"intolerable" poems
I hope my life is never so desolate
that it lacks art or poetry;
that would be the only poverty
I would find intolerable.
May 5, 2014
May 5, 2014 at 6:23 PM UTC
Oh, will you ever return to me,
My wild first force, will you return
When the old madness comes to
Blacken in me and to burn
Slow in my brain like a slow fire
In a blackened brazier - dull
like a smear of blood,
Humid and hot evil, slow-sweltering
up in a flood!
Oh, will you not come back, my fierce song?
Jubilant and exultant, triumphing over
the huge wrong
of that slow fire of madness that feeds
on me - the slow mad blood
thick with its hate and evil, sweltering
up in its flood!
Oh! will you not purge it from me -
my wild lost flame?
Come and restore me, save me from the
intolerable shame
Of that huge eye that eats into my
Naked body constantly
And has no name,
Gazing upon me from the immense and
Cruel bareness of the sky
That leaves no mercy of concealment
That gives no promise of revealment
And that drives us on forever with its
lidless eye
Across a huge and houseless level of
a planetary vacancy
Oh, wild song and fury, fire and flame,
Lost magic of my youth return, defend
me from this shame!
And Oh! You golden vengeance of bright
song
Not cure but answer to earth's wrong
22.8k
Perfection is terrible, it cannot have children.
Cold as snow breath, it tamps the womb
Where the yew trees blow like hydras,
The tree of life and the tree of life
Unloosing their moons, month after month, to no purpose.
The blood flood is the flood of love,
The absolute sacrifice.
It means: no more idols but me,
Me and you.
So, in their sulfur loveliness, in their smiles
These mannequins lean tonight
In Munich, morgue between Paris and Rome,
Naked and bald in their furs,
Orange lollies on silver sticks,
Intolerable, without mind.
The snow drops its pieces of darkness,
Nobody's about. In the hotels
Hands will be opening doors and setting
Down shoes for a polish of carbon
Into which broad toes will go tomorrow.
O the domesticity of these windows,
The baby lace, the green-leaved confectionery,
The thick Germans slumbering in their bottomless Stolz.
And the black phones on hooks
Glittering
Glittering and digesting
Voicelessness. The snow has no voice.
28 January 1963
20.6k
I'm craving a man-hug tonight,
initiated by strong arms picking up my under weight body
letting me believe I'm re-enacting the lift from ***** dancing.
And as those arms hold me close
I would bury my face in his neck
where after shave meets his soft pulse and the warmth of my breath.
This hug would be so tight,
tight enough to squeeze the pain out of my soul
and be incredibly protective at the same time
beating away the nightmares of reality late at night.
A hug that draws out all the tears that should have been cried
until my eyes run dry
and start shedding all the rejection accumulated throughout this plight.
An unconditional man-hug with its ends free,
one not subjected to a **** in my mouth
a cigarette
*****
a cigarette
couple of poems
insomnia
and a cold bed.
I crave for a man-hug that will liberate me
from the pathetic standards I've set for myself,
of how I should be treated before handing a piece of me in exchange.
One that would numb the little voice in my head
which goes on and on
about self-deprecating ********
bundling together all the mistakes made over the years
and spanking my self-confidence
until it dresses up in a short skirt and high heels
and runs into the arms of a narcissist *****
A man-hug to step in and save the day
when loneliness breaks in,
and murders empowerment, independence and positivity in their sleep,
then opens the door to insecurity and fear,
who robs all hope,
leaving behind intolerable darkness.
I crave for a man-hug that follows through to the end
with stability and consistency,
like mom's cooking or my best friend,
or daddy's instant reaction to defend.
One that's tangible and attainable
without twirling my fingers around forgotten jewellery,
phone messages
or a drunk memory
just to remind myself what it felt like,
but only to be reminded that it can never be felt again.
Though I'm craving a man-hug tonight
I will have no luck.
Because anything with "man" in front of it,
will always just be a ****
Mar 4, 2013
Mar 4, 2013 at 5:35 PM UTC
A bubbly baby
A tiny toddler
A cute child
An intolerable teen
An angry adult
The grumpy elderly
To people around the world, no matter your age, have you ever stopped to think about how much you can learn from each different generation?
You might not get a wise piece of advice, but you can see life through a new lens tinted with the color hope, and you can gain experience without even experiencing.
Think about that next time you go to badmouth a parent, disrespect an elder, or even chastise you child.
Oct 8, 2018
Oct 8, 2018 at 1:52 PM UTC
III
Slim adolescence that a nymph has stripped,
Peleus on Thetis stares.
Her limbs are delicate as an eyelid,
Love has blinded him with tears;
But Thetis' belly listens.
Down the mountain walls
From where pan's cavern is
Intolerable music falls.
Foul goat-head, brutal arm appear,
Belly, shoulder, ***
Flash fishlike; nymphs and satyrs
Copulate in the foam.
7.4k
The intolerable cold wind had sprung out,
obliterating anything on its passage.
The hours Spent outside felt more extenuated as you walked on.
It wouldnt be long until you'd feel your own audable behaviror freeez -
but vanish.
May 15, 2014
May 15, 2014 at 3:15 AM UTC
where it starts
1. your girlfriend will have a miscarriage
for the second time
and you, you'll start using needles
THERE WILL BE NO DIRECT CORRELATION BETWEEN THESE TWO THINGS
but you tell yourself
a daughter is what would make life worth living
and subsequently what it takes to get you sober
2. you lose your job
because you're always in the bathroom missing veins
loss of job will inevitably spiral into an
"intolerable depression"
or
"extended sadness"
or
"whatever version of this is easiest to swallow"
3. you get to spend every holiday from your birthday until The Day She Dies sitting next to your mother's hospital bed
(except for when you're always in the bathroom, missing veiins)
LATER
your sister reassures you that mom didn't know the way you also choked back guilt with all the bile and unpleasant things in your trips to the restroom
but for now you will hate yourself
hate the sticky needles
and hate the way your girlfriend leaves all her ghosts behind when she leaves you
4. you find that bathroom floors are your new home
splayed out after your 8th overdose
jail cells are just a normal tuesday
and you keep waking up to razor blades left neatly on your pillow
where it ends
5. giving up ****** is like pulling teeth
messy and painful but typically necessary
and so hard to do alone
Oct 14, 2018
Oct 14, 2018 at 12:30 AM UTC
Forth flashed the serpent streak of steel,
Consummate crown of man's device;
Down crashed upon an immobile
And brainless barrier of ice.
Courage!
The grey gods shoot a laughing lip: -
Let not faith founder with the ship!
We reel before the blows of fate;
Our stout souls stagger at the shock.
Oh! there is Something ultimate
Fixed faster than the living rock.
Courage!
Catastrophe beyond belief
Harden our hearts to fear and grief!
The gods upon the Titans shower
Their high intolerable scorn;
But no god knoweth in what hour
A new Prometheus may be born.
Courage!
Man to his doom goes driving down;
A crown of thorns is still a crown!
No power of nature shall withstand
At last the spirit of mankind:
It is not built upon the sand;
It is not wastrel to the wind.
Courage!
Disaster and destruction tend
To taller triumph in the end.
5.9k
i cannot put into words what you have done for me but i will try
i was lost in the numbness of nothingness
the silence around it all was getting way too loud
and i hadn’t felt the excitement of another for way too long
you’ve been around for a while
in the back of my mind as a matter of fact.
it may have taken a while to get you to notice me
but i was willing to take the time, because you felt different
and as far as ‘felt’
it’s too early to tell but you make me feel
and it’s not just a spurt of feel, its a feel thats real
i almost gave up in all honesty
i didn’t want to put myself out there again
to then just be torn limb from limb, again
but you felt, right
you’re quiet… to others
but to me you’re you
and i can’t get enough of you
your voice is distinct-
your voice is yours, it levels me and i could listen to it all day
your eyes are deep-
your eyes are specific, they look at me not through me
your walk is confident-
your walk is purposeful, you don’t wander
your presence is home, its way too early but at the same time idc
your essence is irrational, idk why you’re here at this time
but i can’t second guess it cause nothing has ever felt so right
i look at you and i am in wonderment
your beauty is indescribable
and your being makes your beauty seem intolerable
you make me want to become a better me
you make me reevaluate my purpose
you make me pay attention
i cannot put into words what you have done for me but i will try
i was lost in the numbness of nothingness
the silence around it all was getting way too loud
and i hadn’t felt the excitement of another for way too long
idk why God has placed you in my life
but i hope that you are here to stay
no one has affected me the way you do
i have been so afraid of it all
to stay put
to move
to be happy
to love
to give myself up
but you make me anxious to do all of those things
you make me want to be happy
you make me want to try
you make me want to take risks
you make me want to move
but most importantly-
you make me want to
Sep 30, 2018
Sep 30, 2018 at 4:01 AM UTC
To even commence to define how profoundly I fell in love with you, I would need the capacity of a thousand-page manuscript written in the most romantic idiom.
Each, and every retention of us is stowed into the back of my conscious, and concealed deep into my heart.
Every beautiful memory plays through my head like soft music.
I would say my heart is immovable. There are days that I try to sojourn the thoughts of you, but its intolerable for me to do so.
I am so engulfed in your perfection. I do not think there has been a single day that you have escaped my thoughts.
I can feel your presence with me if I ponder our memories deeply enough. Your presence weighs heavily in my heart. It is as if part of your soul occupies its crevasses, and fills my cracks.
Your eyes are echoes of a hundred distant galaxies no man has ever revealed. Vast windows that reflect the constellations.
My heart is certain the universe resides in them.
As I begin to study your face, I feel like nothing but love can exist.
Your porcelain perfection never ceases to weaken me.
You weaken me with love, trust, and desire. Like the finest specimen created by the hands of Gods.
As I anticipate the connotation of love, the implication is “you”.
Even if the fire for what you feel for me dies, I do not reason the passion I have for you will ever dim.
I do not begin to recollect if I had ever felt this susceptible.
I let this passion be valued like the rarest stone.
I would give up the entire world if it meant I could have you in my life endlessly.
Your happiness is of grave importance to me, when I study your smile, I can overlook the darkness of this decaying reality.
Every heartbeat of time my mouth declares three unpretentious words.
“I love you”.
I say it like an invocation.
Not one moment did my tongue express profanity against these golden words of poetry.
I love you. “ I Love You” . And solitarily just you.
I wallow in my own sorrows at the thought of the culmination, when we shall one day part at death's hand.
For I deeply distinguish that you love me equally, and this brings vast pleasure to my temperament.
I sense security in your encirclement, your heart is my home.
My heart qualms of my fragile weakness that I consume when I dream of you.
You make me susceptible to the sickness of love.
If love was a poem, you would be the title.
Jan 30, 2018
Jan 30, 2018 at 10:30 PM UTC
You're like orange juice and toothpaste
Flavours that are pleasant
Enjoyable even, each in their own moment
But then they're colliding
Like the faces of your personality
Rushed mornings, teeth first and juice second
Conversations with you
An intolerable taste
Ruining both moments, all moments
I'm pretty sure I dislike you
Jan 21, 2014
Jan 21, 2014 at 8:23 AM UTC
Unofficially the love warrior
Locked jaw..inner locked hearts..
Exchanging pain..enduring smiles
Meaningless thoughts
Fading.. as I pull deeper..
What ...have ...I ...come ...to... be..
A
Love warrior
Spread...and conquer
Divide only to reignite...
Shots to the heart...close blank range..
Too Close for comfort
Never comfortable in self
Destruction... intolerable to the unforeseen to the forsaken eye..
Tip toe around passion..French kiss guilt trips..as
Intellectual passionately strokes my love warrior soul..war is an uproar of pain..hurt..love and never being logical..
Warmth with your sweet grace....bless my inner being for loving is always a warrior when attached to something so superficial, self reliance leads to deprivation..loving me takes a warrior.. I break you down only to uplift with greatness that overflow in the fountain of defeat..slowly losing...dying to to belong..love is killing me ...warrior spirit never letting up...love secretly unfolding times of the essence of being the love warrior..
Nikki.the.goddess
Apr 13, 2019
Apr 13, 2019 at 1:10 PM UTC
Nirvana - a transcendent state in which there is neither
suffering, desire, nor sense of self, and the subject
is released from the effects of karma and the cycle of
death and rebirth. It represents the final goal of Buddhism.
My Buddhist Queen,
Will you take me to Nirvana?
Will you take me to that place?
That place where we’re unshackled from suffering?
Because right now, this is intolerable.
My Buddhist Queen,
If we’re in Nirvana
why does my heart feel so aloof
and its beats, spectral?
Why does my body suffer from rigamortis?
Why am i teary-eyed
and why did you nominate my pillows to do the ALS challenge?
Why is my room a catastrophy?
Why do my walls succumb to the savagery of my fists?
Why am I suffering?
Why do I desire?
Why is karma still existant?
My Buddhist Queen,
If we’re in Nirvana,
why do you occassionally take strolls down to hell holding my hand?
- d.b.d.
Sep 14, 2014
Sep 14, 2014 at 12:20 PM UTC
Dapple-throned Aphrodite,
eternal daughterf God,
snare-knitter! Don't, I beg you,
cow my heart with grief! Come,
as once when you heard my far-
off cry and, listening, stepped
from your father's house to your
gold car, to yoke the pair whose
beautiful thick-feathered wings
oaring down mid-air from heaven
carried you to light swiftly
on dark earth; then, blissful one,
smiling your immortal smile
you asked, What ailed me now that
me me call you again? What
was it that my distracted
heart most wanted? "Whom has
Persuasion to bring round now
"to your love? Who, Sappho, is
unfair to you? For, let her
run, she will soon run after;
"if she won't accept gifts, she
will one day give them; and if
she won't love you -- she soon will
"love, although unwillingly..."
If ever -- come now! Relieve
this intolerable pain!
What my heart most hopes will
happen, make happen; you your-
self join forces on my side!
3.2k
[*I can only survive my life in two ways;
wasted by the fire of my gratification,
wasted by the fire of my longing.*]
Love had just woven my
intolerable shirt of flame, this
bedazzled blouse betwixt
an area brimming with smoke
and my own heart.
this consuming flame...
the flame that fuels itself with
my everything.
I am a sorceress at the stake.
I feel the fire sear
into my skin,
destroying the weak,
frail covering
to my body,
disseminating to parts
I didn’t know
existed.
The torment is utterly
consuming.
Everything within me,
every ounce of strength
that remains, struggles to
shed this shirt of flame.
[This devised torment
by love Herself.]
Yet, the blazing fire
is frantic for my body.
The flames
cling to me,
fast to my skin,
like you have
...and do
...and will.
We suspire the smoke from the flames which
destroy all that surrounds us;
it becomes a part of us that
our bodies will never be able
to discern...
to notice...
to erase.
Nov 11, 2012
Nov 11, 2012 at 2:51 AM UTC
whenever I feel the tremble start to ooze its way
from my compact mind to the tips of my fingers,
I immediately anticipate the fate
that I have always been able to foresee
whenever that familiar first jolt of an anxiety attack sails its way,
like a vessel in a storm
throughout my entire body
heart pounds an intolerable caution
lungs wheeze frigid determination with a rough friction
that lightly scrapes my core with a ticklish flutter
shoulders lift up into a hunch; absolutely automatic
the top tray of teeth lock clenched into the bottom tray’s hold
a fleet of air hisses in and out of two nostrils like a monk’s meditation
capacious eyes flicker from
the lid to the lash to the iris to the pupil to see everything
everyone is staring
everything is too intimidating to look at for longer than two seconds
then, the tunnel
the clearest, acute vision waters into a soft edged frame,
into a pixel mud of a picture, into a black peripheral,
black corners rounding in – a narrow and petty circle
I use it and follow it to wherever my
deepened impulse decides to take me
silently contemplating,
silently speculating,
silently examining
the fears I let my feeble self
get swallowed up in.
Sep 3, 2012
Sep 3, 2012 at 1:42 AM UTC
Monday
It has come to my attention, that someone has been stealing from
the communal fridge. I notice that my own personal milk with my
name on the bottle is half empty, also three fingers of my kitkat
are missing. Please refrain, or action will be taken.
Tuesday
It has come to my attention, and I’m pleasantly surprised to see
my milk has been topped up, though, why two fingers of my
kitkat in a V sign beggars belief. Just tasted my milk, you
***** ******* I will now be monitoring the fridge from my office.
You will be caught.
Wednesday
It has come to my attention, the camera monitoring the fridge
is now monitoring the ladies toilet. This is intolerable, you are
usurping my authority. Heads will roll. I will now be moving the
fridge into my office till further notice.
Thursday
It has come to my attention, my office has been penetrated,
the fridge is missing, and I find a ransom note on my desk.
I don’t know who you people think you're dealing with, but
let me leave you in no doubt, I will find out who you are, and
you will be dismissed.
Friday
It has come to my attention, a delivery of fifty fridges is
cluttering up the whole building, management is going
ballistic. I concede to your demands, please get rid of
them. Let us get back to you taking my milk and my biscuits,
my job, my life. Just leave me alone.
Thank you.
May 3, 2015
May 3, 2015 at 5:23 AM UTC
The curtain of night descend upon the sky. It is aphonic, psychotic and dark.
Perpetually calling for daylight, but it is hours before the sun can, if, reply.
Those remote, desolate hours are intolerable, hurtful.
They bring the piercing screams of silence and poignancy.
My wasteland is inhabited with moribund trees in the middle of spring.
This world knows regrets and disingtegrating logic.
Although the constant clouds conceal my world, no sign of rain befalls the thirsty earth.
The trees curved to the scorched ground, seeking mercy, weary and restless of this static infertility.
The throats of the passing birds have dried, no song can brighten the sky.
Insipid and dimlit, not even the sun can filter through the clouds or the thickness of the fog.
Somewhere in this world my body awaits demise.
This decaying rationality bringing peril and incoherence, not a breeze or a murmur of rain,
to quench the aching and consuming thirst.
I beg in silence, but the words seem to hang confined in this inclemency, alone 'till my waking hour.
The curtain has not risen, the night still falls in place.
How long before I can succumb to oblivion and quiesce this raging, tormentig thoughts?
There is no answer to follow the question because I am this world's, this hell's, this limbo, wretched creator.
And so with cracked lips, with ragged breath and stinging chest I remain in the inside of this deserted, and cracked state of mind.
May 6, 2013
May 6, 2013 at 10:33 PM UTC
Black dog Jan 2018
I spend all my hours crying and crouching in dark despair, consumed by self-pity; neither living nor dead, my mind poisoned by grief, ruined, undone, bitter and broken; my love wrenched from me.
My dream smashed into a billion pieces.
I'm finally ready to embrace the black dog with all its teeth and fury, fearless, numb, exhausted, done.
I'll gladly drink down the bitter pills to end this state of loss; to spread my flesh, to let the cold waters draw me down; with pockets full of stones, anything to stop this intolerable feeling!
I am nothing but empty!,
I’m sick and tired and at the end!
And for those that may remember just how retched a soul I had become; I pray and pray; that I am soon completely forgotten.
Jan 28, 2018
Jan 28, 2018 at 9:23 AM UTC
In the twenty first century
Where we have been the most advanced we have ever been
Where we have central heating
Air conditioning
Online shopping
Open heart
And laser eye surgery
Never has the goal of a happy and pleasant life drifted further away
Than it has today
We have been taught how to fly high in the sky like a plane
How to dive deep in the ocean like a fish
But how to walk on this earth
As a happy and content being
Some of us, we still struggle
We can contact people on the other side of the world
But we can't connect with our soul
We search for peace
Swallowing pills to seal the cracks in our heart
To cover fear, loneliness and anxiety
Oh you who wander
Life is a drink of salty water
You are drinking for a thirst that never quenches
A hunger that never fills
On this path
Pain becomes unbearable
Calamities become intolerable
A search for peace of mind
The ability to sleep at night
Your chest will only become tighter
The dark will become darker
Until you realise
That the pieces of our heart can only be put together
When we have gratitude during times of ease
And patience during times of difficulty
Sep 21, 2017
Sep 21, 2017 at 4:52 PM UTC
I feel so lost and I have misplaced a part of me
Looking for answers in the rubble of emotional debris
How do you rebuild hard earned confidence
Smashed and swept, leaving no remnants
How do you stand on battered knees
And put on an expression that shows no crease
How do you recover something you barely just found
Something that exists neither above or below ground
Try not to limp because the world doesn't really want to know
If you braved through where thistles and thorns grow
They don't really care; In fact they might grow tired
Of the same dirge I insist on having repeated
I'm feeling the repercussions and myself I do blame
For expecting of you nothing less of the same
Only thing I can do is what I do best
Is to revel in overwhelming grief and fallen crest
Be annoyingly frail and exceedingly feeble
Soon may regret because some may deem it intolerable
Get up and chin up or I'll have more to lose
Still retaining the gift of breath I so choose
Pleading into thin air to quell the pain
As I try to piece myself all over again
Sep 16, 2014
Sep 16, 2014 at 11:36 AM UTC
September has come,
It is hers whose vitality leaps in the autumn,
Whose nature prefers
Trees without leaves and a fire in the fire-place;
So I give her this month and the next
Though the whole of my year should be hers who has rendered already
So many of its days intolerable or perplexed
But so many more so happy;
Who has left a scent on my life and left my walls
Dancing over and over with her shadow,
Whose hair is twined in all my waterfalls
And all of London lilttered with remembered kisses.
- Louis MacNeice, "Autumn Journal"
Sep 20, 2012
Sep 20, 2012 at 3:04 PM UTC