"induces" poems
it wasn’t chaotic.
it was calm and serene,
like the ocean.
the soft pitter patter
of the rain on the roof,
and the cool air it brought.
it was a sip
of freshly brewed coffee,
natural with no additives,
whatsoever.
the gut feeling
of knowing where home was.
and that is how
you came into my life.
the star that shines the brightest
amongst the pitch black sky.
it’s the white cloud that outshines
all the gray and gloomy ones.
the perfect fit of the last piece
to the unfinished puzzle.
it's the warm, fuzzy feeling
of getting into bed
early on a Friday night.
and that is how it was
when I started loving you.
it’s like a deeply cut wound,
one that’s inundating
with crimson colored blood,
having a tinge of maroon.
it induces pain
with every inbreathe
and exhalation.
it manages to have
the appearance of a scar,
yet it still feels so fresh
like a bruise.
and that is how it felt
when you left.
it was filled with haze
and suffocation.
the uncontrollable fast paced beat
of your heart.
Mona Lisa's enigmatic smile,
one that is hardly understood
by majority of the world.
a bite of dark chocolate,
bitter and sweet.
and this is my survival.
Jun 6, 2017
Jun 6, 2017 at 5:56 PM UTC
*as winter acquiesces to the blazing sun
a soothing breeze softly grazes tips of aspen
gently shedding past liaisons
a perfect panacea
allowing wild freedom for summer’s dawn
healing from the ominous night
a flower gingerly releases its grasp
leaning into golden rays of summertime
keenly aware of newfound vulnerability
it yawns into the light
a rousing essence induces
a silhouette of life once thought lost
prodding river’s rigid ice blue crystals
to melt and flow with buoyant wonder
kaleidoscopic-like waves
having weathered near annihilation
a sculptured consciousness remains
painting summer clouds with soft-hued wisdom
all awakens from the dream
and should the cold return once more
the sun will shine again
©2016janetaylor
Apr 30, 2016
Apr 30, 2016 at 3:23 AM UTC
A word
Nobody knows.
It's a mental thing.
"A sensation produced in one modality when a stimulus is applied to another modality, as when the hearing of a certain sound induces the visualization of a certain color."
A confusion of senses.
But I don't think I am confused.
I just see farther than anyone.
For me;
I see colors
And think sounds, tastes, textures.
I see objects
And think gender, personality, music.
All the letters
Have colors, smells, jobs in an office.
All the numbers
Have heights, voices, fashion senses.
I don't know why it is
But it is a malfunction in my brain.
I don't know how to explain it
But it is not very complicated.
Everything has a color
A personality
A food
A texture
A sound
A taste
A smell
Associated with it.
Because everything is deeper than they look.
Because I am confused?
Because I can see.
Jan 13, 2015
Jan 13, 2015 at 1:38 PM UTC
130
These are the days when Birds come back—
A very few—a Bird or two—
To take a backward look.
These are the days when skies resume
The old—old sophistries of June—
A blue and gold mistake.
Oh fraud that cannot cheat the Bee—
Almost thy plausibility
Induces my belief.
Till ranks of seeds their witness bear—
And softly thro’ the altered air
Hurries a timid leaf.
Oh Sacrament of summer days,
Oh Last Communion in the Haze—
Permit a child to join.
Thy sacred emblems to partake—
They consecrated bread to take
And thine immortal wine!
5.3k
When words are not enough,
and the world won’t get off her back,
she dances the Devils way,
She’s a princess,
wait she’s a queen,
wait she’s an angel,
wait she’s everything,
a Goddess,
the hottest performing artist I’ve ever seen,
and she’s dancing,
dancing is her therapy,
I mean,
I’m not James Brown,
but it’s a man’s world,
even if Rihanna runs this town,
See,
she’s been suppressed all her life,
and I’m not just talking about Rihanna,
I’m talking about every girl that was ever forced to be a wife,
just to survive in this life,
she was touched by her father,
or brother or cousin,
when she was just a little girl,
I know we all wish it wasn’t,
but it is true,
so what’s a girl to do,
when she’s a clean 13 messing with The ***** Dozen,
this isn’t battle of the sexes,
this is war of the worlds,
wants to be a woman but she’s just a girl,
no No Doubt just burnt out nerves taken turns,
she never asked to be born,
with the burden of being beautiful,
but she refuses to conform,
she is attractable irrational and radical,
so when it’s all too much,
the stares and the catcalls,
the aggressive forceful touch,
the nails across her back like a blackboard,
and the moans become just white noise,
she takes it all in,
she forgives the man because he’s just a boy,
he is an angel even if he has fallen,
she takes it all in,
and she uses all of those abuses,
as the fuel with the tools which induces,
an allusive state of truth which,
allows her to move with intuitive smoothness,
and lose herself in the music morphing into what a centrifuge is,
separating fluids transforming what was otherwise useless abuses,
into a truth that cruises and confuses the stupid stooges,
she dances,
in a statement of glorious refusal to submit to their ideals,
she is more than a princess queen angel goddess,
she is fire burning up all preconceived notions of *** appeal,
the real deal,
dancing sweating cleansing her soul and her pores,
moving faster in progression refuting repression,
overcoming an obsession of oppression and knocking down all doors,
she is not a possession,
though she is possessed when,
she’s a dancing expression of how we all feel and more,
no words are enough,
she shows what we all feel,
she reveals what,
was before thinly concealed,
she is the perfect expression,
of imperfect circumstances,
she is poetic stanzas,
she is the paint on the canvas,
there is no question that she is the answer,
and all of this is made clear when she takes it all in,
let’s go of everything and dances…
∆aron L∆ Lux ∆
#strength #metoo #dancer #ballet #blackswan
Jun 7, 2018
Jun 7, 2018 at 1:48 PM UTC
Roaring in my ears,
Fire in my soul,
Deafening, all consuming, treacherous:
The violence with which my body trembles
is enough to make me want to collapse.
Every nerve in my body is raw
raw to the synapse,
down to the electrical impulse that jumps
the gap and creates
a chemical that induces
some kind of process
that I have little control over.
Happy, sad,
Lust, love,
Confusion, pain,
Pleasure, resolution:
All just chemical reactions of the brain to stimulatory catalysts.
There is no light at the end of the tunnel;
for there is no tunnel.
Yet if there was, I would be too afraid to travel through
the dark to get to that supposedly
Desirable end.
Electrical impulses that control every thought,
every feeling, taste, touch, smell and
how they have an effect on us.
Simple yet complicated beyond understanding, and yet we breathe,
Continue our lives with only the faintest idea
that we are controlled by the chemicals contained within us.
Perplexing. Deeply thought provoking. chemical producing.
Apr 4, 2010
Apr 4, 2010 at 11:50 AM UTC
Started off in the [clouds]
and after falling and crashing down,
touched the roots of a redwood.
Now with the help of giraffes
I scale it's back as I'm looking
to climb my way up the trunk.
Branch after branch,
contact causing
**** hoping no one
stops my conquest
and burns this tree to ash.
Talking to fauna,
birds chirp, to attempt
continuing this saga,
after she left I reduced to
nothing but a larva, as I now
undergo the metamorphosis,
similar to that of Kafka's.
Trauma induces this
determination, of being reunited
in clouds with her creation,
and if up there nothing for me
is waiting, then abort mission,
swing towards a new notion,
and from the the clouds
I'm perched upon, jump
and plummet into the [ocean].
25 hours pass before
the tip of the tree is reached
and as the sun rises, I realize
I'm above the horizon and
on clouds perched I instantly
recognize the eyes hidden
under eyelids.
Finally we've met again,
tragic ending as I reach for
her to grab my hand.
Unstably standing on this branch
and as she hands me hers, she
retreats and pulls back.
Slipping, she let me fall
and midair I hear my heart
crack, falling thousands of feet,
I'm thinking of the love she couldn't
keep, and before the impact a thought passes my head; so honest.
Humans like myself, too ambitious in their conquest,
meant to stay at trunk of trees, and clouds, strictly homes for a goddess.
Dec 2, 2013
Dec 2, 2013 at 2:51 PM UTC
You bite my lips
I grip your hips
Scarred in unification,
We invite others to do it like this
Hot beads of sweat
With my dark silhouette
Like the taste?
Now watch my face
Moist eyes and parted lips
Induces an accelerated pace
Objects of pure desire
Fornication can ignite a fire
Soft or mean,
This realm for us outperforms
Any late-night screen
Your favourite dish
And you, my love?
My biggest fetish.
Nov 26, 2018
Nov 26, 2018 at 6:38 PM UTC
My true heart, that is the heart of my true self
faces a constant and ever-present fear
Not an earth-shattering fear
Nor a fear which induces trembles and quakes
But a fear far milder although far worse in its constant presence
My true heart, that of my true self fears people
People are hardly a reason for anxiety. I know.
I'm a person myself.
Yet their presence, their interest, their kindness
causes me to shrink back
causes me to retreat
causes me to freeze, paralyzed
My greatest hope, my true plea
is that I'll be ignored
To live in solitude and anonymity
To never be noticed
Then the taunting face of contradiction haunts me
As I fight for attention
and I wish for the greatest recognition
To be something and to be someone
but to do so in privacy
is the desire of my true heart, that of my true self
Aug 18, 2013
Aug 18, 2013 at 9:18 PM UTC
Drug; he controls my brain.
He stirs an irresistible blend of chemicals in my body and convinces me to fall for him; he increases blood flow to the primitive areas of my brain and activates the circuits responsible for love and desire.
Adrenaline; he balances my stress.
He keeps my heart strong and healthy as thoughts of him and us dominate me and excite me, prompting me to get tachycardia (fast heart rate above 100 bpm) and my blood pressure to rise.
Dopamine; he regulates my focus.
He stimulates desire and triggers pleasure in me; I remember everything about us, then forget about my surroundings; I am motivated to please him, then I daydream and become unable to stay on task.
Serotonin; he stabilizes my mood.
He charms and induces me to perspire and relax, crave and distance him, lose and gain sleep, feel pain and relief, get happy and upset, and decrease and increase my immune system functions.
Medication; he forces my loveswept cells to go haywire.
He has cured my lovesickness, shooed away my regrets, helped me move on from my past, boosted my (self-)confidence, made me look forward to tomorrow, and offered me a ticket to bliss.
Oxytocin; he enables me to produce lovestruck hormones.
He affects my moral molecules as he attracts my undivided attention, pushes me to trust him, raises attachment and empathy, brings psychological stability, and encourages me to want to be closer to him.
Vasopressin; he causes me to secrete lovetastic chemicals.
He renders me monogamous and continues to have me hooked onto him; he makes me thirst for him, display amorous behavior, defend him and us, and maintain a strong partnership.
May 5, 2016
May 5, 2016 at 7:18 AM UTC
Perfect rows of white teeth,
bite in to a raw mango-
your intent is evident
amber eyes signal the message.
As if by transference,
sour mango taste, I get on my tongue,
induces salivation.
I feel, your cruel teeth
bite below my taut male *******
Oct 21, 2011
Oct 21, 2011 at 7:21 AM UTC
Big city.
Crowded train.
Observe the vast graveyard,
on the commute.
All those who came before.
Some days it induces fear.
The great unknown.
The hard stop.
Some days it spurrs a sigh.
A releiving exhale.
All things end.
Reminder of the moment.
A promise to end all suffering.
Assuming I'm patient enough,
to let it consume me naturally.
Reminder not to rush to the finale.
It is inevitable, after all.
Apr 5, 2019
Apr 5, 2019 at 7:19 PM UTC
Allow me to be bold- brave prying eyes and bare all. Allow me to tamper with excommunication- to tempt ostracism- to tease trouble by talking of taboos... speaking of shushed subjects- oh, society's little secrets, the ones we're all willing to share. Allow me to expound on the lessons parents never wanted to teach- the lessons children are so eager to learn. The very act- the very word- that induces giggles, inspires poets, excites lovers, and makes or breaks "true bliss."
"Ladies and gentlemen of the jury, exhibit number one is what the seraphs, the misinformed, simple, noble-winged seraphs, envied. Look at this tangle of thorns." -V.N
*** a word constructed of three of the twenty-six letters that make the English language go round. On their own, quite harmless, but collectively- a jaw-dropping, blush-inspiring, shush-provoking combination. *** the ultimate caricature of love and all that is romantic- oh, just look at this tangle of thorns. Tangled- because we have turned the beauty into a beast- taken "the two will become one"- and rationalized- two will always be two- Not you, me or me, you. No, nothing bad can come of this.
*** used to make lies beautiful and truth obscured. Sold in society- the promoter of skin- condemned in the church- discouraged as sin. All the while, teenagers are toppling around- neck deep in lust- desperate to be loved- fumbling- tumbling into the open arms of the ultimate outlet. *** a shallow solution to a deeper problem- a gift given, unwrapped, re-wrapped, and given again. Allow me to attempt to untangle these thorns- when does making love become wrong?
When it makes heroes into harlots and turns the righteous into romantics- when it complicates the uncomplicated? When it manipulates insincerity to seem sincere- liberates itself from simple mathematics, why, the more the merrier, and forgets three's a crowd? Ladies and gentlemen of the jury, allow me to be ridiculed- expose myself as a hypocrite and define: It is when *** is misconstrued as a mere act of "love" that it becomes a crime.
Aug 1, 2010
Aug 1, 2010 at 3:18 PM UTC
Poetry is the direct cause of death of boredom.
Spoken words exist to excite the human soul
and to crown artistry with the nectar of wisdom
Poetry has more decibels than the Superbowl.
Poetry is the Ganga of the human soul.
It induces a beautiful feeling that stupefies
and leaves the mind dazed like a drunken fowl,
yet it delivers results that really satisfies.
Poetry flows from the fountain of Wakanda
and permeates the arid soil of Timbuktu.
Poetry is the vault to the treasures of Zamunda,
where Mammy Wata guards the Kane of Mobutu.
Poetry is the language used at the creation.
When earth was young and everything was dark,
The great arbiter called out light and put things in motion.
He used spoken words to tell Noah to build the ark.
Poetry is life and life is in coexistance with poetry.
Before ancient Africa and the pyramid of Egypt,
Poetry was cooked and stored in God's pantry.
Ready for use in the Garden of Eden's script.
#IvanBrookspoetry ©️
#Bassapoet✍️
5.24.2019
May 28, 2019
May 28, 2019 at 1:30 AM UTC
The burden of a thousand sheets of paper
all with the design to make me smart.
A thousand sheets of paper, so that when I grow up, I can play the part.
Music
the dancing it induces
and the embarrassment that dancing brings
The Day
let the Sun conform you to society's needs.
it can't be that bad, right?
****** drawings and half-assed notes
reminding me that there is room for improvement
and that I am also really bad at drawing.
Legos
a reminder of simpler times
always stay young.
A snorkel
so that if I am sinking underneath the waves of society
I may yet still be able to breath.
A nut, as a reminder that we all had a starting place
and to remind us that we all had humble beginnings.
that there will be time enough for growing.
A ***** dish
to signify that there are always ways you can help others
and that you should clean up after yourself
Failures
and successes
and those things between them which seem to be neither.
The Night
A time for Stars to shine
and the Moon to show its true self, don't be afraid.
Blank Space
for things yet to be discovered
and things not meant to be discovered.
A failing corpse, mine
A remnant of my youth, not quite gone
but on life support, don’t leave.
Borrowed Pencils
Oops
I should return those.
A poem, the final draft
written with a clouded mind
and an optimistic soul.
All these things
yet room for more
full, yet in truth empty, like my stomach after lunch.
Oct 14, 2014
Oct 14, 2014 at 8:46 PM UTC
Destroy me
You phantom of a frostbit branch
The window thin as ice but
Thick enough to shut you out, I'd say
To throw a cold shoulder
But you hold the thermostat in your palm
To bade our blades much colder
It falls so softly, induces
Coughing, ravaged throats
Coated in mucus and eucalyptus
And dry as toast
Your accumulation stings.
Builds around my every-thing
Traps me, while you sag on limbs
Sapping at the sight of heat, you
Squelch beneath studded rubber
Soles, and unsuspecting stockings
We react to you in opposites
Sway a daydream tropical
In stiff and childish ways of yours, you drop your toys
Ground to numbing dust
So it falls among the rest of us just waiting
For your twin's return
It's not your choice, to have remains
That soak the grains of greater plains
That lavish in the wreck of your rule.
But to keep the warmth, from coming on
Long after silver bells are gone
Are cold and jealous actions of a fool.
Feb 24, 2013
Feb 24, 2013 at 10:52 PM UTC
As I sat in the café,
and said to myself,
'Coffee's bad for the health,
but can it be worse than tea'
What to write about cafes?
The smell of the food
induces a mood,
a feeling that life is free.
Aug 15, 2015
Aug 15, 2015 at 11:13 AM UTC
Graphite sticks from my pencil
You and you and you
Came from the same stencil
Two by two by two
Clone stamped houses
realize irrelevance and repeat
Tolerating spouses
Digression undisclosed and discrete
never so much of the same
induces those incomparably insane
at whom to throw the blame
branding bubble in the brain
May 15, 2013
May 15, 2013 at 4:26 PM UTC
heartbreak is the most common illness.
love is insane. or maybe, love has just made me insane.
cancer kills. diseases **** plagues ****
heartbreak kills.
maybe not literally, maybe not pure true death,
but,
heartbreak kills.
sunsets fade, stars lose interest, flowers are pale and lifeless, and everything you see, smell, feel, hear
reminds you of the culprit of the illness.
heartbreak may not cause pure, true death,
but it induces the closest thing possible while still breathing.
Jun 18, 2014
Jun 18, 2014 at 4:42 PM UTC
Your eyes
Your smile
The way you smell
The way you feel
The way you kiss . . .
It all leaves me in a race with myself.
My heart races faster and faster
My mind feels like each thought is trying to beat the next
My stomach is tumbling
My knees are weak with adrenaline and endorphins coursing through my veins
The first glimpse of you induces utter joy
Locking eyes with you sets the butterflies in motion
Our hands together center me
And your arms around me like a cloak shield me from all the bad
Leaving you is painful
Missing you is like death
All I can think of is you.
All I can dream of is you.
All I want is you.
I’m stuck
Useless
Forgetful
Elated
Melancholy
Infatuated
Besotted
And completely
Head over heels
Enamored with you.
Sep 24, 2014
Sep 24, 2014 at 11:29 PM UTC
crackle
goes the fire
possessed
by my ****** heart
Flying sticky waves
Of achy-stabby sweetness
Going towards the boys
Towards the girls, to everyone
A never-ending flash
Induces a hyperactive coma
We all sleep together
With our organs jumping around inside
A complicated mix of particles
Together form waves
Just like light that comes from grandma's lamp
Soft like a kitten
This panting babbling concourse of love
We understand it like frogs driving cars
Races through our minds like molasses
It fills us with ***** sweet *****
Jun 8, 2011
Jun 8, 2011 at 7:36 PM UTC
As a child I did not know whether it was the act itself or the knowledge that I was the receptacle for malevolence and cruelty that made me so vulnerable. At first I thought it was God's punishment for something I had done. I took an inventory, desperately seeking the deed that triggered the retribution. But I could not identify a single act. Even my accumulated errors, transgressions and unkindness’s did not exact the cost. Then I understood: if I could not isolate a deed, or pattern of deeds, commanding the punishment, it must be me. It is not what I did. It is who I was...a fundamentally, intrinsically and irredeemably bad little girl. I negotiated my adolescence and early adulthood with the mathematical symbol for "less than" (<) attached.
I would like to be able to write that I am no longer negotiating my adulthood with the same mathematical symbol attached. But that would be a lie. It is pervasive. It is formidable. And if I do not keep it contained, I am so afraid it will be debilitating….I've been down that road a time or two. At times it has enveloped me, penetrating my pores and drowning everything essential and vital inside.
Undisturbed, it is docile, sated. But aroused by even the slightest hint of beauty or strength or grace it is a painful reminder that I am...somehow...contemptible...that I am still fundamentally, intrinsically and incorrigibly...what? Flawed, imperfect & bad? You may say, "But we are all flawed and imperfect. And our flaws and imperfections make us more interesting...more truly beautiful...more human." And perhaps you are right, but this inexorable deprivation makes me somehow subhuman... less than human...permanently broken. I am a receptacle for malice.
I skillfully deflect praise directed my way, an effort to soothe the inescapable conflict inside. Moderate praise induces a subtle twinge of embarrassment; more effusive praise incites the consuming and agonizing feeling that I am irreparably damaged, hopelessly broken. It has contaminated, compromised and diminished every accomplishment, soiled every success. People sometimes tell me that I am humble and that it is an admirable trait. But the modesty and humility they identify helps me to mask the mortification stirring inside. I have gotten so good at hiding it from others that I have nearly learned to conceal it even from myself.
At least that is what it feels like...right now.
Oct 20, 2013
Oct 20, 2013 at 8:21 PM UTC
Banal, **** Retentive, Introspective Denial
Induces a Passive Aggressive Behavioral
Dec 5, 2014
Dec 5, 2014 at 3:48 PM UTC