"individualized" poems
is like no other early morning, man reborn, in the delivery
room of sky blue, the offsetting water deeper bluish hue,
the trim-all-around of the mixed salad greens of the staff's
scrubs as they usher in unity, with no imp-unity, the risks,
while the supervisory sky, disperses cumulus clouds in
peppercorn patterns of white chains, or big wide solitary
brushstrokes on a a ****** canvas, gettin' the feel in the
palm of the heft of brush, the viscosity of the paint, the day's
palette reflecting available colors in order to create a uni~cued
original of what has been painted an uncountable times before,
and before…
tho short weighted, was the sleep of the prior night's restful,
he awakes to the early morning light, the sounds of early
island rouse him, even, arouse him, for the August chill
foretells of the early onset of memory loss of the peculiarities
of this summered simmering, human warming and baking
and natural braking of the slowing of the heart rate, to better
accommodate, nature's hints and hidden reminiscences
of the true purpose of the summer's intervention upon our
collective and unique bottling, our individualized containers,
un~lidded, uncovered, eager for the fuel of sunrays replenish-
ing the length of our lives by the elixir of the summer
it is a chill 63 Fahrenheit at this time of day as we crossover
to the nigh day, from the cooling air conditions of dark,
the occasional helicopter intrudes upon the morning's calm,
the water placid, the geese honking regarding my watchful
rewarding presence, a slew, a bevy, of female vocalists, to
ease this transitory performance unfolding, and though one
feels the existential of his solitary singularity, as he thinks,
nay believes, he is the only one in attendance at this ritualized
emergence, he takes in the cool of, the heat of, the admixture
of both, the clashing integers of each, and he, fully invigorated,
goes silent, for once more, he has uncovered new combinations of
old words to accept and describe a new day's creation, miracle of miraculous, defying the odds of this ventures's success, his own continuance on this sheltered but open all around island implanted tween two tines of land, as if all the surroundings were created just to protect this, wholly holy place…
7:00am
Silver Beach
Shelter Island
Aug 19 2025
Aug 19, 2025
Aug 19, 2025 at 8:00 AM UTC
A follow on poem to 'In the Sunroom (Suicide)" (1)
writ many years later...
~For MWK~
<>
A stray thought. a burring burrowing, thorny tawny:
A wish, yet to get, but vetted for each of us.
*This within, this redoubt, a contemplative oasis,
my indoor poet's nookery rookery sanctuary
each one, each is, deserves, all, one such,
a place holy filled, with lice and dirt of a life,
strained and trained for emission and transmission
of the best of the worst, and the triumphant emergent commission of
our individualized most excellent fresh best
where crumbs of apple crisp pie solidify, vanilla bean ice cream
melt offsets the oven heated warmth, and from this interactive
contrasts combative,
a poem pie reborn, newly disguised, familiar words,
yet unheard and before this very never,
went unspoken and now goes forth
svelte and unbroken
*rhymes of yore, forgot from a before, but making up the walls
of the here and now,
a sunroom to spread out the lit lights of egress and entrance,
of fire door no exits that now are chiseled closed,
lock in, lock up, and somehow, one, stills to learn from
the stilling quiet solitude.
to penetrate the prostrate kneeling grinning grief,
how to expel and spell the words
that grant
relief
visit my sunroom, though no fiction.
the sun rays *********** create the friction
of that which cannot ever be withered nor contained,
and your mouth opens wide and a poem birthed and delivered,
pastiche paste composted of truth and dreams of fiction, fine diction,
with a shrug, a smile, a satisfaction extracted extraordinary,
you garner moments of satisfaction but cloud cover returns,
and the process of sunrise exposition recommences,
and one revisits the elemental sequencing of
all the predecessor pain, but this time,
for gain, for gain,
<>
written this sabbath Saturday
12:38am EST
Sat Aug 2
2025
in the sunroom,
on Shelter Island
Aug 2, 2025
Aug 2, 2025 at 12:59 AM UTC
unsure, uncertain,
of the laws invested
in the realms and reams
of poetry ingested,
am i addict,
or supplier,
retail consumer
or
wholesale supplier,
a mom & pop candy store,
or a metastasizing intelligence
that takes any thing, and all,
a solitary letter,
an instance of a sighting,
a gasping palpitation
and reformats it into
a hehe literary madhatter^ piece
you supply, I demand,
I supply, boy oh boy,
do I ever, but you never,
come to me directly asking,
write me a poem, thick or thin,
witty fitty or an overly looooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooong
e~pistle (a/k/a e~pistol)
yet the trade goes on and om,
the marketplace never closes,
except when periodically the
gatewaykeeper is slow to pay his bills,
and the trading centres are global scattered,
young entrepreneurs try to sell a single
piece, as if it was breaking news history,
and tired old men, review their lived,
eager to memorialize, so it's ok to forget,
in retro!spect perspective,
the mirror who cannot lie,
states affirmatively, you are
both ****** and dealer,
a corporation scientific
of ancient biblical origins,
a psalmist, a deacon,
a lyricist, but thankfully
not a singer,
an essayist who writes best
when ****** by tawny port wine,
who snatches inspiration with
equality of equity,
(wait! that's wrong,
the equity of equality,)
where he can
find, ***** city streets, the deaths
of heroes, the sunrise calm miracle
he drinks in daily, by rivers, by seas,
by estuaries brackish, and streams
of watered purity, the riveting bays,
the individualized glisten deflected
into my eyes, that each
contains one pure blessing within…. nml
Sep 27, 2025
Sep 27, 2025 at 9:24 AM UTC
I try to close my eyes
Because when they are open I tend to realize
things I hate to admit but that I despise
To me it is no surprise
to see the division on each side
Stereotypes are being idolized
Human beings are not being individualized
not being identified
Just stamp them with a number
222-33-4444
Send them to school to make them
Smarter
but dumber
to the reality
They take the unbalanced lead
of what stares at me
but moves passed me
I am followed by the past me
Inevitably,
we are
who we are destined to be
Because of what was taught to me
I have chains on my wrists
in this country
but they say I am free
while they distract me
subtract me
yes, me
but you too
Because we are one but we are two
Unity
You and me
me and you
Don't lose yourself
if you are lost, I am too
Feb 25, 2015
Feb 25, 2015 at 4:16 AM UTC
As one chosen by God, certain attributes
are demonstrated with loving regularity;
despite one’s beliefs, showing kindness
requires a daring of spiritual temerity.
For The Lord expects His children to give
Love towards people without expectations;
know that being tenderhearted, helps one
to naturally extend actions of compassion.
Don’t think lightly, about the richness
of kindness, it may one lead to repentance;
its warm embrace softens the heart, while
Salvation overrides Death’s life sentence.
The merit of kindness can’t be overstated;
being accepting, forgiving without judgment
means not rigidly imposing beliefs on others.
As His children, one should make investments
in the individualized development of others.
With the “Fruit of The Holy Spirit”, growth
and maturation can be properly accelerated
when applying by the principle of God’s oath
to “humbly walk in Love” (as He requires).
Kindness is patient, when paired with respect,
justice, long-suffering and unconditional Love;
the value of kindness, no one should neglect.
.
.
.
Author notes
Inspired by:
Eph 4:32; Gal 5:22-23; Heb 6:10; Rom 2:4;
Luke 6:35; Col 3:12; Prov 3:3; Mica 6:8
Learn more about me and my poetry at:
http://amzn.to/1ffo9YZ
By Joseph J. Breunig 3rd, © 2016, All rights reserved.
May 15, 2016
May 15, 2016 at 4:12 PM UTC
He who leads is wonderous indeed
and those who follow are surely weak
I want to break the pack mentality
and rise individualized
For a pack is only as strong as one
Imagine the army we could create
Jan 9, 2013
Jan 9, 2013 at 3:24 PM UTC
I guess you could call me
a people addict;
I live for the exchanges,
momentary or prolonged,
the satisfaction of smiles substituted for
verbalized salutations;
the how-you-do's and hello's,
the pleasantries of chit chat,
talk of my oh my, I am not ready for this snow
and how was your holiday?;
catching a supposed-to-be-sneaked glance from that tasty
stranger,
allowing your eyes to meet for longer than
you meant to;
a compliment that drips off the lips so sweet,
its nectar invading the taste buds for hours
on end;
individualized or multiplied,
I relish in the conjugated haze,
in the gazes and the giggles,
in the potential formulation of inside jokes,
in a have a good day to a grin I will never see again,
the whirlwind of vowels and consonants,
of coincidences and sarcasm,
of the impressions we may leave of which
we will never be aware;
I crave the mundane,
I get high off the monotony,
I am swallowed by the simplicity;
Yeah,
I guess you could call me a
people addict,
and I'm cool with that.
Dec 1, 2014
Dec 1, 2014 at 5:20 PM UTC
*feathers or snowflakes
nighttime,
unimportantly,
cannot differentiate
on the 16th floor
balcony
each an individualized n-vite
fall downy into down
of snow blankets of
freezing releasing cold comfort,
ice cream for the body entire
oh yes,
a sad one penned,
the nullity of his
throbbing everything,
sore tempted for quenching
by the soft permanence of white,
most tempting,
soft offering a laundering downy state
they say
see the good stuff
do,
but I* feel *the bad stuff
with heartbeat regularity,
temple pounding repetitive asking
what's the next best
and other naming questions
the way in is not
way out...
this hole I dug dark,
no hand holds, dank, elongated
this time
happy you,
brevity suits
for the downy fall
fleeting floating abrupt and
suggesting
wonderfully right-sided answers
to questions his names asks
where is the humble path,
where is shelter at long last..*.
Jan 31, 2015
Jan 31, 2015 at 10:06 AM UTC
It has been many moons since these translucent eyes set forth the bellowing cries of a whispered hymn. The cries of those long since forgotten, briefly heard, myopic, blind to the background sound of our nestled unruly world. The white noise that paints the landscape continually resetting itself in a desperate attempt to regain its foothold in our lives. It is this fight for free reign that forever brings me here. Brings me to each infinitesimal moment in life where we as the white noise fight for dominance over our subconscious realm.
Leery of what we experience with our senses and what we experience with the extensions of. Touching everything with our nothing making sure that the existence that we live is not just a state of mind but an actuality. We are self-altruistic, in this i am sure, for we care about the well being of ourselves. No state of mind left behind this is our status quo. Let it be that no mirror binds you to your own failures nor to those that look onto from a distance. Let you be your own shadow let your own shadow not be a former representation of what is but what's to come. Let your shadow be effectively that of which you strive. Let the shovels of ill will be fated to bury themselves hand in hand with those that foster it. Stand firm in your position overcome only by the mountains of your own design.
These peaks scream out echoes of your hate and shame not for you, nay. Not for I, nay. but for those that challenge what you stand for because the earth beneath our feet stands for everyone. stands stained with bloodied tears that rained down from our glorified manufactured heaven. This epoch marks the second coming of our custom, individualized, patent-pending, rights reserved, copyrighted Christ; our self-proclaimed god. self-proclaimed because we are the gods we seek, we ignore, and we pray for. the effervescent pool of life reads no running so we segue our way on this Segway to take advantage of the loopholes we ourselves placed as if only to cheat our fabricated reality because rebellion is refreshing and different but only when no one else is looking.
Mar 10, 2015
Mar 10, 2015 at 1:50 PM UTC
it's hot in a restaurant with the strangers you've since been stranded with
(look! You Finally Did It!)
and everybody knows your name but the symbolism of individualized letters with glottal stops and teeth-sucking pauses and dyslexic lingering lisps is lost on them, they have their own letters to think about, don't you know?
(hundreds of pillows fly out my ears in increasing sizes, so i must be dreaming - Right?)
Yahtzee! Soccer! Give it the old college try!
(abstract oils crash and burn in a watchtower atop of your New Life)
It's Something to do with your Mouth, It's Something to do with your Hands, but we couldn't tell you why $2.50 wasted matters more than four months and the casual flinging of my (god forbid)
i n n o c e n c e
(you're happy and i'm unconscious, so in theory we're on the same wavelength - Right?)
can you assure me that everyone has two decades of nauseating mediocrity
or no - is it just me?
we Need coffee! we Need love! dread has to be evenly distributed - don't leave your years of it at my door!
(i don't want anybody's advice unless it's on how to fashion a fully-functioning noose)
tiny lips and long socks - i can't stop being in love with the whole two-eye/two-ear/nose/mouth ordeal but i'm utterly left-handed in my lust and i swear to god both hands are empty - but that's something else entirely
(back to where we started from, in bleeding headlights swimming on deserted streets)
'just wanted to throw an XO your way' say the eyes of every crossword connection i bend over backwards to trying to cater it to my thoughts of you
(For Sale: a storage unit of journals filled with sketches of you - it's pink and mushy and curled inside my head, if you're into that)
and it's only when we're in a bed together at 3:26 AM that belongs to neither you or me that i can consciously eliminate emptied emotions and neatly file them onto typeface notes hidden in bouquets decorating the dismal-ities of my freshly-planted tombstone
(fuse our bodies together and let's make this sarcophagus a necrophilia-polis)
Oct 12, 2013
Oct 12, 2013 at 2:24 AM UTC
Today's great undead poets,
awash in the internet sea,
seek to fill the void of sensible emptiness
of our cyberspace world.
Following the heroic tradition of Man,
these daring individuals look to gain acceptance
through the expression of concepts.
Mirroring the virility and vitality of Life,
in defiance of critical naysayers,
the blankness of virtual paper
is scribbled upon with hurt, hope and ideals.
Writing styles and topics,
whether expressed in romanticized language
or the coarseness of profanity,
are brilliantly reflected in individualized glory
and authors bask in the personal satisfaction of achievement.
In the ever continuing flow of poetic thought,
today's great undead poets
find treasures in the discovery of self.
Author Notes:
Learn more about me and my poetry at:
http://www.squidoo.com/book-isbn-1419650513/
May 24, 2012
May 24, 2012 at 11:07 AM UTC
the formulaic...........how drab!
events so monumental
(and overwhelming!)
petty egos
broken on the gulf coast beaches
(OUR BEACHES!)
-------------
drifting on the summer breezes
BESIDES DEATH, TELL ME
"WHAT?" , MY FRIEND
is drifting on the summer breezes
tell me........
.....
tell me
..................
.............tell me
IF YOU, TOO, ARE ,
IF YOU, TOO
IF YOU.......!
..........................ARE HERE!
-----------
it's quite lonely
in "the trenches"
behind the barricades
who does listen
to the heart
..................the heart.............
the bursting broken heart!
---------
the formulaically protected egos
the individualized and protected
petty egos that we all are
yield up our formulaic defences
and
COME FORTH!
Jul 17, 2010
Jul 17, 2010 at 1:57 PM UTC
Moving mountains
We come a long mileage
But in moving pictures
They film us to illustrate bad depictions
Our motivation is missing
Because in the movies we act as floozies
Thrive to become individualized, but remain a groupie
All we want to be is cinemac's
And HBhoes
Never teaching ABC's to our family
Or thinking about our Lifetime
Just chasing the USA dream
Steadily trying to visit TV land
Oblivious and careless humans
Forget that this is a Animal Planet too
Do you wish that this world was yours? Yeah I BET you do
Just take a ride down the Discovery Channel and OWN up to your origin
The truth might sound like SyFy to you
Until you understand that there's manipulation in every truTV
Aug 24, 2013
Aug 24, 2013 at 10:58 PM UTC
Everyone wants a definition.
I don’t care for those things.
I reserve them for dictionaries,
and associate them with uptight individuals who live life undecorated.
We’re conditioned to crave that black and white—
everything simply categorized;
“A place for everything and everything in its place.”
I hate that.
I really, really do.
But I like you.
& listen, I can do without the definitions—
But opinions—those I want.
The individualized answers expressed in a non-textbook-fashion.
As in, “What are your thoughts on Sunday mornings?”
You know, when we hold each other for as long as we like,
and drift in and out of sleep well into the late afternoon.
An opinion.
As in, “I can’t stand the thought of being a part of someone’s collection.”
And I know that’s not a question.
But I can bet on this: You have something to say about that.
An opinion.
As in, “I would totally lay claim to you if I could.”
But you’re not into being claimed—
And I’m not into chasing things that don’t want to be caught.
I was never was a very effective huntress—
Unless, of course, it’s for typos or a triple word score.
I’m not reaching in the dark.
I’m not holding my breath.
But
If you want my opinion—
Fewer things feel worse than this.
Aug 21, 2013
Aug 21, 2013 at 1:31 PM UTC
Sexuality is not a ***** word.
It is the essence of our being
It tantalizes our skin
Seeps out of our pores
And sets a flame to our existence.
The way we express it
(Or the way some of us do)
Is what separates us from the rest of the animal kingdom.
Majority of people are able to display it
In a vivid and imaginative way
So that they can connect with another person.
And I am not simply talking about ***
Although that plays an integral role
But romanticism as well.
Love is a human experience
It spreads from person to person
Radiating from each like their own individualized ball of light
It is theirs, and only theirs
Until they decide to share it with another
So they can spread this tiny orb of sunshine
And illuminate someone else's world with it
As it has brightened the beholder's.
So why do so many people
Think it is fit to rob the ones
Who, in terms of romantic preferences,
Are in the minority
Of this beautiful luminosity
That blots out all of the hate, violence and anger in this world
Even if for only a split second?
Yes, I'm talking to you, Conservatives and bigots alike.
Who are we to tell other human beings
That they do not have the right to love
The way we do?
Dear So-Called Religious Christians
Who believe that gays, lesbians, bisexuals, pansexuals
You name it
Are abominations:
Stop playing the very God
That you claim to be following.
Oct 22, 2014
Oct 22, 2014 at 8:41 PM UTC
Did my thoughts touch reality today?
Did I question in unadulterated Philosophy to the reality of my being or was I swept in the fear mongering deluge of productiveness. I know What but not Why or Who’s doing it. The trap is set on a materialism that sits on the sheets of the American dream. You either have and want more or can’t get out but still want in. This is a fraudulent joke of false individualized eternity spinning on an axis of evil that feeds delusional happiness to our sinful perspectives. How many thoughts and lives are wasted on the will of willingly submitting to the selfish hoarding of monetary prosperity? “Eye’s but no sight, ears but no sound” I guess we rather willingly enslave each other than to unclutch an idol. But can I ask a question for the sake of asking a question? Can I ask a question for you to ponder and only answer to yourself without its relevance being associated with the happiness of a 5 year plan?............. Who are you?...........
Jan 16, 2014
Jan 16, 2014 at 7:49 PM UTC
To reveal a face
Is to disrupt
The gentle slow roll barrage
To show a concealed instant
The mask dies away
In old growth misery decay
When hair & belly
Like a costume folding
United with unknown cause
Who has invented
The receding plaster
Mindful eyes
Wet portraiture
Individualized
Self-conscious stranger
You are a repetition
And a contradiction
Cells bloom like
Palm patterns
Maps limited in form
Without whatever
Mimics Henrietta
To intrusions
Conscientious tales
Who told from
Up on great heights
No reason to imagine
A resistance
Painful recreation
Sell me your blind light
I call you out of mine
Apr 18, 2016
Apr 18, 2016 at 6:16 PM UTC
At least were on the same page,
we don't need magic, we ain't no sage.
Lets laugh and enjoy today,
All the sun may offer, each individualized ray.
Spontaneous combustion, we explode in millions.
Lets self destruct into billions.
We rot in our ourselves,
We put our talent on the shelves.
Were slaves to oxygen,
We are, were all of them.
We are peaceful souls on a quest,
Lets continue our power for life's blessed test.
(est.j.r.e.)
Aug 11, 2013
Aug 11, 2013 at 7:41 AM UTC
a companion to “why do men cry in the bathroom? (1)
<>
even harder to understand, for it’s almost
unnatural, alone, unshaven, first glance, a small smile creeps ever so slow from
ocean to ocean, cheek to cheek, while the
lines on the face join in, quiet applause,
a satisfaction acknowledgement of mini~
minor proportions, a quick stock taking, a putting aside of the futures worries and the
currency of ever present daily woes,
a small pat on the back
<self administered,
(minimal) self admonishment>
we made it this far, while
juggling
so many acting parts
that we/he learned on the fly,
good luck and good instincts
for this exercise in adapting, becoming
an on the cuff, father, wise-man, little league
coach, protector+defender no matterwhat,
a font of knowledge who gets ignored,
cept
for delayed hugs that slowly dawn and get
inserted when never expected,
shoulders for carrying two at a time,
a reassurer when the world is spinning crashing and
the watch alerts stop this blurting
and get
the their act together again for the
curtain going up when the individualized
symphony of alarms, buzzers and rock ‘n roll anthems pronounce the blessings of morning and
another opportunity to get it wrong,
but make it right,
saying no with loving reassurance
that someday the yeses will be for real,
delivered with that same smile when the unexpected delights and in the eye corner
he observers a version of happy love in an unreservedly small format that has value above everything else
and even with all the deep day saturations
and self salutations
he cuts himself carelessly
shaving and the focus of wskeup calls and
tender shaking, comes back like a slap to the
fresh bleeding face, and all of the above took
maybe
10 seconds
ten great,
and!
all of ‘em
firsts ~
no seconds here
Sep 29, 2024
Sep 29, 2024 at 7:55 AM UTC
a musical facade, an internally strident tone
playing artfully, an out put of a hushed orchestra
composed individualized intentions
every tune, singularly silent, like that of a revelation
hiding the sharpness of the precise melody
individually unusable
tunefully mute
i imagined licking it
i cannot hear its notes, but I desire to
maybe I can taste it?
Oct 9, 2018
Oct 9, 2018 at 7:53 PM UTC
My whole life I wanted to love someone,
But now all I want is to be loved,
Seems impossible,
I've never been the pretty one,
I've never been envied,
I've never been the smartest,
I've never been Normal,
I was just me,
Weird individualized me,
I want to be loved so badly,
It keeps me awake so many nights,
The wants,
Then when I finally stop thinking about it I go to sleep,
But even in my dreams I'm searching for love,
I don't want a fling,
I don't want a short relationship that means nothing,
I don't want lust,
I want love,
I want a love that will last an eternity,
I wish soul-mates existed
And if they do I wish I could find mine,
I've grown so lonely,
And I've grown so sad,
All I want,
Is love,
To be loved,
Just once,
That's all I want.
Sep 18, 2011
Sep 18, 2011 at 8:46 PM UTC
his large crooked teeth play with my soul
and as i'm with him my heart somehow manages
to **** up all of his unique beauty
every limb finds its way into my mind
a personality that belongs in the unknown
i sit, in awe, and wonder where this wonder came from
his smile remains in my blood for weeks
this hidden pain is exposing
i possess him and he doesn't even know
he has individualized himself in my heart
so that above and over everything that exist
there is this boy, with the last name of Klein
Dec 8, 2014
Dec 8, 2014 at 9:55 PM UTC
If anyone out there has a friggin sense
Of what is
True
Real
Decent
Etc
---
Please feel free to write about it
And your struggles to manifest
Your actual human nature
••
That you are ****** up is duly noted
And is now considered factual
---
Your individualized "form"
Of suffering
Is basically irrelevant
••
It is now noted as
THE HUMAN CONDITION
••
Time to move on!
•
To actually become
Who you really are
••
Thank you for your timely consideration
Sep 28, 2013
Sep 28, 2013 at 2:37 PM UTC
The point…
What is it you might ask? Idk and
that there really is the problem we aim to solve.
But no one knows what the true point of it all is.
Why are we here?
Why do we really feel the desire to fulfill something that we may never really know or understand?
Still I wonder, what happens when “it’s” fulfilled?
Do they clap, throw roses, give you cookie, or just wait around for the next existential crisis to arise?
When we reach what we have been aiming for all this time; that fulfillment that’s individualized to each and every one of us, the end however it’s always the same…
we die.
So what was really the point then?
Apr 20, 2023
Apr 20, 2023 at 12:20 AM UTC