"overlook" poems
When I was five,
my mother told me I was loved.
Years later, she asked me to leave because
I was the reminder of the gruesome past that haunted her.
When I was ten,
my father told me he believed in me.
Years later, he refused to accompany me because
I was an embarrassment to him in front of the society.
When I was fifteen,
my friends told me I was funny.
Years later, they all laughed at me because
I was the gullible teenager who fell for their flawless façade.
When I was twenty,
this guy said I was beautiful.
Years later, he trashed me, tormented me because
I was ignorant enough to overlook my inevitable flaws.
So, sorry for not believing in you,
for questioning your intentions, inclusively, in-depth
when you told me you loved me because
I didn’t want to wind up years later,
learning it the hard way that people often don’t mean what they say.
Mar 3, 2018
Mar 3, 2018 at 2:00 AM UTC
mirrored fly-glass
and polished chrome
are tinted
in the blood orange dawn
running dogs of lummi
hush quiet
on this celestial
summer morn
clubman bars
and tan saddles
strapped to
the lowered hind
skull caps
and fitted chaps
for the open flow
and rich peripheral scene
concessions at the peace arch
(from the blue-coat fuzz)
black *****
and maples
cake the bow hill
and chuckanut
choppers launch
at edison
(with their metal fleck
and tuft)
a half moon rises
on the concho
and interstellar cross
cinnamon gulls
and ravens
scour the netted docks
warlock driftwood
and row homes
spot the winding
coastal roads
rumbling sounds
at the packer slew ~
with the redolence
of briny bay
alive
on the overlook
at fairhaven
Nov 18, 2017
Nov 18, 2017 at 5:55 PM UTC
1260
Because that you are going
And never coming back
And I, however absolute,
May overlook your Track—
Because that Death is final,
However first it be,
This instant be suspended
Above Mortality—
Significance that each has lived
The other to detect
Discovery not God himself
Could now annihilate
Eternity, Presumption
The instant I perceive
That you, who were Existence
Yourself forgot to live—
The “Life that is” will then have been
A thing I never knew—
As Paradise fictitious
Until the Realm of you—
The “Life that is to be,” to me,
A Residence too plain
Unless in my Redeemer’s Face
I recognize your own—
Of Immortality who doubts
He may exchange with me
Curtailed by your obscuring Face
Of everything but He—
Of Heaven and Hell I also yield
The Right to reprehend
To whoso would commute this Face
For his less priceless Friend.
If “God is Love” as he admits
We think that me must be
Because he is a “jealous God”
He tells us certainly
If “All is possible with” him
As he besides concedes
He will refund us finally
Our confiscated Gods—
28k
Her presence cannot be denied,
She stands tall and strong with pride;
You cannot overlook her magnitude,
Because she has beauty with attitude;
What a woman,
What a woman indeed,
What a strong Black woman,
For her just even be.
She defines the essence of perfection,
In each notable fashion without exception;
Highly cognizant of her forefather and mothers,
Therefore she paves paths for so many others,
What a woman,
What a woman indeed,
What a strong Black woman,
Even for a crazy world to see.
Her smile is like heaven's gate open,
Bringing joy to all who are chosen;
A lady of strength beyond any measure,
And a heart too big for one person for treasure;
What a woman,
What a woman indeed,
What a strong Black woman,
Who wound up inspiring me.
Mar 5, 2014
Mar 5, 2014 at 11:31 PM UTC
.
...is a fragile little thing,
that most tend to overlook.
Small word with a **** big meaning*.
Some may uphold it; some may
conveniently have it mistook...
Trust...
...is in the grasp of the unknown
stranger,
that helps you up when you've fallen
down.
Trust...
...is the pact between you and the cab
driver,
as he takes you to where you want to
be, across town.
Trust...
...the bough on which your swing does
sit.
Pray that it doesn't break as you enjoy
its joyous ride.
Trust...
...your cook, hoping in your food he
doesn't spit...
Especially when you've provided
feedback that scuffed his pride.
Trust...
...lays exposed when the keys to your
house you surrender,
to your neighbour who'd keep an eye
while you're away on a retreat.
Trust...
...exists latent in the open palm of your
caregiver...
As a child you'd take his hand so he'd
ferry you safely across the street.
Trust...
...is the unspoken oath that I had thought
we both held sacred...
When I spilled the contents, my heart
couldn't bear much longer.
Trust...
...meant nothing when you took it all for
granted,
when you weakened and succumbed...
...and then shared with another...
Jan 21, 2015
Jan 21, 2015 at 7:14 AM UTC
Overhead the tree-tops meet,
Flowers and grass spring ’neath one’s feet;
There was nought above me, and nought below,
My childhood had not learned to know:
For what are the voices of birds
—Ay, and of beasts,—but words—our words,
Only so much more sweet?
The knowledge of that with my life begun!
But I had so near made out the sun,
And counted your stars, the Seven and One,
Like the fingers of my hand:
Nay, I could all but understand
Wherefore through heaven the white moon ranges,
And just when out of her soft fifty changes
No unfamiliar face might overlook me—
Suddenly God took me!
10.2k
Overlook the fragile hourglass figure
Beyond corsets and pseudo-beauty rules,
Endorse thy curves and stretch marks strewn,
The dusky skin and frizzy curls,
Braille like pimples on the face
Discoloration, bumps and pores;
This Body shaming, I shall pass.
Writhing in pain and humiliation,
Drenching in rage and insecurity
While I lie,
Society curses me
Defining and redefining my chastity;
'T was the crop top, the alcohol and the sly behavior.
You set the monster free and blame the ****
This Victim shaming, I shall pass.
Beige and ebony;
They call me names blatantly
Betwixt skin color and bleached smiles.
Laugh and scoff all you want.
Harass the Black, detain them,
Prejudiced minds rule your dystopian world.
This Black shaming, I shall pass.
Without creating a labyrinth of stigma,
And seeking refugee in collective blame,
Let's construct our utopian world
Acknowledging all freaks and flaws
This Shaming, we shall pass.
Apr 10, 2020
Apr 10, 2020 at 8:05 AM UTC
Eid in Babylon sits on his high chair, on knees of snow. Grandparents smile for the beloved alleys of Babylon and overlook the mighty Euphrates. Eid in Babylon is a bright face of dawn. Magic smiled on his hands like the hearts of the Babylonians. These civilizations have occurred here, do you not see all these lighthouses and the sounds of eternity? Don't you see dew hearts where lovers' poems here mired in their dreams? At sunset, we will bid farewell to the spirit of rebellion. At sunset, a new Eid will be rise in Babylon.
Jul 31, 2020
Jul 31, 2020 at 3:37 AM UTC
I laid there, battered and bruise atop of that cold white blanket, my eyes looking up and the Back of my head pressed firmly down the snow. I took a moment and just paused, mesmerised by the beautiful dark and velvety sky, pelted with starlight. I still remember how “Zen” like that moment felt. It was a time in my life, that I just let go of everything. I felt no care, no anguish or no concern. Moments like those makes one appreciate the little things in life that we all tend to overlook.
Jul 8, 2016
Jul 8, 2016 at 10:03 PM UTC
Why do you do this?
Your Army of Nothings
Who lay in the sun
and are all but sweet
who swelter and sweat
in that fresh cut grass
mowed by a man
you can't hope to know.
And you,
you there, with the grin
Who's side are you on anyway?
What made you the prince
of the Army of Nothings;
The leader, the first in command.
You spout and you spit
that ******** and bare
your teeth at me like you're the bomb
dot com
You're such a disgrace.
parading around
with your head up your ***
"So what's new?"
Oh, shut up,
You can't even fill out your pants.
Why should I care for you,
why should I feel?
How will I ever come home?
Where welcoming words
and magical treasure,
and stories that never come true
but are good.
Where futures of light once reigned so supreme
I swore they would never run dry.
I thought you'd missed out,
you know, then and there,
of the life that we talked of in dreams.
No flowers and chocolates,
no diamond rings,
just love.
Made of stuff so much deeper
and denser
and finer
and lovely, and warm, and alive...
But it's over, and done.
and I can't have it back.
So I go on avoiding
the Army of Nothings
as they come marching in
marching in
one two, at the ready
I feel deep in my bones
that breaking and tearing
Help me, archangel!
Save me! You promised!
You said you would always be there
in that carved-out big apple
our home, once upon
when we laughed and were happy and good.
But goodness runs out.
You made that as clear
as a crystal that needs to be smashed.
And I did that, remember?
I left it all broken and you were so proud
So proud I had chosen
the right over wrong.
yet you overlook
all the splinters of glass
all there
all here
all lurking in me.
I don't want to cry
or beg or to fight
But I loved you in ways
that she found unacceptable?
So silly, so stupid,
so big that it keeps you away
*Not that I care very much
For your army of nothings
or things that remind me
of memories gone with the wind*
But I do.
Nov 10, 2012
Nov 10, 2012 at 10:54 PM UTC
There is that pretty Rock Of Suicide That is located behind our eyes and Behind our ears in this world ... Behind mountains and those plains , There are unseen and invisible worlds We always keep them in our minds ... From that side , where that Rock Of Suicide is located , we can see only A few chains of mountains that overlook On many directions here and there .... We only guess that there are things Bewilder us with their invisible sights ... We love to see all kinds of hard rocks In all directions and in the opposite Directions anytime,anywhere,and Everywhere on the surface of our planet ...
Mar 13, 2015
Mar 13, 2015 at 7:39 AM UTC
Dear diabolic debutante / Spawn of the unfathomable abyss of blackness / Daughter of dreadful dead desire / Black-shrouded sinister sister of celestial gloom before whose imperious gaze the heavens fall silent / Whip-lash girl-child of the graves whose pallid visage kindles the myriad infernal fires / Autocratic vampiress of lunar doom whose winding-cloth enfolds the thousand horrors of blood-drenched nightmare / Thou that wanderest the cypress-crested hills of funereal necropolises / Whose icy glance cracks the ungraven tombstones of utter desolation / Empress of night and madness / Who stalks the locked and shadowed hallways of unhallowed thought / Whose burial-boat glides the still waters over Lethe’s silent depths to the unglimpsed isle of eternal mourning / Whose parapets tower above the fiefdoms of quotidian banality / Whose flying buttresses overlook the Stygian waters of the forgotten drowned denizens of damnation / Whose unshackled dungeons open to worlds of regal splendor / Whose spires pierce dark skies where oblivion buries the ruined cities of revelry under the drifting clouds of leaden time / Oh maiden of melancholic alchemy whose petrified passions transmute base metal into pure gold…
May the gibbous moon of equinox shine its baleful eye upon you; may you tread in sacramental calm the winding starlit paths of somnolent cemeteries; may my unmixed metaphors unveil in delirium their parabolic mysteries before the smoldering altar of your uninterpretable allegory; may the favor of your scorn forever lay me out, embalmed, undead, on the cold stone of merciless reality. Behold: in cryptic script of spectral apparition, in tracery of coded illumination, amidst the dawning rays of torment I write thine unknown name on the threshold of daylight. And from within the mortared wall of self I speak forth from my sepulcher the Sibylline utterance,
unsought, unheard, undreamt:
JUST WANTED TO SAY ‘HI’ !
☻
Sep 10, 2015
Sep 10, 2015 at 9:15 PM UTC
A real man is not a person who can
impregnate a woman; any guy can also
impregnate a woman. Even a 17 year old boy
can impregnate a woman but that does not
make him a man.
A real man is not a person who is good in
bed. Any idiot can be good in bed.
A real man is not a person who beats his
wife/girlfriend. Infact it is only idiots that
beat their women.
A real man is a person who tolerates his
woman
A real man is a person who controls his
anger
A real man is the person who shows real
care and love to his woman
A real man is the person who knows how
to solve the crises and problems in his
relationship
A real man does not beat his woman
A real man is hardworking. He is not lazy
A real man can endure, persevere and be
patient
A real man can overlook the bad
behaviors of his woman
A real man corrects his woman with love.
Real men make their women happy.
Therefore, ladies, when choosing a man, date
real men only.
Marry real men only. If you are not happy in
your relationship now, that means your guy
is not a real man.!
Look beyond *** and money and go for
happiness and peace of mind.
—Do You Agree???
Sep 15, 2015
Sep 15, 2015 at 7:16 AM UTC
I fear you,
Oh beautiful book.
You are a guide,
To a daedric overlook.
Darkness takes you,
In a slimy tentacle.
Its Hermaeus Mora,
Daedric Prince of Wisdom.
May 13, 2014
May 13, 2014 at 9:21 AM UTC
Aware the day was approaching, Little tugs reminding how Quickly time passes. And the knocks on the doors of his heart, opening ---One at a Time ! ! To reveal memories in Full Color of each eventful day, Clearly showing "ALL the Extra joys that encircled him, but never took the opportunity to be a Full Participant ! ! *ANNIVERSARY DAY *was presented , as if on a Silver Platter. Engraved with "All those things *Missed because of Prior committals . A stack of Priority signs, which offered choices and options, he " F A I L E D " to turn over and read the instructions. That, simply said "Choose carefully, because as time goes by,. You may overlook the options. AND, as more time goes by, Routines and Habits begin to replace the Presentations from the Silver Platter. MAN'S WEAKNESS, was the next sign offered up to him, NOT the weakness of knees, but thinking that empathy was understood, the reality was not the extending of empathy, but rather, to be a Part of that which is "GOING ON NOW" or that which was "GOING ON THEN ! ! ANNIVERSARY, carries with it the meaning of Commemoration. Which is a "CELEBRATION of our MEMORIES **. BUT, by leaving out a sharing of this event, it Dampens. This "Celebration" should be Shared , in a Loving, devoted, caring, joyful, HEARTS Goal as "ONE". On this Anniversary,,he Thanks GOD for lighting the pathways of understanding. This Anniversary he "Celebrates" with her with a humbled, clearer appreciation, and with a "REFRESHING LOVE". As he writes this on the Tablets of his heart, "SHE" is his " ANNIVERSARY " .
Jun 20, 2012
Jun 20, 2012 at 7:46 AM UTC
The whole concept
of adulthood
is one that seems to
trespass
from the ever-anticipated world
of the theoretical,
just to barge into your life
one night
like an uninvited drunken friend.
It will never really “hit you,”
but it’ll come **** close
the first time your aunt
offers you a glass of wine
as she and your mother
gossip frankly about
your father’s mistress—
you sip on cheap Chardonnay
and pretend to be used to the taste,
as they talk with
a middle-aged bitterness
of the man you were raised
to believe was too virtuous
to be in debt for some glitzy
engagement ring that he
bought to restart his life
with a woman he left your mother for
shortly after the pandemonium
of a guiltless affair.
The man
whose brutishness
you were told to overlook, cradling
the sparse memories
of when he’d tuck you
too tightly into bed, or
when he’d tell you that he loved you
even though half the time
you really didn’t believe him—
The man whose love confused you,
whose clumsy attempts
of fatherhood
kept the heart of a young girl
perpetually guarded
by a cautious skepticism—
The man who brought you into
a world he found absurd
as carelessly
as he raised you to face it,
torn apart
like every illusion that makes a child,
the ashes of which
that slip through your fingers
inevitably declare you
another bitter adult.
More wine will reveal
that your beloved father
is a controlling ******
and his relationship
with that *****
the whole family hates
only appears to be functioning
because she lets him have
all the control
he couldn’t exert on your mother,
even though you’ve had dinner
with the two of them a couple of times
and if you had met her
under any other circumstance (though
you’d feel like a traitor
if you said it aloud)
you wouldn’t think
she was all that bad.
In red, declarative letters
I want to write to any children I may ever bear
into this bittersweet game of ********
we play that we’ve since called ‘life,’
that when they first gaze with awe
at the unattainable grace
with which every grown-up seems to navigate
the world they created,
with all the pain of tax-paying and womanhood,
I want to scream
that we don’t know what the hell we’re doing either
and if at any point I try to convince you otherwise
you should tell your mother
that she’s full of ****
Nov 12, 2013
Nov 12, 2013 at 3:25 PM UTC
Contemplation for days and hours
As all the beautiful flowers devour their worst enemy
Trying to defend me, no decency cause I tell myself I’m horrible
Gravity slams me to the floorboard of a moving car
Let me go, let me breathe
My reality deceives the truth that you and I were once meant to be
I overlook, my eyes force me not to see
All the pain, all the lies
**Just **** you**
I despise you and your ******** *** ways
And I’m still sitting here in this haze
Of my sweet mary jane, that takes away the pain
Because she actually gives a **** about what I have to say
And she don’t question me
She smooths the depression out of me
There’s not a doubt in me that I won’t see better days
You’re in the past
There’s no way we would have been able to last
But I be me, I do me
I don’t give a **** about what your eyes want me to see
They see what they want to see and I be what I want to be
I laugh at your failure to attempt to change me
I’m invincible, not dispensable
You can’t just use me, I’m insensible
Good luck finding someone as valuable as me
There’s no next time, there’s no meant to be
Oct 29, 2012
Oct 29, 2012 at 5:11 PM UTC
El oro, cuando lo golpea, brilla.
I want to stand at 3,082 meters
On the overlook above Machu Picchu — close
Enough to the edge so my timid toes
Flirt with wild columbine and teeter
On white granite stones laid centuries ago.
Speak to me the way the Andes
Breathe cumulus clouds phthalo blue. Seek
Answers in the form of temples. Slow
Down time in the Room with Three Windows —
Hanan-Pacha: bless my fears with conviction.
Kay-Pacha: reject this earth’s mundane affliction.
Ukju-Pacha: watch my seedling-soul as it grows.
Move with me in cyclical certainty from ruin
To reverence, beyond what words can measure —
Even the old Peruvian proverb for treasure.
Our trials make us mountains among humans.
Mar 7, 2015
Mar 7, 2015 at 10:56 PM UTC
To even commence to define how profoundly I fell in love with you, I would need the capacity of a thousand-page manuscript written in the most romantic idiom.
Each, and every retention of us is stowed into the back of my conscious, and concealed deep into my heart.
Every beautiful memory plays through my head like soft music.
I would say my heart is immovable. There are days that I try to sojourn the thoughts of you, but its intolerable for me to do so.
I am so engulfed in your perfection. I do not think there has been a single day that you have escaped my thoughts.
I can feel your presence with me if I ponder our memories deeply enough. Your presence weighs heavily in my heart. It is as if part of your soul occupies its crevasses, and fills my cracks.
Your eyes are echoes of a hundred distant galaxies no man has ever revealed. Vast windows that reflect the constellations.
My heart is certain the universe resides in them.
As I begin to study your face, I feel like nothing but love can exist.
Your porcelain perfection never ceases to weaken me.
You weaken me with love, trust, and desire. Like the finest specimen created by the hands of Gods.
As I anticipate the connotation of love, the implication is “you”.
Even if the fire for what you feel for me dies, I do not reason the passion I have for you will ever dim.
I do not begin to recollect if I had ever felt this susceptible.
I let this passion be valued like the rarest stone.
I would give up the entire world if it meant I could have you in my life endlessly.
Your happiness is of grave importance to me, when I study your smile, I can overlook the darkness of this decaying reality.
Every heartbeat of time my mouth declares three unpretentious words.
“I love you”.
I say it like an invocation.
Not one moment did my tongue express profanity against these golden words of poetry.
I love you. “ I Love You” . And solitarily just you.
I wallow in my own sorrows at the thought of the culmination, when we shall one day part at death's hand.
For I deeply distinguish that you love me equally, and this brings vast pleasure to my temperament.
I sense security in your encirclement, your heart is my home.
My heart qualms of my fragile weakness that I consume when I dream of you.
You make me susceptible to the sickness of love.
If love was a poem, you would be the title.
Jan 30, 2018
Jan 30, 2018 at 10:30 PM UTC
no more than just an illusion
yet a face revealing the pain
which wasn't there before
a prisoner chained
by the requirements
without a key to free
the loving heart inside
a mirror with a scar
may not be perfect
yet each one is different
in its own special way so
don't overlook the qualities
a scar can sometimes hide
there's no way to turn back time
so why hold on to old pain?
let go of the echo's of the past
wipe away all the falling tears
little by little learn from the
mistakes made and change
the wrongs into the rights
with every new day
there is a new horizon
Jan 7, 2015
Jan 7, 2015 at 11:47 PM UTC
I feel hatred towards those
who grow up to be mountains and look down
on hills.
Not knowing that one day those hills
will grow trees, and these will not only
increase their height but now they will be able
to overlook on those mountains
May 3, 2014
May 3, 2014 at 3:19 PM UTC
Its easy to forgive the faults and failings of our friends
For love makes it so simple -if some word or deed offends
We try to understand them- for we know the inside out
And if we love them very much we cannot blame or doubt ...
Its just a little harder to forgive an enemy ,or someone who has censured us or done an injury
Its hard to overlook it and be loving,sweet and kind,although we know we've got to,to preserve our peace of mind.....
But to forgive yourself!
why,that's the hardest thing of all
We all do things that we regret,the strongest sometimes fall
We call ourselves all sorts of names ,how angry we can get with self-reproach and worrying and useless,vain regret....
Yet when we whip ourselves like this ,we break our forces down,it robs us of our self-respect,turns smiles into a frown .....
If God forgives us surely there is nothing we can do
We've seen our fault and paid the price and learnt the lesson too....
So banish it this very day and cast it from your heart
Forgive yourself,forgive yourself and make another start.
Nov 16, 2015
Nov 16, 2015 at 4:49 AM UTC
Somehow it wasn’t right to cry
for someone who
no one knew—for years
though everyone knew about Lil
She was the crazy burden
of an orphaned family
whose memories rearrange the winter shadows
“Are we dressed right?
Are our faces adequately sad?”
They loved the skinny, happy kid
Loved—the ones who loved her
knew her from “The Old Neighborhood”
Two sisters approach the body
echoed in black and navy
holding each other’s hand
They look down at her—
They look her over
They overlook—“The Old Neighborhood”
of the Lillian they had hoped for—
took care of as a child....
And in the din of last respects
a comment from an older gentleman—
“The Goldrick girls were all such lookers”
So I was her niece
and not from “The Old Neighborhood”
I have memories of my own....
I was rich when Lil brought play money
from Misquamicut
She brought whelks and slipper shells too
My ear cupped close
I first heard the sea
Not as beautiful as I expected
nor as beautiful as I would know
She gave them with love—without telling
where and when that I would go....
Her hands were always cool and sweaty
Always trembling
Always a cigarette
and an argument in the background
From the height of three
and hugging knees
I see her face against the ceiling’s
white—with panic
Her eyes are never with me
I know someone is with her
“The Goldrick girls were all such lookers....”
Beleaguered beauty
Frail, with stiff grace
she glances sideways
Checking for my safety?
“Our names too close! Confused too often!”
I was to know her horror— as I know her sea
...Her laughter, too late for the conversation
a smoky hysteria
that will not share with her eyes
She stumbles backward through her childhood
as if she has mislaid something
She wants to go roller skating
with her sister, eight months pregnant
besieged by diapers
with stew on the back burner
...And Lil wants to go back...
to a time at the Rialto
to the organ’s boogie
to the edge—before
The Depression declared WAR—
on someone who
no one knew
for years!
And is it okay yet?
...to let her sea out of me!
It burns so!
Mar 31, 2017
Mar 31, 2017 at 9:49 PM UTC
When I am an old man I want to be a gentleman,
with perfect manners, sound and articulate speech,
and refined opinions founded on solid, balanced judgment.
To be revered would be well, but I'll settle for respected;
people are more apt to overlook your faults,
and keep their expectations of you more reasonable.
I would possess at least half the strength of my youth,
both in body and in mind,
and twice the faith, never staggering at the promise.
I would be as steadfast in my convictions as I was at twenty,
but with a lifetime of wisdom to back up the zeal;
I would be a voice of both faith and reason.
I would be mindful of the finish line ahead of me,
and would be certain to possess such a rapport with my Maker
as to anticipate, and not dread, what lay beyond.
Sep 18, 2014
Sep 18, 2014 at 8:09 PM UTC