"inhibits" poems
Perfection
The subjection of one’s interjections
Based on the world
The world of today
Can you change what you think
What others have to say
Were interconnected but not in connection
With a convection of perfection that inhibits rejection
Or constant correction of certain parts or sections
That people fail to mention for their own protection
Believing a misconception to gain desired affection
Wasting their discretion for a false obsession
Thoughts of concession and encouraging suppression
This is just one dissection of perfection
It is but one path, one direction
But this should lead to many other questions
What about succession from the term perfection?
Is it needed to drive people to higher ascension?
Maybe one day society can undergo a social resurrection
Where creed, religion, race, freedom are not held in contention
No more crimes, no need for detention
Everyone is happy, no more thoughts of depression
Everyone can be comfortable with their own reflection
Hopefully this dissection can leave a lasting impression
And drive home the need for a universal intervention
To stop and think what it means strive for perfection
For you may have it wrong upon further inspection
Nov 12, 2012
Nov 12, 2012 at 2:45 PM UTC
(and I cannot live
from with-out)
<>
a poem in appreciation to Rossella Di Paolo
<>
I, too:
- am an embryonic work in progress,
well into my seventh decade, with no ending in sight
I too,
live in the house of poetry, the address likely differs,
but suspect the innards of the houses differs little,
the decor, quite similar
- my house shrewdly requests a rethinking,
noting, it lives my artifice,
with in & with out
Then, we are a We:
- my cavities house her, She, Poetry is of Ruth (1) born,
- Poetry, She, reminds me, ”whither thou goest, I will go”
This duality:
- where the haunting of words providential,
emanate, both inhabiting & inhibits my breathing
She, a fearsome creature, a fearful-something,
for it tears me and shreds tears its demands be wrung
from with in to with out
She, Poetry:
- leaves me gaping, hollow, fills me with
depressurizing boreholes exposed to the elements of
externalities of an admixed atmospheres, that nature demands be refilled, fresh in, stale out,
for which the artifice trick is knowing which is which
when Poetry’s birthing:
- chest pounds, heart-rate beats heavy metal,
abdomen contracts, there then, no languid in my language,
no help untangling the alpha-bet jumbling,
product of the screams of pushing,
squeezing it forth*
*you’re hoping to quick-catch newly formed combinations,
for if you fail, a poem
noisily crashes to and through the floorboard cracks,
where poetry’s chaotic glinting etes
maliciously glimmer~winks at me
with a sarcastic thank you*
*“ah, too bad, another creation stillborn,
gone to rest, biting the nether dust,
without hope of resuscitation…”*
just another unfinished work in progress
periodically
a survivor clean caught, transcribed, edited to be finished,
amniotic fluids cleared,
poem resurrected
blessed with eternal life,
readied to be shared and delivered,
affirmed
and you say to no one and to everyone:
this poem will be our poem,
wither it goes, ascending, descending,
all live in the house of poets,
one house,
many apartments,
each poem a god,
and
my God will be our God,
your God, my God,
in the House of Poetry
Jun 21, 2023
Jun 21, 2023 at 5:55 PM UTC
So this is melancholy
That bittersweet taste every time
We part ways
That deepest sigh I always utter
Whenever your lips touch mine
Because I know in a second or two
You will be gone
I have never looked forward
To our meeting
For you have always
Left me breathless
And wanting
This is insanely foolish
And I know soon
I’m about to face my doom
But every time
Your fingers
Trickle my spine
Or your breath
Suffocates me
Or your taste
Numbs me…
I find myself
Completely giving in
Until your whole being
Inhibits my system
Slowly poisoning my veins
Until my blood ceases to flow
And my heart resists pumping
But there I go again
Poisoned from the reverie
Of you and me
The car engine starts
I know this is goodbye
So long then
Until the next confluence
Of our thirsty mundane
Incongruent lives
Oct 22, 2012
Oct 22, 2012 at 12:52 AM UTC
I find it interesting,
The way we mold ourselves to the given situation
Different faces means new spaces
to fill liquid in, intoxicate, and ultimately change them.
So we need our weapons clasped in our grip
catch a bad intention, make sure they're the ones who slip...
No! We've been doing this all wrong.
Keeping the walls up inhibits growth to be strong
Even if it takes, "far, too long."
Inevitably we exclaim pitches that reside in the same song.
The color-changing, tree-walkers are said to blend into their environment.
This is actually not true.
They change based on light intensity, temperature, and mood.
The personality-changing, free-walkers change based,
On the type of reaction they want to get out of you.
After all you could be the ***** to hold together the whole scheme
Caught in a feverish nightmare, when it seemed to be a sweet dream
Solitary work is needed, now, to avoid a potential sting
And so I take the time to rhyme this,
Evaluating the nature of everything.
The mouth can be, but the eyes are not untruthful
They precipitate pictures, from the scary to the downright beautiful
Look deep within yourself, and see your own array of colors.
We may be blind to the importance of some priorities, but I feel we're all lovers.
"Hurt people hurt people," In my life it's a fact.
But remember you can only be responsible for how you act.
No offense or defensive tactics,
Throw the whole playbook out.
Conducting this vessel requires much practice,
Reflect needs of warmth for the seeds to sprout
Make sure you don't love someone, just for what they can give to you.
Highlight their radiance, for making you feel the way you do
The cycle, is only as vicious as one portrays it
The choice is ours, and I choose to change it.
Right here,
right now
Breathe in,
Feel the oxygen go down
Hold it,
For a moment
Every exhale reminds us,
That life's color is golden.
So fold up the clothes,
And walk out the door.
So many illuminated pigmentations to see,
~Everybody's a new world to explore~
Jan 4, 2014
Jan 4, 2014 at 4:08 PM UTC
You signal with your eyes, permission. It’s a look that twists my heart. My epinephrine increases, inhibits insulin secretion and my blood glucose rises. Hands roam mountains and valleys. Hips become handles. We scatter clothes across the room. Our thoughts are scattered. Down isn’t the floor, it’s the opposite of high. My breath is caught between my lungs and your tongue, darting across mine. Pain flirts with pleasure. Whoever said lips taste like strawberries is wrong. They taste much better than that.
Apr 18, 2013
Apr 18, 2013 at 9:43 PM UTC
Sometimes it’s summer in your eyes.
Trees swaying in the green of the breeze
There, the sun shines.
And flowers bloom in Spring,
Cool yellow green, where moist
Mossy earth is alive.
And deep evergreen inhibits darkness,
The warmth of daylight fading fast
Freezing pools of frosted blue.
Gold and brown shadowed by sunset,
an amber autumn shines
In the evening of your eyes.
Apr 18, 2012
Apr 18, 2012 at 1:07 AM UTC
It's the way it creeps into your brain
and intoxicates your thoughts
and triggers unwanted emotions
and inhibits your every move
leaving you paralyzed from
the neck down.
And there's nothing you can do
except take the red or blue pill --
a temporary solution to
a lifelong illness
that will stop at nothing to
devour all the good inside you.
I just wish it would stop
and allow me to breathe
and keep my chest from feeling
as if a thousand needles are lodged inside.
That's my small request.
Why can't I have that?
Apr 29, 2014
Apr 29, 2014 at 2:39 AM UTC
In God’s No~Fly Zone
blessedly, so many of you are
unaware of the full color spectra
that be can seen only when an
age of experience has been reached,
reached, not attained, for the no~fly
zone is no place to be, without any
redeeming colorations, it is dark hued
twilight that inhibits vision clarity,
a precursor warning of the *hungry
darkness* that offers to swallow one
into shades of sad remorse, and other
miseries
How came I to earn this distinction,
was not by acting out, rather by inaction,
the failure to pick the correct fork in a
life of sentence diagramming, sentence
in the prison sense, all my sentences,
broken down, no connection sensible
to the next phrase, next phase, so I
sit beneath my vine and fig tree, unable
to fly, unable to tear shed,
grounded, pounded in my head
Dec 3, 2023
Dec 3, 2023 at 10:43 AM UTC
Inward anger inhibits.
You keep pushing, knocking,
finally yielding determination to disinterest,
to frustration. Foreign concepts
like undeveloped film.
Until, barely latching onto the fabric,
you happen upon it
at some odd hour, the light
adjusts and your perception,
and you may grasp it,
knocking through rotten wood,
collapsing into understanding,
and free within hollow enlightenment
to finally progress.
Nov 9, 2011
Nov 9, 2011 at 9:30 PM UTC
Tie-dyed psychedelic swirling thoughts
Mid-day nightmares tied in knots
Jagged edges of broken minds
Untamed beauty so unkind
Honey sweet and sappy places
Charcoal eyes on empty faces
Inside ugly seeps through perfection
Blocking daylights warm reflection
Chasing nothing standing still
Raining brimstone breaks the will
Held fast in place by testimony
Indecipherable real or phony
Undependable instincts and cloudy vision
Inhibits any and all decisions
Hand-mixed daydreams light and creamy
Candy coated happiness, all is dreamy
May 23, 2010
May 23, 2010 at 7:34 PM UTC
He chokes
paper and
inhibits law
there in
habitual way
as he
lumped this
load on
my community
with popular
dogma still
ministry of
the house
though the
township nigh
but a
hospital standard
Aug 7, 2019
Aug 7, 2019 at 8:35 AM UTC
The soil is sodden and sated with the blood of your youth
Our children are scarred, robbed of life, love and innocence.
Our women are beaten into submission, into silence... hopelessness.
The aged and the vulnerable have to live behind a metal veil.
Gratuitous violence walks beside us
The school, once the womb of the community, where the child was nurtured, suckling at the breast of knowledge
Sadly the womb is disrespected!
The school is violated and learning is disrupted.
There is a constant atmosphere of ****
Yes, sadly **** is stalking me and every woman and child.
Crime inhibits our freedom.... it rains down on our democracy.
Oppression is alive and well and it has a new face.
Apr 10, 2015
Apr 10, 2015 at 9:56 AM UTC
The president of the United States is Donald Trump
and under his presidency the country is in a slump.
Could it be because of the way it has been managed
with all of the scandal and divisiveness seen to jump?
The style of politics that a leader in office exhibits
determines the country's fate that enables or prohibits
its people to aspire to their true potential and glory
which is why the current situation is one that inhibits.
It's much better to face the truth than hide behind a mask
of one who doesn't take responsibility for their own task
that's performed in such a way, blaming everyone else
for everything that goes wrong, in deception does bask.
Abuse of power often comes with the way one is elected
if the people themselves have of their leader so detected;
and asked to stand before them to face their suspicions,
when there's any evidence of wrongdoing to be inspected.
One is reminded of the saying that goes something like this
given by Abraham Lincoln perhaps to describe the time of his
own presidency that encountered strong opposition in the past
of the country's history that was so far from being one of bliss:
“You can fool some of the people all of the time,
and all of the people some of the time,
but you can not fool all of the people all of the time.”
― Abraham Lincoln
It must be really hard for anyone to live under constant media scrutiny
with the social unrest sparked by a needless death bordering on mutiny
together with all the media reports about issues, the country's in a mess;
the forthcoming elections will tell which way it'll go to regain stability.
___________________
Nov 1, 2020
Nov 1, 2020 at 11:42 PM UTC
'Pets and Palates'
he had only two real loves
ducks and waffles
this was highly disconcerting
to his parents
who tried to distance their boy
from these strange affectations
by buying him a precious pet goose
named Berchunice
and putting him on a steady diet
of pancakes
and their various
international counterparts
needless to say
he didn't live to a great age
as a matter of fact
he died at twenty-two and a smidge
because while pets generally extend and enrich life
caring for a goose you despise
and dining on starchy carbs
seriously inhibits life expectancy
his passing was terribly unfortunate
as was the life his parents had forced upon him
if they hadn't forced these changes on him
had they merely accepted
perhaps
encouraged even
this love of ducks and waffles
their lovely lad
would have
efficiently and economically
solved global warming
in an effort to protect
the best interest
of his friends
the ducks
and in his downtime
he would have put
a major dent
in the world hunger problem
with a highly adaptable
waffle recipe
too bad.
Feb 13, 2010
Feb 13, 2010 at 6:26 PM UTC
*
An impulse of a theme,
in a sensation of a light beam:
I sat near by you to scribble
a verse on your beauty;
When lights and shades are on
You form a beautiful shadow
When kissable lips blooms,
the music drops away;
Sensual arousal inhibits
While ******* groomed
On your tiny ****
Its night sky lit from
within by a strange
Greenish glow.
The title begins
A woman’s hands,
With her beautiful nails,
Slaking through a junk bin in a dark,
fire lit, ash dusted place…
a lyric is born….
*
By
Williamsji Maveli
Email
[email protected]
Jan 25, 2013
Jan 25, 2013 at 5:04 AM UTC
**** you and **** your best friends
who call me a *** cuz i like
***** shorts long nights
and the surprise
when they see youre with a white girl
**** your judgement
**** your twitter
and **** your excuses
about some ******** disease
that apparently inhibits your ability
to pick up a ******* phone
**** you for leaving me alone
when i needed you the most
but I'm not mad anymore
I'm just sick and tired
of falling for the same tricks
different toilet
same ****
different skin
same intentions
i want so badly to forget about you
cuz im slowly wasting away
like my desire to try
and your desire for fame
bars on bars
dark as the night
your skin just as black
as the n-words you're trying to fight
but you're always talking about oppression and ****
**** your lies and **** your poems
i'll never love a hypocrite
Jan 28, 2014
Jan 28, 2014 at 9:25 PM UTC
Knowledge enforced to follow, it hurts to turn my back
Lack of truth in its logic, proof to make it easy to swallow?
Befallen by It's calling, resented all the good intended.
Twisted Tables and a created fable, represented by eyes labled shameful. Written words cursed no better, read a recitation, with my own interpretation, ahead beams of light began to enter.
Now they're looking bitter, calling out sinner
Preparing your forthcoming, preparing you for dinner
Forget em, who's rightously judging? First stone, lies are forthcoming.
Fighting our own demons, none but you percieve em
It's this feeling, the darkness and the sickness, the weakness that inhibits the message, soul and will conflicting at the hilltop. Vanity, the start of your calamity. It had to be that guilty feeling, draging you from your heighth of the ceiling.
Perfection is something we're all missing, lying furthers the evil that you felt. Perhaps you hate what's well and embrace the hateful, but its free will that leaves you blame full. Alone, be grateful, believe in Him on your own accord. As the race of the light takes flight I let it enter
Your mind at times, plays games unkind. Conclusions undefined, leaving its history your mystery. Grasp the signs in life, the beauty of your wife, the power in mere sight, surely you can overcome fright. We can't see the whole picture and all the painters live on the right of the sea. It's time to be who we're all destined to be, peace, love, and happiness at the center. The warm sun surrounding us with brightness in winter, let it enter.
Jan 31, 2013
Jan 31, 2013 at 4:43 PM UTC
I forget too often that not everyone sees me the way I see me;
Not everyone knows there to be a bleeding heart sinking solemnly behind my ribcage
Nor the rattle that my skull makes from too many poor decisions,
The scars on my knees and legs that tab a memory of a something somewhere in the history that is mine,
The lack of lobe that inhibits my passions for specificity,
The anger that bubbles within my veins when I neglect the rose bushes I've slept in for so long,
The tuft of hair that throws itself to the wind, proving to be the small stubborn part of me,
The knowledge that has escaped me with the miles I burn on four wheels,
The physical pain that plagues my valuable parts that become less and less worth something everyday,
The weight that overcomes me sometimes when I feel myself through waves of gravity,
The form I place to my inner and outer self: nothing good, smart, or attractive.
I suppose the mirror has darkened over the years, the veil has been placed lower over my eyes so most of the view is felt through shadows that are drawing me day in and day out, begging me to make a choice.
I suppose that it's not the way I'm perceived though, I ought to remember.
Nov 18, 2013
Nov 18, 2013 at 5:41 PM UTC
a woman comes to me at 2:20am,
from across the world, asking if I am that cool jew,
occupant/son of the unholy hours when death and crucifixion,
them two old friends, are waving temptation with both hands,
never mentioning heaven, offering .99 cents of sanitized compliments,
which for a fifth rate amateur writer is revolutionary,
as close as you will ever come to global recognition
that woman says, yes! you’re that insufferable fool whose
suffering keeps us awake when he should be sleeping in the
half-death state, in the unholy hours, only reporting back
what he has seen across the borderline, in these times
when a thousand-die-a-day daily from suffering
that is uniquely human, a wracking medieval torture,
granting those viral messengers, slow extra pleasure
be nice to yourself for a change, write ‘bout what they want,
broken love and suicide, mundane pain, keep it plain, short!
easy stuff that sells records, making you not whisper words
never meant to be shared, the language of the unholy hours,
a dialect unique, that Google can’t quite rightly translate,
for not every vision is substitutable, suitable, rated G for babies, so,
keep it short like a miserable life that needs a prophecy to complete
*48 hours ago thought I was infected, a glide path to rocky moon-smooth,
a landing where words unique, taken away, sealing your mouth with
tubed oxygen that inhibits thinking, air that might **** all of you, not just pain, but what makes you unique, your own 10 commandments
of speech, the old testament, the source book of insight into whatever
makes your lungs breath in rhythmic to heart beating, and dying
discordant disrupts the gene sequencing of inhaling and exhaling*
the editors and the critics overlooking, that sit on both shoulders,
are already complaining, no más, no más, no más!
suture that incision, close your mouth, the unholy hours
need a special silence, Ruth’s lips that move but go unheard,
make no mistake, we want to listen in, voyeurs of visions
but we need you broken, we need a break, from confronting
the repeatedly delayed, but undeniable, the clockwork orange
second coming of the ungodly hours
4:02am
Sabato
4/11/20twenty
new york city of lips
Apr 11, 2020
Apr 11, 2020 at 4:15 AM UTC
different side of the sun
walking toward noon rises
set to driving before night
betting the prior hours away
changing minds
amateur detour
to mature tours
all I once promised
to myself I wouldn't
flip, but time limits
inhibits our poker face
before you know it
your all in
compare a year's days
of eight hours, I actually miss
juggling the jungle of working
the vines, and finding solace
under the shade of night
with new acquaintances
ever different, my eyes
ever blinking, linking
to a new soul, and not limited
to roaming like an unfinished ghoul
the business of a bottle neck effect,
i'm looking to "evolve"
filling the palindrome
and adapt as I always do
as we always eventually
find a means to
i'm seeking my calm
with music in alms
to other's palms
so my hands, and my ears
through headphones
become calls to my mind
as the alarm clocks in again
good morning - to the mirror
your good to go again
Jul 13, 2010
Jul 13, 2010 at 1:36 AM UTC
Tired.
Exhaustion,
the kind of fatigue you don't counteract
with behind-the-counter medications
because it lives behind your eyes but
not quite inside your brain,
the kind that makes you feel insane
just for acknowledging it's there.
It's quiet in the day but wrattles constantly,
reminding you, you're the only one to hear it.
Tired.
The kind that misses sleeping in,
but 13 hours of sleep is never enough
to fill in gaps or bags under eyes,
so you just lie in bed and think about
how tired you've become,
and how you've forgotten
how it feels to be refreshed.
Tired.
The kind of tired that inhibits you from moving
your mind races and your body is glued to the bed,
it's 3am now and you've finally stopped pacing in your head.
Tired.
your eyes stop moving around 6am
when you crawl into bed,
you are so drained,
nothing could keep you up now
you block out cars horns,
you ignore thoughts that knock on your door,
and rustle in your blinds,
and drown your fatigued mind,
begging for a place inside your bed,
you are so tired.
you are on sheets,
you haven't washed in weeks,
stuck without a destination
for your mind.
stuck, the sun just rose,
so you are
**** out of luck.
Jun 19, 2016
Jun 19, 2016 at 2:55 AM UTC
sometimes i think i think too quickly
or not at all. i feel sticky.
please do not call me, though it's tempting.
i'm a weakling and empty.
i'm entirely, undeniably irredeemable
so don't get comfortable
with the thought
that i might give you anything at all.
i'm restless. it inhibits peaceful sleeping
i'm such a *** only weeping
instead of doing something useful. being truthful,
nothing i do feels fruitful.
i'm entirely, undeniably irredeemable
so don't get comfortable
with the thought
that i might give you anything at all.
Nov 17, 2020
Nov 17, 2020 at 9:24 PM UTC
I never could have realized
that I was surrounded
by such an immense army
of mannequins
hollow
empty
manufactured
each of them programmed
with their purpose
to perform
play the part
destroy anything in their path
that inhibits reaching
their own pathetic pleasure
at the expense of those who
naively
trust
treasure
tolerate
Is there really any honor in this life?
Nov 10, 2013
Nov 10, 2013 at 6:23 PM UTC