"obtainable" poems
How did you get here?
Perhaps there was a big bang, and so you were.
Maybe you hit the ground running as fast as your legs could take you.
Was it so that you opened you mouth and words poured out perfectly?
Perchance all that was obtainable was already yours.
My journey was not of such ease.
I was birthed after hours of labor.
For every step I walked I fell six times before.
For months my tears and laughs were my only way of expression.
My parents, as many, knew patience.
Our parents, our teachers, our siblings, even ourselves: we had patience.
We are here because of it.
Now we can marinate our meat for flavor, but we pop diet pills for fast results.
Now we can slow cook our meals, but we abuse drugs to erase our sorrows.
Now we can raise a baby, but we let go of precious relationships too easily.
Now we can be a teacher, but we give up on ourselves.
Patience is putting in the effort for results, even when we don’t see the results for weeks, even months.
Patience is choosing the narrow road, even when the wide one is less lonely.
Patience is taking all the loops, kinks, and bumps as they come; and not giving up after the first couple roadblocks.
Patience is to love unconditionally, even if we have to step back for a little while.
Patience is all rage; we all need more of it.
We are all patients for patience, but we get too sick of waiting.
Our doctor was there, our remedy too, but a cheap high walked past and we chased it.
Jan 14, 2015
Jan 14, 2015 at 12:57 AM UTC
A fish
does not want to be on your dish
for it to be obtainable
it needs to be
sustainable
Jan 7, 2021
Jan 7, 2021 at 3:18 AM UTC
At What Cost?
This Purchase of Our Future
*a thousand answers + variegated shadings, a summation:
∑
of millions layers of our owned chosen complexities,
so many possible outcomes, it makes infinite randomness
seemingly simpler than our googolplex crazy preposterous
notational choosings, our owned decisions which though false,
cause nothing is tandomn random except for love at first sight
it’s all just ******** we conditioned from pre-birth,
the expectations subtly subsumed into the woman’s womb,
overlaid by the ***** donors whisperings that you will be a
great third baseman, or a great bass player, or both, but
“your” fate, ha!
is anything but yours…
to purchase!
if you were born to live in a home with no heat, and water was
obtainable by walking 100 yards away, you would still be a
pianist, writing notes of plaintive need, grand desires, musical
words of agonizing delight just as when
you first blushed when the brain
connected yellow rays with a word,
sunrise,
and an experience was synapticaly imprinted,
that real things could be defined by an ordering of letters and sounds
and you were tongue burnt by a need so great
to collect these pleasurable things and put them in a right order
of your
peculiar
particular
personal
inherited inputted
design
=
and
you yet debate
what is my instrument,
knowing that the multiples of your fingers
are the engine of your existence,
and on any particular day they, your well connected perma-crew,
will pick which is the chosen one,
and
no matter which,
for you had nothing or little purchase,
it was coded in your pre-history
just as you prepare a transmission list
of your own,
when you daily first touch your face,
closing the sensory sensual connection tween
the ephemeral and the physical
and
the new combinations
that you will imprint upon
someone’s flesh,
that is your right,
that is you write,
that is what you were
predestined,
to
create
but,
(what the heck)
you get
to-pick the instrument of the day…*
(
that,
is your purchase, your only cost,
everything else has been
pre-paid
)
Nov 9, 2023
Nov 9, 2023 at 8:54 AM UTC
Nebraska has over 6 million head of cattle
and is perhaps the largest beef producer in the world.
This is strange, juxtaposed to my neighbors
who are Hindus, from India.
On all sides, I am surrounded by young, attractive,
friendly Indians
living in Nebraska,
studying information systems.
I rarely eat beef, but I joke, for them,
this place must be some kind of sacrilege,
or purgatory
where they go before returning home to join the "growing middle class"
we hear so much about.
They have gatherings, food,
language and ways
of maintaining hegemony among their group
while they are here, in my hallway,
and I am alone.
I have no information to manage,
no home to return to.
They gather in my neighbors’ apartment
talking, late into the night
I once made friends with two of them
who, unlike the others, were both atheists
instead of Hindus.
They told me that Hindu women, like the ones next door
do not have *** before marriage,
but the men do.
This seemed like a paradox, but I believe them to this day.
And when I hear this platonic conversation, muffled by the walls
it sounds like pigeons
cooing
flapping their wings in an alleyway
And having nowhere to go.
The countless, devout Hindu men
visiting my charming neighbors
remind me of adolescence
how I used religion as a cover for my shyness
I admired these men, in their pursuit
of something I was told to be obtainable
and then I remembered all the people
who were not devout
******* the religious girls I tried to flirt with
while I was in high school.
I laugh.
I wish there were a high minded reason I stopped believing in the zombie Christ,
but it was the fact that no one from my church was having *** with me, because
of God and all that, but they were having *** with other people.
**** christians, really, you can have them all.
It’s easier to imagine my neighbors as trapped birds
subtly fighting for scraps
without ****** desire
than to imagine them as people like me,
who know what they want but assume it’s out of reach.
The alternative, to know that they are having ***
and I am not,
is too upsetting.
I want them to sound like cooing birds,
shy and timid and lost,
because that is how I feel.
But, if their voices, distorted by the walls,
sound like pigeons to me,
what must my silence sound like to them?
How do they want me to seem?
Lonely people, quiet people,
sad people, fending for scraps of trash.
That is not them, but it is me.
I realize it is easier to be a Hindu
than an atheist
in Nebraska,
and it doesn't matter what (or if)
you eat
when you're alone.
Nov 17, 2012
Nov 17, 2012 at 1:22 AM UTC
It is my calvary ,my redemption
I see it in the distance but seeing it does not make it any more obtainable
My calvary
My redemption
My runway to the stars...
Jul 2, 2013
Jul 2, 2013 at 6:19 AM UTC
Lost Soul, Not Searching
Looking for immediate relief
To cure you for the moment
Of your inner grief
Quick high, no time to cry
numb, false happiness takes over
Everything looks good
When you're climbing the white cliffs of Dover
Sadness hidden, mask protecting
Could be anyone inside
True identities gone for the moment
White blanket does so well to hide
Talk about the impossible
Everything seems so clear
no sign of darkness
only the light is near
Everything is achievable today
But what about tomorrow?
Start descending, blanket lifted
here comes the sorrow
The mask of reality hits
Starkness is a dampener
Mood sets in
Lost feeling returned, positivity is hampered
The possible now seems unachievable
This day now unmanageable
Light dims, darkness returns
Nothing seems obtainable
Not coping,
Once again choosing the direction of oblivion
Where all seems well
No one can tell
That internally you are struggling
Jan 20, 2011
Jan 20, 2011 at 11:59 AM UTC
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Relate Articles:
Nov 12, 2015
Nov 12, 2015 at 10:36 AM UTC
Every time I hit my heels to its sides
The horse would go cut wind and go beyond its power, even faster
I would bend forward protecting my eyes against nature: specs of
leaves, bugs
Her brown frame trotting full speed wouldn’t pause for water
Me careful holding on not to fall off thinking of the skies, the red
pinkish ones and how
how after this, I may have no one else to fly for
I just wanted to go as fast as we could
over up a hill then ease into valleys then
Home where the neighbors, all strangers, with different languages
hoping everyone understands gallop, gallop, gallop=get out the way, get out the way
The more I hit her sides, I realized we were both made of the same flesh
And that I could not control her
And before because of my ignorance, I couldn’t understand this.
She slowed down
I do not wish to be controlled she said back to me
There’s a law that goes something like:
nothing can be tamed
And that the grass is wild,
And that this grass grows wild everywhere
Unpredictable in its layout
The second part goes:
The sun shines in places we can’t see
This sky we’re under can’t be caught and observed in some jar,
can’t be manipulated into giving rain,
it expands beyond our vision wildly in every way north
in every way south
in every way—
me your horse,
am not your horse, if it weren’t for evolution of you-man
to try to control all that wanders in free and in nature,
all that is visible seems obtainable in the eyes of man-kind-less-ness
boy, the trick nature played on the both of us
Jun 6, 2014
Jun 6, 2014 at 12:28 AM UTC
" I was not looking for a cage
In which to mope in my old age." --- W H Auden
Turning sixty-five is not without its pleasures,
though the parameters of youth are rendered void.
You discover illusions are become a virtual reality,
a chimera you never outlived whose core is unmalleable.
So, one finds solace in their granddaughter,
who is unshackled by your paradoxes,
who presupposes only links to the obtainable.
And yet, she loves her "silly grandpa".
Old age is unexpected and doubt arises in the doctrine of wisdom,
a daily glass of prune juice becoming regiment.
Yet, granddaughters can connect the dots,
and, just maybe, afford us that second chance.
Mar 13, 2014
Mar 13, 2014 at 8:49 AM UTC
What does it take
For a man to bury his dreams
Behind the garage with his gone pets?
Was it responsibility and maturity
To know that the dreams of a child
Weren't obtainable for a man anymore?
Was it because too many people
Said it couldn't be done
The doubt that seeded in
Just added up to lost time
And now there just wasn't enough time?
What does it take
For a man to finally bury his dreams?
Shovel in hand, a cigarette rests in his lips
As he says goodbye
To the dreams he had as a child
Jun 2, 2016
Jun 2, 2016 at 2:23 PM UTC
I yearn to feel more
than I am capable of
I hate to see what I'm not capable of
I try
but nothing in me is obtainable
i's like nothing is available
but I am just not capable
or that is what, I tell myself at night
undeniable
I see things that I just can't stand
I turn around and walk away
to fast some might say
when it's neer
I sneer
I guess I am just incapable of love
Apr 26, 2013
Apr 26, 2013 at 11:22 AM UTC
There are volumes and volumes
on the subject of love
As ancient as time
are the poems
and the books
and the plays
that have inspired
us all to desire
such love
Some of it seems
so lofty or unrealistic
to be experienced
That kind of love seems
unobtainable,
unreachable
and truly false
It only satisfies the heart
like cotten candy,
sweet to take in
but not fulfilling
On the other hand,
some love tales are filled
with heartache,
with a desired love
never achieved,
or unfairly thwarted,
but always
hungered and thirsted after,
like life-giving sustenance
to feast upon,
for love seems to be
the needed remedy to prevent
us just from existing
for the sake of existing
With so much
that has been presented
in all kinds of art forms
on the subject of love,
I often am saddened
as to why
there is such the lack of it
in our world,
in the real world,
which is a place
in which our fantasies collide
Hollywood love
is often our guide
in our modern world
and I have often
fallen for it
and could not get
enough of it,
like a drug that I craved
But how much of it
seems so selfish
and hypocritical,
such a mirage
and a hoax?
Is not love
more than an emotion?
Is not love
more than what "I" can get out of it?
Yes, this kind of love
I find repulsive
and cheap
and hallow
and cold
What I am writing about
may not inspire
the heart to feel tingly,
for we have all been taught
that love is only this way,
when all is good,
and all is perfect
as to two beautiful people
entwined in love's rapture
I now know differently
There are those dying
a slow death
from a lack of love
and they may not
even know they are
mortally wounded
Others may know
they need more love
than what the world
often brags about,
yet live a life
of quiet desperation
They may feel unworthy of it
They may hide from it
and avoid it
They may not be
very enjoyable to be around
to invite others to love them
But they need it anyway
just like everyone else
Like one needs air
basic water, food
and shelter to live
we all need love
I am not just talking about others,
although I've observed it, personally
But I have suffered my share of droughts
often suffered that disease myself
I do not admit it proudly
for it is a horrible feeling
of shame that
I wish never, ever to feel again
How I often longed for something
that did not seem obtainable
Or how I felt that I was not worthy
to take in such love
I also have to admit
my wrongdoing in reaching out
How guilty I have been
to not offer a smile,
a kind word,
or a sympathetic ear
to someone in desperate need of it
Too rapped up in my own problems
So I challenge myself,
for I know how it feels
to wish to experience love
in a more pure form from above
Not what I can get out of it
but how I can bless another
If the whole world
was to truly love
the way God meant
for us to do,
we would all be
saturated in its gift
and the ugly disease
from the lack of love
would be no more
Nov 4, 2010
Nov 4, 2010 at 9:38 AM UTC
Reach…
-Jimmy Desire
In the silence of the night
He lies upon his bed
Unwary from the time that passes
He thinks of you
Staring at the ceiling
He remembers an old saying,
“The Sky Is the Limit”
Anything is obtainable,
If you just reach for it
As he submerged himself within his sheets
He forgets these words
And the meanings they preach
Because he doesn’t have you
Now lost and blinded by sadness
He yearns for you,
Morns for you because
He’s felt like he’s lost what he’s never had
And yet he can’t be mad
Because the world has taught him to love and cherish
Anything that he would ever have
Grateful,
For the lessons he’s learned
He does the one thing he knows best in return
To appreciate everything good in his life
And remember that although things may not always go his way
That there will always be another day, another opportunity
To do better, to be better, and to have better
Life is unpredictable,
Be ready…
Sep 24, 2010
Sep 24, 2010 at 11:09 AM UTC
to write in this format you need to be clever
to write in this format you need to be clever
it takes a deal of smarts for a novice writer
it takes a deal of smarts for a novice writer
for a novice writer to write in this format
it takes a deal of clever smarts
the task is difficult attempt it with verve
the task is difficult attempt it with verve
let not it deter your will show it who is the boss
let not it deter your will show it who is the boss
with verve show it who is the boss
let not the difficult task deter your will
with a persistent quill defeat the defiant Paradelle
with a persistent quill defeat the defiant Paradelle
success is obtainable by grasping its nettle
success is obtainable by grasping its nettle
by grasping the defiant Paradelle nettle
success is obtainable with a persistent quill
show the Paradelle who is the boss
with the will of your persistent quill
success is obtainable in this format
for a novice writer clever of attempt
let not the difficult task defeat you
be defiant by grasping its nettle
Apr 20, 2014
Apr 20, 2014 at 11:23 PM UTC
looking ahead towards the end is intoxicating
knowing that you are able to conquer obstacles previously out of reach
hurdles, that before, were not obtainable
what changed so that victory existed on your journey
your ideas of what could be done, can be done
your view of the end changed....
Brian Hill - 2020 # 170
Jun 22, 2020
Jun 22, 2020 at 9:39 AM UTC
The line in the sand
is at such incredible depth
but suddenly obtainable
through unspoken tragic demarcation
whatever the outcome
the 91st floor comes from underneath
they say today is happening
outside of me
and from a window
along the stress fracture
it's falling decidedly at your feet
Jun 23, 2024
Jun 23, 2024 at 2:10 PM UTC
We live, we observe everything come to pass
Heads in the clouds, thoughtless
Why does the world expect us to be so strong?
Who is strong?
So many clouds, swallowing us
I don't understand strengths.
Everyone is weak somehow.
Everyone's got their head in the clouds.
Strength and weakness are both obtainable.
Both will be obtained.
We learn strengths from the weak
and somehow become stronger in more perfect ways.
Apr 7, 2015
Apr 7, 2015 at 12:57 AM UTC
By Arcassin Burnham
Cutlery chopping your emotions into sections baring the
Characteristics of a maniac in an insane asylum for your
Pleasure just to see the splatter of blood on the wall,
It'll be a shock if you regret it all,
Off the wall , like your personality,
I am appalled,
Don't you stall,
Your feelings are gone,
Til you sang this song,
(Choir : for the children,
Love lives here)
Pink roof ,
All gone,
Stabilize.....
To be of one,
The feelings break,
Open your eyes...
Theres no peace to be obtainable...
I gotta be, what I set out to do,
When I am done , I'll come back for you,
Won't leave you behind I swear this to you,
Forgot to check the time , no time in virtue,
It's too late for me , but I'm buying time for you,
If you swear all to me , to remember what I said,
Your not a mystery , but you're in my head,
I'll do this for you until I am dead,
And the choir sings,
(Choir : for the children, for the children,
Love lives here) love lives here,
For the children....
Love lives here...
For the children....
Love lives here.
Sep 4, 2016
Sep 4, 2016 at 12:19 PM UTC
Love how cruel You are
You attempt
To show us that
Are obtainable
But never once showed us
The trouble we have to go through.
Never once did you
Show Me the amount of tears
And heart-ache that I have to face
Because of the little rush
Of Emotions
My cold heart felt.
Love, You are a cruel being.
Why can't you just strike us
With an invisible arrow,
To prevent the difficulty
Of finding "The one"
The difficulty of getting drunk
Off of lust.
Sep 20, 2015
Sep 20, 2015 at 3:17 PM UTC
If I embrace it
it sifts through my hands
like sand in an hourglass
It has been about as obtainable to gather
as carrying water within my fingers
Time has not been my friend
It has mocked me for all the countless
swings of the pendulum
that I did not heed.
One day I was a child,
but then I blinked
and I was grown
Only when I wanted time
to hurry itself along
did it trick me again
as if to tell me
it would take its time
Only then did its busy hands
seem to stand still
It rudely invades my dreams
when it is not welcome
sounding the alarm
to call me to attention,
and I must answer its dictates
as the world does not wait
for slackers such as me
I wear it on my wrist
like I am bound to it,
a symbol of my mortality
Its ticking away
I cannot escape
Its two hands
I'd like to break
and smash its face
against a wall
At times
Nov 24, 2009
Nov 24, 2009 at 5:48 PM UTC
I take this.
I take this god given brain that I love to hate to live with,
and think so hard.
So hard, that I can't turns into I didn’t...
...and never did.
And because of that.
Because of the insane way I chose to use my brain,
I never could.
I only can’t when I take away the opportunity.
Because it’s there.
And chances come and go.
Not always tangible,
but absolutely obtainable.
In a world where a word like freedom,
is waved in front of my face;
like a donkey, pulling a wagon,
walking towards the almost never worth it satisfaction,
of the carrot.
Told that the work, and struggle, is worth the Earth's crumble,
and that *** is willing to bear it.
Jul 26, 2014
Jul 26, 2014 at 7:33 PM UTC
You're in my daydreams, I question my sanity
Can't get my head around you, cause me to use profanity
All it takes is one simple kind gesture to rekindle my fire
And instantly you will be my absolute upmost desire
Infecting my thoughts, can not stop thinking of you
You're in my dreams and nightmares, to name a few
You're my deepest wish, what I want the most
And my largest regret, something I won't obtain
Feb 14, 2015
Feb 14, 2015 at 4:58 PM UTC
His life is an air plane:
confined, cluttered and utterly boring,
inches away from him is euphoric beauty, but all he can do is stare at it blankly, watch it go by and wish he were on the other side.
It's not palpable beauty, it's as real as his dreams (non existent)
and as obtainable as the first class seats of life he so badly desires (hopeless)
If he were insane, the glass that keeps him from it may even laugh at him.
but maybe he is insane, because on his loneliest days he gulps down his disgusting cup of coffee and caresses the side walls of the plane,
cursing every little gritty bump and groove,
because they are everything that has ever held him back.
Even on his best days he prays and weeps, yelling out to no one in particular.
begging for the walls to melt away so he can fall.
Fall into the beauty he has envied his whole life,
where he can choke on the clouds and grasp at the sky as the plane slowly fades out of view,
where he can experience joy and peace, if only for a second, until he comes barreling down into a crater of land.
and if he dies on his final descent, at least he died happily.
Jan 22, 2014
Jan 22, 2014 at 8:09 PM UTC
I studied much science, then shifted to art
That presented theater to me
I shifted to history, why do we fight?
No effects are without cause
What is the source of war?
How does humanity have religion?
Where is the basis of our decisions?
Our complications, observations, & nations?
I look to the sky.
It is always beautiful. It is undeniable.
I know people like facts. I love them.
Logic entangled with emotion..
We walk through risk's rosy brambles..
We often end up in shambles..
Survival..
It became luck, morality, and intelligence..
You call it common sense..
It is ironic how uncommon it has become
We laugh and smile but..
Too many live numb..
Feeling when we're young, fading with time
Into our beloved, imagined normality..
You call it typical life..
I call it insanity..
Simply because evidence proves it to be..
Don't be mad at me
I'm not mad at you..
I just can't understand..
Why you wouldn't want to understand..
We say science helps humanity..
So is it confirmation bias?
Where does our fear come from?
You want peace but help to end it..
We're only different because we lied..
To mirrors..
Then judged others..
Our money as a glue for a fatal game of fate..
It is not my place to judge you
You are you and I am always only me..
You say you want equality
We say we love democracy..
Why then does Earth.. A pale blue dot..
Help itself to its own death?
The truth is simple
It is simple because it is facts and logic
It is also never perfectly obtainable
Call it Heaven or the universe..
Either way..
Mysteries are infinite..
Nature is a woman of secrets
Time is a man of faith and honor
We really would benefit from listening..
To our parents.. To our God or no God..
Our Gods and Goddesses or their absence..
To our imaginative possibilities..
I will never hate humanity
I will never judge you
But..
I will call you out when you act crazy
When you nurture insanity..
We are human but not very humane
That is the reality
I only will ask you one question..
I want to breach into your secrets..
I want to define your theaters of war..
I want to find conflict's source..
The truth is often scary
It will still set its seekers free..
If we are more than few.. It can do that..
More and more quickly..
What we're doing never worked
Survival and peace calls for something new..
I think of pure truth..
How it can be scary and still save lives..
So.. here is my question to humanity..
Why Are You Afraid?
Mar 23, 2021
Mar 23, 2021 at 9:11 PM UTC