"ingrained" poems
there’s a barnacle scar
deeply ingrained
on the basalt stack
at mark thirty two
whispering summer winds
scented oil
cotton and roe
drift
as waves brush
and shape
the sandstone shore
the briny air
and lost erratic
set a tone to this
pollyanna portrait
it's andrews undulations
and gifted benches
its concessions
and traces of the barry burn
its sculpted driftwood
and sanko lines
make this picture
almost perfect
children play
as venom spews
from the caterwaul pair
those odd looking mates
casting smiles
with arrested despair
settling shots
swiping bugs
dipping and darting
as photo men
and muscles
and long neck seabirds
make their turn
the hunched hoody
and his sorted sidekick
get their fill
(of moss and rubble ~ chubby and kelp)
nice to meet your acquaintance
the pho man would say
an odd drop
and ironic turn
from those horrific corners
of timeless desperation
down by cannon bridge
harbor seals
and carriage horse
are fronted by
raven shade
jolly tides pause
in quiet bays
(with curious looters
and *** pickers)
sand merchants
and field totems
all streamed by the light
cirrus strands
blanket the
outer edge
hovering craft
and shimmering willows
bolt the evening frame
blood orange
and tethered
with a filtered glare
bottle-nose dolphins
and seabirds
(and shifting tides)
are all settling in
for the long night stay
Mar 9, 2017
Mar 9, 2017 at 11:21 PM UTC
Your life is made of distant springs and falls,
a straight route is not
what you own
for hurricanes and storms divert your path
to new horizons.
Will you find horseshoe ***** mussels, clams
on the stopovers?
Food awaits you
if the shores are not ravaged
by human greed, ignorance.
Your resilience is written in B95's ordeals,
a mosaic of adventures ingrained in his own cells.
The threads of your trips assemble
the places of Mother Earth connected in its roles;
nothing is detached in the collective harmony of souls.
Red knot shorebird,
peaceful messenger,
icon of strength without rage,
your story is the universal flight of awareness
waiting to be heard.
Jul 29, 2018
Jul 29, 2018 at 3:28 PM UTC
Beneath the old magnolia tree
I used to hold you close to me
And there I carved upon that tree
That I loved you and you loved me
Beneath the white magnolia blooms
You cast a spell with your perfume
I believed those wooden words were true
Ingrained in hearts of me and you
But time wears out what boys engrave
Nothing's left of the love you gave
Except that old magnolia scar....
I wish our love had come so far
Yeah, I wish those words were still on track
Cause every spring I dream me back
To tender lips and sweet perfume
Beneath the white magnolia blooms
But time wears out what boys engrave
Nothing's left of the love you gave
Except that old magnolia tree
Reminding me.....reminding me......
Jan 13, 2011
Jan 13, 2011 at 7:38 AM UTC
The introvert smirked to himself,
the extrovert winked,
The introvert blinked and turned his face,
The extrovert pursued the look,
and the introvert blushed and left the room.
The extrovert shrugged and broke his stare,
The extrovert forgot that he was ever there,
But the introvert never forgot, ingrained in his mind was the extroverts face,
The extrovert saw many people that day, too many people to recall by name,
The extrovert forgot his wink,
The introvert replayed his blink,
For many days the introvert hid,
The extrovert lived,
And both were content,
The introvert who sat alone,
The extrovert who broke the silence,
The introvert who raised his hand,
The extrovert who listened,
We learn our greatest lessons from living at a distance.
Nov 16, 2016
Nov 16, 2016 at 2:00 PM UTC
Moon is not beautiful
She doth not shine golden
She drops weakened, white light
on creatures craving sleep
She sits there and stares
At a frightened little world
with her cold, chilling glow
and a hostility deep
It's ingrained in her soul
to make the nimbus look fearsome
ghastly and pale
like a place to hide demons
She debases belief
We forget our star-wish
and thick, we go fishing
at nighttime
And then, Moon releases
a loneliness, cold
and we can't elude
we're stuck in the hole of
This brooding solitude mood
and its tole.
There's no escaping anytime soon
As we start to fear
the burning sun
And I suppose, this is my loathing of Moon.
Moon is contagious.
She offers the aid of her presence, unfailing
When we're washed down like willows, weakened
and wailing
And we can sail under her
Just as the dime
It's a lie that the night's
only clock-start for crime
When she's out from the hiding place
to be bright as Moon can
There's not a direction
No footpath
No overworked plan
And when I remember:
Beauty needs not a rival
I suppose I'll be loving Moon, soon again.
Apr 15, 2014
Apr 15, 2014 at 10:54 AM UTC
I want to
saturate my tongue
in your taste
while you
wrap your legs
around my waist
and we both race
to keep pace
with each other
moving together
back and forth
making you wet
like a rain
in stormy weather
our bodies
ingrained like we were
made for each other
Mar 3, 2017
Mar 3, 2017 at 11:21 PM UTC
I definitely won’t make any apologies for saying this
and if anyone isn't careful she’ll leave them in a ditch.
But don't get me wrong, I am not referring to any woman by that name
only to the powers of deception that are played within the devil's game.
When you consider how much trouble she has caused;
without a moment’s lapse or of one repentant paused,
in human affairs over the years since the advent of man;
it’s a wonder that she hasn’t yet been flushed in the pan.
In case you might just be wondering what I’m talking about
Maya is the female equivalent of Satan who is a **** lout,
and who plays around deceiving anyone that ignores the Truth
which has been ingrained in our mind and heart since our youth.
In fact anything that is Divine, noble, good and of inestimable worth
Maya will try to turn it around into a thing seeming of much less birth.
She thus plays around with our emotions causing one to doubt and fear
where the reality of a situation would be to have faith and some cheer.
Her main battle is waged within a vulnerable human heart and mind
especially when an individual is undergoing difficulties of any kind.
She is also the one who arouses anger, jealousy, lust, greed and pride,
being full of all those traits herself and more she projects them outside.
We must try and be aware of the extent of her subtle delusion
and escape any entanglement in the net of her worldly illusion;
that so many people are now caught up in without their real knowing
not realising that Love and Truth are the things most worth showing.
______________________________
Jan 4, 2014
Jan 4, 2014 at 2:18 AM UTC
Perhaps I will become a waxing fiend.
A perpetrator of the nerves within my legs
In order to reach the imaginary beauty
that society has ingrained into my open mind.
Yet how can I ever fulfil this growing hole inside
Urging, commanding that I shall not be beautiful
Without Revlon mascara and tinted eyebrows,
That my diet must consist of a celery stick a day
And I must have a new wardrobe every week
- to keep in with the highest of fashions.
Do men really care if I'm wearing Gucci or Prada?
Would my restricted diet and devotion to thinspiration blogs impress them?
Has society really just given up on the love of personality,
the good old fashioned 'inner beauty'?
May 13, 2012
May 13, 2012 at 2:19 AM UTC
I may have forgotten some things about you
but there are some things I could never forget
They are ingrained in all I do...
I wear green as much as I can
It's my favorite color because it shows
off my green eyes that I inherited from you
You always said my eyes and smile are my best features
I can still see your long legs in the bathtub
Bent in like a happy frog just trying to relax
Yet you still had time for a conversation with me
I wish I would have inherited those long legs of yours :)
I wash my face with nozema
because when I smell it I think of you
When Christmas comes around I buy Andes
chocolate mints and make spice tea
because they both remind me of you
As long as I live and breathe
you will always be remembered
I love and miss you always ~ Dear Mama
Merry Christmas
Dec 19, 2017
Dec 19, 2017 at 9:30 AM UTC
the dendrites don't know what's right anymore.
the tipsy balance is falling off the table,
and there's nothing there to stop it.
gravity is such a *****
but, so are a lot of things,
and i can't seem to grasp onto anything good
anymore by standing
right in front of the doors
that lead to something better.
i knew it when i found my body
still in the second row of the
dark movie theater,
crying at the smiling stars
on the explosion of a projection screen.
i'm pretty sure i was feeling
sorry for myself
lapping up some kind of
enlightenment.
i've been too nice for too long,
but i've been old since the
day i turned eight.
that was when i learned about
the rough bodies
portraying the new style of
***
on a vhs,
and my eyes stung
because i didn't want to watch
and it seems to hormone driven
boys that it's ingrained in my dna.
i have been uncomfortable for ten years now.
but not as winded on the
day it burned a hole in
my solar system,
the milky way
told me to love the metal hearts
and
always be kind.
i can't do that anymore,
there's too much anger
in my stomach
for my body not to
convulse in shame.
it was never my fault,
but everyone else likes to think so
and
i've always held it gently
so no one else would have
to breathe in sawdust
and exhale hurt.
i always had it covered
with my hands lined with
fortunes.
palms,
can you tell what's in store for me now?
Mar 27, 2011
Mar 27, 2011 at 6:40 PM UTC
I see you over the tops of uneven books.
I see your golden brown hair,
as wild as the tall tundra grasses.
I see you drop the musty book,
onto the pale grey carpet.
And you are unaware, of my peering eyes,
sneaking glaces from under my Algebra book.
And that the numbers are carved in my mind,
as if ingrained onto the bark of a dying evergreen.
PS700-PS3499 you are searching for great American poets,
as your hands glide over the worn leather covers.
Leaves of Grass, Sorrows Built a Bridge, Works of Poe.
As you glance at the Dewey Decimal Numbers,
Numbers flourish in my mind.
The probability that you would like me,
Numbers are more cohesive than the words,
that I have written to you in the margins.
In the distance I see you surrounded by your books,
deeply focused-serene,
I too am a poet,
I am a poet of logic.
Fixating on the truth showed by facts.
May 30, 2012
May 30, 2012 at 4:07 PM UTC
Hold the universe inside my palms
I alone understand it is but a solitary dream
Between stars I make out memories
Connecting dots, forming images ingrained in my mind
I look in the unfilled depths of sky where suns have yet to burn out, remaining eternally preserved in an explosion of beauty lightyears away wondering about humans peering at their ambience through time and space
This isolated reflection I witness change in compliance with the predetermined path set in motion by the astrological forces of nature
Unstable
My hands must be trembling
Scared of sorrow and frustration they undeniably confront
The fear of the uncertain, the inconsistency of the unapologetic future awaiting
Solemn visions of an imperfect outcome, enough torment to push strength a bit too far over the edge
Fragile balance of peace and chaos resting within cupped desperate hands
Ignorant, the quickness of extinction among synapses in the cavern lighting the entirety of my skull
Pinned under familiar self-induced delusions
Galaxies silently begging for permanent freedom
Such fate to let their wishes dangle ignored
Urges within bursting, released
That moment I also give in
Forcefully close my fingers into a fist
Instantly crushing wild constellations scattered around my consciousness
A great deal more fragile than realized
Once unshakable destiny budged a millimeter by one lone act of rebellion
Against a powerful pull the majority pretend is rigid
Elusive control by way of self-combustion of life's temporary illusions
Proof one touch can fell worlds of fantasy
Founded on fiction
Or maybe
Reality
Sep 19, 2018
Sep 19, 2018 at 1:29 PM UTC
You were left behind
A victim of a mirage I’d stepped into
One yellow rain boot too deep.
You, slithering out of your cases
Scratched by the fading sunlight
Are my prized possession
For every moment you held inside
Was as carefree
As the words I spoke.
You were delicate artwork
not art as in paintings that were to be hung
carefully in the front of a museum
but the ones curling at the corners
slipping from underneath fridge magnets.
With my eyes pinned on the screen
seeping into my temples
Your naked feet fumbled with the sand
Fumbled with the hopping and twirling toes
of beach dancers
Fumble with the endless badges you have gained
over the ribbon on your chest
places you have gone
but, it is all as futile as it is alluring
sand is just tiny, little rocks
You will fade, these images
will fade from my memory
like the endless
titles in a bookstore
and I will return to my reflection
ingrained in silver circle.
Oct 15, 2017
Oct 15, 2017 at 2:32 AM UTC
Every night I die in an airplane
Beads of sweat fall like rain
Every night I die in a plane crash
I wake up feeling like plain trash
Because every night my plane dives into the ocean
I can't believe the virtual reality of the motion
All my friends and family are there
I watch them drown
Leaving me marooned at sea
The river Styx of my dreams
I wake up marooned at bed
Swimming in a sea of sweat
None of my friends and family are there
And my adrenaline nightmares keep me scared
Because if I fall asleep
It's a nosedive I reap
Every night I die in an airplane
Why is this image so ingrained?
Every night I die in a plane crash
Pressure crushes me to plain ash
Because every night my plane flies into a mountain
The passenger's blood fills my eyes like fountains
All my friends and family are there
I watch them burn
Leaving me stranded in the hills of hell
Until I understand the pills too well
I wake up stranded in bed
Buried in an avalanche of sweat
None of my friends and family are there
And my reality has begun to tear
When I keep dying in my dreams
My mentality rips at the seams
Every night I die in an airplane
Why must my mind be so untame?
Every night I die in a plane crash
And my life becomes a plain flash
Because every night my plane flips upside down
As my useless body is tossed round and round
All my friends and family are there
I watch them get mangled
Leaving me to die at high speeds
With corpses that profusely bleed
I wake up dying in bed
Flipped face down in a pool of sweat
None of my friends and family are there
I begin to wonder if they even care
Because I watch them die every night
It makes me love them more
Because I watch them die every night
My life becomes a chore
But there's nothing for death to reclaim
When I'd just cross over to another plane
Aug 1, 2017
Aug 1, 2017 at 12:58 PM UTC
Swooping through the city streets,
the alleys, the corners, every crevice and crack.
Education and language never to be seen, dissipating with the past.
Ingrained in the brain, the common normality, placed on the famous track.
Morality has diminished, human beings are finished.
No curative for this disease,
a disgusting devious deceit
Two dozen selfies left behind,
just you, old and decrepit
all your doing,
your design,
a silly lie.
A ***** disguise.
Alone with a wasted life.
Aug 10, 2014
Aug 10, 2014 at 11:01 PM UTC
every person on this earth
has got a certain fear
spiders incite panic,
public speaking invokes tears
mine isn't too uncommon,
but only some women can relate
it's a special kind of fear
to a special kind of hate
it wasn't whispered in my ear
it's just something that i know
it's been ingrained since my beginning,
a part of how society flows
you see, i'm afraid of a guy.
or rather, his rejection
afraid i'm not enough
because i'm darker in complexion
did you know his hands are white?
that's why around him, my skin burns
instead of reciting numbers and letters,
what if it's racism that he learned?
i was taught to admire passions, looks, and intellectual minds
if only to darker women,
love could prove to be more kind
im 18 in year '18 but it feels like '63
hiding feelings from a whitey cause ****** is defined as me
Jun 28, 2018
Jun 28, 2018 at 11:10 PM UTC
After having been raised and drilled into the ingrained wood
with the politeness of
"pardon?"
"excuse me?"
"come again?"
his calloused and critical "What!?"
brought out my cancerian nature
and shelled away my voice,
I breathed out a muddled/clumsy rendition
of my witty/quirky comment
and I instantly became aware that
my timid nature wasn't cute but cumbersome.
Apr 22, 2011
Apr 22, 2011 at 5:36 PM UTC
oppression reigns
from above
unseen hellfire
a fallacy
can't be seen
so it is not there?
oppression exudes
from the ground
translucent, sticky
rise up and fight!
but always stuck
sinking down while
the tar fills open mouths
oppression is ingrained
in hearts blinded
by the masses
******* the lifeblood
from freely flowing veins
oppression is a paradox
making everything
too simple, too complex
too small, too big
too easy, too hard
closing in on both sides
follow the light
at the end of expression
lest you be crushed
Nov 9, 2014
Nov 9, 2014 at 2:44 PM UTC
“you ain’t a man until you’re given a gun.”
he said. but I knew better.
giving a boy a gun
doesn’t make him a man.
it makes him a boy with a gun.
my hands were made for pens, not glocks.
I told him his were too.
he laughed and said,
“nah, my hands are made the same
as every other boy on this block.
you cut off my finger, it’s still gon’ bleed.”
I tried to argue but he said,
“these hands steal ****
money, jewelry, clothes.
hell, these hands steal lives!”
and he was right about that.
he had the same dirt on his hands
that any other boy around here had.
still, I think his hands
were made for pens, not glocks.
maybe he would’ve picked up a pencil
if his hands hadn’t gotten
so used to holding a gun.
he was nineteen.
he was young and angry
and ready to fight,
and he didn’t know exactly why,
but he knew he had to be.
the streets here are where people
disappear when it gets dark,
and where no one asks questions
when the sun comes up.
there are no flowers
growing next to the sidewalk.
here, there are bags of crack
and gold chains and Cuban cigars.
there are plants here, but no flowers.
I was taught that here,
they don’t follow laws,
but they need to follow rules.
most rules here are unwritten.
instead, they are ingrained
into the street’s children,
a mantra that you could die
for not remembering.
he said, “if I die,
it’s gon’ be sprawled out on concrete.
no way I’m going down
without a fight.”
here, they are still fighting wars
that ended years ago everywhere else.
here, they grow up without
mothers and fathers.
they learn to feed themselves
as soon as they no longer
need a baby bottle.
here, it is strange
to not join in on the violence.
it is strange to not participate
in drive-by shootings.
it is strange to not want revenge.
here, strange is dangerous.
things are the way that they are
and this is the way they have always been.
here, he was any other
nineteen-year-old boy.
here, they would say he died naturally.
he stepped a little too far into view
and a bullet struck him in the right spot.
or the wrong spot,
depending on how you see it.
quick and almost painless for him,
but that hurt moved on to everyone else.
here, there are no rights and no wrongs.
things are not good or bad.
things simply are.
his mama sobbed when
she heard what happened.
she cried for him, but also
for every other boy on the block.
she cried for the boy
who ended her son’s life,
because she knew
he wasn’t any different
than any other boy here.
she cried for all the mothers
who lost their sons,
and for all the children
born into this life.
here, they don’t have to die
for you to lose them.
this life takes them from you,
dead or alive.
he was a friend,
and a brother, and a son.
he could’ve been
a writer, or an athlete,
or a ******* astronaut
for all I know.
but in the end,
he was only a boy with a gun.
here, they call that a man.
Oct 18, 2020
Oct 18, 2020 at 12:52 AM UTC
You ease up unknowingly
while unaware I would be
offended by the careless
behavior prompted by the
urgency that has built up
from the condition while
pent up under the roof
of a haughty, predominant,
governess who wears a
grey locket about the neck
which contains a clean
substance never to be
touched by boyish hands.
I watch the wild in your
eyes brought on by
rigid over socialization
ingrained by a poorly
populated, secluded,
pseudo coalition.
Apr 27, 2015
Apr 27, 2015 at 12:28 AM UTC
I'm a popular monster
I make you feel insane
Take all these dark thoughts
and place them in your brain
Play them on repeat
until fully ingrained
Already a part of you
Soon you will have no say
Try not to hurt anyone
so you push them away
Cry about it later
call and beg them all to stay
Never leave your house
then go online and complain
Toxic validation
from those who only know your name
You're a popular monster
They all think you're insane
They laugh at all your updates
They think it's all a game
Projecting sense of humor
when you're really filled with rage
Numb yourself by scrolling
you just want to feel okay
Say something real, they ignore it
your honesty goes to waste
So you return to performing
This platform is your stage
I'm a popular monster
I'll keep posting from your grave
Dec 6, 2020
Dec 6, 2020 at 10:36 PM UTC
Even though I depart
I carry you in my heart
Memories of you
Etched too deep
Ingrained
In my heart and soul
Cannot be erased
By the strongest of powers
Clawing at my heart and soul
Sep 12, 2014
Sep 12, 2014 at 12:49 PM UTC
Who is the one, that always greets you,
Happy and friendly, in humans so few .
His anatomy differs, from humans for sure,
Yell and scream, he'll come back for more.
Big or small, it matters not,
Panting its tongue, means he's hot.
Tail wagging fiercely, true to his mood,
Loyal and trustworthy, and often times lewd.
He scratches and licks, whenever he please,
These may be signs, of infestation with fleas.
Have you guessed yet, of the species I speak?
A canine of coarse, some scary some meek!
A wolf its thought his ancestors be,
Domestic now, his spirit still free.
Just watch him run and tear out the door,
The outdoors ingrained, they always need more.
Time in the wild, to sniff and run free,
They know the location, of every tree.
Be smart or dumb, it matters not,
Unconditional loyalty is what you've got..
Rich or poor, your dog doesn't care,
Short or tall or what you wear.
They give you love, asking little in return,
Just food and drink, you may treat them stern.
And still a dogs master, is forever his chum,
Even if the master, to his dog is a ***
We humans with all are gadgets and IQ,
Can't match the canine's ability to be true.
Let's take a lesson, from mans best friend,
Love and loyalty to others, is the message to send.
Visit poemsbypaul.com
Dec 28, 2012
Dec 28, 2012 at 9:24 AM UTC