"insolently" poems
There's a way in which I break for beauties like you. It's a performance piece, not of the egoistic sort, but rather a birthed love-child of servility and altruism. Here's my recipe, if you ever wanted to scrutinise my path to death.
First, i stare. And marvel in awe at the carved beauty of you and wonder how many cities you've inspired.
Second is initiation. A delicate dance to either be executed from a carnal desire or a romantic want. I choose one or another, seldom do I pick both; tho they end the same way.
Third is the burning period. I will saturate myself with unwarranted loyalty at this point. I morph to their warmth and this is where it gets sick.
Fourth: obsession. If you look into my eyes you will see a longing to drown and to go back to the ocean that is you. It's potent enough to drive me insane. Consuming.
Fifth, i surrender. I'd ask you to take off that fire. I want you to still exist but to go burn somewhere else. To be a forest-fire that inspires rather than to maim me insolently.
Sixth is penance dressed masochistically. I torture myself for reasons he wouldn't understand or is justified, but I somehow think it's salubrious.
Seventh concerns with the cycle of death. I die for you, over and over again. I choose to do this.
Eighth is where my pain becomes stagnant and transition into ghosts with names.
Ninth better itself to be the point of moving on and building graves on reverence for even having a taste of perfection.
Tenth, I repeat this whole process.
Aug 12, 2016
Aug 12, 2016 at 6:40 AM UTC
The shale abounds
above the pounding waves
with perfect snapshots
of a lost, impossible world
Images beyond the skill of sculptors,
ridged, spined and rippled
frozen in rock, of rock -
who could have guessed
how long the armour would protect?
And yet -
trilobites
who ruled the shallows
when dinosaurs were but a glint
in Pachamama's eye,
are dead, gone, passed over
in the battle for existence.
While in the boiling surf below,
the jellyfish
who still blithely ride the tides
insolently call:
"Good luck wi thae shells, boys -
"Bet yis'll be safe wi thaim!"
and disappear
in a bubble of translucent laughter.
Mar 6, 2011
Mar 6, 2011 at 10:30 AM UTC
I think you may think I’m pretty
I also think that’s not enough
To make me want to know beyond your name
Or hold the different layers of warmth between your fingers
The walls stand against me tonight
There is feral love within the unseen of our dreams
Why do you croon so insolently, child?
The forces of gravity are in your favor, be keen
I want to taste your pain and insecurities
I want the exposure of your body to melt in my mouth
Cherry blossoms spring forth from desolate hymns
Autumn leaves spur foolishly among the skies
Press your throat against my earlobe
I want to hear you louder
I want to hear you clear
Your every sigh, a memory left for me to dwell on
Your every moan, an undoing, my virgin’s suicide
These are the things that matter, the more you get the less you are
The higher you are, the more you fall
The more you fall apart
These are the words that hold my youth
These are the words that hold my heart
These are the words that will never be enough, no never be enough
To make you less you and make you more mine
Yet I hope for your life, I hope for you, I do
There are subliminal messages on my birthday cake
The candle lit itself on fire cause it did not know
No, it did not know how to feel about time
Glow in the darkness with me, monsieur
There are secret worlds in your mind
That you yourself are not aware of
Let the strum of vision put you to sleep
f-f-feel it, again and again
In your bones, on my bed
You've got to close your eyes to see me better
There are ghosts in the back of my head
They want to know
Don’t tell them why
Neither one
Neither one of us
Will make it down this hill alive
Gila, Gila, Gila
They will teach us everything
Except how to mourn, except how to die
Maybe I will change
Maybe things will change
Maybe you will change your mind
Madame, I meant it when I called you pretty
Madame, I meant it when I held your hand
Piano tuner vibrations at one-hundred-fifty decibels form inside my chest
Yet, it's not enough
No, it's never enough
To hurt the soft smoldering of my insides
With the conditioned paradise of your pain.
Oct 9, 2013
Oct 9, 2013 at 3:43 AM UTC
i finally told him
I want to try.
with you.
I want to try, with you.
I want to be with you.
I want to be with you.
because it's been there
at the forefront of everything
Waiting to be said
okay. okay. like a sigh--
I had been trying all night
From the moment he threatened
To drive away, standing insolently
In front of his headlights--
but he was quiet and
all i could do was smile
and say, *but that's not
enough anymore, is it?*
no, it's not.
but I know why it isn't,
and why this poem is
short with so very
few
words.
because decisions are
yes or no, but some yes'
are too
late and
some no's
follow in suit.
Apr 14, 2017
Apr 14, 2017 at 10:11 AM UTC
As the sun embarks
Upon a journey
To the hills that it
Insolently calls home,
It becomes a painter-
A wild one,
And splashes its colours
Carelessly,
As if purging them,
And creates a pristine
Melange of dire shades
And a melee of
Cacophonous hues,
While writing a vague
Amphigory,
And swirls the clouds with
Its sugary, yellow fingers,
Like those of a gluttonous child
Who spent most of his time
Handpicking his favourite candy,
But as the clouds perform
An elegant pirouette
And make merry for the world
To ogle at,
The dreary eyes of a young girl
Find solace in the daily atrocities
Of the endless sky.
Oct 7, 2015
Oct 7, 2015 at 2:34 AM UTC
This earthly body is incomprehensible. Piles of cells which make muscle, bone and nerv(ous)es. This earthly body too heavy for a spirit--too light to touch the ground. I beg you not to weigh me down.
Please
don't weigh me down. I try in earnest to touch your face, to feel for only a moment sweet flickers of skin on skin, but I grasp right through you.
I felt about a ghost town,
ghosted around; marveled
upon shivers of what I knew
was dead. I walked
so insolently as the living
through fields that whisper
passage and rivers calling out
on moments gripped in sun.
I walked
right through
you. Ghosted around.
Scoffed at fading memories empty
pitying passages long since written down:
I read you like fiction,
ghost town: fancied myself
so solid among your intangible willows.
Ghosting around. Now
come to find seeking skin on mine I
breeze right through you.
I try a second time, a third and
come to find it's I
who's too light for living.
It is I who passes through the solid walls
and wails in caves; it's I
who fade into night irepperable by light.
I who watched the world so arrogantly
as the living
like it would pass before MY eyes. But
here I waver unbreakable in the shaking
shining of many tiny lights.
Ghost am I.
May 15, 2013
May 15, 2013 at 1:32 AM UTC
Your lips are wet,
****** clean by your tongue
darting insolently,
giving the game away.
Your lips burn red
in angry anticipation
and agitated by the
hot
raw
sting
of your racing breath.
Your eyes are ink,
you spilled it with trembling hands
over your coffee liqueur
irises but
I drank them anyway.
Aug 17, 2013
Aug 17, 2013 at 7:33 PM UTC
In a world amongst the untrue, the wrongful, the two-faced; pseudo reality is taunting at humankind insolently.
To have faith, to be hopeful, to believe; only for them to trash and scatter what you've been believing in.
The betrayed, the deceived, the deceitful; carelessly and mercilessly succumbed upon their sins. Arrogantly looming upon all, unknowing and forgetful of those who sang prayers at dawn for them.
The smiles, the tears, the two-faced; o' the mighty entities everyone praised, not even Judas would have the nerve. It's a shame humankind is a fool; easily played and toyed with.
The denial, the anger, the bargaining, the depression, the acceptance; five stages of grief that I learned, only to know that I could never master.
The spirit is willing, but the flesh is weak. The body is hollow, for the soul is in sorrow.
Feb 27, 2017
Feb 27, 2017 at 10:27 PM UTC
you have many personalities inside your head
face full of lead but I'm still not dead
I need love I need you I
I am no more than a blade of grass
no more than a shell
cast out of the sea
no more
than a bird
in migrant flight
nor am I less
than a star whose light
penetrates infinity
yet last night
When a half spent moon
Lay on the ***** of heaven
And day's heat pressed down
The sides of mountain peaks
To squeeze the desert floor,
And all the world was weariness
Which the stars wept to see,
Boldly
A desert songster
Insolently free, joyously
Lifted melody
To the moon, and teasing a breeze
Into cooling the night
And drifting the yucca's perfume
Bringing heart's ease to me
Aug 7, 2017
Aug 7, 2017 at 3:33 PM UTC
Beneath the oak tree I lie
Watching all the passers-by:
Here are a happy chubby boy
And a girl playing with a toy,
I hear them intellectually converse
Over the sins of universe:
‘Humans crave wealth with immense love,
Like the bread crust eaten by a hungry dove,
Like an elephant devouring tons of peanuts,
Like an ape wolfing down a tree of coconuts,
Like pearls bringing woes to misers,
Like swords slaying their carriers,
Like truces signed by traitors,
Calling them “The Peace Creators”
Like Pharaohs, owners of stakes,
Oppressing within lands and lakes,
Like Agamemnon taking Achilles’ prize,
Like Caesar thinking he’d immortalize.’
‘I concur,’ the girl goes on to say,
‘Our life on earth is a short stay,
The Lord above we should obey,
But creatures, insolently, go astray;
Yet He awards us generously.
Caution: we may be taken heedlessly!’
No time to waste, no time to sleep,
No time to slacken; the matter IS deep:
To the Lord above I beseech,
Oh God, have mercy on our breach.
Apr 1, 2015
Apr 1, 2015 at 1:59 AM UTC
Slouching...
From an idea suggested by Robert Graves in
On English Poetry
I. Thesis
Formalist poetry to attention stands
In ordered meters, ranks and files and lines
Of scansion as determined by disciplined minds
And set in place through skillful strategy
II. Antithesis
Other poetry slouches indolently, insolently with its louche trilby askew
Sleeping late, smoking cigarettes,
sauntering off
for a beer
Through scansion as admitted by the heart or the pancreas or something
And seldom set in place at all unless it just sort of happens
III. A Perhaps Unnecessary but Useful Conjunction
But
IV. Synthesis
All poems ramble the same neighborhood
In quest of the true, the beautiful, the good
Aug 1, 2019
Aug 1, 2019 at 4:04 PM UTC
Prayer beads got me sticking to the thickets and the trees hella lurking and occasionally ******* in the reeds
insolently indescrete I'm whisper yelling when I creep
About the voices, your beliefs, the **** you get from smoking ****
Best case you'll express some discontent with me and not just disregard opinions that I incidentally speak
Shtok Slicha, Sheket bevakasha
Admit you're secular cause Christmas is better than hannukah
Till all you Muppet *** ******* get whipped with a Yamaka
...doo
do
do
do,
Mahnahmahnah
Jul 12, 2020
Jul 12, 2020 at 9:03 PM UTC
I have remembered you.
I remember, how we
Spoke of never being separated
Living together until eternity,
When we were young, we saw things
In a different light, brighter than most people...
Some might have label, us as Thelma and Louise:
You were kind, you were adventurous, and most of all
You had a heart, but I knew you weren't a lady.
But I respected you back then. (I am puzzle by you now)
The Gambler,” you have to “know when to fold 'em.
Thank you, Kenny Rogers. And I just did it. I walked away
However, I was her best friend, imagine the treatment that she
Done to her sister, was humane,
Leaving her scar for life. (Leaving her wondering Why?)
My kind, adventurous friend: (my Thelma)
The last time I saw her, I didn’t even recognize her
Until, I pulled her sister aside and asked who she was?
Our mind has a protection emotional warning, (at least with mind)
It wouldn’t allowed me to connect her ****** memories:
her ill treatment, toward me, were uncalled for. (Mental abuse)
These days I pour my heart into my writing
Her sister, pours her pain into her cooking,
And as the saying goes practice makes perfect.
She is so good at it. Our way of getting our therapy
Without flattening our wallets. Even breaking the bank
Forgiveness must be earned. But whom or what will
Make the pain of betrayal go away
Psalm 55:12–14
12 For it is not an enemy who taunts me—
then I could bear it;
it is not an adversary who deals insolently with me—
then I could hide from him.
13 But it is you, a man, my equal,
my companion, my familiar friend.
14 We used to take sweet counsel together;
within God’s house we walked in the throng.
Sep 27, 2021
Sep 27, 2021 at 5:52 PM UTC