"occassionally" poems
Nirvana - a transcendent state in which there is neither
suffering, desire, nor sense of self, and the subject
is released from the effects of karma and the cycle of
death and rebirth. It represents the final goal of Buddhism.
My Buddhist Queen,
Will you take me to Nirvana?
Will you take me to that place?
That place where we’re unshackled from suffering?
Because right now, this is intolerable.
My Buddhist Queen,
If we’re in Nirvana
why does my heart feel so aloof
and its beats, spectral?
Why does my body suffer from rigamortis?
Why am i teary-eyed
and why did you nominate my pillows to do the ALS challenge?
Why is my room a catastrophy?
Why do my walls succumb to the savagery of my fists?
Why am I suffering?
Why do I desire?
Why is karma still existant?
My Buddhist Queen,
If we’re in Nirvana,
why do you occassionally take strolls down to hell holding my hand?
- d.b.d.
Sep 14, 2014
Sep 14, 2014 at 12:20 PM UTC
My roadkilled cat friend occassionally comes back to me in my sleep complaining about being sick after ingesting gasoline from the guts of the car that beheaded him. You ain't seen **** until you've waded through a marsh of blood in escape of the suburb that just blew up 11 miles away from the woods THEY kidnapped you in, New Orleans Jazz songs on repeat during the storm drain drug deal. Don't forget throwing up all over that expensive platter of rotting meat, while getting bent over and ****** in both your holes by some tall intersex sociopath. Maybe I shouldn't have let those harpies follow me through the maze, all the way home. I'm a waste of human flesh.
Mar 21, 2017
Mar 21, 2017 at 10:30 PM UTC
Sorrow blooms on our cheeks
From time to time
In a cloud of damp surrender
And whilst ever present
Is quickly devoured by a whale
Of necessary denial
Yet let us not think
That life is but a dark night
And rather the brightest day
Of carefree sunshine
Occassionally dimmed
By the bleak, fleeting shadows
Cast by that breath-taking creature
Merciful in its elusive nature
Aug 2, 2010
Aug 2, 2010 at 5:37 PM UTC
You were a poem from the beginning
Something in your boyish features and shining blonde hair, shabbily cut across those blue eyes
You were a marvel to me simply in the way you walked, floating on knobby knees and slouching socks
In your blackline tattoos, the silver hoop in your left ear, your skin Moroccan gold
And you had that one darkened tooth of a crooked smile lover
In the afternoon, I watched the sun cut through the holes in the space above us
In shy glances, I watched whole worlds of your boyish beauty as you slept in the sun
Occassionally waking for sips of warming beer from green glass bottles
Your warm honey belly balancing a clever man's novel
And later, in the dark, empty palace of a room, between those ancient stained glass windows and those eternal flowing fabrics,
The boy I knew as endless whispered so softly,
"I think I must be boring"
But I could swear you are a poem breathing life
You are sweet cadence come alive
I can still taste chocolate and wine on your lips
And I feel the laughs from deep in my belly as you crossed your legs and told me stories
I still feel the softness of your hair, the sweat from the tip of your nose
I still see you smiling at me from the far end of the pool
That one dark tooth of yours the only imperfection in sight
Jan 14, 2017
Jan 14, 2017 at 10:13 AM UTC
Hot blade
Scar face
Blood make
A maze chase
are nothing more than
what we see in the physical .
One poetic death in me verses
will be enough to create me better chances.
Blessed be myself hath
to make no sense at all
with the scanty words on the paper.
Occassionally me heart slips a message
to me fingers
on how immortal me pen is.
I'll travel through time,
before blood and bones,
after Eden was closed
to the common scenes of history.
Pray that the remaining peace
in our society
would be enough
for me to complete me works.
Jan 25, 2014
Jan 25, 2014 at 4:11 PM UTC
You are no longer a hurricane wild and free- at least not to me.
I am no longer in the eye of a storm
and I now smile each time the wind blows,
a light breeze on the rare occasions I clamp eyes on you,
the hair of my memory ruffled, tenderly,
I recount how I used to gasp for air in your presence,
how the storm that was you snatched all the air from my lungs
and
oh
the unnatrual silence that would fall upon me in your presence,
unable to articulate the intensity of my desire to love you,
unaware of the fact that a birds song would never be able to hold a candle against the broken howling of the wind that was you.
I don't think that a bird whose wings almost tore at the ligaments, fighting so hard to keep up,
can claim that a storm of that magnitude was of any good to their ability to believe that they were capable of flight-
so I cannot say I miss you.
But I will say this,
there is no part of me that
will ever forget the violence of the storm that was you.
There is no part of me that now takes the gentle breeze for granted
and there is no part of me that doubts my ability to heal, fully, because a restoration has taken place in the parts of me that were left destroyed in your wake.
So I will say that there are very rare and fleeting moments in which the wind picks up unexpectedly,
and I run into you old friend,
you absent hurricane you
and I hope that the winds of your soul have settled into a song that heals your brokenness,
and I smile with an unshaken joy in my heart
now knowing that there is nothing romantic about a hurricane
but my soul smiles still
and occassionally when the winds blow
fiercely in the depths of your soul
re-read the songs of a little bird that loved a hurricane
and know that the songs are no longer sung
but the words have not been forgotten.
Oh when the winds pick up,
there is a bird who remembers the natural disaster of that human hurricane,
Oh when the winds pick up,
that same bird may sing a song of what was,
Oh when the winds pick up,
I pray that a song of joy and restoration reaches your ears.
Oh when the winds pick up,
know I am no longer afraid of hurricanes at all
because after you, I realized that I was never a bird to begin with,
I was never a natural disaster,
but instead
I was mother nature herself-
entertaining a love of a different humor
for but a season.
Sep 26, 2017
Sep 26, 2017 at 5:17 PM UTC
kinda cool,
everything
not too shabby at all
maybe it's perfect
this whole whatever we all are
and nothing is truly awful
but unfortunate, at times
and pretty **** alright the rest
oh yeah
not horrible
simple really, if one can breathe
occassionally sleep
or not
too much greatness to observe
swerve the baysides
collect some efforts and shears
become air statues and memorials of testimonials of primative genius
mmhmm
downright loverly
splendid shining on
cathartic rhythms
Jul 31, 2012
Jul 31, 2012 at 9:21 PM UTC
Some days I'm emotionally unstable
Occassionally putting my problems on the table
Needing a friend to see how I'm treated
In my lonesomeness and depression I feel so defeated
Once having brilliant brown eyes
Now turning red as they dry
Risking my own feelings to the dangers
A pain filled and broken heart is no stranger
In my silence I will cry
Never wanting to hurt you or say goodbye...
Oct 13, 2015
Oct 13, 2015 at 6:29 AM UTC
it's a Feeling
that feels like
perching delicately
on the bold curve
of a soft edged rock
in the midst of the Ocean
watching waiting
listening with the beating of your heart
waves
that only so occassionally
splash playfully
a cricket's-song undertone
of a vagueness
that makes you Feel
lost beyond rationalisations
Dec 20, 2013
Dec 20, 2013 at 1:04 AM UTC
So, did pity end?
Did it see or touch a friend?
Did pity fly before it died?
So, did pity end?
And, what became of luck?
Did it ever give a ****
Did luck know how I cried?
And, what became of luck?
Ambivalence:- In heaven or hell?
Fluctutation occassionally rang a bell
Indecision always lied
Ambivalence:- In heaven or hell?
So, did pride be born?
Did it ***** it self on it's own thorn?
For only pride knows pride
So, did pride be born?
Mar 3, 2018
Mar 3, 2018 at 5:08 PM UTC
I waited for you -
down by the Woodbine
house on Kendrick Avenue.
I must've told myself
a thousand times
that, when you arrive,
I'd be just fine -
sitting on the stoop
collecting thoughts
like puddles of rain.
Occassionally, a car
would pass, thrashing
through the puddles
slashed interrupting my
hopeful mind with violent
doubt...
I waited for you -
denying every reasonable
thought and holding on
to my childish dreams.
I'm still waiting for you -
Though hope has long
become desperate denial.
I'll wait for you..
May 9, 2019
May 9, 2019 at 12:14 PM UTC
Let's face it, we just aren't meant to be, It's my fault. You are fire and I am water.
You burn brightly. You are energetic, fierce, strong, and warm. You could do anything. You're passionate, a little hot-headed at times, occassionally a bit dangerous, but you can love like no one else.
I am calming. I go with the flow. I'm cool, but not in a good way. My heart is cold. I crash into everything like waves. I engulf things. Anyone that meets me ends up changed for the worse. I am the ocean during a storm. I don't want your fire to be extinguished by my water. So I am letting you go. Get out, before you drown.
Aug 9, 2017
Aug 9, 2017 at 11:10 PM UTC
Love and Hate, involved in an Eternal War since the beginning of times.
Love and Hate, constantly fighting to gain control over the heart.
Love and Hate, always on the battlefield as foes, but sometimes they laid down their weapons for a while and fought together as allies.
Love would be in control for a while and then Love would casually step aside so Hate could take its place and make the heart crumble a bit, more and more with every type of foul play by the two.
Love and hate, Right and Wrong, Light and Darkness, normally each other's foes, but occassionally each other's allies.
Jul 28, 2015
Jul 28, 2015 at 7:01 PM UTC
Look,
I would literally give anything to forget you
The mind spasms,
The eerie loneliness mocking at me,
Every time someone takes your name.
But i don't just sit wallop, date, flirt, random kiss and push people away.
I cry and miss you.
Not always.
Occasionally?
yes.
Jan 6, 2016
Jan 6, 2016 at 9:51 AM UTC
Boredom exceeding the limit, I reached out
To the shelf full of cassettes and
Sliding my fingers down the names
Stumbled upon one, dustier than the rest
That one, obviously older, bore the name
'Du Dlux Dlan' (Which you may say rhymes with Ku Klux ****
Something he'd bought feeling a liking for its name
Its quirkiness, as was his wont
I played the cassette, anticipating a flurry of blows and kicks
A curio. to unravel the mystery of its name
The movie , as it turned out, was not a movie
But what I think they call a footage,
On the screen three crosses erected in a desert land, with a man hanging on each.
The three men were bearded, the one in the middle
Looked calm and serene ( as if he'd been tranquilized)in spite of his ****** body, all battered and beyond recovery
The other two, I found , were kicking and whining (in their constrained state, of course.
Kicking with their nails, that is)
Hanging men get their peckers stiff and up, I knew it
There were soldiers around them, occassionally raising their spears and with its tip, tickling the men on the crosses out of their wits.
And then...there was a gunshot
And the clatter of horseshoes
Holding their guns aloft, rode in a pack of three cowboys
Then pointing their guns at the hanging men, they exclaimed:
'What the....., they are nailed to the crosses!"
Wasting no time, they swerved their horses around and rode away, leaving the men on the crosses for dead and me, gazing at the blank screen of the TV and asking:
'Who could the Du Dlux Dlan be?
The three men on the crosses or the three wranglers?'
Sep 1, 2017
Sep 1, 2017 at 11:56 PM UTC
When root of pain is just too deep
Down too far to unearth
No shovel is large enough
To remove that much aching earth
Reason fears suffocation
Tendrils choking tight
Wind knocked out my lungs
With vacuums bite
Of the misery I've experienced
Significant misfortunes had
In cruel replaced existence
None too severe to keep me mad
As fragile greatness shatters
Years wanting happiness
Inconsistent searching yields
Whispers and injustice
Fingertips touching occassionally
Silhouette and gossamer answers
None shedding light on solutions
Just methods behind cancers
There is nowhere to hide the sorrow
Nowhere to run from the tears
Do you get what I'm expressing now?
Embrace heartache
Love your fears
Apr 17, 2020
Apr 17, 2020 at 5:31 AM UTC
I have no mood
Such a simple excuse
But it holds so much truth
We have all used this once
Have had friends understand it
It is occassionally considered rude
But is better than an elaborate lie
I have no mood
And aint that the ******* truth
Jun 7, 2020
Jun 7, 2020 at 1:16 AM UTC
My brain doesn't work right.
Most of the time,
I feel like I'm not real.
Like I don't exist.
But more like I don't consciously exist.
It's a very faded feeling.
It's, I guess, like being a ghost.
It's like everyone else is alive.
Like they're real.
They have real live bodies.
But, in comparison, it's like I'm not physically real.
I'm just a dull flicker of consciousness that occassionally flares into a full word.
I'm sorry, but I don't know what that word is, yet.
My brain doesn't work right.
Sometimes,
I feel too much.
Even though I might only be feeling one emotion or I might only be having one thought,
I feel all of it.
I feel everything.
I've been told that it's part of my illness.
That when people have the same chemical imbalances I have,
We feel things fifty times stronger than most people's.
Our emotions cut deeper.
Things mean more to us.
I guess that's why pretty much every great sentimental artist in history was thought to have some sort of Bipolar Disorder.
I guess, people become great and wise when they have Manic Depression Disorder.
But, I guess, only after they die.
Right now, though,
I can't bring myself to feel anything at all.
I suppose it's because some intuitive, subconscious part of myself knows that I'll be feeling much more than my fair share later.
May 23, 2017
May 23, 2017 at 7:49 PM UTC
My wrist hurts
Occasionally
From where he pushed me
And i tried to catch myself.
It has ached on and off
For three years.
My ankle twists
Occassionally
If i step on it wrong
From where he grabbed me and pulled
When i tried to run
The fourth time.
My shoulders still hunch
Into a flinching form
From people whose quick and too close movements
Were intended to hurt.
And I'm ashamed
And embarassed
But i know you get it,
But there's more that's left me
Less than before,
Than what i've told you.
Jan 27, 2017
Jan 27, 2017 at 7:15 PM UTC
Your timing, oh so perfect
Pain is a gift occassionally
Never have realized it until I’ve lost it
I’ve lost myself when all you give is ****
So, thank you for ruining my life
Dec 24, 2017
Dec 24, 2017 at 1:22 AM UTC