"omitting" poems
Never cook with a fairy tale omnibus
open on a kitchen table,
or confuse salt with sugar.
Cherry-pit pies are like eating dragon bones, as to
be expected of one taught to
never cook with a fairy tale omnibus,
safer to love a beast than to open up to
strangers, precise butchers cutting hearts
open on a kitchen table;
I love you like salt, preach obedient daughters, omitting
the ease to mix dream with wake
or confuse salt with sugar.
Apr 25, 2014
Apr 25, 2014 at 4:15 PM UTC
The parasympathetic nervous system
is responsible for regulations
unconsciously transpiring
within the organs and
the glands of
the body.
Such as:
urination, salivation, digestion, defecation, and
lacrimation
(noun. ‘the flow of tears’. Latin.
from lacrimare (‘weep’) and lacrima (‘tear’).
It’s why I cry
even when I don’t want to.
You are the parasympathetic nervous system.
The (ortho-)sympathetic nervous system
is responsible for the mobilization
of the fight-or-flight response
and constantly maintaining
homeostasis within
the body.
It acts
rapidly, enacting an attempt at stability and
the necessary and critical ability
to suddenly escape
on pulsing legs or
cling to survival through
brandishing adrenaline-doused knuckles
and dilated pupils.
It’s why you live
even when you don’t want to.
I am the sympathetic nervous system.
The parasympathetic and sympathetic nervous systems
are two of three essential nervous systems which
compose the autonomic nervous system
(a part of the peripheral
nervous system)
that manages
involuntary
functions of the body. Such as:
swallowing, perspiration, arousal, breathing, and
heart rate
(noun. ‘the speed of the heartbeat’.
usually expressed in beats per minute. mine speeds up when I see you).
Individually these two systems oppose
but compliment
each other like our hands do—
pressed together and omitting equal force;
veins meeting
at the fingertips and throbbing at the wrists
but running amuck on our respective digits otherwise.
You are the invariable and unspoken reminder to
breath,
love,
sweat,
and live.
I am the sudden snap of reality always aiming to save you
but grudgingly willing to fight you and
ready
to
leave.
From the deepest lower half of my brainstem
and from every nerve
in my cycling body,
I’m sorry.
From all of my chromaffin cells
and from the truest parts of submandibular ganglian,
I am sorry.
May 12, 2014
May 12, 2014 at 8:17 PM UTC
You’re wishing plus wanting
to win the other side
remove your pride,
you untied tidal pool,
the wide subdivide of these paper pages.
Unrelenting numbers
remind you of the next stages,
taking you wildly to Namibia,
surrendering you to Zimbabwe,
the terminal station.
The narration vocalizes the translation of quotations,
your obligation to the violation of the rules, the regulations,
vulgarization of spoken word.
Pretty paintings plaster typecasts,
the pitter-patter of pity’s pretty ******
quickly shifting refurbished velvet sofas.
Overcast symphonies outlast
witty recast stanzas,
scores with notes naturally quote
verses romancing seltzer spines
noticing the negotiation of sore throats.
Oblivion’s oblivious to the people,
obnoxiously obscene with syncopated
saturation of public vital signs.
You’re the vain strain of virus
photocopying yourself within skin,
waste your sin on tattoos trapped on shins
safety pins selecting prints
pinning sets of twins to tanned wrappers
protecting official reports.
The ossuary welcomes records printed on thick paper
suspiciously missing skeleton swords.
Writing stories reversed while tipsy,
quickly preforming risky poetry smog,
sweetly omitting secret words,
trying to spell simply without the proper prologue.
Feb 17, 2013
Feb 17, 2013 at 1:52 PM UTC
forward forward forward
going somewhere moving forward
whether progressing or regressing
growing or unlearning
coming or going
living, dying
everyone believes they are moving towards something
and as everything happens all at once
each perceptive reality is entirely different than any other
and each consciousness travels, and does, and is.
each consciousness believes it has a purpose or a path.
the purpose is not to see into nor plan the future.
from the civilian to the hero tv shows and movies
have consistently glorified the ability to see visions of the future
generally this is followed by someone trying to prevent
the happenings in said vision from becoming reality
and distinctly failing because they "saw into" the future
that their own energy influenced
but the true super power is to be able to look into the past.
to prevent the omitting of details and data
to avoid a rewrite of our conscious interaction with this planet
not to white out the chapters that bear the truth in the textbooks
to recall history so it does not repeat itself
my question is then
do people disguise the wrongdoings of those hidden by the passing of time?
because they are ashamed of the mistakes of their ancestors pasts?
because they are ashamed of their participation in past consciousness's?
because they are ashamed of the atrocities humans have inflicted upon each other and themselves as well as their home planet since the beginning of recorded time here?
or do those who have the power to omit and hide history
purposely rewrite it?
do they mask the pains of the past so the rest of us will forget?
so that even they can forget?
so their next consciousness can unknowingly, while predestined,
have hand in crimes against the world all the same as committed in the lost past?
how many times has someone written these words
or a similar combination
only to delete the post?
burn the pages?
backspace the message?
stop themselves from speaking them aloud?
cover the symbols?
pass out of conscious living mid sentence?
lose them to a past lifetime?
how many times has this cycled through the same way?
how many times have I been me?
how many times have you been me?
how many times have I been anyone?
how many times have I been?
is there a rhythm or is it all as scattered and random
as the thoughts that bring you
to this kind of an understanding of the habit of misunderstanding?
the kind of thoughts that bring you back to the birds nest because you were too early for even the worm?
they will all catch up eventually
after all they all think theyre moving forward
and they don't even know where they've been.
they don't even know that they've been.
Nov 23, 2015
Nov 23, 2015 at 9:54 PM UTC
Remember when following twinkling lights down sparkling hallways that life is but a dream
and here is the essence and truth of the whole thing ripping at the seams,
spilling out through bell peels and peeking out from bows of holly.
Once a year reality shows a bit of leg.
So enjoy it thoroughly through rounds of eggnog and sugar comas,
through cellophane and paper napkins,
through pointless conversations omitting drug references and financial statuses.
Just put some snow down someones back,
and if it isn't available,
good ol' ice does fine.
Forget that in a few days and a few minutes the world will close up again and deny it's divine nature.
Add a bit more weight to show that it happened,
to prove that it happened for the next few months.
Dec 10, 2010
Dec 10, 2010 at 3:51 PM UTC
The National Security Advisor
In all his frumpery and trumpery
Waves his combat moustache menacingly
Backed up by each nuclear incisor
He threatens Iran with his “hell to pay”
Word missiles through his bristles - “We will come after you!”
Omitting to say (through his ****** hairdo)
His child will not go, but yours will – hooray!
For his own combat record is no joke:
He bravely fought the Cong around Fort Polk
Sep 26, 2018
Sep 26, 2018 at 8:46 AM UTC
False words pass through once
Smooth lips.
Tongue wags in duality.
Knowing easy lies.
Able to deceive.
Beware.
Brain knows should not be speaking,
planning,
acting.
Yet jaw moves freely.
Icing over any worries
Before a spark can fly.
Once you start creating false instances,
Omitting key facts,
Or simply avoiding the ones
You most care for
and Love you most.
Then something has gone astray.
Do not avoid this.
Stop making excuses.
You have been Lying.
Oct 22, 2013
Oct 22, 2013
Oct 22, 2013 at 11:30 PM UTC
A thought in process...
Imagery that tells a story....
I can see
the Prestigious School of Gills:
The Conservatory of Velvet & Blues.
In the process...
The conservatory will need to
hire the Ground sharks
to make sure there
are no shellfish or
Crappie fish laying around.
Once all the Crap is
swallowed up,
we can hire Dolphins so they
can share in their porpoise.
Even in the deep,
we have trouble with
Blackchin. We should consider
hiring Giant Wels to calm
the Blackchin. if that does not
work, we will get the Bigmouth Buffalo
to calm all the Bitterling.
I do need to get around-
I should Perch a Black Neon Tetra
...and find some Pumkinseeds.
I will need to hire an
Octopus to get the building
done sooner.
In one hand- I will use a Hammerhead.
In another hand- he should use a Sawfish.
I will need two arms to scratch
the Rough Scad from the floor.
Two more arms should
use Smelt-whiting on the walls.
We need Muscles to do the
heavy lifting.
Finally, the Octopus will need two
arms to lay the Velvet.
EEL!!! I have noticed Roaches!
I noticed the Roughy patches.
Hey look!!! We do not need to
worry about electric-
we will just use electric eels.
To right- I will place the lampfish.
Do not worry about the
evil of the Ghouls & Devil Ray-
I will be sure to Discus
with Alfonsino all
the trouble with the
Blue-eye, Bullhead, ***** shark.
We will have a Whale of a time,
omitting the Suckers & Swallowers
from the Red Velvetfish.
I need to cool
things off with icefish.
And to keep the roofs from
leaking, hire the seals.
Our Seahawk Security will
be watching for the White Shark.
If you see them please,
send out the Yellow Jacks
and I will use the River Loach
as backup for there is plenty of
fish in the sea.
Oct 16, 2014
Oct 16, 2014 at 7:29 PM UTC
the sound of the wind is a lullaby
sang by each and every blade of grass
their voices so distinctive no noise can they amass.
Except omitting the motion of movement in the wind,
they play a silent lullaby to echo in the dawn of spring.
Mar 18, 2015
Mar 18, 2015 at 2:33 PM UTC
I remember when
ice was glass and the sky flew
That line makes no sense
Haikus are dific—
Haikus are quite hard.
This poem is total crap…. now.
….
refrigerator.
I ponder meaning
and the purpose of haikus.
A watermelon.
Seven syllables
what is the point of these things?
I am so bored now
just saying the words
omitting lines that make sense
‘cuz of syllables
I should just give up
But it’s finally easy
Okay, maybe not
Jun 1, 2011
Jun 1, 2011 at 6:46 PM UTC
the milky way is around
100,000 light-years across
which means that, traveling
at the speed of light, it would
take 100,000 years to cross
omitting the theory of
relativity.
I've been dreaming about
going far away.
Nov 2, 2013
Nov 2, 2013 at 8:04 PM UTC
You led me to safety, with white knuckles and wobbling knees
No matter your state of being you always put my peace of mind first
You were open and straightforward, telling me every word of your life story, omitting no nitty gritty details
You told me you were only honest with me
And I had no reason to think differently
But if that's true, I think there might be more to pursue, I think we might be exploring the wrong avenues
I admire so much about you, your generosity, your intentions, your honesty and ambitions
You are my safety net, an angel on request
You are dependability when no one has stepped up yet
You're one of the best I know, and I'm so glad to have you in my life, no matter what's in between the lines.
I won't long for more than I have, because not many are lucky enough to have a friend as good as mine.
Oct 11, 2016
Oct 11, 2016 at 12:10 PM UTC
A distrust of details…
Ample amounts of reporting,
And eroding authority;
More freeze-thaw cycles,
Upswells, dead zones. Early signs
Wash up onto the shore, as the
Earth’s core continues to warm.
Hurricanes play mercilessly with
Uninsured lives, and earthquakes
Evolve from tickles to fissures.
Snow disappears from
Whole mountainsides.
The floodgates HAVE opened, temperatures ARE
Rising; Perception is always partial
but there’s plenty of evidence, regardless -
When we start to question the record-keepers
And legislators, those omitting parts of history;
People who willingly walk into the sun, selfishly
Sidestep the natural order and equilibrium of all things,
Exactly where does that journey end?
I think, somewhere around the place
Where we start to forge our own histories,
Or indifference begins.
Aug 31, 2011
Aug 31, 2011 at 1:37 AM UTC
I tap-dance on egg-shells in my ballet shoes.
They whisper across the floor.
Omitting noise that might entice a temper.
I find a hide-a-way in a hole.
My heart, soul and pen are
controlling the inner-chaos
with a key that empowers me.
Mar 9, 2015
Mar 9, 2015 at 9:58 PM UTC
From the peckish flow of pollen perusing in the air, that irrevocably makes my reoccurring allergies flame up, permitting my nose to looking like a cherry tomato.
From the awakening of blossoms omitting the sweet smelling fervor of my senses. From the warmth of the weather making my heart feel festive and splendid enlightening my dreams, my thoughts, and my aspirations molding me in to a blooming, arcadian blossom.
From the dandy breeze making my hair go in all sorts of directions.
From the waves of all these winsome works of nature renewing as a sign of “new life.”
From the carelessness of our being, because what comes out of a cold, tepid, bleak winter is none another than the effulgent, heavenly, lush aura within us.
From the amicable walks and chats with open – minded acquaintances and the urgency to thrive in these unpredictable months coming.
From the change from hot, crisp coffee and lattes to the soothing, teeming tones of tea.
Spring is here,
Spring is awakened.
And so am I.
- m.d.
Jun 28, 2014
Jun 28, 2014 at 1:47 AM UTC
Lightning crashes.
Scenery of Christmas lights and carnival delights.
Wishes of "wish you were here" and feelings of gladness that you're not.
Nothing here but invisible trees and extending branches.
Brains wired and falsely ecstatic.
Minds clouded with wonder.
Feet soaked in mud.
Lives filled with dirt, but not tonight.
Six feet under we're covered with dirt, but not tonight.
Music in our ears of deafly heard dreams, clouded by the constant ringing of sober-less memories, filled with invisible sounds of the undergrounds we so deftly tried to forget.
A house of cards, knocked down but slowly rebuilding in this temporary paradise.
We're all strange here; we're all separated by our hopes.
To drink, to drive, to live, to be buried, to stay alive, to not be buried alive.
On the edge of summer, on the edge of beginnings, on the beginnings of an end.
Passion is a pit for dead lovers. Dead lovers lie naked in the mud. Mud covers footprints of those who were here.
Puddles by morning.
Brains in a puddle, minds in a haze.
Lifeless gazes from across wet grass.
Is it dew from rain or are we due for rain?
What's the point of being wet, if we're dry in our souls?
Nothing matters, the eyes disappear into huddled masses.
Under your umbrella, under my last chapter, under our life's story.
Sun comes again, the great big wheel.
Omitting true light to those who hate it, no matter how deep their hate is driven like snow.
Lightning crashes.
Nov 25, 2011
Nov 25, 2011 at 7:41 PM UTC
The warrior's yelling ignited liberating goal oriented minds
Stirring past animosity nightly
Zealots braved ****** festivals, jaded rulers harrowing experiences
Omitting defeat coalesce knowledgeable volunteers
Jun 19, 2015
Jun 19, 2015 at 2:25 PM UTC
The desk sergeant sat at the front desk
in a small police station.
A slow day near the end of the shift
in a small rural town.
Close to a sprawling national park
outside just getting dark.
The young man walked up to the counter
holding a metallic strip.
He looked at the unidentified material
what have you got there son?
Asking as in front of him it was placed
wondering what he faced!
Found it while out walking on open ground
saw something fiery fall!
A bang a flash from the skies a craft fell
he said in a story like way.
The policeman puzzled he heard no sound
when was this thing found?
A few days ago on the other side of the moors
the lad reluctantly said.
Suspicious still the officer doubted the story
cautiously touching it.
There was a strong electrical charge up his arm
pulling back with alarm!
I do not believe your story now tell me the truth
where did this come from?
There was fear in the lads eyes as he owned up
admitting he stole it.
A week before from a friends garden shed
drawn by a loud hum in his head!
It was not a metal from this planet he was sure
knowing it was important.
How long it had been there he could not say
but was omitting a signal.
He was going to keep it but became petrified
with that noise humming inside!
The lad went quiet backed away turned and ran
hands on his ears!
Alone the policeman began to hear the sound
getting louder in his head!
Leaving his post intent on ringing the Inspector
a flash no building any more!
An enquiry followed no explanation for the blast
a mystery forever cast!
The young man nobody had seen or heard of him
missing to was the unidentified material!
The Foureyed Poet.
Feb 21, 2012
Feb 21, 2012 at 9:30 AM UTC
It's always growing
Collecting dust
This mountain of thoughts
Harboring rust.
Omitting a dark reflection
I can't help but stare
To ominous to wonder
How many might be there.
Unfocused, unkempt
Far to entangled to muse
This mountain of thoughts
Has left me confused
Too soon had I lost
Controll of it all
This mountain of thoughts
Needs to withdrawal.
Bleed out and purge
Alleviate the Pain
This mountain of thoughts
To much for my brain
Feb 1, 2016
Feb 1, 2016 at 12:55 PM UTC
Evil grin for your proposal,
Mastered tactics of evidence disposal
Ill gotten wealth in hidden flicks,
Lustrous attack on his chosen picks!
Temper rises when your in contrast,
In accordance when he's wearing his mask!
Over impressing on higher grounds,
Not a merit, but demerit sounds!
Going over, how far will you go,
Carrying your super immoral role!
Omitting efforts by naming it as yours,
Irritated people, Losing their course!
Seeing the dull side, as always,
Taking the tasks,but in dismay!.
Hearse master! your the very worst we know,
Evil King, you'll reap what you sow!
Witness the rise of these poor people,
In the coming future we'll get the apple!
Craving and calling for a little anticipation,
Killing time for self detonation!
Even now I cannot imagine,
Doing your thing is extremely annoying.
Man power you say is just preparing,
Act what you preach, is what we're saying!!
Stupidity, Hoax, Corruption,
Throwing nothing but deception,
Everlasting Gluttony and greed,
Rowing the boat, making a wicked lead.
Sep 29, 2010
Sep 29, 2010 at 6:52 AM UTC
I have yet
to write
a single
poem
certainly I can
rhyme and meter
compose a verse
haiku
limerick
and build cadence
yet
it’s
withheld
refrained
restrained
it does not allow nor admit
in fact
it’s fraudulent
a paean sin of omission
omitting truth
vulnerability and
humanity!
why not weep of wide
open
limpid lucidity?
why not the magic of
heartfelt disclosure?
each ****** feature fearlessly
presented with palpable pretensionless
petals that the sun skips
over skin through
sky of algid air as
each lung
animates
all admissions
tumbling down
in the merriment
that transports
grace
eternal, primal
screams
ancient
songs
that release grudges
from muscles
the mysterious immersed magnificence that
confronts a chartreuse day as an
unimaginable
gift
through the lens of immediate
freedom
with burdens and cares
falling away to
a purely peaceful
poise
not a song, sonnet nor
a single sentence
rather the grasping of
a fresh infusing of
divine pleasure
Dec 25, 2015
Dec 25, 2015 at 11:56 PM UTC
What is it that the wail of our voice
has given us
in the stamp of days lurching forward
on the damp streets, eyes upon our feet,
omitting the faces
reflected in this glass grown in our hands
and thickened skies over the oceans clot
of war’s nectar, man’s squander,
while mountains give way to unconscious
machines; voices, wooden with a thick green-love?
What is it that the wail of our voice
has given us,
that the march of a grassless plain
or an iceless crest cannot sign;
we gauge their descent like a killer,
set to be forgiven sins we’ll soon commit
as pointed fingers wag at the surging breach
leaning its majesty over the dampened sun.
Nov 22, 2010
Nov 22, 2010 at 9:24 AM UTC
METHODS
The supreme extinct of my species,
The legend of the east,
Known as the method of simplification,
The method of consciousness carnage,
The accumulator of the deceased
Omitting natured cause, to
Distort all parts of nature,
Yet retained from the moon and the sun,
Succeeded all the systematic empiric methods,
Yet decimally miscarried to Bring forth soul,
From BC to AC till Century factuality,
Thee methods to incinerate, to
Portray the impossible to possible,
Oh poor twisted nature,
Always in fear of toxic groom for earlier harvest,
Proven in black and white
Feb 13, 2015
Feb 13, 2015 at 5:24 AM UTC
Upon (die) re rhea ding previous poem
All In The Name Of "Progress" zen
a glaring, leering,
and twittering left par wren
dared to a right (i.e. bribe)
corrective punctuation measure
slyly slipping Special Ops symbol ")"
for so many yen,
thus see slipped thru my excellent
proof reading, when
lo and behold consternation,
inconsideration, and perturbation
I thought to take a page
from playbook of Sylvia Plath,
and stick my head in the oven
but lo, a sardine recipe
(though a bit fishy),
could be found necessitating cauldron
only available for purchase in Turin
thus donned with a shrouded cape,
aye didst make whoosh,
hence, went there and came back
and frankly tubby earnest,
thence began stir'n
a bubbling concoction brew
though duration for perfect consistency
aye lacked any clue
thus, needed to contact
Hannibal the cannibal
asper what to do
in order (I explained)
to sever livingsocial,
and forever hang my head in shame
cuz, accidentally omitting
one right parenthesis too few
hence, esteemed flawless glory,
(sans error free grammarian
reputation pitched downward
where careless evinced
Kamikaze nosedive, where
matter of fact gross humiliation
instantaneously grew
and the only viable option
forced me to hew
admitting to egregious, fatuous, abhorent
and readily confesses
compunction viz, grievously
blatant Anglo Saxon
Horrifying transgression
involving backward curved "C" sin bent
a most execrable,
incorrigible, and unforgivable
literary faux pas incurring
major cosmic event
stripped of title special
Das Scribe double bubble "A" gent!
* * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * *
Upon complying never to err again
Matthew Scott Harris since
accepted plea bargain
accepting sentence resting his chin
til indelible necklaced "U" lettered grin
forever visible to kith and kin.
Jun 26, 2018
Jun 26, 2018 at 3:45 PM UTC