"nadirs" poems
I'm manic, and so is everyone else around me. We are drowning in our self prophesied nadirs; enraptured in the drama of our lives; enamored with the devils we chose to let live.
We reasoned "What harm could come from this spirit which suffered to bring me such joy, which rose from the depths to meet me in the eye and kiss me on the tongue?"
And we know, the floorboards are soon to split, that the world was not meant to drown all at once.
Mar 6, 2015
Mar 6, 2015 at 2:33 PM UTC
Here’s my hefty, over-lumbered
case to put you in:
suggestions on a pin
to ***** your dogma,
error’s commas captivating
run-ons with their length
prolonged for lack of strength
unseen in staying parts -
your wants is off the charts!
But needs are nadirs; we all stoop
to let them talk us into something.
Independence *** thing) wrecks your time
and chews your peace apart.
Your heart beats out
a chapter shorter now each night -
the longing makes it right
and lubs the biggest dub of all -
recordings of the ball,
the master moldering in some storage tomb
alone for adding rooms
onto the house you’ll owe forever for.
Why snore you with my secret?
Loud man come, inventing orders -
hupping-to shreds being into blue.
Who showed me out of there?
Who whisked without a care
and smashed the batter of your special batch:
for sure, at times, a catch,
but else an error, comma,
asterisk,
rappelling down your robe of risk?
Aug 31, 2018
Aug 31, 2018 at 4:40 PM UTC
the verve of my support (can you?)
the nerve centers,
from whence came
the sugar cane mountain highs
and
the undulating re-marks of my abysses,
shutting, shuttering and shuddering
nadirs and epogees
the pen drops, the mouth moves silently,
reading lips the new sign language,
as the verve of my support is certified loopedinsane
surrounded by affection and beauty,
my visions and wonderful miscomprehensions,
grow dulled from over exposure to my sun's illness
the talk cure for what ails is to no avail,
hum to myself - it will be ok
but can't decide if those words should be followed by a
comma or a period or a solar ellipse
an oval between you and I
a constant space
can you?
Aug 20, 2017
Aug 20, 2017 at 12:55 PM UTC
Our dreams alive, in three songs
You looking to get ****** in the arms of what's going on
Touch about the reality, of the great good of the hearts of the nosegay I took a nosedive, or the opened up fire of the circle's curlicue
Hells burning and sings, and burns the throat of supernatural sordid affairs of the singed dresses, lips quiver and nape the murmurs, closer to your party girl
Listening to the parallelogram lights of nadirs on the cream drop, on the trap, ******* stint rest are we
Sleeping with the nocturne-blonde, wheelchair on the cannibal dynamo of the change looking in product elitism, sold out before they knew they were buying war
You're a bit inside, further into my ferried heart on the wheels of fire of the crossroads of the good,
The hoods out, the special affair sounds like a girl, the number of the pocket
Of the ashcans on Wednesday, so smart about your Hakagaw bows, open doors to my cellar in speakeasies and tensions
On the phone calls, in the terse rhyme sin, the sails determination of confessing our love, in the strong live in the heart of years that do not have any limitation and have no learned lessons,
See tomorrow's is the night that's alive, it's the midsummer's daydream and the midnight cauterized midriff
How do we sell it, and the trench warfare in the solidarity of the streams of dresses in steaming stowaway, maybe we good we have mister magic selling the war in a handful of stardust
Shadow rises in that pass as years go by
Shadow is a pejorative term for copies of running on hurt looks in open books of minds, we have our own wars in piled plasticine in methanol, hydrogen prologue of the helium
Time throws us into the year in the complete word that completes me, and I'm a bit nicer
I'm so lost, I'm a bit nicer
Deep sarcasm in the classroom
The winners have become bad, and no one cares about the losers
What does it mean? I'm not telling you my stories
Aug 22, 2019
Aug 22, 2019 at 10:11 PM UTC
It's hard to love,
hard to trust,
hard to open up,
hard to stay true.
To love is to say, "I give of myself fully",
the good and the bad, the mad and the sad,
the peaks and cliffs, and the valleys and nadirs,
all of that, and more. It says, "I trust you,
and believe you can take it all without judging".
It's like writing down all of you into a book,
and giving it to someone for them to read.
It's not something you would give to anyone,
so imagine that as the gift of your love.
It's opening yourself to pain and rejection,
and wishing and hoping that you won't be let
down, even when it's happened again and again.
It takes more courage than the bravest knight,
to confess your feelings to someone you love.
It's easier to just keep your feelings sealed,
never to tell your honest heart's message,
for fear of feeling failure yet again.
Or easier still to harden your heart's armor,
so that you can never love and never be hurt.
But, please, don't. To love and to be loved
is the most wonderful feeling in all the world,
this I can say to be true. If ever you find,
a lover you love true, then please confess.
Let them know, and don't waste time worrying,
or else they will find someone else who wasn't fearful.
Such was my fate, and so I stay here, sorrowful.
A knight of resignation who couldn't court his princess.
Jul 2, 2016
Jul 2, 2016 at 11:17 PM UTC