"insensible" poems
A - the atrocity that my life has become
D - the damage, and still, im not done
D - the denial, the doom in the vile, dangerous, daunting; forever defile
I - the image I fake of myself, I- my constant &chronic; bad health.
C- the cost of a chemical wealth.
T for the tension, paranoia and fear. Yet it’s the letter that symbols it’s here.
I - irrational, insensible, intense. I - irresistible iridescence .
O- for the option that I didn’t take, O for the others that still I forsake.
And N for nervous. Nauseous. Night. N, the neophyte, turned narcissist knight.
Transparent to everyone, how its hold is too true
So clear its invisible, Addiction did coo:
“when you wake and feel my crave,
and all my charms different behave;
resistance, strength, pain & choice,
may mute my spell, quiet my voice.”
“embrace what little light is shed” suggested addiction, faintly he said:
“For I can **** the best man dead,
with only shadows in their head.”
Apr 9, 2017
Apr 9, 2017 at 1:01 AM UTC
The nakedness of winter lies heavy upon
the tolling Sunday quietude
Shed leaves perish into yesterday
and the dream of another
dawning someday wanes
The sun ― lay low
the drudging ashen skyline
Barerd emerald moss scaffolds
draw much more distantness
to the pallid shadowed horizon
The evergreens step forth,
roots grasping sacred heart,
soil and rock
In the swelling aloneness
you can feel the grain
of the heartwood
rooted in your soul
There are no hard feelings
but there's an enduring ache,
like a tree with a rotting limb
languishing within
its blackened bark sacrifice
It's not just the grinding time
that slips away begrudgingly;
more of the same takes a toll
as if another unrung belfry hour
in an empty bell tower
without a song rang out in vain,
peeling reflections
of reluctant hours c r a w l by
in the insensible apathy
A so called holiday passes ―
its footprint bears down
hard and deep
as if a paling winter rose
grieves its own passing
A dry wishbone unbroken
lay bare the poignant
truth it holds;
it takes two to make
this wish come true
.
Nov 26, 2017
Nov 26, 2017 at 12:33 PM UTC
Contemplation for days and hours
As all the beautiful flowers devour their worst enemy
Trying to defend me, no decency cause I tell myself I’m horrible
Gravity slams me to the floorboard of a moving car
Let me go, let me breathe
My reality deceives the truth that you and I were once meant to be
I overlook, my eyes force me not to see
All the pain, all the lies
**Just **** you**
I despise you and your ******** *** ways
And I’m still sitting here in this haze
Of my sweet mary jane, that takes away the pain
Because she actually gives a **** about what I have to say
And she don’t question me
She smooths the depression out of me
There’s not a doubt in me that I won’t see better days
You’re in the past
There’s no way we would have been able to last
But I be me, I do me
I don’t give a **** about what your eyes want me to see
They see what they want to see and I be what I want to be
I laugh at your failure to attempt to change me
I’m invincible, not dispensable
You can’t just use me, I’m insensible
Good luck finding someone as valuable as me
There’s no next time, there’s no meant to be
Oct 29, 2012
Oct 29, 2012 at 5:11 PM UTC
in the river of good company
***I dedicate this poem to
Mr. Harlon Rivers,
one of the best poets (here)
and from his good company,
i could drink all day and
never be quenched***
~
Preface
sometime, the heart wants it wants,
denial, temporarily from your vocabulary, excised
sometimes, beauty keelhauls you, gets you
awestruck inspired, then arrogance overcomes
the brilliance of common sense and you go ahead and
mess with perfection despite every sensor flashing
uh oh, duh, oh no, fool on the premises, lockdown needed!
do believe this condition can be found in the medical books
under I, for Inspiration, Incantation, or S for Stupidifacation
my heart wants to write a poem,
cause I was a witness, sitting twenty feet
from the heavenly crime scene,
and every intonation swept my brain into that secret place,
when I heard KD Lang singing "The Valley"^
~~~
in the river of good company
simple sentiment but good god
all I ever wanted and so oft lacked
such was my fate, one I made,
had plenty good words for boon companions,
the occasional touch of a woman rippling waves
cross my face, a love lapping slapping
of concentric pebble rings,
till like most good things
gone good goes bad,
it just happens to evaporate and
you think someday, maybe,
you will walk again in good company
the brain says quit right here
but the heart brooks no damning tantrum of sanity imposition,
for those handful of deepest, not quite six feet under
palpitations of insensible, cutting glimpses of that word I hate so,
memories,
of when
you walked in good company
men women no different - it is that heated aura
tween bodies that confirms that you are once again
a human being, just a being, temporarily
enhanced, elevated, by good company
so go ahead sweet talks ya, that devil id a/k/a desire, says -
one more for the road can't hurt ya,
write that poem -
and perhaps one good man, glory hallelujah, a good woman,
will read it and you can stop weeping you idiot,
do it so you will be back, nuttier but nurtured,
drinking from the river of good company,
mouthing not even dare whispering,
satisfied satiated, loving and loved
~
all reposts greatly and grateful appreciated!
4/2/17 9:24am
Apr 2, 2017
Apr 2, 2017 at 9:27 AM UTC
Bound to the imagery of an insensible consolation
As a dock waits for a ship never to come
are the senseless chains which bind agony to the soul
Only the Sensational allure of a compass placed within the center, may loosen the mind’s heart from the chains binding it to the dock.
A compass who’s needle always points to the heart.
& posses the strength needed to stand alone.
Aug 15, 2016
Aug 15, 2016 at 9:58 PM UTC
careless grass of our sins
as if by luck on the number
seven
a prism you capture a rainbow
while you finish your days in prison
insensible to the shimmer of your
crimes ice cream proves
the ingenuity of our suppers
2.6k
A estos peñascos rudos,
mudos testigos del dolor que siento
-que sólo siendo mudos
pudiera yo fiarles mi tormento,
si acaso de mis penas lo terrible
no infunde lengua y voz en lo insensible-,
quiero contar mis males,
si es que yo sé los males de que muero;
pues son mis penas tales,
que si contarlas por alivio quiero,
le son, una con otra atropellada,
dogal a la garganta, al pecho espada.
No envidio dicha ajena:
que el mal eterno que en mi pecho lidia,
hace incapaz mi pena
de que pueda tener tan alta envidia;
es tan mísero estado en el que peno,
que como dicha envidio el mal ajeno.
No pienso yo si hay glorias;
porque estoy de pensarlo tan distante,
que aun las dulces memorias
de mi pasado bien, tan ignorante
las mira de mi mal el desengaño,
que ignoro si fue bien, y sé que es daño.
Esténse allá en su esfera
los dichosos: que es cosa en mi sentido
tan remota, tan fuera
de mi imaginación, que sólo mido,
entre lo que padecen los mortales,
lo que distan sus males de mis males.
¡Quién tan dichosa fuera,
que de un agravio indigno se quejara!
¡Quién de un desdén llorara!
¡Quién un alto imposible pretendiera!
¡Quién negara, de ausencia o de mudanza,
casi a perder de vista la esperanza!
¡Quién en ajenos brazos
viera a su dueño, y con dolor rabioso
se arrancara a pedazos
del pecho ardiente el corazón celoso!
Pues fuera menor mal que mis desvelos,
el infierno insufrible de los celos.
Pues todos estos males
tienen consuelo o tienen esperanza,
y los más sin iguales
solicitan o animan la venganza;
y sólo de mi fiero mal se aleja
la esperanza, venganza, alivio y queja.
Porque ¿a quién sino al cielo,
que me robó mi dulce prenda amada,
podrá mi desconsuelo
dar sacrílega queja destemplada?
Y él, con sordas, rectísimas orejas,
a cuenta de blasfemias pondrá quejas.
Ni Fabio fue grosero
ni ingrato, ni traidor; antes, amante
con pecho verdadero,
nadie fue más leal ni más constante:
nadie más fino supo, en sus acciones,
finezas añadir a obligaciones.
Sólo el cielo, envidioso,
mi esposo me quitó; la Parca dura,
con ceño riguroso,
fue sólo autor de tanta desventura.
¡Oh Cielo riguroso, oh triste suerte,
que tantas muertes das con una muerte!
¡Ay dulce esposo amado!
¿Para qué te vi yo? ¿Por qué te quise,
y por qué tu cuidado
me hizo, con las venturas, infelice?
¡Oh dicha, fementida y lisonjera,
quién tus amargos fines conociera!
¿Qué vida es esta mía,
que rebelde resiste a dolor tanto?
¿Por qué, necia, porfía,
y en las amargas fuentes de mi llanto
atenuada, no acaba de extinguirse,
si no puede en mi fuego consumirse?
2.7k
the horrible thing about having a platonic love is that in the end, her gonna end like a idiot to you, or just one insensible ******* or another adjective that falls in the category of someone who hurts you so bad that you will wish that you wont become closer with anyone else, but hey, this is life and there are others things that are way horrible than that, a platonic love isnt that bad, the case is that you make the person more than your live will ever woth and you cant ignore that but you cant see that, at least so clear that you will recognize that as a mistake and you keep going on, thats why i just gonna end all here, not my love for you but my life, because my life without you isnt life at all
Oct 2, 2015
Oct 2, 2015 at 6:24 PM UTC
(Isaiah, lvii.15)
The Lord will happiness divine
On contrite hearts bestow;
Then tell me, gracious God, is mine
A contrite heart or no?
I hear, but seem to hear in vain,
Insensible as steel;
If aught is felt, 'tis only pain,
To find I cannot feel.
I sometimes think myself inclined
To love Thee if I could;
But often feel another mind,
Averse to all that's good.
My best desires are faint and few,
I fain would strive for more;
But when I cry, "My strength renew!"
Seem weaker than before.
Thy saints are comforted, I know,
And love Thy house of prayer;
I therefore go where others go,
But find no comfort there.
Oh make this heart rejoice or ache;
Decide this doubt for me;
And if it be not broken, break --
And heal it, if it be.
1.9k
Y ante mi abrazo te sentí rendida...
y ante tu sumisión, mis besos sabios
pusieron a temblar entre tus labios
ansias de amor y de placer y vida...
Fue un instante no más, uno de esos
siglos-instantes que el amor nos brinda,
prometiéndole un lauro al que se rinda
primero en la batalla de los besos...
Lo ves, mujer... No cabe en la materia
la espiritualidad de lo insensible;
todo es vencido ante el irresistible
empujón de la carne y su miseria....
Y te sentí temblar como la fronda
al soplo tibio de la brisa vaga,
cuando en su trino el ruiseñor divaga
y peina el sol su cabellera blonda...
Y te sentí temblar como la onda
que su quietud sobre la arena apaga,
y como el ave que sin rumbo vaga
y un circulo invisible traza y ronda.
Y te sentí languidecer al peso
de mis labios, al peso de un gran beso
que perfumó en tus labios a un suspiro,
tal como languidece en la laguna
un cisne enamorado de la Luna,
al no hallarla en el cielo de zafiro...
Y te sentí latir, tal como late
al manotazo del ciclón la hoja,
como en la espada late, humeante y roja,
la sangre que bebiera en el combate;
tal como el sauce que su frente abate
cuando la nube en su aflicción lo moja,
o como el oceáno que se enoja
y en el escollo solitario bate.
Y te sentí vencida, con el lento
y anhelado y temido vencimiento
del sol, cuando la Noche abre la puerta
del ***** templo de su Dios ignoto;
y te sentí dormida, como un loto
en la serenidad de un agua muerta...
Y te sentí anhelante y temblorosa
cual la irisada espuma de un torrente;
como un lucero en la región silente,
insinuando una seña misteriosa;
cual la palma que agita, rumorosa,
su abanico de jade, lentamente,
como despunta en un jardín durmiente
el milagro de gracia de una rosa;
y cual la cierva cuando la acorrala
la jauría, cual ave moribunda
que pliega triste su ya inútil ala,
y adoré tu sensual melancolía
llena de rendición meditabunda,
¡y te sentí profundamente mía!...
2.1k
I saw a dancer, seductive
Trail-blazer, paint a picture
Of the future; in the future
There were silvered swans
Gliding the surfaces of mirrors,
Dragons spewing sunset
Into the sky. Later, the moon -
Distant dream-fellow, will rise
Above a plane of promises.
But the dancer tripped and fell,
I was reminded the stars are cruel
To reach with lesser fuel
Than is needed, imagined
Only in a dreamer's desperation
To depart an insensible nation.
Sep 17, 2012
Sep 17, 2012 at 5:15 AM UTC
Mi alma era una choza cerrada a cal y canto.
Acaso no sabía ni de sol ni de luz,
E ignoraba así mismo del inmenso quebranto
Que sufrió en el calvario nuestro hermano Jesús.
Una queja tan honda como un lloro doliente
La abrió luego a la vida como un cáliz en flor.
Y fué un deslumbramiento magnífico y ardiente
A través de esa brecha que le hiciera el dolor.
Y ahora está mi alma abierta a cuatro vientos.
Fue cada sufrimiento una nueva ventana
Hacia los dilatados y puros firmamentos.
Era inhospitalaria, insensible y oscura.
Dolor abrió sus puertas y ahora de ella mana
Un gran haz de luz clara de infinita dulzura.
1.8k
De cada uno de estos días negros como viejos hierros,
y abiertos por el sol como grandes bueyes rojos,
y apenas sostenidos por el aire y por los sueños,
y desaparecidos irremediablemente y de pronto,
nada ha substituido mis perturbados orígenes,
y las desiguales medidas que circulan en mi corazón
allí se fraguan de día y de noche, solitariamente,
y abarcan desordenadas y tristes cantidades.
Así, pues, como un vigía tornado insensible y ciego,
incrédulo y condenado a un doloroso acecho,
frente a la pared en que cada día del tiempo se une,
mis rostros diferentes se arriman y encadenan
como grandes flores pálidas y pesadas
tenazmente substituidas y difuntas.
1.8k
¡Preparados!
Sonido...
Cámara...
¡Acción!
Las cámaras graban la acción inexistente.
El sonido del silencio se cuela por todos lados.
No hay estímulos que generen reacciones.
No hay ideas inteligentes sobre las cuales trabajar.
Cortometraje de una idea profana.
Audiencia torpe, insensible e ignorante.
Imágenes de cuerpos desmembrados, mutilados;
un apuesto "gobernante" calmará a la sociedad.
Realidades alternas de ficción inexistente.
Emociones creadas por alguien más para ti.
Risa embotellada. Aplauso pre grabado.
Drama familiar público sin fin.
Grandes monopolios se apoderan de tu mente.
Haces lo que dicen. Piensas lo que quieren.
No eres ya dueño de ti mismo.
Debes tu existencia y tu "cultura" a él.
Las estrellas y el azteca ya no son lo que antes fueron.
Luceros en la noche. Fieros guerreros.
Tan solo defienden sus propios intereses
mientras nosotros les seguimos dando de comer.
Despidan el programa que se acabó el tiempo por hoy.
Asegurémonos de dejar limpio el plató,
así como las mentes y bolsillos de nuestros televidentes.
Apaga las luces y vámonos.
Aug 23, 2013
Aug 23, 2013 at 12:54 PM UTC
Dense and deep, the darkness
finds us at the table
with the leftovers of the day
still scattered around.
Quiet.
Silence is garrulous.
Eyes glued to nothnig.
Mind ever-moving.
Timeless images.
Pictures in black and white
clipped, disconnected.
The soul insensible to tears.
Perishing is unmitigated pain.
Aug 23, 2013
Aug 23, 2013 at 7:37 AM UTC
This time last year
flowers bloom
You forget simple things
like kissing the day
It’s enough now
..Deep love
What if I believe opposites
This life is insensible
All my sins about you
It’s enough now
Too much room
Don’t invent me
I’m not seventeen
Like her
Mar 31, 2014
Mar 31, 2014 at 4:18 PM UTC
DEAR PENPAL PEOPLE, put old lines from different pieces and call it a poem:>
when fantasy is an exile from reality
our souls glide not exist
when the insensible is reasoned insensibly
our feelings become the blood flow itself on vessels knit
when we our found in a breathless surrounding somehow
our breathes are meaningful and we are blessed in
love on earth is some of what we imagined now
if we didn't find it on it we would have invented it
for the happiness is a factor
and the hope is hopeless without a smell of grace
so surreal of how the other's presence excludes the sad chapter
words on red cheeks become to faint in pace
the place empty on a canvas is painted
and the dark finds the light it never knew
after tongue pauses the say acquainted
to speak in stares that fill up the silence's hue
but fair is not fair for a reason
thoughts muffled like an invisible bottle of wine
the heart wins to a self mind treason
and the pearl burdens the ago better than a dime
-------ravenfeels
Sep 18, 2021
Sep 18, 2021 at 7:25 AM UTC
Cómo surges de antaño, llegando,
encandilada, pálida estudiante,
a cuya voz aún piden consuelo
los meses dilatados y fijos.
Sus ojos luchaban como remeros
en el infinito muerto
con esperanza de sueño y materia
de seres saliendo del mar.
De la lejanía en donde
el olor de la tierra es otro
y lo vespertino llega llorando
en forma de oscuras amapolas.
En la altura de los días inmóviles
el insensible joven diurno
en tu rayo de luz se dormía
afirmado como en una espada.
Mientras tanto crece a la sombra
del largo transcurso en olvido
la flor de la soledad, húmeda, extensa,
como la tierra en un largo invierno.
1.2k
I can turn invisible.
I do it all the time.
You may not even notice that I’ve changed- just that one minute I'm here and then suddenly I'm gone.
It has a price.
I can turn invisible and the world gets vastly larger.
I shrink inside myself until all that’s left are atoms smaller than you can see.
Impalpable.
Insensible.
Compacted super-dense matter.
Dark and malnourished, I cannibalize .
I eat the pieces of me that are brightest and leaden with memory each time becoming smaller but denser;
heavier with the weight of myself but faded.
Stunted.
Fragile.
Small.
I can turn invisible and you wouldn't even notice
because I've been here all this time just lingering and shrinking.
The world keeps getting larger and I keep getting smaller.
It’s a feeling like butterflies.
It’s a feeling like mourning.
It’s a feeling like no other I can describe to you coming from one such as I.
Invisible.
The world gets larger.
I still get smaller.
My tears are hot and tiny. Puny things full of anger and loathing and loneliness.
I consume them.
They make me smaller.
Super-dense matter burning within these half digested bits. It's a feeling like no other.
I've reached the apex.
I've reached the abyss.
I can turn invisible.
I've been doing it all this time
and the world has gotten too big for me and I am too heavy with the world for it.
Compacted.
Super-dense.
It feels like butterflies and mourning and the pieces of me that burn.
It's hot inside my shrunken belly,
too small for you to see,
all the while I grow too fat on my tears and too full on this emptiness.
I may explode with this smallness;
this denseness;
and all that you couldn’t see will come spewing from me and the world will stop getting bigger
and I will birth a new me.
I'm a Super Nova.
I was invisible
but the weight was too great.
Compacted super-dense matter.
You couldn’t even see me.
But now you can.
Mar 12, 2013
Mar 12, 2013 at 7:16 PM UTC
À chaque année
J’vais suspendre mes espoirs et mes voeux
Sous forme de boules colorées et de flocons plastifiés
Sur une succession de branches fossilisées
Des espoirs qu’un jour j’vais t’revoir
Des voeux de santé et de prospérité
J’suis un peu égoïste donc j’vais accrocher
Beaucoup moins de voeux que d’espoirs
J’vais envelopper mon coeur et ma tête
Dans des rubans festifs et du papier crêpé
Tu pourras choisir entre mon coeur insensible
Ou ma tête confuse et inintelligible
Des sociétés de flocons blanc
Tombent du ciel et j’sais pas
Tomber m’a pas l’air si pire
Quand tu resplendis en atterrissant
Dec 21, 2011
Dec 21, 2011 at 12:33 AM UTC
Your lips -dry,
Same as how our conversations went.
All lacking basis,
just another insensible argument.
Your skin -cold,
Is this why you seem quite indifferent?
The way you stare,
There's no more sense of excitement.
Your pulse -fast.
It pounds rapidly as though on a race.
Until we grew apart,
'Cause I can no longer keep your pace.
Your status -confused.
And the severe water loss caused lethargy.
Our prognosis?
Poor. For this story ends in tragedy.
Oct 8, 2014
Oct 8, 2014 at 7:28 AM UTC
Ex-voto dans le goût espagnol.
Je veux bâtir pour toi, Madone, ma maîtresse,
Un autel souterrain au fond de ma détresse,
Et creuser dans le coin le plus noir de mon coeur,
**** du désir mondain et du regard moqueur,
Une niche, d'azur et d'or tout émaillée,
Où tu te dresseras, Statue émerveillée.
Avec mes Vers polis, treillis d'un pur métal
Savamment constellé de rimes de cristal,
Je ferai pour ta tête une énorme Couronne ;
Et dans ma jalousie, ô mortelle Madone,
Je saurai te tailler un Manteau, de façon
Barbare, roide et lourd, et doublé de soupçon,
Qui, comme une guérite, enfermera tes charmes ;
Non de Perles brodé, mais de toutes mes Larmes !
Ta Robe, ce sera mon Désir, frémissant,
Onduleux, mon Désir qui monte et qui descend,
Aux pointes se balance, aux vallons se repose,
Et revêt d'un baiser tout ton corps blanc et rose.
Je te ferai de mon Respect de beaux Souliers
De satin, par tes pieds divins humiliés,
Qui, les emprisonnant dans une molle étreinte,
Comme un moule fidèle en garderont l'empreinte.
Si je ne puis, malgré tout mon art diligent,
Pour Marchepied tailler une Lune d'argent,
Je mettrai le Serpent qui me mord les entrailles
Sous tes talons, afin que tu foules et railles,
Reine victorieuse et féconde en rachats,
Ce monstre tout gonflé de haine et de crachats.
Tu verras mes Pensers, rangés comme les Cierges
Devant l'autel fleuri de la Reine des Vierges,
Étoilant de reflets le plafond peint en bleu,
Te regarder toujours avec des yeux de feu ;
Et comme tout en moi te chérit et t'admire,
Tout se fera Benjoin, Encens, Oliban, Myrrhe,
Et sans cesse vers toi, sommet blanc et neigeux,
En Vapeurs montera mon Esprit orageux.
Enfin, pour compléter ton rôle de Marie,
Et pour mêler l'amour avec la barbarie,
Volupté noire ! des sept Péchés capitaux,
Bourreau plein de remords, je ferai sept Couteaux
Bien affilés, et, comme un jongleur insensible,
Prenant le plus profond de ton amour pour cible,
Je les planterai tous dans ton Coeur pantelant,
Dans ton Coeur sanglotant, dans ton Coeur ruisselant !
1.2k
Is it rude to lean my boots, that which touches the ground, without any kind of discretion or watchfulness, up against the toilet seat and tie them up neat, into little bows?
I'll never know, I suppose, whose bottom will sit, and **** where I thought it appropriate to mend my un-laced foot.
Is it non-sensical and insensible to stare off into space, breath heavily, and pause in mid edit, while a handsome chap, inside and out, walks past with a stranger? "Call out his name," No, heavens no, do not call out his name.
Are our engagements forever fleeting? Am I to arrange the next meeting? "It's the 21st century," he retorts one day, "I gave you the wrong idea," the next. Wrong idea? Just because we woke up and smoked a **** together and discussed the pros and cons of city life versus country life doesn't mean you gave me any ideas, I just thought you liked me.
Wrong idea? Idea, the conception, misconception, that your touching my naked body, meant that from there on out, we were going steady, and I was to call.
The 21st century, is all that it is cracked up to be.
And I am cracking up, outwardly, while I muse.
Inwardly, I am cracking.
Needless to say, Athens county should most surely stop fracking.
Nov 18, 2013
Nov 18, 2013 at 6:23 PM UTC