"patently" poems
By: Cedric McClester
Judging by the way
It’s now appearing
Looks like the lady
Wants a hearing
Even though their deadline
Is swiftly nearing
And old white men
Are often domineering
There’s two sides to
Each and every story
Theirs and the truth
Then there’s allegory
Now you can disagree
But you can’t ignore me
He might cop a plea
If he wants to bore me
She’ll be accused of
All kinds of lying
As he prods along
Patently denying
That anything happened
Way back then
You know how it is
Men will be men
How it’s gonna wind up
Is anybody’s guess
Although he should be toast
More or less
Cuz his confirmation’s turning
Into one big mess
He should be withdrawn
See it’s no contest
Cedri c McClester, Copyright © 2018. All rights reserved.
Sep 17, 2018
Sep 17, 2018 at 10:41 AM UTC
It became patently obvious to me, that
the more that I looked
the less I could see
and I looked a lot
because time's all I've got
but still couldn't see
what should have been obvious, to
the looker in me.
Oct 10, 2013
Oct 10, 2013 at 2:20 PM UTC
What do you expect me to do?
Sit here waiting patently on cue
mind racing, stomach sinking, heart breaking
waiting just for you
20 minutes at a time
with a million thoughts on my mind
but 20 minutes goes by slow
in the dark waiting alone
For someone who probably
has someone else
waiting for them
just like myself
Except they don't wait
they get your time
because unlike them
To make me wait is fine
I am the other now
the one who waits
who patiently sits
who does what ever it takes
just for a second
of your atention
I must sit and wither
through a lofty detention
This a fear
I knew would come true
but never in my dreams
enacted by you. . . .
Feb 20, 2016
Feb 20, 2016 at 8:26 AM UTC
He sleeps , at night he weeps
Lord take the pain away
He's too afraid to even speak
He walks on a path of fear
Upon a carpet of thorns
So much to say
But at every corner
he finds himself alone
He lives In a world , a place so far
Little pieces of dreams and broken hearts
He paints rainbows in black
A shade too dark to be real
There's no time left
Too many scars to heal
And the crowd makes him cry
He asks staring at the infinite sky
"why do I even try?"
They make a game of his insecurities
While he waits for an opportunity , so
Patiently
He just wants to see things patently
He wants them to see him clearly
But all they can see is a boy without an armour
So they stab him repeatedly
An antidote to be calmer
But the wounds are now in the open
Infected by a sinister thought
Maybe if he seeks blood in revenge
He'll go down as the 'boy who fought'
And as the world sleeps , dreaming at peace
A storms about to be released
He'll take them all
One by one across the line
It's now his turn to shine
They created a monster
And now It's time for another columbine.
Jan 9, 2014
Jan 9, 2014 at 2:24 AM UTC
He stealthily usurped his favourite poet's celebrated pen
Strove hard to write with a footing on the poet's ken.
In what resulted, others could only see an overriding yen
recognized patently as his; in this shady game he didn't win!
Oct 19, 2017
Oct 19, 2017 at 12:48 PM UTC
i fell in love with you
once
long ago
with my eyes closed
and the dream-screen drawn
we danced
like music notes across their barred landscape
we danced
the loveliest late-night lullaby
you became my hiding place
lilac and lace linens
stretched over a lumpy matress
my indiana jones
waiting patently and poetically
in a long-lost temple of slumber
you come back to me in waves
softly and subtly
while i'm half awake
you're kissing the broken down shorelines of an insomniacs holiday
i wish i could keep you
like an empty bottle in the window-sill
or a heart arrhythmia
this lonely romantics cardiovascular waltz
let me snag you up from my dream-dust
and stitch you to my sole like a lost boys shadow
let me find you in my reality
tip-toeing over an underlined paragraph
of a beer stained paper-back
i'll find you
someday
after a long-over-due nights sleep
perhaps in the guitar strings
or type-writer keys
or at the bottom of a bottle of whiskey in the ever-humming freezer
be mine
evasive valentine
i'll even let you hide in the curls of my hair
or under my fingernails
i'll keep you
if you'll let me
just don't forget me
come sun-up
when you gallup away
from my sub-conscious escape
take my heart-rate with you
tucked into your breast-pocket
like a floral handkercheif
or a photogaraph taped to the dash
come back
to the grey matter kingdom
tucked behind my eyelashes
i'll meet you in the idiosyncrasies of my synapses
writing love stories that never once happened
Dec 20, 2012
Dec 20, 2012 at 12:56 PM UTC
lost in a maze of gazes;
lured
to the pool by the sound; Sondheim
sung badly in a nasal twang;
cught in her lace negligee one more time;
we give the old women the benefit
of the doubtful proposition; if granny
wants to get tied
to on the bedpost - yet again;
the gallant refrain from that old song
is remade the kpop way & tuned in to
the drag subculture; everyone u know;
the prostitution used to be better; maybe
there were once better prostitutes, what
I can see is unpleasantly stink eyed; hos
used to have class before they could
switch genders back & forth; that's some
millennial **** the first celebrity I ever
became aware of was Christine Jorgensen, from the newspaper story about a man who had surgery to turn himself into a woman; a patently impossible task; in the picture in the newspaper he had on a bouffant wig & big sequin ***** working as a showgirl in Vegas in its heyday, so she was already well-known; I always thought that bit of trivial information would come in handy one day: never did
Aug 12, 2018
Aug 12, 2018 at 7:22 PM UTC
A wordsmith sits patently
Sharpening and refining his tools.
He listens and he waits
For the deadly moment,
Knowing exactly when to strike.
He unsheathes his sword,
Pointing expertly towards his prey.
Words of shining steel
Slice through the air
Landing with intent,
Cutting with precision,
Twisting with malice,
Into this bleeding heart
Of mine.
Dec 30, 2021
Dec 30, 2021 at 6:21 AM UTC
Forget laws.
They are but social expedients.
Take, for example,
PLESSY v. FERGUSON,
the 1896 landmark decision
of the Supreme Court
that made "separate but equal"
the law of land and ushered
in the patently ugly and unjust
JIM CROW laws in the Deep South.
It took until 1954--58 years--to right
this egregious ruling with the unanimous
decision of BROWN v. BOARD OF EDUCATION.
Forget laws.
Always go to your heart
to find the moral--the correct--decision
of all disputed matters. Laws can be flagitious,
but in your heart, you will always find truth.
TOD HOWARD HAWKS
May 16, 2023
May 16, 2023 at 10:56 AM UTC
Lambent lassie, how I needeth thee today,
I wilt be thy loving man, doing all that I canst;
To make ourn contour's swirl in a dance-
As we pass betwixt the seraphic
Trace. Chaperoned my darling,
Head resting upon head, inner-
Being in rapt, none feeling
Of dread. Mine pinkie do
I giveth thee, lock onto it-
And hold, rest thy fret inside mine chest,
Taketh a breath, inside this soul.
Kindred spirits way back from old, living young,
Homeward bound; igniparous by ourn kindling sound's.
O' fortitude wilt I hath when the time is not yet for meet,
Yet verily mine lass, tis one stroke of an hour we wilt greet.
If I hath to crawl the pit's of the abyss, slithering through the deep, if I hath to waken to a strange cosmic minute, or dieth a death of sleep. If I must endure the second's away from thee, only but for a lifetime, I'll patently awaiteth mine Jane, an eternity with thee by mine side. To glance in thy eye's and to hold thy hourglass waist, to kiss thine honey like a bee to a bloom, to maketh ourn bed upon white roses wherein spirituality is in tune. A bride and groom of times afore, we entered in by the portal of Yahweh's door, never to turn back; ahead we look on. Planting ourn pip's to what lieth ahead, happiness up upon the hill of ourn homestead. None alas expressions, for this place we art meant, together to be, mine baby, mine treat; of the patience we built up, ourn amour shant be in rent, as with the finest of spices I shalt lather thy feet.
©Brandon Nagley
©Lonesome poet's poetry
©Earl jane Nagley ( àgapi mou) dedication
May 30, 2016
May 30, 2016 at 1:42 PM UTC
The Steamy air Hung heavy
In the Office of the Private Eye.
Kansas City in August
The Air wants to die,
Or it only Smells that way.
Drifting up off the Riverbank.
Thelma my receptionist Waits
Filing her nails by the Silent Phone
If things Didn't Pick up soon or Late
Bills would have me Down to the Bone
Chasing Bail jumpers, something I'd Hate
Have to settle on, less some business was done
Just as I knocked back a Belt of Bourbon,
Came a Knock at the Door, in Walked
A pair of Legs from Here to there, to look on
Not sure if it was the red of her lips,
Or the red of her bright Hair,
But a Swing in her Hips Got me there.
She Laid on the tears as she told me her Fears
A Long lost sister being run by the Mob
Prostituting she said with a Gasp and a Sob
Her Silk Stocking legs crossing Sealed the deal
I'd put an ear to the street and find out the feel
A Kansas City Kingpin ran her on the street
If I staked out a Corner I'd see them Meet
Slipped my .32 from the Leather and Spun it once
Checking the chamber for a full Loaded Gun
I hunched down in the front seat of my old Chevy
It was only Minutes till he played the Heavy
I shouted out stop, as he Pulled a gun... Popped
It Seemed like Slow Motion as his body Dropped
She screams for Police, next I'm Cuffed by a Cop
Long legs says I stalked her, and am Patently Crazy
I took the Fall 'cause she set me up for the Patsy
The moral of the Story is..........
"Dames and Bourbon Don't mix".....JMF 12/11/14
Dec 12, 2014
Dec 12, 2014 at 12:21 AM UTC
She is the living embodiment of the cliché,
The song where the male sub-lead
Returns from some second shift, some third drink
To find she has gone, leaving some scrap-paper note,
Hastily scribbled and wholly incomplete,
Some variation upon Don’t try and find me,
And so she is suitably unfound herself,
As she has given great thought to her froms,
But rather short shrift to her tos,
Finding herself north of the Thruway,
Looking for somewhere to spend the night
(The twin motors of adrenaline and anxiety running on fumes)
Happening upon, as if almost by some beneficent magic,
A Travelodge bordered by an expanse of cornfield
(Long since gone to seed, the stalks bowed and spent,
Waiting for the patently overdue cob harvester)
And after she is checked in and somewhat unpacked
(The bored, bemused woman who slumps about the front desk
Mercifully sparing with the small talk)
The skies, which had been late-October slate blur-gray,
Slightly malevolent but only implicit in their threats,
Open up in a cold and unwelcome drizzle,
And, whys and wherefores being things for a later date,
She runs outside and begins dancing in the parking lot,
Unseen and unremarked upon,
And even though the rain is cold, soaking, grim in portent
(The forecast dourly noting the possibility of wet snow,
Nattering that accumulation is possible at higher elevations.)
She is seemingly unaware and unconcerned
As to the upshot of this drenching,
Any whispers of the two or three other occupants of the motel,
Any judgments passed upon her mad danse pour un,
As she has passed beyond any notion of admonition.
Nov 2, 2017
Nov 2, 2017 at 12:34 PM UTC
on the fringes
the outer extremes
a vision of myself
standing next to me
is this a future destination
or a song from the past?
is that my final countenance
I view in a dark mirror
and ask?
where I am now
and where I want to be
I detect hidden clues
in my aching spleen
a foreboding of
what ill winds may blow
a toxic brew
of electric jazz
jizzing in a ***** bottle
aging in formaldehyde
splits a mind in two
poetic visions
running watercolors
of empty houses
with more hidden clues
words to songs
written by me
now sound funny
and patently absurd
loving the history
form seems desirable
content too
but it doesn’t come together
something is missing
stories are embellished
an ego grows larger then a house
bursting open the doors
exploding the roof
sending the heavy slates flying
in all directions
flinging them
into ponds of regret
and lonesome longings
of art offered up
to a critical God
ignorant of history
as I see it
so I lie to myself
and proclaim
delusional truths to others
hoping they’ll listen
to my ***** tales
of higher knowledge
intimate loves
and this weeks episode of
my life’s action adventure series
am I an empty box
or a clanging bell?
ringing something of a warning
about me and my emptiness
as I stumble along in my cluttered apartment
Music Selection:
Ornette Coleman,
Dancing in Your Head
Oakland
1/31/99
Mar 17, 2013
Mar 17, 2013 at 9:59 AM UTC
Jumping off a bridge to no where
And you're the one who'll suffer
The ones I love they leave me
Writing an unsent letter
Without your answer
Ill forget you
You need to see I'm alone
Cant you see its true
Patently obvious to all eyes
Except yours
So you just give up
Give in, let go, saying no mores
I don't love him like I love you
You don't see me like I see you
I know she loves you
But do you
However long it takes
Ill tell my heart to wait
Mar 4, 2010
Mar 4, 2010 at 2:21 PM UTC
Once there was a penguin named David far more smarter than his family or friends. One day a quill pen fell out of the pocket of a human visiting. The minute he saw the pen, he knew he was a writer in a past life and wanted to write again.
David found some old seal blubber for ink and began to write. He tried writing on the snow but it disappeared. He tried writing on the trees but the snow again took it away. He even tried writing on the stomach of his friend Ro Ro but when she swam it disappeared.
Pondering hard David had a great idea. He decided to swim off to the open sea. Once there, he swam to the bottom of the ocean.
David collected some old wood from a sunken ship. It was perfect and once it dried in the cool air he was ready to write. The first thing he wrote was a special little poem to his friend Ro Ro for believing in him.
*RoRo you are cute and dear
Black and white you see.
I do love you very much.
Will you marry me?
I shall wait at yonder hill,
of white just round the bend,
Patently I will stay
in hope a yes you send.
In the hour she did come,
to say oh yes I do.
I have always loved you fine
glad you do love me too.*
RoRo and David became forever married in love. They were honored by the entire Penguin waddle. And From that day on, Penguin David wrote many a poem celebrating their love.
StarBG © 2017
Feb 12, 2018
Feb 12, 2018 at 8:57 PM UTC
Thinking Clearly
I’m simply trying
To think clearly,
Times and destiny against me.
Not alone, it is we all.
A world of digits and addictions,
New temptations:
‘Lead me not into temptation…’.
Tiny hippocampus shrinking even more than ever,
It’s an effort,
I admit.
A part of words, a part of worlds
Inside a frame that gilds the lily,
Curls around reality
Like smoke from chimney.
Headlines chronically bad,
Chronicles of planetary sadness –
World of digits,
World on fire,
World that cultivates desire,
It is all the harder to think clearly
And sincerely:
Ergo, I
Am trying as a consequence,
To change the sequence
And think plainly, deeply,
Patently, indubitably
Clearly.
Thinking Clearly 6.18.2017
The Processes: Creative, Thinking, Meditative II: Pure Nakedness;
Arlene Corwin
Jun 18, 2017
Jun 18, 2017 at 6:34 AM UTC
my perceptual imbalance regardless of talents spread out over a
chronological lifetime
gives an obfuscated vision of a murky aberration unfocused on
all but the aperture
overwhelming blind ambition especially when wrapped up in
raiment of religion
becomes translucent in the implications and applications as they
writhe into obligation
laid out in prostration in their zeal appealing to an ever evolving
version of Valhalla
even now we see demonstrations of new world rationalizations
mired in implications
Machiavellian machinations as we seem to suddenly find need
of insentient insensate
willing partisan participants who believe participating in sacred
rights annihilations
in total disregard of patently salacious overbearing lying denying
terrorizing abomination...
............A SAD SAD TRADE FOR WHAT WAS....
.. OUR GREAT....OBAMA nation.
Mar 25, 2017
Mar 25, 2017 at 5:11 PM UTC
Had I known I’d make it this far,
Would I have taken better care?
Would I have walked by one bar?
Passed on one affair?
Declined a chemical adjustment?
Favored good sense over whim?
Deferred to my better judgement?
Forgone ribeye for kale so grim?
Of course not.
Assuming only survival had confirmation
And the aftermath of each decision
Were still open to speculation,
There would be no need for revision.
Suspending loss or gain,
And ignoring others’ wrath,
The fact that I remain
Confirms the virtue of my path.
Well, that may be going too far,
But, unrepentant, I’m already there.
Strange faith in fate served me well, so far
And pulled me through without a care.
Yet my waywardness in both fact and fame
Was no less reckless, no less wild
Than of friends fallen in this game
Some so young - less man, more child.
I’ve indeed fared better
Than friends of long ago
Who broke through every fetter
Unwilling the prized cheese to forego
And in a headlong rush
Lunged, heedless of the twang and snap
And fell to the deadly crush
0f fate’s cold steel trap.
Spring-loaded, compelling,
The trap holds undeniable sway,
But upon that I won’t be dwelling
While I have cheese enough for today.
Was I lucky? Doubtless so.
Was I canny in avoiding fate?
I guess, but how much, who could know?
So there are no values to equate,
And no formula for a survivor’s guide
To having one’s cake and eating it, too.
Such book would be hailed far and wide
A bestseller! But patently untrue.
The truth is that I have no idea
Why I’m now facing longevity,
Why, against all odds, I’m still here
In defiance of expected brevity.
So maybe I’m just the Second Mouse,
Distracted, wandering o’er the map,
Drifting from room to room, house to house
Appearing just after some unlucky sprung the trap.
At that point, what for me remains
But to show respect, doff my hat
And set to the work that pertains
To cheese management and growing fat.
My fate will arrive, neither too soon nor too late
An unknowable appointment’s been set,
‘Til then the whys and hows prove pointless debate
While I have good company and cheese enough yet.
Dec 16, 2018
Dec 16, 2018 at 5:28 AM UTC
I was invited by my friends
To hang out in a nearby cafe
With that toffee nut drink that he holds
“His drink is the same as his name.” They said
It all started there
You started to visit me
In my school, even there
At the place where you first met me
Then you started courting me
I didn’t have any regrets
This feeling that I will never forget
Hope you will always stay with me
But all of that were only at first
My heart is uneasy, like it’s gonna burst
You didn’t come to shine me through
But I’m still into you
We went to a trip without you knowing
I thought you might care enough to look for me
They said that you did look for me
But I never received a sign of you looking
Then you gave your attention to someone
I don’t receive those long messages that I enjoy to read
Not a single “Hi” or “Hello” or a blank message is done
All just because she said that she liked you, you started to leave
I kept waiting and waiting
Even if I stat to fade in your heart
I kept waiting patently
What was the meaning of all of these from the start?
I told you to stop all of this nonsense
Thinking that you might for our relationship and stay
But you gave up and let go
Like you really want to get rid of my presence
Despite everything, I want these to be clear
That question that you ignored to answer
Why does it have to be ended?
"What happened?"
Jan 24, 2015
Jan 24, 2015 at 8:54 PM UTC
If you need to learn,
first
you've got to burn all your books,
turn on your eyes
switch off,realise,
that to switch on your brain,
you've got to train
and feel the pain
as if knowledge is a gymnasium
you need to exercise your sight to gain an
understanding of what might
be the answer to the questions that you pose.
No one knows until someone does and that
is patently true
but
'who dares wins'
and as the eagle in me grins,
I fly away.
Nov 22, 2014
Nov 22, 2014 at 6:38 AM UTC
My head is full of thoughts
My heart will stay waiting till it rots
It beats for you
Slowly but surely
I wonder how your love would be
Patently I wait holding myself back
I just hope it’s not too late
He broke your heart
Now it’s locked with a gate
How stupid he was
To lose your heart for quick lust
You’re a queen
A beautiful girl that just can’t be unseen
Will I have a chance
Or Shall I forever stay in this love trance
Feb 2, 2019
Feb 2, 2019 at 1:47 AM UTC
it is patently obvious that the HP site's server
isn't functioning
well
as the 502 Bad Gateway notification
does regularly
tell
the webmaster hasn't yet repaired
the faulty connection at his
end
and in not doing so he's losing many
a poetry writing
friend
with the ongoing problem
being left
unresolved
how can his ill attention to the matter
ever be
absolved
sooner rather than later the poets
will desert the
place
for they'll grow tired of the message
constantly hitting them in the
face
Jan 15, 2022
Jan 15, 2022 at 1:55 AM UTC
Using the art of triangulation
I plot what I think's my position,
the universe thinks differently
and expands my point of view.
The creator,
a failed realtor
or what?
Celestial snooker.
To lose one world is unfortunate
and so on and so on, but it goes on
and in the end it will end
nothing is patently obvious
except the shine in that
new pair of shoes.
On a whimsy
I paint
' made in Grimsby '
on the back of a Leyland bus.
I should shoot by starlight
I might get my position
right.
I sail on into the reach
of the night
and anchor on the dark side
of the Moon.
Aug 31, 2017
Aug 31, 2017 at 12:49 PM UTC
The Night Is Almost Over
The night is almost over,
During which I’ve been awake
Unquantifiable wee hours.
It’s been a challenge to placate
Unrest in *** and soul,
Think things to do without a wrestle with my all,
Discover parts to focus on,
Breathe out and in,
Shepherding bad thought away from sin.
A challenge to make time rewarding,
Night un-worrying with means
Intuitively gleaned.
By three or four,
Night nearly over,
One is sure
There have been dreams -
A second’s worth of night-worked themes.
(Perhaps two minutes, maybe three.
I’ve patently no memory
Unawake, unaware,
All simple cognizance not there)
I’ll be ok when morning comes,
Stomach craving nutriments.
There will be toast, cheese, milky coffee
Brought in by hubby
With me glad the light took over.
The Night Is Almost Over 9.2.2017
Pure Nakedness;
Arlene Corwin
Sep 2, 2017
Sep 2, 2017 at 4:03 AM UTC
The Meaning Of Life, What?
Peace, love and happiness.
Three words we miss
In every sense.
a) fail to hit it, fail to get it,
Even though it is the tar-get.
b) We miss it as we’d miss a bus,
The muss of ego messing up, missing us.
c) We miss it as in pine for, yearn for:
Miss in every aspect.
Peace. We don’t e’en know its meaning;
Shunning, running fast away from…
Yet we want it.
Love. And that?
The sex? Caress? Compassion and philanthropy?
Who cares for me and only me?
Love, what? All that?
Yes, probably.
Last, happiness.
Contentment without need for rapture;
Focused in the niceness of the now
No matter how
The outer world appears.
No matter what
Emerges as and from your lonely lot.
The meaning? Socrates:
He knew that he knew nothing.
But his nothing had the ring
Of truth. Though youth
Can’t know it doesn’t know,
The issue stays the same,
Theme worthy of its noble aim:
Life: What? The meaning of?
Peace, happiness and lovely love.
The meaning of its process,
More, patently not less.
The Meaning Of Life, What? 8.24.2017
Circling Round Reality; Definitely Didactic;
Arlene Corwin
Aug 23, 2017
Aug 23, 2017 at 3:54 PM UTC