"intending" poems
Time is moving
In a stream of wonderous murderous intending, sacrificing sadness,
My ****** devotion, ought to shed blood in a distorted dark was but an perishable spring dream, looping without an end through nights,
On sleepless nights, the ghosts of the past gets stuck within a river of pure thoughts, a lake birthing memories in secret, subsconsciously,
Discard your common sense, sacrifice your sanity for just this second,
When the moon stands high in the sky, a bonfire seals the nights start
To its creeping shadows, they do not crackor sparkle under the twinkling stars of this celestial ceiling of pure majesty for nyctophiles,
Even our natural satelite agrees, dying itself into a lunatic scarlet red,
Darkness upon darkness, with layers of shadows overlapping one another as the light begins to dim, thanks to the disappearing moon,
An imaginated landscape, created from only pure rage and fury,
But whereabouts of the heart, are likely to be lost to the thought of love I carry within a broken chest of treasury, losing all emotions,
Even if my scarlet eyes were to be losing their ability yet to see,
I would be able to count on you to guide me, through the everlasting,
The dream I awoken from, was a moonlit night turning crimson, losing its radiance through the soft eclipse of the moon, gently, slowly
But you were there, within the far away landscape drawn in my heart
~ Umi
Mar 30, 2018
Mar 30, 2018 at 7:36 PM UTC
I make a lot of enemies without intending,
They outnumber me greatly with their size
but they cannot withstand the wrath of fury;
I come ****** but unbowed to these wimps
Hence, they unleash a band of Anthropophagus
Well, I have the ***** to slain these monsters
The sight of them is infuriating, less frightening
I gave them something to mourn - I have to
Again, I walked away from the battle unbowed
Because I have what it takes to **** a mockingbird
But, it didn't make me feel better or worse
I have to put up with them and their excesses
Now, you will understand why I never turn to see
who stab me in the back - it's not worth turning
Jun 14, 2015
Jun 14, 2015 at 2:07 PM UTC
A fisherman is drifting, enjoying the spring mountains,
And the peach-trees on both banks lead him to an ancient source.
Watching the fresh-coloured trees, he never thinks of distance
Till he comes to the end of the blue stream and suddenly- strange men!
It's a cave-with a mouth so narrow that he has to crawl through;
But then it opens wide again on a broad and level path --
And far beyond he faces clouds crowning a reach of trees,
And thousands of houses shadowed round with flowers and bamboos....
Woodsmen tell him their names in the ancient speech of Han;
And clothes of the Qin Dynasty are worn by all these people
Living on the uplands, above the Wuling River,
On farms and in gardens that are like a world apart,
Their dwellings at peace under pines in the clear moon,
Until sunrise fills the low sky with crowing and barking.
...At news of a stranger the people all assemble,
And each of them invites him home and asks him where he was born.
Alleys and paths are cleared for him of petals in the morning,
And fishermen and farmers bring him their loads at dusk....
They had left the world long ago, they had come here seeking refuge;
They have lived like angels ever since, blessedly far away,
No one in the cave knowing anything outside,
Outsiders viewing only empty mountains and thick clouds.
...The fisherman, unaware of his great good fortune,
Begins to think of country, of home, of worldly ties,
Finds his way out of the cave again, past mountains and past rivers,
Intending some time to return, when he has told his kin.
He studies every step he takes, fixes it well in mind,
And forgets that cliffs and peaks may vary their appearance.
...It is certain that to enter through the deepness of the mountain,
A green river leads you, into a misty wood.
But now, with spring-floods everywhere and floating peachpetals --
Which is the way to go, to find that hidden source?
4.6k
pretty words for pretty girls
*courageous caress of a send key pressed,
after practicing
speechless up to the assumed,
up to assured point of perfect,
flawlessness, visible in each invisible breath,
pauses full of poignant stories unspoken
but eye cleared visible for seeing the future*
pretty words for pretty girls
*intuition incorporates superstition,
unending, intending infatuated moon gazing,
but not pagan worshiping, no it is love worshiping
your hiding cave places are moon apertures dark spots,
impenetrable to my eye’s naked telescoping,
but heartbeats spring my unharnessed love poems to you
me and millions whisper in full certainty of our
lost but beloved presences, moon stored for us,
my darling dares the light shine upon my bay,
here to me, our path, a moonlight waving hand
provides on many nights, a clear direction to follow,
pseudo-thrills of continence that my vision uncovers,
but my body knows is but a poor substitute*
pretty words for pretty girls
*my disease has a diagnosis.
your body attacked,
your body reacts,
defeats the infector,
remembering the next time
that disease comes round
how it got beat prior
and how to do it again*
so how come I’m falling love once more?*
Aug 3, 2019
Aug 3, 2019 at 5:20 PM UTC
On a New Year's Day in Reykjavik
I stood at the very top of that old city,
intending to visit the Cathedral there.
All at once, there it was. And it was in charge.
A gust of wind so strong that it grabbed and
slid me, speeding across several metres of ice,
only to slam, face first, into the broad chest
of a resident British Embassy staffer.
Genially, he smiled down and introduced
himself with gentlemanly aplomb.
No wonder they had an empire. At least for a while.
Oh, that wind! Ever seen snow moving horizontally?
Or felt a hole being drilled, in one ear, almost out the other?
Deep in the ancient countryside, on the way to the sea,
is a lonely valley, held captive by the power of a brutal
Gigantic troll. There, this wind has its greatest rival.
Even if you can't see them, just tell me you don't feel them...
In Reykholt now, that bullying wind buffets a cozy house,
but to no avail, for angels watch over a newborn baby girl.
Her mother, just a girl when we first met,
now sings tenderly to her own new daughter.
Both are princesses of this beautiful island country.
Finding kindness, that tough old wind has sent
Halldora's lullaby across the open ocean,
over wide blue skies, and onto this snowy prairie
where I hear it and cradle it softly, and so gently, to my heart.
Jan 10, 2016
Jan 10, 2016 at 7:10 PM UTC
this
poem
started off
intending to be the shortest poem in the world
nay,
more aptly
in the whole wide, wide open uni-verse
but ambition overtook it
and it aimed to stretch far and wide
an Aristotelian hubris, you know
like the ambition of Macbeth
going beyond what Mrs Macbeth intended
and so this ambitious little poem of ours expanded
starting meek as grass
growing zealous
and went beyond itself and its kind
this
poem
that
had such humble beginnings
that dared to want to be the shortest poem in the world
but turned out loquacious
and it could go on, it said,
beating all length, breadth and dimension
and would have -
but it got into convulsions and fits
and shock
when it had gone beyond its shortness
and it couldn’t even spell
couldn't even get words right
floating in a soup of red lines in Word or in Mac’s Pages
and so it took its own life
or someone stabbed it like they did to o’erweening Macbeth
or to our poor, poor misunderstood Rasputin who being a Saint was thought a Devil
but was all humble
as the shortest poem in the uni-verse
Oct 29, 2011
Oct 29, 2011 at 10:06 PM UTC
She did her happy dance
As she walked down the stairs
And that hug was the evidence for unconditional love
Like that fight between pomegranate seed and the teeth
Love burst at the right pressure
She did her happy dance
And visioned eternity
But I don't believe in unconditional love
So right before dawn I prepared to leave
As I do every time I sense love on the horizon, rising with the sunrise
Take me with you, she said - let's run
I've been choked before - I thought
And told her I'll be going for a spin
Spider webs were colonizing my bicycle
I find freedom as the air shapes my face into a smile
I am far now, in that shed were I hid myself
And I'm not intending to return
I will be watching the sunset alone
Her eyes were intending to nail the sun
On the wall of our destiny
I speak highly of the sunset
But she insisted to capture the light
She believed in unconditional love
I believe in unconditional positive regard
Jun 24, 2014
Jun 24, 2014 at 1:08 AM UTC
I won't be the weak one,
Although when I think and speak
I may tweak some I'm just
Searching for reasons
To justify the swell.
I will ride the undertow
Sunken beneath bass lines
And blunt tails
Intending to take it slow.
But I get a little excited sometimes, you know.
So when this undertow undoubtedly
Washes me ashore
I'll be the imaginary statue
Erected in my honor
Proudly saluting every fleeting
Emotion that sailed
Straight through my harbor.
You see,
Harboring hatred is a trait
I forfeited
To make way for the minuscule moments and glimpses
Of human existence penetrating
Layers of jade and years
Of conditioning and I am successfully
Transitioning into persistently
Acknowledging the raindrops
As they hit the pavement and pop.
You see some people feel the rain
While others just get wet,
A wise Rastafarian
Once famously said.
And I think on it all
Far too frequently for a quiet mind
But I've never had one of those
Not even after rolling papers
Intertwine and smoke fills my eyes,
Because I am accustomed
To a constant consciousness
And I'd much rather this
Than nothingness
And thus I sit, contemplating
Consequence
Aspiring to avoid the guilt of
Seasons past,
For I am past the point of
Punishment and pain ghosts and
I have plenty of pangs from all
The echoes
In my brain and in these
Rattled apartment's stains
It's not all in vain
Life grows these varicose
Veins
Colored-in, crawling across the
Window panes
Of the chamber where my soul remained
Through the bridge until the end of
The refrain.
I am in reign.
I rock the crown.
I roll the dice when
I am down
I try to think twice
Before I frown
I contemplate the value
Of the men that I allow
To lay me down
Now,
I am grown and I am proud
Because I am humble
And I'm not loud
Any longer,
I listen
To the subtle sounds of
Human respiration.
I am the incarnation
Of ancient incantations that
Shake down the walls which
Separate us all
All the way to the ground.
True power is found
Where unity resounds.
Oct 13, 2014
Oct 13, 2014 at 3:26 PM UTC
15 to love, still able to win,
gotta tough it out,
winning is everything. Losing's a sin.
I'll keep trying. I'm still in with a shout.
My backhand slices
the ball to my foe
(Joe's my friend but in a crisis,
I shift where the winds blow)
He parries, sends the ball to the line,
his touch is immaculate,
cleaner than mine.
I leap like a cat
return it with ease
he flicks it back over the net
intending to tease.
I grimace. We made a bet
and now I engage
into higher gear,
my brain fills with rage,
my heart fills with fear.
Advantage to me,
the crowd stands to cheer,
Joe falls to one knee,
buckled, losing a tear.
I volley. It whizzers
past his frozen form
he tries, but misses,
defeated, forelorn.
At last I have won,
the gold cup is mine,
another dream spun,
back to the factory line.
Mar 12, 2019
Mar 12, 2019 at 7:47 AM UTC
Met you the day I thought I'd die
You cured my god **** January blues
After losing all I had to lose
I called you knowing loneliness poison
Intending to one night stand
You up
Late night mellow rock and
Balcony smokes in ice age Michigan
Bodies moving like snowflakes
Tears melting like liberated ice
My old world fading like a faraway pebble's wakes
My love becoming so loud I couldn't hear a word again
In silence I heard violins
An invisible orchestra playing to
The life I thought I was conducting
Too late did I learn
I was merely another violin
There for you to play
And without you pulling at my heartstrings
I would fall out of tune
And into disrepair
Oct 18, 2015
Oct 18, 2015 at 6:08 PM UTC
Here I am all alone
Holding and dutdot
My old smart phone
Thinking and kutkot
my silly talking brain
just to reduce this fully loaded mind
***avoiding to ****** this heart of mine***
kung minsan wala ako sa timing............................
siguro kasi hinde perfect itong rhyming............................
i was just intending for my broad understanding............................
gold silver kills bakit ganun? di ba pwedeng happy ending.............
pundasyong walang hanggang..................
will always remain its meaning..................
Dec 4, 2015
Dec 4, 2015 at 10:50 AM UTC
Two birds took flight from the same tree,
one flew east to Eurus’ realm.
Seeking warm lands and sunrise's embrace.
The other flew west to Zephyrus' palace,
In search of the gentle winds
and harsh conditions.
Intending to get as far as possible from one another
and yet, life had other plans for them.
Escaping the past does not get you far
and what goes around comes around.
Years later, the two birds
discovered the world was round.
Jun 6, 2017
Jun 6, 2017 at 2:13 PM UTC
Don't be fooled.
I don't woo with words.
I don't woo with actions,
Either.
No, I am too much of a novice.
My intention,
Intended,
To release these tensions
Intensified by the cloud
Of tense living.
In tensions with no spa,
No relief,
No massage,
No pedicure,
No manicure
To calm them.
Ever wondered
Who masseurs
The masseuse?
I don't wonder.
I know.
No one.
Intending
To untensify
The tender
Tendencies of
Tenacious living,
The tenders of
Untended flesh
Relieve your tensions
With no intentions
of receiving intended returns.
They take your tensions
With only intentions
To leave you intense
In the freedom of life.
Meanwhile fragile tensions
Tend to rend them,
Causing trouble and strife.
Feel relieved.
They are in tension,
Don't worry about
Giving attention.
You weren't going to anyway.
May 16, 2010
May 16, 2010 at 3:20 PM UTC
I see no benefit
to share my innermost thoughts
with anyone.
***Especially someone
intending to fix me.***
May 12, 2014
May 12, 2014 at 7:29 PM UTC
I got on the bus alone today
and almost no one else was on it.
As it neared our campus the setting sun
hit the window so right, sending a golden corona
across the dusty seats,
bathing us all in this brilliant golden light.
Brown eyes turned to honey, blue ones to oceans—
a handful of minor gods and goddesses
on their way to class,
in sweatpants and backpacks.
It was one of the most beautiful things I’ve ever seen.
None of us wanted to pull the cord to stop,
but finally, someone did,
and I had to get off.
I feel alive on the bus, I feel alone at midnight.
I am the princess of the bus.
I make my boyfriend Aiden worse without intending to.
I make a lot of things worse without intending to.
I think that if I just spent a lifetime on the bus,
circling round and round at around 6:30 p.m.
I would cause a lot less harm on this planet.
But someone always pulls the cord, even if I don’t.
Aidan won’t pull the cord and neither will I.
We might be riding this bus for a long time yet.
Oct 29, 2024
Oct 29, 2024 at 10:51 PM UTC
Its former tenant long since fled
to wherever Mollusks go..
Its’ empty shell rests on my shelf
For years that has been so.
I took it down the other day,
intending just to dust.
A mote, or something, caused a tear.
Was it perhaps, a thought of us?
We walked along the Islands shore
As old, practiced, couples do.
We found this shell half buried
And I rescued it for you.
We had a fine collection
On the shelf above our bed
Until your former flame returned
And you, like summer, fled.
Triangles are eternal
constructs pleasing to the mind
But this one proved ephemeral
being the romantic kind,
I raise the Conch Shell to my lips
And give a practiced blow.
Its low sweet song a threnody
For days of long ago
Dec 17, 2011
Dec 17, 2011 at 10:34 PM UTC
The curtain opens, and I am lit alone.
Chagrin is my monologue.
On opera balconies, giggling wraiths shield themselves from my humorless improvisation.
Served on a platter, I am on stage, eyes squeezing out precious salt, holding my hands over my red-tipped ears as they still roast from the taunts of my imagination's cruel gossips, who sit, deliberately carving into my breast, intending to cut out my breath. Jabbering, with ***** claws clasping at tarnished silverware.
I stammer and my throat begins to hang itself with a velvet string and cat-gut noose.
I sweat, clothed by the filth of makeup, menstrual blood, and leftover food stains. Palms held up, dramatically surrendering on the condition that mercy be extended, for they have seen my miserable condition and that it is me. The cloying stench of uncertainty and greasy hair envelops me.
I cannot kneel, for the coals on which I stand,
make me suffer more from the pressure.
No water in my heels to soothe this felon.
I cannot provoke or endure, my performance is to be left early. Hume would not grant me fame.
If you have a heart, do not waste ink or time or money on me. I am a clot of blood, clogged in the sink. I will die in a ***** bed and no one will care, not even myself.
I just wish it will be swift and fleeting if it is painful.
Hoping harder, I am not remembered as a miserable girl, the way I am.
So, sing violins, and let me swing for the cannibals.
Feb 26, 2013
Feb 26, 2013 at 8:44 PM UTC
Today I have followed the strange Damselfly,
Down to all ponds on my father’s marshland,
Not to live the blissful Waldensianism like Thoreau,
But to come down unto discovery of wonders
Readily displayed in the ****** manners of the damselfly
Sub-dragonfly that was conveniently called damselfly,
It is dark and white in pearly texture,
Like the Palmyrene Queen dear Zenobia,
Damselfly move as a pair on every time
A female and a male like a musical duet,
The Female has a lock on the ******
As the males does; tight lock on the sheath,
Keeping safe its ***** away from robbers,
The female damselfly has key to unlock
The cryptic lock system on the ***** sheath
Of the garlanded male damsel fly,
The male damselfly too has the key
That can only unlock the cryptic lock system,
On the ****** of the female damselfly,
Their lock and key functions within,
The specific species of the damselflies,
All this evolved to block out the thieves
The predating dragonflies of other species,
Intending to steal *** with the damselfly
With no other reason but to darwinize the damselfly,
Willie Topaz Mcgonall is the damselfly with Male lock
Billie Burroughs ghost is a dragonfly minus any key
African poetry is the damselflies with female poetic lock
Both have keys on each other’s custody of culture.
Sep 24, 2014
Sep 24, 2014 at 5:33 AM UTC
Nag, nagging,
Finger wagging,
Shoulders sagging,
Victim slagging.
Oh beration,
Flagellation,
Irritating
Castigation.
Cutting hemlock,
On her chopping block,
Innuendoes
Spawning ad hoc.
Super-intending,
Condescending,
Never ending,
Insult fending.
Pointless rounds
Of empty double-talk,
Wife, your name is
Self-styled wise hawk.
Oct 11, 2018
Oct 11, 2018 at 6:33 AM UTC
It always seems to be a similar path,
this one I go down.
strung along, hanging on to the back of jean pockets and
holding on to loose hands
clinging just gently enough to not be a bother,
this is how I love.
insecure
like a mid day shadow peeking out to make it's presence known
quietly, but not too loud as to call attention,
like a peach picked up at the market
promising sweet no matter how bruised
I care only to keep the tastebuds wanting
cautious of being too much,
constantly afraid that I am,
conscious of how easily I could be replaced,
one sided like
skin meeting ink
you will be the tattoo gun and
I will be the swollen reminder
you will go unharmed while
I am marked permanent
twinge-yearning,
nail-pulling,
folding back the flesh.
this is how I love and
I know how this goes
you'll look at other girls and
I'll look at you the way the land looked
at rain after the first drought
you'll give away glimpses of your smile to strangers and
I'll give you all of me like it's possible
to grow back complete
you'll put your arms around hips that aren't mine and
I'll feel my own expand with envy
you'll toss around the word love and
I'll attempt to catch it every time it lands
near someone else's feet
you'll carry other names in your mouth while
yours will be the only one in mine, tucked
safely under the tongue
you'll provide me reassurance without an asking for it and
I'll pretend I don't care about a thing in the world when
really it is you who has become my entire universe
you'll play me the way that I'm used to and
I'll laugh like it's a game I never wanted to win anyway
because
I hate losing things I love
you'll make me swell empty without intending to and
I'll make you full with whatever I have to offer
you'll inflict sadness unknowingly and
I'll make you happy like it's a method for survival,
like it's my god **** purpose for existing
this is how I love.
not too tightly, just soft enough for your liking
here I am, programmed for the pleasing
I will hang on like a child's fist does a dandelion
light enough to keep the stem intact
leaving room for your fingers to wrap around
praying you wont let go but
this is how I love and I know how it goes
how it will go
destined to meet the ground eventually after
being dragged along knowingly
I am
aware of how it is,
the same,
always but
this is how I love for
I do not know any other way
Jun 29, 2015
Jun 29, 2015 at 5:07 PM UTC
They chase them down
through field and town
intending then to eat em'
with plastic forks
and champagne corks
they wallop and they beat em'
They chase by day
and most the night
though I can't understand em'
through thistle grass
and snowy pass
with knives they roughly brand em'
With Caber tossed
and y-fronts lost
these skirted men assault em'
big burly men
with beards yer ken
you really cannot fault em'
With claymore sharp
and Scottish harp
they catch and set to roast em'
with whiskey ryes
And blood shot eyes
these hunters fair do toast em'
Sep 28, 2012
Sep 28, 2012 at 6:19 AM UTC
15 to love, still able to win,
gotta tough it out,
winning is everything. Losing's a sin.
I'll keep trying. I'm still in with a shout.
My backhand slices
the ball to my foe
(Joe's my friend but in a crisis,
I shift where the winds blow)
He parries, sends the ball to the line,
his touch is immaculate,
cleaner than mine.
I leap like a cat
return it with ease
he flicks it back over the net
intending to tease.
I grimace. We made a bet
and now I engage
into higher gear,
my brain fills with rage,
my heart fills with fear.
Advantage to me,
the crowd stands to cheer,
Joe falls to one knee,
buckled, losing a tear.
I volley. It whizzers
past his frozen form
he tries, but misses,
defeated, forelorn.
At last I have won,
the gold cup is mine,
another dream spun,
back to the factory line.
Jul 13, 2017
Jul 13, 2017 at 7:09 PM UTC
I have a strong intention
intending to break through all convention
conventional ways end up as my contention
contending with obstacles of my invention
i have a bad disposition
disposing of all the worthless tradition
traditional ways put us in this condition
conditional waves of bad transmission
i have a new destination
destined to try a brand new adaptation
adapting just isn't my contemplation
contemplating a different creation
Nov 15, 2013
Nov 15, 2013 at 6:22 PM UTC
When I tried taming a snake,
I used it for harming others,
And I got addicted to snakes.
So I got myself more snakes,
Day came when I lost count,
Innumerable they grew,
Filling up my home.
Intending to use them for no good,
I set them up on my half-brother,
The brother cried and I rejoiced,
He lost his countless children,
I lost the count of my snakes,
There was no stopping me,
I enjoyed my half-brother's loss.
A really dark day came forth,
They turned hostile on the host,
They stung my own children,
I now repent & seek to blame,
As I feel embarrassed to confess,
So I blame it on my half-brother.
Dec 18, 2014
Dec 18, 2014 at 9:37 PM UTC
Oh, America….
how can you be enthralled with Trump
dumping on Mexicans and insulting the handicapped
hair piece flapping in the wind
almost as much as his gums –
dumb hicks with ****** chicks
lick ***** of donkey
if they vote that fool
El Prez
and give him the keys
to the nuclear arsenal –
my minds reels at the possibilities
********* ball-licking ***** face
at the seat of power
offering the impoverished
cake
or worst
nothing but catch phrases and clichés
intending on inspiring the masses
elevate themselves to a similar status
of ‘The Donald’ –
not all of us have mob ties
and millionaire family members
not that many Americans
can support a failing casino
or be the star of a television show
most of us
are just people trying to make the best
of an increasingly ****** up situation
made exponentially worse
by this ******** real chance
at becoming the leader
of the free world –
Nov 30, 2015
Nov 30, 2015 at 5:09 PM UTC