"moot" poems
Leg off the table
you red face recruit!
put on the offensive
and break down
the bolted door!
you are the soul saver
the peddle maker
the calibrator
with colored handbills
and front line
rhetoric
join the masquerade
in ivy league style!
politicking with
cunning guile
invisalign smile
blackened vile
bleeding the funnel
with gold plate omega
and crocodile shoes
get on stage
and dance you fool!
you are the headline maker
the pantomime juggler
the compromised closer
pull out that 5 page review
(bullet points only please)
and polish those weathered lines!
did you give it your all?
the door tags
and pleasantries
the tidings
and clippings
the irrevocable claims
and postured blames
all those impressionable basics
put to the test?
you know the call
(straight from
those cold academics)
the pie chart gurus
and contract killers
(complete with bone in finger)
whipping their
frenzied crew
in an all night
charade
old yellar
and the gatekeeper
sure seem amused
(sharpening their inquest
behind closed doors)
firing up the shiit storm
with those hostile priicks
and a slew
of insatiable
cures
there’s laughter from the back room
the dripping nose
and wavering hand
the cut white lines
and checkpoint tales
the pipeline romance
and lacking form
(of a basic essential
character!)
soundboard
and narratives
for logging time
slouching on the
steel case
over moot points
ready to play
the 3 weight
butter card
(if need be)
might I remind you
it’s only an inquiry
(with a slight hint of concern!)
surely no
malfeasance
or deception intended
so step back from
the melt down
and cut to the chase!
headlines to breadlines
penthouse to outhouse
those immoral pursuits
have taken their toll
(haven’t they?)
madman or rogue
(you take your pick)
for the scores
and tabulations
are final
shame on you
for the foul play
the bold hypocrisy
and order desk games
the back stabbing blames
and spurious names
just sign on the dotted line ~
this banter
is killing me
Jan 4, 2017
Jan 4, 2017 at 1:12 PM UTC
*Blue clouds gaze the wrapped sun
frozen kisses in my blood
travelling a thousand miles
to meet up with you.
There is none else walking
down this path where memories
wake up and dance
inside my armored heart.
I peeled off each kisses embrace
out of my parched lips.
I shook off the tree,
where your scent had blossomed.*
***Every step down this scarcely trodden path saw...
Each peel fall with helpless, damsel-like grace.
Brown leaves shone amber touched by fingers of the sun
Invasion of warmth through my greyed bony carapace.
Gentle tremors reverberate within with subtle anguish.
Sweet scented portal that took me back,
To the illusion of time where we once were...
In drunken stupor...laying under a star strewn canvas of black.
Senses that spoke of a great fantastical tale.
You are still here... In this cloying void with no one around...
Only that scent...your scent tugging on my core
Invisible tendrils berthing my feet back on ground.***
*Alone and wanting don't want to be anymore.
I want to feast my lungs on your skin once more.
I want to vibrate under your touch again,
In anguished anticipation and sweet pain.
I hurl your name to the echoing wind,
Blowing ferociously over the closed passage.
Only to find that I'm but elongating
the distance between our fading wishful stars.*
***Fading far only to find that I'm lost yet again,
Still harvesting a basket full of ripened hope.
Traversing planes with warped, slanted doorways,
Frantically seeking purchase on knobs with fevered gropes.
Heavy layered breaths inhaled too shallow...
Tracing missteps to decipher what it all meant.
When all is moot...weary, weathered and futile,
Forever I'll be bathing in the familiarity of your soothing, nectarous scent...***
Dajena M
ryn
Feb 26, 2015
Feb 26, 2015 at 11:50 PM UTC
I am the breath you exhale
That sends dandelion seeds asail.
To you, a momentary pleasure,
While it gives my life new measure.
You've plucked me from home,
Blew me into the unknown.
I might be a seed under your boot,
My existence could seem moot.
But next summer, when you've lost incentive
In momentary pleasures, no longer attentive,
I'll be in full bloom.
Pick me up, I'll rebound again soon.
Jul 9, 2014
Jul 9, 2014 at 1:18 PM UTC
you toss my feelings back and forth like a tennis ball.
It was so asinine to think you cared at all.
you make it out like you wanna meight, but end up stealing
my heart, which isn't condusev in my healing.
You make me six. With me, you didn't have a rival.
I used to think you were necessary for my surfivel.
therefour, from here on, I won't allow you to crush me,
no more threel seeing my reaction when you touch me.
I don't understand people who just get together
to make you think you won and blow you off like a feather.
I half had enough and this topic's not moot,
I have zeroed in on my target and i am ready to shoot.
Mar 19, 2015
Mar 19, 2015 at 9:42 PM UTC
[From Fragments, The Following...]
... so it was that the Urth bled less. The Birch Moot was becalmed by the Anvil Cloud of Impending Deluge.
The Young Gods made sport of Their Names, and aimed to Oblique the colony of clever flesh
groping at the tender roots of an insipid devastation. The First Ones had vanished.
But Time was born and the Mortal Whirl released the Hounds of Change. Transition fused -
with the Eternal; and the offspring of unloved Spirits, roamed the Tangible. All Suffering was amplified
in the diamond lungs of a divine corpse, dreaming.
... for when the iron heart of The Cast Out was retrieved, the Legion of Heaven poured unseemly Grace upon the Fathoms
and the High King of Doubt, forced his blade ' Nimue '
into the soft palette, of the First Mouth. The Stars were born and The Void overheard the First Naming.
A solid drizzle of enchantment cloaked the oaken Yggdrasil
and The Pattern unleashed the folly of Pattern
to mask the virtue of succinct Chaos. The Children of The Lower Sky ate their Masters and thereby swollen -
gathered in the underbrush of the Fecund.
They came to Know Regret by Answering Prayers. The Kingdoms of Wane were waning in the fearsome riot of Creation
and not a boy, a man from no woman
and no woman
a man.
... the siege lights of the petty stars, babbled in the wake of yawning eruption and nullification. the ****** theater of blood
was made Holy by way of forcing camels into eyes of needles in constant dystopian joy.
... and that's how the rain gets in.
[ From the ' Kingdoms Of Wane ', a Lost Tome from Antiquity and Dada ]
What ?
Jan 27, 2013
Jan 27, 2013 at 7:07 PM UTC
I hate my personality.
I don't have a personality
That cultivates relationships.
No,
My personality leads to anguish -
Insecurity.
If I could,
For once,
Harvest a bit of
Silence in my brain -
I'd love that.
I hate to feel anxiety;
Fear of abandonment;
Insecurity;
Obscurity;
I hate to feel what I feel.
What's worse,
I can't find elegant words
To describe it.
Leaving me mute,
People assume things about me,
Making my efforts moot.
Friends think I'm overbearing;
Demanding.
Romances think I don't trust them;
That I'm too controlling,
Insecure;
Dependent;
Too moody;
Too possessive.
My personality makes people leave me.
I'm too touchy -
Too hard to love or understand.
People see me,
And expect me to freak out,
Or to demand attention.
Well this is my account -
Because when you are on
The borderline,
It's easy to see
That the grass is greener
On either side -
But for others,
You seem polarized.
I'm not happy with how my brain works.
I don't want to be the way I am.
I don't want to make sure people are
Thinking about me...
And then feel guilty or angry when they don't,
Or can't.
I hate my personality.
I hate who I am.
It causes me to never feel comfort,
And my unrest has left me
An insomniac for too long.
Now,
I just want to rest.
But,
It's hard to sleep when you're alone
And afraid of the dark.
Jun 14, 2020
Jun 14, 2020 at 3:09 PM UTC
taller as a twisted fable skyscrape- - -
felt beyond the limits of a clan; yer
density is a moot point (whatdidyawant)
and heights are reached where heights are
found beneath belief in factuality- - who
wrung the cash register any apt poem could
be you to a clean home obsessive compulsive
but valid poetics - - valid music in the dharma
dance of life.
edward scissor hands with cloths on the palms
instead and 'DO YER DISHES' the psalm you
sing for cleanliness is next to godliness &&&
cathedrals of the genuine soul were never designed,
simply found an ancient artifact in the labyrinth of
yer soul (z)
Dec 26, 2013
Dec 26, 2013 at 12:49 AM UTC
It is docking it is tocking in the winter garden locking
over still and heavy knocking that defies the very dew.
We see storms and angels crumbling under load of dearest kindling and the fire and gases burning in the skies where clouds are churning and the snow, hail, sleet, and ices come to split the air in slices as it settles over houses, villages, shoes.
Waiting huddling drawing the blankets hot and heavy with a fear of powerful nature in the windy savory few.
Now we see and hear the howling like a wolf entangles scowling as she tries to say her fowl and angry message to the blew.
I am never quite so settled as when all around me crumbles and the anger of the desert makes the inner anger moot.
And the people seem to gather in their individual lathers but they all believe the madness that the storm will never pass. But pass it does and finding with the dawn a calm descending, yes, a calm that is so different that it seems to crush our ears. We are happy to look outward and even hear a skylark and to see the streaming sun rays flitter over piles of snow.
Ever angled up in heaven we almost see a dragon or a cannon that's protecting rampart walls.
And we know that we are safe here but it was such a battle that the scars are not quite healed.
Oct 28, 2012
Oct 28, 2012 at 2:17 AM UTC
Jot it down:
Offerings are moot;
Never they lit the way like exit
Signs in hallways of God
Note, the invocation
Vanishes
Nov 5, 2014
Nov 5, 2014 at 2:02 PM UTC
Once upon a time, there was me:
A simpleton of no account,
A dunderhead by word of mouth,
An addle-pate, a cracking crock,
A crazy who deserved a lock.
Not pretty, brainy, or well-bred,
Bespectacled, a short redhead
With hands too small and far too pink
Who’d trip or fall as soon as think.
Not many prospects, they declared
With such conviction I was scared.
But the cast was short one role,
The one who’d make the halfwit whole . . .
Once upon a time, there was you:
A lord of state, of high esteem,
The answer to each maiden’s dream,
A strong man, raven-haired, and tall?
No, not this person, not at all.
You had glasses just like me,
And freckles where your skin should be.
Your clothes were rumpled, torn and tattered
Not as though that even mattered:
You walked on set and came to me
You got down on one gawky knee
You took my pink hand in your red
And, as you fixed your glasses, said:
“I love your hands, your height, your hair,
I love you up, down, everywhere.
And I hesitate to ask you this . . .
But could I maybe have a kiss?”
And, for once, my tactless lips
Did not resort to stumbling slips;
I gave you one, I gave you two,
I gave every kiss I had to you.
Once upon a time, there was us:
Two simpletons of no repute
Two dunderheads whose names were moot:
Prince Not-So-Charming and his *****
And much as cynics tried to drench
The flames of addle-pated glee
I found in you and you in me,
As much as they enjoyed pretending,
They could not harm our happy ending.
Dec 5, 2012
Dec 5, 2012 at 1:28 AM UTC
Prisoner of Love
I don't need shackles on my wrists
to remind me of the way I feel
the evidence is right in front of me
get on my knees and clench my fists
find a way to seal the deal
I can't let this get away from me
I'm an owner of a battered heart
who keeps coming back for more
no I'll never give up the fight
I'll read my lines play my part
I'll keep knocking on the door
eventually I know I'll get it right
I'm a prisoner of love
and that is just what I want
I wouldn't have it any other way
just a prisoner of love
lock me up and hide the key
I won't hide my feelings away
I have no need for an orange jump suit
it wouldn't look good on me
and I'll still know where I am
you know that your point is moot
you get exactly what you see
I won't hide my head like a clam
I'm a prisoner of love
and that is just what I want
I wouldn't have it any other way
just a prisoner of love
lock me up and hide the key
I won't hide my feelings away
Gomer LePoet ....
Oct 18, 2013
Oct 18, 2013 at 6:31 PM UTC
Are we the sum of our experiences?
We are not the sum of our experiences
When we live in the moment, we become that moment
It’s in the now; in flow
Where our authentic selves are found
Past eddies, riffles, or undulations
Of our lives have as much meaning as we choose to give them
Meaningful or meaningless is moot
If we’ve found our authentic selves
And are willing to let that Self drive
To be in tune with Tao or Source
Or whatever you want to call it
Find your authenticity and live it out fully
My guiding virtue and vice is to
Remember that I am always accountable for my actions
We live in a realm created by our actions
Creation can be tumultuous
Spring storms are balanced with spring flowers
Remain calm while in the storm
Step into the third eye
Stand next to those who steady you
There are others who gather in the eye of the storm
These are good people (usually); mentors and friends and peers
How do you find these gatherings?
In my experience, you have to come in through the out door
Oct 23, 2014
Oct 23, 2014 at 12:43 AM UTC
Two teenagers, unknown to each
Each wishing on a star
She, for eternal love
Him, a brand new car
They never knew their paths would cross
And their wishes they would get
She found her love, and him...a car
Don't leave...there's more here yet....
College years and future dreams
Still to come, with who?
Two teenagers growing up alone
I know what's next...do you?
He bought his car with money earned
From working hard at night
While she still waited for her love
Do you think they'll meet.....they might!!
When you wish upon a star
Remember which you picked
For now, you may get what you want
But, in the end....be tricked
Their paths did cross while he was out
He saw her walking in the rain
He couldn't stop to help her out
But he had to get her name
He did his run and went on back
Hoping she was still en route
She was soaked right through as he drove up
So, a dry ride home was moot
He took her home and she dried off
He sat waiting with a drink
She got all changed and then came out
He was not sure what to think
A t-shirt and her housecoat
Was all that she had on
She was sending him a message
He thought it time that he was gone
When you wish upon a star
Remember which you picked
For now, you may get what you want
But, in the end....be tricked
They dated from that night until
They decided they should wed
They were both near graduation
And they knew where they should head
They married and had children
They were perfect in every way
Imagine all this from a star
You wouldn't get all this today
As time went by, like it always does
They realized that their dreams
Were not the one's they used to share
They were ripping at the seams
The kids were always fighting
And I guess, they were too
Her dream of finding eternal love
I guess, had fallen through
When you wish upon a star
Remember which you picked
For now, you may get what you want
But, in the end....be tricked
They now slept in separate bedrooms
The kids were out and off to school
No matter what the weather
The house was always cool
They never spent a moment
Together anymore
The only *** was a quick **** you"
As they passed on through the door
His car was dead and buried
With their marriage close behind
She'd wished upon a shooting star
And didn't like what she did find
Your dreams are what you make them
A star has a shelf life...don't forget
Before you wish upon one
Beware of what you'll get
When you wish upon a star
Remember which you picked
For now, you may get what you want
But, in the end....be tricked
Feb 13, 2013
Feb 13, 2013 at 5:00 PM UTC
It was selfish of her
To leave.
She needed the change;
Had to move,
Having been stuck so long
She felt suppressed,
And so depressed.
She just needed to leave,
But where could she start?
He was easiest to leave,
The most convenient to cut off;
He didn't hold on,
He didn't even try.
She didn't know,
Was she angry
That it was easy for her to leave?
Or that he didn't even try to stop it?
But she had to leave,
The reasons didn't matter,
The semantics were moot,
Whether he wanted her to,
Or he didn't--
Whether she wanted to,
Or she didn't want him to let her;
Nothing mattered.
It was truly selfish of her
To leave.
She had to fly
And he made it easy for her
To leave him behind...
Jan 22, 2016
Jan 22, 2016 at 3:26 PM UTC
Fibromyalgia, microfibral mania, Malaysian phalanges making
fibrous writing utensils used for playing fetch with Fido.
The point is moot.
May 14, 2015
May 14, 2015 at 11:32 PM UTC
Another silent homeward
walk across the Orange Street
bridge
and I wish someone were walking with me.
These nights grow long,
and the days keep blurring.
My hurried steps wander over seams
of the self I have stitched
together from the pieces
of the last few years and the friends I've made.
And I'll defend my route
until the curtain drops
again.
Awash in quiet, I wait in the wings.
Cast my eyes North and East.
Spring breeze half-waves and passes too quickly.
Cast dice and hard clenched teeth.
Losing bets and snake-eyed bitter apologies.
Now it's a warmish Wednesday
night. I swallow hard. Just
then
turned a bend and halted in my footsteps.
these thoughts reach back.
Your face at my fingers.
Scars from a car wreck when you were young.
I know they always made
you feel kinda self-conscious.
I really liked them. Did I tell you that?
It's a moot point, sure,
but that shot still smarts.
Again,
feeling like the awkward Oxford Comma.
Showed up late to the party.
Just a mark too far...
...sentenced to revise.
Cast my eyes North and East.
It's gotten late. Guess I should keep walking.
Drink down this history,
losing bets and snake-eyed bitter apologies.
Cast my thoughts North and East,
and I wish that you were walking with me.
Jun 6, 2015
Jun 6, 2015 at 1:56 PM UTC
no guilt lives here
no binding fear
no last chance proof
no remedies moot
the hollowed heart
pounds still
the measured mark
unfilled
driven thoughts
will stay their course
amid the freaks
of future's force
change of mind
is change of time
chain this shame - raise this blind
fork this road - freeze this cold
bide this crime - bend this fold
embattled breath
to and fro
know no rest - take this toll
buried love
long and low
climb this crest - breach this hole
here where no guilt lives
where the hollow heart pounds still
pumping pain like a train through my brain
'til i'm a free bird in the rain
'til i'm a T-Bird in a frame
'til i'm a face without a name
©Jason Cole
Mar 26, 2015
Mar 26, 2015 at 10:20 PM UTC
The night you got shot
I pushed your scrambled remains
like a sack of red meat
onto the deck of the chopper.
I wonder what it felt like,
those bullets tearing through you?
It must have been quick,
but what is quick to the dead?
It's forty-three years later
and I am sixty-four
but you will always be nineteen.
Which of us was lucky?
Last night you appeared in a dream
all shot to pieces and gave me
an enormous, important hint
about my future which I forgot
as soon as I woke up.
Believe me, buddy, you haven't
missed much. The world is still all
****** up and don't mean nothing.
No one has learned a single ****** thing.
Would you have had a good life?
A happy life? A successful life.
All pretty much moot.
But at least, you would
have had a life.
Nov 1, 2015
Nov 1, 2015 at 6:29 AM UTC
To take you and place you, raised.
You are the dawn.
You take with one hand.
I pry the other hand open and find it empty.
You are to be praised, for your creator’s sake.
Your mistakes, His perfections, sacrilegious.
Bring me towards Him so that I may pray for you to come towards me.
My eyes are closed. And I stumble on words, but not yours.
Distances. I’ve never been enough.
Legs not long enough. Arms not strong enough.
I couldn’t lift you up and I couldn’t let you go.
Regardless, you are to be praised, to be raised. Exalted.
My death is on standby. My calling is mute, mum, moot.
L’amour est un oiseau rebelle.
Nov 28, 2011
Nov 28, 2011 at 5:55 AM UTC
I wish I could steal your sorrow
To make it moot and fill what's hollow
I wish I could heal those deep gashes
That left you broken into pieces
With a joy that could melt sadness
And peace to calm a raging anger
With health to make you whole again
And love that lasts forever
But my bleeding heart will not heal yours
Neither does my sorrow, Lessen that which you hold
See how I feel by how I love you
Take my kindness, Take My peace
Take my love and my joy
And my feelings will mirror yours
As they do even now
Mar 27, 2011
Mar 27, 2011 at 10:35 AM UTC
I find myself in a reality thoroughly mired;
Hard wired to this dire strait of a habit: to remain inactive;
Actively, though, I find myself being rendered blunt,
Thoroughly ineffective.
Effectively seeing my being contorted into shapes ignoble;
Progressively rendered moot,
Thwarted by my avante garde a la feeble.
And as I face that reality, really all I want to do is
Relay these reverberations that
Go thump! thump! whenever we meet;
Convey these fizzles that turn my stomach outside and in
Whenever we share an embrace to greet.
Can I rely on my grammar to share my emotions?
Or are her stories old news now?
I guess what I'm saying is:
Can I speak?
Can I, nay, may I deliver my formal interjection?
That my emotion towards you is still a subject;
That I'm hoping in my heart that the idea of "us" does not
Come across as abject;
Or imitate a noun and become an idea that is abstract?
Because what I'm going for here is for our souls to find contact;
And as I fill these blank spaces with hope;
What I hope most for,
Is that my sincerity really comes to the fore;
That you understand that I'm not here selling dreams and lifestyles;
But rather that I want to bring them to life before your eyes.
So can I speak?
Can I tell you of the hope you carry?
Can I tell you of the joy you bring?
Can I speak? Tell you everything?
If not, can I at least tell you
How crazy you drive this thing? (point to heart)
Aug 3, 2012
Aug 3, 2012 at 11:46 AM UTC
Society, the people's forum
Where they learn about the rules and
Meet each other, understand the game
That they play every moment
They each introduce themselves
As one who abides by the social law
And convene in larger numbers
With those who are very much the same
They chit and chat and shoot the ****
They liff and laugh and moot on it
But what of those who aren't a part of it?
Simply because they just don't fit?
This is learned at a young age,
From our childhoods, life's book's first page
Rippling, growing, til' it reaches a stage
Until you're all alone, trapped in your head's cage
And God can't play the shepherd to the sheep
Can't bring you back to the flock
You're tired, worn, can't breathe or sleep
You age faster than the clock
The paranoia inside your mind grows strong
You're anti-social, not after long
Sideways thinking, upside down
A kingdom of one, you bear the crown
Psychotic sins and torture played
Thanatos and Eros, pleasure forbidden
More real to oneself, to the others, one fades
And appeals to oneself to make it all forgiven
In the social circus, in your own ring
Universes you ponder, death songs you sing
You recluse your mind, lost without intent to be found
For solitary freedom bests being amongst company, bound.
Dec 2, 2009
Dec 2, 2009 at 11:18 AM UTC
I could write best sellers
Just about you
But instead I'll just say
Thank you for the love I felt
Among the grass, under the sun, you kept
Running your fingers through my hair
And I couldn't believe it
When I could see your beautiful soul staring back at me
If I could go back to that Sunday
With the clear blue sky
And your head right next to mine
Everyone else just seems to fade away
And you can't say that it didn't mean a thing to you
*** is *** but love is gentle
And your fingers caress slowly
In my stupid head you love me
My hearts on the line, on my sleeve
My dignity is something I wonder if I can keep
You didn't have to hold me like you did.
There was nothing ****** about it.
But I know if I was anyone else
They'd be thinking the same thing.
And you cover your tracks
You take it all back
But I know what it really meant
I know how you really felt.
It's a sunny day
And I can feel my heart breaking
Thinking about how you smiled at me
Thinking about that hand in mine
Fingers intertwined
There's love in the air; you said it yourself
I felt a click, I hope you did too
Otherwise all these thoughts are moot.
Sep 7, 2012
Sep 7, 2012 at 3:59 PM UTC
Would that my life
carried the pomp and confidence
of a bombastic poem
an overwrought daytime drama
that bad action movie with the guy
who’s too cool for this world
Would that my rhymed greetings
always trumpet a joyful salute
blasting awake the tired and sad
rendering all introversion moot
Would that an invitation
for a beer a my place
be a more coveted prize
than a free trip to space
Would that every whipped up snack
be a culinary masterpiece
gasping in ecstasy my houseguests
cling to their seats
Would that the very tone of my voice
render women to squirm and swoon
render babies to giggle
and songbirds to croon
Would that any awkward silences
be scrupulously sifted out
cold cut conversations segued from hours
to clipped and cleverly crafted banter
Would that I’d compose the songs
that bring young lovers close
that wrench tears from the eyes
of those more cynical than most
Would that the clip of my canter
be the cadence of the soundtrack
of enlightenment
Would that my goodbyes be
an epic flood of emotion
my friends and colleagues
all so grieved to see me going
Would that in life
I be bigger than death
and in death I be
bigger than life.
...
But what would all that be
would that even be me?
Feb 12, 2013
Feb 12, 2013 at 10:54 PM UTC