"obdurate" poems
Dodge cars and **** self confidence
Go round and **** compliments
Incompetence of divine providence
Confess but stay anonymous
To helmets that give fake safety
Say they deliver you safely
To something that kills when i taste thee
Vindictive to past
But past is obdurate
Killing a cause that i cant its innate
Grows to inflate
Changes this fate
Or cant its to late
Loose weight
Deflate
Bend back to stay straight
Drift far to relate
So ill **** your self confidence
You- theres everything wrong with it
**** and never be the same as since
Cry but be silent
Flinch but don't wince
And dodge cars while i can
I got hit
Every time that i ran
But still run
When i wish
I could sit
Know that i won't
But still pray to be hit
So ill **** your self confidence
And
Dodge cars while i can
Apr 24, 2013
Apr 24, 2013 at 4:24 PM UTC
For Leonard Baskin
To his house the bodiless
Come to barter endlessly
Vision, wisdom, for bodies
Palpable as his, and weighty.
Hands moving move priestlier
Than priest's hands, invoke no vain
Images of light and air
But sure stations in bronze, wood, stone.
Obdurate, in dense-grained wood,
A bald angel blocks and shapes
The flimsy light; arms folded
Watches his cumbrous world eclipse
Inane worlds of wind and cloud.
Bronze dead dominate the floor,
Resistive, ruddy-bodied,
Dwarfing us. Our bodies flicker
Toward extinction in those eyes
Which, without him, were beggared
Of place, time, and their bodies.
Emulous spirits make discord,
Try entry, enter nightmares
Until his chisel bequeaths
Them life livelier than ours,
A solider repose than death's.
3.9k
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A little Snow was here and there
Disseminated in her Hair—
Since she and I had met and played
Decade had gathered to Decade—
But Time had added not obtained
Impregnable the Rose
For summer too indelible
Too obdurate for Snows—
3.2k
*The boundaries in the mind
Is impenetrable by the Light
Of consciousness,
Concealing the obdurate ideas
Within the confines of the walls
Held captive, and mired in obscurity
Leaving the mind in desolation*
© Amitav (Radiance)
May 24, 2014
May 24, 2014 at 8:30 AM UTC
i have a head made out of rock,
a body filled with poison,
and a void soul.
i am afraid
that my greatest strength
turns out to be my achilles heel.
i am looking at a blank canvas
with spots of red and blue and black.
i assume, i judge, and i am,
more often than not, obdurate.
sometimes, all i want is an answer,
but when they give it to me,
i can't listen because
the voices in my head
are telling me that i should just go
and that i have endured enough.
i am terrified of the voices in my head
that keep telling me that i am not
pretty enough
good enough
smart enough
because despite the fact that i know
that i am enough,
they still get me down.
i want to be myself,
but isn't the voices inside my head
is a part of what made me who i am?
May 17, 2016
May 17, 2016 at 8:39 AM UTC
exit bag
It's easy enough to peer through the underside of a hearse-
easy enough to **** those gears.
Easy enough to try it once or twice or give up or spit it out like a bad fruit.
Easy enough to shiver in bed
Easy enough to last it out and sleep all day
puff on the bag and go somewhere else
A quick, easy blur. Negation
hand in hand loyal love with sleep. A handshake, low,
tossed about with a final farewell, a quick gulp
in the arms of a surrendering light- a face-mask.
It's easy enough to stick it and last.
So level out with a spliff, take another chance-
a homespun remedy will extract the saccharine
days and take out the "too sweet" sweat of a poison
milkshake-
it's easy enough to do it quietly.
It's easy enough to have a pay-order-death.
Spit-up, a final Sampson barber drain. You'll never
sleep through another day if you put on
that exit mask and breathe
slowly until you can't
until the surprises stop coming
until the wounds stop laughing
until the only obdurate straight man will stop his act and take you home and lay you on a couch and drape a clean blanket over you like a white sheet
and cover your eyes with cloth and pennies and
gently weep when no one's making a joke anymore
Jan 31, 2013
Jan 31, 2013 at 4:24 PM UTC
Words…..because words are all I have……..:) Edgar
endearments generosity incantatory new sagacity surprise heresy dissipation violating abyss language warning culminates dalack obdurate serving waiter ossuary occurrences tortured beware silence calm bow physiognomy paucity occurrence exegeses transmogrification effectuation Adjunctive dairy tenure contention tenner reins happy indomitable, connoisseur artifice concatenation vivacity voluptuous solemnity enigmatic burdened glorious line huge……………………some I made myself…..:) Edgar
Nov 2, 2012
Nov 2, 2012 at 4:07 PM UTC
1.
your words are oft like sweet-sour packages in the post
excitement mounts to rend strings yet dread too, peeps in.
songs you play are wrought from famished strips of liquid love
that my wretched soul with face upward, so wanting, laps up.
2.
oh, let me be that tree for your succour
come into me shade
oh, let me be that wave for your restlessness
come ride upon me swell
oh, let me be that light for your needing
come meld within me core
and take what you need.
(and please be mine, too)
3.
I am so in awe of you that I'm angry!
can you just come upon this landing, already?
let me lay you down, beside me . . .
this garden awaits
tomorrow never knows
of what wondrous delights we spake
mine eye seeks thee, always.
let me . . .
stroke your disheveled mind
and allow me to slow-spill into obdurate you
soft and gentle, sweet and kind
your destroyed words
to hear how swift and sudden they really are.
let us fall headlong . . .
4.
when, once every millennium
the tale doth go:
the time-eagle returns
to that diamond-mountain
so far away
to sharpen its beak
and when, it finally wears down
that haughty hill
then one mere second of eternity will have passed
yes, the hour-glass of eternity will run its full course.
despite time and distance
forever is a wicked charm that I must wait for . . .
and forsooth
the weight of it, I will bear.
S T, 14 May 2013
May 14, 2013
May 14, 2013 at 6:34 AM UTC
Time has put a vagrancy on my mind
Subdues conformity and material worship
With scalding epileptic convulsions of imagination
My mouth blood-stained, shrieking like a pianting
A painting by Munch gives way, yields, yes yields
To an unrelenting detonation of the unconscious
An existential filter of real or imagined transformations
Which by miraculous tongue restores a belief
To wonder and levies no compass on perception
Yet reveals a tormenting estrangement
That does mount a strenuous and contemptuous protest
Against familiarity with agonized shrieks of obdurate tenacity
Where the phantoms of my imagination enact their mysterious mysteries
And produce a poetic alchemy of violated imagination
Sep 23, 2012
Sep 23, 2012 at 3:31 PM UTC
She was the resident insomniac
(The lack never showed on her beautiful mind)
Her green eyes pierce the dark at 3 in the morning
(The only thing sharper than her gaze was her wit)
She was the wisps of flyaway hair
The shadows magnifying her cheeks
She was a collection of features
Eyes, lips, hands
Melded seamlessly, stitches invisible under the moonlight
She waited up night after night
(Her stubbornness was infuriatingly admirable)
But the open window yielded not a soul
And still she lay there, fingers twitching erratically
She was never one for happy endings anyways
Nov 9, 2015
Nov 9, 2015 at 4:43 PM UTC
Thrashed interminably
to find a Death
like this,
Death like this;
digs d
e
e
p
,
to make room, for you:
that
obdurate;
swart;
gelid;
merry-go-round.
In the centre of
maelstrom;
tranquility lives,
as 393 echos evaporate
amid Amaranth
& Hibiscus,
Amen.
Mar 28, 2016
Mar 28, 2016 at 7:03 PM UTC
A common thread our swanky prance
Obdurate circles while we dance
Harmonious we'd make romance
And for each other we'd enhance
With eloquent and wanton stance
While willingly we take the chance
To reach across unknown expanse
And though akimbo not askance
We flaunt unfettered by durance
While at each other we would glance
As if enraptured by a trance
Oct 6, 2014
Oct 6, 2014 at 3:01 PM UTC
n u m b. . .
My
w a l l s
a l
l cage l
l a
s l l a w
solitary
obdurate C
S Y
E C
L
circadian,
inexorable. Crimson orbs see every-
thing. Flaccid thoughts lay helpless
on my bed.
The
lovely
lull
of
blinking
f fl fli flic flick flicke flicker
f l i c k e r s f o r e v e r.
Jul 11, 2012
Jul 11, 2012 at 11:02 AM UTC
A common thread our swanky prance
Obdurate circles while we dance
Harmonious we'd make romance
And for each other we'd enhance
With eloquent and wanton stance
While willingly we take the chance
To reach across unknown expanse
And though akimbo not askance
We flaunt unfettered by durance
While at each other we would glance
As if enraptured by a trance
Nov 25, 2015
Nov 25, 2015 at 8:53 PM UTC
As my fickle pen sweeps across the chosen page,
Its unsteady stream of ink spouts scattered thoughts of thou…
Oh, that my grief were not so! If only my mind could wander
Without inevitably pausing upon thy fabricated tombstone!
But alas, for such luxury is not mine to own, that pleasant sense
Of rightness in the world so often dubbed peace of mind
For mine is not to be had, for how can there exist
Peace of mind without peace of heart? There ‘tis
I find the keeper of my despondency, my heart is at war!
Not warring another, mind, but with itself!
The ceaseless battle rages, with neither side being the victor,
Instead, my heart is torn apart…but who am I to complain?
For were my heart a whole, it would do an equal good
As that it does in two. What good is a flower
That has no stem to hold it upright? Instead of embracing
The sun, it floats aimlessly downstream ‘til
It disappears beneath the current, ne’er to be seen again.
This t’would be the fate of my heart were’t to remain whole.
Thus, by waging war upon my emotions I succeed
In preserving my sanity. For this, and this alone,
I thank thee. For without the pain dealt me by thine hand
I would still be drowning. Not drowning in sorrow,
As a part of me has already done, but drowning in illusion.
This illusion that I so easily fell victim to suffocated
All my senses, particularly that of reality, leaving no barrier
Between thy murderous rage and my vulnerability.
The knife thou plunged in my chest will forever be the divider
Between what was and what remains: The object
Of my devotion and destruction, one and the same,
Yet separate, for a part of me is remains willing to die
For love of thou, but still the other part is willing to die for none.
To die willingly by another’s hand is different than to die by thy own,
If only because thou diest knowing ‘twas another’s will.
Thus I inherently refuse to surrender my whole heart
To another’s cause, and so the battle rages on…
Aug 22, 2010
Aug 22, 2010 at 8:00 PM UTC
All yearling spring birds far from distant home,
Xanthic in Gothic gospels soot and yolk,
Where's one's soft spoken voice to calm me on the phone?
Formidable pulses,
The danger of convulsion's spread on like buttered oil!!!
Enormity soil's the defendant delirium...
Such agnostic aquariums stinkingly similar upstate!
Broken lives to sunset drive,
Specimen speckles,
Forcible tassels hover one's decree!!
Litigious locust's buzz creepingly,
Indecently exposing all's funk!!!
Concauctions of fake adoption's,
Concievers break locks off trunks!!!
Omit me out of this obdurate oasis,
Wherein one feel's spacious,
Free to cometh and goeth!!!
Freedom doth thou know?
Operatic Mrs and Mr's,
Minuets for thy ridiculed wishes!!
Ponderer of newness,
Cleaner's as thy tub spills over,
Thy heels click together just to get thy kicks!!!
Hit the streets thou feathered bird of no beak,
Thou tally marker of no means!!!
Foreman to thy own people's idea's,
Nourish me with a new novice,
Nurture me with heartbrake hotel,
Buildeth me a standing ovation of a one love palace!!!
Brave heart fairytale,
Doth thou stand to move about?
Listener of radio tunes,
Art thou close??
©Brandon nagley
©Lonesome poet's poetry
Sep 25, 2015
Sep 25, 2015 at 8:50 AM UTC
have I been here before,
the variations of anywhere
framing the limits of waking within a wretched humility?
am I become one of the blown boys, those dear, dear boys
and their desolate, punctual, martyrdom,
or a resolute extra in a post-mortem smack fug
at ease to fester with my wounded, skyward muttering,
where even fake flowers offer injury?
I
easily shaken by bleary imaginings as obdurate
as a politicians dancing lips which, if they are moving,
must be lying,
rather crave the ocean's incoherent, uncorked, yawn
its contorted salutation an easy answer to the hardest ask
Jul 30, 2015
Jul 30, 2015 at 1:14 PM UTC
Its my strength
In weakness
Its my hope
My blind faith
When I couldn't find god
But I still had demons
Who chase me
From building to building
They ride with me in cars
And block my view of the stars
If and when I chance to look for stars
Its my soul
Obdurate
When my body is weak
But too hard
To let the hands that hold me
Leave marks
I was always meant to be alone
I wasn't made to love
And every time I cry for help
No one hears me
I wrote a beautiful song
And sent it your direction
Because I want my art to be lost
In the abyss
You say your always there
But you were never here
You say you're listening
I know that no one hears me
Apr 21, 2016
Apr 21, 2016 at 1:26 PM UTC
obdurate, ******
he fastened twine
tied to tarsals
around my
ventricles,
closed off
the vena cava
i am blue
in the breastbone
empty blood
can't reach
the lungs
but
i am equipped
with the tools
to deal with this
animal instinct
to fight off
infection
or to let it in
and cradle
me every
night at
2
when you
wake to
make sure
you haven't
missed
the tug at your toes
or
the platelets & plasma
or
a warm wavelength --
a chance to record a dream
you lost in rising
Sep 28, 2014
Sep 28, 2014 at 11:22 PM UTC
Obdurate and profligate from years of anomie,
I have become hallow due to this sessile pons asinorum
Incurring solely affliction, I know only discontentment;
My existence is damnation, and damnation is my existence...
Enmity and sorrow are the sole tenants of my heart
No matter my anguish, these demons nevermore will depart
Presiding within my occult and dingy soul;
Anon my antipathy will irrecusably attain control
For hope is naught but an opaque postiche-
A whim that dissipates, even when you beseech
-The Bagatelle
Mar 20, 2014
Mar 20, 2014 at 5:42 PM UTC
Oh the tears
Oh the pain
Oh the anguish
The suffering of the people
With their sorrowful heart
Broken to pieces by wickedness
Smothered and shredded
Afflicted and forsaken
Seeking peace and comfort
Calling out to whoever
Crying out for help
But all to no avail
I dwell in self gratification
I live in a conceited world
My words are to your derision
Denunciation is my motto
I care less about the world around me
Stinginess lies in my marrow
I am aroused by an inordinate desire for greatness
Treachery lies in my heart
I am impenitent and obdurate
I am consumed by my profane thoughts
And yet I say
I am chosen nation
A royal priesthood
A peculiar person
Dwelling in Glory and Splendor
Enjoying the Goodness of The Almighty
Not minding the world around me
Ignoring their cries
Overlooking their pains
Oblivious to their anguish
Though I know the way to peace
And God as made me a light of the world
I covert this light for myself alone
My selfish deeds
Aug 14, 2015
Aug 14, 2015 at 2:36 PM UTC
I am nothing but footprints in the sand
to him.
Odious, he who left me to fight the tides,
promised me forever.
How long is forever?
Three years, two months,
Eleven days, an hour
and twenty-three seconds.
Now he’s back,
expecting a norm so chimerical.
But, disconsolate as I am,
sleeping ‘til body withered--
crying ‘til eyes dusted--
Yet he’s obdurate to this, my Odious.
No amount of imprecations
can succor this heartbreak.
My armored skin,
antiquated from battles long and harsh--
turned to mere paper against his words.
He has me by the corner,
above the red, red flame
and wants to act like I am not burning.
Such a silver tongue, my Odious,
he can fabricate like no other.
My dear Odious,
Leave me to fight the tides,
as I hope your Promethean fever
leaves you as cold
and as alone
as your true heart.
Yours always,
Detritus
Oct 2, 2014
Oct 2, 2014 at 10:27 AM UTC
I'm a half broke horse,
like the ones Jeanette Walls wrote about.
Half tamed: Half the trouble
But half of me's still spirited and independent,
Obdurate.
I do me, and I don't do rules.
I don't know what shaped me
Maybe the fact I had life
Come at me too early.
Dealing with endless hate
between my family,
Scars to deep on a 14 year old.
Or maybe it's because
every time I get myself into
some terrible ****
it always turns out better than
expect.
Maybe cause I'm secretly
Lucky,
I secretly rebel, but always half good.
Always half attentive and abiding.
Oct 8, 2013
Oct 8, 2013 at 11:32 AM UTC
Every blue ****
Rises up warm from the almost-guilt.
Old minds usurp the present
Curious, obdurate thoughts:
The blazing sister of the profligate
Is animal lusting in pale brains.
Sep 14, 2010
Sep 14, 2010 at 6:00 PM UTC
In the corner of a curved ally sat a man with weathered hands and a guarded frame.
Beside him, a black dog rose as I neared, echoing the man’s hungry smile
Orange obdurate eyes tracked me footstep by footstep.
My pulse quickened and my feet surged me forward
Eyes front, I did not stop to look back
Not because I believed all dogs to be inherently vicious
But because I knew that dogs
-like men-
could be made into monsters.
. ~ .
When I ask myself if it’s worth it to slow and take the chance
The answer is always no.
Jul 6, 2016
Jul 6, 2016 at 10:47 AM UTC