"intimated" poems
The moment we made that memorable
Exodus from her sacred womb,
The veil of suspicion floated from their eyes
And draped our lives like a burden.
Then we have to spend the rest of our days
Trying to rip the veil of suspicion from our souls
In vain.
When they see us, we are marked
Because of their fear.
They hate us, fear us, and aim to control us.
Why?
Why do you despise the blackest of God's divine creation
But pursue dark, insignificant objects?
You're even intimated by the tiniest of our sons,
Hunting them to slaughter them like immoral doctrines.
I feel sorry for you,
The ones who fear us but idolize us.
I feel sorry for you,
The ones who despise us yet envy us.
I feel sorry for you
Along with the ones who are totally sightless,
Unaware of the systematic wickedness
That begins soon after our memorable Exodus
From mother Africa's womb.
Jun 29, 2013
Jun 29, 2013 at 2:03 PM UTC
A piece of longing that pinned by me ....
At the heart that no longer had a side....
Lattice that hard to become a imagination ....
Unfettered grating of heart that getting tired and kept moaning ....
Deep inside my soul implies a scratch wound ....
When the angel that i wish can't afford to carve a smile longingly at the horizon soul ....
Where is the peace that you hide for.... ?
Where is the love hat you intimated.... ?
I'm tired of constantly treading....
Take me to every your wishes....
Don't let your white sheet blank without a love story with me..
Come on.... !
Moving forward and leave the mirage behind....
We're greet the days with love....
We're knitting the bridge of love to warm the soul....
All will be meaning on....
Because i didn't want my days always sore and wrapped by moan....
O desert....
In your desolate, reveal the secret spring of love....
So that i can satisfied this subordination......
Ended this suffering....
I've been long time felt subordination in anxiety....
Loop of time is misleading me to the valley of hesitation....
Endless suffering..
Restless with no direction..
Come on.... !
Lets dance and doing jaunt together with the amours....
Leave the sadness behind....
So that grief never again to come....
Love.... ?
where is the love.... ?
In the bottom of my heart....
I'm still wishing.... !
Dec 19, 2013
Dec 19, 2013 at 9:03 PM UTC
With lift-off intention I jumped to fly.
I was something like root grounded tree.
Taking flight was so absolutely hard,
though my guru counseled me.
With acquired and studied implements
I tried to cut each holding.
My intellect in truth was rather dull,
though Spirit bolding.
In hieroglyphic's manual page 222
I intuited hints, incantations true.
Here for scheming:
Fly-O Fly-O Fly Fly-O!
I recited that fortissimo for a week
in lucid dreaming.
Then my weighed body, my un-weighed soul
together I suppose remembered it simply,
that God had intimated flight for me
(gratuitously gave).
In classical mind's eye I spied
Icarus sploshing in a wave.
Entered in-- Ab-or-ig-inal Self.
Whoa, I said, hello!
shocked at that showing.
I know... I know... I know...
with ease -- be natural, just be still.
Unequivocally state
(this way make your start)
I need help.
so I believed it
I spoke it
and then I sailed and sailed away
with freedom, my heart.
Jun 10, 2017
Jun 10, 2017 at 7:05 AM UTC
A gesture can be misinterpreted.
A sigh can be misread.
A promise can be intimated,
With nothing further meant.
A smile can be just a smile,
With nothing more to say,
But a kiss is a kiss is a kiss is a kiss,
And a kiss shows clear the way.
Jan 23, 2016
Jan 23, 2016 at 6:09 PM UTC
good lighting made me look curvier
like shadows i felt each edge of my body hide away from boys that like to see the soft side i didn't think i had. my small A cup ***** looked like a solid C if you made the light dim enough to an angle just perfect enough to create an illusion. confusion as to why you undressed me i turned out to be such a disappointment.
a hefty price tag made me more valuable
if as if patterned cloths weren't enough. now my fingers turn as green as the cash i blew from these rings that won't come off or the necklace suffocating my desperate screams for beauty and acceptance in a world so based off eyes, then personality.
longer hair made me more easier to hold on to
for each and every boy that has pulled it this way and that just to get me in the right light or mood. as a mouth piece with no voice or a head with no brain or a soul with no emotion; i was an easy void. and as that void i filled it with dying futures.
every night screaming to be eye candy for those who could care less of what my favorite color was or my last name. comparing myself to other perfectionist out there that must have mastered it all from day one. mixing potions to stay thick, but thin at the same time. or were born into a solid gold Chanel dress with platinum trimmings and high stilettos. so high that everyone else in the room stretches there neck just to be blessed by beauty. i've always thought about what it might be like to be seen as eye candy. for one night walk out and make heterosexual females question their sexuality and men be somewhat intimated by how i 'got it all'. but no. i sit in my room contemplating on using the eye shadow to blind me forever from staring at an image of what i am. not good enough.
Mar 9, 2015
Mar 9, 2015 at 1:45 AM UTC
as i grow old,
in days, disparate
from a
squander-ed youth
i lose my tusks.
wisdom, ripped away
in younger times
left me with clicking
lopsided grin.
but,
now the years,
have chipped and ground
away any,
intimated soupcon of,
scintillating, sensibility
and clarified inhabition.
clear incised & cutting thought process...
transformed to be
dull pointing,
half-remembered
things.
no longer chewing elephants,
by ontological bites.
now...down to *******
the marrow from within.
with a vacant and
gummy smile.
May 31, 2014
May 31, 2014 at 6:04 PM UTC
I will not lie.
I am not myself around you.
Your calm soothes the extrovert out of me.
With it, the main of my confidence.
It's strange
If I would normally be drowned out by the obnoxious,
your soft spoken words leave the air too peaceful for my vernacular.
So I've created a quieter brand just for you.
Despite all of this.
You still manage to see the most of me.
My intimated foil cap is of no use.
Because it appears you understand the girl behind that **** cough.
All of the while.
I wonder if you understand what your words mean to me.
Perhaps it's because of the high demand for you,
but one small gesture goes a long way.
And so
Thank you for gesturing my way.
Mar 27, 2014
Mar 27, 2014 at 10:15 PM UTC
Watching The Signs Of Aging
Watching the signs of aging;
Ultimately,
Finally
An end.
Notice, I don’t say THE end.
Not a film, a flimsy bit of flimflam,
A clouded artificiality, life imitated, intimated.
As stated:
A downgrading: witless and insensate,
Thinning at the temples,
Eyebrow hairs a crazy zigzag;
Tummy more rotund and round;
Fingers, which, however trained
No longer want to grasp or grip.
Compression of the whole foundation
Underscore the downward trip.
Aging signals watched with care –
Obviously there! Involuntary!
Glasses that you never needed;
Tender spots you never heeded.
Fragile scenes that make you weep.
Couplets which you once thought cheap
Resorted to, which you now keep.
Compensations: pensions, patience;
Many words that end in –pence
Because, and just because
All signs become a Santa Claus:
Signs of good –
That is, when you are in the mood.
Stiff fingers finding newer ways to play piano, open jars,
The mental auto-search a galaxy of syndrome-stars
Bursting unused.
No longer worrying ‘bout standards,
You’ve your own.
No need to join
The middling crowd,
The mediocre: in reality, the herd.
Small ambitions,
Minimized conditions
All good and fine, but still
Signs of aging ultimately will
Win out.
Watching The Signs Of Aging 12.5.2016
Circling Round Aging; Birth, Death & In Between II; Bath Book II;
Arlene Corwin
Dec 6, 2016
Dec 6, 2016 at 2:47 PM UTC
I could still recall how gently I held your seed
and brought you to your bed.
There a drop of sweat from this forehead
joyously mingled with some grains of your soil.
I lay you there and saw the approval of the sun
as he sent his warmth reflected on your cheerful coating.
You lay down restfully on your life bed
And I dreamed…
You rose with your sturdy trunk
so robust with pride that your neighboring flagpole
felt intimated by your presence.
They sang him hymns
they bowed at him with their hearts
while you humbly stood there
swaying your greens, reaching atop, conquering the scorches of your sun
so that they, underneath remain unharmed, unscorched, unsoaked.
Soon you bore velvety fruits that the young munched as well as the old
On lazy days you gave them games of soccers and boomerangs,
and tennis, and catches and fetches.
On moonlights, you appeared to be a violinist
as the lovers kissed under your warm company.
You were the silent listener to the broken hearts
when you offered your comforting barks as a shoulder
till they cried and wept
till they breathed and smiled once again.
You had a way with humans who slouch under your shade
You hummed serenades that only your chirping friends
and fluttering colorflies hear and together
you created an orchestra harmonizing songs of friendship, of peace, of love.
I saw you arise and write down histories on to your memory—
how you tried to reach for the graduates’ caps in the air,
how spirited you applauded for great speeches on that podium
but no one ever noticed.
I saw you sway your branches gracefully as the marching band went
boom-boom, tug-tug, and kling-klang.
It was your favorite part of the day.
So many times you bore witness to silly fights
of the young and the old too,
but most often you saw these creatures
make peace at dusk.
There I saw you in eternity.
There I saw you to be forever standing tall on your life bed.
Then I heard the hellish rumble of their chainsaw,
the shrill reverberation piercing through this feeble core
as they ruthlessly cut your body.
I could not afford to watch you being slain.
You are my life.
Your death is my death.
Jun 2, 2023
Jun 2, 2023 at 10:20 AM UTC
It was one of those places which,
We were instructed with stern tones
And the occasional smack to the ****
That we were not to go,
A place of childhood sing-song
(*River man, river man
He’ll sink his teeth right in your can*)
And, later, of clandestine beers and smokes,
Or furtive encounters
With steady sweethearts and short-term solutions.
He’d set up something akin to a lean-to
Hard by a reasonably well-sheltered bank,
One wall of rocky dirt, the other comprised of lumber
Which had been abandoned or purloined or somewhere in between,
And if you resided in that narrow niche
Where you were too old to be scared shitless of him,
And too young to dismiss him out of hand,
He was of a mind to accept a bit of company,
Possibly share a bit of somewhat-warm, store-brand soup,
Even a bit of coffee, if you’d developed the taste for it.
He’d been in the merchant marine, or so he claimed,
Driven there by the search for some constancy
He’d never been privy to in a land-locked world,
Figuring the ceaseless expanse of the ocean
And the regularity of shipboard routine the vessel to all that.
He’d been deeply disappointed, of course,
The waters a kaleidoscopic maelstrom of blues, grays, and purples,
Alternately hammock-smooth and Gothic furious,
All in nothing even mildly evocative of the regularity of the seasons,
And so, he intimated, he’d jumped ship in some unglamorous port,
Living on the run (though for how long was an open question,
And the whos and whys of his prospective captors
Not a subject that he nor his listeners were of a mind to broach)
But he’d never quite been able to shake the lure of the water,
And so he’d set up housekeeping by this particular stream,
Convinced the current held some epiphany, some augury
Which occasional suggested but never truly spoke to him
(*Can’t trust the water, and can’t trust the land,
And that hain’t left me much ‘n terms of other options,*
He was wont to cackle twice or thrice an hour.)
One day, before some of us were of a mind to see him leave,
He was gone, leaving no trace behind,
Perhaps run off by some officious sheriff’s deputy,
Perhaps by his own leave, searching for some river bed
Which spoke more sweetly, more distinctly,
Or perhaps he came to believe there was a third dwelling option
Somewhere on the banks of the jet stream its ownself.
Jan 5, 2017
Jan 5, 2017 at 9:54 AM UTC
I shared a beer and sympathy with a gnarled, obsolete man
Whose wizened visage spoke of unwise choices.
He spoke wistfully (though apropos of nothing) of an abandoned diner
Near the terminus of a truncated and decommissioned road,
Its parking lot an unhappy armistice
Of cracked tarmac and scrub grasses,
The building still sporting caricatures of the proprietors
(The artist a devotee of the Bob’s Big Boy school)
Though time had robbed them of the odd eyeball,
And a shoulder or elbow had faded surreptitiously into the background.
Much of a large sign remained as well,
Appearing to be nothing less
Than some leviathan’s abandoned crossword puzzle,
Fairly shouting “THE B ST DA N STE K
BETW N SYR C SE AND OT T WAOR Y UR MON Y B CK!”
Nothing else remained, my companion intimated,
Save the odd abandoned farmhouse and vestigial fields,
With long unmended barbed-wire fences doing their level best
To contain the ghosts of bygone and unlamented cows.
May 3, 2017
May 3, 2017 at 9:52 AM UTC
while soaring the heavenly heights
many hours ago
every major metropolis appeared
about a million miles below
the rarefied atmosphere
ideal composition beckoned angels,
who bustled, hustled, and jostled elbow
(which bedlam, flimflam, and mayhem
intimated Hells Bells)
wing trying (heavens to Betsy) to flag attention,
and snag coveted soundcloud Netherland Award
cap ping bulging port folio,
which hubbub charged crackled, popped,
snapped amidst light emitting diodes
with a snazzy aura, charisma
harp pulling, piping, and chiefly
paying praise (CI years post haste)
to William Henry Perkin
whose credit able karma
(and unwitting) claim to fame didst glow
purple, which jumpstarted incandescent halo
couture culture club, via constant comet inflow
of Plasmodia vaguely resembling microscopic red Jello
illuminating swath of dusky
shutter flying sky sustaining
self contained feedback instagram loop know
wing lee broadcasting mauveine staccato low
to the groundswell of chemists dyeing, Googling,
and gratefully huzzahing insinuating
killing, kindling kissing
malaria goodbye, an outlook
(nee a once in a lifetime moe
mint - je nais sais quoi) win out loud
respectably sedulous honoree, a no
bill sine qua non bit player aniline
(to conclude this short poem) about his oh
penning accidental discovery kickstarting pro
noun est contribution to the fashion industry.
Mar 12, 2018
Mar 12, 2018 at 4:09 PM UTC
The heart comes first
above all else
beyond all else
together with all else
the heart must come first,
mustn't it?
the heart should come first,
shouldn't it?
if the heart is so important
why must there be need to affirm its importance?
the heart is not the originator of feelings,
the limbic system is
the heart is not the driver
but merely a reactive passenger
it is neither self, nor ego
the heart is just... the heart
could it be, perhaps
that it is where the soul is intimated?
where passion is derived and fueled
it drives one to dream
to hope, to fulfil, to conquer...
and to despair
maybe it is what makes us humans, human
without such
we are merely living and breathing,
as other animals do—and they too have hearts
but unlike ours
ours is mostly referred to as an unknowable construct
a purely man-made invention (like Valentine’s Day)
a metaphysical manifestation of our existential insecurity
or maybe just a tired lover’s cliche?
if the heart comes first
then what’s next?
Apr 1, 2016
Apr 1, 2016 at 10:43 PM UTC
let me fruition this now
with emphasis. There will be noise
disavowed, and only the full metal of silence
would indict the plenary moon.
whatever you say, it shall will
itself to the ground, obvious of its
decay long overdue. This time, precision
of aches outrace light – only this night,
and in some other nights when there is
only the blue glare of your face in the
nauseating vertigo of words intimated.
now, in the barenaked room,
everything will enter as if the first time,
the last ones too – all at once so suddenly short
and handsome with abeyance.
you were out into the world and I won’t
flinch nor blame. Soon when capable,
all of this will whittle into one fine laughter
pivotal towards the wary sides of mercy.
soon nothing, as changes
were inimical, silence will champion our
places, remembering you in the unclothed
sunlight of the South when we faced North,
watching boats wade in speeds of your freedom,
in the boulevard where at one point in time,
I have left you spaces to occupy,
only mine errors found.
Mar 25, 2016
Mar 25, 2016 at 1:25 AM UTC
Aye pride myself
being sui generis
verb hose subject for a zoologist,
cuz webbed phalanges
branch handsomely
from mine feet and wrist,
where perforce great expectations,
asper the next greatest (I SCREAM)
scoop of the month intimated,
conducted under top secret
controlled laboratory conditions
with yours truly (as the de facto
par excellence)
rodent named "Oliver twist"
Lady Dedlock key ping
watchful eye within bleak house,
while Thomas Gradgrind
feigns tubby bad company
during these hard times
temporarily all quietest
lull on the western front
since Donald Trump
detente foretold by a palmist,
whereby said President
of the United States
feeling as an optimist
met with Kim Jong-un,
(cautiously side stepping morass,
viz hit blind side dare devil hoodwinking,
via awe shucks faux bully)
suspending noninterventionist
impact unexpectedly witnessed leader
of North Korea as multilateralist
on historic June 12, 2018,
summit minus linguist,
where fist pumping in Singapore
for unilateral negotiations
offloading nationalism
weighing down
figurative chest i.e. kist
by resplendent sun, where ma lounze
sotto voce, somber solemnly
sober ensemble re: joist
uniting this stately isolationist,
whose approximate
ten stone heft easy to hoist
merely sustains purposelessness
this poem without a gist
hence if Yukon spare one
(or more cruxes) lemme be fist
in line, though first, aye
would need to convince thee
this scribe doth exist!
Jun 15, 2018
Jun 15, 2018 at 3:12 AM UTC
Within womb universe’s birth
nebulous placenta housed
seeds of life and white lily
billions of years in future
mid-wifery lady Madonna i.e. Gaia
twill abort... cancel... fail
cosmic amniotic fluid infinitesimal kernel
unknowingly intimated mother earth
giver of extant flora and fauna
unleashed after big bang cosmic explosion
galactic matter ala Jackson Pollack
across void
impregnating fecund celestial field
embryonic entities
germinating gamut multifarious
floral fauna spectrum
primordial soupy miasma
evolving millennial timeframe
distinct organisms **** sapiens
master exploiter oblate spheroid
usurped emiment domain
epitomized goddess of fertility
silent ovation humanity
predecessors ovulated
promulgating tentatively robust
quite pathological population
within clustered cloistered
substantial redoubts
mollycoddled, nursed
swaddled by ancestral
gracias moma mia
figures, whose maternal role
guarded vulnerable progeny,
outfoxing invisible World Wide Web
building inexorably linked network
indomitable strength
against wild things
guaranteeing subsequent generations
flourishing webbed unbridled success
prompted contemporary bipedal hominid
chance genetic dice throw
origin of species weathering travails
horrendous maternal sacrifices
inducing acknowledgement
unknown female forebears!
Jun 3, 2018
Jun 3, 2018 at 3:05 PM UTC
*regarding the link? róże europy - kości czerwone, kości czarne (roses of europe - red bones, black bones) http://tinyurl.com/y7fzt6qq... lyrics?
adolf ****** i benito mussolini
józef stalin i franciszek franco
mieli narody między nogami
a one na zgodę kiwały głowami
pan proszę pana też chce być taki
taki potężny i taki bogaty
lecz pan proszę pana chyba oszalał
lecz pan proszę pana chyba oszalał!
adolph ****** & benito mussolini
joseph stalin & francisco franko
had nations (clenched) between their legs
and they (nations) nodded with approval
sir, i plead to you sir, that i too want to
be like them,
so grandiose & so wealthy
but kind sir, you must have become insane,
but kind sir, you must have become insane!*
when was the last time, that i went
to a house party where
people played decent music,
and by decent, i mean unusual?
a nostalgia fest
of elvis, where the party attendees
would clap along to
blue suede shoes?
or uh-hum oh ooh
to all shook up?!
a magical moment it would seem,
where a need for conversation
becomes obsolete,
a neanderthal typo...
or whams'! wake me up before you
go-go...
i can't remember when
that last happened -
when people forgot the civil accords
of conversation at a party...
talk + party = neanderthal...
if you're not ******* each other
silly, or at least having a collective
karaoke spectacle... it's no party...
it's covert parliamentarism
in action...
and who the **** wants that after
a few stiffies (strong drinks)?
no one!
i remember my 21st up
in edinburgh, the focal point came
with the song
silk by the group
roses of europe -
róże europy - jedwab:
my then russian girlfriend was intimated
by a large crowd of poles...
sulking and rolling spliffs in
the bedroom, moaning about
how good of a host i was...
i even mopped up *****
from the carpet
when my high-school friend
puked waiting for the toilet...
but i can't really remember going
to a part, that actually was a party;
and yes, that song got
the girls singing with the loveliest
of echoes of the song in flesh.
Jul 15, 2017
Jul 15, 2017 at 7:49 PM UTC
My love for you is
intimated by the
stars, as I hold it
tight, against my
chest, the speed of
light carries it
away from me
Feb 11, 2014
Feb 11, 2014 at 8:09 AM UTC
the friday before the whole fried
salt and desultory shake hand..
the news man intimated
words like latest and limited
exchange and we all will be informed
sold the last language..he cried..
there were our leaders grim face
there was the sky sea and land..
there, the missiles casual arced..
the world quite another place..!
no more fish or dow index..
no more no next..
on friday last we stayed indoors
no more music at our behest
the dance so many deaths
waiting by the walls..
we avoided birds and eyes
and broke the silence with
a silence..
the flies caught in honey..
the world turned to see
all the toys lay
not much to be
not much at all..
Aug 4, 2017
Aug 4, 2017 at 4:55 AM UTC