"irregularities" poems
sages and brethren
gather, and share
and slowly souls
are bared
their tempered voices
and quiet eyes
reserved of judgment
with passing smiles
moments blend
in current trends
opinions wide
and reflections deep
the concepts
and irregularities
once murky
now clear
they prioritize
and familiarize
that staunch resolution
of generation net
will remunerate
and illuminate
through the checkpoints
and formal reviews
through the purple curtains
and open stage
nothing tainted
or bitter
left for taste
cause its they
who’ll plant the seeds
the captains of commerce
healers and jugglers
the coaches and councilors
negotiators and compromisers
the kings and queens
hustlers and hellcats
(who've all found their way!)
let us tip our hats
and salute them*
Dec 2, 2017
Dec 2, 2017 at 2:05 PM UTC
Mike and I were best of friends
and we drank together
and walked home together
And we’d walk along the railway tracks
and Mike
was always the more observant of us two
Yes, I always looked up to him
He’d be first to point out any irregularities
and so he’d say:
*“There sure are a lot of steps
along the way”*
And I’d concur
and I’d say:
*“Yes, Mike…
And the problem is
the ****** handrails
are so low down”*
And you know what
Mike is gone
and I still walk back
along the railway tracks
and the ****** idiots in charge of the railway
after all these years
they still put a lot of steps all the way
and worse –
they still put those ****** handrails
so low down…
Some people never learn;
they never change
I shout these things aloud
And I look up to Mike as I say these things
as I walk alone
Feb 10, 2012
Feb 10, 2012 at 4:44 PM UTC
I liked quirky women
It was easier to breathe around them
Their irregularities gave me something to watch, whether it was entertaining or simply odd
The ones that fully embraced that quality were the most radiant
Looking at the them was almost the same as looking into the sun
They gave me insight as to what I was lacking
Embracing their warmth gave me balance
I gladly take the backseat to them to this day
My place is observing from the side
I like for my vanity to be silent
The only issue with them—women in general—is that they have a need for constant communication and affirmation and affection
In the beginning, it’s more tolerable because everything is new and exciting
Then comes the inevitable: I get tired
Their quirks have become predictable, and their conversations dull
One week I’m deeply infatuated, then after the experiment becomes a process, the next couple weeks drag by with each day seeming to last years
That’s when I withdraw
Phasing out of a fifty year long commitment of love and charity, like the coward I am, then drifting back to the safety of solitude until the cycle repeats itself
I’m a dog
I’m a loner
One of these days I’ll have to pick one
But it won’t be today, and certainly not tomorrow
Sometime.
Aug 8, 2018
Aug 8, 2018 at 11:46 PM UTC
If any of the following side effects occur while taking prednisone, check with your doctor immediately:
More common
Aggression
agitation
anxiety
blurred vision
decrease in the amount of *****
dizziness
fast, slow, pounding, or irregular heartbeat or pulse
headache
irritability
mental depression
mood changes
nervousness
noisy, rattling breathing
numbness or tingling in the arms or legs
pounding in the ears
shortness of breath
swelling of the fingers, hands, feet, or lower legs
trouble thinking, speaking, or walking
troubled breathing at rest
weight gain
Incidence not known
Abdominal or stomach cramping or burning (severe)
abdominal or stomach pain
backache
****** black, or tarry stools
cough or hoarseness
darkening of skin
decrease in height
decreased vision
diarrhea
dry mouth
eye pain
eye tearing
****** hair growth in females
fainting
fever or chills
flushed, dry skin
fractures
fruit-like breath odor
full or round face, neck, or trunk
heartburn or indigestion (severe and continuous)
increased hunger
increased thirst
increased urination
loss of appetite
loss of ****** desire or ability
lower back or side pain
menstrual irregularities
muscle pain or tenderness
muscle wasting or weakness
nausea
pain in back, ribs, arms, or legs
painful or difficult urination
skin rash
sleeplessness
sweating
trouble healing
trouble sleeping
unexplained weight loss
unusual tiredness or weakness
vision changes
vomiting
vomiting of material that looks like coffee grounds
Some prednisone side effects may not need any medical attention. As your body gets used to the medicine these side effects may disappear. Your health care professional may be able to help you prevent or reduce these side effects, but do check with them if any of the following side effects continue, or if you are concerned about them:
More common
Increased appetite
Incidence not known
Abnormal fat deposits on the face, neck, and trunk
acne
dry scalp
lightening of normal skin color
red face
reddish purple lines on the arms, face, legs, trunk, or groin
swelling of the stomach area
thinning of the scalp hair
Dec 18, 2015
Dec 18, 2015 at 11:24 PM UTC
i guess i still miss you
but talking’s for functioning people
when we stand stark
at the vertices of our dog days
we don’t say anything at all
in uncharted autumn
we still have a little sun left
trying to make sense
of the irregularities that compact
this relationship
into tiny little boxes we check
every once and awhile
ostentatiously
Oct 1, 2018
Oct 1, 2018 at 2:12 PM UTC
*I wish I could feel emotion as a singularity.
just one, intense emotion,
one engulfing thought devouring all of my being.
one singular, unitary, simple drive.
powerful.
as a black hole devours all particles of any existence,
even light itself.
they say that if you stood on the edge of one,
hovering at the point of no return,
time becomes as simple as space.
the universe is no longer a mystery.
the Big Bang as quiet as
that abandoned swing on the playground.
space and time are but children,
gravity that kid who
forgot his lunchbox.
no subjective meanings,
no in-betweens,
no emotions.
sometimes I wish I could see
my thoughts as binary,
or my memories as morse.
sometimes I wish I could understand
that we are nothing but the sum of our parts,
the outcome of a spectacular binding
of cell to cell:
a container of molecules.
that sadness is a school brawl between chemicals,
happiness an accidental firework
set off by a wayward alchemist.
all irregularities, as explained by
human error.
but the only thing human about an error
is the error itself;
the most fragile thing about a human
is his humanity;
**the closest we can ever be to God
is on the verge of our own ruin.**
weightlessness is only felt
halfway off a building,
freedom only gained
halfway away from home,
love only experienced
as one half of a broken heart.
there is no light without darkness,
no warmth without the cold,
no way to experience things
two at a time.
we will always exist in paradoxes,
as one or the other.
as a singularity.
the only place we can be God is
right here -- on the event horizon,
the point of no return.*
Sep 29, 2016
Sep 29, 2016 at 11:51 AM UTC
Women
are not mysterious.
We are not shrouded
in cloaks made from the night sky.
We are not anomalies
or irregularities in the data.
Our nature has been hidden
from men, by men.
We have not been studied;
Not extensively, thoroughly, over centuries.
Not the way men have been, either.
There was no equal footing in
analyses.
Women were test subjects, when men were patients.
When we were "relevant" at all.
This pattern literally kills us quicker.
In medicine, and love.
In the office and the bedroom.
In the workshop and the nursery.
In the kitchen.
In the kitchen.
Some food for your soul:
Everyone is magical.
You don't need a pointy hat and a ******
Everyone is intellectual.
You don't need spectacles, white skin, or a *****
Everyone is environmental.
Just go outside.
You just need to be you.
Subscribing to the binary
and rejecting it completely:
One ties your hands,
the other your feet.
Be all the parts of you. Then you can feel
Whole.
Mar 15, 2017
Mar 15, 2017 at 11:30 PM UTC
metromonic irregularities
of flawless infinity
particularized by lack of action
to create a participation in time
is the savage reprisal
of defiant elements
that challenge conspicuous masks
of isolated illusory expedient frugality
where there is an instistance on a fiction
of invented death without recognition
Nov 13, 2012
Nov 13, 2012 at 4:34 PM UTC
Lonely stranger in the distance,
She dresses warm to escape the bitter cold,
She walks slowly,
Her eyes are locked to the ground,
Deep in many thoughts,
She is beautifully awkward,
Silence is what surrounds her,
Never talks but listens carefully,
She has suffered through much pain,
But her love makes it all go away,
She is a stranger surrounded by angels,
They watch over her so gently,
Her emotions can get the best of her,
That is why she writes poetry,
She never speaks unless spoken to,
She can remain so still,
Silent, for several hours,
Just thinking to herself,
She inhales the morning air,
As if it will all soon be gone,
As the beautiful scent drifts through her body,
Many memories flow through her head,
She is strong in many ways,
She is weak in all others,
She will never give up hope,
She believes in faith,
She is growing to be very mature,
She listens to her instincts,
She knows what is right and what is wrong,
Her brown hair blows in the wind,
Her dark eyes shine with content,
Her pale skin lights up the darkness,
For the most part she is happy in life,
Although she finds herself very alone,
She is easier to trust than the average,
But, trusting other people is a hard thing for her to do,
She has many irregularities,
But that is what makes her perfect,
She is the mirror of me.
Nov 6, 2012
Nov 6, 2012 at 10:59 PM UTC
Oh Atlantis where art thou?
Deep within the abyss, far beyond the maze of madness,
bewildered in the wilderness, hungry 40 days.
Hidden from thine eyes are journeys unexplored
where life begins within.
How do I summarize what lies within the mind of your mankind,
being of a kind, man in kind.
Concealed in the center of your mental’s universe,
dictating life’s travesties and endeavors.
Stories unfold, as the ages pass unfolding reality, unraveling the mystery
of the conscious deep inside.
For what hath thou experienced?
And what doth thou have to give?
Wisdom forever disputes thine intellects irregularities.
Forewarning us
of the days to come
embracing the adventures that lie ahead.
Trial dare not stop us
hinder us
or beget us.
We must fight through the mystery of your history
overcoming adversity and demise,
triumphantly striving.
Many uncharted paths lie ahead
therefore unlock your iron gates, which gives us vision.
Bid us to come in.
Release what the pulse knows true.
Breakaway from the pain that has you chained, hiding beneath,
aiding and abetting prophesy,
so that those beyond will see…
Oh Atlantis…Where art thou?
Aug 15, 2013
Aug 15, 2013 at 8:23 AM UTC
my fears are as follows.
i am afraid of water,
of pain,
of high-up places.
i am afraid of getting stuck in one place.
i am afraid of dying in a terrible way.
i am afraid of the medical irregularities of my heart,
the condition that gives me too many beats at one time
and that will, someday, cause the beats to stop altogether.
and i am afraid that my life will be nothing like i want it to be.
i am afraid that my art is mediocre
and my poems unoriginal.
i am afraid that i will never love anyone again,
and that i will be bound, forever, by his ghost.
i am afraid that my fear will choke out my hope,
and that i will ******* myself,
and cheat myself,
and extinguish my ambition with all my doubts.
i am afraid of myself,
but i am so endlessly inspired by everything else.
May 12, 2013
May 12, 2013 at 11:30 PM UTC
~~~
I do not have a poem
at the ready,
at my fingertips,
ready, willing and able,
instant provision,
*yet, in the fingertips, yes,
is red ink, warming,*
waiting for the
sounding,
your tap tap tapping calling
of once-more
I do not have a poem
sited upon my lips,
in sweet patient stasis
awaiting
your requesting kiss,
*yet, deep hid within my throat,
are universes of words,*
ready for assembly,
immediate delivery,
needy for the signaling of
your endearing
provocations
I do not have a poem
stored in the heart's ventricles,
in cavitation, ready to bubble upwards,
ready to travel the veins,
provide art to the arteries,
encamping in the capillaries,
*yet, come stoke my steel furnace,
melt molten its contents for the removal of*
the irregularities of,
enduring love,
leave the glowing rawness of
glory passionate and gift abiding,
songs of felicitous contentment
I do not have a poem
upon my person,
easy to come,
easy released,
signaling its lanterned
mode of arrival,
one if by voice,
two if by hand,
*yet, this poem,
is my legal tender for you,
come purchase your poem
from the cells of my tissue*
spend it wisely,
for everything is beautiful
but delimited,
in its own way
when thy body needs to survive,
this body rises to connive,
this body to provide,
words of relief,
of soul solution,
in words precise,
particular,
designed medicine
designated for thy spirit
all you need supply,
the need,
and perhaps,
a bit of editing
Jun 24, 2015
Jun 24, 2015 at 1:58 PM UTC
Tessellation & Interstices
**”A tessellation or tiling is the covering of a surface,
often a plane, using one or more geometric shapes,
called tiles, with no overlaps and no gaps…In mathematics, tessellation can be generalized to higher dimensions and a variety of geometries.”**
the insistent need to be distinguished
means many are not,
indeed,
this hunger
to be an influencer
and never just an influencé.
creeply creates a linear surface,
a flooring to be trod upon,
a tessellated plane,
were we each fit in
right-tight juxtaposition
and we are noticeable for our
uniformity and
the scuff marks of having been trod upon,
well used.
it is in the chips of irregularities,
the overlaps and the gaps
where we touch and connect
with our individual Ah Ha’s,
where our Venn Diagram Lives
intersect, infect, interfere, inject,
in the tiny
interstices
tween us,
the jagged, irritatingly edgy
rubbings
that the friction of creativity
is comedically inseminated.
I love a good tense sweat,
that invasive, deep boring burring,
that demands
instant creative solutions lest the angst of
an unwritten-in-the-moment-poem
is even more annoying,
before it is annoyingly,
befogged, lost forever.
that is why with old age,
fearsome fast
short term memory loss,
some turn to the speedy freedom of
free verse,
unconstrained by socks
and well fitting shoes,
and the slip on sneakers
of rhyming,
so insistent on perfection,
that the
burr is absorbed,
the irritant rubbing is creamed away,
and that loss of
a pouring of the soul’s *********** of
Done!
is
our exclamatory mutual curse
Mar 23, 2024
Mar 23, 2024 at 10:26 AM UTC
I listen to the absence of time
Allow myself to become wrapped in its nothingness
It is a punctuated absence, like light through dust,
Showing all my imperfections deep emotions and real desires
My thoughts parade before me a regiment of vagabonds
I view all this as if I had never existed
Desperately searching through my boiling memory
For something that may prove my existence
I find nothing
Now my mind is heavy with expectation
Laden with an atmosphere of flawless irregularities
Strangely I feel a dreadful sorrow
I know I have always had desperation with life
A black rainbow in the sky that has the purchase on my vision
But the distain of silence nevertheless echoes weird
With destabilising compensations
My own splintered voice reverberating in my head
Presents a clarity of particular insanity
Now I realise for the first time
I have kept my secrets even from myself
So now when I reach out to find Me
I can’t, it’s too late, I've already gone
Mar 6, 2012
Mar 6, 2012 at 1:38 PM UTC
I wish I could write about you but there is no you.
I wish I could sink into your ribcage and infiltrate your lungs so you can't breathe in anything but me. I wish I could trace the lines in your palms where the earth separated millions of years ago. I wish I could feel your heartbeat as sporadic as lightning. I wish I could hear your laugh as rhythmic as the chirping of birds. I wish I could love your irregularities but there is no you.
Aug 3, 2015
Aug 3, 2015 at 9:21 PM UTC
I am trapped.
The strangest thing though,
Is that the leg-hold trap
Feels in my heart.
How did it get there?
And if there is that much
Iron in my body,
Why do I still feel
Short of breath?
Maybe it's too much....
Didn't I read somewhere
That too much iron in the blood
Causes heart irregularities?
Yes. That would explain a lot.
And it's probably the traps's serrated jaw
That's causing all this pain!
I see. I'm sure the doctor would agree that's true,
I was worried for a second
It had something to do with you...
Dec 28, 2012
Dec 28, 2012 at 3:38 PM UTC
I'll never forget,
That I am loved,
In spite of all my irregularities.
So gently go out into the world-
Experience all life has to offer,
See new sights,
Taste new foods,
Seek laughs and adventures,
Date and love other people,
Get married and start a family,
Do whatever your heart desires.
Know that I'll be okay-
Because I am love,
And I am loved.
May 12, 2016
May 12, 2016 at 3:56 PM UTC
Blemished puddles are collecting
within her reflection, they condense on
the walls of oxidized emotions.
Defective misgivings bathe within,
feeding on the algae of irregularities
that submerge beneath this glass figurine.
Unblemished words collect to swim on
the outside, perfection was bathing in smiles,
but inside she was drowning in insecurities.
May 14, 2017
May 14, 2017 at 5:19 PM UTC
Life!
Nothing but a walking shadow
partial and wicked with irregularities like the meadows
Pains like a needle in wounds
And non soothing like sounds of no consolation
What is pain other than our lives
What is wound rather than the tears we shed
We may live like this for long
But There's a pause called victory
Like an oasis is differentiate desert from farmland
Hunger from satisfaction
Fruitful from barren
Lack from surplus
A cheap consolation satisfying our expired need and unchanging greed and desire
Life! It is full of miseries like a pack of card with only aces
It takes trillion years to understand the prelude
Another billion years to comprehend the interlude
Years and years roaming on the crossroad of mind
Can't solve the deep puzzle in the drama of life
Is it crossword of our aspirations or destiny?
Or jigsaws of our thoughts,ideas,concept and prospects?
The things we shall never know that is within us
Our strengths and weaknesses
Our ups and downs
Our victories and failures
Our inabilities and abilities
Our losts and profits
Our tears and laughter
Our frown and smiles
Even actions and things we portray
we are ignorant of these in the game of life, defeat may be a consolation
Success may be a Greek gift
Flaws we never create
Dreams we never create
Still revolve around us
Like we are casts in a movie
And the script already written
Ours is to act
'Not minding if it's tragedy or comedy'
Like pinnochio and the host of the Disney
Our mind have been trained to forecast for seasons
But if we try to live other than it
that's treason
That's why people suffer
others feasting
@holythugbaba
Jan 17, 2015
Jan 17, 2015 at 8:18 AM UTC
To my future sons and daughters,
piece of advice from the old matter.
What lies beyond might be your answer.
Hoping somehow will make you feel better.
People always ask the meaning of love
and say the answers they always have.
Songs are played and tales are told.
All are true but too subjective to hold.
If still eager to know,
then let me lead you to show
the seed your mother and I have sowed.
This is the only thing I can bestow.
See the perfect wrinkles and see the small scars.
Smell the sweetness though there’s a hint of cigar.
Feel its firmness and feel its irregularities.
It’s not perfect for perfection does not exist.
Everyday, we did not stop nurturing,
Sometimes we fill it with dreaming.
Sometimes we mold and keep growing.
Loving each other everyday is exciting.
The beauty lies in our smiles.
Its charm could make our joy go miles.
Always do hug each other
cause it’s the small things that love last longer.
There are days that it’s not sunny.
It’s ok. We need it and it will make life funny.
Just chill and talk, let the heart explore.
Hope like I did, you come to appreciate the person more.
Love is always mutual.
It’s a give and take as usual.
A forgive and forget should be natural.
Efforts should be a ritual.
Love is not just affection.
Love is also a decision.
Holding each other through,
not letting go.
I’m thankful to have your mother.
I don’t think I could find any other.
She is a piece of my heart
and this is our love, we could never be apart.
Jun 23, 2015
Jun 23, 2015 at 10:28 AM UTC
A barely breathing story,
Hear the irregularities of my heart rhythm,
Withering inside,
Decaying outside,
Numb,
Edges of my skin clammy,
I feel the heartache piercing right through my clavicle,
Empty
Aug 18, 2015
Aug 18, 2015 at 12:15 PM UTC
I haven't been a part of life for more years than I wish to count. It's the absence in the moments I've seen long ago, the scenes I once clung so desperately to belong to. The abstraction in my memories say I was once there, but the irregularities in my heart rationalize the doubt and assure me that wishful thinking was the only memory that occurred. The particularities of this symptom- if it could be called that- are quite strange. It happens so rapidly, I hardly pay it any mind; but if my mind wanders, the old theater in my brain plays a reel. The imagined scenes are portrayed on screen and I can see myself within them.
Happy... sad, maybe.
It makes no difference. The mood of the filming is enough to make the heart start an analysis. I'll feel a tug or two at my heart and wonder where I ever got this silly notion. It's odd and a little depressing, but it only makes me wonder- where was I and why did I think this happen? Some days, I think I have the answer.
It's only longing.
© 2013
Feb 3, 2015
Feb 3, 2015 at 5:38 PM UTC