"insinuations" poems
~
*scarlet wind sails
upon an ultrasounding wave,
postcards from tiny islands;
nebulous, indefinable, floating,
fresh as a field
of crackerjacks;
nodding happily
from minute one,
celebrating the mountains
and valleys of being alive
in excelsis; irresistible and impish
in its understated insinuations.*
~
Dec 12, 2022
Dec 12, 2022 at 12:08 PM UTC
The magic of the moment appeals to the heart
The essence of self-expression portrays in fine art
Denounced of all logic abstract with precision
Her image appears to lack her intuition
Taunted like bees shaken in a jar
The artist offends her emotional scars
A nerve twitches, the soul excites the old
A mind so wise yet feebly slow
Love as a game extinguishes the flame
A pretty girl in my picture, I’ve forgotten her name
The ways of creativity feed a fire
Her innocence is lost in my desire
Beauty and passion a lust to stay young
The heart beats of wonder before the guilt comes
The wink of an angel the cast of a spell
The adolescent fear of kiss and tell
Broken like glass then falls to the ground
A tender young heart lost and never found
And so the artist hides behind his creation
Only to expose such vague insinuations
Aug 26, 2013
Aug 26, 2013 at 2:16 PM UTC
Your words are heard throughout my changing mind
Saturating every part of my senses
Profusely renouncing all of my kind affections
Can you not see me building my shield of defenses
Your exasperation with life itself crushes my resolve
To see this world with you in a better light
As you seem to distrust each one who crosses your path
When I know each dog I see does not bite
All your subtle insinuations, unbendable points of view
Places a shadow on the light here in my heart
Yet, I will not permit you to ever steal my joy
Even if from your presence, I must forever part
I have always been in awe of your judgment and your wisdom
Deeply respected your opinion as your own
However, I will not be forced to think and act as you do
So for now, I will leave you alone
Jun 27, 2010
Jun 27, 2010 at 12:38 PM UTC
My November comes conceiving sorrows
Despite layers over layers, the **** shows
Pregnant sorrows are like still borne children
And still borne children, the fiction of the unaware
Always stuck in that muddle of grief,
Not begun; yet not leaving
Out here, November Nights gain an hour
And, my sleeplessness too
Y'day night I woke up in three tunnels of time
As if, passing through some corridors and trapped
Somewhere; for a long time
I feel an envious abandon to
All those trees that felled their leaves
Through the trees and felled leaves
November gives me a cold lonely road
To tread, more backwards than ahead...
Mired lines mar the November vision
Can insinuations offer 'clarity on Intentions?'
Fall fells a lot, below the bare branches
Awaits a lot of leaves, crushed hopes and dreams
I lay bare, awaiting this November to turn over
@ all rights with Author
Nov 10, 2016
Nov 10, 2016 at 3:14 PM UTC
Your incessant snide comments
and stupid insinuations,
make me sick.
Have your fun, and mock me some more.
It's no wonder I hate you most of all.
You just can't stand it can you!
You can't let me be happy,
you silly grinning *******
Go **** yourself.
Jul 22, 2012
Jul 22, 2012 at 10:59 AM UTC
Once upon a time flesh was my lover
and I was wrapped in its sturdy density
held together by the epidermis
made mobile by
my army of Vertebrates
to stand tall
and strut
when possible.
Vain was the brain
the cerebrum conspired with the nerves
to move me to its bidding
to walk, to run, to coit
and afterwards do some grocery shopping
the heart was worse than the brain
in its dramas and insinuations of love
that made the poor gastrointestinal tract
a home
to the alien and willowy creatures
such as butterflies
tsk
and I
am shaken
to my very core
all my molars and incisors grinding itself
for its beauty is its pain
The brain was betrayed
by its own Amygdala he he he
Yes, I remember all the mechanisms working
In their own tiny kingdoms
serving the benign John or Anna or Sarah
even if it just a simple task of jacking off
if you could picture the neurons
stretching elastic to reach
that mental part
where both ****** and fear reside.
Still in the end when the earth eats you whole
like the predator it really is
all that is left is me
bare bones
a proof of greatness or mediocrity
stark and irrefutable
even if vanity denies the meaning of my bareness,
by inventing the soul.
Aug 19, 2011
Aug 19, 2011 at 9:03 PM UTC
Truth is as solid as stone,
melting quickly with the application of heat,
falling into whatever mold is left in place,
trickling from container to container,
searching for an empty vessel,
draping over negative space,
and so I drown in well meaning ambition,
or perhaps pervasive confusion,
the vague insinuations of men who claim understanding,
yet do not give freely their true philosophy,
for you must be careful when fighting against monsters,
for fear of becoming abominable as well,
for if you stare into the abyss long enough,
they say it stares into you,
and so I find myself chasing shadows.
Soon calcification sets in,
and I am left staring at a product of liquefaction,
through the process of petrification,
no words escape my lips,
and truth falls on deaf ears,
a lone statue in a forest of fictitious geometry.
The fear is swallowed by the search,
and in finding nothing there is peace,
for the quiet breeds tranquility,
rest is found in solidarity,
in loneliness there is solace,
for if God reveals himself in nature,
his absence is revealed in human behavior.
Nov 25, 2014
Nov 25, 2014 at 3:44 AM UTC
Elevator eyes
Scanning the golden body disregarding the operator inside
Trying to find the right button to push, hoping they’ll be the one to get the ride
Seventeen, but actually thirty.
Not ******** but in jail.
Butterfly
Still at the mercy of time
In this **** caterpillar body
Though I am young
Short
Blue-eyed and blonde,
I am not a fool
Go ahead and help yourself to that empty seat at my table
Ask me questions about work, school, or life as if you care
Try to make me blush at your ****** insinuations
But you won’t.
You became insignificant the moment you sat down
I know what you’re thinking
I know your tactics
I know what’s going on inside your head
What you want.
I am not a fool, Elevator eyes.
Aug 31, 2014
Aug 31, 2014 at 8:10 PM UTC
In an effort
To be rewritten
Or rather
Be rid of
A lack of remittance
And a reputation there of
I leap into the darkness
Of a complicated mind
One must ride the lightning
To justify the lines
Though these insinuations
Seem intended to intrigue
Never mistake a Traveler
For some old hippy freak...
Jun 15, 2016
Jun 15, 2016 at 4:22 PM UTC
It's a good time -- (the anger's just for show)
Hunger & death? -- who knows if it's really there!
-----
Amid the fairy tales ; amid the gro---
tesque , macabre insinuations, -- where
•
Mistrust cuts to the depths of the heart's blood
& we don't believe in what we hear or see
-----
When all we feel real is misunderstood
& we "fight for freedom" but are not free
•
Little lost child ( your anger's just for show?)
Hunger & death? -- my god! Such stories!
-----
Told by idiots! --- what do you really know?
We would ask you but we're much too afraid
••
••
Little Mary & Joey in my sight
In the streets by day ; in my dreams by night
Dec 27, 2013
Dec 27, 2013 at 2:56 PM UTC
So i threw it back up on them
All the expectations, accusations, imaginations, insinuations, detestations, frustrations that they forced down my neck
When I finally opened my mouth
I painted them with it
Jan 11, 2019
Jan 11, 2019 at 5:58 PM UTC
Eyes bewitched by a heart lost
She beckons me with gentle insinuations of a delicate curve here,
a supple one there
A smile that whispers a promise of tender affections,
a grace that captivates the imagination
The empty cavity beats like a metal detector
warmer…faster…louder…
as I make timid steps one in front of the other
warmer…faster…louder…
until the rhythmic tension forces action.
Part lips and utter broken glass over muddled first impressions
………………
Another clumsy step on the dance floor of my love story
Nov 25, 2013
Nov 25, 2013 at 5:39 PM UTC
A deepening hue, packaging crisp and dry,
Telescoping skies, hard bitten with dust
A sly moon, scarred and half-lit.
It didn’t end with a whimper
After all,
But brightly and loudly like a celebration.
It was proud of its going.
Colour spawned from a devil’s jaw, not
A god’s dull reason. Fire everywhere,
Referencing volcanic insinuations, the afterbirth of a planet.
The last man standing
Was burnt to a crisp
Dec 16, 2015
Dec 16, 2015 at 3:20 PM UTC
I don't think, sometimes
before, or after, I speak.
And I'm only thinking now,
after hours of antagonizing myself,
and I know we'll have to speak,
maybe today or tomorrow,
but I think I deserve
for you to think sometimes as well.
I really hate being sorry when I'm not
and I really hate saying I love you
just so you can stare offfffffff
and ignore me.
And I really hate the
insinuations and suggestions
that your cold shoulders, sighs, and apathy send me
so that I do think, sometimes
before, or after, you speak,
that maybe you don't care for my company
quite as much as I care for yours
even if I know that's not true <3
Jul 8, 2014
Jul 8, 2014 at 9:27 PM UTC
The battering ram of the underclass cruelty had left pocket marks in his dark skin as the quarrelling customers threw down cash just to ****** it back up as though they were bartering against each other for due time and money owed. He did nothing, save sit there and blink. I thought to myself it almost looked as though he was counting each second in the brief flutter of his eyelids. Open and closed they went, up and down, on and on. The two men were still bickering, each insisting the other owed more than he. My orange juice had begun to sweat in my hand, and I was anxious to eat my late night snack. I considered quietly persuading the two boisterous fellows to conclude their business and exit, but I feared what form their anger might take when reassigned to my annoying interjection. Saying nothing, I waited, testing my own patience and hoping fiercely they could move along. Some fifteen minutes later when all insults and insinuations were spilled out into the open air like oil into the ocean, the duo finally exited and I made my purchases, thankful to be rid of their company, and as I left I saw him sitting, stoic, still blinking rhythmically, not a word nor breath escaping his lips.
Sep 10, 2015
Sep 10, 2015 at 4:34 PM UTC
My insecurities often scream louder
than the little voice inside of me.
Broadcasting and blasting out of stylish speakers
for all the boys and girls to see.
I've been held down,
by demons with travelling cloaks,
woven with invisible tapestry
clutched about their throats.
So to remove the words
I have so carefully purged
out my enigmatic system,
the ones caught and stuck inside my chest
with unusual strength and mysticism.
I took my hand,
jammed it deep down through my mouth
gagged on my fore fingers a second longer
in order to drag them out.
The vile words,
drowning in biled verse,
I drug them out through dreary space
and hung them with my shirts
I aired out days before.
The score of the fight
lies not in the aired out and forgotten,
but in the formations of tones
and phonetic clones
tangled in my web of rotten
sceptical insinuations.
Indelible infractions,
and taking back my sinful actions
are recanting hate, dispelling fate
burning holes within my reactions.
They've altered my vision,
long blurring scenes of scattered days
glass nails shattered in iron blenders
banishing frantic forays.
I've found it easier, less chaotic
to accept instances where I've felt at home.
I've come to enjoy devilish voices when I've lost it
because at least then, I'm not alone.
Jul 18, 2014
Jul 18, 2014 at 4:57 PM UTC
Dear poet on HP, G..C; Are you familiar with Dukeoftx?
SMc. Hu? Do you know them it's imperative
I know please.
I am just a time traveler like the love of my life...but only he or his significant other, his brother her grown daughters, son, parents might know about reading old love letters, written for me alone, not for his significant other" finding them
distant and faint memories!,
our perils became.
As for being trapped by disillusionment
with misleading comments it
isn't happening with me.
I am, and have been open minded.
I know when comments
aren't from the love my life
himself,
writing back
but from others
who wish to inflict further
isolation
Condemnation.
I don't dwell on such
cheap shady manners.
I am so used to this kind of cruel retoric insinuations to make me feel inadequate and late a nothing, as if I remain in the midst of such shallow concerns.
I know who loved me; how when, where he loved me.
Money wealth given earned or bought to those by his side is not happiness. Neither is deceiving an old sweet Caroline like me who remains lovely loving someone behind their masks visiting Hp.
My beloved will always be the love of my life, and deep down I his very own, sacred imaginary friend companion.
Bittersweet as Rhett Butler, to Scarlet told.
It's my misfortune, as in Gone W The Wind
but knowing I was loved truly, wished well near or far to me, this is very healing
~~~~~
If on the other plane it is the love of my life commenting
saying I am but
faint so and so,
like I too say it's my misfortune. I rather die feeling once upon a time loved then never loved. Until someone loved me I became somebody.
~~~
Come to me anytime
Beautiful love divine in spirit and in form young old sick healthy, poor rich.
I forever love you
I pledge my love to yourdd.
~~~~
BY:Karijinbba
All Rights.
Jun 11, 2024
Jun 11, 2024 at 10:54 PM UTC
Underlying secrets hidden well within the drift currents of civil conversations
Accusations and insinuations all sensually dressed as ordinary citations
Anticipations build while I wait for you to stroll through, my double doors.
You open it wide and come inside As I beg for you to stay for more…
of your stimulating conversations mischievous contemplations
Enlarged by the sight of your muscular arms
Please don’t be alarmed!
I realize that my intentions are unprofessional and corrupt
But I can’t get enough
As I fantasize and visualize you between my thighs,
I won’t deny
these intense vibes of pleasure you send
As I’m more inclined to live in
this moment -
No excuses – just own it
As we realize our omitted restrictions
mutually hidden well within
our underlying conversations
Oct 28, 2013
Oct 28, 2013 at 4:09 PM UTC
I look out the peek hole, how obscure; everything is so small on the other side of the ancient blue door. And with a world so dark you would think the light’s shining rays would be so eagerly compassionate to leak its way in. I would rather fight than hide, for all that has ever disclosed light unto my destiny, even still I remained blind. The past is sequencing me like a storybook that has already been written. Bitten into the forbidden fruit too many times, in excess—his stomach cannot muscle such atrocities, diagnosis him with food poisoning.
Recklessly disputing against my own words, desperately reaching for whatsoever crawls under my nose. Well, I suppose I have managed as you can see. In a panic somehow I was able to scavenge up a couple of good things. It is about time I pull my own weight, time is ticking, and nobody is waiting on you. Master fate your late, eternity does not hesitate ither, and I have steered off the path for quite awhile—opportunity, hope, trust in you—I am late, but do not make insinuations, do not count yourself out just yet. Have you forgotten who you are? Possibly so, I find the present as good as any to give myself another venture to demonstrate, moreover discover, just why I have been granted to come along solely for you, master of fate—ready, set, explosions.
Mar 9, 2014
Mar 9, 2014 at 3:46 PM UTC
Take all that is left inside
Make a place to control the design
It only hurts when you want it to
Keep the answers in the walls and hide
Its sensible and lost its taste
Contracting labors and more burdens
While humming sounds of broken tapes
It was so simple then
Casual and cool with all our friends
It was so easy then
Twist our way through all the insinuations
As locked doors hide the tears
Lose the questions of flaccid danger
Take a chance on humble aspirations
Provoking thoughtful comical gimmicks
As this darkness finds peace in the remains
Finding a place to question martyrs
Send away the places all the secrets stay
It was so simple then
Casual and cool with all our friends
It was so easy then
Taking all that we can give
And all the lies make up for every sin
Hollowed hallways hold the sounds
Let the anger shake the doubt
It was so simple then
Casual and cool with all our friends
But it wasn’t easy then
Masking all the words we never said
Nov 6, 2017
Nov 6, 2017 at 5:57 PM UTC
hope is a hoax
a sick joke that always ends
like a punch in the throat
cage up my guts and
crush the butterflies
departing my vacant stomach
i've grown sick of all the lust
that always crawls over us
invisible cockroaches scurrying
across emaciated flesh
give me the needle the drug
part my skin succumb to sin
addicts trying to kick our habit
desperate for the next fix
whispers and insinuations
an endless simulacrum
an earnest emulation built
on selfish impulses that
never fail to corrode and
corrupt until there's nothing left
of us but shattered shells in
self-made hells begging
for another bump
and while no god presides over
this unending infatuation
i've asked the skies to answer why
i am always second rate
gathering dust while
you **** a hollow husk
of a human being
am i the crux
of true love or
am i just a crutch
Feb 14, 2016
Feb 14, 2016 at 6:45 PM UTC
Reality strikes like a gong
stories foretold and whispers take turns
such a wild-fire unrestrained
spreading in empty cases
across the unheard sounds
within the pressure of their minds
Sometimes, time just makes it right
and the sound of the rain
slowly sweeps the prejudiced remarks
as their gestures are suffocated
in the remnants of their insinuations
across my inhabited alacrity
In the whispers of my dreams
I felt their creeping shadows
those words filled with judgement
apprehended inside unreformed reasons
across the many eyes that I see
logged with unmovable and manic chaos
Nov 24, 2018
Nov 24, 2018 at 5:25 AM UTC
constantly rehashed
long thread spun out
every chance
chokes
Over
And
Over
Again
rewind button
never sticks
tape
never breaks
lassoed memories
drug in kicking
and screaming
allegations
insinuations
half-truths
blows the lid off
feigned civility
while anger
simmers savagely
under
pursed lips
May 9, 2014
May 9, 2014 at 1:33 PM UTC
Forever have I feared the lashing,
the deep cut of criticism,
a stroke from the heart of man,
afraid of his own shadow,
observations cut from the cloth of reflective lack of sight.
Man speaks from behind a thin veneer of authority,
a broken vessel,
water spilling from the spaces between his teeth,
lies pressed tight against cheek,
silver tongue writhing against insecurities,
ignorance and misguided intentions.
Like a crown of thorns,
the oppression of shame,
of mistakes,
and obscenities from out of the mouth of babes,
a magnet to muddied words,
wrought of sovereignty,
guided by prints and yardsticks,
lines drawn with precision,
written with a pencil shaped sweetly,
with razor blades,
points at each end.
Sin,
a note from the reed of Christianity,
righteous indignation,
against riotous insinuations,
he is a good Christian,
well intentioned,
but lacking in charity,
though child of God still,
be it in name or idea,
abstraction or guiding hand,
and he would have others feel shame,
for misery so loves his company,
despite never wishing to feel the same,
seething with fear at his own visage,
afraid of his reflection.
I have no objections to his words,
no bulwark against the sting,
the sharp ring of truth,
half or full,
in my stomach up to the guard,
I have nothing to say on moral relativity,
I have only this to say to your inquiry:
I will apologize for my actions,
but I will not apologize for who I am,
for I am a friend to agency,
and have no lack of ambition.
Jun 18, 2014
Jun 18, 2014 at 5:58 AM UTC
Ring Ring!! goes the phone
He hears her, he sees her
Calling out in tunes programmed just for her
Can’t wait to hear the smile in her words
No idea what they will talk about today
Maybe he’ll tell her how boring class was
She’ll tell him how she had writer’s block all day
Either way letting each other know the day just begun
The very minute he pressed the green button
Got 50-maybe scenarios off the top of his head
None was anything like what the next 5seconds delivered
A 3rd voice calls, the link severed
Well guess it’s true what they say
2 is company, 3 a crowd
Two questions accompanied by
Shadows of insinuations and accusation
Plunge right through his chest
Resting heavy on the heart
Breaking ground for a long long night
©Belema.S.Ekine
May 3, 2017
May 3, 2017 at 9:37 AM UTC