"loopholes" poems
Opinions like dough, gruesome and cloying, sticking to the tongue like self righteous peanut butter.
Sitting up for the wrong reasons, though it's difficult to get out of bed alone.
Counting calories like counting the number of eyes that pass over this form.
Glances flitting like shadows on cheekbones that aren't cutting, too rounded.
Running towards expectations on the necessary incline towards beautiful.
Sweat and pounds and £s for form fitting clothes, like sickly scales.
Weight resting on the soles of the right shoe for the right path towards the right body.
Weight lifted, muscles straining like Atlas with the weight of the world's eye view.
Memberships paid for, memberships given to the society of those who fit into society.
Take the leftovers, it's funny because the sight of us does not suggest the leaving of necessity.
Tightening belts until the loopholes leave us love even though we lack what is expected.
Leaving our food and gaining what you want.
Jul 8, 2013
Jul 8, 2013 at 6:05 PM UTC
i was wrenched from a bed
that was not my own to begin with.
into the sunlight, they dragged me,
hands yanking at my long hair.
i clutched my body.
jaw set, i silently vowed not to cry, to take it
like a woman should – to look them in the eye,
to stand unashamedly in front of my neighbors,
my mother, and my sisters. to stand in front of the town,
and face the inevitable.
the Pharisees threw me to the ground, gave a swift kick
to my side – gentle, compared with what would come.
the women, eyes glossed with icy detest, spat in my face.
*so the ***** has been caught*, they hissed.
But i refused to give them the satisfaction.
i wouldn’t close my eyes during it.
couldn’t.
Jesus, they barked, *we caught her sleeping
with a man she doesn’t belong to*.
you know what to do.
the little children and the rabbi and the mothers
and the sons, they felt the ground
for smooth, heavy rocks.
i bowed my head slightly, as fingers trembled over
new, prune-colored bruises
on my ribs, my stomach.
i unlocked my knees and lifted my chin,
met his eyes.
he paused for a moment, nodded his head slowly.
If you are without sin, please, cast the first stone.
i bit my lip, waited and watched,
squinting in the sunrise.
the Pharisees grumbled, the townspeople eyed me, but said
nothing, until they left, one
by one.
that Jesus, they mumbled,
He’s always finding loopholes.
Sep 29, 2010
Sep 29, 2010 at 4:56 PM UTC
Cats no less liquid than their shadows
Offer no angles to the wind.
They slip, diminished, neat through loopholes
Less than themselves; will not be pinned
To rules or routes for journeys; counter
Attack with non-resistance; twist
Enticing through the curving fingers
And leave an angered empty fist.
They wait obsequious as darkness
Quick to retire, quick to return;
Admit no aim or ethics; flatter
With reservations; will not learn
To answer to their names; are seldom
Truly owned till shot or skinned.
Cats no less liquid than their shadows
Offer no angles to the wind.
2.8k
You think
presents are promises
words are warrants
kisses are contracts -
but I give gifts
to conquer,
hold you in my debt,
and tell knots
twists of reality
that wouldn't hold up, Your Honor.
Can't you see how I crave loopholes,
how I search for them
in the arch of your lip
and the contours of your tongue?
May 11, 2012
May 11, 2012 at 7:53 PM UTC
lately //
i’ve been making a noose of my own heartstrings //
but my father is a fisherman who taught me that the best knots don’t slip //
so i carry a bowline in my pocket for security and a tangled mess of forevers on my sleeve.
But I’ve also been tying anchor bends since i realized my grip was not equal to atlas’ shoulders.
And what a cruel paradox that is //
to think that a god can carry the earth beneath our feet but our hands // molded from clay and mud in the same image //could never be enough of a last resort to anchor our hearts in our chests.
so the loophole here,
so to speak,
is the anchor bend knot //
but! //
you know what’s funny about loopholes actually?? // you see, they were made to allow arrows to be shot from an opening // but the structure of that opening prevents counter arrows from being shot back in.
such an invention is why it’s always been nearly impossible to storm a castle’s wall and my, // have many a noble men fallen at the feet of such entrances.
so nowadays, i carry my trusty bowline //alongside the endless loopholes of those old-fashioned anchor bends.
however, I’m sure you know that the bowline is regarded as “the knot of all knots” right? it’s good for tying just about anything without give.
but the first time i ever went sailing // i learned about the round turn and two half hitches. this knot is pretty cool because the more tension you apply to the rope, the tighter the knot will get //
highly reliable for most things.
i guess the irony here is that // i am personally, most identifiable with this knot.
i don’t really ever use it. i am not a sailor or a fishermen. but i do have a really bad tendency of fastening myself to things that have a lot of pull.
the tightening tension of it
is similar to the mythical 13 knots in a hangman’s noose and what an incredibly genius stroke of engineering.
to think that the masterful art of knot-tying comes down to the basic idea that a knot will hold under tension is simply and utterly graceful without fault.
but here’s the thing;
as soon as i learned to tie a knot that won’t slip,
i taught myself the hangman’s knot:
a knot that essentially slips, but still holds merciless tension around its victim.
i’ve been tying nooses with what causes me the most pain.
with what bleeds the most love //
but as the one and only descendant of my father, the great fisher king,
i am starting to learn that if the knot slips,
you cut the line and start again.
Aug 13, 2018
Aug 13, 2018 at 10:14 PM UTC
It makes no difference
Whether it is poet freak or Hello poetry
The sites are different
The loopholes are quite apparent
Human psyche is the same
There may be only a change in name
Good poets are every where respected
Fake poets are easily detected
Great poets are always adored
Eternal poets are highly revered
If writing poetry becomes a poet’s obsession
He tries his best to achieve perfection
The main aim of poetry is to please
Our tension it will soon release
The aim of a great poet is to instruct
But every poet’s intention is to construct
The platform for comraderie
Writing poetry is not a reverie
Poetry consoles, delights
Instructs, pleases, and relieves
Even our greatest psychic pain
Writing or reading poetry is a spiritual gain
Feb 19, 2011
Feb 19, 2011 at 3:28 AM UTC
Expression.
It’s all in how we look,
How we act.
Society.
Limits our expression,
Shows us what we can and can’t be.
Women.
We are told to be perfect,
Told what to look like and how to act.
Each day, something new is added
whether it is something to be skinnier,
Or something to change our face.
We are roped into a battle,
Being dragged by society's standards.
The words used are like guns.
Each hurtful phrase heard
is like a bullet tearing through the heart.
It hurts to hear society’s views,
Society’s opinions.
What do we follow?
We are told to be ourselves,
But who is that?
Ourselves. Myself. Yourself.
The people we are trying to figure out.
The people who we want to find,
But can’t.
We are pressured and indoctrinated with styles,
With trends,
With things that are “normal.”
Normal.
What is Normal?
Who came up with this silly term?
Normal.
Something everyone is striving to be,
But lose themselves trying to find.
Something everyone longs to be called,
Even if it hurts their reality.
Something everyone is forced into,
With nobody knowing the true outcome.
Weird.
Is what people think when they see people who are not “normal.”
People who do not fit society’s standards,
Society’s expression.
What people don’t see, is the happiness.
The people who you deem “not normal,”
Have found themselves.
Have found who they truly are,
Happiness.
Is what you get when you finally find yourself,
When you can express who you are freely,
Without fear of being hurt, or judged.
Happiness.
Is what you get when everyone is equal,
When everyone was the same rights,
Without loopholes and sly backdoors.
Happiness,
is you.
Who you are.
Not society’s view,
But your own expression.
You.
Who is Free.
Who is Joyful.
You, who is Happy.
Oct 17, 2016
Oct 17, 2016 at 12:01 PM UTC
The reapers only few in number
Form rules with cunning tools
Knitting loopholes while we slumber
Find jewels in captives’ joules
The reapers take what isn’t fair
In the name of piety
Writing off what they declare
With impropriety
The reapers ravage all our laws
The poor find nothing more
Using all their battle maws
For war of pseudo lore
Aug 18, 2011
Aug 18, 2011 at 1:00 PM UTC
Their interpretations are out
in the public domain,
either derivation serves.
Long drawn Ethmolgy
often over reaches,
Random pretentiousness increases,
until Lexicons are suppliant
causing loopholes to lessen.
trying to excogitate meaning !
Apr 16, 2012
Apr 16, 2012 at 4:22 PM UTC
Thanks for showing me my own reflection, in the water’s mirror
a solid infusion, insurmountable intrusions by authority figures.
Not knowing exactly what to do with these forms,
we usually choose to keep them just the same.
The mind says, some are more important than others,
anyway, some bear fruit and others bear colors.
You must wear warm clothes in the winter
and let the obtuse angles, shatter the unwelcome inclusions
of cold weather; diffusions of rectangular protrusions,
surprise, i am aligned again with spirit;
while you remain hidden, behind that dismal screen;
another abysmal refraction of technology, numbing us daily.
I choose movement; blindly, kindly or spontaneous,
on spindly legs, spiders spin their winding webs.
Self reflective and expecting more from this world,
than just tired images, rehashed so many times
that they are burnt to a crispy death.
Let's respect our relations, and our ancestors,
and no longer shall we need to get lost on our vacations,
but instead find the treasure, that demands our complete attention.
If our lack of respect is a sign of the times,
then our lack of pride is so much more attractive to the divine.
Loopholes everywhere, yet we pretend to get caught in our own webs,
made out of pens and paper; thank you for saving those articles
tossed in wastebaskets, all the empty drawers in offices
are still busy being born; the moment, morning comes around to save them...
Jan 2, 2017
Jan 2, 2017 at 11:29 AM UTC
I have a mathematical mind
everything is cause, effect,
close-all-loopholes
find the data, analyze, program
I have a mathematical mind that sees in angles
in the relationships between people
I see the lines and points of contact,
the widening of the eyes and the glancing touch,
how short someone's fingernails are
the marks around their mouth
I have a mathematical mind that sees in positive space
because negative space is a pointless area
and I do not need to exercise
extrapolational thinking, not in this school,
I have to give the answer that is expected
in order to get the reward I desire
there is no reward for a creative but wrong answer
and therefore being rebellious is illogical
I have a mathematical mind that knows how to please people
how to find their strong spots and praise them
how to find their weak spots and support and exploit
I know how to solve the problems of someone's heart
like a scalpel of pain
who can find a rational solution to an emotional problem
because in order to be happy,
you must follow certain steps
and take the logical course of action
that will lead you to your goal.
I have a mathematical mind,
and I know how to use it to find and
give rein to
emotional and philosophical reality-
because my mathematical mind has a preference
for **** subjects like psychology
and my mathematical mind
likes other people so much
that it is willing and able to manipulate them
in the best way possible-
all for the pleasure and enjoyment
of my mathematical mind.
Apr 25, 2014
Apr 25, 2014 at 8:48 PM UTC
It has been many moons since these translucent eyes set forth the bellowing cries of a whispered hymn. The cries of those long since forgotten, briefly heard, myopic, blind to the background sound of our nestled unruly world. The white noise that paints the landscape continually resetting itself in a desperate attempt to regain its foothold in our lives. It is this fight for free reign that forever brings me here. Brings me to each infinitesimal moment in life where we as the white noise fight for dominance over our subconscious realm.
Leery of what we experience with our senses and what we experience with the extensions of. Touching everything with our nothing making sure that the existence that we live is not just a state of mind but an actuality. We are self-altruistic, in this i am sure, for we care about the well being of ourselves. No state of mind left behind this is our status quo. Let it be that no mirror binds you to your own failures nor to those that look onto from a distance. Let you be your own shadow let your own shadow not be a former representation of what is but what's to come. Let your shadow be effectively that of which you strive. Let the shovels of ill will be fated to bury themselves hand in hand with those that foster it. Stand firm in your position overcome only by the mountains of your own design.
These peaks scream out echoes of your hate and shame not for you, nay. Not for I, nay. but for those that challenge what you stand for because the earth beneath our feet stands for everyone. stands stained with bloodied tears that rained down from our glorified manufactured heaven. This epoch marks the second coming of our custom, individualized, patent-pending, rights reserved, copyrighted Christ; our self-proclaimed god. self-proclaimed because we are the gods we seek, we ignore, and we pray for. the effervescent pool of life reads no running so we segue our way on this Segway to take advantage of the loopholes we ourselves placed as if only to cheat our fabricated reality because rebellion is refreshing and different but only when no one else is looking.
Mar 10, 2015
Mar 10, 2015 at 1:50 PM UTC
she used her halo
as wings;
strung it up on
Chemical
Loopholes
that make her feel close to
God
and on the subject of
being God,
We discover.
Aug 25, 2014
Aug 25, 2014 at 11:26 AM UTC
If I was put here for a reason,
then why do I hate being here?
My five Okay Days are always followed
by before-bed breakdowns and I think
Life, itself, is misleading.
If things are meant to be,
then why do they never work out for some?
Why do people commit suicide and
die miserable?
If that is "meant to be".
If that is meant to be then I have been
being for a long time, now.
I can have half of my heart collapse into
predisposed, depressed ruins and quit
being able to balance on my feet,
and I will be characterized by "low self esteem".
This is not low self esteem.
This is a lifestyle,
a product of eighteen years too early and eighteen years too late,
a brain too involved to ever break through, and
life is too long.
My originality finds loopholes in your positivity.
Soon it will be 30 years too early and 30 years too late,
and my life will have never had actual life to it.
If I was meant to be,
then I was meant to be miserable.
Jul 23, 2018
Jul 23, 2018 at 10:37 PM UTC
I don't understand terrorist, their purpose;
It makes me binge, makes my eyes red, my heart shake.
I get this tingle sensation down my spine
when there's a headline that revolves around the word 'Attack'.
like i should be watching my back.
Genocide.
I've read books about that guy,
and its done nothing but boil my blood.
What could you do but mourn...
& I hate to leave you off like this;
but in moments like these,
all I ever feel, only last so long.
then time takes over
and I'm stuck in these loopholes of epiphanies
realizing what I have compared to what the world once had
and then,
Life just continues.
it drifts me
into this dark. deep. abyss of questions,
purpose, & fate.
so please, stop the hate.
Nov 14, 2015
Nov 14, 2015 at 1:02 AM UTC
i'm not afraid of moving cross country -- i'm afraid of the leaving, of untucking myself from this pocket of america i call home; my hate has cultured so well here, snapping threads and poking holes for breathing. the dirt under my nails from all the times i tried to dig myself to somewhere better is as much a part of me as my lungs, my brain, my heart; always be-be-beating to remind me to keep going.
to keep looking for loopholes.
i'm not afraid of moving cross country -- i'm afraid of tucking myself away in a new pocket of this country, far, far away only to realize that i hate it there as well; only to snag my nails on new threads, only to find myself sharpening toothbrushes when i'm nervous, only to dig holes in myself in my sleep. i'm afraid of losing my pulse, that be-beat-beat.
but mostly, i'm afraid of never losing it.
Mar 22, 2015
Mar 22, 2015 at 2:32 AM UTC
The conservative element in DC
Has something else as priority.
It sure is not you, nor is it me.
It’s a much more powerful constituency:
Those who pull strings do not care
Unless you are a multi-millionaire
And contribute to their greedy cause
Like some kind of Santa Claus.
They keep on doing what they’re doing
******** who they were ********
I would explain it all if I could
But sometimes words do no good.
Behind all the gobbledy ****
Someone is not playing by the book.
Winning with lies is what they are trying
To make the true facts look like lying.
They keep you so confused that you
You believe what they want you to,
So you won’t see behind their wiles
To bring their larcenous ***** to trial.
Dignifying public rumors of buggery
You look away from skullduggery.
A few insignificant happenstances
Eclipse treasonous circumstances.
You ***** about gays and abortion
While conservatives commit extortion
And persecution in Jesus’ name.
To them it’s all a ratings game.
If you don’t care what people feel
You lose all track of what is real.
You turn into a tool for deception;
A dupe of sleight-of-hand misdirection.
As long as things are as they are
We’ll get run over by the clown car
Which is the Congress currently seated.
And as long as they remain undefeated
The rules will leave the deck stacked.
Nobody in DC will have our backs.
Why should they care about our whim
When the way it is benefits them?
We need one item, one bill rules
Or we end up the same beaten fools.
We need campaign funding to be equal
Or each election becomes a sequel
To what happened with Gore and Bush
When backdoor politics bit us in the ****
The only way change will ever come around
Is to take the loopholes from these clowns.
Dec 11, 2015
Dec 11, 2015 at 11:07 PM UTC
Jammin’ with Mammon.
Hyped to the max.
Finding those loopholes
Paying no tax.
Slammin’ for Mammon.
Foreclosing on life.
You died too soon?
We’ll tax your wife.
Jammin’ with Mammon
The world by the tail.
Lie cheat and swindle
Don’t worry about bail.
Swimmin' like salmon
Against the stream.
Dealing from the bottom;
Living the dream.
Slammin’ for Mammon;
Trample the rest.
Get first and last from
The community chest.
No famine for Mammon;
Let the poor starve.
**** the fatted calf and
Get ready to carve.
Jammin’ with Mammon
As good as it gets.
No room for conscience
Or squishy regrets.
Slammin’ for Mammon
Means money is king.
Don’t count the victims,
Just get the brass ring.
Jul 28, 2015
Jul 28, 2015 at 8:03 AM UTC
15/2 /12 02:07
She's slipping through the loopholes in my prayers
Defying all attempts to wish her well
The world at large so little knows or cares
How many languish in a private hell
She's slipping through the system; what there is
And loopholes of what care there ought to be
She's teetering before a precipice
The endless chasm of the wait-and-see
A prayer is but an exertion of will
Sent drifting in the bright dome of the sky
Each one of many; some unanswered still
Some high priority, some drift on by.
She's slipping through the loopholes in our prayers,
Fading the hopes of everyone who cares.
Feb 15, 2012
Feb 15, 2012 at 3:29 AM UTC
An inflated balloon is vulnerable but that is the only way it can fly,
I shall no longer feel the fear of the sun, when I close my eyes as the power,
Of a mere wink is enough to eclipse its strong beam from afar,
We are all just trying to find some form of escape so we look for loopholes,
For our minds to run, or to just stroll for a bit,
Stay flowing like the blood in our veins,
Even the water from a cup remains shapeless in times of restraint,
A statue of a bird is made of stone which may make it stronger,
But we are made of something stronger, since the ability of flexibility,
Gives us the power to emit change, which is far bolder,
Wouldn’t it be grand to climb out of that well of fear?
And turn those wishes, into a reality of something celebratory to the ear?
The key to opening the shackles of our mind may depend,
On how far we are willing to go,
It is only when reaching out to somewhere in the unknown,
Do we find that true freedom, is being at peace to escape,
Even if the parts are separated and alone.
Jul 12, 2015
Jul 12, 2015 at 3:58 AM UTC
I sit patiently waiting to spoil.
The rays bouncing off emerald leaves
Cast tiny shadow displays
that synchronize with blades of grass
dancing in the summer wind.
They're coming.
Laughter is silenced by
the impending crash
and rumble of mechanical
horses travelling down their rails.
The cries overpower the ruckus.
Bodies surround me
like a zombie honing in on
its next fleshly morsel.
Yet I feel unthreatened.
But I feel alone.
Outnumbered.
Their joy draws out the sadness in me,
their fear my anger.
I am as empty as my bank account.
Sheltered by the elements of
social interaction.
Black bars all around me
It's a prison with tiny loopholes.
Only the intelligent may escape.
Dead trees are responsible
for holding the weight of
my body, yet I thank them
by stirring its slumber
and passing gas on the
twigs below me.
I hope they forgive me.
For I have nothing materialstic to give
but my heart, body, and soul.
Maybe sanity if that is still left.
I require the basics.
No more, no less.
But even that is too much to ask.
Where has humanity gone?
Stripped of its original nature
and replaced by dollar signs, profits, greed.
Take me back to the simpler times
So I can go back and read.
My life is no good here.
Let me spoil.
May 3, 2012
May 3, 2012 at 8:28 PM UTC
" According to the Earth's gravitational pull
He threw his handkerchief up,
Deceleration would take place as it goes up
And there, It'll always come down
May be hard hitting your head..."
But it didn't as it was stuck in a switched-off fan
Innocous, curious laughs poised the atmosphere
Breezed a wind of arrogance and disapproval
"Wait..", he hopped and uplifted by table
Attempt to rescue, tide, brand handkerchief
As he rotated the fan,
" G' morning Ma'am" bowed the class
There he was
In front of the honorable principal
Sweat-Wet, Stuck on the table
Bewildered in a circle of loopholes
She giggled, wished and said,
" Oh ..My inspections truly reveal me the unseen parts of the story
That must be an integrated fun learning"..
Sep 20, 2018
Sep 20, 2018 at 1:13 PM UTC