"indiscrete" poems
With graceful strategy the circling hawk
Whips my circling sorrow to dive and strike;
Indiscrete for action the poison oak
Thrusts up her flushed face for attack
Lizards and herbs and flowers admonish me,
Strict in their innocence: I am cowardly,
Nor will the mourning-dove condone my fault
Who ******* all hazard for a humble scrap
And when she coos courts punishment. My guilt
Is obvious, and I cannot escape.
8.3k
From the Azul sky a diving sparkling speck,
An unmatched beautiful creature without circumspect,
The golden leaves of spring like soldiers on parade,
Dip and make way for this fair winged maid.
I have so much longed to be first bite of this season,
To be touched and blossomed to perfection by your reason,
I grow juicy, soft and ripen as I fall for you.
Tumbling into your soft Cashmere hands on cue.
Salivating, I’m tasty, savour me between your teeth,
Sink deep in without remorse, how delectably indiscrete!
Say my name with a smile it’s so safe in your mouth.
I’m tingling the roof of your brain with my flavours coming out.
Take me away! as we fly, I’m cast about like an enchanted spell,
Moistening your soft syrupy lips of caramel.
I’m drained to sustain the iridescent colours of your gilded wings,
Moved by the high passionate notes as you sing.
Your smooth, probing tongue, my flesh diabetically sweet,
Leaving streaks of sienna nectar on fates smeared cheeks,
Wipe away before staining fabric from our black and white lives.
They keep returning, stubborn like long goodbyes.
Surprise! New emotions enveloping, hypnotic like Night Jasmine,
Mimicking a rainwater spout so bubbly, escaping, and exciting!
Your caught hopeless as a fish fly rod with a glass eyed trout
Choking while love swoops silent from heaven to pluck it out.
That’s when you look at my seed and you can tell.
I’m good for your ego but as bad as a toadstool’s spell.
So I’m placed in the first mound of mud you come across,
Where you replant me sprinkled with fairy dust.
Sep 26, 2014
Sep 26, 2014 at 5:58 PM UTC
My mind dances with others;
flirting like a teenager
around their brain.
All I’ve done, crumbles
like a daylight ending cataclysm,
racing through darkening woods,
misty and vacant. To be
everything that hides behind
the curtains. To be
nothing but glitter on hair,
sparkling and broken.
I am. be.
nowhere.
free
like slaves. Again,
moral progress, I entertain;
the parts that constitute the brain.
Like language, ambiguity not in essence,
but expression. What is it, Kant? I can’t,
I can’t…understand you through any mention.
For all it is, bears no pretension, indiscrete
like lavender pollen; smelt
and sweet.
In my hours of ego-less desire
I still tangle round reminiscence
and dread. All my teething thoughts
scatter like Ash, collecting creatures,
wandering through digital landscapes.
I am nowhere obvious, in-between
the mud and electrical cables,
as I spin round an atom
imploding and splitting.
Jan 26, 2013
Jan 26, 2013 at 11:21 PM UTC
how on earth
could steaming squash and Brussel sprouts
be as good as Doritos and a soft serve swirl…
sure, I desire to be a healthy old man
but my taste buds wish me dead at 45
they long for sweet wheat and extra large
portions of meat
indiscrete feedings at fried food buffets
all the while maintaining the look of a fella
only slightly over-weight
…..still, I feel poorly
headaches and joint pain
racing brain and an inability to refrain
from the foods that are doing this to me
I never thought after conquering
8 years of ****** addiction
and 15 years a tobacco ******
that candy bars would be my greatest foe
forget candy bars
let’s talk bread….
loaves of sourdough golden roasted
rye to die for
and cinnamon…rolls,
banana or zucchini
sprinkled on toast with a touch of sugar …
it is no wonder I am larger than need be
the BMI calculator says I am 84 pounds
from defeating obesity
so much for my professional lineman physique –
Oct 26, 2015
Oct 26, 2015 at 5:36 PM UTC
I rode again the horse cover
of night, where indiscrete yearnings
cast doubt upon the aerial
flagellate of milk spumed stars.
A jealous denial: their
froth no terrestrial hide.
How strange to imagine the stars want skin,
or kin,
and must think that I touch you
as if without consequence
moving my hands
from peals of belles to petals,
stamen, the flower unfolding
one cupped nautilus
full of a prismatic wanting.
This is how I learned that something larger
than me speaks in echoes
stands at vital distance
a shiver in the vacuum infinity...
Unimaginable. Infinity.
Jan 30, 2012
Jan 30, 2012 at 4:23 PM UTC
The fireflies bloomed an indiscrete love
And we cursed at the shadows
Of an infinite dark.
The good nights remained
In a thought of a kiss.
And we ran
For youth was a liar.
Nov 4, 2014
Nov 4, 2014 at 4:30 PM UTC
Your tendencies to feed us white lies make some feel safe.
You know that, but the truth is: no one is safe from you.
Indiscrete imperialist nations
taking over each other,
yet they are so discrete
dropping bombs on the innocent
and saying “bon apetite.”
**** your sugar-coated ideals
blind-folding the already ignorant eyes
distorting my views of human kind;
making me wish I wouldn’t be
a member of this primitive, violent race.
Beasts with the dangerous advantage
of intelligence; feeling superior to
all life on earth, even each other.
Beating each other over colors,
Beating each other over ideals,
Killing each other over pointless
emotions produced by chemicals in the brain.
Behind the curtain of our repetitive lives,
lies the world so easily hid under the glass,
but people turn away from the truth;
afraid to realize
that you are driving us to our Doom.
Dancing in the rain of freedom,
instead of drowning myself in
the priceless, suspending ocean.
In your perspective,
complete freedom is too much
to handle, but I sit here
writing my thoughts, delivering the truth
Of the freedom within ourselves;
while you think of ways to give us illusions
of choice and freedom
that prevent us from discovering
the truth within ourselves
and releasing the truth behind your masked self.
Shoving in our face free buttons
that say, “Freedom isn’t Free.”
War is a business!
So of course,
You want us to fight to be free.
Apr 8, 2010
Apr 8, 2010 at 4:14 PM UTC
Le jour pousse la nuit,
Et la nuit sombre
Pousse le jour qui luit
D'une obscure ombre.
L'Autonne suit l'Esté,
Et l'aspre rage
Des vents n'a point esté
Apres l'orage.
Mais la fièvre d'amours
Qui me tourmente,
Demeure en moy tousjours,
Et ne s'alente.
Ce n'estoit pas moy, Dieu,
Qu'il falloit poindre,
Ta fleche en autre lieu
Se devoit joindre.
Poursuy les paresseux
Et les amuse,
Mais non pas moy, ne ceux
Qu'aime la Muse.
Helas, delivre moy
De ceste dure,
Qui plus rit, quand d'esmoy
Voit que j'endure.
Redonne la clarté
A mes tenebres,
Remets en liberté
Mes jours funebres.
Amour sois le support
De ma pensée,
Et guide à meilleur port
Ma nef cassée.
Tant plus je suis criant
Plus me reboute,
Plus je la suis priant
Et moins m'escoute.
Ne ma palle couleur
D'amour blesmie
N'a esmeu à douleur
Mon ennemie.
Ne sonner à son huis
De ma guiterre,
Ny pour elle les nuis
Dormir à terre.
Plus cruel n'est l'effort
De l'eau mutine
Qu'elle, lors que plus fort
Le vent s'obstine.
Ell' s'arme en sa beauté,
Et si ne pense
Voir de sa cruauté
La récompense.
Monstre toy le veinqueur,
Et d'elle enflame
Pour exemple le coeur
De telle flame,
Qui la soeur alluma
Trop indiscrete,
Et d'ardeur consuma
La Royne en Crete.
718
Freedom lives.
Freedom dies.
Freedom resides
In the hopeful eyes
Of the masses.
So blind,
So kind,
Its all a matter of time
Before we see
That freedom lies
Where we dare not set our eyes.
Indiscrete,
A ruckus so loud
It speaks before it sees,
It runs before it walks,
and so it falls.
All is in the hands of freedom,
Your life and mine.
Without it we lie
In a catatonic state
Waiting for the food
To land on the plate;
Not living,
Not free,
Loving the near-sighted views
In our eyes,
Knowing…
There is nothing more
To live for,
When freedom dies.
Apr 9, 2010
Apr 9, 2010 at 7:26 PM UTC
There is romance found in ingratiation, in these chaste doilies, suffering implicitly beneath the burden of ***** bowls. Here’s one, illuminated as a pinball machine when you rattle that dung-brown stain about its shrivelled pupil. Above it, a cataract of steam squirms about in unalarming routine.
So many nights I adulterated merely for lack of better days were given credence by the gimpy sun, turned away with its blouse undone, and ****** back to the chalkboard. Somewhere along the past few days I must have become bedridden, indentured to prickly sponge baths by that ****** tongue.
How I’d like to stay sedated now. Another day of inoculation becomes an alibi for the adhesion of this numbness inducted to the soft-boiled meat of my temples, combing out my shoulder blades, running down my legs...
Stupidly, I almost feel a sense of superiority in not learning any faces among the indiscrete convoys of whitish heads popping in now and then, with the subordinate arousal of stiff knuckles, or other things compressed inward by their own come-hither fervor.
“You talk too much, you worry me to death…”
May 25, 2025
May 25, 2025 at 10:09 PM UTC