"insuperable" poems
Under a stagnant sky,
Gloom out of gloom uncoiling into gloom,
The River, jaded and forlorn,
Welters and wanders wearily--wretchedly--on;
Yet in and out among the ribs
Of the old skeleton bridge, as in the piles
Of some dead lake-built city, full of skulls,
Worm-worn, rat-riddled, mouldy with memories,
Lingers to babble to a broken tune
(Once, O, the unvoiced music of my heart!)
So melancholy a soliloquy
It sounds as it might tell
The secret of the unending grief-in-grain,
The terror of Time and Change and Death,
That wastes this floating, transitory world.
What of the incantation
That forced the huddled shapes on yonder shore
To take and wear the night
Like a material majesty?
That touched the shafts of wavering fire
About this miserable welter and wash--
(River, O River of Journeys, River of Dreams!)--
Into long, shining signals from the panes
Of an enchanted pleasure-house,
Where life and life might live life lost in life
For ever and evermore?
O Death! O Change! O Time!
Without you, O, the insuperable eyes
Of these poor Might-Have-Beens,
These fatuous, ineffectual Yesterdays!
2.3k
Seeing such said-to-be veracity
made spurious by truer voracity
left me in a downward maudlin spiral
caught in the gravity of pejorative thoughts.
(They were right about you)
Shown to be mendacious and meretricious
with such audacious and ignominious cupidity
that is, apparently, insatiable
by external stimulation.
These words are for thee.
(They were right about you)
A
Mistress of Verisimilitude
Sorceress of Perdition
Goddess of Rapacity
Nugatory Luddite
Fatuous Epigone
Specious and unctuous Girl
of gratuitous turpitude
These puerile and rather flavorful words
fueled by seemingly insuperable motifs
arranged in a terse, inimical verse
for a rather insipid person
who will likely never even know of them,
and yet;
such sweet felicity.
Nov 4, 2013
Nov 4, 2013 at 2:04 PM UTC
I was in one table with my enemies
like a laugh & a rant at the same time.
and yes it wasn't easy
to say words that never rhymed.
one bullet to stay sane
and two paddles in disdain.
there was no choice and hence
never possible, never the same.
at the back of the paper
are scribbles that told stories
like a dumb arrow,
to a wistful memoir;
acting like a tiny wit
to the hilarity of what to think,
on how to bear all that
transcendent and ostentatious fib.
a crazy quilt, a needle and a spindle.
to stitch beyond awkwardness,
and cut the insuperable difficulties;
but still you are not awake.
there's no turncoat
no fast cars, no boats
to rainbows & silver linings
for the black & white endings.
and round and round we go.
as the waves flush all the thoughts
like the room was as empty of guts.
the strings of uncertainties
I cannot speak of
or mourn for the next day
or whisper all the words I can say
just to ease the choke away.
Aug 12, 2013
Aug 12, 2013 at 3:01 AM UTC
I’m a witness of a love that is so pure and true
The same love without which there would be no me and you.
I’m a witness to the strength of its transforming power
Reviving and illuminating my darkest hour
I’m a witness of a touch that is killing, yet healing
Piercing through the flesh, it reaches the marrow with affection
Exploring intents and refining heart’s decisions
A touch is a touch but this one heals emotions
I’m a witness of a heart with large room for my weakness
Never accommodating sin but rebuking in meekness
Making available mercy in its realness
My heart is at rest cause His heart is my sweetness
I’m a witness of a savior whose love I cannot compare
He mend my broken heart and took away my despair
And now He protects me, even my every strand of hair.
He and I, what an insuperable pair.
I’m a witness of Jesus; the savior of me
Once on a cross He hung up high to set me free
And free I have been ever since.
As long as I live, on the Crossyde I’ll be.
Jun 6, 2014
Jun 6, 2014 at 5:04 AM UTC
I’m feeling right as rain on a window pane in a war of attrition,
And I love how the rain beats me into submission,
And I hate how I’m always in need of some reason for a division,
That riddle of forever being cut down and somehow risen up in the middle
Circumnavigate the delusional oceans of my mind,
And I love that place between being dead and alive,
And I hate how I’m there and yet still to arrive,
That riddle of being lost and found by being stuck in the middle
To be a fly on that flower on the wall,
And I love to see how it feels to be left out of it all,
And I hate to be unable to fall,
That riddle of asking “How?” and not “Why?” that comes with being trapped in the middle
I’ve written this part,
For what feels the millionth time,
I can only resign.
The scars upon my hands,
Connecting teeth-marks
The guilt within my heart,
That’s where the sickness starts,
That riddle of being sick and yet unable to survive without lingering in the middle
To be a Superman is so **** superficial,
Superb superstition feels so insuperable,
Juxtaposition in a definition of terms makes the Super seem just simple and little,
That riddle of being everything and nothing that is superimposed in the void of the middle
And I love how I’m here all alone in the middle,
And I hate how I’m here all alone in the middle
Jul 21, 2014
Jul 21, 2014 at 5:04 PM UTC
Al compás del socabón
con décimas del Perú,
conserva la tradición
Nicomedes Santa Cruz.Durante el siglo pasado
Y comienzos del presente
Era cosa muy frecuente
Un cantar improvisado:
Décimas de Pie forzado
Le llamaba la afición,
Y sólo en nuestra nación
La Décima o Espinela
Se acompañó con la vihuela
al compás del socabón.Una glosa la interpretan
cuatro décimas o pies,
el verso número diez
es uno de la cuarteta;
y sin ser un gran poeta
ni nacer con tal virtud
con gusto y solicitud
en esas noches de invierno
puede llenarse un cuaderno
con Décimas del Perú.Si rima con mucho esmero
la consonancia hará el resto:
Décimo, Séptimo y Sexto;
Quinto y Cuarto con Primero;
versos de igual terminación;
para mayor perfección
rime Octavo con Noveno
y con cada verso bueno
conserva la tradición.Octosilábica, hispana,
Fue la décima genuina,
Insuperable, divina
Es la décima peruana.
Si algún día alguien me gana
O si me llevase Jesús,
Que no se extinga la luz
En ese cantar tan nuestro.
Lo pide... un servidor vuestro:
Nicomedes Santa Cruz.
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The ineffaceable stain
Allegorical refrain
Dictates the wily antidotes for a newfound sane
They hector from a distance
Muted but militant resistance
magical hobgoblins the lifeblood of their persistence
Heterodoxy enters the stage
Cognizant of ignominy, a potent repressed rage
Succor sought, corporate media bought
A pyrrhic limelight is certainly not what was sought
I defer to dignified exemplars
I confer with callous company at vapid bars
Concluding thereby the inverse proportionality of authenticity to success
The articulations of divinity imply rigidity
sweltering soul burgeoning with light sweating an evanescent humidity
If blind before, partial and total sight reconstitute the core
omnipresent paparazzi deplores
Past pities insuperable even with pithy witty
Future pieties irrelevant to ineradicable ignominy and purported dignity
Cupid and cupidity must be related
because gold-diggers alerted to my fair share would be elated
Begrudged at every tick, tantalized by a slow torture lurid flit
I cast my ambitions into the fathomless depths
I amass provisions for a restive hibernation, enduring schlep
Redemptive powers yet articulated
Should ease the prospects of being matriculated
But is cloistered suffering an inexcusable plight
When the deep coffers derelict a modest gesture of making grievous inequities once again right?
Must I swim to distant shores
Past the barnacles beneath and the urchins on submerged sand, very sore
Landmines at the beach, pantomimes and their garbled preach
Past scattershot invective fortified by intransigent misers of conscience, the balmy resort out of reach.
Bleak bleats, meek feats, good eats
I think it is about time for a tyrannical psychology to let me off the incapacitating leash, letting me focus on actions rather than on incomprehensible speech
Jan 4, 2016
Jan 4, 2016 at 7:49 PM UTC
As she drops from the her delicate branch
Into the sea of the spineless trench
She hears the whispers of the wind
That speak the tongue she wish she sinned
It is the insuperable barrier of lust
For an alluring mind she longed to trust
That plagues her thoughts in the great fall
The last idea she can seem to recall
And so with this she must carry on
With a passion from herself she has spawn
Afar from her tree she will ponder
His every curve and color as she will wander
Into the dawn of a lost existence
Where she can forget the resistance
If only she could grasp his intricate arms
That hold her stem like she's a thousand charms
Of finest cut of diamonds
From the galactic islands
Then she could live the life of her spirits desire
But she knows she needs to extinguish this fire
So she will journey for the answer
To **** the want in her that grows like cancer
Aug 23, 2012
Aug 23, 2012 at 2:21 PM UTC
She lit a cigarette. It made a whispering inhale and exhaled a thin white thread of smoke. The woman smoked, despite that she never really liked neither the scent that stayed on her skin and clothes, nor the effect of nicotine, which was lost after a couple of packs. One day she started smoking to manifest her freedom, today she is smoking to entertain herself. It is entertaining for her to exhale white clouds out of lips and try to recognize a moments of innocent happiness in them. Each moment spent with a cigarette reminded about all other moments, which were earlier, younger...
She inhaled again and in the exhale smiled. The white mist coming out of her red lips looked magically. But it was not the cigarettes; it was her special elite beauty that made the bench she was sitting on so attractive… expensive.
Today she was in black. Luxurious half dark stockings with a black line, shining spike heels, a strict skirt and a costume, which accurately underlined her breast, in a way that gives to any passing by man an insuperable longing to undo one more button, just one more button…
If I said that her face was beautilful, that would mean nothing. The beauity of her face could be equal only to the sensation of a hot chocolate on a tip of your tongue.
Smooth, white skin, without any face’ powder. Skin that would make you touch it, and slide through it with your cheek, to find out if it is real, or to feel how real it is… Just that would be a best psychotherapy that nobody ever offered you.
What does she want? What she doesn’t need, it’s an attention… She is hungry for something sincere that rises right from depth of the soul, nurtured by warmth of the heart, delivered by the means of good thoughts and sensible words that would nurture and cure her heart… But all she has it is smoke of the cigarette. What an unfair trade…
She smiled again. What is she thinking about? May be about the age when she was a little girl and promised her mom to be a good girl. Or about a little boy who was the first to say that loves her... and the last man who meant it... or meant it in the way she needs it now. She remembered how she used to sleep cuddling with her dad, a man of the strong cologne, big hands and passionate embrace. Oh, how she wanted just to sleep next to somebody like her dad… Strong, warm, silent, sincere…
She is not smiling… Please don’t cry. Don’t cry. Client is coming…
-Hello, How are you?
-I’m perfect today! What about you?
-Apartments are there, how much is one hour?...
Mar 9, 2010
Mar 9, 2010 at 5:50 PM UTC
You wonder why young children look in the mirror
In disgust with themselves.
Why they go looking for love
In places they know it won't be found.
You can't comprehend why they,
With so much ahead of them, bury themselves
In an avalanche of notifications
Intangible, glowing distractions.
A sick, insuperable obssession
With the thought that
Connections to trajedy somehow transform them
Into more beautiful creatures.
Our generation is enthralled
With negative space.
Gaps in time;
Valleys eroding inward until
There is just
*Nothing
Left
To give.*
Happiness is out there for all
Who lift their heads from the blankness..
Let's bring ourselves back into a pure,
Simple life.
It's worth living.
Feb 17, 2014
Feb 17, 2014 at 10:15 PM UTC
Sitting on hallowed pews,
Fighting the insuperable desire
To let my leaden head
Fall into the wake of sleep,
Bobbing in and out of consciousness.
My faith is not something strengthened
By these monotones, memorized traditions.
Wasn't it He who asked us to set ourselves apart,
To not just go through the motions.
Floating in serene waters,
Expression soft,
Mind at peace and exulted up in prayer,
This rememberance of Your omnipotent love.
This feeling of awe and wonder.
This is faith for me.
Feb 26, 2014
Feb 26, 2014 at 8:52 PM UTC
Only passion aspires perfection
Love, knows perfectly the ups and downs.
It loves at the vísceras of death
And at the pinnacles of happiness.
It´s soft at the valley
Where waters made its way through
And insuperable for men to fight against.
Aug 25, 2013
Aug 25, 2013 at 8:57 PM UTC
Me estoy desmoronando, pues mi piel se ha despegado de mi cuerpo
Esta noche, buscando tu alma en este infierno caótico
Creyendo que algún día seré feliz, junto a ti.
Esperanza desdichada, olvidada y despedazada
Te necesito ahora, ya que lo único que reside en mi
Es una tristeza insuperable, digna de un cobarde.
Entro en un bosque de melancolía
Mientras tú me dices que esa no es la mejor vía.
Acarrear tanto odio, de allá para acá
Oh, ¿Será verdad
que por fin voy a estallar?
Jun 23, 2017
Jun 23, 2017 at 12:52 AM UTC
The periapt otiose stone helotage that the tactiturn builders
Rejected at Golgotha, bode the heart of Heaven has now
Become the corner-stone henting the regal worm of worms
With temerity of the spire of spires; And they look ignominious
Upon the necromancer that they pierced testifying a vision of
Living beings, a saviour, an insuperable scorned man,
The maxim of kings, the miracle man of blood and water
Invidiously feeling despised crying out loud;
''Eloi, Eloi, Lema Sabachthani'',
Whom the ill-starred crucified and divided purloin his robes
At the rolling of dice. Yet still God raised from death much alike
The Nazarene himself had disintered Lazarus, resurrecting after
Four days his friend buried at Bethany; alike too Tabitha
Which (Simon), Peter, presented before the widows and believers
commanding alive in the name of the Almighty Holy Lord
From the clutches of the darkened Sun, clinging to the
Dark side of the moon within a star-less sky
Annointed the way to the Father.
ELEETE J MUIR
Jan 28, 2018
Jan 28, 2018 at 9:35 PM UTC
Have you found
It yet
I ask
Or found insuperable
The task
Discovering,
Uncovering
The surface layers
Smothering
The truth beneath
The buried past
The everlasting
Shadow caste
On sanctity's
Iconoclast
The temple smashed
The system crashed
The score is settled
In the blast
And so I ask
Again
Have you
Completed what
You set to task
Or just discovered
Some uncovered
Remnants of
The ancient past
Forgotten
Lying eons
Rotten
Not in some
Sumptuous tomb
Of regnant opulence
Exhumed
But in the gloom
Of fell
And fallen
Kingdoms
Mortals
Bow in awe in
So I ask again
Have you
Found any a retelling true
Or just library books
Renewed
Feb 8, 2019
Feb 8, 2019 at 9:17 AM UTC
Behind that beautiful face,
An underlying harsh reality.
Unknowingly facing tremors
That puts you on the brink of sanity.
A condition so unbearable,
It just seems so insuperable.
It might hurt to the pulp,
Even swallow you in one big gulp!
You may feel heavy inside,
But don't let your self abide.
It may be a brutal adversary,
But you have puissant weaponry!
If a need comes from the blue,
You have allies by your side!
Know that we'll be here for you
--we'll fight for you with pride.
Jul 19, 2016
Jul 19, 2016 at 11:39 PM UTC
There is one companion
Who travels with me
Wherever I go
He possesses more voices
More faces
Than droplets
In the oceans
He is rising
From obscurity
To dismantle his own oppression
To set free his voices
To reveal the truth
And lead the way
There is one companion
Who remains always with me
One who has drowned
Among the voices of others
Sunk deep in the muddy slurry of hierarchies
Slipped repeatedly
On the slopes of material acquisition
For too long
Yet somehow
His staff has been found
His boots have grown claws
To grip the ice of life
And with each step
The cold winds of emptiness
Flutter and wane
And the blue freeze of isolation
Yields to the warmth of the eternal sun
Child of sun
Father of insuperable unity
Emerge and celebrate
Your future
Sep 15, 2016
Sep 15, 2016 at 1:42 PM UTC
A tense mind, forsaking abilities
Days passed can not be recovered
The suffering brought upon, by choice
Fear arisen at the thought of the inevitable
I scorn at my sight; their pride, mistaken.
Excuses granting an escape, to relinquish
Forces I seek, to deny that which could have been
Regret masked, by an expression unseen
A promise to change, unmet by time's progress
Lies spoken; their trust, misplaced.
A resolve is thought, a distraction is discovered
A minute becomes an hour, an hour, a day
The effort becomes insuperable - the load does burden
To find others, does alleviate
A sleepless night, my own cause; perseverance, they presume.
An unsteady hand, prepares notes anew
Legibility is minimal, as panic progresses
Absorption is improbable - an attempt at redemption, in vain
Expletives remembered, relevant now
A head that aches; difficulty, they concede.
Eyes wake, pleading for rest
A disheveled appearance, hides no worry
The many lines crammed, indistinguishable
A dire situation, chiseling a cheat
Failure admitted; their forgiveness, undeserving.
May 8, 2017
May 8, 2017 at 5:58 AM UTC
🎆🎇 Happy 4th! Everyone! 🎇🎆
It’s summer, hurry up. Let’s not waste a minute.
Where’s the sunscreen, where’s the party, who’s knutching who?
The sky was crowded with bright, balloon stratocumulus clouds, hanging mountain-like in the air. How can something that big just float in the sky? Either the Greek gods are holding them up, or they defy reason.
So, we’re in Athens, Georgia and apparently, Lisa, Kim, Bili, Leong and I are ‘too much club.’
We’re insuperable - too rowdy, too loud, too late, we laugh too much, hand-ringing about haircuts, shoes and romantic connections.
Sorry, if we’re not co-signing for everyone’s existential angst - we’re 5 girls on vacation.
Well, except Leong, she’s just joined us - fresh from Macau China. She’s got dark-takes on the world situation, saying things like, “enjoy it while it lasts.” I tried to explain the evils of nihilism - how once you let nihilism materialize, it’s a fog that swallows you.
If you read the news - which is geared toward the grisly - it’s only going to tap you out. There are too many issues. Our group is a mix - a salad of feminism, environmentalism, stoicism - we’re ism’d out. We’re Asian, black, southern, liberal and communist, woke and anti-woke - what we DO have in common is - we’re summarized.
‘Summarized’ Americans, swim all day and sit by the pool all night talking and catching up. We also water ski, shop, roller sk8, play frisbee golf, go out to dinner and pull-out-the-stops for a party now and then.
Some nights, we stream ‘Suits’ and make emo-boy sexualized comments when Meghan comes on - but we like her - more or less - let her take her shot. Marry that complicated princeling and let every moment be drama.
Since the school year’s measured in work, let’s measure summer by fun and silly drama.
Dillio?
.
.
A song for this:
Fools Rush In (Where Angels Fear To Tread) by Bow Wow Wow
Family Affair (feat. Alan Scaffardi) by Papik
Jul 4, 2024
Jul 4, 2024 at 10:16 PM UTC
She sleeps and I ponder.
A vast grave of emotions, we wonder.
Individually lost, insuperable together.
Heavy hearts, floating like a doves feather.
We do not run yet,
But we can crawl together.
For life has cursed us with knees and elbows as tough as the night is dark.
Knees and elbows as rough as bark.
We met in the midst of out woes.
In this valley at its most low.
Life left us for dead, in separate alleys.
Only time would let out alleys intersect a few blocks down the road.
Together we will kneel, then stand.
Together our hearts will beat, out lungs will breath.
Together we will step into our promise land.
We will overcome this deficit in the comprehension of love.
Jan 28, 2017
Jan 28, 2017 at 4:11 PM UTC
Close as two sisters can be
Sister Sue and Mary Lou you’ll see
They grew together then went their way
Bound by emotion. A hug is all they say.
Sister, Sue, and Mary Lou
Twins, lives in twined they grew
They held each other, love and Tears
Streamed through their eyes mixed fears
Every day they spoke on the telephone
Keeping in touch, never felt alone
They mostly got along hardly fought
To find husbands is what they thought
Sister, Sue, and Mary Lou
Were each other’s glue
Boyfriends came and went
Their emotions slowly spent
Even though they lived apart
Relationships shaped The same heart
Couplings unsustainable they’ll broke
Praying perfect companion heaven spoke
A tragic way for sister Sue, and Mary Lou
Destined to be just them too
The closest Bond of love, they knew
They wanted more then sad depressed blue
Time marched by sister, Sue, and Mary Lou
Realized love was not meant to be
If one in love, not the other, Three off-kilter
Through rose colored glasses Jaded filter
It was to be for all to see An emptiness
Brewing in them a deep sadness
This insuperable story of twins,
Who achieved A great deal,
Because they never gave up
They never gave in, they Believed
An epic poem
Inspired songs
1) The wind beneath my wings
By Bette Midler
2) One is the loneliest number
By Three Dog Night
This poem was intended for the webster’s word of the day Challenge in July. The criteria is to complete a poem within that day. Clearly that was not the case . Still, I left the word and definition as an afterthought.
The idea of Websters word of the day challenge for me is to learn new words. after all the knowledge is for my edification.
I encourage everybody to try it. It’s not as easy as it looks. Message me for more information or BLT
Sep 16, 2024
Sep 16, 2024 at 3:23 PM UTC