"neccesary" poems
Dear life, what is it that makes you take on a journey which always leads towards an unavoidable, devestating yet resenting death ?
Since I cannot understand it fully I wander upon this world without finding any clear answers to satisfy the curiousity my heart bears.
In the realm of dreams I find rest, as my mind engages into this illusion and frees me from this reality for as long as my body pleases.
Awakened by loitering darkness, these questions are repeating themselves on a path of recurrance, without decreasing in strengh.
As my breath dies while feeling the agony, flames of hatred are seeping through my fragile, delicate existence, giving energy.
Rumbling, boiling in sadness I tell myself that anyone's forgiveness is not neccesary, losing control over this riot of pure fury without heart.
Looking back a thousand times, it remains as my very best choice.
Letting these emotions race, rage and rampage uncontrollably
Whilst losing ones self within a lunatic laughter to release pressure
I cannot stop these tears, pitying the past long gone rolling down my cheeks, moistening the very soil I am growing on, as a pure lily
Until the moment comes in which my body exhausts itself and allows me to enter the world of dreams, where despair fades into happiness.
Until the sun rises once again
~ Umi
Mar 10, 2018
Mar 10, 2018 at 6:23 PM UTC
She moved with all the grace of a garbage truck
this is not to say she was graceless altogether
only that her movements were rollingly robotic
and she was prone to fits of repetitious arm-swings
with a physical presence neccesary
though sadly underappreciated
Feb 18, 2010
Feb 18, 2010 at 11:49 AM UTC
Publicly, in a place where language and liberty are
held by egotists, teach the limits of minutes.
Remind the esteemed that speed
is a fool for popular belief.
Twelve months, twelve jurors, twelve perhaps.
Trees have grown in sadder conditions.
If you want the confidence of indifference,
then amaze nature with offensive styles and time with substance.
Paranoia is perfect in a nit-pick of cages.
Birds and children depend on the weather -- the size of
your plate is positive protection from detection.
Man is born trumpeted by eliminations,
so provoke the simple and the neccesary.
Wisely, allow falls to perfect your aim
and let submission be it's own masterpiece.
Devote yourself to purpose and exacting hope.
Increase living with boyhood wonder,
and always love -- transform.
May 13, 2012
May 13, 2012 at 4:33 PM UTC
I can only identify Autumn as entirely bittersweet
I cringe at the sting of it as I breathe it through my teeth.
Isn’t it ironic how it’s viewed as beautiful in most eyes?
The season when everything transforms and withers away and dies.
The leaves changing colors, the forests in flames
And the vague sense of comfort in the shortening of days.
It’s underneath the ocean of stars I overanalyze my place
And I realize I’m just one out of the entire human race.
There’s something about Autumn, when everything dies,
That nags at me, insisting that I acknowlege I’m alive
And that no one can take that life away from me but me
I am not like the forests and the leaves and the trees
And I do not need to engulf myself in the colors of the flames
And I will not wither into nothing in Mother Nature’s name.
It is not neccesary for me to die once a year
Or hibernate all winter just to dismiss all my fears.
So why is it when I breathe Autumn into my bones
I become hyper aware that I’ve constructed people into homes
That have long sense been forclosed on, windows boarded up
And I’m the last to understand that the doors are locked and shut.
"That habit causes chronic homesickness," the doctor explains,
"I have no cure to give you, I just have something for the pain."
It’s in a self-medicated stupor I re-evaluate and say,
"I’m the only one to blame for why I ended up this way."
And in my cloudy mind state I think of what I’m fighting for
It’s been years of battles, mostly won, but I fear I’ll lose the war,
For overnight Winter will creep up to my window and make its way inside
And the tired worn out troops I have left will be taken by surprise.
My mental health will grow sleepy but I’ll push it to stay awake
And I’ll cling to that last dying ounce of comfort Autumn gave.
Oct 10, 2013
Oct 10, 2013 at 4:42 AM UTC
wither goest he?
traveling, traversing, rehearsing
the good doctor lingers in the doorway out
sometimes forgotton, but always, ever, perpetually
omnipresent
dictations and suggestions, hunches corrupting
helping one last time to cauterize, sterilize
cutting off the umbilical cord to humanity
nothing to slow it down, nothing to hinder, nothing to feel
cilia burned, silly-a me to allow it
is it a neccesary burden. a beast with a broken back
still slogging, blindly, towards an imaginary finish line
hoping there is only darkness there. rest. peace
he misses his shell. the whole world is asbestos
this is his hell. the soothing water sputters the flames to smoke
and miles away, tonto points and deciphers.
********* is what it says, soaring eagle
the white man is so trivial
primitive in his circular command center, melting legos to heat his hearth
hiring ****** to eat his heart
a trapper keeper. a pointed rose. a poisoned tip. a mental rip. a freudian slip
this place has no ass. I mean.. class. class is what i meant.dammit
surroundings never touch the surface of my skin
and quantum physicists only complicate this perspective.
**** your logic! and **** mine worse..
why must everything be rehearesed? this is a curse.
a verse of a song I sing with a gun to my head
Jun 20, 2014
Jun 20, 2014 at 2:00 AM UTC
My guitar sits in the corner,
It beckons me over.
Ah, but the strings might need tuning
Even though they rarely do.
A song grows in my head,
A seedy little idea.
But the melody has not come to me
Even though a few strums would find it.
And who am I kidding,
Tuning strings is like tying shoe laces;
Quick, easy, neccesary to get me places.
I like tuning my guitar.
And this song is more than an idea
It is a fire that needs fuel.
I suppose guitars make good fires,
As long as there is no snapping of wires.
This fire is about you.
It burns bright
Brings me fright
What if I can't stop it?
But what if I don't want to?
My guitar is no longer in the corner.
It found its way into the fire.
The crackle, a perfect melody.
The light, an illuminating song.
The heat, unstoppable,
Just as it should be.
Jun 22, 2013
Jun 22, 2013 at 9:05 PM UTC
Before I took a seat I closed the door. Trying desperately to make a good first impression, refusing the offer of a hot drink
there's always later assuming this goes according to plan. My name called, greeted by a luke warm smile "Daniel"
Rhetorical questions always get me, do I answer or avoid? I never know anyway. Extending my hand reluctantly "Yes and you must be"
my enemy for the next ten minutes. "An informal interview followed by any questions you may have says he reassuringly" Leading me back through
the shop. This his shining kingdom and he the smiling tyrant. Forty hours a week with over time allowed you could be very happy here
working and smiling or something.
The interview is a slow roast, the mid day sun slipping through half cracked a window, I engage in eye contact a neccesary evil apparently.
Ive been up for days reading every interview technique known to man.
I could tell you all about body language or just how much I need too sleep.
Its always the subtle distractions that steal a tired mind.
Nice tie blue tie green tie I cant tell,
I remain fixated untill
"Any questions" of course I reply.
"When can I start and when will I hear back from you"
all the while secretly asking myself when will the already
sidelined enthusiasm I have for you diminish entirely
Mar 19, 2013
Mar 19, 2013 at 8:31 AM UTC
And if I'm being truthful
I'm not the biggest fan of the sun
This bag old ball of gas sitting
millions and millions of miles away
Clamoring for my praise
I don't know how else to say it.
The sun can be so...
Suffocating.
It's tentacle like rays reach across
Vast distances
Leaving burns on my delicate skin
The sun burned me to a crisp
But let me tell you about rain
The rain is wise
Drip drop
Pitter patting on my head
Rain is calm and honest like a buddist monk
Or it's can be furious and relentless,
A torrential downpour whipping at you from every direction
But even when its angry
there is a passionate honesty to it.
Somehow I know that the rain is neccesary
It's wet embrace leaves me feeling happy
Sometimes we need a stormy day to wash our sorrows away
A little rain to give me a break
from the ordinary.
May 30, 2018
May 30, 2018 at 10:20 PM UTC
225 719 9187
Call today and save my soul
No money neccesary
Just a **** you and have a blessed day
Preach to me the teachings of god
Tell me how I'll go to hell for my sins
Where loving once pays in dying twice
Enlighten me on what I did so wrong
Curse my name
Spit in the ground I walk
Bury me under my own misery
What else can I say
We all knew I was a **** up
Sanity not a birthright
Hell if you wanted perfect you should have never came to me
I've slept with more women than I could count
Chased emotions away with broomsticks
But like any rabid beast
Give it attention
It knows where home could be
So call today and maybe your words
Could take this lonely soul
And free it into the place it was meant to be born into
But you wont do it
You're scared
You fear me
Not knowing what kind of man I am
Second guessing the reason you chose
To dial my number in the first place
Maybe you should forget it
I'm sure I'll find my own will
To do the devils work for him
He's not to blame
God should be ashamed
I am he
He is you
You are me
Me is dead
So I guess we all are
When we were born in his image
I'm done talking I'm taking action
Feel free to cleanse your own soul
By trying to cleanse mine
PLEASE SIR
PLEASE MA'AM
TELL ME HOW YOUR GOD CAN SAVE ME NOW
WHEN THE ONLY THINGS THAT NEED TO BE SAVED
IS THE THINGS I'LL ABUSE TO DESTROY MYSELF
Mar 2, 2015
Mar 2, 2015 at 4:44 AM UTC
There are a lot of things I sit down and remember
I guess it's just me getting older
Days, months and years go by...
Soon you'll say to your youth good bye
Where maturity is king and childishness is a dream
Where work is a must and relaxation is a fairy tale film
Let's not forget the marriage pressures
When all we want is endless pleasure
With a new year comes a new birthday
Reminding you that your closer to becoming clay
Experience becomes painul wisdom
And hard work becomes neccesary income
I leave you to ponder, or even wonder
But don't forget your getting older
And if you have forgotten my name because of age...
Yours truly, Carlton 'the writing sage'
Oct 8, 2018
Oct 8, 2018 at 7:39 AM UTC
Whether it's the land and sea,
Or the soil and trees,
There is a lock for each key,
Call it a restrain, or a feeling of being free
The sun and the moon,
Radiate light and reflect it respectively,
Their omnipresence exhibits the neccesary balance, a disguised boon,
Which is utilized so profusely and effectively
Take mankind, the most profound example,
A vessel of emotions, thoughts and actions,
An observable trait when the balance was lost,
Was when wars were waged, and today, it is when we are beginning to defrost the frost
If we learn from our ancestors and from mother nature,
If only we could let go of our superflous desires, such as societal stature,
And lend a hand to the weak, the needy and halt activities that render our planet and people broken,
It doesn't matter if it takes an age, for life is all a gamble, and i have an adequate number of tokens
Aug 14, 2018
Aug 14, 2018 at 9:10 AM UTC
drinking *** allows you to
spots things.... the like of insects crawling
on glasss... the oddity being:
inside a room... i call it a misguide
between glass and air...
and then there's evanescne's
my immortal...
and why i can forge
a need for a tear...
that sense of
a gratifying gulp of snot...
the pass on asking being
demanding....
like wolverine asking jane / phoenix
out on a date... but being rejected....
because she's seeing
cyclopse;
**** me, a woman's take on scent...
and then cleaning up cat's ****
well done....
to satiate the brute...
you have to be the brute...
and what of a need for
a callous call to make amends?
well, merely answered by a:
hush;
and that's outside the domain
of saying growl...
when an actual growl was neccesary;
and was, a verb, rather than a noun...
oh the freeing feeling
of the much adored sadness!
god, with it, i am, nowhere closer than
to you, in that i am... "claustrophobic",
yes, res locus;
yes, res locus... it's something that gives
a historicity of the cartesian argument...
a temporal and a spatial guise-cocnern
for temperaments that avoids
fabrics, and that said, generally:
fashion; esp. to give vogue to cognition!
it really can be "unfashionable"
to think someone's argument...
e.g. kant? unfashionable.
nietszche? very much fashionable...
it's called hegel's lecture notes + marx's critique...
cogntive vogue...
i like that term...
it sounds so much more astute to be said,
than say, cultural marxism...
so much easier to state:
well... given the year 2017, the cognitive vogue
is... a, b, c...
than ascribe some definitves /
post-scripts of an ideology,
like darwinism, that's become as rigid
as the geometry of a triangle;
and **** me! the theaory won't budge!
it won't budge into a yawn! degraded as library
material!
it had to compete with marxism
as having, a culutral status!
May 23, 2017
May 23, 2017 at 10:50 AM UTC