"indirectly" poems
We've had a turbulent journey together
And as he pushed the bike, slowly did his hand release me
Riding the crashing waves I admit my struggle
And my childish naivety gave passage to worser threats
Yet still he stands there, waving me on my way
Even to this day, despite questionable confidences, I still turn
And still he stands there
A rebel I didn't mean to be, but I am cursed with escalating emotions
Or maybe he would say a blessing, to empathize and find strength
As memories haunt me at night, teaming with those of ill will
The sensitivity he passed on to me prevails, Innocently I am slowed
But my wheels continue turning, and my heart stays true
Though my eyes and ears remain obstructed, my heart makes a turn
And yes, he still stands there
His presence unpurposefully commands attention
And his knowledge, he gives without catch
I understand the wars he must encounter, and yet he stays calm
Giving peace to the tide, he offers nothing, but gives everything
I unconditionally love him
I honestly hold respect for him,
He indirectly teaches me
And fuels me with his love
In this moment, I turn back, not for fear of falling,
But to wave back to the man who let me go
He is no longer there, standing firm in his spot
No
My friend, my father, he rides by my side.
May 15, 2013
May 15, 2013 at 1:23 PM UTC
Angelic minds, they say, by simple intelligence
Behold the Forms of nature. They discern
Unerringly the Archtypes, all the verities
Which mortals lack or indirectly learn.
Transparent in primordial truth, unvarying,
Pure Earthness and right Stonehood from their clear,
High eminence are seen; unveiled, the seminal
Huge Principles appear.
The Tree-ness of the tree they know-the meaning of
Arboreal life, how from earth's salty lap
The solar beam uplifts it; all the holiness
Enacted by leaves' fall and rising sap;
But never an angel knows the knife-edged severance
Of sun from shadow where the trees begin,
The blessed cool at every pore caressing us
-An angel has no skin.
They see the Form of Air; but mortals breathing it
Drink the whole summer down into the breast.
The lavish pinks, the field new-mown, the ravishing
Sea-smells, the wood-fire smoke that whispers Rest.
The tremor on the rippled pool of memory
That from each smell in widening circles goes,
The pleasure and the pang --can angels measure it?
An angel has no nose.
The nourishing of life, and how it flourishes
On death, and why, they utterly know; but not
The hill-born, earthy spring, the dark cold bilberries.
The ripe peach from the southern wall still hot
Full-bellied tankards foamy-topped, the delicate
Half-lyric lamb, a new loaf's billowy curves,
Nor porridge, nor the tingling taste of oranges.
—An angel has no nerves.
Far richer they! I know the senses' witchery
Guards us like air, from heavens too big to see;
Imminent death to man that barb'd sublimity
And dazzling edge of beauty unsheathed would be.
Yet here, within this tiny, charmed interior,
This parlour of the brain, their Maker shares
With living men some secrets in a privacy
Forever ours, not theirs.
6.3k
How easy it is to forget.
When it doesn’t affect you.
When the ones lost, weren’t your loved ones.
How easy it is to forget when it wasn’t your child on the receiving end.
When it wasn’t your daughter shrieking for help as some man had his way with her.
Indirectly telling her, her body only exists his pleasure.
How easy it is to forget when it wasn’t you that missed the call that may have allowed you to talk your son down from that ledge.
How easy it is to forget when your mother makes it home, and you didn’t even think to worry.
How easy it is to forget, when your father won’t get mistaken for an immigrant.
It’s easier to forget the horror when your family isn’t the one being torn apart.
You see how easy it is to forget, when it’s not their sisters and brothers being left for dead.
You see how easy it is to forget, when the bodies don’t look like you.
Oct 17, 2017
Oct 17, 2017 at 6:59 PM UTC
Jade is very lucky man
a man people treat with value
a man people will **** for
A man people cherish
A man with everyhtig anyone could wish for,
A man of value, life, happiness.
A man people will do anything to get
Jade is a very unlucky man
A man with no life.
A man of no understanding of life
a simple stone
a man that has no experience of life
A proud man who just waits for people to fight for it
A man who indirectly kills
A man with no thoughts or imagination for he is treated like a god
Jade is created by humans, nourished by humans and destroyed by human
What an unlucky man jade is
However, jade has a very undemanding life
he does not have to obey any human being
it is not obliged to any human
free, easy and peaceful.
Jade is a man that is lucky
Jade is a man that is unlucky
Jade is a man with an undemanding life
because it has no breathe like that of a man
May 9, 2018
May 9, 2018 at 8:12 PM UTC
the things we do - indirectly.
i’m drawn to this sort of thing,
torture. but,
i pull myself clear of it.
when she
shakes my hand, her body is elsewhere,
unbothered.
her vessel formed in ceramics and reinforced
tightly
every wish granted, “hey!” i’d say.
it isn’t fair! is it?
i understand these sorts of things
the way i tortured my thoughts into patterns
and my body is elsewhere,
unharmed, because
i pulled myself clear of it. such am i
“above it”: so
it turns out i’m envious
in effigy, “don’t worry,” i’d say.
it’s not real, because
i’m not real
Sep 15, 2010
Sep 15, 2010 at 5:37 PM UTC
Growing up
I was indirectly taught to hide my feelings
I was told she was doing it for attention
"It's easier to ignore the situation than stop her"
I was told not to give her the satisfaction
I was told she would stop if I ignored her long enough
I believed my mother didn't care
I was 8
I stopped showing my emotions
I stopped showing my annoyance
my displeasure
I stopped caring
I became reclusive
I hid
I caged my words
I was 12
Writing became my safe haven
Ink bleeding from my fingers
My words were all I had
My soul stayed hidden between the pages of my notebook along with my words
I was 13
My sister died and it was in a counseling session that my mother realized her mistake
One I had forgiven her for years ago
I was 15
If there was anything I learned it was that my words are mine and mine only
Apr 4, 2017
Apr 4, 2017 at 2:09 AM UTC
Suitcase filled, gas tank
full, the keys have been returned.
Finally, left you.
Dec 12, 2014
Dec 12, 2014 at 1:08 PM UTC
Just sitting back kicking back kicking facts on a track showing no slack never whack rap isn't just black is universal and that's a fact it's like when I write I direct My own movie like spike Lee it seems to me that loose leaf abuse to ink is therapy not hairapy it's not the hair it's the brain underneath it I believe it when I see it so by all means come kick it or split it down the middle with a complex riddle or rifle not to trifle with
This niche of my life is hell bent or heaven sent I'm not sure which I know there's a plan for me I can't see it yet but you can bet I'll do my best to fulfill my expectations without jealousy infidelity or me disrespecting you blatantly or indirectly
Oct 16, 2014
Oct 16, 2014 at 9:22 PM UTC
Indirectly,
Timidly, yet
Clearly
Making plans and
Testing waters.
Aug 11, 2016
Aug 11, 2016 at 1:47 PM UTC
Nobody helped him as he struggled
Their eyes watched as he tried to insert the card
He wore his clothes with dignity
But what they saw was someone poor and lowly
Beads of sweat started to form on his forehead
The line behind him started to grow longer than before
Judgement met his gaze
While the security officer just stood there with laze
“What’s happening” they ask indirectly
He turned around to seek for assistance
But the crowd’s eyes ignored his plea
For the man who asked for help looked *****
What has become of the society?
What happened to everyone’s compassion and sincerity?
But then again,
Who am I to ask such words about kindness?
When I too, was guilty as charged,
For I didn’t help the man when he struggled with his card
© 2018 B.L.
All Rights Reserved.
Jul 25, 2018
Jul 25, 2018 at 9:11 AM UTC
Isolated, but not alone
Seeking revenge
All on his own
But not against someone
But more like
All those
Who've directly
Or indirectly
Made him feel
This feeling
Of isolation
Isolation here
Doesn't mean lonely
Or friendless
It's more like
A complete lack of understanding
By the society
Towards you
And
Towards us all
'Us' being
The younger generation
;
Not everyone from this
Younger generation
Generally stand up
Or fight
Maybe because
We're all isolated
Together
Similar minds
But unable to read
For we've never learnt
How to
But maybe he
Like a few others
Has the courage
And motivation
To fight through
The invisible barriers
Of this isolation
On his own, though
Because that's what we've learnt
Or been told
To live for yourself
But at the same time
For the future
Of the unborn
;
So he's going to pump up his kicks
And use this shield of isolation
To his strength
Creating an outer wall
As sturdy as bricks
And fight through the barriers
That society has created
This isn't a huge war
That everyone will soon
Know about
Nor will he be called or titled
Some hero
And I'm glad he isn't
Because fame infects
Even the most ambitious
So watch him silently
But powerfully
Slice the walls
Created by us
In his own way
It won't be easy
But at least
He,
Unlike many others,
Will know at the end
That his life
And his actions
Did have
Meaning
Aug 26, 2018
Aug 26, 2018 at 1:33 PM UTC
I gause now it is clearly visible
Money makes the world go round…
Majority would sell their soul for the love of money
The money that would only last for their generation
Being creative is not a sin…
Copy and paste can cause damages that would take several decades to fix
Engineering was the for the reason
Though poor engineering design can cause some damages that can be redesigned and modified
You let it go and you will suffer
You intervene you are wrong you will be assassinated
You spread the word and get ignored…
Colonisation still exist Indirectly…
Now it’s even worse
Colonised by private individuals because he can afforded
They land were they can jus like a cat
They get to be protected
People get to be question and uncertainty answer are the…
Capital city road are in a mess
Foreign country benefits
The community suffer
Fuel price goes up at the same rate as traffic congestion
Closing all the freedom of travelling to work
Depression gets agrivated
Financial strain becomes a norm
Fools are enjoying the fruits
The greedy are on holiday
The investors are making more deals
The official know the bribery language better
The nation is falling down
The grow rate is stand still
More and more labour strikes takes place
The economy gets dragged on mud
Consciousness people are disappointed
Anger is boiling
Crime is going to increase
Drug use is a norm
Opportunist are flying like scavengers
Poor government is a shame
It also affect those who are not political
Dec 31, 2013
Dec 31, 2013 at 2:48 AM UTC
"Sit down boy, you're tired and you must sleep"
The voice said to me as I walked the city street
Fuzzy steps taken to a bench I saw over yonder
Sleepily wandering, the streetlights I ponder
Passive disorientation, I'm lost it would seem
Consciousness becomes a trickle, as opposed to a stream
Dragging myself over shards of glass, paralysed and sleeping
A shadow 'neath the moonlight seems to be steadily creeping
Isolated in this park in the darkness on a sigma plateau
Dextromethorphan hallucinations are a spectacular show
I'm indifferent to the stranger, drowsy as he appears
Isolated in the nighttime winds, apathetic to his tears
Uncoordinated my head falling he takes a seat softly
Dissociative disorder makes me seem awfully frosty
Speaking of lands where the populace truly is free
Speaking unintelligible words, indirectly to me
The intrinsic disconnect of this generation scorned
As the sun rises in the sky, glittered clouds adorned
My head lulls lackadaisically, I'm feeling unwell
But my stomach is eased when I think of sweet Maybelle
[Hers is a Nabokovian tale of passion in proto-dystopian wastelands
The first time we kissed, I held her soft head tenderly in my hands
The serenade of rain pitter-patter on the ground, like her feet when she's near
and hearing her name is as cathartic as those old jazz records I hold so dear
But, oh my pretty Belle, your age is a concern to me (and the eyes of the law)
So to forget your sweet face, I pop pills neglectfully, passing out on the floor]
Lifting head slowly from the rough ground dampened
Four years passed and I'm wondering what happened
Fuzzy headed blues, clear my mind with OJ and ******
Walking fast to her house, cannot wait to see her
A rap-tap on the door with thoughts of romantic enumerations
What she said and what I saw defied every one of my expectations
My innocent Belle, with her cheeks rosy red,
looks me in the eyes, and wishes I was dead
Oct 16, 2013
Oct 16, 2013 at 7:08 AM UTC
Oh my darling bestie..
I have no mood to be around you.
But that doesn't mean that I don't want you as a friend,
Or if our terms are approaching dead end..
But I have no mood to be around,
I don't know even if idiotic I sound..
You are my bestie, and always meant to be,
But currently I have some different plans with more priority.
I love talking to you, but I have no time anymore,
I am either tired, or exhausted.
And you somehow happen to demoralise me..
I told you many a times indirectly ,
But no good it did...
You don't want to hear what's going on in my life,
You don't want to hear my views about anything..
Correct me if am wrong, but I ain't your diary..
I don't want to meet you, when you cannot come to see me,
Don't expect me to be so crazy about meeting you..
You maybe going abroad for years four,
Doesn't matter the distance I promised Our relationship won't turn sour..
But dear, what's wrong with you?
Why don't you understand?
You are purely selfish, and tell me that am selfish..
You disturb me during the exams, to clarify your so called doubts..
You don't let me sleep, make me weep,
And tell me, that you are my bestie..
I don't feel like keeping contacts with you,
You think all your misconceptions are true,
You don't want to hear me, and am not a dummy to hear you..
My life is boring, yeah well accepted,
But I don't want you to make it more boring..
I don't wish to be around you,
I don't care about you..
Stop imposing such restrictions on me,
Which you too can't even do..
I am sorry, but I can't travel to be around you,
If everytime it has to be me..
Apr 18, 2016
Apr 18, 2016 at 3:42 AM UTC
Sly, shy shadow,
capturing attention,
photons fail,
within delicious
dimension.
Indicating ably,
though quite indirectly,
amply, firmly, softly,
lovely, young fecundity
Jun 26, 2014
Jun 26, 2014 at 12:17 AM UTC
Saint Valentine didn't know me,
He had no idea about the future,
And now, blatant Valentine's lies,
Time & again and even yet again,
For love I wholeheartedly strive,
But all I get is fake, fake feelings.
Not blaming Valentine am I now,
He sure gave a reason to spend,
Both time as well as the silver dirt,
Indirectly popping employment,
Not just for few - even for me & you,
Don't we try working harder daily?
Just in hopes of finding a better day,
Of course we want more silver dust,
A good job & a fuller-heavier pocket,
Men try hard for earning enough,
Women try harder for respect,
Don't they all selfishly strive,
Do their wishes get fulfilled?
What do the MBA's always market?
Lingerie & diamonds for the lover,
Do they not try to sell love away,
Love stuffed into teddy bears,
Lust dripping from the multiflavoured condoms,
And what else do they want to sell,
Do the cakes not suffice with all that fattening cream,
Or the cream-filled chilled/hot doughnuts?
Feb 12, 2016
Feb 12, 2016 at 1:27 AM UTC
The writer's life
Consists of looming strife
For a writer's eyes are keen
To the suffering that usually goes unseen
All writers are bearers of truth
Wielding their pens like a scalpel that cuts through
All the **** we tell ourselves
That keeps us in denial
A writer seeks truth incessantly
And eventually comes upon the somewhat ambiguous answer
That all truth originates from Love
How does the writer's analytical mind
Grapple with such a fluid concept?
The writer sees beauty in the invisible
Writes poetry on bathroom stalls
Lives life solely for stories
The writer feels things deeply but doesn't speak them,
But rather scribbles her thoughts fervently in a notebook
The words dancing on the page
As they are released from the tip of the pen
The writer knows, sadly, that even though she writes stories to make people feel less alone
That these people will never truly ever understand her and neither will
She ever be able to fully embody the experience of another human
The writer has wounds that go deeper than you could fathom
When no one was there to turn to,
She picked up a notebook instead and released the toxic emotional build-up in her head
Made art out of her sadness on the page
Through poetic words,
Elusive and enigmatic,
She could tell her story, indirectly
And still set herself free from the ******* of unspoken miseries
The writer's life is a privileged one indeed
For we see things, but don't speak them
But rather transcribe them forever in our memories
Until we find a clean sheet of paper,
And write
Write everything we've seen, heard, tasted, felt, known and intuited
Every struggle and every victory
Meticulously crafted upon the bare canvas
Like a war zone with an abundance of pent up zest
Finally unleashing itself upon the page
So, write, my fellow Writers
Write fearlessly
And our stories will prevail
They will impact even just one person
Who thought they were all alone,
Perhaps like we once felt.
Jun 4, 2017
Jun 4, 2017 at 2:01 AM UTC
I can't say that I know what it's like
To lose someone
And it's not because I have never experienced death
My Great Aunt died of lung cancer
Though she never smoked
And was the nicest lady
With what I assumed
Was a New York accent
To ever be convinced that I loved
Her Spinach Frittata
And who indirectly
Made jokes about my insatiable desire
To consume the apple pie
She died on the tenth of october in the year two-thousand ten
(10/10/10)
And I remember my father calling me to the kitchen
To tell me the news
I cried a little
And went back to my room to write angry poetry
But ultimately I was just tired
And went to sleep
Without really adressing anything
At her funeral, I remember my cousin telling me
The story of how her (then) long-term boyfriend
Used wire cutters to remove his braces
A week before they were due to come off
They called me over to put a shovelful of dirt
Into the grave
And I did
Then ran back, jumping as I did (jumping as I did),
To my cousin
Because her candid attitude let me know that it was ok
Not to be somber
My dad's friend had a stroke which dislodged blood clots and sent him
Into a coma for a long time
And while we posed with him for Christmas pictures
(I hated posing, I hated the picture-taking, I hated smiling, it all felt wrong)
And my father promised that hypnosis was going to work
My dad's friend died
In a hospital bed
In his home
In a historical region of uptown Whittier
My dad lost his friend
My mom lost hers as well
When she stopped talking to his wife
Who had been her friend first
The cousin who was talking to me at the funeral
Lost her (then) boyfriend
When she woke up one morning
To find him dead with her
In bed
So I can't say that I know what it's like
Because I have lost people
I've seen death
And I dislike it
I dislike the thought that all my
Teachers will die before me
And I am sad thinking about those days
That I will be in the crowd
One of the Touched
I dislike that I don't know what it's like
Because I don't see it like the others
I try to remember beauty in their life
Beauty that they shared with me
Beauty that I will keep alive
Like the energy cell
The Doctor blew life into
To power the TARDIS
But if I can't find it
If there was nothing we shared
If there is nothing to tie me to them
I feel bad that someone else feels bad
I dislike their pain and
I wish I could give them a hug
And that the hug would fix everything
But it won't
And all I can do is think about
How much I ****
At comforting grievers
And how much I wish
I could be a better comforter
But I'm not
Because I don't do well with death
Sep 4, 2013
Sep 4, 2013 at 12:37 AM UTC
You tried to decipher my
m
i
x
e
d
signals
P r o b i n g into my feelings and thoughts only grew u s apart
Hope for change in the way that
I am
only caused us pain
You had told me love would change me but you never took into account all the
flaws
we never knew about
Day after day of trying the same things only ended in
disappointment
despair
and hatred
When our faith in what could be achieved
ceased to exist
and our love
finally grew t h i n
only few words were left to say
Apr 7, 2013
Apr 7, 2013 at 6:56 PM UTC
Light snow. Warm blanket. Helping. Typing. Looking outside. Looking inside. Warmth. Gross. Sticky. Old. Unattractive. Alone. Looking into a window full of people who can help you. Alone. Not trusting yourself. Cars go by. Quickly. Alone. Every mind and every car. One. The life a snowflake lives as it falls. Gone. Looking into someone's eyes. Running away. Wondering what someone sees in your eyes. Wishing its what they want. Wishing its not what you think. Alone. Not trusting yourself. Hoping there's a different life ahead. Some time. Possibly in the near future. Alone. Times of feeling with other people. Together. Not trusting yourself. Lying. Rejecting. Foolishly complaining. Alone. Snowflakes moving upwards, back towards the sky, because of the wind. Unrealistic. Calm relaxing music. Fear. Alone. Not trusting yourself. Multiple voices telling you to do different things. Together. Alone. Being stuck between survival options and dying. Alone. Wanting to call out but doubting the purity of your own intentions. Knowing everyone else has a life that is not yours. Knowing everyone else has a life that is full of things they want to do. Independent. Without you mostly. Mostly wanting to not bother anyone. Alone. Not trusting yourself. Asking for help indirectly. Making sure that the person has a way to back out. Escape. Pretend they can't see what is happening. Not seeing what is happening. Not trusting yourself. Alone. The ground that looks unaffected by the snow. The ground that stays and is sometimes buried, but it always comes back. Even. Fair. Thinking about how many people feel. Thinking about what people feel. Wanting specific things. Wanting to talk to specific people. Having trouble trusting people. Not trusting yourself. Alone. Sitting. Music. Typing. Nothing. Papers. Time. Life. Together. Snow. Trust. Ground. Trees. Harm. Fear. Running. Escape. Annoy. Harass. Pretend. Turning. Playing. Focusing. Trust. Away. Fear. Together. Alone.
Mar 15, 2018
Mar 15, 2018 at 12:48 PM UTC
A loving father and husband
To provide for your family
Heading to office
When birds greet
Dawn with chorus
Hark, hark and hark
Back home, sitting
Over a computer till
It gets pitch dark
Bearing a workload
That could cause
ED if not a heart attack,
You make sure luxuries
Your wife and
Off springs never lack,
To indirectly ram home
Your love for
Your better half
As a broad day light
Is stark.
But when your marriage
Lost its ****** spark
Her resolution shattered
She sought love
Behind your back.
You failed to sensitize
Her about her beauty
Your number one duty,
Also sometimes making
A paradigm shift
You were not
A bit naughty.
Out of line from a
Henpecked husband,
You failed to defamiliarize
That do not you realize?
You should have made her
Feel an object of desire
That was what could have
Rekindled the flame
And the fire.
When you make
Love to her
Think not what
Makes you buckle
Under depression
Such as lack of promotion,
Ego-rocking feelings
Must not distract
Your attention.
You should ever try
To scale ****** new height
Every night.
Workaholic, unless
You jog, jog and jog
When you go to bed
For her you will be
No better than a log.
To the dump yard
She could throw you
A broken toy
Unless you afford her
A joy
Cuckolded by a man
On the wrong side of a boy.
With someone else
When a woman gets into bed
She deletes you
Out of her soul, heart and head
That is why,
As her husband, she denied
You a go ahead!
Mindful of this fact
It is not too late
To fix a date
Stop your
Fate to lament!
Dec 19, 2018
Dec 19, 2018 at 6:33 AM UTC
a poem for the perturbed
partially peeved
marginally miffed
indirectly disturbed
not for those in love
not for loss or for longing
not for the haughty highbrow
half hazardly happy saps
that drown you in their
dizzily delerious
words about joy and wonder
this poem is for the average joe
joe sixpac joe normal
kicked back, laid back
ignoble informal
working class
pain in the ***
foul mouthed, burnout
college drop out
that doesn't have two
sweet words to rub together
this poem is for me
and you... if you want it.
Dec 20, 2016
Dec 20, 2016 at 9:31 PM UTC
If you put some effort wholeheartedly,
Focus your mind more on your studies,
Yes, this means you have to be serious.
Today's sacrifice wouldn't go fruitless,
It'd surely help you indirectly someday,
Yes, you would get paid for hardwork.
Don't ever feel lonely in your life dear,
When you feel alone in this long journey,
Yes, I am always find me by your side.
Feb 17, 2014
Feb 17, 2014 at 11:28 AM UTC