spot
Above a small gorge cut by a stream through hemlocks.
Here someone has left a statuette of the Buddha and the flags you see
Flapping in the wind at sky funerals.
This is a pretty good place to sit quietly and think about homework.
Sep 9, 2017
Sep 9, 2017 at 7:14 AM UTC
Couldn't you spare a glance?
Couldn't you spare a smile?
Couldn't you spare a hey?
Couldn't you spare an indicator that you acknowledge my existence?
Jun 24, 2015
Jun 24, 2015 at 11:16 AM UTC
Last night
A touch, the fingertips on the hair
A hand on the waist, as you step around me
A glance,
Were you too forward?
How can I communicate
How can I reveal my feelings
1) If they could hurt one of those closest to me
2) If I’m afraid that letting them out will lead to
a. Hurt
b. More self-destruction
c. More cries for help
Did you know that an indicator for vulnerability to binge eating disorder
Is being afraid to feel your feelings?
How can I feel my feelings
If the only thing life has taught me about feelings is that
1) They lead to hurt
2) They place you under the control of another, the one who knows your true feelings and can
a. Twist
b. Pull
c. Shape your feelings into knifes that tear you apart
Or should I say carve me apart?
Carving away the sections of my heart
The neurological connections between my heart and my brain
Making my heart hollow
Severing the connection between my heart and my brain
Feelings have only brought me pain
Evolution has taught humans to avoid things that bring them pain
How can I have the power to overcome the sum of all the interactions of my ancestors?
Apr 1, 2012
Apr 1, 2012 at 1:04 AM UTC
*[Note: Subject X's accounts contain no record of a proper name.
The following is Subject X's first entry and is believed to have been written shortly after the Time Anomaly began]*
A Full Stop?
It's all been suspended... The birds, the deer, the breeze... All of life in animate suspense... except for us, the people...
On April 18th 1955, as best as can be described, time itself-- the fundamental instrument of evolution and Life-- stopped. At exactly 7:20 am, as per the Clocktower at the end of main street. As per the pocket watch in my hand. As per the alarm clock upon my nightstand. As per the humming birds suspended mid flight in my front garden.
All of nature, still...
Have we come to a "Full Stop"?
Ask me how long it's been... ask me.
It feels as though it's been a few "days". The only indicator I have of this, is the panic spreading rapidly across town.
"Frankie's kid just dropped dead. Running track. The kid was in better shape than "Mickey" Hargitay. Collapsed halfway through his 4th lap... Nothing but skin and bones, they found. Barely a body-- you would have thought it was an old man.", told stories of high crass.
"My mother passed last night... she walked... She walked and aged a week with every step.... too weak to barely speak, she whispered, 'Here.'
After 2,600 steps the bony woman clinging to my arm-- my own flesh and bone, my creator--
laid to rest." , told stories of elegance.
As for me...
The only time I know is written on my face...
Jan 28, 2014
Jan 28, 2014 at 1:40 AM UTC
You cannot resurrect
Memories
That
Have wedged themselves between
The future and the past,
Yet are too fragile to
Exist within the present—
You cannot
Resurrect
The way you felt
(The way you felt invincible)
In remembering mannerisms that outlive
The moment.
You cannot reconcile
The heart's defiance,
Deliberately giving yourself to
A void not of your own,
Gathering gathering gathering
Sentiment and stitching it into
The fabric of your narrative,
When you should have
Gathered your senses in a pail
And lowered them down into a wishing well...
You cannot resurrect what never
Wholly, entirely, unconditionally
Existed without
Your warm breath
Encompassing it in meaning,
Feeding an emptiness not of your own making.
Yet,
You cannot escape it either;
So it lingers:
Your regrets, your self loathing, your incapacity
To accept that
There is no way to breathe life back into
Something that was dead before you
Pressed its surface with your fingers,
As if you, yourself could
Impose a pulse upon what you could not
Understand.
Understand this,
Time will not resurrect
That which you long for in the night,
It will not reconcile
The incongruent nature
Of desire:
To feel
To be numb
To hold on to
To understand
To forget
To destroy
To save
Save like a wilted flower pressed between
Two aged, yellowed pages: present only in its allusion to the past.
You do not wish the flower a different fate,
To fill its dried up veins with green, pulsating life,
To have it become what it once was.
You cannot reconcile the purpose of its carefully preserved petals.
You do not question its existence,
Question why it has been uprooted from the ground,
Why it has changed shapes while remaining a flower.
It was never meant to remain the way it was.
And so, it exists
As an indicator of what it once was,
As a reminder that it will never be again,
As memories do
When we press them down
Between the past and the future,
Until like the dried up flower,
They cease to change,
As we continue.
Dec 1, 2015
Dec 1, 2015 at 5:38 PM UTC
I wrote you eight poems. They tasted like ground-up cinnamon.
The lights came, I told them I had nothing else to write.
When they laughed, my bones split with them.
There were brambles at the bottom of our garden, they held their heat like the arms they scratched.
They grew back every time like they were reminding us that nothing else could exist in the chemicals.
The chemicals said no.
My skin told me I didn't want to be there. My hands ached.
I held my breath for the length of the factory. I held my breath every first time you touched me.
When we turned the corner in the dark your indicator flashing against the wall made me feel like flying. I still feel that when I don't think about it.
There is a hole near the top corner of the front door. I leave the back window unlocked. Maybe you will find a way in. Maybe you are still trying.
I held my breath for you.
Oct 14, 2013
Oct 14, 2013 at 7:32 PM UTC
Yes It is I the Notorious Break Down Queen
Been to every big city and every hick town in between
Broken down more times than a little bit
All I do is hurry up and wait but most of time is just sit
Waiting in the shop to get my truck repair
Must have open Pandora's Box. does anyone care?
clutch rod bent, steering rack and pinion went to crap
stuck in a truck that's a rolling death trap
Finally I get rolling thinking this must be a curse I'm under
Good God what that sound? My engine sounds like thunder
The Truck God's are against me I just know it
I'm so mad right now I could just spit
Injectors one through five and the turbo just blew
oil and fuel all over the hood and wind shield resembling something like glue
four days in the shop in San Larenzo California
3600 dollars later repair guy say "hers a nice little bill for ya"
Not long after the breaks got hot and the air chambers took a dump
must have had happened when I ignored that **** speed bump
now what all the indicator light just came on and my oil is low
maybe I should set fire to it and watch it burn slow
this is perfect I'm just in the nick of time
get into Gallup N.M hit the nearest bar and order a corona with a lime
My truck is fixed and I'm ready to roll
I just pray when I back out I don't hit a poll
In Arkansas In a town of population 12 and one **** dog
Hung up on the rail road tracks due to the heavy fog
Two cranes later they send me on my way
a rock hit my wind shield I guess in Chicago I'll stay
Sick and tired of the hotels motels and shops
trailer lights are out get escorted by the Indianapolis city cops
Broke down again and not a penny to my name
have a water leak which I cannot tame
Held captive against my will in Atlanta for I am pleading
only for them to tell me i have a low voltage reading
will it ever come to an end I will never freaking know
almost in Minersville, PA plowed in by 9 inches of snow
A mixture of all the minor and major stuff
This makes my job that more tough
the little fixes and the big repairs in between
Now you know how I got my name the
Notorious Breakdown Queen.
Nov 17, 2009
Nov 17, 2009 at 8:47 AM UTC
I can't wait till once again
We have a president who's sane;
Whose meaningless words "No collusion!"
Don't become a daily refrain;
Who cares about people and country
More than profits and dividends;
Who places trust in allies and doesn't
Treat our adversaries as friends;
Whose charitable foundation isn't
Merely a personal slush fund or scam;
Whose kids aren't part of shady deals;
Whose spouse really gives a ****
Who has integrity and doesn't
Give hateful fringe groups praise;
Whose job applicants don't need
The word "crook" on their résumés;
Who wins elections honestly
And doesn't rely on outside assistance;
For whom the use of lies and deceit
Is NOT the path of least resistance;
Who wants border security but doesn't
Constantly harp on a senseless wall;
Whose behavior is much, much more
Refined and LESS Neanderthal;
Who truly believes in democracy
And fully supports the rule of law;
Who doesn't expose ignorant views
In daily tweets of blah, blah, blah;
Who, when putting words together,
Could prove to be more prolific;
Whose daily repertoire has more
Adjectives than "great" and "terrific";
Whose team is not constantly
Involved in ethics violations;
Who in his first years of office isn't
In seventeen investigations.
Sooner or later, things will change.
But judging from every indicator,
It's suddenly starting to look as though
Relief might come sooner than later.
-by Bob B (12-19-18)
Dec 19, 2018
Dec 19, 2018 at 9:58 AM UTC
reflective mood
having found
myself at
loose end
unknown angst
at back
of head
seeding thoughts
best left
unsaid
irritation of
the synapse
indicator of
dark elation
rising
marching by
formation now
membered to
nation's army
of disparate
dread
or cup
of chamomile
instead
May 30, 2014
May 30, 2014 at 9:11 AM UTC
but about cat ladies,
with cats attached
who most like their
fel~ine femin~ine
mistresses, also
come in many colors,
categories, shapes ‘n
sizes
looking to adopt a
pair of cute kiddies,
with promises of
much stroking and
endless affection to
fill the void in my
currently, sadly, totally
animal~less existence
But!
we want a pair,
cat & cat lady,
for how a woman
treats her cat is
the single best
indicator of how
*she loves to love
poets, who are
most like cats,
needy for exchanging
purrings and many
other endearing
sounds and belly
stroking, inclusive
of the frequent
recitations of
onlylovepoetry*
(a tiny amount of
mutual scratching
is to be happily
expected as well)
Sep 13, 2024
Sep 13, 2024 at 1:53 AM UTC