"localized" poems
~for those who will read this and weep~
*the quiet ones,
the silent Job ones,
who quote not from the
Book of Lamentations,
but author their own,
based on-the-job experience
localized versions of cryptic elegiacs
accepting the wooden crosses borne,
stepping up to the
unrequested unforeseen,
then buried under, burnt alive,
yet never relieved by dying,
nailed by words, stronger than iron,
promises sworn, promises kept
with no ending date relief,
promises by and to themselves,
but not for themselves!*
*the wearers of crystal glass shackles,
adorned with decorative locks for which
no key did the maker make,
nor any divine creator
dare conceive an early release,
never no escape contemplated,
for the lock human, unrepentant unbreakable,
a decorative useless metaphor gesture,
a blunt “life ***** advertisement
I compose amidst a
bus pond of mismatched city folk,
a tapestry of ages colors and differing views on god/no god,
none would believe that as the bus sways me,
it’s in rhythm to holy choral music,
hundreds year old,
divinity masses and motets worships,
where one human can hide temporarily
a safe house,
to calm his questioning relentless
from the horrors of no answers,
for when the mind has no solution
to the rough and tumbling lives,
lived in glass shackled confinement,
the poets desperation equals theirs*
*summon eagles to transport these imprisoned,
but the shackled refuse,
I come to them but they wave me off,
I go crazy for once I was enslaved,
thirty years war that left devastation,
from which so many poems created
so I speak with heightened regard
of one who planned futures for others where his
non-existence was a founding father (ha!)*
*but the day came and
I was released by my own inactions,
but means nothing until a way to
away found
to release the yet bound early*
got a couch, airline miles, hundred dollars
in my pocket and an unrelenting need
to save them, a consumption disease,
the glass shackled, at ease,
won’t rest till all are freed
this my creed
no one left behind
these cyber words do not mock
for they are unbounded, set free,
when
the flesh connects and the needs of the flesh
are stronger for they are in heart conceived
Jun 23, 2018
Jun 23, 2018 at 5:45 PM UTC
What if I were president? What party, what values would I hold?
If I were president would I be humble, honest, and bold?
When I talk about greater justice for immigrants, I'm a Democrat.
When I speak out against abortion, I'm a Republican.
When I talk about racism and racial inequality, I'm a Democrat.
When I mention small, localized government, I'm a Republican.
When I support the common good and solidarity, I'm a Democrat
When I say the family should be strengthened, I'm a Republican.
When I speak up against the death penalty, I'm a Democrat.
When I refuse to fund contraception, I'm a Republican.
So, where does this leave me? You have to pick right?
Well in some ways I'm both, and in some ways neither.
You see, if I pick Democrat I'm going against my Republican values
And the same is true of my Democrat values if i decide Republican.
If I were the president I'd work for peace, love, truth, understanding
I would work to build bridges between the peoples and the nations
Walls and fences do not, the best neighbors, make.
I won't convince you with anything I say, but if I do my best to live and
To reflect love, to give hope, to find joy maybe you'll want it too
To lift up the lowly, help others help themselves, to forgive and to love
That's some of what I hope to do.
In truth, I'm a member of an institution that teaches that freedom is when a person no longer acts under the influence of someone else. An institution that encourages free will and free thought. An institution that doesn't fit inside a man-made box.
This is being true to myself, this is who I am.
I'm Catholic
Aug 30, 2016
Aug 30, 2016 at 11:30 AM UTC
this is a poem about happiness.
this is also a poem about how great life is, see? here's a metaphor
comparing nature to the faultless
form of a pedastalized lover,
here's a description of the
effect of changes in air pressure
and localized temperature
fluctuations
on physical matter in a given area.
here's a bland truism that
anybody can relate to.
here's a couple rhyming stanzas
about the ethereal shifting of
connecting threads which
cause all life to dance upon
the cosmic stage like food poisoned marionettes.
here's an ode to the wrinkles of
my ******** and
the bits of fuzz that occasionally
find their home in my *****
here's a sonette to the drop outs
doing better than me
here's a dirge for the businessman
that hangs himself
and a jubilee for his widow
who earns nothing off his death
because he left his entire estate
to his catamite.
I'm writing a symphony in color,
notes of fermenting wood
dogshit and coffin dust.
the violas swoop and drone
the piccolos trill fast enough
to excise your gastrointestinal system
the barotone sax wheezes
and the timpani drum rumbles
(the flutes sit motionless because
**** flutes)
the pianists fingers are bleeding
hes banging with stumps now
his face contorted in ecstatic glee
as if the face of god has parted
the clouds just to scrape his gums
clean with his dietous ****
and lo faint is the whisper
which climbs and slithers
between the
false,
bash upon life with both hands.
here is life here is death
let me show your life
let me breathe your wretching
like squandered
like roots in the soil,
paint your everlasting cave drawing
in the face of your kitchen
and dance around a fire
let the embers lick your heels
til pagan viciousness overtakes
your quivering form.
gasp it in
Jun 20, 2014
Jun 20, 2014 at 2:47 AM UTC
The flicker of a bulb lights the rearview mirror.
A car stands motionless behind the laundromat.
The occupants make hollow love,
Searching for what is lost in the sea of humanity
And the localized cloud of buildings.
Their bodies curl in the back seat
And the streetlamp continues,
A silent metronome, blinking on
And off.
Oct 17, 2011
Oct 17, 2011 at 9:27 PM UTC
I still catch my breath
everytime I feel that
hot
searing
burst
on my skin
causing it to
pucker
blister
redden
it appears
melted
stretched taunt
forced to do something
it never wanted to do
and because it succumbed
I'm left with the this ever present
sharp
localized
tiny
focal point
of pain.
And it reminds me of you.
Jul 6, 2013
Jul 6, 2013 at 11:44 PM UTC
i think my feel box is malfunctioning, i gotta find a screwdriver to pop off the faceplate and inspect the insides. it keeps saying the latitude and longitude aren’t localized. i can’t calibrate it because i’m up in the air. it flickers when it beeps and my static causes feedback. birds don’t know anything about artificial connective tissue, but they know all about falling.
May 19, 2013
May 19, 2013 at 9:40 PM UTC
In the air I breathe there is you.
More than the tantalizing scent of your body as it sways to and fro
It is your essence I inhale, your aura that I breathe
I open my mouth so that I might drink in the mesmerizing colors
that combine into the light of your soul
I gulp you down like that first explosive burst of air
after an underwater panic
When you are near there is a richness to the air,
a localized pocket of supercharged oxygen
that serves to make you the center of reality
The totality of your being flows
throughout my shell deep within to the center of my self,
inundating my soul with the
unlimited potential and energy contained within your love
Oct 31, 2012
Oct 31, 2012 at 5:03 AM UTC
~
*Major blue empty:
first listen to the weather pattern;
the scaffolding remains,
but the holding songs
of color are threadbare;
simulacra of imperfection
simply swirls like seagrass,
a pointillist matrix
of rainfall rustles
gathering scene -- nothing
stands on its own initially;
but after a few localized
moments it collects
to articulate this silence,
as each sound looms and subsides
in the garden of
selective speculation.*
~
Apr 24, 2023
Apr 24, 2023 at 4:43 PM UTC
Bring together.
Tear apart.
(SIMULTANEITY)
Command or be carried,
be free or be ferried,
believe or be bleary,
wear on or be weary.
The bedpan of old age,
the deadpan of expression--
at the end
before beyond,
inward evacuation
/
outward ingestion,
a life lived to die--
but life exists, after all.
The "pan" of Pangaea,
the pan of a camera--
at the start
before tectonic cataclysm,
localized catastrophe
/
universal symphony,
indifference until perception--
but perception exists, after all.
Either
/
Or:
equal opponents at one moment
until chosen.
It could be said no dimension is parallel.
-LP
Nov 26, 2013
Nov 26, 2013 at 10:04 PM UTC
7:00am
Shelter Island,
Sat Sep10
on the south west edge of the isle,
the slowrise sunrise just behind the trees,
so early day yet, no full frontal of a sun
bathing to wake up woman, babes asleeping, but the
animals know exactly this hours early
perfection.
indeed, the crazy squirrels are random
hither and dithering in spurts of energy,
only stopping to observe a viewing of the humans
nest~resting through the glass doors with their
inquisitive, self-possessed, bedside reckless manner,
perfected.
the suns pealing gleaming gleanings picks
out any shiny reflective surface that enhances
its low-rise greeting, with a chorale of living objects
singing “Hallelujah orb, what’s in store for us today,”
river~bay, wake-less, its becalming, marbling surface, again,
perfected.
me?
I’m mugged by the perfection intersection of
my eyes-scape, first coffee, the holy quietude, only
the regular soft breaths beside, lend a counterpoint
to these thoughts and the litany of chores the iCal happily, annoyingly, prematurely but with certainty lists, resistance (Walk!)
perfectly ok.
ok not to move an inch, watching this daily movie rerun,
that energizes hope, a contemporary localized contented without the
humdrum of blaring headlines, talking heads, and the
infiltration of the guilty unfulfilled responsibilities demanding a due,
then heavens signal me, Donovan, earbud singing Colors, confirmed
perfectly ok!
“*Yellow is the color of my true love's hair
In the mornin', when we rise
In the mornin', when we rise
That's the time, that's the time
I love the best*”
Sep 10, 2022
Sep 10, 2022 at 8:21 AM UTC
Recklessly I cruise a plateaued plane
One I call memory lane
Which in hindsight was kind of insane
I'm not sure what I was looking to gain
There's not much other than pain in the ones I retain
I know this, it's beyond first hand eyewitness obvious,
Even prior to being forced to meticulously explain
Becoming increasingly familiar with that ruthless domain
Thankfully some truly cherished living snapshots remain
However, most have broken free from their neglected, rusty chain
And I'm left cursing the bane of my existence,
While, in plain sight, the flashbacks that cause my eyes to drain
Swerve in and out of my lane
Joy ridin' my misery or being metaphysically driven to the torture of the mind and soul,
Instigated by a fraction of a fractured brain
That to this day isn't clear on what's it's actually sayin'
Can not seem to refrain from immersing myself in self inflicted pain
Forgotten or slain?
What's it matter if the outcome will be the same;
Me, laying motionless in front of a raging train,
Leaving only a crime scene stain
One that'll go as unnoticed as it did when it flowed through a main artery vein
'Till any and all evidence of my unspectacular,
Super localized reign
Washes away in the rain
And I become nothing more than a name
©2024
May 12, 2024
May 12, 2024 at 12:25 PM UTC
Western star
I set for hours in the darkness spellbound you held my gaze
The trees and night darkness completed the picture
Your mind races ever higher quiet etude the engulfing blaze
Silver light breaks all captivity you to are suspended held amidst glories brow
Within darkness you are the cloaked sojourner destination improbability
Somewhere in the mix of thoughts for a brief time you are free of all concerns
All that exists is the span of distance in all this voluminous emptiness lies compatibility
Measureless void you wash in great waves against my enthralled soul
You give abundant texture to the wall and windows that I view this indispensible wonder
Because I know you seem localized but half of the earth at least can be held in the same awe
The earth when viewed aright by going to the edge and then stepping into space unchained bounder
Do you affix your very being to channels that gird the heavens go beyond be spellbound at long last right living
You’re tenuous diminished life will catch space in the raw your life will begin at long last to thaw
Your views will startle and alarm those not yet up to the throttled speed found at every level life should be lived
Adventures have for millennia shown the way over and beyond the darkest expanses victory without flaw
Table your defeated hand speak with dignified power as you break the common tide thou conquer who envisions stars as friends
Jan 10, 2012
Jan 10, 2012 at 1:20 PM UTC
Be sure what ever you do
there is a woman behind you
so use her power
so it enlightens you
you will not be just a favour
for your own pleasure
but you will become you
the one and only un-known you
so use those voces
do not keep them inside your head
when the atoms lose electrons,
forming cations(positive ions),
these ions become surrounded by de-localized electrons, which are responsible for conductivity.
Conductivity
That is Metal
Aug 2, 2012
Aug 2, 2012 at 6:24 PM UTC
stone walls breathe
glossed ice these mornings:
the churches and bedside
table depots, the detwined
compression of intermittent
glances scattered, the quiet
moments of stationary
departure through localized
clusters of stretching limbs,
stark and barely alive,
pausing in the coming
season's absence.
slowly
wondering what it's like;
to unfold spring at your side, to
let lonelinesses bloom at the
tips of branched fingers and
wash away, to be standing
down there, on the fresh sky,
cutting new droplets out of
beach-long cumuli.
Aug 5, 2013
Aug 5, 2013 at 4:25 AM UTC
it’s not old style, old school plain glass. it
may look old, but it’s new, stressed new;
glass soaked in molten cation.
ensnared in furnace, one cat is exchanged for
another making glass super strong.
this is good.
what doesn't **** makes you stronger.
yes and no Pink.
if you soak your heart in molten cation.
you will come out shining and new,
strong like a ******
you have to understand the alchemy.
you see, in a headout collision with
new Stressed glass, it
breaks into a thousand tiny
safe pieces.
you won't have sharp shards, or
receding hairline fractures,
cracks and fissures spreading across
fatty deposited windshield.
the new heart is stress tested.
no spreading wave depression,
across your fiber glass network.
The crack is localized.
When the collision is big enough
the entire windshields shatters.
I guess you have to replaced it with
a new stress, molten dipped, cation exchanged
heart.
May 14, 2013
May 14, 2013 at 7:23 PM UTC
like broken mirrors
reflect
changes
diffused with
spectrums blue
in contact where
the object sits
contact relationships
of localized color
cannot be blue
if the light
illuminating it
is
true....
Feb 18, 2015
Feb 18, 2015 at 5:53 PM UTC
Candles burnt their encore, sent their smoky
ropes to fatigued altitudinal strongholds.
They slid downward to sinners knee deep
in glossy pews...combing their kneecaps
to sooth a momentarily localized numbness.
Body parts and parts, to parts, and parts...
that are bodies that fell asleep.
Flesh sleeps its church...we are the encore
our candles await.
Feb 15, 2015
Feb 15, 2015 at 11:43 PM UTC
I.
Love has a pulse
A rhythm method
Sometimes
Hand in hand
Others
Hand-to-hand
Best wedding gift:
A book of matches
For those times of
Darkness ahead
II.
Coming out of the ether
The gravitate to "we"
Is no longer in
Simulation
We are space
Outer and uncharted
Breathe deep now
Once again
Let pressurization
Begin
III.
Spontaneous
Combustion
Magic hour
Learn by repetition
Crouching tiger, hidden dragon
Tongue on the verge
Circling the rosebud
Like the rise of an empire
Blown by the wind
Every which way
The blissful vein
Is tapped into
IV.
Localized storm
Waves against the sandbags
Not quite filled enough
Water gets in
Does its damage
The insurance policy
With no flood coverage
We are now indeed
An island
V.
Sacrificial offering
Open palms
Bowed heads
Recite your sorrows
And count the losses
Forgiveness comes like
Piecemeal
A little at a time
VI.
Something new
And loud and wet
Love has a different hue
To its sky
It will be cloud free
Never again
A hunt for a nap
Or dreams of napping
In this maddening mosaic
That blurs the line between
Caretaker and sleepwalker
VII.
Endurance wins the race
Not good intentions
Home can survive
The change of seasons
We plant the flowers
We water the lawn
We rake the leaves
We prune the trees
This is our garden
If we don't tend to it
Who will?
Dec 5, 2019
Dec 5, 2019 at 9:33 AM UTC
this understuffed bed in my stomach is capable of containment
because it is a forest of redwood fluttering with bats, slithering
with snakes, and crawling with panthers. it is an expansive house
that is mostly empty, always rented out, people crossing the
threshold of my comfort zone as if the door to my life is a ******* welcome mat, everyone seemingly feigning ignorance to the
existantial crisis in my stomach that is like a world war three.
people ask me why i have anxiety. well, they're the same ones
who cuts down the forest of redwoods and turns the ending
result of the paper into origami, and they watch the way my
skin begins to imprint a crease that stays. they're the same
ones who don't notice that the redwoods are my pillars,
just like how bones and atoms are building blocks. cautiously,
you knocked on the door to my comfort zone, and opened the
door when I allowed you to come in. you are a natural green
thumb, planting trees where others cut them down, mending
the creases in the paper to the best of your ability. you prevented
me from going extinct, from these localized fires becoming forest
fires, and gave life to the empty gray parts of myself.
- kra
Jan 25, 2015
Jan 25, 2015 at 11:16 PM UTC
Peter in the summer morning sun
his cool smile shaded by shadows run
his voice as soothing as coffee’s scent
tell me he wasn’t heaven sent
Peter of Malibu moss and Spanish rose
his lips like light-coral, in kissable repose
his legs slouched akimbo, like a tiger’s limbs
how I long to re-entangle myself in them.
Peter’s quick caress, on windy Tropez beaches
aren’t men the most delightful, of nature's invasive species?
I miss the jeweler’s precision, of his warm and playful hands
and how the sun slowly gifted him, with a model’s golden tan.
Peter sipping coffee under a brittle, New Haven sun,
his rough laugh following something silly I’d done.
There’s no cryptic, localized pathology, happening at the beach,
when the two of us are together, our worlds just seem complete.
.
.
Songs for this:
What the World Needs Now by Tori Holub & James Wilkas
be mine by strongboi
Mar 1, 2025
Mar 1, 2025 at 9:23 AM UTC
Give me your approximations
Thank you
Grab onto me now
Forget your
Agreement
You are the best
Immunity
My localized cure
Give me your days unlived
Desire
around your body
You can take mine
Yours
Grasp it
I will follow
Before you first
My delicious vision
painted onto my eyes
A little
Yes
To your question
Innoculated
against denial.
Mar 22, 2015
Mar 22, 2015 at 2:33 AM UTC