"methodical" poems
the mind is its own beautiful prisoner.
Mind looked long at the sticky moon
opening in dusk her new wings
then decently hanged himself,one afternoon.
The last thing he saw was you
naked amid unnaked things,
your flesh,a succinct wandlike animal,
a little strolling with the futile purr
of blood;your *** squeaked like a billiard-cue
chalking itself,as not to make an error,
with twists spontaneously methodical.
He suddenly tasted worms windows and roses
he laughed,and closed his eyes as a girl closes
her left hand upon a mirror.
45k
The hints of a razor gleam
creeping up from behind
shivers begin to scream
a thought undefined.
Crystalline destruction manifests
in shards of failed dreams
circulation and cells cease
I am dumber today.
Clogging and fogging the mind
promises cheat their way into lies
when depression becomes a way of life
serenity is found at the end of the line.
Escaping the cavity
in trails of shame
in vigour and madness
incapable of sadness.
Black hole eyes
cannot see the coming despair
the next morning impairs
certainty is a lie.
Senses start to fail
iron will turns frail
the devil’s sugar and salt
must never be taken so lightly.
Subtle and methodical
killing what makes you, you
another round for old time’s sake,
and you’re stuck to it like glue.
Apr 10, 2015
Apr 10, 2015 at 5:10 AM UTC
All that we know maybe distorted
Or a methodical manipulation
Where truth is obfuscated by few
Which spreads like an epidemic
Words used with vested interest
For us to play a role given to us
Memorizing the scripts, to deliver
Speeches with someone else’s ideas
Thoughts and feelings engineered
To suit the machinations of few
With sinister ideas to play with the mind
A conscious and intelligent manipulation
Bereft of the tools of our own judgment
Our perception is not even ours
For the mind has been violated
With the scheming and methodical manipulations
Sep 25, 2014
Sep 25, 2014 at 12:41 AM UTC
Start with a word, any word.
And then a year later you might find a hundred pages.
A story just begun, a tale, that, in reality, needs some editing.
But I didn’t find myself in these pages I’d written, like the inspirational quotes say.
I found my characters, I found a few bad habits too,
Like how I bite my fingers as I stare at my computer in frustration,
Or stare at the wall in blank fixation.
Once the word is picked, don’t bleed out onto the screen,
Hold yourself together, else you won't have to lips to pour forth a single key.
Some old dude told you to bleed, didn’t he?
I’ve found, I don’t bleed until page 71,
When I have bonded with Jonathon,
And now I must watch him mourn his fiancee,
Who never got to propose.
Be careful about your planning. Too methodical,
And you’ll lose yourself in the untold parts,
Too spontaneous and you’ll see your story turned from
An epic dragon escape to a horror filled romance.
Find a medium of crazy that suits you, and remember the details
Of the night you tried marijuana and coughed as the smoke hit your throat.
Hug the computer tight, don’t let anyone see
Until you’ve determined the story strong. Some people open up at the blank page,
While others hide it away until it’s a polished four hundred and sixty two, front and back.
Say, here’s an idea—don’t forget to study your grammar too.
Unless, of course, you’re poetry demands to be free,
then flow round the corner and hesitate not with commas
theyll be no use for you.
After all this advice, I’ll tell you one thing.
Forget all of it, it’ll be nothing to you.
We storytellers like to go on and on about how to write,
When we barely ever write a real story of characters in between speeches.
If the only thing I could tell you, the only important fact I can say with utter certainty is,
For god’s sake,
Write.
Sep 9, 2018
Sep 9, 2018 at 10:11 PM UTC
Beginning: A lamb with a fluffy fleece
Soon she will be naked
These fine strands of taken
To be twisted by a machine
From an atom-like jumble comes a line
And the line is to be twisted yet again
But twisted in a methodical pattern
Cast off, put on. The sock.
Aug 19, 2016
Aug 19, 2016 at 8:26 PM UTC
[PART 1]
**** everyone that’s ever been a friend of mine
Everyone that I ever loved until the end of time
So sick of sunshine, nothing but black clouds in my mind
I Sit seeing signs knowing that sometime soon it’s time
Seems we find a man stained with blood, spinning insane ****
Disaster’s in my lane but like Tech I pin and frame it
Don’t blame it on me when you embrace the inner furry
Spitting hurried words in a flurry, speaking absurdly
Has it occurred to thee, none of you could ever hurt me?
Absurdity, I feast on emcees, no obstacles for me
Illogical, living life like a beast, it’s mythological
Must be biological, the way I ****** methodical
Psychological warfare from one who never fought fair
Pathological nightmare, drops bodies without a care
Dare any soul to try and comprehend, this is the end
Once I begin, they all cry and slowly die from within
[PART 2]
**** everybody who ever passed anywhere near me
Everybody from my past who cared and yet still feared me
Nobody shed tears for me, or ever lent an ear to me
So now it’s clear to me, none of you are sincere to me
I disappear into madness filling my words with a blackness
No amount of cannabis can ever undo this sadness
Don’t ask me about my past; don’t think you’ll get past the mask
This just might be the last time you’ll EVER hear from my ***
Demons in mass and alas, I’m tangled within their grasp
Surpassed my peers and alas, I got no angels to ask
I’m mangled in my mind and it’s worse now that I’m all grown
Evilness in my bones plus I gets no rest in my dome
But I’m home at last with this pent up anger being shown
I’m alone; not a gang banger but I still hold the chrome
Come off my throne and try and comprehend, this is the end
Once I begin, they all cry and slowly die from within
Feb 17, 2014
Feb 17, 2014 at 9:02 PM UTC
A worst-case-scenario mentality
Breeds emotional nightmares of what-ifs
Methodically feeling the pain in each possibility
Preparing for Hell, knowing it is impractical, improbable, and unkind
Each reaction gauged
Smiles erupt in each better choice
A familiar road traveled often
Lead only by a history of pain
It ebbs and flows, bobs and weaves at will
This reality is organized, easy to understand
Random thought of an unlikely, unfathomable future
**Vivid like a film
Unwavering, persistent
There is no control**ling its outcome
Forced to watch the images forged in a broken mind
Tears burn flesh and a naked heart bleeds
Stop rolling, just...stop
No amount of pleading slows the images
The pain is overwhelming
Far beyond self-inflicted, torturous, methodical thoughts
Uncontrollable, inconsolable
True and real
So very real
There is but one way to stop that future
The one shown in visions of just deserts
The future that smolders through present joy
Preemptive pain is just not an option
I've seen the future my heart has built
**The shards of a shattered soul
Offer no comfort**
My worst-case-scenario was but a benign freckle on the elbow of a body invaded by metastatic melanoma
Apr 3, 2015
Apr 3, 2015 at 5:00 AM UTC
There are days
When I look at the week before me
And only see the list of things
To be completed and checked of
No joy, simply a methodical process
I call life
But I had an exam this week
For dance not school
A change in the schedule
Stressful, yes
But also an accomplishment greater than my average week
And as I came out of the exam
I remembered why I put myself through hours of rehearsal each week
Because when I perform
I am alive
I am full of an energy
High on the sense of pride and self-esteem I don't feel any other time
Feeling like, for a moment, I can do anything
It doesn't last all that long
But that's is okay
Because now I've remembered
And I won't forget again
Feb 7, 2015
Feb 7, 2015 at 9:24 PM UTC
Consisting of grown, persisting as shown and unknown. Insisting entities, rivalries and sworn enemies! Deformed, forewarned, formed, informed, mourned, performed, reformed and scorned. Dates of great storms! Family tree of hate, horns and thorns. My family tree of gore, horror, more, poor and sore. Perhaps of mishaps galore. Briefly sit
back! I’ll roughly take you back… Heck! Back to a time of attack,
blacks, slacks and whacks. My family tree of practical, tactical, methodical Aztec. Some beckon and reckon in seconds. A family tree of crime, grime and rhyme. A nation of communication, dedication,
dissemination, motivation and procrastination. The splendor of sin
of my corruptive, disruptive kin. They rely more on the color of one’s
skin. My family tree of abuse and misuse that misuses and seduces! Family tree of warfare and welfare legalities, moralities and family-prodigies. Picture this scriptural twist! Some assist on a kiss. I insist
some are idealities in social technicalities. Alcoholics, diabetics,
****** exotic, fantastic, Catholics, eccentric, horrific and poetic. I persist… some gnomes, some roam, some in poems, some with no homes. My family tree of adventuresome, awesome, handsome and troublesome. My family tree of beautiful and bountiful! Some are a
handful some handicap some locally and vocally-rap. Some slap,
gift-wrap and yap! Some are snuggly, pretty, witty or ugly. In my family tree, some crippled, some with pimples, some with freckles
and some that heckle. Some belittle and little, some wrinkled and old. Some are bold and pray to the lord! Some are Frio, meaning cold we
were told. Some I say, are poor with no Amor. Some are here no more, in my family tree of Amor.
Mar 29, 2012
Mar 29, 2012 at 9:37 PM UTC
My heart lay in a cloudy, milky state,
its cold, harsh pressure building up within,
leaving me to gaze, masking purpose.
My eyes, dull, hid the fervor,
encasing it in between my lips,
locking them together; smiling.
My breath remains methodical,
sweet melodies juxtaposed,
along my ears and lungs.
Feet pacing, heart staying,
I cannot last; ba-thump,
my hands begin to tingle.
One look, no words;
head spinning away,
there is no closure.
Mar 23, 2015
Mar 23, 2015 at 4:38 PM UTC
I’m told to let loose,
To let what loose?
“On the dance floor… on the dance floor,
let loose on the dance floor, Owen”
But… But…
To let loose is to lose;
to lose control.
Going “where the music leads”
is a new, scary place.
Everything must fit, must make sense;
Moving, swaying, ‘dancing,’ don’t.
What is there to gain
besides a common sense of…
awk
wardness?
“You’ll dance your way closer
to each other” (somehow).
But why grow closer in body?
Why not grow closer in mind?
Let us talk, dig beyond the surface.
“May I have this conversation?”
I’ll share my thoughts, my self,
and you’ll share yours.
So it will go, finding its own rhythm:
sometimes slow, methodical;
sometimes quick, passionate;
always common, enthralling.
Only then, with our intellects engaged,
engaged with each other’s,
can we truly dance:
the beautiful dance of the mind.
Jun 11, 2015
Jun 11, 2015 at 9:19 PM UTC
By: Cedric McClester
As the Protagonist expects
*** as a pretext
Baffles intellects
In an election context
So it’s no mystery
That he does this ya see
When ancient history
Can be so blistery
Given the nomenclature
Of its prurient nature
Clearly I would hate to
Be forced to debate you
But the Protagonist
Has long been doing this
Although he gets me ******
He doesn’t feel remiss
As long as he’s untoward
He won’t fall on his sword
And you can rest assured
That the past won’t be ignored
In any given broadcast
He can be put on blast
Because if one chose to ask
They'd learn about his past
Right down to his hair follicle
The man is diabolical
And also quite methodical
What I’m saying is he’s horrible
Like excrement stuck on a shoe
He’s nasty and it’s also true
Like a bowl of witches brew
He’s impossible to misconstrue
Cedric McClester, Copyright © 2016. All rights reserved.
Jan 9, 2016
Jan 9, 2016 at 1:59 PM UTC
The air I breathe,
Which gasps and sighs;
My journey of choice guided
All its winds and there were
The words my soul had yet
To Melody.
Along the sky, next to
The petals stolen and the birds
Feathery flight there was an Angel
Sobbing in blue and whose tears
When hit on ground did stroke alive
Many a lily white bloom.
And the air I breathed
Caught the Daughters of God
In mid flight and split the tongue
Into words for Poet Saint to verse
The world in birth of inklings.
Near a sonnet yet born
A coronet of masks lay drawn
Upon the faces of nymphs I saw
The fiery lust behind open waters
Chanting to sailors revealing their
Naked spirits and seducing in words
That seemed a song from some
Romantic whale.
In the orchestra of stars,
Breathing in constellations up
Upon a pedestaled Word,
The sumptuous flows of winged words
Played like sweet violins and the chorus
Was mine to orchestrate,
Both slow and methodical,
Paced and volatile.
And I breathe,
The breath of lovers like a steed
And a mare upon whose back
Sits Eros shooting arrows into
My very soul romantically evoking
The man in me who believes
In the songs of love,
A woman whom sings them aloud
And along the moist of her lips
Sits the poem I have yet
To write.
Oh deep is the breath,
The Lovers combine in perverse
Yet controlled light,
The naked souls are entwined
In a living light of crystalline
Bodies mankind deep passionate
Starry eyed poetry.
Ah the winds that be life!
Times of sorrow that fill the void
Like restless cries of a motherless
Child, and a walk among the tombstones
Brings about the rage of death,
Both tranquil and terrifying,
These words are they that bleed.
I breathe the words in open air,
The Shepard winds upon
My ink, the poem dances light
And lovely adorned with sighs
And sorrows, would bes and regrets,
The tender ferocity of the winds.
Jan 7, 2016
Jan 7, 2016 at 6:14 PM UTC
I wish I could dream in purple
Its dark cascading color
An effortless flow of memory
And gentle goodnight kisses
Of silent starry wishes
And dreams sent to the clouds
Of angry methodical voices
Who will always take a bow
Jul 13, 2014
Jul 13, 2014 at 5:19 PM UTC
Days and dawns have risen and fallen
My mood, like the New England weather
Has transformed in short time
Resembling the howling nor'easter
Each greeting, cold and methodical
And when I close my eyes
I can still hear your rapacious voice,
After these many years
Am I the dying abode that you inhabit?
The one, that gives you life with each thought
Be gone, you devilish succubus
Nov 23, 2014
Nov 23, 2014 at 7:51 AM UTC
There is nothing so constant as
a dirt road in Nebraska,
beyond where the pavement ends.
This timeline beneath my feet
Crunches on and on,
Further than even I know.
This methodical sound of time passing,
Echoes off the fields of an ancient prairie
so superior to its cousin, the **** carpet
of my grandma’s house where
I would hide all my coal-colored jellybeans,
Pretending they were herds of cattle, grazing
Along dirt roads, such as this—
My venerable trail of rock,
Stretching out as far as time perfected.
A trail of ceaseless rock
Worn down by the years of
feet stomping to the memories
of the house, and the jellybeans, and the grandma,
all outlived by a dirt road that reminds me
for dust thou art, and unto dust shalt thou return.
May 17, 2012
May 17, 2012 at 12:28 AM UTC
I strum this guitar
In a methodical way
Like you did my heart
Jun 18, 2014
Jun 18, 2014 at 8:47 PM UTC
this is not a ten stepper essay. You are, and you admit it, full stop. Addicted to HP. No help here.
but to answer the question...
the writing of a poem,
no matter what your style,
eye dropper word selection,
slow methodical,
or furious expelling, frying oil
until crescendo is achieved
is clearly a fulfillment of
a ****** type of need.
Afterwards,
after words,
when you repeatedly
check the number of likes,
it is just you asking me
was it as good for you
as it was for me?
Usually, eventually,
the answer is a
quiet, soft spoken,
very few reads version of:
"Uh, just let me sleep"
which means you will try again
in the the morning suncomeforth.
Apr 12, 2015
Apr 12, 2015 at 4:59 AM UTC
*I urge you not to trust a magician
Leaves you in disbelief,
makes you question without permission
Perception is everything,
intercepting your understanding,
patience is wearing thin
I promise you
I was a victim of trusting
someone who’s double faced
Showing me tricks, and
they had me begging for double takes
A bitter pill that I always had trouble swallowing,
please heed my words
as I warn you about the following:
I paid to see* Fate The Fantastical
*Showing sketchy tactics and
very far from magical
Stuck in your life and you're seeking help?
He'll try to convince you
that he's the monster who played
the hand that you were dealt
A "one-way" in your journey never existed
so throw those cards back in his face,
tell him “don’t get it twisted!”
Then leave the show and get your money back,
fill your money bag quick
while making your own plans
with money stacks
I saw the power of* The Spellbinding Heart-Breaker
*He promises forever but claims he’ll see you later
I caught him backstage
rehearsing his apology
illusionist at heart
and a student of escapology
A Houdini whodunit level of disappearance
Shackled by love and commitment,
begging for interference
And my advice is that
you crash his performance
Reveal him to the audience,
damage would be enormous
The mental menace known as* Doubt The Diabolical
*The worst of the bunch since
he’s demanding and methodical
He has the gift to convince you
To give up on your dreams,
Taking the stage with volunteers,
“voices” sing his theme
Enticing suicide, heartless,
and pushes you aside
Signals your sayonara by
serving you soothing cyanide
So boo him off the stage
as loud as you can!
Steal his thunder, change the world
'cause I’m one among your many fans!*
Apr 26, 2016
Apr 26, 2016 at 11:59 AM UTC
15 to 20 times a day, with minor variation,
I review these questions, via oration.
"Do you hear voices?"
"Do you see visions?"
"Are you paranoid?"
"Are you suicidal?"
"Are you homicidal?"
"How is your energy level?"
"How is your mood?"
"Depressed?"
"Anxious?"
"Irritable?"
"Mood swings?"
"How is your concentration?"
"How is your appetite?"
"How are you sleeping?"
"Do you have racing or disorganized thoughts?"
"Do you have shaking or tremors?"
Reviewing meds, assessing situations,
Discussing reactions, discussing relations.
Monotony could well become a factor,
I'm easily bored, easily distracted,
But every single time I ask these questions,
I learn something new and think up a suggestion.
Everyday is the same, Going through the motions,
And yet, I'm never bored, and I have a notion.
Everyone is different, No answer the same,
Sorting through the verbage, looking for that grain.
The single detail to tell me what can be done,
To find a better system to assist each one.
Slow and methodical, and yet amazing in variation,
Questions and answers, a myriad of striation.
Oct 15, 2010
Oct 15, 2010 at 3:13 AM UTC
It’s the kind of night for a midnight shower
Because being naked makes me feel more human
Than babysitting a textbook at my bedside.
Because the slow and methodical nature in which
I shave
Makes me feel dangerous and foxy and downright
Beautiful.
Because the chill of the air after the temperate water
Turns me on more than any history book,
Filled with yesterday’s news,
Ever could
Oct 20, 2010
Oct 20, 2010 at 7:43 PM UTC
37 sleepless hours,
Felt like a mistake.
Competition over,
Tests all taken.
But the memories are just beginning.
The room goes dark,
100’s of DECA kids go silent.
The hypnotist begins to talk.
Slow, methodical rhythm.
All care disappears.
The stress of competition is gone.
Seeming to melt off my body.
Eyes become heavy,
Heavier.
Bodies become heavy,
Heavier.
And somehow I'm asleep.
Leaning against you now.
If I only knew then all I know now.
The trauma that would come from this conference
I would have made it 38 hours
Or even 40 without sleep.
Mar 1, 2016
Mar 1, 2016 at 12:52 AM UTC
smooth.
****
the calm and sultry
seductive melody.
Love.
unforeseen,
un-foretold,
unexpected –
yet oh so desired.
tantalizing and methodical,
the smiles and teasing
make one shiver,
breathe deep
at the thought…
the memory…
So smooth.
slow and melancholy,
uplifting only when it suits…
suit –
elegant yet worn.
scarred but not scared.
The song of everlasting…
love?
romance?
Are they in love?
or falling,
fading apart?
so smooth.
so ****
Eyelids close
and heads sway.
smoke lingers,
and lovers dance.
shivers return
as well as the doubts.
Breathe deep
at the memory.
Sep 30, 2010
Sep 30, 2010 at 7:53 AM UTC
Poetry with rhyme its what I do
Master of the old creator of the new
One with the flow my powers are true
Wizard of the word I can dazzle you...
Tingle when we Tango
Mingle then I'll mangle
Tagging hearts hmm I'm a Vandal
Hold to trust like a handle
Bad I own tell tales unknown
Heads explode minds are blown
Methodical turn every stone
Spiritually twisted I have grown
Feeding..Forcing..running its course in
Married today tomorrow divorcing
A solider must **** with no remorsing?
Fight silly wars governments are forcing
Like Cattle hear the rattle of the bell
Set on a path straight to hell
Barbeque babies whatever they can sell
Sad are the tales we never tell
Witness to the scene of a crime
Watch we do with eyes of blind
Searching for saviors to save our mind
Spoken in the language of Poetry with Rhyme...
Aug 6, 2014
Aug 6, 2014 at 6:49 PM UTC