"overabundance" poems
— for the American Mustang
Strung up on one leg, bled dry while alive,
unloaded off trailers crammed full
of the crippled and blind —mares
giving birth on three legs, foals trampled
by stallions, and a wave of fear
hovering over tossing manes
like the sea after Moby **** surfaced
for the first time. Last year,
135,000 horses died —
rounded up in hundreds and sent
off to slaughter like feeder goldfish,
three stops from Canada
or Cabo, displaced from plains
once revered for their livelihood.
In 1969, Vonnegut
wrote, “And so it goes…”
In 2061, our children will ask about the wild
horses who used to live in their backyards
as they catch the last fireflies and bottle
them up in jars, flickering and dying
like tired bulbs giving up on electricity —
2015 sees Henderson, Nevada grasses paying tribute
to power-plant-lines and a suburb built
on Tralfamadore fiction: house-mounds
and picket fences caging domesticated dogs,
curb-lined streets and caution signs, billboard
warnings of humanity’s fixation with progression,
combined like coffee with an overabundance
of half-and-half and too much sugar — only 99 cents
at Dunkin down a little ways, and home
to the dreamers who forget the word freedom.
Apr 27, 2015
Apr 27, 2015 at 4:05 PM UTC
I went from the "overabundance of life"
to a knight of resignation
I'm back to cheap pilsners
local Genny's, union made
Sometimes a Three Heads
when I want to get plowed
I'm trying to refine myself
into a thoughtless identity
so I may taste life again,
make music again
Did I do it all in
the grapes of my youth?
I guess I need a sommelier
for my heart cause
all I taste is river rock
where there was once native berries
and rare spices
Sparks that charmed
The dazzle of a demon
that could cover their faults
You dine or drink with thee
and you're stuck in the Fae
I'm the only one that hasn't stayed
Jan 1, 2022
Jan 1, 2022 at 3:39 PM UTC
Impulsivity, I am hopelessly in love with you.
Buy the shoes.
Ditch school.
Kiss her.
Drive 30 minutes
for french fries
Kiss him.
Buy 18 pet snails.
Eat the octopus tacos.
In acting class they told me
to follow my impulses.
At home they told me not to.
A blessing and a curse
might land me in a hearse
But I’m living
Today I wrote a letter to someone I love and I’m going to send it
Tomorrow I might stay home and cook pasta,
or maybe I’ll drive to Portland.
Pack only a few T-shirts and my terrifying
overabundance of freedom
Are you proud?
I’ve been told not to be so impulsive.
To think more rationally.
To weigh the consequences.
“You’ll regret it!”
But the greatest regret I’ve ever felt
is having not done anything
about something that is my everything.
I know I’m not an idiot.
I’ve told myself this for years and I’ll stick to it,
but there will never be a day
when my mind defeats my gut.
Sometimes it means I’m
irresponsible.
Unpredictable.
Messy.
Slutty.
“Who are you anyway?”
I have a secret
-I don’t know who I am
And if I’m lucky, I never will.
You, my impulsivity, are to blame and to thank for that.
Nov 10, 2018
Nov 10, 2018 at 1:36 PM UTC
Tears tear upon my ears and ring with distance resounding now
Two years.
5 days hence your 36, and I've done much to move on.
Burned the bridge with greek fire, slashed tires and bombs. The blaze I burned a pittance compared to the fire raging an inscription upon my soul.
Oh how I've learned my capacity for destruction, exhausting my ambition to scupt my sephiroth by the injustice of it all.
The pain. Would never leave. Couldn't. Shouldn't. Would not. Yet waned with each severed thread held in place by that pact. Trickling like a trickster.
I feel as If the widower now, black against even abysmal shadows, drowned out by thoughts of quicker deaths than one sought out by my shallow cuts & hours drunk to numb this, my greatest loss. Lost for words I stumbled deeper in the mines of hades, time changing by months or days.
What kills a man can be any overabundance, but you killed my spirit. It was I who offered the sacrifice. stupidly, but you I name liar. The deal was not kept, could never be, yet after dying deaths daily, my weeping heart wept, hated and forgot hailing new depths forsaken each breath taken away from me vying to make this make sense.
I'm done.
I want it back.
I want the fuel to live life unkempt and uncertain, laughing at the impossibilities lorded over those too weak to withstand the pressure and my rebelious will to keep fighting fate.
It's not too late, still I feel I've aged a decade in 2 years
Only now, waking to see the sweet nap given to me as punishment for lying under the timeless tree.
haunted no longer
By the visions of a
Wraith.
Dec 7, 2022
Dec 7, 2022 at 5:08 AM UTC
This act
Just keeps
Wearing me out
Like I’m an evening
Dress and
Each day is a
Different dinner
So I guess I’ll
Keep watching
My patience
Grow thinner
Along with your
Waist.
It’s a short walk,
But still I dread
The trek
Each time
I make it
I expect
I’ll keep following
These same tracks
Until my feet
Wear away
And the tips
Of my tibias
Are concrete
Splinters,
But I don’t mind
Finding out
How many winters
This doubt can last,
It’s all a game,
Just catch and pass
You’re thrown
A bone
Or driven past
As you wave your thumb
Under the overpass
Trying to get home
For the birth of your child
At Woman and Infants
But RIPTA has ******
Service, so you might
Miss it,
But that’s ok,
We all miss things
We never had
And we all wish
To never be sad
But the reality is
Reality’s a fad,
A passing craze
Of the human brain
That hasn’t evolved
To see past the rain
And realize that it
Isn’t falling
Every time we get wet,
The future is calling
But we will always forget
To pick up the phone,
Cuz we’d rather forfeit
Nirvana to sit alone
Playing with an app
That makes a cartoon cat
Play the trombone,
Technology can lead us
Out of the realm of the blind
If only we could find
A way to slow
Our swift decline
Into the self assigned
Ceasing
Of
Creativity
And
Assanine
Overabundance
Of avoidable
Stupidity.
Iphone 4s.
Cop that ****
Nov 24, 2011
Nov 24, 2011 at 11:55 AM UTC
Lips red and moist
Others blue and cold
Eyes bright and smiling
Some veiled and void
Hair long, wavy like silk
More is chopped and feels like straw
Hands soft, caressing
Others lifeless and rough
Ample globes of rose tipped buds hard
These no longer vibrant just overabundance of flesh
Rounded hips, silky thighs,
Dried and withered skin dead
The sweet spot of dew lauden rose petals surrounding a tight wet tunnel
Wrinkled, filmy white substance almost dry, tunnel dysfunctional
Long legs that wrap around hips holding tightly pulling inward
Hairy now, hard from edema, pale blue, weak
The bright eyed *** goddess once sought after day by day
Now listless, lifeless almost, no longer wanted or needed
Each day of desire lived to the fullest
Once forgotten each day added more darkness
The **** siren with a voice of velvet honey
No longer speaks not even a spark in the eyes
A past lover arrives it has been years
Tear flows down his cheek at what has become of her
She doens't know it though
Gave up long ago
No one came by or even sent a card of hello
Mind stopped dreaming
Stopped thinking
Let go of life day by day
Body followed some thought it had to be slow
Yet it was not
Her Soul died first
Once that was gone the rest was easy
Dec 1, 2010
Dec 1, 2010 at 11:19 PM UTC
Be my guide, direct my path, as I blindly *****
Make pure my actions and encompass the whole.
Simplify what the false rights have turned twisted.
Decipher what was given from what I have stole.
Turn me to embrace an unknown angle,
I make this plea from your higher power.
For many a year has passed away, wasted,
And my minutes hastily become their hour.
Bequeath to me a faith with no evidence,
To nurse my heart and my head in kind.
Remove the falacy of presumed knowledge,
Feed my eternal soul, not my feeble mind.
And, if your will, unveil to my neglected eye,
Your drawn line between pleasure and pain.
A clearer sense of reason, but yet also of heart,
Revealing certain, a great loss; a great gain.
Expose to me, please, your most preferred slant,
And beam the light that once formerly shown.
Temper my decision, Lord, and return me to where,
The choice was not mine, and not mine alone.
For wit, time exposed, as a false friend.
Who has failed me, time and then time again.
And led me here, to where I am now lost,
Blind and resentful of what should have been.
Overabundance turns the wise into fools,
Though the complex may shrug off the grief.
As time passes on, lightheartedness void,
Sole wisdom's been proven a thief.
Lift off the burden, the weight, and the fear,
Of holding my destiny within my hands.
I have found it a burden too heavy to bear,
And I ask to be moved - not to understand.
Jun 12, 2010
Jun 12, 2010 at 8:00 AM UTC
Characters: Speaker, Real Estate Agent
Setting: A house for sale
The real estate agent has shown the kitchen and now enters the main bedroom and begins to explain the latest modifications. The speaker is not at the moment aware of the agent’s speech. Instead the speaker’s attention is caught by the closet which is opened.
Speaker: (Interrupting the agent)
You know, save for the musky odor
And dust collecting on the top shelf,
The closet, back in my mom’s house
The one in what was my room,
Is bare.
I always strained to keep the door shut
With all of my belongings pressing ‘gainst it.
Its bare now.
No trace of what once resided in there.
Just bare.
Real Estate Agent: Well, this closet is the biggest in the house so there is no need to worry about an overabundance of belongings.
Speaker: (Smiles)
It might be hard to believe
But I longer need
A closet.
Jan 5, 2015
Jan 5, 2015 at 9:11 AM UTC
The world is a gaping maw of ignorance
Filled to the brim with hatred,
Intolerance,
Unadulterated bigotry,
And millions of eyes,
Blinded mid-lobotomy,
That self-performed procedure
That protects the subject
From any sudden understandings.
Things are not as they ought to be,
But then things never were
And never will
Be.
The world is the way it is,
And those of us who couldn’t cut into our own calculating core,
Those of us who attempted the task with a torrent of tonics
Instead of hammer and shiv,
Find ourselves wandering through a wasteland of willful
Idiots and bigoted bullies.
Try as we might to open their eyes,
Open their minds,
We fail.
Their eyes are hollow shells and dust.
Their minds are awash with religious rules, rifles, ruination,
Walls, borders, fences,
Imaginary lines drawn everywhere,
Over everything,
And their brains are protected from learning anything new
Or different
By miles of scar tissue and an overabundance of barnacles.
So that leaves the rest of us,
The ones with eyes open, minds primed and wide,
Stuck.
Lost in a world of people who will never understand,
Never let real freedom ring,
Never erase the imaginary lines they drew themselves,
Never accept that everything they believe
Is preposterously perverse.
The more we try to spread the truth,
Attempt to put an end to the primitive procedure of self inflicted
Amentia,
The more they try to stomp us out,
Extinguish our flames,
Burn us to the ground.
But we continue to fight, to bleed, to die.
Sometimes because we still have hope that things can and will
Get better.
But more often than not,
We fight on because it's the only thing that keeps us
From picking up that ice-pick ourselves and becoming
Another one of the mindless masses.
Nov 20, 2018
Nov 20, 2018 at 10:47 AM UTC
In My Hat At School I Played Had
When I Was Bad Got A Slap On The Hand
So Glad To Have A Friend Named Brad
We Read My Mag In My Best Bag
School Milk In The Morning Was A Thrill
Share Lunch With My Friend Bill
Wobbly Jelly Dessert Was Swell
Lunch Is Over After The Prefects Bell
At The Back Of The Class
Behind The Teachers Glance
Paper Planes In Overabundance
Dissipate By The Chairs Rance
May 2, 2014
May 2, 2014 at 5:51 PM UTC
Just wanted to go someplace where no one knows my name. I wanna go there alone but not lonely.
Why do I feel so lonely sometimes Even when surrounded by a lot of people?
Why cant this feeling of Emptiness just go away?
Let me forget Everything, the things I know , My Identity, all the problems , and Unwind from it completely.
Help Me Unravel My whole life to find My true self.
Grant My Mind Tranquility amidst everything that's going on in my life.
Make me see my problems as a new Opportunity.
Make me Become useful to my family and not a Hindrance
Help us become prosperous someday, so that my family wont need to face more hardships in life
Give them profusion not scarcity.
Sometimes I envy those who have overabundance in everything, I encourage myself not to but just cant help it sometimes.
I don't fear death I only fear what it prologues.
Why did i write ?
I don't do it for people to think and assume that I'm smart
Just wanted to say how I really feel deep Inside.
I'm not smart. nope. never in my life.
Never Earned any medals at all.
There's a lot of things I don't Know and still want to learn.
As what Socrates once said,
"I know One thing , That I know nothing"
Jan 7, 2018
Jan 7, 2018 at 2:53 PM UTC
Your overabundance of meaningless words
are scattered around me like fluttering bugs,
they're wearing me out with their badgering buzz
and making me sick of forever with you.
Jan 13, 2011
Jan 13, 2011 at 7:31 PM UTC
Where are you mon amour?
Where do you lie?
What walls are these
that trap your scented being?
Do your lips not know me
anymore?
Am I no longer your muse?
You loved me.
Remember?
Tell me what you see mon amour,
And I will see them with you
And I will be jealous of the grounds
that you walk on
for they have been touched by
you
Almost like your fingers tucking a lock of
hair behind my ear.
Remember?
I envy the places you have envisioned
for they have the privilege
to stay
in your mind,
and become a part of your life.
Almost like I once was.
Remember?
Speak to me and
my ears be yours;
to hear your heart’s calming
lyre, and the enchantment
cast by your own words.
Almost like the sense of static
on our first kiss.
Our first kiss was truly bliss
Remember?
Come back and be forever mine,
because if poison were to end me now
My heart would rather it be you, mon amour.
You are my vice, but also my guide
along this endless tunnel of darkness
with the apparent ending filled with light.
Almost like that stage I went through.
That moment in life were all my insecurities
spilled over the glass of my life
and I succumbed to the darkness
that befell my soul.
But as my light,
my fallen angel,
You helped me get over.
But we are separated
and these whips of division
slash at my empty yet longing heart,
which was once filled with
an overabundance of your
strokes in my hair,
kisses on my lips,
cups of tea with your scent
mixed in the atmosphere.
Almost like your arms bringing me home,
with my head on your heart and
the lasting sense of belonging.
Remember?
May 18, 2014
May 18, 2014 at 7:46 AM UTC
Abundance overflowing is our father's for his children. We all have a piece of God in our hearts and souls as we return to the earth to rest our final slumber our father is always with us as we return back to him and return back to his universal love and healing and joy comes from God as he uses his angels to impart his loving kindness with overabundance to all of his children that call his name.
Jul 5, 2013
Jul 5, 2013 at 2:22 AM UTC
How exactly does one find themselves in said situation
you didn't say anything about the situation yet
in description,
indisputably
incredible
incredible?
Not in any sense of tradition
Not in any sense that could bring sparkle and innocence to the surface of a child's eyes
Not in any sense immediately apparent to the unobservant man
*cut to it ********
Clouds run think in the room
and with ink head to toe
and horns
and swazzies
and clantag black across the chest
and yellowed smokers teeth
golden oils burst hot in desperate lungs.
Relief.
Relief is what they name her
as her remnants drift from grateful mouths
as pale white and soulful as snow in reverse.
What's going on then?
They play a game.
They call it twenty five for missed medicine.
They say if the bell breathes smoke
on calls break the weak,
They hackle happily in a giggling choke.
But I could never participate in these things.
Is it a lack of courage, an overabundance of cowardice?
Its a lack of many things:
lacking history
or will
or wisdom
or faith
or a gut cold and steely enough to handle regurgitation
of my own lungs.
Not many do handle.
As is seen,
when a queen splatters palaces
with spigukums
liquid lowered expectations
only now could they take her seriously.
Do you?
I knew that fate from the start
and that's why I depart
to a cold blue board box
Roll, lick, pack, and light
delight
then again;
Who's to say I didn't enjoy it just as much as they did?
Jan 13, 2013
Jan 13, 2013 at 1:33 AM UTC
Everybody here is just the same
Looking for a way to play this game
Trying to perpetuate their name
Daft inside, appearing to be tame
Splitting at the seam of their own hands
Becoming slaves to all of their demands
It seems as though everyone here stands
But unveiled minds reveal the distant lands
If I speak out, they won't hear anything
So underneath a whisper I will sing
The notes, I hope, may offer them a string
And carry on the tune I wish to bring
My eyes begin to close like heavy gates
I fall into a slumber with their fates
And as I travel on my dream creates
A being juxtaposed against its hates
Sep 3, 2012
Sep 3, 2012 at 9:06 PM UTC
It is something that the sky cannot contain.
An overabundance of emotional particles, coming together.
It is a river slowly making its way down the curves of my face
A steady stream gushing through the waterfalls of my tear ducts.
They are waves crashing ashore, retreating then gathering and crashing again.
An unsteady chaos of splashes and unwanted wetness.
It is rain, droplets falling.
Sometimes like slumber sometimes like thunder.
Jan 7, 2014
Jan 7, 2014 at 11:16 PM UTC
There’s a road sign that
one sometimes passes
on the country roads of Quebec
a child lying still on his side
next to the road
And the words read
“This child could be your own”
though of course
they are written in French
But you’d rather add brine
to an overabundance of peas
peppers and zucchinis
stuff them safely away
in a dark spot
in the kitchen cabinet
in a mason jar and
wait
for the lactic acid tang
to bring out
the pickle
These pickles
are living things
you know
and you can
almost taste them
with their garlic
and dill
But instead
you think about
snake *****
and how it
might smell
The child will be fine you say
he’ll grow up to be an insurance broker
get a divorce at 43
and when he’s eighty-four
his toes will be like gherkins
his nails infected with fungus
and he’ll remember
that day
when he
played dead.
Oct 14, 2016
Oct 14, 2016 at 6:53 PM UTC
i like to think that someone saved me
i keep thinking that someone's there to tell me that I, being the strong girl that I am, can do this
my mouth have longed hope to utter these fragmented feelings to someone, anyone:
thank you for being there for me;
thanks for not giving up on me;
and thank you, thank you for staying with me, even if I gave you all the reason to just walk away from me
all parts of me keep dreaming
and like everyone who can't outlive reality and only reach things through dreaming
i don't want to wake up
i don't want to go back to that time
when I was too tired of waiting to be asked, 'how are you', that I just outright tell people how I'm feeling
and they only offer silence, thinking that for someone as resilient like me, it would suffice
after all, strongs can take on anything that come their way
even the overused I-don't-know-what-to-say silence
what do you do when
they still refuse to accept that strong people
no matter how strong they think they are
bend at times
they do refuse to break
but that doesn't mean that life's *****
doesn't make a dent on their soul
and i, thinking that i've given up on a lot of things before, refuse to give up convincing them that i needed help
i want them to help me
that when i say, 'i am strong'
i don't really feel like it
i just said that because no one else seemed inclined to say the very words to me
and i, in contrast, seemed to feel the need to hear them
an assurance that
i am not the only one who keeps thinking that way
even my lungs seem to think
that i don't need oxygen
to live |and to die|
it uses the overabundance of unspoken words to fuel the fading lights inside me
what do you do when only you thinks that you can't do it all by yourself?
Dec 20, 2017
Dec 20, 2017 at 9:43 PM UTC
the ticking of a clock
becomes unbearable
trying to direct my focus
to something else in the room
a fly buzzing at the window
makes me itchy
which doesn't help
the drip drip drip
of the faucet
soaks my brain
until i can hear nothing else
neighbors laughing
dogs barking
a cars brakes screeching
the sounds of today
keep my sanity in
insanity
too much idleness
an overabundance of time
alone
brings out the madness
i am trying to conceal
but at the same time
i yearn for the world
to know.
Jul 3, 2015
Jul 3, 2015 at 8:26 PM UTC
Rich fields of interest, yet to be harvested
The crop of my choice has yet to be planted
Looking inside I have an overabundance of diverse seeds
It’s up to me to plant a new one everyday
Sadly, not all grow to be a part of my world
Some ideas thrive and even drop unfamiliar fruit
Some are neglected to be trained, and soon wither
Each new seed is an experience, learning from the next
Finding new ways to grow is a tricky quest
The embodiment of my inner soul is my reflection in the natural world
And our physical body is the vessel on which we embark
Life is a journey to find the idea that will flourish
The idea that branches out and enhances all others
I’m just waiting for that one
One to change my world
One to willfully tend eternally
You can never harness them all, so take your pick
Dec 27, 2014
Dec 27, 2014 at 6:14 PM UTC
Heat bears down on
seemingly sponge like pavement
and sings of scorching summer sun.
It is times like these
I am usually in my prime.
Usually so excited to go out
and live my best life.
But lately, there is only
an overabundance of scared:
of everything and nothing, all at once.
Maybe we haven't gotten
the medications quite right,
or maybe I haven't
perfected my grounding mantra
but I don't quite see an end in sight.
The voices are deafening
it's starting to keep me up at night.
It's funny, because
in my youth, I had an infatuation
with swingsets, but yet
this back and forth of
upward swings and downward spirals
is getting tiresome:
it feels like I'm losing the fight.
Jul 20, 2019
Jul 20, 2019 at 11:23 AM UTC
Still waiting
for a friend to show up with beer
because I ran out
and I'm too drunk to go get more
Still waiting
for Jesus to hit me in the head
with a frying pan
and tell me I'm wrong
Still waiting
to wake up
without a hangover
and smokers cough
Still waiting
on a paycheck that is livable
and people that are bearable
pigs might as well fly
Still waiting
for that woman to save me
by accepting my flaws
instead of trying to change them
Still waiting
to leave my mark
on a planet bombed to ****
with an overabundance of meaningless
Still waiting
for peace, love
and all that poppycock
while I hide in the trenches of my mind
awaiting messages from
a war torn heart
Still waiting. . .
to write that immortal poem
Historic sonnet
Eternal song
Aug 21, 2014
Aug 21, 2014 at 10:18 PM UTC