"mitigated" poems
I'm not a person of color
I'm not gay
I'm not rich
I'm not homeless
I'm not religious
I'm not an atheist
I am a whisper
I'm not old
I'm not young
I'm not famous
I'm unknown
I am a whisper
I may be helpless
But I am not numb
I may be shackled
But I will not lie still
I am a whisper
I have an opinion
I have thoughts
I have feelings
I have a voice
I am a whisper
I have a memory
I have hope
I have a fantasy
I have a dream
I am a whisper
I give freedom
I will not judge
I will not control
I will not hurt
I am a whisper
I don't believe you
Why must I listen?
Why do you want my mind?
Why do you want control?
I am a whisper
I see what happens
I know who is suppressed
I know you are buying time for yourself
I know you need to fool me
I am a whisper
I am in your way
I am an impediment
I am a risk
I am to be mitigated
I am a whisper
It needs to be shouted
It needs to be aggressive
It needs to shock
It needs to awaken
I am a whisper
I see the fear tactics
I see the power
I see the judgements
I see the ridicule
I am a whisper
I know you are a liar
I know you are evil
I know you will ****
I know you will destroy
I am a whisper
I know these things
What can I do?
I can only write
I can only feel the anger
I am a whisper
"Who is lying?"
They are
"Who would ****
They would
"Who would send your child off to war?"
They would
"Who are they?"
The one's who want your vote
I am a whisper
"What about your children?"
There is still time
"What about my children?"
There is still time
I am a whisper
Would a man **** for God?
What do you think?
Would a man **** for his flag?
What do you think?
Would a man **** for his party?
What do you think?
Would a man **** who has been fooled?
What do you think?
Would a man let you die in his place?
What do you think?
I am a whisper
"Why do you whisper?"
I'm not
"You say you are"
Can anyone hear me?
"I can"
Can anyone else?
"No"
I am a whisper
"Why won't you shout? "
I am afraid
Afraid of what?
Of losing my job
Of losing my children
Of losing my life
I am a whisper
"Who are you afraid of?"
A person
A book
True believers
Non-believers
The enemies are all around
I am a whisper
"Why are they enemies?"
They do not want me
They want me to be them
They want my mind
They want my actions
They want my life
I am a whisper
So I work
So I pray
So I smile
So I agree
So I submit
So I bend
So I die
I am a whisper
Is existence on the other side of a laugh?
Is existence in the void of silence?
Is existence in the breath of a whisper?
Is existence in the quiet of God's spirit?
I am a whisper
When God is silent
Even a whisper can be too loud
Silence is the empty room
No color
No artifact
No sound
I am a whisper
Listen to the whisper
Then listen to God
Then you will know
Because you dared to speak
You forgot to think
I am a whisper
Blessed are the peacemakers
Did you remember this?
Let he who has not sinned cast the first stone
Did you remember this?
Turn the other cheek
Did you remember this?
Love thy neighbor
Did you remember this?
Judge not lest you be judged
Did you remember this?
I am a whisper
Copyright 2010. All Rights Reserved. Mark Lecuona
Jan 28, 2012
Jan 28, 2012 at 2:06 PM UTC
I demolished my own walls to let you in
They warned and admonished me from the danger of your existence
Yet somehow, I was still enthralled by the unprecedented phenomena you brought
I disregard their warnings and entered your danger zone
My soul found solace and felt mitigated in your arms
I am not terrified of your tremendous storms
I am willing to embrace your disastrous nature
My love, I am your victim and it's a privilege to submerge in you
I accept the severity of the damage that it might caused me
I am the sufferer and you are the love that caused
losses
terror
blood
And still those reasons will not restrain me from loving a catastrophe like you
My love,
It is my responsibility to insure my safety and well-being
You are the flood
And I promise to calm you.
Aug 19, 2021
Aug 19, 2021 at 10:39 PM UTC
A dream you told me of:
Defusing a time-bomb embedded in the womb of your dead mother.
I don’t know if you were smart enough to flip the failsafe
Or if you indiscriminately yanked wires out, like your dangerous thoughts.
A dream I told you of:
at the midpoint of their parents’ anniversaries, by the ruins of every immortalized
kingdom, she is wearing her mother’s dress and he is too.
“father wanted to castrate or **** me,” he said, conversationally.
they have so much in common. they live the tragedy of armchair **** fantasies,
tend to ****** their own genitals when lost in thoughts of the obstruction of
their desires. (which, really, is pointless
because they don’t desire anything besides fondling their own genitals.)
Blinded Oedipus does not notice
Electra’s concealed ******* dagger. A thousand years between them, yet they’re still children conceived of
Mitigated **** and blood sacrifice for the sake of sailing, and
Defined by deficit from the beginning; her crippled mind sang
to his hollowed eyes. Kinslayers becoming kin,
Entranced by the illusions of the other but really
Loving only the unmistakable reflections of their own sins.
May 14, 2014
May 14, 2014 at 11:45 AM UTC
love and insecurity
tend to evolve into the same thing
you must trust that the other will stay
and you must trust yourself that the feeling won’t go away
because when you’re in love
you’re sitting on cloud nine
you can leave all your troubles behind
with one look from them
and it doesn’t matter if it’s a her or him
or anything inbetween
because love is a feeling
that everyone is permitted
there are no such things are love and mitigated circumstance
because love is feeling you get
from an interpretation that can arise
from the first time your eyes met
that lock of your eyes and the feeling of intimacy
love at first sight, immediacy
you have the yearning of learning everything about them
because you can’t deny the chemistry
your brain telling you that there is someone to yearn
because the greatest thing to learn is to love and be loved in return
I love you, I love you, I love you.
Jul 19, 2013
Jul 19, 2013 at 3:06 PM UTC
A broken shell, a living hell, and all I'm left with now is my regret.
Better days ahead were a pipedream after our relationship crumbled. Countless arguments. Disagreements. Every day! For my life, I can't believe we stayed together as long as we did. God knows I didn't want her to leave me. How much longer must I wrestle with these painful memories?
I just feel regret, unspoken, I just feel the pain; since she left, my life has been a broken shell, a living hell — I can't believe I let her go; it was foolish pride before the fall the day she left when I lost all — I should have held her closer, I should have made her see the feelings I have for her, what she means to me; I didn't say I love her or beg her to stay, instead, I stood in silence and watched her walk away, and all I'm left with now is my regret.
Justification is an exercise in futility. Knowing what I could have and should have done leaves an inextricable switchblade in my soul. Love's lessons learned too late — love's loss too great.
Misting eyes beseech as memories replay in my head, but they're too painful, and I feel dead. No joy to be found. Oh well, my self-imposed hell. Painful memories open like an oubliette under my feet, plunging me lost and languishing in isolation's labyrinth. Questions left unanswered, decaying in the debris fields of "what if.”
Reflection can be a catharsis for the soul, but it can also rip a hole in it, and soon reality roars from guilt's bottomless pit to devour all hope. Sometimes despair is mitigated by occasional reminders of us. Thoughts lingering on happier times, blessed moments mine to treasure. Until the damnable loop of regret dominates to decimate any respite of joy. Vanishing expectations. Weeping willow's silent wail. Xerox memories fade with time.
Years have passed, and my thoughts continue to haunt me over what we could have had. Zero-sum game — all I'm left with now is my regret.
Mark Toney ©️ 2023
* * *
April 22, 2023
I hope you found the above fictional prose poem interesting. I wrote it in response to a writing challenge I heard about. Write a 26-sentence short story (or prose poem). Each sentence must begin with the alphabet's sequential letters starting with A through Z. One sentence must be 100 words long, and another sentence only one word. Would you like to try it?
Apr 22, 2023
Apr 22, 2023 at 2:07 AM UTC
The royal magistrate gives the laws,
the wind sails true,
the grass grows greener,
the sun shines brighter,
you dance in the meadows of youth
each day,
starting now.
The avant-garde ******** ends now
we are guided by the restrictions
we live in.
each day,
self-regulated,
un-mitigated,
joy.
Waves of acid-washed notes flash by,
each one dwindling longer than the one
before,
mingling in a pale composition
with each beat goading the next.
Jun 9, 2010
Jun 9, 2010 at 12:22 PM UTC
Once I noticed a great writer, and he had no comments.
To remedy this occluded justice,
I left a colorful comment upon one of his best.
Immediately a scathing message appeared from him,
Though he had never messaged me before;
I had an instant moment of understanding
Of why he had no comments; it was just too obvious
For my childlike mind to have avoided the trap.
A few more condescending messages,
And I deleted the comment; nothing more needed saying.
I had trespassed on hallowed ground,
I had merely to retrace my steps
And all should be forgiven.
I intruded upon your life, which I could never really see,
Through a series of locks and channels
It remained invisible to me.
And again I invaded privacy, caused consternation.
Compliant, I withdrew all my excursions to your door
And with an effort, I mitigated any unhappy
Emotions remaining there.
I do this to spare everyone more pain.
But it comes at a price.
Did you ever wonder how all the people
Who go to the grocery store on Sunday mornings
Could have such well-defined niche lives?
They think they are defined by what they do,
By a synthetic order that's tacked over the hours of freedom.
There is an affliction, in which every single hour
Must be made to account for itself.
But what if they woke up some day
Before the grocery shopping was done,
Would they feel they had missed out on something
Inestimable and uncommon; worth sleeping in for-
And replaced it merely with something
Utilitarian and predictable?
Be careful what you trade your Sunday mornings for.
Jul 25, 2010
Jul 25, 2010 at 6:20 AM UTC
Why do we have a sick obsession with fleeting encounters and quick passions
We brush the surface of interaction
We brush lips
we brush hands
we brush lives yet
never pressing the surface
we never press our passions
We need to press our lips
we need to press our ambitions
we need to press our hands
we need to press our lives into symbiosis.
We are scared for what happens after the blissful, brief, mysterious moment
what happens once the surface is broken
We fear rejection.
We err toward safety- to minimal contact- minimal exposure- minimal risk
Our fragile continence’s are limiting our life- our passion- our love.
Turn down the offer for fleeting life, fleeting passion, fleeting love.
Dare to press deeper- life has more to offer than mitigated risk and passing romances.
Jun 17, 2013
Jun 17, 2013 at 10:14 PM UTC
A world of starss between them
their hearts reached out for eachother at the end of each passing revelation
revolving in the same matter
as if the distance could be mitigated somehow,
by touching the same space only worlds apart
he traced their names in the stars and she traced out thier hearts intertwined
alas, the end was ne’er in sight
the mysteries of why were too mystical to ponder
and creation filled the void with challenges, love and light.
thinking back to when they were new
they had shone brightly with innocence
the span of things was endless, but had allowed limited exploration
the One had called them unawares
and rushing back like obedient children
with great anticipation of what grand joy was at hand
immersed in the mysteries revealed
it was then they lost eachother
caught in different planes by a different set of stars
beyond the eye of the black hole created by the break in his heart
and the shattering of hers.
Searching in opposite polarities aeons apart the matter ever expanded
passing eachother withn a blink of an eye
but without words a universe was said;
Iris to Iris, soul to soul,
touching the same matter as eachother
only, aeons apart...
Aug 26, 2018
Aug 26, 2018 at 6:02 AM UTC
Ach, my amygdala
agglomerates ridiculousness,
a ****** laden froth
of other possibilities and lives
and loves, loves
and mitigated losses
to address the hurt
Jun 12, 2021
Jun 12, 2021 at 8:38 AM UTC
the end of
a process is
known as outcome..
our outcomes formed
in planning and visions..
all ends embedded
in those beginnings..
but a danger lurks
when our awareness
of process idles..
process is struggle
mitigated by joy
living this moment
crying out Now..
vital experience between
departure and arrival
stimulates both
beginning and end..
when process forgotten
dogma and fundamentalism
these cousins loom...
Jan 12, 2013
Jan 12, 2013 at 12:47 PM UTC
Your utter complacence is
Perpetually mitigated by your patience;
Yet, since we've met,
Your ubiquitous,
Splendidly liquidous,
Serendipitous humor,
Like a tumor,
Has beguiled me,
Defiled me,
Riled me.
Your delicious,
Surreptitious,
Obfuscation of superfluous condemnation is
Erroneous and felonious
A frantic and pedantic antic.
Nov 24, 2015
Nov 24, 2015 at 9:23 PM UTC
the biggest gig is about to be staged
on Donald Trump being inaugurated
though some citizens are so outraged
their great displeasure not mitigated
he won the Presidential position
which is an office he'll run o'er four years
Washington did await fresh condition
liberals it's time for alternate gears
an oath pledged in service of the land
stars and stripes waving to e'er support
a day a nation will honor this stand
the event broadcast on world news report
an outset of a new era shall start
with the constitution his guiding chart
Jan 15, 2017
Jan 15, 2017 at 8:36 AM UTC
An imagined being,
The mitigated reality,
Beset on all sides,
Makes you wither,
in comparison,
to the deception,
To enhance the enviournment aboutnd,
that fits upon themselves the wworld,
Under watch,
kept under lock and key,
the universal truths,
hidden under their *******
the single timeless entity,
That turns the world over,
in onto itself,
keels into oblivion,
touching back to the abdominal,
fact that it retaliates,
fought behind reason,
Love behind common sense,
The world undone,
By the limitless one,
The being that lasts,
Something,
Beauty,
In repetition,
Found to be prevalent,
In excessive inquiry,
What's and Who's and Why's,
It means no difference,
When facts speak for themselves,
Examples are found in the outside,
Shuddering ample reflections
In the tide pool,
Spiraling.
Nov 14, 2013
Nov 14, 2013 at 9:58 PM UTC
-
sometimes I wish you didn't exist
because you stab knives in My back
and bend me until I break.
the feelingS i feel
cannot be Substituted or
allaYed, mitigated;
the weapon and the wOund are both
permanently etched Under my skin.
Aug 28, 2018
Aug 28, 2018 at 8:24 AM UTC
Goodbye forever, fleeting spotlight.
I’ll remember you
But the stage is no longer mine
So long I feared the dark
I was afraid to step out
But the dark cannot be avoided
Or mitigated
Or even contained.
It covers the ground you walk,
Encasing the trees and their roots
The flowers’ lack of colour
The roadside curb and accompanying footpath.
It’s everywhere.
To the shadow that pleaded me to stay,
I’ve stopped listening to you
You took my form and enclosed it in darkness
You thrived in the spotlight
But now you’re gone.
All that’s left is me
and the dark.
The inevitable darkness
I'm walking through some grass now
My hands reach out and feel
A variety of stones and flowers and petals
Of a sprawling summer field.
With a cautious **** I opened one eye
I squinted at the neon yellow
But soon I saw a broad blue sky
bolstered by a vibrant meadow
Though confused at first, I now realised
That what lies in the dark isn’t so bad
It’s a beginning as much as it is an end
The birds sang freedom
as they soared the skies.
That wretched shadow
Filled my head with lies.
Goodbye forever, fleeting spotlight
My act of pretending is done
Gone is the glare that distorted my vision
Gone is the glare that you once shone.
Jul 27, 2020
Jul 27, 2020 at 12:58 PM UTC
Goddesses blush upon your arrival. Is it survival or just a coping mechanism? Balance on your legs for a thousand centuries and still i’d deny you your certitude. Perfume is a cascade of scents. Fences are reticent at best. What is relevant is not often necessary and what is necessary is rarely self-evident. We select our endings. Like ballplayers place bets on their enemies. We keep the bases clean and covered with dirt. Perfect your hurt and your punishments will be well earned. Lunches are times for nourishment and I am amused by this divertissement.
Plus one please. Receipts are a dollar short and much too cheap. I sleep in pools of butter. Stuttering your way through the crowd. I am proud of my accomplishments.
A lot of stress was mitigated by your watery eyebrows. I am a crowd to myself. Less wealth than merriment. So much mirth and perplexity in the same place. Her body was just a fantasy. Lands of ladies who seek honey for their military campaigns.
I am dreaming of millions of kangaroos, bouncing on top of a plateau.
Join me in the snow. I plowed it all for you. Look into my eyes and read the lines you could not find. I am blind to your joy, like similes of kindness written in braille. The scent of love is hidden between blankets and sheets that you could never again wash clean.
Feb 10, 2019
Feb 10, 2019 at 5:04 PM UTC
We were woollen
as the coach pulled up
alongside the C of E school
our swimming provided free
and municipal
so the stung eyes and barked, sodden ideas
were mitigated
at least if we fell
into the rank brown swells nearby
our inevitable drowning
could be offset:
the boy could swim
and was a king at buying the 5p
Highland Toffee from the machine
Feb 20, 2022
Feb 20, 2022 at 12:22 PM UTC
i have no other means to see,
only through the intervening vacuities
of the word — out in the field
there seems to be no end seething
to the very beginning;
these words now
appear limbless yet still make
their way deftly, scrunching
against the wall enough to toss the
body out of sleep.
i have nothing to offer
only my despair
and in this, myself, have seen all
too pristinely without a sensible trace
of fear or a mitigated feeling
i am all words and no conversing,
addled by the thoroughness of it,
ample warmth of a makeshift fire
thwarting the involuntary shadow there,
hiding behind the renegade
of thought or a portentous rearing
of imagination's hearth:
i am all words, no other than this alone—
having achieved this noble sense of
swift perpetuity, no other means to
this end than the poetry of impetus.
Oct 15, 2015
Oct 15, 2015 at 4:47 AM UTC
hollow inside
lucid body
lost
confused
goals emerge to
ensure fulfillment
relieve pain
ease anxiety
the sounds of mitigated speech
consumes you until you lose control of yourself.
I wish I knew
I wish I could figure out
at what point did I lose my mind?
Jan 21, 2018
Jan 21, 2018 at 1:49 PM UTC
it was coming,
arriving on a train --
some silent, mouthed anticipation
recalled to life,
finally.
soon the house had no walls;
we were living in huts made of twigs,
trying to kindle a small fire
in the snow.
surrounded by darkness
and the occasional passing car,
we leapt from star to star
in the cobalt haze of the night.
there,
a bright spot,
a sort of celestial fortuity.
all of the sudden I was not so alone.
I walked in your footsteps
on the path to your house.
knee deep in snow,
being careful not to stop moving,
but still wary to move at all.
I remember we were falling,
falling, falling down
(well, I was falling,
you were helping me up)
then running, running,
racing through the streets
to ensure our return
before anyone knew where we were,
or who we were.
I remember you taking my hand
which was wet with a layer of snow
and numb to the bone.
I couldn't feel yours at all.
maybe that was the idea.
there is always a guilt,
but it was mitigated here;
for one night
that terrible swelling in my throat
did not swallow me whole.
but you cannot open the floodgates
and expect to stay dry.
I am slowly learning why this is true.
I only hope that I will live to tell about it.
Mar 8, 2015
Mar 8, 2015 at 11:14 PM UTC
You want more?
Of course you do
everyone always wants more
and so you strive
and you push
for more
never settling for simple breathing.
But is this direciton
just a mitigated distraction?
A subconscious reaction
to the subtle changes
of your very humanness?
You don't deal well
with the fluidity of existence
the unparalleled persistence
of ever present change
emotions flooding
thoughts bombarding
heart is beating
theory discarding
body thudding
thrusting and lusting
contentment oh sweet contenment
and on the heels
the clutch of grief
despair
you don't care
why wake up?
You can no longer participate
the movement towards more
you cannot initiate
but wait
upon the rays
of golden starlight
lingers a distant pang
of tired delight
and again
you want more
Apr 28, 2015
Apr 28, 2015 at 11:34 AM UTC
of this earth i will cursor with octopus
suction a lung in spring
to tame the readied earth
for harvest, should i fail
blotch with soaked feet
in ink a followed route readied
for future grime
known as generational gaping
a form of yawn -
but never leave poetry singled-out
worded with only one word -
craft more syllables to mind -
at least enough syllables to rhyme,
i know that haiku does not rhyme,
but excessiveness of knowing so
will leave poetry without technique altogether...
at least keep what pop music decided
to make of poetry: rhyme -
at lest keep rhyme, at least write enough
syllables to craft a rhyme!
curating syllable usage to make
identifiable a poetic technique -
without enough syllables no poetry -
because of lost technique stressed via
syllable rubric spoken of
no rhyme to be multiplied into echo
for a coercion to mitigate:
i.e. rhyme -e- with please & ease -
mitigated meaning a lessening
with the echoing rather than the rhyming
resound -
for indeed in optics the words rhyme,
but in practice we care for echo rather than rhyme:
i rhyme we eat
and we seat -
but in fact opting for echo to be the curator.
Apr 25, 2016
Apr 25, 2016 at 11:11 PM UTC