"irresolute" poems
When I too long have looked upon your face,
Wherein for me a brightness unobscured
Save by the mists of brightness has its place,
And terrible beauty not to be endured,
I turn away reluctant from your light,
And stand irresolute, a mind undone,
A silly, dazzled thing deprived of sight
From having looked too long upon the sun.
Then is my daily life a narrow room
In which a little while, uncertainly,
Surrounded by impenetrable gloom,
Among familiar things grown strange to me
Making my way, I pause, and feel, and hark,
Till I become accustomed to the dark.
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A Field of Stubble, lying sere
Beneath the second Sun—
Its Toils to Brindled People ******
Its Triumphs—to the Bin—
Accosted by a timid Bird
Irresolute of Alms—
Is often seen—but seldom felt,
On our New England Farms—
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Sleepless nights full of regret
For holding it all in
Waiting for the erosion
Of my mind to begin
My soul wanders aimless
Blind, lost and weak
A beautiful future
Now dark, lonely and bleak
Where do I look for courage
To find my voice
Is it too late?
Do I still have a choice?
Am I destined to be silent?
Nothing more than a mute
Unable to express
And emotionally irresolute
So now I just sit
In a dark corner and sigh
Looking for answers
To the how, when and whys
I hope the answers come soon
On why I don’t speak
Why I can’t express what I feel
And why I feel lonely and weak
Until I find the answers
I’ll just continue to cut
But I will hide my arms well
So nobody sees and thinks I’m a nut.
Dec 15, 2017
Dec 15, 2017 at 6:55 PM UTC
Take a chance on me, my love
Let's see how far it goes
I swear to open up my heart
But vow to look in close
Explore the depths of my soul
Find the places where I hide
Tear down the walls I built
To keep out the irresolute of heart
Probe the edges of my mind
Peel out my layers one by one
Collect my broken pieces
See past my cold facade
Know the silly stories I keep
And what makes my eyes light up
The quips that make me giggle
The ploys that make me laugh
Learn the words that speak to me
And the tricks that make me smile
The tunes that pull my heartstrings
The scenes that make me cry
Honey, take my hand in haste
Like there's not a time to waste
Keep me safe inside your arms
Like I would never come to harm
In turn, I'll lie beside you
And be there when you want
I'll be your little sunshine
To cheer you when you're down
I'll know when you need to be alone
Or if you need someone to care
I'll take pride in your achievements
And delight in all your quirks
I'll believe in all your dreams
And trust the words you say
I'll savor all our moments
And please you in every way
Take a chance on me my love
Let's see how far it goes
If you find you still don't love me
I swear to let you go
May 14, 2015
May 14, 2015 at 1:48 AM UTC
I was recently told that writing makes the reader more empathetic. Not very often are first impressions based off the magical machinations of the inner mind; rather, these impressions are superficial and surface deep. So here I am placing pen to paper, gliding the still drying ink across the smooth college-ruled lines, hoping another portal is opened, hoping that maybe someone will look beyond the surface into my multi-faceted universe where my true self lies. But what if I'm not entirely sure what completely lies in that realm? The portal is dark, deep, and damp, and my pen lacks the source of light needed to peer through to the tunnel’s end. Every drip of ink to touch the moleskin deepens the portal further into the tunnel-like abyss, like the never-ending layers of an onion, or the timid, velvety petals of a rosebud that's anxious to open itself entirely, petal by petal, with each needle sharp thorn acting as its guardian. Writing to gain the reader’s empathy is a form of vulnerability, telling even your most uncomfortable truths. There’s more to me that I have yet to find, but with each drip of ink, I regret nothing. Pens don’t have erasers. Every stroke is permanent. Why should I desire the empathy of others? So take the odiferous onion, or the irresolute rosebud that I am, because although I’ve captured your attention in so few words, this writing won’t promise your empathy.
Nov 24, 2013
Nov 24, 2013 at 11:33 PM UTC
The page asked and wanted to know
where are my screeds, my verses of to and fro?
The page is not insistent, it doesn't make demands
The blankness merely beckons you a clever use of hands
The page ask's are you bashful, timid, scared, or irresolute?
Does my vast emptiness request your feelings be bared?
Oh that's it, isn't it, the heavy hand of truth is what I seek
Such a criterion for a page long is not for the meek
You can be honest, its all right with me
Hell I'm not perfect, I'm the remnant of a tree
You can wax sonnets, or you can wrap fish,
A blank page is a delight, the poet's ultimate wish
But when rhyming's a necessity the words take different shape
They conform to the metered scheme of a phonetic gait
Then sound becomes as important as the meaning of a word
And cadence takes a beating and flies off like a bird
by: The reluctant rhyming of a laconic lexicon
Apr 28, 2013
Apr 28, 2013 at 3:09 PM UTC
Life is a seductive maiden,
extending two vials,
looking equally nice,
on her lovely hands
for you to choose from;
one contains, elixir of life,
the other poison
for slow extinction.
She enigmatically smiles,
making you irresolute;
you have to select one,
here and now, it'll decide,
what your fate will be,
in the long run.
*Don't flinch or dither a bit,
this moment is paramount;
look at her eyes intently
and extract a clue, act!*
Nov 21, 2012
Nov 21, 2012 at 6:54 PM UTC
The skilful masters (of the Tao) in old times, with a subtle
and exquisite *********** comprehended its mysteries, and were deep
(also) so as to elude men’s knowledge. As they were thus beyond men’s
knowledge, I will make an effort to describe of what sort they
appeared to be.
Shrinking looked they like those who wade through a stream in
winter; irresolute like those who are afraid of all around them; grave
like a guest (in awe of his host); evanescent like ice that is melting
away; unpretentious like wood that has not been fashioned into
anything; vacant like a valley, and dull like muddy water.
Who can (make) the muddy water (clear)? Let it be still, and it
will gradually become clear. Who can secure the condition of rest?
Let movement go on, and the condition of rest will gradually arise.
They who preserve this method of the Tao do not wish to be full (of
themselves). It is through their not being full of themselves that
they can afford to seem worn and not appear new and complete.
Sep 14, 2014
Sep 14, 2014 at 1:36 PM UTC
Alone, we both are,
Sitting patiently,
Waving white flags.
My mentality has reached capacity,
I’m looking for you, always.
An endless walk,
Is on my agenda.
I have the solution for us.
“Let’s just stand here for a moment and stare at the moon.”
Oct 17, 2012
Oct 17, 2012 at 7:15 PM UTC
under a canopy of white stars
my flesh kissing the warm tropical breeze
i, laying on a hilltop within the grass
enticed by memories of how love is
absorbed by thoughts of when love will flourish once again.
dreaming of becoming someone’s king.
a lover, a destroyer, a friend, a conqueror…
who has been conquered by a woman’s fierce crusade,
who is this invader?
why am i so anxious for her to incinerate all 5 of my senses?
i begged a greater being to let me die in her arms.
in her embrace i wish to find comfort and safety.
her tongue is a form of fire
her touch a form of ecstasy
her gaze resembled the radiance of a billion suns
a light that gives guidance and hope to my tired heart
i found myself irresolute to wake from this fantasy…
Sep 17, 2010
Sep 17, 2010 at 12:08 PM UTC
I am made weak and
irresolute by these floating
cloud memories
when the right
wind blows in my direction
it brings your scent with it
and my mind travels a
thousand miles into the
past
to be alone with you
in that room with strange
air
and a box of car crash
treasures
Jun 5, 2012
Jun 5, 2012 at 4:01 PM UTC
The blindfold lifts
As I wake
From a charming dream
Adrift on a lonely path;
An irresolute stroll
As the illusion fades
Against the hike
The madman tumbles
Wings tied
Into an ocean
Faced with demons
Of his own creation
Slave in chains
Now I walk,
How I know not,
Down this road
Passing through this place:
The corpse of a familiar world
Exposed to the cold
Expecting a warm embrace
That never finds me
I greet these souls
Shadows from some past life
Familiar, yet far too strange
Still lost in their dreams
In vain, I scream
Crawling through the pain
With my eyes set
On a sun that lies
Fleeing from me
As I make my way forwards
Fight! Fight!
With all might mine
Burning the horizon
For a light
That may never shine.
Nov 15, 2015
Nov 15, 2015 at 10:36 AM UTC
Everyone has that one class where they don’t have any friends.
Too many people are talking.
Only every so often do we get to the point
or the need to point when everything around you
turns your spine to something even more benign.
Turning in ourselves to each to operate
and begin again stretch out begin anew touch ourselves passionately
we make no mistake in choosing our goals. For most without
ourselves scribbling non-sense without reason of bureaucracy to
much favor irresolute makes no stake in having inhaling every state
come make me again for not for wants touches so much begins the
ways open run away from the days speaks open to harm may lay in a
daze non other may take the mask of will will no longer wait.
Mar 9, 2010
Mar 9, 2010 at 9:35 AM UTC
Obscurity in The City
Roots in The Desolate
Taken in by Wind
Lone tone in Paradise
Black shades in Red
Holding the drum's Roar
Crooked grains in Glass
Shot down stars Glow
Rug by the Roadside
Crimson tide in Blue
Ghost windows without Paine
Tireless metal boxes perched
Torpid tornadoes remain still
Structure floating motionless; inert
Drifting, they lay, dead in one Place.
Jul 24, 2013
Jul 24, 2013 at 1:16 PM UTC
Pervasive night fills these dreams,
Floods these eyes,
Unsaid and unseen.
No day escapes this lurking shadow.
No phrase can change its somber tune.
Though bright the morning sun she rises,
Night follows far too soon.
Record playing on repeat.
In my mind,
Begin the downbeat.
Beyond the depths there wait tomorrows.
Behind deception bides the truth.
Among the stars we hang our wishes,
The crossroads they’ll illume.
Thorny pathways find my feet,
Heartbeat rise,
Excite my defeat
Abandoned and alone I wander
Can’t face to be irresolute.
The bitter boils up inside me
To squelch the hopeful few.
Trusting, fall into myself.
Hold this time.
Can’t say all I’ve felt.
Can longing raise a soul lain fallow?
A life that suddenly rings true.
Are dusks not meant to paint horizons,
And souls to sing the blues?
“Enough” could finish or begin
To my core
Let all of it in
Long shadows fill the paths behind me
The light ahead prepares their doom
I rise to meet my own reflection
And face the world, full bloom
Jul 20, 2021
Jul 20, 2021 at 8:10 PM UTC
The cosmos how quiet you are today,
alas, you work in such mysterious ways.
Irresolute I wait outside your door,
I knock
I knock,
this other world cannot be ignored
The beguiling stars
aligned for me.
The sapphire sky
evoking the sea.
I pass along this trajectory,
floating,
floating ,
floating,
free.
Sep 28, 2016
Sep 28, 2016 at 4:22 PM UTC
golden piles,heaving trunks,she's a little mystery
so grow slowly magnificent leaf
the hearth sprouts a cough of giddy spit
(when the sun dies the earth drunk of quiet; the trees clamour
for some moon blood) and the hounds are mouths foaming
all over the ambrosia flecks of open windows greeting summers breath
she,s some fruit. grown supple flesh singing stinging beads of salty
liqueur. taste. lips gripping stunning liquid. in all my cuts. she's the paste.
what a bounty; these eyes. seems where the stars lay. glittering
specks. irresolute laughter. the timid sister of a day gone by
how make i for you
an earth more perfect
than this? i give my blood
Aug 8, 2010
Aug 8, 2010 at 11:26 AM UTC
floating smoke in the summer air
drifting along then dissipates.
the pounding in a head,
vessels pulsing and constant movement.
fingers dancing across a keyboard, to
incorporate a checklist of knowings and
to-be-knowns -
the insecurities of new scenery
mile marker after mile marker
and you’re happy, but irresolute.
someone tripped over the cord again,
yanked it out and dragged it away
a moment, and a guarantee
let’s look and see, to be sure there’s something more
than a simple crank of a machine, grown
rusted and unmanageable over years
I’m tracing back,
looking for something
I think I missed it.
these fingers that hold my wrist
and suggest
“please, let me assist”
you know what’s best.
Aug 11, 2017
Aug 11, 2017 at 9:09 PM UTC
Feel like I'm falling somewhere
somewhat transcendental
needing to stop pretending
that what I feel
and see
and live
isn't
real.
I suppose that I wanted to write
something that may
have been something
magically enticing
that could
bring me
back to
you.
But I'm sick of these vicious ravings
tacked up on some kind
of failing travesty
crying out
for an
idea.
So what that I was looking for someone
to cling to in this raging sea
so what that I may have
been the exact opposite
of who and what
she and I
may have
desired.
I don't think that my absolute and unwelcome
need to write whatever comes to mind
is some kind of balm that may cure
whatever sinking, slithering thing
that ails me so, irresolute
and very sullen
but rather
is a mirror
unforgiving.
How this phrase grown out of a horror movie
and one thousand years of Alchemy
has become a byword between us
living as a hashtag and a symbol
in the world we now have here
our only complete interaction
contact in something
souls flung
carelessly
away.
Realizing that I'm not writing this to you or me
but rather all of us that have fought
in our own way to continue
believing in something
greater than ourselves
weak and yet
resilient as
firelight.
I have not the words to break through the walls
that I have built for myself out of
shame and a soul wounded
and so scarred as to
have torn your
happiness from
you.
But I still retain this deep suspicion that
what still lives within us all
is a burning and a knowing
something not for Truth
but for not needing
to feel so
****** lonely
so sickeningly
often.
And so I sit here behind by computer forged from
metal and silicon and greed, typing out love and rage
not really believing that what I say
will ever have any real impact
on the society that I have
come here, truly
to destroy.
So let's take a true gander at this wretch of a world
that we've created for ourselves, hoping
that all of this half-assed search
for real and absolute
freedom from oppression
is more
than
a
pipe-dream.
Oct 22, 2014
Oct 22, 2014 at 1:44 AM UTC
The apple is gone.
It departed today in the wake
of Gonzalo’s sting.
The sting in the tail
of a hurricane that
should never have touched our shores.
And so the symbol
of tenacious life
no longer bears witness
to my own tenacity:
my own survival in an
irresolute world
now seeks another yardstick
on which to pin a shaky faith.
Oct 21, 2014
Oct 21, 2014 at 12:16 PM UTC
In Noah Webster’s lexicon of 1828
this word meant one who walks about
in an aimless mindless state.
(He did not of course mean to describe
our present head of state.
Still I didn’t make it up-
I don’t prevaricate!)
He seems irresolute to deal
with Isis’ militancy.
His only firm direction is
towards the Eighteenth tee.
In the chill of an autumn afternoon,
as the light begins to fade,
it appears his major goal in life
is the par shot he just made.
Now that his term is winding down
I get the strange impression
that all this golfing is prelude
to a planned change of profession.
He’ll join the tour, he’ll make the cut
He’ll finally have it all.
when the only lie concerning him
Is the lie of his golf ball.
Oct 19, 2014
Oct 19, 2014 at 6:02 PM UTC
The hovering
of dark clouds ******
my stale memories,
the exultant memories
of ominous days.
when my breaths scrambled in
suffocated corridors
Of acute treachery,
like the irresolute wick of
a lamenting candle
survives the gushing wafts
of wrathful wind, only to enter
another phase of
unspeakable horror.
Oh! Dear candle,
my candid pathfinder of
apocalyptic nights,
cursed you are.
thawing your being
in service of this
barbaric world,
they blow you off forever
in just one exhale of
tampering frustration
naming you
the heartless murderer
of romantic moths.
Apr 13, 2016
Apr 13, 2016 at 12:08 AM UTC
In the woods
During youthful days
A cabin stands irresolute
A great pond surrounds the yawning forest
Emphasized by a worn dock
Jutting into the glassy water
In the summer
Sailboats drift lazily
Along the surface
Driven
By gentle winds
But in the chill
Of bitter winter
The water freezes to icy blue
Cracks appear
As heavy feet touch the fragile slate
At night
The iridescent moon erupts
Bursting with quiet violence
Perforating gentle clouds
Transforming the water
Into diamonds
Everything
Is here
Within
Without
Hovering above the world
In flushed splendor
Lost in the wild
A love and a life
Jun 1, 2014
Jun 1, 2014 at 6:27 PM UTC
i stand here
in this room of cement
dreaming to be on the outside.
though, this dream is mercurial.
i can see the outside, through the one thing in the room.
a stained glass window.
it's colors clashing and colliding, to form the most beautiful picture
and suddenly,
my dream doesn't seem as important.
as the light shines through, the colors coat the room with warmth and beauty.
i've only one thing keeping me from my dream
something so fragile and so elegant, yet has the strongest hold on me.
i've only one thing keeping me from my dream
and yet,
i can't bring myself to destroy it.
Oct 23, 2019
Oct 23, 2019 at 5:48 PM UTC
I told you I would write about us.
About that night
And I know you know which one
It was the “firsts” of many
First time seeing each other
In half a year
Second time in almost three
You looked different, older
And I suppose you were
Did I to you
Surely I must have
If only the difference
Was my delirious outspoken state
I was with you but all I could think of was about
Me
What did you think of me?
Why did you come to see me?
Did you like the touch
Of my skin
In the same way I liked yours?
“ what are you thinking?”
I asked
But meant about me
Have I always been this self consumed?
Can I answer the same questions about you?
Your hands in mine
I can answer some
I like your distinctive yet
sedate aura
You were rare
A secret
To the industrial world
Your hand in mine
Your touch was reticent
And yet irresolute
If embracing were a race, you
Would have let me win
If I was a stride
You were a step
And two steps behind
It would’ve been
I wanted you
To run at my pace
But I was scared
So we stayed in place
I was in control
But I couldn’t take it there
I couldn’t give you my soul
Contrite I would say sorrowful words
For reasons I didn’t quite understand
Maybe it has to do with all the questions
I couldn’t answer that I asked you
As you held my hands
Questions that I would have you answer me
Or maybe I know I couldn’t concede
To everything you may want in me
Because deep down I think I know
This wasn’t meant to be
Then it hits
That thing
It goes by the name
Reality
Those steps taken forward
Can’t be retraced
And I’m glad
You weren’t running at my pace
This will have to end
I don’t know how or
Even if
It will ever begin again
So I say the words
“I’m sorry”
And you tell me I have no reason to be
But you don’t know what it is
Those words actually mean.
Feb 3, 2019
Feb 3, 2019 at 11:39 PM UTC