"indiscriminately" poems
‘I am…’ 'Or am I’? Who can say?
‘A posteriori’ leads the way
For the extra and the ordinary
Axiomatic sway,
In the gravity of corollary,
‘A priori’ interplay
Ataraxic overlay of anxious automation,
As the innocence of dissonance delay.
Practicing semantic contemplation,
In willfully prevenient interpolation,
Civilly disobedient in expediently seeming disarray,
Forecasts in vague extrapolation
Contrasts the millennial contagion
Already underway,
Filling nihilistic voids with particles in waves,
To interpret dreams of Freud to free Oedipus’s slaves,
A degreeless scholastic who never misbehaves,
Simulated humanoid dramatic in the affect that he craves,
Inflating linguistics in acrobatic raves,
A thespian who plans conation with legacy engraves.
The probabilistic determiner of cosmogenous debates,
An apperceived inquirer of qualitative states,
Inspiring proprietor of dismality abates.
Challenging aporia as epistemic oscillates,
Stoically, heroically, ‘one’ who amalgamates,
Circling the infinite in hermeneutic calibrates.
An escaped prisoner from depressive disillusion,
Of an introspective extrovert who finds solace in confusion,
The personable recluse fighting an illusion
Breaking down the nuances of every institution.
Calculating consequence as time goes to infinity
Revolutionary commonsense of principal utility,
An opinionated adversary,
to the realist without evidence,
Theorizing in futility,
Stipulating every sense leading to the virility of the pretense that dominates community.
Divergently converging all the efforts we’ve personified,
Inadvertently submerging old traditions that unethically were codified,
Hastening the urgency for purging that which cannot be modified through the merging of the certainty that will no longer coincide,
Stationing the levies to finally stem the tide,
Of periodic enmities disguised to be necessities so blatantly deified.
Observing moral sentiments, perched upon eternity,
As consequential regiments are expounded universally,
To unstratify the residents indiscriminately
And identify quantum elements spiritualistically,
Changing collective behavior individually,
Socializing constructs in joint ventured logo therapy.
Nov 16, 2018
Nov 16, 2018 at 8:07 AM UTC
Last week, among friends black and white,
among some discussion of protests in Ferguson
and the related looting of stores, I invoked
the word. It was an admission, in a round
of confessions, of something about myself
that I didn't like: that I had perceived Michael Brown
in that way based on his possible participation
in a strong-armed robbery.
When Travon Martin was in the news,
I was inflamed like many others who wanted
George Zimmerman in jail for ******
The outcome of that trial was an injustice,
I was utterly certain. Why does this case
in Missouri feel different? More importantly,
Who is inside me that still wants to rise
in defiance of 48 years of learning how
to be a better person, a person without prejudices,
stereotyping, labeling of others, hurtful language?
Where is the hippie girl now? How does she live
with this other person? Am I Sterling, Gibson,
a hater and spewer of viciousness, a lover
of separation and separateness, that I should
invite damage to my own relationships
with those I love and cherish and respect?
What is a **** but a bully, and what is a bully
but someone who pushes words around like
weapons, spits them out indiscriminately,
so that they land on the already bruised heart
and set it on fire.
Whose heart, besides mine, now sits in smoke
and ash, with that word like a brand
still sore and permanent, having been spoken
aloud?
Aug 25, 2014
Aug 25, 2014 at 11:44 AM UTC
The gift of giving indiscriminately
is a gift we should give indiscriminately
There's a secret to a good life and here's the key
The path to happiness is generosity
Happiness doesn't dilute when you give it away
and it constitutes in everything you say
You can literally have your cake and eat it
depending exactly on how you treat it
take it, use it, split it, pass it on
every time you do that it will be twice as strong
happiness is a virus we need to learn to spread
a pandemic of the head
A vaccine shot straight to the heart
infecting you with a flying start
secret to the deeper hidden meaning of living
that happiness is caused by indiscriminate giving.
Oct 16, 2012
Oct 16, 2012 at 9:04 AM UTC
Wrote this eons ago, tonight, once more,
spend some human capital, editing...
Something to think about
as we tuck ourselves in.
the young'uns keep on asking me for tips,
secrets, to this art, magical poetry gig,
as if I had any left unrevealed.
recalled this old'n,
from a vintage poetry year,
as a suggestion,
a stating-starting place,
for young poets:
do not self-chain,
let the words take you
where
they lead, write them up
for the rhyme is waiting,
in the heart chest deep down,
not on the screen.
I read you Goodnight Moon,
Falling asleep beside you.
<•>
People stop rhyming...
When first you overcome your fears,
And dare to put on paper your tears,
Give it up, set yourself free from the shackles,
Of thinking a rhyme is a necessity for a
Rooting tooting writing of a
**** good poem
or a barrel of
crackles
If you feel lost,
Want to share the cost,
Feel not bossed,
By a newbie's need
to believe that if it rhymes
Everyone will like your poem
Just fine
And if you get past this stage,
And advance to the next page,
Do not think that writing down a sentence of
Your mind's first up, innermost thoughts,
Is something that will make you
Less lost, heralded, worthy of a parade,
And be blessed with an A
In your Teacher's pet grade book
My heart broke.
I feel bad.
I feel sad
Cause my man/woman left me
And I hope
Someone kicks his or her ***
That Ain't No Poem Neither...
And if you can't help but complain repeatedly
How life ***** and you're feeling blue
extremely indiscreetly,
Don't make me try on your scribblings
intimately indiscriminately,
Read a million, even wrote a few myself
You think you can write?
Then employ a word outside your comfort zone,
Go it alone,
Write just four sentences that will make
The hopeful reader stand up and you,
Twice as much, and shout
**Hallelujah *******
Work. Poetry is work. Hard work.
Don't fret. But, think on it.
Let it come easy, then let it rest,.
Then spend days editing every comma,
And when you love it so much,
You are chest busting bursting,
Why have you not pressed Send already?
Have the sweetest dreams.
In the morning, when you but awake,
A poem will be aborning in thy mind,
And dare I say it, you will find a new freedom
In free verse.
(I know you will slip in a rhyme or two,
I can't help but do it too)
G' nite!
Jul 9, 2013
Jul 9, 2013 at 10:17 PM UTC
Somewhere, there is a labyrinth, where people wander around and around, suffering,
Unwilling contestants of a cruel game, where the
Winner doesn't live to tell the tale—to claim the prize. It is
Wicked and unrelenting. The wardens of this
Prison are ruthless, indiscriminately casting their victims into the labyrinth,
Just to see what they're made of.
Around and around they go, trying to get out of
This endless ring of suffering,
Trying to regain control of their lives from this
Monstrous power. They search to find out where the end is,
Around and around, bewildered marionettes, hugging the
Walls, as cold as death. But they cannot find the exit to this labyrinth.
They cry out and curse this labyrinth
Of suffering. They don't want to know what they're made of.
They want to stop the agony and the suffering.
"Around and around is not the answer to this,"
They finally cry like hungry animals, "Straight and fast is."
And so they go, straight and fast, to break away from the
Horrors they're frantically attempting to escape. The
Frigid walls, stretching endlessly upward, collapse as they blast through the labyrinth
Like siege engines. Around and around their heads, like drunken birds, images of
Their lives whirl by. Desperate to put an end to their sweat and suffering,
These prisoners blindly race toward the light in the distance. But this
Solution does not completely end the suffering. That's not how the labyrinth is.
Look around you. What you see is
Filled with raging fists, starving mouths, and the
Cries of those drowning in their own suffering.
This world is a world of
Recurring pain, winding around and around like a labyrinth.
Look around you and answer me: What is this?
This
Is
The
Labyrinth
Of
Suffering.
We all are stuck suffering, flies in a web. We imagine ourselves escaping, hiding this
Bleak present under a fabricated future, but the labyrinth does not begin or end. It just is.
So around and around we go. Welcome to the labyrinth. Let's see what you're made of.
May 30, 2011
May 30, 2011 at 9:21 AM UTC
two Americans and three Indians
Came to my house.yesterday.
Four of them were men
And one of them a woman
They were all shedding blood
I asked the Americans , “ What
Happened to you?” Our fellow
White Americans fired at us”
Why? “I asked most innocently”
They said, ‘we fought indiscrimination
Against the blacks and for their equality”
I asked the Indians, Why are all bleeding?
“The religious fanatics belonging to our
Religion fired at us’ .The two Indian men said.
A Sikh fanatic shot at me indiscriminately”
He was my own body Guard too.”
The Indian woman said painfully.
Coincidentally all the five came
From the two great democracies
Democracy means” killing the
Great leaders and shedding their blood.”
I woke up from the dream
But I had the great opportunity
Of talking to five noble souls
Mar 1, 2011
Mar 1, 2011 at 7:35 PM UTC
When the incendiaries lit the sky
A face smiled its divine calligraphy:
It was Helen crowned with Troy's debris.
Her unmatchable mouth in the roof
Of blood moved in speech like the home of love,
Hanging its moon of reproof:
'My kiss blots history out.
My landslide legend has forgotten
A thousand thousand bones rotting;
'Under the guilty sea
The ships lie; but accuracy
Has been seduced by me.'
Her smile sailed indiscriminately
Among the squadrons of death majestically
And was reflected on the sea.
'The armless Venus carried Pompei's tears
Better than the raided years
Or the cold dances of chameleon stars.'
Then faded. But the rain
Like lovers' seeds that fall in vain,
Warned me of my sin.
3.6k
I, naive
I believed that the break in the clouds
Was the end of rain
Thought those rays of sun weren't burning
I was lying
Myself in the grass,
Asking if the tulip chutes in Anatolia
Were the same sinking green I feel now
Where were we?
Love for a thousand spaces and bottling them into skins
Wanted to touch and know deeply all beautiful things
No you're not allowed, they don't want to let you in
That way, it's a distant place and means too much to understand
The biological and irrational
Crazed, sweeps gregarity above and within an aether-- like milky foam upon the waves
When I return home from excursions
I will be Ipanema
The soft locale, unabashed and known to no soul
Except empty elevators--
The lowly philosopher-king
Maybe then you'll think highly of me
Through the mixed feelings
Unable to handle
Straight through the socket
Ring of fire
Then and only then will you realize
That real life
Is more than just a zone or some local
Brewery on a Friday night
And every other Friday night
Ever thereafter--
You'll unlock the box of atomic intention
And listen deeply to her on the station
"Sade and Other Like Hits"
Slowed down for full potential
Letting your cochlea stroke themselves off to the tune of the universe
And the sound of air moving indiscriminately
Will give you
All this
Somewhere
almost fractal, imbibed
Decimated repetitively
There is a fragment of my voice,
Calling
"Love, how much I'd love to be. "
Dec 5, 2018
Dec 5, 2018 at 2:22 PM UTC
Beyond the lights and glare and joyous cheers
Outside the pretty things prepared to tear
It glows without joules or generators
Without lists and traditional movies
between gathered gifts and exhalations
mini mall masses travel plans, traffic
makes meaning of monotony, trees of woods
burning bright before menorahs first light
unquantified warmth while tilted from sun
unnamed it's ether a summoning drum
Before Christ birth or Alleluia sung
Close your eyes and see from glance where it comes
More precious than 34th street miracles
the motivation of cold breeze on leaves
The reason for seasons found in unity
Where shepherds staff birth red white epitaph
Where plants of poison rosy the living
When wise men exodus for genesis
Seven lights or Nine or just one big star
matters not the name or time frame in bloom
indiscriminately celebrate the Ohm
Dec 22, 2015
Dec 22, 2015 at 7:51 PM UTC
The knife of life carves indiscriminately without warning
said the runts of the pumpkin patch now lined in mourning.
A farmer plucked biggest one, cutting vine, as the runts cried
a black harvest, Mama being carted off, as she died.
Sad black crows circle the day and night sky abreast and stressed
as the winds of fate wielded its teeth at the oppressed.
A blur of orange is all the crows saw amongst the quivering patch
as the farmer tiptoed the pasture wide-eyed on getting his ******
Now at the hour of her death angels play harps of fruition
in wake of the wide-eyed farmer's wayward act of abscission.
Billows of black smoke followed, taking to the ominous skies
as the incinerator took matters in its own hands as she lies.
Then all that was left were the ashes and whispers of the past,
a eulogy, as her quivering kin sat in the storybook downcast.
Pages cried out, tears filled the chapters of a great pumpkin patch
her roots holding each on the vines with love that's hard to match.
No day came off, of a jack-o-lantern smiling in a window frame
for in this family house cancer snatched mothers life just the same.
Logan Robertson
8/4/2018
Aug 4, 2018
Aug 4, 2018 at 9:39 PM UTC
Totalitarian menace
refined, tailored pants
bleed malignance and
fear.
What stalks the passage,
normally?
Tear off my clothes, with subordinate cruelty
and tortured fiefdom from the sun
invading damp alleyways
and musty cement corridors
abet you enthroned
on that sidewalk stump.
I curb,
the habit
blindly happenstances about
yore salty ruins
we yodel, indiscriminately.
Jun 1, 2011
Jun 1, 2011 at 2:22 PM UTC
Deadly pestilence came to distinguished Florence.
Spread east to west, roamed sickness without human cure.
Divine and human authority disappeared,
God’s wrath prohibited remedy and good health.
Families emptied, gentlemen fell to corpses.
Evil free to **** men indiscriminately,
Ignorant doctor’s advice left medicine like
filth. Day or night decomposing fortune is death.
Sick set aflame in neglecting infinite fire.
Disease black with misery, wicked affliction
with livid spots. Medicine removed anything.
Contact to dead or sick doomed a person sad death.
Every part always died. Abandoned all the laws
rightful behavior a fallen plight. Faithful shame.
Plague is a noble executor’s careless deeds.
A woman with no necessity of required
morals communicated upon death. Healthy,
beautiful, and attractive multitude consumed.
Avoid no very past pestilence in the fields.
The sick had made servants of the required dwellers.
Jan 31, 2013
Jan 31, 2013 at 11:34 PM UTC
chin resting on two palms,
sprouting totemic archetypes
of good-evil.
watching this passing away...
this double take on: creation/
preservation/destruction.
how moved, how unmoved--
can one become?
one becomes.
scratch to scar the surface, and
existence won't wear signs of
struggle.
though wisdom kills indiscriminately.
your thunk betrayed you with a
breeze.
the latest, of a series of offensive odors.
Sep 12, 2018
Sep 12, 2018 at 12:30 PM UTC
In this life
We have love
We may not have had
The passage of time together
The years of naivety
Youth or freshness of spirit
We have not caressed
Our younger bodies
Enjoyed the sanctity of being as one
When our skin was smoother
Our touch was softer
Our hearts were open to receiving
More congenially
A time when we may have
Chosen indiscriminately
This led us down a road that was
Perhaps
Right for the time
Yet now outgrown ~
The model of love
We have the maturity of mind
Still the tenderness of heart
Enjoying the ability to cherish
That which the Universe brings us
We have more complex bodies
That savors the relaxed
Appeasing, sensuality of **********
Remaining as a priceless work of art
Instead of the rushed; less intense
Inexperience youth often brings
We have each other in what will be
The ultimate love of its kind
The last known to us in this lifetime
Our twilight years, may come and go
But we have love that lives on
Forever recorded in history
The mistakes of the past rewritten
Because now, in this life
We truly found ~
The model of love
May 2, 2017
May 2, 2017 at 4:48 PM UTC
Sometime after mid night, it had rained
Putting out summer’s sultry heat
The sky had its face washed clean
And wiped the grime off Earth’s soiled feet
The dawn is quietly breaking
Night lights still glimmer here and there
The blue firmament remains cloudless
And cool is the mild blowing air
The sleeping town is slowly waking up
And at this transitional point
I look out into the street
To see a sight that shall never disappoint
Along the road moves one, ragged and withered
His discolored white hair left unkempt
With hunch back and drooping shoulders
The marks Time has left of the hard years spent
Though age has drained his life sap away
He has a firm resolve never to beg
His frail body supported on a stick
Serves as a veritable third leg
With his staff, he perseveringly stirs
Every heap of abandoned *******
Indiscriminately piled on either side of the road
Hunting for trinkets lying hidden in the trash
A rag picker with a sack on his back
Picking up today’s treasure
From yesterday’s discarded trash
Things, for him ‘priceless’ beyond measure
With complaints none
He faces life and its trials
Never losing the glitter in his eyes
Though a loner in life’s dark isles
I ask myself, why every day
I routinely look for this man who limps along
And I get a quick answer
‘He helps you turn your sobs into a song’
May 12, 2016
May 12, 2016 at 6:33 AM UTC
A dream you told me of:
Defusing a time-bomb embedded in the womb of your dead mother.
I don’t know if you were smart enough to flip the failsafe
Or if you indiscriminately yanked wires out, like your dangerous thoughts.
A dream I told you of:
at the midpoint of their parents’ anniversaries, by the ruins of every immortalized
kingdom, she is wearing her mother’s dress and he is too.
“father wanted to castrate or **** me,” he said, conversationally.
they have so much in common. they live the tragedy of armchair **** fantasies,
tend to ****** their own genitals when lost in thoughts of the obstruction of
their desires. (which, really, is pointless
because they don’t desire anything besides fondling their own genitals.)
Blinded Oedipus does not notice
Electra’s concealed ******* dagger. A thousand years between them, yet they’re still children conceived of
Mitigated **** and blood sacrifice for the sake of sailing, and
Defined by deficit from the beginning; her crippled mind sang
to his hollowed eyes. Kinslayers becoming kin,
Entranced by the illusions of the other but really
Loving only the unmistakable reflections of their own sins.
May 14, 2014
May 14, 2014 at 11:45 AM UTC
This is not a poem, a poet wrote some white lies about Israel and I want to share the truth that we’re not told by our media’s.
Remember, we can disagree about things and still agree about a lot of other things.
If you search, you can easily find this information.
Most of it comes from Israel media.
Israel already had over 10,000
Palestinian prisoners locked up long before the Oct 7 when the genocide begin.
Men, women and children in their prisons with no path to freedom.
Not to mention the open air prison that the Israeli’s kept the Palestine society trapped in for the past 50 years called Gaza. Committing human rights violation against the indigenous people of the land.
The biggest percentage of all the people that were **** on Oct 7th, were killed by Israeli’s killing their own people because they were ordered to follow the Hannibal directive.
I suppose you’ve never heard of that, no? Then your news source is limited.
Last year in Israel, their high court decided that **** and torture in their prisons, being committed by the Israel army was no longer illegal. Most of their society did not want these prison guards to get in trouble for torturing and ****** the Palestinian prisoners.
All those things you claim some unnamed source told you, have already been debunk by many credible sources.
Hamas did not do it, Israel rapes, cheats, lies and kills indiscriminately. They own our leaders using AIPAC lobbist who have Trump by the *** (They own Epstein’s library)
AIPAC is the reason you believe lies. They own media and congress.
Their propaganda rules the networks.
And just in the last two years, Israel has started war with Iran, Lebanon and Syria.
And of course their genocide happening now to the people of Palestine. I don’t understand how anybody support them. But I’m not a superstitiously impaired Zionist either.
Jun 27, 2025
Jun 27, 2025 at 12:29 PM UTC
Dark death skirts beaches in blood red,
as coffee colored swells wash in more
carnage to the shores;
we are blindly poisoning our waters.
Toxic plumes of red tide cover the seas,
beaching whales and seals,
manatees, and fishes;
we indiscriminately **** our sea life.
The brisk breeze off the Gulf
brings the smell of rotting death
that is all around;
we are blindly killing ourselves.
Our lifeblood,
the seas and its inhabitants,
slowly slip away;
we disrespect nature.
Mother earth mourns
as we continue
to ****** its inhabitants;
we are dying.
Sep 1, 2018
Sep 1, 2018 at 1:21 PM UTC
These years are speeding darkly
Since the epiphany. You don't get
A lot of those.
Last night
On the beach I laid back to watch
The shooting stars; some say
The heavenly stars. The Perseids
Burned indiscriminately,
I counted two.
I was starstruck watching
The four satelites,
In a pre-determined orbital,
That would burn as sure as
A ghetto.
Ogling the dark spaces;
Comforted, there's more stars
Out there for some other reason.
And wham. It happened , always unexpected.
It's not because something's not there;
It's because it never was, but for
Two meteors and four satelites.
I saw the light.
Aug 13, 2015
Aug 13, 2015 at 10:06 PM UTC
The news said:
"It's entirely likely,
in fact, it's more likely,
that we are living in a simulation."
The circus and the chorus lines
are just for the architect's amusement.
When the leotards on the high wire
fall, he laughs the hardest.
Measuring the moon with his hands,
does anyone knows its' circumference?
"If someone can measure the moon,
we are better off."
Everyone forgets
the fallen artist,
and stares at the moon.
Some shout indiscriminately.
Three engineers
create a proof,
that creates an equation,
that is widely believed
for the next 100 years, before
proven later to be false.
The artist nurses his broken knee.
"Can't anyone see I'm suffering?"
Everyone stares at the moon.
Nov 10, 2017
Nov 10, 2017 at 12:48 AM UTC
MY DEAR HUMANIST
You are an imperialist
He is a terrorist
You promote cold war
And declare unilaterally real war
He does the so called holy war
Both of you stretch it too far
He kills the people indiscriminately
And you discriminately
Saddam Hussain and Bin Laden were once your friends
Ultimately they became your rivals
Saddam was hanged by you
But Bin Laden still eludes you
You have the riches and power
And feel as if you were the law giver
UNO and the World Bank bow to your power
But the terrorist could demolish your tower
You divide and rule the world
He terrorizes it with his deed and word
Do you know how many people you murdered in the war?
None has stopped your inhuman actions so far
You make friends with one state
The neighbouring country your buffer state
You call yourself a great democrat and humanist
We know you are an imperialist
And worse than a terrorist
You never listen to the pacifist
Dec 27, 2010
Dec 27, 2010 at 6:33 AM UTC
From a quiet tiny stream into a raging torrent
as high volumes of rain falls with intent.
Onto the grasslands forming artificial lakes
lives property and businesses high stakes.
Swollen rivers burst their banks flooding homes
as the surge of water indiscriminately roams.
That heavy rain that never seems to stop pouring
down on the streets at speed it comes roaring!
Into many properties in its way water is merciless
cold and filthy always leaving a trail of mess.
Sodden ground unable to absorb man an obstacle
flooding becomes soul destroying and cruel!
Misery and heartache as the fast wind blows
and heavy rain saturates the water flows!
The Foureyed Poet.
Dec 11, 2012
Dec 11, 2012 at 11:11 AM UTC
we see the dying die. i walk down the stairs and give them nothing everyday. as i was walking down 8th ave one afternoon, i was approached by a girl who was about my age. she was screaming indiscriminately
"please sir! can you help me?! i have no idea where i am and i don't have enough money for a bus ticket home."
i drudged a drunken look up at her
i was tired
i wanted the bus ticket home
and the beautiful new york city girl you sit next to
you know
the ones they keep up in front
but they sit in back
she told me she had gotten on the wrong bus and wound up in new york city
just by accident
that she didn't have any money
and her family was worried and needed her back home
8th and 43rd
she wined at anyone who passed
with a terrified look
as if she was to be eaten or sacrificed
her story was unconvincing
i gave her twenty dollars to get home
i truly hope she did
but in my heart of hearts i know she spent it on drugs
she was a good actress
and should get what she deserves
after i handed her the bill
she asked
" oh my god , can i give you a hug!? please?! "
she grabbed me tight and was almost crying
she was so beautiful
in trouble
as if i had given her life itself
our elders do not understand the affect of there traditions
upon the truthful way of life
so we sit here and wither
victims of just being tired
Feb 1, 2014
Feb 1, 2014 at 10:25 PM UTC
The Last Priest smiled his blessing
indiscriminately, bridging, seeding,
building a new priesthood
beyond borders, across tribes,
ignoring gender, discounting class,
blind to race, snubbing rank,
denying privilege and preferring
a new holy nationality for refugees
for stateless souls like mine
- like ours
Oct 5, 2023
Oct 5, 2023 at 5:11 AM UTC
Jesus didn't go to Disneyland
didn't hold the hand of
Mickey Mouse,
he was
too busy cleaning rooms in the mansion
when he should have been cleaning house.
I never read in the good book
that we shouldn't give a ****
we're all children under the Sun
except them ********
who are crazier than ****
and **** indiscriminately
with a gun
Infinity is here today,
straight or gay
no way
did Jesus go to
Disneyland.
Jun 13, 2016
Jun 13, 2016 at 2:40 AM UTC