"inoffensive" poems
Cockcrow harbour:
the gulls whining like tethered dogs
about rooftops
paliophobic cars and
grounded vessels..
Look:
on the hoary horizon
a glaucous strip
beguils
with backwater.
Not putting on a show
the frigid sea benumbed..
Easily,
with a tail of emerald jelly
skim a vanishing lane off that
lustrous sheet
and watch
the trailblazing mainland
scuttle.
Now,
Only scattered dreaming is possible.
In it's bachelor pad,
cradling over crinkles,
away from the meretriciosness
of validating the real by sharing it,
THE WIND
blusters off any veneer.
Here,
stale but spry,
fare your way around the inoffensive isle
to it's most shyest of harbours:
a mouth full of silver
saving it's breath.
The windows facing the sea
seem
black & white,
their wooden frames hooked to the wind,
the splattered gulls meow
your name
in a way
that's
personal.
Of course comes to mind.
The pines
are demanding a visit,
They're whispering
so you can hear them,
each as different as every snore,
these pines know
how to grow in the sand
and still reach for
the Nimbostratus with heads in unison.
The spaces
between their trunks illuminating
the blazing needles
raining down
painting the ground
familiar
to your lover's
skin texture:
Feel her closeness
from jilted borderwatchtowers
as she speads her mire
like no one's watching:
weedy and sugared
with bellflowers,
the waves in her shallow armpit
billeting a pair of white swans:
demurely they float
sometimes as pillows and sometimes
as question marks..
Go ask the seasoned locals,
they say the bones she parked
when she let her ice sheet melt
are portals
to her noble underbelly.
Hidden in the woods
reminiscent of your heart,
the red
tank-sized stone
is sealed,
but what the lighting reach cannot
the rain shall sluice apart
dumbly.
And though her hair has
come to be
the moss
black and hoarse
as sailor's beard,
there is still time.
The void says
her noisy neighbour is nothing
to die for.
The theadbear car with absent doors
incites
to drive her
in reverse gear
to the first few
days of holidays:
her golden locks a-blaze,
her arm around your
hind-sighted doppelganger.
Jul 20, 2018
Jul 20, 2018 at 2:20 AM UTC
Kindness is not nice.
‘Nice’ is soft and inoffensive
‘Nice’ is careful and non-assertive
‘Nice’ is easy and effects no change
she’s cotton wool trying to soften the pain
but not stuffed tight, just resting on the surface
ready to be blown away or pressed
under a muddy boot of disinterest
‘Nice’ is a damp whisper
a mouse cowering in the corner
hoping you will blink and miss her
lest she attract your notice
lest she presume too much
and cause a whisker of offence
Kindness is not like that –
Kindness pushes in, quick and nimble
a hero with no mask, unasked
unexpected, dodging the turmoil
leaving nothing unsaid and little undone
in her pursuit of creating a counter-disruption
Kindness defies convention
Kindness carefully aims her weapons of choice
and advances relentless and regardless
of any and all obstacles in her way
Kindness perseveres all the love-long day
Kindness doesn’t delay
Kindness is gleeful for the chance of invasion
ready to disarm with expert compassion
with her regiments of patience
armed to the teeth with gracious
placing tanks of good faith on all fronts
Kindness confronts
Courage is her currency, boldness her language,
trust and hope are her passports to lands long unexplored
happily wearing all-weather clothing
for any and all unexpected storms
Kindness transforms
Kindness weakens all defenses
and challenges all camouflaged pretenses
Kindness pours itself out to fill unhealed wounds
and on shrapnel-seeded battlefields
she - blooms
Kindness is not 'nice'
Kindness isn’t in this for the likes
Kindness bites
She’s a take-on-all-comers, undefeated delight
Kindness never bails from the fight
never fails, never takes flight
Kindness is nothing casual,
nothing incidental
This Kindness is elemental
She is Avengers-Assemble,
End-Game-level
monumental
Kindness is not 'nice'.
Kindness is loving awe-ful.
Oct 12, 2020
Oct 12, 2020 at 8:45 AM UTC
Kindness is not nice.
Nice is soft and inoffensive.
Nice is easy and effects no change, it's cotton wool - not stuffed tight, but just resting on the surface ready to be blown away or trodden into a muddy disinterest. Nice is a damp whisper, a mouse cowering in the corner, taking up as little space as possible, lest it be noticed, lest it presume too much and cause a whisker of offence.
Kindness isn't like that -
Kindness pushes in, claws out, quick and heavy, uninvited, unexpected, taking pleasure in disturbance, in leaving nothing unsaid and little undone in its pursuit of creating a disruption of difference. Kindness counts everyone a target, anybody a likely candidate for a three act matinee and evening performance of loud Kindness. Surprise is its currency, smiles its language, common humankindness its passport to lands yet to be explored, to vast red territories with drumbeats of gratefulness for the opportunity to march in with regiments of compassion and to leave a signature devastation of brutal Kindness.
Kindness is not 'nice'.
Kindness is loving awe-ful.
Dec 24, 2019
Dec 24, 2019 at 3:37 AM UTC
The empty fills me
as if I had depth;
straight and fast,
yearning some forgiveness.
I can't resist to the hugeness,
however inoffensive it is.
Above me there's a sky
which really seems to be one.
The pale blue charms me
and the irregular white defines me.
I can't resist to time,
however long it is.
My body doesn't need
another surface
to touch...
– just have soul.
I can't resist to loneliness,
however sentimental I am.
May 8, 2014
May 8, 2014 at 5:01 PM UTC
Kindness is not nice.
Nice is soft and inoffensive.
Nice is easy and effects no change, it's cotton wool - not stuffed tight, but just resting on the surface ready to be blown away or trodden into a muddy disinterest. Nice is a damp whisper, a mouse cowering in the corner, taking up as little space as possible, lest it be noticed, lest it presume too much and cause a whisker of offence.
Kindness isn't like that -
Kindness pushes in, claws out, quick and heavy, uninvited, unexpected, taking pleasure in disturbance, in leaving nothing unsaid and little undone in its pursuit of creating a disruption of difference. Kindness counts everyone a target, anybody a likely candidate for a three act matinee and evening performance of loud Kindness. Surprise is its currency, smiles its language, common humanity its passport to lands yet explored, to vast pink territories with drumbeats of gratefulness for the opportunity to march in with regiments of compassion and to leave a signature devastation of brutal Kindness.
Kindness is not 'nice'.
Kindness is loving awe-ful.
Jul 3, 2020
Jul 3, 2020 at 2:01 AM UTC
The corridors are long with no diversions
The way in which we walk is already known,
Turn and go back will only hinder distance covered
Forward progression burns through the heart.
Whoever watching, why do we lose both ways?
Can we even rise over all the soul piercing strategies?
Take each step for money to be earned
Lose every shred of integrity, or stand still, be kind and wither
into a background number dissolving into the wallpaper of the inoffensive.
The corridor is long, it gets darker and less enticing
The way in which i walk is almost robotic in tone.
The choice to turn back is an illusion believed to exist
but i am unconvinced of this option anymore.
Hide or be hid, the choice is there to be made,
No footprint is allowed to influence, unless the influence is seen to
add to what our leaders have printed in notes.
Aug 5, 2015
Aug 5, 2015 at 6:38 AM UTC
He ate flowers.
this mentally challenged boy
from the countryside
I used to watch him
in the fields
when I visited my grandparents
as a kid
He was like an exotic thing
a wild beast chasing
static pray
They had no chance,
the flowers
he would assault them
with a killer's smile, frothing,
and would grab
and tear and rip them from
the stem and
would eat them
Nobody knew why
and the only explanation given
was that he was insane
then the men and women
who saw him would
scream at him
to stop and he would raise
his head and watch them
like a deer surprised by
headlights
Then he would spit the colorful
froth from his big mouth
and would run home
hopping and leaping like a horse
through the tall grass
He was mostly inoffensive,
this flower eating boy
but they all told me to stay away
from him and would
always chase him away when
he got too close
Time passed and I moved to the
city and went to school there
and stopped visiting the
countryside and its wonders
I got busy
and my busy life drove away the
magic and mystery of childhood
The flower eating boy is now but
a memory
neither good
nor bad
just strange, interesting
He doesn't eat flowers anymore
because he doesn't live in the
countryside anymore
No, from what I've heard
he's in some mental facility and it was
his last flowery meal that sent him there
I don't know,
maybe if they hanged signs with
"Don't wear flowers in your hair!"
around the village and the fields
that little girl would've been saved
and the village would still have its
magic beast.
Jun 15, 2019
Jun 15, 2019 at 7:57 AM UTC
its a tuesday and you are waiting for me
standing at the central dressed all in grey
inoffensive, unassuming: avid
i can see the whites of your eyes
all the way from point zero down
so now your voice comes plain
through a sea of fog, and i know
we are coming up death row
red steel, old stone: is this how it goes?
i throw myself all around you
flesh onto flesh, man onto man
two guts into a gordian knot
a futile attempt at lessening
your incomprehensible hugeness
your bones, the empty room
i cannot see any walls to
you are: my har megiddo
my mount, under thunder
and the sun is brighter than white
if only i could see it, and the rain
is clearer even than air--if only
i could feel it! but now we are grey
among grey, concealing seas of pink
storms of milk; there is no sky
where we are bound
no opening, no end
you press your hand into mine
and you are warm like dirt, maybe
like you are barely born from the earth
only just learning the load of being addled
with such clumsy comfort, this rough touch
the worthlessness of words and the distance of skin
but we are stretching our necks to rise above it
do you like what you see, now?
so you bring me to your little home
and you feed me little pills, one by one
and we take to your little bed, spilling over
too much, not enough, back and forth
the same air again, the same words
no lines of demarcation left to bear
just your blood and mine and
one little winding red road
from here to (THE END.)
Mar 4, 2013
Mar 4, 2013 at 5:47 AM UTC
The elderly man sat reminiscing over his life
now unable to walk far.
Breathing in oxygen through a nasal tube
he knew it wouldn't be long.
Shortly after in his sleep he quietly passed
at his funeral the truth masked!
Outwardly thought of as a charming man
inoffensive and kindly.
Nobody knew he had once been in prison
for an unsolved ******
Evidence against him they tried to seek
but it was too weak!
For all those years he had kept his secret
the body was never found!
They knew he had committed the crime
but they had no proof!
He had put it in the large leather chair
nobody guessed it was there!
Playing on his mind sitting with the victim
who was not at rest.
And in the end hounded him to his death
as in the chair it still laid!
Before long the furniture had to be sold
the dark secret still untold.
To the furniture auction the chair was taken
there a young woman was thrilled.
A real brown leather chair for sixty pound
what a bargain she thought.
Always wanted one of these she shouted
of this none doubted.
So pleased when it arrived at her new flat
it did look out of place.
Keen to show her boyfriend the purchase
he was on his way.
As she smelt the leathers strong scent
it made her content.
Sitting in the plush chair she felt important
for a short while.
A sick feeling filled her retching throat
through blurry eyes!
There a man stood struggling to her feet
managing to retreat.
Blurting out what had happened to her friend
together they returned.
Nothing was there on the chair saw a tear
pulling it a body part fell out!
Soon the police arrived to the address
to clear up the mess!
The chair for evidence was soon removed
the case against the old man proved!
The Foureyed Poet.
Aug 1, 2012
Aug 1, 2012 at 8:13 AM UTC
Love is not nice.
‘Nice’ is soft and inoffensive
‘Nice’ is careful and non-assertive
‘Nice’ is easy and effects no change
Nice is cotton wool trying to soften the pain
but not stuffed tight, just resting on the surface
ready to be blown away or pressed
under a muddy boot of disinterest
‘Nice’ is a damp whisper
a mouse cowering in the corner
hoping you will blink and miss it
lest it attract your notice
lest it presume too much
and cause a whisker of offence
Love is not like that –
Love pushes in, quick and nimble
a hero with no mask, unasked
unexpected, dodging the turmoil
leaving nothing unsaid and little undone
in her pursuit of creating a counter-disruption
Love defies convention
Love carefully aims her weapons of choice
and advances relentless and regardless
of any and all obstacles in her way
Love perseveres all the love-long day
Love doesn’t delay
Love is gleeful for the chance of invasion
ready to disarm with expert compassion
with her regiments of patience
armed to the teeth with gracious
placing tanks of good faith on all fronts
Love confronts
Courage is her currency, kindness her language
trust and hope are her passports to lands long unexplored
happily wearing all-weather clothing
for any and all unexpected storms
Love transforms
Love weakens all defenses
and challenges all camouflaged pretenses
Love pours itself out to fill unhealed wounds
and on shrapnel-seeded battlefields
she - blooms
Love perfumes
Love is not 'nice'
Love isn’t in this for the likes
Love bites
She’s a take-on-all-comers, undefeated delight
Love never bails from the fight
never fails, never takes flight
Love is nothing casual,
nothing incidental
Love is elemental
She is Avengers-Assemble, End-Game-level
monumental
So, don’t be nice
and I’ll say it twice
nice is a vice that will never suffice
And let me end by being more precise
follow Christ’s advice:
love one another
every day and every night
with all of your might
and do it in a way
that pushes
way
past
‘nice’.
Feb 23, 2022
Feb 23, 2022 at 5:43 PM UTC
Someone's misery
wrapped up in someone's international policy
Sanctions to prove a point, to enforce power
another political pact helps another culture cower
We are modernised, we are westernized
A lot of the world though seems unsatisfied
Terrorism the new currency on the playing field of negotiations
Suffering increases and yet bankers commit suicide with stock market fluctuations
Keep it short, to the point, and hopefully inoffensive
This world has made me sceptical and apprehensive
Mar 15, 2016
Mar 15, 2016 at 9:50 AM UTC
“Haunted Houses” (1858)
All houses wherein men have lived and died
__Are haunted houses. Through the open doors
The harmless phantoms on their errands glide,
__With feet that make no sound upon the floors.
We meet them at the doorway, on the stair,
__Along the passages they come and go,
Impalpable impressions on the air,
__A sense of something moving to and fro.
There are more guests at table, than the hosts
__Invited; the illuminated hall
Is thronged with quiet, inoffensive ghosts,
__As silent as the pictures on the wall.
The stranger at my fireside cannot see
__The forms I see, nor hear the sounds I hear;
He but perceives what is; while unto me
__All that has been is visible and clear.
We have no title-deeds to house or lands;
__Owners and occupants of earlier dates
From graves forgotten stretch their dusty hands,
__And hold in mortmain still their old estates.
The spirit-world around this world of sense
__Floats like an atmosphere, and everywhere
Wafts through these earthly mists and vapors dense
__A vital breath of more ethereal air.
Our little lives are kept in equipoise
__By opposite attractions and desires;
The struggle of the instinct that enjoys,
__And the more noble instinct that aspires.
These perturbations, this perpetual jar
__Of earthly wants and aspirations high,
Come from the influence of an unseen star,
__An undiscovered planet in our sky.
And as the moon from some dark gate of cloud
__Throws o’er the sea a floating bridge of light,
Across whose trembling planks our fancies crowd
__Into the realm of mystery and night,–
So from the world of spirits there descends
__A bridge of light, connecting it with this,
O’er whose unsteady floor, that sways and bends,
__Wander our thoughts above the dark abyss.
Oct 14, 2020
Oct 14, 2020 at 10:08 AM UTC
In the cold dreary, wet,
months of each year the
predominant irritating
"Craw-craw" raucous
calls of crows are nearly
the only bird voices to be
heard. The instigators,
Provocateurs of disruption.
The logical, less hardy
and beautiful birds all
gone south for the winter,
taking their inoffensive
lovely and melodic song
voices with them.
I eagerly await their return.
Mar 7, 2022
Mar 7, 2022 at 7:15 PM UTC
motionless, inoffensive beige mannequins
stare with purple glass eyes. reflecting
windows in a grey plaster store
shopkeeper embraces
handles a broomstick
his sense is swarming
turns on a television
death and corruption
death and corruption
broadcast test patterns
no retribution for the cold and weak
a quack, hands in pockets, prances past
a roughly-edged black and white photo
of a specific eventful sunset, noteworthy
in the limitless notebook, a prime number
dated, thoroughly checked off, presented
the outer design is undeniably fractal
it is packaged in crushed red riches;
the coloring is so very numbing
the experience is so humbling
A physical form is misplaced
the blueprint is just blank points
faulty articles of a future failure
(I haven't been led to believe
that something makes a good anything)
Jul 13, 2015
Jul 13, 2015 at 12:39 AM UTC
I see things
I feel them too
I'm paranoid
I don't know you
I know things
I know it all
They're blinded
By my love
Don't hate me
I am you
I'm inoffensive
But you don't know
I couldn't hurt you
Don't run don't go
Mar 27, 2017
Mar 27, 2017 at 8:16 PM UTC
Saying that I didn't love you
sounds more like a truth
than the lie I want it to be.
And I do not know if this is because
my love starved to death, slowly,
or because I am malleable maleficence
and when arms are offered
I bend myself into them
automaton clay
deadly mimic
powerful enough to fool itself.
When I ask my heart
there is only static
the inoffensive murmur
I have trained myself to utter
Its voice lost
somewhere beneath a barrow of expectations
unmet.
Sep 24, 2021
Sep 24, 2021 at 5:14 PM UTC
Let us bloom under the moonlight
Like withered flowers waiting patiently for their roots to grow back
For the night is the only time of the day
Or the day is the only time of the night
When life stretches itself and memories become vulnerable to the light
The eyes roll and turn
They strike face to face with the brain
In front of a thousand whispers
A thousand cries
Rotten kisses and gullible lies
Stroke a shell on the searing sand
Every little grain shivers against its neighbor
And the whole beach arouses to the perturbation
A stranger yet so inoffensive
But even microscopic acarines
Whirl in the wind of a sneeze
So before starting to snap your tongue on the roof of your mouth
Catch your words in your throath
And taste them
Guzzle
Do not forget their savor
Catch them fast
If you are not as swift as a tender breeze
You will swallow your own thick tongue
You will become your words
And these words will reflect you
A big satisfying outcome
How solemn would it be
To dance to the rhythm
Of your baked coal heart
Drumming on its cage
Sep 20, 2018
Sep 20, 2018 at 4:57 AM UTC
if you will defend the indefensible
represent the reprehensible
offend the inoffensive for effect
then i feel i must respond in kind
give you a piece of my lost mind
as a nine millimetre double tap to the chest
May 16, 2017
May 16, 2017 at 12:49 AM UTC